shuatm

[shuatm]

small moments of intimacy    ⃕ ♡ bang chan, lee minho, seo changbin, & hwang hyunjin. gen reader. heart warming fluff. 921 words.

chan – routine is dropping both his bags and his career at the front door, shoes discarded and worries momentarily forgotten once the smell of your favorite food hits his nose. it’s a bit chilly in the apartment–you’ve probably opened the windows to let some air in again–but he doesn’t mind. he follows the stream of light into the kitchen where he finds you faintly humming the tune of a discarded project (his heart swells with a sudden burst of affection), standing over something hot on the stove. wanting to see you in your element, he waits a moment before letting himself be known.

he purposely buys clothing in a size one too big on him, partly for the comfort of being swaddled, and partly for his shameless liking in pretending not to notice your liking to taking his clothes. you stand in the kitchen, at ease with black hoodie number-whatever just barely brushing past your thighs, but he doesn’t care. it’s the thought that counts, doesn’t it? it’s cause you missed him, didn't you?

routine is seeing your face light up each time you catch him peeking around the archway, grinning in the face of his sheepishness at getting caught over and over again. his arms circle around your waist, his hello faint. warmth was always near with you—even when you remember the open window once you feel him shiver.

minho – fingers tangle with yours in an uncharacteristic show of nerves, face vacant of anything other than cool indifference. hidden underneath the table, away from the prying eyes of the public, you squeeze his hand in hopes to ease his mind about the dinner reservation with your parents—they’ve been wanting to meet you for a while now, you’d told him a way’s back. you were met with a small smile and a minho-esque comment about bringing flowers, laughing as he hounded you for wanting to impress your mother. the flowers sit next to him now, wrapped in parchment paper, but his antsiness persists still.

you don’t blame him for being nervous, even if he’d vehemently deny it up, down, right, and center. meeting the parents was always a big step—and knowing you both would be watched was enough to also want to hide under the table like a small child—but he’d wanted to be there. wanted to make a good impression.

your thumb brushes over the back of his hand in what you hope comes off as a soothing gesture. he meets your gaze for a moment, eyes roaming over your features, and squeezes back gently in response. he brings your intertwined hands up for a kiss against the back of your hand. sharing a smile, unbeknownst to your audience of two watching the two of you in your element with matching fond looks from a few feet away.

changbin – frustration seeps at the edges of your sanity, cold and unwelcoming. deadline after deadline piles upon your shoulders, forcing healthy habit after habit to be pushed further into the darkest corners of your mind to rust. lunch breaks become extra time to squeeze in just a few more letters to reach that word count, and your somewhat feeble attempt at a nighttime routine gives way to the few hours you’re even lucky enough to snag.

you don’t mean to push hangouts or leisure activities away, either. your texts are one-worded or forgotten with a reply unfinished in the bar, calls short with clear exhaustion seeping through your voice alone. he knows you don’t mean it. your space is your space regardless of if you fall back into your old ways.

so he leaves snacks where he knows you’ll see them, water bottles with post-it notes of shakily drawn smiley faces at the ends of words of encouragement or reminders to go outside for ten minutes or something funny jisung said at work he knew would make you laugh. he knows you’re sorry, that work is work and will forever be ever demanding, but he hopes you know he’s here for you through the sticky notes and crudely drawn doodles you now keep in a desk drawer safe and sound.

hyunjin – the cold weather sits as heavy as the piles of snow shoveled to the streets to clear the sidewalks, gusts of wind sharp to the touch against your skin even underneath your hat and thick gloves. you don’t even remember why you let yourself be persuaded to leave bed at this hour–but you certainly couldn’t forget the what. he’d been adamant about leaving your comfortably warm apartment for… for what, exactly? a surprise, he’d quip back with a grin, smile wide enough to make one spread across your lips as well. damn him for being cute enough to forgo a night of well deserved cuddling under the thickest blanket you owned.

hands shoved in his pockets, he squeezes your fingers excitedly, but looks over in concern when your hands begin to shake from the cold. his nose scrunches up in distaste, tinged a bit red from chill himself, and before you even think to open your mouth to poke fun at his sudden rudolph cosplay, he unwraps his scarf and begins to wrap it around your neck. your protests fall upon stubborn ears, and you can’t help but laugh when he glares at your attempt to unravel the little bow at the end.

his gaze softens, even as his shoulders bunch up from the loss of warmth. snow litters the ground in soft flakes, landing on your hat and your coat.

[shuatm]

untitled    ⃕ ♡ jeon wonwoo. fem reader. if u can guess what inspired this u get a kiss <3 786 words. cece says happy first post to the new shuatm !

“do you have a mistress?”

his fork clatters against his bowl in surprise, gaze snapping to your form immediately. outwardly, you’re relaxed despite the string of words you’ve just uttered, deft fingers picking at your food aimlessly. and yet,

you still seem troubled. there’s a slight furrow to your otherwise seemingly relaxed brow.

“of course not,” he mutters, turning to face you with a frown. “who told you that? who do i need to—”

“never mind who told me, just answer the question.”

he doesn’t like this. doesn’t like how you avoid his gaze, how blank neutrality sits on your features like stone. the glow of the overhead light paints soft colors of orange and red against faint apprehension. waiting, patiently.

“i would never,” his answer is slow, heart sinking when you only nod silently. “look at me. you know i wouldn’t. i work too much to even–”

wonwoo pauses when you lift your head to stare at him silently. eyes rimmed red, it’s clear the unbothered tone to your voice was practiced, smoothed over with time. his chest tightens unexpectedly.

“honey,” he tries once again. your lips press into a thin line. “why would i lie to you? you know i would never. the office has me up to my neck in papers and clients—you know how seungcheol gets during this time of year. he’s even lucky i don’t mind working overtime.”

he digs back into his food with a tired sigh. “he’s a great guy, don’t get me wrong. but the hours are atrocious and we still have to plan that end of your trip for the boys—you know, the one i told you about a few weeks ago. oh, and soonyoung and seokmin send their hellos. they’ve been asking about you, and—”

“why would they be asking about me?”

your plate is still untouched. wonwoo looks up again, now confused. “i don’t understand. should i not mention you at work?”

“i didn’t say that.” your voice is quiet, almost pensive. “i didn’t know i meant that much to you, is all.”

he puts his fork and knife down, finally, to look at you. really look at you. the bags under your eyes, your slumped posture, the air of sadness hanging around dejected shoulders. his heart aches at the sudden realization.

“he doesn’t talk about you in the office.”

this time, when your gazes meet, yours brim with unshed tears. the fork clatters on to your plate when it slips out of your hand, but you don’t even notice. your bottom lip trembles. it trembles and your hands move to cover your face in shame and his legs move before his brain can register his own body moving.

“please don’t cry,” he murmurs softly against your hair, his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders. “it’s not worth your tears. nobody is.”

your shoulders shake with the effort of keeping your emotions in check. it shouldn’t make him this angry—his wife, too, was unfaithful—but your dejection tugs at his heart strings the more. he doesn’t talk about you in the office. such a mundane experience yet so foreign to you. why wouldn’t love come up at his place of work, even if briefly?

the ambient lighting glints off the wedding rings on both of your fingers. if he was a weaker man, he would sink further into the fantasy and pretend his faithfulness was yours to keep from the moment he laid eyes on you. that it’s no longer his wife’s face he sees in his dreams, he’d confess, but your smile, your laugh, your heart.

but you would never do that to your husband. you still loved him, despite his blatant lies and shameless sneaking around with the wife of the man you leaned on. the bitter taste of jealousy sours his mouth. if he were just as shameless, he’d—

he’d—

but you’d never allow it. even the hug you accept from him makes his skin burn, heart leaping with unbridled want. you’d never let him in past this strange duet formed in the pits of infidelity bestowed upon you by your respective partners. this… game. because at the end of the day, an apartment still separated his growing affections. the ring on your fingers is the reminder.

slowly but surely, your body slips out of his hold. expected. the rush of cold air doesn’t sting any less. your smile is thin and flat when you thank him for comforting you. he just stares back.

what i would do, he thinks solemnly as his gaze drops to your nervous fiddling. twisting the wedding band over and over again to the tune of his selfishly beating heart. what i would do.

the clock chimes for midnight.

[shuatm]

cece   ⃕ ♡ she+her, twenty. cancer. perpetually tired and sleepy and exhausted. completely sane about joshua hong, obviously. writing | faq | faves | side