You are an amazing writer. I was wondering if you could make a Seonghwa one where him and the reader have been friends for a long time, but they recently developed feelings for each other, and she asks wooyoung and san how can she confess to him, while he asks Hongjoong if him and the members can help him confess (the members already know that they have feelings for each other), and after the confession it turns into a hot, heavy, steamy, make out session (something like that).
ask and ye shall receive
dumb and dumber | p. seonghwa
4.3k (oops) of drabble I wrote this until 2 a.m lol fem reader stupid-ish plot never trust woosan to be wingmen guys Yunho as an accomplice sorry lack of other members... I hope this is to your liking... I didn't follow the prompt EXACTLY it was when I went back to post I reread and I was like 🧍 oh. I'm sorry btw.... Technically they did ask yunho's help but seonghwa is unaware to it... I'm super sorry I hope you'll still like it..?
one.
You and Seonghwa are like 🤞
Well, you both aren't exactly close. You would deem him as a good friend, yes, but not exactly a best friend. Said title is reserved for idiot and dumbass ( affectionate). Read: San and Wooyoung. He too, has many friends aside from you thanks to his amazing personality and features that would make Michelangelo roll in his grave, angry at himself for not being the one who sculpted heaven's blessing that is Seonghwa. He's more of that “hot friend” everyone comments on, asking if you could be their middle man.
What really irks you is one time someone said “well, he must be really comfortable with you because he knows you don't like him.”
Haha, fuck.
Recently however, something have changed the entire friendship “predicament”
Said event being; haunted house incident.
Last October, during Halloween, a club at your university had the bright idea to create a haunted house and escape room had a baby concept using some of the basement rooms. Wooyoung being Wooyoung, dragged a bunch of people with him. His yes man San, you, Seonghwa, Hongjoong, and a very reluctant Mingi who only came because he lost a dare and didn't want to lose his honor (he did anyway by the end of haunted house thing).
After the thousandth scream from Mingi (or Wooyoung, it was dark. Their ear numbing screams are starting to sound the same after a while)— you got separated from your group (Jumspcare happened and FNAF-like chase scene ensues— so you got pushed out of the path and stranded. Thanks, Mingi). With a “serial killer” on your trail, you felt lost. The winding path ahead is dark and looks the same— abandoned mansion type shit. Dusty cabinets and appliances (probably from some thrift store or a student's dorm), and creepy paintings you swore moved when you weren't looking.
Was the entire thing fake? Yes.
Could the serial killer just be a business student in a ghost mask? Most likely.
But are the props and sound effects so damn convincing you're about to shit your pants? Also yes.
Regardless, the fear in your chest is real. The twist in your heart, and the tingling sensation on the tips of your toes and hands as you circle the maze once more. Is this how you die? How long until people notice you're gone? You're about to cry, honestly. You can feel your legs trembling as you force yourself to keep on walking.
While praying to the gods or whatever divine force is currently listening so you won't shit your pants, you peer forward. Walking ever so slowly so that you won't set any booby traps and cause jumpscares. That was when you bumped into someone's strong back.
“—guh” you mutter as you ran face first into someone's back, too busy facing backwards so nothing could jump you from behind you forgot to look forward. Good job.
“Oh, there you are” A familiar voice hums, and you instantly recognised it as Seonghwa's immediately. Warm and honeyed— like the media's portrayal of honey. Warm, golden, rich. “I've been looking everywhere for you, you've been gone for a while now, are you okay?” He places a warm hand on your cheek and sighs “god, you were so scared weren't you? You feel so cold..”
His hand— felt like the warmth of a fireplace during a cold winter night. Never overwhelming, always just right.
Like he always had been. Never too little, never too much. Just right
Like the feeling of slipping into cozy sleepwear after a long day. Like the feeling of your bed when you have an eight a.m class. Like baby bear’s porridge from Goldilocks.
Anyway, you managed to leave the maze with your dignity intact while clutching to Seonghwa's hoodie. The other group emerged ten minutes later with Mingi frozen in fear and Wooyoung shaking like a wet cat.
two.
Back to present time, San forced you and Wooyoung to watch Titanic because “it's part of appreciating classic movies”. Of course, it's just not because he was blinded by the visuals of young Leonardo. Not that you care, but since it's movie night and you're not in the mood to have a Jurassic part rerun, compliance is key.
Except for every romantic shit that happens, Wooyoung goes “that's you and Seonghwa actually” and San nodding. You haven't told them about your crush on Mr. McPerfect yet, but you don't think you need to. As stupid as they are ((affectionate)), they're pretty good at reading you— either that or you're just not very subtle (you're not. Eventually after the fifth time you stuttered in front of Seonghwa in the span of a day two brain cells finally whirred and they went “ohhhhhh”).
Since then, San has been making wiggly eyebrows whenever Seonghwa enters the lecture hall— with a scarf and coffee in hand, and that stupid glasses you like so much. Wooyoung isn't much help either, he'd call out “Yo! hwa! Over here!” And pats an empty spot next to you.
You'd think by now Seonghwa must have caught on the stupid shit double trouble duo have done, or the way you go quiet around him, or even the way you morphed into a tomato (not literally) around him.
But truth to be told, Seonghwa also found himself in somewhat of a predicament. That being; does this girl like me????? He's sure you're dropping hints every now and then, like sharing an umbrella with him when he forgot his yet telling yeosang to rawdog the rain. Seonghwa's mind was like oh!!!! Maybe she likes me??? But then the voice in his head was like no, yeosang lives literally five minutes away from campus whereas he lives quite far. Yeosang’s path home also has an alternative where he's completely covered.
Aftermath? He's like, ‘she's probably just being nice.’ in an attempt to calm his heart screaming in his chest.
Consequently, he comes to the person who he trusts the most regarding romantic matters. The most level-headed, rational, and composed person he knows.
Hongjoong
Aka a person who locks himself inside his dorm room five out of seven days and goes out of his bedroom for doordash or classes.
“I like her” Seonghwa reveals, half cold cup of espresso in his hands.
There was a beat of silence. Then Hongjoong finally glanced up and gave him a look so dry it could have been sandpaper. “Wow. Revolutionary. Never would’ve guessed. You only stare at her like a romance protagonist every time she breathes.”
“I’m serious,” Seonghwa muttered, dropping onto the chair opposite him. “It’s a problem.”
“Oh, I know,” Hongjoong said, leaning back like this was a therapy session and not a casual Tuesday. “Step one of the certified dumbass spiral: realizing you’ve been in love this whole time. Step two: doing absolutely nothing about it except making it weird for everyone involved.”
“Thanks for the wisdom.”
“I’m just saying. As someone who once wrote a love letter formatted like an academic essay—don’t look at me like that, it’s better to act than to rot in emotional purgatory.”
Seonghwa dragged a hand down his face. “But what if I tell her and it ruins everything?”
“Then congratulations, you’re emotionally honest. Revolutionary concept.” He leaned forward. “Or—and hear me out; you can keep acting like a weirdo every time she laughs or brush your sleeve and spiral quietly until someone else makes a move.”
That got Seonghwa's attention. His eyes narrowed. “Someone else?”
“Oh good, now he’s listening.” Hongjoong tilted his head. “Let’s be real. You’re hot. That’s not in question. But hot people can still be idiots. And you, dear Seonghwa, are currently being an idiot.”
“I’m trying not to mess things up—”
“You already are,” Hongjoong cut in, smiling with the sharpness of someone who’s been through this exact disaster. “You avoid her. You get jealous. You sulk. You act like you didn’t just say the dumbest thing on Earth yesterday when she asked you to hang out and you said—what was it again?”
Seonghwa winced. “‘Don’t you have other people to bother.’”
“Beautiful. Shakespearean, even.”
He groaned and dropped his head to the table.
Hongjoong sipped his coffee like he wasn’t watching a beautiful man self-destruct in real-time.
“Anyway,” he added casually, “Wooyoung’s been suspiciously chipper lately. Which can only mean he’s planning something, and if you don’t confess soon, I guarantee whatever he has up his sleeve will be so dramatic it gets its own fan edit.”
Seonghwa lifted his head slowly. “What kind of something?”
Hongjoong smiled, sweet and slightly malicious. “Something involving jealousy. Or shirtless volleyball. Or a fake engagement. Who knows with that man.”
There was a long pause.
Seonghwa stood up.
“Where are you going?”
“To fix it before Wooyoung ruins my life.”
“Godspeed, dumbass.”
three.
Wooyoung was standing in front of a blackboard like some unhinged criminal profiler, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair messily pushed back like he’d been in a war—because apparently, he had. A war against Seonghwa’s oblivious ass.
“There are three known facts,” he declared, smacking the chalk against the board. “One, he likes you. Two, he’s not gonna do anything about it. Three, I’m sexy.”
San, sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bag of chips, nodded solemnly. “Can confirm all three.”
The board was a chaotic mess of printed screenshots, candid photos, arrows, red string, and a sticky note that just said “jealousy???” in all caps. Right in the center was a very flattering photo of Seonghwa mid-laugh, circled three times with a heart doodled beside it.
Yunho was lounging upside-down on the couch, legs tossed over the backrest, sipping iced tea like he was watching daytime television. He only got involved because Wooyoung told him it would be fun and maybe he could be the fake crush. Yunho said yes before the sentence ended.
You, unfortunately, were the only sane one in the room—and even that was questionable at this point. You sat on the couch next to Yunho, arms crossed, watching your supposed best friends plan psychological warfare like it was a school project.
“I’m just saying,” Wooyoung continued, scribbling something incomprehensible on the board, “if we accidentally make him jealous, he’ll be forced to confront his feelings. All we need is a target—Yunho. an audience—Seonghwa. and a scene—San’s party.”
San perked up. “I’ll host. I’ve got the good lights. Mood lighting is everything.”
“This is so stupid,” you muttered.
“Yeah, but you’re gonna let us do it anyway,” Wooyoung shot back with a grin
He wasn’t wrong.
Yunho sat up and stretched, tossing a wink your way. “Don’t worry. I’ll be the most charming fake date ever. Seonghwa’s gonna combust.”
Wooyoung slapped a sticky note labeled “OPERATION: FLIRT TO HURT” onto the blackboard.
San threw a confetti popper he had no business owning indoors.This was going to be a disaster( And you're going to walk away from it, preferably, unharmed).
four.
Seonghwa was sitting on the edge of Hongjoong’s bed, gripping his phone like it might explode. He looked pale. Or flushed. Or both. His leg was bouncing like it was trying to launch him into another dimension.
“What do I do?” he whispered, looking up at Hongjoong like a haunted man. “What do I do what do I do—”
Hongjoong didn’t look up from his laptop. “Calm down.”
“I can’t calm down! I just got this—”
He shoved his phone into Hongjoong’s face. (Read: an image saying you’re invited!!! with decorations of cats and rainbows like it’s a nine year old’s birthday party). Hongjoong blinked. “Why does this look like Hello Kitty threw up?”
“Keep reading,” Seonghwa hissed.
Below the glitter text and cartoon cupcakes was a message from Wooyoung: “she’s gonna be there ;)”
Seonghwa made a noise somewhere between a whimper and a scream, same face he made when he got the animal crossing Lego set, but like, more cryptid and insane. Hongjoong sighed deeply, closed his laptop, and set it aside like he was preparing for a full therapy session.
“You’re going to the party,” he said.
“WHAT?”
“You’re going,” he repeated firmly. “You’re gonna dress like you weren’t thinking about it for forty-five minutes. You’re going to talk to her like you don’t have a crush the size of Mars. And you’re going to not implode when she breathes.”
Seonghwa looked horrified. “What if she flirts with someone else?”
“She might,” Hongjoong shrugged. “You could’ve avoided that by confessing literally any day in the past six months. But noooo, Mr. Hot Loser had to suffer in silence.”
“I am suffering,” Seonghwa groaned, flopping backwards dramatically onto the mattress. “It’s so bad. I tried to write out what I’d say to her and ended up with a haiku.”
“I can’t believe I’m friends with you.”
“I think I’m gonna throw up.”
“You better do it before the party. Wooyoung’s already set the stage for disaster and he’s not subtle.”
“What do you mean ‘set the stage’?”
Hongjoong gave him a long, slow stare. “You’ll see.”
five.
Scene: before the party. You're currently going through briefing of the plan™ by dumbass, idiot, and their accomplice. You were tapping on your cushion compact, half-listening, half-trying to blend the patchy spot on your cheek, when Wooyoung smacked both palms down on the bathroom counter like he was starting a TED Talk.
“FOCUS,” he barked.
“I am focused. On not looking like a sweaty egg,” you muttered.
“Beauty later, seduction now,” he snapped. “Tonight is about execution. We’ve run the simulations. We’ve done the math.” San popped into the mirror frame, eating from a bag of gummy worms. “Actually, Yunho did the math. We just yelled ideas at him.”
Yunho, lounging by the doorway like he wasn’t absolutely in on this disaster, flashed you a peace sign. “Our math says there’s a 92% chance he confesses or self-combusts. Either way, it’s gonna be good.”
“Can I live?” you asked, blending under your eyes.
“No,” Wooyoung said. “You lost those rights when you told me you liked him.” You gave him a look. “This could go horribly wrong.”
“Which is why you’ll be on my arm the entire night,” Yunho said smoothly. “We’ll flirt, we’ll laugh, I’ll touch your elbow—just enough to make him twitch.” San slid a glittery hair clip into your hair for no reason. “And I’ll make sure he sees everything.”
“I feel sick,” you mumbled.
“That’s just the sexual tension,” Wooyoung said proudly. “Power through it.”
You stared at them through the mirror, three agents of chaos pretending this was some MI6-level mission while you tried not to cry over your eyeliner.
“This is so dumb.”
“Yeah,” Wooyoung grinned. “But it’s gonna work.
“It better.” You hiss at him “if the night doesn't end with him in my arms you will be ending up in a coffin.” You're starting to feel a kick in your gut, is Wooyoung and San's plan to make Seonghwa jealous going to put an end to this awkward waltz the two of you have been having for months or will it ruin everything? Regardless, you power through it like Wooyoung said and sucked in a deep breath.
Seonghwa felt stupidly good.
Like, stupid good. The music was a little loud, the room smelled like fruit punch and sandalwood cologne, and there were too many people in one house—but he was buzzing.
He also spent a good hour preparing himself to see you, maybe more than one. He picked out outfits the day before, calling Hongjoong back and forth to decide between a basketball tee (too… frat boy-ish…) or a slightly see through blouse (meh. Too formal), and spent an entire hour making sure his hair is just right.
Maybe it was the way the string lights cast that soft golden haze over everyone, maybe it was the way someone had handed him a fizzy drink in a wine glass that made him feel fancier than he was. But mostly, it was because he knew you were here. Somewhere.
And you’d smiled when you texted “see you soon.” He read that message thirteen times. Minimum.
He caught sight of you the second he turned the corner—and for a breathless second, it was everything. You looked gorgeous. Not in that distant, unreachable way. But in that familiar, ruinously soft kind of way that made his heart ache a little. Like home.
You were laughing. Glowing. Beautiful.
And Yunho was standing beside you. Close. Too close. His hand brushed your waist, casual, easy. You leaned into him when he said something, smile blooming, eyes crinkling the way Seonghwa had memorized. Yunho said something again. You swatted at his arm, giggling.
Seonghwa’s stomach dropped.
Just—dropped.
The warmth that had been bubbling in his chest turned bitter and cold, like someone had thrown ice water over his ribs. His fingers curled around the drink in his hand. Tight. Too tight.
He hated this.
He hated that he felt this fast, this hard. That jealousy crept up his spine and curled ugly around his throat. That possessiveness bubbled inside him like he had some right to feel this way. He didn’t own you. He wasn’t yours. And you weren’t his.
But still.
He turned and walked out before he could even think.
"Where are you—" Hongjoong’s voice caught him at the hallway entrance, half a cup of soda in hand.
Seonghwa didn’t stop walking. “I gotta go.”
"You’re going home??”
But by the time the words landed, he was already gone—vanished into the night like a walking, heartbroken contradiction. And Hongjoong was left standing by the snack table alone, blinking, muttering under his breath.
“…called it.”
six.
You and Yunho were killing it.
Like, award-winning levels of fake-flirting. Method acting. Oscars. Golden Globes. Whatever they gave for emotionally traumatizing hot men at house parties.
Yunho leaned in again, his breath tickling your ear as he whispered, “I’m craving ramen so bad right now. Like. Criminally.”
You choked on a laugh, hand lightly swatting his arm. “You’re such an idiot.”
He grinned, playing his part to perfection—gaze soft, posture relaxed, all warm-boyfriend energy radiating off him like a damn k-drama second lead on a redemption arc. You swore if someone had a camera, they’d be editing a ship video of you two by now.
“Okay but like,” Yunho leaned closer again, voice low and theatrical, “imagine: late night ramen, matching pajamas, we leave the party and—”
“Oh my god, stop,” you giggled, turning slightly to hide your face in his shoulder. It was so easy. Too easy.
“Can y’all not?” San’s voice cut through the moment like a record scratch. You looked up, blinking at him mid-sip of his soda, clearly unimpressed.
“What?” you and Yunho said in unison, practically glowing from your performance. “You told us to act like it so here we are, serving” you glare at San.
San frowned, looking over his shoulder. “Seonghwa’s missing.”
Your heart dropped. “What?”
“Yeah,” San muttered, biting his lip. “I was trying to get him to look over at you two flirting for like twenty minutes, but then he straight-up left. Hongjoong said he dipped without saying anything.”
Yunho’s expression faltered.
You stared at San, throat tight. “Wait. Like left left?”
“He literally vanished. Like your flirting summoned the Babadook or something.”
Your stomach twisted. The fun drained out of your face instantly, replaced with a creeping guilt that made your skin feel two sizes too tight.
You turned, eyes scanning the room just in case—but Seonghwa really was gone.
“Oh shit,” you whispered. Maybe you won't end up with Seonghwa in your arms tonight.
Biting your lips, you felt the tips of your fingers run cold at the thought of actually hurting him.
,seven.
Seonghwa didn’t make it past his bedroom light. He didn’t even bother changing—just collapsed onto the edge of his bed, head in his hands, breath catching in his throat in that horrible, humiliating way that meant he was going to cry.
And he did.
Quiet at first. The kind of crying where your chest feels too tight and your heart just hurts, like something inside you cracked so deep it echoed. Then the tears came faster, hot and bitter, slipping past his fingers as he squeezed his eyes shut and let it all hit him at once.
Call him sensitive. Pathetic. Overdramatic. Fine.
But he’d liked you for so long it didn’t feel like a crush anymore—it felt like muscle memory. Like second nature. Like something stitched into the rhythm of his days. It was in the way he saved you the last piece of tteokbokki, the way he remembered how you took your coffee, the way his heart softened instantly when you smiled, even on the days he didn’t want to smile at all.
He liked you so much it was awful.
He thought maybe—just maybe—you’d been looking at him the same way lately. That the lingering stares, the way your hands always found his sleeve, the softness in your laugh when you looked at him, meant something.
But then there you were. With Yunho. Giggling. Leaning in. Smiling like you belonged to someone else.
And Seonghwa hated how ugly the jealousy felt inside him. How fast it bloomed. How possessive it made him feel over someone he had no claim to.
You weren’t his.
You never were.
He wiped at his face angrily, tears still streaking down, throat tight.
“Whatever,” he muttered bitterly to no one. “She doesn’t like me anyway.”
His voice cracked.
And then—
A knock at the door.
His phone buzzed against the mattress. And for a second, the whole world held its breath. He stared at your name glowing on the screen. Then the knock came again—softer this time.
Seonghwa dragged himself up, wiping at his face with his sleeve. He paused by the mirror. His eyes were red, lashes damp, cheeks blotchy.
“Get it together,” he whispered. He ran his fingers through his hair. Splashed cold water on his face. Tried not to look like he’d just cried hard enough to punch a hole in the moon.
Then he opened the door.
You stood there, slightly breathless, hair a little frizzy from the wind. You looked… guilty. Nervous. Beautiful.
Your eyes scanned his face and softened instantly.
“Hey,” you said.
He swallowed. His voice came out flat. “What do you need?”
You hesitated. He could see it—the way your chest rose with a deep inhale, the way you looked down at your shoes for half a second before you stepped forward.
“It was a plan,” you said. “Yunho and I—at the party. The flirting. It wasn’t real.”
He blinked.
“It was Wooyoung and San,” you went on, faster now, like the words had been clawing at your throat. “They’re so sick of us dancing around each other, being weird and awkward and not saying anything. They said if we weren’t going to do something, they would. And I let them. I knew it was a bad idea. I knew it’d end like this. With you upset. With me hurting you. I should’ve stopped it. I didn’t. I’m sorry.”
He looked at you, completely still.
“And—” you took a shaky breath, voice quieter, raw now— “I shouldn’t need a dumb plan to tell you this but... I like you. I’ve liked you for a long time. I thought I was imagining things. I thought maybe you didn’t see me that way. But I was wrong, wasn’t I?”
Seonghwa stared at you for a beat too long.
And then his expression crumpled into something devastatingly soft.
“I like you too,” he said, voice breaking just a little.
Then he stepped forward and pulled you into his arms, into him, like he’d been waiting his whole life to do it.
His lips met yours, warm and trembling and so incredibly gentle, like he couldn’t believe you were real, like he was afraid to lose you again if he let go.
You melted into him instantly, hands fisting in the fabric of his shirt as the kiss deepened, slow and hungry and honest. No more plans. No more what-ifs.
Just you. Just him.
And finally, finally, the truth between your lips.
The door clicked shut behind you, barely audible over the rush in your ears. Seonghwa didn’t waste a second—his hands gripped your waist as he backed you up, pressing you gently but firmly against the door like he couldn’t stand even an inch of space between you.
His mouth found yours again, hotter this time, messier—less confession, more craving. Like something snapped the second you said you liked him, and now he couldn’t stop.
You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging lightly, and he groaned low into the kiss—one hand sliding up your side, thumb grazing the bare skin under your shirt, the other braced against the door beside your head.
His lips moved against yours with purpose, all slow drags and soft bites, like he was memorizing the shape of your mouth. You gasped when he nipped at your lower lip, and he immediately tilted his head, chasing the sound, kissing you deeper until your knees went weak.
He pulled back for just a second, forehead resting against yours, breath ragged. His eyes were dark, lashes wet, lips pink and kiss-swollen.
“You have no idea,” he whispered, voice wrecked, “how long I’ve wanted to do this.”
You tugged him closer, your smile barely there before he kissed it right off you.
And then it was all hands and mouths again—his palm sliding up your back, your nails grazing the nape of his neck, his lips trailing to the corner of your mouth, your jaw, just below your ear. You gasped again when he found a spot that made your whole body tense, and he grinned against your skin like he’d won something.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—pressed to the door, breathless and clinging and lost in each other—but by the time he finally pulled back, both of you were flushed, dazed, and thoroughly ruined for anyone else.
And he looked at you like you were his entire world.
Because you were.
end