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SFW. Fem!Reader. Robin Hood!AU, Aged!Up Characters, slow burn, rivals to lovers, no romance in the early chapters.
cw: Heavy Themes of angst, strong use of foul language, mentions and implications of societal issues, power imbalance of the social hierarchy, and worker discrimination.
disclaimer: CRIMSON FATE is a work of fiction. All characters, names, and places mentioned are not related and associated in real life—its sole purpose is for the plot. —Additionally, the writer does not encourage anyone who does not feel comfortable with the mentioned content warnings to read Crimson Fate, kindly skip or read something else.
note: an introduction to the story's worldbuilding and characters, please be reminded stray kids and original characters' names have pseudonyms in between the chapters!!
—initially, this work had been published a few years ago and was also published on a different writing platform, however, i caved, re-edited, and fixed some things for the story (and hopefully be able to finish this as intended). i hope you can continue to support this fic series!
once again, i am forever grateful for everyone's support and love <3 also, i'm still alive and well :] life got a bit busy but it's alright!!
A small droplet trickled down on your cheek, followed by another and another. Barely a second had passed, and the once lively town became a silent, desolate place. Not a single soul but yourself is left.
Truthfully, you weren’t fond of torrential rain, especially at night. Perhaps such memories are meant to be buried after all. Not to dwell any further, or your focus might turn elsewhere.
With every step you took on the gravel road, distorted ripples painted the uneven ground. Accompanied by the flickering lamp posts that created a murky glow beyond the misty fog, which began to envelop the town. It now resembles a haunted painting hung in an abandoned house.
However, it is anything but pleasant.
Dirt and mud continue to linger regardless, mixed into the foul stench of those in power. And in the midst of it all, the world had gone mad, corrupted even. Those who knew and spoke of the truth were silenced. Such is that of the abused, and with the absence of remorse for those who question the crown.
Yet, even those who were inherently blessed by divine power, could their hearts be untainted by corruption?
Thunder lowly rumbles against the dark masses of clouds, covering the luminescent moon. A strong gush of cold air passes by, nearly uncovering the wool hood over your head. Gaze shifting from the sky to the incoming sounds of galloping hooves, click-clacking against the gravel.
“Oi!” A shrill voice interrupted, rushed, and was in a panic as the coachman tightly pulled the reins close to his chest. “Out of the way!”
The horse cried loudly, stomping its feet to an abrupt halt. Shaking its man as it let out another cry when its eyes fell on yours. And with a heavy heave, it seemed anything but restless and tense from the downpour.
Poor thing, you thought.
“—Have you gone mad?!” The man spat curses while gesturing wildly and glaring down at you, threatening with a clenched fist. “Standing there so idly and not a care in the world, my carriage could’ve been ruined because of you!”
Despite harboring intense emotions of burning hatred towards people like him, you chose the latter.
“Oi, I’m talking to you—?!” Before the man could take a step, he froze.
Unexpectedly, a flash of lightning came from the darkened sky. Another series of thunder roared through the silent night, and big droplets splattered harshly on the ground.
The man shivered when he met your piercing gaze.
It was here that the coachman saw a young lady in red, much like in the legends. Some revered her as a harbinger of chaos, yet others believed otherwise. Made as a tale for misbehaving children… right?
The sounds of a galloping horse were heard moments later, and the obscuring figure of the once coachman was fleeing frantically from the scene.
How unusual, you thought. He’s heading north where the royal castle is.
Eventually, the downpour became a gentle drizzle upon your arrival at the doorstep.
A heavy sigh left your lips as the crimson hood fell on your shoulders. Lifting your gaze to the worn signboard of the pub: Smelting Dragon.
Pushing the wooden door, the warm glow is a huge contrast to the cold night. Sounds of laughter and chatter, clinking of glasses and mugs of ale, feet thumping and jumping against wooden floorboards, music played by a band of bards, and loud cheers and roars from the common folk. The lively energy bounced from their souls, where they can be free and away from worries.
Many glanced in your direction, the newcomer. Some old folks recognized you by a nod of acknowledgement as you passed by. While the rest couldn’t help but admire the young maiden in a crimson cloak.
“Red,” a name the folks refer to you by, or more often, are addressed as “Red Riding Hood.” Their reasoning is quite simple: you remind them of the old tales of a heroic figure for the common folk.
In this world, anything can cause a life. It always leads to the same outcome, in death. Thus, it is important to cling to the sacred teachings wherein your name is sacred, which is why it must be protected at all costs.
…So long as it protects your real identity.
Jisung, a childhood friend, knew your real name. He’s the reason for your visit today to the pub.
Pushing a couple of silver pennies on the polished wooden table, before sitting on the high stool. Your gaze softened, and your arms rested on the counter.
“What can I get for ‘ya, Red?” Jisung gleefully chuckles as he casually wipes the empty glasses. “The usual?”
“The usual, but make the ale a bit stronger.”
“Aye, this won’t take long.”
A second later, he disappeared to the opposite side of the bar and returned to place the bowl of freshly cooked porridge and bread from the hearth. “On the house.”
Before you could say anything else, he slides a mug of ale with a toothy grin. The usual sweet scent was quickly replaced with a slight bitter taste, much to your preference for this night.
The porridge is simple but hearty. Warm and comforting. A long sigh escaped, humming softly in delight after the first bite. It is exactly like the recipe his mother used to make for them when they were young.
“It has been a while,” He says after chopping the vegetables. “How is everyone back home?”
Though the spoon looked more inviting, you responded. “There was an ambush a few days ago, and we had to relocate.”
He deserves to know.
Jisung stopped for a moment. He almost dropped a bowl before reeling himself back, blinking in surprise. His heart gradually pounded against his chest as if the ringing in his ears helped. And in an attempt, he tightly held onto the counter to compose himself. “W-Why… Why was there an ambush? Is everyone safe, and the animals? Did anyone get hurt? Were you hurt, Red? Tell me…”
Your gaze fell on the hearth nearby. The sounds of fire crackling, screams, and wails of the people desperately trying to find any survivors. Click-clang. Soldiers of the bastion threatening the unarmed with their weapons, such as holding the life of another. It only fueled the burning fury buried deep within your soul, the strong desire to rid the nobles and the rich.
“…We were threatened to leave before dawn or face the wrath of the crown. Instead of fearing for our lives, we fought back. Only the fools cower and flee, rather than choosing to defend what is rightfully ours.”
Staring intensely at the dancing flame of the candle, it reminded you of the single flicker of the flame. It almost cost your own life. “Even when our people begged for mercy, there was none.”
His eyes widened, “—My ma, is she safe?”
“Yes,” You confirmed. “She is still healing from her injuries.”
Jisung felt silent.
Countless thoughts are running through his mind. His mother and their people are recovering from the aftermath of such… cruelty. He couldn’t fathom the mere idea of how a human being could do more harm than none. The worry plastered on his face, the distraught, and the shock of the news.
Then, doubts and regrets began to plague his mind once more.
Ever since he took a job in the town, he hasn’t been home for a long time. He had his reasons back then, a chance at life and to earn enough. Perhaps his dream of traveling across places he had longed for would help him fulfill the desire to figure himself out.
Such is an… idealistic dream. Reality isn’t like it at all.
The sudden tight grip of his tie made him snap out of it. If it weren’t for your resolve, Jisung would’ve left everything behind and made a run for it. Something… he could’ve done.
…Is it the right time?
“Tap once if you can hear me.”
He did.
“Tap twice if you are ready to listen.”
…
Slowly, you heard two taps.
You carefully loosened the grip of his tie and softened your gaze once more. Searching through his worried expression for any signs of discomfort. Jisung took a shaky deep breath, then let go. He followed your silent instruction to calm himself down.
He tapped twice after a couple of moments.
“Her condition isn’t fatal, and she will recover after three weeks.” You reassured.
Jisung could only nod, processing it in his mind. “I trust our healers…”
Gently pushing the bowl aside, you rest your hand on top of his. “We can visit her if you wish, she has been waiting for your return.”
“Red, I…” He paused for a moment, lowering his gaze in shame. “You know I can’t—”
“If you’re worried about that old prick, I can take him down myself.”
The blunt remark, paired with your unfazed nature, left Jisung completely mortified.
Ears perked up in high alert, a frantic gaze averted from yours as he surveyed the area around them. Though the Smelting Dragon is known for its lively atmosphere at night, the folk are a mix of different agendas. Sometimes, they come and go, much like the regulars do, and leave a generous tip behind. However, those who pledge their unwavering loyalty to the man who owns the place stick around and ensure his name is not thrown in the mud so casually.
Nights vary from time to time. One would be lucky if the man himself isn’t here to bark around orders and indulge in the revelries the pub has to offer. Yet, fear has always lingered between closed doors.
“sssHshshSshShsHShHHH!!” Jisung quickly placed a hand close to your lips, pleading silently. “tHEY MigHT HeaR YoU—”
“…I can’t just lose my job because my good friend beat the shit out of sire—”
Holding his wrist to push it away, you took a deep breath. Momentarily closing your eyes before ever so slowly, tilting your head to the side. A couple of stray strands of hair fell past your shoulders as your gaze narrowed with a small group of wary drunks.
Without breaking eye contact, let your thumb touch your neck as you menacingly make a gesture.
They froze in place and quickly diverted their attention instead.
“Oi, servant boy!” One of them yelled from the table, slamming down the mug. “Where’s our ale?!”
A tall figure was talking to a fellow patron just a few tables away, and gave a smile before tending to their table. He then left without much of a commotion, and perhaps a petrified group of drunks leaving the pub as he did.
Jisung finally heaves out a tired sigh, feeling the tightness in his chest and a cold shiver on his spine. Such is the heavy burden weighing him down. He knew the people around him were worried over his well-being, but a part of him knew he couldn’t—just leave.
“Aye, I know what you’re going to say.”
“My wages could barely afford two weeks of food, but I still keep a roof over my head. Even if I’ll end up with leftovers, stale bread, or maybe some ale for good measure.” He lowered his gaze, shoving his hands inside the pockets of his worn pants. “…I’m no longer the same person, I… can’t fully explain it, but please… believe in me.”
You couldn’t help but feel… upset that such mistreatment from a horrible system made your friend think that it should be the norm. In which world can this be brought to light, where the common folk can finally have a better system?
“Give me more time, please, Red?” Jisung offers a hand, though there were healing burns, marks, and callouses, it was still warm when you took it.
Though your face remains the same, it was the way your eyes glinted underneath the warm glow. Like a flicker of a flame, daring to reach further to the sky. He flinched slightly at a distant memory, one even he can’t let go of.
Perhaps vengeance can be quite tempting, intoxicating if such reckless indulgence can lure anyone, even you, into its own trap.
“I do believe you.” You finally broke the ice, meeting his concerned gaze as if he were searching for something. “But I can’t let you suffer on your own.”
He couldn’t help but return a solemn smile. “I know…”
Nodding as you silently hummed when you happened to glance between the neatly polished knife from the cooking area and at him. “As you wish,” A small huff was heard after wiping your mouth, “I won’t slash his head off and feed it to—…I respect your wishes.”
“Red, we’ve talked about interrogating people.”
“Oi, last time was different.” You pointed out. “I only asked a question, and that blockhead confessed to the crimes. Isn’t it easier said than done?”
“That, and not plotting against sire.” He playfully pointed a warning with a quirked brow. “There are other ways—a n y t h i n g but interrogation.”
“If the prick ever mistreats you again—” You were about to continue until he was quick enough to interrupt.
“Red, please spare the details,” He chuckles while shaking his head. “There are ears everywhere.”
“Do I look like I care? May the gods strike me if I am wrong.”
“Red.”
“Fiiiiinnnnnneeeee.”
“Now, that wasn’t hard, was it?”
Jisung was grinning from ear to ear, and his eyes sparkled in the midst of the not-so-quiet atmosphere.
A small scoff left your lips, but you playfully rolled your eyes at his teasing banter.
Time seems to have passed by as if you two were back home, in the old house. Without a care in the world, as long as your bond never severs. Sounds of laughter, shared smiles, and memorable moments when life was simple, when the world was anything beyond the forest, where nature used to sing and thrive beautifully.
Yet, all memories always seem to have an end. Right?
A whiff of… charcoal came into your senses. For a moment, you were deep in thought, then snapped into reality once more. You were still sitting on the stool, and Jisung was doing his usual business.
“Oi…”
He perked his head in your direction, “Hmm?”
“…The food—”
“oHSHIT—!” The now flustered young man quickly tried to save the food from being burnt to a crisp. “Oh dear gods, I am so sorry—”
When he lifted the lid, faint white smoke billowed, and a strong, scent of a savory, delicious aroma filled your senses. From where you sat, it looked like the food was still edible and surprisingly well-cooked. It made your stomach grumble from hunger.
Jisung lets out a sigh of relief, wiping down the beaded sweat forming on his forehead as he sheepishly smiles at you. “I owed ‘ya, Red.”
You waved your hand, a polite gesture to decline. “There’s no need for that.”
“I insist,” He refilled the mug of ale, flashing his signature smile. “On the house.”
Now you’re the one who slides the pennies toward him. “I still have a couple of pennies left, if that old… man found out you gave me a free ale—”
He shakes his head, no.
“Keep it, I really do owe you for saving your food.” He says sincerely while washing the bowl in the sink. “And for a lot of things, really.”
Your eyes narrowed for a moment, as if he knew something… secrets you hadn’t told him, yet.
Before you were able to respond to what he had said, silence enveloped the Smelting Dragon.
The door opened, greeting a chilling wind, the faint drizzle of rain, and silent beating hearts. The air grew drastically icy and thick, almost impossible to breathe. Yet, thin enough to be suffocating from the emerging tension between the patrons and the group of soldiers by the doorway.
There’s a saying, be not a fool than the King’s Dogs.
Aside from their noble status, they were given a place in society. Being part of the military is closest to the crown, aside from the church and its divine being, the nobility, and those of royal blood. More often than not, they take advantage of their power and authority over the common folk.
The constant mistreatment is clearly an understatement.
In their eyes, the soldiers are solely loyal to the king and the crown. Coining the term, the King’s Dogs. Simply due to “obeying” orders by the king while handling the rest of what they deemed filth. Only he, the king, is the highest being of all in the land. The “chosen one” by a primordial being whom they refer to as their god.
The man is but a cowardly tyrant who kept feeding his greed from the spoils of labour, a never-ending thirst for conquest where many had fallen, not just the enemies beneath his feet, but even the lands across the horizon.
“Ugh.” A groan left your lips, rolling your eyes in annoyance. You draw back your tongue while grabbing the fork and knife to cut the food on the plate. “Of course, these scoundrels would be here.”
“Shh.” Jisung quietly warned with a look that there was no time to act like this now. “They can hear you—”
“So what if they do?”
“Red, it is not our business to mind them.”
You huff in annoyance from your seat, and Jisung could only sigh. He does not want to steer attention, let alone if they did overhear your words. Yet, knowing his childhood best friend, you could hardly care about such trivial matters. He understood your seething abhorrence toward people like them.
“Don’t start any trouble,” He begged once more, trying to convince you not to make any irrational decisions. “Or else our necks will be the last thing their blades touch.”
“They should know better than to mistreat people like us.” You began.
“They don’t give a fuck about the common folk, as it does not benefit them. Their only priority is the crown, not the folk.” Your tone remained calm, however, the seething hatred spilled through your words similarly to venom. Bitter.
Eventually, the soldiers were quick to reassure the Smelting Dragon that they only came here to have a good time. Though they were still met with defiant silence, the bards were later ordered to resume playing, folk reluctantly chattered away, and the thin ice barely disappeared.
In your line of sight, you caught a glimpse of a regular named Scarlet. She held your gaze before sharing the same devilish glint and raised the Queen of Hearts. Then puts it down on the table, winning the game. A subtle signal.
Patience is a virtue.
Many of the folk, like the women, all share the same fire within them. Yet, it only takes a ripple in a calm flowing river to set it all ablaze. By then, the folk can only hope for a good change.
“…To think, their loyalty is only par with the king.” His body betrayed him when those words left his bitter tongue, goosebumps rising on his skin. “…Heartless bastards.”
You took the ale from his grasp, gulping it down immediately. Remnants of the sweet, sugary drink slipped down the counter. “We are commoners. To the rich, we are powerless.”
“Believing they own all the powers in the world. So, they look down upon us like ants. As if we won’t fight back. Because of our status in this fucked up society, we are anything but easy disposal.”
Jisung silently poured ale into your empty mug once more, allowing you to release your pent-up thoughts. Hidden away from the depths of your soul. Something as rare as a moment like this sparked something within him. A once burned-out flame, slowly, flickering by your words.
“We did not choose this life. But the moment we are born, we are expected to be.” Stray strands of hair fell, shielding your burning gaze. “We either survive or die.”
Jisung walked closer to the counter, placing the pennies in the jar. “Which is why,” He paused for a few moments before looking into you. “The plan must work.”
sfw. fem!reader and barista!jisung. (implied) classmate to lovers. very fluffy.
cw: slight cursing!
𖹭: @mirasoldraws (hope you're feeling a bit better! huugggsss)
i miss going to cafe's </3 im having coffee rn so it helps with the happy bubbles i'm feeling and very motivated :>,, i think a part of me does miss going to uni bc of friends i made along the way and sharing the same sentiments about uni life with them hehe
♫ immerse yourself while reading: close by han ♫
Meet Han Jisung!
The local and bright barista who works at a nearby cafe across the main college building.
Coincidentally, long before he started working there, it became a buzz among university students. Ranging from the affordable menu prices to the study and resting spaces. There's also free wifi and a connected restroom!
Question: "Why do you think people go to Sunshine Cafe?"
Student 1: "I remember the student council invited them over for a school event, and they had a kiosk booth. My friends pulled me over, and I was surprised that they had a student discount! Pretty neat. And oh, ever since then, I occasionally visit the cafe during hell week."
Student 2: "Honest to god, I took a nap there once after our thesis defense, and—I swear—woke up and had the best nap in my life."
Student 3: "Not only does the cafe provide affordable menu prices, but the staff is very accommodating and friendly. Definitely love the ambiance!"
Question: "If you could recommend anything, what would it be and why?"
Student 1: "I'm a simple person, I like their hot latte drinks because they come with intricate and beautiful designs!"
Student 2: "They recently put rice bowl meals! Don't knock it if you try it."
Student 3: "Other than my go-to usuals, I do enjoy trying their seasonal drinks! Very on par with the vibes."
Who would've thought, one unexpected night, a student named Y/N stumbled upon the cafe during the most ungodly hours before closing time?
Journal entry #045
I think I'm fucked. No amount of reviewing out of spite in this economy will make my brain cells work again after 18 hours of no sleep. God, I need caffeine. I can't drive. My roommate is asleep. Pray for my survival this week (even if it's only... tuesday).
During the third week of the first semester, third year: sleep deprived, caffeinated, stressed, drained, and exhausted, student Y/N is cursing at the world. College is definitely not a joke. Topped with the constant deadlines, presentations, and preparations for the dreadful thesis, this is only the beginning of hell.
Yet, you digress.
Despite already having your second coffee hours ago before the last class, you still need to cram tonight. Pulling out your phone, the lock screen lit up, 11:55 p.m, it reads. And so, you caved in.
What surprised you most was the cafe with the lights on, the signboard not packed up from outside, blinds not drawn, and only the barista at the counter.
...Huh, strange, you thought. You could've sworn there were two of them inside, not one.
Okay, you can do this. Order one drink and leave, easy-peasy. And maybe if there's still time, why not cook a late dinner—now that is something to look forward to.
Usually, there would be students inside or a few people. Yet, tonight, there was hardly anyone at all. And surely, you expect to even see familiar faces here and there, but no. Only you and the barista.
One thing is for sure, there is no turning back now.
Upon entering Sunshine Cafe, the contrasting cool breeze of the air conditioning, paired with the scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and coffee beans, feels refreshingly nostalgic, unlike the scorching heat of the dormitory room.
The one by the counter, a blond guy with an updo ponytail, warmly greets you. "Hello, what can I get for you?"
Ah, you remember Lee Felix from Personal Development class.
"Hi," You were quick to shove your hands inside the hoodie pocket, finding the menu displayed on the counter more interesting. "I'd like an extra-large iced Americano with double shots of espresso, to go, please."
"And oh, would it be alright if I could have a cup holder instead of a paper bag?"
"Yes, no problem." He chuckles lightly, "Would you also like to add anything else?"
You shook your head politely.
He nods, quickly typing the order on the screen tablet. Then, took the cup size and marker swiftly, "Y/N, right? From PerDev?"
Finally, looking back at him for a moment, "Just Y/N."
After ringing up the order and paying, you were fine with standing on the side. However, he insists on letting you sit in one of the chairs for more comfort while waiting. And you were too shy to decline the offer.
Perhaps it's the caffeine withdrawal because the moment you sat on the soft cushion, sleeping was all it took to knock you out. Truly, those all-nighters during the past week had finally caught up to you.
Jisung slightly peeked from under the counter, "...Is she still here?"
"Sungie, she fell asleep," Felix whispers over the counter as he notices your slumped figure. "I'd feel bad to wake her up."
"And you can't keep this up forever," Felix gently reminds him, "I'm a hundred percent sure she remembers you too."
His friend sheepishly smiles once he stands up from his hiding place, sparing a quick glance where you were, then looking back to Felix. "I know..."
"Give me a bit more time, and I promise I won't ask you to cover for me again Lix," Jisung reassures while wiping the last equipment they used for the day. Going over to where he is, leans an arm on his shoulder. "We can close the cafe tonight and let her rest."
"Besides, we have leftovers, school work, and we can sleep in the resting area. And, Minho hyung won't be back until Saturday."
"I can handle it from here," Felix nods as he stores the beverage in the refrigerator and returns quickly. "You can wait for me by the resting area."
"Thanks bro," Jisung dries his hands on a spare towel and pats his friend's back, reassuringly. "I'll go heat up our food and set up the laptops."
Felix gives him a salute and laughs wholeheartedly, "Love you bro."
Jisung swiftly turns and returns the gesture, grinning, "Love you too bro."
...A FEW HOURS LATER...
Shit.
The strain on your neck made you stir from your sleep, and a low groan can be heard. Your face slightly twitches before your vision grew clearer. The area is dim, but with low lights on the ceiling, the blanket hovering on your back and shoulders was enough to bring the right amount of warmth, ...but why on earth does the room smell divine-
You blinked.
"Good morning~" A familiar voice greets you, a figure sitting across the other side of the table. A freshly brewed cup of hot coffee and a plate of cheesecake.
"...I must be dreaming." The growing headache and strained, stiff neck aren't helping one bit. The words coming out of the stranger sounded fuzzy to you, and so, you dozed off again. "I'll have a rain check for the morning job today, Ryu."
Jisung blinked.
"Lix—"
"—Already texting Ryujin, she'll flame you though."
"I'd rather not get lectured in the early hours, Lix." Jisung pleads as he maneuvers swiftly away from your sleeping figure, with the plate of cheesecake and cup of coffee. Returning to where Felix is, sipping on his coffee by the counter. "Just informed her that her friend is safe and sound, and we can offer lunch for compensation too."
"And if she comes here with Yuna, all on you, bro."
He shivers at the thought, shaking his head. "We can open late today, until we sort this out."
Felix can only pat his back with reassurance while drinking his cup of coffee. "Yup, I don't see why not." Then he sets the coffee down by the coaster, "I'd happily help out before lunch, but I do have morning classes today with my partner."
"If they're also going here with you later, please tell them I'll give their lecture notes later!" Jisung bids farewell to his friend's laughter echoing in the cafe before he leaves.
He then walks to the door, wiping the signboard and writes:
'We'll be open after lunch!'
He also made a quick announcement on their social media page regarding today's scheduled opening hours.
Jisung stops, closing his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath. Luckily, he does not have any classes today. Although he cannot guarantee what hour you'll wake up to, a part of him has a tiny ball of hope that in a few hours, you will.
Yet, he can only prepare himself for what to say.
Before immersing himself further in his thoughts, a sound reeled him back to reality. His head immediately whips to the source, you. You're snoring.
Funnily enough, this isn't your first time in the cafe. Jisung remembers you. Although he isn't always on the registry, he recognizes you more than once. He recalls seeing you with your friends sometimes, in the cafe or hanging around on campus. It's even rarer to find you here by yourself.
And last night was no different. He had to convince Felix, even if they were both busy cleaning.
His reason? Well...
Another couple of hours passed, and the growing stiff neck stirred you awake. Gradually, your visions grew clear, and a yawn left your lips. Feeling the dreariness of sleep still in your body and staying in place for a little while longer—wait a minute.
...You were still at the cafe—
You blinked once more.
Oh my god—
YOU WERE STILL AT THE CAFE—
Quickly sitting upright, the soft blanket softly fell over your shoulders. You were still in the same spot since last night.
The sun is already up in the sky, though the sunlight feels warm, but the curtains help maintain the coolness of the air conditioner inside. Ambient music playing through the speakers, the familiar scent of fresh coffee beans and baked pastries, and quiet chatter.
"Good morning," Jisung is the one who greeted you warmly with a dashing, bright smile.
"yOU."
"Yes, it's me. The one and only—"
"No, I meant, it's you." Although your tone does not sound accusatory, it's more on the familiarity side of things. Trying your absolute best to fish around the jumbled memories where you had seen him before. Then, finally, snapping your fingers as you looked back at him again. "You're the cute guy in my journal."
Were you the one who drew the small doodles on the cups? Was the question you had in mind, yet your words betray you.
And though Jisung looks a little confused and surprised, he still manages a shy smile to alleviate the awkwardness and the growing heat around his cheeks. "Uh...—"
There was a pause.
"Oh my god I'm so sorry I didn't mean to sound like a horrible human being—"
"It's alright, and no, you are not a horrible human being." He flashes you a reassuring smile. "Oh, and here's your coffee from last night and takeaway rice meals too. Don't worry about paying for the food, it's on the house."
Your stomach grumbles at the mention of food. "Thank you,"
"You're welcome." His eyes twinkled when he smiled.
Both gasps and fits of giggles can be heard nearby. Then muffled whispers. It came from Felix and his partner, who cupped his mouth while they witnessed the whole interaction.
Before Jisung could even try to say anything else, you were quick to cut him off. "I—uh—late for class, I'm waaaayyyyy too sleep deprived as hell for this shit first thing in the morning."
"—Actually, it's 3 in the afternoon." Yuna's voice can be heard from the door as she looks up from her phone.
S h i t.
Journal entry #048
P.S. I hate myself.
P.S.S. I need to go back there and apologize, and... should I bake some cookies???
Journal entry #052
Mission failed.
Reason: I can't face him without feeling absolutely guilty of what I blurted out that day.
P.S. I should bake the cookie batter I made before we run out of space in the refrigerator...
Journal entry #080
...I did it!
And he invited my friends and me over for a gig night this Friday. Felix says he's well-versed with an acoustic guitar. I'm excited to hear him play in a few days!
Ryujin and Yuna couldn't stop teasing me on the way to our dorm... w h y???????
Journal entry #081
! @/ynisnothere left a new review !
[click to see attached photos]
rating: ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯
comment/suggestion:
thank you for being kind and thoughtful, i'm looking forward to more opportunities and success! p.s.s. would love to try out their resting area sometime, i heard the pillows are like fluffy marshmallows like in the movie the adventures of sharkboy and lavagirl!!
⤷ . . . read more 20+ comments.
Journal entry #143
Rough week, boyfriend came over, all is right in the world <3
sfw. fem!reader and barista!jisung. (implied) classmate to lovers. very fluffy.
cw: slight cursing!
𖹭: @mirasoldraws (hope you're feeling a bit better! huugggsss)
i miss going to cafe's </3 im having coffee rn so it helps with the happy bubbles i'm feeling and very motivated :>,, i think a part of me does miss going to uni bc of friends i made along the way and sharing the same sentiments about uni life with them hehe
♫ immerse yourself while reading: close by han ♫
Meet Han Jisung!
The local and bright barista who works at a nearby cafe across the main college building.
Coincidentally, long before he started working there, it became a buzz among university students. Ranging from the affordable menu prices to the study and resting spaces. There's also free wifi and a connected restroom!
Question: "Why do you think people go to Sunshine Cafe?"
Student 1: "I remember the student council invited them over for a school event, and they had a kiosk booth. My friends pulled me over, and I was surprised that they had a student discount! Pretty neat. And oh, ever since then, I occasionally visit the cafe during hell week."
Student 2: "Honest to god, I took a nap there once after our thesis defense, and—I swear—woke up and had the best nap in my life."
Student 3: "Not only does the cafe provide affordable menu prices, but the staff is very accommodating and friendly. Definitely love the ambiance!"
Question: "If you could recommend anything, what would it be and why?"
Student 1: "I'm a simple person, I like their hot latte drinks because they come with intricate and beautiful designs!"
Student 2: "They recently put rice bowl meals! Don't knock it if you try it."
Student 3: "Other than my go-to usuals, I do enjoy trying their seasonal drinks! Very on par with the vibes."
Who would've thought, one unexpected night, a student named Y/N stumbled upon the cafe during the most ungodly hours before closing time?
Journal entry #045
I think I'm fucked. No amount of reviewing out of spite in this economy will make my brain cells work again after 18 hours of no sleep. God, I need caffeine. I can't drive. My roommate is asleep. Pray for my survival this week (even if it's only... tuesday).
During the third week of the first semester, third year: sleep deprived, caffeinated, stressed, drained, and exhausted, student Y/N is cursing at the world. College is definitely not a joke. Topped with the constant deadlines, presentations, and preparations for the dreadful thesis, this is only the beginning of hell.
Yet, you digress.
Despite already having your second coffee hours ago before the last class, you still need to cram tonight. Pulling out your phone, the lock screen lit up, 11:55 p.m, it reads. And so, you caved in.
What surprised you most was the cafe with the lights on, the signboard not packed up from outside, blinds not drawn, and only the barista at the counter.
...Huh, strange, you thought. You could've sworn there were two of them inside, not one.
Okay, you can do this. Order one drink and leave, easy-peasy. And maybe if there's still time, why not cook a late dinner—now that is something to look forward to.
Usually, there would be students inside or a few people. Yet, tonight, there was hardly anyone at all. And surely, you expect to even see familiar faces here and there, but no. Only you and the barista.
One thing is for sure, there is no turning back now.
Upon entering Sunshine Cafe, the contrasting cool breeze of the air conditioning, paired with the scent of vanilla, cinnamon, and coffee beans, feels refreshingly nostalgic, unlike the scorching heat of the dormitory room.
The one by the counter, a blond guy with an updo ponytail, warmly greets you. "Hello, what can I get for you?"
Ah, you remember Lee Felix from Personal Development class.
"Hi," You were quick to shove your hands inside the hoodie pocket, finding the menu displayed on the counter more interesting. "I'd like an extra-large iced Americano with double shots of espresso, to go, please."
"And oh, would it be alright if I could have a cup holder instead of a paper bag?"
"Yes, no problem." He chuckles lightly, "Would you also like to add anything else?"
You shook your head politely.
He nods, quickly typing the order on the screen tablet. Then, took the cup size and marker swiftly, "Y/N, right? From PerDev?"
Finally, looking back at him for a moment, "Just Y/N."
After ringing up the order and paying, you were fine with standing on the side. However, he insists on letting you sit in one of the chairs for more comfort while waiting. And you were too shy to decline the offer.
Perhaps it's the caffeine withdrawal because the moment you sat on the soft cushion, sleeping was all it took to knock you out. Truly, those all-nighters during the past week had finally caught up to you.
Jisung slightly peeked from under the counter, "...Is she still here?"
"Sungie, she fell asleep," Felix whispers over the counter as he notices your slumped figure. "I'd feel bad to wake her up."
"And you can't keep this up forever," Felix gently reminds him, "I'm a hundred percent sure she remembers you too."
His friend sheepishly smiles once he stands up from his hiding place, sparing a quick glance where you were, then looking back to Felix. "I know..."
"Give me a bit more time, and I promise I won't ask you to cover for me again Lix," Jisung reassures while wiping the last equipment they used for the day. Going over to where he is, leans an arm on his shoulder. "We can close the cafe tonight and let her rest."
"Besides, we have leftovers, school work, and we can sleep in the resting area. And, Minho hyung won't be back until Saturday."
"I can handle it from here," Felix nods as he stores the beverage in the refrigerator and returns quickly. "You can wait for me by the resting area."
"Thanks bro," Jisung dries his hands on a spare towel and pats his friend's back, reassuringly. "I'll go heat up our food and set up the laptops."
Felix gives him a salute and laughs wholeheartedly, "Love you bro."
Jisung swiftly turns and returns the gesture, grinning, "Love you too bro."
...A FEW HOURS LATER...
Shit.
The strain on your neck made you stir from your sleep, and a low groan can be heard. Your face slightly twitches before your vision grew clearer. The area is dim, but with low lights on the ceiling, the blanket hovering on your back and shoulders was enough to bring the right amount of warmth, ...but why on earth does the room smell divine-
You blinked.
"Good morning~" A familiar voice greets you, a figure sitting across the other side of the table. A freshly brewed cup of hot coffee and a plate of cheesecake.
"...I must be dreaming." The growing headache and strained, stiff neck aren't helping one bit. The words coming out of the stranger sounded fuzzy to you, and so, you dozed off again. "I'll have a rain check for the morning job today, Ryu."
Jisung blinked.
"Lix—"
"—Already texting Ryujin, she'll flame you though."
"I'd rather not get lectured in the early hours, Lix." Jisung pleads as he maneuvers swiftly away from your sleeping figure, with the plate of cheesecake and cup of coffee. Returning to where Felix is, sipping on his coffee by the counter. "Just informed her that her friend is safe and sound, and we can offer lunch for compensation too."
"And if she comes here with Yuna, all on you, bro."
He shivers at the thought, shaking his head. "We can open late today, until we sort this out."
Felix can only pat his back with reassurance while drinking his cup of coffee. "Yup, I don't see why not." Then he sets the coffee down by the coaster, "I'd happily help out before lunch, but I do have morning classes today with my partner."
"If they're also going here with you later, please tell them I'll give their lecture notes later!" Jisung bids farewell to his friend's laughter echoing in the cafe before he leaves.
He then walks to the door, wiping the signboard and writes:
'We'll be open after lunch!'
He also made a quick announcement on their social media page regarding today's scheduled opening hours.
Jisung stops, closing his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath. Luckily, he does not have any classes today. Although he cannot guarantee what hour you'll wake up to, a part of him has a tiny ball of hope that in a few hours, you will.
Yet, he can only prepare himself for what to say.
Before immersing himself further in his thoughts, a sound reeled him back to reality. His head immediately whips to the source, you. You're snoring.
Funnily enough, this isn't your first time in the cafe. Jisung remembers you. Although he isn't always on the registry, he recognizes you more than once. He recalls seeing you with your friends sometimes, in the cafe or hanging around on campus. It's even rarer to find you here by yourself.
And last night was no different. He had to convince Felix, even if they were both busy cleaning.
His reason? Well...
Another couple of hours passed, and the growing stiff neck stirred you awake. Gradually, your visions grew clear, and a yawn left your lips. Feeling the dreariness of sleep still in your body and staying in place for a little while longer—wait a minute.
...You were still at the cafe—
You blinked once more.
Oh my god—
YOU WERE STILL AT THE CAFE—
Quickly sitting upright, the soft blanket softly fell over your shoulders. You were still in the same spot since last night.
The sun is already up in the sky, though the sunlight feels warm, but the curtains help maintain the coolness of the air conditioner inside. Ambient music playing through the speakers, the familiar scent of fresh coffee beans and baked pastries, and quiet chatter.
"Good morning," Jisung is the one who greeted you warmly with a dashing, bright smile.
"yOU."
"Yes, it's me. The one and only—"
"No, I meant, it's you." Although your tone does not sound accusatory, it's more on the familiarity side of things. Trying your absolute best to fish around the jumbled memories where you had seen him before. Then, finally, snapping your fingers as you looked back at him again. "You're the cute guy in my journal."
Were you the one who drew the small doodles on the cups? Was the question you had in mind, yet your words betray you.
And though Jisung looks a little confused and surprised, he still manages a shy smile to alleviate the awkwardness and the growing heat around his cheeks. "Uh...—"
There was a pause.
"Oh my god I'm so sorry I didn't mean to sound like a horrible human being—"
"It's alright, and no, you are not a horrible human being." He flashes you a reassuring smile. "Oh, and here's your coffee from last night and takeaway rice meals too. Don't worry about paying for the food, it's on the house."
Your stomach grumbles at the mention of food. "Thank you,"
"You're welcome." His eyes twinkled when he smiled.
Both gasps and fits of giggles can be heard nearby. Then muffled whispers. It came from Felix and his partner, who cupped his mouth while they witnessed the whole interaction.
Before Jisung could even try to say anything else, you were quick to cut him off. "I—uh—late for class, I'm waaaayyyyy too sleep deprived as hell for this shit first thing in the morning."
"—Actually, it's 3 in the afternoon." Yuna's voice can be heard from the door as she looks up from her phone.
S h i t.
Journal entry #048
P.S. I hate myself.
P.S.S. I need to go back there and apologize, and... should I bake some cookies???
Journal entry #052
Mission failed.
Reason: I can't face him without feeling absolutely guilty of what I blurted out that day.
P.S. I should bake the cookie batter I made before we run out of space in the refrigerator...
Journal entry #080
...I did it!
And he invited my friends and me over for a gig night this Friday. Felix says he's well-versed with an acoustic guitar. I'm excited to hear him play in a few days!
Ryujin and Yuna couldn't stop teasing me on the way to our dorm... w h y???????
Journal entry #081
! @/ynisnothere left a new review !
[click to see attached photos]
rating: ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯ ✯
comment/suggestion:
thank you for being kind and thoughtful, i'm looking forward to more opportunities and success! p.s.s. would love to try out their resting area sometime, i heard the pillows are like fluffy marshmallows like in the movie the adventures of sharkboy and lavagirl!!
⤷ . . . read more 20+ comments.
Journal entry #143
Rough week, boyfriend came over, all is right in the world <3
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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sfw. angst -> wholesome -> y e a r n i n g. established relationship. past lives / past lovers. immortal hyunjin & human reader.
i caved, had coffee, my braib has been itching ti wrute something like this, its alnist 6am, u can hear the birds churping and i need to sleeppppp hope you enjoy thus lovelive piece!! mych love <3
Hwang Hyunjin has been a renowned prodigal artisan since his youth. Art is like nature to him. A great sense of fulfillment and endearment. To him, he feels more at ease once he settles in to paint because the world is indeed his own canvas. Every small thing, creature, scenery, mundane life, and rarely, people, he could capture in his eye to translate into his own language.
A fascinating skill at such a young age, which led many to believe on the capacity of his desire to create.
Because the moment his fingertips touch a paintbrush, it’s similar to clockwork. Lines form into shapes, even though the choice of colors remains the same. A greyscale or any shade of blue with a touch of color for the subject to pop. Many paintings depict how he views the world around him. It is worth noting that there’s always an underlying feeling of melancholia despite the contrast and vibrance of it all.
Yet in the sea of paintings, there’s one particular exception.
An unknown muse. His magnum opus.
In every painting of the artisan’s muse, it’s intricately delicate. Never hidden, because one can easily look back into their eyes and cannot help but feel drawn. The whole epitome of the radiant warmth of the sun, in human form.
And will be forever immortalized, no matter how many years, centuries, and millennia have passed. The young artisan’s muse will never be forgotten nor lost in time. It will be etched and engraved, not just in his heart but for the whole world to see his one and only beloved.
Time is quite cruel, no?
The sound of laughter echoes melodiously, eyes shine brightly like that of the twinkling stars in the night sky, lips curl into a smile so bright it can light up the whole room, and two souls bound together not just by faith but intertwined by their own destiny.
Nights similar to this are incomparable to the sweet bliss of lovers reuniting after awaiting for one’s return in their gentle embrace. And nothing will ever change that.
His hands slowly wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to his warmth, and in your revelry, you finally allow yourself to rest upon his neck. Never mind the soft locks tickling your skin whenever he nuzzles into you, the scent of flowers and scented oils nearly made his head spin.
He knew well how tiresome the week had been for both of you, wedding preparations are no easy feat after all.
“My lord,” Your hand instinctively held one of his to fiddle with, while admiring the dancing flicker of the candle flame by the bedside table. “If the headmaid were to find out we spent the night together while not in our separate chambers, we would have an earful by morning.”
Hyunjin softly chuckles, bringing your intertwined hands close to his lips, placing a kiss in between the spaces of your knuckles. “Do not fret, my love.”
“I have been gone for many moons, and longed for your presence each day, each night that had passed. Although it is tradition before we present ourselves and exchange our oaths, I wish to be with you longer.” He whispers, momentarily closing his eyes before burying himself in your scent. “I cannot bring myself to be apart from you once more, my heart and soul will forever be yours.”
“You speak as if I am to be cast away,” Lying down on the silken sheets, hair sprawled, and gentle hands pull him close. Your smile never falters, and even your eyes held the same regard. “What matters now is I am here, you are here, and we are here.”
"I am at your mercy," He says finding your steady heartbeat and mind, and couldn't help himself but to melt in your warmth. "The heavens must have taken the time to create someone like you..."
There, he hears it. His favorite melody. Your laughter before the spaces between you and him no longer exist, hearts in harmony, and kisses melt together like the sweetest nectar ever known.
The tension fades away with every stroke and caress of your hand around his hair, back, and shoulders. Hyunjin finds himself at peace whenever he’s with you. He never truly questioned why, in your presence, he remains grounded because you radiate the very essence of what it feels like to be human.
“…Say my name.”
“My lord—”
“Say my name, Y/N.”
“Hyunjin.”
“Hyunjin,” A voice interrupts his daydreams, returning him to reality. “How’s the last piece of the art exhibition coming so far?”
The young artisan blinks.
The room morphs into the studio, filled with painted and unfinished canvases, a canopy stretched from where he sat on the stool, dried and new color splotches on the floor, and even in his skin, and there were remnants of the clay in his fingertips as he held the sculpting spatula.
The voice of his manager came through again, now a bit nervous and frantic. “I understand you’re going through something for a while now, but may I ask if there has been any progress?”
Hyunjin hums in response. “Tomorrow.”
“…But the exhibit is tomorrow,” The manager reasons while going through the schedule again and swiping away notifications from emails. “We need to at least transfer the piece today so there won’t be any last-minute hassle like last time.”
“It’s not a mural,” Hyunjin reassures with a hint of a smile as his eye refocuses on the sculpture. “I promise, everything is handled.”
And that’s when the realization hits. “…Is it—?”
Before his manager could get an answer from him, Hyunjin bids farewell in the call. He shoves the device into his pocket, and adjusts his position. Slightly raising his hand, narrowing his eyes a bit, and continuing his work once again.
To him, no piece of art that involves you has to be rushed. Every little detail he recalls, every memory he cherishes, and everything about you, and everything of you become the very essence of his greatest and deepest devotion to you. You, his beloved. You, his muse.
Unlike the paintings he had made over the years, this time is different.
A half bust sculpture of you from the last memory he held in his memories.
Time can be quite cruel for an immortal like Hwang Hyunjin. In his lifetime, he had always think of it as a curse. To never truly die in the hands of death, and remain in the mortal realm forevermore.
He's no stranger to the art of letting go. The acceptance of being alone, having to outlive others, and carrying the rest of the memories with him in every new place he settles in. Before any suspicions arises, he packs up and leaves. The same routine over and over again. New identities, new people.
a couple of days ago i saw an edit on reels about a movie (ihaveyettowatch-) and not long after i found an edited song, can't stop listening to it almost every day now, got me hooked and just last night after playing with friends, i decided, hey :> let's write something ehe 👉👈
sfw. angst -> wholesome -> y e a r n i n g. established relationship. past lives / past lovers. immortal hyunjin & human reader.
i caved, had coffee, my braib has been itching ti wrute something like this, its alnist 6am, u can hear the birds churping and i need to sleeppppp hope you enjoy thus lovelive piece!! mych love <3
Hwang Hyunjin has been a renowned prodigal artisan since his youth. Art is like nature to him. A great sense of fulfillment and endearment. To him, he feels more at ease once he settles in to paint because the world is indeed his own canvas. Every small thing, creature, scenery, mundane life, and rarely, people, he could capture in his eye to translate into his own language.
A fascinating skill at such a young age, which led many to believe on the capacity of his desire to create.
Because the moment his fingertips touch a paintbrush, it’s similar to clockwork. Lines form into shapes, even though the choice of colors remains the same. A greyscale or any shade of blue with a touch of color for the subject to pop. Many paintings depict how he views the world around him. It is worth noting that there’s always an underlying feeling of melancholia despite the contrast and vibrance of it all.
Yet in the sea of paintings, there’s one particular exception.
An unknown muse. His magnum opus.
In every painting of the artisan’s muse, it’s intricately delicate. Never hidden, because one can easily look back into their eyes and cannot help but feel drawn. The whole epitome of the radiant warmth of the sun, in human form.
And will be forever immortalized, no matter how many years, centuries, and millennia have passed. The young artisan’s muse will never be forgotten nor lost in time. It will be etched and engraved, not just in his heart but for the whole world to see his one and only beloved.
Time is quite cruel, no?
The sound of laughter echoes melodiously, eyes shine brightly like that of the twinkling stars in the night sky, lips curl into a smile so bright it can light up the whole room, and two souls bound together not just by faith but intertwined by their own destiny.
Nights similar to this are incomparable to the sweet bliss of lovers reuniting after awaiting for one’s return in their gentle embrace. And nothing will ever change that.
His hands slowly wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to his warmth, and in your revelry, you finally allow yourself to rest upon his neck. Never mind the soft locks tickling your skin whenever he nuzzles into you, the scent of flowers and scented oils nearly made his head spin.
He knew well how tiresome the week had been for both of you, wedding preparations are no easy feat after all.
“My lord,” Your hand instinctively held one of his to fiddle with, while admiring the dancing flicker of the candle flame by the bedside table. “If the headmaid were to find out we spent the night together while not in our separate chambers, we would have an earful by morning.”
Hyunjin softly chuckles, bringing your intertwined hands close to his lips, placing a kiss in between the spaces of your knuckles. “Do not fret, my love.”
“I have been gone for many moons, and longed for your presence each day, each night that had passed. Although it is tradition before we present ourselves and exchange our oaths, I wish to be with you longer.” He whispers, momentarily closing his eyes before burying himself in your scent. “I cannot bring myself to be apart from you once more, my heart and soul will forever be yours.”
“You speak as if I am to be cast away,” Lying down on the silken sheets, hair sprawled, and gentle hands pull him close. Your smile never falters, and even your eyes held the same regard. “What matters now is I am here, you are here, and we are here.”
"I am at your mercy," He says finding your steady heartbeat and mind, and couldn't help himself but to melt in your warmth. "The heavens must have taken the time to create someone like you..."
There, he hears it. His favorite melody. Your laughter before the spaces between you and him no longer exist, hearts in harmony, and kisses melt together like the sweetest nectar ever known.
The tension fades away with every stroke and caress of your hand around his hair, back, and shoulders. Hyunjin finds himself at peace whenever he’s with you. He never truly questioned why, in your presence, he remains grounded because you radiate the very essence of what it feels like to be human.
“…Say my name.”
“My lord—”
“Say my name, Y/N.”
“Hyunjin.”
“Hyunjin,” A voice interrupts his daydreams, returning him to reality. “How’s the last piece of the art exhibition coming so far?”
The young artisan blinks.
The room morphs into the studio, filled with painted and unfinished canvases, a canopy stretched from where he sat on the stool, dried and new color splotches on the floor, and even in his skin, and there were remnants of the clay in his fingertips as he held the sculpting spatula.
The voice of his manager came through again, now a bit nervous and frantic. “I understand you’re going through something for a while now, but may I ask if there has been any progress?”
Hyunjin hums in response. “Tomorrow.”
“…But the exhibit is tomorrow,” The manager reasons while going through the schedule again and swiping away notifications from emails. “We need to at least transfer the piece today so there won’t be any last-minute hassle like last time.”
“It’s not a mural,” Hyunjin reassures with a hint of a smile as his eye refocuses on the sculpture. “I promise, everything is handled.”
And that’s when the realization hits. “…Is it—?”
Before his manager could get an answer from him, Hyunjin bids farewell in the call. He shoves the device into his pocket, and adjusts his position. Slightly raising his hand, narrowing his eyes a bit, and continuing his work once again.
To him, no piece of art that involves you has to be rushed. Every little detail he recalls, every memory he cherishes, and everything about you, and everything of you become the very essence of his greatest and deepest devotion to you. You, his beloved. You, his muse.
Unlike the paintings he had made over the years, this time is different.
A half bust sculpture of you from the last memory he held in his memories.
Time can be quite cruel for an immortal like Hwang Hyunjin. In his lifetime, he had always think of it as a curse. To never truly die in the hands of death, and remain in the mortal realm forevermore.
He's no stranger to the art of letting go. The acceptance of being alone, having to outlive others, and carrying the rest of the memories with him in every new place he settles in. Before any suspicions arises, he packs up and leaves. The same routine over and over again. New identities, new people.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
GENRE: Fluff, established relationship, idol!au, comfort, slice of life.
SUMMARY: After weeks of tour, Han finally comes back to your tiny apartment. You’d promised yourself you wouldn’t cry or cling, but that plan falls apart the second he walks through the door. Between reheated pasta, bad jokes, and sleepy confessions on the couch, “I missed you” slowly turns into “I love you” — with both of you finally home in more ways than one.
The notification pops up when you’re halfway through doing the dishes.
Just got off the plane. Heading over. Don’t fall asleep without me.
The message flashes on your screen and something in your chest tightens first, then expands, almost painfully. Your hands are wet, soap up to your wrists, but you wipe them clumsily on your hoodie and read the message again, as if it might change.
“Just got off the plane.”
It’s been weeks. Weeks of video calls at weird hours, “I got here safe” texts, blurry photos from dressing rooms, and seeing yourself reflected in your phone screen more than in your own bathroom mirror. You knew he was coming back. You had the date circled with hearts and stars on your calendar, but seeing it written there in the present tense is something else entirely.
Heading over. Don’t fall asleep without me.
You set your phone down on the counter and take a deep breath, like you could calm yourself down just by willing it. Days ago you decided you weren’t going to act like a kid. You weren’t going to cry, or cling, or make him feel guilty for being away working. You told yourself a thousand times you’d be mature, calm, that you’d pretend you hadn’t been counting the days.
You dry your hands, finish the dishes clumsily, and force yourself not to check the time. It’s a complete failure. Every five minutes your eyes flick to the small digital clock on the microwave, like you might fast‑forward time just by wanting it.
You think about changing clothes, doing your hair, making yourself look a bit more put together. Then you catch your reflection in the oven door: oversized hoodie, leggings, mismatched socks. You look exactly like you did in all those video calls where he told you you looked “pretty” even though you knew you were a mess.
— Whatever —you mutter to yourself—. You’ve seen worse.
You tidy the living room a bit. You fold the throw blanket on the couch twice, then unfold it again. You straighten the cushions, sit down, get back up. You turn on the TV, then turn it off. The silence in your apartment feels different today. Tighter, more expectant. Almost like the walls also know someone’s about to walk through the door after being gone for too long.
When you hear the beeping of the door code, your heart jumps so hard you almost get dizzy. Your first reaction is to freeze; the second is to run.
You reach the hallway just as the door opens.
He steps inside, dragging his suitcase behind him, cap pulled low, mask on, oversized hoodie swallowing his frame. His shoulders are slumped, neck stiff. It’s the exact “idol who just got off a plane” image you’ve already seen a thousand times in fancams and photos, but now he’s in your hallway, two meters away. He closes the door with his foot, exhales slowly, and then looks up.
— Hey… —his voice is rough, deeper with fatigue, but warm—. I’m back.
For some reason, that simple sentence takes down every bit of composure you’d tried to build.
Your throat tightens. You stare at him like you’ve never seen him before: his hair a little longer, sticking out from under the cap; dark circles under his eyes, skin a shade paler. And despite all that, the way his eyes soften the moment he recognizes you.
— Idiot —you manage, but your voice comes out strangely high.
You don’t even register the movement; your body’s already crossing the distance before you realize it. You hug him so hard you almost knock him off balance. His suitcase slips from his hand and thuds to the floor as his arms wrap around your waist on instinct, a shaky laugh pressed against your neck.
— Whoa, hey, easy —he murmurs, but there’s more relief than teasing in his tone—. Trying to kill me or what?
You don’t answer. You bury your face in his hoodie, breathing in airport, disinfectant, freshly washed fabric and, underneath it all, him. That scent you’d always associated with staying up too late watching random videos on your laptop, with nights where he fell asleep halfway through a movie and you pulled the blanket up to his chin.
Something hot burns at the back of your eyes. You blink, trying to hold it back, breathing deep, but the emotion pushes through anyway, uninvited.
He notices immediately.
— Hey… —he pulls back just enough to look at you—. Are you crying?
You try to deny it, but the tingling on your cheeks betrays you.
— No —you answer too quickly, wiping your face with the back of your hand—. I said I wasn’t going to. I had a whole plan.
One corner of his mouth lifts, forming that crooked little smile you know by heart.
— Did your plan include ruining my hoodie with your tears? —he asks, glancing down at his chest dramatically—. Because if so, you’re nailing it.
You smack his chest, more to hide your embarrassment than anything.
— Shut up. I haven’t seen you in weeks and the first thing you do is make fun of me.
He catches your wrist before you can pull your hand back and, with a calm that completely contradicts the storm inside you, brings your knuckles to his lips. He presses a soft kiss there, then another across your fingers —a quiet touch that disarms you more than a hundred jokes.
— I missed you —he whispers, no hint of humor in his voice.
You have to close your eyes for a second. It’s the exact sentence you’d been repeating to yourself at night before you fell asleep, like if you said it silently enough maybe he’d hear it somehow.
— I… did too —you mumble, fully aware of how little those two words hold compared to everything you want to say—. A lot.
He lets go of one of your hands just so he can hug you again, slower this time, intentional. He pulls you against his chest, resting his chin on the top of your head.
— I thought I’d walk in and you’d be like, “Finally,” and glare at me —he murmurs, voice low—. But this… —he squeezes you a little tighter—. This is better.
— I can get mad later if you want —you mumble into his hoodie, your voice muffled—. I have a whole list of complaints ready.
He laughs quietly, the sound vibrating against your forehead.
— Of course you do —he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes again, like he needs to check one more time that you’re really there and not some weird jet‑lag dream—. Let me actually come in first and then you can read me the full report, okay?
You step back reluctantly and let him go. He grabs his suitcase, takes off his cap, sets his mask on the small hallway table. Without it, his face looks even more tired, but also more open, more honest.
He leans down a bit toward you.
— Hi, up close —he says with a soft smile.
— Hi, up close —you reply, and before you can psych yourself out, you grab him by the hoodie and pull him into a quick kiss.
It’s clumsy at first because you both smile at the same time, but he kisses you back like he’s been waiting for that exact moment since the first day of tour. One hand comes up to your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin.
When you break apart, there’s a new shine in his eyes.
— Okay —he exhales—. Now I feel slightly less dead.
— You still look pretty dead, to be honest —you tease, trying to rebuild some of your façade—. Come on, leave your suitcase there. I’ll heat up dinner.
— You don’t have to… —he starts, but you’re already walking toward the kitchen.
You hear him drag his suitcase over to a corner and then his soft footsteps following you. When you reach the kitchen, instead of going to the couch like you told him, he sits on the stool by the counter, elbows on the surface, chin in his hand, watching you.
You open the fridge and pull out the container of pasta you’d made “just in case he wanted something homemade.” You pop the lid, scoop some onto a big plate, and put it in the microwave.
You feel his gaze on the back of your neck, on your hands, on the way you move around your own kitchen.
— How was the flight? —you ask, not turning around, trying to sound casual.
— Long. Cold —he shrugs—. The kid behind me kicked my seat like I’d personally wronged him. I think I’m his nemesis now. He gave me a weird look when we landed.
You laugh, picturing it.
— Poor thing.
— Poor who, him or me?
— Whoever had to sit between you two.
He lets out a real laugh at that, the lightest sound you’ve heard from him since he walked through the door.
— The middle seat was empty, thank God. If not, I’d have jumped out the window mid‑flight.
The microwave beeps. You open the door; a wave of steam fogs your vision. You stir the pasta with a fork and put it back in for a bit more. While you wait, you turn around.
He’s still there, watching you.
It isn’t some intense, movie‑like stare; it’s not possessive or overly dramatic. It’s much simpler than that —and somehow more devastating for it: he’s looking at you like someone seeing their place again after being gone too long. His eyes trace your face, your messy hair, the hoodie you’re wearing —his hoodie, ironically, a stolen souvenir from before he left.
— What? —you ask, suddenly self‑conscious—. Quit looking at me like that.
— Like what? —he blinks, genuinely confused.
— Like… I don’t know. Like you haven’t seen me in months.
— I haven’t seen you in months —he says plainly, shrugging.
You open your mouth to argue, to say you have seen each other, that you were on video calls almost every day, but you shut it again before any words come out. You know what he means. It’s not the same.
— You know… —he starts again, fiddling with the corner of the counter mat, folding and unfolding it—. On tour, every time we ate something good I’d think, “She’d like this,” or “She’d definitely hate this, it’s way too spicy,” or “She’d laugh at this.” Stuff like that. I got so used to doing that that when we got back to the hotel and I couldn’t call you because it was too late where you were, my brain would go, “Oh, I’ve gotta call her and tell her,” and then… —he gestures vaguely—. I’d remember you weren’t there.
The microwave beeps again, but you take a second to react. You just stand there, biting your lip.
— I’m glad your brain finally realizes I’m actually here —you say at last, aiming for light but feeling the weight of his words.
Han smiles, tilting his head.
— My brain’s still catching up. My heart, though… —he taps his chest lightly—. It ran to your Wi‑Fi ages ago.
You shoot him a look, but your lips twitch anyway.
— That was cheesy even for you.
— I’m rusty, okay? —he throws his hands up in mock surrender—. Months of making bad jokes in a language that’s not mine. I need to practice live with my trusted audience.
— Since when am I your audience? —you ask, pulling the plate from the microwave.
— Since you laugh even when you shouldn’t —he replies instantly—. Like right now. That pathetic half‑smile is trying to hide it, but you’re laughing.
— I hate you —you mutter, setting the plate and fork down in front of him.
— Liar —he says, picking up the fork—. If you hated me you wouldn’t have saved me pasta.
— I was hungry —you shoot back, folding your arms.
— Sure, sure.
He starts to eat and you stay standing on the other side of the counter, leaning on it and watching. He eats in quiet, focused bites at first, making that little satisfied sound when something tastes good.
— Is it okay? —you ask suddenly, weirdly nervous despite knowing the answer.
He nods emphatically, swallowing before he speaks.
— It’s… way better than what they gave us on the plane, I swear —he lifts his thumb—. Thank you.
Something in the way he says that hits you. It’s not the automatic “thanks” people toss around; it’s heavy, sincere, like he’s thanking you for a lot more than reheated pasta.
— You don’t have to thank me for that —you murmur, lowering your voice.
— Yes, I do —he stabs a piece of pasta but doesn’t bring it to his mouth yet—. Thanks for… still being here, I guess.
You’re not sure what to give back to that. You stare at him, swallow.
— Where would I go, the zoo? —you joke, so you don’t start crying again.
He laughs, as he always does when you say something ridiculous.
— You’d fit right in with the raccoons.
— Are you calling me a raccoon?
— A little.
— I’m taking the pasta back.
— No, I’m sorry —he says quickly, reaching out as if to protect the plate—. You’re a very cute raccoon. Very smart. The best raccoon.
You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, even as you shake your head.
He finishes eating between stories from tour: a fan who brought them local sweets, Chan losing his room key for ten minutes, how he almost fell asleep during rehearsal on the third day because jet lag was destroying him.
You guard that simple, almost mundane moment like a treasure. You watch him gesture with his fork, mimic voices, laugh at himself. The exhaustion is still there, under his skin, weighing down his eyelids and slowing his movements, but joy sneaks back into the corners of his mouth whenever his gaze meets yours.
When he’s done, he leans back on the stool, hand on his stomach.
— I am officially full of pasta and love —he declares solemnly.
— That’s disgusting phrasing.
— You feel it, admit it.
You grab the plate, set it in the sink, and turn on the tap. He stands up.
— Let me, I’ll do it.
— No way. You’ve been traveling all day.
— Exactly, let me do something. I don’t wanna feel like I only come here to be taken care of —he gives you big, pleading eyes.
You look at him for a second, plate in your hand, and sigh.
— You can… take your suitcase to the bedroom and shower. That contributes to the apartment’s order and, also, you’ll stop smelling like an airport —you glance him up and down.
He puts a hand dramatically to his chest.
— Are you saying I smell bad?
— I’m saying you smell like an eight‑hour flight and a seat‑kicking demon child.
He gasps.
— That hurts, you know.
— Go shower. Hot water fixes everything.
— Except my girlfriend’s cruelty.
He sticks his tongue out at you before turning away, dragging his suitcase down the hall. You follow him with your eyes until he disappears through the bedroom door.
While you wash the plate, you hear the zipper on his suitcase, drawers opening, something thudding to the floor.
— I’m fine! —he shouts from inside, like you asked.
Then you hear the bathroom door and the rush of water.
You lean against the counter for a moment, leaving everything else to soak, and close your eyes. The sound of the shower running, his suitcase on the floor, his stuff in your house… It all makes the place feel different. Fuller. More… alive.
You allow yourself that minute to breathe, to let reality settle in: he’s here. Not on your phone, not on a stage a thousand miles away. Here, in the same space as you, probably leaving wet footprints down the hallway, definitely forgetting a towel.
As if he heard your thoughts, he appears in the bathroom doorway, hair already damp, just a tank top clinging to his shoulders and collarbones, water beading on skin you’d missed more than you’d ever admit out loud.
— Did you leave the towel where you always do? —he asks, wearing a sheepish smile.
You lift an eyebrow.
— Did you really forget your towel again?
— I’ve been away —he says, like it’s a universal excuse.
You grab a towel from the closet and toss it to him. He catches it clumsily.
— Thanks, raccoon —he winks and disappears again.
You roll your eyes, but the smile is impossible to fight.
When he comes out of the shower a while later, he’s in one of his old pajamas, the ones with the ridiculous pattern that have always made you laugh. His hair is wet, sticking to his forehead, and he brings a bit of steam out from the bathroom with him. He looks more relaxed now, less tightly wound, but the fatigue still lingers.
— Can I dry my hair on the couch? —he asks, holding the towel—. I promise not to soak everything.
— You’re a terrible liar —you reply—. Come here.
You sit down on the couch and motion for him to sit on the floor in front of you. He obeys without a single complaint, dropping down with an exaggerated sigh.
— Ugh, being me is so hard.
— Yeah, so tough, getting your hair dried and being fed dinner —you say, draping the towel over his head and starting to gently rub—. A real martyr.
— No one understands my suffering.
His tone is dramatic, but you can feel how he relaxes under your hands, how he goes almost completely still, just breathing, letting you fuss with him. You’d missed this too: the easy intimacy of touching him without thinking about it, of pushing his stubborn hair into place, of taking care of him in small, ordinary ways.
— Oh, wait —he says suddenly, lifting a hand—. I didn’t tell you the best part of the flight.
— There’s something better than the seat‑kicking child?
— Yeah. The guy next to me snored so loud I thought the plane was going to fall apart —he imitates an over‑the‑top snore.
You laugh.
— That was definitely Chan.
— No, Chan was somewhere else. But I sent him a voice note. Told him, “Here’s you in thirty years.”
— Poor Chan —you giggle, fingers combing his hair under the towel.
He shuts his eyes at the contact, like it tickles him more than any joke.
— You know sometimes, when I couldn’t sleep at the hotel, I’d play old voice notes you sent me? —he says out of nowhere, eyes still closed, voice softer.
You pause for a second.
— Voice notes?
— Yeah. The ones where you’re complaining about work or the neighbors upstairs or the guy who does karaoke on Tuesdays. Those.
— They’re awful —you protest, embarrassed—. I just scream and say dumb stuff.
— Exactly —he smiles, though he still doesn’t look up—. They sounded like home.
That word slices right through you again.
— Jisung…
He turns his head just a bit, enough to look up at you from under the towel.
— What?
— Nothing —you go back to drying his hair, even though it’s mostly just damp now—. Just… I missed you a lot too.
— You already said that —he points out, but there’s no impatience in it; he sounds more like he’s collecting every “I missed you” to tuck away somewhere safe.
You finish and give him a light tap on the forehead with the towel.
— There. You no longer look like a wet dog.
— Thank you, I guess —he gets up and instead of taking another spot, he climbs onto the couch with you, pressing his side against yours like personal space isn’t a concept—. Watched anything good lately? Any new shows we should start?
— I started one, but I felt bad continuing without you —you admit quietly.
He angles his body more toward you, head leaning back on the cushion, body turned.
— Really?
— Yeah —you shrug—. It felt wrong to watch it alone when we said we’d watch it together.
— You’re really soft, you know that? —he says, like it’s a scientific observation.
— Shut up.
— I don’t want to.
A small, comfortable silence settles. The TV is on, but muted, casting soft colors across the room. The clock on the wall shows a ridiculous hour, but your body doesn’t register the late time yet; it’s too busy registering that he’s here.
He slides further down the couch until he’s half‑lying, head in your lap.
— What are you doing? —you ask, even though you already know.
— Getting comfortable —he replies simply—. I’ve had a date with this human pillow pending for weeks.
— And if my legs go numb?
— We swap. Fair trade system —he closes his eyes, one hand resting on your thigh, playing with the hem of your hoodie—. Can I?
Your hand hovers awkwardly above his hair for a moment. Then you give in and rest it there, slowly running your fingers through the damp strands.
— Yeah. You can.
He lets out a long breath, like he’s been holding it in for a long time.
A few quiet minutes pass. You trace small circles on his scalp, separate pieces of hair, gently massage his temples. His breathing starts to slow, deepen.
— You know what the worst part was? —he asks suddenly, cutting through the calm.
— What?
— Sleeping without you.
You exhale slowly.
— I thought you’d be used to sleeping with the boys —you joke weakly, trying to keep it light.
— That’s not funny —he complains, cracking one eye open to look at you—. None of them smell like you.
Heat floods your face before you can stop it, and you frown to cover it.
— What’s that supposed to mean?
He brings his hand up, pinching a bit of your hoodie near his face and scrunching it, as if he could wring an answer out of the fabric.
— It means you smell like… —he pauses, thinking, nose scrunching in that dramatic way of his—. Cheap laundry detergent. And… shampoo. And… —he exhales, his voice dropping—. Home.
That word again. This time, you don’t dodge it.
Something heavy and warm settles in your chest.
— That was really cheesy —you whisper, but your voice shakes slightly.
— I’m in a cheesy mood. Let me —he mumbles, shutting his eyes again—. I had to bottle it up all tour, you know? If I said one sappy thing out loud, they bullied me.
You picture the other members teasing him for being too soft and can’t help laughing under your breath.
— Poor thing.
— Exactly —his fingers tighten a little on your thigh—. This is where I come to say all that stuff. Here… —he cracks his eyes open just enough to peer up at you, long lashes casting shadows on his cheeks—. Here I’m not embarrassed.
The confession hangs between you.
Without thinking too much —maybe because of the late hour, maybe because of the soap‑and‑Han smell so close— the words slip out:
— I love you.
He blinks, like he’s not sure he heard you right.
You flush immediately, but it’s already out there.
— I love you —you repeat, a little steadier now, because it’s true and because you don’t want to keep those words trapped in midnight voice notes anymore.
His expression changes subtly but unmistakably. There’s some surprise, sure, but mostly there’s a deep kind of relief, like those three words click perfectly into a space that’s been empty for too long.
— Say it again —he asks, barely louder than a whisper.
— I love you —you say, looking straight at him now, thumb brushing through his hair.
His smile blooms, wide and clumsy, the kind that crinkles his nose and turns his eyes into almost nothing.
— I love you too —he replies, voice rough with exhaustion and sincerity—. So much. More than is probably healthy.
You laugh softly.
— That sounds concerning.
— It is —he nods, closing his eyes again, but the smile doesn’t leave his face—. But I don’t ever want to get better.
Silence fills the room again, but it’s not empty. It’s thick with things that don’t need to be said anymore.
You look down at him lying there on your couch, fingers still clutching a fold of your hoodie, his breathing evening out. The hand on your thigh loosens, but doesn’t let go. He’s losing the battle with sleep and you can tell.
— Sleep —you murmur, leaning down just enough to press your lips to his forehead—. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
— Promise —he mumbles, already half tangled in sleep.
— Promise —you echo, sealing it with a soft kiss to his hair.
Little by little, his breathing steadies, turning deep and slow. You realize he’s fully asleep when the weight of his hand goes completely slack and his face fully relaxes, shedding the last traces of tension.
You stay still, resisting the urge to shift even when your legs begin to complain. You look at the ceiling, at the muted TV, at the forgotten suitcase in the hallway, at the plate in the sink you never finished washing.
And for the first time in weeks, everything feels exactly where it’s supposed to be.
Han is home, breathing quietly with his head in your lap.
And finally, so are you.
SUMMARY: You always dreamed of having a huge Christmas tree, and Chan makes that wish come true. Between SKZOO ornaments, Grinch pajamas and a movie marathon, December is warm even on the days when he’s too busy to be home.
The first time you said it, it was almost without thinking.
You were sprawled on the couch in early November, scrolling through pictures of huge Christmas trees online. You flicked through the images, smiling every time you saw one that was ridiculously oversized, covered in lights.
“One day I want a huge Christmas tree” you said, half-laughing. “One of those that looks way too big for a normal apartment. One that almost touches the ceiling.”
Chan chuckled, leaning back against the cushions, head tilted toward you.
“Really?” he asked. “That big?”
“That big” you confirmed. “Ridiculously big.”
He didn’t say anything else. He just smiled in that way of his that always makes you wonder if he’s plotting something or just genuinely happy to hear you talk.
Turns out it was the first one.
A few days later, you come home from work with a tired body and an almost switched‑off brain. You slide your key into the lock, thinking about changing clothes, maybe ordering some food and collapsing onto the couch without doing much else.
The moment you open the door, a subtle smell of pine hits you. Real pine. Not air freshener.
You frown for a second.
“Chan…?”
You don’t even have time to drop your bag. As soon as you walk down the hallway and into the living room, you stop dead.
There it is.
A tree. Huge. Ridiculously big for your living room. Its branches stretch out as if trying to fill every corner, almost brushing the ceiling. The lights haven’t been put on yet. Neither have the decorations. It’s just the tree, fully assembled, waiting.
And Chan, standing beside it, hair a bit mussed, sweater sleeves pushed up and a grin that takes over his entire face.
“Surprise” he says, raising his arms like he’s presenting a masterpiece. “I didn’t know the exact measurements of ‘huge,’ so… I went for the biggest thing that would fit in the van.”
You look at him, then at the tree, then back at him. A laugh escapes you, disbelieving.
“You’re insane” you murmur, walking closer. “It’s perfect.”
He lowers his arms, but his smile doesn’t go anywhere.
“I put it together myself” he explains, a trace of pride in his voice. “But… I didn’t want to decorate it without you. That part’s for us to do together, okay?”
You nod, your chest filling with a warmth that has nothing to do with the heating.
“Of course.”
Chan crouches down behind the couch and pulls out a big bag. He opens it in front of you, and you see familiar soft shapes poking out.
SKZOO.
“I got these too” he says, pulling out Wolfchan, Leebit, Dwaekki and the rest. “To hang on the tree. You know… so they’re here with us too.”
You can’t help but smile wider.
“You’re so cheesy” you tease.
“I know” he replies immediately, completely unashamed. “But I’m your cheesy.”
That same night, with some music playing quietly in the background, you bring out the decoration boxes. Colorful baubles, strings of lights, ribbons, little ornaments you’ve collected over the years. Mixed in are the new SKZOO Chan bought, ready to become special tree decorations.
He climbs onto a small stepstool to drape the lights on the higher branches, muttering about logistics and “light distribution.” You circle the tree taking care of the lower half, hanging baubles, bows and small figurines.
At one point, he hands you Wolfchan.
“This one needs a special spot” he says.
“Right at the top?” you ask, amused.
He shrugs.
“Or at least close to the star.”
In the end, you make sure all the SKZOO dolls have their own place, spread around the tree like they’re keeping watch from their branches. When you’re done and Chan turns off the living room light to switch on just the tree, that soft silence of “we did a good job” wraps around you both.
“It’s exactly what I wanted” you say quietly.
“I just followed your instructions from a few weeks ago” he replies, stepping behind you to wrap his arms around your waist. “Huge tree, favorite person, too many decorations. Check.”
You laugh and lean your head back against his chest, watching the lights twinkle.
During the month of December, you make a pact: you’re going to watch all the Christmas movies you both loved as kids. A nostalgia marathon.
The first pick is not up for debate: “Home Alone.”
That day, you make hot chocolate. You bring out two new mugs you secretly bought: big, Christmas‑themed, one with a little drawing that reminds you of Chan and another that looks more like you.
“You bought matching mugs too?” he asks, pretending to be shocked. “Are we that couple now?”
“You bought SKZOO for the tree” you remind him. “Don’t come at me with that.”
He laughs and lifts his mug.
“Okay, okay. I love it.”
You also unveil another secret purchase: matching Grinch pajamas. When you show them, Chan claps a hand over his mouth, dramatic.
“I can’t believe you—” he starts.
“You’re wearing them” you cut him off. “This is non‑negotiable.”
“I’m wearing them” he agrees instantly, not even trying to argue. “We’re going to look amazing.”
And you do. The night ends up being full of pictures, giggles, pausing the movie to rewatch scenes, pointing out “this part scared me when I was little” and “I always wanted something like this to happen to me.” The tree glowing in the background makes the whole room look slightly unreal.
You take tons of photos on your phone: you and Chan in your pajamas, the mugs, SKZOO peeking from behind, the movie frozen on a ridiculous frame. The kind of pictures you know you’ll stare at in June when it’s hot and you miss this feeling.
Not every day in December is this full.
Chan has a lot of work. Split schedules, nights at the studio, meetings, a thousand things that don’t always show from the outside. Sometimes you spend whole afternoons alone at home, with the tree on and a movie playing, missing him.
But that doesn’t stop you from enjoying things.
Whenever you go out and see a new ornament you like, you take pictures and send them to him.
Look at this reindeer. This could be you.
I bought another bauble. I don’t think anything else fits on the tree.
What do you think about this one for next year?
He answers when he can, sometimes hours later, but always with the same excitement.
Buy it, we’ll make it fit. There’s always room for more.
I love it, you’re the best decorator.
One day, in one of those messages, you make a specific request:
If you have time during your express trip to Australia… can you buy a Christmas ornament there?
I’d love to have a little piece of your country on our tree.
His reply takes a while, but when it comes, it’s a short voice note.
His voice sounds tired, but happy:
“I promise I’ll bring back something very, very ugly and very, very Australian. Get ready.”
You laugh out loud, alone in the kitchen.
Christmas Day arrives.
You wake up before Chan, which is rare—he’s usually the first one up even on little sleep. Right now he’s fully out, one hand resting on your waist, breathing slow and even.
You sneak out of bed carefully, trying not to wake him.
You have a plan.
You spend the morning setting up a little scavenger hunt around the apartment. Notes stuck in strategic places: the fridge, the study, the tree, a specific drawer. Each note has a short, affectionate sentence and a clue about where the next present is.
When you’re done, you take one last look at the living room, the tree, the hidden gifts, and feel that quiet little buzz of anticipation.
You go back into the bedroom. Chan is just starting to stir, hair a complete mess.
“Merry Christmas” you whisper, leaning over him.
He opens his eyes slowly and smiles, that sleepy smile that always melts you.
“Merry Christmas…” he replies, tugging you closer for a kiss. “How long have you been up? Don’t tell me you did things without me.”
“I set up a scavenger hunt for you” you confess.
That wakes him up instantly.
“A what?”
You hand him the first note. On it, in your handwriting, something like:
“To find your first present, think about where you keep the thing that wakes you up every morning.”
Chan frowns for a second, then laughs.
“Coffee” he says, jumping out of bed. “You’re too adorable.”
He spends the next while going around the apartment from note to note. In the kitchen, the studio, the bathroom, next to the tree. Each clue leads to another, and you follow him, laughing at his commentary.
The first gift is waiting by the coffee machine: a neatly wrapped box.
He opens it and falls silent for a moment when he sees what it is.
New headphones. Good ones. The kind he’s been eyeing but never bought for himself because he keeps patching up his old ones instead.
“Hey…” he murmurs, running a hand through his hair. “This is… a lot.”
He looks at you with that mix of gratitude and mild discomfort you know so well. You already know what he’s thinking: they’re expensive, you have an average salary, he’s financially comfortable, you’ve had this conversation a thousand times. But this time he bites his tongue.
He steps closer, takes you by the waist and kisses your forehead.
“Thank you” he says softly. “I love them. Really.”
You already know the speech he isn’t giving. You just smile and point out the next note, stuck right behind the box.
“To continue the mission, look where your heroes are hiding.”
“My heroes?” he repeats, thoughtful.
It takes him about two seconds to glance at the shelf where he keeps figures, comics, collectibles. He rushes over, looks between the items and, sure enough, finds another package.
When he opens this one, his eyes light up.
Inside are action figures of some of his favorite characters, including a couple from Genshin.
“No, no way…” he laughs, picking one up to look at it closely. “This should be illegal. How did you know I wanted these exact ones?”
“I’ve seen you staring at pictures more than once” you say, shrugging. “Muttering their names under your breath.”
He presses a hand to his chest, dramatic.
“I swear I don’t deserve you being this thoughtful” he says, though he looks absolutely over the moon.
The third note leads him to the wardrobe.
There he finds a black hoodie. Simple, comfy. Very Chan. If there’s one thing he can never have too much of, it’s black clothing.
“You really can’t have too many black hoodies” he comments, holding it up against himself. “You know me way too well.”
He comes over and hugs you again, hoodie still in his hand.
Finding the fourth clue takes him a little longer. It’s hidden inside one of the SKZOO dolls hanging on the tree.
“Last clue: in the room where we wash our clothes, there’s something that isn’t for clothes. And it isn’t made for two, but for three.”
Chan freezes for a few seconds, note in hand.
“Three?” he repeats, giving you a strange look.
You see that flash of panic cross his eyes. It’s funny. You know exactly what he’s thinking and keep your mouth shut, just gesturing for him to keep going.
He walks toward the laundry/utility room. He opens the door. On the floor, between a shelf and the wall, he spots something that definitely wasn’t there before.
A small pet bed. Next to it, a brand‑new leash, a bowl and some toys.
Chan stands in the doorway, silent.
“No way” he finally says, turning to you. “No. That’s impossible.”
His smile literally reaches his ears. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning.
“Where is he?” he asks, practically bouncing on the spot. “Tell me he’s here. Tell me this is real.”
“Give me a second” you reply, biting your lip to keep from laughing too hard.
You slip into the bedroom. When you return, you do it carefully, with a small weight cradled in your arms.
Chan goes completely still.
You’re holding a dog—about five years old, medium‑sized, fur a little scruffy, one bright eye looking at you both with a mix of curiosity and shyness. The other eye is gone, a small scar where it used to be.
You walk closer.
“This is Wolfy” you say gently. “I adopted him a few days ago.”
Chan crouches down to be at your level. His eyes lock on the dog’s, and you can see something melt inside them.
“Hey, little guy…” he murmurs.
As he watches, you tell him the story.
How the shelter staff told you he’d been there a long time. How he’d been abandoned because he “wasn’t purebred” and had eye problems. How he was missing one eye and almost no one even glanced his way. How he’d waited so long that they were already quietly expecting him never to be chosen, maybe ending up somewhere worse.
How, when you saw him there, with that one sad eye and his head a little lowered, you just couldn’t walk away without him.
How, while Chan was away for work, you spent time gently gaining his trust. How at first he jumped at every sound, but little by little he let you get closer, pet his head, sit next to him. How now, even though he’s still shy, he looks at you with a quiet kind of affection you already recognize.
By the time you finish, Chan’s eyes are shining.
“Can I…?” he asks, nodding toward the dog.
“Let’s go slow” you say.
You sit down on the floor first, still holding Wolfy but closer to Chan. He settles cross‑legged in front of you and starts talking in his softest voice. He offers his hand very slowly, not invading at all.
“Hey, Wolfy…” he whispers. “I’m Chan. I guess I’m your dad now. Or something like that.”
You laugh under your breath.
Wolfy hesitates, but in the end he leans in to sniff Chan’s hand, tiny step by tiny step. Chan doesn’t push. He just keeps talking, gently stroking Wolfy’s head whenever the dog allows it. Little by little, Wolfy relaxes. He even gives a tentative little tail wag.
After a while, he finally lets Chan pick him up.
Chan lifts him carefully, like he’s holding something incredibly fragile. His smile in that moment is the smile of someone who’s just been handed the whole universe wrapped in shiny paper.
“This is one of the best days of my life” he says, and he isn’t exaggerating. “I swear. I don’t know how I’ll ever top this. My presents will never beat yours.”
He looks at you, and you can see something so big and soft in his eyes it almost scares you.
“I love you so much…” he adds quietly.
“I love you too” you answer, smiling.
“And you said his name is Wolfy?” he asks, still petting the dog.
“Yeah” you nod. “I had to put a name down when I adopted him… and I thought of your SKZOO. It felt right.”
Chan laughs, half in disbelief.
“You named the dog after Wolfchan…” He shakes his head. “I cannot believe I love you even more for that.”
The next thing he does is almost automatic: he grabs his phone and calls the members on video chat. The moment someone picks up, he brings Wolfy into view.
“Say hi to the new family member” he announces proudly. “This is Wolfy.”
You hear shouts, laughter, excited voices, a mess of questions all at once. Wolfy stares at the screen, confused, but doesn’t seem bothered. Just curious.
After the introductions, you go back to the living room. Chan settles you on the couch with Wolfy already dozing in your lap and stands up.
“My turn” he says. “There’s no way I can compete with this, but I’m going to try.”
He brings your presents one by one.
The first is a long, narrow box. Inside, you find a delicate silver necklace, simple and elegant, with your favorite flower as the pendant.
“I had it made” he explains, suddenly a little shy. “I wanted you to have something that was just yours. And… I don’t know, it’s like carrying a small piece of what you love with you all the time.”
You brush your fingers over the flower, feeling the fine work in the metal.
“It’s beautiful” you whisper. “I love it.”
He leans in to fasten it around your neck. His hands skim your skin as he adjusts the clasp. Then he takes a second just to look at you.
“Perfect” he murmurs.
The second present catches you completely off guard.
He gives you an envelope. Inside, several folded papers. It takes a few seconds for your brain to process what they are.
Plane tickets.
“Is this…?” you start, your voice a little shaky.
“X days off” Chan says, smiling. “I talked to the company and… I have a small stretch of vacation. I wanted to take you somewhere far away from Korea. I know we’ve been saying for so long that we want to go to Japan… so…”
He tells you how he’s already checked everything: the hotels, some small towns he wants you to see, places in the city he knows would make you light up. How he’s spent weeks quietly planning between schedule slots.
There’s a lump in your throat, but it’s pure excitement.
“Really…?” you whisper. “We’re going to Japan?”
“We’re going to Japan” he confirms, with a grin that almost matches the one he had when he saw Wolfy. “Just you and me. Well, and Wolfy is going to stay with a very professional dog sitter, don’t worry.”
You laugh, already picturing the streets, the trains, the temples, the tiny cafés, the late‑night hotel talks.
“I can’t believe…” you begin.
He sits down beside you, careful not to wake Wolfy, and holds your face in his hands.
“I owe you so many moments like this” he says. “So much of the peace you give me every time I come home. I want us to have memories everywhere, not just in this living room.”
“Then we start with Japan” you reply, resting your forehead against his.
Wolfy lets out a little sigh in your lap, like he too has settled into this new life. The tree glows beside you, reflecting in the window; the necklace is cool and delicate against your skin; the tickets still sit in your hand.
Chan wraps an arm around your shoulders, pulls you closer and whispers, so quietly only you can hear:
“Merry Christmas. Thank you for making this… feel like a real home.”
You lean into his chest, absently stroking Wolfy’s head.
“Merry Christmas, Chan” you answer. “And thank you for bringing me a huge tree, a trip to Japan… and yourself, every day.”
The rest of the day slips by in small things—the kind that seem insignificant and yet carve themselves into your memory.
After a while on the couch, you both decide Wolfy deserves to really learn his way around “his kingdom.” Chan is the first to kneel on the floor, patting the rug gently.
“Come on, champ” he says in that soft voice that just happens. “Let me show you your house.”
Wolfy climbs down from your lap with some caution, looks around and then back at you both, like he’s looking for approval. Chan stands up slowly and starts what might be the most adorable house tour in history: the kitchen, the hallway, the laundry room with his new bed.
“This is your bed” he explains, as if the dog is going to answer him. “But you can sleep with us too, okay? No strict rules here.”
Wolfy sniffs the bed, circles it a couple of times, lies down for a moment and then gets back up to keep following you. Chan reacts like he just performed a magic trick.
At some point, you put food and water in his new bowls. Wolfy eats slowly, glancing up every few bites like he needs to make sure it’s still okay to stay. Every time he looks, Chan is there, smiling at him.
“You’re safe now, buddy” he murmurs. “Nobody’s kicking you out of here.”
Later, you put on another Christmas movie in the background. Nothing too intense; something you can half-watch while talking, laughing and tossing a toy for Wolfy now and then. He still doesn’t completely understand what you’re doing, but he starts to follow the plush, padding back with it awkwardly in his mouth.
“Look at him, he almost knows what ‘fetch’ is” Chan says, proud, like he’s been training him for months.
You take new pictures: you with Wolfy in your arms, Chan kneeling beside you; another of the three of you on the couch with the tree behind you. In one of them, the dog’s tongue is out and you’re laughing with your head thrown back; Chan changes his phone wallpaper to that one the second he sees it.
You make something simple for dinner—not as elaborate as the night before, but enough to fill the apartment with the smell of home‑cooked food. Wolfy curls up near the table, more relaxed now, watching every move like he still can’t quite believe he’s part of this.
“I feel like we’re…” Chan pauses for a second, searching for the right word. “A small family. But a complete one.”
You look at him over your plate. His hair is half messy, he’s in a black hoodie and pajama pants, hands still faintly marked from lifting and setting things up earlier, a soft spark in his eyes every time he looks at the dog… or at you.
“We are” you answer.
When night deepens, you switch off the TV and leave only the tree lights on. The room turns golden. Wolfy, finally worn out from all the newness and trust, curls up at the foot of the couch at first, then slowly works his way up until he’s a little ball pressed against your legs.
Chan glances down and shakes his head with a smile.
“He’s going to end up spoiling us” he whispers.
You snuggle closer against his chest. You feel his steady breathing, the warm weight of Wolfy across your feet, the faint jingle of an ornament when the air moves.
“Next year” Chan murmurs, half-asleep, “we’re putting up an ornament just for him. A bauble with his name. And another one from the Japan trip. We’re going to need an even bigger tree.”
“Perfect” you reply. “I always wanted a ridiculously huge tree.”
He laughs quietly.
“And I always wanted something like this” he adds, voice dropping. “A living room with too much tree, too many lights… and someone to hold at the end of the day.”
You close your eyes, storing the moment.
No firework noise, no grand speeches, no more big surprises. Just the faint creak of the radiator, the soft blink of the tree, Wolfy’s small, almost comical snore and the calm certainty that if every Christmas were like this, you could stay in this day forever.
Chan tightens his arm around you just a bit.
“Now it’s really” he whispers, almost asleep, “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas” you answer, finally letting sleep catch up with you too, with the clear feeling that, for the first time, your home is complete.
—sfw. established friendship!. non-idol!seungmin x gn!reader. they're besties since they were kids. very platonic!. angst to comfort themes. reader went through a lot, seungmin helps them.
cw: slight cursing! mentions of alcohol, but they're not drinking!!
immerse yourself while reading: End of Beginning x Missing Out.
“The universe suuuuccccckkkkksssss.” Your body softly lands on the blanket, gaze shifting to the starlit sky. Pointing to one of the twinkling stars, “And we’re just… tiny, specks of dust in their eyes.”
A laugh escapes from you. Not a teasing one, or a mischievous one either. The kind of laugh where it just feels like it, a sound you let out for the noisy yet silent world.
Seungmin hums, leaning a bit. “Are you talking about the stars?” Absentmindedly hands you a small bowl of cereal with chopped fruits and places a bottle of water next to you. “Theoretically speaking, we are extremely tiny in the perspective of space.”
“—And we’re stupid too.”
“Uhuh, how so?”
With a huff, you managed to snatch a slice of pizza from him. Took a bite, hummed at the savory taste, then gave it back to him. And in those few seconds of savored victory, he did not complain.
“We make stupid decisions over things. What’s worse, it’s either good or bad, you know? Does that make any sense—whatever—anyways,” Shaking your head as you continued to release the heavy load off of your shoulders for months since your last meeting. “It only makes me wonder why I am still here, I’ve done so many stupid shit—like how I chose a cheap drink over a couple of chocolate bars and noodles to cope.”
Of course, Seungmin had to keep the bottle away from you. For which you are grateful, he’s looking out for you without lecturing you (for now).
“Guess all of us have stupid—idiotic moments in our lives,” He responds casually, popping a sliced orange. Slightly grimaced at the sour taste before the sweetness takes over. “It’s inevitable that when we experience it in some way, no matter what it may be.”
Looking back at Seungmin, he grew fond of the night sky too.
His quiet demeanor, paired with the occasional humming of a song he’s currently into, makes everything feel a little less quiet. No longer hearing the screams inside of your mind, nor the past haunting you.
“…Then, how come the universe doesn’t always treat us fairly?” Now you’re the one who questioned him, and the way your tone fell into a whisper. “Like how I never got a happy ending, fairytales cease to exist, to satisfy our imagination, so… what’s the point?”
“It’s even hard to be genuinely happy in this world because it always seems to toss a coin whenever you’re happy without pretending to be, and then—boom!—gone, disappeared.” He watches silently as you flail your hands, doing gestures. And how your expressions, as micro as they can be, change between words. “I can never seem to understand how people can act… happy, even if they’re genuinely not. I always wonder what it takes for the universe to treat us fairly without taking something or someone away in our lives?”
He looks down, noticing how you weren’t in your initial spot anymore. Your head is now resting on his lap, arms crossed, still venting out the thoughts and frustrations. Not towards him, but to the world.
Perhaps such a gesture is out of habit, like how you always did when the two of you were kids.
A soft chuckle is heard, coming from him. Shaking his head, he discreetly adjusts his position on the blanket where both of you feel more comfortable. “The universe does suck.”
Now I know it’s me who’s missing out
Just trust me, you’ll be fine
“That’s all you have to say?”
“I’m not finished,”
“Oh, okay—sorry.” And you meant it.
“Just a disclaimer, I’m no love expert or anything.” He reminds you with a knowing look, “But one thing is for sure, those assholes don’t deserve someone like you. They’re well aware of how they treated you, which is why they’re not worth the tears.”
“So, my final verdict: I can happily accompany you for kicking their asses any time, any day, call me.” And he was smiling at you, head tilting down.
For the first time in a long while, you couldn’t help but laugh wholeheartedly. “Didn’t we do that last time?”
“Hey,” He chuckles, reaches out to ruffle your hair, which makes you smile at the gesture. “I wouldn’t take credit for your antics—”
“You mean, our antics, Kim Seungmin?” Now you’re teasing him, and he knows it.
“Yes, L/N Y/N, our antics.”
Then it suddenly hit you, sitting upright, immediately placing both hands on his shoulders. And proceeded to shake him (uncontrollably), “YOU NEVER TOLD ME WHAT I DID LAST TIME—”
He stops you mid-way, shrugs a little. “I’ll leave it in your own imagination~”
You are not falling for one of his tricks again, nope. “So I DID do something so stupid with zero brain cells, therefore I was a lost cause?”
Seungmin took a sip of water, giving you a shrug again. “Beats me, really.”
“kIm SeuNgMin—!”
“Trust me, I’m saving you the embarrassment of not telling.”
You huffed in annoyance, brows furrowed, arms crossed. “It’s not fair!”
He revels in the teasing, there’s no going back now. “In my defense, you told me to shush about it—”
“I couldn’t even remember what I ate last week, and you’re just telling me this?”
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—sfw. established friendship!. non-idol!seungmin x gn!reader. they're besties since they were kids. very platonic!. angst to comfort themes. reader went through a lot, seungmin helps them.
cw: slight cursing! mentions of alcohol, but they're not drinking!!
immerse yourself while reading: End of Beginning x Missing Out.
“The universe suuuuccccckkkkksssss.” Your body softly lands on the blanket, gaze shifting to the starlit sky. Pointing to one of the twinkling stars, “And we’re just… tiny, specks of dust in their eyes.”
A laugh escapes from you. Not a teasing one, or a mischievous one either. The kind of laugh where it just feels like it, a sound you let out for the noisy yet silent world.
Seungmin hums, leaning a bit. “Are you talking about the stars?” Absentmindedly hands you a small bowl of cereal with chopped fruits and places a bottle of water next to you. “Theoretically speaking, we are extremely tiny in the perspective of space.”
“—And we’re stupid too.”
“Uhuh, how so?”
With a huff, you managed to snatch a slice of pizza from him. Took a bite, hummed at the savory taste, then gave it back to him. And in those few seconds of savored victory, he did not complain.
“We make stupid decisions over things. What’s worse, it’s either good or bad, you know? Does that make any sense—whatever—anyways,” Shaking your head as you continued to release the heavy load off of your shoulders for months since your last meeting. “It only makes me wonder why I am still here, I’ve done so many stupid shit—like how I chose a cheap drink over a couple of chocolate bars and noodles to cope.”
Of course, Seungmin had to keep the bottle away from you. For which you are grateful, he’s looking out for you without lecturing you (for now).
“Guess all of us have stupid—idiotic moments in our lives,” He responds casually, popping a sliced orange. Slightly grimaced at the sour taste before the sweetness takes over. “It’s inevitable that when we experience it in some way, no matter what it may be.”
Looking back at Seungmin, he grew fond of the night sky too.
His quiet demeanor, paired with the occasional humming of a song he’s currently into, makes everything feel a little less quiet. No longer hearing the screams inside of your mind, nor the past haunting you.
“…Then, how come the universe doesn’t always treat us fairly?” Now you’re the one who questioned him, and the way your tone fell into a whisper. “Like how I never got a happy ending, fairytales cease to exist, to satisfy our imagination, so… what’s the point?”
“It’s even hard to be genuinely happy in this world because it always seems to toss a coin whenever you’re happy without pretending to be, and then—boom!—gone, disappeared.” He watches silently as you flail your hands, doing gestures. And how your expressions, as micro as they can be, change between words. “I can never seem to understand how people can act… happy, even if they’re genuinely not. I always wonder what it takes for the universe to treat us fairly without taking something or someone away in our lives?”
He looks down, noticing how you weren’t in your initial spot anymore. Your head is now resting on his lap, arms crossed, still venting out the thoughts and frustrations. Not towards him, but to the world.
Perhaps such a gesture is out of habit, like how you always did when the two of you were kids.
A soft chuckle is heard, coming from him. Shaking his head, he discreetly adjusts his position on the blanket where both of you feel more comfortable. “The universe does suck.”
Now I know it’s me who’s missing out
Just trust me, you’ll be fine
“That’s all you have to say?”
“I’m not finished,”
“Oh, okay—sorry.” And you meant it.
“Just a disclaimer, I’m no love expert or anything.” He reminds you with a knowing look, “But one thing is for sure, those assholes don’t deserve someone like you. They’re well aware of how they treated you, which is why they’re not worth the tears.”
“So, my final verdict: I can happily accompany you for kicking their asses any time, any day, call me.” And he was smiling at you, head tilting down.
For the first time in a long while, you couldn’t help but laugh wholeheartedly. “Didn’t we do that last time?”
“Hey,” He chuckles, reaches out to ruffle your hair, which makes you smile at the gesture. “I wouldn’t take credit for your antics—”
“You mean, our antics, Kim Seungmin?” Now you’re teasing him, and he knows it.
“Yes, L/N Y/N, our antics.”
Then it suddenly hit you, sitting upright, immediately placing both hands on his shoulders. And proceeded to shake him (uncontrollably), “YOU NEVER TOLD ME WHAT I DID LAST TIME—”
He stops you mid-way, shrugs a little. “I’ll leave it in your own imagination~”
You are not falling for one of his tricks again, nope. “So I DID do something so stupid with zero brain cells, therefore I was a lost cause?”
Seungmin took a sip of water, giving you a shrug again. “Beats me, really.”
“kIm SeuNgMin—!”
“Trust me, I’m saving you the embarrassment of not telling.”
You huffed in annoyance, brows furrowed, arms crossed. “It’s not fair!”
He revels in the teasing, there’s no going back now. “In my defense, you told me to shush about it—”
“I couldn’t even remember what I ate last week, and you’re just telling me this?”
