#bnd woonhak

[wishforjei]

NSFW audio! requested!

stroking woonhak before the others come back upstairs.

[yeppiz]

【 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 】 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖡𝖤𝖲𝖳 𝖯𝖠𝖱𝖳 ୨୧ 𝗙𝗧. 𝖶𝖮𝖮𝖭𝖧𝖠𝖪 𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲 ───── 𝖻𝗈𝗒𝖿𝗂𝖾!𝗐𝗈𝗈𝗇𝗁𝖺𝗄 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝑤𝖺𝗋𝗇𝗂𝗇𝗀𝗌 . . . 𝗍𝗈𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝗂𝖽𝗈𝗅!𝗁𝖺𝗄, 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗉𝗋𝗈𝗈𝖿 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽

bf!hak who risks his own well being just to ensure yours. he doesnt care if its below 30 degrees out and youre already layered in jackets. if he sees you shiver even slightly, youre taking his.

bf!hak who absolutely lives to hear you laugh. he'll embarass himself literally anywhere just to get a smile outta you.

bf!hak who takes care of you when sick and assures kisses are the best medicine. you warn him about you being contagious. still, he leans in. now youre stuck taking care of him.

bf!hak who already calls you wifey. he doesnt care if youre not engaged yet. he promises hes gonna spend the rest of his life with you.

bf!hak who gives you the sloppiest cheek kisses just to get on your nerves. he loves seeing your annoyed look. he thinks its adorable more than threatening.

bf!hak who pouts every time you call him cute. he swears that hes manly and he proves it to you by flexing, but his frustrated face only makes you giggle more.

bf!hak who constantly gets teased by his members for being whipped. its the only time he wont crash out on them. instead he embraces it.

bf!hak who gets clingy when jealous. once he sees another guy casually glance at you, itll be impossible to get him to stop kissing you.

bf!hak who always lets you have the first bite. he doesnt usually share food, but trusts your judgement. plus he enjoys it

bf!hak who can rant about you for hours. he always manages to bring you up into a conversation that soon turns into a two hour talk about how lucky he is to have you.

bf!hak whos usual loud voice suddenly gets gentle when hes speaking to you.

bf!hak who is obsessed with kissing you. he needs at least 10 a day or else hes cranky. he keeps counts to ensure his daily minimum. if youre one off, his whole day is ruined.

bf!hak who complaining in the mornings about practice. his grip around you tightens as he whines about needing five more minutes—he ends up skipping.

bf!hak who hates seeing you sad because it makes him sad. he does everything in his power to cheer you up. including doing the cringiest aegyo.

bf!hak who needs to be touching you somehow at all times. hand wrapped around your waist, laying on your thigh, holding yours. he wont let go.

© yeppiz | tumblr

─ 💌 𝄒 I was originally a bonedo acc but focused on cortis more!! I miss writing 4 hak though..

[4doras]

LOST AND FOUND: MASTERLIST

⤷ “lost your stuff or found items around school? leave it to the student council to find the original owner!” but the moment you, the school president, get a jacket a little too cute to give back, finding the owner is barely a thought in your head. finders keepers, losers weepers, right? sport that jacket around campus! nobody’ll blink an eye …unless the owner of the jacket is the resident trouble maker. 

ⓘ TROUBLE MAKER!MYUNG JAEHYUN X STU.PRESIDENT!READER 

⚠︎ fluff, humour, profanity, death/violent jokes, slightly sexual/suggestive jokes, mean-ish myungjae 

▶︎ COMPLETE 

TAGLIST. CLOSED 

CHAPTERS: PROFILES // PROLOGUE 

1 harmless | 2 jacket’s debut | 3 #soulmates | 4 claim check | 5 is this blackmail?? | 6 rub my bellay | 7 council suspicions | 8 he’s… nice? | 9 play “soft spot” by keshi | 10 he’s down bad, i fear | 11 snooping | 12 i want you | 13 @ koz.uni.gossip | 14 doppelgänger | 15 joan garcía | 16 jolly asf | 17 mafia boss | 18 yeah bye | 19 so no free coffee?? | 20 cutest couple | end!

[naejinsu]

PRIVATE MESSAGES ⋮ ⌗ ₊˚⊹ ᰔ

𓏵 ⌞ 한태산 x f!reader, suggestive ⌝ ∘∘∘ 10 slides, sugardaddy!taesan, mentions of sex, sexual images (slightly blurred), ft. leehan

𓏵 texts with your sugar daddy taesan *ੈ✩‧₊˚ 

ナナ’s ⦂ i haven't posted in a while so enjoy this quick post ♡

more under the cut ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

[gigisnextdoor]

HAPPY 3 YEARS WITH BND!

first time kissing each other - ot6 edition

a/n: this is a special because I couldn't not write anything for today!!! this is also my first attempt at writing about the same general idea for different members

SUNGHO

Your first kiss with Sungho happened because he laughed.

Not even a cute little chuckle either. Full-on head tipped back, shoulders shaking laughter because you had accidentally sprayed dry shampoo directly into your own face while trying to help him fix his hair.

“You look like a startled Victorian child,” he wheezed, clutching his stomach.

“You are literally the worst person to experience embarrassment around,” you groaned.

But he just kept laughing, bright and warm and so ridiculously pretty that it made your chest hurt a little.

Sungho reached over to brush the white powder off your cheek with his thumb, still smiling softly now. Up close, you noticed how gentle he looked despite those broad shoulders towering over you.

“There,” he murmured. “Better.”

Your eyes flickered to his lips for maybe half a second too long.

He noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

His grin turned shy around the edges, surprisingly delicate for someone usually so dependable and composed. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded so fast it made him laugh again.

The kiss itself was soft. Warm. Careful.

He kissed you like he was making sure you were comfortable every second, one hand resting lightly against your jaw while the other steadied your waist.

And when he pulled away, smiling so pretty it nearly killed you, he whispered,

“You taste like strawberry dry shampoo.”

RIWOO

Your first kiss with Riwoo happened in complete silence.

Well.

Almost complete silence.

Because he had spent the last twenty minutes making horrible donut-related dad jokes while the two of you sat in a tiny bakery sharing powdered sugar donuts.

“What did the donut say to the other donut?” he asked, trying not to smile already.

You groaned. “Please stop.”

“You complete me.”

You stared at him blankly.

Riwoo burst into embarrassed giggles before hiding his face behind his sleeve, shoulders shaking.

“You’re actually unbelievable,” you laughed.

His little beauty mark crinkled when he smiled, eyes disappearing into crescents as he ducked his head shyly. Even after dating for months, he still got flustered whenever you looked at him too long.

And unfortunately for him, you were staring now.

“What?” he mumbled.

“You’re cute.”

Immediately, his ears turned red.

“No I’m not.”

“You are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

He looked at you for one long second before quietly whispering, “You’re mean.”

Then he leaned forward so suddenly you barely processed it before his lips brushed yours.

Soft.

Tiny.

Almost hesitant.

Like he was scared you might pull away.

But the second you kissed him back, Riwoo made the tiniest surprised noise against your lips, and you swore your heart exploded on the spot.

When he pulled away, his entire face was pink.

“Can I still have the last donut?” he asked timidly.

You started laughing so hard he nearly hid under the table.

JAEHYUN

Your first kiss with Jaehyun was absolutely not planned.

Because nothing with Jaehyun was ever planned.

One second he was talking excitedly about something completely random, hands flying everywhere while he rambled at a million miles per hour, and the next he was suddenly stopping mid-sentence to stare at you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“Like you wanna kiss me.”

You nearly choked.

He immediately burst into loud laughter, clinging to your arm dramatically. “I KNEW IT.”

“You are insane.”

“But am I wrong?”

His grin was so unfair. Big puppy eyes, messy brown hair falling into his face, cheeks already dimpled from smiling too hard.

You hated how adorable he was.

Jaehyun tilted his head slightly, voice suddenly softer.

“Can I kiss you first?”

The sudden sincerity caught you completely off guard.

You nodded.

And oh.

Oh.

The kiss was sweet in the most Jaehyun way possible — smiling into it, accidentally bumping noses because he got too excited, hands cupping your cheeks like he couldn’t believe this was real.

When he pulled away, he looked genuinely emotional.

“Wait,” he whispered. “That was actually our first kiss.”

You laughed. “Yeah?”

“That’s crazy.” He stared at you with the biggest lovestruck expression ever. “I think I’m gonna remember this for the rest of my life.”

Then he kissed you again before you could even respond.

TAESAN

Your first kiss with Taesan happened while he was pretending not to care.

“You’re staring again,” he said lazily from where he sat on the floor, guitar resting across his lap.

“I’m literally not.”

“You literally are.”

You rolled your eyes, but he smirked because he knew he was winning.

Taesan always acted so cool about everything. Calm voice. Sharp teasing. That whole mysterious thing he had going on.

Which was hilarious considering he was secretly the softest person alive.

He plucked absentmindedly at the guitar strings while classic rock played quietly from his speaker, black hair falling into his eyes.

“You know,” you said slowly, “you’re actually cute.”

His head snapped up immediately. “Don’t say weird things.”

“Aww, are you embarrassed?”

“No.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

His ears turning pink said otherwise.

You grinned triumphantly, scooting closer until your knees bumped his. Taesan looked at you for a second too long before sighing dramatically.

“You’re annoying,” he muttered softly.

But he was smiling.

A tiny one.

The kind reserved only for you.

Then, before you could tease him again, he grabbed your wrist gently and pulled you forward just enough to kiss you.

It was slow.

Careful.

Much softer than you expected from someone who tried so hard to act unaffected all the time.

When he pulled away, you blinked at him in surprise.

“What?” he asked defensively.

“You kissed me first.”

Taesan immediately looked away. “Shut up.”

LEEHAN

Your first kiss with Leehan happened at the aquarium.

Of course it did.

You had spent nearly forty minutes sitting in front of one tank because Leehan got distracted explaining facts about fish with the most sparkly expression you had ever seen.

“And this one actually changes color depending on stress levels—”

“Mhm.”

“And some fish can recognize human faces—”

“Mhm.”

“And— wait.”

He turned toward you slowly.

“You’re not listening to me.”

“I am trying,” you defended weakly. “But you’re really pretty.”

Leehan blinked.

Then blinked again.

His cheeks turned pink so gradually it was adorable.

“You can’t just say things like that out of nowhere,” he mumbled, smiling shyly.

“But it’s true.”

He ducked his head, laughing quietly to himself before glancing back at you with that soft little smile that always made your stomach flip.

The blue light from the aquarium reflected in his eyes while he looked at you so gently it almost hurt.

“You know,” he said softly, “I think I like you more every day.”

And before you could recover from that sentence, he leaned in and kissed you.

It was impossibly tender.

Like being wrapped in warm water and sunlight all at once.

When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling so sweetly you thought you might combust.

“Do you wanna see the jellyfish next?” he whispered.

WOONHAK

Your first kiss with Woonhak happened because he got fake angry over a comment section.

“These people are WRONG,” he declared dramatically, pointing at his phone while sprawled across your bed.

“It’s literally rage bait.”

“I know it’s rage bait but they’re still WRONG.”

You laughed so hard you almost fell over.

Woonhak looked ridiculously cute when he ranted — all expressive hands, pouting lips, messy brown hair bouncing while he complained passionately about absolutely nothing important.

“You’re smiling at me,” he accused.

“Because you’re cute.”

He froze instantly.

“Oh.”

The confidence disappeared immediately.

Now suddenly he was shy.

You watched his face go pink while he tried very hard to act normal and failed horribly.

“You can’t just say stuff like that randomly,” he muttered.

“Why not?”

“Because then my heart starts doing weird things.”

Your expression softened immediately.

Woonhak looked at you for one quiet moment before scooting closer until his arms wrapped around your waist automatically, like hugging you was second nature.

And honestly?

Being held by him felt like the safest thing in the world.

“You’re really warm,” you mumbled into his shoulder.

“Good,” he said softly.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you with the gentlest eyes imaginable.

“Kiss me?”

You barely had time to nod before he was grinning again, pressing the sweetest, happiest kiss against your lips.

And halfway through it, he smiled so hard you both started laughing.

© All rights reserved @gigisnextdoor 2026.

taglist!♡ (open): @starryhop @beomtomie @ihanzzn @ivehan @haru-reto

[coriihanniee]

ㅤㅤㅤ˚‧♪⁺꒰ MAGGOTS FOR BRAINS ꒱˚೫‧*

ㅤㅤㅤ𓈒˚̣̣̣ 𓏵 𓏫𓈒 ˚̣̣̣ what can I do but think of you? ｀〫𝅄 ๋𓂂

۶ৎ SYNOPSIS : The thing about having maggots for brains is that you stop taking care of yourself—until your body makes the decision for you, right in the middle of your first date.۶ৎ PAIRING(S) : woonhak x f!reader ۶ৎ GENRE(S) : fluff, hurt/comfort ۶ৎ WARNING(S) : illness/fainting, reader neglects their own health ۶ৎ WORD COUNT : 5.8k words

۶ৎ A/N : hihii my loves! 🥹💕 omg it's been SO long since I wrote my last oneshot! 😭 this is dedicated to @taestulipss !! special thanks to her for planting the seed of this idea when my brain had completely given up on me~ 😘 you brought a little bit of my spark back and I hope this did it justice 🩷

You are so utterly, devastatingly, hopelessly cooked.

The thermometer sits on your nightstand where you left it, its little screen still glowing, still insisting on that number like it has a point to prove. 38.9°C. You've been staring at it for a full minute now, as if sustained eye contact might convince it to change its mind. It does not change its mind. Your head throbs with a dull, persistent ache that you have been trying to will away since you woke up two hours ago with your throat feeling like sandpaper and your sheets damp with sweat.

Tonight, of all nights.

The thing is, if you were being honest with yourself—truly, unflinchingly honest—you would admit that your body has been sending warnings for days. Little ones, easy to ignore. The faint scratch at the back of your throat two mornings ago that you dismissed as dry air. The heaviness behind your eyes yesterday that you attributed to staying up past 2am talking to Woonhak about nothing in particular, the conversation stretching so long that you'd looked up and genuinely startled at the time. The lunch you'd skipped three days ago because you were too busy replaying something he'd said to register hunger, and the dinner the night after that you'd eaten half of before getting distracted by his texts and forgetting to finish.

Small tasks. Manageable tasks. Details that felt completely inconsequential when weighed against the fact that tomorrow was coming and you had been waiting for tomorrow for a very long time.

You drop back against your pillow and exhale slowly. The ceiling stares back at you, indifferent and unhelpful. Somewhere outside your window the neighbourhood has gone quiet—it's late, later than you should still be awake, and yet here you are. Thermometer on the nightstand. Fever climbing. The elaborate skincare routine you had promised yourself—the one specifically designed to ensure you looked like a functioning human being tomorrow—sitting completely forgotten on your bathroom shelf.

Tomorrow morning, which is the morning of your first date with Kim Woonhak.

Even just thinking his name sends an embarrassing flutter to your chest. That small, involuntary lurch behind your ribs, the one you've grown so used to that you almost forget it hasn't always been there. 

Almost. 

The truth is you remember exactly when it started. It wasn't dramatic. No grand revelation or cinematic eye contact across a crowded room. Just the smallest detail—stupid and completely ordinary, and then it settled somewhere deep and refused to leave, through months of friendship and late nights that ran longer than they should have, through every conversation where you chose your words a little more carefully than necessary and every time you looked at him and had to remind yourself to look away.

And now, after all of that, tomorrow is finally arriving. 

Your first date. With him. Your first date with anyone, if you're being fully transparent with yourself, which you are actively avoiding because that particular truth makes everything feel even more enormous than it already does. The outfit is already hanging on your wardrobe door. You'd spent an almost unreasonable number of evenings narrowing it down, texting Woonhak about completely unrelated things while your floor was covered in rejected options, and the memory of it makes a quiet warmth bloom in your chest even now, even through the fever haze.

You reach for your phone. His contact is already open because of course it is, your thumbs have developed their own opinions about where they want to be apparently. The rational thing is right there—one text, simple and reasonable. “I'm not feeling well, can we move this?” He would understand. He would insist on it, even. He is, frustratingly, that kind of person.

You stare at the empty message box.

Then you lock your phone and set it face-down beside the thermometer.

No. Absolutely not.

You have waited too long for this. You've sat with this feeling for too long, through too many months of wanting a relationship you weren't sure you'd ever get to have. You are not surrendering tomorrow to a fever. You will sleep this off. You'll feel better in the morning—people recover from fevers overnight all the time, surely, and you will simply be one of them through sheer force of will if nothing else.

The glass of water on your nightstand, the one you poured an hour ago with genuine intentions of drinking it, sits completely untouched. The medicine in your bathroom cabinet stays in the bathroom cabinet. The half-eaten snack you'd abandoned on your desk earlier in favour of rereading your last conversation with him remains exactly where you left it, slowly going stale.

You turn off the lamp.

Tomorrow, you decide, with the serene and entirely unfounded confidence of someone who has comprehensively outsourced her common sense to her heart—you will be absolutely fine.

You close your eyes.

You are so utterly, devastatingly, hopelessly cooked.

 ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

Morning arrives, and it is not kind.

You become aware of consciousness slowly. Everything feels heavy. Your head, your limbs, the very air pressing down against your skin—all of it conspires to keep you horizontal, and for a long, bleary moment you comply. The sunlight filtering through your curtains feels aggressive. Your throat has graduated overnight from sandpaper to what feels like gravel, and the low throb behind your temples from last night has settled in with the comfortable permanence of an unwelcome houseguest.

You lie there, blinking at the ceiling.

Something was supposed to happen today.

You can't quite—

Your phone lights up on the nightstand.

You reach for it with the slow, waterlogged movements of someone operating at approximately forty percent capacity, fingers closing around it weakly. The screen swims into focus. One notification. A text, timestamp seven minutes ago, from the contact name you may or may not have spent an embarrassing amount of time choosing.

“Good morning :) still up for today? or did you finally come to your senses and realise you can't handle me?”

The effect is instantaneous and completely involuntary.

You sit up.

The headache detonates behind your eyes like a personal vendetta, white, sharp and immediate, and you actually have to press the heel of your palm against your forehead for a moment, teeth gritted, vision briefly unreliable. A noise escapes you that is not remotely dignified. You stay very still until the worst of it passes, phone clutched to your chest, the room tilting gently at its edges.

Then you look back down at his message.

The smile happens before you can stop it.

“I’ve been ready since yesterday,” you type back, which is true in every sense except the one where you are currently sitting upright through sheer determination alone, fever still very much present, head still very much attempting to detach itself from your body. “don't keep me waiting :)”

You hit send.

Then you push the covers back, plant your feet on the floor, and decide with absolute finality that you are fine.

You are so fine.

 ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

Getting ready takes longer than it should.

It’s not because you are indecisive—you already know what you're wearing, have known for days, the outfit still hanging exactly where you left it on your wardrobe door like a small monument to your own optimism. It takes longer because somewhere between washing your face and attempting eyeliner, your body keeps requesting breaks you haven't scheduled. A moment gripping the bathroom sink while the floor shifts unreliably beneath you. Another moment sitting on the edge of your bed, mascara wand in hand, waiting for a wave of dizziness to pass with the patience of someone who has decided that dizziness is simply not on today's agenda.

You look at yourself in the mirror.

You look terrible.

You look, specifically, like someone who ran a fever through the night and then got up anyway and tried to cover it with skincare and wishful thinking (which… is exactly what you did). Your eyes are glassy enough that no amount of concealer has managed to fully disguise it, and there's a specific quality to your complexion that sits somewhere between delicate and concerning.

You lean closer to the mirror.

Fine, you decide. Totally fine. Practically glowing, even.

Breakfast does not happen. You think about it briefly, open the fridge, register that the idea of eating anything feels genuinely implausible, and close it again. You'll eat later, during the date. That counts. That's basically the same thing.

By the time his text arrives—"on my way :)”—you are dressed, presentable by the loosest definition of the word, and running on a potent mix of adrenaline and delusion. You do one final check in the mirror, smooth down your outfit, and decide firmly that you look fine.

You look fine.

When the knock comes you cross the apartment in record time, pull open the door, and there he is.

And for a moment, you forget entirely that you feel like you're dying.

He looks like how he always does, which is to say unfairly good in an entirely casual way that he seems completely unaware of, and he's smiling at you with that radiant smile that has absolutely no business making you feel the way it does. His eyes do a quick, almost imperceptible sweep of your face—a brief, unreadable emotion passing through them—before settling back on yours like it never happened.

"You actually showed up," he says, delighted, like he genuinely wasn't sure you would. You lean against the doorframe with what you hope reads as effortless and not please give me something to hold onto.

"Told you," you reply. "Don't keep me waiting."

He laughs—bright and easy—and steps back to let you through, and you decide with complete certainty that you would drag yourself off your deathbed every single morning for the rest of your life for that sound without a second thought.

You grab your bag. You step outside. 

Yes, you are completely, totally fine.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

The night market is everything you imagined it would be.

Warm light strung low between stalls, the smell of frying oil and sugar competing in the air, noise layered over noise until it stops being individual sounds and becomes atmosphere. Woonhak grabs your wrist the second you step inside, already pulling you through the crowd before you've fully arrived, pointing excitedly at a stall halfway across the market.

"Okay, okay—do you see that? We're going there first. No arguments."

"We just got here—"

"No arguments," he repeats, already moving, and you laugh and follow him, and for a blissful, golden little while, you forget entirely that you are running a fever of nearly thirty nine degrees.

He's so bright tonight. That's the thing about Woonhak that you can never quite explain to anyone who hasn't stood next to him—he fills whatever space he walks into, this warm and restless energy that makes everything feel like it's moving slightly faster and more vividly than it did before he arrived. You've liked him for so long that you've genuinely forgotten what it felt like not to, and standing beside him now, it feels like a reality you keep having to convince yourself is real.

You feel strange tonight. Everything seems just a little out of focus, like your body can't quite keep up with the rest of the world. But his hand is warm around your wrist, grounding you, and the dizziness eases enough for you to catch your breath. 

You're here. You made it. Everything else can wa—

A sudden chill moves through you from your shoulders down, your whole body shuddering once, visibly, before you can catch it.

Woonhak turns immediately.

"Are you cold?"

"No," you say. "Just the breeze."

He looks at you. Then he looks very deliberately at the banners hanging from the stall directly beside you—completely, utterly motionless, not a single thread shifting—and then he looks back at you with his eyebrows raised.

"There's no breeze."

"There was one. It passed."

"It passed." 

"It was… very fast!”

He stares at you with his mouth slightly open, caught between disbelief and amusement, and then he laughs—short and bewildered—and shakes his head and turns back to the stall. You exhale quietly.

Fine. You're fine.

But when he falls into step beside you again he's closer than before that your arms brush with almost every step, and his hands have come out of his pockets, and you notice all of this and choose, very deliberately, not to think about what it means.

 ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

He talks without restraint, like every thought that crosses his mind is worth sharing. He keeps up a running commentary on every stall you pass, tells a story about Jaehyun that has him laughing before he even reaches the punchline, and bumps his shoulder against yours every so often to make sure you're looking at whatever has caught his attention.

You are. You laugh when he laughs, follow wherever he points, match his energy as best you can. It's just that every few minutes, the world blurs around the edges, and you have to blink until everything settles back into place before he notices.

"—and then he actually tried to convince the guy that it wasn't even his—" Woonhak glances over mid-sentence and catches you a half-beat behind, your gaze slightly unfocused, and stops. "Hey."

You blink back into the moment. "Sorry — those caught my eye." You gesture at a nearby stall. "What were you saying?"

He doesn't look at the stall. He looks at you, and underneath his expression a different frequency of attention has switched on—the laughter still warm in his face but behind it, watchful now. 

"You sure you're okay?" he asks.

"I'm great," you tell him, and you smile, and you put your whole self into it. "Tell me what happened."

The moment passes. He finishes the story and you laugh in the right place. But when you start walking he's closer again— closer than he was even a minute ago— and his shoulder stays pressed against yours, steady and deliberate, and you think he's started noticing more than he's letting on.

Inside, the throb behind your temples has quietly escalated. You breathe through it and keep walking and tell yourself it's fine, it's fine.

You're absolutely fine.

 ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

He buys you tteokbokki without asking, appearing at your side with it like it's the most natural thing in the world. He holds it out to you, his expression easy, but there's a quiet insistence beneath it.

"You haven't eaten anything this whole time," he says, and the teasing lilt that's coloured his voice all evening gives way to quiet concern.

"I've been pacing myself."

"For an hour."

"I'm very disciplined."

He looks at you, and for just a second, the easygoing expression slips away. What's left is intent—focused, a little worried.

"Eat," he says. "Please."

The word startles you more than it should. You don't think you've ever heard him sound quite so earnest. 

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you're reaching for the skewer. 

You smile, take it, and try. You genuinely do.

Two bites in, your stomach clenches in immediate protest. You stop chewing.

For a few long seconds, all you can do is stand there, swallowing carefully, willing the nausea back down. The skewer hangs forgotten in your hand as you fix your gaze on the lantern above the nearest stall, counting each breath and praying your face doesn't give you away.

It passes. Barely.

The third bite never comes.

You find a bin a minute later. When you return to his side his eyes go straight to your empty hands, and the silence stretches three full seconds longer than it should.

"You couldn't finish it?" he asks quietly.

"I wasn't as hungry as I thought," you offer.

He looks at you for a long moment, jaw shifting once. He has the expression of someone assembling a picture from pieces he doesn't want to believe, choosing very carefully not to say what he's thinking yet.

"Okay," he says, quiet and measured.

It's only one word, spoken in a tone you've never heard from him before. But it tells you more than anything else he's said all evening.

You take his hand without thinking about it, lacing your fingers through his, and he squeezes back—warm and immediate—and you feel him exhale through it.

"Come on," you say softly. "What's next?"

He lets you redirect him. But his thumb traces a slow, absentminded pattern against the back of your hand as you walk, and you don't think he realises he's doing it, and it keeps you tethered to the present unlike anything else tonight has managed. For a little while the fever recedes back to a murmur and you almost forget again.

Almost.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

The adrenaline leaves gradually, and then all at once.

There's no single moment where you register it happening. It's just a slow and incremental dimming. The idea of him has been powering you through this all evening—the wanting, the waiting, the electric reality of finally having what you'd spent so long hoping for—and ideas, it turns out, have limits when your body is running a fever on no food, no water and sheer stubborn devotion.

You're still beside him, matching his pace, answering when he speaks. But your reactions come a fraction too late now, every smile feeling just a little heavier than the last. He tells a joke that would usually have you laughing without thinking. It still reaches you. Somewhere beneath the fever, it's just as funny as it always would be. Your body simply can't keep up.

Woonhak has gone quiet.

The commentary has stilled entirely. He's just walking beside you now, close enough that your shoulders stay in constant contact, and you can feel the weight of his attention on the side of your face like a hand pressed gently against glass.

"Hey," he says, low.

"Hey."

"You having fun?"

"So much fun." You mean it. You mean it with everything you have left, which isn't much, but every last bit of it is his. "I really am."

He nods slowly. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, right?"

Your chest tightens. "Nothing's wrong," you say. "I promise."

He doesn't push. But his free hand finds the small of your back, warm and steady, and it keeps you upright in more ways than one.

Almost there. 

Just the rooftop. 

You just have to get to the rooftop.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

The street leading away from the market is quieter, lined with low amber light and the particular stillness that follows when a crowd falls away behind you. Woonhak mentions the rooftop ahead with practiced casualness—definitely looked it up, definitely pretending he didn't—and even now, even like this, the quiet effort behind it makes your heart soften.

You make it halfway down the street.

The dizziness arrives without warning and without mercy—a full and consuming wave that drains the colour from the edges of your vision and turns the pavement unreliable beneath your feet in a single, devastating second. Your steps falter. Your free hand reaches for something solid to grab onto and finds only air.

"Hey—" Woonhak feels it through your joined hands before you've even fully registered it yourself, turning towards you instantly. "Hey, what's—"

"I'm—" But the word dissolves. The world tips. Your knees buckle before you can catch yourself, and the pavement rushes up to meet you—

Arms catch you before you reach the ground, immediately pulling you in against him, and the impact you braced for never comes, just the solid warmth of him and his voice saying your name with an urgency that cuts through the fog like the first clear word you've heard all evening.

"Hey — hey. I've got you. Can you hear me?"

"Mm." It's all you can manage. Your hands have found the front of his jacket and are holding on with what little grip you have left.

For a moment he just holds you, one hand braced at your back, and then his palm comes up to press against your forehead, and the sharp breath he draws in tells you everything about what he's been expecting.

"You're burning up." His voice is low and even and very, very careful. "How long have you been feeling like this?"

You close your eyes. "Since yesterday."

Silence settles between you.

"Since yesterday," he repeats. His grip doesn't loosen, but it changes somehow, tightening just enough for you to notice. His gaze searches your face as if he's trying to reconcile the answer with the version of the evening he'd convinced himself was real.

"I didn't want to cancel," you say, into his jacket, very small. "I've been waiting for today for so long. I just—I really didn't want to cancel."

He doesn't say anything for a moment. You feel him exhale, slow and deliberate, feel the way his arms adjust around you with a care so methodical and certain that your throat tightens with it. Before you can ask what he's doing, your feet leave the ground. The movement is so smooth you're already tucked against his chest by the time it registers that he's carrying you.

"Woonhak—"

"Don't," he says softly. His jaw is set and his eyes are forward and his hold on you does not waver for a single second. "Just stay with me, okay?"

You try.

You really, genuinely try—you focus on the amber light above you, on the steady rhythm of his footsteps, on the warmth of his chest against your side and the sound of his voice and every small anchor that might keep you tethered here, present, with him. You want to stay. You want to see where this street leads, what the rooftop looks like and every version of tonight that has yet to come.

But the fever has been patient all evening, and it is done being patient.

The amber light blurs and stretches. His voice reaches you from somewhere far away, your name in his mouth sounding like the last clear sound in a room going slowly, gently dark—and your hands, still curled into the front of his jacket, go slack.

ᡣ𐭩 •｡ꪆৎ ˚⋅

You wake slowly, and the first thing you register is cold.

A damp cloth sits folded over your forehead, cool water tracing a thin line down towards your temple, and beneath it your skin feels tender and overheated in a way that makes the cold almost unbearable and welcoming at the same time, like your body can't decide which sensation to trust. You lie there for a long moment without opening your eyes, just breathing, just existing inside the strange heavy quiet of a body that has been running on empty for far too long.

The air smells different from your own room—cleaner, somehow, with an undertone of a warm, familiar scent that you can't immediately place, not until your mind catches up and supplies the answer : him. It smells like him.

You open your eyes.

The ceiling above you is not your ceiling. The light fixture is wrong, the crack in the corner that you've memorized from your own bedroom missing entirely, replaced by smooth unbroken white. You blink, slow and uncertain, and let your gaze drift sideways instead—soft grey walls, a desk cluttered with things that are clearly not yours, textbooks stacked at an angle that suggests they were shoved aside in a hurry, a hoodie thrown carelessly over the back of a chair like someone changed out of it in a rush and didn't bother folding it.

His hoodie. His desk. His room.

Oh.

The realization comes quietly as the memories begin to return, uneven and out of sequence, as though your mind is still catching up to everything your body has already lived through. The market, warm, loud and golden. Lanterns strung low overhead. Tteokbokki you couldn't finish, the way his eyes had gone straight to your empty hands when you came back from the bin. His hand at the small of your back, steady even as the ground had started to feel unreliable beneath you. The street after, quieter, amber-lit, his voice mentioning a rooftop with poorly disguised excitement.

And then the ground tipping. His voice, sharp and urgent, cutting through a fog that had already started swallowing everything else. Your name, said like it mattered more than anything else in the world.

And then nothing. A long, formless nothing, dark and total.

You lift a hand—slowly, testing, like you're not entirely convinced it will cooperate—and press your fingers lightly against your own forehead, beneath the cloth, as though you might be able to feel the fever from the outside if you just try hard enough. It's still there, quieter now, banked down to a more manageable ache than whatever had been raging through you last night, but present all the same. A dull, insistent hum beneath your skin.

You have never in your life felt more like a zombie than you do in this exact moment, and the humiliating part is that you know, somewhere in the honest core of yourself, that it isn't only the fever's doing. You'd spent the entire week rotting quietly from the inside—skipping meals because his texts felt more urgent than hunger, staying up because talking to him felt more important than sleep, letting every small warning sign slide because nothing, nothing, felt more pressing than the fact that you were finally, finally going to get to have this. Him. A date. A version of tomorrow you'd been aching for since the moment you realized you were in this deep.

Lovesick, in the most literal, humiliating, medically inconvenient sense of the word.

You almost laugh, except your throat is too dry and your head throbs in mild protest at the idea, so instead you just lie there, staring at his ceiling, marinating in the specific mortification of having quite literally fallen ill over a boy.

Maggots for brains, you think, a little deliriously. If he ever found out that phrase existed, you would never, ever hear the end of it.

The door opens.

"OH MY GOD—okay, okay, you're up, you're actually—" Woonhak comes in fast, too fast, a bowl balanced with visible concentration in one hand like he'd been hovering just outside the door waiting for exactly this. The moment his eyes land on you properly, something in his whole body seems to loosen, relief washing so plainly across his face that it's almost startling to witness, like he'd genuinely been bracing for the alternative.

"Do you know how long you've been out?" He crosses the room in a handful of long strides, setting the bowl down on the nightstand with more care than the rest of his movements would suggest he's capable of right now. "A full day. Twenty four hours, I've been checking your temperature every hour like some kind of lunatic, Jaehyun's been texting me asking if I've lost my mind, I genuinely think I might have—okay, here, sit up, slowly, don't just—wait, let me—"

His hands hover, uncertain, torn between the cloth on your forehead and the pillow behind you and you in general, like he can't quite decide what needs fixing first and is mildly panicking about the sheer number of options.

"Okay, cloth first, probably, or—no, wait, are you thirsty, should I get water, I have water right here actually—" He reaches for a glass on the nightstand you hadn't even noticed, thrusts it slightly in your direction, then seems to reconsider whether you're upright enough to drink anything and pulls it back halfway. "Or not. Not yet. Cloth. I'll do the cloth.”

 It would be funny, you think distantly—the way concern turns him chaotic instead of calm, all that easy confidence from last night nowhere to be found—except you don't have it in you to laugh, not yet, because somewhere between the door opening and him crossing the room, the full shape of everything has finally caught up to you.

The date. The one you'd wanted for months, quietly, achingly, through every late-night conversation and every carefully chosen word. 

"—and I texted my mom, actually, don't ask me why, I panicked and she was just the first person in my contacts who wasn't you—" He resettles the cloth against your forehead with a gentleness that doesn't match the speed of his voice at all, two entirely different registers running at once. "She said to give you soup. I'm already doing that. I feel very ahead of the curve here, honestly—”

The one you'd promised yourself you'd be present for, fully, unmistakably yourself, not this. Not fainting in the middle of a street. Not losing an entire day. Not waking up small and fever-warm in his bed while he hovers over you like you're a fragile object he's afraid of breaking further.

"—I mean it, I nearly had a heart attack, you just went completely limp, I've never carried anyone that fast in my life, I think I set a personal record actually, not that this is a competition, but if it were—" He stops, and notices, maybe, that you've gone very quiet beneath him, that your eyes have taken on a glassy, distant quality that has nothing to do with the fever.

There was no rooftop. There was no ending. There was just—an entire day gone, swallowed whole, and the quiet devastating certainty that you'd taken the one thing you'd wanted most and broken it before it had even properly begun.

Your eyes sting before you can stop them.

Woonhak's rambling cuts off mid-sentence.

"Hey—hey, what's wrong?" His hands finally land, one bracing gently at your shoulder, the other hovering near your face like he's afraid to touch without permission. "Is it your head? Are you dizzy, do you need me to—"

"I…" You swallow hard. "I r-ruined it." Your voice catches on the second word, and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to stop.

It doesn't work.

The tears come anyway—hot, fast, and completely outside your control, spilling over before you can do anything to stop them. 

"I ruined the whole thing." Your breath hitches. "I wanted it to be p-perfect. I wanted to be—I don't know." You shake your head, another sob breaking through. "I just wanted to be normal."

Your next words come out in a rush, tripping over each other.

"I wanted you to have a good first date, and instead I passed out in the middle of the street, and you had to carry me, and there was no rooftop, and I missed an entire day, and I'm s-sorry." The apology fractures around another shaky breath. "I'm so sorry. I just wanted it to be good, and I—"

"Hey. Hey, no—" Whatever he was about to do gets abandoned entirely. He sinks down onto the edge of the bed, closer now, and his hands come up slow and careful, as though you're a frightened animal that might startle at sudden movement. One thumb brushes beneath your eye, catching a tear before it can fall further, and then his palm settles against your cheek, warm and steady, like it belongs there.

"You didn't ruin anything," he says, and there's no trace of teasing left in his voice now. Only a quiet certainty, delivered as though it isn't even a point worth arguing. "You showed up to see me with a fever of thirty nine degrees because you didn't want to disappoint me. Do you understand how insane that is? You ate tteokbokki you could barely keep down because I asked you to. You held my hand through an entire night market while you were actively about to pass out, and you still laughed at my stupid Jaehyun story, and you still smiled at me like—" He stops himself, exhales, shakes his head slightly, like even he can't quite find the right shape for it. "Like I was the only good thing in the whole market. That's not ruining a date. That might be the most anyone's ever tried for me in my entire life."

You blink up at him, throat too tight to answer, more tears slipping free despite his thumb's best efforts to catch them.

"There's going to be a rooftop," he says softly, still wiping at your cheeks with a patience that leaves your chest painfully tight. "There's going to be a hundred rooftops, I promise you, I already looked up five more just in case. I'm not going anywhere. This isn't the only chance we get." His voice grows gentler with every word. "You could've just told me you were sick, you know. I would've shown up at your door with soup and my bad taste in movies instead. I wouldn't have cared about some rooftop."

"I wanted the date," you mumble, small, pressing your face slightly into his palm without quite meaning to. "I've wanted it for so long. I didn't want a fever to be the reason I didn't get it."

"I know." His thumb sweeps once more beneath your eye, gentle. "I know, you absolute menace. You've got maggots for brains, you know that? Fever like that and you still texted me 'don't keep me waiting.'"

A wet, surprised laugh escapes you despite everything, undignified and hiccupping. "That's so mean."

"It's affectionate," he says, entirely unbothered, leaning forward to press his lips briefly to your forehead, right where the cloth had been. "Extremely affectionate. I've been thinking about it all day, actually—maggots for brains, over me. I don't think I've ever felt so honored to be someone's rot."

"Please stop talking."

"Never," he says, grinning now, some of the earlier panic finally bleeding out of him now that you're laughing instead of crying. He reaches for the bowl on the nightstand, angling it towards you with exaggerated ceremony. "Soup. Made by my own two hands, so lower your expectations accordingly. And then you're sleeping, and I'm staying right here, and tomorrow—when you've got actual functioning brain cells again—we're renegotiating this whole rooftop situation. Non-negotiable."

You take the bowl from him, your fingers brushing his, and the tightness in your chest eases for the first time since you woke.

"Okay," you say quietly.

"Okay?"

"Okay." You manage a small, worn-out smile. "Take care of me, then."

The look that crosses his face at that—soft, a little stunned, like you've handed him permission to hope—stays with you long after he's tucked the blanket back around your shoulders and settled into the chair beside the bed, close enough that his hand finds yours without either of you really deciding it should. The fever hasn't broken yet. There's no rooftop tonight, no ending you'd planned for.

But his hand is warm around yours, and his eyes stay on you even after you've closed your own, and for the first time all week, the ache in your chest doesn't feel anything like sickness at all.

Maybe this was just the thing that happens when your baby stays. 

@coriihanniee ᯓᡣ𐭩

˖➴ reblogs are appreciated! ty for reading! <3

taglist : @riuscheri @imhereonlytoreadxoxo @heeheesang @jjyurahz @prodkwh @ivehan @yunextdoor @chocorenchin @hyunjinslongasslegs @pupillary @s0shroe @mydeepestsecrects @perlleta @levi-09 @parkthothwa8 @woonbabie @nemoihan @wnouzi @kazukazukiiii @hollyoongs @kjunebuggie @niiqv @fayepz @bamgeutori @hraethy @twaesns @ihanzzn @atdeerhunter @pinkiwinkiminki

[astrae4]

WHEN A MAN REALIZES THE SIGNIFICANCE OF A PLUSHIE | Kim Woonhak

pairings — boynextdoor’s Woonhak x reader ( ft. Myung Jaehyun )

genre — slice of life, comedy, romance, established relationship (WC. 1.1k)

warnings — none! but woonhak’s very very jealous here hehe

note — posting 3x this week and then a lotttt next week… wish me luck..

MORE WORKS: navigation | bnd!masterlist

WOONHAK HAS BEEF.

Serious, deep, heartfelt beef—with a six-dollar plushie from the claw machine.

“Hyung,” he groans, throwing himself onto Jaehyun’s bed like a man who’s just seen war. “I can’t do this anymore.”

Jaehyun looks up from his phone, not even pretending to care. “What did you do now?”

“It’s not me! It’s them!”

“Them,” Jaehyun repeats flatly, “as in… the plushies?”

“Yes!” Woonhak sits up dramatically, pointing like he’s accusing a villain in a courtroom. “She has too many. Way too many. I can’t even see her when she sleeps because there’s a wall of them!”

Jaehyun blinks. “…You’re jealous of the plushies.”

Woonhak glares. “I’m not jealous. I just think it’s weird! Why does she need, like—fifteen bears when she has me?”

Jaehyun sets his phone down, giving him that look that screams I’m too tired for this conversation but okay. “Woonhak.”

“What?”

“You do realize you’re saying you’re jealous of inanimate objects that she literally bought because she misses you, right?”

“That’s—what?” Woonhak frowns. “No, that doesn’t even—”

Jaehyun just raises an eyebrow. “Think about it. When you’re gone for schedules, who’s there to hug her? Who’s there to sleep next to her when she’s lonely? Those plushies are literally the next best thing.”

Woonhak opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again. “…Oh.”

“Yeah,” Jaehyun says, already going back to scrolling on his phone. “You’re basically mad at the emotional support version of yourself.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe get her another one instead of complaining about it.”

“…Oh.”

“Stop saying oh before I throw a pillow at you.”

That night, Woonhak sits on his bed, chin in hand, staring at the ceiling.

So… you got those plushies because you missed him? And here he was, sulking about them like a toddler denied candy. Great job, genius.

He pictures your room—soft lighting, too many blankets, an entire army of plushies taking over the bed. You always teased him, saying they “keep me company” when he’s away. And every time, he’d just roll his eyes and call them clingy.

But maybe you were just lonely. Maybe hugging those bears was the only way you could stop missing him so much.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself, determination glinting in his eyes. “Fine. I’ll make it up to [reader].”

The next day, you wake up groggy and shuffled toward the bed, rubbing your eyes. And that’s when you see it.

Front and center among the plushies sits a new one—a big, soft bear with the most ridiculous little hoodie that looks exactly like something Woonhak would wear. It’s even got messy little brown hair ( clearly hand-sewn! ), and someone’s drawn tiny dimples on its face with a marker.

You blink.

Then blink again.

Then burst out laughing.

“What is this?” you say between giggles, picking it up. A small note falls out of its pocket.

“If you’re gonna hug something, it better at least look like me. — Woonhak 🐻”

You’re still laughing when the phone rings.

“Good morning,” Woonhak says, voice smug and full of barely contained pride.

“What’s this, huh?” You hold up the bear to the camera. “It looks suspiciously like you.”

“Yeah,” he says, leaning closer to the screen, pretending to inspect it. “Handsome, huh?”

“You made this?”

He grins. “Kind of. Jaehyun helped me order the bear, and then I drew on the face. Don’t worry, it’s one of a kind.”

You snort. “You drew your own dimples on it?”

“Hey, that’s my brand!” he protests, pretending to pout. “Besides, now you don’t have to miss me when I’m not there.”

You raise an eyebrow. “So you finally admitted you were jealous of my plushies.”

Woonhak immediately stiffens. “I—No! I wasn’t jealous! I just—uh—didn’t like that they were taking up too much space on the bed.”

“Sure,” You teased, hugging the bear to your chest. “Whatever you say, Mr. Jealous.”

He groans. “Stop calling me that.”

“Mr. Jealous!”

“I’m hanging up.”

“You love me too much to hang up.”

He rolls his eyes, but his lips curve into that soft, lopsided smile you know too well. “Yeah, yeah. Keep hugging the bear.”

“Oh, I will,” you say sweetly, cuddling it tighter. “He doesn’t argue back.”

“Hey!” Woonhak protests. “Don’t replace me with that thing!”

You grin. “Maybe I will. He’s quieter.”

“Okay, that’s it—I’m buying a life-sized version next time.”

“Then I’ll have two of you.”

“No, because then you’ll never call the real me again.”

“Depends on how soft it is.”

“[Reader]!”

You laugh so hard he gives up, burying his face in his hands, groaning dramatically. “This is what I get for trying to be romantic.”

“No,” You say softly, voice gentler now. “This is what you get for being sweet.”

He peeks through his fingers, eyes crinkling. “You like it?”

“I love it.”

“You better,” he says, puffing his cheeks in mock offense. “I stayed up till 2 a.m. making sure that stupid bear looked like me.”

“It’s perfect,” You reassure him. “But you know what’s even better?”

“What?”

“The real one.”

He goes quiet, just staring at you for a moment. Then, a smile breaks across his face—soft, a little shy, the kind that always makes their chest feel warm.

“Then I’ll hurry home,” he says quietly.

Later that night, you’re curled up in bed, your phone still warm from the last call. Woonhak’s voice still lingers in your head, and his little bear version is tucked securely in your arms.

You press a kiss to its forehead before turning off the light.

“Goodnight, Woonhak,” you whisper.

Meanwhile, across the city, Woonhak lies in his dorm, grinning at his screen like an idiot after reading their last message. Jaehyun throws a pillow at him.

“What are you smiling about now?”

“Nothing,” Woonhak says, still smiling.

Jaehyun squints. “You gave her the bear, didn’t you?”

“Maybe.”

“And they liked it?”

“They loved it,” Woonhak says proudly.

“Good. Now stop looking at your phone like you’re in a drama.”

Woonhak just hums, rolling over and hugging his pillow like it’s them. “You’re just jealous you’re not her plushie.”

Jaehyun groans. “I’m regretting ever helping you.”

“No, you’re not.”

The next morning, Woonhak wakes up to a picture you sent—a selfie of yourself snuggled up with the bear, captioned: “My favorite boy 🐻💛”

He laughs, heart thudding a little too fast. Yeah, maybe he lost the plushie war. But if it means you’re smiling like that, he doesn’t really mind.

TAGLIST: @cherryblossomlovesblog @pluslandminun @ivxae @chwrrydolly @ja4hyvn @flwoie @sulkygyu @xiaoderrrr @ineedaherosavemeenow @teddywonss @taerae-verse @bbangbies @voucearse @ruuroom @wensurr @onesanonly @sunoo-mint-choco

NETWORKS: @k-records @k-films @k-labels @onedoornet

© astrae4 2025 — please don't copy, translate, or plagiarize my works on all platforms!

[laylovesbeomgyu]

fixing things ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

pairing : boynextdoor member x reader

synopsis : you got into a fight with bnd. How and what will each member do to try and fix things?

warnings : extreme yearning, frustrated members, slight angst, crying red hair taesan (I had to), make-up kissing, fluff

a/n : hii everyone it’s been a while, i think the unexpected new bonedo music inspired me to write cause hello wtf was that!? also, taesan’s scenario was HEAVILY influenced by my current favorite song ‘Go Away’ by Weezer and Best Coast (i stole the lyrics hihihi), enjoy loves!

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · · · · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

SUNGHO

sungho was full of pride after a fight, so much so that he gave you silent treatment for the whole day after the morning quarrel.

But as night creeped up, he found himself alone on the couch, knees bobbing up and down in pent-up frustration.

You made your way out of the bedroom to get some water, and you could just see the conflict written on his face.

He looked at you and you looked at him, deep longing clear in the irises of his eyes.

Just as you were on your way back upstairs, feeling heavy-hearted, you were pulled back by a strong force.

Sungho quickly grabbed your wrist and tugged on it so you’d rotate to face him.

His fingers trembled ever so slightly against your pulse, and he parted his lips as if to say something.

“Sweetheart, please, no more of this, I can’t take it anymore”

The raw, breathless words sent a sharp pain through your heart.

“I’m sorry if I hurt you sweetheart, you know I didn’t mean any of the words I said, it’s just that what you said before got on my nerves ‘kay?”

“I’m sorry too, it all escalated so quickly…”

He nodded and a relieved smile spread from cheek to cheek as he finally pulled you close and buried his face in your hair like you were the only thing that mattered.

“I missed you so damn much”

He whispered next to your jaw before pulling away to look at you.

And you missed him too. So it wasn’t long before your lips were on each other again, soft, sweet, a promise entwined between two souls who couldn’t spend more than a day away from each other.

RIWOO

Riwoo had the face of someone who had just been robbed and left with nothing. Because that’s how he feels whenever you two argue: like he had lost everything that made him whole.

He couldn’t focus on any other task when he knew you weren’t on good terms. All he could do was self-wallow, for a maximum of about five minutes post-argument, before his feet were on autopilot mode and made their way to you.

“I’m going crazy, please talk to me”

He knocked and begged behind your door, still keeping a boundary by not barging in.

“Let me in, please my love”

You opened the door gently, to be met by a frowning riwoo, mirroring your expression.

He made his way to you hesitantly, and cupped your face in the gentlest way possible.

“Talk to me. Let’s sort this out, okay?”

You nod, leaning into his touch involuntarily.

That earned a half smile from him as he led you to the bed where feelings were expressed and peace was brought about.

“Next time, we’ll do this earlier”

“Riwoo-ah, it was just five minutes” you chuckled.

“That’s five minutes too long my love” he spoke with a grin as he moved to hover above you, stealing your lips lovingly.

And in that moment, as he kissed you senseless, he promised he’d never let himself be away from you.

JAEHYUN

Jaehyun struggled to control the anger he had boiling inside of him whenever you two fought. He absolutely hated, despised even, the thought of not talking to you.

His hair was in a bun, a messy one at that, from the amount of times he ran his fingers through it.

He was in the bathroom pacing around the same four tiles. Jaehyun made it his mission to fix things, but he just didn’t know how without making things worse, and it bugged him so bad.

You wanted to use the bathroom, so you opened the door, not knowing that he was inside.

Jaehyun froze in his tracks, his concentrated expression softening immediately when he saw you.

“Looks like the bathroom’s occupied” you say before turning to leave.

“Babe wait, please don’t leave”

He blurted out the words before he could stop himself, and when you turned around, he looked at you with big eyes and parted his lips to talk.

“I hate this, I hate this so much, you have no idea how much I hate not hearing your voice.

I’m sorry for what I said, just please forgive me”

He spoke with such emotion, like you’ve never seen before. You could see how much it affected him not being next to you.

The moment your shoulders went from tense to slightly relaxed, he didn’t wast any time and pulled you into a deep hug.

You could feel a shivered sigh escaping him as he cradled your head when you melted into him.

“I’m sorry too”

“Shh, we’re okay now”

He said as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before his hand rested on the nape of your neck, thumb brushing against your jawline.

He didn’t hesitate to collide his lips with yours, feeling like a lifetime since he’d done so.

As you both got lost in each other’s arms, all his anger faded away and he was in peace, because he was with you again.

TAESAN

after an argument, taesan’s emotions were far from controllable, so he escapes them.

every. single. time.

He left this morning, the slam of the door piercing through your aching heart.

Taesan walked and walked, almost as if he thought doing so could physically detach him from his shadow.

Because the truth was, he was a mess without you. It’s embarrassing how miserable he feels whenever you’re not near.

As the sun came down and the moon took over, heavy rain poured all over the city, each drop patting aggressively against your window.

You started getting worried about Taesan, but what could you do? He probably won’t pick up if you call him.

It fumed you when you remembered how stubborn he is. Maybe you should just let him freeze out there if he knocks.

And just as you thought about that, almost as if it was fate, the door knocked.

It was definitely Tae. Identified by his soaking red hair through the peephole.

“Baby can we talk”

“Go away Taesan”, you said, physically restraining yourself from just opening the door and forgetting all about the fight.

He gently banged his head with the door three times, his palm splayed out on the wooden barrier between you two.

“I’m cold baby, please, we can fix this, no, we have to fix this, please just open the damn door!”

He begged, and you could hear the desperation in his voice.

“Please…”

And amidst the harsh rain, you heard a small sob.

That was enough for you to open the door quickly to find taesan, the red in his hair matching the red in the rims of his eyes.

You took a step closer, the feeling of the rain taking over you causing your face to scrunch up.

You didn’t say anything, just gently lifted your arm to move his wet hair away from his face.

His lips quivered at the action, and he couldn’t stop himself from closing the gap and kissing you out of pure, raw desperation.

It knocked you off your feet immediately, as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder.

He broke the kiss to bury his face in the crook of your neck, his emotions flowing freely now.

“I’m sorry baby, please forgive me”

“I’m sorry too tae”

He only squeezed you tighter before pulling you inside, and once the door was closed, his hands and lips never left your body.

No words were needed. He showed you everything he was promising through his gentle touches, and in that moment, you both knew you didn’t need anything else except for each other.

LEEHAN

Leehan was already quiet as is, so one could only imagine the uncomfortable silence that bore over the house after you two argued.

You sat on the corner of the couch, your knees hugged to your chest, scrolling mindlessly on your phone to pretend that you’re fine, when in reality, not talking to leehan was eating you alive.

He wasn’t any better either, on the other side of the couch, watching something he definitely wasn’t paying attention to.

After a long thirty minutes of you both staring at screens with no purpose, Leehan sighed audibly and turned off the tv.

He looked at you, a serious expression, expecting you to turn off your phone,

“We’re just gonna keep acting like it’s okay when we both know it’s not?”

As you looked up at him, he patted his thigh gently, an invitation to talk things out.

You felt your heart knot, and you laid your head down where he told you to.

His fingers threaded through your strands reverently, as your eyes watered slightly.

“Talk to me darling”

“I’m mad, I’m so so mad”

“Shh calm down, I’m mad too, but we’re gonna talk”

“I-I’m mad cause we’re fighting, I don’t want us to fight leehan”

You raised your head to look at him, making your point clear.

He nodded understandingly,

“Then we won’t fight anymore darling, I’m sorry for what I said”

“I’m sorry too han”

As you both finally smiled at each other again, he helped you climb onto his lap, intertwining his fingers with yours.

He leaned in and dominated your lips softly, that grin never leaving his face.

You both nuzzled into each other’s necks, the closeness never enough.

“I love you sweetheart, okay?”

“Okay”

And finally, the silence in the house wasn’t uncomfortable anymore, in fact there was no silence, as you both filled the room with soft kissing noises and giggles, and everything was back to normal.

He had you, you had him, and that was more than enough.

WOONHAK

Woonhak was always like a deer in headlights after a fight, not knowing what to do, where to go or what to say.

He’d call so many friends, saying “if you hypothetically fought with your girl, what would you hypothetically do to stop fighting”

But this time, he decided he didn’t need any friends. He was missing you so much and just had to do something.

So he drove to the nearest flower shop and bought the largest bouquet ever that made people literally stare at him as he carried them to his car.

Then we wrote and wrote his heart out onto a pretty pink paper. He was never good with face-to-face interactions so this was the only way he could express his emotions.

As you got home from work that day of the fight, exhausted even though you didn’t do much work since you were constantly thinking of Woonhak, you walked to the kitchen desperate for a glass of wine or something.

That’s when you find the vibrant flowers on the counter alongside the note, and the sight you so desperately wanted to see tonight no matter the circumstances : Woonhak.

He stood there, waiting, with a hopeful face, and the doe-est of eyes.

“I-I didn’t know what to do…so I got you these”

You made your way to the vase of flowers and started opening the letter.

In the note, he told you how much he misses you and how stressed he was without you, and how desperately he wanted to fix things.

The note was signed off with :

I’m sorry my girl, with love from hakkie <3

“You make it impossible to be angry, you know that right?”

And the smile that followed your statement filled your heart with so much happiness.

He moved closer, took your hands in his, and spoke,

“Seriously, i’m sorry okay?”

“I’m sorry too, and thanks for the flowers”

“No worries my girl, now can I please kiss you again? It’s been ages”

“It’s been ten hours at most”

“Exactly! Ages”

He grinned before diving in. He didn’t even let you breathe, scared that you’d disappear if he let you out of his grasp.

As he carried you to the bedroom, peppering kisses all over your face, he gleefully smirked to himself, knowing he’d found a new way to reunite you both after an argument.

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