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ribbeoms · 11 days ago

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DUDEEE EVERY UPDATE IS SO CUTE IM GOING TO VIBRATE AND EXPLODE !!!!

we get, the same! a woonhak smau

#22 - the date

synopsis: it’s the start of the new school year and you’re not excited whatsoever. though, your classmate and desk partner, kim woonhak, is beyond excited. you two evidently don’t get along well, bickering left and right. but when you begin to notice small details that woonhak does for you and it seems as if your whole school is just waiting for you to get together, you start to spiral.

warnings: written, ~2.1k (woah), with 2 attachments at the end! a mention of food and that should be it.

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you flatten your palms and rub them over your freshly picked clothes—pieces which your friends had advised you to wear—in nervousness as you sit in the passenger seat of the boy’s car.

except, this was no ordinary boy. he was instead a boy that you found a soft spot for. a soft spot that took you a long time to admit. but, here you were, as you came to the recent conclusion that you could no longer hide your affection towards him.

the windows of the vehicle were halfway down, the weightless breeze hitting your face softly. the sky is slowly becoming less and less bright as the sun is beginning its routine in hiding.

you glance at the boy next to you, admiring the way his hair flew back from the wind but didn’t mess up his handsome features one bit (or maybe, that’s just how you saw it, blinded by his beauty you were).

woonhak feels your gaze on him, and in response, turns to look at you as the car reaches a red light.

his eyes dazzle instantly at the sight of you, his face basking in the fading yellow sunlight.

he smiles at you, eyes crinkling slightly at the ends.

the street light flashes green, and woonhak turns to focus on driving once again.

but he doesn’t. or more like, his car doesn’t.

woonhak tries to accelerate the car, but it doesn’t budge. the car behind him starting to honk out of frustration.

woonhak is now frazzled, anxiety clouding his mind and engulfing his body as he freezes in place.

you take note of this and reach your hand out to rest it over his, which is tightly gripping the steering wheel.

in the gentlest tone you can, you ask, “hey, woonhak?”

he blinks, turning towards you. his face is frozen with his mouth slightly open, uneven breaths being released, and his eyes open wide in shock.

“are you okay?” you question, but quickly realize that it was a stupid thing to ask. you press your lips in a thin line before starting again, “let’s get out of the car to see what’s wrong, okay?”

woonhak’s mind is running at an all time speed. he usually is calm in these situations, tries to keep his thoughts collected and solve the problem as soon as he can.

though in this very moment, he can’t.

not when you, the person he is dying to impress and give the best first date of their life to, is sitting in his car right next to him, and certainly not when an issue occurs in the beginning of what is supposed to be the ‘most perfect date.’

but he doesn’t want to make the situation even worse, so he tries his best to muster up a nod in agreement.

you both exit the car and while woonhak goes to open the hood to find the root of the problem, you gesture ‘sorry’s’ to the cars behind you, which are now passing you up.

woonhak lets out a heavy sigh. he mutters to himself, “the battery is dead.”

you turn towards him. “huh?” you ask, not hearing what he had said.

he looks up from the hood of the car to directly look at you. “the battery.. is dead,” he says slowly, embarrassment lacing his words.

he’s quick to add, “i’ll call my mechanic.”

you nod in response before he steps to the opposite side of the car from you and enters the number into his phone in frustration.

the tow truck comes to pick up his car an hour later.

you and woonhak sit on the sidewalk, watching as the white truck carries his dead, tired car onto its hitch.

woonhak is talking to the restaurant on the phone as the two of you have now missed your reservation completely.

“okay. thank you so much,” he utters in a wiry voice before hanging up the call.

you hum before asking, “what did they say?”

he exhales a breath of relief. “they said they were able to move it so we’ll still be able to eat there.” he looks around, eyes stopping on something behind you.

you turn to look in the same direction. he’s looking at a bike rental.

gesturing towards it with a small motion, he speaks in a tired and somewhat pitchy voice, “are you okay with that?”

the urge to relieve all his concerns, to say: ‘of course i’m okay with that. anything is okay as long as i’m with you’ is strongly tightened around your throat, the words begging to spill out. yet, you push it down and you simply nod your head.

he smiles in return, but it certainly doesn’t reach very far.

☁️*･゜ﾟ･*:.༄

you two arrive at the restaurant, parking the bicycle safely to a rack on the neighboring street and entering through the doors of the fancy building which holds an exquisite, modern design.

you both approach the lady at the front who wears a wide smile on her face. it’s creepy, almost.

“hi! how can i help you?” she asks joyfully.

almost in a completely opposite manner, woonhak responds, “hi, i have a reservation for kim woonhak.”

her cheerful expression not faltering even the slightest, she answers, “ah yes. come with me!”

she walks towards a table with a small, pretty centerpiece in the center and two chairs on each side.

you sit down in your chair, and a breath you didn’t even know you were holding escapes your mouth.

it seems that the same goes for woonhak.

“i saw that on your reservation there was already a set menu you had asked for?”

you turn to woonhak, looking at him to answer.

“yes, that’s right,” he replies, nodding with reassurance to you.

“okay, perfect! we’ll have your food out in no time then.” she walks away, an evident pep in her step.

now, it’s just the two of you and the unspoken tension of the previous event that had just occurred. except, it wasn’t tension to be exact, but a thick and heavy blanket that wrapped around the two of you, holding woonhak’s shame and your response of sympathy.

woonhak can’t seem to look at you. his eyes are wandering around his lap and his hands are vividly fidgeting.

you frown. “woonhak,” you call his attention.

he looks up, meeting your gaze.

undeniable sadness gleams in his eyes.

you soften immediately.

his eyebrows furrow. “i’m sorry.”

you shake you head. “it’s okay. there’s nothing you have to apologize for,” you try to reassure him, but it doesn’t seem to work.

“no, i should’ve checked my car battery beforehand,” he starts. “and look, we couldn’t even watch the sunset.” he moves his hand towards the window, which now shows the sky painted a dark blue with streaks of gray.

“how could you have known your battery specifically was going to cause a problem? and.. technically we did watch the sunset. just, not in the most ideal way,” you comfort him, sounding as hopeful as you can.

he chuckles, “waiting for a tow truck to come while hearing ongoing honks, which are mostly targeted towards you, is surely not ideal.”

hearing his laugh makes you begin to laugh as well.

your mouth betrays you, the next words to come out of your mouth being ones you didn’t want to quite admit—though they hold the utmost truth.

“as long as we’re together it’s ideal.”

woonhak looks at you, flushing at your words, and a smile—a real one this time—instantly grows on his face.

“yeah. as long as we’re together.”

☁️*･゜ﾟ･*:.༄

the rest of the dinner goes smoothly as both of you scarf down your food (as your hunger has grown increasingly) and talk about yourselves with a heightened sense of enthusiasm.

you notice the way woonhak’s eyes light up as he talks about the things he is so extremely passionate about, things he loves and holds close to his heart.

he first talks about his love for music and his aspiring dream to be in the industry one day. to not only make it big, (which was, if anything, the least of his priorities) but spread his love to people around the world.

he mentions his sister a countless amount of times. about how much he loves watching her grow into the person she’s becoming and admires her determination, her drive. he admits to you that she is his role model—but he would never say it to her face, having to keep that older brother pride of his.

you want to tell him that he’s exactly like the person he is saying he admires and that’s how you see him, so full of drive and burning passion. yet you conclude that that is something he’ll realize in the future, when he makes it ‘big,’ perhaps (and if not, you hope to be the one to remind him over and over again).

you tell him a fair share of your ongoing story, keeping some of the knots loose as those will be dived into another time.

he insists knowing all of your favorite things, so you tell him. your favorite color, food, song, basically anything that comes to your mind at the moment.

woonhak listens attentively with big, shiny eyes, like he’s going to scribble it all down when he gets home (maybe, he does?).

the conversation shared between you two flows easily and just feels right. it’s as if you’ve known each other for years.

and with that, you walk out of the restaurant with smiling faces and stomachs aching from the immense amount of laughter you shared.

your smiles drop, though, as you reach the bike rack.

the bike rack where your rented bicycle is supposed to be.

but it is empty, and the bike you two rode is nowhere to be found.

woonhak deadpans, “oh.”

“‘oh’ is right,” you reply slowly.

before one of you could make another move, you begin to burst into laugh in unison.

“why is it that we’ve had such bad luck on our first date?” you say between laughs without a second thought.

woonhak abruptly stops, and your giggles slow in response.

“wait,” he’s out of breath, “you think this is our first date?”

your face warms at the realization of your words. though you had both assumed it was a date, no one had outright said it yet.

you answer, “well.. yes.” you add, “you don’t?”

his eyes are quick to widen, mouth quick to dismiss.

“no! i take this as a date too. i.. i’m just a wuss, i was scared to actually bring it up or ask you directly..” he exhales a deep breath before mumbling something.

“what?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

he shakes his head in refusal to repeat his words.

you cross your arms around your chest. “woonhak, what did you say?”

he looks as if he’s about to pull his hair out. to a certain degree, you believe he actually is about to.

he groans. “no! it’s just that i, i don’t know, i just really, like, i really—“

you begin to speak again. “woonhak—“

“i really like you.”

he freezes again, hand covering his mouth with a dramatic slap as if he himself couldn’t believe the words that just left his mouth.

he quickly tries to explain, “i’m so sorry i don’t know what just came over me. i just felt like saying it.” he pauses, shaking his head. “that’s a stupid explanation, what am i even say—“

“woonhak,” you interrupt. he goes silent.

“i like you too, you idiot.”

woonhak’s whole body pauses for what is the hundredth time that night.

“you what? you.. like.. me?” he scoffs to himself in disbelief.

you grin, taking a step closer to him. “yes, woonhak, i like you. how many times do i have to say it?”

removing his hand from his mouth, he uncovers his cheeky smile that hides behind it.

“a countless amount of times, maybe,” he answers.

your smile falters as you tilt your head.

“wait.. then what are we?”

woonhak hums in thought.

he shrugs. “whatever you want us to be.”

you push his shoulder playfully. “you’re so cheesy.”

“but you like it,” he replies with a teasing tone.

you think a bit more while a moment of comfortable silence passes.

“can we just take it slow for now?” you conclude.

woonhak nods in agreement. “as slow as you want.”

woonhak takes your hands in his and rubs your knuckles gently as if reading your mind and seeing all the doubts inside your head, your heart—and wanting to soothe them all away.

“thank you,” you mutter.

“of course.” he chuckles, “now we’re gonna have to find a way home.”

maia’s note: i wrote and edited this chap severalll times bc i wanted it to be perfect so i hope u all like it!! they’re so dear to me :(( likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated (especially rbs and fb)!! 🩵

taglist: @kekaekeke @mimimimiaa @s0shroe @mungbeancoups @molensworld @en-dream @kaiyunsim @httpenhoon @ranjupotato @cinnamonshuaa @pinklemonade34 @kazemiya @siekksjs @sirenla @kittkyu @mensisim @livibbu @junhanism @enzstr @thea-herondale @i03jae @sionshiii @helpsplease @yurisblooming @defnotsanni @haechology @janjoonty @petralovesbonedo @anormieee @nineooooo @oowir @luvkwh @skibidihan @mbella607 @stantxtforabetterlife @midnight-rain-pdf @massiveunicorn6969 @bambisnc @mymelodyfanatic @slowlylefttyphoon @hrtleehan @ribbeoms @winteringdream @starboy-library / @kstrucknet (taglist: open! in white = cannot be tagged)

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ribbeoms · 15 days ago

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IM SOOOO PUMPED FOR THR DATE

we get, the same! a woonhak smau

#21 - get at em!!

warnings: fear? i think. perhaps.

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maia’s note: 2 more chaps… i’m so sad. i’ve formed an emotional attachment to y/nhak and all the wgts characters. likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated!! 🩵

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ribbeoms · 17 days ago

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YOO THIS IS GOOD AF WHAT????

WE WOULD'VE BEEN TIMELESS — ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

𓂃۶ৎ ALTERNATIVE : boynextdoor reimagined through countless worlds and eras

𓂃۶ৎ PAIRING : boynextdoor x f!reader

𓂃۶ৎ GENRE(S) : alternate universe (au), romance, fluff, angst, fantasy, historical, supernatural

𓂃۶ৎ WARNING(S) : violence, mature themes, angst, mental health issues, a bit of profanities in Taesan's, major character death(s) in Sungho's, Taesan's and Leehan's, author loves angst lol

𓂃۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 1.3k - 1.7k words / member

𓂃۶ৎ A/N : this has been sitting in drafts for SO long bcs I thought it wasn't well-written out but you guys seem interested in reading it so here it is!

SUNGHO 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : world war II (1939 - 1945)

˖➴ PAIRING : soldier!sungho x nurse!reader

The sound of distant gunfire never seemed to fade, lingering in the thick, smoky air like a constant reminder of the chaos outside the hospital walls. The battlefield was never far from your thoughts, even here—where bloodied soldiers came and went, and where you worked tirelessly to heal their wounds.

But then there was him.

Sungho. A young soldier who looked as though the war had aged him years beyond his actual age, though he still carried himself with a quiet dignity. His sharp jawline, the dark circles under his eyes—everything about him screamed of someone who had seen too much, endured too much. Yet when his eyes met yours for the first time, there was something soft in them, an unspoken plea for something other than survival.

He was brought to you after a raid, his shoulder bleeding and his face pale with pain. Despite the chaos around you, your focus zeroed in on him, and in that moment, everything else seemed to fade away. You worked quickly, cleaning the blood from his injury and applying a bandage, but his gaze never left you.

His lips parted in a faint, strained smile. “I didn’t think I’d be lucky enough to get a nurse like you.”

You chuckled, a soft breath escaping your lips as you kept your eyes on the task at hand. “You’re the lucky one. There are many others waiting for help.”

As you finished, you allowed your eyes to meet his again, taking in the quiet strength in his features. He didn’t flinch or protest, even as pain lanced through him. There was a certain calmness in his presence, a kind of bravery that resonated with you more than any heroic story ever could.

“You’ll be alright,” you said softly, your fingers brushing against his skin as you reassured him, though the words felt almost empty in such a place of endless war.

“I’ll be fine,” Sungho said with a gentle smile. “As long as I don’t have to fight another battle with you.”

You smiled back, a flicker of warmth spreading through you despite the cold, sterile surroundings.

As days passed, Sungho began to recover. Slowly but surely, he moved from the bed where you had patched him up, to standing beside other soldiers, offering them words of encouragement. It was in these small moments that you saw who he truly was—a man who didn’t give up, no matter how bleak things seemed.

But the more you saw him, the more you realized how deeply you had started to care. The way he spoke to you in quiet moments, his eyes always holding something unspoken, something tender. He would often appear at the makeshift hospital when the night grew quiet, bringing you a cup of warm tea or just standing by your side when you needed a moment to breathe.

“You should rest,” you would tell him, but he’d just shake his head, that faint smile never leaving his lips.

“I can’t rest while you’re still working so hard,” he would say, his voice soft with genuine concern.

There was a lightness in the way he moved, an effortless grace that made your heart flutter. It was a quiet kind of charm, not loud or brash, but steady and comforting. Sungho didn’t need grand gestures to make you feel seen. Just being near him was enough. He was the calm in the storm of war, a beacon of hope in a place where hope was scarce.

But then, just as you began to settle into the strange rhythm of life at the hospital, everything shifted again.

The night came quickly, swallowing the light of the day, and with it came the sounds of distant artillery. The hospital, once a refuge from the war, began to feel less like a sanctuary and more like a ticking time bomb. The quiet hum of the infirmary was punctuated by the sounds of soldiers in pain and the occasional scream as a patient was brought in, bloodied and broken.

That night, the sounds outside grew louder—closer.

You were stitching a deep wound on a young soldier’s thigh when the door burst open, a medic rushing in with urgent news. “The front lines are advancing faster than expected! We need more hands!”

The panic was palpable, and you didn’t have time to think. You grabbed a fresh set of bandages, ready to do what you did best—patch them up and send them back to the fight.

Sungho, who had been standing by the window, turned to look at you with a furrowed brow. “Be careful,” he said softly, though you knew he couldn’t keep the worry out of his voice.

“I always am,” you replied, offering a small, reassuring smile, though your heart was anything but calm. The reality of this place—the war—had a way of stealing all sense of control, of taking away any semblance of safety.

As the hours wore on, you worked tirelessly, your hands growing numb from the constant stitching and bandaging. You barely noticed the clock ticking, the minutes slipping by unnoticed until you felt a sudden shift in the air—something was off.

The room seemed to hold its breath, the light dimming as the distant sounds grew louder, too loud to ignore. The familiar hum of the hospital was interrupted by a series of explosions, shaking the walls and rattling the windows. The lights flickered once, twice—before going out completely.

And then came the sound that would haunt you forever: the deafening roar of artillery shells, followed by the shriek of metal tearing through the air.

“Get down!” Sungho shouted, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

You didn’t hesitate. You dropped to the floor instinctively, covering your head as debris rained down around you. The walls seemed to tremble, the ground beneath you shaking as though the earth itself was being torn apart. The sounds of the explosion echoed in your ears, followed by the blaring of alarms, the shouts of soldiers, and the frantic cries of the wounded.

Sungho was by your side, pulling you into his arms as the building groaned and shifted around you. “Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice desperate, the urgency in his tone more than you had ever heard before.

You clung to him, heart pounding in your chest, a surge of fear rushing through you. This was it. This was the moment you had both feared and tried to push out of your mind. The war was here, and it was claiming everything.

A second explosion rattled the walls, sending dust and debris scattering through the air. Sungho's grip tightened around you, his body pressed protectively against yours, as if somehow he could shield you from the devastation tearing through the building. His breath came in shallow gasps, and his voice was barely more than a whisper when he spoke.

"I won't let you go," he said, his words heavy with fear and determination. "Not like this."

You tried to nod, to tell him you were fine, but the words caught in your throat. The hospital, your last semblance of safety, was crumbling around you, and you were trapped in the middle of it. A deep crack sounded from the ceiling above, and the world seemed to tilt violently. You could hear the anguished cries of the other soldiers—people you had cared for, patched up, sent back out into the madness. But now, the madness was here, inside these walls. And you, Sungho, and everyone else were caught in it.

"Sungho..." you whispered, your voice trembling. "What if—what if we don't make it?"

He didn’t answer at first. He only tightened his arms around you, as if trying to shield you from the horror that had already begun to unravel. But there was no protection from this, no way to stop the inevitable. The explosion had already torn through the building. The foundation was weakening.

"I don’t care," he said, his voice breaking, raw. "I just want you to be okay. I’ll take the fall, if it means you’re safe."

Your heart cracked at his words, because in that moment, you both knew. This wasn’t a fight you could win. The war outside had finally breached the hospital’s fragile defenses, and there was no way to escape it. Even if you ran, even if you tried to make it to the door, you both knew it was too late.

"Stay with me, Y/N," Sungho breathed, his forehead resting against yours. His face was pale, his hands shaking, but his eyes—those eyes that had seen too much—still held that quiet strength. "Don’t leave me alone in this."

But you knew—there was no leaving this place. No running. No escaping.

The building groaned once more, and then came the deafening crash of falling debris. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The walls around you buckled, and the floor cracked beneath your feet. You could feel the air growing thick, the dust filling your lungs, and the heat from the fires that had started in the chaos. Sungho’s arms were still around you, holding you close, but you could feel the tremor in his body. He knew, too. There was no saving you now.

RIWOO 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : victorian era (1837 - 1901)

˖➴ PAIRING : nobleman!riwoo x servant!reader

The estate was a world of rules and expectations, where lines were drawn and crossed by those who had the privilege of wealth and status. You had spent years in the shadows of that world, bound to your position as a servant in the grand estate of the Lee family. The aristocratic family had long been known for their lineage, wealth, and impeccable reputation, and you—born into a life of service—had always been the quiet observer, playing your part without complaint.

But then there was Riwoo.

He was different. Though born to privilege, he had always treated you with a warmth and kindness that set him apart from the others. While his family considered you a mere servant, Riwoo never saw you as beneath him. His smile, the glint of humor in his eyes, the moments of quiet conversation—those were the things that made you question everything you thought you knew about love, about yourself, about your place in the world.

And so, it began—unspoken but undeniable—a feeling that crept in slowly, quietly, until it was all-consuming. You were drawn to him, though you dared not say it aloud. It wasn’t just the way he treated you, as though you were something more than a servant. It was the way he saw you. In his eyes, you weren’t invisible. You were worthy of his attention, his affection.

But you knew better than to entertain the thought. He was a nobleman, his life already mapped out for him in a way you could never hope to achieve. Riwoo was promised to another—someone of his own status, a woman whose family was as high-born as his own, whose name carried the weight of society’s expectations. You, on the other hand, were a servant. A woman who knew her place and never dared to dream of crossing the line that separated you.

But as time passed, the bond between you two deepened. The stolen glances, the shared moments of laughter in the garden, the way he would find excuses to speak to you alone in the quiet of the estate. It was intoxicating, that quiet affection, and it was impossible to ignore. There were moments when his gaze lingered on you a little longer than it should, when his hand brushed yours as he passed you something, when the air between you thickened with the weight of something unspoken.

One crisp autumn afternoon, the estate was quiet, the gardens bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. You were carrying a tray of tea to the family’s private sitting room when you ran into Riwoo. He was standing near the windows, gazing out at the landscape, his back to you. The sunlight caught his hair, casting an almost ethereal glow around him. You hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Is something troubling you, sir?” you asked, using the polite form of address you always did.

He turned to face you, a soft smile tugging at his lips. “I was just thinking,” he said, his voice low, almost contemplative. “About how beautiful the world can seem when you stop and actually look at it.”

You set the tray down on the nearby table, your gaze lingering on him. His words struck a chord within you, as though they held a deeper meaning. But you couldn’t allow yourself to get lost in them. You couldn’t afford to entertain thoughts of him beyond what was proper.

“You should focus on your duties,” you replied, keeping your tone neutral, though your heart felt heavy.

He frowned slightly, stepping closer, and for a moment, you thought he might say something that would change everything. But instead, he simply reached out, brushing a strand of hair from your face with surprising tenderness.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “I always forget how much I’m supposed to focus on the family’s expectations. Sometimes, I wish I could just leave it all behind.”

You swallowed, fighting the sudden surge of emotion. "It’s not something you can just walk away from. You have your future planned out, Riwoo. You have responsibilities."

His eyes locked with yours, and you saw something there—a quiet defiance, an unwillingness to accept the fate that had been mapped out for him. “Maybe," he said quietly, "but what if I don’t want that future? What if I want something more?”

Your breath caught, and you pulled away, not trusting yourself to look at him any longer. "You can't have what you want, Riwoo. It’s not possible."

Days passed, and the weight of those words lingered like a shadow. You tried to bury your feelings, focusing on your tasks, your duties. But every time Riwoo came near, it felt as if the world tilted slightly, pulling you toward him in a way you couldn’t explain.

It was on one of those nights, as you worked late in the drawing room, dusting the shelves of books that lined the walls, that Riwoo found you. The soft light of the candle flickered as he stepped into the room, the faint sound of his footsteps on the stone floor making your heart flutter.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Riwoo said, his voice low and warm.

You turned, startled, but the moment you saw him standing in the doorway, you felt an ache deep inside. You knew what this was—the weight of what you could never have.

“Riwoo, I—” you started, but the words caught in your throat.

He walked closer, his eyes never leaving yours, and your breath hitched. “Why do you always run from me?” he asked, his voice a mixture of frustration and longing.

“I’m not running from you,” you said quickly, though your heart was pounding in your chest. “But you’re promised to someone else. We both know it.”

He shook his head, stepping closer, his presence overwhelming. “I don’t care about that. I care about you.”

Your breath caught. You wanted to believe him, wanted to let yourself believe that this was real—that his words weren’t just fleeting, a momentary lapse in judgment. But you knew better. You were nothing more than a servant, and he was a man of noble birth. It was a love that had no future, no place in the world that had been built for him.

“But you don’t get to care about me,” you whispered, stepping back, your voice breaking. “You have responsibilities. You have duties. You’ll marry someone else, someone with a name, someone who fits into your world. I don’t belong there.”

Riwoo’s expression softened, a deep sadness in his eyes. He reached for your hand, gently taking it in his. “Then why is it that when I’m with you, I feel like I’m finally where I belong? Why does everything else feel so empty?”

You wanted to pull away, to tell him to forget about you, to move on and marry the woman he was supposed to. But the way his hand held yours, the way his thumb brushed gently against your skin, made it impossible to resist.

“Riwoo, you don’t know what you’re saying,” you murmured, tears welling in your eyes. “You’ll regret it. This can’t happen.”

He leaned forward, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I won’t regret this,” he whispered, his breath warm against your skin. “Not if it means being with you.”

For a moment, the world outside the estate faded away, and there was only the two of you. The weight of your worlds, of your stations, felt far away, as though in this moment, nothing else mattered. His lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could feel the electric tension between you both. But just as the distance closed, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and reality crashed back in.

Riwoo pulled away, his expression conflicted. He knew the consequences of what he was about to say, but he couldn’t stop himself.

“I love you,” he said, his voice fierce, though his eyes were filled with regret. “And I will find a way to make this work. I’ll make it work, I swear.”

You shook your head, tears slipping down your cheeks. “You can’t. You’re bound by duty.”

“I’ll find a way to break those chains,” he replied, his voice filled with determination. “Just wait for me.”

JAEHYUN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : 1920s hollywood

˖➴ PAIRING : hollywood star!jaehyun x screenwriter!reader

The air was thick with anticipation as you walked through the sprawling Paramount Studios lot, the golden California sun casting long, languid shadows. The sound of the filmmakers' hushed whispers, the clatter of crew members adjusting lights, and the hum of the cameras rolling all seemed to blend into the same seductive hum of Hollywood’s eternal glamour. It was here, in this world of bright lights and silent whispers, that your dreams were beginning to take shape.

You were a screenwriter—an uncredited one for now, but that was about to change. Your latest script had caught the attention of a powerful producer, and it had found its way into the hands of Hollywood’s rising star. Myung Jaehyun. The name rolled off the tongues of everyone in Tinseltown, synonymous with talent, allure, and an effortless charm that had made him one of the most sought-after men in Hollywood.

Jaehyun wasn’t just another actor. He was a phenomenon—a man with a smile that could stop traffic, a voice smooth as velvet, and eyes that carried the kind of depth that turned heads both on and off the screen. You had seen him in countless movies, his face always illuminated in black and white, always perfect, always untouchable. But now, in the midst of this chaotic world you both inhabited, he was more than just an actor to you.

He was about to be your leading man.

When the production began, you found yourself constantly at odds with your own nervous energy. Jaehyun’s presence on set was nothing short of commanding. He moved through the scenes with an effortless grace, making it seem like the world was his stage. His performances were impeccable—his boyish smile, his quiet confidence, his ability to draw the audience in with the flicker of his eyes. But the more you saw him perform, the more you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something else—something hidden beneath his perfect exterior.

In truth, you weren’t sure what to expect when you first met him on set. He had been cast for your script, after all, and there he was, bringing the very words you had written to life.

But the first time you locked eyes with him in person, you realized that he was more than just the face you had imagined in your head while writing. Jaehyun was a man of contradictions. Behind the laughter and the charming persona, you could see the weight of something darker—something far more complex.

One late evening, after a long day of shooting, the set was nearly empty. The crew had gone home, and you were alone in your thoughts, reviewing the script one last time. You felt the faint hum of the projector still running in the background, but it was Jaehyun’s voice that made you pause.

“You’re still here?”

You looked up, surprised to find him standing near the doorway, leaning casually against the frame. His tousled hair and the loosened tie around his neck only added to the rugged allure he wore so effortlessly. His smile was warm, but there was something softer in it that caught your attention.

“Yeah, just... trying to get this right,” you said, your voice betraying the weariness that had settled deep into your bones.

“You’ve been at this for hours, haven’t you?” Jaehyun asked, stepping into the room with slow, deliberate steps. He didn’t look at the script in your hands; instead, he focused on you, his gaze lingering like he was trying to see past the professional façade you both wore. "You should take a break. You’ve been burning the candle at both ends."

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Not when I’m this close,” you said, a wry smile playing on your lips. “I can’t afford to fail. This script—it’s everything.”

Jaehyun’s eyes softened. He didn’t respond immediately, instead letting the silence hang in the air between you two. He took a step closer, his tone light but full of sincerity. “I get it. The pressure’s... a lot. But you’re doing something incredible here. Don’t lose sight of that.” He leaned in, his voice lowering as he added, “We’re all counting on you, you know? I’m counting on you.”

His words were quiet, but they made your heart race in a way that had nothing to do with nerves or exhaustion. The way he spoke, the intensity behind it—there was something in his gaze that made you feel as though you weren’t just another person in Hollywood trying to make a name for herself.

You shifted slightly in your chair, feeling a sudden tightness in your chest. “I don’t know if I can live up to this,” you admitted quietly, your eyes now focused on your hands, gripping the edge of the desk.

Jaehyun stepped closer still, his presence calming, and gently placed his hand over yours. The weight of his touch sent a ripple of warmth through you, making your breath catch in your throat.

“Hey,” he said softly, lifting your chin with his fingers so that your eyes met his. His gaze was intense, yet tender, as though he was seeing all the parts of you that you were too afraid to show the world. “You will live up to it. I have no doubt. You’re stronger than you give yourself credit for.”

There was a softness in the way he spoke, and it made your chest tighten. The quiet sincerity in his voice was so different from the public persona he wore. For a moment, Jaehyun wasn’t the glitzy movie star—he was just a man who understood what it felt like to be on the edge, caught between expectations and the overwhelming weight of living up to them.

You swallowed, a nervous laugh escaping your lips as you tried to break the sudden tension that had settled between you. “You’re the one who’s going to make my script a success, Jaehyun. I’m just a writer. All I do is type words.”

But Jaehyun shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “No, you’re more than that. You’re the one who gave me the words to speak. Without you, I’d just be another pretty face.”

The way he said it—so simply, but with such conviction—made your heart skip. There was a sincerity in his eyes that sent a flutter through you. It was just the two of you in the dimly lit room, where the outside world couldn’t touch you.

“You’ve got a way with words, don’t you?” you said, your voice a little quieter now, the flirtation in your tone impossible to ignore.

Jaehyun’s smile deepened, and he took another step closer until he was standing just in front of you, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his presence. His hand remained on yours, gentle yet firm, grounding you in the moment.

“I’m just speaking the truth,” he replied softly. “But if you want me to say something else—something different—just say the word.”

Before you could respond, Jaehyun grinned mischievously, his fingers lightly grazing the back of your hand. His gaze dropped to your lips for a moment before flicking back to your eyes with a spark of teasing intent.

“Well, if you really want me to say something else…” he leaned in just slightly, his breath warm against your ear, “I could tell you that I’m more than just a pretty face.”

His voice dropped to a near whisper, and for a moment, you swore he was closer than he’d ever been. You felt heat rise to your cheeks, your pulse quickening in the most unexpected way.

And just as quickly as it started, Jaehyun stepped back, flashing you a playful grin. “But, of course, that’s for you to decide.”

He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving you standing there, wide-eyed and flustered, the lingering warmth of his presence making it impossible to focus on anything but the playful tension that now hung in the air.

TAESAN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : zombie apocalpyse

°˖➴ PAIRING : protector!taesan x survivor!reader

The world, once full of laughter, bustling cities, and endless possibilities, had collapsed into nothing. It started slowly at first—a virus that seemed like any other flu strain, a quick outbreak that was initially contained. But it spread with terrifying speed, mutating faster than anyone could comprehend. Cities fell. Governments tried to maintain order, but there was nothing they could do. What had started as a series of isolated incidents exploded into full-blown panic as the virus turned the infected into the ravenous undead, driven only by hunger. Soon, civilization as you knew it was gone.

You had been running from the horrors of your home colony, the last of its inhabitants trying to hold onto what little hope remained. The colony was overrun, and you barely made it out alive, clutching a few meager supplies and running on nothing but adrenaline. Your legs burned from the effort, your lungs seared with the cold air as you ran through the overgrown streets of the abandoned city. You had no direction, no destination, but you kept going. Because stopping meant dying.

It was on that fateful night that you stumbled upon a small, fortified group of survivors—Taesan’s group. At first, they were wary, watching you from behind the makeshift barricades they’d built. You knew what they were thinking: Another stranger. Another liability.

But when Taesan looked at you—his piercing eyes scanning you with a mix of caution and something softer—you knew you were not just a stranger to him. You were another soul lost in the world, just trying to survive. And somehow, amidst the chaos of the world crumbling around you, you both found something in each other that you weren’t sure existed anymore: a chance.

Days turned into weeks. You and Taesan barely spoke at first. He was a man of few words, hardened by loss, his hands stained with the blood of the countless zombies he’d fought off to protect the group. But there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made your heart ache in the best way. It wasn’t pity or obligation; it was a quiet understanding that you both had seen the same horrors, that you both carried the weight of the apocalypse on your shoulders.

One night, as you both stood watch on the outskirts of the small camp, the silence between you was thick, filled with unspoken words. The wind howled through the broken city, and you could hear the distant groans of the undead, far too close for comfort.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the cold night, barely louder than the rustling leaves. “I don’t know why I’m here. I should’ve stayed back, tried harder to save them… to save my people.”

Taesan shifted beside you, his eyes fixed on the darkness. “There was nothing you could do. They were gone before you could make a choice.”

A lump formed in your throat, and you wiped at your eyes, trying to keep your composure. “But they were my responsibility.”

“You’re still here, though,” he said, his voice soft, almost tender. “That means you didn’t give up. And that’s what matters.”

The words felt like a balm to your raw soul, soothing the ache of loss that had consumed you for so long. You had almost forgotten what it felt like to have someone who cared about your well-being in this world that was nothing but a relentless cycle of survival.

“You don’t have to carry all that weight alone,” Taesan continued, his eyes briefly flicking to you before returning to the night ahead. “We’re in this together.”

His words hit you harder than you anticipated. It wasn’t the survival that was the hardest part of this world. It was the loneliness. The isolation. The fear that no matter how many people you met, no matter how many battles you fought, you would never find someone who truly understood what you were going through.

But here was Taesan, standing beside you, offering something you never thought you’d have again—a connection. A lifeline.

The next few days passed with more quiet moments between you and Taesan. You still didn’t speak much, but there was an unspoken understanding. He would protect you, and you would do everything in your power to help him protect the group. The world had become nothing but survival, but in the small moments, in the silent exchanges, you both began to heal.

One evening, as you worked on fortifying the camp’s entrance, Taesan came over, his footsteps light against the rubble. He stood a few feet away, watching you with an unreadable expression. Finally, he spoke.

“If you ever need to talk about… well, any of this,” he began, his voice gruff but sincere, “I’m here.”

You met his gaze, seeing something there—something that wasn’t just about survival, but about trust. “I’m… I’m not used to this,” you admitted quietly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “Not having to do everything alone.”

For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to truly feel the relief that his presence brought. He wasn’t a savior, and you weren’t some helpless soul. You were two survivors, two people who had witnessed the end of everything and still found a reason to live.

Taesan nodded, his gaze unwavering. “I get it,” he said simply, and you felt the sincerity in those words more than anything else.

There was no grand declaration. No sweeping gesture. But as the days passed and the two of you navigated the horrors of the new world together, you realized that what you had with Taesan wasn’t just about survival.

It was a promise.

A promise to protect, to fight for something more than the end of the world—to fight for each other.

The night had fallen again, and the world outside the makeshift barricades was silent. Too silent. You knew it was coming. The warning signs had been there—the sudden surge of zombies near the perimeter, the strange movements in the shadows. Your heart raced in your chest, the air thick with the stench of fear and the eerie quiet that only preceded a storm.

"Stay close," Taesan's voice was low and steady, a sharp contrast to the pounding in your chest. His hand gripped his weapon tightly, ready for whatever came next. The once-confident leader, the protector of this ragtag group, was now standing right beside you, offering a calm you wished you could match.

"I’m not leaving you behind," you said softly, your voice barely a whisper. You'd grown too close to him. Taesan wasn’t just the man who protected you anymore. He was someone you trusted, someone you relied on in a world that had stolen everything from both of you.

He didn’t reply, but there was a flicker in his eyes. Something raw. Something real.

A loud crash echoed from the east side of the camp—zombies had breached the barricades. The horde surged forward like an unstoppable force. You and Taesan were both already moving, adrenaline taking over as you fought your way through the chaos. But something felt different this time. The air was too heavy. The weight of something… terrible.

In the frenzy of the battle, the world seemed to slow down. Your heart pounded as you watched Taesan, his movements swift and precise, cutting down zombie after zombie. You followed, staying close, making sure no one got left behind.

And then it happened.

A sudden sharp pain shot through Taesan’s side. You didn’t see the zombie approach, didn’t hear the crack of its teeth sinking into his flesh. But you saw the blood—the crimson stain spreading on his shirt.

"Taesan!" you shouted, rushing to his side.

His face was pale, the color draining from him rapidly. His grip on his weapon faltered. "It’s nothing," he tried to assure you, but his voice was strained, ragged.

"Don’t lie to me!" you snapped, your hands frantic as you pressed against the wound, desperately trying to stop the blood flow. "Shit, we need to get you inside. Now."

But Taesan shook his head, his eyes dark with something that made your heart seize. "It’s too late. You know it is."

"No!" you cried, shaking him. The panic surged through you. You couldn’t lose him. Not now. Not after everything.

He chuckled weakly, but it was bitter. "You should have stayed away from me," he said, his voice rough but filled with the kind of regret that sliced through you. "I’m not the man you think I am."

"Don’t fucking say that!" You shook your head, tears filling your eyes. "Please, just hold on."

But he didn't listen. His hand reached for your cheek, his fingers cold, trembling. His gaze softened as he traced the outline of your face, as if memorizing every detail. "I tried to protect you," he whispered, so softly you almost missed it. "But it was always you who was protecting me."

Your heart stopped. You shook your head, unable to process the depth of his words, the weight of his confession.

"Taesan," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "Don’t—"

"I need you to know," he rasped, his breathing labored. "I—"

His words were cut off by a groan of pain as he collapsed to his knees. You scrambled to catch him, but his weight was too much, and he slumped forward, his head resting on your shoulder.

"I… I love you," he gasped, his eyes half-lidded with pain. "I never… I never said it, but I do. Always."

Your breath hitched, the tears spilling over, soaking his shirt. He was confessing. He was confessing now, at the end, when it was too late.

You felt his body growing cold in your arms, the transformation already beginning as his grip loosened, his body twitching.

"No," you breathed, trying to hold him up. But his body was already changing, his eyes flickering to that dark, vacant stare of the infected.

Your heart shattered. You couldn’t let him suffer. You couldn’t let him become one of them.

Without thinking, you pulled out your gun—the one you had hoped you'd never need to use. With shaking hands, you raised it to his head.

"Taesan," you whispered, your voice breaking. "I’m so sorry."

The last flicker of recognition in his eyes lingered for a moment, just long enough to know that he understood. And then, with one final tear, you pulled the trigger.

LEEHAN 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : 18th century, coastal village

˖➴ PAIRING : fisherman!leehan x mermaid!reader

Leehan had grown up hearing the stories.

Old fishermen, with their weathered hands and salt-stained voices, spoke of mermaids—creatures of the deep, neither fully human nor beast. Some swore they were monsters, dragging sailors into the abyss with their haunting songs. Others claimed they were omens, appearing before a storm to warn those wise enough to listen.

But there was one tale that had always stuck with him.

"A mermaid’s love is a curse."

"Once a mermaid chooses a human, they are bound forever. But the sea is jealous—it never lets them keep what they love for long."

Leehan never believed in fairy tales.

Until the day he met you.

It was supposed to be an ordinary day. The sky was clear, the waves calm, and Leehan was focused on his fishing net when he saw something unusual—a shimmer just beneath the surface.

At first, he thought he was hallucinating. The sun reflected off your iridescent scales, casting flecks of light over your skin. Your hair clung to your face, eyes wide as you stared at him, both of you frozen in shock.

Then, you smiled.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," you teased, tilting your head.

Leehan swallowed hard. "You're real."

You floated closer, resting your arms on the edge of his boat. "I could say the same about you. Most humans never get this close."

"Most humans don't believe in you," he admitted, though he couldn't take his eyes off you.

"You do."

Leehan hesitated. Maybe he shouldn’t. Maybe it would be easier if he didn’t. But something deep inside him—the same part that used to listen wide-eyed to old sailors' stories—whispered that he always had.

So, he nodded.

And you smiled, like you had been waiting for that answer all along.

Days turned into weeks. Every morning, Leehan would take his boat out a little farther than usual, knowing you’d be waiting. And every time, you’d greet him with that teasing smile.

“You should be careful,” he warned one day as you played with the ropes on his boat. “If anyone sees you—”

“They’ll try to kill me?” you finished, unfazed. “I know. Humans are predictable.”

Leehan frowned. “Not all of them.”

You looked at him then, and for the first time, your teasing expression softened. “No. Not all of them.”

It wasn’t long before you started waiting for him, not just to talk, but to listen. You wanted to know everything—what it was like to live on land, to see the stars without the water blurring them.

And in return, you told him about the ocean. The parts of the world he would never see. The beauty of the deep, the dangers lurking where light couldn’t reach.

“You love it, don’t you?” he asked one evening, watching the way your face softened as you spoke.

“The sea is my home,” you admitted. “But lately… I wonder what it would be like to stay here instead.”

Leehan’s breath caught in his throat, but before he could say anything, you laughed.

“Relax, fisherman. I wouldn’t last a day on land.”

But you both knew it was too late.

You were falling. And so was he.

The village had always feared the sea. It was in their blood—their fathers and grandfathers had warned them of the creatures lurking below, waiting to drag them under.

And now, they had proof.

You never saw them coming. One moment, you were waiting in the shallows for Leehan, the next, hands were on you—nets tangling around your limbs, rough voices shouting.

“Look at the size of it!”

“It’s real!”

“A monster—”

You fought, but the more you struggled, the tighter the ropes became. The air burned in your lungs. The sun was too bright. And then—

“STOP!”

Leehan’s voice cut through the chaos. He shoved through the crowd, panting, eyes wide in horror as he took in the sight of you—trapped, helpless, terrified.

"Let her go," he demanded.

One of the older men turned to him, scoffing. "You knew, didn’t you? You’ve been hiding this thing?"

"She's not a thing,” Leehan shot back. “They’re—” He stopped himself. He din’t know what to say. What could he say? That you weren’t dangerous? That you weren’t a threat?

No one would listen.

The village had already made up their mind.

The sky was painted in the colors of dusk when they decided your fate.

A harpoon. A single strike to the heart. It would be quick, they said. A mercy.

You had stopped struggling by then. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or maybe it was the realization that there was no escaping this.

Leehan tried to run to you, but strong arms held him back.

“No—” Leehan thrashed against their hold, but the villagers’ grip was unyielding, rough hands digging into his arms, keeping him in place. He struggled anyway, desperation surging through him like a raging tide. “Let me go! Please—”

His voice cracked on the last word, raw and broken, but no one listened. No one cared.

You turned your head slightly, eyes finding his through the chaos. And then—despite everything—you smiled. A soft, tired thing.

“…Leehan,” you murmured, voice gentle, as if you were comforting him.

Leehan’s breath hitched, his chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. “Don’t—” His voice wavered, thick with grief. “Don’t act like this is okay.”

Your gaze softened. There was no fear in your eyes, no anger. Just a quiet acceptance. “It was always going to end like this, Leehan.”

“No.” His struggles weakened, exhaustion creeping in, but he still fought against the hands that held him back. “No, it wasn’t.” His breath came in ragged gasps, his vision blurred with unshed tears. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this.”

You inhaled slowly, as if savoring the air one last time, then exhaled, your expression turning wistful. “You were the best thing I ever found on the surface.”

A sharp inhale. His jaw clenched. His whole body shook with the weight of words he couldn’t force out.

“Don’t—” His voice cracked again, barely above a whisper.

Your fingers twitched slightly, as if reaching for him, but the ropes were too tight. “Leehan,” you breathed, softer now, like the final note of a fading song. “If things were different... if I could stay...”

He shook his head violently, chest heaving. He still fought, still tried, but the hands on him only tightened. It was useless.

So you did it for him.

“I would have chosen you.”

And then—

The harpoon struck.

A gasp. A shudder.

And then, silence.

The water, which had always been so full of life, was still.

Leehan's hands trembled at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if he could still reach you—still pull you back from your predicament.

But nothing could.

Not even love.

The village cheered. The monster was dead.

But Leehan didn’t move. He stayed there, frozen, his body trembling as he stared at you. The villagers slowly loosened their grip, but he didn’t fight anymore. There was nothing left to fight for.

Slowly, he lifted his head.

And for the first time in his life, he hated the sea.

WOONHAK 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

˖➴ ERA : present day, with a twist of supernatural

˖➴ PAIRING : hunter!woonhak x human!reader

The first time you met Woonhak, you had no idea just how much your life was about to change. It was late at night, and you were walking home from a late study session, the streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement. That’s when you saw it—a figure in the distance, a dark, twisted shape moving toward you in the alley.

It didn’t take long for you to realize what it was. The gleam of fangs in the darkness made your blood run cold, and before you could react, the vampire lunged at you. The world seemed to slow down as the creature closed in, its eyes glowing with malice.

But then, everything went quiet. A sharp crack echoed through the alley, and the vampire stumbled back with a horrible, gurgling sound. Your heart raced, your breath caught in your throat as you turned to see him—Woonhak. Standing tall, his gaze focused and intense, a silver blade in hand, glinting in the moonlight.

He moved with a precision you couldn’t even fathom. The vampire didn’t stand a chance as Woonhak sliced through the air with swift, calculated strikes. Every movement was practiced, sharp—like he’d been doing this for centuries. In moments, the vampire crumpled to the ground, lifeless, a dark puddle forming beneath it.

You stood frozen, your legs barely holding you up as you watched him wipe his blade clean. The silence that followed felt deafening.

Finally, you managed to speak, your voice shaking with the remnants of adrenaline. “Who—who are you?”

Woonhak turned to you, his expression softening as he met your gaze. A small, reassuring smile tugged at the corner of his lips, though there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Just someone who takes out the trash,” he said with a lightness that didn’t quite match the intensity of the situation. Then, his voice softened, his gaze never leaving you. “Are you okay?”

You backed away slightly, still in shock, trying to process the scene you had just witnessed. “That was... real, wasn’t it? You... you killed it.” The words felt like they were coming from someone else, your brain struggling to make sense of the new reality you’d just been thrust into.

Woonhak nodded, wiping his blade with a practiced hand. “Yeah. Vampires, demons... they’re real. You’re not safe here anymore,” he said, his tone growing serious. He looked at you with a quiet intensity, his gaze never faltering. “I’ll protect you. But I need you to trust me.”

Your mind raced, trying to keep up with the chaos of the situation. “Why should I trust you?” you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “You’re just... a stranger. Why me?”

His expression darkened slightly, a flicker of something—pain, maybe—passing through his eyes. “Because I’m your only chance at survival,” he said, his voice steady but with an underlying edge. “And because this isn’t the first time the supernatural world has taken an interest in you.”

As the days passed, Woonhak stayed close, always keeping an eye on you but never making you feel suffocated. His playful banter filled the quiet moments between your training sessions, making the tension of your new life seem almost manageable. He trained you, not in the usual way, but in self-defense. His hands were firm as they guided yours through each motion, his voice confident and lighthearted, always adding a bit of humor to keep the mood from getting too heavy.

“I know this is a lot to take in,” he said one evening as you practiced a defensive maneuver. “But trust me, you’ll be thanking me when you’re knocking out vampires with one punch. You’ll look so cool doing it.”

You shot him a playful, frustrated look, unsure of how to process everything he was telling you. “And you’re just... some supernatural hunter? Why me? What’s so special about me?”

He paused, looking thoughtful for a moment before flashing you a grin. “It’s not just that. You’ve got this... energy, this connection to things that are way bigger than you or me. And hey, I’m just here to make sure you don’t get eaten alive in the process.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. “What do you mean? Am I... am I a target?” The thought made your stomach churn.

Woonhak’s grin softened, and he gave you a reassuring nudge. “Yep, you are. But, hey, don’t worry. I’ve got your back. Always.” His smile was wide, full of the confidence that made you believe, for a moment, that everything was going to be okay.

The weeks that followed were filled with moments of laughter and small, meaningful conversations between your patrols and training sessions. Even with the tension building around you, Woonhak’s humour kept things light. It was hard to stay too overwhelmed when he made it seem like every supernatural creature was just another silly challenge to face. You even started looking forward to his jokes, his smiles, and the way he made you forget just how crazy everything around you really was.

Then, one night, after barely escaping an ambush by a pack of rogue werewolves, you found yourselves standing side by side, breathless and covered in dirt. The tension in the air was thick, both of you still riding the adrenaline, but there was something else there, too. Woonhak turned to you, his face lit up by the soft glow of the streetlights. His eyes locked onto yours, and for the first time, the playful edge in his expression was replaced with something more genuine. He took a step closer, his gaze softening.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, his voice low but reassuring, as he reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your face. His fingers lingered there for a moment, gentle and warm. “I’m not letting anything happen to you.”

Your pulse quickened, your heart hammering in your chest. You wanted to ask more questions, to figure out what exactly was happening between you two, but when his eyes stayed on yours like that, all you could think about was the way his warmth felt, the way he was so close and yet so careful.

“But... why?” You blurted out before you could stop yourself. “Why do you care so much? I’m just... a normal person.”

Woonhak’s playful grin faltered for a moment, and his hand stayed close to your cheek, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw softly. His voice was quieter this time, more honest, and without his usual cheerful tone. “Because... I don’t want to lose you.” His words were raw, sincere, and they made your chest tighten. “I don’t know when it happened, or why... but I think I’m falling for you.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat at the sincerity in his words. “Woonhak...” you whispered, barely able to process what you were hearing. The world seemed to slow down as his gaze deepened, and you saw something in him you hadn’t realized before—vulnerability, a hint of fear, but something else, too. Something real.

He closed the distance between you, his hand gently cupping your face as he leaned in just a little closer. His thumb brushed against your cheek again, and his smile returned, though this time it was softer, warmer. “Sorry if I’m getting too close,” he murmured, his voice a little teasing but filled with a tenderness you hadn’t expected. “But I just... can’t help it.”

You felt the warmth of his body, the pull of his presence, and in that moment, you knew. You knew that, despite all the danger surrounding you, you were willing to take the leap with him.

“I don’t know how to feel,” you admitted softly, your heart racing. But deep down, you could already feel what your heart was telling you. “But... I don’t want to lose you either.”

Woonhak’s smile softened into something genuine, the lightness of his usual demeanour blending with a quiet intensity. “Then we’ll fight together,” he said, his voice filled with determination and warmth. “We’ll face everything, you and me. Together.”

@coriihanniee ☁️

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

perm taglist : @lvlyhiyyih @supi-wupi @tinyelfperson @8makes1atom @s0shroe @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @mydeepestsecrects @brownetry @pumpkg @heeheesang @jungwonbropls

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ribbeoms · 18 days ago

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GRHAH !!!!

we get, the same! a woonhak smau

#20 - WOONHAK FIRST WIN

warnings: none i think..?

prev. || masterlist || next

maia’s note: the update on sunday might be a bit late bc i’m not sure if i’m gonna have reception but i’ll def make sure to release the chapter (even if it’s on monday or smth). also the next final chaps r gonna be pretty long!! likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated!! 🩵

taglist: @kekaekeke @mimimimiaa @s0shroe @mungbeancoups @molensworld @en-dream @kaiyunsim @httpenhoon @ranjupotato @cinnamonshuaa @pinklemonade34 @kazemiya @siekksjs @sirenla @kittkyu @mensisim @livibbu @junhanism @enzstr @thea-herondale @i03jae @sionshiii @helpsplease @yurisblooming @defnotsanni @haechology @janjoonty @petralovesbonedo @anormieee @nineooooo @oowir @luvkwh @skibidihan @mbella607 @stantxtforabetterlife @midnight-rain-pdf @massiveunicorn6969 @bambisnc @mymelodyfanatic @slowlylefttyphoon @hrtleehan @ribbeoms @winteringdream / @kstrucknet (taglist: open! in white = cannot be tagged).

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ribbeoms · 22 days ago

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TGIS IS SO CUYE WHAT THE HELL the corners of my mouth wont stop going fown

LONG LIST OF MY LOVE ౨ৎ⋆˚｡⋆

you never meant to end up on your boyfriend’s notes app ⊹♡

genre. fluff, est. relationship

wc. 0.9k

req. “hii! i recently stumbled upon this prompt "using your partner's phone and discovering a note that has all of your likes/dislikes/food orders etc. written." and i think this is soo woonhak-coded, could i please request a woonhak fic with this prompt ᵔ ᗜ ᵔ”

a/n. hi annonieeee!! thank u sosososooo much for this req ITS SO CUTEEE (｡>▽<｡)

“woonhak!” you yelled from your seat on the sofa to your boyfriend, who was, as per usual, playing games. his headphones blasted with the voices of his friends, and you knew that just calling him just once wouldn’t make a difference. “woon.” you walked up behind him, rapidly tapping him on the shoulder. finally, he turned his head around, sliding one side of his headset behind his ear. “hm?” his face was innocent and sweet, very unlike how he was acting just moments before. “can i use your phone? mine just died.” promptly shoving your phone's blank screen in front of woonhak’s face. “yeah, sure, baby. it’s on the table over there.” he smiled before pointing at the coffee table in the middle of your apartment. “thanks.” you kissed him on the cheek before scurrying to take his phone and charge yours.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

more under the cut!

it really wasn’t your intention to be sneaking around on woonhak’s phone; hiding the screen from him (even though he was meters away, eyes glued onto his computer) discreetly scrolling through his never ending camera roll wasn’t what you imagined you’d be doing when you asked to use his phone.

a breach of privacy? yes, it was. entertaining to see the cute pictures he’d taken of him, you and his friends? yes, too.

you only planned to use his phone to watch videos on youtube and then you’d return it once your phone had fully charged, but if you would check your phone now, it’d be at 101%. your boyfriend’s phone had become more interesting.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

games? looked through. calendar? seen. camera roll? you’d seen every picture he’d taken. you hadn’t a clue what to do next.

woonhak was still busying himself at the computer, shouting into the small microphone that stuck out from the headphones.

what would woonhak do if he was on your phone?

it was hard to think about, considering if he was on your phone he’d probably just be playing the millions of games you had installed on it.

but that’s when it hit you.

his notes app.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

you weren’t sure if he had the same sort of stuff you did on your notes app; a wish list, quick grocery lists, the spontaneous vent of anger, the yearning for a man who you already had. woonhak most definitely had the opposite of yours. it might’ve even been empty, still asking him to sign in with his apple id.

except what you had in mind was the complete flip side of what he did have.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

in the start, it was everything you had expected — a list of everyone’s birthdays, followed by another full of gifts he could get them. song ideas, song titles, short snippets of lyrics. it didn’t really matter to you.

until you scrolled to the bottom of them all.

“hjakeojskqmsl”

what?

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

you hesitantly clicked on it, somewhat scared of what you would see.

then, you saw it. a long paragraph full of things you liked and disliked.

woonhak — the boy who never seemed put together, wasn’t very neat, and was always clumsy — had written all of this… about you?

of course, you were his girlfriend. that was no question and he took his boyfriend responsibilities very seriously. but you never thought he would write every single detail about your likes and dislikes.

the more you read, the more you saw how detailed he was about everything you said or told him. it looked as if he had written every single word you said and copied it down.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ✩˚ ୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

you were so lost in reading his “self written long list of y/n” as he called it in the subheading, that you didn’t notice him ending the call with his friends, shutting down his computer, or his voice calling you.

“y/n? your phone’s done charging.” he unplugged it, walking towards you to pass it over in exchange for his.

“wait! i’m not done rea— watching!” you slammed his phone onto the bed, protecting the screen from his eyes.

“rea? what were you gonna say, y/n?” he attempted to snatch his phone back, but you quickly pulled it away from him. you couldn’t let him see that you were sneaking about on his phone, he wouldn’t let you on his phone ever again!

“nothing! i’m watching a video, woon, let me finish it.” you pleaded, hoping he’d get off your tail. “fine, but i’ll watch with you.” he sat right beside you, reaching over to the other side to get his phone from you. “woonhak!” but it was too late, he already had a hold on his phone.

“you were on my notes app?” he would never believe you. about how it wasn’t your intention to invade his privacy and be checking through his apps unbeknowingly to him. for all you knew, he could just break up with you on the spot.

“i’m sorry, woonhak. i really was watching videos, but i got bored and went through your apps and—” he cut you off. “how much did you read?” he didn’t seem to care that you were going through his apps, it felt more like he cared about his dignity. “i mean, i didn’t finish reading it since you took it… but until the part where you said ‘y/n likes sunsets. i like them too because she looks extra beautiful when it shines on her face.’ but that’s about it.” you recalled his exact words, memorising it like a script.

“ugh!” he tackled you to the bed, hiding his face in your chest. “it’s so embarrassing…” he mumbled into your shirt. “what? it’s not embarrassing at all, woonhak. i think it’s kinda cute, y’know.” you held him in your arms, giggling as he whined. “whatever…” he played with the ends of your hair, pouting his lips.

woonhak could forgive you for anything you’ve done, but this? woonhak would never forgive you for this.

#fanfic #bnd scenarios #bnd x reader #bnd fluff #bnd imagines #bnd #bnd woonhak #bnd smau #woonhak boynextdoor #boynextdoor #boynextdoor x you #boynextdoor x reader #woonhak x reader #kim woonhak

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ribbeoms · 22 days ago

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𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓲𝓼 𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓻𝓲𝓯𝓲𝓬...❤️☝️

we get, the same! a woonhak smau

#19 - 𝔀𝓻𝓸𝓷𝓰.. 👅

warnings: mentions of food (chocolate milk and gummies), and of strangling ? 😅

prev. || masterlist || next

maia’s note: sometimes i’d like to think i’m really funny so hopefully most of u laughed at this chap. also there are 42 ppl in the taglist like what ?? tysm ?? likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated!! 🩵

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ribbeoms · 23 days ago

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OH MY 😭😭😭😭😭😭 THIS IS SO CUGE

woonhak bf texts! requested

pairing: non-idol(basically?)!woonhak x gn!reader ; genre: fluff, comfort in a way ; warnings: mention of food (boba), woonhak is sappy and a yapper (when is he not). ; @kstrucknet

maia’s note: guys i’m lowk running out of bf text ideas pls Help. i tried to fuel out creativity for this one. 3rd woonhak texts post we cheered! likes, reblogs, and feedback is always appreciated!! (esp reblogs + feedback ^^) 🧡

bf texts w/ woonhak: pt. 1 | pt. 2 (no order)

please do not copy, repost, or translate.

check out my other works!

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ribbeoms · 24 days ago

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holy 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 this is so cute IM never going to recover. signing myself up for a parttime job at the convenience store as we speak

k.wh — small girl fantasy

genre: fluff, co-worker to lovers hehe, reader have a BIG FAT crush on unagi (who doesn’t) mutual pining, self-indulged pairing: crush!woonhak x afab!reader wc: 3176 warning: they both have responsibility crisis, both NUMBBB, lmk if i forgot any !! listen: small girl — lee youngji ft. do, binibini — zack tabudlo, take a chance with me — niki, aya — earl agustin

the soft hum of the refrigerator filled the quiet store, the flickering fluorescent lights above casting a dull glow over the aisles. your shift was dragging, and with barely any customers coming in, you found yourself wiping the already spotless counter just to keep your hands busy.

the air smelled faintly of instant ramen and cheap coffee, the scent clinging to your uniform as you absentmindedly ran the rag over the counter for the third time. your thoughts drifted—mostly to woonhak, as they often did during these long, uneventful shifts.

woonhak was at the back of the store, stacking boxes near the stockroom. from where you stood, you could see the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing his forearms as he effortlessly lifted each box like it weighed nothing. he made it look easy, just like he made everything look easy.

you bit the inside of your cheek, annoyed at yourself for staring. it wasn’t like he was going to notice anyway. he never did.

at first, you tried convincing yourself that he was just quiet, that maybe he was the type of person who kept his distance from coworkers. but that theory crumbled quickly when you watched him chat effortlessly with customers, throwing in the occasional charming smile or polite nod. even when his friends dropped by, he greeted them with a grin, his usual composed expression softening into something warmer.

but with you? nothing.

sure, he said hi when your shifts overlapped. he’d ask you to stock shelves if he was busy handling the register. but that was the extent of it. no small talk. no casual conversations about school or life outside the store. just simple, impersonal exchanges that made you feel more like background noise than an actual person.

it was frustrating, really. and the worst part? you still couldn’t stop thinking about him.

you sighed, leaning against the counter, when a voice suddenly cut through the silence.

“you missed a spot.”

you jolted, your grip on the rag tightening as you turned to see woonhak standing beside you, peering down at the counter with his usual unreadable expression.

you blinked, your brain short-circuiting for a second. “what?”

woonhak pointed to a barely visible smudge near the register, his tone as casual as ever. “right there.”

you quickly wiped over it, heat creeping up your neck. of course, the first real thing he says to you all shift has to be about cleaning. not school, not work, not even some throwaway comment about the weather—just that.

when you looked up again, he was already walking away, disappearing into the stockroom like the moment hadn’t even happened.

you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, staring after him in disbelief.

was he really that oblivious? or was he doing this on purpose?

either way, it was driving you insane.

the more time you spent working at the store, the more you started noticing the little things about woonhak. not the obvious things—like the way customers always gravitated toward him or how effortlessly he balanced school and work—but the smaller details, the ones you weren’t sure anyone else even paid attention to.

for instance, the way he hummed under his breath when he thought no one was listening. it was always something soft, barely audible over the hum of the refrigerators. sometimes, it was an old song playing faintly through the store’s speakers; other times, it was just a melody with no real pattern. you caught yourself lingering near the aisles whenever it happened, pretending to fix the same row of snacks just to hear it a little longer.

he also had this habit of organizing snacks by color. at first, you thought it was just him being efficient, but then you realized he did it even when it wasn’t necessary. the chips, the candies, even the energy drinks—if he was stocking the shelves, they always ended up arranged in a neat, color-coordinated gradient.

“you know, no one really cares if the ramen cups go from red to yellow,” you teased one evening, watching as he rearranged a row of instant noodles.

woonhak didn’t even look up. “yeah, but it looks better like this.”

you tilted your head, studying his expression. he wasn’t doing it for the customers. he wasn’t even doing it because his dad expected the shelves to look nice. he just liked things a certain way. it was oddly endearing.

but the thing that really got to you? the way he sometimes looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

it started small. you’d glance up from the register and catch his eyes flickering away too quickly. or you’d be restocking the shelves and feel the weight of his gaze just before he turned back to whatever he was doing. at first, you thought you were imagining it, that maybe you just wanted him to look at you so badly that your mind was playing tricks on you.

but then it kept happening.

like that time you were leaning against the counter during a slow shift, absentmindedly fiddling with a snack wrapper, when you felt it—that unmistakable pull of someone’s stare. you turned your head just in time to see woonhak, standing by the fridge section, looking right at you.

his expression was unreadable, but his eyes held something unfamiliar, something you couldn’t quite name.

the second your eyes met, he looked away, pretending to check the labels on the bottled drinks.

your heartbeat stuttered.

maybe he wasn’t as oblivious as you thought.

—

the storm rolled in without warning. one moment, the sky outside the store was a deep navy, the streetlights flickering lazily against the pavement. the next, rain was hammering against the windows, wind howling through the cracks in the doors. then—darkness.

the hum of the refrigerators cut out, the overhead lights flickered once, then died. the only thing left was the soft, eerie glow of the emergency lights lining the walls.

“great,” you muttered, setting down the inventory clipboard you’d been pretending to work on.

behind the counter, woonhak sighed, pulling his phone out of his pocket. he tapped the screen. “no signal.”

of course. just your luck to be stuck in a blackout, in a convenience store, alone with woonhak.

you shifted awkwardly, glancing at him. “should we, uh… do something? or just wait it out?”

he looked around, eyes scanning the dimly lit store. “well, we can’t close up, and we can’t leave.” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “guess we’re stuck here for a while.”

with nothing else to do, the two of you sat down on the floor near the counter, backs against the shelves stocked with instant noodles. the emergency lights cast a faint, bluish glow over his face, making his features look softer, almost unreal.

for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but it was heavy, like something unspoken was lingering between you. then, out of nowhere, woonhak let out a small, breathy chuckle.

“this is kinda weird, huh?” he mused.

you turned to him. “what is?”

“being here like this. we’ve worked together for months, but this is probably the longest we’ve ever talked.”

you blinked, taken aback by his sudden honesty. “yeah. you’ve always been... kind of hard to talk to.”

he raised an eyebrow. “hard to talk to?”

“i mean, you’re quiet. you don’t really say much unless it’s about work,” you admitted, hugging your knees. “honestly, i wasn’t sure if you even liked me.”

woonhak tilted his head slightly, studying you. “i never disliked you,” he said after a pause. “i just… don’t always know what to say.”

you looked at him, waiting, sensing there was more.

he exhaled, leaning his head back against the shelves. “it’s kinda dumb, but… i feel like i don’t have time to just—talk. i’m always thinking about what i should be doing next. school, work, helping my dad. it’s a lot, you know?”

his voice was quieter now, the usual steadiness replaced with something more fragile.

“because you’re the eldest?” you asked softly.

he nodded, a rueful smile tugging at his lips. “yeah. i don’t really have a choice. my dad relies on me, and i don’t want to let him down. sometimes, i think about what i actually want to do, but then i feel guilty, like i’m being selfish.”

for the first time, you saw him not as the woonhak that everyone admired—the perfect son, the dependable coworker—but as a boy who was just… tired.

hesitantly, you said, “i get it. maybe not in the exact same way, but… i understand what it’s like to feel like you have to be something for everyone else.”

he turned to you, intrigued. “yeah?”

you nodded, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve. “i’ve always felt like i had to prove something. like if i don’t push myself hard enough, i’ll just… fade into the background. i guess that’s why i’ve always been so frustrated with you.”

he blinked. “with me?”

you let out a small laugh. “yeah. you make everything look so easy. it’s like you don’t even have to try, and meanwhile, i’m over here struggling to keep up.”

woonhak was quiet for a moment, then—to your surprise—he smiled. not his usual polite smile, but something softer, more real.

“i didn’t know you thought that,” he murmured. “if it makes you feel any better, i think you work harder than anyone else here.”

you felt your face warm, looking away. “you’re just saying that.”

“no,” he said simply. “i’m not.”

the air between you shifted, something settling into place. and for the first time since meeting him, you didn’t feel invisible.

—

the change was subtle at first, but once you noticed it, you couldn’t unsee it.

woonhak was everywhere.

he was always near, always teasing, always finding little excuses to talk to you. he stopped treating you like just another co-worker and started acting like… well, like someone who actually wanted to be around you.

one evening, after an unusually slow shift, you were restocking shelves when you accidentally knocked over a row of neatly stacked chip bags.

“careful,” woonhak drawled from behind you, arms crossed as he leaned against the counter. “you break it, you buy it.”

you huffed, bending down to pick up the fallen bags. “do you ever actually help, or do you just stand there and make fun of me?”

“oh, i definitely just stand here and make fun of you,” he said, grinning.

you rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

and then there was the way he waited for you after shifts. at first, you thought it was a coincidence—maybe he just happened to finish work at the same time as you. but then it happened again. and again.

“why are you still here?” you asked one night, shoving your hands into your jacket pockets as you locked up the store.

woonhak stretched lazily, as if he hadn’t been waiting outside for you. “it’s dark out.”

“so?”

he gave you a pointed look. “might as well walk together.”

you narrowed your eyes. “but your house is—”

“doesn’t matter.” he started walking ahead, then glanced back at you, raising an eyebrow. “you coming, or what?”

you hated how easily he did this—how effortlessly he inserted himself into your routine, into your life, like he had always been there.

you groaned, but the truth was, you liked it. you liked how he matched his pace with yours, how he walked on the side closest to the street, how he never let the conversation die out even when you weren’t sure what to say.

and then there were the snacks.

at first, it was small. a bag of your favorite chips left near the register, a cold drink placed beside your bag without a word. when you asked about it, he’d just shrug.

“it’s nothing.”

but it wasn’t nothing.

one afternoon, after a particularly long shift, you found a neatly wrapped rice ball waiting for you in the breakroom.

you picked it up, turning it over in your hands. “did you—”

“you haven’t eaten, right?” woonhak interrupted, not looking at you as he busied himself with the stock list.

you blinked. “how did you know?”

“you always forget when you’re working.”

your heart stuttered at his words.

he noticed.

he was noticing you now. really noticing you.

you unwrapped the rice ball slowly, trying to ignore the way your hands felt unsteady. “thanks,” you muttered.

woonhak finally looked at you then, and for once, his usual teasing expression softened into something quieter. “don’t mention it.”

and that was how it was. little moments, little gestures, little things that all added up to something bigger.

you weren’t sure what it was, not yet. but you liked it.

and just as you started to believe that maybe, just maybe, this was turning into something more—

you overheard the conversation.

—

it was late, your shift nearly over, when you heard woonhak’s father speaking in hushed tones near the back of the store.

“it’s a big opportunity, woonhak. you’d be crazy to pass this up.”

you froze, your hand tightening around the stack of receipts you’d been organizing.

“i know,” woonhak replied, his voice lower than usual. hesitant.

you inched closer to the back of the store, staying just out of sight behind one of the shelves.

“then what’s the problem?” his father pressed. “you’ve worked hard for this. this isn’t just about the store—this is about your future.”

there was a pause. a long, heavy silence.

then, woonhak exhaled. “it’s just... sudden.”

“that’s how these things work. you don’t always get time to think. you have to act.” his father’s voice softened slightly. “listen, i know you worry about me, about the store, but i’ll be fine. this is your chance to do something more, something bigger than this place.”

your stomach twisted.

what was he talking about? what opportunity? where would it take him?

and why—why did it feel like something was slipping through your fingers before you even had the chance to hold it?

you heard woonhak sigh, the kind he let out when he was deep in thought, troubled.

“i just need time,” he murmured.

his father didn’t push him further, only replying, “just don’t take too long, son.”

you stood frozen behind the shelves long after the conversation ended, your heart pounding in your ears.

because you already knew.

whatever this was—whatever had been growing between you and woonhak, however slowly, however subtly—it wasn’t going to last.

the next few days felt different. not because anything had changed—woonhak still teased you, still left snacks by the register, still waited for you after your shifts like it was the most natural thing in the world. but now, there was something unspoken hanging in the air between you.

you weren’t sure if he knew you had overheard. part of you wanted to pretend you didn’t, to pretend things were the same. but you weren’t sure how long you could keep up the act when every moment with him suddenly felt like it had an expiration date.

then one night, as the store’s closing time approached, woonhak finally said it.

“can we talk?”

you turned to him, heart pounding. “yeah.”

he hesitated before pulling you outside, the cool night air wrapping around you both. the neon lights from the store’s sign buzzed softly above you, casting a faint glow over his face.

for a moment, he just looked at you, like he was trying to memorize something. then, he sighed.

“you heard, didn’t you?”

you swallowed. “yeah.”

woonhak let out a dry chuckle, looking down at his shoes. “figured. you’re not exactly subtle when you eavesdrop.”

“shut up,” you muttered, but there was no real bite to it.

he exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “it’s a scholarship. a really good one. i’d be studying abroad for a year—maybe longer, if things go well.”

your chest tightened. “that’s… amazing.”

he scoffed. “you don’t sound like you mean that.”

“no, i do.” you forced a smile. “this is everything you’ve worked for, right?”

“yeah,” he said, but his voice was uncertain. he wasn’t looking at you anymore, staring out at the empty street instead. “but… i don’t want to leave you alone.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his honesty.

he turned back to you, his usual teasing expression replaced with something raw, something real. “i mean it. the thought of being somewhere new, somewhere exciting—it should make me happy, right? but all i can think about is how i won’t be here. with you.”

your throat felt tight. because a few months ago, you never would have imagined hearing those words from woonhak. back then, you weren’t even sure he noticed you. and now here he was, standing in front of you, telling you he didn’t want to leave you behind.

but you couldn’t let him stay just for you.

you reached out, poking his forehead lightly. “you’re an idiot.”

he blinked. “what—”

“you have to go, woonhak,” you said softly. “you’d regret it if you didn’t.”

he frowned. “but—”

“but nothing,” you cut him off, smiling a little. “you won’t lose me.”

he stared at you, and for once, he didn’t have a witty comeback.

you took a deep breath. “i’ll wait for you. no matter how long it takes.”

woonhak exhaled, shaking his head with a small, incredulous laugh. “you’re serious?”

“dead serious.” you tilted your head at him. “what, do you not trust me?”

“no, it’s not that,” he muttered. “it’s just… funny. the you from a few months ago didn’t even think i knew you existed, and now you’re out here promising to wait for me.”

you felt your face heat up. “shut up.”

but woonhak was grinning now, his usual self creeping back in. “you’re kind of romantic, you know that?”

“don’t push it.”

he laughed, then—to your surprise—reached out and ruffled your hair. “alright, fine. i’ll go. but only because you said you’d wait for me.”

you swatted his hand away, scowling. “like you weren’t gonna go anyway.”

“nope. i was seriously considering staying.” he gave you a lopsided smile, and something about it made your heart ache. “but i guess i have to make this count now. wouldn’t want to keep you waiting too long.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

and when he walked you home that night, he stayed a little longer by your door, hesitating like he had something more to say.

but instead of words, he reached out, carefully intertwining his pinky with yours.

a silent promise.

“wait for me,” he murmured.

you squeezed his hand, grinning. “i already said i would, didn’t i?”

and as woonhak laughed, shaking his head like you were the most ridiculous person in the world, you realized something.

for the first time, you weren’t afraid of losing him. because somehow, in his own way, woonhak was waiting for you too.

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ribbeoms · 25 days ago

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UGHHH THIS WAS SO CUTEEEEE 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

WHAT'S THE ANSWER FOR ME + YOU?

although woonhak was deemed the golden boy of your school, he lacked in academics. when he goes to the pretty girl (whom also has a tad bit of a crush on him) in the library for math help, how'd he know you'd be this cute?

PAIRING kim woonhak x fem!reader WC 1.1k TAGS adults dni. so much fluff it hurts. mutual pining. OMI NOTE my sweet boy omg i love writing for him. tbh i wrote this as a distraction for the other woonhak fic i started oops. not proofread sorry for mistakes hehe

november was cloudy, as if the sun was too shy to peek over the soft blankets that covered the sky. despite the dreariness, his spirit was always there. kim woonhak was the golden boy of your academy. the school’s star athlete, good at winning over hearts and games.

though he had far from perfect grades, he was good at getting away with an f every now and then. however this wasn’t the most ideal.

sometimes you sat inside of the library, taking in the smell of new books. you had no practical reason to be there, but the quiet environment was good enough for you. you weren’t used to the popularity scene like he was. and though everything in your heart was telling you to talk to him, you just couldn’t.

that specific day, you settled on the floor with your back against the hard books. notebooks, pencils, and a laptop was sprawled out everywhere, but not so much that people couldn’t walk past you. you had an immense headache from cramming in an assignment last minute. because of this, you hardly noticed the body that was towering over you, until he spoke.

“hey! your name is y/n, right?” his voice was alluring like honey dripping down your throat, and a striped cardigan draped over his messily buttoned shirt and slightly loose tie.

but in that moment you froze. admiring him for so long wasn’t considered as practice for actually talking to him.

“hi, yes! um, am i in your way?” you hurry to scoot away but he hesitantly places a hand on your shoulder to stop you.

“no not at all!” he tells you anxiously. in his mind he was thinking you were much prettier in person.

“then what’s up?” you felt small in comparison to his large figure.

“the counselor sent me over to you actually! she said i’d find you here.” he explained, “i need someone to tutor me.”

“you need a tutor?” you questioned with a confused expression on your face.

“yeah.. they’re going to pull me out of basketball if i don’t get my math grade up. and a little birdie told me you were one of the best.” he grinned at you happily and held his hand out for you to get up.

“oh! well i think i have some time right now. i just finished my assignment so you’re in luck.” you quickly grab your things and shove them into your bag before taking his hand.

the touch of his hand on yours made the both of you blush, swiftly pulling away after you were on your feet. you followed behind him to one of the nearest tables, setting your things down beside you before taking a seat.

“so ahm, what specifically were you needing help with?” you ask, pulling out your math notebook and flipping through the chapters.

“literally everything! like how do you even add exponents with different bases?” he whined next to you, letting his head fall onto the desk.

“no i totally get how that can be tricky!” you laugh, “here i’ll write down an example.”

conversation throughout the rest of the study session flowed smoothly. despite it being your first proper interaction, he knew how to make you smile.

a stupid joke here and then, sometimes a wink, or his hand grazing slightly against yours. what were you even saying?

meeting up became more frequent between the two of you. it came to the point where you met every tuesday and thursday for the remainder of the month. he wasn’t difficult to teach, but there were time’s he’d zone out in the middle of your mini lesson.

you wondered what went on in his mind, but every part of you wanted to hope you were the one he thought about.

“woon! are you even listening to me?” you frown, snapping your fingers infront of the boy.

“yes yes, i’m sorry i’m just a little sidetracked today.” he sighs, scribbling nothings onto his paper.

“we have our math exam next week and you’ve been doing so much better than when we met for the first time. you can’t be lacking on me now!” you pout at him. it was maybe your eighth time studying in the library together.

“you’re just so pretty, it’s distracting.” he says quietly, not exactly loud enough for you to hear.

“what?” you tilt your head a little.

“nothing! it’s nothing i promise.” he leans his head back, groaning, “there’s just this problem i’m really having trouble figuring out.” “what kind of problem, i’m sure we can find a solution to it.” your interest was piqued. why would he get so worked up over a math problem?

“i don’t think i’m ready to ask you yet, i want to try to figure it out on my own first.” he sighs into his hands, barely getting a glimpse of you through the cracks of his fingers.

“you want to figure it out on your own? when’d you get so independent without me?” you fake a sad expression.

“okay okay, i’ll write it down for you then. but close your eyes!” he gives in, ripping off a sticky note from the pad you took out earlier.

covering your eyes, your other senses seem to heighten. you can hear the rough writing of his pencil against the note he stole from your pile of supplies. he hesitates in between what you can only assume are numbers, before you feel him press the paper against your forehead.

“open your eyes now.”

your vision is covered slightly from the note, so you can hardly see him fidgeting with his hands. when you peel it off to read, you’re met with a very mysterious question.

‘what’s the answer for me + you?’

“huh? what does this mean woonhak..?” you squint, re - reading the same words over and over again.

“um..” he laughs nervously, “i just don’t want us to be just friends yknow? i really really like you.”

“woon i–”

“i don’t know i just think i’d be a little heartbroken if i had to see you smile so prettily everyday and not be able to call you my.. girlfriend.” he rambled, “but you don’t have to say anything yet! don’t even worry or anything i know this is kinda sudden and we’ve only been hanging out for so long but–”

you interrupt him with a gentle kiss against his lips. he smiles against yours, placing his hands perfectly against your flush cheeks to pull you closer.

“i really like you too, woonhak.” you let your head fall heavy into his hands after finally pulling away, staring at him blissfully.

“i guess i have my answer then, right?”

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#kim woonhak x reader #kim woonhak x you #kim woonhak x y/n #woonhak x reader #woonhak x you #woonhak x y/n #boynextdoor #woonhak #boynextdoor fanfic #boynextdoor fluff #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor scenarios #boynextdoor x reader #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #boynextdoor woonhak #woonhak drabbles

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ribbeoms · 27 days ago

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THIS IS SO CUTE IM HYPEEDDDD !!!!!

well, my boyfriend's in a band ~ boynextdoor smau

synopsis ~ zico wants this comeback to be big. he wants the fans to be shocked, in the best way possible, at how diverse the boys can be with not just their music- but also their style. what does this mean? it means hiring a new stylist whose been dying to get her hands on a group with a "grungey garage band" concept. how will the boys handle this complete 180? how will y/n handle pressure from the fans? and most importantly, will [redacted member] be able to keep his feelings under wraps?

pairing ~ stylist!reader x mystery!bnd!member

profiles ~ chapters

taglist !! :

@conwunder @8makes1atom @s0shroe @stantxtforabetterlife @steddie-steddie

divider credit {@strangergraphics}

p.s : i was inspired to create an smau bc of @cinnashuas !! her guess who smau is so good and i highly recommend !! <3

#bnd #kpop smau #bnd smau #boynextdoor smau #boynextdoor #boynextdoor x reader #bonedo fluff #bonedo x reader

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ribbeoms · 30 days ago

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WTF TVIS WAS SOO GOOD 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

m.jh — the egg project

genre: enemies to lovers, idiots to lovers, crack (bonedo dynamics mentioned) pairing: jaehyun x afab!reader wc: 4.6k warning: they're both a mess, non-stop banters. they kissed at the end. fought because of an egg. listen: antukin — rico blanco, i like me better — lauv, gusto ko lamang sa buhay — itchy worms, but i like you — boynextdoor

you don’t even remember the last time you and jaehyun had a normal conversation. not that you ever really did—because for as long as you’ve both been part of your respective sports teams, the only thing you’ve ever exchanged were complaints.

it started with the mess.

“seriously?” you had scoffed one evening, walking into the gym after the basketball team’s practice, only to find discarded water bottles, sweaty towels, and even an empty sports drink bottle rolling across the floor like a sad little tumbleweed.

the volleyball team had practice right after, and nothing pissed you off more than stepping onto a court that looked like a post-apocalyptic wasteland.

so, like any responsible captain, you took it upon yourself to find the root of the problem. and that root had a name: myung jaehyun.

“hey, jaehyun, clean up your team’s mess next time,” you had called out after one of your shared gym sessions.

jaehyun, who was in the middle of chugging a bottle of water, raised a brow at you. “our mess?”

“yes, yours.” you gestured to the abandoned pile of trash near the bench. “you leave the place looking like a hurricane hit.”

he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and shrugged. “not my fault you’re allergic to a little dirt.”

“not my fault you guys are allergic to basic hygiene.”

leehan, who had been dribbling a basketball nearby, snorted. “dude, she’s got a point.”

“whose side are you on?” jaehyun shot him a glare before turning back to you. “we don’t even leave that much of a mess.”

you let out a short laugh, stepping forward and kicking an empty bottle toward him. it rolled to a stop right by his foot. “oh yeah? then whose bottle is this?”

sungho, who had just been passing by, took one look at the scene and immediately pointed at jaehyun. “definitely his.”

jaehyun gave him a betrayed look. “are you serious?”

“i mean, statistically speaking, it’s more likely to be yours than mine,” sungho said with a lazy shrug. “i actually clean up after myself.”

“that’s a lie and you know it.”

“okay, but do i leave sports drink graveyards on the court? no.”

you crossed your arms and smirked. “see? even your own team thinks you’re the problem.”

jaehyun groaned, bending down to pick up the bottle before lazily tossing it into the trash can. “there. happy now?”

“ecstatic,” you deadpanned. “now do that, but every time.”

from then on, it became an ongoing battle. jaehyun’s team kept leaving behind their junk, and your team kept glaring at them from across the gym. you never actually fought, not really, but there was an unspoken war between the two of you—one built entirely on glares, sarcastic remarks, and aggressively wiping down volleyballs while jaehyun walked past you like he owned the place.

one time, after another particularly messy practice, you had stormed into the basketball team’s locker room, ignoring the immediate groans and complaints from the players inside.

“again?” you huffed, pointing toward the gym doors. “why do i have to keep reminding you guys to pick up after yourselves?”

leehan, who was in the middle of changing into a fresh jersey, blinked at you. “damn, i thought we locked the door.”

“she probably kicked it open,” riwoo muttered, adjusting his towel around his neck.

jaehyun, who was seated on the bench, barely looked up as he tied his shoelaces. “maybe if your team spent less time complaining and more time training, you’d actually win more games.”

your jaw dropped. “excuse me?”

he finally glanced up, a teasing glint in his eyes. “just saying.”

taesan whistled lowly. “oh, you’re dead.”

woonhak patted jaehyun’s shoulder like he was saying his final goodbyes. “it was nice knowing you, man.”

you took a deep breath, shaking your head as you turned on your heel. “you know what? forget it. next time i see even one of your bottles on that floor, i’m chucking it at your head.”

“looking forward to it,” jaehyun called after you, clearly amused.

god, you hated him.

as if the universe wasn’t already laughing at you, things got even worse when your teams had to start training together.

your school had decided that since both the basketball and volleyball teams shared the same gym, you might as well train under the same program for conditioning sessions. this meant early morning drills, weight training, and endurance exercises—together.

it was hell.

not because the training was hard (you could handle that), but because it meant spending more time around him.

the first morning session was already off to a bad start.

“alright, everyone, pair up,” the coach announced. “we’ll be doing partner drills for today’s endurance training.”

immediately, you turned to find one of your teammates, but before you could move, a familiar presence slid up beside you.

“guess we’re stuck together,” jaehyun said, his voice way too chipper for someone who just ran two miles as a warm-up.

you scowled. “who says?”

he gestured around. sure enough, all the pairs had already been formed, leaving you and jaehyun as the only ones unpaired.

“unless you want to run laps alone, i’d say this is fate,” he added, smirking.

you groaned. “curse.”

the drill was simple—one person would hold a plank while the other jumped over them repeatedly. then, you’d switch. simple in theory. infuriating in practice.

you started first, dropping into a plank position while jaehyun jumped over you. the first few were fine. but by the fifth jump, you were sure he was messing with you.

“are you—” you gritted out, arms burning from holding yourself up, “—doing this on purpose?”

jaehyun landed smoothly before hopping over you again. “doing what?”

“jumping so damn slow.”

“you should be thanking me. i’m giving you more time to work on your arm strength.”

you clenched your jaw. “i swear to god—”

“switch!” the coach called.

you got up, shaking out your arms before shooting jaehyun a glare. “watch how it’s actually done.”

he smirked, lowering himself into a plank. “looking forward to it.”

you took a step back, bounced on the balls of your feet, and leapt.

you might’ve landed a little too close to his back.

“jesus—are you trying to kill me?” jaehyun yelped, bracing himself.

“oops,” you said, not looking the least bit sorry.

from then on, training together became a battle of who could annoy the other more.

—

but the worst part? meal times.

since both teams had the same conditioning schedule, the coaches thought it would be a great idea for you all to eat together in the dining hall. something about team unity and bonding.

you called it suffering.

because every single meal, without fail, jaehyun would find a way to sit across from you.

like today.

“morning, partner.”

you didn’t even look up from your tray of eggs and rice. “go away.”

“nah, i like it here.”

you stabbed at your food aggressively. “why are you like this?”

“like what?” he asked, reaching over to steal a piece of your egg with his fork.

you smacked his hand away. “like that!”

leehan, seated next to jaehyun, chuckled. “dude, one day she’s gonna actually throw hands.”

“and i’ll be ready,” jaehyun said, grinning at you.

you rolled your eyes, turning your attention back to your food, determined to ignore him. but then—

clink.

you glanced up. jaehyun had casually placed his sports drink on your side of the table.

you frowned. “what?”

he smirked. “just marking my territory.”

sungho nearly choked on his juice. “bro, that sounds so wrong.”

taesan snickered. “he means his half of the table.”

you glared. “i hate you all.”

━

and then there was the winking.

the first time he did it, you thought it was an accident.

the second time, you realized it definitely wasn’t.

but by the fifth time? you were convinced he was just doing it to piss you off.

during games, during practice, even in the hallways—jaehyun had made it his personal mission to wink at you whenever he got the chance.

like during one of their practice matches.

you had been forced to stay behind in the gym, waiting for your team’s turn. so, unfortunately, you had a front-row seat to watching jaehyunshow off.

you sat on the bleachers, arms crossed, watching as jaehyun dribbled past a defender with ridiculous ease. he moved with that effortless confidence, quick on his feet, spinning past his opponent before driving straight to the basket.

the ball swished through the hoop, nothing but net. his teammates erupted into cheers.

jaehyun turned, scanning the gym, and then—

wink.

you scowled immediately. “oh, for fuck’s sake.”

your teammate, yuna, who was sitting beside you, snorted. “what is his problem?”

“he is the problem,” you muttered, gripping your water bottle with unnecessary force.

yuna hummed, clearly entertained. “you know, for someone who ‘hates’ him, you sure do pay a lot of attention.”

“i have to! someone needs to keep his ego in check.”

as if to prove your point, jaehyun jogged back to his side of the court, smug as ever, and made direct eye contact with you again.

you knew what was coming.

another wink.

you groaned dramatically, throwing your head back. “i hate him.”

woonhak, who had overheard from the bench, grinned. “that’s funny, ‘cause he sure loves pissing you off.”

you shot him a glare. “gee, really? hadn’t noticed.”

━

the winking didn’t stop. if anything, it got worse.

during practice, in the dining hall, even when you passed him in the hallways—he somehow found a way to send you that stupid, infuriating wink.

like today, after your volleyball practice.

you had just finished a brutal set of drills, sweat dripping down your back, when you spotted the basketball team lingering near the entrance. they must’ve been waiting for their turn in the gym.

and, of course, jaehyun was right at the front.

you barely spared him a glance as you grabbed your water bottle from the bench, but that didn’t stop him.

“looking good, captain,” he called out.

you narrowed your eyes. “shut up, jaehyun.”

he laughed, raising his hands in surrender before winking.

you swore you saw red.

leehan, standing beside him, sighed. “dude, what if she actually kills you?”

“nah,” jaehyun said, grinning, “i think she’d miss me too much.”

you threw your towel at his face.

━

but as much as you hated to admit it, life was never boring with jaehyun around.

even when the two of you were forced into situations that made you want to rip your hair out—like the latest disaster your biology professor had cooked up.

the day had started out normal enough. until you got your test results back.

you stared at the glaring red F on your biology test, feeling your soul leave your body.

beside you, jaehyun whistled, holding up his own paper with an identical F. “ouch.”

you turned to glare at him. “why are you failing?”

he shrugged. “dunno. wasn’t paying attention.”

“of course you weren’t.”

before you could spiral into a full-blown academic crisis, your professor cleared his throat, looking way too pleased for someone who had just failed half the class.

“since many of you didn’t do well on the test,” he began, eyes twinkling mischievously, “i’ve decided to give you all an opportunity to redeem yourselves.”

murmurs filled the classroom. you remained suspicious.

“you will be given a partner—someone who also failed.”

you immediately got a bad feeling.

“together, you will complete an assignment on responsibility and care. an experiment, if you will.”

you glanced at jaehyun, who looked just as confused.

the professor smiled. “for the next week, you will take care of an egg.”

silence.

then—

“a what.”

the professor clasped his hands together. “an egg! consider it a simulation of caring for a delicate, fragile life. you must protect it at all costs and document your progress. and, of course, your partner will be chosen randomly.”

your stomach dropped.

and then—

“y/n and jaehyun,” the professor announced.

you slammed your head onto your desk.

jaehyun, meanwhile, let out a low whistle. “well. this should be fun.”

you turned your head slightly to glare at him, cheek still pressed against the desk. “i swear to god, if you break our egg, i’m breaking you.”

he grinned. “relax, partner. we’ve got this.”

you groaned. “this is literally my worst nightmare.”

jaehyun leaned back, crossing his arms. “nah. your worst nightmare is me leaving the gym extra messy just for you.”

you lifted your head just enough to glare at him. “don’t test me.”

he winked.

you nearly flipped your desk.

“now listen carefully,” your professor continued. “your assignment is simple. you must keep your egg safe for one full week. if it cracks, you fail. if you forget it somewhere, you fail. if i so much as suspect that you’re not taking this seriously, you fail.”

you felt a headache forming.

professor lee’s eyes narrowed. “and trust me, i’ll know.”

a collective shudder ran through the class. professor lee was infamous for his unconventional teaching methods. last semester, he had made students carry around cabbages as part of a psychology experiment. cabbages.

you glanced at jaehyun, who was still grinning like he had won the lottery.

he thinks this is a joke.

you groaned. “i’m so screwed.”

“nah,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “we got this.”

you turned to him, deadpan. “jaehyun. you literally failed this class.”

he placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “so did you.”

“yeah, but at least i actually tried.”

he snorted. “right. well, don’t worry, partner. our egg’s in good hands.”

you didn’t believe that for a second.

“one last thing,” professor lee added, holding up a basket. “before you leave, come up and receive your child.”

you almost choked.

child?

yuna was practically vibrating with laughter beside you. “you’re gonna be a great mom.”

“shut up.”

jaehyun, on the other hand, was already making his way to the front, completely unbothered. when he returned, he was holding the egg in his palm, studying it like it was some ancient relic.

“alright, partner,” he said, plopping into his seat. “meet our kid.”

you stared at it.

it was just a normal egg. nothing special. fragile, small, and already giving you anxiety.

“we’re so failing this,” you muttered.

jaehyun scoffed. “have a little faith.”

you gave him a pointed look. “jaehyun. be honest. how long do you think you can go without dropping it?”

he paused.

then—

“...three days?”

you groaned again.

this was going to be the longest week of your life.

—

the first day of the project was already testing every ounce of patience you had.

you and jaehyun sat at one of the library tables, your so-called child resting in an old coffee cup between you. professor lee had made it clear that this assignment wasn’t just about keeping the egg safe—you had to document everything. feeding schedules (which made zero sense), bedtime routines, and even bonding activities.

you hated every second of it.

“this is the dumbest thing i’ve ever done,” you muttered, tapping your pen against the table.

jaehyun, who was busy doodling little lightning bolts around the word thunder in your shared notebook, smirked. “that’s because you lack vision.”

“oh, i have vision. i see our grades plummeting.”

he leaned back in his chair, tossing his pen in the air before catching it effortlessly. “relax, co-parent. we just have to act like responsible adults for a week.”

you squinted at him. “you literally left the egg unattended five minutes ago to go buy chips.”

he waved you off. “our kid was fine. independent.”

“it's an egg.”

“it's our egg.”

you exhaled sharply, choosing to ignore him as you scribbled in the notebook. but then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught him reaching for the cup.

you tensed immediately.

“what are you doing?”

“holding my child.”

“no. no touching.” you moved the cup further away. “i don’t trust you.”

he looked genuinely offended. “wow. you were the one who almost knocked it over earlier.”

“because you distracted me!”

“because you were making that stupid face while writing.”

“stupid face?” you gawked at him. “i do not make a stupid face.”

he shrugged. “if the shoe fits.”

you smacked his arm with the notebook. “contribute to this or i’m making you do the whole thing by yourself.”

“fine, fine,” he sighed, taking the pen from you. he twirled it between his fingers before scrawling something next to your notes.

you glanced at the paper.

“bonding activity: jaehyun teaches the egg how to shoot a three-pointer.”

you stared at him.

“you’re a menace,” you said.

he grinned. “and yet, here we are. bonded for life.”

you groaned, dropping your head onto the table.

and somewhere in the distance, leehan and taesan—who had been watching from another table—exchanged glances before bursting into quiet laughter.

the first time you stepped into jaehyun’s room, you had one goal: check on the egg, make sure it was intact, and leave.

but of course, nothing was ever that simple with him.

“welcome to the nursery,” jaehyun said, kicking the door shut behind him.

you rolled your eyes. “nursery? it’s your room.”

“our son lives here now,” he replied, completely serious. “show some respect.”

you sighed, stepping past him. his room was… surprisingly neat. you expected a mess—basketballs lying around, clothes thrown over furniture, maybe even an unmade bed. but aside from a few scattered notebooks and a pile of hoodies in the corner, it was normal.

too normal.

“where is it?” you asked, crossing your arms.

jaehyun walked over to his desk and held up a small shoebox. he lifted the lid, revealing the egg nestled in a bundle of socks.

you blinked. “you put it in a box?”

“i made a crib,” he corrected, placing the box gently on his bed. “cozy, right?”

you sat down at the edge of the bed, peering inside. "you could’ve at least used a tissue or something instead of Nike socks."

“those are premium cushioning. only the best for our kid.”

you scoffed, but you couldn’t deny that the egg was perfectly fine. untouched. safe.

and then, jaehyun did something unexpected—he sat next to you. not across from you, not at his desk, but right next to you, so close you could feel the warmth radiating off of him.

the usual chaos, the usual bickering, the usual tension that made you want to strangle him—it was still there. but something else settled in between the silence.

it was different here.

“so,” he said, voice quieter than usual. “how’s it feel knowing our son sleeps in my room?”

you turned to glare at him, but the second you did, you realized just how close he was.

your breath caught.

he was leaning on one arm, watching you with a lazy smirk, the kind that usually annoyed you to no end. but here, in this room, on this bed, it felt like something else.

something you didn’t want to name.

“i don’t care where it sleeps,” you muttered, looking away. “i just don’t want it broken.”

“i’ll take care of it,” he said, and for once, there was no teasing in his tone.

you swallowed. “good.”

but when you tried to stand up, he didn’t move.

“jaehyun.”

“hm?”

“move.”

he grinned. "say please."

you shoved his shoulder, and he finally let you go with a laugh, flopping back onto the bed as you practically sprinted for the door.

“same time tomorrow, co-parent?” he called after you.

you slammed the door behind you, heart pounding.

your hell starts the moment you start noticing things about jaehyun that you shouldn’t be noticing.

it’s the way he moves on the court—fast, precise, like he already knows exactly where the ball will land before it even gets there. it’s the way he runs a hand through his hair when he’s frustrated, the way he rolls his shoulders before a free throw, the way his eyes flicker to you after making a perfect shot, as if waiting for your reaction.

and it’s infuriating.

because now, even when you’re supposed to be focusing on your game, your team, your own plays—jaehyun lingers at the back of your mind like an annoying pop song you can’t get rid of.

but the worst part? it’s not just at the gym.

it’s when you’re in his room, sitting on his bed, checking on the egg like always. except now, you’re hyperaware of how close he sits, how he sometimes lets his arm rest against yours like it’s nothing. how, when you pout at him over something stupid—like the way he insists on calling your egg “junior” instead of a normal name—his gaze flickers to your lips for half a second too long.

and jaehyun?

he’s in denial.

because this was not supposed to happen. he wasn’t supposed to want to kiss you when you scolded him. wasn’t supposed to feel heat creeping up his neck when you absentmindedly played with your necklace while talking. wasn’t supposed to care that your team captain from another school once called you “impressive” after a practice match.

he wasn’t supposed to want you.

and unfortunately for him, his friends have noticed.

“so,” woonhak drawls one afternoon, lazily dribbling a basketball as they sit on the bleachers, watching you and your team wrap up practice. “when are you gonna admit it?”

jaehyun doesn’t even look up. “admit what?”

leehan snorts. “that you like her, dumbass.”

“i don’t,” jaehyun scoffs, leaning back against the bench.

sungho raises a brow. “right. that’s why you’re staring at her like she personally offended you by existing.”

jaehyun looks away immediately, only for leehan to chuckle.

“you do realize she probably feel the same way, right?”

that makes jaehyun freeze for a second.

taesan hums. “she still argue with you, sure. but i see the way she get all flustered when you compliment her. she didn’t used to react like that.”

jaehyun opens his mouth to deny it again, but then he thinks back.

to the way you stumbled over your words last week when he casually told you your spike was getting better. to the way your breath hitched when he tucked your hair behind your ear. to the way you hesitated before leaving his room the other night, as if you were starting to feel this too.

maybe his friends were right.

and that’s when jaehyun decides: it’s time to test the waters.

so he starts pushing boundaries—just a little.

at the gym, after practice, he doesn’t just wink at you like usual. he lingers, waiting for you to react, grinning when you groan and shove him away.

when you come over to check on the egg, he always has food ready, pretending it’s no big deal when he slides a plate toward you.

“i didn’t ask for this,” you huff, poking at the meal he made.

“didn’t say you did,” he shrugs, sitting across from you. “but you always look tired after practice. eat.”

and that confuses you.

because what the hell is he doing? what the hell does he want?

you’d always known jaehyun as the annoying basketball captain who drove you insane, but now…

now he’s holding your hand a second longer than necessary. now he’s calling you “co-parent” with a lazy grin that makes your stomach twist in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. now he’s casually running a hand through his hair while watching you in between classes, like he knows something you don’t.

and you hate that it scares you.

because if this is just another game to him, if he’s just messing with you—then why does it feel so real?

the egg cracks.

not metaphorically—though, honestly, it might as well be—but literally.

you’re standing in jaehyun’s room, holding what used to be your child (as he so dramatically called it), staring at the jagged fracture running across the eggshell. your breath catches in your throat.

“oh, shit,” you whisper.

jaehyun, who had been leaning against his desk, looks up from his phone. “what?”

you slowly turn to him, the broken egg cradled in your hands like a crime scene.

“we killed junior.”

for a moment, there’s silence. then—

“oh my god,” jaehyun breathes out, eyes widening.

“we’re failures.”

“we’re murderers.”

“professor lee is going to slaughter us.”

“okay, first of all,” jaehyun says, quickly moving toward you, “you’re the one who dropped it—”

“don’t you dare pin this on me.”

“—and second,” he continues, ignoring you, “we just need a replacement.”

you blink at him. “you want to… replace our child?”

“wouldn’t be the first time people switched babies at birth,” he shrugs.

“you’re insane.”

“do you want to fail?”

you purse your lips. no. but—

jaehyun sighs. “look, we can sit here mourning an egg, or we can fix the problem. your call.”

you scowl at him, but he’s right. begrudgingly, you set the cracked egg down and grab your bag.

“fine. but if we get caught—”

“we won’t,” he grins, already grabbing his car keys and intertwining his hand with yours, “let’s go, co-parent.”

—

you manage to replace the egg. you turn in your project. you pass.

but that’s not the ending.

the ending is this:

it’s late, and you’re at jaehyun’s house, sprawled out on his bed like always. the ceiling fan hums softly overhead, casting slow-moving shadows against the walls. the scent of his cologne lingers in the air—clean, familiar, a little too comforting. he’s sitting at the edge of the bed, lazily spinning a basketball on his finger, gaze half-lidded with concentration.

you’re supposed to feel relieved. the project is over. the ridiculous assignment, the stress, the stupid arguments—you survived it all. but your head is still spinning, not from exhaustion, but from something else. something heavier.

because things have shifted. you don’t bicker as much anymore. the teasing has changed. the tension isn’t sharp—it’s something softer now, something unspoken that curls around the edges of your conversations. something that lingers in the way his eyes stay on you a little longer than they should.

“so,” jaehyun says suddenly, voice cutting through the quiet. “you’re still thinking about it.”

you blink at him. “thinking about what?”

he finally looks at you, and the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s amused.

“us.”

your stomach flips. you sit up too fast, the mattress dipping beneath you. “there’s no us.”

jaehyun smirks. slow. knowing. like he’s heard the lie in your voice before you even said it.

“sure,” he hums, spinning the ball again. “but i think about it.”

your breath hitches.

“what?”

he tosses the ball aside. it rolls off the bed, thudding softly onto the carpet, but you barely hear it over the sudden rush of blood in your ears. because he’s shifting, leaning in, invading your space in a way that makes your pulse stutter.

closer than necessary. closer than friends should be.

“i think about how much fun it is to piss you off,” he murmurs, and his voice is different this time—lower, rougher. “i think about how much i like having you around.”

his hand lifts, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. the touch is barely there, but it burns.

“and i think about how, if i kissed you right now, you wouldn’t stop me.”

your breath catches.

because he’s right.

but the worst part? you don’t want to stop him.

you don’t move when his gaze flickers down to your lips. you don’t push him away when his fingers graze your jaw, thumb tracing slow, feather-light circles against your skin.

and when he finally tilts his head and closes the distance, when his lips press against yours in something hesitant but undeniably real—

you kiss him back.

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ribbeoms · 1 month ago

Text

LIKE ME! (LIKE ME!) — 006 : the blind leading the blind

PREVIOUS MASTERLIST NEXT

BOYNEXTDOOR PERM TAGLIST — @miumura @ancnymcnzjy @ilovedallywinston @i03jae @borednia @s0shroe @leehanwish @sol3chu @en-dream @ribbeoms @itsactuallylina @macapunoz @hollxe1 @r1kification @mensisim @sunghxxnie @mydearyeseo @taesanfav @wonzzziezzzz @ijustwannareadstuff20 @tanghuyuj @ranjupotato @mimimimiaa @ningizuo

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ribbeoms · 2 months ago

Note

holy

Is it ok to ask for hurt-comfort with shu based on this tweet?

https://twitter.com/galacticidiots/status/1617931636687122434?t=_32nzHkqmlCRZZfbknSZBg&s=19

You used to look up to him but suddenly he grew colder and you didn't know why. So you chose to be a brat and make him your rival, only to find out you broke his heart due some misunderstanding

Thank you so much (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

trading a heart

woaaaa. WOAAAAAA, anon. that’s such a good prompt i’m gonna lose my mind. woaaaaaa. i could snap wood between my teeth that’s such a good prompt. WOA. it was so good that i wrote over… 11k words… if you’re not going to read it all in one sitting remember to like/rb so you don't lose it

tags: friends to enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, kinda slow burn? i guess it counts as slow burn for a tumblr post

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You are a witch in a small town. The paranormal comes naturally to you in divinations, and your tarot readings are well-received among the superstitious. One way or the other, your readings herald the inevitable, and you’ve more than earned your reputation as one of the best diviners in the area.

Spellcraft, however, was a learned skill, though one you’ve honed for a long time. Your best friend in both life and magic taught you his techniques in return for some of your future sight. You were no slouch, and you had a repertoire of other practitioners’ wisdom in your book of shadows, but at the end of the day, there’s a reason why your clients come to you for tarot rather than talismans.

Still, it doesn’t mean you aren’t willing to flex your muscles and try something new! You regularly scrounge online stores for spell components on discount. Usually you expect a bushel of nightlock here and a dubious animal remain there, but today was the Powerball of witchy bargain bins. One of the most reliable online stores you’ve ordered from just sent an email to their newsletter advertising a tinted glass jar with a preserved object and liquid inside.

USED, PURIFIED - Genuine Organic Sorcerer Broken Heart - Fresh Vintage Natural Human Heartbreak Essence, 100% Ethically Sourced from Licensed Sorcerer for Cleansing, Blessing, Cursing, Hexes, Spellcraft Witchcraft Sorcery Wizardry, 1-CT Solid Preserve 8.4 oz Sustainable LIMITED EDITION LIMITED STOCK, the caption said.

So like, HOLY FUCKING SHIT.

You glanced at the $19.99 USD price tag and didn’t even hesitate to click ‘Buy Now’. Thank God your browser saved your information. If you lost the race for such a valuable material at such a low price, you would never forgive yourself. You wait in anticipation as the website processes your purchase.

Of course, the heart was a necessary organ for the body itself to function, and to rip it out of a human would be just plain organ trafficking. Magic practitioners, however, have discovered spells and rituals to force the soft essence of the heart- the soul of a person and where their emotion takes root- out from the body while keeping the physiological heart in tact, often to be used as a powerful amplifier to spellcraft. A human heart is hard to come by, but considered one of the highest quality, most luxury components a practitioner could use, especially if the emotions captured from the heart essence matches the intended final result of the spell. The more intense the emotion, the more impressive the effects of the product.

Not only that, but the hearts of magical humans were even more potent than an average person. Their metaphysical studies grant them more awareness of their heart essence in order to connect themselves with the universe and its forces at large, and allowed them to understand their emotions with awareness. More awareness means the emotion is stronger without some of that pesky doubt, and stronger emotions mean powerful ingredients. Magic literally courses through the essence of the sorcerer’s heart, meaning it’s easier to use than the typical dose. If you were a collector you’d be even more delighted. After all, no magic practitioner in their right mind would sell their heart, so their power is only exceeded by their rarity.

You’re taken to the receipt page, and you silently cheered at your computer. You’re about to have a blast experimenting on all sorts of rituals with this bad boy.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *�� ° . ☆

The next day is a relatively quiet one at your sanctuary. Open from late morning to evening, the sanctuary sells oddities, spiritual goods, and spellcasting materials, but anyone who’s seen your little establishment knows the real draw is the owner and their fortune-telling, always too eerily accurate to dismiss as just coincidence.

You can easily sum up your clients of the day in just a few breaths. You had your usual handful of newcomers: most of them asked about their love life’s latest emergency, but a small percent wanted readings on wealth, and just one person asked for a reading on the health of their mind, body and spirit. Some of your frequent stay-at-home mothers visitors came in for fortunes, and as always you loved listening to them titter and gossip about the latest PTA drama. To cap it off, you were beginning to get close to a new regular, a young university student trying to navigate the workload as a straight-A student in high school as well as courting with a girl in one of his classes.

All in all, a good day of work. A few minutes before closing, you figure there won’t be any other customers for the rest of the day. You make use of your time cleaning the tables and reorganizing a display case of crystals- early that afternoon a horde of preteen emos entered your store noisily, ogled over the pretty rocks, and left it a mess, and you’re hoping none of them stole anything- when the wind chimes by the door clattered against one another, signaling a last-minute visitor. You speak before you turn to look at the person. “Hello. Welcome to-��

You glance at a pair of blocky sunglasses, then your eyes meet bright amethyst. The sorcerer in the threshold takes the sunglasses in his hand, and they disappear in midair with a snap of his wrist.

You aren’t used to seeing him in street clothes rather than his usual ritual garb. He wears his hoodie over dark hair accented by pink, purple and golden blond, and keeps his hands in his pockets. His eyes don’t waver. He’s focused.

You feel a chill crawl up your spine as you utter his name. “Yamino.”

“That’s me,” he says. There’s no joking tone to it. “I came here to speak to you.”

“And I said, my sanctuary is closed. I’ve got things to do.”

“Like watching Wednesday over a pint of ice cream?” Shu Yamino still has a sense of humor, but time has worn the warmth in his words away. Without it, his wit feels scathing to you. So what if Netflix and snacks were calling your name? That didn’t give him the right to call you out like that, whether he intended to or not. After all, you had too much of a history with him to consider intention anymore.

You evade discussing your post-work plans. “Like closing my sanctuary and going on with my day. Besides, I’m set to close in a minute. Better talk fast before I lock you out.”

“I came here for a reading-”

“Then you should’ve come here earlier-”

“-As a friend.”

The ice in your veins burns into hot anger. “We are not friends,” you spit. “You and I mean nothing to each other.”

“Then for old times’ sake, when we were.” He slaps a wad of cash on the counter, and as petty as you are, you’re just a little greedier. You count the bills. It’s way more than your rates for a single reading. Your eyes divert from the cash back to Shu’s face, trying to figure out his angle.

“Reader, I know our bond is…” Shu pauses, trying to think of an appropriate word. “...Strained, but you’re a gifted witch. I trust you and your abilities.”

You cross your arms. “Cool story, bro. Got any other cliches you want to tell me?”

“Think of it as a favor. I’ll be in your debt.”

“I’d rather eat my own foot than talk to you again.”

“Then I’ll get out of your sight after this reading. Keep the cash and call on me if you need anything in return, but until you do I won’t seek you out again. You have my word as a sorcerer.”

Your face is set into a grim frown. Shu’s presence alone was enough to irritate you, and his audacity to consult you was revolting.

However, the forty dollars extra on top of your usual fee alone is enough to persuade the cheapskate in your heart. The favor would be excellent if you were ever in a pinch, too- after all, as much as you disliked him, Shu was one of the most powerful magic casters in the area, and an esteemed sorcerer in his own right. You could ask him to perform feats average practitioners could only dream of.

Also, he’d stop bugging you. Thank God.

“I’ll do it if I keep the change,” you say.

Shu’s lips break into a smile. All these years and his smile still hadn’t changed at all, a pointed V-shape that reminded you of a cat. “Deal.”

He shakes your hand. That smile never changed, but the joy behind it did. When you used to call Shu your best friend, it was like a warm sunbeam, but the years whittled down the light, and all that was left was an unreadable, cold shade.

You place his money into the cash register, flip the door sign to read CLOSED, and enter the back of the sanctuary. Shu trails behind you without a word.

As much as you hated to say it, he had a point about ‘old times.’ Growing up, you two were inseparable. He came from a family of sorcerers and your lineage had the gift of foresight. Your magical origins branded you the outcast among your peers whether they knew of your abilities or not, and Shu was the only one that could relate to you for a long time. He was the one that taught you about conjuring and curses, and you helped him hone his own intuition. Intuition is the gateway to the magic of foresight, after all.

Even once you started networking with other magic practitioners, you’ve never met anyone quite like Shu. He was insightful and smart, with a good nature that can take a joke and keep a conversation going. He cared about others, but knows how to stand up for himself, and even though his specialty in curses can get macabre, you’ve never seen him lose sight of what he wants.

If you had to look back on your friendship, that was what attracted you to him for so long: even in his weakest moments, he stayed true to himself.

But that was then, and this is now. You don’t know what happened to him, but two years ago it was like a switch flipped somewhere in Shu’s head. The kind sorcerer you knew and (you were ashamed to say this now, but it was true then) loved began to act like nothing could touch his heart anymore. He was emotionless and dry whenever you talked to him, and talked to him, you did; you gave him every opportunity to let you know how you could help him, if something happened, if you did something wrong.

He never did. You snapped at him one day for insisting everything was fine while acting so callous. To be fair, you aren’t proud of how immature you acted. You should’ve just let your best friend drift away, as much as it pained you, but instead, the rift forming between your friendship turned into a chasm the day you fought.

Ever since, interacting with Shu Yamino was like planning moves in a cold war. Detaching yourself from your best friend since childhood was hard enough, but the feelings you held for him made it even harsher. The few times you spoke with him afterwards, you resorted to anger when he showed apathy, and the resentment grew even more.

After the initial arguments things just went silent. You focused on your career, opened a sanctuary all your own, and tried to forget about the hole Shu left behind. It worked, but only up until a few weeks ago. He’d been trying to get in contact with you for a few weeks now, and though you would’ve been relieved to hear it years ago, you were done with pretending like that friendship was salvageable, and tried to avoid him as best as you could.

You cast a curtain aside, revealing your private consultation room. The walls are covered in tapestries and drapes, and the corners are lined with short tables full of candles. One side of the wall is covered by a giant shelf with rows of divination tools, and sundried herb cuttings hang by the window before you shut the curtain and cast the room into dimness. In the center of the room was a table. Shu sits at the table on the side closest to the door, and you sit opposite from him, a deck of tarot cards in your hands.

You internally pray to any spirits nearby to grant you the strength to pretend like Shu was just another client and resist the urge to punch him in the face. Either they listened or you perfected your customer service voice, because your voice only sounds a little fake-happy. “So what shall I be looking into today?”

If Shu was feeling any negativity he was doing way better at hiding it than you. He wastes no time in asking his question. “Am I doing the right thing by pursuing love?”

A bitter thought dredges up to the front of your head. Of course he’d ask about love. Anyone would do anything for love, including talk to their loathsome old friend.

But you push out the thought for the sake of professionalism. “Let me clear the room.”

You close your eyes and your mind goes blank. You place trust in your sight and channel upon the abilities of your bloodline.

Outside your mind’s eye, candles alight the color of your magic, illuminating the contours of the room and the faces of the practitioners inside. You make a sign with your hands and utter an old blessing to cleanse negativity and encourage your intuition. As you do so, an otherworldly feeling descends upon the room. You did your best work when this blessing did its job, and you welcome the familiarity. You’re in the zone now.

You open your eyes. A veil of awareness casts over your vision as you shuffle your tarot cards. “Allow me to see with clarity and speak with conviction. Soul of the world, tell me: Is Shu Yamino doing the right thing by pursuing love?”

The cards spread under your hand face-down in a steady line. You know what to expect. Choosing the cards appeals to your instincts, but only after observing the energy the deck offers the client. Before long you pick out three cards and place them in a horizontal line across from Shu, then wave your hand to the remaining deck. The unchosen cards levitate and place themselves in a neat stack on your command.

You flip the first card. An armored knight atop a white horse beckons. “Death.”

The next was an angel, a graceful figure that pours water between two goblets. “Temperance.”

Finally, you reveal the last card. A judge in red sits atop her throne, a double-edged sword in her hand. “Justice.”

You breathe in the story the cards tell you, and begin your analysis. “Death heralds the end of a journey and the birth of the new. It’s no bad omen. Either you’ve changed as a person-” and you try to hide the bite of your tone- “-or you’re soon to enter a major change. I’m inclined to believe the former, since it’s the first card in your spread. That position denotes context and the matter at hand. Know who you are, and where you’re trying to go. It’ll be your driving force to keep moving as you navigate your love life.”

You clear your throat. “Are you single?”

Shu nods.

“And you love someone?”

“Certainly,” he says. That’s the most assertive you’ve heard him all day.

“Then trust them,” you say. “Your second card is in the center of the spread, and indicative of your actions. Temperance is moderation. She is calm and rational, and declares patience as a mark of diligence. She invites you to take the middle path, and avoid any rash decisions. After all, she knows that good things come to those that wait, and those that make the choice to wait are biding their time rather than being held back by inaction.

“In relation to love, her advice means that you need to take a step back and examine your past actions, as well as the ones you’re about to take in your love life. Love is a two-way street, after all. This is not the time to make big moves; instead, let the object of your affections come to you. They have their own choices to make, too. What will be, will be. Temperance is patience. Remember that.

“Should you continue down this path then Justice will greet you at your destination. Soon comes the reckoning where you can bear the fruits of your labor. I hope you have good karma saved up, because this is where it can reward you or ruin you. Whatever choices you inflicted upon others will return to you, and you had best be accountable for it.”

You cast your eyes upon Temperance next to Justice. “Justice also calls for a decisive choice in a moment of uncertainty. In this case, I’d imagine heeding Temperance’s advice is what will grant you a merciful resolution when Justice delivers. After all, in love readings, Justice can represent a need for you to trust your partner. I’d imagine that’s only strengthened by how Temperance encourages you to trust the person you care for. Honesty is key here. So is that trust. When you accept that the object of your affections has their own life to live, and give them the room to live it, they’ll realize their own feelings about you. Be ready to accept them whether or not they reciprocate. Wherever your bond goes after it, it’s going to be built upon a foundation of understanding, faith, and truth between you.”

You exhale, and you and Shu sit in the silence of the room.

Shu’s face is as unreadable as ever. He looks down at his spread, his lashes covering his amethyst eyes. He silently moves his lips as he thinks, totally lost in thought, but you can’t pinpoint anything about how he’s taking the reading.

“So is Death my past?”

“In a sense. The position also represents your current self. Something must ‘die’ in order to move on from one phase of your life to the next- namely, the phase that your reading foresees. That can include a death imminent or one that you’ve already accepted and moved past. That’s up for you to determine.”

“How do I know what needs to die?”

“I can’t tell you. You have to reflect and figure out what you need to let go of yourself.”

His mouth lowers into a frown. “That sounds inconvenient.”

“Uh, I read fortunes, not minds. It’s not like I know what’s going on in your head all the time.” Dealing with you would be much easier if I could, you add on in your thoughts.

Shu mumbles to himself. “I wish you did.”

“You know what? Me too,” you retort. Shu’s been pushing too many of your buttons, and you can’t even hide your irritation anymore. “Are we really about to get into this again?”

He meets your glare. You can’t even tell if he’s angry, but those eyes are so bright and pointed, it makes you feel like you have a sniper laser pointed in the center of your face. “Reader. Things happen. I thought we were over it.”

“Clearly not! Even after all this time you’ve been so unresponsive whenever I talk to you.” Your face tenses into a grimace as you speak. The candles around the room flare tall and flick in your colors. “Look, if we’re still talking about how I reacted? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked so much about it. But I was concerned, and you have no right to just look at me like I’m subhuman! I just did a reading for you that by all means I could’ve refused and you’re going to complain? I thought I taught you better than that.”

At that, Shu sits up a little straighter. That’s the most surprise you’ve seen him express since your first argument. You’re high on getting a rise out of him, now. You want to see him squirm. Or do anything other than that stupid unreadable front. Your voice grows in volume as you rant at him. “You know what? I should’ve refused. I can’t believe you. You have the nerve to come into my workplace and make me stay back late because we used to be friends and- and I don’t even know you anymore. We’re not friends. And I guess what we used to have doesn’t mean anything to you now, because if you do then you wouldn’t be bitching about my readings the way you just did.”

He speaks up louder, but it’s barely a whisper compared to your unleashed anger. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Then how did you mean it? Does it matter? Is ‘what you mean’ going to fix everything? You’re ridiculous if you think so. After all we’ve been through, you stepping foot into my space was disrespect enough, and now you have the utter indecency to pretend like my readings are meant to stump you-”

“I never said that-”

“‘-I wish you did,’” you mock, and he bristles. “When you of all people should know that it requires thought! It’s self-reflection, not a quick fix! You dare disrespect me like that! In my sanctuary!”

Shu stands up. “I think I need to go.”

“Congratulations, you finally used your intuition correctly! I’m sooo proud,” you sarcastically say. You snap your fingers. The remaining tarot cards flick to the deck in time as all the candles in the room blow out, except for one. The consultation room goes pitch black, but one thick pillar candle by your seat illuminates your face through a ball of flame much too powerful for its wick. “Get out. Never talk to me again, you piece of human trash.”

You feel a brisk tailwind behind you as Shu awkwardly leaves. You try to revel in how uncomfortable he must be, but the discomfort spreads to you and gnarls at you in your chest.

Everything about Shu makes you feel like rot, but the gnarl is new. You stay in your chair, lit only by the candle beside you, and slump. You stare straight ahead in the dark as the gnarl runs through your body and the white-hot rage subsides into resentment.

You think back on how his apathy broke during your spat. To see him break his apathy was what you’ve been waiting for over all these years, and inciting it was like feeding the hungry monster that thrived on hate. In that moment, you were alive. What frozen feelings you had turned to lava, but now, there isn’t even a temperature attached to the monster gnarl.

You let out a grumble that doesn’t even begin to express the gnarl.

“Is this hate?” You wonder out loud. At this point, you know there are three inevitabilities in the known universe: death, taxes, and Shu Yamino being the human incarnation of dirt. Like a fact, the emotion behind the argument is gone, and for a moment you think that this is what it’s like to be the emotionless Shu, empty and hollow save for the gnarl of negativity deep inside, biting through your core, dyeing your mind gruesome colors and spreading down the system like watercolor.

You can’t deny it at this point. Over the last two years you gave him all the time in the world to rethink himself, from the arguments to the silence to even the reading he so rudely walked away from. It’s his own choice now to brush you off and act so high and mighty and cold.

It seeps into your skin like water on a stone statue. The feeling is like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Raw and unfiltered, you realize it in a steady rhythm. Never in your life have you felt this way. You hate Shu Yamino.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You return to your home seething. You’re completely done with everything the last two years threw at you, and the only thing on your mind is the newly discovered hatred.

You brood over the evening, and by the time it’s your day off, you’re just as grumpy as you were the day you read Shu’s cards. Netflix be damned, nothing can turn your brain off from the boil and churn of the gnarl. What you wouldn’t give for him to learn a lesson or two.

No. You scratch the thought out. Shu had more than enough time to get his act together. If anything, it’s about time he understands exactly how much pain he’s put you through.

You think about possible revenge plots when your mind drifts over to the rare, potent ingredient you bought on a deal one night. You still haven’t used your sorcerer’s heart.

The monster gnarl takes over.

You enter your office, a wide room with a clear floor and spell components all along the shelves. A cauldron sits over an unlit hearth, and blackout curtains give you just enough light as needed for certain spells. The decorations in this room are plain, but nothing is out of place. You put a lot of effort into making a workplace you can concentrate in.

A bookcase stands next to the door, and you run your finger along the spines of spellbooks. It stops at a grimoire labeled Unconventional Curses for the Discerning Practitioner. You smile. This was a book Shu gave you years ago before your friendship soured. It would be awfully ironic if his undoing was a curse just like his specialty, invoked by his enemy from a book he gifted to them when they were friends.

You slide the book out and place it in the center of the room’s floor, where you intend to sit. But first, you dig through a storage container of your finest components. You don’t need to rifle through it too hard before you find it: a jar made of dark glass to hide the preserved object inside from the light.

With utmost care, you pick the sorcerer’s heart out from the container, and place it in front of you as you sit down beside the grimoire. You kept the label when the sorcerer’s heart was delivered for easy identification. The retailer sold it as a ‘broken heart,’ which referred to immense negative emotion when the essence of the soul was removed. However, that was all the information they provided. It would probably be a good idea to use your foresight on it. The last thing you want is to waste some of the essence on an incompatible curse because its emotions contrasted with the curse’s foundations.

You chant your favorite blessing and feel the veil cast over you, just as you did during your last tarot reading. “Allow me to see with clarity and speak with conviction.”

That familiarly otherworldly feeling comes again, and already you can feel the basics of the sorcerer’s heart. The negativity invested in it, for example, lived up to the name. Misery dominates the heart.

You crack open the jar, and lift the lid by the tiniest amount, enough to get hit with the chemical smell. It reminds you of a hospital. “Show me what this heart has been through.”

The scent carries you through the misery, and breaks it into smaller chunks. Hope must have existed here once, because if not, then how do you explain the overwhelming regret?

You identify some core values the heart holds. Whoever sold their heart must have treasured their loved ones a lot. You close your eyes and see visions of the original seller from their point of view. You watch them continually give themselves away for the sake of others.

Sure enough, the seller was a sorcerer. You recognize the magic they cast as curses to those that scorned the ones they care about, and conjurations to those who need them. Additionally, they were likely a professional practitioner as opposed to a hobbyist, considering how often they cast.

As you meditate, you file through the memories. The most recent before the heart was removed were all punctuated by inactivity. Perhaps a moment of depression or loneliness before the heart was sold? The memories get foggier the further back you go, but they all summarize into isolation. The root of the misery, you presume. They’re too lost in thought that they don’t interact with the world itself.

“What were you thinking so hard about?” You muse.

The heart dissolves your vision. Loneliness is the first thing you identify, and you’re not surprised. The hands of the sorcerer are young, but you watch them age before your eyes into prominent veins and thin bone. They’re afraid of living their entire life alone, you conclude.

You hear laughter and voices around the sorcerer, old and haggard in a blank void, and recognize it as celebrations. Strangers and their joy of milestone landmarks, grand events like renewed vows and children, to even simple things. You hear the pop of a cap removed off a marker and know on instinct it’s an important test graded perfectly, and in another a song of a student practicing by themselves. That loneliness is so stifling they’re missing out on basic joys of life. They’re too worried about a hypothetical future far away from now.

Your breath hitches when you recognize one of the voices. It’s Mrs. Yamino, Shu’s mother. You hear the pride in her voice as she describes her son, and the sorcerer’s heart pulses in uselessness. Unease sets in, but your curiosity just needs to know, and you focus in on Mrs. Yamino.

The heart leads you in the direction of treasured people from the life of the sorcerer. Shu’s parents are both close to it, and things start to fall into place when you realize you recognize most of these blurry faces. There’s not many, and you don’t know them like the back of your hand, but you can connect the dots. You’ve exchanged words with a handful of these people, or heard mention of them over time.

Your own heart freezes when you meet the eye of yourself. A perfect copy of your face. The copy is soft over the blurry vision but you recognize the details of yourself, from the rise of your cheekbones to the slope of your nose, the way your brows quirk and the flecks of individual color in your eyes. You clock the shirt you wear as one from- from two years ago.

The copy of yourself doesn’t open their mouth, but you hear their detached voice drive icicles under your skin. “Disaster comes.”

You snap out of the vision. You feel your own heart beat in your chest.

You seal the jar and take in your surroundings. You’re back in your office, and the chemical smell dissipates away. You’re breathing heavily, and feel a trickle along your forehead. You brush it away, and realize you were sweating.

“What the hell,” you say out loud, because what else is there to say? There’s no way. This couldn’t be any worse, but you need the confirmation. You feel gross, but- there’s simply no way you can believe it unless you hear it from the heart itself.

Your hands wrap around the sorcerer’s heart, and you open the lid once more, even more cautious than the first time. You take a deep breath in hopes of steadying your own beat. “Heart, please be honest. Do I know your owner?”

As your vision goes dark, the black is only brightened by marks of pink and purple magic. Your heart sinks when you recognize the insignias they form. Pink curves into geometric heart-like shapes, and the purple spurts out from it in flame. A single shikigami from white paper brushes against the hearts.

You close the jar of the sorcerer’s heart- Shu Yamino’s heart- as tight as you can.

All thoughts of gnarled revenge go silent as you desperately start looking through your contacts. You never had the guts to delete his phone number, but now you’ve never been more grateful to have it available.

Reader 7:48 PM: I figured it out

Reader 7:48 PM: Why we always fight over nothing

Reader 7:49 PM: We need to talk about it

Reader 7:50 PM: Call me ASAP

He doesn’t respond. You don’t even know if he opened your texts or not. You try to be patient and distract your mind, but this is just too big to ignore, and you blow up the messages of his social media next.

Over half an hour passes without a response from Shu, and the time only makes the dread stronger. Everything makes sense now. Of course Shu would be so apathetic about everything for the past two years, he literally cut out his own heart. Anyone without the essence of their own heart would ignore their own emotions, because they don’t have emotions to experience!

However, one thing is nagging at you. Why on Earth would Shu sell his heart? He was more accredited than you, and you were doing just fine financially managing your sanctuary. Surely he couldn’t be in a tight enough spot to sell his heart for cash. He’s single and in love, and you didn’t get the vibe that he was going through a bad breakup, especially since it’s been over two years since he removed his heart. How do you stay in love without a heart? How do you pursue love from before selling your heart? And why was his heart’s vision of you so clear, God, you were one of the clearest visions you saw in an ocean of blurred faces!

More time passes as you desperately research what to do, and you notice Shu hasn’t read a single one of your messages, even on the platforms with read receipts. Even when he isn’t in the room, he still finds a way to tick you off.

The gnarl tries to rise, but you stave it off. By all means, you shouldn’t care so much about him after all you’ve told yourself, but he really is someone you’ve never found a replacement for. You’ve spent so much time in your past with him that it feels wrong to just keep his heart as some kind of object. You think about all your arguments, and… you wonder exactly how much of it was affected by the fact that he lived without a heart for so long. You never felt good about standing up for yourself, but you were justified, and you weren’t going to regret it at all, but you’re wondering about how much of a hero Shu is in his own story, and if he really sees you as the enemy you imaged him as all this time.

You stand up, still a little shaken, and take his heart in your hands as you look around for a bag, a jacket, and your keys. Even if he’s not the person you once knew, even if he always makes the choice to hurt you… He’s still a person. And the gnarl feels nightmarish, and you don’t want to be ruled by it anymore. You can’t leave him out to dry like that, and you deserve the closure even if you never talk to him again.

You lock the door behind you, and book it to Shu’s place.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You rap on Shu’s door one, two, three times. No response.

You pout at nothing, and knock another three times. “Yamino! Shu Yamino, I know you’re in there-”

The door opens before you finish your knocking and your sentence.

Sure enough, the man of the hour is on the other side of the threshold. The nicest way you can put it is that he looks like a doll that was left under the bed for too long. His eyes are so bright, but you can see the slight redness underneath his eyelids, and it strikes you that he hasn’t been sleeping well. He’s wearing a different hoodie than the one you saw him wear earlier that week, but it’s a far cry from his usual outfits, even when he’s relaxing at home.

Shu cocks his head, and you realize you’ve been silent this entire time. You jostle your head and muster up your courage. “I need to talk to you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to see me again,” he says.

“I did, but then I found this.” You rifle through you bag and shove the jar of the sorcerer’s heart against his chest. His body curves at the light impact. “We’ve got a lot to discuss. Let me in, please. For your sake.”

He stares at the preserve of his own heart for one, two, three seconds, before moving to the side and inviting you inside.

His home smells like patchouli burned and on the edge of fading, and despite everything, it’s as organized as ever, but that doesn’t stop him from saying “Sorry about the mess.” The house is small, but full of open spaces as you remember it, and you both sit on cushions in one of the emptier rooms. You can already feel the tinge of magic in this room, and you assume this is one where he practices his magic.

Sure enough, you blink and in front of you is an empty glass. Small licks of purple fire surround it, a mark of Shu’s magic. You bring it to your lips and you don’t even need to imagine your favorite beverage in order to taste it. When you lower it, sure enough, the drink is inside the cup without a trace of flame. This was one of Shu’s favorite welcoming conjurations whenever you visited in the past, and it lends you more comfort than you’d like to admit. Some things really don’t change.

Despite the familiarity, you set the drink down, and look straight at Shu. His preserved heart is to the left of you, out of his reach. You start your story. “I bought a practitioner’s heart on a bargain site ages ago. It was advertised as a sorcerer’s broken heart. The site’s words, not mine.”

You elect not to mention how you almost cursed Shu’s name into his own undoing. “I was about to use it for a spell, but I wanted to do some identification on it so I knew exactly what to expect from it. You deserve an apology for that. I saw a lot. I always knew you were hiding something, and I’m sorry that it came through magic after you sold your heart, instead of you telling me directly. But that’s how I figured out that it was you. I saw so many people I recognized, and the common factor between all of them was that they were all important to you.

“I checked the receipt email from when I bought it. Yeah, I was surprised I still had it too. But both the date when I bought it and the date when the site said it was extracted checks out with about the same timeframe you started to act so weird around me. So that’s why, isn’t it? I always got so mad at you for being so callous. I still do. But it’s because you’re missing your own heart. I’m not going to apologize for defending myself when you were acting like a prick, but I don’t think I can fault you for it. Or at least, not entirely.

“But all things considered, whether you intended to hurt me or not, you did. A lot. I’m going to remember the things you told me for a long time. But I’m also going to remember our past friendship for just as long, and you’re very lucky for that. What I want is closure. You always told me everything was fine, but you sold your own heart. Clearly things weren’t. And I don’t want to force you to tell me everything, but I just need to know. Were all our fights because I never knew you lost your heart?”

You observe Shu carefully. He closed his eyes as you recounted your story, and his chest slowly rose and fell in time with his breathing. He hasn’t taken a single sip of his enchanted cup, and the purple fire dances around the brim, waiting to fulfill its purpose. He looked serene as a painting, and you’d even believe it if it wasn’t for the grisly truth in a jar.

“Well, I do want to explain,” he finally says, after much deliberation that looks like nothing. “I should’ve been less of a coward and just told you. It’s always been you, after all. I sold my heart because I love you.”

What.

“What,” you say.

Then the shock sets in. “I mean. What? Like- you just- I mean- what?”

“I said, the reason why I sold my heart was because I was in love with you. Still am.” He averts his eyes and scratches the back of his head, but his serene apathy doesn’t change. “It was too much to bear, so I removed my heart.”

“I heard that.” The blood rushes to your head. The perfect answer to the mystery shatters. “I just don’t understand. I don’t get it at all. Are you messing with me?”

“I would never. Not over something as important as this.” “Then what am I missing? Why would you remove your heart because you’re in love? And- and with me! What the hell do you mean, you’re in love with me?”

“I figured it out about three years ago,” Shu said. “But I remember how I viewed you way before then. Things change, whether you want them or not, and it takes you a lot longer than you’d expect to realize it. I look back on what it was like growing up together as friends and compare it to how I saw you years ago as functioning adults, and there’s movement there. Feelings get stronger over time, and it’s unlike anything I’ve felt before. You’re an amazing person, Reader. I hope you realize that. Even through all our fights, I always thought the world of you for being able to simply hold your own. You don’t give up on the things you care about, and even when we did fight, I knew in the end you were in the right, even when you weren’t correct. I never could be. I didn’t have a heart, after all.

“I digress. I felt the warmth and the lightness way before that moment three years ago. I figured it was a crush then. Who wouldn’t? You have an energy all to your own that just gravitates people to you. I guess it makes sense I’d be affected.” Shu’s eyes cast downward. “But we’ve been such close friends for so long then, and for a crush? I wasn’t about to throw it all away for something as insignificant as that, especially when all my crushes before cleared themselves up quickly enough before they could get me into trouble. I made peace with ignoring it and just being happy as your friend.

“That worked for a while. The crush faded, and I’ve never been so relieved, until weeks or months later when it returned. Rinse and repeat. Every time I thought my crush was over for sure, it would only be a few more days until everything just comes back in droves, and over time, I realized I wasn’t even getting over it like I thought I was. It comes in waves of intensity, but it’s always constant, and always just a reminder that you’re one of the people I care for the most. That was three years ago. I realized that much time and that much care, even when you went through your lows, could never be something superficial like a crush. That’s when I realized I loved you.”

You have to admit, you’ve been hanging onto his every word but still have trouble wrapping your head around it. That long? And you had no clue?

You place your hands over your mouth and cheeks, and hope it hides your hot blush. All of it is so unexpected. You speak up. “That’s where everything went wrong?”

“Almost. That was when I was starting to make a name for myself as a sorcerer for hire. Lucky timing. We didn’t talk as frequently as we used to because we were both paying more attention to our careers, and for me, made less time to think about my love life. It was easier.” Shu finally takes a sip of his enchanted cup. When he places it down, you smell espresso and a hint of chocolate. “It’s so stupid. I visited my parents for dinner one evening, and everything was fine, but they mentioned that I need to get out more. Find a partner to introduce them to and all that. It was just another subject when we were talking, but I laid in bed that night thinking I couldn’t just move on after so much time stuck on you. I had to make a move.”

Shu raises his wrist and curls his fingers. The coffee spirals out of his cup and dances in the air just a few inches out of the mug, but not a drop spills as he bends the stream into patterns. You recognize this as one of his old nervous ticks. “But let’s be real. I’m a pretty spineless guy. I spent ages agonizing over how to tell you.” The coffee curves into a heart, just like the ones that generate whenever he performs a spell. “You and I both know my intuition’s pretty bad. I was so sick of wussing out, I tried divining my own future so many times to figure out what I need to do. Tarot cards, runes, tea leaves… none of it made sense to me. I couldn’t muster up the courage to ask anyone else for advice, either. You were the only person I could ever trust, but you were also the only person on my mind. And then I realized, of course. The best person to ask about confessing to someone, is that person themselves. I requested a reading.”

An epiphany dawns on you. “I remember that. It was the last time you asked me to read your fortune before this week, just over two and a half years ago.”

“I remember my spread so viscerally.” Shu lowers his hand. The coffee plops into the cup obediently. “I didn’t have the courage to mention my love life, so I asked you-”

“‘Will I be happy with the choices I plan on making?’”

You both say it at the same time. Shu’s lips form into a small smile, but the look behind his amethyst eyes is bittersweet.

He continues. “The Hermit, the Tower, and the Moon. The Hermit explained that I’ve spent so much time being introspective that I became too much of an introvert. And the Tower, that disaster comes. The Moon only confirmed that my future outcome would be full of trickery. Pretty gnarly reading. Plus, it came from you, and even if we didn’t know each other so well, I’d be an idiot not to heed a warning like that from one of the best divination witches in the city, if not the best.

“By the time I left your sanctuary, I resolved to get over my feelings for sure this time, but it just sent me into a depression. I isolated myself so much from the world outside and the things I used to enjoy because that reality was so crushing. Which was to be expected, but not for as long as it was. The more time I spent alone, the more time I had to think about how none of this was your fault. It was because of these emotions of mine.”

Shu places a hand over his chest. Even at home, he wears a pair of white gloves. His nails scratch through the fabric and against the skin. “I tried fighting the urge, but after six months, I gave up.”

His hand curls into a loose fist. “It’s the greatest regret of my life. I still feel, but it’s all mechanical, and my brain processes it like fact. I can look at a cat video and smile, but it doesn’t give me anything, and I’m sure we all know it looks fake anyways. I don’t remember the last time I laughed genuinely. I haven’t been properly afraid of anything ever since the soul was extracted out of my heart. I have a sense of danger, but no anxiety. No thrills, either. If anything, it made me even more cautious. No reason in doing things the risky way anymore if there’s no fun in it.” He leans back and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t process anger or sadness anymore, either. I thought it was amazing at first, but now I’m just bored at best, miserable at worse. Without any emotion to fuel me, my life’s in disarray. I don’t even get access to motivation anymore. And worst of all, the depression and love is still there.

“I think you can piece together what happened next. You were concerned over me, but I always brushed you off because, well, how do you talk about your feelings without having any? Whenever we fought, I’d spend the next few days beating myself up for what I’m missing. I can’t pick up on a lot of emotional cues anymore, so it got even easier to say the wrong thing, and whenever I did, I didn’t have the empathy to see where I went wrong. It became easier to just ignore you, and when you stopped talking to me so much… I can’t really fault you for taking the easy route either.”

Shu downs the rest of the coffee, and you realize just how small he looks right now. He slouches over the cup, and his legs are folded over his thighs as he sits. You don’t think he realizes that he’s trying to take up as little space in the room as possible. Now that you’ve been able to actually pay attention to Shu’s demeanor and his story, you’re starting to pick out the tiny details of feeling that show through, even when the sorcerer himself can’t access the raw emotion. Case in point: his lowered eyes and subtle frown makes you think he just got back from a funeral.

You poke him in the bicep. “You’re pretty clueless.”

His brow furrows, like a mourner disturbed.

You continue nonetheless. “No wonder intuition is so difficult for you to channel. Life isn’t black and white, and divinations come in shades of gray way more often than any other category of magic. Remind me; what was your reading all those years ago?”

“If I’d be happy with the choice to confess to you. Hermit, Tower, and Moon.”

“Hindsight is 20/20. The Hermit represented how much you reflected on your feelings and trying to avoid them by the time you came to me for a reading. You got that much right, I’m sure, but the Tower is a tumultuous change. You’re right that it’s disastrous. In fact, I think the reason why you got so tripped up in the reading-” you playfully roll your eyes- “that I analyzed for you, was because it has such a reputation for being disastrous that people forget that the Tower isn’t suffering for the sake of suffering. In fact, the Tower falls because it’s built upon a weak foundation, and its destruction warrants necessary change. It’s often that the changes predicted by that card are only so hard because the recipient is caught off-guard by the possibility that it could happen, or by playing right into the future that would cause such a major change to happen. I think you can figure out what kind of change the Tower was predicting, and exactly how disastrous it was.” Shu lowers his gaze to the empty space underneath his chest, and that’s about as well as either of you can put it.

“Finally, the Moon may warn of trickery, but more importantly, it refers to complexities. The card art itself is full of similarities, from the buildings to the canines in the center, and that symbolizes difficult choices ahead that require a lot of forethought. Avoid deception, especially deception from your own doubts. The night is dark, and the Moon’s light is how you navigate through with trust in your gut feeling.” You try to keep a cool head as you continue explaining the reading. “And when it appears in readings about love, it represents uncertain or complicated feelings. That’s a pretty apt description of the fallout when you sold your heart. You did it because you were tired of all your conflicting feelings, then dealing with the removal of said feelings, and I know I didn’t make it any better by acting so immature and lashing out at you.”

“It was a self-fulfilling prophecy, wasn’t it?” Shu asks.

“Any divination is a glimpse into a possible future. No path is certain until you embark on it,” you say. “I’m sorry to say it, but you went down that path.”

Shu hums in response. “I really am an idiot.”

“A lucky idiot.” You reach for Shu’s preserved heart, and hold it in your hands. “A lot of practitioners would pay top dollar for this thing. I bought it for $19.99.”

Somehow, that was the most insulted you’ve seen Shu yet. “It sold for that little?”

“Bargain hunting has its benefits.” You shrug. “Every single human heart for sale has some kind of story, and if you buy one, then you have to be at peace with that. But when I figured out it was yours, the idea of keeping it creeped me out. I have to be honest, most of the reason I came here was for closure, and I’m glad I got that, but you don’t have any at all. You really deserve it, though.”

You take Shu’s hand in yours, then press the jar into his palm. “Want your heart back?”

He stares at it. His face is totally blank. “More than anything.”

“It was a twenty-dollar bill and some change. All I ask is that you swear that you won’t be a jerk when you get your heart back. And dinner.”

“You’re giving it to me?”

“You need it more than me.” You take your hands off the jar. Shu’s hands keep it secure instead. “Get yourself together. Put your heart back where it belongs.”

“But it’s removed. How do you just put it back?”

“I did some research. There’s a ritual we can do together.”

“Together?”

“Technically, it’s more of a solo conjuration thing. But I’m not totally sure how good replacing the heart on yourself is going to go, so if you need anything, you can count on me. I brought some pages on common procedures about the soul of the heart.” You sift through your bag and produce a bunch of papers. Each one is a photocopy of a tome from your personal collection, or a verified practitioners’ site. “Lore doesn’t state any limitations on practitioners nor witnesses involved. And just to be sure, I did a ton of research on the active components and method. It’s safe. But of course, I don’t want to pressure you into doing this if it’s not something you want to do.”

“Let me look through some of these myself,” Shu says. “But, Reader, I’ve caused you nothing but hurt because of my own selfishness. Are you really serious about letting me have this?”

“Listen to me, and everything I’m about to say.” You place your palms over Shu’s and look straight in his eyes. “Nothing is going to change the past, but we’re not bound by it. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. You screwed up, big time. But that was a bunch of mistakes, and everyone makes mistakes. That’s only human. You put your heart back where it belongs and make amends for yourself, then that’s redemption. Everyone deserves redemption just as often as they make mistakes.”

You sort through the papers on the floor, and separate the ritual procedure from the rest of them. “Also, you gotta realize how weird it is to own your heart and not even be your friend. Take it. Don’t let me be one of those weirdo witches,” you joke.

The sorcerer scans through the ritual’s instructions in silence. After he’s done with it, he picks up each piece of paper you brought with you, and reads those too. He brushes his finger against the text as he reads, and you look over his shoulder. Whenever his finger scrolls along an important passage, a pink highlight remains on the paper.

“I don’t want to be a nuisance,” he says.

“You aren’t.”

Shu takes a breath, but his eyes don’t leave the ritual instructions. “You remember where I store my components, right?” You hum in agreement. “You have every right to deny it, but Reader, is it okay if you help me replace my heart?”

“About time you finally realize you need help. Nothing wrong about asking for it.” For the first time in years, you smile at Shu himself. “I will.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

“I invite what may be returned to me, and to my soul, I beckon thee. Allow the severed to be healed and the heart to be sealed. On my heart, so I declare it be.”

Shu sits in the center of the room, surrounded by a circle of purple candles blooming in brilliant magenta flames. You sit across from him enclosed by the fire, and the jar containing his heart is fully open. As Shu chants the final words of the incantation, the preserve inside of the jar evaporates into a smoky gas that curls around the air before embedding itself directly into his chest.

The flames break into ash and dissipate when the remnants of the preserved heart erases itself, and all that’s left is the liquid it came in. A shikigami breezes across Shu’s closed eyes, heralding the end of the ritual. The magic still hangs in the air like residue, and so does the silence after the plume and crackle of fire.

Shu’s eyes flutter open, caught in the haze of sorcery, and blink. With each blink those amethyst eyes grow brighter and waver as he takes in the world around him. His lips part, and his irises search around as he presses a hand to his heart. You notice the fabric of his hoodie fold around his fingers.

You don’t even need to study him carefully to recognize the way that the corners of his mouth slowly upturn. You catch a flash of teeth, and his cheekbones rise enough that his eyes squint.

“Did it work-”

You don’t get to finish your sentence. Your breath hitches in your throat as you’re enveloped by a strong hug.

“Reader!” Shu calls your name, and his voice is so light, almost musical in tone, pure relief and joy. “Reader! Reader, it’s back. Everything is back.”

You didn’t have any time to react, but your head is propped up against Shu’s shoulder, and you listen to his high voice, almost childlike in wonder. “Everything’s back.”

His chest rises and falls against your body, and you realize he’s crying. He hiccups. “I’m so happy. I never thought I’d feel happy again, but- but I am, and I feel…!”

You finally comprehend the situation as Shu weeps, and let your arms wrap around his body. You pat his back and rub circles against his spine as you close your eyes and lean into the crook of his neck, tightening the hug. His raven-black hair brushes against your face. It’s soft.

Shu finally parts from the hug when his tears start to dry, and you’re struck by the absence of his warmth. He paws at the remaining tear tracks on his flushed cheeks with the back of his sleeve. “I’m so sorry for everything, Reader. I’m sorry for getting you roped into this mess.”

“What are friends for?” You say.

His forehead raises. “We’re friends?”

“Now that you’ve figured out your own problems, sure. I stopped considering us friends because I thought you hated me.”

“I could never.” Shu’s face falls. “Even when we fought, I always thought you were too good for me. You deserved better than how I treated you.”

“But I always flew off the handle with you. I wish I could’ve understood you, or at least acted reasonably. I’m sorry I was irrational.”

“You had a point.”

“It’s in the past anyways. I’m not forgetting this, but I’m going to forgive you. And by the way, I don’t want to overwhelm you right after you got your heart back, but are we going to talk about how you’re in love with me?”

“Oh my godddd.” Shu’s hands collapse over his face. He lets out a long-suffering groan. “I can’t believe I said all of that.”

You shuffle into a more comfortable position next to him. “Were you just never going to tell me?”

“I didn't want to after the reading. I was afraid, and then right when I removed my heart I didn’t see a point. Being able to see you happy was good enough, but then you were never happy when you were around me, and then I didn’t see you at all. I mentioned that I don’t- I used to not feel fear, right? I thought we’d never see each other again. So when you showed up at my doorstep and just started asking questions, I didn’t even blink before I answered them.” Shu sighs again. “I’m so embarrassed. This whole heart thing was the worst way you could’ve figured it out, and you weren’t even going to reciprocate.”

You stare at the floor. “How did you figure that?” You ask.

“There's no way I'd have a chance. That reading ate me alive, it was so bad. Or I just made it bad because I misinterpreted it…?” He trails off in thought, and his hands drag down his face. His amethyst eyes are puffy, and sparkle with dried tears. He looks like a kicked puppy. “I don’t know, just that I messed up hard. Don’t make it sound better than it actually is.”

“I mean, it kind of is. Better, I mean.” You’re very interested in the grain of the hardwood at this point. Anything to distract you from the heat rising in your face and how admitting this feels like pulling teeth. “I, um, really felt something more than friends for a while. I liked you. A lot. You’re unlike anyone I’ve ever met, and so is the feeling.”

Shu grabs your arm in surprise. You feel your body tense. “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m serious,” you mumble.

In a moment Shu realizes he’s touching you, and jerks away awkwardly while his hands slap over his mouth again. All he can manage to say is a stuttery “O-oh.”

You both sit in the silence of your blush. Your own thoughts pile onto each other with such frequency that you begin to forget where all of it is leading until you force yourself to calm down. Each thought paints one picture: The feeling was mutual for so long.

“I need to be honest with you,” you say. “The feelings for you? They’re a jumble. I know that they’re real, and I know that I liked you before we stopped talking, but when we did, I was hurt. Everything I feel for you is so strong, but I don’t even know if I’m still mad or attracted or what after the last few hours, and- ugggh.” You quietly growl as your thought process hits a wall. You throw your neck back and look up at the ceiling. “I have a lot to figure out, and it’s late. But let’s stay in contact this time. I want to know you again, and I want to know if the feelings are still there. If this can happen.”

“I’d like that,” Shu says. His arm drops to the side, and he exhales as he does. His body relaxes. The corner of his eye still shines from when he cried, but his lips bear a smile of awe. You see him as he is, a man exhausted but euphoric, a hiker at the apex of a mountain. “You liked me too. I can’t believe it. I must be dreaming.”

“If you still think you’re dreaming…”

Courage possesses you as you thumb away the last of his tears and press your lips against his cheek.

Shu turns to you as you back away from him, and watches you like a deer in the headlights. It takes him a second to raise his fingers and brush where you kissed him, but when he does, his face blooms in shocked color.

Then he jumps. “Ow!”

You giggle a little as he reacts to you pinching him. “If you were dreaming, that would’ve woken you up.”

Shu’s eyebrows knit together in frustration, before he remembers where he is and what just happened. Now that his emotion is back, his face is a journey from pouting to surprise to amazement, and when he takes you and your own nervousness in, he squeezes his eyes shut and lets out one tiny, high-pitched squeak from pure happiness.

“That’s adorable.” You laugh again and stand up. You pick up your bag as you walk away, but stop before you leave. “By the way, we agreed I’d trade your heart back if you bought me dinner. I’ll close my sanctuary early on Friday, so go think of somewhere nice to eat together.”

“Wait.”

Before you turn the doorknob and leave Shu’s home, the sorcerer approaches. You cock your head, signaling him to speak. “Reader, can I kiss you?”

You close your eyes and nod.

Shu places one hand on your shoulder and the other behind your head. His gloved fingers stoke your hair when your lips meet.

You lean into the kiss while Shu holds your head at just the perfect angle, and you feel all the ennui from the past two years crumble.

Longing, respect, faith, love; it all comes through the way he presses against you. You feel against the muscle of his back and relief floods through the kiss.

Enchanted, he smooths down your hair, and shivers when your hands trails up his back and along the nape of his neck. Shu holds you close and flush to his chest, and you swear you can hear his heartbeat crying out in satisfaction. This is where he’s meant to be, after all. All of the puzzle pieces fit together like lips locked.

You part when you run out of breath, and rest your head against his chest. His heart thrums in time with yours.

“Let me escort you out,” he says, and you let him lead as he takes your hand in his. The door shuts behind you. “I’m grateful for everything.”

“You’re welcome. I’m just glad you’re back to yourself again,” you say. “I’ll be looking forward to Friday.”

“Wait. Is it a date?”

A hidden slice of your soul smiles. You squeeze his hand. “It’s a date.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

#shu yamino #shu yamino x reader #nijisanji x reader #nijisanji en #luxiem #4402 writes #OOOEEEUUOOUGHGHHH i think this prompt mind controlled me for the last five days straight #i put a lot of thought into the fortunes here idk why all my shu writing gets so pagan tho

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