abt me: hi i’m sunny! i’m from southeast asia! been inactive for sooo longgg bc i lost interest in kpop LMAO. js to clarify some of my works r under the blog @puresealeina , so i’ll put it in this masterlist.. don't expect too much w/ the works from 2021/2022....
just to clarify: I don’t write EXPLICIT SMUT but some of my works have mature content & sexual implications. (titled with M)
i write FANFICTION so my work remains FICTIONAL and they have no relations with the persons involved. let's not be parasocial here..
♡ - timestamps
M - mature
NCT DREAM
RENJUN
[9:27pm] renjun’s painting you? ♡
[9:57pm] heart trend with renjun ♡
[elf hunter] you hunt for the last huang elf, but things go differently than you expected
WAYV
YANGYANG
[sweet] it’s so sweet, knowing that he loves you. M
[you deserve this] - falling for your childhood enemy is NOT okay, especially when he left a little suprise on your desk one day
EXO
BAEKHYUN
[slice of me] - you, reeling from a bad breakup and determined to avoid complications, are challenged to a "trial period" of dating by the charming, captivating man whose easy confidence is impossible to ignore
[good morning] - you are violently awakened on Sunday morning by Baekhyun enthusiastically blasting the wrong, ear-splittingly loud song.
[who is kyoong?] - In which a winter gathering leaves you holding a gift no one should’ve been able to get
discontinued below
[REVERIE] - an illustrator seeks inspiration in a timeless café, only to meet a man who seems to know you better than you know yourself.
desc: In which a winter gathering leaves you holding a gift no one should’ve been able to get
note: small nonsense christmas oneshot. did not proofread... at all
⋆꙳❅*‧ ‧*❆ ₊⋆
You arrive late.
Of course you do. You have snow clinging to your coat like it has a personal vendetta. The apartment glows warm from inside, golden light spilling across the front steps, and you can already hear the chaos. Someone was singing off-key Mariah (who doesn’t play Mariah during the holidays?), someone else yelling about burnt cookies, and your friends, all of them loud, nosy, and far too invested in your ridiculous love life you tried to be private about.
You step in, and the warmth swallows you whole. Patterned carves hang like wilted flowers from hooks, someone’s reindeer headband blinks in seizure-inducing patterns, and right in the middle of it all—is Byun Baekhyun.
You’ve seen him before, in parties, dinners, and game nights. He’s always been there in the orbit of your friend-of-a-friend galaxy. Close enough to greet you, not close enough to hand you the moon. His smile tonight is soft, warm at the edges, as if sculpted from the candlelight.
“Hey,” he says, and your name leaves his lips like he’s been practicing it.
“Hey,” you answer, and yours leaves your mouth like it tripped on the way out.
People swarm you before you can think too hard about that look on his face. They hang your coat, drag you to the sofa, shove a hot mug of instant hot chocolate into your hands.
Your friend whispers, “He likes you, you know.” And you shrug it off. Another nudges you so hard your teeth nearly rattle. “You’re his type. Definitely!” And someone else chimes in with the subtlety of a marching band: “Baekhyun has a crush on you, wake the hell up!”
You roll your eyes so hard your ancestors feel it. Because Baekhyun? He never shows anything. He’s charming, sure. Friendly. Really friendly..
You’re not delusional enough to think a man like that is pining after someone like you. No, thank you. You have enough delusions in other areas of life. Also, you haven’t had a conversation with him longer than five minutes.
Secret Santa begins halfway through dinner, after two people are already tipsy on mulled wine. The gifts form a leaning tower on the coffee table. Everyone’s drawn names weeks ago, budgets agreed upon, and threats exchanged to keep it fair.
The rule: nothing over forty dollars.
The reality: well…
Your box is near the bottom of the pile, disguised in plain brown paper and twine— which is too neat.
“Who’s Kyoong?” someone asks, squinting at the card.
Immediately the room buzzes like a hive kicked too hard.
“Kyoong?”
“Who the hell chose that nickname?”
“Sounds like a Pokémon.”
“No, it sounds like someone sneezed while naming themselves.”
You clutch the brown paper as if it personally offended you. The twine curls obediently at your feet, traitorous little worms. And then—you lift the lid.
The photobook gleams up at you like treasure stolen from a dragon’s hoard. Your breath forgets its script.
Your fingers go cold, then warm, then both somehow.
Oh.
This is… expensive
Someone whistles so hard the fairy lights tremble. You swallow. The velvet inside the box is soft.The kind of soft most criminals would confess into.
You lift your gaze, not meaning to, just gravity being dramatic.
Baekhyun is across the room, half-hidden by tinsel and someone’s aggressively red sweater. He’s laughing at something someone said, eyes curved like crescent moons. He isn’t looking at you.
Not even once.
Which is suspicious.
Because Baekhyun looks at everything. even crumbs on the counter, even shadows that could be cats. I mean, not that you notice it.
But now? Not you.
Not the box.
Not the illicit luxury item in your lap.
The room keeps buzzing around you like a hive that’s over-caffeinated.
“Open the card!” someone shrieks.
Right. The card.
White, simple. Handwritten.
For you.
— Kyoong
Your eyebrow arches so high it almost detaches.
“Kyoong is definitely someone among us,” someone says, narrowing their eyes like an off-brand detective.
“Yes,” another agrees, “and I bet they’re sweating.”
Your gaze flicks again toward Baekhyun.
Just as quickly, you drag it away.
Not because he looked. But because he didn’t.
And lord, that’s even worse.
You close the box gently, like it’s a secret that might bite if handled wrong.
“I’ll… figure out who it is later,” you mumble, pretending to sip your lukewarm cocoa, pretending to be unaffected, pretending the room isn’t spinning just a little.
The gift pile continues.
Someone gets socks with questionable reindeer patterns.
Someone else gets a mug so ugly it honestly should be a crime. People laugh, lights twinkle, the playlist switches to another Mariah (of course), and the evening flows around you like melted candlewax.
But your mind keeps drifting.
Back to velvet. And a nickname only one person in this room has ever mentioned.
And every time you accidentally look his way…
Baekhyun is still not looking at you.
Which means he absolutely knows, and absolutely cares.
Because nobody avoids eye contact that hard unless they’re hiding something delicate.
The final gift is opened. Cheers erupt. Someone declares themselves “the winner of Christmas,” which is questionable theology at best.
You finally stand, smoothing your clothes, steadying your breath.
The party shifts into its late-evening sprawl, people migrating toward snacks, blankets, ill-advised karaoke.
Baekhyun slips away from the crowd, toward the quieter corner by the window. He’s picking at a stray thread on his sleeve, humming under his breath.
He still hasn’t looked your way.
But you left the corners of your lips lifted up. One thing's for sure—
desc: In which you are violently awakened on Sunday morning by Baekhyun enthusiastically blasting the wrong, ear-splittingly loud song.
note: i might have regretted ever starting this series bc i didn't even know what to write for this song cuz its so chill.. so that's why this oneshot is so short and boringgg lmaoo. rendezvous next
PT2 of HELLO, WORLD series
┊┊❁ཻུ۪۪♡ ͎. ｡˚ °
You feel the slow, heavy blanket of Sunday morning sleep beginning to lift. The air is cool, but the spot on the mattress where Baekhyun is curled against your back is practically radiating heat. Your cheek is comfortably mashed against your pillow, and you let out a long, contented sigh. This, you think, is perfection.
Then, the world explodes.
A thunderous, synth-heavy beat rips through the quiet apartment, instantly obliterating the peace. It’s loud—painfully loud—and pulses with the aggressive energy of a track meant for a stadium, not for a bedside alarm clock meant to wake up your partner.
Your eyes snap open. The sudden assault sends you flying upright, your heart hammering against your ribs. You grab for the nearest object, which is the soft, plush throw cushion pillow—and fling it toward the source of the noise: the speaker across the room, which is currently blasting what sounds like the soundtrack to a car chase in a western Hollywood movie.
“Baekhyun!” you shriek, rubbing your ears as the bass rattles the windowpanes. “Are you serious?! It’s a Sunday Morning! Turn that off!”
The man in question is nowhere near the speaker. You swivel your head, and that’s when you see the true cause of the mayhem.
Byun Baekhyun, your boyfriend, is standing in the middle of the small living room, wearing only a pair of incredibly soft pajama bottoms and a dazzling, completely oblivious smile. He’s fully submerged in the music, headphones long forgotten. He’s not just singing along—he’s performing. His arms are windmilling in complicated choreography that ends with a dramatic point, his voice hitting the high notes with theatrical fervor.
He sees you sitting up in bed, hair sticking out at impossible angles, frowning at him, and his performance only intensifies. He dips into a low squat, mouthing the words to the intense bridge, giving you a thumbs-up as he spins.
“Oh, you’re up!” he yells over the track, clearly ecstatic and a bit crazy. “Isn’t this great?! I meant to put on my jazz playlist to cook some scrambled eggs, but this came on shuffle and it’s just too good! Get up, you need to feel the energy!”
“The only energy I feel is homicidal!” you shout back, pulling the comforter over your head, but it barely muffles the sound. “It’s literally seven thirty in the morning!”
You yank the blanket down just in time to see him execute a perfect, slightly dramatic hip thrust. He skips over to the speaker, his smile never wavering, and finally—oh, glorious relief—the volume drops to a reasonable level, then switches entirely.
The room is silent except for the slight ringing in your ears.
Baekhyun, now standing at the edge of the bed, leans over and brushes a piece of hair out of your eyes. “Okay, okay, sorry,” he whispers, though his eyes are still bright with leftover excitement. “I got a little carried away. But you gotta admit, that drum break was incredible.”
He flops onto the bed, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you down against his chest.
“If you ever wake me up with that kind of intensity on a day off again, I will charge you an admission fee,” you grumble, but you can’t help but bury your face into his shoulder. The warmth is immediately soothing.
He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to your head. “Deal. But you’re staying right here until I make it up to you with actual coffee and maybe a back rub?”
oneshot, wc: 1427, reader is two yrs older than baekhyun but it doesn't really matter
desc: In which you, reeling from a bad breakup and determined to avoid complications, are challenged to a "trial period" of dating by the charming, captivating man whose easy confidence is impossible to ignore.
PT1 of HELLO, WORLD series
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦
You knew the exact moment Byun Baekhyun walked into the café, not by sight, but by the subtle, collective shortness of breath from every woman—and maybe a few men—in the room, a mystery you wanted to ignore.
You were halfway through a chapter of some random book you picked up from the shop’s collection and an iced americano in your hand. The book’s chapter is currently about a woman suspecting that her husband cheated on her. It definitely wasn't related to you. Not at all.
Until the seat opposite you scraped back on the polished concrete floor.
You didn’t have to look up to know who it was. The sudden elevation of the room’s whispers told you everything anyways. It was Byun Baekhyun.
“Didn’t think you’d be here this early.” He said, his voice low and melodic that always seemed somehow too intimate for a public place like a café. It wasn’t loud, but it managed to cut through the smooth jazz and the subtle whir of the espresso machine.
You marked your page, took a small sip of your drink, and finally raised your gaze to the man in front of you.
He had changed since you last saw him a few days ago. Today, it was just a perfectly oversized dark sweater, baggy jeans with artful rips, and rings that had caught the light as he moved. He, unfortunately, still looks charming.
“I have a presentation tomorrow. I need peace.” You replied, your calm voice even, but directing at his sudden appearance out of nowhere. You noted the faint scent of expensive citrus over the table.
He tilted his head, a small, knowing smile playing on his lips. “Ah, it’s the famous calm under pressure. I admire that about you.” He didn't say it like a compliment. He said it like a simple, undeniable fact he’d observed.
You felt the familiar, faint pull, almost a low-level hum of attraction you were determined to ignore, or at least treat like background noise. You are two years his senior, with a recently fractured heart and an absolute resolve to avoid anything complicated for the foreseeable future. Baekhyun, by definition, was a walking complication.
“It’s just called being responsible, Baekhyun,” you corrected, picking up your book again from the table.
He chuckled, a soft, breathy sound that didn't demand attention, but got it anyway. “Of course. But you make even the responsibility look…” He stopped, letting his gaze run through you. You put on your best warm clothes, and didn’t care about how you looked and walked out your apartment door immediately. “—Interesting.” He let the observation hang there. He wasn't pressuring you to put your book down, or even to fully engage. He was simply existing, exquisitely, in your space.
You resisted the urge to look back at him immediately, counting to five before you finally did, meeting his eyes. They were wide, dark, and sparkling, utterly unapologetic for the fact that they knew exactly how pleasing he was to look at.
“Did you need something, or are you just here to distract the peaceful citizens?” you asked, a small tease in your voice that you couldn't quite suppress.
He mimicked your slow sip of your now-empty cup. “I finished my meetings early. I needed a refill of energy. And perhaps a refill of company that doesn’t talk about reports.”
“You’re looking for the wrong person.” you muttered, but you closed the book and pushed it aside. Acknowledging your subtle shift, he reached out and slid your saucer closer to you with a single, slow movement of his index finger.
“Just being honest,” he countered. “And good at knowing what I want. Which, currently, is an espresso and maybe a solid ten minutes of your time.” He lets the corner of his lips lift into a smile.
“Ten minutes?” You raised a brow. “Set a timer.” you challenged.
“Consider it set.” He pulled his phone out, and didn’t even break eye contact for a second. His eyes held yours, and you felt the subtle shift in atmosphere again. He wasn't pushing you past your comfort zone, but he was holding the line of engagement steady, daring you to cross it yourself.
You decided to bring up the elephant in the room, indirectly. “I’m taking a break from... everything. Especially anything requiring emotional investment.” You sigh. “You know that, right?”
His expression didn't falter. He simply nodded, his gaze gentle but unwavering. “I know you had a bad time. I’ve seen what a disaster that guy was. Trust me, I’m not applying for any emotional internships.” He paused, his lips curving into a lazy half-smirk. “I’m thinking more of a trial period to apply for.”
You caught your breath, startled by the directness wrapped in such a casual delivery. Trial period. What is this guy implying, exactly?
“A trial period for what?” you asked, trying to keep your voice level, though you knew your subtle sudden interest was showing in your eyes.
He leaned forward just a fraction, resting his chin on his knuckles. The lighting framed his features perfectly, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the genuineness of his expression.
“For seeing if you might enjoy my company on a different level. Nothing huge. A great dinner, maybe a ridiculously pretentious art exhibit, or even just sitting right here talking about strategies until the café closes. As simple as that.” He gestured vaguely between the two of you. “We already do this. We talk, we laugh, you flirt with me when you think I don’t notice.”
You felt a flush creep up your neck. “You’re making up things.”
He chuckled, low and warm. “Sure you do. It's fine. It’s natural. You’re smart and beautiful, and you just happen to be talking to someone who’s... well, not bad himself.” He said the last part without specification, but with absolute, quiet certainty. It was just a statement of fact, like pointing out the sky is blue.
“My point is,” he continued, his tone softening, “you’ve been through the absolute worst. The goal now is to find out what the best could look like. Not permanently. Just for an hour or two.”
He reached across the table, and your instinct was to recoil slightly, given your recent history, but he stopped short of touching your hand. Instead, his fingers just gently tapped the worn edge of the book cover on the table.
“You don’t have to push yourself into anything. That’s the opposite of what I want. But I think you deserve to see how easy it can be to feel good, to feel light, and to feel incredibly… desired.” he whispered the last word.
“Just one date,” he said, his voice dropping to a persuasive murmur. “If you don't like it, you don't call me again. No awkwardness. No drama. I just know that when you're ready to try something good again... I’m the best place to start.”
He lifted his hand, the spell broken as the barista placed a tiny cup of espresso on his coaster. He didn't look away from you, just brought the cup to his lips and took a slow, deliberate sip. How confident.
“What do you say?” he asked, a silent challenge in his eyes. “Give me a two-hour trial run. See if I can make you forget about those presentations for a while.”
You took a deep, shaky breath, your mind racing between caution and curiosity. He was respectful, he wasn't demanding, and he was undeniably... right? Why not? Just a trial. Just to see. I mean, you could always stop, right?
Right?
You met his gaze, the faint smile returning to your lips. “And if I like the trial run, Baekhyun?”
He leaned forward again, his eyes darkening just a shade as the corner of his mouth lifted. He didn't answer with words, or a suggestive look. Instead, he simply reached out and very slowly, traced the gold band of your ring finger, the one your ex boyfriend had bought you, before letting his fingers hover above your skin.
“Then we’ll move on to the extended contract.”
His touch was warm, precise, and entirely too confident. Your eyes locked with his as your heart hammered a frantic rhythm against your ribs. You knew you should pull back, you knew this was a mistake, but the sheer audacity of his promise was intoxicating.
You didn't move. You just stared into his eyes as the gentle pressure of his gaze became a silent demand, waiting for your answer. The café noise faded entirely as you contemplated the simple, terrifying prospect of saying...
desc: In which an illustrator seeks inspiration in a timeless café, only to meet a man who seems to know you better than you know yourself.
genre: time-travel au, illustrator!reader x ??? baekhyun, confusing timeline
note: i've been rotting in the trenches for an exo comeback and i'm seriously hoping CBX is included with the comeback :( also this is an idea i've had for like four years which is supposed to be for nct doyoung but i came back alive for my exo phase again and decided it fits baekhyun more LMAO. Tell me what you think about it and if i should continue writing....
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
You stare at the empty canvas open on your tablet.
You begin to tap your stylus pen against the table repeatedly.
Along with the loud rhythm coming from your earphones that could not even cover how many families and students started coming into the café you were staying at.
You come here into this distinct coffee shop, 'JW COFFEE', that’s a few blocks away from your small apartment after lunch to continue your freelance illustrator work.
It’s strange. You always think this way.
The bright red striped chairs’ paint was coming off. Their equipment isn’t modern, and they still grind fresh coffee beans every order. The lights at the back were flickering. The prices never inflated, it stayed the same for the past years you had been going here within your childhood.
Even though the shops around them evolved, it still stays true to its roots. Well, to the point you were close with the owners. You’re close with the son of the current owner, Jungwoo, around the same age as you. He still calls the place 'Grandpa's shop' sometimes, which feels right given how long it's been here.
There’s something you’re more worried about. Or maybe you’re just noticing too much.
The young man who comes in exactly two minutes sharp after you, and orders the same thing— Hot black coffee with their signature egg tart. It might be common, but he would come in wearing his glasses and his hair messy like he’s just gotten out of bed.
He would always bow and have the sweetest grin to greet the workers when they served his drink. Then sit at the same solo table (which is always a few feet away from you).
And sometimes, you catch him staring at you.
It wasn’t in a creepy way or obsessive, but rather, something about curiosity. It was like he was observing every inch of your face, and glanced to the floor as if he’d remember something important. He grabs his bag, and leaves the store after finishing his drink. He never finished his tart.
Currently, another afternoon is where you are seated at the high chairs near the counter. Jungwoo had come in to work today, so you were busy chatting with him while waiting for your order.
You glance at your phone’s screen, it reads 1:02 pm. You came here at 1pm. As if on instinct, you turn your head to the door— It’s the young man.
You quickly turn your head back to Jungwoo, “Do you know him?”
Jungwoo only slightly nodded “He’s a loyal customer. Been here since the start.”
But didn’t this shop open in 1953?
You let out a sigh, passing it as a mere coincidence once again as you see the man ordering on the counter. You chat with Jungwoo again.
You feel a presence beside you. And you know it’s the young man who has been in your thoughts for a long time. This was the first time he’s ever sat beside you, not across from you. You feel a slight shiver running down your spine.
“One black coffee with egg tart for—” The waitress handed out the tray in between you and the man. You reached out to grab the hot mug.
But he did too.
Your fingers brush his.
Not enough to burn, not enough to linger. It’s just that brief electricity that makes the breath catch in your throat. The mug wobbles slightly between you, and for the smallest second, everything in the café stills.
The chatter hushes into a whisper. The espresso machine’s hiss fades into something hollow. Even Jungwoo’s voice behind the counter blurs like white noise.
You blink. Once, twice.
The café smells different. Not the roasted bitterness you know, but something fresher, earthier. Like new paint and damp wood.
The lights above you no longer flicker. The chairs shine red, unchipped. The air hums with a low, unfamiliar song from a radio that looks decades too old.
The man beside you is looking straight ahead, unbothered. He brings his coffee to his lips as if this were routine, the same faint grin ghosting his mouth.
Outside, the window reveals a street that shouldn’t exist. The buildings that used to crowd the café are gone. Only a few rows of bicycles, a paper delivery boy calling something you can’t make out, and a sky that feels younger somehow.
You glance down at your tablet.
It isn’t there.
Just a sketchbook, leather-bound and well-worn, your stylus now a pencil dulled at the tip.
