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[thenewblackcanvasreads]

I like that Haewon’s character is more than just a jealous fiancée to best friend Yunho. She knew y/n first and fell for Yunho. Her selfishness and infidelity being paired in her mind with Yunho’s decisions too makes sense. I obviously hate it because ugh just break up but it is so real. The finality of it and fully having to deal with her mistakes is just so real. Still hate her but yeah😂

The end😳 just leave! I would cry if I was in his position lmao but I’m emotional for this story so idk

forget me not | iv

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 7.5K (my bad) Warnings: infidelity, use of the k word

Fic Masterlist

a/n: my stitches reopened and I had to go back and get restitched 😬 so I spent all day in bed editing this chapter. i love reading everyone's theories and feedback is always welcome!

The first time Haewon saw Yunho, it was at your dorm during a study session. You were both surrounded by books, notes, and various pieces of stationary scattered across the floor. While you were focusing on writing out your note cards, Haewon was dancing around the room in an attempt to “activate her brain cells”. 

She had been caught up in her own world until the sound of a knock interrupted her antics. You stood up to answer the door, and a low voice followed, mingled with a chuckle—deep, familiar, and warm.

Yunho.

He was your best friend, someone she’d heard about but hadn’t paid much attention to. But that day, something was different. He sat with a pile of books and a look of quiet concentration that intrigued her. His presence was magnetic, though subtle, and without realizing it, Haewon found herself sneaking glances at him, captivated by the calm determination in his demeanor.

She wasn’t sure when it happened exactly, but at some point, between stolen glances and shared laughter over late-night group study sessions, she started to fall for him. Yunho was kind, always the first to offer a helping hand, and his dedication to his friends and family was unwavering. He had a way of making everyone feel valued and heard.

And when he asked her to be his girlfriend, she was over the moon. 

"Did you know Yunho was going to ask me out?" she beamed, her voice laced with an excitement that made your heart sink.

You froze for a second, your pencil hovering above the page. There was a flicker of something—disappointment, maybe even hurt—but you quickly swallowed it down. 

"Maybe," you muttered, your voice light, almost teasing, though it took everything in you to keep it that way. Haewon didn’t see the way your grip tightened on the pencil, or how your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes.

"I can’t believe it," she gushed, oblivious to the turmoil behind your composed expression. "I mean, I’ve liked him for a while now, and I wasn’t sure if he felt the same way, but when he asked me…God, it was perfect."

"That’s great, Haewon" you said, your voice quieter than before, trying desperately to sound convincing. 

You fell in love with the way Yunho truly saw you, even when you tried to hide parts of yourself. He understood you in ways no one else ever had, knowing your fears, your dreams, and all the things that made you tick. Somewhere along the line, you stopped worrying about what he would think of you because with Yunho, you never had to pretend.

That’s when you knew you loved him—because the idea of life without him didn’t feel like life at all.

But how could you tell him? You weren’t like Haewon—bold and unafraid, able to voice her feelings as if vulnerability wasn’t terrifying. She was all confidence and ease, speaking her mind without a second thought, while you were cautious, overthinking, content to blend into the background.

Telling Yunho how you felt would mean stepping into the unknown. You couldn’t bear the thought of losing him if things went wrong. So you stayed silent, burying your feelings deep, hoping that somehow, you could protect what you had by keeping your secret. 

But things went wrong anyway.

You tried not to not let their relationship affect you, told yourself you were happy for them. Haewon and Yunho were two of the most important people in your life, and they deserved happiness. You repeated that to yourself like a mantra, hoping that if you said it enough, you might actually believe it. 

It hurt seeing them together, knowing that while you were happy for them, you couldn’t help the ache in your chest every time Yunho laughed a little too easily at something she said, or when she rested her head on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing in the world.

The worst part was that you couldn’t even be angry. How could you? Haewon hadn’t done anything wrong; she hadn’t stolen Yunho from you, and Yunho hadn’t abandoned you. It was like watching sand slip through your fingers—nothing to hold on to, nothing you could do to stop it.

Yunho was happy, and you cared about him enough to want that for him, even if it wasn’t with you.

After you disappeared, everything fell apart in ways neither of them expected. Yunho and Haewon participated in search parties, posted on social media about your disappearance, and cooperated with law enforcement. But there were no answers, no trace of where you’d gone or why. The emptiness you left behind was palpable, a gaping hole in both their lives.

At first, Haewon believed they were grieving together. She felt the weight of your absence in every corner of her life, and Yunho, in his quiet way, did too. But then, she began to notice the way their relationship shifted. 

It was subtle at first: a slight distance in Yunho’s eyes, the way he seemed preoccupied even when they were alone. He would zone out in the middle of conversations, and even when he held Haewon in his arms, his heart wasn’t fully there. 

Slowly, painfully, she realized the truth. Yunho wasn’t just mourning you—he was waiting for you. He was still tethered to you, pulled by an invisible force that Haewon couldn’t compete with.

She never considered herself a mean girl. Sure, she had grown up in a comfortable world, surrounded by friends who were a little more tightly wounded and concerned with appearances. But now, standing on the other side of it, Haewon could see the truth for what it was. Yunho was never really hers to begin with. She hadn’t stolen him—not intentionally—but she had taken something that was never really hers to claim. 

Then there was Sungjae. 

Sungjae had never been a close friend, not really. He was more of a background figure—someone on the outskirts of Haewon’s social circle who, little by little, had weaseled his way in. He was everything Yunho wasn’t: impulsive, flirtatious, unpredictable. And it was those very qualities that ignited something in her.

The affair began quietly, like a secret Haewon wasn’t ready to admit even to herself. It started innocently enough—casual conversations, coffee outings after shared classes. They’d stay up late in the library, long after everyone else had left, talking about things that felt too personal, too vulnerable to share with anyone else. Haewon convinced herself it was nothing more than a close friendship—after all, she had a large circle of friends. What harm could one more friend do?

As time passed, the line between friendship and something more blurred. In the quiet moments following your disappearance, Haewon found herself relying on Sungjae in ways she hadn’t with Yunho in years. He became her anchor when the world felt uncertain, someone who made her feel alive and seen.

At first, it was easy to justify: she and Yunho had been drifting apart. Haewon had noticed it in the way their conversations had become shorter, less meaningful; the way they sat together in silence more often than not, the air between them filled with unspoken tension. 

But there was also something darker about Sungjae—something tied to the past Haewon desperately tried to forget. The night you disappeared, Sungjae had humiliated you, his cruel words cutting through the air as everyone watched in uncomfortable silence. And Haewon had stood by, doing nothing. She had stayed silent, too afraid to confront him, too indifferent to speak up.

Yunho had done nothing, either. His usual kind, gentle demeanor had turned into passive inaction, making excuses whenever Haewon brought up the topic like "It's just a phase" or "They’ll work it out."

“Do you think Sungjae had something to do with Y/N’s disappearance?” Haewon suddenly blurted out as the two were cooking dinner. 

Yunho froze, his jaw tightening. He knew the answer—he had always known. The last time anyone had seen you was when you stormed out of the apartment, cheeks flushed with shame and frustration. And yet, Yunho couldn’t admit it out loud. Admitting that Sungjae was responsible meant confronting his own failure, his own role in pushing you away.

“If he did,” Yunho said, his voice low, a dangerous edge creeping in, “I’ll kill him myself.”

“But you were the last one who saw her.”

His entire body tensed, the weight of Haewon’s accusation hitting him harder than he expected. He turned to face her fully, eyes dark and cold.

“You think I had something to do with Y/N’s disappearance?” His voice was low, hurt and anger threading through each word. He could feel the bile rising in his chest, burning with the injustice of her suspicion.

“That’s not what I said—”

“But it’s what you meant.” Yunho cut her off. “You think I’m the reason she’s gone?”

“I’m just trying to figure out what happened,” she murmured, her voice softer now, though the accusation still lingered between them. 

“All I did was walk her out, and the CCTV proved that! You have no idea how much Y/N’s disappearance is affecting me! But to even suggest that I could’ve done something…” His voice trailed off, swallowed by a surge of emotion.

“I can’t do this,” Yunho muttered, his voice barely audible now as he turned away from her. Grabbing his jacket off the chair, he headed for the door, his movements tense and deliberate. “I’m done with this conversation.”

His footsteps faltered just before reaching the door, the frustration inside him boiling over. He spun back to face Haewon, his voice sharp and biting.

“Every time it comes to Sungjae, you choose him. Why?”

“I–” Haewon’s voice cracked, but Yunho didn’t stop. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving a deafening silence in his wake.

Haewon knew it wasn’t fair to keep dragging him along when her heart was no longer fully his. But the thought of actually leaving—the finality of it—terrified her. The knowledge that once she walked away, there would be no going back was something she wasn’t sure she could handle.

And then Yunho proposed. 

It caught her completely off guard—a moment she hadn’t prepared for despite all her doubts and uncertainty. She hadn’t expected him to propose, not now. But instead of facing the truth, instead of admitting that her heart had drifted away and she was entangled in an affair with someone else, Haewon did the only thing she could think of: she convinced herself that accepting Yunho’s proposal would fix everything.

Haewon felt trapped. She felt the walls closing in, suffocating her as she tried to play the part of the happy fiancée. On the night of the engagement party, everyone around them was celebrating, toasting to their future, but all she could think about was how wrong it all felt. Her heart wasn’t in it—not fully—and she knew it.

The alcohol didn’t help. Glass after glass, Haewon drank to drown out the noise in her head, to silence the guilt and doubt. She wanted to forget, to numb herself to everything, but instead, it only made her feel more exposed.

She avoided Yunho most of the night, choosing instead to party with her friends, laughing too loudly, her smile brittle around the edges. Yunho tried to get her to slow down, to pull her back to him, to hold her close, but every time he did, it felt like the air was being sucked out of her lungs. It wasn’t his fault, but being near him only made the weight of her choices heavier.

Finally, something inside her snapped. Right there, in front of everyone. The frustration, the guilt, the suffocating pressure of pretending—it all came to the surface. She knew it was unfair, that Yunho didn’t deserve it, but she couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. 

Now, as she laid in bed next to Sungjae, the weight of her betrayal closed in on her. The wedding was fast approaching, a date circled on the calendar like a death sentence, and there was no backing out now. The dress had been chosen, the invitations sent. Everyone was expecting a celebration, but all Haewon could feel was dread. 

Yunho had betrayed you too, hadn’t he? He had stood on the sidelines, just as complicit, watching as Sungjae’s cruelty unraveled you. And yet, he had stayed—stayed with her, proposed to her, tried to build a future with her. It was laughable. 

The two of them, pretending like they could escape what they’d done, like they could forge something real out of ashes. But the truth had always been there, lurking beneath the surface. 

They were no better than the man lying next to her now.

Perhaps this was what she and Yunho both deserved—two people who had betrayed you, condemned to a life of misery together.

Life in the Emporium was nothing short of magical surprises.

Each day began with a quiet ritual, a moment of calm before the shop's unique energy fully awoke. The first thing you’d do each morning was reach for the incense—carefully selected for its cleansing properties—and light it. As the fragrant smoke curled into the air, it seemed to reset the entire space, gently sweeping away the lingering energies left behind by the previous day’s visitors.

Above, the flowers in the hanging garden stirred with the first touch of morning light, their vibrant petals responding as if in greeting. You watered them with a flick of the wrist, though it felt more like a gesture of care than necessity—they thrived on the shop's magic more than on water.

The shop had its own rhythm, a delicate balance between the mundane and the mystical. Travelers, clients, and even the occasional spirit wandered in, drawn by the promise of wishes granted—some simple, others far more complicated. You had seen all kinds: the weary traveler who just wanted safe passage home, the desperate lover seeking a second chance, or the ambitious merchant hoping to change their fortune.

But nothing in the emporium was granted without a cost, and the price wasn’t paid in gold or silver. Every transaction required something far more precious—a wish. Not the kind made on a whim, but a deeply held desire, pulled from the very core of one’s soul.

You would watch as they approached the counter, hands trembling ever so slightly as they revealed their request. Their eyes flickered with doubt as the weight of the exchange settled upon them. Standing before you, they were caught between what they needed and what they were about to give up, realizing that their wish, once surrendered, would be gone forever.

You always asked if they were certain. If they understood the nature of their sacrifice. But the emporium never rejected a payment once it was offered. 

You had become accustomed to the shop’s quirks, trusting its ancient magic to maintain a balance that you could only partly comprehend. It was more than a shop; it was a living entity, guiding not only the customers but you, its keeper, shaping the course of both your lives in subtle, unseen ways.

Everything functioned smoothly, like clockwork—until the day Yunho arrived.

From the moment Yunho stepped into the emporium, his presence unsettled you. There was a calm assurance in the way he carried himself, grounding everything around you. Despite never having met him before, something inside you insisted Yunho wasn’t a stranger. 

You recalled the strange memories that had flooded your senses—the wind whipping around you as you sat in a car with Yunho, the sun illuminating the way the corner of his eyes crinkled when he smiled. It felt so real, as if you’d lived that moment before, but then it dissolved into something deeper, something raw. 

The emotions had gripped you before you could react, dragging you under like a riptide. Your knees buckled, and the world tilted, leaving you gasping for air. Yunho was there, of course. Even through the thick haze of your feelings, he kept you steady, his arms the only thing keeping you from crumbling completely.

Even now, the echoes of that moment lingered in your body. You could still feel the weight of the emotions that had passed through you, as if the magic had left an imprint on your soul. 

“Fate has already tied their threads together.”

Your mind raced, trying to grasp Hongjoong and Wooyoung’s conversation. 

What did that mean? What threads? Could the connection you felt—this strange, undeniable pull—be part of some cosmic plan, one that had existed long before you even stepped foot in the emporium?

But how could you accept something so profound when you couldn’t even remember him? The thought haunted you, and yet, deep down, the pull toward Yunho only grew stronger, as if Fate itself refused to let you walk away.

You sighed, taking a long drag from your pipe, leaning back as you watched a few late summer blooms drift down from the skylight’s hanging garden. Their petals fluttered like tiny omens in the gentle breeze. Fall had arrived, and with the change in seasons, the line between the living and the departed would thin, bringing even more travelers and clients from different realms. 

The bell above the door jingled faintly, drawing your attention. You glanced over, catching the sleek, shadowy form slipping through the crack in the door—a flash of fur before it darted out into the evening. You immediately knew who it was.

“Wooyoung,” you called out. The cat froze mid-step, his tail twitching with surprise. Slowly, he turned his head, his onyx eyes gleaming mischievously in the dim light.

“Don’t even try it,” you added, placing your hands on your hips. He blinked at you, feigning innocence, but you weren’t about to let him slink away without answers this time.

The cat stretched lazily, as if he hadn’t just been caught trying to sneak out, then padded toward you with that familiar, too-casual saunter. By the time he reached you, he shifted back into his human form with a dramatic sigh, ruffling his messy hair as if you’d truly inconvenienced him.

“I was just stepping out,” Wooyoung said, giving you that infuriating smirk of his. “Needed some air. It’s stuffy in here with all this—" He waved his hand around vaguely, “—magic.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it. “You are magic, Wooyoung.” Your tone was teasing, playful. “Haven’t you had enough of the outside world and tormenting humans for one lifetime?”

“I’m a cat. Gotta see what the world’s up to,” he shrugged. 

There was a beat of silence, and you took a breath before speaking. “I heard your conversation with Hongjoong last night.”

Wooyoung froze for the briefest moment, his eyes widening just slightly before he masked it with another lazy grin. The shift in his demeanor was quick, but you’d known him long enough to recognize the flicker of panic he tried to bury. 

"It’s not polite to eavesdrop," he teased, his voice light but edged with a subtle wariness.

You weren’t about to let him wiggle his way out of this one. You had seen the way he was squirming, avoiding the real issue, and this time you needed answers. 

"What does fate have to do with me and Yunho?"

His smile faltered, a crack in his usual carefree facade. Wooyoung shifted uneasily, searching for the right words to soften the blow, but knowing there was no easy way out. He could feel your frustration mounting, the tension stretching unbearably thin.

"It’s... well, it’s like this," His voice lowered, and for once, he sounded serious. "Hongjoong thinks you and Yunho are bound together in ways that we don’t fully understand. It’s something that’s deeper and older…something that humans refer to as soulmates."

Soulmates.

It sounded ridiculous, unbelievable. You and Yunho, tied together by fate? He was just a traveler, someone the shop had revealed itself to. There was nothing special about him. 

"How?" you scoffed, shaking your head as if the mere action would dispel the ridiculous notion. "He’s a stranger, Wooyoung.”

Wooyoung shook his head, his eyes never leaving yours. He shifted uncomfortably, looking anywhere but at you. 

"Well… the thing is you have met him before.” But the thing is... you don’t remember. Because you can’t, Wooyoung wanted to say. 

"What are you talking about? Then why can’t I remember him? What did I forget?"

Your chest tightened. The frustration, the confusion, the pull you’d felt around Yunho ever since he first entered the shop—it all started to transform into something deeper, something more unsettling. It was as if a fog was lifting, revealing shadows of memories you couldn’t quite grasp.

He let out a long breath, rubbing his face. "It’s complicated. There are things...about you, that you don’t remember. That you chose not to remember."

Your mind raced. Memories? With Yunho? The man you barely knew, who had walked into your life like any other traveler? It didn’t make sense. None of this did.

"If I erased him from my life, then maybe I had a reason," you snapped, the words tasting bitter. Wooyoung winced but didn’t argue. 

"Fate doesn’t just disappear because you forget. He’s still tied to you, even if you can’t feel it." He paused, his eyes searching your face, hoping for some sign of understanding. "Maybe it’s why the shop revealed itself to him. It’s fate, pulling you back together."

You could feel the ground slipping from beneath you, your grip on reality loosening with every word he spoke. What Wooyoung was suggesting—soulmates, forgotten love, fate—it sounded like something out of a dream, a fantasy too far removed from the life you knew. 

"Why does it matter if I’m connected to him or not?" you continued, your throat tightening as the question lodged itself there, too painful to speak.

The air grew heavy, thick with tension, as if the walls themselves were reacting to the storm brewing inside you. The shelves rattled, and the shop’s energy pulsed erratically, reflecting the confusion and fear you could no longer keep at bay. The lanterns flickered wildly, casting frantic shadows that danced along the walls, twisting in the growing unease.

You tried to steady your breathing, to calm the chaos within, but your mind raced with unanswered questions, with the gnawing suspicion that Wooyoung was right, and it terrified you. 

Wooyoung’s face fell, the spark of his usual wit dimming into something darker, something almost sorrowful. He shifted uncomfortably again, as though he wished to be anywhere but here, at this moment.

"Because no one wants to see you hurting, Y/N,” His voice was barely above a whisper, thick with regret. "You were in so much pain that you thought forgetting him and becoming the keeper would make it stop."

That name again. Y/N. It echoed in your mind, a foreign weight on your chest. It felt like a name you should know, but it slipped through your grasp. A name tied to a life you no longer remembered. 

"That toy," he continued, "it triggered something, didn’t it? The memories—the emotions—they were too strong. And when you felt that, your magic went unstable. The shop could barely handle it."

You shuddered, the memory of that moment still fresh, still raw. But one question clawed at you, louder than the chaos you’d unleashed.

What had been so unbearable that the only answer was to forget?

“Why is it so cold?” you groaned, bouncing on your toes and rubbing your hands together, trying to get the blood flowing. 

The train station was always drafty, but today it felt like the cold had settled into your bones, refusing to leave. You shivered and glanced around, surprised to see no snow on the ground. It was odd—this time of year usually meant blankets of white everywhere, the world covered in a quiet stillness. Yet now, all you had was the biting wind and a gray sky threatening snow that never seemed to come.

Yunho stood beside you, his breath puffing out in small clouds as he huddled deeper into his coat. He laughed softly, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he looked at you. 

“You’re always cold,” he teased, nudging your arm with his elbow. “Should’ve worn more layers.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re practically a furnace,” you grumbled. 

The two of you had decided to take the train home for the holidays after your first semester of university. You were both exhausted—finals had drained whatever energy you had left—but there was excitement in the air as Christmas approached. 

“I’m surprised there’s no snow,” you mused, gazing up at the dull, overcast sky. The clouds hung low, thick and heavy, but still no sign of snowflakes falling. “Feels weird, doesn’t it? Christmas without snow.”

Yunho hummed in agreement beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his coat as he followed your gaze. “Yeah, it’s like something’s missing. Hopefully, it’ll snow while we’re home.”

His voice was hopeful, and you could see the small spark of excitement in his eyes. Yunho loved snow—it wasn’t just the beauty of it, but the way it brought a sense of stillness and magic to the world. The kind of magic that reminded you both of simpler times, of building snowmen as kids and staying out too long until your fingers were numb.

The next morning, Yunho’s wish came true.

Snow. Fresh, untouched snow covered everything. The rooftops, the streets, the trees—it all glistened under the early morning light, as if the entire world had been dipped in magic overnight. 

This was the moment he’d been waiting for, the moment he hoped for when you both had been standing at the train station, wondering if Christmas would even feel like Christmas without snow. Now, it was here. His wish had come true.

But more than that, he wanted to share this moment with you.

You blinked up at the sky, a few lazy snowflakes still drifting down, landing on your lashes and melting against your skin. Yunho stood beside you, watching the way your eyes lit up, the way you took in the moment like it was something precious. 

The two of you stood there for a while, wordlessly watching the snowfall together. It was the kind of stillness that felt sacred, the kind that only came with the first snow of the season. 

As Yunho glanced at you, his breath caught. You weren’t doing anything special—just standing there, bundled up in your oversized hoodie, your hair slightly messy from sleep, your cheeks flushed from the cold. You weren’t trying to impress anyone, least of all him. You were just you, in the most effortless way, and somehow, that had always been enough.

There was a simplicity to the moment that felt different, more profound than he expected. Last summer, when you’d spent long, sunny days together, he’d thought he understood what he felt for you. He cared about you more than anyone, maybe more than he should’ve let on. It was a love that had grown quietly, steadily, and was beginning to envelop him. 

It was too easy to love you. Too effortless, too natural, as if his heart had always been meant for you. And that’s what made it so dangerous.

He knew that sometimes, love—no matter how powerful—wasn’t enough. The thought of risking what you had—this simple, effortless connection that meant everything to him—for something as unpredictable as love felt like falling into the ocean.

And Yunho wasn’t ready to make the jump. 

He groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his temples as if that could somehow ease the pounding in his skull. His head felt like it was being split open, a dull, relentless ache that refused to let up. The events of the previous night were a blur—fragments of conversation, too many drinks, and the sinking realization that he’d gone well past his limit.

He’s supposed to head back to Seoul today, back to his life and the steady rhythm of work that usually kept his life in order. But there was no way he could face that right now, not with the amount of alcohol that had been consumed. 

The events of last night came back to him in disjointed, hazy flashes. He remembered the way your fingers brushed against the plush toy, followed by the sudden paling of your face right before you collapsed to the floor. 

Yunho’s heart had nearly stopped at that moment, the world around him crashing into stillness. The usual hum of the emporium faded into nothing, the vibrant colors of the shelves and strange objects blurring into meaningless shapes. 

His legs moved before his mind could catch up, and he was running, sprinting toward you as if the very air had been torn from his lungs. The world shrank, narrowing to the sight of you lifeless in his arms.

"Y/N, stay with me," he whispered, panic thick in his voice as he cradled your unconscious body. It was the same terror he’d felt the day you disappeared, the same helpless, gut-wrenching fear that had kept him awake at night, haunted by the thought that he’d never see you again.

Yunho held you like his entire world depended on it, his arms wrapped tightly around you, desperate and unrelenting. He pressed his forehead against yours, as he cradled your head against his chest, the warmth of your skin barely noticeable as panic surged inside him.

“I’m sorry, just please, please don’t leave me,” he begged, his voice barely holding together. His fingers tightened their grip on you, trembling with the fear that if he let go, even for a second, you’d slip away for good.

He couldn’t lose you, not when he had just found you again.

Then came Wooyoung’s revelation. You had chosen to disappear from his life. It wasn’t an accident, or some cruel twist of fate. You had asked the shop to erase your memories—all of them. He could still hear Wooyoung’s voice, bitter and sharp, recounting the details, but the exact reason why Wooyoung had been so angry at him was lost in the fog of the night.

He remembered the sting—the way the door slammed behind him, the coldness of the night hitting his face as he stood there, dazed, confused and frustrated. You were alive, bound to this strange realm by forces he didn’t fully understand. But worse than that, you had willingly cut him out of your life.

After that, things blurred even more. He’d ended up at a bar, the numbness setting in as he ordered drink after drink, trying to drown the sea of emotions that threatened to consume him. Somewhere along the way, Yeosang had joined him, and Yunho found himself pouring his heart out—his frustrations, his guilt, his failures. He had ranted about the weight of trying to be the good guy while everything around him crumbled.

Now, in the harsh light of day, the weight of it all hit him with a different kind of intensity. His heart felt heavy, and he had no idea where to go from here.

Yunho sat up, staring at his phone as if it might give him the answers he was too afraid to ask for. His thumb hovered over Haewon’s name on the screen, trembling slightly. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say—he didn’t have a plan, only a sinking feeling in his chest that told him he couldn’t keep pretending everything was fine. 

The line rang once, then twice. By the third ring, his heart had started racing, the weight of everything he had to confront pressing down on him like a vice. When it went to voicemail, Yunho’s stomach dropped.

“Hey, it’s Haewon! Sorry I missed your call, but leave a message and I’ll get back to you soon!”

The artificial cheer in her voice made his skin crawl, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He could almost picture her—smiling, carefree, the version of her that had loved him wholeheartedly. But that wasn’t who she was anymore. That wasn’t who they were.

"Hey..." he finally whispered, “give me a call when you get a chance.” Yunho waited for a beat, as if hoping she might pick up at the last second, but the line remained silent, empty.

“Yunho? Aren’t you getting ready to head back?” His mom’s voice was gentle, but it startled him from his thoughts. She appeared in the doorway, concern etched in the lines of her face. 

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know if I’m going back,” he admitted softly, his voice thick with uncertainty. 

His mom walked in, taking a seat on the edge of his bed, her presence warm and calming. She had always been able to read him better than anyone, even when he was trying his best to hide. Mrs. Jeong didn’t say anything for a moment, just letting the silence hang between them, giving him the space to breathe.

“Tell me more.”

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of everything he’d been holding in. It was strange—he felt like a teenager again, venting to his mom about his problems, but this time it felt more suffocating. The future he had thought he wanted, the life he had worked so hard to build, no longer felt like his.

“I’m hungover. I’m miserable. I don’t want to marry Haewon. I’m not happy with my job or where I am in my life. Mingi is my only friend, Yeosang kind of hates me, and Y/N…” He let out a watery chuckle, the sound laced with bitterness. “She’s gone.”

There it was, the truth laid bare—the reality that had been gnawing at him for months, too terrifying to confront. The words hung in the air, heavy with the weight of everything he had been trying to ignore.

Mrs. Jeong’s gaze softened as she listened, her heart heavy with a mother’s instinct to protect, but knowing she couldn’t fix this for him. She reached out, placing a hand over his. 

“You’ve been carrying this for a while, haven’t you?” Her voice was soft, laced with a sadness that only came from witnessing the quiet battles of someone you love.

Yunho looked down to their joined hands, his throat tightening. The words he had held back for so long hovered on the edge of his lips, threatening to escape. 

“I thought I could handle it. But—" He paused, his fingers gripping hers a little tighter, his chest heaving as he fought to keep the floodgates closed. 

"I don’t want to keep pretending I’m okay,” he continued, voice cracking slightly. “I’m tired, Mom. Of the job, the engagement, everything. It’s like I’m suffocating, and I don’t know how to breathe anymore.” he replied, quieter now, almost like he was talking to himself. It was the first time he’d admitted it out loud. The fear that had been chaining him to a future he didn’t want.

His mother exhaled softly, her brow furrowing as she absorbed his words. After a moment, she squeezed his hand and spoke gently, her voice calm but firm.

“You’ve always been so considerate. Always thinking of others. But have you thought about what you want? Truly want, not just what you think you should want?”

It wasn’t something Yunho had ever allowed himself to consider fully, and even now, the thought seemed almost too outlandish, too selfish. But the way his mother looked at him, with such understanding, made it feel less frightening, less impossible to confront.

“You’re allowed to want something different, Yunho. You’re allowed to change your mind. You’re allowed to choose yourself.”

Her words struck something within him, unraveling the tightly wound rope of expectations he had tangled himself in for so long. He hesitated, his heart pounding as he dared to voice the question that had haunted him for months.

“So you wouldn’t be upset if I called off the wedding?” His voice was small, almost as if he were afraid the very mention of it might cause everything to collapse around him.

His mother shook her head, her expression soft and reassuring. “Of course not, Yunho. Haewon is lovely, but…” She paused, choosing her words carefully, as she looked at him. “I always felt like she wasn’t the one for you.”

Yunho blinked, surprised by the admission. His mother had never said anything like that before, and in all their talks about the wedding, she had always been supportive, never giving any sign that she might have doubts of her own. 

“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” he asked, almost incredulous. 

“Because you’re finally listening to yourself. This is your life, not mine, not anyone else’s. It wasn’t my place to tell you how to live, Yunho. I wanted to believe that you knew what was best for you.”

“And if I quit my job?” he asked, testing the waters, anxiety sparking in his voice. 

“Gunho would be thrilled,” she laughed. “You know, he was absolutely livid when you took the finance job over the Tigers. I’ve never seen him so upset with you! He ranted for weeks about how you were wasting your talents behind a desk instead of being out there building the ultimate dream team.”

His mother’s laughter faded, replaced by a more serious expression. “We’ve all had our hopes for you, Yunho. But those were our hopes, not yours. Life’s not a straight line. It’s full of twists and turns. You don’t have to stay on a path that doesn’t feel right anymore.”

There was something comforting about the idea, the notion of stepping away from the path he had chosen, back to something that felt more like home—more like himself. Sitting with his mother, he began to wonder: What if it wasn’t reckless? What if choosing the life he truly wanted wasn’t some wild, selfish fantasy? What if it was okay to dream again?

His mind wandered to you, to the quiet snowfall and how the snowflakes caught on your lashes. He thought of that summer, driving to the beach, the wind in your hair and the sun beaming down on you, like the world itself couldn’t touch you as long as you were together.

He thought of meeting you for the first time at six years old, running across the street and greeting you as if he’d known him your entire life. It was as if he’d found his other half that day, the person who made him feel complete even in his innocence.

But then, more painfully, he thought of meeting you for the first time again. Only this time, you hadn’t known him at all. 

With you, there was no need to fill the silence. Everything felt easy, natural, like you were meant to exist beside each other. You were his best friend, the one person who made him feel like himself. And suddenly, Yunho knew. 

It was you. 

The version of himself that existed when he was with you—that was who he truly was. It was a terrifying realization, but at the same time, it was the most certain thing he’d felt in a long time. You had always been the one constant in his life, the one person who made everything feel okay, even when it wasn’t.

And he didn’t want to lose that. He didn’t want to lose you.

He wanted a future with you.

Yunho swallowed, his pulse quickening, but for the first time in what felt like forever, his mind was clear. 

“I think…” he began, his voice steady, resolute, “I know where I want to go from here.”

Pushing open the door, the familiar chime rang through the shop. It was empty, save for you, and Yunho’s breath caught when he saw you standing behind the counter, bathed in the glow of fading daylight. 

He glanced over at you, watching the way you moved, how you seemed so different and yet so familiar. The person standing in front of him was still you, the same person he’d known since childhood. The memories from childhood rushed back again—the snow, the summer sun, the first time you played baseball together. It all made sense now, in ways it never had before.

“Yunho,” you greeted, your voice carrying a warmth as you lifted your hand with a graceful flick. The scroll hovering beside you shimmered for a moment, then dissolved into the air, disappearing as if it had never existed. 

“How are you feeling?” Yunho asked quietly. There was something boyish, almost shy, in the way he looked at you, like he was a kid again, standing in front of his crush, hoping for something, anything, that would tell him he was making the right choice.

“Better. Thank you for being here the other night. It seems like you were a big help to Wooyoung.”

"I'm glad to hear that," he murmured, his voice soft as his gaze lingered on you, his eyes softening as if he were seeing you for the first time all over again. There was a quiet admiration that he couldn’t quite hide, no matter how hard he tried to keep his emotions in check.

"I uh…" he hesitated, his eyes flickered away for a moment, as if searching for courage in the silence between you, “I’m leaving for Seoul. Just to take care of some things. I wanted to see you before I left.”

You tilted your head, curiosity lighting up your eyes, the corners of your lips lifting in that familiar way that made his heart stutter. A playful yet gentle hum escaped your lips. 

“Oh? And why’s that?”

Your question hung in the air, teasing him, pulling at the tangled mess of feelings he'd tried to bury for so long. He looked at you, a faint flush creeping up his neck as he struggled to find the right response. 

“I—” he started, but his voice faltered. His pulse quickened, and for a moment, he felt completely exposed. “I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.”

The air around you seemed to still, the gravity of his admission settling like dust in the corners of the emporium. The idea of leaving felt wrong to him, and yet it was inevitable, something he had to do. 

Your eyes softened with understanding, feeling more like home than any place he could go. Something in your gaze recognized him, sensing the invisible thread that tied you together. 

“No matter where you are,” you said quietly, your voice carrying the same calm assurance that had always soothed him, “the emporium will always be within reach. As will I.”

The words were simple, yet they held a promise—a promise that went beyond physical space or memory. The emporium was never bound by the ordinary rules of the world, and neither, it seemed, were you. Your small, understanding smile made Yunho feel that, despite the uncertainty, everything would be okay.

“Besides,” you continued, a playful glint flickering in your eyes, “I can always ask Wooyoung to lend a helping hand. He knows the way.”

“That cat does nothing but bully me,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, recalling how Wooyoung had made him a target of mischief.

Your laugh filled the space between you, a sound that seemed to chase away the heaviness for just a moment. Though Yunho tried to maintain his frown, the corners of his lips betrayed him, lifting into a reluctant smile. 

Even though you didn’t remember him, it didn’t matter. There was something deeper between you, something unshakeable. And that, in its own way, gave him the strength he needed to leave.

You stepped forward, that invisible thread that had always seemed to exist between you tugged at your heart, drawing you toward him. It was a connection that transcended words, possibly even space and time. Yunho’s eyes lingered on you, their quiet intensity making your heart skip a beat.

“The next time I come into the shop,” he began, his voice low, “I’ll be ready to make my wish.”

You searched his face, trying to read the depths of what he meant, but all you found was that same gentle fervor staring back at you. 

“You’ve thought about it?”

“I have,” he admitted. “With everything that’s happening, I think I finally know what I want.”

The weight of his words settled between you like a promise. Whatever his wish was, it wasn’t something to be rushed—it belonged to the future, a time when he was ready to claim it. And somehow, you understood that.

“I’ll be waiting,” you whispered, though you knew Yunho heard it.

As he turned to leave, a sudden thought gripped you, pulling you back from the brink of your goodbye. “Yunho… before you leave…”

He froze at the sound of his name on your lips, his heart fluttering. Every breath, every glance, vibrated with something unspoken, something powerful.

“Who are you?” you asked, your voice soft, tentative. “To me?”

<< iii | v >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya @syubseokie

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

I love this story😭 I’m so excited to see where it goes!

Low key fuck you wooyoung😭 you brought the toy in, you can’t be mad at Yunho when you stole it and brought it near her. His anger comes from a place of caring about her but the events wouldn’t have played out the same you fluffy menace. I got so mad when he talked to Yunho like that

I feel bad that Yunho is so miserable but I know he’s (hopefully) on the right path. Even if he and her don’t end up together, he’ll be in a better head space (this also goes for the next chapter but I wanted to reblog separately)

forget me not | iii

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 8K Warnings: mentions of death, grieving parents, wooyoung bullying yunho, poor attempts at humor, not proofread, alcohol use

Fic Masterlist

a/n: Hello, loves! The complete version of chapter iii is here! I accidentally uploaded an older version of the chapter from a second document without the ending. I didn’t realize it until I read through the chapter this morning. Thank you all so much for understanding, especially my followers who read the incomplete version. 🥰

The summer before your first year of university, your families planned a beach trip—a last chance to unwind together before life began pulling everyone in different directions. You, Yunho, and Gunho had piled into Yunho’s car, the backseat crammed with beach towels, coolers, and a haphazardly packed duffle bag that you had forgotten to zip up.

You were in the passenger seat, legs propped up on the dashboard, your hair dancing wildly around your face as the sunset bathed you in hues of orange and pink. You laughed at something Gunho said—a genuine, carefree laugh that Yunho hadn’t heard in so long, making his chest feel tight in the best possible way. 

He watched as you leaned back against the seat, head tilted toward the sun, eyes half-closed, a soft smile tugging at your lips. You looked so at ease, so content, as if the whole world had shrunk to just this moment—the wind in your face, the taste of salt on your lips, and the sound of the waves in the distance.

In that fleeting, infinite moment, something inside him shifted.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, your voice soft, almost lost in the sound of the wind. 

“Nothing… just trying not to drive us off this cliff,” he lied.

The rest of the drive passed in a blur, the sun sinking lower and lower, painting the sky in deep purples and blues. But Yunho’s thoughts were stuck on that one moment—on the way you looked illuminated by the sun, on the way his heart had seemed to stop and start all at once, and on the sudden, overwhelming realization that he loved you.

Maybe he’d always loved you.

The sound of harsh knocks woke Yunho up from his dream. His eyes, still heavy with the remnants of a restless night, blinked open as he tried to make sense of the noise. He hadn’t expected anyone to notice his arrival, much less confront him so early in the morning. After all, he had slipped into the house wordlessly, hoping to avoid any questions or concern.

He crossed the room and opened the door, blinking in surprise at the sight that greeted him. His family—his parents and brother—stood in the doorway, worried and confused. It wasn’t often that they all gathered like this, and certainly not at his door first thing in the morning. 

The trio glanced behind him as if expecting Haewon to suddenly appear, but the room was empty save for Yunho. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the weight of their concern only added to the burden he was already carrying. 

“I-Is everything okay? Did you come alone?” His father was first to speak, his voice tinged with concern. He scanned Yunho’s face for answers, searching for any sign of what might have driven him back home without a word. “Where’s Haewon?”

“We fought, she left the party. And now I’m here,” he finally said, his voice hoarse from the emotions that had been bottled up all night. 

“Oh, Yunho… I’m so sorry,” his mother said quietly, stepping closer to him. She reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you call us? You know you can come to us with anything.” 

“I didn’t want to worry you,” he mumbled, eyes averting his family.

Yunho could tell that his brother had already figured out that something major had happened. It was as if he was silently telling Yunho, “I told you so.”

His mother reached out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Well, we’re glad you’re home. Get some rest.”

Yunho nodded, feeling a small measure of relief as his family left him alone, giving him the space he needed. He pulled out his phone and checked his messages. Nothing from Haewon. He stared at the screen, willing a message to appear, but it remained stubbornly blank.

“What’d you fight about this time?” 

Yunho groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Apparently, I care too much about what people think,” he said, his voice muffled and heavy with frustration. “I tried to get her to slow down on the drinks. Didn’t help that Sungjae was there to instigate shit.”

And there it is, Gunho thought. “I take it that didn’t go over well?”

Yunho didn’t respond immediately. He let out a heavy sigh and shook his head slowly, the movement almost imperceptible at first, but growing more pronounced as he seemed to replay the events in his mind.

“No.”

The brothers sat in silence for a moment. Gunho observed his older brother with a thoughtful gaze, noting the strain in Yunho’s posture, the tension in his shoulders, and the worry clouding his eyes. It wasn’t just about the argument; it was about Yunho’s ongoing struggle to follow his own heart and make choices for himself—a challenge that seemed to be a recurring theme in his life.

After a moment of silence, Yunho’s eyes flickered with uncertainty. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated, his lips pressing together in a thin line. Finally, he exhaled softly and tried again, his voice barely above a whisper. 

“Do you think witches exist?”

Gunho paused, slack jawed as he processed the question. His brow furrowed, and he looked at Yunho as if trying to gauge his seriousness. "Are you high? We're Catholic.”

“Hear me out—last night, something strange happened. I left the party, came home and went for a walk because I couldn’t sleep. I ended up at this shop, and there was this…talking cat—”

“A talking cat?” Gunho’s voice dripped with skepticism, his eyebrows rising higher with each word.

“Yes!” Yunho replied, his voice trembling with urgency. He hesitated, the next words catching in his throat as the weight of what he was about to say sank in. "And Y/N was there. She’s alive, and she’s a…witch! She grants wishes!”

Gunho’s eyes widened, his expression shifting from mild concern to outright disbelief. He blinked several times, as if trying to clear the fog of confusion that had settled over him. 

"What’s gotten into you?"

Yunho ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his every movement. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’m telling you the truth. The cat spoke to me, and Y/N—she looked exactly the same as she did before she disappeared—”

Gunho’s disbelief turned to alarm. He stood up abruptly, his face set with feigned panic. 

"Dad! Call the church! We need an exorcism!"

“Wait, wait! I’m just speaking hypothetically. If Y/N was alive, and she was a witch with a talking cat. What would you do?” Yunho panicked, shooting up from his bed, grabbing Gunho’s arm in a desperate attempt to restrain him. 

“What would I do?" Gunho whispered loudly, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I’m calling Ghostbusters.”

“Seriously?”

“No!” Gunho exclaimed, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand, his exasperation evident. “Look, it sounds like wedding planning is taking a toll on you, and Haewon has been putting you through the wringer. You need to call her and talk this through and leave Y/N’s parents alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“They’re planning to legally declare her dead.”

“What?” Yunho’s voice cracked, the word barely more than a whisper. It was as if the air had been sucked out of the room, leaving him lightheaded. His face drained of all color, and for a moment, he couldn’t even feel his own heartbeat. 

“No, they wouldn’t—” he stammered, almost to himself, his eyes darting back and forth as if searching for an anchor. “Why would they…?”

“It’s been three years, Yunho. They want closure.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

Gunho’s face softened, his usual teasing expression slipping into something more serious, more compassionate. “No. Because I know you’d try to make a scene.”

“But I know what I saw!” Yunho shook his head, eyes wide with disbelief. “I need to go see them.”

“No, you won’t,” Gunho interrupted sharply, his voice cutting through the room. “They’ve exhausted every resource they had—money, time, everything they could think of—searching for her! They’ve been through hell and they’ve still not given up hope!”

Yunho’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching at his sides. “So what, I’m just supposed to sit back and let them pretend like she never existed?”

“You already have! You were planning a future without her! You don’t get to break down their door and demand they keep hurting just because you can’t accept what happened.”

Yunho stood frozen, Gunho’s words echoing in his mind, each one hitting like a blow to the chest. You were planning a future without her. He clenched his fists tighter, his knuckles turning white, trying to steady himself against the rush of guilt that surged through him. His breath came in shallow gasps as he struggled to find the right words, but nothing came out.

“The best thing you can do for her family is to let them move on.” 

Gunho gave Yunho's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before exiting the room, leaving Yunho to grapple with his emotions in the silence that followed.

Yunho trudged downstairs with a heavy sigh, sulking. His mind was a storm of emotions, and he needed something—anything—to keep himself busy. Spotting a rake propped against the wall, he grabbed it, determined to drown his thoughts in yard work.

“What’s gotten into him?” his dad muttered, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the counter.

“I don’t know,” his mom replied, her brow furrowed in concern. “Wedding stress, maybe? I should go check on him.”

“No, no, leave him,” his dad said, taking a sip of his coffee, taking a step back. “I won't have to rake for a few more weeks.”

Yunho, unaware of his family’s commentary, continued raking with single-minded determination. The storm in his head was still far from clearing, but for now, the rhythmic motion of the rake provided a small measure of solace.

“Yunho!”

He looked up, startled out of his thoughts by the familiar voice. Your mom was crossing the street toward him, her steps quick but steady, a wide smile on her face.

“Mrs. Lee?” Yunho said, a little surprised. He hadn’t expected to see anyone, especially not your family. 

“Oh, good, it’s you!” she replied, her eyes twinkling with warmth. “I have some vegetables from the garden to give to your mom! I’ll just go grab them—”

“Wait, let me help!” he called out, quickly setting the rake aside.

Gunho’s warning about leaving your family alone echoed in the back of his mind, but he shrugged it off. If fate handed him a chance, why not take it?

Yunho followed your mom into the house, feeling a strange sense of anticipation and hesitation. He almost expected to hear your laughter echo from the kitchen or see you dart around the corner like you always did. The place was so unchanged, as if your family had left everything exactly as it was, waiting for you to walk back in at any moment.

Your mom chuckled softly, a wistful sound that carried a hint of the weight she tried to hide. “I’ll be right back,” she murmured, then turned and disappeared out into the garden for a moment. 

Left alone in the silence, Yunho glanced up the stairs toward your room. The door at the end of the hallway was slightly ajar, just as he remembered, as if waiting for someone to push it open. It was almost unsettling how time seemed to have stood still in this house, like a snapshot of the past he had left behind.

“She hasn’t changed a thing, you know.”

Yunho nearly jumped at the sound of your father's voice, deep but muted, quieter and more restrained than he remembered. 

“Mr. Lee.”

Your father gave Yunho a wry smile and nodded in return. His eyes, though weary, held a warmth that spoke of countless memories. 

“Would you like to see her room?” he asked, his tone careful and tentative, as if he were offering something fragile and precious. 

Yunho hesitated for a moment, a lump forming in his throat as his eyes remained fixed on the door at the top of the stairs. He took a deep breath, trying to steady the rush of emotions churning inside him.

“I think… I’d like to see it,” he said quietly, almost surprising himself with the words.

It felt like stepping back in time. Your room was exactly as he remembered, every detail preserved with utmost care. His eyes wandered over the space—the bed neatly made, the books on the shelves just as you’d left them, even the small trinkets and photos scattered around, untouched by the years.

As Yunho’s eyes roamed the room, they landed on something small and familiar, half-hidden among the neatly arranged pillows on the bed. A tiny, plush golden retriever puppy keychain dangled from the edge of one pillow, its once-bright fur now dulled with age.

It was a silly thing, really—just a cheap keychain you’d won on a whim at the beach because it was “too cute” to pass up. 

“I’m gonna win that!” you exclaimed, your eyes sparkling with determination as you pulled him toward a booth with a shooting game. 

The stall was a riot of color, with rows of stuffed animals and toys hanging as prizes, but your eyes were immediately drawn to the plush puppy keychain hanging at the top, its small, floppy ears practically begging to be won.

“You think you can beat the rigged games, huh? I’d like to see that.”

“Just watch.”

The game was simple—hit all the targets with a toy gun and win a prize. 

Yunho stood back, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you take aim. The first few shots were close, but not quite on the target, and he could see the frustration building on your face. Then, with a deep breath, you steadied yourself, eyes narrowing in concentration, and fired again.

One by one, the targets fell, and Yunho’s smirk slowly transformed into a look of surprise. 

“Wait, you hit that?”

“Shh, you’re distracting me,” you’d shot back, not taking your eyes off the targets. 

Yunho’s mouth fell open in disbelief as the carnival worker handed you the plush puppy. Its tiny form was almost comically small compared to the larger prizes, but the way you beamed at it made it seem like the grandest prize of them all.

“Now I’ll always have a mini version of you with me all the time,” you cheered, nuzzling the plush affectionately. The gesture was playful, yet there was something so sincere in it that it made Yunho’s heart skip a beat. He watched as you twirled around, the puppy held high like a trophy.

He laughed, a soft, almost incredulous sound, as he watched you with the plushie. 

“Is that supposed to be me?”

“Of course! It’s small, it’s cute, and it’ll never leave my side. Just like you,” you said, bringing the plush to Yunho’s cheek. The soft fabric brushed against his skin, and he couldn’t help but smile at your infectious enthusiasm.

The toy puppy felt small and fragile in his hand as he held it up, examining it closely. He noticed the little details that had worn away with time. Despite the wear and tear, it was still unmistakably the same little puppy you had insisted on taking home that day.

“She always said that little toy would keep you close to her,” your father continued, his voice gentler now. “Even when you weren’t around. It was like her own piece of you.”

Yunho’s breath hitched, a swell of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. He hadn’t realized just how much you had held onto that day—how much that silly, little plush toy had meant to you. And now, holding it again, he could feel the weight of it, not just in his hand but in his heart.

“You should take it,” your father said quietly, taking a small step forward. “She would have wanted you to have it.”

Yunho blinked, surprised by the offer, his mind racing with uncertainty. The idea of taking something so intimately tied to you, something that had been your comfort, felt both right and wrong all at once. His grip on the plush tightened slightly as he struggled with the thought.

“I don’t know…” Yunho’s voice wavered with the storm of emotions churning inside him. “It’s hers. I don’t—”

“It was yours first,” your father interrupted gently. “Y/N always said she won it for you.” He paused, letting the weight of that statement settle before adding, “Maybe it’s time you take it back.”

Yunho looked down at the tiny plush again, memories of that day at the beach rushing back like a wave, crashing over him and leaving him feeling raw and exposed. He could hear your voice in his head, so full of life and mischief: “Now I’ll always have a mini version of you with me all the time.”

Yunho heard the familiar creak of the screen door as it swung open, followed by the soft, comforting murmur of your mother’s voice drifting in from downstairs. He glanced over the railing just in time to see her making her way into the kitchen carrying a large basket overflowing with vegetables. 

“Wow, that’s…a lot!” he exclaimed, his tone a little too cheerful as he descended the stairs. The basket of vegetables was heavier than he expected, and he almost stumbled under its weight, but he managed to catch himself, laughing awkwardly. 

“Oh, nonsense,” your mom replied with a wave of her hand. “There’s plenty more where that came from. The garden’s been overflowing this year.”

Yunho nodded, trying to keep his smile steady, though his heart tightened a little in his chest. Your mom always spoke to him like he was still a kid, like he was just Yunho, the boy who used to run around your backyard playing tag with you, the boy who had always been welcome in your home.

“Thanks, Mrs. Lee,” he said softly, adjusting the basket in his arms. “I’m sure my mom will make good use of them.”

Your mom beamed at him, but there was something else in her eyes, something that looked like a mix of hope and… sadness? 

“I heard you’ve been busy with wedding preparations.”

Yunho’s smile wavered for just a moment before he quickly forced it back into place. “Yes, we’ve been busy,” he answered, his tone carefully even. He felt a faint flush rise in his cheeks, the familiar discomfort returning. He felt guilty. 

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his face, searching for something. 

“That’s good to hear,” she said slowly. “I’m happy for you.”

Yunho’s chest tightened at her words. He could sense the weight of what wasn’t being said—the unspoken questions hovering between them. Have you heard anything? Have you seen her? Do you know where she is?

“Thank you, I… I appreciate that.” 

There was a sudden knock at the door, interrupting the silence that had settled over the room. Your mom’s eyes widened slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face.

"Oh! That might be Yeosang," your mom exclaimed, turning towards the door. "He’s picking up vegetables for his mom. Always so helpful, that boy."

Yunho froze. The last time he and Yeosang had been in the same room was right after you’d disappeared, when everything fell apart. Yeosang was his high school friend, baseball teammate, and roommate in college. And then, without warning, you were gone, and in the aftermath, something within the friendship shifted. 

“I-I should probably go,” Yunho stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the thought of facing Yeosang brought a rush of emotions he wasn’t ready to confront.

Your mom’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly regained her composure. “Please, feel free to stop by anytime. Don’t be a stranger,” she said, her voice warm but tinged with a hint of wistfulness. 

“Take care of yourself, Yunho.”

Yunho nodded, forcing a small smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Lee,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. 

Before he could even fully gather his thoughts, the door swung open, and there stood Yeosang. He looked the same and yet different, his features sharper, more tired, as if the last three years had weighed heavily on him. His dark hair was shorter now, and the casual smile he used to carry so easily was nowhere to be seen. 

“Yunho,” Yeosang said, his voice quieter than Yunho remembered but carrying an unreadable undertone. “Didn’t know you were in town.”

Yunho nodded stiffly, his heart pounding in his chest. “Yeah,” he finally managed, his voice rough and strained. “Just for the weekend.”

“Right, well. Take care,” Yeosang bristled as he brushed past Yunho, their shoulders bumping as he entered your house.

Yunho watched as Yeosang turned away, regret twisting in his gut. He knew he hadn’t always been the greatest friend. Maybe that’s why Mingi had been the only one who stuck around through all the chaos.

The thing Wooyoung enjoyed the most about being your familiar is the freedom to move between realms—particularly between the shop and the human world. Wooyoung never took that for granted. While other familiars were bound by strict rules, limited to wherever their masters commanded, he reveled in the freedom you’d given him. It allowed him to slip through the veil with ease, to explore and indulge in the chaotic beauty of the human world whenever the mood struck.

The human world was loud, vibrant, and unpredictable—everything the quiet stillness of the shop wasn’t. It was chaotic in a way Wooyoung found addicting. His sharp eyes tracked the flow of spirits weaving through the city, watching them play their games with humans who couldn’t even feel their presence.

Amongst the endless stream of humans, a familiar figure crossed the street, carefully balancing a basket of vegetables in his arms. Without thinking twice, Wooyoung rose from the bench, staying a few paces behind, invisible to everyone but the spirits who flitted past him. The cat’s attention was suddenly drawn to a small, familiar scent wafting from Yunho’s pocket. The scent was faint but unmistakable—it was you. 

Wooyoung’s lips curled, not quite into a smile, more like a grimace. Yunho, with his head held high, as if carrying that basket was a grand mission, as if everything he did had some righteous purpose. It was typical, really. Yunho always had to do the right thing. The problem was, he didn’t even know what his right thing was. He followed what everyone else wanted, what everyone else needed him to be.

His whiskers twitched as he crouched low, calculating his next move. With a sudden burst of speed, he bolted between Yunho’s legs, his body weaving skillfully to trip him up. Yunho staggered, arms flailing as he fought to regain his balance, the basket teetering in his grip. The plush puppy slipped from his pocket, tumbling to the ground as his eyes widened in surprise.

“What the hell?” Yunho muttered, recognizing the culprit as he glared down at the black cat. Wooyoung pranced away with the toy clutched in his mouth. The plushie bobbed along with the cat’s every step. 

“Hey wait!” Yunho called out. He chased after the cat, his long strides quickly closing the distance. But Wooyoung, agile and quick, darted around a corner before Yunho could grab him.

Yunho cursed under his breath, hot on Wooyoung’s trail only to find him standing still, tail flicking lazily from side to side. The cat met his eyes with a smug look before trotting away again, slower this time as if daring Yunho to follow.

He kept his eyes locked on Wooyoung as they navigated the familiar streets. It didn’t take long for Yunho to realize they were heading toward the park. He halted at the park’s edge, glaring at Wooyoung, who had perched himself on a bench, the plushie still clutched in his mouth.

“Give it back,” Yunho demanded, bending over slightly as he set the basket of vegetables down on the ground. 

Wooyoung tilted his head, eyes twinkling with mischief as if he found Yunho’s frustration entertaining. The soft purr that escaped him was almost mocking. With a casual stretch, Wooyoung leapt off the bench and padded into the emporium.

Yunho’s breath hitched as he recognized the building, a different kind of tension curling in his stomach. But instead of the uncertainty like he’d felt the last time, something else stirred inside him. He straightened up, trying to calm his racing heart, and squared his shoulders. If Wooyoung wanted him to follow, fine. He’d play along, but the truth was, he didn’t mind seeing you again.

The door creaked open, and the chime above rang softly, announcing his entrance. Yunho stepped inside, and the familiar scent of incense and jasmine immediately filled his senses. His pulse quickened as he scanned the room, searching for any sign of you. He hadn’t seen you since his last visit—last night—which now seemed like a fever dream.

“Back again?”

Your voice broke through the quiet with just the right amount of teasing. Yunho flinched and turned toward the sound of your voice, finding you leaning against the counter, watching him with that same knowing smile. His heart did a little flip, and he hated how it made him feel like an awkward teenager.

“Y-Yeah, well,” Yunho stammered, pulling the basket of vegetables closer to his chest like it could shield him from the intensity of the moment. “Wooyoung led me here.”

He felt ridiculous, standing there clutching a basket of produce like he was on his way to market and not caught up in a strange game with a cat and a shopkeeper who seemed to know him better than he knew himself. You raised an eyebrow as you eyed the basket in his arms. 

“Is that your form of payment?”

Yunho’s face flushed at your comment, his grip tightening on the basket. “N-No! It’s not, I mean…” He stopped, realizing how absurd he sounded and let out a frustrated sigh. “Wooyoung took something that belonged to me and now I’m here.”

Your gaze lingered on him, eyes glinting with curiosity and something deeper. “So, what did he steal?”

Yunho’s heart skipped a beat as he remembered the plush. “A memento,” he muttered, hoping you wouldn’t press further. The last thing he wanted was to explain why a grown man had been chasing after a stuffed toy.

“A memento?” you asked, leaning forward slightly, your voice dropping to a lower, more intimate tone. 

“It’s um…a plush toy,” he said quietly. “I’m not ready to make a wish. I just need to get it back, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

For a moment, Yunho felt the intensity of your gaze pierce right through him, as if you could see the threads of his thoughts unraveling before you. Then your smile softened, becoming something warmer, more genuine. 

“Let me find him,” you offered, the hint of a laugh playing at the corner of your lips.

His heart pounded as you crossed the shop, your eyes scanning the dim corners with practiced ease in search of your familiar and his many hiding spots. In a secluded corner, Wooyoung was already engrossed in playing with the toy puppy. 

The toy bounced lightly with each bat of his paw, his eyes following it intently. Occasionally, he would use his back paws to give the plush a gentle nudge, adding an extra layer of dexterity to his game. The soft, faded toy seemed almost alive in his paws, bouncing and rolling with a life of its own.

“Wooyoung,” you called out softly. The cat paused mid-bat, one paw frozen in the air, his gaze shifting from the toy to you. 

“Why are you interrupting my game?”

“Because that’s Yunho’s toy, not yours.”

The cat stared at you, his head tilting slightly, contemplating your request. “Is it really Yunho’s though?”

“Of course it is, he just told me.”

“What do I get out of it?”

You suppressed a sigh. Negotiating with Wooyoung was always like this. “You can have two americanos instead of one,” you offered, knowing his weakness.

Wooyoung’s eyes glinted with something unreadable, before letting out an exaggerated sigh. "Fine,” he muttered dramatically. He dropped the plush toy, but not before giving it one last playful nudge with his paw, sending it rolling toward you. 

You laughed softly, scooping up the toy and brushing off the imaginary dust. As your fingers grazed the soft, worn fabric, a rush of unbidden emotions swept through you. Your breath hitched as a sharp, blinding pain struck, leaving you momentarily breathless and disoriented.

You, Yunho, and Gunho had crammed yourselves into Yunho’s car, the backseat overflowing with beach towels, coolers, and a duffle bag you had stuffed to the brim without even bothering to zip it up. You had claimed the passenger seat early, stretching your legs out on the dashboard, your bare feet tapping along to the music blaring from the radio.

Gunho was in the backseat, animatedly recounting a ridiculous story from his summer job—something about a customer who had mistaken him for an idol look alike. You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound bursting from you in a way that felt unrestrained and unburdened. You hadn’t realized how much you needed this—this space, this moment, this sense of freedom that came from being on the open road with the people you cared about most.

As you laughed, you glanced over at Yunho, catching the way his eyes flickered toward you. His expression was relaxed, but there was something else there, something you couldn’t quite place.

“What’s on your mind?” you asked softly, your voice almost lost in the wind that whipped through the open windows.

Yunho hesitated for a fraction of a second, and you caught the quick glance he gave you. “Nothing… just trying not to drive us off this cliff,” he replied with a chuckle, but you heard the slight hitch in his voice, the way it sounded lighter than usual, like he was holding back. 

You had no idea that Yunho’s heart had stopped and started all at once. That he had been looking at you in a new light, one that had been slowly unfurling within him like a secret waiting to be discovered. You didn’t know that he was memorizing the way you looked, capturing your joy, a memory he would hold onto tightly.

The memory seemed to fracture, and you felt yourself stumbling, your balance faltering as your vision blurred. The shop lanterns flickered erratically, casting shadows that danced across the walls. Your magic surged uncontrollably, pulsing in time with your racing heart, shaking the shop. The floor beneath you seemed to tilt, and the sound of glass rattling on the shelves filled your ears, adding to the chaos as you struggled to regain control.

Your breath came in shallow bursts, each inhale catching in your throat as you fought to keep control. The room spun violently, and the last thing you saw before everything went black was Yunho, his mouth moving as he called out to you, his voice lost in the chaos of your collapsing world. 

“Is she going to be okay?”

Wooyoung paced back and forth at the foot of the bed, having shed his feline form for his human one, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Yunho stood beside the bed, his eyes never leaving your still form, his hand hovering just above yours, unsure if touching you would help or make things worse as the healer examined you. 

“She’ll pull through, right?” Yunho’s voice was hoarse, cracking under the weight of his worry. He looked to the healer, his eyes pleading for an answer, for reassurance. But the healer remained focused, murmuring incantations under his breath, his hands moving methodically as they worked to bring you back from the edge of unconsciousness.

“Of course she will!” Wooyoung’s voice cut through the tension, though it lacked its usual sharpness. He sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Yunho. 

Whatever had caused you to collapse wasn’t physical. The mental overload, the chaotic energy that had swirled around you before you passed out—it had rattled him too, and that was saying something.

"She’ll be fine," Jongho said, his voice firm and reassuring. "Her body was overwhelmed, and she just needs rest now."

Yunho exhaled shakily, the tension melting from his shoulders as he cautiously approached the bed once more. His eyes darted nervously between you and Jongho, fearing that a single blink might cause you to vanish again.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice filled with gratitude. 

Jongho gave a brief nod, acknowledging the gratitude, but his expression remained serious. "But," he added, his voice taking on a sharper edge, "whatever she experienced caused her magic to destabilize. If it happens again, the consequences could be severe. I'll let Hongjoong know as well," he advised. 

Wooyoung, bowed as Jongho turned away. With a final glance at the two, he stepped back, and his form began to waver. In a matter of moments, he disappeared into a shroud of mist, leaving the room feeling colder, quieter, and more uncertain.

“Who’s Hongjoong?” Yunho asked, as he followed Wooyoung out of your room, the door closing softly behind them.

Wooyoung halted abruptly in the dimly lit hallway, his back stiffening at Yunho’s question. He didn’t turn around immediately, but Yunho could see the tension radiating from him, his hands curling into fists at his sides. For a long moment, the silence between them stretched, taut and uncomfortable.

“The former keeper.” 

Yunho blinked, his brow furrowing in confusion. “You mean before Y/N?” he repeated, his mind racing to make sense of the words. 

Wooyoung let out a sharp breath, his frustration palpable as he whipped around. “Yes. Before Y/N.” Your name felt foreign to him, the syllables awkward and unfamiliar in his mouth, as if he were saying it for the first time since you took over. 

“He travels through different realms but stops by periodically,” Wooyoung continued, his voice tight. “He’s not completely removed from the emporium and oversees things when he can, but his presence is more… transient.”

“So Hongjoong left, and Y/N…took over? Why?”

Wooyoung’s eyes darkened, his lips pressing into a thin line as he considered Yunho’s question. For a moment, he hesitated, as if weighing whether he should answer at all. His gaze flicked to the closed door of your room, and his shoulders tensed, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

“She made the decision to take over the shop.”

“What decision?” he stammered, searching Wooyoung's expression for answers. “What are you saying?” Yunho took a step closer, a sense of dread creeping over him.

“It’s not my place to explain the intricacies of her wish,” he said dismissively. “She chose this path, and that’s all you need to know.”

Yunho’s heart raced, his mind struggling to decipher Wooyoung’s cryptic words. It was an eerie coincidence that the keeper of the emporium looked so much like you, had the same eyes, the same smile, and Yunho had wanted to dismiss it. It couldn’t be you. You were gone. 

But now… Now the truth was staring him in the face, undeniable and cruel. His breath caught in his throat, and a cold dread crept over him, settling in his bones. He felt as if the world had tilted on its axis, like everything he thought he knew had been torn away, leaving him vulnerable. 

“You’re saying she wished for this?” There was a raw edge to his question, as if he already knew the answer but was begging Wooyoung to deny it, to tell him he was wrong, to give him anything but the truth that was slowly dawning on him.

Wooyoung’s gaze didn’t waver, his expression tight with a mixture of anger and something else—pity. 

“Why are you surprised?” His voice was flat, edged with a bitter indifference. “You’re the one who left her.” 

Yunho staggered under the accusation, pain crossing his face. He wanted to argue, to defend himself, but how could he? You had been here. All this time. And not by some cruel twist of fate, but by choice. You had deliberately chosen to be bound to this realm—to erase him and everything you knew. The thought sent an ache through his chest, tightening around his heart.

He opened his mouth to speak, to say something—to plead, to ask why—but nothing came. His voice failed him, just as he had failed you. The anguish was too much, too vast to be put into words, too heavy to be released through something as simple as a scream. 

“You should leave,” Wooyoung said, his voice cutting through the silence like a blade. “You don’t deserve answers. Even if you begged, I wouldn’t tell you a thing.”

What Wooyoung despised most about being your familiar was the burden of serving as the memory keeper. While you handled the day-to-day operations of the shop and Hongjoong ventured out to retrieve artifacts or act as a diplomat, Wooyoung was left with the inescapable duty of preserving every single memory from all the masters he had and will serve. Bound to their pasts, their secrets, he carried the weight of their stories, unable to forget even when they could.

Hongjoong materialized in a cloud of shimmering smoke, his sharp eyes scanning the shop floor. The gentle, ambient light from the antique lanterns bathed the space in a warm glow, yet an undercurrent of tension seemed to cling to the shadows. His gaze landed on a puppy plush, discarded on the floor amidst other artifacts and foliage from the hanging garden. The puppy’s cheerful smile stood out starkly against the surrounding chaos.

With a swift motion of his hand over the toy, and from the core of the plush, a luminous roll of film materialized, gently floating in the air. It hovered momentarily, suspended in time, before slowly unspooling, revealing its footage as it unraveled.

As the film unspooled, Hongjoong's eyes narrowed, his focus sharpening as the day's events played out before him. He watched in real-time: Yunho picking up the toy plush in your room, followed by Wooyoung’s quiet theft of it. 

Then, the film glitched, focusing on you. There you were, reaching out, your fingers gently brushing the surface of the toy before collapsing and sending the shop into disarray.

Hongjoong, his eyes still locked on the shimmering roll of film, spoke without breaking his concentration. His voice was soft, carrying a hint of teasing laced with affection as his former familiar approached. 

“Wooyoung, what did I say about bringing home things from the outside world?”

The tone was light and almost playful, with no trace of malice. It was as if Hongjoong were gently chiding a child for a minor infraction, rather than addressing a serious breach of protocol. 

“I couldn’t resist,” he replied, his voice equally soft. The film continued to unspool, casting its warm glow over the shop, and Wooyoung allowed himself a moment of quiet reflection.

The sorcerer sighed, the sound heavy with the weariness of someone who had witnessed countless lives become entangled with the emporium and its mysteries. Whatever had happened in that moment—whatever had caused Yunho to cling to you so desperately, and Wooyoung to shout with such alarm—was beyond ordinary. 

“This,” he began softly, almost as if speaking to himself, “triggered something she shouldn’t have been able to recall.”

You stood in the shadows, having woken up from your slumber. The unsettling feeling of losing control of your magic and the shop falling into disarray was unsettling to you. Your footsteps echoed softly through the emporium, as you quickly searched for answers. 

Moving through the dimly lit aisles, your eyes darted around, seeking any sign of what had gone wrong. The once orderly shelves were now in disarray, items scattered haphazardly as if a storm had swept through. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a reminder of the urgency of the situation.

You paused, your breath catching in your throat as you spotted Hongjoong and Wooyoung deep in conversation. Their voices were hushed, the tone serious and urgent. You edged closer, trying to remain unseen, just outside the circle of light cast by the flickering film reel.

The film reel projected its light across the shop floor. You blinked, trying to clear your mind, but the footage of you in Yunho’s arms persisted, haunting your thoughts. The image was vivid, each detail etched into your memory—the warmth of his embrace, the desperation in his eyes, the sense of safety you felt despite the chaos around you.

“Is it the realm?” Wooyoung asked, thoughtfully rubbing his chin. 

“No,” Hongjoong replied, his voice low but certain. “The realm doesn’t work that way—not without a purpose.”

“Then what is it?”

“The toy. Objects from the human world can retain emotional imprints or energies. Memories, emotions, fragments of who they were…these things can linger waiting for the right moment to resurface.”

Hongjoong paused, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. You stood just outside light, trying to make yourself small, unseen. But you could feel his gaze, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

“In most cases,” he continued, “those imprints are harmless, barely noticeable. But this is different.” His eyes flicked back to Wooyoung. “This isn’t just a simple memory trigger. Fate had already tied their threads together. This is something the universe—the gods and even the realm itself—refuses to let them forget.”

If your destiny was bound to Yunho, then who was he to you? Why did his presence, his touch, suddenly stir feelings of longing, grief, and a sense of something lost—a wound you couldn’t remember receiving?

Yunho tipped his head back, downing another shot of whatever the bartender had put in front of him. He didn’t care what it was anymore. It burned on the way down, but it wasn’t enough to numb the storm raging inside him. The chaos of the emporium, the sight of you collapsing after the explosion of magic, your presence somehow bound to that cursed realm—it all kept playing on a loop in his head, tormenting him.

"She chose this path, and that’s all you need to know."

Wooyoung’s words had been sharp, final, but they did nothing to ease the ache in Yunho’s chest. He slammed the glass down, signaling for another drink as the questions ate at him. He didn’t know what was worse—the agony of knowing you were still alive or the realization that the life he had been living was a complete lie–a life he constructed to convince himself that he could live a life without you. 

His fingers curled tightly around his engagement ring, his thumb tracing the delicate band over and over again, as if the repetitive motion could somehow make sense of the chaos in his mind. But the more he held it, the heavier it became.

Haewon didn’t deserve to be dragged down into the turmoil that churned inside him now. He was supposed to be the steady one, the one who always knew what to do. But he didn’t. He wasn’t who she thought he was anymore.

And maybe he never had been.

Yunho swallowed the lump in his throat, a bitter realization sinking deep into his chest: the love that should have filled this ring had vanished—no, it had never been there. Because the person who was meant to wear the other ring was never Haewon. 

His head swam, the barstool beneath him teetering as he reached for yet another drink, but this time the bartender shot him a warning glance. Not that it mattered—he was already beyond wasted, barely able to hold himself upright. 

“You look like shit,” a voice said from behind him, cutting through the fog of his drunken haze.

Yunho didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. "Just… just what I needed. The judgment parade,” he slurred, his words thick and clumsy. Yeosang slid wordlessly onto the stool next to him, his expression unreadable.

A tense silence settled between them, thick and suffocating. For a moment, Yunho braced himself, half-expecting Yeosang to get up and walk away. It wouldn’t be the first time Yunho had driven someone important out of his life. But Yeosang stayed. He remained seated, a steady presence, his expression unreadable. Maybe he was waiting for Yunho to speak—waiting for some kind of explanation, an apology, anything. 

“You were right,” Yunho began, his voice filled with emotion as he struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. He sniffled, trying to compose himself, but the weight of his guilt was crushing. 

“I was so caught up in my own shit that I forgot how to be a friend. I got so lost in trying to be something I’m not—this perfect version of myself that everyone expected me to be—and now look at me.” A humorless laugh escaped him, rough and bitter, echoing with self-loathing.

“And when you tried to tell me I wasn’t doing anything to stand up for Y/N… I shut you down. I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to admit that you were right, and then… fuck, she just disappeared,” he choked, the last word catching in his throat.

“I thought I was being a good friend by staying out of it, by not getting involved with Haewon’s friends and our friendship by… by pretending it would all just work itself out.” He paused, his breath hitching as he struggled to find the right words, the right way to explain the depth of his regret. “But… I was just a coward.”

Yeosang watched him closely, feeling a strange sense of catharsis. For years, he had been angry—no, furious—with Yunho for what felt like forever. For not seeing, for not fighting, for letting things fall apart.

“It was never about being right,” Yeosang said softly, his voice barely audible above the din of the bar.

Yunho looked at him, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I wasn’t there for you either, Yeosang. I know I ditched you both and Mingi, and tried to push you out of your comfort zone. Tried to get you to be more like...Haewon’s friends, but I didn’t see how unfair that was. You didn’t need to change.”

Yeosang watched Yunho for a long moment, the silence stretching between them before he said something. “You kept pretending that everything was fine, but we knew. We all saw it. And when we tried to tell you, you just… shut down.”

Yunho’s shoulders slumped further under the weight of Yeosang’s words. He swallowed hard, his throat dry, his heart pounding in his chest. “I thought… if I could just make it work with Haewon, that would fix everything. That if I could fit into her world, I’d prove something to myself, to everyone. But I lost sight of what really mattered. I don’t know how to make it right.”

He exhaled, a shaky breath that felt like it had been trapped in his lungs for years. “I’m sorry, Yeosang,” he whispered, just enough for his friend to hear. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

“You don’t need to make it right,” Yeosang finally replied, his tone surprisingly gentle. “You can’t undo what’s already done. But… owning up to the fact that you fucked up? That’s a start. That’s more than you’ve done in a long time.”

Yunho nodded, his head hanging low, and for a moment, he was silent, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. Then, out of nowhere, a sob broke from his lips, a raw, broken sound that made Yeosang’s heart clench.

“I got bullied by a cat,” Yunho blurted out, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Y/N has a cat, and he can shapeshift and talk…and he was bullying me!”

Yeosang blinked, caught completely off guard. “What?”

“He… he stole Y/N’s plushie from me!” Yunho’s voice rose, almost hysterical, the words tumbling out in a rush between hiccups. “Then he said—he said that even if I begged, he’d never tell me anything about her! And then he kicked me out!”

Yunho suddenly clutched his head, his fingers digging into his hair as his eyes went wide with a new kind of panic. “Oh my god, the vegetables. I forgot the vegetables!” he wailed, his voice breaking on the last word. 

Yeosang stared at him, his expression a mix of disbelief and bewilderment. He had seen Yunho drunk and emotional before, but this was…something else. 

“Okay, okay… just… hold on a second,” Yeosang muttered, pulling out his phone and quickly dialing Gunho. As he listened to the call connect, a small, faint smile appeared on his face. For the first time in three years, a glimmer of normalcy was returning to their lives.

<< ii | iv >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds @xuchiya

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

I’m in LOVE with this story!

I can’t wait for the next part 🥹

(Forgetting everything but running the shop made me think of when SpongeBob emptied his head of everything except Fine dining and breathing😂)

forget me not | ii

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x witch!Reader AU: non-idol | supernatural Summary: Yunho should be happy--he's got everything going for him and he's set to marry the love of his life! So why is he standing outside of your shop on the night of his engagement party? Word Count: 7.7K Warnings: swearing, allusions to self disappearing, mentions of ghosts and the unliving

Fic Masterlist

a/n: ngl, I teared up writing this chapter. poll results were also incorporated into the plot 🤭

The sun was setting behind the outfield, casting a golden hue over the empty baseball diamond. You sat on the bleachers with your journal in hand, taking in the post-practice calm of the field, as you waited for Yunho. 

Fall had arrived, bringing with it crisp weather, cozy sweaters, and the start of your final year of high school. In the soft light, you focused intently on your sketchbook, your pencil moving deftly across the pages. You were engrossed in capturing the essence of a black cat in various poses—the cat’s form, rendered in fluid lines and delicate shading, seemed to come to life on the page.

“You know black cats are bad luck,” Yunho chuckled, his voice warm and teasing as he leaned closer to peer at your sketches. His tone carried a light-heartedness that matched the playful glint in his eyes.

You glanced up, catching his gaze with a smile. “They’re just little guys,” you pouted, brow furrowing in mock frustration. 

“How was your meeting with the counselor?” he asked, gaze drifting over the field he loved so much. The question carried a note of genuine curiosity, and his eyes, shaded by the brim of his cap, held a look of earnest concern. 

You shrugged. “It was okay,” the words drifted out as you turned back to the sketches. “Just a lot to think about. What did you tell her?”

Yunho hummed thoughtfully. “Told her I’m going to hit up the Tigers and build a winning team.” His voice was filled with a quiet determination, the kind that comes from years of dreaming and planning.

“But of course,” you snorted. There was something comforting about Yunho’s single-minded devotion to the sport, a constant in a world that felt increasingly uncertain as graduation loomed closer.

“It’s a long shot, but I’m willing to work for it.” His eyes lit up with a spark of determination, the same spark that had driven him to countless early morning practices and late-night games. You’d seen firsthand how much effort Yunho put into everything he did, how deeply he cared about his teammates and the sport itself. There was no doubt in your mind that he could make his dream a reality.

Yunho’s gaze softened as he turned to you, his expression sincere. 

“Did you explore any career options with her?”

You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of excitement and uncertainty swirl in your chest. “Not really. I’ve got some ideas, but nothing’s set in stone.”

“What about art? Or photography? You’re a great photographer and you’re always sketching in your journal.” 

A small smile played on your lips as you considered his words. “Yeah, but I’d probably hate it if I made a career out of it,” you sighed, closing the leather-bound book with a soft thud. There was a truth in that statement you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now. The idea of turning your art into a career felt like it would strip away the joy and freedom that came with creating something purely for yourself.

But now, as you stood on the brink of a new chapter in your life, you realized how much you had relied on Yunho. His presence had been a constant, a safety net that you had come to depend on. The thought of making decisions without his input was daunting, and you felt a pang of anxiety at the prospect.

Yunho’s brow furrowed slightly, and he seemed to weigh your words carefully before responding. “I get that. But whatever you choose, just make sure it’s something that makes you happy. That’s what really matters.”

The two of you sat in comfortable silence for a while, watching the last rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon. As the stars began to twinkle in the night sky, Yunho stood up, offering you a hand. 

“Ready?” he asked, his voice breaking the peaceful silence, but not disturbing the tranquility of the moment. 

You looked up at him, taking in the sight of his relaxed posture, the way his cap sat slightly askew on his head, and the easy smile that always seemed to come so naturally to him. There was something reassuring about Yunho, a steadiness that made even the quietest of moments feel meaningful.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, slipping your hand into his. His grip was warm and steady, and as he helped you to your feet, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of ease wash over you. 

“Where are we going for dinner?” he asked, picking up his bag. 

“How about that little place by the river? The one with the outdoor seating?” you suggested, glancing up at him.

Yunho’s face brightened at your suggestion, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Perfect. I’ve been craving their chicken skewers.”

“What can I say? I know what you like,” you grinned, bumping your shoulder into his. 

You drifted away from Yunho, your steps slow and aimless, as if the ground beneath you had shifted in a way that left you unmoored. The path ahead was shrouded in darkness, the streetlights casting long, eerie shadows that seemed to stretch out toward you, mocking your loneliness. 

The cold breeze stung your cheeks, mingling with the tears that you couldn’t hold back any longer. You wiped at them hastily, but more kept coming, each one a reminder of how much tonight had hurt. The heartbreak was overwhelming. It wasn’t just the loss of your best friend; it was the loss of a part of yourself. 

Sixteen years. You’d grown up together, sharing secrets, dreams, and fears. Yunho was there for you when you felt like the world was too much to handle, offering a shoulder to cry on and words of encouragement that always seemed to make things better. 

You thought back to one of those moments, a memory that stood out vividly despite the passage of time. You were eleven, and the world felt like it was crumbling around you. Your dog had passed away, and the weight of it was too much for your young heart to bear. 

You called Yunho right away, your voice breaking as you tried to hold back the tears. You didn’t need to explain; he just knew. Within minutes, he was at your house, breathless from running across the street. He wrapped a lanky arm around your shoulder the entire time you cried, hoping he could shield you from the pain that was tearing you apart.

Or the time you got a ‘C’ on your first big exam in university. You were devastated, convinced that you weren’t good enough, that you would never succeed. The weight of disappointment was crushing, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had let everyone down, including yourself.

He dragged you out of your dorm that day, refusing to let you wallow in self-pity. Despite your protests, he insisted you needed a change of scenery. You spent the afternoon at the art museum, wandering through the quiet halls filled with the vibrant colors and intricate details of the paintings and sculptures. The silence of the museum was a balm to your frazzled nerves, allowing you to lose yourself in the art, if only for a little while.

But Yunho, being Yunho, couldn’t let you leave without doing something more to lift your spirits. As you were about to head out, he steered you toward the gift shop, his eyes bright with an idea he hadn’t yet shared. You half-heartedly browsed the shelves, not really in the mood to buy anything, but Yunho seemed determined.

“Wait here,” he said, flashing you a quick smile before disappearing behind a display of postcards. Moments later, he returned, his hands hidden behind his back, a mischievous grin on his face.

“Close your eyes,” he instructed, and despite your skepticism, you complied, hearing the faint rustle of a small bag.

“Okay, open them,” Yunho’s voice was filled with barely contained excitement. When you did, you found him holding out a small, carefully wrapped package, tied with a simple ribbon. “This is for you.”

You unwrapped the gift, your heart swelling as you revealed a figurine of a golden retriever. The dog’s playful expression, with eyes full of joy, instantly brought a smile to your face. It was so perfectly Yunho—loyal, dependable, always bringing a bit of sunshine into your life, even when things seemed bleak.

As you felt a lump in your throat, tears began to well up in your eyes. You couldn’t hold them back and immediately started sobbing, drawing attention from onlookers. It was such a small thing, a simple gesture, but it meant everything to you in that moment. The figurine was more than just a gift; it was a symbol of Yunho’s unwavering friendship and his ability to understand you in ways no one else could. Through your tears, you managed to smile at him, grateful for his presence and the comfort he brought into your life.

How could someone who once knew you so intimately now feel so distant, so unreachable? It was as if you were looking into the eyes of a stranger, and the realization was like a knife to the heart. You were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, trying to make sense of a world where your best friend had become your greatest adversary.

Stopping at the edge of the river’s walkway, you watched the water move steadily, its surface deceptively calm. You longed for that same tranquility, that same sense of direction. Instead, you felt lost, adrift in a sea of emotions you couldn’t navigate. The cold night air wrapped around you like a shroud, beckoning you into its deceptively calm waters.

“Sad… Sad…”

It was hypnotic. Shadows danced along the water’s edge, and you could almost hear the whispers of spirits wandering through the night. Their presence was palpable, a chilling reminder of the unseen forces at play. The river pulsed with an otherworldly energy, drawing you closer, tempting you to step into its depths and join the spectral procession.

The spirits seemed to take notice of you, drawn to the sorrow that weighed heavily on your heart. They circled closer, their ethereal forms flickering in the moonlight. You felt their cold, ghastly fingers brush against your skin, feeding off your anguish, growing stronger with each passing moment. They were inviting you to surrender to the darkness, to become one with the night.

“Hungry… hungry… ” they murmured, their words merging into a single, chilling plea. It was as if they were lured by the raw, unfiltered emotion, driven by an insatiable hunger that could only be sated by consuming your sorrow. 

The weight of grief, loss, and betrayal from someone you loved suffocated you, pressing down on your chest like a vice. You looked around, desperate for some sign of relief, but the ghosts were relentless. Their forms circled you, their murmurs growing louder, more insistent. The despair you felt seemed to feed their hunger, making their presence even more intense, more invasive.

“Give in…” one spirit whispered directly into your ear, its cold breath sending another shiver down your spine. “Let us take it… let us take the pain…”

Desperation clawed at you, and you tried to push them away, but your hands passed through their ghastly bodies. The more you struggled, the more they seemed to tighten their grip, as if they were trying to pull you into their world, to make you one of them. The night air seemed to close in around you, the darkness growing heavier with each breath you took.

“Scatter,” a voice commanded, deep and resonant, cutting through the night like a blade. The spirits, who had been swirling around you with growing hunger, recoiled in sudden fear. Their flickering forms dimmed and began to dissolve into the shadows, retreating from the voice’s commanding presence.

You gasped, as if surfacing from the depths of the sea for the first time, and blinked, the voice shattering the spell that had held you captive. The oppressive chill and haunting whispers began to recede, replaced by a strange, unsettling calm. You looked around, trying to grasp what had just happened, your heart still pounding from the encounter.

The figure’s presence was both terrifying and oddly comforting, a paradox that left you feeling simultaneously alarmed and relieved. His silhouette was sharp and defined against the dim moonlight, and though his face was partially concealed beneath a deep, shadowy hood, there was no mistaking the sheer authority he commanded.

“Brave of you to be roaming near my realm, mortal.”

You blinked, disoriented by the strangeness of the encounter. It felt like you had stumbled into a scene from a dream, and your mind scrambled to make sense of it. With a flicker of rational thought cutting through the haze of confusion, you spun on your heel and bolted, your footsteps pounding against the pavement in a frantic rhythm. 

“I’ve been eaten by ghosts, I’m dead. I’m so fucking dead,” you panicked as your feet pounded against the pavement in a full-on sprint. 

“You’re not dead,” the figure’s voice was smooth and unnervingly calm, laced with a hint of amusement. He materialized before you in a swirl of black mist, his sudden appearance silent and startling. Your heart skipped a beat as you skidded to a halt, eyes wide with panic. He stood there, smirking, clearly relishing your bewilderment.

Without a second thought, you turned and ran again, your breath coming in ragged gasps. The cityscape blurred around you as you darted through the park and vaulted over obstacles, your mind a whirlwind of fear and adrenaline. You could hear the figure’s footsteps behind you, a steady, unhurried pace that only heightened your terror.

You glanced over your shoulder, your heart sinking as you saw him gaining on you effortlessly. You rounded a corner sharply, nearly losing your balance as you bumped into him. Panic surged through you, a cold sweat breaking out as your mind scrambled for an escape route. Fuck fuck fuck. You swallowed hard, trying to mask your fear. 

“What do you want from me?” The words slipped out, more out of desperation than defiance. The surreal nature of the situation was twisting your emotions into a knot, leaving you uncertain whether to be angry, terrified, or something in between.

He stepped closer, his presence almost suffocating in its intensity. “I was curious about what could have triggered a feeding frenzy among the ghosts.” 

You felt a chill run down your spine. “So I have been eaten alive by the ghosts,” you muttered.

He paused, his gaze steady and deliberate as he chose his words carefully. “No. When the veil between the worlds is thin and the energies of the living and the dead are in flux, spirits are drawn to heightened emotions,” he explained, his voice holding a note of measured calm. “That’s why you were being swarmed earlier. And for the last time, you’re not dead.”

“Now that I think of it, being eaten by ghosts sounds better than the bullshit and humiliation I just went through,” you spat with an edge of bitterness.

The fight with Yunho was still fresh, the sting of it cutting deep, and the bitterness in your words was impossible to hide. Every memory of your friendship now felt like a cruel reminder of your naivety, and the humiliation of being deceived cut deeper than any physical wound.

The figure studied you intently, his gaze piercing through the darkness, as if he could see into the very depths of your soul. “You have a strong desire to disappear,” he said, his voice low and measured.

From the corner of his eye, a small black cat appeared and found purchase underneath a streetlamp, its onyx eyes staring intently at the stranger, urging him to wrap up whatever business he was conducting with you. 

“Is it that obvious?” you asked, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice. You felt exposed under his scrutiny, as if he had laid bare your deepest fears and desires. 

He stepped closer, his presence nearly overwhelming. “I can sense it within you,” he said, his voice a blend of solemnity and intrigue. “The shadows that cling to your heart and a yearning to disappear from the pain and humiliation that haunt you. But…”

“But?” you prompted, as you tried to grasp the meaning of his words.

The cat flicked its tail with an air of impatience, its gaze fixed on you with an intensity that was almost unnerving. The small creature seemed to radiate an aura of quiet authority, as if it, too, was a part of this mysterious world that was slowly unraveling before you. 

“But it seems,” he began, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips, “you’ve captured the attention of more than just the ghosts tonight.”

You could feel the weight of his words, the implications swirling in your mind like a storm. “What are you saying?” you asked, your voice barely steady, dread and curiosity pulling at you.

Without a sound, the cat began to walk away from the waterfront, its sleek form gliding through the shadows as if it were a part of them. The man gestured subtly encouraging you to follow. 

“I suggest you see where this leads.”

You followed the black cat as it led you through the dimly lit streets. The air around you shimmered with an otherworldly energy, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being guided by something far greater than mere chance.

The cat paused in front of an unassuming door, its facade a curious blend of traditional and contemporary styles. The door was adorned with a delicate flowery overhang, its intricate designs seeming to shift subtly as if alive. With a soft meow, it pawed at the door, encouraging you to open it. 

So you do. 

The realm seemed to breathe with life, its atmosphere humming with a quiet, almost magical energy that seeped into your very bones. The walls pulsed with a soft, rhythmic glow, as if the shop itself were sentient, aware of your presence. Every corner of this enchanting realm was meticulously crafted to evoke wonder, from the collection of curios on the shelves to the hanging flowerfield above you.

“Seonghwa, you bastard, you’re late— Oh?” The voice was sharp and accusatory, cutting through the ambiance. 

Your gaze shifted to the source of the voice. There stood a vibrant and enigmatic stranger, his presence striking in brightly colored robes and glinting jewelry that shimmered with every subtle movement. He was a living embodiment of the mystical realm he presided over–captivating in his otherworldly grace.

As your eyes met, the shopkeeper studied you, sensing the heaviness in your heart, the weight of whatever burden you carried. It was clear that you were barely holding it together, your composure a fragile mask meant to shield you from further vulnerability. 

“Seonghwa”, the shadowy figure, followed behind, seeming unfazed by the rebuke. There was a subtle ease in his movements, a confidence that suggested he was entirely at home in this strange and wondrous place. 

“Your traveler has arrived,” Seonghwa announced with a casual nonchalance, as if his presence was a matter of routine rather than a potential disruption. His tone was light, almost amused, adding an air of detached amusement to the situation.

“Welcome traveler. I must apologize, it seems Lord Death and his ghosts gave you quite the scare,” His gaze flicked towards his friend, and a scowl of mild irritation crossed his features. “Please call me Hongjoong. I am the keeper of the Astral Emporium,” he bowed, turning his attention back to you.

“Astral Emporium?” you echoed, the name lingering on your tongue with a sense of wonder. Your eyes wandered over the shop’s interior, taking in the gilded spines of ancient texts and the array of artifacts that seemed to shimmer with hidden magic.

Hongjoong nodded. “The shop exists in a realm between the supernatural and the living, responding to the energy of your desires, known as wishes. Think of wishes as the hidden yearnings of your heart, and this place has the power to bring them to life.”

“You bring wishes to life? As in, you grant them?”

“In a sense,” Hongjoong replied, his voice carrying a playful lilt that softened the gravity of his words. “To have a wish granted, you must offer something of equal value in return. This realm operates on a principle of balance—the universe demands equilibrium.”

You glanced down at the little black cat that had guided you here. Its fur was soft and comforting beneath your fingers, and its gentle purr seemed to blend with the quiet, expectant atmosphere of the shop. The cat leaned into your touch, clearly content with the affection. You tapped your finger gently on its nose, trying to think through the implications.

“Do I have to make a decision tonight?” you asked, a note of urgency in your voice. The least you could do is say goodbye to your parents and figure out how you were going to pay for your wish. 

Hongjoong’s expression softened, and he looked at you with understanding. “No. The shop has already revealed itself to you, and you may make your wish whenever you are ready,” he said with a reassuring smile. “However, I encourage travelers to take their time. Once a wish is granted, it cannot be undone.”

You nodded, feeling the weight of the impending decision settle heavily upon you. The quiet, almost palpable presence of the choice lingered in the air like a delicate mist. Your heart pounded as you contemplated the gravity of the situation, the stakes higher than you had ever imagined. 

You eyed the golden retriever statue Yunho had given you your freshman year. Its calm expression remained unchanged, frozen in time. As you picked it up and ran your fingers over the smooth, cool surface, it served as a reminder of the past—one you were now trying to reconcile with the present.

Scrolling through your contacts, your finger hovered over Yunho’s name. The thought of reaching out, of trying to bridge the gap, was tempting, but the fear of what you might find on the other side held you back. What if you needed him? What if he needed you? The questions swirled in your head, making it hard to think clearly. 

You sighed, setting the statue back on the shelf. It felt like a relic from another life, one where your best friend was a constant presence. The memories were bittersweet, filled with laughter and shared dreams, but also with the pain of growing apart. 

Yunho stood at the window, his face pressed against the cool glass, watching with wide eyes as the moving truck rumbled to a stop across the street. The hum of activity and the clatter of boxes spilling onto the driveway filled the air. He bounced on his toes, barely able to contain his excitement.

“Mom, there’s a moving truck across the street!” Yunho exclaimed, his voice bubbling with enthusiasm. He pointed out the window, his eyes following the movers who were already hard at work.

His mother, busy in the kitchen, wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked over to join him. She peered out the window, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Looks like we’re getting new neighbors,” she said, her tone warm and welcoming.

Yunho’s mind raced with possibilities. Would there be kids his age? Maybe someone who liked sports as much as he did? He imagined all the games they could play together, the adventures they could have. The thought made his heart race with anticipation.

Outside, the movers were unloading furniture: a large, comfy-looking couch, a dining table with matching chairs, and a tall bookshelf that Yunho imagined would be filled with interesting books and knick-knacks. He watched as a family car pulled up behind the truck, and a woman stepped out, followed by a girl about his age.

Yunho’s face fell as he saw you step out of the car. “Aw, it’s a girl!” he exclaimed, his excitement clearly dampened.

“Yunho, it doesn’t matter if it’s a boy or a girl. What’s important is that you’re welcoming a new neighbor.”

His cheeks reddened slightly as he looked up at his mom. “But I thought it’d be someone I could play baseball with.”

His mother knelt down to his level, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “You never know, Yunho. She might like baseball too, or maybe she has other fun games to share. Why don’t you give her a chance?”

Yunho sighed but nodded, his curiosity piqued despite his initial disappointment. He watched as you helped your parents carry boxes into the house. You seemed about his age, with a friendly smile and an air of confidence that intrigued him.

“Why don’t you go over and say hello?” his mother suggested, giving him a gentle nudge. “It’s always nice to welcome new neighbors.”

Gathering his courage, Yunho took a deep breath and walked over, but not without looking both ways before crossing the street. “Hi!” he called out, trying to muster up his enthusiasm again. “I’m Yunho. Do you want to play with me later?”

You looked up from the box you were carrying, a surprised but friendly smile spreading across your face. “Hi, I’m Y/N,” you replied, setting the box down. “I’m six. Um, what do you like to do?”

Yunho’s initial nervousness began to fade as he saw your welcoming expression. “I like baseball. And I’m six too,” he said, his excitement returning. “Do you like baseball?”

You nodded enthusiastically, “Maybe we can play together here,” you exclaimed, pointing to your backyard. “My backyard is really big!” 

Yunho’s heart soared, feeling a sense of relief and happiness. He had been worried about making a new friend, but it seemed like things were going to work out just fine. He couldn’t wait to show you around the neighborhood and introduce you to his favorite spots. 

“Mom, Y/N likes baseball too!” Yunho called out as he ran back to his house. His mother smiled, watching her son’s excitement. He froze suddenly realizing he forgot something. 

“I forgot to ask her about her favorite team!” he exclaimed, his voice bubbling with eagerness. He had clearly been so caught up in the excitement of meeting his new neighbor that he had overlooked this important detail.

His mother chuckled softly, sensing the genuine enthusiasm in her son’s voice. “Well, it sounds like you have something to look forward to next time you see her. Maybe you can invite her over for a game or something.”

Yunho nodded vigorously, already imagining the fun of discussing baseball with his new friend. He dashed back to the window, peering out to catch another glimpse of you, hoping for a chance to continue your budding friendship.

Your life had largely revolved around Yunho, with him at the center of everything you did. Your world seemed to orbit around his presence, to the point you were deeply entangled in the expectations and dreams you had placed on him. 

“Pathetic.” That was one of the words Yunho had used to describe you, a word that echoed in your mind with a cruel sense of truth. As Yunho moved on with his life—dating Haewon, expanding his circle of friends, and pursuing new opportunities—you remained as you were: unmoving, uncertain of what kind of future you would have without him.

Then came your literal brush with Lord Death himself and Hongjoong. The experience sparked something within you. You found yourself irresistibly drawn to the mysteries of this otherworldly realm, feeling an intense, almost primal urge to be a part of it. It was as if the brush with the supernatural had unlocked a deep-seated desire to break free from the constraints of your old life.

You opened your contacts again, your finger hovering over Yunho’s name. You hesitated, feeling the gravity of what you were about to do.

Taking a deep breath, you pressed the delete button. Yunho’s name vanished from your contacts, leaving an empty space where he used to be. It felt like a small act, but the weight of it hit you immediately, a reminder that some doors, once shut, could never be reopened.

A soft meow from outside your window drew your attention. Pulling back the curtain, you see the little black cat perched on the ledge—the same one that had first guided you to the emporium. The cat’s eyes shimmered with a curious intelligence, locking onto yours as it stretched its small, agile body and began to paw at the window.

With a gentle push, you opened the window, and the cat trotted inside with an air of casual confidence. You crouched down, your fingers instinctively reaching out to caress its velvety fur.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, scratching behind its ears. “You’re quite a ways from home.”

“The ordinary rules of reality don’t apply to me.”

You blinked in disbelief, your mind struggling to process the extraordinary claim. “You– You can talk!?” The words escaped your lips in a stammer, your astonishment palpable. The notion that a cat could converse was something straight out of a fairy tale, and yet here it was, happening right before your eyes.

“Indeed,” it said with a gentle purr that seemed almost amused. “Master created me to assist with managing the shop while he’s away. I am a familiar, with the ability to traverse between realms. I can come and go as I please.”

Your eyebrows knitted together as you tried to absorb the cat’s matter-of-fact response. “But if you’re here, then who’s–”

“Master is, obviously,” the cat interrupted, its tail flicking lazily. “But when he isn’t, I’m there.”

“And where does he go?” you asked, your voice edged with curiosity. The cat’s nonchalant demeanor contrasted sharply with the gravity of your question.

The cat’s demeanor shifted to something softer, almost wistful. “Master Hongjoong is a powerful sorcerer. His duties often take him beyond the confines of this realm. 

Sometimes he’s negotiating peace between warring factions, other times he’s retrieving lost artifacts of immense power.”

“While he’s away, I watch over the shop and keep things in order,” it continued, its voice carrying a note of quiet resignation. “It’s a lonely task at times, but it’s necessary for the travelers who come through looking to have their wishes granted.”

You noticed the subtle strain in the cat’s voice, the way its eyes reflected a deep solitude.

“It sounds like you have a very important role,” you said gently, hoping to offer some comfort. The depth of the familiar’s responsibilities became clearer to you, and with it, a newfound respect. 

“I’m certain your master appreciates everything you do,” you added, your voice filled with sincerity.

The cat’s eyes, still reflecting that subtle loneliness, brightened slightly at your words. “Thank you,” it said softly.

You reached down and gently scratched behind its ears, hoping to offer a bit of solace. “Ah, I don’t know what to call you,” you said gently, realizing you hadn’t yet asked for the cat’s name. 

“Wooyoung,” the cat replied, the name rolling off its tongue with a sense of pride. “Master Hongjoong gave it to me.”

“And what about you?” Wooyoung continued, its gaze curious and attentive. “You didn’t give us your name yesterday.”

“I’m Y/N,” you replied, your voice carrying a bit of warmth and a hint of vulnerability. The exchange felt like a small but significant step towards understanding this strange new world you had found yourself in. 

As Wooyoung settled comfortably in your lap, purring softly, you found yourself contemplating the implications of your conversation. The idea of disappearing into the emporium’s enigmatic realm began to seem increasingly appealing. Perhaps this magical world, with its mysteries and hidden depths, was exactly where you needed to be.

“Have you heard from Y/N?” Yunho asked, his voice strained and laced with worry. 

Haewon looked up from her phone, her face mirroring his growing alarm. “No, I haven’t,” she replied, her brows knitting together as she struggled to grasp the gravity of the situation. “Did something happen?”

“Her dad called me this morning,” he said, his voice tight. “He hasn’t heard from her in a couple of days. She hasn’t posted on her socials, and she’s not responding to texts. I think the cops are going to do a wellness check. I’m going to meet them there.”

Haewon’s worry deepened, her heart sinking as the implications of Yunho’s words settled in. “That’s not like her at all,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “Y/N is always so reliable. If she’s gone silent for this long, something must be seriously wrong. She would never just disappear like this.”

Yunho sighed, running a hand through his hair. His gaze dropped to the floor as he wrestled with a surge of guilt. The fight he’d had with you, the way it had spiraled after Sungjae’s humiliating display at his apartment, weighed heavily on him. He could still see the hurt in your eyes, the way you stormed out and dumped your journal, leaving behind a trail of unresolved emotions.

He hadn’t reached out, thinking it might be best to give you some time to cool off. After all, you always came back. But now, as the days dragged on without a word from you, each passing moment felt like a missed opportunity to mend the rift he had caused.

“You don’t think it was because of Sungjae, do you?” Haewon asked. “You know he didn’t mean to say those things. He was drunk.”

But he did. Yunho knew, deep down, that the words Sungjae had spoken were hurtful and that they had contributed to the mess of emotions you were feeling. But there was a darker truth he couldn’t ignore: he had not only allowed Sungjae’s actions to influence the situation but had also failed to stand up for you and make amends. 

“There’s always an excuse for Sungjae,” he suddenly snapped, his voice sharp and edged with anger. “It’s always ‘he didn’t mean it,’ ‘he was drunk,’ as if that makes his words any less hurtful. It’s like you’re just brushing it off!”

Haewon’s expression hardened, her patience wearing thin. “I know you and Sungjae don’t get along, but right now, focusing on him won’t help Y/N. We need to find out what’s going on with her,” she retorted, rolling her eyes.

“You don’t get it, Haewon! Sungjae crossed the line and no one said anything! He fucking humiliated her in front of everyone!” 

They made her feel worthless, and I stood by and did nothing. I should have defended her. I should have been there for her, is what Yunho wanted to say.

“And what good does yelling at me do, Yunho? You think I don’t care? You think I’m not worried about Y/N? She’s my friend too!”

“You’re always defending him! Why can’t you see how much damage he’s done?”

“Standing here arguing isn’t going to help her!”

Yunho’s eyes burned with intensity. “Fine. You stay here and make excuses for Sungjae. I’m going over to Y/N’s.”

With that, Yunho turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving Haewon standing there, her heart pounding with fear. She knew he was right about one thing: they needed to find you, and fast. But the rift between them felt wider than ever, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning of a much deeper conflict.

As you approached the shop, the familiar, otherworldly ambiance enveloped you once more. The air was thick with the scent of ancient incense and jasmine, a blend that always made you feel both curious and comforted.

The door creaked open, and a soft, melodic chime rang out, greeting you with its gentle tinkle, like a whisper from another world.

Making your way further into the shop, you caught the faintest whisper of hushed voices. You slowed your steps, moving quietly to avoid intruding on what sounded like a private conversation. The shop was a labyrinth of towering shelves, each filled with enchanted curiosities that seemed to hum with their own secret lives.

You noticed that Hongjoong’s expression was serious, his brow furrowed in concentration, while Seonghwa listened intently, his eyes reflecting the gravity of their discussion.

“The Auroran Empire is preparing for a major offensive against Wonderland. It’s not just about territory anymore; their queen has officially lost her mind,” he said, his voice low and tense. 

“She wants to bring about a new era of dominance,” he continued, his eyes narrowing. “But in her madness, she’s likely to destroy everything in her path. Her decisions are unpredictable and increasingly violent. Wonderland won’t just be facing a military assault; they’ll be up against an unpredictable force of destruction.”

“Dragons against dragons,” Seonghwa murmured, referring to the legendary beasts often associated with said realm. “The collateral damage could be catastrophic.”

Seonghwa’s expression grew serious as he met Hongjoong’s gaze. “You’re going to have to leave for quite some time, aren’t you? If this is escalating to such extremes, there will be a need for intervention, and it won’t be a quick affair.”

“Let me take over the shop,” you said, stepping out from the shadows. Your voice was steady, though your heart raced with the weight of your request. The air crackled with the energy of the emporium, and you could feel the gravity of the moment settling in.

Hongjoong looked up, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “Hello to you too, traveler,” he said, though the casual greeting did little to mask the seriousness underlying his words.

“Wooyoung told me your powers take you elsewhere,” you said, your voice steady despite the swirling emotions beneath. “If I take over the shop, you can continue to fulfill your duties in other realms while I manage things here.”

Hongjoong’s eyes narrowed slightly as he considered your proposal. “This place,” he began, his voice soft but firm, “is where the threads of many worlds converge. It’s about understanding the intricate balance that holds these realms together.”

You followed closely as Hongjoong started walking through the aisles of the emporium. Each step echoed softly in the vast space filled with enchanted artifacts and mystical relics. 

“I understand the gravity of this responsibility,” you said, matching his pace and keeping your voice firm. “I might not have your experience, but I’m willing to learn,” you continued your plea.

Hongjoong stopped abruptly and turned to face you, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of concern and skepticism. His expression was stern, the weight of your request clearly pressing on him. 

“It’s a significant responsibility, one that requires dedication and resilience. I’m not going to hand it over to a human—”

“Aren’t you a human as well?” you shot back, your voice tinged with frustration. The retort slipped out before you could stop it, and the sharpness of your words echoed through the shop.

Hongjoong’s eyes widened in surprise, and he crossed his arms defensively, his posture rigid. “That doesn’t matter,” he stammered, clearly caught off guard by your response. “My situation is different—”

Seonghwa, who had been quietly observing the tense exchange, decided to interject as he trailed behind you. “She has a point. Wonderland is asking you to intervene on their behalf. The situation is escalating, and having someone reliable at the shop would be crucial.”

“No,” Hongjoong replied sharply, continuing his stride through the labyrinthine aisles of the shop, his frustration evident in his quickened pace. “The emporium is a nexus of power that requires a deep understanding and connection. It’s not something you can just hand over to anyone.”

“Then take my memories,” you blurted out, your voice trembling with urgency. “If you’re worried about my ability to handle the shop, erase my memories of everything but the basics of running this place. Make me a blank slate so I can focus entirely on managing the emporium.”

Hongjoong halted abruptly, turning to face you with a mixture of shock and contemplation. His eyes searched your face, as if trying to gauge the sincerity of your offer. Seonghwa, too, looked intrigued by the unexpected proposal.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Hongjoong gritted, his voice laced with disbelief and a hint of frustration. His eyes bore into yours, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. “That’s a drastic measure. You’re willing to give up everything for this?” He gestured broadly to the surroundings, the air thick with the hum of ancient magic.

You hesitated, feeling the weight of his question. “At first, I just wanted to disappear,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. “My life had become a tangled mess of unfulfilled expectations and unresolved emotions. It didn’t matter what happened to me as long as I was…gone.”

You took a deep breath, meeting Hongjoong’s eyes with newfound determination. “But then, I realized something important. I didn’t have a purpose, and I was uncertain about my future. I thought about the night I came here, and it made me see that I wasn’t just trying to escape from something; I was searching for something to move towards.”

Hongjoong studied you intently, his eyes searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Seonghwa, meanwhile, shifted his weight thoughtfully, clearly processing the significance of your words.

“I’ve spent so long feeling adrift,” you continued, your voice filled with conviction. “But now I see that the emporium is an opportunity to find and fulfill my purpose.”

Hongjoong’s gaze remained piercing, yet the softness in his eyes deepened, reflecting empathy and understanding. He took a moment to absorb your words, the weight of your request settling over him. His expression softened further, and he nodded slowly, as if coming to a decision.

“Is that your wish?” he asked, his voice gentle yet carrying the gravity of the moment.

“Yes,” you confirmed, your voice carrying a blend of certainty and resolve. “That is my wish.”

“Mom?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line before your mother’s voice came through, warm and concerned. “Y/N? What’s the matter? You sound a bit off.”

“Nothing, really,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady, though a catch in your throat betrayed the weight of your emotions. “I just wanted to call and see how you and Dad are doing.”

Your mother’s voice softened further, her concern evident as she sensed the underlying sadness. “We’re doing well. It’s been a quiet day. Your father’s been busy with his garden—he’s finally getting those tomatoes to grow—and we’re just taking a break now. How about you? Everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you said, though the words felt hollow and insubstantial. “I just… wanted to check in before I go back to studying. I also think I might have found an opportunity worth pursuing.”

“That’s great, honey! I’m glad you’re staying on top of things,” your mother replied, her voice filled with pride. “Just remember to take care of yourself, okay? Don’t push too hard.”

“I won’t,” you promised, though the truth was far more complicated than you could ever explain in a single phone call. 

As you spoke, a tear slipped down your cheek, betraying the sadness and relief you felt. It was a small release, a physical manifestation of the emotional turmoil that had been simmering just beneath the surface. 

“Mom,” you said, your voice softer now, the vulnerability creeping in despite your best efforts to hide it. “I just want you to know that I love you and Dad.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, the kind that only comes when someone is processing something unexpected. “We love you too, Y/N. I’m happy you called. If there’s anything you need or want to talk about, we’re here for you.”

“I know,” you whispered, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. You nodded, even though she couldn’t see you, letting the comfort of her words wash over you, even as the weight of your own decisions pressed down harder. “I love you both.”

“We love you too. Take care of yourself.”

You ended the call, the weight of the conversation lingering as a poignant reminder of the ties that bound you to your family. Their love and support were a comforting anchor, grounding you as you prepared to navigate the irreversible course ahead. 

“Traveler?” you called out, your voice soft yet clear, cutting through the haze of the man’s thoughts. You stepped closer, concern etched into your features as you reached out to him. “Is everything all right?”

The man blinked, pulled back into the present by the sound of your voice. For a moment, he couldn’t find the words to respond. His mind was still tangled in the web of what-ifs and should-haves, but the look in your eyes—steady, patient—reminded him that he wasn’t alone in this moment. 

He swallowed hard, his throat dry as he struggled to form a coherent thought. “I… I’d like some time to think about what I want to wish for,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. There was a vulnerability in his tone, one that spoke of the doubts and fears he’d been carrying for far too long. 

You nodded, your expression softening as you stepped closer, your hand nearly reaching his. “Take all the time you need,” you reassured gently. “The shop exists outside of time and welcomes those it chooses. You’re welcome to come and go until you’re ready to decide.”

“Thank you,” he whispered. The weight of making a wish, of deciding on something so significant, had been overwhelming, but your presence made it feel more manageable. “It helps to know that I can come back when I’m ready.” 

He looked at you–there was no judgment in your gaze, no expectation—just a quiet understanding that allowed him to breathe a little easier.

“I’m Yunho, by the way,” he added softly, as if sharing his name was a small but significant step toward reconnecting with you—at least this version of you. The corners of his lips lifted in a faint but genuine smile, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“Yunho,” you repeated. The way you said his name was like a delicate thread, fragile and precious. It felt as though each syllable was an attempt to capture something fleeting, a moment of intimacy slipping through your fingers, yet cherished all the same. 

<< i | iii >>

taglist: @babymbbatinygirl @intowxnderland @hwasa28 @thedistractedwriter @beabatiny @lovelyglares @spenceatiny18 @tiny-apocalypse @sunnysidesins @heyitsmetonid @jwone @laurenwidjaja @potatos-on-clouds

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

Felix and Seungmin!

This is so good! I love Yandere themes for skz. It’s so impossible but the headcanons are SO good, like a different timeline

Stray Kids as Yanderes

Request: "You have yandere on your event and masterlist so would you do skz as yanderes? I know you only do soft yandere and thats fine"

WARNINGS: Obsessive behavior, Murder, Mention of suicide, Toxic relationship, Drugging, Manipulation, Humiliation, Claustrophobic issues, basements, blood, tied to a ceiling (not the reader), mention of kidnapping, delusional mindset, mental abuse, self-harm, cussing, suggestive? talking about kissing, Stalking, I think that's it

I AM NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO READ!

A/N: I wanted to expand on their jealousy, but this is already long enough. I struggled with Jisung so much! >:[ I WROTE THIS AT 2 AM WITH NOTHING BUT DORITOS AND COUGH MEDICINE IN MY SYSTEM!

*.·:·BANG CHAN

Type: Manipulative Violence: 50-100% Possessive: 86% Jealousy: 65%

Punishments: Manipulation

The relationship looks normal at first glance. Chan takes care of you, but not so much that it feels like you're dependent on him. He lets you talk to people and leave the house. He waited until you were ready before moving you into his home, and he still waited.

You were cozy in the Venus flytrap, and its jaws were slowly closing.

He'd pick your friends off one by one. Chan starts with the acquaintances. They're not close to you, so it shouldn't hurt that much for them to leave you. He puts wedges between you and anyone trying to separate you. Your friend who had a crush on you is gone.

Chan is a dangerous yandere because of his awareness. He knows what he's doing is unhealthy and probably immoral, but he wants you. Chan needs you.

I don't think Chan would really have a punishment for you.

He'd just be doing the same thing he's been doing. He'll guilt trip you into feeling bad for lashing out. You think Chan is too possessive? You're right, but can you blame him? Anyone who looks at you would want to eat you like a snack and take you home with them for leftovers. He's just being cautious.

The jaws are shut, but something is stopping you from panicking.

*.·:·LEE MINHO

Type: Possessive Controlling Violence: 56-97% Possessive: 100% Jealousy: 100%

Punishments: Isolation and Drugging Humiliation

Minho is yours out of courtesy. You are Minho's because he wants you. There is a difference. As soon as you learn it, everything will be easier for Minho for you.

As seen in this post, Minho likes to play with you. It doesn't matter if you don't want to play, he wants to play, and you will. If he can see the exhaustion in your eyes, then Minho will let you rest. Hope that he can see it. Hope, pray, do whatever.

The more "tired" you act, the less likely Minho is to give you a break. In a way, he wants you to break. How else will Minho know what not to do?

You're moving sluggish? Then we're moving around. You're about to fall asleep? Have this melatonin gummy that's actually an energy booster. Minho wants you to break so he can fix you.

If you start lashing out, Minho will make you more compliant. He'll slip it into your drink or your food. Depending on how exhausted you are, will depict how much he gives you. Minho doesn't want to kill you. He'd not let anyone else have you, not even death.

If you go, Minho goes. You are his, and you can't leave.

When you're delirious, he locks you in a room. Not your bedroom, of course. Minho wants that room to be a safe space for you. He'll lock you in the hallway closet if you're claustrophobic. Or he'll stick you in the basement with the lights off. Of course, you're in a concealed room, so nothing can get you, but you can't see that.

I'm a firm believer that Minho would humiliate you as punishment. He'll finally take you out of the house. He'll pick your outfit himself, and when you come downstairs and question his outfit, he waves you off. "I want the attention to be on you."

And it will be. What were you thinking about wearing colors to an all-black event? Why are you off the theme?

*.·:·SEO CHANGBIN

Type: Protective Violence: 75-95% (Never to you) Possessive: 100% Jealousy: 12%

Punishments: Isolation

Sure, your happiness is important, but your safety is Changbin's top priority. You need to be healthy and protected. If this means killing someone disturbing your peace, then that's okay. If Changbin is causing you distress, he'll isolate the both of you for a break. Then it's back to being stuck together.

If you let him, Changbin will take care of you. He'll feed you, he'll bathe you, and he'll dress you. He will do everything for you until you tell him to stop, and even then, Changbin will push those limits.

Changbin's possessiveness is laced in his need to keep you safe. He would love for you to live your life. But why can't you live your life in the safety of his arms?

You think he's harming you? Well, imagine everyone else. What if he wasn't there? They're worse than him. They have no regard for your being, and Changbin knows this.

He's certain of it.

Your punishment is Changbin's dream. He'll lock you up in a room where you can't be hurt. Where you're safe. Where else is better for you?

Changbin who hides the number of lives he's taking to "keep you safe." He's certain your mind won't be able to handle it. You can barely look at the news about their deaths. So imagine finding out they're tied to you?

*.·:·HWANG HYUNJIN

Type: Delusional Violence: 5% (Unintentional) Possessive: 98% Jealousy: 79-100%

Punishments: Isolation

You need him, and Hyunjin needs you. It's a fact, and you can't go against a fact. Well, you can, but you would be wrong. You and Hyunjin were meant to be. You were together in past lives. You will be together in future lives. In all timelines, you are together.

But Hyunjin is in this timeline, in the present, and he wants you now.

Hyunjin doesn't just love you. Hyunjin knows he is in love with you. He needs you like his lungs need air, how his heart needs blood. How the trees need our breath. But you don't want him? No, you're just confused.

And if not? Hyunjin will wait for the next life.

But in this life? Hyunjin doesn't mind ending it early. His body will be in the ground, his soul in the stars, and his breath in the sky. You have no choice but to be with him.

When you walk, your feet touch the ground Hyunjin's body is in. When you breathe, you inhale his air. When you cherish the stars in the sky, they sparkle and shine for you. They are his soul and past lives shining on you.

Hyunjin would never hurt you on purpose. He has no issues with locking you up if it means keeping you in check and him from lashing out at you.

"I will never hurt you. People don't harm who they love," Hyunjin tells you. He tells you this as he locks you in a room with a see-through door. Ironic coming from him, but at least you don't have to worry about him hurting you.

Hyunjin has no issues with giving you time. Time with him, but still time to realize that you are meant to be.

Hyunjin who is overjoyed when you finally return his feelings. Who is overjoyed when the Stockholm syndrome hits.

*.·:·HAN JISUNG

(I had to let him marinate cause this was pissing me off ;-;)

Type: Quiet One Violence: 76-100% Possessive: Jealousy:

Punishments: Murder (not you)

Jisung is the type with earbuds on and scrolling on his phone to make the act believable. He's not listening to anything, but no one knows that. Jisung is eavesdropping on your conversation.

Jisung watches from the shadows. He leans against walls, tucks himself into corners, and hides in plain sight. Jisung needs to know everything about you.

Jisung takes your lost pencils, favorite candy wrapper, and anything you thought you "lost." Jisung who puts your things on the shrine in his basement.

Jisung finds everything about your family and friends. He finds out their habits and their tales. What makes them tick? How can he get them to put in a good word for him? Jisung, who fakes a smile for your love.

Jisung trains himself to be around you. He sneaks into your room and stands as close to you as he can without becoming a mess. He walks a little ways away from you and shortens the distance as he progresses. Jisung who hides his obsession out of fear of losing you.

Jisung who wouldn't hurt a fly, repeatedly stabs the person stealing you. His heart is steady, his face his blank, and his body doesn't tremble. Jisung who kills those who harm you, even those you don't know.

*.·:·LEE FELIX

Type: Clingy Violence: 0% Possessive: 79-100% Jealousy: I don't know

Punishments: Manipulation

This relationship starts normal, but the longer you stay with Felix, the more his obsession progresses. It's a little hard for him to breathe without you, like running for miles with asthma and no inhaler.

Felix would never hurt anyone. You don't know that, though. Felix doesn't like death, and Felix doesn't want to hurt you in any way. Not truly, so Felix gives threats. Behave, or he'll kill *blank*. Stop acting out, or he'll take *blank* out.

If you ever call his bluff, he'll get fake blood and a dead body. Felix will stage the act. You come home, and it's peaceful until you hear noise from the basement. What's that red stuff on the counter?

When you get downstairs, there's blood everywhere, and your best friend hangs by their wrists from their ceiling. When you try to run, Felix, covered in blood, is in the doorway. He knocks you out, and you wake up in your bed.

Felix is scared out of his sleep by your panicked breaths. When you tell him of your "nightmare," his eyes will dull, and he'll look near lifeless. Your phone rings before you can question him, and it's your best friend. As you're talking to them, you glance at Felix, but he's back to normal.

Felix who kisses your cheek and wishes you a good morning before taking a shower. While he's in the bathroom, you check the kitchen and the basement, but everything is normal. When you get back upstairs, Felix is plaiting the table with your favorite breakfast food.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Felix's face is concerned, but his tone is knowing.

*.·:·KIM SEUNGMIN

Type: Laidback Violence: 26% Possessive: Discreetly at 75% Jealousy: I'm conflicted

Punishment: Taking things from you

Seungmin doesn't want you stressing at all. If you have a problem, he'll fix it. Kidnapping you is too much work, so you won't have to worry about that. Seungmin will let you see your friends and family, and let you go out without him.

He knows you would never leave him.

As an idol, Seungmin can get people to watch you when he's not with you. As a person with "normal" status, he finds a way to convince your friends that you have a stalker and he just wants updates on your safety.

They'll send discreet pictures of you so you aren't panicking. They're trying to keep you safe. What if your stalker is watching you now? Seungmin wouldn't lie about your safety. He loves you, and they know it.

You're starting to sneak around? He'll find out why you're sneaking. If it isn't a surprise for him then you have no business creeping around. He should know everything. You should willingly tell Seungmin everything, or at least make it easy for him to find out himself.

Seungmin's punishments start small. It starts with your passions. You like art? Your pencils are snapped, and your paints have been left with the caps off. You make music? Your instruments are locked away or smashed to pieces. Seungmin won't break something of sentimental value. Your studio is locked with everything inside it.

Maybe you like books? If he has to, Seungmin will go through your favorite book and fold the corners. He'll crease the spines of your books and lock them away so that when you get them back, they're messed up.

You read online? You have a Kindle or an app on your phone? That's fine. Your library is cleared out, and he'll start a new book just to make sure there isn't a "Start where you left off" option.

Seungmin isn't evil. He'll make a list of all the books in your library, online or on a shelf, and keep perfect copies. He'll buy you new paints or get you new instruments.

Seungmin who will send a picture of you with your family if you run away. "I hope nothing bad happens to them while you're gone."

*.·:·YANG JEONGIN

Type: Obsessive Violence: Depends Possessive: 50-95% Jealousy: 76%

Punishment: Isolation, self-harm,

You're all he can think about. Jeongin depends on you. He can't eat, his sleep schedule is nonexistent, and he hasn't been outside unless you bring him.

Tell him to give you space, and Jeongin will hand it to you. He'll be fucking miserable, but he'll give you all the space and time you need. When you finally come back to him, kiss him long and slow or fast and intense.

Jeongin doesn't care. He wants you to be stuck to him like glue until you get sick of him and need a break.

Jeongin is fragile. His world revolves around you. You are the sun that brightens his day and the moon that guides him in the night. Lashing out at him about anything is a direct blow to his heart and soul.

You yelling at Jeongin. = You hate Jeongin.

He can't live while you hate him. He lives to please you. If you hate him, then Jeongin has failed you. Failing you means he failed himself, and life is too good for failure as bad as this.

Jeongin who tells you with a blank face but love-filled eyes that he would die for your love. Jeongin who will proudly show you each scar as punishment for making you "hate" him.

©️DEANAMEANTAE2024

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

Fucking love this💕

Hellohello luv :> been having some fluffy thoughts about skz and okok hear me out:

Them calling a friend/member talking about you but being unaware that you speak Korean and accidentally confessing-

Thats all thank you for your attention mwah kthxbyee <3

omg omg omg idk why but this is so Channie coded to me

Like his phone would ring while you're hanging out and he gets up, trying to at least walk a little ways away before he picks up. But Jisung's voice is still more than loud enough for you to hear where you're on the sofa.

"Jisung-ah?"

"Hi Channie-hyung, I won't disturb you for long, but we're about to head to the studio and we don't know where you keep the hard drive. We wanted to work on that one song from months ago."

"It's all good, top drawer of the desk in my room."

Silence, the sounds of rummaging.

"Got it! Thanks, hyung!"

"Don't lose it, Jisung, I swear."

A silly little giggle.

"Don't worry, Changbin-hyung is here, too, and he will supervise"

"Okay, good."

"No need to worry while you hang out with your future wife."

"Jisung!"

"What! She can't hear me! Or understand me!"

"She's not my future wife."

"Awwww, Channie don't sound so sad. I'm telling you, she likes you, too. You just need to find the confidence to tell her."

I agree, Changbin yells from the back somewhere and Jisung makes a triumphant noise.

"See, Changbin-hyung thinks so, too. Plus, we've seen you together. You're like, meant to be. Two peas in a pod. I can see you already, just like you said, apartment in Seoul, a big, happy dog, small wedding, mind-blowing sex every night until maybe one day you put a baby in her, preferably a little girl ..."

"Jisung, oh my god please," Chan whines and turns around to check on you. You're just scrolling through your phone. He chuckles painfully and digs the heel of his palm into his eyes.

"What are you guys doing right now?"

"Nothing much, eating sushi, watching a movie. She ... She looks very pretty and smells really good."

"Oh, you're so cute, Channie-hyung! So just, you know, do the usual. Put your arm around her, pull her in, put those big old lips to good use. Just make sure you wash your mouth out before you do, sushi breath is stinky."

"I'm never telling you anything ever again, Jisung," Chan deadpans and Jisung laughs, but takes the hint.

"Fine, fine, stew in your unrequited puppy love for the rest of your life, then, see if I care ... which I do, of course, it's the only reason I'm saying all of this."

"I'm hanging up now, Jisung."

"Fine, fine, I'll see you tomorrow!"

"Bye, Jisung."

Chan heaves out a giant sigh and takes a moment to collect himself before he turns around and makes his way back to the sofa

"Sorry," he says in English, "Jisung needed a hard drive, him and Changbin have been working on this older song again and he didn't know where it was."

You just nod, looking at him in a way that makes his cheeks heat up. When you open your mouth, he's pretty sure he can feel his heart fall into his ass.

"I'm more of a cat person," you say, your Korean solid, but definitely a little accented, "but I'd definitely also want a girl. And an apartment in the city, that would be a dream."

His heart is thundering in his fucking ears as he watches you, your cheeks flushed with nerves, clutching your phone in your hands until your knuckles turn white. Wait, did you just ...

He leans in, pushing you back until you're splayed out on the sofa underneath him.

"I really fucking like you," he says, in English again. He loves the way your breath hitches, the corners of your mouth ticking upwards.

"I really fucking like you, too," you breathe and that's all he needs before he leans down and presses his lips to yours, sushi breath be damned. And it's a perfectly imperfect kiss, just like you, just like him.

Later he will scold you for never telling him you understood Korean. Later he will give a very confused Jisung a hug and shake him slightly. And at your wedding he will reenact the whole story, with Jisung right next to him, playing himself.

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

ʚ : GIRL MATH WITH STRAYKIDS ₊̣ !

— cw. nothing...

authors note. since the christmas special is starting soon , i just wanted to post something !

©️LUVYENI

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

Heey, could you write skz reaction to showing off your nails on their pants (rubbing their bulge) trend? Thank you 🩷

hi sure, hope you enjoy ;)

masterlist

warnings: suggestive content

Chan

he would be so eager to do it yet get very shy about it. he would want to find the perfect sweats and spot where the lighting would be the best. when you hushed him and he accepted that whenever is fine he would get very nervous. “y/n” he would whine. “can we kiss for a bit first.” you laughed at him warmly loving how cute he is and climbed on his lap to make out. after couple minutes of steamy kisses and grinding you felt his dick get fully hard. “now we’ll be good” you cheerfully stated hopping off him and pulling out your phone. chan’s cheeks got super red when you rubbed him while showing off your nails to the camera. after you shoot few videos and were satisfied with the result he would pull you on his lap again. “let’s finish what we started now huh?”

Minho

“what kind of ridiculous trend is that” was your boyfriend’s reaction when you mentioned it to him after getting your nails done. “normal trend, don’t make a fuss” you poked your tongue at him. “please can we do it?” you looked at him with your best attempt of doe eyes. he chuckled clearly amused by you. “but that’s weird” he dismissed you again and started to walk away. you run after him and grabbed his arm. “pretty please” that was your last attempt. Minho did not say anything, just sat on the sofa manspreading and smirking at you. “come on then” his gaze darkened. you became unsure after his sudden demeanor change. “what, are you shy now baby?” he teased. “come here and touch me.”

Changbin

he would be totally chill about it. “ yeah sure. do you want to do it now? i have my sweats on” he answered calmly, not a sight of emotion on his face. he surprised you but you quickly rushed to do it since he agreed. “yes, can you sit here?” you pointed at the chair next to the window where lighting would be good. he followed your instructions and sat down. you crouched beside him and pulled out your phone to start recording. first you tested the angle, rubbing him lightly to get him hard. “can you spread your legs a bit?” you asked. Changbin smirked at you. “are you having fun?” you asked. “oh i’m definitely enjoying myself princess”

Hyunjin

“no baby, no way.” he immediately protested. “why not?”you asked. you kind of expected that answer and didn’t want to push him. “it’s just weird and awkward, i don’t think i would feel good about it.” you nodded a bit sad but respecting his choice. he must’ve seen that because he immediately wanted to cheer you up. “besides you know that if you wanted to touch my dick so bad you could’ve just asked love” he muttered pulling you on his lap. you blushed but did not have any time to respond as he pulled you in for the kiss. it was sweet and soft at first but quickly became heated. you were messily making out, hands exploring each other bodies and hips grinding. Hyunjin broke the kiss and looked at you panting “you know what? fuck it. let’s do the trend.”

Felix

“oh my gosh! i wanted to ask you about that trend but didn’t think you would like it!” he exclaimed after you asked. your boyfriend was always up to date with tik tok trends. “do you want to do that now? i’m ready!” he winked at you, excitement lighting up his face. “maybe next week after i get my nails done again. now they aren’t looking as good anymore.” you proposed and saw him start sulking immediately. “ahhh a week is such a long time.” he pulled you into the hug and looked at you with doe eyes. how could you resist him. “okay fine. i guess we can do it twice.” you laughed and kissed him.

Jisung

his eyes widened when you asked him. he looked at you innocently. “so you want to show your nails by touching me?” he seemed confused. you showed him few videos and he got the point. “okay. we can do it if you want.” he agreed. you kissed him softly “thank youuu.” “but i’m not sure if it will come good, i don’t know, i’m kinda shy.” he giggled ears a bit red when he sat on your bed and you started touching him. “just relax jagi, it looks great.” you reassured him while filming watching him get frustrated and hard by your slightest touch. so cute.

Seungmin

“are you crazy? no way.” he cut you off immediately. “but baby, why not?” you sulked, you really wanted to film that trend. “that’s cringe. and what if my mum sees that?” he made a good point. “fine. we can just post it on the anonymous account.” you proposed. by the look on his face you already knew the answer. “still a no. what if someone still recognizes us?” he asked. “but why would someone recognize your dick?” you responded annoyed. “well i was thinking about recognizing your nails not my dick dummy” he teased you. you laughed with him. “come here i know plenty more fun stuff we can do” he smiled at you smugly.

Jeongin

“fuck that’s so hot” he said with the little blush on his cheeks after you showed him few videos of people doing the trend. “do want to do it?” you asked sweetly. “hell yes” he seemed even more eager than you. “come kiss me for a while so i get hard” he invited you on his lap. you kissed him passionately, his tongue immediately finding yours. kiss got very heated fast. jeongin was sucking on your neck and you were palming him through his pants. “bed now” he muttered against your neck clearly aroused. “but what about the video babe?” you brought him back to reality. “we’ll shoot that later, don’t worry.”

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

Whatcha readin, baby?

warning: I do reblog 18+ nsfw things on here. I will try to remember to tag everything accordingly but this is your warning before exploring this page.

Happy reading ♡

.

.

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Hi ♡

Whatcha writin, baby?

20’s ♡ she/they ♡ POC

⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙ writing: stray kids, ateez, bts, seventeen, etc ⋆˙⟡♡⟡⋆˙

IMPORTANT: MINORS DNI ｡°⚠︎°｡ I do not want minors interacting with my content esp nsfw content. It is also NOT my responsibility to safeguard your experience. Please pay attention to warnings if you are sensitive about certain topics. This is your warning.

directory ♡︎ fic rec page ♡︎ nsfw visuals

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December

Poly December (All month)

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November

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October

spooky season masterlist (All month)🎃

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September

#3: mischievous swaying with chan (Sep 30th) ♡

↳ chan mild public play; little smutty

#2: chan being a meanie nsfw (Sep 29th) ♡

Keep reading

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

dirty talk sentences i feel like chan would say in bed because i’m bored and need him biblically

“take it.”

“love this fuckin’ pussy, honey. love how good you feel.”

“yeah? you feeling good for daddy, baby?”

“there we go. take that fuckin’ cock.”

“use that fucking cock baby, use it.”

“atta girl.”

“feel good for me, baby. just like that.”

“such a tight little pussy, baby.”

“love you so much, pretty girl. love how good you make me feel.”

“open those pretty legs for me, honey. let daddy take care of you.”

“let it all out for me.”

“there we go, cum. cum like a good fuckin’ girl for me.”

“mhm. just like that.”

“you take it so good.”

“daddy’s got you, baby.”

“keep going baby don’t stop.”

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

vaya con dios

》 c.s x fem. nun! reader

》 wc: 6.7k

》 plot: a strange visitor takes shelter in your nunnery and challenges your beliefs

》 content: religious guilt, religious themes, first-time, pornographer! san, nun! reader, eventual smut, some angst

Tossing and turning for the nth time that night, you finally found comfort in laying on your side with your hands tucked underneath your pillow. You took a deep breath before shutting your eyes, counting sheep in hopes that it’ll help you fall asleep faster, only for you to reach fifteen before your mind wandered again. 

It was impossible to sleep after the strange day that you had. You had a visitor. No one really visited the Nunnery. You often joked with your sisters that the Nunnery was your own world, a place so hidden inside the natural world that no one could ever find it. That was until he started knocking on your front door. 

Men are not allowed inside the convent. The only time a man would come into your world was when Father Aaron came to visit from time to time, and even then he’d need permission from Mother Reverend to enter her holy space. You couldn’t understand why she agreed to let him stay the night, let alone even grant him access to our quarters— not until she called you into the kitchen and tasked you with bringing him his evening meal. 

“Is he a Priest?” You inquired as you prepared his dinner plate. You heard that Father Aaron was nearing his retirement. Maybe this was his replacement. 

“No.” She answered with finality, not adding anything further. You hated it when she did that. 

“Then who is he? Why is he here? I thought men weren’t allowed in our convent.” 

Mother observed as you placed a few fresh berries into the dessert bowl. She liked to make sure that we weren’t giving others too much or too little. She didn’t like waste. “He isn’t, but I had to make an exception. He’s a traveler and he got lost and stumbled onto our doorstep. With how dark the clouds are and how windy it is outside, I figured it was best for him to rest here for the night before moving on with his journey.” 

“But he’s a man.” You emphasized. “What if he’s dangerous? It just doesn’t feel right, him showing up at our door in the middle of the night. Where was he going anyway?” 

Growing impatient with your constant questioning, Mother set down a heavy glass, the loud thump startling you into silence. “Mind your manners, child! It does not matter if he is a man. God gave him to us to protect, and that is what we’ll do. Now hurry along, he must be starving and it’s almost time for bed.” 

Nodding obediently, you ventured off into the closed-off wing of the Nunnery. The room he was staying in was made for women who were interested in joining the sisterhood and devoting their lives to prayer and servitude. Unfortunately, the Nunnery didn’t get many candidates for the past few years so the rooms remained vacant. 

The halls here felt colder. You didn’t like being in this part of the building. The Nunnery itself was old, and with that, the building creaked and bellowed from time to time, especially in this wing. The noises would scare you, especially at night, but your Sisters assured you months ago that the next few donations would be used to help reconstruct the weaker parts of the building. Maybe there were still some renovations left to do. 

Upon reaching the visitor’s door, you knocked quietly and waited until a voice called for you to enter. You kept your eyes low as you walked in. “Mother asked me to bring you your supper.” You announced quietly, before placing the tray on the side table. 

He was sitting on the bed, looking as if he was waiting for you. Your eyes remained at his feet. He still wore his shoes, which looked expensive and hardly worn. Curiosity got the best of you, and you couldn’t stop your eyes from rising from his feet to his shoulders. His shoulders were wide and broad, the suit jacket he wore ill-fitting as if he grew twice his size overnight and didn’t have time to buy a bigger one. You didn’t dare to look up any further. 

After a beat of silence, you awkwardly paced backward to exit through the door, not wishing to be around the stranger any longer than you needed to. 

“Wait,” he called, softly. 

Your body obeyed before your mind did, and you didn’t move another inch. You waited for him to say something. Perhaps he wanted only tea before bed, or maybe he wanted to ask for some fresh sheets since the room hadn’t been dusted in a while. But he didn’t speak any further after that. Growing ill at ease, you let your gaze drift upwards until you finally met his eyes. 

You didn’t expect him to look the way that he did. He was young, maybe around your age. You had never seen a man without graying hair and deep sunken eyes before. Most of the men that came to the Nunnery, whether it was Father Aaron or his acquaintances, always looked weak, gray, and brittle. The visitor looked fresh and radiant in comparison, with his sculpted cheekbones, neat eyebrows, and freshly trimmed dark hair. He was beautiful. 

And then there was the way that he looked at you. You felt trapped in his peculiar gaze, your cheeks burning up after every second that passed as you two took each other in. His eyes wandered all over you with hunger and curiosity, but upon meeting your wide eyes, his expression quickly softened, his mouth that was once agape with desire now curled up to a friendly and innocent smile. 

“What is your name?” He asked. His voice was soft and pretty. It felt like he was trying to lull you to sleep. 

“You may call me Sister ____.” 

“Sister” He nodded. “Forgive me, I guess I had taken the wrong route and got lost. I’m eternally grateful to you all for offering me shelter in this unpredictable weather. And for this hot meal.” He beamed. “I hope I haven’t caused you any trouble. I understand it’s very late.” 

“No, no trouble at all. We are glad that you are inside and safe instead of out there in the storm.” On queue, a flash of lightning illuminated the walls, and a dull crack of thunder followed shortly. The sounds of crashing thunder and the strangeness of the visitor had you uneasy, and you knew it was best for you to leave the room right away. Mother wouldn’t be too happy to hear that you were lingering in the room alone with him, engaging in mindless conversation at the odd hours of the night. But despite your efforts to bow your head and inch towards the door, the visitor didn’t seem to acknowledge your rush. 

“It’s a shame…” He said faintly. 

“What is?” 

“That you have to hide yourself with all that garb. You’re very pretty.” His eyes lingered over your chest as if he was trying to outline what your figure looked like underneath. Full chest, thick thighs, slender legs, narrow waist, or wide hips, he couldn’t tell, but he liked that he didn’t know. A uniform made to hide the essence of a woman, to protect them from perverted and hungry eyes like his, ended up doing the opposite. 

Sensing your offense, the visitor rushed to apologize before you could utter a remark. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, Sister. I work in entertainment. I go around and meet with decently looking women all the time for photoshoots and whatnot. That’s actually where I was headed now, to meet with a few women about an upcoming fashion magazine shoot. I didn’t mean to be so blunt. I guess nuns and religion and all that stuff…” He peered over to the wall that was decorated with a sole golden cross and then sheepishly looked back at you. “...Make me nervous.” 

Part of you felt he wasn’t telling the truth. You weren’t sure how to take him. There was something off about him, how he shifted from kind and unassuming to something that lacked innocence. You had a feeling that he wasn’t telling the truth.  

Ignoring his strange comments, you quietly bid him goodnight and then rushed off to your room. 

You wished so badly to drift off to sleep and forget about this strange encounter, but the visitor preoccupied your mind. Did he really handpick women for prestigious fashion editorials? Did he mean it when he said you’re pretty? 

No one had ever called you pretty and you honestly didn’t know how to take it. Vanity wasn’t something the sisterhood was concerned with. It was blasphemous for him to speak to you in such a manner anyway, but why did you kind of like it? 

Pretty. You. Pretty. 

Coming from someone who looked like him, it felt like a high honor. He was handsome, there was no doubt about it. He’s probably surrounded by beautiful women all the time. And he called you pretty. 

You. Pretty. 

God has a lot to say about those who let their vanity get the best of them, so you decided to brush away those thoughts and say a little prayer. Even as you prayed for forgiveness, you couldn’t help but crack a small smile. 

―

The skies were even more aggravated the next day. You were a little bummed that the trip to the orphanage was canceled due to strict stay-at-home orders, so you spent the rest of the day knitting gloves and hats for the children. 

“Ouch!” You yelped, sucking on your pricked finger. This was the fourth time you pricked yourself tonight. You couldn’t stay focused on your task. Your thoughts were all about him. You had contemplated all day about going over to his room and apologizing for the way you left so abruptly. You didn’t want him to think you were being rude. After all, there’s no harm done with giving compliments, is there? 

You wondered what he was doing right now. He was probably bored all alone in his room. Mother took it upon herself to deliver him his morning and afternoon meals, so you didn’t have a reason to see him. She didn’t seem to want the other Sisters to greet the man. Perhaps your initial apprehensiveness had gotten to her and she changed her mind about you going into his room. What if she knew you were in his room for a while? What if she heard you two talking? The sudden heaviness in your stomach made you set aside your knitting needles. 

Even so, you had a strong urge to see him one more time. Who knows? Maybe the weather will clear up tomorrow and he’ll leave without you getting a chance to say something about that night. It was giving you a headache, how much you thought about him. Was such a brief conversation, yet he lived in your mind like he owned it. You couldn’t forget about those sharp cheekbones, his sweet talking voice, and that almost sinful way that he looked at you. 

The desire to see him again was too hard to ignore, so without hesitation, you sprung up on your feet and headed down to the kitchen to ask Mother Reverend if you could give the visitor his dinner tonight. She was appalled at your sudden initiative, but considering how her knees were bothering her again, she decided it was best if you took the tray up the stairs to his room tonight. 

This time when you knocked on his door, it was silent. You knocked again a little louder this time, figuring maybe he didn’t hear you, but to your dismay, there was no answer. Stumped, you lowered the tray. Why he wasn’t answering? Was he asleep? Why would he fall asleep before dinner? Was he sick? Maybe there was no harm in checking in on him, you told yourself as you twisted the door knob and stepped into the room. 

He wasn’t here. The bed looked unmade and some of his things were tossed around. The room was littered with cameras and film. He said he worked in the entertainment industry, but he didn’t specify that he was a photographer himself. There were various different types of cameras scattered on the table and some by the windowsill. One of them caught your eye― a gorgeous camera with a wooden frame and a brown leather strap attached, sitting on top of a few magazines. Setting the tray down, you walked over to the windowsill where the pretty camera sat. It looked expensive, decorated with a small graving on the side. C.S. Was that his initials? It hit you that you never got his name.

You noticed some camera film sitting next to the stack of magazines where the camera was placed. You knew it wasn’t right to snoop. It was an invasion of privacy, not to mention that God might be looking down at you and shaking his head. But you couldn’t help it. You wanted to learn more about him, and so you let curiosity get the best of you and now you stood there in the visitor’s room with his film roll in hand. Upon unraveling the roll, you were excited to see beautiful women in next season’s haute couture, but instead, you discovered something completely unexpected. 

Suddenly, a voice startled you from behind. “I could get you an advanced copy once it’s printed.” 

You gasped, whipping your body around to face the visitor who had just stumbled into his room to a nosey Nun going through his belongings. Your cheeks flamed up, too embarrassed with yourself to even notice that his hair was dripping wet from his shower. 

“If you’re interested, that is.” He smiled teasingly. It was clear he didn't mind you snooping around, but you still felt ashamed.

“Oh, no, I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-” In the midst of all the awkwardness, you dropped the roll and it unraveled a few inches until it stopped at the visitor’s feet. He bent down and picked it up, examining his photographs for any scratches or rips as you quivered in place, struggling to find the right words. 

“I’m sorry. Are they ruined?” You asked finally. 

“They’re okay.” He assured. There was a slight glow on his brow bone and cheeks from the hot shower. The white button-up he wore stuck to his chest, revealing some of his honey skin through its sheer and damp fabric. He noticed you staring. You quickly looked away. 

“The women in those pictures…are they-”

“Naked? Yes.” 

He spoke as if he had no shame about it. To him, it was as normal as taking photos of a rainbow or a wild deer. You wondered what Mother would think if she found out the man she let sleep in her holy Nunnery took nude photos of women for a pornography magazine. It would give her a heart attack, for sure. 

This was hard to take in. You couldn’t explain it, but you felt disappointed. How could someone like him take part in such filthy hobbies? And those women? How could they degrade and humiliate themselves like this? You couldn’t help but pity them, those poor things losing their way and succumbing to promiscuity. 

The visitor sensed your disapproval. It wasn’t a surprise, given the circumstances. Still, he felt the need to defend himself. 

“I understand you have your beliefs. But I have my own too. You may think it’s ungodly and lustful, but to me, it’s freeing, it’s human…it’s female emancipation.” 

“Female emancipation?” You said in disbelief. How are pictures of women with their legs spread open a symbol of female emancipation? Was he mad? From what you saw, it was all sinful desire catered for and by men. 

He stepped over to your side of the room, carefully returning the film roll to its case. “Have you ever touched yourself?” 

“What?” You held onto the cross that lay on your chest, dumbfounded that he would even think to ask you such a question so bluntly. 

He chuckled, “I respect all religions Sister, but there are some parts in the good book that I don’t really agree with.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, what’s the harm in pleasuring ourselves? If we see a beautiful woman or man, why should we feel ashamed for having certain thoughts about them? Humans are sexual beings, why should we feel shame if we are only feeling human emotions and desires? It’s like your God is asking us to not be human, to be something else, and that’s impossible. Isn't this how he created us? That’s why these photos represent freedom. They rip off the chains of sexual repression and free us into our natural state. The women I work with love what they do. They get to let go and embrace their femininity, something your God keeps forcing you to hide.” 

He was closer to you now. You could feel his hot breath hitting your forehead. He was riled up now, finally getting all that religious guilt that he’d been holding in for years off of his chest. You stood frozen in place, mouth open but unable to form a reply. He dipped his head down, lips almost brushing against your ear. “Why do we have to feel bad about feeling good, Sister? Do you mean to tell me you never had fantasies? You never wanted to feel another man’s touch so badly that it made you go crazy?”

He had you cornered now. Your breathing got shakier as his eyes locked into yours. He continued. “You’ve had thoughts, haven’t you? Of course, you have. And your God made you feel like there was something wrong with you like you did something unforgivable. Well, that’s just not right. Live so long feeling ashamed, you’re gonna snap.” 

That was about all you could take before you pushed him away and took off. Now lying in your bed, you struggled for the second night in a row to go to sleep because your mind was still torturing you with thoughts of the visitor. 

His words replayed in your head over and over again. You knew he was wrong. Or maybe, you wanted to believe that he was. You understood his sentiment, but there were some flaws in his beliefs. Shame can be dangerous, yes, but it’s the only thing stopping humans from committing sin. God teaches us restraint, and what he’s doing is completely sacrilegious, running around like a wild animal and giving in to temptations in the name of free will. You wanted to go back, to tell him he was wrong, to alert Mother Reverend of the pornographer currently residing in our quarters so he could be kicked out, but you remained in bed. You prayed tomorrow would be a bright and sunny day so that he may leave and you will never be disturbed by him again. 

The clock struck 2, and you turned on your side, still too restless to fall asleep. You remembered the photos that were in your hands. They were so intimate, so close to her body. There was one shot that you couldn’t stop thinking about. She lay topless on a messy and unmade bed, a coy and inviting smile playing on her lips as she held onto her breasts. From the angle, it looked like the photo was taken from on top of her. Your mind raced with images of the visitor straddling over her naked body, hiding his head behind the lenses while she let go of her breasts and unbuckles his pants, never failing to continue smiling for the camera. 

The woman looked so happy in the photos, almost as if she felt comfortable around him. What was he like with them? What did he say to get them to put their guard down? Did he touch them after? 

Your stomach is crushed with guilt. You shouldn’t be having such lewd thoughts about an ungodly man like this. But why couldn’t you stop? Maybe this is what he meant when he said it was unfair for God to make us feel shame for thinking these things. It’s inevitable. You see it now. 

With your will weakened, your mind replayed the moment he cornered you into the wall. The wall felt so cold against your back, but being so close to him made your cheeks scorn. He smelled like fresh pinewood soap. His cheeks were still rosy from the hot shower, and his white shirt was damp and almost translucent. The water from the tips of his strands dripped onto your shoes. 

Have you ever touched yourself? 

You couldn’t answer him then, but no, you haven’t. You were taught that it was wrong to feel such curiosity about your own body. It was a sin. It’s a sin, you tell yourself as your hands slip into your nightdress. This is wrong, you remind yourself as you start kneading your bare breast, just as the woman in the photos did. Your fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, the new sensation making you gasp and moan like a wild animal. Out of fear of being heard, you placed a hand over your mouth to mask your sounds. Suddenly, you felt something pooling between your legs. You pressed them shut, feeling a desperate desire for something you’ve never had before. God, what has he done to you? 

You were at his door again. Your conscience was screaming at you to go back to your room, to kneel in front of your bed and beg for forgiveness, but you didn’t listen. You were too far gone now. It was a type of craving that you knew wouldn’t go away until you satisfied it. You knocked quietly so as not to wake the others, but loud enough so that he could hear inside. It felt like torture waiting for him to open the door, but once he did, you were met with relief.

He furrowed his brows and whispered, “What are you doing here?” 

“I want you to take pictures of me.” 

He was stunned by your peculiar request, but even more so at your newfound boldness. “Are you serious? Do you know what you're asking me, Sister?” 

He watched you as you freed your hair from its bun, letting your wavy ends hit your shoulders. He studied each wave, his eyes wide like he saw something he wasn’t supposed to see. “I know exactly what I’m asking,” You answered. “Now, can I come in?” 

―

You watched him from your spot on the bed as he configured with his camera. His hair was tousled, which you seemed to prefer over his neatly jelled-back hair. His shirt was unbuttoned now, exposing his well-defined chest. His skin looked so soft. You wondered what it would feel like against your fingertips. You prayed he would hurry before you changed your mind. 

“Okay. Are you ready?” He asked. 

You nodded. “Yes.” 

He took a step forward and met you at the end of the bed. “Lay down.” 

Your body sunk back into the mattress. He rested one of his knees on the bed, eyes scanning over your body. You felt hot under his gaze. 

“Can you unbutton that gown for me, Sister?” 

Slowly, you unbuttoned the rest of your gown, exposing to him your bare breasts. He licked his lips, your red and swollen peaks making him weak to the knees. “They’re so swollen…” He cooed, “Were you playing with them earlier?” 

You nodded again, a little embarrassed that he could tell what you were up to in your room just moments before. 

He smiled approvingly. “Play with them again for me.” 

You did as instructed and twisted the sore nubs between your fingers. They were so sensitive and hard now that even the lightest touch made you moan. The look of pleasure on your face was delicious, and he immediately raised his camera lens to snap this moment. 

“You’re beautiful,” he said between clicks, “the most beautiful one I’ve had.” 

You liked it when he called you pretty. It made you feel so special to have his eyes on you, to be the center of his fixation, to be his muse. You wanted to show him that you could be like the other girls, but better and even more obedient. He was your God now and you wanted to be a worthy disciple. 

Once he was satisfied with his shots, he lowered the camera. “Can I see the rest of you?” 

You didn’t hesitate to remove your panties and toss them on the floor, but upon realizing his watchful gaze and the intimidating black abyss of the camera lens, you froze up and pressed your thighs shut. You were upset and embarrassed with yourself for not being able to go through with it and follow his directions, but he was more than understanding. He knew that face, he had seen it dozens of times. 

“It’s okay.” He said softly. It all felt like a dream. His voice was soothing like a lullaby, and his warm and skilled hands that were rubbing your thighs made you disarm and ease back into the bed, letting him guide them apart to reveal your glistening cunt. 

He let out a low whine. “Fuck, that’s the prettiest little pussy I’ve ever seen.” 

That sound alone made your lower half feel heavy. You wanted to hear him make that sound again. You’d do anything to hear him make that sound again. He leaned back with his knee still resting on the bed and held up his camera, pointing its lens at your slick center. “Spread them.” 

Obediently, you pulled apart your lips with two fingers for him, your slick juices already gushing down as you did. He sighed deeply, a pained expression overwhelming his face. “So tiny,” he breathed after the camera shuttered. He had never seen anything like you before. So virtuous and delicate, yet so sinful and corrupt. You gave him so much, yet he wanted to see more of you. 

“Think you can take those pretty little fingers for me?” 

It took you a minute to understand what he meant. You were inexperienced regarding things like this, but you wanted to learn. You wanted him to teach you everything. 

“I don’t know how…” You mumbled. 

A devilish smile crept onto his face and darkened his features. “How cute,” he chuckled, amused by the holy and virtuous nun who had no idea how to make herself feel good. “Come here, I’ll show you.” 

He sets aside the camera and pulls you closer to him by your hips. Your heart fluttered at the motion, and you chewed back a whimper as he held your thighs down. He scanned your core with all his attention, examining your small hole that pulsated as you breathed in and out. “You really never touched yourself before?” 

You bit one of your fingernails and shook your head no. 

“Oh Sister, you’re really missing out.” 

Taking your hand, he guided them to your core and adjusted your fingers around your throbbing clit. It felt so foreign to you, so wet and sticky, you almost didn’t believe that this was a part of your body that you were touching. He went on to press a thumb into your inner thigh. “Rub it like this,” he said, massaging small circles into your soft skin. “Nice and gentle for me.” 

You shyly followed his directions and gently massaged over your clit. It startled you how sensitive you were to your own touch. It felt so hot as if hell’s fire was creeping over your body, but you loved it. You loved the new sensations, how filthy and impure it all was, and even more, you loved how he watched you so intently. Eyes glued to your shameless center, completely forgetting the camera he was holding and the task at hand. He knew now, that this was for him, and not for the camera. 

He had been photographing for years now and learned to hold off temptations until the end of the session, but he was struggling this time, with his cock heavy and aching to be inside of you. He found it charming just how inexperienced you were with your own fingers, and how your sloppy and awkward ministrations still made your body twitch. And those pretty pretty moans, he had never heard anything like it. So angelic, so enchanting, he almost believed you were a siren hiding behind rosaries and veils. 

Mustering up his last bit of strength, he swung his other knee over you and buckled his hips on top of you, lifting his camera up one last time. “Make yourself cum.” He demanded in between camera flashes. He absentmindedly rutted his hips against you, the weight of his heavy and clothed cock resting over your slick pussy as you played with your clit for him. His pants seemed tighter now, with the outline of his full and swollen balls peeking through. With his hard cock so close to you like this, you lost your focus and eventually, that high you worked so hard to reach went lost on you. Now feeling numb, you sighed in both exhaustion and disappointment. 

“Oh, what’s wrong Sister?” He said in a playful tone, “Too scared of the lord’s wrath to let yourself cum?” 

His chuckle dropped once he felt your hand rubbing against his crotch, your eyes so wide and innocent while shamelessly asking for a lick. “Please,” you begged, “need help.” 

God, he cursed to himself. Did you even know what you were asking him? Or were you just too needy, too far gone even to understand what you were doing? Even so, he wanted you just as badly as you wanted him, if not more. He never had someone like you before. Someone so pious, so clueless, so pure. The girls he had been with were run through, and most of them had their tricks, but you were just an amateur. Not too long ago you were standing here with your hand on your chest, shocked by the nature of his pornographic career. Fuck, you didn’t even know how to play with yourself, and now you're tracing your fingertips on his zipper fly, begging for him to help you cum? 

For the first time in his career, his moral consciousness rang in. What was he doing? As tempting as it sounded, was he really going to defile a God-fearing Nun? 

He cupped your jaw, tracing his thumb across your soft cheek. Unbeknownst to him, this was the first time another person had touched you so lovingly. You leaned into the touch, reintroducing yourself to the warmth and fuzziness of his pinewood soap. “Are you sure about this, Sister?” 

He searched in your eyes for any signs of hesitation, but all he could see was lust. It was evident that you weren’t so God-fearing anymore. Maybe his words got you, he thought. He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Yes. I want you to show me everything.” 

―

You watched nervously as he traced his tongue along your slit. His tongue felt so warm and wet, and you could see a few strings of his saliva connecting with your slick each time he lapped against your cunt. Both of your hands were pressed against your mouth to prevent any sound from slipping out, but it was so difficult not to moan and whine while he ate you out to his heart’s content. You had never felt anything like this before. It drove you mad how much of a twitching mess you were while he laid so carefree between your legs, lazily licking and sucking at your clit, oblivious to the heat that was rushing around in your lower belly. At one point, he focused his tongue directly on your clit, and the pressure from his wet muscle alone was enough for you to lose your guard and let a low broken whine escape your lips. 

He was so attentive to every reaction your body gave him. He knew you were about to cum even before you did. He held onto your thighs as your hips bucked up and down, letting you make a mess on his mouth and face. When you were done, he held your hips down and feathered a few kisses onto your cunt until you grabbed onto his hair and pushed him away. 

He had made you cum a few times like this. Each orgasm was even more intense than the one before. As exhausted as your body was becoming, your craving for him didn’t stop. It only grew stronger. 

It had been hours now. He moved so slowly, savoring each and every part of your body, making you cum from his mouth, his fingers, and even just by sucking your nipples alone. The other Sisters would be shocked to see you in your current state, your naked body soaked in cum and sweat, hips moving with a mind of its own. You were filthy but you didn’t want to stop, because if you stopped you would have to deal with the guilt and turmoil of your actions, and you didn’t want to do either. You just wanted to keep going, keep having him use you and use you until you broke. And that feeling― that momentary bliss you felt each time you reached your orgasm was unlike anything you ever felt before, and you were hooked, unable to stop, only interested in feeling like that one more time until you couldn’t stand it anymore.

You were starting to feel feverish and weak, going in and out of consciousness until you felt his warm and heavy cock resting over your stomach. 

You peered down your body, gasping at the sheer length of his cock. The tip was so red and wet, already leaking precum and dripping onto your stomach. 

“What are you doing?” 

He took your hand and guided it to your lower stomach. “You said you wanted me to show you everything. You still want that right?” 

He helped you wrap your hands around his cock. It felt even bigger in your hand, your fingers just barely making it around his girth. You pumped him gently, using his precum to help you move up and down. He took that as a yes. 

You could hear his breathing go shaky each time you pumped him. “It feels so hard” you whined. Was he going to put this inside of you? How would it even fit? Would it hurt? 

“You make me this way.” He sighed as he watched you handle his cock. Fuck, you looked so cute the way you held him with both hands, trying your best to learn in what tempo he liked it. He leaned over, his large body completely covering yours, face just millimeters away. You gasped at the feeling of his hot tip rubbing at your entrance. “It’s San, by the way.” 

“I’m sorry?” You paused.

“My name. It’s San.” 

San. It suited him. You were about to tell him that his name was pretty, but he had taken the words right out of your mouth. A pressure pushed into you, forcing your eyes to well up in tears and words to clog in your throat. 

“San!” You yelped, hands gripping onto his wide shoulders. San leaned in close, leaving gentle kisses on your cheeks, his lips wet with your salty tears. “You’re so beautiful,” He spoke into your skin as he rolled his hips into you. “You feel so good.” You took him so well, your wet walls grasping onto him so tight that he knew he wouldn’t be able to last as long as he usually does. 

With each thrust, you sang his name as if it was the only word you knew how to say. His cock hit you so deep now, stretching you out to your limit, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could hold on. You held him tighter and let him find your lips. You both moved with so much passion and hunger as if it was your last night on Earth together. He was all you knew and wanted to know. You didn’t wish for it to end. 

You felt a blooming in your stomach and figured San did as well. Your legs wrapped around him tight as you finally let go. Goosebumps prickled all over your body as San pulled out from you, his warm seed dripping onto your stomach. It felt like he marked you, that he had declared you as his for all eternity. You rubbed the sticky white liquid around your stomach, finally grasping at the realization of what you two had done and what it meant. San could sense your alarm and immediately reunited with your lips. He didn’t want you to regret this. He wanted you to look back at this moment and remember him fondly.  

The exhaustion weighed in and you drifted off to sleep as he kissed you. When morning came, you were disheartened to see rays of sunshine peeking through the window blinds. San was sitting at the edge of the bed, slipping into his socks. He was wearing the same ill-fitting suit jacket he first came in with that night. 

San noticed you stirring around in bed. He looked back and greeted you with a soft smile. 

“You’re awake.” 

You sat up too quickly and flinched at the sudden pain at your core. 

“Easy,” he said as he placed a reassuring hand on your leg. 

“You’re leaving already?” You asked, quickly forgetting about the pain.

San pursed his lips. It killed him to leave you after the night you two had, but he had his duties to attend to. And so did you. 

He took your hand into his. “Listen, Sister, I don’t know if you still feel the same about last night, but for me…that was incredible. But we both know I can’t stay.” 

It was the truth, but the truth hurt like a ton of bricks. Stupid girl, what did you think was going to happen? You broke your vows, and your loyalty to the church, and gave up the one thing you can never take back. You were ruined now, but you still didn’t know how to move forward. Did this mean you didn’t want to be in the convent anymore? Or did you want to stay and act as if you didn’t give in to temptations last night? Would you grab all of your things and run away with him and never look back? Or would you remain and pity yourself for the rest of your life for what you did? It was all unclear, and San knew that. You still had things to think through. 

“I know,” You said in a small voice. He couldn’t stay. And you couldn’t ask him to. 

“I’ll never stop thinking of you.” 

He was looking at you with doting eyes. You traced your thumb on the back of his hand. 

“Will I ever see you again?” You had to see him again. You couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing his beautiful face and feeling his soft hands on your skin. 

He let go of your hand and fished for something in his pocket. “Here,” He said, handing you a business card. “It’s my office in the city. If you ever change your mind…I’ll be there.” 

And with that, he pressed one last kiss on your forehead and took off. You lay there for most of the early morning, fiddling with the business card in your hand, grazing your fingers over the black raised ink. Choi San. Adult Film Photographer. 

It was pathetic to admit, but you think you loved him. And it killed you. You were only supposed to have the Lord in your heart, but it seemed you had given it away to a sinner. In such a short visit, he had made you feel things you had never felt before. You had never felt such strong emotions in the convent. The feeling of being desired, of being held, of being loved― it felt real. Tangible. Promising. Exhilarating. Feelings you were promised for years you’d feel each time you prayed, you felt all at once in one night with San. You almost believed that the Lord had robbed you of such pleasures. 

But then again, the convent was the only family you knew. They took you in, cared for you, and all you had to do in return was let the Lord into your heart. Serve him, alongside your Sisters, and blessings will come your way. 

Your feelings about the church were unclear, but one thing was for certain. In this lifetime or the next, you will see him again. 

―

a/n: I have been writing this since March. It's inspired by the 1800s painting "The Sin," and Kali Uchis's Vaya Con Dios. Please don't ask me for a part 2.

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

Girl Code (18+)

pairing: student!jihoon x student!reader

genre: college au, angst, smut (MDNI), lotta crack, friends to...?

description: when you and your friends find out jihoon's been writing down everything you've off-handedly said about "girl code", you simply have to know why.

warnings: brief bondage/restraint, heavy insecurity on readers part, self-doubt, dirty talk, pet names, dom!uzi, sub!reader, desperation, oral (f. receiving), praise (f. receiving), muscly uzi, unprotected sex (dont do it guys....), pining, bad writing, red velvet are your friends, theyre super fun, mingyu is excluded badly, he just wants to b a part of it :(

quotes from my creative director (@joshibambi): "i am simply a hole for him", "pussy? wet. heart? pounding. me? yearning", "every1 talks ab sapphic yearning but what ab just. jihoon-yearning?",

wordcount: 12.0k

a/n: idk why but this is deffo not as good as my previous works. n e way also sorry to @onlyseokmins bc i promised her a seokmin fic WHICH IS STILL COMING i just felt like this was kinda genius and needed to happen first ok bye

It’s mid-spring, and the world is blossoming and flowering around you. Grass sprouts greener, plants drink in the heavy rainfall and flowers are blooming, slowly unfurling their pedaled heads to crane into the beautiful sky. At odds with nature, people walk the street to be drenched in the downpour, only to be dried off by the shyly peeking sun, and to have freckles surfacing on their skin and hair, getting frizzy from the humidity, when they’re biking along the streets. It’s serene, it’s natural. You’re reminded to love the place that birthed and fostered you. 

But that’s out there.

You’re sitting, bottom planted firmly on the sticky surface of Joshua Hong’s couch, looking distantly into artificially colored lights, flickering across the floor, where people are dancing on one another in skimpy outfits and makeup, and everything is very far from the moon and the flowers. 

“The second one is a lie!” Seulgi yells over the music, cup of god knows what in her hand, and slurring her words.

Sitting on the couch and stools surrounding the coffee table is you, Mingyu, Soonyoung, Seulgi, Irene, Yeri and Jihoon.

“No, I know she likes anal!” Screams Soonyoung giddily (forever oblivious to his surroundings), receiving a glare from your roommate, Yeri. You were currently playing two truths and one lie, and attempting to discern whether Yeri was lying about being on television, lying about having black belt in taekwondo or lying about having tried anal. “It’s about whether or not she’s tried it!” Irene rolls her eyes and huffs. “My point still stands,” Soonyoung grins and eyes Yeri, and you watch somewhat disgusted, reminding yourself to ask her about it later.

You’re sitting next to Mingyu, utterly small next to him, and the two of you are only watching the scene unfold, sharing snickering glances when something funny happens. “I’ve never done taekwondo!” Yeri screams at Soonyoung, and you and Mingyu fall back in your seats laughing and slapping each other, when Soonyoung’s face drops for a moment. 

“They’re so dumb!” Mingyu cries, and you nod buried in a decorative pillow. 

“Screw this noise, I’m finding Junhui,” Hoshi mumbles, a little deflated from his loss. Then he’s standing up, cargo-pants and all, and trudging away, pouting over his shoulder when he hears the laughing continue.

Jihoon - who’s been incredibly quiet and observant throughout the night, only sipping a single bottle of beer, slaps his thighs. You’re hoping in his ever searching eyes he hasn’t seen the way you’ve been staring at him all night. Are you drunk or is he so complex and sexy, and wearing a t-shirt that shows his huge arms and pants that show his thick thighs? You’re almost certain you can chalk this up to only ever seeing him in sweaters that totally swallow him - almost. “I’m going too,” he announces, standing up and not leaving much room for argument.

“Why? I’ll be the only guy,” Mingyu whines, pout pushing out his bottom lip. You scoff. You know he loves feeling like he’s one of the girls. “Paper,” Jihoon says, and adds more, when he realizes he’s being so curt it’s almost rude: “Tomorrow. I have a paper tomorrow.” 

The group seems to accept this, knowing the stresses of college are weighing on each of them heavily. But your eyes narrow. You’re not buying it. 

You watch him sling his jacket across his body, biting back more words. He’s quiet, sure, but never this quiet. With how he’d slumped back in his seat all night, almost bent into himself, there must be something bugging him. Jihoon’s eyes meet yours. It’s a half a second, but you feel like he knows you’re on to him, the way he hides his face under his long, black hair again and turns his back to you. All of a sudden he’s hurrying away, excusing himself half-heartedly. You narrow your eyes even further and purse your lips.

“Be right back,” you say. Seulgi pouts.

You’re trudging after him, fussing with your hair all of a sudden and adjusting your dress and - God, you care so much how he sees you. But you suppose you care more that he’s okay. That’s why you’re squeezing through the dancefloor, getting grinded on by several anonymous bodies, before pushing out to the entrance and finally breathing air that wasn't coming directly from someone else’s mouth. 

“Jihoon, wait-” 

You catch up to him by the doorway, where he’s stopped his journey, to slip Vernon a bill for a ziploc of mediocre weed.

“Jihoon!” 

Finally, he hears you and he turns to you, where you’re regaining your last leg from the mass of bodies. Vernon is apparently still sober enough (you wouldn’t have thought so) to understand time and place, so he gently pushes past the two of you into the crowd. 

You’re not ready for the look he gives you. Eyes so sharp and face darkened from his shaggy hair, curling into his face, and frowning and furrowing his brows as if he couldn’t understand why you’re here. 

It sends your out-reaching body slamming backwards. You’re shrinking away from him, eyes flitting downwards self-consciously. You consider your history with him for a moment, weighing it in a glass of vodka-cranberry. This is pathetic, you realize, and it feels terrible. You’re pathetic and desperate and clingy and why would you feel the need to ask him this.

And then one moment to the next you’re scolding yourself for thinking that way. For thinking it was wrong to reach out a helping hand.

Jihoon apparently has enough of you debating with the angel and the devil on your shoulder, because he speaks finally: “What is it?” 

There’s a pause.

“Are you okay?” 

Another pause. You watch Jihoon’s face soften in shock, mouth falling open for a split second, before he’s closing it again and looking away. The ziploc crunches in his fingers, when they tighten and he shoves it into his inner pocket. 

“I’m good,” he says.

“Okay.” 

And this time and even longer pause! You can barely take it, the way he looks at you, and it almost feels like he suspicious of you, like he’s trying to discern what you’re doing here in front of him.

“Have a good night,” you say. He nods slowly and begins to walk off, and you watch him and the way the moonlight fills the entrance, so you’re coated in for a moment. Then it disappears with a slam of the door. You let out a shaky sigh. 

Why did you do that? Why would you even think to do something like that? 

You decide against standing there for any longer, not allowing yourself to overanalyze it, and you turn around to go back to your friends. Yet again comes the song and dance of trying to navigate the most terrifying human cesspool, face scrunching up in disgust as you make your way back to the sofa, almost unscathed, except you think you accidentally got caught in an armpit. 

“Y/n! Come quick, so you can be a part of this momentous- momentous.. Moment!” You hear Mingyu calling and when he’s finally in view, you realize something very, very terrible is about to happen.

Mingyu’s holding a leather notebook between his fingers - Jihoon’s notebook. It’s the one he’s always writing in; the one he shuts closed whenever anyone gets too close, the one he keeps tucked under his arm at all times; the one he’s inexplicably writing in, even if he’s blasted on Vernon’s weed. And it’s private and he’s somehow forgotten it.

“We’re not opening it,” you say immediately, power-walking back to your spot in the couch. Mingyu snaps his head towards you, and he almost looks offended at that. “What do you mean we’re not opening it, of course we’re opening it!” 

“It could be private, Gyu!” You retort and Seulgi chimes from her spot on the couch: “I’m with Y/n.” 

“No, what? Fuck you guys! We’re seeing what’s in that notebook!-” Irene spits. “Thank you!” Mingyu says.

“Yeri, it’s up to you,” you say, eyeing your roommate sharply, as you sit down again. The entire group turns to her, fury behind their retinas, and she gulps, shrinking a little. 

“Me, I just…” she shrugs abashedly and trails off. There’s a moment where you think she’ll side with you and leave the poor boy alone. You have some semblance of faith in your friendship, and maybe, maybe she’ll back you-

“He’s a music major, it’s probably just angsty lyrics, now open!” 

“Yes!” Irene and Mingyu gloat, and despite wanting to respect his privacy, you scoot closer to Mingyu (he scoffs at you, but does not mention it further, as he is itching with curiosity). With a solemn, heaved sigh, as if about to unfurl the world’s grandest mysteries, Mingyu’s large hand flips the book open.

There’s no justified way to put word to the shock that follows this. The first page reads:

“Girl Code Rule #1

Guys should bring flowers on the first date. Either lilies, roses or tulips. Depends on vibe.”

There’s a confused silence - as much as silence as you can get from a bass-boosted room of drunk college students. 

“What?” Irene quacks in disappointment, leaning closer to read it again. “Why-.. Go to the next page.” And Mingyu does, turning over the page and the next couple of pages follow suit. 

“Girl Code Rule #2

Whoever offered the date pays for dinner. First date should always be dinner, ‘none of the bowling crap’.

Girl Code Rule #3

Guys are more attractive the more hygienic they are.

Girl Code Rule #4 

It’s an ick to wear skinny jeans. *Google what an ick is.”

They come one after another, each more confusing than the last, and it’s not until number 5, that the heavy, suffocating spread of realization begins blooming among you. Clarity - your minds open like leaves of a flower in spring.

“Girl Code Rule #5

The cinema on Attacca street is a nightmare and we hate them. Never go there.”

“That’s-” you begin.

“Us!” Yeri finishes, pointing her finger at the page but directing her eyes, wide and pupils small from shock, towards you. The group exchange gaping glances. It’s undeniable - the cinema thing is relating to an incident that had happened months prior. You refuse to go into detail, but it had gotten grim.

“These are all things we’ve said!” Seulgi snatches the book out of Mingyu’s hold, beginning to mindlessly scroll through the book with furrowed brows, etch growing deeper and deeper in outrage. 

“That’s- This is crazy. That’s so not cool!” You shriek and Yeri nods in agreement: “Girl code is for girls only!” 

There’s a general agreement on the outrageousness of this. That is, except for one big boy on the couch.

“I meaaaan,” Mingyu is looking a little sheepish sitting in the middle of you and Yeri and Seulgi and Irene. All eyes flit towards him, small and sharp. He’s talking slowly, lowly and carefully:  “You guys have to have said it out loud while he was there, so you weren’t exactly being discreet…” 

“Men don’t usually listen to women, we thought we were in the clear!” Irene hisses.

“No man has ever listened to me in my entire life,” Seulgi deadpans, looking at Mingyu from beyond the book. Mingyu throws his hands out, incidentally hitting Yeri in the face, and ignoring her pained groans when she falls back on the couch. “I listened. Just now. Check that off your list-” 

“Why is he writing this down..?” You mumble, seemingly the only one grasping the gravity of the situation (although maybe there is none? You can never tell when it’s with him) and it truly is such a mystery. Was he attempting to pry open the minds of women? You don’t exactly think he has trouble finding dates, so you’re left a little at a loss. 

“Let’s ask him-” Mingu says.

“He just left, dumbass,” Irene spits and you can tell she’s almost disgusted with herself for ever siding with him.

“Let’s ask him tomorrow, then, after class,” you say decidedly. 

“Ugh, don’t talk about tomorrow..” Yeri groans, and you can see the regret settling in because why do all the hot guys throw weeknight parties? “Y/n, can we go home?” she asks and you’re nodding immediately.

“Seul?” 

“Yep.” 

And in the span of just a couple of seconds, your entire friend group is packing up, Seulgi stuffing the book into her tote bag. Mingyu’s still sitting, much smaller when you’re standing over him, and when he has that almost starstruck look on his face. “I’m so glad I’m a part of this, guys.” 

“You’re not.” 

“You’re not.” 

“Yes, I am,” Mingyu counters, clearly thinking otherwise. He’s grinning stupidly. “Hey, wait, where are we confronting him tomorrow?” he calls out suddenly, but you’re already on your way out.

“GUYS! WHERE ARE WE MEETING?”  _____________________________

You, Yeri, Seulgi, and Irene sit side by side on the middle-back row in class, eyeing Jihoon from the peaks. It’s a quiet, morning class, and the teacher rambles on while the four of you glare down at him. Or at least they glare. You hope it’s not noticeable how there’s something softer in your eyes - something almost tender. He’s fidgeting a little. Maybe he feels the pairs of eyes on the back of his black-buried head or maybe he’s noticed the book is gone and he feels the consequences coming.

It was certainly a strange situation to tackle. Mingyu did have a point, if it was a private conversation, you certainly had not discussed it as such. And even then, was there a crime in what he was doing? You just couldn’t understand how Jihoon possibly felt the need to garner all this information on women. He’d never had trouble picking up girls. You would know.

You shake the terrible, terrible thought away, when Irene speaks up: “The coward is all nervous.” 

“Okay, let’s calm down. We can’t know he’s an evildoer, before we find out his true intentions.” Seulgi reasons, a hand soothing over Irene’s arm. Yeri nods softly. “God, I wish class was over.” 

And suddenly it was. Well, twenty more minutes of suffering through a class that was totally lost, picked up by the pollen-saturated wind. Then the professor is excusing himself and wiping the board. 

Never in your life had your group been so fast at packing up their things, pencils and computers shoved down bags, before you’re strutting (model-walking) over to Jihoon. “We need to talk to you,” Yeri says, once she’s in front of his desk, hand on the wood. Jihoon looks up from where he’s packing his bag, eyes peeking through the thick strands of hair. He nods. He knows. 

As you wait for students to exit the class (Minghao giving Jihoon a confused grimace, before he squeezes out), you study Jihoon. He’s still sitting, and you’re all towering over him. His pale skin is glowing in the light and he purses his lip and bounces his leg - God, his thick leg - in nervous await. 

Students are slipping out the door in droves and when the last, tired body escapes, Seulgi reaches into her bag and pulls out the leather-bound book. “We read it.” 

“I figured,” he mutters. He’s avoiding your eyes, flinching a little when Irene slams her hand onto the book. “So, why have you been writing down the girl code?” 

Jihoon sighs. His lips make a tight line, and you can see how he wonders what to say. The pause would’ve been more tense had you not had the girls with you. 

“The girl code is for girls only,” Yeri supplies. 

“Well, you weren’t exactly being discreet about it-”

“Just answer the question, Jihoon!” Seulgi snaps, crossing her arms over her chest. “This is, like, top-level strange.” 

“Alright!” Jihoon throws his hands up in the air. His eyes flit to you, totally quiet and scratching your nails on the wooden table. You look away. He sighs a little. “I… It’s..” 

You almost want to hug him when he buries his face in his hands, tugging at the ends of his hair. 

“You can’t tell anyone.” 

The four of you exchange glances.

“We won’t.” 

He pauses.

“It’s.. IhaveacrushonthisgirlandIdon’twanttomessitup.” 

There’s a beat, where the information glides cooly into your skulls and you begin to process. Jihoon - cold, cynical, loner Jihoon - has a crush on a girl and is trying to improve himself for her? 

Holy hell.

“Jihoon!” cries Seulgi and Irene chimes in, equally as adoring and diffused: “That’s so cute, you should’ve just said something!” 

There’s an uproar of coos and cries and oohs and ahhs and compliments being thrown at Jihoon and he just sits there, cheeks blazing bright red, although with a little, shy smile on his lips. 

And then there’s you. It’s so dumb. Why can’t you help the slight disappointment that lowers on you, like the fog does in the blooming season? Why can’t you smile wider, happier for Jihoon? Why do you feel this way? Does it really take all this commotion for you to realize how much you want him? You half-smile and look at your shoes. Just as how your feelings blossomed like a flower in spring, you hope they, too, are destined to wither away once more. 

“Congratulations,” you say to him, giving him a dignified nod. Jihoon looks at you for a moment, before he smiles tightly and thanks you.

“Jihoon!” Yeri says, and you know you’re about to hate her for what comes next: “We can totally help you with the crush!” 

Jihoon’s eyes widen. “Really? I mean- you guys don’t have to-” 

“No, no! You can come to our girls’ nights and we can tell you everything!” Irene cuts in, nodding in reassurance. Jihoon smiles to himself a little sheepishly.

“Who is it?” Seulgi asks, and you can tell her heart is triple its usual size.

“I’m not telling you.” 

“Come on!” Seulgi begs, but Jihoon is steadfast. He gives her cheeky smile and shakes his head again. “No way. It’s my secret.” 

“We can keep a secret!” Yeri begs, bending her knees in plea. You, unusually quiet, speak up again: “We can.” 

There’s a pause while Jihoon looks at you again. He narrows his eyes and it’s almost like he’s trying to decode you. Maybe he’s noticed you’re just as quiet as he was, at that party. You hate yourself when your heart picks up at the thought of him caring about you. 

Suddenly he’s snapping out of it and smiling and shaking his ruffled head of hair again. “No. If girl code was supposed to be a secret, then I don’t even wanna think about telling you.”

This time there’s no talkback, only somewhat embarrassed nods.

“We deserve that.”  _____________________________

You come back to your dorm room that afternoon, and lie down in bed. Thoughts of Jihoon plague your mind and you feel disease-ridden, attempting to push away the thought with the same useless reminder: You should do your paper, gotta do your paper now, it’s due very soon…

But no matter how many times you tell yourself, you can’t overcome the crushing feeling in your chest, like your entire rib cage is being compressed. 

You know when these emotions started. It was at the Halloween party, six months ago, and Jihoon had been wearing a cop-outfit and you, with a more humorous approach, a lobster costume (Mingyu was a chef). Somehow, he’d still found you sexy though, because he was laughing in the bathroom of Seungcheol’s frat house, ripping the costume off of you. 

“I can’t believe I’m gonna fuck a lobster,” he’d said in between kisses, laughing again as he caught sight of the costume, discarded on the floor. You giggled. “Me neither. There are plenty of fish in the sea, you know?” 

And he’d thrown his head back, still with that black hair, still in that sexy fucking uniform, and his nose all scrunched and adam’s apple bopping in time with his joyful laughter. “Stop making me laugh while I’m trying to get you wet!” 

“I’m already wet,” you’d shrugged, “you’re hot.” 

And before you knew it you were handcuffed and he was rutting into you against the sink. His cock was disappearing and reappearing from your pussy, hooked onto him like a vice. Groaning and listening to your withheld moans, he’d left the most sinful hickies along your shining neck, while mumbling desperate praises to you: “You’re so pretty, N/n, letting me have you like this, so fucking hot.” 

You supposed you’d buried those feelings, because you felt so pathetic for catching feelings from a one night stand.

And it is pathetic. And you are pathetic, and desperate, and alone, and God, is it even Jihoon, or is it the way it suddenly feels like no one wants you? 

“Stop that,” Yeri says suddenly, lying on her bed on the opposite side of your room. You tilt your tired eyes towards her. “What?” 

“I can hear you thinking. What’s up?” She said nonchalantly, dropping her phone, that she’d been mindlessly scrolling through. Cheeks bunched up on your pillow and mascara smudging under your eyes, you look at her and sigh.

“Just tired,” you hum. _____________________________

Jihoon has been adopted. For a whole week following that incident, suddenly, your friends are taking him with them everywhere, and your safe space is invaded by his hair, his laugh, and his subtle cologne. It’s him with you during movie nights, it’s him during girls’ nights, and it’s him while you’re getting ready for a bar-night, all sitting in Irene and Seulgi’s pink-tastic room, doing makeup on the floor and on the desks and on the bed. 

“I love your eye makeup,” Seulgi says to Yeri (it’s a pink number with glittery inner corners), under eyes totally covered in white powder, as she’s baking her makeup. Jihoon is sitting on the floor, hair tied up in two pigtails that Irene had given him. “Thank you, Seul.”

You’re doing your own makeup, working blush into your cheeks and trying not to look at him, the way he’s half-lying on the carpeted floor, looking absentmindedly into his phone. His thighs are huge, and he’s wearing gray sweatpants, and you think you’re going insane.

Irene (who’s done with her makeup before anyone else, always) looks up from her own phone. She narrows her eyes deviously. “Jihoon, what do you think of Yeri’s makeup?” 

Jihoon snaps his head up, pigtails bouncing. “Uh,” he looks a little lost, when he turns his head over to Yeri, who smiles sheepishly, not totally understanding what was happening. “It’s nice.” 

“Just nice?” Irene smirks, and Jihoon finally seems to catch on to the fact that this is some sort of test. Indeed it was, and you knew it from the moment Irene began to talk. Your eyes flit between them, sitting behind you in the mirror. “Can you elaborate on that?” Irene smirks.

“It’s…” Jihoon considers what to respond, almost nervous. “She looks better without makeup.”

“Son, no!”

“Never!”

“Absolutely not!” 

It’s a cacophony from the girls, even a pillow is thrown at his head, which he dodges in shock. “Never say that to a girl, Jihoon! It’s rude!” Irene lectures, a finger pointedly thrown in his direction. When he doesn’t seem to get it, Yeri explains: “Imagine spending time on something, only for someone to say they’d wish you hadn’t done it all.” 

Jihoon, who’s been bristling like a disturbed cat up until now, softens in understanding. “Oh. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay, our child, you’re learning,” Irene says, face turning back to her phone, as she apparently has lost interest in the conversation. 

You watch quietly with a bemused smile, having paused your ministrations on your face, brush held in the air before you. Jihoon’s eyes flicker over to you, an unreadable expression on his face. You meet his eyes in the mirror, pitch black and blank. You look away quickly.

You can feel him, still looking at you, and you feel self-conscious at the way you crooken your back to better focus on your face. What’s he thinking? That you look ugly? That your back is ugly? Your makeup?

“Are you okay, Y/n?” 

You freeze. His voice is soft as ever, and you understand now, better than ever, why he’s a music major, because it’s so melodious and sweet in your ears. All eyes in the room snap to you and you eye them all in the mirror. “Yep.” 

Yeri sighs, exasperated. “She’s been depresso for, like, a week.” 

“I’ve been fine,” you correct, smudging out the pencil on your lid. “I’ve been fineeee,” Yeri mocks, making her voice nasally and high. You glare at her through the mirror, but all she does is stick her tongue out at you. 

“I’m just stressed out, okay? I've got a lot on my plate,” you mumble bitterly, and it’s true, because every time you’re trying to do assignments, papers, write notes and focus in class, you think of him, and how he doesn’t want you. And one wrong thing leads to another, and then you’re thinking about how no one wants you, and you haven’t had a boyfriend since you entered college. And then it’s something about how you look, or it’s something about how you are, as a person, and you just sit at your desk with this terrible feeling in you gut, trying not to cry, or hoping that your sniffles don’t overpower Replay by Shinee blasting in Yeri’s headphones, as she’s eating crackers in bed, just a few feet away from you. 

“Just talk to us if you need anything, okay?” Seulgi frowns and you smile at her, hoping it looks convincing. She nods at you, turning back to her handheld mirror. But alas one person stays staring at you. You avoid his eyes, trying not to look like you’re about to cry.

“I can arrange a spa day? We can get our toes done,” Irene asks, and she wiggles her toes in the air for emphasis. “Ooo, yes!” Yeri exclaims. 

Finally, Jihoon’s attention is ripped from you, wincing at the thought of another person handling his feet. “Can I skip out on that, maybe?” 

Irene scratches her chin, pretending to think about it. Then she says, bluntly and directly: “Nah.” 

_____________________________

“Let me come with you to the spa!” 

“No! Jihoon, walk faster,” like a mother, Seulgi is grabbing Jihoon’s wrist and dragging him further from the tall, huge man behind you. Mingyu is following you all like a dog, whining and crying, and pouting. “Please, guys! I don’t wanna go with Seungcheol and Jeonghan, they’re mean!” 

“Spa day is for girls only!” Yeri yells over her shoulder, as the five of you stumble away from Mingyu, crying out to you. “What about him?” Mingyu yells and points. 

“Don’t listen to him, sweetie,” Seulgi tells Jihoon and he nods very seriously. “He’s our adopted son! Now shoo!” 

Finally Mingyu gives up the chase, and you disappear behind the outerwall, beginning down a busy street towards Irene’s favorite spa. “I don’t get how you’re friends with that guy,” Irene says, elbowing you, and you both snicker. “He’s a pup,” you shrug.

The streets are filled with people, the sun is shining, and it’s spring, and everything should be great, because you’re with your friends. But he’s here too. Swallowed up by his hoodie, pitch black in a sea of colors, he’s still here and his very presence has you tense, and yearning for the touch of a masseuse. The streets that had grown so familiar, that you thought you had learnt and mastered, had become so foreign, and you’re trying to escape into yourself, trying to find a backdoor out of the constant blabbering, teaching Jihoon the importance of gossip and female communication and companionship. These are your friends. The sadness eventually musters into frustration.

Soon enough, you’re sighing so hard you think your soul escapes with it through your mouth. A spa-worker begins massaging your feet, and working her thumbs into your sore soles. Irene laughs at your reaction, two seats over. “Told you all you needed was a spa day!” she beams. Yeah, a spa day and maybe a new friend group that wouldn’t adopt the guy who you should certainly not be around!

And speaking of him, he’s sitting in the chair right next to yours, grimacing and flinching back from the disdained worker. 

“What are you gonna tell her?” Yeri quips, smiling at the end of the row. Jihoon takes a second to snap out of his constant flinching, looking over at her nervously. “Oh, uh…” 

The girls are all looking at him expectantly, but you’re squeezing your eyes shut and wishing your ears could shut too. 

“Probably, like.. ‘Hey, I like you, would you maybe wanna go out on a date sometime?” 

“Pssh!”

“Absolutely not!”

“As if!” 

Jihoon is a little flabbergasted.

“Here’s what you’re actually gonna say,” Seulgi leans over in her chair towards him, directing him with a finger in her armrest. You hear Jihoon scramble in his chair, and you know he’s taking out that stupid notebook again.

Seulgi lowers her voice to mimic his, when she talks again: “‘Hi, crush, how are you?’ Wait for her response… Then: ‘I’ve always thought you were very beautiful. Your very presence takes my breath away. I would like to take you on a date, would that be okay with you?’ And be suave about it.” 

“HAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAH.”

Yeri and Irene burst into laughter, hitting the armrests of their chairs and covering their bright smiles with their hands. Even you snort in amusement. “What?!” Seulgi exclaims, outraged. “What’s so funny about that?” 

“Nothing, I just-...” Irene wafts herself, trying to ease away that tears of glee that spring in her eyes. “I can’t imagine any man, let alone our son, saying that to a woman.. Wow.” 

“It’s good! I would be flattered,” Seulgi defends herself viciously. Yeri snorts from her seat: “It’s not a drama, Seul!” 

“Well!” Seulgi scoffs, twisting her upper body to face Yeri now. “Maybe I would like my life to be a drama, thank you very much!” 

Their argument continues viciously, insults and laughter being thrown at each other left and right and you can almost begin to tune them own, letting the feeling of pads on your feet and a gentle, cool brush on the nail lure you to sleep.

Then there’s a hand on your forearm. You peek an eye open and see him - God, it just has to be him - leaning over his chair to gently grasp you. He looks at you through lashes, and he’s so sincere that it kills you when he says: “I can tell you’re not okay.” 

You’re a little taken aback, one second prior you were being lulled to sleep and now he’s talking to you, so low, so seriously, while the girls try to attack each other behind him. You wish your heart isn’t suddenly galloping, and you wish his warmth on your arm and radiating onto you isn’t so nauseating. “I-”

“Don't say you are, when you're not. You’re very obvious, you know?” he hums, smiling softly when he sees you flush from his intense gaze. You avert your eyes nervously. “Uhm. I just.. I don’t really want to talk about it, Hoon.” 

You flick your eyes back up to his to survey his reaction. His expression softens at the nickname, and he holds your gaze for a moment longer, before he nods in understanding, all the warmth of his closeness disappearing, when he sits back down in his seat.

“That’s okay,” he smiles at you in reassurance, and your heart leaps, and you can’t help but think that he doesn’t need anymore training to make his crush - whoever the lucky girl is - completely and totally happy for several lifetimes. 

He’s a beautiful, sun-beamed flower, where he sits, light flitting through the store-front windows. You’d be happy for several lifetimes. If only he wanted you. _____________________________

“What is going on?!” 

It’s Mingyu, and he’s somehow found you, as you’re trudging out of your latest class, suddenly hot on your trail and outraged about something or other. “What?” you mumble, heading to the cafe near the end of the hall.

“With Jihoon?! Why does he get to be your son when I don’t?!” Mingyu wafts his arms and pouts and you cringe, leaning away from his loud voice. “Ugh…” 

“I need to know why he was writing that girl code stuff, Y/n. Why is he suddenly allowed at girls’ nights, when I’ve been trying to get in for months?!” 

You take a turn into the cafe and sigh at how crowded it is, immediately placing yourself in line, Mingyu right behind you. “Calm down,” you say, just wanting a sandwich and maybe some peace and qui-

“I will not!” he snaps back, brows furrowed and a determined look on his face. You look up at him, pursing your lips in thought. Did Mingyu deserve to know? Maybe. He had been trying to get into girls’ nights forever, always going on about being ‘an honorary member’. 

“I’m not sure I can tell you- Hey, can I get a tuna sandwich, please?” You say, quickly turned to the clerk behind the counter. “I won’t tell anyone, pleaseee- Can you get me one of those too? Thanks.”

You’re handed your sandwiches, and you hold both of them, drifting over to a table by the window, both of Mingyu’s hands on your shoulders and his voice in your ear: “Please, please, please, pretty please with the sugar on top?”

You plop down in your seat, simply exasperated, and hand him his sandwich. He’s settling himself down when you answer: “Okay.”

“Yes!” Mingyu fists the air in victory, mumbling self-assured under his breath: “Begging always works.” You snort and take a big bite of your sandwich. 

“Stop eating and tell me!” he whines. “I’m hungry– Hey!” 

Mingyu snatches the sandwich right out of your hands and grins at you deviously, dancing with it. You hate him. You hate him, but it is a little endearing.

“Jihoon has a crush on some girl and he’s been writing down the girl code in an attempt to understand women,” you deadpan, and when Mingyu’s mouth and guard drops, you snatch your sandwich back and begin gulping down hungrily. 

“Are you shitting me?!” You shake your head.

“So, that's why he's allowed at girls’ night?” You nod your head. 

“So, that’s why you’ve been so down?” You almost choke on your food.

“What?” 

“Because you like him,” Mingyu says seriously and, with a totally stunned look on your face, you shark down the bits of sandwich in your mouth painfully. “How do you know that?!” you cry, head suddenly snapping in seventy different directions, relief washing over you, when none of your or Jihoon’s friends are around.

“Because you’ve been acting all weird around him since you fucked at Seungcheol’s Halloween party,” Mingyu shrugs. You wave your arms wildly.

“How do you know that?!” Whining, you throw yourself back in your seat, and bury your head in your hands. This couldn’t be happening. Your delicate secret, the one that could have - should have - simply faded away into summer, was now out and open, and you look out the window, and it’s spring.

“I know everything,” Mingu says ominously, giggling evilly.

“Mingyu, I will fucking kill you.”

“Fine! I needed to pee and you guys were super loud,” Mingyu pouts and takes a bite of his own sandwich. “No need to be so rude.” 

“I can’t believe you know,” you groan, head collapsing on the table. Mingyu, forever and always silly, finally softens and frowns. You’re scattered. 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“No,” you say. Then, a moment later (in true Girl Code fashion) you’re lifting your head from the table and burying it in your hands: “I just. I don’t know, Mingyu. I feel so pathetic for liking him after a one night stand! And now he’s doing all this for another woman and he’s with us all the time…I haven’t had a boyfriend in college, Mingyu. I just feel so…” There’s a pause, when you’re trying to find the right word, and Mingyu stops breathing, looking at you and fearing the worst. Then comes the word, ripping itself from your lips:

“Unlovable.” 

Mingyu’s frown deepens. Big, puppy Mingyu who’s always silly and happy, just slumps in on himself. “You’re not unlovable,” he mumbles, sounding genuinely disbelieving. You scoff.

“Thanks, Mingyu, it’s just.. That’s how it feels,” you admit, running a hand through your hair and looking at your half-eaten sandwich on the table. Mingyu’s quiet for a moment. When he speaks up again, he’s determined, and you can discern almost immediately that there’s no escaping this plan. Or he’ll for God’s sake start begging again.

“I’m going to wingman you,” he’s nodding to himself, and you can see the plan falling into place in his head, “I’m gonna wingman you and set you up with my friend at the party on Saturday!” 

“Please, don’t,” you groan half-heartedly, but a piece of you brightens with hope, with summer, like maybe this was the thing you needed to get over your schoolgirl-crush on Jihoon.

“No,” Mingyu responds simply. “This is happening.”  _____________________________

Indeed, it is happening. 

The frat house is practically bumping with each beat of whatever pop song is playing over the speakers, and you lean into the rhythm that reverberates in the kitchen table beneath your fingers.

You somewhat wish that you hadn’t been as excited for this as you were, that you hadn’t spent hours picking out the perfect pink dress and doing your makeup, and that you aren’t hopelessly dependant on Mingyu (of all people) to find you a fuck. But you are. Putting on that dress and hoop earrings and doing your hair and declining Yeri’s invitation to the girls’ (and Jihoon’s) pre-party, you feel like you’re scrambling, like constantly falling through the air, flailing for something to ground yourself on. 

Now, scanning over the tinted lights and the dancing people and feeling the slight, warm buzz of vodka in your blood, you know you need this. And still, you combat that slight anxiety, the insecurity that you hadn’t felt in years - what if Mingyu couldn’t find a single guy that wanted you? 

Mingyu doesn’t seem worried though.

“Okay! We just gotta figure out who to set you up with. Take your pick,” he places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing and gauging your reaction. Your brows furrow as you shrug. Somehow, even when half the guys are objectively hot, you can’t say you find yourself drawn to any of them. You don’t linger on the feeling, fearful that maybe you’ll realize all the things they’re missing, the things they’re falling short of, are just Jihoon’s traits. “I don’t know, man. I just-..” 

Mingyu senses your struggle and elects to give you his excellent guidance. “Alright, well you could do Joshua?” He’s pointing somewhere in the crowd, and sure enough, you notice Joshua, majoring in communications or something like that. “He’s a star: total hottie, super smart, sweet and considerate, and-” 

“And he fucked Yeri,” you deadpan, head lolling over to look at Mingyu disapprovingly. Mingyu’s mouth falls open: “What?!”

“Yeah, like, two months ago!” you argue, wafting your hands. Mingyu’s mouth stays open, and he’s seemingly totally appalled by this. 

“What?! Okay- nevermind. How about him?” He points his long limbs again, and this time you notice- 

You narrow your eyes confusedly. Hopefully Mingyu was not trying to set you up with the biggest player in your year? “Jeonghan?!” 

“What? No, the guy beside him, dickwad,” he playfully smacks the side of your head as you refocus your eyes. Indeed, a blonde guy is standing next to Jeonghan, seemingly whining at him. “Who’s he?” 

“Lee Chan. Super sweet, great bod, a little dumb, but very doting-” 

“Is he a freshman?!” you cry, almost as if it were a crime. Mingyu huffs. “You’re not making this easy, you know?!” 

“I’m not dating or fucking a freshman,” you cross your arms and Mingyu senses the air of finality in your words. He sighs, slumping behind you for a moment, before he spots something across the room.

“Wonwoo! What about him?” he doesn’t even bother pointing at this point, simply tilts your head towards the man, who was currently talking to Seungcheol a little ways from the kitchen. You spot him. You suppose you’d always been a little curious about Wonwoo. From what you’d seen of him in passing, he was sweet and polite, absolutely gorgeous and extremely smart. You nod solemnly.

“I could- I could see that,” you say and Mingyu’s eyes light up. He bounces victoriously, punching the air. “He’s great, you’re- you’re gonna love him,” Mingyu delights and before you can even get another word in, Mingyu’s yelling across the room: “Hey, Wonwoo! Wonwoo, scootch over here!”  

Your eyes widen in shock. “Wha- we’re doing this now? Just, on the fly? No warning?” 

“It’s fine,” Mingyu waves you off, eyes trained on where Wonwoo is now walking towards you. 

“Do I look okay?” your voice is wavering nervously. You still can’t help how you feel, even in your dress and your makeup. Where had all your confidence gone? The confidence with which you’d literally fucked Jihoon in a lobster-costume? Even the thought of him stings. Mingyu’s confident facade falters for only a split second at the vulnerability in your tone. His gaze softens and he looks at you: “You look great, N/n. Calm down, Wonwoo’s super nice.” 

“Hey, Gyu,” Wonwoo’s voice is cool, as he approaches Mingyu. Standing in front of you and Mingyu, he briefly scans you, then acknowledges you with a nod and a sweet smile. “Wonwoo, hey, you know, I was just wondering if you’ve already done the history paper?” 

Wonwoo is unamused. “I’m not doing your paper again, Mingyu.” 

“Oh well, shucks, that’s simply too bad,” Mingyu (poorly) feigns annoyance and defeat, before he’s grabbing your shoulder. “Anyway, Wonwoo, have you met my very good friend, Y/n?” 

You fake a smile, hoping the absolute pain of the current interaction was not showing on your face. If you’d known Mingyu was this bad at wing-manning, you would’ve gladly put up with his begging instead. You want to crawl into a hole and die, because based on Wonwoo’s smug smile, he has a pretty good understanding of what’s happening.

“Whoops, look at the time!” Mingyu looks at his wrist. He is not wearing a watch. “Damn, I guess I gotta go and- and leave my two good friends alone with each other, such a shame, uh, anyway!” As he speaks he backs further and further from you, trying to ignore the glare in your eyes, before he’s bolting at his last word. 

There’s an awkward silence as soon as Mingyu’s gone. You feel like an unshelled turtle. You purse your lips and stare at your heel-clad feet. 

“So, Mingyu was trying to wingman you?” Wonwoo’s voice is deep and bemused. You look at him in horror, trying to think of a way to salvage the situation.

“Yeah,” your breathe, and he immediately begins laughing. “Sorry about that, he was- he was just trying to be helpful, although it’s hard to defend him right now.” 

“He’s wingmanned me before, too,” Wonwoo muses and, thank God, this was actually a good thing. You find a balance on the common ground. “Really?” you grin, looking up at him.

“Yep,” Wonwoo admits, “safe to say I did not get my dick wet.” 

You laugh hard, and it feels like a switch has flipped inside you, restarting your joy-generator, because you’re laughing and hitting Wonwoo’s arm, and he’s smiling because he’s just made a pretty girl laugh. 

“He’s so bad!” you say when you’re done laughing. “Everytime!” Wonwoo drawls, “Everytime he pulls that shit and he’s never wearing a watch!” 

You and Wonwoo laugh together, throwing (good-hearted) snarky comments about Mingyu around, and your cheeks are rosy and shining in the kitchen-light. Finally, party still bumpin’ and pumpin’ in the near distance, your laughter dies down and you’re both half-leaning against the counter. Wonwoo looks down at you with a smug smile. 

“What?” you ask, growing insecure again under his gaze. He hums.

“So you asked for me?” 

“Hm?” 

“When Mingyu was wingmanning you,” Wonwoo reminded you, tilting his head. “You asked for me?” 

“I-” you stutter, and your heart clenches nervously, because if things had been right, if things were different at least, you would have asked for Jihoon. It’s this gut-punching guilt. It feels wrong to use him, Wonwoo, to overcome Jihoon. “He was laying down my options.” 

“Options?” Wonwoo quips, brow raised questioningly, but he doesn’t interrogate further. Instead, he leans his head down, so he’s much, much closer to you, breathing hitting your face when he whispers: “But you wanted to fuck me. Isn’t that right?” 

You gulp. His presence is almost suffocating. Avoiding his eyes, you flicker them onto the dancefloor, where- 

Where Jihoon is storming out of the house. 

You squeeze your eyes shut - something Wonwoo thinks is out of embarrassment, from the question he’s just asked you - and try to refocus on Wonwoo. Try to ignore how the thoughts about Jihoon come bubbling in your head. It was probably something with his crush. You want to do nothing more than comfort him, hold him, steal away every bad thought he may ever have. 

You open your eyes, hoping that somehow seeing Wonwoo’s face would fill you with a need for him - him, and not Jihoon - but seeing him in the low lighting only serves as a reminder that Wonwoo is not him. 

“I’m- I’m so sorry, Wonwoo. I gotta go. I’m really, really sorry-” you say suddenly, and immediately you’re scurrying towards the door. Wonwoo frowns, eyes following you in your path. “Did I- Did I make you uncomfortable?” 

“No, you were hot!” you say absent-mindedly, before you’re disappearing into the entrance, and then further along, out the door.

Wonwoo stands alone at the counter, still somewhat leaned towards your ghost in front of him, and shakes his head in confusion. “What the fuck?”  _____________________________

“Jihoon?” 

You exit just in time to see him, stomping on the other side of the road, armless denim jacket wafting in the wind. It’s spring, just warm enough that you’re not freezing, but still cold enough that you curl your arms around yourself. Your hair blows gently. It smells distantly like flowers. 

He turns around at your voice. When he does, you know your suspicions were right. He looks so defeated. His gorgeous long hair, that usually only makes you clench your thighs together, is limp and drags him downwards. His arms hang similarly at his sides, fists clenched at the bottom, causing veins to ripple along the forearms. He stands just below a street light, spot-lighted, as if on a stage.

“Leave me alone!” he yells out to you across the road, voice breaking halfway. This does nothing to dampen his demeanor - this tough front, this anger he suddenly carries. You still in the grass beside the road, looking at him pleadingly. He can’t hold your gaze.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, Jihoon,” you begin, choosing your words carefully. “But I can just.. Support you. You don’t have to be alone right now.” 

This almost seems to piss him off more, clenching his jaw, sharply defined by the harsh shadows, and steering his head away from you, like a sunflower following the sun in the sky. It hurts your heart. The way he almost seems angry with you. And yet again you’re made to feel pathetic for following him out here. Like you’re on your knees and he’s standing there in front of you, spitting on you. Why does it hurt so much? You almost wish you’d stayed with Wonwoo - that you’d followed him to his room and let him fuck you and pretended you weren’t thinking about him the entire time.

“Shouldn’t you go back inside?” he’s prickling with hostility. “You seemed like you were having a good time.”

“Jihoon,” you say breathlessly. “None of us is having a good time if you’re not.” 

Whatever cog you unturned, whatever screw you unscrewed, Jihoon’s tightly wound posture unwinds, and he softens and withers before you, one hand clamping over his eyes. You take this as a sign to move towards him, heels clicking on the asphalt warning him of your advance. It’s deadly quiet, save for the heartbeat of the frat house behind you.

“I’m sorry,” he says, finally lowering his hand and looking at you. You smile sympathetically, relief flooding you, when he lets you gently place a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

The two of you begin to walk in silence, and you recognize it as the path that leads back to the dormitory. It’s calm, steps becoming rhythmic and breeze easing your muscles with its cool touch. You study his face as it’s lit and unlit by the systemic presence of street lights. You’re able to put your own feelings aside for him, to be a martyr, and to sacrifice yourself to comfort him. It feels like cutting your own throat to talk to him about another woman, a woman he loves, truly, but you know it must be done.

“So,” you muster finally. “What happened in there?” 

He scoffs bitterly, looking at the pavement underneath his shoes. You frown. “Nothing happened.” 

“Nothing?” you repeat, a little confused.

“I didn’t tell her.” 

“Oh.” 

You’re honestly not the best comforter, you realize, cringing and hoping you’re not making it worse by talking to him about it. You see the faint outline of the dormitory at the end of the street. 

“Why not?” you quip quietly. His mouth makes a tight line. He breathes out shakily, and you fear you’re riling him up again by asking further.

“She was talking to some other guy,” Jihoon says, eyes flitting to yours before immediately ducking back to the pavement. You furrow your brows. Could it be you? That thought nurtures the spring garden in your stomach, the one you’d been trying to kill. But the insecurity that had come with it, and with him, only manages to squander that light.

“I’m sorry that happened,” you say softly, hand finding his arm, but he pulls it away from you immediately. Ouch. 

“Yeah,” he chuckles without humor. 

Finally, you decide to just shut up, to stop pushing him when he’s so vulnerable, but this time it’s Jihoon who doesn’t stop speaking. “You know,” he begins and again he’s laughing, but you can tell it’s only a cheap plaster for the pain in his voice, “I’d memorized that- that confession thing Seulgi made. And I followed all the- the style advice and the-” his voice breaks and he hisses at how pathetic it sounds. “Everything. I did everything,” he summarizes finally and when you look you see orbs of tears forming at his waterline, like the dew drops that sparkle on leaves in spring. 

You don’t know what to say. It’s almost too hard to see him like this. “I’m sorry,” you whisper, but Jihoon shakes his head.

“Stop saying that,” his voice is harsher, groggier, thick and stained by the sobs in his throat. You pause your steps. You’re standing in the yard outside the dormitory now. Hundreds of windows become an audience to where you now stand before each other. 

“Why?” you ask. 

“Because-” he wipes the tears away aggressively, composing himself before he finally, finally looks at you. “Because you’re gonna make me think that you actually care.” His voice is suddenly laced with venom again. The hostility that you’d tamed returns and it’s so much stronger, more bitter. You’re taken aback.

“I-I do care? Why do you think I don’t care-” 

“Oh, please, Y/n. You didn’t want me at your girls’ nights or at spa day or fucking whatever. You didn’t- You don’t care about my book or my crush or my-” 

“I do care!” you interrupt, voice stern and much louder. “What, you think I follow you out of parties for fun? Because I don’t care about you? And yeah, maybe I didn’t want you at the girls’ nights, but what does that matter-” 

“It matters because!–” he stops himself in his tracks, hand coming out to halt you. “Fuck it, wait here,” he orders, and suddenly he is trudging into the darkness of the courtyard. You stand still, flabbergasted, and thoroughly confused. It’s so dark you can’t even see what he’s doing, only hear him in the dirt, silhouette blending into the shadows. Then, he’s walking back to you and you finally see him. 

There are flowers in his hands. 

It’s a makeshift bouquet, held tightly in between his veiny, pale hands, consisting of flowers that grow in the courtyard, red, yellow and lilac. It’s a slow-burning realization as he stands himself before you, looking into your eyes with a sincerity that is laced with pain. You know this part of the girl code. 

“Hi, Y/n, how are you?” he breathes, and his voice is shaking and he’s looking at you and practically begging you to play along - to indulge him, even if you would turn your back on him. You can hardly register anything but him and those flowers, because your surroundings, the moon, the stars, the shadows and the streets are overpowered by the blooming in your chest. A single flower unfurls the pedals of your heart until you are open before him. You meet his eyes.

“I’m good.” 

He nods. 

“I’ve always thought you were very beautiful,” it almost seems like it physically pains him to admit these breathless feelings. “Your very presence takes my breath away. I would like to take you on a date,” another pained, gulping pause. “Would that be okay with you?”

It’s as if time has stopped in this moment; how his chest rises and falls under his shirt, how his hair gently nuzzles his face, how his eyes blear out at you from underneath his bangs, how he glows in the moonlight, and how his hands shake around the stems of the flowers. 

“Was I..” his voice is hoarse, “Was I suave about it?” 

“Yes,” is all you can manage, because all those flowers that you had stomped into a half-death were coming alive again and this time it was more than welcome.

“Yes?” 

“Yes, you can take me on a date,” you break into a wide smile and, upon realizing you probably look like an idiot, you lower your gaze and your warm, shining cheeks to the pavement. He gasps, and it’s probably the cutest thing you’ve ever heard.

“But- you and Wonwoo-?” 

“Do you wanna know why I was even talking to Wonwoo?” you ask, and when you meet his eyes again, he’s also smiling. You can’t help but reach out a hand to wrap around one of his, still frozen in holding the flowers. He quickly maneuvers the bouquet to the other hand and intertwines your fingers. Your heart soars. “Mingyu found out that I was sad because you had a crush on someone - I didn’t think it was me, you know? So he promised to wingman me at this party.” 

“Son of a bitch,” Jihoon whispers, and you laugh, feeling so floaty and lovely. “Don’t call him that,” you say, but Jihoon only smiles cheekily, eyes matching the crescent moon in the sky above you.

“No, I meant me,” he says. He looks down at the flowers and frowns. “Is that why you were so quiet? On girls night?” 

You nod and he sighs. “I’m such an idiot.” 

“No, you’re not. You’re so sweet,” you say genuinely, and Jihoon nearly melts at how much you mean it. There’s something so wonderful about the way all the words, that he would never use to describe himself, float around your head and sparkle in your eyes in this moment, looking up at him.

Jihoon needs to kiss you.  He’s not sure he’s ever needed anything as badly. He rips his free hand from yours only to place it tenderly against your cheek, pulling your face and your warmth into him, bouquet held out at his side to allow you snugly in his chest. 

His lips are so soft and his nose nuzzles your own, plush hair tickling your forehead, and his huffed out breaths dance along your cheeks. Your lips mod perfectly, unlocking the shackles with which that earth-shattering yearning had held onto you. The world is anguish but will momentarily and suddenly be interrupted,  cleaved apart with a sudden gash, by a planet-killer: love. 

You truly don’t mean to make it heated, hell, you’d be content just kissing him forever, feeling how his tongue prods at your lips and meets your own, but his sculpted chest under your fingers draws out a pathetic moan. His eyebrows spring up and he pulls back to look at you. You blush under his gaze, fiddling with your dress.

“Holy fuck, that was so fucking hot,” he gasps, lips swollen from your insistent sucking on them, panting into the night air. You brighten at his compliment. “Inside. Now. To my room.” 

“You know, girl code says to not have sex before on the third date,” you say smugly, unprepared when his free hand pushes you back into his chest, and his lips drag over half of your face, finding home at your ear. His voice is a growl: “Fuck. Girl code.” 

He begins a somewhat dramatic march to the front door and you can’t help but run after him, taking his hand, and seeing how he smiles at that feeling. He looks so happy. Your heart skips a beat, because it’s you - you’re the one making him so happy. 

And he’s so hot, it’s all you can think about as he drags you along the corridors, how nice his arms look in the sleeves denim, how pretty his hair is, his fucking face, and the chest you just barely felt under your fingertips. You’re watching doors pass in a monotonous routine, jittery and unable to wait for the one that might be his, for him to take you through it, and for you to bloom, totally and perfectly under him.

“Fucking finally,” he breathes, voice gruff and much lower than you’re used to when he stops at his door, fishing for his keys in his pocket. It enters the lock and with a click, everything you fantasized about is opening to you. 

As soon as you’re inside, he’s kicking the door shut and pushing you against the wall, nails gripping into your dress, when he finally drops the makeshift bouquet on his nightstand. He cries out into your mouth at the way your chest bounces from the impact, immediately capturing your lips in his again. 

You can’t help the way you’re tugging at his hair, trying to ground yourself in the feeling of him, when he shoves a thigh between your legs. You moan into his mouth, rutting into him, while his wandering hands pull your skirt up you to pool around your waist. He pulls back to look at you, how your hips cant into his strong, big thigh, and how your pink, lacey panties cling to your wet pussy. 

“Off,” he mumbles, apparently having decided that the simple tugging of the fabric of your dress won’t be enough. You turn around in a daze, not even uttering a word, simply shoving the zipper at the back of it. 

Jihoon groans, he has to, seeing the way you stick out your ass to him, while your hand lay flat on the wall. You shake your hips teasingly at him, and his hands float to your ass, petting it and squeezing it in his fingers, and biting his lips because it looks so fucking good and plump, and there’s a wet spot in your panties. He grabs your hips and rubs his dick into you. You gasp at the feeling, nails scratching against the wall.

“You make me so hard, baby,” he says breathlessly, unable to help himself humping against you, pre-cum spilling from his tip. “Shit,” he grunts, and you’re squeezing your eyes closed at the outline of his dick pressing into your pussy. 

Finally Jihoon collects himself and his cold hands drag the zipper down. The top of your dress loosens and slides down your shoulders, where Jihoon aids you in slipping it off. His hands spin you around, finally taking a breath to marvel your bare chest in front of him. 

You blush, suddenly so bashful, when just before you were wiggling your ass at him. You curl your arms over your chest, but Jihoon’s own come to stop them. “No, no, no, no,” he tuts, almost sad, “why are you doing that?” 

You don’t answer immediately, but apparently it’s not a rhetorical question. His hands intertwine with yours to prevent you from covering yourself up. “Uh, I don’t know,” you stammer sheepishly, “I don’t wanna, like, kill the mood or any-” 

“You’re not killing the mood, pretty,” Jihoon whispers so, so achingly sincere and your heart hurts. 

“Sorry, it was just-” 

“Don’t say sorry,” he lectures, interrupting again. He tilts his head and he looks at you with a flaming intensity. “Try again.” 

You pause, flustered out of your mind.

“I-I’ve just been feeling a little insecure lately, I guess,” you say and you’re positive your face is beet-red, but if it is Jihoon says nothing, only pouts and releases one hand only to direct your eyes back to his with a hand on your chin. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n,” he says and even when you seek it out, you can’t find even the slightest hint of lying in his voice. “I want to show you, but I can’t do that if you cover up. Understand?” 

You nod, lips breaking into a little smile, that his heart becomes hot like the spring-sunshine. “Okay,” you say and he smiles brightly, releasing your chin from between his fingers. 

He guides you onto the bed, but it’s no longer heated and rushed, it’s so soft and gentle, and he pulls off your underwear only after you whisper in agreement, and then he lowers himself into it, again, only allowing himself the pleasure when you whisper a strained yes and nod vigorously. 

He fully makes out with your pussy - his lips are wrapped around your clit, licking and sucking it, and fucking moaning into it, sending vibration straight to the coil in your stomach. You’re moaning so loud, broken cries bouncing off the walls, while your finger wrap into his hair and your legs thrash. His tongue flattens against your folds, then dips down to trail around your slit. 

“Jihoon!” you cry, hips bucking into his mouth. He groans again, releasing your pussy with a soft pop. “Fuck, baby, keep saying my name like that.” And then his face disappears in your pussy again.

And you do, everytime his nips and gums on your sensitive folds, tongue trailing back up to your nub to fully envelop it. He sucks, hard. And you think you might cum the second you look at him, because the image of his full head of hair buried in between your legs and lapping like a starved man is so pornographic, your head spins.

He might go insane from just the taste of you, he realizes, because even when you cry that you’re cumming, and your legs shake around his head and your pussy is soaked with your cum, he can’t bring himself to pull away, strong arms wrapping around stomach to still you as you begin to wiggle from the feeling of his tongue just continuing to lap at you.

“Jihoon! Fuck, t-too much,” you whimper and the sound shoots straight to his cock. He finally pulls away, eyes still trained on your pretty cunt, and the way it clenches around nothing. “Clenching so hard, sweetheart, only for there to be nothing, shouldn’t we fix that?” he hums, leaning down to trail his finger through your folds, gathering your wetness on its tip.

You whimper uncertainly, when he crawls back over your body, hair tickling your face when hovers just above you and he shushes your pathetic squeaks. He pushes the wet finger into your mouth and you suck obediently. “Shh, baby, just taste yourself on my finger, how can you be insecure with a pussy like that, hm?” 

You cry around his single digit, tongue sliding over it eagerly. He wants to fuck your face, the way your pretty, plump lips wrap around his finger, but he’ll save that for another time. “Shh, baby, I know. You’ll be stuffed full of cock soon, don’t worry,” he rasps soothingly, and slips his drenched finger from your mouth. 

Finally, he rips the denim jacket off, white tee following soon after, and you’re left, mouth gaping, at the how toned his stomach is, how big his pecs are and how fucking thick his arms are at his side. 

“You’re so fucking hoot, Hoonie,” you drawl, making grabby hands to urge him back to you. He smiles at those words, even gains a small dusting of pink on his cheeks, but he shakes his head. “Gotta get my pants off, baby.” 

“Hurry up,” you grin playfully, and he scoffs at you from where he stands, pants and boxers coming off in one fell swoop. “So needy,” he mumbles to himself, but you can tell by the overjoyed expression on his face, that he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. 

His cock is finally freed, and your eyes float to it, drinking in the sight of him. He’s so pretty and so red, and a single vein creeps up its curved surface towards the oozing head. You gulp, eyes sparkling. 

“Wan’ it in my mouth,” you mumble, where you’re now half sitting up and glowing from your first orgasm. Jihoon looks at you and laughs, as he climbs on top of you again. 

His face hovers over yours, finger carding through your hair tenderly. He looks in your eyes. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah.” 

He coos at you, eyes flickering to your lips for a moment, and you feel his cock twitch where it rests heavily on your stomach. “Not right now, pretty, I wanna fuck you.” 

“You don’t have to cum-” you reason, mouth practically watering at the thought of having him in your mouth. He stops you though, hand still brushing through your hair, so delicately, as if you were a lily, or a rose, or a tulip.

“I’m not gonna be able to hold back if you look at me like that with my fucking cock in your mouth,” he whispers, and it’s so intimate, despite being so vulgar. How warm you both are, naked and holding onto each other and his dick is oozing onto your stomach and your pussy is leaking onto his sheets. “Like that,” Jihoon emphasizes, when you look up at him adoringly. You smile. 

“Okay,” you say, a determined look on your face, “later then.” 

He laughs. “Eager baby. Relax, you’re gonna get a pussy full of cock now, your mouth can wait.” 

You wanna retort, say something snarky, anything, but you’re abruptly interrupted by the feeling of his cock pushing into you. You moan and your nails claw at his back, because it’s so big and so raw in your pussy, you feel that fucking vein dragging against your walls. “Shit, Hoonie. Fuck, fuck.” 

He’s groaning too, hands on your waist and face in your neck. “So fucking tight, so pretty.” 

You’re both panting when his cock is fully nestled inside you, sitting snug against your walls. You look up at him and he’s pretty, all flushed and lips swollen, and the sight makes you clench. He hisses, jerking abruptly, making the both of you moan. 

“Fuck, baby, can’t just clench on me like tha-” 

“Please, please, just fuck me now, can’t wait anymore!” you cry, clawing at him, nails raking over his flexed biceps, where he holds onto you. And he can’t help but fulfill your wish.

You honestly don’t know where he gets his stamina, because the second you’re done asking, he’s ramming into you so hard and so fast, your eyes roll back and your mouth falls open in a long whine. The whole bed is shaking from the impact, as his hips sheath and unsheath from your warm, welcoming pussy. 

“God, you’re so fucking perfect,” he drawls, hands trailing up from your waist to your bouncing chest, thumbing over your nipples. “Bet Wonwoo wishes he got to see you like this, hm?” 

The way your pussy has his cock in a chokehold, the way you’re lying beneath, it has him fully dazed, and now he babbles all that comes to mind. “Yeah, but you’re mine, princess. No one else gets to see you like this, no one else can have you crying like this for their cock, right?” 

“N-No one else,” you whimper, sopping cunt clenching and unclenching around his dick. “That’s right,” he pants, humid breath on your cheek, “Say you’re mine, pretty girl, say you’re fucking mine.” 

“A-ah, ‘m yours, Hoonie,” you cry and he thinks he might cum just like that, at your blissed face, glowing beneath him, and your pussy sucking him in, and you obeying him thoughtlessly. 

“Good girl, good fucking girl,” he rewards you by dragging his hand down your stomach to rub your clit. Your whole body convulses into his, hands dragging over his big arms for support. “Come on, sweetheart, cum on my cock now.” 

And you do, the tension in your stomach tightening beyond what you can take, before it finally unfurls, and it blooms, and it’s spring, and your squirting all over Jihoon’s abs, because God, he’s so fucking hot and he fucks you silly with his dumb, big muscles and his dumb, cute face.

The sight of your squirting, thrashing and shaking underneath him is all he needs. Jihoon shoots you full of his cum, making you feel so full and wet, before he finally halts his rutting hips, stilling on top of you. 

You’re both panting. You’re sweating so much, your hair sticks to your forehead, and you’re gasping for air. Jihoon is still on top of you, holding himself up somehow, and licking at your neck appreciatively. 

There’s a pause, where you’re basking in each other's warmth, and there’s so much love between you it’s almost suffocating. Then you're narrowing your eyes at the head of hair in your neck, growing suspicious. 

“... Are you still hard?” 

He laughs into your neck, peering up at you with a sheepish smile.

“Are you still open to that dick-sucking thing?” _____________________________

“So,” Yeri trails off.

You’re sitting in front of her, Seulgi and Irene at the campus cafe after a thorough round of congratulating you and Jihoon’s new relationship. They’d been both surprised and somehow not-at-all-surprised. 

“He can’t come to girls night anymore,” Irene states the obvious, and immediately you, Seulgi and Yeri are nodding along. 

“Thank God, I wasn’t the only one thinking that.” 

“It just wouldn’t work,” you supply, agreeing. 

There’s a pause. Seulgi pouts. “I can’t believe we don’t have a son anymore. They grow up so fast,” she says and she sounds genuinely sad about it.

You sigh a little, debating whether or not to play this card. Then you say: “I know someone who would like to be our son.” 

“Oh, no..”

“Don’t say..” 

“Yep,” you shrug, and then you hear him. Lumbering clumsily down the hall, like a galloping horse. 

“I HEAR THERE’S A NEW POSITION OPEN DURING GIRLS NIGHTS!!!!! I MADE MUFFINS!!”

Mingu is running through the cafe, dodging stools and chairs like he’s on Ninja Warrior. 

Irene frowns. “I guess he’ll do as our new son.” 

“We can always kick him out if he gets too annoying,” Yeri shrugs, just in time for Mingyu to stand before your table with a fresh tray of muffins. 

“Yes!” he cries with glee, voice incredibly high because he just can’t believe it.

“Begging always works!”

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

Just wanted to send in an anonymous week ruiner :)

Chan fucking you so hard that you're begging him to stop but he knows you love it. He stops for a second to place a tender and deep kiss on your lips...but while you're getting into the kiss he suddenly starts thrusting into you harder and faster then ever, causing you to moan and whimper into his kiss.

I had this thought and figured you'd want to hear about it.

Because if this doesn't scream Chan I don't know what does???

SMUT WARNING MDNI

Chan could feel the way your body deceived your words. Your small little stop stop, too fucking hard Channie. 's too much, please was contradicting the way your spongy walls sucked him in with each of his thrusts, he's sure you're getting wetter each time he stilled just to take a breath.

It's your own fault really, your own request. You asked him, and he quotes to fuck you so hard you can't even walk for three days. So it's not his doing really, he's just a boyfriend that likes to satisfy his girl's wishes as best he can.

He gave it to you gently at first, with his tongue exploring your insides as deep as it could go, making sure to apply just enough pressure with the pad of his thumb against your clit while his mouth went to work. You came twice already and you were beyond moist enough for him to just slip inside of you so unexpectedly he thought your eyes would pop out of your skull, but what a pretty little cry of pleasure did you let out when he did that.

He immediately starting snapping his hips to make stinging contact with your ass, fuck he loves watching the way your ass bounces for him when he's fucking you like this. You could feel Chan so deep that you felt like you could start hallucinating being in heaven that's how euphoric you felt. But he was deep and he was fucking you hard, the little but noticeable taps of contact with your cervix keeping you grounded to earth.

"So deep but you wan' it deeper, huh?" Chan asks, a hand coming down to meet your ass cheek just to rub over the throbbing skin and soothe it while he spreads you open for him. Your only response is a muffled yes Channie, the only words you're able to form being yes, Channie, and more. He loves when you shamelessly ask for more like the good girl you are.

Chan bends down to place a kiss to your damp temple, you lift your head to be able to kiss his lips, grateful that he's given you a chance to breathe when his hips finally still. It's relieving to have a break, your insides throbbing with an ache you're yet to feel, but you can only imagine how swollen and wet you must feel.

"Thank you," You whimper against his lips, "Need a break."

Chan turns his head to be able to kiss you, and briefly you forget about the approaching ache in your lower belly, just enjoying the way his plushy lips melt into yours, his hair tickling your forehead and the apples of your cheeks, he feels so warm when he's- oh my god, his hips are pulling out, too far out. Your lips stay glued to his, refusing to let go of the softness of his kiss, but it's nearly ripped away when he slams back into you, a cry ripping from your chest and continuing as he sets an animalistic pace and even deeper thrusts.

"Cute," Chan coos, kissing your cheek before sitting upright again, and you feel his hands begin to patter over your hips as he takes his grip, "So cute that you think I'm done, hm?"

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

Sitting here screeching and kicking my feet!

I want to see more of them but it’s also perfect! I loved Yunho’s background and how he described the takeoff. The part about it seeming like he was controlling it was a favorite. It showed how knowledgeable he was.

I love this pairing. A match made in the sky

Come fly with me

✈️ pairing: pilot!yunho x gn!journalist!reader ✈️ genre: fluff, love at first sight, bit of angst, slice of life ✈️ summary: Aerophobia - the fear of flying. And clearly, something that your boss has no idea exists. While you curse the universe and the metal bird, your handsome seatmate ponders if it is possible to redirect this flight, from Gwangju, to your heart. ✈️ wordcount: 9.0k ✈️ warnings/tags: language, general cuteness, a lot of hand holding and stealing glances, panic/anxiety, aerophobia, discussion of past trauma, mention of grave injury (side character), you never really know what someone has been through ✈️ a/n: Hello!! Here is a lil one shot bc Yunho is renting out my brain. Thank you so much for your love and support, all reblogs, notes and asks welcome! Much love and big hugs (P.S.: not me reading FAA docs and flight handbooks lol)

The chances of dying in a plane crash are one in eleven million.

The odds of a plane crashing are one in one point two million.

Between the years twenty twelve and twenty sixteen, there was only a one in a one point three seven billion chance of dying in a commercial plane crash, and a one in twenty million chance of being on a commercial flight and experiencing a fatal accident.

But there were fatal accidents.

In those same years there were crashes where people died.

And what about those planes that disappeared?

What about the malfunctions?

What if something happens and two planes just fly into one another?

What if the wing breaks off?

What if one of the windows breaks?

What if something happens to the pilot?

What if everything on the plane just malfunctions?

Those odds… still not in my favour.

Damn this work trip.

And damn how packed it is.

Damn this window seat.

Right. By. The. Wing.

Damn that flappy shit on it that looks like something is about to break off.

Why do I have to keep this blind open goddamn it I am having a stressful enough time as is with the plane vibrating like a hungry beast.

Your mind was racing at the speed of light as you cursed your workplace over and over again for sending you on a business trip. On a plane. Of all modes of transport. The mode of transport that had a track record of making you ill, and one time made you faint. Actually, that had been the best flight of your life since you had been conked out for the most of it. No, this was the one mode of transport that seemed to be fine, but just as you would begin forgetting that planes equaled mass destruction, you would check your colleagues’ freshest news reports and once again, crash, burn, genocide.

It was not that you were a scaredy-cat, not by any means. You were a journalist, for fucks sake. You could handle pretty much anything thrown your way. Well, anything except planes. They were not a pseudo-activist who you could expose for not knowing what they were fighting for. They were not an official figure whose corruption you could bring to light. They were not a dog that you could interview for a fun ‘alternative news’ segment. They were a machine made to trap people for set periods of time, can them like sardines, pop their ear drums, and if all went well, regurgitate them on some other metal bird playground, and lie in wait until another bunch gets loaded up for a ride.

But of course, out of all the people in the office, including those who would kill to get out of Seoul and those who were basically known as the nomadic reporters, your boss had to appoint you to go on a three-day trip to Gwangju. The one person who almost exclusively worked in the capital. Who had no experience in working abroad. Hell, the one person who had literally refused to attend a social event because it was held in Busan and the travel plan included flying there. You were the antithesis to such trips, but your boss could not give less of a shit, apparently.

He even had the audacity to praise you in front of your colleagues and say you were ‘just the right person for the interview’ – all when the topic, and the professional background of the individual you were to be meeting, were so far out of your regular scope and within your nightmare space that no amount of reading would make you neither proficient, nor truly appreciative. You were convinced that the universe was out to get you. An alarming interpretation had crossed your mind – perhaps this was your boss wanting to find an excuse to fire you?

A new wave of panic settled in as you made feeble attempts to play a mental game of ‘whack-a-mole’ with your not so friendly musings. Why couldn’t you just exchange the tickets, take the train or a bus, or event drive there yourself? Why did you have to follow orders at your own expense? Just as you were beginning to transition from using familiar curse words to describe the situation to recalling anything and everything you had ever heard either in a foreign drama or in real life, you were gently stirred from the activity by a change in lighting.

You peered to your left – the culprit was a man, broad-shouldered, on the taller side, clad in a stylish sheepskin coat with a white turtleneck and some well-tailored trousers to match. You couldn’t quite see his face fully, but you guessed it would happen sooner than later, seeing as he was in the process of fitting his carry-on into the luggage compartment above where you were sat. Not wanting to intrude any further with your stares, you glanced away, instantly regretting it and exhaling sharply as your eyes were met with the metal wings of doom outside.

An airplanes wings are designed to flex up to ten degrees, and during the average flight the flex can reach up to seven degrees. The wings have been stress-tested time and time again so they cannot break off and the plane will stay balanced and-

But what about the Lockheed L-188 Electra II? What about the Lockheed C-141C Starlifter? Their wings just decided to go on holiday why can’t the wings of a commercial liner do the same? Oh, and the second one had a fuel leak – when do people check that? Did they check for this one? What if something happens and the fuel tank explodes?

“Would you be willing to switch seats by any chance?” a calming voice suddenly interrupted your nervous flow, and you snapped your head in its direction.

That man. Oh no, he was handsome. Dark hair, which was the tiniest bit tousled, kind eyes that you swore glinted at you, and a heart-stopping million-dollar smile. Now you had to keep up appearances too, to not seem like a total wuss, at least for the duration that you had to sit in this can. You heard his question loud and clear, but to allow your mind to process, you asked him to repeat with a quick:

“Sorry?”

He tilted his head and pointed towards the seat closest to him, “Ah, well, technically, this seat is mine, but… would you want to switch?”

Who was this man and why was he reading your ;mind? Was the universe pitying you finally?

“Yes, let’s do that!”

You shot up from your seat, nearly hitting the one in front of you, and slid out to give way to the brave soul who could look out of the window. As you two were settling down and he was giving you his thanks, you were not sure whether your heart was beating fast because of your fear of flying, or because of how you lucked out on your seat mate. Probably both.

It was hard to resist stealing a couple more glances at him while he was checking something on his phone. He had a reassuring aura about him and judging by how well-practiced his motions had been as he was settling in, he appeared to be quite a frequent flyer. He was so relaxed it made you envious. But you had no better way to get back to muting your phobias aside from absent-mindedly fishing out the airplane safety instructions manual from the pocket of the seat in front and reading it with the intensity of a final year student preparing for the KSAT.

You pored over the calls to fasten your seatbelt, to check that there was in fact, a life vest under your seat, to be prepared to pull on some random strings on an air mask if they were to be ‘made available’…

Abandon everything and run ‘in an organised manner’…

No high heels…

Someone probably would try to wear them still, even if we all had to go down that inflatable slide.

Slide down in the Dracula position…

You heard a chuckle to your right, and upon turning a little, you noticed your seatmate studying you, his lips threatening to curl into a grin. He looked you up and down, from the safety manual that you were now gripping a little bit too strongly, and finally locking eyes with you.

“Thought so.” he came to some cryptic conclusion, leaving you perplexed.

“Thought what?” you could not help but give into your curiosity.

“Aerophobia?”

“Is it that obvious?” you groaned and shut the manual to return it to the pocket. You felt as though you turned into a child who wanted to be taken more seriously, with your body refusing to suppress a slight pout. Yes, planes, for all their bird-imitating glory, were never going to be your wingmen. It was hard to ooze attractiveness when you were on the verge of having a mental breakdown.

“Well, there were some signs, but I only noticed them because I was paying attention,” before you could respond to the subtle flirtation, he continued by introducing himself, “I’m Jeong Yunho. Yunho is completely fine though.”

“L/N Y/N. Then Y/N is fine by me too. Pleasure to make your acquaintance. You might just be giving me a run for my money with those deduction skills!” You complimented him, delighted when you could elicit and even brighter smile. This flight was slowly but surely becoming a little bit more enjoyable thanks to the outgoing eye candy in the window seat.

“Are you an investigator, better yet, a special agent out on a mission?” he wiggled his eyebrows, further lightening the mood.

“I doubt I would ever be able to pull Brad Pitt-level stunts and board the plane in an unconventional manner like he did, but the mystery aspect is enticing. I’m a journalist and reporter.”

Something you could only describe as recognition flashed across his face as he clapped his hands together. By now, he had his body turned to the greatest extent possible towards you, his knees nearly touching your thighs. You had to admit, you were worried that a flight attendant would come and scold him, or that this would end up being a hazard during takeoff. But at the same time, the attention was a welcome relief.

“Oh wait! I have seen you before! You mainly cover local news, right? Or at least spanning Seoul Capital Area?”

“Funny to use ‘at least’ there, but yep, that’s me-”

“Your exposé on the fitness center money laundering scheme was amazing, it was like watching an action thriller.”

Well, that fell short. You giggled. Yunho was evidently trying to impress you by praising your work, but mixed things up right at the end. As you were still a junior, the times where you were allowed to as much as breathe in the direction of a live broadcast or even a pre-recording were few and far between. So far, you had only made a couple of appearances, and most definitely not in the crime segments – though you had indeed helped write the script.

“That’s not me. Close enough though. My mentor was the one on the screen.”

The utter confusion on his face spelled disaster for your composure, so you bit the inside of your cheek lightly, eyes sparkling. He covered his face with his hand out of embarrassment, and, once he had regained at least some of his courage, apologized, assuring you that your name did ring a bell and that he had heard it announced.

“Okay, I’ll give you that one. I was one of the writers.”

“Score! Otherwise, I really don’t know how I would be apologizing to you aside from buying you a drink.”

“Something tells me that you were a step away from messing up intentionally.”

“I wouldn’t do that on a short-haul.” Yunho was back to being his cheery self, his only distraction from you being the need to turn his phone on to airplane mode.

This action, meaningless on its own, but in context… left a sour taste in your mouth – a reminder that you were still in a tin can with planks glued onto either side, and that it was about to start grumbling and rumbling across to take off. You saw attendants start preparing for the safety announcement, making you retract into your seat and sigh. How you wished you were as carefree as this charming stranger.

“You know a bit about me, since you are so attentive, but I am intrigued as to who you are.” You inquired, trying to take your mind off what it considered to be imminent danger.

“I don’t want to spoil the fun! Give me a little taste of your own deduction skills.” He challenged playfully, though his tone revealed fleeting notes of concern.

You paused. You had already taken him to be a frequent flier, though for what reason was beyond you. You did not have enough experience racing through airports to be able to distinguish between different types of passengers. But what did stand out to you, was that comment about the reportage – the event that had been covered occurred within the Incheon Metropolitan City area, thus was presented through local branches only.

“You are in Incheon pretty frequently, right?”

“Terrifyingly accurate comment, but yes.” He confirmed while nodding. You felt proud of yourself for managing to have at least some of your skillset still intact.

“And what is bringing you to Gwangju? If it is okay to ask, of course.” You resumed your miniature interrogation, rushing as the announcement began to resound across the cabin, and a flight attendant was demonstrating how to put on the life vest, top up the air, where the emergency exits were… a flurry of information streaming right at you.

“Visiting my parents.” Yunho’s calmness had not changed a single bit since he had boarded the plane, and he was answering you in a level, measured out manner.

“Not during a standard holiday?”

“Here’s the hint: my line of work limits annual hours of… redacted for now.”

“That just makes me think you work abroad most of the time!” you exclaimed, recalling the shock you had when you had first entered the workforce and experience the full package of overtime, minimal breaks, and high demands. There was no guarantee that it was not the same in other countries, could even be worse, but as the old saying goes: ‘the grass is always greener on the other side’.

After he shook his head, shattering your theories, you fell quiet. Everyone had settled in their seats, and now information that was sending adrenaline to pump right through your veins was being shared. Even the demonstration of the flashlight on the vest was ominous. Once the routine had been completed, the rumble of the engines grew a little louder, and you were still making no move to return to the conversation, Yunho leaned over and exclaimed in a low voice:

“I’m a pilot. Indeed, am based in Incheon, and being abroad is very much part of the deal so I would say your logic was impeccable.” 

“No wonder you look to be right at home.” You stated, albeit it came across as a little jealous. The air-mobile and your personal panic inducer began to demand more attention as it steered from the airport, leaving a still outstretched landing bridge behind.

“Maybe you are right. I do spend more time in planes than in Gwangju.”

“Sounds like the triangle between me, my apartment, and the office.” You concurred – at least locally the enforce workaholic culture was universal.

With your fingers, you tapped out an abstract rhythmic sequence with your fingers, then moving to feel for the position of the different buttons, side-eyeing them to make sure your seat, nor the electrics were broken. You were tempted to check if the seat could lean back but you were convinced that if you did that the world would collapse. Or at least you would be in trouble. As it turns out you had a flight law enforcement representative right next to you. A good-looking and so far, so sweet, but still.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how did you crack the Incheon bit?” he detracted you from your near scratching of the synthetic material, and you pressed your hands into your lap to supress their light tremor.

“Ah, you gave it away when you mentioned the news. That was only shown in Incheon.” You curtly responded, your concentration escaping you after you felt the metal bird jolt.

It was crystal clear to Yunho that your phobia was getting the better of you. After not having flown since at least a decade ago, each one of your senses was going into overdrive, screaming catastrophe. Your eyes were slightly widened, breathing becoming more shallow threatening to turn into hyperventilation, and, of course, you not knowing what to do with your hands (or really, yourself) sealed the deal. He needed to help you. Using whatever technique that came to him. And quick.

“Lightheaded?”

“Uh huh…” you could not deny it. That was just how it was. You, alone with your uncontrollable palpitations and a lump in your throat were on the verge of just control alt deleting your consciousness for take-off.

“Uhm… may I… wait, this might be very tactless, and you have every right to tell me to go- …wherever, but may I hold your hand?”

“What?” you snapped out of your thoughts and gaped at Yunho. What strange form of crisis-based moves-making was this? Or was he making fun of you? The engines were becoming almost deafening while you were still struggling to isolate your seatmate’s voice.

Even though he had not shown any signs of malice, you still expected the worst. Always did when it came to discussing travel, since the majority of your interactions often resulted in your conversation partner revealing some aggression-based schadenfreude. They were happy to pity you and diminish all of your other qualities just because you were scared of this one thing. But even though you were actively searching for any form of darkness, you could only find a caring soul, wholly preoccupied with your wellbeing.

“It is so you know that there is someone here with you. Just by feeling. Kind of like a grounding technique?”

“Oh, I would kill to be on the ground right now.” You twisted his words spiralling into dread.

“Sorry, I’d like to live another day, so you’ll have to bear with this. May I?”

Spooked by some noise from outside of the airplane, you did not dare raise your voice and instead resorted to nodding back your confirmation. As soon as you gave the sign, you felt his steady, warm and soothing hand tentatively touch yours, moving it a fraction and intertwining fingers until the palms were pressed together. Yunho gave yours a quick squeeze, as if in mute encouragement.

“This is so embarrassing...” you mumbled, shaking your head.

After the plane had come to a halt before the final turn onto the runway, you felt feverish, and overwhelmingly guilty. You had convinced yourself that you were ruining this wonderful man’s entire flight, by acting like such a child. And on top of this, he was a pilot, so if anyone had the right to consider you ridiculous it would be him.

“If it is the hand holding then I totally understand I can-”

“NO PLEASE THAT HELPS-” you yelped, practically yanking his hand back with yours and returning them to resting between you, “oops I said that too loud didn’t I…” this really was one moment of humiliation after another. Heat rose in your cheeks as you pondered whether it was too late to stop the plane or not.

“You should hear me scream on roller coasters. Now that’s loud.” He countered your insecurity, making you chuckle. You felt Yunho’s thumb brush over the back of your hand – it was not unpleasant. At all. “I must say, you are already doing really well.”

“Funny.”

“No, really.” Now, the engines were really starting up and you gripped Yunho’s hand a little tighter, this led to him making a split-second decision – a final resort. “But how about this. You close your eyes, okay?”

“What are you trying?” you raised an eyebrow, meeting his confident gaze with your own panicked one.

“Just, I know I am a stranger but, trust me for the next couple of minutes, okay?”

“Sure…” you did not have any of the forcefulness and pride left in you, so you quickly agreed and shut your eyes, but that led to you beginning to hyper fixate on the quietest, most insignificant of noises, blowing their impact out of proportion.

“Now, listen to my voice only.” Yunho instructed.

He was alarmingly close, almost right by your ear as he whispered:

“Let me guide you.”

Your heart fluttered, as you tried to push at least some thoughts to the back of your head, in order to focus on Yunho. This surely had to be one of the most original and thrilling ways you had ever been hit on. And terror-promoted-

Oh you had not even recounted the statistics for hijacking and for those types of attacks yet. How foolish of you! How were you going to remain safe if you did not have the likelihood of you perishing because of an air criminal or air pirate in the front of your mind!? You raked your brain for the 'fun facts' you had enjoyed reviewing last night, when Yunho cleared his throat and tapped your intertwined hands with his free one.

“Okay, so, first, let us set the scene. There is this neat thing called the Pilot’s Operating Handbook, which helps the pilot of a given aircraft determine whether it is safe to fly. And they would not do anything until all checks are done."

Where and what was the guarantee of that? You wanted to ask, too aware of the vibrations that were travelling from the floor of the cabin and turning into your jitters. But Yunho sounded so sure of what he was saying... damn it, he was using ethos-based marketing against you. What if he had lied about being a pilot?

"Also, the runway, the wind speed and direction, and a grand bunch of other things are all checked, one by one, to make sure that everything works as expected. You following me so far?” he informed, and paused to check up on you.

Yunho was using the opportunity to study you to the fullest. The little squint as you were fighting against the desire to shoot your eyes open and search for invisible troubles. The slightest hint of a pout etched on your rosy lips, signifying displeasure with your surroundings. He could not control his smile as he was admiring your battle spirit.

It was hard for Yunho to imagine you being as vulnerable as you were with him right now, due to sheer circumstance. Had anything been different, he might not have even had the chance to introduce himself to the beautiful stranger in what originally was the window seat.

“Yes but… what if something does not work?” as much as this experience was exposure therapy, in the moment, you did not give a shit and was sticking to your ways.

“That is not in the job description. And the engineers do a damn good job too. Just like you are now, okay, Y/N?” Yunho scolded softly but finished with more encouragement.

“I am so sorry again-”

“Nothing to be sorry about."

Of course, you would not know just how much you were reminding Yunho of himself in the distant past. How, when he had been a child, he was not able to even stay on airport grounds because of the noise, and the images that would flash in his head. He only hoped that for you it was a 'lighter' phobia, not stemming from true disaster.

"You know how the plane was just turning right now and making some noise?” Yunho cut his rumination short and returned to his miniature lecture.

“Yes.”

“Well, this is the pilot using rudder pedals, kind of like pedals in a car, pedals on a piano... whichever is closer to home for you, to steer the plane. Basically, we must make sure that the nose of the plane is well-aligned with the centre of the runway. And now, release of the brakes…”

Just as he said it, you could pick out a distinct change in the mechanical cacophony. You chuckled - it was like Yunho was conducting the actions of the beast.

“Now, do you hear this rise in sound? This rumble? Quite ominous, isn’t it? But it is just the pilot advancing the throttle gently to take off power, while keeping their feet on the rudder portions of the pedals and their eyes on the super cool engine instruments.”

He almost sounded like a technical kid getting a DIY kit for their birthday. The excitement in Yunho's voice did not falter as he continued to dive into more and more detail. Did you understand any of it? No. Was it more than pleasant to listen to Yunho having the time of his life explaining it? Yes.

“As the speed picks up, there is more pressure on the controls, but more specifically the rudder and elevator. Then we quickly transition to having the plane being flown more than it is taxied and having three axis manoeuvrability. What is really cool about commercial aviation, and pilots like the one flying this plane, is that we are actually able to feel plane controllability and are able to adjust pressures to make take off just right.”

The take-off procedure was being presented to you like a picture book. A straightforward scheme of a few steps, a celebration of a pilot's mastery. You daydreamed of how your seat mate would look like in the famous uniform, doing exactly what he was recounting to you.

“Okay so we are passing this stage now… and here we are approaching lift off. How we call the angle at which the plane takes off the ground is quite funny: the attitude. And after this… we are going to adjust the pitch just a little to make sure we get the best climbing rate.”

Yes, keep on talking this odd terminology that you were not even attempting to get a grasp on anymore. Probably would have been a good idea in light of your interview, but you could barely remain conscious as your inner world was experiencing high magnitude worry-quakes.

“Now, do you feel that? this is the pilot beginning to apply back-elevator pressure, and this is done to lift that little wheel at the front of the plane up. This is the attitude being created, we call it the rotation for lift off. Ah there it is now he is adjusting… adjusting… now the wings are being levelled, and the plane is remaining right on track, aligned with the centreline of the runway.”

Good for the plane. Good for the pilot. Good for Yunho. You just did not want to die. You squeezed Yunho's hand harder and harder, an action on which he did not comment. On the contrary, he resumed the soothing motion with his thumb that he had tried a bit of time ago.

“And now… we keep on going and… we are going steady.”

You eased off the grip, cringing at how forward, how ridiculous you likely seemed. It was hard to open your eyes back up again, so you took it slow. One eye. Then the next. You were still there. In the can. Which was now in the sky. Zooming across it at whatever speed. Yunho was still there. And still holding onto your hand.

Thanks to his guidance, you had not gone into a full-blown panic, nor had you passed out – an achievement really. But as you were regaining your senses, returning to a more neutral mode of worry, your need to show that you were an independent adult and did not require support returned, and you gingerly tried to remove yourself from his hold, as much as you wanted to stay in the same position for the duration of the flight.

Though Yunho allowed you to do so and waved off your numerous apologies. He was of the same mindset – the contact had been near electric, making this one of the more exciting of his flights. He would be lying if he said that the thought of finding an excuse to hold your hand again did not cross his mind. But he was drawn in even more by the contrast between the you from a few minutes ago and you who was boring holes in the seat in front, evidently counting seconds as you were measuring out your breathing. He was in awe of your perseverance, and how brave you had been to even book the tickets. To be in the cabin. To just, be there.

He was perplexed by why you were going to Gwangju by plane if you had a phobia. His own mother, over a decade after the life-changing incident his family had experienced, still had not gotten over it. Sometimes, looking at the racing clouds in the sky had caused her to tear up, and choose to spend the day shut indoors. Such was life. Even though his father was still alive, and had recovered for the most part, the fear of planes, the roar of the engine – a lethal predator, of flying like Icarus, too close to the sun, remained.

Flying was in his family. His grandfather, his father, him… had all committed themselves to the life of a pilot. And his younger brother, too, was in training. The lineage was to continue, despite the close brush with death that had nearly made Yunho’s father one with the world above. Prior to sustaining grave injuries, he had been a test pilot with a stellar reputation, and one successful flight after another. He was known for being able to land planes that had exhibited faults mid-flight, was able to tame high-speed jets that grew unstable, and was a gifted aerobatics master when he could unwind and choose a trusty steed for himself. His father was his role model. Regardless of what had happened.

It had been a freak accident. A miscalculation resulting in a catastrophe. Better yet, the company that had commissioned the testing had managed to keep the accident under wraps, and only after his mother near rioted and escalated the conflict to the local government and threatened to take it to the media, did his family receive compensation and as laughable charity, some physiotherapy courses. Nothing could compensate a broken heart of a person who had been told that they would not be able to do what they lived for anymore, however. Yunho was just a child then. But the fear that had had come to occupy his home was ageless.

It was not easy, living every day not sure whether his own father would be able to walk him to school. Play football with him. Stand together with him for a photo during a family trip. It was not easy on his mother, who had almost totally turned into a carer, splitting herself in pieces to raise two boys, to work, and to be her husband’s strength, both mentally and physically. Her sleepless nights, when Yunho had caught her bawling silently in the kitchen, trying to hide away from the rest of the family, had imprinted themselves in his mind.

The bitterness in his father’s words as he cursed everything related to the event, and the forlorn gazes he sent the awards, the books, the photographs in his office. Although he had been able to walk again, after years of forgetting the feeling, his meaning was only a memory. This was what had shaped Yunho’s initial impression of the world of flying. That it was a place of misery, hurt and false promises. He had vowed then to never, ever step onto a plane. Never once to approach an airport. Never once to give himself up to that dream that he had been born with. His personal ‘fear’ was not quite that. It was more the rage, the sense of injustice – why did it have to be his father? Out of spite he did not want to continue the dynasty.

His mother had been relieved when Yunho had announced at the dinner table that he wanted to be an engineer. And he made a pretty good job of convincing himself that this was what he really wanted. He had even gone to cram school for mathematics and physics and participated in some competitions. Not that he had ever felt purpose or found joy in it. He was just riding the wave of stability. And simultaneously cursing it.

As time for the national exams was fast approaching, and he needed to specify what kind of engineering he was going to do, he had been stumped. How could Yunho pick between a variety of subjects which he had virtually zero interest in, and pursued because of childhood trauma? So, he did what he could only call an act of desperation and approached his father for career advice. Yunho had assumed that the discussion was going to go nowhere. That his father, who had become a consultant and trainer (though permanently grounded), would only dismiss him and say something along the lines of ‘it did not matter anyways, everything could fall apart at any moment’. But surprisingly, he was responsive. Moreover, he had reminisced with Yunho about his early days, ones where he had not been sure what to do.

Then, he had posed Yunho a question: what was it that his heart wanted to pursue? If he were to forget everything, any and all external influence, what would he pick? After much deliberation, he peered at the poster of a Boeing-777 that hung across from him, and merely stated:

“Flying.”

After years of fooling himself. Running away from what his inner self was yearning for. Only this path seemed right. That night, his father and him had made a deal. To not disappoint his mother, and gain some basic understanding of aircraft, he was to pick aero-engineering, and in secret, simultaneously begin flight lessons. His father had activated his network, and once Yunho had gone through that first year, made a smooth transfer to become who he was now. A fully trained commercial airline pilot. True to himself, his dreams and his future.

When his mother had first found out, she was in hysterics. It was as though someone had brought the news to her that her son had passed away. Maybe that would have hurt less – less than the fear for what could happen, the anguish she would be experiencing every time Yunho would lift off. But he had made up his mind. And would indeed rather die than face the prospect of being anything else than a pilot. This was what he was made to do, and it felt right.

On the one hand, the reason why he wanted to help you was because he wanted others to feel the same way he did about flying. It had become his mission to bring comfort to passengers, to inspire future generations of pilots, and to share just how fun it could be. On the other, he had learned the hard way about what phobia and detestation was and could not bear to see you experience it. He had grown far too good at detecting its approach, so much so that he could live through it with you.

Maybe this was a strange way for him to cope and process his own life’s events, but it sure was damn near magical when he saw that he could take away at least a fraction of the weight you carried. After all there was only so much baggage you could bring on board with you.

Yunho’s heart was conflicted. When he had just boarded and got to his row, he had told himself that he lucked out, having an attractive seatmate and one who appeared to be as curious in him as he was in them. And now, he was almost feeling attached to you since he had helped you overcome the take off. It was inexplicable. A little irrational. But he wanted to talk to you. And to keep on holding your hand if you were okay with it.

When you considered yourself to be more or less recovered you sighed in relief. Having Yunho logically talk you through what you had labelled as horror film material had done what you thought was impossible – made you reconsider if planes really were as terrible as you thought. At least the ones where Yunho could be with you and chant plane speak over the screeches and groans of the engines and brakes. You turned your head a little and noticed Yunho watching the Earth transform through the window. He was leaning back and appeared to be deep in his mind palace. You tapped him lightly on his upper arm, which made all his attention come back to you.

“I wanted to say thank you. Thank you for helping me through this, really. You did not have to, Yunho, but you saved me just now.”

“Really, as I said, it is not a problem, Y/N.”

“But still. As you probably can tell, this really is nightmare fuel for me-”

“I am more than happy to continue, just so you know. If you need me, I am right here.” He offered, flustering you.

The sincerity of his words made you dwell on his desire to help. He was nothing short of respectful, but you felt that the story ran much deeper. Perhaps because he knew what it was like. But you were not about to force him into sharing all the potential skeletons and sprinklings of trauma, if anything it would make you appear ungrateful and downright prying. The atmosphere was just right for now, thanks to Yunho.

“You best be worried, because I might just pick you up on that offer, since I have a lot of revision to do before actually doing the job I was sent to do.” You answered, running a hand through your hair. You wondered whether you should use the rest of the flight to actually do some preparation for the interview or… the second option won out immediately, and you were back to enjoying Yunho’s company.

“Ah, so you are on the flight not by your own volition?”

“Yep. My boss is rather creative when it comes to picking out his entertainment.” His chuckle made a dopey grin appear on your face.

“And what do you mean by revision? Will you be joining the ranks?” he realised he barely knew anything about you aside from the odd mix of bare bone basics and auto-completed nonsense, courtesy of his imagination.

“Probably not, still need to sit as a passenger for a long, long time before that, you know, learn by observation!” you joked, attempting to conjure a vision of yourself as a pilot, but the irony of it was too much. “I am going to be doing a mini-documentary and interview with Hwang Taehyuk. He is a recently retired pilot with many accolades and, apparently, a very exciting professional life so-”

“This really keeps on getting better.”

“What keeps on getting better?”

“I had the chance to co-pilot with him a couple of times. Absolutely the most amazing guy on the planet. Total goofball too.”

“Why am I not surprised?” you threw the rhetorical question out into the air, but almost instantly continued, “You know, you are making me glad that I took this flight.”

“Like I said, if you need a plane nerd rundown of what’s going on at any point, just let me know and I can even draw some diagrams for you on a napkin.”

“Not just that, though now you promised me some diagrams and I do want to see them. It’s just, the beauty of how things have aligned. That makes me... quite happy.”

“Seconded.”

For the hour that it took to fly from Seoul to Gwangju, you were in deep discussion with your seatmate, turned acquaintance, turned to something that could not exactly be called a friend – an ‘interest’, rather. It was a process of progressive mutual discovery, stepping beyond first impressions and learning that, in fact, both of you only wanted to know more and more as the minutes and stories flew by.

Feverishly you shared your lives with one another, in a manner not dissimilar to that of someone retelling a missed episode to make sure that from then on, everyone would be moving forward together, at the same pace. You and Yunho explained your dreams, your hopes for the future, whilst inadvertently looking for, and finding similarities in them. You soared through conversation and landed being much closer than either of you could have predicted.

Everything was on the table – from embarrassing stories to going through each other’s camera rolls (under strict supervision, but that was a given). To prove to you that Yunho was truly a pilot and not just a plane nerd, he had shown you some photos of himself in uniform, zooming in to show you that the epaulettes were very much real and that he was earning his stripes. You commended his determination and had even taken an interest in how the career ladder functioned, but really what you could comprehend the best out of that discourse was that he chose the right job even if just for how handsome he looked in the attire. Yunho really was one of a kind, inside and out. He reminded you of a day in early spring, when the days were steadily growing longer, and the winter breeze finally departed, instead letting the budding leaves and blossoming beauties take over and instil a happier sense of tomorrow. He was the one to start to thaw your previously deadest perceptions and blood-curdling associations.

It went without saying that your fear of flying did not go without mention. A dreaded topic for you, you had initially tried to brush it under the table, but it was pointless to do before a person who had just seen you through take off, and for the duration of the flight sometimes paused your dialogue to check in with you. In addition, if he noticed your concentration drifting because of a foreign noise, or because of a little tilt or turn, every time Yunho would explain the reasoning behind it the best he could. Though it would take much longer to get over the phobia, his dedication made you swoon.

You had revealed to him that you had been diagnosed with aerophobia back in early primary school. It was genetic, with your father’s family line showing particularly strong symptoms – so any reunions were either planned with military precision, or simply did not happen, because Jeju Island was not so ‘all modes of transport’ -friendly. Back then, you had no idea how serious your condition could be, seeing as you were minimally exposed, but the times you were had been haunting you since. Your choice of work had not helped with your condition either, since you were constantly exposed to the worst locally, nationally, and globally. Though you had to be an objective messenger and remain unperturbed, aviation-related accidents often left you a whimpering, misty-eyed mess. At least you had become an expert in reading and responding to emails while your vision was blurry.

This was probably the first time ever that you had shared this aspect of you without either being interrupted or misunderstood. With Yunho, he listened carefully, and bewilderingly, drew parallels between your reality and his. It was obvious that he was holding back on some more upsetting facts out of care for how you would react, but you could figure out that his path to becoming a pilot had been on the bumpier side. He did end up drawing some free body diagrams for you and explaining the aerodynamics involved in a flight, lighting up every time you would ask him a question, or even when you would lean in, so your heads were almost touching, brows furrowed and processing.

Yunho had provided you with more anecdotes about the pilot you were going to interview, and even suggested that he could come along to introduce you – apparently the guy liked to keep his circle small and was not one to trust outsiders until they gained his respect. There was something surreal about being on the plane with Yunho – it made you believe that you two would last forever, and that what he was initially proposing, and then downright promising you to do, would really happen. Here was to be hoping that you would not part ways and at least be able to recognise one another in a crowd.

Landing went a little smoother for you than take off, perhaps because you had automatically searched for Yunho, and gingerly placed your hand on his lower arm. Too shy to do the same as before, you had remained in that position, focusing on the fabric of his coat. Meanwhile Yunho was frozen, like a person who had been chosen by a cat as the perfect napping spot. He remained close to your ear, once again whispering through the steps, though seeing your lowered anxiety, allowed himself to veer off the script a little more and crack a couple of jokes.

You left the plane as if you had been companions to begin with, checking if the other had left anything behind, chatting as you made your way across the jet bridge. Unlike the rest of the passengers who had decidedly become track and field athletes as soon as they were hit with airport air conditioning, Yunho and you moved slow, off to the side of the giant glass corridors, just so that time would not pass by you. For the first time, you were grateful that the line for passport control had gotten quite long by the time you reached it – all the more time to sneak glances at one another, kid around, and act like you had known each other forever. When you had reached the front of the line, the border control officer had even mistaken you as a couple and let you through together. Not that you would correct them.

Baggage claims. A time to reminisce, as it turned out. Standing side by side, you recollected each other's musings and theories as though you were revising, flipping through cards and supporting each try at a response with ripples of laughter. This was a plane that neither of you wanted to land, and kept on praying, repeating the same wish like a mantra: may this last.

If only this damn luggage could continue spinning forever, or would just be lost in the metal bird's belly. Somehow, life on the ground appeared to move faster than that high above. The hustle and bustle, people moving to and fro with their identities shoved into flimsy wheeled boxes, kept together by duct tape and overpriced cling film. Everyone had to have a plan. A destination. Up in the air, that could be removed. Troubles minimised for the duration of the flight. The only direction being to a random dot of choice, labelled as a city, town, base, important only because of plans that resume upon landing.

To Yunho, this was the biggest disillusionment he had experienced in his first flight. When he had been a little boy, he believed that everything radically changed after such a journey. That pilots were like wizards. But, as it turned out, he was only serving other people's plans. Just like this time, he was following a specific agenda. But you had made it colourful. Meaningful. The time suspended in mid-air well spent, and in need of a ‘to be continued’. As you made your way closer and closer to the airport exit, after having collected your belongings, he only had one thing on his mind. How could he prolong this metaphorical flight with you?

Without any prior agreement, nor any feat of telepathy, you and Yunho halted. It was time to part. Both you and him knew it, and yet neither of you were making the decisive move to do so. Instead, you chose to dawdle and stand, facing each other in the middle of Arrivals, luggage by your sides.

“Are you... going to be taking a taxi? Or is someone going to meet you?” he broke the silence with some small talk, while his heart was threatening to burst out of his chest – somewhat comical, now it was his turn to be panicked.

“I’ll catch a taxi. Yeah. And yourself?” You asked, not caring for the response, but for the prolongation of time that it brought. You were not looking forward to departing from this bliss between destinations. Back to rushing somewhere. Trying not to lose yourself amidst the events you had to pursue.

“Car rental.” Yunho swore he could hear turbine noise in his head as he was dashing from one idea to the next. Was he about to lose you?

“That’s neat.” You kicked the air with your foot, and stuffed your hands into your pockets, readying yourself for an unwanted goodbye.

You raised your head and faced him. Two people, fumbling for a way to stay like this. Were both of you waiting for some divine intervention? For a third person, a passive observer to suddenly step in and give you a friendly nudge? All the signs were pointing to a sure-fire success, and yet hesitation, doubt and insecurity remained as the devil on both your shoulders. Perhaps this was not meant to be, and you merely served one another as a time passer, a cure for boredom, and eventually destined to bid your farewells. Your lips parted, and you inhaled, about to say the dreaded words, when-

“I can drive you.”

“Huh?”

“If you want.”

He officially short-circuited as he could not wait any longer. Had Yunho been a poet or a writer, hell, maybe even if he had stayed an engineer, he could have come up with something more impressive, but at the end of the day, the message would be the same. Let’s go together. Let’s go anywhere together. Come fly with me.

Now, it was one thing to hope, and a wholly different one to expect, and you sure as hell had not been doing the latter. So, when Yunho took the leap and reached out to you, and to your future self, you needed to take a moment to internally squeal. And then try your best to keep it cool and answer like a proper adult, rather than the inner giddy schoolchild who was on their umpteenth celebratory somersault.

“I would want that. But aren’t your parents waiting for you?” your response was light and breezy, and an attempt to showcase, once again, that you had paid attention to him and could recall why he was here in the first place.

“Well, I mean, I don’t usually do this… but if you are into meeting parents so early…”

“Oh, come on!” you giggled, playfully hitting Yunho’s upper arm as he grinned wide.

“Totally serious, Y/N, I am totally serious.” He responded, sarcasm dripping from his words.

He pointed in the direction of the car rentals and took the small suitcase you had brought with you in his free hand. Ever the gentleman.

“And if you are free at any point, I would love to show you around.” He continued as you ambled on, barely any space between you.

“As long as it is by foot or car, I am free today and tomorrow afternoon.”

“I wish I had the car from Back to The Future so that I could impress you with my piloting skills, alas, I’ll have to disappoint you with… are they advertising new Kia models? Y/N, not all is lost!”

“Now to figure out which one looks most like a Yunho-mobile.”

“We’ll figure it out, take an online test that matches MBTI to a car or something.”

“Don’t tempt me, or I might actually do that.” You warned in jest and proceeded to take out your phone to make a point. This seemed to have an effect on Yunho, as he stopped abruptly and began searching for his own device.

“Oh! That reminds me! Your five-star guarantee Uber driver would like to have your number. You know, for announcing his arrival, of course.” As you typed in your digits, and then proceeded to save his number on your phone after he had texted you a string of airplane emojis you ideated out loud:

“I can already see the review I shall write: car may or may not take off and grow wings during journey. Passenger discretion is advised."

“If that’s the case, I’d be more than happy to hold your hand again, or maybe something more serious to protect against turbulence?” he winked, and you felt heat rising to your cheeks.

“I think I’ll have to write a piece about your methods.”

“Just make sure to mention that they are exclusive to Jeong Yunho, your private pilot,” well that was an original, yet explicit expression of interest, “and speaking of reporting, I am taking you to teacher Hwang’s for some proper networking.”

“Yeah, and what about my crew?”

“Pilots are no strangers to crews, trust me on that.” he answered promptly.

“I can imagine.”

You and Yunho stood still, eyes locked. Your 'spring' ahead of you.

“Now, shall we be off?” he gestured towards the rentals office, but not removing his gaze.

“Go on ahead, be my guide.”

Given half a billion potential soul mates, your chance of finding your true love is one in 10,000.

1 in 50 airplane passengers meet the love of their life on board an aircraft.

And when it came to you and Yunho, the probability was simply 1. 100%. No other way.

Perhaps it was a good thing that you were scared of flying.

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

I LOVE THIS SO MUCH!!! THE ENDING?!?? OB MY GOD!!

I can’t explain everything I thought reading this but wow! I’m gonna read it again!

GUY.exe

(masterlist) (perma-taglist)

✏️ pairing: yunho x gn!reader ✏️ genre: fluff, crack, friends? to lovers, drawing? to lover ✏️ summary: you never expected for the character you designed for the newest dating simulator to be quite as realistic as this ✏️ wordcount: 5.0k ✏️ warnings/tags: questionable editing, unhinged crack galore, fever dream, digital artist / designer reader, shy boy best friend yunho, lowkey referencing the song the fic is named after (GUY.exe by SUP3RFRUIT) ✏️ taglist: at the bottom of the fic~ ✏️ a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVE MY NADIA @justhere4kpop !!! you are the kindest, funniest, sweetest person ever, i love you so so much and i am so grateful for every day because it means i can spend it with you <3 wishing you the best day, all the most amazing things, experiences, achievements and more!!

Another hour more, and you were going to scream. Hunched over your drawing tablet with bloodshot eyes and a cramping hand, you had been drawing and redrawing what seemed to be the same thing over and over again. But nothing gave you that magical feeling of completion and rightness when the abstract lines and shapes and shadows and doodles all came together on a page to form one whole. What you were experiencing was, in fact, very much the opposite. All because of these damn dumb brown doe eyes that you had decided to give to the character. Of course. What other eyes could the golden retriever type have, right? What other kinds of eyes would your boss approve of for the established archetype, the persona that you had ideated, storyboarded and proposed not only in front of your immediate team but also to senior management? That was right. None. No other. Only these doe eyes that you had been staring at and cursing profusely for the last four hours after having promised yourself that you would try to get to bed at ten in the evening instead of the less-than encouraging past midnight madness. But who were you kidding? 

Setting down the pen, you leaned back to stretch, hearing random joints crack and echo around your body, making you wonder if you have even been moving at all for the past few weeks. Having the opportunity to work from home during fast-paced sprints was, of course, a big benefit, but all too often for you, it also meant only ever walking from your home office to your kitchen and back, with the occasional bathroom break and a flop onto the armchair you had dragged into your office for designated social media scrolling time. Gone from the world, with your friends having nicknamed you an e-hermit in not one, but two separate chats. Zoned out and barely hanging onto the words spewed by your superiors, much like the rest of your fellow designers working on this same project, be it other characters, setting, clothing customisation options, accessories, or special items… as the main project lead, boss of the bosses had said: ‘whatever the user wishes for, should be there’. Who knew that a dating simulator could be that intense and demanding? 

Your drawing tablet was glaring at you, and so were the eyes on its screen, doubled onto your monitor watching your every movement like a painting at a museum would. They were meant to be kind and loving, crafted to complete the sunshine that this character was supposed to be, but the slightest misses in the lines were throwing the image off-kilter, and you could not pinpoint what was wrong. Reaching out for the now lukewarm cup of coffee off to the side of your desk, narrowly avoiding the clutter of sketches and notes you had made, you heaved a sigh, pondering if it would be the wisest to simply resign yourself to abandoning the task for today, and pick it up at work tomorrow. It was not like you would be punished for having the eyes be slightly off during an update meeting, after all, this was an ongoing process. But the perfectionist part of you was not letting go. You had managed to ideally depict everything else - the toned, tall physique with the stunning waist, torso and broad shoulders, the cheeks that made you feel a strong cute aggression, the tousled locks that could then be customised by a player’s colour preference, every other feature of the face that screamed ‘handsome’ and ‘appealing’... you did it all, and you would not be yourself if you could not overcome this little blip.

“One more try…” you whispered to yourself and searched for the file on your computer that contained a user story and profile of the character you had been agonising over. 

One click, another, and the document was up on the screen, revealing an initial concept sketch that you had made when you first proposed the man as a possible love interest for the main character in the simulator, as well as any facts about him, now being even further developed by the story-writers. Page after page, update after update the character in some ways felt more real than you, especially in your current deflated state. A gentleman, a sentimental soul, with what your colleague had called ‘four-dimensional’ traits and overall a funny, adorable sweetheart who at the click of a finger can turn into the sexiest man alive. There was nothing you did not like - aside from some details here and there that you were not sure who added but they had been approved so you had to deal with it, and that was problematic for your work since it meant that you were in the permanent state of wanting to do the character justice. You scrolled back up, starting at the brief, staring at the name as if it wasn’t already imprinted in your mind. Jeong Yunho. 

The dance instructor and choreographer. The talented and hardworking man who the main character would meet third, on her eighth day in Seoul. Born on the twenty-third of March nineteen ninety-nine in the city of Gwangju, moving to Seoul to chase his dreams and fight for them. Special talents… skills… favourite phrases… preferences… key memories… you read on, re-absorbing the details and rearranging them on imaginary shelves, trying to make sense of the information in the context of character design. How were you going to depict all of this in a pair of eyes? A part of you was confident that you were overthinking - actually, you definitely were. Not a single other designer was on Yunho's creation, and developers were going to look at him not as a persona, as a representation of a being that had become real in your mind, but as a task to execute, lines of code to make him move in predetermined ways, make him talks in predetermined ways, smile… yes, you were excited to see him be just that bit more alive, but at the same time, you were afraid of that moment - it would be right then that the world you had subconsciously built for you and him alone would be shattered, and your daydreams dispelled, maybe even crushed. So, getting the eyes perfect right now was the least you could do. At least your Yunho would be perfect.

Swearing under your breath, you picked up the pen once more and twirled it once around your fingers. His personality was fresh on your mind, heart racing, you could almost imagine him in front of you. With a final nod of encouragement, you dived back in, with more vigour and motivation than before, determined to get Yunho right, and to depict him how he truly was, how you knew he should be. The time ticked past, and so did the layers of doubt. Erasing themselves along with strokes of the digital brushes that dissatisfied you, you were unveiling the true character, and with a light heart, a smile on your face and a saved file, leaned onto your desk and rested your head on your crossed arms, just for a quick break to relish in the fact that you finally achieved the look that you had been searching for…

“Hey, good morning you worker bee, what did I tell you about sleeping at your desk?”

You never thought you could yell, right after waking up, as loud as you did at that moment. Jolting up from your seat, forgetting all the papers, equipment and stationery that was strewn about on the table on which you had been dozing, you bolted away from the source of the voice. It had resounded far too close to you for comfort, belonged to no one whom you knew, and was dangerously sweet and slightly lower-set. Pleasant. But who the hell was in your apartment and how did they break in when you almost always double-locked your door? After building up a bit of distance, you finally looked up and rubbed the last bits of sleep from your eyes. The figure was lean, toned, considerably tall, perhaps even very tall, definitely a man, with dark hair and a face that was a bit too similar to-

Jeong Yunho. Jaw-dropping, you darted back to your tablet and computer, practically shaking the mouse, forcing the entire digital system to begrudgingly awaken at your command. You searched everywhere. The open file, others, older versions… nothing. No luck in finding what you had been working on. It was as if the Yunho you had been spending weeks developing had never existed, and all that you were left with and were staring at was a blank page, and the character, no, a whole man, right in front of you, supposedly living, breathing and in your room. You stood up straight, giving the not-quite-a-stranger but still a stranger a once over, while he, confused, had an eyebrow raised and a sheepish smile on his face. He looked adorable that way. Abashed to the point of cuteness - you recalled a game developer on your team describing the planned emotional response functionality in that way; it had been a hit, and now you were seeing, in person, why. 

“Y-Yunho?” you whispered in disbelief, a hand hovering over your mouth while you were wondering whether you should officially report yourself to your boss for having succumbed to the delusions. Relief flashed over the beautiful man’s features when you mentioned his name, timidly, yes, but still, it was his name that you uttered.

“Yes, Y/N, that’s me, hey, don’t worry.”

“Y/N?” He knew your name. This was too real - a shriek erupted from what felt like the depths of your soul, and you shut your eyes, only to open them again and to see the same picture, but a little more zoomed in. He was approaching you. Code red, alert, alert, hot man of your dreams who you had been drawing all the time and were effectively being paid to thirst over was approaching you.

“Do you not remember me or something, are you okay? See I keep telling you to not sleep so late, it’s bad for you-”

“Look who’s talking, mister ‘time to text at two in the morning’,” It was a shot in the dark, a random recollection of facts that had been noted about Yunho, but that was true, since he stopped immediately, a dazzling smile on his face.

“Alright, alright, you got me. But hey, you answer me so we are in this together, right?” he countered, and winked. 

“Yeah… and I should stop drinking coffee that late, it gives me some cursed… abilities…” you concluded cryptically, though Yunho did not seem to care much about the wording, taking it as your account of how easily you had been spooked by him.

After the initial wave of ‘stranger danger’ had subsided, instead being replaced by the odd conviction that the man before you truly was just the representation of the character for the simulator, you crossed your arms and regarded him more slowly, calmly while he approached the book cabinet that was filled to the brim with manga, manhwa, figurines, dolls, action figures… effectively the best representation of what had inspired you and continued to drive you to do what you were doing in your life now. He was dressed casually, in a zip-up grey hoodie and dark grey jeans. He had taken off his shoes and was in black socks that he stuffed into a pair of slippers - so in this reality, Yunho clearly was a regular guest. Scratching the back of your head, you wondered if this was a storyline that had been updated and you were unknowingly hallucinating.

“Well, uh, if you… if you want me to come by another time I don’t mind. Whatever works best for you…”

Oh. It finally clicked in your head, and your heart fluttered. The moment was stark and aching in your mind, and you were barely able to contain yourself, the subconscious fangirl in you fully awakening. The light flush of pink on his cheeks, those damn doe eyes that were so perfect, and were now looking right at you as if you were Yunho’s entire world, it was all a telltale sign for what was to happen later, and the past disappointment at having been woken up and having no more documents to present evaporated. This was another life, it had to be. One where you did not have to worry about the endless story points, bi-weekly sprints and one deliverable after another. Only a very precious Yunho who, while toying with the sleeve of his hoodie was pondering if he was even welcome.

“Hey! No, we were planning to hang out and we are going to. Sorry, you know how work is and it got to me this time. What shall we do then? Go out, stay in?” you amplified your sociability, putting the fantastical aspect of the circumstances on the back burner for future pondering.

Laying down the pen that you had absent-mindedly grabbed for self-defence, you stepped around the desk and towards Yunho, never once breaking the visual exchange, except when his gaze darted to the floor under your intensity. You had the advantage after all, of knowledge. You could sense, and could confirm by your universe, what exactly was going to happen. He was pretending to not be affected by your closeness, looking at the cabinet again, though the tone in which he spoke was vulnerable, every bit the dream guy you were imagining all this time. You could barely resist the urge to pinch his cheek - in fact, you made a mental note to yourself to check if that was a playable option in the game or not.

“Can we… stay in?”

“Take out?” if there was something you would not quite let him do, it would be to give him full power over the kitchen. Perhaps another time, but not when the dream was so magnificent.

“You bet! I’m buying this time-”

“Yun, c’mon.”

“Technically I am still the guest.”

“You are much more than a guest-” a pause, a blur within which Yunho was attempting to pick out the meaning behind the words which you had purposefully left to be ambiguous, just to mess with him a little bit. It was too sweet, “I mean, you practically live here at this point,” he groaned and playfully rolled his eyes while continuing to tap in the order to what was for sure meant to be your favourite restaurant in the neighbourhood.

You followed him into your living room. Everything was just as you had left it. Even Yunho’s presence was beginning to feel natural, probably because it had already been pretty much just as constant as him now physically falling onto the couch and leaning back to stretch an arm out over the back of it. Hell, you had even spent some evenings sketching him in this same room. As you settled beside him, while still keeping a little bit of distance - just as friends who were feeling not quite platonic would do, you realised that indeed, you were that close. You did know him ‘since forever’, and whatever this fever dream was, you had every right to enjoy it. So upon pulling your legs onto the couch and under you, you settled in and with a soft sigh began to set up the movie you were going to watch. Just like you and Yunho would do had he been an actual interest of yours.

As the food arrived and was promptly devoured, and you were midway through the film, you found Yunho slowly but surely gravitating towards you. First, it was with an outstretched hand when he was trying to imitate a character on the screen, then with him sitting ever so slightly closer when there was supposedly a ‘spooky moment’ even though you knew full well that out of the two of you, you were the one who would not dare enter a haunted house again, and finally, under the pretence of ‘wanting to show you a funny meme on his phone’ he sat right next to you, thighs flush against each other, arm resting on the sofa right behind your head. You could not help but lean into the warmth, attracted to it, comforted. You knew Yunho inside and out, and if there was anyone who you would trust like this, it would be him. He had seen you at your worst - crying in the office bathrooms when during your early days at the company you had been humiliated by your old boss (who, thankfully, had been promptly fired), and had seen you at your best - your award-winning presentation and proof of concept for an innovative life simulation game, selected as a showpiece for the company at a major global conference. He was always there. Be it on your phone, in a sketchbook, or on your laptop - he was always there, cheering you on. There was no difference between then and now, except that now you could allow your head to rest against his broad chest, hearing the soothing beating of his heart behind the cotton fabrics, feeling how his hand dropped to trace random, intricate shapes on your shoulder while his eyes stayed glued to the television screen. 

You could sense that he was afraid to look at you, or at least of what he would think or do if he were to do so. He was warm. Very warm. Maybe too warm. You looked up, noting the adorable redness of his ears that appeared only in particular instances: either he just woke up from deep sleep which was not the case, or he had violently shaken his head and rubbed his ears - another no, or he was embarrassed and shy. Bingo. There it was. You nuzzled against him and swore you could feel his entire body stiffen. Just like when a cat makes a person ‘ the chosen one’ by lying on their lap and said person almost forgets to breathe, you nearly knocked consciousness out of Yunho, it seemed.

“What’s up?” you mumbled, noting that Yunho straightened his back, sitting in an unnatural position.

“I, uh, nothing, it’s nothing,” he responded, clearing his throat, still not daring to look to the side to face you. 

A pause. That was his character - you nodded to yourself. He had always been like this. Sympathy through the roof but when it came to his openness - he far from often strayed into that field. It would take quite a bit of coaxing, or, somehow easier, waiting for the right moment. So wait you did, comfortably resting against Yunho, insistent that he return to his previously unwinded state. Before you could snake your hand around him to pull his hood up, your friend suddenly shot up, mumbling something about it being too stuffy, or too hot, and tugged the article of clothing off.

All would be fine and dandy if he was not built how he was - and you knew it better than anyone, however strange it was to admit. After all, you had been the one to pick and sketch out his physique, knowing every muscle, curve and edge. As he fumbled with the sleeves, you took in his form, mouth agape as you saw what you had only perceived two-dimensionally, now in live action, and somehow being the one case of where the transition was impeccable if not better. If he were to turn at any moment, he would bear witness to your disturbingly dedicated scrutiny. But at the same time, what could a digital artist and designer do when a handsome man was right before them? Exactly. It was practically a duty to perceive; if not for personal interests (which you would be a liar if you were to say you did not have them), then at least for science. He looked too good in the dark grey graphic t-shirt, which, despite it being slightly oversize, did its beautiful work by revealing his perfectly toned arms. When you noticed him being in the process of turning back, you peeled your gaze away and back to the movie, not sure where in the storyline you even were, nor what the actors were saying. Patting the space next to you, you beckoned Yunho back. This time, he was calmer in his demeanour, falling back and letting you fall into him, with him, for him - and he was right there to catch you. 

Action scene after action scene turned into a blur, dialogue was static that you were not bothered to discern while you focused on Yunho’s breathing. Shallower than before, but still comforting. Who would have thought that you would be cuddling with your dream man when a mere few hours ago you were holed up behind your desk, with a cramped and stiff neck, an exhausted hand and equally tired eyes? Eyelids grew heavier, and you wondered if it would be long before you would fall asleep again, and wake up alone, as usual; a bitter smile settled on your lips when the realisation hit you, earning you a perplexed glance from Yunho and a poke in your side.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“Definitely something, he turned to you, studying your every movement. The action led him to detangle himself from you, leading you to shiver a little from the lack of his body heat, “ah wait are you cold now? I- wait, here, hoodie?”

“Thanks.”

Him. In every thread. The scent of clean laundry, cotton, and fabric softener. There was something so magical in it, soothing. You wanted to float in the aroma and this moment forever. Pulling the hoodie tighter around you, you pretended to not notice the adoration that was blatantly obvious in Yunho’s expression. He watched as you pushed up the sleeves a little bit, crossed your legs and looked back at him.  Your friend, your muse and subject was nervous, and it did not need a trained professional to figure it out. The tale was climbing to a peak, and the main characters had to face it together. You waited for him, mellowness across your features as you played with one of the hoodie’s drawstrings.

Yunho looked at you, and something about the purity, and hopefulness within him made you think of the very first drawings you had made on post-its in the middle of a conference. Bored out of your mind, your mind wandered back to pondering the new project you had been assigned - the dating simulator. Idea after idea had been proposed for the characters, but not a single one stuck. Everyone was at a standstill until he came along. A breathtaking blessing, just like he was now. Silence settled like snow, only to be broken by a short hum, and Yunho taking the risk you had been wishing for.

“I… I know it has only been a few months but… I really don’t think I can be friends with you anymore, Y/N,” you tilted your head as he put his hands on his lap, fingers repeatedly messing with the material of his sweatpants - his attempt to soothe himself. You, on the other hand, were oddly calm. Simply waiting for the events to unfold and for you to embrace them with the fullest heart. While he was searching for the right words to say, you placed a hand over his, waking him from rumination. A weak smile was replaced by determination, truth spilling from his soul.

“I like you too much. Really. I would not be able to keep my distance even if I tried.”

“Well I think you are a bit too far away right now, Yun,” with a wave of boldness having washed over you, you acted on instinct, leaning towards the beautiful, infinitely precious man until he could not look away, captivated by your proximity, your glimmering eyes, your acceptance.

“Huh?” the sound was barely audible, an echo lost to the tension. You ran a finger over his jawline, instantly seeing his expression darken with another reverberating, deep sensation.

“We should seal the deal, shouldn’t we?” remaining cryptic, you inched closer and closer until you could pick apart the flicks of lighter mahogany in those stunning irises - you wanted to shake your hand for having persevered to finish them in the drawing. Truly, one of a kind.

“What-”

“Oh just kiss me already-”

That phrase you did not need to tell Yunho twice. Finally catching on, he was the first to destroy the distance between you, capturing your lips with his and letting his hand find purchase in your hair, digits running through it, caressing you, guiding you into a shared rhythm. He was as sweet as vanilla with a hint of cinnamon. An intoxicating, ecstatically overwhelming daze that consumed you whole. You saw the sketches flash before you, burning one by one to fuel the desire building for Yunho, for you, for the two of you together. It felt right, it felt real. Arms over his shoulders, you allowed him to pull you into his lap, embrace you and pepper the softest kisses on your cheeks, and your neck, finding the path back to your lips. You felt more alive than ever with the electricity coursing through your newfound intimacy. Nothing existed. This universe was Yunho, and you could not be happier. Better than in any story that you or your co-workers could develop, better than in any fairytale, the oddity transformed into eternity. This was a dream you wanted to remain in for as long as you-

Saying it was hard to wake up was an understatement. Your entire body had been aching from having fallen asleep in an awkward position over your drawing tablet, you had slept past your alarms and as such had only fifteen minutes to cram getting ready and leaving for the office, and upon checking your schedule you had the ‘pleasure’ of having three more meetings being crammed into it, reducing your lunch break to what was a near null. With a sigh, you moved away from your space, dragging your tired body to your first official interaction of the day after having sat at your desk for a couple of hours, already dreading it. The new CEO - whoever they were, was the ‘I want to know all the details and be one with the teams’ type, how joyful, you wondered how long that would last. 

It was hard to find the motivation, especially after a dream such as yours. It kept on revolving in your head, pressing down on you, making you reminisce the gentle caresses, the sweet words and actions, the delightful kiss that you had managed to just have the time to experience with Yunho. You were seeing your character in an entirely new light, already having reworked some ideas for the possible special event outfits and spammed your close colleagues who were working on the storyline with some ideas about how Yunho could have even better depth and as such, engagement from prospective users. Perhaps for this meeting with authority you just needed to tap into your delusions and it would be good enough - at least they were productive for once. 

While you were setting up the presentation, the rest of your immediate team began to file in, giving you excited waves that you returned with an unprecedented warmth. Pleasant chatter, discussion of possibility, mention of just how special it was that this dating simulator game project was the one the CEO had chosen to see today… you were feeling confident. Whoever this person was going to be, you were going to give your best and-

The door opened. Heads turned. Greetings, bows - all forms of politeness that could be expressed being delivered. People standing up, while you stood up taller by the board, the title slide behind you. You raised your head, only for time to slow down and freeze entirely. Your hold on the clicker tightened, and the only person aside from you who existed at that moment was the newcomer. The CEO. Greeting others with a smile and with equally as elegant bows. Every bit the gentleman in his tailored suit, hair swept back and impeccably styled. Jeong Yunho.

This had to be some kind of joke, right? Was this a dream? The stinging remaining after you pinched your arm slapped you back into reality. No. This Yunho was definitely real. But who was the one you-... the one you started dating? The one who you were way more than colleagues or friends with? Before your mind could accelerate into panicked rumination, his gaze stopped at you, and you could sense everyone else’s attention drift to you too. You were under his spotlight. Melting under what was nothing but kindness in his eyes.

“L/N Y/N, right? I heard a lot about you,” his grin was making you dizzy, memories of his taste resurfacing and sending heat to your cheeks, giving them a light dusting of pink.

“Good things, I hope?” you managed, he chuckled, and sent you a wink before sitting down on his chair.

“The best. I am really looking forward to this,” a playful tease.

“Glad to know this.”

“I heard you made quite a few new developments, how did that happen?” you knew what he was getting at, and that made you feel secure. So it was the same Yunho. That precious Yunho who had confessed to you, the one who had come to life and was now part of yours, by some odd twist of fate had appeared in your company, and was now right in front of you, eager and in love. You smirked while twisting to check the slide one last time, well aware that his only focus ever would be you.

“Came to me in a dream.”

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thank you for reading! if you enjoyed, please leave a kind reblog, much love!

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

I love this kind of thing. I think about this kind of thing and what memebers of groups I like would feel like this. This is beautiful and cute. I love it🩵

falling in love with jihoon is probably the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

he had told you once, right at the beginning of your relationship, that he wasn’t good with expressing his feelings. that he might accidentally make you feel unwelcome, or he might make you feel like a burden. slightly daunted but determined nevertheless, you told him you didn’t mind, and you wouldn’t mind.

and you haven’t minded. because being loved by jihoon is probably the second easiest thing you’ve ever done. he was right when he said he might not say it much, but he says it enough, and he shows it much more than that. he’d been afraid you wouldn’t feel it, but you felt it more than anything.

the first time you felt it, jihoon was being vulnerable. pillow talk: the two of you close on the bed, but not quite touching; staring up at the ceiling; filling the dark room with soft murmurs.

“falling in love is scary,” he had said softly. “it’s like — like sky-diving. or free-falling. and hoping to everything good and holy that your parachute is working, because —”

“because you don’t get to check it beforehand,” you had finished, even softer.

there’s a short pause, like he’d just realised that you were also scared shitless. “yeah,” he agrees finally, words sounding lighter already.

another pause, before you slip your hand into his, threading your fingers together. “so.” you roll over to face him, brushing his cheek with your free hand. “how’s your parachute?”

jihoon kisses your hand when it passes over his lips, smiling just barely. “i’d say it’s working.”

and you haven’t doubted his love since then. sure, you’ve come close, when the two of you were in your worst moments, but then he’d do something or say something, and you’d realise quickly that the two of you were always going to be okay.

it was written quietly — in the footnotes of everything he said. “how was your day?” (i hope it was good.) “did you eat yet?” (i love you. i want us both to eat well.) “i got this for you. don’t say no.” (i see you in everything.)

it comes down to one conclusion, that you summed up late one night, looking at his sleeping features. that his feelings are so strong he doesn’t have to say them. you feel them anyway.

an / i wrote something FINALLY. i think this is the result of reading too many poems this summer. anyway. requested by the lovely lovely @eoieopda.

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

Love these!

I don’t know which is my favorite

I literally have two Cupid ones in my drafts right now that I havent finished lmao!!

unconventional first encounters with ateez

part one // part two

pairing. ateez x reader (specifically fem! reader for seonghwa's & jongho's)

genre. fluff, humor, this is a headcanon with a teensy bit of thriller and fantasy (and maybe sci-fi)

warning(s). a creepy man stalking u (san's part), swearing, mentions of drinking alcohol, mentions of murder without actual murder, a crazy toxic ex (jongho's part), mingi had a one night stand, mentions of nudity without actual nudity, this is not proofread, seonghwa’s scenes are inspired by the kdrama “youth of may”

word count. 8.7k (sorry in advance)

note. i’ve created a monster… the 3k words headcanon suddenly snowballed into almost 9k oops i think i had too much fun writing this,, anyways please tell me ur favorites! mine would be seonghwa’s, wooyoung’s, and yunho’s bc it may or may not be inspired by a true story,,, (if u notice me reusing a trope in this hc,,,,, no u don’t)

masterlist

kim hongjoong

you're in a skateboard park

"why did you follow me here?"mingi slurps on his juicebox as he steps on the nose of his skateboard, "you don't even skate."

you turn to look at him and cheekily grin

"is it wrong to want to spend time with my bestfriend?"

mingi raises a brow

okay fine

he's right

you don't skate and you basically see mingi everyday at campus so you're actually kind of sick of him (don't tell him that)

so you're not really here for him

"just go do your thing," you make shooing gestures at the boy with pink hair as you turn to plop down on the side walk

"i'll sit here and watch."

:-D

sit and watch one of the most attractive guys you've ever seen skateboard

kim hongjoong

and there he is

laughing with his friends and doing little skateboard tricks that you can't name

everytime you look at him you hear sk8ter boi by avril lavigne playing as the background music

it's not a crush btw you just think he's super cool

you're falling in love with him

mingi blinks twice at you and proceeds to follow your line of sight

"oh c'mon."

"what??" you huff, trying to avoid his judgemental glare, "i just think he's cute, okay???"

"yeah but i thought whatever phase you had over him would be over by now."

well u thought wrong !!!!! >:-D

"instead of ogling over him, you should try skating."

mingi throws away his empty juicebox in a nearby trash can and drops his board before gently kicking it in your direction

the board hits your feet

"you're trying to kill me?" you deadpan before kicking the board back to his direction

"oh come on!" mingi flails his arms around as he whines "it'll be fun!!!!!"

"fun for you," you snort while trying to look over his gigantic ass that's currently blocking your view, "i'll probably end up with a broken arm."

mingi suddenly grabs onto your hands and pull you up

"nonsense! i'm right here-" he adjusts you on his skateboard and makes sure both your feet are planted firmly on it, "- i won't let anything happen to you :-D"

the thing is

you love your best friend

but you absolutely cannot trust him in situations like this

you were about to hop off his board and make a run for it

but mingi starts rolling you forward gently

"dUDE!" you yelp, immediately holding tight on his arms that are still gripping you as you both move around the park

"bro calm down, we're going at like 5 kilometers per hour"

and you both kinda go at it for awhile

and oh

oHHH!

wait a minute

this is actually pretty fun !!!!!! :-D

mingi laughs at your excited grin

"see! i told you it's fun!!!!"

okay yeah he's right about this one

"now you try on your own !!!!!"

sometimes mingi forgets that not everyone can do what he does

he releases his hold on you and gives you a push

your eyes widen

your best friend hollers when the board starts going faster

"MINGI I DON'T KNOW HOW TO STOP THIS THING"

"WAIT Y/N WATCH OUT! THERE'S A--"

you shriek as you hurdle to the ground and the skateboard kinda just tumbles behind you

"a pothole that hasn't been fixed," mingi winces before slowly walking over towards you

but someone beats him to it

"hey are you okay? that was a pretty rough fall"

you look up to see a boy with half of his short hair dyed blonde and the other half black, his wide eyes pooling with concern

cue sk8ter boi by avril lavigne

if he's here........ that means he must've seen you embarrassingly fall flat on your face and basically eat the ground

okay, your dramatic ass actually didn't even fall face first to the ground but,,

you somehow ended up with having your palms and knees on the ground

and the kim hongjoong is right in front of you

..........you had to resist the urge to curl up and die

"i-i'm fine-- ouch," you hiss as you move to push off the ground

exposing your now bloody knees and scratched up palms

apparently you're not fine

"oh no," hongjoong frowns, gently cradling one of your bleeding hands in both of his and you kinda have to muffle back your scream because oMG

he lets go of your hand and kinda digs around in his pants' pocket to pull out what looks like an antiseptic spray thing and a

and a box of pink disney princesses band aids

you didn't know skater boys can be this cute?????? HE'S SO CUTE???????

"i got just the right things to fix you up!" he exclaims and looks over at you for permission, "is it okay if i do it for you?"

you can only nod

meanwhile, mingi's just kinda standing awkwardly on the sidelines while watching the boy disinfect your wounds with the spray

and he sees that hongjoong immediately strikes you into a conversation in an attempt to distract you from the pain once he sees you flinching

and he's just inwardly going wooooo yeah !!!!!! go gET IT Y/N!!!!!!

hongjoong was starting to open the box of bandaids when he notices that you're staring a hole into his busy hands

"don't judge me for these, i just picked up the first ones i see," he says, thinking that you're probably staring at the bandaids because you're thinking of how weird it is for an emo-looking guy like him to have pink bandaids, "i think they're pretty cool anyways."

"yeah, they are cool," you scoot closer to him, "i was just hoping you have either tiana or rapunzel. they're my favorite princesses."

well

hongjoong thinks that's wildly endearing somehow

if he ends up not having two of the princesses in his remaining band-aid pack, he's definitely running to the nearest drugstore to get a new one

just for you :-D

he chuckles and digs around the box to hopefully see a bandaid with a princess dressed in green or another one dressed in purple

as he finishes placing the band-aids on your injuries, he stood up and offers a hand to pull you up

"i'm hongjoong."

yeah you know

you return his name with your own and he softly smiles when repeating your name under his breath

"y/n, try not to get hurt when i see you next time."

park seonghwa

"let's get married."

you almost spurt out the complimentary water you were drinking

what in the arrranged marriage bullshit????

you finally agreed to go on one of many blind dates your mother has arranged to hopefully marry you off in hopes of merging your family company with another powerful company

to which your personal chef, wooyoung, proposed a plan (that had yeosang, your personal assistant, immediately going on his knees to beg you not to do)

wooyoung calls it operation zombie bride

which roughly translates to 'make yourself an undesirable wife'

but you didn't even get the chance to get your acting game going because this park seonghwa of park enterprises is already asking for your hand in marriage

right after you took a seat across him and managed to take ONE sip of the glass of water prepared on your table

"have you lost your mind??" you sputter while trying to swallow down the bits of water you're currently choking on, "you don't even know me!"

seonghwa raises a brow and opens his mouth, ready to retort back to your challenging remark when a waitress come up to your table

"may i start you both with a drink?"

"yes please," you try to force your hiccups to a stop so you can deadpan at the admittedly handsome man in front of you, "i'll have a bottle of beer."

the waitress visibly tries to stifle her surprise because it's currently 11 am and it's unheard of for people like you in a fancy restaurant like this to order the alcoholic drink

but yeah it's none of her business so she just took both of your orders and leaves :-D

"i guess you like to drink."

it's no question that you both obviously know of each other

having both been raised in similar worlds to be the perfect heir to be handed the family company

but you'll show him just how much he doesn't know you

you can somehow hear wooyoung's evil cackles from here

"yes," you widen your eyes and hope that you look unhinged enough, "i can't live without it. whenever i feel sober, my hands tremble like crazy."

wooyoung would be so proud that you've perfectly recited the first part of the script he wrote

"i see." an intrigued brow raises at your direction as seonghwa calmly leans back into his chair with a-

HOLD ON WHY IS HE SMIRKING??????????

things are not supposed to go this way

he's supposed to be at least slightly irked by your behavior at this point

the amused smirk still plays on his lips and you were about to openly berate him for being a weird idiot before the waitress comes back with your drinks

at the sight of the bottle of beer and a tall glass set beside it on your table, you think of backing out

you absolutely HATE beer

but you don't want to marry a guy you just met!!!!!

so you sucked it up and gulped down the glass of beer after the waitress poured the alcohol in it to the brim

ggaAAH this shit tastes like piss

you slam the now empty glass on the table before letting out a loud aHHH~ as you smack your lips obnoxiously

and you feel the side of your lip twitch upwards when you see his surprised face

(ﾉ>ω<)ﾉ :｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆ wooyoung's plan is wooooorking~!

"may i have a sip?"

record scratch. the earth stops rotating. pause.

"it's just, you make it look so delicious," seonghwa nods at the bottle before pushing down the cuffs of his grey suit and you swear you see his mirthful eyes twinkle when they meet your own gobsmacked ones

without waiting for an answer, he grabs the remaining beer in the bottle and lets the drink tip into his mouth as he knocks his head back to avoid touching his lips to the bottle

you kinda wish they did- AYYYOO?? U DID NOT THINK THAT NO U DIDN'T YOU DON'T FIND THIS MAN ATTRACTIVE AT ALL--

seonghwa lets out a rasped guttural sigh before he hums out, "now this is some nice beer." as he twirls the bottle in hands to look at its label before returning it back beside your glass

you do not find this man drinking alcohol attractive. you repeat, you do not find this man drinking alcohol attractive.

he sends another smirk your way

time to resort to the second half of the script

you rest your elbows on the table and lean closer to the man in front of you as your eyes narrow, "i've been told that i'm picky when it comes to who i date."

you wait for him to start spewing out random nonsense about some bullshit or the "nice guys always finish last" rant but he surprisingly stays silent and motions a hand for you to elaborate

"i don't want a man that expects me to cook or clean," you tilt your head back and give him a smirk of your own, "i'm not the type to stay home and cook for my husband. my career is more important."

he stays silent, and you can't help but feel a tad bit disappointed that maybe he's just like any other man-

"i like it."

ngl you almost went apeshit after hearing that

"my ideal type is an ambitious woman."

maybe your heart went pitter patter hearing that but no!!! you're not getting married!!!!

"i'll never want to have kids!" you grasp at straws, blindingly saying anything that will hopefully give him the ick because mhm yeah he definitely looks like a guy who want kids of his own yeah you got this

but he shrugs it off with a wave of his hand, "that's up to the woman, of course. i won't force you to do anything."

you're fucked.

"you're not as picky as i thought," seonghwa hums as another smirk, this time teasing, curls up on his face

you kinda want to smack it off

he matches your stance as he too, leans closer to you, and he tucks a stray hair behind your ear

"i guess we're pretty compatible, future wife."

jeong yunho

tonight is THE night

your finals are finally over and honestly you don't know if you did a good job at it

but that's for future yn to think about

because present yn is gonna go party it up tonight!!!!

yuh B-)

a new club just opened nearby and it looks pretty cool so you and your friends decided to go there

you have on your cutest outfit with your hair and makeup done

and you're sO excited !! >:-D

"y/n."

"hm?" you turn to face wooyoung, one of your best friends, who currently has his arms crossed and a serious look on his face

cue your cheeky grin and your not so innocent batting eyes

before every outings that involves drinking, wooyoung always gives you the talk because... well,,

one time, none of your friends couldn't find you anywhere in the club because you ended up in a nearby seafood restaurant with your whole face inside one of the aquariums (you don't know how you ended up there and yes it was gross and yes wooyoung had to pay for all the damages)

but the thing is, even though wooyoung threatens reminds you every single time before you drink to not get too crazy, it happens anyway

you don't know why he even bother

(he's handcuffed himself to you once and the night ended with both of his hands cuffed together while you were nowhere to be found)

so yeah aha

"you know the drill," wooyoung deadpans, "it's extra crowded tonight so i want you to be within my sight at all times."

that should be easy

you give him a mock salute, "got it, dad!"

you do feel bad for your friends who have to take care of you whenever you're drunk so you're gonna limit yourself to only 3 shots tonight

yeah you can do that !!! :-D

.........

turns out,,, you can't limit your insatiable drinking habits

you lost count over how many glasses you've had and oh my god wooyoung's gonna be so pissed!!!!

you don't even know where he is

you're just lazing around in between the swarm of bodies on the dance floor

you've gotten to the point where the high to dance waded off and now you just want to sit down and relax

and that's exactly what you were gonna do

until you accidentally stumbled out of the club

"woah!"

everything seems to fall into slow motion

next thing you know, you're engulfed into a pair of arms, your face crashing against a warm pair of tiddies chest that cushions your landing after you drunkenly fling yourself out of the club's exit

a pair of large and warm hands cup around your waist to steady you

your dazed eyes look up to see a man with sleepy doe eyes that blinks in surprise and soft chocolate hair that's slightly tousled

he looks adorable (this is you speaking)

and hot (this is your drunken alter ego speaking)

and you're pretty sure you're gaping like a fish

mom i want him

you wrap your previously flailing arms around his waist, unconsciously pulling him closer as you happily croon

"yooou look like myh future boyfriend!"

the handsome man in your embrace lets out a deep chuckle as amusement crosses his face before concern pools in his eyes once he belatedly realizes the state that you're in

if you weren't so drunk right now, you'd probably swoon over how respectful his hand placements are; his hands lift to linger above your waist as he tries to keep you steady-- not touching you but also making sure he'd be able to catch you in case you topple off him

the bare minimum but it's still cute ok

"hi," he softly greets and you have to bend your neck all the way up because tHIS MAN IS TALL just so you can continue staring at his face in awe

"you're sooo tall !!oof-" you drunkenly stumble more into him as you loudly remark on his height, gaining attention to the both of you

he protectively pulls you in just a little bit closer to him, eyes taking in the amount of iffy strangers that have their eyes lingering on you for too long

"do you know where your friends are?" he softly hums, gently brushing away the sweaty strands of hair that stuck to your face so he can look at you properly

yunho knows he can't leave you alone, not with how your eyes are drooping and your speech slurring even though he desperately wants to catch up on more sleep after he did a little snack run to the convenience store

and it's currently 4 hours before he has to wake up for his morning class :-(

he knows he'll regret not getting enough sleep for his class but,,,

he'll regret it even more if he just leave you all alone

"they're all inside!" you giggle while your finger points to the entrance of the club

a bout of chilly wind suddenly breezes past you and you shiver because oH NO you left your purse and coat in the lockers!!!!!-

a warm jacket that smells of vanilla and steamed milk suddenly sits atop your shoulders

"are you cold?" the boy in front of you frowns as he adjusts his grey jacket over your body, "you should call your friends and ask them to come get you."

you didn't even notice when he gently pried your arms off him so he can shrug off the jacket he's wearing to give to you

hE'S SO-

the boy yelps when a shoe is suddenly hurled in his direction and nearly whacks him in the face, "what the fu-"

"hEY !!!!!!!"

you both turn at the sound of the high pitched shriek to see a tiny boy with red hair and smoke coming out of his ears while holding a purse and two coats with one of his socked feet missing a shoe

"gET YOUR HANDS OFF THEM!" wooyoung dashes at you both with an inhuman speed and launches himself to grab you by the wrist and tuck you behind him

"sorry man," the kind stranger lifts both of his arms into the air to show that he means no harm, "i was trying to help them find their way back to their friends."

wooyoung's like oh when he turns back to see you nod in confirmation and his hostility diminishes in an instant

"oh thanks man :-D i guess you're cool :-D what's your name :-D ?"

"it's yunho."

"well, i'm y/n!! and this is my best friend oomph- wooyoung!!!!!!"

and wooyoung's like c'mon y/n we have to get you back to the dorms and you're like waIT A MINUTE I HAVE TO RETURN THIS JACKET-

"no it's okay you can keep it," yunho assures you with a shy smile

"you look better in it anyway."

he's so- ahaue@$#@3ahgru

"take out your phone." you hiccup and yunho shoots you a confused look but obeys anyway

"listen carefully," you cutely hiccup again with your hands on your waist and yunho has to stifle a laugh at your endearing antics, "i'm gonna recite my number for you."

at that, yunho's eyes comically widen and he fumbles to quickly pull up the phone app

"i'm listening!!!"

kang yeosang

when you ordered for an android that will help you around your apartment, you did not expect this

"delivery for y/n?"

you excitedly peer at the tall box that was wheeled in by the delivery man after thanking him

only faltering once you notice something odd

the label on the box reads KYS-1117

hmmmmmmm

you're sure that you made an order for PSH-1024, an android that's promised to be a clean freak and will keep your housing as neat as possible

pshhhh there's no way a highly renowned tech company that sells expensive androids could make a simple mistake like that right? :-D

yeah ! :-D

so you grab your exacto knife and get to the best part of receiving packages -- unboxing !!!!!

you excitedly dive into ripping the box apart, mindlessly flinging away the handbook that was neatly attached to it because how hard can it be to activate an android?

a very handsome android, it turns out

you peer through the glass window of the white pod that houses a blonde boy laying so peacefully you almost didn't want to wake him up

you fumble around and managed to press a button that lifts the lid of the pod, emanating trendils of mist to reveal a clearer vision of the boy with golden blonde hair, eyes closed as if in a deep sleep

"woah," you murmur, bringing your head closer to take a better look at the android. you somehow expected a normal looking one instead of an android who looks like he just won a beauty peagant but hey,,, you're not complaining :3

you crawl across your living room, grabbing the handbook you set aside and immediately flip open to the first page

how to turn on your android: a guide

aha! here we go

you reach out to poke around the android's neck to press on the disguised button to power him up, ignoring the flame scorching your cheeks at the thinning distance between you and his face

his eyelashes flutter as his eyes slowly open and falls on you as you back away from his personal space

you just kinda stay on your knees (not in that way!!!) in front of his pod, because well..... you don't know what to say to him.....

he's slowly blinking, seemingly fighting sleep, as he trains his gaze on you

this is awkward........ (〃￣ω￣〃ゞ

the silence stretches for another minute before the blonde beauty finally speaks

"There must be something wrong with my eyes."

"huh??" you panic, quickly turning back to the handbook in your hands and flipping the pages frantically. "what's wrong?? does it hurt??? maybe there's something about that in here--"

"... Because I can't take them off you."

:-D ....

you're ... gobsmacked

"uHHH ahhahahHHahHa, nice joke?????"

you really don't know what to say

he smiles, effectively blinding you because, holy shit, this man is too good looking to be an android cleaner wtf, and he gracefully steps out of his pod and crouches down in front of you to tuck your hair behind your ear WHAT IS HAPPENING

"What's your name, doll?"

d-d-doll ????

"uh,,,, it's y/n"

"It's nice to meet you, Y/n. I'm KYS-1117, you can call me Yeosang."

he flashes another charming smile and oop yeah that's all it takes

if you weren't kneeling on the floor, you'd probably pass out

but wait a minute,,,, did he say-

"huh,,,, they did get the order wrong," you mumble to yourself

you don't notice yeosang's face contorting in confusion

"Am I not to your liking?"

your eyes snap back to his warm brown eyes that flashes a hint of hurt before disappearing all too quick

oh no

you managed to hurt an android's feelings (ﾒ﹏ﾒ)

"no no !!!! there's nothing wrong on your part !!" you vigorously shake both of your hands in front of you. "it's just,, i think they sent me.... uh, the wrong ..... android."

"Oh."

yeah...... oh

"Would you like me to contact our customer service? You'll be guaranteed to receive your correct order and compensation, of course."

yeosang lowers his head to face the floor while his voice falls flat; a stark contrast to the charismatic lilt he greeted with you previously

you don't need a degree in psychology to tell that he's visibly upset at the fact that you're gonna return him

it makes you feel worse because no !! this isn't your fault

and you can't ignore the fact that he looks absolutely human right now

okay, you do have to give props to the tech company who, despite messing up your order, did a good job at making their androids realistic

maybe a bit too good because,,, you're getting swayed by him rn

which is weird because aren't androids supposed to NOT have emotions?????

you sigh to yourself

"can you clean?"

the blonde snaps his head to look at you. "I'm sorry?"

woop here it goes

"i'm not returning you," you shrug. "i bet that's gonna take another 2 months to process and i don't see why i should do that when i have you."

you can see the gears turning in his head as he tries to process what you just said

you give him a small smile that you hope is comforting and that it somehow tells him that he's not going back to (you presume) a lab that's probably a hellhole

he perks up at your words, his body rocking back and forth as he excitedly informs you, "I'm not specifically programmed to be a cleaner android, but I can learn! I'm known to be a fast learner!"

"okay,,,,, that's settled then!" you happily reply

this is great, a win-win solution! maybe you should also ask yeosang to get compensation for the mistake they made without returning him

in that way,, you won't have to wait for ages to get another android and you get money !!!!!!

phew

"if you don't mind me asking, what are you specifically programmed to do?"

"Oh! I'm a boyfriend android!"

what did he SAY (o_O) !

bonus

... "yeosang,, why do you talk like that?"

"Ah. Is the way I talk not to your liking?"

you shake your head frantically, "no!! no!!!! it's nothing like that! just that you kinda talk like you use proper capitalization and punctuation all the time aha"

yeosang blinks

"Am I not supposed to?"

"no!!! it's perfectly fine,, i was just hoping you could be more relaxed around me :-D"

relax. yeosang tilts his head at that word

"I am. Relaxed."

you stare at him

his ramrod straight back against your couch, feet planted perfectly side by side on your floor and his hands placed politely on his lap

meanwhile, your figure sprawls messily on the spot next to him

"yeah,,,, okay"

choi san

you felt it once you stepped foot outside the 24 hours supermarket

that feeling of someone watching you

you try to quench it down, thinking that it's just paranoia creeping on you because it's almost 3 am and eerily dark outside

but then you hear it

footsteps.

not too loud, as if the person does not want to be heard, and you realize that their footfalls match yours

they're keeping up with your pace

you feel your heart rapidly race as you curse yourself for leaving your phone because it's charging back home

is it a good idea to run?

you discreetly turn your head to the side, seeing a man way bigger than you with his hood up in your peripheral vision

and his dark gaze straight on you

shit

you attempt your best at nonchalantly flicking your head back forward, hoping that he doesn't realize that you know that he's following you

the streets and sidewalk both remain empty, rows of closed shops greeting you instead of any taxis or people that could help you

you're completely on your own

you inwardly sigh, making a detour to head towards the main street because there's no way in hell you're leading this creep straight back to where you live and if you can be in a busier street, that would be much better

after walking for what felt like hours, you notice the unmistaken colorful lights that shine red, orange, and green from a convenience store's banner

omg

!!! a convenience store !!!!!!

you quickly pick up your pace, not caring over how the man behind you also start to fasten their steps, and you immediately swing open the glass door once your fingers grasp at the handle

your eyes fall to the cashier, a teenager, probably, who looks like he's not older than 18, and at the brink of dozing off into a deep sleep

tears prick your eyes as you feel the panic finally start to overwhelm you because you don't think this kid can do anything besides being scared with you if you drag him into this

but you kinda have no choice

as you step further inside the convenience store, ready to approach him, you notice a mop of messy raven hair near the cold drinks aisle

you feel the presence of the creepy man looming behind you, ready to step into the convenience store as well

you gulp, shivers running down your spine at the thought of being in a close proximity with the stalker

hell no

the cashier's way too close to the entrance

you need to move somewhere further away

you make a beeline for the raven haired boy at the back of the store grabbing two small sized cartons of milk, tightly lacing your arms around his side, your groceries in a bag swishing wildly against him as he looks at you in surprise

"hi, babe!" you loudly greet the stranger, making sure the man who just rang the bell atop the convenience store door as he enters heard you

you shoot wide eyed glances that hopefully screams 'help!' at your temporary pretend boyfriend

who happens to be very handsome btw

"i'm sorry i took so long, you must've been waiting for me," you continue, eyes roaming around the store and quickly spotting the man in front of the aisle you're both in, quietly listening on to your conversation. "the grocery store was so far away! i shouldn't have insisted on going out alone."

the boy you're latching onto must've gotten the memo (at speed record too!) as he quickly wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him and he lets out a chuckle

"it's okay, baby. let me just pay for these, yeah? mingi and wooyoung are waiting for us in the car outside."

he purposefully raises his voice at the last sentence, making sure that the creep he noticed won't stop staring at you would understand that it'll be a 3 against 1 if he tries anything

gently tugging you by your waist to the other side of the store, away from the man's prying eyes, the boy takes you in with concern furrowing his brows

"are you okay?" he softly whispers, grasping the two cartons of milk in one hand as his other move from your waist to settle comfortingly on your shoulder to soothe you

"yeah," comes your shaky reply, eyes still glancing warily towards the front of the store. "just need to get him off me."

"do you want me to drive you home?" he asks, face quickly grimacing at his insensitivity and he scrambles to replace his offer. "ah, that probably sounds scary. do you want me to call you a cab instead?"

you thank the universe for gracing you with the kindness of this stranger

"sure, that sounds good."

you both finally arrive to the cashier after circling the store, waking up the cashier who begins to lazily ring up the boy's items

his arm wraps around your waist again once he notices the man lingering too close to the both of you and he quickly grabs his paid items after muttering a small 'thank you' before dashing out the door with you by his side

you look behind you, freezing when you see the man with his eyes still on you beyond the glass doors

"the passenger seat's empty, you can sit here first while waiting for your cab, if you want," the raven haired boy offers, opening the passenger seat door of the car parked right outside the store

you enter the car, letting the boy shut the door beside you as you settle down and try to calm your racing heart

"hiiiiiiiiiiiiiii !!!!!!-- uhmm, who are you?"

you turn to the backseat to see a redhead with a nosy expression, his limbs tangled with a blonde boy's own limbs who also sports the same expression, although his looks more confused than nosy

"some creep was following them on their way home," said the raven haired boy, already settling down on his own seat and shutting the door as you look over to the driver's side

"what?" an angry yell sounds from behind, the blonde seemingly trying to untangle himself from the redhead as he desperately tries to claw the car window. "that fucker!"

"mingi!" reprimands his friend in the driver's seat, his head shaking at his friend's antics and he looks at you with an apologetic look. "sorry about him, they both had a little too much to drink. i'm san, by the way"

"san," you repeat his name, and told him yours. "thank you for helping me back there."

"of course," san gives you a dimpled smile, pulling out a pack of mint chewing gum out of the plastic bag and offering it to you. "i heard chewing gum helps when you're nervous."

you must've been too focused on the man near you while he was paying that you didn't notice him grabbing it

and you know that you're not supposed to accept candy from a stranger but you kinda need it ok

"oh, thank you so much," you shyly thank him as you grab the pack. "you didn't have to."

"yeah, but i wanted to," he says, giving you another smile before grabbing the two cartons of milk and tossing them to his friends

"oUUUCH!!!!!! san you hit my head!!" the redhead wails, grabbing his head with both hands in dramaticized agony after the boxed milk bounces off his head while the blonde angrily yells that he does not want milk!!!!!!!

"a bunch of kids, both of you," san tiredly sighs and you almost giggle at his funny expression that resembles an exhausted dad dealing with his two rowdy toddlers

"drink the milk! you need to neutralize!"

"I DON'T WANT TO!!!!!!!"

"MINGI SHUT UP YOU'RE MAKING MY HEAD HURT EVEN MORE"

what a cute friend group

you ended up asking san to drive you home because somehow, you feel like you can trust him

(he drove you home safely with his two drunken friends singing 2000s hits all the way home and you both exchanged numbers)

song mingi

the biggest regret of your life is moving in to a shared apartment that was listed on craiglist

yeah.... you don't know what you were thinking

your roommate is literally a descendant from hell

and not in the cool sexy demon way

but in the 'i've made it my job to make your life a living hell' kinda way

besides the fact that:

a) she never cleans up after herself (whether it be dishes, laundry, or anything, really) and,

b) she acts like you're the bane of her existence,,,

it feels like she has a guy over every night

and honestly, you have no qualms about her getting dicked down because good for her

but the walls are PAPER THIN

you really wonder how she never got a noise complaint over how loud she is

and you have to applaud her for her stamina because they would go for hoouuurs and you'd end up watching the sun rise without getting a wink of sleep everytime

it's gotten to the point where your friends are concerned because you'd show up to class or hangouts with eyebags and a murderous look on your face

your sleep schedule is so messed up

you'd do all your assignments during the night with your headphones in, go to classes during the day, then pass out right after your classes end

all of your friends are kinda on edge around you because they're scared you're gonna Snap™ one day lmao

anyways, you were just chilling one night with your headphones in (which you immediately put on after hearing the unmistakable high pitched noises coming from your roommate's room), waiting for it to be 8 am so you can go to your morning class

when your laptop suddenly lost connection to your wifi

and you hate working on your google docs offline !!!! >:-(

so you forced yourself to get up and go to the living room to see what's going on with your wifi router

only to find a butt naked man hovering over it

eeEEK

"what the fuck!!!" you scream, grabbing the nearest thing to you (a throw pillow on the couch) and launching it on the stranger who's very much naked in your living room

"what--" the man cries out, looking back to see you with your eyes closed just as the pillow bounces off his head. "who the fuck are you??"

you wish you kept your eyes open just to let him see your eyeroll but you quickly scratch that thought because you really don't want to see a stranger's dick at 7 in the morning

your nostrils flare at the nerve of whoever this guy is at your apartment

"excuse me??? who the fuck are you?"

turns out, his name is mingi, and you came to know of it after he got appropriately dressed, turned on and off your wifi router, and sat down across you to enjoy his breakfast that you made

you also came to learn that he's the one who made your roommate sound like a literal pornstar last night

"so, uhh.." the blonde awkwardly starts, gripping his cutlery as he pathetically tries to strike up a conversation while you're busy wolfing down your breakfast. "you cook often?"

the simple question turns into a long conversation that you surprisingly find yourself enjoying

not only is he super cute,,,, but he's also so fun to tease

you move to clear away both of your plates and mingi looks up to you in awe, "that was the best breakfast i've ever had."

you smile, "sure, and that will be $53."

"huh?"

your raise a brow, "you think i'm giving you free breakfast?"

you laugh when you see him scramble to pull out his phone and ask you for your venmo

"dude, i was just kidding," you reassure him, "but please give me a heads up if you're coming over to fuck my roommate again. i couldn't get a wink of sleep last night."

mingi turns a bright shade of red

jung wooyoung

you can't believe it

never in your life would you think you'd be a witness to MURDER

you were just calmly walking back home after meeting up with your friends when you spot a guy with both of his arms pointed to the sky

you had a "little bit" of soju during your monthly bbq hangouts with your friends, so your tipsy self took some time to openly judge and even snort at the stupid looking stranger

that is until, a golden bow materialises into his hold

what in the hunger games lmao

.... you scratch your eyes, hoping to clear your vision

his right hand reaches into the air again, seemingly pulling out two golden arrows with their tips dipped in crimson out of nowhere

wtf did someone lace your soju

and then he nocks them, one above the other, and draws the string back

is he about to shoot someone??????

he releases the arrows in the direction of two people conversing with each other in a playground's swing set not too far away from you and-- holy sHIT HE'S SHOOTING TWO PEOPLE AT ONCE

you hear the wind rip as the arrows zips through the air before embedding deep into the unsuspecting targets' chests

it took point three seconds for you to realize what the suspicscious man did

and that's when you scream

very loudly

but wait a minute

......... there's nothing

there's no blood, no dead bodies dropping to the floor, and the arrows that struck their chests somehow vanished into thin air

in fact, the two people he shot looks happier now

that's weird

but you continue to scream anyway

the boy whips his head to see you; a little tipsy and screaming your head off, and when your eyes lock with one another, his eyes go impossibly wider

he swiftly dashes off into your direction after carelessly throwing his bow into the air and wait,,,, did the bow just dissappear??? it was right there--

a hand suddenly clamps over your mouth

"stop screaming."

.................

you proceed to scream even louder

the boy lets out an annoyed grunt, somehow dragging you into an alley with his hand still clamped over your mouth and the other gripping the back of your head tightly

"look i need you to calm down, okay?" he lets out a huff, nervous hands running through his red hair -- a detail you just noticed with the moonlight shining on him

you finally stop screaming and he immedieately sighs in relief, loosening his grip on you

you take a good look at him

he's beautiful

"thank you," the boy nonchalantly replies, too distracted with looking out the alley to make sure no one saw you struggling against a body of air into an alley. "just to be clear, i didn't kill them okay? they're perfectly fine"

but you're not even listening to him

"you can read my mind?!"

"yes i can but that's not the point," the redhead squints. "i need you to understand that i didn't kill them and that you're not supposed to be able to see me"

you swallow

this guy might be cute but,,,,, you definitely wouldn't risk it because he's weird weird

"umm okay, mr. i'm-not-a-murderer,, what else would you be doing with a bow and arrow besides killing someone??? running your cupid errands or something haha????"

he knocks his head to the side, taking quick steps to near you that has you pinned against the wall as his eyes rake over you in scrutiny

"who sent you?"

pffft LMAOOO ｡ﾟ(TヮT)

"what are you on???" you breathe, having to take in a large gulp of air after literally laughing your ass off because of how ridicilous he sounds

there's an offended tick to the boy's brow, his stare drilling at you

you wipe tears from your eyes, "you're saying you're the cupid? or eros? or uh,,, whatever his name is"

the boy rolls his eyes, placing his hands in the pockets of his pants as he moves to lean against the brick wall beside you. "yeah,, cupid or eros works. but i prefer wooyoung."

your jaw slackens. this guy can't be serious

"okay, wooyoung. how do i know you're not lying?"

the same golden bow you saw earlier materializes in front of you out of nowhere, its grip in a firm grasp within wooyoung's hand

huh,,,, seems pretty legit

mhm okay you're sold, you guess you can tick off meeting someone supernatural off your bucketlist!

wooyoung chuckles, he must've read your mind again, and he turns to look at you at his side, mouth still gaping in awe at his glowing bow

"glad you finally believe i'm real," he smugly grins, flinging his bow to the side where it magically vanishes in mid-air

"although, you're really not supposed to be able to see me. you're the first mortal to ever do so."

you see curiosity lighting up his eyes but you also see something else

relief

"you're the first mortal to ever do so."

he probably has uh godly friends up there but,, you can't imagine how lonely it must feel to walk on earth without anyone acknowledging you,,,, as if you don't exist

everyone should have someone around!!! D-:

"let's be friends!"

"what?" his eyes fall back to its usual indifferent gaze, this time, with a tinge of nervousness. "i don't even know your name, how are we supposed to be friends??"

"hush, i know you know my name from the beginning. you probably read it off my mind," (you're right), "now come on! you have to show me some more of your katniss everdeen side!!"

"katnip what??" he yelps in disbelief, figure remaining still despite the incessant tugs on his wrist by your attempt of pulling him out of the alley

"and i don't need friends!"

he was about to go off more about how people would think you're batshit crazy because they won't be able to see him and- oop his back is off the wall now, yeap he's moving out the alley with you successfully pulling him

"yes you do!" you turn to look at him and made a stop once you both are out of the alley, a grin makes it way on your face. "i can't believe it!!!! i'm cupid's first friend!!!"

a faint smile almost places itself on wooyoung's face because hey, being friends with you doesn't seem too bad

but he tramples it down with all his might, rolling his eyes and letting out a huff instead

"just follow me and keep your mouth shut."

guess he's stuck with you then

(he's a little bit happy about that. just a little.)

choi jongho

you knew you should've trusted your gut feeling on not going to the frat party

“but ynnnnnnnn,” one of your best friends, yuna, whines, “it’s been forever since you partied with us!!! just this one time please please !!!!!”

and you being the easily moved person you are reluctantly agreed after some more convincing

“don’t worry babe,” ryujin, another one of your best friends, reassures you while applying lip gloss in her vanity, “i’ll personally kick your ex’s ass if he tries anything on you.”

right, your ex

he’s the prime reason why you would not step foot in any more college parties because trust yourself when you say that he will be in every available party

but you know what

you’re kinda siCK of that !!!

so even though your ex is borderline crazy and threatens you to get back together even if you don’t want to

you’re gonna go to the party :-D

with your five besties protecting you

<333

“let’s go!!!” chaeryeong whoops with her head out the opened car window as yeji, the designated driver of the night, parks the car in front of the already blaring frat house

“now girls,” lia starts, “make sure your phones are always on okay?? and make sure at least one of us knows where you are—”

she’s interrupted by the door slamming open and oh yup there they go—

ryujin, chaeryeong, and yuna are already sprinting across the lawn to get to the house

you all exchange looks as lia lets out a sigh

it’s gonna be a long night

turns out, it’s gonna be an even longer night

specifically just for you

you were just in the kitchen trying to pour some vodka into your red solo cup when you lock eyes with him

your ex, stood in front of the opened fridge

woops what, vodka?? yeah i don’t need that because i’m getting outta here bye

“y/n, wait.”

you briskly walk to the living room slash dance floor with your eyes desperately trying to find your fiery friend who promised to kick the ass of the man currently following you as he tries to call after you

to no avail

you’re kIND of panicking now!!!!!

just then, a figurative lightbulb flickers above your head when your eyes land on a guy with dark brown hair with a cup of his own perched on a corner alone

you’re hoping this works

you practically sprint to him and he looks like his heart is about to pop off his chest at the sight of someone barrelling towards him at full speed

“i’m so sorry but i have a crazy ex who’s following me literally right now so can you please be my boyfriend for like 5 seconds?”

the words jumbled out of you in a haste— too quick for jongho to catch anything else besides ‘crazy ex’ and ‘be my boyfriend’ but he knows from your panicked eyes that you’re asking for help

and of course he will

jongho’s eyes scan around the living room, finally seeing the guy who he can tell is your ex by the determined steps he’s taking towards you along with his eyes set on you

ok yeah jongho agrees with you

because damn this guy does look like he’s crazy

he figures there’s nothing to lose

“yeah, sure.”

jongho expects you to probably just linger near him in hopes of your ex leaving or maybe he’d have to play the role of the protective “boyfriend” by landing a punch on your ex if he tries to pick on a fight

what he didn’t expect was your lips meeting his own

if jongho is an android, the wires in his head would've short circuit 

your arms move to wrap at the back of his neck and you slightly tip toe so you can reach him better

he almost faltered on the kiss because he finds that so cute 

only after you initiated the touch does he place his hands on your waist to pull you even closer as he surprisingly deepens the kiss into a sweet kiss

his soft lips slowly guide you into a slower tempo, smoothly taking charge by moving a hand to softly grasp your cheek while the other rubs comforting circles on your exposed waist 

YOU’RE TRYING SO HARD NOT TO BLUSH

“what the fuck– get off my girl man!”

you’re forcefully separated from the boy with a breathless gasp as your ex pins him against the wall

despite your ex shouting obscenities at him with a hand wrapped on the collar of his shirt, the brunette doesn’t look scared at all

in fact, he kinda looks bored

his eyes lazily rake over your ex and he indignantly smirks before letting out a deep chuckle that silences the boy in front of him

“how pathetic.”

his big shoulders effortlessly knocks your ex to the side as he shoots a glare at him

this time, he’s the one standing in front of your ex with his intimidatingly large figure towering over him

“if you ever touch her or even fucking try to look at her, i’ll make sure to let everyone in this house know to beat the shit out of you whenever we see you.”

that’s when realization seeps into your ex and his body immediately froze

“oh shit, jongho, i-i’m sorry man,” your ex stammers, silently cursing himself for blindly messing with one of the frat members in their own party, “i didn’t know that she’s yours.”

“she’s not a thing you can own,” jongho rolls his eyes, roughly pushing your ex off the wall and harshly slapping his hand on his back to force him towards the door’s direction, “now get out of here.”

as your ex scrambles out the door, you turn to face jongho with your head slightly muddled by the fact that 

a) you kissed a frat boy

b) he’s hot

c) oh and have you mentioned that he’s hot?

“you good?”

you scramble out of your thoughts to see him looking over you carefully, “yeah…. thank you for that.”

a gummy smile lights up his face and you’re kinda confused because this guy does not resemble the intimidation he showed earlier at all, “no problem.” 

ok go off duality king

“wanna get out of here?”

this is the first time you met a frat boy who’s not really interested in the party he’s in

but you like that :-D

you smile, “sounds good.”

[thenewblackcanvasreads]

I have one in my drafts just like this but jisung haha We all love being caught getting fucked by Chan 🥵🤤

I just keep thinking about getting caught having sex with Bang Chan by Changbin and Chan saying: Do you wanna watch or do you want to join?

this won't be out of my head anytime soon 😵‍💫 this is so hot anon thank you so much 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫

Chan is a responsible guy and always avoids having sex in places where he might get caught or where people might overhear so as not to embarrass you, but that day you looked so deliciously hot in that white skirt that he couldn't help himself. You just went to make a brief visit to the studio with lunch for him and the next thing you know, you're wearing nothing but the white skirt up around your waist, lying on the arm of the couch with Chan's hand holding your hair while he fucks you.

Changbin walked into the studio fiddling with his cell phone, he was about to ask something about lunch when the noises of their bodies colliding caught his attention. He raised his head wide-eyed, his mouth open in an "o" and with his brain not working, he should leave, close the door and pretend he didn't see anything, but his feet didn't want to move.

"What is it, Changbin?" Chan asked breathlessly, as if he hadn't been fucking his girlfriend on the couch.

"S-s-sor-sorry hyung i-i-i-i-"

"Either you come in or you go out, but you're going to have to close the door" Chan inrrupted him. Changbin walked into the room and closed the door quickly, making Chan laugh "Do you want to watch or do you want to join?"

If his brain had stopped before, now it had totally crashed. Was this a trap? Maybe Chan wanted to see how kinky Changbin was, or if he would respect their relationship and do nothing. But then, you raised your head to look at him, your pleased expression like a siren's song leading him to his death.

Ah, fuck it. He couldn't miss the only chance he had to fuck you.

"I'll join" he replied taking off his shirt, making you and Chan smile mischievously.

"Good choice"