thinking about vernon saying he’s “not clingy” and that he “doesn’t mind if you don’t give him attention,”
but the second you’re curled up somewhere reading a book, completely absorbed, he goes quiet. not dramatic. not asking. just watching. sitting there with that look, head slightly tilted, eyes following every little movement you make, like he’s waiting for permission. he won’t interrupt. won’t complain. won’t say a word.
he’ll just stare at you like he’s hoping you’ll feel it. like you’ll suddenly look up and go, oh — come here, and pull him closer. and the moment you do? he melts. instantly.
leaning into your space, resting his forehead against yours, soaking up every bit of affection like he’s been starved for it. kisses, soft touches, quiet sighs.
“see?” he’d say later. “not clingy.”
the story of you, vernon, and the mortifying ordeal of having a crush.
🌼 pairing. college friends!chwe hansol x reader.
🌼 word count. 4.3k.
🌼 genres/includes. romance, friendship, humor. alternate universe: non-idol, alternate universe: university. mentions of food, alcohol; profanity. idiots in love, friends to lovers, seungkwan & chan haunt the narrative. title from justin bieber’s daisies.
🌼 footnotes. this was commissioned; i’m currently taking comms for donations made to philippine typhoon relief efforts!!! read more on where to donate & how to request.
Golden hour hits the campus like a soft-filtered slap. The sky’s doing that dreamy gradient thing, and you’re sitting on a bench outside the Humanities building, knees pulled up, backpack abandoned beside you. There’s a mostly-dead daisy in your hand. You’re picking at its petals with the kind of focus usually reserved for bomb defusal or online shopping during a sale.
“Loves me.”
Pluck.
“Loves me not.”
Pluck.
You sigh. Mostly for dramatic effect.
Technically, you’re waiting for Seungkwan to get out of his last class, but he’s already ten minutes late, and the daisy’s giving you more emotional whiplash than a K-drama finale.
“Who’s the victim?” a voice asks.
You jolt. Almost drop the flower. Definitely drop your cool.
Vernon is standing there in the shade, hands in the pockets of his hoodie, the hood halfway up. He’s got his usual unreadable expression on. A mix of sleepy amusement and vaguely judging curiosity.
“No victim,” you say. “Just boredom.”
He nods slowly, as if that tracks. Then, “Seungkwan told me to come get you. He bailed. Something about divine intervention in the form of a class cancellation and a sudden craving for bubble tea.”
Your nose scrunches. “He ditched me?”
“He said ‘forgot to tell you.’ Which, in his defense, sounds better than ‘strategically abandoned.’”
“Debatable.”
Vernon shrugs. He does that a lot. Shrugs, tilts his head, stands just close enough that you can smell his laundry detergent but never close enough to actually touch. It should be maddening. It kind of is.
You glance back at the flower. One sad petal left.
“You gonna finish the ritual or just let it haunt you?” he asks, amusement tinting his tone.
You hesitate. Pluck the final petal.
“Loves me not.”
“Tragic,” he says, deadpan. “I was rooting for you.”
Your laugh is too loud. You regret it immediately.
He doesn’t comment.
You and Vernon exist in the same loosely woven group of friends. Mostly arts kids, mostly unhinged, all chronically online. He’s an English major with the energy of a substitute teacher who’d rather be in a band. You share classes. Group chats. The occasional late-night ramen run.
Every so often, he says something that feels like it should mean more. Looks at you like you’re the main plot instead of comic relief.
But then he’ll yawn in the middle of your sentence or send you TikToks at 3 a.m. without a caption, and you’re back to square one. Uncertain, off-balance, and maybe a little bit whipped.
You pocket the decapitated daisy. “Guess I’m yours now.”
He raises an eyebrow. “What?”
“Nothing,” you say with a slightly awkward cough. “You’re my ride. Let’s go.”
He doesn’t argue. He only falls into step beside you, hands still in his pockets. You don’t let yourself look too long. Not when he’s this close. Not when your heartbeat is pretending it’s auditioning for a percussion solo.
He glances sideways at you, then forward again. Says nothing. But you catch it—the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Small. Private.
Dangerous.
You look away before the treacherous crush blooming in your chest can take root. Not that it matters, when you have evil friends with nefarious plans.
After a mostly-silent stroll, you and Vernon step into the cozy chaos that is Brew & Bubbles, a place that smells like brown sugar and impending disaster. The bell above the door jingles with the performative cheer of a sitcom sound effect. There’s indie music playing too softly to be cool and too loudly to ignore.
Seungkwan waves from a corner booth, double fisting two drinks like he’s been waiting for this exact entrance cue. Chan sits across from him, visibly vibrating with excitement as he sips something obscenely purple.
You narrow your eyes. “Why does this feel like a setup?”
“It is a setup,” Vernon says, too calmly, already moving toward the booth.
“What?”
“Look at them.” He gestures lazily with one of his unpocketed hands. “Those are the faces of men with agendas.”
He’s not wrong.
Seungkwan beams like a stage mom. “You made it!”
Chan gestures to the two empty seats. “We got you your usual. Thought it’d be nice to hang out. The four of us. Casually. Totally normal.”
You sit down slowly, like the booth might bite. Vernon slides in next to you without hesitation, shoulder brushing yours in that easy, accidental way that shouldn’t make your heart hammer the way it does.
You glance at the drinks. Yours has a tiny heart drawn on the lid.
“Reaaal subtle, guys,” you grunt.
“Cute, right?” Seungkwan chirps. “I told the barista to give it extra love. For luck.”
Chan’s eyebrows wag. “So,” he says, all casual menace, “any sparks flying yet?”
You choke on your drink. Vernon, somehow, doesn’t blink.
“Pretty sure that’s a fire hazard,” he says wryly.
Chan elbows Seungkwan under the table. Seungkwan stage-whispers, “We’re just saying. You two spend a lot of time together. Like, suspiciously a lot.”
You glare. “I also spend a lot of time with my dog. Should I be worried about that, too?”
“He doesn’t make you laugh like Vernon does,” Seungkwan counters.
Your jaw drops. “Are you seriously comparing my friendship to a rom-com arc right now?”
Chan nods, utterly sincere. “We think you’re a slow burn.”
Vernon sips his drink like this isn’t his circus, isn’t his monkeys, isn’t the literal screenplay of his life being workshopped in front of him.
You glance at him anyway. “Are you hearing this?”
“I stopped listening somewhere around ‘sparks flying,’” he says.
Which is not helpful. But it’s him. And part of you—the traitorous, heart-eyed part—likes that he doesn’t play into their schemes. That he stays just out of reach. That the mystery keeps you on your toes even when you want to shove him off the proverbial ledge and yell just say something.
You settle for stabbing your straw through the lid. The rest of the hangout passes in a blur of teasing comments and overcompensated indifference. Vernon stays exactly as he is. Cool, unreadable, warm in proximity and nowhere else.
When he gets up to leave, he pats Seungkwan’s shoulder. “Thanks for the drink.”
Seungkwan grins. “Thanks for the chemistry.”
“Sure.” He turns to you. “You staying?”
“For now,” you say. “Someone’s gotta keep them from writing fanfiction about us.”
He smiles—tiny, knowing—and leaves without another word. The door closes behind him.
You wait five seconds. Then, you turn on Dumb and Dumber. “What the hell was that?” you seethe.
“This isn’t a YouTube compilation!” you snap. “You can’t just will a relationship into existence because you’re bored and too emotionally invested!”
Chan pouts. “We’re rooting for you.”
“Root for yourselves!”
Seungkwan slurps his drink obnoxiously. “We’d root in silence if you’d just kiss him already.”
You groan. Loudly. Into your palms. Nonetheless, there’s a warmth at the edge of your frustration. A softness that wasn’t there earlier. Because even if you’re chaotic, even if Vernon stays unreadable…
He didn’t say no. He sat next to you. He smiled.
You sip your drink absentmindedly and one of the boba pearls shoots down your throat, distracting you from all thoughts of what-could-be. Vernon remains an enigma for at least another day.
The walls are fake brick and the lights are dim enough to be charming or ominous depending on the playlist. Currently: charming. There’s something retro playing. Maybe Fleetwood Mac, maybe just the alcohol. You can’t tell anymore.
You had hoped—naively, foolishly—that Chan and Seungkwan would get the hint. That after your very impassioned TED Talk about respecting emotional boundaries, they would back off. Give you space. Let you pine in peace.
Instead, they invited you out.
“Just drinks,” Chan had said. “Chill vibes,” Seungkwan had added.
You walked in five minutes ago, and Vernon was already at the bar.
Of course he was.
He’s sitting on a high stool, half-sunk into his varsity jacket, elbow on the bar, hand lazily nursing a glass of something amber. He looks bored in that way he always does. Halfway between here and another universe entirely.
Then he sees you, and he perks up.
It’s subtle. Barely a shift. His spine straightens. His hand lifts in a vague half-wave, like he’s not sure how much effort you deserve tonight. The smile that follows—small, not quite smirk, not quite soft—is unmistakably for you.
You hate how your heart reacts. It’s got no self-respect.
You make your way over, aware of every step, every breath. Chan and Seungkwan are mysteriously missing. Probably in the bathroom plotting your fake wedding or updating their shared doc titled Operation: Will They or Won’t They.
You slide onto the stool next to Vernon. He tilts his head in greeting.
“You made it,” he says.
“You say that like it wasn’t a trap.”
He chuckles. It’s low. Brief. Worth it.
“I figured,” he says. “Seungkwan sent me a GIF of Cupid with a bazooka. Thought it was a meme. Apparently it was an itinerary.”
Your snort earns you an amused glance that lingers.
You order something you won’t regret and take in the neon-stained room. The crowd’s thickening. A group near the back is already doing bad karaoke. It smells like lime and college debt.
“You look nice,” Vernon says suddenly, like he just remembered compliments exist.
You glance at him, trying to ignore the way your pulse has begun to thrum. “You say that like I don’t always.”
He leans in, elbow brushing yours. “That’s on me, then.”
You freeze. Just for a second. “Getting sentimental?” you manage.
“Maybe,” he shoots back. “It’s the lighting.”
You sip your drink to cover the way your brain shorts out. He’s close now. Close enough that you can smell his cologne. Cedar, citrus, something sharp. He turns slightly to hear you better, head tilted, lips parted slightly as he soundlessly mouths to the song that’s playing. It’s the kind of attention that makes you forget your own point.
You say something halfway coherent. He laughs. A real one this time. For a beat, it feels like the rest of the bar drops out of focus.
Then someone bumps your chair. You shift instinctively. He reaches out—steadying hand at the small of your back. It’s only a second’s worth of a touch, but your whole body registers it like gospel.
He doesn’t acknowledge it. Doesn’t need to.
You talk a little more. About nothing and everything. A shared professor who clearly hates joy. A mutual friend’s new hair. The way campus feels different at night.
And then, he’s standing, lips pursed in a somewhat apologetic grin. “I’ve got an early class,” he says. “Should probably pretend I’m a responsible adult.”
You nod. Too fast. Too neutral.
He looks at you for a long moment. Like he wants to say something else. What comes out—
“Text me when you get home, yeah?”
You nod. Slower this time, to show that you fully intend to do what he’s asking of you. “Yeah.”
His smile tilts just to the right side of fond and disappears into the night. You stay there, nursing your fruity cocktail and the shambles of your emotional maturity.
Your friends reappear five minutes later, suspiciously smug. “You good?” Seungkwan asks as he steals a sip from your drink.
Chan, from behind him, sing-songs, “You look dazed. Something happen?”
You don’t answer.
You just stare at the door Vernon left through.
And feel your heart, traitorous as ever, whisper: Again. Please. Again.
They’re dragging you out for a detour less than seven minus later. The dive bar’s door swings shut behind you; the air is cooler now, biting at your cheeks and tugging at your sleeves. Seungkwan and Chan stumble out after you, loud and loose, mid-argument about something both extremely trivial and deeply urgent.
“Just say it’s better with pineapple!” Chan is insisting, arms flailing the same way one might orchestrate a concerto.
“It’s a war crime on dough,” Seungkwan declares, clutching his phone as if it’s a mic. “I will die on this hill. And be buried with dignity.”
You’re just about to jump in when you catch sight of Vernon.
He’s just down the sidewalk, hood up, face lit by the blue glow of his phone screen. One hand’s jammed in his pocket. The other holds a cigarette.
You stop walking.
He looks up. Notices you. Offers a small nod—neither invitation nor dismissal. Just presence.
“Uber problems?” you ask, approaching tentatively.
He exhales smoke and frustration in the same breath. “App’s crashing. Or maybe I’m cursed.”
Behind you, Seungkwan screeches something about culinary betrayal, and Chan almost trips over a bike rack.
You ignore the circus. Eyes on Vernon. On the cigarette.
He catches the shift in your expression. How your mouth goes tight, how your arms cross twitch at your sides. “What?” he asks, voice edged with softness and amusement.
You hesitate. Then shrug, aiming for nonchalance and landing somewhere near obvious discomfort. “Just—never liked the smell,” you say. “Of smoke. Cigarettes.”
He watches you for a beat. Something unreadable flickers in his eyes. Then, without a word, he flicks the cigarette to the ground and steps on it.
You’re pretty sure you’ll die if you think too hard about it.
“That your ride?” Chan slurs behind you, pointing as a car pulls up to the curb.
Vernon glances at his phone. “Yeah.”
He looks at you again. Doesn’t explain himself. Doesn’t make a joke. “Night,” he only says with a curt nod.
“Night,” you echo.
He gets in. The door shuts. The car drives off. You stand there longer than necessary.
You tell yourself: it didn’t mean anything, didn’t mean anything, didn’t mean anything. It’s not a gesture. You’re not about to read into a man putting out a cigarette just because you didn’t like it.
Seungkwan, unrepentant, appears at your side, dramatic sigh at the ready. “He quit smoking for you. That’s, like, two Taylor Swift songs at minimum.”
“Shut up,” you groan, even as your ribs echo with the sound of Vernon’s lighter never flicking back on.
It’s been days since the dive bar.
Since Vernon’s hand on the small of your back. Since the cigarette stubbed out like a secret you weren’t meant to see.
You should be over it by now. You should be thinking about normal things. Laundry, overdue assignments, how your shampoo is running out. Not pacing your room like a B-movie detective unraveling a case called The Mystery of How to Text Your Friend Who You’re Definitely Not In Love With.
He’s your friend.
You’re friends.
You’ve split fries together. You’ve watched him cry-laugh at Seungkwan’s impressions. You’ve seen him lose rock-paper-scissors five times in a row with terrifying consistency. There is no reason to feel like you’re defusing a bomb every time you try to open your messages with him.
And yet, here you are. Phone in hand. Sweating like someone who’s been accused of a crime. The crime? Caring.
Your chest feels like a glass overfilled at the lip. One more drop, and the whole thing goes.
“No one’s gonna die if you text him,” you mutter to yourself, pacing tight circles near your bed. “Probably. Statistically. Probably.”
You scroll through your message history. It’s a minimalist masterpiece. A museum of almosts. The Louvre of lowercase apathy. Vernon, in his monosyllables and dry sarcasm. You’re not even mad. You’re just—
“Haunted by hope,” you whisper, tragically.
You type: hey, u alive?
Delete.
Then: survived any more haunted ubers lately?
Delete. Too obvious. Too thirsty. Too normal.
You toss your phone onto the be, and it bounces to the edge. You snatch it back two seconds later like you didn’t just swear off texting for the next calendar year. Fuck it.
You: hey
Send.
Bold. Revolutionary. Absolutely useless.
The typing bubble appears anyway.
Your heart performs a circus trick. Then crashes through the safety net. Then disappears.
Reappears, when your phone pings.
Vernon: yo
You stare. At the lowercase. At the casual brutality of it. It’s a brush-off in Helvetica.
You: good talk
You: inspiring, really
More dots.
Vernon: u started it
You squint at your screen like it owes you answers. It does not oblige.
You: and regretting it every second
Vernon: rude
A beat. You almost toss the phone again. Almost declare emotional bankruptcy. Almost pretend this never happened and go hyperfixate on folding laundry.
But then Vernon double texts.
Vernon: was thinking abt what u said. abt the smoking
You freeze mid-step. Mid-thought. Mid-breath. A third text comes in.
Vernon: wasn’t tryna be that guy. my bad.
You sit, hard, as if gravity has remembered you all at once. This can’t be real. It makes no sense whatsoever. Your fingers are shaking a bit as you type out a response.
You: you weren’t being That Guy. i was just being weird about it lol
Vernon: still. thanks for tellin me
You: … thanks for listening.
Silence. But not the kind that makes you spiral. The kind that settles. Like weight you didn’t know you needed. You’d be happy for it to end there, but it keeps going. You’re surprised you haven’t keeled over just yet.
Vernon: u get dinner yet?
You: are you offering or being nosy?
Vernon: both
You: i ate. but i’ll pretend i didn’t if you need a reason to hang out 😛
No typing bubble. Regret kicks you in the teeth. “Too soon,” you hiss to yourself, “too soon, too soon.”
You: ignore me lol
He does not ignore you.
Vernon: tomorrow?
You stare at the text for more time than what is probably socially accepted. .
You: sure
Vernon: cool. i’ll find a non-haunted ride this time
You: try not to dissolve in the rain.
Vernon: no promises lololol
You let the phone drop into your lap. Stare at the ceiling like it might offer clarity.
You have no idea what any of this means.
It’s objectively not a date. Probably.
You’ve replayed the chat thread so many times, your phone autocorrects ‘Vernon’ to ‘??’ Which feels about right. He's always been something of a question mark—smirking in the margins, sliding in and out of conversations like he’s allergic to attention unless he’s in the mood for it. Which is rare. Which is why this dinner is driving you a little insane.
It’s just fast food. Greasy trays. Fluorescent lights. A place that smells like deep-fried childhood and broken soft serve machines. Someone’s toddler is screaming in the corner. The soda fountain is wheezing.
Romance is clearly dead. If this is a date, it’s on life support.
So you dress down. Hoodie. Jeans. Sneakers you pretend you didn’t clean an hour ago. Maybe you spent ten minutes deciding which hoodie felt the most effortlessly chill—whatever. Not a date.
And yet, you still nearly trip over yourself walking in.
Vernon’s already there. Leaned back in a booth, hood halfway up, eyes on his phone. One leg outstretched. He looks up when you arrive, and—okay, maybe this is in your head—but you swear he sits up straighter again.
“Hey,” you say, like you haven’t been sweating bullets over how to greet him. A hug? A nod? A secret handshake you invent on the spot and immediately regret?
“Hey,” he says, and gestures at the seat across from him with a fry. Casual. As if he doesn’t know this is the most one-on-one time you’ve ever spent together.
You sit. He pushes the tray toward you. Two burgers. One with pickles removed. Your usual.
“Wait, how’d you—?”
“You always complain about pickles when we go out. Figured I’d save you the drama.”
You want to make a joke about him being observant in a suspiciously romantic way, but your brain’s too busy melting.
He’s wearing a crewneck under the hoodie. You recognize it from a photo on Seungkwan’s Instagram. Something dumb with everyone squished into a karaoke booth. You remember thinking, back then, that Vernon looked good in grey. You think it again now. It feels more dangerous this time.
The thing about Vernon is—he’s different when there’s a crowd. Not shy, just… relaxed to the point of invisibility. He surfaces with a dry comment or a weirdly insightful take, then vanishes again. A fog. A vibe. The kind that lingers in your hoodie when you get home and wonder why your heart hurts a little.
Right now, across this chipped laminate table, he’s more present than he’s ever been. Louder. Looser. Smiling with his whole mouth, not just the left corner. Making a dumb face when the ketchup packet explodes. Leaning in when you talk like there’s nothing else in this sticky, half-lit room worth noticing.
“D’you remember that time Seungkwan tried to stage an intervention because I missed two group dinners in a row?” he says, mid-chew.
“He made PowerPoint slides.”
“With transitions.”
“Sound effects.”
“And a Where Is Vernon Now? map graphic.”
You laugh. God, you actually laugh. Loud enough that the toddler stops screaming for a second.
Conversation happens in fits and starts. Never awkward, just stretchy. It’s a sweater being pulled over your head. Sometimes Vernon says something and you stare, trying to figure out if he’s joking. Sometimes he stares at you like he’s trying to figure out the same.
He asks you what you’ve been reading lately and listens. Not just head-nodding, waiting-for-his-turn-to-talk listening. Real listening. The kind that makes you feel like maybe you are a little bit interesting, actually. The kind that makes you want to say more, just to see how he’ll look at you when you do.
At some point, your fries disappear. The table’s a battlefield of crumpled napkins and half-laughs. Vernon leans back, stretches like a cat, eyes lazy but bright. You want to ask him a hundred things and none at all.
It’s not a date.
But if it were, it’d be a good one.
Actually, even if it’s not—it still is.
The walk back after is slow, reluctant. Each step is a study in nonchalance, which of course means you’re hyper-aware of everything: your aglet tapping the pavement, the rustle of his hoodie sleeve every time your arms almost touch.
You keep your hands in your pockets. Mostly so you don’t do anything stupid. Like grab his sleeve. Or his hand. Or his face. Your brain has become a carousel of forbidden actions, spinning with possibility and peril.
Vernon’s walking just a little closer than usual. Shoulders brushing sometimes, sometimes not. It’s maddening. It’s intoxicating. It’s so subtle it makes you want to scream. He’s not saying much, which would usually make you spiral, but for once, the silence feels like it’s holding something, not avoiding it.
Vernon’s a creature of mild vanishings. Soundless exits. Doorframes hovered in. But he’s here now. Walking next to you. Not looking away.
The street’s quiet beyond the shuffle of shoes and the low whirr of campus lamplight buzzing overhead. The moon’s doing its best impression of a spotlight. It’s cinematic, if you squint. You open your mouth—close it. You try again.
“So… this was fun,” you say lamely.
“Yeah,” he says. Smiles sideways. “Even though it was objectively not a date.”
Your laugh comes out half a breath. “Right. Obviously.”
It hangs there. In the space between one lamp post and the next. The kind of moment that begs to be broken, or filled, or maybe just stared at until it transforms into something else.
Then, suddenly—he stops walking.
You halt too, almost stumbling. “What?”
He crouches, poking at a crack in the sidewalk.
“Are you—are you scavenging?”
“Reclaiming,” he says, and stands. In his hand: a daisy. A little bent, a little dirt-speckled, but unmistakably whole.
Your heart stutters.
He holds it out to you. “Saw you do this once. Thought we’d give it a try again tonight.”
There’s a second where you think he’s joking. Vernon’s like that. Always two layers beneath whatever he says. This, conversely, feels unfiltered.
As if the laws of physics have agreed to take the night off, you both find yourself standing under a streetlight, trading daisy plucks like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Loves me.”
“Loves me not.”
Your fingers brush as the petals fall. One by one. Casual. Careful. Calibrated. You’re very aware of how close your shoulders are now. Of the heat lingering at the edge of each breath.
“Loves me.”
“Loves me not.”
Your voice wavers. There’s one petal left.
He doesn’t reach for it.
You glance at him, and the look on his face is—
Soft. Expectant.
“Loves—”
He kisses you before you can finish.
There’s no frenzy, no rush. This is certain and slow, like a sentence he’s been waiting to say for weeks and finally found the words for. Loves you.
Your eyes flutter shut. The daisy slips from your hand, landing somewhere between your shoes. Crushed under the weight of prophecy fulfilled.
It’s all so simple, which is the wildest part. There’s no swelling music. No thunderclap. Just the press of his mouth, the hand that moves instinctively to your waist, the inhale you both forget to take.
Because now you’re thinking of the way he remembers your order. The way he lights up when he sees you. The way he puts out cigarettes without making you ask. The way he never made a big deal of any of it.
You’re thinking of every almost. Every not-a-date. Every sidelong glance across a room. The time he offered you his hoodie without asking. The way he noticed you hate pickles. The way his leg would nudge yours under the table, the way he’s let your friends poke and prod because there are worse than being teased with somebody you actually do kind of like.
And how maybe—maybe—he’s felt this way since the very beginning.
You pull back just enough to whisper: “So… you sure this wasn’t a date?”
You feel the curve of his grin as he chases your mouth for another kiss.
“Well,” he breathes against your lips, “it is now.”
Hansol holds his waist watching his one year old daughter making grabby hands at him. His heart wavers, fingers working on unbuckling her from the car seat. He sucks his teeth, “you have me wrapped by your pinkie, troublemaker,” he flicks her button nose eliciting a giggle, “aww.” He boops his nose with her, her baby giggles fills his heart.
“You could ask for my life and I will give it to you, you know.” He picks her up, holding her to his chest, nuzzling his nose in her chest, inhaling her sweet baby scent. “And you will never move out of my sight.” He closes the car door, hiking up her necessities bag on the other side. “No late nights, no night outs, and no moving out.”
She sucks on her forefinger finger, watching his lips move and attentively listening to his words, her pigtails bouncing with each step he takes. He walks into the park along with other parents with their kids and pets. The sun is shining perfectly with tolerable heat, and the spring breeze helps a little with the heat. His daughter pokes his nose with fascination, obscuring his vision, closing in his face, blinking eye to eye with him. Hansol stumbles on a small rock, his heart hammering in the throat imagining what if the worst scenario happened.
“You,” he chides, huffing, readjusting the heavy necessities bag. “If something happened your mom won’t allow our dates,” he stares down at the one year old playing with his shirt buttons, not a bother in the world. He sighs, “I wish I was your age too,” he walks towards the crowded playground, two toddlers rushes past him, crashing in, stumbling him again. “Woah, woah, woah.”
Hansol backs away from the scary kids, holding his daughter by her head to his body protectively. “Scary kids,” he clicks his tongue, resuming his journey to find a calm, quiet place for their father-daughter date. Especially away from the bulldozing boys. If they cause even a little scar on his daughter, he can’t guarantee to be a sane understanding fellow parent.
He finds an empty spot below a tree, and only another father with his daughter is having a picnic. The smell of cakes and chocolate waters his mouth, his daughter, as the saying goes, like father like daughter, searches around for the cause of the delicious smell. He chuckles, kissing her cheek. “Alright, troublemaker,” she looks at him, hearing her nickname, “I am gonna set you down,” he motions his hand to the grass, “so I can lay out the blanket. Don’t run away, please,” he begs.
She tilts her head blubbering. Hansol sets his bag down, “we have a deal, okay?”
The moment her feet touch the grass, and he sets the fallen bag upright and turns around the space next to his legs is empty. “Fuck,” he swears, watching his girl running behind a flying butterfly accompanied by the girl he saw eating cake. “Troublemaker!” He runs behind her, trying his best to catch up with her. “Should stop feeding..” he pants, “..you healthy food. You are too fast. Troublemaker!” His heart lurches to his mouth watching her fall to her knees. Tears spring up in his eyes, he reaches her in a second and cradles her to his heart.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he sniffles, resting his cheek against her head, “I’m sorry.”
She blinks at his teary eyes, and pushes his chest wanting to get down. He hears a chuckle next to him, the other father joined him watching his daughter go around. “First time parent?”
Hansol nods.
“Explains.” He bends to his daughter’s height and boops her nose. “You have a cute daughter.”
Hansol grins, “I know.”
The stranger laughs, throwing his head back. Hansol lets his restless daughter go with apprehension. She tags along with the other kid chasing butterflies.
“Yoon Jeonghan,” the stranger introduces himself, extending his hand.
“Chwe Hansol.”
Hansol’s phone vibrates in his back pocket, “one minute.” He plucks out the phone, caller reading, darling. He accepts in a heartbeat, “hey.”
“I forgot to mention that she runs away in the blink of an eye. You have to hold her hand all the time, especially in crowded places.” His wife reads out the instructions as he chuckles.
“It's a little late for the warning,” he replies, “she is too fast for a kid.” His daughter laughs at the funny tricks of the other girl, and tries to copy. “And has way too much energy.”
His wife laughs from the other side, and he joins her laughing at his daughter’s antics.
ⓘ 𝖉𝖊𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖑𝖘: in which you’re brought partially back to life in the funeral home’s mortuary by a curious man with a carnal need to worship you…
mortician!vernon (svt) x f.reader
1.3k words | 18+ | smut with little plot, horror
ⓘ 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖎𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖘: This fic contains horror-related elements or kinks that may trigger some readers. Please review the warnings below and read at your own risk! This work is fictional and written for adults who enjoy exploring horror-inspired kinks in a safe and imaginative space. It does not reflect the IRL behavior of any kpop idol, and I do not condone non-consensual advances, harmful behavior, or sexual violence in real life. This work is created for entertainment only. Always practice safe, sane, and consensual sex.
ⓘ 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: death themes, dead bodies, glamorized fetishes/kinks, vernon uses a potion he bought from the dark web to bring you into an undead state (not exactly alive but also isn’t dead dead if that makes sense), so bc of that i’m also adding slight necrophilia, explicit sex, protected sex, body worship, praise, breast play, nipple play, foot fetish, toe sucking, brief mention of illness, slow but rough sex, deep dicking, reader cries black tears
ⓘ 𝖆𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗 𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊: i’m slowly catching up! thank you all for your patience & stay tuned for day 8 :D
𝖌𝖎𝖛𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖋𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖋𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖆𝖘𝖎𝖊𝖘…
Vernon descends the stairs of his funeral home, making his way down to the mortuary. The smell of chemicals hides the other scents that most others would find repulsive.
He’s always had a thing for the macabre. It’s not exactly an obsession… He simply holds a high respect for the dead, believing they deserve to be honored.
He takes his time getting dressed in the appropriate gear: gown, gloves, mask, eye protection, etc., before moving toward the cooler, pulling out the corpse he will be working on today.
It’s a woman who was brought in late yesterday evening.
Your parents, in their devastated state, described how the death was sudden. You weren’t ill or in an accident of any kind. You were visiting home, and it snuck up on you somehow.
“Just one of those freak things,” your mother had said, a tissue held up against her tearful eyes. “She was sleeping, and then…then…” She’s unable to finish her sentence.
“Please, Ma’am,” Vernon said, guiding your mother to a chair before she collapsed in grief. “You should both take some comfort in knowing she passed peacefully, protected in bed, in the safety of your loving home.”
They left soon after, leaving you in his care.
After transferring your body over to the embalming table, Vernon looks you over. You’re only slightly younger than him, in the prime years of your life, yet death snuck up on you anyway. He’s always found that interesting. How is it possible that someone with no prior medical issues or concerning symptoms can pass away in their sleep?
As he begins to undress you, his fingers twitch, wanting to reach for that special potion he has just enough left of for one final rendezvous.
Vernon purchased it on the dark web after reading its claim to bring the dead back to life. To his surprise, it works, but only partially. It awakens them enough that they can enjoy simple pleasures, but it only lasts for an hour or two at the most. So, he decided that those whom he believed deserved to live a little longer should come back to life, choosing to honor them for the last time before they are embalmed.
Some might call it a bad habit, something disgraceful, or even an act of sin. But Vernon knows his tendency isn’t anything bad, not when it makes his clientele feel so…good.
Sighing, sets his tools aside, removing the gear he put on a few minutes prior, before walking over to his desk to grab the potion. Then, he digs in his drawer for a condom, heeding the warnings that the potion came with about dead flesh being…contagious..for certain favorable body parts he plans on keeping (he likes his cock too much to risk having it fall off).
Once back at your side, he opens the bottle and lets the remaining mystery liquid dribble past your blue lips. It’s less than he usually uses, and the time crunch weighs on him.
The potion only takes a few seconds to start working. The color quickly comes back to your face, and soon after, your eyelids are fluttering open.
You cough a few times as your lung function returns, before sitting up and looking around, confused. “W-where am I?” you question, clearing your dry throat.
“You’re in my morgue. Do you remember what happened?”
“I…died. I think?” Your brows furrow.
“That’s correct,” he says, caressing your cheek.
“Then how am I–”
“I brought you back, temporarily,” he admits.
“Why?” You ask, eyes peering into his as you search for an answer.
“One, to worship your soul before it begins the difficult journey through purgatory. And two, to allow you to leave a message behind for your parents, if you wish.”
You nod, “Yes, please tell them that I’m sorry I kept it from them.”
“Your illness, right?” His assumption is confirmed when you nod, a black tear slipping from your eye as you continue.
“I just didn’t want them to worry. I knew they’d be sad enough once I died; they didn’t need to suffer any extra before then.”
“Shhh,” he says, consoling you, “You did the right thing.”
You look up at him through your black-stained eyes, instinctively lowering them to his lips as he inches closer.
His lips press against yours, moving slowly at first before becoming fervent as his greed for more grows.
Your hunger matches his, having been touch-starved for far too long, even before death. You pull back, only so you can take off your pajamas, leaving your body exposed and ready for his devotion.
At the same time, Vernon is quick to undo the buttons on his long-sleeve shirt. His hands move to his belt, loosening it enough so he’s able to shove his pants down past his muscular thighs.
Picking up the condom he set aside, he rips the packet open and rolls the condom on over his hardening length.
He pumps himself a couple of times, ensuring that it’s in place, enticing you with what’s to come.
But first, he has other plans.
Vernon’s hands trail across your skin, mesmerizing every detail. His lips soon follow suit.
“I’ll be sad later when I have to begin cremating your beautiful body,” he breathes, leaving kisses along your ankle and down to your toes, enclosing his lips around them as he sucks.
He slowly slides his way back up your body, landing this time at your supple breasts that he plans to devour.
“So perfect,” he groans, his tongue flicking one of your nipples until it hardens, then he licks the succulent skin that surrounds it. “So soft.”
Moaning, your head rolls back while your hands dig into his short hair, holding him closer to you as he brings the nub between his closed lips. He gives the other side equal attention before moving higher up.
He spits onto his length, smearing it around the condom as a makeshift lube before aligning himself with your core. You pull him close as his thick tip presses inside, your bodies wrapping around one another.
Vernon slowly sinks all the way into your sweet center, his girth stretching your inner walls as you envelope him.
“You take me so well,” he praises, his forehead resting against yours. “Such a good girl, waking up for me and being so accepting. Let me fuck you like you’ve longed for.”
You nod as he picks up the pace. The room soon fills with the sounds of your activities; the smell of sex mixing with the strong chemicals.
“So pretty when I fuck you like this, so worth it. You deserve to come so hard that you remember it in the afterlife. You’ve earned it. What do you think? You want to come all over?” He asks while his fingers find where your bodies meet, rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves until your legs are quivering around him.
“F-fuck, yes!” you whine, and his thrust becomes more urgent.
Vernon is infatuated with the look on your face, along with the sounds spilling from you as the coil inside you winds up tighter and tighter.
He knows you’re close; so is he.
“Come for me, pretty girl, that’s it,” he says, coaxing you through the abrupt explosion of pleasure floating through your body. Your entire body convulses around him while riding out the remnants of your orgasm.
Vernon tenses, his hips jerking as he comes right after you. His cock twitches twice more as the last of his milky cum fills the condom.
“That was,” your breathing pattern begins to slow. “Incredible.” As you speak the final word, the potion wears off. He watches as your rosy color slowly fades, and the ghastly shade of grey returns.
What was once a beautiful, breathing woman turns back into a corpse in the very early stages of decomposition.
He sighs, pulling out of you to tie off and discard the soiled condom before the real work begins.
𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖎𝖓𝖉𝖚𝖑𝖌𝖊 - Sign up for my freaktober taglist to get notified when more fics are posted! You can choose specific ones, or all of them!
“thank you ma’am. i hope you enjoy the rest of your day.” the waitress smirks, handing me back my card and receipt for my check.
“thank you. i hope you have a good day too.” i return her smile and push my seat out heading towards the exit.
i turn the corner reaching the elevators. a small group of people scurry off the platform as a woman holds it open for me. press the level i needed to reach when i heard a deep voice.
“hey! wait! hold the elevator!”
the elevator start to close its doors but i quickly hit the button to remain open. a guy dressed in a white tee, a pair of jeans and converse with his baseball cap and headphones walked in. he shoots me a quick thank you for before putting on his zipped up jacket.
i look up from my phone when i smell a familiar citrus and woodsy scent.
“vernon?” i raised an eyebrow.
“y-yeah.” he stared at me as if i invaded his personal space. “y/n? w-what are you doing here?”
“i came here for a lunch date with myself. you?”
“there is a record shop just a few doors down from the restaurant.”
“it’s been a while since i last saw you. is everything
“some things have been different. you know touring the world and all with twelve other dudes.”
“so you’re still in a long committed relationship with those twelve other dudes and doing what you love.” i chuckled.
“y-yeah.” he half laughs. “what about you? i can’t remember the last time i saw you.”
“i have been traveling around. it’s time consuming being
“this is my floor. i’d love to see you again and the guys. that’s if they’re in town with you too.”
“yeah, we have a few days off. uhmm, how about we hang out tomorrow?”
i nod agreeing as vernon steps out of the elevator. “okay, just text me the details to your place and i will be around maybe noon.”
————————
“you have to joking! that is not the best christmas movie!” vernon spat, taking another slice of pizza from the table.
i clutch my chest as if to gasped for air, “get out of my house! you will not slander my favorite christmas movie of all time.”
“y/n, the princess switch doesn’t have much of a plot. home alone has a plot and it’s the best christmas movie. even elf has a better plot line than the princess switch.”
“i am suddenly realizing why we lost touch all these years.”
“what’s the princess switch?”
vernon face palms his forehead sliding down the couch dramatically. i scoff as his actions but ignored him to answer the question. vernon can pretend all he wants that he despises the princess switch but i know he secretly likes watching it with me.
“nonie! i am fine. we don’t have to do anything. it’s whatever, kai went to the winter dance with vivienne and they will live happily ever after.”
“just forget the dance. he’s not worth your time anyways. we can watch all three princess switch movies at my house.” his voice soft and warm trying to cheer me up.
“you hate this movie.” i whined.
“yeah, but i hate seeing you sad even more. c’mon, i have a bag of kettle corn with your name on it.”
“you are willing to suffer through three movies to make me feel better?”
“that’s what best friends are for, right?”
i chuckle reaching up to hug. he instantly wraps his arms around me giggling.
———
“if fiona and peter don’t end up together then i will riot.” seokmin mumbles to josh.
i chuckle to myself sideyeing him and turn my attention to vernon. his body slouched down into the couch while hugging a pillow. his eyes laser focused on the tv screen and the corners of his lips rise.
on the tv fiona had just entered the cafeteria where her estranged mother was waiting for her. my eyes start to tear up hearing fiona talk about how she was let down by her mom not being present in her life and she walks out but decides to walk back to her. vernon didn’t even look in my direction but he holds up a tissue for me. i smirk glancing at him and take the tissue. a loud sniffle comes from the other side of the couch as the credits roll. everyone turns their heads staring at seokmin who had tissues in his hands and tears streaming down his cheek.
“okay, we’ve watched all three princess switched movies and home alone, now it’s time for everyone to decide which movie is best?”
vernon and i stood up in front of the tv while we asked josh, seokmin, seungkwan, dino, mingyu, jun, seungcheol and jeonghan. each member comments of which is their favorite movie to watch. we end up with a tie which meant josh is the tie breaker.
“i am sorry, y/n. i have to go with vernon’s pick.” josh says.
“three to four, i win!” vernon cheers sticking his tongue out at me as the other disperse into their own conversation over dinner.
“whatever. the princess switch is still my favorite movie. to each their own, i guess.” i crossed my arms against my chest.
“do you want to bake some desserts like stacy in the princess switched?” he asked.
“and this is why you’re best friend.” i grin linking arms with him.
“we are best friends because you have co dependency issues and haven’t been able to let me go since the third grade.”
i laugh at his joke tossing a pillow in his direction. he throws his arms up protecting his head from my attacks. we go back and forth reminiscing over old memories together like the time i came home crying after a boy i liked rejected me or the time vernon thought he could run through the grass field before the sprinklers could turn on without getting wet. in the middle of laughing over old memories, an unknown overwhelming feeling hits me. i look up at vernon from my eyelashes as he hugs himself trying to catch his breath from laughing. a wave nostalgia hits me remembering the scene of fiona and her estranged mom except i was remembering how vernon and i have gone estranged.
“hey, is everything okay? you’re crying.” his voice filled with concern, wiping away a tear from the corner.
i smile at him. my eyes glossy mumbling, “yeah. i just missed you.”
“you’ve been here with me all day. i am not sure how you’re missing me.”
i roll my eyes at him before shoving his shoulder gently, “i meant, in general, loser. i missed spending time with you especially around the holiday season. it’s hits me more that we have grown distant.”
a few tears slip down my cheek as i sniffle. the guys all looked at one another and talk over one another to leave the living room. they scatter out of my apartment leaving vernon and i alone. a hollow hole sits in the chest making it hard to compose myself. vernon straighten his posture, his shoulders rigid as he wraps an arm around me.
“y/n, i am still here for you and i always will be. i haven’t gone anywhere.” he reassures me.
“i know. it’s just things have been different. you know they’ve changed, it’s not the same like before when we used to always hang out and see each other. now we have lives that we gotta live, even if it means we aren’t a part of each other’s everyday. it’s just sucks a little more on the day when i miss you, that’s all. i am not trying to be too mushy or anything.”
i wipe away my tears finally taking a breath. for years i have grown comfortable with how our dynamic in our friendship has changed. slowly vernon stopped texting me, but i can’t fully blame him. i have also withdrawn from him too. i got scared waiting to see if he would make time for me again and i decided to board up my heart so no one could break it.
after running into vernon after years of barely contacting one another, the feelings of longing make a surprise appearance. my heart slowly cracks thinking about all the broken slow replied exts and cancelled hang outs which never got rescheduled.
vernon squeezes my shoulder pulling me closer to him and rest his head against mine. “y/n,i have missed you too. i agree it’s not not the same like it was before. things have changed and i will fault in that for growing apart from you. i just want to remind you that even though life does take over you’ll always be my person. no one gets me like you do, so i don’t ever want to lose you. you’re my safe place and best friend.”
“vernon, you jerk! you’re not supposed to say these things to me.” i cried, smacking his arm. “you’re my safe place too. i just miss having you around and feeling connected with you. nowadays it just feels like we are casual acquaintances and i don’t like it”
“how about once a month we plan a weekend hang out together?” he suggested.
“i am not sure i want to see your face once a month.” i tap my finger against my chin out of contemplation. “wait! how can we even hang out once a weekend? your schedule is literally packed throughout the entire year.”
“okay maybe a weekend is a bit of a stretch considering we are both out traveling with packed schedules. we can have weekly facetime calls to catch up and talk. also if one of us is in town then we can meet up.”
“sounds like a doable plan, mr. chwe.” i grin looking at him. i held my pinky up to him, “to being acquaintance to best friends again.”
“y/n, we’ve always been best friends.” he laughs.
“okay, to finding our way back to each other.”
he links his pinky with mine, “to finding our way back to each other.”
[c.w.: oral + fingering (f. receiving), voyeurism, male masturbation]
"ngh, fuck" you pant out as your fingers tighten in your boyfriend's hair "v-vernonie~"
his head is currently trapped between your thighs, his face buried in your wet cunt. his hot tongue laps at your slit while his nose bumps up against your clit, sending waves of pleasure down your spine
his thick hands are wrapped around your thighs, squeezing the fat there, as he makes out with your pussy, lips and tongue all over you, tasting you as much as he can. your bare chest rises and falls as you whine. he's probably been down there for at least thirty mintues now and as much as you love it, you're also incredibly impatient
you glance up across the room, wondering if someone else is getting impatient, you grin a bit when you see he is
when you and vernon barged into jihoon's studio, he just kept on working, not bothering that you two were heavily making out on his couch. even when vernon stripped you down and sunk down on his knees and you started to moan like a bitch in heat, he never looked up from his computer
now though, his desk chair is turned towards in your direction, his gaze on you, unwaivering. you can see the bulge in his sweatpants, but he's yet to pull his cock out. the sight alone makes you clench down around the fingers vernon has now fed into your pussy, his mouth latched around your clit. the wet noises from his mouth and your pussy fill the room, and you wonder if jihoon would ever audio record your sessions
both you and your boyfriend being busy idols means you two don't have a lot of time or privacy, especially to do more...intimate things (like fuck). that is, until one day when vernon was complaining about it to jihoon during a writing session and jihoon suggested you guys just...use his studio
the issue is that jihoon never leaves his studio, which vernon pointed out, to which jihoon responded "you can't expect me to let you use my studio without me getting something out of it"
so that's how you and your boyfriend ended up fucking in jihoon's studio...a lot. sometimes he watches, sometimes he doesn't. it's gotten to the point where you guys are in there enough, he doesn't have the time nor energy to be bothered with you most of the time, ignoring you two going at it a few feet away from where he's messing with the newest track seventeen has recorded
if you're being honest, you kind of prefer when he watched, so it gets you excited to know he's watching you two now, distracted enough to put his work aside for the time being
vernon's fingers are curling up into you at that sweet spot and you so desperately want to cum, but you push vernon's head away instead. when vernon pulls away, he's out of breath, and his mouth is a mess with your arousal leaving a sheen on his lips
"baby?"
"wanna ride your cock" you mumble "please" you tack on at the end
vernon just nods and pulls his shirt over his head before shedding his pants. his cock springs out, hard and already red and dripping precum, you wouldn't be surprised if he was jerking off while eating you out
vernon takes his place laying down on the couch and you mount him, lining his cock up before sinking down. you keep contact with jihoon while you do, watching as the older man rubs at his hard on over his sweats. you want him to take out his cock, and he knows this, he's teasing you instead
below you, vernon's fingers dig into your hip bones as he helps you set your pace, bouncing up and down in his lap. overtime your pussy has molded itself to the shape of vernon's cock and he fits in you nicely, filling you up and digging into you in all the right places
you plant your hands on vernon's chest, and stare down at your boyfriend as you ride his cock. his soft brown hair falls over his forehead, slightly disheveled from the sweat and how hard you were gripping it earlier. the lights are dim in the universe factory, but not so dark that you can't see vernon's pretty brown eyes. you two stare at each other as you roll your hips against his, his eyes conveying how lust filled his brain is right now
you lean down, kissing your boyfriend. his hands travel up your spine, his hips rocking into you as his kisses you deeply. your arousal still lingers on his lips and you groan at the taste
you're lost in the kiss and the feeling of vernon against you and in you and you nearly forget about the other presence in the room, until vernon pulls away and whispers to you "i think jihoon is touching himself now"
you lift yourself up again to look, and sure enough, jihoon's thick cock is pulled out of his sweats, sitting heavy in his hand as he yanks at himself, staring at where you and your boyfriend are connected
you're glad vernon is so chill, because you have to admit, you're a bit obsessed with the older member's cock. it's so thick and pretty and pink and it leaks so much precum. there's been plenty of times where you imagine it between your lips or even inside of you. sometimes you fantasize that one day jihoon will stand up, stride across the room, and come and fuck you to get off instead of just jerking off while watching you
you know vernon wouldn't mind, in fact he'd probably like watching his girlfriend get fucked by his favorite hyung, but for now you'll just have to stick to fantasies and watching him watch you
jihoon seems to notice that you're watching him and he smirks at you, before flicking his eyes down to watch the way your tits bounce with each thrust of vernon's cock, which makes you moan out involuntarily, which makes jihoon smirk even more. fuck, you want him so bad
"fuck vern" you mutter "need to cum"
"yeah?"
"yeah"
vernon brings his hand up to your clit, rubbing at you there rapidly with his thumb to help you get off. your body jolts with pleasure and you fight throwing your head back, not wanting to take your eyes off of jihoon, who also looks close to cumming
jihoon and vernon let out matching pants and grunts as they stare at you, and you relish in the attention, your eyes flitting between the boys, admiring how pretty they both look
you can feel your cunt fluttering, so close to release. it only takes on particularly well placed thrust from vernon that you're crying out, your legs spasms as your body releases all of the tension built up. you clench down on vernon's cock, nearly collapsing as you orgasm
a few seconds later, vernon is pulling you down flush against him, painting you insides white. it takes probably another twenty seconds of watching you and vernon come down from your highs before jihoon is cumming as well, his seed spilling against his hand. if your legs weren't so weak you might have walked over there and got down on your knees to lick him clean
all three of you are a bit hot and out of breath, your pants filing the silence of the room. as you slump against vernon, your head on his chest, you watch at jihoon grabs a tissue to clean himself off before tucking himself back into his sweats. he sends a wink at you before turning his chair back around and sliding his headphones back on like he didn't just nut a minute ago
you just bury yourself further into you boyfriend, thinking about how no matter what it takes, one day you'll get jihoon to join you two
when you've been whining about the same thing over and over again and hansol has had enough
a/n: just some random burst of words. fluff. friends to ???. talks abt kissing lol
You're starting to question your decision of befriending Chwe Hansol.
You don't even know if he's listening to you, but it's just his default setting to look like he's spacing out on you even if he isn't.
It doesn't bother you usually, but you're a little more sensitive today just because and you don't appreciate him not making a single noise when you've been babbling for the past ten minutes.
"Say something!"
He looks at you bored, though you knew yet again that it's just how he looks. He cares, you know he cares, but you're in one of your annoying mood and it's somehow Hansol's burden to carry today.
"What do you want me to say?" He asks, genuinely wanting to know what kind of answer you're expecting from him. "You've been saying you want someone to kiss since, like, two weeks ago. I told you to go to the club. Didn't you?"
"I did." You pout, and then plop your head on his shoulder as Hansol moves to let you lean on him more comfortably. You don't even know why you're complaining about this to him of all people instead of your other friends, don't even know what kind of comfort you're expecting from the most practical and idealistic friend you've ever haf in your life.
"Why didn't you kiss anyone?"
"No one's my type."
He doesn't miss a second to flick your forehead, and you make a show of saying it hurts (it does hurt, just not as much as you make it to be) as you lean away and cover your forehead with your palm. The glare you send his away doesn't deter him in any way.
"Why do you want to kiss someone so bad?" He asks you seriously, turning his body to face you.
"It's just been too long..."
"You watched another romance movie, didn't you?"
"Shut up."
"I told you to stop watching them if they make you feel like this!"
It's never easy to tell what Hansol is thinking about even though he's one of the most transparent people out there. You think that's why he's all the more unpredictable.
And like right now as you continue to stupidly debate over the romance movie marathon you had last night, you're not sure why he's entertaining you this much when your other friends would just shut up at some point and let you continue whining about your misery.
"I just want someone to kiss!"
"You don't just want someone to kiss if you're being picky about who you're kissing."
"I'm not picky." You huff. "I simply don't want to kiss strangers. What if they're creepy?"
Hansol stares at you incredulous, and you did a tiny victory dance in your head because you manage to leave him speechless. It doesn't matter that he's probably just tired of this conversation, it still counts as a victory to you.
"See? I knew you'd get my point eventually. I just want to--"
You don't get to finish your sentence as his hands reach for your face and his lips close over yours. You blink continuously for a few seconds, then succumbs into the warmth of his mouth on yours and his palms on your cheeks, and close your eyes to return the kiss.
You're a little out of breath when you pull away, and you still can't tell what goes over his head as his eyes stares into your soul.
"Next time you complain about this," he starts, his palms don't move from your face. You're pretty sure he can hear the loud sound of your heartbeats and feel the warmth emitting from your cheeks. "That's what I'm going to do, got it?"
You nod, pressing your lips together as if to feel his lips once more, a little disappointed when you don't feel the same spark from the real thing.
“You’re not even gonna have a conversation with me? Do you dislike me that much?”
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[홍지수 ; joshua]
crescendo ; 3.2k
“J-Joshua—What are you doing?” you gasped, feeling his hands clutching your waist. Joshua rolled his eyes. His brown eyes peered down at you intimidatingly, hairs falling in his face before he spoke, “Don’t do that. I know you want this,” he rasped, wetting his lips before smirking.
dear diary, ; 2.5K
You’re relieved when your kind classmate Joshua has found your lost diary, that is until you find out what he’s left in there.
[文俊辉 ; junhui]
starlit secrets ; 4.1K
On the 12 year anniversary of the hit teen series you and Jun starred in, a burning question emerges during an interview: Was there ever more than friendship behind the scenes?
[권순영 ; soonyoung]
little cub ; 2K
Soonyoung quickly succumbs when you kiss him in the middle of an argument.
[전원우; wonwoo]
have you seen this man? ; 2.6K
The two men tormenting your dreams for weeks make another appearance, this time seemingly to spare you.
whatever i say ; 3.9K
After getting blackmailed into doing whatever Wonwoo wants to keep him from exposing your secret, you find yourselves making your situation even more difficult.
[이지훈; jihoon]
poison ; 1.5K
Jihoon and you are like poison. Toxic, yet addicting–and you both can’t stay away.
[김민규 ; mingyu]
flashing lights ; 29.2K 💫
In which you’re the assistent of nightmare model Xu Minghao before resigning and becoming the assistant of rookie actor Kim Mingyu, who happens to be Minghao’s co-presentor on a show they’re shooting.
hazy ; 0.7K
Mingyu loves being your dumb plaything almost as much as you enjoy toying with him.
아름다워 ; 3.5k
When you accidentally like Mingyu’s shirtless picture from two years ago you dread seeing him again, almost willing to let go of your big crush on him.
pink wrists ; 2.29K
Mingyu and you have always loved teasing each other, and when he finds himself pinned down under your body he enjoys himself maybe a little too much.
[이석민 ; seokmin]
darling, you ; 1.4K
Hiding your relationship from your friends while on vacation might be harder than you thought.
pretty when u cry ; 0.7K
You can’t help yourself when seeing your boyfriend cry so prettily for you.
[徐明浩 ; minghao]
flashing lights ; 29.2K 💫
In which you’re the assistent of nightmare model Xu Minghao before resigning and becoming the assistant of rookie actor Kim Mingyu, who happens to be Minghao’s co-presentor on a show they’re shooting.
[부승관 ; seungkwan]
getting even ; 2.8K
Seungkwan is a jealous person, but so are you. And you think he ough to be put in his place for unrightfully being so jealous when, arguably, he’s way worse.
[최한솔 ; vernon]
reverb ; 5K
In his clumsy attempts at trying to befriend you, Vernon slowly discovers that the pull he feels toward you might be more than purely friendly.
[이찬 ; chan]
you’ll get me in a whole lot of trouble ; 2K
Chan wasn’t particularly in the mood to go clubbing, but once the alcohol in his system starts working and he finds you he doesn’t seem to mind too much anymore.
