#nctmentary.net

[moonbeamsung]

You’re Just a Boy in a Blueberry Field

No fruit is sweeter than a summer love.

member: haechan

au: blueberry farmer!haechan x gn!reader

word count: 5.0k

genre: fluff, very light angst

warnings: mentions of food

author’s note: It’s here! I actually wrote most of this last summer, but only recently did I find the time to edit and get it ready to be posted. I added some parts and changed a few things, and now I like it quite a lot, so I hope you do as well! Thank you @astroboy-lele​ for beta-reading :) As always I would love to hear any feedback on this, and I hope that you enjoy the fic!

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kyuwoyo @rvse-hvvck @nakamotocore @kisshim @leejunini @chicksung @mrkcore @radiorenjun @moon-jun @jisungiest @stayctday @byutafy @jujubean23 @treasurehobi​ @bluejaem​ @lyshoonn​ @vera-liscious​ @allegxdly​ @cupfullofjeno​ @thats-a-jen-no-no​ @yo-ddream​

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct @k-dinernet 

Thank you lovely Ana @rvse-hvvck for this additional header!

Donghyuck knows everything there is to know about those blueberries.

Without even pausing for the briefest of moments to think, to instinctively recall the information instilled in him throughout his childhood spent on the farm, he can answer any question that’s thrown at him. He can point out just the right color of berry to pick so that they’ll be ripe when you eat them later. Likewise, he can also tell you which ones are best to eat now, as you pick them, pretending not to notice when you pop one or two into your mouth and grinning when your eyes light up from the sweetness.

A day comes where he, filled with mischief as usual, places a not-so-ripe blueberry into your hand, and you, being so wrapped up in the peacefulness of the morning that surrounds you, fail to notice its red color and don’t think twice about lifting it to your lips, biting into it with your teeth. When the tart taste meets your tongue, your face contorts into an expression that elicits a raucous fit of laughter from him. You’re the first one in the fields that day. When the sun had risen on the horizon, the fleeting touch of color in the sky that dawn left behind still lingering above, he had been there, sitting on the front porch as always to greet customers.

Donghyuck knows every bug that loves to rest on the branches of the blueberry bushes. After spending so much time next to you as you scan them for the pops of vivid blues and purples that are hidden behind jade green leaves, he begins to learn that you are not fond of any bug, no matter how harmless. It’s cute, he thinks, how you inspect every berry that you drop into your basket, fearing that some small creature is lurking on it. If you do find something, he hears a small noise of both surprise and disgust before you fling the perfectly good berry away from you. It also hurts a little, knowing that it’s one less for you to take home.

When more people arrive at the farm after you, he’s forced to leave your side and get them started on their own search for the delicious fruit that’s nestled among the branches of nearly every bush. And if they ask where the best ones are, he specifically points them in the direction of the fields where you aren’t. It isn’t a lie, really, because they’ve had a good harvest everywhere this year.

...Okay, so maybe it’s a little selfish on his part, but who can blame him for wanting you to have some of the most plentiful bushes all to yourself?

Wednesdays are his favorite because it’s always the least crowded of all the mornings they’re open for business, and he can spend more time following you as you make your way down the rows, admiring the focus on your face and the way that you sometimes pause mid-reach, closing your eyes and standing still as the sun peeks through the clouds and casts its warm glow down onto the farm. A gentle sigh tumbles from your lips, darkened by the violet nectar that remains from the countless blueberries that have crossed their usually pink-tinted threshold. You resume your search after a few seconds, catching his eye and returning a smile he didn’t even know was there.

He makes the berries taste a little sweeter when he’s next to you. The purple juice that stains your fingers is a little darker. The sun feels brighter and warmer than ever, its heat shining down onto your skin.

One particular morning, after you finish picking all the blueberries you can carry, you decide to accompany Donghyuck on the porch, sitting beside each other in matching rocking chairs that first belonged to his great-grandparents, the farm’s founders. The familiar sounds of birds chirping and the low mumbling amongst customers meet your ears. You both gaze fondly at the horizon while immersed in casual chatter, all the while tending to several families as they come and go.

Whenever a car turns off of the two-lane, paved road and onto the noisy gravel path leading into a small grassy area that functions as a parking lot, Donghyuck excuses himself from the lively conversation both of you always find yourselves sharing. He stands, brushing his hands off on his faded denim overalls that are only slightly too large for his frame. His hand lifts up the baseball cap he always wears while the other runs through his hair, and your gaze falls on the back of his neck where it rests in longer strands. You always wonder why he keeps it like that since he complains about how hot it makes him feel. The humid summer air is stifling enough as it is, after all. The thought vanishes only moments after it arrives, though, and he flashes a brilliant grin at you over his shoulder as he descends the wooden stairs leading down to the patio.

Today, a happy looking family gets out of a shiny silver minivan. The mother and father with two kids, a boy and a girl, make their way toward the covered patio and Donghyuck bounds down the steps like always, grabbing 4 stacked pails in his calloused hands. You lean forward a little in the creaky old rocking chair, your weight in your toes, ears just barely picking up his conversation with them. He greets the parents warmly, shaking their hands and then he kneels down to be eye-level with the small children. The little boy seems shy as he clasps his fingers in front of him, thumbs twiddling back and forth, while his sister is clearly the opposite. She skips over to the much taller boy, saying hello.

“Do you two like blueberries?” He asks them, one arm resting on his knee and the other extending a pail out in front of him. The young girl nods enthusiastically before she takes the container from his hand and turns around, passing it to her brother as he nods, making eye contact with Donghyuck for the first time. A small smile grows on his face when he’s met with the wider one of the unfamiliar but still welcoming stranger. His sister speaks up again, “Every Friday we get to help Mom make her famous blueberry pie!”

“Is that right?”

“Yep! In the morning we always go to the supermarket and get fresh blueberries,” she explains. Her mother leans down, softly telling her that this week they’re here to pick blueberries instead, fresh from the farm they were grown on.

“Really? So that means we’re not buying them at the store anymore?”

“Well, honey, today we can pick enough blueberries to last us for a whole month’s worth of blueberry pies.”

“And besides,” Donghyuck starts, still kneeling on the ground next to her, his boot leaving an imprint in the dirt underneath it, “it’ll taste even better since you picked them yourselves, don’t you think?” The boy punctuates his question with a wink.

The young boy steps up for the first time, grin stretching even wider as he finds the courage to happily agree with the wise words. Exclaiming eagerly and in a way that only a child can, he takes his sister by the hand that’s not holding his small bucket before scurrying off, their parents close behind after grabbing pails for each other as well as a third that their daughter had forgotten in the midst of the excitement.

As Donghyuck joins you on the porch once again, you can’t help but smile as you remember how he interacts with each and every customer that passes through the weathered fence surrounding the property. When he talks to kids in particular, his eyes seem to light up, and you see just how much of a kid he still is deep down. His playfulness never fails to make an appearance whenever you spend time with him.

You’re thankful for the moo of a cow in the distance that interrupts his question of why you’re smiling like an idiot and hopefully drowns out the steady sound of your pounding heart.

The next week he tells you that the rest of his family is out of town, and he’s been left with the responsibility of running the farm all on his own. He usually does most of the work himself these days anyway since he’s getting older and more mature, although some of his jokes say otherwise. You miss the way his mom would poke her head out of the upstairs window of the main house, calling out a greeting to you both from across the property, overjoyed at the sight of her son spending time with the particular customer he’s mentioned so many times before. Whether he would share an amusing anecdote of yours with his siblings at the dinner table or point out something that reminded him of you, it was far too easy for her to figure out how he feels about you.

In an effort to spend more time with him, keep him company and just help out in general, you offer to stay at the house with him for a little while. Or at least until his family gets back from their trip, and to your delight, he agrees. You arrive in the late evening, on a day when the fields are closed, just in time to catch the setting sun as it disappears behind the trees and power lines that seem to stretch for miles in the distance. Tugging an overnight bag of belongings with you, you knock twice on the wood of his front door.

It opens swiftly and Donghyuck welcomes you inside, wearing an apron that he must have outgrown 10 years ago, at least. You snicker at the snug choice of attire and he shoves your shoulder, though not with enough force to make you stumble. He whines a little in that saccharine-sweet voice of his that makes your heart clench, but you don’t give in. Not this time.

When the farm is closed for the day, the family has a chance to pick from some of the bushes that are planted in a more secluded area, all to ensure that they also have a big enough supply of the fruit to last them for the season. So Donghyuck had woken up at the crack of dawn, although you aren’t sure why. He had made his way downstairs and out into the dewy air of the morning, gathering just enough blueberries to bake a cobbler that night when you came over, since he’d learned it was your favorite treat after hours of conversation about anything and everything. The recipe comes straight from his great-grandfather, he informs you, and it’s written on a yellowing piece of paper in handwriting that you couldn’t read even if you tried. He, however, can somehow decode the seemingly nonsensical swirls and lines on the page. You suppose it’s part of the magic of the family recipe that gets passed down with it.

Donning an apron yourself, you join him at the sink as you begin washing the berries, gently grabbing a handful at a time as you let the tap water clean them. When you both reach into the large container at the same time, your hands brush and you almost scoff at the swell of your heart that you feel inside your chest.

As you’re working together to make the batter that you will soon pour into his mother’s finest glass baking pan, Donghyuck briskly swipes his fingertip on the side of the bowl where the mixer had splattered the combined ingredients, extending it in your direction. You raise an eyebrow at the boy and said fingertip before turning your head away.

“If you really think that I would lick that off your finger, then you’re terribly mistaken.”

Coyly, the mischief-maker in question retorts back as you glance at his impishly delighted expression. “Are you sure?” 

“Positive,” you state rather firmly, but matching the mirth in his eyes with a glimmer of amusement in your own. “I’ll settle for the spatula, thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” Donghyuck rolls his eyes, your answer completely expected. At least he tried. 

You won’t deny that you enjoy sampling a bit of the batter of a dessert as much as anyone. But not that much.

Left with no choice, he takes himself up on his own offer and sticks his finger into his mouth with an audible ‘pop,’ exaggerating the action just to get a rise out of you, feeling the upward curl of his lips when you react ever so slightly with a silent chuckle.

You’re adding the last bit of flour to the mixture when you accidentally get some of the powdery substance on your hand in the process. Turning the automatic mixer off, you momentarily forget about your stained skin and you make the mistake of wiping your face with the back of your wrist, smearing the white stuff on your cheek. Donghyuck notices, of course, and an innocent attempt to help clean up the mess only ends with the two of you blushing like crazy.

“Let me help you,” he speaks up.

“Don’t be ridiculous, the pan’s not that heavy, and even if it was, I’m strong enough anyway—”

You’re about to pick up the glassware but his sudden strides over to you from across the large kitchen cause everything you were saying, doing, and thinking to come to a complete stop. You’ve never really had a problem with personal space before, but right now he’s leaning down and his face is so close that you’re afraid to even breathe for fear that the action might just throw you off balance and towards him. For fear that you might not push his chest away with your hands if that happens.

He’s bending his knees to match your eye level and his hand lifts from its place at his side, hovering in midair not far from where the flour still lingers on your skin. His eyes had been so focused on the stain but the shrinking proximity between you and him pulls his gaze from your cheek to your eyes, blown wide and confused because you still have no idea that there’s something on your face.

The undoubtedly palpable tension in the room almost reaches down his throat and pulls the words from his vocal chords in an effort to dispel the heavy air circulating around the both of you.

“There’s… uh… you have flour…”

Donghyuck still hasn’t broken the less than comfortable eye contact, but he’s unable to look away for reasons unknown to him. After an agonizing amount of seconds your brain switches on again, albeit slowly, and you’re able to properly process the position you’re currently in. Your own hand starts to lift and though the movement is slight, it’s enough to draw his eyes down to it and he finds the strength to complete his goal at last.

His thumb swipes across your cheek and without even thinking he pops it into his mouth once again, forgetting about the unpleasant taste of flour. The way that the boy’s face scrunches up when the bitter powder meets his tongue doesn’t eliminate the awkwardness completely, but it’s a start. You hastily make an effort to avert your gaze as you frantically wonder if he caught your face that’s surely as warm as a blazing fireplace, all because he did the unthinkable with that stupid finger of his.

You won’t let yourself dwell on how his hand is just the right size to cradle the side of your head, or how much nicer his lips look up close, or how they must taste like the blueberries that he snuck into his mouth as you made the cobbler, or how you wished he had used his lips on your cheek instead of his thumb.

How you wish he had closed the almost nonexistent distance between your flushed faces.

These thoughts do nothing to ease the steadily growing heat that’s currently taking over your skin. Your eyes land on the glass pan and you take the opportunity to grab it, acting as a sort of distraction for your mind and also as something to snap you both out of your embarrassed hazes.

You get the finished dessert into the oven with no trouble after that, and now you have a little over half an hour of time to kill before it’s ready, so Donghyuck leads you into the nicely furnished family room and plops down onto the plush couch. When you don’t immediately follow he glances up at you, sensing that you’re still hesitant after the awkward moment. He smiles softly and almost apologetically, as if he’s sending a silent signal that you’ll both move past it soon enough, an invitation to put the incident behind the two of you. And you accept it.

You take a deep breath before you sit down next to him, sinking into the cushions underneath and behind you. The material dips slightly under the weight of both your bodies and gravity itself seems to be in control as it pushes you together, shoulders bumping and the sides of your legs being pressed up against each other. Thankfully, the television roars to life with the laughter of a live audience on one of your favorite shows, and you exhale a puff of air you didn’t even know you were holding in. With every scene that lights up the large display, you curl up further and further into his side, his arm migrating across the back of the sofa and winding around your shoulder only a few centimeters at a time.

This feels like home. Donghyuck feels like home.

The buzzer of the oven interrupts when you’re halfway through another episode, prompting you to jump to your feet just as abruptly as the alarm-like noise had started blaring. Consequently his arm flops down by his side as he mentally curses the loud intrusion into what had become a comfortable atmosphere, an atmosphere that was finally surrounding you again after what felt like an eternity but had really only been an hour.

In no time, you’re returning from the kitchen, the warm blueberry contents of the cobbler oozing out onto the flowery pair of plates you had grabbed from the cupboard. Handing one to him and setting the other aside for yourself, you quickly go back around the corner to grab two tall cups of cold milk. Your second time joining him on the couch comes more easily, almost all of the earlier tension having dispersed into the room, wafting out the windows along with the delicious scent of the fruit baked into the sweet, flaky crust. In fact, you’re fairly sure that it’s strong enough for even his neighbors down the road to smell. Which reminds you: you need to package some up to deliver to them tomorrow, per Donghyuck’s suggestion.

You’re most definitely sure that he smells the aroma, of course, because it’s hard to ignore the eagerness with which he takes a large bite of the dessert. “We make better bakers that I thought we would,” the boy comments, taking a sip of milk. The white mustache that it creates above his top lip when he lifts the glass to his mouth is enough to make you giggle, and you’re unaware that this predictable reaction was his objective all along. He grins, rather satisfied.

With your stomach now full, a head-plaguing drowsiness begins to set in. It slowly fills your senses enough for you to drift off, fork nearly falling out of your hand and onto the floor before he catches it, along with your weight when you slump down against his shoulder. Donghyuck is barely able to reach one of the end tables, and he sets the dishes and silverware down next to the now empty cups. Your body unconsciously clings to his like a koala to a branch, with both hands clutching one of his arms and a leg hooked over his thighs.

He takes one look at you and wishes he could pause time, to stay here forever. It’s not every day that he meets someone who can easily match the amount of snark he possesses. Simultaneously, you also balance out the friendship you share with your compassion and sense of wonder about the world, always evident in your morning routine when you come to the fields. Donghyuck has noticed that you bring out those same qualities in him, perhaps more than anyone else ever has. And just like you’re holding him right now, he vows to hold on to you.

As much as he doesn’t want to get up and for the evening to progress, he knows he should, that it has to. So he manages to detach from the hold of your limbs, gently pushing himself up and off of the couch so he doesn’t disturb you.

Glancing at the large antique clock above the doorway that leads out into the hall, Donghyuck realizes it’s much later than he thought. He decides to turn in for the night, but on a regular day he usually finds himself still awake well past midnight, despite the need to wake up early the next morning and run the farm from the crack of dawn.

Since you’re tired and he doesn’t want to risk you waking up alone in an unfamiliar bed and place, he comes to the conclusion that he’ll join you. Only leaving your side for a moment, he puts the cobbler into the refrigerator and turns off the kitchen lights behind him as he goes. Softly padding halfway up the stairwell, Donghyuck makes sure there’s enough light for him to see where he’s going before making his way back into the living room one last time. He tucks one arm underneath both of your bent knees as tenderly as he can, and places the other behind the middle of your back, hand gently curling against your waist. He carries you with probably the most delicacy he’s shown in his entire life.

Going upstairs is generally an easy task, but doing so while carrying another person is a different story. He would never forgive himself if he were to hurt you in any way. If even your foot happened to bump the wall next to you, a burst of frustration at himself and his own carelessness would surface regardless of the impact’s intensity

Your position in his arms gives him yet another opportunity to gaze upon your peaceful expression, and he begins to think more deeply about what you are to him. Looking forward to your visits makes his work so much more enjoyable and worth it. You’re someone who truly appreciates what he and his family do for a living and you faithfully support them with your business as a customer whenever you can, which is a rare thing to find in most people that come. Most are just bored and in need of something to occupy themselves or their kids. Sometimes they don’t even pick that many berries. But you always make sure to bring your own basket, which holds just as many as if not more than the ones the farm provides, and fill it to the brim. In his eyes, you’re special.

Amidst the mostly-asleep state that you’re in, your eyes just barely open far enough to see a blurry picture of Donghyuck’s face as he carries you through the house and up into the bedroom he had suggested you share. He sets you down onto the soft mattress before pulling the covers up to your stomach, retreating into the attached bathroom to quickly change into a thin t-shirt and his favorite pair of plaid pajama pants.

The memory of that conversation floods back to you. Initially, you refused the offer, saying that he would rest better if he had more space to move around. But being the clingy person he is, he had pouted desperately as you struggled to stand your ground in the discussion. “Fine,” you had huffed, only half-frustrated with those doe eyes he always uses to get his way, and your lips had great difficulty holding back a smile.

The hum of electricity that can be heard emanating from the next room snaps you out of these thoughts, and is enough to wake you up a bit more. Your gaze scans the surroundings for a minute or two before he opens the door again, his eyes now looking as heavy as your own.

Donghyuck joins you under the blanket and shifts to lay on his side, facing you. It’s funny that you’re both able to adjust to a situation so intimate and new almost instantly. Still on your back, your head turns and you’re conscious enough to raise an eyebrow at the boy. There’s that pout again.

“Please?” He mumbles, his bottom lip jutting out in an action he’s perfected. You know exactly what he’s after: cuddles.

You don’t even try to hide the playful roll of your eyes as you scoot a little closer, but it’s not close enough for him. He gets impatient, meeting you halfway, and this time it’s him that flings a leg over yours. An endearing, small noise of contentment from him fills your ears as you take notice of his arms, now interlocked behind your neck and around your shoulders. You melt into the snug position, a hand landing on his forearm that’s laying across your chest. Turning ever so slightly to the side, your other hand winds around his middle and eventually rests just above his hip, pulling him into you even more. Donghyuck nuzzles his face into the side of your neck, a few strands of your hair tickling his skin as he sighs in complete and utter bliss.

Determined to savor the moment until the irresistible inevitability of slumber starts to overtake you once more, you fight to stay awake with all of your might. But in what you thought was only the blink of an eye, the glittering stars visible through the bay window’s sheer drapes morph into the pale golden rays of first light. There’s a soft murmur of your name along with an unintentional, almost imperceptible peck to the place where his lips meet your skin, and you’re wide awake. Not to mention a little shocked.

He’s utterly unfazed, though, slowly waking up now that the sun has gotten brighter, its beams filtering into the room and hitting his already glowing face that becomes a gorgeous honey-colored hue.

Donghyuck reluctantly withdraws his arms from your form after one last embrace, effortlessly rising from the wrinkled bed sheets and offering his hand to you when you start to do the same. A sleepy smile makes a home on his features and he reminds you of your task to deliver a portion of the dessert you made to his next-door neighbors.

That’s exactly what you do, first making yourselves presentable in the bathroom by smoothing down wild bed hair and freshening up your faces with cool water. Being around to see each other’s natural morning states is a major act of trust, and he doesn’t miss an opportunity to poke fun at you for it.

“How long does it normally take for you to do your hair every day before you come here?” His tone is dripping with feigned innocence, but the sly grin on his lips says otherwise.

“Shut up, Hyuck.”

Tupperware container in hand, your shoes step in rhythm with his as you amble along the grassy shoulder of the street together. Somehow you end up hand-in-hand by the time you reach his neighbors’ front patio.

“Donghyuck!” The elderly woman at the door greets him with a twinkling voice, her husband coming into view soon after. “Look who it is, honey,” she motions fondly to the boy who they both once knew to be much shorter and younger, but now is all grown up before their eyes. “You’re getting so tall. It seems like only yesterday you were scurrying through the blueberry fields and waving to us through the gaps in the fence.”

“Yes ma’am, it does,” he responds politely. The couple has been living there for as far back as he can remember, and quite honestly they feel as if they’ve become part of his family, too.

Her warm brown eyes light up. “Is this the customer your mother was telling me about last week? She mentioned how close you’ve become, and now I’m finally seeing it for myself. You make a lovely pair.”

“Oh—” Donghyuck startles. Not much can get him flustered, but he hadn’t exactly been anticipating for his mom to recount all the things he’s said about you to the sweetest and most innocent of elderly couples. Of course they would assume that there’s something going on.

Not that there’s anything wrong with that, with you. He wouldn’t mind at all, really. He’ll just need to have a word about a little thing called privacy with his mother later.

You see the glint of panic in his eyes and speak up. It’s not often he makes such an easy target for teasing. “Thank you,” you state graciously, the smugness in the statement only noticeable to him. “We’re very happy together.” He feels you lean into him, fingers unwrapping from his and gripping the other side of his waist. You know exactly what you’re doing, and so does he.

Almost forgetting to hand over the slices of cobbler you’d cut earlier, Donghyuck nudges you to do so, and the four of you exchange thanks and farewells before you’re on your way back to the farm.

“Happy together, huh?”

“Shut up, Hyuck.” You mumble something else afterwards that he doesn’t quite catch.

“What’s that? Didn’t hear you,” he sings, stopping in his tracks. You do the same. “Shut up and what?”

“...And kiss me.”

After many days and many nights spent wondering, you can confirm that his lips do, indeed, taste as sweet as the blueberries in those fields.

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[artaefact]

unexpected visitor.

➳ 951 words | fluff, angst-ish, boyfriend au, college au | lee jeno x f reader | pg-15 | swearings

The rapid knocks against your front door startle you from your word document. Furrowing your brows, you check the clock to see it’s nearly midnight before exiting your bedroom, wondering, who could it be?

Tentatively, you peek through the peephole, only to gape at the sight in front of you. Unlocking the door, Jeno stands there with a bouquet of your favourite flowers. But what shocks you, even more is the fact that he’s out of his room on a weekday. He never leaves his place unless it’s the weekends since your boyfriend has to maintain his top grades to stay in the hockey team.

“J-Jeno? What…?”

He extends the bouquet to you, fidgeting as he waits for you to take it from his hand. Gradually, you notice his face flushing, which you assume from the cold. So, you open the door wider to let him in.

Closing the door, you turn to him, “Hey, what’s happening?” After setting down his backpack, he looks completely lost in your apartment despite his frequent visits on the weekends. “Weren’t you busy doing some project or something?”

“I-I can’t stop thinking about the way we left things back in the library the other day…” he blurts out.

Ah…

“We could talk it out tomorrow,” you tease, trying to lighten the mood as you take the bouquet from his hands. “Tomorrow’s Friday, the last day of the week. And thanks for this.” You raise the flowers slightly in your hold.

Jeno stills as you walk to find an empty vase.

“I’m sorry…” he mutters, but loud enough for you to hear.

You hum. “You don’t have anything to apologise for. I was too clingy—” Jeno draws a sharp breath at that while your heart pangs at the word Jeno used to describe you. Well, he didn’t outright use that word, but it feels like he implied it. “—and you needed space, I understand that. You really don’t have to go all the way here. I’ll still be around tomorrow.”

“Shit, no, you’re not at all clingy, Y/N. I just said how we seem to never part from each other,” he recalls before adding quickly. “But that does not necessarily mean it’s a bad thing.”

“Uh-huh…” You face him after putting the flowers on the vase, hands crossing over your chest as uncertainty looms on your expression. “That’s not what your friends told me, though…” Confusion appears on Jeno’s face now. You continue, “—the day before we went to the library, they told me you weren’t able to focus during hockey practice because I kept on distracting you whenever I’m around. A-and when you said that in the library, I assumed you needed some space… So, I told you I had something to do.”

“Did you?”

“Well, yeah. I have an assignment to finish if I want to go to your celebratory party on Saturday. You invited me, remember?”

Jeno places a hand on his forehead instantly. “I completely forget about that.”

“Glad to remind you of it.” You chuckle before the room lapsed into silence. “Anyways, is that all?”

Jeno sighs. “You’re still avoiding the subject.”

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

You grow annoyed at this. “Look, you said you needed to get things done too, right? Don’t you have that report you had to do? We can talk about this tomorrow—”

“I missed you.”

Silence.

“I’ve been missing you—” Jeno repeats in a quieter voice. “Like... A lot.”

“It’s just two days, Jeno...”

“Two days too long,” he mutters, gazing at your wooden floor momentarily before releasing a breath. “Look, I know I’m not the best with words or talking about my feelings, but please believe me when I say you’re not making me uncomfortable,” he pleads, eyes begging. “In fact, I love it when you’re around me, even if I got distracted. If I needed the space, I would have told you, Y/N. We promised to be honest with each other, right?”

You nod slowly, and he sighs in relief.

Jeno steps closer to where you’re standing hesitantly as if testing the waters whether or not you’d step away from him. But you remain rooted to the spot, and he strides to you, closing the distance. Once he gathers you in his arms, he breathes in your scent.

“So... Are we good?” His voice comes out uncertain, mumbling into your hair.

“You’re hugging me, aren’t you?” You counter, arms wrapping around his lean frame.

He chuckles, “You’re not making this easier.”

You snort. “Since when do I make it easy for men?”

“Right.” He laughs fondly, burying his face onto the crook of your neck. “I must be an exceptional man to be able to charm you. And in all honesty, I think my lame jokes did it. That’s why Haechan didn’t stand a chance.”

You groan into his chest. “Hell no.”

“Says the one who laughs at my lame jokes.”

“I think it’s time for you to leave. I’m busy, and it’s late.” You attempt to pull away from him, but his strong arms keep you close to him.

“I don’t mind.” He grins. “I brought cuddles and kisses too, you know. I’m sure you’re missing them after two days.”

“You want to stay over…?” You stare at him. “On a weekday? But you don’t—”

“I brought my laptop along. So, we can work on our assignments together.” He cuts you off, giving you the most puppy-like expression as if saying ‘pretty, please?’ with only his eyes.

“If you’re okay with it, then…” You trail off as he nods eagerly at your words.

“Of course.” He kisses your forehead. “As long as you’re with me.”

© artaefact 2021. All rights reserved. Copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform or by any means is NOT permitted.

#nct-writers #cznnet #nctcreations #neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #neoswitch #nctmentary.net #kafenetwork #kpopscape #kdiner #lee jeno #jeno #jeno x reader #jeno x you #jeno imagines #jeno scenarios #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct dream #nct dream scenarios

[badwithten]

〉jaemin x fem!reader

〉word count 330

〉from my 500 follower event

〉for @chiffonymark SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT :( i hope its sweet though? 

“Y/N” His voice is barely audible, a distant mumble in your waking sleep. Your mind holding onto the warmth and safety of your fading dreams. But he doesn’t give up, his hand gently caressing your face. “Wake up dear”

“Jaemin?” You can barely think, let alone speak or open your eyes as you become aware of his presence on the edge of the bed.

“I want to show you something” His thumb brushes over your lips, swollen from sleep as your eyes flutter awake.

“What time is it?” You finally sit up, leaning your head into his shoulder.

“Half-past five” His hand rubs your back, trying to wake you.

“Jaemin” You groan and sit up, pouting as you finally open your eyes fully. You take in his worn-down features. Eyes heavy, skin pale and hair a mess. “Did you sleep last night?” It’s your turn to hold his face, touching his soft bare skin.

“Don’t worry about me” You know what that answer means, especially when you catch his computer screen still glowing. He leans in, capturing your lips for a sweet kiss. Not caring about dry lips or morning breath, more than happy to have you with him.

“What is it you were going to show me?” He answers silently by standing and taking your hand gently. You unfold your legs and hold his arm close as he walks you through the dorms and up to the roof. “Look”

You’re nearly blinded by the fresh morning light. The anger for him waking you so early disappears as you see what he woke you for. The rising sun, beautiful in her morning state. Although she never really sleeps, leaving as your eyes shut and coming back to say good morning. Usually, you’re not awake to tell her the same. But this special morning you are. Arm in arm with Jaemin by your side, your lips warm from his and the sun in the sky wishing you a good day

#unfortunatus: paradiso #NCTmentary.net #nct #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct reactions #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream scenarios #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #jaemin #na jaemin #jaemin x reader #jaemin imagines #jaemin fluff #jaemin reactions #jaemin scenarios

[biletdoux]

waiting: physical therapy | d.sc

Rating: G (in this part)

Genre + Tropes: non-idol!au, romance (angst, slice of life)

Warnings: mentions of a car accident

Length: 1.2k+

Summary: Sicheng is a creature of habit.

Note: it’s a little late, but i’m back!! i swear i’m working on my other works as well, i’ve just been a little caught up with school and work ;; this one is for @odentist​ and @adamfoolcry​ bc ilysm!! i know i’ve been absent, but you guys are in my thoughts always. thank you for putting up with me!!! it means a lot and i’ll work on being better at keeping in contact<3 also, i know not many people read my works, but i’m always super grateful toward the people who do <333

Masterlist // [Previous | Next]

part iv: physical therapy

Sicheng has physical therapy every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday morning from 09:00 to 11:00. He arrives at each session exactly 15 minutes early every time and although the receptionist who registers him varies depending on the day, Minho is always there to greet him with a bright smile. Sicheng would then set his stuff aside in a designated locker for the day and he’d start off the morning with some light stretches before the actual session started. This has been his routine for the past few months now.

Today is no different. 

“Sicheng,” Minho grins with a tap of his electronic watch. “Eight forty-five on the dot as usual.”

Sicheng shoots a small smile with an acknowledging nod of the head in reply as he rolls his wrists and starts loosening his ankles. His joints ache and creak in ways that bother him more than it should and his stiff muscles hiss in protest. Sicheng understands he should be grateful that he could at least walk and stretch on his own, but he can’t help but become bitter when he remembers his old lithe self. Minho is oblivious to Sicheng’s inner machinations as he mirrors him and does his own set of stretches. 

Sicheng is a dancer. Was. Is. Sicheng will be a dancer again. One day. Yes, one day. Definitely. Hopefully.

While at heart, Sicheng will always be a dancer, his body is broken and won’t move in ways that it once did. Minho helps build him back up two hours at a time, three days a week, but Sicheng knows his body will never go back to the way it used to be prior to the accident. 

Sicheng remembers waking up with a hazy mind and heavy limbs. The bleak whiteness of his room and bed sheets blinded him as he struggled to register his surroundings. The plastic nasal cannula delivered heated high flow oxygen through his body and the wires attached to his body alerted the nearby nurses of his rousing. They came in and took a set of vitals before talking to him sweetly, as to not alarm him too much, but his head ached and Sicheng still can’t recall much of what happened the first few days he came to. 

The doctors said a lot of things, but Sicheng extracted that he was lucky. 

Among other things, the impact left him with two broken ribs and a punctured lung. They told him he was transported to a nearby hospital just in time before his left lung completely collapsed, but his spleen had ruptured, requiring emergency surgery to prevent further internal bleeding. There was moderate trauma to his head, resulting in cerebral contusions and swelling, but they determined his central nervous system came out unscathed. Sicheng’s mind and recollection was still foggy and tattered, but they assured him that it would return. Perhaps in pieces, but one by one it should come back.

Sicheng was bedridden for over a month and required an additional month of intensive in-patient hospital rehabilitation from his injuries and deconditioning before he was even cleared for discharge and out-patient rehabilitation. The doctors were surprised by his progress and had a positive outlook on his prospect, but Sicheng knows. 

Things will never be the same.

Sicheng enrolled in the best out-patient rehabilitation his insurance provided for him and that was how he met Minho, a ray of sunshine and the epitome of positivity. Minho’s relentless encouragement lapped at Sicheng’s bitterness and eventually wore him down. Now Sicheng finds himself looking forward to their sessions together, despite having to face he’s no longer who he was.

“Are you ready?” Minho asks. “We’re going to work on strengthening today.” 

During his first session with Minho, Sicheng still wobbled on his feet. The hospital sent him home with a walker and pair of crutches, but Sicheng found it insulting when pirouettes and grand jetés used to come as second nature. Minho introduced himself with a fervor that had Sicheng wincing. He didn’t want to be here, especially when it meant entrusting his recovery with some happy-go-lucky sap. 

Sicheng gave Minho the cold shoulder the entire session and completely ignored any suggestions or advice. This went on for a few more times until Sicheng almost collapsed one day from pushing himself too hard despite Minho’s warnings. His legs were cramping and his lungs felt like they were going to burst. Sicheng nearly toppled over had it not been for Minho there ready to steady him at a moment's notice. Minho said nothing as Sicheng heaved in long and heavy breaths as his skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat. 

Minho was quiet and didn’t say much. Sicheng appreciated him for not rubbing too much salt in his wounds.

During the last twenty minutes of that session where Minho was helping Sicheng with stretches, he broke their strained silence.

“Sicheng, you have to be kind to yourself and allow yourself time and patience. I know it’s tough, but things will come back. The mind may forget, but the body always remembers.”

Sicheng didn’t say anything back, but he couldn’t find it in himself to scoff back like he would at any other tacky saying and ever since then, he grew to have a quiet respect and even tentative friendship with his physical therapist. 

Sicheng looks forward to Friday sessions the most. Usually they do strengthening most of the time and today is no different. It’s harder on his body than other sessions, but he enjoys the steady ache of his muscles afterward. He views it as a sign of progress and Sicheng takes in greedy gulps. 

Sicheng finishes today’s sessions on autopilot, barely noticing the minutes that flew by until it was time to stretch. Minho helps push and hold positions when Sicheng can’t and he’s grateful.

“Hey what’s up with you today?”

“Hm?” Sicheng is flat on his back and Minho is supporting his right knee to Sicheng’s chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Dunno,” Minho hums thoughtfully as he switches to stretch Sicheng’s left leg. “You just seem tired.”

“Oh. I’ve been having trouble sleeping I guess.”

“Will talking about it help?”

Sicheng ponders his offer for a minute before a soft grunt escapes his lips. His left leg is always stiffer than his right and Minho is pushing it today. “No, I don’t think so, but I’ll be fine. Thanks.”

“Okay, I’ll take your word for it. Try to get good rest though, it’s crucial for recovery.”

Minho understands Sicheng enough to know exactly when and where to push, physically and personally. A comfortable quiet settles between them until the session is over. 

Sicheng cools down in the locker room before heading out and waving goodbye to Minho and the receptionist of the day. 

By 11:20, the sun is out and the streets are busy. Sicheng has to block out rays of light from his eyes as he looks up to see the buildings to decide what the next move for the day will be. Maybe some lunch? 

He ponders quietly to himself before noticing a tap on his shoulder and turns to see a girl.

“Sicheng, is that you?”

Note: oooof, this one isn’t as whimsical and fluffy as the other cause it has lots of exposition, but finally mores stuff is revealed about sicheng!! 

#nctcreations #cznnet #neowritingsnet #NCTmentary.net #winwin scenario #winwin fanfic #winwin angst #nct scenario #nct fanfic #nct angst #wayv scenario #wayv fanfic #wayv angst

[lebrookestore]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐞𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞

Collab hosted by @heartyyjeno and @neojaems

  A Qian Kun x reader story

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐓𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐄𝐝𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐨𝐧

Playlist: Love Shot by Exo ; Blood Sweat and Tears by BTS, Psycho by Red Velvet

-Teaser

Warnings: tbd

[Note: all elements in this teaser are subject to change]

The room seemed to close in on itself, the stacks towering above you. You felt trapped, claustrophobic, and disgusted. Disgusted by the fact your mother would ever put you in such a repulsive situation. You ran your fingers over the dust-covered boxes, reeling back at the names and information that was on them. Bile rose to your throat as you choked back sobs. He was responsible for it all the misery that had been thrown upon you, the odd requests all made sense. This wasn’t an innocent union, it was an elaborate cover up, and you were the leverage.

Tears sprung to your eyes as you staggered back, leaning on the wall behind you for support. Shouts echoed from the other end of the dark room, and your breath hitched in your throat in fear of being caught. Shutting your eyes and clamping your hand over your mouth, you counted to ten in your mind, praying that whoever it was wouldn’t find you. The voices resided, the footsteps growing farther and farther. You opened your eyes, only for them to widen in a mixture of relief and fear.

"What are you doing here?"

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @danishmiilk @channoticedmeuwu @radiorenjun @1-800-seo @rueyins @sweetlyjaem @skaterboysunghoon @alicanta77 @jae-dreamin @leetaeyonglover​ @kiri-ah @kunrengui @sly-merlin​​​

𝐒𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤 𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@lebrookestore, 2021

#neoculturecafe #kpopscape #nctmentary.net #nctcreations #love shot #kun x reader #qian kun x reader #nct kun #wayv kun #kun angst #kun fluff #wayv kun x reader #wayv fan fiction #wayv fanfic #kun fan fiction #kpop fanfiction #kpop scenarios #kpop fluff #kpop angst

[dreamlab-nct]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓: 💚

𝗪𝗘𝗟𝗖𝗢𝗠𝗘 𝗧𝗢 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠 𝗟𝗔𝗕! 𝗦𝗖𝗔𝗡 𝗕𝗘𝗟𝗢𝗪 𝗧𝗢 𝗦𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗘 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗗𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗠𝗦↴

𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝘀 𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗲𝗺𝗯𝗼𝗱𝗶𝗲𝗱:

must be a writer/editor for NCT/WAYV (creators must have at least three published works on their blog.)

creators must be an active blog! make sure to sign up when you have the time (please let the admin know if you are going on a hiatus!)

if writers have more than ten posts you must have a masterlist with all of your works linked and listed.

if creators are smut and/or multifandom blogs- by all means, you are able to apply! (though the admin is not a smut or multifandom blog herself, you are welcome to join unless you disobey the rules post.)

rules post is here! please follow these regulations. we want the best for each other, no nightmares!

𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝘄𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗲𝗮𝗰𝗵 𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺:

reblog this post

follow this account

follow the rules and guidelines

dm the admin ( @donkey-hyuck​ ) in advance and fill out this application once accepted.

𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗱𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺𝘀:

link this network anywhere on your blog (i will be checking!) and tag all future posts with #NCTmentary.net in the FIRST FIVE tags of the post

if tags don’t work tag the network on the work or in the replies

reblog the acceptance post or make a separate post about your acceptance (if you are doing this, make sure to tag!)

if you have been accepted and made any blog changes, make sure to let the admin know- whether that’s a hiatus, URL change, or blog deactivation.

✧ 𝐈 𝐇𝐎𝐏𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐒. 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐊 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐏𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆!

#nct #nct dream #nct 127 #nct u #wayv #nct dreamlab #NCTmentary.net #nct network

[badwithten]

〉johnny x fem!reader

〉word count 1k

〉from my 500 follower event

〉for anon! this was super sweet to write and i really hope you enjoy 🥺

Johnny always thought you looked gorgeous. However, you wore your hair, makeup or not and no matter the clothing. But for some reason tonight he thought you looked even better than usual. Your skin seemed to glow under the cheap led lights, your outfit complementing your entire look. But the cherry on top was the frown you wore on your face.

“You’re cute when you’re angry, you know?” He has a cheesy smile on his face, one that was hard to stay angry at, but your embarrassment was too strong to let go this easy. His large hand rested on top of yours from across the table, an act of genuine kindness, a way for him to calm you down without letting go of his joke either.

“Oh piss off” But you weren’t having it, tugging your hand off of the table and turning in your seat, acting like a naughty child. Johnny had promised to take you somewhere nice for your eight-year anniversary, telling you to dress up the nicest you possibly can. So when you walked out of your hotel with him in a suit and you in your fanciest clothing, you weren’t expecting him to take you to a cheap pizza restaurant.

“Loosen up a little will you” You couldn’t understand how he wasn’t embarrassed to be so overdressed in such a place. Sure the pizza here was good, but you didn’t need to wear your diamond necklace to eat some cheesy bread.

But in his eyes, this was perfect. This was where the two of you had your first date eight years ago when you were still in high school. When he found out he would be in Chicago for this anniversary he knew you had to come and he knew tonight had to be the night it had to happen, he would finally ask you to marry him. To become his wife.

Yet tonight, you seemed so gorgeous, was it the hometown air? Or just his love growing? He didn’t know but it didn’t matter, either way, it made him incredibly nervous. When the food came out and the conversation started, you had calmed down. Forgetting your anger and embarrassment, just enjoying the night with the man you had been lucky enough to be with for the last eight years.

As the meal came to an end, he knew it was time to finally ask the big questions. His hands fiddled with the small box in his suit pocket, trying to find the courage to bring it out and ask as he watched you laugh about whatever story you were telling. But he couldn’t find the words, the ringing in his ears freezing everything around until all he could see was your bright smile and feel the velvet in his pocket.

“You alright?” You pulled him back out to safety, saved him from drowning as you did many times. His hands retreated back to his lap, cursing himself as he avoided the task.

“Yeah, are you ready to get going?” With full stomachs and sore cheeks from laughing, you made your way out of the pizza place, the cold night air instantly sending shivers down your bare skin.

“John” You made grabby hands at him, letting him know you needed him closer from warmth. “I’m cold”

“Of course” He chuckles, laugh steaming up in the icy air. Just like many times before, you let your hands slip forward into his pockets with his own hands. Sharing the warmth. It was something you often did on date nights when your hands began to get cold.

But he forgot about what he was hiding in those pockets. By the time he realised, it was too late. Both of your eyes going wide as both of you realised your mistakes.

“Johhny-” Your hands fall away from his pockets, leaving his hands empty and the box intact. You can feel your own eyes tearing up, heart pounding in your ears as you try to process how the next events are going to play out.

“I-, um” He took a deep breath, hand pushing back his hair as he swallowed his fear. No backing out now. With a shaky hand, he reached back into his pocket and pulled out the box. “I was supposed to do this earlier, but, well I don’t really know what happened?” His laughter was intended to hide his nervousness but you could see right through his glossy eyes.

“Oh my god, Johnny” Your breathing got heavier as you watched him get on one knee, not caring about the dirty sidewalk ruining his suit.

“Y/N, I have been lucky enough to spend the last eight years with you by my side. And I can’t express how much you being there has improved my life. You are kind and caring and to be honest, way out of my league”

You try to laugh at his stupid joke, but instead, it only makes the tears come out harder, your nose sniffling to try and stop the snot from ruining the moment. But the way you’re crying on a Chicago sidewalk may already be the end of your nice moment.

“So Y/N L/N, will you allow me to have the honour of having your hand in marriage? In being in your life for the rest of time? Will you marry me?” You can barely get the words out, mouth falling open despite no sounds coming out. Your hands reach down and cup his, both of you shaking in each other's hold. “Um, is that a yes?”

“Yes! Oh my god yes!” He stands, the biggest smile you’ve ever seen on his face. It takes a couple of tries for him to fit the ring on your finger, but when he does, he feels complete. The way the band shines under the light makes his heart jump.

“I love you” You can taste the tears on his face as he holds you close and gives you a proper kiss. But for him, you would go through any uncomfortable scenario. His love and soul are worth more than anything to you.

Because even after eight years with him, you can’t wait to spend another lifetime by his side.

#unfortunatus: paradiso #NCTmentary.net #nct #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct fluff #nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 reactions #nct 127 scenarios #nct 127 fluff #johnny #johnny suh #johnny x reader #johnny imagines #johnny fluff

[badwithten]

〉mark x fem!reader

〉word count 624

〉from my 500 follower event

〉for anon! i hope this was fluffy enough haha <3

Unlike you, Mark was a semi-early riser. Up before you most days anyway. Whether it was because of his schedule or he just became restless in bed, you would often wake up to find Mark away from the bed, eating in the kitchen or just standing in the shower.

“Why didn’t you wake me?” You would pout, head resting against his back as he continued on with his morning tasks.

“You don’t even look awake now” He would laugh, turning to hold you in his arms and smother in you in giggly kisses. “And you look peaceful sleeping, my love”

Despite his never-ending argument that he doesn’t mind you sleeping in and that he doesn’t want to disturb you. You would go through this routine every morning. Not that either of you minded. If often ended with you dragging him back to bed where you would spend the start of your morning cuddling.

But this morning seemed different. Usually, you would awaken to the sound of something dropping in the shower or the soft sound of Mark singing whatever tune was stuck in his head. Instead, a soft hand was resting on your arm, gently shaking you to consciousness as the voice calling you became clearer.

“Y/N, wake up” You finally opened your eyes, seeing Marks happy face looking down at yous.

“Mark?” You were still half asleep and confused, but you knew by the playful sparkle in his eyes that he was up to something.

“Quick sit up” He didn’t give you the chance to do it on your own, tugging you up a little forcefully to sit you close to him, resting with your back against your chest.

“What is it?”

“Check the time” He spoke against the bare skin of your neck, goosebumps ravelling your body as you lent over to view the clock on the wall.

“11:10? What?”

“Just wait” And so you did, sitting against him in silence. Feeling his heartbeat against your back and his lips against your neck. You let your head fall back, resting against his shoulder, you could fall asleep again. His warmth and smell making you relax. You stayed like that for another minute before he spoke again.

“11:11, make a wish” His words came out fast and rushed before he blew a raspberry onto your exposed neck. You yelped and pushed yourself away from him. When you look at him again his eyes are scrunched shut, looking like a kid making a wish on his birthday. Which is exactly what he was doing, did he really believe this 11:11 stuff?

“Mark, are you serious?”

“Quick! You’ll miss your chance” His eyes flew open again, a large grin on his face. When you made no move to ‘make your wish’ he grabbed your arms, pushing you onto your back as he hovered over you.

“Mark!” You laughed as he startled tickling your sides, desperately trying to kick him off but he kept going until the clock changed to 11:12.

“Aww, you didn’t get to make a wish, did you?” He finally let off, sitting up again as you continue to lay on the messy bed.

“Of course not!” You playfully kick his leg, fully awake now. “Do you really believe that your wish is going to come true?”

“I hope so” He pulls you up again, much nicer this time, to hold your face close to his, placing a kiss onto your lips.

“What did you wish for?”

“Can’t say” You feel him smile against the kiss, you sigh at his childish behaviour but you can’t deny that it’s cute.

He kissed you again and again, knowing that his wish was already true. A wish for your everlasting love.

#NCTmentary.net #unfortunatus: paradiso #nct #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct fluff #nct scenarios #nct reactions #nct 127 #nct dream #mark #mark lee #mark x reader #mark imagines #mark scenarios #mark reactions #mark fluff

[badwithten]

〉haechan x fem!reader

〉word count 591

〉warnings mentions of drinking and hangovers

〉from my 500 follower event

〉for anon! ahh this was fun to write so i hope you enjoy <3

“Mrs Lee” You offer her a big smile, usually you wouldn’t see her in the mornings, Donghyuck answering the door, but something about today was different wasn’t it.

“Is that boy supposed to be ready by now?” Her eyebrows furrow and you nervously nod. “Sorry, he hasn’t come downstairs yet, but come in and I’ll give him a yell”

She steps aside and lets you enter her home, her friendly manner disappearing as she stomps up the stairs. “Haechan!”

“What?! I’m up” You take your place at the dining table, searching the walls of the familiar house for family photos and old memories. The yelling upstairs dies down, you don’t feel awkward about it though. His family was yours and you laughed at the playful relationship he had with his mum. “And don’t call me that!”

Mrs Lee comes back down was a disappointed look on her face. returning to the tea she was drinking at the table. “He usually doesn’t sleep in, I’m sorry”

“It’s ok, we shouldn’t be too late” The clock still read just past eight, the walk from his house to school wasn’t too long but you usually got there with only minutes to spare. “He must have had a late-night”

“I hope not!” Her voice is loud, making you smile. “He knows he’s supposed to be home by 10”

Before you can reply, Haechan calls for you from his room. You excuse yourself and head up, dumping your bag on his bed before joining him in the bathroom. “Why are you so late?” You grin at him from over his shoulder, catching his face in the mirror.

“You know why” He pouts, turning around and resting his arms on your shoulders to bring you closer. “If you didn’t take me out last night I wouldn’t be so hungover”

“Whatever, I didn’t force you to go, you big baby” You give him what he’s been waiting for a place a kiss onto his lips. Pulling away before he’s satisfied and stepping away. “Now hurry up before we get even later”

He finishes cleaning himself up and grabs his bag, the two of you heading out to start your long walk to school. It isn’t til you leave out the front door that you notice the rain beginning to pour.

“Oh come on” He brushes his now wet hair out of his face, pulling his hoodie over his head.

“This is your fault you know!” You do the same, yelling over to him as the two of you begin to make a run for it. “If you had been ready on time we would have missed the rain”

“Shut up, at least it can’t get any worse” Just as the words leave his mouth, you see him fall out of your vision, his foot slipping against a wet leaf as he tumbles to the floor. Skidding onto the concert with a thud. “Shit”

His defeated eyes look up at you through the rain, but he doesn’t say anything, only watching as you struggle to catch your breath through the laughing fit. He swears he can see a tear leave your eye, or is it just the rain?

“Are you going to help me up?” Once you’ve calmed down and he’s been soaked with rain from the ground, he finally asks, hand reaching out for you.

“Come on, that was funny!”

“Don’t test me, my head hurts”

“That’s not my problem that you can’t handle your drinks”

“Oh says Miss ‘goes home after two drinks’”

“Hang on a secon-”

#NCTmentary.net #unfortunatus: paradiso #nct #nct x reader #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct reactions #nct fluff #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct dream reactions #nct dream imagines #nct dream fluff #haechan #haechan x reader #haechan imagines #haechan scenarios #haechan fluff #donghyuck

[artaefact]

3:08 p.m. — 0.6k words | fluff (?), college au, badboy!jaemin | na jaemin x f reader | pg-15 | swearings

author’s note: tbh i might as well make a drabble series with this 🤔🤔 (what do you guys think?)

prev 

The library is quiet as students filter in and out, busy with their own businesses. Luckily, you got the corner booth where not many people pass by, lessening the chance of you being distracted. Tapping your pencil repeatedly against the desk, you scrutinise the problem in front of you.

You’ve been here for hours after your morning class (and your only class for today). Refusing to revert back to your procrastinating-loving past self, you decided to get some work done today.

Clicking your tongue in annoyance, you scour through your laptop, checking the files you’ve saved from your lecturer. Not noticing as someone is making his way towards you.

You glance up from your laptop to the newcomer. “Oh, it’s you—”

“I’ve been looking all over for you. I must say I should’ve known you’d be here.”

“Well, I’m trying to get some work done.”

“Interesting,” he muses, eyes light up with mirth. “Mind if I sit here?”

“Not at all.”

He sits beside you, placing his things on the empty side of the table then murmurs, “I wasn’t expecting you to come back.”

You let out a sigh. “Things change I suppose. I figured it would be easier to adapt to your childhood hometown rather than going somewhere new.”

Jaemin nods in understanding. “You surprised me.”

“I actually doubt you’d still remember me,” you laugh. “Especially, like really? You’re the resident bad boy in here?”

“Hey, people just love to create gossip, okay?”

“You couldn’t even hurt a fly, Nana.”

He blinks at the sound of his nickname you’ve given him. “U-Uh yeah.”

“But well, my friend has been giving me a crash course about your friends and reputation. I must admit I wouldn’t recognise you, if I didn’t see you yesterday.”

Jaemin goes quiet for a moment. “Um... What exactly did you hear?”

You snort. “Some over exaggerated stuff I’m sure. Like you’re caught in a drug deal, you have different hookups every other day, fighting teachers, and illegal street racing?”

He looks mortified at your words. “I, uh— Well, yeah it’s over-exaggerated, people do tend to, you know, escalate rumours. And but for sure I don’t do drugs. I promise.”

You giggle at his flustered state. “Please, I know they’re untrue, Mister Bad Boy.”

He laughs (a bit strained but fortunately, you don’t notice). “Yeah, it’s not true...” Then he clears his throat, attention on your laptop. “Anyways, may I see your schedule? Who knows we have some classes together.”

“Gimme a sec.” You open the file of your schedule. “Here.”

Jaemin takes a close look at your laptop screen while you admire his features. Hell, you had to admit he’s grown up pretty nicely.

“You know...” you mutter, eyes still on him.

“Hmm?” He moves his gaze to you, eyes widening a fraction at the proximity.

“You’ve become really attractive.”

Jaemin’s mind short-circuits, blinking a few times still processing your words.

“Like I don’t understand, you and your friends are all really attractive.” You ponder. “How did you guys meet?”

And the only intelligible answer Jaemin can come up with is—

“Uh...”

You raise a brow at him, the palm of your hand supporting your chin. “I’m listening...”

“I-It’s a long story...”

He mentally kicks himself. Hell, he’s been with so many people, even in closer proximity to them than with you right now. But he can’t seem to form coherent words with you so close.

The confidence he mustered when he saw you earlier deflates and he’s reverting back to his old self who doesn’t know how to socialise.

“Don’t tell me you guys bond over like those ‘bad boy’ things?” you tease, elbowing him playfully. “Girls and cars?”

He gulps. Usually he’d admit that so easily to others. But to you?

The words are stuck inside his throat, refusing to come out.

What the hell is happening to him? Shit, Jaemin needs to get to the bottom of this. And fast.

© artaefact 2021. All rights reserved. Copying, reposting, translating, and modifying in any platform or by any means is NOT permitted.

#cznnet #dreamwritersnet #nctcreations #nctmentary.net #nct-writers #neoswitch #neowritingsnet #kwritersworldnet #kpopscape #nct #jaemin fluff #jaemin fanfic #jaemin x you #jaemin x reader #nct fluff #nct fanfic #nct dream scenarios #jaemin scenarios #jaemin imagines #nct scenarios

[badwithten]

〉hendery x fem!reader

〉word count 434

〉warnings nudity??? kinda

〉from my 500 follower event

〉for anon! sorry this is kind of short, a lot of these are cuddling and i didn't want it to be too repetitive 

Wrapped up in his arms, bare skin pressing into each other, morning odours and all. You were his and you got to experience it every morning. The gleeful smile, puffy face and groggy thoughts.

Hot summer nights spent out on the beach or midnight walks lead to morning sleep-ins. No matter how hot it may be, he insisted on cuddling you to sleep. Claiming he couldn’t rest without you. And even if you separated during the night, face flushed hot, you’d find his arm back around your waist, his face in your chest and his sticky skin against yours.

“Hendery” You groaned out his name, pushing him away in your half-asleep state. It was too hot for cuddling and the intense heat had woken you up. He didn’t reply, only pulling you in closer with a hum. The both of you slept mostly naked on hot nights like these, the only thing covering your bodies are the thin sheets of your bed. Meaning you can feel every bit of his burning skin, the thin layer of sweat making you feel gross as you pull away to cool yourself down.

“Don’t get up yet” He mumbles his last words into your skin as you finally sit up, his head falling away from you and into the pillow with a groan. You can finally catch a breath of air, calming yourself down and tugging the sheet up to your body. Hendry's back lays exposed out into the air, his head down into the pillow. As much as he looks peaceful sleeping, you think he deserves some payback for trying to cook you this morning.

You lower your head and place a raspberry onto his back, the sensation startles him awake, making him jump up and push you away. “Y/N!” He laughs, eyes sparkling as he watches you giggle. “Why?” He slumps again, face hiding into your shoulder.

“Because,” You shove him off, letting him fall back down onto the bed. You love moments like this, where you get to see the real him. Fresh-faced, lying awake and exposed in the sun. His features are relaxed but you can tell he’s paying attention to every word you say, despite the childish nature of your conversation. “It’s too hot”

“You always say that you big baby” He tugs at your arm, pulling you back down into his chest. As much as you hate the heat, feeling his warmth brings you back to a state of comfort.

“You're the baby” You pour into his skin, feeling his body vibrate with his laugh. “Can’t even sleep without cuddling me”

#wayvhoursnet #unfortunatus: paradiso #NCTmentary.net #nct #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct reactions #nct scenarios #wayv #wayv imagines #wayv x reader #wayv reactions #wayv scenarios #hendery #hendery x reader #hendery imagines #hendery reaction #hendery scenarios #hendery fluff #wayv fluff #nct fluff

[badwithten]

〉ten x fem!reader

〉word count 529

〉from my 500 follower event

〉for anon! ok this is honestly so cute and i can imagine this happening a lot bc my cat is a bitch and does the same but enjoy LMAO <3

It wasn't often you got mornings together with Ten. Either of you leaving for work before the other got up. Even on weekends with Tens unusual schedule. So today was a lucky day, one that would happen once in a blue moon when your off days overlapped. You went to bed with high hopes for the next morning. Getting to see your boyfriend's morning face, his scruffy stubble and uneven hair. Or hearing his morning voice, deep and gravely, a reminder of the home he had brought into your life. This was an activity you had taken for granted in your last relationships. Something that you had just expected to happen whenever you stayed at your partner’s house. What you did not accept was it would happen less once you had moved in with one.

But Ten was the expectation, he always was. He made you view life differently, got you to live in a way that made you happier. He didn’t force his opinions down your throat or make you change to fit how he liked. He had made a positive impact in your life as time went on. The both of you grew as people, side by side, getting to have two perspectives on the world. You were in love to say the least.

So when your eyes fluttered open and you were met with his face, asleep and calm. You couldn't get rid of your smile. In the low light it was hard to see all of his features but you had seen his face enough to know what he would look like. His lips would be slightly separated, a small snore entering the room. Eyes resting shut, with lashes kissing his cheeks. Speaking of, they would be flushed pink, hot from sleeping.

Since this was such a rare occasion, you wanted to savour this moment with him. Your hand gently held his face closer as you placed a feather light kiss on his forehead. But soon all peace was thrown out the window. Sounds of two sets of paws happily stomping on the wooden falls and soon two thumps joined you at the end of the bed. Leon and Louis not caring about the sleep you would have been getting right now as they mowed loudly.

You quietly tried to call them over to you in an effort to shut them up before waking Ten. But it only made things worse as they continued their morning calls and barged their way in between you and Ten. The soft fur and gentle meows stirring him awake. “Y/N?” He slowly rises, sitting up on his arms to find your face. Instead was met with the wet nose of a cat in his closed eyes. “What’s happening?”

“The kids are here” You smiled, accepting the early morning wake up call as Louis makes himself comfortable on your chest.

“What?” Ten is still having a hard time waking up, but as he forces his eyes open it soon clicks. “What's the time?”

“Only just seven” His eyes go wide with a sigh, lying back down and covering his face, Leon playfully swatting his hand for attention.

“For fuc-”

#wayvhoursnet #unfortunatus: paradiso #NCTmentary.net #nct #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct reactions #nct scenarios #superm #ten #ten x reader #ten imagines #ten scenarios #ten fluff #ten reaction

[badwithten]

〉yangyang x fem!reader

〉word count 888

〉from my 500 follower event

〉for anon <3 i’d love to hear your thoughts! i’m not very good at writing fluff or cuddling but hopefully you enjoy

Yangyang, of course, loved you very dearly. His dedication to your relationship over the past year was evidence of that. But the things he more specifically loved about you. Well, that was a long list. He loved the colour of your eyes against any light, the way they searched the room full of hope and happiness, the way they delivered all your emotions alongside your words and moved him. He loved when you would grip onto his sleeve, scared of the crowd he brought on because of his career. He loved that despite being camera shy, you could push through your fear and love him unconditionally. He loved your voice when it would go quiet as you express your deeper thoughts or how it would explode with excitement when talking about your favourite show. Or the way it would crack when having to deal with any of his large number of colleagues. The last one was probably a bit mean to tease you about, but he loved when you got embarrassed. Oh, and he loved how you hated cliches.

You hated them with a passion and you refused to go along with any of his shenanigans. If he asked you to join him on the rooftop for a kiss in the rain, you would tell him off for trying to get the both of you sick. You would never ask him to kill or remove any bugs you saw, being able to do so yourself, which he was glad, he hated bugs. Never once did you need him to open a jar, the one time he joked about it, you handed the jar over to him and watched him struggle to turn it the wrong way for a few minutes before giving in. You didn't ask to wear his sweatshirts or clothing, knowing that he protected his expensive clothing with his life. And although he didn't mind those things, it made it hard for him to show you his feelings.

He based all his tips and tricks off of cheesy movies he had seen. Or he took advice from Ten, who was also taking advice from unrealistic k-dramas. So at first, it was frustrating that you didn't take to any of his stupid romantic gestures. Eventually, he became grateful, it made him more open with his feelings, coming up with different ways that actually expressed his love, rather than a cheap box of chocolates and a couple of roses.

But once cliche he was happy you didn’t hate, was cuddling. It was hard for you to admit, but you found such comfort in his touch and warmth. It helped ground you and bring you home. His heart beating calming you down. When he first found out that you truly desired to just be held by him and be told calming words, he teased you.

“Aww does my cliche hating girlfriend want me to hug her like in those movies?” You pouted and turned, refusing to hug him for the rest of the night until he wrapped you in his arms and brought you into his chest.

At first, it was pretty random whenever you wanted to cuddle. There were the obvious times like when he was leaving the next day or when you were watching a movie. But other times you would come home without a word, jumping into his arms and expecting him to know what to do next. Which he learnt after only a couple of times. But it soon became clear to him what was really causing it. Stress. When exam season started, your cuddle sessions became a lot more frequent. Him waiting with open arms as soon as you came home from your classes.

And tonight it was practically bad. Despite having such an important exam the next day, you couldn’t get your brain to relax. Stress keeping you awake with unimportant thoughts about failure and success. You tried your best to stay quiet with all your tossing and turning, but it must have gotten too much at some point, Yangyang stirring awake, voice still hoarse from his sleep as he speaks to you.

“Is that you?” He sits up and blindly reaches up to where you would be sleeping, but you’re eyes are wide open as he places a hand gently on your face, feeling your eyelashes flutter against his fingertips. You sigh and take his hand, sitting up and playing with his fingers. “What are you doing up?”

“I can’t sleep” You feel better already just hearing his voice so rough and broken at such early hours of the morning.

“Stressed?”

“Yeah” He lies back down, leaving his arm open for you to cuddle into. You already know the drill moving into his side right away and feeling a wave of relief as you meet his chest.

“Time to sleep now baby” He places a kiss on your forehead, tightening his arm around you. One hand finds your head, gently patting it until he gives in to sleep. But it’s ok because soon you join him, his heartbeat making you drift off.

Because as much as you hated cliches, it was hard to deny that being in Yangyangs arms felt like home. His scent was nostalgic, his warmth like a cup of tea of a cold winters day. He was your comfort.

#wayvhoursnet #unfortunatus: paradiso #NCTmentary.net #nct #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct reactions #nct scenarios #wayv #wayv x reader #wayv imagines #wayv timestamps #nct timestamps #yangyang #yangyang x reader #yangyang imagines #yangyang scenarios #yangyang reaction

[badwithten]

〉sungchan x fem!reader

〉word count 1k

〉from my 500 follower event

〉for @amaryllisray​ i feel like i had a fever dream while writing this idk what happened, its kinda shitty but enjoy <3

Sungchan was a very attentive person, putting time and care into whatever he was doing. It made for cute moments whenever it was his turn to cook dinner or when he picked out a movie for the two of you to watch. And you appreciated it. Although sometimes being woken up at seven in the morning because he thought you were wasting too much of your day was frustrating. You knew the kid had good intentions.

With quarantine keeping you locked inside your tiny apartment, you had been spending a lot of time with your roommate. Discovering things about him that you hadn’t noticed in the past year of your college life. Did he always have empty ears? You had sworn you had seen a shining piece of metal hanging off of them before. What about when he wasted you in Just Dance, was he always that good at dancing? It made you realize that while your roommate had been paying attention and befriending you, you really didn’t know much about him.

Sure he was nice with a cute smile, but what else was there about him? Exams and studies had kept your mind occupied. But now that you were free from all of that, it gave you a chance to talk to him properly. Actually appreciate his words and thoughts without the distant thought of your next quiz in the back of your mind.

But you had recently discovered his desire to visit a famous restaurant a couple of hours away from where the two of you lived. Without a car and no public transport available, he was stuck at home. This was the perfect time to offer him a ride to the restaurant. And maybe being stuck in the car with him for a few hours would make you pay a bit more attention to him.

Just like you had expected he was pretty excited to go. Planning his outfit out the night before like a kid going on a field trip. Which is why it made you feel like shit when stuff started to go wrong. First, you overslept and had to rush to get ready. Your car seemed to be way dirtier than you remembered and your card declined at the restaurant meaning Sungchan had to pay for it anyway.

“I’m so sorry about today,” The sun had left the sky, the two of you driving back in the dark. “I really wanted it to be a fun trip but I kind of ruined it”

“I still had fun, don’t worry about it” It was hard to tell if he was being genuine or just trying not to make you feel bad. But it worked, calming you down a little. Now the only thing you had to worry about was driving the two of you back home safely.

But even that seemed to be a challenge as your engine sputtered and slowed down, giving you barely enough time to turn off of the road. Your eyes went wide as you watched the scene unfold, the flashing empty light on the gas, the bouncing of your car and then the view of a snowy field as you moved off of the road.

“I thought we would make it” Your voice was small, broken as you tried to think about what to do next. But you were defeated, a state of exhaustion coming over you at the late hour of the night after a busy day out. When you were running late this morning, you didn’t want to lose any time at your reservation so you insisted that you would make it there and back with the gas left in your car. But you were just proved very wrong.

“Did we just run out of petrol?” You don’t reply, hiding your face in the steering wheel with a groan. Before he can reply or ask another question, you open the door and slide out of the car. Shutting the door in his face as he leans over to see what you’re doing.

The air outside is a lot colder than what you had expected, arms wrapping around your body as you feel your face go frosty. You can see your breath in the moonlight, looking up into the empty sky.

“Y/N?” Sungchan joins you outside, standing by the edge of the road where a thick layer of snow has formed. You walk over to him, struggling to see his face in such a dark night.

“I’m really sorry Sungchan, I’ll try to call my insurance.” His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you into his side for a comforting hug. One that also warms you slightly. “I really wanted today to be fun, I just ruined everything. This is my fault. I really am sorry”

“Aw Y/N,” You can feel the tears forming in your eyes, guilt for ruining what was supposed to be a fun day eating you alive. “Not everything is your fault, you can’t take the blame for it all. These things just happen sometimes”

You look at him, eyes sparkling and a small smile at his words. “But this time it totally is all your fault” But then it's pulled all away again.

“What?!” Before you can step back and get a reply, his arm pulls you back, letting go with a swing and his airy laugh as you fall back into the snow. “Sungchan!”

You freeze up, body going tense at the sudden cold and wet snow surrounding your body the further you sink down. You watch his silhouette as he laughs at you but it's not long before he copies jumping face down into the snow. Despite the day you ruined, he managed to save the night.

Another thing you failed to notice about Sunchan was that he was an easygoing person. You didn't need to stress the small things around him. He just appreciated the thought no matter what is was. So even though things didn't go to plan today, he got to spend time with you. And that's all that mattered to him. Laughing in the winter night, throwing snow at each other while you're stranded on an empty highway. To him, it was the perfect way to end a day that didnt go to plan. Because he knew you had good intentions.

#unfortunatus: paradiso #NCTmentary.net #nct #nct imagines #nct x reader #nct reactions #nct scenarios #nct fluff #sungchan #sungchan imagines #sungchan x reader #sungchan fluff

[moonbeamsung]

Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele​ @kisshim​ @radiorenjun​

network tags: @kpopscape​ @neo-constellations​ @starryktown​ @culture-cafe​ @dreamlab-nct​

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

#kpopscape #neo-constellations #starryktown #neoculturecafe #nctmentary.net #nct #nct au #nct fanfic #nct dream #nct 127 #wayv #nct dream fanfic #nct dream scenarios #nct dream au #mark lee fanfic #mark lee fluff #mark lee angst #mark x reader #mark scenarios #mark imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct 127 fanfic #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct oneshot #nct fluff #nct angst #fluff #angst #mark lee oneshot

[badwithten]

〉jeno x fem!reader

〉word count 912

〉warnings drinking, mentions of vaping, vomit

〉from my 500 follower event

〉for @chiffonymark​ i was going to make this super angsty but i decided against is,,, you have been spared another day ENJOY THOUGH LMAO <3

You had arrived at the party with Jeno on your arm, both of you looking and feeling good, ready to spend the night drinking and dancing together. But you soon spilt up and here you are. Sitting on the bench outside of your friend’s apartment, the cold wind of the early hours keeping you awake and on edge as the alcohol in your system keeps you warm and tries to make you sleep. But you fight it knowing Jeno will be here soon.

“Y/N?” His familiar voice makes you sit up, turning to see where he’s coming from. You watch with love in your eyes as he jogs to you under the bright street lamps, his breath visible in the air.

“Hi,” You don’t make a move as he gets closer, arms hugging over your body to keep what little warmth you had left in.

“What are you doing out here? It’s freezing” He doesn’t let you stay dormant though, pulling off his jacket and throwing it over your shoulders. “Let’s go home”

His jacket and scent bring you back a little, willing to move as he helps you up. But the alcohol is still buzzing, your senses on fire as he walks with his arm around you to keep you close. “Jeno you’re so pretty” His side profile is lit up by the moon, skin glowing and red from the cold.

A breathy laugh comes up as he looks at you. “So are you baby” His words come easy as he gives you a kiss. Lips warm against your forehead. “You’re still so cold”

“It’s ok” He sighs, knowing that it’s not really. That later you’ll be feeling the cold real bad, maybe even get upset at him. But he supposes that right now, things are ok. Walking down the empty street on a quiet night in the lost world, with you by his side is the only place he wants to be right now.

The party you two had been at wasn’t the most exciting. It was small, just a group of college kids drinking and dancing. He mainly went for you, he didn’t know anyone else or really care for parties. But you had invited him and who was he to say no. So it was disappointing for him when you got pulled away by a friend right away. Although he managed to keep an eye on you for the whole night. If he was vaping in the corner he could see you on the dance floor, when he was playing beer pong, you were drinking with a friend. As soon as he lost sight of you, he left the party, soon finding out you went home with a friend. Despite the two of you not making it official yet, he had this weird sense of protection over you. Was it creepy for him to be watching you the whole time? Maybe, but he didn’t know anyone here, he couldn’t trust them.

But seeing you again, sitting alone in the night reminded him of why he fell for you in the first place. Your independence, like a sturdy rock against the wreckage of the ocean. His everchanging emotions, his rages and his highs. You were still always there. Always protecting him and watching over him. So tonight, it was his turn to be the sturdy one. To make sure you get home safe as you stumble down the street drunk.

“Y/N please” He begs for you to slow down but he can’t take you seriously as you hang off his arm, pulling him forward, using his strength to your advantage.  As if your small burst of energy ran out, you collapse onto the sidewalk, lying and looking up at the sky. “It’s late, can we please get you home?”

“Jeno” You groan at the movement as he pulls you up, needing to support you more than he did earlier.

“Y/N I love you but this is ridiculous”

“Oh~ he loves me!” You sing out, laughing in his face before burying it into his chest.

“Shut up” His hand rest against your head, patting it and trying to bring you up again. His face fulls up with heat as he thinks about your words. “Not in that way”

But he’s lying. That way is exactly how he meant but he was hoping you were too drunk to hear him. Yet even though he was only lying to himself, it felt so wrong when his feelings were so strong. It was now or never to finally express his thoughts. “I do like you though, I mean I guess it’s a bit obvious isn’t it?” Laughing to himself as he holds your slumping body against him. “But I was wondering if you felt the same if you wanted to take ‘us’ further”

“Nows probably not the time, but uh, I think I love you” It takes everything out of him to say those three words as he means it, not like the cheesy lines he spoke earlier. But when you don’t reply, it brings him right back down. “Y/N?”

“I’m gonna-” You have to push him away, falling onto your hands and knees against the edge of the grass as a wave of vomit passes through your lips.

“Oh Y/N” He finds himself laughing again, kneeling next to you and rubbing your back, helping you bring up the alcohol. Was this all his love was good for?

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