SUMMARY a feminist podcast roasts a boyband live on air, and Keonho makes the mistake of getting intrigued by the one girl who refuses to be impressed.
PAIRING idol Keonho x podcaster Yn / female reader
FEATURING CORTIS, ILLIT Wonhee, NewJeans Hyein, H2H Ian, mentions of other idols
GENRE social media au with written parts, romance, crack, fluff (tba)
WARNINGS wony fc!! umm lots of jokes? swearing, complete roasting of the male kind (= hopecore), kys/kym, underage drinking, tba
SUMMARY a feminist podcast roasts a boyband live on air, and Keonho makes the mistake of getting intrigued by the one girl who refuses to be impressed.
PAIRING idol Keonho x podcaster Yn / female reader
FEATURING CORTIS, ILLIT Wonhee, NewJeans Hyein, H2H Ian, mentions of other idols
GENRE social media au with written parts, romance, crack, fluff (tba)
WARNINGS wony fc!! umm lots of jokes? swearing, complete roasting of the male kind (= hopecore), kys/kym, underage drinking, tba
Gawd i LOVE Telephone. I've reread it like 3 times now i think. It captures the complexity of a relationship so well. Rarely are 2 people perfect puzzle pieces that fit and most of the time, the fault falls on both people. The problems James and y/n had were also crafted so well, i feel like often in fics, the conflict is a misunderstanding that can be resolved in one conversation. But what you wrote is a real problem on both sides that actually could be a deal breaker. I can understand where both James and y/n are coming from. And it's up to the couple to try and meet in the middle, because the love is worth the effort.
Also nothing is hotter than a man saying "i can fix that" forreal 😩😩😩 pls that was **chefs kiss**. Now that's A MANNN.
I also love the dialogue you wrote, and how it's interwoven with their body language. Dude the tension, the chemistry...it was insane. Each time I reread, I'm completely absorbed into the story and it feels like I'm watching the story play out on the big screen in my head. (Ngl the story playing out in my head was giving the club scene + "all the things she said" vibes from Heated Rivalry, hell ya).
Would you be open to writing a part 2 for Telephone where they work things out and fix things? I just LOVE the story and characters you've built here.
STOPPP this is one of the (if not THE) best ask ive ever received…
im actually so shocked reading your interpretation because this started as me listening to telephone by lady gaga and spiralling into a fic (lol) but i really did want their conflict to feel like a real relationship problem rather than a simple misunderstanding, so the fact that you picked up on that means so much to me really 🙏
the bit about understanding both james and yn’s perspectives genuinely got me. sometimes you hope readers will see what you’re trying to do and then someone comes along and explains it better than you ever could !!!!
thank you for reading so closely and for all the kind words… im sitting here smiling to myself :D
and as for part 2… i wasn’t planning on it, but after reading this ask? youve got me making a new note :P no promises on when it’ll happen but you absolutely convinced me these two deserve a little more time on the page 😝😝
SYNOPSIS :: In dinosaur drawings and stealing your fries, Keonho has always shown that it would only ever be you.
W.C :: 4.3k
CONTAINS :: childhoodfriend!keonho, childhood friends to lovers, swimmer!keonho briefly mentioned, skinship, kissing, both being slightly oblivious, teenage love
PLAYLIST :: Fade into you - Mazzy Star; Every summertime - Niki; Daylight - Taylor Swift; Open arms - Sza; Lovely girl - Racing Mind; Lover is a day - Cuco
Keonho and you were two peas in a pod for as long as anyone could remember, having known each other since you were little kids being placed as seatmates on the first day of school.
You don't even recall the teacher's face anymore. Just the scratch of the chair legs on the floor, the smell of crayons and raincoats, and this boy next to you who immediately drew a tiny dinosaur on a piece of paper atop the corner of his desk and looked over at you like he was waiting for you to react. You drew a bigger dinosaur next to his. He grinned, all missing teeth and mischief, and that was that.
For years, that was just how life worked. He stole the left-side swing before you could get to it, then gave it up with an exaggerated sigh. You saved him a seat at lunch and he'd slide in like he owned the place, stealing fries off your tray before you could stop him. He walked you home even when it was out of his way, kicking rocks and making up ridiculous stories just to hear you laugh. You made signs for his swim meets with glitter glue and terrible handwriting, and he'd hold them up at the finish line and wave them like a flag, completely and utterly unembarrassed.
He never said thank you in words, he was just a boy after all. But he'd show up at your door the next day with your favourite candy, toss it at your head, and say "Don't get used to it" with a smirk.
People always asked if you were dating, and you’d both turned red and say no far too quickly, spending the rest of the afternoon pretending not to look at each other. But by dinner, he was sending you a video of his dog doing something stupid, and you were sending back a blurry picture of your homework, and everything was normal again.
You grew comfortable with each other in ways you didn't fully appreciate until much later.
It just happened naturally, like moss creeping over stones or the way a favourite hoodie eventually molds itself to your shoulders. You knew how he took his ramyeon. He knew that you cried at animal commercials. You could sit in the same room for hours without speaking and neither of you would feel lonely—but also, you could talk for hours without running out of things to say, him talking just as much as you did, his voice easy and warm and full of jokes.
That was the thing about Keonho. Silence with him was fine, but laughter with him was better.
Maybe that's why it took you so long to realise.
Because love, the way people talked about it, was supposed to be loud: heartbeats and fireworks and grand gestures. But yours was just there. Already there. Had been there so long you'd stopped noticing it, like the air in your lungs or the beat of your own heart. It was in the way he threw popcorn at your head during movies, how he'd fake gag when you said something sappy, even in the way he'd look so softly at you when he thought you weren't paying attention.
You remember the exact moment you finally noticed, though.
You were both twelve, sprawled on his bedroom floor doing nothing in particular. He was reading something, or more so he was pretending to read something, because you caught him staring at you over the top of his book. You opened your mouth to say something smart, but he spoke first.
"You've got a weird face," he said, completely deadpan.
"Excuse me?"
"It's not a bad weird. Just. Weird."
You threw a pencil at him and he caught it, grinning. And for one second, one stupid, electric second, your chest did something strange it had never done before. Or maybe it had. Maybe it had been doing it for years and you'd just never paid attention.
You looked back down at your worksheet pretending to be cool, but your hand was shaking.
You didn't tell him. Not that day and not for a long time. You just started noticing things you'd always known but never felt. The way his hair fell across his forehead when he was tired, how his grin softened into something smaller when he thought you weren't looking, and how he said your name like it was a private joke the two of you shared.
And you thought: Oh no.
Oh no.
Because how were you supposed to go back to normal after that?
But you did, or at least you pretended to. You still saved him seats. He still walked you home, still kicked rocks, still made up stupid stories. You still made terrible glitter signs for his meets, and he still waved them like an idiot at the finish line.
You hadn't realised that Keonho felt the same, and had pretty much always felt the same. You thought it was just you and your own stupid heart getting carried away like it always did. You thought you were being careful, keeping it hidden enough that no one noticed.
But Keonho had always been faster than you. Quicker with a joke, quicker with a comeback, quicker to figure things out.
So while you were busy pretending everything was normal, he was busy noticing that you'd stopped returning his teasing, and you laughed a little too loud when someone mentioned dating, yet you still found reasons to touch his sleeve, his shoulder, his hand—fleeting things you probably didn't even realise you were doing, but still felt intentional to him.
He noticed all of it.
He just didn't say anything yet because nothing was scarier than attempting to figure out if you were risking an entire friendship for a love that held even the slightest possibility of being unrequited.
Instead, he started doing small things. Bringing you your favourite snack without being asked, and then pretending he'd bought it for himself until you stole it. Walking even slower on the way home so the walk lasted longer, complaining loudly about how tired he was. Letting his shoulder brush yours more often and then saying "Watch where you're going" like it was your fault.
You convinced yourself it didn't mean anything. He was just being Keonho. Annoying, playful, slightly obnoxious Keonho who had never once looked at anyone the way people looked at each other in movies.
And, to be honest, Keonho grew a little frustrated that you couldn't read into his—what he believed to be—plainly obvious attempts of showing you he liked you.
Because in his mind, he was being so screamingly obvious.
He'd started walking on the outside of the pavement so you were farther from the road, a trick he’d learnt from the kdrama you’d forced him to watch with you. He'd started bringing two of everything: two ice pops, two sodas, two bags of chips, and when you asked, he'd shrug and say "I was hungry" while shoving one straight into your hand. He'd started remembering things you mentioned once, offhand, like your favourite song or the name of a movie you wanted to see, and then bringing them up weeks later like it was no big deal.
And you just… smiled, said thanks and went back to your usual routine.
He once sat next to you on the school bus and let his leg press against yours for the entire forty-minute ride. Didn't move, or even breathe, honestly. And you just leaned your head against the window and fell asleep.
He spent that whole ride staring straight ahead, ears on fire, wondering if you were being oblivious on purpose or if you had simply never once thought of him as anything other than the annoying boy who stole your fries.
The answer, of course, was neither. You just didn't think someone like Keonho could ever like someone like you. So your brain filed every single one of his attempts under just being Keonho and refused to look at them any other way.
It drove him crazy.
He'd lie awake at night staring at his ceiling, replaying every moment of the day, trying to figure out what else he was supposed to do. Write you a song? He could do that, badly and off-key just to see you laugh. Hold your hand? He could do that too, he'd just have to come up with a stupid excuse first. Show up at your door with flowers? The thought made him want to throw up, but also, maybe. If it was you. He’d only do it if it were you.
He was twelve. Then thirteen. Then fourteen. And still, somehow, you hadn't noticed.
Everyone else seemed to be able to see it. Your mothers whispered and giggled behind their hands, picturing wedding colors before either of you had even held hands. Your friends rolled their eyes every time you said "Keonho's just being Keonho" like it was the most ridiculous sentence they'd ever heard. Even his swim coach once asked, after a meet, "Is that your girlfriend?" and Keonho had laughed and said "Not yet" and the coach had looked very confused because why else would this random girl be at every competition other than to cheer on her boyfriend?
But you? You were the only person in the entire world who couldn't see what was standing right in front of you.
It wasn't that you were stupid, because you weren't. It was that Keonho had been part of your life for so long that you'd stopped seeing him as a person and started seeing him as just… Keonho. The background radiation of your everyday existence. As necessary and as invisible as the air. The annoying, teasing, funny, stupid oxygen that made your heart beat its usually fast pace, but that if you went without you wouldn’t survive past 5 minutes.
You didn't notice the way his eyes followed you across the cafeteria because his eyes had always followed you across the cafeteria. You didn't notice how he said your name softer than he said anyone else's because your name had always sounded like that coming from his mouth—and also because he'd absolutely deny it if you asked. You didn't notice that he never touched anyone the way he touched you: a shove on the shoulder, a flick to your forehead, a hand ruffling your hair, because you had no way of knowing what he was like with other people when you weren't around.
(For the record: funny, but not as funny. Playful, but not as much. He saves his best material for you. He always has.)
The summer after he turned fourteen, he nearly told you five separate times. Once at the pool, your legs dangling in the water next to his, him splashing you on purpose. Once at the convenience store, buying you both the same ice cream without asking what you wanted because he already knew, and then licking yours before handing it over just to watch you shriek. Once on your front porch, the two of you sitting on the steps while the fireflies came out, him getting quieter and quieter until you asked if he was sick and he fumbled his words.
And once in his bedroom, you lying on his floor complaining about something, him sitting on his bed pretending to listen. He opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. Still nothing came out.
Instead, he threw a pillow at your head.
"Hey!" you said, laughing.
"You talk too much," he said.
But his ears were pink and he turned his face away, pretending to look for something on his bedside table. Anything to distract himself really: a pencil, a dead fly, he would have studied the dust motes floating in the afternoon light if it meant not looking at you sprawled on his floor, hair everywhere, cheeks flushed from laughing.
Because if he really, truly looked at you he knew he'd say it. And saying it out loud meant making it real. And making it real meant he could lose the one thing he knew he couldn’t lose.
That was the part no one talked about. Not in the movies, or in the goofy songs he hummed when he thought no one was listening. They always made confession feel like a door opening. But what if it was a door closing instead? What if he told you, and you laughed at him and then everything got weird? What if you stopped lying on his floor? What if you stopped stealing his fries as payback? What if you stopped being you and Keonho and became just two people who used to be friends?
He couldn't survive that.
You rolled onto your back and threw the pillow back at him. It hit him square in the face. "You're so weird lately," you said, but you were smiling.
He caught the pillow and held it in his lap. "Am not."
"Are too. You keep zoning out. And your ears are always red. Are you sick?"
"No."
"Fever?"
"No."
"Then what?"
He looked at you then for just a second. Long enough to memorise the way the light hit your face as you looked up at him like he was someone worth looking at. Then he turned away.
"Nothing," he said. "You're just loud."
"Rude," you said, and went back to complaining about your math homework.
And Keonho sat there on his bed, pillow in his lap, wondering if you would even feel the same.
That was the real question, wasn't it? Not if he loved you—that had been settled years beforehand. But whether you loved him back. Whether you had ever once looked at him and felt that same stupid, suffocating, wonderful thing he felt every time you walked into a room.
He didn't know.
He thought he knew you better than anyone, but he didn't know this. He couldn't tell if the way you leaned into him on the bus meant something or if you just did it because he was warm. He couldn't tell if the way you saved him a seat meant you wanted him there or if it was just habit. He couldn't tell if you looked at him the way he looked at you: like he was something precious, something fragile, something worth keeping.
Probably not, he thought. You were you. Bright and loud and easy with everyone. You hugged your friends and laughed with strangers. You probably didn't even realise you'd been breaking his heart gently for years, just by being yourself.
What he did know, though, was that even if you never feel the same way, he'd still want you here in every way you've ever been: stealing his food as payback, calling him annoying, falling asleep on his shoulder on the bus.
That was the scariest part. That he’d sacrifice his entire heart for the mere moments he gets to share with you because feeling heartbroken with you there was still a better fate than not having you at all.
But feelings that rooted themselves so deeply in you before you even had words to express them didn't stay buried forever. They grow whether you want them to or not, press against ribs and make a home in your throat. And eventually, carrying something so heavy on a soul so young is bound to boil over.
It happened on an ordinary Tuesday. You were walking home together like you always did: the same street at the same pace with the same space between you that sometimes shrunk and sometimes grew but never quite disappeared. He was carrying your backpack for you because you'd complained about your shoulders hurting—and he'd made fun of you for it first before taking it because that was his job and had always been his job. You were talking about something: a show you'd been watching, a friend who'd said something annoying, he couldn't even remember what.
And then you stopped walking.
He stopped too, confused. "What, did you forget something?"
You were looking at him with your eyebrows drawn together and your mouth slightly open. You looked like you'd just realised something you weren't supposed to realise.
"Ahn Keonho," you said slowly.
"Uh oh. Full name. Am I in trouble?"
"Why are you carrying my backpack?"
He blinked. "Because you said your shoulders hurt and then you whined about it for ten minutes. I did it to shut you up."
"Right." You nodded but continued to stare at him. "But why do you always do that? Carry my stuff? Walk me home? Remember everything I say?"
He felt his ears get hot and he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Because someone has to. You're a disaster."
"No," you said. "That's not what people just do. People don't just—" You gestured at him, at the backpack, at the years of history between you. "Keonho. Do you like me?"
The world got very quiet. No cars or birds. Just the sound of his heartbeat in his ears and your voice hanging in the air between them.
He opened his mouth but nothing came out, just like his bedroom and the pool, and like every other time he'd almost said it and then swallowed it back down.
But his ribs were aching, his throat was full, and he was so, so tired of carrying it alone.
So he did what he always did when he didn't have words. He deflected.
"What kind of question is that?" He said, aiming for casual and missing by a mile and a half. "Of course I like you. You're tolerable. Sometimes."
"Keonho."
"I mean, you're loud. You steal my food. You fell asleep on my shoulder on the bus and you drooled. On me. I should get hazard pay for—"
"Keonho."
He stopped and finally looked at you, noticing how your eyes were shining slightly.
"Just answer the question," you said quietly.
He swallowed. His ears were on fire now, and his heart was doing something violent in his chest.
"Yeah," he said. Voice barely there. "I like you. I've liked you. Probably since you drew that bigger dinosaur."
You stared at him. "The dinosaur?"
"You don't remember? First day of school. I drew a tiny dinosaur. You looked at me like I was an idiot and drew a bigger one." He shrugged, pretending it didn't matter. "You’ve been the only thing on my mind since."
You didn't say anything. You just stood there on the sidewalk, your backpack hanging off one of his shoulders, your eyes wide and shining and wet.
And then—
"You've been carrying my backpack for years and years because of a dinosaur?" you said.
He froze. "That's— that's not— that's not what I—"
You laughed, your eyes scrunching in delight as his gaze couldn’t help but soften at the sight. And then you stepped forward and threw your arms around his neck, backpack and all, and he stumbled back two steps before catching you both.
"You're such an idiot," you said into his shoulder.
He couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. Couldn't do anything but stand there with your weight against him and your hair in his face and the entire world rearranging itself around his feet.
"Yeah," he whispered. "I know."
You pulled back just enough to look at him. Your face was closer than it had ever been and he could finally see every small detail he'd never noticed before.
"I kept the drawing too," you said quietly.
He blinked. "The drawing?"
"You let me keep the paper we drew on. I still have it."
His heart did something complicated. A warm, spreading thing that made his chest feel too small for everything inside it. "You're such a sap," he said, but his voice came out softer than he meant it to, almost fond. He'd kill you if you pointed that out.
"You're the one who fell in love because of a dinosaur."
He opened his mouth to argue but struggled to find any words because you were standing there, your face still too close, eyes still shining, and you were smiling at him like he'd just given you the world instead of a confession he'd been choking on for years.
"Touché," he managed.
And then you kissed him—or at least attempted to
Your nose bumped against his cheek. You’d angled wrong at first and had to correct. Your hands came up to grip the front of his jacket like you were afraid he might disappear.
He almost laughed. Almost. But then your lips were on his: soft, warm, a little clumsy, and every single thought in his head scattered like startled birds.
You pulled back too soon for him to fully comprehend what was happening. His ears were scarlet, he could feel the heat radiating off them, and his face was doing something he couldn't control. His mouth was still slightly open. His eyes were probably wide. He probably looked like an absolute idiot.
"So," you said, grinning like you hadn't just rearranged his entire internal organs, "does this mean you're going to stop stealing my fries?"
He stared at you. The audacity. The absolute audacity of this girl. You’d just had your first kiss on a random sidewalk after endless years of pining, and you were worried about fries.
"Absolutely not," he said.
And then he kissed you back.
His hand came up to cup the side of your face—something he'd seen in movies, and he'd imagined doing a thousand times in the privacy of his own head. His fingers were shaking and he hoped you couldn't tell. He kissed you slower this time, not because he knew what he was doing but because he wanted to remember it. The way you sighed against his mouth and your fingers tightened in his jacket. The way the whole world narrowed down to just this: you, him, the space between you finally closed.
When you broke apart, you were smiling so wide your eyes had practically disappeared. His ears were still on fire and his heart was still doing something embarrassing.
"Your face is really red," you said.
"Yours is too."
"Liar."
"You wanna go look in a mirror?"
You shoved his shoulder. He caught your hand before you could pull it back and held it there, fingers loosely tangled with you, and they stayed tied together for awhile
After that, things were different. Softer like someone had turned down the volume of the world and turned up the warmth. He still stole your fries and you still called him annoying. But now when he held your hand, he didn't make up an excuse first. Now when you leaned your head on his shoulder on the bus, he'd rest his cheek on top of your head and pretend he wasn't smiling. Now when your mothers whispered and giggled behind their hands, he'd stage-whisper to you and you'd both dissolve into laughter at whatever cheeky comment he’d made.
Being loved by Keonho, you learned, was a noisy thing.
It was him showing up at your door with your favourite snack, tossing it at your head, and saying "you owe me." It was him waiting for you after school even when your classes ran late, complaining loudly about how cold it was the entire time. It was him looking at you across a crowded room and pulling a stupid face until you laughed.
He still teased you constantly, that never changed and likely never would. But now there was something warmer underneath it that made your chest ache in the best way. Now when he called you annoying, it meant I love you. Now when he stole your food, it meant I love you. Now when he pulled stupid faces and made bad jokes and walked you home even when it was out of his way, it all meant the same thing.
I love you. I love you. I love you.
He never said it often. Maybe once a month, maybe even less. But he didn't need to. He'd been saying it for years—in dinosaurs and stolen fries, in backpacks carried and seats saved and walks home that were never out of his way. He'd been saying it in every stupid joke and every teasing grin and every time he looked at you like you were the best thing that had ever happened to him.
You just hadn't known how to listen yet.
Now you did.
"You know," you said one night, lying on his bedroom floor, him sprawled next to you, both of you staring at the ceiling. "I can't believe it took us this long."
"Blame yourself," he said. "You're oblivious."
"I'm not oblivious. You're just bad at flirting."
"I drew you a dinosaur."
"That was in first grade."
"My game has always been strong."
You turned your head to look at him, and found him already looking at you, his eyes soft in the dim light.
"I love you," you said. Just because you could.
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I know."
"You're the worst." You roll your eyes, a grin forming on his face.
"You love me."
"Unfortunately," you said. And when he smiled his real smile that he didn't give to anyone else, you knew he was right.
People said you were too young to know what forever meant, and maybe they were right. But when you looked at Keonho, at this boy who had been beside you since the first day of school, who knew you better than anyone, who had loved you since before he even knew the word for it, you couldn't imagine a version of your life where he wasn't there.
And neither could he.
"So," you said one afternoon, walking home, his arm slung over your shoulders, your backpack hanging off his other arm because he still carried it even though you'd stopped asking. "Do you think we'll make it?"
"To where?"
"To forever. Or whatever."
He snorted. "That's a stupid question."
"Is it?"
He stopped walking and looked down at you. His ears were already pink, but he was smiling so softly at you you felt like you were going to melt.
"I've been carrying your stuff since we were seven," he said. "You really think I'm gonna stop now?"
You grinned. "That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting."
And he started walking again, pulling you along with him, and you let him. Because that was how it had always been and that was how it would always be.
You were fifteen. You were sixteen. You were two peas in a pod, still, always, just like everyone always said.
Some things don't need to be forever to be real.
But this one, you suspected, might just make it anyway.
hii i was curious as how do you manage to do smaus 😭 im a writer as well and smaus (excluding texts) seem so overwhelming to make. i'd really appreciate it if you could let me know what apps you use & how you realistically format & pace smaus!!!
hi!!
for the apps i use, i make the tweets on TwiNote and the fake texts on MeMi Messages! for other apps, i usually just screenshot directly from the app and edit the text myself. for that i use Phonto. you can download fonts from dafont.com, and i really like it because there are so many options. i use it for covers too. sometimes i also draw directly on screenshots with my ipad to get that handwritten effect (like i did with ban male podcasts).
for the format, i actually used to make my smaus way shorter, like around 6 pics per chapter 😭 now i prefer longer chapters, but i still try not to have too much happening at once. usually i keep it to one major event per chapter because otherwise it can start feeling overwhelming and rushed.
i personally enjoy stories that feel realistic and relatable, so that’s what i try to write. i love slow burns and seeing the characters’ dynamics develop naturally over time instead of everything happening at once. with my latest smau “one less lonely girl” i think the pacing ended up being a bit faster than i originally intended TT.
for me, the ideal length is around 30–45 chapters. any longer and it can start to feel dragged out, especially for newer readers who are just getting into the story.
one thing that helps me a lot is planning the major plot points before i start posting. i don’t outline every single chapter, but having a rough idea of where the story is going makes writing a lot less stressful and helps me keep the pacing consistent.
honestly, once you get into the rhythm of it, smaus are really fun to write and a lot less overwhelming than they seem at first!! <3
i hope this answered your question!! if you have any other doubts or questions, don’t hesitate to send me an ask :)
also, don’t be afraid to experiment and find what works for you. everyone’s writing process is different, and you’ll figure out your own pacing and style as you go. good luck with your smau!!
— ౨ৎ In which you decide to shoot your shot with the cute lifeguard at the beach
C/w: one swear, reader is a confident gal 😛 ˗ˋ 1.5k wc ˊ˗
A/n: if i had a nickel everytime i wrote keonho as a swimmer…
"So how's your book so far?"
Skies are clear, the sun is shining, it's hot outside—the perfect beach day.
You lie on a plush towel facing the water, new book in hand, sunglasses on the top of your head. You find yourself splitting your attention between your friend tanning next to you and the gorgeous lifeguard walking along the beach.
It's hard not to notice the way his bright red sleeveless tank matches the flush on his cheeks or the tone of his arms as he jogs along the shoreline. And especially the way he brushes his wet hair out of his face—It's so…
Addicting.
"Hello, welcome to earth." Stella waves her polished hand in front of your face.
"Huh, what—yeah it's so good," you say mindlessly, your gaze being nowhere near the book.
"How far along are you?" she gives a knowing laugh.
You look down at the printed pages, walls of text stare at you. You blink a couple times, but the book still says chapter one—really? The heading spreads across the page, bold, obvious.
"We're making progress," you smile.
"Are you sure because you've been staring at that lifeguard for the past ten minutes."
"No, I have not!"
"Oh, but yes you have."
You look around for a moment, almost whipping the sunglasses off your head. It's getting harder to hide your smile that's about to burst.
"He's so cute don't you think?" you blurt.
"Go talk to him!"
"But how? He's working and a different girl walks up to him every three seconds."
She gives you that smile, the one she gives when she's plotting. She reaches into her beach bag, pulling out her car keys. She waves them in your face, the various keychains jingling against each other.
"You want to run me over? I mean I guess that would get his attention—"
"No! Sometimes I worry about you girl." She rolls her eyes playfully. "Just say you lost your keys—it’s valuable so he'll have to help!"
"I guess drowning for some CPR isn't ethical," you huff.
"Definitely not!" she says, tucking the keys into the back pocket of your jean shorts. "Just drop them in the sand after you're done talking to him—number secured!"
"See this is why I love you."
"Go get your baywatch moment," she giggles.
…
"Excuse me."
He's standing near the watch tower where some other lifeguards are, it's hard to miss that shade of red. He fidgets with the whistle around his neck as he scouts out for any potential dangers.
He looks better up close, they all do. What are they feeding these lifeguards?
His hair is slicked back—he's been running his hands through it a lot. You can't gauge where he's looking since his eyes are covered with sunglasses. He simply nods.
Great, one of those chill™ ones
"Hi, so I lost my keys—could you help me, please?"
"Sure, I'll go and grab the metal detector from the tower."
You're taken aback for a moment—was it really that easy? He doesn't waste any time, quickly jogging over to the watch tower to grab the device. He moves rather skillfully in the dunes of sand. Impressive.
"So where did you last see it?"
"Like over there." You point to the opposite end of the beach.
"You’ve been walking lots?"
"I just go where the wind takes me," you smile.
"Okay I'll scan over here and send a report to some of my coworkers—any specific keychain colours?"
So serious.
"There's like…a pink frilly thing on it." You try your best to visualize Stella's keys, not that it mattered. You remember the feeling of the keys in your pocket—you'll have to walk behind him.
He nods, calling out a code in his walkie talkie. Some feedback comes through, but you can't make out exactly what they're saying. Must be some sort of lifeguard jargon.
Before you begin the hunt for the 'keys' you look back at Stella, she gives you a tiny applause.
The beach is getting more crowded, there's as many people in the water as on the sand. The line up for ice cream is getting longer, you could use some—why is it so hot? Maybe you should have pretended to drown.
The lifeguard doesn't say much, focused as he scans along the sand. It's hard not to notice the feeling of people watching you as you pass by. Most definitely looking at him.
"So…" You look over to his name tag "Keonho!"
You think you said that a little too loud but no one noticed, well except him. He looks up at you, quiet, anticipating.
"Sorry, did I scare you? Anyway I was just wondering if you've been doing this for long?"
"Just the summers since I was fifteen," he shrugs, looking back down to the sand.
"Wow you must be super qualified—do you swim too, like competitively?"
"Yeah, I do," he stops for a moment, the metal detector picking something up. When he brushes over the sand it's just the lid of a bottle. He continues walking.
"Cool—I don't know much about swimming but yeah that's cool." Again, he doesn't respond. "Not much of a talker?"
"I'm just focused—sorry."
"No, it's fine! I can get chatty sometimes."
"That's good."
"Hm?"
"Like being able to carry a conversation—it's attractive."
"You think?"
You suddenly notice how hard it is to walk—could it be the sand or his words? Nope, definitely the sand.
"Yeah," he sways the metal detector side to side, covering more area. "Do you come to the beach often?"
"No, not really—my friend invited me out today. Should I come more often?"
"It's up to you but Mondays and Thursdays are the least busy."
"Good to know—any other beach tips I should know."
"I work all days except Friday and Sunday—summer practices."
"Good to know," you smile.
The metal detector picks up a few more items—bracelets, earrings, coins, a nail clipper. You're starting to feel a little bad with the whole misleading thing, especially when he seems so determined to find the keys.
The conversation slows down—you don't know what else to say. Besides, the beach is filled with sounds of splashing water and ongoing conversations.
You sneak a few glances at him which is only fair since he's been very obviously sneaking some glances at you. When your eyes meet, he's the first to look away.
"Did you know they give out free ice cream near closing?"
"Liar!"
"Then tell me why I've tried all the ice cream flavours here."
"Keonho, you can't blow your entire paycheck on ice cream," you laugh, so does he.
You tilt your face toward the sun, enjoying the brief silence between conversations.
"So uh, do you go to school around here?"
"That's not related to the keys, is it?" you tease.
He looks away. "Yeah you're right."
You smile. "No, but I do plan on spending more summers here."
"You should—like it's really nice here, the weather and stuff," he nods. "Is this where you lost the keys?"
You arrive at what you're guessing is the spot you pointed at twenty minutes ago. It's less crowded over here but louder with the jetskis past the orange buoys.
"Huh—oh yes, it's got to be somewhere around here." You want to cringe at your poor acting skills.
He scans the area more meticulously this time, that tiny bit of guilt in you begins to seep up. But you let him search for a moment, it's cute how motivated he is.
"Sorry if I've been…well awkward," he says.
"What? No, you haven't been, at all. I just coined you to be one of those nonchalant guys."
"I'm not like that at all—I just can't talk to girls," he lets out a nervous chuckle.
"But you have been…on the beach."
"You've been watching me?"
"You've been standing in front of my eyeline."
He laughs, "Well I don't have crushes on those girls." His cheeks look more flushed than before.
Showtime.
"Ah, really?" you smile, discreetly pulling the keys out of the pocket and dropping them on the sand behind you, creating a jingling sound. Stella and her keychains. "Oh what's that?"
"I saw all of that," he smiles.
You shrug. "In my defense it worked."
"What worked?"
"Getting your attention."
"Guess it did."
You stand there for a moment, a much needed breeze flows along the shoreline. The scents of the beach are becoming more evident: seawater, fries, sunscreen. He runs a hand through his hair, looking in your direction. Thank god for that breeze or you might have melted.
Oh fuck it.
"Could I maybe get your number?" You start. "Please."
"Sure, my work phone number is 911 and—"
"Dude," you laugh.
"Okay," he gives you a cheeky grin, reaching his hand out for your phone. You pull it out of your other jean pocket, no hesitation.
"You know, I can't believe you made me ask you. I did just get you out of your shift…well temporarily."
"Messing with a lifeguard is a violation," he jokes.
"No it is not!"
"But, I'll let you go because you're pretty."
The words seem to surprise even him.
"I mean—"
"Too late," you grin.
this post looks so much better in light mode omg AND ong my next post is the gossip girl au 🤗
SUMMARY a feminist podcast roasts a boyband live on air, and Keonho makes the mistake of getting intrigued by the one girl who refuses to be impressed.
PAIRING idol Keonho x podcaster Yn / female reader
FEATURING CORTIS, ILLIT Wonhee, NewJeans Hyein, H2H Ian, mentions of other idols
GENRE social media au with written parts, romance, crack, fluff (tba)
WARNINGS umm lots of jokes? swearing, complete roasting of the male kind (= hopecore), kys/kym, underage drinking, tba
SUMMARY a feminist podcast roasts a boyband live on air, and Keonho makes the mistake of getting intrigued by the one girl who refuses to be impressed.
PAIRING idol Keonho x podcaster Yn / female reader
FEATURING CORTIS, ILLIT Wonhee, NewJeans Hyein, H2H Ian, mentions of other idols
GENRE social media au with written parts, romance, crack, fluff (tba)
WARNINGS umm lots of jokes? swearing, complete roasting of the male kind (= hopecore), kys/kym, underage drinking, tba
SUMMARY a feminist podcast roasts a boyband live on air, and Keonho makes the mistake of getting intrigued by the one girl who refuses to be impressed.
PAIRING idol Keonho x podcaster Yn / female reader
FEATURING CORTIS, ILLIT Wonhee, NewJeans Hyein, H2H Ian, mentions of other idols
GENRE social media au with written parts, romance, crack, fluff (tba)
WARNINGS umm lots of jokes? swearing, complete roasting of the male kind (= hopecore), kys/kym, underage drinking, tba
STATUS started may 25
PLAYLIST REDRED - CORTIS, 3005 - Childish Gambino, Boy’s a liar Pt. 2 - PinkPantheress & Ice Spice, Lush Life - Zara Larsson, WE GO - fromis_9, Right Back! - KARLEE GIRL, All I Wanna Do (Korean Version) - Jay Park
AUTHOR’S NOTE sorry guys, i somehow always end up writing for keonho TT but i love this trope and i love roasting men so this was made for me (˶ˆᗜˆ˵)
AUTHOR’S NOTE 2 please remember this is a work of fiction so all the characters personalities aren’t really as described in this! and all are jokes so please do not take any of those personally or seriously :)