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shimjake · 4 days ago

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flowers in december

pairing . jungwon x fem! reader (ft. sunghoon) about . 16.2k+ words, angst, unrequited love + hanahaki synopsis . jungwon doesn't think there's anything scarier than watching his best friend, who he's secretly been in love with his whole life, get married to another. however, as he coughs up blood and tries to ignore the ache in his chest, he starts to believe that maybe, there just might be something worse: death.

warnings . major character death, blood, throwing up, alcohol/drinking, cursing, themes of suicide and death overall, this is a hanahaki au so i cannot stress enough how much grief there is in this, miscommunication, heavy angst, depression, sickness, there's like 1 suggestive line, its barely implied reader is shorter than jungwon but it doesnt matter too much, if you are reading this hoping for a good time there is none ok

playlist . flowers in december by mazzy star, bonfire by wave to earth, no one noticed by the marias, romantic homicide by d4vd, space song by beach house, favorite crime by olivia rodrigo, beaches by beabadoobee

notes . first fic on this account hello!! also this was written for @hoonigiris i hope you enjoy my grad gift to u! (let's ignore how this was supposed to be done by last august.) also thank you to @sungbeam for dealing with me crashing out every single time and for beta-ing, i love u so much. genuinely writing this has ruined me i'm so sorry jungwon for putting you through this much pain but at least i finished the fic yknow 😭

The light that streams in through the blinds is unbearably bright today.

Usually, Jungwon can ignore it. He can reach over to tug the blinds shut or bury his face into his perfectly fluffed pillow. He can pretend he has no other obligations and surrender to the slumber that consumes him once more. At least, until his alarm rings, he can exist in a world of peace where his only soulmate is the quilted pattern of his blanket.

Unfortunately, though, he cannot replicate this sequence of actions today. Mainly because no matter how hard he tries, the ever-so-persistent buzzing of his phone doesn’t seem to quell.

Jungwon reaches for his bedside dresser unquestioningly, not wanting to open his eyes, which currently feel weighted down by dumbbells. His fingers fumble around the hardwood until they land on something smooth, and he grips his phone with whatever strength he has this early in the morning. With one eye, he peeks at his phone screen to see a flashing call appear on the glowing screen. With a grumble, he picks up.

“Hello?” he whispers. Only then does he register the dryness of his throat, that scratchy, aching feeling he gets after one too many vodka shots at the club.

“Jungwon, finally!” he hears from the other end. It takes him a little bit to recall your chirpy voice from the other end of the phone. “Do you know how many times I’ve called you? This is–”

“Y/n,” he starts, his eyes scanning the clock hanging across his room. “It’s seven in the morning. I never wake up this early. You never wake up this early.”

Jungwon hears a rustle of sheets next to him, a soft whine echoing out from his sleeping hyung. Jay’s tired eyes blink open, and he throws an arm over his eyes as if the light streaming in personally insulted him.

“Fuck, my head hurts. What time is it?” Jay mumbles.

“Seven.”

Jungwon’s headache makes its presence known on cue, and flashes of last night’s misadventures spring through his memory. He groans, already regretting tagging along with Jay to the bar near his house, the one with Jay’s bartender friend that always gives them half off on drinks. Nights like these are ones he always regrets, never too fond of the aftermath of a raging headache, but sometimes he just needs a little something after a long day of work.

“Are you with Jay?” Jungwon hears on the other end, and he hums softly. “Good, because I have something important to tell you both!”

Your voice is wispy, full of breaths and almost-stutters as if you landed in some sort of unescapable trouble. Jungwon’s heart picks up, worry pounding through him as he puts your call on speaker and climbs out of bed. He fumbles around the room, tugging on a shirt and searching for his keys as he responds.

“What’s wrong? Did you miss your bus again? I can come pick you up–”

“No, Won, nothing’s wrong.” Your breathing staggers on the other end, as if you were controlling every inhale and exhale, and he finds himself not believing your words.

“Are you sure?”

“Jungwon. Listen to me.”

He stops, pausing for a beat, and listens. He listens, just like he always does.

“He proposed, Won. Sunghoon proposed.”

And suddenly, Jungwon feels like he’s suffocating.

He doesn’t register much after that, only Jay expressing a small ‘congrats’ as you both continue talking. His knees buckle, and he’s forced to sit back down on the bed with his shirt half-on and shaking hands. He doesn’t even realize he’s crying until he hears shuffling across the room and finds his tears staining Jay’s bare torso, pressing into his chest as Jay brings him in for a hug.

Jay doesn’t say anything at first; he just rubs circles into his back with a touch so delicate that it barely registers. When Jungwon cries harder, he breaks, whispering apologies into his ear as if they can do anything to crush the tidal wave of anguish that just swept over Jungwon.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” he repeats, over and over again like a mantra, but Jungwon doesn’t understand why. Did he do something wrong? Did you do something wrong? Is loving someone who isn’t him wrong?

Or is it he that’s wrong, loving you irrevocably despite your heart belonging to another? Loving you and lying to everyone about his true feelings with only a selfish desire to keep you close. Was it so wrong that he just wanted to be with you, even if it was as your best friend and nothing more?

All the memories of you suddenly resurface, handpicked moments where he could’ve confessed at any moment, but instead remained silent. Moments where he watched you chase your happiness, even if that didn’t involve him. A small, gnawing feeling in his chest makes itself known, crawling its way up his intestines and up his throat.

“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers. Jay pulls back, searching his eyes and anticipating any sort of grief-filled reaction that comes Jungwon’s way. “I… I think I’m going to throw up.”

Jay frowns, already reaching for the pink Hello Kitty bucket in the corner of Jungwon’s room, reserved for hangovers, rough nights, and maybe in rare cases like this, heartbreak. Jungwon’s eyes flutter shut as he heaves, and heaves, and heaves, all his yearning leaving through his mouth until nothing remains and he’s pulling the bucket away with a slight cough.

“Won, you need to rinse your mouth,” Jay starts, patting his back. Jungwon stares into the bucket, his face contorting into something of confusion.

“Won?” he hears again, but this time he rubs his eyes in disbelief, blinking three times before tilting the bucket towards his hyung.

“Look, hyung. Petals.”

White, curled petals, sitting against the baby pink interior of the bucket. A sight so unrealistic that it doesn’t even look real until Jay shakes the bucket and the petals flutter to the bottom. Jungwon can only stare in shock, almost in wonder, until he throws up again.

(He finds out later, after he’s calmed down and the tears on his cheeks have become one with his skin, that Sunghoon proposed to you on that mountain. The one that you and Jungwon discovered first together, back in high school when you ventured off the trail for your senior pictures and stumbled upon the view of a beautiful sunrise studded with pine trees. The mountain that you’d revisit with Jungwon every summer, dragging him, and later Sunghoon, along because it became something of a tradition, sitting at the top of the world with the whole forest spread beneath you.

You would stare at the view. Jungwon would stare at you.)

In retrospect, it’s not like Jungwon didn’t see it coming.

He’d anticipated it for a while now, or at least started expecting it after Sunghoon had pulled him aside during a house party months ago and shyly asked him for his photographer friend’s number, the one who specialized in weddings and surprise proposals. Sunghoon had stared at him so cutely from behind his thick-rimmed glasses that Jungwon had no choice but to ignore the sinking feeling as he forwarded his friend Riki’s phone number, tapping him on the shoulder and wishing him good luck.

(That sinking feeling that he’s always had when he sees you with Sunghoon, as if he doesn’t have a Pinterest album of his ideal wedding that he’s imagined you walking down the aisle in. As if he hasn’t daydreamed about sliding a ring on your finger since he was seventeen, mourning the distance between you two as you headed off to college without him. As if he hasn’t imagined how he’d get down on one knee in the midst of a rainy afternoon and ask to be yours forever.)

It’s just that Jungwon didn’t expect it to be this soon. He thought he’d have more time to bury his reverence for you, to pretend as though you really just were two best friends. He’d wanted to imagine himself cradled in your arms one last time before he lost you for good.

Instead, he has to settle for watching you from a distance. He glances at you one too many times today, admiring the flowy sundress you have on as you sit in the wicker chair next to Sunghoon. It’s like his body knows that you’re slipping from his grasp, because his eyes flicker over to you like it’s second nature, and he has to fight to regain his focus.

It’s the first time he’s seen you, physically, in a long while. You look different, almost as if you’re glowing, so giddy with every movement that Jungwon feels it radiate off you. Conversely, Jungwon feels as though there’s a storm cloud brewing in his stomach, twisting and turning and flipping over and over again as though he’s sick. The complementary croissant from the restaurant lies untouched on his plate, and he busies himself with his phone, reading through the influx of messages from Jay about what’s supposedly wrong with him and his newfound ability to throw up petals.

“Jungwon,” you start, abruptly enough that he almost drops his phone before his eyes glance back up towards you, “and Jake. Thank you for coming.”

“You’re welcome? What is this, an announcement?” Sunghoon’s best friend chimes in, stifling a laugh at your formal behavior.

“Sort of, actually,” Sunghoon responds, observing Jungwon’s confused expression. “We, um,” he clears his throat, the pink rising to his cheeks. “We’re getting married. In two months.”

Time seems to hate Jungwon. It trickles down at moments where Jungwon’s impatient, watching the clock tick as he taps his foot in rhythm, and it crashes through like a tsunami when he craves some peace and quiet. Time seems to slide through his fingers like sand from a broken hourglass, escaping through every crack as if it's running away from something. He never seems to have enough of it, either too much or too little, and right now, he wishes that it was more friendly to him because he knows that getting over you will take a lot longer than two months.

(Really, he’s had a lifetime to do this, but he’s deluded himself into thinking that getting over you is measurable. A process he can start once he needs to. It’s not. Getting over you is an immeasurable entity that he will be battling for the rest of his life. It’s not time that’s unfair to him; it’s himself.)

“That’s so… soon,” Jungwon finds himself saying lamely.

“Yeah,” Jake echoes. “Didn’t you guys just get engaged?”

“Sunghoon has a work trip early next year, so we thought it’d be best to tie the knot before he goes off,” you explain. Your ring glints from the soft sunshine as you meet Sunghoon’s gaze, like a cheesy romance scene in a movie Jungwon wishes he’d never seen. “And we’d like you both to be part of the wedding party.”

The swirling in Jungwon’s stomach intensifies.

“Like, I’d be your maid of honor?” Jungwon lets out, drinking a glass of water to calm the weirdness in his chest.

“Or like, a dude of honor,” Jake comments. Jungwon’s too preoccupied waiting for your reaction to notice Sunghoon’s eye roll.

“Yeah, basically.”

He can’t stop his brain from overthinking, trying any way to get out of something he’d regret. Something you’d regret.

“Are you sure about this? I mean, like, what about Wonyoung?” he asks, knowing how close you are with your college roommate. “She probably knows more about this wedding thing than I do. Or what about Ningning–”

“Won,” you interrupt, placing your hand over his. Your touch is delicate, like always, but he finds it scathingly hot today, as if you’ve set him on fire. “You’re my best friend. Why would I want anyone other than you by my side?”

Oh, how he wishes he could be by your side, not just as your best friend, but as your lover. Sometimes he thinks you know this gaping secret he’s hiding, choosing to say innocent little musings about him and you as if they have no effect on his sanity. He feels sick again, that same sickness from when he gripped Jay’s shirt tightly as tears cascaded down his face, and all he had was the overwhelming urge to get it out. He can’t necessarily do that now, though, not when Sunghoon’s stare is piercing into the side of his head, waiting for a response.

No matter how fucked up this all is, how you unknowingly take and take from him until he has nothing left to give, he still prefers this over not knowing you at all. So he agrees, just like he always does.

“You’re right. Okay,” he says numbly, watching your face light up in a grin as you clutch his hand a little tighter, as if his skin hasn’t been burnt off enough. Even though the whole table radiates with joy, infectious from your laughter, he feels like his heart is being ripped to pieces with every smile you throw his way.

He excuses himself to go to the bathroom a few minutes later, the urge to vomit becoming unbearable with every word he watches you say. He watches the petals float down into the toilet basin, scoffing as he slumps down on the gray tile and wipes his mouth. His hands are finding Jay’s contact before he can even register it, and he tries his hardest not to cry and make a fool of himself in front of you as the phone rings.

He wishes he could go back to a time when he wasn’t in love with you. When all you were to him was just another friend, when he didn’t feel guilty for staring at you a little too long or wanting you more than he wanted anyone else. He wishes he could go back to that time, even though he knows that it never existed, because all he’s ever known is how to love you. He knows he’s been put on this Earth to love you, and to wish otherwise would mean he’d cease to exist.

“Hyung,” Jungwon whispers when the call goes through. His throat is raw and scratchy again, aching just like his feelings for you.

“It’s called hanahaki disease, Won,” Jay whispers slowly, as if it pains him to say. “It’s rare, but it happens when you’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. You’ll keep coughing up petals until eventually you die from it.”

Jungwon laughs bitterly because somehow, death doesn’t seem that bad compared to losing you for a lifetime. In the end, death seems better than this sick and twisted fate of his.

Jungwon has always known that you wanted to get married in a garden.

He knows that it’s been a dream of yours to get married with the river flowing behind you and the dandelions peeking through the blades of grass. Early enough that the morning dew still prickles beneath your feet, but not too early for you to complain about your heavy eye bags from lack of sleep.

Jungwon hates that he knows little details about you like this. He hates that he has the ability to read you faster than he’s read himself, as if you’re a book filled with annotations and dog-eared pages from a life well-lived. If Jungwon were a mere acquaintance, crushing on you from afar, he thinks it would’ve been easier to distance himself emotionally. It would be easier to stop loving you without the weight of the world crashing down on his shoulders.

To his dismay, however, Jungwon is not a random nobody to you. He’s your best friend, your other half, the one who completes your sentences and ties your shoelaces. Jungwon knows you like to think of yourself as a star, a tiny, twinkling star that somehow found its place, but to him, you are the epicenter of every universe. A universe where he handpicked all the stars and galaxies, painted the darkness behind you with a soft brush as if it barely exists in comparison to your glow, because he sees you for all that you are. A universe where he settles for being a small planet that orbits you because he is bound to you by heart and soul, and he won’t be able to escape that, no matter how hard he tries.

Your relationship is so tightly knit that he’s the one helping you pick out flower arrangements today instead of Sunghoon. He adjusts uncomfortably in the too-smooth leather couch in the floral shop, watching your fingers flick through the guidebook and trying not to stare at the ring that has now become a permanent placeholder on your body. He subconsciously makes note of the flower arrangements that you linger on for too long, knowing that you won’t remember them until you retrace your line of thought.

(It’s okay, though. He’s always been there to remember things for you. Like the time you forgot your notecards for your sociology presentation, and he printed out spare just in case. Or when you forgot to ask for mango sago in your drink, so he pulled the cashier aside after to let her know. Even if you’re not aware of how much he does for you, he’ll still continue to do it just to see that glow on your face. That same glow that spreads slowly, the one that barely appears, but the one he still notices because he loves you.)

“They’re all pretty,” you murmur, flipping back and forth through a couple of different arrangements. “What about the petunias?”

Jungwon eyes the multicolored flowers in the photo, his brows arching skeptically. “You didn’t want flashy colors, though,” he reminds you gently, taking the book from your hands.

You sigh, slumping against the couch as if you’re over this whole ordeal, even though it’s only been thirty minutes. Jungwon flips to the next page, ignoring your disinterested gaze because even though your eyes glaze over, he knows how important this is to you, and therefore how important it is to him, too.

He scans the pages until his fingers pause, pressing indents into an arrangement with white colored flowers and pretty green springs. His heart rate spikes as his mind races with every intention to turn the next page, to forget about the same flowers that continue to plague him, but you’ve already noticed his silence and leaned in curiously to examine the page.

“Those are pretty, aren’t they?” you echo, your fingers tracing over the white crysanthemums. Even in the picture, they look delicate, as if one harsh gust could blow away the petals, and all Jungwon can think about is how much they remind him of you.

(They’re the same white flowers he wanted to ask you out with. He’d preordered the bouquet weeks in advance, waiting until the cherry blossoms bloomed to plan the perfect date. The collared shirt he picked out matched how pure the flowers looked in his hands, and he purposefully waited to get his hair cut because he knew you liked to run your fingers through the silky length.

The date never happened, though, because you told him about your crush on Park Sunghoon three days later. The cute barista who always drew hearts on your coffees and added extra boba to your tea. Jungwon smiled back at you as if every word didn’t pierce through his chest, and the bouquet stayed in his dorm, shriveling up until the color became unrecognizable.)

“They are pretty,” he whispers. “Are you sure, though? White flowers tend to wilt faster.”

“They’ll only be for the centerpieces, Won. Besides, the color is versatile enough to go with everything, so it’ll be easy to make a theme around it.”

He wants to tell you that he won’t be able to bear seeing you walk down the aisle with white crysanthemums, a pointed reminder of what could’ve been if you had reciprocated even an ounce of his feelings. He wants to tell you that he’ll die because of this very flower, that the petals he throws up because you don’t feel the same way are the same ones you want to center your entire wedding around.

He wants to tell you that white chrysanthemums mean death, not for you, but for him.

He can’t say any of that, though. Not when you speak so happily to the cashier, discussing logistics and deciding this is the one you want. He can never say no to you, because denying your happiness is like denying his whole existence, even if it causes every part of him to wither away until all that remains is a singular white petal.

The wind whips through Jungwon’s hair as he peeks his head out of the car window, but even that is not enough to stop the ever-so tumultuous feeling in his stomach.

His disease is getting worse. Initially, he’d only throw up after being close to you for prolonged periods of time, or when you sat a little too close for comfort, a little too close to even function. The petals were annoying, and it felt hard to breathe at times, but it was bearable enough that he could deal with it. He could pretend everything was fine when you stared him in the eyes or when your voice fluttered through his ears.

It’s harder now, though, because even the mere thought of you is enough for him to find solace in the Hello Kitty bucket again. There are more petals, too, stained with blood at the tips as if they really are a part of his body and not some figment of his imagination. He chokes on his words more often, always accompanied by a cough and wheezing. He’s gotten paler, enough that he has to apply copious amounts of foundation to resemble his usual self, and his lips are chapped from the number of times he’s had to throw up in the past month.

Jay has moved into his apartment indefinitely, treating him like a sick patient because, well, that’s what he is. There’s no cure, no medicine that can make him feel better, and he has to suffer with this terminal illness until he either dies or kills himself at your altar. Jungwon just hopes he dies after your wedding, while you’re blissfully aware on your honeymoon with Sunghoon. He hopes that when he dies, your last memories of him consist of nothing but happiness.

The Hello Kitty bucket joins him on the way to the cake shop, becoming a permanent fixture in his hands as Jay drives in the seat next to him. Jay’s fingers grip his thigh every time Jungwon coughs, but he manages to make it to the store in one piece.

At least, until he sees Sunghoon’s car parked outside, and all that he has tried to hold back spills out (all the secrets he has buried, one flower at a time).

“It’s okay,” Jay says, wiping the blood from the corner of Jungwon’s mouth, “I’ll be here. I’ll come up with dumb excuses when you need a break.”

The soft aromatics of the bakery waft through Jungwon’s senses as he steps out, and he just prays that he’ll be able to hold on for long enough today in your presence. He wonders how he’s supposed to survive your actual wedding if he can barely even make it through cake testing today, but he knows he’ll have to figure out a way without making you suspicious of what’s going on.

As much as he hates that Sunghoon loves you, it’s hard not to see why. You’re incredibly perceptive, even having noticed the lack of color in Jungwon’s skin despite his best efforts to try and hide it. You’ve seen how much he’s been coughing recently, even calling him more often to check in on him. You make him chicken noodle soup when he feels notably worse, and even if he doesn’t have the heart to see you, you deliver little gift baskets to his door with medicine. If anything, the question is, how could someone not love you?

The doorbell jingles when you walk in, and your eyes immediately light up when Jungwon walks in. Already, you’re skipping over to him and shoving some flavor of cake in his mouth. Knowing you, you’re probably on some sugar rush from all the sweetness, but if anything, it just makes you seem even more adorable in his eyes.

“Red velvet,” he says through bites and shaking his head, “It’s good, but it’s a hit or miss for a wedding cake.”

“Back to the drawing board,” Sunghoon sighs behind you, picking up another slice of cake and sliding it over to Jungwon. He shovels it into his mouth, already grimacing at the sour lemon taste and glancing over to see your reaction.

“God, I hate this,” you say, and Jungwon hands you the water glass before you can even reach for it. You thank him before taking a big swig, finishing the water in the cup, and you step aside to refill it with Sunghoon in tow.

“Can you be any more obvious?” Jay whispers from his side, and Jungwon quirks an eyebrow.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on, man. You look at her with googly eyes. You have to be a little more subtle with these kinds of things before Sunghoon catches on.”

“Yeah, but,” Jungwon sighs, running his hands through his hair, “that’s how we’ve always been.”

“You have to understand that it can’t be like that anymore.” Jay rests his palm on Jungwon’s shoulder, gripping it to emphasize his words. “They’re getting married. You can’t take care of her forever because that’s Sunghoon’s job, not yours.”

Jungwon already feels it crawling up his throat before Jay can finish, and his feet fly towards the bathroom, locking the door behind him as he empties his stomach. Jungwon watches in horror as the once white petals are now blood-stained to the core, soaked in deep red as they make their way down the drain. One look in the mirror shows the blood coating his lips, and he tries his best to wipe off the residue so he doesn’t leave the bathroom looking like a vampire.

Loving you is destroying him, he admits to himself with a bitter laugh. He’s living in this sick, twisted version of fate where he’s punished for wanting what his heart desires.

(When in reality, loving you has always been a form of punishment for him. Watching you at your college graduation as Sunghoon pulls you in closer with your purple graduation stole, leaving featherlight kisses on your cheeks as if you two were the only ones to exist in this world. Knowing that, as he recorded you throwing your graduation cap high in the air, he’d never be enough for you. The sleepless nights when he’s agonized over you, haunted by being in your shadow because he’s simply not worth it, have already burned his soul to ashes. His heart is already a decayed, shriveled version of what could’ve been; he’s just too late to realize it.)

Jay is waiting for him by the door as he steps out. One look at his face, and Jay can already tell how much worse his condition has become, but he chooses not to comment on it as they walk back into the room.

“Are you okay?” you ask, scanning his face in worry as he walks over to you. “You were in there for a while.”

“Yeah. My stomach was kind of acting up from the lemon flavor.”

“I didn’t like that one either,” Sunghoon responds, eyes trailing over Jungwon before his brows furrow. “Hey, you have something on your lips.”

Jungwon’s thumb runs over the corner, pulling back to reveal a smidge of blood he’d missed in the bathroom. He pales, and Jay tenses up next to him, trying to think of an excuse so you wouldn’t overanalyze things.

“It’s probably from the dark chocolate raspberry, right?”

Jungwon laughs, dry and hollowed out. “Yeah! I had a lot cause it was pretty good.”

“I wanna try,” you say, scanning the tables for the flavor. Your fingers reach for the cup, and Jungwon watches your eyes light up as the fork disappears behind your lips. “This is pretty good,” you say between muffled bites, “not too sweet and not too tart.”

Sunghoon grips your shoulder, and you turn slowly, facing him with wide eyes. Your eyes lock, and he blinks once, twice, a silent exchange passing between you both before he pulls back to disappear behind the cake counter.

(Jungwon can’t help the bitter taste in his mouth that spreads when he looks at you. Once, that was you and he, sharing secrets between your eyes in a language you both could only understand. Now, he has to watch his form of love being exhibited by another. A love that he’s now a bystander in front of.)

“Thanks for the save,” Jungwon whispers to his hyung when the noise has settled down.

“Don’t mention it.”

Jay passes him a leftover cake slice, and Jungwon shakes his head. The back of his throat burns, and he can’t tell if it’s from throwing up earlier or the raw intensity of his feelings pounding through his chest every time he looks at you. And even though his heart echoes in his ears, he knows you can’t hear it.

He has always been on mute for you, just static background noise in a world where only you and Sunghoon exist.

Jungwon doesn’t like looking at his reflection in your mirror.

It’s not that he hates how he looks, per se (although he does look like a shell of his former self, vampirish with how pale his skin is and how chapped his lips are). He’s just constantly reminded of how out of place he is in your apartment, all long legs, floppy hair, and that constant nagging feeling that he doesn’t really know you anymore.

He feels a little more disconnected every time he visits. Even though he’s seen it evolve from beige walls and empty floors, even though there are remnants of him everywhere he looks, he’s always felt like an outsider looking in.

From the stain on your carpet when he spilled beer in a drunken stupor to the cat magnet on your fridge, which he’d bought at an Asian market years ago, physically, he knows you. However, Sunghoon’s things scattered throughout the apartment remind him that, emotionally, you are not the same person you once were. A casual hoodie draped over the bar stool is enough to make his stomach stir.

(These days, he has to focus on breathing. In and out. In and out. However, so many ins and so many outs cannot help him hide how left out he feels in your presence. He hates to bear witness to you and Sunghoon sharing glances, as if he is the only one that matters to you. He hates the thought of Sunghoon trailing kisses down your stomach, of whispering breathy words against your thighs like a poem made just for you. He hates knowing that no matter how much Sunghoon loves you, he could love you better.)

Jay was right. Your eyes don’t search for his anymore. They search for Sunghoon’s.

“Stop thinking,” Jay chastises. “I can practically hear your thoughts from here.”

He can’t, though. To him, you’re second nature, a permanent fixture in the back of his mind like an itch that won’t stop bugging him. It’s so irrevocably easy for him to think of you because he searches for you in everything. In every flower bouquet he passes by at the market, in every banana pudding recipe he finds on the internet, in every gray cat he sees running by on the street. Asking him to stop thinking of you would mean losing the very thing that’s been keeping him going.

He hears Jay sigh beside him, turning to place an envelope and a wedding invitation card in his hand.

“Focus on this first. You can think about her when you cry yourself to sleep at night.”

Jungwon nods, slipping the card inside the pocket absentmindedly. His heart is never really there during your wedding preparations, or really anything that has involved you lately, but he hopes you appreciate the effort he puts into trying to show up. It’s hard, especially when he feels the blood swirl in his stomach after seeing your name carved next to Sunghoon’s on the envelope, but he’d rather sacrifice his happiness for yours instead of being apart from you.

He’s gotten better at training himself, though. Focusing on his breathing and counting down from ten seems to do the trick most of the time. However, it comes with a heavy price tag. The blood gets worse when he holds back, and it almost feels like he’s hyperventilating once he does find a chance to empty his stomach. It’s always worse in your presence, too, but good thing you’re not here today, leaving your friends to mail out the invitations as you figure out the decorations.

“Jungwon,” Jake calls out from beside him, “do you think the white stamp or the gold stamp looks better?” He flashes both colors in front of Jungwon’s face, the lights glittering from the clear reflection of the gold one.

“Gold. She’ll like that it’s shiny.”

Subconsciously, his eyes flicker toward Sunghoon, looking at him for approval. He nods, not looking up from the table, and Jungwon’s eyes linger before turning back to his own task.

Jungwon doesn’t really harbor any resentment towards Sunghoon. He’s always viewed him through your eyes, always your boyfriend before anything else. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong other than being the unfortunate human being that you happened to be in love with, the person that took everything away from him. It’s hard to see why not, too, because Sunghoon loves in that silent, caregiving way that you don’t realize until you really get to know him. Sticky notes you find on the counter after you come home from work, dishes cleaned if you’re feeling particularly down, holding your hand in his jacket pocket because he loves deeply, not openly. In many ways, Sunghoon is everything Jungwon has ever wanted to be for you.

Jungwon has always wondered if Sunghoon knows about the extent of his feelings towards you. He always stares into Jungwon as if he’s reading his soul, with that piercing gaze that’s not harsh or unkind but rather, telling. They’re not ridiculously close, but they play video games together sometimes and share a cup of coffee after a long few weeks. Sometimes, late at night, when Jungwon gets roped into Jay’s drinking escapades and doesn’t want you to know, Sunghoon will pick him up and let him sleep over. He’s always gone by the time Jungwon wakes up, but he never leaves without leaving fresh hangover soup and painkillers on the bedside table next to him.

Sunghoon is not a bad person, which makes everything incredibly difficult. In fact, he’s the ideal boyfriend, and the guilt eats Jungwon alive whenever he interacts with you and Sunghoon stares a little too long.

“Jungwon,” he hears. It takes him a moment to register that he zoned out, staring at Sunghoon’s face. Sunghoon smiles awkwardly before asking him if he’s alright.

“Sorry– I was just lost in thought.”

Sunghoon hums, and he feels Jay’s stare burning into him as Sunghoon continues.

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the orchestra arrangement.” He stands abruptly, beckoning Jungwon to follow him into the kitchen.

Already, Jungwon has that sinking feeling in his stomach because he knows this conversation will be about anything but the orchestra arrangement. He wipes his sweaty palms against his cardigan, and Sunghoon frowns.

“Look, Jungwon. We’re all excited for this wedding, and I’m sure you are too, but if it’s too much, we’ll understand, okay?”

Jungwon looks at him with a blank stare.

“I– I just mean, you just look exhausted, Won. And I know that,” Sunghoon sighs, running his fingers through his hair as if he’s bracing himself, “I know that I’m not exactly your best friend, but I’m here if you want to talk about it. I care about you, even if it doesn’t seem like it.”

Jungwon feels horrible. In his mind, it’s always been him and you, or you and Sunghoon, but he’s never really considered how Sunghoon thinks about him. Sunghoon is genuine, caring about Jungwon’s health, even though he’s five seconds away from ruining his marriage.

(Jungwon doesn’t deserve any of the good around him. Not Jay, who loves him more than he loves himself. Not Sunghoon, who has always tried to be there for him when no one else was. Not even you, who cares for him even when there is nothing left to care for.)

“I’ve just been feeling a little under the weather, hyung. I’m feeling a lot better, so don’t worry about it.” He coughs, and Sunghoon looks unconvinced. “I promise.”

“Are you sure, I mean–” Sunghon starts, reaching out with his fingers in an attempt to graze his cheek. Jungwon flinches, and his fingers pause midair. “Sorry, you’re probably right. I’m just overthinking.”

Sunghoon has that shyness to him, the one that makes his cheeks pink. He looks guilty, and Jungwon’s heart breaks.

“Thank you for checking up on me, though, hyung. It means a lot.”

Sunghoon smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Jungwon turns to leave before the room feels too suffocating, before the walls close in on him and taunt him for how much of a horrible human being he is, but he pauses once he feels Sunghoon’s palm on his shoulder.

“Wait, Jungwon, I–” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “I know, Jungwon.”

Jungwon stills.

“I know that you love her.”

It feels like his heart is decomposing, burning alive from just the mere mention of you. It hurts a little too much, and he doesn’t even register that he’s crying until he sees the droplets staining the floor. He’s not standing in your apartment anymore, crafting wedding invitations with his friends and debating what color looks better under your cheap lighting. All that he now knows is himself, the tears that slide down his face, and the weight of Sunghoon standing behind him.

“I’m sorry, Jungwon-ah. I’m so sorry,” Sunghoon chokes out. Sunghoon’s fingers grip his shoulder tightly, and Jungwon can distinctly feel the way he trembles underneath Sunghoon’s touch.

He can feel the cool metal of Sunghoon’s rings through his thin shirt. The tears fall too freely now, silently as if he’s afraid to make himself known, and a singular teardrop finds its place against the smooth skin of Sunghoon’s hand.

“Why are you apologizing?” Jungwon whispers so quietly that he’s not even sure Sunghoon hears it. His chest feels too tight, as if he’s curled into a cocoon. “I should be the one apologizing. It’s my fault.”

Jungwon has been hearing a lot of apologies lately. Apologies for loving too much, apologies for loving not enough. He doesn’t really know whether he deserves these apologies, if they really mean anything, or are just words that are intended to fill that gaping hole in his heart, but what he does know is that he’s sick and tired of hearing them. These apologies symbolize that there is something to blame, someone who is guilty, when really, there is only one culprit here.

When really, everything is his fault. Jungwon is the one who learned to love, and now he has to learn to forget. The apologies that fly around his head, whether of pity or sorrow, are worthless to him because, if anything, he is the one who should be saying sorry. Sorry to Sunghoon, sorry to Jay, sorry to you, and sorry to the universe for loving so much that it hurts even to mention it.

“I was too selfish,” Sunghoon whispers. The word sounds foreign in his voice, too unassuming and soft, as if Sunghoon doesn’t even know what it really means.

Jungwon laughs bitterly. Right then and there, he realizes exactly why you fell for Sunghoon and not him.

Sunghoon is too kind to the world. He cares about everyone and everything, from the little caterpillars in the weeds to the dandelion waiting for its dying wish. Jungwon is the opposite. His heart is blood-stained. He feels only for one person, you, and only you. His heart beats too fast because his love for you is like that, someone who feels too much and too intensely. Jungwon’s love is ruination, destroying everything along its path until it’s just the two of you in this universe.

Maybe Sunghoon is selfish, but at least he knows moderation. Jungwon’s love has no limits. He only knows how to take, to take and suck you dry until all you know is him.

“You’re not the selfish one, hyung. It’s me. It’s always been me.”

After he goes home, he throws up. Jay brushes his hair out of his face, and when Jungwon pulls back, all that meets his eye is dark, soul-crushing blood. No more petals. Just blood.

“Maybe you should tell her,” Jay suggests off-handedly as Jungwon drinks water. “It might be good to let it out of your system.”

He can’t, is what he tries to tell Jay. He can’t because admitting he loves you is like confessing the worst of his mistakes. Speaking it into existence will only force him to confront the horrifying truth that you always viewed him as a best friend, or worse, a brother, and he would rather live with the what-ifs and the daydreams than let you leave because of one stupid confession.

Instead, he finds himself nodding. “Sure,” he squeaks out miserably, with every intention of not doing what he’s told. And then he throws up once more.

Jungwon wakes up from a nightmare.

He doesn’t remember what exactly it’s about, only that he’s now dehydrated and his phone is buzzing on the counter next to him despite how late it is.

He sees your name flashing on the screen, and he’s already tugging on his jeans as he answers. It’s like clockwork to him, answering your calls, worrying about you even though you’re probably fine, but he still can’t stop his racing heart or his trembling hands.

It’s as if his brain is hardwired for you. Every beat of his heart, every blink of his eyes, every twitch of his legs, it’s all for you. Jungwon has never lived a single moment without being reminded of your existence in some shape or form. He has never lived a single moment without knowing how to love you.

“Hello?” he asks, almost tripping over his keys.

It takes him a few moments to recognize you crying on the other end.

“Where are you?” he whispers, gentler this time, so as not to scare you away.

“Practice room,” you mumble, so softly as if you don’t want to say it.

He finds you slouched on the ground as he walks into the studio a couple of minutes later, tears staining your light-washed jeans as you furrow into yourself. You’re not crying anymore, not visibly, but somehow knowing that this is the aftermath makes him feel ten times worse.

He’s never really heard you cry before. He knows you’re a private person, someone who likes to share your happiness but keep your sadness to yourself. So, the fact that he could hear your hiccups over the phone meant you were holding back too long, trying to do it all and ruining yourself to the point where you couldn’t hold back your tears anymore.

He hates that you never recognize he’s right here for you. All he’s ever wanted was to be the person you could lean upon, the chest you could curl into as you cried your heart out. He wants to be that person that you share your sorrows with, the one to take hold of your burdens and shoulder them himself, but you never let him do it.

(So it brings him, with sickening greed, a small amount of satisfaction to be the one that’s here for you tonight. Even though his mind tells him not to, even though his body physically forbids him to be near you, his heart only beats your name as he slides down next to you.)

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s stupid,” you mutter. Your fingers pick at the dry skin near your fingernails, and he can see the redness of your eyes as you look up at him. “You shouldn’t have come.”

“I won’t judge,” he says, repeating himself when you don’t respond. “Please.”

You sigh. “Hoon and I had dance practice today. You know, for our first dance. But I–” you laugh, wiping away the tears that make their appearance, “I can’t seem to do it right. He moves so effortlessly, and it feels like I’m stumbling and picking up the pieces. It’s dumb, but I can’t stop thinking about not being good enough.”

One thing Jungwon has learned about you, so subtle that he doesn’t even think Sunghoon knows it yet, is that you’re fragile. He knows you hold your heart in pieces, begging the universe to glue you back together, even though he knows it can’t. So, in lieu of the universe, Jungwon tries. You never give him direct liberty to, but he holds you. He holds you and your broken pieces, and even though it eats him alive that he can’t help you more than this, somehow, it works. It always works for you because he treads carefully, gently, never pushing too hard to keep you grounded.

Right now, as you stare up at him with glossy eyes and the world in your hands, Jungwon knows he has to prove to you that, truly, you are enough. Just as he always has, like when you failed your physics exam in ninth grade, or when you didn’t get that promotion at work even though you tried so hard for it. All he knows in this life is how to be there for you, even if you’re not there for him.

He takes your hand in his, pulling you up from the floor as he turns on the music. “Let’s practice. I’ll help you until you get it right.”

A soft melody floats through the air, spinning around the two of you until he’s clutching your waist. His touch is so light that he’s pretty sure you can barely even feel it, but already he’s regretting being in such close proximity with you as the blood swirls throughout his stomach. Your hands clasp each other behind, wrapped around his neck, and you can’t see the way Jungwon stares at you because your eyes focus on the ground with staggered steps. You stumble as he moves you left, and then right, and the concentration in your gaze wavers as you try not to step on his feet.

“I can’t do this, I–”

“Shh,” he whispers. Your arms loosen, and he grips your waist a little tighter. “This isn’t a performance. It’s just a dance.”

You’re still unconvinced, a frown working its way onto your face. One of his hands comes up to cradle your chin, tilting your face up so that you can meet his gaze.

“Just focus on me.”

You let Jungwon lead you, your eyes never leaving his as the music flows between you both. A slight blush makes its way across his cheeks, but he reminds himself to focus on the steps, back and forth, as if you’re not right in front of him. Jungwon moves like magic, flitting across the dance floor as if he has wings, and you quickly learn how to soar with him, to match his pace and create a rhythm of your own. He notices how relaxed you’ve become when he dips you, a little too low, and you just giggle and hold onto him tighter.

“Thought you were going to drop me,” you gasp after he lets you up. He shakes his head, twirling you around before bringing you in.

“Never,” he murmurs. “I would never drop you.”

He’s so close that he can see the texture on your skin and the light reflecting across your hair. Your irises seem to swirl, lulling him in, and your lips have the curve of a faint smile that he’s worked hard to bring back to your face. He’s so close that he could kiss you, so close that every inch of his curiosity could be satisfied if he just leaned in, but the music behind him slows to a stop as you pull away from his grasp.

“Thank you,” you say, breathless. Then, teasingly, “It would be easier if it were you up there with me instead of Sunghoon, right?”

And suddenly, Jungwon remembers his nightmare. It wasn’t really a nightmare, not something that was frightening enough for his heart to race in fear. Instead, it was a dream tinged with blurred lines and all his what-ifs, a dream of him kissing you after your first dance and how brightly you’d smiled. It was a dream tinged with his blood, a dream that could never be true because you would never think to look at him the way he looks at you.

You busy yourself with packing up your stuff, too focused to see the absolute pain on Jungwon’s face as he clutches the barre next to him. The world caves in around him, and he has to try his absolute hardest to wave goodbye to you as if he’s not crumbling on the inside. Of course, his feelings are nothing but a joke to you, as if they’re not the very reason he’s currently on his deathbed surrounded by a pool of flowers.

He wishes it were him, too. As the blood spills from his lips, dripping down his face, his arms, down to the very floor he stands on, all he wishes is that it could be him dancing with you, being in your arms legitimately, instead of yearning from afar as he twirled you around today.

Maybe, if it really were him dancing with you at the end, this wouldn’t be his last dance alive.

You look happy.

It’s the first thing he notices as you climb into the car, already a little tipsy from the alcohol you’d consumed at your pregame. Your friends, not faring much better than you, help you keep your balance as you buckle your seatbelt and motion for him to start the car. You look genuinely happy. Not just in the way a drunk person looks, but in the way that it’s infectious. You radiate with that kind of energy that makes him want to tug close and kiss the life out of you.

The streetlights twinkle through the window as he drives, filtering out the loud bass of your music and your friends singing along in the backseat. The club you’d chosen for your bachelorette party was a little far from your apartment, but your group doesn’t really seem to mind as they control the aux on his phone and queue another Britney Spears song. The air is charged with that upbeat feeling, the kind that has him drumming his fingers along to the music as he steps on the gas.

He notices your silence in the front seat, watching your head tilt out of the window and the wind whipping through your hair. Usually, you’d be singing along, especially after a little bit of alcohol in your system, but you seem lost in thought today, and it makes him a little worried.

“You okay?” he asks. He wonders if you even hear him over the loud karaoke of your friends, but you turn back to him with a soft smile.

“Yeah. It’s all just kind of hitting me right now, you know?”

“What, the alcohol?”

There’s a soft pause before you look back at the window, pressing the button and watching it roll up.

“No, the wedding,” you say, playing with your engagement ring absentmindedly. “It just feels so surreal.”

Jungwon chooses to say nothing, turning up the volume of the music instead. He feels your eyes on him, but he doesn’t know what to say as he grips the steering wheel tighter. He’s glad he chose to stay sober tonight because maybe he would’ve responded with something not particularly appropriate. Perhaps he would’ve decided to tell you that he does wish this wedding were just a figment of his imagination. Maybe, he would’ve told you that he’s scheduled to die soon because of your surreal wedding, your surreal love for Sunghoon, and his not very surreal love for you.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. He keeps his emotions in check and drives, watching the headlights of the car next to him race by. He drives until the bright neon lights of the bar flash through the mirror, and he barely has a chance to park before you and your friends clamber out, giddy with excitement.

The club has this dizzying sort of atmosphere, the flickering lights from the dance floor and the loudness of the music hitting him all at once. He feels like he can’t breathe, he really, really can’t breathe, and he’s already making his way to the bathroom before you have a chance to drag him to the center.

I can’t do this, he texts Jay. The multicolored ceiling tiles blur before his eyes as he slumps against the bathroom stall door. He hears someone throwing up next to him, and he wonders briefly that if everything were normal, that if he weren’t dying because you loved him back, maybe he’d be a drunk idiot throwing up in his Hello Kitty bucket too.

He’s not normal, though. Every time he inhales, it feels painful as if something’s stuck in his throat. His voice has become too raspy, and he swears he can feel the weight of his lungs through every breath, pounding against him particularly hard whenever he’s near you. Every ticking moment reminds him that you are genuinely content with all this. Content with Sunghoon, content with this wedding, and content living a life Jungwon may not even be in.

He doesn’t know how long he stays in the bathroom stall, pouring his feelings out, but he wipes the blood off with a tissue and leaves the stall. His eyes look bloodshot in the mirror, and his heart pounds with every beat of the EDM music reverberating through him. He hasn’t had a sip of alcohol, but this is the sort of effect you have on him, world-spinning and regret seeping through his every vein.

His eyes scan the dance floor for you, and he relaxes slightly when he finds you swinging your arms in the air to a Charli XCX song. You’re in your own little world as your friends dance around you, and Jungwon feels like he’s standing on the edge of it, one foot in and one foot out. It's as if he’s almost there, but not quite.

(Lately, though, he’s been choosing to stay out. Choosing not to get devoured by the force that is you, all-consuming and leaving him with no room to breathe. Once upon a time, he would choose to drown every time, to feel the burn in his lungs as he swam towards you.

Now, there is no more burning left in his lungs. There is no more you. It’s just him and his thoughts, floating endlessly in the ocean until the point of no return.)

He’s scrolling on his phone, slouched against the bar stool, when he hears two taps on the marble next to him. He looks up to find the bartender sliding over a glass of fizzy liquid, topped with a sliced lime and a salted rim.

“Oh, I didn’t order this,” Jungwon sputters, reaching to push it back, but the bartender clasps his hand and wraps Jungwon’s fingers around the glass.

“It’s on the house, and it’s non-alcoholic, so don’t worry about it.” The bartender smiles, a contagious sort of grin that makes Jungwon want to smile too, and he leans over slightly to speak closer to him. “You look like you need it.”

Jungwon thanks the bartender, sipping at his drink slowly and feeling the bubbles fizz down his throat. It’s a Sprite, mixed with something a little fruity, and already it has him feeling lighter than a couple of moments before.

“I’m Sunoo, by the way,” he hears. Sunoo’s nameplate flashes from the strobing lights, dancing from all the colors around him. “So, tell me, which girl is it?”

Jungwon coughs, the drink going down the wrong pipe, and Sunoo merely blinks, watching him.

“What? What girl?”

“The girl that’s you’re heartbroken over, silly!”

Jungwon sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “Is it that obvious?”

“You’re like a dejected puppy. Even a five-year-old could probably tell.”

Jungwon sips at his drink, carrying it while peeking back over his shoulder. His eyes search until they land on your figure, now at the far left near the DJ.

“That one, over there,” he says, pointing at you. “The one in the white.”

“She’s pretty,” Sunoo says absentmindedly, and Jungwon finds himself agreeing before turning back to face him. “Did she reject you?”

“No,” Jungwon starts. His throat feels parched, suddenly, despite his dedication to sipping the drink in his hands. “I– I never told her. She’s getting married next week.”

Sunoo’s gaze softens. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

The drink tastes bitter now, prickling in Jungwon’s mouth. His lips press into a line as his fingers play with the straw in his glass. He swishes it, around and around, watching the little cyclone that appears when he moves the straw too fast. He wants to tell Sunoo that it’s okay. There’s no reason to apologize, and he’s sick of every sorry that comes his way because it’s fine. In a normal world, Jungwon would have moved on, slowly but surely, and he’d have come back to this bar in the future as a healed person.

It’s not okay, though. It’s not okay because how can Jungwon move on when you make up every inch of him? How can Jungwon move on when the reason he lives and dies is because of you? You pour life into him and take it away from him all at the same time. You are the one to poison him and you are the one to heal him, and Jungwon just has to stand there and take it until he physically isn’t able to anymore. Jungwon will never be able to find someone who loves him just as much as he loves you, because he only has space in his heart for you and no other. So even if it means that Sunoo’s last memory of Jungwon is right now at this bar, pining after you from afar, he’s forced to accept it.

After all, there is no him without you.

There is only you without him.

Jungwon should be at the venue already. Instead, he’s lying against his mahogany rug, fingers twisting in the strings that are woven into it as he tries to reach for his phone.

He was having a good day, or at least, he thought he was having a good day. He woke up early to run some errands before work. His presentation proposal went spectacularly well, and there was barely any traffic as he sped home. He got a free hot chocolate today with the welcome of a new month, a new December, and he didn’t have to spend any portion of today hunched over a sink waiting for his guts to spill out.

He was having a good day until, well, everything started to go wrong.

He was searching for his keys as he straightened his suit tie and fixed that annoying strand of hair that kept falling in his face. He was on call with Jay, who had offered to drive him to the restaurant where your rehearsal dinner was being held. It was all fine.

He was fumbling around for his suit jacket when suddenly, he couldn’t breathe. He doesn’t know how he ended up on the floor, or how the sharp, radiating pain spread from his lungs to his heart. All he knows is that he’s crying, and Jay’s voice is somewhere distant, telling him to stay calm and to wait for him. He can’t respond, every hoarse attempt to speak failing miserably with a cough. His insides feel like they’re being burned alive, and distinctly he can feel the tears drip down his cheeks, or maybe the blood spill from his mouth.

He can’t seem to move, not when he tries to reach for his phone, not when Jay shows up and shakes him by the shoulders, not when the paramedics show up at his apartment and shine a bright light in his eyes. He can’t move when he’s hooked up to the oxygen mask, or when the ambulance shudders beneath him and Jay’s tears drip down his arm.

Somewhere along all of this, he fades in and out of consciousness, dizzy from the bright lights and the emergency siren. He can’t tell if the pain gets worse or if it gets better, but he tries to focus on the beeping of his heart rate and how grounded Jay’s hand makes him feel.

And throughout all of this, despite his best efforts to ignore it, he thinks of you. He thinks of how you’re probably at your rehearsal dinner right now, holding hands with Sunghoon. You’re probably talking about how you met him, how you fell in love with him, and how you will continue to love him just as he loves you. You’re probably talking to all your friends and family and serving your homemade banana pudding recipe that you worked hard to make. He knows you probably have that stupid little grin on your face, the one he sees in his daydreams of you and him, and other words that don’t belong together.

He’s still dreaming about you when he wakes up, barely registering the pain from the IV needle as he scans the room. His eyes land on Jay in the chair next to him, who’s already rushing over as soon as Jungwon’s eyes open.

“Where am I?” Jungwon says groggily. His free hand clutches his forehead, aware of the dull headache that rests on the sides of his forehead. “Is this the hospital?”

“Jungwon,” Jay breathes, cradling Jungwon’s face. “You’re awake.”

“How long was I out for?”

“Not long,” Jay says, pulling away and sitting on the edge of the bed. His fingers clutch Jungwon’s hand tightly, as if he’s still in disbelief over Jungwon breathing and talking right in front of him. “A couple of hours.”

“A couple of hours?” Jungwon shrieks. He tugs the needle from his arm, wincing from the sharp pain as it rips out. “We’re so late. So late. She’s probably waiting for me! I told her I was gonna help set up the decorations–”

“Jungwon,” Jay whispers, gripping his wrist. Jungwon sees the frown lines etched on his face and pauses. “I sent her a text about us being late. She never even responded.”

“No– that’s– she would never,” Jungwon scoffs. His fingers reach for this phone on the bedside table next to him, dialing your number before Jay can even stop him.

The line rings, once, twice, too many times before the sound of your voicemail filters in. He tries again, and again, and each time feels like a stab to his freshly wounded heart. His eyes fog up, and he can’t stop the tears that escape him as he dials over and over again. His tears fall on his phone screen, staining the glass until he can’t even click on the call button, and the phone slips from his grasp.

His body pulses in his hyung’s hold as he hugs him, heavy sobs erupting from him as he finally lets go. He lets go of all the pain and misery he’s faced from you, about you, like an asteroid that burns up when it reaches too close to the sun. No matter how hard he tries, it’s impossible for him to accept that he’s just another person in your orbit, fading in and out when you need him.

He remembers all the times he’s centered himself around you. Every moment when he thought he was wanted by you, even if it was just as a friend. Now, all he can see is how convenient, how easy he is for you. How pathetic he is to fall in love with you, to keep loving you even though he knew you would never love him back. And yeah, he’s always there when you need him, but even now, as he sits inches away from his death, you’re never there for him.

“You always put her before yourself,” Jay murmurs in his shoulder. “Even if she’s the reason you’re dying, you’re still addicted to her.”

“I can’t help it, hyung. I love her.”

Jay exhales, pulling away from Jungwon. Even though Jungwon is stupid, the never-give-up kind of stupid, he appreciates Jay for still trying to save him, even if there is nothing to be saved.

Jay reaches over to grab a folder from the table, the bright blue color matching the print of his hospital gown. He flips through a few pages before pulling out a black, semi-translucent slip of film, flipping it over for Jungwon to see.

It takes a few minutes for Jungwon even to register what he’s seeing. The scan is zoomed in on his upper half, centered on his lungs and vertebrae, but what’s in his lungs is anything but typical. Flowers bloom through every crevice of his lungs, sprouting, growing as if they’re meant to be there. They’re still small, but Jungwon can already see the buds and even tiny flowers that have sprouted. There’s not an inch of space left empty, every alveolus filled with a leaf or a stem or a flower.

“Is this what I was coughing up?” Jungwon asks, fingers tracing his chest where his lungs reside. “That’s inside of me?”

“Yeah. The doctors said that as the disease progressed, there were too many flowers to cough up, so they started growing in you.” Jay speaks with incredulity, as if he can’t even believe it’s real.

“What do you mean, progressed? Is it not still progressing?”

Jay turns to him, and only then does Jungwon register his bleary eyes and the tear stains that have dried on his cheeks. His fingers tremble as he holds the page, and he speaks so softly as if he refuses to solidify the statement’s existence.

“You’re in your final stages, Wonie. You have a week left at best until the flowers bloom fully and you’ll die of oxygen poisoning.”

Jungwon thinks that if he weren’t so adamant about making it to your wedding and seeing you at the altar, he would’ve killed himself a long time ago. Maybe the day you asked him to be your maid of honor, or maybe even as early as when you got proposed to. Killing himself would’ve rid him of all this yearning, yearning that presented itself in the form of this disease that takes and takes until his very last breath. This disease, that no matter how hard he tries to avoid, reminds him of you.

You with the soft fingers that he wishes he could intertwine his with. You with the eyebrow you always arch expressively when you dislike something. You with the back tattoo of a sparrow that’s a little chubby, just the way you wanted it. You with the soft voice that he’s blessed to hear through the little song covers you’d always send him. You who’d never notice the cherry blossoms that fell in your hair, the ones that he’d have to pick out imperceptibly every time.

You who he’s so irrevocably in love with. You, who despite having a heart full of love, have never loved him back.

And then, there’s him. Jungwon. That same Jungwon, with a heart full of love to give only to you. Jungwon, who stays by your side even if you never notice it. That same Jungwon, who worries about you when there is nothing to worry about. That same Jungwon, who kept a mental list of your favorite foods so you won’t feel indecisive at restaurants. That same Jungwon, who holds your hair when you drink a little too much and whispers that it’s okay in your ears, that it’ll all be over before you know it.

They say moles are marks of where your soulmate kissed you in your previous life. Jungwon knows where all of yours are: the one on your eyebrow, the two on your lower torso, the ones on your hands that he noticed when he interlocked fingers with you, and even the one on your forearm that he memorized as he watched you fall asleep during a sleepover. He doesn’t know if he was your soulmate that kissed those moles into existence in a previous life, or in any life at all, but he’s tried his hardest to be the one for you, even if you’re destined for another.

And even now, knowing that you two are never fated to be together in this life, he’ll still try. Because who is he, if he doesn’t even exist to love you?

And distinctly, he remembers the time he did confess to you. The time that he tells no one about because it’s a moment too pathetic to remember.

It was during break, the summer before his senior year of college. You and a couple of others, newly graduated seniors, were at a karaoke bar five minutes away from campus. Jungwon had to watch as you cozied up to Sunghoon from the other end of the couch, a little too drunk and a little too loose. His heart had simmered beneath him, tinged with jealousy every time Sunghoon had pressed a kiss to your cheek or pulled you closer.

He didn’t really mean to avoid you that day. He just didn’t want to third-wheel you and your boyfriend, especially since he was a little tipsy and didn’t trust himself to remain sane around you. You looked so happy, with a giddy voice and a bright smile, and he didn’t want to do anything to hurt your mood.

So, he stayed on the other side of the room. Even when you wanted him to join you in a karaoke battle, to that one song you always queued while he drove you around, he shook his head and remained in his spot. He didn’t drink too much, just enough to feel the buzz, but he still couldn’t shake off how pretty you looked in that dress, or how much you laughed as you curled into Sunghoon’s side.

After some point, the lights in the room and the loud bass of the music start to get too suffocating. He excuses himself for some air, grabbing the empty boxes from the food you’d ordered to throw them away. He doesn’t notice your eyes on him as he balances the carts and slides open the door.

The hallway is long and winding, and by the time Jungwon finds the trashcan and a water fountain, he’s a little out of breath. The walk has sobered him up a little bit, so he doesn’t feel as dizzy as he was when he walked here on the way back. He turns, wiping the corner of his mouth from the dribble of water that slid down, but he finds you standing right behind him instead, with a frown on your face and a bottle of Pink Whitney in your hands.

Already, he knows you’re more shitfaced since the last time he saw you. Pink Whitney has never treated you kindly, and as he sees you struggle to stand upright with your heels on, he knows you’ve passed that limit of tipsiness and charted into dangerous, drunken territory, the kind that he knows you’ll regret the next morning.

“That’s enough of that,” he says, grabbing the bottle. You protest weakly, attempting to snatch it back, but he holds it behind his back so you can’t reach. “Why did you leave the room? You can barely walk.”

“I missed you,” you hiccup. He notices how your tears pool in your eyes, as if you don’t want to cry but can’t really stop it. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“What?” he breathes. He didn’t really think you’d notice the distance that he’d tried to maintain, assuming you were too preoccupied with Sunghoon to even care that he made no effort to talk to you.

“You refused to share your fries with me. You always share your fries with me.” You’re full-on sobbing at this point, and your fingers find home in his jacket lapel as you sniffle. “Did I do something wrong? Why do you hate me?”

His heart hurts seeing you like this, being the reason that you’re reduced to this mess. His arms curl around you, pulling you in closer so he can rest his head on your shoulder. Your fingers grip his jacket tightly, and he’s too focused on your feelings to notice how your tears stain his shirt.

“Why would I hate you?” he murmurs against your ear. “Don’t say stupid things like that.”

And he means it. Not one inch of his body could feel any sort of resentment towards you, no matter how hard he tried. He wishes it could, so he could hate you peacefully and move on from all the grief he’s been shouldering, but there’s some invisible string tied between you two that he can’t seem to break, no matter how far he goes.

“Then why haven’t you talked to me today?”

He sighs, thumbing the strands of your hair. “I was just giving you space since you were with Sunghoon.”

You pull back, and through your glossy tears, he sees your lips pull into a pout.

“But, I want you too.”

You say it so simply, as if it’s easy for him to accept how you still want him in your life, even though you already have the world with Sunghoon. So simply, as if it’s easy for him to admit that sometimes you love unfairly, and he doesn’t have it in him to seek anything otherwise. So simply, as if it’s easy for him to accept how you still want him even though you have no more love left to give.

Like a puppy on a leash, he glows after hearing those words, even if they hold no weight coming from you. He cradles your face, brushing away the tear streaks across your cheeks.

“You already have me,” he says honestly. “I’m already yours.”

You smile with your eyes closed. It’s the kind of smile that’s earnest, one that stretches across your whole face. Jungwon would run to the ends of the universe if it meant he could see it again.

“I love you.”

The confession slips out of his mouth, raw and unfiltered, as he stops breathing. He didn’t mean to admit it, especially not in front of you like this with your boyfriend a few rooms over. It was supposed to be a secret he carried to his grave, not some abrupt confession he said in hushed tones in front of a karaoke bar water fountain. He was supposed to say it on that day, the day when the cherry blossoms bloomed, and he wore that white shirt to match the flowers in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to say it like this, holding an uninhibited version of you and taking advantage of the fact that you’re not sober enough to process his words.

He stills, like a frame paused, in time waiting for your reaction. He knows you’re going to hate him, not want him anymore, even if it’s selfishly, and he knows this is the last time he’ll ever get to see you like this. His heart pounds against his chest, erratic as if it’s escaping, and he can’t seem to find the words to apologize or take it all back before you slip from his grasp.

You don’t do any of that, though. You remain in his hold, with his fingers holding you like a porcelain doll, and that soft smile. Instead, your hands wrap around his, your fingers sliding between the crevices as you open your eyes.

“I love you so much, too, Wonie. You’re the bestest friend ever. My best friend.”

His lungs release the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, but it’s not loud enough to disguise the sound of his heart breaking. You don’t hear it, of course, oblivious to the tumultuous storm that rages inside him, and you just pull him tighter as you hug him again.

He cries. He cries against you just as you cried against him, only stronger with the weight of all his unsaid confessions pouring out of him. It’s silent enough for your drunk self not to notice, but the droplets plink against your hair, and he has to wipe away the tears rapidly before you catch on. It hurts so, so much. It hurts more than anything else he’s ever felt because, while you’re the center of the universe to him, he means nothing to you. While you’re everything to him, he’s just a fleeting moment to you.

Unmistakably, he wonders if anything would’ve even changed had he confessed to you properly then. Or if anything would’ve even changed if he confessed to you now, mere days before your wedding. If maybe the pain in his lungs would’ve eased away, if maybe the flowers would’ve withered and died right inside him.

Deep down, though, he knows that confession wouldn’t have healed him one bit, because you have never felt anything for him in return. From the very first time he laid eyes upon you, sculpting castles in the sandbox alone, to now, he has always cared for you and your impression of him. Even when that impression is anything but what he really is, what he really wants to be, he still cares.

He knows that even if he confessed to you, the flowers in his heart would still continue to bloom, unconstrained without the very thing he desires from you: love.

The air is a little breezy today.

Not breezy enough that Jungwon feels cold (although his suit jacket provides him plenty of warmth already), but just enough to make the blades of grass sway softly, as if they’re dancing along to the faint melody of the music in the background. It’s early in the morning, a time when he can still hear the birds chirping and the sun rays peeking above the horizon.

On a regular day, he’d still be in bed waiting for his alarm clock to ring. Or maybe he’d be hungover from a long weekend with his friends, choosing to sleep in and ignore a headache. Today, though, he stands under the drapes of the altar, next to the podium where Sunghoon shifts nervously.

Waiting for you.

Jungwon’s fingers fumble with the flower in his pocket, a singular, white chrysanthemum against the black of his suit. Your bridesmaids have the same flowers as corsages, but Jungwon’s is different because the flower rests right in front of his heart, beating, echoing with every pulse.

And already, Jungwon knows today is his last day alive, because today is your wedding. Today is the day he’ll lose you forever, the day that you step out of every daydream of his and into another man’s. Standing here, as your man of honor, is the most twisted punishment the universe could make him face. On the day of his reckoning, instead of wishing him away with peace, you’ve decided to make him bear witness to the very act that caused his ruin.

Sunghoon stares at him knowingly. He can’t tell if it’s with pity, or even worse, with pride.

All Jungwon wants is to get this over with. He’s agonized over this moment for months now, from the beginning of autumn to last night as he wrote his man of honor speech. Once upon a time, he had hoped he would be able to accept your marriage with a healed heart. Now, as the music shifts into something slower and the audience hushes, he knows he will leave with nothing but pain. With nothing but pure, raw desire simmering through his heart and burning every flower that grows inside of him until he no longer remains.

He feels like he’s dreaming when he finally sees you.

You, in your long, white gown, with handwoven patterns of silk and thread stitched across the front. A dress with patterns of all kinds of flowers, patterns of every stem and leaf that glimmer against the white cloth. The flowers sprout against the exterior of the mesh, with petals that sway with every step as you make your way to the altar.

And beyond all that, you’re wearing that smile. That same smile that he’d give up everything for. That same smile he’s yearned for his entire life, from the very first moment up until now. That same smile that he’s now dying for.

He doesn’t recognize his breath staggering until he feels lightheaded, hands finding purchase on the decoration behind him as he steps back. I’m so close, not now, is all he can think as you step even closer to the platform. He starts to see spots in his vision, black circles dancing around, and he’s thankful enough that everyone’s eyes are too focused on you to see him stepping off to the side and rushing to the bathroom.

Jungwon doesn’t make it that far, though. His eyesight blurs around him, and his fingers grip some random door handle before he stumbles inside. Faintly, he can recognize the mess of your makeup room around him, but he trips over a spare piece of clothing and falls before he can fully register his surroundings.

Sharp, dull pain blooms on the side of his head, but he can’t seem to move his arms to feel for any blood that might’ve been triggered from his fall. The pain in his head is nothing compared to the strain on his lungs now, though, as if every breath of his is poison. His senses are painfully aware of the weird, cracking noise inside him, but he can’t seem to figure out what it’s from. His ribcage? His neck? His throat? Or maybe even everything? He feels like he’s choking on air as the blood spills from his lips. His speech, the man of honor speech that holds everything he wanted to say to you one last time, falls out of his jacket pocket, and blood drips across the corner as if it’s ink. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, he can’t even think anymore as his vision fades out into nothingness.

And even in his final moments, like this, he remembers you. This universe is so, so unkind to him, to his soul that hoped to see you like this one more time before he left forever. Oh, how he wishes he were still alive to watch you recite your vows. To hear what it’s like to be loved by you, to be cherished until death do us part. To hear what maybe, in another life, what was meant for him instead of Sunghoon.

As it all comes crashing down before his eyes, all he wishes is that you will find peace. He hopes the flowers that bloom in December will treat you kindly, and every white chrysanthemum will be a poignant reminder that you are always loved. Even if he is not physically present with you on Earth anymore, he will love you through the gentleness of the breeze, through the swaying of the grass blades, through the sun rays that appear before the horizon, and through the smiles of everyone you hold dear to your heart.

And with this clarity, he is able to let go. To let go of all that he’s known of you through every flower that blooms in his heart. To let go of a timeline in which you and he coexist.

To let go of you, and therefore, him. Because without you, there is no him. And without him, there is only you.

Jay has never understood love. Or rather, the unbecoming of it.

But he has never seen it ruin someone so wretchedly as it did Jungwon.

It’s Jay who finds Jungwon first, lifeless in a pool of his own blood and tears. The world blurs around him as he kneels down, shaking Jungwon’s shoulders in every effort, every plea for him to wake up. The words fall on closed ears. Dead ears. Jungwon is long gone, from misery only his heart could produce. He’s long gone from the flowers that surround every inch of him, buried in his own, sickly love for you.

His fingers clutch tightly onto Jungwon’s man of honor speech, one he refuses to read because he can’t justify that torture. It’s you who needs to read it, to recognize the consequences of your actions, of how greedy you were to have the most wonderful human being beside you and still yearn for another. He needs you to read this speech in all its glory, tear-stained, blood-stained, flower-stained, until you recognize the extent of how much Jungwon truly loved you.

Of how much he truly still loves you.

The funeral happens on a Tuesday evening. The once forgiving December now releases its inhibitions, pouring from the sky as if it has been holding back this entire time. The universe thunders with anger and rage, and every strike of lightning is a furious reminder of what’s all been lost in the process.

Jay stands before Jungwon’s coffin. He has no umbrella to shield him from the fury of the universe, but he doesn’t care. He deserves this form of retribution for not trying harder, for not being able to save him, even though there was nothing more he could do for him.

You stand next to him. Sunghoon holds an umbrella above your head, and it sways with the sudden wind gusts and cracks of lightning. You haven’t said a word all day. You haven’t said a word since you found your best friend dead, veins protruding and eyes rolled to the back of his head.

(Your fingers trembled as you brushed his eyelids shut, watching as they carried him out with a stretcher. Even with his eyes closed, he still looked like he was in pain, shouldering it all upon himself, no matter how hard you’d tried to get him to open up. You’d wanted to shake him open, for him to let go of everything he’d held back, but he stayed in place, eyes boring into yours as if he had nothing more to say. Closing his eyes felt like finality, like he was finally gone from every memory you’ve had together and every memory you were supposed to have together in the future.

Now, all that was left was the remains of him and his soul. You cried against the pool of blood he’d left behind, letting it stain the pearly whites of your gloves until you drowned in his essence.)

Jay watches as you grab something from Sunghoon’s hold, walking over to the edge of Jungwon’s grave. The freshly buried dirt sinks slightly under your steps, and you place a bouquet at the center before you walk back under the protection of the umbrella.

Jay cracks when he sees the familiar white chrysanthemums against the dirt.

“What the hell is your problem?”

Your head twists sharply toward him, not expecting him to say anything of that sort, or anything at all. The wind whips through your hair as you stare at Jay with bloodshot eyes, and it’s only then that you recognize the single tear that’s slid down his cheek.

“What? What did I do wrong?”

Jay laughs, sharp and twisting. You feel it through your bones, the hatred seeping through you until you, too, start to cry. Sunghoon stares at Jay from behind you, begging him with wide eyes not to say anything that could ruin you even more, but Jungwon’s unsaid confessions rush out of Jay’s lips like the roar of every lightning strike behind him.

“What haven’t you done wrong? Were you that fucking stupid to see that he died because of you? Because of how you never loved him back?”

His words hit you like a truck, slamming into you with the impact of the wind behind you. You stumble back, one, two steps before you’re rushing forward and grabbing the lapels of Jay’s jacket.

“What are you talking about? What do you mean, he loved me?”

Jay gives you a stare that is almost murderous, his voice dropping octaves as he responds. “He loved you. He’s been in love with you since the day you two met. He died from a disease caused by unrequited love, you fucking asshole!”

Your tears stain the edges of Jay’s jacket, and although he tries to push away from your grasp, away from you and everything you stand for, your grip on him remains tight.

“God,” he continues, laughing bitterly, “he loved you. He loved you so much that in the end…”

He can’t even finish his sentence because his voice breaks and he can’t breathe. And in that moment, he wonders if this is how Jungwon felt, if he was experiencing even a fraction of the hurt, the suffocation he had to endure on a daily basis.

“Jay, please,” Sunghoon echoes from behind him.

Your fingers finally release themselves from their grasp as you turn back to look at Sunghoon. His eyes never leave yours, and although he tries to lean forward to shield you from the rain with the umbrella, you push him away.

“Did you know about this?” you ask, even though you already know the answer. The rain seeps through your hair, wetting your eyelashes and streaming down your face, but even it cannot hide your cries as you sob in front of him. “Did you know he loved me?”

Sunghoon swallows so audibly that he doesn’t even have to say any more, and you start laughing. Ballistically, without any form or reason, you laugh with that crazed look in your eyes, your hands swaying against the wind as you turn back toward Jay.

“So you all knew about this and decided not to tell me?”

“You don’t get to act like the victim in this.” Jay’s words feel like a harsh slap in your face, but he continues. “How were we supposed to tell you months before your wedding? Oh, hey, by the way, Jungwon is in love with you, and he’ll die if you don’t love him back. Jungwon was an idiot for loving you, for sure, but he wasn’t stupid.”

He hates that he has to speak about Jungwon in the past tense now. He hates that he has to talk about Jungwon to someone who never reciprocated his feelings, someone who never saw him for who he truly was. He hates that he can’t put into words the extent to which Jungwon loved you, even if it meant putting you before himself and committing to death.

“What– what was I supposed to do?” you whisper. Jay has to restrain himself from telling you that you don’t have the right to cry, that you’re a murderer in his eyes, and he can’t even bear to look at you.

“You were supposed to love him back. All he ever wanted was to be loved by you.”

And, as if the universe is responding, the rain picks up. It drowns you, completely, as you stand in a sea of graves for the one person who maybe loved you more than anyone else ever could.

You remember meeting Jungwon for the first time. How he tapped your shoulder politely after watching you play in the sandbox alone, asking if he could build sandcastles with you, even though his other friends waited for him beside the playground. He always did that, putting you first before anyone else, and you can’t believe it took you so long to realize truly how much Jungwon really cared for you.

Even in all the little things, you’re reminded of him. From the buttons on your coat jacket that he thrifted to your shoes that he scrubbed clean after a long hike, Jungwon has always been that stagnant reminder that life keeps going. Even during your darkest days, when all you wanted to do was hide from the rest of the world, he sat beside you and nursed you back to health, piece by piece. It’s taken you so long to realize how Jungwon is your center, the gravity that pulls you back to Earth and keeps you grounded, the star that orbits around you in every universe.

How Jungwon has always been yours.

As Jay leaves, his footprints tracking through the dirt as a permanent reminder he was always there, he presses a slip of paper into your hands. The corner is speckled with blood, and your eyes flicker up to Jay’s gaze, already knowing what it is.

“Have fun on your honeymoon,” he mutters. He’s gone just as quickly as he came, the wind sweeping him away until he is no more.

As you sit in Sunghoon’s car, shivering underneath the heater from your wet clothes, you find your fingers opening the paper in your hands, smoothing out the crinkles from Jay’s rough grasp. And as you read, the warmth is not enough to stop the frigid cold that suddenly rushes through you, that crazed feeling that you can’t shake off, no matter how much time passes.

As you read, you cry. You cry for what lived, and now, for what you’ve lost, because this piece of paper represents all of Jungwon in his entirety, all of what’s left of the boy who paved the Earth so that you could walk on it. Of Jungwon, who sacrificed himself just to sustain a world with you in it, even while knowing that he and you are two parallel lines never meant to intersect.

Of Jungwon, who didn’t know what love meant if it wasn’t made of you.

Dear you,

First of all, you know I have performance anxiety. So, making my speech come last feels like some sort of specially-inflicted torture that you and Sunghoon designed for me (cue the audience laughter. I hope they laugh).

I wrote many drafts of this. They’re all sitting in my trash can right now, because coming up with a speech to summarize everything I want to say about my best friend just isn’t something that can be done in one sitting. No amount of words can describe the extent to which I feel for you, of how much joy you’ve brought into my life and everyone around us.

I should probably be talking about Sunghoon and how he’s perfect for you, which, I mean, he kind of is (let’s hope the audience laughs again). I should probably be wishing you a happy married life, where you get that gray cat you always wanted. And I genuinely do want to convey all that to you, and so much more, because you deserve everything good in the world.

But I wanted this speech to be about you. For you to realize how much I, and everyone in the audience around us, care for you. I’ve been your best friend since childhood, watching you grow from that awkward little kid to the beautiful person you are today. You have uplifted and supported me in so many ways that no one else has, and I think I speak for everyone when I say that we are so grateful to have you in our lives.

Sunghoon, you are so blessed to have the most wonderful wife in your life. Cherish her, adore her, lift her up with all your strength, and twirl her around until you hear that beautiful laughter and see that beautiful smile. It’s so worth it. So, so worth it. As her best friend, I resign all my duties to you, for you to be her new best friend and her life partner. Love her wholeheartedly, with every fiber of your being until it hurts, and then a little more.

And you. No matter what comes your way, never lose your energy, your resilience, your joy, and everything that makes you who you are. I love you, and I can’t wait to see where life’s journey takes you, one step at a time.

From your now ex-best friend,

Jungwon

#୨୧ . . . text #ignore that the header is so lq trust me ik.#jungwon #yang jungwon #jungwon x reader #enhypen #enhypen x reader #jungwon angst #jungwon fluff #theres no fluff idk why im tagging this #kpop #kpop x reader #kpop angst #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #sunghoon x reader

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leafostuff · 4 months ago

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5 out of 5 Customer service [Ft. Lightsum's Nayoung]

Author note: a super fast quickie until i either post another quickie, or whenever i will eventually start working on a longfic, whatever comes first.

Fuck Nayoung is too hot

P.S; i am sorry for the puns

=================================

Let's be clear about something; This will probably wont be your proudest moment.

"Dude just do it, what's the worst that can happen?"

"She calls me a creep and kicks us out of the diner?, thought about that dumbass?" You ask, how are you even friends with those idiots again?

"Come on bro, have fun now, cringe later, and laugh about it even later" your other friend chimes in.

"He's right, if they throw us out, then next time i pay for your entire meal, deal?" Your fourth friend joins the conversation, he knows your weaknesses, so with a deep sigh you shake hands with him, just hoping to get this shit over with

And right on time, the barista comes to your table, a cute pink apron, blonde hair tied to a neat bun on top of her head and a joyful smile that adds to her character, "hey guys, welcome to 'Light sum pancakes', what do you want to order this morning?".

A light smack to your waist by the friend sitting near you, they all wait for this cheesy pick up line, and you've been quiet for too long so backing out is stupid.

Have fun now, cringe later they said, what the hell can go wrong?

"Actually..." A small gulp, "i would like to order you".

If it wasn't for the busy crowd around, you could've heard your friends giggling like crazy about this so-called 'prank', just hope the other customers are not looking at your table, having a free show of a college student making a fool himself at 9:AM.

The barista simply just eyes you up and down, her smile doesnt seem to leave her face when she scans to see any hint of awkwardness in your body and in the end she just replies with a nonchelant.

"Okay"

----------------------------------------------------

Update: it seems like the 'cringe later' part of the process does not seem to be anywhere close.

Her hair is still in the same bun as before, her clothes are now off her body, thrown somewhere on the toilet's (probably) dirty floor, and her smile? now turned into red-covered lips moving back and fourth from the base of your cock all the way to your tip, giving an teasing kiss, a playful and then - she goes back to her pace.

She's insane, you think to yourself, though you will admit that its not really the bad type of insane. Not even 5 minutes have passed and she is already taking your length entirely in her mouth, meanwhile her hands go off from your lap grabbing both of them and placing them on the back of her head, as if she trying to signal you to push her deeper.

She knows you are close, there's no way she doesn't.

Its even worse when she lets her tongue play with your balls, licking around like its her favorite candy while she looks directly at you with a sweet, innocent look, as if she's trying to say to you telepathically 'i know you want it, i know you want to fill this adorable little mouth'.

And eventually, you do

Cum quickly moves up into her mouth, river after river after river of the white, sticky fluid erupts without any form of control from you. Its cursed how she happily accepts it into her mouth, even adding a slurping motion to make your release more efficient to her, and even more pleasuring to you.

"Fuck, this was hot" she says in a casual tone, as if she didn't basically deepthroated you against the wall just now. she rises up to face you, hands swiping up any remains of cum left on her cheeks and beads of sweat that move slowly on her neck down to her collarbone, meanwhile you are still a panting mess, struggling to collect your breath.

She laughs at your situation. "What, don't tell me you already spent, my job states i can't leave any customer...unsatisfied~" she heads over even closer than before, her naked chest pushed over your chest while two fingers playfully move around your dick, quickly getting it once again hard and ready.

A cheeky giggle, "THAT's what i like to see in the morning, so what would like to order today?" she asks, looking directly at your eyes with a wink, however you cant muster up a response before she continues. "Do you want some ASS-cakes for a light meal?" she quickly turns around, having her butt wiggle dangerously close to your dick, looking behind to see your reaction.

"Or maybe...a Heavy meal of some Tit-burgers would be great to feast on?" another spin, now facing your with her hands on yours, taking them to each one of her mounds, prompting you to give a light squeeze. you can feel how it gets her tensed up, excited even to see how her 'shift' is gonna feel like, but she is not done.

"Or maybe..." she now lightly shoves you into one of the toilet stalls, quickly joining you while she locks the door behind her and straddles your lap, your dick inches apart from her pussy as she gives you a wink. "...your little customer would like its meal of its own?"

I think its safe to say it now gotten to the part where you will laugh about it way, way later.

#kpop #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #smut #lightsum #lightsum nayoung #nayoung smut #nayoung #male reader smut #x male reader #male reader

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shuastar · 8 months ago

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ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ (JWW)

ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ ᴡɪɴᴛᴇʀ ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 8.2k (swear it doesnt get any shorter....) ᴀ/ɴ: ᴏᴍɢ ɪ ʟɪᴛᴇʀᴀʟʟʏ ꜱᴀɪᴅ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴘᴏꜱᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴅᴀʏꜱ ᴀɢᴏ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ㅠㅠ ᴀɴʏᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴛʜɪꜱ ɪꜱ ᴛʜᴇ 1ꜱᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ (ʟᴏɴɢ) ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ,,, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3 ꜱᴏ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴜɴɴɪɴ

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ 2)

The honeyed spring air only proved to prod at your deep, growing, carnal fury at the scene in front of you. The wooden stilts of your fan dug further and further into the expensive lace of your thin sheer gloves, leaving bright red lines in its wake. As you stared at the traitorous scene in front of you, you felt as if your entire being was thrown into a wall.

You should’ve known, really, that it was going to end like this. You should’ve known when the greasy money-tainted rat of your soon-to-be ex-fiance crawled out of his cave and to the royal palace, rubbing his hands together in faux prayer as he asked about your dowry. You were sure Seungcheol told him too – all fifteen million won of it. You could imagine how Lord Paree’s eyes would have seen the backs of his skull at the number — how he probably left the gilded royal palace in sheer bliss at the thought of receiving the monetary sum of three city estates just for a single marriage. Maggot, you thought, nails almost digging through the lace. Money-drunken parasite.

A high-pitched dolphin giggle and a snap! of a fan slapped you out of your red-seeing stupor.

Right. Yes.

Dealing with (yet another) failed engagement was more important than the consequences that would follow. You could almost hear the concerned jabberings of Seungcheol, fur-wrapped on his stupid golden throne in the palace, as you stood in front of him.

“Your highness, you aren’t married either,” you would point out, like you always do.

Seungcheol would sigh and pout, “I know, y/n. That seems to be the problem.” Then, he would scan you up and down before clapping, jumping out of his throne and meandering his way down to where you were standing with a grin. “What kind of guardian,” he offered you his arm as he led you out of the throne room, “would I be if I got married before I saw you get married?” He pinched your cheek lightly, letting out a loud laugh at your severely disgruntled expression. “Don’t you agree, Duchess Park?”

You would close your eyes with a long sigh, pretending like this conversation wasn’t one of Seungcheol’s only topics of interest since her debut into Society. “Of course, your highness,” you would mumble, muttering a few more colorful adjectives under your breath as you were led unwillingly to your fifth courtship date request of the month.

If you knew then that your fourth engagement – in one and a half years, mind you – would end up shattered shambles yet again, you wouldn’t have even let Seungcheol drag you to the royal garden’s mezzanine for afternoon tea with that bastard in the first place.

Really, you weren’t quite sure whether you were more angry at the fact that the idle-headed useless block of skin tissue or at the all gracious, ever-knowing royal highness for setting you two up together in a future cheating scandal. That was true. Yet fucking again.

You were so tired of snatching the tea pot off of the wire-frame tables and throwing it at the girl (like it was the poor lady’s fault) before bitch-slapping your ex fiance with as much malice as you could muster at the time. Genuinely. You were so sick of walking into the next ball with no one by your side, save your secretary and personal guard, yet again. You were going to throw up if you heard your name with the words cheating, scandal, and shame in a Society gathering again. But most importantly, you were so sick of the look he would give you from across the ballroom and during your dances.

“I heard about you and Lord Paree.”

A step into a waltz.

“So has the rest of the fucking country, apparently.”

A stifled cough let out due to your unexpectedly colorful language.

“I wouldn’t say the entire nation, y/n.”

“Hm, I fear I will have to disagree, your grace, as I heard even Duke Hong’s footmen murmur among themselves regarding my unfortunate turn of events.”

A falter in his soft smile.

“Forget him. I’ve always thought of him as an undeserving bastard anyways.”

You laugh, head thrown back – the most joyous you have been since last week.

“Shall I be glad that you’ve thought so, your grace?”

Wonwoo shrugs, twirling you around in tight circles. You feel almost lightheaded from his cologne, mingling in with the gentle puffs of breath from the waltz.

“Think of it however you want,” he hums, dipping you ever so slightly against the sudden base of the cello. You swallow a surprised gasp as his hand, originally on your upper back, dips dangerously low – for a moment, sitting gently against the hem of your corset.

The two of you come to a halt near the edge of the ballroom floor. You hate how you can feel a flush coming on the apples of your cheeks the longer Wonwoo stares at you, an odd mixture of pity and something else swimming in his eyes behind the metal-frame glasses.

You bow, one hand on your chest. You know you don’t have to – he is of the same societal position as you. You know you don’t have to, but it feels almost second nature to go low into a curtsy of some kind in front of a man.

“Thank you, your grace, for this dance,” you murmur, lifting your head back up. Wonwoo stays quiet for a good moment, before he blinks.

“Find yourself another date for your second dance, yes? Someone better than that cheating bastard,” he hums. You think he’s about to reach for your gloved hand but his hands stay at his side – the only indicator of movement a slight twitch in his fingers. You force down your disappointment.

Instead, you smile. There is nothing else for you to do, anyways. Seungcheol, although good of heart, would have another engagement for you lined up in no time. And with that, you would need to forget. Forgive and forget. You realize you’ve spent too much time in front of the Archduke’s son when you feel the presence of your guard behind you.

“I will see you soon,” you greet, before you turn and leave. If you had stayed to hear his response, you feel like you would have stayed with Wonwoo for the entire night. And that was not very ladylike.

Wonwoo

“Wonwoo, one day you’re going to have to live for something else.”

Seungcheol’s breaths came out in heaving pants as the two took a brief break from their sparring session in the royal palace’s courtyard.

Wonwoo just raised a brow, wiping sweat off of his brow with his discarded shirt. “What do you mean by that, your majesty?”

Seungcheol waved away the title. “Drop the pretense, friend. What I mean is,” Seungcheol dropped his empty water jug on the wooden bench, before bringing his sword up to his face, “one day you’re gonna realize you have more to live for than just this.” Seungcheol gestured vaguely towards the desolate sparring grounds.

Wonwoo rolled his eyes, brushing dusts of sand off of his glinting blade. His fingers flexed on the leather grip. “I don’t live for just this, Coups. I know my responsibilities more than you think I do,” he sighed.

Seungcheol raised a questioning brow, stepping back into the sparring grounds with a twirl of his sword. “You sure?” his voice echoed, which was followed by unfamiliar click-clacks of a woman’s heels. Seungcheol cocked his head and grinned, canines showing, as he squatted down low, flicking his fingers at Wonwoo. “Then why are you asking to go out to fight? You might die.”

Wonwoo cracked his neck before running at the young king, Their swords clashed in the middle of the sparring grounds, flickers of their manas bursting outwards. Smoky tendrils of black gravitated and fogged the ground near Wonwoo’s feet, curling themselves around his chest and slowly inching up his neck, before blending in with his hair.

Wonwoo grunted in exertion, pushing Seungcheol back with the help of his mana. The king slammed into the back wall before landing back on his feet. Wonwoo stood over him, panting. Sweat dripped down his temples and his mana curled itself around his bare arms, against the contours of the muscles that laid there.

“It is the only thing I am good for,” Wonwoo stated. His words came out soft, almost a whisper, as his hand stretched out towards Seungcheol.

Seungcheol took a second more in his position, staring into Wonwoo’s despairing eyes. The dark browns looked more conflicted than Seungcheol had ever known. His own eyes darted towards the figure that stood in the opening archway of the courtyard. He could barely make out the face, under the layers of shadows, but he knew. He had called her here anyway. Not here as in the courtyard but here as in the palace. It was though, of course, purely coincidental that she had walked to the courtyard of her own volition.

Seungcheol grasped Wonwoo’s hand, hauling himself off of the sandy ground.

“You’re willing to leave your duchy? Your Society life?” Seungcheol stood in front of Wonwoo with his sword at his side. He gave the young archduke a knowing look. “Even the duchess?”

Wonwoo stiffened at Seungcheol’s ending words, his hand stilling, hovering the tip of his sword at the entrance of its sheath. He swallowed. The sword dropped with a loud CLANG into its home in the sheath. He looked up at the king, who looked almost expectant.

“Yes,” was his answer. He straightened, brushing sweaty strands of his black hair out of his eyes. “Yes, I am.”

Before Seungcheol, with furrowed brows and disappointment flurrying in his eyes, could open his mouth, a quiet scoff rang out, ripping the silence between the two men into shreds.

Wonwoo’s head snapped to the archway where the sound had echoed from, fingers curling around the grip of his sword. His other arm pushed Seungcheol behind him, which earned him a noise of protest from the older man.

“Won-”

“There’s someone there,” was what Wonwoo said, before he stepped closer, into the shadows of the archway. The face that met him left him unable to breathe – as if his lungs had been squeezed out of oxygen from the inside; as if his entire being was wringed; as if someone had, one by one, cut the tendons of his muscles, rendering him absolutely useless.

“I have been delusioned,” a cold, shaking voice started, “of our relationship, your grace.” You bowed deeply, silken hair falling over your shoulders, petals of the flowers in your hair dancing in the soft breeze, hand tight-fisted on your chest. “I ask for your apology in my,” a deafening pause, “assuming nature.”

BANG

The sword fell out of Wonwoo’s limp hand. He rushed forward, almost tripping over his own feet and forgetting his look of indecency, leaving Seungcheol long forgotten in the edges of the sparring grounds.

“Y/n,” he breathed, hands gently holding your upper arms. “Y/n, you misunderstand,” he hurried, forcing you to stand properly. The sight afterwards almost made him wish he let you stay in your bow.

Your crystalline eyes were glassy and he could make out the glistening pools of unshed tears that poked against your charcoal waterline. Your lips stretched thin over your teeth in an attempt at a reassuring smile. But he knew you better than that – he knew more than half of the emotions that swirled behind your watery eyes and he knew what the tremblings of the corners of your lips meant. What it meant for you, for him, for the two of you.

You shook your head, shuffling back against the rough grounds. A small laugh escaped your mouth. Your glossy pink lips curled up in a practiced smile – too robotic, too mirror-practiced, too Society for him to comprehend. It sent his mind reeling. It sent his mind reeling because you had heard what he shouldn’t have said. Because he was so used to seeing your dimpled smile in his embrace.

“No,” you responded, pushing his hands off of your lace-covered arms with trembling fingers. Your touch was soft but firm – a boundary that was unfamiliar in his realm. “I apologize for intruding, your grace, your highness,” another bow – this time at Seungcheol, who just waved her off from his position picking up the strewn wooden swords, “I will take my leave now.”

A noncommittal noise rose from the back of Wonwoo’s throat and his hand wrapped around your wrist habitually, only to be shaken off without a single backwards look and a shuddering sigh as you walked away, head held high and hands shaking by your side.

Wonwoo wasn’t stupid. He knew when to take a hint.

“I’m not sure if you started a problem or made an existing problem worse.”

Wonwoo shot a glare towards Seungcheol. “Thank you for your wise words, your highness. They are so helpful in my current situation,” he muttered, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

Seungcheol sighed, shrugging as he dumped the wooden swords inside of a crate. “Look at it this way,” he pointed out, “now you are free to go do your battling. Without any ties.”

Seungcheol handed Wonwoo his discarded sword, eyebrows raised.

“Right?”

Wonwoo gave him no answer, only staring at your shadowed retreating form that walked now in the sunlight past the archway. He only stared as you, with a curt nod to a footman, entered the main palace halls again.

“Wonwoo?” Seungcheol repeated. “You there?”

Wonwoo blindly nodded, fidgeting with the loose ends of his sheath. “Yes. Yes, maybe,” was his vague answer, mumbled softly under his breath. And all through Seungcheol’s next set of rants about Society politics and the ongoing problems around the Northern border of Obella, the only thing Wonwoo could think of was the alien tightening of his chest – so much so that his lungs felt off and his heart hurt to breathe.

Wonwoo was sick and tired of the stench of blood and rusting iron. He was sick and tired of the habitual curl of his fingers around the hilt of his battle-worn sword at every small crack in the woods. And he was sick and tired of being away – away from the Capitol, away from his duchy, away from her.

So when, one morning, his best friend and commanding officer Soonyoung, came into his tent with a cream-colored envelope with a familiar crest stamped on the front, it felt like a weight had lifted off of his shoulders.

His tent flap fluttered as a head of blonde ducked in Wonwoo’s sleep tent.

“Guess what a little birdie flew in with this pleasantly fine morning?” Soonyoung grinned, leaning against one of the poles of the tent, arms crossed.

Wonwoo looked up from his place sitting on his chair, sharpening his sword. His glasses hung low on his nose and his naked back rippled with aching muscles. He deadpanned, recognizing the crest as the royal crest. “What?” he hummed, standing up and setting his sword and whetting stone down. “Another commission from our dear king?” he scoffed, unwilling bitterness seeping into his words.

Of course, he did not blame King Seungcheol for his current predicament. Actually, he did, just a little bit. But of course, not all of the situation. Around three fifths was because of himself – because he was greedy and ambitious and begged to be sent to the National Academy and rose to the top of his Weapons class. It was his fault, was what he told himself, that he was on his third year out in the battlefields in the north, fighting the royal battles for a king that presented himself to be one of Wonwoo’s closest friends. Of course an inconspicuous bitterness would form.

Hoshi laughed, his own bare torso glinting in the early morning sunlight. He handed Wonwoo the letter. “Oh, you wish, Wonwoo,” Hoshi said, clapping his friend on the back. He squeezed as Wonwoo’s eyes skimmed over its contents. He could almost feel Hoshi’s smile from behind him.

“Congratulations, my friend,” Hoshi laughed, “You have officially been reinvited to Society!”

Wonwoo’s face crumpled into an off mixture of disappointment, relief, and boredom. Society? That was what Seungcheol was pulling him out of these battles for? Out of everything, Society?

“Society?” he scoffed. The hollow, fakeness of The Capitol’s Society was what awaited him outside of the violent woods? His fingers tightened on the thick parchment.

The fact that it was Society wasn’t the aspect that pissed him off down to his bones. It was the fact that Seungcheol knew why he gave up Society to begin with.

Suddenly, Hoshi’s squinted eyes filled Wonwoo’s vision. His blonde-bleached eyebrows were furrowed on his face. “Why do I feel like you’re not happy to be going back?”

Wonwoo let out a deep sigh, his eyes closing ever so slightly. His chest felt tight. “Because, Hoshi,” he grumbled, ripping up the letter and tossing it into his lantern flame, “I fucking hate Society.”

Wonwoo watched as the tattered pieces of the ripped parchment crumble into the orange-red flames. It was his fault, he guessed. Going back to Society, to the Capitol, was something he knew he had to face, once his reign among the knights was over. Three years, even for a man like him, was a long time to not show your face even once in a public Society event. He guessed this was Seungcheol’s passive reminder: get to your duties. He could almost hear it in his head.

Hoshi shook his head in faux disappointment, tsking. “Thought you knew better than that, Archduke Jeon. You nobility need to perform part of your duties, after all.” Hoshi’s grin makes Wonwoo’s lips stretch into a slight smile. “What? Has the battlefield ridden you of your noble blood, your grace?” Hoshi asked with an eyebrow raise.

Wonwoo just shook his head with a small smile and a sigh. But he couldn’t shake off the uncomfortable feeling of being called an archduke. Being called your grace. Those were titles he was used to seeing his father carry – his father, who was a charismatic ruler, his father, who loved deeply and truly, and his father, who lay cold and lifeless in the Jeon Family cemetery next to his mother for two years.

Hoshi was not wrong, he knew. He knew there would be a time he would have to return to the very thing he hated the most about staying in the Capitol, about being a noble; whether or not he returned by his own volition was the question. And apparently Seungcheol had deemed three years, three years too much. The churning in his stomach could not be described as anything else but uncertainty.

As Hoshi talked animatedly, with flailing arms, about the night before, when the soldiers had broken out crates of rum and beer to celebrate the strengthening of the Northern borders from the “evil spirits,” as they had called them, Wonwoo stared into the crackling lantern flame. If he returned to Society, as per the royal decree and as per his friend’s request, he would have to face the portraits that hung on his Capitol estate’s portrait hall. He would have to walk through the halls of his own home that had once been full of deeper, older, wiser, laughter of his parents without them. He would have to face the claustrophobia-inducing, over crowded ballrooms of the private high society gatherings, attend meaningless hunting outings, and present himself to the greater nobility public like some sort of relic or trophy to be garnished with wreaths and golden medals of bravery after the three year battle.

But, of course, that was not all of the Society he had left behind. He had left behind a deeper, lovelier Society as well. Something – someone, he should say – that if he had any say in, he would keep hidden in the deepest parts of his heart. Someone, if he returned, who would – no, could – never be his again. She was not someone who waited around – especially if they had left like he did.

But perhaps…

No.

No, no, no.

He shook his head.

He could not bring his hopes up for nothing. He had a duty – to his duchy, to his family, to the legacy his father left behind, and to his country.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” Wonwoo mumbles. Mostly to himself, yet Hoshi quietens in his rant at his friend’s words.

Hoshi drags a wooden chair over, swinging his legs around it to sit – chest against its back. “For Society or…” Hoshi does not need to finish his question for Wonwoo to understand. It is implied, as it always had been between the two of them.

Wonwoo sighed, burying his head in his hands. The balls of his palm rub into his battle-weary eyes. “For everything. My responsibilities, Society, the entry celebrations, and…” Now Wonwoo poses the discarded ending. Hoshi knows, he decides for himself. He knows already. Wonwoo could tell from his knowing glance out the tent flap.

“You’ve had responsibilities out on the battlefield, Woo. I believe your archducal duties are of a similar hierarchy?” Hoshi twirled a quill in his hand. The commander veers out of the way of the silent topic with a quick glance that promises Wonwoo another conversation – preferably over a glass of wine – in another time.

Wonwoo let out a tired laugh. “You jest. I fear my archducal duties far outrank the simple hierarchy of my responsibilities on the battlefield.”

Hoshi shrugged. “It is what you believe, sir.”

“It is what I believe,” Wonwoo murmured to himself. A hand slid down his face as he slouched down in his chair, a tired sigh escaping the battle-worn caverns of his lungs. “Fuck.”

One of King Seungcheol’s infamous re-entry balls was decided to be held in honor of Archduke Jeon returning to the Capitol, signifying his re-entrance into Society’s cluster of feathers and prim-propers from his years in the battlefields.

“Do you know how uncomfortable wearing this cape is?” Wonwoo complains for the fourth time, tugging at the golden lapels that hold the thick fabric to his shoulders. He huffs in apparent annoyance as the golden tips of the royal palace’s towers loom overhead when the carriage rattles to a slow trot and then a stop.

Hoshi, from his seat across Wonwoo, rolls his eyes, his own body decorated with the uniform of the royal knights, and a long gleaming sword hanging off of his hip. “Oh boo hoo,” he mutters, stepping out of the carriage as soon as the door opens. He dusts his white pants with a concluding groan as Wonwoo mutters something under his breath.

“What?” Wonwoo snaps, “When has it changed so that a man cannot simply complain about his uncomfortable and ill-fit dressings for a ball?” Wonwoo retorts. A strand of hair fell in his face as he crossed his arms. His tight military uniform – decorated diligently with captain stars, rings of honor, and golden medals of bravery – strains against his biceps. He stands next to Hoshi, adjusting his formal tie with a displeased wince of discomfort. “I would have much rather preferred-”

“-Wonwoo!” Hoshi interjects, a rough hand coming down harshly against Wonwoo’s back. One look in Hoshi’s eyes and Wonwoo hesitates to finish his sentence. “My friend, please, for the love of God, shut the fuck up. You look fine,” Hoshi groaned, walking up to the palace doors with Wonwoo in tow. “You should have expected this anyways,” he continues, giving a curt nod to the footmen that open the doors, “This is a ball held in your honor,” a familiar turn into a wider hallway, “Remember?” Hoshi’s neat uniform is pin-straight as he walks down the marbled halls. “And we’re already late. Do you want to get passive aggressively eaten alive by Society the first day back in noble action?” he throws Wonwoo’s way with a quick glance over his shoulder with a teasing grin.

Wonwoo sighs, following Hoshi through the gilded halls of the too-familiar palace. He could almost picture his younger self – five years old – running through the very halls, with Prince Mingyu and (then) Prince Seungcheol hot on his heels, all three of them giggling about something for another. He could picture the two of them, laughing – him with his head thrown back and her with her fan over her pretty pink lips – during the boring parts of each and every palace ball. The gilded palace was gilded – but not just in gold.

y/n

You were very confused.

And confusion never was something any noble wanted during a ball, nevermind the King’s re-entry ball, no matter how close your family’s ties ran.

Of course, you were not confused about who it was for. It was obvious. The Capitol’s newspapers (and most likely every other newspaper business in the nation), had spent the entire past week dedicating their front covers to the headlines that included, but were not limited to, one of the five following words: Archduke, Jeon, Return, Battle, Ball.

It was as if the entirety of noble society had decided to come together for this one re-entry event, which apparently had people jittery at the edges of their seats because the most eligible bachelor of any season, really, was back on the market. The one high noble who could pay off even the most expensive dowries, who could save a breaking family from complete, utter, desolate ruin, whose dark hooded eyes had enticed so many of the daughters from the highest noble classes, was back. He, on orders and grounds unknown, was returning from his three-year-long disappearance from Society and out into the vicious battlefields of the north.

And you were absolutely, jaw-droppingly so confused as to why both King Seungcheol and Prince Mingyu (mostly Seungcheol, though Mingyu posed no help), held you (almost) hostage at their sides, rambling and fluttering on about how you should stay with them until the entrance of the “main character.”

“Your highness, may I ask why?” you ask. Behind your proprietary fan covering the bottom half of your face, your lips curl in distaste. If it was wholly up to you, you would have been in a silken nightgown, getting ready for bed.

“Is brother still holding you here against your will?” Prince Mingyu’s laughing voice reaches your ears. You turn, meeting his broad frame. His one-shoulder cape glints at the top with a pure-gold cap, in dazzling contrast with his cream-white suit. In his hands are two flutes of bubbling champagne. He outstretches his arm, tipping one flute towards you with a grin, canines pushing down against his bottom lip. “For you, my lady,” he teases, slipping the flute into your gloved fingers. He gives you a cheesy wink, before breaking into a dimpled smile.

You roll your eyes, habituated with the prince’s oftentimes off-handed flirty remarks. “You ask that as if you have not been doing the exact same thing, your highness,” you huff, but you don’t reject the champagne flute, taking a sip of the bubbling liquid with a satisfied sigh. You clear your throat before turning to both Mingyu and Seungcheol, who is surveying the crowd. “Now I ask the both of you the same question.”

Mingyu throws an arm around Seungcheol, who stands still, staring at the entrance door to the ballroom with an impatient-tapping foot. “You know why.” He leans his head against Seungcheol, lightly stepping on his older brother’s furious foot with a mutter of maintaining a mask of patience. Seungcheol responds with a simple furrow of his thick eyebrows.

You tilt your head. Mingyu’s lack-luster responses and Seungcheol’s decision to blatantly ignore your words are doing absolutely nothing to quell your curiosity, let alone your confusion.

Usually, if this was like any other royal-hosted ball, Seungcheol would only keep you for a brief moment. That would frequently consist of introductions to any new or unfamiliar royal cabinet members. And then, he would let you go, which usually meant, for you, going to the closest empty table with a chair and sitting down for the rest of the night. At least until you deemed you had spent enough time brooding in peace in your despairing corner, that it was respectable enough towards both you and the royal family, to leave the ball and return to your estate.

Of course, you were not unapproachable. You were born and raised in Society. One of the first classes you remember taking with your grandmother was ballroom dance. Before (or many times during) your brooding solitary peace, either Mingyu, Seungcheol, or Duke Hong would leisurely make their way towards you and offer you your dance of the night.

Those times, when the familiar strings of the orchestra and the notes of the hired singer flowed through the crowded ballroom, you let yourself be guided. After all, it was your job.

“The lady is always supposed to be guided,” your grandmother used to say, “If a man, especially of high standing, does not guide a lady through a simple waltz, he is not a man. He is a coward not ready to face even the simplest of pleasures.”

“Save your first dance, y/n,” Seungcheol suddenly says, turning to her. His words seem oddly like an order, and you would not put it below him for it to actually be an order. His grin matches his younger brother’s. The furs of his dress stick out against his dark hair. And his entire being seems that much more irking in your eyes.

If he has another fucking suitor lined up already, I’ll kill him. To hell with the monarchy.

From next to him, Mingyu chuckles, as if he (they) knew something you did not. Which is usually the case, actually. You need to stop being so surprised.

“Why?” Your nose scrunches. Your fan is forgotten at your sides.

Seungcheol sighs, shaking his head slowly like you’re some under-developed child who could not get the full picture. “You’ll see.”

You snap your fan shut, crossing your arms. “Sometime soon, I hope?” A jolt of pain waves over your ankle, a testament to how long you’ve been standing in one place. You force down your wince.

Mingyu pokes your puffed cheeks with his white-gloved hand and a laugh. “Impatient much, duchess?”

You swat away his hand with a glance. Your head swivels as you say, “I have been waiting with much patience, thank you very much.” A lick of annoyance flickers in you when you catch at least seven pairs of eyes and gossiping mouths staring at you and the royal brothers. “It seems as though the Archduke is late,” you add, glancing at the giant clock on top of the entrance doorway.

Mingyu, now arm over your shoulder, tugs at your dress sleeves. “Awfully interested, aren’t you?” he grinned, a small bout of laughter ensuing at your barely concealed tick of anger. Not only at his words but also at his careless touches. He should be glad all of high society knew of your close family relations, or else his actions would have had dire consequences.

You push him away lightly, flicking your fan open again as you gently fan yourself, covering your mouth. “Awfully not, your highness,” you snap. Mingyu knew not to talk about that. You try to ignore the fact that the wound you had once thought was fully stitched up and closed, still hurts when poked. “If I can-”

BANG

“ANNOUNCING ARCHDUKE JEON AND THE COMMANDER OF THE ROYAL KNIGHTS, SIR KWON!” The herald’s voice echoed through the ballroom.

It was as if the entire ballroom was on a brief pause – the gossiping groups of ladies, the loud laughter of the business men, the rolling children, and even the orchestra. The violinists, cellists, and singer all paused, craning their heads to see through the throng of people who awaited the arrival of the main character – the battle-won most eligible bachelor of all the seasons: Archduke Jeon Wonwoo.

And all you wanted to do was to never see his face again.

And of course you prepared yourself. You prepared yourself the moment you had received Seungcheol’s and Mingyu’s separate request letters of your presence at tonight’s ball as part of the royal cabinet. You prepared yourself throughout the time Nai, your maid, rubbed oils into your skin, braided and twisted your silken hair, and pulled your corset tight against your straining ribs. Yet nothing, absolutely nothing compared to the real thing. The thing that was not born out of your imagination that had severely overworked itself over three years.

Because not only does Wonwoo look the part of the most eligible bachelor, he looks the part of a successful military commander, with his dark military uniform, draping cape, and glinting golden medals. It feels as if the entire ballroom moves towards him, like he has his own gravitational force, as if everyone is attracted to something in the man. You can already see the cliques of the younger ladies fan themselves lightly as their eyes glaze over his wide shoulders and chiseled face. The military uniform does nothing to hide his physique.

Your fan slowly rises to your face.

Your corset feels especially restricting when you see Wonwoo’s sharp eyes scan the ballroom. If this were any other situation, you would find the way Wonwoo leans down briefly to Soonyoung to whisper something with a confused furrow and Soonyoung breaking out into a shit-eating grin and tossing a wink towards the general crowd, exponentially more amusing. That had more fans fanning quickly towards the ladies’ face.

The entire scene reminded you briefly of when you were seventeen, when you had first been introduced to Society, standing almost in the same position as you were currently – next to the two princes who flanked you protectively with crossed arms – and Soongyoung, who was fresh into the Corps of Royal Knights then, and Wonwoo, who had just graduated from the National Academy, striding into your debutante ball late. The small waves and winks Soonyoung sends now towards the various gaggle of young, single ladies of Society reminds you, rather nostalgically, of when you, Soonyoung, Wonwoo, Seungcheol, and Mingyu had all spread out in Mingyu’s foyer on a wintry December day, and all you had talked about were the numerous engagement offers Soonyoung was getting from noble families.

“What is this? Your thirteenth?” Seungcheol huffed, looking up briefly from Mingyu’s wide oak desk. He dropped his quill in the golden holder. “You’re gonna take away all the ladies from us at this rate, friend,” he laughed.

You missed, in a small part of your heart, the times when Seungcheol had not been pressed to marry, find his match, continue the legacy. Now, his smile never crinkled his eyes when breeching on the topic of marriage and engagements.

Soonyoung shrugged, legs dangling off of the couch’s arm rest as he flipped through a newspaper from last week. “Don’t know. You can have all of them, if you want, Coups,” he says, looking up from the tiny print. He gives a sideways look towards Mingyu. “And you too. Don’t want any of them. Not right now, anyways.”

Seungcheol and Mingyu both grumble about the unfairness of knightly and royal duties as Soonyoung goes off on a separate tangent about the recent addition of a tiger to the park zoo.

From the corner of your eyes, you see Wonwoo and Mingyu exchange an exasperated look. To be honest, you think it’s kind of cute – Soonyoung’s obsession with tigers, that is. It gives the man something childish in him. God knows he’ll need it in the battlefields one day.

Suddenly, from the open window, the winter wind blasts through Mingyu’s parlor, wiping papers off of the low tables and out of your hands.

You shiver, arms crossing around your torso. You rub against your thinly-clothed arms.

“Sorry,” Mingyu apologizes sheepishly, quickly glancing over at you. “Should’ve closed that thing.”

You wave him off, about to say something, when suddenly, a thick fabric is draped over your bare shoulders. You flinch at the sudden contact on your skin. From in front of you, Soonyoung’s eyes are wide, which looks rather comical when you see it in his entire position – upside down, legs spread around the backrest, black hair flapping.

“I told you to close it.” Wonwoo’s tone is almost chastising as he moves from behind you to back to his original spot next to you. He gives Mingyu an almost-glare that has the prince sheepishly standing. Wonwoo picks up his book again, shaking his head ever so slightly.

Mingyu gives Seungcheol a passive look before he sits down as well, eyeing the coat around your shoulders.

One quick glance down at the lapel, and you find what you were looking for. The Jeon Duchy’s coat of arms glints up at you, the house crest shining proudly under the chandelier lights. Your cheeks heat when you recognize the expensive cologne that fills your nose. When you turn towards Wonwoo, he’s back in his book, absorbed, apparently, in the tiny printed words on the page. Your previously scattered papers are neat on the table in front of you.

Wonwoo suddenly looks up from his book, catching your zoned-out stare.

Your eyes widen.

Wonwoo just gives you a small smile, before leaning forward and grabbing your papers. He lays his book face-down on his lap. “Do you need a quill?” he asks, handing you your papers.

He catches you so off guard (as if you were only staring at his face, not listening to what he was saying), that you almost stumble over your own tongue trying to respond casually.

“Er- Um- I mean, no. No, no, that’s fine,” you mumble, snatching the papers from his hand and scooting towards the other side of the long couch. “Thank you, though.”

It feels like Wonwoo’s smile grows at your words. If you looked a little bit closer, you would have seen the tips of his ears turn a blush red when you glance down, fiddling with the academic medals on his lapel.

“Anything for you,” he breathes, like it's a secret shared between you two.

Mingyu and Soonyoung stare at the whole interaction with a mixture of forced disgust, confusion, and awkwardness, and you don’t miss how Soonyoung pretends to gag, Mingyu following suit, before the two of them go back to their lengthy tangents.

From next to you, you miss Mingyu’s quick glance down at your movements and the knowing glance he and Seungcheol share.

Whispers break out as the two men – vastly different in the charismas they exude – stride towards the two royal family members.

And you realize they are heading towards you before you remember you are standing with the royal brothers. And everything suddenly clicks into place. Why the two, more Seungcheol than Mingyu, wanted you to stay for so long – until the “main character arrives.” There is a bubbling pot of the sudden innate need to whack the king over the head with your fan. But of course. That would be terribly unladylike. Nothing a woman in your station should be doing, let alone thinking about doing.

And it seems as if Wonwoo is as surprised at your presence on the royal platform because his dark eyes widen behind his glasses as he and Soonyoung stop in front of the raised platform you, Mingyu, and Seungcheol were standing on.

You feel horribly awkward. And Soonyoung’s gaze flitting between you and Wonwoo before bowing his head, trying to conceal his laughter, is doing nothing to make the situation better.

Seungcheol throws his arms out at the same time Wonwoo drops into a one-knee bow, Soonyoung in tow moments later behind him. At his sudden show of veneration, the crowd gasps softly and you shuffle backwards, only to hit Mingyu’s broad chest that blocks you from leaving the platform. You swallow.

You need to get off this stupid fucking platform.

But when you open and shut your fan, looking back at Mingyu, he seems awfully interested in exchanging eye contact with the ballroom’s chandelier. You know he heard your fan shut. The same, familiar spike of rage bubbles in your chest.

These fucking brothers.

“Success to your highness and peace to the nation.” Wonwoo’s deep voice, the one you had tried so desperately to forget, to lose in your discarded memories, to rip apart to shreds and feed to the dogs, echoes out against the quiet ballroom. If you strain your ears, you can hear, though, the stuttered gasps of the younger ladies and chaperones, on the verge of swooning at his first nine words. Resentfully, your brain conjures itself to the years when you were the same – fanning yourself to catch a handsome man’s attention.

You wish you had the courage to laugh. To elegantly step off this damning platform. To get away (run away) from the man in front of the king.

You feel Mingyu moving ever so slightly behind you until you stand perfectly in between him and Seungcheol. Then, in the softest hiss of a whisper he is capable of, he mumbles, “Stay still. You’re sitting with us now.”

You scoff quietly, raising your fan to your left cheek. The tips of the wooden stilts tickle your painted cheek.

From the corners of your eyes, you can see Mingyu pout. “Oh come on, duchess,” he whines. “I’m degraded down to fan talk?” His fingers wrap around your fan, pulling it down.

You’re glad you and Mingyu stand slightly off to the side because you don’t think you would be able to handle any more whisperings of your relationship with the men in your life Society has to cruelly offer.

“You read right? The Archduchies are part of the direct royal council, now.”

That makes you whip your head towards Mingyu’s. He is still facing forward with a practiced smile on his lips and hands in his pockets like this moment was the most relaxing all night.

You, however, probably look slightly insane. Any fan etiquette goes flying out of the ballroom door at Mingyu’s words. You? On the royal council? Of course, on the surface, it is a great honor. You would be the first non-married matriarch to hold some semblance of power in the royal courts. But you could stitch together the gist of how Society would react to this. And based on Mingyu’s decision to tell you this late into Society’s winter season, you could land a (very accurate) educated guess that Seungcheol was going to announce in the next twenty minutes.

“Are you crazy?” You whisper furiously, turning back to face the crowd. You can already see eyes slowly turn to the two of you, noticing your, now, not-so-subtle interaction.

Mingyu just grins, bumping his shoulder with yours. And you don’t even get a chance to hear what he says because Seungcheol suddenly says, “Of course! Of course!” with the most excited tone of voice you had ever heard him use. Apparently Mingyu thinks the same because his head follows yours in staring at Seungcheol. Both of you, but mostly you because Mingyu is still surveying the crowd with a bright, confident, blazing smile that has the ladies of the court drowning in his eyes, are too embarrassed to look confused at what his words mean because you had zoned out of his rather one-sided conversation with Soonyoung and Wonwoo a long time ago.

You can only stand stiffly in your place sandwiched between Seungcheol and Mingyu as both Soonyoung and Wonwoo rise slowly, giving Seungcheol a curt bow before turning to you and Mingyu. Your fan trembles with your hand as Wonwoo steps closer.

You had forgotten how it feels to know nothing of what was to come. Especially when it pertained to him.

Your heart stills momentarily when his eyes land on you, moving up to your face and holding you in your place for a split second. You can’t even describe it. The feeling of seeing him so up close after all these years. After you had promised yourself to forget him. After you had spent hours crying in your bathtub, Nia rubbing your back soothingly. After you had fallen asleep, at least in the first weeks, on top of your duvet, letters he had once sent you crowding half of your bed, fresh tear stains ruining the expensive ink and paper.

He looks so familiar it pulls at some part in your heart that you had thought was buried three years ago at a sparring ground. You observe him as he and Soonyoung pay their respects to Mingyu, who looks a pinch uncomfortable when his friends kneel in front of him.

Black strands of his hair fall in front of his eyes and crowd his forehead. His military cape pulls your attention to his shoulders, which look broader than you remember them to be. And you can’t help but admit that his tight military top does nothing to hide his worked physique. His family crests glints at the connecting junction of his cape and his uniform, and his sheath, hand-crafted as a gift for his seventeenth birthday, holding his sword, rests against his hips. He looks regal, noble, eligible – so much so that it almost shakes the foundations of the walls you had built.

Then he turns to you, those piercing eyes refocusing onto yours that don’t know where to land. His eyes? His lips? His chest? His shoulders? The crowd? A shadow of a smile paints itself onto his lips and you swallow.

Your mouth feels dry.

This can’t be real.

When you had imagined the re-entry ball, meeting Wonwoo, nevermind seeing him so personally, had never once crossed your mind.

Your fan slowly traced its path up to your right ear.

From behind Wonwoo, Soonyoung grins, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling at your fan movement. Your own lips curl up in your practiced way.

For the crowd, you tell yourself.

The entire ballroom seems to watch the two of you in your silence, which was turning more awkward by the second. Wonwoo’s eyes carve a road up and down your figure. It makes your hands clench your fan tightly.

You glance at Seungcheol, who nods, urging you to speak. You let out a small cough, averting your eyes briefly before your smile paints itself onto your lips again. Your fan falls.

“It seems the battlefield has treated you well, Archduke Jeon,” you smiled, opening your arm briefly in a practiced welcome.

It seems as if Wonwoo had not expected you to speak first, and for a second, he stands frozen, eyes wide, mouth slightly open, and hands still next to his body. At Soonyoung’s small embarrassed cough, he blinks rapidly, following your smile in suit. Except his looks too genuine, it tugs at your heart strings. And you berate your traitorous heart in wanting to pull him into a warm embrace.

Remember how he left you. He doesn’t want you.

The corners of your lips tremble.

Instead, you feign indifference, lifting your chin.

Wonwoo bows deeply first, followed by Soonyoung. He rises.

“I see Society has welcomed you back with open arms,” he replies, his voice a pinch above a whisper. His small smile offers it as a jest but his words stab a knife into your gut. He has absolutely no right in jesting about your failed engagements. Not after everything.

From behind him, you can see Soonyoung pinch his nose bridge, shaking his head ever so slightly, mouthing an apology to you.

Wonwoo’s eyes linger a moment too long on you, before reaching for your hand. Out of pure etiquette that has burned itself into your entire being, you offer him your hand, and his head is bowed, lips hovering mere centimeters over your lacy knuckles before you realize what you are doing. And by then, it’s too late to retract your offered hand.

Wonwoo’s lips meet the back of your hand.

His own gloved fingers hold your hand like you are made out of the most delicate of china, his touch barely-there.

And just as quick his lips are on your hand, it disappears from your skin.

“May tonight bring you as much warmth as your presence brings to it,” he murmurs, so softly that you have to strain your ears to hear it. But it’s there.

Wonwoo rises before you have a chance to process his greeting words that were murmured into your hand. You almost miss the way the tips of his ears are blush-red between strands of his hair.

Before you can say something else, Soonyoung is in front of you, bowing over your outstretched hand, pressing a light, airy kiss. You can feel him grin against your skin.

When he looks up, he has a teasing grin painted on his face, and you have to force yourself to not roll your eyes at how he wiggles his eyebrows up and down.

“Success and love for the Archduchess.” Soonyoung’s words echo across the ballroom, unlike Wonwoo’s.

Too busy retracting your hand from Soonyoung’s grip, you miss the way Wonwoo’s jaw clenches, face hardening at Soonyoung’s words.

: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @mj-szaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617

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dark-lord-of-awesomeness · 1 month ago

Text

Ive decided to try my hand at the romance. Here's an alt chapter for if romance took place in How To Cat Burglar a Family

Ford stretched as he got out of bed, Nikola flopping over next to him as he got up and got ready for the day. The cat mrrped, then chirped at him when he was done getting dressed until he went over and picked him up. Shifty chirped too, and Ford chuckled as he lifted up the other-

Actually either one could have been Shifty, now that he realized he was holding two identical cats in his hand.

With a shake of his head he went downstairs, one cat under each arm. Everyone else must have gotten up before he did, because he could smell breakfast and chatter as he neared the kitchen.

"Good morning!" Ford cheerily said as he entered the room. Carla and Fiddleford shot him wide grins, Carla gesturing to the table where a breakfast spread was already waiting.

"Good-" "Good morning Stanford!"

Carla shot Fiddleford a look when he talked over her, then went back to smiling at Ford.

"I've got breakfast ready for us! And Nikolas is ready and waiting." Carla said, sending a wink his way. The cat in his left hand wiggled, so he set Nikola down to trot over and eat the shredded chicken she'd been feeding him lately. She'd started home cooking meals for the cat, switching it up every week or so much to the cats delight.

"Thank you, Carla." Ford said, smiling. She grinned back, then smiled at Fiddleford before turning back to the stove where she was finishing up some eggs.

He took Shifty over to the table, setting him down in his spot. He scanned the table, full of eggs, pancakes, bacon and sausage, then frowned at the three plates.

"Carla, you forgot Fiddlefords plate again." He said, sitting down next to Shifty to help him fill his plate. His son turned into his cat boy form and stared pointing at foods he wanted with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other.

"Oh silly me!" Carla exclaimed, "I just figured he could use his own, seeing as he has it already."

Ford turned to look at Fiddleford to see him holding nothing but two coffee cups, then chuckled.

"Carla," he said, filling his own plate, "I know it doesnt seem like it but we do need more than coffee to survive."

"Speaking of," Fiddleford said, setting one of the cups next to him, "here's yours. Made it just how you like it."

"Oh, thank you!" Ford said, smiling at him. Fiddleford smiled back, then smiled at Carla as he went to grab a plate and sit next to Shifty. There had been some conflict when he moved in, as before each of his friends would sit on either side of him, but Shifty asking to sit in between his parents put an end to it. Fiddleford was also easier to speak to when sitting across from him, making the man oddly pleased when Ford told him.

Breakfast was business as usual, with Fiddleford filling his coffee whenever it got low and Carla asking him how everything tasted. Her cooking had improved greatly since she'd first moved in.

Fords offer of cleaning up was met with joint protests, so he took Shifty to the living room to watch the morning educational programs and wait for Emma-May. She was supposed to be coming at some point today to do.. something. He want quite sure what, since they'd finished Shifty's paperwork and Emma-May was still looking for a place to stay.

Nikola trotted into the room just as the door knocked, so Ford scooped him up as he went to go awnser it.

Just as he expected, it was Emma-May. She was wearing a low cut top and a pair of goggles on her head and was leaning against the doorframe with one arm above her head and a leg kicked up.

"Stanford!" She said, bringing her hand down, "what a surprise to see you here."

"Its my house?"

She laughed, and Ford cursed internally at whatever joke he'd missed. Nikola sighed, then wiggled until Ford set him on his shoulders where the cat made himself comfortable.

"You're always so charming Stanford." Emma-May said, brushing past him and running a hand over his chest for some reason. Balance, maybe, seeing as she threw herself on his couch and made graby hands at Shifty until he walked over to give her a hug.

A small cough drew his attention, and he looked down to see Tate, staring at him intently.

"Hello Tate! How's the move going?"

"Stay away from my parents." Was his curt reply, and Ford frowned as the little boy ran off and climbed to sit next to his mother.

It must be hard, having parents who worked constantly and away from home. Hopefully his project would finish up quickly so Tate could see Fiddleford more often, and Shifty could help with his loneliness in the meantime.

"So," Ford said, making his way back to the living room, "what did you need? Is the move going well, did you need help with your grant?"

"Oh that's fine," Emma-May said, dragging a hand down her side, "I actually have a place ready to go. I was wondering if you could help me unload boxes today, help a woman out when her husband's away."

"Fiddlefords here too, if you needed him," Ford said, turning to head back to the kitchen, "I'll go tell him you needed help."

Fiddleford and Carla were still in the kitchen when he went back in, whispering furiously and glaring at each other next to the sink.

"Methods conflicting again?" He asked, bemused. He'd never seen two people argue so much about how to do dishes properly, but it seemed to happen every meal.

"Stanford!" They both yelled, jumping apart. Carla smiled awkwardly at him, and he smiled back before turning to Fiddleford.

"Emma-May wanted my help moving boxes today, and I thought I'd ask you instead, did you-"

Fiddlefords face darkened, and he shot out of the room before Ford could finish. Ford watched him go, perplexed, before turning back to Carla.

"Did you need assist in finishing up?"

She beamed at him, and Ford moved forwards to take fiddlefords place by the sink, scrubbing dishes then handing them over to Calra to dry and put away. He'd let Carla do it, but she tended to drop dishes more than clean them.

"Oh," Carla said, shortly after they started, "you missed a spot, here."

Ford frowned at the pan she handed back, dunking it in the water and scrubbing it. He pulled it out of the water and handed it back, and she inspected it again before shaking her head.

"You got most of it, but there's still some at the bottom." Ford huffed, then rolled up his sleeves and tried again. Nikola chattered on his shoulders, and Ford pressed his head into him.

"Quiet you," he said eyeing the lounging cat, " or ill scrub you. Although you might actually like it."

Carla muttered something under her breath, watching Ford scrub intently as she waited for him to finish. She was probably impatient, seeing as she had no work and thus was being held up on her free day to do dishes. Ford opened to apologize for his poor scrubbing, when the McGuckets burst into the room, kids hot on their heels.

"Stanford," Fiddleford said with a grin, "Emma-May explained it all to me. She's packed some heavy equipment that needs an extra pair of hands, if you don't mind helping us out."

"Oh, of course!" Ford pulled the pan out and handed it to Carla, then grabbed the next dish, "let me just-"

"I'll finish up!" Fiddleford said, snatching it out of his hand, "bad manners on my part, leaving the job half finished. Why don't you head on over and I'll meet you there faster than a rat up a drain pipe!"

Ford shook his head, but let Fiddleford shoo him away.

Ford wasn't sure why Carla came, as she didn't help unload and seemed content to watch next to Emma-May while she yelled out where all the boxes went. He wasn't sure why Fiddleford came either, as half the time his friend was asking Ford to help him. The weather warm for October, and Ford set his coat down for Nikola to lay on, then took off his sweater vest and unbuttoned his top few buttons to help cool down.

It must have been some kind of anomaly, as Emma-May and Carla were just as red despite not lifting any boxes.

He was sweaty and exhausted by the end of the day, as well as frustrated he hadnt gotten any work on the portal done. Hopefully Bill would be understanding, as Emma-May was finished unpacking the faster Shifty could stay with her, the faster Ford could focus all his attention on his work.

The moment his head hit the pillow, he opened his eyes to his mindscape. A smile stretched across his face, and he turned to find Bill, leaning on a cane and blinking at him.

"Fordsy!" Bill yelled, zipping over to wrap a arm around his shoulder, "my favorite mortal. Busy day huh? Keeping your physical form busy?"

"Bill!" Ford grinned at his Muse, before rubbing the back of his head and looking away, "my apologies, I wanted to work on the portal, but-"

"Say no more!" Bill sat down in a chair across from Ford, glass appearing in both of their hands, "you need to get the kid out from underfoot to really get going, and you humans break down if you don't move about. Besides, I get you all to myself now, don't I?"

Bill blinked again, and Ford chuckled. It was good that his muse wasn't upset, but Ford was still irked. It felt like every other day his friends were pulling him away for more physical activity or social activities, and although he appreciated each and every one of them, it was starting to grate.

At least Nikola was there when people started getting handsy and laughed awkwardly. It was like the cat knew Ford had no idea what was happening and came to his rescue.

(Carla: You're married! To each other! Back off!

Fiddleford:I've known him six years I'm not going to loose my shot while we're spending so much alone time together!

Emma-May: look at those arms! Look at his research! He already has a shape-shifting son he's basically the perfect man! No offense Fiddleford

Fiddleford: no you're right he's basically the ultimate human specimen

Bill: I need you disgusting flesh bags to keep getting my pet human boyfriend lover to work out more so I can drool over his beefy arms and pretend all my awkward flirting attempts fail because of cultural differences.

Stan: God you're all hilarious but stay away from my brother or I'll claw your eyes off

Tate: ill help you)

#gravity falls #gravity falls au #stan pines #cat stan #how to cat burglar a family #ford pines #fiddleford mcgucket #carla mccorkle #emma may dixon #bill cipher

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jensettermandu · 1 year ago

Text

beware - kim minjeong

genre; smut

pairing; tattooist!winter x rockstar!female reader

content; smut, cunnilingus (r. giving), fingering (r, giving), brief mention of choking and spanking, implications of an unhealthy relationship, winter and reader both have piercings and tattoos but it doesnt go too much into it!

wc; 3.8k+

masterlist.

Her feet came to a stop, looking at the tattoo place and hoping that Minjeong wouldn’t throw her out this time too, last time was in the middle of the night, out in the middle of nowhere in a cheap motel. Her eyes scanned through the big glass windows, seeing the shorter girl who was sitting on the saddle chair with her back facing the window.

Minjeong slowly finished fixing her station, cleaning every little thing and organising everything, hating when her workstation would be messy. It wouldn’t even pass by Richie if it was and she was sure she would get fired as the guy had a lot of high-end clients because the place was known and had celebrities stopping by.

She was somewhat underpaid despite having more clients than most of the other tattooists because of her designs and skill, but she knew that if she got hired anywhere she wouldn’t even get half the pay. It was a dog-eat-dog world in the end.

Her ears were being graced with the heavy instrumental and the aggressive vocal fry of the metal song playing, that was until they were graced with the opening of the door.

She was closing tonight and hated people who couldn’t read closing hours that were written clearly on the glass doors. “It clearly says that it’s closed.” She informed with an annoyed grumble, sighing as she waited for a response only to get none.

Her ears tried to catch any sound of whoever entered as she had yet to turn around which was difficult with the music distorted music. She at last decided to turn around only to get stopped, her heart jumped up in rate at the cold hand that clasped over her mouth, the yelp muffled—in fear the first thing she did was elbow the person.

“Fuck–” She quickly turned around at the familiar voice that groaned in pain. “You’re fucking strong.” Y/n whined as she crouched down, holding onto the side of her ribs after the powerful blow. She was aware that Minjeong was strong after being manhandled by her in bed, but she didn’t expect her to have such reflexes. If she knew she wouldn’t have tried to scare her.

“Are you fucking crazy?” Minjeong exclaimed, her hands wrapping around the girl's arms who looked up at her with her lower lip puckered. The girl’s heart eased from the galloping that it did when she thought she would die or get kidnapped.

“You should know the answer.” Y/n’s voice came out somewhat strained from the pain.

Minjeong helped her back up on her feet, dragging the frail girl up by the arms. The strong scent of vanilla on the singer invaded her nose as she hadn’t been around the scent for a while.

Minjeong sucked air through her teeth and shook her head, looking at the girl although her eyes trailed her stomach and the pierced navel first before going higher up. The band member was busy massaging her ribs slightly. “You’re a female yourself, you should know what is bound to happen if you think from my perspective for a second.” The girl complained and Y/n’s gaze fell on her at last.

“I’ve been told that I see from the perspective of an idiot and not a woman and anyone can be an idiot.” She said with a small shrug, fixing the leather jacket as it had moved around from how she tried to see if Minjeong managed to bruise her. It was just slightly red.

She hummed and turned back around on the chair to her station to finish up what she was doing. “Whoever said it was right,” Minjeong confirmed as the girl seemed quite reckless from what she’d seen on stage and now.

“It was Richie—Is he in?” Y/n replied and looked back, deciding to sit down on the tattoo chair.

“No, I’m closing tonight.”

Y/n looked around the chair that had a bunch of levers to be pulled and whatnot. The girl pulled one and reclined it further back before lifting her head and looking at the two separate legrests connected to it. “This could pass as some BDSM type of chair, would you let me eat you out on it?” Y/n questioned as ideas started to pile in her head about how she could position the girl in the chair or the tattooist position her.

Minjeong finished and she turned back around to see the girl playing around with the levers and adjusting the chair. “No, there are windows right there and stop before you break something.” She slid over on the saddle chair she was in and grabbed hold of the girl’s hand, making Y/n look back up as she had been looking under the chair.

The rockstar that had been plaguing Minjeong lately blew away the strand of hair that fell in front of her eyes and the two locked eyes, Y/n smiling at the girl. “But it could work if there weren’t any windows.” Y/n prompted as the idea as a whole didn’t have to be excluded if it hadn’t been for the windows.

Minjeong let go of her hands and manoeuvred around to be in front of the girl. “If you’d do this…” She trailed off as she grabbed hold of the girl's legs, making sure that each was on the leg rests. Y/n watched the girl with a small smile, both of them in a better mood than the last time they were together.

They had been able to wind down and relax after their latest rendezvous that had been intense with emotions; from the night they spent on the shitty mattress in the cheap motel to the constant fights they could have whenever they were together. Passionate, but in all the wrong ways as they both could still taste the bitterness of alcohol and the saltiness of tears on their lips.

“Is this what you had in mind?” She asked as she pushed each leg rest apart, biting her lip as she parted the girl's legs and slid closer. Minjeong’s hands trailed over Y/n’s smooth and long legs, the scent of caramel and vanilla lingered along her skin.

Y/n hummed as the fingers ran over her knees and to her inner thighs. Minjeong’s fingers gently traced up creating goosebumps while she watched her fingers disappear under the black mini-skirt. Y/n expectantly watched until Minjeong caught her lust-filled gaze.

“Too bad there are windows then.” Minjeong reminded as she wasn’t going to risk getting fired if someone saw them and wouldn’t mind their business. She slid right back, teasing the girl and Y/n frowned, pulling the seat back up to sit straight as it had been reclined.

“When do you get off?” Y/n asked.

“In 15.” She informed her and slid right back to her place. The heat that was pooling would have to wait a bit more, although neither knew how to make the time pass quicker because talking would mean having to beat around the bush of their last fight or talking about it which they never did. It was easier to fuck away the memories.

“I won’t need more to make you tremble,” Y/n said and hopped down the chair, Minjeong’s eyes widened slightly when the taller girl grabbed hold of her hand and pulled on her. The girl rolled a bit on the chair before she managed to get up–ignoring her chair that fell over in the process.

“Y/n–”

“It’s 15 minutes to waste doing something better than sitting around.” The lithe girl cut her off and Minjeong followed the girl who knew her way around the place.

They walked past the counter and pushed aside the grey curtain that hid the small corridor that led to the office, bathrooms, changing room, and the first door on the left that Y/n decided to push open to not waste time—the supply room. The girl opened the door and blindly reached for the small light switch while entering and pulling Minjeong in after her.

“I’m not trying to get fired for having sex in the supply room,” Minjeong muttered as all the ink, sanitisers and whatnot were stacked on the metal storage shelves. The door closed in the dimly lit room that just fit them both.

“Trust me—” Y/n started and turned the girl around, Minjeong somewhat squirming at how cold the hands that gripped the flesh of her ass were. “We aren’t getting caught.”

Minjeong didn’t get the chance to question the girl’s words when all she did do was push her tongue against Y/n’s tongue when their lips met in that familiar kiss that was needy and somewhat sloppy. The barbell massaged against her tongue, making Minjeong play with it as she tilted her head to get more of Y/n’s mouth and lip gloss that tasted of vanilla.

It was the least Y/n could do after their messy night.

Y/n squeezed the flesh in her hands, Minjeong hummed and ran a hand under the cropped tee. “You have a nice ass.” Y/n breathed out as Minjeong ’s fingers trailed up her ribs before she cupped the girl’s breast and ran her thumb over the hard nipple, this time the girl had simple barbells, making it easier for Minjeong to tug at the bud.

“I’d have to say the same to you.” The shorter girl replied with her face nuzzling into the taller girl's neck to leave kisses that sent shivers through her whole spine, her lip rings gracing Y/n’s skin with a slight cold.

Y/n bit her lower lip as she pulled the skirt up over Minjeong ’s ass who pulled away and looked up at her. The air was cold against their hot skin and the blonde’s ass was left exposed in the lacy underwear.

“But I love your hands on me.” The vixen hummed at Minjeong ’s words and pulled her right hand away, the other still gripping her other ass cheek.

The slender hand came to view, the same fingers that worked Minjeong’s pussy until it hurt and left her dripping wet onto her sheets, the hand that made her arch and squirm. Somehow just seeing the singer and guitarist's hand made Minjeong imagine what it had done and what more it could do.

It made Minjeong lean in as Y/n gripped the side of her neck, thumb caressing the thudding pulse below the soft and inked skin where a tattoo started and trailed down. Their breaths mingled the tattooist stared up at her scum of a girlfriend if she could even call the problematic rockstar that. At least she was her tattooist, wasn’t she? She felt at mercy under Y/n’s touch and gaze, it was predatory, but she found comfort in the danger.

Her peaceful life of tattooing people day to day turned into one of chaos drenched in ecstasy which made everything bearable. God, Minjeong despised her girlfriend as much as Y/n probably despised her, but at the same time, she loved just as much as she hated, the same way Y/n did.

Y/n’s tongue stuck out, smoothing her hand over the slim neck until it was in her hold, toying with the lip ring on Minjeong’s plump lips that were wet and swollen.

“Y/n.” Her voice was thick with lust, her cunt already throbbing as she wanted the fingers to work on her until her pussy was raw and aching from being at it for too long once again. A barely there whine at the teeth that tugged at her bottom lips, loving how the hand gently squeezed her throat while another kneaded her ass. Her nails dug into the side of Y/n’s ribs where her hand was under the girl's shirt.

The two pulled back into each other, tongues moving against each other in heat and slickness. A gasp followed with a hum at the stinging when Y/n’s hand harshly clasped with Minjeong’s ass cheek the sound bouncing off the walls, gripping it and pulling her closer while Minjeong squeezed the breast she cupped in her hand.

The two stepped back as Y/n guided the way between the two metal shelves with her hands letting go of Minjeong and moving to grip her slim waist. Their lips parted from the messy kiss, only leaving remnants of salvia after each other.

She slipped her hand from under Y/n’s shirt, running both her hands to her shoulders as Y/n leaned into her jaw, kissing along it with lips leaving a trail of shivers and goosebumps after, making Minjeong ’s chest heave a bit quicker.

“Fuck.” Minjeong sighed at the way Y/n nipped at her skin and moved her hand up to play with her nipples, her pace picking up as she kissed along her exposed collarbones. Her hand kneaded Minjeong’s breast through the spaghetti top that stopped right by her belly button, the hard and sensitive nipples protruding through the dark material as she was without a bra. Y/n pulled Minjeong closer by her waist, making it easier for her to lean down to her breasts. The blonde gasped when Y/n’s teeth tugged at her bud through the shirt, making her whine at the pain yet pleasure as she unconsciously tried to push Y/n to get down on her knees.

The singer hummed before pressing her pierced tongue against the same nipple through the shirt. It eased the pain and increased the throbbing of Minjeong’s clit who was holding back on moans because she had yet to touch her wet cunt and she already felt whiny. The words that followed from Y/n’s mouth made Minjeong push her onto her knees at last.

“Gonna spend all my love and money on you.” Y/n’s voice humidly left her as she got down on her knees in front of Minjeong who held onto the top of her head. Their words tended to be fabricated and Minjeong was tired of listening to them; she preferred to have Y/n show it even if it would be in a different way from what anyone would expect.

The tattooist only had herself to blame for falling and getting tangled in the web of an unstable rockstar who was running a reckless life. It left marks on Minjeong, probably scarred and the only marks she left were with a needle and ink.

“Shut up and show me instead.” Y/n looked up at the girl above her and smiled while running her hands up Minjeong’s smooth thighs which would have her in a choke hold while her face would be buried in her sweet pussy.

The girl pushed up the skirt before attaching her lips to Minjeong ’s thighs. She could feel the girl holding back from squeezing her legs shut as she continued to kiss the inside of them with her nimble fingers running to the hem of the black lace panties.

Y/n pulled away and pulled down the panties, seeing the clear spot of wetness that Minjeong had left after her. She helped her out of them before stuffing them in the pocket of her jacket.

“I want them back after.” The blonde managed to let out during her anticipation of getting her pussy eaten by the girl on her knees in front of her.

“Do I come off as someone who steals panties?” Y/n questioned as she made Minjeong part her legs, giving her a perfect view of the glistening heaven between her legs. The vixen licked her lips and guided Minjeong’s right leg, her converse covered foot planting on the bottom shelf of the storage shelves.

“You do, I’ve known you long enough.” Minjeong grabbed hold of Y/n’s head, her back pressed against the wall as her chest heaved.

“You’re not wrong.” A cheeky smile covered Y/n’s lips as she leaned back in and started to kiss along Minjeong’s right thigh, the leg being propped against the shelf.

“I know I’m not, I’m missing pairs.” The girl breathily mumbled.

Y/n didn’t reply and instead reached her fingers up to Minjeong’s puffy and swollen lips using two fingers to part them. She leaned in between her legs—Minjeong releasing a light moan at the tongue that ran up from her clenching hole up to her throbbing clit.

Y/n gathered the slickness around the bud that she swirled with her tongue before going back down and doing the same thing again. Minjeong’s juices gathered themselves on her tongue, the taste robust on her tongue and addicting, making Y/n dp it much messier to have as much as possible to lick up after leaving Minjeong a sopping mess.

The light moans and whimpers gradually picked up as Y/n continued to run her tongue along the lips she held spread with her fingers. As she gathered enough around the swollen clit she made Minjeong gasp, the grip tightening in her hair and Minjeong’s other hand quickly grabbed hold of the shelf post for balance. Things clattered as they fell from how abruptly she grabbed it, the shelf not being mounted to the wall. She hadn’t been prepared for the harsh suckling Y/n would provide with her mouth on her clit.

“Fuck—that’s so good,” Minjeong whined, her head slumping against the wall as she closed her eyes. Her hips gyrated into Y/n’s face, unable to even try and hold still at the tongue that was flicking at her clit while Y/n moved her fingers down, teasing around the grasping hole that seeped with more wetness, running down her thighs.

“I want you to fuck me with your fingers.” The girl moaned out, feeling Y/n tease around her hole with her fingers, remembering the view of them from earlier. The words made Y/n moan against Minjeong ’s cunt, the girl on her knees squeezing her thighs together. “To just play with my pussy until it hurts.” She spurred, wanting to get fucked until her vision would blur again, to get fucked over and over again as it made her forget everything.

Minjeong moaned, her back arching at the two fingers that pushed into the warmth of her walls that were thudding, tightly engulfing them as they got clenched around with each moan.

With her lips wrapped around the girl's clit she continued to suckle while flicking her tongue, Minjeong’s moans becoming louder and her grip on her hair tighter as her hips bucked into Y/n. She continued to scissor her fingers inside the girl, doing her best to adjust the tight hole more. The room filled with the moans, whines, whimpers and squelching of her pussy and the mess Y/n’s mouth was making.

The blonde could feel her body heat up at the firm yet soft muscle flicking at her swollen bud. She hummed, swallowing the dryness in her mouth as she tugged Y/n’s face more into her dripping pussy, the fingers stretching her out from the motion and being eaten out was one of the best things she could have gotten from her girlfriend at the moment.

“Can you take one more?” Y/n pulled away mumbling, making Minjeong look down. The heat crashed in her stomach at the lead singer who was so assaultive on stage but was on her knees with a glint of submission in her eyes that were circled by the smudged eyeliner as her chin glistened with her juices, looking like she hadn’t eaten in years. It made Minjeong believe that Y/n could be different to her compared to what she truly was in front of everyone else.

“Yeah, just keep fucking me.”

Y/n couldn’t have gotten a better confirmation as she leaned back in with her tongue licking up and lips wrapping right around Minjeong’s clit again. This time she slowly pushed a third finger inside Minjeong’s snug walls which was enough for them to tighten at the stretch. She slowly moved her fingers, massaging and pressing her spongy wall while her tongue worked quickly, contrasting the slow strokes of her slender fingers.

The pleasure overwhelmed the slight sting of three fingers being pushed right into her tightness. Her juices leaked, running down Y/n’s wrist who was lost in the way she had Minjeong so worked up.

The build-up was fast at how her g-spot was pressed at and the work of the quick tongue, the hard barbell occasionally massaging added to the sensations that were blurring her head. All that Minjeong could hear were her noises, Y/n’s purr-like hums and how messy it was. Her mind filled with black as her eyes shut tightly and she gripped the post hard—something shifting and falling once again at how her body spasmed and she accidentally yanked on it from how sudden it was.

Y/n glanced up at the girl who arched her back off the wall and threw her head back, her cunt pushing into Y/n’s mouth. A splatter of words fell from Minjeong and the girl couldn’t figure out what they were as they sounded more like whimpers.

“So good, I want to cum all over your tongue, Y/n.” It made Y/n moan once again, wanting nothing more than for Minjeong to let go of everything on her tongue and face.

Minjeong felt the tingling spread through her body, her legs trembling and her eyebrows furrowed. Her breath hitched and warmth washed over her like a hot shower. Crying out at the orgasm that was way more intense than she expected in these circumstances as she felt lightheaded and white flashed behind her eyelids.

Y/n tightened her grip on Minjeong’s hip, feeling the girl’s knees buckle. “Oh fuck…” Minjeong breathed out, the energy draining from her body as it relaxed. She blinked her eyes open—Y/n pulling her skirt back down as she pulled away, pulling her fingers out and helping the girl who unconsciously slid down to the floor with her. Her eyes shutting once more.

She looked at the girl in front of her whose cheeks were all flushed, her knees slumped against each other and her hands limp on the floor as she panted for air in the tight and hot space. Y/n leaned forward, restraining Minjeong of any possible room with her hands on each side of her on the cold ground.

Her eyes opened, coming face to face with Y/n and despite feeling like she was held down by stones her hand came up. The tattooist cupped the singer’s cheek and pulled her in as she couldn’t get enough, she constantly needed more of what they had.

It had all been so seemingly innocent, but before Minjeong knew it she was dragged into deep waters, drowning in Y/n's arms with no way out as it grew like an addiction. It had been too tempting no matter how many people told her to beware of what was disguised as innocence but only led to harm. They both dragged each other and what made it work was that it was always a one-way ticket to the gates of hell.

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5tarchaser · 2 months ago

Text

.:･˚₊ mission: evacuate

pairing: assassin!jay x fem agent!reader ft. jungwon and jake of enhypen genre: rivals to ??, inspired by mcu fics

synopsis: you and jay are asked to work together on a mission, even though it is well known around the compound that you guys don't work well together.

word count: 1.6k

warnings: swearing, mentions of wounds, poor attempts at humour, a little angst, fluff, although inspired by mcu no plot spoilers

a/n: im backkk!!! havent written in forever cause uni took all my writing motivation away :/ still have a bunch of fics drafted from forever ago but wanted to post this first. inspired by mcu fanfics cause they created thunderbolts for me (i love bucky barnes give him more screentime). thank the mcu for reviving my bucky era (which never left) and fanfic writing gears :p honestly not entirely sure about the ending of this fic but what can i do T-T hopefully writing block doesnt hit me like a truck again, enjoy!!!

“You guys get that?”

You look up from the mission files in your hand, making eye contact with Jungwon, the team’s leader.

“One quick question,” you say while raising your hand. “Do I really have to be paired up with this prick?”

There wasn’t anything wrong with Jay per se—at least skill-wise—but something about his personality was always off. You can agree that he is good at what he does and has is impressive on the battlefield, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that he’s always given you a cold shoulder since entering the team. You don’t know if it’s because you’re a simple agent while he’s a trained assassin, but there’s no need for him to be so condescending.

“I could ask the same thing,” the said prick mentions.

Jungwon shakes his head. “Jay, you are one of our best assassins,” he says sternly. Assassin, more like asshole. Jungwon turns to you, “And Y/N, you’re one of the best agents in this compound, and believe it or not, the assets both of you bring to the table work well together.”

“I find that very hard to believe,” Jay states as you roll your eyes.

“Look, as much as I know how much you guys despise each other for some unknown reason, this mission is a quick grab and go, and I trust you both enough not to have this mission turn sideways no matter what differences you guys have.” Jungwon states. “Plus you guys won’t be fully alone, Jake will be on comms during the whole mission.”

“Oh great, put us with the rookie who happens to be Jay’s best friend,” you mutter.

“So with that, I hope to see you guys at the jet by 5AM tomorrow morning. Meeting dismissed.”

Without so much as a word, the two of you guys head out into your respective rooms, preparing for a short but dreadful mission.

As you suit up waiting for the jet to land, Jay comes up to you, dropping the map of the base onto your lap. “Here’s the map of the base, all you have to do is get to the panel room and extract the CCTV footage. Don’t fuck it up.”

You purse your lips and furrow your brows, feigning annoyance. “You’re giving this to me as if Jungwon didn’t already explain the mission. I know what I have to do, I’ve done it before.”

As the jet comes to a stop, you turn to Jay, “You better not fuck up either. The moment someone spots you, we’re both dead.”

"You saying you have no trust in me sweetheart?" He states with his hand to his chest, acting hurt.

"Yup."

You both enter the facility without any difficulties, which garnered suspicion. “Everything seems a bit too easy,” you mutter to Jay. “The only time I’d actually agree with you,” he responds. “Just get to the panel room as quickly as you can, then we’ll be out of here.”

“Roger that.”

Finding the panel room was just as easy as breaking and entering into the facility. It’s as if people expected us to come here. “Hey, Jake,” you speak into the comms, “Can you scan the surroundings? Check if there are any traps around or inside the base.”

“Copy.”

Looking at the screens in the panel room, it wasn’t hard to locate where to collect all the drives. But it just didn’t make sense as to why it’s been so easy. No traps, no guards, it was just given to you.

“Seems like there’s no suspicious activity in or outside the base,” Jake speaks into your ear. “Y/N, just get the CCTV footage, and do it quickly. The longer we’re here, the more time people can come and get us.” Jay says.

“Ok, ok, calm your tits, Jay, I have the USB in.”

Watching as the files move to the USB, you take a better look at your surroundings. The room was just like any old panel room in these abandoned bases. Nothing looked out of the ordinary, but normally by this time, guards would come and start shooting, or traps would be set off. Yet nothing has happened. Maybe I’m overthinking it. This is an abandoned base anyways.

When watching the screen, a small red glow catches your eye in the corner of the far left camera. You had told Jake not to switch off all the cameras, just in case that set off an alarm. But the red glow was quite distracting. As if there was a camera recording you at that moment. But that shouldn’t be. Jake said there was nothing suspicious about this room. Must be some random glitch on the screen.

You can’t help but stay focused on the red glow that was beeping. Almost like it was using Morse code. It was sort of hypnotizing. It drew you in, blocking all your senses. You walked closer towards the panel, unbeknownst to the smell of something burning and the sound of Jay yelling into your ear.

“Y/N,” Jay spoke urgently, “we need to evacuate. Y/N evacuate now, the mission’s been compromised.”

Smoke fills your vision and nostrils, not being able to recognize your surroundings. As you close your eyes, the last thing you remember is the feeling of being lifted off the ground.

Opening your eyes, you recognize the bright white walls of the compound’s infirmary. You groan as you sit upright on the bed, not remembering a single thing from the mission. One second you’re extracting CCTV files, and the next second you’re in bed with a pounding headache and what seems to be a bunch of patched-up bruises and cuts. Well, now I feel like shit.

“Knock, knock.”

You see an unscathed Jay by the door, with a steaming mug in his hand. “Can I come in?”

You grunted as a response.

“I bought you hot chocolate, Jungwon says it’s your favourite,” he says, looking at you expectantly.

You reach your hand out to receive the hot chocolate. “What are you doing here?” you say after blowing on the hot chocolate. He shrugged, “Just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“That’s surprising to hear. I would’ve thought you were sent here by Jungwon.”

“I mean, he did tell me about the hot chocolate.”

An awkward silence filled the room, with the sound of you occasionally sipping your hot chocolate.

“What actually brings you here, Jay?” you asked. “I’m sure you aren’t here to just silently watch me drink hot chocolate. You here to tell me that I finally failed a mission like I inevitably would?” you say with discontent.

He gives you a displeased look. “I—” “Or are you here to laugh in my face and tell me how I suck at my job and need to go back to being an agent in training? Because whatever it is, I just need you to tell me straight up.”

“I wasn’t gonna say any of that,” he trailed off. “Is that what you really think I’m here to say? Do you think of me that lowly?”

“I mean, you tell me, you clearly don’t think I’m a good enough agent. Always avoiding doing missions with me and always nitpicking on every little thing I do.” You start to list, your hot chocolate being long forgotten.

“Y/N, when have I ever told you you weren’t a good enough agent?” Jay questions.

You think back to the prior interactions you’ve had with Jay, realizing he never straight up told you that. You shrugged, “Look, just because you haven’t said it, your actions have definitely said otherwise.”

“Cut the bullshit Y/N, you know I’m not one to drop inconspicuous hints if I hated somebody. If I hate someone, they’ll 100% know from my words.”

You turn to him expectantly. “Then why do you hate me so much, Jay?”

He shifts to the side, avoiding direct eye contact with you. “Like I said, I don’t hate you.” Time seems to slow down as you watch him hesitantly speak up. “Funny enough, it’s actually the opposite.”

“What’s the opposite?”

“You think I hate you because you’re a bad agent, but it’s actually the opposite.” He states. “You’re too good of an agent, actually, it’s as if you've been training your whole life.” He shakes his head. “I guess I was sort of, I don’t know—”

“Jealous?”

“More like intimidated.” He finally turns his body toward you, picking up the courage to look at you. “I mean, it’s kind of embarrassing when an agent who’s only been trained for what? 10 years?” You nod. “And then me, someone who was literally programmed to kill, seeing you. God, I felt like I was useless.”

“You’re not entirely useless. You help me train when I imagine your face on the punching bag.” You joke.

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Good to know you think of me.”

A silence fills the room. The silence that was once filled with tension was now somewhat comfortable.

Jay begins to speak up. “I know my reasoning isn’t entirely valid. But I do want to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You shake your head, which may have been a bad idea considering the headache that is still there. “You’re honestly good, Jay. It’s all in the past.”

“Hopefully we can start over.” He suggests. “Maybe we can make that punching bag scenario real. You can hit me as much as you want.”

“I’ll definitely take you up on that offer.” You reply.

He begins to stand up. “I’ll let you rest up now. You inhaled a lot of the chemicals the other day.”

“Thanks, Jay.”

“Anytime, Y/N.”

As you watch him leave the room, you reach out for the hot chocolate that is now cooled down. Funny, I don’t think I’ve ever told Jungwon hot chocolate is my favourite.

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elryuse · 6 months ago

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jang wonyoung-------- where oc is three years older than wony and have been dating before ive debut but its a secret in the public eye,but then thing happened wony kind of cheated oc finds out about it but he just can't let her goo so he endure at first but then it become worse and then they kind of parted ways even though wony doesnt seem to want to let go of oc.They really cant stay away from each other even though wony and oc parted ways they are still intertwined.Lets say oc is in the palm of wony hands kind of pretty toxic but sweet yeah...

Toxic Till The End

Wonyoung X Male Reader

Disclaimer : Don't Be Toxic Kiddo, :D

You glance at the clock hanging on the wall behind the counter, wiping your hands on your apron as you wait for the next customer. It's early afternoon, a little after lunch, and the regular crowd has started to trickle in. Your café, tucked away in a quiet alley just a short walk from the busy corporate district, has always had a steady stream of customers. But lately, you’ve noticed a particular customer who has caught your attention.

It’s Wonyoung. Jang Wonyoung. You’ve known her face for a while, even before she began frequenting your café. As a popular idol, her posters and commercials are everywhere, but the first time she came into your café, it felt different. You weren’t just seeing her through a screen. She was right there, in front of you, asking for a latte with the softest voice.

At first, it was nothing special. Just a polite exchange, like with any customer. You kept your cool, even though you were a little starstruck. But the more she visited, the more those polite exchanges became something more. A smile here, a small compliment there. You found yourself looking forward to the days when she’d step through the door, her eyes scanning the room before they settled on you with a glimmer of recognition.

The bell above the door jingles, and like clockwork, Wonyoung steps inside. She’s wearing a simple, oversized coat and a cap pulled low over her face, but you’d recognize her anywhere. Today, though, something is different. She looks tired, her shoulders slightly slouched, and her usually bright expression is dimmer.

“Hey,” you greet her, offering a warm smile. “The usual?”

She nods, pulling her cap a little lower as she approaches the counter. “Yeah, please. One vanilla latte.”

As you start preparing her drink, you decide to strike up a conversation like you’ve done before. “Rough day?”

She chuckles softly, leaning her elbows on the counter. “You have no idea. It's been non-stop meetings and rehearsals. I just needed a break.”

You hand her the drink, watching her fingers brush against yours as she takes the cup. The small contact makes your heart skip a beat, but you quickly focus back on the conversation. “Well, I’m glad you came here to take that break. The world can wait a little, right?”

She looks up at you through her lashes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, I guess so. This place has kind of become my escape.”

Her words stir something in you. An idol like her, with the entire world watching her every move, finding a sense of peace in your small café? It’s flattering. You lean against the counter, trying to play it cool, but the warmth in your chest is undeniable.

“You’re welcome here anytime, you know that,” you say, your voice dropping slightly. It’s an invitation you’ve given before, but somehow it feels more meaningful now.

Wonyoung sips her latte, the steam rising between you two as she lets out a content sigh. “Thanks. That really means a lot.”

There’s a comfortable silence for a moment, the two of you just enjoying each other’s company. But then, as you’re about to ask her something, a group of fans passing by outside catches your eye. They don’t seem to have noticed her yet, but you know it’s only a matter of time. Wonyoung must sense your unease because she follows your gaze and tenses slightly.

“Do you need to go?” you ask, trying to keep the disappointment out of your voice.

She hesitates, glancing toward the door. “I probably should…”

You don’t want her to leave. Not yet. Not when it feels like you’re finally getting closer. Before you can stop yourself, you blurt out, “Would you maybe want to hang out sometime? Outside of here, I mean.”

Her eyes widen slightly, surprised by your sudden boldness. You can feel your palms getting sweaty, and you mentally curse yourself for being too forward. But then, to your surprise, she smiles—a real, genuine smile that lights up her face.

“Are you asking me out?” she teases, her tone light but her gaze intense.

You swallow hard, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “Uh, yeah. I guess I am.”

She looks down at her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of the cup. For a moment, you think she’s going to turn you down, but then she looks up again, her smile still there.

“I’d like that,” she says softly, her cheeks turning a light shade of pink. “But… we’d have to keep it a secret. My company has strict rules about… well, you know.”

You nod, understanding immediately. Dating an idol? You’ve heard the horror stories of how fans react. But the thrill of the secrecy only adds to your excitement. “I can keep a secret if you can.”

She giggles, the sound like music to your ears. “I guess we’ll see.”

As she stands to leave, you can’t help but feel a rush of adrenaline. You just asked out Jang Wonyoung—and she said yes.

“When should we—” you begin, but she interrupts with a sly smile.

“I’ll text you. We’ll figure it out.”

She waves goodbye, leaving you standing behind the counter, your heart pounding in your chest. You watch her disappear down the street, the bell on the door chiming softly as it swings shut behind her.

For the first time in a long time, you feel like something big is about to happen. Something that could change everything.

The days that followed felt like a blur of anticipation. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart would leap, hoping it was her. And then, one night, just as you were closing up the café, her name flashed across your screen.

“Tomorrow. 8 PM. I know a quiet place.”

You read the text over and over, a smile creeping across your face. It was happening. You were actually going on a date with Wonyoung, and no one else knew.

The next day, you close the café a little earlier than usual, making sure everything is perfect before you head out. The nerves hit you the moment you step outside. What would it be like? What would you talk about? But there’s also an excitement bubbling beneath the surface—a thrill you haven’t felt in years.

When you arrive at the spot she mentioned, you’re surprised to find it’s a small, dimly lit park, tucked away from the busy streets. It’s quiet, serene, and the perfect place for two people who didn’t want to be seen.

Wonyoung is already there, sitting on a bench, her face partially hidden by the hood of her coat. But when she looks up and sees you, her face breaks into a smile.

“You came,” she says softly, standing to greet you.

“Of course,” you reply, your voice a little shaky. You try to play it cool, but your heart is racing.

You sit beside her on the bench, the cool evening air wrapping around the two of you. For a moment, neither of you says anything, just enjoying the rare moment of privacy.

“So,” she begins, breaking the silence. “You really weren’t scared to ask me out? Most people wouldn’t dare.”

You chuckle nervously. “Well, I guess I’m not like most people.”

She grins, her eyes sparkling. “No, you’re not. That’s why I said yes.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but feel drawn to her in a way that’s both intoxicating and terrifying. The fact that you’re sitting here, in the dark, in secret, makes everything feel a little more dangerous. But you like it. You like her.

As the conversation flows, it becomes clear that there’s more to Wonyoung than what the world sees. She tells you about the pressures of being an idol, the constant scrutiny, the expectations that weigh on her shoulders. You listen intently, feeling protective over her in a way you hadn’t expected.

“You must get lonely,” you say, your voice soft.

She nods, looking down at her hands. “I do. Sometimes it feels like I’m living two lives—one for the public and one for myself. But the lines get blurred, and I don’t know which one is real anymore.”

You reach out, gently placing your hand over hers. “This is real,” you say firmly. “Whatever this is between us—it’s real.”

She looks up at you, her eyes wide and vulnerable. For a moment, you think she’s going to pull away, but then she squeezes your hand, her touch sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

“I hope so,” she whispers, her voice barely audible.

The warmth of your bond with Wonyoung had grown over the years, weaving itself into every corner of your life. From stolen evenings in the quiet corners of the city to shared laughter over cups of coffee in the dim glow of your café, your relationship had become something sacred. She trusted you, and you loved her with every fiber of your being.

But things started to shift when Wonyoung sat across from you one evening, her face pale and serious.

“I have something to tell you,” she said, her voice trembling slightly.

You set down your cup, leaning forward. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, her fingers nervously tracing the rim of her mug. “It’s… good news, really. But…” Her words faltered, and the worry in her eyes twisted your gut.

“Wonyoung, just tell me,” you urged gently.

“I’m debuting,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You stared at her, trying to process what she’d just said. Wonyoung had always talked about her dreams of becoming a star, of standing on the biggest stages and sharing her talent with the world. You should have been happy for her, proud even. But all you could feel was the growing pit in your stomach.

“That’s… amazing,” you said, forcing a smile.

She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “It is. It’s everything I’ve worked for. But… you know what this means, right?”

Your heart sank. “What are you saying?”

She looked down, her hands gripping her mug tightly. “The company’s rules are even stricter now. I’ll be busier than ever. Training, schedules, promotions… I won’t have time for…” Her voice cracked, and she bit her lip, trying to hold back her emotions.

“For us,” you finished for her, your voice hollow.

She nodded, tears welling up in her eyes. “I’m so sorry. This isn’t what I want, but I don’t have a choice. If they find out about us, it could ruin everything—for both of us.”

You sat back, the weight of her words pressing down on your chest. This was it. The moment you’d feared since the day you started dating her. You knew the risks of being with an idol, but you’d always hoped you could make it work. Now, it felt like that hope was slipping away.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your throat tight. “Your dream has always come first. I don’t want to hold you back.”

She reached across the table, taking your hand in hers. “You’ve never held me back. You’ve been my anchor, my safe place. I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t,” you promised, squeezing her hand. “Even if we can’t be together the way we want, I’ll always be here for you. No matter what.”

Her tears spilled over, and you pulled her into your arms, holding her tightly as she cried. You wanted to believe your own words, but deep down, you knew this was the beginning of the end.

The days that followed were the hardest of your life. Wonyoung’s visits became less frequent, her texts and calls more sporadic. You understood why, but that didn’t make it any easier. You poured yourself into your work, trying to distract yourself from the emptiness she left behind.

Then, one day, the messages stopped altogether.

At first, you told yourself she was just busy. Her debut was approaching, after all. But as weeks turned into months, the silence became deafening. You stared at your phone every night, hoping for a message, a call—anything. But nothing came.

You threw yourself into your café, hoping the familiar routine would keep you grounded. But even there, reminders of her were everywhere. The table by the window where she always sat, the scent of vanilla lattes that lingered in the air—it all made your heart ache.

Your only solace was watching her from afar. You followed her career, watching every performance, every interview, every commercial. She was incredible, just as you always knew she would be. But the bright lights and the adoring fans only reminded you of how far away she was now.

Still, you held onto hope. You told yourself that one day, when the world wasn’t watching so closely, she’d come back to you.

Years passed, and your life settled into a routine. The café grew busier, and you built a reputation for being the cozy little spot that people loved. But no matter how much time passed, Wonyoung was always in the back of your mind.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, your heart leapt, hoping it was her. Every time you saw someone with long, dark hair or heard a soft laugh, you thought of her.

One evening, after closing up, you sat alone in the café, a cup of coffee growing cold in your hands. The dim light from the streetlamps outside cast long shadows across the walls, and the quietness of the night only amplified the loneliness in your heart.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling through old messages from Wonyoung. You hadn’t deleted them, even though it hurt to read them. They were all you had left of her.

“I miss you,” you whispered into the empty room, your voice breaking.

You didn’t know if she’d ever come back. You didn’t know if she even thought about you anymore. But you couldn’t let go. She was your first love, and a part of you would always belong to her.

As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, you continued to wait. You didn’t know what the future held, but you knew one thing for sure: if Wonyoung ever walked through that door again, you’d welcome her with open arms.

For now, all you could do was hope. Hope that somewhere, in the midst of her glittering, chaotic life, she still remembered the little café where it all began.

The bell above the café door jingled softly as another customer walked in, but your mind was elsewhere. The days had blended into a monotonous cycle—serving coffee, cleaning tables, and quietly hoping. Hoping that one day, Wonyoung would return, her familiar presence lighting up the small café once more.

You told yourself every day that it was foolish. That she had likely moved on, swept away by the tidal wave of her career. But a small part of you clung to the memories, refusing to let go.

Then, one fateful evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, you saw her.

It was a glimpse at first—a flash of her unmistakable silhouette passing by the large window of your café. Your heart leaped, the familiar rush of emotions flooding your chest. Without thinking, you dropped the cloth in your hand and hurried to the door, your pulse racing.

“Wonyoung!” you called out, stepping onto the quiet street.

She didn’t turn around.

You froze, your voice caught in your throat as your eyes locked onto her. She was walking down the street, her delicate figure wrapped in a soft beige coat. But she wasn’t alone.

There was a man beside her, tall and well-dressed, with an air of casual confidence. Wonyoung clung to his arm, her smile bright and carefree. The sight hit you like a punch to the gut.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, watching as she tugged his arm playfully, her laughter floating through the crisp evening air. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that used to be yours. And that smile—the same radiant smile she’d given you on your first date—was now meant for someone else.

Your heart clenched painfully, your mind racing with a thousand thoughts. Was it just a colleague? A friend? Or… something more?

The rational part of you tried to dismiss it. She’s an idol. She must have many colleagues, right? But deep down, a gnawing doubt began to take hold, and with it came a wave of desperation.

That night, you couldn’t sleep. The image of Wonyoung with that man replayed in your mind like a cruel, endless loop. You tried to push it aside, to reason with yourself, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen.

You kept telling yourself that it didn’t mean anything. That there had to be an explanation. But the doubt lingered, growing stronger with each passing day.

“She’ll come back,” you whispered to yourself as you cleaned the counter the next morning. “She’ll explain everything.”

But she didn’t.

Days turned into weeks, and Wonyoung never walked through your door. You scrolled through her social media, searching for clues, but found nothing. Her life seemed to be as glamorous and untouchable as ever. Meanwhile, you felt yourself spiraling.

Your thoughts became consumed with her. You replayed every moment, every smile, every touch. You clung to the memories like a lifeline, even as they began to feel like a weight pulling you under.

Every night, you prayed silently, your hands clutching your phone as you stared at her name. You prayed that she’d text, that she’d call, that she’d walk through the door with that familiar shy smile.

But she never did.

One evening, as you closed up the café, you found yourself back at the place where you’d seen her with the man. You didn’t even know why you were there, only that you couldn’t stop yourself.

You sat on a bench nearby, staring at the street as if willing her to appear. The desperation in your chest had grown into a hollow ache, one that refused to go away.

“She wouldn’t do this to me,” you muttered under your breath, your hands gripping your knees. “She wouldn’t cheat on me.”

But the memory of her smile—the one she gave that man—gnawed at your resolve.

Days turned into weeks, and still, there was no sign of her. Your friends began to notice the change in you. They asked if you were okay, if something was wrong. But you brushed them off, retreating further into yourself.

Your café became your only refuge, the one place where you could pretend everything was still normal. But even there, the memories of her lingered like ghosts.

Every time the bell above the door jingled, you looked up, hoping it was her. Every time someone ordered a vanilla latte, your chest tightened with longing.

But Wonyoung never came.

The toxic cycle began to take its toll. You stopped sleeping, your nights spent staring at your phone, waiting for a message that never came. You stopped eating, your appetite replaced by a gnawing emptiness that nothing could fill.

Your friends tried to pull you out of it, but their words fell on deaf ears. How could they understand? They didn’t know what it was like to love someone like Wonyoung. To love her so deeply that it consumed you.

“She’ll come back,” you told yourself again and again, your voice growing weaker each time. “She has to.”

But deep down, a part of you knew the truth. You’d seen it with your own eyes. Wonyoung had moved on. She had someone else now.

And yet, you couldn’t let go.

You kept praying, day after day, for her to come back. You told yourself that if you just held on a little longer, she’d walk through the door and everything would be okay again.

But as the weeks turned into months, the hope that had once sustained you began to wither away.

You were losing yourself in the waiting, in the longing, in the toxic spiral of loving someone who no longer cared.

And still, you couldn’t stop. Because as much as it hurt, the thought of letting go hurt even more.

The rain came down in heavy sheets, drumming against the windows of the café as the sky wept its sorrow. You stood behind the counter, absentmindedly drying a mug as you stared out into the gray, dismal street. The café was quiet tonight, save for the occasional rattle of thunder in the distance.

Then, through the streaks of rain on the glass, you saw her.

Your breath caught in your throat as Wonyoung’s familiar figure emerged from the downpour, standing just outside the café. Her hair clung to her face, wet from the rain, and her shoulders trembled as she hugged herself tightly. She looked… broken.

You hesitated for a moment, your mind racing. This was the moment you’d prayed for countless nights. Yet now that it was here, something inside you felt different.

With a deep breath, you walked to the door and gently pushed it open.

The bell jingled softly, but Wonyoung didn’t move. She stood in the rain, tears streaming down her face, mingling with the raindrops.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, her voice trembling.

You stood there, watching her cry, her words cutting through the sound of the rain. In the past, you would have rushed to her, held her close, and whispered soothing words until her tears stopped. But tonight, something in you had changed.

You stepped aside, motioning for her to come in. “You’ll catch a cold out there,” you said quietly, your tone calm but distant.

She looked up at you, her eyes red and swollen, and hesitated for a moment before stepping inside.

Wonyoung sat at her usual spot by the window, her hands wrapped around a steaming cup of tea you’d prepared without a word. The warm light of the café cast soft shadows across her face, accentuating the sadness in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her voice barely above a whisper. “For everything.”

You sat across from her, your expression unreadable. “What exactly are you sorry for, Wonyoung?”

She flinched at the coldness in your tone, her fingers tightening around the cup. “For… disappearing. For not calling. For—” Her voice cracked, and tears welled up in her eyes again. “For hurting you.”

Your heart clenched at her words, but you forced yourself to remain composed. You couldn’t fall into the same cycle again. Not this time.

“Why are you here, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice firm but not unkind.

She looked up at you, her eyes searching your face for some sign of warmth, of forgiveness. “I missed you,” she said softly.

You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. “Missed me?” you echoed, your voice tinged with skepticism. “Or are you just bored?”

Her eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, she was speechless. “How could you say that?”

“Because, Wonyoung,” you said, your voice steady, “you walked away. You left me here, waiting for you, while you moved on with your life. And now, after all this time, you show up out of nowhere, crying and saying you’re sorry. What am I supposed to think?”

She stared at you, her lip trembling. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought… I thought you’d understand.”

“Understand what?” you asked, leaning forward. “That I wasn’t worth even a text? That you could just show up whenever it suited you and expect me to be here, waiting with open arms?”

Her tears spilled over, and she buried her face in her hands. “I didn’t know what to do,” she sobbed. “I was scared. Scared of losing everything.”

You sighed, running a hand through your hair. “I understand fear, Wonyoung. But you don’t get to use that as an excuse to treat me like I don’t matter.”

Her sobs quieted, and she looked up at you, her eyes filled with a mix of guilt and confusion. “You’ve never talked to me like this before,” she said softly.

“Maybe I should have,” you replied. “Maybe if I’d been more honest with you from the start, we wouldn’t be here now.”

The silence between you was heavy, broken only by the sound of rain tapping against the windows. For the first time, Wonyoung seemed at a loss for words.

“You’ve always been there for me,” she said finally, her voice trembling. “Even when I didn’t deserve it. I don’t want to lose you.”

You sighed, leaning forward and resting your elbows on the table. “Wonyoung, this isn’t about what you want. It’s about what’s fair—for both of us. I’ve spent years waiting for you, hoping for something that might never happen. And it’s taken me this long to realize that I deserve more than that.”

Her eyes filled with fresh tears, and she reached across the table, her hand trembling. “Please… don’t give up on me.”

You hesitated, staring at her outstretched hand. Every part of you wanted to take it, to pull her into your arms and pretend everything was okay. But you knew that would only lead to more pain.

“I’m not giving up on you,” you said quietly. “But I can’t keep doing this. If you want me in your life, you need to show me that I matter. Not just when it’s convenient, but always.”

Her hand faltered, and she pulled it back, clutching it to her chest. “I don’t know if I can do that,” she admitted, her voice barely audible.

You nodded, your heart breaking all over again. “Then maybe it’s time we stop pretending this can work.”

She stared at you, her face a mixture of shock and devastation. “Are you saying it’s over?”

You took a deep breath, the words catching in your throat. “I’m saying that I can’t keep holding onto something that’s tearing me apart.”

Her tears fell freely now, but she didn’t argue. She simply nodded, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

The rain continued to fall outside as you sat there, the weight of your decision settling over you like a heavy blanket. For the first time in years, you felt a strange sense of clarity.

This wasn’t the ending you’d hoped for, but maybe it was the one you needed.

The days that followed Wonyoung’s tearful return were bittersweet. She seemed genuinely sorry, her apologies heartfelt and tear-streaked. For a while, it felt like things might finally be different. She softened around you, her laughter returning, her gentle touches and warm smiles reminding you of the Wonyoung you had first fallen for.

But as time passed, the cracks began to show again.

It started small—missed calls, vague excuses about her schedule, and moments where she seemed distracted even when she was with you. You told yourself it was fine. That she was busy. That you could be patient.

But then came the nights when she wouldn’t respond to your texts at all. The whispers online about her being spotted with someone else. The photos of her arm linked with another man’s, her smile radiant and carefree, just like it had been the first time you saw her with someone else.

You confronted her one evening when she finally came back to the café, her expression tense but defensive.

“Who is he, Wonyoung?” you asked, your voice quiet but trembling with restrained emotion.

She froze, her eyes wide, then quickly looked away. “It’s not what you think,” she said, her tone evasive.

“Then tell me what it is,” you pressed, your patience wearing thin. “Because this keeps happening, Wonyoung. You disappear, you’re seen with other guys, and then you come back here, apologizing like it’ll make everything okay.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out to you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” she whispered. “You have to believe me.”

You pulled back, avoiding her touch. “That’s what you always say. But you keep doing it.”

She began to cry, her hands trembling. “I love you. I just… I don’t know how to handle everything. The pressure, the expectations. You’re the only thing that feels real, but sometimes it’s too much.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut. You wanted to believe her. You wanted to hold onto the idea that she loved you, even if her actions said otherwise.

But the truth was undeniable. This wasn’t love. It was something toxic, something that was slowly destroying you both.

The cycle continued. Wonyoung would vanish for days, sometimes weeks, only to return with teary apologies and promises to do better. And every time, you forgave her.

You hated yourself for it. Hated how weak you felt, how easily you crumbled under the weight of her tears and her soft words. But no matter how much it hurt, you couldn’t let her go.

Until one night, when everything came crashing down.

You’d seen her again, smiling and laughing with someone else. The sight was like a knife twisting in your chest, and for the first time, something inside you snapped.

You went home that night and stared at your phone, the screen glowing with her name. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, your thoughts a chaotic whirlwind of anger, sadness, and despair.

Finally, you began to type.

“Wonyoung, I can’t do this anymore. You’ve hurt me too many times, and I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I love you, but I need to love myself more. Goodbye.”

Your thumb hovered over the send button, your chest tightening. You knew this was the right thing to do, but it felt like tearing a piece of your soul away.

With a deep breath, you pressed send.

The message delivered instantly, the small checkmark mocking you as you stared at it. And then, you turned off your phone, the weight of your decision crashing down on you.

The days that followed were a blur of pain and emptiness. You tried to focus on the café, on the simple routines that had once brought you comfort. But everything reminded you of her—the scent of vanilla lattes, the sound of the bell above the door, the corner seat where she used to sit.

And then, one evening, your phone buzzed.

You hesitated, your heart racing as you stared at the screen. It was her.

“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”

You closed your eyes, the familiar ache in your chest returning. You knew you shouldn’t reply. You knew this was just another loop, another step in the endless cycle of pain and forgiveness.

But even as you told yourself to ignore it, your fingers betrayed you, typing a response before you could stop them.

“I’m here.”

You hated yourself for it. Hated how easily she pulled you back in, how much power she had over you. But deep down, you knew the truth.

You and Wonyoung were toxic. You hurt each other, over and over, and yet you couldn’t let go.

Because no matter how much it hurt, no matter how broken it made you feel, you still loved her.

And some part of you always would.

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