#wonwoo suspense

[daisymbin]

14. "oh, so now we’re holding hands?" With Wonwoo pls and female:)))

thank you for requesting! please let me know what you think about it 🥰

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fluff prompt #14: "oh, so now we're holding hands?"

wonwoo didn’t know what he did wrong.

one moment, everything was fine. the next, you were cold, sharp replies replacing your usual warmth, and any attempt he made to talk to you was met with an annoyed glare. you weren’t outright ignoring him, but you might as well at this point.

so he did what any reasonable person would do: he followed you around and tried to make you laugh, even if it meant annoying you further. but no matter how much he teased or tried to catch your attention, you stayed firmly in your icy bubble, refusing to give him an inch.

after dinner with the rest of the boys, he thought you’d leave the moment the dishes were cleared. instead, you lingered in the living room, scrolling on your phone while pretending he wasn’t there.

thats when the idea came to him; he quickly pulled his phone out, texting jeonghan.

"let's watch a horror movie, im in the mood for it." jeonghan declared out loud. you didn’t object & wonwoo could only count that as a silent win.

wonwoo should feel bad, he really should, because he knows scary movies weren’t your thing, but he doesnt feel any remorse or guilt. so here you were, sitting stiffly on the couch beside him, your arms crossed, your gaze fixed stubbornly on the screen.

he tried not to smile, he really tried.

“you know, if you’re still mad at me, you can just say so,” he whispered as the opening credits rolled.

you didn’t even spare him a glance. “i’m not mad.”

“right,” he said, dragging out the word. “you’re just giving me the cold shoulder for fun.”

“wonwoo.” your tone was a warning, but it only made him grin wider.

“okay, okay,” he said, holding his hands up in surrender. but as the movie started and the eerie soundtrack filled the room, he couldn’t resist stealing glances at you, waiting for the moment you’d crack.

it didn’t take long.

the first jumpscare made you flinch. by the third, you were gripping the edge of the couch cushion so tightly that your knuckles turned white.

and then came the scene. the one with the flickering lights and the slow, suspenseful build-up that everyone knew would end in something terrible.

you tensed beside him, this is it, wonwoo thinks. your breath hitching as the music swelled. and just as the shadow moved on screen, you let out a startled yelp; one hand moving to grab at his biceps, hiding your face behind it and the other subconsciously intertwines with his fingers, clutching it tightly

he blinked, startled by the yelp you let out even though he expected it, and then, a slow, triumphant smile took over his face.

“oh?” his voice was soft, teasing. “so now we’re holding hands?”

your head snapped up, your eyes wide with realization. “i—i wasn’t—” you stammered, trying to pull your hand away, but his grip tightened, keeping your fingers firmly intertwined with his.

“uh-uh,” he said, his tone light but his hold steady. “you can’t just grab my hand and then let go like that. that’s rude, you know.”

“wonwoo,” you said, your cheeks burning as you tried to tug your hand free again. “let go.”

“no,” he replied, his thumb brushing casually over your knuckles. “besides, you’re still scared, right? so what’s the harm in holding on a little longer?”

“i’m not scared,” you shot back, though the tremble in your voice betrayed you.

“sure,” he said, clearly unconvinced. “totally fearless. that’s why you’re clinging to me like your life depends on it.”

“i am not clinging,” you hissed, glaring at him even as your face grew hotter.

he chuckled, the sound low and warm, and leaned in just slightly. “you’re cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“i’m not flustered,” you muttered, looking anywhere but at him. “and i’m still mad at you, by the way.” a small pout makes its way to your face.

“really?” he asked, his voice softening as he tilted his head. “because you’re not acting very mad right now.”

“i am,” you insisted, though your resolve was quickly crumbling under the weight of his teasing gaze and the warmth of his hand in yours.

“mhmm,” he hummed, his smile turning fond as he looked at you. “well, just so you know, i’m not letting go until you’re not mad anymore.”

your eyes darted to your joined hands, your heart racing as you registered the sincerity in his voice beneath the teasing.

“i’m not mad,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“oh?” he said, his grin widening. “so does that mean you’re holding my hand because you want to now?”

"I'm not holding your hand, you're holding mine!" you argued, your cheeks burning as you tried to pull away one last time.

but wonwoo didn’t budge. instead, he laced his fingers fully with yours, his grip firm but gentle.

“you should know,” he said softly, his teasing edge fading as he looked at you, “if you hold my hand so tight like this, i’m never letting go.”

your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, his words settling into the space between you like a promise.

[hoshifighting]

Hey pookie so I just wanted to ask seeing that you didn't see any of my asks in your inbox could you write me a ff where you're in seventeen and you used to have a friends with benefits situation with wonwoo but now that's over and you're with josh but he knows that so now he wants to have a threesome with you and won I you are comfortable and have the time😊💗

threesome with; actual situationship!joshua & past situationship!wonwoo WC: 3.3k WARNINGS: smut, threesome, reader misses wonwoo, mentions of ovulation/sensitiveness, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), body fluids (cum) penetrative sex, a teeth scratch during blowjob—no pain, joshua and wonwoo making eye contact as they fuck you—idk, but felt like a warning.

you’re not entirely sure how it started. maybe it’s the way joshua’s always had this easy charm, like he knows exactly how to say shit that gets under your skin. but it’s not the kind of annoyance that makes you want to push him away, it’s the kind that makes you want to shut him up by doing things that leave the both of you breathless.

and wonwoo… well, wonwoo’s always been a different story. it’s not like he’s cold, exactly. just detached, distant. except when he’s not. except when his hands were on your hips, and his mouth was on your neck, and when he pulled you so close that it’s like he wanted to remind you how much he can feel.

it wasn’t supposed to last as long as it did, but it did. until it didn’t.

now, though? now you’ve got joshua, and that’s its own thing. he’s smoother than wonwoo ever was, always knows how to keep things light and playful even when his touch is hot and heavy. you’re not sure what to call what you have with him—it’s not exactly a relationship, but it’s not casual either. and he knows about wonwoo. of course he does. you never accomplished about lying to joshus, he knows everything about you, and you simply cant lie looking inside his eyes.

“so,” joshua says, leaning back against the couch, his eyes fixed on you with that lazy smirk you’ve come to expect. “what if we changed things up?”

you raise a brow, not quite following. “changed things up how?”

his gaze flicks over you, dark in his eyes now, something you’ve only seen in flashes before, right when he’s about to get serious. “i know about you and wonwoo. i know it’s over, but…” he lets the words hang there, knowing exactly how to build suspense. “what if it didn’t have to be over?”

you feel your stomach flip, your mind racing to catch up with the suggestion that’s hanging in the air like a loaded gun. “what the fuck are you talking about?”

he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even look like he’s joking. “i’m talking about the three of us.”

you let out a laugh, more out of shock than anything. “a fucking threesome? with wonwoo?” it’s so ridiculous, but there’s something twisted in your chest that says it’s not entirely a bad idea.

joshua just shrugs like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “you said he was good, right? no reason to keep that all to yourself. besides… i’m curious.”

“curious?” you echo, still not believing what you’re hearing. “about what exactly?”

his smile turns wicked, and he leans forward, his lips brushing your ear. “about what it’d be like to see you with him. to see how you’d react if it was both of us. together.”

the idea rolls through your mind like wildfire, igniting thoughts you didn’t even know were buried there. you picture it—wonwoo’s quiet dom that you remembered, joshua’s charming and sensual—and suddenly, the room feels too hot, your heart beating too fast.

you lean back, eyes narrowed. “and what makes you think wonwoo’s even into that?”

joshua grins, knowing exactly what he’s doing. “oh, he’s into it. trust me.”

you don’t need to ask how he knows, and that’s what gets to you. this whole situation, as absurd as it sounds, feels almost inevitable. the tension between you and joshua’s always been good enough, but throw wonwoo into the mix, and it’s like adding gasoline to a slow-burning fire.

“you really think this is a good idea?” you ask, not sure if you’re talking to joshua or yourself at this point.

“i think it’s an idea,” he says, shrugging again, that confidence never leaving his face. “whether or not it’s a good one is up to you.”

you bite your lip, torn between the pull of curiosity and the weight of everything that’s gone down with wonwoo. it wasn’t messy when it ended, but it wasn’t exactly clean either. things like that don’t just disappear. they linger.

“fuck, you’re serious about this.” it’s not a question, more like a realization. joshua’s leaning in, his hands tracing light patterns over your skin, and you feel yourself giving in to the inevitable, even though part of you is still screaming that this is insane.

“completely,” he says, his lips grazing your jaw. “so, what do you say? wanna see how far we can push this?”

there’s a moment, where you think about what this could mean. it’s not just about sex, not with joshua and wonwoo involved. the way joshua’s eyes burn into yours as if he’s daring you to cross a line you can never uncross.

but then, you think about the way wonwoo used to look at you, that hunger in his sharp eyes, and the way joshua’s always been able to coax you into doing things you never thought you’d be into. and, well… maybe crossing that line isn’t the worst idea after all.

“alright,” the weight behind it feels like a door being kicked wide open. “let’s do it.”

joshua’s grin stretches wider, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “that’s what i thought you’d say.”

you can feel wonwoo's presence, even though wonwoo’s not here yet. but you know—you know—that when he is, things are going to change in a way none of you can ever take back.

and the fucked up part is? you’re not sure you’d want to.

[...]

“a threesome?!”

wonwoo’s voice cuts through the room. he’s standing at the foot of joshua’s bed, his eyes wide in disbelief—those same eyes that are always narrow, focused, but right now they’re blown open like he just heard the most ridiculous thing in his life.

honestly, you can’t blame him.

you sit there, smaller than you’ve ever felt, wrapped in the sheets like they might shield you from the exhasperation of his reaction. you’d expected some kind of pushback from wonwoo—he’s not exactly the most spontaneous guy—but the shock in his voice still stings more than you’d thought it would. joshua’s quiet beside you, arms folded across his chest, watching wonwoo with this unreadable look, lips pressed into a thin line. like he’s assessing the situation. like he’s waiting to see how this plays out.

“i—” you start, but your throat feels dry, your words dying before they’ve even formed. you shift, uncomfortable, but it’s not just the awkwardness of the moment. there’s something more, something deeper that’s making your skin feel hot, your body overly sensitive to every movement. you know what it is. you can feel it. your body’s buzzing, the ache between your thighs making itself known with every subtle shift of the sheets. you’re ovulating, and it’s making this whole thing worse, making your body respond in ways that are frustratingly out of your control.

wonwoo’s still staring, he looks at you, then at joshua, then back at you again. you don’t meet his eyes, can’t bring yourself to.

“are you serious?” his voice is lower now, more measured, but there’s still a note of incredulity in it.

you swallow hard, forcing yourself to look up at him. “yeah,” you say, voice quiet, but it’s the truth. “we’re serious.”

wonwoo looks like he’s processing it, his mind running a mile a minute, but there’s a flicker of something in his expression that tells you he’s considering it. and that’s enough for joshua, who leans forward slightly, his voice smooth, persuasive.

“it’s not as weird as it sounds,” joshua says, his tone light, like he’s just suggesting something casual, like going out for drinks. “you’re both already close. you trust each other, I know you for years. we’ve all got chemistry, right?”

wonwoo’s eyes narrow slightly at joshua, but the tension between them isn’t exactly hostile. it’s more like a challenge, like he’s weighing the pros and cons, trying to figure out if this is something he can actually wrap his head around.

finally, wonwoo sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, and when he speaks again, there’s a resigned sort of acceptance in his voice. “fuck it. okay.”

your heart jumps at the words. wonwoo’s gaze locks on yours, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s no distance between you. no walls.

joshua doesn’t say anything, but you feel his presence, the way his eyes are on you, observing every little reaction. there’s something almost possessive in the way he watches, like he’s waiting for you to make the first move.

you don’t wait long.

before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re reaching for wonwoo, pulling him down by the front of his shirt until his lips crash into yours. it’s messy, a little frantic, and you missed him. so, so much. like you missed him more than you were willing to admit. you can’t help the small sound that escapes your throat, the way your body responds immediately, almost embarrassingly fast.

wonwoo’s hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, torching the fire that’s already been burning low in your belly.

joshua’s still silent beside you, but you feel his eyes on you, feel the way his presence lingers, close but not touching. when you finally pull away from wonwoo, breathless and dazed, you glance at joshua. his lips are pressed together in a tight line, his expression carefully neutral, but there’s a tension in his jaw that tells you he’s not unaffected by what he just saw.

“fuck,” wonwoo mutters, his forehead resting against yours, his breath hot against your lips. “you’re… fuck, you’re wet already.”

you let out a shaky breath, your body pulsing with a need that’s only getting worse. “yeah,” you admit, not even embarrassed by it. “it’s… it’s the timing.”

wonwoo raises a brow, confused for a second, before realization dawns on his face. “oh.”

wonwoo knew about “the timing” he used to be your relief for it, and he remembered how sensitive you were.

joshua finally speaks up “she’s sensitive right now. been like this all day.”

you want it. you need it.

wonwoo’s eyes darken, his fingers tightening on your waist. “is that right?”

joshua’s watching closely, his hand brushing over your thigh, and the contact is enough to make your breath hitch, your body already responding before you can even think about it. “she’s all yours for now,” joshua murmurs. “but don’t get too comfortable.”

wonwoo’s lips are on yours again, his hands exploring your body with a familiarity that makes the nostalgia wash over you like grandma's food, and you can’t help but respond, your body arching into him.

every touch, every kiss feels magnified, like your senses are on overdrive, and it’s all you can do to keep yourself from losing control entirely. you’re wet, so wet it’s embarrassing, and you know they can both feel it, know exactly how badly you want this, how badly you need it.

“fuck, you’re so sensitive,” wonwoo breathes against your skin, his fingers teasing along the waistband of your underwear, and you whimper at the contact, your hips bucking involuntarily. “can’t believe how wet you are.”

joshua leans in, his lips brushing wonwoo's ear as he whispers, “told you she’s been like this all day. it’s driving her crazy.”

you let out a shaky breath, wonwoo’s fingers dip lower, brushing against your soaked core, and you moan, your head falling back against joshua’s shoulder. it’s too much, but at the same time, it’s exactly what you’ve been craving, what your body’s been screaming for all day.

joshua’s hand slips under your shirt, his fingers brushing over your tits, twisting the hardened nipples, he’s letting wonwoo have you, letting you drown in it, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before he takes over.

wonwoo’s fingers slide inside you, slow at first, and the instant he curls them, you feel your body react, hips stuttering forward like you’re trying to chase the sensation, but can’t quite control it. it’s like your entire body remembers him, remembers the way he used to touch you, how he knows exactly what makes you fall apart.

you gasp, your forehead pressing against his chest, his free hand coming up to hold the back of your neck, keeping you close. “fuck,” you whisper, your breath ragged, your skin burning, fever. “wonwoo…”

he doesn’t respond with words, just lets out a low hum, his fingers working inside you with an infuriating pace, slow but so damn effective. you clench around him, feeling the wetness start to drip onto the sheets beneath you, and your mind’s a blur.

then, they share a look—wonwoo and joshua, their eyes meeting over your trembling form like they’re communicating something quietly between them. it makes your stomach tighten. wonwoo’s chest rumbles with a deep chuckle as you crumble against him, barely able to hold yourself up.

“fuck, you’re squeezing me so tight,” wonwoo mutters, his fingers start moving faster, curling with every thrust, hitting that sweet spot inside you that makes your knees buckle. “didn’t think you’d be this sensitive.”

“wonwoo—” you choke out, your head falling back, and your hand reaches out blindly for joshua. he’s pulling away, but you need him, need both of them. “joshua—”

you hear him groan softly, and when you turn your head, you see him standing there, his hand wrapped around his cock, pumping it slowly, watching you like he’s savoring the sight of you falling apart on wonwoo’s fingers. “fuck, you look so good like that,” he says, his voice thick with lust. “so fucking needy.”

you bite your lip, moaning as wonwoo’s fingers slide deeper, the wet, obscene sounds filling the room as your body betrays you. your thighs tremble, your hands clawing at the sheets, the sensation of being split between them making your head spin. “joshua,” you moan again, voice breaking. “please… come back.”

he doesn’t need much more convincing. you watch as he steps forward, his cock hard and slick in his fist. “you want me that bad, huh?” he murmurs, the teasing lilt in his voice cutting through the haze clouding your mind. “can’t handle just wonwoo?”

wonwoo chuckles softly, his fingers still working inside you. “she’s falling apart already,” he mutters, his breath hot against your neck. “not sure she can handle both of us.”

“she can,” joshua says confidently, his thumb swiping over the tip of his cock as he steps closer, looming over you. “she just needs a little encouragement.”

you’re already panting, your body on edge, teetering dangerously close to losing control completely. you can feel the wetness coating his hand now, dripping onto the sheets, and it only makes the whole thing worse. every little movement makes you more sensitive, your body almost too responsive, and the frustration builds in your chest.

joshua kneels down on the bed, his cock brushing your lips, and you open your mouth automatically, desperate to have him inside you. but the second you try to take him in, wonwoo’s fingers curl again, and you gasp, your body jerking uncontrollably.

“shit—” you whimper, struggling to breathe, “i can’t—”

joshua presses the tip of his cock against your lips, his eyes burning into yours. “oh, you’re just gonna have to try a little harder, baby.”

you moan against him, your hips rolling instinctively into wonwoo’s hand, your body caught in this maddening push and pull between the two of them. joshua slides his cock past your lips, and the feeling of him, heavy and warm on your tongue, only intensifies the sensation of wonwoo’s fingers inside you. you choke a little, struggling to focus on either one of them, but it’s impossible.

wonwoo’s pace picks up, his fingers thrusting deeper, and just when you think you can’t take it anymore, he pulls them out, leaving you empty and clenching around nothing. you whine at the loss, your head spinning, but before you can even process it, he’s shifting lower, pressing your thighs apart with a firm grip.

“wonwoo—” you gasp, your words muffled around joshua’s cock.

“shh,” wonwoo murmurs, his breath hot against your inner thigh. “just relax.”

and then his mouth is on you, his tongue licking a broad, slow stripe up your center, and your entire body seizes up, a broken moan ripping from your throat. your hips buck against his mouth, but he holds you down, his grip tight on your thighs as he starts devouring you like he’s been waiting for this moment forever.

“fuck,” joshua mutters, his hand tightening in your hair as you struggle to take him, the combination of wonwoo’s tongue on your clit and joshua in your mouth pushing you past the point of reason. “you’re so fucking wet. wonwoo’s making a mess out of you.”

you can’t respond, can barely even think, your mind a swirling mess. wonwoo’s tongue is relentless, teasing and sucking at your clit, his fingers slipping back inside you as he eats you out like it’s his only mission in life. you can feel your legs shaking, your entire body trembling as you try to keep up, but it’s impossible. every touch, every thrust of his fingers makes you more sensitive, makes it harder to breathe.

“fuck, i can’t—” you gasp, pulling off joshua’s cock for a second, your voice a desperate, breathless whine.

joshua just chuckles darkly, stroking your cheek with the back of his hand. “you’re doing so good, baby. just a little more.”

wonwoo hums in agreement, the vibration against your clit making your entire body jolt, and you feel yourself spiraling, the tension building faster than you can handle. his tongue flicks over you again, and this time, he focuses on that one spot—the needy, throbbing clit—sucking just hard enough to send you over the edge.

you cry out, your back arching off the bed, your entire body shuddering as the orgasm rips through you, and you can’t do anything but ride it out, trembling and gasping for breath as wonwoo keeps going, his mouth never letting up.

“fuck, look at you,” joshua mutters, his voice full of awe as he watches you fall apart. “so fucking beautiful when you come. i love it.”

wonwoo finally pulls back, his lips shiny and slick with your cum, his eyes dark and hungry as he looks up at you. “she’s not done yet,”

and you know he’s right.

“fuck, look at you,” wonwoo mutters, pulling back from between your legs, his lips still glistening with you. “i’ve got you ready for him, haven’t i?” the heat in your cheeks burning deeper as you realize what he means.

you don’t have time to respond before joshua's hands are on your hips, pulling you up to your knees. the shift makes you gasp, you glance back at him.

“yeah, you’ve got her real nice and wet for me,” joshua says, the blunt head of his cock teasing at your entrance. “good job, wonwoo.”

you feel a kick of embarrassment making your legs shake. wonwoo’s hand comes up to brush against your cheek, turning your face toward him as he looks down at you with that familiar gaze. “c’mere,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing over your lips. “i missed your pretty mouth.”

your lips part automatically, like you’re drawn to him, and before you know it, you’ve wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, guiding him toward your lips. he groans softly as you take him in, his hand resting on your jaw, fingers curling slightly as you suck him in deeper.

“god, i missed this,” he breathes out, his voice catching as you swirl your tongue around him, taking him deeper into your throat. “missed how fucking good you are at this.”

your cheeks flush at the praise, your body humming as joshua teases you from behind, the tip of his cock just narrowly entering you. wonwoo’s hand tightens on your jaw, guiding your movements as you bob your head up and down, your lips stretched around him. the weight of him on your tongue, the taste of him—everything is overwhelming in the best way.

but just as you start to take him in throat, joshua suddenly thrusts into you from behind, hard. the sharp intrusion makes you gasp around wonwoo’s cock, your teeth scraping lightly against him as the sudden cock fills you all at once.

“shit—!” wonwoo curses, his hips jerking as your teeth graze him, not enough to hurt, but enough to make him jolt. his eyes widen in shock, but then a shaky laugh escapes his lips, his free hand tightening in your hair as he steadies you. “motherfucker.”

joshua lets out a loud laugh behind you, clearly amused by wonwoo’s reaction. “sorry about that,” he says, but there’s no real apology in his tone, only satisfaction as he starts moving inside you again, his hips snapping forward with sharp, controlled thrusts that have you whimpering around wonwoo’s cock.

“you’re such a fucking asshole hyung,” wonwoo mutters, but the words are strained, his voice catching as he watches your lips stretch around him. his hand rests on the back of your neck now, guiding your head in time with his shallow thrusts as he slowly fucks your mouth. “fuck, just like that. good girl.”

joshua’s pace is relentless, his hips slamming into you from behind, both filling you—wonwoo in your mouth, joshua inside you.

“god, you’re so fucking tight,” joshua groans, his hands gripping your hips harder as he pushes deeper, the wet, obscene sounds of him fucking you filling the room. “woo, you’ve got her all loosened up, but she’s still so fucking tight around me.”

wonwoo chuckles, but it’s strained, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he watches you struggle to take both of them. “yeah?” he mutters, his voice rough. “she’s so fucking wet, isn’t she? dripping all over you.”

joshua’s pace falters for just a second as he glances up at wonwoo, and for a moment, they lock eyes. it’s strange at first, like neither of them expected to find themselves in this situation—watching each other while they both take you apart. its strange, strange because...

they start to enjoy it.

they enjoy the way their faces contort, the way their moans mix together, the sight of you caught between them—cocks twitching.

joshua whimpers as looking wonwoo's eyes, a smirk playing at his lips as he gives you another sharp thrust, just to watch you choke around wonwoo’s cock.

the sound of both of them moaning, cursing, panting—it only makes you wetter, makes you crave more.

“shit,” joshua breathes out, his voice strained as he keeps up the brutal pace, his hand sliding up your back, fingers digging into your skin. “fuck, you’re taking us so well.”

wonwoo’s face contorts, his hand tightening in your hair as his cock twitches in your mouth. “you’re gonna make me come if you keep going like this,” he groans, his eyes rolling back slightly as he fights to stay in control.

you whimper around him, your body shaking as the pleasure builds higher and higher, and you can feel yourself getting closer, every movement, every touch is pushing you nigher, and the sounds of their moans, the way they’re both so fucking into it—it’s enough to send you over.

“cum for us,” joshua growls, as his hips slam into you again, harder this time.

wonwoo’s grip tightens, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts as he watches you, his fingers flexing slightly on the back of your neck. “show us how fucking good you are.”

your body finally gives in. you come hard, your entire body shaking with the power of it, your lips trembling around wonwoo’s cock as you gasp for air.

“fuck,” wonwoo groans, his hand tightening on your neck as his hips stutter forward, his cock twitching in your mouth as he follows you over the edge.

joshua isn’t far behind, his hips slamming into you one last time before he lets out a sly, throaty moan, his body tensing as he spills inside you, filling you up.

wonwoo pulls out of your mouth slowly, his thumb brushing over your swollen lips as he looks down at you. you look at him shaking your head, taking his cock inside your wet mouth again.

the man melts on the headboard, joshua sat, looking how you look eager to make wonwoo cum, like you just cant leave him hanging. your knees give out, but your neck keep working to bob your head.

there's a line of spit dripping from your chin, as you suck him moaning, as the simply action of sucking him, was stimulating you. wonwoo eyes are glued with joshua's, the hyung biting his own bottom lip as he watches every single detail.

wonwoo feels the cock twitching, the gaze of his hyung plus the warmth of your mouth, making him cum on spot. he looks back at you again, the cum filling your tongue, leaving traces of it on your chin and neck, as you moan dumbly before laying on his thigh.

the boys make eye contact again, a smile spreading across their lips.

[chocosvt]

HER | part one.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

potentially triggering scenes within the fic are NOT MARKED in advance

the content is already quite mature, so pls heed the warnings!

bolded and italicized text implies characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts

everyone's patience and understanding has been endlessly appreciated! you have no idea ;_; i give you all shining stars 🌟

⇢ part two | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—MARCH 19TH.

“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”

 No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.

The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.

“Uh, Wonwoo?”

“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.

“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”

“Whose been breathing down your neck?”

At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.  

“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”

Her.

No, not her, you.

But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.

And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.

“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”

“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”

“Why don’t I believe you then?”

“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”

“Meaning me?”

“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed a very short disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”

“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”

He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.

“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”

“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”

“Minutely, they are being considered.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.

In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”

“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”

“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.

In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.

“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “

Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.

“This is such a fucking waste.”

And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.

“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.

“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”

His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.

“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”

“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”

“Stop.”

“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”

A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.

“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”

“You’ve cornered me?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”

“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”

“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”

 “With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”

 “Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”

Wonwoo had one very distinct memory of you: creative writing with Mr. T. It had been an elective class he took amongst all his compulsory maths, and at the time it was a much appreciated break when Wonwoo grew apathetically bored from looking at matrices and confidence intervals and equations that engulfed the length of his notebook. Professor T was late one day in the fall.

And that’s when Wonwoo remembered you walking in.

There was a sort of sharpness about your presence that pulled everyone’s spines straight. People tended to angle themselves away from you, though they did it subtly, feigning an adjustment in their seat or a plunge into their bookbag for something that wasn’t even there. Wonwoo lacked the words to describe you. To be honest, he most likely could if he put that infinitely expanding lexicon of his to work, but even then, he feared that everything would fall flat.

Some scruffy looking guy had made the mistake of sitting in your seat—someone who probably skipped most lectures and only happened to find himself near Gildan Hall purely by chance.

It was the seat squat in the middle of the small auditorium.

He remembered the hand propped on your hip as you sashayed up to him—you always sashayed places. Wonwoo found it funny, like there were paparazzi stuffed behind potted plants and vending machines waiting to spring out with their blinding flares, just to capture you picking up a half-empty bag of flavourless popcorn.

“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no.”

“Hm?”

“Excuse me? Yes, hello. You—can you get up please?”

“Up...? Why?”

 “Who are you?”

  “I’m sorry… what’s this about?”

 “Are you a first-year or something? Never bothered going to class until now? All the moshing and beer pong and ending up in some random basement of a friend of a friend of a friend is done so you’re deciding to actually get your money’s worth? Well, let me tell you this—I’ve been showing up to class punctually, and this is my seat. I always sit here. It’s my unofficially-assigned-assigned seat, which seems to be a known fact to everyone in this room except for you. Everyone has one. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to sit in other people’s seats. I don't care who you are. You could be my own mother. You could be my best friend, even. President of the universe. That doesn't make it okay, 'cause it’s a respect thing. It's one of those assumed societal rules and you just fucking kicked dirt all over it.”

Whoever he was, he never came back to another lecture.

Since then, Wonwoo had dually made it his mission to never cross paths with you, look at you, or even so much as huff one single carbon-dioxide filled breath in your general direction, just in case that was some degree of unbeknownst personal law he might violate.

Seokmin had royally screwed it up for him.

What could you possibly want to write a book about, anyway?

—MARCH 26TH.

Wonwoo didn’t know how he was expected to find you in this gigantic mall. As he brushed through the streamlines of people, bumping their shoulders and mumbling the driest, most insincere apologies, he couldn’t stop looking at his phone. Seokmin had given him your number with the instruction that he could find you, here, on a busy Saturday afternoon. So far, Wonwoo had sent you four texts, none prompting a response or the grey-dotted bubble, even. Fuck, why did he agree to this? He couldn’t stop thinking it.

Why did he agree to help you, whom he was beginning to not even like, or want to be aquatinted with, write a book, when he’d been struggling to fill the same page of his own story for months?

Squeezing the phone tighter in his fingers, Wonwoo’s broad shoulder then smacked into someone else while he was busy steeping in his misfortune. It earned him a wildly disgusted look.

“Maybe watch where you’re going," the stranger grumbled, some man with an engrained scowl and big, bewildered eyes.

But Wonwoo ignored him.

He didn’t fucking care, and he was sick of wandering through this mall. It made him feel overstimulated, like his clothes were sticking to his skin differently, like the back of his head was swelling, and like all the smells in his nose were somehow making him warmer.

The stranger just stared at Wonwoo as he walked away.

Ding!

A text, but not from you—Seokmin, instead. Apparently, you were in some clothing store on the second floor. Wonwoo stepped onto the escalator, pressing himself into the barrier to make room for the especially speedy people who couldn’t simply stand and wait. He felt a random touch on the back of his head. Scrunching up the glasses on his nose and turning around, Wonwoo stared at the downward escalator, locking eyes with a pretty dark-haired girl he’d never seen before. She wiggled her fingers at him with a flirtatious smile, the scent of her perfume still lingering. Fresh roses, he thought.

He blinked at her once, twice, then turned back around.

Never in a million years.

It was funny, though.

Once Wonwoo stopped outside the clothing store you were supposedly inside, he felt the myriad of distractions and scents and noises dampen behind him. The irritability he couldn’t shake was slowly transforming into nerves. He’d never met you before, unless half-glances controlled by fear from across the small, basement auditorium that hosted creative writing counted.

Focusing on one breath, and then another, followed by a deep, self-soothing inhale, Wonwoo attempted to convince himself that he was in control, not the emotions quivering at his fingertips.

He cracked his neck and walked in.

After a minute or two of confused isle-pacing, Wonwoo rounded a corner, his eyes immediately fixating on a girl who was picking through a neatly assorted dress rack, her head tilted elegantly and her lipstick glimmering under the sterileness of the lights—you.

He gulped. Just suck it up.

She can’t be that bad. You can’t be that bad.

“Uh, sorry to bother you. I’m Wonwoo. I know we have a mutual friend in Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. He’s in one of your seminar classes or something, and, uh…. anyway. I believe I’m supposed to help you with a book you’re interested in writing… that’s what I was told, at the very least. And… I know we’ve never met but… um… I guess…” he trailed off upon noting your lack of acknowledgement.

Suddenly, he was taking a step back, letting you progress further along the clothing rack, your fingers hopping between each hanger and your eyes scanning their corresponding fabrics.

Wonwoo jerked on the inside with panic. He hated the situation already, though he somehow found the resounding courage, or perhaps, humility, to address you again, even if he’d rather die.

“So, I’m not sure if you—”

“Can you move, please? Over here or something? I want this dress.”

He kept his mouth shut in order to avoid spilling out any obtuse nonsense, instead watching with a nervous, analyzing gaze as you removed the hanger and shook out the purple, wine-coloured fabric, its sparkles rippling when you stroked your hand along it.

“Woah. This is too pretty.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, unsure if you were speaking to him directly. You already had a bundle of dresses tossed over your arm. Why would you meet up with him when you were clearly busy?

“Hey, what did you say your name was?”

“Me?” He found himself echoing.

“No, the mannequin wearing that hideous plaid mini skirt. Of course I’m talking to you. Should I get you a q-tip or something?”

“No... I don't need a q-tip. It’s Wonwoo.”

“Wonwoo?” You exercised the name slowly on your tongue.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, just so you’re aware, it’s 11:35. You were supposed to meet me outside the boutique at 11:30. I can see you’re not very punctual, so that’s noted…” for a moment, you stood back, and the searing line of your gaze judgmentally raked him from top to bottom. “Anyway… you’ll have to assist me with some things now, thanks to your big delay. I got all bored waiting for you, so I decided to do a little self-indulgent shopping."

It could have been wiser to continue biting his tongue, but even Wonwoo, who had practically vowed to avoid you for all eternity  due to his fear, felt compelled to challenge your unorthodox logic.

“Big delay? I don’t mean to be rude, but I did take the bus to get here, and their timing is never right. I feel like five minutes is a reasonable time to wait. Not that I’m saying you’re impatient.”

“Well, here’s the thing…” your back turned to him as you took a few slow steps down the clothing rack, probing between the different, pricy materials for anything exuberant you might have missed. “That is what you said, isn’t it? That I’m impatient? I mean—jeez—why bother dancing around it when you can just say it?”

He watched you face him again, except he was keeping perfectly silent, clutching his hand into an anxious, balled fist.

“Well, I suspect you lack urgency, making you apathetic, so therefore you have no sense of initiative. I’m sure you’re already aware, anyway. I can be slow, too, with certain things. Like, when I’m icing a cake. Or painting my nails. But I don’t walk slow, ever. That’s for unmotivated, pointless people who will probably go nowhere in life.”

“… Pardon?”

“Hold this, please.”

Suddenly, you draped the wine-coloured dress over Wonwoo’s shoulder. And he left it there for a second, still gobsmacked, chest shuddering from the pressure of his pumping heart, and wondered how you were even a real person. Once you began walking elsewhere in the store, Wonwoo questioned a very understandable escape toward the exit, though, for some reason, he snapped from his stupor and quickly paced after you, now folding the dress more straightly over his arm. He realized he was too afraid to surrender.

“I’m supposed to help you write a book,” he stated, feeling his lungs dig deep for air, “Seokmin said you needed help.”

“Okay, I’m tired of holding these two. Here—” you again blanketed the dresses into his arms, “—please keep this olive one in good shape, no crinkles. I have yet to find this colour anywhere else.”

Swinging back around, you began heading toward the change rooms, your uncomfortably tall looking heels clicking with each step. Wonwoo stuttered, and he couldn’t stop doing it—just, absolutely baffled by you and your consuming sense of worth. He didn’t know what to say, he could only follow, producing bits and pieces of sentences that you were either ignoring or genuinely hadn’t heard in comparison to the monologues in your own head.

“At what point will we discuss why I’m here?”

Finally, he spat out something coherent.

You paused, and for a fleeting moment, flicked your very intense eyes up and down in an examination of Wonwoo, who felt like he was being intrusively picked apart under a microscope.

 He swallowed tautly, “I’m just wondering… that’s all.”

You pressed your wallet against the top of his shoulder, guiding him to sit down on the white leather stool placed just outside the fitting rooms. He sat, too, fighting the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his jeans—even worse, the dresses you’d dumped on him.

“Let’s talk after I try these on, ‘kay?”

There was something different about your voice. It fell lower, sweeter, and he shivered with the thought that you had quite possibly just hypnotized him. He looked up at you, nodding his head.

“Good. Everyone calls me Her, by the way.”

“I know.”

He held his breath as you reached out to take a dress, the wine-coloured one, which was more like a dark, nightly amethyst now that Wonwoo was observing the fabric up close. So, what the hell was he supposed to do? Just sit there, twiddling his thumbs and shaking his knee while you busied yourself with fitting into all those wildly sumptuous dresses? There was a plethora of other things he’d rather be doing—too many to name, in fact. But he wasn’t going to bother slithering away now, chiefly because you petrified him too much and he wasn’t in the mood to be further guilt-tripped by Seokmin.  

Throwing his head back, he blew out a tired huff and looked at the ceiling. Why the fuck was he doing this? He just couldn’t stop thinking it. What on earth could he possibly gain from being terrorized by your weird authority.

“Hey, I’ve been there, for sure.”

Wonwoo noticed an older man waltzing past him, probably in his early thirties or so, who’d spoken in a sympathetic tone. He seemed very polished and clean-cut, made apparent by his sleek suit, and as a university student who was routinely on the verge of going broke after most rents, Wonwoo knew money when he saw it.

“Pardon?”

The man stopped and smiled.

“Waiting for your girlfriend, aren’t you?”

“Oh, no. I’m just—”

He was interrupted by the squeak of the change room door.

“Be honest. How does this look?”

You had stepped out to examine your silhouette in the large, full-body mirrors against the wall, taking advantage of the heavier lighting to scrutinize every divot and ruffle that textured the amethyst dress. Wonwoo wasn’t sure what to say in the moment, and the man he was explaining himself to had wandered off into another aisle to answer a phone call. He watched your fingers pick and pull at the material so it could be readjusted in certain places, your bottom lip pursed as you angled your hips and tensed a leg to make a pose.

There were at least three other dresses strewn in his lap, and you were most definitely going to make him sit there and judge each one. Now, he could be honest. The dress was glittery yet sophisticated, something like a gloaming, purple-stained sky and its first emergent stars encapsulated into fabric, though he wasn’t completely sold on it. But he also wanted to leave the mall as quick as time would allow, so rather than being verbose, he shaved it down.

“It’s pretty, not great. I don’t really know.”

“Hmm…” you mumbled, keeping your eyes fixated on the mirror, “not great? What’s not great about it? The frilly parts?”

“Yeah, the frilly parts.”

God, he wanted to go home so bad. Warm tea would be nice right now. There were crinkle-cut fries in his freezer.

“Ugh, but I love the colour. I’m getting conflicted. Maybe I’ll toss it aside and think about it again later. Yeah, I’ll do that... okay, let me get the white one next. It’s a little short but I can make it work.”

 Wonwoo carefully pulled out the white outfit from the bottom of the pile and handed it off to you. The skirt was notably cropped.

Again, you strode back into the change room and softly clicked the door shut behind you. Wonwoo pulled out his phone almost immediately, navigating to his texts with Seokmin. His thumbs blasted against the screen, tapping out literary warfare that expanded into a decent sized paragraph Seokmin would most likely respond to with an apologetic smiley face. It might take a day or two for Wonwoo to cool off, but he always forgave him. Mr. Sunshine.

When he heard the door rattle, Wonwoo quickly hid his phone back in his pants pocket; however, he severely regretted that decision because holy fuck—that vinyl white skirt was indeed short and tight and the winding, crossed straps of the top were just maintaining your cleavage. He needed something to help avert his eyes because Wonwoo felt them itch with the urge to stare at your body despite how uncomfortable he was. The floor tiles—count the floor tiles, or count the lights—something, anything to distract his brain.

“Okay, this is like—if I bend over, I’m flashing someone.”

He prayed you wouldn’t ask him his thoughts.

“But like—okay, I can make this work, right? This has potential. If I stand really straight, and proper, and, just… pull this down a bit here—okay, fuck, that was too much. Don’t look for a second… don’t look…. don’t look… m’kay, fixed it.”

Wonwoo wanted to cradle his head in his hands. And, right when he swore that the situation couldn’t sink much lower, the wealthy, black-suit man returned from his phone call. He paused the second he saw you in the mirror, watching intensely as you fiddled with the vinyl and attempted to adjust the x-shaped top a little higher over your cleavage. Except he wasn’t exactly modest about his gaze. It was drinking you in like some sort of insatiable alcohol.

“This is tough,” you huffed, pressing your hands against your chest, “the top is super sexy. I love how open the back is. But it’s such little fabric considering the price. It sucks that I look so hot in it.”

Horrendously, Wonwoo noticed a jewel bracelet slip off your wrist onto the tiled floor. Even more horrendously, he watched in the tensest position possible as you began to bend over and grab it.

No. No, no, no, no way.

The last two dresses spilled in a silk and cotton heap off his lap, nearly tripping him during his rush toward you. He managed to cover your backside in the most heart-hammering nick of time, his hands accidentally brushing in static sparks against yours to help you pull the tight fabric back down your hips. Knowing the man was still watching in the mirror, Wonwoo clasped onto your arm and dragged you back toward the fitting room, his cheeks turned to rubies.

“Fuck, you need to be more careful,” he rasped, “the skirt is too short for you to bending over like that, alright?”

“I’m not leaving a gifted two-hundred-dollar bracelet on the fucking ground. Should I have just kicked it into the change room?”

“Gosh…” Wonwoo rubbed along his neck with tire and lowered his voice. “Bending over in a skirt that short, especially when there’s a fucking weirdo watching you, is not the best procedure.”

“So, it’s my fault he’s a creep?”

“Okay—that wasn’t what I—um—”

“Do you even like this outfit?” You deadpanned.

Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief, “I’m not answering that.”

“This is useless." Your eyes agitatedly rolled. “I’m changing.”

“Great, whatever. Do that.”

He gently pushed you further into the change room and closed the door with a smooth, loud shutter. His heart was still racing.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t let my girlfriend wear that either.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Wonwoo didn’t care that his tone was snappish and clearly tired as he collapsed back onto the stool, making a point to ignore the perverted bastard until he left.

“Wonwoo!” You called his name after a few minutes of silence from the fitting room, “please bring me the green one!”

He wanted to utterly vanish, have the building collapse and crush him in a pile of dust plumes and rubble. Sliding the dress through the small gap in the changeroom door, Wonwoo found himself pausing.

“Why don’t I just hand all these to you?”

“Because, I’m using the hangers in here for my clothes.”

“Why can’t you just pu—”

“Thank you!”

Impatiently, you nabbed the dress and shut the door.

However, that dress was the last one you tried on, and Wonwoo couldn’t have been any more relieved. Talking to you seemed like it might give him heartburn or a hemorrhage.

He thought the shiny colour of olive green suited you best.

The dress was silken and long, slightly form-fitting, with a slit cut far up the right thigh and thin spaghetti straps at the shoulders.

You picked the first three dresses to take home, and left the last shimmery one on the rack.

“We’re leaving now?” Wonwoo asked, cracking his fingers.

“Yes, after I pay. Don’t seem so eager.”

“With all due respect, this place isn't really my scene.”

“Your attitude isn't really my scene.” You swiftly corrected him.

He stood next to you at the counter, observing as you zipped open your small black wallet to pull out a credit card. If you were shopping at a store like this, you must be making bank. But Wonwoo was somewhat nosey, and when you set the card on the countertop, he glanced at its embossed name. It definitely wasn’t your name.

Kim Mingyu.

It was your boyfriend’s.

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm ]: Goddammit Seokmin answer me

[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm]: I’ve sent you at least ten texts

[ Wonwoo | 1:16 pm ]: Truly how do you do anything with this girl? I feel like she’s somewhat psychotic and you just fucking had to flash your sad mopey eyes at me in that café so I would break and help her write her book. I’m sitting here with dresses in my lap, pretty much acting as her unpaid personal assistant. Why the fuck is she asking me about dresses, anyway? Did you help her orchestrate this bullshit? I’m actually pissed at you. I want an entire paid lunch.

He wasn’t all that surprised you made him carry the matte silver shopping bag (with these twine handles that he absolutely hated because of how they suffocated around his fingers), and by a certain point, Wonwoo just didn’t give a damn any more. What little social battery he’d maintained since leaving his apartment had officially depleted, for he could feel it weighing in the plaza air around him like an imperceptible mist. Unfortunately, you weren’t lying about being a fast walker. He’d never seen someone stalk with such vigor.

It was nearly an endurance test to keep at your swaying hip, and the few times he fell behind, you would pause and beckon for him.

But Wonwoo discovered that even you needed to stop, to eat and drink like a normal human rather than the disguised cyborg he fleetingly speculated you were. Your touch was so abrupt—a hand had curled around his bicep and suddenly Wonwoo found himself being jerked into a café on the bottom floor of the mall. Of course, you had to pick the most expensive place to buy food in the entire fucking vicinity, and since Wonwoo was penny pinching at the moment, he opted to stand back and let you order.

But then he saw you flick open your wallet, waving Mingyu’s sleek yet flashy credit card between your fingers with blatant enticement.

“I can pay for you.”

He shook his head, muttering a careless, “no thanks.”

“Don't BS me. What do you want to eat?”

Wonwoo couldn’t stop staring at the credit card.

“What’s the limit on that thing?”

“Enough.”

“You haven’t burned through it already?”

“These openly snide comments you’re making aren’t appreciated, you know. Now, please give me an answer before I break off the temples to your glasses so I can use them to stir my drink.”

“… What?” Wonwoo mumbled, completely lost.

“Pick something!”

“Okay, fuck. I’ll just get a coffee, then.”

He took a step forward to examine the menu boards that the employees were wildly scuttling around underneath, browsing down their chalk-written cold brews until he picked one at random.

That was all Wonwoo asked for.

You bought a lemonade and some sandwich he didn’t catch the name of, toasted on panini bread. It felt amazing to sit down. Wonwoo let the silver bag slide completely off his arm and hit the floor, to which he could sense your gaze stinging over him in disapproval. He should have gotten a sandwich himself, but Wonwoo still wasn’t sure how he felt about using the money on your boyfriend’s credit card.

Wonwoo relaxed in his chair, angling a glance down at his phone that he kept below the table, checking for any Seokmin texts.

None. He was supposed to be Wonwoo’s stupid life preserver in this situation with you, and so far, he’d been left for dead. Taking a lengthy sip from his drink was the only way he could stomach it.

“You should put your phone on the table. Screen down.”

“For what reason?” Wonwoo responded in a dull tone, quickly checking his social media with impatient swipes of his thumb.

“So we can have a conversation.”

At that, he almost gagged, slapping down the coffee cup he’d just picked up.

“Now?” Wonwoo laughed, his deep voice reverberating louder than he intended around the café, “you want to talk now?”

“Uh, yes,” you answered, picking up one half of your sandwich and readying it before your mouth, “why is that shocking?”

“Because—you—ah, whatever.”

“You seem crabby. Is that your normal shtick or are you just hangry? Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”

He was in a worse mood than usual, but that could be blamed entirely on the mall and how exhausted it made him feel—everything about its environment sucked out his soul. It was most likely the reason he was even daring to act so impatient. You took another bite as you waited for him to answer, and the delicious crackling sound of the toasted bread managed to fissure something inside him.

“Your eyes tell all. Here’s the other half.” You offered.

Finally, he’d experienced his first flares of contentment that day, though he wasn’t expecting it to be from a panini sandwich with what he could taste to be lettuce, mayonnaise, tomato, and different types of melted cheese.

“Thanks.”

“Well, I’ll at least give us time to finish eating.”

[ Seokmin | 2:30pm ]: I can do one paid lunch :)

[ Seokmin | 2:30 pm ]: Her’s not psychotic she’s just uhh

[ Seokmin | 2:31 pm ]: She probs did it to mess with you 

[ Wonwoo | 2:37 pm ]: She thinks being 5 mins late warrants putting me through one of the worst experiences in my life.

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Awwww

[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Who doesn’t like a little shopping??

[ Wonwoo | 2:39 pm ]: It wasn’t shopping it was torture. You owe me so much more than a fucking lunch.

—MARCH 29TH.

Unfortunately, Wonwoo never got the opportunity to discuss your book that Saturday. In the middle of eating, your phone buzzed with a brief call that had interrupted your peculiarly passionate rant on the different cup sizes at the movie theatre (Wonwoo had listened without saying anything, mostly because he dreaded the circumstances that may come from peeping a word when you were so fixated on explaining that ‘the medium is too much but the small is too little and they’re both obnoxiously priced’).

He then watched cluelessly as you launched up from the table, collecting every little belonging between your fingers, babbling about some wax appointment that had escaped you.

It was just that simple—you were gone.

In the beginning moments of your absence, Wonwoo had sat there without much inclination of what to do next.

He’d worried it was another test, and that he was supposed to dutifully follow you to said wax appointment and continue bending to your every endeavour with no retaliation throughout the day. He had also found the silence across from him unsettling, in a way.

Nonetheless, if you weren’t there, then Wonwoo figured he didn’t need to be there either. So he left, taking the fifty-six back to his apartment, and you hadn’t contacted him since.

Wonwoo actually knew his landlord quite well.

Her building was comprised of four apartments, which sat above her pottery shop on the ground floor. She wasn’t a very bothersome landlord and it was fairly easy to connect with her whenever something broke or caused problems.

When he first moved in three years ago, Wonwoo had ardently adored living there, constantly studying the shelves of shiny glazed vases in addition to the beautiful water colour paintings that were created by his landlord or her students. It had been an inspiration supernova in terms of his personal literature, and he was able to start writing his book. Though, at the time, Wonwoo hadn’t been living alone in his apartment, and it was an inescapable fact that the only reason he began writing his book was with the hope of eventually presenting it to his old girlfriend-slash-roommate.

Now, it was just him.

And as Wonwoo pushed up from his grave of rumpled bedsheets, feeling lethargic and empty, he tried concerningly hard to pinch those thoughts from his mind. It was nearly lunch. He knew damn well he shouldn’t have allowed himself to rot that long in bed, but the other half of himself, the self-sabotaging kind, just couldn’t be bothered to fucking care. Wonwoo reached for his glasses that lay half-opened on the nightstand, raking them onto his face while brushing the hair from his eyes. The first thing he properly saw was his tall, skinny, orange bottle of venlafaxine. No. He was ignoring it.

Wonwoo had been ignoring it for the past few months.

Whenever he got particularly sick of staring at the bottle, he’d shove it in his drawer, making sure to bury it deep under old, amply-scribbled notepads and inkless pens that he’d worn to the bone. At last getting up from the bed, Wonwoo experienced his entire body sway and he caught the room spinning at the distant edges of his peripheral. But he walked through it without a care in the world, utterly too used to the feeling of imminent nausea even without his medication. He decided on a shower, then dressing himself, one Poptart, a swig of water from the kitchen tap, and almost walked out the apartment door with the minty toothbrush still in his mouth.

After walking three blocks down from his apartment, Wonwoo stepped across the dead, spiky grass and into the lacklustre parking lot behind the bowling alley that always smelled like stale pizza.

He knew the vanilla Camry well enough to identify it—stalled smack and centre amongst the emptiness—the licence plate being chiselled into his head like his old locker combination from high school (16-12-24, because Wonwoo for some reason liked fixating on prehistoric details that were glaringly useless in his present).

Early two-thousands R&B was blasting from inside the outdated-looking car, though it was thankfully turned down once Wonwoo threw the door open and shimmied inside.

The odor permeated Wonwoo’s lungs in a heartbeat.

“I thought you were getting this dry-cleaned,” he sighed to his friend, Vernon, who was busy rifling through a backpack.

“Uh, didn’t happen. Didn’t wanna pay all that. M’gonna find someone else to do it that’s not taxin’ my ass. Air fresheners are all dried n’shit so you’re gonna have to deal. My bad, Glasses.”

Glasses. That nickname had always made Wonwoo huff a little half-chuckle, and almost instinctively, he pushed the glasses a bit higher back up his nose. He was introduced to Vernon at a New Year’s Eve party he was forced to attend back in December, though it had been difficult to speak with him because he was blitzed out of his fucking mind—not to mention the choking pain of ignoring the girl who had been sliding her hands along the divots of his shoulders and chest from behind, kissing at his neck.

But Vernon was branded in tattoos, and had all kinds of metal in his face, and was blessed with concupiscent, honey-burnish eyes magnetized every woman in the vicinity straight to him.

Somehow, Vernon had become Wonwoo’s plug in the mix.

“Now, what are you gettin’, Glasses? The usual quarter ounce, right?” Vernon’s tongue poked between his blistered lips as he dug a heavily-inked hand further into the backpack seated in his lap.

“Yeah, quarter ounce.”

“Oh, fuck yeah. Found it. This one.” Vernon exchanged the plastic-bagged ounces of weed with Wonwoo’s cash. “Gimme, gimme. I know it’s all here, but let me check… “ he flaked out the tinted bills with a satisfied head nod. “Prettier than a princess. You’re golden.”

“Did you just say princess?”

“Yeah. That’s what I said… what?”

“I’ve never heard that.”

“It’s not princess?”

“It’s picture, isn’t it? Prettier than a picture.”

“Really? Oh. That’s not how I remember—why the fuck are we even talkin’ about this? Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Now, that’s gonna last you if you’re cute,” he said, throwing his notorious bag into the seat behind him, then tapping at his busted radio with a thick strip of tape across it, the next song rasping through the speakers, “don’t go crazy on it with your meds and shit. Do you still got enough papers?”

Wonwoo scoffed dryly at Vernon’s assumption while he hid the plastic bag within an inside pouch on his navy-blue jacket. A second later and his phone buzzed with a text message.

“Fuck the meds, honestly,” Wonwoo grunted, shifting his hips up in the seat to remove the phone from his back pocket.

Vernon itched his dark eyebrow. “Alright. Just askin’.”

Wonwoo opted to say nothing as he checked the text message without much expectation, and he was thankful that Vernon was the type to drop a subject easily. Instead his friend transitioned into a different conversation, something about another tattoo that he’d been debating, but in the kindest way possible, Wonwoo wasn’t listening to a goddamn word. You had texted him. Finally. For the first time. After three days of radio silence. And Wonwoo didn’t know why he’d suddenly exploded into such a fidgety, heart-pounding mess. You wanted to meet up again in order to discuss the book’s details.

“Who the fuck is that? Jesus Christ?”

“No,” Wonwoo laughed, clasping his right hand into an anxious fist, “um, I dunno. Just—Seokmin’s got me doing this thing with a friend of his. She’s trying to write a book and he kinda threw me into helping her. We’re supposed to meet up and talk about it.”

“Oh,” Vernon answered, leaning his elbow against the window and sweeping a hand through his black tresses, “do I know the chick?”

“Maybe?”

“She got any social media? An Instagram?”

“Yeah.”

“Ou, let me see.”

Wonwoo wasn’t following you. Then again, he was hardly following anyone. His Instagram had remained completely empty since his girlfriend left him, which had prompted Wonwoo to archive every single picture and delete all the ones that contained her, even the ones that captured mere traces of her in beaded bracelets and hair ties and white socks left on the carpet.

Wonwoo used Seokmin’s account to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t ever looked at your Instagram before. Without gleaning a single photo, Wonwoo thrust his phone at Vernon.

“Oh, yeah, I do know this chick,” Vernon chuckled, thumbing through your profile with a growing smirk, “Her, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Mm, yeah. Know her. Tried to fuck her. Didn’t work at all.”

Snapping his head to look at Vernon, Wonwoo gaped, “what?”

“Yeah, I mean—” Vernon adjusted himself in his seat, pulling up his knee to rest a tattoo-coated arm across it, “—ran into the chick at a party that some rich dude at your university threw. Sweet-talked her for a bit until I realized she had a stupid boyfriend. She told me a million different ways to kill myself. Yeah, she’s somethin’, for sure.”

“You’re lying.”

“Ha—a little. She didn’t tell me to kill myself,  just scolded me for about ten minutes. God, she was wired as fuck though. Her boyfriend—fuckin’, Mingyu, or whatever—he gets her coke. I’ve seen her take a line like it’s pixie dust, man. This was like, over a year ago, though. Dunno if she’s still that loopy. I don’t care. She’s pretty hot.”

Vernon then flashed him a picture from your account, a full body picture of you sprawled across sparkling white sand in a bikini, meanwhile Wonwoo could only stare at it with the blankest possible expression as his brain splattered with computing Vernon’s story.

“Is she still with him?” Vernon asked.

Wonwoo cleared his throat and sat with his spine rigid against the leather, nearly forgetting where he was and what he was doing.

“With who?”

“Lady Liberty. Mingyu.”

“Oh… yeah. They’re dating, still.”

“No fuckin’ way,” his friend lamented while he continuously plunged further into your pictures, thumb pressed to his chin, eyes glimmering, “you coulda flipped this book thing on its head and actually got some fuckin’ head, especially with that deep ass voice you got there. I know it’s gotta feel good. I mean, look at her lips—”

“You’re being gross as fuck,” Wonwoo groaned, swiping his phone back and stuffing it away, “get a girlfriend yourself, man.”

“I’m tryin’ to clean up my act a bit before I do that.”

“That’s definitely a work in progress, I’m assuming.”

“Asshole,” Vernon’s voice was gritty as he coughed into a fist, slipping his knee back under the steering wheel and proceeding to crank his stereo until the music was practically suffocating Wonwoo, “now get the fuck out. You’re not my only deal today. Sorry, Glasses.”

“Later.”

Wonwoo pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cold afternoon breeze. He sucked in a long, relieving breath. At times the fresh air disgusted him, especially when he cozied into one of his mental ruts and everything in the world seemed so grey it was soul-crushing, but Vernon’s car smelled like straight fucking cannabis.

Fresh air was heavenly.

“Don’t forget to text your girl!” Vernon laughed just before Wonwoo slammed the door shut to swallow up the melodic lyrics.

He wanted to make a snap comment before the boy drove off to his next endeavour, but he didn’t care enough to think of one.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: hey wonwoo, it’s her. I think we should finally settle a date to talk about this book thing. let me attach a pic of my schedule and you can pick any open slots

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: 145_348.JPG

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]:  seokmin isn’t going to be our communicator anymore, so u can stop complaining to him about it

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: Okay, thanks.

[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm]: I’ll take a look soon.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:45 pm ]: I’m excited to see you again

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: no likewise?!

[ Wonwoo | 1:50 pm ]: Likewise.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: ugh. thx

—APRIL 1ST.

It was around six in the evening and Wonwoo was seated in the SRX building, the sky rolling with lambent, hazy-toned pastures of peach in the windows behind him. He had arrived about an hour ago, taking the staircase up to the third floor. It was much quieter there, making it easier for Wonwoo to endlessly stare with glazed, void eyes at his laptop screen and the cursed document he couldn’t finish. After tapping his fingernails in a bored, repetitious pattern against the shiny white table, he felt the urge to delete each and every paragraph as if he hadn’t poured months of earnest love into them.

You would be meeting him soon.

He could still remember looking at your schedule, pinching into the screen and examining all the different colour-coded blocks: dinner parties, SSA meetings, gym sessions, errands—how the fuck you managed to juggle those things and more left him marvelled yet terrified. You were pretty on point regarding your arrival time, to which Wonwoo could immediately identify you before even seeing your face due to the heel clicking and the sounds of tapping jewelry on your bag.

Emerging onto the floor with a very intense scowl and a notably crushing grip on your drink, you were to say the least, angry. Wonwoo gnawed slightly on his tongue as you sat down.

Your purse clunked like a cinderblock onto the table.

He watched you inhale a slow, shaky breath, raising your hand with the expansion of your chest in order to calm down.

 “I’m going to kill myself.”

Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, subtly trying to establish more distance between you. He flicked a glance at his laptop.

“Damn. Why is that?”

“Because of stupid, incompetent people.”

“Yeah?”

“I just—I don’t get it!” You laughed, though it wasn’t a particularly jovial sound and more than anything it seemed like you were going to start smashing glass. “I don’t get how people are unable to understand that we don’t do walk-ins unless one of the stylists are free—” you dug a hand into your purse, pulling out a straw, “—which in the salon’s case, is almost never! I tell them we can’t in my very sweet, established customer service voice: ‘I’m sorry, but the only way to receive a chair is to book online.'”

Wonwoo tilted his head, grinning a little.

“Blah, blah. I tell them the entire story in the kindest way I can, even though I want to grab them by their fucking neck and drag them over the counter to show them our website.” You slipped out your laptop next, accidentally dragging out a lanyard along with it that you agitatedly shoved back into the purse. “And then, they get all uptight and pissy when we can’t wriggle them in! Sorry, our makeup artists are busy! Working with people who made scheduled fucking appointments! The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”

You scraped the drink toward you, slamming the straw straight through the plastic film lid with such force that several people ended up turning their heads. After taking a long sip, you gulped and glared until they probably realized it was you and pretended not to care.

For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t know what to say, so he’d folded his arms instead. Considering that Wonwoo worked the late shift stocking shelves at the pharmacy department, your predicament sounded like an entirely new world to him.

“Ugh, I’m sorry to bring all this negativity with me,” you apologized, still exasperated, “I don’t need this fucking tea—I need straight vodka. I’m seriously frazzled.”

“Seriously frazzled?” Wonwoo repeated, finding your choice of words funny as he resumed leaning forward, arms still crossed.

“Very, seriously frazzled.”

“I’m sorry about your day.”

Again, you sighed deeply while removing your long, warm jacket to drape over the chair’s spine—it was a rather elegant reveal of the strapless pearl dress underneath, tinted by the evening light, peach-pink as it rained from the ceiling length windows and framed your body like you were some sort of resurrected angel. Tension at last started escaping your shoulders. Wonwoo quickly realized that he'd been staring, and his fingers curled into a nervous fist.

“You’re actually such a good listener.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Um, thank you.”

“I like that you don’t interrupt me.”

Settling his elbows on the table and ruffling the back of his messy black locks, Wonwoo felt himself panic a little on the inside.

“Well,” he heaved in, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“I know," you chirped, posturing yourself confidently, “anyway, the book. We need to talk about it.”

“Table’s yours.”

Wonwoo’s knuckles pressed softly into his cheek while he waited for you to prepare your laptop. His own document was glowing at him, and he swore the emptiness of the page made the screen brighter (in the absolute worst, most mocking way).

“Okay, I’ve got my ideas and such pulled up.”

He expected you to continue and introduce the concept, but you had suddenly stopped, and Wonwoo thought you appeared almost smitten and somewhat timorous. It was strange, because from what he’d known and gauged so far, you were nothing akin to that.

“Well, promise that you won’t think it’s ridiculous.”

“I don’t even know what it is.”

“That’s why I want you to promise!”

Wonwoo pushed up his glasses and sighed, “I will need to be honest at some points you know, depending on what kind of help you want from me. Not that I’m going to be a straight-up dick.”

You scoured at him from over your laptop.

“Whatever.”

“I’ll promise if it makes you feel better.”

“Just—shut up." You wiggled your hand at him dismissively and proceeded to tug the laptop closer. “I don’t even care anymore.”

Once you spent a moment affirming the document to yourself, you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m going to write a book for Mingyu. Our fifth anniversary is coming up in the winter—it’s actually on Christmas Eve—the day he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. I just want to write him a little memoire thingy that tells our story. I want it to walk through the events of our lives, and how I remember them. First encounter, first date, first kiss, stuff like that. I’ve already collected some good memories to include. I have… somewhat of an outline? But my problem is the writing. I can spew nonsense from my mouth at a million miles an hour, but when I try to actually write? It’s crickets.”

You sat back, a hand poised thoughtfully at your cheek while one leg folded over the other. Wonwoo knew you were granting him the space to speak and at least offer a slice of his thoughts, yet, in that moment, he found himself to be drowning. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or anything of the delusional like; however, hearing you explain the exact premise of a story that he had been successfully writing until a certain breakup—it had shaken him, and Wonwoo felt like the universe was smearing salt fresh into his unsewn wounds.

“So…” your head cocked to the side. “Can I at least an ‘okay’ or a head nod or some sign of life? Or are you just too disgusted?”

What could he say? What was he supposed to say?

Wonwoo was genuinely clueless on how to help you write a story that he’d been utterly failing at writing himself. And, sure, maybe Wonwoo should just give up completely. His ex-girlfriend had ripped out his heart without a single indication that it would happen, and then exited his life in the blink of an eye, disappearing so fucking abruptly that Wonwoo could have said she was a shadow that he imagined in pure lunacy. But he hadn’t dropped the story because there was this very stubborn, unwilling part of his being that could not move on from her—her, who had been his love, and breath, and bones.

He’d decided to finish the story as a manner of easing into closure. If that closure never came, then so be it.

“Are you seriously fucking ignoring me right now?”

His silence had promptly disturbed your peace, and now you were glaring at him with the beginning licks of fire and hell in your eyes.

“I don’t think I can help you.”

“What?” You pronounced sharply. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said while closing his laptop and sliding it back into his shoulder-sling bag, “I just—I’m not the right person to help you. I’m not, and you’ll have to take my word for it.”

“Seokmin told me you could write fucking anything. He made it out like you were some literature God with a golden quill. And—great, you’re just packing up fucking everything. Are you serious? Am I even allowed more of an explanation or are you gonna leave it at that? Wonwoo, you couldn’t have told me this at a worse time.”

“I didn’t plan for it to be like that.” He could hardly push the syllables up his diaphragm. “It can’t be me. I’m sorry.”

You didn’t lift a finger to stop him from leaving, though the wavelength of your incinerating stare was felt like a hot, melting scratch down his neck. This was terrible, he was terrible—Wonwoo already knew that about himself. He wanted to go home. He wanted to shut himself away in his room and sink straight through the sheets until he was swallowed. His anxiety was webbing around him. It was pulling him down into the soil and earth like he belonged there.

He truly hated this part of himself.

More than anything, he truly hated when other people saw it.

Especially people like you.

—APRIL 8TH.

Wonwoo didn’t think you would ever speak to him again, in person or over text message. In retrospect, he was fine with it. You were rather overwhelming and especially tiring for someone like Wonwoo who would be perfectly fine never seeing another human in his lifetime. Not to mention he was freed from helping you with your book, which he learned was a technical love letter to your boyfriend in addition to a romance he wanted a nonexistent part in. Going down that path once was already excruciating enough, and given his anxiety attack that saw him locked in a cold washroom stall last week, it was best you just forget about him. He assumed you already had, anyway.

After he stocked the last red bottle of sinus medicine onto the shelf, Wonwoo used his boxcutter to break down the cardboard package and fold it flat with the others he’d opened. It was time for his break, and then he would only have one more hour until the pharmacy section closed for the night. Once it hit ten o’clock, the store was automatically still and hardly anyone came in—minus the few student couples whom Wonwoo had to point in the direction of pregnancy tests or plan b. But it was a Tuesday night. He was at the bare minimum appeased he didn’t have to console a sobbing, snotty-nosed eighteen-year-old girl imploring for a First Response.

When he collapsed down at his favourite seat in the breakroom, Wonwoo pulled out his phone. He had sent Seokmin a text yesterday evening about going studying at the SRX building for their upcoming math midterm, though Seokmin had yet to respond and Wonwoo couldn’t evade wondering if you were pulling some strings behind the curtain.

He opened his bottle of juice and spent the remainder of his fifteen listening to music and jittering his knee.

Wonwoo took his earbuds with him back onto the floor, sneaking the wires under his shirt to pull out his collar. There were only a few boxes left on his cart that required stocking, and whatever didn’t fit would have to be scanned into storage. That shouldn't take long. Wonwoo could almost taste the crisp atmosphere of the night air and feel the gentle chilliness soon to ghost against his face.

However, halfway into shelving the cough drops there had been a polite tap on his shoulder, and Wonwoo wanted to wither up and lose his head right there on the tiles like a sundried rose.

He didn’t know who to expect when he turned around, pulling out a single earbud while the other continued to blast his music.  

“Oh, shit—I didn’t know you worked here.”

Fuck. He wanted to kill himself.

“Yeah, started a couple months ago, actually.”

Mingyu.

It’s not that Wonwoo didn’t like speaking with him, because they had definitely exchanged cordial conversations in the past, particularly when they both took that Probability Poker elective last semester and Wonwoo learned that Mingyu was a pretty decent bluffer. Unfortunately, Mingyu’s belief that he was a great bluffer was actually the one indication that he was indeed bluffing. It showed in his overly confident eyes before a twitch of the lips or a subtly shifted foot, meanwhile Wonwoo was able to sit there the entire time like he was an Easter Island statue incarnate.

Put simply, Wonwoo had always preferred to avoid Mingyu because he was your boyfriend, and per routine, he attempted to slip around most people that were associated with you.

“Cool.” Mingyu smiled and the flashes of his pointed teeth caught the light. “Stuff’s got switched around in here again.”

“New mods came out last week,” Wonwoo answered, placing the last cough drop box onto the shelf and facing it straight.

“Well, don’t know what the fuck that means,” his tone was brassy as he laughed, “I just came to ask where the plan b is now.”

 “Two aisles down, check the endcap.”

“Appreciate it, thanks—oh, condoms?”

“Next aisle.”

“Got it.”

“Just come get me when you’re done,” Wonwoo said, grabbing his boxcutter and running the blade along the taped seam of the cardboard to satisfyingly slice it open, “I’m the only one in pharmacy right now, so I have to ring you up.”

As soon as Mingyu disappeared around the corner, Wonwoo tossed the flattened cardboard onto his cart with the loudest, most life-draining sigh that could be harboured. He wasn’t the kind of person to cultivate those racing, panicky thoughts that consumed his brain like a merciless hurricane, rather it was typically one single thought that was an eternal black space to swallow him. But Wonwoo had to admit that seeing Mingyu had triggered something of the latter, and now he was feeling sick with the fact you possibly told Mingyu about his episode at the SRX building last week. To Wonwoo it had been the shackles of his anxiety, though it probably came across as a very ill-mannered, abrupt rejection from your perspective.

Mingyu didn’t take long picking out his items. It was clearly a run of the mill routine for him at this point—a mere grab and go.

At the register, Wonwoo mentally questioned why Mingyu had grabbed such a plethora of condoms. He didn’t mean to be vulgar in his thinking, but how often were you getting fucking railed?

Either that, or Mingyu preferred being well stocked.

Vernon would be bruising his knuckles on his steering wheel right now, considering how devotedly he attempted to seduce you.

As payment, Mingyu pulled out that godforsaken credit card that you had borrowed during the dress shopping. Wonwoo felt nauseous just looking at the damn thing. He swiped all of the items into a small plastic bag which he then handed to Mingyu with a notable impatience, wanting to whisk the boy out as quick as possible.

“G’night, man. Thanks for the help.”

“Night,” he answered in a deep, tired sigh, watching Mingyu’s head of thick and bouncy black hair disappear toward the aglow exit.

Well, clearly you weren’t wasting anytime thinking about him despite the dramatics pertaining to the situation last week, not even in the most marginal fraction. Mingyu must rail it out of you every night—not that Wonwoo would be surprised to learn such a thing considering the tall boy’s physique and your openly lascivious nature.

Well, good luck to you both, he supposed.

At least it was closing time.

Wonwoo had always suspected there was something ever so slightly off kilter about his body, especially in the way it reacted to certain situations and emotions. He knew it probably wasn’t the most mundane, ordinary act—locking himself in his aunt’s washroom the day of his sixteenth birthday, sliding down onto the cold, hard tiles, feeling his heart jolt, punch, and thump again his chest like a battering ram. There had been a pattern of rubber ducks on her eggshell blue shower curtain, and Wonwoo remembered counting them row by row, over and over, until his breath managed to steady.

Twenty-four ducks. He could still recall the number.

A doctor’s visit about three weeks later had granted him the diagnosis and a scribbled venlafaxine prescription. Wonwoo was already collecting his sweater off the tissue sheet bed, ready to leave.

In the beginning, he was strict about his medication. He organized them into pill cartridges and set alarms and always ate them with cooked, warm meals. Understandably, his habits dwindled every now and again, however, Wonwoo was quite pious to the routine for a good couple years. But then he met his most recent girlfriend in university. She was shy and reserved. All about the books.

Cute as buttons.

He fell in love.

And it was all such a rush of rose petals and sweet symphonies that Wonwoo became distracted from his healthy habits.

Of course, everything crashed and burned once she abandoned him. He capitulated in an instant, and the sight of the orange bottle made him paler than winter moonlight. It’s not like he wanted to suffer, or despise the way his body put him through a neural hell beyond his own control. The fact of the matter was that Wonwoo just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take those stupid pills.

It was a mountain. Every. Single. Time.

And for the third time that week, Wonwoo found himself awake at an ungodly hour, rifling through the black lunchbox he kept in his closet with his glasses about to slip off the fine point of his nose.

He pulled out the baggie filled with the quarter-ounce, his silver grinder, and his rolling papers. Moving to his desk, Wonwoo clicked on the small overhead lamp to illuminate his space, in which he tapped some of the weed into his grinder and began twisting the lid until he was satisfied. He liked preparing joints to smoke on the roof. It wasn’t particularly hard to access, anyway. Right outside his bedroom window was a balcony with a short ladder attached to the brick, and once Wonwoo had discovered it, he made a habit of climbing up to spark his joints so that their pungent aroma could be carried away by the fresh winds usually stirred up at gloaming.

Honestly, it was the only thing he enjoyed.

Just before he slipped out the window, Wonwoo grabbed a pair of black jeans he’d worn earlier in the week, discovering the lighter he’d accidentally left in the back pocket.

The ladder shuddered slightly when Wonwoo gripped it, though if he were being candour, he didn’t care whatsoever if all the bolts suddenly loosened and he were to splatter against the sidewalk like an uncooked pancake. In fact, the fall probably wasn’t enough to kill him. Maybe a few broken bones and scrapes, some blood staining the street akin to little patterns of rain, bruises that signatured violets into his skin, but Wonwoo would still be painfully, vividly alive, enough to see the stars if the glasses didn’t snap off his face.

It was a colder night, so Wonwoo made sure to tuck on his beanie and huddle into his thicker-sized coat. He sat with one leg dangling over the building’s edge, feeling the wind whiplash against his back and crawl in these chilly, indecipherable whispers from his shoulders to his neck, almost tickling him, like it had missed him.

An orange flicker popped to life from the butane of his lighter, which he used to lightly singe the joint perched at his lips. Wonwoo then tilted his head back, blowing the cloud and its loose, airy curls straight into the sky’s deepest purples.

He loved being alone.

Even when his ex-girlfriend had moved in with him all those months ago, there was an unyielding part of him that hadn’t been ready to forfeit all his space and privacy.

But, over time, his love surmounted the sacrifice.

He would wake up to her sleeping face, and with thoughtful nudges, clear the hairs off her cheeks. He would spend an hour working on his homework or writing his story while waiting for her to stir so messily in the sheets that it became graceful. He would tease her with his cold hands as she boiled up tea in the kitchen, pinching at her hips with the utmost softness and giggling huskily into her neck when she would twist in the arms that bracketed her body against his chest. He would trap her between the counter, sunshine striking the room aglow in these nearly blinding seas of light, mouthing at her throat and tugging at her shorts and hitching his fingers so deep into her heat because all Wonwoo wanted to do was make her feel good.

Opening his eyes again, Wonwoo saw the stars rather than her face. The high was disseminating past his lungs and mingling with the pain that festered in his heart, concocting something that hurt so wonderfully, in all the right places, in all the right spots.

He was a fucking mess.

It wasn’t sustainable. But he didn’t care enough to fix himself.

 —APRIL 15TH.

Why did Wonwoo keep coming back to that café? The number of times he’d sat down with conviction that today would be fruitful—today, the eloquence would flow from his fingertips like perfectly pitched music notes and the symphony would read as beautiful and mellifluous as it sounded in his mind. Today, he was going to write.

Except, he accomplished nothing of the sort.

Repeatedly tapping his index finger against the space bar, he waited for the right adjective or phrase to leap out—to grasp him in a headlock even—whatever it took, Wonwoo was willing to sit there all afternoon until one fucking word conjured in the infinite blankness that was his imagination. He reached for his drink, only to take a sip of dry air that smelled like his earlier cocoa. Wonwoo realized the cup was empty. Had he wasted this much time already?

It pricked similarly to a bee sting. His passions felt impossible. A sigh upheaved from his chest and fingers curled into his hair, musing up the already disarrayed strands and slowly warping himself to look more and more like a mad scientist. Wonwoo removed his glasses and slumped back in the chair, rubbing at the reddish prints left on his nose. Writing had soaked itself in agony and he was going to remain in the storm of it until the bitter, ungratifying end.

‘Till death do us part.

 And then, something struck.

Though it wasn’t what Wonwoo had hoped for.

Literally—it was your hand hitting the glass of the café window, which had jerked Wonwoo out from his self-pitying.

He scrambled to fix his glasses back on, your face clarifying in an instant. You smiled at him with your glossed lips, and he didn’t like the nuance of your countenance one bit. Watching you enter the café was jarring and uncomfortable and his fist immediately clenched, his index nail picking at the ruined cuticle of his thumb. Two weeks ago—that was the last time you had spoken. At the SRX building.

“Hey!” You sounded friendly. “Can I sit here?”

“Well, uh—”

“Great, thank you.”

You pulled out the chair across from him, then set your bag delicately on the windowsill. Wonwoo watched with nervous, fluttering eyes as you smoothed out your cropped skirt before sitting down, ensuring it was tucked under yourself appropriately.

“How are you?”

Gulp.

“Fine.”

“Good. That’s really good. I’m glad.” Your nails drummed once against the table. “I actually didn’t plan on coming here, but I saw you as I was crossing the street, and I thought, ‘I should stop by and check in on him’ because, y’know, we haven’t been talking.”

Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “Do you always do that?”

“Do what?”

“Slap your hand against windows to get people’s attention.”

You swept something off the table with your palm, and this sunshine-like laugh turned your entire face to sweetness, but it wasn’t entirely earnest, and Wonwoo bit into his lip because you fucking terrified him. He caught your sparkling eye and wanted to melt.

“Did I scare you? I’m so sorry.”

“No, you’re good.”

“What are you working on?”

“A paper.”

Obviously, he was going to lie. Whether or not you could pick up on his lie was beyond Wonwoo’s control at that point. He didn’t know what you wanted, or why you were interrupting the flow of your very organized scheduling system to seemingly toy with him.

You didn’t respond to his paper comment. There was a thick silence between you despite the distant clattering of dishes, bubbling coffee machines, and conversations that coalesced into one big buzz.

Wonwoo bit the bullet.

“Something you want from me, yeah?”

“Not… exactly… I mean, after you left me at the SRX building, I wanted to get very angry about the whole situation. My day was terrible, and you responding to my idea with that sickly look on your face didn’t help. But I thought about it. You said no. I can’t ask anything more of you, y’know? I have to respect what you said.”

“Oh.” Wonwoo unclenched his fist, stretched out his long legs a bit more. “Yeah, sure. I get it. Thanks for understanding.”

“I just didn’t think my idea was that bad.”

“Well… no. It’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.”

A twitch to your lip suggested you didn’t believe him. Wanting to clear the air a bit, Wonwoo stopped slouching. He sat straighter and lowered the lid of his laptop, inviting the space between you.

His mouth opened, and then closed.

Fuck, just breathe you idiot—he cursed at himself.

You did that little head tilt thing, half-smiling at him, looking radiant underneath the café sunlight and so oddly patient with his tied-tongue that Wonwoo was miraculously able to find his words.

“There is nothing wrong with your idea. I made it seem like there was. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to help you write a romance story, for personal reasons that would be useless explaining. But you seem very confident in everything you do. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

“Hm, well, thank you for believing in me. Romance can be a touchy subject—I didn’t think of that, and I get it… I guess I felt more insecure about your reaction because writing is the one thing I can’t ace. I do need help with my story, even if I don’t want it. Well, it’s just the truth, isn’t it? There are some things I can’t do!”

You chuckled at yourself, and Wonwoo thought it to be actually endearing. All your hard edges softened in that moment.

“So, I haven’t made any progress in my story, which sucks because I’m operating by deadline—” reaching into your bag, you unveiled a small, compact mirror, using it to remove something invisible from your eyelash, “—do you have any writer friends that would help me?”

Wonwoo scratched his nose.

“Uh, with the book?”

“Yes.”

“None.”

“What?” The mirror snapped shut as you gagged at him. “How do you have no writer friends? Isn’t that your major? Literature? Do you even have friends that aren’t Seokmin?”

“I’m a math major for fucks sake.”

“You’re fucking joking, Wonwoo. Please, tell me it’s a joke.”

He leaned back, folding his arms and propping an ankle onto his knee. You were still gaping at him, and he wanted to smirk.

“What’s wrong with math?”

“Nothing. Math is… math,” you gritted, shoving the mirror back into your expensive-looking, gold-buckled bag, “but why math? Why straight math? I thought you wanted to be a writer.”

“Man, Seokmin really didn’t tell you fucking anything, did he?” Wonwoo chuckled. Or, maybe you had only heard the things you wanted to hear, which was what Wonwoo assumed.

“Like I have space in my brain to remember the multiverse of information that constantly comes out of his mouth.”

“So what is there space for then?”

“You're toeing a dangerous line.”

“Well, I like math and writing.”

"And what kind of papers would you be required to work on as a math major? Did you stumble across some quintessential theorem that nobody else really cares about except for you and all the other pocket-protector wearers out there? Or is this a Good Will Hunting scenario? Even better—are you waiting for someone to walk by behind you and see all that really complicated mumbo-jumbo on your screen and think to themselves, 'woah, this guy is really smart. He's working on a paper with numbers, and I only work on papers with words. Where did I go wrong in my life?' so you can develop some sort of alternative complex that writing just isn't giving you?"

Wonwoo cocked his head at you, perplexed.

“What the absolute fuck are you talking about?” He felt a laugh in his chest, but he pushed it down. Wonwoo had never met anyone like you before. “You made up everything you just said.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“I go on tangents. It’s just something I do.”

“Damn. I can tell.” Wonwoo rubbed at the corner of his eye and slipped the ankle off his knee, further spreading his legs. “You like hearing the sound of your own voice, yeah?”

He always hated when people bothered him at the café, especially when he was trying to write. Today, it was different.

“Well, that’s true.” You beamed at him so matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. “The most beautiful sound in the world, isn’t it?”

“Mm.”

“Thought so. Ugh, I just can’t believe you have no writer friends to hook me up with.” He watched you slouch forward, slapping your arms across the table. “I’ll have to go wait outside Gildan Hall and start ambushing all the smart-looking literature majors.”

Wonwoo found himself examining your perfect nail polish.

“Good luck with that.”

“Can you at least try to sound more sympathetic?”

“You don’t seem like a person who appreciates sympathy.”

“Pft. According to who? I like being comforted when the time is right, and you’re not being very comforting.” You groaned into the table.

“You like being comforted?” He scoffed.

Your head popped up, and you were pouting. “At certain times, yes. Most times, no. It’s a complicated system. No one’s really cared enough to learn it except for Mingyu, and that was by force, and I think even he hates it. But I’m not asking for the moon. Just a reasonably sized chunk of it. I have to be worth something, right?”

“What’s life without someone catering to your every whim at the drop of a hat, huh?” He couldn’t help but mutter with sarcasm.

“Yes, exactly! See—you read my mind.”

Wonwoo bit his tongue.

“Ugh, now where’s my stupid phone?”

It was in your purse. Immediately, your eyes lit up.

“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna be late to my electrolysis!”

Like a burst of lightning, you shot up from your seat and quickly fixed the cream-white purse back over your shoulder. It reminded him of that time at the mall. One second you were engrained into a tangent, and the next you were scrambling about, attempting to recover the lost time in your meticulous schedule.

“If you think of anyone, please text me!”

Wonwoo nodded his head.

Now, there was a vacant seat before him, left slightly tugged from the table due to your hectic departure. For a moment, he just sighed, feeling the breath emerge from somewhere so deep in his chest that it ached. That was the thing about you—in a confusing turmoil, you managed to fill him up when he felt empty, but then empty him once he felt full.

He didn’t know what kind of person you were.

But there was an odd thrill to it that Wonwoo couldn’t articulate.

—APRIL 18TH.

Sat with Seokmin at the boy’s dining room table, Wonwoo popped a purple grape into his mouth while flipping a pencil between his fingers. The two had been staring plainly at their last problem from the math homework, but the question was horribly long, and his handwriting had morphed from legible penmanship to the most slurred hieroglyphics. Wonwoo wanted to dump a ramen packet into some boiling water and call it a night. He’d devoured a whole stem of grapes. His head was pounding and his stomach growled for a meal.

“Oh! You see—this is what gets me every time!” Seokmin exclaimed, leaned over his scattered papers, shoulders hunched with strain, “I mess up one multiplication in a matrix, and it screws me all up! Now I have to go over—uh! My fucking pencil just snapped.”

“Good,” Wonwoo mumbled, pressing a hand along the groove of his stiff neck, cracking it, “take it as a sign to give up.”

“We’re so close.”

Scooting the chair back to stretch his legs, Wonwoo then snatched his phone off the table. It was nearly ten at night.

“I’m hungry, and I don’t care anymore.”

Seokmin sighed, “are you going to eat now?”

“Yeah. Any ramen left?”

“It’s in the box sitting on top of the fridge. Soup broth is in the cupboard beside the microwave. I think there’s some eggs, too.”

Wonwoo easily grabbed the noodle packet off the fridge. He asked his friend if he wanted a bowl as well, and Seokmin agreed, abandoning their math homework after his defeating pencil-snapping incident. While they waited for the water to start bubbling over the stovetop, Seokmin had joined Wonwoo in the kitchen, though he leaned against the counter, holding his phone six inches or so from his face. Wonwoo had never seen anyone text that fast.

Gosh—he didn’t even need to ask who it was.

Noticing a few smudges on his glasses, Wonwoo lowered them down to the hem of shirt, beginning to massage the marks away.

“Our math final is the twenty-eighth, right?” Seokmin asked.

“Should be, yeah.”

“Thanks. If it’s on the twenty-eighth then I can definitely go.”

Wonwoo slid the glasses back onto his nose.

“Go to what?

Taptaptaptap—Seokmin’s fingers were practically electric.

“Uh, this thing that Her is having… at her parents’ house… like… a big dinner party… I’m helping her plan it… just need to make sure… I’m free those days… there! Okay, all settled.”

At last, Seokmin had clicked off his phone and slid the device back into the pocket on his sweatpants. Wonwoo folded his arms, staring at his friend with a deeply furrowed yet confused brow.

He sucked in a helpless breath.

“I don’t get you, Seokmin.”

“What—why?”

A few hot droplets of water had leapt from the pot, slightly scalding Wonwoo’s arm. He promptly ripped open the ramen packet and submerged the noodle brick, poking at it with chopsticks.

Wonwoo cleared his throat, “are you obsessed with her?”

Seokmin laughed, sounding astounded.

“No, I’m not obsessed. I’m just helping. We’re friends.”

“Right.”

“You don’t believe me?”

Setting the chopsticks beside the stove, Wonwoo turned around again, habitually crossing his arms low along the chest.

“I guess I don’t understand what you get out of that relationship.” He admitted. “Why can’t she do shit herself?”

“Ha!—That’s an interesting question.”

“You don’t want to talk about it?”

“No, it’s not that.” Seokmin lifted himself onto the kitchen counter, his head thumping back against the wooden cupboard. “I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. And—I meant it’s interesting to see your interpretation of it. Like, my friendship with Her.”

Wonwoo nodded. He wasn’t going to coax anything out of his friend that he wasn’t already willing to say. In fact, Wonwoo had only begun talking to Seokmin back in the early, rainy days of September, since they ended up in the same discrete mathematics course and happened to choose seats right next to each other. Their bond had formed fairly quick, but they never really conversed about topics more intimate than school work and their own interests.

“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said, “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, don’t apologize. I mean, I totally get why you’re curious.”

Seokmin glanced down at his knees, scratched his chin.

“Uh—well, what did you say, anyway? Why can’t her do shit herself? I mean, her life is super busy. Her mom’s a writer and editor for that popular fashion and beauty magazine you always see at all those glamour stores—Stunning Monthly—something like that. Her’s dad is this business tycoon guy. He works with my dad, actually. I’ve known Her since high school. Our families are close, so naturally we’ve spent a lot of time together. Her family picked up all their stuff and moved into Hillcrest on account of her dad needing to relocate for work.”

Wonwoo remained silent at the revelation, even though he was urged by curiosity to badger Seokmin with questions.

“But, uh—without all my non-essential rambling—the relationship with her parents is tumultuous. Who doesn't have a shaky relationship with their parents, though? A few lucky souls, probably. But they've set things up for her quite well, in my opinion. Her mom got her a job at the Milestone—that fancy beauty place down Bank Street? She has a makeup chair from time to time and works reception. She’s definitely gonna graduate Cum Laude with some big fancy scholarship. Not to mention the little power couple thing she’s got going on with Mingyu. She just tends to be…” Seokmin winced, massaging his shoulder, “she’s just a bit unpredictable. It would be way too easy for things to start falling all over the place. She’s a busy girl so I figure it’s nice to help her out. Keep things organized.”

Wonwoo bobbed his head, thinking.

“I guess I’m curious about the book thing. I mean, if everything is so perfectly laid out for her, and she’s so busy all the time…. why write a book? That takes months, extreme dedication, planning out the ass… it’s loving everything you’ve written and then hating it so atrociously… I don’t know,” he sighed, shrugging with confusion, “if I were her, writing a book would be the last thing on my mind.”

Folding his arms, Seokmin leaned back against the cupboards and agreed. “I know. But sometimes she just lurches onto random things out of nowhere. One year she practically turned her entire living room into a freakin’ art studio and I slipped on an open tube of paint on the floor—nearly popped out my tail bone. To be fair, her passion projects never last long. She never has the time, as you said… I know you’re not helping her anymore. She’ll probably drop it without help.”

“Really? Just like that?”

“Yeah,” Seokmin answered, smiling, “just like that.”

For some reason, Wonwoo gritted his teeth. He would hate for you to discard the feat so readily, just because he couldn’t pitch in as initially planned. Yes, writing was not always a fruitful cherry blossom tree and sometimes chalking down one sentence was equivalent to a month of effort and squeezing out all the creative fibres in one’s brain, but there was so much worth and occulted beauty to it at the same time. It was the art of expression.

Wonwoo thought it was quite cruel to deprive oneself of the ability to express and articulate things as they coursed through the fragile skin and the warm veins, and chiefly, the heart.

“Anyway, maybe I didn’t really answer your question,” Seokmin laughed, “but, y’know, don’t worry too much about turning down the book. You’re right. She’s got more important things to focus on, as I was telling her over and over, and—oh! Fuck, the ramen’s bubbling!”

Wonwoo quickly twisted around as the water began spilling over the edge and sizzling like fried meat. He lifted the pot off the piping hot, orange element, to which Seokmin joined him, twisting the stove dial to a much lower heat. Blowing at the white froth, Wonwoo waited a precautionary minute before returning the pot.

Once dinner was ready, they gathered back at the dining table, entwining the noodles with their chopsticks and hardly allowing a second for the ramen to cool before they were shovelling in burning mouthful after mouthful. The bite in Wonwoo’s stomach was gradually appeased. He soon felt warm, and full, and less tempered.

“Seokmin.”

“Hm?” His friend glanced up from his phone.

“So…” Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, his fist clenched. “I guess what—from what I understand—if I don’t help Her, or if she doesn’t find someone who can, then the book just won’t happen ”

At his observation, Seokmin nodded, seeming unbothered.

“Uh, yeah. Pretty much.”

“That’s sad.”

“Hey, you two just aren’t destined for each other,” he replied, slurping his noodles, “you were right back at the café.”

Picking up the white and blue patterned bowl, Wonwoo prepared to drink the broth, feeling the delicious heat fan back against his face. Once he finished eating and helping Seokmin with the dishes, he planned to catch a late-night bus back to his apartment above the quaint pottery shop. He didn’t know if he would sleep or not.

Maybe, however, that would give him time to rethink some choices, even if he shouldn’t trust the musings his brain happened to curate past nine at night. Especially any musings concerning you.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: Sorry to message you this late.

[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: I’ll keep it brief: I’ve given your book idea some thought, and if the offer still stands, I’d like to help you write it. Though, I understand if you want someone else’s help.

[ Wonwoo | 11:50 pm ]: Goodnight.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: AHHHHHHHHHHH

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: good morninggg

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: no that’s so perfect

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: okay. OMG. there’s just so much we have to sort out. I’m trying not to overwhelm myself lol

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: thank u for giving it more thought. I’m excited to plan everything and see u again ofc :)

[ Wonwoo | 12:55 pm ]: Likewise.

—APRIL 24TH.

Since last November, Wonwoo hadn’t invited many guests to his apartment—not even his older brother, who had never stepped foot into the building after Wonwoo originally signed the lease. Seokmin visited once or twice, but everything was curt, and while there had been one time that Vernon slept overnight on the couch, it was hardly notable.

Knowing that you were going to be at his apartment in a few hours was a very daunting thought. Consequently, Wonwoo had done something he hadn’t properly completed in months: clean.

It wasn’t like he just threw out the garbage and wiped down the kitchen counter either. He legitimately cleaned, picking over his apartment with a fine-tooth comb, not allowing one coffee cup or coaster to seem even vaguely incongruous. He fluffed out the couch pillows and vacuumed the floors. He went through his entire room, tidying up piles of clothes on the floor and aligning every book on his shelf. For the first time in months, Wonwoo threw open his heavy curtains, pure sunlight engulfing the space in such a bright glare that his eyes stung and he hardly recognized his own bedroom. Most importantly, he remembered to hide the pill bottle in his nightstand.

After all the anxiety-driven cleaning was done, Wonwoo collapsed onto the couch and stared plainly at the ceiling, the reality of what he just accomplished beginning to sink into his pores.

What the fuck?

He doubted you would care even microscopically if his apartment wasn’t perfectly swept and polished and artistic like a photo from an interior design catalogue. But at the same time, it would have been impossible for him to leave it alone. The burst of productivity undoubtedly left Wonwoo rather hot and sweaty, so he opted to take a shower before you arrived. Standing beneath the cool water and taking slow, languid breaths helped ease his nerves.

And, for the first time in what he imaged to be—months, Wonwoo dried himself off with this feeling that everything was okay.

Not good. Definitely not great. But okay.

While he buttoned up a pair of blue jeans, Wonwoo heard his phone ding from his desk. Reaching over, he tapped the screen.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:05 pm ]: hi, I’m almost there

His chest fucking lurched.

Roughly jerking open his drawer, Wonwoo pulled out the first shirt he saw, tugging the white long-sleeve over his head before he wiggled his feet into a fresh pair of socks. Once Wonwoo found his glasses, he sat on the edge of his bed with his phone.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Okay.

[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Would you like me to come down?

God—he felt like his stomach was going to collapse.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:08 pm ]: no that’s okay :)

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:09 pm ]: it’s really pretty down here

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm]: sorry I was looking at some of the pottery / painting stuff. it’s the staircase down the hall, right?

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm ]: unit 102?

[ Wonwoo | 12:12 pm ]: Yes.

He reminded himself to breathe. Calm and slow and lifting the pressure that dug so bluntly into his lungs. The webs began to burn away. It had been a narrow escape, but it was successful.

[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:13 pm ]: heyy, I’m outside

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Wonwoo walked to the front door. His fingers brushed the knob in a flash of doubt, though his mind had already committed and now the door was pulled open and you were there, just as you said.

“Well, hello.”

He nodded at you, and then gestured for you to enter.

“Where should I take off my shoes?”

“There’s good,” Wonwoo answered, pointing to a textured mat in the corner that you proceeded to leave your simplistic heels on.

How absurd was this? Never in his life would Wonwoo imagine you at his apartment of all places—the one girl whom he adamantly tried to avoid because you were his gleaming opposite, and everything that you were, certain and in control, scared him. You were gazing around with your hands politely clasped together, ignited in the fulgurant sunlight, a small smile on your mouth.

“Wow, you’re very clean.”

Wonwoo stepped after you, maintaining a shy distance.

“It doesn’t normally look this neat,” he admitted, watching you readjust the strap of your tote bag, “I did clean for you.”

You turned to face him, and your laughter filled the space with a refreshing, long lost tone that made everything brighter. His fist clenched up anxiously and he knew his cheeks were pinkening.

“Um, cleaned or power-washed?”

He merely stared at you. Why couldn’t he fucking speak?

“Jeez, don’t look so afraid. I’m joking. And I obviously appreciate the effort.” You spun back around, continuing to walk past the coffee table and toward the kitchen. “It’s a lovely place, and it’s definitely got your personal touch. Oh—this is a cute mug.”

He breathed out, unfurling his hand and stretching his fingers until the air in his knuckles popped. You began wandering in the natural direction of the bedroom, and so Wonwoo followed, his eyes drifting up the jeans that hugged your legs and your sashaying hips, to back of your delicious-smelling hair. What was that scent, anyway?

Manuka honey?

But it was just a trivial glance, really.

Nothing meaningful.

“Is this your room?” You asked, stopping at the doorframe.

“It is.”

Biting your lip, you peaked inside and started to grin.

“Do you care if I go in?”

 “No.”

He tried not to crumble right there on the floor. Wonwoo’s room was his sanctuary, a fortress, something that barred out everyone but himself and granted him the freedom to do whatever he pleased (whether it was self-detrimental or not). The thought of others in his room was a gash in that perfect sanctuary, in which he could see the walls bleed out all their comfort and familiarity. His ex was the last person to be in his room, typically sprawled across the bed with a good novel in her hand.

It was a sour, sour reminder.

“Oh, and there’s the bookshelf,” you pointed out, “how fitting.” That penetrating gaze of yours roamed his desk and his bed and all his knickknacks in between. “Hey, why’s there a balcony outside?” You then asked, settling your hands onto the window frame and leaning out, the wind fluttering minimally through the layered curtains.

“Just a remodelling error,” Wonwoo explained, “it was supposed to be removed, I think. Never happened.”

Allured by curiosity, you leaned further out, examining the ladder that led up to the building’s roof. He looked at you again, specifically the arch in your back and the way your arms were planted so firm at the windowsill. He looked at the sunlight rippling on your cheek and your lips that appeared to sparkle, like you had kissed glitter.

“You definitely go up there, right?”

“Yeah.”

Half-shutting the window as to keep the breeze flowing, you chuckled. “I figured… so, I guess we should stop dawdling and get to the meat and potatoes. Is here a good spot? Or do you want to go back to the living room?”

“We’re in my room anyways,” Wonwoo commented, pulling out his desk chair and promptly sitting down, “so, why not.”

“Cool. Let me get my laptop.”

You slipped the tote bag off your arm and sat on the edge of his freshly made bed, being careful not to rumple the sheets.

“Okay!” Your hands echoed a series of soft claps. “I’m all ready now. I’ll try my best not to ramble—oh, and please, please don’t interrupt me until I’m done. I’m going to be very pissed if I lose my train of thought and I’d like this meeting to remain pleasant.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I know.”

You flashed him a brief smile.

“So, as you know, Mingyu and I’s fifth year anniversary is coming up in December. My gift to him is this so far nonexistent book. We’ve been through a lot as a couple, and as individuals, and I want the book to fully capture this journey we’ve been on and how much I… appreciate him. Also, I’m going to introduce a second, special element—” a hand plunged into your tote bag and suddenly a video camera was revealed, “—I want to record some of our brain sessions, and, like, our voyage of figuring this shit out. I like mementos. I hope that’s okay.”

“… Do I answer?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Then, yeah. I’m okay with it.”

“Secondlyyy—” you lilted while scrolling a little ways down the notepad on your laptop, the video camera stuffed back into your flower-and-honeybee-patterned tote, “—there are a few places we’ll need to visit—not the actual places that Mingyu and I went to since we grew up nowhere near here—but places that more so have a strong resemblance to the ones in my memory. I feel like it will help me with visual aspects of the writing. I’m a very visual person. Y’know, setting up the scene and technical things like that. I like touching and feeling and seeing and breathing everything in. I want all my senses on fire, basically. Like… the way your lips feel after eating insanely hot noodles.”

“Yeah, that’s fine.”

Wonwoo didn’t really care. He just agreed.

“Lastly, I want to make a schedule for us. So, I’m kindly asking you to set up a schedule of your own—work shifts, doctor’s appointments, tests—the like, so I can incorporate them into my own hectic life and make us one colourful, super writing schedule.”

And then, with a big, winded sigh, you shut your laptop.

“That’s it. Done. Thoughts?”

Honestly, the entire premise didn’t sound all that terrible. He had braced himself for the worst, but you were unsurprisingly organized and had pinpointed all your desires quite clearly. Of course, he knew it was going to be sheer hell—flames up to his knees and desert sun beating on his skin like a hot skillet frying butter. You were structured and dedicated and Wonwoo was none of those things.

No doubt, Wonwoo would have to learn to deal with you.

You would either be his trigger or his pulse.

But, even worse, you would have to learn to deal with him.

“I’m just following your lead on this,” Wonwoo announced, lacklustre of much interest, resting his hands against his stomach while he rotated back and forth in the swivel chair, “whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. How soon do you want the schedule thing?”

“Like, as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

“Do you really have no questions?”

Wonwoo scratched the side of his head.

“Uh, have you got anything written down yet?”

“Yes,” you propped open your laptop again, “an intro.”

“Oh, really?”

“Don’t question me. It was already difficult enough to write it, and I agonized over it for hours.” You pouted, slumping slightly.

He shifted up straighter in the desk chair.

“I’m sorry. I was just wondering. It’s good you started.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

Wonwoo tilted his head at you. “Do I get to read it?”

Your feet crossed and twirled together. He didn’t think you had any nervous ticks, but that was something easy to pick up on.

“Um, not yet. Not until we officially start.”

“Okay.” He answered with a gentle voice, noticing your swaying feet still again and a bit of rigidity dissipate from your body.

Well, he didn’t really know what to do at this point. Wonwoo suspected you were constrained by more tasks for today and your time with him was limited. It’s not that you were sitting in an awkward, stifling silence, but he would rather occupy himself with something rather than nothing, because nothing left his heart to race.

“Are you hungry?” He asked.

Glancing up from the laptop, you shook your head. “I ate before I came here.”

“Are you going to be leaving soon?”

At that, your face crinkled with laughter. “Sick of me already?”

Wonwoo crossed his arms. “No. Just asking.”

“Well, I have a wax appointment soon. I’ll be leaving in ten minutes or so.” Finally, you looked up, and your eyes clicked with his in a way that made the fine hairs along his neck prickle coolly. “Does that answer your question?” A subtle grin pulled at your soft lips.

“It does, yes.”

“You don’t like having people in your room, do you?”

He huffed at the observation and delved a hand through his black hair, feeling the dampness slide against his fingers. “Not particularly.”

“You should have just said that.” Rising off his bed, you closed the laptop and shoved it back into the tote bag.

Wonwoo’s entire chest jerked. It felt like a ten-story drop.

“Are you leaving?”

“Mm, I don’t want to intrude.”

“You’re not intruding.”

Why did his throat close up just then? Why did his vocal cords abruptly feel so coarse and tight? Why was his heart hammering? He didn’t mean to project the wrong impression. He didn’t hate you in his room. It just felt misplaced, and new. Like picking up a puzzle piece from the box and attempting to jam it into a different puzzle.

“It’s fine. Seriously. I should be early, anyway.”

Wonwoo stood up, realizing he needed to breathe. “Um… would you like me to walk you down?”

You stopped on your way out, faced him with a pretty smile.

“That’s okay.”

But then you did something rather strange; your hand sank into his firm upper arm and suddenly you were leaning into him, so carelessly close that he could feel the fanning, light warmth of your breath against his neck. Wonwoo’s head started to spin, and he thought a cloud had enveloped the room because his vision fuzzed.

“Sorry,” you took a step back, removing your hand, “you just smell really good. Like an ocean or something. It reminds me of this beach in Puta Cana. But your hair’s all damp and fluffy so that’s probably why. That was weird. I’m sorry.” Again, you laughed.

Why the fuck did you do that? He was almost angry. But not at you. At himself. For reacting in such a giddy, stupid way. Your touch and breath had burned him and there was this sharp, cutting flare inside Wonwoo that didn’t want to let you leave.

“All good…” he mumbled, sounding groggy and slow.

“I’ll see myself out then. Bye!”

And with a final chirp, you left, the front door closing in the distance while he could only stand there, shuddering and strangely hot and beyond confused. Wonwoo moved to swing the heavy curtains shut, the entire room succumbing into its usual shadiness. He sat on the edge of his very neat bed, removed his glasses, and buckled over while rubbing his veiny, pale hands through his hair.

The feeling was so lost and suppressed to his memory.

Wonwoo didn’t even know what it was.

He was relieved you were gone, but he also wished that you were still there, leaning out his open window with the wind and sunshine in your face. It was a sight so sweet and equally intimate.

Who are you?

What are you doing in his meaningless life?

—APRIL 28TH.

Wonwoo had finished his math final with half an hour to generously spare, and now, he was sitting, bored, sketching his pencil against the last page of the thick packet. The professor wouldn’t care.

Hopefully.

On one hand, Wonwoo knew he  should really just stand up and hand the damn thing in, but on the other hand, he hated—no, abhorred being the first person to return a test, especially an exam at that. Wonwoo was pretty smart. He knew that about himself and he never bothered to maintain the guise he wasn’t. Still, Wonwoo wasn’t pretentious. If he had to wait until the final fucking minute to hand the packet in, solely to avoid being the first student up, then so be it.

Besides, there wasn’t anything too pressing that required his immediate attention—minus the pertinent schedule he was supposed to make and have sent to you approximately three days ago. You had called him last night, to which the phone crackled with a loud, static bark of his name as you admonished him for his lateness.

“I told you three days ago I wanted the schedule! Three days! I can’t believe this. What’s so hard about making a schedule? Beep boop, you press some buttons on your laptop and it’s done. It would take ten minutes tops! Ugh, I’m so done with you, Wonwoo. In fact, don’t call me back—don’t even text me until you have the schedule!”

And then the line had collapsed, leaving Wonwoo to stare rather expressionlessly at his phone screen, the boy huffing out a breath of tendrilled smoke while he relaxed on the apartment roof. That had been his first experience sat on the receiving end of your seasoned quips, and it left him with this very profound emptiness, like his insides had been scooped out and the shell of his body was nothing but a wooden nesting doll. It had been such a long time since he genuinely cared about disappointing someone. Wonwoo had grown far too complacent with the feeling of disappointing himself.

That would never motivate him to do anything.

But you were different. In the sense that Wonwoo mostly remained proactive out of fear you might bite his head off.

From somewhere near the back of the room, Wonwoo heard chair legs scraping, and he eagerly flexed his fingers while observing a girl with the slickest ponytail he’d ever seen march past him to the professor’s desk. She set her packet down. He thanked her. She left.

Jesus Christ. Finally.

“All finished, Wonwoo?” His professor mumbled in a tone that hardly escaped his own lips, glancing up at the boy expectantly.

Pushing up his glasses, Wonwoo nodded.

“I suppose it’s harder for you to sit there and wait than it is to write the actual exam, isn’t it?” The professor noted with an almost undetectable smirk as he slid the test packet inside a tan-coloured folder, to which Wonwoo turned January cold.

“I don’t know.” Wonwoo shrugged, pretending to feel unbothered when in reality his skin was slithering like a snake pit at the thought of being even marginally perceived. “Maybe.”

“You have a good summer, alright?”

“Thanks. You too.”

Wonwoo swept a quick glance over the classroom right before he left, noticing that Seokmin was sat beside the wall, one hand tangled tight into his black, ruffled tresses as his pencil scribbled all over the paper like he was writing pure nonsense. He probably was.

And Wonwoo meant that in a nice-this isn’t really your sweet spot, but you’ll manage nonetheless-way. After leaving the classroom, Wonwoo thought he might go home and plunge head first into his oasis of bedsheets and flat, foam pillows that he loved so much, and permit himself to decay until it was physically impossible to lie down any longer. But he decided against it at the last minute, turning up at the café instead with his shoulder-strung book bag and the timely urge for a scone. He then sat down at his favourite table.

Pulled out his laptop.

Opened the document he was at incessant war with.

The last scene he’d written was breakfast.

“Uh, okay. Orange juice… or orange juice?”

“Did you say orange juice?”

“I did.”

“So… chocolate milk?”

“Ha! Funny... is there any sort of correlation between being a complete nerd and making such well-woven jokes?”

“Not sure. But I’ll get back to you when I find out… thanks. Your tea is sitting on the island, by the way.”

“Thank you, Won. Oh—you even put it in my Woodstock mug!”

“Yes, why are you so surprised that I remember?”

“Because it’s always hidden at the back of our cupboard, behind ten other mugs that we certainly don’t need and all our plates. I mean, I guess it’s my fault. Half of them are from my mom.”

“It’s sweet.”

“It takes up too much space. But I can’t tell her no.”

“That, you’ve got to work on.”

“The Christmas thing isn’t happening anymore, if that helps. I think the thought of having to cram all my family into our living room for a night was what motivated me the most. My mom said she’ll send us poinsettias instead. I think that’s way easier.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. Believe it or not, I can assert myself. Sometimes.”

“No, no. I do believe you. I’m proud. Okay—bottoms up.”

“How’s the combination of venlafaxine and orange juice?”

“I don’t know. Juicy?”

“Better juicy than anxious?”

“You could say that.”

Right, back when Wonwoo actually had the willpower to make himself breakfast rather than slapping a mixed berry Poptart into the toaster or worse, nothing at all. Back when he could wake up before noon without feeling nauseous enough to curl into a ball and drape the sheets over his aching head. Back when he actually took his medicine. Her face beaming at him from across their table had always been like a glass of sunlight and citrus. She had been his own vitamin.

Wonwoo knew he wasn’t going to write. He was just going to stare and mope and ensnare himself in the pinwheel of memories that blew over him whenever he had the gall to reread his past literature.

The Woodstock mug. She’d taken that with her.  

He decided it was strange and sometimes irritating how love, broken or not, could suture itself into even the most mundane things. Orange juice was just that—juice—the carton he used to pick up and impetuously drop into his grocery cart every so often. Now, it wasn’t juice at all, but slow mornings, steaming tea kettles, and reading together on the couch with legs all tangled up until lunch time.

Now, Wonwoo couldn’t drink it at all.

Breaking the lemon raspberry scone in half, Wonwoo dropped a flaky piece into his mouth before it got too cold, and then proceeded to close the document. There was no way in hell he would write, and while he loved drowning in his own misery in order to snuff any glimpse of productivity more than the average individual, he thought it might be worthwhile to finally start that schedule.

[ Wonwoo | 8:20 pm ]: schedule.pdf

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: thanks

[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: don’t piss me off again

—APRIL 30TH.

For an April morning, it was surprisingly bright. The sun was out in full and glistering warmth by the time Wonwoo stepped onto the sidewalk and began pacing down to the park, practically needing to squint the entire way. He almost hated it. Early mornings were not his friend, nor were the blades of light cutting across his glasses. But today was his first writing session with you and Wonwoo knew it was more than crucial that he was the furthest thing from tardy—it would be akin to willingly setting his hands inside a burning fire if not.

You agreed to meet at the park since it was roughly equal distance between Wonwoo’s apartment and some breakfast place you wanted to stop at. He thought it was uncharacteristically thoughtful of you to shoot him a text asking if he wanted anything, though Wonwoo declined nonetheless. It was damn near impossible for him to eat a bite of food until lunch time, hence his expression softening in confusion when he at last climbed into the passenger seat of your sleek silver car and was greeted by you passing him a cold tea.

“Am I… holding this for you?” He wondered, sitting still.

You shook your head. “No. It’s yours.”

“I didn’t ask for anything.”

“Yes, I realize that. I can read, thank you.”

Wonwoo wasn’t going to argue. He simply shut his mouth, clicked on his seatbelt, and set the tea into the cup holder. He then began looking around at your car’s interior. Everything was exceptionally clean and smelled sugary, like iced gingerbread.

The thing was, Wonwoo still wasn’t very sure how to talk to you, and most often there was the stiffest frog in his throat whenever he sat around you in silence for too long. Your thumbs were tapping against your phone at light speed. It reminded him of how Seokmin was texting you back at the boy’s apartment when they were studying for finals. Wonwoo couldn’t help but wonder if Seokmin was naturally more inclined to respond to you out of friendship or fear. Maybe even a pinch of both if that was possible. Another quiet minute passed by.

“Okay, fuck, sorry,” you suddenly spluttered at random, quickly slotting your phone into the GPS holder, “just some shit with my mom. Um, okay. Yeah. We can get going.”

“All good," Wonwoo answered.

“You know where we’re off to?”

“Vaguely. The track by Caldwell High School.”

He watched you flit him a smile. “That’s the place. I’ll explain more once we get there. And, by the way, I am expecting you to drink that tea. It’s not anything crazy. It’s oolong. Only a bit of caffeine.”

“I drink coffee, you know.”

“Yes, and it probably makes you jittery and insufferable.”

Wonwoo preferred not to comment.

The car ride wasn’t too long. Actually, Wonwoo did love a good car ride. He remembered the long trips he used to take with his family to the water park when he was a child, the sensation of the breeze blowing into his face and how different shades of green would scatter in through the windows as the sun hit the tree leaves like emeralds. There was something so limerent and sadly distant about the memory that Wonwoo felt his chest hurt. Even if he were to take that same road, and smell the same breeze, and see his skin glow with the same hues of the forest, he doubted it would feel the same.

His mouth had gone awfully dry. Wonwoo then reached for the cold tea sitting in the cup holder and took a sip, suddenly very appreciative that you had thought to get him something, anyway.

And while he couldn’t be too certain, Wonwoo wanted to think that maybe this would be a good memory, too.

After the half-hour long car ride, Wonwoo made sure to stretch when he stepped out into the empty parking lot. It was cloudier now, a bit more of a breeze to help counteract the warmth that remained in the air. You came around to join him, twisting out a cramp in your leg while adjusting the purse over your shoulder.

The walk to the track field wasn’t long, no more than a few minutes, and Wonwoo obediently trailed at your side until he witnessed the bleachers slowly coming into view. It resurfaced memories from his own high school days in PE, which Wonwoo had actually been quite successful at despite his distaste for sports and their atmosphere in general. He remembered liking kickball the best.

You sighed in a wistful tone while staring across the marked asphalt and fresh April grass. “All high school tracks look the same, don’t they?” Then, you carefully set your purse onto the bleachers.

Wonwoo rolled his shoulders, taking a more observant look around. It wasn’t strikingly different from the track at his high school.

“Sure. I guess.”

“I mean, there are some differences. We had ditches by our track. Come to think of it, I honestly believe they put them there for kids to hurl in from heat stroke or over-exertion… that’s what I did, anyway. It was right before I had to do triple jump. I hated it because you had to really build up speed. I didn’t want to run. So, even if I hadn’t thrown up from heat stroke, I probably would’ve made myself throw up some other way. Straight to the nurse. She gave me a popsicle.”

He glanced at you sideways. “Seriously?”

“Mmhm.”

“You’d rather throw up than hop, like, three times?”

“I said it was the running part I didn’t like.”

Wonwoo couldn’t imagine purposefully making himself upchuck in order to get out of something. If his anxiety was terrible enough, then he wouldn’t even have to worry about it, really.

That was its own mechanism of disaster.

“Running is eighty-percent of Activity Days," Wonwoo said.

You clicked your tongue at him. “Exactly. And I’d do anything to never run. I tried to sit in one time with the seventh graders. They were in their art block and they were doing painting under the trees; birdhouses or something. But their teacher kicked me out. And she didn’t even let me take the fucking birdhouse that I was painting.”

“The nerve,” Wonwoo answered, scratching his temple.

He proceeded to take a seat on the metal bench, rubbing his hands together. He still didn’t know how Mingyu fit into everything.

“So… what’s your plan, here?”

You sat next to him, folding one leg over your thigh and proceeding to reveal a journal that you had stuffed inside your expensive bag. The tips of your fingers skimmed through a few fluttering pages, until you stopped on one in particular that was ink-abused with cursive scribbles. Wonwoo assumed you did most of your planning on a laptop, hence his surprise to learn that you actually used a journal. He had a journal himself, though it hadn’t been touched in months. It mostly contained small poetic excerpts.

Next, you pulled out a pen.

“This is how I first ran into Mingyu. At my school’s track field. He was new and good at all the activities. I swear, his name spread like wildfire. Anyways, I haven’t figured out all the bits and bobs. I want to really soak in the feeling of—oh!” Suddenly, you grasped the journal back onto your lap, the pen hitting the paper in a cursive ribbon that Wonwoo could hardly read. “I just thought of a great line. His eyes, I wanted to soak in them, like an oasis.”

You stabbed the paper again to make a period.

“Not bad,” Wonwoo commented.

“Okay, here it is!” A black case was pulled from your purse, and once you unzipped it, Wonwoo realized it was the video camera that you had initially shown him at his apartment. “Okay, I want you to film some stuff. The field, obviously. I need it from different perspectives. It will help me with setting the scene later on.”

“Why do I have to film it?”

“Because, Seokmin told me you’re quite handy with film equipment stuff, and I don’t want to drop it. So just do it, please?”

Accepting the video camera from your hand, Wonwoo sighed in agreement. Flipping open the side-screen of the camera, Wonwoo began clicking some buttons and adjusting the focus. Luckily, he was familiar with the particular camcorder thanks to a film education course he’d taken outside of school.

While you busied yourself at the bleachers with starting up your laptop, Wonwoo began collecting footage, slowly panning the camera across the vast length of the gravel track and the grassy soccer fields situated beyond. He kept a concentrated eye on the side-screen to ensure the lighting wouldn’t change too drastically. A wind had picked up from over the forest, and he could see how the clouds were consequently being pushed along like herded sheep in the sky.

Once he brushed back the floppy, black hair that kept tickling his face, Wonwoo lowered the camera and turned to you.

“So, where else should I film?”

You were typing something, and didn’t bother looking up.

“Go across the field. Film from the other side.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah.”

“I have to go all the way over there?”

“Yes. Walk, crawl. Skip, hop. I don’t care. Just do it, please.”

“Jesus Christ,” he huffed out, feeling tired and yearning to go home, “I hate how seriously you’re taking this, y’know that?”

Your fingers continued blitzing against the keyboard.

“Nobody likes a complainer.”

Ironic, he thought, but obviously kept to himself.

There wasn’t a point in expecting any sympathy from you—that, he already knew—which engendered Wonwoo’s long, trudging walk from one side of the track to the other, the wind irritably blowing his grown-out locks over his glasses every time he attempted sweeping them back. Hoisting the camera back up, Wonwoo adjusted the side-screen and began his same ritual of steadily panning the camera along the landscape.

You appeared in the view, still sat on the bleachers, though nothing about your face or figure was too discernible. It felt like you were a background character in a painting, just a little glob of acrylic.

“All done?”

Finally, you had glanced up at him with a smile.

Wonwoo nodded. “Unless you need anything else filmed?”

“No, that should be enough. The track is most important.”

“Right.”

He tried giving back the camera.

“Actually, do you mind keeping it?”

“Um, okay. But how will you look at the footage?

“Dropbox. We’ll share one. Upload the clips there.”

Wonwoo plopped himself back down on the bench, fitting the camcorder into its black case. He pulled the zipper along the seam.

“How much longer do we need to be here?”

“Not that much. Just let me finish this paragraph.”

There was a dull pain throbbing at the front of his skull, edging down to his temples—across his nose bridge where his glasses pressed in more tightly than usual. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a deep breath, trying to escape the feeling, the nausea, the chills that were beginning to seep up his neck as the wind blew turbulently against him. It would be embarrassing if this happened here, right in front of you. The hard lump had suddenly lurched forward in Wonwoo’s throat but he leaned his head down last minute and swallowed it despite the roughness. No, everything was okay.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

Wonwoo opened his eyes, staring down at the trembling hands buried in his lap. Subtly, he pulled the sleeves of his cardigan over them. He assumed his face was reflecting a sheer, sickly opacity.

“Nothing.”

“Uh, sure. Now look me in the eyes and say that.”

Again, Wonwoo swallowed, but he managed nonetheless.

“Nothing’s wrong. I get headaches sometimes. That’s all.”

“… Oh. Well, I’m basically done here. I was gonna ask if you wanted to walk a lap around the track with me, but maybe we should just go home. I mean, how bad is it? Your headache?”

Yes, yes. Home. Wonwoo wanted to go home. He had only been away from his apartment for a solid two hours, and yet all his mind and body’s energy had completely drained. He felt dried out, withered, fragile as tempered glass. Going home sounded cosmic. 

“It’s getting better. I wouldn’t mind walking with you.”

“Oh! Cool. If it gets really bad, just tell me.” You then spent a minute collecting your belongings back into the cream purse.

Wonwoo immediately looked the other way, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair, mouthing a string of guttural curse words directed at his discombobulated head. Because what the hell was he doing? All his relief and peace had just suckled itself down an invisible drain. Why on earth did he agree? Why?

“I think this will help me, too," you said, having left the shiny bleachers behind, instead kicking the pebbles at your feet, “if we walk the entire track, then it’s like we did the four-hundred meter.”

“You’re supposed to run the four-hundred meter.”

“Well, I know that.”

“I’m surprised you hate running. I mean, you walk so fucking quickly sometimes.”

He heard you snort, clearly amused by his observation.

“It’s because I’ve mastered the art of sashaying. To have a perfect sashay, you can’t walk too slow, but you also can’t walk too fast. It’s like a strut. You need to have confidence while you do it. It lets people know that you’re serious and professional. I’m not dragging my feet, but I’m also not in a rush. It’s the perfect pace.”

Wonwoo sniffled and scrunched the glasses up his nose, continuing alongside you at a pace that was rather aimless.

“I didn’t realize there was a science behind sashaying.”

“Now you know,” you declared.

Wonwoo’s  upper lip quirked slightly, and a small grin appeared on his face, which was starting to dapple with colour.

“I don’t sashay, do I?”

At that, you laughed, “no, you amble.”

“Yeah, I’m an ambler… which basically means I’m an unmotivated, pointless person who will probably go nowhere in life.”

For a moment, you stopped walking, and you merely furrowed your brow at him while your forehead creased with thought. Wonwoo stopped as well. He raked back his fluttering, windswept hair and smirked, flashing his teeth. The behaviour was uncharacteristically snide and a bit of a dig at your bluntness, but he couldn’t help it.

“Don’t remember, huh?”

“No… but it sounds familiar.”

“You told me that, the day I met you—that people who walk slowly are unmotivated and pointless. Their life is a waste, basically.”

He noticed your eyes shift up toward the right, as though you were pulling the memory forward from the intricate files of your brain. And then you started to smile, and it made Wonwoo smile, too.

“Oh, I do believe I said that.” You started walking again, and he followed. “Ha! Wow, you’re right. I said that. I’m so funny. I mean, I was right. You only walk slow when you have nowhere to be.”

“I did have somewhere to be. I was going to meet you.”

“Well, then you just didn’t care.” He felt your elbow press shallowly into his rib. “See what I mean? Unmotivated and pointless. And, honestly, I would have taken your apathy as more of an insult if it wasn’t for the fact that you seem to treat most things like that.”

“So, I’m just supposed to accept that you’re calling me a loser? How do people normally react when you say things like that?”

“Things like what? They’re just my observations about the world. You are a person in this world. I was making an observation about you. Albeit, it came across strongly. But I don’t know. No one ever cared about being gentle or sugar-coating with me. Gives you tough skin, y’know? Metaphorically, of course! I always moisturize.”

 Wonwoo scoffed, smiling at your nonchalance. “The way you word things is honestly fascinating.”

“Psh. How do you even remember that?”

“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem that hard to remember. It was a pretty memorable, somewhat awful experience, to be fair.”

“Awful?” You retaliated in unprecedented disbelief, pushing into his arm until he allowed his tall frame to stumble. “Try again.”

“Interesting?” Wonwoo substituted, his heart thumping. 

Your eyes were narrowed at him, glimmering with a sharpness that made his fingers clench into anxious fists.

“… That’s a little better.”

He exhaled a soft breath of relief.

As you began nearing the full circle, Wonwoo realized his head had eased from its horrible aching and the chills dampening down his neck were gone. Everything didn’t feel as awful compared to before. He was still tired, and his energy was sputtering in tiny, dying sparks, but at least his desire to crawl under the earth and degrade to his bare bones had subsided into something less morose.

“I heard you were having a get together next week,” Wonwoo decided to ask, rounding the last bend in the track.

“Oh, the dinner party?”

“Yeah. Seokmin’s helping you plan it, right?”

“He is. Which I appreciate. My mom is usually the one in charge of everything, and she loathes it. But, I mean, when we try to help her, she just ends up fretting even more—says we’re basically getting in the way and ruining it. I don’t know. She’s such a snappy perfectionist. Seokmin can have fun dealing with that.”

Wonwoo almost made a thoughtless comment in response to your story—he’s probably had eons of practice with you—though the pieces connected just in time and his mouth sealed shut.

“Your dad can’t help either?” He questioned instead.

“Ha! No way. My dad helping is a recipe for fucking disaster if I’ve ever seen it. He’s painfully bad at decorating, can hardly be trusted to cook or invite anyone from the guest list. The most my mom allows him to do is set the table.” You then scoffed, shooting a pebble forward with the tip of your shoe. “I swear, he knows exactly how to push my mom’s buttons. The faster he does it, the quicker she kicks him out and he’s absolved of all chores. What a cheat, huh?”

“Hm, yeah… is Mingyu going?”

“Of course.” You smiled. “He always goes.”

At that point, you had circled back to the bleachers. Adjusting the bag strewn over your shoulder, you heaved out a longing sigh.

“Well, that’s four-hundred meters in the books.”

“Is it everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?”

You cackled, “not even close. I think I was right to avoid it.”

—MAY 3RD.

Wonwoo slid his pharmacy badge through the time-machine until he heard the beep. After an eight-hour shift, he was hungry and tired, but Wonwoo also knew the second that he got home, his urge to eat and desire to sleep would be gone. Instead, he would spend his midnight staring up at the ceiling, thinking. About anything and everything, and nothing at all. When the first cracks of dawn light would spill in from under his curtain, then he would close his eyes.

It was all very typical.

He stood outside the store, phone in hand, waiting for Vernon to pick him up because Wonwoo hadn’t felt like walking home despite the softness of the nighttime wind and the alabaster moon’s shining ambiance. The mirage was pretty and he enjoyed it, but his feet were too sore to inch him another step. Luckily, Vernon didn’t take long.

Luckily, he was the only one of Wonwoo’s few friends with a sleep schedule just as horridly fucked up as his. It was eleven at night, but on a weekday? The dead, empty street testified for him.

“Heyy, Glasses,” Vernon sang in his throaty voice as Wonwoo climbed into the passenger seat, “you look like a prostitute standin’ there, waitin’ for me to come get your ass. But a sophisticated one.”

The interior didn’t smell heavily of weed, he noted. Thank fucking god, Vernon had finally paid someone to dry clean it. Either that, or he took the initiative into his own hands.

“I highly doubt you have ever seen a prostitute in your entire life. And the fact you think they’d be standing outside a pharmacy at one of the quietest parts on this block attests to that.”

“God, I hate when you get all technical n’ shit. Such a stiff.”

“I’m tired.”

“Yeah, well. You’re always tired. N’ for the record, I have seen a prostitute, outside Room 319. It was a week before Christmas; she had this huge coat on, walkin’ up to people in her pink heels and this crazy eyeshadow that made her eyes pop. I bet she’s a nice girl.”

“Mhm. I bet she was.”

“Oh, you’re a cunt, yeah? You don’t believe me.”

“Does it matter?”

“I’ll take you one day. Room 319’s got a table with your name on it. They’ve got this one shot, the Stabilizer— it’ll put you down like a fuckin’ sick dog but it gets you the best drunk of your life. Maybe we’ll even run into Pink Heels lady. She’s our Halley’s Comet.”

“Halley’s Comet only comes once every seventy-five years. “

“You know what the fuck I meant.”

“Not interested.”

Vernon blinked at him for a moment in the dull light, and then he sighed, forfeiting. He placed the tip of the key in the ignition, but he quickly removed it as though he remembered something.

“Wait, I’ve gotta ask—how’s it going with Her?”

Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Wonwoo reached for the seatbelt and pulled it slowly across his chest, debating how intelligent of an idea it would be to entertain Vernon’s curiosity. But he could also understand the allure. You were like this enigmatic myth that people craved to know about, even if it frightened them.

Wonwoo’s head collapsed back against the seat.

“It’s going well.”

Vernon spat out a boisterous laugh, a hand slapping down on his knee. “Jesus Christ. You’re so dry, man. That’s it?”

“I mean, it’s true. We’ve started the book. Or, she has.”

“Okay, and?” Vernon attempted to engage him further.

“And, what?”

“What’s she like, obviously? Is she actually a fuckin’ psychopath? Is she normal? Can she walk on her hands? I dunno!”

Wonwoo rubbed underneath his glasses. He didn’t really want to talk about you when you weren’t there. It felt like a Bloody Mary situation, where you’d magically conjure in the backseat to sinch your cold hands around his neck and wrangle him limp and lifeless. But then there were Vernon’s shimmeringly prying eyes that just wouldn’t stop burning Wonwoo no matter how hard he bit his tongue.

“I have nothing to say. She’s cool.”

“Oh my fuckin’ God.” Vernon slacked back into his seat, clutching at his steering wheel. “You just don’t wanna talk about it… oh! Shit. I just remembered. She’s having a dinner party tonight, isn’t she? In Hill Crest. Or as I like to call it, Rich People Neighbourhood.”

“Yeah, that’s where her parents live… how do you know that?”

“Shit!” Vernon immediately shuffled up in his seat and delivered a hard smack into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “We should drive down and check it out! Right fuckin’ now!” He was lit up with excitement, even though Wonwoo considered it a terrible idea.

“No. Absolutely not. And answer my question.”

“Was sittin’ behind Seokmin at Solar Pop, he talks really loud, happened to overhear some things—doesn’t matter. I think we should go! C’mon, allow some spontaneity into your life! Why not?”

“What the fuck do you mean, why? It’s a family party. With some close friends, which—in case you haven’t noticed—neither of us are. You can’t fucking crash a family dinner party. Who does that? Not to mention the fact that it's eleven at night. They're probably washing up. Sending people home. By the time we get there, it's lights out."

“Aren’t you her friend?”

“No. I’m just someone who’s doing her a favour.”

“Favours are from friends.”

“We’re. Not. Friends.”

“Okay—fuck, Glasses. Fine. We won’t crash the stupid dinner party. But don’t you wanna go for a drive or something? I’m tellin’ you, the houses are insane. Last time I went down there, it was for a big fuckin’ party some dude at your university threw. I think I ran this by you already, when I talked about tryin’ to chat up Her. I stopped by with my old friend—y’know, Dots, the guy that died from the overdose and everything. That party was crazy. It was in a mansion.”

“Vernon,” Wonwoo had just finished massaging the throbs at his warm temples, “we are not going to Hill Crest.”

His friend swung his head in disapproval, making a tsking sound with his teeth. “Such a fuckin’ stiff.” He started the car. “It’s the fact I know you have jack shit to do tonight, or tomorrow.”

“I’m not gonna do some stalker drive-by on her house.”

“You don’t wanna do Room 319. You don’t wanna judge a bunch of richies sittin’ up in their ivory towers. I mean, it’s not like we’re eggin’ them or spray painting fuckin’ curse words on their eight-door garages. What do you wanna do?”

Wonwoo rolled down the window and leaned his face toward the moonlight, to which he could feel the wind brush up against his skin in feathery strokes, as though it were caressing him. He knew that Vernon meant in a general sense rather than in the heat of the moment. But in a general sense, Wonwoo would rather not be anywhere at all. He would rather do nothing, or even exist.

“Can you just take me home? Please?”

Vernon exhaled a defeated gust of breath and began to angle his tires away from the curb, the pharmacy lights pulled behind them.

“Yeah, ‘course. Mr. Boring.”

—01:49

Wonwoo hadn’t been able to fall asleep since Vernon dropped him off a couple hours ago. He’d anticipated that. Usually, Wonwoo wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t toss or turn, or pace circles around his bedroom, or count down from one-hundred, because even if he did, none of it would work. His mind would still be wide awake.

Hence Wonwoo’s decision to grab his phone. Staring at a lurid screen definitely wasn’t going to help, though he wasn’t trying to sleep, anyway. That conversation with Vernon was repeating in his head like a chattering bird, pushing him, pushing him, pushing him to find your Instagram and dig into your pictures because now Wonwoo was thinking of your dinner party and how vehemently you seemed to hate it. He saw that you had posted something quite recently, around the same time Wonwoo had left the pharmacy.

For a moment, his thumb hovered over the post.

He didn’t want to press it because he didn’t care.

Or, maybe he did.

There were multiple pictures in the set, and Wonwoo flicked through all of them. Some were of food, close-ups of your jewelry—you even included a picture with Seokmin. But then Wonwoo had settled on the last photo and something in his stomach convulsed.

He recognized the dress like a flash of light—the sapphire one with the glimmering detail that you had modelled for him at the expensive boutique in the mall. Of course, that arm hanging cheekily low around your hip belonged to your boyfriend, Mingyu. He had a champagne glass pressed to his lips, fitted in his black suit with his hair neatly combed and styled into place. The smugness in his face was stifling. Wonwoo rolled onto his stomach, his eyes refusing to drift from the picture for even an instant. He just kept staring.

Staring and thinking. Staring and thinking.

One minute spent staring at your smile.

The next minute at the low placement of Mingyu’s hand.

Another minute staring at your sparkling dress.

The next minute at Mingyu’s brutally cocky expression.

He would switch back and forth.

But Wonwoo didn’t really care. He was just bored.

And alone with his thoughts.

—END OF PART PART ONE.

NOTE! while i truly cherish & adore all comments, pls refrain from remarks such as "pls post part x" "i need part x" "when are you posting part x" while i do understand the sentiment, i find these comments very dismissive & kinda disrespectful! i don't prefer to post series fics and so i don't receive these often, but pls note that if you comment this i will delete the comment!

the fic itself is completely done, so all i have to do is get the parts ready for posting. however, bc this is the first part, i don't have a set posting schedule just yet. i think it will depend on roughly how long those who read the fic take to finish it! but i will be sure to make a post about it or include the schedule in part two once i figure it out!

again, thank u so much your ur patience :3

much luv!! 💕

[miaoua3]

hii !! i'd like to request for "sitting in between wonu's thighs while he stimulates ur clit as u lay back on his chest" thank you <3

hii! sure, i hope you enjoy this!

Wonwoo, The Menace

Pairing: bf! wonwoo x f! reader

Genre: smut….just…smut

Description: wonwoo gets in one of his moods again, you end up being on the receiving end of it (not that you complain (well kind of))

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

so, here’s the thing. wonwoo, your beautiful and sweet boyfriend, was usually nothing more than perfect, always so sweet and caring to you. on any other day, you would describe him as nothing more than as an angel.

on any other day. but not today.

see, wonwoo sometimes gets into these…moods, where without any explanation whatsoever decides to make it mission to make you suffer (well not really but also kind of).

and he usually decides to do it by teasing you for hours to no end with the help of your little pink vibrator.

about an hour ago, wonwoo randomly pulled you with him to your bedroom, kissing you like he hasn’t tasted you in years, hands groping your ass and tits like his life depended on it.

gradually, his pace slowed down, the closer you two got to the bed. once the back of his knees hit the bed, he broke off the kiss in order to slowly lower himself down on it, keeping up with the eye contact, as well as letting his hands slowly slide down from your back all the way down to your thighs.

and his eyes? if eyes could talk his would say “i am going to have so much fun with making you scream and moan my name all night long."

the thought sent shivers down your spine.

ever so slowly, he moved himself so he was sitting in the middle of the bed with his back against the board of it.

with dark eyes looking at you, he patted one of his thick thighs that were now spread.

“strip and sit.”

that was an hour ago. an hour of agonising pleasure and hundreds of tears rolling down your cheeks, your hands holding onto his arms tightly, his dirty mouth whispering profanities and encouraging words all in the same breath in your ear from behind.

you have already orgasmed two times already, simply from him holding the little vibrator to your clit while his other indecisive hand restlessly went from playing with your nipples to playing with the entrance of your pussy.

something about the whole thing- him being fully clothed while you were completely naked, letting yourself be at his mercy, following all of his instructions to the t, him going from “oh, you want my fingers? does my little princess want my fingers inside her hungry little pussy? hm? beg for it then.” to “such a good girl, keeping her hands to herself. cum for me, make a mess for me.” all in the same breath.

something about everything was so hot to you, which made your pleasure increase by the suspense of hopefully finally having him fuck you.

wonwoo was currently working on the orgasm number 3 from you, his lips brushing your ear as he’s whispering naughty words into it, his hand gently resting against the base of your neck while his other hand is holding the little toy to your clit.

you can feel your legs shaking against his own, you can also feel your hands holding onto his wrists tightly, as well as the tears continuously falling from your eyes and sobs mixed with moans break out of you.

you can feel all this, and yet your mind is thousand of miles away, floating away from you that you’re not entirely aware of all your actions. the only thing that you can focus on is wonwoo’s firm chest against your back and the pleasure his hand is currently bringing to you.

trying to stop your legs from shaking so much, wonwoo reaches with his free hand to hold your thigh in place. focusing on his veiny hand squeezing your leg, you hear your lover murmur "fuck, you're shaking so much-does it feel good? hm? is my baby feeling so good that she can't control herself? fuck it- i want you to cum on my fingers" he decides on quickly.

turning the vibrator off, he throws it to the side before he starts rubbing your clit with the two of his fingers quickly, his mouth nibbling and sucking on the skin of your neck as you rapidly approach your end.

before you can even warn him, you feel yourself cumming, your moans filling the otherwise quiet room. you seemingly black out due to the immense pleasure, so much so that you aren't even aware that you just squirted all over your bedsheets.

with your head resting against wonwoo's chest, it takes you a few moments to come back to yourself. it is only then that you notice both the wetness of the sheets beneath you, as well as how quiet your boyfriend has gone, you slowly turn your head upwards to him, your cheeks burning in embarrassment.

wonwoo's eyes are solely focused on your quivering legs and the wetness of the sheets, his pupils fully blown, making them look almost black.

unconsciously, you tighten the hold of your hand on his arm that wrapped itself around your chest as you were orgasming to keep you in place.

finally breaking out of his trance at your movement, he slowly moves his focus from between your legs to your eyes. in a blink of an eye, his hand moves from resting on your chest to grasping your jaw, tilting your head more to the back before he kisses you, his tongue entering your mouth with no manners at all, battling for its dominance against your own.

breaking the kiss briefly, he utters "fuck, that was so hot." before going back to kissing you again, only to interrupt himself again. "need you to do that again, around my cock."

gasping, you ask him "again?"

he pecks your lips gently once, twice, before he looks at you with lustful eyes.

"what, you didn't think i was done with you baby, did you?"

and the little sinister smirk told you that

he wasn't going to let you out of his arms the entire night.

��••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

hope this is okay, i know it’s a bit short but that’s because i have 16 MORE REQUESTS TO ANSWER BLODDY HELL and also because i wrote this with shaky hands due to drinking coffee first thing in the morning😭 anyway love ya🫶

[jeonride]

svt reading list / fic recs!

don't forget to like + reblog fics that you like to support the authors <33

navigation

FICS ! ✧*。

svt hospital | svt x fem!reader (fluff, angst, you should really start to read this!) by @taeyegu

in pursuit of wedded bliss | svt regency au, romance, historical au by @fantasyescapes17

kinktober 2022 | (smut) by @duhnova

doting on you! | svt hhu x pets series (fluff, mild angst, smut) by @lovelyhan

apartment 5c | 96 line (fluff, slice of life, humor, smau) by @suhnshinehaos

the king's gambit | 95 line (smut, fluff, angst, slowburn) by @duhnova @onlyhuis @onlymingyus

angel's trumpets | joshua, wonwoo x undercover cop!reader (light angst, suspense/thriller, cheating, smut) by @sunnylovespickles you have to read this this is so amazing

demon's play | seungcheol, dino x fem!reader (smut, dark, fantasy) by @bitchlessdino

bad girls make good boys cry | joshua (smut, fluff) by @duhnova

little miss naughty | jeonghan (smut) by @hoshzone

doe eyes | dino (smut) by @duhnova

midnight appetite | mingyu, wonwoo x female!reader (smut, threesome) by @writeformesinpie

just peachy | seokmin, wonwoo x afab!reader (smut, threesome) by @xddaengx

sweater paws | jeonghan (smut, fluff, sub!jeonghan) by @duhnova

wine & dine | seungcheol (smut, fluff, husband!cheol) by @ally-127

eggs, bacon, and sausage sandwich | wonwoo, mingyu x female reader (smut, threesome) by @bitchlessdino

work husband | mingyu, wonwoo x female reader (fluff, cute omg, office au) by @rubyreduji

moira | seungcheol, chan x oc (mystery like that, contains smut) by @sunnylovespickles

biting his pecs | jun (nsfw) by @onlyhuis

made with love | joshua (fluff, dad!joshua) by @icyminghao

just deserts | minghao, wonwoo x fem!reader (smut, threesome) by @seungkwansphd

don't listen in secret (ot13 series, fwb) by @j6shua

dressing room | hao, wonwoo + fem!reader (smut, threesome) by @cheolhub

good to us | mingyu, wonwoo x fem!reader (smut, threesome) by @multi-kpop-fanfics

gamers do it better | wonwoo, seungcheol x fem!reader (smut, threesome) by @sluttywonwoo

new rules | performance unit x mafia au by @toruro

can i buy you a drink? | mingyu, wonwoo x female!reader (smut, threesome) by @97-liners

DRABBLES / HARD THOUGHTS ! ✧*。

wanting you to beg | hhu (smut) by @hoshzone

17.12 | joshua, smut by @lovelyhan

dad!hoshi by @number1mingyustan

sub!mingyu (smut) by @euphoricsunflowers

touch starved (hhu) by @wqnwoos

svt as the children of greek gods by @rubyreduji

smut vernon drabble by @rubyreduji

smut reactions (ot13) by @sluttywonwoo

condescension in bed (minghao, seungcheol, wonwoo, joshua) by @toruro

cum inside (ot13) by @hoshzone

degradation kink (ot13) by @nsfwhao

drunk svt with their s/o by @gyuslcve

humiliation kink (ot13) by @cheolhub

who would be into pussy slapping? from here until "accidentally swiping onto nude picts" are made by @sluttyminghao

them with vibrator cock ring (ot13)

accidentally swiping onto nude picts (ot13)

svt as type of affections by @yrhome

partner privilege (ot13) by @blue-jisungs

svt do your make up by @lovingseventeen

hip hop unit masterlist by @bibinnieposts

COMPLETE MASTERLIST! YOU NEED THIS by @bibinnieposts

[fairyhaos]

how seventeen act with their doctor* s/o

*encompasses doctors, medical students and anything related to medicine or science bc as a literature/ law girly it's hard for me to be specific on this 😭

masterlist

seungcheol, hoshi, seungkwan, chan

soooooo so unfathomably proud. brings it up whenever he can bc he knows that it's a big achievement and takes so, so much effort on your part and he wants people to acknowledge just how smart and hard working you are. offers to be your ‘rubber duck’ that you bounce medical terms off of while you're rambling or revising, and gosh everything sounds so so complicated and he wants to just hug you and praise you and tell you how incredible you are for knowing all of these horribly complex-sounding things. wants to know everything, from the stuff that you're studying to that doctor's oath you have to take and can you actually instantly diagnose someone just from looking at them like those doctors do in medical dramas?

jeonghan, joshua, wonwoo, woozi, minghao

concerned about you overworking yourself, mainly. it's a difficult path to go down, and he knows that it's going to require long hours and sleepless nights but he makes a point to stress how you and your mental health comes before anything else, okay? he knows that your degree and your accomplishments are important, but what's the point in an accomplishment if you're too burnt out to relish it? lets you talk to him about a particularly bad day, where you were swamped in assignments or tests or the hospital was horribly busy and you didn't even get to sit down once. kisses your forehead gently and whispers softly until you finally fall asleep, exhausted but relaxed by his unfaltering presence

junhui, mingyu, dokyeom, vernon

you know that cliche thing in medical kdramas where the bf brings food for their doctor s/o who's working overtime? is that actually allowed??? well, whether it's allowed or not, he does it, and it makes you want to cry out of happiness every time. he's just a sweet, slightly clueless bf okay. understands nothing about what you do but is supporting you no matter what, because damn getting into medicine is hard and yet you're doing it so well. was binge watching greys anatomy this one time (the suspense of it was good okay) and you plopped down onto the sofa next to him and gave him a running commentary on all the inaccuracies, so now whenever anyone brings up that show, he goes off on a tangent about how horribly fake the entire set-up of it is

request guidelines

reactions tags:

@weird-bookworm @minhui896 @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @yonabutnotyuna @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @hanniehaee @astrozuya @eightlightstar @onlyyjeonghan @aaniag @amxlia-stars @all-american-fangirl

[kimingyuslover]

WOOZI FIC RECS

of boobs and bases until dilf!jihoon belongs to @rubyreduji

of boobs and bases (smut, fluff, rockstar!reader)

summary: jihoon gets to meet his favorite rockstar, things only go up from there

jihoon's puppy (angst, fluff, college!au)

summary: jihoon can’t seem to shake the puppy dog who keeps following him around or the teasing he gets for it

my puppy (smut, additional pt. 2 of jihoon's puppy)

summary: jihoon takes care of his puppy

sink your teeth into my neck (smut, vampire!jihoon)

➥ you and jihoon make sure to take care of each other, always giving what the other needs

mr. lee's wingsmen (fluff, coworker!au)

➥ jihoon is convinced his co-worker doesn’t like him back, his students aren’t as convinced

standing guard of my heart (fluff, royalty au, it’s not enemies to lovers but jihoon doesn’t like reader to begin with)

➥ after recent attacks on the royal family, you’re assigned to be prince jihoon’s personal guard. a position not suit for the weak of heart

➥ a knight's devotion (smut extra, 2.7k)

woozi as ceo (smut) pt. 2

she got the ruby (smut)

summary: you try a new shade of lipstick

dilf!jihoon (smut)

yearning by @jihoonotes (smau, angst, fluff, humor)

synopsis: for yn it was love at first sight, but for jihoon it was annoyed at first sight..

no nut november by @taeyegu (humor, sexual themes/innuendos, emotionally constipated jihoon and y/n)

summary — no nut november should be a piece of cake for jihoon. he easily has the most self-control out of all his members. that and the fact that he's the only one without a significant other.

catch me by @viastro (best friends to strangers to lovers!au (kinda?), spiderman!woozi, action, angst, some suspense, some fluff, some humor)

ミ☆ synopsis: jihoon didn’t want any weaknesses, he couldn’t afford to have any. that’s why he ended your guys friendship. he couldn’t risk your life because of how dangerous his lifestyle is, but everything seems to crumble the moment he saves you for the first time.

don't sweat it by @miraclewoozi (smut, fluff, gym crush!au, strangers to lovers!au, kinda idiots to lovers!au)

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you.

gymrat boyfriend by @dirtysvthoughts (smut, ft. wonwoo)

Spotted : woozi at couples therapy!? by @mphountitled (smut)

Synopsis: A kink confession in couple's therapy might just save your relationship

ceo husband!woozi by @bluejeanstrash (smut, fluff)

elevator by @wongyuuu (angst, soulmate!au, this fic is when i tell you i cried in a decent amount)

sumary: in a world where soulmates exists, jihoon is faced with difficult decisions

gym crush!jihoon by @svtswhorehouse (smut)

[wheeboo]

12:10am | jeon wonwoo

SYNOPSIS. in which wonwoo comforts you during a horror movie. PAIRING. jeon wonwoo x gn!reader GENRE. fluff, comfort, established relationship WARNINGS. terms of endearment (love, sweetheart, babe), kissing WORD COUNT: 952

requested by anon: can you write about s/o watching horror movie with wonwoo ;)) like she loves watching horror movie but is a lil scared lol thank youu <3

notes: i do recommend the movie mentioned in the drabble! it's a taiwanese horror film and it actually got me good and i love horror movies too lmao

"Okay, how about this one?" Wonwoo scrolls on Netflix before landing on a horror movie called Incantation, and as the preview plays you find yourself a bit engrossed for a moment, eyes widening to a scene on the screen.

"Oh my gosh, is it... It's one of those found footage films." You mutter out lowly.

Wonwoo lifts a brow. "So a no?"

"No, it's okay. It's just..." You lean in a bit to the screen to get a better look, brows scrunching together to the eerie-looking woman displayed on the cover with her hands fixed in a strange formation. "I know people who've watched this, and they said it was really scary. Like actually."

Wonwoo just chuckles lightly and spreads out the blanket so that it covered over both of your bodies. He snakes an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, and you immediately feel the comfort of his warmth molding with yours. The two of you have watched quite a lot of horror movies together, but it's very rare to see you a bit terrified before the movie even started.

"Hmm, you know I'm here to protect you, love," Wonwoo assures, a hint of tease in his voice as he reaches a finger to push some hair behind your ears.

You roll your eyes playfully. Normally you're good at handling horror films and don't need the protection of your own boyfriend𑁋well, only sometimes like before going to bed since you're terrified of having nightmares𑁋and can carry yourself pretty well for the most part. But upon knowing what other people have said about the movie, maybe cuddling up to Wonwoo isn't the worst idea in the world. It never is, anyway.

Smiling faintly, you lean into his embrace and hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your side.

"If I, uh... scream, I'm sorry," You tell him somewhat embarrassingly, letting your arms wrap him as if you're holding onto him for dear life.

Wonwoo's laughter rumbles against your ear in response to your confession. He holds you a little closer, and you feel the tips of his fingers meet some exposed skin to your waist where your shirt had ridden up slightly.

"Well, if you scream, it must mean you're pretty immersed in the movie, right?" he asks tauntingly.

You lightly nudge his side with your elbow and lean back slightly, playfully giving him a mock glare. "You better prepare yourself then."

All he does is press a gentle kiss to the top of your head. "I'm always prepared, sweetheart."

As the movie begins, you find yourself getting drawn into its uncanny storyline. The found footage style adds an unsettling realism that sends shivers down your spine, and you can't help the urge of wanting to hide your face away in the sheets.

Throughout the movie, Wonwoo doesn't ever let go; if anything, he manages to hold you even closer as if he was a bit scared himself𑁋you'll definitely tease him about that later. The suspenseful scenes play with your nerves, yet his presence calms your racing heart. You find yourself alternating between gripping onto his shirt during the tense moments and leaning into his warmth during the quieter scenes.

During a particularly intense jumpscare, you can't help but cling to him tightly, your fingers clutching onto the fabric of his shirt, and you swear you even feel him jump as well. Wonwoo responds by holding you even closer, his fingers gently rubbing soothing circles on your back. Then when the scene dissipates, you loosen your fingers.

"Doing okay?" he asks quietly.

You lift your head up to look at him. "Yeah," Then you reach over to straighten his glasses. "Thank you."

With your heart feeling a little lighter, you settle back into his embrace. The plot continues to thicken and weave together, the anticipation building up once more as the end came closer with everything coming full circle. The tense atmosphere of the film no longer holds the same grip on you as before, and you find yourself commenting more about what was happening in the movie with Wonwoo right next to you listening carefully.

When the credits start to roll, you exchange a knowing look with Wonwoo.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asks as you separate yourself from him to stretch your limbs.

"In the beginning, maybe a bit." Then you shoot a smirk in his direction. "But you got scared at some points, right?"

Wonwoo raises an eyebrow at your teasing tone, but a sheepish smile tugs at the corners of his lips. "Scared? Me? I don't think so."

"Oh really? So those subtle jumps and grips on my shirt were just... for dramatic effect?"

Wonwoo clears his throat, trying to maintain his composed façade. "Exactly. I was just trying to add more to the horror experience for you."

"Ah, of course," You reply mockingly. "How thoughtful of you to sacrifice your bravery for my enjoyment."

He playfully rolls his eyes, unable to hide his amusement any longer. "Okay, fine, I admit it. There were a couple of moments that got to me."

You grin cheekily. "A couple of moments, huh? So you were scared after all?"

Wonwoo huffs a breath and wraps his arms around you once more. "I was just... momentarily surprised."

"Pfft, 'momentarily surprised', whatever you say, babe," You quip jokingly as you lean your head back on his chest.

His chest vibrates with a chuckle as he holds you back in his arms where you rightfully belong. "Alright, you win this round."

This makes you nuzzle your face in his neck, smiling against his skin as you place a few pecks to the skin there. He tilts his head slightly to give you better access, his laughter turning into a soft sigh of contentment.

"Good," is all you mutter.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm

[pandenewie]

38 - The Updated Dress Code

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Attention all students of Be Lift High,

In light of recent events regarding our school’s dress code, it has been brought to the attention of the school board that some changes need to be made. As an education facility, we wish for our students to feel comfortable and safe in our classrooms and hope that these recent changes will allow that, without disregarding our school policies. Below is a list of our updated dress code.

Shirts and tops:

All tops must meet or cover the waistband of chosen bottoms when standing normally (exposure of midriff when arms are raised will no longer be called out on)

Spaghetti straps are now accepted as long as undergarment straps are not show

Strapless tops, backless tops, midriffs and low-cut necklines are still prohibited but may be worn is covered by a cardigan or sweater

Clothing must not display graphic images of violence, alcohol, drugs, gang symbolism or sexual references

Bottoms:

Skirts, dresses and shorts must be mid-thigh or lower

Athletic shorts and leggings are now permitted as long as they are in good condition

Pants are to stay up at all times. Low rise is acceptable if midriff is not showing

Any pants with rips above the knee are prohibited - rips from the knee down are acceptable

Outerwear:

Hats, hoods and beanies are permitted on school grounds but may be asked to be removed in the classroom - teachers will set their own expectations of this.

The same rules apply to coats, wind-breakers and other outer layers

Hair:

Hair must be kept tidy and out of one’s eyes

Rules surrounding hair colours no longer apply but styles must be school appropriate

All hair shoulder length and below must be tied up during physical activity and in science labs

Jewellery:

Piercings are allowed but must be kept tidy - studs and small rings are acceptable. 

All piercings must be taken out during physical activity (excluding lobe piercings)

There are no limits to jewellery as long as it is school appropriate. Jewellery with inappropriate words/images is prohibited

All jewellery must be taken out during physical activity

Our staff will also be more mindful of what is/is not breaking the dress code to minimise unfair punishment in the future. We have set up a new system to prevent violations of the dress code:

Breaking the dress code once will result in a warning

Breaking the dress code twice (same offence) will result in said item being confiscated

Breaking the dress code a third time will result in an after school detention

Once a student has received 5 detentions for the same offence, a meeting with the family will be called to discuss further punishment (which can result in suspension)

We have done our best to listen to our students' concerns as well as uphold our school’s expectations and hope that this updated dress code is satisfactory. If there are any concerns or queries, students and families can report to our Council Dean, Mr Jeon Wonwoo or Be Lift High Principal Bang Si Hyuk.

Be Lift High Faculty

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[yuzukult]

crush 02 | jww & oc/reader

title: crush 02 / part of the attacca series pairing: jeon wonwoo x reader/oc (ft. seokmin) rating: 16+ (mentions of sex, but no act of sex) genre: angst, fluff, eventual smut, racecar driver!au, mechanic!au wc: 5.2k summary: all he knows are fast rides, drag-strips, and speed ovals until he meets you, someone that’s got his heart racing instead of his car. warnings: explicit language, smoking, suggestive content (but nothing follows through), mentions of sex a/n: yes i know im better at updating this than ybny but what of it

You could almost feel the piercing glare that lasers in the direction of Wonwoo from Seokmin.

They exchange glances, both adjusting the shield attached to their helmets in unison. Hopping in, they both start their routine the same: pulling their seatbelt over themselves, clicking it into the plug connector—the front clip, rear clip, and middle section for security.

While Wonwoo’s car has a matte black body with a white circle decal of his designated number five, Seokmin sports a flashy lime green with a three spray painted on the side. Their vehicles are slimmer than the ones on the streets; there’s barely room for another passenger, the roll cage taking up majority of the inside, nose of the car tapered and pointed for the best aerodynamic features, and the suspension is low to allow less air to allow them to stick to the ground.

Or so, that’s what Seokmin says.

You don’t really understand the mumbo jumbo about racing.

But what you do understand is that everything happens quickly. 

Their engines start with a roar, a soft rumble following, with smoke puffing out of their exhaust pipe like a bull kicking their feet against the dirt with a bellow and gruff, except in lieu, it’s on an asphalt road with drivers. The crowd goes wild, waving their banners and flags, displaying visuals of their favorite racers and teams on their attire, tearing up the merchandise stands and tossing their money in the sellers’ way. You never really understood the temptation to overly purchase on celebrity goods, but with the smile that stretches across the audiences’ faces, it’s hard to argue why not to.

The cars begin to leave their pits, one by one, and into their grid positions. You recalled a time where a guy who competed against Seokmin had been running late—apparently from stumbling out of a hook-up’s apartment the night before, realizing she lived across town which was a hike to get here. That’s when you guiltily learn about how when cars don’t leave their pit on time, the drivers have to start from there… after the field completed their first lap.

The personnel finally shuffle off the tracks when they complete their final touches, and that’s when you spot Seokmin in the midst of the chaos. He does a slight wave, and it brings warmth into your chest until you realize the girl in a neon yellow crop top that stands beside you who waves back. 

What’s the human traffic cone doing here?

You want to be mad, you truly do, but there’s always a part of you that remains soft for Lee Seokmin. The way he drops the shield of his helmet, attaching his steering wheel into its slot, and doing that shoulder raise of his that becomes habitual, everything about him makes you feel vulnerable.

But your thoughts and feelings are immediately interrupted at the sight of Jeon Wonwoo waving to you instead.

He’s… infectious, you’re slowly beginning to learn. When he smiles, it’s enough for the people in proximity to imitate. His eyes curve into half moon crescents, shining brightly just as they do in the night sky, and when you don’t immediately return the greeting, he chuckles in amusement instead of annoyance. He treats his team like they’re his friends, pointing at them prior to getting into his car earlier, teasingly saying, “No modding, right? It’s a stock car, gotta be built just for this. It ain’t supposed to be like those machines you’re ridin’ on late night cruises with a babe in the passenger seat,” as the boys laugh in unison before shoving him away. 

You slowly wave back.

Wonwoo only grins wider before popping down the cover of his helmet.

You notice the lineup—as the cars begin their positions one by one, you realize Wonwoo’s vehicle is placed last and Seokmin is located in the top five. With a nudge, you gesture with your chin to the cars on the speedway with your tongue poking your cheek. “Chan. Why’s Wonwoo last?”

“He didn’t race in the tournament two weeks ago,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wonwoo only qualified because one of the sponsors for the cup saw him race in the streets that same week. But because of the rules, that means he can’t be placed anywhere near the top.”

Nodding slowly, you open the lid of your thermos. The steam fills the air, brushing against your nose, and you tap your pointer finger against the stainless steel. Impressive, you think, because you’ve heard of the stories of how difficult it was for Seokmin to get his way here. The constant begging, the bugging, and the praying—he had to find people that had even an ounce of belief in him to invest in him so he could get to where he wanted to be.

But Wonwoo didn’t jump those same hurdles as Seokmin.

Seokmin knows the deal. He memorizes the track like the back of his hand; where the tight turns are, when the perfect and exact moment to drift, and how to move just close enough to his opponents to intimidate them. He’s known to be able to determine the required timing for every motion, down to the second of when he’s supposed to have his foot pushing down the accelerator. 

Seokmin was a professional.

His favorite thing about driving a stock car is the only thing he loves about driving stock cars. The way the gearshift falls into the palm of his hand is swift—there’s no hesitation and the evident comfort is there. It’s his strongest suit, behind the wheel of a vehicle with a manual 4-speed transmission, switching gears when he knows right when the perfect millisecond would be. 

It’s not the same as riding on the highway, wind blowing through his hair with the smell of the ocean salty air infiltrating his senses, and it’s not the same as weaving through the traffic of a busy city. He gets to push his limits here, see how far he can go, and the rush he gets is one that can’t be replicated. 

The car is heavy duty—engines 3.5x faster than regulation cars. He can accelerate the car from 0 to 60 in the matter of seconds; the sound of the soft zoom from the engine revving, the stiffening of his body, and tightened grip on the leather steering wheel has become a feeling Seokmin has grown addicted to.

It gives him a blast from the past. Speed had always been a priority; recalling how his onyx grease stained hands were from all the constant modifications on cars in a garage. He could hear an older male, around his early thirties, yelling in his ear about how fast he needs to go, and that it was Seokmin’s job to make it happen.

Now? He’s the one demanding it.

On the oval track, he’s so used to his competition’s habits. They’re repetitive, he learns, all his opponents seemingly never finding themselves in a situation where maybe they should change their tactics. They’re the same. They never change.

And honestly? It gets a little boring.

Releasing the pressure on the clutch, he pushes the sole of his shoes flat against the accelerator. He shifts the gears readily, weaving through the crowd of cars that he “allows” to pass him initially, letting himself fall behind just so he could catch up. A little bit of entertainment doesn’t hurt, right? Notably when the trophy isn’t up for grabs for anyone else anyways.

Lee Seokmin is made for racing. A smirk pulls on the side of his lips, eyes darken and zeroing onto the end of the lap when he notices an unfamiliar car in his side view mirror.

Jeon Wonwoo.

His skin burns—and it’s not from the sun piercing through the window. Every time he sees—no, even hears Wonwoo’s name, he can’t help but seethe with anger. How dare he enter the tournament, especially all that he’s said about those with money and race professionally? The audacity of Wonwoo, stepping onto Seokmin’s turf, like he owns the track when this is merely his first taste of professionally racing.

He’s good, Seokmin admits. Wonwoo expeditiously glides between the cars fluidly, no hesitation with each move, turning and drifting at the right parts of the oval tracks. He doesn’t let the competition scare him, in fact, he looks… comfortable behind the wheel. The expression on his face doesn’t display anything concerning, and if he was anxious, he was good at keeping a facade. 

Seokmin inhales deeply. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out.

Seokmin snatches onto the clutch. His brand new shoes lay flat against the metal pedal; eyes narrowing in onto the finish line. Freshly painted and he could almost smell the chemicals from the spray can, his chronic need to inhale in that scent of victory, the sound of the crowd cheering his name, as the flag waves behind him after he crosses the line. He doesn’t just want it–he needs it. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, the heat gusting over his shield that nearly blinds him for a brief moment. Switching the gear quickly, he does it automatically as if the car is one with him, an extension of his arm. “Jeon Wonwoo can’t fucking win.”

Here’s a thing about Lee Seokmin.

Whatever Lee Seokmin wants…

Lee Seokmin gets.

“Fuck off,” he growls under his helmet, moving side to side to block off Wonwoo from cutting him off. 

It doesn’t take long for Seokmin to pass the finish line as the flag waves down.

He sucks in his cheeks in content, a smirk tugging on his lips as he eases into his station, slipping out of his seat and tossing off his helmet. He waves to the crowd who cheer his name. 

Body shot with a wave of dopamine, he feels like he’s conquered it all. All the rejections, the doubters, and his haters—they used to fuel him with rage but they now give him a sense of relief. Without them, he wouldn’t be where he is now, arms up and encouraging the crowd more. This is it for him. Everything he has ever wanted, all in one stadium.

When Wonwoo hops out of his car, his eyes meet with Seokmin’s.

Expecting Wonwoo to be pissed, Seokmin has his fists resting at his sides, but when he sees that gratified smile on his face, confusion washes over his face.

Is he really satisfied with losing?

Seokmin will never understand Wonwoo—from the past when he went by Dokyeom up until now, he can’t loop his head around the fact that Wonwoo race but at the same time, he doesn’t understand why Wonwoo still preferred to keep his hands stained with black while underneath a car.

Deciding to shove the thoughts away, he turns back to the sea of people calling his name. Wonwoo doesn’t matter now, especially since Seokmin won the tournament. Nobody is better than him.

“I didn’t know you were a racer racer.”

“I didn’t know you were a Kyeom stan. Seems like a lotta info was missed over our text exchange,” he grins with a playful tone, hands in the fronts of his pockets. “I don’t judge. Kinda wish you were on my team though.”

He’s out of his overalls by now, in the comforts of his blue jeans and black t-shirt. Wonwoo looks more like himself; the ruffled hair, metal rim glasses that sits atop the bridge of his nose, and the genuine smile on his face is welcoming. Being behind the wheel of that car didn’t feel like him—the look he’s sporting  while standing beside his Prius feels right.

“Are you disappointed?” You ask teasingly–what was that? Was that… an attempt at… flirting? This isn’t like you, and the fact that Wonwoo effortlessly pulls you out of your comfort zone without you noticing is appalling. It’s barely been a night. “I um,” you clear your throat, straightening your posture when you catch yourself in the midst of the act. “I um, I didn’t really want to be here, I was requested to be.”

“Mm, possibly,” he answers, pearly whites all out on display. “But I think with a lil’ convincing, it won’t be too hard to get you to come over to my side. What do you take for bribes? A sweatshirt? I can whip up one.”

“Hm, I’m thinkin’ socks.”

He nods approvingly. “Socks, socks. I think I could do that. What do you want on it? My name, my car? Or what about my face? An iron-on picture of my face on your ankles?”

You quirk a brow.

Wonwoo laughs, shaking his head. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. But, I gotta admit that I am a bit disappointed that you’re Kyeom’s lucky charm.”

“You want me to be your lucky charm then?”

“Nah, I just want you to be a cheerleader in the stands for me. I’m already winning if you’re on my side.”

Oh. Is that heat rising to your cheeks? Touching the side of your face, you feel the warmth radiating despite the cool air hitting your skin. “I–Oh. That…”

“I’m kidding,” he reiterates, the soft look on his face is enough to cause the butterflies to release in your stomach. “So… did Kyeom come and thank you yet? You know, for being here and helping him win. For someone being their good luck charm, he seems to be taking you for granted.”

You wave him off–it’s almost an instinct to defend Seokmin even when you don’t have a good reason to be. “Oh, pft. Please. He doesn’t need to thank me. I… I came willingly.” Not a lie–you did come willingly. But, what… is a lie is that you sorta… feel like you want to be thanked. Not with a huge extravagant gift or a heartfelt card, but a simple “thank you! You coming means so much to me,” would’ve been nice. Acknowledgement! Any kind. Watching him walk off with a girl after every event wasn’t really making him feel appreciated.

“Mm,” he hums, nodding slowly. He doesn’t seem entirely convinced, but he doesn’t probe any further. “Well, I thank you for being in the audience today. It was nice having a familiar face around, especially since this is new for me.”

Your lips curl up unconsciously. “You're welcome, then. Glad I could be that for you.”

As the two of you walk outside of the arena, a bright yellow car is parked by the curb. “Well, this is me.”

Startled, you point at the car then at Wonwoo. “This… This neon yellow Prius–”

“Yeah, yeah,” he whips out the key fob, and with a click of a button, the Prius’ lights go off with two beeps. “This lovely, cute car with a great personality is mine. I know what you’re thinking—”

“This is so funny.”

“It’s such an attractive–what? Funny?” You know that he’s joking when his lips curl up. “Well, maybe next time I can show you around with my whip. It’s not necessarily a Corvette, but I’m sure we can have just as much fun as some other racer with a flamboyant car.

“Mm,” you hum in response teasingly, eyes narrowing as you cross your arms and tap your chin with your finger. “We’ll see. I may have to up your offer. What other cars do you think you can show me that in?”

Wonwoo smiles sweetly, hopping into his car with a wink. “I got a Ford F-250,” he says, shutting the door before rolling down the window. “See you later then, yeah? Since I don’t think that Kyeom would let me drive you home.”

Chewing on your bottom lip, you feel the heat rush to your cheeks. “I don’t think ‘Kyeom,’”—the name is unfamiliar when it falls off your tongue but the context remains the same—“determines who I can hang out with.” Why are you flirting so boldly? This doesn’t feel like you. 

“Really?” Wonwoo says, a brow raised in amusement. “So… it wouldn’t be a bad thing if we went on that date soon?”

“I… I’m not sure if–”

“She’ll go.”

Both you and Wonwoo turn your head to the culprit of the voice, only to find Lee Chan standing there with the brightest grin plastered across his face. “She’ll go, and if her car breaks down, I’ll even pick her up to meet you.”

You turn to glare at Chan – the lasers darting from your eyes could pierce through his skin and burn it with a hiss, but he could care less. To Chan, if there’s a sliver of hope for you to move on, to find anyone else that isn’t Seokmin, he wants you to dive for it. 

“Chan –”

“Hear me out,” he begins, showing his hands. “What’s wrong with a harmless date?”

Looking over at Wonwoo, he only cheekily smiles as he rests his chin on his car door. “What can I say? People like me. But regardless of that, don’t feel like you gotta accept a date from me if you don’t wanna. No pressure–I know that there might be somethin’ between you and Kyeom, I just didn’t know if it was somethin’ you were plannin’ on pursuin’.”

Inhaling in a deep breath to calm your nerves, you pick at your fingertips. It’s true, there’s nothing wrong with going on one date with Wonwoo. Plus, just the last thing he says alone gives away that he’s exactly that–respectful, honest, and… it’s harmless. It’s not like you’re committing to be his long-term girlfriend or are agreeing to wed.

“I–Okay. I’m… I’d be interested in a date.”

That stupid grin of his grows even wider. How’s he this adorable without even trying?

“Great! Then… I’ll text you then?” 

“Sounds good,” you reply back before you exchange your goodbyes and he drives off in that traffic cone Prius.

“You realize you’re only causing trouble when you tell me that I should date Wonwoo, right?”

Chan freezes before the loaded hot dog—cheese, relish, ketchup, mustard, and the shack’s famous in-house chili to top it off—reaches his mouth, and he blinks blankly at your question. “I… What?”

You swipe your finger on the droplet of chili that falls into the red striped disposable paper tray. Slipping it into your mouth, you pull your lips into a straight line. Salty. “Seokmin, you know. He doesn’t even like Wonwoo, and if he ever found out that you were trying to nudge me in his direction, you’re fucked.”

Chan rolls his eyes, saying his final words so he could shove a portion of the hot dog into his mouth. “Not like he’s seeing other girls or anything.”

Stealing the fry that sits in the basket at the center of the table, you let out a heavy sigh. There’s a part of you that still clings onto the what-ifs when it comes to Seokmin, but when Chan is here, attempting to lure you into another man’s arms, you’re not sure if this is the right thing to do. 

“Do you really think I should go through with the whole Wonwoo thing?”

Chan looks at you with disbelief. His cheeks are full like a chipmunk’s, but he still reaches for a fry and stuffs it into his mouth. “Seokmin scares me, yeah, but I'd rather you be happy. So, if Wonwoo is that potential case, I’ll be here to back you up—even if I lose my already ‘special privileges’ with Seokmin.”

You eye the younger male carefully. He makes a statement when he declares something like that, and you wonder with all the passion he feels for you finding someone new, if other people saw it from the perspective he does. “Is it really that bad?” 

He sighs, pulling his lips into a straight line as he slowly nods his head. It’s not the answer you were expecting, but it’s one you’ve gradually come to accept. “I want you to be happy,” he reiterates once more. “And Seokmin can’t do that for you.”

So, maybe you’ll go on this date with him. One time wouldn’t hurt, right?

Seokmin is the main reason for your hesitance and he always is. But when you get a glimpse of him from across the stadium, arm around the flag girl with a smirk dressed upon his lips, your reluctance dissipates and reality sinks in once again.

If Seokmin isn’t ready for you, then you wouldn’t be ready for him either.

The taste of victory permeates all his senses; each time he crosses that line with the pretty gal in a short skirt while waving a flag isn’t the only benefit of racing, but the amount of zeros behind the first digit that gets cashed into his bank account is the fundamental cause.

For Seokmin, this lifestyle is a dream. The days where he laid underneath a car, sliding in and out on a creeper with grease stained hands and soiled clothes are long gone–he could recall those moments he’d pull his clothes out from the wash and question where the origins of the blemishes were. Some new, some old, he didn’t quite remember, but what he knew was that he couldn’t afford to buy a new wardrobe. He didn’t own a single spotless shirt.

And here he is, present day, at a private table of one of the most expensive clubs in the city with a Huge Boss suit and Gucci black leather oxfords. Seokmin only purchases top shelf liquor; swirling the drink in his hand, the ice clacks against the glass adequately as he watches a pretty girl dance on the main floor with eyes glued onto him. 

He brings the cup to his lips, the cool whiskey on the rocks reaching to his lips, sweet when it hits his tongue and smooth when it slides down his throat.

The quick arch of his brow is an invitation for her introduction.

“Hey,” she says, voice silky as she slides onto the couch beside Seokmin. “Rumor has it, you’re a racecar driver.”

Of course he’s a race car driver—he loves hearing the saccharine words of achievement leave from people’s lips. He’s a professional, accomplishing a goal that people consistently told him would be hard to reach. Now with his arms resting on the back of the sofa at a high end club with girls practically lining up to sit on his dick, he’s gone beyond what he chased for.

He couldn’t ask for anything more than this — other than more money, of course. 

“I am,” he smirks, patting the cushion beside him. “Want me to order you a drink? In exchange, you can tell me your name.”

As she giggles over a fancy mixed drink (he doesn’t even know what she got, all he knows is that it’s pink with an orange slice on the rim and it’s making her eyes swirling with intoxication), he tells her about driving on the track and how it feels to have a crowd of people cheering his name. 

Then the thought of Wonwoo appears in his mind.

It wasn’t always like this—the sharp eyes, fire burning in lieu of the chocolate irises; Jeon Wonwoo was a friend he admired in the past. They both worked together—in a body shop that seemed simple on the outside, providing service for regular people and nothing more.

But there was definitely more beneath the surface.

All the illegal activity that went on behind the scenes is what made Seokmin leave. He was welcomed into the car shop and stayed when they offered him training, learning so much from a team that he looked up to, only to realize that he’d been a part of a scheme he never wanted to be in. Wonwoo was one of the guys who held the information back. And Seokmin swears he won’t forgive Wonwoo for that.

Truthfully, he should’ve suspected something when on the first day, one of the mechanics named LNY (which Seokmin later learned wasn’t even his initials, it fucking stood for Lunar New Year and he would never learn that guy’s real name) advised Seokmin to come up with a pseudonym for working hours and any association to the auto shop. That’s when he came up with Dokyeom. Realistic enough, but far from his birth name in avoidance of putting his family in danger.

“Mm, I looooove peaches,” the girl sings, and honestly, he already forgot her name but he knows what flavor her drink is. 

“Sweet,” he grins, thumb pressing against the corner of her lips. She doesn’t have anything there, but it’s rather charming for a guy to pretend to wipe something off a girl’s cheek, right? “Kinda like you. Can I call you that for the night? Peaches.”

Her cheeks flush pink as she nods slowly.

Hook.

Line.

“I bet your lips taste like them too.”

Sinker.

Needless to say, Seokmin can report the next morning that her lips were indeed sweet like peaches.

He admits he doesn’t think of you on these nights; his thoughts are disgusting and disrespectful for someone who promised himself to end up with another. Fumigating his head would be the only route in making himself even remotely good enough for you — even he knows that.

But nonetheless, there’s something in him that plagues these ideas that this is what he wants, despite the empty promises he makes you. In his mind, there’s this fucked up mentality that you’ll stay, regardless of what decisions he’s made and what girls he picks up because that’s just it—he knows you’ll stick around.

The girl in his sheets that night creates a temporary bliss for him. It’s exhilarating, being able to swoon a woman into his home on a late night out with words and touches as intoxicating as the alcohol she indulges in earlier that night. Just like driving on a racetrack, it has his adrenaline rushing, and he craves for more.

“Gasp!” she exclaims in unison with the drop of her fork. It clangs against the porcelain plates, and you’re just grateful that she didn’t chip or break anything. “You’re joking. You’re going on a date?”

“Would you hush, P?” You shoot back, grabbing her utensils and pushing it far from the other dishware on the table. “I know you’re shocked, but you don’t gotta be dramatic.”

P’s your best friend–P being the initial of her legal name that she forbids anyone from using. She’s told you at least once before what it was, only because on a trip to Cancun, customs yelled it out when she filled out the form with the duty free limit nearly reached. “P****?” you recalled reiterating, and P was so quick to hush you. (Yes, you realize that every time you try to censor her name, it just looks like you’re redacting genitalia. But that’s besides the point). P works for one of the biggest luxury designers in the world–attending parties, runway shows, fashion weeks–name it, and she’s done it all.

Except design her own line and bring her boss the correct coffee order. “Who the fuck orders a matcha latte with six pumps of vanilla, two scoops of protein powder and three egg yolks? Of course I fucking get the order wrong. I don’t think any local coffee shop even has raw egg yolks on hand.”

“No, no no, I-I think P’s got the right reaction,” your other friend says, patting P’s back in assurance. “Last week, you sighed so hard that the lettuce in my salad blew out of my bowl because Seokmin was talking to you while checking out a girl from across the room. You wouldn’t stop gushing over him and now suddenly… there’s a new guy? Where’s you even meet him?”

P slams her elbows onto the table. “I’m with Sunny on this one. Tell us more.”

Sunny is also a nickname (now that you think about it, does anyone go by their actual name?) She earned it for her bubbly nature; generous, bright, and warm, she exhibits behavior that would be like a boost of serotonin or the equivalent of vitamin D for people (or eggs. You read somewhere that two eggs a day provides at least 82% of sunlight for the average person–makes sense why P’s boss is so insistent about getting it). You and P met in high school, friendship lasting up until… well, now, and Sunny was an easy and seamless addition when she got stuck rooming with you and P freshman year.

Rolling your eyes, you plop back into the booth seat. “I just wanna make it clear–it’s just one date. Nothing crazy. Not like he can swoon me off my feet in seconds and all of the sudden I forget everything I promised Seokmin.”

“Promised Seokmin?” P scoffs, waving her pointer finger dramatically. “Mr. Seokmin promised you a handful of things. I don’t see him following your agreement. So why should you? Go on that date with ummm…”

“Wonwoo.”

“Yeah, yeah, with Wonwoo. Speaking of, you got a pic of him?”

You furrow your brows. “What? No. I don’t have a picture of him. What year is it? Why would I keep a picture of him?”

“No, you idiot,” Sunny chimes in, whipping out her phone to open Instagram. “Like, do you have a picture of him on Instagram. Facebook, Twitter–all the social media platforms. Sure, you know he’s real, but is he a psycho?”

“He’s not a psycho,” you add, shoulders slouching in annoyance. Well, you’d hope he isn’t a psycho. The only red flag you saw was that Seokmin doesn’t like him but to be fair, Seokmin himself is a walking red flag. “But… Seokmin hates him.”

P and Sunny’s full, undivided attention is on you. 

“You’re kidding.”

“Why does it matter what he thinks?”

You shrug. “I mean, that’s the one thing I can think of that would be considered a red flag. Seokmin doesn’t like him–but mostly because Wonwoo street races and now he wants to do it professionally.”

P turns back to her own phone and taps away on the screen.

“Okay, but that’s not really a bad sign. So what if Seokmin doesn’t like Wonwoo? Get a taste of his own medicine. We’ve been telling you for what feels like forever that you gotta move on. Like–there are so many candidates out there. Have you even checked dating sites yet? Maia from my International Business Master’s Program met her husband on Tinder. Now, they have a house in the hills, two kids–”

“--Found it!” P interjects, shoving her phone in both your faces. “Jeon Wonwoo. Mechanic–a detail you failed to mention, by the way–and he’s 26, likes KBBQ and oddly enough, for a car guy, doesn’t obsessively post cars.”

Sunny snatches it out of P’s hand. “Oh my god, he’s so cute.”

“That’s what I’m saying!” P exclaims, flailing her arms theatrically. “If you don’t go out with him, I will.”

You let out a sigh. It’s almost equivalent to the one you exasperated at the last outing. “I already told him that I would, so it’s not like I can back out. Plus, Chan was pressuring me! For someone whose eyes practically sparkle when they see Seokmin, he’s so anti-Seokmin when it comes to me.”

“Yeah, because even though he looks up to Seokmin, it’s for racing. That’s all it is. He’s been treating you like shit, love. This story you think will have an ending might not exactly have the word happy in it.”

It doesn’t matter how many times you hear it, it never gets easier with each reminder. P and Sunny have good intentions, Chan does too, but you’re not ready to raise a glass to this so-called tragedy that’s known as you and Seokmin.

← last chapter | next chapter →

[scarfac3]

HIDE & SEEK - JEON WONWOO

Day 1 of “31 Days of Horror”

Scenario :: You can run, but you can’t hide

Pairing :: Ex!Wonwoo x Gn!Reader

Genre :: Horror/Suspense

Word count :: 319

You ran as fast as you could in the shutdown warehouse to get away from him. You were too far ahead of him, which made you even more terrified of him.

Throughout your relationship, Wonwoo has always been calm and collected and it’s no different now that he’s trying to kill you. He’s not deranged nor “sick in the head.” He knows exactly what he’s doing. He knows exactly how to scare you, how to make you run for your life until he catches up to you. He knows your deepest and darkest fears and is now using them against you.

From someone who was once your loving, sweet, cuddly boyfriend to someone who is finding pure joy in taunting and terrifying the living shit out of you until your blood is literally on his hands.

You end up finding a hiding spot surrounded by large wooden boxes and try to calm your breathing down. Your heart pounding in your chest, brain banging against your skull. You kept quiet in your hiding spot as Wonwoo made his way around to find.

“Ready or not, here I come,” his eerie voice echoes throughout the warehouse, sending sharp chills down your body. His heavy footsteps sound as if they keep getting louder or quieter, almost like he knows where you are and is just playing with you. “Come out, come out wherever you are.”

You hear him move further away from your hiding spot, causing you to let out a breath that you didn’t realize you were holding in. You peek your head around the large boxes you hid behind; Wonwoo is nowhere to be seen.

After a few more seconds, you feel a warm breath on your neck, making you instantly freeze up. “Found you.” Wonwoo whispers into your ear. You slowly turn around and face him, seeing the sinister smile on his face before your vision goes black.

TAGS :: @dollicries @neo-percs @stxrzo @starboys-gf @deathkidz @prettyprincejk @fekixfmp @brrrkdslek @yeagersex @sopestvr

[chocosvt]

HER | teaser.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader teaser word count: 1.4k actual word count: 140k (yes, u read that correctly) genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings for the full fic: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: as i descend to one knee and cup my hands together at your mercy, i offer a tidbit to the wonwoo fic i have finally completed after two years (lol). i know i ALWAYS say this, but i truly wasn't expecting the fic to be THIS FUCKING LONG! thankfully, i planned it well and although i lost momentum countless times (nervously side eyes the approximate & several 5 month breaks i took in between), my dedication to seeing the characters through & "completing" their growth was smth that i could not leave behind!

not having posted a fic for two years is prob a little much :0 so hopefully the length of this makes up for it (?) usually my writing is just teehee silly little romance agonizing slowburn surface level dilemmas of the self BUT THIS ONE HAS A LITTLE KICK!

so read it if you want! don't read it if you don't want!

hearts & flowers, xoxoxo (me :*)

UPDATE: read the first part here!

—MARCH 19TH.

“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”

 No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.

The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.

“Uh, Wonwoo?”

“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.

“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”

“Whose been breathing down your neck?”

At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.  

“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”

Her.

No, not her, you.

But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.

And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.

“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”

“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”

“Why don’t I believe you then?”

“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”

“Meaning me?”

“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”

Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed—a very short, disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.

“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”

“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”

“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”

He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.

“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”

“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”

“Minutely, they are being considered.”

“Liar.”

It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.

In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.

“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”

“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”

“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.

In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.

“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “

Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.

“This is such a fucking waste.”

And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.

“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.

“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”

His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.

“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”

“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”

“Stop.”

“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”

A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.

“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”

“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”

“You’ve cornered me?”

“I wouldn’t word it like that.”

“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”

“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”

“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”

“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”

 “With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”

 “Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”

✧✎ a/n: tada!

this is the introductory scene! i think i've read it so many times that i could probably recite it from memory at this point ;_; anyway! as i mentioned, i know that it's been a hot minute since i last uploaded any scenarios. but one way or another this monster is getting posted! i did NOT have this lurking on my poor tired macbook causing it to overheat and sputter and spew FOR NOTHING!!

i swear that i don't plan for my works to get this goddamn long. before i hardly planned at all. maybe now i plan too much? i guess i have yet to find a happy medium!! but again, i do hope the size of the fic makes up for all that missed time :_( life has been ruff. but this fic was there as a handy distraction mechanism (when i prob should have been facing reality fhwejfhwk) so i guess it's been a double-edged sword!

also just want to preface that the reader goes by an alias throughout the fic. i'm not sure if this is like... a very huge or popular concept nowadays? so if it hits your reading ear a bit weird at first i apologize! but i swear it has purpose!! *chekhovs rule* *winkwink*

ANYWAY! no more rambling!

i'm pondering the idea of adding a taglist for those who are interested, just as i did with honey boy :3 so if that tickles ur fancy then feel free to each out!

BUT PLZ HEED THE FOLLOWING:

the fic in its entirety will be split across 6 parts

the word count of each part ranges from 22-24k!

i do not YET have a set posting schedule, simply bc i am unsure of how long it will take ppl to get through each part

(so that would be smth i'd have to gauge afterward)

REVISIT THE WARNINGS!!

i will not be flagging mature/nsfw/triggering scenes throughout the fic as the fic itself already has a heavy nature to it

so pls read the warnings!

if there's any additional questions i encourage u to swing by :3

*deep breath*

THANK YOU!!!!!

[phenomenalgirl9]

A Going Seventeen story: GRUDGE

Summary: When you and your friends had a competition to 'explore' an abandoned house in a remote village. However, things go south very soon, when there's a murderer on loose and you all realised the water was rising above your heads.

Pairing: Seungkwan x Y/n (in a steady relationship)

A/n: This is the third installment of Going Seventeen Ep. 95 & 96: Grudge, I recommend watching it for more clarity. The news part doesn't happen, this is the immediate occurrence after Mingyu, Jihoon, Wonu and Seungkwan were caught. I added the members who weren't in the episode, Seungcheol, Seokmin, Jun and added Y/n. Thanks to @yoonsangel08 for helping me through the plot! Hope you enjoy it and sorry for any plot holes!

W/c: 2.9k

Genre: Suspense, Thriller.

Warning: mentions of blood, murder, fighting, cannibalism (Ko Sungil), Human organs.

Rating: 15+ (read with your own caution)

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

"We should have been here an hour ago! We could've met the others!" Y/n groans. 

"Others? Or Seungkwan?" Seungcheol teased, "like you didn't wanna meet Hannie?" She questioned, shutting up the older guy.

"Guys, guys, it's fine, look, their cars are still here" Jun pointed out. "You know this is all your and your dumb car's fault. We should have bought Cheol's car or Seokmin’s" she said as she whipped out her phone. "Still no internet connection, why would you guys choose such places?" Seokmin complained again as they climbed down. The cold fall air hit her skin as she pulled her jacket out of the car to put it on. She smiled remembering the origin of the jacket. The four walked down the way that was marked as the way to the village.

"Oh Omoni!" Jun said and pointed, the woman in question looked at them inquisitively. "Omoni, have you seen some young boys filming around here?" Seungcheol asked and she nodded and then asked "are you guys here for shooting as well?" She asked and Y/n said "yes omoni" and told her about the house. Jun noticed Seungcheol and Seokmin suddenly flinched, startled by a snapping sound and he chuckled. 

“Guys, this place is really scary~” Seokmin whined as Seungcheol and he walked behind Jun and Y/n towards the direction that the old kady pointed. “You’re Gonna be Fine Seokminie” she assured him and he sighed. "Hey, look at that one, that’s the one from the pictures" Jun pointed out.

“Are you sure?” Seungcheol asked, “Yeah, she’s right” Jun said. “It seems so dark” Seokmin whispered, dread audible in his voice. “It’s an abandoned house” Y/n chided, shutting the man up. “Where are the others?” Jun questioned, “Let's complete the task and click a picture of it, and we can go find the others. Okay?” Y/n asked and the other three agreed. They walked inside the house after excusing themselves, she kept looking around the house, “nothing so far” she said looking at Jun beside her. A very relieved Seokmin and Seungcheol sighed from behind the two. 

“Not so alpha now huh?” she teased and the others chuckled. The 4 reached the bathroom where they were supposed to write their names and take a picture. 

“Um.. guys?” Y/n said in a whispering panic, “I don't see Wonwoo and Seungkwan's names here”.

“But their car is here, did they not come here?” Jun said. “Guys, can we leave? Please?” Seokmin whined

“Let's discuss things outside” Seungcheol suggested and the rest three agreed. 

“If they didn't come here? Where did they go?” Jun wondered. “Where did they go at all?” Y/n asked. “I see lights over there” Seungcheol pointed at a nearby house and the 4 started trudging towards the house.

“I can't shake this feeling. Like an eerie feeling” Seokmin whispered. “Like some is terribly wrong?” Jun asked and the two nodded. “Nothing is wrong, okay! Everything will be fine. Sush” Y/n said, pushing the dread away in her mind. She can't say that she wasn't feeling that too and the look on Seungcheol's face said that he felt it too. A dread.

They knocked on the open door but nobody seemed to answer. Seungcheol entered on his own accords as the four frowned at a nauseating smell. “Argh! Whats that stench?” Seokmin groaned as Y/n and Jun went stunned seeing all the paper cuttings spread on the table. “This thing is smelling” Cheol said as he pointed at a bundle of newspapers on the side of the table. He and Seokmin tried to uncover it while Y/n and Jun started reading the articles.

Suddenly, the two cursed and jumped back hugging each other. “I-i-i-i-hu-hu-human! It's human! Hand! Human hand! Ringless. It has no rings-” Seokmin started panicking as Seungcheol put a hand on his mouth. “I think that dread just became very true” she said, almost tears in her eyes.

“A ten year old was found to have murdered his parents and eating their flesh” Jun read.

“Infamous juvenile Inmate Ko Sungil from the 2012 murder and cannibalism case was released, that's from a few days ago” Y/n said. “S-s-so?” Seokmin stuttered. 

“Didn't you see the plaque while entering? It read Ko” she said. “Fuck. This is fucked up!” Jun said to the two who were still trembling. 

Y/n placed her hands beside her on the couch to stand up when she found something. “Guys!” Y/n said and a sob left her mouth, as picked up Seungkwan's necklace in her hand. He would never take it off because she didn't either, the necklaces Y/n got for the two of them on their 2nd Anniversary last year. 

 “Something happened to him. They aren't safe” Y/n said, tears finally leaving her eyes, “fuck” she said. “We need to leave” Seungcheol said, immediately standing up. 

“We can't leave them!” Y/n said in shock. “Not the village! This house” he said and pulled her and Jun into senses. She takes hold of Seokmin and they leave silently. 

“We need to look around” Seungcheol suggested “it'll be okay” he assured her, rubbing off her tears. 

The 4 started off towards this small alleyway just behind the house. It lead to a street, village on one side, jungle on the other. He pass by a car. Jun touched it's bonnet and shook his head. “This has been here for a while” he said. “Impressive” she said and walked on further. “There's a bridge” Seungcheol said and stepped up. It's strange that when the threat was ghosts Cheol was behind Y/n but now that things got real, he's there being the alpha he is. She thanked God for this dependable friend. 

The four of them walked quietly, as if something might happen if they even breathed too loudly. They found a truck on the other side, all of the 4 frowned with the disgusting smell. The lack of any form of lighting made it difficult to make anything out, especially the origin of the smell, which seemed nearby through the magnitude of the stench. Y/n slowly walked behind the truck with Seungcheol behind you, as Jun and Seokmin looked around the parameters.

The stench increased as they both stepped closer, using their phone flashlight to look inside, she slowly parted the doors that was ajar and looked inside and Y/n almost screamed if not for Seungcheol who muffled it before it could have reached out. He held her tightly, she was shaking. Seokmin was about to peek but Cheol stopped him and shook his head. Y/n shook her head, trying to remove that scene from it, those tattered bodies with bloody blotches all over. She felt nauseated. 

“We need to leave” Jun suddenly said, shaking his head. “We can't stay here! What if they're -” 

“Don't you DARE complete that fucking sentence Wen Junhui!” Y/n threatened him. 

“But Y/n. This is a psycho killer, can we really deal with him. He killed so many people, may be we should bring the police!” Seokmin said. “It could be too late for our friends by then” Seungcheol said, a determination in his eyes that Y/n’s . “If you want to leave, you can, but I won't abandon my friends and boyfriend here. Even if it's the last thing I do” Y/n declared and Cheol agreed. 

“Someones approaching, hide”, Cheol said and he pulled you on the ladder hanging from the truck while joining himself, as Seokmin and Jun crouched and hid behind the nearest trees. 

They soon heard footsteps of a person approaching. Y/n sent up a prayer, the person spoke up revealing to be a man “What do you mean more people. Are you sure they went that way?” Muffled sounds were heard from the other side, too indistinct to understand what the person was saying “Then they must be there, keep an eye out” the man said and there was a pause. The 4 felt like their heart would stop beating any minute. In a moment the guy was heard cursing “fuck” he said and his retreating foot steps were heard. Y/n’s eyes met Seokmins who blinked, “stay” his eyes said. They don't know how long they were like that, but it felt like an eternity, until Seokmin shook his head a yes and you two climbed down and they came up to you. “Let's do this” Jun said and you looked shocked. “Sorry I got scared for a moment. If there's a chance they are fine and we can save them we'll take it cause they'd do the same for us.” He said. “He's right” Seokmin said “I'll just” he suddenly walked to the side and grabbed something, “let's go” he added, showing his newly acquired metal rod. Cheol smiled and led the way. 

The 4 of them carefully walked back making sure that man wasn't around. “Guys! Look at that” Jun said and snatched something from the ground. It's a black iphone with a broken camera and dumb stickers. 

“It's Mingyu’s” Seokmin said, “it's more broken now” he murmured. “Let's get it back to him okay?” Cheol said and the others nodded. “Let's start from the other houses” Y/n said as they walked into the nearest house. “Seokmin? Is something wrong?” Y/n asked. “There's no wifi or we could have tracked his watch” Seokmin said. And Y/n eyes went wide “fuck yes! I could've tracked Seungkwan's phone!” Y/n whisper yells “but there's no signal, only way is if we get into a 10 feet distance, it gets connected” Y/n said. “Woah. Couple goals” Jun said as they started looking around.

They looked through 3 houses, no sign of a person or clues. “It's like everything is in place, just the people aren't there” Y/n said in utter shock and worry. 

They found a huge garage and entered it, it had that all familiar stench, the floor was covered in plastic wrap that had blotches and marks of a red liquid. “This is his slaughter house, some spots are dried some are a little fresher" Jun stated. “Please let's leave, it's giving me the creeps” Y/n said as she checked her phone that still showed no sign of her boyfriend. 

They walked into a nearby house and started looking around. That was when Jun, who was hidden by the entrance, sushed them and the rest three quickly took cover. “What do you mean you don't know!” That same voice yelled, indistinct muffled sounds said something, the word ‘door’ was the only thing that came clear. “You take care of it, I'll bring this lot in. Where would they go” he said. There were some more muffled sounds that followed and the man said “yeah yeah you can, once I carve out their gut and make sausages of their meat” Was heard as he walked away. 

After a moment Seokmin said “you think that's Ko Sungil?”

“Who else could be this morbid?” Y/n muttered. 

“He has someone working with him, fuck I think we need to warn that Ajhumma!” Jun suddenly remembered. "Shit! We should have done that” Cheol said and the 4 carefully slipped out of the house, it was no use anyways, they were empty. As soon as they reached that house they found the woman sitting outside her house. “Did you find them?” She asked and you all shook your head. “Omoni there's a killer roaming around” Seokmin informed her as Y/n looked around to be sure that silhouette wasn't anywhere near. “I heard that Ko Sungil child is back, from some villagers. You saw him?” she asked and they nodded and she shook her head “it's not safe to talk here, step inside we'll discuss this inside” she said and ushered them inside her house. 

Suddenly Y/n’s eyes went wide and she was about to say “NONONO! DON'T ENTER. GET OUT NOW. WAIT!” But is was to late, they were pushed in as the woman pushed Cheol who was in the end and shut the door. 

“What's going on?!” Seokmin asked in panic. “Its her! She had a walkie talkie, it was her muffled voice we heard! Didn't you find it weird how Ko Sungil was talking on the phone when there's no network?!” Y/n said and hit the door. “Fuck! It's metal! It won't budge” Cheol said, trying to pull the door to pry it open but all in vain. 

“We need to find a way out” Y/n said and suddenly she realised, her phone buzzed. She immediately fished it out and saw a notification, “Guy's Seungkwan is near” she said and opened to be more shocked. “The pin shows him here” she said. And they immediately spread out, they all quickly opened all the doors. “DOOR! DOOR! I HEARD THE WORD DOOR. WE NEED TO BE QUICK THAT LADY MUST HAVE CALLED THAT PSYCHOPATH BY NOW!” Y/n panicked. She clutched the pendant of their couple necklace tightly thinking. “He's not here, we didn't find any phone either” Jun said and Y/n shook her head, he's here, they're here, they have to be. 

“They're here!” Seokmin cheered as soon as he found their friend in various positions on the ground. “Check them” Y/n said “please please” she murmured. 

“Yah! Seokminah! Do you remember that snap we heard and got startled when we were first talking to her” Cheol suddenly remembered. “It was the sound of something falling or like closing,” Seokmin said “but what?!” He said and crouched on the ground and Mingyu’s phone went down flying on the floor making a weird sound. And all of their eyes went wide, “the floor is hollow” Jun said confirming their doubts and they all started crawling and knocking on the floor until they found a bed and a trap door under it. Cheol quickly moved it with Seokmin’s help and they pried open the door. “Fuck, he's here” Jun said. “Y/n go in with Seokmin, Jun and I will deal with this fucker” Seungcheol said and ushered them in. “Please be careful, take this” Y/n said and grabbed that iron rod from Seokmin and handed it to Cheol as they walked down the stairs. They turned on the flash lights, a lot of sound was being heard now from upstairs, probably the two of them were fighting the killer off. 

They checked the vitals of their friends one by one, some seemed hurt, some seemed unconscious but they were all fine. They started trying to shake them awake one by one. Jihoon was the first to wake up, followed by Vernon and Minghao. “You guys are okay!” Y/n said and hugged them. She shook Seungkwan up and hit his cheeks. He groaned and looked up at his lover. “Y-Y/n? Y/n?! Y/N!! I THOUGHT I WOULDN'T SEE YOU AGAIN! WHAT THE FUCK” He hugged her and the others helped to wake the rest. “We need to help Cheol and Jun please, they're tryna stop that psychopath” Y/n said and Minghao, Mingyu and Chan started moving up the stairs in a hurry as the rest of them followed. The two however had managed to throw the psychopath down and the omoni was helping them tie him up. 

Y/n cocked an eyebrow and Cheol explained “he kept her husband hostage and told her that he wouldn't hurt him if she helped us”.

“I'm so sorry, I was so scared” she said in tears. “It's no use, I killed him” said the ties up Ko Sungil “I chopped hi-” he was interrupted as Y/n picked up a vase and crashed it on his head, instantly knocking him out. “Bastard” she said. “We're so sorry omoni” she said as the woman crumbled onto the ground. Cheol rushed to hug his dear boyfriend and checked if he had any bruises or cuts, so did Y/n to Seungkwan and then the others. 

She hugged each of them tightly, Seungkwan though, held her for a bit too long. 

Then 3 of them went to go call the cops and later lead them and the old woman to the truck full of the bodies, the old woman crumbled on the ground once again, when she realised she was the only one left of that very small village that hardly had less than 10 houses. 

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

“We literally faced death together, didn't we?" Seungkwan said, Y/n wrapped in his arms as the rest all shook their heads, well whoever was still awake in that bus that the local police had arranged to take them home. “I found this” Y/n revealed his necklace from her pocket and he placed a hand on his necklace and was shocked “I dropped it? That's why I had this uncomfortable feeling of missing something” he said. “Come’re” she said and fixed it around his neck as he lovingly kissed her temple. “Thank you for saving me” he said. “We were there too you know, risking our lives” Jun said from across them and Joshua said “Thanks for not leaving us for dead” and laughed. “Thanks to Y/n and Cheol hyung, for their courage” Jun mentioned. “That's the love I think, I heard it makes people stronger” Joshua said patting Y/n’s head from behind. “I love you guys” she said “I'll always be there for you, cause you'd all do the same” she said and kissed Seungkwan on the cheek and settled to finally rest her eyes and mind. They were safe. 

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

Other Works

My networks: @sandsofire @k-vanity @caratlibrary

[imnayeonjaem]

ave's masterlist

minors dni. ageless blogs dni. blank blogs dni. you'll be blocked.

note: most of my work is non-romance. i write reader on a case by case basis, and all readers are gender neutral. i don't take requests. i don't write explicit smut (but suggestive/implied is fine). i write whenever i have the motivation to. please heed warnings on individual works. any requests regarding headcanons/imagines/fics will be deleted.

i mainly write ateez, nct, svt and (sometimes) twice. my fics may sometimes be multi-fandom, and include idols outside of these four groups. any idols that feature will be listed in the characters section. most of the time, it will just be members from within these four groups, though it depends on how contained the story is.

if you ask to be added to a taglist for any fic, and are either a minor, or have no indication of age on your blog, you will not be added.

find the masterlist for my imagines/headcanons here.

drabbles (<1k)

most of my drabbles are stand-alones, but have the capacity to be expanded upon, depending on feedback/motivation. any stand-alones that end up getting multiple parts will move to the series section.

this siren song is not your calling | choi san 879, fantasy/horror, siren!san, seafarer!reader panoramic ink | jeon wonwoo 675, slice of life, character study, tattoo artist!wonwoo days at the beach | jung wooyoung 433, gn!reader, slice of life, established relationship

one-shots (>1k)

much like the drabbles, most of my one-shots are stand-alones, however, compared to the drabbles, there is very little chance that i will expand on the one-shots, unless there is serious demand for it. please do not expect/ask for a part two to any stand-alone without making any comment on the original. this goes for drabbles too.

betwixt the fallen, you saw him rise | liu yangyang 4.8k, supernatural thriller, suspense, art critic!reader iced oat latte, extra shot | park seonghwa 4.5k, guitarist!seonghwa, barista!reader, ft. ateez an aria in perfect fifths | kim hongjoong, choi jongho 1.3k, supernatural, violin demon hunter!hongjoong, demon!jongho nice to see (right through) you again | song mingi 14.1k, ghost story, ghost!mingi, librarian!reader, ft. wooyoung

multi-chapters

any fic that has one continuous, (mostly) linear structure; essentially, anything that reads more like chapters of a book than an episodic series will be here.

dental floss (indefinite hiatus) | park seonghwa vampire, ft. ateez, other kpop artists

series

any drabbles/one-shots that get expanded upon, anthologies, fics that read more like an episodic series, and overarching masterlists for bigger projects.

..humbug (complete) | c.seungcheol, y.jeonghan, h.joshua christmas carol!au, scrooge!reader, other svt members 1978 (complete) | kim hongjoong rockstar!hongjoong, slice of life, ft. ateez the purgatory papers (ongoing) | choi san, kang yeosang devil!san, angel!yeosang, gn!reader, ft. ateez, other kpop artists

[akaikali]

Hello! I just finished reading "Are You Mr. Schadenfreude?" on Ao3! And dare i say it is the best fic I've ever read yet, LIKE I'M NOT KIDDING the amount of suspense, thriller and horror.. I was at the edge of my seat and not to mention how well written the whole story is and the lore itself is just so 😩😩😩.. I am not familiar with vocaloid and even the music video (sorry!) itself but I did watch it just after reading the fic and how impressed I was that you came up with your own version and even wrote it in a MONTH 80k words and all, kudos to you <3.

I was having goosebumps throughout reading the fic! I LOVE the dynamic between wonhan and especially I've been addicted their 'This Man' album since it was released and how they were stuck together like glue and the moments they share together was adorable and as a jeonghan biased myself (i have 6 biases actually hehe) i love every bit of it and I fell in love with the characters and the fic itself. Another thing I'd like to point out is the way you portrayed their relationships that can be interpreted as romantic and/or platonic so that readers can enjoy more of the story. Aside from wonhan, i also adored the dynamic each members have with each other and then there's verkwan VERKWAN FOR THE WIN! I was devastated when both of them died and I was awestruck to find out that seungkwan did it to avoid vernon from suffering the same fate with the others and that my friends is love and if that's not love I don't know what is. I was saddened that all of them have met their deaths whether they were murdered or have ended themselves BUUUUUT HELLO THE PLOT TWIST??? I was clearly not expecting for wonwoo to wake up and then it goes back to beginning but then I understand it was his turn to break the cycle like wonwoo was the real mvp here, basically the whole story was supposed to be in hoshi's timeline but man's was sidetracked and ended getting killed earlier in the story (still love him tho but a huge facepalm for him). At the beginning of the fic I was caught off guard that jun had died immediately like it was so sudden but I was pleasantly surprised to find him still alive the end and was working below the church to try and help his friends and speaking of the devil... I really can't put my finger on it but since the beginning I've been very suspicious of minghao, but I did suspect either jeonghan or wonwoo to be the devil but I was more suspicious of minghao and the scream I let out when it was actually him who the was the devil though I have to admit it was pretty conflicting but in a good way lol.

It was fun spotting easter eggs all throughout the fic that connects with gose and for real though the fic was definitely a mix of bad clue, don't lie and ego as the og lore is similar to a mafia game and I absolutely ADORE how you came up with your twist. I'm gonna be honest it was the BEST read, I've been so invested in a fic before like how invested I was in the fic and not to mention the endless roller coaster of emotions I've read throughout, you really did pour all your hard work on this one and I really really appreciate it!!! ('appreciate' is an understatement) There are a lot more words to say but I think I'll stop here, I've been rambling too much lol. Please excuse my English as it's not my mother tongue.

HELLO???? OMG THIS IS SO SWEET IM GONNA SCREAM

I'm so flattered oh my lord I was kicking my feet and giggling as I read this you're SO sweet

I'll be totally honest, there was one specific scene that really made me want to write this and I actually drew it here. This was the catalyst for this whole fic I saw this scene and I was like "wonhan. i need to draw wonhan like this" and yeah here we are. honestly I was NOT expecting it to be like 88k, I thought I'd have barely enough for 30k 😭😭

Wonhan has been a new recent obsession for me (same as you, This Man really made me go OH HELLO WONHAN) their dynamic reminds me a lot of a ship I like (wangxian from MDZS, jeonghan reminds me of wei wuxian and wonwoo reminds me of lan wangji). I actually wrote a wonhan fic based on wonhan (and I'm gonna add a chapter to it soon as well ehehe)

Writing their relationships as ambiguous was so nice as an aroace person who feels strong feelings that aren't entirely romantic but not platonic either. Jeonghan-biases unite, as I was writing it I literally went "if I'm in love with him, everyone is in love with him". Verkwan are sooooo they're so soulmates (in whatever way)

Wonwoo being the one to figure it out is kind of like him in Ego because he figured out almost everything but he just got caught by the time limit. If it weren't for that, I think Wonwoo could have figured it out.

As for Jun, I really love seeing his caring side because he cares SO MUCH for the members. That's why I wrote him quietly helping his friends because that reminds me of him in the early days, even when he couldn't communicate, he was always silently helping everyone.

As for Myungho, I wanted to channel the energy he had in Bad Clue because the final confrontation between him and Mingyu was sooooo like it had me SWEATING. But at the same time, I couldn't make him ACTUALLY want to hurt his friends, Myungho would never do that. Hence the binding ritual ending I came up with. But I'm so glad you like my plot twists!!

The Easter eggs were my favorite part everytime I wrote one I was giggling a little bit.

Thank you so much, seriously, I'm so glad you enjoyed it so much, especially since I think this was probably one of my favorite fics I've written, so it makes me so happy that you like it so much!!

(Idk how much svt I will write other than my ongoing kpopfic Only You and adding a chapter to my wonhan fic, but I'm glad you enjoyed this!)

[asparagus24]

Masterlist

Seungcheol

Series:

pairing- Idol!seungcheol x female bodyguard! oc

Description-

the bustling city of Seoul, amidst the dazzling lights and pulsating energy, an exceptional female bodyguard stands tall, her commanding presence matched only by her unwavering dedication and formidable skills. Meet Yoon Jaehee a remarkable student and sister.

A promise leads Jaehee guarding none other than the internationally acclaimed K-pop group, SEVENTEEN As the frontman of this immensely popular group.

Seungcheol is no stranger to the spotlight, drawing adoring fans wherever he goes. With SEVENTEEN’s growing popularity, it's no wonder that they require the protection of someone as capable as Jaehee.

Jaehee possesses a unique blend of strength, agility, and razor-sharp instincts, honed through years of rigorous training in various martial arts and combat techniques. Her impeccable situational awareness and ability to anticipate potential threats make her an ideal guardian for high-profile individuals like SEVETEEN

Beyond her exceptional physical prowess, Jaehee exudes an air of unyielding confidence and professionalism.

Despite her stoic and enigmatic facade, Jaehee is not without her own complexities. Her unwavering professionalism often hides a compassionate heart, her deep empathy making her fiercely protective of those under her care. Seungcheol, with his warm and genuine personality, manages to unlock a softer side of Jaehee, revealing a bond that transcends the boundaries of their professional relationship.

Follow them on this heartfelt journey filled with suspense, passion, and the realization that true love can blossom in the most unexpected of places and where duty and desire seem to separated by really thin line

Teaser

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 (coming soon)

Yoon Jeonghan

Hong Jisoo

Moon Junhui

Kwon Soonyoung

Jeon Wonwoo

Lee Jihoon

Lee seokmin

Kim Mingyu

Seo myungho

Choi hansol

Boo seungkwan

Lee Chan