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chenfleur · 3 months ago

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i’m liquid smooth (come touch me too) | y.jw

“swear it. swear to me, that your lips belong to your heart, and your heart belongs to me. may i be the only object of your affection and obsession, and your promise to me consume your every waking hour, until you draw your final breath - and may that final breath be against my wanting lips.” or: in which you desperately harden your heart towards your classmate yang jungwon, but in the course of your own introspection you get a glimpse into his. — title from mitski’s liquid smooth

W/C — 2.5k

TW — graphic depictions of blood and body, severe trauma, depression, mentions of death and implied suicidal thoughts and tendencies. A/N at end with explanations.

you don’t believe in love - no, you can’t. what reason would you have to believe in stolen gazes and claimed hands? the whispers of sweet nothings are nothing more than muffled drivel to your closed ears. blood stains your palms, your sheets, your slate. caresses are sickening, a reminder of what they once were in your own innocence, while you still read the words “once upon a time” to yourself and believed them.

really, you swear you don’t believe in love.

so when yang jungwon comes along, it’s like you are reminded of every notion of defense. at first, he reminds you of a sacrificial lamb, offered by those around him who tell him to “win her over, maybe it’ll remove the stick up her ass.” after all, he’s the golden boy, the perfect little student council head who’s got it all, never had to try his hand at something and not succeed. he has the disposition of a sweet cherub, rosy cheeks and twinkling eyes that know no evil - how can someone like him possibly know what it’s like to be irreparably ruined? it is with this that you resolve to lock down into the base of the shackles that define you, trap you, show him what resistance you have. you ignore him, prove to him that there is something he can fail at. that he cannot always win, and that lesson will begin with you.

why you? maybe it is because you see that innocent little girl in him, if only she had grown up oblivious to the depravity of your own flesh and blood.

your undoing begins on the rooftop. he finds you one day, perched on top of the air conditioning vents as you eat your lunch. he sits by the base without his own. and he talks, as though you can actually hear him. he talks about fleeting things, like his student council projects or some silly joke his teacher told him. (something about a frog. you don’t laugh, but you find yourself returning to it for the rest of the day.) day by day, he inches closer until he’s shoulder to shoulder with you, eye to eye and heart to heart. although you’d much prefer he didn’t know that.

his smile disarms you, and with a kindness you come to know he did not learn from the world, he takes you apart. slowly, slowly, he reduces your walls to rubble by pushing his own debris apart, offering you each rotten part of his soul as though it is gold. and maybe in your mind’s eyes it really is unlike any treasure that has or will come into your possession. is it sick for you to find solace in another’s tainted memories?

sometimes he’ll just sit with you, as though the earbuds you have plugged in don’t even exist. he doesn’t even try to reach over the volume of your music. he’ll just gaze at the cloudy sky with you, says things he knows other people will never hear. because you can keep a secret, can’t you? (those words once haunted your nights until they spilled into the daylight, but somehow those same words out of his mouth don’t make your wrists ache the way they used to. and maybe you are a fool for it.)

the content of his confessions changes with each passing day. “my friends don’t really feel like friends.” or another: “it’s taking a lot more effort than it used to for me to wake up in the mornings.”

maybe he just wants to say things, without consequence or judgment or the expectations everyone else seems to assign to him. the sky is blue, the grass is green, yang jungwon has to be perfect - or so it appears. he makes it seem as though you are the only one privy to the existence of a less-than version of him. maybe in the beginning you didn’t believe that could possibly exist, but the indubitability of it all is starting to wear out.

and eventually you give him your ears. soon, the music stops playing, and you’re listening to him, muffled as it is. then it turns into one earbud down, and finally, one day, you’re hearing him with your own two ears, save for the crash of rain that pelts and stings your skin, dead eyes taking in the sight of yang jungwon’s red-rimmed ones. the sight of him, backed against the wall and into a corner by his own iniquity. he opens his mouth, and for the first time, he meets your gaze in a way that chills you. you have never seen that expression on him, never thought something so lifeless could come to possess him.

it is laughably ironic that it takes the unravelling of yang jungwon for him to receive you, undivided and entranced in a sick sort of way. like some sort of shattering mirrorball, captivating and haunting.

“want to hear the truth? i crave the attention. the excellence, the admiration, i wear myself to the bone because i’m addicted to the feeling of success, and anything apart from it leaves me hollow. i’m not quite whole, and i’m looking for something, someone i will never have nor want.” i knew, you reply. but you didn’t. you learn a lot from that one admission. that he is not the Mary you believed he was. that he is not pure white snow and ignorant bleating, rather, there is fresh hot blood spilled across the skin by his own knife - his own blood. he is the paradox of a sinner and a victim, just like you. and you find solace in that. and maybe the gravity of each of your sins is different, but sin is sin, no? he is as innocent as you are evil, and vice versa, mutatis mutandis. or any other word that will remind yourself of the evil that wars within your soul that reaches out to him.

he flashes, turns, makes you want to keep looking at him as he puts one foot in front of the other towards you. “fair trade. your turn to make your confessions.” though this priest is as painfully human as you are, there’s something that just feels so…right, to take the plunge into shared self-denigration, face-to-face with a mirrored imperfection.

the words drip like blood from your lips, a steady outpouring that is slow, yes, but one you cannot seem to stop. he has undone every last loose string you tried so hard to cut off, unravelled your web of lies and traps that distract from the centerpiece that is you, you. “love,” you say, before you can trap your own tongue. “love, and who should give it to me. i don’t know it, can’t understand it. i cannot love anyone who wants me, and yet-”

you feel the words rapidly clot in your throat, like they are healing a gaping wound far too late. you stop, but he only nods, does not ask further. there is little left to say, when there is so much to be understood.

you speak in riddles, every subsequent exchange walking the line of falsehood and mystery, a lie or bait. after that day, he does not tell you any truth if it is not followed by the sardonic quirk of his lip. yang jungwon, like you, is well-versed in the dance around reality. and maybe it is denial that stops you. maybe it is the fact that he is so unwilling to show you any side of him that reminds you of the perfect boy you thought he was. and maybe it is the fact that you refuse to voluntarily soften your heart in a way that hurts, because it evades you as to why he could see the worst part of you, and still want more. it churns and turns your stomach inside out, and you begin to regurgitate the losses, all the missing pieces of the puzzle that seek to meet him halfway against your better judgment. you are out of control, drowning in waters more shallow than you have ever known, and yet the burn in your lungs is subsiding bit by bit.

so yes, he takes you apart. it’s gradual, as though he is trying to steal you piece by piece, shard by shard, and only when you are nearly there does he finally reveal his hand in full, bleeding and scarred, your fragmented existence in the heart of his palm.

one night. one night is all it takes, inebriated as the both of you are at someone’s party, somewhere or the other. it’s a coming-of-age party, the drinks flow and the glasses clink (because some high-schoolers are wealthy beyond comparison, and red plastic cups simply don’t cut it). but it doesn’t really matter that the house is big, nor that the music is soft and slow. all that you can think of is jungwon’s eyes on you. you, on the balcony’s railing, legs dangling as you beckon to him with a dazed grin.

“first time i’ve seen you smile.”

“yeah, i have to be out of my own damn mind to give you any affection. and yet…” and yet he still comes back for more each time. it’s quiet out here, and he should be with his friends, drinking minimally and laughing abundantly. just like a good honours student would do.

but he is not really a good person, however the rest of the world believes the facade. he is a masochist, and you are the carnal ache he’s looked for his whole life.

in other words, you are terrible for him; you are his lifeline. a paradox that should not be, but for him the burns blend into bliss.

“it’s dangerous up there. you could fall right off.” a useless statement, because he sits right at your feet.

“and when has that stopped me?”

he looks up and out, following your gaze to the sky above. in seoul city, the few stars you can see are dim like no other. no such grandeur of constellations and stories. “beautiful, aren’t they?”

“you can barely see them here. besides, they’re just big balls of gas.”

he snorts, head tilting to rest on your dangling shin. “a very you thing to say. but they remind me of you.”

“oh?” you slide down from the banister, sinking into the spot beside him. it is returning home. “how so?”

he’s silent for a while, as he usually is while he collects his thoughts. you know that sometimes, his headspace is a flurry of truth and lies, of the voices in his head and the voices seeking to silence the latter. you began to notice when he would pause for a second during his speeches, a sour look crossing his features for a split second when he stuttered, before he returned to the same cordial smile. but here, he does not need to pretend. here, by your side, there is no shame in not knowing what to say.

“distant, at first. but the warmth, though it’s lightyears away, still fills me up and keeps me wondering and waiting for a day i finally get a glimpse of you. beautiful in the most destructive of ways. rightly so, as they’re still ‘big balls of hot gas’ as you so nicely put it.”

his hot breath blooms across your cheek in the chilly night air, and it is at this moment that you realise how close he is - shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. when did he get so close? it occurs to you that he knows. he’s learned to read your scowling face, your shaking hands, your trembling heart.

and yet for the first time in your life, the absence of distance does not scare you. maybe it’s because he and you unlearned the fear together, by taking apart each wall brick by brick, relishing the way the debris sliced your fingers and stung your palms. selfish sacrifice. selfless actions to serve yourself. ironic, but for you and jungwon it is just so fitting.

two self-worshipping sinners, finding a glimpse of redemption in each other.

you can’t turn away, not when his gaze is transfixed upon you, as though you really are the night sky. “you’re not afraid of getting burnt.” it’s less of a question than it is a statement, because you already know the answer. and when you meet his eyes, those big brown eyes in which yearning swirls and simmers, you think you know his before he even says it. “neither are you.”

there’s an unspoken promise between you and him, the moonshine a witness to the wordless declaration. the bleeding truth hangs bated in the air as he surges forward, and he kisses you with an intensity that sears your soul. he is close, closer than you have let anyone come, and as you lace your hand with his, returning the same yearning, you know you will never feel this way apart from him. yang jungwon is your undoing, and you are his. the brush of his skin on yours does not repulse you, the way it used to for everyone else. he makes a pathetic, strangled sound against you as you sink your teeth into his bottom lip and pull. he is in love, yes, with the way you make him hurt. you can hear the blood rushing in your ears, a crashing storm at first, dulling to the river’s hasty flow, and finally the trickle of a stream. soothing, smooth. he is water that refreshes your parched soul, only to disappear and leave you thirsting for more.

when you finally pull away, you find that your free hand is splayed across his chest, his heart thrumming below your fingertips. alive, alive. the heat of his thumb running along your cheekbone, his steady panting that fills the midnight air, and the warmth of his legs now tangled with yours are reminders that he is truly alive with something else other than the desire for death.

“are we in love?”

“maybe not. but i’m not so stupid as to believe i can live without you.”

you scoff. “sweet words for a sharp-minded boy.”

the firm press of his hand against yours is an assurance unlike any other. it is a covenant, and in your heart you hope the starless sky will bear witness to the bond of mind and flesh, of body and soul. maybe you will never forget your sins, and he not his own. what you need is not to erase the past, but live with the future. one step at a time, no matter how long it takes.

“on the contrary,” he muses. “sweet words for a sharp-tongued girl.”

A/N — so. it’s been a couple months of silence from me because of exams lmao sorry…whatever the case life is shitty. if you caught the references to SA i am so sorry. this entire fic was genuinely just a vent drabble disguised as fanfiction. if you relate to this i’m even more sorry, and you can please come to my dms and scold me for it/talk to me about it, either way just know you aren’t alone.

this was definitely not meant to be beautiful in any way, i’d say it’s more of a literary expression of trauma and how two people might possibly come together because of it. there’s a lot of religious symbolism, and there are motifs of bodily imagery and stars. it’s a little hard to catch but the subtext is that if their flesh is inadequate, they can transcend themselves by become a part of the universe. it’s a bit questionable and unlike anything i’ve ever done, so it’s definitely far from perfect. but still!

on a more lighthearted note, the frog joke exists! it’s very lame and my friend actually told me that joke, it’s basically about a frog who goes to a fortune teller and asks where he will meet his dream girl, and he’s told he will meet her in her biology class…yes you can probably infer the rest. yes now you can laugh.

IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR PLS LEAVE FEEDBACK THANK YOU AND ILY !!!

#WOW. WOWOWOWOW #that was so good my timbers are shivered #i know u said it's not meant to be beautiful but it's beautiful in it's own right Ok. your writing is so rich in emotion and nuance and #honestly u opened my eyes with the overall description of the experience and the characterization of ynwon #(can u tell im a little ass at giving feedback 😔)#selfish sacrifice #what a delicious oxymoron #i'm wondering abt how ynwon fare in the long run? since they seem to Well. not have the healthiest relationship with each other #very random question but i am curious #thank u for this i enjoyed it very very much

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chenfleur · 7 months ago

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melting again

pairing. yang jungwon x y/n ⇝ ft older brother!jake

genre. family by choice au, that one scene from ep 13, fluff, secret relationship

word count. 1.2k

author's note. this drama ended last week and now there is a gaping hole in my chest. i'm trying to get back into writing after a few months and i forgot how hard it is (headinhands) happy december! i hope this month is kind to everyone ♡

masterlist

You’re not exactly sure how long you’ve spent sitting in the fourth floor’s common area, shifting around to find a more comfortable dip in the armchair, uncrossing your legs when the bottom one falls asleep just to cross it over the other. The condensation of your iced coffee dripping down your wrist is a prickly sensation—it demands your attention that, up until now, had been completely focused on burning holes through Yang Jungwon and Jake Sim’s apartment door.

When the rivulet ends as a small, wet blotch on the sleeve of your blouse, your patience snaps.

There’s a resounding slam of sole against tile as you march up to the door, fingers fumbling with the keypad. “Assholes,” you curse under your breath, impatiently punching in the code you already know by heart. “I reminded them twice yesterday that we’d be having breakfast at Dad’s…”

The door unlocks with a click and a little jingle. Hastily twisting the door handle, you exercise your self-given (and very justified, you’d argue) right to barge into their apartment as if it were your own.

“Guys!” You slip off your shoes, kicking them to the side. “Where the hell are—”

The obnoxious wave of alcohol that hits your nose makes you stop in your tracks, extinguishing your fuse by forcing you to take in the state of their apartment.

See, your expectations for two twenty-something men living together weren’t high to begin with, but this seemed excessive. The place looks like the morning after a college party, but the fact that you know it was only the two of them last night is what makes it unreasonable.

Random clusters of soju bottles, crumpled beer cans, and half-torn chip bags are strewn all over the place—and there, in all their flushed-face glory, were Jungwon and Jake. Both severely passed out on opposite ends of the couch.

You roll your eyes so hard, they’re practically in the back of your head.

“Jake. Sim. Wake. Up,” you grit out, punctuating each word with a smack to his limp arm. “Seriously, wake up. Did you forget we’re eating with Dad today? Huh?”

Your older brother only groans in his sleep, moving away from your swatting hand and settling back against the couch. There’s a siren in your head urging you to punch him, but you silence it with an irritated sigh.

Then, your eyes fall onto Jungwon. They soften.

Setting your things down, you round the coffee table, kneeling down next to the couch. Your brain is determined to stay annoyed with him for not being ready to leave, but your hand is gentler than you’d hoped for as you shake his shoulder.

“Jungwon,” you murmur. “Come on, just wake up.”

Not a part of him moves, not even in acknowledgement. A deep sigh leaves your lips as you slowly push yourself up by your knees, about to turn away—but fingers wrap around your wrist, latching on.

A surprised yelp escapes you as Jungwon tugs you down onto the couch. You fall into place, into the spaces where his body hadn’t already taken up. A sputtered protest is about to leave your lips, one about him being awake the whole time and ignoring you, but it dies on its way out when you feel his arms wrap around your waist.

Frozen, you blink. It amuses him, based on the way the corners of his lips quirk up ever so slightly. The tip of his nose is cold when it brushes against yours.

“You look pretty,” he mumbles sleepily.

Ten years apart wasn’t enough time for your eyes to learn to handle the sight of Yang Jungwon. They were still so overwhelmed by him—darting everywhere, trying to process his eyes, nose, lips. Trying to process the parts of him that had changed, like his cheeks that are less round than they were when he left for Seoul.

And maybe the fact that the only version of him you remember and truly know is the one from high school—that you had watched him grow up, but not in a way that your insecurity told you actually mattered—is what causes you to fixate on certain things.

Like how his less round cheeks still carry that lingering, rosy tint that you remember. That you try to hold onto.

You strain yourself to harden your gaze. It fails miserably.

“Jungwon, what are you doing?” you whisper urgently. “Jake is right there—”

“He’s asleep,” Jungwon murmurs in response. “Out cold.”

Gaze flitting over to the coffee table, he regards you with a raised brow. “Iced coffee? In winter?”

You glare at him. “What does the temperature of my drinks have to do with the season?”

One of his hands leaves your waist to gently flick your nose, returning to its original post when you open your mouth in protest. “Stupid girl. No wonder you get sick so easily.”

Scoffing, you grumble, “You should go back to Seoul. Piece of shit.”

You know it’s an empty threat. A miserably thin veil, trying to keep him from looking too closely at the fragment of your heart that physically shakes with fear at the thought of losing him again. Of unknowingly handing him over to a city that doesn’t welcome him. To people who hurt him.

So after the words leave your lips, you curl a little tighter into him. Trying to get his warmth to swallow you and rejuvenate the parts of you that have been aching dully since the day he’d left.

Jungwon watches you through half-lidded eyes the entire time that you’re silent. He carefully takes in the way your fingers grip the fabric of his shirt.

His first instinct is to pry, but he decides that you probably don’t want his first instinct.

“Kiss,” he murmurs instead.

The request catches you off guard, snapping you out of your bleak thoughts. “No,” you purse your lips, trying to push down the small smile that threatens to surface. “No. You’re drunk and you smell.”

“I kiss you when you’re stinky and you won’t do the same?”

“What are you even talking about? I’m never stinky, unlike you right now.”

Jungwon only chuckles, and in the blink of an eye, his lips are on yours in a fleeting kiss. When he pulls away, he’s looking at you again, a pretty smile on his lips at how caught off guard you look.

“You— you can’t just do that—”

“Says who?” He tilts his head at you with a soft click of his tongue. “Apparently I have a girlfriend who doesn’t know the concept of free will.”

Girlfriend. The idea still makes your head spin.

You glance over your shoulder to check that Jake is still dead to the world before coming back to Jungwon. “Come on,” you whisper, hand coming up to rest on his hair, twirling a small piece between your fingers. “We’re gonna be late. My dad will get worried and start blowing up my phone again.”

Nodding against the pillow, Jungwon’s cat-like eyes flutter closed again. “Okay.”

A pause. “Love you.”

Spinning, spinning, spinning.

“Mm,” a coherent part of you manages to hum back. Your lips press a quick, soft kiss to the corner of his eye, not before taking one more precautionary glance at Jake.

“Love you, Won.”

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen oneshots #enhypen drabbles #jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon x reader #yang jungwon x reader #jungwon fluff #jungwon imagines #jungwon scenarios #enhypen fic

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chenfleur · 7 months ago

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hello i love your writings so much 😭😭😭

AHHH THANK YOU SO SO MUCH 😭😭

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chenfleur · 9 months ago

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— bye bye my blue

y. jungwon x f!reader

wc: 2.3k genre: hurt/comfort, angst content: reader is older than jungwon (reader is called noona), insecurities, relationship growing pains and they're both horrible at communication. but they're growing!! and they're growing together :') misc. notes: title inspired by bye bye my blue by baek yerin :)part one of my jungwon noona anthology series, birds of a feather.

on a tuesday afternoon, jungwon finds you on the bathroom floor.

somehow, he knows something is wrong before he sees it, a weird feeling twisting in his gut the moment he opens the door to your apartment. the shades are still drawn, there’s a half-eaten bowl of food still sitting on the counter, and, most importantly, you’re not there. you’re not anywhere—not on the couch, not in your room, not in the kitchen. the door shuts behind him, a disturbance in the air.

it’s too quiet.

jungwon stops at the doorway, slipping off one shoe at a time. and then, carefully, he opens his mouth. “noona?”

it sits in the open air for a moment, waiting, and then he tries again, the feeling in his gut creeping up his throat. “noona, are you here?”

he steps further into your apartment, about to call your name one more time, until something rustles in the bathroom. jungwon stops, ears straining. a beat of silence. he steps forward, avoiding the single creaky wooden panel three feet from the door, socked feet practically sliding across the floor to avoid any unnecessary noise, until he hears it again.

a small sniffle, the ghost of a shaky breath echoing in the bathroom and trickling out from underneath the door. jungwon’s bag immediately drops from his shoulders.

you’re hurt, his head starts blaring.

his right foot moves first. and then his left. and before he knows it, he’s stumbling through the hallway towards the bathroom on instinct alone. jungwon’s hip rams into the edge of the corner table placed at the beginning of the hallway, a loud bang as it slams in the wall behind it. he registers it distantly, the noise, the burst of pain that shoots into the bone, but it doesn’t matter. none of it does, not when you’re holed up in the bathroom, all alone.

his hand flies to the doorknob, heart in the pit of his stomach—and he stops.

the voice in his head is still screaming at him to hurry, you’rehurtyou’rehurtyou’rehurt—but the metal lies cool against the heat of his palm, and jungwon takes a deep, shaky breath. he forces his panic to dilute into something more palpable, more manageable, to where he can swallow it down from the back of his throat to his chest and think.

he can’t force his way in, not if you didn’t want him to. whatever hurt he feels at that thought, jungwon shoves aside in favor of leaning his forehead against the wood, one hand clutched at the doorknob, the other raising slowly in a closed fist.

jungwon knocks once, then twice. he calls your name tentatively again, fragile as his lips form around the word. he hopes it’s enough to pass through the door, the walls you’ve yet to let down, the ones you still haven’t let him walk through.

he can’t tell if the silence that follows after is contemplation or guilt or embarrassment, but even so, he knocks again anyway. “noona, are you there?” please. “can i come in?” please, just let me in.

and again, nothing. jungwon tries to discern the silence, pressing his ear flush to the door trying to pick up any sign that you were okay, but it’s hard to tell when all he can hear is the thumping in his own chest, the blood pounding in his ears.

there’s a sort of shame that ripples in jungwon, stifling in his chest.

the gap between you and him is something he rarely forgets, with the way you shower him in adoration and praise him until his cheeks flush cherub-like. stubbornly, he wants to be more, but all jungwon has done is wait. he makes himself patient and he waits for the moment where you will finally let him see anything deeper than the smile you give him every day, where you stop seeing him as the younger boyfriend and someone to take care of and instead see him as someone you can rely on instead, where you tell him your thoughts and worries and peel back your layers and trust that jungwon will handle your rawest form with care.

he’d thought that maybe if he proved that he was good enough, capable enough, then you’d eventually let him in. but jungwon had convinced himself of that months ago, and now it’s come to this. you, locked in your bathroom and crying alone, and him, outside and still waiting.

(maybe the problem really is him. maybe even after all this time, he still isn’t the man you need him to be. perhaps you don’t really need him at all.)

“noona,” jungwon tries again, quietly, slumped against the wood. “please.” even if you didn’t need him, he needs you, still. “just let me know if you’re okay.”

something shifts, at that. the rustling of clothes on the other side of the door, a shaky exhale. jungwon would have been satisfied with that, really, his hand slipping from the doorknob and the offer to just go back home ready to leave from his lips along with his heart placed bleeding at the doorway. but instead:

“you can come in.” it’s so quiet it’s almost a whisper, the echo of the bathroom muffled through the door, but it’s the clearest thing jungwon has heard all day.

a few seconds pass, and the door creaks open, light spilling out into the hallway. a lump immediately forms in jungwon’s throat.

sat in the middle of the bathroom floor, a crumpled white button-up shirt between your hands, you look like a mess. red-rimmed and puffy-eyed, you stare up at him with a distinct quiver in your lip, like the mere sight of him sent your hastily reconstructed sand castle walls crumbling again. but you gather yourself again quickly, patting down any loose pieces of sand into form and pulling your lips into a sheepish smile.

“hi, wonie,” you greet, embarrassment peeking through. your cheeks are still wet, shining in the light when you tilt your head up at him. “you’re back early.”

jungwon used to think the worst thing he’d have to overcome was never being able to see any version of you but the perfectly curated mask you try to show him, but he thinks this is worse. to finally see you like this, and to have you look back at him as if you’d been caught, like being vulnerable was akin to some wrongdoing, like you’d been spotted with your hand in the cookie jar and he was the uninvited witness.

“ahh…” you breathe out, laughing. “i guess there’s no point in hiding it now.” there’s a certain look of guilt in your smile when you look at him that makes jungwon’s gut twist. “sorry you had to see me like this.”

“that’s not—” jungwon tries, but whatever that was supposed to come out next lodges in his throat, somewhere between breath and speech. “don’t—don’t apologize.”

your smile falters a little, hands falling into your lap. another ‘sorry’ gets lost between the two of you, mute at his admonition.

it feels a bit like a scolding, with how you avert your eyes from him and stare at the ground, and jungwon feels even more at a loss. he looks at you and then the shirt and then back at you again, running over anything he could possibly say to soothe over the awkward silence. and then, finally, “what happened?”

jungwon barely hears himself say it, the whisper so faint he’s not sure he even voiced it at all. you blink, eyes wet. your lip catches between your teeth deliberating, before you exhale.

“it’s okay,” you shake your head. you smile at him again, half-hearted and consoling. “it was stupid, don’t worry about it.”

your smile falls the second you see the look in his eyes, the hurt he can’t control that displays clear on his face. jungwon reels it in quickly, but you try to mend the wound before it can fester further.

“i spilled my coffee on my shirt,” you confess, holding up the stain. “i, um… i couldn’t get it out.” you look down at it again, and then back up at him, sheepish. “see, i told you it was stupid.”

there’s more to it, jungwon knows there is. a stain on some shirt of yours wouldn’t warrant breaking down into tears and sobbing in the bathroom; there was something you weren’t telling him, something you were deliberately hiding from him.

the last thing he ever wants to do is pressure you into divulging what you’re not ready to reveal, but how could he let it go now? how could he see you like this with his own eyes and turn away like he saw nothing at all?

“what happened?” he repeats, gently.

the question presses into you further, and you shake your head softly. “i told you—”

“do you trust me?” he interrupts, still quiet. do you trust me enough to lay yourself bare? do you trust me enough to know that you could let yourself crumble and i would still be there to catch you? do you trust me enough to take care of you?

your eyes dart to him immediately, panic splayed on your face. it’s like you can sense something falling apart, you or him or both, together, but you immediately try to patch it together again. maybe it was just in your nature. “what? of course i—i love you. i love you so much, you know that.”

your bottom lip stiffens as soon as the confession sounds, the sudden, unfiltered vulnerability resulting in you hiding the way your lip wobbles as you avert your gaze away, blinking away glassy eyes. you’re holding back your tears, again.

jungwon swallows hard.

(distantly, he wonders if this is all he is to you, someone you have to hold back for.

love and trust aren’t the same thing, and equating the two isn’t much of an assurance when something ugly and resentful has been curling in his chest ever since he stepped foot into your apartment; not at you, but at himself.

must you carry the weight of him along with everything else? is this all he is good for? to only see you in your good moments and be kept in the dark as you handle everything all by yourself in the bad?)

but you sniffle, an instinctive jerk of the body you can’t hide, and he pushes the ugly, resentful thing in his chest aside. jungwon steps forward, bit by bit. he can wallow in his failings another time—all that matters right now is you.

“what can i do?” he asks, finally, open-eyed and pleading.

a part of him wonders if he can even do anything, if you even want him to do anything for you, or if he’ll be thrown back into his regular pattern of waiting. waiting for you to come to him, waiting to be let in again as you cast him out yet again to deal with everything on your own.

he can’t demand anything of you, but right now, he wishes you would just lean on him, if only a little; he wishes you would ask him for something, anything. he wishes you would want to.

jungwon can’t do anything you don’t ask him too. it haunts him, this constant fear of being a burden to you, to be helpless even when he’s trying. his attempts are nothing but clumsy and stumbling, and it wouldn’t be anything but more trouble on your plate if he extends his hand and you don’t need it, you don’t want it. you'd both be left with something lingering in empty space with no one to claim it.

but perhaps his desperation to not be helpless gets to you too, because you take a shaky breath, clutching the shirt tighter between your fingers. and then, quietly: “can you just hold me? please?”

jungwon moves forward without a sound, kneeling down to the floor and taking you in his arms. the shirt falls down into your lap as you wrap your arms around him and hold yourself tight to his chest. neither of you say anything—perhaps you don’t know how to say it. or maybe, there’s nothing else that needs to be said, not at this moment.

you grab onto him like a lifeline, gasping out the beginning of sobs that threaten to rip out from your chest again, and jungwon sits there, letting you. he doesn’t need an apology, he doesn’t need an explanation. some would call it selfish, maybe, to have you taking what you please when you find it suitable, but the selfish you is what jungwon has been searching for this whole time.

jungwon wants you to be selfish of him. he wants you to want him for yourself, even if it’s just to be there with you. he'll let you take as much as you need from him, because it isn’t taking if he’s giving it to you.

later, after the tears have all dried, you will tell him the truth. at least, the parts of it you can properly articulate. how the coffee stain was the last straw of a shitty day in a shittier week, how you didn’t want to trouble him by complaining about something you hoped would soon pass, how you never dropped any mention of having a hard time to him because when you were together, everything else didn’t really matter that much anymore.

it wasn’t a matter of trust. just love.

but for now, on a tuesday afternoon on the bathroom floor, you hold him tight as you cry, and you let him hold you back.

#do you want me to rip my hair out #SERIOUSLY #forgive me for not having ur Nuts feedback-giving ability #but everything about this !!!! CRAZY !!!!!#and i just wanted to say i really really liked the way u wrote jw ☹️#shame.... yeah. Yeah #it's just such a helpless feeling when u want someone to choose u #what am i not doing or what am i doing wrong that's making u not choose me bc there MUST be a reason #also idk where this falls into place but it kinda feels like #he isn't scrambling to do what's right he's scrambling to do what ISN'T wrong #bc he already only has so little of ur raw/vulnerable side that he's worried you'll push urself even further away if he even breathes wrong #idk if that makes sense but yeah 💔💔#wish i didn't have a Stupid Mouth that can't articulate the thoughts scattered around in my brain but just. yeah. my head is in my hands

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chenfleur · 11 months ago

Text

directory ಇ.

enhypen ──

── seventeen

nct dream ──

#directory

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chenfleur · 11 months ago

Note

HI!!! this is hoonigiris :3 but basically . basically... ugh i could go on and on about frayed edges but more importantly i could go on and on about HOON!!!! as you could guess by the url name hoon is sooo important to me idk... thats like twin but horizontally flipped and put twice through a funhouse mirror . anyway your tags just reaffirmed how much you GET HIM!!!!!!! he is sooo like. i think its partially bc he's the oldest or bc he grew up in sports or that he's the big brother of a younger sister or all three factors Combined but i feel like he never lets himself feel like he should . or rather he feels and he never really knows how to put it into words to make it matter.. yeah. and when he's faced with emotional turmoil its like . he doesn't really know how to handle it bc he has the emotional range of a thumbtack and the only ways he really knows how to handle it isn't exactly sustainable in the long run... yeah . and from what i was gathering in the fic yn was giving #EMPATH so really they were good for him... and then . sigh. I am a ball of yarn I am the single thread will you hold me in the eye of your needle or must i miss (Miss... in every sense of the word) you in everything . many such cases.

anyway im soooo sorry for yapping in your askbox ... please feel free to ignore this JSDFLSFLFD i just needed to put a hand on your shoulder and let you know. You get him. you get him really bad /pos please never stop putting him in emotionally charged and unfortunate situations... please never stop making him pathetic...! and also i'm glad you enjoyed the reblog tags !! it was a pleasure to read and tag accordingly hehe 🫶🫶🫶

-cat! (@/hoonigiris)

LMAOO IT'S OKAY !!! DON'T BE SORRY FOR YAPPING I LOVE IT WHEN PPL YAP IN MY INBOX 💔💔

thank you for saying i get him that's like highest compliment ever... 99% of the time i think i'm asscheeks at characterization but thank you!! sunghoon is just like. he's just always the easiest to put in slightly miserable situations bc it's just the easiest to imagine him in those situations being like ":headinhands: what the FUCK do i do with these feelings. are they even feelings? my stomach feels like it's gonna drop to my ass at any moment now but there's no way this means anything" and then cut to some catalyst moment that makes have a sudden realization and now he's just in fight or flight to make it better . yeah but besides the point

#i still haven't figured out the Secret Sauce for the other members tho 😞😞#in Slightly Miserable Situations™ i mean #i think it's way easier to do lighthearted fluffy Not So Miserable Situations™ with the others #i dont have the brain capacity to do headcanons

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chenfleur · 11 months ago

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frayed edges

summary. four weeks after the two of you broke up

pairing. sunghoon x y/n genre. exes to ???, college au, just mild yearning word count. 1.0k released. 08.03.2024 author's note. originally this was for ni-ki (hence why it's soccer) but apparently i'm physically incapable of writing yearning without the mc being Yours Truly so here's another hoon piece 😹😹😹 also the way it's written makes it seem like y/n's the one who broke up with him but honestly... it could've been either of them

masterlist

Glistening beads of sweat travel down the sides of Sunghoon’s face as he haphazardly lets the soccer ball drop from his grasp. It thuds softly against the grass beneath him for the hundredth time tonight—each time landing in a slightly different spot, each time getting a few more blades of wet grass and dirt stains stuck onto its once spotless surface. He lets it roll for a few counts before he’s satisfied with where it is, stopping it with the sole of his foot. The night is deathly still, watching him with one eye open. She waits with bated breath and a thundering heart for him to kick the ball into the net again.

The side of Sunghoon’s foot went numb hours ago, but he doesn’t stop—with all the energy he can muster, he brutally kicks the ball. It rips through the air like a gunshot. As soon as he registers the ball hurling into the back of the net and falling limply to the ground, his knees buckle. He falls onto the grass, sprawling out on the prickly expanse. His heartbeat pulses in his fingertips.

He closes his eyes.

Were you asleep?

Sunghoon curses, throwing an arm over his eyes in exasperation.

It isn’t working anymore.

Distraction—it isn’t working anymore.

For the past month, Sunghoon has been able to deal with the absence of the adrenaline you gave him by finding it in other sources. He’d find it in the burn of amber liquor going down his throat, the freezing cold temperature of Jay’s pool, the way his eyes would go dry when he raced down the highway in the back of Heeseung’s trunk. He’d find it every time he watched the ball shoot into the net and the sharp night air blew against his skin. All he’d need was the will to kick it once, and he’d be unable to stop until his knees gave out beneath him.

Sure, substitutes could never compensate for nuance—Sunghoon doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to get rid of the sinking pit in his stomach every time he sees something that reminds him of you—but they make do. For him, that was enough. He’s always been the ‘bigger picture’ type.

But the novelty has worn off, and the ghost of your presence floats around him whenever he has a millisecond of time to spend with his own thoughts. His own conscience is working against him. It can’t ignore the parts of him that are wilting because distraction can’t make up for them. The parts that were rallying against his wishes, his pride—that demanded he fixate on a singular, all-encompassing focal point: you.

A month has passed, and you show no sign of ever making an appearance in Sunghoon’s life again. But instead of obliging by his screaming limbs, he pushes himself onto his elbows, then his palms, ready to repeat the process of kicking the ball over and over again, until the thought of you flickered out like an oil candle in the rain. He’d forget you, just like he’s supposed to.

“I knew you’d never rest on your own.”

The sound of something other than the wind and his own laboured panting excites his ears. Before he can decide whether looking up is a good idea or not, he raises his head.

His breath hitches.

Sunghoon thinks he’s finally reached his tipping point. That the exhaustion has caught up to him and he’s finally gone insane—maybe even died, because seeing you must mean he’s in heaven, right?

You lightly kick him in the side, the point of your shoe barely digging into his rib. “Get up,” you murmur.

Sluggishly, Sunghoon pushes himself to stand. Even while slouching, he towers over you a fair bit. The shadows shrouding your face disappear as you tilt your head up, moonlight drenching your skin.

“How are you even here?” He asks. It’s a stupid question that stumbles out too quickly—but, in his defense, he’s so exhausted he can barely tell if you’re even real right now, and he’s much too afraid to check.

“I figured you’d be here,” you reply vaguely. You shift from one foot to the other, looking around the area warily. “But I checked your apartment first, just to be sure. Jake said you were at the field.”

Sunghoon’s expression softens imperceptibly. “That doesn’t… really answer my question, Y/N.”

A sigh leaves your lips, before you say almost defeatedly, “I’m here because you’re here. Okay?”

The next few seconds are a blur. Sunghoon barely processes how you move from a few feet in front of him to suddenly wrapping your arms around his midsection. He can’t even let out a small noise of pain at the way your loose grip is still too much of a strain on his aching body because his heart is lodged in his throat. You’re soft, impossibly so. Soft and warm and shaking. For a moment, Sunghoon wonders if you feel as tense as he feels.

His fists clench and unclench against his sides, the joints of his fingers locking as he fights muscle memory. “I’m sweaty as shit right now,” he barely manages to get out.

“I don’t care.”

Park Sunghoon is a weak, weak man. “You’re gonna care in a few minutes when you realize that I’m not exaggerating,” he mumbles, slowly wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders, his forearm nestling in the curve of your back.

“I don’t care,” you repeat firmly. Fingertips lingering on the underside of your jaw, Sunghoon feels your pulse beat six times before you speak again. Your voice is breathy. Sad. “Being alone feels worse right now.”

And maybe it’s because he’s spent the past four weeks doing superficial things to feel superficial feelings, convincing himself he’s fine while his real wounds are thrown aside and left to rot—but something in Sunghoon breaks. A thread that slowly unravels.

He buries his face in the tufts of your silky hair, holding you like not a single day has passed without you in his arms. You miss him, so he lets himself miss you, too.

#i #where do u even start???? WHERE DO I EVEN START #HELLO THIS IS INSANE ?????????*(@#first off. i feel like i should frame this #i could write a thousand thank you notes and fold them all into paper cranes and send them to u and it still wouldnt be enough bc WTF #THIS IS NUTS #thank you so much for taking the time to do this holy fuck 😭#sunghoon is so like #whenever i write sunghoon as the mc i imagine someone who's like #who feels things SO DEEPLY but is sorta emotionally constipated #and that translates into him making poor choices like for example trying to fill voids with superficial things #or if he broke up with yn then breaking up with her when he clearly regrets it #etc etc #so that's kinda how i see it #sounds very surface level when i type it out LMFAOAO #but thank u thank u THANK U 😞😞#LIKE SEIROSULY WHAT THE HELL

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chenfleur · 11 months ago

Text

enhypen ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

✦ = 500+! ✧ = personal favourites! <(^_^)>

LEE HEESEUNG

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 oneshots

sparks ↝ streamer!heeseung x y/n | word count: 1.2k | twitch streamer au

SIM JAEYUN

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 oneshots

dreamy nights ✦ ↝ streamer!jake x y/n | word count: 1.9k | twitch streamer au

everything in you ↝ idol!jake x y/n | word count: 2.6k | idol au

PARK SUNGHOON

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 series

broken strings ↝ badminton player!sunghoon x badminton player!y/n | smau, hs au | ONGOING

Since the day you first picked up a racket, Park Sunghoon had been by your side. He had been your first badminton partner, first best friend, first love—and despite the two of you never having a label, it felt like only something cosmic could come between you. But, when the pandemic makes the world shut down, Sunghoon slowly disappears, leaving you in the dust with no explanation. Now, as you start your senior year and the world starts to re-open, you try to move on from him—right when he suddenly enters your life again.

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 oneshots

the long way home ✧ ↝ sunghoon x y/n | word count: 4.8k | high school au

In which Park Sunghoon decides that nothing is more important than having you in his life.

when nobody's watching ✦ ↝ streamer!sunghoon x y/n | word count: 1.4k | twitch streamer au

frayed edges ✧ ↝ sunghoon x y/n | word count: 1.0k | exes au, college au

YANG JUNGWON

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 oneshots

where the heart leads, the eyes follow ✧ ↝ jungwon x y/n | word count: 0.9k | high school au

melting again ↝ jungwon x y/n | word count: 1.2k | family by choice au

NISHIMURA RIKI

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 oneshots

night will fall ↝ riki x y/n | word count: 1.0k | implied mafia/crime au

#enhypen masterlist

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chenfleur · 11 months ago

Text

seventeen ᝰ

✦ = 500+! ✧ = personal favourites! <(^_^)>

YOON JEONGHAN

ᝰ timestamps

— [02:53] ✦

ᝰ oneshots

of rainy nights and roses ✦ ↝ idol!jeonghan x y/n | word count: 5.8k | idol au

In the heat of the moment, Jeonghan grows careless with his words. Now, he has to bear the weight of saying things he didn't mean.

lowkey ✦✧ ↝ idol!jeonghan x makeup artist!y/n | word count: 1.7k | idol au

XU MINGHAO

ᝰ timestamps

— [16:31]

#seventeen masterlist

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chenfleur · 11 months ago

Text

nct dream ⋆｡˚

✦ = 500+! ✧ = personal favourites! <(^_^)>

LEE JENO

⋆｡˚ oneshots

open the gates, let me in ✦✧ ↝ jeno x y/n | word count: 4.0k | college au, bf2l

Jeno always seems willing to do anything for you, and it takes a lot of inner nagging for him to finally realize why.

LEE HAECHAN

⋆｡˚ series

ΒLUΣ MΩΩΠ ✦ ↝ volleyball player!haechan x dancer!oc | high school au, smau | DISCONTINUED

in honour of the blue moon this year, the student parliament decided to hold a blue moon gala for the school. along with that, they created an activity. you pay $1.50 for either a lock or key. each lock and key have a pair with the opposite pendant (you would know if they were your partner if the key can unlock the lock). the person you pair with is your partner for the gala. mina thinks it’s fucking stupid. donghyuck, well—he’s always looking for some excitement in his life—but deep down he just wants someone who doesn’t like him for just his reputation.

#nct dream masterlist

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chenfleur · 11 months ago

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welcome to CHENFLEUR.

sera! 𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ .ᐟ ᡣ𐭩 ── directory. ── .°˖

༯ ── ongoing. broken strings — p.sunghoon (smau)

#navigation

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chenfleur · 11 months ago

Text

frayed edges

pairing. sunghoon x y/n

genre. exes au, college au, yearning

word count. 1.0k

released. 08.03.2024

author's note. originally this was for ni-ki (hence why it's soccer) but apparently i'm physically incapable of writing yearning without the mc being Yours Truly so here's another hoon piece 😹😹😹 also the way it's written makes it seem like y/n's the one who broke up with him but honestly... it could've been either of them

masterlist

He closes his eyes.

Were you asleep?

Sunghoon curses, throwing an arm over his eyes in exasperation.

It isn’t working anymore.

Distraction—it isn’t working anymore.

“I knew you’d never rest on your own.”

The sound of something other than the wind and his own laboured panting excites his ears. Before he can decide whether looking up is a good idea or not, he raises his head.

His breath hitches.

You lightly kick him in the side, the point of your shoe barely digging into his rib. “Get up,” you murmur.

Sluggishly, Sunghoon pushes himself to stand. Even while slouching, he towers over you a fair bit. The shadows shrouding your face disappear as you tilt your head up, moonlight drenching your skin.

Sunghoon’s expression softens imperceptibly. “That doesn’t… really answer my question, Y/N.”

A sigh leaves your lips, before you say almost defeatedly, “I’m here because you’re here. Okay?”

His fists clench and unclench against his sides, the joints of his fingers locking as he fights muscle memory. “I’m sweaty as shit right now,” he barely manages to get out.

“I don’t care.”

He buries his face in the tufts of your silky hair, holding you like not a single day has passed without you in his arms. You miss him, so he lets himself miss you, too.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen oneshots #enhypen drabbles #enhypen sunghoon #park sunghoon #sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x reader #sunghoon fluff #sunghoon imagines #sunghoon scenarios #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fic #enhypen angst #sunghoon angst

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chenfleur · 1 year ago

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when nobody's watching

pairing. streamer!sunghoon x y/n ↳ ft twitch chat

genre. fluff, twitch streamer au

word count. 1.4k

released. 07.08.2024

author’s note. in case anyone doesn't know: LSF is the r/LivestreamFail subreddit!

masterlist

For the first time in nearly four hours, Sunghoon stands up from the floor. His muscles are tight and sore after sitting on hardwood for so long, causing him to let out a series of quiet grunts as he tries to push himself up. When he’s finally standing again, he dusts his clothes off before his hands find purchase on his hips.

He looks down at his creation. A satisfied sigh leaves his lips.

“Look at that, chat. Isn’t it beautiful?”

pshxo: this guy builds one ikea dresser and thinks he’s The Shit

sunghoonest: bob the builder lookin ass

user190: open ur PO box again king i’m tryna send u djungelskog

Sunghoon watches the racing chat, eyes narrowing. “This guy builds one IKEA dresser and thinks he’s the sh-” he cuts himself off with a scoff, leaning his arm on top of his newly-assembled dresser. “Shut the hell up, it’s not as easy as it looks. Now everyone in chat has to tweet me a video of you building something so I can publicly shame all of you when your backs break.”

f4iry: so violent 💔 i’m snitching on you to ur gf

“Jokes on you, she’s asleep,” Sunghoon retorts. “Besides, she wouldn’t side with any of you, anyway.”

He looks over the space he’s been working in. The typically clean, polished floor of his living room is cluttered with leftover wooden planks and screws of all sizes, along with a jumbled assortment of other things—his film camera, the case where he displays his glasses, old photos from past skating competitions—that’d been brought out when conversation strayed. The thought of having to clean up everything makes him grimace.

With a quick glance at the time, Sunghoon sighs heavily. “Okay, I’m gonna end stream now. I still need to clean all of this up and I can practically feel myself getting arthritis.”

His eyes crinkle into a small smile as the onslaught of objection that comes through the chat, whining, telling him not to leave. “Relax, chat. I’ll still be streaming tomorrow. We’re playing horror games with Heeseung and Jake at four, remember?”

bananaphone: ah yes. thank you for the reminder that tomorrow all the hairs on my head will turn grey

hoonbot: YOU CAN’T LEAVE WHAT IF WE ALL DIE BEFORE FOUR

“You can’t leave, what if we all die before four,” Sunghoon reads out, before walking over to his monitor, snickering. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m sure you will.”

Clicking around his stream window a few times, he gives the camera a wave. “I’m leaving now, okay? Night, chat.” With that, he clicks one last time, exhaling loudly.

The room feels a lot quieter now, despite the fact that he was the only one who was ever actually in it. Cracking his knuckles, Sunghoon slowly settles back onto the floor, starting to organize the screws by type so that he could put them back into the plastic bags later.

Only a few minutes have passed when he hears faint footsteps padding down the hall. The sound makes him look up, gaze flickering to the doorway of the living room just in time for you to appear.

Sunghoon’s eyes instantly soften. You’re rubbing at your eye with the pads of your fingers, cheeks flushed with sleep. The graphic t-shirt and sweatpants that cling to your frame are your own that you leave at his place for convenience, but the black slippers on your feet that are a bit too large for you are evidently his.

“You’re still streaming?” you mumble.

“No, I just ended. What are you doing awake?”

A small, dry laugh. “Couldn’t fall back asleep.”

You plop yourself down onto the couch, taking a throw pillow into your lap. Tracing the ridges of the embroidery while you watch him pile wooden planks into a neat stack. “I was watching your stream originally, you know. I can’t remember when I fell asleep,” you say quietly.

Sunghoon cocks an eyebrow at you. “Are you saying that I’m so boring I made you fall asleep?”

A scoff immediately leaves you. “I didn’t even say anything remotely close to that.”

“You insinuated it.”

“No, it was probably because it took you like, an hour to realize you had the wrong screwdriver, fucking idiot.”

“That—” Sunghoon begins with a click of his tongue, “was not a me problem. Why are there different kinds of screws if they all do the same thing?”

You blow a raspberry at him, before resting your chin on top of the pillow and letting your eyes fall shut.

If you’d kept them open for even a second longer, you’d see the sickeningly fond look on Sunghoon’s face. His movements have slowed down to just short of a halt, all because the only thing he can focus on is the way your head lolls against the pillow and how your eyelashes rest on your cheeks.

As much as Sunghoon enjoys pushing your buttons, he might enjoy just existing with you more—seeing you so serene in his space makes him feel like he's doing something right. Like every decision that's ever weighed heavy on his heart has held some degree of virtue and service because in the end, it led him here.

Comfortable silence falls over the two of you. Sunghoon takes note of the way your breathing grows heavier and slower. He takes care to make as little noise as possible while storing everything away. When the last of his things are put away into a cabinet, he pads over to you.

“Hey, you,” he whispers. Nimble fingers gently card through your hair, lightly scratching at the base of your head. “I’m done. Let’s go to bed.”

Feeling his hand in your hair, your eyes flutter open. You blink a few times before looking straight up into his piercing yet tender gaze.

Sunghoon purses his lips in an attempt to push down a smile. “Come on. I’m not staying here and sleeping with you on the couch. My back already hurts enough.”

A weak grunt of protest slips past your lips, eyes shutting again as you lean your forehead against his abdomen. Sunghoon tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Can’t have my princess losing her beauty sleep, can I?” he coaxes softly.

Rolling your eyes, you punch him in the side, eliciting a small laugh from him. You hold onto his shoulders to push yourself up, knees knocking against his. You’re about to start making your way out of the living room when suddenly, in the corner of your eye, something catches your attention.

A flickering red light, coming from Sunghoon’s monitor. Your eyes narrow at it. “Hoon?”

“Hm?”

“What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That.”

Sunghoon’s eyes follow where your finger is pointing, until they land on the red light. At first, he furrows his brows in confusion, unsure of what it is—before it hits him.

“Fuck,” he curses under his breath. Peeling away from you, he rushes to his desk, immediately opening up his Twitch account before letting out a loud, despaired groan. “Oh, fucking hell.”

mroooaaaww: breaking news: local cat drags in literal BOZO

vixpsh: LSF DEBUT LET’S GO 🦅🦅🦅

bulbxsxur: U GUYS HAVEN’T KISSED YET turn back around PRETNED WE AREN’T HERE

“If I see any of you little shits—” Sunghoon points a threatening finger to his webcam. “post any clips on Twitter or Reddit, I will ban you.”

Walking up to him from behind, you turn your phone screen towards him. “Too late,” you drawl. You can’t help the grin that spreads on your lips at the sheer grief on his face while scrolling through your Twitter timeline.

“Hi, chat,” you greet casually, waving at the webcam. “Hope you guys know he’s worse when he’s drunk.”

user000: HI QUEEN

cherryseung: hate happy couples hope twitch bans ur ass 👎

jjongsaeng: y/n pls stream we will all leave sunghoon for you

When you feel Sunghoon bury his face into your shoulder, your body shakes with laughter. “You’re being a little baby,” you tease. “Think about it—would you rather be Heeseung and make it to LSF because you lost your niece at the amusement park?"

He doesn’t respond, but you can feel the barely-there squeeze of your side.

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