nap of a star — nishimura riki. best friends to lovers. eventual established relationship. zombie apocalypse au. fluff. heavy angst.
synopsis. nishimura riki was sixteen when you taught him what love was. he is still sixteen when the universe teaches him of loss and rips you out of his hands. (1.9k words)
Nishimura Riki was sixteen when you taught him what love was.
It was confusing at first. He didn’t understand why he felt funny whenever you would bump your shoulders with his, why his eyes would trail towards your direction after he would tell a joke, why he’d search for your face in every room, and why he was more aware of his actions when you were around.
You’d approach him, he’d start to sweat. You’d talk, and he’d notice the way your lips would curve up. And even though he didn’t know it yet, love was residing deep in his bones.
And he swears he didn’t intend on it; he’s only sixteen years of age and more often than not, he found that he didn’t care much about anything. He does things when needed, he only says what he needs to say, only listens when it interests him, but with you, he finds himself smiling at the most unexpected times.
He’s so drawn to you, with everything that you do. And suddenly, everything is about you.
The flower he sees while walking to school reminds him of that time the two of you had visited the flower shop and he had placed one on your ear. The shell he finds at the beach reminds him of your favorite pearl earrings. He was in love, and maybe it was because he hadn’t known love otherwise that he never truly realized it before.
He supposes he should feel embarrassed that you’ve managed to seize him entirely, but somehow it didn’t matter.
It’s a Sunday when you find one of the rare photos you had together with Riki displayed on the lock screen of his phone.
“Riki?”
“Hm?”
You still remember the day it was taken. It was after the both of you spent the entire day visiting downtown thrift stores and eating at your favorite stalls, the same day you stayed up talking on the phone until dawn.
You were the one who took the photo, smiling with him at the camera while the two of you wore the most absurd pieces of clothing you found at the thrift store (you had shoved a handful of clothes in his direction and asked him to wear it. How could he refuse when you looked so happy handing them over to him?). There’s a light tint of pink on his cheeks, and it’s obvious he’s trying to hold in a smile by covering his lips with a peace sign, and you had your face squished with his.
“You have us on your phone screen?”
It’s almost record-breaking time when his face flushes red. And he’s trying, really trying, to ignore your eyes because he hadn’t meant for you to see that, but it’s difficult when you’re smiling at him like that.
“You weren’t supposed to see that.” He grabs his bag from you, and he’s just standing there, but it’s clear he’s getting shy and flustered because he had just been caught red-handed.
“It just reminds me that no matter what happens, I have you,” Riki mutters quietly, eyes shifting towards your bedroom door as if it was the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. “Do you like me?”
The absurdity and straightforwardness of your question has him choking on his own spit, and he looks at you with wide eyes. He swears he can hear everything in your room, including the loud thuds of his heart beating through his chest.
“I’ve been thinking about it for a while… if you like me or not. I mean - it’s not like you’re really trying to hide it.” Riki’s mouth drops open and he’s quick to cross his arms defensively, shaking his head and trying to unconvincingly persuade you that you were wrong.
“For what it’s worth, I really like you too. A lot.” Your voice grows quieter and Riki immediately drops the hands he had folded over his chest. “Really?” A soft smile tugs on his lips.
“Yeah.”
Riki spends the entirety of sixteen being in love with you.
+
Nishimura Riki is still sixteen when the universe teaches him of loss and rips you out of his hands.
“Are you okay?” Riki asks. He sounds horrendous.
You’re propped in a makeshift bed he had made you two nights ago after he had devastatingly found out you had been scratched. He didn’t take the news well - sobbing in your arms until he fell asleep. The events of that night are a blur, but you can still remember the haunting words Riki had repeated, “I can’t lose you, please… please tell me this isn’t real.”
The virus was taking an abnormally long time to overtake your system, and every night, Riki stays by your side to hold onto the last moments you will probably have together.
You’re able to see out the window to your left from where you’re laying, where the school grounds had been broken and vandalized, and where people you used to call your friends roam freely on the grounds - barely recognizable. You remember thinking of how you were going to be one of them soon in what you thought were your last hours.
On the first night, you and Riki talked about the day you had slipped out of your house and into the darkness outside to spend time with each other. You had class the next day, but you chose to spend the entire night in a park, a secret to the sleeping world around you. You recall holding onto each other and watching the sun rise. Riki remembers the tiredness weighing down his eyes, but he’d stay up another hundred hours to do it all again.
He falls asleep crying and holding onto you until all he’ll ever know is you.
On the second night, Riki cries again. He repeats, “please don’t leave me” as you tell him about the day you held hands and raced through a crowd to get on your favorite rides at the amusement park - your very first date. The sun was beaming, and the day felt timeless. He sang you to sleep on the way home.
Riki curses to Whoever is Above as you cry into each other’s arms. The both of you fall asleep exhausted, and you make him promise to try and get out of there alive, for the both of you.
Tonight, he lays beside you on the little table he had laid you on to rest. You had become a little more unresponsive - you knew it, and he knew it. There was nothing left he could do.
And you don’t know how hard it is for him not to cry again when every part of his body was screaming for him to do so because he was so afraid. He wasn’t ready to let you go. You were still so young. He had practiced not crying earlier while he was out looking for food and water at the school’s abandoned cafeteria, but nothing could ever prepare him for this.
When he finally speaks, his voice comes out broken and small.
“I’m gonna miss you.”
You have your head rested on his chest, and you let yourself absorb the gentle rise and fall of it. He feels the faint pressure of your hand holding onto his, and when you squeeze onto his hand, he knows you’re telling him it’s okay to cry.
“I’m gonna miss you so much.”
His next words come out in a sob. Riki shuts his eyes closed, running a hand through your hair and breathing in your scent. He tries not to think of anything else, he tries to just be with you. He doesn’t speak anymore, he just allows himself to cry and feel as he holds onto your limp body. Amid everything that was happening, he still felt it deep within his voice.
He still felt love.
And then he hears your voice.
“Sing for me?”
Riki takes a deep breath, and he tries to sing for you, like he always did before, despite his voice being a little wobbly and broken. “I can see even if you’re not by my side. I feel you even if you don’t say a word.”
It’s just the two of you in that room, with time stilling in that tiny room as he sings for you, pressing gentle kisses on the top of your head as if it was the last time he’ll ever be able to do so. “Even if it’s just in your memories, my heart is always dancing, just like before.”
You didn’t say much as you listened to his quiet singing.
“I want to be your nap so I can dream with you no matter when, as if nothing had happened. The moments that felt like magic and the brilliant night sky, they’re on my mind.” When Riki finishes singing, he lets out the most pained noise you had ever heard. As if it was finally dawning on him that he had to let you go soon. His first love, maybe his only love.
“Don’t be sad…” You try to lift your hand in a weak attempt at cupping his cheek. “Riki, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
There’s a long silence before you see Riki’s face visibly break. You see the way he slowly loses composure of himself until he’s reduced to a sobbing mess. He buries his face deep in your hair, embarrassed. He doesn’t want you to see him like this, he doesn’t want this to be your last memory of each other.
Everything is so overwhelming, and it hurts everywhere. In his head, in his head, in his eyes. Everywhere hurts.
“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll visit you in your dreams.” He keeps his eyes shut closed when he feels your lips press softly on his chin. “Riki, look at me. Please…”
He couldn’t.
“Riki, please… for me?”
He wills himself to open his eyes and look at you, but the moment his gaze meets yours, he finds himself tearing up again. He knows he’s running out of time. He takes a breath too big for him and he’s reduced to a coughing fit.
When he meets your gaze another time, he realizes this could possibly be it. He tries to regain his composure before pulling you closer to his body.
Riki traces a finger on your face, watching you silently and studying your every feature before leaning down to place multiple kisses on the spots he had just traced. “Thank you for teaching me to love, and for loving me in return.” A quiet whisper.
He sees blood dripping down your nose.
“You’ll be okay, right?”
He knows he won’t be. He knows he’s so afraid of living without you, he knows it’s going to be difficult finding the will to survive the undead when you are no longer by his side, but he promised you he would try to live, so he puts everything into the lie that slips from his mouth.
“I’ll be okay.”
“You have to let me go now, you know what to do.” He feels you loosen a big breath and he nods his head understandingly. Riki places one last kiss on the corner of your lips as he breathes out a final ‘I love you’.
[6:02 PM] — park sunghoon. established relationship. (0.4k words)
Sunghoon’s life is growing tired. He’s not quite sure when it started, but he realizes it now — deflated and exhausted on his way home. He deduces it might’ve been from all his waiting only for nothing to come.
He catches himself unfocusing his eyes and breathing out until the stream of air thins more often than he’d like. A pang in his chest follows at the realization. Though, the reminder of a homecooked meal awaiting him makes him calmer.
His next breath is a sigh — there you are, in all your glory, his shirt framing your figure as you quietly make dinner. He guesses you must be wearing earphones from the way you don’t budge at the sound of the door opening.
Bleary and exhausted, he turns to wrap his arms around you, lips ghosting over your head as he mumbles sweet words of love to you.
It startles you for a moment, but you immediately calm when you breathe him in so instead, you let your body absorb the gentle rise and fall of his chest.
When you take his hands into yours, Sunghoon utters a prayer for the first time in the long time. A silent plead for the moment to stay like this, never fading and forever breathing against his lover’s back after a long day.
You feel like comfort, especially through flitting moments like these when the two of you are quietly standing in the kitchen, leaning into each other for support, and breathing in the smell of home.
Being with you is like going home — it’s like basking into the familiarity of victory.
A warm smile breaks over his face and he gently tugs at you to turn around so he can see you. He wants to bathe in your presence, into the feeling of longing finally achieved. And when you do, it takes him a few minutes to catch his breath.
Comfort really does surround you and encompasses the entirety of your life, Sunghoon thinks. Perhaps, unknowingly, you’re comfort personified.
He uses his palm to cup your cheek, moving slowly to catch glimpses of this moment into photographs in his mind. He inches forward, lips aching to steal yours into a long kiss. And when his mouth finally slots with yours, the overwhelming wash of his feelings almost make him cry.
Time slowed, and stilled. It was just the two of you, fingers carding through each other’s hair and stroking down spines in the empty, sunlit kitchen. The weight he felt earlier rolls out of his chest with ease, until he feels like he can finally relax and smile properly again.
He’s been so patient, and he thinks it’s finally come, that something he’s been yearning for all his life.
Sunghoon’s convinced that today, his life stopped growing tired.
↳pairing: minho x reader ↳word count: 12.5k ↳genre: sex work!au (streamer!reader), s2l, smut ↳summary: when a streamer that goes by the name of baby blue announces she’ll pick a random comment and invite the fan over to have sex with them, minho thinks it’s all a big scam—until he wins. ↳warnings: 18+, minors dni! explicit content, sex work, sexual topics, discussion of sex as a subscriber award, mentions of cheating (reader/minho aren’t cheating), streaming sexual content, blowjob, fingering, protected sex, use of ‘baby,’ 'good girl,’ and 'slut’; the mc refers to herself as 'cumdump’ once for the video ↳masterlist♡updates ♡ read onAO3
Synopsis: You’ve just been laid off, and all you want to do is eat some dinner, curl into bed, and forget. Unfortunately, the neighborhood block party is tonight, and the festivities turn downright chaotic when the entire city loses power. Don’t fret, though. Jungkook will help take your mind off things for a while.
Genres | Content Warnings | Themes: Strangers to lovers, FLUFF with a capital FLUFF, Yugyeom makes an appearance, humor, comfort, smut (starts out with sweet, vanilla sex and masturbation, turns into biting, hickeys, fingering, oral sex [female receiving, male receiving], edging, protected vaginal sex, playful spanking, overstimulation, spitting), drinking / drinking games, drug use (weed edibles).
Preview:
Eyes wet with steaming, streaming tears, you let the bodies push you back.
Back to the elevator.
Back down to the lobby.
And back to the curb outside.
Wherehe looks up and finds your twisted, nauseated expression.
“Hey,” he says softly.
You didn’t see him when you stepped back onto the sidewalk. Even now, you only see him in parts.
Bent fingers clutch his hoodie’s drawstring, pulling left, then right. The denim of the jacket over it shifts slightly as he does. Full lips rest against each other lightly, an interrupted, absent-minded whistle reforming into more words.
What makes a good manager? Empathy? Organization? Know-how? Whatever mix of qualities, are they innate, or does it come from steadily and patiently rising through the ranks with your allies? Are good leaders born or made?
You don’t think you’ll ever be sure of what makes a good manager. But what you are definitely sure about is what makes a badmanager.
Bad managers are the type of people who, when given a choice, elect to have you come in for your office job all week for your usual 8 to 5, and wait until Friday afternoon to inform you that you have been let go, even though they got the call from leadership on Monday morning.
You grumble as you shift your cardboard box of belongings to your other arm in order to make the last leg of your journey, every single one of your pores emptying twenty-fold their volume into the fibers of your polyester blend. Couldn’t you have been sacked in the fall? On top of having an additional couple of months to figure your shit out, you wouldn’t be drenched.
It’s 7 by the time you’re stomping around the corner to your block. There’s a family-sized bag of pita chips, a pail of hummus, and an edible patiently waiting for you.
If only there weren’t so many people blocking the way to your door.
Crumpled ghosts of flyers float past you. Their sans-serif font and centered alignment. The drawing of an old-school boombox with music spilling out of it. The date. The goddamned time.
“Fuck,” you sigh, unable to hear even yourself under millennial R&B samples carrying Gen Z slang.
Shoulders slumping, you try to trudge through the crowd that doesn’t part, draining energy quickly by the time you make your sixth and seventh attempt, even using the sharp corners of your box to try to snowplow your way through the increasingly drunken bodies that won’t feel any pain until the morning.
Eyes wet with steaming, streaming tears, you let the bodies push you back.
Back to the elevator.
Back down to the lobby.
And back to the curb outside.
Wherehelooks up and finds your twisted, nauseated expression.
“Hey,” he says softly.
You didn’t see him when you stepped back onto the sidewalk. Even now, you only see him in parts.
Bent fingers clutch his hoodie’s drawstring, pulling left, then right. The denim of the jacket over it shifts slightly as he does. Full lips rest against each other lightly, an interrupted, absent-minded whistle reforming into more words.
“You dropped something.”
The Hulk bobblehead, given to you in celebration of getting this job in the first place, proves to be more lasting than your presence in the office.
When you see it in a puddle by your feet, your heart sinks a little.
And, ever-so-slightly, so does the box in your grip, as you jostle around to allow yourself to reach down and pick it up.
Before you can, though, bent fingers have let go of the drawstring and curl around The Hulk’s head instead. Green abs and purple shorts wiggle from its spring, despite what seems to be The Hulk’s unrelenting protest.
You look up at the owner of those bent fingers, form crouched in front of you, still only able to perceive him in parts. Four wrinkles at the bridge of his nose. An amused smirk.
“Ha ha!”
He studies The Hulk’s face, and his right brow falls into a slanted line in perfect mimicry.
“Raaawwrrr!”
The Hulk’s body wiggles violently as bent fingers shake him back and forth.
“HULK SMAAAASH!”
You don’t mean to smile.
His smile is about to meet you too, but his eyes start to take up more space, widening at the sight of slightly shiny lines on your cheeks, carving your skin out like flowing rivers cutting through sienna rock.
“Hey! It’s OK!”
A sleeve rises into view. It moves in quick, small motions, back and forth.
“Just gotta c-clean him up a little here and—”
The Hulk suddenly grows ten times in size, now dangling on its spring, right in front of your face.
“See?? N-no harm done!!”
You sniffle.
Bent fingers gently set The Hulk back into the box, in a gap between your empty, gray mesh pen cup and your prized, powder blue stapler.
You sniffle again.
You love stapling.
So final, so sure, that satisfying, crisp metal crunch!
You think you hear that crunch as this stranger’s bright eyes are putting it all together.
As are you, bits and pieces of this stranger now stitching together into a concerned but welcoming face, much too kind, and dangerously easy to open up to. Especially for someone in your state.
Your fingers dig into your cardboard box.
“Thanks,” you say, relieved that your voice sounds so steady.
He lifts his eyes from the powder blue stapler and watches as you lift your upper arm to your right cheek.
You dab your tears.
You frown at the sight of black streaks on your blouse.
And then you startle at the feel of denim against your left cheek.
You watch as this stranger takes a step back.
The fact that he doesn’t seem to notice or care about the black streaks on hissleeve makes you care less about the black streaks on yours.
You feel a little lighter. From what it looks like, about three wisps of Pat McGrath FetishEyes lighter.
“Sorry,” he says, “I just—”
“No, that was… that was nice of you,” you say, starting to become impressed at just how steady your voice is. “Thank you.”
He nods. “Can I help you with anything else?” He holds his hands out a little, wrists coming out of his sleeves. “Take that box for you?”
“I’m good,” you say.
He’s kind for softening his doubtful look, but his head tilt gives his thoughts away.
“Really,” you insist.
And you insist to yourself that you really don’t mean to smile. You’re surprised that you do.
He mirrors it, his eyes following his lips, which follow yours, copying perfectly the slightly sad pout that you’re too aware that you’re making, and that tells him that his head tilt is absolutely warranted.
“If you say so.”
Your smile fades a little as you look back down to the box, still in your grip, resting against your stomach.
You look back up and watch as he curiously peruses the box’s content.
“Whatis all this stuff?” he asks.
You look back over at the crowd now spilling out of your apartment building.
“Um…”
Your brain is moving too fast, keeping you from being able to expand on the complexity of the matter. The words settling in the back of your throat are reduced to grade school-level syntax that matches the grade school-level emotions that you’re trying to hold at bay.
This is all Desk Stuff.
Desk Stuff belongs on a Desk.
But you no longer have a Desk.
You no longer even have an Office.
Or a Job.
And all you seem to be able to do about it, at least, for right now, is cry.
“Just… stuff.”
How is your voice still so steady when your stomach and chest are churning and burning, flip-flopping positions in your body in an attempt to escape this disaster?
To escape you?
He seems to realize now. There’s even a hint of — ugh — pity in his eyes.
You want to explain that you’re stronger than this. It’s just that your Job, and your Office, and your Desk were so rare. Beautifully, wonderfully, hilariously rare. Just like your powder blue stapler is rare, and it’s even rarer to see it not at the ready under a mix of sunlight and fluorescent lighting but settled against hastily packed bits and bobs in a box open to the night air.
“You need to keep any of it?” he asks.
The realization feels weirdly cold in your chest. “No,” you say.
“Youwantto keep any of it?”
You shrug.
His head straightens suddenly.
“Not even The Hulk??”
He looks so excited.
You really, really don’t mean to smile. You’re surprised that you do. That you still can.
You even chuckle, softly, three tiny stops and starts of that steady, warm voice.
“Why?You want him?”
“Well, y-yeah — he’s The Hulk!!”
You hold the box out and up to him.
“Take him, then. Give him a nice home.”
Bent fingers wrap around The Hulk’s head. He lifts The Hulk out of the box and places it into the left chest pocket of his denim jacket, patting it caringly, for safekeeping.
The Hulk’s eyes peek out at you over the lip.
“Nowyou pick something,” he tells you.
You look up from The Hulk’s eyes and stare questioningly into the eyes of this alarmingly kind stranger.
“You wanna keep at least one thing, right?” he asks. He peeks back down into the box. “Anything important? Or, just, y’know.” He looks back at you. “Special?”
You think again of the satisfying crunch of metal.
And then you smile down at your powder blue stapler.
You hug the box against your chest with one arm and pull the stapler out with your free hand.
He smiles again, and claps his hands with glee.
The Hulk nods.
And, as you nod back, you catch a glimpse of the alleyway.
Your gaze settles on the too-bright blue paint sadly used for something as putrid as a dumpster.
Your feet take you there, and they, along with your calves, and thighs, and arms, and shoulders, and back, thank you immensely as you toss all the rest inside.
That box looks so small now, amongst everything else. The longer you stare at it, you can’t even really see it anymore, as it gets lost in so many things that also don’t matter.
With your arms free, you get the impulse to pull your phone from your back pocket. But you don’t want to see the flurry of messages that are probably waiting for you.
Instead, you turn and walk back to the curb, where he is still standing and watching you.
Your feet take you back to him, arm at your side, the stapler fold hanging off your finger, its handle and base taking turns swinging as you walk, powder blue grazing the side of your polyester-covered thigh.
You stand in front of him, feeling so much lighter.
“Uh, thanks,” you say. “Again.”
He smiles.
Now that the weight is off of your shoulders, you can take in more. The sound of street traffic buzzing around you. Honks, and music, and chatter.
The crowd around your apartment building has doubled if not tripled in size.
“Live here?” he asks.
You nod, and your shoulders sink. “But the block party completely slipped my mind.” You sigh and wonder how long it will take for the crowd to dissipate. “All I wanna do is eat some dinner, curl into bed, and forget today ever happened.”
“What’s stopping you?” he asks.
You furrow your brow and gesture to the drunken, obnoxious mass blocking your way in.
“Just gotta fight your way through a little, is all,” he says. “C’mon!”
Instead of complaining about having to do anything other than what you want to, you figure that following this guy, with his broad frame, tall stature, and friendly face, will help you work smart and not hard.
So you follow him.
He moves through the crowd with ease, swimming with the current, instead of fighting his way upstream.
He offers you protection from the worst hits. Errant slaps and elbows here and there as people reach for each other. A near-collision with a keg stand.
But people still cut in front of you. By the fourth or fifth instance, you wonder why this always happens when you’re in a crowd, or whether you can consider it a “cut” when you don’t even seem to register on people’s radar.
You watch as his head bobs along, nearly out of sight. And then, when he’s too far away, you start to feel the tide turning again, pulling you back out into the vast ocean.
You’re nearly all the way back by the lobby doors when his face pops out of the crowd.
“Hey!” he exclaims.
He throws his arm out, hand open, palm upturned. A life saver on a rope thick, straight, and strong.
You grab it.
You watch as his hand turns over and determinedly pulls you into him.
And you lock eyes briefly before he swirls you around and puts you in front of the crowd, daring you to meet it face-to-face.
He stands behind you but places his hands firmly on your shoulders.
You grip the stapler tight in your hand.
And then, with his guidance, you start to move through the crowd.
Part the crowd.
It’s much easier than you thought. But you knew that. You used to do this all the time, without even thinking. Shoulders back. Hair tossed just so. Beaming with all the wise, unthreatened confidence that years of a magical mix of expertise and bullshit have bestowed upon you.
They, and he, bring you right next to the elevators, and, thinking this is it, you go to punch the button.
But he steers you toward the stairs instead.
He leans down into you, pressing against your back, his lips brushing against your right ear.
“Let’s go this way.”
The music and chatter is so loud that even though you feel his chest straining, it sounds like a whisper.
You think about what’s waiting for you at home.
The chips. The hummus. The last three squares of your weed-infused chocolates. All designed to help you settle your mind and forget about this whole, wretched day.
Then again, maybe there are other ways to forget.
You shove your powder stapler into your pocket and nod, but it doesn’t matter. He’s already angling you toward the stairs, and chases your steps as you both climb.
You feel his hands slide down your shoulders, then arms, then into the crooks of your slightly folded elbows, your right hand still touting your stapler, your left hand not fully grasping but angled to feel along the railing so that you have something to hold onto if you trip over one of these people sitting on the steps.
He’s right by your side. Grabs hold of you to help keep you steady when someone suddenly moves to get up. When he lets you go at the top of the stairs, you’re almost sad the building has elevators at all.
“You know the Chans?” he asks.
You register the smell of egg rolls and dumplings and fries and cheese and sugar before you notice that the people who happen to be on this floor are too busy stuffing their faces to really talk. It’s quieter here. Thankfully.
“No,” you mumble, as he walks next to you, moving in lockstep down the hall and slightly to the right. “I don’t really know anybody else in the building.”
“Just moved in?”
“Been here three… wait… four?” You grimace. “Years?”
His eyebrows rise at the speed with which his own mother would race a cake over to every new neighbor on their street.
“I’ll introduce you!” he says, swinging around you and standing perpendicular to your path to let you know that this next, slightly ajar door will lead you to The Chans.
He knocks on the door.
It opens, suddenly, and fully, and a woman grins happily at the both of you before settling into his warm, eager gaze.
“Jungkook-ah,” she chides playfully, “I told you to come as soon as the party started! We’re already almost out of—”
He — or, well, Jungkook, apparently — rushes inside the apartment toward the kitchen, leaving you standing there in the hallway.
The woman turns to you, still carrying fondness in her eyes. “Hi!”
“Hi,” you say, as pleasantly as you can.
The woman takes in the sight of you, though she frowns when she looks down by your hip.
“Is… that… a stapler in your pocket?”
Your brain starts to move too fast again.
Desk. Office. Job.
But then she giggles.
“Or are you just happy to see me?”
Jungkook mumbles something resembling an introduction after you follow “Miff-iff Cham” through the busy, glowing living room and into the kitchen.
“Did you even think to get your friend a drink??” Mrs. Chan asks, reaching not for the plenty of plastic flatware but into the cupboards for a porcelain bowl.
Jungkook mumbles something else, a chomped egg roll raised to his lips, cheeks bulging out, and a bit of fried wrapper sticking out of the corner of his mouth.
“This boy,” Mrs. Chan laughs, shaking her head. “He devours everything in sight!” As she talks, she walks down the line of her counter, scooping up a bit of everything from her various pots and pans and plopping it into your bowl. “If we didn’t feed him real food, he’d eat garbage off the street! Like one of those fat pigeons!”
Jungkook protests, still unintelligible, but wounded, and passionate, given that flakes of egg roll wrapper fly out of his mouth.
“Please, Jungkook, you’re so sensitive! Have you seen you?” Mrs. Chan says with a roll of her eyes. “Although, if you keep inhaling these egg rolls…”
She softens at Jungkook’s worried expression.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to call you fat. I just meant— Ugh, what else eats tra— Like a raccoon, then. How’s that, huh? Jungkook-ah? My little fluffy, sneaky, grabby-hands raccoon?”
Mrs. Chan shoves the now-full bowl into your open hands and makes grabby-hands with her own, pinching his full cheeks, cooing more… weird?… but sweet, raccoon-based compliments at him, which makes him smile happily, and close his eyes at her caring touch.
You bring the bowl up to your face and breathe in the mouth-watering scent of all of this delicious, home-cooked, made-with-love morsels of amazing food.
Foroncetoday, someone has served you a pile of nothing but goodness.
You smile gratefully and take the chopsticks that Mrs. Chan gives to you. And then you take your place next to Jungkook, backs to the sink, both of you leaning back slightly as you eat.
“Now, I didn’t catch your name,” Mrs. Chan tells you, stirring a spoon into one of the pots.
As you finally say it, you can’t help but feel Jungkook paying you close attention — such close attention, mind you, that you swear he’s nearly pressing his smile onto your cheek.
“I’m sorry I haven’t introduced myself,” you go on, flashing a look at Jungkook before adding, “I’ve just been so busy…”
Desk. Office. Job.
The rest of the sentence that you were goingto say travels down your throat like the unchewed walnut that slipped by.
You cough. Clear your throat the best you can. And pick up what you can recover.
“…atwork.”
“Ah, well, whatever! I’m happy we get to meet now,” Mrs. Chan says lightly.
The air with which she says it. So ethereal. It makes you feel a little better.
“I’m Chan Jia,” she goes on, “and my husband Feng and I have lived here pretty much all our lives, and, uh, we really like to cook! Even when half the city isn’ton our doorstep.”
Your eyes hang wide. “You’re amazing at it,” you say, through cheeks fuller than Jungkook’s. “The walnut chicken in particular is, mmm, god, so good.”
Mrs. Chan beams with pride. “Glad you like it! And that you came so hungry.”
More people spill into the Chans’ living room, and Mrs. Chan reaches for some of the paper plates and plastic flatware.
“Get her something to drink, Jungkook-ah!”
He nods obediently and yells out an earnest, “Thank you!”
You scarf down the last bite in your bowl and start to calculate what seconds you want — definitely the walnut chicken, and maybe the lo mein — when Jungkook sticks a fresh egg roll in your face.
“C’mon!”
He stuffs the egg roll into your mouth and takes your empty bowl from your hands, setting it in the filling kitchen sink.
He takes your right wrist and tugs on it, leading you back out to the hall.
You bite down on the egg roll and catch the other half in your left hand, grumbling, “I wasn’t done!” as you desperately try to chew and get the delicious pork filling and perfect golden crackles down your gullet.
“Oh, sorry,” Jungkook says. “Seemed like you were.”
“Well!” You raise your left hand and bite into the second half. “I wasn’t!”
“Well, your bowl was empty, and you emptied it kinda fast, like, shockinglyfast, so I thought it was time for dessert—”
You polish off the egg roll as your feet plant themselves in place. “What is this? Who even areyou anyway??”
He smiles. “I’m Jungkook!”
“Yeah, caught that,” you say, narrowing your eyes. “Seriously, though! I don’t really know who you—”
Someone splits the two of you, excited to bring one of two waffle ice cream cones to someone downstairs.
“—w-who you are, or if you even live here,” you continue, watching as they round the corner, jogging down the steps with what looks like pistachio ice cream in one hand and some kind of chocolate in the other.
You turn back to Jungkook.
“And all these people? I don’t know who theyare, and I just really—”
“But now you know Mrs. Chan,” Jungkook says, “and I guess by extension you kinda know Mr. Chan. There was a photo of him on the left wall by the—”
A group of young girls giggle as they exit one of the other apartments on this floor, each of them carrying baskets of freshly baked cookies.
Jungkook playfully yoink!s a couple from the last girl’s basket, and she teasingly slaps Jungkook’s arm as he feigns pain.
They laugh at each other, and then, he wiggles his eyebrows and nods upward.
“Oppa!” she whines.
He brings his shoulders up to his earlobes and wiggles his eyebrows even harder.
She rolls her eyes and hands him two more cookies, and she scurries to rejoin her group.
You glare at him.
He blinks at you. Pushes out his lips.
“So…”
He holds out his arm.
“Is it time for dessert?”
You frown.
He wiggles the cookie around.
“Huuuuuh?”
Begrudgingly, you snatch the cookie that he’s offering.
Chocolate chip with toffee chunks and gooey caramel in the center.
It’s goddamn incredible.
“Iseveryoneon this floor a chef?!” you exclaim in surprise, crumbs flinging from your lips.
Jungkook looks up at the ceiling again as he counts. His unfolding pinky denotes The Chans in 2A, duh. His ring finger counts the Jeups and their three lovely daughters in 2D. His middle finger stands for the Gal brothers and their new ice cream machine, or, well, oldice cream machine, since their shop got the new one—
“Kinda, actually,” Jungkook answers, looking back at you, still counting the others in his head while holding the three other cookies between his thumb and index finger. “Although I guess the Jeups and the Gals are more… bakers? But I don’t think you say that for ice cream.”
He plumps his bottom lip, chin wrinkling.
“What do you call someone who makes ice cream for a living?”
You roll your eyes as you polish off your cookie.
“Hey, I thought we were doing it?” he asks. “Shoot. Maybe I’m doing it wrong?”
“Doingwhat?”
“What you wanted to do.”
Toffee and chocolate are swirling together heavenly in your mouth, but you keep glaring at him. You layer more fire into it. Frown harder. Scowl meaner. If you look angry enough, maybe he’ll give you a second cookie out of fear, and you don’t have to admit how boggled you are.
“You said that all you wanted to do was eat some dinner, curl into bed, and forget,” Jungkook recalls. “So we’re taking care of the eating part.”
You pull back a little on the glare.
“I would’ve appreciated getting to eat more of that walnut chicken.”
Jungkook’s eyes and grin thin out.
“We can go back. Or…?”
He holds out another cookie to you.
Which you slowly take.
And in return, you let go of the glower.
You turn the cookie over in your hands. Raise it to your lips.
Jungkook nods encouragingly.
You take a bite.
Peanut butter. With little chocolate candies. That are also filled with peanut butter.
Your pesky smile makes another reappearance.
“Now,” Jungkook says triumphantly, biting into two cookies at once and recalling, “Mrs. Chan said,” as he gets those cookies down to half-size with his huge bites, “god this is fucking good,” smacking as he talks, “to get you a drink. So c’mon!”
He holds out his hand again. Devoid of any cookies.
You take it anyway.
And he leads you to the elevator.
“Can I get a copy of the itinerary?” you ask, puzzled by all your traipsing.
Jungkook drums on the elevator doors with his knuckles before giving the right one a slap and pushing the call button. “It’s just block party physics,” he explains. “You saw all those kegs and coolers when you came in, right?”
You nod.
“Gotta keep beer on the ground floor. Nice way to say hi to people. And nobody wants to lug all that shit up all these floors. But people are doing stuff in their apartments, too. More drinks, and food, and games.”
You take a second to take Jungkook in from toe to head. White, worn sneakers, with blue details. Baggy pants. Thin, white hoodie. Denim jacket. Fluffed hair, crinkled and thin eyes, wrinkled nose, and an easy, big smile. Like he’s just hanging out at home.
“Party physics,” you repeat.
The elevator doors open, and you both step in, Jungkook leaning against the railing in the back, and you facing him with a smirk.
“Of which you just happen to be a scholar?”
Jungkook grins. “That, and, uh…”
He gestures to one of the flyers on the elevator bulletin board behind you. It’s not as crumpled as the ones that blew by you earlier. But it is drooping, the tape holding up its top two corners having lost its stickiness over the past few weeks.
You smooth the paper out.
And then you reach into your pocket.
For your powder blue stapler.
You staple each corner into the cork, and you see what Jungkook is talking about. Below the boombox drawing and general details is a whole spreadsheet of details. A murder mystery party on floor twelve. A dance party on floor seven. Karaoke on floor six. Movies on floor eight.
Nothing on floor nine. You’re one of just a few people who live there. That floor doesn’t get great light, or a great view, facing the north, ignored side of the block. But that doesn’t matter to you. You like it quiet. That’s why you’re all there.
For some reason, you feel a little sick at the thought of riding up to floor nine.
So you’re grateful that you stop, for now, on floor five.
It boasts a crowd just a tad smaller than the one on the first floor, but the energy seems easier. Lively, but less brash.
When Jungkook sees your relieved smile, he takes it as a sign that he’s doing somethingright.
“Where should we start?” he asks, looking around at all the open doors. As you re-holster your stapler, his head darts left and right, checking your reaction with each option he presents.
“Board games! Ooh, OK, ‘ya seem to like that. We’ll put that on the list. We could also check out that poker game, which we passed back there. And there’s—”
You pull Jungkook’s arm toward you with such force that his nose bumps into your cheek. You laugh together, your eyes shining a bit brighter.
“That.”
You point.
“I wanna do that.”
Given your professional, cool-toned business separates; your seemingly strategic nature; your, quite frankly, super uptight vibe; and the way your eyes initially widened at the proposal to join the board game room, Jungkook wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who had even a passing interest in drinking games. Especiallyflip cup.
Yet, here you are, standing on top of Kim Yugyeom’s mother’s old kitchen table, the front of your blouse stained with sangria, and both of your hands victoriously pumping two empty, crushed plastic cups into the air.
Funny how the thing that always kept you from playing flip cup was the beer.
And you were extraordinary. How you downed each drink. How, like your voice has been so far this evening, you were able to stay so composed. How that gave you such an advantage with each flip. How everyone in the room cheered you on, shocked by how you hadn’t stuttered on a single cup. How Jungkook almost caught up, but you were able to rally and down two more full cups of sangria than you probably should have.
“Howwwww have I not plaaaaayedthisgaaaaame before?!” you ask, delirious from your winner’s rush. And maybe the sangria.
“You haven’t?!” a laughing Yugyeom adds, as he helps you down from his table. “Would’ve thought you were a pro!”
A little unsteady on your feet, and happily so, you lean into him, melting at his strong form and touch before pouring into one of the chairs nearby.
“Alright there, champ?” Yugyeom chuckles.
He watches you wiggle happily in your seat, one strong wiggle forcing you to lean a bit too much to the right.
“Haha, fuck, let me get you some damn water!”
Jungkook lands in the chair next to you, propping you up and giggling at your blissful humming.
Your eyes meet his. “Oh, what’s this?” You raise your left hand up. “Hmm?” Your palm grazes the tip of his nose, and your eyes widen with excitement, as his widen to try to find out what’s wrong with your hand.
“Oh!” you smile.
Equally thrilled and perplexed, Jungkook moves to give you a high five?
But you dodge him with a grin.
“Uh-oh!”
Your wrist goes slack. Delighted, you do an arm wave, letting it flow through up to your shoulders, through to your trunk, and onwards to your other arm, which flows up and around from your side and around, down your opposite shoulder and through your forearm, fingers gathering to a point and tipping back Jungkook’s open forehead.
Jungkook lets out a spirited laugh that perks up your spine.
As you watch with interest, he furrows his brow and opens his mouth in fake offense. His head bobs forward, and he lets the wave travel throughout his entire body, each muscle isolation smoothing into the next.
He gets up and starts to dance, suddenly going rigid as he starts to pop and lock, hips moving with more precision than you would have anticipated, his baggy clothes suddenly looking sharp, his body halving, and The Hulk slipping out a little, bobbling along with him.
Yugyeom rejoins you, and him, cheering and catching the wave in his chest from Jungkook’s lightning rod of a hand and letting it travel through his black hoodie-covered torso, down to his legs, the frayed rips of his light blue jeans swaying as his muscles take turns relaxing and constricting, traveling back up to his other arm, and down to the hand that is holding two water bottles: one for Jungkook, and one for you.
You giggle and shiver as Yugyeom places the cold plastic against your neck, fingers grazing his as you take over the grip of the bottle.
This is… nice.
“What else can we play??” you ask brightly, letting the bottle linger for a moment before lifting it, and unscrewing the cap. “What other games are there?”
“Should probably slow down on the drinking ones,” Jungkook rightfully decides, as you start to slump again.
He takes a step back to you, and your left cheek rests on his right hip.
Feeling so comfortable, you close your eyes for a moment, missing Yugyeom’s intrigued smirk, and Jungkook’s helpless nose scrunch.
“Leaving so soon?” Yugyeom asks, tossing him the other bottle.
Jungkook looks down and notes your hazy, unfocused eyes, as well as your clumsy fingers still working at the water bottle cap.
“After this water break.”
“Well, swing by again later,” Yugyeom tells you, as your eyes flutter open. “I need to avenge my humiliated friend here. Or get the chance to, at least.”
Jungkook pouts. “Humiliated?”
“Only Jungkook can save himself,” you say, much too haughty for someone who has taken about thirty whole seconds to open a water bottle, “but depending on how tonight goes, I might take you on as another trophy. I mean victim. I mean opponent.”
Yugyeom shakes his head at your self-assuredness, looking over at Jungkook to see if he’s clocking this, and finding he’s only chuckling as you close your eyes and eagerly drink.
“Where’d you find her?” Yugyeom asks, as Jungkook looks back at him.
“Obviously by the dumpsters, given all the trash talk,” Jungkook jokes.
You choke on your water and laugh, the back of your hand rising to your lips as you open your eyes again and catch your breath.
“No, really,” Yugyeom goes on, smiling at you and shoving his hands into his back pockets, chest puffing out with a relaxing breath. “You live on the block?”
You point up at the ceiling. “Ninth floor.”
“Thehermitfloor?” Yugyeom asks, surprised.
You left your left shoulder from Jungkook’s hip and tilt your head toward it. “I crawled out of my cave today. And saw Jungkook on the curb.”
Yugyeom looks over at Jungkook again, who just smiles.
He meets Jungkook’s smile with a pleased chuckle.
“I mean it. Come back later. I still wanna hang.” He narrows his eyes at you and wiggles his eyebrows. “I want a go with the resident flip cup champ.”
You wink at him as you bring the water bottle back to your lips.
Before Yugyeom takes his leave, he reaches out his hand, slightly dampened from the condensation on those ice-cold water bottles, to Jungkook. Their right hands clasp together, and they bring their right shoulders forward to one another, chests bumping together tightly.
Yugyeom slaps Jungkook’s back.
He mumbles something.
Jungkook scoffs with a grin.
And then they part, Yugyeom flashing you another smile before he heads back toward his kitchen table.
Jungkook crouches down and wipes his hand on his thigh. You watch his fingers spreading across. His palm rubbing down toward his knee, and then back up again.
“Oh my god,” he says.
You straighten and snap your eyes to his, feeling caught. “What??”
“I think you’re…”
Jungkook shoots you an open-mouthed, told-you-so smile.
“…havingfun??”
“Absolutely not,” you say, trying your best to sneer.
“You’re smiling!” Jungkook taps his finger on your cheek.
You swat his hand away, giggling and thinking fondly of him teasing those three girls with the cookies. You haven’t really stopped smiling since.
“You’relaaaugh-iiiiing!”
You roll your eyes. “So what if I am?”
Jungkook watches as you screw the water bottle’s cap back on and set it down, next to the right leg of your chair.
“Are you?” he asks gently. “H-having fun?”
He wants you.
To have fun, that is.
He wants you to have fun because you so clearly hadn’t earlier that day. He’s good at fun. At least, he’s always thought he is. In much the same way that Mrs. Chan is good at walnut chicken, and the Jeups are good at cookies, and the Gal brothers are good at ice cream.
He’s always thought that he’s been good at fun. Things have gotten a little busier, as life does. He hasn’t talked to as many people in a while. He definitely hasn’t gotten to swing by Yugyeom’s nearly as often, and he’s missed his check-ins with Yugyeom’s wonderful neighbors. While standing out there on the curb, peering up at your building, he wondered if he’d changed.
But, if you’re having fun, given the day that you’ve had, then that means he hasn’t.
He’s still good at fun.
Maybe if you knew this was kind of about him, it wouldn’t feel so strange for someone to want you to have fun when just a couple of hours ago, the bubble of your perfectly pleasant life burst at the discovery that people who celebrated your birthday, who clinked drinks with you at happy hour, who left you funny sticky notes on your desk, who shared the load when work got overwhelming — people who were supposedly invested in you — didn’t actuallycare all that much.
Do you even deserve it? Fun? When you are so easily discarded?
Jungkook clearly deserves it. He’s only just met you, by some dumpsters no less, and he’s still, inexplicably, trying so hard.
You feel your heavy heart pulling you under.
But then, you catch sight of The Hulk tucked into Jungkook’s pocket.
“I am.” You grin. “I am having a lot of fun.”
He brightens. Sits a little taller.
“Good!” His eyes close nearly all the way, and his two front teeth bunch up his lips. “I knew you were.”
He jumps to his feet. “Feeling up to more games? Maybe those board games?”
The sangria is starting to catch you, mixing with the swirl of emotions bogging down your heavy, heavy heart. You need to do something to let it out.
“Which floor had the karaoke?” you ask. “Six?”
“Quit hogging the mic!”
You spin around and scream the next lyrics at this surly, thin-lipped man, mashing whatever he can into a lour look of extreme disapproval.
The next part of this song is iconic, and masterful. You know each of the vocal parts in the lush swell of the breakdown, but this occasion calls for the throughline, the main melody, to drive the point home.
You put a resonant sting on the syncopated quarter notes that carry into the next measure, tapping your toes on each eighth-note of this manifesto.
“NEH!!! VER GONNA GET IT NEVER GONNA GET IT!”
Exaggerating even more, you pull your lips into a mocking pout, and you descend down the harmonic scale.
“NEHHHH-VER GONNA GET IT—”
Brazen, and drawing a bit of power from the room clapping and laughing around you, you grab the handle of your stapler, aim it at Thin Lips’ cleft chin, and clap the hammer against the anvil on each note.
“WOO-WOO-WOO-WOOOOOOO!!!!”
“THE FUCK—”
“Shik.”
You aren’t sure when Jungkook got up from his seat on the Hans-in-6F’s couch, but now, he’s next to you, arms folded, chest slightly bouncing from holding in his laughter.
Thin-lipped Shik glares at him, and you start circling around Jungkook instead, singing the second half of the breakdown a little softer, but swaying your stapler in the air.
Jungkook’s eyes, which have been following you this whole time, spread out to the rest of the room, everyone chanting and clapping along. “We’re all having a good time.”
“She’s sung like a hundred songs!” Shik protests. “I want a turn!”
At the whiff of vodka that follows, Jungkook negotiates, “One more song, alright?”
He speaks kindly, with the kind of smile that people born with goodness and light at their core can share. But he puffs himself up when he says it. He unfolds his arms, and his chest inflates. He flexes his right hand. Just in case.
Shik sighs. “Fine. But make it something pleasant. She’s been screamingfor the past hour.”
He takes Jungkook’s seat on the couch, seemingly discontent unless he’s taking things from other people.
But it’s fine. The energy is dissipating anyway, En Vogue starting to decrescendo and queue up your next show-stopping performance.
“Hey.” Jungkook’s unflexed right hand lands softly on your shoulder. “Diva.”
You turn and smile at him.
“Wanna do one last song?”
Panting, and jamming your stapler back into your pocket, you slow your dancing feet to a mere sway, pouring your weight to the left, then to the right.
“OK,” you say, mind starting to wander, “but let me pick something different.” Your eyes widen a bit. “Would you wanna sing something with me?”
Jungkook beams. “Yeah!”
As you scroll through your private YouTube playlist of karaoke faves, he stands a little closer. Looks over your shoulder with curiosity. Giggles softly when your thumb tugs at ones that he likes, too.
He smells good.
“Ooh!”
You startle back at his sudden exclamation and bump into his chest.
And he just lets you.
“You, uh, know this one ?” you ask, thumb hovering over a picture of two silhouettes.
“I love that one.”
“Me too.”
A shared glance between you tells you how much.
Jungkook hums. “Then start us off.”
Growing up, you’d wished that the karaoke industry would work faster. Churn out more microchips that held more than just the 70s and 80s ballads that your family sang in the same rotation at every holiday, birthday, christening, graduation, wedding, hell, every Saturday morning, while you each took charge of scrubbing a different part of the house…
Nowadays, karaoke versions of songs aren’t hard to find. Literally every song is essentially at your fingertips. But with every song at your fingertips, it’s becoming harder and harder to find people who know what you know. Like what you like.
As Jungkook reaches for the other mic, still charging on its base, you play the instrumental.
And you raise your mic to your mouth.
“I keep so much of me hidden. Can’t lie. No, I’ve got this pain inside. Most times I never admit it. But with you, no, I don’t want to hide.”
Jungkook bites his lip as you sing. You aren’t the most gymnastic singer, but you have such a pleasant voice. And he’s not the only one who thinks so. A hush has fallen over the entire room, and even Shik is captivated by the way you’ve softened the air around you.
“What’s there all the time. And weighs on my mind. My friends say they listen. But honestly, I don’t think that they get me like you do. You don’t have to try. I come unfolded with the things I hold inside. I have never told no one but you.”
How long have you been singing? Has it been an hour? Two?
Maybe people don’t tire of you as easily as you thought.
Your heart feels a little lighter.
And you let Jungkook fill the space that remains.
“When I’m with you, I feel different.”
In just one line, you discover that if Jungkook’s voice were a drink, it would be a toasted marshmallow mocha. If Jungkook’s voice were a feeling, it would be your bare legs meeting the backseat of the car on a tempered summer day. If Jungkook’s voice were a hand, it would cup your cheek and hold your face up to make sure you didn’t miss the sight of a falling star.
“Like I can’t just be your warmness, oh baby…”
His vocal runs are hurdles and sprints and marathons in equal turns, voice strong and whole as he dips in and out of notes and syllables, playing with time, and tickling your lighter, and lighter, and even lighter, heart.
“I’ve been through some tough things in my life. And it’s so easy to tell you.”
You believe him.
You believe him so strongly that you almost miss your cue to join him again at the chorus, singing an octave apart, matching him note for note, voice bending and gliding a little easier. Freer.
But then everything juststops.
The music. Your voices. The energy.
It all comes to a halt.
Other voices start to overlap. Curses, and concern.
A small circle of bright, invasive light appears. And then another. And another.
They catch people in slices.
Frowns. Fists.
Eyes. No two sets meeting.
Except, somehow, yours and Jungkook’s.
“Everyone OK?” someone asks, as more and more tiny spotlights rove around the room.
“Apparently it’s the whole building!”
“The whole block?”
“Look out the window!”
“Yeah, it’s the whole city!”
Whines start to fill the room. Then groans. Then yells.
“Fuck,” you hear Jungkook whisper, “people are gonna lose it pretty quickly.”
You feel a hand grab yours and yank you toward them.
“It’s me.”
But you knew that.
And now you know that the center of his body, the notch where his pecs and the top of his abs meet and surrender to one another, seems to be a perfect spot for your hand to rest. And your hand resting there makes up for all the blows that your feet and shins and hips take as you fight your way through the distressed crowd.
“Door.”
You don’t see or feel it. Jungkook’s already holding it open for you, leading you through by jutting out his chest and letting you know where he is, which is right there, still curved around your hand.
His hand leaves yours and slides down your side, circling around your back, incidentally following the line of the band of your bra. His forearm pins you to him, and you feel your body bending with his as he shuffles you through to the hall. His chin rests on the top of your head, and your temple cushions against his collarbone.
Baby powder.
Bodes beat against your back, and you take in a sharp breath, your fingers balling into fists. One hand is still safely settled into that notch below Jungkook’s chest. Your other arm is pressed to your side, hugged by Jungkook’s armpit, your hand swinging down and closing around—
“Wait, shit, I’m still holding the mic?”
“It’s OK,” he tells you. “Everything’s OK.”
But something catches his attention.
“Deji?!”
You feel Jungkook’s chest tighten around your fist.
“Deji!!”
“Mr. Jeup?” Jungkook calls out, hoping his voice can meet hers despite the building wails.
“Jungkook-ah?”
“Yes, it’s Jungkook!”
The collective spotlights help Jungkook and Mr. Jeup find each other across the hall, and Jungkook leads him, and you, to a spot close to the staircase railing.
Mr. Jeup has soaked through the collar of his shirt.
“I can’t find Deji,” he says breathlessly. “I’d already been looking for her for a couple of hours, but she got separated from her unnies—” He clicks his teeth. “Always trailing behind.”
You think of the sweet girl slapping Jungkook’s hand away from her basket of cookies.
“We’ll find her.”
From what you can tell, Jungkook’s voice is enough to reassure Mr. Jeup, as the slices of him that you get look more and more relieved.
“Go home and check in with Mrs. Jeup and the girls,” Jungkook tells him. “My friend and I will go up floor by floor. I’ll text you the moment I see her.”
Mr. Jeup shakes his head. “We should’ve just gotten her a phone. Like she wanted.”
“She won’t be far. She knows your rules.” A slice of light catches Jungkook’s smile, as fond as when he had exchanged those cute giggles with her earlier. “And, though it might not seem like it, she always follows them.”
Mr. Jeup nods. “Thanks, Jungkook. Let me know.”
Shades of Mr. Jeup make their way along the railing, following it carefully as he makes his way back downstairs.
“I’ll formally introduce you another time,” he says apologetically.
Jungkook can’t be so hospitable, or demented, to be thinking about a formal introduction in this fraught situation.
But then you think of how he and Deji teased each other. Their familiar, funny way. How she gave him four cookies as a treat.
Or a payment.
A placid smile spreads across your face. “You know where she is, don’t you?”
Jungkook chuckles.
“C’mon.”
“When will it come back on??”
“We wanna watch!”
“It was just about to get to the good part!”
“Give it a few more minutes,” a voice, more mature than the others, calls out. “Give the backup generators a little bit of time to kick in.”
“They’re not going to,” another older voice says in response. “It’s been too long. I’m betting they’re down as well.”
“Stop it!” the first hisses. “You’ll scare them!”
As predicted, the younger voices start to clamor.
“What??”
“So when will the power come back on?”
“I’m getting hot!”
“Me too! I’m starting to sweat!”
“Eeeewww!”
“Helloooooo!”
Jungkook calls brightly from the hallway through the opening door, slowly revealing a group of kids in the living room, and a couple on the couch, outlined against a soft half-sphere of candlelight.
“Yon! Yeo!”
“Jungkookie!”
The woman on the left jumps up from the couch, and the woman on the right just nods.
You sigh softly when, in the center back of the group of kids, all of them lying on top of each other, having kicked off their blankets and facing a blank, white bed sheet hanging on a cleared clothing rack, you see Deji, sitting with her legs criss-crossed.
And next to a boy.
Jungkook lets go of your hand, but not without glancing at you to make sure it’s OK to.
You smile and nod, lingering in the doorway and watching him tiptoe in the gaps between squishy, teeny arms and legs to crouch down next to Deji, and this boy.
Deji gives Jungkook a high five, and you smirk to yourself as he pulls his phone out from his back pocket, sighing with relief as he starts to type.
The woman who waved gets up and walks over to you, leaning on a bookshelf by the door and folding her arms.
“I’m Yon,” she replies. “And that’s Yeo.”
She jerks her thumb behind her.
Staring straight ahead, Yeo takes another sip of wine.
You introduce yourself and say, “Did you set this up for the kids?”
Yon nods. “Toy Story 3. We were almost at the incinerator scene.”
Your eyes pop open, and you look over to the kid who cheered about the scene earlier.
“That was the good part??”
Yon cackles and says, “Seojun over there has a dark sense of humor.”
The other kids have successfully been distracted, settling into other lively conversations, giggling and playing games with each other, and with Jungkook.
But Seojun quietly breaks free from the group and makes her way to the couch. She plops down next to Yeo, the two of them chatting quietly.
Yon watches them affectionately. “So does Yeo. Kindred spirits, those two.”
They look so serious. But there are moments. Eyebrow flickers. Chuckles. And, throughout, a warm smile of recognition of something deeper. A somewhat somber but understanding of the world around them.
Seojun pauses. Stumbles. Gets whatever she wants to say out. Yeo seems to ponder it, and then says something back. Then, Seojun and Yeo look away from each other, and Yeo strokes her hair once as Seojun hides a smile.
You didn’t realize how many kids lived in the building. But you’re usually out before they’re up, and back in long after they’re asleep.
“Kind of you to host something kid-friendly.”
“To be honest, these have kind of been little test runs.”
Yon’s voice is cautious and small, but happy.
“We want to adopt,” she admits.
Her eyes are pillowy soft as they scan over those tiny, laughing faces.
“The kids around here are so sweet. Good families. Good parents. They don’t judge. And they’ve given us so many smiles. It’d be nice to share our lives like this all the time. Especially with a little one who really needs it.”
You can feel how momentous Yon’s heart must be. Her words surround you. Inflate you. Lift you up.
“Well,” you sigh, impressed, and a little sheepish, at her outpouring of love, “the little ones who get to join your family are quite lucky.”
Yon lets out a deep, encouraged sigh. “Thanks for that. Nice to hear something positive, y’know? It’s been… hard.”
You regretfully agree.
“Anyway,” Yon replies, “how do you know Jungkook? Are you friends with Yugyeom, too? That’s how we met him.”
“I, um—”
Desk.
Office.
Job.
“Well, I just met him today.” You blink. You can’t believe you just met him today.
Yon smiles, recognizing your dazed look.
“He makes quite an impression, doesn’t he?”
Your eyes land on him as he grins and throws up a peace sign while taking a picture with Deji, and laughing with the boy, who is starting to take interest in The Hulk bobblehead in Jungkook’s pocket.
“I’ve known him since he was a skinny teen,” Yon reflects. “His parents used to own this building, but they sold the property when they retired. He’s still here all the time, though.”
She smiles.
“It’s been a little while since we’ve gotten to see him. But it’s always so nice when we do. He just makes things… better.”
Jungkook notes the boy’s gaze, and his bent fingers reach into that pocket to pull The Hulk’s head out, flashing The Hulk’s cute little grimace, to Deji and the boy’s delight.
But when the boy reaches out for it, Jungkook frowns and leans back, not letting the boy take The Hulk out of his pocket completely, choosing instead to close the flap of his pocket over The Hulk’s black eyes, tapping the pocket in thanks for safekeeping.
You giggle.
Maybe that’s the secret to Jungkook.
To all of this.
Being a kid at heart.
Yes, things have been hard.
Thingsarehard.
But they haven’t been hard just today. And not just for you. Or Yon and Yeo. Or Shik. Or Mr. Jeup. Or any of the people in your building, on your block, in this city.
Everyone is shuffling around, lost in the dark.
But it isn’t your fault.
It isn’t anyone’sfault.
Maybe that’s just how it is sometimes.
Maybe that’s how it is all the time.
There’s always more that you could do to fight against the darkness. To make things better.
But maybe there’s also more time for selcas, and singing, and sangria.
Fun, kind things that you could do with others. And for yourself.
Maybe that’s the way to start.
Yon’s face suddenly pulls together tightly. And you follow her gaze to your hip.
“Why do you have a stapler in your pocket?”
“Hey!” Jungkook exclaims, popping up beside you and patting Yon’s back.
“Hey,” Yon says warmly, leaning in for a hug. “We were just getting to know each other.” She smirks. “Just as it seems the two of youare.”
Jungkook grins at you. “The two of us have been having fun.”
You smile.
“Oooh,funnnn,” Yon says, her voice waving up and down as the word trails from her lips.
She smirks at Jungkook.
“Then don’t worry about Deji. She’s just fine.”
And she is. Deji and the boy are in their own little bubble, voices hushed, bodies crouched and facing each other, smiles mirroring.
“Tell Mr. Jeup that I can walk her down if he wants,” Yon says.
GELA SAYS • this was in my drafts for a very long time and this is highly inspired by my personal life; my parents worked a lot when i was a kid, especially my dad who worked abroad, so he writes letters to me, my siblings and my mom whenever he’s away for work hehe he still does it up to this day <3 this is for anon who got their heart broken after reading divorce papers eahsahahah, i hope this makes it up to u! also pls lmk if the link at the end doesn’t work and i’ll send u a new one hehe
HAPPY READING!
Jaehyun left the country heartbroken. It’s been two years since physical concerts stopped and now that it’s happening again, he had no choice but to leave the comfort of his home and his family for work. Something he couldn’t explain to his 3-year-old daughter. The last time they went on tour, Jieun was just a few months old and had no idea that her father had left to work abroad for a while.
“I will send you something every now and then, call me if you need anything and I will literally fly my ass back to Korea in case of emergency.” He told you as he rummaged through his bag, looking for his earphones. “Mom and dad said they’ll visit whenever they can, they’re just driving distance from where we live so you can drop Jieun there if you need to run errands on the days she’s not in daycare.”
You chuckle at your husband, “Babe, I know the basics. Your parents have contacted me as well, we’re heading there after this.” You replied, “Please, please, pleasebe safe and avoid anything that will lead you to injury. It’s already hard seeing you go, and it’ll be much harder to know if you’re injured while you’re thousands of miles away from us.”
“Alright, thank you.” He sighed, finally found his earphones before facing you. “I’m definitely going to miss you two.”
The rest of the members were on their way here, Jaehyun personally asked his manager and the company if it was okay to head off to the airport with you and your daughter. Jieun was clueless — for now. She was amazed by how huge airports were and somehow, a miracle occurred, the three of you managed to enter this without any of paparazzies knowing.
“Aww, look at you, a dad working abroad.” You tease, “We’ll miss you too, Jae. We’ll be fine, I promise.”
He was tempted to remove his facemask, wanting to kiss you on the lips, but it was too risky, and someone might notice and make a scene out of it. Instead, he wrapped his arm around your waist and kissed your temple even if there was a mask in between. After that, he sank down, turning his daughter’s attention from the chairs to him.
“Jieun, daddy will be back in no time. Promise me you’ll be a good girl for mommy?” He said to the 3-year-old, extending his pinky out and waited for the toddler to wrap her small pinky to her dad’s. “Alright, once daddy comes back, I promise to take you to Everland and to the zoo. As long as you’re good to mommy and to your grandparents.”
“Are you coming back tomorrow, daddy?”
Ouch.That sentence made Jaehyun’s heart crack at some point. Jieun was a pandemic baby; she’s basically used to Jaehyun being around most of the time — even if he comes home late in the night after schedules or early in the morning. But this tour would be longer than Jieun expects; this tour covers at least 7 months abroad as they have scheduled 30 shows in different countries and cities which means they would either go back and forth to Korea or continue the tour for straight 7 months. “Um, well…”
“Daddy will be back before you know it baby,” You chimed in, realizing that he was having a hard time explaining his job to the toddler. “Right, daddy?”
Jaehyun nods his head in agreement, “I’ll be back in no time.” He lowered his mask, planting a kiss on his daughter’s cheek and stood up to plant a kiss on your temple. Fuck the paparazzi, I’m not going to see my girls for at least seven months. He thought. He bends down again and carries his daughter before taking you to his free arm. “Ah, I don’t think I can go through with this.”
“Jae baby, you’ve been dreaming about this day. You’ve always told me that you missed performing in concerts and here you are now… the two of us will be fine, I promise. We have your parents and mine,” You comfort, “We’ll Facetime you every night before she sleeps or whenever you’re available.”
He had no choice but to nod his head.
The first week has passed since Jaehyun left for Japan— their first stop of the world tour and 29 more weeks to go. Jieun cried throughout the weekend, in constant need to see her father. Since two countries share the same time zone, he, along with his 8 uncles, were able to facetime her every time they got the chance to. One time during dinner after the concert, Jieun insisted on calling her father to let him know that she was being a good girl and that she’d spent the day with her grandparents. Jieun’s energy was emptied that day, she didn’t even notice that she fell asleep in the middle of telling her father a story. The following day after that, you received a letter addressed from Japan. When you texted Jaehyun what it was about, he told you that he just wanted to try writing you two letters as it feels much personal to him. Jieun, despite her reading abilities, was excited to open her letter. It has become a personal thing and every time the group heads off to another country, he will send you two letters along with other memorabilia that he is reminded of you two. It was like that until the very end of the 7-month mark of their tour.
Jieun was fast asleep in her grandparents’ bedroom, taking her afternoon nap after playing with her grandfather. It felt like it was a perfect timing to share with your in-laws about the letters that your husband has been sending the past few months.
“I’ve told him he could also email me these things because imagine how much he’s already spent on shipping,” you told his mother, “But it’s cute, it’s romantic and Jieun looks forward to it every time we open the mailbox in the lobby of our apartment, she gets disappointed if it’s the bills - I, too, get disappointed.”
“Oh dear, Jaehyun loves writing. I think it started when he made one during kindergarten,”
“In Connecticut?”
Your mother-in-law nodded her head, setting down her cup of tea and stood up. “Wait here and I’ll grab some of the things he’s written to me and his father.”
Not even five minutes later, she returns to the dining area with a clear medium box filled with photographs, letters and memorabilia. She pulls out an album containing photographs of their stay in America, their travels when he was younger, basically everything that happened in Jaehyun taken in photographs. It was so cute that you were already thinking of doing the same with Jieun, recalling the Google drive you made where you store every photo of your daughter and have made a decision to print all those photos and create a box like this one.
Jaehyun’s mom pulls out a frame, the first thing you notice were the two small handprints of color green and yellow. The piece was titled: My Handprints dated August 15, 2001. He was four years old and in kindergarten. You look at your mother-in-law, she was smiling yet feeling really emotional.
“I’m sorry, it’s just… he was four when he did this in school and I just can’t believe that time has gone by so fast.” She said, wiping a tear that escaped her eye. “You know, Y/N, I was really happy the day Jieun was born. She looked so small and looked like your husband. She’s almost the same age as Jaehyun when he wrote this poem.”
You comfort her, rubbing your hand on her back as you read the poem:
You’ll wonder how I grew so quick
When and where and why?
That hang here on your wall,
And memories will come back of me,
When I was very small…
Love,
Jay
After that visit to your in-laws, the following day, you and Jieun head off to the closest stationery store and grab the things you need such as paper, pen, frame as well as paint and stickers. You thought of surprising Jaehyun as he will be arriving tomorrow with something like the poem he made when he was young. When you told Jieun about it, she was thrilled and wanted to go home straight after your small date (you promised her ice cream, but she was too distracted about your plan that she didn’t ask to stop at the parlour).
“Mommy, what do I say to daddy?” She asked, holding a pencil, and started writing broken letters as best as she could.
“Hmm, you can write about how much you missed him. Can mommy guide you with writing?”
“Yes, please!”
You chuckle, carrying your daughter to the kitchen table and sat her on your lap before holding her small hand that held a pencil. So far, so good that her small hand was cooperating as you write on the paper. After writing, you’ve asked her if she wanted anything else to put on it, she decided to put stickers on them instead of paint because according to her, paint is very messy (based on her daycare experience). It was hard putting her to sleep, knowing that her dad will arrive in a few hours. When you did, successfully put her to bed, you wrapped your gift and hid it in Jieun’s bedroom next to her bed.
You woke up feeling someone plant kisses on your cheek, at first you thought it was Jieun because lately, she enjoys doing that. But you smelled the familiar scent of Jaehyun’s cologne, your eyes opened, and you jolted up in bed. You immediately wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you, inhaling his scent and even pinched yourself to check if he really was home.
“Are- are you really home? Am I not dreaming? But you said you’ll arrive at 4 o’clock in the afternoon! I haven’t cleaned the house- well, it’s no longer important, you’re back!”
Jaehyun laughs, “I am home, wifey. I wanted to surprise you and Jieun, Johnny and his wife dropped me off.” He explained, the tip of his fingers playing with your skin, “It’s only 7 o’ clock, do you want to… you know-”
Jaehyun was immediately cut off when the bedroom door opens and spits out your daughter holding her favorite stuffed toy. Her hair was messy, and she was rubbing sleepiness out of her eyes. “Mommy, I’m hungry- DADDY!” She squeals, dropping the toy and ran to her father.
“Hello princess. Good morning,” Jaehyun greets, tucking a few hair strands behind her ear and kissed her cheeks. “Have you been good?”
“I have!”
As Jieun babbles about her experience for the past seven months, the three of you head to the kitchen. You prepare breakfast, chocolate chip pancakes as your daughter requested.
“Sweetie, don’t you want to show daddy your gift to him?” You asked, and the moment you put the plate in front of her, she runs off to her bedroom.
“Gift? What gift?”
“Oh, it’s just something to thank you for all those letters and words of affirmation you’ve been sending us the past seven months.”
Jieun returns to the dining area with a box and a huge grin on her face. She hands it to her dad and climbs to his lap to watch her father’s hands as he rips the wrapping paper, revealing the letter that you two wrote and framed last night. Jaehyun’s smile grows big as he reads the content, his heart softens and looks at you: “Babe, this is amazing.”
“We went to your parents’ house the other day and your mom showed me the poem and letters you wrote to them when you were young. I thought I’d do the same thing for Jieun.”
Jaehyun puts the frame down on the table and carried Jieun before walking up to you and kisses your lips. “You two are the best.”
in which painter!reader asks her boyfriend, jaehyun, to help her with her art.
and that’s when jaehyun decided to bring out the kit.
PAIRING/CHARACTERS ✎ jaehyun x fem!reader
GENRE/CATEGORY ✎ smut
CONTENT WARNINGS ✎ 18+, nipple/breast play, using paint during sex (does paint play exist ? lol), unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it), riding, missionary, doggy style, hair pulling (m&f), spanking, profanities
WORD COUNT ✎ 2.3k
GELA SAYS ✎ …oh my god sorry for being absent for so long lmao my semester just ended and honestly i had a hard time writing so i had to take a break for awhile and now i’m back ! this feels rushed (because it is :/) but i hope ya’ll will like it <3 please excuse the typos and grammatical errors, i’ll edit it once i find the time :D enjoy ! also pls lmk if i missed anything on the warnings ~
Ah yes, it was one of those moments that you feel unmotivated and out of ideas.
You were asked to paint something unique for the new art gallery opening in a few days that was set for a bidding; despite the fact that you were given a heads-up months ago, you still haven’t done anything. There was no picture forming into your head, and it was starting to worry you because it felt like your career was on the line.
Jaehyun had come home to a dark apartment after his schedule for the day. It was already one in the morning, he was a hundred percent sure you were asleep by now. As he removed his shirt and tossed it to the hamper, he noticed the faint light coming from your workroom. The door was agape, and he saw you standing in front of probably the biggest canvas he’s ever seen. He leans against the doorframe as he watches you unbutton your jumpsuit, revealing the sports bra you were wearing underneath. He bit his lower lip, god,you just looked so hot with your hair messed up and your bra.
“How’s the painting going?” Jaehyun asked, wrapping his arms around your bare waist, causing you to flinch and drop your brush.
“I have nothing, until now- I’m actually starting to get worried.” You replied, massaging his knuckles “Can you help me with some ideas?”
Jaehyun’s eyes widened as he held you in his arms, you weren’t the type to ask him for ideas. He knew you loved working alone and gathering ideas on your own, and this was the first time you had asked him something like that. Some people think that your way of working is selfish, but it was how you got famous in the art stardom and besides, for sure, you weren’t the only artist who prefers to be alone. Jaehyun stares out the window, hoping to find ideas in the calm city.
Then he remembers something that you brought home a few months ago.
“Wait here.” Jaehyun unclasps his arms and runs outside the room, leaving you confused.
He returns back a few minutes later with a box and a huge grin on his face.
“Nope, we’re not gonna do that.” You shook your head, “Nope.”
“Why not? We’re both topless and you asked me for ideas and now I’m giving you one!” He argued, “plus, Ten has a song called Paint Me Naked. I… well, thought of that, too.”
In his hand rests the passion erotic art kit brought by your sister as her giveaway during her housewarming. According to her, when you visited her house, one of the paintings hanging inside the bedroom was made by her and her husband using thatkit. Jaehyun wanted to use it for so long, but with his schedules and yours, that kit has been long forgotten under your bed. You were used to having paint stains all over your body, but painting withyour body? Hell no.
“Babe, we’re too messy when we… do thatthing and it’s even going to be messier if we do it with painting!” You sigh, walking towards him and sandwiched his face between your hands, “I love you and the fact that you tried giving me an idea even though I usually don’t ask, amazes me. Now, let’s just go shower together and sleep. Pretty sure I can come up with something tomorrow.”
Jaehyun pushes his lower lip out and you giggled, planting a kiss to stop his tantrum. You take away the box in his hand and put it somewhere around the room, pushing him out of your work area and inside the bathroom. Once Jaehyun and you are settled in the small bathtub, your tense muscles calm down as you listen to Jaehyun talk about his day.
While Jaehyun slept next to you, you were brainstorming. Actually, Jaehyun’s idea wasn’t… that bad and it would be unique and new to your collection and portfolio! The problem is, you’re not sure how you would explain it to the curator. ‘Oh, me and my boyfriend used our bodies to create that artwork’? But you were already desperate to finish the project. You tried to nudge Jaehyun’s arm, but he didn’t move. You tried poking his cheek, but then again, no response. Sighing, you threw the duvet off your body and got out of bed. Maybe milk would help you calm down and help you feel sleepy.
“Babe.” You let out a gasp, almost dropping the glass of milk. You turned around and looked over your shoulder to check, “It’s 4 o’ clock, why are you stillawake?”
“I can’t sleep, that stupid painting is making me anxious and it feels like my whole career is going south if I won’t come up with something.”
“Baby,” Jaehyun said in a calm voice, walking towards you and engulfed you in a hug, burying his head on the crook of your neck. “You’re a great artist, a remarkable one— don’t pressure yourself because if you do, you won’t get the piece you wanted. Because you forced yourself to finish it.”
“But I’m running out of time!” Jaehyun sighs at your remark, biting his lower lip as he thinks of a way to help you resolve your problem. “I’m even considering your idea.”
It was like Jaehyun regained energy when he heard you say that “You sure? We don’t have to do it just because— no, um, we can still think of other ideas now that we’re both awake.”
“How about we do your idea and if it didn’t come out the way I wanted it, we can brainstorm.”
“Deal.”
You turned around, placing your hands behind his neck, pulling him closer until there was only a small space between the two of you; “We can start right now if you’d like.”
“Baby, you’re the artist… it’s up to you.” He replied, “Been awhile since we last did it, hmm?”
You hum in response, inhaling the scent of his body wash as you bury yourself on his neck, your fingers unbuttoning his top. You could feel his hands travel on your waist, down to your hips until his hands settled on your ass. His biceps tighten when he lifts you up while you pepper his face and neck with kisses, he could feel your body temperature change in a short amount of time. He then puts you down in front of the door of your work area, before opening the door he claims your lips in his. Sloppy and could echo throughout the whole room.
You like it when he pulls your hair, he likes it as well; the way you let out a loud moan as he grips onto the strands of your hair turns him on so bad.
“W-wait, we have to prepare the paint and clothe—”
You stopped mid-sentence when you noticed a huge plastic laying on the floor and the cotton canvas which seems to come from the art kit he suggested using earlier. You raised your brows and faced Jaehyun, “…I was just preparing in case you wanted to give it a shot, and you did that’s why I prepared it beforehand while you were still in the shower.”
“You know me so damn well.” You smiled, taking his lips and started to tug his t-shirt, signaling him to remove it. When he pulled away from your kiss, you too, removed your shirt, your breasts bounced when the fabric was removed and Jaehyun could feel his dick twitch at the scene he just witnessed. God, you are so fucking perfect.
Like a baby in need of milk, Jaehyun latches his mouth on your nipple, the other is being massaged by his free hand. This time, you were the one who pulled his hair. When he bits your bud gently, you couldn’t help but let out a moan and throw your head back, pulling his hair a bit harder. Jaehyun is messy whenever he’s got your breasts in his mouth— his saliva was everywhere as he was swirling his tongue around the nub, sending shivers all over your body.
“Jae, hold on— our pants.” You say, letting go of his hair and pulled yourself away from him. “It’s not gonna be easy doing the laundry with clothes stained with paint.”
“Oh yeah, sorry. I could’ve ripped your pants off if you didn’t say anything,”
After discarding the remaining clothes you two had, you both kneeled down, grabbing the paint that was included in the packaging. There were five colors in total— red, peach, two shades of blue and white. You asked Jaehyun if the paint can easily be washed or safe to use, fortunately, they are. You were worried about having paint on your pussy and having to explain that to a doctor would be a nightmare. And that was tonight’s goal: to not have any paint near your private areas.
The two of you opened the caps of paint, drizzling some of them on the canvas, some on the exposed and easy to wash parts of your body like on your leg, knee, arm, his chest and his toned back. You weren’t sure on how this thing works, you’re an artist, someone familiar in nude art but nude art usingyourownbody? It was like a whole new world for you. Jaehyun suggests for you to ride him because it would be much easier to get rid of the paint already as they might stick on your hair. The paint on your palm prints on the canvas the moment you hold onto it for balance as your boyfriend helps you guide his hard cock to your embarrassingly wet pussy.
“You’re filthy, Jeong Jaehyun.” You moan, feeling his dick stretch your walls as you sink down. “O-oh, fuck…”
Jaehyun’s hand rests on your hips, guiding you and taking the lead for the first few seconds. He lets out a groan when he feels you clench around him. When he is certain that you are able to work on your own, his hands travel on your breasts, kneading them— his right hand that was once covered in peach paint, all transferred to your boobs. He wipes the remaining paint on the canvas, leaving a visible handprint. Then again, you started to pick up the pace, causing his hands to move back to your hips.
“Slowly baby, we’ve got the time in our hands.” He said, lifting his upper body to plant a kiss on your lips and lie down again. “I’ll take the lead, hmm?”
You nodded your head, placing your white and red colored palms on his chest, marking your hand on it.
“Fuck baby, you look so fucking hot.” He said, “I love you being on top, but fuck— switch. I gotta fuck you on my favorite position.”
Satisfied (because you were tired), you pulled out of him, you both moaned in sync. On fours, ass up, head down. The breasts that Jaehyun colored paints something on the canvas, specifically on the place where he laid his back earlier, mixing the colors of peach and blue altogether. You let out a gasp when Jaehyun enters you wholly and drags his cock out, running it on your wet slit.
“Pretty pussy.” He said, forcefully slamming his hips again and earning a loud moan from you. “You told me earlier that I’m filthy, you’re filthy too, baby. Look at you taking my cock so well with paint all over your body.”
You whine when you felt a sting on your buttcheeks and his hand running on the place he just spanked, “What would you tell the people in the gallery, pretty? Imagine their reactions when you tell them this is our masterpiece because the materials you used are our bodies…”
“I- oh my god, J-jae faster—” You started gripping on the canvas, crumpling the cloth. You could feel paint come contact with your cheek as Jaehyun rammed into you faster, like what you said. His nails dig on the skin of your hips, you were pretty sure it will leave a few marks there later. “J-jae, fuck, baby- I’m close… please…”
You clench harder, unable to take the pace he was in. You could hear the plastic underneath the cloth you were laying on move as his feet dug onto it. He was letting out loud groans as he pounded into you harshly, abusing your pussy - at this point, you were starting to see stars. If possible, the inside of your head as you kept on rolling your eyes in pleasure.
“Pussy… feels so… fucking good.”
The moment you released, you felt as if a lump somewhere in your body was finally out, but Jaehyun wasn’t at his climax yet and was not satisfied with the position. He instructs you to turn around, pulling his dick out before helping you flip yourself. You were now in a missionary position; one leg was pushed to your chest while Jaehyun rams himself inside of you again. Your stained hands grabbed the back of his neck, pulling him close to you as he tried to reach his climax. Each thrust he gives; you roll your eyes in pleasure.
“N-near…” He whispered against your jaw before planting a kiss on it.
By the time he painted your walls white, you came for the second time.
“Jaehyun, I saw on the news that Y/N was one of the highest paid artists in that gallery the other day.” Ten says to Jaehyun after bumping into him in the halls of their company. “That painting is amazing.”
“Yeah, well, we never really got to thank you.” Confused, Ten asked him what he had to do about your painting. “Oh, well, Y/N was actually having a hard time thinking about what she had to paint… I thought of your song - Paint Me Naked, and… well, boom!We created a masterpiece.”
The older didn’t know what to feel - honored that the piece you made was inspired by his song or that his friend just used his song to have sex with you. “Well, um, I don’t know what to feel - s-should I be honored or…?” Then it hit him, “Man fuck you, you ruined the song for me…”
This is a mini-series written by theje0ngs to celebrate her first year of writing here on tumblr. The memories will be unlocked every now and then so make sure to watch out and share a memory with Jaehyun, Sungchan and theje0ngs!
We’ve all experienced joy, sadness, anger, andfear in our lives.
Like Riley’s memories, the memories we made are kept somewhere in our brain.
These memories have brought significant changes in one’s life, the memories that brought joy, sadness, anger, andfear to Jaehyun and Sungchan’s lives.
PRECIS. lee heeseung is the handsome yet good for nothing mysterious boy living a floor below you, who dropped out of college and is living quite a lavish life. when you get fired from your job, ending up struggling to make your ends meet and failing to pay the rent, heeseung offers you rather an eccentric proposal : pay the rent or be his girlfriend.
NOTE. lmao this chapter alone made me make this smau skskks
PRECIS. the chances of you confessing to your crush sums to zero when you realise you have to pretend to have a crush on sunghoon, just to help your friend hide her feelings for the ice prince.
or, alternatively, in which you borrow an eraser from your friend, yi kyeong, which has sunghoon’s name written on it ( or so you think ) so, when the mentioned boy sees it, you have no other choice but to lie that you have a crush on him to avoid disclosing your friend’s secret.
GENRE. humour, fluff, angst if you squint hard enough, coming of age
after much consideration, you’ve reached the conclusion that you haven’t fallen for sunghoon. your heart is skipping beats because of arrhythmia and you’re persuading your mom to get you an appointment.
you simply can’tfall for sunghoon. he’s way out of your league ( see, you’re not shy to admit that ) besides, you don’t know each other. you don’t know about him but to you, sunghoon is just an ideal classmate, or a close acquaintance, or simply a friend, at most. moreover, here comes the best friend’s code : you can’t crush on your best friend’s crush, let alone date. you sleep with your guilt plagued mind everyday, knowing you and sunghoon are in ‘love’ behind your best friend’s back.
“yn,” you feel a push towards your shoulders, driving you out of your thoughts to find sunoo looking at you with concern written all over his face. “what are you thinking?”
you shake your head. “nothing,” another lie. well, you’ve been lying a lot recently. you don’t remember creating high walls of lies around you in just a few days, with only sunghoon knowing the way in, but again he’s looking at another lie you’ve made him believe.
“take a break if you need to. the play will start in a few minutes,” right, the play. you’re excited to see sunghoon and kyeong steal the show. you’re dying to see them receive best actors award for the night. you’re dying to have the annual school magazine print their picture on the front page. you’re excited for them, or so you tell yourself.
it’s embarrassing to know that somewhere inside, you feel a little bitter about the whole crew picking sunghoon without any recrutionary procedure. you don’t think he’s a bad actor, god, you can never. you haven’t seen him act but there’s nothing that boy can’t do. there’s a rumour spinning about how his mother was one of the best actors in Seoul’s best theatre crew. though, you don’t know how much of it is true.
but, that’s beyond the point. you don’t need to find his family history to know that he’s talented in all aspects. it’s crazy how similar sunghoon and yi kyeong are. you’re about to discard all those thoughts and continue with the procedure until you hear the commotion in the hallway.
“we have— oh my god, yn, thank god you’re here.” jake takes a breath of relief, walking towards you with a hopeful stare. “sunghoon has sprained his leg, we need a replacement.”
now, that isn’t the issue you want to deal with around ten minutes before the play. “what am i supposed to do about it?”
“do you know someone who can fit the role?” he questions further.
you’d be lying if you say you’re actually thinking of someone as a replacement, for your brain is too busy worrying about sunghoon as his injury. call it the godsent timing, because just then, your eyes fall upon the boy standing across the room. “how about seonghwa?”
“what? who, me? no,” he declines with an awkward laugh. “i have terrible stage fear. i’m sure no one wants to see a prince charming with overflowing anxiety.” yeah no, he’s right. besides, yi kyeong will be upset to know that not only she’s working with a substitute prince charming, but also, he has chronic anxiety.
“but they want a handsome prince charming.” jake isn’t half wrong either. they never held auditions for prince charming, proceeding to pick sunghoon as if the rest of the population is a joke. hence, the audience doesn’t care about skills, but rather, the looks. “just practise your scenes. we’ll pre-record your lines and schedule the play as the closing show.”
jake turns to look at you. “yn, can you please—”
“i’m sorry, do you know where sunghoon is?” the question falls off your lips almost immediately, without giving him any chance to speak. you hear something along the lines of ‘school backyard’ as a responseand sprint as if it’s the race for your life.
it’s basic human decency, you presume. had it been someone else, someone you haven’t even seen, you would still run, almost tripping and bumping into people. you would still grab a bunch of bandages and relief sprays from the medkit in the staff room if this were about someone else. it’s not just sunghoon, you tell yourself. he’s not special, especially to you.
“geez, did you forget to walk to something?” you snicker as soon as you spot him sitting by the stairs, browsing through what looked like twitter at the slight glance you managed to steal.
sunghoon chuckles, stuffing his phone inside the pocket of his padded coat. “you look tired.”
“yeah, i ran from the other side of the school and almost tripped thrice on my way here.” you feel him snicker at the irritation in your voice while you take a look at his ankles and start dressing— by the way, you notice that he has pretty toenails; and after recalling how pretty his fingers look, it makes you wonder if he gets his mani-pedi done every week or so. “gosh, do teachers know that their favourite student can’t even walk to save his life?”
“are you worri—”
“of course, i am!” and then a pause; sunghoon flaunts a taunting smirk in your direction and you realise how punchable his face looks. “i mean, anyonewould be worried. what if it’s a fracture instead? they treat you like a national treasure, everyone will go crazy.”
you’re not wrong.
everyone in the school, or even outside the institutional premises if possible, treasures sunghoon more than their lives. you still remember the day minhee took the blame on her after sunghoon accidently broke the principal’s bonsai, only for him to thank her by saying that she’s like his younger sister. long story short, there are numerous tales about people vouching for him and what not— it’s exhausting. the point is how big of a breaking news it would be when his ‘fans’ will know that sunghoon hurt himself and won’t be attending school for the next couple of days, probably. you wonder if people will still watch the play once they know that their beloved sunghoon isn’t the male lead anymore.
“how long do you think it’ll take to heal?” it’s an attempt to strike a conversation and you’re glad sunghoon took the initiative. you were starting to feel embarrassed with his ankles in your hand.
“hm, three days? or four? maybe a weak? depends on how well you’re taking care of yourself.”
“four days,” another pause, he tends to think before tapping on your shoulder, making you look up at him. “do you want to go on a date with me?”
it’s like you’ve experienced culture shock. “what?”
“what? we have one due from the last time,” he smirks again, and you realise that he has been smirking a lot late. it’s beyond extents and makes you want to wipe that smirk off his face. “so, do you want to, you know, four days later?”
it’s back, the arrhythmia. you seriously need to get yourself checked before cardiac arrest knocks on your door. oh, and you’d love to punch his good for nothing handsome face but you don’t, maybe because he’s injured. after all, how is a man supposed to live with a broken leg and nose?
“looks like you’ve hit your head too.” you stand up, handing him the remaining bandages before storming off the venue. little did you know that your cheek started heating up the moment you looked into his eyes.
“hey, you didn’t give me an answer!” and you don’t want to either. you walk away, assuming someone would come and assist him to the main building because if you stay next to him for another second, you’ll go crazy. you absolutely hate coming to terms with your feelings but maybe, maybe you do have slight infatuation with sunghoon; and maybe, you need to get onto it with kyeong before it’s too late.
.
.
.
“and the last scene? i was screaming internally—”
“can we talk?” you interrupt kyeong, partly because your ears will bleed if you heard another word about how ecstatic acting with seonghwa was and partly because you actuallywant to talk.
she stops, slight nervousness settling on her face. “yeah, sure.”
“about your crush,” it’s just three words and you’re already willing to leave the conversation taking place on your own accord. “okay, all i’m saying is that i like him too. i’m sorry, please don’t be mad.”
and then you hear her laugh, out of everything. a part of you wants to scream because you just disclosed an important info, something you don’t even want to acknowledge yourself, and she’s laughing. moreover, it’s about the love of her life. your friendship is at stake and she’s laughing. perhaps you have a broken humour for not getting the joke.
“why would i be mad?” you blink, wondering if you heard her right. not like you were expecting her to go off and beat you in the middle of the street at 9 pm, but there’s always a chance. “i don’t think i have a chance with him either way. so, i’ll just root for you.”
this is why you think sunghoon and yi kyeong are perfect for each other. they both are nice, literal saints, embodiments of kindness, not a vile cell inside of them. as for you, you had your sibling’s snack last evening and stepped on your mom’s foot while running away across the household. you don’t think sunghoon has even stepped on an ant. instead, he seems the type to help them navigate or something.
“i feel bad now that you’re giving up,” you confess, and it’s true. probably the truest truth you’ve said so far. you feel frustration pent up inside you, threatening to overflow any second. “why did i have to fall for sunghoon out of all the people?!”
“wait, sunghoon?” kyeong asks, dumbfounded, or rather, confused.
“yes, we’re talking about sunghoon, right?” okay, you don’t have a good feeling about the direction this conversation is heading towards.
“no?” she clarifies and the look on your face morphs into visible panic. “i don’t like sunghoon.”
“what?” you yell, turning a few passing heads towards you. however, you pay them no mind. “i thought you liked sunghoon because of the name on your eraser. p-s-h, park sunghoon, it makes sense!”
kyeong shakes her head in denial. “no, it’s p-s-h, park seonghwa. i like seonghwa and not sunghoon!”
an awkward pause follows. it’s a mess inside your head. you abso-fucking-lutely can’t believe the way you misunderstood the whole situation, and got yourself into a problem with seemingly no way out. you could’ve asked her about the eraser but you didn’t, proceeding to make your own assumptions and ending up in an even bigger issue.
yi kyeong gasps, pulling you out of your thoughts. “oh my god, then you have a crush on sunghoon?” that phrase doesn’t surprise you anymore. “i thought you liked sunoo.”
maybe, that surprises you a bit. you remember fawning over sunoo, thinking about him all day, reading and re-reading your conversations with him. being with sunoo has always been the highlight of your day, yet you don’t recall thinking about him ever since sunghoon walked into your life. you didn’t seem to mind when sunoo hung out with other people but you feel as if you have a knife by your neck whenever you spot sunghoon with others.
you simply don’t know what’s happening to you. “yeah, uh, surprise?” and this isn’t the time to laugh but you do, trying to lighten the burden on your shoulders. “i’m not really sure if i like sunghoon yet.” liar, you are. you may deny it till the end of the time but you know you’re falling for sunghoon; slowly and gradually, but you are.
“didn’t you just say you like sunghoon, though?” she smirks as if she can see through the lies you tell yourself. “well, whatever. at least, we don’t have to be love rivals.” yeah, maybe there’s onegood thing about this whole situation. imagine having a crush on your best friend’s crush, embarrassing. but again, being in this situation built over misunderstandings is even more embarrassing, it’s eating you out.
at this point, you don’t even care about you, or your so-called reputation if someone discloses this whole thing to the public. you don’t care about sunoo, nor do you give two flying fucks to your seemingly dead feelings for him. you only have one thing on your mind : park sunghoon.
it isn’t about how you feel towards him. you’re still in the maybestage. perhaps, you don’t like sunghoon and this is just your fatigued brain coming up with bizzare conclusions. you remember falling for sunghoon the day he walked you home. however, the next day, you were back to normal. you didn’t remember shit about butterflies and zoos. perhaps, it’s the same this time as well. so, you don’t care about your feelings, but you can’t seem to ignore how he feels towards you.
to sunghoon, who doesn’t have any idea about the truth lying within, every second of this is true. every moment, every step, every word, every touch, every gaze, every smile, everything. he thinks you like him. no, actually, he’s convinced that you like him. and sunghoon being the kindest person on earth is trying his best to like you back, to know you beyondeveryone else’s perception of who you are. he greets you every morning over texts and bids you good night. he asks if you’re doing okay, if you need help with assignments, if you’re down for an evening stroll— he’s giving hiseverything; and you always turn his advances down, never daring to cross the wall you’ve created between you and him.
sunghoon takes one step towards you, and you take four away from him.
kyeong bids her goodbyes at the intersection from where you both have opposite ways home. you had planned to spend the night at her place, only for your mother to refuse, saying she has a few things she needs to talk to you about. you halt at the intersection, staring and sighing at the night sky, contemplating how mess of a life you have as if it isn’t the consequences of your own actions.
“yn?” you close your eyes. now is not the time. sunoo is like the last person you want to see tonight. “what are you looking at?” he chuckles, mirroring your actions as he follows your gaze and looks up at the empty night sky as well.
“your mom,” he frowns at your reply, sending a sour stare your way. sunoo isn’t the biggest supporter of your mom jokes, actually. “what are you doing here? didn’t you leave for home long ago?”
“yes but,” he pulls out what seems like your scarf from his bag, handing it out to you. “you forgot this. sunghoon said he would’ve given it to you himself but his leg … you know. don’t be sad that your boyfriend couldn’t make it, though. he said he’d be at school tomorrow.”
boyfriend, right. it feels odd hearing it from sunoo, and you and sunghoon aren’t even dating yet. would he still be able to say those words with ease if he knew you have a crush on him, or rather, usedto? overthinking apart, you’re glad sunoo came to return your scarf or your mother wouldn’t have let you inside tonight. it doesn’t take you realise that sunghoon and sunoo are actually close, and they have gotten even closer over the past few days thanks to you and your crush on sunghoon.
maybe, sunoo is the only one who can help you out. “can i ask you about something?” he nods, and you narrate your whole story about how you borrowed the eraser from yi kyeong, sunghoon misunderstanding the setting, the person kyeong actually has a crush on and everything else, all the things except the fact that you like sunoo— usedto.
“can you get more stupid?” that’s the first thing sunoo comes up with after you update him on your dilemma.
“how am istupid when sunghoon assumed everything in the first place?” you slap his arm playfully, earning an exaggerated response. “what should i do?”
sunoo scoffs. “tell him the truth.” god, no, asking him was the wrong-est move you’ve ever made. “don’t look at me like that! i hope you know you’re basically playing with that poor boy’s feelings.” that’s right. that’s the phrase; playing with his feelings. you didn’t want to accept it initially, you’re not the type to play with anyone’s feelings and what’s happening right now is a big misunderstanding.
however, hearing it from sunoo makes it sound even worse. not to mention, you feel awful. you try to imagine sunghoon’s reaction after you tell him the truth. you couldn’t bring yourself to do that. what would you do if you were in his shoes? how would you react? maybe you’d end up actually hating him, scream and shout, act like a dramatic bitch, and whatnot; but sunghoon doesn’t seem the type to do that. he doesn’t come off as someone who’d shout at you. maybe, he’ll say it’s okay, and thank you for coming clean, and move on as if nothing happened.
the problem is, even if he’s heartbroken, he wouldn’t let you know; and you, being yourself, would believe it and stamp him as just another passerby in your life.
“how do i bring it up to him?” you mumble, looking at sunoo. you’re thinking of another excuse in the back of your head. something along the lines of ‘hey, i don’t think you have to force yourself to like me yada yada—’ it sounds hella generous. you don’t want to turn this in your favour. even if sunghoon claims he’s not forcing himself to like you, you will convince him otherwise. that’s your thought process, your silly way out of this situation.
“just be straightforward.” sunoo interrupts your trail of thoughts. “you know, he lives just a street behind yours so if we hurry, we can make it before ten.” you take a look at your phone screen : 9:50pm. sunoo’s hand slips into yours as he sprints towards sunghoon’s house. you don’t know what time has to do with any of these. sure, ten at night is probably not the right timing to go visit someone but still, you have had your friends stand out of your window at two in the morning for impromptu midnight escapades.
maybe, sunghoon is one of those ‘good boys’ who goes to bed at ten sharp, without excuses. to be honest, it sounds very sunghoon-like. dinner at seven, studies following, and then to bed at ten, seems like something the one and only park sunghoon would do.
before you realise, you find yourself standing in front of what is supposed to be sunghoon’s house. it’s nice, beautiful, even. the garden is well maintained and you wonder if he’s into gardening. sunoo shoots a call to sunghoon, who peeks down at the street through his window just a few seconds later, waving at you before disappearing behind the grey curtains.
it’s cute, you think, and then decide that you’re crazy. no way, you just called park sunghoon cute. sure, you find him a bit interesting but not like you have a passionate crush on him. you can be one of those fans, nothing more.
a girl opens the door and you recall that she could be his sister. he talks about her every time you both complain about siblings. sunghoon helps himself down the stairs, using wall as support while his sister aids him shortly. you wonder if this is a wrong time to meet him. his ankle doesn’t look bad, not like you can actually see it, but back at school, he wasn’t even able to move it.
“how’s your leg?” the question falls off your lips instinctively, without giving him or sunoo, a chance to even breath in each other’s direction.
sunghoon smiles, looking down at his ankles before setting his eyes back on you. “quite better.” involuntarily, you reciprocate his smile, nodding before waving at his sister as well, who excuses herself shortly. “would you like to come in?”
“no, actually,” sunoo cuts in, giving you a look of assurance. “we want to talk about something. shewants to, actually.” and sunoo steps aside, leaving you and sunghoon alone to talk everything out and clear all the misunderstandings.
“so, the eraser,” you begin, hesitatingly, looking at sunoo who shoots you thumbs up from a distance. “it actually belongs to yi kyeong. i borrowed it for a test since i didn’t bring mine. the name too, the psh on it stands for park seonghwa, and not park sunghoon.” you want to dig a hole and die because first, this is so embarrassing. sunghoon looks at you unfazed as if he’s too stunned to speak; and second, your voice practically dies towards the end of your sentence, making it more terrible than it already is.
sunghoon doesn’t speak for next thirty seconds. he simply looks at you, blinking occasionally, making you wonder if your confession traumatised him so much that he lost his verbal abilities. you won’t blame him. this whole thing is hurtful enough to give anyone a trauma. furthermore, as you’re about to speak more, he lets out a dry chuckle, almost convincing you that he has gone crazy. “that’s it?”
that’s it? that’s it? that’s allhe has to say? you’re about to lose your mind.
“i mean, i’m sorry for not bringing it up earlier,” you kind of want to scream in the middle of the road because you went through all this trouble, beating your mental health to death, only for him to chuckle and say that’s it? then you ponder if it’s sarcasm, or if sunghoon wants a written apology from you, one that you will post on the school’s forum and recite in front of the whole school at morning assembly. you’re marginally close from ripping your hair out, strand by strand.
“it’s okay. you couldn’t tell me before because i took it so seriously. it’s my fault for jumping to conclusions.” you’re almost in tears once again. had it been someone else, or let alone someone else, had it been youin his shoes, you would’ve made a scene; and sunghoon is here, in front of you, taking the blame for something that isn’t his fault in the first place.
“no, sung—”
“i said it’s okay. i’m glad you brought it up. you don’t have to worry about it anymore.” he cuts you off, reassuring you again and again. all this time, you’ve been thinking about yourself, never really considering him and when you finally give him a chance to call you out, he turns the situation in your favour. “honestly, i’m relieved.”
“sunghoon, what are you doing outside?” an unfamiliar voice breaks in before you could respond to his words. you run your eyes around, who sunghoon seems to have forgotten about, only to realise he has already left. turns out, the voice belonged to sunghoon’s mother and godbless, she’s just as pretty as him, or even more. “and you should invite your friend inside. it’s cold out here.”
“yn’s not a friend. they’re more of a,” ain’t no way. if sunghoon’s planning to say what you’re thinking then there’s no way he hasn’t gone crazy. “classmate. they were about to leave.” his mother nods, smiling at you as she walks inside, leaving you and sunghoon basking in silence. suddenly, all the words inside your mouth die down, leaving a taste of speechlessness as you mutter a silent goodbye to him.
“you good? why do you look pale all of a sudden?” sunghoon asks, stepping forward to check your temperature, only for you to step back as an empty frown settles on his face.
“i know i lied but i always thought we were at least friends,” you say it with a chuckle, having sunghoon retreat his hand as you turn around, proceeding on your way back home. “take care of yourself.”
it’s funny because all this time, you’ve been stepping away from sunghoon, never letting him approach you, taking multiple steps away from him; but just watching him step away from you feels like the life inside you has been knocked out. but it’s fine, this is what you’ve wanted.
and just like that, you and sunghoon get all the way back to step one, being what you initially were : classmates.
NOTE. hi this took so long help i hope you haven’t forgotten me ( hi it’s caelin bffies ) anyway only two chapters to go yeahhh however, they might take even more time to come out since i’m moving to another state this wednesday. so, i’ll be busy for the rest of this month, then i have college entrances next month so i’ll be busy till july 20th too :( i don’t think i’ll get time to post but i’ll definitely try to update soon after !
no— he believes. it’s an odd thought for ten in the morning, in middle of chemistry lesson, but heeseung doesn’t mind. and just like an important presentation, he has all the reasonings jotted down on the back of his notebook, doodles with vines and hearts.
heeseung has known you for four years. not you, heeseung; he has known you for four years. he isn’t the type to stand out amongst the crowd, for he seemingly dissolves into it like fine particles, almost too invisible to be sedimented. he doesn’t enjoy attention. heeseung likes to be the to sit in middle of a row with ear phones and math occupying most of his day.
coming back to the point, four years, they have been terriblefor him. the day you transferred to his middle school, his life turned upside down. you had taken the last bench, near the window, and still managed to have everyone in the class look at you as if you were the subject to their queries. you were the type to throw paper balls in the middle of the class. you made snarky comments, disturbed the momentum, ruined the decorum, destroy his peace of mind, made it hard for him to focus— there are so many reasons why you flipped his life style.
you don’t know heeseung, you never triedto, until highschool. you knew there’s a boy in your class, too quiet to mingle, too loud in his mind to speak anything.
you knew there was a lee heeseung in your class, that’s it. that was your story.
now, in highschool first year, you know there’s a lee heeseung in your class. the same lee heeseung who was your classmate in middle school. the one who keeps listening to that one tchaikovsky piece over and over again while solving math. the one who always caught your attention, but never mystic enough for you to reach him out.
you’ve known him for three months now, and that’s how heeseung’s story began.
there are so many reason as for why you and heeseung should be more than just friends. he has known you for four years, that’s a lot more than any other friend you have in the school. he’s the only one you seek at 2 am for late night escapades. his notes are the only reliable source of study material you refer to two weeks before exams. his number is the only one you’ve saved with a ’<3’ on your phone, and many more.
heeseung doesn’t remember taking a liking to you at all. he remembers calling you annoying in front of everyone in middle school. he remembers cursing out at you when his team lost relay because you tripped. he remembers all the moments he hurt you. heeseung also remembers spending first three months of highschool sitting next to you, but he doesn’t remember falling for you.
he doesn’t remember doodling your name on the corner of his text books. he doesn’t remember doing those silly compatibility tests with you on the palm of his hands. he doesn’t remember losing his breath when you hugged him instinctively after you won your first relay in highschool. heeseung doesn’t remember the important details.
once upon a time, there was you, that’s it. that’s his story. that’s his beginning and his end, all from you.
heeseung doesn’t remember falling for you but he realises that with every passing day, he falls even deeper. it’s like going down even after hitting rock bottom. heeseung recalls when you held his hand for a group picture with your middle school friend and his heart exploded into a million butterflies. it’s really nothing, just the way your hand fits in his; it’s literally five plus five, and yet your touch had him orbiting and ripping his hair out strand by strand when that sensation slipped inside his head every night.
hereallybelieves that you should be more than friends. heeseung believes you should be lovers instead.
but, then again it’s all inside his head; and you’re too busy being in love with jay to even notice his lovelorn eyes.
a/n : so sorry for being pretty ia these days, i’ve been binge watching treasure map so idk i don’t have time to write stuff (its either that or i’m just lazy LMFAOO) anyways pls enjoy this ! <3 ALSO I REACHED 520 FOLLOWERS TYSM I LOVE U ALL may u get ur prio pc/an album OR ANYTHING U WANT IN GENERAL
jay closes his phone after scrolling on twitter, yizhuo’s party was the talk of his twitter timeline. almost everyone he knew, even the seniors from his old school were going to attend.
for the first time, the infamous jay park was nervous to go to a party— the same person who would glare at those who walked even remotely close to him, and ignore everyone except his friends during parties was now in his car, contemplating whether or not he should go.
for the first time, the infamous jay park was nervous to go to a party— the same person who would glare at those who walked even remotely close to him, and ignore everyone except his friends during parties was now in his car, contemplating whether or not he should go.
ning yizhuo, also known as just yizhuo amongst her peers, threw memorable parties. ones that weren’t too fancy nor were they like those frat parties that were held in the u.s.
if jay were to put her parties in a category, she’d even have her own.
this only meant that jay had to be cautious.
there could be eyes watching his every move, staring him down even from the very second he enters that house. people who love to feed off the drama of the rich and spread gossip.
normally, he wouldn’t mind them since he barely did anything at parties.
but this time, times have changed. even the smallest of movements that involved y/n could become rumours, rumours that could have endless of possibilities. that korean celebrity article was bad enough.
thankfully, everyone believed that jay was out with another arranged date with one of his father’s connection’s daughters.
a stereotype, but one that saved y/n from whatever could have happened if they found out it was her.
“whatever, fine.” jay convinces himself, taking out the key of his car from it’s keyhole and shoving it in his pocket before heading out.
he crosses the street with both his hands in his pockets, he looks around the remote area and sees many parked cars. some he knew, due to their owners that schools in his past high school.
and some were owned by students who were probably from belift academy high.
jay sees three familiar boys approaching him using his peripheral view, all appropriately dressed for the party. he faces them with a smirk, “you actually came?” the yang heir smiles.
his friends catch up to him, “yeah, of course. y/n’s coming.” he replies.
the four stop as sunghoon and jungwon stop to laugh at riki, the youngest of the four scoffs with a huge hint of bitterness.
“we win. pay up, nishimura.” sunghoon bumps his shoulders against the tall boy who is pulling out his luxurious and newly bought wallet. “betting on me, again?” jay rolls his eyes at the three as riki takes out a couple of 100 thousand won bills and splits it between his older friends.
sunghoon snickers, “of course, what’s the use of money if you don’t do anything fun with it?”
jay sighs, clearly fed up with his friend’s antics.
eyes were on them the moment the four boys arrive at the ning’s estate, several people were crowded around the entrance. yet the mere presence of them, made bystanders make a way for them to get in.
oh how money could get you places.
jay’s legs were starting to fall asleep, and this comfortable couch wasn’t helping them stay awake either.
“are you really going to stay there during the whole party?” heeseung nudges jay, who was staring at the main door for a sign that y/n was arriving soon.
he had been sitting there for a little over an hour, waiting for her to come.
“yes.” he replies, keeping his eyes on the doorway. sunghoon looks at heeseung and shrugs, standing up from the couch to go talk with one of the seniors.
heeseung sighs, deciding to leave as well to find youngeun and kai who were right in front of them earlier.
jay waits..
and he waits.
and waits.
eventually, it had turned 2:00 AM. the party was still as loud as ever, his ears were starting to get annoyed by the music. he was worried, and he was starting to lose hope.
synopsis !coming from a poor family, y/n is hardworking and keeps to herself most of the time. but she was content with the way she was living. working to pay her high school tuition by working all sorts of jobs. everything was all working out for her, seeing that her senior year was coming up. but what happens when the son of one of korea’s biggest companies, takes interest in her after moving to her high school? oh god indeed.
synopsis ! coming from a poor family, y/n is hardworking and keeps to herself most of the time. but she was content with the way she was living. working to pay her high school tuition by working all sorts of jobs. everything was all working out for her, seeing that her senior year was coming up. but what happens when the son of one of korea’s biggest companies, takes interest in her after moving to her high school? oh god indeed.
author’s note !the way the 7th scene had 2:20,, it looks real but 2:20 as in am for me and not pm HELPPLLP #dedicated (jay slaying w his music taste as always)
synopsis ! coming from a poor family, y/n is hardworking and keeps to herself most of the time. but she was content with the way she was living. working to pay her high school tuition by working all sorts of jobs. everything was all working out for her, seeing that her senior year was coming up. but what happens when the son of one of korea’s biggest companies, takes interest in her after moving to her high school? oh god indeed.
author’s note !oh how jay wanted to add love at the end of his first textI MEANNN,,,!?!? oh look winwin hot (stream heeseungs coverbtw)
synopsis ! coming from a poor family, y/n is hardworking and keeps to herself most of the time. but she was content with the way she was living. working to pay her high school tuition by working all sorts of jobs. everything was all working out for her, seeing that her senior year was coming up. but what happens when the son of one of korea’s biggest companies, takes interest in her after moving to her high school? oh god indeed.
author’s note !marupok p si jay 3HASJHASmann i want caramello koalas now ???ALSO UPDATING THE MASTERLIST FOR THE LAST CHAPTERS AFTER SECOND TAGLISTTT
synopsis ! coming from a poor family, y/n is hardworking and keeps to herself most of the time. but she was content with the way she was living. working to pay her high school tuition by working all sorts of jobs. everything was all working out for her, seeing that her senior year was coming up. but what happens when the son of one of korea’s biggest companies, takes interest in her after moving to her high school? oh god indeed.
author’s note !ik, ew party cliche!!! but pay attention lols
synopsis ! coming from a poor family, y/n is hardworking and keeps to herself most of the time. but she was content with the way she was living. working to pay her high school tuition by working all sorts of jobs. everything was all working out for her, seeing that her senior year was coming up. but what happens when the son of one of korea’s biggest companies, takes interest in her after moving to her high school? oh god indeed.
author’s note !hey help i missed posting so lawlz here
