figs

in which your boyfriend passes his sickness onto you, then tries to make up for it. (a/n: this is a continuation of fragile, but can be read as a stand-alone in a pinch.)

word count: 868

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These were the facts:

On Friday night you met up with Taeyong to celebrate your two-and-a-half-month anniversary, and at approximately 11 p.m. you kissed him goodbye at your doorstep and watched him walk home (yes, all the way across the street).

The next morning Taeyong texted you saying that couldn’t make your lunch date; he had woken up with a sore throat and a runny nose—all the makings of a common cold.

And by Sunday—today—you were miserable. Sick at home sneezing and coughing and sniffling, to be more specific. You were irritated. Not that Taeyong had cancelled your Saturday lunch date—no, that was minor.

It was because Taeyong has gotten you sick.

And if there was one thing you hated most in the world, it was getting sick. 

Which explains why you’re in a terrible mood when Taeyong shows up at your door Sunday afternoon. It must have been a pitiful scene: the two of you sniffling at each other, equally ill and miserable, on opposite sides of the doorway. You stare him down—taking note of the two ramen packages in his hand and the pillow tucked under his arm—before finally greeting him.

thank you for your sweet message! I’m glad you enjoyed that story because I think doyoung fics in general are underappreciated. 

domestic au, à la avatar: the last air bender

word count: 790

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You fiddle with the old hairdryer, flicking switches, plugging and unplugging, but you can’t seem to get the damn thing to work. It hasn’t been used it in awhile— not since you moved in with Doyoung.

You considered using your bending, but the fear of possibly burning your hair stops you. Looking in the reflection of the bedroom mirror, you run your fingers through your wet locks and accept the fact that you will have to go to bed with damp hair tonight.

At this point Doyoung walks into the room. You’re hyper-aware of his presence as he rummages around in the closet behind you, and you’re sure that he is too. There’s a weighty silence between you, a remnant of the fight from earlier.

Nothing like the good ol’ silent treatment.

You wonder if you should apologize. Every time you and Doyoung fight, you get a little scared. After all, everyone had said this would never work out—a  firebender and a waterbender, two incompatible beings by nature. Every time you two fight you can’t help but wonder if this is the one. The fight that damages the relationship beyond repair. The fight that ends it for good. The fight that proves they were right when they said you and Doyoung were destined to be incompatible.

You’re deathly afraid of that, but for now, you don’t say anything. And thus it becomes a game of who is willing to concede and admit they were wrong, who is willing to apologize first.

In the reflection of the mirror you see that Doyoung has found what he was looking for—the white cotton t-shirt he likes to sleep in. His back is to you, and in a flurry of fabric and a flash of skin, you watch him change out of his thick sweater in favor of the t-shirt. Then he turns around, eyes meeting yours in the reflection of the mirror. Startled by the sudden eye contact, you immediately look away, gaze settling on the useless hairdryer in your hands.

You sense him walking towards you so you turn slightly to face him. You make eye contact again, directly this time, and his gaze moves from your eyes, down to the dryer, and then to your dripping hair. Finally, he holds his hand out, palm facing up. In a slow, compact motion he curls his fingers into a fist, drawing the water out from your locks, leaving your hair soft and dry.

Even after witnessing it a thousand times, this never ceases to amaze you. Doyoung solves your problem with such an effortless gesture, something you could never do. For the same reason, you’re acutely irritated; all the fuss tonight over trying to dry your hair before bed was fixed with a simple close of a fist. You look up at him through your eyelashes.

“Aren’t you supposed to be mad at me?” you whisper.

He shrugs. “Are you mad at me?”

You purse your lips.

“You were mean to me today.”

Somewhat true. Admittedly, you hadn’t been very nice to him either.

“Was I?” He says in response, his expression is tired and a bit dazed. You’re unsatisfied with his reply, since you were expecting him to apologize. But his response is informative; perhaps he is not willing to lose the game just yet.

He does, however, put his hand on your cheek. Then he kisses you.

You’re about to pull away and protest (Kissing before apologizing? That’s not allowed.), but then it occurs to you that maybe this is his way of apologizing, so you kiss him back.

Encouraged by your reciprocation, he deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping past your lips. Grasping at the soft cotton of his shirt, you let out a sigh and tilt your head to get a better angle. He smells nice, like the bar of soap he keeps in a dish on the ledge next to the bathtub. 

His lips move so nicely against yours, and you wonder how anyone could possible think firebenders and waterbenders are fundamentally wrong for each other when kissing him feels so right.

He pulls away finally, putting his hands on your shoulders and resting his forehead against yours.

“Sorry,” he mumbles between heavy breaths, “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay, I’m sorry too.”

He steps back, untangling his limbs from yours, and when he looks at you, his gaze full of love.

“Hey,” he whispers into the quiet.

“Hm?”

“Let’s never fight again.”

Unlikely, you think, and from the stupid grin on his face, you know that he knows it too. Nevertheless, you’ll give him the benefit of the doubt just this once.

the gala is in full swing, but all you can think about is Jung Jaehyun.

word count: 1,752

pt.1 

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The minute the Kim family arrives, your mother practically shoves you into Doyoung’s arms to try and get you to converse.

As the two of you exchange pleasantries over a plate of fancy cheeses, an elegant classical melody floats through the air. Despite your efforts to appear as polite as possible, after listening to Doyoung explain the logistics of running a multi-million dollar pharmaceutical company for a while, you find the conversation getting dull. He seems to pick up on your lack of interest, changing the subject.

“It looks good on you,” He lifts his chin at the charm around your neck, bringing back memories of events from earlier that day.

“Thank you,” you murmur, touching your fingertips to the cold pendant. As if the heavy significance the Kim family’s gift didn’t already weigh on you enough, it now served a constant reminder of a certain handsome but impossibly aloof security guard. Suddenly in no mood for small talk, you excuse yourself on the premise of seeking more cocktail shrimp.

You weave through the crowd aimlessly, mind straying elsewhere. It’s not until you hear your heels click against the smooth tile of the veranda that you realize you’ve wandered outside. The chilly evening air stings your bare shoulders, and the party din has regressed into muffled background noise. Remembering that Jaehyun had mentioned his station by the pool, you look for the blonde-haired boy among a handful of guests who had gathered outside to chat. To your dismay, there is another guard on duty, and Jaehyun is nowhere to be found.

As moonlight skims the listless surface of the pool, a memory plays over and over in your head like a movie: the glint of the necklace flying through the air, the quick motions of peeling off clothes and diving into the water, and the final mysterious expression. That had happened hours ago, and yet the image of his stoic face is still branded into your mind. He was angry, but for what reason? It wasn’t like you had commanded him to retrieve the necklace for you. He had decided to do that on his own. You sigh, kicking a stray pebble and sending it skidding across the patio tiles. Jung Jaehyun was so dumb.

Were you two even friends at this point? Perhaps you had been wrong to consider Jaehyun a friend in the first place; perhaps in his eyes you were always just the pesky, spoiled-rich daughter of his father’s boss.

An evening breeze interrupts your reverie, lifting you back to reality with a shiver. Rubbing your arms to shield them from the chill, you decide to head back inside.

As you step back under the lights of the ballroom chandelier, you wish you could erase Jaehyun from your thoughts for good. Grabbing two glasses of champagne from a tray, you tilt your head back and down them one after another. You’re about to empty a third when, out of nowhere, someone snatches the glass from your fingertips. To your surprise and mild irritation, you open your eyes and find Jaehyun standing in front of you, setting the champagne down on a table beside him.

“You’re going to get drunk,” he says in response to the glare you give him.

“That’s kind of the point.”

Jaehyun shoots you a disapproving glance. His suit is dry now, and his hair hangs over his forehead instead of styled up like it had been earlier. You want to ask him where he got the dry clothes but you’re still too ashamed about the incident to bring it up.

“I want to get away from here,” you grumble instead. He puts his hands in his pockets, biting his lip as if deep in thought.

“I know a place. I can take you there, if you want.”

Your eyebrows fly up in surprise and your mind raises a million questions, yet you find yourself giving him a nod. Jaehyun takes a quick peek around the ballroom, but, as expected, everyone else is too absorbed in the festivities to notice the two of you. He takes your hand, whisking you down a maze of hallways and a descending flight of stairs before holding a door open for you and flicking on the lights. 

Amber glow floods into the room, illuminating rows and rows of rustic cabinets stacked with wine bottles.  

“This is the cellar,” you say dumbly.

“It was the first place I could think of.” He shuts the heavy door behind him before turning to you with a sheepish grin. “Is it okay?”

As your eyes sweep over the scene, there’s something comforting about the sweet aroma in the air and the tall, stately shelves. 

“It’s perfect,” you decide in a whisper, afraid that speaking too loudly would somehow disturb the arrays of wine laid out so nice and neat. You run your fingertips along the wood of the shelves and wander around, exploring the room.

“It’s nice,” you confirm, “Way better than that stiff gala upstairs.”

Jaehyun nods. He stands with his shoulders squared, eyes roaming lazily over the label of a chardonnay bottle. “How’s the Pharmacy Prince?”

You crinkle your nose at the nickname. “Doyoung’s nice, but he’s got the personality of wet cardboard. Mother is hoping that an engagement will be arranged with the next business deal.”

“And your father?”

“He doesn’t think it’s necessary. For now.”

“That’s good. At least you don’t have to worry about marrying cardboard yet.”

You acknowledge his comment with a hum, not sure how else to reply. Normally you would have laughed at a simple, stupid joke like that, but after everything that’s happened as of late, you’re unsure of how to act around him anymore. You watch as Jaehyun grabs a bottle of pinot noir from the shelf, a mysterious glint in his eye.

“There’s so much wine here. Think they’ll notice if one goes missing?”

You raise a brow. 

“Jung Jaehyun, what’s gotten into you?”

He just laughs at your question, dismissing it with a playful shrug. Using a corkscrew that had been abandoned on the shelf, he pops the bottle open and takes a swig before holding it out to you. He looks at you warmly as you press the bottle to your lips and take a sip of the tart liquor.

“You look nice tonight. I forgot to tell you earlier.”

Your cheeks heat up at his flattery, yet at the same time, your mind is running circles trying to decipher this enigma of a boy for what feels like the hundredth time tonight. At this point, you’re exhausted and desperate for explanations.

“I don’t get you,” you mutter softly, putting down the liquor. “First you tell me to marry Doyoung, and then you say it’s a good thing that I’m not. You scold me for drinking upstairs, and then you suggest opening a bottle of wine. For weeks, you’ve hardly spared a glance at me, but then you have the nerve to turn around, bring me here, and tell me I look nice tonight?” You stare straight at him and shake your head. “I just don’t get it.”

He sighs and approaches, closing the gap between you. “I can explain—”

The metallic squeak of a turning door handle cuts him off. Before you can react, Jaehyun springs forward and grabs you by the arm, momentum sending you spinning out of view just as a member of the waitstaff opens the cellar door.

Your head is reeling from the all the sudden motion, and once you come to your senses you find yourself in Jaehyun’s arms, back pressed against his chest, and only a few cases of wine obscuring you from the server. Trying to quell your rapid heartbeat, you silently scoff at Jaehyun’s dramaticism. It wouldn’t have been a big deal if someone had seen you and Jaehyun just hanging out in the cellar, but if you were caught pressed up against him in a compromising position like this? Now that would look bad. 

As the two of you stand cramped between the the last shelf and the wall, you’re not sure what’s more nerve-wracking: the footsteps echoing from the far corner of the room, or the fact that you can feel Jaehyun’s breath fanning across your cheek and his arm tightening around your waist.

The door finally swings shut, signaling that the server has left, leaving you alone with Jaehyun once again.

There’s a moment of stillness, neither of you moving a muscle. It’s suffocatingly silent, and you hate how secure you feel in Jaehyun’s arms, how much you enjoy breathing in his heavenly cologne.

You turn around finally and find his eyes already fixed on yours, hands lingering around your waist, as if reluctant to let go. His face is inches away from yours, close enough for you to count his eyelashes even in the dim cellar lighting. As if under a spell, you can’t seem to tear your gaze away. He puts his hands on your cheeks, and you’re feeling all warm and soft inside—partly because of the alcohol, and partly because he’s kissing you now, gently and sweetly.

The way his lips mold to yours can only be described as perfect, and he squeezes your waist gently as if you were the center of the universe, or at least his universe. Your fingers curl around the silky lapels of his suit, desperately pulling him closer, and you realize that unknowingly, you’ve been waiting on this for a long time. When he pulls away finally, you groan and bury your face against the crook of his neck, unwilling to part from him. You feel his chest and shoulders shake as he chuckles in response.

“You want to know why I acted so weirdly around you?” His breath tickles the shell of your ear. “Because all I could ever think about was how much I wanted to kiss you. And when I heard rumors about you and Doyoung, I thought if I distanced myself, it wouldn’t hurt as much. But it still did.”

“Jaehyun.” His name falls from your lips, and you hesitate, trying to figure out what to say. “I wanted to kiss you too. And no one else.”

“I’m glad.”

And then it’s silent. Just you and Jaehyun holding each other, subtly swaying to some rhythm that only the two of you can hear. 

- 24

- indefinite hiatus 😔

- thanks for reading my fics ❤️

masterlist

taeyong

fragile || in which you come into conflict with the neighboring fraternity

care || in which your boyfriend passes his sickness onto you, then tries to make up for it. a spinoff/continuation of fragile.

doyoung

elemental || domestic au, à la avatar: the last air bender

jaehyun

plummet || in which you encounter Jung Jaehyun by the pool

in which you come into conflict with the neighboring fraternity

word count: 1094

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As your dog Pepper stopped to sniff some flowers by the sidewalk, you couldn’t help but admire the neighborhood. You had lucked out; your house was located in a nice suburb not far from your university, and you had great roommates who were friendly and cleaned up after themselves. Too bad your home was across the street from such a rowdy frat house.

You passed by the Sigma Mu driveway, where two boys were unloading packs of soda and beer from the trunk of an SUV. While you were preoccupied with trying to remember names (finally coming up with Jaehyun and Yuta), Pepper had bounded over to inspect one of the boys’ shoes.

“Cute dog.”

“Thanks,” you deadpanned, silently cursing said dog for forcing you to make an interaction. You took note of the mountains of snacks and beverages in the trunk of the car. “Another party tonight?”

“Yeah,” said Yuta, a six-pack of beer in each hand. “You’re welcome to come,” he added with a wink.

Not buying into his charms, you crinkled your nose at the thought of blaring music, sweaty bodies, and the smell of cheap alcohol.

“I’ll pass. Just try to keep it down this time, okay?”

You pulled on Pepper’s leash, hearing them snicker at your sass as you turned your back and walked to your front door across the street. It wasn’t the first time you had an unfavorable interaction with the boys of Sigma Mu. By now you were pretty sure they considered you an uptight, grouchy prude, but it was also a not-so-little known fact that you weren’t a fan of them either. You doubted that the frat boys would heed your request but at least you had made it clear that you were unhappy with their noisy late night antics.

You woke up the next day and made yourself a cup of coffee. Sure enough, the blaring party music last night had kept you awake until the wee hours of the morning. You decided to head to the gym.

You were already in a rather bitter mood thanks to the lack of sleep, but that was nothing compared to what you felt when you saw your car in front of the house, littered with broken eggs. Shells were scattered across your windshield and on the ground nearby, and the proteins had developed a sour odor in the heat of the morning sun. You immediately knew who the culprits were.

Furious, you got in the car and drove until you reached the driveway of the neighbors across the street, eggshells and all. You stomped up to the front door and rapped on the wooden surface.

The door opened and you stood face to face with a sleepy looking Lee Taeyong, president of Sigma Mu.

“Can I help you?” He said with a confused expression and a slow blink. Any other time you would have been flustered by how good-looking he was despite being slightly hungover, sporting disheveled hair, and wearing slept-in clothes, but now you experienced nothing but anger.

“Are Jaehyun and Yuta home?”

“I’m not sure,” he furrowed his brow, “Why do you ask?”

You huffed and crossed your arms.

“Tell them they need to come out here and wash my car.”

His eyes widened in surprise, and you leaned to the side a bit, exposing view of the driveway. Once he caught sight of your vandalized car, he sighed, running a hand through his pink locks of hair.

He muttered something under his breath—you could’ve sworn you heard those idiots—before he stepped out of the house, giving you only a split second to move to the side as he slipped by. You watched as he picked up a garden hose from beside the bushes in the front lawn. Following him towards the car, you stood with your arms crossed as he hosed down the back window. He walked around the car, washing the sides and spraying down the front windshield, until finally the car was sparkling and eggshell-free. He switched off the hose and turned towards you.

“Better?”

“Yes. Thank you.” you said, mustering up a more appreciative tone of voice.

With that, Taeyong gave you a nod before heading back into the house, and you got in your car and drove away.

You thought that had been the end of the egging incident, so you were surprised when later that day you answered the door to find Taeyong smiling brightly at you, standing on his tippy toes in order to keep his arms wrapped around a sheepish-looking Yuta and Jaehyun.

“These guys have something they want to say to you.”

Only when you accepted their apologies for egging your car did Taeyong release the two boys, sending them off with a playful okay, you guys can go home now. You were left with only Taeyong on your doorstep, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Sorry again about your car.”

You leaned against the door frame and shook your head.

“Thanks for cleaning it up.”

“It’s no problem. They’re good guys, really, it’s just sometimes they do stupid things when there’s alcohol involved.”

“I didn’t expect you to bring them here to apologize, so thank you for that as well.”

“Let me make it up to you,” he started. You opened your mouth to protest, thinking that, given the car wash and apologies, you two were already even. But the rest of his statement catches you off guard.

“…by taking you out on a date.”

You freeze.

“Oh. Um. I mean if it’s just because of the egg thing, don’t feel obligated to…”

“It’s not. I think you’re pretty cute, and I’ve been meaning to ask you out for a long time.”

You can’t help but smile.

“In that case, I guess it’s a date.”

“Cool. I’ll pick you up at eight tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that works for me,” you confirmed with a nod.

“Awesome.” He leaned forward and planted a chaste kiss on your cheek. It was so quick that you wouldn’t have been sure the kiss was real if not for the lingering warmth where his lips had touched your cheek. By the time you realized what had happened, he was already jogging away from your front door. Once he reached halfway between your stoop and the sidewalk, he whirled around to face you again.

“By the way,” he shouted, walking backwards, “my name’s Taeyong.”

You laugh, yelling your name back. He shot you one final grin, making your heart skip a beat, before crossing the street and disappearing into his own house.

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