#NOT TO MENTION that my phone is usually still lying facedown with the sound off bc I have JUST GOTTEN UP

[swinging-stars-from-satellites]

people stop calling me at 8am challenge

[gingersnaaps]

sandman

to be taken by sleep really isn't such a bad thing - not when osamu's the one waiting in your dreams.

wc: 3.2k

tags/tw's(PLEASE READ): explicit n*fw, dubcon, creampie, breeding mentions, penetration, fingering, sex dreams, sleep paralysis, incubus!osamu vibes, vaguely supernatural, you fall asleep forever at the end, fem!reader with inner genitals

a/n: written for @ultimate-astridwriting's wonderful collab and inspired by my recent stint of sleep deprivation also i feel like i may have strayed a bit from the prompt but oh well

i don’t want minors interacting with my content

You can’t recall when Miya Osamu first started appearing in your dreams.

It was a subtle thing at first: the features of strangers, normally blurred beyond recognition, melded into his half-lidded eyes and soft smile, and you’d catch glimpses of his face in the reflection of windows and out of the corner of your eye. You didn’t think too much of it. You’d read an article somewhere that mentioned how faces in one’s dreams came from the interactions in our real lives, and with how much you’d been frequenting his onigiri shop, you suppose that his appearances were to be expected.

Still felt a little strange for you to be having a dream so intimate, though.

You’re lying on top of his broad chest, one arm on your waist, the other resting gently on your thigh. His thumb rubs tender circles into your skin, stroking softly as you rise and fall with the movement of his chest.

“‘Miya?” you ask tentatively. “How did I end up here?”

He chuckles. It’s a deep, rich, sound, one that reminds you of rivers running steady and full moons in the countryside, the vibrations passing from his body to yours. When he speaks, his voice is low and a little quiet, but with his lips grazing your ear, you don’t miss a single word.

“Call me Osamu.”

The familiarity leaves your face slightly flushed, embarrassment tingling across your skin. He shifts you around in his arms, tilting your body so that you meet his warm, inviting, gaze. The hand on your thigh seems to burn red-hot, and you wonder if he can hear the heartbeat pulsing just inches away from his fingertips.

He smiles softly at you. “You’re a beautiful girl.”

Your heart seizes, malfunctions, pounds erratically-

You wake up in the dark, damp sheets clinging to your skin, heart skipping like a schoolgirl and drunk off the compliment from your dream.

There’s a bad ache in between your legs. You trail a hand down your front, fingers sliding into your pajama shorts to quell your want.

-

Dusk is falling across Tokyo when you head to Miya’s - no, Osamu’s - onigiri shop. Twilight makes giants of the pedestrians, stretches out the shadows that loom tall in the soft gray-orange of the setting sun, the darkened shapes scurrying through the city’s rush hour.

Unlike them, you’re not going home.

A busy schedule meant little time for home-cooked meals, and the food here really was excellent. When you push open the door to his shop, the jangle of a bell sounds somewhere above you, and Osamu barely looks up before a smile settles on his face.

“The usual, I suppose,” he says, beckoning you inside.

You nod gratefully. The atmosphere of the shop is comforting - there’s just a few customers trickling through, picking up their to-go order that he’s prepared. You pick a seat near the window, one that gives you an unobstructed view of the sunset outside.

The chatter dies down as the last customers leave the shop, their onigiri clutched in hand, and a peaceful silence descends on the space around you. He brings out your food just a few minutes later, setting the dish in front of you.

“As requested by my favorite customer,” he says, a wry grin on his face. “Glad to have you back tonight.”

Your stomach flutters at the closeness between the two of you, and you suddenly feel embarrassed - ashamed of how much you’d been thinking about him, of the dreams you’d been having, of the way his touch had left you wanting for more in those same dreams - but it’s a good kind of embarrassed, one that leaves excitement bubbling in your core.

It feels a bit like a crush.

“Couldn’t miss out on the food, could I?” you reply.

“So you’re only here for my onigiri.”

“I- no, of course not."

“Just teasing.”

He smiles crookedly, and for just a moment, there’s a knowing glint that flashes in his eyes - the kind of expression that makes it seem like he’s aware of more than he’s letting on - but it vanishes almost immediately, passing too quickly for you to be sure of anything.

He turns to go back inside the kitchen, lifting up a hand casually to wave goodbye. “See you soon.”

-

Upon your arrival home, the first thing you notice is how very tired you are.

It’s not too out of the ordinary - it was a Monday afternoon, after all, and that had always been your least favorite day of the week - but the minute you crash onto the couch, your eyelids seem to droop with sleep, limbs growing heavy as the room around you swirls into a half-conscious haze.

You’ve still got chores to take care of. There’s dishes from the morning to wash, laundry to fold and put away, a few work emails to respond to that were probably very important, but you just can’t seem to stave off the overwhelming fatigue that seeps through your veins and numbs your entire body.

You need to sleep.

So you let it happen. You let your eyes flutter shut, let yourself relax and melt into the soft cushions of the couch, let your mind go nice and blank and empty.

After you give up the struggle of staying awake, the dreams come quickly.

“Glad to have you back so soon.”

The warm, quiet, voice from yesterday rumbles somewhere above you. You’re laying on his chest again, ear pressed to the soft fabric of his faded black shirt. You make a small, confused, noise, but he just laughs, gently brushing aside your hair, a hand trailing down your body and creeping closer to your inner thigh.

His touch feels electric. Every brush of his fingertips against your thigh, feather-light and teasing, leaves you with your heartbeat thudding in your cunt.

“We’ve gotta get you ready,” he murmurs. “Prep you well enough so that you’ll feel good when the time is right.”

You clench around nothing at his words, and maybe he can feel it with his hand so dangerously close to your pussy, because he smiles lazily and asks, “Are you that desperate?”

You’re not sure whether you should deny it - he can probably tell you are, anyway, but the thought of nodding, of saying yes, ‘Samu, want it so fucking bad - it leaves you with your cheeks flushed hot with shame.

He doesn’t need your explicit confirmation to read the way your body twitches against his, though, and he moves his hand lower to cup around your pussy. His palm is warm, the pressure steady and constant as he holds his hand still against your throbbing cunt. You can’t help but squirm against him, sloppily grinding your clit against his waiting hand, bucking your hips back and forth for any friction you can get. You’re panting, breaths quick and shallow as you feel the drag of the cotton panties in between his skin and yours, and a lewd moan tumbles from your lips. “Touch me,” you mumble, voice thick with arousal.

You look so pretty down there, hair mussed and mouth open slack in a perfect o, getting off all by yourself - he should give you a hand, shouldn’t he?

He nudges your damp panties aside, the thin fabric creasing the fat of your pussy as he brings a thumb up to your clit. His ministrations start slow, circling your clit patiently while you writhe from the pleasure, just barely dipping his index finger into your hole, his long, dextrous fingers skilled and patient as he works to search out the sensitive spots that leave you gasping and delirious.

“I want you dripping,” he says softly, sliding his finger inside all the way to the base of his knuckle. “Want you spread out on my hand, soaking me through, wet enough for me to fuck you full.”

You shudder with anticipation at his words, hips wriggling and rutting against his stiffening cock as his finger drags along the ridges of your g-spot. Every movement of his is accompanied by an embarrassingly audible squelching noise, your cunt already swollen and hot with arousal, your slick running in a cool trail down the crease of your thigh.

He flicks his thumb against your clit, this time more harshly. “ ‘m gonna fill you up so good when you’re ready,” he whispers. “Fuck you until your pussy milks my cock dry.”

Your eyelids flutter, a rush of pleasure crashing down on you as he pops another finger inside. Your hand fists at his shirt weakly, grabbing and pawing at the fabric as he curls his fingers just right inside you.

“You’re gonna feel so fucking good, sweetheart.”

You wake up from your dream as an orgasm ripples through your body, eyes flying wide open as you squirm and thrash on the couch. The pleasure coiling tight inside your core unwinds, pulsing in your cunt as you moan.

The room is dark and empty.

You rub the sleep from your eyes, vision bleary as you reach for your phone - it reads 7:00 AM. You’ve slept for almost twelve hours.

As you get up, swinging your legs off the couch and righting yourself, you notice one intense, overwhelming, feeling that roots you to the couch and leaves your limbs limp and loose:

You still feel so tired.

-

The rest of the week seems to pass by in a blur. You’re so exhausted you can barely think straight, stumbling from your office to your home - and sometimes to Osamu’s onigiri shop - going about your life half-dazed and barely conscious.

The only respite you get is in sleep.

Your dreams have gotten particularly intense as of late, head clouding full of visions where you’re fucked in every position: shoved up against the wall, facedown in the mattress, and even hoisted up on the counter. Through it all, there’s one constant.

Miya Osamu features in every single one of them.

You know his voice by heart now, a low, quiet, rumble that both soothes you and sets your cunt thrumming with anticipation. His silver-gray hair, his round, half-lidded eyes, the softness and the warmth of his body - they’re as familiar to you as your own features by now. You’re pretty sure you’ve even memorized the feeling of his cock buried deep inside you.

In every dream, he whispers the most tantalizing promises in your ear, breathing promises of how he’s gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart, gonna fill you up, gonna breed this pretty pussy until you’re carrying my seed inside you.

And even though you never wake up well rested anymore, you find that you don’t particularly mind. After all, there’s not much you look forward to in your waking hours. Every grating hour you spend working your stupid little job, or attending your lengthy, useless, lectures - it all feels like you’re just going through the motions, like you’re just trying to make it through so that night falls sooner and he can finally come visit you.

The week comes and goes, and soon enough, it’s already Friday.

You stumble in through the front door, a yawn itching at your throat, and you head straight for your bedroom. You pass by the ever-growing stack of dirty dishes in the sink, the stack of bills on the countertop, the laundry you’ve left in the drying machine. You’ll get to it next week.

For now, you just want to sleep.

The bedroom is gloomy and dim, grey light from an overcast twilight filtering through the blinds. The room feels stuffy in the dark, the four walls suffocating the small space, but you don’t bother with turning on the lights. Why would you, when you plan on heading straight to sleep?

You undress clumsily, almost tripping as you pull off your pants and shrug off your blouse, and stagger into the soft, warm, embrace of your bed.

A warm burst of comfort surges through you as the familiar feeling of drowsiness overtakes you. Your eyelids grow heavy, lashes fluttering slightly, the thump of your heart slowing - you’re right on the precipice between the conscious and the unconscious, straddling the border between sleep and waking -

You hear a voice sound from shadowy recesses of your room.

It’s a voice you’d recognize anywhere.

“I missed you at my shop today.”

You open your mouth to respond, but no noise comes out. It’s as if your vocal cords have been plucked from your throat, your voice frozen somewhere deep inside your trachea, and the only sound you can make is that of silence. A bit belatedly, you realize that you can’t move either, your limbs settling uselessly at your side as you lie paralyzed on your back.

A head of gleaming, silver, hair emerges in front of you, and your breath catches in your throat. You’re not sure if this is a dream anymore.

You blink once, and suddenly, you find him in your bed. He’s hovering above you, arms pressed to either side of your head, gazing down with a hungry, hungry, expression. He’s waited all week for this, sweetheart - won’t you finally indulge him?

He pulls the comforter aside, large hands gliding over your body and hoisting up your hips. You feel like a ragdoll in his hands, limp and immobile, and he rearranges your limbs and positions you until he gains easy access to your ready, waiting, cunt - the same cunt that he’s been preparing all week.

He drags a finger through your slick folds, already wet and sticky from the ministrations of the previous few days. There’s no need to bother with prep. He can already feel the way your cunt pulses at his touch, can see the need etched into the gleam of your eyes even as the expression on the rest of your face remains frozen.

His hand glides over his clothed cock, strained and throbbing with need as he pulls it out and strokes slowly, eyes fixated on your body the entire time. His dick is big, flushed almost purple as cream beads at the tip, balls fat and full and heavy.

Osamu’s had enough of waiting.

With a groan, he pops his cockhead into your drooling, twitching, hole, pushing in steady, thrusting all the way into your tightening cunt until he hits your cervix.

“Feels so fuckin’ good,” he murmurs, face scrunched with pleasure. “So tight it feels like you’re trying to milk me dry.”

He rolls his hips slowly, dragging his cock along the front of your walls, the ridge of a vein pressing right into your sweet spot. Your legs twitch uselessly as he pulls halfway out before slamming his cock back in.

“I wonder if you’d like that,” he muses. He brings a thumb to rest at your puffy, swollen, clit, pressing down in steady circles, his touch unrelenting and firm, sending spasms of pleasure that leave you clenching and gripping down onto his thick cock.

“I think you would. I think you’d love it if I filled you up, if I fucked you full of cum and bred this tight little hole,” he says, the barest hint of an amused smile tugging at his lips. His voice is calm and steady - a striking contrast to his filthy words, his brazen promises.

His slow, steady, strokes quicken, hips slamming roughly into yours, each thrust satiating the want in your cunt. Your walls pulse as if they need to be filled, squelching lewdly as he fucks you hard and deep.

He leans down. His lips hover millimeters away from your forehead, just barely grazing your skin with tender, light, kisses. “Take it,” he whispers, thumb rubbing harshly at your clit. “Take it like a good girl for me. I know you can.”

The kisses he presses to your forehead start to travel down the underside of your jaw, soft little nips and bites with his blunt teeth that leaves a trail of his glossy spit on your face. His mouth finds your ear.

“When I cum, you better not waste a single drop,” he breathes. “Wanna fill you up, make you mine. I want to own this pussy.”

He brings his hand down to pat your stomach where your womb would be, rubbing the soft surface of your skin in tender circles. His balls are aching so badly - he needs to cum, needs that release, needs to stuff your messy cunt.

“Cum with me,” he urges. “Right now.”

The pleasure pulsing inside you draws taught - snaps - and you’re pushed over the edge. If you were still capable of speaking and moving, you’re sure you’d be moaning loudly, hips twitching uselessly as he creams your pussy over and over. He fucks you through your orgasm, spent cock softening inside you as you squeeze his dick. After all, he doesn’t want any of it to leak. He wants it sloshing around in your hole, filling you up until you’re warm and wet and sticky, wants to breed you, to mark you down as his.

You look beautiful with your insides stained white, he thinks.

You can feel your cunt twitching slightly as you come down from your high. He smiles warmly, gives your pussy a little pat -

You blink and he’s gone.

Almost as if he was never there in the first place.

Sleep takes you quickly after that. You’re exhausted from being fucked, exhausted from the constant stimulation, and you quickly fall fast asleep. All is silent and still in your darkened bedroom.

-

The next day, right as the sun starts to drop over the horizon, glinting stars nestled in the sky high above, you find yourself back in front of Osamu’s onigiri shop.

It’s partly due to the hunger gnawing in your stomach, but it’s more out of curiosity than anything. You need to know if it’s real, if he’s real, if the past two weeks were nothing but a fever dream.

And you really want to see him again.

As you push open the door to his shop, you’re greeted with his friendly smile, as usual.

“Same thing again?” he asks.

“Of course.”

The exhaustion hasn’t gone anywhere. You’re still constantly tired, always drifting off during the daytime, limbs weary and worn. When you sit yourself down at the usual spot - the table near the window - that irresistible fatigue seems to creep up on you again.

It’s so calm and comforting in his little shop. The lights are warm, the view is pretty, the quiet chatter of his few customers soothing to your ears. It’s so easy to rest your head in between your hands, shoulders slumping, mind empty of every little unimportant thought, so easy to just close your eyes, so easy to fall into the rose-tinted haze of your nice, pleasurable, dreams.

Osamu comes out of the kitchen in the back of the shop, carrying your food on a plate, and finds you fast asleep with your head on his table.

He’s not surprised. In fact, he’s quite pleased.

In fact, if he has his way, you’ll never have to wake up again.

tyvm for reading!! i really appreciate reblogs and comments - it's part of what motivates me to keep making content :)

here's my masterlist if you'd like more.

[softhaos]

PURELY PLATONIC

pairing – joshua hong x reader genre – fluff  description – you never expected to find a new friend due to ranting about lee chan. you also never expected to find a dumbass spreading the rumor that you and joshua were suddenly a couple. alternatively, you and joshua are really just friends without benefits but uh, everyone else begs to differ. warning – none word count – 4,774 words author’s note – for once, i’m not writing a crackfic, i think? it came out so much more different than i initially planned (which was basically three months ago sdjjk) either way i hope you enjoy xx

set in the victorious universe | can be read as a standalone

You are going to kill Seokmin. As soon as he fixes the mess, that is. You’d love to end his life right there and then, but his early death wouldn’t solve your wifi issue. There is no plausible explanation on to how Seokmin managed to cause a power outage in your apartment but the fact is: with no electricity available, there’s also no wifi.

Under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t make a big deal out of it. You could go several hours without wifi, that’s not an issue at all.

However, when you have to finish revising your article for the college newspaper and send in the final draft of your work before five in the evening because you value your wellbeing and don’t want Chan bitching at you for approximately a month, it becomes a very big issue. And as much as you like to joke about falling off the stairs, you don’t want to actually die due to Chan latching onto you and expressing his annoyance about your inability to report back in time.

You only have three hours left to edit the word vomit you produced and the next best location where you can work is the Pow Wow café two blocks away from the apartment complex. There really aren’t any downsides to the coffee shop: their coffee is heavenly and the internet connection works just as fine as your own. It’s a genius solution.

What you didn’t calculate into your brilliant masterplan is the peak time at Pow Wow. You realize that the moment you step inside the café.

The interior hits the mark of comfort and zero tackiness. Black and red pillows are lying on the couches and give the place more life besides the pale green and beige accents on the wall. There’s a reason why Pow Wow is pretty much considered the best café on campus grounds. The loud chatters blend in with the Bob Marley song that’s playing in a moderate volume from the speakers and become almost inaudible to you as you scan the place for a free table. The disappointment strikes you hard since all you are met with are unfamiliar faces. Whenever you spot a free seat, either the clutter on the table refrains you from claiming it or the person just returned from their refill back to their clutter. The odds are definitely not in your favor today.

At this point, you’re already dialing Mingyu’s phone number in the hopes that he could pick you up and let you abuse his (very shitty) wifi. Any internet connection suffices, you figure, and if the next best thing is Mingyu’s horrible wifi, you just have to suck it up. Your plan C for everything has always been Mingyu and so far, it has always worked out.

Except for this time, it doesn’t.

“Please leave a message after the–” you don’t bother speaking into the answering machine and slip your phone back into your pocket. Maybe you shouldn’t have expressed your desperate need to behead Seokmin, that’s possibly the reason why the odds are not in your favor at all.

Nonetheless, since you’re already here, you might as well get your hourly dose of caffeine.

“Anything else?” the barista – Minki is his name according to the name tag – asks as he writes your name on the cup before sliding it to his coworker. The overly bright smile that is bound to be a forced one never leaves his lips.

“A good wifi connection and some silence,” you shoot back intuitively.

Startled by the given answer, Minki raises a brow and nods understandingly. “Ah, I wish I could have those privileges too.”

He’s about to add something when one of the other workers call your name, a sign that your order is done. You send him an apologetic, fleeting glance before you scurry off and grab your drink.

Cup in one hand and phone in the other, you’re about to dial pretty much every contact you have in hopes that at least someone would be so kind enough and give you their wifi. You’re almost by the door when you suddenly collide against someone and stagger. But before you end up on the ground facedown, warm hands have a firm grip on your shoulders and prevent you from losing balance. Surprisingly, you don’t spill your coffee or drop your phone.

“Hey, everything okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, I–” your mind goes blank and the words lingering on your tongue are forgotten when you see his face.

“You sure?” he asks again, brows furrowed in worry. His jet black hair is messy from the wind and some strands reach down to his eyes. However, you still recognize him faintly even if his appearance is different than usual.

“You’re Joshua from Professor Ahn’s composing class, aren’t you?” you blurt out and immediately regret sounding so ecstatic. If it weren’t for your both hands that were already holding something, you would’ve clamped your mouth shut. Judging by Joshua’s startled reaction, you might have as well beamed at him.

“Uh…” he chuckles lightheartedly but is still weirded out, “Y/N, we’ve been in the same course since the beginning of the semester, which by the way, started a month ago.”

“I only ever see you with glasses, so excuse me for not recognizing you right away,” you improvise and scrunch up your nose when you brought up the glasses. Technically, you didn’t lie to him. Up until now, you’ve really only met him with specs perched on his nose.

You haven’t talked a lot with him – scratch that, you’ve never exchanged a word with him before. There has never been a reason for you to approach him and even if you wanted to approach him at the end of a lesson, he’d rush out the classroom as fast as the wind. If you’re not mistaken, he’s pretty much the first person to be present before the lesson and the first to leave the lesson.

Joshua seems to believe you and rubs the back of his head. “I really do look different without glasses, huh? But back to the point. You looked awfully stressed just a moment ago.”

“Karma,” you deadpan, “Or long story short: A friend of mine trashed my wifi, he’s fixing it at the moment but I have to submit my article for the newspaper in a few hours unless I want Chan haunting me.”

Joshua feels the pain to well and cringes at the mention of Chan as if you had set off a foul memory of his. “Chan can be… a handful.”

“Tell me something I don’t know. Who does he think he is, running around and acting as if he were God?” at this point, you already lost track of time just ranting about the head editor of the official college newspaper. You must’ve been complaining about your life dilemmas for so long that one guy rudely tells you to not block the way to the exit. That was the incentive for Joshua to pull you away and one moment later, you’re sitting right in front of him.

You’re about to let out all your pent up anger about Seokmin on him when he interrupts with a small smile and hand gesture.

“If you want to rant on, I’ll be glad to lend you an ear. But seeing as it’s five pm in a few hours and you still haven’t sent in the final draft to Chan, I suggest you work on that first.”

“That’s awfully nice of you,” you mumble after a moment of silence. That doesn’t stop you from pulling out your notebook and setting it on the smooth wooden surface.

Your comment triggers a wholehearted chuckle. Joshua slightly tilts his head back but quickly recovers after taking a sip from his refill. “Chan’s wrath? Been there, done that. I wouldn’t even want to have the people I dislike go through that.”

“That bad?” you inquire playfully.

“Think Professor Jang’s wrath but a little less Professor Jang.”

You almost choke.

“That’s it. I really have to pull myself together,” you say monotonously and open your article about this year’s talent admission contest. A quick glance at the clock suffices to get your gears working at lightning speed. You still manage to swallow a frustrated groan when you look at the word vomit and suddenly realize how much editing is really needed for this piece.

You may have successfully refrained your voice from exposing your misery, however, your face speaks for itself. You don’t bother to look up or you refuse when Joshua asks, “Need help?”

“If you can help me edit this article, you’re my lifesaver,” you shoot back instantly while keeping your eyes glued to the screen.

Joshua snorts in response. “I used to work on a project with him. Several times, actually. I don’t usually speak highly of myself, but I am confident that I know what floats his boat and what doesn’t.”

This time it’s your turn to let out a burst of laughter. “People still use that saying?”

“That’s Chan’s language when he’s feeling really artistic.” Joshua grins before he stands up and occupies the chair beside you. In the blink of an eye, he’s suddenly leaning towards you and meddles with your laptop so that he can also view the screen. You don’t miss how his eyeballs almost fall out of their sockets as he quickly skims through the words. “Did you write a novel or something? And you’re crazy enough to edit this monster by yourself?”

“Look, I get carried away easily–”

“Samuel Kim deserves better,” he reads out loud and you feel the blood draining from your face.

“...and I tend to be very subjective,” you trail off. Suddenly, editing your article by yourself seemed like the better option. Maybe even having Chan pestering you is the better–

Okay, that’s definitely a lie. You’re not going to finish that thought.

“Let me just share the link so I can access the draft from my own laptop,” Joshua suggests as if he were asking for your permission first. That seems to go down the drain as his nimble fingers are already working fast while he’s speaking. It doesn’t bother you though.

What follows after he accessed your article from his own device is comfortable silence. Besides the occasional comment from his side concerning your statements about some contestants (he was very persistent about the runner-up Ha Yoonbin in particular) and the background chatter, the main sound you perceive is your fingers feverishly hitting the letters on the keyboard.

The two of you are so engrossed in editing the article that you barely process the time. It’s when Joshua returns to the table after grabbing a refill for the two of you that you wonder how long you’ve been working on the text. Your heart stops beating when you realize that you only have five minutes left before the deadline.

However, after skimming through the visibly shorter word vomit than before, you deem the article as fair enough and send Chan the final draft.

With the weight finally lifted off your shoulders, a wave of relief washes over you.

“Joshua, you're my lifesaver. I'm dead serious here,” you say while gazing at him with an equally serious face. “By the way, thanks for the refill. Wait a sec, I'll grab my wallet—”

“It's on me,” he cuts you off and sets the cup on your table before you can refuse. “Seriously, it's no big deal. I'm glad I could help.”

Your eyes flicker from him to the cup and then back to his face. Shooting him an incredulous stare, you set your fist on the table to prove a point. However, he doesn't seem impressed judging by the quirked brow and waits for you to elaborate.

“It doesn't work like this. You don't spontaneously help me out with an over 20,000-word article and buy me a coffee. On top of that, you don't want to be paid back? That's unacceptable!” you declare and demonstratively repeat your action.

A fond smile paves its way onto his face. He attempts to say something but always pulls back in the last moment. So after what feels like a moment of silence too long, he proposes, “Fine, if you really insist, then you owe me one. I don't know when it'll come in handy but let's say I need some help with an assignment for composing class, you'll have to help me out. Deal?”

“Fine by me. But what about the coffee?”

Joshua’s eye twitches. It's a faint movement, barely visible if you don't pay enough attention yet you still pick it up. You refrain yourself from pointing it out though.

“How about you buy me one coffee as we continue our discourse about things Chan does that annoy us some other day?” he inquires after a while, fingers tapping an irregular beat on his cup.

You detect the playfulness in his tone but you also know he isn't completely joking regarding this matter.

A smile erupts on your lips.

“Text me whenever you're free or feeling like it.”

You really did spend several hours at Pow Wow ranting about Chan and his antics. Along the way, you might have found more topics you could collectively complain about or praise that led to a second platonic date.

And a third.

And more after.

Sometimes your conversations even escalated into a debate about the talent admission contest a few weeks back.

(“Ha Yoonbin should've won and any other opinion is invalid!”

“Well, in the end, you're Boo Boo the Fool because believe it or not, Yoon Jeonghan won the contest fair and square!”

“I don't deny his talent but Ha Yoonbin!!!”)

Either way, new topics led to more meetings and at this point, you lost count of the number of times you and Joshua have hung out. He’s easy to banter with and to an outsider, it may seem as if you two have known each other for ages. It’s borderline scary how quickly Joshua picks up your humor and therefore, it also doesn’t take too long for you to clown him the way you clown Seokmin–

You admit you clown him a little less than Seokmin. Nonetheless, his reactions are priceless and it’s not your fault that he gives you enough material to tease him about.

“One day, the broken glass song will rise again,” you promise him, observing his every reaction.

He groans in response and hides his face behind his hands. “Don’t you dare bring it up again.”

“How can’t I? Your meme-worthiness is on the same level as the backpack kid!”

He gives you a death stare but it comes off as a pathetic attempt of a glare, almost whimsical even. The cold look never suited him in the first place, you think because his features are all soft and it’s simply impossible to look unapproachable with his face.

“Don’t compare me with him, Jesus Christ.”

You chuckle lightheartedly and raise your arms in defense. “I was just messing with you! Okay, fine, I’ll shut up about it.”

“Thank you.”

“For now.”

Joshua looks like he’s about to kill you. His eyes might not say so but the rest of his actions do. You don’t miss the way his hands grip his mug tighter, causing his veins to show up slightly. However, he keeps his artificially sweet smile and resorts to changing the topic.

“Jokes aside, I need some help concerning a song.”

That catches your interest. “A song, you say?”

“I feel like some of the lyrics are off,” he explains and finishes his coffee. “Besides, you still owe me that.”

He’s right. While you have spent a lot of time together, the situation where he would need your help hasn’t arisen up until now. Of course, you haven’t forgotten that – even if your memory wasn’t the best, you couldn’t ever forget that he helped you with your article.

That’s how you end up in his bedroom of the apartment he shares with Kim Taehyung, another Seoul Arts student whose major you don’t recall. All you know is that he’s very invested in stage plays but is never the main role of any play. Oh, and he mixes very delicious cocktails.

Joshua’s room is fairly big, but it’s surprisingly very clean. His bed is neatly made, there’s no clutter on his desk by the window, there’s no book missing on his shelf and the several guitars he owns are standing side by side, right next to the closet.

Your eyes flit through the lyrics Joshua handed to you while he’s busy tuning his guitar. The lyrics are cute, endearing even – what else do you expect from a love song titled “falling for u”? It seems as if Joshua’s love (or addiction) for coffee is so strong that he even included it in his lyrics.

“So tell me truthfully–” you look up and smirk “– who is the muse for this song?”

At that moment, Joshua’s cheeks take a faint shade of red. “There is none,” he mumbles and adds in a louder voice, “Anyway, should I sing you the song?”

“Don’t bullshit me,” you scoff because there’s no way that he just came up with the lyrics without a person in mind. The words are too personal for that matter. “If it makes you feel more at ease, I promise I won’t tell anyone and if I do, I’ll buy your coffee until the end of the year.”

As if he doesn’t believe it, his eyes go wide. But as fast as he widened, he squints as you suspiciously just as swiftly. “You do know I drink a lot of coffee. Your wallet is going to suffer,” he points out slowly.

You roll your eyes and prop your chin on your palm. “Of course I’m well aware of that. That’s exactly why I said it.”

Joshua studies you hard, conflicted whether he should really trust you or not. His muse for this song must really be someone he’s really crushing on, you figure. While it is some very valuable information and definitely something you can tease him with, you’d never go behind his back and pass it on to others. That’s a big, red no-no.

“Fine, but you really can’t tell anyone else,” he warns and you nod frantically while you move to a sitting position on his bed.

“So uh…” he rubs the back of his head and avoids your gaze, “It’shmmnhung.”

You cock your head to the side, thousand invisible question marks floating over your head. “Who?”

Joshua stares at you, silently asking you if you were serious and turns as red as a tomato. However, he sighs once and repeats his sentence much clearer. “It’s. Kim. Min. Kyung.”

Your last functioning brain cells only process the name slowly. You blink at him dumbfoundedly several times until you finally matched the name with a face. When the realization finally hits you, you nearly fall off the bed.

“What?! You do know she has a girlfriend, right?! This–” you screech while waving around with the lyric sheet, “–is downright a confession, so what were you even thinking?!”

“Of course I do!” Joshua replies in the same frantic manner before elaborating, “This song was written before Minkyung and Yaebin got together and yes, I’ve stopped crushing on her. She was just the inspiration for this song and I find this song too good to dump it.”

“Good.” you nod appreciatively and cooled down from the shock. “I mean, not only good that you’re not going to be petty and break them up or something but good that you’re confident in your songs too.”

“I try to.” he shrugs.

“It’s a start.” you wave your hand as a sign for him to start singing. “Now show me what you’ve got, Mister I-try-to-be-confident-in-my-songs.”

You’ve never heard Joshua sing before, so naturally, you’re mesmerized by his voice from the moment he starts singing. His voice isn’t all too powerful and you doubt he can belt like Seokmin, but his tone is smooth and sweet like honey and the guitar just complements his vocal color. The song is simple in itself but you can already imagine the number of people listening to this while they study.

“I’m falling for you–” he sings with closed eyes and you note the small smile taking over his lips. He really must’ve liked Minkyung a lot.

And suddenly, the door flings open.

“Shua, can you believe? Jeongguk managed to get me tickets to that one show in Hongdae– oh?” Taehyung struts into the room, blue hair messily falling above his eyes but he instantly stops in his tracks when he sees you on the bed while Joshua’s sitting on the carpeted floor.

“–once again.” Joshua’s voice slowly drops into his normal talking voice and shoots him an incredulous stare.

“Uh, I didn’t know you had a guest. You should’ve texted me.” Taehyung’s eyes flicker from you, then to his roommate and then back to you. But once he has calmed down, he puts on a bright smile and addresses you. “I’m Taehyung by the way. I’ve seen you around campus, you’re an acting major if I remember correctly?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” you admit and return the smile. “I’m Y/N.”

“Y/N, huh? Isn’t Joshua just great at singing and composing?”

“I mean, it’s the first time I hear him sing so I can’t be the judge of that yet–” you earn a huff from the said boy but don’t react to it, “–but so far, he’s promising.”

“You hear that, Shua? You’re promising!” Taehyung beams at an irritated Joshua. “If only he was just as promised when it comes to getting a relationship,” he sighs and lays a hand on his chest as if he were in deep pain.

“Oh, cut it off, Tae. I’m perfectly fine.” Joshua rolls his eyes in a playful manner.

“Well, with this song, he definitely would have someone by his side by now,” you singsong and scrunch your nose. This was a golden opportunity to pull the former Minkyung crush card on him.

Joshua seems to take the hint and tries to silence you with a subtle glare. “Stop that–”

“He would?” Taehyung asks curiously, gaze switching from you to the other guy.

“Tae, stop asking and Y/N, don’t answer–”

“Definitely, if only things were different. Right, Shua?” you stick out your tongue at him as an act of rebellion.

By now, Joshua’s ears have taken on a shade of red and he can no longer hide his embarrassment. The scowl that follows just contributes to it. “I did not ask for this clownery.”

“Fine, I’ll leave. Have fun, you two!” Taehyung says, points finger guns at his roommate and sends him a suggestive grin before he leaves you alone and closes the door quietly.

“By the way,” Joshua speaks up a few moments later, “You’re the only one who knows the crush thing – not even Taehyung knows. So I’d really appreciate it if you kept it for yourself.”

That new information genuinely surprised you. You were quite positive that he also knew and would like to dig deeper. However, you know that he has his reasons for not confiding in his roommate so you refrain from doing so.

Instead, you just coo, “Aw, so I’m the only one trustworthy enough to know of your former crush on Minkyung. Cute.”

You’re pretty sure you weren’t drunk last night and married a stranger you met. You’re pretty sure you didn’t even go out last night.

But the handful of people congratulating you for landing a boyfriend makes you doubt your memory.

You’re busy packing out your lunch when Seokmin startles you from behind.

“I thought I was your best friend!”

“What?” you shriek and look at him flabbergasted, spoon almost slipping out of your grip.

“I can’t believe I heard the news from someone else,” he whines and occupies the seat beside you with a hurt and slightly offended expression.

“Hold up.” you freeze and squint at him. “What are you even talking about?”

“You dating Joshua and not telling me first! That’s what I’m talking about,” he groans as if it were the most obvious thing ever and sulks even more.

This can’t be happening again for fuck’s sake–

“Joshua and I are just friends,” you explain cooly and probably for the 30th time in a span of three hours.

“Oh yeah, and that’s why Taehyung found you in Joshua’s bed and flirting with Joshua when he came home,” Seokmin grunts before he raises a questioning brow at you and leans in closer. “Unless he’s not telling the truth?”

Your jaw almost falls open.

Oh. So Taehyung, huh.

“I mean, he saw me sitting on Joshua’s bed...” you start as you recall your first meeting, “...but that doesn’t mean–”

“So you’re not denying it!” Seokmin cuts you off with a slam on the table. You flinch at the loud smack but luckily, nobody else in the cafeteria seems to notice. The place is quite loud anyway, so no one was going to pay attention to you anyway. “I’m truly happy for you but I’m also disappointed in you for not coming to me first.”

The timing couldn’t have been any better. While Seokmin resumes sulking a fucking lot, a familiar figure enters your peripheral vision. At some point, Seokmin notices your disinterest in him and follows your line of sight.

“Hey, there’s your boyfriend,” he points out.

You don’t even bother correcting him and slowly set down your spoon. “If you excuse me,” you mutter halfheartedly before you get up and walk towards Joshua, who’s standing alone.

No words need to be exchanged for you to leave the scene and talk alone in silence. Just like you, he wears desperation and tiredness on his face and you conclude that he must’ve been bombarded with congratulatory wishes too.

Once you have found a somewhat lonely spot on campus, you go straight to the point.

“Nobody is buying my words when I say it’s a misunderstanding.”

Joshua doesn’t answer right away. He takes his time to choose his words carefully and sort out his thoughts. The sigh of exasperation that leaves his lips after a while makes his frustration clearer.

“God, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have–” his mind is a jumbled mess right now, you can tell, and he readjusts the glasses perched on his nose before starting anew. “Taehyung–”

“Look, it happened, okay? It’s not even your fault.” you shrug but can’t help but sigh too. “I admit, it’s annoying that everyone is now talking about it and I doubt they’ll shut up soon.”

You settle into silence. But unlike the previous times, this silence is deafening and downright heavy. There’s no comfort in this void as you just stand there and try to figure out what to say next. Normally, you would either crack a joke or resort to a different topic, but neither seem like the right option.

The silence is deafening and downright a burden and remains one even when you’re the one to speak up first.

“This may sound bad but I swear it’s not as bad as you think. Plus, I think it’s the only way to get out of this mess.”

“Hm?” is the only sound he makes to let you know that he’s listening.

“Why don’t we just go with it?”

You dare a peek at him and find him sending you wordless questions. His brows are scrunched together and he looks so helpless, trying to understand your proposal.

“Nobody will believe us if we keep denying it. We might as well act as if we were dating and after a while, break up,” you elaborate and look away. Now that you said it out loud, it’s really a ridiculous solution. It’s blatantly stupid and idiotic and the worst idea ever–

It’s the only idea you have though.

You want to say something but he beats you to it.

“So you’re saying that we should fake date.”

“Yup.”

“We just have to hold hands to make it believable and then fake a breakup. That should work out. We don’t have anything to lose anyway, now do we?” Joshua smiles weakly in an attempt to lighten the mood. You go along with it.

“Is that a yes?” you raise a brow at him, the corners of your mouth slightly tugging upwards.

His eyes twinkle as he links his arm with yours.

“I prefer boyfriend, but whatever floats your boat.”