#Chinese Fine Dining | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fairyhaos · 6 months ago

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◈ right next to the heart // chwe hansol

vernon x gn!reader, 1.9k+ words

tags: requested by @weird-bookworm, non-idols au, established relationship, hurt/comfort

warnings: pet names (darling), food mention

notes: writing this made me realise that writing hurt comfort where yn is in the wrong is so rare,,, but this was so entertaining to write ^^

“You’ve been ignoring me all day.”

Hansol looks up at you from his bowl of dumplings and shrimp tempura that he’d been ready to devour before you’d spoken. Today is Chinese takeout day, and he’s been craving tempura for ages.

“Um.” He sets down his chopsticks, seeing the upset frown on your face. “No, I haven’t?”

It seems to be the wrong thing to say, because you frown even further, face scrunching up in annoyance. “Yes, you have. When was the last, actual conversation we had today?”

The question sounds rhetorical, but you’re staring at Hansol like he needs to give an actual answer, so he swallows unsurely, thinking back.

It’s a Saturday, so both of you have been at home, doing nothing but having a chill day. That morning, however, you’d come up to him whilst he was lounging on the couch, informing him that you didn’t feel too well so you planned to lie in bed for most of the day.

“Okay,” Hansol had said, looking up at you worriedly. “Is everything alright?”

He’d sat up, reaching upwards to feel your forehead, but you’d shaken your head and waved his concern away.

“I’m fine. I’m not, like, sick. I just feel a bit down? So I’m going to stay in bed.”

Hansol had nodded at that, understanding. “Okay. Just let me know if you need anything.”

You’d promised you would, and that had been the last he’d seen of you.

That interaction seems to be the correct answer, so Hansol turns to you, blinking a little unsurely. “Uh, when you told me you wanted to stay in bed this morning? You weren’t feeling too good.”

“Oh, so you do remember,” you say, sounding both irritated and upset, and now Hansol is most definitely lost. “If you knew that I was having a bad day today, then why did you purposefully ignore me? Do you really care so little about me?”

Your words hit him like a punch to the throat, and Hansol feels so startlingly hurt by your statement that he can’t say anything back, mouth hanging open in shock, astounded.

His Chinese takeout is now completely forgotten, the mood souring so abruptly and he doesn’t feel like eating anymore. Not with the way you’re looking at him, with the words that you’d just uttered that leave him reeling. He never imagined that you'd say something like that to him.

You scoff as his mind stays completely blank, still in shock.

“You can’t even say anything in your defence, can you?” You roughly stand up from the dining table, chair scraping against the floor and storm off, all the way back to your room. The sound of you slamming the door echoes throughout the apartment.

Hansol still sits there, feeling confused and… very hurt. He doesn’t know what he did wrong. He doesn’t know how your mind jumped to the conclusion that he doesn’t care about you, which is so wrong on so many levels that he feels his heart squeezing painfully at the implication that he did something to make you think that way.

But the pain is kind of offset by the fact that Hansol doesn’t know what he did. Why are you acting like this?

He can’t very well get the answers he’s looking for by just sitting there and not talking to you, so he stands up too, and makes his way to your room.

“Y/N,” he says, knocking on your door. “Y/N, hey, talk to me. What are you talking about?”

“Go away,” is your muffled reply. It sounds like you’ve buried your face in the cushions. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Y/N,” Hansol repeats, “please talk to me. I’m sorry you feel like this, okay? But I don’t know why you’re upset. I need to know what I did wrong. Please open the door and talk to me.”

You stay silent.

Hansol sighs. He raps his knuckles against your door again, contemplating, before deciding to pull out his most effective tactic.

“Darling,” he says, very quietly. “Darling, please, can we talk about this?”

You love pet names. Love the corny affection of it, how it’s like a special name for your significant other. Hansol doesn’t really understand the appeal, because he prefers to say your name over anything else, but, well. He loves you. He’ll do anything to show that he loves you, always.

“Please open the door for me, darling.”

There’s a very long moment where he thinks you’re still refusing to budge, but then the doorknob turns very slowly, and you open the door a sliver.

Hansol puts his hand on the door, opening it just a little more so he can look at you properly, see your face better. You won’t look at him, head tilted down sullenly, but Hansol opens his mouth and begins to speak anyway.

“You said that I’ve been ignoring you. What makes you think that?”

He can see you clench teeth, jaw set tight. You still don’t look at him.

“Why do you care?”

“I—” Hansol sighs, tired, and pushes open the door fully, before stepping into your room and dragging you over to sit down on the bed. “Why are you acting like this?” he asks, once both of you are seated.

You’re still steadfastly refusing his gaze, so he brings a hand to your chin and forces your eyes upwards.

“Why?” he asks again. “What is making you think that I no longer care about you? You told me you were having a bad day, Y/N, so I let you stay in bed and relax. Why does that make you think I’ve been ignoring you?”

“Because you were!” you burst out, waving your hands angrily. At least you’re keeping eye contact, now, burning with upset. “I was having a bad day, and what did you do? Leave me to rot in my room all by myself! You left me alone, Hansol, and ignored me!”

Hansol blinks, dumbfounded. “You never asked me to stay with you,” he says back. “I told you to shout for me if you needed anything, but you didn’t, so I thought you were fine.”

You huff, irritated, like Hansol is the one acting unreasonably here, and he’s beginning to feel a little like he’s being wronged.

“You’re my boyfriend,” you say, like it’s obvious. Your eyes look glassy. “You should know these things about me, and be there for me without me even asking!”

And then, like you’ve had enough of this conversation, you get up from the bed and storm out, again. Hansol rubs his eyes, feeling drained. He understands that you’ve been having a bad day, which is made obvious by how something as little as this is making you explode in his face.

He feels bad for you, of course, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel incredibly frustrated with the way you’re acting. None of this is his fault.

“Y/N,” he says despairingly, getting up to go look for you once more. “Y/N, come on, we really need to talk through this. You’re not being fair.”

“Just leave me alone,” you say, voice floating through the apartment from the living room, and he enters to find you sitting on the couch, hugging your knees. There are tears now running down your cheeks, eyes beginning to get all puffy, and you frown at him as he sits down next to you.

Hansol looks at you, and then looks away. He reaches over for the box of tissues kept on the coffee table, and hands one to you. You look down at it, before reaching over for the box and getting a tissue yourself.

He tries not to feel too slighted by the obvious snub, and folds up the tissue to put into his own pocket. And then he continues to sit there, observing you quietly as you blow your nose and rub at your eyes, still crying silently.

After a few minutes, you look over at him with puffy eyes. “What are you doing?”

He shrugs, a little meek. “I’m trying not to leave you alone.”

You give a watery huff, trying to scowl even as your lips tremble, and you look down at your knees once again. You’re not in a mood to talk—he’s accepted that. But he’ll just wait until you are.

───────────── 📼

It takes almost half an hour, but eventually you wipe your eyes for the last time, take a deep breath, and turn around on the couch to properly face him. Hansol immediately snaps to attention, turning his body to face you too.

“Sorry,” you mutter, sullenly. “I was being a brat.”

He sighs. “You were,” he admits, not unkindly. “I’m just your boyfriend, darling. Not a mind reader. There’s always going to be stuff that you need to tell me about, if you want something. I can’t automatically know things all the time.”

“Yeah, I know, I just—” You scrub your eyes, shoulders slumping. “I’ve been having a really bad day. It’s no excuse, I know,” you add, before he says anything, “but it’s been really, really bad, today.”

Hansol nods sympathetically, and reaches over to pat your hair. “I know. And I want you to tell me that, so I can help. We need to communicate this stuff to each other.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay. I should’ve told you instead of just blowing up all in your face like that,” you say, and your eyes flick up to look at him. “I’m sorry. I really, really am.”

You say it so quietly, no trace of any lingering anger or sulkiness in your tone, and Hansol kind of melts. He’s always been soft for you, and it’s evident now as he instantly opens his arms for a hug, letting you press up into him, face buried into his shoulder.

“It was really stupid of me to think that you’d just read my mind,” you say into the fabric of his t-shirt. “I’m so sorry, Hansol. And—god, I’m so sorry for saying that you don’t care about me. I know you do, so much, all the time, and I’m sorry for saying that. It’s not true, and I know it.”

“Hey, hey,” Hansol says, rubbing circles into your back to calm you down before you can work yourself up any more. “It’s okay. It’s okay, darling, I know.”

There comes sniffling sounds from below his chin. “I’m sorry.”

He smiles. “I know that too. And I forgive you.”

You sniff again. "You forgave me way too easily," you say, guiltily, words all blurred with remorse. "You always forgive people so easily."

He pats your back slowly, and he can't explain it, but his heart swells a little at your words. Something about the softness of your tone, the acceptance that you've done something to hurt him, the genuine guilt and also the love... You're essentially berating him for being too forgiving, but all he can think about is how much he loves you.

"Maybe," he says, as nonchalantly as he can with the affection blending into his voice. "But I still forgive you."

You make a soft noise at that, before burying yourself to hide further in the crook of Hansol’s neck, and he lets you.

“Hey,” you say after a moment, soft. “I love you.”

Hansol smiles, the genuine affection in your words saying more than what those mere eight letters can convey. He kisses the top of your head.

“I love you too,” he returns, and pulls away a bit so he can see your face, tilting your head up so that you make eye contact. His eyes are focused on you, gentle and kind. “Let’s communicate with each other more about this stuff, yeah? I don’t want you to think that I don’t care about you again.”

There’s a moment where your eyes search his, darting back and forth before you smile, and lean back into his arms.

“Don’t worry. I already know.”

fics tags: @jeonginssa @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @zozojella @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @abibliolife @doublasting @wonranghaeee @icyminghao @sweet-like-caramel @your-yxnnie @odxrilove @kyeomyun @crackedpumpkin @jeonride @kellesvt @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @starshuas @raevyng @isabellah29 @hrts4hanniehae @mcu-incorrect @dokyeomkyeom @suraandsugar @haodore @tulsa24 @melodicrabbit

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ylangelegy · 3 months ago

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just a little too soon ꩜ wonwoo x reader.

♬⋆.˚ An ice cold bitch when you burn like noon / Was it hidden in the cards that I'd lose you? / Was it written in the stars that we'd meet a little too soon?

🎸╰› includes: boyfriend!wonwoo, alternate universe: non-idol, long-term relationship, pet names ('babe'), deteriorating relationship, alcohol, angst, break-up, [implied] second chances, tarot card references [descriptions courtesy of labyrinthos.co].

💽╰› this is part of my ongoing series, buzz (seventeen's version) + this piece is inspired by track 09, blue moon. word count: 4,000+

There was a time where Wonwoo used to greet you at the front door.

He used to be so particular about it, too. lt had been a little routine that lasted for a good couple of months. You'd text once you were heading home and he'd respond with anything from take care to missed you today.

He made sure you never had to pull out your key. All you had to do was knock thrice. He'd then swing open the door— his glasses slightly askew, his mop of dark hair bearing the indent of his headphones— before softly saying, "Welcome home, babe."

But that had been years ago. The homecoming has since faded into something less ceremonious; his responses to your texts, if any at all, now more of can you get some soda on your way home and don't forget to pick up the laundry.

As your key unlocks the front door, you feel that small flicker of nostalgia— and something else entirely. That feeling you can't quite name. Because how can you miss someone who's still there?

As you step in to your shared apartment, you can hear the distant sounds of a game being played. It takes you only half a minute to figure out what your boyfriend's poison is tonight: League of Legends, based on the muffled commands that he's barking out.

You feel an ounce of pride when you pad in to his game room and realize that you're right. Wonwoo's gaze briefly flickers away from his computer screen.

You wave at him. He gives you a grin in return.

He mumbles something in to his microphone before hitting something on his keyboard, seemingly muting himself. When he looks up at you, his smile has become a touch more sheepish. You already know what he's going to ask before the question comes.

"Just one more match," you warn, like you always have.

He adjusts in his swivel chair. "Three more?"

Both of you know where this is heading. "Two," you say in unison.

Your strict gaze softens; Wonwoo's smile becomes a little more genuine. He beckons for you to come closer and you make a show out of it— faking a sigh, dragging your feet.

He rolls his eyes but reaches out for your hand all the same. Once your fingers are intertwined, he raises your clasped hands to his lips and presses a chaste kiss to the back of your knuckle.

"Thank you," he mumbles against your skin, peering up at you from behind his glasses.

You feel like a bit of a fool, to still find the action heart-fluttering after all this time. You bite back the pleased smile that threatens to fill your face as you disentangle your hand to briefly press your palm against Wonwoo's cheek.

"I'll order takeout," you tell him. "Be done before it comes."

"I'm not really in charge of the game being done by a certain—"

"Wonu."

"Fine, fine."

As you make your way out of his room, he calls after your retreating back. "No Chinese, please!"

You order Chinese anyway. Partly out of spite; partly because it's what you want.

When Wonwoo emerges from his room after the vouchsafed two matches, he lets out a displeased sound at the sight of paper pails resting on the dining table. "I said no Chinese," he grumbles.

You don't even look up from the manual in your hands. "I got you the mapo tofu you like," you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. "And some spring rolls."

"The mapo tofu you like." Wonwoo takes a seat across from you. Despite his complaints, he's already digging through the takeout to find the meal you've chosen for him. He's too used to these little stunts of yours to be fazed.

The two of you have been dating for four years, after all— living together for a little over half that time. It's a quaint, two-bedroom apartment. More often than not, you share the same bed, but the other room is there for when the other needs their privacy.

The domesticity that you two have cultivated came with its own set of growing pains. But— for the most part— you've both learned how to make it work. Respective chores around the household. Shared meals and moments like these, where neither feel a need to fill the silence.

Except, tonight, there's the introduction of something novelty, something worth talking about.

"Hm?" Wonwoo cranes his neck over at the cards spread in front of you. There's half a spring roll hanging out of his mouth as he tries to catch a glimpse of what has your attention. "Are those— tarot cards?"

You give him a small nod of acknowledgment. "Soonyoung gave them to me as a gag gift," you note. "He says that I need to get a hobby."

Wonwoo finishes off the spring roll in his mouth as he lets out a derisive scoff. "And he suggested tarot reading?"

"Hey," you say defensively. "I think it's interesting."

"I think it's bullshit."

"You think a lot of things are bullshit."

"This one especially," Wonwoo insists. "It's just a bunch of scam work."

You press the bridge of your nose with your thumb and your index finger. Wonwoo catches the action and immediately backs down, placated by the telltale sign of your growing annoyance.

"I'm not about to start charging people to have their fortune read," you say exasperatedly. "I just wanted to try something new."

Wonwoo doesn't push it. He only lets out a low hum as he picks at another roll. A pregnant silence stretches between the two of you for a couple of minutes before Wonwoo says, "Try it on me, then."

You look up from shuffling the deck. An eyebrow of yours arches upward when you notice the lack of any outwardly hostile expression on your boyfriend's face.

"You're just going to make fun of me," you grumble.

"I swear that I won't." Wonwoo pauses and meets your skeptical gaze. "I swear that I'll try not to," he amends.

It's as good as you're going to get, you decide. With a defeated sigh, you hold out the deck. Wonwoo gingerly plucks a card out, placing it face-up on to the table between you.

Amid your takeout lies a card depicting a man suspended upside-down, hanging by his foot from a tree. "The Hanged Man," you read aloud, needing to slope across the table because it's facing Wonwoo.

"Very original."

"You said you'd try to be nice!"

"I was just saying!"

For a moment, the two of you just stare at the card. "Well?" Wonwoo prompts. "What does it mean?"

"Er..." You scramble for the manual that came with the box of cards. As you skim over the descriptions, you feel your eyebrows knitting together with slight confusion. "Oh, it matters if it's upright or reversed."

"Facing who? Me or you?"

"I— it doesn't say."

Wonwoo lets out an exhale. His expression seems caught between exasperation and fondness.

"You could just tell me anything and I'd believe it," he says dryly.

"That's not the point."

Wonwoo shakes his head at your whining and pushes back against the table, his chair scratching against the floor. You pore over the definitions as Wonwoo gathers up the dishes; it seems that, for him, this conversation is already as good as done.

He has some sense to lean down to leave a quick peck on the top of your head.

"Whatever it is," he mutters against your hair, indulging you for only one more moment. "I'm sure it's a hundred percent right."

You glare at his back as he walks over to the kitchen sink.

🃏 The Hanged Man understands that his position is a sacrifice that he needed to make in order to progress forward — whether as repentance for past wrongdoings, or a calculated step backward to recalculate his path onward. This time he spends here will not be wasted, he does this as part of his progression forward.

When you date someone for long enough, their friends tend to become your friends.

That's how you've ended up here on a Thursday evening— even though you'd much rather spend the weeknight recuperating from your day at work. Admittedly, all you had wanted was some time with Wonwoo.

But Mingyu was broken-hearted, he had reasoned, and he couldn't say 'no' to his best friend. In hindsight, you probably could have opted to have the apartment all to yourself, could have had your quiet night to yourself.

Neither of you were willing to give way for what you each wanted, and so this is the compromise: You, tagging along to the speakeasy where Mingyu is drinking himself silly over some girl who didn't give him the time of day.

Wonwoo and you are seated on either side of Mingyu, while Soonyoung sits across from you three. Jihoon had passed on the whole thing— to be expected— and Junhui is running late.

That leaves you three to pick up the broken pieces of a distraught Mingyu.

"You'll find someone else, Gyu," you offer.

Wonwoo pats the younger man on the back. "It's not the end of the world," your boyfriend adds.

"Easy for you two to say!" Mingyu takes a long swig of his fourth, maybe fifth bottle of beer. "You two are, like, solved."

"Solved?" you and Wonwoo echo. You, with a half-smile; Wonwoo, with an arched eyebrow.

"Solved," Soonyoung pitches in, hiccupping as he speaks. "You've got it figured out. Aish, couples shouldn't be giving advice to heartbroken people."

That draws a chuckle out of you and Wonwoo. Neither of you make an effort to push back on Soonyoung, instead opting to mumble plattidues to a Mingyu that is getting progressively drunker.

As the night wears on, the conversation veers in to more common territories. Mingyu's apartment-hunting endeavor. Soonyoung's shitty boss.

At one point, Soonyoung chirps to you, "How are you liking the tarot set?"

Wonwoo lets out a derisive snort mid-sip of his beer. You reach behind the back of Mingyu's chair to playfully smack your boyfriend on the shoulder.

"I've been having fun with it," you say with a sniffle. Wonwoo raises his hands in a show of surrender.

"Think you're ready to do readings?" Soonyoung asks, and there's no teasing in tone. Just a genuine sort of excitement. It's in such contrast to Wonwoo that you're momentarily thrown off-kilter.

When you realize that Soonyoung is waiting, that he's expectant, you brighten up just a bit. "Actually—" You begin to dig through your purse.

Wonwoo shoots you an incredulous look. "You did not bring it," he says, sounding mildly horrified. You ignore him in favor of fishing out the tarot set that Soonyoung had gifted you.

Immediately, Soonyoung is moving aside the bottles and glasses on the table so you have space to shuffle the cards. The three boys have varying expressions on their faces: Soonyoung is enthusiastic, Mingyu is curious, and Wonwoo is resigned.

"Me," Mingyu croaks, putting down his bottle. "Can you read for me?"

"It helps if you ask a question," you say.

Mingyu looks like he's thinking long and hard about his query, though the thoughtful expression is frayed by the way he's already fairly tipsy. Soonyoung and Wonwoo share a laugh as they wait for Mingyu, who eventually blurts out—

"What will my love life look like for the rest of the year?"

It's to be expected, considering the whole reason you're out tonight is because of Mingyu's failed romantics. Soonyoung goads him and Wonwoo snickers, but you take the question in stride. "Tell me when to stop," you say as you shuffle the deck.

Mingyu watches your hands with laser focus. After what feels like an eternity, he solemnly calls, "Stop."

A card peeks out of the spaces between your fingers. You place it face-down on the table before flipping it for everyone to see. Soonyoung leans over. Even Wonwoo can't hide his mild interest as he eyes the suit.

An upright Wheel of Fortune.

"A wheel always turns," you note to Mingyu, pointing out the imagery on the card. "It can mean that— despite being in a bad situation right now, that can easily change. Nothing, bad or good, is permanent."

There's not really much more that you can say. You weren't really in the business of taking card-reading seriously; if anything, you're treating it more like a party trick.

And it works, based on the way a smile breaks out on Mingyu's face, and the low whistle that Soonyoung lets out. Wonwoo, as you had anticipated, looks far from impressed.

"Me next, me next," Soonyoung chants, only to seemingly change his mind last minute as you go to reshuffle the deck.

Soonyoung turns to Wonwoo. "You next!"

Wonwoo takes another sip of his drink. His arms are casually crossed over his chest and there's an almost piercing glare behind his spectacles. All of you are a little too accustomed to his sharp eyes and his dry humor to be unnerved.

"I already had my fortune read," your boyfriend says.

"You can always have it read again," Mingyu whines. The whine is a telltale sign that he's heading to 'far gone' territory; your friend group knows better than to try and reel in a drunk Mingyu.

Soonyoung sing-songs, "We should ask about when the two of you are going to get marriiied."

The jabs about marriage aren't anything new. Having dated as long as you two have, you and Wonwoo are often subject to such questions from everyone around you— concerned family, impatient friends, nosy co-workers. You've both talked about it, of course, but in no certain terms.

With a laborious sigh, Wonwoo leans over Mingyu to pluck a card from your deck.

"Yah!" you complain mid-shuffle, swatting at his hand, but Wonwoo is already unceremoniously throwing the card face-up on to the table.

"Our marriage fortune," he announces, his tone edged with sarcasm.

The card features a woman sitting between two pillars— but, this time, it's reversed. You sift through your brain for what it means upside down.

"Upright, it means listening to your intuition," you offer.

None of the boys are any wiser about the fact that you're supposed to be spewing the reading for a reversed version.

"Wonwoo!" Soonyoung says excitedly. "Isn't your intuition saying that you should propose right now?"

A panicked Mingyu laments, "Wait, I'm not ready to be best man yet!"

Soonyoung seems to take serious offense at that. "Who said you're going to be Wonwoo's best man?" the boy demands. "I've known him longer!"

The two go on to bicker about the hypothetical ceremony and the groomsman line-up as you and Wonwoo stare on incredulously. After a moment, Wonwoo huffs out a laugh that only you catch. "Idiots," he grumbles fondly.

He finishes off the last of his drink. You're not sure if you've been lumped in to the half-insult, but you don't have the time to dwell on it.

Instead, you absentmindedly play with a corner of the reversed card as you contemplate calling it a night.

🃏 When it comes to the High Priestess reversed, it can mean that you are finding it difficult to listen to your intuition… Something has been telling you to follow your gut, but you may be ignoring the call. There is a lot of confusion around you, and your actions may feel contrary to what you know is right.

Here's how it gets you, weeks down the line.

On the surface, it looks like something small being blown out of the water. A date night postponed because of yet another friends who 'needs' him.

"We live together," Wonwoo sighs, running a hand through his hair. The argument takes place in your bedroom, where there's a chasm of space between you. You, sitting on the edge of your bed. Him, already standing by the door.

"We literally live together," he repeats. "We see each other every day."

"You barely even look at me nowadays," you snap, and despite the haze of your anger, you're lucid enough to wonder— where the hell did that come from?

Wonwoo's visible confusion mirrors your internal one.

"What—" he starts. What does that mean?, he probably planned to ask.

Instead, he grits out, "I'm looking at you right now."

And he is. Of course he is. It's a familiar expression; the set of his jaw, the spark in his eyes. He is trying and failing to keep his tone level, to not give in to the punches that you're throwing.

But when you love someone, you can be so cruel to them. Perhaps crueler than anyone else.

It goes both ways. Your mutual refusal to budge. Your tendency to let all the resentment build. And Wonwoo—

"You care more about being good than being good to me," you accuse him.

The frustration on Wonwoo's face only deepens. "Isn't that the same thing?" he asks.

"No, it isn't." Your voice is softer, now. More genuine in its ache. "There's a difference."

As if on cue, the muffled sound of his phone ringtone begins to blare from the living room.

You and Wonwoo regard each other in the low lighting of your bedroom. You, dry-eyed and hurt. Wonwoo, tightly wound and prideful.

The ringing of the phone ceases, only to start up again. Wonwoo makes his choice.

"I won't be coming home tonight," he says, his voice wretched. "Don't go looking for me."

With that, he takes his leave, slamming the bedroom door behind him. The force knocks over some of the things atop a nearby dresser— your set of cards, a stray lip gloss tube, the picture frame holding a photo from your first anniversary.

You don't pick them up just yet. You stay at the edge of your breath, holding your breath for so long that you feel your chest begin to burn, as you strain your ears for the sound of Wonwoo moving across your shared apartment.

His heavy footsteps get more distant. The lock on the front door clicks.

The chasm grows, and grows, and grows.

Only then do you go to assess the damage. The lip gloss tube has rolled too far under the bed; you resolve to figure that out in the morning. The picture frame remains miraculously intact.

(You don't notice this until much later, but there's the tiniest crack on an edge of the glass. A cobweb-like fracture that you will only see once you hold it up to the light.)

You go to gather up your deck of cards, and your eyes stray to the only one that has fallen face-up.

A lightning bolt striking a tower that's on fire.

🃏 The Tower represents change in the most radical and momentous sense… The old ways are no longer useful, and you must find another set of beliefs, values and processes to take their place.

WONU 🐈❤️ 1:43 AM You really didn't come find me

YOU 2:06 AM u told me not to.

WONU 🐈❤️ 2:19 AM Right

WONU 🐈❤️ 3:03 AM I think we need to talk.

YOU 3:33 AM yeah. we do.

It's quiet as you two pack up.

You're not ignoring each other, no. There are still a couple of amicable exchanges, like do you want to keep the blankets and I don't have space for any more of the succulents. Occasionally, you'll reminisce over some small thing.

The stubborn bathroom grout that had given you both grief. The burn mark in the kitchen from when Wonwoo had first attempted to cook.

"It's like we're looking through a museum," you say as you shove the last of your clothes in to your suitcase.

"A museum of our failed relationship," he muses thoughtlessly.

You wince and his expression softens imperceptibly, but he doesn't apologize. The silence stretches on for a little more.

A mutual decision, both of you had told all your friends. For the better.

You, moving back home for a bit. Wonwoo, opting to room with Mingyu again.

As you tape up the last of your cardboard boxes, you speak up. You're not looking at Wonwoo as you say, "It wasn't a failure. It just—"

Your words fail you. You only really want to communicate to him that your four-year relationship wasn't something that you had wanted to regret, that it's not, by any means, a dead loss.

It's a small grace that Wonwoo understands you, still. That, even now, he can hear what you don't, what you can't say.

"Yeah," he mumbles. He's already doing final checks to see if either of you had forgotten anything. "I know."

Some years ago, that might have been enough. To be known and to be loved.

But as you hoist a box up in to your arms, as you face Wonwoo who is looking at everything else but you, you realize that there is only so much that knowing can do. For you. For him. For anyone.

"I'm going to start loading things in to my car," you inform him.

"Right."

"You'll stay behind?"

He nods. "Going to give the keys back to the owner."

"Okay." Your voice is low, again. Like you're scared you'll drive Wonwoo away if you speak any louder. "Alright."

A beat.

And then Wonwoo finally looks straight at you.

There's nothing on his expression that gives away what he's feeling or thinking. He's always been the harder to figure out between the two of you. You spent years and years trying— trying to read him, trying to decipher every little thing.

You no longer feel that urge. It's a bit freeing, really.

"Take care," he says after a long pause.

"You, too."

Wonwoo doesn't call out your name as you walk away. That's not his style. In all the time you've known him, he's never been the type to beg, to grovel.

Wonwoo always knew when it was time to call something quits, when it was time to head home. You try to embody that as you walk past the front door, as you head down the hallway.

Before you round the corner, though, you glance over your shoulder.

Faintly, you can make out Wonwoo crouched over one of your boxes. The ghost of a smile tugs at your lips when you see him hold up and squint at a card.

A part of you wants to head back in, just to see what he's looking at. Just to see the last trick that the fates have up their sleeve.

Instead, you head for the elevators.

🃏 The Fool card is numbered 0, which is considered to be a number of infinite potential. Consider him a blank slate, for The Fool has yet to develop a clear personality. He is the symbol of innocence — his journey to come will shape his character yet.

Here's how it gets you, years and years later.

It starts with the hotel key card. When you press it to your designated room's door lock, the machinery lights up red and lets out a low beep. You try one, two more times, only to get the same results.

It starts with your free hand reaching for your cellphone. Your first thought is to call Soonyoung. He had made the arrangements, after all, being the pedantic groom-to-be that he was.

It starts with the door swinging open right before the call can go through.

Soonyoung picks up on the other line. "Have you met your roommate?" the bastard says in lieu of a greeting.

"I'm going to kill you," you say in to the receiver before promptly ending the call.

Wonwoo leans against the door frame, a half-smile on his face. His hair is shorter, now, but his glasses are still just a touch lopsided.

It starts there— the way he looks older and yet still very much like the last time you saw him. The way his expression is a lot less guarded and a lot more open. How you can tell there's a fondness that lingers; how your own heart, like a traitor, skips a beat at the sight of it.

It starts with Wonwoo half-jokingly saying, "Welcome home, babe."

#wonwoo x reader #jeon wonwoo x reader #wonwoo imagines #wonwoo fic #wonwoo angst #wonwoo x y/n #wonwoo x you #wonwoo scenarios #svt x reader #seventeen x reader #svt imagines #svt scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #ylangelegy buzz x svt #( mildly surprised that this is the first one i came up with!! when i was so sure it'd be jihoon or vern )#( but the tarot format came along easy )#୨ৎ penned by ylangelegy #୨ৎ muse .ᐟ svt

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ficandkaboodle · 2 months ago

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You know what? I think of all the Papas, Secondo is the only one who actually likes and expects high-quality food.

Terzo almost canonically possibly likes cheap, cheesy foods and definitely loves sweets, so he’s down to clown on some junk food. Copia likes homemade cooking but also enjoys Chinese takeout. Otherwise, though, he gets anxious at fine dining restaurants and often finds some foods too rich in flavor. Primo can hold his own at such a place but frankly subsides on the miasma of dread and misery that oozes throughout the Ministry. (JK he honestly also likes junk food; easier to take to his dark study.) And you can’t look me in my dumb bitch eyes and tell me Nihil looks like he ever ate more than one non-fried vegetable a year even during his youth.

Nah, man: Secondo expects high-end steaks served with top-shelf wines and scotches. He’ll pay top dollar on the Ministry’s Black Card to eat fois gras. He’ll eat ortolan and forgo the cloth covering with gusto.

He indulges in quality, and that’s how he sins differently from the others.

#the band ghost #the band ghost headcanons #ghost bc #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iv #papa Nihil #nobody here is well #talking out my poop chute

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maraudering-times · 18 days ago

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25 days of Jegumas - Day 14: Feast - 1558 Words - @noblehouseofgay

James was totally not freaking out.

He could do this and it will be the best dinner ever.

His mum’s cookbook is balanced precariously on top of the flour container and a bowl of rinsed cherries waiting to be simmered down on the stove. All along his work top, ingredients to make the best feast imaginable were lined up, if everything goes well and he doesn’t monumentally fuck it up.

How hard could it be to follow simple instructions?

As it turns out: very.

James rushed to open the kitchen window and grabbed a tea towel to wave in front of the blaring fire alarm. His attempt at homemade rolls are a smoldering chunk of charcoal invading his already messy sink. The stove top is splattered with the remains of that cherry pie filling he was trying to follow. What was going to be a roast chicken with vegetables is also burnt from when his rolls just had to catch on fire in the oven, so that was a bust now.

The only salvageable thing that remained from James’s cooking adventure was the premade pie crust his mother had recommended which is safely tucked in its baking dish resting in the fridge.

Frustrated tears pricked behind James’s eyes as he desperately tried to reach the alarm to take the batteries out. Through the piercing chirps of the offending device, he couldn’t hear the front door opening. But he did hear his boyfriend’s sharp inhale. James whirled around and almost broke then and there.

Regulus looked stunning as always, even with his wide worried eyes taking in the sight of their ravaged kitchen. “R-Regulus! You’re home early.”

Regulus quickly moved further into the kitchen and grabbed the charred oven mitt to help waft the smoke out the window. “Sirius had to get back to work. What the hell happened here?”

James sputtered. “I-I was trying to make us a nice dinner.”

“And I appreciate the thought, love, but you are a terrible cook.”

James flushed in embarrassment and finally got his hand on the fire alarm. He took it down and ripped the battery out, silence filling the room finally. “Mum let me borrow her cookbook,” he tells him. “I really did try.”

Regulus smiled sadly and walked over to embrace him. “And I appreciate that, Jamie, really.” James buried his face in his boyfriend’s hair, letting a few tears slip out. Regulus’s voice softened, “How ‘bout we clean up and order take out? Chinese?”

James sniffled. “Thai?”

“Thai’s fine.” Regulus pulled back slightly and pressed a kiss to James’s lips. His hand cups the taller’s face and he gingerly wipes his cheek dry with his thumb.

They silently work together to throw the disaster of a feast away and clean the stove and counters. Regulus order’s their food halfway through and by the time the kitchen was back to cleanliness, the doorbell rang announcing its arrival. Regulus went to tip the delivery driver while James set the table, bringing out candles and their nice plates. He grabbed his phone next and queued up some music to play on their speaker

He was still forlorn about the disaster the night had started but is hoping what he has planned next will go more smoothly. Regulus came into the dining room, his gaze trained on the take out receipt to ensure everything was there. When he finally looked up and saw the decorated table he froze. A small smile broke out on his face. “This is nice.”

James blushes again and pulls out the chair for him, “Just because my dinner was ruined doesn’t mean we can’t still act it out.”

Regulus giggled and took his seat, placing the Thai food in the middle. James took his spot next to him and pressed play on his phone, soft music filled the atmosphere. They split the food up between them and ate.

Once their plates were empty and the food packed back into its plastic bag James turned to Regulus. He wiped his hands on his pants, drying the sweat that was forming on his palms. Regulus smiled at him and his nerves multiplied ten folds. “How was the meal?” He shyly asked.

“It was delicious, Thai was a great idea.” He reached over the table and placed his hand in front of James. “Although, I’m sure if your meal was completed it would’ve been even more delicious.” James beamed. His hand crept towards his pants’ pocket to ensure the box was still there. “Thank you for the dinner, Jamie.”

“Of course.” He won’t lose his momentum. He won’t. James took a steadying breath and looked Regulus in the eye. “Regulus…” he started. “Would you like some wine?” James inwardly cringed and mentally yelled at himself. He can do this.

“I would, thank you.” With a nod, James gets up and goes to the kitchen to get the bottle from the fridge. He returns with the wine opened and two glasses already poured. They sat in relative silence sipping their respective glasses. When James’s was empty he immediately poured another and downed that one. Regulus gave him a funny look and set down his half drank glass. He asked, “Is everything okay, James?”

James was halfway reaching for the now almost empty wine bottle and paused. “Uh, yeah, yes, everything is fine. Why do you ask?”

His boyfriend raised his eyebrows in disbelief and glanced between him and the mostly drunk bottle between them. He hummed noncommittally and took another sip of wine. “No reason.”

James blew out a long winded breath and fiddled with the stem of his glass, his eyes trained on the crystal. “There actually is something I wanted to talk to you about,” he started hesitantly. Which, in retrospect of who James is madly in love with, wasn’t the best way to start the real reason of the evening.

Exhibit A: Regulus immediately freezing and blurting out; “Are you breaking up with me? Is that why you were making a nice dinner and brought out the wine? You’re letting me down gently?”

James sputtered and fell out of his chair to kneel directly in front of him. He grabbed Regulus’s hands and violently shook his head. “No! No, fuck, no.” James took a steadying breath. “Regulus Arcturus Black, you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Never in my life had I met someone as amazing and understanding as you are. You see me for me, and I see you for you. We accept each others’ flaws and strengths as if they’re our own. Through every bad day, you’re there for me and I’m there for you. Never, and I mean never, in my right mind would I ever let you go.”

Regulus has tears brimming in his eyes but James doesn’t stop. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the box holding their future. Inside the black velvet box is a silver tungsten band inlaid with a smaller malachite band in the center of the metal. Engraved on the inside of the ring are their initials and the date of their anniversary. Regulus gasped at the sight of it and his tears overflowed, dripping down his chin.

“You are my star, Reggie, lighting up whatever darkness that’s in me until it's gone and burnt out. You are my universe, you’re all I think about every waking moment, and all I dream about when I’m asleep. You are the cosmos to me, bringing harmony to my world. I cannot fathom an instance when I don’t have you by my side, in this life or the next. In any of them really. I love you so damn much, Regulus. Will you marry me?”

James waited, staring into those beautiful eyes that hold the heavens he just described. Regulus shuttered out a sob and fell forward, wrapping his arms around James’s neck and shoulder. Their kiss is wet from his tears. Regulus shook in his arms as he continued to kiss him. James pulled back, resting their foreheads together. They’re breath mingled when he asked with a chuckle, “Is that a yes?”

“Y-yes,” Regulus sobbed. James beamed and pulled further back to take the ring out of the box and to slide it on his fiancé's finger. They both admired the way the candle light glinted off of the ring. Regulus smiled privately at his hand, his fingers caressing the jewelry. James took it and kissed his knuckles.

Regulus laughed sweetly as James pulled him into his lap on the floor. They entwined their fingers, resting them against Regulus’s sternum. “I can’t wait to show you off at our Christmas party as my fiance now.” James told him.

Regulus rolled his eyes. He wiped his still damp cheek on James’s shoulder. “I can’t wait to see Sirius’s reaction.”

James snorted. “Who do you think went with me to pick the ring out?”

“Really?”

“Of course he did, love.” James kissed his hair. “He was supposed to keep you out of the house longer tonight, but it’s fine. Everything worked out perfectly.”

Regulus shook his head fondly and stood, bringing James up with him by their conjoined hands. “How about we finish that wine and break open another bottle, fiancé?” James preened and swooped down to place a chaise kiss to his lips. “Whatever you wish, fiancé.”

i was gonna include the photo of the ring i used as inspo but decided against it

#marauders #james potter #regulus black #dead gay wizards #jegulus #25daysofjegumas

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