rubywoozii

[rubywoozii]

This Is Devotion | csc x f!reader

You've spent your whole life taking care of yourself. Seungcheol thinks it's time someone else took over.

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~4.0k | Pairing: csc x f!reader | Genre: smut

Warnings: alcohol mention (they meet at a bar), daddy kink, sugar daddy vibes but he’s a bf first, fingering, praise kink, v light choking, condomless piv sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, breeding kink and impreg kink but mainly at the end, wants to wife you up fr

Reader Notes: eldest daughter, on birth control, gets carried by cheol

Seungcheol didn’t really expect to meet the love of his life at a bar on a regular Friday night, but as soon as he saw you, he knew you were something special. And as soon as he spoke to you, got to know you, he knew he wanted to learn more. 

The way you carried yourself didn’t make you seem the most receptive - you were closed off, seemingly disinterested, but when he started to back away, intending to let you enjoy your night without him as you appeared to want, you got this look in your eye like he was doing exactly the opposite. 

So he stuck around, asked if he could buy you a drink, keeping a respectful distance between your body and his even though he felt like you were a celestial being with your own gravity pulling him in. He learned a lot about you that night - what you do for work, what you do for fun, whether you’d be open to him taking you out - but he didn’t learn what it was that made you so standoffish when he first approached you. 

That didn’t come until later, until the fourth date and the family talk. Over a dinner he spent hours preparing, you told him that you were the eldest of three children, and that you’d practically raised your younger siblings yourself. Your parents worked hard, too hard to spend much time or energy on you, so you raised yourself too. 

You took on two jobs to pay for college because most of your family’s money was spent on your younger siblings' extracurriculars, and you graduated with honors but with no one to cheer for you, to celebrate you. They were all too busy, apparently, though Seungcheol didn’t know what could possibly be more important than you reaping the reward of all the effort and stress you had put into your schooling. 

He tried to tell you that you deserved better, but you were adamant that you were used to taking care of yourself, to being alone. You said that the friends you made along the way were your new family and that they treated you better than you deserved. 

Seungcheol could have talked until he was blue in the face about just what it was he thought you deserved. 

He knew you wouldn’t hear it though, so he took it upon himself to show you instead. 

It wasn’t long after that date that he asked if he could be your boyfriend, and as soon as you said yes, he vowed to himself that as long as you kept him around, you would know what it was to be taken care of. 

He started slow. First, it was making sure your car always had gas and your oil changes were always up to date. You used to drive it almost to empty, and he knew that was bad for both your fuel pump and your stress levels, so he would pop into your work every so often to bring you your favorite little treat and grab your keys to fill it up. You always gave him your credit card and he always took it, but never once did he make use of it. 

Once you grew accustomed to that, he moved on to being your driver for girl’s night out. You would always text him while you were in the uber so he knew you were safe, but after one too many sleazy guys flirted with you and your friends, he stepped in. You had already shared locations with each other (again, for safety reasons), so when you texted him that you were gearing up to go, he told you to cancel the ride and look for his car instead. 

He drove every one of your friends home and saw them up to their door before taking you back to your apartment, lovingly removing your makeup, and getting you into pajamas. He tried to tuck you in and leave, but you caught his hand and tugged him into bed with you, snuggling up under his arm before promptly knocking out. Knowing that you felt safe enough to fall asleep with him was his favorite form of payment. 

You had one, maybe two outings a month, and Seungcheol was happy to keep those nights clear of plans so he could make sure you and all your friends got home safely. It was just a bonus that every one of those nights turned into a sleepover with you wrapped up in his arms, warm and soft against him.  

It wasn’t until a few months in that he started spending more money on you. He loved to buy you snacks and milk teas and lip gloss but he knew there were things you wanted that were simply out of your budget. He also knew you would never let him pay your rent so you could buy those things, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t buy them for you. So he would take you out shopping under the pretense of needing something new himself, keeping an eye on what your eye lingered on and making note of it in his mind. 

The first purchase was a necklace you loved so much, the sight of it made you gasp. He was getting his watch repaired and you had wandered off to look around, and when he heard that gasp he knew instantly that whatever it was, it would be yours. It took him all of two minutes to flag an employee down, ask them to package up the item you loved, and add it to his total. 

When he presented it to you, you tried to say it was too much, that you couldn’t accept such a gift. He pouted until you sighed and moved your hair out of the way, allowing him to put the necklace on you and smiling a small, pleased smile as you felt at the delicate chain and pendant. 

After that came dresses and shoes and cookware and other things you would never let yourself splurge on but you also wouldn’t want to say no to. You worried for his finances but Seungcheol was a smart spender before you, and he earned and saved enough that every gift for you barely made a dent. It was money he was happy to spend, especially when he got to see you wearing or using the things he bought you. 

You would joke and say he wasn’t just your boyfriend but your sugar daddy, and he laughed, at first. 

Then, he thought about it more, thought about how he lived to take care of you, to show you what you deserved, to make sure you were happy and healthy and safe, and he realized that maybe he was your sugar daddy, in a way. 

Hearing you call him daddy for the first time still almost sends him to an early grave, though. 

It happens when he’s balls deep inside of you. Your thighs are hitched up high on his waist and your arms are wrapped around his neck, holding him close enough he has to brace himself on his forearms and fold his knees on either side of your hips. It’s not like that’s a hardship, not when he can press his forehead to yours and breathe your air, staring into your eyes as he fucks in and out of you, your pussy perfectly formed around his aching cock. 

He loves feeling close to you like this, and the closeness is the only reason he hears it. 

“Daddy,” you sigh, in the smallest voice he’s ever heard from you. 

He stills immediately, his dick throbbing and leaking inside of you as he tries to hold off his orgasm, his heart thumping so hard in his chest, he’s fearful it’ll jump out of his ribcage and straight into yours. 

“What did you say?” He asks, because he’s sure there’s no way you called him that, independent and self-reliant as you are. 

“Nothing,” you respond much too quickly, and he wants to press further, but your voice is nervous and your face is tense, and he doesn’t want to push you if you’re not ready. 

So he keeps going, fucks you until you cum and then fills you up, dragging you into the shower after so he can rinse you clean and get you into some warm pajamas.

Seungcheol wakes before you the next day, uses the time to stare at you and think everything through. 

You’ve always had to take care of yourself, always had to fill other cups before your own, until he came along. Over the year and a half that he’s spent with you, he’s made every effort to take the load off, to tend to you in ways that you’ve never experienced before. You’ve softened up over time, gotten used to him protecting and nurturing you, and you’ve rewarded him with your trust and your love. 

It makes sense that you would call him daddy, and it makes sense that he would fucking adore it. 

So when you start to stir, he tucks you closer to him, your back aligned with his front and his hardening cock pressed into the plush of your ass. One arm is draped over your waist, his hand covering your breast, and his other arm is stretched out beneath your neck, bent at the elbow to band over your chest and hold your shoulder. You’re completely wrapped up in him, and as soon as you hum and tilt your hips back into his, he kisses up your neck and murmurs, “Let me take care of you, baby. Let daddy do the work, huh?” 

You gasp and wriggle in his hold, but he hugs you tighter and says, “That’s what you called me last night, right? I don’t mind, sweetheart.” 

“Are you sure it’s not… weird?” You whisper quietly, and he can picture the anxious expression you must be wearing. He gently sinks his teeth into your neck before responding, “It’s not weird to me, baby. You know I love taking care of you.”

You relax muscle by muscle, and by the time his hand wraps around your thigh and pulls it up and out, you’re boneless against him. “Can you hold that leg up for me, honey? I’m gonna touch you.”

“Okay, daddy,” you sigh sweetly as you take over for him, his entire body lighting up at the sound of you saying that word with such ease. 

You’re drenched when he slides his fingers between your legs, pushing aside your pajama shorts to touch you bare and groaning at the feeling of your soaking heat. His fingertips glide as he drags them from your entrance up to your clit, soft little sounds escaping you when he presses circles around the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

He thinks this might be the wettest you’ve ever been for him, and he luxuriates in the feeling of having cracked your code, of knowing that you’ve never been more open or trusting with him before. It means he’ll have to treat you delicately, but Seungcheol is nothing if not devoted, dedicated, committed to being everything you could ever need.

He works you up just like this, with his fingertips soft on your clit and his lips gentle on your neck, mumbling little promises about how daddy will always make you feel good, always love you, always put you first. 

“I want you inside, daddy,” you cry, and he feels himself throb against you, leaking in his boxers and desiring you more than the air he breathes. 

“Cum for me first, baby, I know you can do it.”

To help you along, he slips two fingers inside of you, his thumb taking over on your clit, pressing insistently as his fingers curl, searching for the spot that always makes you gush. He finds it quickly, grinding with his fingertips as he wraps his other hand around the base of your neck, barely squeezing. A grin stretches his lips when you start to move with him, your walls clenching down on his digits as you get closer and closer to the edge. 

He knows you’re right there by the sounds escaping you, by the way your cunt is fluttering around his fingers, by the arousal seeping out with every dig into your sweet spot. It’s really just a matter of timing and luck that you break when he says, “You’re such a good girl for daddy, show me how good you are and cum.”

The whine you let out is enough to have him bucking into you, the sound so plaintive and vulnerable that he wants to wrap you up tight in his arms and never let you go. Your pussy weeps around his fingers, sucking them in deeper and squeezing in pulses, your walls gripping them strongly enough that he feels the phantom pressure around his cock. 

“So fucking perfect, so sweet and beautiful and wet for me, baby. Fuck, I love you,” Seungcheol pants into your throat, dotting the soft skin with kisses and little bites. 

“I love you. Will you fuck me now, daddy?” You try to turn your head to look at him and he breathes, “Yes, baby,” before freeing his fingers with a slick sound and sucking them into his mouth. He hums at the taste of you as he shifts away, giving you enough space to roll onto your back and kneeling between your legs when you spread them. 

He’s fucked you from behind before and he will again, but right now he wants to gaze into your eyes, watch your lips form around the word he didn’t know he’s been aching to hear. 

You’re too pretty for him to not look at you anyway, especially as he tugs one thigh up around his waist and pushes the other up to your belly. He loves getting you into position, loves the way you stare trustingly at him and let him move you, loves knowing that you believe he’ll never do anything but bring you pleasure. 

He tucks his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers and pushes them down, grinning bashfully and feeling his ears heat as your eyes immediately drop to his cock. He’s insanely hard for you, flushed and leaking and desperate, and he feels himself twitch when you whimper, “Daddy, please, I need you so bad.”

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll always give you what you need,” he promises, pushing your pajama shorts to the side again and taking hold of his dick to line himself up. 

He can’t resist gliding the head of his cock through your wet folds, grinding into your clit before sliding down and starting to sink inside. A groan escapes without his permission but he doesn’t try to swallow it, wants you to know what you do to him, how you make him feel. 

Being surrounded, enveloped by you is the best sensation in the world, the grip of your wet heat dizzying and comforting and more than enough to drive him crazy, no matter how many times he’s felt you before. 

Your cunt is heaven on earth, like nothing else he’s ever experienced, and he considers it his sacred duty to make sure you never forget that. 

“Perfect fucking pussy, baby, god,” he moans, barely halfway inside of you and already feeling the flames of pleasure licking at his spine. 

You flutter around him at his words, your arms rising to wrap around his neck and draw him in close, mirroring the exact position he had you in last night.

You must realize it too because your breath hitches before you tilt your head up and gently press your lips to his, mumbling, “Daddy,” into his mouth as he finally bottoms out. It makes him twitch inside of you, makes his hips roll into yours, makes his heart feel so full, it aches. 

He almost can’t bear to leave you but he knows he’ll have to if he wants to fuck you, so with only a little reluctance, he draws back, fighting a shiver when cold air hits the wetness on his cock. 

You dig your heel into his ass and urge him forward, your eyes needy and your gasp desperate as he bucks into you and fills you again. You used to need some time to adjust to him, but you take him often enough now that he can move within you smoothly, your generous arousal easing the way even as your walls cling to him. 

The rhythm he sets is slow, measured, but he slides in deep and hooks his hips up on the way out to drag over your sweet spot, your pussy just getting wetter and wetter around him. The sounds are obscene, the slap of his hips meeting your ass and the squelch of his cock reaching the end of you loud compared to the peaceful silence of the early morning. 

Every time he gets inside of you feels like the first but is somehow better than the last, and he knows that doesn’t make sense but he’s senseless when it comes to you anyway, his logic and reasoning replaced by tenderness and infatuation. It’s even worse now that there’s this added facet of caring, of responsibility, this knowledge that you’re entrusting him with a side of you he’s sure no one has ever seen before. 

“How is it, baby?” His voice is ragged, tight and rough with lust when he speaks, but his tone is as gentle and loving as his thrusts are. 

A minute passes before you can respond and he practically watches the words form in your head, his gaze heavy on you as you put them together letter by letter. 

“So good, daddy, you make me feel… whole,” you sigh blissfully, your fingers twirling the hair at the nape of his neck and your inner muscles clenching around him. 

He can’t hold back the shiver this time, not when your response floods him with greedy affection and a covetous sense of possession, one that goes both ways. He belongs to you as much as you belong to him, and he knows you belong together just like he knows that the sky is blue and the earth is round. 

It’s frightening, almost, to think that there’s nothing on this planet that he loves more than he loves you. But it’s worth the risk, worth the vulnerability, worth the fear to get to be the one who makes you feel whole. He can’t help but hope he’ll be the only one who does for the rest of your life. 

Which is a dangerous vein of thought considering the fact that he already has a 3 carat diamond ring hidden in his study, just waiting to be slid onto your left fourth finger. 

He’s inches from disentangling himself from you to go get it, but this is neither the time nor the place. 

Instead, he leans in and ardently locks his lips with yours, breathing into you all of his passion, all of his sincerity. You kiss him back like you can taste it, adjusting your leg around his waist so you can hold him closer, his movements in and out turning into a slow, dirty grind. 

“Love you so fucking much,” he murmurs into your mouth, his lips stretching in a grin when you mumble back to him, “Love you more, Cheollie.”

“I don’t think that’s possible, baby,” he chuckles brokenly, pleasure starting to knot low in his belly, his cock growing harder and his balls tightening as he gets closer and closer. 

“Agree to disagree,” you laugh breathlessly, tugging his hair and gasping sharply when he snakes one hand between your bodies to rub at your swollen clit. 

You squeeze down around him, your pussy molding to his cock like he was made for you, made to fill you where you’re empty, and fuck, he’s sure he was. Every part of him was built for loving you, there’s no other explanation for how flawlessly you fit in his arms, his life, his heart. 

He can tell you’re nearing the edge, your walls spasming and your eyes glazing over, and he holds off his own release even as it spools in his stomach like molten twine. Breaking before you simply isn’t an option; breaking after you is, but he knows well that any nirvana he could reach is infinitely better when he reaches it with you. 

“You gonna cum for me, sweetheart? For daddy? I’ll fuck you full of my cum if you do,” he promises darkly, already envisioning himself spreading your legs and watching his seed seep out of your stretched pussy. 

“Yeah, daddy, I’m- I’m-” 

A weak cry cuts you off, your mouth stuck open as tears dampen your lashes and leak down your temples. Your cunt clamps down around him in pulses, so hot and wet and tight that it draws out his own orgasm, his heart pounding as his cock jerks and spurts cum deep inside of you, so deep he wonders if it’ll stick. You’re on birth control but he’d be lying if he said he doesn’t want to make you his wife then breed you full, get you pregnant, leave no room for doubt that he both loves you and fucks you like you deserve. 

The thought makes him hard enough to keep going, to grind into you and push his cum even deeper inside, his fingers still swirling circles around your sensitive clit. It’s not long before you’re digging your nails into his shoulders and keening for him, your thighs shaking and your back arching off the bed as you fall to pieces again. 

He slides his arm beneath your shoulders and hefts you up against him, burying his face in your neck and holding you close as he cums inside of you for the second time. This one leaves him a bit teary eyed too, thoughts and wishes and desires racing through his mind, visions of the life you could share making him swallow down a sob. 

You sense the shift in his emotions, your fingers carding through his hair and your voice soft as you tell him that you love him, that you always will, that you’ll spend all the rest of your life making sure he knows. 

Seungcheol feels like this is his job but the comfort you bring him is worth admitting that he can be just as needy as you. 

He stays tangled up with you for what feels like ages, long enough for the sweat on his back to dry and the arm underneath you to fall asleep, and when he emerges, he feels like a new man. 

A new man that still wants to lay between your thighs and watch his cum leak out of you. 

You’re not shy about it anymore, happy to let your legs fall open and drag your nails over his scalp as he rests his head on your soft inner thigh, his eyes locked on your glistening cunt. 

“Prettiest pussy in the whole wide world,” he mumbles dazedly before glancing up at your face and correcting himself, “Prettiest baby in the whole wide world.”

Minutes pass before you squirm in discomfort and he peels himself away, accepting that it’s time to get you in the bath. 

“C’mon, honey, up you go,” he says quietly, reaching for your hands and starting to pull you, his biceps tensing when you refuse to cooperate. 

“Carry me, Cheollie,” you beg rather adorably, and he doesn’t even have it in himself to roll his eyes as he leans in close enough for you to wrap your arms and legs around him before straightening up with you attached to his front. 

He hefts you up higher against his body, one arm around your back, the other under your ass, and says, “That’s daddy to you, baby,” as he lumbers to the bathroom, not so secretly pleased to be needed by you. 

AN: i didn't really ever see myself writing full blown daddy kink outside of kinktober but here we are and im not mad about it!!

inspired by discussions with my anons ily all i hope you like it

[rubywoozii]

what if i said i want to be sandwiched between them

[rubywoozii]

2022 Season's Greetings

[rubywoozii]

twenty two days before we go our separate ways (twenty two days of not falling for you) | yoon jeonghan

content: fluff; angst (because ofc); fake dating; friends to lovers; some joshua x reader; adults who are in their 30s and have jobs;

word count: 20.3k

summary: there’s a special bond between you and jeonghan, and no one was surprised when you announced you were together. to you, it’s a surprise no one realised it wasn’t real.

warnings: language; allusions to sex and suggestive language; (brief) descriptions of vomiting; jealousy and possessiveness;

after a five month hiatus i have returned with a HOLY WHY IS THIS SO LONG fic hope you enjoy :)

also i’ve decided i want to label my fics the same way fob write song titles

D-1

“You have got to be kidding me.”

His eyes widened, then slowly closed in embarrassment. “Look, you’re the only person I could ask…”

“There is no way I’m going to fake date you, Jeonghan!”

In all the years that you had spent knowing Jeonghan, you had never gotten fully used to the shenanigans and plots, half of which you were a pawn in, half were levied against you. Right now, it was easy to say you preferred the latter. Especially given that unlike your mutual friend Soonyoung, he never went too far. Jeonghan had a perfect skill for being outlandish but never unacceptable. Although, this time felt too far. This time felt ridiculous.

“It’s only for three weeks!”

“Twenty two days! Three weeks! Thats three separate, wait no FOUR separate Saturdays I’ll have to spend cozied up to you, pretending to- ugh.”

“Don’t gag.”

“Huoh.”

Keep reading

[rubywoozii]

꒰ MASTERLIST ꒱ POSER! ; jeon wonwoo

summary it's hard pretending to be good at video games when it's so obvious you have no skills. too bad the guy you're trying to impress is the only one who tells you you're trash at the game.

starring gamer! wonwoo x f! reader

genre smau, romcom, enemies 2 lovers, she fell first he fell harder, esports au, that one reverse trope where he's nice to everyone but you, suggestive in later chapters

contains profanities, ignore timestamps, some gaming terminology, the jokes in here are not nice..

status completed ! (01 15 ‘25 - 03 12 ‘25)

playlist | taglist is closed

from rhin, LMFAOO i watched a tiktok where some school's varsity fortnite team makes it to provincials so i got inspired to write gamer!wonwoo

please do not spam like ! please support by reblogging <3

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪profiles

character profiles

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪chapters

i, BRO ITS NOT A BBL

ii, imagine if gam3bo1 got a low taper fade

iii, a winner never loses

iv, #switchingtocod ( written )

v, ur not special lil bro

vi, Herro answer my call ( written )

vii, dairy_ninja17

viii, i can’t call them a racial slur

ix, life sucks being 6’0”

x, grandma larping event

xi, IM A MINOR ( written )

xii, rainbow glittery pens

xiii, i felt my shit go up my bum

xiv, “i bought a property in egypt” ahh post

xv, dekubopdumnem

xvi, a wannabe nonchalant opp ( written )

xvii, eye of woo

xviii, who tf is mingyu Bro

xix, tallwonwoojeon1996

xx, taco tuesday ( written )

xxi, this is so kawaii desu

xxii, #tryharderloser

xxiii, my evil mandarin warrior twin

xxiv, he’s cooked too

xxv, lip virgin

xxvi, i just party with the demons

xxvii, he’s from UTAH

xxviii, #gokys

xxix, DONT clip me ( written )

xxx, eat sleep fortnite repeat

xxxi, in the psychward

xxxii, do you mean ‘man tf up’

xxxiii, insanely negative

xxxiv, ‘peanut or done’ ahh

xxxv, icl ts pmo r u fr rn sybau mane

xxxvi, lego octo game

xxxvii, hate from home

xxxviii, ur sister’s husband’s parents’ in laws?

xxxix, clearly ur resort doesn’t have an airfryer

xxxx, blue seashells ( written )

xxxxi, type yes to confirm

xxxxii, lmk if u wanna be my opp

completed !

svt masterlist .ᐟ

[rubywoozii]

Theories & Heartstrings | k.m.g (series masterpost)

p.s please read this entire post mainly because it's long but important. ☆ 18+ minors dni |☀︎fluff | ☁︎ angst | ♕smut | ♥ completed works Summary: As a writer with a mildly cynical take on love, you’ve always believed people have a “type”—a pattern they never stray from when it comes to dating. And Kim Mingyu? He’s the textbook definition of someone who wouldn’t go for someone like you, nor would you go for him. But you test your theory when a fateful run-in with your charming neighbour sparks an unexpected attraction.

The plan? Go on dates with him and count how many it takes before your heart gets involved—if it ever does. But Mingyu is unpredictable, effortlessly breaking down your carefully constructed walls with every smile, every late-night conversation, every moment that feels too easy to be just an experiment.

The real problem? Secrets never stay secrets for long. And when Mingyu finds out the truth behind your so-called theory, will it prove you right, or that love doesn’t follow the rules you thought it did?

Total Series Word Count: 69,093

Pairings: Neighbor! Mingyu x Journalist! Female Reader

Genre/Trope(s)/AU(s): Neighbours AU! Fake Dating AU! (but only one is fake dating. It’ll make sense when you read it, lol). Non-Idol AU!

Content Warnings: Strong language, sexual content, injuries (nothing serious, yn is clumsy, and so is Mingyu). Alcohol consumption (a lot of it). Unrequited love (not from Mingyu). Screaming, shouting, some very unnecessary insults and bitchy moments featuring the rest of Seventeen. Best friend Joshua and fellow roommate Wonwoo, and sometimes is a little shit at times, but it's just fiction. Most of Seventeen features here, too, but only a few are particularly snippy with YN, but it’s warranted. 

Chapter 1: Love at First Collision WC: 18,732 Chapter 2: Cuddles and Chaos WC: 16,477 Chapter 3: Fucked Up, Still Falling WC: 15,457 Release date: May 15th 2025 Chapter 4: Speaking First and Thinking Much Later WC: 10,645 Chapter 5 & Epilogue: Forever Bonsai'ed WC: 7782

Smut Warnings: there will be plenty of smut, and the specific warnings will be given per chapter <3

Author's Note 1: if you wish to be tagged lmk <3

Author's Note 2: If you haven't seen this post, this fic will be my last fic. Now, who knows if I'll come back one day and be like, nvm, here's a fic, but for now, this is my goodbye present to you all. So I hope you enjoy!! 💕

[rubywoozii]

WILL IT FIT ? ⋆ 전원우

🏷️ : smut, drabble, soft!dom!wonwoo x smaller!reader, size kink, first time, intentional lowercase

🗒️: really short idea i thought of,, :)

୨୧ ‘ masterlist ‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹ ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆ ⁺₊❅⋆

you didn’t see it coming. and no. it’s not the typical “nerdy boy but turns into a slutty man in bed” type of trope. but much to your surprise (or we say amusement), it was the complete opposite.

clumsily sliding down his half-zipped jeans was already enough of an embarrassment to the already flushed-face wonwoo but it wasn’t. it was hot. in fact you found his bulge so awfully hot it got you absolutely glued to his outline. but of course, wonwoo didn’t get the cue.

“does it look disgusting? should we just stop here? it’s totally alright, we can just go back to playing computer games”

you didn’t listen. like some sort of mantra or spell that he magically put you under, you were straddling his thighs in a split second, not to mention, exposed too. and when poor wonwoo peeked down to have a good look at the little hole of yours, he was yet sent into another endless spiral of monologues.

“oh my goodness, it’s not gonna fit!”

“im gonna hurt you, I don’t wanna do that”

“how?”

but all words fell flat on his tongue as he watched your pussy absolutely stretch to accommodate his length, and in this situation he was put under, he learned for the first time that in fact “nothing is impossible”.

a slight “o” forming with his mouth, coupled with your breathless whimpers was enough to heighten the experience of feeling you inside, wrapped around him. and that was enough to drive him crazy, on the edge of his high, fingers digging into both sides of your waist. to you, it felt no different. wonwoo was undeniably big, probably a little bit too big for your comfort but the way his raw length dragged in and out of your hole felt too good. too fucking good.

[rubywoozii]

in the zone | ksy

what do you do when it feels like your entire life is falling apart? you spend the last of your inheritance on a beach house for the summer, of course. sure, the listing was suspiciously cheap, and there’s a massive waterpark right outside the bedroom window, but you just need to get away, so it’ll have to do. besides, it’s not like your entire world can get turned upside down in three months… right?

⟡ pairing: hoshi x f. reader ⟡ genre: strangers to lovers, (accidental) roommates; smut, fluff, lite angst ⟡ rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. ⟡ warnings: bestie minghao. lots of talk about wasted potential, dead-end jobs, fear of change, job-based insecurity, self-doubt (no this is NOT a self-insert why do you ask!!). mentions of grief and mourning a loved one but nothing super heavy. alcohol and weed use. swearing. mentions of food/eating. pet names (baby, pretty girl). two down bad losers who are disgustingly into one another after a concerningly short amount of time, which is the beauty and entire point of fanfiction. please suspend any and all disbelief, thank u! ⟡ smut warnings: kissing. grinding/dry humping. public indecency but not public sex. hair pulling. dirty talk & praise. oral sex (f. receiving, mentions of m. receiving). protected vaginal sex. everyone orgasms. ⟡ wordcount: 20.2k ⟡ credits: bee (@imnotshua) and jess (@starlightkyeom) for reading this over for me, as always. i was in a time crunch and we're under a tornado watch so this is unedited and any mistakes are my own. if there's anything glaring i will fix it at a later date. :') ⟡ written for: the carat bay collab, hosted by @camandemstudios! thank you both for letting me participate. please make sure to check out the rest of the fics! ♡ ⟡ author's note: this is based entirely on the beach town i spent all my summers at as a kid, so there's a lot of nostalgia here. i wasn't sure i was gonna get this done on time, but with the power of god and anime vyvanse on my side, we managed to pull through... even if we had to pivot bc my original plan would've tripled the length. i hope you enjoy it!

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this.

“It’s not fate,” Minghao comments unhelpfully from his side of the lunch table, “it’s suspicious. It’s also highly concerning that they look the same to you.”

You frown. Spear a piece of near-wilted spinach on the end of your fork, sending a bead of salad dressing onto your phone that you don’t notice and consequently smear all over your screen when you scroll through the rental listing with your other hand. “Do the horrors ever cease?” Minghao stares blankly at you. You sigh at his lack of humor. “Are you saying you don’t think I should go?”

“No,” he’s quick to say, handing over a napkin. “On the contrary, I think you need to get the fuck out of here. All I’m saying is I think you should go to a place that isn’t such an obvious scam.”

A scoff escapes you as you stare down at the listing again. Super Host Soonyoung stares back at you for the hundredth time today. If it were possible to judge someone’s character from a blurry internet picture the size of an ant, you think he’d seem very kind with his beaming smile and doughy cheeks, not to mention the stylish sunglasses sitting atop his head that seem like they were purchased from an actual store and not a military-grade infomercial.

Besides, he’s opening up his home to strangers. Shitty people don’t do that, do they?

“They do if they’re landlords,” Minghao deadpans.

You concede the point. Not that you’d argue, anyway—renting out your beach house for the entirety of the summer is near-textbook landlording—but the lunch room is starting to fill up, and the last thing you need (or want) is your coworkers asking questions.

Aside from Minghao, these people are not your friends. They’re people you offer that weird closed-mouth smile to when you meet at the coffee machine and awkwardly have to wait your turn, sharing fake laughs when one of you complains that, no matter what option you pick, it always comes out tasting like an ashtray. They’re people you sign birthday cards for and have no idea how old they’re turning. They’re people who tell you all about their families and show you pictures of spouses and kids you swore belonged to someone else.

They’re people whose names you can’t match to faces when you get office-wide emails congratulating them on anniversaries and accomplishments; celebrating retirements; regretfully announcing departures for bigger and better things. They’re people you swear at under your breath for microwaving something foul or not pulling their weight; for wearing too much cologne and kissing ass for promotions that’ll never be theirs.

These people are not your friends, but you’ve been here so long that it feels like they should be.

“I need to decide before everyone else gets the same idea and it gets booked up.” A loud cackle sounds from the table beside you. Deborah, one of the new hires. You’d been expecting a picture of a middle-aged woman when her introductory email had been sent out. Imagine your surprise when a baby-faced new grad was staring back at you. “Wanna get together after work and tell me all the reasons why this is a terrible idea?”

Minghao, the bastard that he is, pretends to check his calendar. “Hmm. Looks like I’m all booked on the ‘dispensing extremely valuable advice no one listens to’ front. I do, however, have an opening tomorrow. Mimosa-drunk at brunch or wine-drunk at a more socially acceptable hour. Your choice.”

A glance at your phone tells you you’ve got five minutes and three-quarters of your salad left before your mandatory unpaid lunch break is over. You stab at the mixed greens again and frown—you left it too long and now everything is all soggy and gross. “First of all, this is the worst salad I’ve made this year. Don’t let me try any more Pinterest recipes. Second of all, you never ask me to hang out on weekends.” You narrow your eyes at him. “What’re you doing tonight? Do you have a date?”

Deborah immediately stops shrieking, attention piqued by her eavesdropping. Of course, she tries to play this off by pretending to check her makeup in her phone camera, except you can see her screen—and that she accidentally opened her credit card app.

So far, she owes $2,927.43 for the month of January.

A bastard but not an idiot, Minghao shakes his head, aware of the eyes on him. “No,” he answers, and his voice is so solid and sure you nearly believe him. “Well, not like that. I’m meeting my parents for dinner.”

God, you can practically see the cartoon hearts floating above Deborah’s head.

“Well, wine-drunk sounds better to me,” you answer, ignoring the fact that Minghao’s parents are in Turks and Caicos this week for their anniversary. Which he told you three days ago. “Orange juice gives me heartburn.”

With a put-upon sign, Minghao stands from the table. Gathers his trash and drapes his cardigan over his shoulders in a way that looks fashionable and cool. “I have got to make plans with people my own age.”

You snort. “Well, you can always ask—“

He cuts you off with a very pointed, “Back to the grind,” even though he says that’s “stuff white people say, along with ‘another day in paradise!’—and if you ever ask a white person how they’re doing and they respond with ‘I’m alive,’ you need to take a half-day.”

Everyone in this place is so fake.

And it isn’t like your day gets any better. An hour before closing time, your manager pops up on the ledge of your cubicle. “Heeey,” she chimes, pretending to wince at what’s about to come out of her mouth next. All things considered, she’s nowhere near the worst person to work for: she’s trustworthy, didn’t hesitate to give you the time off you needed, sends funny memes in the team group chat. So your whole thing with her isn’t her fault, it’s just—she’s years younger than you, so it touches on all those old insecurities. “Glenn needed to take the rest of the day, and in true Glenn fashion he didn’t get those reports done before he left. I hate to ask, but could you maybe, possibly, perhaps stay a little late…?”

In the split-second since she appeared at your desk like a bad omen, you’ve made up your mind: that beach house will be yours for the entire summer, scam or not.

Because you hate Glenn as much as the next guy (which, on your team, is mostly everyone), but you hate this place as an institution even more. What it represents. The insecurities and inadequacies it picks at. How comfortable you’ve grown here and the convenient excuses that comfort provides.

So you agree before you can come to your senses, because saying no will look bad, and the only thing you’ve got going for you and having been here so long with barely anything to show for it is the amount of PTO you’ve racked up, so you can’t and won’t give anyone a reason to refuse your request.

With a few minutes left in the day, everyone starts packing up and discussing weekend plans: sports and TV series they’ll be watching, new coffee shops they’re checking out, hobbies they’ll be catching up on. Before you can up the volume in your headphones, your cubicle mate asks if you’re doing anything fun. “Ah, just trying that new winery tomorrow, I think,” you answer, and you hope she won’t remember this come Monday because you don’t know anything about wine and can’t think of many things worse than discussing it.

Five-thirty hits. Everyone trickles out while you stay seated, glued to your desk and receiving everyone’s sympathetic glances. It takes a half hour just to get into Glenn’s reports because, for reasons unknown to you and your manager, he password-protected them—and once you’re in you see why. Half-baked columns, wrong formulas used even though knowing and understanding Excel was a job requirement, numbers you can’t trace back to any of the provided data. At seven you’re ready to put your head through a concrete wall. By eight you finally hit the halfway mark.

At quarter to ten, you finally send off the reports and sit back in your chair. Sitting in thischair for so long has to be doing irreversible damage, so you make a mental note to schedule a massage for tomorrow afternoon before you meet up with Minghao. With a sigh, you squeeze your eyes shut and try to conjure up some moisture. Nearly five hours after the rest of your coworkers, you pack up your belongings, twisting your body as you stand and trying not to wince as your knees and back make some concerning sounds.

Then, before you shut down your computer and go home to rot in bed until you’re forced to socialize, you put in your PTO request for June 2nd through August 29th.

(It gets approved first thing Monday morning.)

Vacations (In Theory) are very different from Vacations (In Practice).

Here you are on May 30th, mentally preparing for another long night hunched over your desk. Not only do you need to work ahead as much as you can for your nearly three month absence, you also have to include a paper trail to prove you at least tried to problem-solve before dumping it on whoever’s unlucky enough to cover you.

Minghao waits for you. Plops his stuff on your desk, pulls up a chair, and scrolls through social media while you work, making offhand comments every now and then about people you don’t know and all their drama while you try not to comment on how weird it is. In all the years you’ve worked together and have been friends, he’s never stuck around while you worked late, but the excuse had been convenient: I have plans tomorrow and you’re leaving early on Sunday so let’s grab dinner after work was much easier to say than I’m not going to see you for three months so let’s grab dinner because I’ll miss you.

You hadn’t commented on that, either.

Nonetheless, you put your head down and focus. Minghao had made a seven-thirty reservation at a place more upscale than the two of you usually frequent, and you’ll need to hustle if you have any hope of getting out of here within the hour.

Time seems to fly after that. Not only at work, but at dinner, too. Despite your first impression of him (deeply serious with a cutting resting bitch face), you’ve always enjoyed spending time with Minghao. He’s funny, now that you’re acquainted with his sense of humor, and he’s both carefree and solid in ways you could only dream of being. All of his troubles seem to come and go like the tide, never sticking around for too long and overstaying their welcome. The thought of him no longer being there when you return is too much to bear, so you make him promise not to change jobs until you’re back.

He quirks an eyebrow and pulls a face. “First of all, you’re going on vacation, you’re not dying. Second, I’m not promising you that. I apply to twenty jobs a week at minimum. I don’t want to be—” He pauses. Seems to be aware of what was about to come out of his mouth.

I don’t want to be like you, working a dead-end job.

I don’t want to be like you, undervalued by every metric of the word.

I don’t want to be like you, latching onto something no good for me just because it’s comfortable and I’m terrified of change.

I don’t want to be like you.

Minghao flushes. Stumbles over apologies. “No need to apologize,” you assure him, plastering on a smile you know isn’t fooling anyone. Take a sip of your drink to feign normalcy. Take a bite of food that tastes like sawdust. Good thing you were almost done, anyway.

Because Minghao was right, and everyone knows it.

Saying goodbye is awkward at best and painful at worst. Deep down, you know Minghao is just embarrassed—you would be, too, in his shoes—but just like Vacations (In Theory) and Vacations (In Practice), what you logically know to be true is very different from what you internalize. Because it’s not just embarrassment, it’s also the reason you don’t go for team drinks; the reason you don’t have anything personal on your desk. You just don’t see the point in integrating yourself into a place you shouldn’t be to begin with.

But that’s the whole point of this vacation, isn’t it?

Three months without having to think about work. Three months to decompress and pretend you’re going to do all that philosophical shit, like six a.m. trips to the beach to stare at the waves, stick your toes in the sand, and “find yourself.” Whatever that means.

There’s not much to do around the apartment except making sure you eat whatever’s left in the fridge. Coming home to a bunch of rotten food and having to go back to work the next day? Absolutely not. You’d need to bypass your office and go straight to an institution instead. You spend the rest of the day doing laundry and packing. You stand in front of your shelves and deliberate for far too long over which books to bring and then you do the same with your music library as you stare down at an empty playlist.

It’s early when your alarm goes off—barely eight o’clock, the sun already high in the sky as it beams through your curtains, birds chirping. Feels like waking up on a holiday morning or the first day of school: giddy excitement on the surface, nerves simmering just below. Makes it easy to get up and make your bed, to get dressed and put on sunscreen, your sunglasses, when there’s no dread weighing you down. Makes it easy not to mind the hours-long drive. Makes it easy to drive with the windows down, music loud, the wind in your hair.

Makes it easy to feel like you’re driving towards something, rather than away from it.

Halfway there, you stop at a small cafe for lunch, the feeling almost transcendental as you eat outside and let the sun warm your skin. You order an iced coffee to-go and it sweats in the cupholder, nothing but melted ice by the time you pull off the highway and navigate the smaller back roads, some of them covered in sand. You take a deep breath and smile. Everything smells like the sea—salty and slightly sweet, the sulphur of low tide.

The town looks like a postcard.

In your excitement, you’ve looked at a lot of pictures over the last few months, but none of them can compare to reality. Ice cream shops with striped awnings. Sidewalks covered in chalk doodles. More seafood restaurants than you can count. Antique and surf shops. Wooden playgrounds next to fenced-in basketball and tennis courts. Families walking back from the beach, pushing sleeping kids in strollers, lugging chairs and coolers and boogie boards behind them.

That excitement creeps back in the closer you get, and at every red light you look around and marvel at all the houses. How uniform they are. How they’re all elevated with ground-floor garages. The porthole windows and porches wrapped in white railing. Front yards with pinwheels stuck in thin strips of grass. Colorful cruiser bicycles stashed in tiny alleyways behind the houses, some laying on their sides with the wheels still spinning. If you close your eyes you can hear laughter and bells.

You pull into the driveway at ten after three, surprised to find that this house doesn’t look like all the others. Where they had vinyl siding in neutral, inoffensive colors, this one is mint green, bright and vibrant, with white scalloping along the facade. It reminds you of ice cream—the flowers in the wooden boxes beneath the windows look like sprinkles, and with how close you are to the boardwalk, the smell of fried dough hanging in the air, it’s easy to pretend.

Out of the car, an older couple in matching windbreakers waves as they pass you on the sidewalk. Everything sounds so much closer: the waves crashing, delighted shrieks from people on rides, the men combing the beach, trying to sell drinks and popsicles, squawking seagulls in search of someone’s food. You can see the ocean from where you stand, peeking out from beneath the boards. This is exactly what I needed, you think. Feels like your smile is permanent.

Until you try to get into the house.

You’d been given a door code when you confirmed your reservation. It doesn’t work. No matter how many times you try, 0-5-2-5 gets you nothing but a blinking red light and an encroaching panic. Phone already in hand, you send a message to the rental host—Hi! I’m at the house, but the door code doesn’t seem to be working. Is there another one I can try? Thank you!—before sitting on the porch steps to await your fate.

What you expect: a response rife with apologies, both for the mix-up and the inconvenience.

What you get: someone stampeding down the stairs and pulling the door open.

Super Host Soonyoung stands in the doorway wearing a sheepish smile and red-tinged cheeks. Except for the sunglasses, he looks just like his picture (especially the doughy cheeks), so at least you know you’ve got the right place. Still, you ask, “Hi, are you Soonyoung?” just to confirm, and that seems to knock him out of his stupor, offering to grab your bags and give you a tour.

Which seems strange. You don’t really need a tour, do you? Surely you’ll be able to find your way around over the next few months, but Soonyoung is extremely apologetic and seems a little embarrassed so you don’t say anything. You do let him grab your bag, though—mostly because meeting new people is always difficult for you, so letting him take one bag while you take the other gives you something to do with your hands. Gives you something to comment on and laugh about when he pretends to strain taking it out of the trunk.

When you get inside, Soonyoung gives you the choice of three bedrooms. Two are upstairs. Of those, one has two large windows facing the street, rewarding you with a view of the boardwalk and the ocean, while the other also has beach views that are semi-obstructed by the waterpark. The third and final bedroom is downstairs, just off the kitchen. Soonyoung offers this one and says it might be “less awkward,” which also strikes you as strange, considering—

Wait.

“Bathroom-wise, it doesn’t really matter what one you pick. There are full bathrooms on both levels—”

Reality hits you like a truck, head-on and all at once. Maybe it’s less reality and more the obvious, because listening to Soonyoung explain where the bathrooms are and giving you a tour and being here in general puts a lot of things into perspective very quickly.

“I think I fucked up,” are the only words you’re able to muster. Soonyoung’s mouth snaps closed. “Or you did. Either way, one of us really, really fucked up.” Soonyoung pauses. Tilts his head to the side like a puppy, the confusion obvious, and you think he’s about to ask what you mean so you beat him to it. “The listing was for the entire house.”

That does it.

“I—what? Are you sure?”

The second question is rhetorical. You know it, Soonyoung knows it, everyone knows it, so you don’t answer, just nod and offer a sympathetic, closed-lipped smile and hope the ground will split apart and swallow you.

Horrifyingly, all you can think at this moment is that Minghao was right about this being a scam. You’ll have to tuck your tail between your legs and tell him, because you can’t stay here. Sharing a space—not only is it foreign to you, you’re not sure you even can. There’s an art to being a good roommate, and after living alone both during college and all your years as an adult, it’s not a skill you have.

And it takes a while, longer than you expected, for the disappointment to hit. For all that excitement and all the plans you had—sticking your toes in the cold, early morning sand; sunset walks up and down the boardwalk; eating so much fried food you’re sick of it within a week; waking up to the sound of waves crashing—to come crashing down around you. This was supposed to be a reset. A reward for dragging yourself this far and surviving. A balm for all the regrets you have about your life and a compass to find a new direction.

All of it—gone.

The tears are just as embarrassing as you thought they’d be.

To his credit, Soonyoung doesn’t panic. He doesn’t seem to flinch at all, which surprises you; he gently grabs your arm and helps you to the small table in the kitchen. Pulls out a chair and gestures for you to sit, and when you do and he can be sure you aren’t going to bolt straight out the door, he pours you a glass of water, sits across from you, and calmly says, “We can figure this out.”

Any other time you’d probably scoff and say something that belied just how hopeless you found this entire situation, but now, after experiencing a concerning number of mental breaks in a very short amount of time, you’re happy to let someone else take the reins and do the heavy lifting. Of course, you don’t know what that looks like in this case. Do you ask for a refund and try to find a hotel? Surely not: any reputable hotel would cost ten times what you spent on this place, not to mention they’ve probably been booked solid since last year. Do you ask for a refund, find a hotel, book as long of a stay as you can, and spend the rest of your summer having a staycation at home? That sounds miserable.

There are probably thousands of podcasts talking about what a horrible idea it’d be to live with a strange man for three months, and it’s your fault for idealizing this entire trip so much to begin with that makes any alternative seem like a fate worse than death, but you can’t stay… right? Even if it somehow wasn’t the stupidest idea of all time, that doesn’t even touch on the fact that it’s Soonyoung’s house, and who's to say he even wants you here, anyway?

“Since this was my second embarrassing fuck up of the day, I’ll just… go somewhere else while you’re here, and you can have the house to yourself.”

You blink. “For three months?”

His eyes widen for a brief second. You’re starting to think he wasn’t prepared for any scenario, let alone this one. “I—yeah, yeah, of course. Three months! Psh, that’s nothing, you know? Barely any time at all.”

“I mean, it’s a quarter of a year. That doesn’t seem insignificant.”

Those same wide eyes have begun twitching. “Riiight.” He follows this with a very long sip of water. “It’s really no trouble, though. I can sleep at the studio. There’s a couch and a bathroom there and everything.”

It definitely doesn’t seem like it’s no trouble. Soonyoung looks like he’d rather remove all of his teeth with very dull tools, and even if this was his (admittedly catastrophic) error, it doesn’t feel right putting him out of his own home—especially to a place where having a couch and a bathroom are considered an upside. Does the bathroom even have a shower? How would he cook? Is any of his stuff there? God, you can’t do that to someone.

So it’s with a little caution, a lot of stupidity, and an ill-advised desire to be more spontaneous and free-spirited as if you’re a character in an Elizabeth Gilbert novel that you ask, “Is it weird for you if you just… stay?”

For all of Soonyoung’s mismanagement, it’s clear he doesn’t want to inconvenience you further or make you uncomfortable. He’s insistent that he’ll leave, insistent that it really is no trouble and it’s the least he can do for fucking up the listing, and insistent that if you just give him some time to pack some clothes, he’ll be out of your hair in no more than thirty minutes. With a sigh, you go through your questions again.

Does the bathroom have a shower? No, but—

How would you cook? Maybe I could come over once a week to meal prep, if you wouldn’t mind? There’s a microwave, at least.

Is any of your stuff there? Like, an old pair of sneakers. And maybe a musty sweatshirt.

By the time you ask your follow-up questions, both of you know he isn’t going anywhere, and perhaps if he’d confirmed that you’re one-hundred-percent okay with this nineteen times instead of twenty you wouldn’t have gone for it, but he does so you do.

“I really don’t have to—” You wave him off. Ask him if there are any house rules he’d like you to abide by aside from the obvious. When he sends you a questioning look, you admit you’ve never been anyone’s roommate before. “Oh,” he responds. Takes a second to think. “I don’t think so? Sometimes I keep weird hours. Like, I have my regular jobs, but sometimes I’ll go to the studio if I’m restless or want to work on something, so I guess me going in and out in the middle of the night is something to be aware of. I’ll make sure to be quiet, though.”

“Is it like a regular nine-to-five? I don’t want to disturb you, either.”

Soonyoung screws up his face. “God, no. I—wow, I just realized you have no idea what I’m talking about. I run a dance studio for the local kids. Most of them take summers off to go on vacations or whatever, so once school’s out we only open two or three days a week, depending on how many of them sign up. This year there weren't many, so we decided on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“And your other job?”

He scratches at the back of his neck. “Ah, that one’s kind of embarrassing? I… work at the waterpark next door. Carat Bay.”

“Oh, that doesn’t seem so bad.”

He sighs. Runs his thumb vertically along the length of his glass and collects the condensation. “When I first opened the studio, I didn’t realize it wouldn’t be busy all the time, you know? I spent my summers here, so I figured everyone else did, too, and I needed to pick up a second job to cover the studio rent on top of a million bills for both here and there.”

You want to tell him you understand. Want to tell him it isn’t embarrassing to do what you have to do to make ends meet; that, if anything, it’s brave. That you’ve been there (and still are). That you’re a little embarrassed by your job, too. But then he continues. “It probably isn’t embarrassing for the high school and college kids, but I’m almost twenty-nine and I’m operating the splash zone. It definitely feels embarrassing.”

You hum. Look around Soonyoung’s kitchen. From the listing photos, you knew it didn’t look like every other rental beach house, with all the ocean motifs and white wicker furniture and seashells nailed to the wall. It’s not sparkling marble and stainless steel, either, but it’s nicer than your outdated kitchen. “You seem to be doing okay, though. I mean—you’ve got this nice house and a dance studio. That seems pretty good for someone our age.”

Soonyoung laughs, a little shy and self-conscious. “I inherited the house from my grandma. I could never afford anything like this.”

“Mm, no offense, but I put that together pretty much immediately.”

When Soonyoung laughs this time, it’s bright and open, reaches his eyes and brings his entire being to life. The two of you make small talk for a few more minutes until you’re unable to stifle a yawn, and then Soonyoung is up and heading for a cabinet drawer immediately, pulling out a stack of takeout menus and saying to take your pick, dinner’s on him tonight. After you try (and fail) to protest, you ask him what’s good and accept his answer of a taco spot not far, and he puts through the order. Asks if you’ve decided on a bedroom so he can carry your bags, so you choose the streetside one upstairs with the view of the water, and while he’s gone to pick up food, you take a quick shower and unpack.

Minghao [6:22pm]: everything ok? how’s the house? You [6:49pm]: It’s a long story I’m too exhausted to type out rn You [6:49pm]: But I think this is gonna be really good for me 🤞

When you wake up the next morning, you expect it to have followed a night of fitful sleep.

Being in a stranger’s house. Said stranger sleeping only a few feet away, door cracked, his soft snores drifting down the hall. An unfamiliar place. A beach town that, while picturesque and dreamy, seems to also be nocturnal. Once most of the town turned off their lights and locked their doors for the night, it’d taken on a second life—groups of friends walking to and from the bars and clubs, shrieks of laughter and heated arguments, the to-be-expected disregard of the time and basic decency that comes with being immature and on a group trip in your early twenties.

You’re surprised, then, that you feel refreshed when you wake up. That the last thing you remember is your head hitting the pillow. It’s the most restful sleep you’ve had in months, and you roll over to check the time feeling ready to take on the world.

8:37am

Spoiled for and overwhelmed by choice, you take your time getting out of bed and going about your routine. When you slip out of your room to brush your teeth, you notice Soonyoung’s bedroom door is wide open. Even though you’re curious, you don’t (and wouldn’t) peek—instead, you’re distracted by the aroma of freshly-brewed coffee wafting upstairs.

“Good morning,” Soonyoung greets you. He’s sitting on the couch, one leg crossed and tucked beneath him. “I made coffee if you want some. I also left out the bread. If you wanna let me know what you like, I can go grocery shopping later—”

You smile. “Sure, thanks.” Wander into the kitchen. Fill a mug with coffee, cream, a little sugar. Pop two slices of bread into the toaster and, once they pop back out, spread on a thin layer of butter.

And then you hesitate. Should you eat here? Would it be weird to join Soonyoung in the living room? Would it be rude if you didn’t? With a sigh, you compromise and meet in the middle. Place your plate on the newel cap of the staircase and wrap both hands around the mug, soaking in the warmth. Soonyoung has the television on. You don’t recognize what’s playing, but it seems to be a mid-season rerun of some sitcom—background noise, mostly, which is exactly what it seems to be now.

Neither of you are watching. Soonyoung’s scrolling through his phone and you’re content to stare out the bay window facing the street, watching people pass by on their way to the beach. Large straw hats, colorful umbrellas, excited toddlers waiting for an opening to dart away. The waves still crash. The seagulls still screech. “Do you have to work today?” you ask Soonyoung because you feel like you should make conversation.

“Not today, thankfully,” he answers. He sets his phone down and twists his body so he’s facing you. “Back to the studio tomorrow, and I’m scheduled for the waterpark Friday through Sunday.”

You nod. You’re tempted to ask if he wants to do something together and decide against it, not wanting him to feel obligated. If you’re being honest, you’re not entirely sure you want to hang out, still wrapping your head around the fact that the vacation you spent months idealizing will not come to fruition. Not fully. But there’s nothing stopping you from grabbing a book and sitting on the beach for a few hours.

Long enough to decompress—or start to.

“I’ll probably head to the beach.”

“Cool. Let me give you a beach tag.” What he hands over reminds you of an oversized bread clip: octagonal and neon red, 2025 SEASON printed in the center. You have never seen one of these in your life. “Are these not a thing where you’re from?”

“You have to pay to go on the beach?”

Soonyoung’s nose twitches as he bites back a laugh and nods. Explains that the money’s used to maintain the beach and the restrooms and pay the lifeguards and a whole bunch of other things. “Supposedly,” he tacks on conspiratorially.

“Did the mayor get a brand new Porsche?”

“I don’t even know who the mayor is.”

An hour later, after you changed and decided on a book, and Soonyoung not only gave you a beach pass but also his favorite chair (one of the nice ones that recline and have a drink holder) and his phone number (under the guise of you sending him your grocery list, to which you inexplicably offered to just go with him instead), you have to admit the beaches are impeccably maintained.

Touché, beach pass.

With your toes dug into the warm sand, you get through half of your book. Spend the rest of the time dozing off in Soonyoung’s chair, lulled into a half-sleep by the rhythm of the waves crashing and retreating, the conversations of the people around you that becomes a singular thrum, the shrill sound of the lifeguard’s whistle that jolts you awake every time someone goes out too far.

Soonyoung texts you around three, asking if you still want to go to the store with him. No worries if not, he tacks on, you can just send me your list. So you start packing up what little you brought, thankful your walk back to the house is short. You’re drowsy from the sun, warmed through to your bones, still in awed disbelief that this is what the entirety of your summer is going to consist of. That you won’t have to suffer like the poor kid running the mini golf course, nearly dead from either boredom or a hangover behind the ticket window. That your whims will be able to come and go like the tide.

You rinse the sand from your feet at the spigot in the backyard. Return Soonyoung’s chair to where he’d grabbed it from. Leave your sandals by the back door and do a final shake of your bag to get rid of anything that might track into the house. Now that you have the right code (0-5-2-6; Soonyoung had mistyped it in his original message), you let yourself in, surprised to find him bent over the kitchen table with an extremely long grocery list in front of him.

“Lucy, I’m home,” you joke.

He looks up at you with a lopsided smile. “How was the beach?” he asks, eyes returning to his list.

“Beach-y keen.”

There’s a beat of silence—one that’s long enough to have your cheeks warming from embarrassment over a very bad dad joke—before Soonyoung lets out a snort of laughter. “Terrible.”

“Definitely not my best,” you concede, mirroring his smile. Even though he can’t see it, you nod at the list. “What are you up to?”

“Grocery list.” He holds it up, unfurling it like a scroll. “Do you think this is enough?”

You move closer, eyes scanning over what he’s written down. Four different types of burgers and soft drinks. Regular and gluten-free bread; milk and non-dairy alternatives. Brown, white, cage-free, organic eggs. Enough snacks to fuel a youth athletic team for at least a month. Pasta, lunch meat with ???? written next to it, cereal, rice. “Are you planning on buying out the store?”

“I—no, I just didn’t know what you like.”

“May I?” you ask, gesturing for him to hand you the list. When he does, you flip it over and create separate sections: one for each meal, one for pantry items (staples and snacks), and one for drinks. “Do you usually meal plan?”

Soonyoung’s stare is blank. “No. I just go to the store and buy things I like and try to eat it all before it goes bad.” Thankfully, you’re able to keep your horror to yourself. “You do? You’re that organized?”

“I wouldn’t say organized.” You flip the list back over and put checkmarks next to the things you like. “Do the same thing, and then we can come up with some ideas so we aren’t going rogue and overspending.”

After a lot of back and forth, a little friendly ribbing—“Do you really need four boxes of fruit snacks?” you tease Soonyoung, to which he replies, “Sorry, grandma. Add another box of Fig Newtons to the list instead,” which causes you to promptly cross them off—and even more organization and assigning of duties, the two of you emerge triumphant over the shopping list. If your calculations are correct (which they should be, considering how long you’ve lived alone and have done this exact thing every week), this shop should last roughly two weeks. You also give yourselves two days a week to either order takeout or go to a restaurant, considering Soonyoung’s sporadic work schedule.

As you pile into your car, Soonyoung slides into the passenger seat. Covers his eyes with a pair of sunglasses and rolls the window down. Leans his head back against the seat and sighs, appearing to be the epitome of contentment and inner peace. “Thank god it was you I fucked up the listing for.” He says this like it’s nothing. As if it’s a completely normal thing to say and it doesn’t have you nearly swerving into a telephone pole, stunned by the sincerity in his voice. “Can you imagine if it was someone as bad as me?”

It’s his words, and not the hours you spent in the sun, that keep you warm through the chilly grocery store aisles.

The first two weeks of your vacation feel well-earned and restorative, with a slight sunburn.

After that, however, everything starts to feel… different. Like you’re living someone else’s life. An alternate reality where you wake up whenever you want to, stroll casually up and down the boardwalk with an iced coffee and no destination in mind; where all those things you’d stressed over months ago are nowhere to be found, dragged out to sea by the current.

It’s a slow, gradual process. A little awkward and jilted at first as you both grow used to one another and figure out what and where the boundaries are. As you’re both determined not to make it weird or overstep.

Nonetheless, the two of you fall into an easy routine. Most of your afternoons are spent at the beach or around town, and on the two days a week Soonyoung is at the dance studio, he always texts you right before his last class to check in about dinner: if you want him to cook, if you want to cook, if you want to go out or order something for delivery. Meals are now eaten on the couch so the two of you can commentate whatever’s on the television.

(Fridays are your favorite. Soonyoung stops at the liquor store on his way home from the waterpark and the two of you get drunk on beer and soju and watch wrestling. You share two styrofoam takeout containers of tacos, and the drunker Soonyoung gets, the more ridiculous his commentary becomes. By the time the six-pack is gone, he’s sideways on the couch, his head nearly in your lap, bowled over from the weight of his laughter.)

A two-week trial period is usually far too short for you to make friends—hell, you didn’t even talk to Minghao until you’d run into him at the coffee machine every morning for three straight months—but Soonyoung is easy to get along with. To livewith. He’s easy to like. So you’re not shocked when you reach the three-week mark and all those inhibitions seem to disappear. When he appears in the doorway of your bedroom and asks if you wanna swing by the waterpark later that afternoon and keep him company.

“It’s so boring,” he whines. “I just sit there and make sure people don’t pee or drown, which is nearly impossible, anyway. It’s a giant bucket that dumps water on you—how could someone drown.”

You laugh to yourself, thankful your back is turned to him. You’ve been trying to decide between the neon green bikini and the one-piece with the cut-out just below your chest for a good fifteen minutes and aren’t any closer to a decision. “An adult human can drown in as little as two inches of water, you know.”

“Yeah, if they’re an idiot, maybe,” Soonyoung fires back. “Wear the green one. That color will look really good on you. And then come to the waterpark. I’ll give you a free pass.”

When you turn to face him, he quickly pulls out all the stops: truly pathetic puppy dog eyes, plush bottom lip pushed out, hands clasped together like he’s about to start begging. Before this exact moment, you would’ve said your resolve was made of steel, that you were not a person susceptible to a grown man’s pouting, but you cave in a concerningly short amount of time. Huff, try to act like you’re very displeased by this turn of events, and say, “Fine, but this is a family establishment so I’m wearing the one-piece. You only said the bikini because you’re a pervert.”

He’s torn between defending himself and letting out a triumphant hurrah before settling on both. “Hey, I’m not denying it,” he says casually. “You’ll really come, though?”

You shrug. “Sure, so long as you leave me alone sometimes so I can read my book.”

Cue the triumphant hurrah. “Yes! Okay, I can do that. I’ll see if there are any cabanas open and reserve one for you.”

“Wow, I even get my own cabana boy?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes and starts down the hallway to his room. “And you called me a pervert,” he calls over his shoulder.

Well, if he didn’t bother denying it, you aren’t going to, either.

—

Not only is the heat relentless, the noise does not stop.

Luckily the first issue is largely solved by the cabana Soonyoung was able to nab you. It isn’t all that large, only enough space for two lounge chairs, and to your dismay there are no men in tiny swimsuits holding trays of colorful drinks with little umbrellas waiting for you to beckon them over, but at least it blocks out the sun. Shields you from the worst of it. There’s less to be done about the heat, but once the humidity becomes too stifling you wander over to Soonyoung—easily identifiable in his garish yellow shorts and matching visor—and wait for him to blow his whistle, alerting everyone to the giant bucket of water about to be dumped on them.

“Nice legs,” you tease, wolf-whistling as you approach.

Soonyoung pretends to be scandalized. Gasps. Twists sideways as if he’s trying to hide his skin from your lustful gaze. “In front of the children?” he accuses.

No kids are paying attention to your conversation when they’re about to get drenched, but you play along anyway, sliding your sunglasses down your nose. “Can’t help it. Those tiny little shorts and your pale thighs really get me going.” He scowls, pulling said shorts further down said thighs to hide the discrepancy in skin tone. “God, it’s loud here,” you change the subject, taking pity on him. “This is what you put up with the entire summer?”

“Just wait—it’ll get worse in a second.”

He’s right, unfortunately. From the second the bucket begins to tip and for at least three full minutes after it unleashes its gallons of water, all you hear is screaming. High-pitched, manic screaming loud enough to make your ears bleed, but the water is cold and you’re thankful for the reprieve from the heat, even if it doesn't last long before it evaporates.

“Ah, gotta love it,” he deadpans. “Only twenty-six minutes and fourteen seconds until the next one.”

You snort. Ask him if he wants anything from the snack bar because you need a drink—a very cold, very refreshing drink. All he requests is a bottle of water. Not a bad idea, considering you’re probably dangerously dehydrated from how much you’ve sweat, but you change your mind as soon as you reach the counter. You hear a chorus of angels. It feels like the light of divinity itself shines a spotlight on the part of the menu advertising non-alcoholic piña colada slushies.

You promptly order two—and a water.

When the kid behind the counter hands over your order, you can’t help the beaming smile that forms on your face, but it’s short-lived. Yes, your drinks come with colorful umbrellas and are topped with cherries, and Soonyoung’s water comes straight from a cooler, dripping ice-cold condensation all over your hand and the warped wood top of the counter, but it’s hard to feel victorious when the kid who hands them to you looks like he’s going to keel over and die from heat stroke.

“I—thanks,” you mutter, taking in his flushed cheeks and the hair adhered to his forehead with sweat. You stuff a few bills in the tip jar. “Sorry you have to work here.”

You’re surprised to find Soonyoung in one of your cabana chairs when you return. His visor is pulled over his eyes, his energy completely boneless, and if you weren’t in this weird limbo of maybe-friends you’d probably tease him a little. Call him Sleeping Beauty or flick some of the cold water on your hands at him.

Instead, you place all three drinks on the small, rickety table in between the chairs. “Special delivery.”

Soonyoung lifts his visor. Laughs softly when he sees what you’ve ordered. Asks, “Is one of those for me?” and reaches for one regardless of what your answer is.

“It”—you begin to answer, watching as he dangles a cherry by the stem—“wasn’t,” you finish after he pops it into his mouth.

“But I’m on break.” He pouts. “And it’s so hot outside and this drink is so cold.” He sticks the straw in his mouth and has to speak around it. “And if Chan’s running the snack bar today I bet he put alcohol in this.” He takes a sip. “No booze. Coward.”

“Do you often drink on company time? Also, that kid at the snack bar looked about ten minutes from death. Someone should probably check on him.”

Soonyoung waves you away. “I’ll do it after I clock back in.”

“When is that? Rigor mortis might set in by then.”

“An hour. Rigor mortis is when they go all stiff, right?” You hum in agreement. “Easier to move, then.” He sucks down the rest of the slushie, finishing with a loud slurp that draws some attention your way, finishing with an exaggerated ahh. “Wow, that was really good. Can you wake me up in forty-five minutes?”

You scoff. Tuck your legs beneath you and reach for your book. “Don’t you have your phone? Set an alarm.”

“Mm, don’t want to. What are you reading?”

You tell him the title. Explain that you’d picked it up for cheap in a secondhand shop in town while you were wandering around one afternoon just because you’d liked the cover. “It’s okay,” you say. “It’s not really grabbing me, but it’s well-written and not very long so it could be worse.”

“Do you read a lot?”

“Try to.” Realizing this is not a very satisfactory response, you add, “I’ve tried to read at least three books a month since I graduated college.”

“I’m not good at math, but that seems like a lot of books.”

You laugh. “I don’t always manage it, to be fair. I’m happy with thirty books a year.”

“I haven’t read one book a year in maybe… ever. Do you have a book job?”

The question is asked around a yawn, words and inflection steeped in exhaustion, which is just fine by you. Because it’s easier to glance over at him—arms crossed over his chest, rising and falling rhythmically, and towel covering his face to further block the sun—and say, “Okay, old man, nap time for you,” and laugh at his responding middle finger than it is to exhume all that ancient history. Easier than adopting that indifferent affect as you say, “No, no book job, just a desk in an office,” and wondering if your discontent is made of tissue paper. If it’s palpable.

If it is, Soonyoung doesn’t say anything.

So you don’t, either. You stay mum about the lifelong absence of a dream. How there were things you liked but nothing you could envision doing forever. How it made you aimless, drawn to whatever felt easy at the time, content to let the wind pick you up and take you wherever it wanted. How you had to swallow down that small bite of embarrassment every time someone asks what you do for a living or how much you make. That lethal combination of hopelessness, bitterness, and jealousy you feel when it seems like all of your friends, classmates, and old coworkers are lapping you.

Those things don’t matter here, you remind yourself. You focus your attention back on your book and set an alarm so you can wake up Soonyoung.

Minghao wants to visit you.

This, of course, poses a problem. While you’d alluded to it on your first day here, you and Minghao haven’t talked much beyond a few texts every few days, so you never got around to telling him the full story. That the man you thought you were renting an entire house from is still occupying it. That he sleeps a few feet down the hall and cooks meals alongside you. That, even when he’s at work or both of you retire for the night, your phone will light up with messages or DMs from him as he sends memes or links to places around town he thinks you might like—and that you always hope he’ll ask if you want to go together.

There’s no real reason to deny his request. Much to your dismay, Soonyoung doesn’t mind. Seems to light up at the possibility of meeting one of your friends, someone he only knows about from stories and anecdotes and late-night scrolls through your Instagram feed, where you and Minghao have made it a game to tag one another in the ugliest photos either of you have ever taken. He goes into planning mode almost immediately, and if you were less mature you’d probably pout at the way the “you” in his messages becomes “you and Minghao.”

Inexplicably, you care about disappointing Soonyoung far more than you care about disappointing Minghao, so you tell him to call you once he’s done work so the two of you can come up with a plan.

Your phone rings just after seven, screen lighting up with the only normal photo the two of you have ever taken together. It should bring you comfort, the reminder that this is Minghao and he’s your friend and can even look ugly sometimes when he puts effort into it. But he’s also got the demeanor and general vibe of a parent picking you up from the police station. Something about him just exudes disappointment.

You’ll have it in spades soon.

Minghao spends a few minutes catching you up on things back home, tells you about the goings-on at the office: a new girl in his department he suspects might be a nepotism hire, the creepy IT guy you’ve all complained about for months finally getting fired, a day last week the plumbing broke and everyone got sent home early. “I’m ready for a vacation,” he sighs into the phone.

You grimace, thankful Soonyoung isn’t around to watch this trainwreck occur in real time. It’s another late night for him at the studio as he prepares for the mid-summer recital, still not fully satisfied with the choreography. He’d done the same two days ago and didn’t come home until nearly midnight.

“Hello? Are you there?”

You sigh. Tell yourself it’s better to just rip off the bandage and not prolong it anymore, but you can hear Minghao in your head saying I told you so and it gives you agita. Makes your palms sweaty. You cannot, in good conscience, allow yourself to be patronized by someone younger than you.

“Yeah, so, about that…”

Just as you expected, Minghao is not particularly gentle in his response. “A scam is a scam,” he says. “Do you have any idea how stupid it was to stay there? You don’t know that guy! He could be a serial killer for all you know, or worse—a furry.”

“I’ll be surprised if he’s a furry,” you retort, picking at a bit of pilled fabric on the couch. “But also, it wasn’t entirely a scam, he just messed up the listing. It’s not like I got here and the house didn’t exist and some dude claiming to be a prince was laughing all the way to the bank with my money.”

“You’re hopeless.” You can practically hear the way he’s pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I am not. It’s really nice here, Hao. The town is nice and Soonyoung is nice and he owns a dance studio and works part-time at a waterpark that he gets me into for free sometimes.”

“Is the waterpark nice?”

You hesitate. “I, um—it’s not horrible. Sometimes Chan puts alcohol in the piña colada slushies.”

“That… sounds kind of good, actually. With the little umbrellas?”

“And a cherry,” you confirm.

This, more than anything else, seems to be what seals the decision for him. After confirming for the millionth time that Soonyoung doesn’t mind his company (and that he’s not a serial killer, to which you send him the link to Soonyoung’s Instagram and ask does this look like a serial killer to you? because his most recent post is a photo of him on a giant flamingo floatie in the pool, mouth stained orange from a bag of cheese puffs, to which Minghao reluctantly agrees it does not), he agrees to call out of work and make the drive Friday morning.

Which, of course, is the day the sky decides to crack open.

This is unfortunate for Minghao, who has to make the same hours-long drive you did. This is unfortunate for you, who was looking forward to trying a new brunch cafe on the boardwalk. This is not unfortunate for Soonyoung, who was scheduled from open to close at Carat Bay and now has the day off, which he’s spending preparing for Minghao’s arrival: fridge and pantry restocked, floors vacuumed and mopped, sheets washed and dried, downstairs bathroom stocked with fresh towels. Like the grocery shopping and cooking, you and Soonyoung had worked out a system early on, so on any other day all of this is stuff you’d be helping out with.

Except Xu Minghao must’ve either been a member of a spy network or a teenage girl in a past life.

Normally it’s to your benefit that Minghao can find anything on the internet. Unlike you, he’s not prone to or all that interested in gossip (so he says), but he’s receptive when you assign him a task, and over the time you’ve known each other, the partnership has served you well. Usually it’s just mundane work gossip: who’s sleeping together, who’s on job-hunting sites begging for leads, who got embarrassingly, shit-faced drunk over the weekend and overshared in their Instagram stories. Usually it doesn’t affect you all that much, forgotten soon after in the way mundane work gossip always is.

This time, however.

Although sending him Soonyoung’s Instagram had alleviated his fears that you’re shacking up with a serial killer, it revealed something far worse: you’re shacking up with a Gemini.

Again—not usually a problem, considering astrology isn’t really your thing. You’d be hard-pressed to differentiate a Gemini from a Cancer or whatever else, so when Minghao tells you this it’s met with a hum of acknowledgment and nothing else. It was only once he asked, “Did you guys do anything for his birthday?” that it all started to sink in and panic gripped at you.

Minghao can find anything on the internet because he doesn’t stop at the surface-level stuff. You’d sent him Soonyoung’s Instagram and he didn’t just scroll through the first few posts, he scrolled years back, almost to the beginning, and that’s where he’d found the post: Soonyoung surrounded by friends, their arms slung over his shoulders while he held a cake, two lit number candles perched on top. 25!!!! the caption read.

It was posted on June 15th.

Which was last Sunday. Nearly a week ago. Soonyoung hadn’t said anything, had gone about his day as usual—coffee and a breakfast sandwich eaten at the two-seater table on the front porch before he showered and got ready for work, and even after he got home and the two of you shared a pizza and watched baseball, he never mentioned it.

Hence why you aren’t helping Soonyoung with the cleaning. You’re at the grocery store ordering a birthday cake because if there’s one thing you cannot do it’s bake, even when it’s box mix and prepackaged frosting (and Soonyoung deserves a cake that’s both edible and stays upright). You move to the aisle with the party supplies and curse the lack of options.

A children’s cartoon character or plain red, edges yellowed from age. Tough choice.

You grab a few other things and stand in line to check out, checking your phone religiously. You’d gotten out of the house under the guise of a pilates class you “couldn’t cancel,” so anything longer than an hour will start looking suspicious, but the required 24-hour notice from the bakery had posed a problem. Soonyoung is scheduled at the waterpark tomorrow, and you can’t turn it down because he was kind enough to get you and Minghao another cabana (and Minghao really wants one of those slushies), and then he’s back at the studio on Sunday to put the finishing touches on the recital.

So, here you are. Arms full of items you can let overheat in the trunk of your car and a receipt for a small marble sheet cake, a request for Happy Birthday, Soonyoung! to be written on top in blue frosting, surrounded by confetti sprinkles.

—

Soonyoung and Minghao get on like a house on fire.

You aren’t surprised by this, considering you don’t think Soonyoung has ever met a stranger. He’s good at it—the small talk, navigating those awkward moments, making people feel comfortable. Minghao has only been in the house twenty minutes before he’s giggling and entirely charmed, made to feel right at home even though he’s dripping rainwater all over the freshly-mopped floors. Seems to forget he was supposed to be angry that the rain had ruined one day of his vacation.

Soonyoung insists on carrying on the Friday tradition of takeout, alcohol, and wrestling, which is not something Minghao would watch without outside influence. But he fits in seamlessly. Falls into step with Soonyoung’s chaos, taking over his ridiculous commentary when Soonyoung’s either too drunk or laughing too hard to finish his sentences. Polishes off two orders of tacos on his own. Assumes bartender duties and mixes your drinks to questionable ratios, but perfection nonetheless.

Not to mention he out-drinks both of you. Soonyoung is worse off, retiring to bed just after eleven, groaning about his head and worrying about how he’s going to get up for work as he ascends the stairs. Minghao laughs, watching him fondly. You get the impression there’s a lot he wants to say—and maybe he would if you weren’t seeing three of him—but as it stands he cleans up the living room and asks if you want a glass of water.

“No, I’m okay,” you answer. “I think.”

Still, you aren’t surprised to find water and painkillers on your nightstand when you wake up. Luckily you don’t need them, spared from the torture of spending hours at a waterpark with shrieking children with a hangover, so you send a double-text to Soonyoung—

You [9:37am]: Are you alive? You [9:37am]: Hao left me some water and painkillers if you need them

—to which he simply replies:

Soonyoung [9:50am]: p lease

With a laugh, you throw the duvet off of your legs and pad down the hall. Knock quietly on Soonyoung’s bedroom door and laugh again at the pitiful come in you receive in response. And he does look pitiful. When you walk in, he pops out from under the covers with dandelion hair, face puffy from the alcohol, cheeks ruddy. What little sleep he got must not have been great—he looks exhausted, so you move Minghao’s gifts to Soonyoung’s nightstand, whisper a little fighting!, and head downstairs to brew a pot of coffee.

Not long after, Soonyoung makes his way downstairs and collapses into one of the kitchen chairs. Face-plants onto the table and groans into the wood. Without a word, you grab the bread from the pantry and pop a few slices into the toaster, sliding them onto a plate and serving them to him plain once they’re done.

“This will help with the nausea. Do you think you can stomach coffee?”

He scoffs. “Sure hope so. What’s the point in living if I can’t?”

Minghao emerges halfway through Soonyoung’s third cup, looking fresh and well-rested in a way only the person who drank the most and isn’t suffering a hangover can do. He greets you and Soonyoung with cheerful good mornings and questions about how you slept and how you’re feeling. “Not as bad as him,” you answer, jerking a thumb in Soonyoung’s direction, who gives you both the finger before returning to his face-first position on the table.

Your friend looks at the plate of crumbs and the mug of coffee. He sends you a look that’s easier not to look at or acknowledge.

—

Somehow, Minghao is able to talk you into sharing a two-person tube and joining him on all of Carat Bay’s waterslides.

This is horrifying for many reasons (the height of the slides, seeing Minghao’s bare feet), but it also proves useful. At the top of the highest slide, just as you fit yourself in the front of the tube and screech when Minghao wiggles his painted toes at you, the worker responsible for pushing you towards your certain death asks, “Oh shit, aren’t you the one staying with Soonyoung?”

“I—yes.” You glance at his nametag. Mingyu, it says, and you think you vaguely recognize him from Soonyoung’s Instagram. Horrifying again, because he’s somehow even more attractive in real life and you’re squished into a two-person innertube with Minghao and his painted toes, but he’s friendly and charming and talks at you like you’re old friends.

“That’s cool,” he says, ignoring the impatient discontent and creative insults from the line of children behind you. “Soonyoung said he had someone staying with him and that you’d been here a few times, but I’m always stuck up here.” A child throws a tiny flip-flop at him. It hits him in the chest and falls to the ground. “Wow,” he deadpans, “lucky me.”

In an attempt to stifle his laughter, Minghao asks what time he gets done, telling him about the belated birthday party the two of you have schemed to surprise him with. Fuck me, you think, watching as Mingyu somehow becomes even more attractive as his eyes light up. Not only is he done two hours before Soonyoung, he’s going to invite more of his friends, too. They’ll pick up more food and more snacks and more alcohol. All you and Minghao have to do is pick up the cake and decorate, which last night’s drinking provides a convenient excuse for.

During Soonyoung’s break—which he once again spends napping on a lounge chair under the cabana—Minghao says the two of you will probably head back to the house soon. “I think the heat’s making her hangover worse,” he says, injecting a convincing amount of sympathy into his tone.

Just as you expected, Soonyoung buys it. Finishes up his break with a groan and says he’ll text you when he’s done to check in about dinner, and then there’s nothing but the thwack-thwack-thwack of his slides as he returns to his post at the splash zone.

Two and a half hours to go.

Minghao stays behind to start on the decorations while you go pick up the cake. It turns out better (and bigger) than you expected, and you thank the bakery profusely as you rush back toward the exit. Back at the house, streamers and balloons line the staircase bannister and hang from the light fixtures; a HAPPY BIRTHDAY! banner stretches across the doorway leading into the kitchen; the plates and napkins are both set out, sharing the same cartoon tiger.

Luckily, it gives you both enough time to shower and look presentable before everyone else arrives.

True to his word, Mingyu knocks on the door with his hands full: a case of beer, a pile of pizza boxes, bags of chips in various flavors. Behind him stands a group of people, only one of whom you recognize. Chan, alcoholic slushie barista extraordinaire, greets you with a wave and a large smile. You are wholly unsurprised to see he brought soju.

The next hour is met with more names and faces than you’ll ever be able to remember. Friends of Soonyoung’s, coworkers from Carat Bay, coworkers from the dance studio—all of them kind, making you and Minghao feel welcome and included. They shout in excitement when Soonyoung texts you saying he’s done work. Compliment your quick thinking when he asks what you and Minghao want to do for dinner and you tell him Minghao insists on cooking, and to just shoot you a text when he’s on his way back so he can put it in the oven. When that text comes through, they all hide in the kitchen out of sight and hold their breath, anticipating and waiting, the occasional giggle sneaking through.

You drape yourself across the couch. Minghao stays in the kitchen and, once you call out that the birthday boy is coming up the drive, pretends to chop vegetables to truly sell it.

And when Soonyoung comes through the door, looking just as exhausted as he had this morning and slightly more sunburnt, you almost feel guilty. Almost think he won’t be in the mood to host. Almost think you’ve made a horrible mistake. He asks, “Do you know what he’s making?” to which you shake your head.

“No idea. He won’t tell me—says it’s a surprise,” you respond, thankful your voice and expression both stay steady and neutral.

Soonyoung drops his bag at the door. “Hm. I’ll see if I can get it out of him,” he says, winking when he catches your eye, like it’s you and him against Minghao; like he’s solving this manufactured mystery for your benefit.

Then he walks into the kitchen.

There’s the expected shouts of SURPRISE!

And then there’s a few seconds of silence.

“What the fuck,” comes Soonyoung’s eventual response. You sidle up alongside him, laughing when he turns to look at you with a stunned expression. “What the fuck?” he repeats, quieter this time, meant only for you.

“Happy birthday.” You reach up to playfully pat his cheek. “Belatedly, anyway. Why didn’t you tell me?”

His cheeks go red. As he opens his mouth to answer, sheepish words biting at the back of his teeth, one of his friends interrupts. Slaps him on the back and puts a drink in his hand. Laughs and gives him shit, asking how he didn’t notice all the decorations.

Soonyoung steals a final glance in your direction as he’s pulled away.

Everyone eats, drinks, and laughs. You cut the cake before Soonyoung’s face can wind up in it, only for someone to grab a slice and smash it in his face anyway. Uproarious laughter follows. Someone snaps a picture: first, a close-up of Soonyoung’s face, covered in cake crumbs and enough frosting to stain his skin; then, a second photo of him washing it off in the sink, entire head stuck under the faucet.

It really shouldn’t strike you someplace deep. The memory should be enough, but you find yourself asking, “Do you guys want me to take a picture of all of you?” so you have something to remember it by, too, even if you’re behind the camera.

Minghao must notice, because he offers to take it instead, taking your phone from you and gesturing for you to join the group. They’ve all got their arms around Soonyoung again but they make room for you. Mingyu, heads taller than everyone, moves from Soonyoung’s right and to the back.

“Are you—is it on a timer?” Minghao shakes his head, clearly confused. “Well, put it on a timer and get over here.”

“Me?”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Who else would I be talking to? Come on, it’s my birthday and you’re my friend, so get in the picture.” He coughs. “Please.”

Minghao laughs, but you can tell from the heat in his cheeks that he’s a little caught off-guard at Soonyoung wanting him in the picture, at declaring him his friend, so he fumbles with your phone. Can’t figure out how to set the timer. No one helps, of course—they give him shit and playfully boo him, flustering him more. Once he does figure it out, he sets the timer to the wrong length so the first few photos are candids, Minghao nothing but a streak across the frame. This earns him another round of boos that render him entirely useless, have him squatting beneath the weight of his laughter, but then he sets it correctly, thirty seconds, and there’s a smile on every single person’s face when you look at it later.

After that, it’s party time—within reason.

Someone connects to the small speaker in the living room and shuffles a playlist, upbeat with a low, thrumming bassline, perfect for a party. Minghao gets roped into a conversation with two people from Soonyoung’s studio, exchanging socials and numbers. Someone has left a pan of weed brownies on top of the stove, though no one takes credit for them.

That’s how Soonyoung approaches you some thirty minutes later, half of a brownie stuck between his teeth and chocolate clinging to the corners of his mouth. “Hellooo,” he greets you, each letter slurring together, eyes bloodshot. “Are you having fun?”

“I am,” you answer. “Are you?”

“Yes. D’you want the other half of this? I don’t think I should eat the whole thing.” Soonyoung offers the brownie to you, bottom lip slightly pouted. “I’m not a lightweight or anything,” he adds, as if it’s of the utmost importance to squash any thought you might’ve had about him being one. “And I didn’t stick the whole thing in my mouth. I broke it in half before I ate it, so there’s no spit on it.”

With a huff of laughter, you take the brownie from him and place it on a plate on the counter behind you. You also grab a napkin, turning to Soonyoung with what you intend to be stern, furrowed brows until he goes a little cross-eyed and it makes you laugh. “Why is your mouth always covered in something?”

You reach for him; he comes willingly and immediately.

“Ooh, are you gonna clean me up?” he quips, trying to wiggle his eyebrows. He winds up just squinting and un-squinting his eyes, heavy-lidded and getting redder by the second.

You ignore his teasing with a roll of your lips. Place your hand on his cheek to steady him, grounded by the warmth and softness of his skin. Soonyoung sucks in a breath when you touch him. Covers your hand with his own. Stares at you so intently you forget why you’re touching him at all, that there’s a party raging around you; forget that you’re surrounded by all of Soonyoung’s friends and their curious glances. You forget what the napkin in your hand is for, uselessly pinched between your fingers.

Everything narrows to the size of a pinhead. Soonyoung is all that exists in this moment, and it’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Until now, you thought the banter had just been banter—innocent and fun but ultimately superficial. Until now, you could brush off his coy remarks and blame it on proximity and Soonyoung’s ability to flirt with a lamppost if he thought it’d flirt back. Until now, you thought the next two and a half months would be easy; that you’d be able to compartmentalize your attraction to him.

Because this isn’t about that.

You’d needed to get away—from your job, your apartment, your life. All of it. Needed a break from the constant what-ifs and self-doubt and the nasty, unrelenting feeling that you aren’t doing enough, aren’t living up to your potential. That what you are doing is walking down a dead-end street and foolishly trying to find an exit point. You needed to try to outrun everything you’ve pushed aside, knowing it’s long overdue for it to catch up.

You don’t want Soonyoung to be one of those things. Don’t want him added to your list of what-ifs, not realizing it’s already too late for that.

So, just for a moment, you let yourself indulge. You press the napkin to the corner of his mouth and wonder how it’d feel if it were your lips instead, how he’d react, what noises he’d make. If he’d gasp in surprise or suck in another breath through his teeth. If he’d push you away or move his hands to your hips to pull you closer. If he’d let you take your time and do what you wanted or if he’d take control. If everyone around you would be surprised or if they’d think oh, of course.

You don’t find out the answer to any of those questions.

Instead, you clean the stubborn chocolate from the corners of his mouth without a word. Your touch is far more tender and delicate than you think this moment calls for, but if Soonyoung agrees he doesn’t mention it. Keeps his gaze locked on you, eyes tracing every movement. His intensity surprises you, having been outshadowed by his larger-than-life personality, the way he makes you laugh without having to try. But the intensity of the moment surprises you, too, how it all feels amplified: how you can hear every hitch of his breath, even over the noise of the party; how you can not only feel the warmth of it on your skin, but also the tension. How it feels like a massive, tangible thing in the center of your chest.

“All done,” you manage to say, coughing to clear your throat, dry from nerves and the rest of the chaos swirling around in your head.

Soonyoung smiles. Sends a wink over his shoulder as he disappears into the crowd, and you feel his absence immediately and immensely.

Minghao calls you over and reintroduces you to the people he’s been talking to. They’re kind and funny and gracious with their time. Junhui tells you all about how he and Soonyoung met, about his time at his studio. Tells you all about the kids they teach and how much they love Soonyoung. All the gifts they make for him and how they watch him dance with wide, starry eyes, trying to replicate everything he does.

Which is exactly what you find yourself trying to do later on.

Soonyoung had found you in a half-hearted conversation with Chan and Mingyu and dragged you to the living room. “Dance with me,” he said, cackling brightly when you looked at him, bewildered, and said you didn’t know how. “I’ll show you. C’mon, it’s easy.”

Dancing with someone who does it for a living is not easy, but Soonyoung is a good teacher, full of praise and laughter and gentle corrections. It’s all in good fun, anyway, and that’s exactly how he makes it feel as he jokingly shakes his ass and twerks on his friends; as the room goes blurry when he takes your hand and twirls you around. And when the song switches to something slower, headier, more sensual, there’s an immediate spike of panic that Soonyoung snuffs out—he puts distance between the two of you but stays in your orbit, hovering, waiting for you to call the shots.

You know he’ll back off if you want him to. You know he’ll take it in stride and not allow things to get awkward. You also know this decision isn’t life or death, that this can just be harmless fun you blame on the alcohol and weed in the light of day when the sheepishness creeps in. And you have to admit that sounds enticing, because the two poles of your body are pulling you in opposite directions, warring with one another. Try as it might, your brain—with all its logic and reminders for you to use some common sense—is no match for the heat simmering beneath your skin.

It’s a split-second decision, you pulling him back in, letting him fit his hands to the curve of your waist, your eyes fluttering shut at the body heat that seeps into your skin. You watch as the corners of Soonyoung’s mouth lift infinitesimally before he straightens them again, like he doesn’t want to look cocky, doesn’t want this to look like a foregone conclusion, but you like it on him. He wears it well, and you’re taken by it in the same way you’d been taken by his intensity.

You know there are eyes on you—his friends’, Minghao’s—but you can’t find it in you to care. Every time Soonyoung touches you, it feels like you’re the only people left on earth, like you’re swimming through molasses, weighed down by the intoxication of it, the yearning, the need for more.

His hands move to your hips, his lips to just beneath your ear. “Is this okay?” he asks, words spoken so quietly against your skin you feel them more than you can hear them.

You nod. Still have no clue what you’re doing, feel awkward and too big in your own body, but you remind yourself it doesn’t matter. That it’s okay to just enjoy the way Soonyoung is touching you. The way he moves his body, perfectly in sync with the beat of the song, purposeful and precise. The proximity to and closeness of another person.

It’s the same later on, long after all of Soonyoung’s friends have left. Only you and Soonyoung are left at the house, your crossfades providing a convenient excuse to stay behind. No one says anything, but you catch the look Minghao sends you on his way out the door, having accepted an invitation from Jun and Mingyu to check out some new club, wanting to make the most of his last full day in town—it’s discreet and sly, but it also says I hope you know what you’re doing, because you’ve been doing it all night.

You don’t.

You know it just as well as Minghao does, so you start cleaning up the kitchen to give yourself something else to focus on. Plates, cups, and napkins in the trash. Leftovers in the fridge or pantry. Icing wiped off the floor and counters. A massive garbage bag tied up and placed next to the back door to take outside. Time alone, room to breathe. Being around Soonyoung is starting to feel like the two magnets of your head and heart are repelling.

“Leave that for tomorrow.”

You wipe the back of your hand across your forehead. “I’m almost done,” you gently argue. “Besides, it is tomorrow. It’s almost two o’clock.”

Soonyoung just laughs, nodding his head in the direction of the door. “Come on.”

“Soonyoung, there’s still food everywhere, you’ll get bugs—”

“Do I have to drag you out there myself?”

He doesn’t, though you don’t think you’d be upset if he did. “Fine. At least take the trash out with you,” you compromise.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but it certainly isn’t for Soonyoung to lay on his back in the middle of the yard. No blanket, no towel—even if it’s mostly dried out from the previous day’s storm, you’re not exactly chomping at the bit to take the risk, but Soonyoung has no such reservations. He stretches out like he’s making a snow angel before he tucks his hands behind his head and sighs in content, though you’re not sure why. There’s far too much light pollution this close to the boardwalk to see anything in the sky, not to mention the noise.

Still, you either have to join him or stay standing and look like an idiot.

So you sit down beside him, arms stretched out behind you, your knee knocking into Soonyoung’s elbow. He rolls his head to the side and smiles, and you feel it behind your ribcage, sharp and hot like fireworks. “How did you know?” he asks. “About my birthday.”

Any other time you’d crack a joke, say something cheesy like ah, I have my ways, or that you’d paid an Etsy witch to find out, but in the middle of the night, sitting side-by-side in Soonyoung’s small, dewy strip of grass, it doesn’t feel right. Feels like a moment that requires sincerity. “It was Minghao, actually,” you admit. “He was there when I first saw the rental listing and told me it was a scam because of how cheap it was, so ever since then he’d sort of been convinced you were a serial killer or something. I had to come clean about us rooming together when he asked to visit and that only convinced him more.”

Soonyoung groans. “Damn. I wanna laugh but it’s not funny. Is it funny? He still came here after all that?”

“Well, luckily I’d already been to the waterpark with you by then and watched you nearly pass out when that kid fell and scraped her knee, so I knew there was no way you could kill someone—”

“Hey!”

“—and I sent him your Instagram. We both decided that, aside from the can’t handle blood thing, a serial killer probably wouldn’t post a picture of themselves with cheese dust all over their mouth.”

His jaw drops slightly. Looks like he wants to—and thinks he should—be offended before he snaps it shut and thinks it over. “Mm, that’s probably fair.”

“Yeah, so. As one does, he basically stalked your account until he saw one of your birthday posts from years ago and asked if we’d done anything fun for it this year, and I had to say no because someone didn’t tell me.”

Sheepish, Soonyoung apologizes. Says he didn’t have plans anyway and didn’t want you to feel obligated or make things weird. “It’d only been two weeks.” And when you move to protest, he rolls onto his side, head propped up by his elbow, and says, “I know now it was silly, and I’m still a little blown away the two of you threw all of this together. I—it just means a lot, so thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you reply, voice barely above a whisper. “I hope you and your friends had a good time.”

“I haven’t had a bad one since you got here.” Such a simple statement, but the honesty in his words steals the breath from your lungs. “I’d been having… a bad time. Before you got here. So yeah, it means a lot that you’d go through the trouble.”

It wasn’t any trouble, you want to say. Want to refute the notion that doing something nice, especially for him, was a bother, something only done out of a sense of obligation. Want to tell him you’ve been having a hard time, too, and doing something like this, celebrating someone else, helped ease that perpetual grief even a little bit. That feeling someone’s hands on you in the way his had been—selfish, wanting, longing—was a welcomed change from the hands clutching at your own, rubbing at your back, accompanied by waterlogged, sympathetic words. Apologies that only made you feel worse.

You want to tell him it was nice to be desired instead of pitied.

Instead, you say, “I’ve been having a bit of a hard time, too,” because the rest feels too honest. More words not meant for this moment.

And it seems you chose correctly, because Soonyoung’s brows quirk upwards. “Really?” he asks.

You nod. “I don’t want to dump on you, but my grandmother passed away last year. I used all of my PTO and the last of my inheritance to book the rental. It just sort of… felt like everything was starting to catch up with me, you know? The grief, the insecurities I’m feeling about my job. I needed to get away.”

Soonyoung frowns, and you brace yourself for more of the usual—I’m so sorry for your loss and other such sentiments you wish you could feel thankful for and don’t—but, as usual, he finds a way to surprise you. “Damn,” he mutters, sounding entirely convincing as he whistles, “I feel like I should give you a refund now. I scammed you out of your inheritance.”

A bubble of shocked laughter erupts from you and spreads to Soonyoung. Soon, both of you have dissolved into breathless, belly-aching laughter, trying desperately to shush one another so you don’t disturb the neighbors. And maybe you hadn’t been able to say all those other things, but this you are:

“Don’t you dare. I’d pay it every single time, a million times over.”

July arrives before you know it.

After Soonyoung’s party, things largely go back to normal. Minghao stays in touch, not only with you and Soonyoung, but also Junhui. Like clockwork, he texts you often for “updates.” He’s not interested in what books you’ve read or how many hours of sun you’ve soaked up at the beach. No, all he cares about are any updates in your relationship with Soonyoung—of which there have been none, so these days, understandably, your conversations don’t last all that long.

Additionally, you see Chan and Mingyu more often. Sometimes, when their shifts end at the same time, they swing by the house after work and join you for dinner… and shenanigans. A random Tuesday sees the four of you having a water balloon fight in the backyard. Soonyoung calls dibs on Mingyu, thinking his height will afford them some sort of advantage, but he underestimates Chan’s dodge and weave and that Mingyu’s height is nothing more than a giant target. Another weeknight has all of you nearly coming to blows over a game of poker.

Occasionally, on days they don't work, they join you at the beach. They rope you into boogie boarding and volleyball matches; they nap or mess around in the water while you read. Sometimes Soonyoung will stay behind and pester you with questions: what you’re reading, what it’s about, whether or not you like it, isn’t that similar to that one you read last week, what you think is going to happen.

And then Soonyoung gets a rare weekend off.

Friday, too, which is spent like all the previous ones. Takeout, cheap beer, watching wrestling and adopting silly voices. Even with all the time in the world, it’s not something either of you are willing to give up.

Saturday, though—

Instead of preparing for another hot, sticky afternoon at Carat Bay, Soonyoung appears in the doorway of your bedroom not long after noon. He’s still in his pajamas—nothing but a pair of black briefs you’re sure were created with the sole intent of torturing you—and his hair sticks up at odd angles. But he looks good. Looks like temptation itself with his golden skin, honeyed from the sun; the six pack of abs peeking out from beneath the waistband; his voice, deep and husky from sleep.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” You try to swallow, not at all surprised to find your mouth has gone dry. “Sleep alright?”

Soonyoung hums. Crosses one arm across his body to scratch at his collar bone, which does nothing at all to alleviate your suffering. “You got anything on the agenda for today?” You shake your head, not trusting yourself to speak. “They’re doing fireworks on the beach tonight, if you wanna check it out? We can make a day of it and do the whole boardwalk thing.”

“Oh,” you manage to choke out. “Sure. That sounds fun.”

His responding smile is another arrow to your chest. “Cool. You’re good with rides, right? Or are you gonna puke on me if I drag you on a rollercoaster?”

I might puke on you if you don’t put a shirt on, you think. “No, I’m good,” you confirm instead. Then you actually give yourself a second to think of something that isn’t Soonyoung and his sculpted, insanity-inducing body and follow up with, “Except maybe that spaceship-looking thing that spins around really fast.”

Rookie mistake: you forget to put the teacups on your no-go list.

After getting your wristbands, it’s the first ride Soonyoung drags you on. “If you’re gonna puke, we might as well get it over with early,” he reasons. You’re too gobsmacked to argue or try to sneak out of line when he isn’t looking, so the next thing you know you’re being ushered into an empty cup by a minimum wage employee entirely indifferent to your plight, all hopes of a last-second escape dashed.

Soonyoung’s sinister grin fills you with dread.

Because you know exactly what he’s going to do.

“Soonyoung, don’t—”

It’s no use. As soon as the ride starts moving, Soonyoung’s grabbing onto the bar in the center and spinning your teacup as fast as he can. Aside from his wild cackles that slip through, you can barely hear anything over the sound of your own screaming, louder than even the small kids being spun around by their parents. All you can do is squeeze your eyes shut and hold onto the safety bar for dear life, filling your thoughts with anything that doesn’t require a barf bag.

(You obviously don’t know in the moment, but later on, Soonyoung digs his phone out of his pocket. Goes into his camera roll and thumbs until he finds what he’s looking for before holding it out to show you. And you’re a little stunned, is the thing, because there you are. Eyes shut, gripping onto the bar just like you remember, but it’s the way you’re smiling that takes you by surprise. You can’t remember the last time you looked so happy. Can’t remember the last time you felt it, either.

“Do you mind if I post it to my story?”

Feels nearly impossible to tear your eyes away from it, but you manage to nod. Say, “Sure, as long as you send it to me first,” and he does.

You [6:28pm]: [Attachment: 1 Image] You [6:28pm]: What do you think this means? Minghao [6:34pm]: that you’re fucked

A fresh wave of nausea hits you, because you don’t need Minghao to tell you that.

You already know.)

Somehow you survive, even though your first steps back on solid ground are a bit shaky. Soonyoung laughs and offers up a half-assed apology you know he doesn’t mean, but he lets you choose the next few rides to make up for it. Chivalrous, sure, but there are so many you don’t know where to begin. Anything upside-down is out of the question for now, given the state of your stomach, so you point at a dilapidated-looking ship and say, “What’s that?” even though it’s self-explanatory.

“Ghost Ship.”

The hesitation in his tone immediately piques your interest. Oh ho ho, you think, smiling to yourself—he should not have spun you dizzy on the teacups. “Oh. Is it scary?”

So subtle you nearly miss it, Soonyoung puffs out his chest and stands up straighter. Stares at the ride as if it offended him personally as he says, “I—no! Not really. No, it’s not.”

“Is it not scary or not really scary?”

“It’s not scary,” he clarifies, lying through his teeth. “Not to me, anyway.”

“Cool, let’s go on it, then.” You start walking towards the ride entrance, pretending not to know he isn’t following. “It’s eight tickets,” you say, keeping up the ruse. Soonyoung still hasn’t followed and your wristbands are loaded with unlimited ride tickets. “Do we have—Soonyoung? What’s wrong?” Checkmate. Soonyoung’s cheeks go pink as he shuffles a few feet closer. “Do you not want to go on it?”

“I do!” he insists. “It’s just—it’s just, uh. Doesn’t that rollercoaster look way more fun? Or… look! The log flume looks fun, too!”

“But then we’ll have to walk around in wet clothes.”

“That’s what the rollercoaster is for.” You stare blankly at him. “You know, for drying. ‘Cause it goes fast.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to go on that one,” you say, making sure to pout a little. There’s a very visible war waging inside of him. He either looks like a chicken on the ride or he looks like one by refusing to go on it at all. And that’s nothing a bit of bargaining can’t fix, so you say, “If you’re too scared, I can always hold your hand.”

You expect there to be at least a split-second of hesitation, but Soonyoung just says, “Deal!” and reaches for you. Laces your fingers together and doesn’t let go of you the entire time. Not while you wait in line, not while you’re on the ride (where he does scream his head off and grips your hand so tight you’re surprised it doesn’t cut the blood flow), and not after.

Soonyoung holds your hand as the two of you walk up and down the boards. As you duck into souvenir and t-shirt shops with crude sayings. As your stomach starts to rumble and he asks if you’ve ever had a deep-fried cannoli. As he somehow seems shocked when you say no and offers to buy you one, and when you jokingly ask if he’s trying to kill you, he squeezes your hand and says, “Never,” in a voice so soft it nearly makes you cry.

The only time he lets go is to pay for your food. He finds an empty table and sits on the same side as you, bodies pressed so close together your thighs touch. Takes another photo after he convinces you to try the cannoli. It’s far too sweet and far too rich, and you can’t stomach more than a couple bites, but Soonyoung wears a proud, beaming smile the entire time that helps it go down easier. He cleans the powdered sugar from the tip of your nose and, when he’s done, he stares at you so intently you think, this is it, he’s going to kiss me.

But he doesn’t.

Not yet, anyway.

There are things he wants to do first. More rides, more hand-holding, more obscene t-shirts he tries talking you into buying, more strange foods you can only find in a place like this. More people he wants to introduce you to, too, because he seems to know everyone. They all greet him warmly, like their day is better just by running into him, so by extension that warmth is also on offer for you. “Oh, hi! Who’s this?” they all ask, and Soonyoung introduces you by name each time.

He never says, Oh, she’s renting one of my spare rooms for the summer.

He never says, Oh, she’s just a friend.

He never says, Oh, no, it’s nothing serious, because it isn’t anything at all.

Not once does he shy away. Never seems embarrassed to be seen with you. Doesn’t seem fussed by his friends glancing down at your clasped hands and assuming you’re together, or watching the way he throws an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into his side. He doesn’t put a name to whatever is simmering between the two of you, but he doesn’t snuff it out, either.

Soonyoung gives you an answer to a question you haven’t dared to ask: does he feel it, does he want this, too?

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing. You know this as well as anyone. But it doesn’t feel so scary when, later on, the two of you see Chan manning one of the game booths, scrolling mindlessly through his phone as a young kid throws darts at a wall of colorful balloons. “Wow, great job,” he deadpans every time one pops, not bothering to check how many were taken out before handing over a giant stuffed animal.

“I’m gonna win you something,” Soonyoung declares. “Which one’s your favorite?”

You hum. Tap your finger against your chin as you pretend to mull it over. “The tiger,” you answer. “The really big one.”

Soonyoung pretends to push up sleeves that don’t exist. “Coming right up.” He approaches Chan. “Hello, sir. I’m here to win the giant tiger for the lovely lady.”

Chan ignores him and holds out his hand for the money. “Pay up, weirdo.”

As they argue, you wander into another souvenir shop. It’s mostly more of the same—tacky figurines of sea life and shot glasses featuring anatomically incorrect genitalia, skimboards and mugs with seashells for handles—but you pause in front of a rack of keychains. You’re not going to find Soonyoung’s name on any of these tiny surfboards. There are others, though: #1 Grandpa, Rock Star, Boy Mom, They Didn’t Have My Name. You laugh at the last one. Almost pick it up for Soonyoung until another one catches your eye.

Best Teacher

When you return to Chan’s game stall, Soonyoung is holding the tiger around the neck, grinning triumphantly as he rocks back on his heels like he hunted it himself.

“Welcome back! As you can see, I fought valiantly to win you your requested prize.”

He returns his arm to your shoulders, pulling you back into his side as he continues walking down the pier. From behind, Chan yells, “No he didn’t! He didn’t win shit, he grabbed it when I wasn’t looking! He’s a fraud!”

Naturally, Soonyoung ignores this. Pretends he doesn’t know Chan at all and asks what you’re going to name your new friend. “Probably nothing, if you keep carrying them like that. I think they’re turning purple. Or blue.”

Soonyoung gasps and adjusts his grip. Carries your new friend around their middle instead of their neck. “Okay, no attempted murder charges for me. One of my friends is on ferris wheel duty tonight—let’s see if he’ll let me use his locker.”

“Trying to get rid of my child already?”

“They’re heavy,” he whines.

You poke his bicep. “Are these just for show, then? God gives His biggest biceps to His most useless soldiers.”

“Did you forget I won this—”

“Stole,” you correct.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Did you forget I won this for you? How can that be useless?”

You’re poised for a response that’s cut off by someone shouting his name. A lanky, kind of tall man is leaning over the wrought-iron railing, waving his arms like one of those blow-up things outside car dealerships. He’s wearing a tie-dyed shirt and his nametag has two names on it. HANSOL is crossed out with VERNONwritten underneath in bigger, bolder letters, prompting you to ask Soonyoung what his name actually is.

“Both,” he answers. Then, to Hansol-Vernon, he asks, “Can I use your locker for this thing?”

“Just leave it here,” Hansol-Vernon says, pointing at the floor of his operating station. He cracks open a can of beer. “Y’all want some? The fireworks are gonna start soon so everyone bounced. No one’s wanted to ride this thing in fuckin’ hours.”

Surely this is in violation of at least fifteen different safety standards. No one else seems to care, though, so you’re not going to be the one to bring it up and be a wet blanket about it. “Sure.” You shrug, accepting two cans when he hands them over.

Soonyoung, on the other hand, seems to have other plans. “Can we watch the fireworks from this thing?”

“Probably. They’re doing them all the way down the beach, so I don’t think they’ll, like, hit you.”

Soonyoung looks at you. Asks a question with his eyes that you answer with a small nod. “Sick. Give us more of those”—he points to Hansol-Vernon’s beer stash—“and don’t bring us back down until I say so.”

“Dude, no. If you’re planning on fucking up there again don’t even—”

You choke on your beer, coughing violently as you try to prevent it from coming out of your nose. Hansol-Vernon slaps you on the back and asks politely if you can get it together because he can’t have a death on his hands, either. “Thanks, Hansol-Vernon,” you say, wheezing a little as you regain your voice.

“It’s just Hansol. Or Vernon.”

That doesn’t clear up much.

Still stuck on three sentences ago, Soonyoung scoffs, indignant, and crosses his arms over his chest. “First of all, that was Mingyu! Don’t blame me for his debauchery! Second of all…” He pauses. “No second of all, actually.” He turns to you. “Do you wanna watch the fireworks from up there? I promise I won’t try to fuck you.”

You choke again.

Regardless, you agree. Vernon (which you’ve settled on calling him due to his shirt, which doesn’t have much of a Hansol vibe) gets you two situated, shouting a very pointed, “Hands where I can see them at all times!” when you reach the top.

And the view is breathtaking.

Nearly the entire town is visible, flat and sprawling as it encroaches on the shoreline to your right and the bay to your left. Lit up bright, welcoming like a beacon, though you’re not sure what it’s luring you into. You watch the waves break against the shore. The ant-sized people moving in herds. All the other rides that are operating and flashing and playing stupid little songs. You watch two seagulls perch on the roof of the ticket booth and fight over a french fry.

Under no circumstances do you look at Soonyoung, even though you know he’s looking at you.

The weight of his gaze is overwhelming. Has fire needling beneath your skin, pricking at your most sensitive spots. Because not only are there implications in it, there are wants. Wants that you know would be mirrored in your own eyes. And that’s… is it smart to start something with a predetermined end date? Soonyoung isn’t an idiot, wouldn’t be going into this with eyes wide shut, but you’re not sure where you stand. If it’s a risk you’re willing to take and a hurt you’re willing to both endure and put someone else through.

Still.

A single spark of hope can be a dangerous thing, and Soonyoung’s looking at you like he wants to engulf you. Like he wants to take every broken part of you and piece them back together with gentle hands. He’s looking at you with no trepidation at all, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. Like there’s potential. Like whatever you have to offer is worthwhile.

It should be scary. You should be throwing out emergency flares, begging whoever comes to your rescue to make you think rationally. It’s only been a month. You’re leaving in two. Hours of distance separate the two of you. You barely know him. He barely knows you; might eventually uncover all the things you hate about yourself and find them ugly, too.

It should be scary.

But it’s not.

So here, at the top of a ferris wheel that might as well be the top of the world, is where you finally meet his eye and manage to say, “I want you to kiss me. When the fireworks start, I want you to kiss me.”

Soonyoung smiles so wide his cheeks dimple. Scooches forward to sit on the edge of the bench, so close his knees knock into yours, always touching now that he’s allowed to. So close you can smell the sea salt and the remnants of cologne that stick to his skin. So close you can see yourself reflected in his eyes, surrounded by stars.

“Is there anything else I can do for you?” he asks, voice deep and molten, words nearly spoken into the crook of your neck. You almost have to look away again—almost have to call the whole thing off out of self-preservation—because that intensity is back. Has your breath hitching in your throat, sweat beading along your hairline.

Soonyoung cups your jaw. Runs his thumb over the seam of your lips. If you were any more coherent you’d nip at it with your teeth, soothe the sting with your tongue, show you can give as good as you get. You want Soonyoung just as affected as you, just as wanting. Just as gripped by the anticipation. Just as fucked up over the possibility of it all.

And it seems like he is, because he leans in impossibly closer. Uses his free hand to grip at the meat of your thigh, slide it higher until it’s nearly settling on your waist. He pinches the fabric of your shirt between his fingers like he’s trying to savor it, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. When he speaks this time, you actually do feel it against your skin. Feel the way his lips form around each word. Feel his warm breath every time he exhales. Feel your stomach somersault when he asks, “What if I don’t want to wait for the fireworks?” Feel your core throb when he continues, tone headier than you’ve ever heard it, “What if I just pulled you into my lap and kissed you right now?”

If you were any more coherent you’d tell him to do it. You’d smirk, press your tongue into the fat of your cheek, lean in just as close and watch the goosebumps rise on his arms when you tugged his earlobe between your teeth and said, “Why don’t you find out?” But you’re all out of sorts here on the top of the world, scared you’re going to come plummeting back to reality any second.

Because Soonyoung feels like a dream—not idealized or put on a pedestal, but realistic and attainable. Someone it’s easy to exist alongside of. Someone who shows you off without reservation and swindles his friends out of glorified carnival prizes just because you want one. Someone not afraid of or deterred by the liminal state of your relationship, before things became more solid and defined. Someone who knows when to push and when to be patient. Someone who looks at you and sees a future you could barely imagine—not because you didn’t want it, but because all those assumed barriers.

Grief so overpowering some days you could barely get out of bed. Salary, title, and job prospects not where or what you thought they’d be after graduating nearly a decade ago. Feeling trapped by both of these things. Knowing it’s pointless to tie your self-worth to numbers and degrees and prestige but being unable to help it. Being quietly dissatisfied with a simple, ordinary life.

But while those things are true, they aren’t what defines you.

You haven’t decided this thing with Soonyoung is worth pursuing because of his job—jobs. How much money he does or doesn’t make isn’t what you see when you look at him. What you see is his smile when he walks through the door on Friday evenings. The way his brows pinch and his tongue sticks out just so when he’s cooking dinner for the two of you. The look he wears when he shows up in the doorway of your room, half embarrassment and half mischief as he asks you to help him bleach his hair at some ungodly hour—that he trusts you to help even though you’ve never done it before. You see a man that, for the past month, has welcomed you into his home and his life.

All of those things are what makes it easy to plant your hands in the center of his chest and push him back against the bench. To crawl into his lap just like he’d teased, to nip at his skin just like you’d wanted, and whisper, “Maybe I don’t want to wait, either.”

Fate is not something you believe in, but if you did, you think it’d feel a lot like this: the first firework exploding as soon as Soonyoung grabs you by the back of the neck and draws you in for a searing, bruising kiss. The way he groans into your mouth and moves his hands to your waist, trying to erase space that doesn’t exist. You can tell he’s holding himself back, that he wants to thrust his hips, desperate for friction, but doesn’t want to risk making you uncomfortable, is letting you set the pace.

And the pace you want is just as frenzied.

“Fuck,” Soonyoung swears, hissing as you fully drop your weight onto him. When he tilts his head back, you move your lips to the column of his throat, delighting in the sounds spilling from him, the way he finally dares to roll his hips.

You moan, unable to help the sleazy smile that stretches across your face. “God,” you rasp, matching his thrusts, “you’re so hard.”

Soonyoung scoffs. Makes a sound like the air’s been punched out of him. “Do you know—shit—d’you know how long I’ve wa-wanted to kiss you? And have you seen yourself?”

“I have,” you snark, threading your fingers through his hair. “You could’ve, you know. Would’ve let you.”

“Pull it harder.” You do as you’re told, tightening your grip, staring down at the man beneath you. Lips parted, breathing labored, unsure what to do with his hands. You want to mess him up. Want to bring him close to the edge and make him suffer through having to wait. “Mm yeah, just like that, baby—make it hurt.”

Every word strikes you deep. Has you needy and clenching around nothing, unfazed by the world around you, that you’re in public. Fireworks continue to explode. So will you, soon, if Soonyoung doesn’t—

“Touch me,” you beg, unashamed of the need in your tone. He should hear it. He should know how affected you are by him, what he does to you. What you’ve been trying to ignore for weeks. “Soonyoung, please. Touch me, take me home, I don’t care, just—”

You’d be hard-pressed to say how you got here.

On your back in Soonyoung’s bed, his head between your legs. Panties pulled down only as far as they needed to be for him to get his mouth on you, and god is it good. Soonyoung’s made a trembling, gasping mess of you in record time. Has you clutching at his sheets every time he suctions his lips around your clit; every long, pointed stroke he makes with his tongue. Stars explode behind your eyelids every time he praises you, and you’d wanted him on the edge but you make it there first.

Soonyoung can tell. Sucks two fingers into his mouth and teases your entrance. “You’re gonna come, aren’t you, baby?” You nod, unable to muster actual words. Soonyoung grins, devilish and wicked, and presses his fingers inside. Crooks them immediately against your front wall as he returns his mouth to your cunt, sucking and licking, nipping at your skin.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—”

“Mhmm, let me feel it—that’s it, good girl. Taste so fuckin’ good; you drive me fucking crazy.”

You come with a shout, vision nearly whiting out, your hands back in Soonyoung’s hair to anchor you to this plane of existence. Wave after wave of euphoria hits you, and you almost beg him to keep going, to not go easy on you, make you come again, but you also just want him closer. Want to taste yourself on his lips. Want to hear his fractured intakes of breath as you grip his cock and touch him properly for the first time. Want the two of you to have to sleep in your bed because you make such a mess of his.

All he gives you is a few seconds to catch your breath. You know what you must look like, chest heaving and sweat-slick, and it makes you feel powerful. Sexy. Gives you the confidence to shrug off the last of your inhibitions and say, “C’mere, please,” and kiss the taste of your pussy off his lips, suck it off his tongue.

You skim your hands down his body—the expanse of soft, warm skin, chest to thigh. Grab at him over his briefs, rub your thumb across the wet patch you find there. Soonyoung curses when you suck that same thumb into your mouth and groan at the taste, the musk and hint of salt. One day you’ll return the favor and make him come with your mouth, have his muscles contracting as you swallow him down and let him fuck your throat, but right now you’re too impatient. Need him inside of you too badly.

There’s plenty of time for everything else.

Hand dipping beneath his briefs, you’re finally able to feel the weight of him. His velvety skin. Soonyoung hisses and tugs his bottom lip between his teeth. Watches you like a hawk, predator and prey, and it just spurns you on more. Has you circling and pumping his length, trying to figure out what he likes—which seems to be everything, judging by the way he hides his face in the crook of your neck and whines. “Baby,” he mewls. “God, you’re gonna feel so good around me, so tight and wet. Fuck, I’m never letting you out of this bed.”

“Yeah?” you tease, thumbing at his slit, collecting the pearls of pre-cum. “You wanna keep me forever?”

Another loud moan. “Please don’t say things like that,” he pleads, and you swear your heart stops, that your stomach drops through the mattress and onto the floor, before he follows it up with, “you’ll make me bust in my underwear like a virgin.”

You giggle, because that’s just how it is with Soonyoung: so easy to exist, to let go of your fear; so easy to laugh when everything starts feeling a bit too serious.

Easy to lob a truly terrible joke right back at him. “Come lose it, then.”

He barks a laugh. Leans over to fetch a condom from his nightstand. “Would you, the beautiful, incredible woman who I can’t believe is naked in my bed right now after I scammed her, like to do the honors?”

You would, actually, so you do.

Soonyoung kisses you as he slowly presses inside. As he fucks into you inch by inch. When he bottoms out, he gives you time to adjust; moves his hands to your waist and massages the skin just above your hip bones. “Okay?” he asks, and when you nod, tell him it’s okay to move, he presses another kiss to your forehead. “Good job, pretty girl; took me so well. I knew you’d feel like heaven.”

He fucks you slowly at first, measured and precise. Takes his time rolling his hips as his hands explore anything they can reach, like he can’t bear to not be touching you even though you’re connected in the most raw, sensual way two people can be. He waits he can feel you spasming around him, until your legs are locked behind his back, begging him to fuck you faster, harder, before he obliges. Before he puts all the power in his hips to good use. Before he rolls you onto your stomach and enters you from behind, both of you gasping at how much more intense it feels.

“Close,” you warn him, not at all surprised at how quickly your second release has snuck up on you.

With a final nip to the back of your neck, Soonyoung plants his knees against the mattress and grabs you by the hips, angling your body so he hits deeper, harder; so his balls slap against your clit every time he thrusts into you. You’re mindless with pleasure. Babbling nonsense as you beg him not to stop. Wouldn’t fuckin’ dream of it, he speaks through gritted teeth.

The coil of tension in your gut finally snaps. Again, you come with a shout, entire body pulling taut as Soonyoung continues to fuck you through it, his own undoing not far behind. Only a few more thrusts before he’s draping his body over yours and spilling into the condom, hands immediately reaching for yours to twine your fingers together.

It’s quiet in the immediate aftermath. Soonyoung rolls onto his side and presses his front against your back, arm secured around your middle. Kisses the top of your head and sighs. “I need to clean us up but I don’t think I can move.”

“Hm. At least take off the condom so your dick doesn’t get all pruney.”

Soonyoung startles, bolting upright. “Can that happen?”

“Dunno,” you respond, feeling sleep nipping at your heels, “but I’d rather you didn’t risk finding out. I happen to like your dick very much.”

He laughs. Rolls out of bed and playfully swats at your ass on his way to the bathroom. “Yeah, we’re not leaving this bed for a long time.”

In the morning, you wake up Soonyoung with your mouth and ride him until you’re both dizzy and breathless.

You fetch a book from your room and read while he dozes in and out of consciousness, content to just be next to him. You ignore the slew of texts from Minghao, who had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that there had been a development in your and Soonyoung’s relationship the night before, but once your phone vibrates for the hundredth time that morning, you figure you might as well get it over with because you know Minghao—know he won’t relent until he gets what he’s looking for.

Minghao [11:03am]: ignore my actually important texts all you want, but at least look at this 🙄

What he’s sent you is a job listing.

You can hardly believe what you’re reading. Not only is it nearly your dream job, but it’s remote and triple your current salary—and, most importantly, you’re qualified.

You [11:12am]: Minghao what is this?? Minghao [11:12am]: a friend is a higher-up there. says we can use him as a reference but if your resume looks good it might as well be a done deal Minghao [11:13am]: i already sent yours to him btw You [11:14am]: Freak. Why do you have a copy of my resume?? Minghao [11:14am]: i don’t. i sent him your linkedin Minghao [11:14am]: your ugly ass headshot must not have scared him off bc he said he’ll be in touch soon

Now you’re breathless for an entirely different reason.

You’ll figure out a way to thank him later, ask if he’s making the switch with you because both of you deserve better. You won’t get your hopes up—not until it’s a done deal, and not until you talk to Soonyoung. Because whatever this is between you is heading down a path you want to follow; want to see through to the end, wherever that may be.

For now, though, you’re happy to exist alongside Soonyoung. Happy to listen to his quiet snores and let him cuddle into your side. Happy to be in this house in this little beach town that has already given you so much.

Perhaps fate is something you believe in, after all.

If you’ve made it this far, thank you so much for reading! Sharing and reblogging my work is the best way to show you enjoyed it, but I also accept any and all feedback and screaming in my inbox. <3

[rubywoozii]

b(a)d chemistry | j.ww

⭐ starring: jeon wonwoo 💌 genre: fluff/crack | wc: 2.2k 💬 preview: he had brown eyes that looked up at you from behind black-rimmed frames and a voice that scolded your intelligence so infuriatingly right.

cw/tw: chem major! wonwoo x lit studies! reader, sassy man apocalypse, crack, a lot of swearing

🪽fic rating: pg 13 ☁️ masterlist & a/n: i’m writing this in the library with my brightness all the way down. no shame. (maybe just a little shame). the great gatsby x wonwoo agenda is going to haunt every narrative i ever write :)) thank you to @gyubakeries for betaing!

now playing: she by harry styles, the way i loved you by taylor swift, party 4 u by charli xcx

this is an addition to my 500 followers event: click here to read the masterlist!

If heaven was for real, you thought it must look something like him. 

He had brown eyes that looked up at you from behind black-rimmed frames and a voice that scolded your intelligence so infuriatingly right. His fingers emphasized each page flip and his lips pursed against the side of his pencil, eyebrows furrowed with intense concentration and deep seeded fury. 

Jeon Wonwoo was a beast in the classroom and it made your wandering mind wonder how that passion might translate in bed.

“That’s wrong.” He always said it so simply, as if your mistakes were simply unsurprising and a fact. “Change it.”

You roll your eyes. There was a reason Wonwoo was still single despite being one of the most revered guys in your university, and it was because no one had yet to stand their ground when facing his stupid superiority complex and lack of tact. 

“This is dumb.” You poke at your test papers with the butt of your pen, slumping further down your seat. “Why do I have to take chemistry anyways? We’re not even in the same department.” 

He raised an eyebrow at your complaints. “You’re the one who signed up for the week-long major switch experiment.” 

Right. You let out a louder groan than the last. “Boooo..”

Wonwoo laughs, and your lips quirk into a suppressed smile.

“You won’t be laughing when it’s your turn. You swapped with me, remember? I’m a lit major.” 

Wonwoo pales. “I forgot about that.” 

There’s a shared smile that passes between the two of you, as if you were trading some silent understanding of a joke. He’s awfully pretty when he smiles. 

Wonwoo slaps your test paper and it jolts you out of your bubble of bliss. “Back to work, rookie. Your values are still wrong.” 

Never mind. He’s definitely heinous and ugly on the inside.

You watch his glasses slip down his nose. He looks so awfully pretty asleep. 

Shaking your head, you reach over to remove it, placing it on the table in front of him and returning back to your workbooks. 

Five hours later and chemistry was still gibberish to your eyes. 

“Hey, Y/N.” Seokmin stops at your table on his way out of the library, arms ladened with his own workbooks. You vaguely remember that he had switched majors with Seungkwan, trading in his music major for environmental science. It had to be some sort of sheer luck that the two had been paired together, for you knew both boys would succeed at either major anyway. 

“Hi Seok.” You smile lazily his way, glancing at the sleeping Wonwoo next to you. He had not stirred. 

“How’s the swap going?” 

You snort. “I hate chem. And Wonwoo’s berating is not helping.” 

“He’s just trying to help in a way he knows how to.” Seokmin defends the classroom beast and you realize you’ve forgotten that they’re actually pretty good friends.

“I don’t know how you put up with him, Seok. I’ve only been alone with him for less than a day and I want to rip my eyeballs out. Or his eyeballs, I don’t know yet.”

Seokmin laughs. “You’re funny.” He starts walking towards the exit, looking back at you with a smile on his face. “Good luck! Maybe finally having someone smarter than you will do you some good.” 

You’re offended, but you know he jests. “He is not smarter than me!” You protest. “I’m smarter than him, the fuck?” 

You fail to notice Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrowing in his sleep, his lips parting to counter your remark before closing again. 

“Good.” You give your sleeping project partner one last glance before returning to the stupid chemistry question. “Still sleeping. I hope it stays that way.” You mumble the last part mostly to yourself, your eyes already glazing over from the word problem. “Why is Sally mixing so many fucking liquids, just drink water or something.” 

Wonwoo snorts in laughter but passes it off as a snore. He peeks an eye open. You look awfully pretty when you’re frustrated. 

Wonwoo swears he’s not looking at you in an obsessive way. He insists it’s a perfectly normal way to be looking at someone, ignoring how it definitely feels more like a stare than a look. 

You’re hunched over the latest book in your repertoire, pen scratching whatever thoughts down in the margins. 

“Quit it.” Mingyu bumps his shoulder to catch his attention. “You’ll scare her. Hell, you’re scaring me.” 

“Shut up.” He ignores his friend and continues to look. You’re too engrossed in the novel to register his stares anyways. “I bet it’s some stupid book about yearning for love and way too much making out.” 

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “It’s about some guy who throws parties every night hoping one girl might show up.” For a sports major, Mingyu knows a surprising amount about books. 

Wonwoo frowns at the idea. “That’s dumb.” 

“Yeah.” 

He forces himself to look away, staring down at the sandwich in his hands instead. 

“You’re kind of doing that though. Don’t pretend like you didn’t beg Professor Choi to partner the two of you together so you could speak to her. You hate literature.” Mingyu smirks. “You know I’m fucking right.” 

“Shut the fuck up, bro.” 

You see Wonwoo smile a real smile for the first time when you show him your chemistry test grades. 

“Holy shit.” He grabs the papers from you, pushing his glasses up as if it could change the score he was seeing. 

“It’s good, right?” 

He smiles, and it’s one that’s full of teeth and so unguarded. “Yes. You did so well. I can’t believe-” He shuts up the moment he realizes he’s rambling. 

You point a finger at his face, the brightest expression on your face. “You were happy for me. You’re happy for me. You fucking smiled.” It’s a bigger win for you than the actual test score. 

He grabs the hand still pointing in his face and gently pushes it down. “Shut up.”

“Admit it.” You pester on. “Admit you’re happy for me.” 

“I’m happy you didn’t fail miserably.” 

“Shut the fuck up, Jeon.” You laugh when he grimaces. “You–”

His heart lurches because– just for a second– he thinks you’re about to say you’re in love with me. And you’d be right. 

“--smiled.” 

His shoulders sink along with his heart. 

He looked so awfully pretty happy. And you looked so awfully pretty when you were annoying him. 

You look at Wonwoo and realize you can see a future with him. He no longer enrages you with just one glance. You see him and he looks awfully boyfriend shaped. 

You mime a gag at the thought and he turns to look at you. 

“You good?” 

You nod. “Yeah, fine.” 

He’s mindlessly playing with the pages of the book you had given him. “Do I really have to read this? You know I’m going to ace the exam either way.” 

You frown. “You don’t read for the exam, you read to read.” 

“That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all day.” 

You know he means it as a joke, yet the words sting anyways. “That’s mean.” You tell him. 

“It’s true though. It’s just words.” He pushes the book back to you. “I’m not wasting time on this.” 

The future you saw shatters right before your eyes. You shove the book back towards him. “Why do I even bother?” 

He watches as you leave, your hair bouncing in the afternoon wind. He frowns. He’s always been the smartest in the room. He’s always known exactly what to say. Yet one look at you and he’s rendered as dumb as any other guy. 

He hears you talking about him to his friends the next day. Mingyu has his hand around your waist, and although he knows how close you are with his roommates, it still rubs him the wrong way. 

He figures it hurts him more than usual because he knows he has no right to be feeling any sort of ownership towards you. 

“He’s an idiot.” He hears you complain to Seokmin and Mingyu. 

They nod solemnly. “It’s been known.” 

He fights the urge to roll his eyes. He hated when you insulted his intelligence. 

“And we all know I could’ve aced that chem test without him.” 

Now you were just lying. Wonwoo frowned at your words. 

“You know he’s hopelessly in love with you.” Mingyu tells you, and Wonwoo lets out a low groan. 

You roll your eyes. “Right. And Professor Choi’s in love with Professor Yoon.” 

“Yeah, that actually happened.”

Wonwoo ignores your shocked expression, cranking up the music blasting in his ears. It drowns out whatever Seokmin was enthusiastically telling you, his arms waving passionately in the air. 

Wonwoo knows you’d never love him back. He’s not that much of an idiot. 

His resolve breaks on the third day. Wonwoo’s confronted with the fact that he misses your usual bickering and the way you’d glare at him from behind your computer screen. He misses the sound of your nails clacking on the keyboard, how they’d grow more furious the more frustrated you became with him. He missed riling you up. But most of all, he missed those rare moments where you’d put your rivalry aside and smile at him in a way that made him believe– for a split second– that you could love him. 

Wonwoo finishes the book you gave him in two days. It would have taken him half the time, if it hadn’t been for the time he had taken to read your handwriting in the margins. 

It was the book Mingyu had been talking about, the book he had watched you read in the school courtyard that one time. 

“Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.” 

He liked that line, and the things you had written in the margins on the side. There is beauty in conversing in a language only two can understand. To the world it looks like fighting, to them it feels like finally finding a worthy opponent. 

Wonwoo can’t help but feel as if the whole novel was one long love letter from you, to him. 

“Y/N!” 

You turn to face him. Your body reacts to his voice despite your brain telling you not to. “What do you want, Jeon?” 

He pushes a battered copy of The Great Gatsby into your hands. Your copy. 

“I finished.” He’s a little breathless as he speaks, looking at you for a reply. 

“I thought–” 

He doesn’t let you finish. “I’m sorry. I was crass. And rude. And I’ve always been a little pretentious.”

“Yes, you have.” You turn to walk past him, but he steps in front of you, blocking your path. 

“Let me finish.” His brown eyes plead with yours, and you relent. 

“I’ve always been those things, you know that. You’ve called me out for it since preschool. But it doesn’t change the fact that you’re the only person I can spar with word for word. You throw my shit back harder and witter and the only time I truly feel alive is when I’m with you. Yes, I’m mean. I’m rude. I make fun of you all too much. But I-” 

He pauses. He can’t say it. That he loves you. 

“Read the book.” He says instead. “Please.” 

He looks awfully pretty begging. 

things i wish i said

god, i have a lot of that

got a bad habit of shoving my foot in my mouth

when i’m around you

like my mind’s spinning far too fast 

i swear i’m not usually like that

i wish i had told you how much i cared 

in such a way that made me fear

wish i had taken a moment to explain to you my mind

that i really do love you despite what it might look like

– that’s what i tell everyone

wish whatever i had to say you already knew

if you could hear exactly how i meant it

see exactly how i see you

feel the jumble of whatever i feel

when i said that i hated you

there were other things i left out

like the fact that i hate you because there was nothing else i could’ve felt

that would’ve made us make more sense 

that i really didn’t hate you, and my words were too harsh

i hated you cause i love you a little bit too hard

i hated the ten foot drop i feel when i see you

not you

i could never really actually hate you

Wonwoo sees you smile a real smile for the first time when you meet him for coffee after his literature exam.

You have an irritatingly smug expression on your face as you greet him. “I heard you failed your exam.” 

“Shut up.” He had failed his exam. “Words are not my forte, alright?”

“Look at that, Jeon Wonwoo, finally admitting he’s not good at something.” 

He laughs, and the sound echoes somewhere deep in your chest. “I guess I’m learning.”

“Nice juxtaposition in the poem, by the way.” You smile at him from behind your coffee mug. 

He frowns. “A what now?” 

You laugh and it feels like the fucking sun shining on his face. 

“I love you too, Jeon. Even if it was a shitty ass poem.” 

He smiles. It’s unguarded and full of teeth. 

[rubywoozii]

your daughter calls me daddy too — woozi x reader

summary: On the way to meet her parents for the first time, Jihoon can’t resist teasing his anxious girlfriend, turning nerves into desire right there in the car. They might be about to smile politely over dinner… but they both know the real heat will come later, behind closed doors.

warning!! nsfw, fingering, pet-names;

notes: the inspo was a trend that i saw on x and one girl did it with woozi! so, this little short story just born

You were all nervous ’cause today was finally the day Jihoon was gonna meet your parents. You knew your boyfriend was charming, polite, basically everything your parents ever wanted in the person you’d choose to love — but that didn’t stop the anxiety from crawling all over you.

You guys were already on your way, and your legs were bouncing like crazy — dead giveaway you were anxious — even though you were just sitting there in the passenger seat.

“Hey, relax… I’m not gonna embarrass you in front of your parents,” Jihoon said, taking his right hand off the wheel just to rest it on your thigh, giving you a little reassuring squeeze.

“I know you won’t… but do you even know how you’re gonna approach them? Especially my dad…”

“Of course! I’ll talk about the stuff we’ve got in common…” Jihoon said, then that mischievous little grin spread across his lips. “Was thinking about starting with something about baseball… at least until I get to the most important part…”

He paused for a second, still smirking. You just knew there was something completely unexpected running through his head with that look.

“Which is…”

“Well, I would say… your daughter calls me daddy too.”

He started laughing as soon as he finished the sentence, but flashes of last night flooded your mind. Jihoon’s hands all over your body, hitting all the right spots… it was impossible not to feel that wave of heat rushing through you. Instinctively, with that little ache low in your belly, your legs pressed together and a blush spread across your cheeks.

Seeing that, Jihoon’s face changed instantly. That playful, teasing expression melted into something darker — pure lust.

“You’re thinking about everything we did last night, aren’t you?” he said, sliding his hand a little higher up your thigh, squeezing you harder this time.

“Yes… daddy,” you breathed out, your voice all soft and needy, barely keeping that shaky sigh from slipping through your lips.

That sound — God — it made Jihoon lose it completely. His right hand, the one that’d been on your thigh, slipped right under your dress, boldly making its way between your legs.

“So wet… and I haven’t even done anything to you yet, babe…”

You bit your lip hard, trying to keep yourself quiet, but the way his fingers brushed over you made it almost impossible. Your breath hitched, your hips instinctively tilting towards his touch, desperate for more even though you were both still in the damn car.

Jihoon let out this low, cocky chuckle, loving every second of how undone you were getting.

“Shit, babe… you’re already this worked up and we’re not even home yet,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, leaning closer to whisper right against your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

You could barely think straight, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat so tight your knuckles went white.

“Jihoon… w-we can’t…” you tried to say, but your voice came out all breathy and weak, completely betraying you.

“Hmm… pretty sure we can,” he smirked, pushing his fingers just a little further, teasing you mercilessly.

The car kept moving down the road, but for you, the whole world had narrowed down to his touch, his voice, and that wicked grin of his.

“Don’t worry, baby… I’ll behave when we get to your parents’,” he promised, but the way his fingers kept playing with you said otherwise.

You gasped, your head falling back against the seat, your body already trembling, knowing damn well that Jihoon always knew exactly how to push you right to the edge… and then some.

His fingers slipped past the thin fabric, finally finding exactly what he was looking for. You let out a sharp gasp, biting down hard on your lip to keep from moaning his name right there in the car.

“Fuck… you’re soaking,” Jihoon growled, his voice low and rough, as if he was barely holding himself back. His fingers moved slow at first, just to tease, making you squirm in your seat, your thighs trembling as you tried — and failed — to keep still.

“Jihoon…” you whimpered, your hand gripping his wrist, not really to stop him, but just because you needed something, anything, to ground yourself.

But he didn’t stop. Of course he didn’t. He leaned in closer, pressing a hot kiss against your neck, then trailing up to your ear.

“Be a good girl and stay quiet for me… we’re almost there,” he whispered, his words sending another pulse of heat straight through you as his fingers kept working you over, slow but relentless.

Your eyes fluttered shut, your breath coming out in shaky little pants, your whole body already on fire for him. But then —

Ding.

Your phone lit up with a notification from your mom: “We’re waiting for you two! Dinner’s almost ready!”

Jihoon glanced at it and let out a dark little laugh, finally pulling his hand away, though not before giving you one last, slow stroke that left you gasping for air.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this later…” he said, smirking as he casually licked his fingers, tasting you with zero shame.

You just stared at him, your cheeks flushed, your whole body still aching for more.

The car slowed to a stop right in front of your parents’ house, the porch light glowing warmly in the evening air. Jihoon leaned over, kissed your cheek sweetly — completely switching gears — and whispered,

“Let’s go say hi to your parents… but tonight, you’re all mine.”

You swallowed hard, trying to pull yourself together as you opened the door, knowing damn well that this night was far from over.

[rubywoozii]

“I know, but don’t say it.”

jeonghan x reader genre: angst; fluff word count: 3K

a/n: Hi lovelies! Here’s a Jeonghan fic that was inspired by two songs in particular: “Don’t Go Changing” by Ylona Garcia, and “Beg For You” by Charli XCX feat. Rina Sawayama and Vernon (particularly Vernon’s verse). Jeonghan and reader have sincere feelings for each other but things are complicated. That’s all. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for reading! :)) 

Watching Jeonghan sleep, you thought back to when you had last seen him before that night. It had been two weeks earlier, and it was a week before that time. Too long, you thought. But that was ok, or at least it had to be, because Jeonghan wasn’t your boyfriend. Admiring his peaceful state as his deep breaths filled the silence of the dimly lit room, you had to remind yourself of that. It didn’t matter that he let himself into your apartment just hours earlier with his own key, or that he had left a hoodie at your place weeks earlier that only left your closet when you wanted to wear it against your skin, and it didn’t even matter that he was naked and asleep in your bed, shrouded in floral sheets that smelled like you. He wasn’t your boyfriend, and things were complicated.

Dragging your gaze over his features, disbelief racked your brain as you processed his existence. It was unfair how pretty he was as he slept, mostly because you were certain you looked less than appealing in slumber, but also because he wasn’t really yours to admire. How dare he be so attractive sleeping in your bed and not be yours. He slept on his side, your comforter draped over his hips leaving just his torso bare for your appreciation. The smooth skin of his chest was tempting you to reach out and place your hand over his heart to feel it’s pulse. You loved the fact that he was alive. And he was there with you. Even if he wasn’t yours. Even if he wasn’t staying.

Keep reading

[rubywoozii]

Would you like a receipt? Pt. 1

In Valentines collaboration with @svthub hosted by my wifey @wongyuseokie, pt 2 out now! Pairing: Childhood bf!junhui x working class gn!reader Genre: fluff, slight angst, slice of life Word count: 2.9k tags: second chances, exes to ???, childhood friend/boyfriend!junhui, spontaneous dates, misunderstandings, smut in part 2!!! Summary: Coming across a grade school ex-boyfriend while you worked a shitty seasonal job around Valentines was not in your 2024 bingo card. author note: to sweet mio at @skyechild i apologize in advance for making you wait for the second half. I promise it'll be worth the wait. but yes! i am your one and only cupid. I hope you enjoy what i have so far. And to answer your ask, idk if i have a favorite thing about myself? Maybe it's the constant desire to look for new things to improve on or my attitude in trying new things? What i look for other people is pretty simple tho. That would be ease. I'd like if someone felt comfortable with me and vice versa. if i can make someone's day by making them laugh or just existing then that would be great. happy valentines day mio! From yours Truly, Cupid💘

Tag: @shiningstar-byulxx @misssugarlips @tommolex @hoeforhao @dkakapizzaboy @junhui-recs @svtup @buffhoshi @meowmeowminnie @caratochan @lovebot4han @camisun93 @emmmui @toruro @jeonride @novalpha @nvmrljk @feat-sun @tinkerbell460 @aaniag @tacosandbitch @cottoncheol @embrace-themagic

Valentine's Day has always been a bit of a hit or miss for you. The last time you remember eagerly anticipating the holiday was back in high school. Since then, the allure of celebrating love and romance seemed to fade away, as you realized that not everything in the world is adorned in shades of pink and red. Valentine's Day became a luxury, a whimsical indulgence that felt distant and impractical for someone navigating a world that often left little room for such extravagances. Life, for you, was a series of tasks, responsibilities, and the constant juggling act of making ends meet.

From the time you were in high school, you entered the realm of adulthood, where dreams sometimes took a backseat to the more immediate needs of providing for your family. The dreams you put on hold lingered in the recesses of your mind, awaiting their turn to be fulfilled. Working tirelessly, you made sacrifices, dedicating yourself to a job that demanded your energy and time. Despite the challenges, you pressed on, ensuring the well-being of your family, who toiled alongside you, if not even harder.

Now, as an adult working a part-time job that offers a slightly better paycheck than your previous one, you’ve grown used to the matter. While the financial gains may not be monumental, every improvement counts, especially when compared to the downfalls of your previous workplace.

Amidst the whirlwind of your daily hustle, Valentine's Day transforms into a distant echo of the past–a time when celebrations were carefree and seemingly attainable. However, for you, navigating the world feels akin to maneuvering on an almost empty tank. In this moment, mere existence becomes a means to sustain yourself.

“Is this a gift? If so, would you like it to be gift-wrapped for you?”

The middle-aged man raises an eyebrow, smacking that mint gum that doesn’t seem to mask his nicotine-coated breath. “Is it extra?”

“It’s two dollars extra.”

Usually, you’d really sell the idea that the highest premium quality wrapping paper would be used to then be topped off with a satin ribbon that truly pulls it all together, but for such a customer, you know you’d be wasting your breath.

He scoffs, snatching the bag off the counter. “Are you trying to scam me? Fuck that shit.”

You let a sigh of relief slip past your lips the moment he made his way out the sliding door, muttering to yourself about the smell. You reach down for your Powerade hidden on a bottom shelf of the counter you stand behind, hoping this supposed ‘power’ would relinquish itself to you for another long shift.

It’s the day before Valentine's Day, which means the rush has become a regular occurrence since about a week ago. The store is bursting with vibrant displays of flowers, stuffed animals clutching oversized lollipops, and decadent heart-shaped boxes of chocolates. Not such a bad gig if you look at it.

However, the true predicament lies in the presence of aggressive customers, drawn to discounts like magnets. They're all about grabbing anything and everything that's on sale, making things more complicated than they need to be. It's like they're trying to see how far they can push things and make your day even crazier. Dealing with them adds an extra layer of chaos to the already busy scene as if you haven’t lost faith in humanity enough.

“I bought this yesterday and it’s DIGUSTING! I want a full refund and extra compensation for my time and taste buds being wasted on this disgusting excuse of a candy.”

Popping open the box revealed a sorry sight–almost half the candies were missing as if they'd gone on a little taste adventure without an invite. The poor box looked like it had been through a candy apocalypse, so messed up that I couldn't even be sure if it originally belonged to our store.

“Ma’am, I’m sorry you're dissatisfied with our products. However, because the box is so damaged and half of the contents have been consumed we cannot accept this return,” you respond in your most polite service voice.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Where the hell is your manager? The customer is always right!”

At last, a wave of relief crashes over you like a superhero arriving just in the nick of time during closing hours. The once bustling crowd has dwindled, allowing you to begin the task of rearranging items and securing the cash register, signaling the imminent conclusion of yet another busy day.

Just when you're on the verge of clocking out and calling it a day, a sudden interruption unfolds at the entrance. A lone figure materializes outside, softly tapping on the glass as if pleading to be granted entry.

"Please," his voice is all muffled through the glass, "I know you're about to close, but pretty please! I just need to grab something real quick. I already know exactly what I need!"

It’s not every day you see a man of his looks and caliber beg to be given access to a candy store as if he were a determined child. There's this undeniable air of urgency about him–as if he’d die if we didn’t get what he needed–but it doesn't overshadow his perfectly proportioned features that illuminate under the evening street lights. Ultimately, you decide to approach the door, swiftly undoing the top lock of the door and allowing him inside.

He expresses his gratitude with a grateful clasp of his hands, swiftly navigating through the inventory to grab what he urgently needs. Returning to the counter, you initiate the process of unraveling the closing procedures, all the while fervently hoping that no one else decides to join the stranger in last minute browsing.

"Sorry," he apologizes as he drops his items on the counter: several heart-shaped boxes and a bear clutching a mini Mylar balloon that shouts 'I love you,' with a small box of chocolates in its other paw. A classic and popular choice.

“That’s a lot of chocolate. Big family?”

He shakes his head, "Nah, these are for a company thing. I've been busting my butt for weeks, and the one simple task I get, I can't even manage it until the last minute."

"Got it. And the bear? Picking up a last-minute surprise for your girlfriend too?"

A slightly offended look crosses his face. "Oh, if I had a girlfriend, I’d do way more than make up my tardiness with a teddy bear.” He holds the fluffy creature in his hand, “This is just for my mom. So, if you ever spot a lady with my face and long hair, please, keep it on the down-low."

You chuckle softly, bagging up his purchases. "I'll remember that. Cash or credit?"

He extends his hand, revealing his credit card with his full name on display. As you sound out the name in your head, it strikes you as unique yet oddly familiar. You run the card through the machine, unaware that the customer is squinting at you, also trying to place where he might know you from.

"Hey, have we met before? You seem really familiar," he questions.

"Uh, not sure, but your name does ring a bell," you reply as you hand the card back. "Haven't come across too many Wen Junhuis."

"Wait, how do you know my name?" he questions.

"Well, it's on your credit card, sir," You respond with straightforward precision.

"True, but no one has picked it up as quickly and accurately as you did. Maybe we do know each other."

You shrug. "Maybe so. I think the last time I heard a name like that was back in elementary school. A classmate maybe."

"Hold on, you couldn't be Y/n, right?" he questions, his eyes widening with realization.

You take a brief pause to grasp the implication, acknowledging it with a nod. "Been a long time coming, hasn't it?"

His smile widened across his cheeks, evoking memories of a similar grin on a boy more than half his age. "Yeah. Well, I be damned. I'm surprised you remember my name."

"It's pretty distinctive; I'm surprised you remember mine."

He scoffs. "You are a core memory, thank you very much. One of the nicest and coolest people in our grade. God, remember our first Valentines?"

"Yes," you softly chuckle, the memories of childhood innocence flooding back. "I begged my mom to get these really nice scented Valentine cards to give to the class."

"And you gave me the lemon one because I love lemons, and I gave you one of the hologram cards of a cat that smiles when you flip it on its side."

"I was so excited to show my sister, and I just know she was so jealous."

"Yeah, where did the time go?" he sighs, his smile turning wistful on his lips.

You shake your head, still smiling from the unexpected trip down memory lane, and finally, hand off his gifts back to him. "Would you like a receipt?"

"No, I'm good. So,” He leans over the counter curiously, “What are you doing this Valentine's?"

"Working the day. I'll probably just grab takeout for dinner and head home. You?"

"It's a workday,” he says proceeding to grab his things. “So most of the day is spent in the office. But, I'm free the rest of the evening…would it be weird if I asked you out for Valentine's Day?" he nervously proposes.

You raise an eyebrow, slightly taken aback but intrigued. "You want me to be your Valentine?"

"Couldn't hurt," he nonchalantly shrugged, a wry grin playing on his lips. Then, as if a light bulb flickered to life above his head, an idea dawned on him, sparking mischief in his eyes.

"Unless you've got a 200-pound, all-muscle boyfriend ready to beat my ass," he quips, his tone laced with a hint of sarcasm. The words linger in the air, forming a playful challenge and a subtle admission that, just maybe, he wasn't entirely impervious to consequences.

It harks back to a past altercation, one of those rare 'couple quarrels' you had. The promise was made in jest—that you'd leave him if he ever pulled on your hair again, and he'd have to face a burly 200-pound muscle man. Though uttered in humor with no evidence of said muscle man, it struck a chord of genuine concern in his little boy heart, and he kept that promise until the end of your relationship. The memory lingered, manifesting now in an unmistakable charm, a blend of audacity, bravado, and humor that fills the air with laughter and unadulterated ease.

You chuckle. “Lucikly, I don’t, but I don’t know you. Who knows what kind of person you, or I, have become in the last fifteen or so years? Maybe I'm a bitch.”

"Well, as long as there’s no one else in the picture, I see no problem. Bitch all you want to me." he grins.

Your expression shifts into a playful contemplation, "Why me? I'm pretty sure there are plenty of people out there dying for a dinner date with you. I mean, the last thing we shared was a juice box."

"Maybe I'm hoping to reignite an old spark. If I recall our MASH game correctly, we were supposed to be living in a shack with 20 kids, a dog, and daily commutes on a scooter," Junhui retorts.

"Thank goodness that scenario never played out, but, um, I'm not sure dinner is a good idea."

As the banter unfolds, you realize it's been an eternity since you've experienced the thrill of a proper date. The mere thought of dressing up, the nervous excitement before meeting someone, and the shared laughter over a romantic meal become fragments of a distant past, like pages in a cherished novel stored away on a forgotten shelf.

“We never know unless we try, right?” He says, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You always hit on exes that you stumble upon on a random Tuesday?”

“Only the pretty ones.” Junhui grins, swiftly extracting a candy box from the bag. With a quick scribble on the side, he hands it to you. “If you change your mind. Happy Valentine's Day.”

You roll your eyes playfully, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you accept the candy. “Happy Valentine's Day to you too, Jun.”

You depart with a box of candy in hand when your shift ends, Junhui's number hastily scribbled on the top, the ink still fresh as that abrupt encounter. As you make your way home, the city lights shimmering in the distance, you find your thoughts circling back to his audacious proposition.

The weight of the candy box seems to mirror the gravity of the decision before you. The city streets, now quieter in the late evening, echo with dilemma of pursuing his offer. You can't deny the charm that lingers in the air—a mix of confusion, nostalgia, and an unexpected connection. The mere act of considering his offer adds a layer of excitement to the night, anticipation for plans that have been yet set in motion.

As you unlock the door to your apartment, the scent of familiarity welcomes you warmly for once, likely due to the refreshing end of your night. You set the candy aside–already having memorized Junhui's number–and with a decisive tap, you enter his number into your phone. The screen lights up with his name, a digital beacon inviting you to venture into uncharted territory. As you send a quick message, the city outside continues its gentle hum, and you can't help but feel giddy. You’re eleven all over again.

The memory of Junhui's charismatic grin lingers in your mind, a subtle tug at the edges of your thoughts the moment you hit send, and you throw the phone aside, letting yourself get rid of the electrifying nerves running through your body. When you hear the notification going off–Junhui’s name on display–you realize there’s no going back.

The following day, you’re excited about living for once. Delighted to have something to look forward to after work, you board today's bus with a genuine smile on your face, a subtle change that doesn't escape the notice of the bus drivers, who have grown accustomed to your early presence by now.

As the bus carries you through the familiar townscape, you can't help but revel in the subtle shift in the air. The usual humdrum of daily life seems to have given way to a vibrant undercurrent of anticipation for the holiday. The ordinary scenes outside the window take on a slightly pink hue, and you find yourself savoring the details that often go unnoticed illuminated with festive decor.

Work hours also pass with a newfound energy, and the anticipation for the evening grows with each passing minute, even with the rambunctious customers buying more gifts just in the nick of time. The mundane tasks of the day become a mere backdrop to the vibrant scene that awaits you once the clock strikes the end of the workday.

Today, the world outside the candy store seems to radiate brighter than any other day has. The street lights gradually flickering on, usually just a backdrop to your daily grind, now beckon with a promise of surprises. As the day unfolds, you find yourself counting down the hours until your appointment time arrives and you quickly change into your Valentine's date attire, anticipating Junhui's reappearance.

Time moves forward—one hour, two hours, three hours. Doubts begin to creep in. Were you merely indulging in wishful thinking at this point?

The rose-tinted glasses, which once painted the day with a hopeful hue, must have started to expire. Now, a subtle gray takes over, bringing you back to the stark reality of the passing moments. The initial excitement begins to wane, replaced by a tinge of disappointment and a hint of uncertainty.

As the clock ticks away, doubts and questions swirl in your mind like a gathering storm. The vibrant anticipation that once filled the air begins to dissipate, leaving behind a quiet unease.

You glance at your reflection in the mirror, the Valentine's date attire now carrying a touch of wistfulness. The city outside, once alive with the promise of a special evening, now takes on a different tone. The street lights, initially beacons of excitement, cast shadows that dance with anxiety and unease. The imminent arrival of buses amplifies a fleeting thought–maybe, just maybe, you can still catch it if you run.

Taking a leap of faith, you hastily gather your belongings and make your way to the bus station, adhering to your initial plan—opting for takeout in the solitude of home, if restaurants are still an option at this hour. Amidst the uncertainty, your phone succumbs to the lack of power, its screen plunged into darkness, mirroring the tone of your night.

The familiarity of home brings no comfort, only disheartenment. You set aside the dinner you had envisioned for tonight, plugging in your phone to replenish its drained battery, intentionally avoiding any further interaction with the outside world for the remainder of the night.

When your phone finally regains its power, messages burst to life in an instant, one particular message standing out, beckoning attention. That is, of course, if you were still around to witness it.

Junhui: I’m so sorry! You will not believe the day I had. My office was bombarding me all day with extra work and i only left now. Please tell me its not too late.

P.S. and here's that valentine i wanted to give to you <3 i hope you like it as much as this fic so far

[rubywoozii]

when you spoke to me..

doctor!joshua x f!reader 4.1k words, readers ex keeps texting her to take him back, fake dating au, honestly doesn’t focus much on joshua being a doctor other than at the beginning but he still is a rich doctor, fluff, angst, one sided love (?) (you’ll get it when u read it), part of waves will take us far away series !

why were hospital layouts so complicated sometimes? now you’re accidentally in the room of a really cute doctor embarrassing yourself while you fumble with your phone trying to find the correct room your friend was in.. but wait is he smiling at you?

“you what?” you screamed to your friend over the phone, “who the hell is stupid enough to go on a hike when they have a broken leg?”

“ankle. it’s a broken ankle. besides it all worked out in the end right? at least everything with cheol got cleared up” she giggled, and you sighed remembering the crush she’d developed on her doctor of all people.

“yeah yeah i guess, look you get some rest i’ll come visit you tomorrow with jeonghan. feel better alright!” you let out another deep sigh when your friend hung up. you loved her but she really did make some terrible decisions sometimes.

the bed sheets were warm beneath you, it’d started getting warmer as spring approached and you knew you were definitely grateful for it. the cold weather always made the skin on your hands rough.

the notification sound on your phone went off. confused you checked your phone again in case it was from your friend. you let out a groan when you read who the text was from. ‘i’m sorry i miss you’ read the text from your ex. you’d blocked him weeks ago but he kept finding ways to contact you through new or his friends’ accounts. annoyed, you put your phone on mute and put your head on your pillow ready to sleep.

balloons tied to your wrist and three gift bags resting on your forearms, you walked through the hospital halls keeping a lookout for any staff that could help you find where the room you were looking for was.

you didn't usually visit this hospital so you weren’t familiar with the setting. room 139. you just passed 122 so surely you can't be far, right? after walking for a few more minutes, you found room 139. something seemed off though.

you were sure jeonghan had told you that he was already here and after peeking your head in, you couldn’t catch sight of him. weird. maybe he just stepped out to grab something. oh well.

pushing the door open you could've cried at the sight in front of you. yeah you were right to be wary. instead of your friends you were met with an elderly man currently getting a cast on his arm.

“i am so so sorry” you said breathlessly as you tried to get out of the room. before you did, your eyes met with the second doctor in the room, was he.. laughing at you? ‘jerk’ you rolled your eyes before walking out of the room.

turning on your heel, you gave one last apology before trying to find the correct room. before you could make it far, you felt someone grab onto your arm to get your attention. ‘what the hell did he want?’

“can i help you?” you told him curtly.

“i can help you if you need actually. i’m guessing you’re here to visit someone and it wasn’t that man back there” he smiled at you. okay now you felt bad. he was just a cute doctor that wanted to help you out.

“oh.. thank you” you smiled at him, “uh this was the room that my friend has told me. i’m visiting her, she had a fractured ankle..”

“oh!” his eyes widened, “do you know who your friend’s doctor is? is it choi seungcheol?”

“oh that’s right!”

“yeah come with me i’ll take you to where it is. you were in the wrong ward”

you frowned. why would the hospital use the same numbering system for every ward? it’s so over complicated. whatever. at least you were getting there now. you continued to follow doctor.. well actually what was his name?

“excuse me doctor? what’s your name if you don’t mind me asking”

“hm? oh i’m doctor hong but you can call me joshua i don’t mind” he smiled again at you, and when you saw it you don’t know how you managed to dislike him at first when he had such a kind smile. “and what’s your name?”

“my name’s yn. sorry for making you go through all this trouble by the way, you must’ve been busy”

“oh no don’t worry about it, i wouldn’t have offered if i didn’t want to”

after about ten minutes of walking joshua showed you to where the room was, and you saw all of your friends. thanking joshua one more time you made your way in before waving back at him.

when visiting hours were done, you and jeonghan we’re making it out of the hospital together before you heard your phone vibrate a few times in your pocket.

you groaned at how it kept going, knowing it meant that it was your ex that found another way to contact you.

“you know, this should be considered borderline harassment at this point. he won’t leave you alone!” jeonghan sounded annoyed when you both confirmed it was your ex texting again, “he’s got no shame too, he’s the one who cheats and now he’s begging to have you back”

“i don’t even care anymore, i planned on getting a new phone and number soon anyway. so he can have fun texting the phone that nobody’s using” you sighed, exasperated at his efforts.

you’d told him weeks ago to stop contacting you, that no matter how much he did this wasn’t going to ‘win you back’. he was a terrible human being and you didn’t want anything to do with him.

“oh? yn?” you heard a familiar voice call out not too far from where you and jeonghan were.

turning to identify where the sound was coming from, you relaxed when you saw it was the doctor that helped you earlier.

“hi joshua, you getting off work now?” you waited for him to catch up to you.

“yeah. hey jeonghan” he waved to the man smiling deviously next to you, “uh yn do you have a ride home?”

“she doesn’t! i had to meet my parents for dinner right after so i couldn’t” before you could answer jeonghan was already doing it for you, faking a pout. “but hey, you could take yn home, couldn’t you shua?”

“if that’s okay with you yn i’d be happy to” joshua smiled at you again, that same too sweet smile.

“if it’s not any trouble to you” you told him sheepishly, “then i’d really appreciate it”

joshua’s car was nice, you could tell he took good care of it, making sure everything in the glove compartments were organised and that the seats were as clean as the carpets. you’d spent the time talking and getting to know each other. falling into conversation with joshua was too easy, almost as if you’d known each other for years. you’d learnt about how much of a kind person he was, but he never bragged about it, just about how incredibly grateful he was to be able to give to others. there was no way someone as nice as him really existed. and he looked that good too? oh it really wasn’t fair.

but you can really never have too much of a good thing because here came the 703rd call from your ex in the last few weeks. groaning you decline it but then came the bombardment of texts saying how he ‘loved you and didn’t mean it’.

“is that your boyfriend?” joshua asked, and if you weren’t so distracted with blocking the new number he was contacting you from, you would’ve caught the masked disappointment in his voice.

“thankfully no. but i don’t want to bother you with the whole story” you turned to look at him, but he was silently telling you to go on, like he doesn’t mind if you vented to him despite only knowing him a few hours. from what jeonghan had told you after being friends with joshua for a few months now, he was definitely a good listener. “he’s my ex. we’d broken up like a year ago or something but a few weeks ago he kept trying to reach out again out of nowhere. i’m guessing he realised that no girl wanted him so he thought i’d take him back”

“and what he’s just been bothering you for the last few weeks? have you tried telling the authorities?”

“i’ve thought about it but he’s harmless. i saw him at the store about a week ago and he didn’t even approach me. he’s all bark and no bite. i think if he sees i’m with someone else he’ll definitely back off” you sighed rubbing at your temples, you could feel yourself getting a headache already.

“are you? with someone else i mean?” he looked nervous. it was so cute.

“no, but why do you ask?” you asked him with a teasing lilt in your voice.

“well, my parents have been annoying me for weeks about finding a partner. so how about we just help each other out and pretend we’re going out with one another?”

it honestly was a good idea but you couldn’t help feel a little disappointed that it would just be fake dating. joshua was fun though so you’d push back your own brief hurt in favour of at least hanging out with him more often.

‘morning !! do u think u can meet me at this cafe at around 3 today ? need to ask u smth’ read the text that joshua had sent you today. it had been a few weeks since he drove you home and you’d both been texting back and forth getting to know each other more, and he mentioned that you both might have to meet soon last night. you texted him back, and agreed to meeting up. after getting ready, you left the apartment at around 2:30 to get to the cafe that joshua had told you about.

you texted joshua again to let him know you were outside and he told you that he was waiting at the table near the window on the left. when you stepped in you found him immediately. he was dressed casually, you’re guessing he didn’t have work today.

“hey, do you want me to grab you something to drink?” he smiled at you, helping you with your things.

you looked over the menu before he recommended something, promising you it would be good as he’d visited the cafe a lot. he went to place the order before joining you again at the table.

“did you have work off today?” you asked him.

“oh yeah, i don’t usually work fridays” he took a sip of his drink, “but anyway. the reason i asked you here was because i was wondering if you could come with me to some dinner my aunt’s hosting this weekend. her daughter graduated and my parents mentioned they wanted to meet you”

this weekend? that’s so sudden. i mean it’s not like you really had any plans anyway but it was still really sudden, “i’m free so i can go just.. well how formal is this dinner? like should i dress up or..” you trailed off, mentally trying to remember everything in your closet and if you had something fit for the occasion.

“it’s pretty formal i guess” he said sheepishly, rubbing the nape of his neck, “it’s at some fancy restaurant and i’m going wearing a suit. of course if you need me to i can definitely help you find a dress!”

“don’t worry about it” you laughed, pulling out your phone so you could find a picture. “i have a few formal ones but this is one i wore to my friend’s engagement party a couple months back, you think this’ll be alright?”

joshua looked at the picture, lips curving up into a smile before he met your gaze, “you look really pretty in that dress”

you flushed, taking a sip of your drink while thinking of a way to not let him get the upper hand, he can’t make you fall for him it wouldn’t be fair.

“thanks.. i just remembered! i have a high school reunion on the 30th. are you busy that day? i’m pretty sure it’s a friday”

you saw joshua frown thinking over it before opening what you’re guessing is his calendar app on his phone, “nope. i don’t have anything that day so i can go with you”

“great! my ex should be there too so after that he should stop bothering me too”

maybe it was all just in your head but you felt like you saw joshua tense a little at the mention of your ex, “has he texted you since?”

“i think he’s finally getting the hint. he doesn’t text as much anymore thankfully”

you were finishing up the last touches on your makeup when you heard someone ring your doorbell. you checked the camera to see it was joshua, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. you let him in, instantly taking note of his appearance.

you could hardly appreciate it from the cameras but in person you could see in detail how the suit he was wearing hugged his figure so well. the suit itself was black paired with a white button up and a purple tie.

“i remembered your dress was purple and thought i’d match the tie with it” joshua told you sheepishly when he saw how focused you were on it. “these are for you! i saw jeonghan today and asked him to make a bouquet for me”

you took the flowers, grinning at his thoughtfulness and thanking him, “is jeonghan still trying to win over your guys’ surgeon friend?”

joshua laughed at your comment, remembering how jeonghan had once called him at 3am to know what type of flowers his friend likes, “yeah he is. think she’ll say yes any day now”

you hummed, nodding. “how much time until we have to be there by the way?”

“about 45 minutes, it’ll only take us fifteen minutes to get there from here” he told you, checking his watch that you could just tell was expensive. you nodded again, telling him you’ll be right out after putting your dress on and grabbing a few things.

joshua waited on your couch for you to finish getting ready, scrolling through his phone to pass time. after a few minutes, he looked up when he heard you clear your throat nervously.

“you look amazing, yn. really, you do” and joshua wasn’t lying. he always thought you were pretty and right now was no different. but joshua bit back those thoughts though, admitting to himself would mean he’d also have to admit that he can’t ever have you. “so uh, you ready to go?” joshua winced at the lump in his throat and the way his voice cracked ever so slightly, and he was grateful for the fact that you were checking over the things in your purse one last time so you didn’t notice it.

you nodded and the both of you made your way to his car.

joshua was oddly quiet on the car ride, opting to just play music to fill the silence. when you arrived at the restaurant, joshua opened the door for you and helped you out. “the restaurant’s technically part of some five star hotel” he explained when you looked at it a little confused.

“ohh it looks really pretty” you smiled up at him while he held your hand leading you to the entrance.

joshua told the receptionist his name and she led you both over to where joshua and his family were waiting. when you actually saw them, the nerves finally hit you. what if you accidentally let slip that you and joshua weren’t really dating? what if you embarrass joshua?

joshua seemed to take notice of your nerves, squeezing your hand gently and whispering a “you’ll be fine, they’re going to love you”.

and it seems joshua was right. the night did go smoothly and you congratulated joshua’s cousin for her graduation. his family was kind, they didn’t once make you feel awkward or uncomfortable, instead complimenting you and making sure you didn’t feel left out.

by the time the dinner was over you were honestly sad that you’d have to leave his family, they were so fun you wanted to be with them more often. you left for a few minutes to go to the bathroom and when you came back you found joshua looking for you.

“joshua? what’s up?” taking note of how he looked a little annoyed and out of breath.

“yn i’m so sorry. my uncle just told me now that they’d booked rooms for all us to stay at the hotel tonight. if you feel uncomfortable with it i can just say you have a work thing tomorrow and we can’t stay” you really didn’t mind staying, but you were surprised and did feel guilty that they paid for you. he wasn’t saying it for your sake but you knew joshua secretly wanted to stay. his job makes it hard for him to see his family often so he’d appreciate this time with them. at the same time, you knew that staying would only make you more regretful of the fact that joshua didn’t feel the same about you.

“it’s fine, i don’t mind staying”

surprisingly enough, you’d managed to fall asleep pretty quick considering when you fell asleep joshua was still taking a shower.

when joshua got out he saw you on the bed and couldn’t help the soft smile breaking at his features. he saw your phone was still unlocked, a video still playing. ‘you must’ve fallen asleep watching it’.

he was about to turn it off before rolling his eyes at the texts from your ex again. he was about to block it for you until an idea crossed his mind. joshua fought mentally with himself as he debated whether or not he should go through with it. he sent a picture the two of you had taken together earlier to your ex, a ‘can u leave us alone ..?’ text attached to it while he silently prayed you wouldn’t think he was crossing any lines by doing so.

you met up with joshua a lot more after the dinner with his family. but the both of you getting closer was not doing anything to help your own feelings. joshua by no means felt the same about you. when you’d gotten to know joshua and the people close to him, you learnt that he was always the bold one when it came to people he liked. he’d always be the one to ask someone out, the one to go the extra mile for them. so the fact that he hadn’t done that for you, or even implied he wanted to, it wasn’t hard to assume that he just simply didn’t like you in that way. joshua wanted you as a friend and nothing more or less and you just had to live happily with that.

the reunion was soon. you’d texted joshua about it again, reminding him the address and time it was. you noticed your ex stopped texting you and part of you felt a little disappointed at it. you were grateful he finally took the hint but sad because what if this meant joshua wouldn’t have to keep up the act anymore? you were aware you probably seemed crazy and pathetic clinging onto a fake relationship that was only proposed for convenience, but that’s how you felt and you couldn’t help it and were too tired of it all to make an excuse.

dressed in a plain black tee paired with black slacks and a blazer, joshua picked you up for the reunion. as hard as you’d tried to make it seem like nothing was up, you knew joshua could tell. you silently hoped he would just assume it’s nerves because you still hadn’t thought of a way to tell him that you wanted to break off the agreement of fake dating.

why was this so complicated? it’s not like you two were actually dating so it’s not like it’s an actual breakup, but it still felt like you were losing something. what if joshua only talked to you so much was because he needed someone that was willing to pretend to be his girlfriend?

you shook the thoughts out of your head as you both pulled up to the place the reunion was being held. stepping out, you could already see some familiar faces, smiling and hugging them whenever they came to greet you.

the night went by with you catching up with old classmates, introducing them to joshua too. it was scary how well he was able to get along with people instantly. you were honestly surprised that your ex hadn’t bothered you all night, guess he saw joshua and backed off.

when you decided to leave the reunion, joshua suggested you both grab dinner somewhere. the food served at the reunion wasn’t the best so the both of you hadn’t eaten much all night. and that’s how the both of you ended up in the parking lot of some takeout place, laughing while you both told stories of your high schools together.

it was fun, and you hated the part of yourself that always made you overthink. ‘none of this is even real, joshua doesn’t care about you like that. so stop thinking this means the two of you are really dating’.

“yn, what’s wrong?” joshua sounded alarmed, and it was only then you took notice of the tears welling up in your eyes, rubbing aggressively at them immediately.

“think that the contacts are just irritating my eyes, don’t worry” you assured him but he still didn’t look satisfied with your answer.

“here let me help you-”

“it’s fine joshua” you sighed, “look about this whole pretending to be dating thing. i really can’t do it anymore. pretending to be in a relationship with you is killing me-”

“fine. i’m sorry if i did something to hurt you or make you uncomfortable. it was stupid of me to send that picture to your ex-”

“what picture?” you looked up at him confused, what the hell was he talking about?

“the one i sent to your ex and i told him that we were happy and to leave us alone..”

“is that why he stopped bothering me? oh well i didn’t know about that but thanks because it’s the only thing that managed to shut him up”

“wait what? so then what are you mad at me about?” he pouted.

you stayed silent. you knew exactly where this was headed and if it carried on you knew it’d lead to you spilling your guts to him, and you weren’t sure you could do that. because if you did you’d lose joshua forever.

“nothing, don’t worry about it” you mumbled, going back to swirling the plastic spoon around the ice cream in your cup.

“no no no” you heard joshua say, his fingers holding on to the underside of your jaw gently so that you turned your attention to him. “tell me, yn”

“i can’t” you whispered, tears welling up again, “if i do i’ll lose you forever. i don’t think i can do that, shua” you knew tears were freely spilling past your eyes at this point but you couldn’t care.

“yn, i promise you, you’re not going to lose me. i love you far too much to let you go” you still shook your head at him sniffling and unbelieving of his words. “yn you mean so much to me that i’m willing ignore my feelings for you because i know you don’t feel the same way. you mean so much to me that i’d rather wake up knowing i can’t have you the way i want then to wake up not having you in my life at all. you mean so much to me yn, so please don’t think i’d try leaving you”

you sat, stunned at joshua’s confession. it was like he could read your heart and turned all the feelings and words you wanted to give him into his own. he looked at you warily for a few seconds, scared you wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings. if only he knew how much you’d been thinking the same about him for months.

you inched closer to him, closing your eyes as you brushed your lips over his. joshua tensed before melting into the kiss too, and your heart grew warmer and how you could feel him smile into the kiss.

when you both pulled away, you were both smiling, “you know this doesn’t serve as a confession right? i want you to list every single thing that made you like me!”

you laughed at his words, whining “no don’t make me say it, you just want to tease me”

“oh so you’re allowed to hear me pour my heart out to you but if i wanna hear you say it back it’s too much?” he jokingly pouted, bringing you closer for a hug while he fought off his own giggles hearing yours.

🏷️ @smilehui @suzuyamitsuki @minhui896

[rubywoozii]

my favourite person | joshua hong

prompt | i'm not a lot of people's favourite person

word count | 1.3k

genre | angst & (mostly) fluff

author's note | ugh i haven't written a longer fic like this in a while, i've missed this

Joshua was that type of person who never wanted to bother you with his own problems. He cherished you and your happiness way too much, so what would be the point in sharing his own worries with you?

He was a big boy, he could take care of himself, no matter how much he wanted to find peace and comfort in your arms.

You knew something was wrong, despite him insisting he was fine. You knew him like the back of your hand and something has been clearly bothering him.

His bright smile was gone and even if he did smile, it didn’t reach his eyes, like it usually did. He didn’t share any funny stories from the practice room, he went to bed without giving you your mandatory good night kiss and you woke up to his side of the bed cold and empty.

“Joshua, you really have to tell me if anything is bothering you,” you said and squeezed his arm. “I’m here for you.”

But the only response you got was a small smile and a “I’m fine darling. Don’t worry about me,” which didn’t make the case any better.

You decided to let it go and wait for him to come around. Especially, because he had a company dinner soon, which you hoped would cheer him up a bit.

Perhaps a talk with Jeonghan or Seungcheol wouldn’t hurt as well.

Leaving with a quiet goodbye and a kiss to your forehead (like he always did before leaving), made you hopeful you were slowly getting your Shua back.

Some of the boys posted a couple of pictures of them together, before the party even began and Joshua was in every single one of them.

He seemed fairly happy, but you knew very well he could have been pretending.

Nonetheless, you decided to put your phone away, there was no point in dwelling on whether he was fine or not.

He wouldn’t be coming back to your apartment tonight anyways, he never did after big parties. He was always afraid that he’d make too much noise and wake you up, so he always went back to his own place after a night of drinking.

Settling down for the night, you unawarely stroked the pillow on your boyfriend’s side, where his head would usually be. He had never told you this, but his heart always skips anytime you run your fingers through his hair, as a warm feeling settles in his tummy.

He was always convinced that love was an emotion that he’d never be able to describe, but the genuine care in your eyes and the happiness in your smile could make him talk about love for hours.

“Fuck.”

You tiredly rubbed your eyes with your (Joshua’s) sweatshirt, trying to pick up where the sounds were coming from, while still being half asleep.

You stumbled out of bed, not so gently running into your dresser, while trying not to freak out over a thief who's probably robbing your apartment right now.

Finally, reaching the kitchen, you exhaled in relief as you saw that it was only your boyfriend, trying to take off his shoes.

But then you realised something. Why was he here? And then you realised something else.

He was definitely not sober.

Seeing your boyfriend drunk was nothing new, but seeing him wasted was something you thought you’d never get to see.

“Honey, are you okay?” you asked, quickly grabbing his hand to get his attention. You couldn't help thinking that something bad had happened, as his eyes were wide and he seemed almost… scared?

Shaking his head, he clumsily grabbed your other hand, putting them on his cheeks.

For a second you thought about calling Jeonghan. You’ve never seen your boyfriend in such a miserable state before and it was scaring you. The light in his eyes was gone and his beautiful face showed nothing but pain.

Nothing about this was good, but the worst was that you still had no idea what had happened.

As you got lost in your own thoughts, you felt something wet hitting your fingertips and that was when you realised Joshua was crying.

“Oh baby,” you whispered, as he collapsed into your arms. His sobs echoed through your quiet apartment, while his shoulder shook with every breath he took.

He held tightly onto you, almost as you were his lifeline - the only thing keeping him alive. Your own heart was breaking with every cry that he let out, the sound shattering any ounce of hope that you had that he’d be all right.

You lowered both of you to the ground, so you could sit in the dark curridor, illuminated only by the moonlight coming through the window.

Taking a shaky inhale, he put his head on your lap, while you gently stroked his head and placed small kisses on his forehead, to let him know that you were there with him.

“I’m not a lot of people’s favourite person.”

The not so comforting silence of your apartment was finally broken by your boyfriend, who seemed to have calmed down, even though he still struggled to take a deep breath.

“What did you say honey?” you said quietly, brushing his hair away from his face.

“I think I’m not a lot of people’s favourite person,” he repeated, slowly pushing himself up to seating.

You looked at his tired expression, wanting nothing more to take all of his burdens away from him.

He was usually very good at avoiding the hate he got online, but from time to time, it could really get to him. It was unavoidable, you both knew that, but sometimes he wanted nothing more but to talk to his fans and have a good time with them.

But because a lot of people want to harm him, his reputation and his feelings, it wasn’t easy to manoeuvre between the good and the bad comments.

It seemed like this time he stumbled upon some really nasty shit.

“Why do you say that? Where did it come from?” you asked rhetorically, voice laced with concern.

He didn’t respond, only put his head on your shoulder, putting all of his weight onto you.

Not wanting to dig deeper, you put your arms tightly around his shoulders, and placed one of your hands on his tear stained cheek.

“You know,” you muttered so as not to startle him. “You might not be a lot of people’s favourite person, but you’re definitely my favourite person,” you kissed the side of his head, as you felt more tears rolling down his cheek.

“I have no idea how you’re feeling right now, nor will I ever get to experience what you’re experiencing, but I want you to know that despite all those horrible people that want to cause nothing more but pain, there are thousands of people who love you and cherish you.”

“Take a look around you. You have me, you have your brothers and you have your true fans that want you to be happy,” you whispered into his hair.

“I think that’s more than enough,” he said quietly, lifting his head to look at you.

His eyes were red, but to you they were the happiest they’ve been in a while. Even the corners of his lips were slightly turned upwards, to which you couldn’t help but smile.

“You cannot make everyone happy, Shua. There are going to be people that’ll want to hurt you, but remember that you’re always surrounded by people that love you,” you said.

He turned away to wipe his wet cheeks, feeling slightly embarrassed about his emotional outburst.

Usually, he’d go to his own apartment and cry himself to sleep, but tonight something made him come back home to you.

“Joshua,” you put your hand on his shoulder. “Next time, please talk to me before it gets that bad. I know that you don’t want to burden me with your worries, but I can't stand seeing you like this.”

“I love you so much, and I want us to go through the good and the bad together.”

He nodded and took your hand in his.

“Together.”

[rubywoozii]

could i perhaps request a college au with jeonghan ? 😳👉👈

i loveeee college au jeonghan, tysm for the request!!<33 sorry if it’s longer than expected, i got carried away lolol

deeper in denial !

synopsis ; if there’s one thing you know about jeonghan, it’s that he’s a tease. what happens when the teasing makes it to soonyoung’s game of spin the bottle?

pairing ; yoon jeonghan + gn!reader featuring ‘95 and ‘96 line

notes ; fluff, college!au, non-idol au, suggestive towards the end, making out, reader is in HEAVY denial, jeonghan is a blatant flirt, mentions of eating and drinking alcohol, closet action, second half is a 100% not proofread but whatever. something about college aus hits different, i love reading and writing them

word count ; 2.8k

You’re a smart person, but when it comes to Yoon Jeonghan, you don’t understand why you’re so stupid. Everything about him feels complicated, and you can’t tell if it’s him or your own feelings that are making it that way.

Right now, you’re sitting next to Jeonghan in your shared sociology class, and it’s so hard to grasp the reality that you’re just staring at him laugh and somehow that has you smiling like an idiot; looking at him like he was your world and everything revolved around him.

You’re so caught up in your rush that you don’t realize Jeonghan looking above your shoulder, his breath suddenly hot against your newly flushed ears as you become aware of his presence. You thought he left, but this seems to work out in your favor.

You’re so caught up in your rush that you don’t realize Jeonghan looking above your shoulder, his breath suddenly hot against your newly flushed ears as you become aware of his presence. You thought he left, but this seems to work out in your favor.

You’re so caught up in your rush that you don’t realize Jeonghan looking above your shoulder, his breath suddenly hot against your newly flushed ears as you become aware of his presence. You thought he left, but this seems to work out in your favor.

“Can you send me your notes for this section?” You ask him hurriedly, shoving a notebook in your bag.

To your surprise, his answer comes without one of his signature teases. “Yeah, I’ll send it when I get back to my dorm.”

Relieved, you don’t even process the words that spill out of your mouth, “Thank you so much! You’re an angel Jeonghan.”

You stand up straight, ready to leave, and look him straight in the eye. As his eye glints with mischief and possibly a bit of something else, you finally register what you had said. Your face heats up at the realization, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smirk.

“I’m an angel?”

Oh my god. You don’t even want to start dwelling on the feelings those words coming out of his mouth unraveled within you. “Jeonghan, don’t even—”

“Say it again.”

You start walking towards the exit for your normal route to the cafe, but Jeonghan keeps up, your steps slowly falling into sync. “What? No. If you’re so desperate, just listen to me for once.”

“I’m always listening to you, y/n. I just liked hearing you say it.”

There it is, again. He was on your nerves five seconds ago and now with one flirt and you’re trying so hard just to keep down a smile.

“You’re blushing again,” he says in an almost sing-song way, like it was a prize to have you in such a flustered state.

“I’m not blushing. You’re delusional. I don’t blush.”

“Please, everyone sees it but you.” You had a feeling he was referencing other things than just your blushing.

“Whatever,” you pull your bag further up your shoulder, picking up the speed of your steps and leaving him behind. “I’m busy and late, so if you’d shrug off that’d be great.”

“This act of yours is getting old!” Is the last you hear of Jeonghan before his voice fades.

Five minutes later, you’ve walked across the campus to the your daily cafe stop. A croissant and latte sound especially good right now, and you can’t help just smile in excitement as you walk though the doors.

The smile fades as soon as you spot a certain shoulder-lengthed black haired guy at the counter, watching as the cashier packages the final croissant in the display case for him.

This stupid motherfucker.

“Yoon Jeonghan!”

He turns around, an expression painted on his face that tells you he knew damn well what he was doing. Mockingly, he pulls out his credit card and swipes it through the reader in an excessively more amount of time than what was really needed, staring at you the entire time.

“I hate you,” you say lowly.

“You’re cute,” he replies, the faintest whisper in your ear as he walks past you, croissant in hand.

“What did you say?” You know damn well what he said, so you can’t figure out why you bothered to make him say it again.

“I said you look like a boot.” Before you can reply, he’s gone and sat at one of the tables.

You keep your internal groans to yourself, refusing to let Jeonghan see you visibly frustrated, and settle for just ordering your usual latte. They bring it up to the counter for you in a flash, you look around for an empty seat.

Jeonghan catches your wandering gaze (like he somehow always did), and beckons you to the single seat across from him.

And placed on the table in front of you, was the croissant.

You sit down at the offered seat because you would never turn such a gesture down. And also maybe because you just liked sitting here with Jeonghan.

“You’re taking advantage of the fact you know how to tempt me to hang out with you,” you say just before you take a bite of the pastry.

“And what’s wrong with that, if being with me is is what you want?”

Fuck. You’ve turned the same shade of red as the strawberry filling in your croissant. “Are you flirting with me?” You curse yourself in your head, because seriously? That’s all you can come up with?

Jeonghan leans back in his chair cooly, but you don’t miss his slightly pink cheeks. “You just noticed?”

“I…” You take another bite in attempt to stall and hide how red you’ve gotten. “Shut up.”

Thankfully, Jeonghan has the decency to save your blood circulation and switch the topic, even though he would keep going at flirting with you for his entire life if he could. “Are you going to Soonyoung’s party later?”

Right. You had completely forgotten about that. By some coincidence, you and Jeonghan had landed in the same social circle, and were tied by many mutual friends. Soonyoung was one of your closest friends, and Jeonghan’s, so you were always both invited to his frequently thrown parties. Both of you suspected he was trying to get something going on between you two through his parties, and if he was, he hadn’t gotten any results yet. Both of you were too stubborn, and had too high of a tolerance to let alcohol have its way.

“Probably. Heard him and Junhui were planning something about spin the bottle and seven minutes in heaven.” You roll your eyes. Of course those two were up to something. You suspected their plan revolved around Junhui, because he was one of your best friends and had been talking about this girl he’d been crushing on for a long time.

Jeonghan nods. “Fun. Apparently all of our friends have a bet that we’ll end up together.”

“Whoever betted for us as endgame is loosing money,” you scoff.

“Looks like I’m loosing money then.”

—

You’re walking to Soonyoung’s dorm with Junhui when he suddenly says, “You definitely like Jeonghan.”

“What are you talking about?” You say after a moment of panic. Is your mess of feelings obvious?

Junhui almost giggles. “Everyone saw you two at the cafe today. And have you seen how you guys have been acting around each other since freshman year?”

“That doesn’t mean anything. And even if I do—which I’m not even completely sure of—does he even really like me? Or is he messing with me?”

“Many boys will mess with you. That’s the nature of it. And maybe Jeonghan messes with you too. But there’s a difference. The Jeonghan who teases you is the same boy who takes the time out of his day to see you every day, trying to show you he loves you without actually saying it because he is waiting for you to reciprocate. When you ignore his flirts? It doesn’t matter because he is more than content—maybe even above the clouds—just being able to know you on a level nobody else does.”

You stare at your best friend dumbfoundedly, realization washing over you so intensely, it’s almost like being tossed in ocean waves. “Wow, Jun. Your little crush really brought out the romantic in you, huh?”

He flushed a bit of red, eyes wandering and hand rubbing his neck, “Shut up.”

You laugh a bit, though halfheartedly because Junhui’s words have gotten your mind in a tornado of feelings and thoughts all spiralling down to one person.

Speak of the devil, Jeonghan is the first person you make eye contact with as you enter Soonyoung’s dorm. He doesn’t say anything, just the smallest quirk at the corner of his mouth as his brown eyes averted to the game in front of him. Which was, you realize as you piece together the circle of people sitting around an empty beer bottle, spin the bottle. Soonyoung and Junhui’s game went through after all. And it was working in Junhui’s favor; your best friend spots his crush and is immediately grabbing a red solo cup with tequila for luck and taking his spot between Jihoon and Soonyoung in the circle. You recognize Seungcheol and Joshua, Jeonghan’s best friends, sat next to him, and a couple other guys and girls you’ve seen at these parties before. Most of your friends were dating people, and had other…games to be playing than this one.

The insane amount of red solo cups scattered between everyone told you most were definitely past sober, except for Jeonghan. You knew his tolerance for alcohol was high.

Soonyoung and Junhui estatically wave their hands to bring you to the circle, and you shake your head. With Jeonghan here, you didn’t want to risk something stupid happening. But Soonyoung wasn’t having it.

“Come on, y/n!” He dragged you by the wrist to sit next to him and some other girl you’ve only spoken to a couple times. You can’t help but notice the same shade of red on her lips is just barely peaking out from under Wonwoo’s neckline. “Spin the bottle, but whoever’s picked has to do seven minutes in heaven whenever the wardrobe is open. It’s getting good, Wonwoo and Hoyeon just got picked! It’ll be good, promise.”

“Fine!” You take the cup Soonyoung is offering you and take a long sip for nerves as you watch the game continue. After Wonwoo was Jun, two girls, and then you. As you waited for your turn to come around, Jun miraculously landed the bottle on his crush and she agreed to seven minutes in heaven, but was hard to play the part of excited for them when you could feel Jeonghan’s stare burning into you the entire time. But alas, your turn came. Thankfully, Junhui and his crush were still occupying the closet, so you wouldn’t have to deal with seven minutes in heaven.

Somewhat confidently, you give the bottle a good spin. For the first time since you entered the game, you saw Jeonghan’s eyes actually paying attention to the bottle. You’re hoping it lands on someone easy…

Fuck.

The bottle comes to an agononizing slow, and five seconds has never felt so long as the neck of the bottle gravitates towards Jeonghan. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst with how fast it’s beating. When it finally stops, it lands directly between Jeonghan and Joshua.

What the hell.

For some reason, your mind is entirely focused on the fact that you could be five seconds away from kissing Jeonghan, and not that you can avoid it by kissing Joshua. You’d heard he was a good kisser anyways, polite too. But all your mind can think about now is Jeonghan, and how his lips, which are currently caught between a smirk and frown, would feel so good against yours.

The crowd “oohs,” ushering you to pick between them. You’re a bit lost in your thoughts to be making a decision. Jeonghan doesn’t say a word, but Joshua is smiling teasingly at his friend.

“If you don’t want to kiss her, Jeonghan, just say so. You won’t mind me kissing her instead, right?”

It was as if those words flipped a switch in Jeonghan’s head, because in the span of the next five seconds, he had taken the bottle in his hand, pressed the neck of it against you, and pressed his lips to yours in what feels like the most heated yet perfect kiss you’d ever had; two years of bottled up tension and pining all came down in this.

Right when you thought things couldn’t get any better, you pulled away from the kiss for air to see Junhui and his crush fumble out of the closet, a hot mess. That didn’t matter right now, though, because everyone was pushing you and Jeonghan inside before you could process what was happening. The door shut, trapping you both inside with nothing but unresolved feelings lingering in the small space between you.

“Kiss me again,” is all you can say, because whatever happened outside wasn’t enough and you didn’t give a damn about your dignity, all you wanted was that same sensation from five seconds ago when his lips where against yours.

“Wait…” Jeonghan manages to mumble, voice just barely pushing into a whine as he stops himself from dropping kisses at your jawline and to your collarbone. “Do you like me, y/n?”

You step back almost comically, as if those five words brought you back to reality. He’s staring at you, expectant yet patient for your answer, eyes doe-like, the complete opposite from just moments before.

“Before I met you,” suddenly the walls of the closet feel ten times smaller and the lint on the floor is very interesting, “I used to understand my feelings. Now, it’s all…mixed up.”

You take a deep breath, then the confession flows out. It feels like bricks being taken off of your shoulders with every sentence, but building up on your heart with the piling dread of his response. “I told myself I wouldn’t get attached, but deep down I knew I would. Because I’ve known since the day we’ve met in this same apartment, that I like your smile too much. I like the feeling of being over the moon whenever I’m with you, and trust me, I didn’t expect feeling this way. I’ve been in denial, I know that, but I also know to the depths of my soul that no matter what river denial throws me in, it will always lead to the same ocean; you.

“There is nothing worse that the slow tortue of waiting for someone, and I’m sorry for making you feel that. After making you feel such pain, I know it’s selfish to still beg you to stay. But god, Jeonghan, your smile is what makes me happy. I have never felt like this for anyone ever before.”

The feelings in every word you said are a heavy weight in the air, almost pressuring against your body. But it all comes crashing down when Jeonghan smiles, “Just one glance, one tease, one laugh, and my world starts running again. You’re stupid for not thinking I wouldn’t stay by your side no matter how long it took, y/n.”

All you can think of in response to that is kissing him, so you do. “Didn’t know you could be so romantic, y/n,” he says, hot against your neck. You feel his smirk against your skin.

“Shut up,” you say breathily, but you’re smiling. “Didn’t know you could be either.”

He hums, then a loud alarm of tigers roaring (way to ruin the moment, Soonyoung) interrupts.

“Shit, seven minutes is over,” you say, trying to pull away in panic. But Jeonghan tightens his grip around your waist and bites the slightest on your neck, not stopping his kisses at all, in fact, his lips travel lower as if to say “stay here.”

“Jeonghan, my friends are about to open this door and I know I said I like you but I don’t want them to see your lips making hickeys on my neck right now.”

“Then tell them to look away while I bring you to my dorm instead, alright?”

one reblog = one flirty classmate

[rubywoozii]

the long way | yoon jeonghan

summary | it was just like any other shoot. go in, pose, drink water, don't get food on the clothes, and don't joke around with the staff. easy. except it wasn't that easy. genre | just fluff, model!jeonghan warnings | swearing (?), like one innuendo word count | 2.2k words pairing | yoon jeonghan x gn!reader min | lowercase intended @i-luvsang likes to torture me with this concept so here it is. you're welcome. i may have diverged a little from your original concept... i actually don't think there's any language in here. i tried to make this gender-neutral, but if anyone finds a fem!reader pronoun please let me know!

jeonghan liked his job. really, he did. what was there to complain about it? it was an easy, not to mention, fun life. he liked traveling. he liked the different foods he got to try. he liked the nice clothes he got to wear during photoshoots. he would be lying if he said he never stole some of the clothes that he got to wear. he especially enjoyed chatting with the staff.

they were usually amiable with him and entertained his antics. sometimes he even got a genuine laugh out of a few photographers too.

but sometimes, just chatting was boring. especially when the conversations were cut short by photographers calling him back to get a few more shots or make-up artists coming up to him to touch up his make-up. so jokes in between shots and lipstick touch-ups were a must.

today was no different. he had to advertise for the brand that he was an ambassador for, and he was thoroughly enjoying himself. the clothes were comfortable, the air temperature was just right, and his audience was readily accepting of his jokes.

half of the time he couldn't remember the point of his jokes. he just said whatever came to mind. sometimes he was monologuing his thoughts and people would laugh. it did boost his ego, though. his inner voice was funny enough to garner laughs without even trying

as jeonghan was setting up for another shot, the photographer asked him to fix his stance. "i need you to spread your legs a bit more, jeonghan," the photographer asked. jeonghan had worked with him a few times, so he felt comfortable cracking a slightly inappropriate joke. "wow, mingyu, i thought you'd ask me out on a date first. already trying to get between my legs," jeonghan chuckled, fixing his stance. mingyu only rolled his eyes and went back to adjusting his camera settings.

that joke got a few laughs.

but it was jeonghan. he needed at least seventy-five percent of the staff to laugh at least one of his jokes. what else was he supposed to do when he was there? stand there and look good, yes, but no.

besides, he needed to test his standup on a live unsuspecting audience.

so that's how the rest of the shoot went. jeonghan finding ways to make puns here and throw a few sexual innuendos there. he appeared to be a hit, and that's all he wanted.

that is until he made some half-assed joke that he didn't even think about when he heard something. something so.... attractive. a laugh. from someone who had not laughed at his jokes until the lamest one he had cracked all day. he glanced over his shoulder in the direction that he heard it and his eyes landed on you. you were covering your face with a hand while the other clutched a tray of drinks and a binder tucked under your arm.

he made eye contact and quirked an eyebrow at you. you instantly averted your gaze to the ground and fumbled around for your phone.

cute, he thought.

he needed to hear it again.

for the remaining hour on set he tried and tried to get to you laugh again, but much to his dismay you were on the phone for most of the time.

soon enough he was out of the clothes and into his regular day clothes. the stylist quickly removed the extravagant make-up, and he swiftly grabbed his bag so he could find you.

as he ran out of the dressing room and onto the set. he scanned the room in search of you, and caught a glimpse of your silhouette walking out the door toward the city and not toward the back where the cars were. "jeonghan, are you coming?" his manager called to him. "the car is waiting." jeonghan shook his head and watched as the door closed behind you. "i'm actually going to walk home today. this was the last activity scheduled today, right?" jeonghan stated. even if it wasn't the last thing he had to do today, he had more important things in mind.

"uh, yes, that's all. but are sure you want to walk alone?" his manager questioned.

"i think bringing people with me garners more attention than me just walking by myself," he shrugged. so with that he swung his coat over his shoulders, hat on head, and left the same way you went.

he saw the back of your head make its way through the surprisingly empty street. he checked his watch and realized that it was right before rush hour. he jogged to catch up with you.

he was so close to you now. he could probably reach out and grab your hand if he wanted to, but that would be weird. he didn't even know your name.

how could he even approach you? "hi i'm jeonghan. i thought your laugh was pretty-" wait was that too personal? too forward?

he was so deep in thought, he didn't notice the way you tensed up when he got too close. suddenly you whipped around, "are you following me?"

he paused with a wide-eyed look plastered on his face. this was not the way it was supposed to go. "well, yes. but, not- not in the weird way," he tried to clarify. he looked slightly frantic, he looked worried. you examined his distinctive features. "oh, mr. yoon. i didn't recognize you with your hat on," you laughed.

there it was.

"please, just jeonghan is fine," he assured.

"okay, just jeonghan."

ha, you were pretty witty too. he held out his hand for you to shake. "___," you introduced yourself.

amazing.

"are you on your way to anything important?" he asked after looking at you for a bit longer. you glanced down at your phone and around the street. "i was actually going back to the office to drop this off," you said motioning to the large file bag you held.

"i can accompany you, if you want," jeonghan offered. "if you're not too weirded out by me at this point."

"oh, no. i'm not weirded out. i'm just surprised. i mean, you are a model. models i usually work with don't talk with staff much," you mentioned before starting off walking again. he followed quickly behind you. "so would you say i'm different from other models you've met," he asked playfully.

"yes i suppose. for one, models don't usually joke around on set as much as you do," you noted, glancing down at your phone hoping he wouldn't notice how he was making your heart speed up. "they're a bit too serious sometimes. you were nice though."

jeonghan felt a bit proud of that.

he filled the rest of the walk with pleasant conversation. lightly brushing against your arm. he got you to laugh about ten more times through the walk.

yes, he was counting.

you took him through the park and chatted

"well, this is me," you said standing in front of the large building. he looked up, and he instantly recognized the logo plastered on the door. "wait, you work for-" he started.

"yes, i work for the brand that you are an ambassador for," you giggled. "why else would i be at the shoot? did i not mention all the other models i've had to worked with?"

jeonghan was utterly baffled. "yes. i mean you did. i just, i don't know i wasn't really focused on that part. maybe you just wanted to see a handsome man like myself," he tried to recover.

"well, seeing handsome men like yourself is in my job description. i have to make sure our ambassadors are representing us well," you nudged his arm, and he felt like he could burst with joy.

"well i didn't expect someone as attractive as yourself would work for a place like corporate," he attempted at gaining his confidence back. it appeared to work.

you scoffed lightheartedly and looked away from him. "you flatter me too much, jeonghan," you laughed and looked back at him. suddenly you heard your name being called. "___! there you are, i've been looking for you for the past hour," your co-worker (well more like friend since you had known her since forever) called. you glanced between her and jeonghan. "hey, i'm sorry. i got a little - distracted," you explained apologetically to your obviously frazzled friend.

"really, its my fault. i must've made the walk a bit slower. the park was just so nice today," jeonghan commented, glancing at you hoping that you would look back at him again.

"the park? that's the long way around, you could've taken-" your friend started before you clasped your hands on her shoulders. "well, i seriously do have to bring this back to my manager. thank you for walking with me, it was very kind of you," you said smiling at him.

"of course," he smiled. he held your eyes for a moment before you chuckled quietly and turned away with your friend. "goodbye," he called after you.

"bye," you replied back, only turning your head slightly towards him. you exchanged hushed whispers as the two of you made your way up to the entrance. "isn't that yoon jeonghan?" your friend quizzed. "he's the one who was at the shoot you went to, right? why'd you take him through the park? you know that's the long way. it adds like fifteen minutes to your walk."

"yeah, yeah, i know, he was just so easy to talk to. i needed an excuse to talk to him longer. plus, his laugh was super cute," you remarked.

it had been maybe an hour or two since you had said your goodbye to jeonghan downstairs. you hadn't been able to stop thinking about him. how sweet and kind he was. he wasn't too full of himself like some of the other models were, but confident enough to make your heart beat a bit faster than usual. to top it all off, he was genuinely funny too.

you weren't exactly sure how you were supposed to just - forget about him. you worked with many models for the past few years, and sure most of them were nice. just not as nice as jeonghan.

you checked the clock and realized that there were only about thirty minutes left until you could clock out. maybe if you showered when you got home you could get jeonghan's cologne out of your senses.

as you sent your last email of the day and logged out of your computer, you began to gather your things from your desk. unfortunately, you were a bit too preoccupied to notice how the room outside of your office stilled. you were grabbing a few things that fell onto the floor.

then you heard someone clear their throat from your door. "uh, ___, someone is here to see you," one of your other co-workers said.

"uh, i just clocked out, but i can definitely add them on my calendar first thing tomorr-" you trailed off as you lifted your head and saw jeonghan standing outside your office behind the very nervous-looking receptionist.

"i'm afraid that won't work for me," jeonghan sighed absentmindedly looking around your office, hands clasped behind his back.

"mina, you can go," you told the receptionist. mina nodded and ran off. jeonghan stepped into your office and gently closed the door. "this is a surprise, mr. yoon," you said standing up.

"hopefully a welcome one," he joked. "and please, i was gone for a couple hours and you forgot i'm just jeonghan?" you stifled a laugh. "please do not feel like you need to contain you laughter from me, ___," he assured. you nodded a silent, but happy, agreement. "well, jeonghan. what is the occasion for this visit? were you unhappy with something today during the shoot?" you asked, approaching him. "and if tomorrow morning does not work to discuss this matter, i can figure something else out or i-"

"no. it's actually the opposite. i had a great time today. i think my only complaint is that you have not been there for the past few times i've modeled for this brand," he said getting closer to you. you could smell his cologne again and you knew you were in for it. "also, tomorrow morning won't work because i wanted to see if you were free tonight to get dinner with me, that is, unless you prefer breakfast," he smiled.

you were dumbfounded.

jeonghan was here. after hours. asking you out on a date. he was funny, kind, and not to mention quite attractive. you had been thinking about him for the whole day daydreaming about him, and he was here looking very handsome and very sincere. and who were you to decline such a tempting offer?

"how would you know that i would say yes?" you asked as the two of you walked out of the building.

"well for one, you didn't take the subway like a normal person would. secondly, you added a whole extra fourteen minutes to your walk because you skipped the subway and went through the park," he shrugged.

"were you counting?" you giggled and nudged his shoulder playfully.

"and what if i was? and what if i was counting every time you laughed at something i said today? what if i said that was the fifteenth time i've made you laugh today?"

"i might have to kiss you then."

"please do."

min | wow. that was sort of disgustingly cute. am i good a fluff, maybe? im softening with age i think. leave feedback and reblog if you want! it's appreciated. not proofread

[rubywoozii]

📝 here, there, and everywhere

This journal belongs to: me. If found, please contact this number. (And please do not read it—unless you want to read the ramblings of a person who fails to deny their feelings for a certain someone.)

pairing: lee chan x gn!reader word count: 2.5k+ genre: fluff for (belated) happy chan day and carat day! rating: pg tags: college friends, they grew up, time skips between entries, mutual pining, happy (open) ending, stream of consciousness, excessive italics, please read the whole thing as if it were a private journal of sorts warnings: mentions of alcohol, death of a family member (brief mention, off the page)

a/n: this is a self-indulgent piece on my ultimate crush and the love of my (kpop) life, lee chan. i can’t keep denying you, so here we go. in an alternate universe, you would’ve been my best friend that i loved to hate and hated to love, until one of us finally gave in to our feelings and hoped for the best. happy birthday chan! you’ve given me nothing but color in my life ever since i became a carat. i wish you all the beautiful flower paths ahead ✨

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ masterlist . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Dear Chan,

You must think me pathetic if you ever found one of these letters.

It sucks…this little crush I’ve discovered I have on you. And I am only saying this ONCE on the page. And to no one else. Because when you talk about a crush, it only grows, right?

So I'll just talk about it to myself.

I hate crushes because they are so unexplainable. They’re unexplainable feelings that latch on to you so hard and never let you go until you fumble and mess up and just make an utter fool of yourself.

I first found out I had a crush on you last month.

I had long admired you from afar through your dancing. You’re beautiful when you dance—in the zone, focused, bursting with energy. I’m genuinely jealous of how you can do the things you do with your body, how you tell such beautiful stories with every little move you make.

But it was that time during a production runthrough—the simultaneous evaluations—where you made that one mistake almost fatal to your team on that one sequence you spent weeks perfecting.

Yet there you were onstage, just laughing it off. So instead of your team being anxious or frustrated, they just laughed along with you.

It turned out to be the best performance of the night, your laughing played off as banter and camaraderie by the guest audiences.

That’s when I first felt the intense grip of this thing called feelings on my poor little heart.

Absolutely disgusting.

Anyway.

This “writing letters I'll never send to you” is all just for me to really process all these feelings I’ve discovered for you. No other reason aside from that. In my head, this is a form of acknowledgment so I can easily get over whatever this is.

So yeah. Feelings. A crush. On you—someone younger than me—of all people. I can’t believe it.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

We were crossing the street when you suddenly held my hand. You did that to pull me to the other side of the road farther from the direction of the car.

“Be careful,” you said.

I shouldn’t feel special. Maybe you do this with everyone else anyway.

I hate how I can’t help but feel just a teensy bit special. Indulge me on this.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I hate how you’re so stubborn. I hate how you’re so passionate. I hate how you’re such an amazing dancer. If I didn’t know better, I’d be so goddamn jealous of you.

Well, maybe I already am.

But above all that, I feel so in awe of you.

I hate how amazing you are in everything you do.

I hate how you’re actually inspiring me to be a better person. Little by little.

You’re inspiring me to be more diligent, to work harder, to believe in myself and my artistry way more than I ever thought I could—even through the infinite doubts.

Because that’s what you do to me.

“You can do it!” you said. “I’ll be right in the audience cheering for you, too. Because you’re my number one supporter, I’ll also be your number one supporter.”

I hate how you’re right. Why do you always have to be right?

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I don’t get it. I really don’t.

I don’t understand why you would do such things to me and for me.

It was such a simple and offhand remark.

“Is that a new necklace?” you asked.

“Nah,” I replied.

“It’s pretty. I don’t usually see you wearing that necklace. Where's the other one? The silver one with the daisy pendants?”

It was only because that one—my favorite one—broke and I didn’t have the time to have it fixed yet. Too busy with org scheds.

And you know what you said?

“Give it to me. I’ll have it fixed.”

What in the actual—

You didn’t have to do it, Chan.

Yet there I was, handing over my most prized possession...to you, my...friend.

You better give it back to me fixed, or else.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

We’re in the library pretending to study for this godforsaken exam. I’ve practically given up on it.

(lol just kidding I can’t do that)

So we’re on a break. You’re sitting right in front of me, writing something down in your own notebook. Good thing the tables are a bit wide. I really wish that you won’t be able to see your name plastered on top of this page.

I never pegged you for someone who writes. In my head, I will take this as my own influence over you after my constant stories of how journaling and writing is such a simple thing that can heal you so easily and thoroughly.

Maybe my influence, and Seungkwan’s as well. At least he’s a good influence.

It was so funny, even, how you made a huge show of showcasing your little black notebook. When you opened it, I saw that it was already bookmarked at the halfway point.

So you do write. You have been writing.

Stop making my crush on you grow. Stop.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

You were so drunk last night. I don’t think you’ll remember any of it today.

But I remember everything crystal clear.

You’ve had how many bottles of soju at that point. You slung your arm around me and leaned your head on my shoulder. Never mind how fast my heart was beating at that point. Whether from alcohol, or you know what, I will never know.

You told me, “You’re my best friend. You know that, right?”

Your best friend.

A friend.

A stake to the heart would’ve hurt less, in my opinion.

But then again, better a best friend than nothing at all.

I wish I was as drunk as you were last night. Maybe I could forget that one sentence and just carry on living as if this thing between us is nothing.

As if us holding hands the entire night last night under the guise of you “needing a steady hand to hold so you wouldn't fall because you were drunk as hell” is no indication of any thing.

Whatever this thing is.

Sincerely,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I promised not to write anymore—believe me I tried. We’re best friends, right?

Best friends meet up for breakfast before going separate ways for the day, right?

Best friends make sure to ask if you’re home at the end of every day, right?

Best friends have random snacks or your go-to pick-me-up drink delivered to you when they know you’re having a terrible day, right?

Best friends do that, right?

Even if they’re both in separate relationships already?

I’m so confused. I shouldn’t be, but I can’t make it make sense.

Maybe it’s just me and these lingering and unresolved feelings. I hate them.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

Thank you for meeting me as soon as I called. Thank you for holding me as my world fell apart. Thank you for comforting me even as my tears fell. Thank you for being reliable. Thank you for giving me my comfort ice cream. Thank you for helping me through this breakup even though I know you’re on the brink of your own.

Thank you for being a friend—my friend.

Thank you for always catching me whenever I fall.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I’m sorry about the breakup…or am I?

I’m not too sad about it, I’m sorry. I always knew they were a bit off for you. But I hope I’ve been the right kind of friend that you need right now.

Or however you need me. I'll be here for you, the same way you were for me. You know that right?

I know you held back a few tears when we were at the cafe earlier. You loved them, for sure. I know how far you go for love—that's how true your love is.

But you should've seen the look in your eyes. It tells me you’re not too too sad about it either.

Or maybe it’s just me.

Yeah, definitely just me.

Maybe it was more of me wanting to see the spark in your eyes again after you kept denying that it had been gone for so long.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

You should've seen your face earlier. It was so…

With all of your hip-hop and R&B playlists, I never pegged you to be one to appreciate any of the oldies.

“This is my favorite Beatles song,” I said.

You immediately stopped scrolling the phone hidden behind the book reading the book in your hand to listen to “Here, There, and Everywhere” playing from the cafe's tinny speakers, straining to make it out above the chatter of the establishment.

You said you'll pull up the lyrics to read, and as you did, the smile on your face grew ever so slowly with every word that your eyes traveled to. You started to slightly bob your head to the beat while mouthing some of the lyrics as the song continued on.

Okay, fine, I was watching you. You didn't notice anyway.

“It’s a great song,” you said. You looked up with this sense of meaning in your eyes. I feel like mine had a look of question marks in them.

Your fingers danced on your phone. I’m sure you added it to one of your playlists. Well, I hope.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

This is the last letter I’ll write. I promise.

It’s graduation tomorrow. If you give me nothing and nothing happens within the next month of tomorrow, I will stop this nonsense and maybe try to finally get over these feelings I seem to have for you.

Whatever it is.

I just…don’t think I can bring myself to do it first.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

This is so random but you just suddenly crossed my mind. And I remembered this notebook full of so-called "unsent letters to you."

I wonder how you are and if you're doing okay. I don't know why we grew apart after graduation. I just...I don't know. I can't even think about it without my head aching.

It does kind of feel like there's a hollow void in the shape of you somewhere in my body, particularly somewhere around my chest area.

(nope, I won't say it)

I hope you're doing alright.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I can’t believe you came. It's been five years since we saw each other, three since we last spoke, yet you came—the person I least expected to see in the wake.

I never thought there'd be another letter but how could I not write anything?

I didn’t realize how painful and heavy it was to lose my grandfather until you hugged me. You were the first one to see my tears. You were the only one brave enough to hold my broken pieces without caring if you'd get cut by my sharp edges.

How you were able to do it even after all these years will forever be a mystery to me.

Thank you for catching me before I further shattered myself.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I’m still reeling from recent events.

It was so nice to see you again last night, though. Thanks for dragging me out of my apartment. It’s been so long since we went out like that, just for some frozen yogurt, which naturally turned into a few drinks because after all, it’s still the two of us together.

But good lord help me, I’m still in a daze. How can I be normal when I just dropped the biggest truth bomb of my life thus far?

I told you, “Maybe I’ve always wondered what it would be like if we ever tried before.”

But you know what you said? You know what you frickin’ said?

“I wish you told me earlier. Why didn’t you?”

Well, why didn’t you??????

I swear I could’ve combusted on the spot if I could. I swear I just said that so I could finally let go of this weight from my chest.

But you know what you did?

You walked me home. You made sure I was safe.

And then you visited this morning with coffee and breakfast to nurse the drinks from last night.

You’re just outside my room right now, sitting on my small couch, playing Beatles songs from the speakers. You’re waiting for me to finish whatever I’m doing here because you’re taking me out to see this movie I told you I wanted to watch. Why?

“We have to make up for lost time,” you said.

Chan, what are you doing? Just tell me so I know what I should do.

What do I do with you now?

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Happy Chan Day!

I hate you.

I wish you told me about your party earlier! I mean, even hours earlier, not like an hour or two right before.

Okay, I know it’s a spontaneous birthday party and all—I GET IT. But please tell your friends to at least invite your other friends beforehand? So we can also prep stuff for you, okay? I moved around so many schedules for this—for your party. How could I not?

So I hope you’ll forgive me for not preparing your gift yet. I was planning to get it in the coming days when my sched was relatively freer. Still, I’m really, truly sorry for not getting you a gift. I know you like getting gifts because you like giving them as well.

You know, it’s your birthday, yet you were the one who said something that was almost like a gift to me.

You said, “Don’t bother with the gift. As long as you’re here with me, I don’t really need anything else.”

Chan, I still hate you. I think.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

I’ve come to the harrowing realization that I’m in love with you.

No scratch that. I love you. Throughout all these years, I’ve always loved you.

How’s that for a hit-me-with-a-firetruck realization?

Yours truly (I wish),

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Dear Chan,

Do not laugh at me. Do not be condescending. Do not dismiss me—your best friend. Do not leave me hanging. Just…do not.

When I show you this, just don’t.

Just read it.

Yours truly,

Me

— ✐ᝰ.ᐟ —

Hey, you.

If only you knew how many pages I’ve written about you. Glad to know I’m not the only one doing so.

It started on that day we were in the library. I’d already written about so many things, but that was the first time I ever wrote about you. I’ve never stopped writing since.

And even in pages full of you writing about me, I still write about you.

You’ve always been here, there, and everywhere to me.

Yours, truly and only yours,

Chan

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

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“To lead a better life / I need my love to be here // … // Will be there and everywhere / Here, there and everywhere”