seventinked

✧ who i write for :

seventeen (ot13), (been stanning since happy burstday)

biases : seungcheol, jeonghan, dk, mingyu, hoshi

stray kids (ot8), (been stanning since maxident)

biases : bangchan, lee know

might write randomly about some of my biases from other groups, idk yet

✧ what i write:

angst | fluff | smut | au | drabbles | short series

masterlist

❤️‍🩹angst

🫧fluff

🔥smut

🌐au

✨drabbles

📖short series

Seventeen works :

🫧🔥 Angel (mingyu x reader)

🫧🔥 Sleepy Tiger (hoshi x reader)

📖 STARGAZING(s.coups x OC)(≈30chapters of ≈1k words)

Introduction

PART 1

PART 2

PART 3

PART 4

PART 5

PART 6

✧ requests:

status: open (just comment or dm me)

please include member + genre + idea

i may take time to answer, i may also never answer, tbh, cuz i'm moving to uni, so, yeah

✧ i don’t write:

bdsm

rape / non-con

gangbangs (might write foursomes, AT MOST)

degradation (sorry, big turn off for me)

smut involving minors

anything non-ethical

✧ boundaries:

do not repost, translate, or plagiarize my work.

i barely interact on tumblr, i just post and read, so yeah

—

PART 7

w.c : 1.5k

I start staying over more often without really deciding to.

At first, it’s excuses. Late practice, too tired to go back, one more drink that turns into three. Jeonghan doesn’t question it, Joshua doesn’t even look surprised. The couch becomes familiar, the spare room even more. It slips into routine before I notice it happening.

She notices.

Not in a way she points out. Just in the way she stops looking at me like I don’t belong there.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

She doesn’t say goodnight.

Not once.

It takes me a few days to realize it’s not personal. She just disappears. One moment she’s there—curled up on the floor, half-listening to whatever we’re saying—and the next, her door is closed, or she’s gone entirely.

I start noticing the sound of the front door more than I should.

Soft. Careful. Like she doesn’t want to wake anyone.

Like she doesn’t expect anyone to be waiting.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

The kitchen light turns on at strange hours.

Sometimes I wake up around three or four, not fully, just enough to register movement. The faint clink of glass, the low hum of the fridge, the quiet rhythm of someone existing when the rest of the apartment is asleep.

I know it’s her.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

She drinks differently when she’s alone.

Not like before, not careless. Slower. Measured. Like she’s not trying to get drunk, just trying to stay somewhere in between. I catch it once when I step into the kitchen late, not expecting anyone.

She doesn’t react.

Just glances at me, then back at the glass in her hand.

“You’re up,” she says.

“So are you.”

She hums like that’s obvious.

We don’t say anything else.

But she doesn’t leave.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

She cooks like she’s feeding more people than there are.

It happens out of nowhere. One evening, I walk in, and the kitchen is a mess—ingredients everywhere, pots on the stove, something simmering that smells too good for how casual she looks about it.

“She’s in one of her moods,” Jeonghan tells me.

It doesn’t look like a mood.

It looks like focus.

She doesn’t cook for herself. I never see her do it. But when all of us are there, when the apartment feels full, she moves differently. More present. More grounded.

She doesn’t sit with us after.

Just watches for a second, makes sure everyone’s eating, then disappears again.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

She sits closer now.

Not close enough to touch. Not even close enough to notice unless you’re paying attention.

But I am.

The space she leaves between us gets smaller over time. A few inches at first. Then less. Until one night, her shoulder almost brushes mine when she shifts on the couch.

She doesn’t move away.

Neither do I.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

She still flinches.

Not always. Not like before.

But sometimes, when movement is too sudden, too close, I see it—the brief tension, the way her body reacts before she can stop it. It’s quicker now, easier to hide.

I pretend not to see it.

I think she notices that.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

She asks questions when she thinks I won’t answer seriously.

“What do you even do all day?”

“Work.”

“That’s vague.”

“So was your question.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s something lighter in it now, something that wasn’t there before.

She doesn’t push.

She never really pushes.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

I stop asking where she goes at night.

Not because I don’t care.

Because I know she won’t answer.

And because, at some point, it starts to feel less important than the fact that she comes back.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

Sometimes, she doesn’t leave.

Those nights are different.

Quieter, but not heavy. She stays in the living room longer, stretches out on the couch instead of disappearing, her head tilted back, eyes half-closed but not asleep.

Like she’s testing something.

Like she’s waiting to see if the quiet will turn on her.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

“Why night?”

It slips out one evening without much thought.

We’re on the balcony, the city spread out in front of us, distant and dim. She’s sitting on the ground again, back against the railing, cigarette between her fingers. I’m leaning against the wall, close enough to feel the shift in the air when she moves.

She doesn’t answer right away.

Just exhales slowly, smoke curling into the dark.

For a second, I think she won’t answer at all.

Then—

“Nothing expects anything from me at night.”

Her voice is quiet.

Not detached this time.

Just… honest.

I don’t say anything.

And she doesn’t take it back.

It happens so quietly I almost miss it.

We’re in the living room again, nothing special about the night. Jeonghan is arguing about something pointless, Joshua is half-listening, and the TV is on just for the noise. I’m sitting at the edge of the couch, leaning forward slightly, not really part of the conversation but not outside of it either.

She’s on the floor at first.

Like always.

Back against the couch, legs stretched out, phone in her hand, but not really looking at it. She’s been there for a while, drifting in and out of whatever we’re saying, not engaging, not leaving.

I don’t look at her.

Not directly.

I’ve learned that much.

But I feel the shift before I see it.

Movement, subtle. The sound of fabric against the couch. The slight dip in weight beside me.

I glance, just briefly.

She’s sitting next to me.

Not close enough to touch. Not even close enough to make it obvious. But she’s not on the floor anymore. Not across the room. Not somewhere distant where she can disappear without being noticed.

She chose this.

I don’t say anything.

Neither does she.

The conversation keeps going around us, unchanged, as if nothing happened. But I feel it—the difference, the way the space between us feels… intentional now. Not accidental, not circumstantial.

Chosen.

She leans back slightly, her shoulder almost brushing mine when she shifts, and this time I don’t wonder if it’s a coincidence.

It isn’t.

I keep my posture the same. Don’t move closer. Don’t move away.

Just stay.

After a while, she exhales softly, her head tilting back against the couch, eyes half-closed. She looks tired. Not exhausted like before. Just… worn out in a normal way, like someone who stayed up too late and didn’t get enough rest.

There’s something dangerously human about it.

I look away first.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

It’s late again, but not as late as usual. The streets are still alive, people moving in small groups, laughter spilling out from somewhere down the block. I’m walking without much direction, letting the night stretch out around me the way it’s become habit lately.

I see her before she sees me.

She’s crouched down on the sidewalk, completely focused on something in front of her, her back to me. There’s no tension in her posture, no guarded edges, just… ease.

I slow down.

There’s a small puppy in front of her.

It’s barely bigger than her hands, fur messy, tail wagging like it doesn’t understand anything about the world except that it’s happy to be here. She’s laughing—quiet, breathless, as it surprised her as much as anyone else.

I stop walking.

“Hey—no, come back,” she murmurs, reaching out as the puppy stumbles away from her, her fingers brushing against its fur before it darts to the side again.

She laughs again.

It’s soft. Light. Unfiltered in a way I haven’t heard before.

There’s no sharpness in it. No distance. No weight behind it.

Just… her.

The owner is saying something, apologizing maybe, but she shakes her head quickly, still smiling, still focused on the puppy like nothing else exists right now. Her hair falls into her face, and she pushes it back without thinking, her movements easy, natural.

Alive.

Not drunk.

Not high.

Just… tired enough to let her guard down.

I don’t move.

I just watch.

There’s something about it that doesn’t fit with anything I know about her, and at the same time, it feels more real than anything else I’ve seen. Like this is who she is when nothing is pressing against her, when nothing is asking for anything.

She looks younger like this.

Softer.

Free.

The puppy finally settles long enough for her to pet it properly, her hand gentle, careful, like she’s afraid of doing something wrong. She smiles again, smaller this time, but just as real.

And something in my chest—

shifts.

It’s not sudden.

Not overwhelming.

Just… there.

Quiet.

Certain.

I don’t step forward. Don’t call out to her. Don’t interrupt whatever this is.

It doesn’t feel like something I’m supposed to be part of.

So I stay where I am, just outside of it, watching the way she exists in a moment that doesn’t hurt her.

And I realize—

This is it.

Not the silence.

Not the distance.

Not the way she breaks and rebuilds herself in pieces I don’t fully understand.

It’s this.

The way she laughs without thinking.

The way she forgets to protect herself for just a second.

The way she looks like someone who could’ve been untouched by everything that came before.

That’s when it happens.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

Just a quiet certainty settling into place.

I’m already too far gone.

Hoshi x afab!Reader smut (+ fluff). English isn't my first language!

Wc : 2.1k

Warnings: soft morning sex! makeout, slight grinding ig, unprotected sex, pinv sex, slight breastplay, classic missionary, Soonyoung has a thing for breasts, Soonyoung is a sweetheart

Soonyoung has a habit of organizing his dance shoes by the level of wear on their soles, a meticulous ritual that borders on a religious experience. I’ve watched him spend twenty minutes deciding which pair of sneakers is "optimal" for a specific type of floor, his brow furrowed in a level of concentration that usually accompanies surgery. It’s the only time he’s ever truly quiet—when he’s obsessing over the friction between rubber and hardwood.

Now, that same precision is completely gone. He is a sprawling, unconscious heap of limbs and warmth beside me. I shift slightly, the cotton sheets rustling, and find myself staring at the curve of his shoulder. He’s out cold, his chest rising and falling in a slow, heavy rhythm that makes the mattress vibrate almost imperceptibly. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of loose grey shorts, his skin warm and smelling faintly of the coconut body wash I use, and he “tries” sometimes.

"You're a menace to the sleep schedule," I whisper, though he can't hear me. I reach out, my fingertips grazing the nape of his neck where the hair is short and soft, before sliding my hand upward to mess with the chaotic blonde locks that always seem to defy gravity. He lets out a low, guttural groan, his face smushing deeper into the pillow, but he doesn't wake. I can't help it; I start tracing the line of his shoulder blade, my touch light and teasing, exploring the lean, hard-won muscle of a man who spends ten hours a day fighting gravity in a dance studio.

I shift closer, pressing my chest against his side, and start peppering tiny, meaningless kisses along the ridge of his jaw. He stirs, his breathing hitching for a second, and then his eyes blink open—slowly, clouded with a heavy, stubborn sleepiness. For all his high-voltage energy on stage, Soonyoung is a creature of slow mornings. He looks at me, his gaze drifting and unfocused, and for a moment, he just exists in the silence of the room, blinking like a confused kitten. Sorry- tiger. Tiger cub.

Then, the shift happens. Without warning, he lets out a muffled huff and lunges, his arm hooking around my waist and hauling me flush against him with a sudden, clumsy force. He doesn't just hug me; he engulfs me, pinning me beneath the weight of his athletic frame and burying his face in the crook of my neck. "Too early," he mumbles, his voice a gravelly, low rumble that vibrates against my skin. He squeezes me so tightly I actually let out a small, strangled gasp, his strength momentarily overwhelming as he anchors me to the mattress, refusing to let a single inch of space exist between us.

He begins to drift, his lips finding the sensitive dip of my collarbone, then the slope of my shoulder, kissing every single patch of exposed skin he can find. He’s methodical about it, his movements slow and syrupy, as if he’s rediscovering me one inch at a time. I feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, a contrast to the cool morning air hitting my bare legs. The playful teasing from before has vanished, replaced by a quiet, heavy intensity that makes my heart hammer against my ribs.

His hands, usually so precise and deliberate when he’s marking a choreography, are now soft and wandering. He slides a palm beneath the hem of my tank top, the warmth of his skin shocking against my stomach. He doesn't rush; he just lingers there, his thumb tracing a slow, hypnotic circle against my ribs, as if he's savoring the same slow-motion rhythm of the morning. Every kiss is a lingering, sleepy promise, moving from the hollow of my throat down to the swell of my breast, his breath hot and steady against my skin.

I wind my fingers through his blonde hair, tugging gently to pull his face back up to mine. When he finally looks at me, the cloudiness of sleep has shifted into something darker and more focused, though the softness remains. He looks completely undone—hair standing up in every direction, eyes heavy-lidded and affectionate. He lets out a small, contented sigh and presses his face into my breasts, humming contently.

A soft laugh escapes me, fingers tangling in his hair.

For a few heartbeats, we just stay there, anchored to each other in the half-light of the bedroom, the world outside the door feeling irrelevant.

The shift in energy is subtle but undeniable. He moves with a fluid, athletic grace, shifting his weight to hover over me without fully breaking the contact. His kisses grow deeper, less tentative, turning from sleepy grazes into something more urgent and demanding. He catches my lower lip between his, a low hum of approval vibrating in his throat. I can feel the lean muscle of his thighs brushing against mine, the friction of the sheets sparking a sudden, sharp electricity that makes my toes curl.

He slides his hand further up, guiding me closer, his movements effortless and instinctive. There is a quiet intensity to the way he handles me, a mixture of his natural passion and a tender, protective caution. Every touch feels earned, every slow glide of his skin against mine building a tension that feels like it might snap the moment he finally enters me. It’s a slow burn, a deliberate unfolding of heat that makes the room feel smaller and smaller until there is nothing left but the sound of our synchronized breathing.

When he finally slides into me, merely pulling my underwear aside, it isn’t a rush; it’s a slow, heavy sink, as if he’s trying to merge his very existence with mine. I let out a long, shaky exhale, my fingers digging into the muscles of his upper arms, anchoring myself as we find a rhythm that feels less like sex and more like a conversation. He groans, a deep, resonant sound that starts in his chest and vibrates through my entire frame, and he buries his face in the crook of my neck again. His movements are syrupy and deliberate, mirroring the way he lingers over a difficult beat in a song, savoring the friction and the warmth of the overlap.

He isn’t the chaotic whirlwind of energy the world knows; here, in the dim light of our bedroom, he is all softness and focused intention. He supports his weight on his forearms, his chest brushing against mine with every slow, rhythmic push. I can feel the steady thrum of his heart against my own, a frantic counterpoint to the languid pace he’s set. He kisses my cheek, then my temple, his eyes half-closed and shimmering with a vulnerability he only ever shows me. It’s an intimate kind of intensity, the kind that makes me feel seen in a way that has nothing to do with sight.

As the tension builds, the slow burn begins to flicker. His breathing hitches, becoming shorter and more jagged, and the precision of his movements shifts into something more instinctive. He shifts his grip, his hand sliding down to find my breast, kneading gently through my tank top. A short moan escapes him, and he begins to pick up the pace, his hips driving deeper and more urgent, the bed frame giving a rhythmic creak that blends with the sound of our joined breaths.

I arch my back, my head falling back into the pillow as the waves of pleasure start to crash over me, blurring the edges of the room. Soonyoung lets out a sharp, stifled gasp, his muscles tightening as he pushes one last time, holding himself deep inside me with a curse. He collapses against me, his forehead resting on my shoulder, his body shaking with the aftershocks of a release that leaves him completely spent. For a long moment, neither of us moves, our lungs fighting for air in the heavy, warm silence that follows.

The silence that follows is thick and honeyed, broken only by the sound of our hearts trying to find a shared rhythm again. He doesn't move for a long time, his heavy weight a comforting anchor that keeps me pinned to the mattress. His skin is damp, humming with a residual heat that makes the cool air of the room feel like a distant memory. I can feel the slow, rhythmic thumping of his heart against my ribs, a frantic drumbeat gradually settling into a calm, steady pulse.

He lets out a long, shuddering sigh and finally lifts his head, his eyes blinking open with a dazed, blissful expression. He looks completely wrecked, his blonde hair a chaotic nest and his lips swollen from my kisses. A small, sleepy smile tugs at the corners of his mouth—the mischievous, affectionate look that usually precedes a prank, but right now, it’s softened by a profound sense of contentment. He doesn't say anything; he just nuzzles his face in my chest again. “Love these,” he mutters against my skin, one of his hands groping my breast. “You have nice boobies,” he adds like it’s a decision rather than an observation.

"You're so eloquent," I chuckle, my voice sounding raspy and unfamiliar in the stillness.

He lets out a tiny, humming sound of agreement and shifts his weight, rolling slightly to the side but keeping me tucked firmly under his arm. He pulls the duvet up over us, cocooning us in a warm, cotton sanctuary. His fingers begin a slow, absentminded wander across my waist, tracing the curve of my hip with a tenderness that feels almost fragile. The high-voltage energy of the performer is gone, replaced by a version of Soonyoung that only exists in the blue hours of the morning, the one who is soft, clingy, and utterly devoted.

The room is silent except for the distant, rhythmic chirp of a bird outside the window, but inside the duvet, it feels like we’re in a pressurized chamber where time has simply stopped. He doesn't pull away, and neither do I. We just exist in the heavy, humming aftermath, our legs tangled together in a messy knot of limbs. Soonyoung’s breathing is finally leveling out, though he still has this habit of squeezing my breasts every few seconds, as if he’s double-checking that they haven't evaporated into the morning light.

"Five more minutes," he mumbles, his voice barely a ghost of a sound, muffled against the skin of my shoulder.

I chuckle, the sound vibrating in my chest, and I can feel him smile against my skin. I start to trace the line of his jaw with my thumb, feeling the slight roughness of his skin and the warmth that still radiates off him. He’s like a giant heater, and in the chill of the early morning, there is nowhere else in the world I’d rather be. I think about the schedule he probably has today—the grueling hours of rehearsal, the precise counts, the sweat and the noise—and the contrast between that world and this one is almost jarring. Here, he isn't the center of a stage; he's just a boy who likes to be held and refuses to let go.

He shifts, rolling onto his back and pulling me with him until I’m sprawled across his chest, my head tucked under his chin. He lets out a content, guttural hum, his hand moving from my waist to the small of my back, rubbing slow, mindless circles that make me feel heavy and drowsy all over again. His heart is still beating a bit fast under my ear, a steady thrum that feels like a secret language we’re the only two people in the world who know how to speak.

PART 6

w.c : 1.1k

It happens a few days after the night I drove her home.

Not immediately. Not in a way that feels connected at first. If anything, it’s almost normal when it starts—quiet apartment, low lights, the kind of evening that doesn’t ask for anything. I’m back again, later than I should be, sitting on the couch while Jeonghan and Joshua argue over something that doesn’t matter enough for me to follow.

She’s there too.

That’s new.

Not unusual in itself—she’s around more often during the day—but at this hour, it catches my attention without me meaning it to. She’s sitting on the floor near the coffee table, legs pulled in slightly, a half-empty glass in her hand. Not drunk, not like the other times I’ve seen her come back. Just… there. Present, but not fully.

I don’t stare.

At least, I don’t think I do.

But I notice her. The way her fingers tap lightly against the glass without rhythm. The way her shoulders stay slightly tense even when she’s not moving. The way she hasn’t said a word in the last twenty minutes, but hasn’t left either.

And maybe that’s enough.

“Stop looking at me like that.”

Her voice cuts through the room sharp enough that Jeonghan and Joshua both go quiet for a second.

I blink, caught off guard. “Like what?”

She turns to me fully now, her expression tight, eyes sharper than I’ve seen them in days. There’s something defensive in it, something already braced for impact before anything even happens.

“Like you’re trying to figure me out,” she says. “It’s annoying.”

There’s a beat of silence. Jeonghan shifts slightly, like he’s about to say something, but I don’t give him the chance.

“I wasn’t,” I answer. It’s not entirely true.

Her eyes narrow slightly, like she doesn’t believe me—or like she doesn’t care if it’s true or not. “You were.”

I exhale slowly, leaning back into the couch, keeping my tone even. “Okay. And?”

The question lands differently than she expects. I see it in the way her expression flickers for a second, like she was ready for an apology, or for me to back off completely. Not… this.

“And I don’t like it,” she snaps.

“That doesn’t make it a crime.”

The room goes quiet again, heavier this time.

I don’t raise my voice. I don’t push forward. But I don’t step back either.

She stares at me, something shifting behind her eyes—frustration, maybe, or something deeper that she doesn’t let surface fully. Her grip tightens slightly around the glass in her hand.

“You think you’re subtle,” she says, quieter now, but no less sharp. “You’re not.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

That seems to hit something.

For a second, it looks like she’s going to say something else, something harsher, something meant to shut this down completely. But it doesn’t come out. Instead, she exhales sharply, looking away like the conversation itself is suddenly too much.

“Whatever,” she mutters, pushing herself up from the floor.

She doesn’t look at me again as she walks away.

The balcony door slides open.

Then closes.

Silence settles back into the apartment, but it doesn’t feel the same anymore.

Jeonghan lets out a low whistle under his breath. “That went better than expected.”

I glance at him. “That was better?”

“She didn’t insult you,” Joshua adds lightly.

I don’t respond.

Because it doesn’t feel like a win.

It feels like I missed something.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

I don’t leave.

I tell myself I will. I even stand up at some point, grab my jacket, but my hand lingers on it longer than it should, my attention drifting toward the balcony door without me meaning it to.

She’s out there.

Alone.

For a second, I debate it. Not whether I should go, whether I should leave her alone entirely. She made it pretty clear she didn’t want to be looked at, let alone understood.

But something about the way she snapped—

It didn’t feel like anger.

It felt like pressure.

I move before I overthink it.

The balcony door slides open quietly, the night air cooler than I expect as I step outside. She’s sitting on the ground, back against the wall, knees pulled in slightly, a cigarette burning slowly between her fingers.

She doesn’t look at me.

But she knows I’m there.

I don’t say anything.

I just step out fully, closing the door behind me, and lean against the wall a few feet away from her. Not close enough to crowd her. Not far enough to feel like I’m avoiding her.

The silence stretches.

Not awkward. Not tense in the same way as before.

Just… there.

She takes a slow drag from her cigarette, her gaze fixed somewhere out in the city lights. The glow fades in and out between her fingers, steady, controlled, like it’s the only thing she’s focusing on.

“I told you to stop looking at me like that,” she says after a while, her voice quieter now.

“I’m not,” I reply.

It’s true this time.

I’m looking past her, out at the same skyline she is, giving her the space she asked for without leaving entirely.

She hums faintly, like she’s acknowledging it without fully admitting it.

Another stretch of silence.

“You always come back,” she murmurs.

I don’t answer right away.

“Sometimes,” I say instead.

She flicks the ash from her cigarette, watching it fall instead of looking at me. There’s less tension in her shoulders now, less of that tight edge from earlier, like the anger burned out faster than whatever caused it.

“You’re not supposed to push it,” she says after a moment.

I glance at her briefly, then away again. “Why not?”

“People don’t,” she shrugs. “They either leave or… don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t say anything,” she replies. “Act like everything is okay when it’s not.”

I let that sit for a second.

“I’m not people,” I say finally.

She lets out a quiet breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but not quite.

“I noticed.”

There’s something softer in it. Not warm. But not sharp either.

The silence settles again, heavier now but in a different way. She doesn’t move away. Doesn’t tell me to leave. Just sits there, cigarette burning down slowly between her fingers, like my presence isn’t something she has to fight off anymore.

And I don’t push it.

I don’t ask questions. Don’t try to fix whatever made her snap in the first place.

I just stay.

After a while, she shifts slightly, her shoulder brushing the wall a little closer to where I’m leaning. It’s small. Barely noticeable.

But it’s intentional.

We sit there like that, not talking, not looking at each other, just sharing the same space without anything demanding more from it.

And for the first time since I met her—

It feels… quiet in a way that isn’t heavy.

Not empty.

Just… safe.

PART 5

PART 6

w.c : 1.1k

It’s been about a week since the last time I talked to her.

Long enough that I should’ve stopped thinking about her as much as I did, but not long enough for anything to actually fade. I still find myself going back to the apartment more than I need to, still catching glimpses of her in passing—half-asleep in the afternoon, gone by the time night settles in.

Tonight, I end up outside instead, walking without much of a destination, hands in my pockets, letting the city carry me wherever it wants. It’s late enough that the streets are thinning out, but not empty, just quieter, like everything is winding down at its own pace. I’m not really thinking about anything in particular until I see her.

She’s coming out of a side street, steps slightly uneven, not enough to make a scene, but enough that it’s noticeable if you’re paying attention. Her hair is a little out of place, makeup not quite as sharp as it probably was earlier, and there’s a looseness in the way she moves that tells me she’s been drinking. Not completely gone, not out of control, just… softer around the edges.

She doesn’t notice me at first.

I slow down without meaning to, watching as she walks a few steps further before her gaze lifts, landing on me as it takes her a second to place why I look familiar. When it clicks, there’s a small shift in her expression, something between surprise and something quieter I can’t quite name.

“You again,” she says, voice a little slower than usual, but not slurred.

“Yeah,” I answer, stopping a few steps in front of her. “You good?”

She considers that, like it’s a real question, she has to think about it instead of brushing it off automatically. “I think so,” she says after a second, tilting her head slightly. “Maybe.”

There’s a faint hint of a smile there, but it doesn’t stay long.

“You walking home?” I ask.

She shrugs, looking past me for a moment like the answer might be somewhere behind my shoulder. “Eventually.”

That’s not really an answer.

I glance down the street, then back at her. “Let me drive you.”

She doesn’t say no right away.

That’s new.

Instead, she looks at me for a second longer than usual, like she’s weighing something she hasn’t quite figured out yet. There’s a softness to her right now that I haven’t seen in the apartment, something that comes with the alcohol but doesn’t feel entirely because of it.

“You don’t have to,” she says, quieter this time.

“I know.”

A pause.

Then she nods.

“Okay.”

It’s simple, but it still feels like a decision.

The walk back to my car is slow, not because of the distance but because of her pace. She’s not struggling, just… drifting a little, her steps less precise than usual, like she’s not fully grounded in them. I stay close without making it obvious, not touching, just there in case she needs it.

She notices anyway.

“You hover,” she says suddenly, glancing at me.

“I don’t.”

“You do.”

There’s no bite in it, just observation.

I huff a quiet breath. “You’re not exactly walking straight.”

“I am,” she insists, then immediately adjusts her step like she proved herself wrong.

I don’t argue.

By the time we reach the car, she looks a little more focused, like the short walk helped clear some of the haze, but not enough to bring her fully back. She slides into the passenger seat without hesitation, leaning her head back with a quiet exhale as I start the engine.

“Can I take off my shoes?” she asks, already bending over to unlatch her heels.

“Sure,” I answer as if it’ll change her decision.

The drive is quiet, but not empty. She hums something under her breath at one point, absentminded, like she forgot I’m there.

We stop at a red light, and for a second, the car fills with that same suspended silence I’ve gotten used to around her. I glance at her without meaning to, noticing the way her head tilts slightly toward me, not fully, just enough that I know she’s aware of it.

“You keep showing up,” she murmurs.

“Yeah.”

“For them?” she asks, the same way she did before.

“Partly.”

That earns me a small, delayed reaction, something thoughtful passing through her expression before it settles again.

“Hm,” she hums, like she’s filing that away somewhere.

When we finally stop near her building, she doesn’t move right away. Her hand rests on the door handle, but she doesn’t open it, her gaze lingering on nothing in particular.

“You’re nice,” she says after a moment, like it’s a realization more than a compliment.

“That sounds like a problem,” I reply lightly.

“It might be.”

She turns her head then, looking at me more directly than she usually does, her expression softer, less guarded in a way that feels dangerous if I think about it too much.

I don’t.

I just react.

My hand lifts slightly, instinct more than intention, moving toward her to hand her her heels. I don’t even fully register it until it’s already happening.

She flinches.

It’s immediate, sharp enough to snap the moment in half, her body pulling back, shoulders tensing as her breath catches. The reaction is bigger than the movement, bigger than anything I actually did, and it hits harder because of that.

I pull my hand back right away.

“Sorry,” I say, quiet and quick. “Just wanted to-” I nod at her shoes.

She shakes her head almost immediately, like she doesn’t want that to settle between us. “No, it’s—” she exhales, running a hand through her hair, grounding herself. “It’s not you.”

I nod once, leaning back slightly, giving her space without making it obvious.

“I just don’t like that,” she adds, softer now, grabbing her heels herself.

“Okay.”

The silence that follows is heavier, but not broken. She looks at me for a second, like she’s expecting something else—an explanation, maybe, or a reaction she’s used to getting.

I don’t give her one.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” she says again.

“I know.”

That seems to catch her off guard more than anything else.

“Okay,” she murmurs.

She opens the door, then steps out into the night, closes the door, and walks toward her building, her steps a little steadier than before.

I watch until she disappears inside.

Then I sit there for a second longer than I need to, the echo of the moment lingering in a way I don’t quite know what to do with.

A week later, and nothing’s really changed.

PART 4

Part 5

w.c : 1.1k

The apartment settles into silence faster than I expect.

By the time the groceries are put away and whatever energy was left from earlier fades out, Jeonghan disappears into his room without much warning, Joshua not far behind him. There’s no real “goodnight,” no effort to keep the evening going, just the unspoken understanding that the day is over. I stay a little longer, scrolling through my phone without really paying attention, letting the quiet stretch out around me until it starts to feel heavier than it should.

I’m about to leave when I hear movement again.

It’s subtle at first, just the soft sound of a door opening somewhere down the hallway, but it’s enough to pull my attention away from the screen. I glance up, expecting nothing in particular, and then she appears.

Sooin doesn’t look like the same person from earlier.

The oversized shirt is gone, replaced by something darker and fitted, the kind of outfit that doesn’t belong in daylight or grocery stores. Her hair is fixed now, not perfectly, but intentionally, falling into place in a way that makes her look more put together than she had any interest in being a few hours ago. There’s something sharper about her presence, too, like the hesitation from earlier got left somewhere behind with the sun.

She stops for a second when she notices me, not startled, just… recalculating.

“I thought you left,” she says, voice lower than before, steadier.

“Was about to,” I answer, sitting up slightly. “Didn’t know you were heading out.”

She shrugs, reaching for her shoes by the door, slipping them on like it’s muscle memory more than a decision. “I usually do.”

It takes me a second to register the way she says it. Not like she’s sneaking out. Not like she’s doing something she shouldn’t be.

Just routine.

“You don’t sleep here much?” I ask.

She lets out a quiet breath through her nose, almost like a laugh, but without any real humor in it. “Not really.”

There’s no explanation attached to it, no attempt to soften the statement or make it sound less deliberate. She stands up fully then, grabbing her jacket and pulling it over her shoulders, movements efficient, like she’s done this enough times that she doesn’t need to think about it anymore.

“They don’t mind?” I nod vaguely toward the hallway.

“They know,” she says simply. “I come back when I feel like it.”

There’s something about that answer that doesn’t sit as lightly as she makes it sound. It’s not defiant, not rebellious, just detached in a way that makes it clear she’s not asking for permission from anyone, not even herself.

I watch her for a moment, trying to place what feels different now compared to earlier. She’s still quiet, still reserved, but there’s more presence in her, more awareness. Like she’s sharper at night, more aligned with whatever version of herself she actually recognizes.

“Where do you go?” I ask.

She glances at me while adjusting her sleeve, considering the question for a second before answering. “Anywhere that’s open.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“It’s not supposed to.”

There’s no edge in her voice, no attempt to shut me down, just a straightforward answer that doesn’t offer more than it has to.

“You always ask this many questions?” she adds after a second.

“Only when I don’t understand something.”

She hums quietly, leaning against the counter, mirroring what she did earlier but without the same distance. There’s still space between us, but it doesn’t feel like she’s trying to disappear from it this time.

“You won’t,” she says.

I tilt my head slightly. “Won’t what?”

“Understand it.”

It’s not said like a challenge. Not like she’s daring me to try.

Just… a fact.

I let out a small breath, pushing myself up from the couch and walking a little closer, not enough to corner her, just enough to make the conversation feel less like it’s happening across a room.

“You could try explaining it,” I say.

She looks at me properly then, really looks, and for a second it feels like she’s deciding something again, like earlier in the living room, except this time she doesn’t brush it off.

“I don’t like being here at night,” she says, and it’s honest in a way that doesn’t match the simplicity of the sentence. “Not like this.”

I glance around the apartment instinctively. “It’s quiet.”

“Exactly.”

The answer comes immediately, like that’s the problem.

She takes a small sip from her drink, eyes drifting toward the window instead of me. “Quiet means thinking,” she adds after a moment. “And I’m not really into that.”

There’s a pause after that, heavier than the ones from earlier, but not uncomfortable. Just… real.

“So you go out,” I say.

“So I go out.”

“To forget?”

She shrugs, one shoulder lifting slightly before falling again. “To not remember as much.”

Again, no dramatics. No effort to make it sound deeper than it is.

But it lands anyway.

I study her for a second, the way she says things like they don’t matter, like they’re not heavy enough to deserve more attention than a passing comment. It doesn’t feel like she’s hiding anything. If anything, it feels like she’s saying just enough to keep it from becoming something bigger.

“You don’t seem like someone who likes crowds,” I point out.

“I don’t,” she agrees easily. “But they’re loud.”

“That’s your requirement?”

“Pretty much.”

I let out a quiet huff of amusement, shaking my head slightly. “That’s a low bar.”

“It works.”

She pushes herself off the counter, then, like she’s reached the end of what she’s willing to give me tonight. There’s no tension in the movement, no urgency, just a natural closing of the conversation.

“You should go,” she says, not unkindly. “It’s late.”

I glance at the clock out of habit, then back at her. “You say that like it matters to you.”

“It doesn’t,” she admits. “But it probably does to you.”

There’s something oddly considerate about that, even if it’s buried under her usual detachment.

I hesitate for a second, then nod, grabbing my jacket. “Don’t get lost,” I say, half-joking.

She tilts her head slightly, watching me like she’s deciding whether that was meant to mean something more.

“I don’t,” she says.

And for some reason, I believe her.

I move toward the door, pulling it open, but before I step out, I glance back once more. She’s already turning away, heading toward the hallway again, probably to grab something she forgot, or maybe just to avoid the part where people linger.

The door closes behind me with a soft click.

And as I walk away, I realize I still don’t understand her.

PART 3

w.c : 1.3k

PART 4

I don’t expect to spend the rest of my day here, but somehow I do.

What starts as leftover pizza and half-asleep complaints turns into me following Jeonghan and Joshua out of the apartment an hour later, keys in hand, while Sooin trails behind us like she’s been personally wronged by the existence of daylight. She doesn’t say much on the way there, just keeps her sunglasses on and her gaze low, like the sun itself is something she has to tolerate rather than something she exists under.

If I hadn’t seen her the night before, I would think she’s just quiet, maybe a little moody. But there’s something else in it, something sharper, like she’s out of place in a way that goes beyond preference.

That doesn’t stop her from arguing the second we grab a cart.

“I’m not walking,” she says flatly, already eyeing it like it’s an option.

“You are absolutely walking,” Joshua replies without looking at her, in a tone that hints this is a usual debate.

She stares at him for a second, then at the cart, then back at him again, before, without warning, she climbs in anyway, dropping herself into it like it was the obvious solution all along. There’s a moment where none of us react, like we’re all processing the fact that this is apparently normal behavior, and then Joshua just sighs and starts pushing like it happens every week.

I catch myself watching her more than I should as we move through the aisles. She doesn’t look at anything for too long, doesn’t linger the way people usually do when they shop. She points instead, quick and decisive, like she already knows what she wants without needing to think about it.

“Get that,” she says at one point, nudging a box of cereal with her foot from inside the cart. “And those. And that one.”

“You don’t even eat breakfast,” Jeonghan mutters.

“They’re cute,” she replies without hesitation, like that’s a valid enough reason on its own.

It shouldn’t be, but somehow it is.

The cart fills quickly after that, mostly with things that don’t look like actual meals—instant ramen, tteokbokki packs, candies she tosses in without asking, a six-pack of beer she insists on holding onto herself until someone physically takes it from her. Every time one of them tries to put something back, she argues, not loudly, not dramatically, just with a quiet persistence that makes it more effective than it should be.

“I’ll pay,” she says at some point, like that settles everything.

“It’s not about the money,” Joshua sighs.

She leans back into the cart after that, like the conversation is over, but then a minute later she’s pointing again, this time at ingredients instead of snacks—vegetables, sauces, things that don’t match the rest of what she picked. The shift is subtle but noticeable, like a different version of her slipping through for a second without warning.

“We should make that thing,” she says, half to herself, half to whoever’s listening. “The one with the… You know. The sauce.”

“That doesn’t help,” Jeonghan replies.

She clicks her tongue, sitting up slightly as she gestures vaguely with her hands, trying to explain something she clearly sees in her head but can’t quite put into words. For a moment, she’s more present than she’s been since we left the apartment, more focused, her voice a little steadier even if it’s still low.

“She does that sometimes,” Jeonghan says to me quietly while she keeps talking, like it’s something I’m supposed to understand without context. “Loves cooking, but only when it’s for everyone.”

I glance at him. “What do you mean?”

“She won’t cook for herself,” he shrugs. “Too much effort, apparently. But if we’re all home, she’ll make something ridiculous like she’s feeding ten people instead of three.”

“That’s not true,” she cuts in from the cart without even looking at us, like she’s been listening the entire time. “It’s not ridiculous.”

“It is when you make six different dishes for one dinner,” Joshua adds.

She rolls her eyes, sinking back into the cart again. “You’re all just ungrateful.”

There’s something strange about it, the way she shifts between distant and present without warning, like she can step into something normal for a moment and then step right back out of it before it has the chance to settle. By the time we leave the store, she’s quieter again, curled slightly into herself despite sitting in the cart, the earlier energy fading like it never really belonged to her in the first place.

By the time we get back to the apartment, it feels like two different people walked through that store.

And I’m not sure which one is real.

The apartment is quieter now, the kind of quiet that settles in after a long day, when even the walls seem to relax. Jeonghan and Joshua disappear into the kitchen with the groceries, leaving the living room in that in-between state where it doesn’t feel empty, just… paused. I’m halfway through a drink I don’t really want anymore, leaning back against the couch, when I hear a door open down the hallway.

I don’t turn immediately, but I register it anyway—the soft sound of footsteps, light but uneven in a way that makes me think she’s not fully awake yet after literally collapsing in her bed the second we came back. When I glance over, she’s already moving past the hallway, hair slightly messy, oversized shirt slipping off one shoulder like she didn’t bother fixing it. She doesn’t look surprised to see me, which is strange considering we’ve barely spoken before. If anything, she just looks… aware, like she noticed me the second she stepped out and decided I wasn’t important enough to question.

She walks straight to the kitchen without saying anything, opens the fridge, and stands there for a second like she’s deciding if it’s even worth the effort. I watch longer than I should, not because she’s doing anything interesting, but because there’s something about the way she moves that doesn’t match the rest of the apartment, like she’s still somewhere else entirely.

“You always ignore people like that, or is it just me?” I ask.

She pauses, the fridge door still open, then glances over her shoulder at me, her expression neutral, almost unreadable. “I don’t ignore people,” she says. “I just don’t talk if I don’t have anything to say,” she gives me a pointed look at that.

She grabs a beer and closes the fridge, leaning against the counter instead of leaving right away, like she’s giving the conversation a chance to exist if it wants to. It’s not inviting, not exactly, but it’s not dismissive either.

“You don’t like people much, do you?” I ask.

This time, she looks at me properly, something sharper flickering in her eyes. “I don’t like what they expect,” she says. “People are fine when they’re not asking for anything.”

I lean forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees. “And what do you think I’m expecting?”

She studies me for a second, longer than before, like she’s actually considering it. “I don’t know yet,” she admits. “But you probably do.”

“That sounds like a warning.”

“Maybe it is.”

She takes another sip, then pushes herself off the counter, already done with the conversation before it has the chance to go anywhere else. She walks a few steps closer, not toward me exactly, but enough that the space feels intentional now.

“For what it’s worth,” I say before she leaves, “I’m not expecting anything.”

She stops for just a second, glancing at me from the side like she’s weighing the truth in that.

“Everyone expects something,” she says quietly.

PART 2

w.c : 1.1k

Part 3

I step out of the club into the cool night air, the music fading behind me. The streetlights of Seoul cast long shadows, the quiet hum of the late-night traffic, the sound of the city winding down. It's about four in the morning. I button up my jacket, take a breath.

And then I see her.

She sits on the edge of the sidewalk, knees against her chest, in a tiny dress that catches the light at just the right angle. A nightgown. Her black hair is loose, falling over her shoulders, and she stares ahead blankly at the empty street. My heart slows for a moment. It's Sooin.

I pause a few steps away. She doesn't hear me at first. The dress is too small for the chill in the air. Her face catches the light—and I see the dry tracks of tears on her cheeks, how tired she looks, as though the night has worn her out long ago.

"Sooin?" I call out, careful not to startle her. "What are you doing out here?"

She glances at me. Her eyes flicker, surprise, then something like guarded sadness. For a moment, I believe she'll push away, or pretend I don't matter. I fight that thought down, stepping closer. "I could ask you the same thing," she says quietly.

I take a deep breath, "But I have a good reason." I gesture toward the club behind me. "I was at a party."

She nods. "Right." She looks back ahead, her hands clenching on her knees. "I... I like the night best," she says after a moment. Her voice is barely above a whisper. "It's quieter. Prettier."

I sit down next to her, the curb cold beneath us. The street is empty now, save for a few taxis parked along the curb. I don't say anything immediately. I watch her, the way her body slumps just a little, how the dress does nothing to warm her skin.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

She glances at me. "No," she admits. "Not really."

And now the thoughts pulse again—fears that I'll do the wrong thing, say the wrong thing. But I stay. "Want to talk about it?" I offer.

She hesitates. Then looks at me, steady now. "Maybe." Her voice so soft I almost miss it.

I take a breath. "I'll wait." I put my jacket around her shoulders.

We sit in quiet then, just the two of us on a sidewalk, night around us, lights distant and soft. I don't have answers. I don't pretend I do. But I'm here.

And maybe that's enough for her. I barely know her. I don't know anything about her. I only know her name.

Joshua was right tho. This I know. She is softer when sober. Or whatever state she's in at the moment. She's almost too soft, voice barely above a whisper when she speaks, eyes full of sadness, tormented.

She tightens my jacket around her shoulders, eyeing me. "Why do you care" she breathes.

I glance at her, quiet for a second. I'm not sure why, so I improvise. "They said you tend to go out at night and disappear until morning." I murmur, and she knows who I'm talking about, "I saw you... and now I can tell them you find the pavement more comfortable than your bed."

She scoffs a little, frowning, "Your friends worry too much," she says, still staring ahead.

"Really?" She nods, sighing. "You don't like attention much, do you?" I ask.

She shifts, bringing her knees tighter to her chest, humming. "I don't need attention," she corrects me.

I nod slowly, looking away. I eventually help her to her feet. She's unsteady—but when she supports her weight on me, she doesn't pull away. I guide her toward my car parked a few meters away, engine softly humming in the dark. She opens the window, crosses her arms on it, and rests her head there to watch the streets go by.

She doesn't question me, like she's accepted it was time for her to go home. She also doesn't seem wary of me, considering she climbed in the car on her own.

I keep the radio off. I don't know what to say. So I drive, letting the silence fill the space.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

We arrive at the building. I stop the car on the side, and she pauses, keys in hand. She glances at me. "Thank you," she says, voice low.

"Anytime," I respond. "Really."

She steps out. I hesitate. Then I say softly, "If you ever need someone—not just when it's quiet—ask Joshua for my number."

She nods, gives a small, tired "Bye", and disappears down the alley toward the entrance.

I stay there a moment, the door closing softly behind her. I think about what I just saw: a girl alone in the night, tears dried, heart hollowed out. Is she okay?

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

A few hours later, I wake up to my phone buzzing repeatedly. I slept in, I realize as I grab it. It's 1 in the afternoon. Jeonghan is the one harassing me with texts. I sigh, unlocking my phone.

I groan, rolling on my back. Fuck, my jacket.

That's how I find myself at Jeonghan's apartment again, an hour later, eating some leftover pizza. He sits across from me, scrolling on his phone, Joshua beside me on the couch, and Sooin decided to join us- halfly. She's lying on the carpet near the tea table, staring at the ceiling quietly.

She hasn't talked to me, just handed me my jacket when I came in, grumbling at Joshua about the fact that he could've let her sleep.

"Sooin we need to do the groceries," said-boy hums, looking up from his pizza.

She looks up, frowning, "What do you mean we?" she grumbles, voice rough with sleep, before dropping her head back on the carpet. "You're a grown man, Hong, go alone."

"You need to go out." he says.

"I go out all the ti-"

"In the daylight" he cuts off.

She looks away, back at the ceiling, then groans and quite literally flops over to push herself up. "Fine," she mumbles, "but we have to buy those cute cereals we saw last time."

⚠️Please, please, please, read the introduction to this story before reading this part.

Intro

PART 2

PART 1

w.c : 1.3k

Right after I finish playing, the door across from me opens, and a girl steps out.

I don’t react immediately. I’ve learned not to, not when I’m in someone else’s space. You notice first, assess after—that’s how it’s always been for me. Years of managing people, schedules, expectations, all of it kind of wires your brain that way. You don’t jump to conclusions, you just… take things in.

She pauses when she sees me, barely acknowledging us, and heads to the kitchen like we’re background noise.

I look at Jeonghan, expecting at least a glance, some kind of signal that he’s surprised, too. But he’s still focused on his game, completely unfazed. That’s what throws me off the most. If he’s not reacting, then that's normal.

I look back at her.

She looks exhausted—no, not just tired. Drained. The kind of exhaustion that doesn’t go away with sleep. Her black hair is a mess, her eyes half-lidded like she’s still halfway somewhere else. Sweatpants drag under her heels, her tank top slipping just enough that I look away out of instinct rather than discomfort. She fiddles with a hair tie like it’s the only thing keeping her anchored here.

She opens the fridge quietly.

My head snaps to Jeonghan this time, clearing my throat just enough to break his focus. He frowns at his cards before finally glancing up at me, like I’m the one interrupting something important.

“What?”

“There’s a girl in your fridge,” I whisper.

He looks at her, then back at me, like I just said something stupid. “That’s Sooin,” he answers, calm, obvious.

I blink.

Who the fuck is Sooin?

“That’s a woman,” I tell him.

He blinks back. “I figured, yeah,” and just goes back to his game like that settles it.

I stare at him for a second, then lean closer. “Do one of you guys have a girlfriend I don’t know about?”

It wouldn’t be the first time someone kept something quiet. Our lives don’t exactly allow for normal relationships, and when they do happen, they tend to stay hidden. Still, this doesn’t feel like that. There’s no tension, no awareness from them. Just… routine.

He opens his mouth to answer, but her voice cuts in before he can.

“Did you finish my cookies?”

We both turn to her. Her voice is soft, raspy in a way that sounds like she just woke up, but there’s something clipped in it too, like she’s already annoyed before the conversation even starts. I notice the beer in her hand, the way she opens it without thinking twice.

“No,” Jeonghan hums. “You did. When you came back this morning?”

She stares at him blankly. “I don’t remember,” she shrugs, taking a sip like it doesn’t matter. Then her gaze shifts to me, sharp, direct, like I’ve been in her line of sight this whole time and she just decided to acknowledge it.

“Which one are you?”

I glance at Jeonghan. Of course, he’s not helping.

“Seungcheol,” I answer.

“The leader,” she hums.

“Can you say hi when you meet new people?” Jeonghan sighs at her.

Her eyes don’t leave me. There’s something calculating in the way she stares, not judgmental, not curious either—just… assessing. Like she’s deciding whether I exist beyond this moment.

“Hi,” she says finally.

Apparently, I do.

“Hi,” I nod back.

“Can you present yourself?” Jeonghan adds, like this is a completely normal interaction.

This whole situation is ridiculous. He’s asking her to introduce herself like she’s a kid, except she clearly isn’t, and the weirdest part is that I don’t know her at all, but she already feels like someone who wouldn’t care if I had a stroke right now.

She takes another sip, as if she needs it to be able to present herself. “I’m Sooin,” she says, already turning away before the sentence is fully finished.

Short. Efficient. Done.

“I’m going out with Seokmin tonight,” she adds.

That makes me pause.

Seokmin?

She knows Seokmin? Our Seokmin?

“Without me?” Jeonghan asks, offended in a way that feels half real, half habit.

“Yes, you fastidious queen, without you,” she replies, already halfway to her room.

The door shuts behind her.

Silence.

I look at him again. He shrugs. “Don’t mind her, she’s like that.”

“Always?”

He nods. “Once you get to know her, she softens a little, but… yeah.” He hesitates just enough for me to notice. “She has PTSD or something like that.”

I don’t react right away. I just take it in, file it somewhere in the back of my mind.

“The more she sees you, the more normal she’ll be,” he adds. “She’s like a wild cat.”

I huff quietly. “Should I throw a little food her way?”

He actually considers it. “That might help.”

I shake my head, but I’m already thinking about it more than I should. We go back to the game like nothing happened, but my focus isn’t fully there anymore.

“Quick question,” I say after a moment.

He hums.

“Who is she?”

He looks up, annoyed. “Sooin. Didn’t catch that?”

I smack my cards against his head. “I did. What is she to you?”

He leans back. “Roommate. Moved in two weeks ago. Old friend. From Hwaseong. Needed a place.”

Simple answer.

Doesn’t feel like a simple situation.

I let it go for now. I’ve learned when to push and when not to. It’s part of the job, part of being the one people look at when things get complicated. You don’t force answers—you wait until they come to you.

Still, I don’t forget.

༺ ✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:* 　　 *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ༻

I wake up to soft light filtering through the shutters, the kind of quiet morning I don’t get often enough. My body’s still tired in that familiar way, the kind that doesn’t fully go away no matter how much you rest. Being responsible for twelve other people tends to do that. You learn to carry things even when you’re off the clock.

I step into the kitchen, and Joshua’s already there, like always.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

It’s easy with him. It always is.

Coffee helps. It anchors me, gives me something steady before the day starts pulling again. I don’t think about schedules or rehearsals yet, and I don’t think about the constant pressure of keeping everything running smoothly. For a second, it’s just this.

Then the front door opens.

Sooin steps in.

She looks different from last night, but not in the way most people would. Still beautiful, sure, but that’s not what stands out. It’s the way she carries herself—looser, unbalanced, like whatever held her together earlier is gone now. Her blouse hangs off her frame, her steps are slightly off, and there’s a faint flush on her cheeks that doesn’t come from sleep.

She pauses in the doorway.

Her gaze moves across the room—Joshua, then Jeonghan, then me.

It stops.

There’s no greeting. No acknowledgment beyond that look. Just something sharp, something distant, like she’s measuring the space and deciding she doesn’t belong in it.

Then she turns and walks straight to her room.

The door closes.

I don’t realize I’ve stopped moving until the silence settles again.

I glance at Joshua. “Is that… normal?”

He exhales quietly, like this is something he’s used to explaining without actually explaining. “She probably had a rough night.”

I nod slowly, but it doesn’t sit right with me.

“She’s kind when she wants,” he adds, offering a small smile like that’s supposed to balance it out. “You’ll see.”

Maybe.

I take another sip of my coffee, but it doesn’t taste the same anymore. Somewhere between last night and this morning, something about her stuck.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL X OC

INTRODUCTION

Young, wealthy, and entirely broken inside.

Despite her privileged life in Seoul, Sooin struggles with everything daily.

Seungcheol, her roommates' best friend: confident, iconic idol whose life seems perfectly mapped out, sees not just her fragility, but a spark worth saving.

⚠️I don't own any character other than Sooin and Seolhwi

⚠️I own the plot

⚠️No translation allowed

⚠️Mature content (alcohol, depression, drugs, PTSD, SA, sexual content, swearing, violence, rape)

⚠️This story is not a lovey-dovey romance fanfiction, expect heavy mental health themes and sensitive topics

⚠️Since I consider everyone who reads this story to be aware of the previous points, there will be no warning for chapters (I will only warn of sexual content, without precision).

~Playlist~

Theme song : Stargazing-KYGO, Justin Jesso

Breakthru-Queen

If I could only reach you

If I could make you smile

Lose my mind-Don Toliver ft. Doja Cat

Yeah, it feels so good, I might just lose my mind

No question if it's wrong or right

Ain't no way to tell which way it's gonna go, yeah

Counting Stars-OneRepublic

Everything that kills me makes me feel alive

Dancing in the Flames-the Weeknd

Everything's faded, we barely made it

The fire's ragin', but you're still beautiful

And it's amazin', 'cause I can taste it

Our final odyssey

When the party's over-Billie Eilish

Don't you know too much already?

I'll only hurt you if you let me

Elastic Heart-Sia

And I will stay up through the night

And let's be clear, won't close my eyes

We can't be friends (wait for your love)-Ariana Grande

I didn't think you'd understand me

How could you ever even try?

Beautiful Girl-INXS

Now where did you find her

Among the neon lights

That haunt the streets outside

She said, stay with me

High Horse-NMIXX

Sick of that high horse

I just can't take it no more

Staring :

Jo Yuri as Shin Sooin

16/8/1999

Korean

Former Chiropractic Student

Choi Seungcheol

8/8/1995

Korean

Idol (Seventeen)

Hong Joshua

30/12/1995

Korean-American

Idol (Seventeen)

Yoon Jeonghan

4/10/1995

Korean

Idol (Seventeen)

Shin Hye Sun as Shin Seolhwi

2/5/1979

Korean

Neurosurgeon

Potential other Seventeen members

The human brain truly is the scariest thing of all.

She is proof of it. The war behind her eyes when she's sober, and the lack of it when she's not.

It isn't something you can see the way you see a broken bone or a scar. The thing in her - it's quieter, crueler, it hides in her words, in her sleep, in her silence. It learned long ago that the world is not a safe place, and now it refuses to forget.

She's on the balcony again tonight, a bottle of whiskey her only company. The air is sharp, biting, but she doesn't seem to feel it. Her bare feet dangle in the void as she sits against the railing. Her hair is wild with the wind, a tangled mess that smells faintly of smoke. She looks like someone who's halfway between being alive and being gone.

Sometimes I wonder if she drinks to drown her thoughts. The liquor turns her eyes glassy, but never softer. She doesn't talk much anymore. When she does, it's short and scattered, like she's afraid of saying too much. There's a distance in her voice that no amount of love seems to be able to close.

She tells me she hates people, that humans are cruel and selfish and loud. I know she doesn't mean me in that, but it still hurts.

She also says the day feels fake, too bright, and too full of pretending, so she sleeps through it. Night makes more sense to her - dark, honest, and quiet enough to breathe.

When she finally looks at me, her eyes catch the streetlight, and for a second, she almost looks like the girl she must have been before the world taught her to flinch.

Sooo, this is my first time publishing anything, like literally. I have so many drafts on Wattpad and in my notes, and I thought it'd be a good time to publish something. So I'm starting off strong with a Mingyu x afab!Reader smut (+ fluff at the end, kinda). Also, English isn't my first language! Wc : 2.8k

Warnings: heavy makeout, fingering (f!receiving), oral (f!receiving), slight grinding, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, pinv sex, virgin!reader, cowgirl, Mingyu has a thing for thighs, Mingyu's told he has a big dick...

The apartment feels so much more cozy tonight. I wonder what the reason is for so long, until I realize she is.

There are dishes on the coffee table I forgot to move, a hoodie thrown over the arm of the couch, the faint hum of the city outside bleeding in through the window. It should feel messy. Instead, with her here, it feels… full.

She's sprawled across my couch as if she owns it, one leg tucked under her, the other stretched out, sock half slipping off her heel. She’s been talking for the last five minutes about something completely ridiculous, hands moving as she explains, eyes bright in that way that always pulls my attention back, no matter how many times I’ve seen it.

“But the woman told me I should- you’re not listening,” she interrupts herself, narrowing her eyes at me.

“I am,” I say, leaning back, watching her more than I’m listening. “I just don’t agree with your storytelling skills.”

“My storytelling skills are incredible.”

“They’re biased.”

She scoffs, grabbing the pillow beside her and tossing it at me. I catch it easily, grinning.

I shake my head and toss the pillow back at her. She catches it, hugging it loosely to her chest. The teasing lingers, softens into silence.

We don’t fill it right away.

She shifts after a second, leaning forward, elbows on her knees, and reaches for my hand like it’s nothing. Like it’s a habit.

Her fingers slide over mine, turning my hand palm-up, tracing the lines there absentmindedly.

I watch her do it.

Her index slide up my fingers, then trace the lines, pressing a little.

“I know I have pretty hands,” I say after a moment, voice quieter now. “You don’t have to let go if you don’t want to. I can be your personal hand holder.”

She huffs a small laugh, but her thumb presses a little more firmly into my palm instead of pulling away. “That’s such a scam.”

“Hey, it’s a premium service.”

“Yeah? What’s included?”

I tilt my head, pretending to think. “Well, it's free, first of all.”

She snorts, shaking her head, but doesn’t let go.

The room settles again around us. The music fades into the background, and the only thing I really notice is the slow, absent way she keeps touching my hand as if it grounds her.

After a while, she leans back, still holding on, her shoulder brushing mine. Then her head tips back against the couch - and against me.

She doesn’t move away.

Neither do I.

She lets go of my hand, and it drops to her knee. I glance down, and instead of pulling away, I move it up her thigh a bit.

There’s a shift then. It’s subtle, but it’s there. The air feels heavier, like something’s building, and neither of us is pretending not to notice anymore.

She looks up at me, and I meet her eyes. We’re closer than we were a second ago.

My hand clenches on her thigh. Her knee is brushing mine. I can feel her breathing, slightly uneven now, and I know mine isn’t any better.

She turns toward me fully this time, close enough that I can see the hesitation flicker across her face - and something else underneath it.

I don’t give myself time to overthink it.

I lean in and kiss her.

It’s soft. Testing.

She freezes- just for a second, and then she kisses me back, and it’s immediate, like something clicks into place. Her fingers find my shoulders, then slip free entirely so she can grab onto my shirt instead.

We pull apart just slightly, both of us breathing a little heavier now, foreheads almost brushing.

“This is a bad idea,” she whispers again, like she’s trying to convince herself.

“It's not,” I say.

And then she kisses me first this time.

It’s messier now. Less careful. She laughs quietly into it when we bump noses, and I can’t help smiling against her mouth, my hand coming up to her waist, thumb brushing under the hem of her top.

She pulls back suddenly, breath catching, her hand still gripping my shirt.

“You’re an idol,” she says, a little breathless, like the thought just hit her. “And I’m a…”

She trails off.

I don’t let her spiral there.

“You’re a girl in my apartment, on my couch,” I say, steady, keeping my hands firm on her so she has to look at me. “A beautiful girl, with a guy who really, really wants her.”

She stares at me for a second, like that lands somewhere deeper than she expected.

Then she kisses me again.

It shifts after that.

The laughter doesn’t disappear, but it fades into something quieter, woven into the way she moves closer without thinking now, the way her hands don’t hesitate anymore. I let mine slide from her waist to her hips, slow enough that she can stop me if she wants to.

She doesn’t.

Instead, she presses closer.

The kiss deepens, slows, stretches out into something that feels less like a joke and more like something we’ve been avoiding for too long.

At some point, I feel her tense- just slightly.

I pull back immediately.

She looks dazed, even with how soft my touch is, and I can't tell if she's enjoying it or is about to burst into a fit of nervous tears.

“Hey, talk to me.” I bring my hands back up to cradle the side of her face, keeping her eyes on me, and realize that it must have been intense for her.

“I’m okay,” she says quickly, but her voice wavers. “Just- give me a second.”

I nod, softer now. “We can stop.”

She shakes her head almost immediately, her fingers curling into my shirt again like she’s anchoring herself. “No. I don’t want to stop.”

There’s a steadiness in the way she says it that settles something in me.

“Okay,” I murmur.

I don’t rush back in.

I let my forehead rest against hers for a second, my thumb brushing lightly along her cheek, giving her time, letting her set the pace.

When she leans in again, it’s deliberate.

And this time, when we kiss, it’s slower, deeper- less laughter, more intention, but still soft around the edges.

I pull a little at her hips, and she moves on top of me, settling in my lap, straddling me carefully. I feel her hesitate and guide her lower until she's sat against me, a content hum escaping me.

She feels so soft, so warm, so good.

One of her hands trails up and behind me, tangling in my hair. I huff, "Jeez, pretty." I grip her hips firmer. "Can I move? To the bedroom, please?" I peck her forehead as I ask her.

She nods, and I stand, making her wrap her legs around me in a rush. My lips find hers once more as I kick my door shut behind us and lower her on my bed, and her hands snake down to tug at my shirt.

I sit up, taking it off, and she meets my skin instantly, pulling me back in with her ankles crossed at my back, kissing me, as her hands trace the muscles of my stomach.

I reach under her shirt, slow, holding at her bare waist, and she arches a bit into me, sitting up a little to take off her top. My breath catches a little when she unclaps her bra too, and throws it somewhere in my room. "Fuck, baby," I kiss her. "You're gorgeous," I groan. "Let me touch you- can I touch you?"

She nods, and I don't wait a second, trailing my kisses down her neck and to her chest, hearing her gasp when I lick at her nipple, sucking softly. Her hands find my hair, tugging, and I moan against her.

That's the exact moment I take consciousness of how hard I am. My sweats feel so tight. I lower myself a little, earning just the slightest friction from her hips meeting mine.

She tenses a little. "Mingyu-" she whispers, arching a little "So hard," is all she says, and I almost whine at that.

"I know, baby," I hum. "I know." My hand drifts lower, reaching the waistband of her shorts. She lifts her hips for me. "Good girl," letting me pull them down and off.

"Angel?" I look up at her, "Can I touch you?" I kiss her cheek, and she nods hurriedly, pressing her hips against mine.

Fuck, she drives me insane.

She's so sweet, so soft. I lower her body, thumbs latching into her panties and pulling them down. "Damn, baby," I hiss. "So wet," I kiss her thigh.

Her breath trembles a little, her shaking hands finding my hair again, and I lick a fat stripe up her pussy. She gasps softly, biting down on her lip, and I wrap my lips around her clit, sucking gently.

"Min," she moans, "please, more," she chokes.

I hum, pulling her thighs on top of my shoulders, licking and sucking at her properly now. She moans out, tugging at my hair, arching, her thighs clenching around my head.

Gosh, those thighs. I push my tongue into her, and she clenches again around me. My hips start grinding against the bed, and I feel myself leaking inside my pants.

I push a single finger in her, kissing all over her inner thighs, and fuck, is she tight. Her breath stutters, and she whines softly. I pull in and out of her, going back in to suck on her clit, managing to fit a second finger in her. She gasps out at the stretch, tugging at my hair as I scissor my fingers to stretch her tight little pussy.

"Oh-" she whispers when my tongue flicks over her clit. And when I do it again, she clenches her thighs around my head.

"You like that, sweetheart?" I hum, doing it again. She nods hurriedly, making me grin, and wrap my lips around her clit, flicking it with my tongue as I stretch her. "Good, me too."

A small laugh escapes her before her head drops back into the pillows. "Fuck" she moans, "Don't stop- please, please," she whines.

I moan, grinding harder into the bed, and when I suck on her clit, she cums, a gasp escaping her as her thighs close on my head.

I keep licking at her, tasting her juices as I withdraw my fingers, and she taps my shoulder, unhooking her legs from me with a huff. I crawl back up over her. "Okay?" I kiss her, and she nods, pulling me in again, kissing me like I just gave her the world.

Her hands push at my pants, which I gladly take off, followed by my underwear, and I notice the way her eyes widen when she sees my cock.

She blinks, then looks up at me, and a laugh escapes me while she blushes. "You're big," she breathes.

I laugh harder at that. Gosh, she's so cute. "I'm not that big, angel," I peck her nose.

Her eyes widen even more, and her hands touch my chest, palming my skin, hands shaking a little. I hum. She doesn't look convinced. "Hey, it's okay. We don't have to-"

"It's not that," she says, glancing down again, "But can you- go slow?" she whispers.

I frown. "Of course," I tell her truthfully. She nods slowly. "Hm, here." I roll us so she's straddling me, holding her hips.

She wraps a hand around my cock without a warning, and my grip tightens on her hips. She strokes me, slowly, like she's unsure, and my head drops back against the pillows. "Fuck, baby," I mutter.

I'm so wet, she's so careful, and everything just makes it so much more intense.

"I'm clean," she murmurs after a second.

"What?" I look up.

She meets my eyes, "I'm clean," she repeats, "and on the pill."

I blink, too dazed to link the terms, before I understand, "Oh," I breathe, head falling back on the pillows. "Yeah, me too, angel," I say.

She lifts her hips, and I let go of her in case I suddenly want to- I don't know- shove my cock in her. Because this is about her, and she needs time, and she's so fucking pretty and sweet that I couldn't be rough even if I wanted to.

My tip meets her slick, and I moan already, gripping the sheets at my sides. She sinks down a few inches, gasping.

"You're so fucking tight, baby," I groan, feeling her squeeze me so hard I can barely move.

She whines a little, sinking lower, when she flinches hard on top of me. A small sound escaped her, and when I met her eyes, they're filled with tears.

I sit up immediately. "Fuck, baby. Was that...?" I look down at where I meet her, like that could answer my question. My hands move back to her hips, lifting her off carefully. "Why didn't you tell me?"

She whines softly, wrapping her arms around my neck as I settle her on my waist. "I'm sorry..." she whispers, snuggling into my chest.

"What? No, don't be," I mentally hit myself for what I said a second earlier. "I didn't mean it like that-" I sigh, "I just- I would've been more careful if you'd told me, baby. I don't mind at all." I kiss her head.

"I didn't think it'd hurt," she admits softly, wiping the few tears that slipped out, resting her head on my shoulder.

"It's okay," I rub her back. "You alright?"

She nods against me, looks up, "Wanna try again?" she whispers.

"Yeah, okay." I kiss her forehead. "Take your time, sweetheart."

She scoots back to where she was a minute ago, pushing my cock back into her as I lean back on my forearms. She takes a minute to sink down fully, and another to adjust, but then she starts moving, and fuck, I could cum just like that.

She doesn't lift and lower as I expected her to; she fucking holds herself up and twerks on my cock.

"Oooh, fuck, oh fuck," I moan out, falling back on the bed instantly, raking my hands through my hair. "Baby, if I look at you, I'll cum" I warn, squeezing my eyes shut, half panicking.

Is it supposed to feel this good? Did it ever feel this good? Is it her? Is it what she's doing? Is it her pussy?

The soft noises she makes might as well make me cum, too, but I know for a fact I won't be able to hold back if I see what she's doing.

"Min," she moans, "please," she holds herself on my abs instead, and I look at her face.

"Oh crap," she looks so fucking gorgeous. Her hair's falling beautifully around her face; her fucked-out look the hottest thing I've seen in decades.

My hands find her hips, and I stop her movements. "Why?" she whines. I adjust myself under her, lift her hips a little, and a whine escapes her when I thrust up into her cunt.

"Gosh, Angel, you... You feel so perfect," I groan. I lift her off my cock slightly with my hands, holding her ass firmly, then begin slowly thrusting into her warm cunt. "Holy fuck..."

She whimpers, clenching down on me when I hit a deep spot in her that makes her arms shake. "Feels good? Right there?" I pant, giving several thrusts against her G-spot, and she nearly screams.

"Shit, you look so pretty," I moan. "Let me feel you cum on me."

And she does. Her cunt tightens and pulses on my dick as I push deep into her, her legs shaking while her pussy chokes out my cock.

Feeling her cum on me is enough to send me right over the edge behind her. My lower body goes rigid, and my cum pumps inside of her, painting her insides during what easily is the most euphoric orgasm of my life. My hips involuntarily thrust one, two, three more times, both our releases making it all too easy to glide in and out of her.

"Fuck," I breathe as she slowly lies down on me, my hands still holding her hips down on mine, cock buried deep in her.

She pants, kisses my chest once, then looks up. "That was nice," she breathes.

I blink at the ceiling. Once. Twice. I look down at her. "Pardon?"

She smiles softly, "I liked it."

I chuckle a little, passing a hand over my face. "I'm glad." I tug her head under my chin, pulling out of her pussy with a sigh. "You did great," I kiss the top of her head.

She hums weakly. "I should've told you I'd never done this," she whispers after a minute.

I click my tongue. "I told you it's fine," I say, "I was just surprised. You didn't seem inexperienced. And also, I didn't expect to be... You know, your first time."

She hums, softer, and I start feeling her weight loosen on me. "Thank you," I whisper, "for trusting me."