How You Met Jihyo

240121 solar ♡ bohemian from musical 'notre dame de paris'

I am in love 🫠

SOYEON ♡ BLOOM

The tension 🫠🫠🫠 this was really good 🥰

punches to the heart

pham hanni x fem!reader ; angst, fluff

synopsis: hanni watches you beat up her friend, you two get off on the wrong foot, and it's safe to say hanni basically hates you -- the feeling is mutual. what makes it worse is the fact that you two are bound to run into each other time and time again.

warnings: boxer!reader ; hanni is a nursing student who’s fighting lowk (kinda) ; blood ; violence ; pining ; reader is pretty traumatized ummm ; #enemies to lovers (sorta) ; alcohol ; making out ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: ummm I don’t really box lmfao or at least I haven’t done it professionally soooo sorry to any boxers reading this bc there might be mistakes or incorrect terms idk anyways ENJOY!! ^_^ also ignore the fact that yn works at a restaurant in this too LOL half of this fic was from MONTHS ago but i never continued it...

you’re freshly thirteen, your knees still sting and blood continues to flow out of the scrapes from being pushed onto the ground by two prepubescent boys earlier in the day, but you dab at it a couple of times with spare napkins in your bag to prevent any more crimson liquid from seeping out.

the door opens and you find your grandma knitting something on the couch, she’s also watching something on the tv. the quality of the video playing on the screen is pretty rough, but you can make out a familiar face: your late grandpa. grandpa was grandma’s everything and from what you’ve heard: he’s a sweet, memorable soul. a smile spreads across your face as you watch your grandma continue to knit. a few seconds later you’re trying to sneakily run to the bathroom to clean up the mess on your legs.

“y/n? is that you?” she calls out softly, turning in your direction. usually, she’d be at the little bakery she worked at, but she wasn’t, so you assumed she had worked the morning and lunch shifts. she looks down at your red knees and her eyes widen. “oh! sweetheart, what happened?” 

she drops whatever she’d been knitting down on the cushion and rushes over to you, cupping your face and then kneeling to meet your injuries. her eyebrows crease and she frowns, worry is painted all over her face.

“i bumped into someone and tripped on the curb.” you lie, knowing you had heard snarky remarks in between voice cracks from some idiots beforehand.

“what did i say about lying?” your grandma sighs, rubbing the area around one of the scrapes and sighing. “did those boys give you a hard time again?”

“i—” you start, but she looks at you and raises her brows, making your second lie die in your throat immediately. you gulp and avoid eye contact. “well i got pushed and i’m not lying about tripping on the curb. i got unlucky.”

grandma clicks her tongue twice and shakes her head, then grabs your hand and leads you to the small bathroom of your little apartment. 

she closes the lid of the toilet and urges you to sit down on it. while you situate yourself, she finds a little first-aid kit in the cabinet and a few sanitizing wipes. you gulp, already uneasy about the pain that you’ll feel in the next minute.

your grandma chuckles in that raspy, cliché old lady tone when she sees your clenched jaw and fingers digging in your knee anxiously. she sighs and kneels down to meet your level, then says, “it’ll hurt a little, be strong for me.” 

“i’m not scared.”

“sure you’re not hon. it’s going to sting a lot, but it’ll pass by in no time, ‘kay?” she says, taking out an alcohol wipe and holding it above the scrape on your left knee. she holds your right hand and smiles sweetly—it calms you down in no time. “i’m going to clean it, be strong.” she says, then begins to wipe away the bacteria from the wound.

you close your eyes tightly at the stinging sensation, it hurts a lot and tears well up despite your eyes being shut. grandma squeezes your hand tightly then throws the wipe away.

“there you go, one knee done.” she says, “you’re strong like your grandpa, you know?”

your brows relax and you look at her, tilting your head. “i—, i am?”

“he boxed until he was 42, you were around the age of 4 then.” she explains, smiling as she reminisces. she grabs another wipe and tightens her grip on your hand again before you feel that same pain again, and continues, “he had a lot of injuries like these ones. i took care of him like this.”

through clenched teeth you respond, “he got hurt worse than this?”

“five times worse.” grandma shivers, “blood from his lips, mostly bruises on him though. i stitched him up once and i almost threw up.” she says, cringing when she recalls this memory. “he got cut up a couple of times and complained and groaned much more than you, actually. he got in a lot of fights, but he promised that he’d get into fewer fights when we had to take care of you.”

“oh, were you okay with taking care of him so much? it must’ve been tiring to always do that for him.”

grandma’s expression softens and she smiles. “when you love someone, taking care of them is never a problem. i love you y/n, and your grandpa; taking care of you two is nothing of a problem. maybe it’s rotten work for some people, but for the people i love? never.”

her sweet smile makes your own lips curl up and she pats your leg softly before finding bandages. as she patches you up, her words linger in your mind and heart.

“you know y/n, i won’t be here forever.” she starts, standing back up to put the kit away. “when you grow older i want you to find someone who will take care of you like that, and it’s your job to take care of them too.”

“i can take care of you when i’m older.” you say it like a promise and she shakes her head.

“i don’t want you to worry about my old soul for the majority of your life. i’m talking about a friend, or maybe more. whoever it is, care for them endlessly.”

you nod. 

she smiles once more and chuckles, “come on, let’s go watch one of your grandpa’s fights—i was watching some of it before you got here.”

you follow her out the bathroom and turn off the light, then you two head back to the living room. she sits down on the couch and urges you to squeeze in with her as she picks up her needles and yarn. you sit beside her and she presses a button on the remote, which starts the video back up again.

as you watch, you recognize the familiar figure on the screen jump around on his feet. he holds his arms up and clenches his fists in the boxing gloves, shooting the opponent a nasty glare through the small space in between.

“your grandpa was a great boxer, he spent a lot of time devoted to the sport.” grandma explains.

you hum and ask, “why did he box? doesn’t it hurt?”

“well, he did it to protect himself and make some money for us back when times were rougher, way before you were born. he was passionate about it.”

“that’s cool.” you say in awe. your grandma laughs softly before starting to knit again.

you watch your grandpa dodge a few punches and a swing from the side quickly, he’s fast and your 13-year-old mind is absolutely bewildered by his athletic ability. the opponent throws another punch, which he dodges, then sends a nasty hit to the side of the other boxer’s torso. the opponent stumbles back and falls to his knees, then bends down while he tries to recover. it takes a bit for the other guy to get up, and when he does get up—he stumbles back down.

“i want to be like grandpa, can i learn to box?”

your grandma laughs and grins at you. “you know what—sure y/n, you’re a lot like him after all. besides, you need to defend yourself from whoever pushed you.”

“oh yeah, i punched him in the face.”

“you what?” your grandma asks, shocked by your reply. you shrug and keep your eyes on the screen: your grandpa had won after a hit to the guy's cheek, and now the camera is on his sweaty, smiling self. 

“he pushed me and i punched him, but that’s because he said something really bad…”

“y/n,” grandma starts, but stops after she takes another good look at you and her late lover on the screen. a small breath leaves her lips, then she shakes her head. “you two are practically the same, huh.”

the rest of the night your grandma shares anecdotes of her time with your grandpa, it ranges from a variety of silly stories: your grandpa’s first fight, how they fell in love (and this story elicited a slight face of disgust from you, a playful one of course. you couldn’t deny that it was cute, but you were also 13 and icky about a lot of romantic things), grandpa’s fights out of the ring, and their most memorable moments with you. 

you find out that a lot of your traits are rooted from your grandpa, you were pretty satisfied with that.

-

years pass, you’re not stuck in that shithole called middle school; instead, you’re a junior in high school—still in a shithole, but a little better—yuck.

you’re already pretty sick of high school, freshman year wasn’t the best for you after realizing you liked girls; well, it was alright until your first heartbreak or whatever. 

it was cliché: you made a good friend, she was sweet and friendly, and then you realized that your heartbeat would pace at an unhealthy speed around her. the two of you get into a relationship and it eventually fails, your heart breaks and blah blah blah it’s a universal experience. you managed to get over this heartbreak after a year. besides, you can’t be stuck on one failed relationship for the entirety of high school, that’s a fool’s biggest mistake. 

and you’re not a fool.

grandma get’s sick sophomore year, and grandma is all that you have. it was an unexpected turn, resulting in one of the worst years of your life.

the doctors said it had something to do with her heart, some type of cardiovascular disease that costs a bit to treat. so, as soon as you turned 15, you found yourself a part-time job at a local restaurant to pay for her medicines and treatment while she tried her best to provide you with a stable foundation for the future, or at least some food, a house, and water. grandma had argued that she didn’t need your help, she scolded you and tried to keep you focused on your studies, but you wouldn’t budge; if anything, you argued back.

twenty-four hours in a day, and yet it wasn’t enough time to do everything you needed without sacrificing some of your sanity.

six of those hours were spent sleeping, seven hours were spent in school, eight hours at work right after, and then a few hours to care for grandma—and do a little bit of boxing; nothing got in the way of your passion, especially if that passion kept your grandpa alive. 

ever since that little moment with grandma and her cleaning up your knees, your interest in your grandpa and boxing piqued; you started to push yourself physically after hearing about the contests and tournaments, ones that had prizes worth more than one shift of working.

 it was difficult – boxing, working, going to school – with grandma’s illness, but your passion was just as great as your grandpa’s and the more you developed to become more like him: the more grandma would smile. that was the product you yearned for, and all your devotion (plus your similar features) only made the image of your grandpa increasingly prominent when she looked at you.

boxing made the thought of her illness easier to bear, and that didn’t cost anything, instead it filled your pockets. so, you kept on going, replicating the moves in the old films of your grandpa, winning junior boxing matches and placing the films your grandma recorded next to the ones of your grandpa. 

even when you didn’t win matches, the tapes of you boxing were placed next to your grandpa’s. that was arguably ten times better than a trophy.

it was enough to ease the strain in grandma’s body, and that made you happy too.

--

a year passes and you’re still a part-time amateur cook at some local restaurant. you still smell like sauteed onions and garlic when you reach the door to the apartment and try to blindly reach for the keys to your home; it’s a bit late, you’re tired, and you want to shower then pass out as soon as you can.

the late evening moon cast a soft glow through the windows near the stairwell, creating a quiet atmosphere. you step inside and the air is filled with the comforting scent of vanilla, a lingering trace of grandma’s signature cookies—she must’ve known you’ve been craving something sweet lately.

the only sound that fills the quiet evening is the faint ticking of the clock reverberates throughout the apartment, and then it’s the sound of the door creaking as you close it. 

“i’m home," you called out, a habitual greeting as you kicked off your shoes. usually, you’d get a response—it was half past seven and typically, grandma would still be awake to greet you warmly—but silence lingered, only broken by the distant hum of the refrigerator.

worry pricked at your consciousness as you ventured further into the house. the hallway leading to the bedroom seemed unusually hushed. the gentle rustling of your grandma’s usual activities was conspicuously absent, she wasn’t even knitting in the living room while watching tv like she usually did. it was odd.

turning the corner into the bedroom, a gasp escaped your lips. you dropped your work bag and stood frozen in place, feeling your heart rate spike. there, lying on the carpet, was your grandma, and her face now bore the lines of pain. panic surged through your veins as you rushed to her side.

"grandma, what happened?" your voice trembled as you gently shook her shoulders, desperately hoping for a response.

grandma’s eyes were closed, her breathing erratic. the room seemed to close in on you as you fumbled for your phone, dialing 911 with trembling hands. the operator's calm instructions cut through the air as you listened intently, trying to focus on each word and compose yourself.

frantically, you performed cpr, guided by the dispatcher's voice, but the seconds felt like an eternity. the room blurred as tears welled in her eyes, mixing with the fear that gripped her heart. the paramedics were on their way, but time was slipping away. this could not be happening—not now, not here, not ever.

“please, god, please no. please stay with me, not you too.” you beg, feeling your face dampen.

as you continued the compressions, a heaviness settled in the room. the once warm and inviting space now felt suffocating. in those agonizing moments, your grandma’s fragile grip on life slipped away. it was clear that she was gone, and there was nothing you could do to help her this time.

--

there’s enough money for you to live in that apartment alone for two months. the first week was spent with you sleeping in, missing school, and staring into the ceiling blankly.

you haven’t gotten up in hours, you could hardly take care of yourself after grandma’s passing. 

after a few hours of simply laying down and feeling too much, yet nothing at all; you flip over on your side and catch sight of the framed picture of you and your grandma. your brows turn up slightly as you stare back at the picture. you turn to lay on your back again, closing your eyes and groaning. your heart aches, it’s all too much for you.

the sound of knocking elicits an exhausted sigh from you, and it takes you a moment to get up for the first time in hours. you trudge out of the bedroom and groan when a sudden headache hits you, it almost makes you stumble. the sight of the kitchen and untouched living room makes your shoulders sink, it looks the same as that life-changing night.

you unlock the door and twist the knob to open it; a taller man stands in front and looks up at you with a sincere smile. 

“ah, y/n, am i correct?” he questions. a smile pulls at his lips, his eyes soften upon observing you. “you’ve grown, you have your grandpa’s eyes.”

his voice is soft, you can tell he’s a well-spoken, dignified man just from the way he articulates his words. he's quite fit looking for his age, he seems about how old your grandpa would’ve been if he was still alive; a man with noticeable smile lines and hands that seemed to have experienced decades.

you try to respond and realize that it’s been a week since you’ve uttered something that wasn’t a cry. you resort to nodding; he seems to understand.

he smiles and scans you; it seems that he doesn’t care about your appearance or state at all. 

“my name is michael, i was a friend of your grandparents. i’m sorry for your loss.”

you stay silent, unable to speak. 

“i’m here because your grandma asked for a favor, a big one and it includes you.” he begins, “she knew her condition was getting worse and asked me to come here to talk to you.”

“what?” you croak, now curious of just who exactly this man is and his connections with not just your grandma, but also your grandpa. “you knew?” your voice cracks, your heart breaks.

“i can’t turn down a favor like this, not if your grandma is asking either.” he says, pursing his lips. his eyes scan the room, then they start to well up with water. “she wanted me to take you in and take care of you if anything happened to her, of course i’m willing to do that for her—you’re her family after all, and i owe a lot to the l/n’s. i didn’t know her time would come so soon.”

“what? who, who are you exactly? my grandma told you about her condition? what— how—”

“i was close with your grandparents. i’m someone who owes them everything.”

-

you move in with michael not so long after your first meeting, he warms up to you easily after spilling some anecdotes that threatened your last tears to spill.

it takes a while to grow accustomed to him, you’ve only ever been used to talking to your grandma freely.

michael is a man in his early 50s, younger than your grandparents. he’s a sweet, soft-spoken man that treated you like his own as soon as the two of you met. you learn that he boxed with your grandpa; michael learned everything from your grandpa and explains that your grandpa is the reason he can live normally now. 

something in the way that he talks about your grandparents and the way he looks at you explains a lot, you don’t know exactly what your grandparents did, but it seems like they were his biggest miracle.

he smiles at you when you settle in his house, then goes on to tell you that you remind him of your old man. michael is a generous guy, and though everything happened so fast—recovering from grandma’s death, moving in with this man you’ve never heard of, learning more about your grandparent’s relations, and too much more—you seem to ease into this new lifestyle.

what else could you do anyway?

the new home you’re in isn’t small; if anything, it’s actually quite large and spacious. his home is hours away from where grandma was and it was hard leaving everything behind, but with your situation, the most you could feel is grateful for having a place and person to stay with, and a way to keep you from drowning in misery.

it was also evident that there used to be someone who lived with him, a lover of some sort. the pictures on the wall give you a sense of how he was like when whoever that woman was accompanying him was around; he was a lively, beaming man back then. now, he’s a bit more mellow, but there’s still that slight charm.

-

michael offers you a job at his little restaurant that he manages—which you accept immediately, you owe him some labor, and honestly everything after what he’s done for you—everything goes well. 

he goes easy on you because of your recent loss, but still, he treats you like you’re his own. michael is quick to correct you, strict when he needs to be, and someone to rely on.

he’s impressed with your skills in the kitchen, enamored by how quick you are to learn recipes and cook them up. your bond grows quickly and easily, it helps you get over the loss.

when he finds you watching your grandpa’s old boxing matches on the couch a month after moving in, he decides to bring you to his little garage. he unveils the trophies that he’s collected over years of boxing and decides to give you a picture of him and your grandpa posing together. in the picture, they’re all sweaty and smiley, beaming so brightly that their teeth almost reflect the light. he insists that “you deserve it more, i never had a place to keep this anyway,” with a small smile that conceals his sorrow, then hands you the 8x6 photo.

you tell him about your background in boxing, your matches, wins, favorite moves, and that you used to teach yourself how to box because of grandpa.

he simply smiles, muttering something that sounds like a “you’re just like him.”

you learn how to box again for the first time in a while on some friday night. this time you really learn, it’s not from copying your old man’s combos on a screen; instead, it’s one-on-one lessons with his old friend. 

he teaches you a lot, beats you down and makes you get back up. despite getting knocked down, thrown around, and given harsh constructive criticism—you get up and try again, again, and again. the thrill of it all surges through your body again, giving you that adrenaline rush and burst of joy that you’ve been missing for a bit.

one month passes, then another, and now you’re learning how to box every weekend – sometimes on weekdays – running miles after school, pushing yourself all the time, and winning—growing. 

he teaches you his favorites combos, then your grandpa’s favorite ones that got him on one knee each time they sparred. you learn all the time, learn whenever you can despite the slight ache in your body and it’s always michael forcing you to take it easy to get rid of that slight pain. 

boxing takes over your mind and you’re set with cooking as your main job, so school was something you weren’t really set on, you figured that out after all your troubles. michael was okay with that—to your surprise—and you decided to devote your time into training and doing your best at the little restaurant you worked at.

time passes and you decide to put yourself up to the test and sign yourself up for matches. at first, they’re just for experience, and then you’re pushing yourself to win these triple digit checks—which you win proudly after making your way up the bracket and succeeding. you’re proud of yourself for these accomplishments, michael is too, he says that your grandparents would be proud as well and it makes you tear up.

everything was going well, and you had michael to thank for pulling you out of the harsh waters that tried to pull you down and drown you in your misery.

--

when everyone was starting out in college, you were opening up the restaurant and getting everything ready.

you graduated with a solid gpa of 3.4. your counselors were practically up your ass because of your lack of interest in going to college. they tried to persuade you by saying that it would be great for your future, they insisted that you could take culinary classes, boxing classes, etc; despite every effort and attempt, you wouldn’t budge. 

there was always that slight uneasiness that came with deciding not to go to college, but at the same time, you were set with how everything was right now; especially after seeing the elderly regulars that always came in for breakfast. one of them patted you on the back as you hung up the “welcome” sign and greeted you with a smile, saying “it’s nice to see you again y/n, as always.” 

this type of lifestyle kept you smiling, there was not much to complain about other than the rare rude customer that would pass by here and there. you were content to say the least.

-

a few months before you turn nineteen, you decide to move out because there’s a small feeling that you may be a slight burden to michael, plus, the area is not bad and the rent is cheap. he assures that you can stay for however long, but you assure that you can hold up on your own. 

the place you decide to settle in is a thirteen-minute run from michaels place and a ten-minute walk from the restaurant you work at. robert says he’s proud that you’ve grown to be independent and strong.

(you laugh because you’ve simply moved out and decided to live on your own. plus, you live near him and work most of your shifts with him too, but you let him hug you dearly). 

you stay in a single-bedroom apartment that has a nice, small kitchen area littered with trinkets you’ve collected and small plants here and there. the living room is homey and has a single couch with a small coffee table in it that you gives you a view of the small market that goes on every sunday in the distance. you love the place. 

it gets lonely some nights, coming home to a silent house. grandma pops up in your mind and part of you (all of you) wishes that you’d come home to the smell of home cooked food and a smile that emphasizes her wrinkles. grandma hated her wrinkles, but you loved them. a few wrinkles never hurt anyone.

-

you huff, taking off the bandana on your head. “i’m clocking out, see you tomorrow.” 

“wait! michael has something for you in the back. uhh--” aki, the junior in high school that works part time, begins. you pause in your tracks, bag over your shoulder. “hold on let me--”

“c’mon, i'm running a little late for the match. i need to get checked in.” you say hurriedly, “just tell him i'll get it later--”

“no, y/n, it’s important. he said to get it to you today.”

with a deep sigh, you give in, watching him put away the plate he was washing and quikcly running to the back where the lockers are. you follow him in and watch him take out a small box with a little paper on it. it's a pretty big box, maybe bigger than a shoe box.

“here,” he says, handing it to you. “michael says good luck and to open it before your match, he knows how important this one is. three hundred is a solid prize, he says you can do it.”

you smile at aki; he smiles back before running off and back to the kitchen. the box is held with your hands, subtle blisters scratching against the cardboard before you walk over to your car. 

when you’re in the driver's seat, you decide to let the box be your little passenger and see what's inside when you reach the address of the tournament. as soon as you do, the box is in your hands again. with your keys, you cut the tape that covered the openings, then eagerly opened the box like a little kid on christmas morning.

inside, there’s brand new boxing gloves. they're white, they’re fresh, and they’re the expensive ones michael caught you eyeing.

“son of a bitch.” you mutter, shaking your head with a grin playing on your lips. 

you get out your old white mazda with a bag hung on your shoulder, new gloves inside.

there's a man at the front checking you in, his appearance slightly older with hair parted in the middle and a somewhat distraught expression on his face, almost disgust. maybe he just... looks like that. 

there's a hint of attitude in his tone when he asks, "you're here for the match?" 

“yes.”

“you’re late, you know? boxers should’ve checked in ten minutes ago, visitors--”

“i’m here now.” you say calmly, looking at him apologetically. “sorry for being late, i rushed from work. i already submitted my medical information and id online, it should be good to go, i got the email. it's l/n y/n by the way, i should be on the roster--”

he snaps his fingers at you, earning a raised brow from you. your teeth grind against each other as you clench your jaw from the sudden action.

“don’t cut me off when i'm speaking. i could have you out of the match as a whole, you know?” he scoffs, glaring at you. “you boxers are so damn impatient, and to think that you’re a woman too... i would’ve figured you had better manners.”

“i’m-- im sorry?” you’re shocked by the sudden disrespect, fighting back the urge to jab his face. “um, sorry. am i still able to check in?”

he narrows his eyes at you, sighing, but still giving you a little snarky tone even as he hands you your name tag and . “fine. go down the hall and to the left, there’s the locker rooms and whatnot. you know, you’re lucky i don’t--”

“thank you sir, have a good one.” is what you say, because you trained two months for this tournament and you can’t get disqualified now if you had let out that: “fuck you, bitch.”

you dash past him, speed walking towards the changing rooms to get yourself situated and weighed in. he almost curses at you, but you’re already too far in for him to stop you anyway.

--

you make weight, meaning you get to indulge in whatever it was that you grabbed from the convenience store.

in this case it was one protein bar – cookie dough, your favorite – some fruits, an avocado, and a few crackers. a decent amount of nutrition to keep you up on your toes for the matches.

michael's little gift to you fits snug, your hands fit perfectly in them, but you should definitely break them in before sparring—so you resort to using your usual gloves, the same ones that won you the last tournament's prize. it's fine anyway, they’re your lucky ones until you break in the new.

the first girl you take on is feisty; she’s quick on her feet and clearly has some type of anger issue from the way she curses at you quietly, sending daggers with that look of hers. it seems that you piss her off the more level you are, and honestly, it’s amusing to see her continuously jab and jab with fury until you decide to step to the side quickly and give a solid swing. 

she stumbles back, losing her composure before gritting her teeth. 

then she’s light on her feet again, you’re still playing defense, simply observing as she shifts side to side. you let her punch your forearm and send a cross before seizing the moment, stepping to the left, and quickly sending a nasty hook to her body. 

she stumbles again, coughs, and falls down on her knees.

“l/n!” the referee shouts, holding your wrist and raising your arm up.

--

you have three more matches until your final round, the one that’ll determine if you win, but you have to get through all of them first.

the second round proves to be more challenging. the woman you're up against lands a nasty cross that connects squarely with your jaw, throwing you off balance for a split second. however, with attentive focus on each of her movements, you manage to anticipate her next move and swiftly counter with a hook to her side. the blow knocks her out, mirroring the outcome of your previous match.

the third round is even more difficult. the woman you're up against this time seems relentless, unleashing jabs and crosses and jabs and crosses and jabs—wow, she won’t give you a break. you're constantly dodging, weaving side to side, but she refuses to give you a moment's respite. another blow lands on your jaw again, causing you to stumble back and exhale sharply, feeling the impact reverberate through your body.

as you try to regain your footing, she continues to press the attack, landing blows to your forearms as you desperately block, trying to find an opening to mount a counterattack. despite your best efforts, she seems to have you on the ropes, leaving you struggling to keep up with her relentless assault.

but still, as you always do, you manage to swerve and find your opening. after all that effort, she has to recover for a second. a second is more than enough time to step and switch angles, sending your infamous hook and leaving her on the ground, almost in fetal position, and groaning.

the fourth round is tough, really tough. the girl you’re up against is shorter, but wow is she bulky. 

she’s buff, biceps bigger than yours, almost as if an orange had been placed in them. her shoulders were like rocks and tensed as she put her arms up a bit. you had a decent amount of muscle, pretty nice definition and whatnot—but compared to her? it was like a shrimp and a lobster put next to each other. no way she was in your weight class, could she really be?

your arms steady as you get ready to fight, waiting for the cue and as soon as the ref gives you the green light, you’re light on your feet again. she throws a jab at you, grazing your forearm as you step back. then a cross is thrown at you, another jab, and a punch to the side that lands on your shoulder. her hits are as strong as she looks, it hurts. 

you manage to throw a jab that hits her forearms, then land an uppercut that strikes the side of her jaw. she lets out a sharp breath as soon as it hits, then curses under her breath. she looks at you with a death glare, then steps forward and to the side, managing to land a nasty hit right on your abdomen, then cheek, making you fall back against the rope.

she chuckles, making you take a deep breath. 

your feet move quick, inching in on her as you sway from side to side, giving her no room to strike at you. and then, just when you find an opening, you land a nice hook with your right—less precise and powerful, but still enough—and she falls back. 

she gets back up again—not without halting a few of her actions—then shakes her head. she throws a cross at you, which you dodge easily since her reach is on the shorter side. this gives you another opportunity to land a hit right on her jaw, and with that final move, she’s on the ground, and you win.

a smile reaches your face once the referee lifts your arm up, but there’s still that last match.

there's some time before finals, you take the time to rest a bit, chugging down a bit of water and wiping away some of the sweat on your body.

you sit down on one of the benches, leaning against the wall and recollecting yourself. the though of your grandma crosses your mind before you’re interrupted by a high pitched voice in the corner of your ear.

“yunjin! i'm so sorry i'm late, i had to finish moving in some things and--”

“it’s fine, seriously. i'm glad you made it.”

you glance over, seeing two women interact. one is obviously a boxer–one that you haven’t seen yet–probably your opponent for the final round. 

she's all sweaty, strands from her hair glued to her forehead from the sweat. she's pretty built, maybe a little smaller than you are muscle-wise, but still, the definition on her arms and abs are no joke. 

the woman next to her, dressed in a simple long-sleeve shirt and jeans, is beaming at her with a wide smile. her eyes sparkle with joy and happiness and rainbows, there’s an infectious energy that seems to radiate off of her. it's funny how bright she is; you can't help but be reminded of old videos of your grandma with grandpa, where similar warmth and happiness seemed to fill the frame.

“how many more matches do you have left? did you win any yet? gosh i missed so much, didn’t i?”

the taller one shakes her head, the boxer. “it’s fine, the rest were pretty difficult, but this is the round that should be the most important. it's the last one, i'm going up someone really good, i saw her--” she catches you from the side of your eye, which prompts you to look away and start to stand up.

the other woman, the one that looks a little like an eager bunny, looked towards where the boxer was looking. catching your last swift look over to the pair before you walk away.

now, yunjin, your last opponent, tenses her jaw.

“was that her?” yunjin’s friend asks.

“most definitely.” yunjin mumbles nervously.

--

you step into the ring, tilting your neck over to crack it just slightly.

your oppenent swings her arms slightly, dynamically stretching again to ease her nerves. you look her up and down, taking a deep breath before you step into the middle of the platform.

the two of you make eye contact, comparable to cowboys pointing pistols at each other before a duel. you look away first before the referee puts his hand in the middle, then lifts it up to cue the start of your match.

slowly circling the ring, you observe her movements. her arms react quick to how yours move, twitching and moving a bit in order to match your rhythm. she's attentive, very attentive, you can tell just by how quick she’s able to react and adjust.

you throw a cross, she backs away immediately and misses, then throws a punch right at you, hitting your forearm. a grunt is heard from you, then a sharp breath as you jab her forearm in return. 

“jen! you can do it!” the voice from earlier calls out, you can’t afford to look over, but it’s that girl. the one who had been accompanying your opponent earlier.

a small smile forms on your opponent's lips before she launches into a flurry of punches aimed directly at you. you raise your forearms in a desperate attempt to block them from reaching your face, but she manages to find an opening. stepping to the side, she delivers a rear uppercut to your jaw once again, causing a sharp surge of pain to shoot through you. it hurts even more than before, the sensation amplified by the previous blows.

you grunt out in pain, feeling the metallic tang of blood filling your mouth as you watch droplets fall onto the platform below. despite the searing pain and the mounting pressure of the match, you force yourself to regain your composure. your brows crease with determination as you shake your head, breathing in and out slowly.

now it's your turn to unleash a boatload of punches. several of them land squarely on your opponent's forearms, but you manage to find an opening and deliver a powerful blow right to her stomach, causing her to gasp out in pain. despite her reaction, you continue your assault relentlessly, delivering punch after punch to the side of her arms and the forearms covering her head. each blow is delivered with precision and determination, as you refuse to let up until the match is won.

but your opponent still perseveres, somehow finding a way to get out of the corner and land a jab right where your ribs are. she's quick, that’s for sure, always managing to find her way out of situations.

you cough out, stumbling backwards and almost falling down to your knees. she looks at you, huffing proudly as you find your balance. 

“tough,” you hear her mumble, so quiet that you almost mistook it for a whisper.

the two of you go at it again, trading blows and dodging many of them. yunjin manages to land a solid hit on the side of your arm, causing a sharp sting, but you fight back with a well-placed strike right on her tricep. despite the back and forth, the pace slows as both of you focus on dodging each other's attacks, slowing down the more fatigued you both get.

yunjin suddenly lands a powerful hit that causes your arms to push your head to the side. you watch as drops of blood litter the ground once again, but even as pain flares through you, you grunt and pull yourself together.

“c’mon yunjin!” the voice cheers again, that same voice.

just because this “yunjin” has supportive spectators, doesn’t mean you don’t have one watching from above.

the thought of your grandma urges you to act swiftly, moving so quick that you manage to fake her out and strike your signature final move.

turning to the left to regain your footing, you quickly pivot back and swing your arm with precision, landing a harsh blow on her side. the impact is so fatal that it nearly elicits a cry from her—a mix of a cough and a groan—as she staggers backward before collapsing to the ground.

despite the fatigue and pain coursing through your body, and the blood flowing down your nose and to the edge of your chin, none of it bothers you anymore; you’ve won. it’s clear.

you watch as yunjin kneels on the ground, groaning and huffing as she tries to fight back the pain. with both fists planted firmly on the ground, she uses the gloves to support herself, unable to look back up as she coughs, desperately trying to regain her composure and recover from the left hook to her side.

your eyes meet the ref’s eyes, then your brows raise to ask the question “is it over?” but you already know the answer: it is.

the referee helps yunjin up, you don’t bat an eye at her.

standing in the middle of the ring waiting for her, you make full eye contact with her little friend, a look of worry and anger plastered on the woman’s face. you feel a little bad, just a little (but not really), but it’s a competition, it’s nothing to worry about – you’ve won.

still, in that moment, you're caught off guard by how familiar this woman looks, her features bearing a slight resemblance to michael’s. but you quickly push the thought aside, it's not important. what matters is the referee raising your hand up in victory and yelling out your name.

“y/n!”

-

when yunjin gets down from the ring, a few moments after you’ve already stepped off; her friend is already by her side to make sure she’s okay.

“yunjin! oh my gosh, are you okay?”

“yes, hanni, it’s fine.” yunjin assures, clutching her right side. “hell of a hook...”

if it weren’t for those gloves of yours, yunjin would have a prominent bruise right on the skin covering her ribs. hanni frowns at her state before someone comes over to hand yunjin a towel and a water bottle. 

hanni catches you in the corner of her eye as you stand there, sweaty and looking at the ground. a towel is handed to you, and you quickly use it to wipe away the blood on your face. then you look up at the ceiling, closing your eyes as if trying to gather yourself and stem the flow of blood trickling down your face.

“do matches usually end like that?” hanni asks.

“what?”

“like that. someone's hand is raised and then they just... walk off the stage?”

yunjin thinks to herself as she chugs on water. “well, i mean, usually we exchange a few words and stuff, but i guess who i just fought is more... blunt? reserved?” yunjin shakes her head, “it's not that big of a deal, really. she's bleeding anyway, i understand.”

“that’s kind of rude, don’t you think?”

“well, it’s not like she’s actually trying to hurt me for like, terrible reasons. there's a cash prize she wants and she won it.” yunjin shrugs defeatedly.

as you sniffle slightly, you turn to the side, locking eyes with hanni. your look gives the impression of a glare; your eyes narrow, and your expression remains unyielding. it's as if you're sending arrows of scrutiny towards hanni and yunjin. hanni can't help but feel unsettled by the way you hold yourself and the implicit judgment in your gaze. she's not one to judge easily, but your demeanor leaves her feeling a bit wary and cautious.

hanni watches you walk off, wiping a small drop of blood off your jawline, rubbing it off on your towel.

yunjin looks in the same direction as hanni, muttering something under her breath.

“she’s real tough, that’s right.”

--

you walk over to the cafe nearby, you need a little treat after winning, that’s what you deserve.

walking up to the cashier, you order a slice of strawberry shortcake, one latte, and a cookie for later. it’s a quick little action, once you’re done purchasing you head out the door, hearing a little jingle. 

as you walk down the sidewalk, you check your little bag to make sure the container of your cake isn’t tilted, and in the moment, you bump into someone. the coffee in your hand slips and lands on the person in front of you.

a curse slips out your lips, some of the coffee manages to land on your shoulder and upper right side of your chest. you groan, not looking up at the person in front of you and instead crouching down to pick up the bag you’ve just dropped.

“you’re not even going to bat an eye at her?” a voice scoffs from above, you look up to spot two familiar faces: one, the last girl you had knocked out and two, her little friend. “did the win make you so dense?”

“hanni relax, it’s fine–”

“no! she barely batted an eye at you after she won! shouldn’t boxers have more sportsmanship?”

the boxer above you puts a hand on the shorter girl’s shoulder, trying to cool her down as you stand up. the girl you had beat earlier – yunjin – she looks at you and tightens her jaw, hesitating before looking away.

“i’m, i’m sorry for that, for my friend.” she apologizes. you examine her more, noticing that only a bit of coffee landed on her t-shirt and the rest had spilt on you and the ground – it wasn’t that big of a deal. “it’s a small stain, the shirt is navy. sorry for your coffee.”

before you can respond, the shorter woman looks at yunjin confusedly, then pushes her back a bit so that she’s standing closer to you. she has to look up a bit, tilting her head as she meets your unbothered gaze.

“no, yunjin, she should apologize.” the woman spits, “you bump into my friend and spill coffee on her–”

“it’s barely anything–” yunjin butts in, but her little friend puts a finger to her lips.

“you better apologize, that win didn’t make you any better than anyone you’ve beat.” 

you look the girl up and down, then at yunjin who’s looking regretful and slightly embarrassed. you fix the slice of cake in your bag, catching the shorter girl looking at you like you’re crazy, then sigh out tiredly. 

“hey, yunjin, right?”

she nods, then hums, “yeah.”

you glance back at her friend, shrinking her down with just your eyes. you catch the way her jaw tightens and the flicker of fear in her eyes.

“tame your little friend, ‘kay?” you firmly say, then brush past the two of them.

hanni cannot believe her eyes, or anything. how can someone be so arrogant? 

she watches you casually walking off with an empty coffee cup in one hand and a small plastic bag in the other; her brows crease with anger as she starts to storm towards you, hearing yunjin’s attempts at verbally stopping her fading in the back.

you feel someone tugging at your flannel from behind, gasping lowly before turning around to meet yunjin’s little friend again.

“what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“relax.”

“apologize.” she grips your forearm, taken aback from how firm the muscles in that area are. uncertainly, she adds, “now.”

you look her up and down again, amused by the sight. some girl – who is shorter and smaller than you – is trying to hold you – the person who just knocked her friend out – back in an attempt for some stupid, haste ‘apology.’

“what are you going to do if i don’t?” you ask, partly because you’re curious and the other reason being that this is far too entertaining. “punch me? throw a hook? what are you, 5 feet tall?”

“five feet and three inches you ass!” 

“uh huh.” you sigh, shaking her hand off with your forearm. “fuck off.”

hanni watches you walk away again, before she can walk after you, yunjin grabs her and holds her back – this time with all her strength, the rest that she has left after those matches. hanni shouts at you through gritted teeth, yunjin puts a hand over her mouth and scolds her for being an idiot.

“are you crazy?”

“she’s an ass!”

“yeah but… stop making a scene! you just moved here, don’t go starting shit on your first day.”

“but she’s–”

“hanni.” yunjin turns her around and places both hands on either shoulder, looking her dead in the eye and then shaking her head tiredly. “can we just grab something to eat, i’m so fucking tired.”

yunjin’s best friend rolls her eyes before making a small “hmph” noise, crossing her arms before walking towards the cafe that you had just left.

–

hanni grabs a post fight meal with yunjin, then takes multiple photos at some random photobooth in a mall nearby, and finally gets dropped off at where she’s staying thanks to yunjin, considering the fact that hanni has nothing but a bus pass – not even a metro card.

hanni enters the house, smelling the wonderful aroma of what she believes is garlic and onion being sauteed in the kitchen. she smiles, happy that her grandpa is home and cooking up something delicious.

she kicks off her shoes, then starts to walk over to the kitchen, only to see someone turned to the stove – a tall, athletic, toned, and feminine looking back – someone that is not her grandpa. 

immediately, she gasps, then covers her mouth. she watches the figure turn, then takes her hand off her mouth to gasp again.

“what the hell are you doing in my house?”

“what the hell are you doing here?”

“this is my house?!” hanni exclaims, her voice laced with confusion and a hint of fear. technically, it isn’t really hanni’s house, but through family ties, it might as well be. “get out! are you fucking—are you stalking me? is this because of before? what, are you going to punch me or—”

her breath catches, words failing her as you step forward, closing the distance between you two. you’re in her space now, forcing her to tilt her head up slightly to meet your narrowed gaze. the intensity in your eyes makes her breath hitch again, and she’s keenly aware of how scrutinizing your stare is. she takes in your sharp, intimidating presence, noting how your eyes bore down on her from above. you’re nearly a head taller, clearly stronger, your tank top revealing the evidence of your hard work, while she’s standing there in the casual, unassuming attire of an average college student. she would be lying her ass off if she said she wasn’t scared right now.

“i’m not going to pick a fight with someone like you,” you state, looking her up and down, your tone dripping with condescension. the height difference, the bandage on your nose from the matches you won; everything about you screams physical superiorty, and hanni feels a flare of anger. but even though she’s willing to fight, you’re making it clear that you don’t see her as a threat.

“the hell does that mean you bitch?”

you move your head slight closer so you’re up in her face, letting out a small, amused chuckle. 

“watch your mouth.”

“how about you learn personal space!” hanni groans, using her hand to push your shoulder lightly as she steps back and furthers the distance between you two. “where are your manners?”

“you really wanna start something again?”

“shut the hell up, you’re the one in my place.”

“this is michael’s place.” you correct her. “you don’t look anything like him,” well, she does have his eyes and nose. “do you even know him?”

“the hell? of course i know michael, he’s my grandpa you sack of shit!” hanni scoffs, crossing her arms angrily. 

your brows furrow and you retreat back just a bit. “he’s your what?”

“my–” before hanni finishes her sentence, you two turn your heads to the sound coming from behind the stairs. both of you watch an older man appear with two bags of groceries and a surprised look on his face as soon as he spots you two. 

he looks between you both, grin growing as he approaches the two of you. “oh! i see you two have met!”

“michael, who is this?”

“grandpa, who–”

“ah, i should’ve introduced you two, or given a little heads up.”

a heads-up would’ve been great. 

you’re standing just a foot away from the girl who tried to pounce on you outside a café, the same girl who had to be restrained by her friend—the friend you knocked out cold. and now, as fate would have it, like the universe thinks you’re some type of joke, she turns out to be the granddaughter of the man who helped you get back on your feet. 

a warning would’ve been more than just great, but it’s kind of – very – late to give one.

“well, y/n, this is hanni, my granddaughter, and hanni, this is y/n. do you remember the l/n’s? she’s their granddaughter!”

hanni blinks, her jaw dropping. the l/n’s, as in the l/n’s who saved her grandpa from some gang years before she was born, the same l/n’s that let him stay at their place during his earuly adult years, the same l/n’s he would talk about like they were some type of saviors. 

the same so called ‘saviors’ who’s descendant had been a bitch at in the cafe.

“oh.” hanni says, looking back at you and tightening her jaw. “really now?” she says softly, trying to let the information sink in.

“yes! why don’t you guys introduce each other.” he suggests. you look back at hanni like he’s just told some unbelievable, sick lie. she looks at you with grossed out features, as if you had some type of disease. “come on now,” he walks over to hold both your wrists, bringing you two closer and moving your hands over so they make contact. 

hanni stares at the hands in disgust, and you mirror her.

you sigh before loosely grabbing her hand and shaking it, greeting lowly, “nice to meet you hanni.”

she grips your hand tight in an attempt to intimidate you, but it’s nothing, barely half a kilogram of force. “nice to meet you y/n.”

you squeeze her hand just barely, earning a gasp from her and barely containing a laugh, only flashing an amused smile at the now annoyed woman in front of you.

michael smiles at the two of you, clearly missing the tension and obvious rivalry in the air before saying, “glad you two are getting along. hanni here is moving in, she’s going to the university nearby.”

“is that so?” you raise a brow at hanni, she pulls her hand away and shakes it off like a virus is on her hand. 

“yeah, nursing.”

“i bet they’d love your little self there, huh?”

hanni bites her lip in an attempt to hold herself back from cursing at you. she opts for smiling at her grandpa and saying, “hey, i’m going to unpack now gramps, okay?”

“right! i forgot, you should definitely do that. hey, y/n, why don’t you help her out?”

“me?” 

“her?” hanni asks, earning another offended glare from you. “i’m fine, really.”

“no, no, your luggage is quite heavy – and a large load. go on now, you two can bond while i make dinner,” he says cheerfully, pushing you two in the direction of the stairs. “have fun!”

–

you and hanni are fighting every single demon and voice in your heads in order to not to insult each other. you stand at the entrance of the guest bedroom, looking at the three boxes on the ground in front of the empty bed. hanni sighs, starting to unzip the suitcase that she rolls from the corner.

“you a hoarder or–?”

“shut up.” hanni spits, opening her suitcase and unpacking her clothes onto the bed. “you piss me off.”

“because i spilled coffee on your friend?”

“well you were a bitch about it.”

“it wasn’t that serious, it’s never that serious.”

“you won that fuckass tournament and now you think you’re better than her–”

“i never said that–”

“shut up!” hanni groans, turning around to glare at you. you tilt your head and she groans again, “make yourself useful with you boxer muscles and move the boxes on the ground out of the way.”

“now you need my help.”

“i’ll fuck you up just you watch.”

“yeah, right.” you snicker, looking her up and down as you lean against the doorframe. “i’m terrified.”

“make yourself useful you asshole.” hanni orders, turning back to stack a pile of shorts on the bed.

you roll your eyes, sighing loudly as you walk over, bend down, and lift a box that’s a bit heavier than you’d like to admit. nonetheless, you manage to pick it up, then put it on the desk in the room.

“jesus christ,” the box lands with a little thud and you huff lightly. “you got all that anger inside you in here or…?”

hanni doesn’t respond, instead, she kicks the back of your leg with her foot. you simply laugh, making her kick you again.

“it’s your ego in there, idiot.”

“uh huh.” you click your tongue against the back of your teeth, turning back to help her out more. 

–

hanni has settled in well, though that’s unfortunately thanks to your help—help you were more or less forced to provide. moving everything in, showing her around the area, it’s all because you couldn’t say no when michael looked at you with that signature proud smile. 

the two of you exchange few words during what you loosely call a ‘tour.’ really, it’s just you walking her around the neighborhood, pointing out the nicer spots and which neighbors are the biggest complainers, before leading her to the bus stop. hanni, for her part, stays curious, her eyes roaming over anything that catches her interest, offering small smiles to the passerbys and throwing grimaces at you. 

you show her around downtown, just around her campus for a bit, making sure not to bump into her again after you two had made the wrong step and accidentally bumped shoulders.

“are you picking a fight?” hanni asks, turning fully to face you, her eyes narrowing as she sizes you up.

“i’d rather jump off that building over there,” you say, pointing to the ten-story structure looming in the distance. “--than lay a finger on you.”

“asshole.”

she rolls her eyes at you, scoffing in that way she always does when she’s annoyed. the way she looks in her oversized quarter-zip and sweatpants, with those big, clear frames perched on her nose, almost makes you laugh. there’s something oddly endearing about it, even if you won’t admit it out loud. the feeling is enough to tug a small smile to your lips, a quiet chuckle escaping before you can stop it. she looks like an idiot, a stupid, short idiot. 

hanni notices, of course, and pushes you with her shoulder, her expression a mix of irritation and something softer you can’t quite place.

you drop her off back at the house, handing her your spare key and watching her open the door. she unlocks it and the door opens just a bit, but before she steps inside, she turns to you.

hanni huffs quietly, then looks you in the eye. 

“thanks, i guess.”

“i guess?”

“yeah, i guess.”

“you’re welcome,” you say amusingly, looking down at her and analyzing just a bit. “i guess.”

she shakes her head and steps inside the house, you don’t step away until she’s fully inside and you hear the lock click.

–

the two of you don’t run into each other for a little over a week, but neither of you can stop thinking about the other here and there, despite how much it annoys you.

you’ve been busy with work, fixing up things around your apartment, and spending time with friends before they get caught up in the chaos of school. your days have been a mix of runs, training, and lifting weights at michael’s home, with the surprising bonus of not running into hanni. it’s been peaceful, almost too peaceful, but you’re not complaining.

hanni, on the other hand, has been getting settled into the town and adjusting to her new classes. she’s spent the week mingling with new people, going over her first few notes, and tweaking her schedule to make sure she stays on top of everything. she’s the type who thrives in a flexible routine, something that keeps her grounded and stress-free, so she’s been focused on creating that for herself. 

even though you haven’t crossed paths, the thought of each other lingers in the back of your minds, a low-level irritation (and maybe just a bit of infatuation) that neither of you can quite shake off.

the next time you run into each other, hanni is sitting at her desk, highlighting a few terms and studying some diagrams when she hears faint music and the rhythmic sound of something being hit, followed by the clinking of chains. at first, she perks up, curiosity piqued, but she dismisses it, turning her own music up to drown out the distraction.

but the noise doesn’t stop. in fact, it gets louder, the chains clinking so persistently that hanni finally gives in. she sets her highlighter down and gets up, irritation mixing with curiosity. she doesn’t see anything at first, just an open garage door across the way. so, she heads downstairs, still in her pajamas—an oversized t-shirt and old middle school gym shorts.

when she reaches the garage, she opens the door to find you, drenched in sweat, going at it with a punching bag. you’re throwing a series of rapid punches, each one landing with a solid thud, your breaths sharp and controlled. 

hanni stands there for a moment, caught off guard by the intensity of it all, the sight of you completely absorbed in your workout, the focus etched on your face as the chains rattle with each strike. 

then she shakes herself out of her trance, closing the door behind her loudly and earning your attention.

“what are you doing?”

you land one last blow to the sandbag before looking at her as you catch your breath. “what does it look like i’m doing, reading?” you ask sarcastically, feeling a drop of sweat drip off your chin.

“ugh,” hanni puts on a random pair of slides on the ground before walking up to you. “could you keep it down? i have to study, ever heard of that?”

“nerd.” you mumble, eyes narrowing at the frames she has on. “close the windows.”

“hot air rises.”

“fan?”

“y/n.” hanni groans. “some people are trying to get a degree.”

“and some people need some extra cash.” you retort, turning back and landing another blow at the bag. 

she groans again, shaking her head and biting her lip before she kicks your leg. you stop, turning back over with an annoyed look plastered on your face.

“could you please just lower the volume of your music down? and maybe close the garage door?”

“it’s hot in here.”

“it’s hot up there too, don’t be soft.”

you scoff, raising your eyebrows. “me? soft?”

hanni pinches the bridge of her nose, she looks irritated beyond measure – it’s really amusing. “i could care less if you have to fight later, i’m trying to do some work for uni and if you could just cooperate – please.”

you almost fight back – verbally of course, with some snarky comeback or something like that – but the genuine distress shown on her face makes you back down. you inhale sharply, then exhale slowly, looking out the garage door before you start to take off your gloves.

“fine, whatever.” you mumble before using your teeth to peel the velcro portion off. “i only practiced for twenty minutes but fine.”

hanni feels a twinge of guilt as she watches you angrily toss the gloves into the corner. she sees the way your hands slick back your damp hair, your movements rough and frustrated as you grab your bag. you wipe the sweat from your face with a towel, but her eyes are drawn to the way the light glistens off your back, the defined muscles highlighted by sweat and shadows. when you turn, hanni’s gaze catches on the hint of your abs peeking out from your tank top, and she quickly looks away, her jaw tightening as she forces herself not to stare.

her eyes wander to a photo pinned up on the garage wall. it’s of you and her grandpa, standing side by side. you’re smiling proudly, and he’s raising your hand in victory, a small medal clutched in your other hand. the sight makes hanni exhale, the irritation she felt earlier softening a bit.

before you can leave, she steps forward, stopping you in your tracks.

you turn to face her, looking at her questionably. “what?”

“hey,” hanni looks away, seemingly making up her mind about whatever she’s about to say or do. “i… i get home at around three if i’m studying after classes, that’s a better time to you know… do your stuff.”

“i work, hanni.”

“well, it was just a suggestion.” she looks at you intensely, eyes focused on yours. “or just… turn your music down… or something.”

“thanks for the suggestion, asshole.”

“hey!”

you can’t help but chuckle, a small smile accdientally forming before you put your poker face back on. “you’ll get used to it.”

“i hate you.”

“whatever, tell that to michael.” you add finally before flipping her off as you walk away; you hear hanni scoffing from behind.

–

you sneak in practice when hanni’s not home or when michael offers to help because there’s nothing better than taking out whatever you feel out on a punching bag or in the air. 

hanni is too preoccupied with work and her new friends to think about what a nuisance you are, but still, she finds time here and there everyday for you to pop up in her mind. she groans everytime your dumb face flickers in her brain, scoffing and shaking her head.

sometimes you even think of hanni, mostly when you’re in michael’s house and not getting scolded – for some reason, the absence of bickering with hanni and the hostility in the air makes you feel strange, almost like somethings missing despite your very little time with her.

neither of you bat an eye – this is a lie, both of you do, but as subtly as you can – when it comes to the thought of each other. it’s nothing, it can’t be.

–

minjeong kept you out, making you tag along with her little group of friends for dinner. all of you had barbeque and were laughing at the texts from aeri’s new talking stage.

it’s a boatload of cliche, sappy romantic lines that were probably found in a book he had picked up in the library. it’s oddly cliche and corny, things ranging from ‘you’re brighter than the sun, my love’ to ‘van gogh could never pain anything as beautiful as you’ and it has the whole table bursting out into laughter. sure, it was charming in its own way, but still, you cackled after watching jimin nearly spit out her beer after reading through all of it.

“jesus christ, who is this guy?” minjeong scoffs.

aeri sips on her drink, shrugging. “some guy in my statistics class, heeseung or something.”

“and you haven’t blocked him?” you chuckle, sipping on your soda. you were never a drinker despite your high tolerance, always opting for something without alcohol and being the token sober friend. “you’re stronger than me.”

“he’s cute! he’s just… icky over text. i swear he’s better in person. he’s like, super sweet and shit – in a frat too but he’s not like most frat guys.”

minjeong nudges your shoulder and looks at you with raised brows, you give her a knowing look and laugh to yourself. she leans over and mutters in your ear, “how much are you betting that they become official?”

“pftt, two weeks. aeri seems more than entertained, maybe enamored?”

“if it’s less than, you owe me twenty bucks.”

you roll your eyes, finishing your diet coke. “ass.”

“it’s a deal~” minjeong cheers before both of you return to the conversation, watching jimin give another judgy look after seeing his instagram. 

just then, your phone buzzes against the table and you turn to check it. there’s a text from michael, so you quickly look over to unlock your phone with your face and read the message; there’s something about michael asking you to take the morning shift instead of the evening, which makes you sigh. 

you love your friends, but michael and work have to come first sometimes.

“hey guys, i gotta go. sorry.” you sigh, picking up your little bag.

“what?” aeri whines, “it’s only eight?”

“i have to cover the morning, probably aki’s fault. i’m sorry – here.” you slap two ten dollar bills down, offering an apologetic smile. “it’s for the tip, use the other ten for dessert or something. sorry again, let’s hang next week?”

“ugh, fine.” minjeong groans before giving you a little side hug. she smiles at you and pinches your cheek, something all of your friends do since you’re the youngest of the bunch. “see you, asshole.”

“uh huh, fuck you too.” you joke, then wave to the rest. “bye.”

you walk out of the small barbeque restaurant and fix the tank top on your body, groaning at the small oil stain on the bottom of it. you sigh before continuing to walk down the road, fixing your hair as the wind messes it up.

your ear twitches when you hear a whistle, then a remark that makes your head turn.

“hey sweetheart, let me get a piece of that…” just the sound of it tells you it’s some drunkie, when you catch sight of three men, your assumption is proved correct.

“c’mon baby, don’t be shy now.” another one says, leaning against the wall as his other friend walks over to the woman passing by, tugging at her wrist lightly.

“hey, don’t be an ass, you’re too pretty to–”

you step forward, grabbing her wrist and pulling her away from the group. she looks at you, first confused, then with a flicker of gratitude as you motion for her to leave with a quick wave of your hand. she doesn’t hesitate, scurrying down the road while you turn back to face the three men in front of you.

their faces are flushed, a deep red from anger or alcohol—or maybe both. their hair is messy, beards scraggly and unkempt, and their eyes narrow as they take you in. one of them, bolder than the others, strides up and grabs your wrist. but you twist it sharply, making him wince and pull back with a pained groan.

“you wanna be a brave little bitch, huh?” he sneers, rubbing his wrist.

you shake his hand off and shove him back, your gaze hard and unflinching. his friends laugh darkly, stepping up beside him. they’re all taller, but not by much, and the height difference doesn’t faze you. you stand your ground, eyes locked on them with a cold intensity that makes their chuckles falter.

“look at you, you’re pretty too huh princess?”

“and you look like you were made with a quick nut.” you scoff stepping back as he steps forward.

“the hell did you say?”

“you heard me.”

he pokes the inside of his cheek before grabbing your wrist again, his grip tight enough so you can’t repeat your escape from his hold.

“oh, i’m gonna make you regret that, you little whore—” his threat is cut short as your fist connects with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. he groans, clutching his cheek and letting go of your wrist.

before you can catch your breath, his friend grabs your arm and slams you against the brick wall. your shoulder scrapes against the rough surface, tearing the skin and drawing blood. you try to push forward, but another man shoves you back, forcing you to hit the same spot again. the impact knocks the wind out of you, and you gasp, the pain sharp and immediate.

they surround you, blocking any view of the street. their smirks widen, and you can feel the danger closing in. but as one of them makes a move, you react instinctively, throwing a hook that catches him off guard and sends him stumbling back. his friends pause, shocked, before they turn to you, arms raised, fists clenched.

“so you think you’re tough, huh? that’s cute…” one of them slurs, stepping closer.

you don’t hesitate. you drive a jab straight into his chest, forcing the air out of him and making him stagger. the last man lunges at you, but you sidestep him, landing a solid blow to his jaw. he crumples, and you’re left standing, adrenaline coursing through your veins as you face the remaining two who are back up, ready for whatever comes next.

–

hanni is sprawled out on the couch, completely absorbed in the latest season of her favorite show. she’s nestled against the armrest, legs stretched out so far that her toes nearly graze the opposite end. her eyes are glued to the screen, knuckles brushing her lips as she watches the unfolding drama with bated breath. the sound of the door unlocking barely registers; she assumes it’s just her grandpa coming home.

“hi grandpa!” she calls out, not bothering to glance away from the screen. but instead of the usual warm greeting, there’s only the sound of the door closing with an unexpected force. that makes her pause. she hits the pause button and finally turns her head, eyebrows knitting together when she sees you heading toward the kitchen.

there’s something off about the way you move—your shoulders are slumped, and you lean heavily against the counter as soon as you reach it. it’s then that hanni notices the blood staining your shoulder, her eyes widening. she’s on her feet in an instant, rushing over in her oversized pajamas.

“y/n?” she gasps, her voice tight with concern as she takes in the sight of your scratched back, exposed by your tank top. “what happened?”

“nothing.” you lie, opening the cupboard and grabbing the first aid kit. 

“why are you so–” hanni catches herself before she insults you. “are you okay?”

“it’s just a scratch, go enjoy your show.”

“your shoulder is bleeding, and there are scrapes all over your back.” this is the first time hanni’s seen you in almost a month, and instead of you just showing up to exist and annoy her like usual, you’re battered and bruised. you’ve got blood seeping out from a cut on your shoulder, scratches on your jaw, and more dried blood on the edge of your nostril – probably from a prior nosebleed. there’s even a small cut on your neck, and overall, you look completely wrecked. hanni looks you up and down before pointing out the obvious, “this is not just a scratch.”

“thanks, sherlock,” you mutter as you tear open an alcohol wipe packet. “i got into a fight.”

“for money? how did gloves lead to this?” she asks, bewildered.

“no, not for money.” you wince as the alcohol stings your wound, but you keep going. “some guys were catcalling this woman... probably would’ve done worse to her if i hadn’t stepped in.”

“jesus… what happened after you stepped in?” hanni’s voice softens as she watches you closely, her eyes tracing the tension in your arm as you clean the wound.

“they pushed me against a brick wall and tried to fight me. it was three against one, but they were drunk. it wasn’t easy, but it’s handled. it’s nothing,” you say, brushing it off as you grab the nearest gauze and the biggest bandage you can find.

hanni makes a disgusted face, then it softens into something of worry.

you start to wash your hands and hanni can’t help but gaze at you for a while, you look back at her as your hands rub soap around, keeping eye contact and biting down on your teeth.

“you’re so fucking wreckless.”

“thanks hanni.” you say sarcastically, turning back to rinse your hands and shake them dry. “you’re so sweet.”

“why didn’t you just run? they were drunk and you’re–”

“asshole’s deserve bruises.” you answer. “i fight because i like to, and sometimes it’s necessary in situations like this.”

“do you like getting hurt?” hanni asks, “what the hell is wrong with you.” it unintentionally comes out harsh, surprising you both.

“oh, so i can’t fight drunk assholes who only think with their dicks? what the fuck is your problem? why do you care?” you snap, stepping closer to hanni, sizing her up. “you’re all ‘you piss me off’ until i do something that has nothing to do with you.”

“well!” hanni starts, her voice wavering as she takes in your expression, eventually backing down. “i don’t know, okay? it’s just… you’re hurt. i’m studying to work in a fucking hospital, so of course, i’m going to be bothered by an injury. you should’ve let it go.”

“then be bothered by other people’s injuries, not mine,” you reply, your voice stern as you look down at her, your gaze sharp. hanni shivers under your intense stare, breaking eye contact by shaking her head and scoffing quietly. you start packing up the first aid kit, your back to her as you add, “i’m staying in the room upstairs tonight. don’t come worrying your ass off.”

“fuck you,” hanni groans, crossing her arms defensively.

“go finish your show,” you mumble, brushing your shoulder against hers as you walk past without looking back. but hanni does—she turns around, catching you stomping towards the stairs in silence.

she pinches the bridge of her nose as she heads back to the couch, flopping down with a frustrated sigh. “see if i care…” she grumbles, resuming her show.

hanni tries to focus on the tension between the two leads on screen, but she can’t shake the tension between the two of you. it lingers, gnawing at her, and she finds herself angry at you but even angrier at herself. she can’t pinpoint why, but it frustrates her to the point of a near headache. 

hanni hates you, she hates how stupidly careless you are, how you’ve gotten hurt, and the fact that you’re making her worry.

she despises you.

-

your whole body is sore from what you had endured the night prior, but it doesn’t stop you from making a coffee in the morning. 

you lean against the counter and hold yourself up with your hand, clutching your shoulder with the other. it still hurts, it had hurt even more as you changed the bandaid waiting for your coffee to drop, but it had to happen.

as you pour a glass, you hear someone going down the stairs and the contact of their feet hitting the wooden floor reverberating throughout the quiet house. hanni comes into vision in a few seconds, rubbing her eyes and then tying up her bedhead to reveal a puffy face.

avoiding eye contact, you look away, leaving her with the view of the side of your face and the bandaid on your shoulder. 

it’s silent, yet the tension seems like a siren blaring in your ears. 

hanni walks past you, grabbing an empty glass before trudging over to the fridge. the sound of water filling the glass echoes in the quiet kitchen as you sip your coffee, the gulp a little too loud in the stillness. you can hear every step she takes, the soft shuffle as she leans against the counter across from you, the gentle clink of the glass as she brings it to her lips. each sip she takes seems to resonate, followed by a small sigh that hangs in the air. everything feels heightened— every sound, every movement — everything.

you turn around and make your way to the sink – right next to hanni – and dump the rest of your coffee down the drain because you can’t finish it in front of her. neither of you bat an eye at each other, despite your faces being a hand or two apart. hanni sips on her water, you let the running water fill the silence until you decide to say something.

“i’m going to work.”

“okay.”

“okay.” you respond, turning to finally catch a glimpse of her face again, side profile and all enhanced by the light.

you grab your work bag on the table and put on your cap, not batting an eye at her as you walk towards the door.

“wait,” hanni says suddenly, making you turn around again to face her. you raise your brows, expecting more from her. “don’t be reckless.” she adds, looking you dead in the eye.

you tense up, looking right back at her. 

“whatever.” you mumble, turning back around to leave.

–

not only did michael make you work from eight in the morning until three, he makes you clock out to see a text saying “hey, could you pick up hanni?” the same hanni that you had argued with last night because you were stubborn, in pain, and still angry at three assholes to the point that you had lashed out on his innocent granddaughter for no reason.

you’re in debt to michael forever (basically – in your mind that’s the case) so of course you respond with a small thumbs up emoji.

now you find yourself back in your car, on the way to the university hanni goes to, which, is conveniently and frighteningly the same university your friends go to. if they had caught you picking up a girl, who knows what remarks they’d bring to the table the next time you see them.

(it’s not the fact that it’s just a girl, it’s the fact that hanni isn’t ugly in the slightest, not at all.)

(pretty even, but that could be pushing it.)

(it’s not pushing it, not at all the more you think about it.)

(you decide to shake hanni off your mind.)

you park by the public health building, waiting for michael’s granddaughter to show up. you sigh, looking at all the students passing by and sighing even harder looking at the dumb couples hand in hand. the last time you tried loving, it made it hard to even consider being in something like that – being enamored.

you’re back to earth when you catch a girl with overgrown bangs in a oversized jersey and sweats in the distance. she’s grinning and giggling with two other women you don’t recognize, even pushing one in the shoulder and smiling wide.

it hits you that you’ve never seen her like this… joyful? it’s partly your fault, holding onto that stupid grudge you can’t let go of, but still, it’s strange seeing her so open. she crinkles her nose, laughs with her mouth wide, and throws her head back just a bit—it’s oddly cute, even adorable. something about it unsettles you, though, like you’re witnessing a side of her you were never meant to see. even then, you feel one corner of your lips turning up just barely.

she’s closer to the car, looking around as her friend says something inaudible. then she catches you in her field of vision and her smile falters slightly, it unsettles you even more.

“i’ll see you guys tomorrow, bye!” hanni waves to her two friends, then walks towards your car. she opens the door to the passengers side and takes off her bag before settling in. 

it’s silent when she closes it, other than the faint sound of your rnb playlist in the background and the click of hanni’s seatbelt. you shift the stick and start to get out of where you are, hanni looks forward and out the window.

once you make it to the stoplight before leaving the grounds, you take the opportunity the red light gives you to speak.

“i’m sorry.”

hanni turns her head at your sudden apology, looking at you like you’ve just spat nonsense.

“what?”

“i’m sorry for… being so,” you grip the wheel tighter, turning your head just a bit to meet her gaze. “you know, stubborn.”

“is this about last night?”

you gulp. “yeah.”

“oh, okay.” hanni says, looking back and watching the light turn green. 

you slowly hit the gas and turn the wheel. “i was really um, angry last night, from everything.” you start again, eyes on the road. “i didn’t mean to be a bitch.”

“look who’s self-aware.”

“shut the hell up.”

“what an apology.” hanni says, though not without smiling to herself a bit. she looks at the bandaid on your neck, then asks, “are you good?”

“i’m fine, it was just a scratch.”

“right.”

“i literally box, hanni.”

“with gloves and a ref.”

“wow! good eye.” you say bluntly, making her snicker a bit. hanni smiles, not quite like you had seen her smile before, but the way her lips turn make you smile yourself.

she looks out the window on her side for a bit, you keep driving and turn up the volume along the way.

“why did you start boxing?” she asks out of the blue. 

you glance at her for a split second, she’s still gazing out the window. “my grandpa boxed.”

“do you like it? doesn’t it hurt?”

“it’s–” you pause, thinking of a response that doesn’t reveal too much. “--thrilling. i mean, i just… bottle up a lot. it’s the only way i get all of it out.”

“is it?”

“i guess? kinda. you should box, seems like you’ve got a lot in that tiny body of yours.” you joke.

“i’d rather jump off a building.” hanni pretends to shiver. “i don’t know how you or yunjin do it.”

“you’d love it, just put on gloves and go crazy.”

she rolls her eyes, leaning against the glass as you turn the corner. 

the rest of the ride is silent.

–

two weeks later, you’re sitting down on the couch in your apartment and watching more of your grandpa’s matches. there’s something beautiful and equally as admirable in how swift and agile he is with each move, easily taking down anyone in his way. you replay certain moments, specifically his hooks that you tried your best to replicate.

in the middle of it all, you hear a knock on your door.

you turn, looking confused because why would anyone be at your place? maybe minjeong left something again, but she hasn’t been at your place in over a week.

you open the door, not minding that you’re literally in a sports bra and boy shorts looking like you’ve just gotten out at bed, and widen your eyes at the sight of hanni in your view.

hanni, on the other hand, tenses up at the sight of you. 

your whole body is on display, but not in the way yunjin does it—dressed to impress, ready to make out with whoever catches her eye at parties. yours is a different kind of exposure, casual and unintentional, almost domestic. it catches hanni off guard, all of it. her eyes trace the small strawberry tattoo just above your waistline, lingering on the subtle curve and tone of your abdomen. the way your skin glistens under the dimmed light overhead makes it even harder for her to look away.

she’s staring – blatantly. 

you clear your throat, leaning your head down a bit as you put your hand against the doorframe.

“what are you doing here?”

“what?” hanni shoots her head up to match your level. “oh, my grandpa needed something.”

“did he? shit… i borrowed his cooking shit for a house party–” you groan, “just come inside, sit down on the couch.”

hanni does as she’s told, you let her inside and she’s taken aback by how… neat it is. 

hanni always thought of you as someone angry and stubborn—your first impressions and the way you carried yourself made her believe you’d be disorganized, a bit all over the place. but now, sitting in your apartment, she realizes how wrong she was. the earthy tones, the carefully placed trinkets, the neatly arranged shelves, and the thoughtfully chosen furniture all speak to a side of you she didn’t expect. as she sits on the couch, her eyes drift to the small plant by your tv and the man locked in the middle of a match on the screen. she glances at the coffee table, stacked with boxing and vintage magazines. your place is nice, unexpectedly so.

you return with a box balanced against your side, holding it in place with one hand while you use the other to clear the coffee table. placing the box down, you settle into the smaller seat opposite her, leaning back with a sigh. you manspread casually, your posture relaxed as you take a moment to unwind. 

it’s oddly alluring, hanni thinks, she wants to stop thinking forever as soon as the thought even processes through her brain.

“that should be all of it.” you yawn and rub your eyes. “tell michael i said sorry for forgetting.”

“right, yeah.” hanni’s staring at you, she can’t seem to take her eyes off you, not when you look so… tolerable?

“did you need something else or…?”

“no,” hanni coughs, shaking her head. “but i need you to take me somewhere um, this saturday. my grandpa is gone for the weekend.”

“am i your uber now? i don’t know if i can, i’m going out on saturday.”

“oh, nevermind then.”

“where do you need to go?” you ask, “i can make arrangements, i guess.”

“a party”

“you party?” you snicker, looking at her amused. “i didn’t know you had a social life.”

“you are actually the most annoying person i know.” she grabs the box, then starts to stand. “nevermind, you ass.”

she starts to walk away, heading toward the door, but your touch halts her. hanni feels the gentle tug of your finger hooked around the back of her zip-up’s neckline, the fabric pulling her back slightly. she turns to face you, confusion etched in her expression as she meets your gaze.

“i’ll take you, loser.” you release your finger from her hoodie. “what’s your number?”

“my what?”

“number hanni, what you use to text and call people. one, two, three, four, five, six and so on… you know, the digits on your little phone.” your tone reminds her of a kindergarten teacher talking to a child, or some soft parenting method – it’s teasing and hanni would punch you if it weren’t for the box she was holding.

she manages to stomp on your foot, making you say ‘ow’ jokingly. then she gives you her number, you send a text, a simple ‘asshole’ and smiling when you hear the little buzz from her pocket.

“just text me the address, oh, and by the way,” you say, tugging lightly at the sleeve of her zip-up hoodie, your fingers brushing against the soft fabric. “where’d you get this?” your eyes trace the way it drapes over her, the oversized fit somehow flattering. it falls just past her waist, the sleeves hanging slightly, giving her a cozy, effortless look. maybe it’s just her that makes it work so well. maybe it’s just her.

she shrugs, muttering, “i don’t know, my grandpa gave it to me and said it’d fit.”

“it’s a little big on you,” you tease, a smirk playing on your lips. “might fit someone taller.”

“i will throw this box at you,” hanni groans, rolling her eyes. you laugh softly, opening the door for her, watching as she steps into the hallway.

“hey, hanni,” you call after her, making her pause and glance back. she tilts her head, curious, as you add with a mischievous grin, “that’s my zip-up, by the way.”

she freezes, her cheeks flushing as she processes your words. she looks down at the hoodie, suddenly aware of how comfortable it feels, how it smells faintly like you. you’re terrible, she thinks, hating the weird flutter in her stomach, the way her blush deepens. everything about you, your stupid remarks, your annoying personality, and that oddly cute nature—it all makes her feel things she can’t quite name, and it drives her crazy.

hanni hates you.

(just a little less now, or maybe more – she hates how confused you render her.)

–

you send hanni a simple ‘here.’ text and stand outside the door waiting for her, hands in your pockets as you look at the overgrown grass that needs to be cut soon – most likely by you. as much as you dread it, you’ll be getting some good food after, that’s always promised.

the door opens a few minutes later and hanni appears, you’re taken aback.

she’s fucking gorgeous.

a loose white baby t-shirt clings to her softly, revealing just a hint of her delicate stomach and the subtle curve that draws your eye without meaning to. her low-rise jeans ride low enough to show the waistband of her underwear, adding to the effortless appeal. when you finally look up at her, your lips part slightly, caught off guard by how striking she is. her full, plump lips are highlighted by a touch of makeup that emphasizes their natural shape. though her makeup is minimal, the slight smokiness around her eyes and the rosy blush on her cheeks bring out her features in a way that feels almost intimate. her bangs fall just above her eyes, partially obscuring her forehead, and the hoops in her ears add a finishing touch. everything about her compels you to take a second look, your heart skipping a beat in the process. 

“are you ready?” hanni breaks you out of your trance, you blink and then look past her. 

“yeah, sorry.”

she tries to read you, then shakes it off and walks past you and towards your car. you subconsciously look her up and down, furrowing your brows when it hits that you basically just checked her out.

was hanni always this… nice on the eyes?

hanni gets in the car first after you unlock it, you plop in the drivers seat check your messages, there’s an address in your groupchat with minjeong and the others. you decide to check it later, instead asking hanni to type her address in your phone, which is almost too similar to the one you had just seen in your notifications.

“hold on,” you mutter under your breath, staring at the address hanni had typed in and then at the one in your group chat. it’s the same address. “i think… we’re going to the same party.”

“you party?”

“okay you can’t ask me that, nerd. and yes, i do when i want.”

“whatever.” hanni rolls her eyes as you wait for the directions to pop up on your carplay screen. you take the time to settle your phone down in the cup holder, then gaze at hanni for a little, eyes flickering from her eyes to her lips once, then twice. hanni raises a brow, then asks bashfully, “what?”

“nothing,” you mumble, looking at her lips again. you reach her eyes one more time, making eye contact. “you just look really… good.” you admit, “i guess.”

“oh.” hanni just stares at you while you shift the car from ‘p’ to ‘d’, turning the car away from the curb and driving. she stares hard, focused on everything about you – from the satisfying curve of the side of your features to the sharp jawline of yours, and then to the skin of your abdomen that’s peeking out from the work jacket you have on.

she doesn’t say a word after that, instead scoffing playfully and making you smile softly. she puts on some random song from her playlist after forcefully taking the aux, accidentally playing a more intimate rnb song, making the tension in the air thicker.

–

you two make it to the house in less than ten minutes walking side by side. both of you can hear music blasting from inside, glancing at each other from the side and smiling to yourselves. 

“my god…” hanni scoffs.

“what, you don’t like astroworld? travis scott isn’t even that bad, they could be playing fucking… juice wrld or something.”

“i hear sicko mode playing every other day outside the food courts… no thanks. and ew! who plays juice wrld at a party?” 

you stifle a chuckle before walking over, hanni follows behind. you two make your way inside – the door had been unlocked already – and walk in. there’s more than just a handful of people, it’s like whoever hosted the function invited anyone they looked at. you spot your friends somewhere in the distance, locking eyes with aeri who smiles immediately after seeing you. 

you nudge hanni’s shoulder, she glares at you while you throw a cocky smirk and say, “text me when you wanna leave, i’m gonna be sober, trust.” hanni nods at you, catching the way your eyes linger on her for a few more seconds, especially at her revealed skin, then watches you leave.

she walks through the house, eventually finding her own group of friends – including yunjin. yunjin questions hanni, mentioning that she saw you earlier with her, asking if she was just more than tipsy and seeing things. but hanni sighs, pretending to be bothered by your presence as she explains a shorter version of how you two grew to tolerate each other. 

she leaves out the fact that maybe it’s because you’re just as charming and cute as you are annoying and cocky. she sugarcoats a lot about you, both the good and bad, making sure yunjin isn’t too bothered. thankfully, her older friend doesn’t mind, instead she shrugs and switches topics when minji arrives with haewon.

–

it’s been at least three hours of meeting a bunch of people from the university your friends – and coincidentally hanni – go to, playing beer bong without doing the whole drinking part, and for the past thirty minutes you’ve been watching minjeong flirt with girls from across the room and making stupid bets with aeri and jimin as she did so. ningning even snapped pictures of the tipsy flirt, making sure to remind herself to send it to the groupchat in the morning.

you check the time, brows raising at how late it is – nearly one in the morning.

“i’m going to find someone.”

“someone?” aeri raises her brows.

“it’s not like that, this girl i know.” you shove her playfully, then add, “might not be back, she has curfew – i’m giving her curfew, don’t trust her at all.”

“when did you get a girlfriend? let me meet her–”

“she’s not, shut up. i gotta go, i’ll text you or appear or something if i end up staying, see you.” you wave at your friends and then to the three others that had joined your little group conversation, lily? bae? yujin? you can’t remember clearly, but you’re probably right – you’re the only one with a functioning, sober brain in the moment anyway.

heading inside, you check your phone again. hanni texted you fifteen minutes ago saying she’d be waiting in the basement since her friends had left – most of them, the others were probably doing much more… thrilling things.

the basement wasn’t too hard to find. the music was loud, the room dimly lit, and the smell of alcohol mixed with something that is probably weed heavy in the air. you scan the room, jaw tightening and fists balling up when you catch some guy – the guy that you swear aeri was defending the night you got into a fight – all up on hanni.

what was his name? hongjoong? haneul? no, heeseung. that guy, heeseung, you catch him leaning in closer to hanni, his words drowned out by the music and his smile overly confident. hanni tried to laugh it off, but the discomfort was clear on her face. heeseung didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. he reached out to touch her arm, and that’s when rushed over and stepped in.

you pushed through the crowd, even the two guys about to lock lips, your heart pounding as you saw how close heeseung was getting. you knew he was drunk, and that made him unpredictable. you couldn’t stand by and watch this happen.

“hey man, back off,” you said firmly, stepping between him and hanni.

heeseung’s eyes narrowed as he looked at you. “what’s your problem? we’re just having fun.”

“she’s not interested,” you replied, keeping your voice steady. “leave her alone.”

heeseung’s expression darkened, and before you could react, he shoved you hard, making you stumble back. your instincts kicked in, and you quickly regained your footing, shoving him back with equal force.

“you wanna go, huh?” heeseung taunted, his voice dripping with bravado as he squared up to you.

the crowd around you started to take notice, some backing away while others watched with eager anticipation. you knew this wasn’t going to end well, it never does when you’re involved, but there was no turning back now, not with hanni on the line and at risk. 

you didn’t want to fight, not really, but heeseung swung first, a wild punch that you barely dodged. now you have to fight him, it’s what you train yourself for anyway. 

you retaliated, landing a solid hit to his side and yelling through the music, “back the fuck up.” but it only seemed to anger him more. hanni hides behind you, stepping back as you put a hand out to keep her away from the intoxicated asshole in front of you.

he lunges at you and you feel a sharp sting on your side, followed by the warmth of blood trickling down your ribcage. heeseung had managed to land a hit that split the skin over your rib, his ring slicing what wasn’t covered by your sports bra and jacket. you didn’t have time to dwell on it; you were so focused on keeping hanni away from him that you didn’t even notice the fist hurling at your face while you looked back to check on her. you could taste the metallic tang of blood in your mouth, realizing he had hit your nose 

but you weren’t backing down. you pushed through the pain, throwing another punch that connected with heeseung’s jaw, sending him stumbling back. he tried to come at you again, but you were quicker, sidestepping his attack and delivering a powerful hook to his gut. heeseung doubled over, gasping for breath, and you took the opportunity to finish the fight.

with one last punch, you sent him crashing to the floor. he groans in pain, clutching his side as he lay there, defeated. you stood over him, breathing heavily. your body hurts, there’s blood dripping down on the wooden floor below you, and there’s still the taste of metal in your mouth. 

hanni rushes over to you, her eyes wide with concern as she saw the blood on your side and face. “y/n, are you okay?” she asks, her voice trembling.

your breath shakes, then you wipe the blood from your nose with the back of your hand. “it’s nothing,” you replied, though the pain was starting to set in. “we should go.”

hanni didn’t argue. she helped you out of the crowded room, the two of you leaving heeseung behind as he lay there, too stunned and beaten to follow.

she also doesn’t say a word as you walk away from the fight with a bloody nose and cut skin over the skin of your rib as well as on the corner of your lip. she doesn’t say a word as she follows you to the car, but to be fair, you hadn’t let her anyway.

your breath is shaky the whole way back, you gasp as you flop against the headrest of the car.

“y/n, are you okay?” you don’t respond to her inquiry. instead, you grip the wheel tightly, eyes fixed on the road, and bite down on your back teeth. there’s an unreadable expression on your face, you’re angry and hurt and god knows what else; there’s so much going on with you that hanni can’t point out. 

hanni doesn’t want to feed the fire, you look like you’ll punch anything if she even considers saying another word. she just stares ahead, letting you drive back to her place, following you after you slam the door of your car and lock it, walking in behind you as you open the door without looking back.

“you’re okay, right?” you ask quietly, voice practically a hum. “he didn’t touch you or anything, did he?

“no, he didn’t.” she stares at your back after you take off your work jacket, throwing it at the couch. “you’re–”

“i’m going to stay the night, i’ll be in the shower.”

“i–” hanni watches you disappear up the stairs, then her features relax into defeat.

–

some of your clothes are still in the room you used to stay in, you grab an old black t-shirt and throw it on, along with your old high school gym shorts. 

everything hurts. your body is a mess of bruises and cuts, but it’s your heart that aches the most. your chest tightens with a mix of regret and self-loathing, each breath a painful reminder of how stupid you were to get into a fight with another drunk idiot. the fact that it all happened in front of hanni makes your stomach churn. you can’t shake the image of her wide eyes, the surprise—maybe even fear?—etched across her face as she watched you throw punches and take hits right in front of her.

there’s a gnawing doubt that settles deep in your mind. did she think less of you for losing control like that? did it make you seem weaker in her eyes because you’d gotten hurt in a reckless, impulsive moment? you replay the scene over and over, each time the look on her face twists the knife in your gut a little more. it shouldn’t bother you, none of it should, you fight for fun, you’ve fought her fucking friend – but still, your flop onto the bed with a groan.

you wonder what she’s thinking now, if she’s disappointed or disgusted, if she sees you differently after witnessing your bruised and battered state. the thought that she might judge you, might see you as less capable, gnaws at you relentlessly. what if she thinks you’re just some bigger asshole than you already are to her, one who can’t control their temper, who gets beat up by nobodies in a drunken brawl? 

you shoot up when you hear a knock on the door, staring straight at it until it opens slowly to reveal hanni in the universities crewneck sweatshirt and shorts, as well as a first aid kit in one hand and an ice pack in the other.

“hey.”

“what do you want?”

“sit up.”

“hanni–”

“are you ever not an asshole? what did i say? sit up straight.” her tone is venomous, you’ve never heard her this serious or angry – seriously angry, angrier than when you spilled coffee on yunjin that one time. “please, just please listen to me for once.”

“fine.”

she sits down next to you, watching you shrink a bit just from her being there. she sets down the first aid kit, you watch her open it and grab a little wipe. then your gaze is redirected when she grabs your chin and moves it, facing it towards her as she examines close, making you gasp and you even feel your cheeks heating up. 

hanni gently cradles your chin between her thumb and pointer finger, her touch firm but surprisingly tender. she carefully dabs at the blood on your lip, her focus intent as if the world outside this moment doesn’t exist. when she lets go, there’s an unexpected pang of disappointment in the pit of your stomach, a slight desire for her touch to linger just a little longer.

but then, she holds you again, tilting your head slightly upward as she tends to the small cut on your lip. her fingers are cool against your skin, and you can’t help but wince at the sting. her expression softens, a brief flicker of concern crossing her face, but she doesn’t say anything. the silence between you is thick, loaded with everything unsaid, as she continues to care for you with a careful, almost hesitant touch.

“you’re an idiot, you know.” hanni says lowly, eyes focused on that little wound. “but less of an asshole.”

“what?” you inhale sharply when hanni presses harder on the cut, most likely intentionally. “ouch.”

“you’re hurt, and it’s because of me. i understand if you’re mad at me for that.”

you pull away, looking at her in disbelief. “what? i’m not mad at you.”

“really?”

“you dumbass.” you start, hanni just stares. “i don’t care about getting hurt, i just… i got so angry, and then he swung and… i just… i don’t know.” you grip the edge of the bed, avoiding her gaze. “i just didn’t want you hurt. i seriously don’t care that i’m hurt, i don’t care at all, i’d take another punch or two if it meant you being safe.”

“really?”

“i mean, yeah. you’re… i don’t know. why would i not do that?”

“i didn’t know you cared for me like that.”

“of course i do hanni.” the words slip out before you can stop them, carrying a weight you didn’t intend. you meet her eyes, your expression showing some sort of longing, exposing something unclear to both you and hanni, maybe unspoken or unknown feelings. your voice, soft and genuine, takes hanni by surprise. “i mean,” you quickly add, clearing your throat as your voice drops to a murmur, “you’re… you know. i couldn’t just let heeseung do that.”

“right,” hanni whispers, studying your face before resuming her careful attention to the cut on your lip. “um, your bruise looks rough, by the way.”

but the bruise doesn’t matter. the pain had faded the moment she touched you, the moment you became hyperaware of every little detail—the way your breath caught each time her thumb brushed against your skin, the soft part of her lips, the way she looked at you with that unreadable expression. she looks really beautiful, and you find yourself utterly captivated, unable to think of anything else but how you’re drawn to her, completely entranced by her presence.

hanni doesn’t hear a response from you, she looks up to meet your eyes, they’re staring deep into hers, brows upturned in the slightest. you two stare at each other for a moment again, hanni’s fingers still on your skin, the wipe in her hand hovering over the corner of your lip, and blush tinting both of your cheeks simultaneously. 

even with the ice pack pressed against your bruise, it feels like your skin is so warm that the ice is melting faster than it should. hanni takes your hand and places it over the pack, guiding you to hold it there. then, without a word, she reaches for the water bottle on the bedside table, setting it within easy reach before grabbing a bottle of tylenol from the kit. did they always have that in there? you really don’t care, not when hanni is carefully placing a tylenol pill at your lips and gently tapping your jaw twice.

“open,” she murmurs, her voice soft and comforting. you comply, opening your mouth just enough for her to slide the pill onto your tongue. she follows up by lifting the water bottle to your lips, helping you take a sip. you swallow, feeling the cool water slide down your throat. “good,” she whispers, her eyes lingering on your lips before meeting your gaze. she smiles, and it’s like everything else fades away.

something shifts in the air between you two, a subtle but undeniable change that makes your heart race, something that won’t easily fade. you’re certain now—whatever this is, it’s here to stay.

“can you lift your shirt up for me? i’m going to patch up your cut, okay?” you nod, keeping the ice pack on your bruise as you lift the shirt just enough for hanni to see the cut – still fresh – and furrow her brows just a bit. nonetheless, she grabs things you don’t pay attention to from the kit, then starts to work her magic.

(“when you love someone, taking care of them is never a problem. i love you y/n, and your grandpa; taking care of you two is nothing of a problem. maybe it’s rotten work for some people, but for the people i love? never.”)

her features etch into concentration, she bites the inside of her lip just barely, and it’s familiar in a bittersweet way.

(“you know y/n, i won’t be here forever.” your grandma’s voice rings in your head. “when you grow older i want you to find someone who will take care of you like that, and it’s your job to take care of them too.”)

she finishes tending to the cut, her knuckles grazing the bandage before she says, “you’re really tough, y/n.” 

the softness in her tone, the evident care, how she’s handled you so sweetly; you feel your eyes watering and before you know it there’s tears sliding down your cheek. hanni doesn’t notice until you sniffle, she looks up at you, surprised to see you in the vulnerable state.

“oh my god, are you okay? did it hurt? you should've told me–”

your voice cracks as you say, “you’re just like her.”

“y/n, what?”

“hanni, you’re, you–” you cut yourself off, bototm lip trembling as you fight back more tears. 

what catches hanni offguard again is the sudden hug she’s being pulled into, feeling your arms wrap around her, holding her close. hanni freezes, but melts into you, rubbing your back and mumbling soft reassurance, “it’s okay, it’s okay i’m– i’m here.”

“you don’t think i’m weak, do you?”

“of course not, you beat someone up for me.”

“good.”

“you’re stronger than everyone i know. you’re anything but weak.” she assures, hearing you sniffle again.

hanni is confused to say the least, but she’s not going ot let go until you’re ready, she’d stay with you the whole night if you asked, really.

you haven’t broken down in years, every punching bag you’ve ever come across has already met everything you’ve bottled up and left unsaid. but something about hanni and her care, it left you crying in her arms to the point where she had to pull away to wipe your tears here and there.

hanni listened to you talk about your grandma, her dying in your arms, her care, her, really the whole latter. she listened to everything, sitting there next to you even when you couldn’t speak and all you could do was stare right at the ground. it was almost like every grudge had fizzled away into nothing, there wasn’t any space for that anymore.

you chuckle, regaining awareness of the whole situation. you feel like an idiot. “i’m sorry you had to hear my sob story.”

“it’s nothing, seriously.” she squeezes your hand tightly. “i just want you to be okay.”

“it’s just, you remind me of her a little, i can’t remember the last time i cried like that. she said something to me once and… i guess seeing it in real time made me break down like a loser.”

hanni tended to you like no one else did, no doctor or nurse you’ve seen has ever done anything like that other than give you a little warning that boxing is dangerous and to be careful not to overtrain yourself. no one has held you like that, looked at you like that, or even spoken to you like that since your grandma.

“you’re not a loser y/n, all those times i called you an asshole, it’s just because of that stupid grudge i had.” she explains. “don’t beat yourself up over it.”

–

you and hanni have made up after that night, it took a while for you to open up fully and stop avoiding her due to your embarrassment, but it worked out.

you pick up hanni after her classes nearly everyday, michael makes you work hours that let you do so, he seems to enjoy your growing bond. 

sometimes you wait inside your car near whichever building she’s in with a drink or meal just because, and sometimes you two end up at your place for a short bit of time just to mingle and hangout. it’s a growing routine, a recurring thing that you’re fond of.

hanni’s noticing a more vulnerable, caring side of you. before all of this, she’s seen you as some fighter with anger issues, but you’re just like that on the outside. when she’s inside your skin, she’s exposed to the more calm side of you, the side that’s not always on edge, the side that makes her swoon a little bit – she’s always found you alluring no matter how hard she tried to deny it, but now that your real self is constantly in front of her; you’re someone she can’t help but smile at everytime she sees you.

she takes pictures of you rarely, but each one is favorited just because she’s telling herself that they’re funny moments worth looking back on, even if some of them are just you doing domestic things or even driving. she even mentions you to her friends sometimes, sometimes, even to yunjin (who isn’t against this whole growing bond, the rivalry had died down anyway, it was just a tournament for money) which caught her by surprise. 

hanni found herself seeking you out more often, even if it meant enduring the relentless thumping of your fists against the sandbags and the blare of your obnoxiously loud music while she tried to study. it was a small price to pay for those fleeting moments where she could catch a glimpse of you – she kind of (really) enjoyed watching you workout to the point where she’d fake complaints.

“ugh, i have a longass lecture tomorrow. please keep it down, it’s in the morning.”

“and i need to stay in shape you loser.”

“you can go a day without it, just skip today, please?”

you stop your movements, breathing in deeply to catch your breath before looking at her.

she’s wearing her glasses again, and something about them makes her look especially cute. her hair is braided into two neat plaits that hang off her shoulders, framing her face perfectly. when she looks at you, there’s a hint of playful annoyance in her expression, though it only makes you smile wider. your grin broadens even more as you take in the full picture of her—she’s drowned in oversized clothes and you can’t help but be captivated.

“is that my t-shirt?”

hanni looks down at her top, then stutters, “i- i don’t know? i just grabbed it…”

“you’re a thief, that’s what.”

“shut up oh my god.” she groans.

you chuckle, then take your gloves off and hand them to her, she looks at you confusedly. “put them on.” you urge, watching her look at you like you’re stupid. “c’mon now.”

“what?” she feels you grabbing her hands, you place the gloves on yourself for her, then push her towards the sandbag. “i’m not going to–”

“take a hit, it’s a stress reliever.”

“y/n please–”

“go on,” you smirk, raising your brows. “your grandpa was great, you have to have inherited some of his skills.” she immediately punches you in the shoulder, causing you to pout playfully.

with a sigh, she gets into a fighting stance that nearly makes you burst out laughing. she throws a punch—surprisingly decent—then looks at you expectantly.

“happy?” she asks, a dumbfounded expression on her face.

“fix your form,” you murmur, moving behind her to adjust her arms. hanni’s breath catches slightly as you correct her stance, your hands steadying her waist before tapping her thigh to shift her leg back. “there you go, but don’t stay so loose. someone’s going to knock you over.”

“it’s not like i’m going to fight anyone soon—” mid-sentence, you give her a gentle shove, causing her to stumble and lose her balance. “hey!”

“stay tense. if i’d used all my strength, you would’ve hit the ground,” you giggle, helping her back into position. she blushes as you guide her, the warmth of your hands lingering on her waist, making her hyper-aware of every touch. “okay?” your breath hits teh back of her ear and she shivers.

“yeah, whatever.” she says before punching again, a better one for that matter.

“you’re actually not bad.”

“are you lying to me?”

“a little.” you joke, then smile at her. “you’re cute.” you say under your breath.

“what did you say?”

“nothing.”

hanni had heard you say it, but she doesn’t push further. 

–

the next time you pick hanni up, you decide to head out onto her campus and find your friends before picking her up. her class ends in thirty minutes anyway, and ningning had promised to buy you coffee the next time she had seen you.

you stand near your car with her, leaning against the brick wall beside her with your hand against it as you sip on the latte she had bought you. you stare at the cup, impressed by the quality.

“this is good.”

“i know right.” she agrees, taking another sip. “jesus, your lip is still busted.”

“is it?” you ask, feeling ningnings thumb grazing the injury. “it feels fine.”

“it’s still dark. heeseung got you good, didn’t he?” 

“shut up, i knocked him out, that’s what matters.” you roll your eyes and hear her laugh. she pushes your shoulder playfully, laughing even more.

hanni walks towards your car only to see you not inside, which throws her off. she looks around, scanning the area for a bit until her eyes land on you leaning against the wall with a girl. she feels her heart sink a bit just watching her touch your lip and push you lightly. you laugh at her and smile, making the weird feeling in her stomach even worse.

she walks over and taps your shoulder, earning the attention from the two of you as she clears her throat. 

“hey, i had trouble finding you.” hanni says, then looks at ningning, almost glaring. “who’s this?”

“oh, a friend.” you simply state, then wave at the girl beside you. “i got to get going, let’s catch up soon again, okay?

“mhm, see you n/n.” she winks at you and you have to fight back a gag. hanni feels like there’s a pit in her stomach.

the two of you get into your car, but it’s odd considering hanni hasn’t insulted you or even said anything. she just gets inside and looks out the window while you turn on the car, you raise a brow.

“is everything okay? bad day or…?”

“you into her?”

“what? no. don’t be ridiculous.”

“she kept touching your lip.” hanni scoots closer to the window, not daring to look at you. “i think she wants you.”

“you’re actually an idiot.” you sigh, shrugging her off as you start to drive away.

hanni stays silent the rest of the car ride, not saying much other than responding to your questions bluntly. you don’t know what’s gotten into her.

–

you’re very aware that it’s easy to piss hanni off, or maybe that’s just because it’s you. 

half the time it’s really just you being playfully irritating, she’s never actually been mad at you in months. but these days, ever since you picked her up that one time after hanging with ningning, she’s been distant, avoidant even.

hanni stays cooped up in her room, you even knock on her door after training to ask to grab a bite or really just anything. hanni’s always throwing the same excuses at you, she never did this before, but now her university work suddenly keeps her away from you.

you knock at her door again, opening it to find her in bed on her phone.

“you busy?”

“who’s asking.”

“what the hell is up with you?” you sigh, walking over to sit next to her. “i just wanted to ask if you wanted fruit. your grandpa cut some for me, like, so much. do you want to eat it together?”

hanni's grown fond of the way you look at her, something she never expected to happen. there's a warmth in your gaze that catches her off guard, especially when you give her those pleading eyes, head tilted just so, with your hair falling perfectly to frame your face. even then, as she shakes her head, she can’t ignore the little flutter in her chest. despite everything, there's an undeniable allure in the way you look at her now, one that she's finding harder to resist.

the whole reason she’s been giving you the cold shoulder is because the realization hit her as soon as you leather tend to your injuries: she likes you, she likes you so goddamn much. seeing you with ningning the other day made her realize that she likes you too much, so much that the fact that someone likes you, and you might like them – this ‘ningning’ makes her heartache.

for fucks sake, she’s a nursing student, she can’t be wallowing away because of a crush.

“not hungry.”

“have you even eaten?”

“yeah.”

“you liar.” you get up, looking at her worryingly and fighting back the words you want to say. “i’m heading out then, i’ll pick you up tomorrow after school.”

“you don’t have to.”

“i’m going to, don’t leave me hanging.” you give hanni a serious look, tightening your jaw before letting a small huff out. she avoids your gaze, turning on her side in her bed, then catching the sight of you leave as soon as your back is turned towards her.

-

you cannot believe what you’re watching unfold right now. 

hanni, hanni, hanni who you beat up a man for, is in the distance talking to that same man you beat up. heeseung is saying something to her that you can’t catch, hanni’s giving him a smile, and you would’ve gotten out of the car to smack him in the face if hanni weren’t already walking towards you.

she gets inside, you look at her like a police officer interrogating a criminal.

“was that him?”

“oh, it’s nothing.”

“hanni.” you start, but decide to close your eyes tight, poke your tongue at your cheek, and simply start to back out of your parking spot. “we’ll talk about this later, we’re going to my place.”

“yours?”

“we’re going to talk.”

“you’re abducting me.” hanni raises a brow, if it were coming from anyone else it would for sure be mildly concerning. “you’re kidnapping me.”

“yes.”

-

you two make it inside and as soon as hanni is in after you, you shut the door and cross your arms.

hanni heads over to your little kitchen and grabs a waterbottle from your fridge, then leans against the counter.

“what did i do?” you ask, walking over to her. “did i piss you off in the wrong way again? did i say something wrong?”

“what are you talking about?”

“don’t give me that, you’ve been avoiding me.”

“no i haven’t.”

“then why haven’t you been over to watch your stupid shows at my place in the past two weeks hanni.” you step closer, sizing up with her and drilling through her skull with your eye contact. “why haven’t we gone out for smoothies in the past two weeks, why haven’t we had a full conversation in two weeks, and hell, why were you talking to heeseung earlier.”

hanni gulps the water she’s sipped, turning her head away, but you use two fingers to redirect her attention back to you. hanni feels her breath shake when she exhales.

“i, it’s nothing. and besides, heeseung was just… asking me out, saying sorry and whatnot but i didn’t give him my number or anything.”

“so you rejected him?”

“i mean, i just told him i’ll think about it.”

you laugh, you laugh because this is fucking ridiculous. 

“he beat me up hanni, he punched a woman – me – right in the face and gave me a bruise. you said you’d ‘think about it?’” 

“what does it matter to you! you already have that ningning, why do you care about me?”

you pause, looking at her confused. “is all this shit because of ningning? she’s just my friend.”

“well you look at her like it’s something more!” hanni blurts, looking stressed.

“it’s not– hanni, you’re being ridiculous.”

“am i? because she was touching your lip and pushing your shoulder and it seemed like you enjoyed being around her sooooo much–”

“and because of this you’ve been avoiding me? and you’re really going to consider seeing a guy who beat my ass up.” you can’t believe what you’re saying, you can’t believe any of this.

“what, i can’t do my own shit now?”

she can’t, she can’t because only you should be doing that shit with her. you’re looking at her like she’s crazy, utterly confused as you scan her features. for a split second, she looks at you like she’s reconsidering things, like she’s longing or something. 

then it hits you, it hits you after you run through every mental note of hanni: she’s jealous, she’s jealous of you because she thinks you and ningning have something going on. 

you pause, stepping closer until there’s hardly any space between you. leaning in, you narrow your eyes at her, voice dropping low. “because,” you murmur, placing one hand on her waist while the other gently cups her jawline. her breath hitches, and you can feel the tension in her neck, but she doesn’t pull away. instead, she drops her gaze to your lips, then down to your collarbone, avoiding your eyes. you tilt her chin up, forcing her to meet your gaze. your eyes trace over her flustered expression – flushed cheeks and parted lips – and you let out a sigh. “because it should be me you’re thinking about seeing, asshole.”

her hand slides to your upper chest, sliding up to your collarbone before you kiss her.

you kiss her like you want her, like you need her and she kisses back with the same force. she reels you in closer and melts into you without thinking. hanni smells like pears and a sunday morning, you could die like this.

she parts to catch her breath, shivering when your hand trickles right under her shirt and your skin grazes against her own. her eyes are still closed when she says, “you’re not with ningning, are you?”

“i’d rather get hit by a bullet train than do anything with her.” you mutter, then pull her closer by the waist. “i want you to be the one i’m kissing, it’s always been you dumbass.”

hanni kisses you again, pulling you in with her arms wrapped around your neck. 

–

it’s been two hours, you’ve had your lips on hanni for at least two thirds of that time.

but now, on your couch after two long weeks, hanni is by your side leaning against you. she’s always been hesitant with physical touch when it came to you, but after making out with you – with you closer than ever to her, hovering above as her back rests on the cushion of your couch – she doesn’t have to be hesitant whatsoever.

“i don’t understand,” your lips are still swollen, you can feel the swell as you speak. “so is does he want her or not?” you ask, pointing to the two leads on the tv.

“he does but it’s like, complicated.”

“literally how.”

“she dated his brother, and i think she also likes girls.”

“you’re kidding.”

“i swear.” hanni says, eyes focused on the screen. 

“whatever.” you don’t really care, not as much as she does about this show. but that doesn’t stop you from putting an arm around her and looping her hair around your finger, then smiling to yourself. hanni scoots closer into you, and an episode later you’re laying on top of her, fighting sleep as her fingers comb through your hair and press into your scalp relaxingly.

(your grandma was onto something, maybe there was someone out there that you could love and be loved by just as much as her.)

🫠

So the earth would be a better place I will give you the second idea🫂❤

A very simple idea of reader walking in on her big stepsis g!p Yujin jerking off to various videos of her and she decides to help her older sister out because who wouldn't help their attractive older sister when she needs it?☺

my fellow sane yujin stan once again~ so sorry this came so late 🫂

i like to imagine that stepsis yuj has some decent morals! even when she knew that she had been attracted to her father's girlfriend's daughter aka her soon-to-be stepsister since the two of you met, yujin tried very hard to ignore it purely bcs it was wrong 😣😣 bcs of this, yujin gave you the impression that she was quite reserved and timid.. only talking to you when necessary or whenever she forced herself to bcs the silence needed to be filled.. little did you know, the reason your sweet and shy yujinnie-unnie always stiffened up around you was bcs she was hiding her hard-on :(( every time she looked at you her pants tightened and she hated it... but she really couldn't help it, and it wasn't her fault.. your ass just looks way too good in those stupid tight and short shorts that you always wear around the house! ☹️

in came to a point where you invaded yujin's mind so much that she had to do something about it! she'd be in the middle of washing the dishes or something when she suddenly remembers how cute you look in one of your little skirts.. then she'd get so fucking hard that she runs to her bedroom to touch herself 🤭 yujinnie feeling so embarrassed and ashamed while looking at her throbbing cock :(( her refusing to touch it while thinking of you bcs again, she refuses to do that!! but then again.. she can't come out of her bedroom with a massive tent in her pants.. and if she sees you while she's this hard then she might actually come in her pants 😭😭

and so yujin starts stroking her cock! but she's not getting into it bcs she feels like she's committing a crime and also she needed help... her pulling up your instagram account on her phone?? gawking at your pretty pictures n your highlights.. pumping her hand up and down her cock faster at the more provocative pics you posted and completely covering up her cock w precum so it gets messyyy 😣 moaning your name shamelessly.. and immediately covering up her mouth when she sees you standing by her bedroom door frame?!?! of fucking course you just had to come home early from hanging out with your friends, of course you would catch your stepsister jerking off to you, of course you would find all of this attractive instead of weird as hell bcs why were you pulling down your panties and climbing on the bed⁉️⁉️😰

"(y/n), i-i'm sorry.. t-this is weird, i know. i just—"

"oh shush, unnie."

and suddenly your mouth was wrapped around her tip 😳 ugh, hearing a string of curses leave your polite and well-mannered big sister's mouth turned you on so much.. yujinnie whining when you suddenly pull away from her cock :(( but she patiently and intently watches as you spit on your hand and wrap it around her dick, making her gasp at the warm and wet feeling,, heheeheuhdu jerking her off slowly.. pulling her close and kissing her just to let her taste a bit of herself from when you sucked her off earlier :(( yujin not even realizing that she's thrusting herself into your hand bcs she's so lost in the way your lips taste.. literally licks all the flavored chapstick off your lips and explores every crevice in your mouth bcs she's so addicted.. even when you separate from her lips to catch your breath, yujin starts kissing down your neck and truly she couldn't care about anything anymore 🫣

pulls you to her lap while she's marking you up :(( "you'll tell dad and your mom that.. mhm... that you hooked up with a friend.. got it, baby?" she says in between kisses.. her lips were soft and her voice was gentle, but her eyes were stern and cold.. as if she's daring you to do the wrong thing and face the consequences.. ofc you didn't want to make your unexpectedly scary big sister mad so you agreed,, and it was smooth sailing from there! 🤤 yujin makes you take all of her cock in one go 😵‍💫😵‍💫 commending you for doing it flawlessly with a "good girl" that only made you melt in her hold,, yujinnie guiding you while you ride her omg,,, your little gasps and "yujin-unnie"s were simply music to her ears and she couldn't get enough of it all :((

it was only a matter of time until she was fucking into you,, face buried in your chest, her moans muffled by your blouse but she was loud regardless,, smacks your ass from time to time just to get you to ride her faster and it feels so good when you drop yourself onto her cock and have her tip kiss the deepest part of your walls.. neither of you caring that your parents might come inside the house at any moment and just screaming each other's name.. only your voices and the sounds of skin slapping against skin being heard throughout the house.. 😳

omgomg being the thoughtful older sister she was, yujin makes sure to pull out of your cunt before coming,, spilling her cum all over her sheets.. she would've liked to fill you up but she couldn't risk any accidents!! 😤 "s-sorry, baby... come too.." she would say with the "🥺" look on her face istg 😭💕 put her hand in between the two of you and starts rubbing your sensitive clit :(( she absolutely got obsessed with the way you clutched onto her shirt and whined "unnie" into her ear while you grind on her hand in pursuit of your release.. and when you came, yujin couldn't describe it as anything but beautiful.. even going as far as to suck on her fingers and swallow up your mess.. another thing about you she got addicted to 🤭

the two of you definitely go at it a few more times though.. and ykw how funny it would be if your parents happened to get held up at work until the next day.. 🫣🫣

GALILEO // BAHIYYIH [231013]

Buff!Momo 🫠

my phone fell, love lmao i posted it by accident ^^ @tozakimo

strawberry kisses

farmer!momo x baker!reader | fluff, smut | men dni!

it's been an exhausting year, especially for you. you just graduated from your university, settled for a corporate job somewhere in the bustling and loud city of tokyo. it wasn't even related to your degree, for fucks sake, but you settled for it as it paid off really well.

but then, you got another offer later during the year. working for a small bakery at night just across your apartment. it was quiet, healing, with the smell of pastry and coffee pungent in the air— it was surely something you can't compare with anything.

your corporate job got too heavy, and it got to the point that it wasn't working well anymore. you kept your job at the bakery, now working full time.

unfortunately, before november came, the bakery shut down because of unprecedented reasons; which, the owner died of oldness, which you mourned as ms. sato was the kindest person to ever teach you about anything you know about baking now, she was like a second mother, one that you held really dear to your heart.

late november, your sister, mina, went to your apartment in tokyo.

all primed and cut into the right places, mina knocks on your door, three times, "y/n! open this goddamn door!" she shouted, and you revealed yourself, wrapped around a blanket, eyes puffed with tears. "oh," she hugs you immediately, taking your head to lay on her neck as you hugged her back. "tokyo must've been so unkind to you, huh?"

"i-it is," you sobbed as she held you in her arms. "i wanna go home, mina."

"well," she chuckles, rubbing your back in comfort and warmth. "i wouldn't be here if i didn't take you home."

it was such a pleasant feeling; taking the train home to kobe, the regret and awfulness of the big city of tokyo being transported away from you. mina was kind enough to lend you the window seat, which you really enjoyed.

mina taps you on the hand, "hey," she smiled. "it's sana's birthday in a few days..."

"oh! really?" you perked up at the mention of her girlfriend's name. "what do you plan to do?"

"nothing that big," she chuckles, her head hanging down and her hands fiddling with the rings on her fingers. "i bought a ring already, though."

"what!?" you exclaimed, hands on your mouth, trying to make yourself as shocked as you looked. "i mean, you've known each other for what... like 6 years already? i'm glad for you two."

mina sighs, "i know you are," she said. "but i just don't know how to ask her, you know? i'm not the biggest romantic out there. she is. but she's so busy with the farm and all; i know momo's there to help her but i just don't want to add to her worry if i ever ask h-"

"mina," you held your sister by the shoulders and made her look at you. "i'm not really close with sana but i know she loves you. trust me, she's been waiting for you to pop the question."

"well," she blushes. "could you help me?"

"of course," you chuckled at her. "we have like... 20 more days. so no pressure. let's just get home first, hm?"

"yeah," mina sighs as she lies back on her seat. "you know, i'd like you to meet her best friend, though." mina chuckled. "momo. such a lovely person. the girl literally leaves a couple of her fruits for us when she supplies the flour."

you smiled, imagining what she was like, how she was like, going into your family bakery back home. "she sounds delightful."

the next day, you got your being up to go and operate the family bakery, just a few streets away from your home. you went in with mina and briefed you about the different pastries that they still serve. you added a little bit of yours, but you let it out for a while, not confident enough to put it on the pastry shelves yet.

you sighed, taking a break from kneading, baking, mixing, and carrying the goods. it's around 6 'o clock am, just an hour before the bakery opens. mina was cleaning up the dining area thoroughly, as her jazz music blasted in the background.

the bell of the entrance rings, and you jolt up, "we're not yet ope-"

"oh," the woman chuckled, bags of flour on her toned shoulders, carried by muscled biceps. mina comes to lead the woman to the kitchen, where she puts down the flour on the supply area. "um," she says. "i-i need to get the fruits, hold on."

the woman rushes outside, and you stare at her as she goes to her truck.

"that's momo," mina chuckled at your obvious flush. it wasn't one of attraction, but one of embarrassment. you should've greeted her better. "she's cute isn't she?"

she looked delightful as she sounds.

"here," momo drops the fruits on the counter, bunched up in a plastic bag. "i- um, gotta go, mina."

"no, wait," you chuckled at her obvious shyness, her timidness making her cuter than she already was. "sit for a little while. i didn't greet you well so, wait-" you smiled at her as she sat on one of the seats in the dining area. you rushed to the baking area, where you stored the eclairs that you made, pulled out the little box, and stored it for her.

"here," you handed the box of eclairs to her. "just a little trade for the fruits you got us."

she smiles, "thank you," she bowed. "are you new here?"

"oh," you chuckled as you reached out your hand, urging her to shake hands with you. "i'm y/n. mina's sister."

she gently takes your hand, "momo," she says, looking into your eyes in an obvious flush as she spoke. "i- um, i'm mina's flour supplier."

"well, she told me already," you retracted your hand from her hold, but you admit, that was the greatest handshake of your life. she stands, putting the chair back on its old position. "see you around, i guess?"

"yeah, um," she looks down on her shoes as she takes the box of eclairs. "see you around, y/n."

momo leaves shortly after, leaves you in a haze, and mina nudges at you as she sees that little interaction when she is cleaning up the counter.

she laughs, "can't believe i saw two losers interacting with each other, oh my god," she chuckles. "i'm definitely going to ask sana to set you two up on a date because neither of you are going to do it."

"is she really that fucking buff?" you asked, albeit randomly.

"jesus," mina laughs further. "you stared at her arms the whole time?"

"damn," you palmed your face in the realization. "well it was out. if it had eyes, it'll be looking at me. but she's cute."

"can't believe that my sister thirsted in front of me," mina sighed. "anyways, she lives just right beside sana's. if you wanna know that sort of thing."

well, it's not useless, you thought. "i'm not some creep... i don't just want to show up at her door."

mina laughs as she arranges the trays of pastries ready to be lined up at the pastry shelves, "trust me, she wants you to."

the next day, you and mina, with her girlfriend, came and visited sana's farm, somewhere up the countryside. sana grew vines of grapes, with her wine distillery up the hill.

as you went up the hill, you saw various other fruits, and it reminded you of what momo supplies to the bakery everyday. you've made a jam out of the strawberries she gave, and it was as red as what you're seeing now.

"ah, momo!" sana calls out, waving to the truck that was driving by.

"hey!" momo stopped the truck, coming down from it. you looked in her direction; her hair tied up into a nice bun, her black tank top, her worn out cargo pants, and some boots. god. she looks like she's straight out of your dream. "the deliveries this day was so fucking many-" she mumbles and suddenly stops as you made your way to mina's side. "oh, hi," she greets, in a small tone. "y/n, right?"

"yeah," you smiled. "the strawberries there," you pointed. "are they yours?"

"oh," she scratched her nape, her cheeks at an obvious blush. "yeah- um, yeah it's mine."

"we'll head to the distillery for a while," sana chuckles as she held mina's hand. "take it from here, momo. she hasn't seen your side of the place."

"sana," she sighs. "alright. okay. i'll go take care of it."

you chuckled, "so, strawberries," you said. "how come they're so plump here? they're beautiful."

"well," she went to your side as you viewed the row of freshly grown strawberries. "it's all grown naturally. no pesticides or anything, i make sure that even the soil's clean."

"oh, wow," you commented. "i made a jam out of the strawberries you've been giving us," you said. "it's the yummiest ones. you want to have some?"

"oh, of course," she smiles. you can't help but melt. "the eclairs were so good though," she commented. "how come you aren't selling them yet?"

"i- um," you went silent for a second. "i'm not that confident yet with how it can turn out, you know. that's the last recipe that i learned from someone."

"well," she sighs. "i totally understand. i'll wait for those, though!"

you smiled at her. "so," you looked at her. "what do you do besides farming, momo?"

"i- um," she looks down on her shoes once more, trying to hide her obviously red face. "play drums at the local bar."

"no way!" you said, exclaiming in amusement. "wow," you commented on her. "you seem so chill. didn't expect that you're one."

"well," she chuckled. "it's a jazz bar. nothing too hardcore."

"what do you mean nothing too hardcore?" you chuckled once more, and as you two progress in talking, the more you get amazed at how incredibly delightful this woman was. "i love jazz. where do you play? i wanna go drop by."

"santorini's," she says. "it's sana's bar, actually."

"that friend of yours is one big businesswoman here, huh," you commented. "well, she's perfect with mina."

"couldn't agree more," she says. "when your sister came to her life, it was like she had forgiven anything. i mean, i came late to an invitation once and she just said 'it's okay,' like it's the most normal thing. i guess your sister really did put a bunch of ice on her head to calm her down."

you laughed loudly, astounded by the way she spoke, "ah, you're so..."

"what?" she asks.

"nothing," you chuckled. "so," you clasped your hands at your back. "will you drop by us tomorrow, too?"

"well," she blushed. "of course. i have to deliver mina's orders."

"okay," you smiled. "you don't have to be so uptight around me, you know?"

"i- um-" momo stuttered as you held her hand.

"see," you had a tight grip around her hand, letting her feel the coldness of it against her warm ones. "you're kinda- too cute for this."

it was a thursday, and you went to the bakery right after you took your workout, a new thing that you've been wanting to do.

well, you didn't have time to change, so you baked in your workout outfit, just switching the shirt into a spare, tight, tank top. the apron was clearly useless now, probably.

momo came into the kitchen while you were taking out the freshly baked buns, one that was baking underneath the bigger oven so you had to lean down.

"oh, careful." momo notes as she passes by you. she doesn't forget the sight. you bent down like that waiting for her to get over. god. it made momo go a little crazy while she went and dropped the flour at its usual spot in the bakery supply area. she let herself take that in for a while as she sat down, closing her eyes, feeling an uncomfortable state between her legs.

"momo?" you called out to her, and you went to the supply area, where you found her just.. there. "oh," you quickly went to get some water, as she stared a little too much on your backside on those purple leggings. "here," you said, cutting her out of her daze as you handed her some water. "tough day?"

"very," she said, gulping down the water with a couple of sips. you reached out to a certain drawer in the supply area, your perfectly shaped glutes on display for her. well, fuck. you handed over the strawberry jam to her. "oh, is this it?"

"yeah," you smiled. "try it out. just get a sourdough at the shelves. don't worry, i'll pay for it."

"nope, i have plenty of those at home," she chuckled as she stood up. "i- um," she stutters once more. "are you still going? i'm playing at saturday."

"oh," you smiled, wide enough to compete with the sun. "of course, momo. wouldn't miss that."

"great!" she smiles in happiness, clutching the strawberry jam next to her.

"i'll be cheering for you," you chuckled as you put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it. "good luck!"

she chuckled. "yeah, thanks."

saturday came by fast.

you hung out with momo last night at the market fair, along with mina and sana, who went around the carnival hand in hand.

you had your own delight with momo, who was chill at the carnival games, her winning at several ones, surprisingly as you two ate several snacks on the way. she won a big my melody plushie, which you will forever be thankful for.

you just like spending time with her. she has such immense warmth, though quite timid and shy sometimes, but she was beautiful in a way that you wanted to be consumed by her.

"god," you sigh against your bed, trying to settle into an outfit. "fuck."

"hey," mina says, her body leaning against the doorway. "having trouble?"

"yeah," you sighed as you sat up, and mina made her way to sit with you. "i've been struggling to find an outfit. i don't want something too fitting, too unrevealing, too tight, too everything- i just want something perfect for the night, mina."

mina laughs as she made way to your closet, and pulls out a specific dress. it was a black, suede, champagne dress with its straps thin just to hold the dress together.

"mina, you're a fucking genius," you sighed in comfort as you chuckled, taking the dress from mina's hands. "this is perfect, thank you."

mina laughs, "i know it is. date with momo?"

"hm, kinda like that. i'm seeing her play," you chuckled. "what about you? staying for the night?"

"i'll be at sana's," mina sighs. "she's not having the best time right now..."

"oh, like..." you stopped for a moment, understanding that her girlfriend was sick.

"she's been having a bad fever for the past few days." mina sighs.

"well," you sighed as well, but you remembered something. "i had some extra soup i made a few hours ago," you said. "maybe that could help her."

"you're a lifesaver," mina sighs in relief. "why'd you make it though?"

"just wanted something warm," you giggled. "anyways, i'll be leaving at 7."

"yeah, no worries," mina smiles. "good luck with your date!"

you arrived at the bar, a little past 7pm, perfectly in time in momo's set.

the previous band had only finished playing as you sat right in front, ordering a martini as the first drink of the night.

momo's band comes in as the dim light slowly gets stronger, you catch a sight of momo; in her signature tank top, arms out, with her pants, and a flannel tightly wrapping around the waistband of it. god. she looks so good.

the drums were, unusually, right on front and on the side, just a little beside you and she says 'hi,' with a little smile, her drumstick stuck to her fingers.

she was so cute, but then, she went on to test the tone of the drums, and it sounded great. but god, the way her muscles flexed as she took the drums to sound was so tempting that you just wanted to pull her out of the band and take her home.

but then, she catches a little glance at you again, as she sees you walk to the bathroom. she doesn't miss the subtle appearance of your cleavage, the way that the dress hugged your body so divine, and the way that your ass was so curved in it. it drove her fucking crazy.

you made your way back to your seat, as momo started the song with her band. you got another drink of the same kind.

they played really well, a couple of jazz hits, some requests, and some originals from their band were played.

momo looked at you from the crowd the whole time. you were so beautiful and irresistible in that fucking dress, that she wants to make you tell her to rip it off.

a few songs later, momo's band takes a bow, and the lights dim once more as a sign that their set was finished.

you wait for her silently at your table, now ordering your fourth drink of the night.

"hey," someone taps your shoulder from the back. "how was it?"

you saw momo in all of her glory, her flannel now covering her bare arms. she sits beside you, looking you in the eye.

"you're so great," you said. "you were so good at playing the drums!"

"well," she chuckled as she gestured to the waiter to get her the same drink. "someone important was watching, i didn't want to blow that up."

you chuckled at her, "hm, important, then? so, it's a date..."

"you could put it that way," she teased back. she leans closer to whisper to you, "you look beautiful tonight."

"thanks," you said as you put a hand on her thigh, getting her comfortable with your touches. "you're not so bad yourself. had your arms out and all on the stage."

momo laughs, "well, i didn't know you'd stare at that."

"i mean, i can help but to, you know," you confessed. "it's just so big-"

"something else is bigger- what?" she gets flustered by herself, saying the phrase. "no, oh my god, sorry, y/n... that was such a bad joke."

you just laughed and let yourself lean on her arm. "it's nothing, momo. it's okay," you placed a little kiss on her cheek. "you know, if you really wanna show it off," you slide your hands through her inner thighs, down to her crotch, feeling the material and her cock desperately straining against it. "do it, momo."

"fuck," she stands up, holding your hand, leaving the payment on the table as she makes a rush going out of the bar. "you're getting it."

"hm, let me." you chuckled as she went to open the car door for you, letting you sit down. she went and got into the other side of the car, and she drove away.

"such a little tease for me," she said, running her hand through your bare thigh. "wearing this tight fucking dress," she touches the hem of it as she drove off. "all for others to see."

you held onto your seatbelts as she creeped her fingers closer to your center. "momo-"

the teasing stopped once you arrived at her house, as she pulled you into a deep, breathless kiss. she lets you wrap your legs around her waist as she carries you inside, going to her room.

"fuck," she pulls away, closing her room's door, as she nipped on your neck, making sure that it's red enough for her. "you don't know how much i've been wanting you, baby."

you can't help but moan, and clutch your hand on her hair as she laid you down on her bed, nipping on the valley of your collarbones as she takes off your dress.

"so fucking pretty." she latches on your nipple, as she takes the other to knead with her hand.

"momo, ah- fuck," you rut your hips against her knee as she holds you by the waist. "i need you."

she pulls away from your breasts, as you kiss her, taking her flannel off, and pulling her tank top off. you held tightly to her bicep, as you gently tug on her pants, opening the button of it.

she kneels on top of you, her evident bulge just right on your face. it curved to the side of her calvin klein's, and she takes your hand to palm it.

"so warm, baby," she says, feeling the sensation of you touching it above her boxers. "take it off."

you took it off, and it springed right up, her cock red and hard, slapping up to her navel.

you took her length to your hand, pumping it up and down, as she thrusts. "so needy." you swiped your thumb on the sensitive head, making her squirm.

"wan' fuck your mouth," she whined, getting off of you for a second as she took the space beside you. "please?"

"so cute when you beg," you pumped her a couple of times, as you trailed your kisses from her chest to her stomach. she was whining, holding you by the hair as she makes you a makeshift ponytail. you licked the head of her cock, and she moans loudly. "so cute."

you finally let her fuck your mouth, the big length just sliding in and out of your throat, the tip reaching parts of your mouth you've never known before. momo knows that you were choking, but that doesn't stop her, as she pulled you down by the head to take on her 9 inch length.

"god," she stills, letting her cock pulse fully inside of your mouth. "you're so fucking good, baby."

she finally pulls out, flipping you over with her big strong arms as she kisses your neck once more. "tell me what you want, baby," she whispered. "i need you to let me fuck you like the little bitch you are."

"make me cum," you held onto her hand that was kneading your breast. "please, momo, i don't care how many times- just-"

she kisses you on the lips once more, making you shut up. "don't worry about it."

she trailed her kisses from your chest to the waistband of your panties, spreading your legs and putting it on her shoulders.

"needy little bitch, all for me," she tapped on your arousal that seeped through your panties a couple of times, which made you squirm, your thighs closing on her head. she spreads them once more, removing your panties, and now, the wetness of it glistens in front of her. she takes a long stripe from your hole to your clit, making you hold onto her hair. "and you're delicious. can't wait to eat you all night."

she latches her mouth on your clit, looking at you with utmost adoration and lust as you come apart on her tongue. she laps, circles, and plays around with it, making you moan and strut your hips to meet her tongue. she couldn't be more happier when you begged more.

"momo, fuck," you moaned out, her lips still closed and sucking your clit. "fingers, please."

she happily complies, her fingers teasing the outside of your folds, getting it wet enough to be inserted. she puts two of her fingers inside, licking at your clit, as she moves it in and out to hit your g-spot so deliciously.

"mmgh! holy shit, momo," you closed your eyes in the ecstasy of her pleasure. "more, fuck," you rutted your hips, her fingers going faster. "ah."

she pulls away, smirking as she pumps her fingers faster, now she latches on your nipple, stimulating the hard nub, as she makes you come apart on her fingers.

your juices were overflowing on her hand as she went and used her thumb to make circles on your clit. "momo!" you held onto her biceps as she kissed you on the neck. "fuck, fuck," you were becoming sensitive, with the way she was holding and fucking you with her fingers. "momo, i'm gonna-" you held onto her tightly, feeling the heat building up from your pussy.

"cum for me," she whispers, the thumb on your clit teasing you further. "cum, baby."

"fuck!" you screamed, squirting on her hand. you felt your arousal trickle on her hand, to her bed, but you felt something different. it was momo's cum, white, spurted, on your thigh. "did my baby cum untouched with that, huh?" you teased as you pumped her cock, and was surprised that it wasn't even half hard. it was still hard, ready to be inside of you.

"don't worry," you went on top of her, your hands directly touching her toned stomach, as you glide your wetness on her length. "can't wait to have your big cock inside of me," you moaned, lining up her wet cock to your hole. "mmgh," you slowly sit on it, the girth already stretching you out enough. "so fucking big, baby."

she held your arms, as you tried to sit down on her cock. slowly, you ride her, her length not fully in. she was getting impatient, so she rolled you two over, slamming her cock inside of you fully.

she lets you feel her cock inside of you, almost kissing your cervix with how big it is.

"so tight," she thrusts, holding you by the waist, fucking into you slowly to get you loosened up. "fuck, is it your first time?"

"no," you let yourself sway with her, already trembling with how big she was. "it's just that you're so big..."

"hmm, i know," she kisses you once more, a little gentle, as she tries to thrust in and out slowly. "just tell me if you're good already, hm? don't want to destroy my sweetheart like that."

you wrapped your arms around her and you smiled, "get rough with me," you whispered, your mouth forming into an 'o' as her thrusts fasten. "make me your bitch, come on- ah," you moaned, holding onto her biceps. "fuck, use that fucking cock."

"g'nna destroy your little cunt, baby," she moans, holding you by the waist, thrusting as your back arches to her touch. "i'm too big for you," she growls, putting her hand above the spot where she feels her cock bulge. "taking me so fucking well."

you continued to writhe below her, as she pumps her cock, in and out, your pleasure spot getting battered as you let out spurts of your arousal.

"you're so wet," she says, pulling out completely, and turning you over. she tucked a few pillows on your chest, letting you lean onto it as you're now positioned by her on fours. "i want you to stay like this. can you, baby?"

"hmm," you moaned, feeling your juices trickle down to the bedsheets. "fuck..."

"you're making a mess," she laughs, rubbing your folds languidly, as she inserted herself once more, shocking you. you were tighter, "you're gonna squirt on my cock, aren't you, messy girl?'

she went and rubbed your hardened clit, making you squirm and grip her sheets as you whined, screamed, and shouted her name.

she continues to thrust, fast, as she slaps your ass. "fucking slut, always having your ass out when you're at the bakery," she closes her eyes and remembered the times that your ass confined into your clothes too much as she squeezed on it, spreading it apart. "you've been wanting someone to fuck you like this, haven't you, hm?"

"yes, yes!" you screamed, holding onto her sheets as you slammed your hips back in time with hers. she pulls you to her by your hair, and she wrapped her arms around you as she thrusts, her fingers once again creating tight circles on your wet clit.

she huffs, kissing your neck once more, leaving a mark as she held you by the waist, thrusting uncontrollably when she felt your pussy walls pulse against her.

"momo," you moaned, weakly, as you leaned into her touch. "fuck, momo, fuck me more," you whined. "please-"

she pushed you gently again, making you go on fours, as she thrusts, faster than she was before, pumping her wet length in and out of you.

"am i fucking in you enough, huh," she asks in short breaths, her wet skin on your wet skin as you moaned onto her pillows. "so fucking tight, baby," she grunts, feeling your arousal grow by the minute. "cum for me."

you squirted as she continued to thrust, fucking your overused pussy as it pulsed.

"take it." she thrusts, slow, as she makes you feel her pulse. her warm liquid covers your inner walls, as she falls on top of you. "fuck," she pulls out, letting herself soften outside of you. she went and admired her work, your hole filled with her cum, dripping to your clit, but she was fast as she used her tongue to put it back in. she went back to you, making you come back to a laying position, and she makes you rest on her chest. "w's that good, baby?"

you nod against her warm chest, looking up at her. "so good," you smiled, kissing her cheek. "thank you, momo."

she chuckled, "that's nothing," she says. "how are you? did i get too rough? sorry if i d-"

"i told you, right?" you chuckled, holding her hand. "so no, you're not too much."

"well," she blushed still, as she Interlocked her fingers with yours. "what about a proper date?"

"maybe, that's too late to ask," you chuckled. "i mean, you already have me here, you know?"

she laughs, "just wanted to make sure." she kisses your forehead.

maybe, your year isn't that bad at all.

🥺

i miss them

Seulgi’s lowkey giving off Jesse vibes 🫢

Fuck man this was just beautiful, such a great read

it isn't living if you're not with me

hirai momo x fem!reader

summary: you look exactly like the music you play: heavy beats and low bass lines and a voice that sounds like a caution sign. your black hair's up in a ponytail, side shave visible on the right, your ripped jeans disappearing into doc martens. your piercings are similar to jihyo's; there's the industrial bar, two or three on your lobes, an orbital, a helix. your shirt's white, half-tucked into your jeans, with the word boys on it framed by the black outline of two hands raising the middle finger.

i figured out what i believe in, momo says.

music? you ask.

you.

tags: pop punk/punk rock!au ; fluff ; smut ; pieces of mihyo ; brief mentions of minsung (skz) ; almost everyone has a piercing of some sort :) ; momo has a dragon tattoo ; drinking ; cursing ; not proofread!!! + anything else i've missed

author's note: hallo

it's something simple, inconsequential. the two of you meet at a festival, headlining the main stage on different days. momo's band plays on friday. yours is saturday. there isn't much else to do aside from drink and watch the other artists perform; it's a bad medley, if she's being honest.

friday night is loud, frantic, pulsing. the beats synthesize like something born in a lab. jihyo's high notes on the keys and dahyun's steady drumline combine into the reminiscence of a time none of them were alive for. it's like if the 80's aesthetic were drenched in apathetic millennial existentialism, mina always says with a grin; and, well, the lesbians love it.

momo sings; most of the crowd follows her. she can only see as far as directly in front of the stage when the lights are on. the ball of her tongue piercing presses against the roof of her mouth. there's only one face she recognizes.

you're off to the side with your band's drummer, singing along. the two of you are both bobbing your heads, pausing to talk and laugh occasionally. you both must've used your passes for vip access. momo's nerves flare underneath her skin, opening, touch starved. you stare directly at her with your lips curled. you know every single word to every single song, though you sometimes seem distracted by momo's fingers on her guitar.

you stay until the end. the lights dim and drop; momo hands a stagehand her instrument, starts unwiring herself. the crowd thunders outside, cheering. momo thinks of your mouth shaping into an o, whistling.

"what's the rush?" jihyo asks, tightening her ponytail, hand slipping down to her industrial.

"hot date," dahyun supplies with a wink, ripping off her sweatband.

"y/n y/l/n," momo says shortly, ducking behind a stage technician and heading for the door.

the crowd's somewhat dispersed, idling. the patches of dirt stick out against the grass, littered with trash. momo glances around the pit. you're gone.

momo's only a little drunk by saturday night. jihyo a bit more so, and tzuyu not at all. they're following a man with a shirt that says event staff around the perimeter of the main stage.

"she's on in ten," tzuyu says, checking her phone for the time. "nice of her to watch us yesterday."

"she knew our songs," momo says distractedly, following their security escort through a roped-off area of the grass. "you don't have to come if you don't want to."

"i want to get a good look at her," jihyo says, fiddling with her piercing again. "what if i'm her type?"

momo tosses an amused glance back, eyes her torn-up black tights, her high boots, her loose, long black dress, her necklace. "you aren't."

"how do you know?"

"because i'm her type."

jihyo harrumphs under her breath. "you're conceited," she says, slipping through the front gate to the vip area. "that's what you are."

"maybe." momo looks at the others in the pit with them; a few people she recognizes by face only, from bands she can't name. "you thought i was your type for a while."

"i was new at this," jihyo says offhandedly. "you're hot and gay. unfortunately, your personality—"

momo laughs, leaning against the bars as the lights dim. "right."

you look exactly like the music you play: heavy beats and low bass lines and a voice that sounds like a caution sign. your black hair's up in a ponytail, side shave visible on the right, your ripped jeans disappearing into doc martens. your piercings are similar to jihyo's; there's the industrial bar, two or three on your lobes, an orbital, a helix. your shirt's white, half-tucked into your jeans, with the word boys on it framed by the black outline of two hands raising the middle finger.

"ugh," jihyo says boredly from behind her. "you are her type."

you stumble off stage, laughing with your band. the lead guitarist, a guy whose name momo thinks is minho, has his arm around you. you stop when you see momo standing there, shoving him off of you. minho's too wired up, following your keyboardist off into the back, barely noticing you're not with them.

you're smaller in person than momo'd thought you'd be, despite your boots — they have a higher, thicker heel than momo's do, giving you an extra inch or two. you're probably about five-six or seven compared to momo's five-nine. you're beautiful, magnetizing. you entirely deserve the screaming crowed beckoning you back to stage.

"hey," momo greets.

"hi," you say, tongue darting across your upper lip. "you're momo. hirai momo. from wallflower."

"you're y/n. y/n y/l/n. from alien."

you grin. you're still covered in a thin sheen of sweat from the show but you're not self-conscious about it. "did you actually know that, or did you hear us introduce ourselves?"

"i saw you at our show yesterday." momo takes a step closer, hands tucked casually in her pockets. "i came out tonight to hear you play."

"is that right," you say, not like a question. "just to hear us play?"

"not 'us'," momo says. "you."

you raise an eyebrow, tonguing your lip piercing. your eyes drop interestedly to the full length of momo's tattoo, a dragon winding all the way up her arm before disappearing into her muscle tee, black with a large white xxx written across the center. the stage crew move around you both, busy and unbothered. the two of you are both too contained and nothing.

"i love your music," you say after a pause.

"i know," momo answers, hinting to arrogance. "that's why i'm here."

your smile quirks again. "oh," you say, understanding the insinuation. "that's why you're here."

momo shrugs, stepping even closer. "i'm your type."

"you are," you agree. you slip a finger through momo's belt loop, tugging her in slightly, examining her subtly, appreciatively as you do so. you lean up on your toes, lips hovering above momo's, and murmur, "but i'm not that easy."

momo's mouth curls aloofly, smirk almost detached. there's a trap here, somewhere. there's a path to undress. the challenge says kiss me anyway, it's what i want. but she's learned a few of her own lessons.

"oh, i didn't think you were," she says. "i just thought it was about time we got acquainted."

she wraps her fingers around your wrist, gently loosens her grip, lets your arms drop separately. you only still, cataloging her movements, motions. the two of you are both so contradictory to your words.

"i'll see you around, y/l/n," momo says lightly, sirens of an undertone. you sense the storm.

"until the next one," you answer, watching her leave.

"you didn't even kiss her," jihyo drawls on the bus as she cracks open a beer. "have you lost your touch?"

momo rolls her eyes, boots kicked up on the arm of the sofa. "i purposely didn't kiss her, princess."

"semantics," jihyo waves away. mina chuckles harmlessly from where she's sitting on the opposite couch.

"look," momo says, scrolling through twitter aimlessly, "just because you aren't getting laid doesn't mean you need to be bitter that i'm about to be."

"oh, ouch," tzuyu calls, snickering all the way from the front seat. jihyo shoots her a dirty look, harrumphing.

"easy for you to laugh at," jihyo says. "you don't even like sex."

momo doesn't have to see her face to know the expression she's pulling. "it's not my thing," tzuyu says, indifference evident.

"whatever." jihyo tosses her hair over her shoulder, tucking it behind her ear. "i could get laid if i wanted to."

"oh, yeah?" momo asks, feet thumping against the floor as she lowers them. "prove it."

she stares jihyo down, realizing after she possibly should've thought this through; jihyo never backs away from a challenge, like it's composed of hooks that dig in. she rubs a finger over her industrial automatically, clearly thinking, until her eyes narrow, smile spreading sharp.

she rests her bottle back on the counter, steps around it towards momo, holds her gaze even as she angles her body towards mina until the last possible second. mina looks up at her, surprised without confusion, phone falling to the side.

it's almost as if jihyo sizes her up for a moment — takes in her thighs showing through the rips in her jeans, her loose burgundy tank top slit down the sides, her black bra visible underneath — and then she bends over, cups mina's face in her hands, and kisses her.

momo's eyes feel too big for her skull, her jaw hanging off hinges; mina freezes for less time than momo expects before her hands spread against jihyo's hips, nudging her closer, and jihyo straddles her lap, fingers brushing through mina's undercut above the back of her neck. momo watches mina's mouth open a little too widely, sees how jihyo sinks dangerously low.

"are you fucking serious?" momo asks bluntly after a solid minute.

jihyo breaks the kiss, smirks brazenly, and slides off of mina's lap in an oddly graceful manner. mina, to her credit, is more stunned than anything, as if her brain's barely finished processing the situation. her lips are smeared red.

"i can get laid if i want to," jihyo says again, slowly, and runs a finger around her mouth, wiping away her lipstick. she walks back around the counter and reaches for her beer.

it's hard to get a moment alone, but they manage. it's midnight and they're standing outside a mcdonald's at a rest stop off of highway 10, passing a joint between them. the night's warm but momo likes the feeling of the heat sinking into your leather jacket.

she says, “you and jihyo, huh.”

mina exhales, head tilting back. “i suppose so.”

“you were into it.”

“i know.”

momo presses her tongue against the roof of her mouth. “you’ve been into it before, haven’t you?”

mina grins in amusement, still staring at the dark sky. “yeah,” she admits guiltlessly. “i slept with her a few weeks ago.”

momo's eyebrows shoot up. the tip of the joint lights, stutters. her lungs are too big for the cage they're contained in. "you slept with her?"

"yeah," she says like it's nothing, shrugs. "she said i needed to relax, and that it'd been too long since i dumped my ex to count as an excuse any longer." she pauses, brushes her fingers against her undercut, the short bristles of hair. "she made some good points."

the insinuation speaks for itself. "i bet she did."

"whatever." she takes the joint from momo, brings it to her lips. "it seemed like a good idea, at the time."

"doesn't it always," momo says, and laughs after, finally settling against the idea with the smoke. it's strange; not because they don't work together, but because they do. "you and jihyo."

"she's— you know," mina says, glancing towards the bus. "she's so... hot-headed and stubborn. i think it's kind of cute."

"well, don't ask me to sing at the wedding."

she shoves momo's arm, laughing with her. "shut up."

it's a friday a week later when your tour paths cross. the two of you are playing separate venues on the same night, but your show ends an hour after hers. it's perfect.

jihyo tags along again, this time with her arm looped through mina's, fitting against her side. mina's hair is up in a high, messy bun, crisscrossing pattern visible above her neck, eyebrow piercing sharper than the look she gives jihyo when she thinks momo isn't watching. jihyo's dress is grey and falls rippling down her body, barely covers her ass under ragged black tights, wearing haughtiness the same way she'd lined her lips with a dark garnet. well, what's the harm in playing parts.

they're seated upstairs at a private table with bottle service. they only catch the last three songs and the encore, but the encore is momo's favorite, anyway, and jihyo and mina seem content doing shots and snickering behind their hands, leaning in to whisper. you look good, like you always do, with your hair pinned over your left shoulder and white short-sleeve button-up untucked from your tight maroon jeans, blending into higher boots than you'd worn previously. you hold the microphone with both hands in between your bass lines. momo imagines what they'd feel like wrapped around her neck.

"i know that look," jihyo says from mina's lap, smirking arrogantly.

"admiration," momo says shortly.

"lust," jihyo mimics in the same tone of voice.

"now's your chance," mina says, her arms around jihyo's waist. "go corner her in a dressing room or something."

momo slips off the stool, heads for the stairs. "thanks," she says dryly, because she's not about to actually take advice from two girls who got bored and decided they found the other kind of hot.

the bouncer doesn't recognize her, but your personal bodyguard does, and he gestures her up with a nod. "she's the first door on the right," he says, unconcerned, and momo thanks him with a smile.

she knocks on the door twice. the wood's painted black and chipped in a few places, and the knob's tarnished, dull. you call, "come in," and momo doesn't wait to be told again. there's nothing to with hesitation.

"hey," she says, slipping into the room like she belongs there. she kind of does. she belongs wherever you are.

you're toweling off your face but drop it at the sound of momo's voice, hair swinging over your shoulder. you stare, mouth slowly unfurling at the corners, the pages of a book. "hey."

"our show ended earlier," momo answers the unspoken question. she leaves her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. "thought i'd stop by."

your eyes roam blatantly up and down her body, teeth dragging your bottom lip into your mouth. "just in the neighborhood?"

"yeah, actually."

"you look good," you say bluntly. her skin is copper-wired, conductive.

momo half-smirks, a cross between a summon and a calling. "i look even better up-close."

you grin, extending a hand. the show's over; you're running out of things to put on. "well," you say, "make your case."

momo slips her fingers past your palm, up your wrist, stroking the inside of it lightly. "how about," she says instead, "you let me buy you a drink."

you hum, stepping in, your other hand resting against the outside of momo's jacket. "why?"

"because," momo says, voice like the dulcet, low lines of a bass, "you aren't that easy."

jihyo isn't drunk. "i'm not drunk," she tells mina, trying desperately to hide her slur.

"sure, baby," mina says mildly, glancing down as her phone lights up with a text. it's only dahyun, asking where they are. her arms stay loose around jihyo's waist. "i'll let you have that."

"maybe you're drunk," jihyo says, tilting her neck and looking at her through fluttering eyelashes.

"maybe," mina agrees seriously, and jihyo breaks and laughs. "that's what happens when you do five shots in an hour."

she wiggles slightly, and mina spreads her legs, allowing jihyo to slip back to the floor. she turns and faces her, sliding her fingers around the back of mina's neck, scratching through the short, soft hair.

"remember when i thought momo was my type?" she says, grimacing at the concept. she's no good with a poker face; it's endearing when it isn't inconvenient.

mina mirrors her oppositely, grinning. "yes."

"i only realized she wasn't," jihyo says, "when i realized you were."

"that's cute," mina says, lips stretching wider. "are you propositioning me?"

jihyo reaches up, brushes her thumb over mina's eyebrow, rolling the ball, hand dropping down to her cheek. mina only watches in amusement and adoration, less hidden than she'd like to be. there's something about the devil and his girl friday — no, wait, she's mixing up her references — but jihyo stands on her toes and drags mina's mouth to hers, and the devil's definitely in there somewhere.

the crowd's filtered out, hogging the merch table up front. momo leads you back up the stairs, keeping your fingers linked. jihyo and mina are marking out at the table momo'd left them at. momo rolls her eyes; she can't leave them alone for five minutes, literally.

you laugh. "oh, really?" you say, delighted.

"it's a secret thing," momo explains, passing them up for the bar. "i don't know. i'm not getting involved."

"that's probably wise." you slip onto a stool, tucking your chin against your palm, elbow on the counter. "minho and han have a thing like that, but it's none of my business."

"han's your rhythm guitarist, right?"

"yeah." you untangle your fingers, resting your now-free hand against momo's knee. "i'll have a whiskey sour," you say to the bartender.

"tequila sunrise," momo says.

"so, this is your plan?" you ask, stretching out a boot to rest on the rung of momo's stool. "get me drunk and seduce me?"

momo snickers a little breathlessly, caught off-guard. "no," she says. "i'm just here to talk."

"oh, really," you say again, leaning closer to her, eyes narrowing playfully. "so, you've got an end goal."

"don't you?"

"well, sure," you say, taking your drink with a smile and lifting it to your lips. "i think they're two sides of the same coin."

"working for it and making me work for it?" momo guesses wryly, the flirtatious arch of her eyebrow. she wraps her mouth around her straw. your gaze drops interestedly.

"you did your tongue?" you breathe out, letting your arm fall to the wood. "oh, that's hot."

"talk, y/l/n," momo enunciates, picking up your jaw.

momo gets her way; you keep your attention held to passive things for the most part. there's the tour, that's one. the way all roads feel endless and none of them lead home, if home ever existed to begin with. there's your influences, inspirations. momo's mom abandoned her, and it's something she'll never sing about. your parents raised you as an activist, music's your kind of rebellion.

"that's what drew me to punk rock," you're saying. your glass is empty. "fuck it all, really, but believe in something."

momo smiles genuinely; your words are too passionate to disregard. "what if i don't know what i believe in yet?"

you flutter your eyelashes, mouth like a cathedral. "i could probably help you with that," you purr, trailing your index finger along the side of momo's hand, but crack and laugh. you're trying to be too many things at once.

"it was a good attempt," momo says teasingly.

you roll your eyes with a grin but move on. "besides," you say, "you believe in music, don't you?"

"yeah," momo says, mildly surprised. "yeah, i guess i do."

jihyo stumbles over twenty minutes later, leaning her chin on momo's shoulder with a harrumph. "oh, it's you," she says somewhat rudely to you, mina's hands settling on her waist. "you know, momo hasn't kissed you yet."

"i'm aware," you say, holding back a laugh. momo only downs the rest of her drink.

"it means she likes you," jihyo reveals devilishly, straightening up. "otherwise she would've just done it."

"is that so," you say, tongue rolling your lip piercing thoughtfully, throwing momo a look.

"yeah," momo says, shrugging.

"huh."

"yep."

"wow."

"shut up," jihyo interrupts crossly, mina laughing behind her. "just fuck already."

"no," momo says. "get out of here."

mina pends down, whispering something against the shell of jihyo's ear, who raises a single eyebrow carefully and curls up the corner of her lip. "okay," jihyo says serenely (drunkenly). "we're leaving. nice meeting you, y/n. sorry that you're doomed or whatever."

"doomed?" you repeat, your straight face finally breaking; somehow you find jihyo funny rather than annoying.

"oh, please," jihyo says loftily, still slurring her words. "momo's so your type. walking up to the two of you talking or whatever was like— you know when you open a dryer, and it's just like, hot air? that's you. it's hot over here. you want each other."

"are you sure that's not just the two of you?" momo asks, but she's smirking at the mess of a description.

"no," mina finally chimes in. "we're getting laid, thanks. tension's gone."

jihyo laughs, tugging her away towards the exit; you snicker under your breath. it's dim and empty; even the bartender's wrapping up. you say, "is it nice to have a friend so worried about your sex life?"

"jesus," momo says. "no. it's not. my sex life is fine."

"is it?" you ask, chin back in your palm.

"well, when you put it like that," momo says, understanding implications, "it's lacking. what about yours?"

"could be better," you say. "but i think we'll have that for our next date."

your next date is at a burger king on a rest stop off of route six. your buses overlap. it's three in the morning and there are no motels. besides, dahyun says, i really want a whopper.

the night's a little cooler; you are all a little further north. you're wearing sweats and a t-shirt; momo's in shorts and a hoodie. you smile when you see her, gesturing her over with a crook of your finger. she spies the blue of han's hair inside, minho's blond gleaming next to him.

"hey," you say acutely. "should've known you'd be here."

"i'm stalking you," momo says.

"clearly."

"we're in the middle of nowhere," she says. "want me to buy you a milkshake?"

"sure," you say, charmed. "chocolate."

the two of you open the door and step up to the counter; your drummer stares knives into her back the entire time. she doesn't give it weight. she says to the cashier, "a large milkshake. chocolate. thanks."

the man takes her money boredly, gives her the change and proceeds to make it himself. momo grabs two straws; she thinks you blush, but the interior is so drenched in bright colors that she can't be sure of anything.

the two of you walk back outside, strolling around the building leisurely until you both are facing the highway, watching the occasional car fly by. the two of you struggle to drink at the same time, giggling when your noses brush, when you both meet each other's eyes too close and cross.

"i'm going to write a song about you." momo says, because you're somehow just as attractive in your pajamas with a bare face; your lip piercing's out and your hair is up in a loose ponytail. "just so you know."

you release the straw, looking up at her from under your eyelashes, smiling. momo takes the cup, sets it on a groove in the wall by the window, and leans in, capturing your lips. they're cold and you taste like the shake, but she laughs into it, your fingers curving around momo's jaw. momo pulls away slightly, letting the moment breathe, but you chase her mouth, kissing her again, again, and again. momo's arms rest loosely around your waist.

"god," you say, and even your eyes are bright. "maybe i should've just let you do this from the beginning."

you actually write the song first, something momo only finds out when she crashes one of your shows two weeks later. it's thursday night; momo's band doesn't take the stage until friday. you stand at the mic with your bass hanging and you look like heaven, like hell; your pants are leather, and your boots have gold spikes on them. you've changed your lip ring to a barbell. you're like a succubus, sucking out the soul of every other demon in the room, or at least whatever's left.

she finds them easily in the crowd; it's impossible to overlook jihyo's red hair, even when she's wrapped up in mina. they'd insisted on coming; tzuyu's behind them, taking pictures with dahyun to add to her instastory. you slip off the stage with the mic during the bridge of a sogn you don't need to play for and rest an arm around momo's shoulders over the barricade, singing directly to her with a smirk. your voice beckons like a tide, magnetic and ungrounding.

the song, though — the song comes one before the end of the show, when you say casually, "so, i met a girl recently, and she told me she was writing me a song." there's process, and then wild, incoherent screaming. "i didn't tell her i'd already beat her to it. hopefully she likes it."

jihyo shoves her in the back, smirking, as if momo had somehow missed the memo. tzuyu goes, "oooh," and dahyun records her face when the opening notes play. it's sultry but strangely upbeat; it's a feeling and a concept more than it is a simple song — the lyrics are all suggestive and make momo's head spin: oh, it's not about the long and winding road, it's all about my bed and the imprint of your soul — momo wants to dance to it, wants to kiss you to it, wants to soak in it until she drowns.

the band traipses off-stage. momo's already in the wings, smirking. the crowd screams and thunders and storms. you're sweaty and thrumming and your eyes look like flakes of gold under the light. you kiss momo with a smile, one arm around her neck, the other flung carelessly over her shoulder.

"you," momo says.

"what'd you think?" you ask cheekily.

momo grins, steps out of your arms, brushing by all of them onto the stage; you only watch behind her, entertained despite the stagehands' sudden spike in nervousness. the lights flicker on, dim; the crowd is momentarily confused, but starts to scream louder, most of them recognizing her. well, your audiences tend to overlap.

"in case you were wondering," momo says into the mic, "i loved the song," and somehow the only sound she hears is your laughter to the left.

"you're so gay," jihyo says to you both, pulling a face from where she's sitting in mina's lap. you all are on the rooftop bar of your hotel, rented out for the night. minho and dahyun are playing some kind of drinking game in the pool, which the staff — and han — are eyeing cautiously.

"you're one to talk," you shoot back, breaking away from momo's mouth long enough to respond. "last time i saw the two of you, mina was pretty much wearing your lipstick."

jihyo huffs, rolling her eyes. "i like wearing lipstick," she says. "mina doesn't care. do you?"

"mina doesn't care about anything," momo interrupts, her hands on your hips.

"that's mostly true," mina agrees, chin resting on jihyo's shoulder. "she can wear whatever lipstick she likes."

"i don't know a lot of high femme lesbians in punk," you say, grinning. your fingers twist and tangle with momo's. "i'm liking the crossover."

"i'm one of a kind," jihyo says whimsically, and mina hides a grin against her skin.

"i wouldn't go that far," momo replies, and drags your mouth back down to hers.

you come to her show the night next with your band, but momo's song isn't ready and it's just the normal set. you sing along to every word anyway, and the drummer — this girl sana who'd been at the original show with you — doesn't seem nearly as chipper as the last time. like she's enjoying it against her will.

you spend far, far too much time staring at momo's fingers, entranced to the point of disorientation. you're somewhere else entirely, as if momo's singing to you and only you in the presence of a much smaller room. momo thinks you're far too alluring, if punk rock were a person and not a concept, a movement, an ideology.

she finishes her set. you wrap your hands around the sides of momo's denim jacket, tugging her in and kissing her, not caring about the guitar in the way. "you're so hot," you say, "and your voice," but the sentence never ends. momo parts her lips, and your tongue slips through her mouth, ball of her piercing cool and foreign. you pull away, pressing yourself even closer, throwing your head back briefly. "you should take me back to your hotel room," you say, eyelids hooded.

"i should," momo agrees, finally slipping her guitar strap over her head and handing it off to someone who barely even blinks.

"so do it," you breathe out.

"y/n," sana says suddenly from behind the two of you.

"what," you say, tone steadying itself. you don't even look over, too absorbed, electrified.

"we're leaving," she says shortly.

"great," you say, eyes still darting between momo's and down her mouth. "i'm not."

momo peels off her shirt, unbuttons her jeans, strips her own tank top overhead. you run your hands all over momo's body and kiss her like it's your inherited right to. momo's toned and muscular and somehow lacking edges, soft and gentle. you straddle her and laugh until momo gives you a reason to stop, digging her teeth into the crook of your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your chest, fingers dancing on the inside of your thighs until you laugh again. but that's what sex is, what it should be; the two of you are just happy to be in bed together, sharing skin.

"i'm so bored," you complain over the phone. "i can't believe we don't see each other for another week."

"i know," momo says, laying in her bunk. "you just had to go south, didn't you."

"it's not like i planned the tour," you reply mildly. "don't you miss me?"

"more than anything."

"you're gay," you say. "at least mine's over after that."

"true." momo examines her fingernails, reminding herself to trim them before saturday. "what are you going to do when it ends?"

"follow you on yours, obviously."

her lips quirk. "good," she says. "you can hear my song for you."

"good luck topping mine."

"oh, i'm going to top a lot of things."

silence, and then a snort, "let's not get ahead of ourselves here," you say, rustling around, and momo presses the home button on her phone just to see your picture, your body hidden under white sheets and your smile spreading to your eyes.

it's late at night; it always is. they're musicians, and a good show often keeps them wired until four in the morning. jihyo and mina are sitting across the couch near the kitchen, sharing a single beer because jihyo couldn't finish it alone. she has a hand resting on mina's knee and she strokes it occasionally, absent-mindedly.

"jihyo," mina says, tucking jihyo's hair behind her ear.

"hm?"

"you know," she says softly, "that i like you, right?"

jihyo's mouth quirks bemusedly. "i'd hope so," she says, leaning closer to mina. "isn't that the point?"

mina raises her eyebrows expectantly. "is it?"

"oh," jihyo says, understanding; well, there's a lot of sex, and it's not her fault mina's so willing to acquiesce. "yes. it is."

"okay," mina says, grinning as she relaxes. "good."

"i like you," jihyo says, turning towards her, finding her mouth automatically. thankfully she's not wearing lipstick. "i'm a bitch, but i'm not that much of a bitch."

"i don't think you're a bitch," mina soothes, kissing her again.

"yes, you do," jihyo replies, but she's smiling, amused. "you just think it's hot."

"semantics," mina waves away, and jihyo reaches for the rest of the beer, leaning back against her chest.

momo's up front for alien's last show of the tour. mina and jihyo had elected to remain in the vip area up top, sitting at a table with tzuyu and dahyun, who are undoubtedly attempting to ignore them. they're in love now or whatever.

you catch her eye just before the first song and smile so widely you look more pop-punk, like momo, than your own punk rock. you pluck at your bass assuredly and sing and you've never sounded better; none of you have. it's the end, always the end when the energy's the most amplified. you toss momo two picks just before heading off-stage, prepping for the encore; momo hands one to a wide-eyed fan who screams holy shit this is fucking awesome into their friend's snapchat, keeping the other.

you all settle back in your places underneath blue pulsing light. the crowd quiets, preparing, and momo yells out, "marry me!" loud enough to be heard.

you laugh into your microphone; minho starts strumming the guitar but throws momo an approving wink.

"yes," you say, grinning to her. "give me a few years."

"it's all over twitter," jihyo says, gesturing at her laptop. she's wearing her glasses instead of contacts, something mina finds overwhelmingly adorable. "your dumb fucking proposal."

"oh, it wasn't serious," momo says, staring over at you with a smile. "but if they take it that way, it's not my problem."

"i'm hurt," you say sarcastically, your arms around momo's neck, legs thrown across her lap. "that wasn't real? i can't believe this. and here i already hired caterers."

"oh?" momo says, raising her eyebrows. "and what are we having, dear?"

"well, darling, i'd thought a teriyaki-grilled salmon or lemon-herb roasted chicken for the main course might do nicely," you begin whimsically, putting on an elegance. "a nice salad with like— walnuts and raisins or something, just for class; you and i don't actually have to eat it — maybe a soup. oh, fuck it, i don't know."

"i'm thinking burger king," momo says while mina laughs in the background. "we'll split a milkshake."

you grin so widely it pulls at the corners of your eyes, crinkling. you rest a hand against momo's shirt, smoothing it over her heart. "keep this up," you say, kissing her playfully, "and i'll propose right now, only it won't be a joke."

they're practiced musicians; the new song doesn't take a ton of time to learn, the same way yours hadn't. it's why they're all able to pull it off. it's been two months since she first met you, and—

wait, yes, that's the perfect introduction. momo grabs the mic, lets her guitar hang. "so, it's been two months since i met this girl," she says, and the entire venue knows exactly who she's talking about. "they've been the best two months of my life. she beat me to the song, but i think the waist was worth it."

you smile from where you're watching off of stage left. you'd wanted to be closer than the vip mezzanine. momo strums; dahyun crashes on the drums and stutters them. jihyo kicks in nostalgic techno beats. it's more upbeat than yours, more hopeful and optimistic and fun, like it comes with the label no seduction necessary. it's all lines blurring into a story meant for nobody but you to understand; we're binging three a.m. like chocolate and put your tongue somewhere i can taste it. momo glances over, catching you rocking to the rhythm, like the music's in your bones.

the song ends to silence — no, that's not right; it's just that she can't hear anything that isn't you — and she passes off her guitar almost on instinct, beckoned towards your blooming grin and the way you hold your body as if waiting for something to put your weight on. maybe momo's too slow, maybe your rare impatience consumes you; you take long, quick strides over, and momo catches your intention just before it's acted upon, her hands settling under your thighs as she hoists you up, legs wrapped around momo's waist.

you laugh — oh, music's one thing, but this is a sound she'd fight a war for — and kiss her shamelessly, uncaring of who's watching backstage, if anyone is at all. you say against your mouth, "i love it. play it at every show."

momo smiles, cheeks pressing against your palms. "i figured out what i believe in."

"what?"

"you."

momo keeps her word, playing the song for you at every show, regardless of if you're there or not. by now it's spread through the atmosphere; plenty of people show up already knowing the words, casting glances around the pit and trying to peek backstage for signs of the girl they all know it's about.

some music magazine contacts her manager about an interview. you and she are popular, she learns; there are blogs dedicated entirely to the two of you, twitters with the two of you as their icons. she agrees to a few questions before her next show; coincidentally you're there anyway, sitting sideways in her dressing-room chair, leg thrown carelessly over the arm. the journalist's young, about your age, but easygoing and relaxed.

answers in between applying eyeliner, mascara, letting you chime in occasionally for a laugh. it's practiced and simple between the two of you, pressureless. the interviewer says at the end of it, "it seems like you've really clicked."

"sometimes," you say with a smile, "you meet someone, and you just know."

she's playing at your hometown on a saturday two weeks later, nearing the end of her tour's final leg. you bring your parents and momo treats them to an expensive bottle of wine during the show; there are impressions. not everybody approves of pop-punk rockstars.

but you kiss her in front of them afterwards, your priorities made clear. you drag momo over by the wrist, introduces her to your parents casually, your fingers never leaving momo's for long. your father says, "y/n's never been so insistent we meet a partner of hers before."

"oh?" momo says, lip curling. "i'm both flattered and honored."

"shut up," you say, though nobody's quite certain who it's aimed at. "the others were assholes. i've learned my lesson."

"yes, i think you have," your mother says kindly, watching momo watch you with a warmth in her eyes she swears could melt glaciers.

they spend a little more time asking her about her inspiration, her influence, where she got her start, and then they seem unable to help themselves, reminiscing about you. you keep your hand on momo's knee under the table, rolling your eyes at the stories you've heard a thousand times. momo loves it, loves the pictures your sister pulls up on her phone, loves the anecdotes, loves you. maybe that's the wine talking — you turn to her, smile, and oh, no, it's definitely not.

the two of you bid goodbye to your parents under the glow of bright billboard lights and flashing signs. momo's fingers settle through yours, linking casually. she looks at you and finds a beauty so raw she knows she'll never succeed in putting it to lyrics, like seeing stars in a city where the sky's too bright for space. she tugs on your hand. you glance at her quizzically.

"i love you," she says, and your eyes dart between her own. "too early?"

you lean in, kissing her, and there's that familiar slant, that smile. "no," you say, kissing her again, giggle bubbling in your throat. "i loved you from the moment we met."

"i loved you the first time i saw you," momo breathes out, one hand spreading against your jaw.

"what is this," you say, pulling a face, "a competition?"

"yeah."

"oh, okay." you poke your tongue against your piercing thoughtfully. "then i loved you from— a past life or something."

"that's a good one," momo says seriously, going along with it. "i loved you in all of them."

"we'll agree, then," you say, your fingers linked around momo's neck. people move around the two of you on the street, uncaring and dismissive. they'll never be as important to anyone else as the two of you are to each other. "all our lives."

"it's you and me, baby," momo says breezily, and the two of you kiss again until someone wolf-whistles behind you both, a chorus of laughter. a group of three men walk by smirking.

you stare at them down and yell, "fuck you! fucking virgins!"

they don't seem to find you funny. momo laughs hysterically into the crook of your neck and thinks about eternity.

"last show," jihyo says, applying a cherry lipstick in the mirror. "i can't wait to go home."

mina hums her agreement, putting up her hair casually. jihyo reaches back without looking, brushing against her arm. "you're coming with me," she says.

"oh, am i?" mina says moderately.

"yes."

"okay."

"you're whipped," you say from the couch, flipping aimlessly through a magazine.

"says you," jihyo replies without bite, running a finger underneath her bottom lip. "you're literally reading an article about your own girlfriend right now."

"she looks so hot on the cover," you say, unbothered.

"thanks, baby," momo says, in the middle of changing her shirt. your eyes dart up, watching appreciatively, trailing over the lines of her tattoo. whatever; you all have seen each other naked at this point.

"besides, what kind of girlfriend would i be if i skipped all these important details?" you continue, squinting at a page. "she's a scorpio. her favorite ice cream flavor is mochi ice cream. her favorite color is pink."

jihyo actually grins against her will, amused. "you knew all of those things already."

"because i'm a good girlfriend," you state, matter of fact. "do you know mina's favorite ice cream flavor?"

"mint chocolate," jihyo answers without hesitation, and mina nods affirmatively.

momo drops a kiss against your head. "wow," she says. "this room's just full of serious relationships."

momo plays your song with the encore, this time, because it's the most important thing she's ever done, and it only feels right to honor it as such. the crowd screams themselves raw, hoarse, and momo tosses all the guitar picks she'd used that night out into the audience.

she's just finished saying thanks for coming out when you step on stage, walking right up to her, and kissing her in front of everyone. they love it, probably more than they loved the actual show. it's long enough to be earnest, short enough to skip the awkwardness.

"oh, sorry," you say into the mic, wrapped up in momo's arms. "i heard coming out and thought it was my cue. if you didn't know already, i'm in love with her."

you all are close enough to home that you all drive instead of fly. you stay on the bus with them, stretched against momo in her tiny bunk, running your fingers over the line of her jaw, her clavicle. you're always smiling when you're around momo, like your mouth itself is magnetized. the other four are playing cards up front; jihyo and dahyun are each other's throats about the score, and mina' calming tone echoes low, undoubtedly trying to keep peace and doing it poorly.

"well," you say out of the blue, "at least we're good for each other's careers."

"that's why i'm dating you," momo says, following regardless. "the free publicity."

you hum against her chest in a laugh. "is that so."

"totally."

"my intentions were purer," you say. "so i'm probably going to have to dump you now."

momo runs her fingers through your hair, smoothing it away from your face. "tell me about these intentions."

you shift up, meeting her eyes somewhat shyly. "our single drops tuesday," you say.

"i know. i already preordered it."

"i'm writing for our album," you say. "i've been inspired."

momo waits for the conclusion of the sentence, but it doesn't come naturally. you still have your moments of embarrassment. "inspired, huh?"

you press a kiss to momo's mouth as if you can't resist, just because it's there. "what if they're all your songs?" you ask, your smile like spring waiting for the sun. "what if it's all you?"

momo finds your lips again, kissing your cheek, your nose, your forehead; your smile bursts. "you already have my life," she reasons acutely. "it's only fair i get your music."

jihyo's apartment is a penthouse downtown with an incredible view of the skyline, lights twinkling below like stars, like gemstones. mina drops her bags by the door; jihyo tosses her keys on the entryway table. she looks too small for all this room.

mina says gently, "i'll stay with you as long as you want me to."

jihyo turns as she flicks on the kitchen light, surprised. she rolls the bar of her industrial. "that could be a long time," she warns, and she's actually serious. mina nods.

"i'm fine with that," she says.

jihyo steps back to her, raises her hands to mina's jaw and stands on the tips of her toes, searching for her mouth. jihyo kisses her softly for a moment and sinks down, leaning into her arms and sighing.

her eyelids flutter shut. "you're safe," she says quietly, "and not in a bad way."

"safe?"

"yes." jihyo nuzzles closer. "momo made me realize— well. isn't this what we all want? someone you know will never hurt you."

mina smiles tenderly. all the barbed wire has only ever been a prop. she touches jihyo and finds the remnant of something lovely, learning how to live again.

there's no beating around the bush. it's han's birthday and sana's throwing daggers with an intensity this makes momo think she should check her drink for poison. "what's her deal?"

you shrug somewhat uncomfortably. han yells as minho splashes him in the jacuzzi. "she used to be in love with me," you say, "when i was with my ex — you know, the shitty one — and I think she’s just... cautious or something.”

"hm." momo weighs the explanation, but it checks out. "that makes sense."

"yeah," you allow, sipping your daiquiri. "so i'm not really sure what to do about it."

"we need another lesbian to distract her," momo says. "we already lost jihyo to mina. i'm running out of single friends."

"speaking of distractions," you start.

"oh, here we go."

"this bikini," you continue, running your hand up momo's ribcage.

"uh, have you looked in a mirror?" momo counters. "i didn't know a one piece could look so..."

"so..."

"dirty," momo says, eyeing the way it dips between your breasts, how it's low in the back, open on the sides. "jesus christ."

"hey!" minho suddenly barks. "no foreplay! get in the pool, losers! this is a big deal for han!"

"excuse me!" jihyo snaps, mina pausing midway through applying sunscreen to her shoulders.

"not you," minho says, rolling his eyes. "y/n's about to mount momo right there at the bar cart."

"i have manners, thanks," you respond flatly, setting your cup on the table. "i would've at least waited until nobody was looking."

momo laughs, shaking her head, and putting her own drink down. she bends over, slides an arm underneath your thighs and picks you up bridal-style, muscles flexing.

"oh, don't you dare," you warn, your arms looping around momo's neck automatically.

momo smiles widely. "it's a party," she says, and jumps in the pool.

"sana," momo says later in the evening. you all are toweled off and mostly dry. she's wearing one of your hoodies; in retrospect, she could've been slightly more tactical. you're walking around in momo's loose tank top over your bathing suit and nothing else.

sana eyes her cautiously. "hey."

"look," momo says. "you and y/n — that's none of my business. but just so you know, i'm not going to hurt her. ever. i'd rather die."

sana's eyebrows raise at the intensity of the sudden declaration and lower again, processing. there are walls for a reason. she sizes momo up, but there's nothing hidden, no mangled doorways, no garden mazes. she sighs. "i know," she says bluntly. "it's obvious."

"but you still don't like me."

"i like you," sana says. "i just wish— that i could've done what you did."

momo asks, "how so?"

sana frowns, lips somewhat tight. "she was sad, you know. before you. she was... like no one could get to her."

they both stay quiet. your voice echoes out from inside the menagerie noise, standing out the loudest. it's light and airy and there's no sign of haunting.

"i'm alive for her," momo says quietly. "that's what it feels like, you know?"

sana smiles sadly but claps her on the shoulder. "yeah," she says. "don't fuck it up."

alien's single hits big, reaches number two on the charts within four days. momo takes you out to dinner. it's nothing fancy at all; it's a hole-in-the-wall seafood place near the ocean. the two of you both wear ripped jeans and boots; your hair's in a ponytail, and momo's falls as messily over her shoulders as it always does. you both are recognized once by a teenager who nearly has a heart attack just saying hello, but it's cute instead of uncomfortable.

"i'm proud of you," momo says. "is that cheesy?"

"totally," you respond, taking an oyster. "but it's also nice to hear."

"then i'm proud of you."

"thanks, baby."

momo smiles, looking at you serenely across the table. "god, i love you."

you actually blush slightly. you look adorable under the warmth of the red-tinted light, studiously avoiding momo's eyes with your mouth fighting a curl. "i love you," you say, blushing further.

momo actually laughs at that point. "what is this, our first date?"

you glance up at her, your grin breaking too wide to hide. "no," you say. "i'm just— it's weird to be here, you know? i have you, my band's successful, and i'm happy." you shy away again. "that's all."

momo reaches out and takes your hand, her smile softer. she doesn't say anything, just letting the moment soak itself in until there's nothing left but the freedom of feeling it.

"eat another oyster," she says after. "they're aphrodisiacs."

the two of you are both playing another festival the weekend of momo's birthday. wallflower is headlining, only because their single had dropped the weak before and it's big in the charts. alien plays right before. it'd been deliberate by the management team, trying to take advantage of your joint celebrity status.

momo watches you play, and it isn't like the first time; it's better, because now the girl on stage is hers. you own the music as if drawing it directly from your blood; you were born holding a bass guitar with a soul wired for poetry. you pause just before the last song and say to the wild crowd, "okay, everyone knows it's my girlfriend's birthday today, right?" screams to the point of incoherency; you shoot her a sly look in the wings. "how about we all sing her 'happy birthday'?"

momo ambles on stage, waving at the crowd, who are beside themselves at the gesture. they sing it wonderfully, all off-key and at different speeds, your voice holding her to the earth. at the end you pull her in for a kiss and momo wouldn't have it any other way.

the two of you share a hotel room; you both have the tendency to kick your boots off in the same place, as if habits can be developed in minutes with the right person, rather than weeks. you wander around in only your underwear and whichever shirt of momo's you've pulled out of her duffel bag, toothbrush in your mouth. momo's startingly content just watching you move around your shared space, and then suddenly she's thinking about it, you being everywhere momo is all the time, sharing dresser drawers, sleeping in a bed that belongs to the both of you.

you crawl across the mattress, straddling her with a smile. "hey," you say. "you've got a look."

"i'm having a revelation," momo says, palming your hips.

"which would be?"

"we should live together," she says easily, like it's obvious.

you still. "oh," you say, mildly surprised. "you're so right. we should."

"i know."

"okay," you smile blindingly again, bending down, and kissing her. "i can think of nothing better than you."

the album process flows effortlessly for the both of you. you're slightly ahead; your time in the recording studio comes a few weeks before momo's, but in the meantime, the two of you are also starring in each other's music videos. yours is a little darker, sultrier; the two of you kiss with the intent of seduction, not like the two of you are the only two people in the room but like you both are the only two who matter. it's sexy, your director says, and why shouldn't it be? keep that intensity. maintain it. it's the truth. the point of the video is that you belong together, and everyone one — well. they're nothing.

momo's video has more of a linear story, just due to the nature of the song; it's the two of you capturing each other's attention over and over again until every scene whittles itself down to physics, until the walls are gone and then the two of you are closer, you're right next to her, the sun is in the room with you both, shining. momo makes you laugh, the world kind of ends. your videos are both so popular that the two of you actually get offered a web series to serve as a continuation, which you both decline — "you've got the face for music," you say, "but i wouldn't test the cameras," and momo laughs, shoving you off the bed.

the two of you get an apartment the neighborhood over from jihyo's (and mina's? whatever) and the building the two of you are in is upscale, but it lacks pretentiousness, exactly what you both had wanted. "if i have to hear someone call me ms. y/l/n every day," you had said, "i'm going to fucking lose it," and so the doorman says, y/n, momo when he greets you both, grinning widely.

it's only a one-bedroom, but the two of you have ample amounts of space in the living room and dining room, and your tastes in interior design overlap perfectly to the surprise of no one. the two of you have always been complementary and it keeps its roots. you both lounge on your respective instruments, riffing off each other. half your pictures are prints from fans, moments they'd captured during your various crashing of each other's shows; momo always smiles fondly as she passes by each and every one. "i miss it," she says, "i can't wait until we get to do it again."

"all my songs are for you," you say from where you're sprawled across the couch reading a book, "so just let me know which one's your favorite, and i'll be sure to play it last. give you something to look forward to."

"i look forward to what comes after all that, actually," momo says, sliding the book out of your hands cheekily. "you know, when we get home."

you smirk. "well, darling, i can't fuck you on stage, so take what's offered."

"you can fuck me now."

"i can," you agree, biting your lip. "actually, yeah. i can. take your shirt off."

your albums drop exactly a month apart, a year and a half after you both had originally met. it's close enough that the two of you can tour at the same time, but far enough that you both aren't competing. not literally, momo's manager says, it's just better for business. both hit number one on the charts; momo texts jihyo the news and she writes back thank god, i'm running out of money.

asshole, momo types. and here i thought mina was making you nicer.

hello! the tone is suddenly not jihyo; it's instantaneous. momo isn't about to give her an inch.

shut up mina.

you get the tour schedule first. the two of you are spearheading something kind of unusual; two shows per city, alternating who opens and closes. the two of you keep your own buses, though the overlap means you both aren't really specific to passengers anymore; you and momo bounce between whichever is the closest after a show, and sana and dahyun take comfort in being the only two people who aren't consumed by inter-band romance.

it's fun. the only thing momo loves more than playing music every night is watching you play music, watching you work a crowd with a sly grin and a few choice bass notes, taking over the stage like you're the only one who's ever walked on it. she cheers and applauds with the audience, waiting in the wings for you to fall laughing into her arms and kiss her at the end of every set. there's a night where you all switch band members for a song; han trades with jihyo for the keys, you play the bass instead of mina, and together, in front of the crowd, she finally feels invincible.

"you know what i like most about this tour?" you ask her, stealing french fries from her tray at an arby's off of route five. it's just past midnight. there are only three weeks left. "you."

"that's what i like most too, you know," momo says.

"me?"

"no, myself."

you throw a fry at her head, laughing. "shut up."

"of course, you," momo says, grinning softly. "all my songs are about you. we should've named our tour two girls, one tour or something."

"horrible name," you disagree, "and not at all accurate. it's more like six gays, one tour."

"three lesbians, two bisexuals, and a gay man..."

"...walk into a bar," you finish, and momo snickers. "no, our tour name is just fine."

someone like you.

in truth, momo's been planning it for a while now.

the guitar pick sits heavy in her jacket pocket. she touches her fingers to it, runs a thumb over the engraving. you smile at her as you wire up for the show and all momo can do is hope it works. there's two weeks left of the tour left. she wants the two of you to be magical. she wants the two of you to be without the uncertainty of a future. she wants all roads to finally lead home.

she waits for the lights to dim and grabs your wrist. "hey," she murmurs, passing you the pick. "use this one tonight, okay?"

you find her mouth in the darkness. "okay," you say breathlessly, and slip out of momo's grasp for the beckoning of your music. you play through three, four, five songs — momo's getting nervous, her palms sweating, veins too hot for her skin — she presses her tongue piercing against the roof of her mouth, rolls it around, waits, waits, and waits. finally, there's a guitar solo and you glance down, pausing, and freezing entirely, your eyes darting back and forth. momo thinks her lungs might've overloaded. the drums pick back up, and you're supposed to come in but you're just standing there, staring down, and minho immediately realizes you're not following them. the crowd's humming, looking around, and minho says, "uh, y/n?"

"sorry," you breathe out at the prompt, shaking your head, free hand wrapping around your microphone. "sorry. i, um— i need a moment. i think— um, i think my girlfriend just asked me to marry her."

there's silence — the instruments all fall short, their echoes fading — and then a swelling gasp from the audience, clamoring forward for a look. you're turning to pick over and over in your fingers, as if trying to make sense of it all. you continue, "she handed me this guitar pick before the show, and i only— i only just read it. it says marry me."

"go, dumbass," jihyo says, shoving her forward. "that's your cue."

oh. oh, right. momo walks slowly onto the stage, right out of a dream, the lights too bright and you're standing underneath them like something ethereal, expression hopeful and open and saccharine. there's something — there must be — but she barely even hears it, anymore. the world softens at the edges, becomes a photograph, becomes a melody, becomes a song.

she gets right up to you, leaning into the microphone. it's hard to know where to begin, even though it's the only thing she's been thinking about for months.

you say, "momo?" in a sweet, quiet voice, and that's all the prompt momo needs.

"you threw me this guitar pick at like, the third show of yours i crashed, or something," she says, too anxious to be smooth. all that's left is the truth. "i kept it this entire time and i had it engraved two months ago. i've just been waiting for the right opportunity, the perfect show, and today," she pauses, swallows over the closing of her throat, "today, i looked at you and i just— it's always right. every day with you is perfect. marry me."

"yes," you say instantly, staring at her wide-eyed. "oh my god. yes. i'll marry you."

"i love you," momo says, entranced. there are lights flashing, cameras recording. she doesn't care. she'll keep this forever; in however many forms she can get. you laugh, tears welling in your eyes.

"i love you," you say, and your lips meet to the sound of thunderous applause.

prompt one - idol and era nayeon during set me free era for @mimisamo - cr., cr.