multifandom(but mostly nct) | sfw and nsfw | stories are tagged accordingly so you can choose to block certain tags | this is a side blog so my interactions are limited
genres: modern with magic, urban fantasy, xianxia au, case ficÂ
warnings: genre-typical violence, swearing
âŠin which Liu Yangyang is the type of cultivator who slaps Supreme stickers on the scabbard of his sword, wears his sect robes with Air Jordans, and rides his skateboard through the training grounds.Â
Youâre perfectly content hating him from a distance, never confessing your true feelings, until one fateful night hunt when youâre cursed to only speak the truth.Â
a glossary of xianxia terms in this fic can be found here
it takes four years to grow a peach tree â n.jm. [act one].
SUMMARY. humans are fickle in natureâ it takes a great deal of patience, fortitude, and devotion to have a heart that remains constant. that or having an absolute tolerance for all pain and torment that comes in exchange.
so when you are once again met by the ex-boyfriend that youâve desperately avoided for four years after tearing up his heart, it becomes a test of how much you can endure, and how much more youâre willing to endure after realizing that youâre still in love with him when his love has already been weathered down.
PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader.
GENRE. exes to lovers! au, college! au, romance, angst, fluff, humor, hurt/comfort, SLOW AS FUCK BURN, pining, lots of pushing and pulling, the âits always been youâ trope, a modern retelling-ish of jane austenâs persuasion.
WARNINGS. swearing, heartbreak, alcohol consumption, parental pressure, stress and anxiety, one scene with a nosebleed, explicit kissing, jaemin is kind of a dick in the beginning, mentions of hospitals, one scene with a creep (please tell me if i missed anything!)
WORD COUNT. 39k+.
TAGLIST. @danishmiilkâ @wownajaeminâ @unknown5tarâ @yunoyeolâ @w0nni3wrldâ @neoaekidsâ @bat-shark-repellantâ @keemburleyâ @deliciouslyyellowâ @navoeurâ @huangberryyyâ @lvoejiminâ @alwayswithjaeminâ @marklexleafâ @cloudyychaee @shra-vastiâ @hyuckefiâ @lebrookestoreâ @haengiâ @neogguksâ @pckeiaâ @fitecuddlesâ @baejin-ed @ta3ilmoonâ @coppertrashiâ @jaeminhoodâ @doievoirâ @babeiiiâ @nanaamericanoâ @bxrbgeâ @hey-thatslove @lanadreamieâ @goldenclosethobiâ @luvholiczâ @ukiyoneoâ @jccvâ @ncteaxhoeâ @lokideadontheinsideâ @bbnanaâ @nc-teenâ @thejeongjaehyunâ @rinthedilfhunterâ @renjunvibesâ @suhjenoâ @sweetjaemssâ
NOTE. omg itâs finally here!! iâll leave the pre-fic rambling to a minimum and let the story speak for itself, but itâd like to first of all thank @spvrklyjisungâ and my friend anna for betareading this monster ; - ; inspirations came in the form of a jane austen novel, a shit ton of manhwas, and ben&ben songs. this was such a journey through and through and i hope youâd all enjoy!
dates labelled 20XY are set in the past, and 20XX are in the present.
ACT I â INTERLUDE â ACT II
FEBRUARY 16, 20XX.
THE SAME GREYISH HUE has been painting the sky for a good three months now, and despite it being early in the afternoonâ when the sun is supposedly highestâ you still needed a thick, cream cardigan to shield yourself from the intermittent cold breaths of the late winter wind. Even with the changes of the skyâs colors and leavesâ hue, your hometown looked pretty much the same all-year âround.
It was the people that kept its constancy, the same familiar faces greeting you with the same smiles ever since you were born.
â words â 10k if thereâs spelling mistakes please excuse them. iâve been up for like 20 hours and would like to go to sleep
â member â Dong Sicheng
â warnings â graphic smut, dirty talk, softdom!winwin + sub!reader, oral sex, sex, fingering + strong language + forbidden relationship. Mentions of mental illness but not directly linked with characters, addiction
There were a lot of secrets Sicheng had. He was struggling with his past addiction to Adderal and Xanax; no longer being addicted. And dealing with his insufferable snobby family. His obsession with drugs shifted when he met the new intern at the Psychiatric hospital, his old summer fling. Also turning out to be his therapist. Sicheng is desperate for love, and so are you. Everyone knows Sicheng is hard to resist.
âł 01 ongoing
â â ïž DISCLAIMERâ ïž â  This contains a very problematic scenario. Please know that this is a story with an intriguing topic to read about, not to act upon. Each fic will have their own set of warnings, look at them and evaluate if they are for you. My intention is not to offend, or trigger anybody, I am here to entertain you and exercise my passion as a writer.
You bumped into your ex-boyfriend.
Although it was mandatory to speak at him since you did work at the same psychiatric hospital, you still didnât like it. Â Especially since he was your superior Doctor and you were only an intern.
When you saw Wonho walking down the hall you couldnât find the strength to let him look you in the eyes. So instead, you went down a different hall taking you away from your desired destination.
Though you didnât have any romantic feelings for him anymore, you would rather not see him in a workplace environment. Seeing each other only led to uncomfortable confrontations and terrible work gossip. All of which you hated.
However, you were not going to let Wonho ruin your day. You had finally been given a patient to counsel, and you could say you were very excited. You were even more excited about finishing up your day and going home.
âSo this means what?â You asked while Sue bit her lip, looking at your intern uniform. You wore a red top with the Therapy centerâs name embroidered into the upper right shoulder. It was paired with your old blue skinny jeans.
She nodded her head at you, smiling proudly and handing you your clipboard. âIt means that you look cute and youâre ready for this patient. He doesnât like feeling like heâs here⊠ya know⊠in a hospital. So casual clothes are the way to go.â
Sue was the only person you could turn to as of recently. She was older than you by thirty-two years and a nurse at Old Thornhill psychiatric center, but you were still best friends with the women. It was as if she was just your older sister.
âNo. This means Iâm growing up.â And despite the fact that you loved some aspects of adulthood, you hated the tremendous pressure that was put on you. You couldnât stand paying rent, you couldnât stand part time jobs, and you couldnât stand living alone. You hated it.
âIsnât that what you want?â She pushed her glasses further up her nose and clacked on her reception computer before looking back up at you.
âNot when I like how things are going in my life. Sometimes I welcome change, sometimes I donât.â She chuckled, handing you your lanyard with your hospital I.D in it.
summary:Â due to the acts of violence and rage slowly taking over the world a new society is built where people DNAâs are altered at birth to stop feeling, with no emotions people live their lives performing the tasks theyâre set to do without questioning but a disease is spreading and with no cure how will you deal with it once it catches you?
this is part of the Neo Future collab by @renhyucksââ â€ïž
word count: 2,849
warnings: angst, this is based of the universe of the 2015 movie âEqualsâ, you donât need to see the movie to understand so hereâs a little glossary:
Collective - the city/community they live in
SOS (Switched-On Syndrome) - the disease that makes people feel again
Health & Safety - organisation that manages the well being of the community
DEN (Defective Emotional Neuropathy Facility) - medical institution
a/n: here it is! this took way too much time and preparation than I expect and even though Iâm not 100% happy with it I still think it was fun to do something different! do give me some feedback †not proofread yet!
✠ă»ă»ă»ă»ă» âŸ
8:00 am. You wake up as the blinds go up revealing the early sun. You get up and enter the shower.
8:15 am. Already dressed in your work clothes you sit down and eat breakfast, a bowl of milk and cereal.
8:25 am. You close the apartment door and leave the building. You walk the same path as everyday running into the same people.
8:45 am. Entering the building you stand in line to get a cup of coffee, right behind your co-worker Doyoung as usual.
9:00 am. As you sit down in your chair you place your hand on the big screen unlocking your station continuing the building design you have been working on for the past week.
12:00 pm. Everybody gets up to go to the cafeteria to get lunch. Seventh in line you grab a tray collecting your food as your turn arrives.
12:10 pm. You sit outside to eat. Around you not only your co-workers but also the staff from Health & Safety, being the building next door.
12:25 pm. Grabbing your now empty tray, you take it inside and return to your desk resuming your work.
5:00 pm. After locking your screen you get up and take the same path back home.
6:30 pm. Already in your pyjamas you sit down to have dinner.
7:00 pm. Before you start playing your usual electronic puzzle game, the regular announcement fills the screen.
This is a message from the Collective. Are you overly tired? Or experiencing increased sensitivity? Maybe you have difficulty concentrating. You may have SOS: Switched On Syndrome. If this is the case please book an appointment at the Health & Safety quarters.
10 pm. Tucked in bed you close your eyes and sleep until the next day arrives.
Everyday has the same routine for as long as you can remember. And thatâs how it should remain in this meticulously calculated world you live in, any unexpected changes would be a bad sign. So what will you do when that happens?
querencia: an area in the arena taken by the bull for a defensive stand in a bullfight. spanish, fondness, haunt of an animal, favorite spot, querencia, from querer to want, like, love (from Latin quaerere to seek, gain, obtain, ask) + -encia -ence (from Latin -entia).
starring: park jisung feat. nct dream
genre: surrealism, roadtrip au, coming of age, attempt at humor i guess
warnings: mentions of food, bad family relationships, descriptions of anxiety and other mental illnesses, nearly drowning
word count: 16k (16.554)
authorâs note: donât read too much into this one. or do. whatever you want :)
this fic is a part of the âNatsuyo no magicâ event by @/kokonomi
summary: After not seeing his friends from summer camp for years, Park Jisung decides to take a journey of adulting and fun during this summer break. He takes a roadrip all over the country just to finally meet his friends face to face, experiencing the real world on his own skin. When his summer trip unexpectadly comes to an end and the heart sunglasses heâs been wearing are taken down off his eyes, he realises just what is the true âsummer magicâ was all about.
For many people, summer is a season of joy. A season of freedom and finding yourself, a season of happy memories and magic. Thereâs just something about the heat of the sunlight grazing your skin and the sound of waves hitting the shore that calms the soul in a way no other season ever could, offering solace and a shelter for even the loneliest of souls. Anyone can find a thing they find beautiful in summerâ there is no doubt in that, no valid argument against it. Summer just is magical.
Park Jisung, however, has many arguments pointing against the magic of the summer season. Oneâ he gets bored easily. Thereâs nothing for him to do in the heated town and the hot beams of summer, thereâs nothing for him to do to satisfy his soul and the reckless need for adventure he so dearly feels in his heart. He gets too warm and sometimes, his brain feels like itâs overheating in the direct sunlight. Nothing is able to cool off the poor boyâs brain and thoughts in the hottest days of them all and all he can think about in these particular times is how much he wants the autumn to come because he cannot stand the boredom and the heat. Twoâ he never goes on vacations. And how can a person enjoy their summer without having anything to brag about once they come back to school and meet all the people they have to call their friends for the school year just to not feel so alone? Threeâ and maybe the most crucial reasonâ he never gets to meet his friends.
Truth be told, Jisung canât see his friends even in the other seasons. Itâs just that in summer, the grief of it all only intensifies when he imagines just how much fun they could all have together only if all of them lived at the same place.
Summary:Â Chenle has a huge crush on you, the coolest girl in school. He canât believe his luck when you show up on his bus.
Genre: High School AU, tooth rotting fluffÂ
Word Count:Â 0.8k
Gif:Â @chenleyah
âIs this seat taken?â
Chenle looked up from his Nintendo to see you, Y/n, aka the coolest girl in tenth grade, pointing at the empty bus seat next to him. He thanked the gods, the lucky stars, whatever the hell was up there, for making the seat next to him empty.
âI-itâs free,â he replied, secretly praying you couldnât see the blood that was currently flooding his cheeks. Keep it cool, man, he thought. Girls donât like fools. Especially not pretty girls like you.Â
âCool.âÂ
The scent from your bubble gum lip gloss flooded the space as you sat. The smell made Chenle dizzy, not to mention the sight of your pretty plump lips so close to his.Â
Chenle had a crush on you ever since you sat next to him in bio class last year. You distracted the teacher by doing a dramatic catwalk down the lab table whilst he let the dissection frog escape through the classroom window.
When the teacher asked where the frog had gone, you just batted your eyelashes, a picture of innocence. Then, you turned to him and winked. That was when Chenle knew he loved you.
warnings: major character death (happens before the story starts). heavily centers around themes of grief and mourning. alcoholism, smoking as a coping mechanism, depression, unhealthy relationships.
soundtrack:Â quit smoking by li ronghao
i stopped smoking, but iâm not used to it / what do i do without you? / three years and one week / only then did I learn patience / the wounds you gave me, thereâs nobody to blame / i stopped smoking but picked up sorrow instead / i donât want this either
for @lebrookestore's disquietude collab
Youâve seen Taeyong in love before. He loves with his whole heart, with more love than his heart can contain.
He could make you happy, you think. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Taeyong. You manage to stay afloat, gulping in air even as youâre buffeted by waves of grief almost a year after time stopped for Johnny, the time that marches on endlessly for you, even when you try helplessly to pull it back. Time stopped for Johnny, but it drags you along kicking and screaming, each step taking you further and further away from that one December day.
When you get to the apartment, Taeyong is already there, slowly cleaning up the scattered belongings before his parents arrive.
When he lifts his head to meet your eyes, his own are rimmed red and swollen, dark circles surrounding his damp lashes. Taeyongâs cheeks are pale and sallow and his neck arches at a tired slope. He looks terrible, but it doesnât matter, because Johnny is dead.
Wordlessly, you join him on the living room floor in front of the heap of clothes on the couch and between the plastic garbage bags sitting on the floor. The silence that hangs between the two of you feels heavy, suffocating. Itâs not the comfortable silence that youâve grown accustomed to, the comfortable silence that the three of you have spent hours in, sitting on this very same apartment floor.
A voice in your brain tells you that itâs not the three of you anymore, it will never be the three of you again, but you push that voice back. You canât think about it.
Your lips are numb, your hands shake, but you canât seem to cry. The red sweater he wore to trivia night last month goes into the donation bag. The ratty old high school track team sweatshirt that you borrowed for a whole month during senior year goes into the bag destined for the dumpster. Taeyongâs slow, careful breathing is painfully loud beside you as tears continue to roll down his cheeks and drip onto his hands.
Is this what grief is? This strange numbness, the hugeness of the fact that heâs gone, like a billboard that you canât bring yourself to look at? You and Taeyong donât share a single word in the two hours it takes to organize his belongings, sweep and dust his apartment, and toss out anything his parents wouldnât want to see. And when the two of you are done, you stand in Johnnyâs apartment, but itâs not, really. Itâs just an apartment that has all of Johnnyâs stuff in it.
Itâs not until later that evening do you finally cry.
The two of you are on the balcony. Itâs cold outside, but itâs better than being inside, where the heaviness is almost unbearable. With trembling hands, you pull the cigarette out of the pack. Itâs the same cigarette pack you had taken from Johnnyâs coat pocket earlier, along with his familiar zippo lighter. Just a few nights ago, that lighter was in his hands as he cupped the flame, protecting it against the wind while he lit the end of a cigarette. You donât remember when he picked up smoking. It was probably during college, but smoke breaks out on the balcony, out in the alley behind the bar, or up on the rooftop of his childhood home have become such a constant fixture of nights spent with Johnny, you donât think you can imagine a time before he smoked.
Taeyong watches as you slot a cigarette between your lips with one hand and you strike up a light with the other. It takes you two tries, but eventually the flint wheel sparks and a tiny yellow flame flickers in the air. You bring it to the end of the cigarette until you see a faint red glow, then you let go of the button and the flame goes out.
You inhale. Almost immediately, your body rejects the sensation. The feeling of the smoke in your lungs almost feels like youâre drowning, your chest bursting and throat stinging as you cough, nearly retching. But, it smells like Johnny. Undeterred, you take another drag, choking again as smoke floods your lungs and tumbles out of your mouth in a coughing fit. The third time is easier, still unpleasant and alien, but you manage to keep it down before exhaling through your nose. By now, the sharp undercurrent of pain in your mind has softened to a hum, and you start to understand why Johnny did it. The long smoke breaks where heâd sit out alone, nursing a cigarette and a beer in the silence.
âYou shouldnât do that,â Taeyong says quietly, âthose cigarettes are going to kill you someday.â The same thing he used to say to Johnny.
You laugh humorlessly, your throat raw and scratchy. Then, you realize that your cheeks are cold. Blinking away the blurriness at the edge of your vision, you raise a hand to roughly wipe away the tears. But your cheeks are only wetted again as more tears drop from your lashes, a traitorous admission of grief.
âYong,â you choke through a sob, slumping against the railing of the balcony, âwhat are we going to do?â
âWeâll⊠make it through this,â he says, half a promise to you, half a promise to himself. âThings will get better.â
âWhat are we going to do,â you whimper, shuddering as a sob racks through your body. âWhat are we going to do? Itâs always been the three of us,â the words come tumbling out, âitâs been the three of us forever. What are we going to do withoutâŠâ
Taeyong doesnât respond. He lowers his head, burying his face in a hand, shoulders hunching. With shaking a hand, you raise the cigarette to your lips again. It gets easier with each breath.
You donât remember when you fell in love with Johnny. You remember being a child, running through the neighborhood under cotton candy sunsets every summer break. You remember growing up loud and abrasive, a little too competitive, a little too rough, while Johnny stayed tender, sturdy, a warm bed to fall back into. You remember the first time you got drunk, at a party at Yutaâs house while his parents were away, and you remember Johnny holding on to your hand as you stumbled back across the street to your house. You remember the three of you going to the same college, late night snack runs and long days in the library. You donât remember when you fell in love with Johnny, but you know Taeyong must have been there.
Thereâs a drink in your hand and a cigarette between your fingers as the two of you sit on the rooftop of Taeyongâs childhood home. You tip the cup back, filling your mouth and throat with whiskey, hoping that maybe the alcohol can fill you up until youâre too full to hold the memories of the day. Maybe another drag of the cigarette can push out the image of the fresh dirt, of his name etched in granite, the lonely plot still waiting for his parents. You drink again, because maybe if you drink enough you can bring him back, even if itâs just in your mind.
âRemember when we were nine,â Taeyong slurs, leaning against you, âand we knocked a beehive out of the tree in his backyard, and all three of us ended up in the hospital?â
You drink again, because you wish you didnât remember. You wish he wasnât inextricably linked to every memory you have. He was there at your grandmotherâs funeral, standing between his parents. You drink again, because the thought of being back in that church makes you sick to your stomach.
You lean forward and drop the cigarette butt into the gutter that lines the edges of the roof, where it smolders in the wet leaves before blinking out, leaving only darkness and a wisp of white smoke.
âCome on,â you say, holding on to Taeyongâs arm. He looks up at you. âLetâs go inside.â You tug him towards the open dormer window overlooking the roof, back towards the warmth of his childhood bedroom. The two of you tumble onto the carpeted flooring, cold and stiff from the night air, warm from the alcohol in your veins.
You shut the window with a snap and suddenly the room is silent, devoid of any of the rustling branches and passing cars that had previously filled the space between the two of you.
âYou loved him, didnât you?â
Taeyong sits crumpled on the floor, looking up at you as you draw the curtains.
âOf course I loved him,â you reply, but Taeyong shakes his head.
âNo. You were in love with him.â
You bite your lip. You and Taeyong have known each other almost since the two of you could walk and talk. He knows you better than anybody else in the world. You sit down in front of him, in front of his wide eyes, his pink lips.
âNo,â you lie, because whatâs the point? Thereâs a lot of things you should have said, a lot of love you could have given,a confession you should have made, but all thatâs in the past tense now. You lie to Taeyong because youâre scared that if you tell the truth, itâll somehow make it all real. âLetâs have another drink,â you say, grabbing another can of beer from the cardboard box on the floor.
Time goes on, but Johnny will always be 25. Even as your birthday passes, as Taeyongâ s birthday passes, even as months pass, Johnny will always be 2 months and 18 days away from turning 26.
On the night of Taeyongâs birthday, all your friends are in the regular bar celebrating when you step outside for a smoke break. You make your way to the alley behind the bar and take your spot leaning against the wall between two dumpsters, the same place where Johnny used to take his smoke breaks. The bricks press against your back and, almost like a ritual, you imagine these exact same bricks pressing into Johnnyâs back all those countless nights out, while you flip the cover off Johnnyâs lighter and spark up a flame.
The night is breezeless and humid, a perfect first of July. When you exhale, the white smoke drifts upward slowly, dissipating into the air like honey dissolving into water.
âYou okay?â Taeyong appears beside you. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes glitter with the excitement of the party.
You grin around the cigarette. âWhat are you doing out here,â you laugh, âgo back inside and get drunker, Taeyong.â
âIâm already drunk,â he says, leaning against the wall next to you. You reach out and ruffle his bangs affectionately, brushing aside a few strands that had fallen into his eyes. âAnd, I wanted to get some fresh air.â
âItâs like walking in soup out here,â you scoff. âThis humidity is insane.â
âOkay,â he laughs, âmaybe I was lying about the fresh air. Maybe I just missed you.â
âOh, Yong,â you sigh, smiling at the way he giggles at the nickname. âIâve only been out here for, what, three minutes?â
âThree minutes is too long to be away from my best friend during my birthday party,â he complains.
âYouâre too sweet,â you say fondly.
âNot too sweet. Nothingâs too sweet for you,â he slurs his words slightly, the syllables crashing into each other, âyou deserve the sweetest things in life.â
Maybe at one point, you did. You think about honey brown eyes and warm hands. Taeyongâs eyes are dark and glassy as he stares at you, syrup-thick with unabashed affection and tenderness. âAre you talking about yourself, Yong,â you tease gently, âbecause youâre definitely the sweetest thing in my life.â
He shakes his head, smiling. âIâm not sweet,â he says simply, âIâm just drunk.â
âI meant what I said,â you respond. The cigarette has burned down to a butt now, and you drop it on the asphalt and grind your heel on the orange embers to put it out.
âThank you.â
The two of you stand in the alley for a moment, wordless as muffled music and hubbub inside the bar leaks through the brick walls. The mixture of nicotine and alcohol in your system almost has you feeling whole again, happy. Or maybe itâs the way Taeyong looks at you, watching you like his heart is bursting at the seams.
âIâm drunk,â Taeyong repeats.
âI know.â
âAnd Iâm in love with you.â
Your breath catches in your throat.
âPlease,â Taeyong says, words loose in his mouth. His eyes are half-lidded and swollen, but painfully earnest. âIâm in love with you. Iâve loved you for years. I need you to know this, even if you donât love me back.â
âDidâŠâ the words trail off your lips, the unspoken question lingering.
Taeyong nods. âI told him. He knew.â
Maybe this shouldnât have come as a surprise to you. Maybe this is why Johnny never showed interest, why he was always placid in the face of your overflowing feelings for him. The reasonable part of your mind, the part that speaks in Johnnyâs ever steady voice, tells you that you canât dwell on that anymore. Thereâs no point, not when the only person who could have given you the answers is now gone.
Taeyongâs fingers tangle in yours. His hands have always been so cold. You squeeze his palm into yours, as if you could somehow transfer some of your warmth to him. Youâre not sure if he kisses you first, or if you kiss him first, but his lips are soft and his mouth tastes of beer, tastes like him, and you canât bring yourself to pull away.
Taeyong was lying when he said that you deserve the sweetest things in life, because you donât deserve him, you donât deserve this. None of this is fair, not to him, not to you.
But Taeyong kisses you, and you kiss him back.
Youâve seen Taeyong in love before. He loves with his whole heart, with more love than his heart can contain. You feel it spill into you, too, the syrupy sweetness of his devotion.
He could make you happy, you think. Alcohol. Cigarettes. Taeyong. You manage to stay afloat, gulping in air even as youâre buffeted by waves of grief almost a year after time stopped for Johnny, the time that marches on endlessly for you, even when you try helplessly to pull it back. Time stopped for Johnny, but it drags you along kicking and screaming, each step taking you further and further away from that one December day.
In August, you start worrying that youâll forget the color of Johnnyâs eyes. Laying in bed, body tangled in Taeyongâs, you close your own and try to imagine his honeyed gaze, try to remember what each eyelash looked like. Eyes that had been with you for years, decades, suddenly begin to feel hazy and foreign.
âWhat are you thinking about,â Taeyong murmurs, hand pressed against your cheek tenderly, fingertips curling into your hair.
You open your eyes again to meet Taeyongâs gaze. Johnnyâs eyes are like a lazy summer afternoon, but Taeyongâs eyes are like a bright winter night.
âNothing,â you tell him, sitting up. Your skin crawls at the sudden absence of warmth, but you drag yourself out of bed and towards the kitchen.
âDo you want me to cook for you?â
âNo,â you call out, âdonât get out of bed, Yong. I just need a drink.â
âItâs ten in the morning.â You hear the frown in his voice.
âItâs just a beer,â you say, opening the fridge. Crouching, you cringe as your knees crack while you peer into the bottom shelf. Youâre down to your last can of beer. The cold metal stings against your hand as you slide it out and push the tab down to open it. Without thinking, you make your way to the sink and fill a pot with water before setting it on the stove and turning the heat to high. You lean against the kitchen counter, the sharp edge digging into your hip, while you take sips of your beer and wait for the water to reach a rolling boil.
When the kitchen walls are finally coated in a thin layer of moisture from the steam filling the air, you open the window and take a seat on the ledge of the windowsill, where the tiny thrifted kitchen table stacked high with a mess of letters and unwashed glasses is nestled.
âSmoking again?â
Taeyong watches up, sitting upright in the bed. You glance at him guiltily. You hadnât realized that as soon as you took the beer out, your body had gone into autopilot, acting out the ritual without thinking.
âItâs fine,â you mumble, sliding a cigarette out of the pack and slotting it between your lips. You dig your hand into the pocket of the coat hanging off the back of a chair until your fingers close on Johnnyâs lighter. âI put a pot of water on to boil, the smoke isnât gonna stick to the walls.â
âThe deposit isnât what Iâm worried about,â Taeyong responds. You ignore him while you strike the flint wheel of the zippo, cupping the flame against the cold air pouring in from the half-opened window.
You remember the first time you smoked a cigarette, standing with Taeyong on the balcony of Johnnyâs apartment, still numb with grief and shock. Now, the grief has faded to a dull, thrumming pain. That first drag of the cigarette was strange and painful, and you had nearly vomited as you coughed, but now the smoke settles in your lungs comfortably. The nicotine calms the persistent hum in your head, and the beer warms your limbs.
âI love you,â Taeyong says. He stands in the kitchen, arms hanging by his sides, looking lost in your shared apartment.
âI love you too,â you tell him.
âPlease donât smoke so much,â he says, rubbing absentmindedly at his jaw. âI worry about you.â
âDonât,â you say, flicking the ashes out the window. âIâll be fine.â
Taeyong fills a mug with orange juice from the fridge and sits at the kitchen table, diagonally across from your perch on the windowsill. âYou know thereâs nothing you can say thatâll make me stop worrying about you,â he says, wrapping both hands around the mug. âItâs just what I do.â
âI know,â you sigh. âSorry. I just miss him.â
âI miss him too,â Taeyong says softly.
âI know. Youâre the only one who understands. Itâs like missing a limb and wondering if the phantom pains will ever go away.â You flip the cap of Johnnyâs lighter idly, on and off, on and off. âLast night I dreamt about him. About us. We were all kids again and laying on his bed, trying to figure out what to do over the summer. Remember what his room used to look like?â
âYeah, he had all that baseball stuff,â Taeyong smiles at the memory. âAnd heâd save the ticket from every baseball game he went to and tape it to his wall.â
âBy the time we left for college, his bookshelf had more baseball trophies than books,â you muse. âI stopped by his house yesterday to drop off some food from my mom for his mom. I told her that we moved in together and she was so happy.â
âYeah, well weâve practically been family since we were kids. Sheâs probably just glad to see youâre happy and taken care of. Sheâs always wanted a child like you.â
âWhat are you talking about? She loves you. Everybody loves you. Youâre just a good boy.â
âShe only loves me so much because I spent my entire childhood tagging along behind you and Johnny,â he shakes his head. âYou were always closer to him than I was. I just rode your coattails.â
âRode my coattails to what, high school glory?â You laugh as you jab the cigarette butt into the ashtray on the windowsill, letting the remaining wisps of smoke float up to the ceiling.
âDoesnât matter anymore,â he shrugs. âAnyway. I love you.â
âLove you too,â you grin at him.
Taeyong worries at his lip with his fingertips as you reach for another cigarette, mostly out of habit at this point. His eyes are wide and his brow is tight with worry.
âI love you, Taeyong,â you sigh as you light the cigarette. âI really do. I donât know what Iâd do without you.â
He doesnât respond, continuing to watch you instead with those dark eyes of his.
You donât remember when you fell in love with Taeyong. You remember his laugh, the way it sounded like church bells on Sunday. You remember the way he loved you, the first time he woke up beside you, and when you woke up too, he looked at you like you were the sunrise peeking over the city skyline. You remember the way he held you, the way his touch felt natural, comfortable against your skin. You remember the feeling of his hand cradling the back of your head while you brushed your lips against the hollow of his neck. You remember the late night walks home from the usual bar, drunk off alcohol and the rush of being together. At some point, you must have fallen in love with Taeyong, because you remember waking up and realizing that time was slipping past your fingertips, the minutes and seconds running right in front of your eyes.
Itâs Saturday night and youâre drunk again. What else can you do? In a past life, youâd be out with Johnny and Taeyong, at the usual bar or at a new restaurant or at Johnnyâs place. Now, itâs like a ritual. Perched on the fire escape, a can of beer in one hand and a cigarette in the other, you let sounds of the street below drown out your constantly running thoughts. Itâs winter again, and your coat doesnât do much to protect your hands from the biting cold, but you donât smoke inside the apartment anymore ever since Taeyong had started fretting over you.
You drop the butt of your cigarette in the ashtray you had placed beside you. The window behind you scrapes against the old wooden frame as it slides open and Taeyong steps out onto the grates of the fire escape, but youâre too drunk to care. Your mind is filled with a haze of memories, of warm eyes and cold hands, of being a kid, running barefoot between the lawns of the houses on your street, of summer evenings, catching fireflies in your hands.
âAre you okay?â
You nod, taking another sip of beer. âGood as Iâll ever be.â
âOh,â Taeyong sighs heavily, his shoulders slumping at the weight of his breath. âOkay. Can we talk about something?â
You furrow your brows at him, tilting your head to get a good look at his face. He watches you with his large, dark eyes, his lips drawn in a tight line. âWhat is it?â
âI-- Iâm sorry,â he says, words stumbling out like heâs not quite sure what he wants to say. âIâm sorry about everything. I think we need to break up.â
We need to break up. We need to break up. You stare at him, unblinking, trying to let the words sink in and absorb, but they wonât.
âYong, what are you talking about?â
He buries his face in his hands, his fingers digging into his temples. âI canât do this to you anymore. Itâs all my fault.â
You put your beer down beside you and turn to face him. âWhat are you doing to me? Whatâs your fault? Yong,â you reach out and place a gentle hand on the line of his jaw, brushing your thumb against his cheek. âTalk to me. Whatâs wrong?â
âYou shouldnât be the one comforting me,â he says bitterly, taking your hand in his and removing it from his cheek. He holds your hand loosely, like heâs afraid to hold on too tight. âI canât do this to you. I feel like Iâve been taking advantage of you.â
âWhat are you talking about,â you shake your head, trying to make sense of his words.
âYou were in love with Johnny. You denied it, but anybody could see it. Everybody could.â
You feel your breath catch in your throat.
âYou were in love with him for years,â he continues, âand I wasnât lying either when I told you that Iâve always loved you. But after Johnny died, you were so fucked up. You were a mess. And that night, when I told you I loved you⊠I shouldnât have. The only reason youâre with me is because youâre an emotional wreck and I was too selfish to give up on you.â
âNo,â you say, âthatâs not true. You didnât take advantage of me. Iâm fine. I have a handle on my own emotions.â
âYou canât make it through the day without drinking,â he says, voice tinged with desperation. âYouâre not fine. Youâre coping with alcohol and cigarettes. You canât sleep at night. You canât be left alone with your thoughts, or youâll spiral. Youâve stopped talking to all our other friends. Youâre barely hanging on, <Y/N>. Youâre not okay.â
His words punch you in the gut. Heâs right, and you hate yourself for it. You lean forward, pressing the palms of your hands into your eyes, trying to will away the surging anxiety. âNo,â you mumble, feeling a terrible hollow weight settling in your stomach, âno. I love you, Taeyong. I love you.â
âThis isnât love. It canât be.â
âI love you.â
âNo,â he shakes his head. âThis isnât love. I canât love you like this.â
Taeyong shifts, but you grab on to his hand. âPlease,â you whisper, âplease donât leave me.â
âYouâre miserable, and itâs my fault.â
âThatâs not true.â Your cheeks are cold. Are you crying? You bring your other hand to your eyes, and when you pull your fingers away, theyâre wet. âI love you, Taeyong.â
âI canât do this,â he shakes his head, pulling away. âIâm sorry. I love you, but I canât do this to you.â
âDonât leave me,â your voice breaks as his hand slips out of yours. âYou canât leave me.â Not again. You stay still, frozen on the fire escape as he steps back into the apartment, as once again, your world crumbles down around you.
Youâre not sure how much time has passed before you slowly pull yourself to your feet, knees creaking, limbs leaden. The ground weaves between your feet as you stagger into the dark and silent apartment. Giving up all pretenses, you go directly to the kitchen cabinet where you know the liquor is.
If you drink enough, maybe youâll forget. And maybe if you forget, it wonât be real anymore. You think about waking up in Johnnyâs childhood bedroom with a hangover, laying in bed sandwiched between the passed out bodies of Johnny and Taeyong after a night of drinking.
The alcohol burns as it slides down your throat. You never realized how dependent you were on Johnny until he was gone. Your phone is full of calls gone directly to voicemail, unread texts that will never be read. Even now, sometimes when you open your phone, you tap in Johnnyâs number through sheer muscle memory. Itâs the one phone number you still have memorized no matter how drunk you are. How many times have you tapped that sequence of 10 numbers in, begging for a ride home after a rough night out or bored and in need of dinner plans on a weekday evening?
âHey, youâve reached the voicemail of Johnny Suh,â the tinny recording echoes in your head. Youâre not quite sure if youâre actually hearing his voice or if youâre hallucinating. âSorry I missed your call! Leave a voicemail, and Iâll get back to you as soon as I can.â
âWhy did you leave me,â you hear yourself say. Pressing your face into your hands, you squeeze your eyes shut, wishing you could block out the images in your head. âJohnny, please. I canât do this.â
Lifting your head, you open your eyes. Youâre not sure if what you see is the gray light of morning peeking through the blinds, or if itâs the dim glow of twilight. âJohnny,â you mumble, mouth dry. âCan you hear me? I know you can. I know you can hear me, you bastard.â
Shards of broken glass and the surface of the ocean under moonlight shimmer the same. âI hate you. Fuck, I hate you, Johnny Suh. This is all your fault,â you sob, crumpling against the floor. âI hate you. You shouldnât have left me. I need you. Johnny, I know you can hear me, goddamnit. I need you.â
When you were seven years old, you almost drowned in the community swimming pool. You remember the surface of the water, the way light glanced off the ripples. You remember the rays of light piercing through space as you fell, as you were pulled down by gravity. You remember how alone you were in that moment, before your mother had noticed you at the bottom of the pool, before the lifeguard had dragged you out. And you donât think youâll ever forget the way time stretched on endlessly in front of you, crawling at a snailâs pace as you silently sank.
âI needâŠâ
Whiskey. Days blend into nights, and back into days, and you watch them pass by. Spent cigarette butts litter the heavy ashtray sitting on your kitchen table. Taeyong. Johnny. Afternoons remind you of his catlike smile and warm amber eyes. Midnight always reminds you of his dark, glassy eyes, opened wide in unabashed affection, glittering with stars.
You wake up in a haze of smoke and the quickly disappearing vestiges of a dream. You wake up, and itâs February 9th. Itâs Johnnyâs 27th birthday, but heâs still 2 months and 18 days away from turning 26, will forever be 2 months and 18 days away from turning 26.
Leaning over the sink, you stare at your warped reflection on the stainless steel basin. Youâve been mourning for 15 months, and you donât think youâll ever stop mourning, for everything he deserved, and for everything you deserved. For everything you used to have. For all the potentials that are now a past tense.
It would have been Johnnyâs 27th birthday. Itâs his birthday today.
You step back and sink to the cold tiled floor, staring up at the bottles of liquor standing on top of the fridge, passing judgement on you. You reach for a cigarette, because everything hurts a bit too much, the world is a bit too sharp.
Itâs his birthday.
You remember when he turned 25 and you and Taeyong surprised him in the apartment with a cake and cheap party streamers. He had left decorations up for almost a month because they made him happy. And when he had stepped out for a cigarette break that night, you and Taeyong had joined him with paper plates laden with slices of cake. The three of you sat out on the balcony for hours, chatting into the night, basking in the glow of the city lights.
Time stopped for Johnny 2 months and 18 days before his 26th birthday, but it ticks on for everybody else, cruelly, unfeelingly, time waits for no one.
You reach for a cigarette, but your fingers close around your phone instead. Your head swimming and eyes unfocused, through your alcohol-hazed vision, you open a web browser and type in âsuicide hotlineâ. Pressing the first number you see, with shaking hands, you lift your phone to your ear.
âI need help.â
Three years and one week after the day that Johnny died.
Youâre back in town, walking the same sidewalks that are almost imprinted into your brain. Like slipping on an old pair of shoes, you find yourself standing in front of what used to be your regular bar. The worn brick face, the wooden door with chipping paint at the corners, the alley littered with empty cans and cigarette butts.
When you enter the bar, youâre almost shocked by how little everything has changed. Everything still looks the same, sounds the same, smells the same, so much so that you almost think that you could turn around and see Taeyong and Johnny trailing after you, laughing in the way that they did, noses pink from the biting cold night. But instead, you look ahead to see a familiar back perched up at the bar, a gin and tonic shedding condensation onto the cardboard coaster in front of him. Taeyong, also, looks the same as he always has.
You walk across the sticky beer-stained floors and take a seat next to Taeyong. He turns and looks at you, eyes wide and dark.
â<Y/N>,â you hear the bartenderâs voice. Itâs still the same one. You wonder if he still remembers Johnnyâs order. You know he still remembers the year you lost to grief, nearly every night spent staring at the bottom of a glass, bargaining with god. âItâs been a while.â
You smile. âIâll just have a glass of water.â
He stares at you for a moment, looking as if heâs seen a ghost, before he responds âof course.â
âHow have you been,â Taeyong says. You wonder if you should tell him about the withdrawals, about the nightmares, about the week you spent locked in your apartment in the darkness, drowning in alcohol and grief, leading up until Johnnyâs birthday.
âIâve been good,â you say, because itâs the polite thing to say.
âMe too,â he responds, fingers tracing the bottom of his glass, collecting the moisture beaded onto the surface. âI guess you can say that Iâve been doing well. Itâs been good.â
âGood,â you say.
The bartender slides a glass in front of you and you lift it to your lips, letting the cold water spread across your tongue, cooling your throat.
âSo,â you say, searching your mind for the right words to say. This is Taeyong, a man youâve known since you barely knew how to read. This is someone who has been intricately entwined in your life for almost as long as you can remember, to the point that you can hardly remember where your childhood and adolescence ends and his begins. âWhat have you been up to lately?â
He shrugs, gulping down the rest of the gin and tonic, silently motioning to the bartender for another. âStill working at the same place, doing the same things.â He hesitates for a moment and taps his fingers on the damp cardboard coaster, shoulders tense. âIâve been seeing someone lately. Well, not just lately. Weâve been together for the past year.â
You smile at him, because you know you should. Thereâs a twinge in your heart. Itâs not jealousy, just the recognition of what could have been yours, but it still hurts all the same. âIâm so happy for you,â you say, grinning. âYou deserve it, Taeyong.â
âYeah,â he laughs halfheartedly, closing his fingers around the new gin and tonic that the bartender slides in front of him. âThanks.â
The two of you chat idly like this, about work, about life, about friends that you havenât seen in years. Talking to Taeyong is easy, yet unsatisfying. You canât shake the feeling that there should be something more.
But, when Taeyongâs on his fourth drink, he suddenly buries his face in his hands, exhaling in one long, shaky breath. You wait, thinking maybe heâs just drunk, when you realize his shoulders are trembling and his breath is ragged along the edges, catching in his throat.
Taeyong cries silently, barely noticeable over the din of the bar, the loud music, and noisy chattering. You sit by him, wordless and still in the face of his tears.
âIâm sorry,â he mumbles, voice muffled through his hands. âIâm sorry. Iâm fine, I just. I donât know. Iâm sorry.â
He takes a deep, shuddering breath and wipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand. Seeing him like this, your fingers itch to wipe at his cheeks, to wrap your arms around his shoulders, to stroke his hair. You feel like you should be comforting him. After all, itâs Taeyong. Soft, tender Taeyong, who always felt too much too hard. Taeyong, who has always been Taeyong. You hold your hands in your lap, unsure of if youâre allowed to touch him.
âSorry,â he says. âJust, seeing you. It just reminds me of those times. Iâm glad to see you again,â he says earnestly, and you believe him. âI just wish I could have been better for you when you needed me. Youâre so important to me, and I fucked up.â
I love you, you think. I still love you. Youâd break your own heart a thousand times over just to lay in bed with him again, limbs tangled, settled comfortably in the rhythm of his breathing. Maybe once upon a time, you loved Johnny. But now, sitting in front of Taeyong, your heart bursts with all the love that you canât give him.
âI stopped drinking,â you say quietly. âAnd I quit smoking too.â
Taeyong stares down at his glass, fingers anxiously smearing condensation across the wooden bar top.
âYou were right, about me being a mess. I havenât touched a cigarette in a year. It feels weird, and it never really goes away. Iâm still not used to just⊠feeling everything. But itâs manageable. Iâm doing fine now, and this time itâs the truth.â
âIâm happy for you,â Taeyong says. âIâm proud of you.â
âThat night, you were right about everything except for one. I love you, Lee Taeyong. I did. And I always will.â
He bites his lip, eyes fluttering shut as tears bead on his eyelashes. âIt shouldnât have come to that.â
âI quit smoking. I didnât do it for you, Taeyong, I did it for me. I moved out of this town for me. I poured every last drop of liquor I had down the sink for me. Iâm fine. Iâm doing fine, I promise.â
âItâs been so hard,â he exhales, eyes still shut tightly. âWithout him. Without you. Itâs so hard.â
âI know,â you murmur. âIâm sorry.â
âCan⊠Can you wait for me?â He looks up at you, eyes puffy and rimmed red, but the same large, dark eyes that glitter like the night sky.
Your heart swells. âFor you, Taeyong, anything.â
âWait for me,â he slurs, pushing his empty glass away from him. âWait for me, for me to be fine too. And we can⊠we can try again.â
âOf course,â you say, finally laying a hand on Taeyongâs. His fingers are cold, but they fit perfectly against yours. âWe have all the time in the world.â
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â we lost the principalâs son! this isnât like losing the chemistry teacherâs son, y/n; this is big time! â
PAIRING âž nishimura riki x fem!reader
GENRES âž fluff, crack, friends to lovers, mutual pining, babysitter au, high school au
WARNINGS âž profanity, riki is tormented by a child and struggles with accepting that he has feelings for you, losing a kid (donât try this at home), one (1) fluffy kiss scene
SUMMARY âž to appeal what he claims is an âunfairâ suspension, nishimura riki offers to babysit the principalâs son to get on his good side. you help. you both lose the kid. chaos ensues.
WORD COUNT âž 5144 words
PLAYLIST âž crush culture by conan gray âą weak when ur around by blackbear âą tongue tied by grouplove
TAG LIST âž @mmsriza @changmin-wrldsâ @fiantomartellâ
AUTHORâS NOTE âž hihi so i hit 1k and wanted to do something like this as a thank you gift dedicated to all of you guys who have or have been supporting me and my works :D hope you enjoy !! âĄ
âNISHIMURA RIKI, YOU ARE SUSPENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.â
âExcuse me?â Rikiâs eyes were wide as saucers. Never had the honors student expected to be in this much trouble. âFor a harmless mistake?â
The principal sitting across from the boy simply returned a stern look. âRiki, do you seriously think lighting a desk on fire qualifies as a harmless mistake?â
âOkay, in my defense, Mr. Seong said the tables were flame-proof,â Riki defended, arms folded across his chest. âItâs not my fault he lied to us.â
There were several things Riki couldâve gotten in trouble for. Last year, he climbed the roof of one of the schoolâs buildings to ask you to homecoming. (You said no.) On another occasion, he stole a yard supervisorâs golf cart and drove it around the schoolâs baseball field until he was caught. Just last week, he tripped over a power cord and ended up breaking one of the monitors in the library.
Now, Riki was being suspended because he decided to flip a stupid Busen burner upside-down.
every summer, you traveled to the coast, where your grandparentsâ sweets shop sat pristinely in a colorful beach town awash with tourists and money that burned holes in their pockets. they were generous with tips and that, along with the kindness of your family members and the gorgeous sunsets that reflected red and orange on the ocean, made for some perfect summer memories.
youâd spent all semester looking forward to this trip, burning through your finals in a caffeinated, yet exhausted rage that left you spinning when it was over. the very next day, you hopped on the train with a single suitcase and prepared for the long trip to the sea. you watched through the window as city buildings melted into long grassy plains into palm trees, the music in your earbuds growing more upbeat. it was finally time for your summer to begin.Â
your grandmother greeted you at the tiny station, pinching your cheeks and grinning wide. she wrapped you in a warm embrace, rambling about the renovations theyâd just completed and how gorgeous you would find the shop.
âi won rock-paper-scissors, so i get to pick you up while he manages the homefront,â she said with a wink, and you chuckled in response, climbing into her little red four-door sedan. it was only late afternoon, sun and sky bright, but your trip had worn you out and you fought the urge to drift into sleep. instead, the two of you spent the drive catching up as you filled her in on your classes and friends and she updated you on your favorite locals.
âoh,â she said, âit was so sad to see the songs move out, but a new family bought their place fast! i swear, it felt like a matter of days before they were all settled in. they have this adorable puppy, and a boy your age!â
âwow, for real?â it was rare to see people your own age there, as most, like yourself, went to the colleges in the northern cities. âwhereâs he working?â
âthat art store mr. liu runs- he says the kidâs doing a good job.â
âhuh. iâm glad he finally gave in and hired some help.â
she snorted. âtell me about it, kiddo. iâve known that geezer my whole life and that damned stubbornness never changes. renjunâs a real persuasive character, iâll tell you that. not to mention one hell of an artist! if you stop in, iâm sure you can see some of his stuff.â
a/n: fluff | soulmates!au | <0.5k words; this is a remake for my old skz drabbles, so you might find it familiar.
You were never a believer of horoscopes nor prophetic dreams, so when you dreamed about meeting a boy with dark brown hair and fair skin, and falling in love with him, you just shrugged it off. However the world seemed to be dead set on making the prediction come true and here you are, in the same quite library you dreamed before, trying to reach the book on the top shelf.
A grumble came out from your mouth followed by a few curses to the person that put the book on the top shelf. You actually can ask the librarianâs help to get the book, but being the laziest person you are, you too tired to walk to the front desk remembering the bookshelf location is in the deepest part of the library which is too far from the front desk. You really hate how your height disadvantage at the time like this.
Too occupied with the thought of getting help, you donât realize someone stands behind you, reaching his hand to get the book you want to get until he accidentally presses his body to your back. You yelp at the sudden contact and look up at the person behind you with widen eyes. You may not remember your dream clearly but youâve felt like this before, everything that just happens feels too familiar.
Mark hands you the book while giving you a big smile. Itâs only a smile, and yet it makes you blow butterflies into your stomach â something that youâve experienced before in the dream, you miss the warm feeling he gives you. Though you donât know what the warm feeling inside your heart means, the tips of my ears canât help but feel tingling.
âThanksâŠâ
âMark. My name is Mark Lee from the Music Department.â You take the book from him and smile back at him. âI know itâs kinda weird, but have we met before?â
âNo, from what I remember.â You know what will happen next, you know you two never meet officially and yet you choose to go through it, again. â[Name] from the Broadcasting Department.â
đđ:đđ, đđđ â you bury your feet into the cool sand, letting the grains fill the spaces between your toes. the sun is covered by dotted clouds and thereâs a continuous flow of wind, billowing at your loose top. you pause for a second, taking a deep inhale as you attempt to enjoy the moment.
ârace you to the water!â the second is over quickly however as chenle yells to you from only a few metres away. but you arenât bothered by the interruption, a wide grin spreading across your cheeks. âloser buys ice cream?â you propose back and chenle nods enthusiastically.
you both line up promptly and chenle begins a countdown although you donât pay any mind to it, making your way down the beach as soon as he hits the number two.
the boy chases after you, shouting words that you canât decipher over the giggles that are erupting from your chest. your head turning back as you race to catch the glimpse of the also laughing boy as he runs behind you. your chest is heaving when you finally feel the freezing water splash up your legs, chenleâs arms opening to pull you into a tight hug to avoid crashing into you. although, it proves unsuccessful as he knocks you over into the water, clothes soaked and faces crinkled with laughter when you fall into the icy cold sea.
Disclaimer: All Characters and events in this story even those based on real people are entirely fictional.
Camera's clicking, and flashing towards them. The crowd getting loud. You feel like your heartbeat skips every second you catch a glimpse of his face.
You swore that you would never feel anything for him after the night. No hate, no love, but now that you are close to him, you feel a pang of pain. Haechan can see you. His emotionless eyes darting at your standing figure as he walked closer to you.
Even just for the last time, he wants to make you feel love. One last time he wants to show it publicly that he cares. Despite of months not talking, no proper goodbye, cold nights, overthinking. Your eyes meeting his, the love you shared together for years, come flashing back like a clap of thunder. Now, it reminds you that you're the person he failed to keep.
You don't wanna know if he's loving her like he used to love you. Don't wanna know if he pulls her closer to him when she feels unsafe. Don't wanna know if they do the same things you used to do with each other.
"Babe, give it back!" You chase after Haechan as the two of you run in circles around the living room.
"No, give me a kiss first!" He said back.
"I swear, Lee Haechan. I will count one to three if you don't hand me back my phone-" before you could finish what you were about to say, you were back hugged by your boyfriend of 3 years, making you stumbled on the couch. You landed on his lap, lips dangerously close to one another. You held eye contact for about minutes before he took the courage to speak up.
"Y/n, will you marry me?" You were taken aback by his question, making you froze in your position. "No, not like thatâ I mean in the future..." Haechan reached for your right hand, slipping a beautiful ring on your finger.
"I promise to marry you, my princess" he planted a kiss on the top of your hand as you cupped his cheeks, landing your lips to his, sharing one passionate kiss.
"I love you. You mean the world to me..." You said while your thumbs caress his cheeks with a glint of happiness in his eyes.
That night was the exact night where things also come crashing down. You wish you could have said no. You wish you could turn back time, but it's too late. Everything already changed. Pain, betrayal, tears. Everything that happened didn't hurt you physically, but it wounded you mentally. Cruel isn't it? Being one of his fans, being his girlfriend, being just another fan in the crowd.
Yes, it's you. You should've seen this coming from the start before everything started. His last words with you hit you like a truck. That's when you knew that you're scared to face the reality, but you have to.
"H-Haechan?" Taking a deep breath, a lump forms in your throat as you waited for him to speak through the phone. Your eyes looking at the flashing news in front of you. Tears starting to form in your orbs, hugging your knees to pull yourself together.
"Y/n, I'm sorry..." That was all he could say? News flashing in front of you was your boyfriend confirming that he has a relationship with another woman. Can you blame him? Your relationship with him wasn't even known publicly.
"I tried, I tried to refuse, but they won't let me. If I turn down the offer, I will lose my career." You can hear his sobs from the other side, scared of his next words. Haechan loves you, he truly does, but he's selfish to leave you.
"It'll end like this for us, my princess. I'm just your Idol and not your man in the end." Haechan broke down into tears as he said those words to the woman he promised to give the world to. You heave a sigh, looking up at your ceiling, needles stinging your heart with your tears flowing down carelessly.
"You're right, You're too high for me to reachâ I'm no one to have you like I wish..." You sob in between the words, the back of your hands covering your mouth.
"I love you, our paths with each other end here. I will admire you from afar..." The phone call ended with the two of you looking at each other's cold bedside. The warmth that two broken hearts can never feel again.
Haechan leaned the back of his head on the wall. Throwing his phone on the mirror, the glasses shattering into pieces just like what he did to your heart.
You're now in front of a stranger that your heart knew very well. Sharing eye contact as the memories come flashing back, the memories that you shared with the one you used to call yours, but now just a part of your story where the chapter has ended.
"Till, next time" he offered you his hand, which you gladly shook.
"Till, next time..." You nodded with a smile at him, which he gives back warmly before walking past you. Another heartbreak, this time with a proper goodbye.
Maybe they are really meant for each other, but not in this life. Maybe it will be the stars that will hold their memories as they started off again as strangers like they once were, hoping that in another life, it will be both of them in each other`s arms. Like other stories, theirs come to an end in a way they never expected it to be.- Zephyr
warnings: illegal drag racing, mention of a deceased relative, dangerous driving, mention of a tattoo needle
summary: "When Yuta walks into your car shop in his old Nissan Skyline asking for a mechanic to tune it for his next drag race, you almost turn him down immediately. You could have never imagined how much closer you'd grow through this process, building a friendship - and maybe something more - while building his ride. Tonight, Yuta has found himself in a race that will have him put it all on the line. For his grandfather's name. For his reputation. For you"
author's note: hey sukie @hyuckdove! I was your secret writer for ficscafe's fic exchange event! This fic definitely put me outside of my comfort zone (a lot of research hahah), hopefully I've written something close to your taste and sorry for being late đŁ hope you like it! <333
The seat felt too small for his liking as the fine leather pulled him in. Yuta wanted to fleet already, to fly off into the road, victoriously cross the finish line. He choked up in the containment of the seatbelt and the heavy expectations; too much was on the line for him.
With trembling hands and sweaty palms, he pushes back the bangs that grew too long for his small face, dyed a cherry red to fit the color of his ride. He uses a Hello Kitty hair clip to keep them off his face, one that you ironically gifted him on his first race win that he still holds onto like treasure in his pockets. The studded cuffs and noisy chains on his wrists dangle swiftly in the movement, and he decides to fix the front mirror in a compulsive urge that overwhelms him.
Hanging from it is a pair of those kitsch plushie dice and an old, battered-down picture. Him with a man thatâs worn out from time but still looks a ton like Yuta; same nose, same smile, a same glint in his eyes. Yuta hears the sudden rev coming from the car on his left; itâs loud and piercing but itâs not enough to pull him out of the moment, still taking the time to kiss the pads of his fingers and touch the face of the man depicted.
Itâs hot and humid in his car, especially after he turned the AC off to avoid any water spillage on the street. For a moment he catches his reflection in the mirror, sees the sweat droplets that collect around his temples and draw a wet path along his neck, right over the matching tattoo you got together. He smiles at the memory of you holding onto his hand for dear life, cussing out anything and everything on your sight as the needle pierced your skin.
Itâs a chrome engine tattoo, pulsating to life along with his veins, the very first component that you installed in his car.
This race is for you.
It seems like yesterday when he rolled into your familyâs car shop for the first time, freshly turned 20 and asking for the best mechanic available to help tune his car. He heard your father call your name, and soon you walked in proudly, in your oil spilled overalls and hair pulled up in a pretty ponytail. You barely sent a look his way, too preoccupied with eyeing up his ride suspiciously, while Yutaâs stomach rumbled with butterflies.
âA Nissan Skyline R34â, you deadpanned and Yuta swelled up with pride, smile shining ever so brightly next to the dusty exterior.
âIâm âgoing to Mexicoâ in two weeks against a Porsche 911. Iâm planning on winning.â
âWith this piece of bone stock? You must be kidding.â
âThatâs why I came here. Iâm planning on making this baby faster.â
Walking slowly in circles around the vehicle, you estimated the rust damage, deciding to then pop up the hood. You frowned silently in concentration as you inspected the engine carefully for any fluid leaks, corrosion, or any cracked hoses and belts.
âItâs in an ok condition, I must admit, the mileage is pretty good too. But itâs still not good enough for most drag races. Maybe if you sold it for a-â
âNot happeningâ
Startled by the absolution in his voice, you finally took a moment to look at the boy standing before you. He was plainly dressed, with a simple tank top that hugged his torso tightly and blue jeans that bagged out just enough. His long fingers were decorated by bulky rings, shaped like crosses and hearts and scary skulls, and while the shaved patch on his eyebrow gave an edge to his appearance, his eyes to you seemed sweet like honey.
âIf you make a good investment now you can get a car that can hold up better for competitions. Think about-â
âI said. Itâs not happening.â You watched him curiously as he sighed in disappointment, his sharp shoulders slumping in deflation. âIf youâre not gonna help me Iâll go find somebody else. But Iâm not selling this car.â
âMay I ask why?â
It was fate, or maybe pure curiosity. If this was any other customer you would have turned on your heel already, too deep in work to worry about a random manâs drag racing capriccio.
âThis car once belonged to my grandpa. He was a famous drifter, did drag races too. Heâd talk to me about all the car meets he went to and all the interesting people he met. My family doesnât understand this world, thinks itâs stupid and dangerous and maybe it is, so they sold all his other ridesâ. He approached the low car, softly caressing its faded paint. âBut this one he wanted me to keep. It was his last wish before he-â
âIâm sorryâ, you whispered when he choked up, still staring as he waved his hands over his face.
âNo, I understandâ, he chuckles defeatedly, âYouâre not the first car shop to turn me down.â
You thought this would be the end of the conversation with the handsome stranger, just a faint memory that would soon be hidden somewhere in your hippocampus when he slapped a band of bills on the trunk, making your eyes bulge out of your head. It was 100s. Thousands of worth.
âWhere the hell did you get this?â
âFrom racing.â
âWith that thing? You must be goodâ
âThanks?â, Yuta tittered, tugged between flattery and offense, his breath hitching in his throat in anticipation when you spoke again.
âCome by tomorrow at 6 am. We have a lot to do.â
New engine, new tires, new exhaust. Thatâs how you made your first appearance at the next local car meet, your freshly painted âCherry Bombâ making the JDM lovers swoon at her red beauty. Every time youâd rev between the crowds of car fanatics, your duo would have a brand new spec to show off, making your name well known in the small underground community. âThe ever-growing rideâ, your father would jokingly call it, reminiscent of the ever-growing friendship between you and Yuta.
At the drag racing events, people knew you as âYutaâs girlâ, but it was really you who took him under your wing and he was grateful for it. Slowly but steadily, Yuta became a part of your little car shop family, basking in the acceptance of your folks and hurting as he witnessed your financial difficulties. He wasnât just a sponsor, but an endless source of inspiration for you as well, sharing stories of all the races you prepared the cars for but never attended until heâd finally invite you to join him.
That glow in your eyes at the sight of all the tuners was enough of a reason for Yuta to ask you to accompany him every time; his personal human lucky charm. He justified it somehow, saying that âhis mechanic should be there just in caseâ, successfully ignoring the real reason behind his request that bubbled in the form of a beating heart. And it was true, that you knew his car better than anyone, but you also knew everything âunder the hoodâ of Yutaâs heart. All his ambitions, worries, his insecurities. They became yours as well, you felt them even deeper every time he crossed that finish line.
And itâs confusing to everyone but to you both as well, how you keep labeling your duo as âjust best friendsâ. Even when he insists that you kiss his cheek every time he rides the asphalt for good luck. Even if the way you run into his arms the moment he walks out of his vehicle is too intimate to be friendly.
It was just last week, at a car meet like any other that he placed tonightâs important bet.
You and Yuta liked rolling in the meeting area a little late, basking in the whistles of all the impressed car enthusiasts. Opening the truck after you parked, you took out a couple of beers that you kept in a cooler, and sat with him on the hood as you casually chatted with a guy around your age.
âNice ride man. Whatâs your most precious compartment?â
âThis oneâ, Yuta stated matter-of-factly as he pointed at you, then used the same hand to bring your intertwined fingers to his lips, âShe made it all possible. Smartest girl in town.â
You take a sip from your drink to cool your face down, your heart swelling with his praise. The man chuckles at the sight of you so close yet so shy towards each other, ending this part of the conversation with a nod of agreement.
âI see. I was asking because my friend is in town and he has the same car, well, the skeleton at least. Same horsepower too.â
âAnd?â
â...And I was looking for a good competitorâ, another man answers instead, presumably the aforementioned friend. âLee Taeyongâ, he introduces himself, shaking Yutaâs hand and playing with his car keys with the other.
It was glaringly obvious that Taeyong wasnât from around town. Dressed in Gucci from head to toe and covered in expensive jewelry, he dripped with an opulence that didnât fit anyone around him. It seemed strange to you that he didnât come over with a supercar or something, but then again, collecting cars from the â90s can be equally as expensive.
âI wanna âgo to Mexicoâ before I leave for Macau. And I want to have some extra money to spendâ
âToo bad the moneyâs going to meâ, was Yutaâs smooth response, and you tried not to smile too wide at his rightful certainty.
âSo, youâre in?â
âDepends on the prizeâ
âHow about ten grand?â
The mention of the number made you choke on your beer, the amount of money being unfathomable to you. In this city, a couple of thousands alone seemed like a pretty big deal, with most of the racers being truck drivers or small business owners. You expected Yuta to politely decline, or maybe point him to a wealthier racer when he reached out his hand in agreement.
Immediately your mouth went dry, tugging the sleeve of his shirt in shock. This kind of loss would put him into bankruptcy, and Taeyong didnât seem like a guy that would let a bet of this caliber go. He ignored you with a smile until they settled the details, and then ignored you some more when you nagged him about his terrible money handling.
âItâll be okayâ, was what he simply told you that day, and what he repeated again tonight before getting in his car.
You had faith in his abilities, that much was true, but your love for him exceeded it by much. It made your legs shake from nerves that you couldnât get rid of, your eyes welled up with anxious tears. He had put you in his arms to calm you down, as if you were the one in need of relaxing, in those kinds of hugs that muted the commotion of the people around you and made your whole body feel weightless.
âBe carefulâ, you mumbled through his shirt, your face hidden safely in the fabric and ignoring the curious stares that the spectators sent your way. His hands were playing with your hair softly in response, and you loosen your grip on him for a second to take a good look at his face before he hit the road.
âLetâs make a bet of our ownâ, he suggested, in a voice so low that youâd have missed it if you werenât so close to him. âHow about I take you out for dinner if I win?â
âLike a celebratory dinner?â
âLike a date. My treat.â
You were taken aback by how serious he was being, chuckling nervously at the proposition.
âWell, if you lose I might have to buy your broke ass dinner every day.â
âIs that a yes or a no?â
You leaned up to reach his face, petting his hair out of his cheeks until you found the upturned corner of his mouth, then planted a soft kiss right over the fold. His hands were still keeping your bodies flushed together, heartbeats beating so hard that your pulses overlapped and danced with one another. A promise, lingering in the night breeze and the faint lines of friendship you toyed with for months now took the form of your pink lipstick on the side of his lips tonight.
âYes. Now go get âemâ
He was reluctant yet he let you go, ignoring Taeyongâs teasings and entering his Skyline. It was this very series of events that brought him to this moment, staring at your extended arms as you stood between the two cars, preparing to give their cue to start.
This was a âheads upâ race, meaning that whoever crosses the finish line first, wins. Theyâd compete at a simple âUâ shaped course, testing both their mechanics and driving abilities.
Yuta slowly eases his feet off the clutch, pressing into the accelerator until he feels the car pulling him forward. This is it.
âReady?â you shout over the loud exhausts, and start counting once you get a nod from both, â3, 2, 1, GO!â
Pushing down the e-brake as hard as he can, he lets his car launch into the street. Taeyong is just a few seconds ahead of him, getting a slightly better head start, so Yuta doesnât waste any more time to go into full throttle. The index of the speedometer passes by the three-digit numbers with as much urgency as him.
And you were just as nervous, if not even more, staring at the two cars battling head to head. In just a few secondâs itâd be time for the big turn, and you plant your right foot into the concrete as if you could slow down Yutaâs car for him.
But he doesnât.
A scream gets caught in your throat as he takes the turn in full speed, pulling a drift that lives up to his grandfatherâs reputation. The crowd cheers enthusiastically, zooming in as they take videos of the dangerous stunt thatâs hardly ever witnessed live. With such a small decrease in speed, Yuta widens the margin between him and Taeyong by a whole lot, victoriously accelerating to the finish line.
Men, children, young women, they all gather around his vehicle thatâs slowly cooling down, congratulating him on the win and the newly earned money. Yuta is polite to them all, shaking their hands and flashing them his beautiful smile, yet his eyes are searching past them, looking for you.
âY/n!â, he yells at you as you walk away from the scene quickly, hiding your face with the sleeve of your jacket. âWhere are you going?â
Usually youâd have tackled him already, jump in his embrace as youâd gush over his skills. The sight of you leaving in such a hurry worries him deeply, wondering if anyone had hurt you while he was gone.
He finally reaches your speed as you enter the underdeck parking area of a nearby building and manages to pull you back, only to see your face covered in hot tears.
âWhy are you crying? What happened?â
âAre you kidding me? You could have died out there!â
The sound of your sobs blocking out your voice makes his heart break into million pieces, reaching out to pull you in a hug that you reject.
âIâm fine! I know that turn was risky but I-â
âYou got lucky Yuta, thatâs what you did! Do you have any idea what it feels like to see someone you love risking their lives?â
âLove?â
âYes! Love! Is that it? Will me admitting how fucking in love I am with you stop you from acting dumb again? Because I-â
Yuta kisses you with such force that you stumble back a little, gasping for air as itâs being knocked out of your lungs. Your lips taste salty, like the tears that cover your cheeks, and he places his thumbs right over them until heâs rubbed your skin dry. You could be kissing for five minutes or five hours, youâre not really sure; times flies by so fast when you breathe the same air as the person youâve been pining over for so long.
A hand sneaks past your jacket and wraps around your waist, his rings feeling so cold against your skin that you yelp a little. Yuta swallows the sound but breaks the kiss to make sure youâre feeling better, connecting his forehead with yours when he sees that youâve stopped crying.
âIâm an idiotâ
âYeahâ, you agree and it makes him chuckle, burying his face in your neck as you continue, âyour life is worth so much more than all that moneyâ
âI did it for you.â
âWhat?â
He sighs in your skin and stands up straight again, rubbing his neck right over his tattoo.
âI wanted to give the money to your family. Iâve seen you struggling to keep the shop open and I know you sell me the parts for much cheaper, not to mention all the hard work youâve put into my car. Youâve given me so much and a simple âthank youâ is not enough. I wanted to give back to you.â
You wrap your hands around his neck, playing with the little hairs on the nape of it. He closes his eyes at the feeling, giving in to the serenity of the moment and the sweet sound of your voice.
âYou already do. Being around you and being a part of the thing you love most- itâs given me a new drive to work and be better. Iâve grown with you, and I know you appreciate me. You didnât have to risk your life for me to know.â
Yuta kisses you again, whispering small âI love youâs over your lips. You hear a faint voice calling him from afar, yet he doesnât move an inch away from you.
so essentially, on 8/23 there was a korean twitter user who claimed to be lucasâs ex and that he used her as an ATM and made her buy things for him and book hotel rooms, etc. the âevidenceâ attached to those accusations have been debunked.
on 8/24, two separate chinese girls came forward, claiming to be lucasâs exes, and said that he was manipulative and gaslighted them while seeing multiple girls at the same time. these two accounts seem to have a lot more solid evidence behind them.
as usual, kpoppie twitter has no idea whatâs going on. on weibo, lucas is being dropped by fans and wayzennies. his weibo fancafe admins all resigned, and the general sentiment is that c-fans want lucas to withdraw from wayv to save the careers of the other 6.
keep in mind â the chinese general public is very sensitive right now due to the fallout of the kr*s w* scandal. this isnât anything near as bad as that, but this is important context to why fans are so pissed about a male idol (allegedly) dating fans and using his influence to manipulate and take advantage of them. again, kpoppie twitter has no idea whatâs going on, but his reputation in china is pretty much destroyed at the moment. his show and endorsements havenât dropped him yet, but i wouldnât be surprised if they did.
so currently, it seems like sm/label v has two options: either put wayvâs china career on hold indefinitely, or remove lucas from the group in the hopes that the other 6 can continue to work in china and salvage their career.
also, if i didnât make this clear â c-fans are not mad about dating
theyâre mad about (alleged) manipulative behavior, dating a fan and exploiting the idol/fan power dynamic, sleeping with multiple girls at once without any of the girls knowing, and (general TW, last accusation below the cut)
description. in the midst of committing felonies in the dark, jung wooyoungâyour literal partner in crime and ride and die for lifeâmanages to snag your heart in the process without you even realizing it. i mean, what the hell did you expect from seoul cityâs most notorious robber?
pairings. jung wooyoung x female reader
genre. smut, enemies to lovers (?)
warnings. bonnie & clyde dynamics, mentions of robbery and stealing and other crimes, usage of guns, car accidents, the amount of dirty talk in this one put jason derulo to shame, swearing, fingering HUH, unprotected sex (pls wrap it b4 u tap it, they litrally disregarded the condom here), riding, multiple orgasms, hinted character death(s)
notes. ended my writing hiatus earlier than i said i would along with the âsmut only once a year thingâ i had going on. this idea was just to good to let go. (tune into the playlist here!)
You were never one to break your promises, even if it meant you had to slip back into a life youâve long been trying to run away from. Jaw-locked and teeth-gritted, you floored the accelerator and the whole car jolted forward. You sped down the empty highway, gripping the rubber of the steering wheel so tight you that its pattern imprinted itself to the skin of your palm.Â
Beside you, Wooyoung sat comfortably with his feet propped up on the dashboard, counting paper bills in his hands. Who wouldâve known that a pawnshop would make an easy target? The jewelry he shoved into the black duffel bag reflected the light from the lamp posts, shining and disappearing as you passed by each light source. The red and blue lights blinking in the rearview mirror had long disappeared into the distance.Â
usernames are arranged alphabetically. blogs with some stories that contain explicit sexual content are separated from those who don't. some of them write for other groups as well.
