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I will not vanish | One

I will not vanish [MASTERLIST] is a companion series/backstory to the ‘soulmates collection’ [doyoung]

demon/gryffindor haechan x slytherin fem reader

genre: fantasy, university setting of hogwarts with different magic, romance, angst, smut

warnings: +18, strong language, mention of murder, explicit sexual content [fingering, handjob], virgin reader, sexual tension

other characters: gryffindor prefect/demon jeno, slytherin prefect doyoung, ravenclaw prefect selene (oc), hufflepuff prefect jaemin, archangel mark

words: 19.1k

note: the terminology used [demon, angel, archangel] has no correlation to the usual religious connotations

PROLOGUE

Haechan was not born. 

But he had a beginning and he could perfectly remember the instance he opened his eyes.

“Welcome to the Academy.”

Haechan was standing still. He moved a finger, then the whole hand. Finally, he looked at his proximity and saw a pair of eyes. He didn’t know what the Academy was, who talked and where they were exactly, but he knew what eyes were. He thought he was looking at himself at first but then the eyes blinked faster than he felt his own eyes blink. So he knew. It wasn’t him. 

It was another.

Then he looked around and he saw another. And another. All standing tall, slowly moving as if suddenly awakened from a dream. 

Afficher davantage

full of love (and stars)

♡ pairing: haechan x reader ♡ genre: friends/roommates to lovers, light angst ♡ word count: 6k ♡ warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, slow burn-ish, a little sad (reader is going through it), yearning

a/n: time is a flat circle where it's always past midnight, but somehow it's still been very long since i last posted, but (mamma mia) here we go again, back on my little insomnia fueled writing spree &lt;3 i hope you like it, i hope you’re having the loveliest of days/nights, and if you have any thoughts or feedback about this i’d love to know <3

masterlist | buy me a coffee

♡ ♡ ♡

Most nights go like this. You lie in bed next to the open window, the orange glow of a nearby street lamp illuminating the ceiling in an almost perfect rectangle. You count the passing cars and listen in on the conversations of strangers walking by, making up stories about them in your head. Where they might be going, why they’re out so late, and sometimes you hear the same people on multiple occasions. Although your apartment is on the third floor, the building is in diabolical enough shape that the paper thin walls let you listen in on the secrets of anyone walking past on the street below.

You don’t have it in you to complain about the living conditions though. Your room might barely fit your twin sized bed, and the kitchenette might only have one working burner, but at least it’s in a fairly good neighborhood, and most places are a walkable distance away. It was supposed to only accommodate you and your roommate for your college years, but as life has it you both got stuck. You, without a job after graduation, and your roommate, who works all kinds of odd jobs so you can pay rent.

But Haechan never made you feel bad about occupying the matchbox sized room in the apartment. You wonder if you ever thanked him for it.

Most nights go like this. You watch the seconds tick by on the clock above the door, silent in motion as you count along in your head.  Sometimes the minute arm gets stuck at the bottom, and you wonder when you last changed the batteries. Then it skips from 6 to 9, and you forget about needing to buy new ones for another minute, until the vicious cycle comes to a new beginning at 6.

There are times when you get so lost in counting that the inside of your head feels like rush hour on the subway. It gets louder and louder, until the deafening cacophony of your own thoughts makes you jump out of bed in a frail attempt at getting away from the noise. It's only then that you notice your soul fraying at the edges, like the hems of a shirt well loved. You feel almost translucent, as if you're looking at your own reflection in the rippling surface of a pond. 

Stumbling over to the bathroom you grip the cold porcelain of the sink and stare at yourself in the mirror in the dark. You try to recall your own features, how long your hair might be, how tired your eyes look, and how much of a stranger you've been to your own reflection. You rub your face, harsher than you should, and let your feet carry you out to the hallway.

Shoes stand by the front door in a crooked line, and you put on the first pair you identify as your own. You grab a jacket and your keys, walking out into the hallway and locking the door behind you before setting off into the night.

You take the stairs and push the creaking door open to step into the spring night. The air is cold, with sharp teeth and loud howls as it blows past you, and you can't help but stand there. Something akin to déjà vu creeps up in the back of your throat, and you wish you could throw up to get rid of it. The cold air hugs you tight, in a vain attempt to keep you warm, but you feel a shiver climbing up from your toes to the top of your head making your teeth chatter. You finally bring yourself to put on the jacket, realizing in the flickering light of a street lamp that you accidentally grabbed one of Haechan's. It doesn't bother you enough to track up back to the third floor, so you shrug to yourself before taking a step, then another, seemingly aimlessly but with a sure destination in mind.

Most nights go like this. You count the cars and the seconds, keep secrets for strangers, ponder your existence as if you were looking at the sun through a kaleidoscope, and fall into the crack of the couch looking for loose change and a reminder of who you once were. Then you put on shoes and leave the house still in your pajamas, trekking through the empty streets towards your beloved 24/7 diner. It became a habit somehow, to end up there on sleepless nights, with a stack of pancakes and bottomless coffee on the table in front of you. You don't mind the silent walk under a blanket of stars and fluorescent storefronts. The city flickers in your eyes as you wait for the lamp to turn green at the crosswalk, even though you can clearly tell that there's no cars in sight.

The streets are mostly empty, save for a few people hurrying home, and a group of what seems to be college students waddling past you, seemingly lost in their own world. You step over a few cracks in the sidewalk and pull up the zipper of the jacket to your chin, then stuff your hands in the pockets to hide them from the cold air. It smells like Haechan, aftershave and some perfume that's way too strong. But it comforts you in an odd way, reminds you of all the nights you spent out together during your school years, getting drunk and talking until your mouth felt like cotton. You wonder why he kept living with you.

Lost in thought, you almost walk past the diner, but the distinct buzzing of the neon sign above the entrance grabs your attention just in time. You glance up at the blinking letters before stepping towards the front door and pushing it open. The air inside is warm, and smells like a Sunday morning in your childhood kitchen. You let your eyes wander for a second, noting that it's only the usual customers around. It's comforting in a way, the silent agreement between all the late night patrons, a few barely there nods as you make your way to your usual spot. The booth sits tucked away in a corner under a faintly glowing emergency exit sign that’s pointing to the front of the diner. The cracked faux leather squeaks as you take your seat, shimmying out of Haechan’s jacket and folding it in half before placing it next to you. You study the scratches on the table for a second before reaching for the menu, picking up the laminated piece of paper. You skim through it, acting interested as if you couldn’t recite the whole thing from memory.

Someone slides into your peripheral, so you move your gaze from the menu to the floor, noticing an unfamiliar pair of sneakers, followed by a very baggy pair of jeans, then an apron with the name of the diner on it. You snap out of your haze when you realize the person next to you is trying to take your order.

“What can I get for you?” He presumably repeats himself when you finally look up.

He seems out of place somehow, and you realize you haven’t seen a new person working the night shift ever since you started coming here. He stands there silently, a notepad and a pen clutched in his hands. He reaches up to push his hair back and flicks his gaze away as a blush creeps up on his cheeks, so you take it as your cue that you’ve been silent for too long. He awkwardly clears his throat when you look back at the menu instead.

“I’ll get the, uhm…” in that moment it hits you that he has no way of knowing what the usual means. You think for a moment before responding. “Have you eaten here before?”

He’s visibly taken aback by the question, his eyebrows flying to the top of his forehead before he regains his composure.

“The blueberry pancakes are quite good. I mean-” he clears his throat. Again. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

He focuses on his notepad, and holds the pen tight enough that his fingers turn white at the tips. You let the silence go on for a little too long once more.

“Okay.” You place the menu on the table and push it away from you. “I’ll get the pancakes then.” “Syrup?” He scribbles on the paper that he’s still holding onto for dear life as if it’s his ticket out of this conversation. Well, you guess it is.

“Mhm. And some coffee.” He finally looks at you again, only to raise an eyebrow in surprise. You mimic his expression, and he immediately starts writing again. “That’ll be all, thanks.”

He finally lowers his arms and you get a chance to look at his nametag. Mark. With an awkward nod he shuffles away to the kitchen, almost bumping into Haechan who’s emerging from the swing door with a full tray in his hands. He makes his way towards the front, right to a booth filled with college students studying for some exam. He easily unloads all the food and drinks on the table, twirling the tray excessively just to entertain himself. As he turns around to return to the kitchen he spots you in your seat and walks over with a little too much pep in his step for it to be almost 2 am.

He sits down across from you with a heavy sigh, leaning back against the red seat and placing the tray on the table between you. You study his face in the dim light, the bags under his eyes, and how his hair has gotten long enough to hang in his eyes. He closes them for a long second, then slowly blinks them open to look at you. He gently nudges your feet under the table and nods his head at you. “Couldn’t sleep?” You shake your head no. “Did someone take your order already? I can get you the usual if you want.”

“Some guy was here. Mark,” he rolls his eyes and you smile at him. “Had to tell someone what I wanted, it was crazy.”

“Is that my jacket?” You both glance at the seat next to you, and you nod at him in response. “Cute.”

“Shut up. I was too lazy to turn the lights on.”

“Of course you were,” he replies, which prompts you to kick him under the table. Mark arrives at that exact moment. He stands next to you just as awkwardly as the first time, but now he’s holding a steaming plate of pancakes and a lovely, watery cup of coffee in his hands. He hesitates before placing your meal in front of you, then hurries away without saying another word.

“Weird,” Haechan scoffs with a laugh.

You push the plate to the middle of the table, almost knocking off the tray in the process, and hand Haechan your fork. He gives you a weird look, but then shrugs and digs into the pancakes anyway. He hums with his mouth full, then points the utensil at the stack and gives you a thumbs up before taking another bite. You sit there in comfortable silence, and you wonder if this is weird, the way your heart swells as you watch him eat.

-

Most nights go like this. You toss and turn in bed, lost in a sea of blankets, and you suddenly feel like you’re drowning. The walls are closing in on you, and you hear strangers laughing outside your window, and suddenly it’s too much. Everything is. The emptiness in your chest multiplies, and you wonder why the city feels so lonely at night.

You stumble over to the bathroom, and look at yourself in the mirror, but all you can see is specks of toothpaste. You should clean it tomorrow.

The elevator dings in the lobby. You wonder if someone is coming or leaving at this hour; somewhere around 3 am. A bird is singing outside, and the gentle wind carries its voice into the apartment. It’s a weird part of the night, where the world is simultaneously awake and asleep, almost in limbo. 

You find yourself in the kitchen, sitting at the tiny table and staring out the window. You count the stars and the planes flying past, while listening to whatever little song the bird is chirping tirelessly outside. You think about whether it’s the same bird every night, and if it ever gets tired of singing. 

You hear footsteps from behind you and jump in your seat, only to realize that it’s your roommate in the hallway. He stands in the faint light oozing from the bathroom, his hair sticking out in every possible direction.

Haechan isn’t surprised to see you awake in the middle of the night. He’s more than used to your nocturnal existence, you quiet footsteps around the apartment, and getting a text around 4am that you forgot your keys and locked yourself out of the building. He knows it’s silly that he has his notifications turned on just for you. (He couldn’t sleep well when he put his phone on silent.) He watches you sit in the kitchen, blurry at the edges and the orange halo of the streetlamp around your head. You turn in your seat and give him a tired smile that he can’t help but return. It makes his chest feel heavy, a void that’s been steadily growing recently.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You shake your head no.

He stands there, unsure of, well, most things – if not everything. You look distant, almost transparent, and he’s tempted to walk up to you, hold your face in his hands and ask you if you’re okay. You’re friends, sure, you live together, and you’ve shared the same bed more times than not. He’s cleaned you up after long nights of drinking, and washed your hair when you broke your arm and couldn’t get your cast wet. He even signed it with his name and a lopsided smiley face.

“Wanna go to the convenience store?” He asks, and you nod hesitantly.

-

Neither of you bother to change out of your pajamas, knowing fully well that you’re only going a few blocks away. It’s been a while since you last went there together, and the walk feels longer this time. You can’t tell if it’s because of the silence, the cold of the night, or the itch in your palm. You feel like you should say something, maybe apologize for being a weird roommate, or ask him about his day, but your tongue feels numb. You look over at Haechan, who seems lost in thought, his eyes trained on the cracks in the sidewalk and his hands hidden deep in his pockets. His hair sticks out from under the hood of his jacket – the one you accidentally put on when going to the diner –, and his glasses threaten to slip off the tip of his nose, so he pushes them up. You walk in perfect harmony, only one pair of footsteps echoing in the empty street until you arrive at the store. You've been there countless times before, and the quiet hum of the coolers by the entrance puts a fond smile on your face. Haechan walks ahead and grabs two cans of soda – the one you always used to get –, then walks further into the store, right towards the snacks. You go after him, and even though you're only a few steps behind, by the time you catch up to him he's crouching in front of a stuffed shelf, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration.

"What are we looking for?" You ask quietly as you lower yourself next to him.

"That candy we ate a lot…" He trails off, focused on scanning all the items.

"The really sour one?" He hums in response.

The fluorescent lights illuminate the gentle curve of his nose, his glasses once again on the brink of falling off. He doesn’t bother fixing them this time. 

“You can help me find it, you know,” he looks at you from the corners of his eyes, raising his eyebrows, and a smile .

“I am helping,” you scoff and roll your eyes, bumping your shoulders against his.

You catch him off guard, and his eyes widen as he loses his balance and lands right on his butt, but not before trying to hold onto you for support and pulling you to the ground with him. It’s quiet for a second, then you both burst out laughing, and for a second you catch a glint of something in his eyes that wasn’t there before. You sit with your backs against a row of shelves, still quietly giggling under your breath. When you look over at Haechan, his eyes sparkling behind his glasses and his cheeks flushed, it squeezes your soul in a way only nostalgia can. There’s something beautiful about him, about the way he looks at you so gently, yet doesn’t hesitate to pull you to the ground when you push him. Something about the way he picks up your favorite drinks and snacks without a second thought, and about how he lets his shoulder gently rest against yours as you sit on the dirty floor.

He looks back to the rows of snacks in front of you, and turns to kneel with a loud aha. He reaches to the back of the lowest shelf, pulling out a lone bag of sour candy, then jumps to his feet excitedly.

“Guess who saves the day again?” He beams down at you, and reaches a hand to help you up.

“Right,” you take his hand and let him pull you up. “Would you have found it if I didn’t push you? I don’t think so.”

He rolls his eyes at you but doesn’t let go of your hand, so you get in his face in the same annoying way he always does to you.

“You don’t have to thank me, I’m always happy to help,” you say with a playful lilt to your voice, but the proximity makes Haechan gulp loudly.

He steps away, his back bumping against a shelf and knocking a few bags of chips off. He hurriedly picks them up, and nods his head towards the front of the store. You let him walk ahead, and he places the drinks and the candy in front of the cashier. Haechan reaches deep inside one of his pockets and pulls out a handful of coins and drops them on the counter, a few rolling off the edge. He waits patiently for the change, then scoops all the items into his arms.

Stepping out into the night feels different this time. The air feels sticky, coating you in something akin to longing that you won’t be able to wash off for days. It coats your tongue whenever you try to speak, and you wonder what it is about all the stars and the moon staring down at you that makes you feel so lost. The sky glitters in Haechan’s eyes, and you get lost counting the stars in them for a second too long.

-

The walk home feels oddly long, all the words that die on your tongue weighing you down. Haechan waits for you patiently whenever you fall behind, but somehow that ends up making you feel worse. You immerse yourself in all the intricacies of the sidewalk, so much so that you end up running into him in front of your building. You mumble a sorry, to which he only replies with a small nod of his head as he fishes his keys out of his pockets.

The need to break down crying squeezes your throat, and you blink away a few tears while Haechan opens the front door and pushes the call button for the elevator in the dark lobby.

“Too lazy to walk,” he shrugs when you give him a questioning look.

You quickly wipe your eyes with your sleeves before the elevator door dings open. Haechan holds the door open with his hand while you squeeze past him, directing your gaze at the grimy floor once again. His eyes are burning a hole into the side of your head, and he stands next to you motionlessly. You try to reach past him to push the button for your floor, but he stands in your way and blocks the panel with his body..

“Wha-”

“We’re not going anywhere until you tell me what’s wrong,” he says simply, crossing his arms in front of his chest. You roll your eyes at him, and he copies your pose before squinting at you. “Be less obvious next time.”

“Oh my god, you’re so annoying,” you huff at him and try to step out of the elevator, but Haechan closes the doors before you can make your escape. “Dude! What if someone calls the elevator?”

“Their problem, not mine.” You let out a frustrated grunt. “We can be here all night, or you can, you know, tell me what the fuck is wrong?”

He stands there so calmly, his arms still crossed as he leans back against the wall behind him. You feel small under his gaze, and a little stupid, too. You didn’t expect him to not notice, of course, but you didn’t expect him to bring it up either.

“Can we go home?” The question comes out as a whisper. “Please?”

He sighs, but drops his stance and gives in, finally pressing the button to the third floor. You thank him just as quietly, and try your best to disappear inside your jacket.

Haechan holds the door open with his hand while you get out, then opens the front door for you the same way. You both kick off your shoes in the hallway, and you beeline for your room, but can’t help but look back at him. He stands there, looking defeated and exhausted, and it squeezes your heart, a gentle yet firm grasp, a constant reminder of something much bigger. He fishes a can of soda out of his pocket and holds it out for you.

“And what about the candy?” your voice cracks in the middle of the sentence, but you mask it with a quiet laugh.

“Keep forgetting who I’m dealing with,” a tired smile plays on his lips, faint, but enough for now. He walks closer and holds out both items this time.

“It’s only fun if we share it.”

So you end up sitting together on Haechan’s bed, cross legged and hunched over, the bag of sour candy ripped open between you. It’s dark in the room, save for the few squares of orange on the ceiling thanks to the street lamps. His eyes sparkle underneath his glasses even in the dim light.

It’s been a while since you last spent any significant amount of time inside of his room, usually only sticking your head in the door to ask if he needs anything from the store. It’s a lot cleaner than you’d remembered it to be, and that little detail alone makes it feel unfamiliar.

You study the pattern of his bedsheets, trying to ignore how much it smells like his jacket.

“Do you want one that’s not sour?” He asks suddenly, his mouth still full.

“But aren’t these all-” You look up at him, and he’s barely a few inches away, a piece of candy that he’s licked all the sour coating off between his teeth. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you can’t help but laugh as you push him away with a finger on his forehead. “Gross.”

“Your loss,” he shrugs, then pops another piece into his mouth, his face immediately scrunching up from the taste.

Something about the moment feels so fragile, as if you could break it with one wrong move. So you decide to stay still instead, a faint smile on your lips as you watch Haechan struggle with a lemon flavored candy. He cracks open his soda to wash it down, and it almost bubbles over into the sheets, but he slurps the drink up before it could spill.

You study his face, connect the moles on his cheeks with your eyes, watch him dig through the remaining snack. He grins at you as he raises his hand in front of your face, a green piece of candy pinched between his fingers.

“Found another apple one for you,” he wiggles it in front of your lips, then pulls away with a playful smile. “Open wide, here comes the airplane!”

Something about the moment feels so fragile, as if you could break it with one wrong move. Your body aches, itches to lurch forward and kiss him, let him steal all the remaining air from your lungs. Instead, you let him drop the candy in your mouth, grimace when the sourness of it coats your tongue, scrunch your nose and pucker your lips. You catch Haechan glancing at them, and he visibly gulps when he trails his gaze up to your eyes.

For a second you let yourself imagine what would’ve happened if you made a wrong move.

-

It’s one of those nights where the smell of spring is heavy in the air. The sky is an endless void, all the stars hidden behind a wall of clouds. You know it’s going to rain, but you leave without an umbrella regardless, opting for Haechan’s jacket instead. He made a few jokes about hiding his jackets away in his room, but then in true Haechan fashion he started leaving that one specifically on your designated hanger by the front door.

It’s not cold enough for you to wear it, but as you walk into the street you put it on anyway, snuggling into the comfortable scent of the soft material. It almost makes you feel guilty how a fuzzy jacket makes your chest feel so tight and your heart beat a little faster, how you try to make yourself small enough to get lost in the warm fabric.

The walk to the diner feels a little too long, leaving you too much time to overthink everything and anything possible. When you finally make it there you stand outside, the buzzing neon sign above the door peacefully blinking down at you. With a heavy sigh you push the door open, and you’re immediately greeted by Mark, who’s in the middle of taking someone’s order. You give each other a small smile and a barely there nod as you walk past him to your usual spot, the faux leather creaking as you take a seat. Over the past few weeks you’ve gotten to know each other with Mark, making small conversation whenever the place was empty, and you could finally say the usual when ordering. You consider him somewhat of a friend now, even if in a weird, situational way, given that in your mind his existence is inherently tied to the diner.

You shimmy out of the jacket and place it on the seat next to you, then pick up the menu while you wait for someone to take your order. A few drops of rain knock on the window next to you, and you lazily rest your head in your palm as you watch the beads of water race to the bottom of the glass. You wonder if it’s still going to be raining by the time you decide to go home.

You try to focus on your own face in the glass, unfamiliar and even more tired than usual. The sight makes you feel uneasy, so you count the scratches on the table instead, until a familiar pair of sneakers slide into your peripheral, followed by baggy jeans and an apron. You’re about to recite your order to Mark when your eyes widen in surprise as you realize that instead of his notepad and pen he’s holding a steaming plate of blueberry pancakes and a cup of coffee. 

“The usual?” He asks with a warm smile as he places everything on the table.

You return his expression and thank him, but when you reach for your coffee you notice that he’s still standing there.

“Everything cool?” You ask him.

“Oh? Yeah, sorry, I just-” He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Nevermind.”

“Dude, calm down,” you motion at the seat opposite of you for him to sit down. He hesitates before doing so. “What’s up?”

You take a bite of your food and watch him fidget in his seat, the tips of his ears turning pink, then the color slowly creeps into his cheeks.

“Are you and Haechan… You know…” He trails off, his eyes nervously scanning your face..

You raise an eyebrow at him before taking another bite.

“Are you guys, like, dating?” His question makes you choke on a piece of pancake, sending you into a coughing fit. You finally manage to take a sip of the coffee and wash the food down. “Yo, I’m so sorry, I just thought- You just always look at each other like that.”

“Could you be any less specific?” You truly feel at your wit’s end from the conversation.

“Dude, I dunno, just like… Full of love. I don’t know!”

“Did you have to say love like that? Gross.”

He groans in frustration, but then another customer calls for a waiter, and you can see the relief in Mark’s eyes. He flashes you an apologetic smile before hurrying away from your table, leaving you with even more thoughts than you arrived with. Suddenly you hope that Haechan is too busy hanging out with the kitchen staff to come out front.

You sit over your plate of half eaten, now cold pancakes, your mind racing fast enough that you barely feel like a passenger in your own body. You connect the squished blueberries, thinking about the stars in the sky, and the moles on his cheeks. Full of… love. You wish you were full of pancakes instead.

Sighing loudly, you push the plate away from you and lean back in your seat, closing your eyes in hopes of a moment of peace. Rain knocks on the window, louder than before, and you weigh your options – staying, and potentially having to look Haechan in the eyes, or running home in pouring rain.

A loud groan slips past your lips when you open your eyes, and you finally make up your mind, grabbing the jacket next to you and slipping out of the booth to hurry outside. The rain is colder than you expect it to be, quickly soaking your hair and your shirt, along with the jacket clutched under your arm. You close your eyes and tilt your head back, let the drops of water hit your face as you stand there.

The door of the diner creaks open and the sound makes your heart skip a beat as you realize that it could very well be Haechan. You slowly look to the side and let out a shaky breath when you notice that it’s only a customer. He gives you a weird look, but then opens his umbrella and walks past you without a word.

You walk home in the rain, let the water dissolve your thoughts and wash them into the gutters. The third floor seems an eternity away as you slowly climb up the stairs, leaving wet footprints everywhere. Then you stand in front of your apartment, trying to push your keys into the lock with fingers numb from the cold, when the door swings open, and you come face to face with a wide eyed Haechan. He frowns at you, but steps aside silently to let you in, then locks the door while you kick off your sopping wet shoes.

Then it’s quiet. A heavy quiet, where it feels like the whole world is pushing on your chest at once as you stand there, soaked from head to toe, the chatter of your teeth giving away just how cold you are.

“You’re home,” it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

“It’s my day off,” he says matter of factly, followed by a sigh. There’s an unusual, almost sad curve to his voice. His eyes bore into yours, gently, carefully, and Mark’s words echo in your mind. Full of love. “What?” He asks after another beat of silence.

“Don’t look at me like that,” your voice breaks, and you can feel tears well in your eyes.

Haechan’s face softens, and he steps closer to your shivering figure, wrapping his arms around you. A sob rips from your throat, so you hide your face in his chest, warm against your skin. In a way you’re thankful that he doesn’t ask you to explain what that means.

“You’re freezing,” he says softly, rubbing small circles on your back. “Come on.”

He slides his hands over your shoulders and down your arms, intertwining his fingers with yours to pull you along into his room. He rummages through a few drawers before pulling out one his shirts and a pair of sweatpants, then turns back to you to hand you the clothes. You stare at the items in his hands.

“I have my own clothes,” your eyes flick between his hands and face.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes. “And you have your own jacket, too.”

Your cheeks feel significantly warmer at his words, and you meekly take the clothes from him. He leaves to make you a cup of tea, and you make your way to the bathroom to change out of your wet garments. You throw the discarded items in the washing machine to deal with them later, then dry yourself with your towel before putting on Haechan’s clothes. They smell like him, of course they do, and it makes your head spin.

By the time you go back he’s already sitting on his bed, looking out at the murky city through his window. The sky is already getting lighter, despite the unrelenting rain, and you can make out the distant song of a few birds.

Haechan pats the mattress next to him when he notices you standing in the doorway, and you hesitantly make your way over, sitting the same as him with your back against the wall.

You let yourself get lost in the moment, and lean your head on his shoulder, holding your breath without even noticing. He moves his arm to wrap it around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. Your heart hammers away in your chest, and you can only hope that he can't hear it. For a while neither of you speak, sitting in comfortable silence while your body returns to a normal temperature.

"Are you tired?" You reply with a nod, then lift your head to glance at him.

He's looking at you, and only then do you realize the proximity, your faces close enough that you could count his eyelashes if you wanted to. You swallow hard, watch as his gaze trails from your eyes down to your mouth.

"You're looking at me like that again," you whisper into the air between you.

"Like what?" His eyes stay glued to your lips.

"Full of love."

He finally leans in, kissing you softly, gently, impatiently. You turn to face him, and he places his hand on your neck, his thumb resting on your cheek as he pulls you closer and closer, his lips warm against yours, and you gladly let him steal all the remaining air from your lungs.

-

Most nights go like this. You lie in bed next to Haechan, the orange glow of a nearby street lamp illuminating his gentle features. You count the stars in his eyes, and connect the moles on his cheeks, tracing them with your fingertips, then rest your hand against his warm skin. He smiles at you before turning his head to place a kiss in your palm, then looks back at you, exactly like that – always full of love.

Revival

Jung Jaehyun X Reader feat. Haechan | Fluff, Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Soulmate AU | NC-17 | 15k

Summary: When fate brought Jung Jaehyun to you, it didn’t feel like your first time meeting him. And with him, smiling at you like his heart shattering to pieces, eyes painted with longing, you knew you were connected to him somehow. You just have to find the answers before it’s too late.

Warnings: sex scenes (both with Jaehyun and Haechan), mentions of death and suicide 

For my lovely cinnamon bun Esme @rainydayswithnct​ I couldn’t think of anything else to give you but this. You’ve been nothing but kind to me, I hope this will make you happy ❤️

His eyes… They remind you of the ocean after the storm. 

It’s not the color as his are dark brown, like the freshly turned earth after rain. It’s the feeling, the way they glimmer under the soft evening light, calm and steady, but in a way, emits sadness, yearning for something. As if he had been crushed, trapped inside a hurricane for so long, he was about to fade into the void. And as he peered into your eyes, full of depths and secrets you long to unveil, something tugs upon your heartstring. 

It’s not love at a first sight. You’ve experienced that before with Lee Donghyuck, the lover whom you share frantic kisses and desperate touches with. But it’s something more intense, something you can’t even begin to fathom, something you wish you understand.

The second your eyes are locked to each other, it’s like you’re electrocuted, starting from the tip of your hair down to your toes.

“Oh, sorry,” you say, your voice sounds like you haven’t spoken in years. A tiny red spot begins to form on his chin from where it made contact with your head earlier. “I was looking for a book so I wasn’t—I didn’t see you there.”

The man, young enough to be around your age with a gaze wiser than most, has an expression of a heartbroken man. There’s pain that fleets through his eyes, a feeling that he quickly hides with a smile too bright to be genuinely coming from the heart. When he speaks, his voice is both rich and soft, deep and tender. “No, it was my fault.” He shakes his head. “Please don’t apologize.”

You want to reach out to him, want to know why he looks like he’s seconds away from breaking apart, want to ask him whether you’ve said too much or too less. But he’s nothing but a stranger and you don’t want to step out of the line. “Were you looking for a book?”

“Yes, umm…” He points his finger towards a book hidden in the shelf behind you. “That one.”

You follow his direction, smiling when you read the title written on its spine. “No wonder we bumped heads. I was aiming for the same book.”

Afficher davantage

pairings. haechan x reader (f)

genre. fluff !!!

notes. i was doing a word search and had an idea hehe enjoy

—

you came up behind haechan who was slouching, sitting at your small table in your kitchen. your word search book in front of him as his chin rests on his palm. placing your hands on his shoulders you straighten his posture. “stop slouching,” you softly tell him, leaning down to rest your chin on his shoulder.

“yes ma’am,” he responds.

“i forgot i left my word search book here.” you say, as haechan crosses out a word diagonally with your pastel blue highlighter.

he hums, “i got bored after breakfast and opened it.” leaning into your touch as you massage his shoulders and neck.

you stay doing that for a few minutes, kneading your thumbs against his tense muscles. you spot a glass of iced coffee, obviously it being his.

“baby help me, i can’t find this word.” he lets out a sigh in frustration. you pick up his glass to take a sip, moaning at the taste of the caffeine.

you peek your head over his shoulder. the word search he’s working on being about sports and games. “triple jump?” you read out loud, eyes carefully scanning the huge jumble of letters.

“can’t find it right?” haechan exclaims, extending his hand out to gesture towards the cursed book.

no you really couldn’t. you furrow your eyebrows, taking a chair from under the table to sit next to haechan.

“hold on sometimes i hold the book away from me, sometimes it works to see the words.” you say, seriously picking up the book and holding it out in front of you both.

haechan twists his neck to look at you. your lips involuntarily pouting and your eyes slightly squinting. oh, you are just the cutest thing.

“why are you staring at me? stare at the word search.” you shyly tell him, your cheeks hearing up because you caught him staring at you.

he glances at you, kissing your cheek before he snatches the book out your hands. he picks up the marker and draws a line through the word you ‘couldn’t’ find. but he knew where it was all along.

scoffing, “are you serious?” your mouth slightly open.

“you’re cute when you’re concentrating.”