gyusense

side project ☾svt☽ main

[gyusense]

for anyone still following/wondering where this fic is going/if its going to be updated. the answer is yes. i will be moving it and finishing it over @neoneun-au

[gyusense]

logged into this account for the first time in forever--the series is still going ~ !! we're posted up to chapter 3 now. Please go to @neoneun-au for it !

[gyusense]

for anyone still following/wondering where this fic is going/if its going to be updated. the answer is yes. i will be moving it and finishing it over @neoneun-au

[gyusense]

hii!! literally just cried to chapter 1 of can't help myself bc it felt toooo real. you're writing is too good! could i get added to the taglist please? <3

ah !! sorry for making you cry but also....not too sorry about it because it is very gratifying to hear that it sparked an emotional reaction HAHA thank you for reading and letting me know your thoughts on it !

i can definitely add you to the taglist. the recent uptick in interest for this series has definitely sparked a fire inside me to finish up the second chapter soon <3

[gyusense]

CAN'T HELP MYSELF; CHAPTER I: BADBADNOTGOOD

―PAIRING: wonwoo x fem!reader, mingyu x fem!reader ―GENRE: love triangle au, fluff, mild angst, romantic comedy, suggestive, smut (later chapters) ―CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 5.4K ―CHAPTER WARNINGS: break ups, angst, mild language ―STATUS: ongoing

―SERIES M.LIST HERE

i: badbadnotgood

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“It’s literally fine,” you state, voice edging on manic as you take another sip from the iced coffee clutched in your (only slightly trembling) hands, “I’m fine.”

It’s a Thursday afternoon in September and you find yourself sitting at the counter of your friend’s day job, mooching free coffee off of her while avoiding doing anything you should actually be doing at this moment in time. The aforementioned friend, Seulgi, stands in front of you–body blocked off halfway by the fake marble counter–clad in a coffee-stained apron and staring at you with a look of pure concern adorning her generally composed face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look…I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but you look a little insane. Are you developing a twitch?”

“I think I might take up running,” another sip of iced coffee–groaning at the disappointment of the sound of slurping air and ice that greets you instead of the sweet release of caffeine. You shake the container to check the contents and with a wave of bitterness find that it is, indeed, empty.

“I think maybe you should consider taking up drinking water first,” she says, snatching the cup away from you and tossing it into the garbage can under the counter behind her, “and then maybe we can go from there.”

You heave a sigh–despite how cliche it makes you feel, a forlorn widow at a bar drenched in pearls and furs–and stare out the window.

Thursdays were slow, so you always took your time chatting with Seulgi and sipping on whatever drink she was gracious enough to make for you. Today had been a “three iced coffees in a row” kind of day and due to extenuating circumstances (read: an incredibly recent breakup) she was being patient. For now. If the steel in her gaze was anything to judge by, her patience with you was beginning to run thin.

“I just think that this is the perfect opportunity, Seulgi.” She keeps her eyes trained on your face–steady and unblinking–as you continue to ramble off your tired thoughts. “I have so much free time now to do whatever I want, be whoever I want. I haven’t been single in over three years. That’s so long.”

“It is long,” she nods cautiously. A glass of water is set down on the counter in front of you, condensation dripping down the sides, and without thought, entirely on autopilot, you raise it to your lips and take a sip. A small look of relief passes over Seulgi’s face as you do.

“I’ve been living with Wonwoo for two years of that, as well,” you choke the name out despite how it still sinks like a stone in your stomach–too bolstered by your false sense of optimism in the moment to let it stop your monologue in its tracks. “Not going out, cooking inside, spending more time playing video games and watching Netflix on the couch than I ever have before. Now, I don’t have to think about what he wants to watch, I can watch what I want. I can go where I want. I could watch Glee!”

“Do you want to watch Glee?” She narrows her brows in suspicion but you wave the glance away with a breezy hand gesture.

“It doesn’t matter what I want to watch,” you shake your head in frustration, “the point is that I can.”

“Right,” she nods, “you’re single now, which was sort of the goal of breaking up with him in the first place. So…live your life.”

“Yes,” you nod, mentally shoving the words ‘breaking up’ into a small closet in your mind. Not to be opened until you were sufficiently under the influence of a massive amount of alcohol. “Yes, I can live my life.”

The bell over the front door of the cafe rings out clear through the air, drawing your attention towards a young couple striding in from the windy day outside. Seulgi pushes herself off the counter in front of you and heads to collect their order–leaving you alone to stew in your own thoughts.

Breaking up with Wonwoo had never really been a part of the plan. Two years ago when you moved in with him, you were certain that it was going to be the last relationship you ever had. The hopeless romantic in you had hitched your wagon to him, and he made it so easy to build a home around. Your relationship existed in simple domesticity; in simple romance and simple companionship. It was comforting and easy. And that was what scared you in the end.

Maybe it was too easy. Maybe you were settling. Part of you started to ache for a break in routine–some excitement and adventure that he wasn’t able or willing to offer–and after months of turning it over in your mind you finally figured what you had to do to make that happen.

“Have you found a place to stay yet?” Seulgi’s voice calls to you–yanking you unceremoniously out of your spiraling thoughts. The young, beige clad couple had settled themselves into a corner booth and Seulgi had come to take up her spot leaning on the counter across from you once more.

“No,” you sigh, shoulders falling. The one sticking point in your resolve to leave your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend now, you suppose) had been the apartment. Aside from it being the home you had made together, you didn’t really have any idea where else you could stay. For the past week you had been sleeping on the couch and running away from your apartment as fast as possible before Wonwoo could wake up. Avoidance became key to your survival.

A few friends had suggested you keep the apartment and he could move back in with his old college friend Jihoon, but you already felt too bad breaking up with him in the first place to then subsequently kick him out of an apartment that he also had every right to live in. So you volunteered to leave.

“What about Jeonghan, didn’t you say he had offered you a room at his place?” Seulgi nudges the now lukewarm glass of water towards you as she speaks and you take another sip, wincing at the mention of Jeonghan’s name.

“He did,” you reply, setting the glass back down on the counter with a satisfying thud. From the moment he heard about the break-up he had offered as much accommodation to you as possible. You had been roommates for six months in college and it went as smoothly as it possibly could have at that age, so you knew you could live with him in a pinch. Although you suspected the main driving force behind his offer was to keep his own rent at his massive apartment as cheap as possible.

“And his place is a bad idea because…?”

“He has like three roommates,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. That was the only catch to rooming with him–strangers. All sense of optimism and bravado had vacated your body. You no longer wanted to change your life for the better, you wanted to dig yourself into a soft pit in the earth and sleep for 1000 years.

“So?” Seulgi asks and you groan deeper at her blatantly missing the source of your frustration, “you’ll have your own room. Besides, haven’t you been friends with him for like…ever?”

“But they’re all dudes, Seulgi,” you whine, splaying your arms out across the counter.

“You’ve lived with a dude for the past two years, what’s the difference?”

“I’ve sworn them off,” you state as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and she just stares blankly back at you.

“Dudes?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve sworn off…all dudes?”

You nod, grateful she finally gets it, “yes.” Her steady gaze bores into you as you straighten your posture and readjust your hair before finally coming out with the question you had been meaning to ask since you stumbled into the cafe at the beginning of her shift, “can I move in with you?”

She barks a short laugh, shaking her head–her bright orange ponytail waving behind her as she does. You sit, patiently waiting for her response with only a hint of the pit of vipers in your stomach biting at your nerves. After a moment she sobers up and brings her expression back to one of practised neutrality, “oh, you’re being serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You know I live with my parents, right?”

“Yeah, but they know me. I’ve met them.”

“You’ve met them once,” she clarifies, stressing the last word. “I don’t think they really want to have another body in our house. It’s not exactly palatial.”

“That’s fine, I don’t need much room,” you shrug and she heaves a sigh.

“_____, you need to find a place that is a more permanent solution than crashing on my parent’s couch. Just look around online for some roommate ads, you can find plenty that are female only.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, gathering your bags to leave. “You’re right, I should just do that.”

“You’re leaving before close today?” She asks, slightly taken aback at the sudden shift in routine.

“Yeah, I mean I don’t want to keep loitering and distracting you from your customers,” you nod, slinging your purse over your shoulders. Seulgi takes a cursory glance around the cafe–eyebrow cocked. The singular couple that had been occupying a table in the small space had long since left, leaving behind only their empty cups and a wayward glove. Aside from them, maybe four or five people had filtered in and out during the six hours you had already spent sitting idly at the counter wasting time.

In an effort to avoid as much contact with Wonwoo as possible, you had been doing all of your work (read: moping and avoiding your actual job) from the safety of your friend’s cafe on the days she worked, and the library on days she didn’t. It wasn’t an especially busy spot this time of the year.

“Besides,” you start, pushing yourself off the stool and stretching out the kink that had developed in your spine over the span of the last few hours, “Wonwoo is usually working late Thursday nights so I can have some time alone to browse through rental listings.”

“Okay, good luck,” Seulgi waves you off and you think she might look slightly relieved as you push open the door of the cafe and step out into the fresh air.

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Wonwoo, as it turns out, was not working late this Thursday night.

Instead, as you walk into the apartment at a quarter past 5 in the afternoon, you find him leaning against the kitchen counter waiting for a pot of water to come to a boil.

His back is turned to you, head bowed forward as he scrolls through his phone. You freeze in place, bag swinging at your side, for a moment–staring at the back of his head as he remains blissfully unaware of your presence.

If you were still dating, you would have snuck up behind him and wrapped your arms around his slender waist, tucking your face into the space between his shoulder blades. He always smelled like the faint remnants of his cologne–softened with wear throughout the day–and a strange combination of mint and coffee that you could only ever describe as ‘Wonwoo’.

If you were still dating, he would have laughed softly–silently–at the sudden intrusion and twisted around the pressed his lips to your forehead, mumbling a quiet “hello,” against your skin.

If you were still dating, you would have taken a bowl of the ramyun he was cooking and sat together eating on the couch while chatting about your days, or watching whatever TV show had been in your rotation at the time. A comfortable stillness would have settled over you as you sunk back into each other as you so often did. With ease and flow.

If you were still dating, you wouldn’t be standing like a deer in the headlights staring at the back of his head. Waiting for a pin to drop. You wouldn’t be frantically trying to think of an exit plan. ‘How can I get back out the front door before he notices I’m here?’ The thought swirls round and round in your mind, tying itself up with the knots of anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

If you were still dating you might have known what to do when he finally noticed you had come in. When he turned to face you and you could see even in the dim lighting of your small apartment the redness in his eyes. But you weren’t dating, so instead of knowing what to do you just gave him a small, pathetically awkward wave.

“Umm hi,” you stutter the words out as you finally drop your bag to the floor, kicking it off to the side of the entryway. “I didn’t think you’d be home until later.”

“Took the day off,” he replies, turning back around to add two packs of noodles into the now boiling water. You nod and slip off your jacket, feeling distinctly like an intruder inside of your own apartment.

The obvious bags under Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t help with that feeling.

In fact, the more you looked at him out of the corner of your eye, the more you started to feel like at your core you were actually a very evil person. Here he was, standing in the t-shirt you had bought for him last Christmas, stirring a pot of noodles with a bleary look in his eyes and unwashed hair, while you stood on the other side of the room from him like you hadn’t broken his heart only days prior.

The tense silence from moments before was now replaced by static in your mind as you let the guilt consume you–raging like a fire through your thoughts and burning everything it touched. ‘Evil, awful, terrible, horrible, bad, bad, bad person,’ it chants–over and over twisting and turning inside of you. A mantra for all the things you’ve done wrong. It buzzes inside of your head so loudly that you hardly notice Wonwoo speaking to you until he clears his throat in question and calls to you by name.

“Sorry,” you start, shoving the buzzing aside for another time, “I didn’t hear you. What?”

“Are you hungry?” he repeats himself, already setting out two bowls of ramyun on the small kitchen table before you’ve mustered up a response. You take a seat without a word, wincing at the sound of the chair scraping against the vinyl flooring as it rings out through the small apartment like nails on a chalkboard.

“Thanks,” your voice is sheepish–timid. He nods and begins to slurp back his noodles, eyes trained on his phone screen as he avoids meeting your gaze.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is the occasional clinking of chopsticks against the sides of your bowls. You sit, watching Wonwoo and waiting. Waiting for something to happen to disrupt the choked silence. To cut the tension and alter the current status quo.

You wanted him to scream. To yell at you, to throw something. Anything more than just…sit. In silence. Looking at his phone. ‘If you get mad at me I will get on my hands and knees and beg you for forgiveness,’ you think to yourself, telepathically sending him the memo you so desperately want him to pick up on. ‘Give me some emotion, for the love of god.’

The sticking point in your relationship had always been his introspection. Sometimes it was a boon. He went inwards to see things you often couldn't see on the outside. It was nice, having someone so thoughtful. Someone who sat back and observed; taking note of everything, never reacting blindly.

But as the days ticked ever onward, and you remained in that same place of ease and comfort, you began to wish he would. React. Make any move purely on emotion. Share his ugly, dirty, messy thoughts–even if they were never fully formed, even if they were retracted a second later.

Instead he remained–steady, stoic–and the desire inside of you for passion and change burned brighter and brighter until you couldn't stand it anymore. Until it nearly blinded you with its intensity.

Even during the break-up, when you sat across from him at this same kitchen table, with a combination of tears and mascara running down your face, he sat still and calm. Listening. Observing. You sat there with your heart on your sleeves and your feelings laid bare before him–more vulnerable than you had ever thought possible in your years of dating–and watched as he retreated further into himself. Even as you pleaded for him to give you something–anything–other than that.

So you left.

And then came back an hour later because you didn’t know where the hell you were going in the first place and you left your wallet and phone behind. You snuck back in through the front door, expecting to see him in shambles on your bed or wailing dramatically along to a comfort film and instead you found him three games deep into an extended Overwatch session.

Now, days later you find yourself once again pleading for him to give you something. Something other than the (mostly) cold-shoulder you had received for the past few days when you did accidentally bump into him. You needed it. It might have felt less painful if it felt like he cared more. More than hiding his tears behind whatever wall he had built inside of himself.

The silence bites at you again as Wonwoo gathers the bowls to clean up–checking yours to see that you’ve finished, the way he always does–and you follow him into the small galley kitchen.

“So, umm,” you start, unsure of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself from saying whatever it was anyway. If he wasn’t going to talk, you would. “How’s work?”

“Same as usual,” he shrugs, setting the bowls into the sink. You can see his shoulders tensing under his shirt as you talk, and that monster of guilt peeks its head up inside of you for a split second before you shove it aside and continue.

“I think I might have found a place to live,” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself.

“Oh?” His hands still in the sink, and he turns towards you–fully facing you for the first time since that night. The eye contact makes your breath catch in your throat–you can see more clearly now the redness in the whites of his eyes, the dark rings encircling them. Guilt rears his head once more. Regret. And a small–incredibly small, but still present–tinge of victory. A reaction, finally.

“Yeah,” you nod, spurred on by nerves and a desire to keep the tense silence at bay for as long as possible, “umm, Jeonghan offered me a room at his place.”

“Jeonghan?”

“Yeah, you remember him. Blonde guy–well I guess he wasn’t blonde when you met him, I think his hair was like…long and purple, or maybe blue–?” you catch yourself rambling, Wonwoo stands–hands poised still over a bowl–clutching a dripping dish rag.

“I remember him, yeah,” he turns back to the dishes, scrubbing at the bowls but you can tell that you still have his attention.

“Anyway, he offered to let me move in there. I just need to let him know when and then the room is mine,” you finish the thought and nod as if mentally agreeing with the plan you had just concocted out loud.

“Doesn’t he have a bunch of roommates already?” Wonwoo shakes the water off the bowl–from a set of dishes you had bought together shortly after moving in–and sets it gently in the drying rack off to the side of the sink before moving on to the next one.

“Yeah, like three,” you state, watching his forearms flex and unflex as he scrubs a nasty spot off of the grey ceramic bowl in his hands, “but it's a five bedroom house and one of his old roommates–Dino, I think was his name? I only met him once at that one murder mystery party they were throwing,” you catch yourself rambling again and take a breath to rearrange your thoughts, “anyway he just moved out so now they have an empty room.”

Wonwoo nods, the way he always does when he is considering what to say, and you wait. Silence creeps back in for a moment–only broken by the sound of water as he rinses out the sink–before he turns back to you with one eyebrow slightly raised in questioning, “do you even want to live with that many people? You like having your space.”

“I mean,” you hum, “I don’t really have many other options.”

“You could stay here,” he says after a breath–voice barely above a whisper–and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. Is this it? Is this the moment he breaks through his walls and fights for what he wants? Fights for you? Wonwoo clears his throat, and you wait with bated breath for him to continue, “at least until you can find something better.”

The hope you had built–a delicate house of cards stacked on his words–crumbled and you could feel yourself physically deflate. “No,” you shake your head, “I think this will be good. I feel good about it.”

“Well,” he nods once, slowly, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, “as long as you’re sure.”

“I am,” you try and offer the most assuring smile you can muster despite how entirely unsure you feel about the snap decision, only letting it fall from your face once he tucks the last bowl away and slips into the bedroom.

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“Okay,” Jeonghan grins, taking the seat across the kitchen table from you, “house rules.”

After your last interaction with Wonwoo, you had tried to think of any possible reason you could to back out of the spontaneous declaration of your new living arrangements. You had even gone so far as to look through the personal ads on numerous websites in a vain attempt at trying to find any attractive alternative that you could move into immediately to hide your shame.

It took two hours and 5 ads seeking “female companionship for free room and board” with blurry attached photos for you to cave and just message Jeonghan. To which he promptly replied with an ‘I knew it’.

The move had been relatively simple after that. Jeonghan had roped one of your new roommates, Seungcheol, into hauling nearly all of your stuff down five flights of stairs to the moving truck you had rented for the occasion. Now two days and ten boxes of stuff later, you sit across from Jeonghan in the apartment you were going to call your home for the foreseeable future.

“Rule one,” he begins, holding a finger up to emphasize the number, “wash your own dishes. If the dishwasher is full and clean, empty it before adding anything.” You open your mouth, poised to speak, but he stops you with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I know you will, _____, I just have to be clear on this point since the last incident we had.” Jeonghan ends the sentence with a somber shake of his head and you decide it’s probably best not to ask what the “incident” was.

“Second, the movie The Notebook is banned from this apartment.”

“What, why?”

“The last time we watched it it took three hours to peel Mingyu off the couch,” he shakes his head, “trust me you don’t want to see a six foot tall man in that state of distress. It’s…hard to watch.”

“Okay…” the worry you had felt prior to moving your stuff into the apartment settles now into pure confusion. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting from living with four adult men before, but this wasn’t exactly it.

“Honestly, that’s pretty much it for the hard rules. Everything else is just…be conscious of the people you live with. But I know I don’t have to worry about that with you, you lived with Wonwoo,” he laughs and then stops himself as your expression falters. “Anyway, we’re all really excited to have you here.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “thanks again, Jeonghan, for letting me stay here.”

“Of course,” he smiles, patting your folded hands in a gesture of comfort, “this is your home now, and we’re happy to have you.”

You glance around the room, trying to place that word in with the surroundings you find yourself in. Trying to make it fit. “Home”.

The kitchen was a good size–the fridge was relatively new, stainless steel, and equipped with a water dispenser which was something you definitely did not have at your apartment (Wonwoo’s apartment, now, you remind yourself). The dishwasher was also a welcome addition, and you were happy that you weren’t going to have to hand wash everything you used.

The apartment in general was in good condition. It was clear despite your previous assumptions that everyone here put some level of care into the place that they lived and you appreciated that. It made you feel a little better about living with a group of men who (beyond Jeonghan) you barely knew.

But still, despite the decent decor and cleanliness level, it was hard to envision yourself ever being able to fit the word ‘home’ here in these four walls. Despite the events of the past weeks, and the tsunami of emotions in your chest, ‘home’ still only fit in one place–in the arms of one person. And you had destroyed that.

Maybe you didn’t deserve it anymore.

“So,” Jeonghan begins, offering you a wide smile, “we were thinking pizza for dinner. Something fun and easy to welcome you into the place. Mingyu wanted to cook but I talked him out of it, it’s too formal. Mingyu and Vernon will be home later. I think you might have met them once before. Seungcheol you already know, he’ll be back later too…”

You nod, unfocused. You’re following his words but your mind is a million years away. Jeonghan, tuned in as ever, notices you drifting and stops in his tracks. “You must be tired,” he concludes, a knowing glint in his eyes, “why don’t you head to your room and I’ll leave you be for a while. Let you get settled in.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, already pushing yourself out of the dining chair and making aim for the hallway towards your new room.

“I’ll call you out for dinner later, if you like,” he turns to you, a soft encouraging smile painted over his lips and you can’t help but return it in kind before disappearing down the hallway.

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.

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Five minutes alone and you dissolved completely.

Every emotion you had been guarding behind your anxieties and desire to keep a straight face for the sake of everyone else around you (and your own sanity) rushed forward as you were unpacking your first box and you fell onto your bed in a what can only be described as a fit of hysterics akin to those of the people in the dramas you used to watch.

Somewhere in the midst of your wailing sobs, you thought you heard Jeonghan call your name outside of your door, but you were too consumed by your sadness to reply to him. Instead you tried to bury your head further into your pillows to drown out the sounds of your crying.

Sometime during your breakdown you must have fallen asleep. When you finally come to, the sun has set entirely and your room is bathed in the light pollution seeping in through the blinds. Your face feels swollen and puffy from all of the tears–dryness built up at the corners of your lips, and settled itself into your throat. A dull headache pounds through your entire skull. You feel as miserable as you’re sure you deserve to feel at this point in time.

With a sigh you slide off your mattress, letting your feet fall to the vinyl floor with a thud and reach to grab your phone from the nightstand you inherited from the previous owner of this room.

One text from Jeonghan sits in your recent notifications.

[jeonghan] there’s pizza in the kitchen if you get hungry. Introductions can wait until tomorrow.

So they did just decide to leave you alone for the time being. Good. Considering your current emotional state, you didn’t think meeting new people was a good idea. The first impression was already shot since you’re sure they heard you wailing through the thin walls of the apartment.

You consider just going back to sleep without any dinner, but your stomach answers the thought with an insistent rumble so you push yourself from the bed and pad out into the hallway–cautiously thrusting your head out first to see if anyone else was wandering around.

Three slices of pizza sit wrapped on a plate for you when you enter the kitchen and it brightens up your mood slightly. You eat them cold while standing in your bare feet and wrinkled clothes in the kitchen.

The dishwasher is clean when you go to place the plate inside, but considering time you decide it would be worse to unload the whole thing for one measly plate so you run it under the tap for a few minutes–scrubbing at one stubborn spot of hardened cheese with the sponge.

“I think it’s clean,” a voice calls out behind you and you startle–nearly dropping the dish in the sink at the sudden intrusion.

“Wha–! Fuck,” you mutter, inhaling a sharp breath to slow your heart back down to a normal pace.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, low and easy, and you find yourself praying the if you pretend he’s not there he will leave before you have to turn around and face whatever man that voice belongs to. “Did I scare you?”

No dice. “No, it’s fine I was just thinking about something–” you pivot slowly on one foot and are immediately grateful that you’re lit only by ambient lighting, “–else.”

You’re greeted immediately upon turning around by coming face-to-face with a dripping wet, bare torso. Immediately you snap your gaze up to his face, avoiding further eye contact with his nipples, and the knot of nerves in your stomach tightens. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he laughs again–so casually-and you shake your head, vaguely dismissing the hidden apology. “Not a great first impression, I gather.” His smile is bright, but a little lopsided and bashful and you are immediately reminded of your childhood dog when he would track mud in through the house from the backyard.

“It’s fine,” you clear your throat, glancing around for a possible exit strategy while still trying to avoid staring directly at his (admittedly very well built) half-naked body.

“I’m Mingyu,” he smiles, extending a hand to you and you take it briefly before dropping your own hand back to your side.

“Mingyu?” you ask, registering the name finally as it sinks into the static in your brain.

“Yeah,” he laughs again and you wish he would stop.

“You live here?”

“I do,” he nods, still smiling. “That would be why I am in the kitchen at 1:00am.”

“Oh, umm…yeah of course. Yeah,” you slide against the counter behind you until you’re no longer parallel to him, preparing to run back towards your bedroom at the slightest provocation.

“Anyway, sorry we had to meet like this, it’s not really ideal.”

“No,” you shake your head–thoughts numb from hours of crying and the shock of his arrival in the kitchen. Not ideal was putting it lightly. This was in no way how you wanted to meet your roommates--disheveled from hours of sobbing with grease stains dotting your cheeks while he stands there like a statue of Adonis, smiling like you just told him he won the lottery.

“We can re-do our introductions in the morning, hey?” There is a hopeful lilt in his voice and you can't help but agree–feeling a little like a nervous rabbit being placated by clumsy hands. He steps aside and you slip past him, grateful at being on the other side of the kitchen and not trapped between his body and the counter. “Sleep well, _____.”

You feel his eyes lingering on you as you shuffle back to your bedroom, but you resist the strong urge to turn around and check. The door closes with a soft click and you lean all of your weight against the wood, unsure of your own ability to keep yourself standing any longer.

“Fuck,” you whisper into the darkness and are answered by sirens as they race by outside of your window. “This is going to be bad.”

© 2022, gyusense. all rights reserved.

PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED. I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS~ IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO BE ON THE TAGLIST FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER, SEND ME A MESSAGE AND LET ME KNOW ♡

[gyusense]

thank you SO much for reading and giving me your thoughts on the first chapter!!!

(I would also shoot myself lmao so I feel ya on that bit HAHAHA)

these tags definitely gave me that little extra push I needed to keep working on the second chapter and finish it up here so thank you so muuuuch 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

[gyusense]

hi can i also be added to the tag list?

absolutely yeah !

[gyusense]

hiii can i be added to the cant help myself taglist if you don’t mind please? tyy

yes i can !

[gyusense]

hello lovely, would u be so kind as to add me to your taglist 💚

yes of course !!! thank you for reblogging with your thoughts too ;-; i appreciate it fdjhsa

[gyusense]

If I could pls be added to the tag list! I’d appreciate it

For sure yeah! I can add you :))

[gyusense]

CAN'T HELP MYSELF; CHAPTER I: BADBADNOTGOOD

―PAIRING: wonwoo x fem!reader, mingyu x fem!reader ―GENRE: love triangle au, fluff, mild angst, romantic comedy, suggestive, smut (later chapters) ―CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 5.4K ―CHAPTER WARNINGS: break ups, angst, mild language ―STATUS: ongoing

―SERIES M.LIST HERE

i: badbadnotgood

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“It’s literally fine,” you state, voice edging on manic as you take another sip from the iced coffee clutched in your (only slightly trembling) hands, “I’m fine.”

It’s a Thursday afternoon in September and you find yourself sitting at the counter of your friend’s day job, mooching free coffee off of her while avoiding doing anything you should actually be doing at this moment in time. The aforementioned friend, Seulgi, stands in front of you–body blocked off halfway by the fake marble counter–clad in a coffee-stained apron and staring at you with a look of pure concern adorning her generally composed face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look…I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but you look a little insane. Are you developing a twitch?”

“I think I might take up running,” another sip of iced coffee–groaning at the disappointment of the sound of slurping air and ice that greets you instead of the sweet release of caffeine. You shake the container to check the contents and with a wave of bitterness find that it is, indeed, empty.

“I think maybe you should consider taking up drinking water first,” she says, snatching the cup away from you and tossing it into the garbage can under the counter behind her, “and then maybe we can go from there.”

You heave a sigh–despite how cliche it makes you feel, a forlorn widow at a bar drenched in pearls and furs–and stare out the window.

Thursdays were slow, so you always took your time chatting with Seulgi and sipping on whatever drink she was gracious enough to make for you. Today had been a “three iced coffees in a row” kind of day and due to extenuating circumstances (read: an incredibly recent breakup) she was being patient. For now. If the steel in her gaze was anything to judge by, her patience with you was beginning to run thin.

“I just think that this is the perfect opportunity, Seulgi.” She keeps her eyes trained on your face–steady and unblinking–as you continue to ramble off your tired thoughts. “I have so much free time now to do whatever I want, be whoever I want. I haven’t been single in over three years. That’s so long.”

“It is long,” she nods cautiously. A glass of water is set down on the counter in front of you, condensation dripping down the sides, and without thought, entirely on autopilot, you raise it to your lips and take a sip. A small look of relief passes over Seulgi’s face as you do.

“I’ve been living with Wonwoo for two years of that, as well,” you choke the name out despite how it still sinks like a stone in your stomach–too bolstered by your false sense of optimism in the moment to let it stop your monologue in its tracks. “Not going out, cooking inside, spending more time playing video games and watching Netflix on the couch than I ever have before. Now, I don’t have to think about what he wants to watch, I can watch what I want. I can go where I want. I could watch Glee!”

“Do you want to watch Glee?” She narrows her brows in suspicion but you wave the glance away with a breezy hand gesture.

“It doesn’t matter what I want to watch,” you shake your head in frustration, “the point is that I can.”

“Right,” she nods, “you’re single now, which was sort of the goal of breaking up with him in the first place. So…live your life.”

“Yes,” you nod, mentally shoving the words ‘breaking up’ into a small closet in your mind. Not to be opened until you were sufficiently under the influence of a massive amount of alcohol. “Yes, I can live my life.”

The bell over the front door of the cafe rings out clear through the air, drawing your attention towards a young couple striding in from the windy day outside. Seulgi pushes herself off the counter in front of you and heads to collect their order–leaving you alone to stew in your own thoughts.

Breaking up with Wonwoo had never really been a part of the plan. Two years ago when you moved in with him, you were certain that it was going to be the last relationship you ever had. The hopeless romantic in you had hitched your wagon to him, and he made it so easy to build a home around. Your relationship existed in simple domesticity; in simple romance and simple companionship. It was comforting and easy. And that was what scared you in the end.

Maybe it was too easy. Maybe you were settling. Part of you started to ache for a break in routine–some excitement and adventure that he wasn’t able or willing to offer–and after months of turning it over in your mind you finally figured what you had to do to make that happen.

“Have you found a place to stay yet?” Seulgi’s voice calls to you–yanking you unceremoniously out of your spiraling thoughts. The young, beige clad couple had settled themselves into a corner booth and Seulgi had come to take up her spot leaning on the counter across from you once more.

“No,” you sigh, shoulders falling. The one sticking point in your resolve to leave your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend now, you suppose) had been the apartment. Aside from it being the home you had made together, you didn’t really have any idea where else you could stay. For the past week you had been sleeping on the couch and running away from your apartment as fast as possible before Wonwoo could wake up. Avoidance became key to your survival.

A few friends had suggested you keep the apartment and he could move back in with his old college friend Jihoon, but you already felt too bad breaking up with him in the first place to then subsequently kick him out of an apartment that he also had every right to live in. So you volunteered to leave.

“What about Jeonghan, didn’t you say he had offered you a room at his place?” Seulgi nudges the now lukewarm glass of water towards you as she speaks and you take another sip, wincing at the mention of Jeonghan’s name.

“He did,” you reply, setting the glass back down on the counter with a satisfying thud. From the moment he heard about the break-up he had offered as much accommodation to you as possible. You had been roommates for six months in college and it went as smoothly as it possibly could have at that age, so you knew you could live with him in a pinch. Although you suspected the main driving force behind his offer was to keep his own rent at his massive apartment as cheap as possible.

“And his place is a bad idea because…?”

“He has like three roommates,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. That was the only catch to rooming with him–strangers. All sense of optimism and bravado had vacated your body. You no longer wanted to change your life for the better, you wanted to dig yourself into a soft pit in the earth and sleep for 1000 years.

“So?” Seulgi asks and you groan deeper at her blatantly missing the source of your frustration, “you’ll have your own room. Besides, haven’t you been friends with him for like…ever?”

“But they’re all dudes, Seulgi,” you whine, splaying your arms out across the counter.

“You’ve lived with a dude for the past two years, what’s the difference?”

“I’ve sworn them off,” you state as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and she just stares blankly back at you.

“Dudes?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve sworn off…all dudes?”

You nod, grateful she finally gets it, “yes.” Her steady gaze bores into you as you straighten your posture and readjust your hair before finally coming out with the question you had been meaning to ask since you stumbled into the cafe at the beginning of her shift, “can I move in with you?”

She barks a short laugh, shaking her head–her bright orange ponytail waving behind her as she does. You sit, patiently waiting for her response with only a hint of the pit of vipers in your stomach biting at your nerves. After a moment she sobers up and brings her expression back to one of practised neutrality, “oh, you’re being serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You know I live with my parents, right?”

“Yeah, but they know me. I’ve met them.”

“You’ve met them once,” she clarifies, stressing the last word. “I don’t think they really want to have another body in our house. It’s not exactly palatial.”

“That’s fine, I don’t need much room,” you shrug and she heaves a sigh.

“_____, you need to find a place that is a more permanent solution than crashing on my parent’s couch. Just look around online for some roommate ads, you can find plenty that are female only.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, gathering your bags to leave. “You’re right, I should just do that.”

“You’re leaving before close today?” She asks, slightly taken aback at the sudden shift in routine.

“Yeah, I mean I don’t want to keep loitering and distracting you from your customers,” you nod, slinging your purse over your shoulders. Seulgi takes a cursory glance around the cafe–eyebrow cocked. The singular couple that had been occupying a table in the small space had long since left, leaving behind only their empty cups and a wayward glove. Aside from them, maybe four or five people had filtered in and out during the six hours you had already spent sitting idly at the counter wasting time.

In an effort to avoid as much contact with Wonwoo as possible, you had been doing all of your work (read: moping and avoiding your actual job) from the safety of your friend’s cafe on the days she worked, and the library on days she didn’t. It wasn’t an especially busy spot this time of the year.

“Besides,” you start, pushing yourself off the stool and stretching out the kink that had developed in your spine over the span of the last few hours, “Wonwoo is usually working late Thursday nights so I can have some time alone to browse through rental listings.”

“Okay, good luck,” Seulgi waves you off and you think she might look slightly relieved as you push open the door of the cafe and step out into the fresh air.

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Wonwoo, as it turns out, was not working late this Thursday night.

Instead, as you walk into the apartment at a quarter past 5 in the afternoon, you find him leaning against the kitchen counter waiting for a pot of water to come to a boil.

His back is turned to you, head bowed forward as he scrolls through his phone. You freeze in place, bag swinging at your side, for a moment–staring at the back of his head as he remains blissfully unaware of your presence.

If you were still dating, you would have snuck up behind him and wrapped your arms around his slender waist, tucking your face into the space between his shoulder blades. He always smelled like the faint remnants of his cologne–softened with wear throughout the day–and a strange combination of mint and coffee that you could only ever describe as ‘Wonwoo’.

If you were still dating, he would have laughed softly–silently–at the sudden intrusion and twisted around the pressed his lips to your forehead, mumbling a quiet “hello,” against your skin.

If you were still dating, you would have taken a bowl of the ramyun he was cooking and sat together eating on the couch while chatting about your days, or watching whatever TV show had been in your rotation at the time. A comfortable stillness would have settled over you as you sunk back into each other as you so often did. With ease and flow.

If you were still dating, you wouldn’t be standing like a deer in the headlights staring at the back of his head. Waiting for a pin to drop. You wouldn’t be frantically trying to think of an exit plan. ‘How can I get back out the front door before he notices I’m here?’ The thought swirls round and round in your mind, tying itself up with the knots of anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

If you were still dating you might have known what to do when he finally noticed you had come in. When he turned to face you and you could see even in the dim lighting of your small apartment the redness in his eyes. But you weren’t dating, so instead of knowing what to do you just gave him a small, pathetically awkward wave.

“Umm hi,” you stutter the words out as you finally drop your bag to the floor, kicking it off to the side of the entryway. “I didn’t think you’d be home until later.”

“Took the day off,” he replies, turning back around to add two packs of noodles into the now boiling water. You nod and slip off your jacket, feeling distinctly like an intruder inside of your own apartment.

The obvious bags under Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t help with that feeling.

In fact, the more you looked at him out of the corner of your eye, the more you started to feel like at your core you were actually a very evil person. Here he was, standing in the t-shirt you had bought for him last Christmas, stirring a pot of noodles with a bleary look in his eyes and unwashed hair, while you stood on the other side of the room from him like you hadn’t broken his heart only days prior.

The tense silence from moments before was now replaced by static in your mind as you let the guilt consume you–raging like a fire through your thoughts and burning everything it touched. ‘Evil, awful, terrible, horrible, bad, bad, bad person,’ it chants–over and over twisting and turning inside of you. A mantra for all the things you’ve done wrong. It buzzes inside of your head so loudly that you hardly notice Wonwoo speaking to you until he clears his throat in question and calls to you by name.

“Sorry,” you start, shoving the buzzing aside for another time, “I didn’t hear you. What?”

“Are you hungry?” he repeats himself, already setting out two bowls of ramyun on the small kitchen table before you’ve mustered up a response. You take a seat without a word, wincing at the sound of the chair scraping against the vinyl flooring as it rings out through the small apartment like nails on a chalkboard.

“Thanks,” your voice is sheepish–timid. He nods and begins to slurp back his noodles, eyes trained on his phone screen as he avoids meeting your gaze.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is the occasional clinking of chopsticks against the sides of your bowls. You sit, watching Wonwoo and waiting. Waiting for something to happen to disrupt the choked silence. To cut the tension and alter the current status quo.

You wanted him to scream. To yell at you, to throw something. Anything more than just…sit. In silence. Looking at his phone. ‘If you get mad at me I will get on my hands and knees and beg you for forgiveness,’ you think to yourself, telepathically sending him the memo you so desperately want him to pick up on. ‘Give me some emotion, for the love of god.’

The sticking point in your relationship had always been his introspection. Sometimes it was a boon. He went inwards to see things you often couldn't see on the outside. It was nice, having someone so thoughtful. Someone who sat back and observed; taking note of everything, never reacting blindly.

But as the days ticked ever onward, and you remained in that same place of ease and comfort, you began to wish he would. React. Make any move purely on emotion. Share his ugly, dirty, messy thoughts–even if they were never fully formed, even if they were retracted a second later.

Instead he remained–steady, stoic–and the desire inside of you for passion and change burned brighter and brighter until you couldn't stand it anymore. Until it nearly blinded you with its intensity.

Even during the break-up, when you sat across from him at this same kitchen table, with a combination of tears and mascara running down your face, he sat still and calm. Listening. Observing. You sat there with your heart on your sleeves and your feelings laid bare before him–more vulnerable than you had ever thought possible in your years of dating–and watched as he retreated further into himself. Even as you pleaded for him to give you something–anything–other than that.

So you left.

And then came back an hour later because you didn’t know where the hell you were going in the first place and you left your wallet and phone behind. You snuck back in through the front door, expecting to see him in shambles on your bed or wailing dramatically along to a comfort film and instead you found him three games deep into an extended Overwatch session.

Now, days later you find yourself once again pleading for him to give you something. Something other than the (mostly) cold-shoulder you had received for the past few days when you did accidentally bump into him. You needed it. It might have felt less painful if it felt like he cared more. More than hiding his tears behind whatever wall he had built inside of himself.

The silence bites at you again as Wonwoo gathers the bowls to clean up–checking yours to see that you’ve finished, the way he always does–and you follow him into the small galley kitchen.

“So, umm,” you start, unsure of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself from saying whatever it was anyway. If he wasn’t going to talk, you would. “How’s work?”

“Same as usual,” he shrugs, setting the bowls into the sink. You can see his shoulders tensing under his shirt as you talk, and that monster of guilt peeks its head up inside of you for a split second before you shove it aside and continue.

“I think I might have found a place to live,” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself.

“Oh?” His hands still in the sink, and he turns towards you–fully facing you for the first time since that night. The eye contact makes your breath catch in your throat–you can see more clearly now the redness in the whites of his eyes, the dark rings encircling them. Guilt rears his head once more. Regret. And a small–incredibly small, but still present–tinge of victory. A reaction, finally.

“Yeah,” you nod, spurred on by nerves and a desire to keep the tense silence at bay for as long as possible, “umm, Jeonghan offered me a room at his place.”

“Jeonghan?”

“Yeah, you remember him. Blonde guy–well I guess he wasn’t blonde when you met him, I think his hair was like…long and purple, or maybe blue–?” you catch yourself rambling, Wonwoo stands–hands poised still over a bowl–clutching a dripping dish rag.

“I remember him, yeah,” he turns back to the dishes, scrubbing at the bowls but you can tell that you still have his attention.

“Anyway, he offered to let me move in there. I just need to let him know when and then the room is mine,” you finish the thought and nod as if mentally agreeing with the plan you had just concocted out loud.

“Doesn’t he have a bunch of roommates already?” Wonwoo shakes the water off the bowl–from a set of dishes you had bought together shortly after moving in–and sets it gently in the drying rack off to the side of the sink before moving on to the next one.

“Yeah, like three,” you state, watching his forearms flex and unflex as he scrubs a nasty spot off of the grey ceramic bowl in his hands, “but it's a five bedroom house and one of his old roommates–Dino, I think was his name? I only met him once at that one murder mystery party they were throwing,” you catch yourself rambling again and take a breath to rearrange your thoughts, “anyway he just moved out so now they have an empty room.”

Wonwoo nods, the way he always does when he is considering what to say, and you wait. Silence creeps back in for a moment–only broken by the sound of water as he rinses out the sink–before he turns back to you with one eyebrow slightly raised in questioning, “do you even want to live with that many people? You like having your space.”

“I mean,” you hum, “I don’t really have many other options.”

“You could stay here,” he says after a breath–voice barely above a whisper–and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. Is this it? Is this the moment he breaks through his walls and fights for what he wants? Fights for you? Wonwoo clears his throat, and you wait with bated breath for him to continue, “at least until you can find something better.”

The hope you had built–a delicate house of cards stacked on his words–crumbled and you could feel yourself physically deflate. “No,” you shake your head, “I think this will be good. I feel good about it.”

“Well,” he nods once, slowly, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, “as long as you’re sure.”

“I am,” you try and offer the most assuring smile you can muster despite how entirely unsure you feel about the snap decision, only letting it fall from your face once he tucks the last bowl away and slips into the bedroom.

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“Okay,” Jeonghan grins, taking the seat across the kitchen table from you, “house rules.”

After your last interaction with Wonwoo, you had tried to think of any possible reason you could to back out of the spontaneous declaration of your new living arrangements. You had even gone so far as to look through the personal ads on numerous websites in a vain attempt at trying to find any attractive alternative that you could move into immediately to hide your shame.

It took two hours and 5 ads seeking “female companionship for free room and board” with blurry attached photos for you to cave and just message Jeonghan. To which he promptly replied with an ‘I knew it’.

The move had been relatively simple after that. Jeonghan had roped one of your new roommates, Seungcheol, into hauling nearly all of your stuff down five flights of stairs to the moving truck you had rented for the occasion. Now two days and ten boxes of stuff later, you sit across from Jeonghan in the apartment you were going to call your home for the foreseeable future.

“Rule one,” he begins, holding a finger up to emphasize the number, “wash your own dishes. If the dishwasher is full and clean, empty it before adding anything.” You open your mouth, poised to speak, but he stops you with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I know you will, _____, I just have to be clear on this point since the last incident we had.” Jeonghan ends the sentence with a somber shake of his head and you decide it’s probably best not to ask what the “incident” was.

“Second, the movie The Notebook is banned from this apartment.”

“What, why?”

“The last time we watched it it took three hours to peel Mingyu off the couch,” he shakes his head, “trust me you don’t want to see a six foot tall man in that state of distress. It’s…hard to watch.”

“Okay…” the worry you had felt prior to moving your stuff into the apartment settles now into pure confusion. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting from living with four adult men before, but this wasn’t exactly it.

“Honestly, that’s pretty much it for the hard rules. Everything else is just…be conscious of the people you live with. But I know I don’t have to worry about that with you, you lived with Wonwoo,” he laughs and then stops himself as your expression falters. “Anyway, we’re all really excited to have you here.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “thanks again, Jeonghan, for letting me stay here.”

“Of course,” he smiles, patting your folded hands in a gesture of comfort, “this is your home now, and we’re happy to have you.”

You glance around the room, trying to place that word in with the surroundings you find yourself in. Trying to make it fit. “Home”.

The kitchen was a good size–the fridge was relatively new, stainless steel, and equipped with a water dispenser which was something you definitely did not have at your apartment (Wonwoo’s apartment, now, you remind yourself). The dishwasher was also a welcome addition, and you were happy that you weren’t going to have to hand wash everything you used.

The apartment in general was in good condition. It was clear despite your previous assumptions that everyone here put some level of care into the place that they lived and you appreciated that. It made you feel a little better about living with a group of men who (beyond Jeonghan) you barely knew.

But still, despite the decent decor and cleanliness level, it was hard to envision yourself ever being able to fit the word ‘home’ here in these four walls. Despite the events of the past weeks, and the tsunami of emotions in your chest, ‘home’ still only fit in one place–in the arms of one person. And you had destroyed that.

Maybe you didn’t deserve it anymore.

“So,” Jeonghan begins, offering you a wide smile, “we were thinking pizza for dinner. Something fun and easy to welcome you into the place. Mingyu wanted to cook but I talked him out of it, it’s too formal. Mingyu and Vernon will be home later. I think you might have met them once before. Seungcheol you already know, he’ll be back later too…”

You nod, unfocused. You’re following his words but your mind is a million years away. Jeonghan, tuned in as ever, notices you drifting and stops in his tracks. “You must be tired,” he concludes, a knowing glint in his eyes, “why don’t you head to your room and I’ll leave you be for a while. Let you get settled in.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, already pushing yourself out of the dining chair and making aim for the hallway towards your new room.

“I’ll call you out for dinner later, if you like,” he turns to you, a soft encouraging smile painted over his lips and you can’t help but return it in kind before disappearing down the hallway.

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Five minutes alone and you dissolved completely.

Every emotion you had been guarding behind your anxieties and desire to keep a straight face for the sake of everyone else around you (and your own sanity) rushed forward as you were unpacking your first box and you fell onto your bed in a what can only be described as a fit of hysterics akin to those of the people in the dramas you used to watch.

Somewhere in the midst of your wailing sobs, you thought you heard Jeonghan call your name outside of your door, but you were too consumed by your sadness to reply to him. Instead you tried to bury your head further into your pillows to drown out the sounds of your crying.

Sometime during your breakdown you must have fallen asleep. When you finally come to, the sun has set entirely and your room is bathed in the light pollution seeping in through the blinds. Your face feels swollen and puffy from all of the tears–dryness built up at the corners of your lips, and settled itself into your throat. A dull headache pounds through your entire skull. You feel as miserable as you’re sure you deserve to feel at this point in time.

With a sigh you slide off your mattress, letting your feet fall to the vinyl floor with a thud and reach to grab your phone from the nightstand you inherited from the previous owner of this room.

One text from Jeonghan sits in your recent notifications.

[jeonghan] there’s pizza in the kitchen if you get hungry. Introductions can wait until tomorrow.

So they did just decide to leave you alone for the time being. Good. Considering your current emotional state, you didn’t think meeting new people was a good idea. The first impression was already shot since you’re sure they heard you wailing through the thin walls of the apartment.

You consider just going back to sleep without any dinner, but your stomach answers the thought with an insistent rumble so you push yourself from the bed and pad out into the hallway–cautiously thrusting your head out first to see if anyone else was wandering around.

Three slices of pizza sit wrapped on a plate for you when you enter the kitchen and it brightens up your mood slightly. You eat them cold while standing in your bare feet and wrinkled clothes in the kitchen.

The dishwasher is clean when you go to place the plate inside, but considering time you decide it would be worse to unload the whole thing for one measly plate so you run it under the tap for a few minutes–scrubbing at one stubborn spot of hardened cheese with the sponge.

“I think it’s clean,” a voice calls out behind you and you startle–nearly dropping the dish in the sink at the sudden intrusion.

“Wha–! Fuck,” you mutter, inhaling a sharp breath to slow your heart back down to a normal pace.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, low and easy, and you find yourself praying the if you pretend he’s not there he will leave before you have to turn around and face whatever man that voice belongs to. “Did I scare you?”

No dice. “No, it’s fine I was just thinking about something–” you pivot slowly on one foot and are immediately grateful that you’re lit only by ambient lighting, “–else.”

You’re greeted immediately upon turning around by coming face-to-face with a dripping wet, bare torso. Immediately you snap your gaze up to his face, avoiding further eye contact with his nipples, and the knot of nerves in your stomach tightens. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he laughs again–so casually-and you shake your head, vaguely dismissing the hidden apology. “Not a great first impression, I gather.” His smile is bright, but a little lopsided and bashful and you are immediately reminded of your childhood dog when he would track mud in through the house from the backyard.

“It’s fine,” you clear your throat, glancing around for a possible exit strategy while still trying to avoid staring directly at his (admittedly very well built) half-naked body.

“I’m Mingyu,” he smiles, extending a hand to you and you take it briefly before dropping your own hand back to your side.

“Mingyu?” you ask, registering the name finally as it sinks into the static in your brain.

“Yeah,” he laughs again and you wish he would stop.

“You live here?”

“I do,” he nods, still smiling. “That would be why I am in the kitchen at 1:00am.”

“Oh, umm…yeah of course. Yeah,” you slide against the counter behind you until you’re no longer parallel to him, preparing to run back towards your bedroom at the slightest provocation.

“Anyway, sorry we had to meet like this, it’s not really ideal.”

“No,” you shake your head–thoughts numb from hours of crying and the shock of his arrival in the kitchen. Not ideal was putting it lightly. This was in no way how you wanted to meet your roommates--disheveled from hours of sobbing with grease stains dotting your cheeks while he stands there like a statue of Adonis, smiling like you just told him he won the lottery.

“We can re-do our introductions in the morning, hey?” There is a hopeful lilt in his voice and you can't help but agree–feeling a little like a nervous rabbit being placated by clumsy hands. He steps aside and you slip past him, grateful at being on the other side of the kitchen and not trapped between his body and the counter. “Sleep well, _____.”

You feel his eyes lingering on you as you shuffle back to your bedroom, but you resist the strong urge to turn around and check. The door closes with a soft click and you lean all of your weight against the wood, unsure of your own ability to keep yourself standing any longer.

“Fuck,” you whisper into the darkness and are answered by sirens as they race by outside of your window. “This is going to be bad.”

© 2022, gyusense. all rights reserved.

PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED. I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS~ IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO BE ON THE TAGLIST FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER, SEND ME A MESSAGE AND LET ME KNOW ♡

[gyusense]

yesssssss !! haha i also love angst so even in a rom com i cannot help but putting some really potent stuff in there khfdjsak (i mean it helps for emotional layers and stuff as well anyway.....;))

im glad you liked the first chapter !!!! hope you got some sleep after it hehe

[gyusense]

CAN’T HELP MYSELF; SERIES MASTERLIST

―PAIRING: wonwoo x fem!reader, mingyu x fem!reader ―GENRE: love triangle au, fluff, mild angst, romantic comedy, suggestive, smut ―SERIES WARNINGS: break ups, explicit and implicit sex, language, mild angst [chapter warnings will vary] ―STATUS: ongoing

―after breaking up with your boyfriend of three years, you find yourself needing a new place to stay. your (self-proclaimed generous) friend jeonghan offers a recently vacated room in his apartment up to you. despite having sworn off dating for the forseeable future, you can’t help but stumble into a confusing situationship with one of your new roommates. but when you ex returns wanting you back, it throws a wrench into your already precarious position.

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

i ― badbadnotgood ii ― feed the fire [coming soon]

if you are interested in being on the taglist for this series, feel free to send me a message at any time to be added!

© 2022, gyusense. all rights reserved.

[ficscafe]

hi, @gyusense !!

your fic was recommended to us for our series week!

with love, ficscafe admins.

recs for series week are now closed.

[gyusense]

Thank you to whoever recommended this !!!! 🥰🥰🥰

[gyusense]

CAN'T HELP MYSELF; CHAPTER I: BADBADNOTGOOD

―PAIRING: wonwoo x fem!reader, mingyu x fem!reader ―GENRE: love triangle au, fluff, mild angst, romantic comedy, suggestive, smut (later chapters) ―CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 5.4K ―CHAPTER WARNINGS: break ups, angst, mild language ―STATUS: ongoing

―SERIES M.LIST HERE

i: badbadnotgood

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“It’s literally fine,” you state, voice edging on manic as you take another sip from the iced coffee clutched in your (only slightly trembling) hands, “I’m fine.”

It’s a Thursday afternoon in September and you find yourself sitting at the counter of your friend’s day job, mooching free coffee off of her while avoiding doing anything you should actually be doing at this moment in time. The aforementioned friend, Seulgi, stands in front of you–body blocked off halfway by the fake marble counter–clad in a coffee-stained apron and staring at you with a look of pure concern adorning her generally composed face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look…I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but you look a little insane. Are you developing a twitch?”

“I think I might take up running,” another sip of iced coffee–groaning at the disappointment of the sound of slurping air and ice that greets you instead of the sweet release of caffeine. You shake the container to check the contents and with a wave of bitterness find that it is, indeed, empty.

“I think maybe you should consider taking up drinking water first,” she says, snatching the cup away from you and tossing it into the garbage can under the counter behind her, “and then maybe we can go from there.”

You heave a sigh–despite how cliche it makes you feel, a forlorn widow at a bar drenched in pearls and furs–and stare out the window.

Thursdays were slow, so you always took your time chatting with Seulgi and sipping on whatever drink she was gracious enough to make for you. Today had been a “three iced coffees in a row” kind of day and due to extenuating circumstances (read: an incredibly recent breakup) she was being patient. For now. If the steel in her gaze was anything to judge by, her patience with you was beginning to run thin.

“I just think that this is the perfect opportunity, Seulgi.” She keeps her eyes trained on your face–steady and unblinking–as you continue to ramble off your tired thoughts. “I have so much free time now to do whatever I want, be whoever I want. I haven’t been single in over three years. That’s so long.”

“It is long,” she nods cautiously. A glass of water is set down on the counter in front of you, condensation dripping down the sides, and without thought, entirely on autopilot, you raise it to your lips and take a sip. A small look of relief passes over Seulgi’s face as you do.

“I’ve been living with Wonwoo for two years of that, as well,” you choke the name out despite how it still sinks like a stone in your stomach–too bolstered by your false sense of optimism in the moment to let it stop your monologue in its tracks. “Not going out, cooking inside, spending more time playing video games and watching Netflix on the couch than I ever have before. Now, I don’t have to think about what he wants to watch, I can watch what I want. I can go where I want. I could watch Glee!”

“Do you want to watch Glee?” She narrows her brows in suspicion but you wave the glance away with a breezy hand gesture.

“It doesn’t matter what I want to watch,” you shake your head in frustration, “the point is that I can.”

“Right,” she nods, “you’re single now, which was sort of the goal of breaking up with him in the first place. So…live your life.”

“Yes,” you nod, mentally shoving the words ‘breaking up’ into a small closet in your mind. Not to be opened until you were sufficiently under the influence of a massive amount of alcohol. “Yes, I can live my life.”

The bell over the front door of the cafe rings out clear through the air, drawing your attention towards a young couple striding in from the windy day outside. Seulgi pushes herself off the counter in front of you and heads to collect their order–leaving you alone to stew in your own thoughts.

Breaking up with Wonwoo had never really been a part of the plan. Two years ago when you moved in with him, you were certain that it was going to be the last relationship you ever had. The hopeless romantic in you had hitched your wagon to him, and he made it so easy to build a home around. Your relationship existed in simple domesticity; in simple romance and simple companionship. It was comforting and easy. And that was what scared you in the end.

Maybe it was too easy. Maybe you were settling. Part of you started to ache for a break in routine–some excitement and adventure that he wasn’t able or willing to offer–and after months of turning it over in your mind you finally figured what you had to do to make that happen.

“Have you found a place to stay yet?” Seulgi’s voice calls to you–yanking you unceremoniously out of your spiraling thoughts. The young, beige clad couple had settled themselves into a corner booth and Seulgi had come to take up her spot leaning on the counter across from you once more.

“No,” you sigh, shoulders falling. The one sticking point in your resolve to leave your boyfriend (ex-boyfriend now, you suppose) had been the apartment. Aside from it being the home you had made together, you didn’t really have any idea where else you could stay. For the past week you had been sleeping on the couch and running away from your apartment as fast as possible before Wonwoo could wake up. Avoidance became key to your survival.

A few friends had suggested you keep the apartment and he could move back in with his old college friend Jihoon, but you already felt too bad breaking up with him in the first place to then subsequently kick him out of an apartment that he also had every right to live in. So you volunteered to leave.

“What about Jeonghan, didn’t you say he had offered you a room at his place?” Seulgi nudges the now lukewarm glass of water towards you as she speaks and you take another sip, wincing at the mention of Jeonghan’s name.

“He did,” you reply, setting the glass back down on the counter with a satisfying thud. From the moment he heard about the break-up he had offered as much accommodation to you as possible. You had been roommates for six months in college and it went as smoothly as it possibly could have at that age, so you knew you could live with him in a pinch. Although you suspected the main driving force behind his offer was to keep his own rent at his massive apartment as cheap as possible.

“And his place is a bad idea because…?”

“He has like three roommates,” you groan, dropping your head into your hands. That was the only catch to rooming with him–strangers. All sense of optimism and bravado had vacated your body. You no longer wanted to change your life for the better, you wanted to dig yourself into a soft pit in the earth and sleep for 1000 years.

“So?” Seulgi asks and you groan deeper at her blatantly missing the source of your frustration, “you’ll have your own room. Besides, haven’t you been friends with him for like…ever?”

“But they’re all dudes, Seulgi,” you whine, splaying your arms out across the counter.

“You’ve lived with a dude for the past two years, what’s the difference?”

“I’ve sworn them off,” you state as if it’s the most natural thing in the world and she just stares blankly back at you.

“Dudes?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve sworn off…all dudes?”

You nod, grateful she finally gets it, “yes.” Her steady gaze bores into you as you straighten your posture and readjust your hair before finally coming out with the question you had been meaning to ask since you stumbled into the cafe at the beginning of her shift, “can I move in with you?”

She barks a short laugh, shaking her head–her bright orange ponytail waving behind her as she does. You sit, patiently waiting for her response with only a hint of the pit of vipers in your stomach biting at your nerves. After a moment she sobers up and brings her expression back to one of practised neutrality, “oh, you’re being serious.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You know I live with my parents, right?”

“Yeah, but they know me. I’ve met them.”

“You’ve met them once,” she clarifies, stressing the last word. “I don’t think they really want to have another body in our house. It’s not exactly palatial.”

“That’s fine, I don’t need much room,” you shrug and she heaves a sigh.

“_____, you need to find a place that is a more permanent solution than crashing on my parent’s couch. Just look around online for some roommate ads, you can find plenty that are female only.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, gathering your bags to leave. “You’re right, I should just do that.”

“You’re leaving before close today?” She asks, slightly taken aback at the sudden shift in routine.

“Yeah, I mean I don’t want to keep loitering and distracting you from your customers,” you nod, slinging your purse over your shoulders. Seulgi takes a cursory glance around the cafe–eyebrow cocked. The singular couple that had been occupying a table in the small space had long since left, leaving behind only their empty cups and a wayward glove. Aside from them, maybe four or five people had filtered in and out during the six hours you had already spent sitting idly at the counter wasting time.

In an effort to avoid as much contact with Wonwoo as possible, you had been doing all of your work (read: moping and avoiding your actual job) from the safety of your friend’s cafe on the days she worked, and the library on days she didn’t. It wasn’t an especially busy spot this time of the year.

“Besides,” you start, pushing yourself off the stool and stretching out the kink that had developed in your spine over the span of the last few hours, “Wonwoo is usually working late Thursday nights so I can have some time alone to browse through rental listings.”

“Okay, good luck,” Seulgi waves you off and you think she might look slightly relieved as you push open the door of the cafe and step out into the fresh air.

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Wonwoo, as it turns out, was not working late this Thursday night.

Instead, as you walk into the apartment at a quarter past 5 in the afternoon, you find him leaning against the kitchen counter waiting for a pot of water to come to a boil.

His back is turned to you, head bowed forward as he scrolls through his phone. You freeze in place, bag swinging at your side, for a moment–staring at the back of his head as he remains blissfully unaware of your presence.

If you were still dating, you would have snuck up behind him and wrapped your arms around his slender waist, tucking your face into the space between his shoulder blades. He always smelled like the faint remnants of his cologne–softened with wear throughout the day–and a strange combination of mint and coffee that you could only ever describe as ‘Wonwoo’.

If you were still dating, he would have laughed softly–silently–at the sudden intrusion and twisted around the pressed his lips to your forehead, mumbling a quiet “hello,” against your skin.

If you were still dating, you would have taken a bowl of the ramyun he was cooking and sat together eating on the couch while chatting about your days, or watching whatever TV show had been in your rotation at the time. A comfortable stillness would have settled over you as you sunk back into each other as you so often did. With ease and flow.

If you were still dating, you wouldn’t be standing like a deer in the headlights staring at the back of his head. Waiting for a pin to drop. You wouldn’t be frantically trying to think of an exit plan. ‘How can I get back out the front door before he notices I’m here?’ The thought swirls round and round in your mind, tying itself up with the knots of anxiety in the pit of your stomach.

If you were still dating you might have known what to do when he finally noticed you had come in. When he turned to face you and you could see even in the dim lighting of your small apartment the redness in his eyes. But you weren’t dating, so instead of knowing what to do you just gave him a small, pathetically awkward wave.

“Umm hi,” you stutter the words out as you finally drop your bag to the floor, kicking it off to the side of the entryway. “I didn’t think you’d be home until later.”

“Took the day off,” he replies, turning back around to add two packs of noodles into the now boiling water. You nod and slip off your jacket, feeling distinctly like an intruder inside of your own apartment.

The obvious bags under Wonwoo’s eyes didn’t help with that feeling.

In fact, the more you looked at him out of the corner of your eye, the more you started to feel like at your core you were actually a very evil person. Here he was, standing in the t-shirt you had bought for him last Christmas, stirring a pot of noodles with a bleary look in his eyes and unwashed hair, while you stood on the other side of the room from him like you hadn’t broken his heart only days prior.

The tense silence from moments before was now replaced by static in your mind as you let the guilt consume you–raging like a fire through your thoughts and burning everything it touched. ‘Evil, awful, terrible, horrible, bad, bad, bad person,’ it chants–over and over twisting and turning inside of you. A mantra for all the things you’ve done wrong. It buzzes inside of your head so loudly that you hardly notice Wonwoo speaking to you until he clears his throat in question and calls to you by name.

“Sorry,” you start, shoving the buzzing aside for another time, “I didn’t hear you. What?”

“Are you hungry?” he repeats himself, already setting out two bowls of ramyun on the small kitchen table before you’ve mustered up a response. You take a seat without a word, wincing at the sound of the chair scraping against the vinyl flooring as it rings out through the small apartment like nails on a chalkboard.

“Thanks,” your voice is sheepish–timid. He nods and begins to slurp back his noodles, eyes trained on his phone screen as he avoids meeting your gaze.

For a few minutes, the only sound in the room is the occasional clinking of chopsticks against the sides of your bowls. You sit, watching Wonwoo and waiting. Waiting for something to happen to disrupt the choked silence. To cut the tension and alter the current status quo.

You wanted him to scream. To yell at you, to throw something. Anything more than just…sit. In silence. Looking at his phone. ‘If you get mad at me I will get on my hands and knees and beg you for forgiveness,’ you think to yourself, telepathically sending him the memo you so desperately want him to pick up on. ‘Give me some emotion, for the love of god.’

The sticking point in your relationship had always been his introspection. Sometimes it was a boon. He went inwards to see things you often couldn't see on the outside. It was nice, having someone so thoughtful. Someone who sat back and observed; taking note of everything, never reacting blindly.

But as the days ticked ever onward, and you remained in that same place of ease and comfort, you began to wish he would. React. Make any move purely on emotion. Share his ugly, dirty, messy thoughts–even if they were never fully formed, even if they were retracted a second later.

Instead he remained–steady, stoic–and the desire inside of you for passion and change burned brighter and brighter until you couldn't stand it anymore. Until it nearly blinded you with its intensity.

Even during the break-up, when you sat across from him at this same kitchen table, with a combination of tears and mascara running down your face, he sat still and calm. Listening. Observing. You sat there with your heart on your sleeves and your feelings laid bare before him–more vulnerable than you had ever thought possible in your years of dating–and watched as he retreated further into himself. Even as you pleaded for him to give you something–anything–other than that.

So you left.

And then came back an hour later because you didn’t know where the hell you were going in the first place and you left your wallet and phone behind. You snuck back in through the front door, expecting to see him in shambles on your bed or wailing dramatically along to a comfort film and instead you found him three games deep into an extended Overwatch session.

Now, days later you find yourself once again pleading for him to give you something. Something other than the (mostly) cold-shoulder you had received for the past few days when you did accidentally bump into him. You needed it. It might have felt less painful if it felt like he cared more. More than hiding his tears behind whatever wall he had built inside of himself.

The silence bites at you again as Wonwoo gathers the bowls to clean up–checking yours to see that you’ve finished, the way he always does–and you follow him into the small galley kitchen.

“So, umm,” you start, unsure of what you’re about to say but unable to stop yourself from saying whatever it was anyway. If he wasn’t going to talk, you would. “How’s work?”

“Same as usual,” he shrugs, setting the bowls into the sink. You can see his shoulders tensing under his shirt as you talk, and that monster of guilt peeks its head up inside of you for a split second before you shove it aside and continue.

“I think I might have found a place to live,” you say suddenly, surprising even yourself.

“Oh?” His hands still in the sink, and he turns towards you–fully facing you for the first time since that night. The eye contact makes your breath catch in your throat–you can see more clearly now the redness in the whites of his eyes, the dark rings encircling them. Guilt rears his head once more. Regret. And a small–incredibly small, but still present–tinge of victory. A reaction, finally.

“Yeah,” you nod, spurred on by nerves and a desire to keep the tense silence at bay for as long as possible, “umm, Jeonghan offered me a room at his place.”

“Jeonghan?”

“Yeah, you remember him. Blonde guy–well I guess he wasn’t blonde when you met him, I think his hair was like…long and purple, or maybe blue–?” you catch yourself rambling, Wonwoo stands–hands poised still over a bowl–clutching a dripping dish rag.

“I remember him, yeah,” he turns back to the dishes, scrubbing at the bowls but you can tell that you still have his attention.

“Anyway, he offered to let me move in there. I just need to let him know when and then the room is mine,” you finish the thought and nod as if mentally agreeing with the plan you had just concocted out loud.

“Doesn’t he have a bunch of roommates already?” Wonwoo shakes the water off the bowl–from a set of dishes you had bought together shortly after moving in–and sets it gently in the drying rack off to the side of the sink before moving on to the next one.

“Yeah, like three,” you state, watching his forearms flex and unflex as he scrubs a nasty spot off of the grey ceramic bowl in his hands, “but it's a five bedroom house and one of his old roommates–Dino, I think was his name? I only met him once at that one murder mystery party they were throwing,” you catch yourself rambling again and take a breath to rearrange your thoughts, “anyway he just moved out so now they have an empty room.”

Wonwoo nods, the way he always does when he is considering what to say, and you wait. Silence creeps back in for a moment–only broken by the sound of water as he rinses out the sink–before he turns back to you with one eyebrow slightly raised in questioning, “do you even want to live with that many people? You like having your space.”

“I mean,” you hum, “I don’t really have many other options.”

“You could stay here,” he says after a breath–voice barely above a whisper–and you feel your heart stutter in your chest. Is this it? Is this the moment he breaks through his walls and fights for what he wants? Fights for you? Wonwoo clears his throat, and you wait with bated breath for him to continue, “at least until you can find something better.”

The hope you had built–a delicate house of cards stacked on his words–crumbled and you could feel yourself physically deflate. “No,” you shake your head, “I think this will be good. I feel good about it.”

“Well,” he nods once, slowly, one eyebrow raised in suspicion, “as long as you’re sure.”

“I am,” you try and offer the most assuring smile you can muster despite how entirely unsure you feel about the snap decision, only letting it fall from your face once he tucks the last bowl away and slips into the bedroom.

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.

.

“Okay,” Jeonghan grins, taking the seat across the kitchen table from you, “house rules.”

After your last interaction with Wonwoo, you had tried to think of any possible reason you could to back out of the spontaneous declaration of your new living arrangements. You had even gone so far as to look through the personal ads on numerous websites in a vain attempt at trying to find any attractive alternative that you could move into immediately to hide your shame.

It took two hours and 5 ads seeking “female companionship for free room and board” with blurry attached photos for you to cave and just message Jeonghan. To which he promptly replied with an ‘I knew it’.

The move had been relatively simple after that. Jeonghan had roped one of your new roommates, Seungcheol, into hauling nearly all of your stuff down five flights of stairs to the moving truck you had rented for the occasion. Now two days and ten boxes of stuff later, you sit across from Jeonghan in the apartment you were going to call your home for the foreseeable future.

“Rule one,” he begins, holding a finger up to emphasize the number, “wash your own dishes. If the dishwasher is full and clean, empty it before adding anything.” You open your mouth, poised to speak, but he stops you with a dismissive wave of his hand, “I know you will, _____, I just have to be clear on this point since the last incident we had.” Jeonghan ends the sentence with a somber shake of his head and you decide it’s probably best not to ask what the “incident” was.

“Second, the movie The Notebook is banned from this apartment.”

“What, why?”

“The last time we watched it it took three hours to peel Mingyu off the couch,” he shakes his head, “trust me you don’t want to see a six foot tall man in that state of distress. It’s…hard to watch.”

“Okay…” the worry you had felt prior to moving your stuff into the apartment settles now into pure confusion. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting from living with four adult men before, but this wasn’t exactly it.

“Honestly, that’s pretty much it for the hard rules. Everything else is just…be conscious of the people you live with. But I know I don’t have to worry about that with you, you lived with Wonwoo,” he laughs and then stops himself as your expression falters. “Anyway, we’re all really excited to have you here.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “thanks again, Jeonghan, for letting me stay here.”

“Of course,” he smiles, patting your folded hands in a gesture of comfort, “this is your home now, and we’re happy to have you.”

You glance around the room, trying to place that word in with the surroundings you find yourself in. Trying to make it fit. “Home”.

The kitchen was a good size–the fridge was relatively new, stainless steel, and equipped with a water dispenser which was something you definitely did not have at your apartment (Wonwoo’s apartment, now, you remind yourself). The dishwasher was also a welcome addition, and you were happy that you weren’t going to have to hand wash everything you used.

The apartment in general was in good condition. It was clear despite your previous assumptions that everyone here put some level of care into the place that they lived and you appreciated that. It made you feel a little better about living with a group of men who (beyond Jeonghan) you barely knew.

But still, despite the decent decor and cleanliness level, it was hard to envision yourself ever being able to fit the word ‘home’ here in these four walls. Despite the events of the past weeks, and the tsunami of emotions in your chest, ‘home’ still only fit in one place–in the arms of one person. And you had destroyed that.

Maybe you didn’t deserve it anymore.

“So,” Jeonghan begins, offering you a wide smile, “we were thinking pizza for dinner. Something fun and easy to welcome you into the place. Mingyu wanted to cook but I talked him out of it, it’s too formal. Mingyu and Vernon will be home later. I think you might have met them once before. Seungcheol you already know, he’ll be back later too…”

You nod, unfocused. You’re following his words but your mind is a million years away. Jeonghan, tuned in as ever, notices you drifting and stops in his tracks. “You must be tired,” he concludes, a knowing glint in his eyes, “why don’t you head to your room and I’ll leave you be for a while. Let you get settled in.”

“Thank you,” you breathe, already pushing yourself out of the dining chair and making aim for the hallway towards your new room.

“I’ll call you out for dinner later, if you like,” he turns to you, a soft encouraging smile painted over his lips and you can’t help but return it in kind before disappearing down the hallway.

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.

.

Five minutes alone and you dissolved completely.

Every emotion you had been guarding behind your anxieties and desire to keep a straight face for the sake of everyone else around you (and your own sanity) rushed forward as you were unpacking your first box and you fell onto your bed in a what can only be described as a fit of hysterics akin to those of the people in the dramas you used to watch.

Somewhere in the midst of your wailing sobs, you thought you heard Jeonghan call your name outside of your door, but you were too consumed by your sadness to reply to him. Instead you tried to bury your head further into your pillows to drown out the sounds of your crying.

Sometime during your breakdown you must have fallen asleep. When you finally come to, the sun has set entirely and your room is bathed in the light pollution seeping in through the blinds. Your face feels swollen and puffy from all of the tears–dryness built up at the corners of your lips, and settled itself into your throat. A dull headache pounds through your entire skull. You feel as miserable as you’re sure you deserve to feel at this point in time.

With a sigh you slide off your mattress, letting your feet fall to the vinyl floor with a thud and reach to grab your phone from the nightstand you inherited from the previous owner of this room.

One text from Jeonghan sits in your recent notifications.

[jeonghan] there’s pizza in the kitchen if you get hungry. Introductions can wait until tomorrow.

So they did just decide to leave you alone for the time being. Good. Considering your current emotional state, you didn’t think meeting new people was a good idea. The first impression was already shot since you’re sure they heard you wailing through the thin walls of the apartment.

You consider just going back to sleep without any dinner, but your stomach answers the thought with an insistent rumble so you push yourself from the bed and pad out into the hallway–cautiously thrusting your head out first to see if anyone else was wandering around.

Three slices of pizza sit wrapped on a plate for you when you enter the kitchen and it brightens up your mood slightly. You eat them cold while standing in your bare feet and wrinkled clothes in the kitchen.

The dishwasher is clean when you go to place the plate inside, but considering time you decide it would be worse to unload the whole thing for one measly plate so you run it under the tap for a few minutes–scrubbing at one stubborn spot of hardened cheese with the sponge.

“I think it’s clean,” a voice calls out behind you and you startle–nearly dropping the dish in the sink at the sudden intrusion.

“Wha–! Fuck,” you mutter, inhaling a sharp breath to slow your heart back down to a normal pace.

“Sorry,” he chuckles, low and easy, and you find yourself praying the if you pretend he’s not there he will leave before you have to turn around and face whatever man that voice belongs to. “Did I scare you?”

No dice. “No, it’s fine I was just thinking about something–” you pivot slowly on one foot and are immediately grateful that you’re lit only by ambient lighting, “–else.”

You’re greeted immediately upon turning around by coming face-to-face with a dripping wet, bare torso. Immediately you snap your gaze up to his face, avoiding further eye contact with his nipples, and the knot of nerves in your stomach tightens. “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he laughs again–so casually-and you shake your head, vaguely dismissing the hidden apology. “Not a great first impression, I gather.” His smile is bright, but a little lopsided and bashful and you are immediately reminded of your childhood dog when he would track mud in through the house from the backyard.

“It’s fine,” you clear your throat, glancing around for a possible exit strategy while still trying to avoid staring directly at his (admittedly very well built) half-naked body.

“I’m Mingyu,” he smiles, extending a hand to you and you take it briefly before dropping your own hand back to your side.

“Mingyu?” you ask, registering the name finally as it sinks into the static in your brain.

“Yeah,” he laughs again and you wish he would stop.

“You live here?”

“I do,” he nods, still smiling. “That would be why I am in the kitchen at 1:00am.”

“Oh, umm…yeah of course. Yeah,” you slide against the counter behind you until you’re no longer parallel to him, preparing to run back towards your bedroom at the slightest provocation.

“Anyway, sorry we had to meet like this, it’s not really ideal.”

“No,” you shake your head–thoughts numb from hours of crying and the shock of his arrival in the kitchen. Not ideal was putting it lightly. This was in no way how you wanted to meet your roommates--disheveled from hours of sobbing with grease stains dotting your cheeks while he stands there like a statue of Adonis, smiling like you just told him he won the lottery.

“We can re-do our introductions in the morning, hey?” There is a hopeful lilt in his voice and you can't help but agree–feeling a little like a nervous rabbit being placated by clumsy hands. He steps aside and you slip past him, grateful at being on the other side of the kitchen and not trapped between his body and the counter. “Sleep well, _____.”

You feel his eyes lingering on you as you shuffle back to your bedroom, but you resist the strong urge to turn around and check. The door closes with a soft click and you lean all of your weight against the wood, unsure of your own ability to keep yourself standing any longer.

“Fuck,” you whisper into the darkness and are answered by sirens as they race by outside of your window. “This is going to be bad.”

© 2022, gyusense. all rights reserved.

PLEASE LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG IF YOU ENJOYED. I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS~ IF YOU WANT TO BE ADDED TO BE ON THE TAGLIST FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER, SEND ME A MESSAGE AND LET ME KNOW ♡

[gyusense]

CAN’T HELP MYSELF; CHAPTER I: BADBADNOTGOOD

―PAIRING: wonwoo x fem!reader, mingyu x fem!reader ―GENRE: love triangle au, fluff, mild angst, romantic comedy, suggestive, smut (later chapters) ―CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 5.4K ―CHAPTER WARNINGS: break ups, angst, mild language ―STATUS: ongoing

―SERIES M.LIST HERE

i: badbadnotgood

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“It’s literally fine,” you state, voice edging on manic as you take another sip from the iced coffee clutched in your (only slightly trembling) hands, “I’m fine.”

It’s a Thursday afternoon in September and you find yourself sitting at the counter of your friend’s day job, mooching free coffee off of her while avoiding doing anything you should actually be doing at this moment in time. The aforementioned friend, Seulgi, stands in front of you–body blocked off halfway by the fake marble counter–clad in a coffee-stained apron and staring at you with a look of pure concern adorning her generally composed face. “Are you sure you’re okay? You look…I don’t mean to sound insensitive, but you look a little insane. Are you developing a twitch?”

Keep reading

[nctsworld]

- i’m in love with this!! i just had to read some of it during my lunch break cause i couldn’t put it down and then i got to the ending so fast like ???? what ????? more i need more

Keep reading

[gyusense]

AH CEE !!!! Thank you so much for reading and letting me know your thoughts i was just thinking about working on finishing up the next chapter and then !! this !!

im really glad you liked it aaahhh (i know, frustrating wonwoo in this chapter but soon!!! soon! also more mingyu to come ;))

[gyusense]

pls add me to the taglist for cant help myself as @aunty-tiger-potato

Yes absolutely !! <3 I am hoping to have the next chapter out soon (a few days to a week), so stay tuned hehe

[gyusense]

Hi! Can I please be on the tag list for CHM? 🥰

Absolutely!!! Thank you for the interest~ :))

[gyusense]

could i be added to the taglist too pls 😊💖

yes absolutely !! <3

[gyusense]

hello hope u are doing well ^^ can i be added to the taglist for cant help myself ??

Yeah absolutely ! I hope you're enjoying it so far hehe

[gyusense]

AGH! The first chapter of 'Can't Help Myself'!!!! 😭😭😭

SO SO SO MANY THOUGHTS RN

First of all, how OC feels about Wonwoo kind of . . . irritates me LMAO. I'm so conflicted!!!! It's just a personal thing - I'm just someone who values the smaller things, routine, and a sense of comfort in a relationship. However, I also understand the feeling of needing "excitement" or showing an ounce of that your s/o cares, I guess 🙄😂 Jk jk - I too would get really insecure if they just kind of stopped giving me attention.

My bias is Mingyu, but high-key rooting for Wonwoo already LOL.

My heart just aches for Wonwoo???? He seems like he has so much to say, but so scared of and guilty for pushing OC further away than he already did 😭💔 HE MEANS WELL OC HE JUST DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO SHOW IT - GIVE HIM ANOTHER CHANCE.

That said, why'd you have to put that picture of shirtless Mingyu in my head 🤡💀

Overall, I'm really excited to see where this goes! BRING ON THE ANGST FAM!!!

I can I be added to the taglist for 'Can't Help Myself'? Thank you!!! 🥰

FJKDSFH thank you so much for sending in your thoughts, i had so much fun reading this HAHA

i understand haha i am also a creature of the home. small domestic comforts, routine, all of that stuff. but i think once you find yourself falling into a rut, its easy to lash out and blame the things you once found incredibly comforting. i get it tho, wonwoo is such a cozy guy aaahhhh i would never leave my apartment if he was in there LOL excitement be damned

oof yessss we love an underdog story !! i feel like writing this is going to trick me into becoming a wonwoo stan too tbh LOL

;A; poor wonuuuuu. so many thoughts so little ability to speak them coherently fhdjs

HAHAHA sorry. gyu is nips out in full force ;))

im so happy you're excited to see where it goes !! i will for sure add you to the taglist!! (its growing so rapidly fkhjdsjka really glad people seem to be into this, its my first attempt at a series my other blog is all one shots for the most part LOL)