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ddeokzcore · 16 days ago

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How You Get The Guy · ꒰wattpad edition꒱ 、LEE ANTON

3735 ──── anton x fem!reader𓈒 fluff, humor, slightly suggestive, high school au, 2014 au, bad boy x good girl au, werewolf au, mafia au ⚠︎profanity, brief bullying, alcoholic mother, absent father, mention of sexual harassment, brief mention of cannibalism, just a lot of dumb shit

note! reader discretion is advised. please remember this fic was written in a satirical manner and is not meant to be taken seriously. p.s. i genuinely enjoyed writing this so lmk if y’all wanna see more of this genre from me and if it made you laugh

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You wake up in your room that’s unique and not like any other teenage girl’s, it’s decorated in fairy lights, posters of niche bands like One Direction and 5 Seconds of Summer, books scattered on the floor with cracked spines because you’re a bookworm living in her own little world.

You stretch your dainty arms and turn off the alarm, then climb out of bed wearing your oversized sweatshirt that falls off one shoulder for no reason.

You slide on black leggings and your favorite sweatshirt (the only tops that exist for these types of main characters) that makes you look effortlessly cute in a Tumblr-core way. You smear on some chapstick, a whisper of mascara, and the tiniest flick of eyeliner.

So natural. So raw. So real. Some people would think you’re definitely wearing foundation, concealer, contour, brow gel, two blushes, highlight, lip gloss, and lip liner. But that’s just the way you look. It’s your biggest insecurity.

You throw your hair up in a messy bun because you don’t care about looks—it’s also why you hadn’t showered in five days. You didn’t care about smell either apparently.

You grab your copy of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, your comfort read that you carry everywhere, because you’re not like other girls—you can read.

As you walk out the door, the sky is grey and moody, just like your childhood trauma backstory that will never actually be addressed and only mentioned once before fading into obscurity.

High school was a social war zone, but you step into the hallway like Katniss Everdeen entering the arena.

You see her—Becca, your best (and only) friend. She’s funny, loud, effortlessly cool, and fully aware she’s only here to serve your plot.

“Hey, nerd,” she grins. “This is the part where I’m supposed to randomly hype you up but the author can’t think of anything.”

You smirk. “She’s lazy like that.”

The two of you walk down the hallway, and you notice all the other girls are wearing crop tops and lip gloss while you, different as ever, feel a sense of superiority over them because you have a bland fashion sense and read books written by middle-aged white men.

And that’s when you run into a wall, because it surely couldn’t be someone in the middle of the hallway.

You go flying backwards like a feather, and land on your tiny, delicate, suspiciously perfect body.

You look up, ready to apologize to the brick wall you collided with like the good girl you are. Such a pure soul. So innocent. So kind.

But it’s not a wall.

It's him. Anton Lee. Six-foot-tall bad boy with shaggy hair, which is another way of saying he’s an entitled asshole but since he’s conventionally attractive he won’t be held accountable for his shitty behavior at any point in this story (an example of pretty privilege btw).

There was just something about him that made people blindly forgive him even though he doesn’t apologize in the first place.

He’s wearing a black hoodie, black jeans, and a scowl. You can hear Green Day playing faintly in the distance. Or maybe that’s just his aura.

“Watch where you're going, princess,” he says, voice low, smooth, and emotionally unavailable.

You blink your anything-but-brown orbs (main characters were not rich in melanin during this era) with specks of mystery and trauma at him.

“You bumped into me,” you say, bravely and beautifully. “That’s rude.”

Anton smirks. If this were a cartoon your eyes would’ve popped out of your skull in heart shapes.

“Feisty,” he mutters, his gaze lingering on your lips for absolutely no reason. “Didn’t know they let good girls talk back now.”

He chuckles. It’s unfairly attractive.

Then he walks away in slow motion—probably to stare at a swimming pool and think about his dark past.

You and Becca exchange wide-eyed glances.

You’re about to say how that was emotionally significant when the mood shifts.

Like, high school villainess is about to be introduced into the plot shifts.

You hear it first.

The click-clack of designer heels on tile. The whoosh of a locker door slamming just a little too hard. The high-pitched cackle of someone who has never been told “no” in their life.

Becca mutters under her breath, “Oh no. It’s her.”

And that’s when you see her.

Brittney Van der Von Lipgloss, the Queen Bee. Head cheerleader, part-time model (according to her bio on Instagram), full-time menace. Her dad owns three car dealerships. Her mom sells essential oils that don’t do anything. She only drinks Starbucks. She smells like Chanel No. 5 and cruelty.

She struts past her posse—Tiffany, Tiffany 2, and Kelsey-with-a-Z—and “accidentally” sticks out her foot.

You go flying.

Again.

Because gravity is more of a suggestion when you’re the protagonist of these stories.

You crash to the floor with a thud.

Brittney stands over you like a fashionable sleep paralysis demon, popping her pink bubblegum with sinister delight.

“Oops,” she says in a tone that suggests she’s never meant a single apology in her life. “Did I trip you? My bad, princess.”

She says it like Anton, but evil.

You scramble to your feet, your dainty, trembling hands clutching your emotional support caterpillar book. Becca reaches for you, but Brittney blocks her with the power of Mean Girl Confidence.

“Listen, Ugly Betty reboot,” Brittney says, leaning in close enough for you to smell her peppermint latte. For a moment you think she might kiss you. “I saw you talking to Anton.”

You blink, stunned. Your orbs are flickering between fear and embarrassment.

“So?” you say, because you’re brave now. You spoke to a boy once.

Brittney narrows her perfectly drawn-on eyebrows.

“So here’s how it works, loser. Anton is mine. We’ve been fake-dating for three months for attention. Everyone knows he only talks to girls with modeling contracts. And you? You wear clothes from Walmart and read books for kids.”

“It’s classic literature,” you say weakly. “He eats through the food, but he’s still hungry. It’s a metaphor.”

“Yeah,” she scoffs. “A metaphor for how pathetic you are.”

She steps even closer, the hallway growing unnaturally quiet like everyone’s just waiting for a slap or an anime transformation sequence.

“Stay away from him. Or I swear, I’ll make your life even more irrelevant than it already is.”

Then she spins on her Louboutins and walks away with her girl gang in perfect formation. Ariana Grande plays faintly in the distance.

You turn to Becca, who looks more personally offended on your behalf and definitely would’ve thrown hands with Brittney in real life but for the sake of the plot was a bystander.

“What the hell? Is she gatekeeping Anton?”

“Yeah, I think so,” you whisper. You do that a lot for some reason. Maybe it’s because speaking in a regular and normal voice might cause your petite body to blast off into the sky.

Becca helps you gather your book and shattered dignity. The bell rings as you rush to class.

You weren’t just falling for Anton—you were falling into the plot of a Wattpad fanfic. And you were falling hard.

You arrive home after your Anton encounter / hallway humiliation / being threatened by Regina George if she drank Bang energy drinks. You step inside your suburban two-story house—because apparently trauma doesn’t exist unless it’s in a house with granite countertops—and you’re immediately hit by the smell of regret and boxed wine.

Your mom is passed out on the couch with a bag of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos on her chest and a half-empty bottle of something suspicious in her hand, you can’t be too sure if it’s alcohol judging by her drunken state. She stirs just enough to slur:

“I’m selling you to a British boy band.”

Classic Mom.

You trudge upstairs, dramatically flopping onto your bed in slow motion, staring up at your cracked popcorn ceiling like you’re in a music video with twelve views.

“Why me?” you whisper to the void, though the void is probably busy reading The Fault in Our Stars.

Your dad left when you were five to “invest in the future.” He’s somewhere in Florida selling NFTs to alligators now. But it’s fine. You’re not bitter. You’re just severely neglected by your parents but in a hot way.

Suddenly, your phone buzzes. It’s Becca.

BECCA: “Get your melancholic butt over here. We’re going to a Jackson Wang party.”

YOU: “I’d rather stay home and listen to my favorite band The Chainsmokers.”

(Are they even a band?? Pls tell me we all just collectively don’t know anything about them)

BECCA: “Nope. Not tonight. Tonight we get revenge.”

YOU: “Revenge?”

BECCA: “Hot revenge.”

YOU: “Fine. But I’m bringing my book.”

BECCA: “If you bring The Very Hungry Caterpillar to a high school party, I will unfriend you.”

Cue the makeover montage with “Problem” by Ariana Grande playing in the background even though I don’t have the rights. Becca pulls out an entire Sephora store from under her bed and goes ham on you.

Three hours and one overly specific author beauty vision later, you stare at your reflection.

“I look… like other girls.”

“And that’s okay,” Becca says. “Other girls are fun, cool, and pretty.”

Surely that can’t be. They don’t read. And everybody knows reading makes you interesting.

It smells like Axe body spray, bad decisions, and unfinished homework. You arrive with Becca who IMMEDIATELY disappears to go “do shots with the drama club” because she’s fun and deserves better.

You, meanwhile, are standing by a fake plant like a Sims character with no social bar. You take a deep breath. You’re just going to chill here and think about whatever niche obsession you currently have.

That’s when he appears.

Jason Jock Johnson (you know the one). The overly confident quarterback who once called you “book girl” and tried to rate your body like it was a car at a dealership.

He sidles up with a red solo cup and that grin that says “I peaked in eighth grade.”

“Hey,” he says, already too close. “Didn’t expect to see you here even though I saw you walk in. Wanna go somewhere quieter?”

Your inner monologue screams NO, DO NOT TRUST THIS MAN!

But your out-loud voice, stupid and plot-driven, says:

“Of course I’ll go to a secluded area with you even though you have a past of making unwanted sexual advances towards me.”

So you go upstairs. To a bedroom. Alone. Like every dumb girl in every YA story who apparently doesn’t believe in crime.

Jason Jock Johnson closes the door behind you. The lights are dim. The music is muffled. Your bad decision senses are tingling.

“I’ve always had a crush on you,” he says, stepping closer. “You’re not like other girls.”

And just as you’re about to open your mouth and say “That’s not even a personality trait,”—

BOOM.

The door slams open like a hurricane of hormones and fanfic logic.

There he is.

Anton.

Six feet of brooding muscle and mildly villainous romantic tension. His eyes are glowing red. Like, literally red. Because he’s an alpha werewolf.

“Get away from her,” Anton growls with his sexy baritone despite the fact he speaks in the tone of a librarian in real life.

Jason Jock Johnson goes pale. You blink dramatically like an early 2010s YouTube beauty guru.

“Anton??” you gasp. “How did you—”

“I could smell him on you,” he says grimly, flexing his jaw. “You’re mine. I claimed you when we locked eyes earlier today. You’re my mate now.”

“Wait—WHAT—”

Anton doesn’t answer. He just grabs your wrist (because wrist-grabbing was considered romantic back then) and drags you out like the protective but problematic love interest he was written to be.

Down the stairs. Out the door. Onto his motorcycle.

You don’t even get to say goodbye to Becca. But it’s okay, because she probably saw this coming in Chapter 1.

“Where are you taking me??” you yell, the wind whipping through your frizzing hair but that’s okay it will randomly style itself again later in the chapter.

Anton looks at you through his black helmet visor and says:

“To my mansion. You’re not safe here.”

“But—what about school?”

“School’s for people that don’t read. You’re mine now.”

And as the night swallows you both whole, you clutch your caterpillar book tightly and whisper to yourself:

“I hope he doesn’t take me to a mansion and keep me in a luxurious room against my will.”

He does exactly that, which you’re slightly grateful for since you halfway expected him to take you to a wolf den. But no.

He takes you to a massive gothic mansion, tucked in the woods, like if Bruce Wayne got bit by a werewolf instead of a bat.

“This is where you live?” you ask, eyes wide, clutching your worn-out Eric Carle book for emotional support.

“Yeah,” he says, casually parking his motorcycle between a Lamborghini and an armored SUV. “It’s nothing special.”

It’s literally the size of a small nation.

“But you’re… seventeen?” you blink.

“I’m also a mafia boss,” he shrugs. “Let’s go inside.”

He leads you up the marble stairs, past two spiral staircases and a crystal chandelier that looks like it cost a thousand souls. Inside, a line of identical servants bow in unison like a K-pop music video.

You’re ushered down a hallway that probably has its own zip code.

“This is your room now,” Anton says, opening the door to reveal what can only be described as an Instagram influencer’s dreamscape.

You step inside and audibly gasp.

The room is massive. The bed looks like it could fit eight emotional support book characters. And there’s a walk-in closet.

Inside, there are racks and racks of clothes, shoes, glittery dresses, designer heels, mysterious accessories, matching sets, handbags, and a whole mini snack bar—complete with a bored-looking worker in a pressed vest whose name tag reads “Eunseok.”

He bows politely. “Miss. Welcome.”

“What… how… why do you have women’s clothing?” you ask in a whisper, eyes shimmering with wonder.

Anton looks at you, unblinking.

“I’m a cross-dresser. But feel free to borrow anything. Your fashion sense is triggering my trauma response.”

You blink.

“Oh.”

“Get dressed. Dinner’s at eight. Formal. Don’t wear those ugly ass sweatshirts anymore.”

He walks off, leaving you to process your new life in what is essentially a luxury hostage suite.

You find the exact right dress, because of course it’s there. It hugs your perfect Wattpad body like it was made for someone genetically edited by Pinterest. You step in front of the full-length mirror for one last look—

And that’s when you notice.

Eunseok has never left.

He stands beside the closet door, hands folded, nodding slowly with the solemn approval of a seasoned anime butler.

“Good choice,” he says.

You feel validated on a spiritual level.

You float downstairs like the delicate, little dove you are, finding Anton already seated at a long, dark dining table. He’s wearing a black dress shirt (unbuttoned just enough to be criminal), sipping red wine like it’s blood. Or maybe it is blood. It’s unclear.

Two servants (Sohee and Wonbin) appear from the shadows like they’ve been summoned.

They place two trays in front of you.

Yours has steak, potatoes, and sparkling apple juice because Anton knows you’re not young and turnt like other girls and don’t drink alcohol.

His has a raw steak. Still mooing.

“So,” you say, stabbing your potato nervously. “Do you, like, eat people?”

Anton laughs—a deep, sexy laugh like (red?!) velvet and tax fraud.

“Yes. Hannibal Lecter is my fairy godfather.”

There’s a long pause. The tension is thick. The candlelight flickers. Somewhere in the background, a violin starts playing itself.

“Why me?” you whisper.

Anton sighs and looks up at you with those cold, tragic, tormented-by-his-past eyes.

“Because,” he says, voice low. “When we locked eyes… I felt it. The bond. The mate bond.”

You shiver.

“You’re the first person who ever made me feel… warm.”

“Well, you were literally just eating raw meat.”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

He reaches across the table and touches your hand (let’s ignore the part where they’re sitting at a long ass table so this is physically impossible). His werewolf senses are triggered.

You both gasp as the room explodes into slow-motion sparkle filters and thunder crashes outside despite the calm summer night.

The mate bond activates(?). The point is y’all zinged like in Hotel Transylvania.

Suddenly, your hand is tingling. His eyes start glowing again. He pants slightly. You don’t understand what’s happening but also you know exactly what’s happening.

“We can’t,” Anton growls, standing up so quickly the chair explodes behind him. “If I stay in the same room as you much longer… I won’t be able to control myself.”

You blink up at him.

“Control yourself like… in a bad boy way or in a call the cops way?”

“They’re the same thing. Writers just romanticize sexual harassment when it’s done by the male lead.”

He storms out of the room, his tragic backstory leaking behind him like cheap cologne and repressed childhood trauma. You sit there, stunned, fingertips still sizzling from the mate touch, a servant (Sohee) silently replacing your drink with a Capri Sun.

“This is all happening so fast,” you whisper to yourself.

Eunseok appears from the shadows, now wearing a tuxedo jacket. “This is only the beginning, Miss.”

Everything was perfect as you waited for Anton’s return.

The candlelit dinner. The tingling werewolf bond. Eunseok nodding at you silently every time you blinked. You were this close to becoming a literal Alpha Wife when suddenly—

The chandelier began to flicker and the mansion groaned.

Not like a spooky-haunted-house groan. More like a “oops, the magic spell is expiring and this fantasy is about to collapse faster than your father’s Bitcoin investments” groan.

The walls started cracking. The house trembled.

Anton came running out from wherever he just was, dramatic wind sweeping through the dining hall even though all the windows were closed. His hair rippled like an Herbal Essences commercial.

“No…” he whispered. His glowing red eyes darted toward the ceiling.

“No what?” you asked, standing too quickly and nearly falling into the fondue fountain that had appeared out of nowhere (because magic, you guessed).

“The spell. It’s fading.”

Random things exploded out of existence. The Servants screamed as their aprons vanished into smoke and suddenly—

“WHAT THE HELL? Where are we??” Sohee cried, now dressed in full idol makeup and a RIIZE-branded bomber jacket. “WHOSE TRASH ASS HOUSE IS THIS?”

“BRO, I WAS IN THE MIDDLE OF A COMEBACK,” Wonbin screamed. “IS THIS NOT INKIGAYO?!”

“WHAT THE FUCK?” Shotaro yelled behind him. “I WAS DOING FAN SERVICE!”

Suddenly, all the “servants” stopped what they were doing, blinked, and slowly realized—

They were Riize.

Anton turned to you dramatically and clenched his fists.

“It’s time you knew the truth,” he said. “I’m not a werewolf-alpha-mafia boss-crossdresser. And they were never servants. They’re my bandmates. I’m…”

“Oh my god,” you whisper, tears forming in your beautiful orbs.

He looked at you, eyes gleaming.

“I’m a K-pop idol.”

You gasped. Loudly. Academy Award-worthy gasping.

Because of course he was.

Because this was still a Wattpad fanfic, and it was law.

The golden walls around you cracked. The marble floor beneath your limited-edition ballet flats (thanks, spell closet) peeled into weather-worn linoleum. The chandelier exploded like a firework from a Spirit Halloween dumpster. Everything turned back to what it had always been.

Old. Abandoned. Depressing.

Much like your trust in the education system.

The walls were faded to gray. The once-grand hallway was now covered in cobwebs and unpaid electric bills.

Anton shook his head sadly.

“My fairy godfather—Hannibal Lecter gave me until midnight to live this dream,” he whispers, shirt somehow becoming even more unbuttoned. “And now—“

BAM.

The front door (now just a crooked slab of plywood) slammed open.

One Direction. In the flesh.

That’s right. Harry, Zayn, Niall, Liam, and Louis all in coordinated outfits with tragically dated haircuts walked in slow-motion like they were in a music video no one asked for.

“We’re here for Y/N,” Harry says, flipping his hair like it paid his rent (it did).

“Her mother sold her to us in 2013,” Niall adds helpfully.

“WHAT?!” you gasped, clinging to Anton as your beautiful orb-eyes welled with tears.

Anton growled. Literally. Fangs bared. “HER MOTHER SOLD HER TO US TOO.”

“Yeah!” Wonbin adds, holding up a laminated receipt. “We have receipts!”

Suddenly it’s a boyband standoff. Hair gel vs. guyliner. Ripped skinny jeans vs. oversized leather jackets. Shit was about to go down. Fan cams were about to be made.

But then-

CRASH!

Brittney and Becca crash through the side window, somersaulting and landing like they trained with the cast of Charlie’s Angels (2000). Dressed like Kay and Jay from Men in Black if they wore cat-eyeliner.

“EVERYONE FREEZE!” Brittney yelled, flashing a badge. “Cringe Police!”

“This is a cringe sting operation,” Becca says. “And you’re all under arrest for unauthorized use of alpha-bond tropes and cliché backstories.”

“Wait,” you whisper. “You’re working together?!”

They turn to each other and kiss. The room collectively gasped. Lesbian representation wasn’t supposed to exist in this genre but true love conquers all.

“Lesbian lovers actually,” Becca confirms. “And we’re getting Thai food after this.”

Everyone is confused. Emotional. Mildly aroused.

As the fanfic threatens to collapse on itself like a dying star of clichés—

A golden beam of spotlight suddenly shone through a hole in the roof, the angels sang as Jackson Wang descended from the heavens.

“Y’all. Why are we fighting when we could be partying?” he says, shirtless for no reason.

Everyone blinks.

And just like that — the old abandoned house transforms into a lowkey illegal warehouse party. Smoke machines. Laser lights. Jackson DJing. And Eunseok was still working at that snack bar like his life depended on it.

And there, in the middle of the madness, Anton found you.

“You’re my mate,” he whispers.

Your breath hitched.

“I knew it the moment you body slammed into me like a Disney Channel plot device.”

You touch his chest (because this is fanfic law). He leans in.

“Even if the magic fades… even if One Direction sues me… even if your mom sells you to BTS next…”

“I want you to be mine.”

You kissed.

Suddenly Pixie Hollow descends.

Yes. Tinkerbell and her fairy gang sprinkle golden fairy dust on everyone while “Party 4 U” by Charli XCX played like a siren song from the year 3012.

Everyone is crying and dancing and floating. Even your trauma healed a little.

And you and Anton live happily ever after.

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ddeokzcore · 16 days ago

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୭ೃ — ENTANGLED

CHAPTER 20 — ROOMMATES ?!??

SUMMARY!! confessing to your best friend seemed like a good idea, right!? well, spoiler alert: it wasn't. fast forward to 2 years later and now you two are attending the same college and wait ... his girlfriend is your roommate?

<- BACK | NEXT ->

ENTANGLED MASTERLIST

𓂃۶ৎ TAGLIST — @aangelll0 @antoncyng @ant-onie @banez @bbyinni @calumsfringe @catdonut657 @cherrytaesan @chishiyapologist @blossominghunnie @dejundesign @ddolbyong @flaminghotyourmom @gacktsa @getoxo @hanninova @hyuckies18 @https-yeonjun @ilymarkchan @intakstars @janjoonty @jeeluv @jungwonsstrawberry @jvngw0nlvr @kaosuni @ksywoo @kukkurookkoo @lizzieray @lovewonsall @maripositaa @mwrsi @ninetyatepink @nodoubtily @nosungluv @pinklemonade34 @renjuneoo @ridinhyuck @riizenhateez @rllymark @saranghoeforanton @seoksoop @skibidihan @sftsohee @snowyseungs @taehyunluvrs @taroddori @urlovelily @va1entinaa @yoursyuno @xcosmi

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ddeokzcore · 16 days ago

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lee chanyoung what the fuck

#you may not be a pervert #BUT I AM #AHAHHHHH #well yes!#😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫#I’m dizzy #need that cookie #be my bf

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ddeokzcore · 17 days ago

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Sungchan ｡𖦹°‧ mdni!! 18+ currently listening to: for your eyes only - yuragi, back to me - the marias, paul - big thief, software update - yeule, something about us - daft punk word count: 5.9k warnings: angst, fwb!sungchan w/ feelings, unprotected sex

“So… you’ll come?”

The question hangs in the air after it leaves you, a cautious hope at the edges of it. Sungchan’s back is turned to you as he pulls on his shoes. He doesn’t look you in the eyes.

“I’ll try.”

If he were looking at you he would see the way you visibly deflate. With just two words he places you on a ledge. These exchanges as he leaves never feel normal, the interaction looping in your brain.

He looks up from tying his shoes, shaking his hair out of his eyes as he gives you a genuine smile. Automatically you smile back, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. You wonder if you should speak up, a warning whispered to him before he takes off. A plea to please show up, just this one time.

He kisses your cheek as he wraps his arms around you, holding you close, cradling you before he steps back into reality. If he senses your hesitation, he doesn’t mention it. In the back of your mind you wonder how the two of you look right now. If you looked up the definition of avoidance, you would find a picture of this moment.

Instead you close your eyes, resting your head against his chest as you feel his warmth. Sungchan can’t think of another place he’d rather be than safe in this space, with you. The second he walks out the door, he always thinks of immediately returning. In the back of his mind he makes a note to himself to try and make it back to you tonight. It’s polluted in self-doubt and what-ifs. He sees a horror movie when he closes his eyes; one where he always leaves you hanging, the boyfriend who always lets you down. The defining of a relationship and the disaster that comes after. As quick as the thought comes he closes his eyes, breathing you in. His adversity to change may kill him one day, but hopefully you’ll still be there.

He pulls himself away with a quick kiss to your forehead, the affection bringing a genuine smile to you. You feel like yourself when he looks at you again.

“See you later.”

He says it as he opens your door to leave, and as you wave back at him you hope that it’s true.

Faint echoes of laughter still ring in your skull an hour after your company has left for the night, blurry memories of fairy lights and too much junk food permeating your mind. Instead of the tenderness it should carry, the weight of envy presses down on you. The usual fuzziness that fills your chest after a night with your friends is absent from you.

It’s a lonesome feeling, standing at the edge of your porch waiting for your chronically late guest. The delicate chill of evening air on your skin sobering you as you lean over the railing of your balcony overlooking the rest of your complex. Anxiety clouds your brain and makes it’s way through the rest of your body, adding to the tension in your bones. You don’t like feeling this way; and you hate it even more that it’s because of another. Your far too conscious of yourself and your feelings and the result is a pit in your stomach that longs for a constant that won’t ever come. Like routine you reach a point where your expectations turn from excitement to a voice in your head that screams “he’s not coming.”

It’s louder tonight; and for what it’s worth the voice is right. He didn’t show up when you asked him to, and that realization shreds away at you with only the hollowness in your chest to keep you company.

Hurt turns to anger as footsteps in the distance break your attention away from your thoughts. You don’t spare Sungchan a glance as he approaches you.

“Hey.”

His voice along with the hesitation in his tone rouses a sigh from deep within your chest. He speaks like a child waiting to be scolded.

“You’re late,” You turn your head to him now as he awkwardly kicks his feet, “again.”

His hands are shoved deep in the pockets of the jacket he’s sporting, nerves overtaking him at the tension in your voice. A silent question of where he spent his night lingers on your tongue, along with an excuse lingering on his, but you’ve reached a point where you’ve stopped asking.

“Everyone left awhile ago.”

Sungchan nods his head in acknowledgement, shame rearing it’s head within him. He hates to let you down; but that doesn’t mean he ever stops doing it. You’re silent now, wondering if this is the night you finally talk about it. Cautiously, he makes his way over to where you stand, reaching for your hand. He loops his fingers with yours, a peace-offering. Whether it’s to ease his nerves or to calm you is unknown.

“Can I come in?”

Without a word you pull away from the balcony railing, his hand slipping from your as you open the door for the two of you.

The remnants of your evening are littered all over your apartment. Mario Kart still hooked up to your TV with snacks strewn about. Sungchan feels guilt overcome him for ditching when he sees how much effort you went through to set up a fun night in with your friends. Polaroids from the night are scattered across the table. A fond smile overtakes him at the memorialized moments of you having a good time. He wishes he could bring you the kind of happiness that radiates off you in the photos, instead of the tense version of you he only seems to aggravate these days.

He picks up a polaroid off the table; it’s a picture of you next to the familiar faces of your friends. You look happy, serene. Observing it silently, he only speaks up when he spots someone he doesn’t recognize.

“Who’s this?”

The question is non-confrontational, though you tense a bit when you trace his pointer finger to a blonde male next to you in the photo.

“Some kid named Sion... He’s good friends with Jisung.”

You pluck the photo from his hands, observing it’s contents. You become aware of the beat of your heart when you look at the close proximity between the two of you in the photo.

“He seems nice.”

You purse your lips, nodding slowly to yourself, a soft sigh escaping you at the memory.

“He is..”

Sungchan risks a look at the side of your face when you respond. His heart sinks a bit and his breath catches in his throat at the soft tone you undertake and the tenderness in your eyes. He knows he has no right to be jealous. He feels ridiculous because he doesn’t even know if it’s something he should feel jealous about. He would have had to be there to know. Instead he does what he does best; he deflects.

“I just don’t think they like me.”

He knows it’s not a good excuse. But it is a real fear of his that he’s afraid to come face to face with. For the sole reason it would mean having to confront his own behavior.

“If you were in their shoes, would you like you?”

As soon as the question leaves your mouth, you regret it; a brief revelation of your true emotion towards him bleeding through your words. The look on his face immediately makes you want to take it back. Sungchan’s not even hurt; he just feels caught, like his time is up.

“Um.. I’m sorry.”

You look away from the kicked puppy in front of you, drawing in on yourself at the thought of unintentionally hurting his feelings. Frustration mounts as you both sit there under the heavy weight of silence. You clear your throat before speaking again.

“‘m just a little hurt is all.”

The photos on your coffee table now feel like they’re taunting you; just another reminder of how he wasn’t there when you asked him to be. You think of all the opportunities you squandered in the past just to be near him. All the connections you cut short in exchange for his flighty feelings and half-hearted attempts at building something with you. Your friends do hate him; and it’s embarrassing for you. The lack of commitment a constant reminder of how you don’t respect yourself enough to let him go, and neither does he.

“You just make me feel like there’s moths in my stomach or something. And I don’t think I’m asking for a lot… I just wish you wanted to be with me outside of the confines of my apartment… like showing up to one of my art shows or something”

The steady beat of your heart begins to rise to an uneven flutter within your chest. Sungchan avoiding your eyes as he thinks over what you say. You wait for him to say something; anything. His silence speaks volumes and shame swallows you whole. An ache in your chest at the thought of how long it’s been this way. How long have you been asking for something that he refused to give?

You think back to the early days of your friendship, when everything the other one did made each other blush. How a singular night changed everything from cautious flirtation to affection shared in secret. He’s not your boyfriend; that much was clear. But months of him calling you in the late hours of the night, showing up when you needed comfort in the confines of your apartment, and shared time together spent doing nothing in particular led the boundaries to be so blurred the lines drawn in the sand were practically nonexistent. You just wish you would have known that having someone to be with at night meant trading the friendship that existed with him in daylight.

You ached to hold hands with him as you walked down the street, to share a seat across the table with him at dinner, to have him cling onto you in a public theater. There would be times where you were alone when he would bring a hand to brush against your cheekbone, and you would catch a glimpse of the reality where he did that to you out in public, the shining sun kissing both of you. But just as quick as it came it would be gone, and instead you would be seated with him on your couch, in front of no one; just the company of each other and the cold artificial glow of the television.

“I can’t.”

His voice is small; he speaks towards his lap instead of towards you. Sungchan is too young to handle confrontation, too young to look you in the eyes. And you’re too young to compromise, too young to settle for the affection you receive in private. Your pleas for him to be a mainstay in your public life are bogging him down, and his empty promises have pushed you to a ledge that you’re ready to leap off of. Even if it means letting this go.

With a shaky breath, you lift the deadweight of one of his arms from where he sits, unmoving and drawn in on himself. He does his best to keep his face downturned and away from you as you wrap your arms around his waist. Gently, you rest your cheek on his chest, your ear pressed against his heartbeat listening to his signs of life. You hold him, silently mulling over the memories of the past 6 months you’ve known each other. Patiently, you wait for Sungchan to come to, a tenderness replacing the resentment that grappled you earlier this evening. It’s a clarity that only comes with the resolution to let go, and the thought sends a pang through your heart. You breathe all of him in, slowly, steadily. Before you can back out, you let 3 careful words spill from your lips.

“I love you.”

Your words are shaky, fingers tightening their grip on the fabric of his tee. You feel his eyes on you now, and its your turn to look away, trying to press yourself so tightly against him in a way that might make you feel less vulnerable. It doesn’t help, heart exposed and laid open for him to see.

“You don’t have to say anything,” It’s murmured into his chest, but he can still hear you. Loud and clear, “You don’t have to say anything at all. I just wanted you to know.”

He brings a hand up to wipe at his cheeks as you intentionally avert your eyes, blinking away tears of your own. Your confession makes him catch on to what’s happening, resting his head on top of yours, the deadweight of his arms now linking tightly around you. For a second time this evening he takes in the surroundings of your apartment. You’re sitting in the same spot on your couch where he kissed you for the first time. The memory is cringey and awkward; a light buzz was running through both of your veins from the aftermath of the night’s activities. Nonsensical topics of conversation flowing and keeping the two of you close, the warmth of the other growing more and more enticing as the time passed. It’s only when you leaned in a little too close, watching his lips with a little too much conviction as he spoke that Sungchan lost focus, sentence cutting short with a hitch in his breath. Misreading the situation he leaned in too soon, closing his eyes too quickly, resulting in an awkward peck to the corner of your mouth. He remembers crumpling at the way you laughed in his face, the blow to his ego painful and embarrassing. He had withdrawn from you like ice water had been poured on him, and before the apologies could start flowing from his mouth he felt your gentle hands on the side of his cheek and the warmth of your lips pressed against his jaw. His heart had seized, relief at the returned affection, but also so much terror at the possibilities. You had spent the rest of the night lip locked; breathless with too many kisses and grossly eager to destroy the previous boundaries of your friendship.

Sungchan yearns so terribly for those gentle beginnings; a time before things got rough for the two of you and he found himself falling short of what you so desperately wanted him to be. The feeling of you trembling in his embrace grounds him back to this present moment. The preciousness of it made obvious to him at the uncertainty of what lies after this. He doesn’t know about tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter because he’s here with you now.

He takes a breath like he’s trying make the air reach the bottom of his lungs, holding you tighter as he pulls himself together for the both of you. With shaky hands, he cradles your face in his palms, your vulnerability on full display with your tear-stained cheeks. Like the first time, he presses a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth. It shakes a gentle laugh from you and Sungchan smiles back at you, cheeks pink and raw from his own tears.

He looks at you like his heart is completely on display, taking in every detail of your face, a hand coming up to brush against your lips. He holds you there for a moment, keeping you still. The tension of the room is gradually shifting, your hands slipping from holding onto his shirt to now pressing against the planes of his chest. In the silence of the room you can hear your heartbeat, the moment made more intense with feeling his own under your fingertips. Slowly, your hands begin to drift, dragging down, down, down, with a steady press. You feel the ways in which his body begins to react with yours, a steady pant beginning to leave him as his hand still lingers on your jaw.

He leans in closer then, Adam’s apple bobbing and eyes growing heavier as he glances away from your eyes to your lips. He holds you still when his lips finally brush against yours, teasingly slow and painfully delicate. You feel his fingers move from cradling your jaw to cupping the back of your neck and you shiver from sensitivity, hyper aware of the feeling. A brush against the most tender part of your neck causing you to let out a quiet moan into his mouth. He nips at your bottom lip, just a light press of pain and your mouth opens for him. But instead of falling deeper he pulls back, pushing away the hair that’s fallen into his eyes. Abruptly with no warning he stands, pulling the two of you up from where you sit on the couch. Without being prompted you immediately lead the way, tugging his hand down your hall as you try and calm the growing heat on your cheeks.

You shut the door to your bedroom despite being the only 2 people in your apartment, the intimacy reserved for behind closed doors. It never matters where it is that you start, despite desire and desperation clouding your brain, the two of you always wait until you are tucked away in the safety of your room. He stands at the edge of your bed bathed in the dim light of your bedside lamp, fully observing you now from head to toe as you make your way towards him.

His fingers slip into the beltloops of your jeans, pressing his steady body firmly against yours. He leans down, soft lips kissing at your neck as your hands slip into his hair. The feeling of his hot tongue licking against the column of your throat makes you gasp, lightly tugging at his hair as you try to coax him further into you. When his teeth sink into the soft skin, you give a harsh pull that causes him to moan out, grinding his hips against yours.

Your hands slip from his hair to the bottom hem of your shirt, but before you can pull it off he stops you.

“Let me.”

His voice a hypnotic murmur as you nod your head, dazed as you let him guide you to face towards your bed. He stands behind you, tilting your head to the side for easy access to leave hot kisses against your neck. You feel his fingertips brushing under your shirt, pushing up under the baggy fabric to rest on your hips, squeezing you there as you feel him lightly grind against your ass. The dull ache between your thighs is getting increasingly more difficult to ignore, dictating the way you begin to push back against him. The groan he lets out against your ear leaves you weak in the knees, the wetness in your underwear made obvious to you.

His position behind you makes it easy for him to pull you apart, hands slipping from your hips to grab at your plush chest. He gropes at you from beneath the cups of your bra, rolling your nipples between his fingers with an occasional pinch to hear you whine. The soft gasps that leave you make you feel dizzy, the way you need to rest your body against his fueling his ego. He draws a steady line from the valley of your breasts down your stomach, slipping into your jeans to cup you over your underwear.

“You’re so warm here.”

“It might help if you take my clothes off.”

He can’t help but chuckle at your annoyance, deft fingers slipping your panties to the side in the process. It takes him no time to slide them through the wetness, already rubbing circles against your clit. The pressure makes you arch back against him, letting out a whimper in the process.

“Hm? What was that?”

You turn your head to look at his smug smile, doing your best to shoot him a glare. He can’t help but think you couldn’t look less threatening even if you tried, too angelic under the dim light. He kisses the pout on your lips, making it up to you by zeroing in on your pleasure as he plays with your clit. It’s starting to become increasingly difficult to kiss him back, falling deeper into him with every slide of his fingers. He’s quick to sense this, having mercy on you as he gently pulls his hands away from you, turning you to face him.

You raise your arms as he pulls your shirt over your head, the fabric thrown haphazardly on the floor with your bra quickly following. He presses lightly on your shoulder to ease you to lean back then, just far away enough from him to really look at you. When you meet his eyes a hole burns through you at the adoration evident on his face. Sungchan always made sure to let you know how beautiful he thought you were, no matter how much you shied away.

When you subconsciously bring your hands up to cover your chest he halts your movements, guiding them instead to lift his own shirt so you can be equals. Without his shirt on your hands become greedy, pressing against the firmness of his abs and nails dragging along his sides. The stimulation makes him shiver, aching in his jeans at the way you touch him. He eases you to lay down against your sheets now, fingers already dragging your jeans down along with your underwear before your back even hits the mattress.

Your legs part for him as he kisses his way down your body, leaving bites in his wake. The cool air against you makes you conscious of how wet you are, but before you can have a moment of embarrassment Sungchan is already biting at your inner thighs. The first press of his tongue against you is immediate hot pleasure. It comes with a gentle open-mouthed kiss to your clit as you resist the urge to shut your eyes.

You look down between your legs, intent on watching him as he goes down on you. The scene before you is pure sin, Sungchan lapping at you with closed eyes, moaning at your taste, lost to the feeling. His lips shine obscenely with your wetness and when you buck your hips up to chase your pleasure, he hooks his arms around your legs to pull himself deeper into you. It feels like there’s not enough air in your lungs, the room growing stuffy as you succumb to the sensation of his mouth against your most tender part.

When he pulls away its to watch his own fingers dragging through the mess of his spit combined with your slick. He flicks his eyes up to you only when he begins to ease two fingers into you, leaning down to press another kiss to your clit as he watches your expression with hooded eyes. He curls his fingers inside you, pressing up as he drags them in and out of you shallowly, letting you adjust to the feeling. You feel your mind go numb when he starts moving them with more purpose, stroking at the soft parts inside of you.

The sounds you let out send his head spinning, driven by the sole purpose of making you feel as good as he can. Subconsciously he grinds against the bed as he watches you unravel for him, his hardness nearly impossible for him to ignore anymore. He’s gone from pressing the occasional kiss as he fingers you to full on making out with your clit, trying to drink up as much of your taste as he can.

He can feel as you become close, your grip tightening around his fingers and less control over your body causing you to writhe at the overwhelmingness of it all. He slows down then, forcing himself to pull his mouth off you as he steadily halts the press of his fingers. As he reaches for the button of his jeans impatiently you sit up, helping him to kick them off his body along with his boxers.

Your skin is hot to the touch as you move further up the bed, staring up at your bedroom ceiling as you wait for him to join you. You can’t help but press your thighs together as you wait, seeking to relieve the pure need between them. Your pulse is still elevated, skin buzzing in the places where Sungchan has touched. The weight shifts on the bed as he climbs on top of you, parting your legs as he settles between them and greets you with a kiss.

The taste of you still lingers on his tongue and the realization feels crude, especially when he pulls away and you get a look at his face. His cheeks are flushed a pretty pink, lips glistening and pouty from use, eyes dilated and hair mussed; he looks positively ruined. His saving grace being the halo of light around him that emanates from your bedside lamp casting a false air of innocence.

“You look so dirty.”

The words are spoken with a smile on your face, satisfied by your combined handy work.

“Yeah?”

He feels pleased by your comment, your subtle way of telling him he’s doing a good job. The possessive part of him also feels like you’ve left your mark on him, one that only he gets to see; ruining him as he meticulously pulls you apart.

The blunt head of his cock runs through your wetness, sliding up and down as he coats himself in you. Each brush over your clit making you squirm as you try and be patient, focusing on keeping your breathing steady. He looks to you as he sets the tip at your entrance, keeping himself deathly still until you nod your head in confirmation.

With a gentle nod of your head he’s easing himself into you, only pressing in slightly before pulling out. From your first time together to now Sungchan will always take his time with this part, the need to have you be comfortable overpowering any desire of his. So he sinks into you, slowly, listening to every change of your breath and physically feeling every squeeze of your pussy as it adjusts to his size. You know he purely does it out of concern for you, but the eroticism is not lost on you. The look of concentration on his face as he watches where the two of you meet, brow furrowed, his tongue poking at his cheek as he focuses. It just makes you get soaked, helping him to ease himself in further.

When his hips are finally pressed flush to yours, he rests his forehead against your shoulder, eyes closed as he revels in the feeling of being fully sheathed in your wet warmth. You run your fingers through his hair while he rests, scratching at his scalp as you both catch your breath, adjusting to the other. It’s gradually becoming more difficult for you to stay still now, thoughts occupied with the need to feel him.

You close your own eyes to try and focus on being still, but your body betrays you. Hips grinding down on him ever so slightly, just enough to make a whimper escape from your throat. You feel his smirk against the skin of your shoulder, his hands coming to rub at your sides to soothe you. All it does is rile you up further as you huff and puff beneath him.

The soothing rub of his hands becomes a solid grip on your waist as he sits up, the change in his posture causing him to push just that much deeper into you. You’re the one who looks like the mess now, impatience evident as you drip around him. Sungchan takes pity on you, easing himself fully out of you before giving a cautious push back in. The subtle arch of your back against the sheets all but confirming your need for more.

A soft sigh leaves your mouth as he begins with a slow pace, just a steady push and pull. The roll of his hips into yours feels just right, making your fingers curl into the sheets as your voice catches in your throat. The touch of Sungchan’s hands against your body as he moves in and out of you are painfully intimate. One large hand moving from it’s grip on your waist to splay over your stomach instead. It makes you feel like you’re burning from the inside out.

“Look at me baby.”

You hadn’t even noticed your eyes slip close until you hear Sungchan’s gentle voice in your ear. When your eyes flutter open, you’re met with the sight of his pretty face with his hair falling into his eyes.

“There she is.”

Overwhelmed by the gentle look in his eyes, you tilt your head back, temporarily shielding yourself from his watchful gaze to catch a breath. The reprieve is only temporary, the feeling of his cock pressing and rubbing against a sensitive spot within you making you cling to him like he’s your lifeline. Your sounds change from quiet gasps to dulcet moans, the sweetness of them fueling Sungchan’s movements.

His mind feels hazy, thoughts of how you feel wrapped around him making it hard to breathe. He can feel that he’s losing himself more and more with each squeeze of your cunt, especially when his senses are flooded with how you sound so desperate. His hand that was on your stomach is placed on your clit, rubbing in skilled circles with his thumb. When your hips roll up into his, chasing your own pleasure, he nearly falls forward.

His movements start to grow sloppy as the two of you near your release. The hand not on your clit has a firm grip on your hip, helping to guide the rolls of your hips against his. When whimpers start to leave him between his groans, you know he’s close. Your legs that had been at his sides move to wrap loosely around his waist, trying to feel him as deep as possible. The resulting feeling sends a burning heat straight through you.

You cum around him with a cry of his name, pulling at the sheets as he fucks you through it, chasing his own high. The way you clench around him makes him follow close behind, slipping out of you before cumming on your tummy. He collapses forward then, kissing at the exposed skin of your chest as you both pant, trying to catch your breath. A dull ache begins in your joints as you lazily run your fingers through his hair, coming down from your high. The haze begins to clear from your mind at the slight pain in your legs, the feeling sobering you to your reality.

The silence that follows is painful; a stark contrast to the usual lively energy between the two of you. It feels like a punctuation mark; like the final period in the story about the two of you. Both of your breaths are shallow, anxiously waiting for the other shoe to drop. It’s Sungchan who moves first, he feels petrified and like his whole body is seized up and refuses to work with him. When he moves to pull himself up from you, you cling to him tighter, acting before you can think as a panic rises within you.

“Please.”

You’re not sure why you said it, or what you specifically meant by it, but regardless Sungchan understands. He cradles you close, adjusting your position so its you against his chest with a kiss to the top of your head.

“’m not going anywhere.”

And he means it. He wouldn’t go anywhere unless you asked him to. You recognize that the phrase has a time restriction, and that when the sun rises it won’t apply anymore. So you let him clean the two of you up, delicate hands wiping away the mess before slipping your clothes on. As he pulls the comforter over the two of you and shuts off your bedside lamp, you pray that this night lasts longer than the others. You drift off with a hope that maybe the sun will take just a little longer to come and wake the world.

Sungchan lies awake for hours after you doze off, staring into the dark of your room. He wishes he would have left the light on, just so he could watch you for a little longer. Instead he contemplates his time spent with you, doing his best not to linger on the mistakes he’s made. He wishes he would have fessed up sooner how he had felt about you. But he’s grateful for the time you spent when you were just friends. He wants so badly to be what you want him to be, but he knows he can’t give that to you right now, and he would sooner die than ever ask you to wait for him. When the sunlight starts to spill through the cracks in your curtains it’s a blessing and a curse. He knows his time is up, but now he can see the ways in which he’s made his way into your home and into your life. He sees gifts he’s given to you on your shelves, notes he’s written you pasted to your mirror, pictures of the two of you hung up along string lights.

His heart aches when he finally slips out from under you, silently dressing as he takes glances at your still sleeping face. He lingers for way to long by your bedside once he’s finally ready to go, shadows creeping over him with the changing light. The only thing that gets him to move is the idea that you deserve better, and he truly believes it.

Before he leaves, he thinks about something you had said earlier in the evening. A confession that had made his heart stop in its tracks at the sincerity in your words. Without hesitating, he rips a scrap of paper from the open notebook that sits on your desk. With a borrowed pen he leaves a message that he knows you won’t see for at least a few more hours. When he finally turns to leave, it’s on unsteady legs, and with one more glance of longing behind him, he leaves the comfort of your bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Hours later you wake with a jolt and the feeling that something is missing. You shrink at the sight of the sun, and with bleary eyes you search the empty space of your bedroom.

He’s already gone.

The realization comes with a crack in your chest that spills all the light from within you. Before you cave in on yourself, you spot a scrap of white paper on his pillow. You pluck it from where it rests, forcefully rubbing the sleep from your eyes.

Only 4 words are messily scrawled onto the scrap of paper and your heart sinks and soars at the same time.

“i love you too – jsc”

With an ache in your chest you hope that maybe one day he’ll find his way back to you.

#ddeokz thinks you should read <3 #okay #and if I kms #FWB WHYY #Sungchan i need dat #sungchan…😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫#oh my god #he’s so fine tho #plz lemme hit #i needa hit

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ddeokzcore · 23 days ago

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୨ৎ THURSDAY APRIL 10TH, 2025 7:16 PM

— "get up," SEUNGHAN sighs as he pushes wonbin away from him. "that's yn's spot."

"she's not even here yet-" wonbin instantly argues back but stops in his tracks when he feels seunghan elbow him hard on his chest.

with a small "oof" leaving his lips, wonbin annoyingly gets up from his spot and makes his way to the other side of the table.

"literally the same thing," the boy mumbles under his breath as he places his backpack on top of the table once again and sits down on the chair. "i'm supportive and this is how you repay me."

"if you want to be even more supportive you would leave," seunghan immediately responds back.

with a smirk evident on wonbin's face, he shakes his head at his best friend before getting more comfortable in his spot.

"this is clearly bothering you so i think i'll stay," wonbin states, sending a seunghan a wide smile.

rolling his eyes, seunghan moves forward to flick his friend’s forehead causing wonbin to let out a small gasp.

"did you just fucking flick me?" wonbin asks confused on his friend's actions.

"and i'll do it again," seunghan states proudly while moving forward to flick his forehead once again. "asshole."

quickly jumping up from his seat, wonbin starts to defend himself. on one hand he's trying to get a hold of seunghan's wrist, and on the other hand he's trying to flick his friend's forehead for revenge. ‘this is so not over,’ he thinks to himself as he continues to playfully fight with seunghan.

୨ৎ THURSDAY APRIL 10TH, 2025 7:21 PM

— “we're so late," you sadly sigh out loud, upset on having to make seunghan wait.

"let that bitch wait," sohee immediately answers back causing you to send him a death glare his way.

"what floor was it again?" shotaro asks as you all continue to walk towards the library's elevators.

"seventh," you instantly respond back, chewing at your bottom lip in anticipation. nodding his head at your words, shotaro begins walking ahead to try and get to the elevators faster.

"this one's open!" shotaro excitedly exclaims while holding the door open for his friends.

once everyone gets on the elevator, shotaro quickly presses the number seven and quietly hums to himself to calm his nerves. truth be told, shotaro doesn't know why he's nervous. he knows you're nervous so maybe your nerves are rubbing off on him? ‘it's the empath in me,’ shotaro thinks to himself causing a small chuckle to leave his lips. his friends are truly rubbing off on him.

at the sound of a small ding. you let out a shaky breath and move forward to be the first one out of the elevator. turning back to look at your friends, you bring a clammy hand up to point at each of them.

"be nice."

at your words, shotaro nods his head at you meanwhile anton and sohee let out quiet sigh in annoyance. how is it that seunghan still has you so wrapped around his finger?

୨ৎ THURSDAY APRIL 10TH, 2025 7:25 PM

— squinting as you continue to look around, you feel your heart rapidly beat against your chest once you spot seunghan sitting down. with a small smile on your face, you forget all about your friends and quickly make your way over to him.

"ow!" seunghan says, moving his arms up to push wonbin away from him. "will you fucking quit it?"

"you started it!"

"and i ended it 5 minutes ago!" seunghan quietly yells back as he continues to try and block himself from wonbin.

"sneak attack," wonbin laughs to himself.

as the scene unfolds, anton couldn't help but roll his eyes. loudly clearing his throat, he unconsciously moves forward to shield you away from seunghan.

"what are you, five?" anton annoyingly asks causing wonbin and seunghan to stop dead in their tracks.

spotting your friends but not you, a small frown starts taking over seunghan's features.

"where's yn?" he instantly asks, ignoring the ugly looks sohee and anton were sending him.

"mother fucker, you're about to get jumped. you're worried about the wrong things!" wonbin states causing a small snicker to come out shotaro.

"nobody is jumping anyone," shotaro quickly reassures them.

"i mean-"

"where's yn?" seunghan repeats once again, looking around for you.

"i'm right here," you say as you step to the side, away from anton.

smiling at the sound of your voice, seunghan immediately stands up and slightly moves the chair next to him to offer it to you.

"woah hang on there,” sohee dramatically says, stepping forward. "we're gonna be right over there,' he adds, pointing to a random empty table across from them. "no funny business."

"we're gonna be watching," anton adds, eyeing seunghan. "the whole time."

"alright, that's enough," shotaro states as he grabs both of his friends hands to drag them away.

"i don't trust him," sohee mumbles as he looks back, watching as you shyly tuck your hair behind your ear. "fuck yn, stand up." he whispers under his breath as he shakes his head.

"he's literally in love with her," shotaro blurts out as he also watches the two of you interact.

"why do you always speak without thinking," sohee groans at shotaro. yes, sohee is well aware that there's definitely something there but he saw how badly you suffered when seunghan cut you off. seunghan doesn't fucking deserve you, not after all that pain and suffering he caused. sighing, sohee is the first to sit down at the table as he angrily takes a sip of his water.

"did you guys not see the way he lit up when he saw yn? or how he saw us and did not give a single fuck, he just wanted yn," shotaro quickly defends himself.

"yeah, we saw," anton lets out a small defeated sigh. "if he hurts her again i swear to god."

"i wouldn't be too worried about that," shotaro responds back, pointing a finger towards your direction. with furrowed brows, both sohee and anton turn to look at what shotaro was looking at.

from a distance, they see seunghan taking off his jacket and putting it on you. once he places it on your shoulders, he moves a hand to tuck a loose hair strand behind your ear. and just as they thought it couldn't get worse, seunghan places a hand under your chair to bring you closer to him.

"yeah, i would fold too," shotaro sighs causing anton to shake his head in disapproval.

"are we forgetting he has a girlfriend?"

"i don't think he likes her," shotaro responds back, placing his laptop on the table. "at least that's what his friends heavily imply and judging by what i just saw-” shotaro stops to look at both you and seunghan one last time. “yeah, he definitely doesn’t like his girlfriend. they’re gonna break up.”

"guys wonbin is just awkwardly there," sohee laughs as he moves his attention towards wonbin looking everywhere but at what was happening in front of him.

"you guys literally told me to invite him!"

୭ೃ — ENTANGLED

CHAPTER 19 — BABYSITTING

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ENTANGLED MASTERLIST

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ddeokzcore · 23 days ago

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ㅤ𖹭 #𝗪𝗢𝗡𝗕𝗜𝗡 ::ㅤ𝗗𝗔𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗛𝗜𝗠 𝗪𝕺𝗨𝗟𝗗 𝗜𝗡𝗖𝗟𝗨𝗗𝗘⠀⠀【...】

ㅤㅤ𝑛. ⠀﴾⠀cw. 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳. pure fluff but there’s a lil kissy kiss thing at the end h e h e . . ;b⠀━╋⠀﴿⠀ 𝖻𝖿!𝗐𝗈𝗇𝖻𝗂𝗇 ⎯⎯ 𝖿!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋.

⠀͙ࣳ #𓂃 𝗆𝗐𝖾𝗈𝗂 ⁝ 𝑟𝑖𝑟𝑖 speaks . . SO ! this is the last upload for today 😿 sadly I gotta get back to my studies .. cognitive distortions and attachment styles are calling BUT ANYWAY ! hope you enjoyed this before I go back to analyzing behavior instead of writing abt it lol

he looks unbothered but is secretly the clingiest guy you’ve ever dated : wonbin seems chill. he's got that effortlessly cool, slightly sarcastic aura that makes people assume he’s emotionally detached or doesn’t need anyone, but the second it’s just the two of you ? this boy melts. he’s the type to sit cross-legged on the couch with his head in your lap, fiddling with your fingers while you scroll through something. hugs from behind when you’re cooking. whines a little when you don’t cuddle him first. he won’t say he misses you, but he shows up with your favorite snacks and stays longer than he meant to. if you ever pull away first, he looks up like “wait, where are you going? I didn’t say you could leave.”

he always acts like you're the one who's obsessed.. but it’s so clearly him : he teases you like it’s his full-time job. calls you dramatic when you ask for a kiss, tells you you’re “so clingy” — but meanwhile, he has your selfies saved in a hidden album and checks your texts the second they come in. will text “you miss me?” and when you say yes, he just types “knew it 😏” — but he’s smiling into his pillow like an idiot. he plays the nonchalant card but if you’re busy for too long, he gets genuinely pouty and types out a message like “wyd” then deletes it and sends “u good?” instead, pretending he wasn’t just staring at your name for five minutes.

dates with him are quiet but intimate : record stores, late-night walks, sneaking into a closed skatepark just to sit on the ramps and talk about the future. he doesn’t like big, crowded things — prefers the kind of dates where time slows down. he’ll pick a flower off a bush and tuck it behind your ear. he’ll pull you close on park benches and let his arm stay around you long after it’s comfortable. he’s not trying to impress you, he just wants to exist next to you, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. when the sun hits just right, he’ll take a photo of you and save it quietly. when you notice and ask what he’s doing, he just shrugs and says “you looked nice. had to.”

he gets weirdly possessive in subtle ways : not in a jealous, overbearing way — but in a quiet, protective, “you’re mine and I don’t need to explain that” kind of way. you could be talking to someone else and he won’t interrupt, won’t act immature.. but his hand will find yours. his thumb will rest on your wrist. and when you’re walking through a crowd, he’s always behind you with a hand on your lower back, steering you through. if someone crosses a line, he doesn’t argue, just pulls you in closer and says “let’s go.” and when you’re alone, he mutters things like “you don’t have to talk to people like that when I’m around.”

he has the softest 2am voice and it’s UNFAIR : when he’s half-asleep, his voice goes lower and raspier, and everything he says suddenly sounds five times more intimate. late-night calls turn into confessions. he mumbles “you’re the only one that makes me feel like this” and sighs like he’s scared to admit it. his words slow down, but they hit harder. when you’re lying in bed next to him, and he’s barely awake, he whispers things into the dark like “don’t go anywhere, okay? I don’t think I’d be fine if you left.” and then pretends he didn’t say it in the morning.

he’s lowkey a tease but only for you : wonbin’s sense of humor is dry and sneaky — he’ll drop a flirtatious comment with a straight face and act like he doesn’t know what he’s doing. touches the inside of your thigh with his hand when you’re sitting close. grazes your waist when he passes behind you. raises a brow when you shift away, like “what? you’re jumpy.” and if you ever try to turn the tables and fluster him ? he’ll bite his lip and chuckle, lean in close and whisper, “careful. you won’t win.” and you won’t. not when he’s got that lazy smirk and slow blink that makes your brain go static.

he sends you songs instead of paragraphs : he’s not the most verbal with emotions, but he feels everything deeply. he won’t send long romantic rants, but he’ll send you a song at 3am and say “this made me think of you.” or he’ll text lyrics like “you look like you should be mine” and leave you wondering if he wrote it. he keeps playlists for you: one for when you’re sad, one for when you’re in love, one that’s just called “you <3.” when he misses you, he sends a song with no context, but the message is always loud.

he stares when you’re not looking ( and sometimes when you are ) : he’s a quiet observer. watches you tie your hair, take your jacket off, laugh at something dumb — and doesn’t say anything, just keeps watching. sometimes when you catch him, he doesn’t even look away. just keeps his gaze steady and says “i like watching you.” it’s not creepy, it’s just honest. when he stares too long, you ask “what?” and he just shrugs and says “you’re the kind of pretty that doesn’t make sense.”

he's not good at big romantic gestures but he's excellent at the quiet ones : he won’t show up with flowers every week or scream his love from rooftops. but he’ll remember the exact way you like your coffee. he’ll hold the umbrella over you, not himself. he’ll charge your phone for you without being asked, buy you that thing you mentioned once in passing. he’ll learn your routines and sync up without ever saying why. and when you realize it’s love ? it’s not because he said it, it’s because he showed you a hundred tiny times and never asked for anything back.

you’re his safe place : he doesn’t open up fast — not because he doesn’t want to, but because he’s used to handling everything himself. but one night, he’s sitting next to you, and something shifts. he talks about his fears, the pressure, the insecurity. and he doesn’t look at you while he says it, like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind about him. but when you don’t flinch, when you reach for his hand instead? he swallows thickly and breathes out like he hasn’t in weeks. you don’t have to say much. just stay. and when you do, that’s when he knows: you’re home.

and then there’s the kind of kissing that makes you forget what day it is : wonbin kisses like he’s memorizing you. he doesn’t rush, doesn’t just go for your mouth — he touches your face first, traces the side of your jaw with his thumb, and waits for your eyes to close before leaning in. sometimes, he pauses right before your lips touch, breath mingling with yours, like he wants you to feel every second of it. and when he does kiss you, it’s slow. deep. unhurried like he’s got nowhere else to be. one hand on your waist, the other behind your neck, pulling you in just a little more. he kisses you again before you can even pull away. and again. until you’re both dazed and pressed together and his voice goes all low and soft when he says, “you’re driving me insane. you know that?” it’s never just about heat with him. it’s about being close. about feeling understood. about letting the world blur until it’s just your mouth and his hands and the silence between heartbeats. and if it’s late, the kind of night where the lights are off and his hoodie is hanging halfway off your shoulders — he’ll lean in again just to whisper, “stay with me a little longer.”

#ddeokz thinks you should read <3 #so cutesy #NEED HIM #wonbin 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫#wonbin brainrot #IS REAL #I love him guys it’s true #need dat #NENEHDHSJSRN #guys i need that cookie and i need it bad

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ddeokzcore · 24 days ago

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guest check. | sohee lee.

012. ramen. (written portion)

“Liz! Are you a witch!?” Shotaro yells, flabbergasted as he looks over to your best friend beside you on the couch.

You start dying of laughter at the guys’ reactions, Anton’s mouth agape from across the room. Eunseok has his head in his hands, the controller loose in his grip as his roommate, Sungchan beside him is frozen in shock.

“I told you guys she was good. You didn’t believe me.” You mutter, covering your grin with your sleeve.

Liz only shrugs, clearly basking in her confidence at Mario Kart.

“You have to be hacking.” Wonbin laughs from the adjacent couch, sipping on his beer and happy to observe. He wasn’t joining the competitive match, just satisfied watching like you.

“This is why I don’t play against her. It’s not even fun, it’s depressing.” You sigh out, stretching against the back cushions as you squeeze Liz’s shoulders in pride.

“Nah, another round. I can’t accept this…” Sungchan says, scoffing lightheartedly. Liz rolls her eyes, locking in another match.

The banter continues and you try to focus in but your stomach grumbles, interrupting your thoughts.

After the Unity House event on campus, everyone decided on going to a restaurant for dinner. Obviously, it would have been awkward being the only one saying no so you went along with it, even if you were hellbent on saving money this semester.

You had ordered an appetizer and called it a day, mainly yapping to avoid anyone’s attention of how you weren’t eating much. After dinner though, you, all the guys, and Seunghan’s “lady friend,” Haewon, headed back to the apartment to hang out.

Liz was finally set free from work and showered quickly before joining as well, arriving only half an hour ago with Kazuha. It was strange how easily your best friends seemed to mesh well with your newfound roommates and their friends— everyone seemed to click easily.

You were initially nervous about going to the Unity House thing without Liz but it was more fun than you’d thought, especially going with your roommates. You’ve grown closer to them this past week after joining their weekly Tuesday dinners and watching a movie together two nights ago.

Slowly but surely, you’re getting to know Seunghan, Anton, and Sohee better. Being the outcast joining their apartment, it’s been equally amusing and bewildering, learning how they coexist as close friends that chose to be housemates.

Observing their dynamic, it’s easy to tell they love each other, no matter the amount of shit they give on a daily basis. You can also tell they’re warming up to the idea of living with you too, which makes you happier than you thought it would.

Obviously, the first person you think in this sense is Sohee. Even as you try not to look over to him now, you get butterflies.

It's a pretty terrifying feeling, seeing how much you yearn to get to know him better. Lee Sohee seems like an enigma that gets sweeter— more thoughtful as you talk to him.

It’s thrilling and scary all at once, especially when you get random bursts of realizations like, “Wow, what the fuck am I doing, falling for someone I live with?”

You’re still denying your feelings, hoping this might be a stupid attention-seeking phase so that you can ignore your reality a little longer. But every time the girls tease you about him discreetly, it becomes all the more real.

It’s also impossible to steer clear of him for long. You find yourself seeking Sohee out more than you’d admit and you weren’t ready to say that aloud yet.

Sohee is laughing along to Taro’s shout about Sungchan being a sore loser, leaning on his friend heavily in humor. His smile is contagious and you find yourself following along infectiously.

“Babe, your stomach is being loud.” Kazuha points out, mentioning the grumbling noises emitting from you.

“I’m gonna go find a snack for us. Be right back.” You mumble, getting up with a groan as Kazuha moves over to the spot you warmed on the couch. She cuddles up to Liz, who’s dead focused on winning over the guys again.

You rummage through your snack cabinet for chips Kazuha left over here the other day, tossing the idea in your head that it should suffice as your second dinner.

Sohee has other plans though, sneaking up on you with his soft voice.

“Hungry?”

You smile sheepishly over your shoulder, a British accent slipping in. “Just a little bit peckish.”

He laughs a little, scratching at the crown of his head as he copies your tone. “British now, are we?”

He silently pads around the kitchen, his hands becoming busy as you try to calm your heartbeat down in his presence.

“You didn’t eat a lot at dinner earlier, did you?”

“You notice that from across our nine-person table?”

“Maybe.”

You roll your eyes at his short answer, leaning your hips against the counter as you fill a cup with tap water behind you. “I didn’t feel like spending an arm and leg for dinner. I’m trying to save money, not to eat out as much, stuff like that.”

“You said yesterday you pay for part of your tuition, right?”

You watch as Sohee slides beside you to fill a pot with water, setting it on a burner.

“Most of it actually. But I’m here on a big scholarship.”

“Really? Do your parents not help pay for school?”

“Um, my mom helps a good amount. I guess it’s more of the apartment and other living stuff I’m expected to pay for.”

Sohee tucks his lips in, eyebrows flicking upwards in surprise. “That sounds like a lot.”

You shrug. “It’s fine. It’s the way it’s always been, I’m not exactly rich. That’s why I work a lot. This room at the apartment is actually more expensive than my last place so, I’m kind of busting my ass to pay for it.”

Sohee tilts his head, confused. He’s waiting for the water to boil, now solely focused on conversing with you which makes your cheeks feel warm.

“Isn’t Riku helping pay for part of your room? That has to help.”

You’re a little embarrassed to admit your financial situation. You thought that you’ve gotten over the fact you’ve never been the most money-secure person growing up— just because that’s been your whole life but, it was still difficult to say aloud to people.

“Yeah but in comparison, my last place was not great. Dirt cheap, yes, but definitely not worth the mold or loud pipes. Neighborhood, etcetera.”

You clear your throat, not wanting to say more. Your last place was still hard to talk about.

“Oh yikes. Well, I hope our place is much better. The noise complaints now are just me gaming, I think. Sorry that we share a wall.”

You scoff, waving a hand. “You’re fine, I sleep like a rock by 3 AM.”

Sohee hums before catching the boiling water and pulling out a packet of ramen.

You find yourself reminded of your hunger, deciding to open Zuha’s bag of chips as you two chat.

“You stay up like me then.” Sohee grins cutely, stirring the noodles. He has a focused expression on, lips pursed as he opens a seasoning packet.

“Yeah, I do homework late at night. Kind of have to, coming home late.”

“Me too! Except, I just try to get super ahead of my classwork, keep up my GPA. I’m trying for my second co-op this summer.”

“That’s really admirable,” You compliment, “You engineering majors are another breed, I swear. I could never!”

He laughs softly, not taking your words genuinely. “Maybe. The guys say I’m a little hard on myself about it but, I just want a good job straight out of school. What do you want to do when you graduate?”

You smack your lips, lolling your head to the side in fake exasperation. Sohee smiles bright at your reaction.

“I know, I know. Every junior’s worst nightmare is to be asked that but I’m curious! I’ve never met a nutrition major before you.”

You like hearing that come from Sohee’s mouth. Even if it wasn’t much to pride yourself over, knowing you were unique in his world.

“Well… I want to be a community nutritionist. Provide people with food education, SNAP benefits, meal programs. Work with food banks, I don’t know.”

Sohee seems to read your mind, seeing you cave in with self-consciousness. “Oh c’mon! I can tell you love what you’re pursuing, unlike me who’s in it for the money. Tell me.”

“Fine, fine,” You pretend to be annoyed, smiling in agreement, “Basically, people in need have a harder time accessing healthy eating and proper nutrition based on their level of income. And I think it’s super important for community programs to provide resources to families like that so! I want to help similar organizations when I graduate. Advocate the way I would have wanted to be advocated for when I was younger.”

At Sohee’s slow nodding and short silence, you get shy.

“That was a lot of rambling, sorry.”

“No, don’t apologize,” Sohee insists, very serious when throwing a look over his shoulder, “You’re passionate about what you do. It’s admirable and not something you should be sorry about.”

You feel slightly scolded but flattered at the same time.

“You’re right. I shouldn’t be.”

“I find what you’re pursuing very cool and nothing to be ashamed about. You’re going to change the world for the better, so that’s something you should be proud of.”

Sohee takes his steaming, delicious-smelling pot off the stove, transferring his food to a bowl. You feebly attempt to cool down your body temperature from Sohee’s sweet words, sipping water desperately to hide your face.

He places the bowl beside you as you turn to see him lean his elbows on the counter. Smoothly, he offers his chopsticks your way.

You point to yourself dumbly, cheeks of water. Sohee smiles at your cute wide eyes.

“Yes, you. Who else is in this kitchen for me to offer to?”

You strongly shake your head, swallowing roughly. “No, no. I’m good, you cooked for yourself. Please, eat.”

“YN.”

Your heart trembles from your name coming from Sohee’s lips sternly.

“I made the ramen for you. Eat.”

“What? No.”

“Yes. I did.”

You stare blankly at that, brain not computing.

“No.”

His twinkling laughter rings out over the multiple voices a room over. “Yes! Stop denying what I did! Eat, I know you’re hungry.”

“Hee, you didn’t have to do that.”

His eyes light up at the nickname, before getting up from leaning on the kitchen surface, eyebrows raised.

“So you had money to buy your best friend flowers, dish sponges for our kitchen, and a shower caddy for our bathroom. But not a full meal out at dinner earlier… You’re not gonna fall into a deep debt over treating yourself sometimes, you know that, right?”

You admit, you recognize the small hypocrisy he’s pointing out.

“Well, you dudes just kept all your shampoos on the edge of the tub. That’s diabolical.”

“Stop changing the subject,” Sohee smiles, grabbing your hand to gently place the chopsticks in your grip, “Just eat before you make me mad.”

You can’t help but grin from his soft touch in combination with his kind actions.

“Fine. But only because we can’t be the next two beefing in this household. Tonie and Hannie are enough of a handful.”

Sohee agrees, happy as you take a big bite of the ramen. It’s undeniably settling your hungry stomach. He seems oddly satisfied to see you eat properly compared to earlier, clearing his throat and looking away.

Seunghan walks in with his feet slowing down, catching you and Sohee already in here before he continues his way to the fridge to grab three beers.

“Hi, you two.” His words come out all-knowing and it makes you nervous.

“Hey, how's Mario Kart going out there?” You ask, Hannie snorting as he cracks a bottle open.

“Dumb question. Liz is absolutely dogging on everyone as predicted. Let me get a bite.”

Hannie’s already walking up to you as he says all this, and you offer your chopsticks over happily. Sohee kicks his best friend on the ass.

“Make your own.”

“YN offered, you asshat!”

“Boo hoo.”

Seunghan looks to you with plain disturbance written on his face, a thumb thrown Sohee’s way. “Do you see this? It’s like I’ve personally offended him!”

“He made it for me.” You giggle as you take another bite of ramen, shoulder shaking in mirth.

His face slides into understanding, giving Sohee a dirty look before snatching the bowl from under you and sipping the broth. You’re desperately trying not to choke at their banter, Sohee’s face twisted with pure disdain.

You wave a hand between the two men to stop their stare down, mouth full.

“Hey, hey. So how are things going with Haewon, huh?”

Hannie pouts his lips, not knowing how to respond. “We’re… going?”

Shaking your head, you roll your eyes. “No, dipshit. Like, do you like her?”

“… I’m feeling interrogated right now.”

“Yeah, because you are being interrogated.” Sohee adds on.

Hannie points a strong finger to his friend’s chest. “You just want to get back at when me and Anton did the same last Sunday.”

“What happened last Sunday?”

“Nothing.”

You squint at their same exact answers, continuing to chew anyway.

“Okay, well! We’re talking, happy?” Hannie suggests.

“You pass.” Sohee wrangles Seunghan in by the shoulder. Kazuha now enters under the kitchen archway, hands out in confusion.

“What the fuck happened to grabbing a snack?”

You smile in a meek apology. “Ramen?”

She shrugs, happily siding up to you.

“Oh, so Zuha can eat it but I can’t?”

“I never denied you, he did.” You accuse, giving a noncommittal gesture in Sohee’s direction.

“Your friend is about to start throwing hands with mine, by the way.” Kazuha mentions off-handedly.

“Which big head? Sungchan?” Hannie asks.

“Which other?” Kazuha states like it's the obvious. You stifle your laugh.

“So… anyone want to spill why he has a vendetta against her?”

Sohee and Hannie meet each other’s gazes. When all four of you communicate silently with your eyes, there’s the same conclusion.

“Channie met her a year ago.”

“Really? Where?”

“Some frat. He asked for Liz’s number and she gave him a fake one.”

You snort. “Impossible. She thought Channie was cute just last weekend.”

“Yeah, she has awful dexterity while drunk. She probably put her number in wrong.”

“What? No.”

“Yup.”

You all collectively laugh before coming to a small silence, listening to their overlapping shouts over the Mario Kart game.

“... Should we tell them?”

“Eh, they’ll figure it out.”

___

(ignore timestamps unless stated otherwise)

author’s note: everyone’s dynamic... yeah. i love sohee and yn so much too :((

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#ddeokz thinks you should read <3 #my soheeyn heart #everyone is so cute #READ. THIS. NOW.#so adorable #this is peak

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