#that's what u should do instead of buying this shirt go fry the shit out of some okra

[2idiots]

Wave inspired!Seonghwa au x reader

summary: Maybe just maybe the boy out in the water can make you loosen your stance up on the tourists crowding your town

word count: 2.1k-ish 

warnings: none

gender neutral!reader

The first time you see him you’re walking home from work along the sea wall, your work bag clutched tightly between your arm and polyester polo, a scowl weighing heavily across your face

Every year this time (summer) rockets you directly into a terrible mood, it is literally clockwork and here’s why:

tourists

these rich people and their bad manners flock to your town to spend their summer breaks at the resorts, littering your beaches, buying your groceries, taking your space, and just generally being pretenious dicks

last year you and the rest of town spent a full week cleaning the beaches after the last of the out-of-towners were gone

But this boy, this boy was different

After all it was sunset and he was out in the water fully clothed looking like he walked out of a calvin klein shoot or some shit

the light spilling through the sky cast a orange glow, lighting him up like angel 

you were kinda dumbstruck standing on the seawall staring at him for a good minute

he looked like an angel and you looked like someone smacked you over the head with a frying pan, primarily because you had spent the entire day (and all your energy) responding to terrible customers

No they can not just bargain the prices with you because guess what...

You D O N ‘ T set the prices

and as much as they complained about the price on beer you C O U L D N O T change the price, and even if you could you clocked that gold rolex and the expensive pressed polo the minute they walked in so you sure as hell W O U L D N O T

they could more than afford the price of your store’s beer and after they had it they were insufferable

Then there was a women who made you count back your change three times because she thought you were stealing from her, stealing insignificant change

Needless to say you also wanted to get into the ocean in your clothes too and maybe swim out to an island without any people and live the rest of your days as hermit lost in nature

because wow humanity S U C K S

But you had to save money up for the fall semester so that meant putting up with some of the worst of humanity for you bigger dream; that just didn’t leave a lot of space for seeing the good in many people especially out-of-towners

so this mysterious swimmer was probably just another annoying tourist, being pretty didn’t mean he was nice too

so you put him out of your mind that first night

but you kept seeing him on your walk home from work in the heat of the setting sun: always in the same spot, always sporting clothes that weren’t made for swimming

you saw him so much you were actually getting curious, some of your anger lessening, especially when you saw him picking up trash along the shoreline

It wasn’t until your day off that you finally spoke to him and by spoke you ran head first into him walking through the beachfront shops with your friends on your day off

he was surrounded by a group of friends with colorful hairstyles that were all laughing and playing around

you on the other hand were sporting your first non-customer service smile in weeks and you were holding a very precious cone of mint chocolate chip ice cream

Well you were holding it because now it was all over this boy’s shirt and you were mortified and grieving the loss of your ice cream

“oh my god, my ice cream” is the first and only thing out your mouth so maybe not mortified just grieving

Sure you should’ve said sorry but all your apologies had been used up on the customer that said you were mean for making her wait in line instead of cutting everyone after she said she couldn’t wait because it would give her acne

So EXCUSE you if you really wanted your ice cream on your day off

Caught up in your self righteous inner monologue about ice cream, you almost didn’t notice: “wait you’re the boy who’s always in the ocean at sundown?” 

Oh wow he was much pretty in person and that was saying a lot because you had been admiring him from afar for far too long

“lol at least you don’t have to worry about washing your shirt since you’re hoping in later anyway”

Oh my god, you could smack yourself; why did you just say that, why did you just expose yourself as a stalker?

He let out a little laugh “and you’re the person on the seawall, nice to see you’re cute up close too. I’m Seonghwa”

“y/n” Wait did that actually work? Did you not scare him away? Did he know who you were too?

Did? He? Say? Cute? 

“You should come down and talk to me next time”

his friends were oohing and aahing at him watching the awkward exchange, your friends were doing the same

And that you did, like clockwork he was down by in the ocean in the middle of the sunset while you were walking home from work

Only this time you didn’t just stop and look, you made your way down the stone stairs through the hot sand and to the edge of the beach. 

God why was your work uniform all black? it was hotttt out here and you were sweating while this boy looked like a sculpture in front of you

his acid washed jeans sticking to his calves as he walked through the tide pools searching through the sand, his arms on display in the pastel tie dye cut off

“um hey Seonghwa” that’s the best you could conjure up, trying to get in a carefree position but careful not to put your backpack on the ground for fear you would never get the sand out

your non-slip work shoes = already ruined

“Y/n you came?”  he stopped his search through the tide pools to smile up at you, nearly melting your customer service persona

“um yeah, sorry I just got off work though so I’m not really dressed from a swim” You looked down to your black slacks and black polo with the store logo on the upper left breast, god you shouldn’t have come maybe if you just slowly back away he won’t even notice you disappear 

“That seems like the best reason to get in” there was a soft smile on his face as he pulled up a lump of seaweed mixed with some shells from the sand

“Maybe next time, find any good mementos?”

Only next time you don’t get in either but you did roll up your slacks, take your shoes off, and stick your feet in

He was right, it was much a much needed break to just relax in the cool water and this way you could help him find whatever he was looking for

It doesn’t stop there though, you get a little further into the water every night after work when you meet but never like he was the first night

you also learned a little more about him and him about you

He is here with a group of friends, they are spending their last summer together before some of them head off to college, some go overseas, and some are stuck in high school. They were here the whole summer working on one of the resorts and this was the only time he could get away from everyone for some peace

“So you invite me?” Peaceful, all you did was stomp around in my work clothes and be loud “I’m not sure I fit what you’re going for”

“Nah but I like having you here.”

after that you start to see him outside of the actually water too, once he is picking up the trash on the beach, once he is just laying on the sand watching the sunset

And every time you would make your way next to him and spend all night talking to him 

So every year at the peak of tourist season, the locals throw a huge party on a section of the beach that only the locals know about

It’s a power move against the seasonals, one that you participate in every year. In fact you're dropped off some alcohol earlier in the week

Usually you go alone (read: with friends) but for some reason this year you invite Seonghwa, well more like you word vomited your invitation in a 10 minute long nervous ramble about beaches and parties while he smiled at you

normally you would cover your nervousness in a smirk with some sassy remarks but from some reason your stomach is fluttering too much this time, you can feel the nausea bubbling up

tense you throw in a quick "your friends can come too" then metaphorically smack yourself because you don't want his friends to come, you want to go with just him

this was supposed to be you confessing that your countless nights on the beach had kinda made your initial crush stronger but you messed it up

For your incessant rambles he responds with only a few words "Yeah that sounds fun"

"ok ok cool cool" nice save (oh my god you are actually acting like a middle schooler)

"But I don't think my friends can come, is that ok?"

"Oh yeah, um-" insert your nervous tick here- "i don't think my friends can come either so it'll just be us" cheesy smile

btw your friends could make it, they were there the whole time but you told them to stay away and they have not stopped teasing you about it since 

the night of the party you meet in your normal place and your jaw drops to the floor like in those movies when the princess comes out wearing the ball gown and looking regal

Only seonghwa isn't a princess but he sure as hell is beautiful and who gave him the right to look like that because your heart momentarily stops before you finally breath some sense back in and hold yourself together

"Are you ready? It's a bit of a hike"

You spend the whole night talking, and maybe you're a little tipsy but only enough to give you a confidence boost and a looser tongue

nothing serious 

Or at least you thought it was nothing serious but then you are prying into his life, asking some of the weirdest questions and finally "so why do you swim with your clothes on?"

Meanwhile this whole time he's been laughing at you, not the mean kind of way more like a "wow they really ramble a lot how cute"

"I don't know, normally I just don’t have my swimsuit and the water looks too beautiful to pass up"

"But if you do it every night then why don't you just pack ahead of time" *hiccup* nah jk but you might as well hiccup… maybe you should put that beer down before you embarrass yourself

"I don't know, if I bring my swimsuit everyone will want come with me and as much as I love my friends they're a little high energy" he let out a sweet laugh "speaking of them, I should probably admit…"

Oh god, what was wrong? Is this where you found out he was actually super creepy? Or like a murderer or something? Of course the cute ones always had to be the crazy ones, just your luck

"My friends aren't busy tonight I just said that because I didn't want them to come...”

Oh good not creepy at all (maybe you should stop watching dateline), that's what you did too

in fact your friends kept sending you snapchats of the both of you sitting by the bonfire talking

"I actually think one of them is here, he’s kinda hard to miss his hair is bright red"

Oh strawberry dude, you remembered seeing him wave when you first arrived (very confusing for a powerful tiny man who you had never seen wave at you)

But hold up, you're still caught up on the first thing he said, he wanted to come with you, just you. Did he?? like you??

"Do you like me?" Straight to the point, how in character for you

A rosy blush spread over his cheeks and down his neck and the confidence you had skyrocketed, that all but answered your question

and if that didn’t answer it then his little “ya” did

in a bout of confidence you grabbed him head and yanked him up from the lawn chairs by the crackling fire “Come on!”

 "what are you doing?!" he replied, calling out as you dragged him toward the dark water, glowing in the light of the moon

Splashing through the water, you settled on a place where the waves lapped up against your waist like they had the first night you saw him, it didn’t even matter that the warm salty water was soaking through your clothes (don't think about your soaked shoes, don't think about your soaked shoes)

"I'm not sure but the water just looked too beautiful to pass up" cue cliche cheese and a signature smirk provided by you

"Haha don't make fun of me"

"Why not? It’s too much fun" you leaned in closer, your hand still wrapped in his “and anyway I like you too much to stop”

about twenty minutes later you opened a snapchat from your friends of you and Hwa kissing in the ocean and turned bright red

read hongjoong's and yunho's

[alberteamllc]

Fancy That!

So there I was, your ever-humble narrator, enjoying a pint of something kind of fancy and minding my own business in one of the most chi-chi establishments on the Smallfellow main drag when who should blunder in one but one of those schmucks from the palace where I used to run that hobo operation. Of course he wasn’t in his dopey palace livery, he had on rags practically, which, like, was pretty racist-- this is a nice bar, wine and tapas and everything, look around you buddy, everybody in here but you is a halfling and nobody here has spent less than five silver pieces on their shoes alone, what, do you think all halflings walk around barefoot and eat ten breakfasts a day and live in pastoral squalor? Get real and try educating yourself for a change.

Anyhoo, he ambles up like he’s being sneaky and slips me this envelope. I guess after Prince Whoever had his big temper tantrum last time I went to collect what he owed me (it was embarrassing for him, but even more embarrassing for Ewer-- that moron got his adam’s apple turned to apple sauce that night!) they decided to try the “subtle” approach. Still pathetic. Strictly amateur hour. So I look him in the eye and loudly say “SORRY BUDDY I’M BY ENGAGEMENT ONLY THESE DAYS. IF YOU WANT THE FRANCIS FLIEG EXPERIMENT (my new nom du stage--like it?) I’VE GOT A SET AT THE BELL & WHISTLE FROM SEVEN TO NINE EVERY DAY THIS WEEK. NO ENCORES” but then just for the sake of appearances I take a little peak inside this envelope and holy st. merriwether dear reader did I like what I saw! Never let it be said I’m too stubborn to be receptive to a sudden change of heart. So I treat the bar to a round of the second cheapest champagne the place has and say hey look I’ve got this dry sense of humor sometimes, I really think we can work out a way to do business.

So I decide to indulge in some of that old-school Francis Flisk chicanery and dine and dash just to see what this stuffed shirt does about it. Squat. Good sign-- because I feel like his boss needs me for something illegal, and in most cases dirty money’s easier to get than clean money. Anyway we wind up at this apartment not far away, right on the edge of that human neighborhood, I forget the name, where all the hip young second sons and first daughters who can’t hack it in the dynasty game go to drink expensive coffee and become priests and priestesses of that tacky fucking bank. It’s one of those digs that you know the cops or the government keeps decorated in the most blandly tasteful and lifeless way possible to use for stake-outs and deniability stuff like this.

It turns out this job is my worst nightmare. It’s extremely hard work and barely illegal. Out of the shadows steps this cop. I know the guy. He’s crooked as the road to Schockonote, pardon a folksy halfling saying, the human audiences eat that shit up and it’s become a force of habit. Caowulf Cutty. A real bastard but he’d looked the other way for me plenty of times during my days with the Handsome Lads in exchange for modest kickbacks. But now-- what the hell?-- he’s acting like he’s never met me before and he’s got me pinned to the wall with his elbow at my throat and my feet dangling in the air, calling me criminal scum and this and that. Ok, sure, like he can talk. They make like they’ve got me in some kind of sting-- like, they caught me running tundra tar or something and if I don’t do what they say I’ll blah blah blah but I’m all like, yeah? Prove it. I’m clean, pigs (I’m not). After a while we work out a deal. I’ll keep 10% of the money in that envelope and they’ll stop hassling me about this alleged tundra tar business I did/didn’t do.

It’s like this-- once in awhile when I’m really hard up I’ll do a job for this guy Salomon Six-Fingers. He has a little tavern by the docks, slings this truly appalling sodfish stew but he’s a nice guy, honest, and somehow he’s managed to make a little name for himself running jobs under the nose of the Quiet Guild without getting killed despite being nice and honest. Mostly stuff the Guild couldn’t care about or fail to make overcomplicated because of course. And people work for him because obviously the guild doesn’t get a cut.. Or because they get off on pretending to have morals or professional ethics or whatever. Anyway one of the big things people go to him for is salvage jobs. Old ruins. Humans are too stupid to go into them because they think their precious mediators will pop out and say BOO at them and they’ll piss their britches so it’s good work for us halflings if we can get it.

All this time the dipshit from the palace hasn’t said who he’s working for. Like I don’t know. It rhymes with Rinse Cranselm Brinsatsi. But what they want me to do is they’re gonna leak Six-Fingers word of a ripe little abandoned mine called Sweetroll Hill and say the only thing keeping people out of that sweet ore is the fact that the place is overrun with the infamous Handsome Lads. Ok, yeah, “infamous,” big scary halflings running around with sticks and empty quivers. But I’ll get to that in a second. A little team is assembled-- including yours truly as the thief and the guy who knows the gang, knows the mine (which, I do and do, but again-- presumptuous and racist)-- and then we go and clear it out. But here’s the tricky part. All the way there I’m making little signals, leaving a little trail, and behind me, the fuzz. And on our way out, the triumphant heroes are caught red-handed with armfuls of stolen loot and a pile of dead halflings in their wake. I get off scot-free, the suckers who know about the place are in jail where they can’t blab about the location, and the “mysterious employer” gets to swoop in and take whatever he wants down there. Which sounds like a lot of work but again they wouldn’t drop this tundra tar thing. Oh well. The mine isn’t far and it’s run by a bunch of D-listers. Big-Stud Broly, who’s no Huge Hunk Haglund to say the least, and a snot-nosed little wannabe called Leander Hawthorne. If you want to know how vast and capacious the barrel they’re scraping the bottom of is, they’ve even got a goblin in their crew. I also get to help pick the team.

So obviously I’m presented with a moral quandary. I’m picking people for what’s essentially a suicide run. This is the end of the line for them one way or the other-- if they don’t die on the job (not impossible) or when the cops get rough with them (not unlikely), then they’re headed to prison for a long time. So I think and I think loooong about who I hate enough in this business to make this whole thing really hysterical and satisfying instead of just pretty hysterical and satisfying. I come up with a wish-list:

1. Davey Driftwood: This schmuck shot me with a crossbow once when he was guarding a caravan that me and the boys were trying to get our meat mitts on. He definitely doesn’t remember this but I know he kind of remembers my face because he always gives me this little nod and smile when we’re both at Salomon’s or that little place that gnome runs by the bazaar with the good bread. Couldn’t wait to wipe that goody two-shoes smirk off his face. He’s also some local celebrity upriver in the boonies because he knocked off some nobody bandit a few years ago. Occasionally some hick recognizes him at the bar and buys him one of those watery pee beers trash humans drink. I hate humble guys like that who don’t capitalize on a good thing. And I especially hate people who get famous for doing the cops’ jobs for them and then have the nerve to act like we can still be pals. DEFINITELY on the list.

2. Bloody Bonnie: B l o o d y  F u c k i n  B o n n i e. Ever meet someone who thinks they’re funny? That’s Bonnie. Some land pirate. Dumb term and anyway gnomes invented it. Yeah yeah, gnomes and halflings, different species, and I’d rather cut my own head off than kiss a gnome, but we little guys have to stick together and I hate it when humans bite our rackets. Speaking of which, right, she thinks she’s so funny. I’ve heard all the halfling jokes before and I’ve heard them all again another three dozen times from her. Wouldn’t kick her out of bed though. Had a brief idea about tipping her off before the bust and seeing how puny she thought I was after that.

3. Paolo the Exile: First off, what a joke. Who calls themselves “the Anything.” Can’t stand that bit. Second of all, I hate dwarves. I’ve only met the one but I hate stories about dwarves and I hate Paolo. Too quiet and I don’t like anybody who won’t show their face.

4. Roxan McClintock: People call her “Flinty” but she’s a Roxan through and through. You know these guys, these McClintocks? No, that’s McBEAM idiot, I mean the McCLINTOCKS. But don’t get me started on fucking McBeam. RIght, so-- I was born poor. My dad-- Moldew-- and my ma-- Instke-- they were both poor too. They grew up in tall grass over their heads and they worked until they died from it, because they were stupid. I’m smart. I knew I had to do whatever it took to have a roof over my head, with a chandelier on it, and a bed with eight pillows on it and a girl on each. And look, I’m young, and two out of four ain’t bad! The roof doesn’t leak and the pillows ain’t too shabby themselves! But yeah-- that’s why I degrade myself with these fucking jobs. Because I need to. That’s why I crawl through the dirt and show stupid tourist humans how to get through the swamps. For the money that I DON’T. HAVE. Roxan does all this shit because she “wants to.” Because “she ain’t no high class broad.” Yeah, stick a paintbrush down my throat already. She’s all “hey y’all” and “yeehaw” but Roooooooxaaaaaaaannnn is pure Smallfellow, get it? Her dad’s a university professor, her ugly brothers are university professors, they eat caviar and pear jelly with rich humans all day and wipe their asses with silk hankies. She should know her place and marry some rich tailor and cook fiddlehead fry every night and have a million dumbshit babies who marry rich tailors and so on and so on until they fucking choke on their gold pieces and die. If she wants to bark with the big dogs so much she can go bark in the kennel.

5. Huxley Swallowtail: This guy’s just awful. Just atrocious. Big hat with a feather on it. Pantaloons with stripes. Just the worst. The worst. Opposite problem as McClintock really. He acts like he’s some Seven Fingers of Sin gentleman thief but he’s really just alley trash who made his bones breaking arms for loan sharks and beating up younger kids for their lunch money. You can’t smother trash stink with fancy cologne.

But unfortunately I can’t pick all of these clowns so I write down DAVEY DRIFTWOOD in big block letters on the top of my little sheet of paper and then I roll a dice for the other two. Paolo and Roxan it is. To make a long story short the job goes fine. It gets dicey for a minute because I’m saddled with three incompetents. McClintock makes friends with some revolting hermit and comes back waving around some magic stick and later on they tip off the entire camp somehow and wind up cowering behind boulders. But it works out fine in the end. McClintock is shipped off to Fort Stolas to crack open rocks for the rest of her life-- priceless-- and Davey gets to have his precious reputation dragged through the muck. The best part is the dwarf-- he makes this pitiful “don’t worry about me, run, I’ll hold them off” martyr complex speech and just as they put a dozen windows in his stupid body he can see his friends getting hogtied and hauled away! God I wish he didn’t wear that fucking helmet so I could see his face when he realized he died for literally nothing. Exile, right, exile from reason maybe.

For a few days I’m walking on air. I have money in my pocket, shows booked, and I get to go to sleep dreaming of  McClintock and Driftwood toiling away in their cute little prison pajamas. But then that guy the Octopus shows up at my door. I’d heard stories but the first time I met him actually was the bust at the mine. He was in charge. I didn’t like him. His face didn’t change the entire time-- just straight lines. Before I know it I’m on the ground, can’t move a finger, and he’s telling me I’m coming with him. Well, not much I can do about it. So off we go and I realize we’re rolling up to the palace. I’m terrified. I mean, I’m cooking up a dozen escape plans but I’m a little scared, I’ll admit it. In we go and I’m trying to play it cool and he shoves me in this huge room with a fireplace and portraits of rich humans who look like they have permanent constipation and holy moley it’s the prince himself! Again. The first time I was kind of in awe of him. He knew how to run a good racket. But this time-- well…. I don’t know. On the one hand… I was scared. He didn’t… look right. Something lifeless about him. About his eyes. And that tiara or whatever, which, and I mean I didn’t get a good look, but looked like it was made for an elf head or an especially fat gnome head, it was… on him. Let me back up. It was on him but it shouldn’t have been. It shouldn’t have fit. It… there wasn’t blood but… I don’t… I can’t explain it. I… I was shaking, friend. But on the other hand it was kind of sad. This wasn’t the guy I’d seen knock the smirk right off of Elias Ewer’s face. This was somebody who didn’t know where he was going. You get a sense for that kind of thing in the circles I used to run in. People taking stupid risks and picking pointless fights because they’re just running out their time on this stupid planet and are trying to speed up the process. That was him. He looked exhausted.

But, you know, I tipped back over into scared pretty damn quick because-- oh, hey, this is off the record, right? Ok, good. Right. I tipped back over into scared pretty quick because he bares his teeth just like a dog and he’s on me with a fancy saber, just bludgeoning away with the pommel. I’m on my back with the first hit, because I’m fucking shocked, and then he’s got his legs on either side of me just going to town. I’m-- I’m blubbering like a baby, trying to wave my hands, say no no, get off me, and he’s got me by the lapels slamming me into the floor saying “Leave the McClintocks out of this, leave the McClintocks out of this, you filth, you worm, do not touch them, do not bring them into this” or something like that. Which-- what? Really? They’re well-off by halfling standards but what does he care about a pack of three foot tall hypernerds? But one way or the other he’s practically foaming. It takes that scrawny bodyguard of his to pull him off me. The guy dusts me off himself and walks me outside. He apologizes! He apologizes right to my face. I forget what I say. I don’t remember the rest of the night really. I got drunk. I got really really drunk.

But now he’s dead. Funny how that happens to people who cross me. And McClintock’s out of jail. Look, I can’t get revenge on the prince, because the idiot got to himself first. But when you mess with me and there’s something important to you, I’m going to do what I can to break that thing. And when you’re giving me a concussion while drooling some nobody poser’s name into my face, I don’t forget that name. And she’s not gonna forget mine.