pairings: park jongseong x reader x na jaemin. ft.: yang jungwon, park jisung. genres: crack, fluff, f2l (?). wc: 680. warnings: mentions of food. an: skdjs i had this idea and wrote this so fast so sorry if it sucks ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ has not be edited and is everywhere 🤕
“what do you think they’re talking about?” you whisper, squinting and almost on your toes to get a better look.
“something way too advanced and complex, something our mere human minds aren’t developed enough to comprehend. so, unicorns, probably.” you and jaemin tear your eyes from the scene infront of you to give one another a firm nod. jaemin’s arguments always did make more sense than anyone else’s.
“they probably speak in a secret language or some shit too.”
you and jaemin turn to the boy who sits in the between you to slap his shoulders, “language! show some respect for the presence you’re in!” at first jay glares, but you’re both making sense and, from your position hunched behind the sofa where you’re squeezed together with nothing but a measly arm rest as your guise, the three of you are at too great a risk of being discovered. so he lets it be and the three of you proceed with your mission.
the mission in question required the utmost stealth and focus. the mission in question was perilous, and required persons of only the utmost mental, emotional and physical strength. the three of you could not afford to have your cover blown, lest the psychological damage haunt you forever.
park jisung and yang jungwon were in your kitchen. together. trying—and failing, but in a way that made you want to pinch their cheeks and kiss their noses nonetheless—to make strawberry soufflé pancakes.
those two cuties were making an absolute mess of your mom’s kitchen and you couldn’t have been more proud. but alas, their mouths were not as pretty as their faces and you all knew what the consequences of being caught would entail.
and so there you were. knees aching on the hardwood floors of your living room.
“how much longer do you think it’ll take for them to realize ninety percent of that bag of flour is on their faces and not in the mixing bowl,” you nudge jaemin’s arm, way too invested to look him in the eye. he, on the other hand, didn’t need an excuse to turn his attention to you.
he watches you smile with fondness digging into his cheeks and tugging at his heartstrings. he rests his head on the sofa. good lord, he thinks, perfect even from this angle. his eyes travel to your lips and he wonders if even gourmet pancakes would taste any better than they look.
“oh no. won just asked jisung to wash the strawberries, better step in before he soaks then in bleach.” jay sighs, reluctantly lifting himself from the floor. but you stop him, taking hold of his hand just as jisung empties the strawberries from the container into the strainer.
you hold a finger to your lips and yank him back down, “see, he’s got it! stop ruining my fun!” but jay’s face is about the same color as the sofa, the horrid flamingo upholstery that your mom just had to have, and all he cares about is how warm, soft and supple your fingers are.
he wonders if he should ask you what cream you use and what fragrance of the cream that you use do you use, but he knows that won't do anything for the strong silent image he’d spent years curating.
you don’t realize that you’ve still got his hand in yours, and he doesn’t plan on bringing it to your attention either, so he just sits there with a horrendously featherbrained grin (that even he knows is pathetic really) on his face as he resists this burning desire to rub circles across your skin.
jungwon finishes mixing the ingredients together and lifts the whisk above the bowl, letting bits of batter drizzle back down to test its texture. and to your surprise, it’s perfect. you tug jay’s arm excitedly at the thought that you may actually have edible pancakes soon and at first he jumps like a criminal caught in the act, but quickly melts into utter putty seeing the way your eyes sparkled.
jaemin, clearly unimpressed, sulks and crawls over to your other side. he grabs onto your free arm, “what, you’re just going to let me thirdwheel?”
you arch a brow at your caramel-haired friend. when realisation hits you’re beet red, perpetual nos and insistance of your strictly friend relationship with him rolling from your lips, and it’s jay’s turn to be upset. he snatches back the hand attempting to slip out of his with a little more force than he intends and you tip from your haunches into his lap.
“what happened to fair game, park?”
“that was fair and square, hyung!”
you gasp, standing up with your hands on your hips and a nasty frown. “are you two shitheads playing without me again?”
“noona? jaeminie-hyung? jay-hyung? what are you all doing over there?” jungwon steps into the living room with his face pulled into a question mark, spatula in hand and jisung trailing closely behind like a cute humongous beagle. won looks from where he found you, to the kitchen and sighs. “are you three being weird again?”
“no!” you yell in unison.
“uh, jay was just confessing to (y/n)” jaemin blurts out. jay’s jaw drops and you freeze up, but jungwon and jisung look rather pleasantly surprised so you rule out the possibility that he just said so to save his own ass.
“what, that’s great hyung!”
“no! jaemin-hyung was confessing!” jay insists, standing up to throw an accusatory finger at jaemin. jaemin looks pale and betrayed, and you’re low-key lightheaded at this point so you look over to won and jisung but, again, their reactions are nothing but pleasant surprise.
“no way! noona, who’re you going to choose!”
at that, jaemin and jay cease their relentless glaring showdown and you now had four sets of chocolatey browns staring at you in anticipation almost as if you didn't just have the biggest bomb of your life dropped on you. your face burns with embarrassment—
your embarrassment smells like asphalt? wait. no. that’s not it.
“won, the pancakes!”
taglist: @oifelixcmerebrou @00-baejin-05 @chaoticdreaminisode @luvrjn (send an ask to be added!)
summary : a letter a day. a letter to the boy who has gone to fulfil his military enlistment.
word count : 338 words.
taglist : @penny-quinn @tbzhub @bangchu-choi
when : you were just a friend
Dear Ji Changmin.
Who knew you’d be my friend? The guy who didn’t know that turning the volume down wasn’t that hard to do.. The guy who wouldn’t stop staring at me with that weird look on his face. And the most recent - the guy who was obsessed with scaring the absolute shit out of me.
I found a friend in Juyeon(the friend who played basketball got a name - no nickname though, sadly) but still struggled to befriend Chanhee (I call him Kitty because of the cat ears I can imagine putting on him… actually, I think that’s part of the reason why he isn’t my friend yet) and Younghoon (the handsome one. Viktor. He just looks like one)
It was rather easy to befriend you. Of all people.
You were a deskmate at first, and then I found out you couldn’t stop going on and on about dancing. But it was entertaining. You roasted the shit out of my dance moves and I started to roast you about your little horror addiction. That needs to stop, by the way.
I made you a cat Christmas card, signed with Santa Claws on the bottom. You texted me later, demanding that I get you a proper Christmas card. You complained about never receiving it despite the fact that I told you I sent it through the mail. Truthfully I never sent it. Truthfully I never actually made another. You get what you given, Changmin.
I called you Kyu to your face once. I had said it in front of your group of friends and people were very confused. It gave me a power boost. Oh, to be the only one that knows what’s going on. The only downside is that you’ve never truly stopped bothering me about why I call you the way that I do instead of your actual name.
It will grow on you, my dear Kyu.
And you will think of me when you hear it-
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author’s note : in all honesty- i have no idea whether to update more throughout the week and it all comes down to the tags. No but I’m currently working on another WIP thing and shit there’s just a lot to prepare. I don’t know.
summary. if the world was ending now, what would you want to do?
pairing. changbin x gn neutral reader
genre. established relationship, fluff
warnings. none word count. 522
a/n. what @missskzbiased wants, missy gets kkj. jokes aside, it's been centuries since i told you i was going to write smth for you, so 🤷🏼♀️ originally i was going to post this on your birthday, but i never thought it was good enough and now i don't feel like waiting a whole other year heheh so here it is! it's nothing really, but i really hope you like it :)) considere isso como um obrigada tb, por ter me deixado chorar no teu ombro (e na tua ask mdjdj) outro dia <3
All the fear and the fire of the end of the world happens each time a boy falls in love with a girl. Happens great, happens sweet. Happily, I'm unfazed here, too
— Wasteland baby, Hozier
Seo Changbin is the tough type of guy, he tells himself. With a heart made of stone, he had never been one to get impressed easily, let alone to fall head over heels for someone.
And to that, you happily disagree. You never thought of him as this bad, hard-to-get boy he so passionately claimed to be 一 not when you first met him and certainly not now, when you were lying down on his chest, ears hearing every single passionate beat that left his heart.
One could argue that that old sofa of yours was way too small to accommodate, comfortably, two people laying down like this. But the world seemed to be made for lovers, and being so, you didn’t feel like moving an inch, only catching random phrases of whichever movie you had in the background while Changbin moves his hand up and down your back unconsciously, so natural the motion has become to him now.
It’s hard to keep your eyes open against the boy’s hard chest, his warmth and embrace making it even harder for you to keep awake. You giggle across the exposed skin of Changbin’s neck, a thought that can only come from a sleepy brain popping up in your mind. He moves his head to look down at you, afternoon light creating a halo over him.
“What?”, he asks, voice deep and raspy showing he was not so far from sleep either.
“I was just thinking…” You raise your hand to play with the collar of his shirt, the touch of your fingers making him shiver slightly. “If the world was ending now, what would you want to do?”
He gives you a small smile before looking up to think 一 not because he needs to, Changbin knows exactly what he would do, only searching for a way to say it without sounding too cheesy. If that was his last moments on this wasteland you once called world , he would want to spend exactly as he is now: laying down with you, caressing your cheek, and feeling everything so peacefully that not even the prospect of end could scare him away. Changbin wouldn’t want anything more than what he already had: you. You and the certainty that you love him as much as he loves you. And he's on the way to tell you that, not caring the least if it doesn't match the idea he has been creating for himself for so long, until his gaze falls on your relaxed figure, having finally given in to sleep.
He leaves a kiss on the top of your head, holding you even tighter and giggling at the realization he could only win: whether the world ends now or not, if this was the last moment or if you still had a lifetime to go through, he could spend they all happily, knowing he got to spend them with you.
summary : a letter a day. a letter to the boy who has gone to fulfil his military enlistment.
word count : 254 words.
taglist : @penny-quinn @tbzhub
when : you were an acquaintance
Dear Mr. Acquaintance
The first time I talked to you, you just stared at me. You never looked away and just sat there, looking at me looking at you.
You’re cute. Extremely cute. Which is why it doesn’t help the fact that your staring is causing me to get flustered. Flustered is the last thing I want to be in front of a cute boy who could possibly use it as leverage.
I thought something was wrong. Did I have to ask for a specific colour? Were you a germaphobe? Had I misjudged your kind face and instead manifested an ideal picture of an approachable you?
Your scary friend, Younghoon? I think his name is. He’s raising his eyebrow at you and yet you don’t stop with the staring. At first it was rather flattering but now I’m starting to get irritated. Am I ugly or something? Is something on my face?
Younghoon is the one to give me the pen in the end.
I thanked him with my best fake smile before my eyes flickered to your familiar bag, spotting a very familiar Chucky keyring I spotted just months before. This time, I was the one that was staring and you were the flustered one.
It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time. I can’t bring myself to find any other better nickname for you except your current one.
I guess even in the months of your absence, you were already Kyu to me.
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author’s note : i’ll probably post a bit more frequently (since it’s summer here) i’ll honestly see how it goes
notes: this has been sitting on my drafts for weeks hhh nvm it's still winter (it snowed today!!!)
networks: @ficscafe @multifandomnet
walking down the crowded street bundled up in your coat, a handmade wool scarf close around your neck, you were listening to your favorite band's newest album. passers-by could only discern your eyes and the bridge of your nose, due to the cap and the scarf covering half your face.
the street lamps' light reflected on your pupils as you looked around the chalets and what the merchants had in store for the tourists and townspeople. as per usual this time of year, your feet (brain) brought you to the hot beverage chalet.
the young man there greeted you before his grandmother did. the latter urged his grandson to make your favorite drink while she came closer to you on the side. you took your earphones off and made small talk, laughing a few times, while your gaze was on seungmin almost the whole time.
"here, y/n." your boyfriend handed you the hot chocolate in a mug that said 'the best granny ever'.
you gladly took it. "thank you, min. a lot of customers today?"
"tons, actually. halmeoni's recipe is greatly appreciated."
"as it should!"
"nonsense," started the old lady with a smile, but she got nicely shushed.
"it's about time you realize the power you have here, halmeoni," said seungmin's older sister who just entered the chalet from the other side. "i'm taking over snoopy," she added as she pushed her brother out of the chalet as gently as possible (for siblings).
the mug in one hand and your boyfriend's hand in the other, you walked out of the market place to a much quieter park nearby.
there, once seated on a bench facing the kids' playground, seungmin brought your entertwined hands to his face to place a kiss on your knuckles. it was little attentions that made you fall in love with him in the first place, and he never took you for granted. not once in four years.
it felt good. being here in the cold but in the warmth of your clothes, your lover next to you, a hot beverage within arm reach, sunny weather and did i mention kim seungmin next to you?
summary: you’ve always had a strange affinity for the outlawed holiday known as christmas. chris, your boyfriend, never understood your dangerous fascination with something so incredibly illegal. now, when you’ve decided to hold a christmas party that could very likely get you killed, will he and his friends help you? successfully pulling off this insanely risky heist will mean you get to host the party of the century. But if one thing goes wrong, the government will come for you all…
tw: mild language, heist, oppressive government, violence, mentions of bullying, illegal activities and guns
notes: finally, part 4 of our event is out! special thanks to tee and xie, without who this wouldn’t have seen the light! a million thanks to you two<3 I hope you enjoy! please let us know if you liked it :) ps: gif by the amazing @freckledwinterfalls
Jeongin remembers painfully the last time he had to report an illegal activity. The screams, cries and the ache he felt in his chest upon watching the family torn apart. All this misery because of one Christmas carol. Because he followed the orders blindly.
Although illegal, it brought happiness to the family and he destroyed that.
It was all because of him.
And now, his shaky fingers around the comm he’s dreading to use, he's waiting for something, anything that could stop him from sabotaging the party you worked so hard for.
However, before anyone has the chance to speak up, the second Santa with puppy-like features takes out his own comm.
"You're all under arrest for the participation in illegal activities!" he spits.
Those few words send all the party-goers into a state of pure panic. The barn is filled with frantic cries and the pounding of feet as they stampede towards the huge, wooden doors. The sounds have Jeongin closing his eyes in desperation, bringing back flashes of those terrible memories. The guilt, which he worked for so long to lock away, suddenly floods all through him.
"Don't." The plea is whispered, but still manages to catch the other Santa's attention over the shoves and shouts.
Incredulous, the puppy-faced one turns to Jeongin.
"What do you mean 'don't'?" he demands, finger still cocked over the button of his comm. One little press, and everything would be over.
All you could do was stare, frozen and mortified along with your friends. Why couldn't you move? Why weren't you running?
At the sound of Changbin's voice, the puppy-face Santa whirls, eyes wide. "Bin?" Suddenly, Seungmin's face relaxes, though his eyes remain hard and cold as obsidian. "Thank goodness you're here. Have you already notified the G.I.F.T units?"
You know what G.I.F.T. is. Everyone does. The Government Interception of Fugitives and Terrorists unit is the monster with which parents scare their children. Behave and don't talk about holidays of any sort, unless you want to be taken by the G.I.F.T. takers.
Gift takers. It's a funny little pun that makes light of a subject too dark to be spoken of otherwise.
"No, Seungmin," the security guard says quietly.
"We're with them," adds Hyunjin, steering forward to peer carefully at his coworkers.
Seungmin stares, baffled. “What do you mean you’re with them? You’re accomplices?”
Hyunjin and Changbin nod, their hands up in an almost surrender position, hoping to ease Seungmin away from clicking the button. Changbin takes a step closer to him, stopping immediately as he sees the brunet bring the controller closer to himself, flexing his finger a bit as if to threaten them. “We are. But we’re not bad guys. Don’t tell anyone, please.”
The younger stares at the two rogue officers, glare like the snow on the ground, icy. “And why shouldn’t I? You not only broke the law yourselves, but you helped others break the law and get away with it.” You watch, petrified as he takes a deep breath.
Changbin steps closer once more, eyes pleading the younger. “The law is wrong, Seungmin. If you just trust us, we’ll tell you everything. I promise.”
“Can’t we at least hear them out?” The fox-like boy insists. “They might be right.”
Seungmin takes another look at the officers he once considered colleagues, and sighs. He drops his hand back to his side, and nods. “Fine, but you guys better tell me everything.”
“Of course!” You chime from the sides, too overjoyed to fare that you weren’t part of this conversation. “Of course we will!”
Seungmin nods, tucking his hand into his pocket and waving his hand lazily as if to dismiss you all from your terrified statue-like states. You run to Chan, jumping into his open arms as the others tackle each other to the ground, overjoyed. Even Jeongin seems relieved, running up to Hyunjin joyously and embracing him tightly as if they haven’t seen each other in years.
It almost makes Seungmin feel guilty as he presses the emergency button inside his pocket.
It’s as if time slows when they arrive. Your bright, excited eyes turn to shock, then fright as the lights flicker, in tune with the sirens quickly approaching you all.
"We're screwed," you whisper, tears welling in your eyes. Sobbing, you whirl, desperately clinging to your boyfriend. "We're screwed!"
Chris just holds you, his hands clammy, his body rigid, frozen. Your whole team is silent with shock, unmoving.
"You traitor!" Hyunjin howls, lunging for Seungmin's throat. Only Changbin does anything to stop the taller man, grabbing his arms and holding him back while he struggles.
"I'm sorry," Seungmin says lowly, reaching for the pistol at his belt. "But the law is the law."
Reluctantly, the younger –Jeongin, Seungmin called him– also draws his pistol, and the two Santas level their weapons at you.
"You have the right to remain silent," says Seungmin firmly. "As long as you don't try to escape or contact anyone, I won't fire."
Jeongin's eyes are terrified. Utterly conflicted. Filled with grief. You briefly wonder if your arrest and torture will hurt him more than it will you.
"I love you," whispers Chris, pulling you even closer to him. His voice is low enough so only you hear his words, but you can feel the others' eyes on the two of you. It's not hard to read his lips.
"I'm sorry I never got to propose for real," he continues. His hands are shaking as they cradle you, his cheeks wet with tears as he rests his face against your hair. "I wanted to. So, so bad."
"You would have been the best husband ever," you whisper tremulously into the hard planes of his body.
Slowly, your boyfriend pulls your left hand to his lips, kissing the ring on your third finger. "I don't think I ever told you," he says, voice breaking on every word. His eyes are red and puffy, his heart breaking right there on his face for everyone to see. "I carried this ring around in my pocket for months. Just waiting for the right moment. I feel pretty stupid knowing that when I finally did give it to you on one knee, you thought it was all for the heist."
Oh, God. He'd proposed. That was why there had been so much emotion, so much love and adoration. That feeling of foreverness. He'd been planning to propose even before the heist had been planned. Months before, if he was telling the truth. Him getting down on one knee in the snow that day felt the same to him as actually asking you to marry him.
The silent tears are flowing in earnest now, and you hide your face in his coat, embarrassed. And so you don't see Jeongin slowly turning his gun on Seungmin. You don’t see Seungmin's eyes widen. You aren't aware of any of it. While your back is turned, Seungmin angles his body, mouth opening to demand just what Jeongin thinks he's doing. And in Seungmin's moment of distraction, both Changbin and Hyunjin pull their weapons from their holsters.
"Hyung, please put the gun down," whispers the youngest officer.
Confused, you turn out of your faux (real?) fiancé's embrace.
The sight that meets your eyes has your jaw dropping and your eyes popping. In short, you look exactly like Chris, Minho, Jisung, and Felix.
Three men with their guns aimed at one.
"Jeongin…" the youngest's partner stares at him in disbelief, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face. "Are you seriously going to take their side?"
"Put the gun down," Changbin echoes, features hard and cold. He doesn't look at all like the kind and cute man you've come to know him as.
Clenching his jaw, Seungmin does as he's ordered, angrily allowing himself to be led away by his three former friends. They tie him to one of the barn's pillars, their faces somehow looking simultaneously determined and reluctant.
As soon as you're in the clear, a lightbulb goes on over your head. As the sirens gradually become louder, you frantically latch onto the idea. There's the slightest chance that it might work.
"Jisung!" you shout, already running across the vast floor of the barn. "The national feeds!"
For a split second, your friend's eyebrows are drawn together in a show of befuddlement. And then he gets the same bulb over his head.
"You got it!" Jisung dashes for his computer, and before you've reached the opposite wall, he's clacking furiously away on the keyboard.
"What's going on?" Chris demands.
Neither of you answer in your haste to put the impromptu plan into action. Instead, you grab the sack of decor you'd stolen from the government complex and lug it over to where Jisung is frantically setting up a small camera.
"What's happening?" Chris yells a second time.
"We're saving our butts, you idiot!" shouts Jisung in return. Then his eyes turn to you. "Are you ready?"
You carefully dump the contents of the sack out onto the wooden flooring. You took so much Christmas stuff from the government complex that, even after lavishly decorating a giant barn, there was still an insane amount left over.
"On your mark," you reply firmly.
"Everyone shut up!" Jisung's cry bounces off the walls of the vast structure, and seems to cast a spell over everyone present. Which isn't a lot, considering all of the party guests fled as soon as Seungmin shouted something about arrests. As Jisung clicks the camera's Record button, all nine of you freeze, ignoring the ever-approaching sirens.
You're on, Jisung mouths.
Every year on Christmas Day, the country's dictator, Venier Garland hosts a holiday special. Except, being the man who outlawed holidays, it's more of an annual threat – or reminder as he calls it. All day long, he and various government authorities speak on the wastefulness of Christmas. How it detracts from national productivity. How it allows for too much freedom of speech.
Well. Today, you're going to show them freedom of speech.
"Pull up the national broadcast on mute," hisses Ji from behind the camera.
As you take a deep breath, preparing yourself for what's about to happen, Chris scrambles for his phone, searching up the live Christmas threat that airs once a year. His jaw drops as he sees that President Venier Garland is not being broadcasted around the entire country, but you are.
Bless Han Jisung and his hacking skills.
Han gives you a nod. “You’re live.”
Chan looks at you reassuringly, a reassuring hand coming to your back. You give him a nod, and face the camera. “Hello… most of you don’t know me or any of the people I’m with, but we need you to trust us.”
“I know you’re all scared—it’s Christmas, the night where grinches and santas fill the streets and all joy leaves this world, right?” You pause, thinking of your next words. You only have one shot at this —getting the people on your side— you need to make sure to win them over within the next few minutes. “But that’s not how it’s supposed to be.”
“Christmas, the way we know it, is all a lie. We’re not supposed to hide in fear, and shun everything related to it. We’re supposed to celebrate it freely. But our government has taken away our holidays, our freedom to celebrate what we want, how we want to.”
You pause your speech when Chan taps your shoulder. It’s a silent ask for permission to cut in, to which you give him the floor. “They don’t destroy everything like they pretend to. The rest of the world isn’t restricted like we are. They’re even buying our Christmas contraband, straight from our government. Everything you see in the dumps is scheduled so that we see it and believe that’s what happens to everything that’s related to Christmas, but it’s not. Everything you’re in fear of, everything they told you growing up, it was just to silence your voices.”
Seungmin and Jeongin turn their heads to you, shock evident on their features. Did they hear that right? Was the government really selling the people's stuff that symbolizes freedom away? While the inhabitants were living in fear, Venier Garland was filling his pockets deep.
Seungmin's guilt is much existent now, and Jeongin's somewhat comforted in his choice to "change side".
“I know what you may be thinking,” you say, voice trembling with nerves. “How could we possibly know this? What proof do we have?”
Chris squeezes your elbow, but whether it’s out of support or fear, you’re not sure.
“We broke into the collection complex to steal Christmas decorations for a secret party,” you admit shakily. If this doesn’t work, if no one joins your cause, this confession will have you all hanging from nooses. “While we were there, we found crates filled with your family heirlooms being prepared for shipping all over the world. And some of my own.”
You bend to retrieve some of the artifacts you spilled from the sack, and rise back into the frame with your arms full. There are Christmas-themed picture frames with strangers’ family photos inside. Cute little statuettes obviously made by preschoolers. And the gem pine tree with your baby pictures.
“How many of you recognize these?” you demanded of the camera. “I can tell you that these baby photos are mine.” The sense of rage begins to fill you again as you gesture to the gem pine tree. “Why do they still have these after collecting them all those years ago? I don’t need to tell you why.”
You allow the rage to flood through you, letting it spur you on. It saturates your voice with righteous indignation. “I don’t have to tell you, because I can show you.”
As you speak the words, your eyes meet Jisung’s, silently communicating what you need him to do.
“We have files and documentation from the government’s own database,” you say slowly and clearly. “It was downloaded by my associate after he hacked into their system. Now, he’s going to send it to each and every one of you. Everyone with a device hooked up to the internet will receive these files. And you will be able to look at them yourself. See the evidence that your government is not only stealing your heritage, but also selling it for a profit.”
Jisung’s already working hard and fast, fingers zooming across his keys. Honestly, you were just grasping at straws when you said the files would be sent to every citizen. You had no idea if such a thing were possible. All you did know was that if anyone could do it, it was Jisung.
And you were right.
Later, he tells you that he hacked into the main streams of all the major search platforms, all the internet and email providers, essentially broadcasting one giant message. A mass email. With all the stolen documents and files attached.
The next few minutes feel like they're in slow motion.
The sirens rise to a scream outside, and the camera frames your terrified face, which whirls towards the barn doors. Chris wraps his arms protectively around your body as men in black explode through the barn door, shouting, guns raised.
You only have a few more seconds. "Please!" you scream at the camera, desperation saturating your voice. "If you see this, help us! Join us! We don't have to tolerate it any longer."
"Grab her!" yells one of the officers.
"No!" Chris lunges away from you, spreading his long arms to form a protective shield. The officers aim their weapons right at his face, but he's determined, unflinching.
"Will we stand for them taking our memories?" you shriek into the feed. "Will we let them take our freedom to spend time with each other and love each other?"
"The camera!" bellows the leader. "Shut off the camera!"
Two guys rush towards Jisung's set-up, but he leaps to his feet, throwing a rough punch into the face of the closest one.
"Move out of the way!" an officer demands of Chris.
You scream out loud as four guys, in response to his declaration of defiance, tackle him to the ground, each man holding down one of his limbs. And then more are coming for you.
"Please!" you scream at the camera. "For your children!"
And then Jisung's knocked down, the camera shoved onto the ground, and there are rough hands on your arms, wrestling you away from your boyfriend, and you're kicking and screaming and fighting, and you dimly hear someone shout, "KNOCK HER OUT," and someone knocks you over the head, your vision going black.
The last thing you see is the faint silhouette of Chan running to you, calling for you.
When you wake, it’s because you’re being jostled around, eight voices whispering harshly to each other around you. Blinking your eyes open, the whispers stop suddenly, and you’re surrounded by the six boys you had started this all with, along with the two Santas. You stare at the latters, confused and resentful. Especially Seungmin, who’s looking at you with apologetic eyes, while Jeongin is close to crying.
“I’m sorry. I should've listened to you,” the older Santa sighs.
“That’s what I’ve been telling you since we were thrown into that van!” interjects Changbin with humor.
“I said I was sorry!”
“Apologies won’t save us now,” Minho says in a low voice, which makes Jisung shiver, seated right next to him.
You feel Chan holding you close, squeezing your hand for reassurance, and as you're looking at the boys one by one, you realize terror and anticipation are the only feelings you all have in common. None of you regret doing this whole heist and party, you haven't been this happier since… well, ever.
But now, you're on your way to the gallows without any idea whatsoever how the nation is taking the news Chan and you delivered them earlier.
Even after knowing they acted of their own free will, you can't help but feel responsible for leading them to death when they could be in the comfort of their home, ignorant but alive.
“Seungmin, Jeongin… What are you doing here? Us, I get it, but you?” you ask, voice trembling a little.
“I tried to stop them…” Jeongin looks down.
You can’t begin to imagine the war going on in his head.
“When one of them untied me, I punched him in the face.”
“Needless to say it wasn’t the smartest move,” adds Hyunjin, arms crossed over his chest.
“Look, I get it, I screwed up, but I didn’t know the truth then! Now, I’m as pissed off at the government as you guys are.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway. There won’t be any trial,” informs a gloomy Chan.
“I can’t believe it ends now…” whispers Felix, voice cracking a little.
He puts his face in his hands while Jisung sits up straight, a glint of determination and hope in the eye. “I’m sure someone, out there, believes in us. Even if we don’t make it today, we started something big. They won’t be able to silence everyone, it will keep growing, more people will open their eyes and, ultimately, Venier Garland will lose this war over freedom. Because we made it happen. Six young adults who could cooperate perfectly and create a life changing moment. Obviously, it would have never been possible without you, Y/N,” Jisung pauses, sending you a gummy smile. “If you weren’t so curious, none of this would've happened and I’m glad, so glad I know you and that I could be part of this–”
A loud tire squeal stops Jisung from finishing his heartfelt speech and throws you all forward, making you fall on each other. The van finally stops and you hear people yelling, but can’t really make out the words. Then, Minho puts a finger over his mouth to stop the few parasite sounds of shifting.
“Release them now,” he repeats the words, “Open that door. We won’t stop until they’re free.”
Relief and gratitude washes over you. All you can do is smile with wet eyes at the (roughly) hundred civilians when the door opens.
Two men knock over the guards and attach their wrists for good measure. They even help you guys out of the van, and as you're thanking them as well as everyone else, you realize they're thanking you too.
That, that is what shows it wasn't all in vain. It’s some kind of gift for exposing the government's biggest secret.
And it’s exhilarating.
Soon, everyone is gathered around the eight of you in the middle of the road, waiting for a path to take, something, anything to do to help more.
You’ve made up your mind, and you hope they did too.
“I suggest we go directly to the president at the capitol.”
“Are you sure?” asks Chan next to you. He has his arm around your waist. He doesn't want to leave your side again.
“It’s suicide!” claims a man in the crowd you don’t see clearly. “We won't get past the gates!”
“I seriously don’t believe they want to mass murder civilians now, it won't look good on their part,” Changbin assures. “They're not going to let us through like that either, though. We’ll have to keep our cool and maintain our formation.”
“It would be best if at least Y/N, Chan, Jisung, Felix and Minho are not up front, just in case they decide to go directly for them,” Hyunjin adds.
And so begins your marching to the capitol, that thankfully is less than two kilometers away from the van. It’s cold, but bearable as your will power surpasses your basic needs. The need, scratch that, the necessity to stop the so-called President is occupying all your mind. So, you fail to notice when, a few meters from the gate, tens of guards try to stop the mob from the sides and you’re unaware when they're harshly being taken down one by one.
Throwing out the gate as easily as you’ve been thrown into the van, you keep marching to the main entrance, Chan and Jisung by your sides like it started. The doors are being broken down one by one, in search of the culprit.
“ …wondering what the fuss is all about. Enemies of the nation, charlatans, however you want to call them, they spit lies to wreak havoc in our beloved country. They’re nothing more than rotten corrupted individuals and I–”
You can’t stay behind and listen to his crap any longer. You open the door sharply, causing it to slam on the wall, and Garland’s reaction alone is worth it. He’s obviously afraid of you, well rather what you represent, you’re both aware of that. But also, he wasn’t expecting you, and everyone behind, to show up in his office while he was doing a live show.
He quickly composes himself and clears his throat to resume his speech, but you’re not going to watch him free himself from guilt and make you the villain.
While the guards present in the room are getting taken care of, Jisung reaches for the assistant’s computer, who, upon seeing you all enter, fled the scene.
With a few clicks and tapping on the keyboard, the genius retrieves the overwhelming evidence and floods the screen with them.
He exchanges glances with Changbin and Chan, they nod, and it’s their cue to kick the President out of his chair, not without any protest of course, but Jisung anticipated by muting the mic.
The boys tie him up and keep him on the first row as you sit on his chair with a serious look on your face.
“You’re on in three, two…” starts Jisung, counting down with his fingers, and you take a deep breath. “One.”
“Dear fellow citizens. I am Y/N L/N and I am like you. I lived in fear of Santas and G.I.F.T., of oppression over holidays. We shouldn't have to be scared of celebrating holidays that bring us closer together and bring joy overall. President Venier Garland banned these holidays under the pretext that it gives us too much freedom, too much time where we're not working. This should be illegal. How can he have so much control over our life, treating us like we’re less than nothing? Just so he can enjoy his life while we work our asses off until exhaustion? Do you want to keep living like this? Or do you rather fight for your rights and principles? The nightmare can end here, right now. I demand M. Garland’s resignation, effective immediately.”
Chan gives the man a “I’m watching you” look, allowing him to walk into the frame, to your right. Your lover is behind him, holding his wrist.
You risk a glance, noticing how his lips quiver ever so slightly as he looks down. He honestly looks pathetic, like a kid caught being bad, and you don't have an ounce of pity for him.
“My childhood has never been easy,” he eventually murmurs. You can’t hear so you ask him to say it again. He does, louder this time, and you hear a few scoffs.
“Mine either because of you,” someone mutters under their breath.
“Kids made fun of me for my last name. Garland. How funny,” he spits. “Fueled my anger. My family was poor; couldn't afford a simple garland to decorate our pine tree my dad would fetch in the woods.”
“Then why put a tree in your home?” you ask, unable to retain yourself, you’re too curious.
“My mom used to say it was for Christmas’ spirit. She was always trying to cheer me up, even though I could see the neighbors mocking us every day. When I was around ten, on Christmas Day, some of them threw eggs and toilet paper on my house. ‘So we could eat and clean ourselves’. After that, I blamed the holidays for the way we were treated. It was always harder for my family at those times. I swore to get back at them for what they did, and I finally accomplished that,” he relates angrily, but then, he takes a deep breath and calms down, talking in a softer voice. “I avenged my parents, I hurt my bullies the way they hurt me… by taking away freedom and joy. In the process, everyone else was a victim of my rage, and for that I’m sorry. I resign, in hopes that you’ll find it in your heart one day to forgive me. Not that I deserve it in any way.”
Jisung stops the recording under loud cheers, the last frame being Venier Garland’s apologetic face, with Chan’s and your satisfied ones.
Chan lets go of the man and comes near you to kiss your forehead, whispering ‘I’m proud of you’. You lean your head on him for a while, then turn to the man.
You might feel a tiny bit of pity. “I’m sorry about your childhood. No one deserves to live like this, and I get that anger is difficult to tame. That being said, violence is never the answer, nor is a dictatorship. You’ve made innocent people miserable for years and I’m sure it didn't make you happier.”
“You're right. I’ve made plenty of mistakes and I’m paying for them now.”
As if on cue, Seungmin and Jeongin come hold an arm each, taking him somewhere out of the room. You take this moment to get up and hug your lover tightly. “I’m so, so proud of you,” he whispers again, between two kisses.
“And I'm proud of all of us. We’ve come a long way. These past few weeks have been decisive for the outcome of this fight, and I’m glad we won.”
Jisung and Minho are hugging each other, like Changbin and Hyunjin are, leaving Felix running to you for a triple hug.
“So, what now?” Felix asks, a big smile on his face as he lets go of you.
“Now… we opt for democracy and a better future,” you answer, squeezing Chan’s hand gently.
pairing: park sunghoon x reader. genre(s): fluff, college!au. wc: ~1k. warnings: none. an: take it as a sort of late birthday thing? this really isn’t my greatest, so i’m rly sorry if it’s cringey and or sucks 3 also tysm @yoonzinoswife for always hyping me up ilyssssm ♥️ playlist: falling for u
“hey!” you exclaim and make an attempt to take back the book sunghoon had just snatched from your fingers, but he’s too quick and you’re left to sulk against the tree trunk as he all but smirks triumphantly.
of course you roll your eyes, it’s about the only thing you have energy for after years of hearing the same thing—well, sometimes, if you were lucky, there were mere minutes between sunghoon’s random urges to get on your nerves—and the reaction seems to give him all the more satisfaction.
the grass beneath him crackles against his denim jacket as he sprawls out beside you and begins to thumb through the pages without giving them much thought before resting the book over his face. you think it the move of an amateur for him to leave his defenses down and so you reach out to grab it, but the asshole is one step ahead and slaps your hand away before your fingertips can even make contact with the cover. you groan in defeat and he chuckles.
“what are you doing here anyway? i thought you were at that training camp,” you grumble, folding your arms across your chest. sunghoon wasn’t always an annoying menace. in your memory, the six year-old boy from next door who thought his sister more important than anyone and who shyly brought over his mom’s delicious kimchi was arguably the most precious human being you had ever seen. you pinned the blame of whatever this freak of nature was on puberty and this skating of his.
from the corner of your eyes you see his shoulders rise and fall in a shrug, and they seem broader than you recall. “it finished early. what are you doing here? don’t you have a dance?”
you weren’t sure if he was serious or not so you try and read him, but his face is still covered and he hadn’t moved an inch since before. you decide you’re not too keen on figuring him out either, lest it do you a disservice, so you turn your attention to the clouds in the distance and watch them ride the afternoon breeze in pregnant silence.
“come to the rink with me.”
for whatever reason, this request annoys you so you ignore him. his sigh is muffled by the thick pages of the book before he finally removes it from his face and places it beside him. he sits up and turns to you, asking you again. your stomach twists, but under his hawk-like stare you fight to keep your expression neutral. “no.”
his eyes finally leave you and he picks the book up once more, brushing his fingers over the cover, “why?”
“why do i need to go? you’re the one who likes it there, not me,” you shrug, lifting yourself up and picking the loose grass from your jeans.
“what about your book?” he asks as you start in the direction of your house across the street.
“(y/n)” your shoulders tense as his fingers lock around your wrist. his grip is firm but gentle, and his hand feels bigger than you remember. remember. that’s all you ever seemed to do while he slipped through your fingers like sand through the hour glass.
“(y/n),” he says again. even his voice is different. stronger, grittier, older. even the way he says your name feels different than it did before.
it wasn’t that you hated the rink, or figure skating for that matter. you’d follow him to the rink every single afternoon since he picked the sport up, sitting in the bleachers while he practiced with the other kids. you were so excited for him when his first competition came around that you couldn’t sleep the night before.
but, when sunghoon took to the ice that day, in his glittering costume and the hair his mom had done up, it was different. the way he moved across the rink as the music played, the sound of his blades against the ice, the expressions his eight year-old face wore that made it all seem effortless yet magnificent, it took your breath away.
and of course, you were not the only one who thought so. from then on, sunghoon got better and better, winning medal after medal with ease, going on to represent the country and claim the ice as his. he had to go to training camps and either be excused from class or just not go at all. you were proud of him.
but park sunghoon could see right through you. the fact that you thought you could hide the way you felt when your face was so expressive was beyond him. even now, with the visible frown-lines, the heavy pout— you were so obviously glum it almost cost him all those years he spent holding back.
you were unbelievably adorable.
he tugs on your wrist, asking you to look at him, but you refuse to look him in the eye. he sighs and grabs your other hand and pulls you toward him. your eyes widen at the feel of him running his thumbs across your knuckles, before he lifts them to his lips.
his eyes lock with yours and he places a hand on either side of your face, cradling it as if it were his world as something unfamiliar swims in his eyes. he leans forward and you gasp, squeezing your eyes and lips together, your heart thumping against your chest. you hear him chuckle softly and your eyes shoot open to glare at him, but you’re stunned by the feel of his lips pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead.
he leaves another kiss at the tip of your nose, sending heat to your cheeks and to your ears, before shyly resting his head against yours. you gulp, feeling confused and flustered and dazed and scared that he could hear the way he had you hook, line and sinker.
he groans, taking your hands again, “i swear to god, (y/n). the thought that you might never confess and look like this,” he vaguely gestures to all of you, “in front of someone other than me is highly annoying. so just come with me to the rink because i planned a whole thing but your cute stubborn ass made me mess it all up”
you blink, “excuse me?”
“and you can bring your book with you,” he winks, handing the book to you with a complacent smirk. you frown in confusion and peer at the cover. and as if you’d only just seen it, a blush burns in your cheeks and the tips of your ears.
so, your best friend is making your heart do a triple axel
taglist: @oifelixcmerebrou @00-baejin-05 @iminchaosnow @luvrjn (send an ask to be added!)
Genre: Smut rated M/21+; oral (m. and f. receiving); edging/oragasm denial; choking; use of the word "doll"; degradation
Word Count: 1.2k words
Mellow speaks: Part 2 to "Hard at Work" is here!! I had so much fun writing this one, and I may or may not have gone overboard with this (you guys tell me lol). Thank you to the anon who had requested this, and while I tried to make this as much into an individual fic as possible, it might me fun to read both parts together.
Find Pt. 1 here!
Your back hitting the mattress, you look up at your boyfriend, eyes going wide as he climbs over you, a smirk plastered on his face. His lips soon meet yours, his form hovers over your own while he uses his arms to prop himself up. As he closes the gap between your bodies, you find yourself becoming hyper-aware of his member pressing against your clothed core, your skirt riding up your thigh and pooling around your waist.
It starts out as soft, but you know it's just the calm before the storm. Well aware of how annoyed Jay can get whenever you disrupt his game, you can't help but try to brace yourself for what is to come. As if reading your thoughts, Jay lets out a groan before pushing harder, his mouth molding against your own in a display that's sloppy but full of passion, and if you might add, with a hint of anger to it.
You're too invested in the kiss to notice the way he starts grinding against you, his already hardened cock teasing your heat through the fabric of your panties. But his movements soon make themselves known, the friction that's growing between your thighs causing your wetness to seep through as you pull him close by the shoulder, his tongue against your bottom lip leaving you craving for more.
And then, just like that, he pulls away, and you're left clutching at the air and trailing after his lips. Looking up at him, you find a devilish grin plastered to his face as he looks down at you. "What happened, doll?," he asks, tutting slightly at the sight in front of him. You can only gape at him, not wanting to say something wrong and mess things up for yourself. When you don't reply, he decides to continue, the words that roll of his tongue making goosebumps rise on your skin.
"Disturbing me while I'm playing, embarassing me in front of my friends," he growls lowly, and despite yourself, you can't help but find it sexy. "Such a slut, aren't you? Deserve to be punished." That's the last thing you hear before he's on you once more, his lips finding yours in a flash. But that's not what gets you reeling (though it does feel nice, a bit too nice). What actually gets you reeling is the feeling of his fingers ghosting over your core, your panties being pushed to the side as his hand greets your arousal.
The next thing you know, two fingers make their way inside your hole, stretching you out as he continues to kiss you. The action causes pleasure to spread throughout your body, a moan escaping your lips as he slowly picks up the pace. "Slut," he whispers against your mouth, curling his index and middle fingers inside of you and hitting the spots he knows have your toes curling.
The way his hand expertly carries out its torture on you, it's no surprise that the coil in the pit of your stomach starts tightening yet again, every stroke of his fingers pushing you closer to your high. As his speed increases, so does the sound of your moans, face betraying the pleasure you are feeling as you feel your orgasm growing nearer.
But of course, luck is not your side, as just when you think you're gonna cum, the feeling recedes, your walls clenching around nothing as Jay pulls his fingers out of you. You can't help but whine at the loss of contact, the smug grin on his face almost making you cry. "What is it, doll? Why are you looking at me like that?," he muses, and when you don't reply, he grabs your chin harshly, leaning close as he mutters an "Answer me."
"W-want you," you manage to stutter out somehow, making him chuckle as his hands run up your thighs, fingers getting hooked in the waistband of your panties and pulling them down your legs in one swift move. You can only whimper as your thighs are spread apart, his tongue licking a long stripe up your folds as his fingers make their way to your clit, teasing your bundle of nerves while his mouth works its wonders on you. It doesn't take him much time to set up a pace for himself, open-mouthed kisses and kitten licks threatening to drive you insane as you inch closer to your climax once more.
With his tongue flitting in and out of your hole, you can do nothing but let soft mewls escape you every now and then, the buildup to your orgasm making your senses hazy. It takes you a second to register it when he asks, "Wanna cum?," his voice muffled by your mound as you weakly nod your head, hoping he'd have mercy on you this time around. But your hopes are in vain, of course, as instead of a kiss to your clit, what you get a sharp slap straight to your pussy, Jay's lips curling into a sneer as he hears you moan his name. The stimulation has you dangling off the edge, your eyes pleading your need for a release.
"Not so fast," he mutters, smirking once more as his hand wraps around your neck, roughly pulling your already fucked-out form into a sitting position in front of him. "Wanted my dick, didn't you?," he asks, leaning in so that his face is dangerously close to yours. You choose to keep your mouth shut, silently praising yourself for doing the right thing when you feel him smash his lips to yours, kissing you harshly. "Then show me how much you're craving it." And with that, his PJs slide down his legs along with his boxers, the cock that you worship so much finally springing free, hitting against his abdomen. You don't have to be told what to do, your hands getting wrapped around his girth and your lips encircling his tip. Soon enough, you're bouncing your head up and down, sucking him off as his hand tightens around your throat every so often, cutting off your oxygen and causing you to gag. You pick up the pace, deepthroating him as his grunts grow louder.
He bucks his hips a couple times, thrusting himself deeper into your mouth as your hands massage his balls, your tongue licking the surface of his dick. Maybe it's the anger that he's feeling towards you, or maybe it's you look even more sexy being this desperate, but Jay soon finds himself close to the edge, his hand pushing your head even deeper as he nears his high. A few more strokes, and he pulls out of your mouth, only to cum all over your face, his warm seed forcing your eyes shut as he rides out his orgasm.
Stroking your head gently, he whispers, "Well done, doll," and despite yourself, you crack a smile, expecting to be forgiven. But you only end up making a fool of yourself yet again, your boyfriend's presence receding away from you as you open your eyes. "I think you can clean yourself up," he says, an air of nonchalance about him as he goes around pulling his pajamas up his legs. "B-but-," you stammer, but he pays you no mind, almost exiting the room before turning to look over his shoulder.
Genre: Smut rated M/18+; oral (m. receiving, sex at public place)
Mellow speaks: Sucking Jay off on a bus? Sign me up! I hope you guys enjoy reading this, and thank you to the anon who requested!
On the way home, you can't help but smile to yourself, thanking the stars for most of the bus being empty. In hindsight though, it was too be expected, seeing as how it your watch was ticking closer to midnight with every second that passed.
Whatever the reason may be, you can't deny the fact that the current situation does work in your favor, with not a soul close to you as you sit next to the window at the last seat, head resting on your boyfriend's shoulder as he mindlessly scrolls through his phone. To anyone looking at you from afar, you'd just seem like a couple going home after a day spent well.
But if they came closer, they were sure to notice the way small beads of sweat covered Jay's forehead, or the way your hand seems to moving in continous motions across his thigh. If they came close enough, they would also notice his softly-whispered threats to you, begging you to stop but at the same time, not wanting you to stop either.
"Y/N I swear to God, I'm gonna absolutely ruin you when we get home," Jay says through gritted teeth, his voice barely above a whisper as he tries to hold back a moan. You can only giggle at his words, a "As if that's not exactly what I want" escaping your lips while you continue your ministrations, your fingers palming him through his boxers, his jeans unzipped.
Smirking as you feel him grow harder at your touch, you gently squeeze him, a gasp finally making its way past his lips at the action. "All good Jay?," you ask, voice laced with mock concern as you lick your bottom lip, waiting for him to finally snap. But knowing how stubborn he can be, you decide to up your game in order to win.
And the very next moment, you find yourself on the floor of the bus, your form hidden behind the seats as your fingers tug at the button of Jay's jeans, the fabric being pulled down his legs before he can so much as mutter out a "Stop." Tongue flicking across your bottom lip, you lean over, a kiss being placed on his clothed boner as you look up at him through hooded eyes.
The simple action has him going weak in the knees, and even though he knows he's going to have a lot of fun with you once you get home, all he can do for now is become putty in your hands, and so, that's what he does. "Please," he whispers, looking down at you with big eyes. And that's all it takes for you to finally give in, fingers wrapping around the waistband of his boxers, causing them to meet the same fate as his denims.
His semi-hard cock springing free, you let your hands get wrapped around his length, pumping him a couple times as you feel him grow harder. Jay can't help the whine that escapes his lips, brain being flooded with eagerness as he thrusts hips upwards ever so discreetly, silently begging for you to start already. "Needy much?," you hum, finally taking his length into your mouth, your tongue swirling around his girth while you start bobbing your head up and down.
The feeling causes Jay's thoughts to get clouded over, the sight of his dick moving in and out of your lips making his mouth water. The phone lying forgotten by his side, his hands make their way to the back of your neck, pushing your head down gently, but enough to make you gag as his tip hits the back of your throat. "D-do that again," he sighs, biting down on his bottom lip to suppress his moans.
The smirk back on your face, you oblige once more, deep-throating him as your hands move to massage his balls, your pace picking up with every stroke. It doesn't take long for you to set up a rhythm for yourself, Jay's hand guiding your head as you continue to suck him off. Maybe it's the way you look up at him every so often, eyes heavy with lust. Or maybe it's the thrill of doing something so wrong, so inappropriate on a bus, the risk of being seen by someone growing with every swirl of your tongue and every deep breath he takes. But whatever it is, Jay finds himself inching close to his climax much faster than ever before, the feeling of your lips on him making goosebumps rise on his skin as soft whines escape him despite his best efforts.
You're quick to notice the same, the slight twitch of his cock telling you he's close. Letting your teeth graze him softly, you hollow your cheeks out, sucking on him particularly hard. And then it happens, his warm load releasing itself into your mouth, your tongue lapping up his juice as you struggle to swallow every last drop. Satisfied with your work, you pull away, a content smile on your face as you look up at your boyfriend for the umpteenth time.
Feeling your gaze on himself, Jay cracks his eyes open, throwing you an annoyed look as he says, "Stop grinning and help me get dressed."
every prompt here is made by me! feel free to use them however you like. do tag me so i can see your amazing works!!
note : if you see the same thing on twt (HUGWRITES), note that it's my account lol. I'll be sharing prompts on both twitter and tumblr, as for others (my fics). it will only be on Tumblr.
→ wherein due to a car incident, person A lost their memory of what happend 5 years back which was when the times person A and person B dated. right now, person B is very determined to let person A remember everything they've been through.
→ wherein you only see colors once you meet your soulmate but what if your soulmate is in a relationship?
→ wherein person A and person B became eachother's step-sibling because of their parents. the twist? they hate eachother to guts.
→ wherein person A is in a well-known gang in south korea who also had a lot enemies. what happens when person B was kidnapped by person A's enemies thinking person B was person A?
→ wherein person B could only depend on themselves since they were young..until they met person A.
→ wherein person B just wanted to release some stress at the bar but no one caught their attention..that is until person A came by wearing a black suit. the twist? person A is the 3rd child of their enemy's clan.
→ wherein assasin!person A was given a mission but they can't focus on the mission, not when the person who was assigned as their partner was their long-time crush, person B.
→ wherein person B had to work for a cocky arrogant ceo!person A. little did they know, their hatred for their ceo was just love in disguise.
→ wherein person A could only love person B silently..why? person B is dating person A's arrogant brother
→ wherein you can hear what your soulmate's music everytime the play. composer!person A always makes love songs for their soulmate, hoping that they'd listen and maybe reply with another song but their soulmate never does. reason? person B is deaf.
Genre: Fluff; smut; unprotected sex; oral (f. receiving); implied covkwarming
Rating: M/18+ (minors dni)
Word Count: 1.55k words
Mellow speaks: Here we go with Hyunjin!! I hope my cat anonnie likes this, and I also hope that the nonnie who requested this will enjoy this too!! Honestly, fooling around with Hyun in his newly-single room would be so amazing, wouldn't it? Anyway, I hope you guys like this!!
"Welcome to your new room, eh?," You say, a smirk playing at your lips as you look up at your boyfriend, his lanky form leaning against the doorframe as the two of you stand on the threshold, hands loosely intertwined. "Thanks for helping me out today," he replies, smiling almost lazily as he looks down at you, his arm making its way around your shoulders.
The boys had finally moved into a dorm which was much bigger than their previous one, allowing each member to have a room to himself. But being the busy bodies that they were, they hadn't gotten around to bringing in a majority of their stuff from the old dorm, leaving the new apartment pretty....empty for lack of a better word. Of course, they were slowly filling it up, one room at a time, as and when they got a couple hours to spare from their schedules.
Excited to finally be able to have some privacy with you without the fear of someone walking in every five minutes, and wanting to welcome you to a room that was full of life inside it instead of being akin to a barren piece of land, Hyunjin had asked you to lend him a hand setting everything up. And being the nice partner that you were, you had agreed in a heartbeat, finding it to be an excuse to spend some more time with him.
And that brings you to now, satisfied smiles on your faces as you look about the place you've managed set up at last. With the bed occupying a majority of the portion of the floor, the desk in the corner complete with a computer and a pair of speakers, and your boyfriend's beloved drawing tools neatly placed and ready to use on the balcony, the room finally seems like home to Hyunjin, and to you.
Closing the door shut, he turns to you, walking over and taking your hand in his, playing with your fingers. "I can have some alone time with you at home now," he mumbles, the smile on his face hiding something behind it, something you can't quite place. Blinking a couple times, you ask, "And what do you want to do with that alone time?," a hint of teasing in your voice as you look up at him, eyebrows raised.
"Well, for starters," he says, assuming a faux thoughtful expression as his eyes scan the room, "Now we can cuddle all night long without anyone to disturb us." "That's true, what else?," you reply, gaze never leaving his. "We can play games and be loud and no one would care. And I can make as many sketches of you as I want, without anyone to tease me. And-," he stops short, gaze flitting from your eyes to your lips and back again.
"And?," you urge, biting your bottom lip gently as you look up at him, your expression expectant. But the next thing you know, you're caught in a kiss with him, your body pushed smack against his and your lips meeting his in what starts out as sweet, but turns into something no less than a frenzy in the blink of an eye.
Your hands crumpling the collar of his shirt, while his own get interlocked behind your back, it's like time stops for the two of you, your senses heightened as the only thing that feels real is Hyunjin's tongue that's gliding across your bottom lip, and the gasps that escape him every now and then. You remain like that for heaven knows how long, trapped in your own little bubble until oxygen becomes a problem.
Pulling away, he rests his forehead against yours, his ragged breath mixing with your own as he whispers, "And I can kiss you like this without anyone watching." It takes you a while to let that sink in, his newfound boldness a sharp contrast to how you're used to him at the dorms, shy and nervous about Minho beating him up or Chan throwing him out if you get too loud or too steamy.
Things soon take a turn for something much more heated, your back hitting the mattress and your lips meeting your boyfriend's once again, this time in a kiss thats more desperate and more sloppy than the first. Pulling him closer, you don't stop until your chest is flat against his, long and slender fingers making their way under the hem of your shirt, drumming against your bare skin.
Before you know it, your clothes lie discarded on the floor of the new room, a mop of blonde hair tickling the insides of your thighs as his tongue laps across your folds, kitten licks blossoming in its wake. Tugging on his hair gently, you let your hands roam down his neck, all the way to his bare back, nails digging into his skin as moan after moan escapes your lips from the pleasure he's giving you.
"Now now angel, someone's gonna hear those pretty sounds of yours," he says, showing no signs of shutting you up as he continues to eat you out, the knot in your stomach growing tighter by the minute. His words only cause your voice to grow louder, moans being replaced by whines as you beg for him to let you cum. "F-faster Hyun- ahhh, I'm c-close," you manage to choke out, sweat beading your forehead thanks to your impending orgasm.
Despite his initial plans to tease you just a few minutes longer, Hyunjin finds himself giving in to your request, the way his name rolls off your tongue making his boxers feel even tighter than before. Picking up the pace, his strokes become nearly relentless, your taste doing things to his mind and making him lose all self-control. After that, it's only a matter of seconds before you reach your climax, a white hot pleasure spreading throughout your body as he lifts his head up, catching you in another sweet kiss.
"W-want you in me," you whisper against his lips, causing him to let out a chuckle as he pulls away gently, ready to do what, you know all too well. But you of course, are quicker than him, hand grabbing his bicep as you pull him back close to you, a tiny yelp making its way past his lips as he uses his arms to prop himself up. Lifting your head up every so slightly, you bring your lips close to his ear, whispering a "Can't wait," as your teeth dig into his shell.
"Desperate much?," he quips, a teasing edge to his voice as he complies yet again, boxers sliding down his legs and joining the pile on the floor. Spreading your legs, he lets his eyes travel upwards to meet yours, a smile on his face as he asks, "Ready?" It's at that moment that you feel your heart swell, the fact that no matter how many times you've slept with him, he never fails to ask you for permission making him all the more endearing. A single nod from you is all he needs to let go, his length sliding into your hole as he hisses at how tight you are.
A pace is soon set up, his member pounding into you as your hands cling to his torso for dear life. He continues to thrust into you, the coil in your stomach growing tighter once more. Your moans growing louder, you somehow manage to notice that Hyunjin's movements too, are becoming sloppier by the second. "Damn babe, I'm already close," he grunts, causing a whine to escape your lips. One last thrust, and he finally cums inside of you, his warm seed stimulating you to the point where you reach your climax, pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being as you ride out your high.
He all but collapses on top of you, a kiss being placed to your lips as the two of you drift off to dreamland, Hyunjin's member securely buried deep inside you. A good night's sleep is always welcome after some fun with your boyfriend, a that's exactly what you needed at the moment too. That's the last thought you have before you finally give in to sleep, a "Good night, my love," slipping past your lips.
Waking up the next morning, you're quick to notice the lack of his body pressed to yours, the walls of your core clenching around nothing as your eyes flutter open. Turning your head to the side, a smile takes over your lips as you take in the sight in front of you. There he is, peacefully sketching away on the balcony, a thin white T-shirt hugging his figure and blonde hair cascading down his face from a bun that's messily done. Getting off the bed, you can't help but smile upon noticing how he's left his shirt on the floor, obviously for you to wear.
Picking it up, you throw it over your form, your panties following suit before you make your way over to him, bending down to place a kiss to his lips. He can only smile at the sudden move, the sweet taste of your lips making him sigh as he pulls you to sit on his lap. "Good morning, beautiful," he mutters, wrapping his arms around you.
request: hello! for your 600 followers event, can i request prompt 1 with yang jungwon?
.A and B are paired together on a project and stay for hours after school to work on it. B isn’t pulling their weight and A gets mad at them to discover that B is sick, overworked, and physically too tired to work any harder. A takes it upon themself to take care of them— for the sake of the project of course.
"jungwon i told you im fine!", you protest as he looks down at your tired figure. you looked like you hadnt slept for days. and you really hadnt.
you were so bent up with stress from overworking yourself. and a project with yang jungwon, who was definitely NOT your friend, was the last straw.
you were sick, and tried not to show it. but he knew.
"oh c'mon y/n you look awful. ill take you home and give you some medicines. no refusing.", and with that he grabs your backpack and walks out of the school library, with you behind him, still whining that you were fine and that you could take care of yourself, when in reality, you were going to cry because of the throbbing headache you were having.
your house was only 2 blocks away from the school so you reached home quickly.
he dragged you straight to bed and made you lie down, uniform and all. "right now, what youre wearing doesnt matter. try and close your eyes. ill bring some medicine for you" was all he said, leaving you alone in your room.
somethign pulled at your heart. why was he being this nice to you? this never happened.
"wow i could get used to nice jungwon. youre never this nice to me.", you say when he comes back with the medicine. he asks you to open your mouth and he feeds you the medicine. "oh gosh stop babying me what the heck-"
"shut up and take some rest. im only doing this for the sake of the project, not because im worried.", he says rather quickly, looking everywhere but at you.
HALF AN HOUR later, following a rather abrupt end to the tour, Wooyoung made sure to stick with Seonghwa and San.
Though Jongho’s ire today was specifically directed at San, he wouldn’t pass up an opportunity to vent some of his frustration out on Wooyoung. Bullies rarely ever ignored such a thing, and Jongho was nothing if not thorough.
Mr. Chung went on three separate tangents before he finally dismissed them, setting them free into the wilderness that was Seoul. The group, which consisted of roughly twenty students, dispersed on their way out of the KimCorp facility. It was then and there that the trio, in complete and unspoken agreement, decided to get ahead of the curve and beat the crowd.
Outside, as if summoned by Seonghwa’s desire to put as much distance between himself and Jongho, a black sedan waited for them. They hopped in, Wooyoung feeling slightly self-conscious, and greeted the new, young face behind the wheel. Seonghwa did his best not to let his displeasure show as he had to yet again introduce himself to a new employee.
“You must be Ilnam,” Seonghwa assumed.
The driver nodded, though stiffly. He was around Seonghwa’s age, if not slightly older, yet he resembled a teenager out of his depth during his first day at work. San and Wooyoung greeted him with brief, but polite bows.
Seonghwa waved a despondent, if dismissive hand. “You can forget about the pleasantries, man,” he whispered. “These are my friends.” He pointed to San and Wooyoung. “Treat them as family because they are family.
“You ‘sir’ me one more time and walk all the way home.”
Ilnam’s eyes widened. “No, si—er—Mr. Park,” he stuttered and turned to them, frantically waving his hands and bowing his head. “Please, I’ll make sure to treat you properly and respectfully.”
San’s eyes widened in second-hand embarrassment. Wooyoung felt nothing but sympathy for the guy and wanted to reach out and comfort him. Seonghwa thought of it first, though, as he leaned in, gently grasped the driver’s hands, and rolled his eyes at the sunroof.
Wooyoung knew his friend was now more than a little annoyed and that whatever he was mumbling was either a prayer for strength or a thinly-veiled threat to some higher power if it didn’t help him keep his composure.
“We’ll make sure to do the same.” Seonghwa squeezed Ilnam’s hands and offered a genuinely friendly, if rueful smile. “Let’s treat each other well, okay? Let this be the start to an awkward, if comforting—er—are you crying?”
Ilnam raised his head, revealing not only teary, red eyes but snot rolling down his nose. Seonghwa stared for a beat, gave his friends a quick confused glance, then fervently shook his head and smacked his driver on the back of his neck.
“Don’t cry! There’s no crying in this car!” Seonghwa chopped at Ilnam’s neck with the back of his palm. “No crying! My mother will know if there was crying in the car!”
San nodded. “She’s creepy like that.”
“Hey.” Wooyoung shoved his elbow on his friend’s side. “Come on.”
“Yeah, but we don’t say it out loud.”
Seonghwa whirled on them, glaring. “Seriously?”
Wooyoung smiled thinly, clamping a hand on San’s mouth before he could dig them any deeper than he already had. “Your mom’s a lovely lady, Hwa.”
“Don’t.” Seonghwa shook his head. “Don’t even try to weasel your way out of this one.”
Wooyoung’s smile was replaced by a meek, if solemn expression. He nodded, nervously bowed, then looked out of the window. As his face fell and his shoulders sagged, San followed his gaze and saw what had cause his friend to deflate.
“I think it’s best if we get a move on . . .”
“Why?” Seonghwa asked, his voice muffled.
Wooyoung turned to him and saw that he was awkwardly hugging Ilnam, the driver’s head buried in his chest. Or more correctly, Ilnam was hugging him and making it awkward. The driver was being comforted by having the top of his head patted.
“Jongho’s kinda looking for us,” San interjected.
“Right.” Seonghwa gently shoved Ilnam away back, unconsciously patted his head again as if shooing away an annoying child. “That.”
Ilnam sniffed, wiping away tears. “Where to, Mr. Park?”
“The Blue Summer Diner,” he answered absentmindedly.
Seonghwa joined his friend in looking out the window. He caught a glimpse of Jongho and Anne furtively looking for them in the crowd that walked in and out of the building, through the sidewalk, and across the street.
Wooyoung stared at them then focused on his reflection on the window’s glass. He looked like he’d seen a ghost. “He’s not going to let it go,” he muttered to no one but himself.
San scoffed much to Seonghwa’s growing annoyance. “He will,” said Seonghwa. “Jongho’s many things but holding a grudge forever is not his thing.”
“He’ll forget, sure, but when he remembers . . .” Wooyoung’s eyes widened in terror.
WOOYOUNG COULD SEE it now:
Jongho “accidentally” bumping into him on campus, snarling that he should be watching where he’s going while Anne glared at him until he had no other option but to look to the ground. It was the only way he could avoid the contempt in their eyes. Jongho would shove and shove until he got tired of playing with his food. A slap and a quip would follow, leaving him physically and emotionally humiliated.
Wooyoung thought time and time again how absurd it was to have a bully in college. How juvenile, he told himself whenever Jongho decided to torment him. He understood having people you disliked and people who’d antagonize you, but those were the kind of interactions that occured sporadically. Jongho’s presence was a constant in his daily life on campus and he couldn’t fathom how it was possible.
He could only chalk it up to a sudden change in social dynamics. Back when they were younger, Jongho and Wooyoung got along well. Though far from close friends, they nonetheless enjoyed each other’s company, and even helped each other out with homework.
And yet when they graduated from high-school and were accepted into the same college, things between them diminished. By the time he gathered the courage to talk things out, Jongho had become an entirely different person. Wooyoung felt the divide between them deepen, and he knew he couldn’t do anything about it because the more he tried to reconnect with him, the quicker Jongho made his apathy be known.
San, Yeosang, and Seonghwa had proved to be blessings in disguise. He was eternally grateful and proud of their friendship and affection. The trio of guardian angels that taught him how to subtly stand up for himself by deflecting with humor or downright ignoring Jongho, risking a slap here or a kick with a steel-toe boot to the shin there.
It wasn’t always successful, but he did try. Wooyoung had grown to not really fear Jongho, as much as worry for him. He felt intimidated, sure, but not as much as he used to. Anne, on the other hand, scared the bejesus out of him and he did his absolute best to not walk anywhere near her general direction.
Wooyoung was certain Jongho would forge their little encounter today and the threat against them, but Anne certainly wouldn’t.
That thought alone worried him immensely, but not as much as the searing pain he was beginning to feel as the bite mark on his hand began to throb . . .
“THEY’RE GONE!” JONGHO snarled, clenching his jaw. “When I get my fuckin’ hands on them—”
He caught himself and closed his eyes. His therapist had told him to take deep breaths whenever he felt himself slipping and giving into anger. Even if he felt like the butt of a joke, perhaps he shouldn’t have snapped at San or Wooyoung. Lord he knew reveled in the embarrassment of others. Downing a spoonful of his own medicine wouldn’t hurt, even if it chafed his ego.
Karma’s the mother of all boomerangs, he thought.
“Are you going to break his arm?”
Jongho blinked. “What?”
Anne was staring at the people in the street walking back and forth, hands stuffed in her jacket’s pockets, loudly chewing on a piece of gum. She turned to him and flashed him a smug half-smile.
“That’s what I’d do,” she said, shrugging.
“Even for us, that’s a bit extreme.”
Anne frowned then narrowed her light blue eyes at him. She was giving him the Look and he wasn’t a fan of it. Up and down and side to side, she stared at him and met her gaze without flinching. It felt like an eternity before she nodded, tongue in cheek, and brushed part of her blonde hair away from her face and behind her ear.
“M’kay,” she whispered, suspiciously. Then she smiled. “Just, y’know, think about it.”
Jongho found himself smiling, though not at the prospect of pummeling someone. He smiled because she was trying to cheer him up and succeeding in said endeavor. For all of her bravado, Anne was a softie and he loved her for that.
“I’ll let that one marinate,” he replied, nodding.
“Good.” She rested her arm on his shoulder. “How about we go and burn some rubber?”
Jongho pouted in a sure, why not sort of way. He stuffed his hand in his jacket’s pocket, felt and found his bike’s key, and instinctively wrapped his hand around it.
“Let’s,” he agreed.
THE BLUE SUMMER Diner was a quaint place.
Appropriately painted in several hues of blue with summer imagery, it was all leather booths, pristine floors, and marble counters with a jukebox on a corner. It was a whole American cliché and the sort of place that was frequented by college kids. The diner served as the setting for blind dates, casual hang-outs, and a late night stop after a night of heavy drinking.
Wooyoung thought it was the perfect place to have a good meal, a good conversation, and create fond memories.
It was so beloved by them and the college crowd that Seonghwa made sure he coerced his parents into helping the diner’s reopening a few years back in the aftermath of a wrongful foreclosure. What he’d done or said for that to happen, neither Wooyoung or San knew but they were apprehensively glad it happened.
And it was here that for the past three years that Kang Yeosang had been working. He’d made quite the impression with every customer that sat down to enjoy a meal since his first day. The owner, an old friend of the Kangs, had immediately hired Yeosang when applied for the job. He started as a busboy, moved on to a waiter, until recently being promoted to head waiter . . .
“Co-head waiter,” Yeosang reminded Mr. Oh with a roll of his eyes. “College’s really handing my ass to me this semester, y’know?”
Mr. Oh scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, my best waiter’s too busy to give me the time of day!”
Yeosang nodded mid-scoff, taking a tray and passing it to one of the newbies. He made sure the kid—all acne, anxiety, and absentmindedness—held the tray properly and watched him walk away to deliver it to the right table. He chuckled in relief and turned to Mr. Oh, the owner and self-professed chef extraordinaire, as he passed him table nine’s orders of cheeseburgers and french fries.
Mr. Oh shook his head, half-smiling. “You’re a hotshot, now, aren’t you?”
“That’s right, boss man,” said Yeosang, winking at him, “and don’t you forget it.”
“Seeing as you won’t let me forget, that’s unlikely.”
“What did Mr. Ego say now?”
Yeosang groaned, letting his head rest on his chest. He felt someone clapping his shoulder hard and laughed to not wince or allow an expletive to escape his lips. His fellow co-head waiter was leaning on him, left arm hanging on his shoulder, eyeing him with an impish smirk plastered on her face.
“I haven’t said anything that isn’t true, Lina.”
“Oh, is that so?” asked Lina, wiggling her eyebrows.
Yeosang turned to her and deadpanned, “yes, yes it is.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.” Lina pinched his cheeks. “If you say so, honey.”
“Don’t—” Yeosang began to protest, but was promptly interrupted by Mr. Oh’s cackle and massive handwave. “What’s up with you?”
“My favorite patrons are here!” His boss announced, his voice booming and bouncing off the kitchen’s walls. He startled two of the cooks, who stared at him for a beat before returning to work.
Looking over their shoulders, Lina and Yeosang saw Seonghwa, San, and Wooyoung enter the diner. They were waving back and checking that their usual booth was free. Lina gave them a thumbs up and they headed straight to it. The two thirds of the trio were deep in conversation. Then there was Wooyoung looking like he had risen from the grave.
He looks like shit, Yeosang thought.
Mr. Oh clapped, startling them and the cooks again, and pushed table nine’s orders a smidge forward.
“Move these before they get cold, please and thank you,” he ordered.
“Me or him?” Lina pointed her thumb at herself then at Yeosang.
“You, move—” Mr. Oh pointed at Yeosang and motioned his head towards the plates, then pointed at Lina with his other hand. “—and, you, take care of our new arrivals.”
“But—” Yeosang tried to protest.
Mr. Oh waved them off, shaking his head as he laughed boisterously. “Go, go, go!”
Lina winked and was off to wait tables. “Move them while it’s still warm, hotshot.”
Yeosang clicked his tongue and delivered table nine’s order. It was a couple—mid-twenties, terribly in the throes of puppy love—and they were too distracted by holding hands and gazing into each other’s eyes to notice that their waiter was delicately placing their plates on the table.
“If there’s anything else you need, just let me know,” Yeosang mumbled, feigning a smile.
“Thank you,” the girl said, partly acknowledging him and partly letting him know they wanted privacy.
He gave them a thumbs up and promptly moved on to assist anyone else. Table eight and seven wanted refills whereas table five wanted more napkins after ordering a side of onion rings, cheesy fries, and an order of cheeseburger sliders. Used to the diner’s hectic atmosphere, Yeosang did all of this without breaking a sweat or slowing his pace.
By the time he’d finished, Lina was giving the guys their drinks. Seonghwa and San sat on one side of the booth while Wooyoung, practically melting on the spot, sat on his own.
“Kang Yeosang!” Seonghwa beamed at him. “How do you do?”
“Not so bad,” he replied. “What about you guys?”
“Some of us are a-okay,” said San then glanced at Wooyoung, “and there’s the other guy.”
“Hey.” Wooyoung waved feebly, barely raising his hand to do so. “I’m here. That’s all I can say for myself.”
Lina tried not to frown. “You okay?”
“I’m—” he paused, looking close to throwing up as his face flushed white, red, then white again. “—okay.”
“You don’t look—” Lina squeaked, swayed in place, then turned so hard she almost gave herself whiplash.
Yeosang was staring back at her with a blank expression. She knew he’d leaned in and gently kicked the back of her thigh, making her momentarily lose balance. She felt eyes on her and through her periphery could see Seonghwa looking at them with an amused, if knowing look. She mentally made a note to flick Yeosang’s forehead and give Seonghwa an earful.
But now, as far she was concerned, Wooyoung was far more important.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she asked, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.
He recoiled at her touch, blew air through the corner of his mouth, and gagged. “Never better,” Wooyoung whispered.
“What happened to him?” Yeosang asked through the corner of his mouth.
Lina shrugged. “Hell if I know.” She looked between San and Seonghwa. “What’s up with him?”
“Hell if we know,” retorted San, equally flabbergasted. “One moment he’s taking photos, the other he’s doubling over and looking like death.”
“You know that I’m still here, right?” Wooyoung blinked, though none of them could tell if he was looking at them or past them. “I think I should . . . I should . . . I should go home.”
“Stay.” San frowned. “Maybe if you grab something to eat, you’ll feel better.”
“No, thanks—ah—I had a bite.” Wooyoung scoffed and choked on his laughter. “I’m going home. Gonna take a nap and, y’know, maybe sleep ‘til the end of the millenium.”
“Like hell you are!” Seonghwa stood up and forced San to scoot out of the booth. He approached Wooyoung and placed a firm hand on his lower back. “I’ll come with you.”
“No, I can walk—”
Concerned flash in Yeosang’s eyes. “You can barely stand,” he pointed out in a soft, brotherly voice. “Let Hwa give you a ride.”
“I’ll be fine—”
But then, right then and there, everything around Wooyoung became hazy. He couldn’t hear his friends’ protest nor could he focus on anything as his surroundings turned blurry . . . grey . . . and then white . . . until he couldn’t see anything. He felt his entire body go limp a second before he lost consciousness and collapsed. As he fell face first with a hollow thump, he bumped his head with the edge of the booth.
Yeosang, who anticipated the fainting, was too slow to catch him. San helped him lift Wooyoung off the ground and muttered, “He needs a hospital.”
“I’ll take care of it.” Seonghwa took out his phone, texted someone, then turned to Lina. “We’ll have the usual. I’ll come back to pick it up.”
Horrified, Lina looked between an unconscious Wooyoung and an eerily calm Seonghwa. San looked pale himself. So did Yeosang; the birthmark on his left temple was redder than usual due to a lack of color in his face.
“Are you sure?”
Seonghwa smiled guilty. “I’m worried but I’m also hungry.”
“Oh-kay,” she replied, eyes wide as she sauntered towards the kitchen to explain the commotion and place their order.
“I’m off this shift in twenty minutes.” Yeosang eyed Wooyoung, concerned and unsure on how to help. “Call you when I’m out? I’ll meet you guys.”
“We’ll keep you updated.” Seonghwa hugged him. “As soon as he’s home, I’ll text you.”
Yeosang nodded. “You better.”
They all looked at Wooyoung and sighed as one. He looked so vulnerable that neither San nor Seonghwa knew how to move him without risking injury or discomfort. Unbeknownst to them, Wooyoung was mumbling under his breath as he shuddered.
Little they did know that Jung Wooyoung was changing.
WOOYOUNG DIDN’T KNOW how, but he knew he was home.
He was clutching his abdomen as though his life depended on it, as if that would make him feel better. Everything ached and he couldn’t understand why . . . not until he remembered the bite . . . and that he was definitely dying a slow, painful death. He tried twice to open his eyes and realized a little too late that they were already open and that his room was shrouded in darkness.
Someone had closed the curtains and he was glad said someone had done so.
Not only was every fiber in his being sore, tingling with pain, but his head was killing him. This was the mother of all migraines and it wouldn’t let him think. Unconsciously, he rubbed the bite and immediately winced. It was swollen and touching it felt like putting his hand on an open fire.
He stirred in his bed and realized for the first time that someone had changed his clothes and that he was under a thick duvet that instead of providing comfort was making him delirious. He tossed the duvet aside and curled up into the fetal position, feeling the sweat pouring off him in buckets.
“Help,” Wooyoung whispered.
His voice wasn’t his voice. It was soft and distant and high-pitched. He didn’t have the strength or the will to raise his voice let alone talk properly. His bed became soaked with perspiration and that made him groan in disgust. In between the sweating and the writhing in agony, he began to shudder and feel an influx of extreme heat and lethal chill spread across his body.
He made an effort to get out of bed and managed to do so but not in the way he expected. Instead of standing up, he rolled out of the mattress, fell on the side of his face, and remained there. He curled up even tighter—arms clutching his legs, knees brought up to his chin—and trembled as his teeth clattered and his nose ran and he felt his ears pop.
The pain was so overwhelming that mid-exhale he passed out.
Under his lids, as though convulsing, his eyes continued to flutter.
HE WAS CLIMBING up, though he wasn’t sure how.
Part of him didn’t question it because he knew it was only instinctual to do so. But another part of him knew that this was not only strange but far from the natural order of things. He moved swiftly, walking on thin, gossamer strands that felt indestructible beneath his feet . . . only he didn’t have a feet . . .
He blinked and felt his eyes—all six of them—glance down to see chelicerae through his periphery; they were thin, hair, and vicious-looking. His body left light and his legs—two, three, four, hell, eight of them—were thin but strong, granting him dexterity beyond his compression and human limitations.
For a second, he panicked yet he couldn’t scream. Instead there was a loud, primal screeching that echoed in his head and that terrified him. Wooyoung wanted to be himself again . . . yet that screeching was now all he could hear, all he could feel, as he continued to climb. His mind was slipping, and knew his consciousness was being replaced by something primitive . . .
There was nothing he could do about it except—
Wooyoung yelped. He was snapped awake and groaned at the sunlight that was pouring in through the windows. At some point, someone had opened the curtains and he’d like to know who so that he could poke them in the eyes.
His throat was hoarse, as though he’d been screaming. It took him a second to realize that he had startled himself and forced himself to wake up. His body felt heavy but as he fully regained his consciousness the weight was lifted. It reminded him of sleep paralysis, and that not only terrified him but made him glad he was staring at his bedroom’s ceiling.
Wooyoung was back on his bed, still wearing the same clothes from last night dressed yet no longer sweating. The sheets had been changed and his bedroom smelled like floral air-freshener, not quite concealing a strong scent of sweat and dirty clothes.
He felt strange knowing someone had done all of this without his consent and that he couldn’t remember a single thing about it. The last series of events that could recall with clarity were feeling a sharp pain in his hand . . . and fainting in the Blue Summer Diner.
That’s just great, he thought.
Confused as to if he really had woken up and all of this wasn’t a dream, he pinched his right wrist and winced as he felt every nerve ending on his body react to the pain. So he had slept through one of the most violent fevers ever known to man. Which meant that, hey, he hadn’t died and he probably had sweated out the venom—or whatever the hell it was—while trembling and moaning on his bedroom floor.
Groaning and feeling his joints cracking, he dragged himself out of bed. Though his eyesight was blurry, he could tell that he’d more or less trashed his room in the midst of his fever-induced hysteria.
“You made my bed but didn’t clean my room,” Wooyoung mumbled to himself, shaking his head. “I guess you can’t have everything.”
He took two hesitant steps forward, wincing as he felt a tightness around his thighs and calves until the feeling disappeared. It was instead replaced by unimpaired movement. Every muscle in his body felt brand new, tingling without an ounce of pain or discomfort. He checked his pulse and took several slow, deliberate breaths to confirm that everything was in working order.
His eyesight, however, was still blurry. Wooyoung blinked once, twice, and nothing changed. He felt an itch around the corner of his eyes and ignoring it became not only frustrating but almost impossible. He scratched, hoping it would fix things, but his surroundings remained a blur. Then it hit him: he still had his contacts on.
“Weird,” he said as he hesitantly took the contacts off.
To his astonishment, everything became instantly clear as his vision transitioned to blurry and itching to perfectly 20/20. He blinked once, twice, thrice, then began to chuckle as he allowed himself to be not only impressed but oddly confident.
Cool, cool, cool, cool.
He sniffed and cringed. He could smell himself—all sweat and old socks—and lifted his arms to get a whiff of his armpits and balked at his own body odor. The shirt he was wearing, though now mostly dry, had been soaked through with perspiration and it needed to be thrown away; no amount of washing would save it.
He tapped himself, starting from his chest and ending on his ankles, and felt his clothes partly crusty and partly moist. With shudder, he decided he needed to get out of them. Absent-mindedly, he stripped until he was in his boxer-briefs, headed to his dresser, and abruptly paused when he caught a glimpse of his silhouette on the full-length mirror hanging behind his bedroom’s door.
He took two steps back and gaped at his—that couldn’t be his chest, nah, no way, no how. And yet . . . it was? He blinked and stared at an impressive bare torso with serious muscle definition latched onto his head. The hard, washboard flat stomach . . . the defined, though not overly muscular six-pack. Though It wasn’t a bodybuilder’s or a crossfiter’s musculature, it was a lean physique.
He slowly and apprehensively touched himself, as though afraid he was either dreaming or in someone’s body. “What the—” he mumbled when he pinched his skin and felt the muscle beneath it, how healthy it felt and looked . . . and how unlike himself it was.
He flexed his pecs, smiling in disbelief at the sight of them jumping and falling in place. He clenched his fists, flexed harder, and posed to fully display his new and improved torso.
Wooyoung beamed. “Looking good, good looking.”
Suddenly, without conscious thought, all he could think about was exacting retribution on Jongho. All the condescension, all the harassment, all the humiliation, came roaring back to him. Something in him—something primal and violent—called out to him, whispering that he was now different . . . that he now was capable of much more . . . that it was about time to let others know things were going to be drastically different from now on.
But then there was a faint buzz in the back of his head that told him otherwise. He ignored it for a second, giving in to self-righteous anger, until he caught himself and remorsefully closed his eyes.
“Judge a man not on his choices but on how he treats others,” Uncle Beom told him when Wooyoung admitted he wanted nothing more but to break Jongho’s nose. “You’re a good kid, Woo, so kill him with kindness.”
‘Killing them with kindness’ might not be my ideal choice, Wooyoung thought as he flexed one last time before deciding it was time to clean up his mess, but sure as hell hope it’s worth it.
THERE WAS A loud thump as someone sprinted down the stairs. Jung Beom had three guesses as to who it could possibly be and two of them were currently napping on the living room’s sofa-bed.
He wasn’t surprised to hear noise this early in the afternoon. Unfazed by the chaos that often unfolded in his home, he was more than used to it. As far as he could remember, this house was the nexus in which his nephew and his friends hung out. His late wife, Yoomi, grew fond of the company, and so did he—even if all he wanted was peace and quiet.
As sipped his coffee and walked out of the living room to check the commotion, he caught a glimpse of his nephew vaulting the stair’s handrail and landing inches from with the poise of an experienced gymnast. They stared at each other for a beat then Beom looked between his nephew and the stairs.
Well . . . that’s new, Beom thought as he caught a whiff of something pleasant.
Wooyoung had woken up in good spirits, and washed in them, too. He smelled of shampoo and lavender soap. His black hair was wet, his face looked fresh out of a skin care routine, and he was wearing baggy clothing that he hadn’t worn in years. He looked like he hadn’t been extremely ill the previous day. As a matter of fact, Beom hadn’t seen him this full of life since he bought him that DSLR camera he cherished so much a year ago for his birthday.
“Morning,” said his nephew, beaming.
Beom nodded, sipping his coffee as though he wasn’t suspicious about the boy’s jittery behavior. “Uh-huh,” he replied. “Good morning.”
“Is that coffee?”
“Yes, it is—”
Without asking or pretending to be bashful about it, Wooyoung snatched the cup out of his uncle’s hand and took a long sip from it. He made a face, mumbled it needed more milk and sugar, and gulped down rest in one go.
“That was mine.”
Wooyoung nodded, passing him the empty cup. “Yeah, it was.”
“I’m assuming you’re feeling . . . better.”
“I’m fine.” He smiled. “Better than fine, actually. I feel great.”
Beom lifted an eyebrow, nodding. “Right,” he said, scrutinizing his nephew’s posture and face. “If you say so.”
It dawned on him that Weooyoung seemed taller all of a sudden and he didn’t know whether his nephew had grown a couple of inches in the middle of the night or it was just his imagination.
Glancing down at his cup and grimacing, Beom sighed then eyed his nephew again. Yeah, he’s taller, he thought, and bigger, too. He shrugged and made a mental note to ask San and Seonghwa if they could confirm what he was seeing or just dismiss it as a lack of caffeine . . . seeing as he was deprived form it seconds ago.
Beom cleared his throat, offering a small but relieved smile. “We thought you were sick, kiddo.”
“Sort of.” Wooyung shrugged, passing a hand through his hair. “I got better, though.”
“You sure as hell did.” Beom chortled. “How about I cook you some breakfast?”
“I’d really appreciate it.”
“Alright.” He nodded and gently clapped his nephew’s chest. His eyes widened when he felt how defined the boy’s pectorals were. “That—er—yeah—breakfast.” He shook his head. “The boys are in the living room. They spent the night here.”
“They’re worried about you.”
Wooyoung beamed and Beom saw the little boy he raised in his bashful, crinkled smile. The boy was growing—and apparently hitting the gym too—and he wished Yoomi were here to see him. He looked so much like his mother that Beom felt his heart ache, wishing that she, too, would see the kind of man her son was turning out to be.
He was pretty damn sure they’d be as proud as he was.
WOOYOUNG FOUND THEM cuddled up together on the sofa bed, fast asleep.
He wasn’t surprised to see that San, the big spoon, had nuzzled his nose and chin against Seonghwa’s neck. Sandwiched in between them was a Shiba Inu plushie that San cherished more than certain people in his life. He stared at them, smiling, not wanting to wake them, instead of cherishing the moment after a particular rough night wherein he didn’t know if he’d see them again.
He clicked his tongue, rolled his eyes, and kicked himself for not thinking about it earlier. A minute later, after running up the stairs and getting his camera, he snapped a couple of photos, and decided it was time to wake the dead.
“Good morning!” Wooyoung exclaimed as he pulled the sheets off them and gently smacked San’s right calf. Or so he thought because San howled in pain and kicked Seonghwa off the sofa, falling down a hollow yet heavy thump. “That was dramatic.”
“Dramatic, my ass!” San fervently rubbed his whole leg. “That hurt! Jesus!”
“Oh, c’mon, it wasn’t that . . . hard.” Wooyoung blinked and winced as he noticed his friend’s swollen, bruised calf. “Shit, my bad.”
Seonghwa grunted as he got up, hands on his lower back as he stretched to crack it. He glanced at Wooyoung and briefly frowned. “I’m gonna guess that you’re feeling better,” he grunted.
Wooyoug gave a small nod. “Little bit.”
“Little bit?” San yelped. “My leg’s on fire!”
“Sorry about that.” Wooyoung muttered guilty, wincing as he gingerly caressed his friend’s calf. “I’ll get you a cold pack.”
San pouted. “Please and thank you,” he moaned.
Seonghwa waved them off and headed for the kitchen. “I’ll get it,” he said in a soft, but firm voice. “You should probably sit down and rest.”
Wooyoung blinked then realized Seonghwa was talking to him. He shook his head and scoffed. Why would he rest? He felt great! He felt full of life and like he could run a mile and not hyperventilate. He could rest when he was dead, which was hopefully an eternity away.
“I spent all the night sweating my ass off,” Wooyoung disagreed. “I’ve slept enough.”
Seonghwa stopped, stared, then sighed as he lifted his head to roll his eyes at the ceiling.
San pulled on his forearms, dragging him to the sofa bed. “Then sit your ass down and make me company.”
“Fine.” Wooyoung relented, sat next to San, then whistled at Seonghwa. “Uncle knows where the ice packs are.”
“So do I, you little shit.” Seonghwa snorted, looking genuinely offended. “As if I hadn’t spent enough sleepovers here without knowing where the medical kit is.”
San and Wooyoung nodded like children being chastised by their mother. They watched him leave and waited until he was out of sight to chuckle. Wooyoung knew Seonghwa cared—far more than he cared to admit—but neither he nor San liked to rub it in his face. They knew he struggled with verbally expressing how he felt as his love language was fully in display through his actions.
“He was worried, y’know? He barely slept.”
Wooyoung frowned as he met San’s eyes and saw that his friend had shadows under them.
“Neither did you,” he told him.
San shrugged, unfazed. “Yeah. We, uh, took turns checking up on you. Uncle caught us twice. Told us that if we didn’t go to bed, he’d make sure to kick us out.”
“I’m sorry for ruining everything.”
“You didn’t ruin shit, Woo. You just got violently ill. It happens.”
“You’re saying it’s like a daily occurrence.” Wooyoung shook his head and stood up, unconsciously pacing the length of the living room. “Your friend gets ill, looks like a friggin’ corpse, let’s drop just everything—oh, no, wait—he’s fine.”
“It’s not your—please, sit down—not your fault, y’know?” San tried to grab him as he paced by the sofa-bed but missed him. “We’re just glad you’re feeling better.”
“I am! I feel like I can—” Wooyoung paused, actually considering what he could and couldn’t do. “Well, granted, I’m still a little worried Anne, but . . . I feel like . . . like I can be myself.”
San made another attempt at grabbing him and failed yet again. Wooyoung’s words sank in and he stilled, tilting his head to the side in bemusement. “You’re telling me all this time you’ve been pretending?”
“Then what the hell are you saying?”
Wooyoung sighed. “I mean that I feel—er—good, y’know? Like I’m ready to stop worrying about things that don’t matter.”
“Not worrying about Jongho. Or running late for class. Or not being able to sell my photos.”
“So not everything has changed.” San shrugged. “That’s good.”
Wooyoung cringed. Was it? He felt different—new and improved—yet he didn’t know why. Even if he did, he wouldn’t know how to explain it. Part of him knew that whatever had caused his collapse and sudden recovery was linked to the bite on his hand. And if his dream had been any indication, it wasn’t any run of the mill critter. No, it had been a spider . . . the sort that was undoubtedly one of a kind.
He debated whether or not to tell San about the incident, about how he had his suspicions that he wasn’t normal anymore, about the abs, and his suddenly perfect vision. San would understand. He’d ask all kinds of questions, but he’d definitely understand.
And he could trust him—and Seonghwa and Yeosang and Lina for that matter—but before he could impart on them the facts, his suspicions and his theories, he first needed to understand what was happening to him. He needed to make sure they’d be safe not only from any potential weirdness that could unfold but from himself.
“Is it?” Wooyoung inquired, rubbing the back of his neck. “Is it good?”
San nodded and half-smiled, throwing his hand around Wooyoung’s shoulders. The gesture filled Wooyoung with warmth, making him lean in and rest his head on San’s arm.
“Better than yesterday, I’d say,” he said and sounded genuinely comforting. “I’m just glad you’re okay.” He squeezed his friend then gaped at him when all he felt was hard muscle. “When did you start going to the gym?”
Wooyoung shrugged. “I haven’t. Just loads of cardio, y’know? Hydrating . . . eating . . . sleeping.”
San narrowed his eyes, gave him the Look, then mumbled, “m’kay.”
Wooyoung smiled nervously and unconsciously touched the bite. How in the world was he supposed to tell them he got inexplicably ripped after falling violently ill?
The Other was calling to him.
Though Hongjoong was was listening, he was in control now. He needed time for himself, though. Time and space to consider all of his options before acting accordingly.
Seeing as they had the same goal, the same motivation, they had managed to meet each other halfway, but the Other demanded too much of Hongjoong. It was beginning to be exhausting, and he couldn’t continue to ignore his darker half lest it would retaliate. He was certain the Other knew more than it let on and he wasn’t about to find out by not indulging it.
Soon they’ll see, said that high-pitched, demonic voice inside his head. For now, kiddo, we got work to do.
Hongjoong cracked his neck and continued painting what had been conceived as body armor but now would be his second skin. He heard the Other speak to him, describing where to attack his enemies . . . how to make them suffer . . . how Hongjoong was above such insignificant things such as morality and sentiment . . . how it was time to let others know things were going to be drastically different from now on.
A grin began to play in his lips as he let the paint dry. He stared at one of the masks he stole from his father’s office and had remade in the Other’s image. It was ghoulish, primal, and vengeful—the perfect face for the perfect monster. The color green suited him, suited the Other. It was appropriate, after all. Hongjoong couldn’t deny that he was beginning to grow fond of the name his darker half had chosen for itself.
Before long, the Green Goblin would be painting the town red . . .
꒰ genre ꒱ fluff, romance, humour, slight angst, non-idol au, a bit of horror, slice of life (sort of), eventual intimacy (not in details), fantasy
꒰ warning ꒱ minor cursing, mention of 'wanting to kill you', attempted humour (bear with me, I'm not funny), slight horror, some creatures trying to kill you.
꒰ rating ꒱ sfw
꒰ summary ꒱ you moved into a new complex apartment and got yourself a cute-but-annoying neighbour next door. however, the apartment building gets weirder each day and made you wonder if this building is actually a normal building.
꒰ word count ꒱ 1.3k
꒰ author note ꒱ chapter 2 :) please don't ask me how the landlord allowed you to the building of deadly creatures cause i have no idea
꒰ taglist ꒱ @marklilies (open!)
note : italic — thoughts, dokkaebi — korean goblins, gumiho — nine-tailed fox
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fic is under the cut!
you actually unpacked everything all by yourself and that was some productivity shit you did. you sat on the couch, ready to start yourself and your life as you looked at a list of new things in your to-do lists and goals that you had set.
1. greet your neighbour
an embarrassing memory swiftly clouded your mind as you thought about greeting your neighbours. when you moved into your old apartment that your ex-roommate had kicked you out of. you actually had a pretty good looking neighbour, damn you could have sworn you almost dropped on your knees because of him.
however you made a fool out of yourself. you were wearing goddamn marvel pajamas when you went out to throw the trash. but guess what, your neighbour came out of his apartment a few minutes later. because of his stupid whistles, it fucking scared the life out of you and you fell on your butt. what a great way to greet your neighbour. you shook off the thought and sighed. my life is a joke.
you suddenly thought about what the landlord had told you. ‘..you have neighbours, the one on the right is pretty annoying and on your left? oh boy, i suggest you not to bother him so much.’ suddenly, his voice rang through your head. “well they seem pretty bad. must be why my guts telling me not to greet them.” just like that, you decided to let fate deal with the bullshit.
you felt awfully hungry, you remembered seeing a small cafe around the corner somewhere which looked pretty cute. with the thought of going there, you grabbed your keys and went out of your apartment.
little did you know, some creatures inside the building were planning to do something about you. like i said, they despise humans so it's no surprise that they're trying to kill you. if it weren't for that person's rules, they would have full access to their powers on earth. sadly, they don't so their powers are basically useless. the only choice? use stupid human ways.
oddly, the elevator stopped working. it was working just now, why is it not working now? now the only solution was the fucking stairs. you hated stairs, how tiresome. you walked down with heavy steps because you stayed on the 13th floor which was a long way down the ground floor if you use the stairs.
at first, you only heard your own footsteps but then you started hearing an extra pair. you ignored it and continued your way down to the ground floor. a few more steps and you saw a black silhouette of a person, a guy to be exact. you tried to make yourself look presentable because you do not want to embarrass yourself again, however things weren't going your way, especially when you stepped on a slippery thing on the floor, making you fall and right onto the person who was walking up the stairs.
instead of falling on your butt, you fell to the front, your face hitting his thigh and your knees scratched on the cement floor. you were sure that there were wounds on it by now. you held your face in pain. what is his thigh made out of?! cement?! you peaked through your hands and looked up just to see the guy in front of you staring right back at you, it looked like glaring tho..
you heard him whisper something under his breath but it was inaudible. "uh..i'm sorry...hah..i slipped.." you slowly stood up, brushing invisible dust on your outfit. "i can see that." he responded and pointed to the floor before tucking his hands into his pocket. you looked under you just to see... ice? why on earth would there be ice? it's literally summer right now.
"what the actual fuck?"
"yeah..you don't happen to live here, do you?" he asked whilst eyes wandered around, as if he was looking for something. "yes, i do live here now." his head swiftly turned to you and a frown was plastered on his face.
"you...you live here? this building?"
"yes. do you have a problem with that?"
"ah, no." so this is the person hell told me about..poor human, too bad I don't have a heart. the man in front of you suddenly smiled creepily. you stood back, afraid he might do something to you and i suppose he noticed it. "oh, don't worry. I won't do anything to you. just try to protect that pretty little head and face of yours." he grinned before moving past you, waving you a small goodbye as you watched him walk up the stairs.
"oh and by the way, those wounds won't heal by themselves~ chop chop, go get some bandages and clean it." he added without looking at you. what a weird man..ugh i need to get a bandage at my apartment. you sighed heavily before turning the other way and walked back up to your apartment. you hang your head low as you slowly walk on the stairs, you just wanted some caffeine but poor you, life doesn't want you to have caffeine.
but maybe you should watch where you're going first before you even go anywhere. you hit your face on something again and stumbled back which made you almost fall down the stairs. thankfully, the man held on your wrist to prevent you from actually falling,
"you need to chill with that moody face of yours and start looking around."
"I just needed caffeine. now i can't get it."
"hmm okay. have fun, sweetheart."
"wha—" you were cut off when you felt yourself falling backwards. you closed your eyes, getting ready for the impact but you felt nothing. instead, you felt a soft material. you looked behind you and saw a single couch.
"was this here before-?"
"you're just too blind.” he said before walking away. if you weren't questioning whether if this place was normal or not before, you were definitely doing it now.
is this place for a bunch of cocky uncles or something? wait no, no. he looks too young to be an uncle. cocky bastards it is. you stood up from the single couch and started walking your way up to your apartment.
"you didn't tell me he was going to come up!"
"you did shut the elevator down though?"
"that isn't my point!"
"what do you think you're doing?" the two dokkaebis looked up and saw a vampire who also happens to be jihoon's friend. "let the poor girl live, you two. you both know jihoon's a walking red flag." the vampire massaged his temples. too done with the two dokkaebis infront of him.
"sweetheart~ i don't think mr. jihoon would do anything to actually kill the human, jeonghan." jeonghan looked back just to see the gumiho walking towards him. he'll admit that gumihos are extremely pretty but they're quite petty when it comes to things they like.
"then let the girl live."
"she stepped before the borderline" the gumiho's eyes shone a bright orange colour. "they don't deserve our pity." she said as she wrapped jeonghan tightly with her fox tail.
"sujin, just wait until the time comes. if she does end up doing something bad, you can kill her...just not now." sujin—the gumiho sighed and released jeonghan out of her grip.
"fine. don't think I won't immediately do something about her. I'll be watching. let's go, you dumb globins." sujin spoke and turned ln her heels, signalling the dokkaebis to follow her and walked away. "child...why did you even come here." jeonghan whispered and sighed. jeonghan certainly knew who you were. he's a vampire afterall, he's not just what he says '27' years old. he's literally 270 years old. so it's no suprise he met you but he doubts you remember him. you were a child anyways.
🎬 SYNOPSIS: Sunghoon was at the top of his game, staring in every major romance drama to hit the big screen. When he met you, he expected to watch you swoon over him like his previous co-stars, but you’re not so impressed when meeting in person. Modeling is looking at lot better than acting right about..now. ACTION!
THE SPIDER—THE smallest of the smallest—spun a web high above of what used to be its home.
It had always been independent and lonely, and was now free to do as it pleased. The smallest of the smallest had left its enclosure after discovering a break in the seal, and hadn’t looked back. Below itself, forgotten and never to be visited again, was the glass house that contained its kin.
The others wouldn’t remember it and it wouldn’t remember them. The small spider lacked a strong memory nor did it care for recalling past events. It did, however, move and act purely on instinct, on the muscle memory that had been hardwire into its very being by its bestial nature.
And thus it spun delicately a new home for itself, a new life of its own.
Yet something was missing. It didn’t know what, but it was certain something was out of place. As it finished spinning the web, which was quite a beauty, the spider waited in the middle of it and clicked its mandibles as if in deep thought. Then it dawned on the smallest of the smallest that it was hungry, and that this was what was missing all along.
Nourishment. The small spider knew why it was missing. A hazy recollection was pushed into the forefront of its primitive, albeit conscious mind. Once, though not long ago, something provided food on a consistent basis. Now that it had left its enclosure, now that it was on its own, this mysterious benefactor was no more.
The spider twitched. The hunger was increasing, driving it to give into its more primal impulses. The spider glanced below, way past its web, and saw that it was time to hunt.
Right below, standing perfectly under its web, was its prey. Without wasting a second, the spider positioned itself above its intended source of sustenance . . .
Wooyoung snapped into attention without meaning to, almost dropping his camera and catching it by pure reflex. He was jolted from his reverie by his teacher’s nasal voice, which was accompanied by a perpetually exasperated tone. He cleared his throat and quickly turned to Mr. Chung, afraid that the teacher would reprimand him further.
Mr. Chung approached him, his bald head gleaming, his brow furrowed. He was a man in his mid-forties, stocky, average in height and appearance, and was nothing more than a glimpse—a warning, of sorts—into a dark, twisted future Wooyoung desperately wanted to avoid.
“Are you paying attention?” Mr. Chung asked, raising his left eyebrow.
“I am, sir. I’m just taking photos.”
“How can you be paying attention if you’re doing something else?”
Wooyoung blinked and absentmindedly said, “I can multitask, sir.”
Mr. Chung stared and Wooyoung couldn’t tell if he heard him or was simply taken aback by a student giving him sass. The man was as slow as a snail race, but he sure as hell picked up on a student being a wiseass fairly quickly.
“What was that, Mr. Jung?”
Wooyoung feigned a smile and bowed ever so slightly. “I’ll be more attentive, sir,” he whispered.
“Just—ugh—just pay attention, will you?”
He gave a polite, if curt nod. “Will do.”
Truth was, Wooyoung was really paying attention. The tour guide had shown them various conference rooms, offices, and working areas but now that they were in one of the laboratories—where the magic really happened—he hung on to the guide’s every word.
The guide, a woman in her late-twenties, spoke with authority yet carried herself aloofly, as though giving a tour to a bunch of college kids was a chore she preferred to not put much enthusiasm in.
“She probably has better things to do,” said San, half-smiling to indicate his sarcasm. “Like, say, finding the cure for aloofness.”
Wooyoung had chuckled at that but he stopped cracking wise the moment he stepped into this lab. Here, in this cavernous and overwhelmingly lit room, KimCorp was pioneering new technologies and applications for biomedical engineering. The objectives varied from curing and eradicating diseases to new kinds of prosthetics and even tissue engineering.
For someone who had grown to be fascinated by science, this was heaven. And, granted, Wooyoung wasn’t a genius, but he was certainly interested in what science could do.
“Are you here or are you all the way back in La La Land?” asked a familiar voice.
He didn’t have to turn to know that San was whispering in his ear. He felt his friend’s warmth as he leaned forward to flick his earlobe. Wooyoung bit back a groan and tried to smack his hand away only to hit himself on the shoulder. Behind him, San stifled a chuckle.
“Easy there, Bruce Lee.” San smirked. “You might chop off a limb.”
Wooyoung rolled his eyes, failing to fight a smile that spread across his face. San was a source of levity, comfort, and strength. Friends since middle school, they had grown to be inseparable. He had a total of two close friends and he was eternally grateful to both of them for being patient with him.
While San was quick to tease and run to his side, Yeosang was subtle in his affection. It was a shame that Yeosang, who had a last minute shift at the diner, wasn’t on this trip with them, though he had promised to treat them to lunch afterwards.
“Are you paying attention?” Wooyoung asked, raising his left eyebrow.
San scoffed. “Are you?”
“As a matter of fact, I am.”
“What is the guide talking about, oh most attentive one?”
“She’s mentioning the different genuses of spiders they have here and how they’ve been splicing DNA to genetically engineer new species for—” Wooyoung stopped speaking, becoming instantly hyper-focused on the back of Mr. Chung’s head as he felt him glance in their direction.
The teacher looked over his shoulder, saw that most of his students were either idly looking at the guide or pretending to be observing the lab’s equipment, staff, and/or subjects, and heaved a sigh so heavy that Wooyoung felt sorry for him.
San psst-ed him, shoving his index finger on Wooyoung’s waist. “Are you going to leave me hanging in suspense?” he whispered, standing way too close for anyone’s comfort.
Wooyoung relented form rolling his eyes and settled for lifting his eyebrows in an oh, boy sort of way. “Not now,” he replied in a soft, strained voice. “I’ll bore you later.”
“I’d love it if you bore me now. It might give me the urge to actually pay attention.”
Wooyoung clicked his tongue, gently shoving his friend forward.
“Go to hell.”
San smiled that wicked, irresistible smile of his. “Only if you go with me, bud.”
“Pfft.” Wooyoung shook his head, cringing. “Cheesy.”
“Alright!” exclaimed the tour guide, startling them both. “Moving right along! Please stay close and keep your distance from our staff and any and all instrumentation.” She leaned in and politely glared at a familiar face standing way too close to the spider enclosure, tapping the glass with his index finger. “That applies to all displays, too.”
“Did she—” San began, gasping.
Wooyoung was equally aghast. He blinked and saw but didn’t believe. San smacked him in the shoulder once, twice, thrice, then bit his knuckles to keep from laughing.
“She just glared at Choi Jongho,” Wooyoung whispered, though not low enough because Choi Jongho turned in his general direction and glared at him. “Ah, shit.”
San clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “Here comes trouble.”
“Anything you want to say to me, Jung?” Jongho crossed his arms and tilted his head to the side, pushing his tongue against cheek. He looked between Wooyoung and San and lifted his eyebrows as an invitation to be defied. “It’s rude to talk behind someone’s back.”
San chuckled and shrugged. “It’s also rude to eavesdrop,” he shot back.
Jongho invaded San’s personal space, narrowing his eyes at him. “Laugh it up,” he whispered in a take-no-witness voice. “I’ll deal with you outside.”
“Jongho, please—” Wooyoung gulped and placed a hand between them, slowly but surely separating them.
“Whatcha gonna do?” Jongho snapped at him, not even turning to look at him. “So what’s it going to be, Choi?”
San simply smiled, shook his head, then nodded as if to maintain himself calm instead of sucker-punching him. Outside, he seemed calm, cool, and collected, but Wooyoung knew his friend wasn’t keen on picking a fight. Not with Choi Jongho.
“Sure thing, buddy,” San exclaimed with a tone of finality, sidestepping to put some distance between himself and Jongho.
He noticed he had done so on his own. He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know his friend had stayed behind, no doubt paralyzed by fear and indecision. San’s heart leapt as he turned and immediately noticed that Jongho turned his sights—and thus his anger—on the nearest target: Wooyoung.
Turning on his heel and deliberately bumping into Jongho, San reached out and pulled his friend by the wrist, dragging him along with him. “If I move, you move.”
Wooyoung nodded sheepishly, grateful he’d got to live another afternoon.
“WHAT’S WITH THE long face?”
Jongho cracked his knuckles and clicked his tongue in irritation. He saw her staring at him through his periphery and immediately softened.
She was all attitude, blond hair, red-blood lipstick, leather jacket, and steel-toe boots. And she was always by his side, ready to kick, punch, and shove down anyone who dared mess with her, their crew, or Jongho himself. He appreciated her more than he could care to admit, though he couldn’t really bring himself to say it out loud.
Anne was frowning at him, her lovely features disfigured by worry and indignation. She was far too pretty to be frowning, let alone be worrying about why he was suddenly all worked up. He smiled instead, pushing aside his anger with that smug piece of shit that was Choi San and the weakling of a doormat that was Jung Wooyoung.
“It’s nothing.” He shrugged. “I’ll handle it.”
“Did those idiots give you trouble?” she asked, smirking.
“Not trouble. Never trouble.” Jongho chuckled, though it was forced. She couldn’t tell the difference, but she was sure it wasn’t entirely genuine. “Those idiots aren’t worth my time.”
Anne poked his right cheek when he smiled. “Damn right.”
THE SPIDER SAW its prey be overwhelmed by two figures.
One seemed to be familiar with its would-be quarry whereas the other seemed to be a predator cornering it. Though it couldn’t feel anger, the spider twitched as it continued to lower itself; it felt possessive of its prey, as though it was the one and only thing within its reach that it could feed on.
Its prey moved—correction: it was moved by its kin—and the spider moved faster. As its prey was dragged away, soon never to be seen again, the smallest of the smallest leapt off its web. Through the gifts granted to it by the strange giants that once fed it, the spider’s leap was not only impossible but impressive.
It landed gracefully and silently on the shoulder of its prey and quickly moved out of sight, concealing itself on the back of its giant’s neck . . .
WOOYOUNG FELT THE hair on the back of his neck stand up.
He shivered and reached to scratch an itch that he couldn’t describe or explain. He clicked his tongue and titled his head, muttering “aish” to himself as he did so. A second later, he felt something scurrying through his right shoulder and down his elbow . . . his forearm . . . then his wrist. He gently clapped his entire arm—from shoulder to wrist—and furiously rubbed his cardigan’s sleeve as if to shoo away any bad vibes.
Wooyoung cringed at the thought of having some mutated bug crawling through his body before it—squish—invaded and consumed his flesh. You need to stop believing what you see in movies, he told himself. San noticed him squirming and narrowed his eyes at him. He didn’t have to ask him what was going on because he was giving Wooyoung the what-are-you-doing look?
“Nothing, I just—cramps.” He lied, offering a small, unconvincing smile. “I’m fine.”
“Oh-kay.” San lifted his eyebrow, slowly turning to face forward. He glanced back, mumbled “hmm”, then decided he wasn’t going to inquire further.
They followed the group, keeping themselves to themselves in the back, when Wooyung felt someone staring at him. He hesitantly followed the gaze and held back a gasp as his eyes met those of Jongho’s confidant and right-hand woman. Anne was glaring at him, though stopped when Mr. Chung tapped her on the shoulder. She stared at him for a second, rolled her eyes, and matched her stride with that of Jongho’s.
“What did you do now?” cooed the familiar, if alluring voice of Park Seonghwa.
“Nothing,” said Wooyoung, confused as to how he’d gained the ire of yet another bully. “I’ve done nothing.”
Seonghwa shrugged as he threw his hand over Wooyoung’s shoulder. “Nothing to them is the same as something.”
Wooyong smelled something off him. Something . . . sterilized. “Where have you been? You reek of sanitizer.”
Seonghwa half-smiled, as if to say oh, you know. “Oh, I was taking a different tour.”
“Who did you snog now?”
“A gentleman never tells.” He winked. “But then again . . . I’m no gentleman.”
“M’kay . . .”
“Her name’s Allie. She’s an intern here.”
Wooyoung gaped, unsure of how to respond or what to think. “Good Lord,” he whispered.
“She’s nice.” Seonghwa nodded, smiling to himself. “Has a gentle touch, too.”
“Oh, no, you don’t have to tell me about that . . .”
Seonghwa giggled. He was proud of his allure and the effect he had on people—he often said he loved everyone equally—to the point of being not only a shameless flirt but apparently quite the casanova. He was lean, ethearly handsome, fashionable, and had a considerable amount of male and female admirers. The son of a fashion icon and a former idol singer, being adored for his good looks was a given and he seemed more annoyed by it than anything else.
Wooyoung didn’t envy his good looks or his privileged upbringing, but the ease with which he carried himself despite the reputation he’d earned by his the sins of the parents and inadvertently standing in their long shadows. Through it all, Park Seonghwa held his head high and smiled in the face of adversity. Wooyoung knew it was a façade, but he maintained it well with the dexterity and transparency of a chameleon.
“When are you going to settle down?” Wooyoung coaxed him with a small, playful smile.
Seonghwa shrugged his left shoulder. “One of these days, I suppose,” he replied, smiling back with a mischievous glint in his eye. “When the right person pulls the rug right under me.”
“Slow your roll, Billy Shakes!” San exclaimed, feigning to be smitten. “Say no more. I’m already under your spell.”
Seonghwa winked, caressing San’s chin with his index finger. “Will you be mine?”
Wooyoung slowly and painfully rolled his eyes, groaning through the corner of his mouth.
“Can we schedule this drama for another time?” he deadpanned.
San nodded. “Sure.”
“Is Friday night good for you?” Seongwha quipped.
“Mr. Park! Mr. Choi! Mr. Jung!”
The three of them stilled and feigned cheerful smiles at Mr. Chung. He approached them and ignored the remaining group walking past him while they followed the guide out of the lab. He crossed his arms and took a second to glare at the trio, then pointed at the group with a curt nod of his head.
“Get a move on,” he hissed.
Seonghwa bowed. “Certainly, sir.”
San walked off mid-bow as Wooyoung quietly followed Seonghwa. They quickly joined the group and decided it was best if they met in the middle where neither Mr. Chung or Jongho could pay them any mind.
Wooyoung was relieved to notice that Jongho was distracted by Anne but couldn’t shake the feeling that his bully wouldn’t forget about exacting disproportionate retribution on him and San. He shook his head, lifted his camera, and took some pictures of the best and brightest KimCorp had to offer working a little closer to a scientific achievement.
“Seeing how shiny his bald head makes me sad,” he heard Seonghwa say to San.
“Don’t worry, Hwa, if you begin to lose your luscious head of hair, I’ll be there to shave it off.”
Seonghwa feigned a gasp. “You would?”
“Without question.” San chortled. “What is baldness if not hair giving up?”
Seonghwa snorted at how ridiculous that sounded. Yet Wooyoung could hear the amusement in his friend’s voice. He closed his eyes and stifled a chuckle to not call attention to himself. He decided it was the perfect time to take more pictures. He was relieved that he could actually do so without being interrupted or needlessly reprimanded.
The pictures were more for himself rather than academic or professional interest. He loved to save a moment in time within a frame. It was something Uncle Beom had imparted on him: to keep and cherish memories of moments in his life, to remember what was and appreciate what is. He made sure not to take a photo without the consent of his subjects, which is why San and Seonghwa were usually in them.
And today was no different.
“Is that a bearded dragon?” San piped up, his voice laced with curiosity. “Youngie! Here!”
Wooyoung giggled at the sight of San posing in front of the transparent enclosure where a bearded dragon seemed to stop, look at them, and pose for the camera. He snapped the photo, saw that it was surprisingly wholesome, and showed it to San.
San was beaming. “Nice!”
“We’re not going anywhere until you take my photo,” said Seonghwa, dragging Wooyoung along with him.
He posed with a perfect smile and the perfect posture. Wooyoung felt jealous for a brief second as he snapped the perfect photo. He was analyzing it—look at that, the bearded dragon was clearly posing—when he felt a sharp, pulsing pain in his right hand. Instinctively, he snapped his wrist and shook it mid-wince.
“Shit,” he whispered through gritted teeth.
Wooyoung held up the back of his hand and noticed two tiny marks flaring up on it, his skin beginning to bruise. He felt a surge of panic as his mind went wild with possibilities concerning what might have bitten him. He was in a room with all kinds of critters and it wouldn’t be out of the question that one of them might have escaped its enclosure and thought he was one hell of a choice for dinner.
Whatever had bitten wasn’t any run of the mill critter. No, whatever had left its mark and possibly passed on a viral infection, poison, or progeny was undoubtedly touched by man and thus far removed from the natural order of things.
Wooyoung sighed and rubbed the bite, trying not to worry about being poisoned. The image of him frothing from the mouth as he convulsed on the ground terrified the hell out of him.
He anxiously shook his head, willing to dismiss any and all possibilities of a slow and painful death.
THE SMALLEST OF the smallest bit more than it could chew.
As its prey shook it off, the spider unceremoniously fell to the ground. Too small to be noticed, the smallest of the smallest landed on its back and twitched in place. It spent its last seconds blinking at the giant beast it had thought of as its would-be quarry, wondering if it would have been possible to devour it.
It unfortunately would never know.
The spider spasmed, its legs moving at an uneven and desperate rhythm.
It saw its prey leave, move away at an unnerving pace for such a big creature, and then everything turned dark as something—someone—absentmindedly crushed it beneath their stride.
It would never know its bite would lead to something daunting yet equally spectacular . . .
🎬 SYNOPSIS: Sunghoon was at the top of his game, staring in every major romance drama to hit the big screen. When he met you, he expected to watch you swoon over him like his previous co-stars, but you’re not so impressed when meeting in person. Modeling is looking at lot better than acting right about..now. ACTION!
collaboration of 4 authors: @taecup-fics @freckledwinterfalls @crispy-chan @pufflix for the HOI ficmas event
summary: you’ve always had a strange affinity for the outlawed holiday known as christmas. chris, your boyfriend, never understood your dangerous fascination with something so incredibly illegal. now, when you’ve decided to hold a christmas party that could very likely get you killed, will he and his friends help you? successfully pulling off this insanely risky heist will mean you get to host the party of the century. But if one thing goes wrong, the government will come for you all…
pairing: bang chan x f.reader
genre: fluff, very mild angst; action, romance, humor, heist!au
warnings: language, heists, mentions of oppressive government and guns, mild innuendos (PG-13)
a/n: hiii <3 this is my part for the ficmas event hosted by @houseofincantations. it's a collaboration with the three authors mentioned above. I'm super excited to post this -- we've all worked really hard on this fic. please show it some love and don't forget to let us know if you enjoyed <3 || masterlist
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After all you've been through in the past couple of hours, after all the fear and adventure, you never would've expected that the hardest part of your plan comes after the heist.
“Why isn't there a single catering company willing to prepare food for us?” Chan groans, slamming his fist on the table in exasperation. Running his hand through his hair, he sighs after yet another unsuccessful call. His brows are furrowed and you can see the creases beginning to form at the top of his head.
You suckle your lower lip, rubbing circles on his back in hopes of calming him down. “It's okay, Channie. We'll figure something out.”
The quivering of your voice makes Chan soften up, his muscles relaxing as he pulls you into his embrace. He can hear the guilt in your voice and he already feels guilty himself for making you sad.
“You're right,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “After everything we've been through, I promise you that the party will happen.”
And Chan does stay true to himself. Like a montage in a new action movie, he starts running around the apartment, pulling down all the blinds and making sure all the doors and windows are locked. After he is convinced that the entire place is sealed and wire-tap-proof, he grabs his phone and dials Jisung's number.
Thirty minutes later, everyone is gathered in your living room.
Most of your friends have settled themselves on your couch (Jisung in particular getting a little bit too comfortable in your usual seat), leaving Chan in the kitchen to prepare some beverages and snacks. He enters the room with a tray full of goodies for all of you to feast on.
While you're trying your hardest to prevent Jisung and Felix from spilling the grape juice on your brand-new rug, Chan and Minho unroll an old, dusty map of the city with three locations circled with a bright red marker. You immediately recognize them as the three most suitable areas for the party that you and Chan chose after narrowing it down from a potential thirty old barns or warehouses.
“This,” Chan points to the circle in the south, “is where we're currently hiding the ornaments. It would make sense to throw the party there since the old barn was renovated a couple of years ago and the family that was supposed to live there never actually moved in. The indoor facilities are perfect, however, there is one major drawback.”
The room suddenly goes quiet, all eyes focusing on Chan, or rather—his back—as he stands over the table, squinting at the large sheet of paper splayed in front of him.
“What's wrong with this place then?” Minho is the one who breaks the ice, throwing his arm over the older boy's shoulder. Chan scrunches his nose at the action, feigning disgust as he swats the younger boy's arm.
“It's only half an hour away from one of the government facilities. Basically, if anyone rats us out, we're dead meat.”
A thick, heavy silence engulfs all of you. The boys, one by one, exchange worried glances before Jisung finally asks the question that's lingering on all your minds.
“What are the chances of us transporting all the ornaments and decorations without getting caught?”
This time, it's Minho who answers him. “Not very high. After we broke in, the government officials declared a state of emergency so all roads are under constant surveillance. We'd have to be really sneaky for this to work.”
A long, drawn-out sigh leaves your mouth as you try to go over all the possible difficulties you may face. This entire ordeal is starting to look like one big mistake.
Just as you're about to lose hope and suggest that you cancel the party plans, Felix's loud voice echoes in your ear making you wince. “I have an idea!”
He turns his head to whisper something to Jisung, whose lips immediately curve into a smirk that mirrors Felix's. A pang of worry hits you when you feel both their gazes on you, and you can tell this won't end well for you.
“I know how we can transport the decorations so don't worry about that. Focus on the preparations instead.”
“There. All done.” Jisung shuts his laptop, stretching his hands and yawning loudly. The fuzzy blanket is sliding down his shoulders and you can almost see a bit of drool in the corner of his mouth but right now, you want to give him a massive hug for what he's done.
“But are you sure that they, you know… that they won't find out about us?” You bite down on your lip nervously, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. You know Jisung is a skilled hacker, however, it doesn't stop you from being both scared and cautious.
Your lives are in his hands, after all.
Jisung pouts in your direction. “You don't trust me, Y/N?”
You sigh. “I trust you, Ji. Of course, I do, but I want to make sure that all my friends, you included, are safe. This entire ordeal was my idea and we almost got caught before.”
“Y/N,” Jisung whispers, grabbing your hand and rubbing his thumb over your knuckles. “I promise you that I'm taking all the needed precautions for us to stay safe. I posted the info on a few servers that are hidden from the government. Everything is in code so you'll need a really skilled hacker to crack it.”
Suddenly, a loud, forced cough makes you two jump and turn around to find Chan standing in the doorway with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at the younger boy.
You almost burst into a fit of laughter as you watch Jisung scramble to excuse himself before he dashes out the door, leaving you and Chan alone in the room.
You turn around to your boyfriend, still giggling when you notice his serious expression. For a second, your grin falters as your gaze falls down to his chest where his toned arms are crossed over each other, muscles bulging.
Yeah… you now understood why some people were intimidated by him.
“C-Channie?” you whisper as he stalks closer to you with a glint in his eyes. You can't help but feel shivers run down your spine as Chan shoves his hands in his pockets before looking you straight in the eye.
He raises a brow when he notices the way you're evading his gaze, trying to look at everything but him. A large grin breaks out on his face, his dimples making an appearance as leans closer to peck you on the lips.
You release a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. “I had you there, didn't I, darling?”
“You're such a goof, Chan. For a second there, I thought you were genuinely jealous of Ji.”
His gaze hardens. “That idiot has no business being so affectionate with you,” he breathes out, “but don't worry. I know you love me the most.”
“Well…” you pretend to be lost in thought. “I've known Ji for ages…”
The blood in his veins freezes as he pins you against the nearest wall. “Y/N… you're playing a dangerous game.”
“I know.” Comes your cheeky reply. “I like watching you get angry—reminds me of a ripe tomato.”
At that, Chan can't help but roll his eyes and chuckle at your antics. As much as you confuse him with your cheeky attitude and crazy ideas, he can't help but fall for you even more whenever you say something so endearing.
Chris just finds you adorable—everything about you screams love to him and he can't help but marvel at the fact that you're his.
He's been pining after you for years, something that the rest of the squad loved to tease him for, so it still manages to knock his breath away whenever he realizes that the two of you are together.
Feeling a little sentimental, he pulls you into a bone-shattering embrace.
“C-Chris?” you stutter, surprised at the sudden wave of affection. “Shhh,” he cajoles, burning his head in the crook of your neck and inhaling your comforting scent. “I came to tell you the masterful plan Felix came up with. Figured you'd prefer hearing it from me, rather than them.”
“Sure. It can't be that bad, it's Felix after all… right?”
Chan groans. “Yeah well… the thing is, Felix thinks that the best way to distract the guards is for us to pretend to be an arguing couple and that I should propose to you at the end. I tried talking him out of it but the rest of the guys agreed that it’s the best option we've got now.”
Your brow shoots up. “You should… propose? Really? Seems a bit excessive to me…”
“Yeah…” he trails off, ignoring the small pang in his chest. “I agree. However, if we think about it, the idea itself isn't that bad. If we play it right, maybe we could actually do this.”
You stifle a laugh. “Okay. I'm in, but it's you who will have to do most of the legwork. I mean, proposing to me, phew. That'll be hard to act out and you know… make it look genuine.”
The soft raise of your voice makes him alert, ears perking up to see if you'll say anything else—continue the conversation after you've unlocked the gate to uncharted territories, however, you stay quiet.
He can feel the erratic beating of his heart as a fleeting thought passes through his mind.
“It won't be hard at all… Not when this is something I've been dreaming about doing for such a long time.”
The preparations for the party have been going smoothly. A couple of days have passed since all of you gathered at Chan's apartment to come up with the framework of the plan. You spent the past 72 hours going shopping for the ingredients (since you decided to cook your own food for the party), raiding the arts & crafts store so that you could DIY some posters, and sneaking into a forest to find a suitable Christmas tree.
You had a little trouble with the last one since none of you were sure which trees were actually used to celebrate the holiday. The boys even cut down a few trees that they thought would be suitable but turned out to be the wrong kind.
“For the last time, Jisung, I'm sure this isn't the kind we're looking for. This looks like silver birch.”
“And how would you know? Maybe any tree can be a Christmas tree.” Jisung whined. “Last time I checked, you weren't a tree expert. You know just as much as we do about Christmas—meaning you don't know anything.”
Rubbing the top of your head in exasperation, you shot him a glare. “Yeah well the last time I checked, the bark of a Christmas tree isn't supposed to be white, dimwit.”
Behind you, both Felix and Minho howled with laughter and Chan simply rolled his eyes.
Swallowing down whatever arguments Jisung had on his tongue, he lowered his head like a puppy, sniffling before he let go of the tree, letting it roll down the snow-covered cliff. You could feel your eyes soften as you watched him struggle to part with the object, a single tear running down his cheek.
“Jisung.” You called his name softly, feeling guilty for snapping at him like that. You knew how sentimental he was at heart and it physically hurt you to see him sad. “I'm sorry. But let's not lose hope! We'll find the right one soon. I'm pretty sure it should be some type of cone tree. Maybe a pine…”
As you listed off different types of trees, a loud bang echoed through the forest making you all turn around to follow the source. From the corner of your eyes, you managed to catch sight of a black van that was currently making its way through the thick of the forest, getting closer to your group with each passing second.
“Fuck.” Jisung breathed out, taking a hurried step back before turning around and sprinting away. “It's them.”
“RUN!” someone hollered, but at the moment, you couldn't tell who it was. You couldn't tell anything, actually. Including where your legs ended and where the frothy snow began. You learn that as your knees give out, making your entire body topple down into the frosty pile as your friends are running away from the vehicle.
Just as you were about to land face first in the snow, a strong arm managed to catch you by the hood, effortlessly pulling you up. A small squeak left your lips as your back collided with Chan's toned chest, his arms wrapping around your waist to steady your body against his.
“C'mon, darling. Let's get out of here.”
Chan gripped your hand with his, his fingers tracing circles over your knuckles. You almost melted into his touch. You cursed yourself earlier for not bringing any gloves but now, you were glad that they were forgotten on your kitchen counter.
However, Chan's pace was a lot quicker than yours and in less than a couple of minutes, you were already breathing heavily, exhaustion seeping over you.
“C-Chan,” you wheezed over the chilled air. “I-I can't go anymore.”
Your boyfriend turned around to examine your face, a small frown appearing on his lips as he mumbled, “I'm sorry, Y/N. Just a little bit further.”
With that, his grip on your hand tightened and he started running even faster, dragging your spent body behind him. His jaw slackened when he heard the sirens behind you—they were even louder than before. Dread washed over the two of you as the distance between you and the van slowly diminished.
“On the count of three, we'll turn right.” You heard Chan mumble as he slowly started counting.
“One… Two… Three.”
The force of the turn almost knocked you out, and Chan struggled to hold your limp body against his as the two of you ended up leaning against a tree.
“Shhhh.” He pressed his finger against his lips, perking his ears for any sound that's out of the ordinary. Both of you held your breath as you heard the sloshing of the tires—the van just passed you.
“Chris—” You released the breath you were holding, still breathing heavily from having to run so much. Panting, his palm rubbed your cheek and he leaned closer to you to peck your lips.
He was about to pull away but your hand on his neck prevented him from doing so. Instead, you pulled him closer, releasing all your pent-up emotions into the kiss.
“Ehm,” a loud cough rang through your ears, you and Chan jumping away from each other like your lives depended on it.
“Although undeniably happy that your relationship is flourishing despite the less than pleasant circumstances, I think I should point out that we’re still not completely out of danger.”
Jisung sniggered at Minho's formal speech, adding his two cents to the matter. “Yeah well, Felix and I don't appreciate you two swapping saliva while our lives are endangered. Leave the risqué for when it's not risky.”
Minho simply rolled his eyes at Jisungs lame pun and watched Chan shoot the boy a glare, which in turn caused the young hacker to hide behind him.
The three of you continued bantering like a couple of kindergarteners, the Christmas tree no longer on any of your minds. That's when, however, your eyes caught sight of something truly exquisite.
Felix noticed your focused gaze and searched in the distance to find what caught your attention. And there, he saw it—it's perfection.
The medium-sized tree stood in the middle of a small clearing, surrounded by small bushes littered with tiny red fruits that distantly reminded you of cherries. You later remembered reading about the deadly effects of the plant in an online article.
The tree was a majestic pine, so beautiful that it knocked your breath away. The lush, green needles coated the branches, and crystal-like snow glazed the tree in a shiny coat of pure white.
It was breathtaking.
Your hand extended forward, finger pointing to the piece of greenery. “That's it,” you whispered. “That's the tree we're looking for.”
Chan rested his ear over your shoulder, straining his eyes to find the tree you're talking about. “The one over there?”
You nodded in agreement.
“Let's go grab it and get the fuck out of here,” Minho hollered, running towards the tree. “Felix! Bring the pick-up—we need to be as quick as possible. I'm pretty sure security is close.”
“Aye, aye, captain!” Felix raised his right hand to his head, nodding in understanding before he took off in the direction of your truck.
And that's how you got the 10-foot Pine tree in the back of your pick-up truck.
In the front, you can hear Jisung and Felix bickering over who's entitled to have the last Oreo. An old Christmas song is blaring from the radio, courtesy of Minho who managed to snag a few Christmas CDs from the government facility.
“Channie?” You whisper from your cozy spot on his chest, slowly raising your head to look him in the eye. Your boyfriend can't help but coo at your sleepy state. “Yeah?”
“Is everything gonna be okay? Do you think Felix's plan will work?”
His gaze softens when he sees you tiredly rub your eyes. Today's adventure—if you could even call it that; Chan would prefer the term reckless endangerment—has worn you out. The adrenaline is still pumping in his veins; however, it seems like you've run out of energy.
“Don't worry about it, princess. Go to sleep.”
These are the last things you hear before your eyes start closing, a sleepy yawn coming from your throat. Chan presses a soft kiss to your forehead, and you manage to give him a weak smile in response before sleep takes over you.
You don't notice the way his hand digs into his pocket, almost as if he's moving something around.
You awaken to the soft screeching of the tires as Felix makes a sharp turn to stop the vehicle and parks it in a small clearance surrounded by bushes and weeds. Almost propelling forward from the impact, you quickly latch onto the closest object in your vicinity, which happens to be Chan.
“Did you sleep well?” He whispers, running a hand through your hair, smiling sweetly. Your eyes are still dazed but you nod in agreement, slowly sitting up and stretching your achy limbs.
“We're here now,” Felix states the obvious. “Do you guys remember the plan?”
You shuffle uncomfortably in Chan's hold, already dreading what you'll have to do. “Yeah… We remember, Felix.”
You don't even really know what you're afraid of in the first place. It isn't your acting skills—after all, you've been acting your entire life, pretending that you had no affinity for the winter holiday. However, the idea of you and Chan arguing scares you… It scares equally as much as the proposal itself.
Maybe you're afraid that either of you will get lost in the fight, spewing insults at each other. What if Chan won't be able to propose to you properly? What if he'll accidentally reveal his true colors—that he doesn't want to marry you in the slightest.
You understand that though, of course you do. Both of you are still young, just beginning to navigate this world on your own. But that doesn't stop you from pondering about the future and going through all the what if's.
“Y/N?” Chan's raspy voice tickles the nape of your neck. “C'mon, we have to go now.” Slowly standing up, you jump off the truck, ignoring Chan's extended hand, instead shoving your hands in your pockets.
Minho stumbles out of the truck to tell you, “Don't forget to drag it out. Oh, and don't forget to be dramatic—you really need to distract them. If you won't grab their full attention, we may not be able to slip through, or worse, they may catch us and later put two and two together and realize that you guys are with us.”
A shiver runs down your spine as you hear Minho repeat what you've been told many times. Not only was the success of your entire “mission” dependent on the performance you'd have to show now. Your entire livelihoods depended on it, too.
“It's gonna be okay.” You hear Chan say next to you, putting his arm around your shoulders. “We just have to pretend we're in a really intense argument.”
Taking a deep breath, you bend over to scoop up some of the snow, choosing the one with a powder-like quality. Turning around to face your boyfriend, you dip your middle and pointer finger in the mixture, grinning as you slather it all over his nose and cheeks.
Chan raises a brow in surprise but quickly catches on. Before you can even blink, he's rubbing in the wet mixture across your face.
Jisung, Minho, and Felix watch in astonishment as their main two actors (who are supposed to get them out of here safely) play in the snow like a couple of kindergarteners.
When you notice that all three pairs of eyes are on you, the heat rises to your cheeks and you pull your scarf tighter around your face in hopes of escaping their heavy gazes.
“I-I… I figured it would be more believable that we're lost if our faces look frozen.”
“Yeah,” Minho quips. “Of course you would.”
Under his breath, Chan grumbles some-less-than-tasteful words that make Minho stop in his tracks, but alas, the thief knows he's got no chance against his older friend. Chan would most likely wipe the floor with him.
“Are you guys ready?” Felix adjusts the small devices on both your and Chan's heads, ruffling up your hair to hide them from view. Your nod is the cue for him to continue. “We'll be able to hear both of you the entire time with these. If there's something we need to tell you, you'll hear it. If anything goes wrong, you know what to say. We'll tell you when we're on our way with the ornaments. A friend of mine will come to pick you up.”
“Okay. Let's go.”
Turning around to give you a reassuring smile, Chan slips his hand in yours and starts walking in the direction of the little booth where the security guards reside. The dainty diamond ring jingled in his pocket, along with the rolled map.
“We're gonna pretend we're lost, alright?”
You exhale. “Yeah. And it'll escalate into an argument before you… you know.”
“Yeah.” His ears are beet red. “Then I'll propose.”
When you asked Chan if he even had a ring, he simply waved you off, telling you not to worry. Everything is taken care of, he whispered with a mysterious glint in his eyes.
As the two of you begin approaching the booth, you slip your hand out of his grip, immediately shivering at the cold. You take a step back from Chan in hopes of making the act more believable.
“We're lost, aren't we?”
Chan looks at you, shooting you a wink before he scowls. “I'm telling you we're not lost.”
“Not lost?” An ugly laugh leaves your throat. “You're trying to say we aren't lost? Please—we've been walking in circles for over an hour. Liar.”
There's a surprising amount of venom in your voice and for a second you're afraid that Chan will misunderstand your anger. The small smile he gives you, however, reassures you that he's aware this is all an act.
“Yeah well, if you'd ever take part in planning anything, instead of just letting others do the work, we could've already been there.”
You wouldn't admit that the insult sent a small pang through your heart, instead, you focused on the fact that the guards were starting to look in your direction.
“Maybe if you wouldn't spend all those hours at the gym, we could've left the house before dark.”
For a second, you're afraid that you've gone too far. Chan spending hours exercising was something you two talked quite frequently about. Though it never reached an argument, Chan could tell that you were usually quite bitter when he returned home a lot later than expected. And as much as he wanted to spend as much time with you as possible, he needed a place to blow off some steam. The gym just happened to be the perfect place to do that.
All the anger evaporates from his body as he pulls out the map. You try to touch his arm in hopes of wordlessly conveying your apology but he simply swats your hand away.
He walks up to the guy hidden behind a glass panel, adjusting his coat before he asks. “Excuse me, do you perhaps know how to get to this park?”
The security guard squints, unable to see where Chan is pointing to and simply shrugs. You feel fear course through your veins when you realize that getting the man to move from his post will be harder than expected.
“See," you whisper angrily. “I told you it was useless. Nobody knows where this place is.”
The man—sensing that another fight was about to occur—steps out of his booth and takes a look at the map. His brow lifts when he sees the name of the park circled in red but he realizes that he has no idea where it is.
“Park! Jung! Come here for a second,” he calls and you and Chan release a breath when you see the other two guards running in your direction. Your boyfriend takes advantage of the situation and quickly squeezes your hand to let you know that everything will be okay.
When the two younger guards arrive, all five of you are bent over, looking at the giant map and trying to figure out where this mystery park is.
Chan almost has to stifle a laugh as he watches them confusedly point at the map, thinking that they've figured it out before quickly realizing that they're still as lost as they were before.
From the corner of your eye, you can see Felix starting the engine as he's about to drive past. You're afraid that your cover won't be enough so you try to signal to Chan that you need to do something, perhaps step up your game.
A groan leaves your lips when he doesn't react—likely, he hasn't noticed your half-assed attempts at making him notice you. What now?
You take a deep breath before spitting out: “There's no point, Chan. They don't know where this stupid park of yours is. I don't know why you even want to go there but I want to go home. It's ass o'clock and we're lost in the middle of nowhere. You can go on this trip of yours another day.”
The three men turn to you, brows raised as they examine the both of you. Your cheeks burn in humiliation as you wonder what you should do. Chan is still in shock from your little speech, mouth slightly parted as he carefully calculates his next words.
“P-Propose to you…” he breathes out, eyes wide and sparkly. “I-I wanted to propose to you.”
All four heads turn to face him and the security guards are taken aback. They're distracted enough by your charade that they completely miss the black pick-up truck soaring right behind you.
A relieved sigh leaves your lips but Chan's heavy gaze makes you freeze in your spot. Despite the fact that your friends are long gone, he doesn't seem intent on stopping. Digging into his pocket, he pulls out a diamond ring.
Going down on one knee, he holds the silver band in front of him. “Y/N, will you marry me?”
Your first reaction is to start crying. Despite trying your best to blink away the tears, they still keep rolling down your cheeks like down a waterfall. “I-I…” you gasp, placing your palm over your mouth. Right now, it's just the two of you, the three guards in the background blending out into a soft buzz.
Wiping the tears off your face, you squeal. “O-Of course I will. I-I love you, Chan.”
The man smiles, dimples appearing on his cheeks as he carefully slides the band on your ring finger. A pleasant warm feeling courses through your body and you can feel your cheeks heat up as Chan slowly stands up. His arms wrap around your waist before he hoists you up bridal style and spins you around.
It's the most beautiful moment of your life and you can hear the guards cheering in the background but at the moment, the only things you can register are you, Chan, and the sparkle in his eyes.
You're lost in the moment, and when you hear Chan's phone ringing in his back pocket, the heartwarming feeling shatters into a sad reality.
None of this is real.
The ring burns on your finger like a reminder of this short-lived fantasy.
While Chan is still high off the feeling, grinning to himself like an idiot, your smile isn't genuine. The pain gnaws at you from the inside, eating you alive as you try not to melt in Chan's embrace.
You're in the backseat of a silver sedan, one sent by Minho. His friend, Wooyoung, is behind the wheel, and he doesn't bother to ask a single question during the entire ride. You assume that his only order was to come to pick you up.
Chan's arm is tightly wrapped around your shoulders, something that causes you further unease for the first time in your life, and his thumb is rubbing your knuckles, occasionally nudging the silver band that sits snugly on your finger. It seems to only bring him more joy as he rearranges the ring, smiling to himself and planting soft kisses along your neck.
Fear sits at the back of your mind, making your body tense more (if that was even possible). The reason you're afraid is quite simple—the entire proposal was… too perfect. When you first heard that the plan involved Chan faking a proposal, you weren't really that concerned. You assumed that it would be half-assed—nothing too serious and the two of you could later laugh it off. What you didn't expect, however, was the raw emotion you'd feel once he'd get down on one knee in the snow.
The realization that you're helplessly in love with him hit you like a freight train, knocking your breath away. You didn't know that you'd actually like it--scratch that—you loved it.
When he peered at you with his big, sparkly eyes—ones that held pure adoration and hope—you felt like the happiest person alive. The way he grinned, his cheeks bunching up and eyes turning into little crescent moons—it was that smile.
The one that initially made you fall in love with him all those years ago.
His voice brings you back from your thoughts.
“I'll run you a bath once we get home,” he whispers. “My princess deserves to rest after today.”
A shiver runs down your spine at his words and unable to reply, you choose to pretend you're asleep, relaxing in his hold.
A few minutes later, you're snoring softly against his shoulder.
“Thanks, Wooyoung,” Chan gives the younger boy a smile before scooping up your sleeping body and carrying you towards his apartment. He watches as he drives off, tires screeching against the asphalt, and thanks his lucky stars that the two of you got through this safely.
When he spots the glimmering silver band around your finger, he feels the corners of his mouth twitch.
Holding you up with one hand, his other reaches to pull out his keys to unlock the front door. He struggles with pushing the buttons on the elevator, a few curses leaving his mouth but in the end, he reaches his apartment door safely with you tucked in his hands.
Unlocking the door with a grunt, he's ready to lay you in bed and jump in next to you, his eyes glazing at the pleasant thought. Except, there's an unexpected surprise waiting for him in his own apartment.
There, splayed across the couch, lay your three friends, and what's worse—they've got an array of snacks all over your coffee table.
A small, protruding vein appears on Chan's forehead as he watches the trio feast on the contents of your entire pantry. Just as he's about to chastise them and kick them out, Jisung slowly stands up, drawing his attention.
“I see you've brought home the beloved Mrs. Bang.”
Judging by the wiggling of his eyebrows and the teasing tone in his voice, Chan discerns that the younger is joking. For the sake of his own sanity, he decides to let it be and focus on getting you to bed.
“How did the proposal go?” Minho asks, smacking his lips as he devours another Cheeto.
“How did you get into my apartment?” Chan counters, impatiently tapping his foot against the hardwood floor.
Minho only chuckles in response. “I'm a thief, Chan. Bypassing locks is literally in my job description.”
When the older scowls, Minho continues. “Tell us though—did you stutter during the proposal? I remember seeing you practice in front of a mirror—I hope that the practice paid off.”
Sensing that Chan's pot of patience was about to boil over, Minho quickly shuts up and scurries to hide behind Felix. The driver—the only one with thinking straight now—rolls his eyes at his older companion.
Tossing the Oreo wrapper in the trash can, he turns around to face Chan (whose ears have turned beet red). “The two of you should go get some sleep now. I'll make sure that Minho and Jisung leave, don't worry. We'll come pick you up tomorrow afternoon to prepare and the party will start at seven.”
Chan nods, too sleepy to bring himself to do more but in his mind, he thanks Felix for taking care of the situation.
He says his goodnights and heads towards the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
Today's the big day– D-day if you will. The day you've been all preparing for… the day that it's been building up to.
And surprisingly, you aren't really nervous.
Chan seems to be quite jolly too, something that brings you immense joy and you can tell that today will be unusual.
At precisely 12 pm, Felix, Minho and Jisung are waiting for you downstairs, honking multiple times to get you to come down faster. Hastily throwing your things in your bag, you slide your hand around Chan's as the two of you run down the staircase, ready to take on whatever fate has prepared for you.
The ride in the van is anything but quiet. The stereo is blasting with Christmas tunes from the CD Minho snagged and you instantly recognize the song as “All I want for Christmas Is You” by Leriah Darey or something along the lines of that.
When all of you arrive at the warehouse, Changbin and Hyunjin are already there, setting up the garlands and fairy lights while munching on gingerbread Felix baked.
“It looks… beautiful.” You breathe out in awe, spinning around the room in pure joy. Hyunjin grins at your reaction, pulling out a black remote controller and pressing one of the buttons. All of a sudden, the fairy lights start flickering, shifting colors from green to red and back again. You stare at it in shock, mouth parted open as Jisung cackles.
“I had no idea that all it took to impress you was a few fairy lights.”
From behind you, your boyfriend shoots the hacker a glare, but even he can't deny the beauty of this place. It is magnificent, even more so when Felix and Hyunjin turn the lights off, allowing you to see how the place would look in the evening.
Suddenly, someone starts loudly clapping. “C'mon guys. We need to start preparing—no time to lose!”
And that's all the encouragement you need to start working.
At first, you divide the work fairly amongst yourselves. You and Felix are decorating the sugar cookies and the gingerbread men. Behind you, Hyunjin is wrapping presents by himself, scowling whenever Jisung or Minho accidentally drop an ornament on his head.
That leaves Chan and Changbin, who are doing all of the heavy labor. The two of them have rolled up the sleeves of their t-shirts, not leaving much to the imagination as their muscles bulge while carrying various boxes from the van.
Said boxes are filled with everything imaginable: food, drinks, more decorations, costumes, and last but not least, the shimmering Christmas tree star that's carefully wrapped in multiple layers of bubble wrap.
With more stuff to do, each of you starts working even harder with one end goal in mind.
You're gonna throw the best Christmas party in the world.
“Chan,” you yell over the loud, booming music, carefully clutching the plastic cup in your hand in hopes of not spilling punch all over yourself. “Have you seen Felix?”
Your boyfriend shakes his head, sliding his arm around your waist and pulling you closer to him. He lowers his head to whisper in your ear. “Stay with me for a bit, babe. I've barely got to see you since the party started.”
It was true—ever since the first guests came bursting through the door, you were constantly on your toes, running around from one place to another. You couldn't help it—with so many people around, accidents were bound to happen, drinks and snacks were bound to run out, and neither of these issues would fix themselves.
As such, you haven't yet had the chance to enjoy yourself. Sensing that, your boyfriend takes the cup from your grip and places it on the nearest elevated surface. Slowly, the two of you start swaying to the music, and, despite the protests lingering on your tongue, you let Chan guide you across the dancefloor when a slow song starts playing.
Chan grins, tightening his hold around your waist as your hands slide to go around his shoulders. You allow the rhythm to move through your body, becoming one with the music.
At this moment, you feel like the entire world is at your fingertips. Everything disappears, and it's just you, Chan, and the soft melody in the background.
When you catch his gaze, Chan slowly leans in and presses his lips against yours. You feel sparks fly and it's like fireworks are shooting across the sky.
Sadly, all good moments are meant to end.
A loud boom echoes through the warehouse, making you and Chan jump away from each other. All of you focus your gazes at the main gate, and to your utter horror, you spot two figures dressed in bright red Santa suits at the entrance.
They're making their way towards you, almost as if they know it's your work and Chan protectively steps in front of you, hoping to shield you with his own body.
As the two guards pull down their white ski masks and Santa hats, your heart clenches at the sight.
They're just kids.
Okay, maybe kids wasn't the right word—they were definitely adults—but you could tell that they couldn't be older than you guys. In fact, you would guess they're a year or two younger.
Their expressions seem stoic at first, but upon closer inspection, you can see the layers of fear and guilt hidden beneath. One of them—the one with the sharp eyes and fox-like features—pulls out his comm and you can't help but notice the way his hand trembles.
Just as he's about to bring the device to his mouth and call for backup, Changbin's voice rings through the silence.
“Don't do it.”
His eyes begin to water as he keeps his hand down, silently pleading for him to give him a reason not to do it. It's obvious he doesn't want to do this… not again.
a/n: if you've read this far, thank you!! i hope you enjoyed and stay tuned for the next chapter <3 don't forget to let us know all your thoughts (aka feedback is as always appreciated). tysm <3 stay safe