(250504) Yeonjun was picked by Inkigayo viewers as 'My Ending Fairy,' chosen out of all the artists who attended. As a reward, he got an extra-long ending fairy moment.
chapter one — what we don’t talk about ☆ chapter two — half-truths and jungle juice ☆ chapter three — fuck!
chapter summary. a hoodie. a highway. a surprise you never saw coming. everything about today feels like a memory you've been waiting to live—until familiar faces show up.
pairing. jungwon x reader x sunghoon.
genre. college!au, angst, fluff, slow burn, smut.
themes. love triangle, messy relationships and decisions, love or lust?
authors note. sorry for the wait my babies...hope it was worth it. please give me full fledged reviews in the comments. it helps me a lot. shit is about to get crazyyyyy.
you wake up with your heart already racing.
your mouth is dry. your eyes burn. your whole body feels too warm, like your skin hasn’t caught up with the air yet. and for a second—for a split, beautiful second—you don’t remember anything.
just light filtering through the curtain. a blanket draped over your thigh. the faint smell of weed, sweat, and everything else that happened to you last night.
but then it comes back.
not all at once. not like a slap. more like a slow pour—warm at first. then scalding.
his hands.
his mouth.
his voice—“you feel everything, don’t you?”
sunghoon.
you squeeze your eyes shut. God. what did you do? you weren’t blacked out. you weren’t reckless. you were just drunk. and soft. and tired of being the girl who waits around for something that might not even be real.
that’s the part that makes your chest hurt the most. because the truth is—you didn’t think about jungwon at all last night. not once. not when sunghoon kissed you. not when he touched you like you were already his. not even when he asked if you were sure.
and that’s what’s eating you alive now.
you sit up, slow. your dress is bunched around your waist, your lashes halfway off, your head pounding in that slow, angry rhythm that always shows up the morning after.
your throat is dry. your hands are shaking.
you don’t know what to feel first—guilt? or shame? or confusion? or this strange, stupid ache in your chest that sounds like: but does he even want you?
jungwon.
his name hits you like something heavy.
like a weight you forgot you were carrying. like a person you loved in secret for so long, you forgot you were allowed to say it out loud.
you remember the almost-kisses. the nights you laid in his bed waiting for him to make the first move. the way his arms would wrap around you like a question.
the way he’d stop every time things got too close. too warm. too real.
and the way you told yourself that’s enough.
you told yourself his silence was softness. his distance was care.
but it wasn’t just that.
it was the way he always moved the charger to your side of the bed. the way he made sure the room was cold because you liked the blanket heavy.
the way he rubbed your back when you were sick. the way he remembered the way you liked your eggs. the way he’d watch your face instead of the screen when you were laughing at something dumb.
the way he held you like it meant something—even if he never said what.
and that’s what made it worse.
because sunghoon kissed you without fear. but jungwon holds you like he already has you.
but last night… sunghoon didn’t hesitate.
he didn’t second-guess the way your hand found his neck. he didn’t pull away when you leaned in. he didn’t stop to make space between your knees and his hips and your breath and his mouth and your body and his name.
he didn’t stop.
and maybe that’s why you let it happen.
because you were tired. because it felt good. because for once, someone didn’t make you beg for the thing you didn’t know how to ask for.
but now you’re here. alone. sober. skin buzzing like your nerves haven’t caught up yet.
you drag your hands over your face.
do i even owe him anything?
you think it, then hate yourself for thinking it.
you want to cry. or throw up. or crawl under the covers and pretend the last twelve hours didn’t happen.
because you feel like you cheated. like you broke something that wasn’t even real.
but it was. it was.
it’s not just friendship. not with jungwon. not with the way you touched. not with the way you slept wrapped in each other’s limbs like the world outside didn’t exist. not with the way your lips had almost met—how his breath had hit your cheek and his hand had tightened just once on your thigh before he’d backed away like he was scared of his own pulse.
and he never said why.
your legs move before your brain does. out the door. down the hall. through the faded music and soft snoring and tangled blankets on the living room floor.
the clock says 1:03 p.m. most people are still asleep. some aren’t. you don’t care.
you knock.
soft. hesitant.
no answer.
you open the door anyway.
the curtains are drawn. the light hits the wall in that soft, familiar way. and jungwon’s still in bed. fully dressed. half-curled around a pillow that doesn’t belong to him.
his eyes are closed. but his face is tight. his jaw clenched. his brow creased like whatever dream he’s in—it’s not good. you step inside. quiet. like always.
he doesn’t know what you did.
you tell yourself that.
he doesn’t know.
he’s just tired. he’s just sleeping in. he’s just—
his eyes open.
you freeze, and everything goes still. you don’t know what you’re expecting—maybe for him to sit up. maybe for him to ask you what the hell you’re doing.
but he doesn’t. he just looks at you. quiet. still. like he’s taking inventory of every inch of you and trying not to let it show.
your throat tightens. you don’t speak. you just walk over. slow. unsure.
the room is quiet except for the sound of the ceiling fan and the creak of the mattress as you sit on the edge of the bed. your legs are cold. your skin’s still sticky from the night before. you haven’t even showered. you just wanted… this. something soft. something familiar.
you don’t crawl under the blanket. not this time. you just lay down. next to him. he doesn’t say anything for a long time. you lay there. on top of the covers. not touching. barely breathing.
and then—
“you didn’t come back last night.”
his voice is soft. unreadable.
you stare at the ceiling. “i know.”
another pause.
he shifts slightly. his tone doesn’t change.
“did you sleep in your room?”
you blink. your heart stutters.
“i…” you clear your throat. “i was drunk. i didn’t really sleep.”
he hums. not a laugh. not a reaction. just… something.
you risk a glance. his eyes are still fixed on the ceiling, but you can tell—he’s thinking. hard.
“didn’t even say goodnight,” he murmurs.
you look away again. your chest twists.
“you noticed?”
his jaw ticks. “i notice everything.”
the silence hangs.
and then—he glances at you. finally.
“was it fun?”
your breath catches. you don’t answer. he doesn’t push. just turns back toward the ceiling, like it’s easier to look at than you.
you open your mouth. close it.
your throat is burning. your stomach is flipping inside out.
you don’t want to say it.
you can’t say it.
so you pick the only thing that feels safer than the truth.
“nothing happened,” you say.
the words taste like blood in your mouth.
jungwon doesn’t move.
for a second—for one stupid, fragile second—you think maybe he believes you.
but then he blinks slow, like he’s swallowing something sharp.
“nothing?” he says, voice low.
you shake your head. your palms are sweating. you want to cry.
“we didn’t…” you clear your throat. “i didn’t sleep with him.”
he turns his head. looks at you. really looks. and somehow that hurts worse than if he’d called you a liar to your face.
you can’t tell if he believes you. maybe he just wants to. maybe he needs to. you should stop there. you should shut up.
but the guilt is eating you alive. the need to explain yourself—to justify something that doesn’t have an excuse—rises up hot in your chest.
so you say it.
you break your own heart before he can.
“but i don’t know what we’re doing anymore, jungwon,” you whisper, voice cracking. “i don’t know what i’m waiting for.”
his whole body goes still.
the words hang there, heavy and choking, like smoke in the room.
you press your palms into the mattress. dig your nails into the blanket. you’re shaking and you don’t even realize it.
“i—” you try again, but your voice wobbles. “i’m tired.”
you meet his eyes.
“i’m tired of being the only one who’s sure.”
and there it is.
the crack that splits everything open.
you wish he’d say something. fight for you. deny it. pull you back. but he just looks at you. jaw tight. eyes glassy.
and says nothing.
and somehow, that says everything.
he just looks at you—really looks at you—and it’s like everything he’s been trying to bury is clawing its way out at once.
his mouth moves before his brain can stop it.
“i waited for you last night.”
your heart stutters. your throat goes tight.
he leans back against the headboard, palms flat against the sheets, like he needs something solid to hold onto. his voice cracks—just a little—as he keeps going.
“i stayed up all night,” he says, like he’s confessing a sin. “i didn’t even move. i just… sat here. waiting. waiting for the knock. waiting for you to do what you always do.”
you feel yourself sinking into the mattress, smaller and smaller with every word.
“i kept telling myself you were just drunk. that you’d show up eventually.”
he laughs—sharp and hollow and nothing like him. “but you didn’t.”
you open your mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
he drags a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tight you’re scared it might break.
“and then,” he says, voice dropping low, “i heard you.”
your stomach flips.
“giggling in the hallway. laughing with him like—like it was easy. like it was nothing.”
he blinks hard, like he’s trying to chase the image away.
“i heard you. and i realized…”
he swallows.
“i realized it was my fault.”
you shake your head, tears burning your eyes, but he doesn’t let you interrupt.
“i should’ve told you a long time ago,” he says, his voice breaking for real now. “i should’ve told you when you first started crawling into my bed. when you first started wearing my hoodies and looking at me like i hung the damn stars.”
he lets out a breath that sounds like it hurts.
“i thought i was protecting you. i thought if i didn’t say it, i couldn’t ruin it. that i couldn’t ruin us.”
his hands ball into fists in the blankets.
“but all i did was make you think you were unwanted. and you’re not. you never were.”
your vision is blurry. your chest hurts. everything in you is pulling toward him and breaking at the same time.
he looks at you then—really looks—and it’s all there.
the wreckage. the regret. the love.
“i’m in love with you,” he says, like it’s the only thing that matters anymore. “i’ve been in love with you.”
he breathes out, shoulders shaking.
“and it shouldn’t have taken another guy showing up and not hesitating to make me say it.”
the room is so quiet you can hear both your hearts beating.
you’re crying for real now. silent. broken open.
he reaches for you—slow, scared—like he’s afraid you’ll shatter if he touches you wrong.
and you let him.
you fall into his arms like it’s the only place you’re supposed to be. you curl into him, clutch his hoodie, bury your face in his chest. and he holds you like he’s scared to let go.
“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your hair. “i’m so sorry.”
you shake your head. you don’t even know what you’re saying no to—his apology, his pain, the fact that you didn’t wait long enough, the fact that he waited too long.
you just know you don’t want to lose him.
not yet.
not ever.
after a while, when the tears slow and your breathing evens out, he presses a kiss to the top of your head.
“can i take you out today?” he murmurs. “just us. no parties. no noise. just… you and me.”
you nod against his chest.
you don’t trust yourself to say anything.
you don’t need to.
the car ride is quiet at first.
not awkward quiet.
just... heavy. like the air hasn't caught up with what happened yet.
you fiddle with the zipper of your hoodie, thumb tracing the teeth back and forth. jungwon taps the steering wheel with two fingers, staring straight ahead like the road might disappear if he blinks too slow.
outside, the world is too bright. too loud. everything feels a little sharp.
you pull your sleeves over your hands. press your forehead against the window for a second, trying to cool down the inside of your head.
"you cold?" jungwon asks, voice soft but immediate.
you shake your head.
he nods like he believes you, but you know he doesn't.
you sneak a glance at him.
he's wearing the hoodie you like—the one that's too big on him, the one you always end up stealing halfway through movie nights. his hair’s messy from the hood. there's a small scar under his jaw you’ve never noticed before. you stare at it too long.
"i was gonna take you to that café you liked last semester," he says, voice careful. "the one with the swings instead of chairs."
you blink.
you forgot he remembered that.
you forgot how much he always remembers.
"but it closed down," he says, glancing at you quick, then back at the road. "so… plan B."
you hum, low in your throat. noncommittal.
he presses a little harder on the gas.
"we'll figure it out," he says. "i just wanted to get you out of the house."
you swallow thickly.
"thank you," you say, voice small.
he glances at you again.
and for the first time since you got in the car, he smiles.
it's not a full one. it's not the one that lights up his whole face and makes his eyes scrunch and his dimples cut deep.
but it's real.
and it does something awful and beautiful to your chest.
he switches the music on low.
something soft, something slow. you don't know the song, but it sounds like it was made for moments like this — moments too fragile for silence, too heavy for words.
you close your eyes for a second.
breathe.
pretend you’re just two kids in a car again.
pretend the world hasn’t shifted underneath you.
pretend last night never happened.
you glance out the window again. the highway starts to curve and narrow. you see the blue-and-yellow billboard before anything else.
your heart stutters.
no way.
you sit up straighter, eyes narrowing as more signs come into view—familiar landmarks, road names, the snack stand you once swore had the best fries in the world.
your stomach flips.
he doesn’t say anything. just smirks.
you whip your head toward him. “are we going to dreamwheel?”
he shrugs like it’s no big deal, like he didn’t just plan the one date you always dreamed about but never got to take him on.
“i mean,” he says, flicking the turn signal, “you’ve only been begging me to come since sophomore year.”
“i didn’t beg.”
“you pouted.”
“i expressed interest.”
“repeatedly.”
you’re already grinning. you can’t help it.
the closer you get, the more it hits you. the skyline. the blazing red rollercoaster loop in the distance. the corny welcome sign.
you went with jake once, a long time ago. but jungwon had the flu and missed it. you talked about it ever since. every time you passed the highway exit. every time someone mentioned cotton candy or arcade games or churros shaped like hearts.
the gate attendant leans out and says, “$30 for parking.”
you automatically reach for your phone. “okay, i’ll send you fifteen—”
“don’t you dare.”
you freeze.
he glances over. “put the phone down.”
“wha—jungwon, it’s thirty dollars.”
“i know.”
“i’m not a broke b—”
“i know that too.”
you try not to smile. “you’re gonna make me get soft.”
he just raises a brow. “you already are.”
he parks. before you can open the door, his voice cuts through the silence.
“don’t touch that.”
you blink.
he’s already out of the car, walking around, and opening the passenger side like it’s second nature. you slide out, stunned.
“what is going on with you today?” you ask, squinting up at him.
he shrugs, locking the car. and then he does it—reaches for your hand. no hesitation. just laces your fingers with his like he’s been doing it every day of his life.
and you let him. because what else are you supposed to do?
this is all you’ve ever wanted.
“this place looks even cheesier than i remember you describing,” he says, walking beside you past the front gates.
you laugh. “that’s the point. it’s a tacky paradise.”
“you love tacky paradises.”
“don’t judge me. you’re literally smiling.”
“i’m smiling because you’re smiling.”
you glance over.
he’s not looking at the park. he’s looking at you. and your chest tightens in that way you hate—the way that makes you feel like you don’t deserve this.
because last night, you didn’t come home. and he waited anyway.
you swallow hard.
but then he’s dragging you toward the first ride. it’s nothing huge—just the spinning teacups. dumb. simple. loud.
you let yourself enjoy it.
the screams. the music. the sound of jungwon laughing across from you as you spin the wheel too hard and almost fall sideways.
you’re a mess. dizzy. smiling too wide. out of breath. you don’t even realize you’re holding his hand again until you’re halfway across the park.
lunch is a paper tray of tteokbokki and fries. he wipes sauce from your cheek with a napkin like it’s nothing.
you say, “where has this version of you been?”
he pauses mid-chew.
then swallows, looking away for a second before he says, “hiding. i guess.”
you don’t press. you don’t have to.
the next ride is a water coaster. you get soaked. he gives you his hoodie to wear over your wet shirt and doesn’t say anything when your fingers brush his stomach while taking it off him.
you pretend not to notice. he lets you.
by the time you get near the ferris wheel, you’re buzzing from sugar and secondhand affection.
the sun is starting to dip, casting orange across everything—like the whole park is stuck in golden hour. you almost forget how heavy your chest has felt all day. almost.
jungwon’s hoodie still hangs off your shoulders. your hair is damp from the water ride. your fingers are sticky from churros and powdered sugar and holding his hand like you’ve been doing it forever.
the line curves around the corner. the wheel creaks above you, slowly spinning, each cart dipping into the sky.
you’re about to lean into him again when—
“yo, what the f—?”
you whip around.
jake.
standing three feet away. sunglasses pushed into his curls. holding a jumbo soda. flanked by two girls.
and sunghoon.
sunghoon is behind him. laughing at something one of the girls said. a hand on the railing. his other one swinging casually at his side like it’s not the same hand that was gripping your waist twelve hours ago.
your blood runs cold.
jake blinks. “what the hell are y’all doing here?”
jungwon’s body goes still next to you. you open your mouth, but nothing comes out.
jake laughs, like the moment isn’t loaded. “i thought y’all were on house arrest after last night. didn’t even know you were up yet.”
then he glances between you and jungwon.
sees the hoodie.
the hand-holding.
“wait.” his voice drops a little. “are y’all...?”
sunghoon turns at that. looks up.
and everything goes quiet.
your eyes meet. his mouth parts just slightly. he wasn’t expecting to see you.
not like this.
not wearing jungwon’s clothes. not smiling like the world isn’t still spinning from last night.
the girl next to him tugs on his arm, confused. you step back.
jungwon feels it. his jaw flexes, but he doesn’t let go of your hand.
he looks at jake. “we’re on a date.”
simple. straight. like it’s always been true.
jake raises both brows. “damn. my bad.” then he grins, recovering. “guess it’s a double date now, huh?”
you want to disappear. but you don’t. you just smile. barely. and pray your legs don’t give out.
sunghoon doesn’t say anything.
he just looks at you.
like he’s trying to figure out what the hell he missed. what changed. when it changed.
his gaze flickers—jungwon’s hand in yours. the way your body’s angled toward him. the hoodie. the smile you’re pretending isn’t shaking.
you feel it. all of it. the weight of last night crashing into the mess of today.
“you okay?” jungwon asks, low.
you nod. barely.
but then—jake claps his hands.
“bet,” he says. “let’s race to the next ride. loser buys funnel cake.”
before you can react, everyone starts moving.
sunghoon walks past you. he doesn’t say anything. doesn’t touch you. doesn’t even look too long.
just enough for your breath to catch.
and then he’s gone. walking ahead with the girl still trailing beside him, laughing at something he didn’t even say.
you’re still frozen when jungwon gently pulls you forward, like he’s choosing not to say what he saw in your face.
the group scatters, arguing about which ride is next. jake’s already halfway up the path. the girls trail behind. you and jungwon follow, a little slower.
you’re trying to focus. on the date. on him. on this version of your life where everything feels easy and soft and golden.
but your heart is thudding again. and your mind keeps spinning.
you tell jungwon you’re going to the bathroom. simple. no drama. no lingering looks. just a casual excuse to breathe.
you barely make it two steps past the bathroom when you hear him.
"so you're just gonna ignore me now?"
you stop.
close your eyes.
fuck.
you turn slowly, heart already thudding.
sunghoon’s standing there. arms crossed. jaw tight. no smile. no charm. just tension.
"what are you doing?" you ask, already exhausted.
he shrugs. "same thing you are. pretending."
you roll your eyes. "go back to your little group."
"why?" he tilts his head. "so you can play house with him a little longer?"
your stomach twists.
"don’t do this," you mutter.
"don’t do what? remind you what happened last night?"
you try to push past him, but he steps in front of you.
"don’t act brand new," he says, voice lower now. "you didn’t have this attitude when i had you bent over begging for more."
your breath catches. you stare at him.
"fuck you," you say quietly.
he laughs—cold, sharp, like you didn’t just stab him first.
"already did."
you look away, throat tight.
he leans in, too close. "you’re gonna tell me none of it meant anything?"
you hesitate. only for a second. but it’s enough.
he sees it.
"right," he says. "thought so."
you grit your teeth. "you knew about me and jungwon."
his smirk fades.
"you always knew," you continue. "you just didn’t care. you saw an opening and you took it."
"and you let me."
"i never said i didn’t. but don’t stand here acting like you thought this was something more."
"it wasn’t nothing."
"maybe not," you say, voice flat. "but i’m still choosing him."
his face twitches.
you don’t even hear the footsteps behind you. don’t realize someone’s listening until the hallway drops into silence.
jungwon.
standing there.
frozen.
his face unreadable. but his eyes—his eyes burn straight through you.
you feel your heart seize. he heard everything.
sunghoon scoffs behind you, like this is all too much. "man, whatever. this is a joke."
he turns like he’s about to walk—
"nah."
jungwon’s voice cuts the air like a blade. he steps forward. calm. cold.
"you cool?"
sunghoon spins. "are you?"
you try to step in, but jungwon’s eyes never leave his.
"she told you to back off. she’s here with me. you don’t get to keep pushing."
"she was with me last night," sunghoon snaps. "so what do you wanna do? let me know."
jungwon flinches. just barely.
but it’s enough to make your stomach drop.
"stop it," you say. "both of you—"
"no," jungwon says, eyes still locked. "if you respected her at all, you’d walk away."
"don’t act like you’re some fucking hero," sunghoon growls. “you waited too long. i didn’t. you just watched her walk away.”
jungwon doesn’t blink.
sunghoon tilts his head, eyes burning. “you know what your problem is? you were scared. too pussy to say how you felt. too pussy to make a move. and now a guy like me came around and got your girl.”
you flinch.
jungwon’s fist curls—but he’s still too still. too quiet.
sunghoon shrugs like it’s nothing. like he didn’t just drop a bomb. “don’t be mad at me for seeing her. for acting. for not hesitating.”
he nods at you, just once. and for a moment, it almost feels like a soft truth.
“she’s not a maybe. she’s not some game. and if you really gave a fuck, you wouldn’t have waited until someone else touched her to wake up.”
and that’s when jungwon speaks.
low.
measured.
but deadly.
“i’m a pussy?” he repeats, voice calm in that terrifying kind of way. “nah. you are.”
sunghoon’s brows twitch.
jungwon steps forward. not fast. not angry. just sure.
“because i had a choice,” he says. “i could’ve made her mine months ago. but i didn’t want to fuck this up. not like you just did.”
sunghoon scoffs, but jungwon’s not done.
“you want a medal for not hesitating?” he spits. “for seeing a drunk girl who’s been in love with someone else and still going for it?”
sunghoon opens his mouth, but—
“you fucked her, and the very next day, you showed up with another bitch on your arm.”
your breath catches.
jungwon doesn’t look at you. he doesn’t even flinch.
“don’t talk to me about being a man. if you actually liked her—if you respected her at all—you wouldn’t have touched her like that. you would've waited. you would've meant it. ” jungwon takes a deep breath before shooting his final blow. "and yeah, you two had a good time last night, but when she woke up, who did she want? you, or me?"
sunghoon stares.
jaw tight. eyes burning. but he doesn’t speak.
because there’s nothing to say.
you’re the one who’s shaking now. because every word feels like it landed in your chest.
do you perchance remember or have the link to a yoongi fic that was an social media au where yn was an idol that got socially outcast for stealing songs
ive literally scoured the internet looking for this and I cannnoott find it :( so sorry
jacobvanloon
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline
snowghoul
titsay
izzy806
