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#hyunjin imagines
jinhyun · 2 days
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pairing: hwang hyunjin x reader
genre: ????? idek, fluff ig, f2l, drunk confession
request: "Drunk texts from reader to best friend skz, but reader writes everything grammatically correct and doesn't make mistakes. (I literally have a friend like this lmao). Also maybe some mutual pining, like idiots to lovers style?"
a/n: i know it said bsf skz so you might've meant it like one of those ot8 texts i always make but i only had the imagination for one (1) of it and as a hyunjin stan (which so are you my beloved 🦭 anon) i just had to go with him. sorry not sorry. i hope you enjoy<3
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luvlyhyunjin · 1 day
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Carousel┃H.HJ SMAU
Thirty-Eight - Only A Warning.
(a/n: double update cus i love you guys :D)
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Synopsis: It girl, Queen Bee the most popular girl around campus Song Y/N was envied by everyone. She has it all, money, the looks and brains. After making a bet with her bestfriend Yeosang her life takes a turn to the worse, seeming to lose everyone around her she doesn't expect the only person to stick by her side to be her Ex-first love and long time enemy - Hwang Hyunjin.
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˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Taglist: @annybah , @christopherisfoive , @realrintaro , @kkamismom12 , @nujeskz , @wolfietara , @luvvvash , @pnkcasket, @asiixc , @shyshyshytwice , @samhomo , @babrieeee , @nhyunn , @enzstr , @idontlikecoffeeortea , @feelikecinderella , @not-very-slay-of-you , @linocvp1d , @amarecerasus , @itgirlalisaa , @babrieeee , @arikazu , @hyundumpling , @skzhoes , @cupkiki , @avokralaim , @hyunenenenenennenenehs , @super-btstrash-posts , @mellhwang , @kaiyaba , @hyunjinloverrrr , @finnbbl , @rockyhedgehog , @heyhaez , @anjian03 , @jihanniee , @skvrze , @tia827 , @enzos-shit , @lilliansreality , @sora1234sblog , @certified-lana-del-rey-lover , @chartrucewhore , @dessianna1 , @skz1lov . @dreamerwasfound , @lixie-phoria , @doggezz 
(bold can't be tagged please remember to check your settings so i can tag you!)
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starrgaziinggg · 3 days
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begin again | hwang hyunjin
chapter thirty -> bonus chapter (wedding bells)
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"SO HELP ME GOD!"
You physically jolt, awakening yourself from your slumped position on probably the most uncomfortable chair you'd ever had the misfortune of sitting on. Stretching your back out, your eyes found themselves darting towards Myeong, who was storming into the room you'd been in for the past half hour.
Despite not being a bridesmaid, you'd been roped into acting as though you were the wedding co ordinator. You didn't mind much, since it gave you something to focus on, rather than sit idly like your poor friends as they waited for Myeong to walk the isle.
"I swear to fuck, if I'm still friends with those bitches after this wedding, it will be a miracle," Myeong huffs, turning to you with an expression that could only be described as pure fury. "They've lost my damn veil. How am I supposed to walk the isle without a veil?"
You smirk at her, standing up from your slumped position on a rather uncomfortable chair and handing her the veil that you'd found discarded in the room you were currently in, presumably by Myeong's friends (and unfortunately, her bridesmaids). The stress dissipates from Myeong's face as she squeals, grabbing the veil and giving you an air kiss.
"This is why your my favourite person on this green earth," she sighs dreamily, as you take the veil she hands you and turn so you can fit it to her head. She looks at herself in the mirror beside her, fretting with her hair and smoothing down her pristine white wedding dress. "Well, except my soon to be husband, of course."
It's comical that you hear a knock on the door, Changbin's voice echoing from outside.
"Myeong?"
Myeong's eyes fill with terror as she screams, covering herself up as if that would have any effect in stopping Changbin from seeing her dress.
"NO! Fuck off, you can't see my dress!" She screams, turning to you and moving you to be in front of her. You can't help but openly laugh at the action, trying to hold it in because you just know Myeong's nervous about walking the isle in (hopefully) fifteen minutes.
"I'm not coming in, idiot. I just wanted to make sure you're ready!" Changbin shouts back, and you can practically picture his smirking laugh.
"Okay," Myeong replies cautiously, turning to look at herself in the mirror for the millionth time. "I'm almost ready!"
"Okay, my sisters coming in, by the way!" Changbin shouts again, before presumably disappearing when his sister opens the door and walks through. You loved spending time with Changbin's sister when you were kids, and you hadn't seen her in so long until you'd reunited with her (and all the other guests) last night.
Changbin and Myeong had decided to have their wedding in Jeju Island, taking control of an entire lavish hotel for the weekend. The whole hotel was decked out in decorations, and it looked beautiful, though you hadn't been able to spend much time admiring it.
"Jesus, Myeong. I adore you, but your friends are..." Changbin's sister starts, trailing off as she makes a face and can't find the words she needs. You cut in instead.
"Uptight and annoying?" You finish, looking at Myeong with a laugh. You two had bonded over how incompetent her bridesmaids were over the last couple months.
"Precisely," Changbin's sister winks, moving her long brown hair behind her ears. Her short dandelion yellow dress was absolutely gorgeous, and she looked beautiful, though you knew she'd be a balling mess as soon as she saw her little brother standing at the altar.
It was nothing on Myeong's dress, though. Her extravagant white gown had cost a pretty penny, but it was so worth it. Unlike the ballgown you thought she'd opt for, she had decided upon a form fitted, satin gown, paired with the most gorgeous silver heels you'd ever seen - she looked like a princess. Her hair was down, the front pieces pinned back with diamonds, and you may or may not have shed a tear when you saw her after you'd gotten ready yourself this morning.
"Do I look okay?" Myeong asks, turning to look between both you and Changbin's sister. "Tell me the truth. If I don't, it will just ruin what's supposed to be the best day of my life, no biggie."
You don't know whether to laugh or cry at poor Myeong, opting to give her an air hug instead. No way would you ever risk making a mark on her dress, not after she'd spent the last five hours getting ready. Yeah, five full hours. She'd been up since four in the morning, and you reckon she'd be out like a light by nine pm latest.
"You look absolutely beautiful," you say honestly. She looks up at you with her big Bambi eyes.
"Really?"
Changbin's sister hums, looking Myeong up and down and nodding approvingly. "I would put thousands on the fact that you're the most gorgeous person currently on earth."
Myeong cracks a smile at that, taking a deep breath, focusing her attention on Changbin's sister to ask her, "Did you need me for something important or did you just want to hype me up before I walk the line?"
"Actually, I came to get her," Changbin's sister points a thumb at you, turning to face and talk to you directly. "You're boyfriend is getting worried Myeong's murdered you or something, and he wont shut up, so please come and...I dunno, shut him up?"
You laugh, knowing Hyunjin is probably whining like a baby without you. Even after months of dating, he was still as clingy as ever.
"Sounds like Hyun," you turn to Myeong. "Shall I get your dad? He should be waiting in the room with your bridesmaids and Chan, and I think they could both use some saving right about now."
"Yes, yeah," she says, smiling. "God, dad's going to ball his eyes out when he sees me. Tell Chan he only needs to spend ten more minutes max with them, and go kiss your boyfriend since I can't kiss mine until he's my husband."
You blow her an air kiss, letting Changbin's sister take your wrist and lead you into the other room. Chan practically jumps at you as the door opens, moving away from the three girls trying to drag him into conversation to his left. Changbin's sister goes to Myeong's dad, letting him know she's ready for him to see her and prepare to walk the isle, before heading through to the main room where everyone is waiting.
"Fuck me," Chan hisses, widening his eyes as you walk over to him, looking dashing in his black suit. "Once Myeong and Changbin are married I hope I never see those girls again."
"That makes two of us," you chuckle. "You ready for your big moment?"
"Oh yeah, I'm under strict instructions from Dambi on how I should walk with her down the isle," he groans quietly, trying to avoid the prying ears of the three girls behind him. You chuckle at him, patting his shoulder. "I'm not kidding. She made me practice synchronising our steps like a billion times."
"Just think about getting to spend the rest of the day with Jaehwa and everyone," you remind him, watching as his face lights up at the mention of his girlfriend. He gives you a quick side hug, careful not to muck up your dress.
"Bets on that Hyunjin is whining like a baby about missing you?" He laughs, letting you go to where you needed to be - sitting on your bench, beside your boyfriend and the rest of your friends.
"Oh, he already is," you smile, watching Chan roll his eyes. "That's why I've been sent away."
"He's so whipped," Chan laughs, shaking his head as you leave the room, following the rows of flowers and decor to the room holding all the guests. You try to make your entrance as discreet as possible, since you'd be the last person to enter the room until Myeong's big moment, but of course as you walked down the isle to the front of the room, all eyes were on you.
They instantly turned around again, clearly disappointed you weren't the bride, and you chuckled to yourself as you neared the third bench from the front, where Seungmin, Jeongin and Hyunjin were staring at you. Changbin, who had already made his way to the altar, standing up at the front and facing you all, rolls his eyes at you with a smile. You slide into the bench beside Hyunjin, watching as Jisung turns to look at you from the bench in front of you.
"Way to ruin the moment," he scoffs. "Just as we finally thought Myeong was ready to get this show on the road, and it's you."
"I think my ass has lost all feeling," Felix contributed to the right of him, just as Minho turns behind him from Jisung's left to look at you all. "You look pretty, though."
You smile warmly at him, trying to flip Jisung off in a low-key way, since your mother (and all of the boys, minus Hyunjin's and Minho's, as they were both swamped with work and couldn't get the time off) were a couple rows behind you. Hyunjin absentmindedly places a hand on your knee and squeezes gently, giving you a grin.
"Took her long enough to get ready," Jeongin scoffs. "I wanted to take photos with her before Myeong took her away all morning and she didn't get out the room until 8am."
"That definitely wasn't because she was getting ready, Innie," Minho says, giving you and Hyunjin a smirk and an eyebrow wiggle.
"Getting undressed, more like," Seungmin adds cheekily. You reach past your boyfriend to swat at him, shooting Minho a pointed glare.
"At least Hyun will stop crying like a baby now," Jeongin rolls his eyes, to which your boyfriend only sends him a grin, making Jeongin fake gag.
"Shut up, all of you," you hiss. "Not in the place of worship."
"This isn't even a church," Jisung points out with a roll of his eyes. "We're in a fucking hotel."
"No swearing, either!" You add, nodding your head backwards to the rows where your mothers were enjoying catching up with one another after years apart.
"Sheesh," Felix groans. "When I get married, I'm letting everyone start drinking as soon as the sun comes up and saying my vows in two seconds, none of this waiting around crap."
"I fear for your non existent future partner," you say with a tilt of your head.
"I think it's romantic," your boyfriend speaks up, a love struck look plastering his face. He rests his head gently on your shoulder. "When we get married, I'd like to do it the traditional way. You know, all drawn out, in a church with big windows..."
"All in favour of not going to Hyunjin's wedding say aye," Seungmin starts, followed by a chorus of 'ayes' from your friends. You'd either laugh or scold them if you weren't still reeling from the fact Hyunjin referred to his wedding as yours, too.
You don't get the opportunity to scold them, though, since the music starts and the large hotel room is silenced. You all turn in unison, watching as Chan starts walking down the isle with Dambi by his side. Jaehwa was annoyed to be missing the ceremony, but she'd had a modelling job for Dior (yup, jealousy was a disease and you were highly infected) yesterday, which meant she couldn't get a flight until early this morning. She'd be arriving in the next hour or so to join everyone for lunch and the celebrations following.
Chan sends you all a wink as he passes you, followed by the next two girls and the men accompanying them - Myeong's two brothers. The girls don't even so much as shoot a glance in your direction, which you're honestly thankful for.
Changbin shakes his hands out, clearly nervous, before Chan nudges his shoulder once he reaches his right. You already feel the tears coming, unable to keep stable in this situation. You know there's a couple minutes until Myeong walks, as she comes down during a certain part of the song, so you lean towards Hyunjin, Jeongin and Seungmin.
"Who's the first to cry, Changbin's sister or his mum?" You whisper, nodding towards them both in the first bench in your row.
"You, judging by your watery eyes," Seungmin chuckles quietly, raising an eyebrow. Hyunjin frowns lovingly at you, a sparkle in his eye as he brings a hand up to your face and places a finger in the corner of your eye to remove the tears.
"At least hold out until they say their vows," Jeongin grins, shaking his head at you. The music picks up to the part where you know Myeong starts walking, so everybody starts standing up. After what seems like a minute of silence, but could only have been a couple seconds, Myeong and her father walk into the room.
Myeong's smiling brightly, from ear to ear, and you only take your eyes off of her for the smallest second to see Changbin's reaction. He's trying so hard not to, but you watch as he sheds a tear and laughs it off, shaking his head with a smile as he watches his soon to be wife walk towards him. Myeong's dad kisses her cheek before taking his seat, and soon after Myeong is standing at the alter, facing Changbin.
Thankfully, the vows are quite quick, but super emotional. You're in tears, the guys are holding back sobs - even Minho's lip trembles at one point. It's the first marriage of your friend group, almost as if signalling the end of your childhood. You, Hyunjin and Chan were in serious relationships, everyone was content with their jobs...you weren't all kids anymore.
You think back to your teenage years - boisterous Changbin who made it his mission to keep a smile on everyone's faces. To watch him place a ring on his wife's finger was so fulfilling, and you couldn't have been happier for him and Myeong.
"And with that, I pronounce you husband and wife," the officiant smiles. "You may now kiss the bride."
Changbin grins before swooping Myeong into his arms, kissing her dramatically. Everyone stands to clap and cheer, and you watch Chan's tears fall as he smiles at them. At this point, you're a mess - makeup definitely ruined. Hyunjin is balling beside you too, pulling you into his side and patting your hair gently.
Myeong and Changbin walk back down the aisle hand in hand, an upbeat love song playing to their exit, accompanied by the continuous noise of the guests. It's at that point you all file out of the room, bounding up to the newly weds to say your congratulations.
Myeong hugs you tightly, finally allowing herself to cry. "I'm married! I'm actually marrried!"
You laugh the tears, smiling brightly at her when you pull apart. "I know! You're the most beautiful bride I have ever seen."
She swats at you, blushing nonetheless. "Thank you for everything you've done to help me today, I genuinely don't know where I'd have been without you."
You roll your eyes at her lovingly, pulling her in for one last squeeze before she's ushered away in all the commotion. It's Changbin you turn to then, pulling him towards you. He wraps his arms around you before ruffling your hair.
"You idiot! I took one look at you sobbing in the crowd and I was a gonner," he scolds you, a smile plastering his face.
"I couldn't help it!" You fret back, wiping under your eyes haphazardly. "You and Myeong looked so happy, and your vows were so cute."
"Yeah, well, I've had them written since our third date, so," he grins, and you shake your head with a smile. He's pulled away by your mother then, her pinching his cheeks and cooing as he accepts it openly.
"Our Changbin, all grown up," she smiles, patting his cheek. "You're going to be an excellent husband, my darling."
And that sets you both off again, Changbin giving your mother a hug after not seeing her in so long. It's at that point Myeong claps her hands, letting everyone know that food will be served in an hour and the bar is open for drinks in the meantime. She winks at you, which you take as your queue to follow her upstairs and fix up both of your destroyed faces.
You find Hyunjin in the large crowd, his newly dyed bleach blonde hair sticking out in the crowd, letting him know you'll be back down soon.
"You're leaving?" He says instantly, concern on his face. You laugh at him, rolling your eyes.
"My mum isn't going to grill you, Hyun," you say, knowing exactly why he's been so worried about you being away from him this trip. Obviously, Hyunjin had met your mother many a time, yet he'd been nothing but a ball of stress about formally introducing himself to her.
Since you'd all been rushing about like headless chickens with the wedding preparations, you hadn't been able to properly catch up with your mum, save for a very teary eyed greeting and the promise to tell her everything since you'd last seen her. This also meant Hyunjin hadn't been able to meet her as your official boyfriend, which you'd tried to convince him would be fine, but your dramatic as ever boyfriend didn't believe.
You give him an encouraging thumbs up before Myeong's dragging you to her room, the two of you chatting excitedly about the reception as you reapplied your makeup. She's all smiles and excitement, and you take the opportunity to get some pictures just the two of you before you're rejoining the wedding party.
Everyone's milling around the bar, or already sitting at their assigned tables. You knew the seating plan had you, Hyunjin, your mum, Jeongin, Seungmin and their mothers on it, and to your surprise your boyfriend, who had been a bundle of nerves not half an hour ago, was sitting with a glass of champagne in hand, talking your mums ear off.
You shake your head, smiling at the scene of just the two of them at the table, walking towards them and giving your mum a hug before taking your seat in between them.
"My baby has finally joined us," your mother says, patting your knee gently. "Now, Hyunjin here was telling me all about your trip to America!"
She looks back at him expectantly, so he continues his story, shooting you an excited glance.
"I was just talking about how my mom has been desperate for us to visit again," he informs you, before directing his attention back to your mum. "It's my sister's birthday next month, and she's specifically asked us to fly out to visit. My mom was also wondering if you'd like to join us? She hasn't seen you in so long, and now that we're together, she wants to be able to spend time with you."
Your mum claps her hands in agreement. "Oh I'll be there! I've never been to the states, and I have missed your darling mum," she grins at you, tilting her head. "Aren't you lucky to have a millionaire boyfriend!"
"Mum," you whine, rolling your eyes at her. Hyunjin only chuckles.
"No, I know, I'm only teasing. Honestly, I knew the two of you would end up together. Your mum said the same thing, Hyunjin. And Chris kept me in the loop," she winks, and you both want to murder Chan for being a little snake and jump up and down with joy because of how clearly your mum accepted Hyunjin as your boyfriend.
Your happiness was short lived, however, as Jeongin and Seungmin walked up to your table.
"Why the hell have we been stuck with the lovebirds," Jeongin groans, which your mum slaps him gently for. He yelps dramatically, laughing at your mum as she pretends to be mad at him.
"Now Jeongin," she says adoringly. "You will find your perfect person one day! Don't let your recent romantic failure make you so miserable."
Seungmin snorts as Jeongin sends you a pointed look. "You told her about me being stood up by that girl I was seeing?"
You hold your hands up in defeat, laughing loudly when he pretends to punch you after your mum excuses herself to stand with Jeongin and Seungmin's mothers at the bar.
"You two are sickening," Jeongin says, taking his seat and sticking his tongue out. Hyunjin rolls his eyes at him, placing an arm around your chair. "It physically pains me."
"I don't hear any complaints about Changbin and Myeong or Chan and Jaehwa!" You point out. "Why is it always us that gets the brunt of your abuse?"
"Well for one, because it's Changbin and Myeong's wedding day, so they're allowed a free pass," Seungmin informs you. "And Jaehwa isn't here."
"Wrong!" You head Jaehwa say, which you whip your head around at. She bounds up to you as you stand up, hugging her and admiring her gorgeous pale blue midi dress. You'd both gotten to know each other well over the past months, and she'd quickly become one of your favourite people. You were so thankful the guys had good taste in girls, because it meant you had gained two best friends.
"You look incredible! How was Dior?" You ask after giving her a squeeze. She 'ah's in adoration, swooning at the thought.
"Phenomenal, I'm truly so lucky! How was the reception? I was gutted to miss it," she sighs, quickly waving hello to the boys.
"Beautiful, of course," you answer, to which you hear Jeongin mutter 'long' and Seungmin sigh 'drawn out' under their breaths. You shake your head at you friends, coaxing Jaehwa over to your mother. "Mum, this is Chris's girlfriend, Jaehwa. Jae, meet my mum."
The two woman share a hug, your mum gushing at how beautiful 'my darling Channie's girl' was. You take a seat beside Hyunjin, all smiles.
"So? Not as scary as you expected?" You ask him, tapping his leg with your foot. He grins in response, shaking his head.
"Nah, easy peasy. Older women love me," he smirks cockily, clapping his hands. "She's already started calling me 'son'."
You roll your eyes, saying goodbye to Jaehwa who goes to find her boyfriend, standing amongst a group of people and chatting their ears off.
"What do you guys want to drink?" Seungmin asks, to which your mum scoffs at.
"Don't you worry yourself, I'll get us some drinks," she reply's, cooing at your younger friend and standing up instantly, making her way over to the bar.
"I forgot how nice your mum is," Seungmin chuckles, shaking his head. "She's like God reincarnated into a beautiful middle aged woman."
"Don't tell her that, it'll go straight to her head," you respond with a smile.
"I forgot how stressful weddings are," Jeongin sighs. "I feel like this is the first time I've sat down since we arrived in Jeju."
You nod. "God tell me about it, I'm so ready for a damn drink."
It's at that moment your mum returns, two bottles of champagne in hand, which you all crack open and pour yourselves hefty glassfuls. Seungmin and Jeongin's parents join you, already tipsy and cooing at how cute you and Hyunjin looked together.
"I've heard my son has made a pretty penny from betting on your relationship,"Seungmin's dad teases, which Seungmin looks all too proud at.
"Easy money dad. These fools really thought I didn't have a clue they were together the entire time."
"It was a lucky guess!" Your boyfriend interjects, scowling at the younger man.
Seungmin's mum swats at him, making Jeongin howl with laughter. You and Hyunjin just shake your heads at each other, your mum smiling away.
"I don't know what's so funny," Jeongin's mum interrupts, her gaze set on her son. "I heard you'd lost out on a tonne."
Jeongin groans. "Don't remind me."
After more gossiping and catching up, everyone takes their seats and the food arrives. They'd spared no expense, hiring a renowned caterer, which you thanked the gods for. It was safe to say there wasn't a plate on your table that hadn't been licked clean.
Once your dessert had been successfully demolished, you hear the tapping of a glass, turning to Chris who's standing at his table.
"Oh god, here we go," Seungmin rolls his eyes.
"Hi everyone!" Chan starts cheerily, microphone in hand, instantly capturing everyone's attention as the room falls silent. "I'd like to start by thanking everyone for coming today, especially those of you that had to travel a ridiculous amount because a certain someone had always dreamed of a Jeju wedding."
Myeoung scowls at Chan, earning a laugh from the crowd.
"Sorry, sorry, I'm kidding - you've done a beautiful job, Myeong. I think we can all agree this has to be one of the most spectacular weddings we've attended."
The crowd hollers in response, and you clap alongside them, grinning up at your best friend.
"I'll keep this relatively short and sweet, since long wedding speeches are killer and nobody wants to hear me drone on for hours, despite how much I could talk about two of my favourite people.
I'd like to call myself a bit of a matchmaker, though for some reason my glorious group of friends and I all seem to have had ridiculously bad luck in the romance department. Sorry guys," he grins cheekily, which your friends all scowl at.
"However, saying that, recently things have started to look up. When Myeong and Changbin started dating, I thought 'this is it, they're meant for each other', and although the many dates I'd set up for Changbin had ultimately failed, and my title as matchmaker was in the dust, I couldn't have been happier.
Changbin has always been the mood maker, the class clown - the one that ultimately held us all together. He's an amazing person and," he directs his gaze to Changbin's parents. "You've done an incredible job raising him. I wouldn't be who I am without him today. Not only is he the best music producer CBH entertainment has ever seen, he has always looked on the bright side of life, no matter what was thrown his way.
So when I was introduced to the first girl that had ever managed to tie our boy down, I knew she was the one for him. Myeong compliments Changbin's energy completely, whilst simultaneously keeping him on his toes."
Myeong giggles at this, pinching Changbin's cheek, to which he swats at. You feel the tears welling up again, and Hyunjin pats your knee lovingly.
"Myeong is phenomenal. She's beautiful, hilarious, and the perfect person for our Bin. I truly am so thankful for your presence in his life, Myeong. And I know he will treat you like a goddess, because he worships the ground you walk on."
"Stop making me sound so sappy!" Changbin interjects, which you laugh at.
"Right, okay, sorry mate!" Chan laughs, shaking his head. "Anyway, it's obvious they're perfect together. And as sad as it makes me to see us all growing up - like, what the hell, Bin, you're married!"
The crowd chuckles once more as you feel the tears fall.
"I couldn't be happier for our newly weds. You both truly deserve the best of the best. So, before I start to full on bawl my eyes out, let's toast to the happy couple. To Changbin and Myeong!"
Everyone repeats the words, clinking their glasses together and clapping for Chan. He'd always had a way with words, and you genuinely couldn't wait to hear what he came up with whenever you and Hyunjin got married.
"Man, these idiots need to stop making me cry," Hyunjin laughs, clearing the tears away from his eyes. "My face is all puffy now."
"You still look handsome as ever," you grin, mimicking has action and checking your makeup in your phone camera. "God, I just can't get a grip of myself today!"
"Yeah, you two need to wise up," Seungmin teases. "When you guys get married, you probably won't even be able to say your vows over the sound of you both hysterically crying."
You punch him in the shoulder for that one, but you don't get the chance to make an equally as irritating remark back as you're hauled off of your seat and pulled onto the dance floor by Myeong.
The party hits full swing, all of your friend group dancing to the music the DJ was playing without a care in the world. You took it in turns to bust out your best moves, Changbin twerking as Myeong filmed, Jisung hitting the whip and nae nae so furiously he almost pulled a muscle, Felix full on breakdancing until Minho gently pushed him to the ground with a laugh.
For hours you guys stayed like that - taking photos together, drinking your stresses away. It was bliss. Pure, genuine bliss to be dancing and laughing with your friends, Hyunjin by your side. Amidst an argument between Minho and Seungmin about who was the best at doing the moonwalk, Hyunjin gently tugged on your arm and led you outside for a breather.
The hotel sat directly on the waterfront, a gorgeous balcony lining the side of the large room you were all in. It was beautiful, lights shining onto the gently rippling water and the sounds of laughter and happiness echoing from inside.
You were both sweating at this point, out of breath and in stitches from laughing with your friends. He pulls you into his lap as he takes a seat on a bench, you making yourself comfortable in his embrace.
"I think I'm the happiest I've ever been," Hyunjin says quietly, placing a kiss on your bare shoulder. You hum in agreement.
"Everything went so perfectly. It's been the best day," you smile down as him, placing a hand to his cheek and placing a chaste kiss to his lips. "I hope our weddings as lovely."
"You know, you talk a lot about our wedding for someone who is not engaged," Hyunjin laughs, earning himself the daggers from you.
He smiles all the same, thinking about the sparkling diamond ring sitting in a box, hidden away in a secret location back at your guys' apartment. He'd picked it out a week after you'd started officially dating, not a question about it. After FaceTiming Chan a billion times to show him ring after ring, his eyes had landed on the one he ended up choosing and all he saw was you.
He knew you didn't care about how he'd propose, you never did for things like that. Whether it be snuggled up in bed after binging a drama, or at your work office (which you had successfully christened, almost immediately after you'd finished placing your items at your desk. They were subsequently knocked off and Hyunjin did have to replace half of them) - you'd say yes to him in a heartbeat.
But, Hyunjin was a traditional man. He'd ask you after meticulous planning when the time was perfect. He was old fashioned like that. God forbid there wasn't an event of grandeur attached to him placing a ring on your finger to let the world know you were forever his.
"You know what I mean," you mumble, snapping Hyunjin back into the present. Hyunjin chuckles in response, tightening his embrace around you.
"I love you," he says then, making you smile. You place another kiss on his lips, your thumb rubbing circles around his cheek.
"I love you more."
"Factually inaccurate," he says immediately, which you giggle at, knowing it was a competition you'd never win. Hyunjin loved you, you loved him - it was known. Your friends could tease you to their hearts content, but it was obvious they loved the two of you together.
After a series of horrific dates (courtesy of Chan), a fake dating scenario that left your brain in a state of mush, a secret that almost ruined the blossoming romance between the two of you and finally throwing caution to the wind - you had him. You were together, and you'd be damned to ever let him go.
It was always him. And for him, it was always you. Right from the minute he laid eyes on you as a teenager. He could curse Chan a thousand times over for keeping you from him back then, but Hyunjin knew everything worked out the way it was supposed to. He'd never let anything come between the two of you again.
You'd began again, and this was it. The happy forever.
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low and behold. After like, two years the final chapter is complete. This story is my baby, the first thing I'd ever written and completed. It started as a story I wrote to occupy my time over a boring summer. It turned into a community of people on tumblr and Wattpad who I cherished interacting with, and who loved this story as much as I did. I read every single comment, and they all make me grin from ear to ear. You lot are fucking funny.
I want to thank you for taking the time to read this, and to anyone who has interacted in a positive way, I adore you. I hope this is a nice ending. I think it is.
Peace and love
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jl-micasea-fics · 2 hours
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A Midsummer Love | hhj
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❝𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐲?❞
↳ Much taken with the romance of finding a husband, you have looked excitedly to this season since you were a girl, only to find all you thought it would be ruined by your overprotective brother. Enter the handsome Duke of Hastings, who possessed of his own ulterior motives, presents you with an arrangement to yield you a love match. This season shall be the most scandalous yet.
↳ Hwang Hyunjin x female reader
↳ Bridgerton au. Fake relationship romance trope. Period piece, early 19th century. Angst and tension, conflict, mild violence, sexual tension and budding romance, yearning and pining, a sweet and happy ending.
! Mature content, adult themes, 17k, suitable for 18+ readers only !
「Part of the skz tropes collab w @yoongihan」 「main contents list」 「© March 2024 by jl-micasea-fics」
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‘Twas the Regency era’s fifth season of courtship that bloomed upon the ton when you came of age.
The whispered stirrings of anticipation bewitched ladies and lords alike as early as the first thawing of spring’s chill, and to say you had counted down the days towards it would be to vastly understate your enthusiasm.
Last season you had watched your elder sister make her debut with awe, enraptured by the gowns and balls and romance that seemed to glow rosily over all of society for the summer months that were, in your young eyes, all too painfully brief. Now they began again, bringing hope after dream, and you felt it not too soon to proclaim that these months would be yours. How wistfully you had dreamt of the day you would be whisked off your feet by a wealthy, handsome gentleman that would make of you a blushing bride and (though the logistics escaped you), a doting mother to many, many children. How beautiful a life you would live, making a home of a quaint country house— it need not be so opulent, of course; perhaps ten or so rooms in which to repose would be ample. Taking tea and hosting friends would fill you with much delight, as would turning in with a good book to the view of gardens clustered with flowers and exotic posies of the most stunningly vibrant ilk.
Such were the romantic musings you lost yourself to amidst the surrounding clamour of house servants that fussed about your bedroom.
“Come, come Miss!” One such servant entreated, her arms full of colourful satin ribbons. “We must get you dressed! Time is upon us!”
When the work of the servants was done and you had been made presentable, you admired yourself in the looking glass, whereupon your breath caught. Surely the modiste had outdone herself; you hardly knew your reflection. The white chiffon gown fell flatteringly to the shape of your body, trimmed as it was with dove’s feathers and silver. Satin white gloves and a gossamer shawl about your shoulders kept you modest, yet a generous neckline did plainly put on show your decolletage and the long column of your throat, teasing at the swell of cleavage your snug corset so amply bestowed.
“My goodness!”
Your mother’s breathless exclamation drew your attention to the doorway, where she flustered and fussed. She breezed over as though to take you in a hug, yet caught herself for fear of rustling what perfection had been achieved.
“My darling girl, look at you,” she cooed, her kind eyes teary. “Should the queen not immediately proclaim you the diamond of the season on first sight of you; well! I shall proclaim her mad on the spot, and off shall be my head!”
“Mother, please,” you laughed, warm with her affection. “I can hardly take credit. If anything, I rather think I should be thanking you.”
“Nonsense!” She waved the sentiment away. “The finest gowns are but rags on those unfortunate young ladies without the poise for them. You, my dear, will be the most refined debutant of the social season.” She pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Now, then. Are you ready?”
“To face the queen and have her exact judgement upon me before all the ton?”
“Yes.”
With a deep breath, you nodded. “I have awaited this day for longer than I care to admit, mother. Yes. I am ready.”
“You shall dazzle, my dear.” She turned to the orderly line of servants still amassed. “Fetch the carriage, please. My second born is to debut today!”
*
Never had you seen so much beauty in one place— surely such gatherings upset the balance of things, temporally or spiritually.
Most everywhere you looked was a young lady dressed in her finery, attended to by their mother or other such family member to which they afforded responsibility of chaperone. The keen tingle of giddy nerves hovered about the royal lobby, the vastness of which was almost enough to overmaster your own anxiety— how high the ornate ceiling loomed above your head! From the first you had been utterly awed, having heard only tales from your sister of the rich grandness the royal family possessed, the gold and the white and the floral; her stories seemed to fall utterly short of where you now stood, waiting your turn to parade yourself before the queen, who in the next room reposed with her retinue and all those noble men and women of court. An intimidating affair no matter which way one sliced it, to have one’s name called out in invitation to a lion’s den, but so excitedly were you anticipating what might come after the formalities had been dispensed with, you found yourself rather clearer of mind than those that shared your plight. The opulent double doors at the far of the room were opened and shut by the pages, yet another young lady admitted with a fanfare.
“Now, remember dear,” your mother said softly. “Be only what you are. The queen will know if you appear before her with ill airs and graces. She has a nose for such things.”
“Yes, mother. I shall be fine.”
“Naturally, dear. Naturally. Just— Well, do take care where you tread, yes? Your frock is so delicate. Should I have instructed the modiste to take it up an inch? Will you be—”
“Mother.” You took her hands. “I shall be fine.”
Just then, the clear pronunciation of your name suffixed by ‘of the house Bridgerton’ was heard by all, your heart lurching with the blare of horns that accompanied it. Your mother flustered yet stood aside for your entrance, maintaining several paces behind as you stepped from the lobby and into the queen’s chamber. Lords and ladies and courtiers of unthinkable wealth and astute reputation looked on, gathered either side of the central aisle where you walked demurely, head held high, heart pounding all the while. The queen, so widely known to be benevolent and fair, awaited you at the end, throned and wrapped in a grand gown of striking purple that complemented her dark, silky complexion. It was difficult to tell much of her expression: her lips were pressed thinly, her brown eyes focused. Behind her stood her retinue of ladies-in-waiting, each of them cradling a bundle of white fluff that you understood to be the queen’s dogs— the small irony made your lips twitch. Just as the tinny shrill of the horns faded and died, you stopped and gave as most courteous a curtsy as your mother had trained you to do.
“Your Majesty,” you said reverently.
Still, it remained nigh impossible to intonate anything of the queen’s feelings through her drawn features. She looked you up and down, and after a moment, rose from her throne. A quick gasp shocked all in the room, and though composed in appearance, your insides twirled with worry.
She took an elegant step towards you, and all at once it seemed too bold to look so directly and so closely at the queen, force of nature that she was. And yet the queen reached out to tilt your chin up and right your posture, looking you squarely in the eye. She smiled warmly.
“Flawless, my dear,” she said.
So it was that the diamond of the season had been found, and within the hour the news had swept across the ton and into every household of note, eliciting from those bachelors keen to seek a wife this season a most enthused and determined course of action, for the young lady that possessed the queen’s endorsement was unquestionably proper and pretty in every way a young lady ought to be, and therefore coveted the attentions of the finest men.
During the carriage ride home you listened to your mother speak excitedly of all this, in truth too giddy to much consider that you might attract the wrong attentions.
*
“And so, mother, you understand why I must take over as her chaperone and representative, yes?”
The eldest Bridgerton brother meant well. He, like all men, simply lacked the trait considered widely to be feminine, but that to your mind (perhaps naïvely) ought to be considered par for the course of simple conversational etiquette in high society: tact.
“I’m afraid I do not, Anthony,” your mother replied, her stitching set aside. “In fact, if I possessed a more hysterical mind, I might think that you mean to insult me.”
Anthony rolled his eyes, pacing about the warm sitting room. “I mean no such thing.”
“You imply that my judgement in the matter of your sister’s matching is inferior to your own, do you not?”
“I imply that your knowledge as to the men of the ton is inferior to mine, mother,” he said. “My sister has been proclaimed the diamond of the season. You know well the attention this will draw to her.”
Your mother smiled. “Indeed, I do. The more, the better for her.”
“And that is precisely why I should be more involved,” he sighed. “She should not indulge just any man that approaches her, mother. It might not be gossiped of in your sewing circles, but I assure you, the things I know of these men remove more than half of them from eligible courting.”
Your mother blinked. “And how, dear son, did you come to possess such information?”
Anthony ceased his pacing.
“Would it be because you too frequent the gentleman’s clubs?”
“I am a man. It is normal to—”
“Normal for you, but not normal for those men that may show interest in your sister?”
With a start, he roughly cleared his throat. “Am I not the man of this house?” he asked sharply. “Is my word not final? I shall accompany her to every ball and event of the season and take responsibility as chaperone. I will know who intends to court her. This, I have decided. We shall speak no more of it.”
Your mother sighed wearily and picked up her stitching. “As you wish, dear.”
“I merely wish the best for her, mother.”
“I know, dear.”
Anthony nodded, seemingly satisfied. “Well, then. I have business to attend to.”
He strode across the room as though to leave.
“Anthony?”
He turned back to where his mother reposed in a stream of summer sunlight.
“Your word is final on matters of the Bridgerton household. That is the duty left to you by your dear father,” she said gently. “But mind your words on your sister’s heart. You cannot speak for her when she sets it, and she will do so of her own volition.”
Anthony pursed his lips, indignance flaring.
He would see about that.
*
The first ball of the season was thrown by the esteemed Lady Danbury, a close acquaintance of your mother’s. You knew her to be a rich widow, her husband having passed when she was middle-aged, and the vast fortunes she now enjoyed were those left to her by marriage.
When the carriage pulled up outside Danbury House, you were much awed by what you saw. The grand country manor had been set for the event, vines of colourful wildflowers wound about the stone pillars that propped the awning. Gemstone encrusted braziers blazed hot with open flame, tincturing the summer night with the excitable scent of burnt charcoal. They aligned a wide red carpet that lords and ladies walked arm in arm, and it was this that you stepped upon as you climbed from the carriage.
Anthony, first to disembark, offered you his arm.
“Come, sister.”
Entering the manor to the bustle of partygoers, you returned greetings and well wishes to those that you both knew and didn’t; indeed, the heft of the queen’s issue of you soon became clear. All eyes were trained to you as though expecting you might grow a second head, and though flattered by the attention, you were inwardly flustered and consequently glad that your brother had decided on accompanying you, despite the initial perplexment.
In the main ballroom, a central dance floor was marked off by high standing bouquets of white and lilac lilies— such appeared to be the theme of the night. Soft violet hangings of chiffon and lace formed stunning tapestries along the smooth, curved walls. Bows and ribbons and elegant arrangements of dove white fabric concealed the darker corners of the ballroom, so that all appeared bright and soft. Suited servants made the rounds with flutes of fizz and bites to eat. Young ladies stood near to their chaperones, their coy eyes wandering to those men whose attentions they most hoped to attract. The gentle tones of violin and cello floated about the ballroom from the concentrated band, soon to play a tune that would have all involved in the customary baroque dances.
Your conversations with the other ladies were congenial and light; pleasantries exchanged on your dress and your apparent luck at being declared the season diamond. Three quarters of an hour passed much like this, and having yet to be approached by a suitor with an offer of conversation or dance, you began to worry. Was your dress not so appealing after all? Was there something wrong with your hair? Did you have something in your teeth?
“Anthony!” called a voice from across the ballroom, so loud as to startle you from your thoughts.
“Lord Berbrooke!”
Somewhat solemn until now, your brother’s face lit up as he warmly greeted the stout gentleman that had entreated him. He was rotund around the middle and at least two heads shorter than Anthony, his cheeks puffy red and chin abused by a scraggly ginger beard. Too long did his bloodshot eyes linger on you, much to your discomfort.
“How goes it, Viscount?” Berbrooke asked gruffly, his breath hot around his words. “Not married yet?”
Anthony shook his head. “No. God forbid I ever should be.”
“Tosh! It comes to us all in the end, Bridgerton. You shall be no exception; especially with a fortune such as your father left.” He licked his chapped lips. “I imagine you've suitors simply chomping at the bit to get a foot in the door, so to speak.”
“Not as many as one would like,” you muttered.
“What was that, young lady?”
Anthony laughed, and in a bid to change the topic, said, “Lord Berbrooke, this is my younger sister. She makes her debut this season.”
You smiled and curtseyed politely. Berbrooke’s eyes rolled over you greedily.
“A fine young flower, indeed,” he slathered. “What a delight it is to meet you, my dear.”
Revulsion twisted your gut, yet you smiled all the same.
“Might I steal her away for a dance, Anthony?” he asked.
“You flatter me, sir, but I—”
“She would be delighted,” Anthony stated flatly. “Wouldn’t you, sister?”
Berbrooke looked on eagerly. Horrified but unable to voice it, you strained a smiled and nodded, suddenly coming to understand what it was had made you so entirely unapproachable this evening— or rather, who.
“Please excuse me a moment.”
Not wishing to remain a second longer, you quickly departed the conversation and hurried across the ballroom, heart in your throat. You were loath to believe that Anthony’s insistence on chaperoning could be based on such overzealous reasoning as protecting your virtue, but how else was it to be interpreted when all evening he had stood sombrely at your side, repelling all who might hope to approach save for one? And that one, of all!
“Sister!”
Catching your elbow and halting your escape, Anthony quietly manoeuvred you aside.
“You will apologise to Lord Berbrooke for your rudeness,” he said plainly.
“Apologise?” you hissed, for your relationship with your brother was none delicate and could well withstand the brazenness of sibling conflict. “How could you ask me to dance with him?”
“Lord Berbrooke is a fine man. He has business in many quarters of the city and his reputation is solid. Above board. You could do much worse.”
“I could do better, brother. He is thrice your age and ten times as foul. I will never marry him.”
“You would do well to remember yourself. The matter of your marriage is as much my affair as it is yours. You will be matched well, and by my hand.”
“Then I shall not be matched at all,” you said, tears pricking your eyes. “When I marry, it shall not be in the name of convenience or business. It shall be for love.”
“Oh, do grow up, for heaven’s sake.”
“Mother shall hear of this.”
“Mother already has. She has agreed to my terms.”
“If that were true, you would not have insisted on her residing at home tonight,” you said, snatching your arm from his grip.
“Sister—”
“I require air. Do not follow me.”
You stormed away before your tongue could much more loosen, weaving through the crowd that had begun to amass on the spacious ballroom floor, positions taken up according to the music cues that you hardly heard for the anxious pounding of your heart.
Anthony could not do this to you. You would not allow him to do this to you. To marry that detestable man would be the most unthinkable fate—
Just then, you were promptly winded by a force of collision to your chest, solid enough to have you reeling from your feet. Strong arms caught and steadied you, and you soon realised that the fault was all your own— in your distress you had rushed with haste into the broad back of a man you’d never before seen, but that now held you near to him and looked upon you with soft hazel eyes and a grim expression of bewilderment. Light blonde, shoulder-length hair framed his features that, in the ballroom light, seemed almost feminine in their soft curvature, yet the tell of masculinity held in his strong jaw and sharp nose.
“M— My apologies,” you quickly offered, straightening yourself and stepping from him; he released you easily.
“The apology should be mine,” he said in a most pleasingly smooth voice. He bowed courteously. “Curse my foolish body for getting in your way, my lady.”
You laughed lightly, somewhat relieved. “Indeed. Curse my eyes for not seeing your foolish body.”
The man grinned, his perfect white teeth on show. Breathtaking.
“I do not believe I know you, sir,” you said. “You are from the city?”
“Ah. Well, yes. I am not long returned to the ton. My business demands I spend much of the year overseas.”
“And you are back for the social season?”
He cast his eyes over you, a wry smile forming on his plush lips. “At the request of my aunt, yes.”
About to throw yet another question at the man whose name you had yet to even discover (for that was simply how enthralling he was), your endeavour was disturbed by the boom of your brother’s voice.
“Hwang!” He approached quickly and took the man you were addressing in an embrace that was spiritedly returned. “I had not heard you were back!”
“Then you pay as little attention to the gossipmongers of this city than I, old friend,” he laughed.
“Business allows you the break?” Anthony asked.
“Business flows as busily as ever, Bridgerton.”
“I see. We have the esteemed Lady Danbury to thank, then?”
“My aunt can be...” He flicked a gaze to you. “Persuasive.”
On your congenial smile and the acknowledgement of your presence, Anthony finally turned to you.
“I see you have met my sister,” he said, tone markedly flat.
“Your sister?”
Anthony nodded. The man blinked, his smile disappearing.
“Sister, allow me to introduce you. This is the Duke of Hastings and a personal friend of mine. Hwang Hyunjin.”
A duke. Goodness. Though he himself seemed none taken with the formality, grimacing at the exchange.
“It is wonderful to meet you, your grace,” you said, looking determinedly into those sweet eyes.
“The pleasure is entirely mine, my lady.” He returned the gaze.
“Yes, well—” Anthony cleared his throat. “She debuts this season, and it is my endeavour to find her a suitable match.”
“I am capable of deciding for myself, brother. Shocking though it might be for you to discover, I am possessed of a brain.”
Hyunjin scoffed a laugh.
“I have already introduced her to the esteemed Lord Berbrooke,” Anthony said, quite ignorant. “I rather think him a strong candidate.”
“Berbrooke?” Hyunjin repeated. “Surely you cannot mean—”
“Mean what? You do not agree that he would make a reputable husband and provide for my sister well?” Anthony snapped.
Hyunjin nodded. “If that is where your concerns lie, I suppose.”
“I know well the reputations of all these men,” Anthony continued, casting a disapproving glare about the ballroom. “Not one of them has anything to recommend them to my sister as suitor, let alone husband. Their very names inspire scandal.”
“I think that a margin harsh, Bridgerton,” Hyunjin said. “Those in glass houses should not throw stones.”
“You think me like them?”
“I only hope that when the time comes for your search of a wife, you will not be beholden to the same kind of persecution. If visiting the gentleman’s clubs and such propensities are enough to deem a man unworthy of marriage, then not one in all of London shall ever wed!”
Anthony’s nostrils flared, his ego clearly struck.
“I merely think you worry unduly,” Hyunjin then added gently. “Your sister, like you, is a Bridgerton. Trust in her to make the right decision.”
How quickly you were growing to like this man— stunning beauty aside, you easily felt yourself warming by his glance and soft smile, his words so affirming. With a sigh and shrug, he patted your brother on the shoulder.
“If you would kindly excuse me, I believe I am quite spent for one night. We shall catch up, Bridgerton.”
He turned to you and bowed courteously, taking your hand to which he pressed a soft, reverential kiss.
“A pleasure,” he said.
With that, he strode off through the crowd, bodies parting for him and longing eyes following where yours too went.
Hwang Hyunjin, Duke of Hastings.
A pleasure, indeed.
*
The days that followed Lady Danbury’s ball were, by your own declaration, a torrent of misery.
Lord Berbrooke, spurred on by your brother’s approval, sought to court you every day, calling on the house to regale you with tales of his business and of his youth as a military man. Listening to the tales was not so painful as merely sitting with him, for the man seemed to possess no ideals of bathing or the benefits of pleasantly scented herbs to ease the eye-watering odour which he seemed to carry always— how vehemently you insisted on extra sprigs of lavender in the sitting room.
Your mother, adequately horrified by the entire affair, made her displeasure known to Anthony on multiple occasions and with increasing strength, and you might have found relief in it if you believed he would in any way relent. As it stood, there seemed no sign that he would budge on the matter of your betrothal to Berbrooke, and with such little power as you possessed, there appeared nothing to be done about it.
“Must I promenade with him, mother?” you asked wearily.
“Oh, my dear.” Your mother patted your cheek gently, affixed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I know this weighs heavily on you, but do as your brother says for now. I have not given up on changing his mind on all this.”
“I was declared the diamond of the season.” Your voice caught, breaking with tears. “Does that mean nothing to him?”
“It is difficult to see it now, but he simply wishes the best for you. For the family.”
“If he truly wished that, he would marry himself. He speaks of duty and honour, yet I see no such demonstration from him.”
Your mother looked on you sadly, her sympathetic eyes reflecting all you already knew— that when your emotions got the better of you, there was no assuaging to be done.
“It falls to you, my dear,” your mother said. “Show him that there are other men in the ton able to make for you an honourable husband. His prejudice blinds him, but if he sees how you try, perhaps he shall bend. There is nothing else for it.”
You sighed and blinked through the tears. Your mother wrapped her arms around you gently, the comfort of home so reassuring for its part.
“A diamond glitters no matter how dense the darkness,” she whispered. “This all shall pass. I promise.”
*
The summer morning was light and warm, the park in full and colourful bloom. Lush lawns of trimmed green dipped to embankments that circled the calm lake, where lords and ladies took tea and sweets as their chaperones and families looked on. Pastel parasols bobbed along the paths like buoys seeking land, the gentle breeze rustling their fringes redolent of freshly cut grass and sweet wildflowers; the essence of rosy, romantic summer.
Shame that it did not quite reach you, however, tucked under the shade of a tall birch where you stood sombrely and watched the enamoured couples promenade. Your brother lurked at your right-hand like the gargoyle he had taken to becoming, while your mother poised at your left.
“Perhaps we should walk a while, Anthony?” she asked. “It is such clement weather, it would do us good to—”
“We wait for Lord Berbrooke.”
Your heart sank.
“Anthony, please,” your mother entreated. “I am sure Lord Berbrooke shall find us. We look quite the lark, standing here uncomfortably. People are watching, you know.”
“Let them watch,” he sighed. “They shall see nothing of interest.”
And it was at that moment that a stroke of luck happened upon you.
“Lady Bridgerton?” A smooth, feminine voice said, puzzled. Your mother turned quickly, her face alight when she saw her good and old friend.
“Lady Danbury! How good to see you!”
Lady Danbury was, as ever, turned out as though the day might be her last. Deep purple satin made her frock, and her eccentricity shone through in the smart top hat wound with ribbons that perched on her head.
“Indeed,” Lady Danbury said, her look quizzical. “You are here to promenade?”
“We are,” your mother replied, and then quickly added, “We sought some shade from our walking. How hot it is today!”
“Walk with me, then. I am in need of good company.”
“We are awaiting someone—”
“Thank you, my lady,” you hastily took her on the offer, linking your mother’s arm before your brother could much more ruin things for you. Several steps out of the shade after her felt an immediate relief.
“You do not join us, Viscount?” Lady Danbury turned back to ask.
He shook his head stiltedly. “I shall see you on the way around.”
“As you like, then.”
With that, the three of you took to a delightful stroll about the lake, the clack of Lady Danbury’s cane timing your pleasant pace.
“How fares things, Lady Bridgerton?” Lady Danbury asked.
“Very well, thank you. And you?”
“Much the same. I must say; I did not expect to see the viscount in attendance at my ball. He so seldom involves himself in the social season. He is chaperoning this time?”
Your mother nodded. “He is.”
Lady Danbury laughed, gravelly yet soft. “He is giving you a time of it?”
“I do not wish to speak out of turn, Lady Danbury.”
“Nonsense. We are all women. Lord knows we cannot speak to the men of our strife— they are so often the cause of it!”
Your mother sighed. “Indeed. Well. I dare say he is—”
“He is forcing me into a marriage with Lord Berbrooke,” you said.
Lady Danbury quirked a brow. “I see.”
“He says the other men of the ton are unsuitable. That he knows their reputations and pastimes and that their names would invite scandal.”
“He is in search of a saint, then?”
“It certainly appears so.”
Your mother intervened. “He means well, Lady Danbury.”
“Of course. He takes the duties of his father seriously. One cannot resent him that.”
“But should he not trust my judgement on the matter of a husband? I wish to marry for love, Lady Danbury, as my parents did. As my sister did. Not for business. I have told him as such, yet he frightens all the men from me. Not one dares approach!”
Lady Danbury hummed. “It is indeed unfortunate that he has made the matter of your marriage his first course of business. Though it is not unheard of for such marriages of convenience to bloom in love. I can speak to this myself.”
“Lady Danbury.” You stopped. “I sooner see myself declaring madness than falling in love with that foul ogre of a man. I should rather live alone and spend my days as a spinster than—”
“Aunt!”
All eyes turned to the approaching gentleman that jogged gently across the lawn, his light blonde hair like silk about his shoulders. Yet more breathtaking in the glow of summer than the first you saw him, something felt as though to twist in your chest as the Duke of Hastings embraced Lady Danbury warmly, a kiss on each of her cheeks.
“I did not think to see you here, your grace,” she said.
“You may dispense with the formalities, aunt,” he laughed, then looked up to the sky. “I thought I might soak up the sunshine whilst it lasts. So rarely does it visit.”
“How agreeable. Walk with us then.” Lady Danbury turned to you and your mother. “You have met the Bridgertons?”
Hyunjin bowed courteously. “I have not had the pleasure of the matriarch,” he said. “How lovely to meet you.”
Your mother blushed scarlet when the man took her hand gently. “Y— Yes. Lovely.”
“And I believe we met at Lady Danbury’s ball, did we not, miss?” He directed the question to you, his eyes alight with something you could not read.
You nodded graciously. “We did, your grace.”
“Excellent. Let us walk, then.”
And so the promenade began again, with your mother and Lady Danbury taking to a leisurely pace ahead of yourself and Hyunjin. A respectable distance was maintained between you, and even so, you felt the warmth of the man through his smart navy two-piece that happened to fit him as though he had been birthed in it.
“I do not see your brother in attendance,” he said, hands clasped behind his back as he walked.
“He is here.”
“Ah. I shall see him later, then.”
A cluster of ladies gathered on the embankment giggled loudly— they were watching a fierce rowing competition on the lake between the men.
“Did you enjoy yourself at the ball?” Hyunjin asked.
“I did.”
“Good. I am glad to hear it. Only, you seemed rather out of sorts, is all.”
“You would have my brother to thank for that,” you sighed.
“I see. The matter of your matching?”
“Yes.”
“He still insists on Lord Berbrooke?”
“He does.”
Hyunjin shook his head.
“I do not wish to speak of it any longer,” you said. “Such grim topics spoil the day. Tell me of yourself, your grace. You are Lady Danbury’s nephew? By which side?”
The concern on his features did not so much abate, but he entertained you regardless.
“By neither. I call her my aunt, and she entreats me as her nephew, but we are not kin. She raised me just the same.”
 “I see. And your parents?”
His brows drew together, a visible swallow bobbing his throat. “Gone.”
“I am very sorry to hear that.”
“Sorry?” He quirked a brow. “You need not be. All transpired well, and I owe all I have now to Lady Danbury’s kindness. She is a good woman.”
A moment of silence elapsed, where the many questions you could pose to him rattled around your head like skittles. How many hours you could spend simply conversing with him!
“I understand your father is also passed?”
You nodded. “The memories I have of him are fond. My siblings and I were much too young to understand what happened at the time, but Anthony...” You swallowed. “He recalls all of it, but he does not speak of it.”
“Naturally. Such tragedies are better left to collect dust. We must move on.”
“Agreed.”
“Start our own families and begin new legacies.”
“Quite.” You chewed your inner cheek. “May I ask something, your grace?”
Hyunjin stopped, for the path had directed over a small, raised area that bridged a trickling stream. “Of course.”
“You are not married?”
“I am not.”
“Why?”
Hyunjin looked out to the larger lake, head tilted back for the sun to kiss his handsome features and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath.
“I have never felt the need,” he said simply.
“But what of starting your own legacy? Your own family?”
“I am all the family I need. And at the risk of sounding pompous, my legacy is already well established. There are not many that do not know the Duke of Hastings and all he owns.”
“And what will you leave behind? What of an heir?”
“My estates and assets shall be donated on occasion of my death.”
“What of love?”
He opened his eyes, the almond flecks of hazel catching in the sunlight. So unthinkably stunning was he, your own breath caught short in your throat and seemed as though to seize. Such strange sensation made you flush with heat— Hyunjin smiled softly.
“Might I speak freely, my lady?”
You merely nodded, awestruck.
“You might think me mad, but it strikes me that we might be able to help one another.”
“H— Help?”
“Your brother is insistent on this arrangement with Berbrooke, yes?”
“Yes.”
“He will only relent to a man whose reputation he can respect? Whom he knows well?”
“I suppose.”
Hyunjin stepped closer, his voice a hush over the breeze. “As you know, it was my aunt that ordained my return to the ton for the season,” he said. “I could not well refuse her. But she is with motive. She hopes to secure me a wife, and now that the idea is upon her, it shall remain. Like you, I have tried to reason with her as to my feelings on the matter, but she is not to be convinced.”
“I see...”
“I propose we work together,” he continued. “Allow me to court you, and not only shall it satisfy my dear aunt that I am making attempts to marry and thus keep her eyes from me, but it shall assuage your brother’s worry as to your match. He and I are old friends; he cannot dispute that I am, for my part, a good man. He shall have no choice but to call off this arrangement with Berbrooke.”
“B— But, surely if you are seen to be courting me, I shall be kept even further from the attentions of other men?”
“On the contrary, my lady. There is nothing men covet more than that which his wealthy neighbour possesses. Once the ton hears of my attentions toward you, men will come from every constituency to court you. They shall clamour for your hand whether Anthony approves or not.”
It made sense. Oh, how much sense it made, but how much scandal it might provoke! To partake in a ruse such as this was unheard of, unthought of, entirely unlike you in most every way. And yet here you were, considering such proposition from a man you knew scarcely, save for that his face was carved by angels.
“What say you, my lady?” he asked softly, gloved hand discreetly offered.
What had you to lose, save a fate of spinsterhood and destitution?
“Very well.” You slipped your hand into his; he squeezed it tenderly, and your heart did something most bizarre. “You have a deal, your grace.”
“Excellent,” he smiled. “Though I must make one thing abundantly clear.”
You quirked a brow, still clasping his hand.
“This is an arrangement of business. We must not let our emotions interfere.”
“Meaning what, your grace?”
“Meaning...” He released your hand. “You must not fall in love with me, my lady.”
Your laugh was as forceful as the weight that sank your chest; he told you nothing noteworthy, for you knew how he spurned marriage and love. Yet to hear him say it seemed so sad. A waste of so much.
“You flatter yourself, Duke.”
“Perhaps. Just so long as we are clear.”
“We are clear.”
He nodded graciously. “Very well then. I look forward to working with you.”
*
“The Duke of Hastings is here to call on Miss Bridgerton.”
Your mother leapt up from her knitting, the ball of yarn rolling across the floor as her needles clattered.
“What!?” she cried. “My goodness! Say again?!”
The servant cleared their throat, and once more said, “The Duke of Hastings is here to call on Miss Bridgerton, my lady.”
What ensued was nothing short of a flurry of hysterical panic; servants ordered to furnish the sitting room with tea and refreshments and fetch the nicest doilies should the duke wish to set his teacup on any near surface. Such effort was neglected for the visits of Lord Berbrooke, and as you watched the chaos with a smile, it felt that the season of romance you always wished for might finally be starting. Such thoughts you really ought to have kept in check, for as you too often forgot: all of this was a pretence.
“Good morning, ladies.”
With a grand bouquet of lilac lilies—the favourites of his aunt, you noted—the duke was welcomed into the sitting room. Never had he looked more dashing, his three-piece suit of stone-grey clinging most pleasingly to where his frame betrayed lean, toned muscle. He was so tall as to stoop when he greeted your mother, his long legs stretching the britches that themselves seemed to struggle to contain the elegant length.
“What a wonderful surprise!” your mother gushed.
“I hope I do not impose upon you, Lady Bridgerton.”
“No, no! You are most welcome, your grace! Come, sit! Would you care for tea? Perhaps a sweet? Or anything else at all?”
After the frantic attendance of your mother had eased and you were left to the man’s company (inasmuch as ‘left’ occasioned; your mother merely retired to the other side of the sitting room, where she knitted and pretended not to listen), you thought of what to talk about. Indeed, it all seemed rather contrite when the arrangement bore an expiration date.
“You are radiant this morning, Miss Bridgerton,” he said graciously from beside you on the chaise longue.
“You need not flatter me, your grace.” Though the flush of heat up your neck betrayed your inward delight. “No doubt news of your calling on me has already begun to travel over the ton. The servants do miraculous work.”
“It was no attempt at flattery, my lady, but as you wish.”
While you clawed your heart back from your throat, he looked about the room, his eyes falling to the book that rested on the table; an encyclopaedic work on native birds.
“You read, my lady?”
“I like to.”
Hyunjin smiled.
“It amuses you that I like to read? Should I sit before the window and vegetate from sunrise to sunset instead?”
“I am not the sort that finds intelligent women distressing, my lady. If I thought you ill-educated, I would not have approached you in the first.”
You cleared your throat. “I see.”
“You doubt me?”
“No, your grace. You strike me as a sincere man.”
“Good. I am glad.”
“Though I do wonder why you prefer to partake in such ruse with me,” you whispered, “when you could simply do things the right way, as your aunt wishes.”
“The right way?”
You shrugged. “Meet someone and fall in love.”
“I have addressed this already. I do not wish to marry.”
“I was not speaking of marriage. I speak of love.”
“I thought you believed the two not mutually exclusive?”
“I do not, but why would one ever refrain from marrying the person they love? Such a course of action must be madness.”
“Love is a childish affair that makes hapless fools of better men and hysterical crones of good women. I have no need of it.”
“I dare say anyone has need of it, your grace. It is hardly a lame horse. I am rather inclined to believe it simply... happens. Whether one wishes for it or not.”
Hyunjin blinked, the muscle of his jaw feathering as it tensed, then relaxed. He held your gaze, almond eyes focused.
“I find it rather lovely, actually,” you added. “That there exists an emotion powerful enough to make one wish to change the course of their life. Love should be celebrated.”
“You speak as though you yourself have felt it, my lady.”
“I have not,” you sighed. “I know only what I have read of and seen, in my sister and in my parents. But I most desperately wish to feel it. I wish that all those I care for will one day feel it.”
“You have been surrounded by goodness, it seems,” Hyunjin said. “You should count yourself lucky.”
“Oh, I do, your grace. I am most grateful for all my parents have provided my siblings and I. They have raised us well, in love and luxury. I should be eternally grateful.”
“Indeed. Not all are so blessed.”
You searched his face, for he had averted it to the window, and what you could make of his expression had drawn sombre.
“Your grace?”
He shook his head and smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “My apologies. Pay me no mind.”
He rose from your side, and on sight of him doing so, your mother rose too, setting her stitching aside.
“You are leaving, your grace?” she asked.
“I have taken up quite enough of Miss Bridgerton’s time,” he said with a bow. “Thank you for entertaining me, my lady.”
He took your hand and with the pillowy lips you had so vehemently thought to ignore, pressed a chaste kiss to your gloved knuckle. So reverent and tender was the suggestion, you could not help but wonder if the show was entirely necessary when only your mother was in attendance to see it— you ought to have spared your heart the misery.
 “I shall call again tomorrow, if I may?” he asked, directing the question to your mother, who watched the exchange with delighted quiet.
“Of course, your grace. We should be honoured to have you again. Any time.”
“Very well, then.” He bowed once more. “Until tomorrow, ladies. Good day.”
With that, he availed himself of your company, and for the coming hours you suffered the titillated chatter of your mother to the servants and your siblings, to all who would listen of the wonderful, wonderful news that ‘the Duke of Hastings is courting my darling daughter! What beautiful children they shall be blessed with! Oh, but I knew how it would be! What happy days!’
What happy days, indeed.
*
The next most prominent event of the season was to be the observatory ball— an affair organised by the dowagers of the ton, long since removed from the formal romance of the social season and with nothing more engaging to occupy them.
Chaperoned by your ever dutiful brother, though his presence did more to harden your heart than bear assurance, it was with some misery that you entered the stunning glass building, unable fully to appreciate the opulence that dripped from every pillar and awning in shows of white flowers and delicate lace. A great mural of intricate symbols had been painted white on the dance floor, where several couples had taken to spinning already. Spirits seemed to be high, infecting the evening air with a great buzz of anticipation. You felt it yourself, despite your brother’s attempts to act the aegis. Something would happen tonight. Something that would change everything.
“I see no sign of Berbrooke,” your brother huffed from your side, casting focused glances about the guests. “He assured me he would be in attendance tonight.”
“I should rejoice if he fails to show up entirely,” you sighed.
“Such pessimism is most unbecoming of a lady, sister. You ought to be more congenial.”
“I could have until judgement day and not muster enough congeniality to offer that man even a single smile, brother.”
Anthony blinked at you, his dark eyes in astonishment.
“I should like to say hello to the other ladies,” you said, starting away from him. “Do not follow me.”
For what reason your brother this time chose to comply, you could not guess at, but you indeed considered that the occasional speaking out of turn impacted men more than you initially believed.
In crossing the observatory and passing under white wreaths of berries and flora, you sought the lemonade stand, in truth none thirsty for a drink, but possessed of some hope that a gentleman might spy you alone and summon the courage to approach for a dance. Minutes passed where no such thing occurred, and it was just as you began to sink into depths of sadness, that a rash clearing of throat from behind you caught your attention.
“Miss Bridgerton.”
The Duke of Hastings stood before you, most dashing in a red velvet suit finished with black trim. His light hair tucked behind both ears seemed comprised of silk itself, and his countenance most relaxed, yet strong and firm, brought you to a smile.
“Your grace,” you curtseyed politely, despite the weakness of knees. “How wonderful to see you.”
He cast an eye that might have been interpreted as critical over you, a smile caught on the curve of his lips.
“You look lovely,” he said.
“Thank you, your grace. As do you.”
“I look lovely?”
“Quite lovely. I thought velvet a dated material, but I appear forced to reconsider my opinion.”
“Did I not have the measure of you, Miss Bridgerton, I might be inclined to believe that a veiled insult.”
“I am not in the business of veiling my insults, your grace. Should I ever mean to insult you, you shall know it.”
His eyes glimmered with amusement. “Noted.” He offered you his arm to take. “Shall we dance?”
“Can you dance, your grace?”
“I am educated in formal baroque. So, yes.”
“Very well, then.”
You took his arm, a wave of unhindered delight threatening to outweigh your sensibility as he walked you to the floor, turning curious heads as you went. The instrumental band played an upbeat melody, one that had the occupants of the floor dancing the menuet in two lines of ladies and gentlemen. Joining the end of the respective lines, you fell easily into the steps, swaying both away from and towards the men that captivated your attentions. By now it was no wonder that most eyes in the observatory were on the two of you, your brother’s included. Smiling through the bout of anxiety, it was in taking Hyunjin’s hand again that the melody changed to allow for a slower, closer dance, which was of no small relief. It felt better to be close to him.
“Do you possess such strong opinion of all fabrics, Miss Bridgerton?” he asked quietly, the arm floating about your waist hardly touching.
“I am educated in textiles, your grace. So, yes.”
He smiled wryly. “I see. Allow me to consult you on the matter of my attire from time to time, then.”
“If it pleases your grace.”
“It does. Are you inclined to fashion, my lady?”
“Not particularly. Mother insists on engaging me with the modiste for gowns and the like, and I am able to appreciate a pretty dress as much as the next lady, but I much prefer the employment of a book or my sewing. Such stimulating things brings me great peace. The fancies of fashion seem only to bring me a headache.”
“In that, we are in agreement, my lady.” His smile widened to a grin, and in the lingering eye contact you went through the steps of dance, his smile gradually diminished to more serious appearance.
“All eyes are on us, your grace,” you whispered.
“Indeed. That is the point. Your name shall be on every gentleman’s lips for the remainder of the eve; the remainder of the season. You recall our bargain?”
“I do.”
“Then you understand why I thought it prudent to attend tonight. To dance with you before all the ton.”
You nodded gently, the heat of his hand in yours a most distracting sensation. He led you easily and without too much thought, the coming together of your movements a most natural and intimate event. Too intimate to be watched by those present, you rather thought.
“You do not seem pleased.”
“What?”
He searched your face. “I thought the prospect of your popularity renewing would delight you.”
You shook your head. “It does. I just… I fear that Anthony shall not take this well.”
“Be assured, Miss Bridgerton. As I have already explained, Anthony is a good and old friend of mine. He shall find no objection to our courting, and if by some means he should, it matters not. We are pretending. The fruits of our labours have already begun to yield. Look there.”
With a careful glance to your right, you saw the cluster of gentlemen that looked eagerly on at your prance with the duke, curiosity lighting their eyes. Nowhere, however, did you spy your brother.
“They already covet what belongs to another,” Hyunjin whispered, voice low above the shell of your ear. “They are none deterred by your brother, nor by me. You shall have your love match, Miss Bridgerton, and I shall be left in blissful peace from the naggings of my aunt.”
A cool unease set upon you, though you smiled as though in gratitude all the same. What it was in aid of, you could not say; only that you felt it, and not even the warmth of the man that imposed upon you so closely could ease it.
The dance gradually ended and you ruefully stepped away from the viscount, and near immediately were you accosted not by the gentlemen that had watched you from afar, keenly counting their chance, but by the footman that manned your carriage.
“Miss Bridgerton, forgive the interruption—”
“Whatever is it?”
“The Viscount has sent me to escort you home, my lady,” he said.
“Home?” You looked about the observatory. “Where is my brother?”
“He has already retired, my lady, in another carriage.”
“What for?”
“I could not say, my lady. He did seem…”
“He seemed what?”
“W— Well. Upset, my lady? I could not well say why—”
You turned to the duke, who until now had listened sombrely. He met your gaze, and though his smile was meant to offer reassurance, it did no such thing.
“It seems you are required elsewhere, Miss Bridgerton,” he said quietly. “I bid you goodnight.”
“Y— Yes. Goodnight, then,” you said, quite bewildered by your thickness of voice.
“I shall call on you tomorrow.”
“Very well.”
With a curtsy, you began away from him, following the footman through the gathering of lords and ladies that parted for your exit. It did not so much feel like a fall as a long, drawn-out dive into ice cold water.
One from which you might never surface, if you could not find your feet to swim.
*
“The Duke of Hastings is here to call on Miss—”
“Show him in at once!”
This time prepared for the duke’s visit and much inflated by the tale of your dancing with him at the observatory ball (though painful were her lamentations on not witnessing said event), your mother had the sitting room so immaculately arranged with flowers and garlands and refreshments more than anyone present could eat. It was no wonder the man stopped short and broke composure with an inquisitive smile in your direction. One that you could not well return for being awed by his smart dress and handsome composure.
Your mother first approached, greeting him warmly. “You are most welcome, duke. Good morning to you.”
“Good morning, indeed, Lady Bridgerton. How does it find you?”
“Very well, your grace. Very well. There is something of the summer that inspires a skip in one’s step, do you not agree?”
“Quite. I find the season most agreeable.” He turned to you. “I thought I might accompany Miss Bridgerton on a walk about your courtyard, actually. If it pleases her.”
“It most certainly would please her!” Your mother gushed. “Wouldn’t it, my dear?”
You nodded graciously, taken with the suggestion. “I would love to, your grace.”
And so, your mother watched from over her book, under the shaded terrace as you and the duke took to a congenial stroll through the greenery of the courtyard. Bowing willows and hedges aligned flower beds of daises and sunflowers; favourites of your mother to nurture.
“I must thank you for last night, your grace,” you said when out of your mother’s earshot. “The dance was most effective. Though I regret I could not speak to any gentlemen afterwards, I dare say I shall not be lacking for choice at the next social event.”
“You need not thank me, Miss Bridgerton. I am simply upholding my end of the bargain.”
“Of course.”
A moment of silence passed, where you thought of how to word your next question.
“I thought you might have begun to reconsider, in truth.”
“Reconsider?”
“Our… bargain.”
He chuckled. “Why should I reconsider that?”
“Ideas of gulling are often more agreeable in concept than practice. One would be forgiven for having second thoughts. You owe me nothing, after all.”
“I act not out of the goodness of my heart, my lady,” he said. “As I have said, this arrangement benefits me also. Why; after the ball my aunt visited the manor to express her delight on the news of our apparent involvement, and this morning I was subsequently spared from the ritual of rejecting her many offers of introductions to eligible matches.”
“Goodness. One forgets how quickly news travels about the ton.”
“Indeed. So you see, our ruse yields results. I should have no reason to withdraw.”
A quaint, white pagoda nestled at the back of the lawn, its benches warmed by the sunlight that bathed it. Hyunjin gestured to it.
“Shall we sit?”
With a nod, you followed him to the structure, taking up a seat. Hyunjin paced a moment before sitting near, his composure unsettled.
“Is there something on your mind, your grace? Mother is still able to see us, you may rest assured—”
“No, my lady. Apologies. It is not that which vexes me.”
“You are vexed?”
“Since hearing of your brother’s plans and how Lord Berbrooke might fit into them, I have felt unsettled.”
You laughed unceremoniously. “In that, we are the same. He is a most detestable man.”
“You know something of him?”
“I know less than nothing, your grace, and I could not wish more for matters to remain that way.”
“Then, your revulsion—if that is not too strong a word—”
“It is not.”
“Comes from where?”
You wrinkled your nose and thought on it, then simply shrugged. “A feeling.”
Hyunjin narrowed his eyes. “A feeling?”
“Yes. I become quite uneasy when he is near. Something of his manner offends me, and though I speak baselessly, he strikes me as the sort of man that would have no qualms conducting himself improperly. He makes me most uncomfortable.”
“I see.” He crossed his legs, his foot bobbing as he thought, and then said, “His reputation is quite astounding, you know. To speak to other men of him is to listen to them sing his praises. He is known for being kind and wealthy. Of good repute. It is no wonder Anthony approves.”
“And yet?”
“And yet, I am inclined to echo your sentiments, my lady. There is an air of foulness about him. The thought of leaving you in his company unchaperoned irks me greatly.”
So simple a statement, and so rapidly did your heart flutter to it. You pinched your wrist, an effort to ground yourself.
“Make assurances to me that you shall not put yourself in such a situation,” he said firmly.
“Your grace?”
“I do not wish for you to be left unattended with him.”
You scoffed through the thumping that rose to your throat. “I— I can hardly control such a circumstance.”
“Then if you find yourself in such a one, remove yourself from it swiftly. Find me. Find anyone. I cannot emphasise enough how strongly I feel on this. I do not jest.”
He held your gaze, the determination there enough to convey sincerity in his words, for you felt it rolling from him in a great wave of warmth.
“As you wish, your grace,” you said quietly.
He nodded, seemingly satisfied. A moment of silence passed, where the blackbirds from their perches tweeted their melodious tune as they basked in the sun, and the clean, fresh breeze swept your skin. Natural it was that thoughts should wander to the impossible future; how pleasant many more days like this would be, spent in his company, be they silent or not.
“May I ask something, your grace?”
He nodded, his hands clasped as he reposed on the bench.
“When last we spoke at Bridgerton house, you seemed troubled.”
“Troubled? I do not recall.”
“We were discussing family. How I was raised to the example of a loving marriage, and how grateful I should be for that.”
Hyunjin’s jaw set firm. “I see. Yes. It comes back to me now.” He swallowed. “I suppose something of the topic did trouble me, if I am to be truthful.”
“Why, your grace?”
“It is hardly a tale for such a fine day.”
“Then should we wait for it to rain? I believe autumn to be a long way from now, your grace.”
He rose from the bench, shoulders squaring as he strolled to the balustrade and looked out over the green.
“You may speak freely,” you said. “I would not have asked if I did not wish to hear it.”
“And I am grateful that your curiosity implores you to ask anything of me at all, my lady,” he sighed. “But all I would have you know at this moment is that…” He turned to you, golden strands drifting about his face. “Is that I was not so privileged as you in my upbringing. Lady Danbury did her best for me, and as I have already stated, I am eternally grateful for her kindness, but mine was not a loving childhood. My father was possessed of firm expectations and did not suffer fools easily. He bore no love for my mother. Theirs was a transactional marriage, and it costed my mother more than she should ever have had to pay.”
To hear him speak so candidly did more to move you than you had hitherto thought it could, and this was none aided by the pain in his eyes.
“Your grace…”
“That is all I wish to say of it,” he said, voice thick. “You understand.”
And though burning with so much more than curiosity as a result of his opening the door, albeit only a crack, you could not well press him further.
“Of course,” you smiled.
He nodded, took a deep breath, looked out over the green and up at the sky, where the sunlight warmed his face. What pain he lived through shaped him, you supposed, and though it could have made him cruel and cold, he did not seem so.
“We should return indoors,” he eventually said. “Before the heat sends us queer.”
“Yes. Let’s.”
Slowly you returned to the house, shoulders brushing innocently, steps taken in time. You were in no rush to be done with his company, and by his gait, neither was he.
“Done already?” your mother called when you were near. “I suppose it is thirsty work! Come, we have lemonade prepared!”
“You are most kind, Lady Bridgerton.”
Lemonade was taken in the sitting room, deliciously fragrant and refreshing, cooling your sensibilities that always seemed to warm beyond reason when the duke was near. Too easy was it to forget that this entire charade was precisely that when he acted with such dedication.
“Hwang? What on earth are you doing here?”
Hyunjin rose immediately, lemonade set aside.
“Viscount. Good to see you.”
Anthony’s expression stern, he hardly returned the sentiment. His question hung in the air unanswered, and so Hyunjin cleared his throat.
“I thought to call on your sister,” he said. “Lady Bridgerton has been a most gracious chaperone—”
“A word. Outside.”
*
Hyunjin hadn’t much considered that Anthony might protest his courting of his sister. He had rather been counting on the opposite. Silly, really, that it only struck him as he exited the Bridgerton house to the rear courtyard, where the viscount paced strongly back and forth.
“Explain yourself,” he said. “Immediately.”
“I have given you explanation.”
“You call on my sister? What for?”
“What do men call upon women during the social season for?” Hyunjin scoffed.
“I forbid it.”
“What?”
Anthony stopped, his stance stiff. “To dance with her last night was insult enough, but to now call on her at our family home is an abject act of mockery. You make a fool of me. You will cease your attempts to court her. I forbid it.”
“Anthony, old friend, you have lost yourself. Surely you cannot object to—”
“I have every reason to object,” he hissed, now stepping closer. “You think I do not recall the days of university? How loose you were? How the life and soul of the party and all its debauchery begun and ended with you? And that is to speak nothing of what ‘business’ you have been engaging in abroad these last years. I will not have such improper affairs connected to my family.”
Hyunjin’s jaw ticked. “I was hardly alone in the days of our youth, Anthony. As I recall, you were as much partial to the liquor and women as I. I could say the same of your present day conduct.”
“Do not attempt to turn this back on me. My virtue is not the one in question.”
“Perhaps it should be.”
“You walk on thin ice, Hwang. This is my sister we are discussing. She is my responsibility. She is family. Do what you must with whatever women take your fancy of the eve, but do not come into my family home with pretences of doing right by her. I know you.”
“I do not profess to being without fault,” Hyunjin said. “But is a man not allowed to change? Do you not think I would take the greatest care imaginable of her? Even more so for the bond that exists between us?”
Anthony’s nostrils flared. “You have no interest in marriage. Have said as such since I have known you. That cannot have changed with but a few chance encounters. There is something afoot—”
“Anthony, for heaven’s sake—”
“There is something afoot.” He said resolutely. “And I shall not allow you to drag my sister into scandal and discontent. Keep your distance from her.”
With a final glare, he about-faced and stormed across the courtyard. A gathering of darkened clouds drifted across the pellucid sky, blotting the summer sun.
“You shall not keep me from her, Bridgerton,” Hyunjin called, his voice clear and unwavering.
Anthony stopped, turned back.
“Then we shall settle this by our honour. Friend.”
*
Next day, the Duke of Hastings endeavoured to call on you once more, this time without himself making an appearance.
His horse and carriage trotted up to the steps of your home, where a page disembarked with clear instructions that he read aloud to you and your flustered mother.
“The Duke of Hastings cordially invites Lady Bridgerton and Miss Bridgerton to take tea and refreshments at his manor this morning until noon, and if it pleases your ladyships, would be most honoured to host them for dinner.”
So it was that your mother accompanied you in the duke’s carriage for a journey that lasted three quarters of an hour, the duration of which she chatted excitedly and showered praises on the duke for the ‘most proper’ occasion. Indeed, it stopped only when you arrived before the grand entrance of a stunning country manor— a quintessential summer home surrounded by blooming nature.
Escorted by servants up the steps and into the lobby where you were received by yet another entourage of house staff, you were much awed by the state of the place— while indeed impressive and grand on most every imaginable scale, it radiated something of a cold loneliness. Perceptible only to you, perhaps, for your mother’s delight was none dampened.
“What a beautiful home!” she gushed adoringly. “How the duke must love to spend his summers here, don’t you think, my dear?”
As though invited by mention of his rank, the duke stepped out from an adjoining room, his dress casual in light of residing at home. The white shirt that was tucked loosely into black britches hung open at the neckline, revealing a slope of skin that to your starved mind, seemed most illicit.
“Lady Bridgerton,” he beamed, stepping forward to greet your mother. “I do hope you will allow my state of dress; I measured that making this a more casual affair might help us get to know one another better. Formalities so often stiffen things, I find.”
“Of course! Naturally! How honoured we are by the invitation, your grace! We thank you most kindly.”
“Nonsense. You honour me with your presence, my lady. You have hosted me graciously before now. It seemed only right I return the favour. Please, come through.”
To the sitting room you were shown where tea was served, and expecting that the duke might lavish on you the attentions you were (perhaps foolishly) becoming accustomed to, you were disappointed to feel somewhat surplus to requirement, as he instead made your mother the focus of discussion. They talked contentedly of their interests, and covered most topics you yourself would have liked to unravel with the duke, but your mother seemed none perturbed by your stoic silence and occasional input in the form of a forced smile here or there. When conversation moved to that of your late father, so directed by the duke, you found the role of wallflower had rather overstayed its welcome.
You set your teacup aside and rose from sitting. “Might I be excused, your grace?”
Hyunjin blinked. “My lady?”
“I would very much like to walk the grounds, if I may. It displeases me to be cooped up indoors on so lovely a day.”
Nary a second did you wait for his answer, making a swift exit out the room and through the luxurious reception. Outside, the summer sun warmed the stone and grass, its radiant caress doing something to ease the discomfort that appeared to have driven you to such impatience.
You began to walk, neither direction nor destination in mind. Quickly at first, as your inward distress dictated, and then slower as you approached the hedgerows that formed a snug path into a winding maze. How odd you felt; at such unrest but unable to pinpoint why. Was it that Hyunjin’s attentions had been solely for entertaining your mother? Was it this place, that exuded such outward beauty but felt so void of joy or hearth? Was it simply your own mind endeavouring to play tricks?
These thoughts you mulled over as you walked the narrow paths of the maze, sunlit corridors shaded by keen, leafy branches that had grown beyond their remit. Gravel crunched beneath your feet, the air warmed your skin, and after a while of strolling, it seemed your nerves began to settle.
“Miss Bridgerton!”
Until they spiked once more. From around the corner of a hedgerow, the duke appeared, concern etched to his face the like of which you’d never seen. A jacket had been thrown about his shoulders, but did little to conceal the thin cotton of his gaping shirt and toned planes of skin beneath. You cursed your fluttering heart.
“I searched all the grounds for you,” he said breathlessly, stopping a foot from your person. “You had me worried.”
“Whatever for?” you laughed. “I am quite safe here, am I not?”
“Well, yes, but—”
“Concern yourself none, your grace. Return to my mother. No doubt she awaits your undivided attentions.”
With a curt nod, you rounded the man and walked beyond him.
“You are upset,” he said pointedly, following.
“I am no such thing.”
“Have I neglected you this morning, my lady?”
“That you ask at all means you are aware of the answer. Do not toy with me, your grace. I find no amusement in it.”
“My apologies. It was not my intention to offend.”
“Your apology is unnecessary. You owe me nothing. This is a business deal. My frustration is my own; I am the fool for allowing emotion to become me.”
“Is one not allowed to become emotional over business?”
“You were the one dictated that we must approach this rationally, your grace.”
“I dictated on the matter of love, my lady. I spoke nothing of other emotions.”
“Well, then. This being my first business venture, I am none equipped to answer your question. You should be the one to tell me. Have you ever wept for a deal gone awry?”
Hyunjin bounded several steps ahead, putting himself in your path. Narrower still the natural corridors became, and unable to circumvent him easily, you stopped. His eyes softened, yet the concern held firm. So able to take your breath away with a mere look.
“You have been weeping?” he asked softly.
You shook your head. “No, your grace.”
“Good. There is no need. I have my reasons for tending to your mother so closely.”
“Such as?”
“Such as ensuring our deal does not go awry,” he said. “Lady Bridgerton’s approval may yet sway Anthony to us. Her support is important.”
“I thought you were assured that Anthony would approve of you?”
Hyunjin’s jaw ticked. “Yes. Well. I was.”
“And are not now?”
“Circumstances have changed. It seems he does not hold me with the regard I presumed upon.”
You cocked your head. “And why would that be?”
“It matters not.”
“Do not withhold from me, your grace. If there is something I should know—”
“You need know only what I share with you,” he said sternly. “I am loath to have one more Bridgerton persecute me by their astute moral compass.”
Taken aback by the outburst, you folded your arms, confident in the face of his glare.
“Might my brother disapprove because you are, in truth, no better than the men he is so prejudiced against? Because you too visit the gentleman’s clubs and gallivant your affections listlessly? Because you, just like my brother, have a violent discontent for the honest institution of marriage that you thought you could well conceal, but have inevitably failed to?”
Hyunjin blinked as though struck. His glare faded, his stance easing.
“Honestly.” You shook your head. “To be spared from the ridiculous egos of men for just a day would be too grand a wish.”
With that, you moved to dismiss him, rounding his side closely, and as though your proximity awakened him, he swiftly turned and caught your wrist.
“Your grace—”
“You presume much about me,” he said, an edge to his voice that felt near sinister. He took a step closer; you retreated to feel hedge at your back. Your heart pounded, pulse leaping about your throat. “I will not suffer such insult of character from a girl fed by silver spoon. You know nothing of me— nothing of what I have suffered or the lengths I must attend to warm my bed when sleep eludes me every single night.” He leaned in, so close as for his breath to fan over your lips. “But I imagine you should like to find out, my lady.”
Such vitriol laced the address as to make your stomach turn over, yet it was not with fear. A heat had begun to bloom in the lowest recesses of your belly, and even lower still, a region of your body as yet utterly sheltered.
“Do I speak falsely?” he asked.
Never had you experienced the sensation of standing on a precipice. The meagre shake of your head betrayed your wants, for truly, you did wish to find out. Hyunjin smirked, his gaze dropping to your lips.
“When I am alone in my bed, and all is dark and the world has left me, I am haunted by demons that whisper of my mistakes. They come to me when I am vulnerable, and I am ill-equipped to drive them away, so I indulge them— some of them. Those of them that promise to sing me to sleep should I give them just a moments’ attention. I drift with them, and they take me to where I might find comfort in the quick warmth of flesh.” He lifted his hand, brought his fingertip to your throat. Barely a touch, yet you could not breathe. “I chase pleasure, my lady, exerting myself in the act until my limbs give out and my mind is a chasm of emptiness.”
Your chest heaved for breath. His finger ran down your neck, to your decolletage, along the seam of your bodice that pressed tightly to your bosom.
“If that condemns me as a wicked man, so be it,” he muttered.
Over your breast and to your stomach did his finger draw a tender line, his attention solely focused on your every miniscule reaction. If inside, you felt to combust, he surely would have known it.
“But I assure you— to be condemned feels unlike anything you have ever experienced, sweet girl.”
Faces so close you could make out the pores of his skin, it was a mortifying whimper that escaped you when the man wrapped an arm around your waist, propping you against the hedge well with his thigh wedged snug between your legs; so forceful as to liquidate your bones, and you were helpless to resist, honour and virtue be damned. A flex of the muscle—even cushioned by your frock and petticoat—was felt distinctly, and the heat in your belly sank and gathered, quivering with anticipation. You ran hot under the skin, unable to grasp a lungful of air, for the man was so close that all sensation was of him. Him— so unthinkably beautiful and strong, wealthy and good.
Him. So utterly unattainable.
“Is this good enough, my lady?” he whispered.
“I... What?”
“Have you enough of my affection to curb your jealousy?”
You could hardly think rationally, unable to make sense of the words.
“This shall be the last time we find ourselves alone together.”
Too cruelly did he disentangle himself to leave you collapsed on the grass. With his jacket rearranged and a surreptitious pull of his britches (for what reason, you knew not), he stalked off through the maze.
How intemperately your heart thundered as you gathered yourself.
How hopelessly you were falling for the man that spurned love.
*
The duke had made a terrible mistake.
What sort of a fool betrays his own values so spectacularly as he? To scheme a ruse that would fool the ton and his aunt was one thing. To fall into it himself was quite another. For he was adamant on the matter of love and all its facets; he needed it not and would reject it until the day he met his end, grisly as it would probably be. He would not be the man that repeated his fathers’ mistakes.
She was just a girl. A Bridgerton girl, yes, and thus generally set apart from the wider female populace for good reasons pertaining to her beauty and wit, but still— just a girl. Diamond or not, she knew nothing of the world or its evils, nothing of life beyond what existed in her small and sheltered bubble. She could offer him no excitement of culture or music, language or arts beyond what she had read of in her books, and yet she excited him greatly; more so than any other woman he had yet met, and among those ranks stood singers and actresses, designers and poets, women of real repute.
What possessed him to impose upon her like that? Had he lost the last of his wits? Was he so frustrated in desire that he simply moved for the nearest outlet? Somehow, he knew better. It was neither in his nature nor his want to objectify so blatantly, heated confession as to his proclivities notwithstanding. He kept company through the darker nights when madness threatened his door, and if for that, Anthony was intent on shunning him, there was little he could ultimately do. He could only pray that her lingering in his thoughts would pass, and was due to stress or some other such imbalance of the mind— the sooner this season was over and he could return overseas to normalcy, the better.
Thankful that Lady Bridgerton deemed it best they return home for dinner for reasons pertaining to the youngest of her brood, the duke sat in his study and made work of his third whiskey. Try as he might, he could not stop his thoughts from wandering. The softness of her gaze tormented him; how closely her eyes seemed to plead for something she knew nothing of but would weep with pleasure to discover. What care he would take of her, so soft and sweet and delicate. What delightful sounds she would make, akin to the small whimper she let slip when he exacted just a meagre tenth of the desire that frothed inside him. She was perfectly untouched, as pure as winter’s first snow, begging to be undone by his hand though she spoke not a single word. With her, it would be so much more than a means to an end. He might even enjoy it. No— he would.
The swelling in his groin betrayed his lust— a first for him that such thoughts alone were capable of rousing him to occasion, but so was all of this new. Never before had he craved to corrupt such innocence. Never before had he felt such innocence craved it just as much, for there was no pretence of want in her eyes that morning, and he knew it well. He knew it awfully.
He knew it would all end in pain.
*
Several days passed with an absence of the duke. Your lamentation was quiet.
Not so concerned were you with the matter of your virtue, for by conventional standards and as far as you understood it, nothing tangible had occurred between you in the maze. A closeness of proximity could hardly condemn one to spinsterhood. Rather, you found yourself much yearning for the man. Missing him. Ludicrous, for he was naught but a business partner, and an effective one at that.
Gentlemen called on you sporting bouquets and gifts of sweets, all of them most preferable to the ogre that was Lord Berbrooke— whom coincidentally, you had neither seen nor heard from since the duke had made his ‘affections’ for you public. Sometimes as many as five gentlemen a day made their introductions, and you found yourself quite spent by dusk.
“They are all most pleasant suitors, I do not dispute that,” said your mother over supper. “I merely observe that they do not have much to recommend them compared to the Duke of Hastings. I dare imagine there is a man that would!”
And so in the matter of your mother’s approval, it seemed the duke had excelled. A shame that it would ultimately come to nothing, and doubly shameful that you could not bring yourself to sway her to thoughts of one of the many men that had imposed upon you, for you could do no such thing yourself. Try as you might, it seemed not one of them was able to rid you of thoughts of the duke. Perhaps the right one had not yet come along, you reasoned. It seemed not so mammoth a task to be turned from a man that did not even want you, after all. Your heart could not be long for him, if it even was at all, for you knew not what love felt like and could just as easily draw these sensations up to a peculiar turn of health— which would certainly explain the bouts of fever and giddy breathlessness you experienced in his presence.
All this you considered during the carriage ride to the midsummer ball, hosted at the queen’s own residence in the country. Last year it had been the topic of much excitable talk about the ton, and this year stood to be no different. Arriving at dusk to the mansion that boasted four separate wings and enough rooms to accommodate each guest of the party and then some, you marvelled at its majesty. To think that one person could possess such riches!
The structure rose high, illuminated by sconces and tall, standing braziers of coloured flame; dancing plumes of blue, pink and purple cast their shadows on the stone walls, and would have been eerie had they not been scented so sweetly. A red carpet had been rolled out across the neat gravel that itself circled a grand, running fountain, its centrepiece that of a marble woman in prayer. Lords and ladies made their excited entrances quickly, keen to discover the marvels of what lay inside; and a marvel it was. The queen had spared no expense on decoration or entertainment, the ballroom inside transformed to an elegant take on the Cirque du Soleil— from the great domed ceiling were suspended rings wound with wildflowers on which gymnasts twirled and performed. About the crowd mingled entertainers on high stilts dressed with parlour tricks and glamours that delighted ladies and challenged the men. Great and regal birds perched contentedly on the gloved arms of their masked hosts, who encouraged those curious enough to come closer, to take a look. Colours and sounds and exotic scents such as you had never before experienced accosted your senses to much wonder, driving from you all nerves you had inherited during the journey.
On your entrance flocked a number of gentlemen keen to secure from you a promise of a dance, and how happily you fell into conversation with them, feeling ever more like the potential for romance might finally bloom. You felt light, as though suspended on one of the ceiling rings yourself.
Lady Danbury made herself known to you and your mother, clad (as was traditional for her) in a colourful array of satins.
“Might we be expecting the duke in attendance this evening?” your mother asked her, ever hopeful. “We have not seen him at Bridgerton house for several days.”
Lady Danbury’s face drew solemn. “Speak not to me of my nephew. He does his utmost to bring me despair.”
“However could you mean?”
“For many months I have had words with him on the matter of courtship and marriage. I was well prepared for my pleas to be ignored as they have been, but imagine my delight to see him making efforts with you, Miss Bridgerton! I thought, perhaps, his mind had changed.”
“He is against marriage?” your mother asked, shocked.
Lady Danbury shook her head. “His heart is hardened by the years of his youth. Such a difficult time he had of things. His mother passed during childbirth and his father was none suited to the task of fatherhood, utterly without love for the boy. I have never known such a cruel, cold creature. I shudder to imagine what might have become of him had I not taken him in, and it awes me every day to know the man he is now. I am endlessly proud of him, Lady Bridgerton, but he suffers the sins of his father as though they are his own. It saddens me greatly.”
You listened to the conversation, breath caught. He had alluded to his upbringing on your enquiries, but had kept much of it from you, for reasons that you supposed pertained to his pain. How much pain indeed! Could it be that this explained his aversion to love, to marriage, to wanting children? Such was the urge to take him in an embrace and assure him that all would be well— if only you possessed the courage.
“His mind must be changed, Lady Danbury. He has courted my daughter with clear intention; I have seen it myself, the way they alight one another when they are together. Whatever is responsible for this distance, we must fix it. Perhaps he has been repelled by the other gentleman that have called on her?”
Lady Danbury scoffed a laugh. “I find that highly unlikely.”
“Then there is nothing for it,” your mother turned to you sharply. “Seek him out, dear. Assert yourself upon him and assuage his worries.”
“I shall do no such thing, mother.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because he is not the only man in the ton. There are many other gentlemen here I should like to get to know.”
Your mother laughed. “Nonsense! I have watched numerous gentlemen court you these days just gone, and not a one of them has titillated you as the duke did!”
“What would you know of it?” you snapped, so emotional as to forget yourself. “What would anyone know of it? I am positively sick of being told whom I must and must not entertain, what I can and cannot feel. I should rather prefer to be left well alone so my own mind might be decided.”
Lady Danbury smiled wryly. Your mother blinked in shock.
“Please excuse me.”
With a curt bow you departed from them, as adequately mortified by your own outburst as by the fact that your mother seemed so easily able to read you. Through the gathering you navigated as best you could, stepping out to a veranda that overlooked the mansion’s rear courtyard. It was quieter here, the din of partygoers and shrill of the brass band reduced to a pleasant background buzz. It allowed for a catching of breath, where you settled yourself and decided an apology was probably due to your mother. Later.
The courtyard stretched out before you, its lush green lawn lit by standing sconces that emitted haloes of amber light. Arrangements of flower beds and animals shaped from the rose bushes were much delightful to look upon, and not a soul thought to disturb you.
“It is disrespect of the highest degree, Hwang. You must see that.”
Your heart seized as a raised voice floated to you.
“Then I cannot win, Bridgerton. I am damned if I am too close to her, I am damned if I retreat. What would you have me do?”
Looking over the veranda’s balustrade and down to the courtyard, you saw the silhouettes of two strong frames you knew well cast over the stone, though they themselves remained just out of sight.
“I demand that you make your intentions clear. Assure me that you intend to ask for my sister’s hand, and I shall grant my blessing. A man’s word is his bond.”
“The whole ton knows of my intentions. Have you not heard the gossip?”
“I know better than to alight any credence to the rumour mill that drives this society. I know you, more importantly. Why can you not simply offer promise of marriage to my sister when you have made a show of courting her to that end? Why do you find such difficulty in so simple a thing?”
“I find no difficulty in it. I find insult.”
“Insult?!” Anthony laughed hoarsely. “You jest, surely!”
“You call into question my integrity. My honour.”
“Then take action, Hwang. Make me the fool, prove me wrong. Convince me that your courting of my sister is not some ploy, the ends of which I can only speculate to.”
Silence fell. Fire in the sconces crackled. Your skin tingled with anticipation.
“You cannot,” Anthony said.
“I will entertain this conversation no longer.”
“You are a coward.”
“Careful, Bridgerton.”
“You are the one should be careful. You have toyed with my sister, dragged her into your affairs and pressed upon her expectations.”
 “She has no expectations of me, Anthony. Of that, I can assure you.”
“Do you find it amusing to make a fool of her? Of me? Of my family? Would not any young lady from the ton have sufficed for your games?”
“That is enough.”
“Shall I tell you what it is wounds me most, Hwang? Of all this?”
A beat of silence passed; Anthony spoke again.
“I was at first outraged to learn of your calling on my sister. We exchanged cross words, and my anger continued still, until the family dinner that eve. Never have I seen a woman glow such as my sister did that night. It seemed as though a flame had been ignited under her skin, and that all was hope and excitement. I was forced to reconsider my prejudices. Could a man that brought her such joy truly be as roguish as I hitherto perceived? I struggled to comprehend it, and so I thought I would allow you to continue. Perhaps I was wrong to indulge my curiosity, but I acted from the goodness of my heart, and furthermore, saw yours. I kept myself scarce and allowed things to take their course, objected not when you invited her to tea. I know I detected sincerity about you. The truth of the matter cannot be concealed when it shows so abundantly in your eyes.”
Another beat of silence.
“I am informed you have not called on her this week. Why?”
“The other men of the ton have kept her occupied.”
Anthony laughed. “And yet, it is not other men that she wants. You have seen well to that.”
You heard footsteps, the silhouette of your brother wavering.
“I neither know nor care what games you play, Hwang, but from this moment on, you shall play them with someone else. Leave my sister be. I beg you. Please.”
With that, his shadow disappeared from sight, your eyes so blurred with the makings of tears miraculously able to see it. There was the huff of a deep breath, and measured footsteps as Hyunjin appeared from under the veranda, his state of dishevelment such a shock as to bring you to gasp. He whirled around and looked up, your eyes meeting in the dim light. What grief struck his expression surely matched your own.
“Go inside, my lady,” he said, voice gruff. “The evening draws cold.”
A whirl of indignation possessed you.
“Is that all you have to say, your grace?” you called.
He hung his head, his demeanour so unlike what you knew. He shook his head, raked a hand through his silken locks that caught the golden light of the nearby brazier.
“It seems I am unable to trust my words this eve,” he said. “They irk all who hear them.”
“That is because they are dishonest.”
He looked up at you once more, his jaw feathering as his lips pressed thinly.
“Come down, my lady. I should like to speak with you.”
“Come up here, your grace. The view of the courtyard is most agreeable.”
With something resembling a smile, Hyunjin nodded. He buttoned his jacket as he began into the mansion, once more disappearing from your view. How the minutes seemed to prolong as you awaited him on the veranda, each second weighing heavily on you until he called your name—
“Ah! The fair Miss Bridgerton!”
A shiver of revulsion possessed you— that was not how he called your name.
It was with a bout of horror that you turned and saw Lord Berbrooke barrelling towards you, his suit too small for his podgy frame and his beard as wildly untamed as what little hair yet clung to his bonce for dearest life.
“You are all alone out here!” he exclaimed, draining the flute in his hand and tossing it carelessly aside. “A lady so dainty as yourself should not be left unattended.”
“I was in need of some air. I am quite content to be left alone.”
“No, no. You mustn't be,” he drawled. “All manner of horror awaits the unsuspecting young lady.”
“As I am coming to learn,” you muttered.
He came closer still, near enough that the reek of liquor spoke for him.
“I must confess dear, that I eagerly await the day of our nuptials!”
“Excuse me?”
“Perhaps it is gross of me to admit, but I am not so cold-hearted a man! I am as susceptible to love’s pinch as any other! Miss Bridgerton—” He stumbled and caught himself on the balustrade. “You shall make for me, a most pleasing wife.”
“Lord Berbrooke, you presume far too much. You have made no such proposal to me, and if I may speak frankly, I should decline if you did.”
“My dear,” he cackled, throaty and vile. “The proposal is not yours to decline. The viscount is in hearty agreement with me! The deal is made! You are already mine!”
Icy trickles of fear seized your limbs with a wave of nausea. Lord Berbrooke guffawed louder still, and made as though to reach for you, his grubby hands keen in their search. “Come, my dear. We need not pretend any longer. Let us get ahead of the consummation—”
What happened next was so utterly quick you might have blinked and missed it. Lord Berbrooke lunged with delight in his eyes, and yet his advances were short. He was dragged backward by the collar and thrown to the ground in a heap, where the sole of a firm foot pinned him by the chest. Above the man did the Duke of Hastings loom, his expression thunderous.
“If you value either your reputation or your life, Lord Berbrooke,” he snarled. “I suggest you leave here and never again darken Miss Bridgerton’s door.”
“Get your damn foot off me—”
“You will relent in your attempts to marry her and leave her be. Am I understood?”
“What?! How dare you—”
“Else the entire ton shall know of your improper advances on the young lady by morning light, and you shall be shunned from all you know, dropped from all deals of business, exiled as a vagabond and a villain. How do you think the viscount might take to such information?”
Hyunjin pressed his foot into Berbrooke’s chest, resulting in a hog-like squeal.
“Am I understood?”
“Yes! Yes!”
“Say it,” Hyunjin snapped.
“I will leave the girl alone! Consider it done! Release me! Please!”
The man removed his foot; Lord Berbrooke scrambled to his feet, clutching his chest and panting. With a glare of immeasurable hatred, he stumbled from the veranda and into the mansion, scarcely looking back. Had you known that was the last time you would ever see Lord Berbrooke in your lifetime, you might have mustered a smile. As it stood, you were too horrified to much move or speak.
Hyunjin collected himself and turned to you.
“My apologies, my lady. I wish you had not seen that.”
You shook your head. “Thank you.”
“You need not thank me. Any decent man would have acted the same.” He stepped near. “Did he put hands on you?”
“No. I do not think—”
Hyunjin reached out, and from the waistline of your dress caught a thin strip of ribbon that seemed as though ripped loose. He ran it between his fingers, his eyes narrowing sharply.
“I should have made haste.”
“It is nothing the modiste cannot mend.” You took his hand, entirely thoughtless in doing so. “Truly, I am fine.”
He hung his head, strands of gold falling about his features. His hand stilled in yours, warm skin doing nothing more than brushing softly.
“I fear I have made a terrible mistake, my lady,” he whispered.
“How so?”
He looked at you, his hazel eyes warm, yet sad.
“It would appear that... in my efforts to assist you with the matter of your finding love, I have myself fallen.”
You swallowed. “You have found someone?”
“Indeed, I have. Foolishly, I have. I have attempted to distance myself from her, but she invades my every thought. Her name carries on my every breath. There is nothing I can do to avail myself of this torment.”
“Have you confessed as such to her, your grace?”
“I cannot. She believes me dishonest, I am sure, among other things.”
“You might be mistaken,” you whispered. “One must always account for intent.”
“My intentions were selfish.”
“And are they still?”
He searched your face, the fire light from the near brazier dancing on his flawless complexion.
“Yes,” he breathed.
The background lull of music from the ball seemed to cease. The man flicked a gaze from your eyes to your lips, the suggestion such that your heart lurched and drove you the step toward him that closed your bodies near; he drew tense, his hold on your hand firming as he slotted his fingers between yours. His other hand found your cheek, sure yet afraid, and it was by your unrelenting gaze that you drew him in to kiss you.
His lips were as tender as to break your heart, and in the embrace did your sensibilities unravel like tumbling yarn. One kiss, then another just as soft, and by the third you clutched his jacket as though he might disappear.
When he broke away, it was with a high flush on his cheekbones. He licked his full bottom slowly.
“The taste of a diamond,” he whispered. “How painfully I have longed for it.”
“Your grace...”
“You must think me a monster.”
You took his face in your hands. “Do not presume to know my thoughts. I shall tell you them myself. You need only ask.”
“I fear I am not so brave as that, my lady.”
“You were brave enough to kiss me just a moment ago. Brave enough to face my brother in the name of upholding our bargain. Brave enough to aid me when I believed all hope lost.”
“I acted in my own interests.”
“As did I.”
“There is... much you do not know of me.”
“Much that I look forward to discovering, when you are ready and the time is right.”
He sighed as though exasperated, yet the weight of it was light.
“You vex me, my lady.”
“I should say the same of you, your grace.” You swept your thumbs over his cheekbones, his lids fluttering. “You insisted so strongly on the goodness of your character, and yet when faced with acceptance, attempted to paint yourself a villain. Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but I must have you know— you are not the man your father was, and neither are you doomed to repeat his mistakes.”
Pained was the expression that crossed him, his breath catching sharply.
“Do you truly wish to spend all your days alone?” you asked on a whisper.
“Not anymore, my lady.”
“Then do not attempt to push me away with talk of your devils. I shall accept them all, horns and wings alike.”
He turned into your palm, revelling in the touch. He clasped your wrist and pressed plush lips to the warm, soft skin.
“You have altered all I thought I knew,” he said. “I am utterly taken with you, Miss Bridgerton. I am in love, and you were quite right; it is to be celebrated. I wish to tell all who attend this ball that you are the woman that has bewitched me, mind and soul, such that I do not even know myself or these things I say. I feel driven mad, and yet never has a course of action been clearer to me.”
With another a kiss to your palm, he dropped to his knee, clutching your hand with both of his.
“Marry me, my lady. If you can return even a sliver of my feelings, make of me an honest man and I shall take care of you for all our days. You shall want for no comfort, long for no affection. It shall be all I can do to satisfy and delight you.”
Choked with the onset of emotion, it hardly seemed true that such a thing could be happening; that the Duke of Hastings could be proposing.
“What say you, my lady?”
You squeezed his hand tenderly, your heart so full of warmth. How reminiscent it all seemed, and to that end:
“You have a deal, your grace,” you said, utterly giddy.
Hyunjin laughed, his eyes crescent with joy that alighted him. He rose from his kneel, took you into his embrace.
“Excellent,” he said softly. “Though I must make one thing abundantly clear.”
“Oh?”
“I am of the belief that keeping separate bedrooms is a terribly archaic practice.”
“Meaning what, your grace?”
“Meaning...” He kissed you once more, and spoke against your sweet lips. “There shall be no rest for you tonight, nor the next, nor on any night to come, my lady. You are mine, forevermore.”
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𝙥𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙚 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚, 𝙧𝙚𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙜, 𝙡𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙚 >
𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙖 𝙣𝙞𝙘𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙? 𝙨𝙖𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙣𝙠𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚 ♡ >
𝙘𝙝𝙚𝙘𝙠 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙨𝙠𝙯 𝙧𝙤𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙩𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 ♡ >
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dreamescapeswriting · 39 minutes
Text
Reunions Embrace ~ HYJ
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WORD COUNT: 2.1K
GENRE: idol!AU, established relationships, SMUT MINORS DNI, blow job, unprotected sex, reader taking care of the prince as deserved,
PAIRING: Hyunjin X Fem!Reader
⤜Copyright: © DreamEscapesWriting - March 2024
⤜MASTERLIST
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The moment Hyunjin stepped into the house, a sense of tranquillity washed over him, filling every corner of his being with a comforting embrace. The home had been completely transformed since he left as if his absence had somehow imbued it with an even greater sense of warmth and homeliness. 
The living room was bathed in the soft glow of evening light filtering through the blinds, it felt like peace compared to the bus he'd been cramped on for months. The coffee table had a vase of fresh cut flowers placed in them, so fresh he could smell them from the doorway and his body began to relax completely but the one thing putting him into a complete state of relaxation was the smell of cooking. Not just any cooking but Hyunjin's favourite meal that was greeting him, instantly warming his heart as he went toward the kitchen in the hunt for you.
In the kitchen, he found you standing by the stove, your sleeves rolled up as you tended to a pot simmering on the stove. The air was filled with the mouthwatering aroma of his favourite meal, a comforting blend of spices and flavours that instantly transported him back to simpler times.
"Hey, you're home!" You exclaimed, rushing over toward him and instantly wrapping your arms around him, his arms snaking around your waist as his head rested on the top of your head. This was what peace was, this was everything he ever wanted in life. To come home to you and this hug. He held you close, feeling the warmth of your embrace chase away the lingering chill of his travels. 
"I've missed you so much," he whispered, his voice filled with longing and affection. It had been far too long since he'd gotten to hold you and he wasn't planning on letting go so easily. You smiled to yourself, letting out a happy sigh as you snuggled your head into his chest. 
The two of you spoke almost every day whenever you could but it was hard when his schedule kept him so busy on tour, but you understood the risks of dating someone in his career and you accepted them. As long as he continued to come home to you, that was all you cared about. 
Slowly pulling back you looked up at him with eyes that sparkled with joy and love, you were almost afraid if you looked away he would suddenly disappear. 
"I've missed you too," You replied softly, your hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from his forehead, it had grown so much longer since the last time you saw him and you knew it was going to be irritating him sooner or later.
As you stood there, wrapped in each other's arms, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed by a wave of gratitude for having you in his life. Despite the distance and the challenges you faced, you were always there for him, supporting him and loving him unconditionally. No matter the rumour going around you stood by him, waiting for him to tell you his side before ever passing judgement. Always there to care for him whenever he was sick or overworked, you were always there and he couldn't have been more grateful for you.
"I can't believe you cooked my favourite meal," he said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 
"You really are the best." He kissed the top of your head as you grinned up at him, your eyes shining with happiness. 
"Well, I wanted to do something special for you," You said, your voice filled with warmth as you slowly went back over to the stove to make sure everything was cooking nicely. You had a whole night planned out for him and it wasn't going to end with just the meal,
"Welcome home, my love." You whispered as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder while he stood with you and you cooked. And at that moment, as you stood there together, surrounded by the aroma of his favourite meal and the love that filled the air, he knew that no matter where his travels took him, he would always find his way back to you.
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After savouring every last bite of the meal you'd lovingly prepared, he felt a warmth spread through his body unlike any he had experienced before. It wasn't just the delicious flavours that filled him with contentment, but the knowledge that each bite was a tangible expression of your love and devotion. As he leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his lips, he felt a sense of peace wash over him. The worries and stresses of his time away seemed to melt away with each mouthful, replaced by a profound sense of gratitude for the love of his life sitting across from him.
"Wait right here," You whispered, your voice soft and soothing, you walked over to him, pressing a kiss to his temple and smirking to yourself.
"I have something special planned for you." Without giving him a chance to respond he watched as you disappeared from the room, anticipation fluttering in his chest like a butterfly's wings. 
Moments later, you returned, your arms cradling a stack of fluffy towels and a bottle of his favourite bath oil. 
"Come with me," You said, your voice a gentle melody that beckoned him to follow, almost like a siren's call and he was up in a flash, following after you in silence.
Together, you ascended the stairs, the soft glow of candlelight casting flickering shadows on the walls. As you reached the landing, you led him into the bathroom, where the air was heavy with the scent of lavender and eucalyptus.
With tender care, you began to fill the tub with warm water, the sound of rushing water a soothing symphony that filled the room. Once the tub was filled to the brim, you poured in a generous amount of bath oil, the fragrant aroma enveloping you both in a cloud of tranquillity.
"You don't have to do all of this for me," He mumbled a little, guilt weighing on him as he thought about all of the efforts you were going through for him. He'd been away so long and yet you were still doing all of this for him and a small part of him felt as though he should be the one to do this for you. 
"I want to, I missed you and want to take good care of you," You told him as you glanced over your shoulder, reading the look on his face easily and sending him a reassuring smile.
"But-"
"No buts, I want to do this and I will," You said sternly, making him chuckle a little as you stood up and turned to face him. 
"Now, it's time to relax." You whispered as you kissed him softly, slowly peeling off his clothes and dropping them into the laundry basket inside the room. Continuing to strip him and kiss his naked shoulders as you did so, smiling happily as you watched him sink further into relaxation.
Hyunjin stepped into the tub, sinking into the warm embrace of the water with a contented sigh. You knelt beside him, dipping a soft sponge into the water and beginning to wash away the cares of the day with gentle strokes. As you washed him, your touch was tender and loving, each caress a silent promise of your devotion. He closed his eyes, surrendering himself fully to the sensation of her hands moving over his skin, washing away the tension and fatigue that had accumulated during his time away.
"This is nice," He whispered, his head leaning back against the tub as you continued to wash his body gently. It was the first time touching him in a long time but it wasn't sexual, it was relaxing. 
"Lean forward." You whisper in his head, once he does you begin to run the sponge down his back, smiling as your boyfriend fully relaxes for you. 
"Thank you," He whispered as he leaned back against the tub, his eyes finding yours and smiling in a completely relaxed state. There was no place he'd rather be right now than right here,
"Anytime baby," You giggled a little, kissing him softly as he slipped further into the water, his eyes fluttering shut as you smiled leaning back against the tub enjoying him back with you. 
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Hyunjin sucks in a sharp breath as he watches your soft lips wrap around his hard length, he couldn't remember how you'd gotten to the bedroom but he didn't care, he was in complete bliss. Your eyes flirt with him as you sink lower onto his shaft and back up again, his moans filling the room as his eyes flutter shut,
"F-Fuck I missed this," He mumbles, his hands clutching onto the sheets as you run your tongue up and down his length, using your hand to stroke what your mouth can't reach as your head bobs up and down, tracing the veins in his skin as you suck. 
"Just like that," He moans, his gaze now on you as you looked up at him, humming around him as you continue to suck him deeper, his praises filling you with determination. You wanted this to be the perfect welcome home for him and you were going to do anything for that to happen.
"Ffuuck," He hisses, your pace quickening as you suck him and stroke him faster, pulling off him to spit on the tip before taking him back into your mouth and to the back of your throat again,
"S-Stop...S-Stop," He begs as you pull back, afraid you'd done something wrong but he brought you onto his lap, kissing you deeply and hungrily as he wrapped his arms around you.
"I want to come with you," He whispered as he lined himself up at your entrance, your hands making their way into his hair and you bit down on his lip softly. 
"I need you" You whimpered, as he slowly pushed into you, your eyes squeezing shut at the stretch, it had been far too long since you'd been with one another but you needed this.
"Shit, Yn, you're so fucking tight," He groans, his head rolling back against the bed as you sank further onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his length as you breathed out a happy sigh,
"You're too big," You mumbled to him, rolling your hips slowly moving your hips in slow circles as his hands clutched onto your hips, there was no way he was going to last long, not when it had been too long since you were last together,
"Y-Yn," He stuttered out, he wanted this to be good for you too but he knew there was no chance he could make you come like this, not with how needy he was,
"This is all about you tonight," You breathed out, biting his ear softly as you slowly began to raise your hips only to let them fall again, rocking back and forth on him as he moaned your name out loudly. Your breathing went faster and shallower as you moved your hips faster on him, his hands digging into your hips as he groaned squeezing his eyes shut and trying to list off baseball players to distract him,
"Come for me baby, I missed you." You moaned out, looking down at him as he whimpered, his hips bucking wildly as he couldn't fight it anymore, the urge to come taking over him as he bucked into you, your pussy clenching around him as he thrusts harder and faster into you. Cumming suddenly as he whimpered your name out, sweat dripping down his forehead as you continued to ride him through his high.
"Maybe I should have made you bathe last," You teased, kissing his lips softly as he whimpered, unable to find words to speak at that moment.
"I'll run a fresh one and I'll join you this time," You told him, slowly getting up and smirking as you made your way to the bathroom, your boyfriend's eyes on you the whole time.
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wontune · 4 months
Text
Hyunjin ✿ lockscreens
( stray kids )
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10K notes · View notes
fluffylino · 3 months
Text
pussy agenda with hyunjin
-contains mature themes
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he can't keep his hands to himself.
doesn't really have to be sexual. but likes to shove his hand down your pants to cup your mound with his hand.
it could be at any time of the day.
regardless of whether you were sitting on the couch. or standing in the kitchen. or doing anything really.
you've gotten so used to it, it doesn't even bother you.
its so casual.
like you'd be telling him about how you read some weirdly interesting article. and he'd lazily walk over to you. listening and acknowledging everything you said.
but his hand had a mind of its own. slipping in your pants, to feel your warm cunt. middle finger running along your slit. before he takes his hand out and continues talking.
there are days when he'll purposely tease you. digging his fingers just a bit in. a small smile on his face when he feels you throb. making you make a startled noise. leaving you wet and swollen.
especially after he gets home from practice. hooking his chin on your shoulder. his left hand kneading your boob and his right hand in your pants.
.
shaving as well.
once, you had forgotten to lock the bathroom door. not like you even had to. the two of you were more than comfortable.
neck aching as you made sure you didn't miss any spots. your leg raised up on the sink counter. razor still in your hand while you shaved.
you had finished with your legs and arms. and now, (as hyunjin would say) your most delicate part remained.
you groaned. jumping a bit as your eyes met with a nonchalant hyunjin. who was leaning against the door frame, hand still resting on the door knob.
"need help?"
your cheeks flushing at his outrageous question. not to mention you were half naked. you needed help. and you trusted him. but it was more because your legs ached.
"i'll help you shave" he admitted, walking in. closing the door behind him.
and he indeed did.
"you don't need to shave by the way" he reassured.
"i'd eat your precious cunt regardless" such a casual statement to make. while keeping your legs open.
"careful" you mumbled, eyes cast down to where he was kneeling down. spreading your pussy lips apart.
as if he was inspecting your folds. gentle with each stroke of the razor.
"i know. baby's delicate pussy is very sensitive" hyunjin muttered, biting his lip as he concentrated on the task at hand. eyes fixed on your pussy. it made you feel very...exposed and maybe a bit turned on. his warm breath making you feel even hotter.
and after he's done.
he kisses it. working his way up.
"gonna have my fun with you later"  pressing his cushioney lips to your freshly shaven pussy. it was almost like he was letting your pussy know well in advance.
and pulling away with accomplishment written all over his face.
cause now you were getting wet.
.
or if he's driving. (like in the recent skz code). he'd be holding the steering wheel with his left hand. his right hand intertwined with yours.
slowly getting carried away.
till his fingers are teasing your slit. rubbing against it and pressing the pads of his index into your pussy. and pulling out. and doing it all over again.
never actually pushing all the way in.
keeping his finger pressed between your folds. almost like he's having his own fun while you're squirming and closing your legs around his hand.
he's focused on driving, reading the sign boards. even asking you if you're hungry. acting normal as though his hand isn't shoved down your panties. but as i mentioned. his fingers are on auto pilot.
in conclusion,
hyunjin would do anything for your pussy. even if that includes fleeting touches.
.
.
.
.
did you like it ehe.......
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forlix · 6 days
Text
𝐚𝐜𝐞・h.h.
— volleyball superstar and your personal hell hwang hyunjin proposes a trade-off you can't refuse: his matchmaking services for a passing anthropology grade. the plan is foolproof in theory; in practice, it is something else entirely.
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words・15.2k
pairing・volleyball player!hyunjin x tutor!reader (gn)
genres・college!au, sports!au, fake enemies to friends to lovers, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, slice of life, mutual pining, slow burn. hyunjin is a huge flirt. mc #DGAF. two polar opposites sharing one soul. a seungjin fic if u squint. loosely inspired by the manga/anime haikyuu!!
warnings・mentions of anxiety, fear of failure, heartbreak, loneliness, and self-image. course language and callous banter (as always) ft. suggestive flirting and one kms joke. some of the referenced players and coaches are real; this fic is not.
playlist・collision by stray kids・value by ado・waiting for us by stray kids・eternity by bang chan・dreaming by smallpools・fly high!! by burnout syndromes
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a/n・writing this felt like returning to my roots tbh. i love volleyball and i love sports aus and i love, love hwang hyunjin. thank u to my sahar for bringing this fic to life with me, as always; i can no longer write for him without also writing for you. i hope u guys enjoy reading this as much as i adored writing it. happy late birthday, our jinnie, our hyunjin, our forever ace; you are so unbelievably loved ♡
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“Not a word out of you,” you say, tossing your backpack onto the floor of the lecture hall with a heavy-handed flick. “I’m serious.”
Hyunjin glances up at you with a frown. “When did people stop saying good morning?”
Your lack of an immediate comeback tells him the situation is dire. He observes you for a moment, his mouth falling open, hanging still, then curving into a slow, serpentine smile.
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
“No.”
“Please, angel.”
“No! Leave me alone.”
Hyunjin slumps back into his seat, thinking hard. The solution occurs to him with a poke of his tongue into his cheek. “Coffee on me for a week.”
At this, your hands stop rummaging in your bag. You cock your head, your interest piqued. Got you. 
When you finally humor him and turn around, you’re flinching like you’re in pain, eyes closed and breath held and all. He giggles and leans in for a closer look. Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes if he wasn’t so flummoxed by the state of your forehead.
“What the hell did you do?”
“Tried to cut my own bangs,” you sigh. “It didn’t go very well and now I look like Rock Lee.”
Hyunjin lets out a forceful laugh. “You’ve seen Naruto?”
You open your eyes. Only then does Hyunjin remember how little distance he left between your faces, when he’s staring straight into them and all the strange, starry speckles they hold.
The air between you curdles like sour milk.
Things are awkward between you often, he’s realized recently. What’s more, he didn’t think he was capable of being awkward with anyone anymore until he met you. It was your ill-fated seat that he chose to sit next to on the first day of ANTH 111, your ill-fated lap onto which he chose to spill his Americano, and the rest was history (or, in this case, anthropology). His tongue ends up in sailor’s knots with every smart-aleck comment and pitiful laugh you’ve given him since. Maybe there’s more to it, maybe there isn’t—Hyunjin doesn’t think about it much. He doesn’t like thinking in general.
You pull away from each other in unison. You clear your throat, glancing elsewhere. 
“Of course I’ve seen Naruto,” you quip, and everything is normal again. “Why do you seem surprised?”
“Because you’re so scholarly.”
“I am not scholarly.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You go to a park to play chess with old people on weekends.”
“I need to get my steps in somehow!"
“You didn’t know what Urban Dictionary was until I told you to look up—”
“—ugh, I learned so much about you that day."
“Your favorite social media platform is Quizlet,” he bursts, exasperated. “Quizlet.”
“It is not.” An introspective pause. “Is it?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised.” Hyunjin throws his feet up on the chair below him, jabs in your direction with a bandaged finger. “There is no way you enjoy watching 2D men beat each other up in your free time. I don’t buy it.”
“Honestly, I thought you’d have more to say about my current appearance than my hobbies.”
He does, though. Matter of fact, he’s been curating a list since this conversation started: Vector from Despicable Me, Dora the Explorer’s hot older sibling, Spock. You face-planted into a lawnmower. You mistook a paper shredder for a hat. It goes on.
But then his head turns. Your eyes meet again. He’s reminded that it’s hard to sustain an inner monologue and look at you at the same time.
He reaches up, nudges a lock of your hair over a centimeter or so, and gives the patch of forehead a gentle flick.
“Watermelon,” he mumbles with a sickening smile.
You divert your attention to your lecture notes with a disappointed click of your tongue. “You’re getting soft.”
He spends the entire lecture daydreaming about tropical coastlines.
“I only get coffee from that one place on the east side of campus, by the way,” you say as you’re strolling out the building together, “and I get it a very specific way. Can you handle it?”
“Your faith gets me out of bed in the morning,” Hyunjin deadpans. “I’ll handle it, love. Text me your order.”
All of a sudden, you position your hands close to your stomach, the lapels of your jacket casting them in shadow. Your fingers begin to move in a sequence that he’d recognize anywhere.
“Body flicker jutsu,” you whisper, and then you’re scurrying off without another word—but you do glance back at him to gauge his response. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the main quad’s busy thrum.
Hyunjin gapes at your retreating figure for so long that phosphenes start prancing around his field of view. Then he heads to the gym. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram.
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“Hwang, I need you in my office.”
Hyunjin stops lacing up his shoes to see Coach Bang standing on the court’s sideline with a grim air about him. He glances at his captain, confused.
“Don’t look at me,” Minho says mid-stretch. “Godspeed.”
“Thanks, cap.” Useless.
Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. It’s all fluorescent lights and spotless white walls, the only decorative fixture a picture of his siblings, parents, and dog in front of the Sydney Opera House, framed and facing him atop his desk. Hyunjin once snuck the thing into the bathroom, an innocent plot to satiate his curiosity, and promptly discovered the man’s propensity for violence. He’s packing beneath those dry-cleaned polos, by the way.
Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “You can read, right?”
“Yes, coach,” he sighs. Everyone’s expectations for him are subterranean.
From: Jinyoung Park «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Not good See email from Hwang’s antopology professor below . He submitted the complete script of the Trolls movie instead of his mid term paper and now he’s failing the class . Not good . Sort out ASAP JP Sent from my iPad
Bang snatches up his mouse and scrolls, his ears turning scarlet. “Wrong email.”
“Yep.”
From: Kyeyoung Kim «[email protected]» To: Jinyoung Park «[email protected]» Subject: Regarding Hwang Hyunjin To Director of Athletics Park, I am writing to inform you that, as of yesterday, Mr. Hwang Hyunjin has a D- (64.9%) in ANTH 111: Cultural Anthropology, due to his submission of the complete script of a kids’ movie instead of his midterm paper. It is disappointing to see Mr. Hwang trivialize and ridicule my class to such a degree. Please see to it that he reorganizes his priorities lest his Student-Athlete Participation Agreement do so for him. Regards, Kyeyoung Kim Professor of Anthropology
“That’s bullshit!”
“We’re in agreement there.” Bang folds his arms over his chest, throws his foot over his knee. “Do you know what your Student-Athlete Participation Agreement says?”
“Does anyone?” Hyunjin scoffs. Bang whips out a form and brings it to eye level, the thing covered from top to bottom in microscopic Times New Roman.
“No way you just had that.”
“I had it delivered ten minutes ago,” Bang confesses, then clears his throat and begins to recite. “All student-athletes must complete the academic term with a C or higher in all courses, should they wish to continue their participation in athletics thereafter.”
Hyunjin stiffens. “What the fuck? I’ve never heard of—”
“If any Department of Athletics personnel,” Bang continues, raising his voice, “have reason to believe that a student-athlete will not be able to satisfy this requirement, they are encouraged to utilize resources such as academic advising or peer tutoring in guiding said student-athlete back onto the correct path.”
He shoves the piece of paper across his desk. “Read that name aloud for me.”
Hyunjin stares at the signature at the bottom of the page, scrawled so carelessly that most of it deviates away from its designated line. There is a rare hollowness in his chest that he recognizes as anxiety. With it comes a glimpse of a life without volleyball, the question of what little of him would remain.
“Hwang Hyunjin,” he says under his breath.
The office goes silent. Bang tucks the form back into his drawer. It closes with a gentle click.
Then comes the yelling.
“The Trolls movie? Trolls?! Are you fucking with me, Hwang?”
“It was a cultural reset! The pinnacle of modern media! How’s that for anthropology?”
“BAD!” Bang explodes, gesturing to the email emphatically. “VERY, VERY BAD!”
Hyunjin slumps over, dejected.
“You’ve never had trouble with school before.” He leans over his desk imposingly. “What the hell happened this semester? What changed?”
Nothing is the first answer that comes to mind, but Hyunjin’s pulse spikes like a lie detector. Upon the inside of his eyes replays a scene of a certain someone with watermelon bangs doing teleportation jutsu at him from a few yards away, wearing a smile made of some kind of space dust that astronomists haven’t discovered yet.
He grits his teeth, annoyed. This is what happens when he thinks.
“Beats me,” he lies. “Typical junior year stress, maybe.”
“Does any of it have to do with Piazza?” 
Hyunjin shudders.
It just might, actually.
Modesty has no place in the career he’s had: high school national champion turned ace hitter in both the South Korean U21 roster and regular rotation for Seoul National University, the best collegiate volleyball team in the country. His name has lived at the top of ranking lists and the center of gold medals since he turned old enough to qualify for them; the press believes him the instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution. It’s a mouthful, he knows.
It was never a question that he would go professional; the question was who he should talk to and where he would go.
At the start of the school year, Bang, acting in place of the agent he was advised to find and never bothered to, gave him a list of people to reach out to. On the very top was none other than Roberto Piazza, the chairman and head coach of Allianz Milano, one of the most eminent club teams in the world—and current home to Hyunjin’s personal idol, outside hitter Ishikawa Yuki.
Hyunjin thought his poor coach had finally succumbed to his old age. The thought of stepping onto the same court as Ishikawa felt sacrilegious, let alone donning the red, white, and navy blue of Allianz Milano with him. But Bang slapped him on the back of the neck and reminded him that going professional was equal parts preparation and opportunity; he was never going to know the answers to questions he didn’t ask. Hyunjin was coerced to fire off an introductory email despite his reservations.
Piazza replied within the week.
For the last five months, Hyunjin has been fighting with tooth and nail to manage his expectations. He scrolls past the team’s social media posts like they burn his eyes. He replies to Piazza’s emails right before working out with Changbin under the assumption that whatever the shredded libero does to him will eviscerate his brain. If his world is made of dreams, this is the one at its very core, imbued with destructive potential the second it became attainable.
But that’s the last five months. The last five weeks have been you kicking him in the shin because he’s laughing (or trying to make you laugh) and the professor is staring; you listening to him rant and rave about volleyball when he knows you couldn’t care less about the sport; you relaying the contents of your class readings like hot gossip, your eyes wild and hands flying around because you can’t contain your excitement. You, you, you.
He cards a hand through his air, regaining his focus. “You know how I feel about Piazza.”
“Expect the worst, hope for the best.” Bang’s chair skids backwards as he stands up. “I think it’s a good approach.”
Suddenly, he is directly in front of Hyunjin, low enough to meet his eyes. His hands rest upon his shoulders firmly.
“But hope is hungry, and it will consume you if you let it,” he says. “Do not let it, Hyunjin. I’m not asking.”
Even while being squeezed to a pulp and regarded with the cold intensity of a statue, Hyunjin can’t help but feel anchored, somehow, to the floor of this miserable office. Protected.
Bang lets go of him. “I’m not asking you to find a tutor by the end of the week, either.”
Hyunjin groans. “Yeah, yeah. I’m on it.”
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A set of bandaged fingers appear in your periphery to place a paper cup onto your laptop. Accompanying the smell of fresh coffee is that of smoky rose, as decidedly douchey as ever.
“I thought you said your order was complicated.”
You look up from your phone to see Hyunjin plop into the adjacent seat. His long, caramel-colored hair is damp and unstyled in the aftermath of a morning shower, droplets of water pearling on the lapels of a navy blue windbreaker, layered over a white long sleeve. You recognize the outfit by now as game gear.
“Was it not?” You ask.
“It was an Americano, love. I walked up to the cashier and placed an order for an Americano.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if you could handle that much.” He flips you off as you squint at the cup. “Someone wrote their number on the lid, by the way.”
“What? Really?”
“No.”
He shoves you hard enough for your upper body to drape over the opposite armrest; you’re still cackling by the time you’ve straightened up again.
“Why did you get this, anyway?” Hyunjin grumbles. “I thought you had a sweet tooth.”
“I do, but you don’t.”
Only then does the fool understand that you had no intention of charging him in coffee just for a haircut reveal. He takes back the coffee hesitantly.
“Thanks,” he says at last. “Nice of you.”
“I know, right? Hated it,” you respond, and he almost chokes on his first sip.
You almost choke on nothing when Kim Seungmin materializes in the aisle adjacent. He holds out a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “Yo.”
Hyunjin dabs it up mid-sip. “I fully forgot you were in this class.”
“Well, I’m due for my weekly appearance.” Seungmin slips into the seat directly below you, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Hey, Y/N.”
“Hi,” you say, somehow managing to stumble over the single syllable the word has. You thank your lucky stars that you fixed your hair yesterday.
You like Kim Seungmin. Not just in the cutesy, crushy way, but in the “I would relinquish all of my rights for you” way where you spend every waking moment cursing out whatever stroke of misfortune placed Hyunjin in the seat next to you instead of him. He’s funny, gorgeous, and talented—a vocal performance major with a student-athlete contract—and you think your infatuation is more than justified. Hyunjin thinks it’s hilarious.
You side-eye your blonde adversary, prepared to see one of three things: a suppressed laugh, a dramatic eye-roll, or a mature kissy face that usually results in the first option. You’re met with something far more worrisome.
He’s thinking.
That can’t be good.
Suddenly, his phone screen lights up with a text that temporarily wipes the conspiratorial gleam from his eye. Hyunjin scans it over and groans. “Can this guy do his fucking job?”
“He wouldn’t have to if you didn’t quit,” Seungmin answers. “I’ll never forget you, Manager Hwang.”
“Shut up.” You peer at Hyunjin, silently requesting an explanation. “Our captain is forcing us to help him look for a new team manager. We need one for playoffs because of some stupid U-League rule—Seung, why do you look morose?”
“I’m mourning.” Seungmin does look morose indeed. “Hyunjin committed larceny last year and our coach punished him by making him our team manager for the rest of the year. It was so funny.”
Hyunjin slides down his seat. “It was the worst experience of my life.”
Neither man seems inclined to elaborate on the larceny thing. You choose to digress. “Can I ask why?”
“He had to be responsible,” Seungmin whispers. “For other people.”
The top of Hyunjin’s head stops right next to your armrest. You reach over and pat his hair in faux sympathy. “Poor thing.”
“Hardass refused to do it again this year, so now we’re recruiting.” Seungmin props an elbow upon the back of his chair, looks at you contemplatively. “I don’t suppose you have four hours to spare every day.”
Hyunjin scoffs from below you. Loudly. “This one? Team manager?”
“I can see it.”
“I can see killing myself, maybe.”
The next time you reach for him is to smack his forehead. A crisp smack resounds around the barren lecture hall, and Hyunjin cusses into his seat cushion.
“Seems like a great candidate to me,” Seungmin muses, and the warm smile he gives you mirrors onto your face before you can think better of it. God, it’s pretty. You wonder how it would feel pressed against your own.
Hyunjin is now completely out of sight and halfway onto the floor. “I miss when you didn’t come to class, Seungmin.”
Eighty minutes later, you’ve just emerged from the classroom when Seungmin calls out to you. You come to such a sudden halt that Hyunjin almost trips over you, but you barely notice him stumble, utterly enraptured by the hand Seungmin brings to the strands of hair by your ear, the fingers that dust your cheek as they pluck a small piece of lint from out of the tresses.
“Sorry.” He flicks it away with a sheepish smile. “I couldn’t unsee it.”
You manage to thank him just before your whole body ceases to function. Hyunjin sidesteps the two of you, yawning.
Seungmin excuses himself not too long after you reach the main quad. You also turn to leave, sparing Hyunjin a curt farewell in the process. He hooks his pointer finger around the handle at the top of your backpack and lugs you backwards with infuriating ease.
“I didn’t like that at all.”
“I don’t care. I have something to tell you.”
“You have a kid, don’t you?”
“Hello—who do you think I am?”
“The one-night-stand’s poster child,” you reply. “The champion of the contraception industry.”
“Yeah, contraception industry. It’s right there in the name.”
You can’t argue with that.
“What do you have to tell me?”
A shadow of hesitation flits across Hyunjin’s face. Your smile falters. Is it possible that you’re about to have a serious conversation with him for the first time? Maybe you should’ve saved the secret son bit for another time.
“I’m failing anthro.”
So much for a serious conversation. 
“Come again?”
He repeats the mystifying statement.
“You’re joking.”
The look on his face says otherwise, though, and your eyebrows disappear into your hair.
“You’re failing anthro?”
“I just said that, yes.”
“You’re failing anthropology?”
“Mhm.”
“Just so we’re clear—you’re failing Introduction to Cultural Anthropology?”
“Yes. I’m glad you’re having fun.”
This is the best day of your life. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”
“Yeah, well, our professor has no media literacy,” he mutters.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Hyunjin clears his throat. “Anyways, I was thinking—”
“Wow! Congratulations. That’s a big—oomf—”
Hyunjin puts his entire hand over your face. Your mangled noises of protest go unacknowledged.
“I was thinking,” he continues, pushing your head around like a stick shift, “you and I can work out some kind of deal.”
You shove his wrist off you with a revolted groan. “I think I just ate some athletic tape.”
“Happens. You wanna hear the deal or not?”
“Does it involve ingesting more sports equipment?”
“Do you want it to?”
“Just tell me the deal, boy.”
“Alright.” He takes a deep breath. “If you help me pass this class—I’ll set you up with Seungmin.”
Your head performs a triple-axel on your neck. You are unable to respond for what feels like multiple hours. Finally: “I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”
“On which part?”
“All of them. Everything.”
Hyunjin sighs, then scans the courtyard. His gaze settles on the student union a little ways off. “Are you hungry?”
You pick up a sandwich and a smoothie in a state of nervous stupor. One would think it’s the prime minister you’re about to have lunch with and not an imbecilic left-side hitter eating from three different entrees at the same time.
He’s chosen a table a few yards away from a planter of flowering cherry blossom trees. You feel jealous eyes on the side of your face as you take a seat across from Hyunjin, but they don’t know that his telephone pole legs still bump against yours even with them drawn as close to your body as anatomically possible. Or that he’s drawing up a literal Ponzi scheme on your sandwich wrapper. You wager you’ve had better company.
“You like anthropology. I like listening to you talk about anthropology.” He traces over the wrapper’s left corner. “And I kinda want you to boss me around. That weird?”
“Yes, definitely,” you mumble around a mouthful of bread. “Please continue.”
“Conclusion one: you should be my tutor.” He taps in place as if applying a finishing touch, then swaps to the opposite side. “You also like my teammate, but he’s neck-deep in volleyball and music this semester, which makes him hard to get a hold of—for most people.”
“Let me guess. Not for you.”
“Ten points to Ravenclaw.” His British accent is nightmarish. “Seung and I live in the same building. We get dinner when we go back from practice together. Conclusion two: you should come with us.”
“To dinner or to practice?”
“To both. Which brings us to my third and final conclusion—”
He slams a fist onto the center of the wrapper.
“—you should manage our team.”
“I knew it!” You slam the table as well, your smoothie wobbling upon impact. “You’re trying to swindle me! You can’t pay for my labor with more labor. What do you take me for?”
“It’s not labor, dumbass! Ask our last manager! He didn’t do shit!”
“Yeah? Who was your last manager?”
“Me!”
Oh, right. “But you hated it!”
“I hate everything that isn’t playing volleyball. Try again.”
You fold your arms over your chest. “You said you’d kill yourself if I managed you.”
Hyunjin starts balling up your sandwich wrapper. “It’s true. I thought about you and my coach getting along and promptly got a rash. But it makes so much sense: you do whatever you want during practice, tutor me afterwards, and then you and Seung can eyefuck over ramen or something. My coach hops off my dick, you hop on Seung’s—”
“STOP!” A girl drops her receipt not too far away, startled by your outburst. “Stop right there. I get it. Stop.”
“It’s a good plan.” He slings the paper ball towards the nearest trash can. It drops into the hole without so much as a brush against the rim. “You know it is.”
You’re loath to admit that you do. “When did you even come up with all this?”
He flicks a thumb in the direction of your anthropology class.
“No fucking wonder you’re failing.”
“What is this, mock trial?”
The owner of this voice is the third man you’ve seen today donning that navy windbreaker, white long-sleeve combo. He has a face that reminds you of your neighbor’s cat from back home, sleek and sharp and only slightly sinister. There’s a dash of humor in his expression as he approaches your table like he’s enjoying the company of a court jester.
“Slamming tables like fuckin’ tariff lawyers,” the cat-man hums, lifting a hand in Hyunjin’s direction. “I could see it from all the way inside.”
“Captain!” Hyunjin crows, dabbing him up without missing a beat. They really do that like breathing. “Just the man I was hoping to see.”
“Really? I thought you’d be avoiding me like the rest of our homunculus team.”
“I would never.”
“You did. Yesterday. When you saw me and started running in the opposite direction.” He pauses for emphasis. “As fast as possible.”
“Well, that was yesterday. Today is a new day.” Hyunjin tosses you a proud glance. “And today, I bring you a new team manager.”
You stiffen. “I haven’t—”
“Is that so!” When the stranger smiles at you, you feel the same satisfaction you did every time the cat let you scratch her on the chin. “Music to my ears. What’s your name, cutie?”
You catch Hyunjin’s eye across the table; he nods enthusiastically as if saying go on, then. You briefly picture yourself strangling him with his own athletic tape. You then picture yourself hopping on Seungmin’s—
Rigidly, you throw a hand out to the cat-man, your face aflame.
“Y/N,” you grumble. “I’m looking forward to working with you.”
He shakes on it heartily. “Likewise. I’m Minho. Welcome to the team.”
“Yes, welcome to the team,” Hyunjin parrots, looking positively jolly. You gnash your teeth together so hard your jaw throbs.
He’s lucky that his proposal holds so much water. He’s lucky that you don’t plan to strangle him until after you try that eyefucking thing.
You do kick him under the table, though.
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The team has five weeks to prepare for the Korean University League, the biggest college-level volleyball tournament in the country. You have five days to learn how the hell athletic tape works. You can’t tell which is the bigger endeavor.
“I’m going to cause him irreversible skeletal damage,” you tell Changbin.
The team’s libero is twice as kind as he is talented, a full-time sweetheart working part-time at the university’s sports medicine clinic. Only your first week on the job and you’ve already decided he’s the only person on Earth you would permit to usher you through the gym at 6:45 A.M., a roll of athletic tape pressed to your back like a pistol.
“You will not,” Changbin answers. “One, because this won’t involve his skeleton, and two, because I wouldn’t ask you to help if it did.”
“You’ve misunderstood me,” you return as the two of you stop in front of an examination room. “I want to cause him irreversible skeletal damage.”
“Oh.” He opens the door with a frown. “Oh dear.”
Inside, Hyunjin is sitting cross-legged on top of a taping table, fitted in a loose gray tee and athletic shorts. He watches in pessimistic silence as you enter the room and beeline straight towards the shelf on the right. You slip a thick binder into your hands and bury your nose inside it without so much as a greeting.
“I am going to get maimed,” Hyunjin tells Changbin.
“Have some faith, both of you,” Changbin replies sternly. You find the pages you’re looking for and begin poring over them like you’re cramming for an exam. “You’ll be fine, Jinnie. Y/N studied.”
“Studied?” He repeats. “For this?”
“I’m pretty sure Quizlets were made.”
“Three, to be exact," you interject, sticking out your hand. “Now tape me.”
Hyunjin mouths the words tape me in baffled silence. The latter obliges your request with a smile. “See? What could go wrong?”
The answer to that, actually, is a lot. Especially after Changbin gets called away to help stretch out a teammate named Felix who allegedly “sprained his ass,” leaving Hyunjin to you and your binder.
You detect no smoky rose in the air around him today, just the subtle smells of cedar and cypress—laundry detergent or shampoo, maybe. Figures he doesn’t wear that insufferable cologne to practice.
“Go easy on me, yeah?”
While Hyunjin’s tone is teasing, yours is downright somber.
“I can’t promise anything.”
With that, you turn your palms face-up in a silent request for his hand.
A few strands of hair fall into your face as you lean in for a better look. It’s the first time you’ve seen his fingers untaped; they’re pretty, long and slender and surprisingly manicured, but also battered in their delicacy, the veins running over the back of his hand and forearm prominent, his bottom knuckles discolored from the healing bruises they bear. His hard work is palpable upon the smooth skin as evidently as if tattooed.
Hyunjin says your name in close proximity. You respond with an absent hum.
“You’re not nervous, are you?”
“No. Maybe a little.” You let his hand fall free and go to rummage for supplies. “Fine, yes. Very.”
“But you made Quizlets. You’re prepared for anything.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” You realize only after spotting the gentle smile on his face that he’s making fun of you. “I hate you.”
“Actually,” he hums, “I think you care about me, love. That’s why you’re nervous.”
“Nonsense—I care about disappointing Changbin. That’s it.”
“And me. And hopping on Seungmin’s dick. All these things don’t have to be mutually exclusive.”
You try to tackle him. Hyunjin catches your hands a few inches away from his face, fingers closing around your wrists with obnoxious agility.
“Have you lost your mind?” You whisper-shout, your face on fire. “Don’t bring that up here. I’ll maim you for real.”
The laugh that explodes out of him throws his entire body backwards, turns his eyes to crescent moons and his mouth into a little rectangle. You hate that you don’t hate when that happens.
“My bad, my bad. It slipped out. I won’t—”
One incremental shift of Hyunjin’s body later, you find that you’re precariously, alarmingly close to one another.
So much so that you notice the mole beneath his left eye for the first time, that you're nearly cross-eyed looking at it. That the tip of your nose actually brushes against his before you pull away with a quiet intake of breath. 
Things are awkward between you often, you’ve realized recently. You’re both professional yappers, always quick to digress, quick to find a new topic to bicker about before the awkwardness marinates. But hours later you’ll look back on the interaction and still remember how the air shifted: like a layer of dust had been blown away and something untouched and unknown was discovered just underneath.
Since you’ve met him, Hyunjin has spent more time on your nerves than on your mind. You’re not exactly losing sleep over such a circumstantial acquaintance; you know that his presence in your life will end the way it began, naturally and anticlimactically and inside the ANTH 111 lecture hall. Still, it doesn’t go unnoticed when your heart and stomach launch into an elaborate gymnastics routine in the wake of something he says or does, just as they’re doing now.
Hyunjin glances into your right eye a moment, then your left. The mole just below his left eye disappears when he smiles, the expression soft, saccharine, and sincere. How anyone casually looks the way he does is beyond your abilities of comprehension.
“Thank you,” he murmurs.
Your face continues to burn, now perhaps for different reasons. “What for?”
He lets go of your wrist, sweeps the lock of hair that keeps getting in your eyes behind the cuff of your ear.
“Caring about me.”
Then he flicks your forehead. You recoil with a quiet ow.
“Now stop stalling and tape me, dumbass.”
“Okay,” you mutter, rubbing the injury tenderly. “No need to get violent.”
It turns out the arduous taping procedure described in the instruction manual is for serious hand injuries. Hyunjin splints his fingers together for support, not rehabilitation, so it takes all of five minutes for him to talk you through his process. You finish taping both of his hands with nineteen minutes to spare. So maybe the Quizlets were overkill.
As you’re walking him down to practice, you take his hand and lift it to eye level, scanning your craftsmanship dubiously. “It’s not too tight, is it?”
“It’s perfect.” He swivels the hand around and grabs onto your entire face, the sensation by now eerily familiar. “Want another taste?”
You shove him down the stairs that remain. Unfortunately, there are only two. “You are truly grotesque.”
The gym has come to life since you arrived earlier this morning, now illuminated by shining ceiling lights in addition to the sun spilling through high, narrow windows. Most of the team has yet to step onto the court, still stretching or jogging along the sidelines: Minho and Coach Bang are talking strategy on the bench, the coach taking notes on a handheld whiteboard every now and then; Changbin is leaning over a recumbent Felix below the scoreboard, presumably trying to fix his ass.
The only one already with a ball in hand is Seungmin, setting to himself by the net. Once, twice, thrice straight up in the air, and then he glances in your direction and sends the fourth towards the left side of the court in a buoyant arc.
You only glean bits and pieces of the next few seconds. Hyunjin is at your side one moment, making a break for the net the next. His arms draw backwards in perfect synchrony. Feet hit the floor with laserlike intent. His entire body unravels like a fraying chrysalis as he rises to meet the ball, pounds it over the net and into the ground at an angle so clean that the sound of its landing resounds within your ribcage. It rebounds over the railing of the second floor and barely misses the doorway of the examination room you just emerged from.
Hyunjin drops lightly back onto his feet, following the ball’s tumultuous trajectory with proud eyes. A leftover breeze tosses a strand of hair over the bridge of your nose, and time starts moving again.
“Oi, this isn’t your backyard! Go pick that up!” Their coach booms, though his words lack their usual bitterness after what he just witnessed his ace hitter do.
Hyunjin swivels towards Seungmin first. “Crazy bitch. What the fuck was that?”
“Lower and faster. Further from the net too,” Seungmin returns. “How’d it feel?”
The grin on Hyunjin’s face reminds you of a wildfire, untamed and all-consuming and frightening in its fervor. “Like we just won everything.”
He tousles your hair as he jogs past you and back up the stairs to fetch the volleyball. Seungmin waves at you with one hand and palms another ball into his other. His face is warm and bare, his slim build flattered by his volleyball gear. You’ve witnessed few people so nice to look at and even fewer things as elegant as his setting form. But you are still thinking about Hyunjin—and you can’t move.
It is debilitating, watching somebody do the very thing they were destined for.
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A little less than a week later, Hyunjin is approaching hour three of spewing hot garbage into a Word document when he decides to give up and call you. 
“Hello?” He immediately starts laughing. “Where the fuck are you?”
You poke the top of your head into the shot of your ceiling, gesturing to your headband. “My face is preoccupied at the moment.”
“Oh, you have to show me. Please.”
You flip your phone up for no more than half a second. A camera shutter goes off, followed by a shriek so loud that it peaks your mic.
“Motherfucker!”
He basically sprints to his camera roll. His prize: you with your face slathered in cleanser, hair pinned back by a Miffy headband, looking like the abominable snowman if he liked cute merchandise.
“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “I’ll treasure this forever.”
“You’ll be punished, Hwang.”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time.”
You brandish your middle finger at him in response. He props his phone up against his computer screen with a chuckle. 
“Aaanyways, I have a thesis statement to run by you.”
The first thing you did as Hyunjin’s tutor was help draft an email to Professor Kim, begging her to let him resubmit the two essays he royally botched. She replied with a lengthy quotation from her syllabus, specifically the section that talked about (and prohibited) resubmissions, but ended up making an exception for Hyunjin on account of the “truly piteous timbre” of his email. You fell out of your chair laughing when he read you her response.
“You should’ve opened with that,” you grumble.
“I tried! Someone distracted me.”
“Read it before I change my mind.”
You spend a few minutes at most on the thesis itself, advising him to avoid passive voice, answer the prompt, establish a refutable argument, the works. Then he asks you a question about the research topic itself, allusions to the afterlife in Ancient Egyptian artwork, and the tutoring session takes a turn into what feels like a podcast episode.
You talk about the God of Death, Anubis, and his connections to the underworld; the elaborate, lavish funerary rituals intended to ensure the souls of the dead traveled safely; the vibrant murals that flanked their final resting spots as pictorial requests for divine protection. And you talk about them all with such confidence, such eloquence, that it’s as if you’re leading him through a history museum rather than talking to your phone as you do your skincare. He could listen to you for hours. He does, actually.
Around 1 A.M., Hyunjin stops typing mid-sentence when you come into frame for the first time, collapsing into your bed with a sigh of relief. Your eyes are soft and sleepy as they blink at your screen, strands of damp hair clinging to your cheeks. He feels his heart physically shift inside his ribcage when your mouth stretches into a yawn. It is the same sensation as the time you shot him a smile over your shoulder and he couldn’t move for ten minutes.
With that, his attention span has run its course.
“Baby,” he interrupts gently. “Let’s stop here, okay? You seem tired.”
You open your mouth as if to protest, only to yawn again.
“I suppose I am,” you concede. “Will you keep working tonight?”
“I think so. I hit my stride.”
“Text me if you have questions, then. I’ll respond when I wake up.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
Your lips curve into the smallest of smiles. It copies onto Hyunjin’s face incurably quickly. 
“I had my doubts about this tutoring thing, you know,” you murmur.
“Why is that?”
“Well, you told me this class was the closest thing to daily naptime you’d experienced since preschool.”
“It really is.”
“You also told me you would rather slam your tongue in a car door than read more than three sentences in one sitting.”
“I really would.”
“And you once referred to academia as ‘Virgin Village.’”
“Didn’t you come up with that?”
“No, hello? I live in that village.”
He grins. “I know. I just wanted to hear you admit it.”
“Fuck you.”
“Ah, don’t threaten me with a good—”
“What I’m trying to say,” you cut in, “is that I didn’t think you would take this seriously, but I’m happy to be proven wrong.”
Hyunjin leans back. “Well, turns out I might give a fuck about anthropology after all.”
“Really?”
“No.”
You pretend to punch him through the screen. It’s so cute that he forgets to think before he opens his mouth next.
“But I do give a fuck about you.”
There’s nothing crazy about the statement. You’re friends, sort of. You manage his team. It would be strange if he didn’t. But the seconds that follow are terrible, a silent prophecy of something disastrous, like a cloud of rubble before an avalanche, the standstill during a star’s final breath. And Hyunjin’s heartbeat is hounding against his ears like a performance of traditional taiko.
He says good night in a haste. The call ends. He stares at the wall of his bedroom in a muddled haze for who knows how long.
Then he opens his texts.
Hyunjin: We have team bonding tomorrow btw Hyunjin: Don’t forget Y/N: i forgot. Y/N: pick me up at 6:45? Hyunjin: 🫡
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He picks you up at 7:53.
You approach his car with your fists balled and your eyebrows knitted together like a mean old curmudgeon and he’s walking too close to your lawn.
“His fault,” Hyunjin says before you start yelling.
Minho simpers at you through his open window. “Hey, you! So glad you could join us!”
You fix the man with a judgmental glare as you slide into the backseat. “Aren’t you the captain? Why are you this late?”
“Whoa, okay. I would’ve scheduled this for earlier if I knew right now was honesty hour.”
“You did schedule it for earlier,” you say. “You scheduled it for way earlier.”
“Yeah, well, you’re fired.”
“You can’t fire me, Minho.”
“I can too. Tell ‘em, Hwang.”
“I want nothing to do with this.”
When you step through the doors of the arcade, you’re met with a surge of sensory input that you haven’t experienced in years. The air hangs thick with the smells of greasy concessions; everywhere you look are flashing screens and neon signs, stuffed animals and fading posters; clamoring against your ears are the sounds of games being won or lost, of balls being pocketed or launched, and of a horde of fully grown men spectating a match of Dance Dance Revolution so passionately (and loudly) that they’ve scared everyone away from that side of the room. You recognize the current competitors as Changbin and Jeongin.
“I’ll go pay,” Hyunjin says. “How much time do we want?”
“Infinity,” Minho answers. Hyunjin doesn’t move. “Two hours.”
He flashes him a thumbs-up. “And you?”
“I’m okay, I think.”
“No you’re not,” the two men answer in perfect unison.
You glance between them warily. “I don’t mind watching, seriously. I don’t even know how most of these games work—”
“There’s Tetris,” Hyunjin cuts in.
You purchase an hour.
One would imagine the point of the evening is to break the SNU men’s volleyball team, not to bond them. You’ve never seen so many strained blood vessels in your life. Nor have you heard of half the insults they spew at each other as the night goes on. Felix has to pay a fee for lodging an air hockey puck in the side of the MarioKart machine. Changbin loses at skee-ball and has to down an XL slushie like it’s a shot. It’s a scary amount of boyishness expressed in scary ways.
But they’re happy. You’ve picked up on it when they’re on the court, noticed the raw elation they emanate just from playing together. Yet, their closeness has never been more evident to you than tonight. The men are either laughing or making someone else laugh, arms draped over each other at all times, equally happy to celebrate victories as they’re eager to punish losses. It dawns on you at some point that you’re glad to be here with them, grateful to be a part of something so special—especially because there’s Tetris.
“Have you ever considered going pro?” Hyunjin asks over your shoulder.
You waited until most of the team was distracted to slink off to your beloved machine. Hyunjin tagged along, undoubtedly with the intention of making fun of you, only to be rendered speechless by your mastery. He’s been watching in a state of stupor, forearms propped against the back of your chair.
You don’t respond for a while, too focused on a precarious patch to even blink, let alone partake in conversation.
“I already did,” you finally answer.
“Sorry, what? You played professional Tetris?”
“In middle school. Then I got bored and switched to backgammon.” You pause. “Then I got bored again and switched to chess.”
“How do you look like this with these hobbies?”
Your run ends a few minutes later with a somber sound effect. You turn around in your seat with an anguished groan. “I think I’m washed.”
He looks at you like you’ve lost your mind. “You just set a new record by three hundred thousand points.”
“It’s a small pond,” you say, and an idea occurs to you. “Do you wanna try?”
“I get the feeling I don’t have a choice.”
“Then you’re smarter than you look.”
“Well, you look—”
His eyes move between your shoes and your face, and then his voice is an inaudible mutter as he sinks into your seat. You think you hear something along the lines of unfair.
“What was that?”
“Ugly. I said you look ugly.” He cracks his knuckles. “Now let’s break some fuckin' blocks.” 
When Hyunjin learns that the pieces can be rotated (so six or seven attempts later), a man walks into the arcade. 
He has hair the color of dark chocolate, the face of a fairy prince—and he’s with someone. The two of them appear arm in arm, laughing at something he said. He looks at this person the way astronomers do to the sky.
Something shatters inside you like old porcelain.
Your hands loosen around the back of Hyunjin’s chair. You can’t watch. You can’t think. You can only feel a void of disappointment rip open, stretch over you like an elongating shadow.
“Seung!” That’s Jisung, you think. “You made it!”
“Yo, sorry we’re late.” That’s Seungmin. That is undoubtedly Seungmin. “Dinner took longer than I thought.”
“Min, are you sure I’m allowed to be here?” You don’t know who this voice belongs to and you’re not sure you want to. “I feel like I’m intruding—”
“Hwang,” you say suddenly. “I have to go.”
He turns around, confused. An unattended block falls into a terrible spot on the screen behind him. ”Already?”
“I forgot I had an important call to make.” You turn away, training your eyes on the patterned carpet. “Sorry. I’ll see you on Monday.”
You have touched Hyunjin’s hands many times. He’s asked you to tape his fingers every day since the first; he likes the way you cut off his circulation, says it helps him hit harder. But you never hold his hand so much as you examine it, the act stiff and unfeeling, cordoned within the professional pretense of athletic treatment. 
Now, Hyunjin catches your hand like a gardener repotting their favorite flower: delicately, careful of leaving its roots intact and petals untouched, but firmly, securely, so the flower continues to stand tall even when it’s been extracted from the soil, not even a speck of dirt slipping through the cracks between their fingers. That is the image you conjure when he slips his between yours, his metal rings cold where his fingertips are warm.
He says your name. There is a pinch of pain in the word, and you know that he knows.
“Do you want to be alone?”
You have never been asked such a thing—you have never asked to be asked such a thing—but, for some reason, the question brings tears to your eyes. 
“Yes, please,” you whisper, and you pull your hand away.
When you stalk past him, you hear Jisung notice you, call out to you, a note of worry in his question. You also count three pairs of eyes on your back: one concerned, the next confused, and the last you are wholly incapable of meeting. 
Unknown to you is the fourth pair fixed upon the top of the Tetris machine, where you’ve left your phone.
You emerge into the parking lot. The frigid air stills your mind for a fraction of a second, the last moment of mental quietude you will allow yourself that night.
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Hyunjin’s right; the team manager doesn’t have to do much.
Coach Bang allows you to come to whichever practices and games you feel like, during which you might at most lug around a ballbag or fill someone’s waterbottle before holing up somewhere to do your own thing. But you like the people you work for too much to do so little for them, so you attend everything  your schedule allows. 
Last week, you could be found helping Minho put down the volleyball nets, your laughter echoing throughout the spacious gym as he complained to you about his biochemistry professor’s distinct “cabbage scent.” Or running to grab materials for Changbin as he treated his teammates’ injuries like you were assisting an orthodontist giving someone a root canal. The dinner invitations you extended to Seungmin were always turned down, but his teammates were more than happy to assist you and Hyunjin in your quest to establish the best kimbap joint in the area once and for all. You even had a heart-to-heart with Coach Bang during one of the team’s water breaks, in which you managed to get half a smile out of the guy; Hyunjin was convinced that was his way of asking you to elope. You’d spent more time in the gymnasium in those ten days than you had in the last ten years.
Then came the arcade.
Five days have come and gone. You haven’t attended practice since, but you still see Hyunjin every morning at anthropology. The two of you sit in uncharacteristic silence for most of the lectures. You’ve taken the best notes of your life. He doesn’t mention the previous weekend; he doesn’t mention much of anything. 
In person, that is.
That Friday afternoon, you’re reading on the terrace of the library when you receive a text. It’s from Hyunjin, a two-minute voice note. You hesitate for a moment, stick a pencil into the gutter of your textbook to save your place, and slip your earbuds in. You listen to it.
Then you listen to it again.
And again as you wrap up your study session and go home. Again as you cook yourself dinner and load the dishwasher. Again as you shrug on a jacket and pocket your keys, setting off on the familiar trek to the gym.
As for what you plan to do there on a Friday night, long after the team has finished practice, you haven’t the slightest clue. You continue to move regardless, fueled by the feeling that there is where you need to be.
Coach Bang is leaving the building just as you’re approaching it. He halts in his footsteps and raises his eyebrows when he notices you. The man has always been difficult to read, but his face is exceptionally opaque now. Maybe it’s the shadowy landscape; more likely it’s the uneasiness that began to mount within you once you noticed the lights in the gym were still on.
“It’s been a while,” he greets.
“Coach,” you return, lowering your head. “I want to apologize for—”
“Save it,” he says, not unkindly. “There’s nothing to apologize for, alright? The team is lucky to have you.”
You manage a grateful smile. “I’ll be back starting next week.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” He starts to walk away, stops himself, and glances into the illuminated building. “I would give him some space, by the way.”
Your uneasiness morphs into anxiety as you watch his broad back retreat into the shadows. You remain outside the gym for a few minutes more, accompanied by the distant melodies of cricket chorales and the muffled squeaking of shoes against laminated hardwood, the harsh sounds of flesh meeting leather.
Briskly, you walk home, rummage around, and return to the gym ten minutes later with your textbook tucked beneath your arm. This time, you unlock and enter the building without a moment of hesitation. 
Hyunjin is positioned multiple yards behind the service line, rotating a volleyball in his hands. A high toss, two resounding steps, and a collision like the crack of a whip. The previous ball has barely landed in the furthest corner of the court when he’s picking up the next, retreating to the same spot to do it all again. His tank top is the color of charcoal over his sweaty skin, his hair auburn where it’s plastered to his neck. He’s alone.
You only catch sight of Hyunjin’s face when you descend the stairs. His expression is crystalline, hardened with concentration and fortified by courage, but fragile all at once, rendered delicate by fatigue and fear, spilling from his every seam and splintering off his person like a broken vase. You recognize it as clearly as if you were looking at a picture of yourself from the worst years of your life.
“I was told to give you space,” you call out, and Hyunjin drops the volleyball he’s holding.
His lips fall apart. Nothing comes out of them. The only sounds to follow are your footsteps as you make your way towards the bleachers, a vertical wall of plastic now that they’ve been retracted for the night. You fold your legs into a criss-cross as you take a seat at their base.
“Is this enough space?”
More silence. You gesture to the volleyball nervously.
“Don’t make me go further, please. I’m not ready to die.”
Finally, this earns you a smile. It’s not much, but it loosens the nervous coils in your heart, permits your lungs to contract once more, and it remains on his face as he swipes the ball back into his hands. You open your textbook.
The rest of the night elapses in turning pages and soaring volleyballs. You don’t care for minutes or hours; you give him all the time in the world, as he did you.
The only time you glance at the clock on the wall is around midnight, when Hyunjin hobbles to the middle of the court and collapses. You’re worried at first. Then he rolls onto his back and releases a guttural groan into his hands, and your held breath comes out a laugh. You set down your book and stand up.
There’s a lake of perspiration forming around him. You pay it no mind and flop onto the floor, your eyes instantly narrowing beneath the fluorescent lights. 
“How do you see under these things?”
“I don’t,” he returns. “I complained about it to Coach once.”
“And?”
“He made them brighter.”
“Sounds about right.”
He spends the next few minutes catching his breath, his chest rising and falling in your peripheral vision. You sift through your mind for phrases of consolation or gestures of support and come up empty. You wish you had Hyunjin’s way with words.
But you think about the way his smile reached his eyes as he thanked you for caring about him, the tenderness with which he caught your hand at the arcade, the I give a fuck about you he blurted before ending the study call. You think about the voice note. It’s not that Hyunjin has a way with words; it’s that he’s brave enough to break the silences that you can’t, like he perceives your anxiety for the aftermath, shouldering the responsibility so you won’t have to.
This cannot be his burden alone.
You inhale. “What’s on your mind?”
Hyunjin doesn’t answer right away. You give up on squinting and close your eyes; the lights are still bright enough to dance around the murky darkness.
“I don’t think I know how to put it into words.”
You nearly laugh; you know how that feels. “Don’t think, just talk. I’m here.”
The same advice you gave yourself seems to work on him as well.
“Do you remember Ishikawa Yuki?”
“Your role model?”
“He’s currently playing for a club team in Italy called Allianz Milano.” He blows out a deep breath. “I’ve been talking to their coach, Roberto Piazza, for the last six months.”
The gears in your head creak in their effort to process the implications of these words. “Holy shit, Hwang.”
“He emailed again, this morning. Said he was coming to the tournament later this month, he’s excited to see me play in person, whatever. And it hit me, finally, that this is all real. Like, this is actually happening to me. I spent all of today freaking out and asked Coach to let me stay back after practice. Usually, it wears out my brain if I tire my body, but it only half-worked today. I couldn’t wrap my head around anything. I still can’t.
“I am who I am because of that man, and now…I have a shot at playing with him. I keep asking myself why I’m not—not happier. I should be bouncing off the fucking walls, no? If I told my past self that this would be happening to him one day, he would—”
You open your eyes, confused by the sudden silence.
Hyunjin is sitting up next to you, staring intensely into the bleachers. You first notice the tip of his tongue prodding into his cheek, then his shuddering breath. He lifts a hand to his face, pressing against his eyes.
You stop thinking after that.
You sit up with him. When you settle your fingers around his wrist, he allows you to pull his hand back to his side. But he turns away as if trying to hide from you; he squeezes his eyes shut as if that would obstruct your view of his pain.
You reach to cradle his face, bringing him back to you. The cuff of your sleeves wipe at the saltwater on his cheeks, push the hair off his forehead with gentle sweeps. The two of you are close, close enough that your lips would meet the space between his eyes if you so much as lost your balance. His gaze traverses to your face, but you resolve not to meet it. You know you will traipse into uncharted territory the moment you do.
“Don’t fight it.” You trace over the hill of his cheek. “Healing becomes easier if you let yourself hurt. Trust me, Hyunjin.”
His first name should feel foreign on your tongue, yet you suspect the syllables have accompanied you all your life.
“You don’t have to continue if you can’t.”
“S’okay.” Hyunjin lifts your hand away from his face, presses a kiss to the base of your palm. “I want to.”
You feel yourself stumble ungracefully into the uncharted territory from before. Does he do the same?
“I used to play volleyball on this expanse of cracked blacktop, behind my primary school. It was pretty brutal on my feet—I blew through so many different pairs of sneakers my mom almost made me quit.” He smiles at the memory. “But every time I came close to quitting, I’d go home and rewatch the same USA vs. Poland match from the 2008 Summer Olympics I asked my dad to record, and I’d promise myself it would be me on some other kid’s screen someday.
“That kid would tell everyone who’d listen about how cool I am. That I’m a secret superhero. That I’m living proof humans can fly if they really, really try—just like I talked about the volleyball players I grew up watching on my TV.
“The other day, Coach told me that hope would consume me. I thought it was just some senile drivel at the time, but..I think I get what he means now. I would do anything and everything to make that kid proud—even if it meant losing myself.” He lowers his head, auburn strands falling into his eyes. “That’s what’s on my mind.”
Amidst the ensuing pause, a storm approaches. It does not come in the form of rain or snow, sleet or hail, no; it is a gathering of words unsaid and emotions unacknowledged, all emerging from the deepest chambers of your heart in synchrony. The same entities you used to scapegoat for all the times things were awkward between you and Hyunjin when you were the culprit all along. You and your blind cowardice.
The storm tears open the seam of your lips. You do not resist; it’s long overdue.
“Every time Changbin sees you, he turns into a smitten schoolgirl,” you say. “He is physically unable to contain how endearing he finds you. He told me so himself.”
Hyunjin looks at you with widened eyes. You think you can see your own reflection in them, and you are the spitting image of a lighter dropped into gasoline, unstoppable in your vehemence.
“Jeongin comes to you for advice before anyone else,” you continue, “even for things related to school—which I still find hard to believe, I’m not gonna lie. But you have his best interests in mind, and it shows in everything you do for him. Of course your opinion matters more than anything in the world.
“I know you think he can’t stand you, but you are the reason Coach Bang loves this job, why he loves this sport. It’s written all over his face every time he calls you something mean, every time he makes you run another lap, every time he looks at you. You’re like a son to him. Everyone sees it but you.”
“Then there’s me.” You pause to catch your breath. “When I think about what my life used to be, I remember a lot of things. I remember loneliness. Insecurity. I remember my books and my backgammon boards and the way I taught myself to disappear inside them so the world would never find me. I remember avoiding mirrors like a vampire because I didn’t like seeing my own reflection. I remember feeling like I had to put on someone else’s personality every time I left the house because nobody would want to know me for me. All I ever wanted was a place where I could be myself, love myself, without consequence. I have yet to find that place.
“But I found a person. Someone who wouldn’t know time and place if they kicked his dick into his body. Someone who thinks instant ramen is high in nutritional value because it comes with dried vegetables. Someone who sweats the same amount of rain the Sahara Desert receives yearly—your body is not normal, by the way.”
Hyunjin giggles; it is soft and short, a small, tearful huff into the quiet air that makes you feel like you’re flying.
“Don’t get me wrong,” you say. “Your sense of humor sucks and your taste in coffee is so boring and you are the one with no media literacy, not Professor Kim. But I love spending time with you. I love who I am when I’m around you. And none of that has to do with volleyball.”
The next time you blink, you discover that he’s not the only one with tears in his eyes. How long has that been going on?
“There’s so much about you to be proud of, Hyunjin.” You give him a watery smile. “That kid will be spoiled for choice.”
When Hyunjin pulls you into his arms, you fall into each other like going to bed after a long day. Your face burrows into the crook of his neck in your embarrassment; he is laughing and crying at the same time when he mumbles something into your shoulder: “I knew you cared about me.”
You are so happy for the comedic relief you could sob. It helps that you already are.
“How the fuck are you still sweaty?”
You think you like his cologne after all.
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Six days later, Hyunjin opens the door of his apartment.
A fun-sized flurry of black and white barrages into the hallway outside and almost runs headfirst into the figure waiting there. You fall to your knees like you’ve just been gravely wounded, emitting an ear-piercing wail to match. All it takes is a few good head scratches for Kkami to stop yipping bloody murder and start whining for attention instead. 
Upon minute five of watching you and his dog cuddle in the hallway directly outside his home, Hyunjin sighs.
“Can you come inside, please? My RA will think I’m doing some freaky shit again.”
You side-eye him as you walk into his apartment, Kkami perched happily in your arms. “What, exactly, does freaky shit entail?”
He smirks as the door falls shut. “You want me to tell you or show you?”
You turn to Kkami, disgusted. “Your owner’s a bit of a pervert, my dear.”
Kkami licks you on the chin. Hyunjin’s eyes narrow to slits.
“Traitor.”
Naturally, Hyunjin’s parents chose the eve of his final anthropology exam—and the week before the tournament that will determine the trajectory of his career—to ask him to look after Kkami for a few days. He nearly canceled their plane tickets himself, but his impromptu roommate is currently ransacking your face with kisses on his couch, and he thinks your laugh complements his studio better than any decoration. 
“Do you want anything to drink?” He calls from the kitchen area.
You meander over, Kkami (still) perched happily in your arms. “What do you have?” 
“Alcohol.” He opens his fridge far enough so you can peer over his shoulder. “Americanos.”
He stops speaking.
“Is that all?”
“Yes. Wait—and apple juice.”
“You are about to be a professional athlete.”
“What the Italians don’t know won’t hurt them. You want apple juice, don’t you? I can see it in your eyes.”
“Maybe. Can you open it for me? My hands are full.”
Hyunjin does so with far less reluctance than he feigns. You thank him jubilantly, popping the straw into your mouth.
“Let’s get this over with.”
At 10:32 P.M., all is calm. You are sitting on the floor, your back against the side of his mattress. Hyunjin is where the universe intended: curled up in bed, both him and his laptop lying on their sides. You have studied eight out of ten units in only two and a half hours, and the night is still young. Kkami is but a fluffy, sleepy Oreo by your waist.
At 10:33 P.M., the Oreo begins to retch.
You startle a foot into the air. Hyunjin is out of bed and on his feet in the blink of an eye, the very image of a dog dad on duty. He grabs three different things off the kitchen counter with one hand and scoops up the long-haired chihuahua with the other, and then he’s kicking open the door.
Seungmin appears out of thin air carrying two heaping bags of groceries. Hyunjin nearly knocks him and a month’s worth of fresh produce down four flights of stairs.
“Hyun—Kkami?” Seungmin swivels. “Yo, what the fuck is—”
Hyunjin is already out the door.
A few minutes later, Hyunjin squats off to the side, pouring fresh water into a portable dog bowl. A little ways away, Kkami is throwing up ebulliently; a set of footsteps approaches.
“What is this thing?” Seungmin squats down next to Hyunjin, picking up the piece of patterned fabric lying on the grass. 
“Kkami gets sad after throwing up,” he sighs. “His blanket makes him feel better.”
Seungmin watches the chihuahua for a few moments, a soft flinch crimping his features. “He ate too fast again?”
Hyunjin rakes a hand through his hair. “I don’t get it. Nobody’s gonna take his food from him.”
Seungmin laughs. “I didn’t even know he was on campus.”
“I picked him up last night. My parents are traveling for work—they say hi, by the way.”
“I say hi back. I miss your mom’s cooking.”
“Me too,” Hyunjin says, smiling. “She would love to cook for you again—she’s always saying you’re too skinny.”
“She really is.”
A beat passes; it is then that Hyunjin has an epiphany.
Seungmin was the one who put a volleyball in his hands for the first time. Back then, Hyunjin was the lesser troublemaker between the two of them—a concept that neither of them can wrap their heads around to this day. Seungmin suggested they use the clotheslines in Hyunjin’s backyard as a makeshift net, despite Hyunjin’s dissuading; half of Hyunjin’s father’s wardrobe caught on fire, Seungmin had a black eye for a week, and nobody knows what happened to that volleyball. The two of them have been attached at the hip ever since.
It is a crazy thing, having your best friend as a teammate; a singular flick of the wrist or a point of his shoe and Seungmin will know exactly Hyunjin wants the ball down to the net’s fraying fibers; Hyunjin will be exactly where Seungmin needs him down to the flecks of paint on the volleyball court. Hyunjin has always been Seungmin’s hitter—Seungmin, always Hyunjin’s setter. Nothing will ever change between them so long as that remains the case.
At least, that’s what Hyunjin used to think.
Learning that Seungmin was in a relationship was as much a wake-up call for Hyunjin as it was for you. At first, he was just fucking pissed; how could Seungmin be so stupid as to turn down someone like you, especially when Hyunjin had shot his mouth off about his wingman services? More importantly, how long had his best friend of eighteen years been in love, and why was he the last to know? 
Only now, as they wait for his nine-year-old chihuahua to finish barfing, does Hyunjin realize that he can’t remember the last time he and Seungmin talked. Not “talked” as in a brief exchange inside the locker room or the lecture hall, about a new approach he wants to try or what Seungmin got on number four or if he wants a ride to practice—“talked” as in talked, about Hyunjin, about Seungmin, about the eighteen years they shared, about all the years yet to come.
Hyunjin sees his setter every day; he stopped looking for his friend a long time ago. 
“Yeonwoo, right?”
He senses surprise in Seungmin without having to look at him. But he also senses a smile, a subtle show that Seungmin recognizes what he’s trying to do—and forgives him.
“Yeonwoo,” Seungmin affirms. “We’re in the same songwriting intensive this semester.”
“Also a singer?”
He shakes his head. “Piano player. Performed at the Carnegie Hall in the United States at, like, seven years old. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so talented.”
“Wow, that’s—hi, old man. You done?”
Kkami walks over with his head hung low and tail between his legs, and Hyunjin hurries to drape the pup in his favorite blanket, pulling the bowl of water in front of him in tandem. Seungmin runs a hand over the top of Kkami’s head as he hydrates.
“You’ve suffered,” he tells him solemnly, and Hyunjin snorts.
“As I was saying—that’s crazy to hear, coming from the most talented person I know. You guys looked so good together.”
“Thanks. It’s weird. I’m happy.”
“You deserve it. You really do, Kim.” They exchange smiles, and Hyunjin gives Seungmin a playful nudge. “When are you introducing us?”
“The arcade wasn’t enough?”
“Don’t insult me.”
“Whenever you want, then.”
“Dinner with my mom, dinner with Yeonwoo,” Hyunjin recounts. “I’m holding you to it.”
“Bet.”
They shake on it. If Hyunjin wasn’t already reassured by Seungmin’s smile, he knows by his clasp around his hand that they’ll be okay.
“What about you?” Seungmin asks. “Are you together yet?”
Hyunjin knew this was coming. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” Seungmin strings his hands together, letting them dangle in the space between his knees. “Someone you have questions for that you’re too scared to ask. Someone who’s lived in your mind since the day you met. There’s someone like that, isn’t there?”
Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek. 
Ever since that night on the gym floor, Hyunjin’s been having these dreams. By the time his alarm goes off in the morning, every detail of the dream has eluded him, leaving behind only a ghost of emotion, akin to the breeze that grazes your face moments after walking past another person.
But then he’ll get out of bed, and walk to that café on the east side of campus, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. There, he’ll order a vanilla latte with extra sweetener, then turn around to see you standing five feet away, holding an Americano and trying not to laugh. And he’ll just know, with everything in him, that you are where his head goes when he’s not keeping watch.
He still addresses you by the pet names you hate. He still finds any excuse to be close to you; he still pesters you like a child with a crush. But now, he calls you his baby like one wishes on a star; his eyes drift to your lips every time you’re within two feet of each other; he makes fun of your likes and dislikes only because he’s happy to know about them at all. Ever since that night on the gym floor.
It’s impossible for nothing and everything to change at once. Two people teetering on the precipice of something cannot withstand a gust of wind so powerful. He’s already hanging off the ledge, losing his grip; where are you?
Next to him, Seungmin lets out a soft laugh. “There is.”
Hyunjin doesn’t know what to say.
“It might’ve been me, at some point,” he hums, returning his hand to scratch the back of Kkami’s ears. “But it has always been you, Hyun.”
Four floors above them and inside Hyunjin’s place, you are pacing between his fridge and his bed, nervously awaiting his and Kkami’s return.
Something catches your eye, wide and flat and hung on the wall by his bathroom door. You approach it curiously, your lips pulling into a fond smile the moment you realize all that’s in front of you.
Many of the photographs are of Hyunjin: him in his preteens, dead asleep in bed while dressed head to toe in volleyball gear, braces visible because his mouth is open; an action shot taken at what must’ve been a U21 match, the South Korean flag stitched into the shoulder of his jersey; him with half a birthday cake in front of him and the rest smeared all over his face. There are headlines, too: Underdog team earns district’s first high school volleyball state title; Hwang Hyunjin proves himself worthy of “ace spiker” label at South Korea V. Croatia U19 match; Coach Bang “Christopher” Chan leads Seoul National University to second consecutive KUL championship. There’s one—Who is Hwang Hyunjin? Meet the twenty-year-old instigant of South Korea’s imminent volleyball revolution—beside which he’s written the singular word “mouthful.” You laugh; you agree.
But pinned to the corkboard is also a photograph of Minho, surrounded by stray cats in the alleyway outside a K-BBQ restaurant; his parents cradling Kkami in an apple costume; his high school volleyball team silhouetted against a pretty sunset. Him and Seungmin as kids, covered in grime and scrapes but beaming nonetheless; him and Seungmin at age nineteen, stadium lights on their backs, unadulterated elation on their faces as they charge towards each other, beaming still. Changbin piggybacking Felix through the hallways of the gym, neither of them wearing a shirt; Jisung offering Coach Bang a beer while the latter looks direly unamused (you make a mental note to ask about that one later); what looks like a Rock Lee cosplayer grimacing in the middle of your anthropology classroom.
You rush forward as if decreed by gravitational force. Not too far away is another picture of you, in which you boast a Miffy headband and a face full of foaming cleanser. Then another, your eyes narrowed like that of a sniper taking aim as you’re playing Tetris; you with so many volleyballs piled into your arms that you can’t see your own face; your cheeks squished by a bandaged hand after you lost a bet about pandas (they can swim); you clutching your stomach on the library floor, brought to hysterical tears by Professor Kim’s email. You, you, you.
You bring your pointer finger to this last image, tracing it over the curve of your own cheek. You see a dimple on your face you didn’t know you had. You realize it only comes out for him.
It has always been him.
The front door opens. A man with telephone poles for legs and a long-haired chihuahua in his arms appears behind it. You sense in him that something has changed since you last saw each other. The two of you lock eyes. 
It’s not awkward this time.
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Multiple yards behind the service line, Hyunjin is rotating a volleyball in his hands. It feels solid and sentient, an extension of himself held in cotton-clad fingers. He knows how this story will end.
He moves his eyes to his best friend’s back. Four fingers flash back at him twice, signaling a high lob set to the left, the very play they’ve practiced tirelessly for the last five weeks. The breath Hyunjin blows out of his cheeks seems to crystallize in the air, almost solid in all its exhilaration. 
He bends low and throws high. His arms drop behind his body like a spread of feathered wings; his feet fall into place below him like a meteor shower, two consecutive strikes against the earth that fissure its mantle. The lights overhead are bright. His palm pulls taut when it slams into leather. He knows how this story will end.
The volleyball tears towards the ground. It trembles as if scared by all that it holds: the guarantee of a flawless denouement, the catalyst of a radiant future. Hyunjin’s heart is beating hard enough to crack his ribs when he lands back on the ground, when the volleyball lands in the furthest corner of the court. He’s not scared at all.
He balls his fingers into fists.
“JUST LIKE LAST YEAR, BACK TO BACK ON AN ACE—”
An arm seizes Hyunjin’s neck; another drags him onto the floor. His head thuds onto the hardwood with a sound he hears over the whole world detonating. His vision fills with the faces of the people he cares for most, some covered in tears and others rivaling the ceiling with their blinding smiles. He can’t feel most of his body; his sweat drips into his mouth. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care.
“—DEFENDING THEIR TITLE FOR THE THIRD CONSECUTIVE YEAR—”
His eyes find Seungmin’s among the fray. Their hands clap together with such force that Hyunjin cusses at the impact. Seungmin’s gaze burns into his with a ferocity that Hyunjin plans to take to his grave. His setter. His best friend.
He says something inaudible, but Hyunjin reads the words off his lips, and his eyes fill with tears: we win everything.
“—YOUR NATIONAL CHAMPIONS: SEOUL NATIONAL UNIVERSITY!”
Hyunjin’s post-game interview is a lawless affair. He is allowed at most half an answer before a new teammate is barreling over with an animalistic screech or a new friend is screaming congratulations from out of frame.
The reporter is visibly agitated by her final question, unpursing her lips to ask: “Is there anyone you’d like to thank?”
Hyunjin exhales. “You want the short answer or the long—”
Changbin seizes him by the head. Hyunjin bursts into a peal of high-pitched laughter as the libero litters kisses all over his face, nearly crumpling to the floor in his attempt to escape.
“Love you,” he yells before hurrying off. 
“Love you too, Bin.”
Hyunjin turns a sheepish smile to the reporter.
“The short answer,” she deadpans.
He starts counting off his fingers. He thanks his family—his first and last teammates, his eternal anchors. His other family, his actual teammates, the best boys he’s ever known. His coach, who will let him call him Chris someday. His best friend and setter, Kim Seungmin, who set a clothesline on fire once and changed his life forever.
In the distance, a figure emerges from the locker rooms. There’s a navy blue SNU banner draped over your shoulders, two overflowing duffel bags in your hands. Jisung and Jeongin run over to take them from you, and the smile you give them is wide and flushed, a remnant of the elation you shared from afar. The three of you start walking out of the gym.
Hyunjin thanks you.
You didn’t ask for the position, he tells the reporter, but some idiot roped you into it, and they’re all so grateful that you decided to stick around. You know the team better than they know themselves—it’s hard to believe you’ve been with them for five weeks instead of five years.
What are you like? What aren’t you like, is the better question. You’re caring, smart, strong; you see so much goodness in the people around you, all while unaware that it is your warmth that brings it out of them. Flowers only bloom in the sun’s doting radius, and so did he.
You have the sort of soul that incurs the scorn of the stars. They are the only ones to deserve you, they'd argue; you’re wasting your potential among humans when you belong to the sky. They’re right.
Hyunjin pokes his tongue into his cheek, suddenly annoyed. “Why the fuck am I still talking to you?” 
“Pardon?” The reporter returns, but Hyunjin is already vaulting over the bleachers, making a mad dash for the exit. She gives her cameraman an affronted glare. He shrugs.
He explodes onto the concrete, looking around in a frantic haze. He finds the blue banner heading toward the team bus and flanked by his teammates with ease.
He calls out to you.
You glance backwards. Your smile is purely effulgent, your laugh but a faint sigh against the area’s busy thrum. His heart is pounding against his ribs like a battering ram again, but he’s used to this feeling by now. Jeongin and Jisung make themselves scarce.
You’re beautiful. God, you’re fucking beautiful. That was the first thought to enter his mind when he spilled an iced Americano on your lap all those months ago and you looked at him like he hailed from another planet. And it is the first thought to enter his mind now, when he runs up to you and cradles your face in his hands, his touch infinitely, impossibly gentle, and you look at him like he’s everything that has ever existed, everything that ever will. 
Tendrils of your body spray reach him from here, floral and light like a tropical coastline. He could’ve counted your eyelashes—if he didn’t have something far better to do.
“Tell me now if you don’t want me to do this,” he whispers.
A stupid smile crosses the face of the smartest person he knows. “My lips are sealed.”
Hyunjin kisses you. He kisses you until the banner around your shoulders is wrinkled under his touch, until your hands are tangled in his hair and aching his scalp, until the breaths you take are breaths you share, passed between your mouths like a puff of smoke before they’re colliding again.
He kisses you until he’s crying, again, until he’s no longer tasting your lips but your grin, and he kisses you only harder when those scornful stars start to dance before him, for you are his, not theirs, and he’s really won everything, now.
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“Hwang, I need you in my office.”
Six months later, Hyunjin sees Coach Bang standing a few yards away with a grim air about him. He stops in his footsteps and glances at his captain, confused.
“I know nothing,” Seungmin says, walking away. “Good luck!”
“Thanks, cap.” Hyunjin swears he’s had this exact exchange before.
Head volleyball coach Christopher Bang’s workspace still reminds Hyunjin of a morgue. But there are two picture frames on his desk now: one of his family in front of the Sydney Opera House, the other of a band of boys clad in navy blue, draped over one another in exhausted bliss. The latter lends the room a much-needed sense of vitality. Too bad it still houses a rusty cyborg.
Hyunjin closes the door and takes a seat. Bang taps a knuckle against the tempered glass of his monitor. “Read.”
From: Nicola Daldello «[email protected]» To: Bang “Christopher” Chan «[email protected]» Subject: Re: Allianz Milano V. Pallavolo Perugia practice game Christopher, Allow me to apologize for my delayed response as I shared your request with Chairman Piazza. It is my great pleasure to inform you that we would love for Mr. Hwang Hyunjin to participate in our practice game versus Pallavolo Perugia. The match is scheduled for Monday, October 7th, 5-7 P.M. CET in the Giurati Sports Centre in Milan. Mr. Hwang will be playing for Allianz Milano as an outside hitter alongside Mr. Matey Kaziyski, Mr. Osniel Mergarejo, and Mr. Ishikawa Yuki. Please let me know of your availability to call regarding Mr. Hwang’s travel logistics. His transportation and lodging costs will be paid for by the club. I’m looking forward to speaking with you and welcoming Mr. Hwang to Italy once and for all. Yours, Nicola Daldello Assistant Coach, Allianz Milano
“I told you, some opportunities just present themselves,” Bang says, turning his monitor back around. “As for next steps, I need a holistic calendar view of your entire month of October, including social ev—Hwang, is that foam coming out of your mo—NOT ON MY CARPET! HWANG!”
In a park about a ten minute walk away, a small crowd of elderly people are scattered across a few stone tables, hunched over the fading chess boards painted into the granite surfaces. Mrs. Choi whisks away Mrs. Baek’s king with a triumphant yelp.
“I knew it, I knew it, I knew it! That opening is unbeatable!” She swivels towards you, shaking a fist threateningly. “You! Get over here. Your reign is over.”
You are sitting cross-legged in the shade of a broad magnolia tree, clearing out your storage. You tried to take a picture of a particularly rotund pigeon to send to Hyunjin earlier and couldn’t even do that. It was then you decided you couldn't live like this anymore.
“As excited as I am to beat you again, Mrs. Choi, I need ten more minutes,” you call back. 
She presents you with an unpleasant hand gesture. You turn your attention back to your phone, grinning. Two new notifications sit at the top of your lock screen.
Hyunjin: Omw now. Sorry had to talk to Chris Hyunjin: Same park? Y/N: yes Hyunjin: Who’s the opp today Y/N: mrs. choi Hyunjin: Not that bitch again Y/N: ?
He’ll be here in eight minutes.
You return to the task at hand. You’ve already cleared out your apps, your documents, and videos; all that’s left is the audio files. You conduct a quick mental review. Surely you’ll live without your downloaded music and accidental voice memos.
Instead of hitting the “delete” button, you extract a pair of tangled earphones from your jacket pocket.
You go back to your texts with Hyunjin, open the shared attachments tab, and scroll for a long time before you find the voice note he sent you seven months ago.
He finds you a sobbing mess.
“Hey, hey, whoa.” He’s on his knees in an instant, gathering your hands into his, a world of concern in the brown of his eyes. Your earbuds fall out and clatter onto the cement below. “Baby, what’s happening? Are you okay?”
“Yes,” you say in a flustered haste. “Yes, I’m okay. I don’t—I don’t really know what’s happening.”
“Did that hag do this to you?” He asks this question so seriously. “I’ll beat up a senior citizen, I don’t give a fuck—”
“No!” You let out an ugly laugh through your tears. “No, no. Leave Mrs. Choi alone.”
“Then what is it? What’s wrong?”
Eventually, your vision clears enough for you to look at the man kneeling in front of you. His roots grow out longer every day, his hair by now nearly equal parts gold and black. A spot of sunlight infiltrates the magnolia leaves and lands on his left eye, turning it the hue of melted bronze.
Your fingers drift to the sides of his beautiful face as you lean in close; he smells like a combination of smoky rose and tropical coastlines.
“I’ll tell you later,” you murmur, pressing a kiss to his hairline. 
He is dissatisfied with this, hooking a pointer finger beneath your chin, guiding your face back to his. He laves the saltwater from your lips, your tongue, and then you’re smiling again, barely able to remember why you cried in the first place.
You rest your foreheads together. “Have I told you that you look like a bumblebee these days?”
He smiles. “Does that make you my flower, then?”
“Because you’re irresistably drawn to me?”
“No, because I wanna put my pollen in—”
You shove him away. “You are grotesque.”
He returns in a flash. “You love me.”
You kiss him again. And again. And one more time for good measure, during which you mumble I do against his lips, and then you remember something.
“Why did Coach hold you back, by the way?” You pull away, tuck a strand of hair behind his ear. “Are you in trouble again?”
“No, no. The opposite, actually.”
Your brow furrows. “The opposite? What—”
“In this lifetime, please,” Mrs. Choi hollers from the chess tables. You roll your eyes. Hyunjin smiles helplessly.
“Duty calls, my love.”
“Tell me your thing later too?”
“Of course.”
You dust yourself off and stand up, making your way to the battleground. But not before you whisper to Hyunjin, “now watch me beat up a senior citizen.”
He laughs with his whole body, his eyes the shape of crescent moons, his mouth a little rectangle.
“Hypocrite.”
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Hyunjin: [1 Audio Message]
This is my seventh take and I’m not recording an eighth. What you get is what you get. I don’t care anymore.
I understand if you don’t wanna talk about what happened at the arcade. I wouldn’t, either. I just wanted to say that you don’t have to do this tutoring thing anymore. I won’t be able to fulfill my end of our deal, so…yeah, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You’ve already done so much for us. For me.
As for team manager, you’ll have to talk to Minho and Coach Bang if you wanna quit. Doesn’t sound like a fun conversation, I know—but if that’s what you decide, I’ll have your back. They don’t scare me. Well, they do. Sometimes.
You’ve been…distant, this week. I’ve known peace and quiet for the first time since we met, and I fucking hate it. I realized I couldn’t care less if you’re my tutor or my team manager or whatever—I just don’t want you to be a stranger. Maybe that’s selfish of me to say, but I’m tired of pretending the idea of losing you doesn’t terrify me. It does. It truly fucking does.
I’m gonna end this here, because I almost just stopped recording on accident and I would’ve committed first degree murder if I had to do this all over again. Sorry that this got so long, and…I’m sorry about everything. You deserve better.
Come back to me whenever you’re ready, okay? I’ll be waiting.
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🔖 (send an ask to be added)・@astraystayyh・@like-a-diamondinthesky・@fire-08・@starsandrqindrops・@txtxlz・@laylasbunbunny・@strayghibli・@nuronhe・@seungminsapuppy・@vivisoni・@moon0fthenight・@sweetpickledjins・@svintsandghosts・@nhyunn ・@ur-boyfiend・@liknws・@hotgorloikawa・@randomwimp・@automaticpersonabatpaper・@aceofvernons・@linos-kitten・@newhope8・@weedforthoughtz・@hyunverse
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© 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐱 (est. 090323) · liked this work? please consider reblogging, commenting, or sending me an ask to let me know; or, read my other writing here. thanks so much for the support ♡
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shoverse · 5 months
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| • skz hyung line — caught simping for them • |
📁 pairing; bangchan x gn! reader, lee minho x gn! reader, seo changbin x gn! reader, hwang hyunjin x gn! reader
📁 cw; swearing, nsfw joke, furry joke
📁 a/n; if this doesn't turn up in tags i'll cry ☹️ ENJOY PLS ILY
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#01 — bangchan • 방찬 !
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#02 — lee minho • 이민호 !
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#03 — seo changbin • 서창빈 !
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#04 — hwang hyunjin • 황헌진 !
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arcanesea · 4 months
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pet names | hwang hyunjin x reader | 519 w.
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"What did you just call me?" Hyunjin scowled. His hands once again placed on each hip. It was impossible to not laugh at the scene, and that made him even more enraged in all the endearing ways possible for you.
"Hyunjin," you whine as he walks out of the room. Following him to the kitchen, you quickly circle your hand on his torso, trying to put your chin on his shoulder, but fail miserably because he keeps shaking you off. You laugh at his antics. All this because you called him by his name and not the designated pet names you both had for each other.
"I don't know any Hyunjin," he said, running away from you once again to the couch.
"That's literally your name," you exclaimed, half laughing. You sat next to him, nudging his feet with your own, trying to annoy him. He quickly grabs a pillow to prevent you from trying to use the hug attack. "Hyune," you called again, this time with a more common nickname.
He didn't budge. Not even a twitch of an eye.
"Baby?" you tried another one with a softer one. That sure earned you a little sarcastic smile from the man himself. He looked down at you, still not impressed by your whole shenanigans. He pressed his body even further into the couch, leaving no space for you to slip your hand.
"No," he said, squinting at you.
"What do you mean no?" you jolt back in surprise. Mainly because that's what you always call him. Baby. Just like the pet names, he's the biggest pouty baby you've ever known.
Hyunjin looks as if he's thinking something before you notice the mischief in his eyes.
"I want new pet names," he said, smirking. You looked at him, gears starting to run in your head.
"Honey?" you offer softly. He placed a finger under his chin before tickling you, making you fall from the couch. He saw this coming and held on to your body before you could hit the floor. He sets you down on the floor gently before attacking you with tickles again.
"I'll stop when you give me one I like," he laughed maniacally.
"Sorry! Sorry!" you exclaimed, trying to escape from his grip. "Boobear! Boobear!" you shouted in between laughs. Hyunjin laughs along with you, refusing to stop.
"Love, my love," you offer another one, starting to run out of energy. Hyunjin seems to think for a few seconds before he stops tickling you.
"I like that," he said, pushing the hair on your face away so he could hold it.
"You know it was just a prank, right?" you ask, out of breath.
"I do," he smiles playfully before placing a kiss on the tip of your nose. "Now we're even." You roll your eyes in annoyance, smiling nevertheless.
"I'll get you some water, stay here," he said before standing up.
You saw another chance, propping yourself before you opened your mouth and shouted, "Thanks, bro." Immediately bolting away to the room with erupting laughter.
Hyunjin let out a deep sigh, speechless and definitely unamused.
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a/n. my honeybun, pumpkin, choco pie, this is so cliche please don't attack me it's sounds better in my head
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hanverse · 27 days
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THINGS HYUNJIN SAYS DURING SEX
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PAIRING — hwang hyunjin × fem!reader
GENRE — smut!! MDNI
WORD COUNT — 0.1k
WARNINGS — lowercase intended, explicit content, swearing!!
NOTES — the third installment to this series! (and also my third time trying to post this omg). to all those leaving wonderful comments and tags on the other parts, thank you so much! i see and read them all and i appreciate them so much, even if i dont reply. enjoy <3 requested by anon, @laubg13 and (kinda) @/19nocap ♡
read the other parts : chan minho changbin han felix seungmin jeongin
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"look at you, all pretty and dolled up f'me."
"you're not gonna suffocate me baby, just sit on my face."
"so good to me, takin' my cock so well."
"let me cum on your tits?"
"breathe through your nose... that's a good girl."
"you taste so good, can't get enough of this pussy."
"d-don't look at me like that or i'll cum."
"keep ridin' that dick, just like that."
"shh, we don't want the boys hearing you, now do we?"
"look up at the camera, there we go, hi gorgeous."
"don't—ah—don't clench like that."
"you look so pretty on your knees."
"shit, you're fucking creaming around my cock."
"i've barely touched you and you've soaked through your panties."
"so fuckin' sexy when you squirt on my cock."
"shit, babe, you really marked me up."
"feel that? feel how hard i am? s'all cause of you."
"i—hngh... i missed this cunt s'much."
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main masterlist
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© hanverse 2024
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astraystayyh · 3 months
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the premise: ur reaction to hyunjin's new short purple hair. this is very self indulgent and silly and fluffy and im mad at this man for being so pretty (i love him so much)
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"are your eyes closed?" hyunjin's voice echoes from behind the door, as you lie on your stomach upon the bed.
"they are!" you yell back, palms pressing tightly against your eyelids. "can you hurry, i miss the light."
"you are so dramatic," hyunjin giggles, and you can vividly imagine him, head tipped back, a fond smile etched on his face—the one he reserves just for you. it sends a tingling warmth through your spine; you've come to learn hyunjin through these past three years, you can now clearly envision him, even behind your darkened eyelids, picturing every mimic of his as if he's right before you.
"save me boyfriend with pretty brown eyes, save me!"
"just a few more seconds baby, i promise," he quickly reassures, and you bite your lip slightly. you know he must be running his hands through his hair, trying to tame the stubborn strands you love to tuck behind his ear. a slight nervous shake in his limbs as he assesses himself in the enormous vanity mirror in your room. hyunjin knows he's good looking, it would be idiotic of him to believe otherwise. but it is always after significant changes in his appearance that he becomes almost shier, as if adjusting to the person reflecting back in the mirror.
"you're really pretty, you know that, right?" you speak softly.
"you didn't even see me yet," a smile is latched onto his words, making them ring sweetly in your ears.
"i don't need to. i think you are physically incapable of being ugly. beauty just oozes from each one of your features."
"okay, you can look now because i need to kiss you before i pass out," he sighs and you laugh before swiftly pulling your hands away from your eyes. you blink rapidly, trying to adjust to the stream of light coursing through your pupils. and then, your gaze locks on hyunjin.
his hair is short again. deep purple reflections dancing underneath the silver light of your bedroom.
you blink.
his hair is still short. and purple.
you blink again.
"are you... malfunctioning?" he chuckles, eyes disappearing into moon crescents.
"holy shit," you whisper, scrambling to the edge of the bed where he's standing, fidgeting from one leg to another. you quickly stand on the mattress so you can tower over him, turning his head to the left, then right.
"you cut your hair," you whisper in wonder.
"i did. do you like it?"
"do. i. like. it?" you repeat incredulously, running your fingers through his silky threads. "i prayed for this day to come, you don't understand," you beam at him, wrapping your hand around his neck, his hands find the slate of your waist, pressing you closer to him.
"did you now, love?"
"you're so pretty. i hate you," you sigh, tugging at his strands in wonder, admiring the rich color that's dancing off his hair.
"that sounds contradictory," he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. you bite his arm in response. he yelps loudly in true hyunjin fashion.
"you're actually so gorgeous it maddens me. how are you real," you pinch his cheek slightly, and he only screeches louder. "how are you mine?" you add, poking his nose, and he wraps an arm around your midriff, before throwing you back into the bed, this time hovering over you.
"because you're you, so i can't be anything but yours."
"give me a minute," you sigh, closing your eyes. "i can't handle your words and your hair at the same time."
"you're an idiot," he laughs, and it sounds so genuine, a barely concealed 'thank you' peeking behind the syllables, as he buries his head in your neck. you can't help but smile in response.
"let me look at you," you cradle his face between your hands, your noses brushing against one another. your gaze turns serious as you drink in each feature of his. you love his long hair, love running your hands through it and braiding his locks before you sleep. but his short hair makes his features more prominent, undisturbed by stray strands that never want to remain in place.
you can feel his cheeks warm up underneath your touch, his gaze growing shier under your scrutinization, his head tilting to the side, pressing further onto your palm. nothing about your love has changed, even after three years of dating.
"you really like it?" he asks, tone quiet, lips brushing against your own, velvet meeting velvet.
"i do," you whisper, before pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. "you know what's insane about you?"
"do tell," he smiles, bopping his nose against your own.
"your face is so goddamn pretty, and yet, it is the least beautiful thing about you."
"i know," he smiles, pecking your cheek, then your wrist in a tenderness that makes your heart drop to your knees. "you're the most beautiful part of me."
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luvlyhyunjin · 2 days
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Carousel┃H.HJ SMAU
Thirty-Seven - Jin Is Missing !
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Synopsis: It girl, Queen Bee the most popular girl around campus Song Y/N was envied by everyone. She has it all, money, the looks and brains. After making a bet with her bestfriend Yeosang her life takes a turn to the worse, seeming to lose everyone around her she doesn't expect the only person to stick by her side to be her Ex-first love and long time enemy - Hwang Hyunjin.
༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶
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notsosweetchan · 10 days
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ʚ♡ɞ Size kink (Hyung Line) ʚ♡ɞ
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Warning : Smut
Paring: | Hyung Line x Reader |
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Chan
. He won't even admit he has a kink
. But you discover that the slightest size difference can get him riled up
. Loves maneuvering your body so he can have you pinned down
. Will slowly put it in to watch it stretch you out
. Grinding into your core until you're screaming his name and soaked within second
The stretch of his cock has you moaning uncontrollably as he slowly slides it into you , filling you up inch by delicious inch. Your walls clench around him, gripping him like a vice, and he groans in deep satisfaction at the sensation.
He grips your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he holds you prisoner beneath him, owning every part of you in this moment.
"Damn, you feel so good," he pants out, his breath hot against your ear. "So tight and wet for me." His words fan the flames of your arousal even more, and you arch your back, silently begging for more.
He chuckles, a low rumbling sound that vibrates through both of you as he obliges, sliding in to the hilt with one smooth thrust.
You whimper, the sensation of being so full, of being so completely and utterly claimed by him, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.
He begins to move then, slowly at first, as if savoring every single thrust. Your nails dig into the sheets, leaving behind shallow imprints as you fight to stay grounded in this realm of pleasure.
"That's it," he growls, his voice a dark whisper in your ear. "Let me hear you scream for me."
Minho
. Has a thing for when it hurts
. Seeing you struggle to take it is such a turn on for him
. It’s even better when you try to stop him from skinning his cock deeper into you
. Has no shame when it comes to degrading you from how easily you cum from him splitting you open
“Poor baby does it hurt “,he coos as he continues to relentlessly pound into you. His hips colliding with your ass cheeks with a ��smack every time he slams back in. You moan out, your eyes water up from the immense pleasure and pain shooting up your spine.
“You were begging for it earlier”, he reminds you with a smug smile on his face. You gasp, trying to ignore the sting and the ache of your inner walls stretching to accommodate his length. But it only seems to fuel his need, his desire to make you feel every inch of his girth.
You can feel the head hit that sweet spot inside you with every thrust, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.
“Minho, it’s too much” you whine out you whine out , your nails digging into his sheets. Minho slaps your cunt hard, making you yelp in pleasure. “ That’s not what your pussy is saying ”, he growls lowly.
You bite your lip to stop yourself from screaming out profanity at him. He chuckles lowly, as if he can read your mind. “ Go ahead, scream for me, let it out .” You tense up, but the pleasure is too much , the agony and pleasure coiling inside you unraveling.
“Fuck Minho , fuck me harder !!”Minho's smirk widens at your plea, and he delivers. He angles his hips to hit that sweet spot inside you even harder, driving you both further and further into the abyss of pleasure “That's it baby, cum for me.”
Changbin
. This mf has a fuckin thick cock
. Always will take his time to prep you for his cock
. Sliding it in hurts every time
. Doesn’t like to see you in pain, he’ll kiss you to distract you from feeling pain
. Lots and lots of praise
“Bin…“, you whine , your nails digging into his back as he slowly slides his thickened length inch by inch into your aching core.
He kisses your neck, sucking the sting away as he bottoms out inside you, stretching you further than you ever thought possible.“Shhh , it’s okay baby , I got you” he soothes, his hands roaming up and down your spine , trying to calm you down .
“You’re doing so well he praises, his voice laced with pride and lust as he begins to move , rocking his hips in a slow, motion.
His grip on your hips tightens as he picks up the pace , your moans spurring him on.
"You feel so good, baby," he moans against your ear, his breath hot and erratic. "So fucking tight." His praises send a shiver down your spine , your walls clenching around him in response ."That's it," he groans, dropping kisses along your jawline. "Tell me how good it feels."
"Fuck, Binnie," you moan, unable to form coherent words as he picks up the pace. "It feels so fucking good ."He growls in response, his hips slamming into yours with more force. "That's it, baby. Take it all."
Hyunjin
. Doesn’t even know he has the kink until he met you
. Loves to get your cunt nice and wet to make it easier to slide in
. Gets off on your whines and whimpers you make when you take his cock
. When he goes deep and you spasm around him he goes insane
“Hyunnie... too deep!” You whine out, your voice hoarse from the intensity of his thrusts, his cock filling you to the brim. “ pretty I’m sorry you feel to good, you can take it baby. I’ll go easy I promise “ he panted out , his thrusts slowing down but still emphasizing his girth.
He angles his hips , finding that spot inside you that has you seeing stars.“Hyunjin!” you scream , your cunt clenching around his length.
“Fuck me baby, show me how much you love it” he growls , his grip on your hips tightening as he plunges even further into you. His cock hitting every part of you , his thickness stretching out your walls, making room for him and only him.
“Baby ! oh god !” You scream out as waves of pleasure crash over you, your orgasm ripping through your body like a tidal wave. Hyunjin doesn’t stop however, he continues to pound into you , chasing his own release . “ Fuck baby, you feel so good, how does it feel to have me splitting you?”
“I- it feels so good Hyunnie , I never knew I needed this”, you panted out as he continued to thrust into you . “God, your cock feel so damn good and big inside me”
“You’re so wet , you love it don’t you? Taking my dick inside that tight pussy”.
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hwajin · 1 month
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☆°. — ᴋɪss ᴇs
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𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: smut, fluff
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: hyunjin x afab!reader
𝐰𝐜: 3.4k
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: oral (afab receiving), very soft, lots of tension
𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: something sweet for valentines day!! it's a bit rushed, hope you enjoy it nontheless <33
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You lay sprawled across the bed, a book in hand. You had no blanket on you, yet you felt warm, and a heavy weight was pressing you down; Hyunjin was snoring softly against the sensitive crook of your neck, working far better than any weighted blanket you could acquire. His arms, lanky and long, were snaked around you, tightly, holding you so close that you almost didn’t believe that he was sleeping, that he was only pretending so you wouldn’t shoo him off. Not that you ever would, in the first place; you enjoyed being crushed beneath his weight far too much to ever deny his affection and love.
One hand of yours was tangled in his hair, massaging his scalp — you figured it was the very thing which has put him into his semi-deep slumber in the first place, so you only stopped it when necessary, after finishing a page and turning to the next one. Hyunjin's soft grunts of protest never went unnoticed; you huffed in amusement every time your fingers untangled from his messy locks and he sighed out in tired disagreement, before sounding entirely content again the moment your hands found themselves deep in his locks again. It was endearing. You thought you could find eternal happiness right then, right there.
It must have been several minutes, and you were twenty-something pages further in your book when the man stirred, suddenly, without a reason — you were but a statue beneath his body, not moving even an inch to not disturb, to not wake. Yet he stirred, moved around atop your body; his face buried further into your neck, tickling you, his breath hot and intoxicating, burning on your skin. He hummed, arms tightening around you - if possible - and he looked up at you. He was awake, though he didn't look it. His hair was an adorable mess, falling over his eyes and standing to all directions, his eyes barely open and puffy, only a little, and his left cheek wore the imprint of your shirt he had laid on. Endearing. You thought you could find eternal beauty if you as much as looked at him. Even minutes after waking up.
You giggled, softly, your hand still in his hair, still massaging.
"Hi."
He huffed out amusement at that, closing his eyes to bask in your antics at his hair, leaning into your hand, fully at peace. He hummed again, in satisfaction now, in pleasure, and it sent a shock of electricity throughout every fibre of your body. He must have noticed, must have sensed you tensing up, and he smiled - not in malice, simply acknowledging. A shiver ran down your spine then.
"You're still reading, huh?"
Hyunjin's voice sounded quietly through the room, almost melodic, harmonizing with the birdsong outside. It didn't disturb the silence, only added to the atmosphere, leisure, lazy, loving. You nodded at his question, continued massaging the skin in his nape, hummed, then, affirmatively. There was a lot of humming in the room, sighs and huffs instead of words, for words seemed, almost, too heavy; and you understood each other without.
Hyunjin's face buried into your neck again - though not without a plan this time, not to merely rest. He kissed the skin there, softly, patient. Slow. As though dragging out his movements would make the moment last forever. He kissed, open-mouthed kisses, wet kisses, loud kisses, stingy kisses; he couldn't help but bite down on you every other moment, not a lot, enough only to show purest affection, most primal desire.
Your skin was sensitive. You were shivering in his hold, you were shivering at the feeling of the warmth his breath glazed over your neck. He was holding you close, his hands exploring the expanse of your back; though barely noticeable. He was barely even moving his hands, so slow you weren't sure he was at all, until you noticed them laying elsewhere, suddenly - close to your neck, then the small of your back, then wrapping around your shoulders from behind. Always pulling you closer. Always keeping you near, as much as physically possible. You moaned out quietly, softly, barely even audible, but it dizzied him, and Hyunjin bit down against the back of your ear with more fervour than before. You mewled, and you felt him smile against your skin.
When he spoke his next words, his voice was muffled, absorbed almost entirely by your body.
"Read for me. Out loud… please."
You chuckled, not less because the words against your skin sent tickles down the entirety of your body. Hyunjin, despite his wish, stayed buried in your neck; he was nibbling at the lobe of your ear now, kissing there a second after, listening to the way your breath hitched in your throat. He wasn't making a move to separate from you - you tried shoving him off, giggling softly in the process.
"You need to let me... actually read, then"
Your voice was quiet, amused, and followed momentarily by a sigh of pleasure. Hyunjin licked at the goosebumps on your neck, right where it connected to the shoulder; your favourite spot, the most sensitive one. He hummed out in disagreement, didn't as much as raise his head to answer you.
"Just read. While I...", he traced off, kissed your shoulder, touched your waist, squeezed your hips; he looked up at you with puppy eyes, and you nearly lost it all, "...do this..." More kisses to your body; seemingly, he wanted to cover every possible inch of you in traces of his love. If to mark you his, or to remind himself of having you, you weren't sure, but you loved it all the same.
So you read. With his lips on your body, distracting you embarrassingly from the words you tried to make sense of. They didn't quite, and after having read an entire page you lost sight of the plot, entirely. What you never lost sight of, never lost feeling about was Hyunjin's body on your own, his melting into yours. He was consistent, determined, almost. It was pathetic how often your voice trembled and shook when his lips met your body anew; you ought to be used to it already, now that his kisses had reached the expanse of your chest, your collarbones, now that he nibbled right below your shoulders - yet you weren't. You hissed every time his mouth swallowed you whole, every time his wet lips came in contact with an additional inch of your body. You would never get used to it, would never grow tired of him.
You read, and he kissed. Kissed your body away, not leaving a spot of yours undoted. And his hands were sinful. They were wandering, exploring your body while you tried not to lose hold of the book with your own trembling fingers. You tried to keep your composure, tried to be coy when Hyunjin's nimble, cold fingers, far too long for his own good, far too sensual, unclipped the first button of your sleepwear. You stopped reading when he opened the next one - though the man merely looked at you from below his lashes, eyes dark and blown out, urging you on to continue while another kiss met your body. You blinked, once, twice, five times, watching him cover your chest in kisses and love-bites, in spit and hushed confessions. You watched him open another button - at that point your chest lay entirely in the nude, your lack of underwear always delighting the man, and the little bit of stomach Hyunjin had exposed was covered momentarily in his mouth. You watched him, long forgotten the literature in your hands; and then he stopped. Suddenly stopped sucking on your skin, licking and biting on it, easing it with kisses instantly. He stopped moving his hands along your body, too - he looked up at you, expectantly, waiting. You watched him, and he only reciprocated your gaze.
"Read."
Not a command, yet his voice was but a whisper, and it sent thousand shivers to your core. They ran all across your body, the shivers, painting you in goose flesh before they collected right between your legs, right where the man’s body was laying, right where you needed him, right where he was miles away from, seemingly. He wouldn't give in too easily. You knew him - he would drag it out, he would wait on you to continue reading, which, stupidly, you were oh so unable to do, with him all around you, and he wouldn't give you what you craved for before he'd complete his travel on your body, before his lips had tasted every inch of you excessively.
So you continued reading. Shakily, your voice trembling, though you couldn't be embarrassed by it, not when seconds later you felt Hyunjin's lips on your skin again, seemingly satisfied. He had reached your stomach, left wet patches where his mouth met, left love-bites. Left smirks, too; you could feel his amusement on your body whenever your breath hitched in your throat, whenever you restarted a sentence because your voice had trailed off to sighs of frustration. He enjoyed it. He enjoyed that you enjoyed it.
It must have been ages until he had opened all buttons on the flimsy pyjama top you were wearing. You were squirming by then, impatient, intoxicated, needing. Hyunjin lay between your thighs, his face now levelled with your lower tummy, with your core. His arms were snaked around your thighs, holding you close - so close you thought he was scared that you'd slip away if he let go for only a second, but you didn't mind it. You felt his hot breath on your skin, his hotter mouth on the plush of your stomach, the cold breeze against your hardening nipples. Your senses overwhelmed, and Hyunjin wasn't making it easy on you, either; he continued kissing, continued licking, never stopped biting at your body, doting on all his favourite parts, caressing all your favourite spots. He knew you inside and out, he knew the sensitivity of your inner thighs, he knew you enjoyed feeling his breath fawn over it before he gave it a kiss - so he did just that, and he smiled to himself when you mewled out his name. You couldn't keep reading. It was impossible for you to.
"Hyun..."
Your voice was quiet, as though shy; it was needy, too, and if Hyunjin wasn't so focused on basking in your pleasure, he'd blow right then and there. He'd lose his mind over the way your thighs tensed with every kiss he planted there, how your body squirmed when he neared your core, only to pull away again and lick and kiss near your knees. He almost whimpered out in bashful satisfaction at the way you stopped reading, entirely, to call out his name, to let your hands search for his hair, to pull on it slightly when you found it moments later - he lost himself in everything you were, in everything he loved about you.
Though he could keep his composure, just enough. Seemingly mirically, because his body was reacting to your own like flames, igniting one another and impossible to put out. He was as hot as you felt, as intoxicated, just as needing.
"You gotta keep reading, babe."
Another kiss to your inner thighs, an open-mouthed one, a wet one. He was determined to drive you insane.
You whimpered, huffed out in what sounded like amusement. Hyunjin looked up at you, his mouth never breaking contact with your skin. He watched your closed eyes, the way you relished in the feeling of him, the way you were asking for more, silently, wordlessly. The way your body was pleading, the way he could read it without you saying as much as a word about it. He continued kissing, waiting for an answer. He moved slow, giving attention to every inch of your body before he even thought of moving on.
"Feels so good, though."
He trembled at your words. He shivered at the shake of your voice, at the sigh that followed it. He wanted you, he needed you, always. He would never grow sick of it. He would never grow sick of you. You lay there before him, and you wanted him. You lay there so vulnerable for him, and only him. You lay there, and were so honest about your pleasure, pleasure only he could give you; Hyunjin would never grow tired of the way you loved him.
Though, mirically, he continued keeping his composure. Witchcraft, surely, because you were irresistible, having pulled him in entirely, long ago.
"I know... wanna hear you read to me, though."
Your sigh of frustration was music to his ears. The scent of your clothed core, your scent, the feeling of the plush of your thighs, your bare chest, your tortured expression, your fingers in the depth of his hair - it was his death sentence.
"C'mon."
So you continued reading. Because you knew him enough to know he was patient - though, barely, just enough - to not give into you too fast, only to relish in you more. You continued reading, and every further word of yours made him move closer to your core. Shaky words, trembling words, though you made it through one sentence, then through another. And Hyunjin's mouth was closer, and closer, and closer to where you needed him so very urgently.
It must have been ten sentences when his fingers fanned over your waist, the part where your underwear cut into your flesh. He toyed with the elastic band, let it wrap around his fingers, only teased to take it off though never did. Not for another minute, not for another two. He stopped entirely when you stopped reading; only when you picked it up again he continued his ministrations. After a moment or two, Hyunjin pulled down your underwear, though only enough to expose a bit of your pubic bone. You hissed, voice fading almost into nothingness, though you kept reading until a kiss of his met your skin. You hissed again, then, and you were ready to kill him for the past thirty minutes of teasing, and doting, and malice, and loving. You needed him, and you weren’t sure how much longer your patience could hold out.
Hyunjin kissed your thighs. He didn’t leave your core forgotten, though – his mouth sucked onto the plushest part of your inner leg, right below your sex, and his fingers tangled into the waistband of your white, lacen panties, his favourite pair, to take them off you, slowly. If you hadn’t been quick enough, or attentive enough, or far too hyperaware of every of his movement, you wouldn’t have as much as noticed how you, excruciating moments later, lay before him in the nude, almost entirely – only your pyjama top adorning you, though it was barely enough to leave anything to the imagination. And Hyunjin yet took his time, yet didn’t give into you – you weren’t sure how he did it. You were exposed, you were vulnerable; though he acted like you weren’t, for a while longer. His lips painted most frustrating picture on your thighs, travelling to the hollow of your knees – slowly, relishing in your squirming, basking in the way your skin felt against his, as you relished in the way his hands accompanied his lips’ journey along your heated body. You were hot, very much so; Hyunjin ignited you with every touch, with every kiss, with every lick of his sinful tongue – he ignited you, even, with a gaze, eyes so lewd and speaking you didn’t know what was harder; looking straight into them or keeping track of your reading.
And it was when you lost your patience altogether, entirely, finally, that he did, too. It was a mewl, barely a whisper, even; you were surprised Hyunjin heard the weak call of his name in the first place, the plead in your voice, the longing. And it wasn’t a second after that his lips, the ones that had been tracing your body for seeming hours, for and eternity, that had covered you in spit and love and longing and passion, finally connected with your wetness. You were dripping, practically, his tireless teasing having egged you on far more than you were brave to admit. You felt Hyunjin kiss against your clit, lick it right after only to elicit a moan from you – it was embarrassing, how fast you were reacting to him and his body, how very little your composure held; but then again, you were hypersensitive. Had been, ever since he’d opened that first button, ever since a first kiss had fluttered over your body in a manner so loving it pulled at your heart.
Hyunjin’s hands were wrapped around you again, your own – book long forgotten and discarded somewhere next to you – tangled tightly in his hair. With every pull he moaned, groaned deeply into your pussy, and with every of his sound your body jolted, and vibrations set off in the entirety of your body. And he noticed, too, for he never made attempts to quiet down.
The sounds of your pleasure echoed through the room in harmony. The melodies of your names created a symphony, topped off with the lewd noise of his lips against your sex. He was making out with it, was sucking on your clit, kissing it, licking it, sucking it again. He was breathing you in, he was inhaling you entirely; as though wanting to make you his, wanting to annihilate your body with his own, to make one out of two, to melt together for eternity, as though a candle standing too close to the other. And you lost yourself at his passion. You were squirming, screaming, almost, his name, pleads, his name again. You weren’t sure you knew any other words that moment, your own name, even; he was everything you thought of, his tongue now lying flat against your slit and licking in thick stripes the only thing your mind was occupied with. All attempts of keeping your composure were long forgotten; you couldn’t possibly if he made you feel this way, when shocks of fire and electricity shot through your body with every squeeze his hands granted your thighs, and you didn’t want to, in the first place. You didn’t want to keep your composure. You didn’t want to try and not lose yourself in him; because you knew him enough to know he wanted you entirely, in honesty. And you knew him enough to know he lost himself within you all the same.
It wasn’t until two of his fingers teased your entrance, while his tongue flicked across your clit that your body started trembling. As though it was lain in ice suddenly, shaking against your lover who wasn’t giving you a chance to catch your breath. He inserted two digits into your warmth, smiled against your clit at the way you clenched around him momentarily. A soul-ripping whine left your throat then, and your fingers dug into the man’s scalp – it was bound to hurt, though he liked it. He would never not.
And Hyunjin yet moved slow. He didn’t move his fingers, even, for several moments after filling you with them; he kept them still, felt you wiggling around in search of friction. Only after you cried out his name, in obvious frustration, which, anew, made him smile against your sex, his hand started moving. Sensually, patiently, pumping in, then out, then in, then out again – before he curled his long, cold fingers up, and caressed that gooey spot within you. It was too easy, too thoughtless for him. A second nature, almost, the way he knew your body. Almost better than his own.
And you cried out again. You felt Hyunjin pump against your spot, over and over and over until your body felt in flames entirely, until you ignited him with them, until his own desire took over his body, made him feral. He fastened his pace now, sucked a little harsher, cursed a little louder, kissed a little harder. Against your clit, against your heat, against your very vulnerability, the one only he had access to. The one you only ever gifted him – and then you came, when his free hand pulled you closer to his body, tightly around your thigh and groping at your flesh, when the sensitivity tip-toed on the verge of being too much. You came in waves, stormy and urgent, entirely overwhelming. Your body shook, your voice was loud, your eyes were shut so close you saw stars against the darkness; and Hyunjin held you through it. Held you close, held you near to him, as though you’d disappear if he didn’t. As though he almost succeeded in merging your body with his own, in connecting your very souls to one.
And maybe he did. Maybe your body was his own, and maybe his was yours. And maybe your souls had been one and the same the very moment he had first longed for you, had first loved you; had first let his lips dance upon your skin, had first kissed you.
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@es-kay-zee @jeyelleohe @angelwonie @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @bintificreads @llunapastell @sensitiveandhungry @minniesvenus @junebug032 @noellllslut @wolfennracha @unexceptional-h @like-a-diamondinthesky @katsukis1wife
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hyunverse · 5 months
Text
# SKZ TEXTS — you forgot to like his instagram post.
boyfriend!skz (individual) x reader.
fluff, text fics. a dirty joke in changbin's.
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CHAN, LEE KNOW.
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CHANGBIN, HYUNJIN.
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HAN, FELIX.
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SEUNGMIN, I.N.
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