Jung Wooyoung X Reader: XOXO

Jung Wooyoung x Reader: XOXO 💋💕

This inspired me to write it.

W/c: 300 (-ish)

Genre: fluff

Rating: for all

A/n: Happy Birthday to my boyfie. He's seriously been a blush of fresh air in my rotten life. Stay happy and healthy my love.

I love it, because I love you, ooh.

Dating Wooyoung, some (Seonghwa) would say that it's a difficult feat. But it comes so simple to you. A smile spread through your face as he pressed a chaste kiss on your cheek as he passed from beside you.

That's what dating Woo is like, random hugs and kisses. Like Random.

He'd run up to you with a hug, a tight one and kiss your cheek, sometimes he stays for you to reciprocate, maybe plaster a kiss on his cheek or enough time to press your lips to his, sometimes he runs away before you could even react.

Lying down watching a movie on his lap as he plays with your hair and presses kisses at random moments. He'd have a shit eating grin when you'd suddenly move your head to look at him and he'd press a kiss to your lips, making a very irritated Jongho say “uh disgusting” and Hongjoong cringes, as the rest laugh.

“Baby Jongho wouldn't let me kiss him” He'd complain to you, “why don't you kiss Y/n instead?” Jingho retorted. You opened your arms inviting him as he ran to hug you and press a 10 hour kiss on your cheek.

Random kisses to your shoulder, hands, head when he hasn't seen you for a long (2 hours) time. You can expect mirror selfies, tons of them, hugging, kissing, cuddling, he might just have a huge mirror installed just for selfies. The pictures would be clicked but the kisses wont end. He's glad he found someone who adores and enjoys his kisses.

It would be the same during your intimate moments because he loves to kiss and bite every part of you and you'd have to wear a scarf to avoid teasing from the other members. He'd litter your neck with hickies.

Sometimes funny moments become more funny when he starts laughing, somehow you find it so endearing. Especially when he throws himself on you while laughing and you are almost out of breath for laughing so hard.

Him cooking for you on his off days and you helping him to avoid him wrecking the kitchen. Trying new recipes with him, sometimes creating your own cause he feels like it.

And that's how loving Wooyoung is, it comes easy to you.

So lovely day, so lovely, Errday with you so lovely.

----------------------------------------------------

Other Work

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Thanks for the tag Ida @leewonkyeom . It was so informative to do.

I tag: @horangboosadan @back2bluesidex @ravenjoongie @angleapple @yoonsangel08 and everyone who wants to do it.

take this quiz and post ur results!

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@enderdragon-1030 @soda-shark @marsisrealscared @lucinda-008 @orpheusdorph @niallermybabe @waitingforthesunrise @randomescapingwords @legendofthe3divas @a-portal-to-nowhere @shortgaything @underappreciatedtomato @dicklessswonder

This was literally so good. Aaahhhh 😭

Pansy

Genres: fluff, angst, childhood friends au, neighbors au, brother’s best friend au Pairing: Reader & Dino (Seventeen) Words: 7.4k (00:30) Warnings: language, annoying older brother things. it's not mentioned, but reader and their brother are adoptive siblings Note: this is the svt version of a tbz Q fic I wrote almost 3 years ago, so just know my writing's changed a bit since

Over the years, you learned that being a Pansy wasn’t so bad.

Six

The swing set in your backyard, coupled with a bright yellow slide about twice your height, had to be your favourite place in the world. Your aunt — or maybe your uncle, you couldn’t remember — gave it to you and your older brother once her children had grown too big for it. The blue swing was yours, and the green swing was your brother’s, as it was bigger (according to him) and therefore he deserved it. Though, you were happy with having the blue swing, as it was something undeniably yours.

Which was why, coming home from the last day of kindergarten to your favourite place in the world, you were less than ecstatic to find some boy sitting in your swing.

Logan seemed to be doing his classic "swinging higher than mum or dad liked" move on his green swing. He was only eight, but he already liked going above and beyond. While he swung back and forth, your eyes studied the stranger in your spot.

He sat still in the swing, his feet planted firmly on the dirt underneath. The grass from before had been uprooted long ago from weeks of being kicked and stomped. His eyes were on yours as well, only fitting of a child seeing someone new for the first time.

"Who's this?" Normally you were quite good at meeting people; your parents complimented you on it much more than Logan, which you took almost too much pride in. But on that day, a stranger was sitting in the only place you knew was your own, and you were not happy about it.

"Chan," Logan answered, his voice warping as he swung high above you. "He's from the new family across the road."

The house across the road had been empty for a while, but a few weeks ago, two moving vans filled the street and loud noises interrupted your tea party. You knew they had a kid, you just weren't expecting Logan to befriend him so quickly, especially since he only had two friends at school. Maybe your mom made him go over with her and dad to greet the new family with over-baked chocolate chip cookies, just as they did with every new neighbor.

"He's on my swing," was all you said, as you weren't ready to confront the new boy — Chan, just yet. It may have been your swing, but Chan could've been like the boys at school, and confronting them was never a good idea.

"That's not your swing, that's my swing."

"No, your swing is the green one and mine is the blue one! Why do you get two swings anyway?!" You stomped your little feet beneath you in protest, hands on your hips and cheeks puffed out.

"'Cause I'm older, pansy."

Logan had been calling you pansy ever since he learned the word because your parents would always chide him for calling you "stupid" or "idiot". You thought pansy was a lot worse, though. You were no pansy.

"You're only two years older dummy!" You stomped off into the house, ready to tattle to the first parent you saw.

"Hey!" Logan yelled after you. "Dummy is a banned word, pansy!"

•

For the first week of Logan and Chan's friendship, Chan thought your name was Pansy.

The first time he called you that, you were beyond shocked. Who was he, the new kid, to call you a pansy? You ignored him, turning up your nose and walking away. As if you were going to interact with some swing-stealer.

He only learned your real name when your mom had called you all in for dinner. You were sitting at the top of the slide, waiting patiently for a turn on your swing. (Which you never got all week.) She yelled both you and your brother’s names out through the screened windows from the kitchen, beckoning you inside for chicken curry and rice. "You're welcome to join us, Chan, but make sure you ask your folks first."

Chan looked to Logan, who had jumped off his swing and landed mightily on the grass. "Who's that?"

"Whaddya mean?"

"The other name she yelled," Chan clarified. "And she didn't say Pansy's name, either."

It took Logan much less time than you to figure out what he meant, so you stayed quiet when Logan burst out laughing.

"That's not their name! It's what you call somebody who's a..." Logan paused as he put an arm over Chan's shoulders and led him into the house, snapping his fingers when he finally found the word. "...a coward!"

Chan didn't stay for dinner. And Logan somehow got curry all over his shirt.

Seven

Chan turned out to be the same age as you, which you only figured out once he transferred into your first-grade class. Apparently, the private school he was going to before didn't fit his parents' standards. Though, you never understood why your regular public school was any better, other than maybe the fact that it was only a two-minute walk from your houses.

Even though he was your age, he joined in on calling you a pansy.

Since Logan had started using the word as punctuation more than an actual insult, you'd begun to desensitize, yet Chan saying it gave the word more sting. You never did anything to him, so you wondered why he would ever call you that. Your parents always said that Logan used the word because he was your brother, so what was Chan's excuse?

He started coming over every afternoon, once school let out for the day, so you'd been relegated to using your swing at nighttime, when the stars twinkled and the bugs serenaded each other. It was peaceful, nice even, but cold and lonely.

"Chan here says you two are neighbors," Miss Ossen said in her sing-song elementary teacher voice "Why don't you show him around the playground, hm? Ask him what he likes to do."

It was Chan's second day at your school. On his first day, Logan's third-grade class had gone on a field trip to some botanical garden, so he had no one to play with during recess, but you knew that today he'd surely find Logan and cling onto him like a leech. He didn't need your help.

"He likes swings, Miss O," you said with a huff. "Blue swings."

You got in trouble for being rude to a classmate.

Ten

The first time you thought you might be a pansy was fourth grade, when you found out you were afraid of heights.

The whole class was playing grounders with a few of the sixth graders, a game where one person had their eyes shut and everyone else had to avoid them. At. All. Costs. (According to the sixth graders.) Chan was 'it' and had you trapped in a corner along with another classmate, but they ran and took the only hiding spot. Your only choice — other than being tagged — was climbing the playground equipment and hanging off the edge. You'd never done it before, but you'd seen Logan and Chan do it plenty of times. If they could do it, surely you could too, you thought. But when you climbed over the railing, you realized how far up you really were. The sand blurred beneath you, and you screamed, making Chan open his eyes in shock.

"What's wrong?"

You didn't answer, just screwed your eyes shut as sobs began to rack from your chest. Your grip on the playground equipment tightened more, if possible, as you tucked your head in. The world blurred around you as you drowned it out, focusing only on your grip and the blooming colors behind your eyelids.

You don't remember exactly what happened, but you have a faint memory of Logan and Chan pulling you over the railing.

"Why'd you go up there, stupid?!" Logan chastised.

You didn't have enough air in your lungs to complain about his use of a banned word, so you only crouched down and cried as they watched.

"Don't cry," Logan mumbled, stuffing his hands in his hoodie pockets. He wouldn't look at you, instead, his eyes skirted everywhere else. "You're such a pansy."

Through squinted, blurry eyes, you looked up at your brother and Chan, who was standing awkwardly in front of you. His fingers kept twitching as his arms laid limp at his sides, but he made no move to comfort you. All you could do was cry until the bell rang a minute later.

That afternoon, once you all walked home, Chan told Logan he wanted to play games inside, so you went to the backyard and sat on your swing. Maybe you were a pansy after all.

Eleven

After Logan moved on to middle school, Chan was left behind without his older friends, but he seemed to have no trouble becoming friendly with the boys in your class. Though, he was always closest with Logan. School ended earlier for him than you and Chan, so you'd find him already in the backyard every day after you'd walked home.

You sat at the top of the yellow slide as Logan and Chan swung back and forth, braiding too-big flower crowns out of the backyard's abundance of dandelions. The first one was much too big for your head, so you made it a necklace instead.

It'd become a sort of daily tradition. The boys on the swings and you atop the wooden platform the slide came off of. Your time on your swing came when Chan would leave for the night, and you were fine with that. He was Logan's friend, and yours too, you supposed, so there was no point in arguing over it. Besides, he let you take it if you really wanted — despite Logan's adamant attitude about older-brother-ness and superiority or whatever.

"What are the older kids like?" Chan asked, his feet uprooting the grass as he abruptly stopped swinging.

Logan kept swinging, unbothered. "Tall. But mum said I'll be that tall when I grow up, too."

You often wondered why Logan chose to be best friends with Chan rather than other boys his age, as well as the other way around, but over the years, you realized they were, in a way, meant for each other. Logan was loud and overbearing, and while Chan wasn’t necessarily shy, he would often keep quiet if he thought it’d help others, even if it hurt him. When they were together,though, Logan became a good listener (to Chan, at least) and Chan plucked up courage from seemingly nowhere. Each brought out the good in the other. Maybe not the best, as Logan still wouldn't listen to you — or anyone else for that matter — and Chan wouldn’t dare to stand up for himself if Logan wasn't around, but still, good.

Chan asked a lot about junior high, even though Logan had only been there for less than a year. At the dinner table, Logan would always tell your parents that it was no different from elementary — that he was handling it perfectly, especially science, but he talked about it completely differently with Chan. Like it was a whole new adventure, but still, nothing to be scared of.

"How tall?"

"Taller than me, so way taller than you," Logan said casually as he kept swinging. He was almost too big for the swing, you thought. Maybe it was the feeling that came with the swingset that kept him going, not the comfort of the swing itself.

"Logan," you cut into their conversation, holding up a completed flower crown — the first one actually crown-sized.

Your brother scrunched his nose, eyes thinning, and you dropped your hands to your lap. "Ew, I don't want that. It'll make me look like a pansy."

The pout on your lips was much too evident for your liking.

"Give it to Chan," Logan compromised. "He likes flowers."

You held up the flower crown in front of you again, asking Chan with your eyes if he wanted it. He seemed almost panicked when he sent some sort of look to Logan, but eventually, he gave you a slow, hesitant nod. At that, you went down the yellow slide (which was much more exhilarating when you were three feet tall) and walked over to where he sat on your swing.

He looked up at you as you approached, and you swore you could see the whole sky reflected on his eyes, clouds and all. The yellow dandelions looked great against his soft hair; you were almost jealous. Once you'd placed it on his head, you'd planned to go back to where you were, but for some reason, you stayed standing in front of Chan. Entranced.

"See?" Logan pulled you back to your senses. "It looks good on him. You wouldn't like it on me."

You didn't see that Chan was still staring.

Thirteen

Logan stopped swinging. Now, in the afternoon, after all of you walked home together, he and Chan would take over the living room and play video games. Or sometimes, they'd take various balls from the garage and bring them to the park. Either way, you finally had your swing back during daylight. Though it wasn't as fun without Logan or Chan around, you still swung as high as possible, getting closer and closer to the sun's kisses.

You weren't in the same homeroom as Chan, so you only shared one class together that year — math. There were things he understood that you didn't, and things you understood that he didn't. You helped each other out, but that was the extent of your relationship on school grounds. Your friends always asked why Chan called you "Pansy" when you passed each other in the halls, but you never had a real answer. He just did.

He meant no malice behind it. That's just what he called you.

Even Logan had stopped calling you a pansy, but to Chan, you guessed it just stuck. Not a pansy, but Pansy. You never asked him why he still called you that; for some reason, you just didn't feel the need to.

On a particularly sunny Wednesday, Logan stayed home sick, all whiny and annoying even though it was just a cold. You and Chan walked home together, just the two of you, for the first time since last year. The walk was silent, but not uncomfortable.

As soon as you reached the house, Chan immediately went up to Logan's room, but he was kicked out by your mother.

"I can't have two sick young boys in my house," she said. "The whole neighborhood will get infected."

He joined you outside in the backyard with a simple explanation. "My parents aren't home yet and I don't have a key."

Neither of you used the swings the way they were supposed to be used that day; just sat and conversed; caught up with each other. Somehow, even though you saw him every day, you'd never talked to him like this before. You barely even know what you talked about, but you spent hours that day just… with him and nothing but him.

His parents were home long before he returned.

Fifteen

"Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

You looked at the people around you, all of them sitting in a circle on some classmate's living room floor. The half-empty bottle of soda that you'd just spun pointed straight at Chan.

"...I thought this was truth or dare," you said, confusion clear in your voice.

Everyone, except Chan of course, looked at you as if you were crazy (you did just spin a bottle, after all) then went back to chanting, "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

"Fine!" You only raised your voice to shut everyone up — if that classmate's parents heard, you'd be embarrassed past mars — but maybe you sounded a bit angry. Getting on your hands and knees to cross the circle, you grasped Chan's chin and turned his head to the side, planting a quick, almost nonexistent kiss on his cheek. That might have been the fastest you'd ever done something. If there were races like that at the Olympics, you'd win every event.

On a late Friday night in a house you don't remember the owner of, you gave your first kiss. (On the cheek.)

On a late Friday night in a house he'll never forget, Chan received his first kiss. (On the cheek.)

Sixteen

You didn't know why, but Logan and Chan were incommunicado.

When you asked your mother about it, she simply said she'd heard them arguing while you were out, but she couldn't figure out exactly what they were saying. Apparently, Logan had pushed Chan all the way out of the house and slammed the door in his face.

Logan wouldn't answer you, not clearly anyway, when you asked after a whole week of radio silence.

"You're not allowed to worry about it," he told you. "And you're not allowed to talk to Chan either. You're on my side this time — you know, blood before hoes or something."

"That's not even close."

•

You totally went against what Logan said (but when did you ever listen to him anyway?) and knocked on Chan's bedroom door that night.

Judging by his facial expression, he wasn't expecting you at all, though you supposed showing up like that was quite out of the blue.

"Oh, Pansy… um, come in." He opened the door and gestured behind him into the room, but when he did, his eyes widened and he immediately slammed it shut. From behind the door, he raised his voice, "Give me a minute! Maybe five!"

Four minutes later, he invited you in for real.

You sat down in the chair he had for his desk, pulling your legs up to sit in a way the chair was clearly not made for. "So… what's up with you and Logan?"

You never saw the point in pussyfooting around what you wanted to talk about.

Chan stood by the door after closing it, seemingly feeling too awkward to sit with you. Maybe it was because of the topic or maybe it was because this would be your first time in his room, either way, his awkward tension was almost making you feel uncomfortable yourself.

"...You noticed?"

"How could I not notice? You haven't come over in a week, and that hasn't happened since you caught the flu in sixth grade."

"Right…"

The last time Chan looked this awkward around you was within the first few months of meeting, so you had no idea what was making him so tense now — ten years later.

"Sit down," you said, pointing at his gray sheets. "This isn't an interrogation, chill out."

Once he sat — though still stiff — you asked again, “Alright, give it up, what’s the deal? Logan won’t tell me anything.”

“I thought you said this wasn’t an interrogation,” Chan whined.

“It’s not. It’s not, I swear.” You shifted in the chair, not sure how to position yourself comfortably in the new environment. “I just want to know why you two fought, or, I guess, why you’re still fighting. Logan’s really sad about it, trust me. I offered him a peanut butter cup yesterday, and he refused! Can you believe that?!”

“Really?”

“Really!” Logan loved peanut butter cups more than he loved physics, and that said a lot for a nerd like him. “And! A few days ago he got accepted into his first-choice university — the one downtown, but when mum and dad suggested we go out with your family to celebrate, he shut himself in his room!”

Chan seemed to relax and tense up at the same time if that were possible. It was almost as if he was glad Logan wasn’t taking any of his anger out on anyone, but also feeling guilty for fighting in the first place. 

"What did he do? Did his friends make fun of your dancing again? Because I swear to god—"

"No!" he interrupted, then cleared his throat. "No, he didn't do anything wrong. It was my fault."

You clicked your tongue. Chan was never at fault; it was always Logan and his big mouth.

"Oh come on, Chan. I've literally never seen you be the stupid one when you guys fight. You don't have to protect Logan all the time."

He wasn't looking at you, but his hands instead. They fiddled with each other in his lap, picking at his nails or rubbing his knuckles. "It really is my fault…"

"Oh." The air in his room was suddenly stale. "What happened?"

There was a silence, one that made you want to curl up into yourself and disappear. It felt as if you were intruding on something you shouldn't have. And even then, you still had no idea what was going on.

After a moment, Chan didn't answer your question but asked one instead. "You really love Logan, don't you?"

You were caught off guard by his words. It wasn't, "do you love your brother," but, "I know you love your brother, will you admit it?"

And the truth was, you didn't know how you really felt about Logan. He was annoying, egotistical, obnoxious, but he was also ambitious, self-confident, not afraid to say what he's thinking. Sometimes you were jealous of him, of people like him, because there were times you too wanted to yell at the top of your lungs or pursue your dreams without caring what other people think. He may have been overbearing, but he brought out the voices in others.

"Nah," you finally answered. "There's no way I'd love that idiot."

Chan breathed a heavy sigh. He knew you were lying. "That's the problem."

"What's the problem?"

"Nothing, nothing." He stood from the bed and walked over to the door, opening it. "You should go. Logan and I will figure this out."

•

They figured things out. You weren't a part of it, but they did.

After that, Chan didn't talk to you.

He stopped helping you with math or saying hi when you passed each other in the halls. He stopped greeting you when he and Logan were in the living room and you'd walk through to the kitchen for a snack. He stopped that small smile he always made when you met his eyes, and instead kept looking away as fast as he could.

You wanted to ask, to complain, but you never found the right timing. Chan wouldn't even look in your general direction, and Logan would avoid the topic like the plague.

Months passed, and you still couldn't figure it out. What did you ever do so wrong?

Both swings were much too small for you now, but that didn't deter you. The cool night air sent pinpricks to your cheeks. It felt like a slap to the face, the way it stung, though you didn't mind. You sat in the blue swing, pushing your feet against the dirt and going back and forth only a foot or two, thinking about what had brought you here. A dandelion flower crown sat atop your head, and another hung around your wrist.

Voices came from inside the house when the back door opened, and Logan walked out, Chan in tow. They made it halfway to the garage — both of them skillfully avoiding eye contact with you — before Logan patted both of his back pockets and cursed.

"I left my keys somewhere. Wait here."

He ran back into the house, leaving Chan to stand alone in the middle of your backyard. You watched as he stared at his shoes, stuffed his hands in his hoodie pockets, kicked around stray leaves. He wouldn't look at you.

"Chan."

He tensed but didn't look up.

"Chan."

He sighed and turned to face you. His actions told you he was angry, but his face said differently. He looked scared. Afraid. But of what?

"Come here."

His steps were slow and careful, but he eventually made his way in front of you, about a foot away. You gestured for him to lean down, and he did, before placing your second flower crown on his head. His eyes widened as he straightened back up, his hands going up to inspect what you'd done. He ran his fingers delicately over the dandelions.

You smiled. A tired, but happy smile. "Yeah… these always looked better on you, didn't they?"

"I—"

"Did I do something?" Tears pricked at the back of your eyes, but you held them back. "I can't help but think I did something, but for the life of me, I can't figure out what."

He took half a step closer. "No, no don't say that. You didn't do anything."

"Then what happened?"

"I…" His explanation faded away as he came even closer, both hands on the chains of your swing. Your faces were so close that you could see the imperfections in his skin; the acne from growing up, the spots from his days in the sun. His eyes glistened, though you didn't know why. Shouldn't you be the one crying?

You thought he might continue, but he only gulped. He adjusted his grip on the chains, eyes moving from yours to your lips and back again. For a second — just a second — you thought he might kiss you.

Stupid.

He stepped away too quickly for you to comprehend and took off the flower crown, putting it on your head so you wore two. Logan stepped out and found Chan already on his way to the garage, with you staring at him open-mouthed.

The tears that you'd worked hard to keep away finally spilled over your cheeks. You didn't stop them.

As Logan pulled out of the garage, Chan caught one last glance at you sitting on your blue swing, two flower crowns on your lowered head.

He never meant to make you cry.

Seventeen

"You're in group six, so go wait by the…" Your Leadership Strategies teacher squinted at her clipboard. "By the volleyball nets."

Your school was hosting some sort of event for children around eight to ten, with random games and snacks in and outside the school's gymnasium. It was a huge thing that happened every year, but this was the first time you'd volunteered — well, it was for a class, so maybe not "volunteered" per se.

The volleyball nets were in the corner of the gym, tucked away for the offseason. You could already see a group of kids waiting around there with another student volunteer.

Chan.

You sucked in a breath, pausing in the middle of the gym. He and you hadn't said anything to each other since that night almost a year ago. But that shouldn't have made you so hesitant. You were a strong person, you liked to think, so this really shouldn't have affected you as much as it did — and for so long. Chan must have been past it by now, and there was no way you'd lose to him like that.

Raising your chin, you walked to the group.

If Chan was surprised about being partnered with you, he didn't show it. He gathered all the kids in a circle and sat down with them without so much as batting you an eye. His eyes shone as he talked to the children, and his bright smile never left his lips.

Okay. So you might lose to him like that.

You cleared your throat and looked at the instructions your teacher had given you. Introductions first.

"Okay, kids! Let's go around the circle and introduce ourselves," you said cheerfully. "Just tell everyone your name and…" you glanced at the instructions, "your favorite flower."

As an example, you told them your name and thought for a second. A certain soft-haired boy wearing a certain yellow flower on his head popped into your head. "...Dandelions. My favorite flowers are dandelions."

They went around saying their names and their favorite flowers like daisies or roses or sunflowers, when finally, halfway through, Chan was next.

"I'm Chan," he said, still smiling at the kids. "And my favorite flower? Hmmm…"

From across the circle, he met your eyes.

"Pansies. I've always loved pansies."

•

"Logan?"

"Hm?"

You looked at yourself in the mirror, the one on the closet by your front door, wondering if what you wore was good enough for the get-together you were going to tonight.

"If I ever had a boyfriend and they broke up with me, would you beat them up?"

Logan looked up from the book he was reading, an eyebrow quirked. "Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No. I'm saying: if I did, would you?"

He closed the book and took off his reading glasses. "Dude, I'm five-seven and a hundred twenty pounds — I'm not beating anyone up anytime soon."

"Pfft, nerd."

"Besides," he said, standing up and walking to the fridge. "You're not gonna get a boyfriend while I'm around."

Your bottom lip jutted out. Rude. "Why not?"

With a glass of juice in his hand, he walked up to you on the way to his room and looked you up and down. "Uh, because you're ugly? The fuck kinda question…?"

•

The get together wasn't the most amazing party you'd ever been to, but it was nice seeing everyone and hanging out without the premise of a study session.

When you got home, the clock in your room read 10:38, though since it was about an hour slow, you knew it was really almost midnight. No one else was home; your parents had gone out for the weekend for their anniversary (gag) and your brother left earlier to stay with one of his university friends — he said it was to study for an upcoming engineering exam, but you didn't really believe him.

You changed out of your clothes and into pajamas, brushed your teeth, and you were about to get in bed when the doorbell rang.

In the back of your brain, the thought that, hey, there's literally no salesperson that would go door to door at midnight, crossed your mind, but maybe you were a bit too tired to also think, this could definitely be a serial killer. So you swung the door open.

"The sign says no soliciting—"

Chan stood on your doormat, head down and hands in his jeans pockets. He looked up when you opened the door, and you immediately noticed the red around his eyes, the tears brimming just behind his eyelids.

"Oh my god," you breathed, taking in the sight of him. "Oh my god, Chan, what happened? I mean, come in, come in."

You backed away from the door, giving him room to walk in, but he didn't move.

"Is…" he choked out, "is Logan home?"

"He's at a friend's place."

A stagnant silence filled the air between you.

You'd seen Chan cry plenty of times, sure, but all those times were from years ago; over spilled milk. One of his toy cars had lost a wheel. Or he dropped his multiplication table homework in a puddle. But this? You'd never had to deal with this before.

"I'll just… I'll just go," Chan said, turning, but you took one step outside in your bare feet and gently wrapped a hand around his arm.

"No, come in. I'll make you some tea."

Chan sat on the couch as you walked to the kitchen and filled the kettle with water. As you waited for it to boil, you pulled out your phone to text Logan.

Chan's here and he's not looking too good. Come home ASAP

You didn't bother to wait for a response.

"Here." You set his mug on the coffee table in front of him and joined him on the couch, keeping a safe distance. After such a long time of only being the 'best friend's little sibling', you weren't sure what boundaries were set between the two of you.

The air felt stiff and cold as you sat there without anything to say. Only the sounds of the house creaking and Chan's occasional sniffles could be heard for several minutes, but you still kept your mouth shut. Chan didn't want your help, he wanted Logan's.

Eventually, though, he spoke.

"Can I tell you something?"

You nearly choked on your tea, but you caught yourself and placed your mug on the coffee table. "Of course."

He kept his eyes on his hands, which were clasped in front of him on his lap, though it didn't take away from his sincerity. 

"You never laughed when I said I wanted to be a dancer. Everyone else… they don't believe me the first time I tell them, and then when I say I'm serious, they laugh. I know they try to hide it, but it doesn't work. Nobody's ever believed that I'll make it. Or that it's a good idea. Everyone says it unrealistic— that I should go into business, or science. Or just get a desk job. You never did that though. Thanks."

When he finally looked at you, his close-lipped smile was wide, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Oh Chan," you whined, finally breaking. You may not have spoken to each other for almost a year, but you still cared about him. Seeing him in pain still broke your heart.

Despite the boundaries you'd made up, you moved closer and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, gently putting one hand on the back of his head and pulling him into a hug. He stiffened but relaxed within a moment, letting his forehead fall to the juncture between your shoulder and your neck. 

"What happened?"

With a heavy sigh, he shivered in your arms. "Nothing happened. I just realized how stupid my dream was."

Was. Not is.

"Chan…" you started, holding back tears. This was when you needed to be strong. "Your dream isn't stupid. It never was."

You could feel his shaky breath on your skin. Two hands slowly snaked their way around your waist, pulling you closer. If this was any other situation, your heart may have fluttered, but this wasn't about warm touches, or skin contact, or crushes. This was about a person who needed you and what you were willing to give. Chan was sinking, and you didn't know if you were strong enough to bring him back up again.

"Most— most people give up on their dreams, Chan. They give up earlier in their lives and they're just… jealous— envious. They want to follow their 'stupid' and 'unrealistic' dreams just as much as you do, but they've already given up, and they're upset that you haven't given up too." You ran your thumbs back and forth on his scalp and his back, hopefully in a comforting way. "I want you to follow your dreams, Chan— to achieve them. You're stronger than the rest of us. Show us how it's done. Give us hope that dreams aren't dead… because I know you can. And you will."

He pulled away.

Your shoulder felt cold with his tears left behind, and you feared you said something wrong. Did you offend him in some way? Were you being insensitive? Was— 

"Thanks," he said, laughing lightly as he leaned back into the couch, hands returning to clasp each other in his lap. "I… really needed to hear that."

"Oh…" Relief flowed through you like a stream, slow but sure, as you sank back to sitting regularly, this time much closer to his side than before.

He wiped the remaining tears from his eyes, then turned to you, his face much closer than it had been in a while. "There's just one thing, though."

You furrowed your brows and pursed your lips, trying to figure out what else he was upset about, but you came up with nothing. He didn't seem that distraught over it. 

"A dream," he answered your silent question. "But I had to give up on it a couple years ago."

"What…" you stumbled over your own words when he moved his entire body to face you, and you unconsciously did the same, "...what dream?"

His hand reached up to your cheek, grazing your skin with the touch of a butterfly's wing; there, but so light, you'd think it was a dream if you weren't watching it with your own eyes. You saw his eyes flicking back and forth all over your face — at your eyes, your cheeks, your lips.

You wanted to ask him again — what his dream was — but he leaned in.

And maybe you leaned in too.

The kiss was slow, shaky, unsure, as if the slightest misstep could destroy you both. You supposed it might, with the minefield that had been your relationship until now, but the feeling of his lips against yours, of his fingers landing on the skin behind your ears, of his thumb grazing your cheek, they all pulled you into a whirlpool you had no intention of escaping.

You kissed him back slowly — with everything that you'd missed saying over the past decade, but after a moment, he retreated.

Your lips followed him unconsciously, but when they couldn't find his, you opened your eyes. He sat there, looking at you with tears about to spill.

"I'm sorry," he nearly sobbed, bringing his hands up to wipe the oncoming tears. "I'm sorry, I just… I've wanted to… for so long… I—"

You slipped your hands under his to cup his cheeks and raised his head so you could look him in the eyes. Tears of your own started to fall, but that wasn't your main priority at the moment. You smiled. It was easy, yet so difficult at the same time, but you smiled.

"Me too, Chan. Me too."

He broke, his face crumpling before he tackled you. Your back hit the couch cushions and you laughed at his desperation. He looked as if you'd shattered and blown away, but you were there.

You were there.

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, arms around your waist and chest laying on yours. When he raised his head, his tears had ceased again, and despite the red of his eyes, the puffiness, the streaks down his face from crying, he looked happy. Elated. In…

In love. Maybe.

You wondered if your eyes reflected his, shiny and bright.

"Pansy?" Chan whispered, his lips almost touching yours as it was.

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to kiss you."

"Okay."

It was messy, full of tears, past midnight, and on your living room couch when you shared your first kiss with the boy you loved, but you wouldn't have it any other way. Well, except for how it ended.

Logan slammed the front door shut when he came in, the view of you and Chan on the couch clear as day from where he stood. He stormed in and pulled Chan off you before you even knew what happening, throwing him to the floor.

"This better be a fucking hallucination, Chan," he growled. "This better be a fucking mirage because I did not just fucking see you making out with my little— agh!" He rubbed the palms of his hands in his eye sockets. "I don't even want to fucking think about it."

"Please— wait, I can explain—"

"I don't want your explanations! I don't need them! This was exactly what we agreed wouldn't happen, and look what you go fucking do."

Logan pointed a finger at you, but you were still frozen. You had no idea what the hell was going on. What they agreed wouldn't happen? You?

"I just—"

"No, you don't get to say anything right now. Get out."

"I—"

"OUT!"

Chan stood, and when he went to leave, he reached to touch you, to reassure you somehow that things would be okay, but Logan swiped his hand away. "Don't you fucking dare."

From the look in his eyes, you knew Chan wanted nothing more than to stay, but you doubted either of you had any say in the matter.

Chan left without another word.

"...Logan," you said after a moment.

"No."

He walked out the door again, and you ran to the windows to make sure he was driving off — instead of going to Chan's house and finishing what he started.

An Hour Before Eighteen

Logan came home late the next day, immediately going straight to his room. You got up from where you waited at the kitchen table and followed.

The door creaked when you pushed it open. "Logan—"

"Out," he said without looking up from his desk.

"No, it's my turn to talk now."

He sighed. As your brother, he knew you weren't backing down. Not this time.

"Fine. Talk away."

You sat down on his bed, which was covered in laundry he had yet to put away and homework he had yet to finish. "What happened yesterday? And don't tell me it's regular older brother stuff because I know it's not."

"I don't have to tell you anything."

"I deserve an explanation."

"You don't deserve anything." He finally looked up from whatever he was doing to face you. "This is between me and Chan."

"But it's not anymore. It's between you and Chan and me, ever since last night. And if you don't tell me anything, then I'm going to Chan."

"Oh, and what? You’ll start dating him?" He scoffed. "Do you know how bad of an idea that is?"

At your look of confusion, he scoffed again.

"What happens if you fight, huh? If you break up? Our families have been friends since I was eight. If you get all your stupid relationship problems mixed up in that, the whole thing will fall apart. If you fight, whose side am I supposed to take? Yours? Or my best friend's?"

"...You sound like you've thought about this a lot," you said, not knowing what else to say.

"Yeah, well Chan's basically been in love with you since that stupid flower crown thing you did. I've had a long time to overthink."

"He has?"

Logan swivelled in his chair, back to half-heartedly writing in his notebook. "Don't act like you don't know. He did a terrible job of hiding it."

"I really didn't," you mumbled. "He didn't talk to me for like… a year."

"That was me, not him. Trust me, he wanted to talk to you."

For a while, you sat in silence. The only sound was Logan's pencil scratching on the paper.

"Fine! Whatever!" he finally exploded. "Go to your prince charming, I don't care anymore!"

A Few Minutes Before Eighteen

Chan's mother answered the door and rushed you to his room, complaining that he hadn't come out all day.

You didn't bother knocking, instead just opening the door and walking in. "Chan…?"

A mass under a bundle of blankets on the bed moved at the sound of your voice, and Chan's head poked out. He gasped when he saw you, eyes wandering all over as if to make certain you were actually there in front of him. You smiled and walked forward, crawling onto the bed, to which he threw off the blankets and gathered you in his arms.

"Oh my god," he breathed, squeezing you even harder. "Oh my god."

"Hi."

"Hi." He sounded breathless. Like he could break any second.

"Don't cry again," you said. "It's a happy hug this time."

He nodded, but you could tell with his face tucked in the crook of your neck that he was this close to crying anyways. You stayed like that for a moment, you in his lap with your arms around each other, his face in your neck and your chin on his shoulder.

"...What did Logan say?" Chan finally asked.

"Something along the lines of… 'You two are so disgustingly cute and romantic that it'd be more of a pain to keep you apart than let you be together.'"

You felt the vibrations of Chan's laughter through your body, and you couldn't help but join in.

"Besides, I'm turning eighteen in a minute. Logan won't have any say anymore — not that I ever thought he did."

"Hmm," Chan hummed into your skin. Perhaps he wasn't quite listening to you, getting lost in the feeling of you in his arms instead. You were starting to drift a bit too.

"There's something I want for my birthday."

"What's that?"

Eighteen

"I love you."

You couldn't see his face, but you knew he was smiling too.

"I love you too, Pansy."

You are

jungkook: I'm not cute 😤 also jungkook:

This seems exciting

All the complicated details of the attiring and the disattiring are completed! - William Carlos Williams, “Winter Trees”

As end of year holidays approach, many of us are getting ready to settle down with a cup of hot tea, cozy pajamas, and a good read…

December’s monthly event will be a secret gift exchange! 

Guidelines: 

Each submission must:

follow our regular reblog criteria as listed in the official rules,

exceed our event word minimum of 1k words,

follow the guidelines/hard limits of the gift receiver (will be communicated by CaratLibrary admins),

and be published in the last week of December (25th-31st), using the tracking tag #caratlibrarygiftexchange

To participate: fill out this form before December 4th. During the first business week of December, the CaratLibrary admins will assign each participant a gift recipient. Keep this a secret! Send your recipient a few anons, get to know them, and during the submission period, reveal your identity and give the your gift!

important dates:

december 4th, 2023 - registration closes

december 25th - december 31st, 2023 - submission period

This was so nice Ida! Thanks!

The "choose a word (yes these are real words)" cracked me up so bad! 😂

But I love the out come.

I tag: @yoonsangel08 @horangboosadan @ravenjoongie (no pressure) and any body who might want to

pls let me be hao's soulmate 🥹

link for the quiz

tagging : @hanniedream @leewonkyeom @seuonji @nishloves @ikigaisvt @lleercy + anyone who'd like to do it!