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spiderhanzzz

4 months ago

"I'M FUCKING SPIDERMAN, BABY" — han jisung.

who would've guessed that the guy you've been texting on tinder is spiderman?

word count: 2.7k

pairings: spiderman!han x journalist intern!reader

genres: humor, fluff, slight angst, comfort, kind of fake dating???

warnings: swearing, drinking, han is referred to as peter, reader and han are both uni students, mentions of vomit and violence, mild injuries, lowkey blackmailing if u squint, no use of y/n & gender neutral reader, han calls reader "pretty" once, usage of "baby" and "sweetie" too

playlist: les childish gambino, dare gorillaz, novacane frank ocean, i bet you look good on the dancefloor arctic monkeys, making the bed olivia rodrigo

a/n: my first fic raaahh!!! >:3 so so excited for u 2 read all these crazy ideas swirling inside my head

“...whoever provides the information on Spider-Man’s real identity will receive a cash prize of $1,000 US dollars…”

Your gaze bores to the glow of your old crappy TV. You haven’t had the time nor funds to purchase a new one, given that your only employment at the moment is a journalistic internship. It’s a good agency, the same one reporting on screen right now, and you acknowledge how hard you had worked to get the position. Nevertheless, you wish you prioritized financial gain over prestige, because now you’re stuck in your run-down apartment in New York, investigating the biggest issues for no money at all.

So you guess it’s not that big of a deal that you have no leads on who the hell Spider-Man is. If any higher-ups scold you, you could just hit them with those snarky remarks you’ve kept in the back of your mind all this time. How do you expect incentive from me if you’re not even paying me? I’m writing all your scripts because everyone else is a damn deadbeat! Maybe then they’ll start appreciating you.

You released a heavy sigh. All this nonsense is giving you a permanent headache, and it doesn’t help that you spend most of your free time scrolling mindlessly on your phone, which lights up with a new text notification the moment you start thinking about it. Perhaps you’ve spent so much time on your phone it’s becoming a part of your brain?

Peter Han: hahah tbh im pretty busy this week, but i’ll let u know for sure :)

A light shade of embarrassment tints your face when you catch yourself smiling at the text message. Usually Peter— the cute guy you’ve been texting on Tinder— never uses any emoticons. In fact, he’s been acting pretty uninterested and dry with you, which wouldn’t bother you as much if it weren’t for the fact that you desperately need a date to your friend’s birthday party next week.

Despite your humiliatingly destitute lifestyle, you pride yourself for your unmatched abilities to blend into any crowd. So like any other New Yorker, you decided to surround yourself with upper class Manhattan socialites. They like you; they don’t need to know about your financial status.

But with great power comes great responsibility, and with great social life comes great expectations. Last week it was a certain Kate Spade wallet with the intentions to match with the whole group of girls, and the week before it was table manners at a European restaurant (how in the hell were you supposed to know which fork to use for a crème brûlée?) This week, though, they gave you the most impossible task of all: get a date.

And you would. Truly, you would. It’s not like you’re particularly unattractive or unlikeable or anything like that. It’s just that you haven’t dipped your toes into the dating pool since university started, and you’re too far gone now. Your peers are fluent in these unspoken rules of dating and you don’t even really know what a situationship is.

Thus why you’re acting a little bit too desperate with Peter.

As you draft a response to him— is it better to use two or three y’s in hey?— your train of thoughts are interrupted by a loud thud on your balcony, followed by a shadow of vibrant colours. Your couch is situated safely so you can see right out the window, but angled in a way that someone outside wouldn’t be able to see you inside. You found this hack on social media on a particularly paranoid rush of nerves and thanked whoever that person was every single night.

Hesitating for a minute, you consider your options: a) attempt to fight off whoever is in your building, b) run out and alert security, or b) pretend like you didn’t hear anything and pray you don’t see your own face on TV tomorrow instead of Spider-Man’s.

If you were acting rational you would have chosen the last option. After all, it’s New York— if there’s anything prevalent here, it’s crime. But you are just so fucking bored.

So you grab a baseball bat and swing open the window.

“Get the hell off my balcony, dude!”

To your surprise, you stand face to face with a pair of dangling Converse All-Stars (really dirty ones, too). In your spur of confusion you come to the conclusion that whoever is sitting above your flat has the ugliest red socks you’ve ever seen in your life.

“What the fuck, man?” The person exclaims. “You bruised my knee!”

“That sounds about right for messing with my place, no?” You say, stepping out onto the balcony to get a good look at the stranger.

Just when you think you couldn’t get more disoriented, you realize the man you’re looking up to is not a stranger at all. It’s none other than Peter Han, in a full on Spider-Man suit.

“Peter…?”

The stranger, AKA Peter, breathes out a nervous laugh, raking his hand through his messy hair. Cute, you think.

“I think you mistook me for someone else. I’m not Peter.”

“Okay…” You say dubiously. “Why are you wearing a Spider-Man suit then?”

“I’m a… uh… cosplayer?”

When his eyes meet yours, the truth sings: he’s been caught. Peter Han is Spider-Man.

He’s terrified, you can tell. You don’t blame him— you would be too in his position. But it’s not just the fact that you know now; it’s also the mischievous glint twinkling in your eyes. Just what the hell are you thinking about that could be so amusing right now?

“W-what’s that look for?”

You can’t hold it in anymore. Maniacal laughter bursts out of you like you’ve been possessed by the spirit of a circus clown, and you have to hold on to the balcony railing to stop yourself from falling over. “Oh, Peter, you naive little fool.”

Peter’s brows furrow in confusion. You mentally curse yourself for admiring how handsome he looks when he doesn’t know what’s going on.

“Didn’t I tell you? I’m on the case to find out Spider-Man’s identity. Well, your identity, I guess.”

“You did not tell me that.”

“Yes, I did.” You cross your arms over your chest, shooting him a judgemental look. “You’d know that if you paid any attention to what I have to say.”

“Look, listen…” Peter braces his lean arms on the side of the window to lower himself on your balcony. Standing face to face, you note that he’s not as tall as you thought. “I know I haven’t been the warmest person to you, but I would literally get on my knees and beg for you to please not tell anyone about this.”

You hum in amusement, taking a step closer to him and raising your chin with undoubted sanguine. Like this, you’re almost the same height as him. “As tempting as that sounds, I’d rather have you doing something else for me.”

Peter chuckles in disbelief, eyes wandering to the sky as if to ask God what have I done to deserve this absolute nonsense? His palms rest upon your shoulders when he looks you dead in the eye and says, “You are not blackmailing me, sweetie.”

“That’s a lot of confidence for someone who has very blackmail-able secrets.”

“That’s not even a word!”

“Whatever.” You peel away his hands from your shoulders, straightening your posture and pulling your shoulders back. Peter faces you with a puzzled gaze as you offer him your hand, clearing your throat and stating, “Peter Han, I would like to make a deal with you.”

He doesn’t move. “And that is…?”

“Date me.” Seeing his face contort into an even deeper state of befuddlement, you follow up with elaboration. “One date to a party next week, and just a few meet-ups and texts to prove that our relationship is going strong. In return, I’ll pretend this whole exchange never happened.”

You’re both silent for what feels like hours, eyes fighting a silent mental battle, until Peter’s rough palms finally envelop your own. You’re aware of how crazy and delusional you sound, but you swear he pulls you in just a little bit closer.

“Deal.”

It’s your third year in the city, and you’re still not fully familiarized with the parties. Contrary to your expectations of drunk sweaty bodies dancing up on each other, your friends’ definition of parties consists of low warm lighting embracing their glittered luxury brand dresses as they swirl their fancy little martinis and cosmopolitans. You appreciate it, really, since you don’t have to use up your voice every other night just to shout over the deafening electronic music. However it’s much harder to appreciate the pressure it puts on you to behave a certain way— dance like nobody’s watching, but be aware that they are.

As you slowly walk to approach your friends (rule #32: no running in public spaces, you’ll look like an idiot) you feel a large hand brush softly against your waist. You turn to face your date for the night, warmth creeping up your cheeks as you take in his appearance. The only suit he’s wearing now is an all-black tuxedo with no tie, the first three buttons of his shirt opened. His black hair is brushed down smoothly, pieces of it falling just right to frame his glowing face.

“You clean up well,” you remark, circling your arm in his as you guide him towards the bar where your friends are sitting.

“I could say the same to you, pretty.” With the sleek black shoes he’s wearing, he’s a few inches taller. Slightly looking down on you, he gives you a subtle wink.

God, he’s such a heartthrob.

Your friends round up to give you hugs and kisses to welcome your presence, ever so politely. One of them acknowledges Peter’s companionship. “You must be the date.”

“That I am.” Peter returns the approach, showing off his adorably heart-shaped smile. “Peter Han, pleasure to meet you.”

The rest of the night runs as it does in your dreams the night before. By the time you had arrived, your friends were already buzzed enough to pay no mind to the way the leather is peeling off your only pair of formal shoes nor to the typo on your fake branded bag. Just the way it’s supposed to be.

Peter doesn’t leave your side the entire night, only lifting his arm around your waist to grab more drinks for the both of you. Occasionally you catch him absentmindedly rubbing your back, and occasionally you catch yourself wondering how someone who spends so much of his life fighting can be this gentle.

During a small bathroom break, one of your friends pulls you aside and whispers, “He looks at you like you hung the stars, you know.”

If you weren’t so swept up in the feeling of finally belonging under the subtle incandescence of a high-end bar in Manhattan, you would have noticed the way Peter’s eyes darken when he read a notification off his phone, or the way his lips press into a tight line when he gazes at you, laughing your heart away amongst your friends.

So you’re nothing short of confounded when he wraps his arms around your waist and leans down to mumble, “Baby, I have to go, there’s a work emergency. I’ll catch you later, alright?”

Your friends bid him farewell and you press a chaste kiss to his cheek, immediately turning away when you feel his body tense. When he walks out the door, you keep your eyes focused on how his soft hair loses its shimmer as he walks out into the night.

And you try to enjoy the warm liquid pouring down your throat for the fifth time tonight, savoring the way you can almost taste a bit of yourself pull away from reality each time, knowing at least one of the people around you will walk away tonight asking, “don’t you think that Peter is a bit cold?”

You sit on the edge of your balcony, something you never do unless you’re going through an existential crisis or drunk off your ass. Tonight it’s both. As usual, the distant sirens and exclamations of curses wrap a tight band around your head. You’re dizzy; either from the alcohol or situation or both.

The ocean of fluorescent lights from the streets of Queens drift your mind to recall just how you ended up here. Three years ago, you were a fresh high school graduate with a million opportunities in front of you. Now you’re broke and rely too much on the validation of your non-broke friends to fulfill the void inside you. The thought of eventually having nobody but yourself after you graduate makes you wanna vomit on a passerby’s head.

“Hey, baby.” A particularly resonant voice startles you out of your thoughts. Peter is swinging from your balcony railing, a pair of gray sweatpants and zip-up jacket slung over his Spider-Man suit. “Sorry for ditching early. I got pizza and flowers to make it up to you, though.”

He swings himself to sit down next to you, placing the box of pizza and bouquet in front of your crossed legs. When he pulls his mask over his head to remove it, your eyes glance over his cuts and bruises. They definitely weren’t there earlier.

“What happened?” You unconsciously bring a hand up to his face, brushing your knuckles tenderly over the sensitive areas. It’s only when he winces that you drop your hand back down to your lap.

“Some guy tried to rob a bank.” Peter shrugged, refusing to meet your gaze. “Turns out he brought a bunch of other guys to back him up.”

“Did you win, at least?”

Though his face is turned down, you can see Peter’s eyes crinkle into a smile underneath his tousled hair. “Yeah, ‘course I did. Who do you think I am, a loser? I’m fucking Spider-Man, baby.”

Ten minutes later you’re seated face to face, still on your balcony, with you dabbing a cotton pad onto his injuries. No words were exchanged; you just went in and out to grab your emergency medical kit and grabbed him by the chin. The pizza box is left unattended, but neither of you care much about the hunger puncturing your insides.

“Why do you look so down?” Peter inquires as you place a Hello Kitty bandaid on his cheekbone, giggling breathlessly as you do so.

“Do I?”

“Yeah.” He brings his own hand up to your face, brushing away the strands of your hair on your forehead. “I mean, you’re smiling now, but your eyes have this sadness to them. So, what’s wrong? Talk to me.”

What the actual fuck? It literally takes you every nerve in your body to fight the urge to propose to this man right then and there.

“Hey, come on,” he urges, delicately pulling your face an inch closer to his. His thumbs run down your flushed cheeks, and it takes you a while to notice he’s brushing away your tears. “I said talk to me.”

“Well, you’ve probably already noticed that I’m different from my friends.” You wrap your fingers around his wrists. “I guess I thought I could pull off the whole socialite act, but I’m starting to feel so…”

When you can’t find the words, Peter finds them for you. “Lost?”

He presses his forehead to yours as you nod softly. “This might not be the best time, but I think you’re a star.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning you shine the brightest amongst everyone else’s shadow. And your friends probably see you that way too. Also that I really, really want to take you out on a real date.”

“You were right, it’s terrible timing.” You fake pout, pretending as if your heart didn’t skip a beat at his words.

“Sorry, sorry!” Peter laughs, setting distance between the two of you once again. There is no inclination to pull him back, though; the space devoid of someone else finally feels comfortable.

“My answer is yes, by the way, you can take me out on a real date. Unfortunately no blackmail this time, though, I think I'm gonna quit that dumb internship.”

Both of you share a fit of affectionate laughter. The temperate scent of food merges with that of the flowers and caresses your senses as Peter opens the box of pizza. “If they ever make fun of you for not being rich, we can always stage one of them as Spider-Man. We'll even get $1,000 from it, then you'll actually be rich."

“I’ll take you up on that offer, Spidey.”

Tags :

🕸️ SPIDERHANzZz !!! stray kids x reader han jisung x reader skz skz x reader stray kids han jisung han x reader skz fluff stray kids fluff stray kids fanfic stray kids fanfiction skz fanfic skz fanfiction

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spiderhanzzz

4 months ago

"WORST REGARDS, YOUR KARMIC RETRIBUTION" — yang jeongin.

they say success is the best revenge, but sabotage feels better.

word count: 5.8k

pairings: jock!jeongin x nerd!reader

genre: fluff, humour, high school au, one sided enemies to lovers, slow burn, loosely inspired by i hope this doesn't find you by ann liang

warnings: swearing, partying, kissing, biblically accurate (religious) jeongin, everyone is the same age except chan, no use of y/n + gn reader, reader is literally evil incarnate plz dont do this irl ;;

playlist: ivy frank ocean, sexy to someone clairo, everybody talks neon trees, i can't radiohead

a/n: dedicated to @allforhee & all the other i.n stans out there :3 enjoy!!!

You know a lot of things. You know that the idea of zero was invented by an Indian mathematician and astronomer named Brahmagupta. You know how to recite your future Valedictorian speech in Latin. However besides these things, you also know that most things in life are pretty much uncertain.

Except your hatred for Yang Jeongin. That is your probability of 1.

Although your best friend Kim Seungmin says that your probability of 1 should probably be the fact that you’re a damn sore loser.

So when classes started to end and your school’s sports day rolled around, everyone knew not to cross your path. Either they would be on your team, or they wouldn’t even get near you. You’re not even that athletic; in fact, you can barely work out to save your life. But you’re the brains, the mastermind, of your team’s strategies. It’s like that saying, if you can’t beat ‘em, outsmart ‘em, or something like that.

You knew you were winning, or at least you thought you knew. Because just when you were about to cross your final lap of the track and field match, the corner of your eye caught a glimpse of Yang Jeongin’s infamously cordial grin. Disturbed by the audacity, you stop in your tracks to look at his friends sitting on the bleachers and feel a rush of satisfaction rush back in when you see them petrified for their friend’s questionable actions.

He won, of course. And though you took home five more gold medals than him that day, something about the utter disrespect of stealing the spotlight from somebody so clearly feared for a reason unsettles you.

Which is why you’re currently writing a letter to him threatening to take away his position in the basketball team if he doesn’t earn back your respect that he lost from a sports day event three years ago.

It’s less of a letter and more of a drafted email, since you’re not writing it by hand; he doesn’t get to have that sort of power over you. You’re not sending it either. God, no. You’re not that insane.

It’s simply a form of coping, nothing more. You’d reckon if you were to ask a therapist about this method, they would think it’s stellar. It’s like journaling… except instead of self-reflection, the end goal is to live in the delusional cloud where your nemesis knows and fears how much you hate them.

Do whatever your wretched soul can manage to revert back to the regular human state— that is, being absolutely petrified of my existence. Otherwise, say goodbye to that pretty “varsity basketball” title you adore so much.

A smirk twists upon the edges of your lips as your gaze fixes on the words you’ve just typed out. What’s the word for when you gain pleasure from the idea of torturing somebody else? You’re sure ‘sadist’ doesn’t apply when you only crave the suffering of one specific person.

You consider rewriting the entire letter on paper, for the sole purpose of leaving a crimson lipstick stain on the envelope for him to unseal. You don’t even use red lipstick, but perhaps the Irene Adler-ness of it all might subconsciously trigger a flight or fight response from him, as most stupid teenage boys do when faced with distinct power.

When other people fall asleep to daydreams about their crushes, you often drift away to slumber through the relaxation brought upon you from fantasizing about Yang Jeongin on his knees, begging for your forgiveness.

You would have fallen asleep to that dream for yet another night, but your best friend Kim Seungmin rang your phone. Now, if it was any other night, you would have sent him death threats and went back to your fantasies. However you had just asked Seungmin for a very special favor, so you decide to pick up.

“This better be about what I think it is,” you start. “I won’t put up with your post-exam depression bullshit tonight.”

“Don’t worry about that, I managed to get extra credits for everything.” Thuds and crackles fill the audio from the other side of the phone, and you can practically smell Seungmin’s bag of chips and old dusty laptop opening on his desk. “I got what you asked for.”

“Good, just forward it to my email.”

“I don’t understand why you would need it, though,” Seungmin’s voice is muffled by the chips in his mouth. “I mean, the team’s orders at Lucy’s Diner? Seriously? If you had a crush on one of them, you know I could just set you up, right?”

“Ew, I would never!” You fake gag, earning a chuckle from the boy on the other line. “C’mon, you know I have too much self respect for that.” “I think you mispronounced blatant narcissism and self obsession.”

The two of you go back and forth teasing one another for another moment until you urge Seungmin to send the list to your email. He inquires once again but you only brush him off, coming up with something about helping out at Lucy’s for the summer. Which wouldn’t be a complete lie, technically, if all went well.

You know you can’t tell Seungmin about your plan. Not right now. He’s reached that stage of being a teenage boy where he started developing attachment and empathy towards others, and now he’s practically attached at the hip with the rest of the basketball team. All he knows is that you hate Jeongin, and that’s enough for now.

And sure, this whole situation has made you question if you were actually a sociopath, but it needs to be done. You consider it a fair service to the community for taking down another straight male with no brains and a huge ego. They don’t know it yet, but he’s the common enemy.

Soon enough after the sports day incident you had come to the conclusion that if nobody could hate Yang Jeongin, you would make him hate you so much until a primal, animalistic desire to destroy you would take over his spirit. You assume he’d do something so utterly terrible, as men do, then afterwards everyone would finally see with their own two eyes that he is just like every other man in this cruel world. If anything, you’re volunteering as a sacrifice!

So as you zone out on Seungmin’s newfound amusement in the way Mr Marks’ glasses make him look like Chicken Little, you switch your tabs to open the sacred document.

In big, bold letters it reads OPERATION 143: 1 ENEMY, 4 PHASES, 3 YEARS.

The document itself already has over 25 pages, written in detail about your genius ideas to slowly infiltrate your enemy base from the inside out— most worked, but some of them just ended in your loss of dignity. You had even taken ideas from books and films like Parasite to further enhance its artistic integrity. These last three years were a performance, and Jeongin’s life is your stage. You have now entered phase four, and this is your closing act; nobody can steal your spotlight.

Contrary to the precise executions of your past eras, phase four is abstract. Its main goals are to disrupt Yang Jeongin’s peace as directly as possible, whilst leaving as little trail as possible. This, paired with the built up tension from the previous phases, is going to set in motion a domino effect, leading to the collapse of your greatest enemy’s social stature.

Accidentally letting a particularly mischievous giggle slip under your breath, you look back at the email you were drafting to him. You know exactly how to end it.

Careful where you run, Yang Jeongin.

Worst regards,

your karmic retribution.

This is your least favorite time of the year: the period just before summer break. Exams are over, so most teachers let students roam free during their lessons. But not going to school at all can take away from your total attendance, which then goes on your report card, so most students spend their school days sitting around in boredom and watching the sports teams play.

seungmo: Do u wanna come to practice

seungmo: Jisung bought cheesecake for everyone and I don’t want mine

seungmo: I don’t want him to take mine tho lol

That was fifteen minutes ago, and now you’re sitting on the bleachers on a date with a delicious slice of blueberry cheesecake and iced coffee, absentmindedly watching your best friend practice. Despite your close ties with Seungmin, you’ve never really been interested in the other team members— except for the occasional trading of homework answers with Jisung. Ever since middle school, you’ve sort of established that you want nothing to do with people like them: rowdy, sporty, and popular. Seungmin once noted that you say “popular” like it’s a slur. You couldn’t disagree.

“So… Karmic retribution, huh?”

You freeze.

“Pardon?” You turn around, only to be faced with the one and only Yang Jeongin.

“Karmic retribution?” He inquires further, expecting you to get the hint. “Y’know, what you called yourself in your… email? Death threat? Not sure what to call it, actually.”

Oh shit. Oh fuck.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude,” you laugh off the question. “I don’t even know your name, let alone your email.”

“Well, that’s clearly a lie, since your name is on your email address. And my name was in your… Seriously, what should I call this thing?”

Fuck fuck fuck. You must have accidentally hit ‘send’ when you fell asleep on the phone with Seungmin. That prick; he always manages to embarrass you somehow.

“Listen, I didn’t even know you go here. I had to ask Chris if he knows which one you are, and you just happened to be here right now.” Jeongin rakes his fingers through his stupid gross sweaty damp hair, then dragging his palm across his face in exasperation. “Whatever I did to you, I’m really sorry.”

“What do you mean you didn’t know I go here?” You’re baffled, truly baffled, and you basically lost control of your body when you heard those words. Suddenly your voice can be heard by anyone within a ten foot radius, and if it weren’t for that they would have thought you were about to smother him with kisses by the lack of distance between your bodies. “I’ve been here since fucking middle school! I sit behind you in Spanish— I ask you for a pen every two and a half weeks only to lose it every single time. You’re saying you don't remember me?”

“Oh, that’s you? My bad. You sit behind me, so I didn’t really get to see your face up close.” Jeongin doesn’t even flinch at the proximity of your faces. He simply gives you a brief look up and down and goes, “Now that I am seeing you up close, you’re the one that always hangs out with Seungmin, right?”

Then it hits you: this is the universe sending you a signal to initiate phase four. Sure, him not remembering who you are might have set you back by a few milestones, but who’s counting? (You are. You always are.)

If anything, you’re grateful for the redirection, because now you know that before you can ruin him, you must first build him up.

“Alright, look,” you begin, taking a step back to put some inches between the two of you. He reeks of rubber and soda, the stench makes you ill. “Let’s start over, shall we?”

“‘Kay, cool,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “See you around, I guess…?”

“Wait, that’s it? You’re not even gonna ask why I hated you in the first place?”

“Doesn’t matter now, does it? We’re already starting over.” The genuine lack of irritation in his face makes you curl your fists and fight the urge to give him a black eye. “Plus, you’re one of those nice smart kids. I don’t have beef with your kind.”

And for the first time in your life you wanted desperately to become popular, because maybe then Jeongin would take you seriously.

But it’s fine. You’re going to destroy him regardless.

“Yo, not to interrupt this whole bonding thing we have going on, but I kinda need to head back to practice.” His voice snaps you back to reality. “Is that chill with you?”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s chill.” You muster up your most convincing smile for him. One time in fifth grade your drama teacher told you you’re a natural actor, and you pray to God those innate talents are still there. Now that you think about it, she may have just been calling you a liar.

For good measure, you give him an awkward thumbs up before walking away. When you make eye contact with Seungmin, he raises his eyebrow as if to ask what the fuck was that? You can only shrug in response. You have no idea either.

You sit back down on the bleachers, occasionally eyeing your target, feasting your eyes on the way his muscles flex under his baggy Radiohead t-shirt when he dribbles the ball around the court and the sweat that drips from his hair. You’re used to your own deranged behavior, but this feels almost perverse. Maybe it’s because you’re basically acquaintances with him now (the word makes you want to spit your cheesecake back up), or maybe it’s because you can’t help but let your stare linger on the cross dangling from his chain.

Gross, you think to yourself, as you keep your eyes on him for the rest of the day.

On the last day of school before summer break, the unexpected happens: the basketball team invites you to their party. Well, technically, they invited everyone. It’s supposed to be Bang Chan’s last party before he graduates, and he just so happens to be friends with every single student. Thus, you and Seungmin are now situated in front of his front door, waiting for him to welcome you in.

You don’t usually go to parties, and to be very honest nobody really expects you to. The reasoning is a bit pretentious, you suppose, but you truly just don’t believe in the necessity of rebellion in leading to better adulthood. However you do believe in yourself and your incredibly sexy intellectual prowess, and you have an operation to carry out, so tonight you let yourself let loose just a bit.

“Ah, there you guys are!” Chan greets you and Seungmin, ushering you inside his… house is an understatement, honestly, it’s a mansion. “Mingle around!”

You’re still out of place, you notice. Since you didn’t plan on actually drinking or dancing, you decided to come in your usual get-up of your dream university’s merch sweater and a pair of baggy jeans. You mentally cursed yourself for not realizing that all of Chan’s friends would be the cool, charismatic type.

Suddenly wishing you had stayed home instead, you excuse yourself to the bathroom, which was (fortunately for you) on the second floor, away from most of the crowds. When you get there, however, you’re met with Jeongin’s sharp gaze in front of the door.

“Been a while,” he states, leaning on the wall and crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Could I get you anything? A drink, maybe?”

“I don’t drink. At least not tonight,” you respond. Then you notice that his hands are also empty. “What about you?”

“Nah, I don’t do that stuff.” He shakes his head to enunciate his disapproval. “I don’t mind that the other guys do it, but I’m pretty religious, so…”

The devil perched upon your shoulder whispers hot but the angel on the other side exclaims what the fuck?

“Cool.” You stare at your shoes, thinking about how to turn this exchange into yet another round of revenge. When you get an idea, you beam up at him. “Wanna walk and talk with me?”

The moment he verbalizes his agreement, you grab him by the arm and rush downstairs. There, you do as you had suggested: walk and talk. Turns out Chan’s first floor is big enough for about thirty minutes of conversation.

When you get to the outdoor pool, you take off your shoes and dip your toes in the water with Jeongin following suit, sitting right beside you. Your conversation drifts to so many different topics— music, childhood TV shows, dating— you almost forget the reason why you brought him here. He’s observant, you notice, and he has thoughts on a lot of different things, something you didn’t think was possible. You always thought he was just dumb.

“Y’know, I was kinda flattered by your email, I’m not gonna lie,” he admits sheepishly.

“Pardon?” You look at him, puzzled. “Did you say flattered?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, no one really notices me like that.”

You stare at him, eyes blank and mouth agape. Surely this guy has gone insane, right? He’s one of the school’s most beloved students, by other students and faculty members alike.

“Like, I know they like me, but I don’t really stand out amongst the others. Chris is the friendly one, Minho is the mysterious one, Changbin is the strong one, Hyunjin is the artistic one, Jisung is the funny one, Felix is the kind one, Seungmin is the smart one, and what am I? I have all those qualities too, but they pale in comparison. People don’t have enough reason to hate me, but I know they think I’m boring. So being hated so passionately was kind of a big thing for me… I’m sorry, is that weird?”

If you didn’t want to slap him before, you sure as hell do now. How blindly privileged is this guy that his problem in life is not being the coolest guy on the varsity basketball team? You puff out your cheeks to hold back an exasperated sigh, and pull out a gentle smile instead.

“Jeongin, I don’t think people see you that way at all.” You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Have you ever considered that maybe they might just be a bit intimidated by you?”

This is exactly how your mother talks to you when you start crying about how nobody ever has a crush on you on a random Thursday night. God bless that woman for gaslighting you into a positive attitude.

“You really think so?” He looks at you with these wide puppy-like eyes and you finally understand what the girls on Instagram mean when they talk about ‘getting the ick.’

“Really,” you affirm with a bright smile.

“Thank you. That means a lot to me.”

Just as he pulls you into a warm embrace, you push him just subtly enough that he wouldn’t notice it until he’s falling into the pool. With a large splash, all eyes turn to the two of you. He comes up from the water, clothes and hair drenched, and you feel a sense of satisfaction wash over you when you finally see a distressed expression etch itself onto his features.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry!” You lie, faking your concern. “Are you okay?”

“I’m… I’m fine.” He climbs out of the pool, and you curse yourself for staring a little too long at his defined muscles under his wet shirt. Then, he turns to you and says, “Needed to cool off anyways.”

And he laughs. Laughs at himself and laughs at your befuddled face and laughs when Chan asks if he’s alright, shooting him a quick thumbs up before grabbing the nearest beach towel. When his other friends crowd around him, he laughs and laughs and laughs and it drives you fucking insane. The resonating sound of his laughter surrounds the backyard in an instant, and for a moment you wish you had drowned yourself in that pool instead.

“I will shove my middle fingers in your dimples,” you mutter under your breath, and you consider it a promise.

“Be right back,” he tells you before rushing to the nearest bathroom to change his clothes, playfully flicking droplets of water onto your face and ruffling your hair, dampening it.

You watch as he walks away, feeling a strange pang of guilt in your chest when you notice his smile faltering as people start to focus amongst themselves again. Now it’s your turn to laugh, half out of disbelief and half out of pure glee.

Everything is going according to plan.

“I didn’t push him.”

Lie.

“We were just talking.” Lie.

“I still hate him.”

Lie?

Wow, three lies in a row. And to your best friend, of all people. This Operation 143 has really tested your moral compass, and it’s not looking great for you. No wonder why Seungmin is calling you at 3 AM, interrogating you about what the hell happened tonight.

“See, now, some of those statements kind of contradict each other,” he states. “I have no doubt that you still hate him, but I also don’t doubt the pure evil in your heart. You would have pushed him, and you wouldn't even be sorry about it.”

“Uh, well, you’re wrong,” you tell him. “Clearly you don’t know me that well then.”

“Whatever you say, but if one day you decide to come clean of your crimes, you owe me something. Something very very dear to me.”

At first you were nervous, because it’s obvious your best friend is on to you (note to self: be less evil on a day to day basis). But then you remember it’s your best friend, there’s only one thing he would want from you in this situation.

“Yes, yes, I’ll take you out for a fancy dinner,” you sigh. “That’s only if I confess my sins to you, Father Seungmin, and it’s not happening because I’m completely innocent.”

“Please never call me that again.”

“Noted.”

At that, your phone buzzes with a new notification. It’s from an unknown number, but you can see a display name. Jeongin.

~Jeongin: u up?

God, could this guy act more like a fuckboy? Somehow noticing the tension in the air despite your physical distance, Seungmin questions your mood.

“Jeongin just texted me.”

“Oh, so that’s what he wanted your number for.”

“Are you dumb?” You ask, but it feels more like an accusation. “Why the fuck else would he ask for my number, idiot?”

Seungmin makes a noise equivalent to a shrug, and you let it pass. You were just about to question him further about Jeongin asking for your number, but the man himself texts once again.

~Jeongin: wanna hang tmr?

“Ew,” you mutter quietly. “I think he thinks we’re friends or something.”

“Oh, right, I remember you don’t do those.” You can almost hear his eyes rolling at your annoyance at Jeongin. He’s expressed his disapproval for your one-sided rivalry many times, but you always bite back with words too vulgar to write down here.

“Yeah, you know you’re only my close acquaintance, right?” You turn your attention back to your phone, biting your thumb in deep thought. “I’ll be mean to him. Should send the right message.”

You need to change your technique anyway. Befriending him only to be annoying is only going to make him like you more, and betraying him out of the blue takes too much commitment. This is phase four, after all— you have such little time to get the job done. If you manage to succeed during senior year, people aren’t gonna care anymore because everybody is leaving anyway.

You won’t shy away from it anymore; it’s time to be direct. It’s time to be evil.

You: no.

Seungmin sputters out a laugh once you send the screenshot of your texts to him. “You couldn’t have even given him a reason why? God, you’re crueler than I thought.”

“Why can’t he just hate me back?” You whine, slumping your shoulders defeatedly. “Why is he so… So nice? What’s wrong with him?”

“Maybe he likes you,” Seungmin teases. “I kinda see the vision, actually. The nerd and the jock… Classic perfection.”

“You mean cliché,” you groan. “His type is probably other athletes or something. Popular people date popular people, Seungmo.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” Seungmin continues in a sing-song tone, so you close your ears and make weird noises, a signal that it’s time for him to shut the fuck up.

jeongin (DONT RESPOND): oh

jeongin (DONT RESPOND): ok :[

A week later you’re sitting in front of the bus station, waiting for Seungmin to arrive. He had promised to take you to the new coffee shop that just opened up to get some work done as a means to get ahead of other students. Nerdy as it may be, this is your summer ritual with your best friend, and if you didn’t fulfill it by the beginning of the summer, the guilt is going to eat you alive until you won’t be able to properly enjoy your holiday.

The summer breeze (or lack thereof) feels like it’s burning you alive, so you pull off your usual sweater to reveal a tank top underneath. Huffing out in irritation, you send a quick text to Seungmin.

You: wru

You: why take so long

You: ur so not a gentleman this is why ur single

Instead of an answer, you receive a phone call in return. You pick it up. “Yo, where are you? I’ve been waiting here for fifteen fucking minutes, dude, I’m parched.”

“I brought a friend,” said Seungmin, completely disregarding your complaints. “Look in front of you.”

And there he is, walking towards you with none other than Yang Jeongin beside him, waving at you like a stray puppy. You close your eyes, trying to pretend for as long as possible that none of it is real. This is probably what I get for trying to sabotage someone out of the basketball team, you think to yourself, deciding to surrender to your fate and greet them with as much kindness as you can muster for the time being.

After approximately thirty minutes of sitting down and discussing the next academic year’s syllabus, you decide that that was the last bit of kindness in your heart. So when Jeongin leaves to go to the restroom, you waste no time catching Seungmin up on what you’ve actually been doing. The letter, the operation— everything.

“25 pages?” Seungmin asks you in disbelief. “My god, that’s a thesis.”

“It might as well be, at this point.” You nod solemnly at his comment. There’s no use denying anything; at your core, you’re just pure cruel and sadistic. At the very least you know your best friend will love you regardless, even if nobody else will.

“Listen, I love you, truly I do. But you’ve got to stop,” Seungmin grabs your shoulders and looks you dead in the eye. He has never looked this serious before and meant it. “He’s, like, falling in love with you.”

“Pardon me?”

“I know, I know, it’s your worst nightmare, and I know you don’t like him like that, which is why I’m telling you this. Stop now or you will break his heart even more.”

Just as you were about to respond, Jeongin comes back to the table. If he hadn’t, you’re not sure what you would have had to say. Would you disagree with even the thought of it, telling Seungmin he’s a liar? Would you have argued that if your plan were to work, Jeongin would hate you in the end anyway? Or would you have asked him how to make those feelings grow?

But no, no. He doesn’t like you, not like that. He’s just kind, that’s all. He can’t.

And the next hour passes by like torture, with both boys having to snap you back to the present moment about five times each. You couldn’t care less about the syllabus or the coffee or the new inside jokes you all made that day. All you could think about was how Jeongin’s hand would brush against yours when he borrowed a pencil, or the way his eyes would lock with yours when he laughed at Seungmin’s sarcastic remarks.

The entire time, your mind was calculating the probability of Jeongin actually being in love with you. Each answer was always too close to 1 for your liking.

You couldn’t get him out of your head.

To be fair, you never could. But it used to be about hatred. You used to find joy in boring two-hour classes because you knew you could just spend those two hours daydreaming about what Jeongin would look like with real tears in his eyes, with a scowl on his lips, with anything other than that damned smile.

You told your boss you’d be taking the night shift at Lucy’s for a while, because your days would be spent hanging out with friends on the holidays. This isn’t true at all, of course, you just found it more difficult to escape those Jeongin-plagued thoughts when you were about to drift to slumber. Unfortunately, this didn’t work the way you had hoped, because it turns out the diner basically doesn’t have any customers after 8 PM.

It’s almost 10 PM now, the hour when you’ll have to close up the diner. Nobody has come inside in the last forty-five minutes, so you figure it’s best to close up early. That way, you’ll get more time to scroll on your phone or read a book.

You should have seen it coming, really. You know you could never escape him. There, standing in front of the doors of Lucy’s diner, is your haunting, your shadow, your karmic retribution.

“I keep thinking about you,” he says, almost breathless, as he steps into the diner.

“How long have you been standing there?” “Like, five seconds,” he answers. Then, as if to emphasize his previous statement, he says, “You owe me sleep.”

“You don’t think that goes both ways?” You turn away from him, placing all the cleaning supplies on the bar counter. When you look back, he’s already eagerly striding towards you.

“What are you saying? That you want me?”

“I… I don’t know,” you mutter. You can’t look at him, not right now, not like this. You would break not just his heart, but yours as well. “I don’t know how I feel. I need a… an experiment or an investigation or something that I know is going to tell me if this is actually real, because I have no fucking clue what’s real anymore.”

Without another word, he places both palms on the counter behind you, trapping your body between his, and kisses you.

It knocks the breath right out of your soul. Every vessel in your brain is screaming at you, reminding you that it’s wrong and he’s not supposed to like you and you’re not supposed to like him back and that you sure as hell shouldn’t be kissing him at all, let alone your workplace.

Nevertheless, you can’t help it. Everything you knew has been proven wrong. Everything you have questioned has proven themselves to be true. You know nothing at all. You kiss him back.

Acknowledging your reciprocation, he lifts a hand to cradle your face, gently brushing his thumb over your cheekbone down to your jaw. He takes a step closer, pressing your body flush against his. You haven’t closed the diner; somebody could walk in at any moment.

Running your fingers through his soft locks, he takes the opportunity to trail his lips to your neck. It’s at this moment that you begin to feel everything, and it’s all too real too quick. You push him away, taking one brief glance at his disheveled hair and swollen, rose-tinted lips.

You know you shouldn’t. You know you’re being a coward. You know the answer.

Be that as it may, you still run.

seungmo: Bball game @ school tonight

seungmo: Idk what happened w u and jeongin but pls come to the game

seungmo: U know how much ive been looking forward to this

seungmo: I'll keep him away, i promise

You shouldn’t have gone. You should have stayed home, rotting in your room for yet another night, catching up on all the studying you missed out on when you went to that coffee shop with Seungmin, finding yourself tracing the shape of your lips when you’re deep in thought, recalling the way Jeongin’s felt on yours.

The truth is, you do know how much Seungmin has been looking forward to this match. He had realized long ago that you couldn’t care less about sports, but still he found your face amongst the crowd every single time. Even though you had such a deep scowl it made him chuckle every time he saw you, he felt his chest warm with affection at the act of being present.

This is one of those unconditional, unspoken rules you’ve established in your friendship. You would support him, and he would support you. You couldn’t have ditched this.

But as you approach closer and closer to the basketball court, you notice something amiss. By now, you should have been able to hear the rowdy chanting of other students. You should have already been blinded by the lights surrounding the court, considering it’s already 6 PM. You should have seen Seungmin waiting for you, but he’s not there.

Nothing’s there. Nothing but Yang Jeongin, standing in the middle of the court.

“I’m starting to think Seungmin is playing matchmaker,” you say as you walk towards him.

His face cracks into a fit of laughter, and it lights up the whole area. “You think?”

You’re close enough to him to see how puffy his eyes are— is he just exhausted or has he been crying? He’s silent for a second, catching his bottom lip between his teeth, before opening his mouth to finally speak.

“Listen, I—”

“No, no,” you interrupt him. “Let me speak first.”

“I used to despise you, as you already know. For a reason that is so stupid that if I said it out loud right now I’d pee myself laughing, probably. And I guess that hatred helped me cover up my insecurities, and that I couldn’t believe someone like me and someone like you could be with anything more than enemies.” At some point, you started looking into his eyes, and now you can’t seem to pull away. “You’re not boring, Yang Jeongin, not at all. You’re certain. You’re my probability of 1.”

“So… Moral of the story, I’m different from all the other boys, yes?” He teases, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you closer inch by inch.

“You think that’s the moral of the story?” “Hell, no,” he chuckles. “The moral of the story is that sometimes you need to ditch that whole superiority complex and realize that you’re exactly like everybody else. You’re smart, yes, but you’re also stupid and naive and clumsy. And that’s completely alright. That doesn’t make you any less deserving of anything, it just makes you human.”

And as he tugs you into a kiss, you realize he’s right. It doesn’t matter what you know. Life is still uncertain, anyway, and the probabilities of most things are far less than 1. All you know is that whatever happens, you’ll be loved in the process.

Tags :

🕸️ SPIDERHANzZz !!! stray kids x reader yang jeongin x reader skz skz x reader stray kids yang jeongin i.n i.n skz i.n stray kids i.n x reader skz fluff stray kids fluff skz fanfic stray kids fanfic skz fanfiction

99 notes View Post

daydreaming-my-life-away

2 years ago

Okay but it’s 5am why am I crying?

This is so so so cute and I love it so much 🥺

Hey would you be willing to do prompt #40 with Jisung?? Merci!

40. “I wasn’t lying when I said that I loved you.”

pairing: Jisung x gn!reader wc: 832 genre: Fluff warnings: Mention of food, reader has insecurities about being poor, use of pet name (baby)

Hey Would You Be Willing To Do Prompt #40 With Jisung?? Merci!

This was a risky trip. Not just because photographers could snap a picture of you two together in public, that was honestly the last concern on your mind right now as Jisung laced his fingers into yours, lifting your hand off the cold train seat. No, you were terrified of what he would think of your apartment. Small, cramped, nearly empty... the textbook definition of a broke art student struggling to make ends meet. It amazed you that anyone would fall for you like this, let alone an idol that was probably rich enough to buy your entire apartment complex and then some.

"What's wrong?" Jisung's voice was a quiet whisper in your ear, slightly muffled by a mask. His hood was pulled up around his face, head down, with small tufts of hair poking out every time he shifted his gaze from the floor to you. He was told to always keep his head down when he was out with you, lest someone recognize his barely visible facial features and force this relationship to go public. Despite multiple warnings, he couldn't help but sneak glances at you when he felt it was safe. You were arguably the most beautiful person he had ever met, not looking at you felt disrespectful at best, especially considering how little time he got to spend with you.

"It's nothing, I promise." But it wasn't nothing, and you would have to face his opinion on you soon enough as the train called out the next stop.

-----

As soon as you both stepped through the door, apologies were spilling from your lips like a waterfall. You couldn't help it, you knew he was used to a spoiled and lavish life. All you could offer was a beat up couch, a small TV, and some cheap ramen in a styrofoam cup. Not much of a date, especially considering some of the expensive restaurants he had taken you to the few times his manager had approved an outing together.

"I might have enough money to order food, I'm not sure. I know there's not much here... I'm really sorry..." Your voice trailed off as Jisung took in his surroundings, gravitating towards the canvas in the corner with a sheet thrown over it. The emptiness and hurried apologies didn't seem to register at all, his focus entirely on the covered painting. Once the words had finally gotten through to him, his face turned somber.

"Baby, you don't have to apologize. I'm spending time with you and that's all that matters." He reached out for you as you approached, quickly pulling you into a tight hug sealed off with a series of quick kisses on your cheek. "I wasn't lying when I said that I loved you. I mean it, I love you for you. Not your money, your clothes, or how many material things you have."

"Jisung-"

"No more apologies, okay?" A grin swept across his face as he looked at you, eyes bright with excitement as you nodded. "Can I see what you're working on?" He gestured towards the canvas as he loosened his grip enough to let you wiggle out of his hold.

"It's not finished." You replied quietly as you lifted the sheet up, revealing a nearly finished painting. A dark sky speckled with stars above a very familiar figure, pointing up at the glittering sky with wonder in his eyes. You had painted the scene entirely from memory, the first time he was able to sneak away to spend time alone with you. He couldn't stray too far from the dorm, but you agreed to meet him somewhere dark enough to provide cover. It just so happened to be a clear night, every constellation visible in the night sky as you pointed them all out. Jisung was in awe, tracing the stars with his finger as you explained how they fit into various ancient mythologies. The exact scene you chose was one that had stuck in your mind forever - the moment he told you that he loved you. You were mid sentence when he blurted it out, unable to contain the emotion he felt as he watched you passionately talk about the stars and how they inspired you to create. It had caught you off guard at the time, but you quickly reciprocated the feelings, the 'love' word getting thrown between you two multiple times a day ever since.

"It's beautiful. Did you take a picture of me that I don't know about?" He questioned, studying all the finer details of the painting.

"I wish, it would've made a cute lock screen." You joked, a smile tugging at your lips. "I'm just really good at remembering things that changed my life." You could feel the love radiating from him as he looked back at you, trying to mimic the expression on his face that you had painted. "I may not have much, but I have you, and that's more than enough for me. I love you."

general tag: @abiaswreck @nymeriaaa @lex-thesimpzzz @kp0p10v3r2 @wooyoungsbae @changsbin @hjsraccoon @hwxnghyunjin

sfw general tag: @yungisstar1117 @kun-flower @hwarora @queenmedi

skz sfw only: @daydreaming-my-life-away

Please fill out this form to be added to any of my tag lists.

Tags :

ficscafe straykidsland han jisung fluff han jisung x reader stray kids fluff stayhavennet bystay stray kids x reader han jisung drabbles skz x reader han jisung stray kids skz imagines skz fluff skz

142 notes View Post

hii-hawaiiu

1 year ago

Accidents

A/N: uhh this is my first fic so.. i apologize if it's shitty so please bear with me

might make a pt 2 if it goes well

to which jisung's can't skate for dear life's clumsy ass bumped into a girl.

or..

in which the reader hates when accidents happen to her except maybe it's not so bad after all?

Han Jisung x reader

[stat: currently going feral for him]

(you can actually imagine who ever you want since i dont mention han anywhere but i swear he'll eventually come out in pt.2)

Song - Paper rings by Taylor Swift

word count: 1.3k

“SHIT” Cussed out a boy on his way to let his (sorry) ass (not so) gracefully land on the ice. On his way falling he bumped into a speeding girl. She took a few steps back steadying herself.

Rotating facing the boy, daggers thrown against the nape of his head. All the murderous intentions vanished when she faced him, planting his ass on the ice letting his upper body fall on the ice. Clenching his hands moving it up and down as if he’s a little child throwing a tantrum. Chuckling lightly at his little tantrum she reached out her hand. The boy raised his head up, staring at the hand above him. He squinted, making out the face of a girl. the boy huffed in embarrassment and defeat reaching up for her hard.

Scoffing at her he stumbles his way up greeted by a series of snorts and chuckles. “I-it’s not funny!” He stuttered out of embarrassment. Looking down, ears and cheeks clearly red from their encounterment. Pulling on his hair as he screamed hiding his face in his hands facing up to see her, eyes shift everywhere except her eyes. Grinning at him widely “come on… it’s pretty funny” stomach hurting from hurling out of laughter cheeks hurting from smiling too long.

Nevertheless, Jihyo [could only think of mother [stream killin’ me good]] saw that unexplainable and rare scenery of her younger sister talking to a person; a guy to be exact talking as if they’ve known each other for decades. She smiles to herself taking a picture of them together for err memories her friend came to her with a questioning glance she tilts her head towards them smiling at her friend.

“First time?” asked the girl after practically begging him to stop hiding his face and when he didn’t want to, she wrestled his arms, prying them away. Him; a complete stranger. “That obvious?” he blurted out with his dignity finally looking into her dark cold eyes lingering. It took him a moment to come back to his senses, clearing his throat as he settled his eyes on the icy floor.

She tilts her head sideways forming a small and light smile she brings her right arm in front of her chest shaking it sideways as a symbol of 50/50 as she scrunches her nose. The girl noticed a school of teenagers her age looking and pointing at them while whispering. “Your friends?” she pointed out straightening her back making her look extra taller than he is. “Yea actually, they dragged me here.” he chuckled out looking back at the memory.

See, the boy has never liked the ice. His friends had always talked about it, but he always managed to chicken out. Nonetheless, this time his friends had a plan to drag him into the skating rink. Literally. Changbin eyed Chan urging him to take the upper half while he took his lower. Chan grabbed both his arms while Changbin grabbed his legs carrying him effortlessly as if he's some ragdoll. Stumbling on his shoes he cried out a pathetic help to the people in the mall (no one stopped to make sure he’s ok.)

“Want me to help you?” she offered softly, her voice sounds like music in his ears is what I would say if it were true which isn’t. She offered him in a low awkward voice twirling to show off her [basic] skating skills. She reached out her hand hoping he would take her offer. He stared at her hand not knowing what to do. So he ran. Well he wobbly skates away like a newborn penguin from her back to his friends. Scooting against the railing slowly even a snail on ice is way faster than he is. She sighed looking at the now empty space in front of her. She leaned her back onto the railing regretting what she did ‘well, that went well.’ She thought to herself having an internal pity party over someone she doesn’t know. And a guy for that matter could've been a girl could’ve been a cat but a boy? That was the last thing she would have ever expected.

A boy bumped into her just as she was about to skate away, not just any boy that’s right it’s him. “Hey! Where are you going?” the boy rushed up onto his feet quickly holding her hand. “Come on! What are you waiting for? I don’t want to spend another second knowing that i’m gonna fall on my ass every time I take a step.” he took a slow and careful step forward repeating what she did before; holding his hand out for her to take which leaves the poor girl confused he just left her for his friends and now he came back? That question wrecked her brain. Nevertheless, she still took his hand.

The rest of the afternoon went on as a blur of laughter, jokes, silly questions and mostly falls. She took [more than] a couple of photos as a keepsake ignoring all his complaints. She felt happier and more alive than she had ever been in a long time. Losing track of time they both didn’t realize that the amazing time they had had come to an end rushing out of the rink and into the mall she had realized that she had known nothing about him, not even his name. She went back to the rink telling her sister she left something she ran as fast as her legs could take her. She was too late. He's gone. Nowhere to be found. She went out of the rink sulking when she saw her older sister waiting for her “got what you need?” Jihyo asked her clearly out of breath complaining how tired she is from running across the mall just to make sure she’s okay. That is what yn said when in reality she took all the time in the world and she even slowed her walking pace. Her little sister nodded clearly disappointed and tired [cause she RAN there to catch a BOY -that mind you- she knew nothing of].

Tags :

han jisung han jisung x reader han jisung x you stray kids bangchan changbin kpop fanfic if you know me irl you didnt see this han jisung imagines skz fluff idk ice skating if you know me no you don’t

31 notes View Post

hii-hawaiiu

4 months ago

reposting this [again]