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peachiefics · 5 years

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Killing Me Softly

Pairing: Woozi x Reader

Genre: 70s!AU; Angst; Fluff

Warning: Violence; Drug Use

Word Count: 2,453

Synopsis: It takes years to build an empire, but a single day for it to fall. Can these lovers-by-chance take on the music industry?

“I just need you to bang out another hit. Y’know something real groovy- that’s what you kids say nowadays, right?” the middle-aged man chuckled, shoving one hand into his pocket as he leaned against the wall.

“Yeah, something like that,” Jihoon sighed, running a hand over his face in a mix of annoyance and exhaustion.

“I know you can do it. That’s why I hired you, and you’ve done it before.”

“But my heart’s just not in it. I didn’t sign on for disco, Mr. Jamison.”

The man looked at him with a smirk before taking a long drag of his cigar. “You signed on for whatever the fuck I tell you to write and there ain’t a damn thing you can do about it ‘long as I’m cutting you a check. Now get to work,” he sneered. Tapping the end of the cigar, he didn’t even watch the ashes hit the floor before leaving the studio. Jihoon watched in anger as Jamison exited, accidentally snapping his pencil in half.

About an hour later, he balled up yet another piece of paper, throwing it into the overflowing bin on the other side of the room. “Shit,” he mumbled, dropping his head to the wooden desk. ‘Washed up before thirty…Who would’ve thought…?’ His eyes drifted between the clock on the wall and the blank pages of his notebook. “Fuck this,” he said defiantly, grabbing the book and a pen before making his way out of the studio, as well.

“Another scotch on the rocks, please,” Jihoon requested, punctuating the sentence with a slight hiccup.

“I don’t know, Man…I think I might have to cut you off,” the bartender replied, slightly amused at the hazy look in his patron’s eyes.

“C’mon, just one more. I swear I’m okay,” he pleaded with only a slight slur to his diction.

Their banter was interrupted by applause as another singer took the stage at the front of the dimly lit bar. Jihoon turned his attention to the bronze-complected, demure woman that stood in front of the microphone.

“How y’all doin’ tonight?,” she began. “I’m not really one for introductions, and most of you know me already, so I’ll just get started with a number by good ‘ol Miss Flack. Y’all dig?” Noticing the crowd’s positive reaction, he wondered what made her so special.

Then she opened her mouth.

“Strumming my pain with his fingers Singing my life with his words Killing me softly with his song Killing me softly with his song Telling my whole life with his words Killing me softly with his song” At that moment, Jihoon knew that this was the sound he had been searching for. The harmonies he couldn’t hold on to. The melody he’d been missing. This woman’s voice, so soulful and sultry, was exactly what he needed.

“Who’s that?” he asked the bartender.

“Oh, that’s _____. She’s a regular here. Performs every Friday night for open mic.,” he replied. Jihoon nodded, deep in thought.

After finishing her set, she took a bow, humbly accepting the applause that rang through the air. “Much love, much love,“ she smiled. “Enjoy the rest of open mic night, and I’ll catch y’all on the flip side.” With one final wave, she walked down the stairs at the front of the stage.

“Great set, as always,” the bartender said as she walked by.

“Thanks, David,” she smiled.

Figuring it was now or never, Jihoon stopped her before she could leave. “Uh, excuse me.” She turned to look at him with a pleasantly curious expression. “You were amazing up there.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not sure of how to say this, but basically…I need you. Wait, that sounds terrible. I need your voice. That’s not much better,” he muttered the last part under his breath before inhaling deeply. Exhaling, he inwardly cringed at the confused look on her face. “My name is Lee Jihoon and I’m a musician. I write and produce for Copasetic Records.”

She nodded, skepticism clear on her face. “You don’t believe me. It’s okay, I wouldn’t either,” he says, handing her his card. “Anyway, I’ve been banging my head against the wall trying to find a new sound and I think I just did.”

“And that sound is…me?” She placed a hand on her chest in disbelief.

“Yes. Money’s no object. I just need you to record a song for me.”

She skimmed over the card before handing it back to him. “No thanks.”

“What?” he asked incredulously.

“I’ve heard the stuff you produce and it’s not my style.”

“But this song would be different. With your voice and my lyrics, we could make a hit.”

“With your lyrics?” she scoffed. “Ooh baby, do it real groovy,” she recited humorlessly.

“Okay, so that wasn’t my best song, but-Wait!” he exclaimed, following her as she walked out of the bar.

“Look, I only saw ‘Foxy Brown’ once, but I’m a fast learner. Keep following me and I’ll have no problem kicking your ass.”

“No need,” he raised his hands in defense. “I’m just asking that you take my card…In case you change your mind.”

“Fine, but that’s not likely to happen.”

Jihoon became a regular at that bar over the next few weeks. Drinking numbed the pain of him having sold his soul to Copasetic Records and seeing _____ revived what little hope he had left in the music industry.

“You’re pretty damn persistent, aren’t you?” she asked, taking a seat on a bar stool before ordering “the usual”.

“No, but I’m pretty sure I’m becoming an alcoholic,” he chortled. David placed a martini in front of her and Jihoon stopped her before she could pay for it. “It’s on me.”

“I don’t accept drinks from strangers,” she simpered.

“Well, I don’t think I’m that strange, do you?”

She thought for a moment before speaking again. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch. Just buying a drink for a beautiful girl.”

“Thanks, but drinks and compliments don’t get me into bed or the studio,” she said in a slightly teasing tone.

Well, she was half right.

Soft smoke clouded the air in Jihoon’s bedroom as they found themselves tangled in a mess of bare limbs and plush sheets. He watched intently as her lips curved around the joint and released a cloud as smooth as the sound of her voice. As smooth as whiskey gliding down his throat. As smooth as the fabric beneath them.

“…And so I found a gig at the bar and just…never left,” _____ exhaled, smoke flowing throughout her words.

“But you could be doing so much more,” Jihoon sighed. “Pass.”

She handed him the blunt and he took a long drag before continuing to speak. “Don’t you wanna see your name in lights, _____?”

“Not if it means being a puppet with a record exec’s hand up my ass…Sorry,” she laughed, noticing Jihoon deadpan at her comment.

“Look, I came to LA hoping for something different. Something worthwhile that would make me happy. Then I experienced hunger…I did what I had to do and then I got used to the money. Figured that if I just played along for a while, I’d eventually get to create what I wanted…but I guess I was wrong.” Realizing that this was clearly a sensitive topic for him, she placed a hand on top of his.

He smiled softly at her before putting the roach out in the ash tray on the bedside table. As a silent “thank you”, he leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, tasting mint, hemp, and bliss.

The next morning, Jihoon woke up to an empty space in his bed and the sound of his piano in another room. After sliding on a pair of boxers, he made his way into his living room to find _____ sitting at his grand piano, his red flannel loosely fitting around her small frame.

“You’re pretty good,” he smirked, leaning against the door frame.

She jumped a bit, immediately removing her hands from the keys. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t resist.”

“She’s a beaut, isn’t she?” he asked, walking over and gliding his hand across the wood.

“You ain’t never lied,” she smiled, still mesmerized by the instrument. “Play something for me,” she grinned, finally looking at him.

“Alright. Any requests?”

“Surprise me,” she shrugged.

He nodded and began to play the tune of “Killing Me Softly”, causing her to laugh a bit. “Of course you picked this song.”

“Sing for me,” he beamed, fingers gracefully tapping.

“Beautiful,“ he complimented before adding, “Oh, and the singing was good, too.“ She giggled a bit before leaving a sweet kiss on his lips.

About two months had passed before Jihoon showed _____ his song book.

“I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?” she asked, rolling another blunt.

He pulled out a small notebook and handed it to her as she placed the herb on the table. “Back page.”

She smiled and opened it, landing on a page with her name on it. He watched her expression nervously as she read. “Jihoon, this is beautiful,” she gushed, eyes trailing along the words of adoration and love. “Did you write something to accompany it?”

“Of course,” he smirked, standing to go to the piano. Cracking his fingers, he played the first few notes. “Sing for me?”

“Of course.”

They ended up recording that song, not through persuasion, but of _____’s own suggestion. Soon after, the two found themselves sitting in a mess of velvet and leather, Mr. Jamison’s office.

“I really think we’ve got a hit on our hands, Sir,” Jihoon said.

“Play it,” he responded stoically. Jihoon followed his orders before sitting down next to _____ and holding her hand tightly.

As the song came to an end, Jamison laughed bitterly. “What the fuck is this? This isn’t disco.”

“We know, but we feel that this is better. Soul is going to outlive disco, Mr. Jamison. It has a timeless sound that’ll carry into the 80s without a doubt.”

“Jihoon, I don’t pay you to feel. I don’t pay you to think. And I definitely don’t pay you to bring no-name sluts in here with their demos.” Jihoon’s blood boiled at his words and _____wanted nothing more than to leave, but she refused to leave Jihoon there. “I pay you to write.”

“Not anymore,” the younger male calmly stated.

“What?”

“You heard me. I quit.”

“Your contract binds you-”

“As long as working conditions are satisfactory. And they’re not. I. Quit,” he said through his teeth before standing up and grabbing his girlfriend’s hand. “Good luck keeping your fucking company from tanking.”

By 1981, disco had, in fact, died. Copasetic Records had gone bankrupt and closed, giving rise to a new company.

One owned by Jihoon and _____.

After years of struggling through performing, networking, and negotiating, they had created a label consisting of various soul artists. Some even began to branch out into some new genre. Jihoon believed it was called hip hop or something similar. _____ swore that in time, it would catch on.

“Jihoon, we’re gonna be late to our own party!” _____ exclaimed, walking into their bedroom. She frowned, noticing him hunched over the bedside table. “Jihoon, I thought you said you weren’t doing that anymore.”

He quickly stood up, wiping his nose. “I know. I just…I’m really stressed right now and- _____, wait!” he called after her as she left the room. Following her out, he grabbed her arm. “I’m sorry, okay?”

“You shouldn’t be sorry for me; you should be sorry for yourself.”

“And why is that?” he challenged, fed up with her constant nagging.

“Well, for starters, your nose is bleeding,” she said, ripping her arm from his grasp.

“Shit,” he muttered, going into the bathroom to clean it.

A few hours later, the two were greeting guests at a party for the label’s first anniversary. Setting his wine glass down on a nearby table, Jihoon searched the room for _____. Once he spotted her, he quickly made his way over and pulled her to the side. “I’m done for good,” he said.

“You’ve said that b-”

“I know, but this time I mean it. I’ve seen so many people go after fucking with that shit, and I know you’re terrified that I’ll be next. But I won’t be. I’m not leaving you any time soon,” he explained, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I love you,” she smiled, placing one hand on his cheek.

“And I love you. ‘Ya dig?,” he chuckled.

She nodded, laughing before kissing him softly. “I should get back out there.”

“Go. I’ll meet you onstage,” he smiled. As she walked off, he reached in his pocket, clutching the tiny velvet box with a grin.

“And to think that it all started in a bar,” _____ said, causing everyone in the crowded room to laugh. Jihoon smiled as she told the story of how this all came to be. In that moment, he knew he couldn’t wait any longer. As she invited him to come up and say a few words, his hand gripped the box tighter.

“Well, before I talk about the label…I want to- no, I need to say something.”

Just then, a shot echoed throughout the room, launching everyone into a panicked frenzy. _____ screamed as Jihoon fell to the floor, clutching his bleeding stomach. Rushing to his side, she lifted his head and yelled into the crowd, “Someone call 911!” As she looked around, she noticed a familiar face in the crowd. Mr. Jamison, who stood in an almost dazed state as people rushed towards him.

“Jihoon, stay with me, okay? Everything’s gonna be alright,” she said, trying to stay composed as he coughed up blood. “You said you wouldn’t leave me any time soon, remember?”

“I love you,” he struggled to say.

“I love you, too,” she cried. Her watery eyes met his lidded ones as she felt his heart begin to slow down. The small velvet box caught her eye, having fallen out of his pocket, and she could’ve sworn her own heart stopped as realization hit her. “No no no…,” she repeated, shaking her head.

He stopped her by speaking as clearly as he could manage. “_____…Sing for me…one last time.”

#jihoon #svt #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen angst #70s au #kpop #kpop fic #kpop fanfiction #black kpop fans

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astarryon · 6 years

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Broken Like Me Part 2

Pairings: Bucky x reader

Warnings: Mentions of suicidal thoughts, anxiety, angst

A/N: Okay, back for round two! So this one is a little short, but it’s setting up some things to come. Once again, I would just like to reiterate that I’m not trying to glamorize any aspect of suicide, and if you struggle seriously with thoughts of these kind, please seek help! If you need anyone to talk to, I’m always here to listen.

Part 1

—

This situation was becoming a mess entirely too quickly for your tastes, and the fact that you couldn’t see an obvious way out of it really wasn’t helping your anxiety in the slightest.

Technically you had done this to yourself, but you could still blame Bucky for putting you in this situation in the first place. He’d been the one to leave his phone number on your counter, after all.

After leaving the coffee shop with him yesterday, you had silently begun to make a plan in your head for the best way to go about this unexpected and mildly uncomfortable situation.

Step one: allow him to accompany you home. It was evident that he wasn’t taking no for an answer here, as annoying and inconvenient as that was for you, but you guessed you could deal with it. And, anyway, he’d insisted you continue to wear his jacket, which was the thing you were the least upset about; yeah, the guilt of taking his jacket was sort of eating at the backmost part of your brain, but it quickly dissolved upon finding that you could actually feel your fingers while being outside now. Slightly selfish, sure, but you weren’t really going to complain.

Step Two: ditch him outside of your apartment building. Meeting Bucky had been one amazingly impressive fuck up on the part of the universe, so the sooner you got rid of him, the sooner you could get the world back in balance and go about your business, which would probably consist of another week of convincing yourself to… well. That wasn’t really something you liked to think about, nor was it something you were proud of, and at this point it didn’t matter. What did matter was convincing Bucky that you could make it back up to your apartment without his help or company.

Step Three: never come into contact with this guy again. It was nothing personal against him, of course. Bucky seemed like a perfectly nice man, behind that beautiful, somewhat haunted face of his. You just weren’t… you just couldn’t. Not now, not when you were on the verge. It wouldn’t have been fair to either of you.

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky’s voice had broken you from your reverie as the two of you had boarded the subway train heading further into Manhattan, taking seats beside one another. “Seems like there’s a lot going on in your head.”

“Yeah,” you told him, “that’s kind of like… the definition of basic neural function?”

“And that’s something you’re capable of?” he shot back with a half smile, not missing a beat.

That had caught you off guard, you had to admit, and it had even managed to startle a short laugh out of you. You’d been sure that you would’ve come off as bitchy, which had, in a way, been the desired effect; the ruder you were, the less inclined he would be to insist on staying with you the entire journey to your apartment. However, Bucky had bitched right back to you, which was a little… impressive?

He was merciful enough to remain mostly silent until the train reached your stop, and declined to speak completely as the two of you made the journey to your apartment building. The thought to try and outpace him had crossed your mind, but you had quickly written it off. You weren’t excessively short legged or anything, but Bucky’s stride could double yours effortlessly. There was really no point in even trying to lose him. The walk from the subway station hadn’t taken more than ten minutes anyway, and the real challenge had begun once you’d reached the front of your building.

“Thanks,” you had told him, “for walking me home. Um, I think I’ll be good from here. So. You don’t have to stay anymore.”

“Yeah, no problem,” Bucky told you, smirking slightly as he completely ignored your words and stepped into the building regardless. You were helpless to stop him and could only follow, and the next thing you knew he was marching over to the stairs, gesturing for you to lead the way to your floor.

Just like that, Bucky had kicked the shit out of step two.

Great.

Trying to ignore the rising sense of panic in your chest, you led him up the three flights of stairs to your floor and to your apartment, opening the door and stepping inside, turning to see him stop just at the threshold. “Are you coming in?” you had questioned.

“Is that okay?” he asked. The guy ramrods you into letting him walk you to your apartment and he suddenly becomes conscious of what you are and aren’t okay with?

“Just for a minute, I guess,” you conceded. Bucky had been kind enough to buy you hot chocolate and warm you up and walk you home, despite your adamant protesting to all of it. The least you could do was invite him inside and offer him a glass of water, even if he’d fucked up the plan you’d mentally concocted to get him to leave you alone.

He’d stepped inside, eyeing your living space, and you thanked your lucky stars you’d cleaned it the day before, in an attempt to brighten your otherwise melancholy mood. The place was a shoebox, and at times a messy one, but it was your messy shoebox and you liked it all the same.

“How’s your head?” Bucky had asked, leaning against the island of your kitchen. “You don’t feel woozy or light sensitive or anything, do you?”

“No,” you responded simply, hoping to make this visit as short as possible. As much as you wanted him to leave so you could just be by yourself and wallow in the fact that you couldn’t even manage to off yourself without somehow fucking it up, you had to admit that it was nice of him to even ask.

“Would you tell me if you did?”

“Probably not,” you admitted, not untruthfully.

Bucky eyed you in a way that made your skin crawl. Not that he was being creepy or anything, the guy was just unnecessarily intense. Like, he was nice and attractive and all, but he also sort of gave you the impression that he could bodyslam you to the ground unprovoked at any given point in time.

That wasn’t the thing that intimidated you, however. Bucky was big and lean and tall, and if you were trying to pick a fight with him in a bar then the guy would be your absolute worst nightmare. But, none of that was relevant to you, as you had no interest in getting clocked by a guy twice your size with a metal hand that looked… oddly familiar? No, the reason Bucky seemed to so easily unsettle you was because, as you’d noted in the coffee shop, his eyes seemed to look right through you. It felt like he was reading your soul, when he was watching you with that analytical gaze, and that made all of your senses scream with worry and protest. Did he know something, somehow? Was he aware of what he’d gotten in the way of you doing that morning? Had all of this been a hidden attempt at saving your life, even though Bucky wasn’t someone you’d ever met before? Obviously all of those were just paranoid scenarios crafted by your brain to make you three times as anxious as you needed to be, but you couldn’t help thinking there might’ve been truth to some of those.

After eyeing you for a bit and seeming to mull something over in his head, Bucky leaned over the island to grab a pen, then reached for a random piece of paper from the stack of mail you kept on your counter. “I’m leaving you my phone number,” he had announced.

“Please don’t,” you sighed, raising your eyes to the ceiling.

“I’m leaving it,” he said again, a hint of a laugh dancing behind his words. “Just in case you have an issue later, okay? Don’t feel pressured to call me or anything.”

“You telling me not to feel pressured to call you sort of makes me feel pressured to call you.”

His lips lifted in an amused smirk. “I mean a text would be fine too, so you have a few options there.” His following laugh had made it clear that he had been joking, but your social anxiety was already kicking in at the mere thought of having to contact Bucky, who you didn’t know at all. “I do have to get going, but in all seriousness. If you need anything, really. Send me a text.” A certain sort of humor shone in his blue eyes. “Even if you just wanna let me know that you didn’t fall into a coma overnight.” He headed back towards your door, the lift of his cheek as he walked away making it clear he was smiling once again. Pausing just before exiting, Bucky had looked back over his shoulder and said, “It was nice to meet you, y/n. Hope to see you around.”

Bucky had left after that, and you had taken eight million years to come down from the adrenaline high that spending the morning with a total stranger had afforded you. After that you had stripped your soaked clothing off, changed into some pajamas, and crawled into your bed, where you had remained for the rest of the day. Your morning time activities had required much more energy than your body had been willing to give, apparently.

You had thought about calling your best friend and inviting her over, just to have the company of someone who you loved and who you knew loved you, but you ultimately decided against it. The gravity of the decision you’d been about to make that morning wasn’t lost on you, and you felt sort of guilty. Not because you’d been on your way to ending things, but because you hadn’t given anyone a proper goodbye. You were afraid that if you got too emotional, your friends would know something was up, and then you’d really be in deep shit. The thought to write goodbye letters had crossed your mind once or twice, but each time you sat down to write them, the words escaped you, and anyway, who would you write them to? How did you decide who was important enough to leave a note? Or, rather, how did you decide who not to leave a note for? It wasn’t practical. If there was anyone who would somehow be unlucky enough to manage to feel guilty even in death, it would be you.

You’d pushed the thoughts from your head and exhaled, determined to let your mind go blank so you could have some semblance of calm.

It wasn’t until the next morning, when the ache of hunger in your stomach had bullied you from the comfort of your bed sheets in pursuit of food that you’d stumbled across your pile of wet clothing once more. Or, to be more accurate: your pile of wet clothing, and Bucky’s jacket.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” you mumbled to yourself, stooping down to pick it up. You had gotten so comfortable in the damn thing that you had forgotten you were even wearing it. You wondered in the back of your mind if, between the leaving his jacket and the depositing of his phone number on your kitchen counter, this had all been Bucky’s intent all along. Then you had told yourself to stop being paranoid and self serving and to handle the situation like a normal functioning adult would.

That was how you ended up where you were now, phone in hand, Bucky’s number in the receiving field, and your thumbs hovering over the screen, waiting for you to decide what message to send.

Hey Bucky, it’s y/n from yesterday,

You rolled your eyes at yourself, quickly backspacing the whole thing. Obviously if you were including your name, he would know that the two of you had met yesterday.

Hey, it’s y/n. You said I could use this if I needed to, and I don’t need your help or anything. I think you left your jacket here, is all. Uhhh, not to say that you did it on purpose, it’s just—

No, that was even worse. You backspaced again.

Bucky, it’s me. You forgot your jacket, did you wanna come and—

Well you couldn’t just invite him back to your house, could you? You backspaced again, increasingly annoyed.

Hey fuckface, you forgot your stupid fucking jacket.

Exhaling in frustration, you dropped your phone onto your bed and palmed your face, wishing you could remember how to be normal. This wasn’t always a hard thing for you; you used to be very good at making new friends, greeting new people, and men had never made you as flustered as Bucky seemed to be able to. You rolled your eyes and decided to give up, figuring Bucky wouldn’t be missing his jacket too badly if he hadn’t remembered to ask for it before leaving. You picked up your phone, but it slipped out of your hand, your fingers failing in attempting to catch it. You huffed in annoyance, but suddenly went rigid when you heard a swish come from your phone, the noise which signaled a text had been sent.

Oh no. Oh please, for the sake of everything good and fucking just in the world, please, no.

You picked up your phone and unlocked it, reading the message you had just mistakenly sent to Bucky’s number.

Hey fuckface, you forgot your stupid fucking jacket.

You wanted to die. Right then and there, without any hesitation, you wanted to die even more seriously than you already did, because holy fuck, how were you supposed to come back from that?

Okay, no, there was no need to panic just yet. Maybe Bucky had been messing with you and had given you a fake number; maybe you’d just sent that text to some poor, random, unsuspecting person, and Bucky wouldn’t get it.

Your hopes were dashed when your phone buzzed with a text alert, a response to the text you’d just sent, and your anxiety was choking you as you read what the message contained.

And to think I bought you hot chocolate out of the kindness and goodness of my heart.

You weren’t even given enough time to appreciate the mercifully lighthearted and sarcastic tone of that message before receiving another one.

Glad to know you aren’t in a coma. How’s the head?

You blinked. Was he really just gonna let you off the hook? You’d probably owe him one if that were the case, as much as you hated to think it.

It’s fine. Do you want your jacket back?

Doesn’t sound like you’re appreciating it all that much, so I guess I’d better. I’m a little tied up at the house today, though. If you’re headed my way any time, would you mind swinging by?

Normally you would say no, just off of principle alone. Bucky was a stranger. You didn’t know him. You may have had a personal death wish, but the nice thing about that was that you got to be in control of how you died, and you certainly weren’t inclined to go out by being axe murdered. Still… he’d done you a favor yesterday. And, even though it still didn’t feel like it, his actions had been wonderfully kind. Dropping off his jacket was the least you could do… right?

If Bucky had kicked the shit out of step two of your plan, you were about to thoroughly and effectively murder the fuck out of step three.

Where exactly is your way?

—

“Mister Barnes?”

Bucky held up a hand, signaling for Sam to pause on the sparring session upon hearing the AI’s voice. He figured Sam could use a break anyway; Bucky had the luxury of improved stamina from the super soldier serum. Sam obviously didn’t, but would much rather be damned to hell than admit that he couldn’t keep up with Bucky for an extended period of time. “Hey Jarvis, what’s up?”

“There is a young woman present in the lobby of the tower asking for you. She has no security clearance, but insists that she was invited here to return something of yours?”

Bucky smirked in amusement; he knew you were coming, he just hadn’t thought you would be on your way so quickly. “Go ahead and send her up. I’ll be in to meet her on the main floor in just a minute.”

“Very well, sir.”

Sam gave Bucky a look, crossing his arms over his chest. “And since when do you talk to women outside of this tower, Mister No Game With The Ladies? Actually, scratch that; since when do you talk to anyone outside of this tower?”

Bucky rolled his eyes, stepping off the mat and grabbing his water bottle, chugging as he thought of an answer. The jab hadn’t necessarily been unfair. Bucky seldom spoke to people he didn’t know if he didn’t have to, especially on account of the frightened looks he often received from strangers. He got it; he was a big guy, he was intimidating to others, and when people recognized him as the Winter Soldier, most of them turned away in fear. The perks of being a well known ex assassin, he guessed.

You hadn’t looked at him like that, though, not with fear, or any kind of recognition. No, the only expression Bucky had initially gotten from you was one of short lived annoyance and… you had looked sad, if he remembered correctly. Your eyes had been constantly finding their way to the ground, you had been fidgety, shivering, and to put it simply, you had looked agonizingly miserable. He couldn’t remember ever seeing somebody who looked quite that sad. Shit, he wasn’t sure he’d ever looked that sad before.

“Just someone I ran into yesterday,” he explained to Sam simply. “Knocked the poor girl over and she hit her head. I figured the least I could do was buy her a hot chocolate to apologize.”

“Uh huh,” Sam replied, clearly unimpressed with Bucky’s statement. “And what’s she here to return? Your twenty first century virginity?”

Bucky choked, an embarrassed blush rising to his cheeks against his will. “Oh, fuck off, Sam,” he managed to get out. “I let her borrow a jacket. It was freezing yesterday and she didn’t have one.”

Sam held up his hands in a mock gesture of surrender. “ Hey, I’m just saying. You go from barely saying two words to anyone to inviting some random girl to the tower so she can return your jacket? That’s a pretty fast paced relationship where you’re concerned, man. Are Steve and I gonna have to go with you so you can ask for her father’s blessing?”

Rolling his eyes, Bucky presented Sam with his middle finger before beginning to walk away, not bothering to collect his things from the floor. Realistically, it wouldn’t take more than two minutes to pick up his jacket from you, and you’d been so skittish yesterday that he genuinely doubted you would allow the exchange to go on for much longer than that in the first place. “I’ll be back to kick your ass later, Wilson. Maybe if you keep practicing you’ll be able to win.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sam called just as Bucky had reached the sparring room’s elevator. “Don’t fuck it up, Bucky, like you always do!”

Chuckling to himself, Bucky shook his head and pushed the button to close the elevator, a surprisingly pleasant giddiness at the prospect of seeing you in his chest and curiosity at what you would say to him once you saw him.

Something witty, he was sure.

—

Tag list: @ayyomizzy @stan-by-me @slender--spirit @whatiswrongwithpeople

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes #sebastian stan x reader #fanfiction #fanfic #marvel fanfiction #mcu #marvel

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winkonium · 6 years

Text

tale of rocks and roommates

→ Every time they move dorms, a unit picks who rooms with whom. This year, it's Jihan's turn, and they do it with rocks

→ pairing: Jeonghan x Joshua

→ fluff, platonic relationship

→ word count: 2970 words

« masterlist »

“Shua!” Jeonghan chirps across the conference room of Pledis. Joshua is sitting at the other end, at the the CEO’s office chair, spinning around while playing something on his phone, while Jeonghan’s lost in thought and only went back to reality when he thought of something.

Joshua immediately looks at Jeonghan with lost eyes.

“We’re up for picking roommates this year!” Jeonghan excitedly announces, clapping his hands together but it doesn’t make a sound because of the freaking sweater paws Joshua loves to see.

Joshua doesn’t give any reaction. He just mutters a ‘nice’ and goes back to his phone.

Jeonghan is disappointed. Pouting, he races with the office chair towards Joshua. “Shua!!” He whines, grabbing Joshua’s arm and shaking it. “This is our chance to be roomies! With Cheol, too! Then we can put everyone and mess with their lives!”

Joshua continues to scroll, but then freezes to give Jeonghan his attention. He chuckles and Jeonghan sees a spark of hope at the response.

“That’s not how the mom slash dad of Seventeen is supposed to think.” Joshua scrunches his nose and bops Jeonghan’s nose out of fondness. “How are we going to pick who rooms with who?”

Jeonghan hums, looking at the ceiling to pretend he’s thinking hard.

“Let’s take a walk near Han River! Maybe we can think there!” Jeonghan stands up, pulling Joshua up who immediately obliges. They both link arms and walk towards their place of serenity.

It’s always like this for the two boys whenever they need to think deeply. Whether it’d be about work, carats, members, or just the smallest things in the world, like picking out the roommate, or what would they eat later, they would go to Han River for a stroll. The two boys have shared this place in order to think.

It was Joshua’s idea at first. When he first moved in to Korea to train, he would always go here after practice to think of his future, or to just ponder about what happened that day. Jeonghan noticed Joshua going in and out at night, so one time he followed Joshua, and that’s where it started.

Now, they’re at the banks of Han River at 11 PM in the middle of the freezing evening of January to discuss who rooms with whom. It’s their first time deciding ever since they had a dorm for themselves, and they’re beyond elated to be doing this. Actually, Jeonghan is more elated, Joshua is just so-so, but anything that makes Jeonghan happy makes Joshua happy.

“We’ve never roomed together.” Jeonghan says with a trembling voice. He really gets cold easily.

Joshua murmurs something that equates to him asking if Jeonghan has a hot pack and the answer is a no. Joshua then pulls Jeonghan even closer through their linked arms to share warmth.

“Except for that big old dorm.” Joshua answers.

“That’s not counted.”

Joshua chuckles. “I’ve roomed with Seungkwan and DK before. How about you?”

“Woozi, Cheol, Mingyu. That leaves Chan, Seungkwan, Hansol, Soonyoung.”

“I already said Seungkwan. You forgot Wonwoo. And China line.” Joshua raises a brow.

Jeonghan chuckles in embarrassment. “Right, sorry.”

“How many rooms do we have?” Joshua asks.

Jeonghan begins to count by mumbling, and concludes that there are 6 rooms in their new dorm, and that there are 13 newly made beds. Before proceeding to the main goal of their little meeting, they both talked about how pleased they are with the new design of their beds. It was designed as a bunk, only that the bunk is a closet and above is the bed. Very convenient, they might say.

“Vernon and Seungkwan shouldn’t room together anymore.” Jeonghan says in almost a hiss. “Too much.. Skinship.”

Joshua pouts and looks at the both of them. Too much skinship? Hell, they’re both linking arms at almost midnight, what the heck is this too good looking man saying?

“I mean, I don’t know.” Jeonghan chuckles. “Let the two of them miss each other.”

Joshua gets Jeonghan’s point.

“Any thoughts?”

Joshua goes silent for a while. “You and I should room.”

Jeonghan laughs light. “I know, idiot. That’s why we’re here!”

“What about Cheol?”

“Forget what I said earlier and put him in the pits of despair!”

Now it’s Joshua’s turn to laugh.

“Jihoon and Mingyu had a bit of a fight, did you hear about that?” Joshua says with a solemn voice. The boy doesn’t like it when members don’t get along, but then, who does?

“Yeah.” Jeonghan sighs. “Alright! They’re in the get along room.”

“Noted.” Mentally.

“Oh, Shua! Seokmin sleep talks and nobody wants to room with him for quite a while.” Jeonghan hates to say those words. He feels sad for his (do not tell anyone—favorite) friend (of course that’s aside from Joshua). “Seokmin sleep talks when he’s stressed. It’s not that no one wants to room with him. The members just want to give him space to relieve that stress.”

“Alright then. He takes the solo room.” Joshua easily agrees. “The one that has a solo bed and a huge ass closet.”

“Yeah.” Jeonghan says breathily. By then, the both of them have already settled on the ground to sit, looking at the glowing lights from the bridge, and the light that reflects on the waters of the river.

“Can we please not room Seungkwan with Hosh, though?” Joshua says. “They could set fire to a room if they dance too much.”

Jeonghan nods while laughing.

“That goes to Jun and Hao, too. They could be roomed together but not alone.”

Jeonghan hums in agreement. “Random thought! Let’s put Jun, Seungkwan, and Chan together. The three have good chemistry these days.”

“True.” Joshua nods eagerly. “They’re the happiness room.”

“Lame but okay.” Jeonghan teases but Joshua accepts it anyway. He knows Jeonghan likes to use the word lame but never intends on hurting him nor anyone.

“So Cheol and Wonwoo land in one room? We’re not going to room with him?”

“No! I will never clean for him again. You can put Hao in the happiness room.” Jeonghan says with a huff, but the two of them laugh.

“That’s basically saying Wonwoo has a contribution for the pit of despair.”

The two laugh again for some unknown reason. The two feel nice to be out here conversing like old friends (which they really are), and filling their stomachs with air from laughing. And with that, the new roommates were formed.

“Shua, who was rooming with whom again?”

“Dammit.”

Joshua forgot. Jeonghan forgot. The two of them don’t laugh this time, but hiss, and then laughed afterwards.

“What are we going to do?” Jeonghan asks in the middle of laughing.

Joshua continues to shrug until he realizes one solution. He stands up to pick up some rocks, all 13 of them. One for each member. Jeonghan looks at Joshua in wonder. Honestly, Joshua could be pretty spontaneous whenever he wants to, and he can’t wait to see more of this when they room together.

Joshua comes back to Jeonghan’s side. “Do you have your pen witch you?”

Jeonghan nods and fishes it somewhere at the deep ends of his parka, then he hands it to Joshua who starts to scribble down each of the member’s names on each rock. Jeonghan can’t help but let out a “what the heck are you doing?” while laughing.

“Okay, let’s group this. You and I.” Joshua hands out Jeonghan two rocks with their names. Jeonghan puts it carefully on the ground. The next one is Seokmin’s rock, and Jeonghan carefully places it on the ground, too, a little bit further away from his and Joshua’s rocks to show divisions. The next one is Jun, Minghao, Seungkwan, and Chan’s rocks, followed by Wonwoo and Seungcheol’s, then Jihoon and Mingyu’s.

When they’re done, they realize that they forgot about Soonyoung and Hansol. The two could only laugh, concluding that their age is making them forget stuff.

“The two could get along so well. Soonyoung gets along with everyone!” Jeonghan says with enthusiasm. “And Hansol doesn’t complain.”

Joshua hums in agreement. “He’s the guy who adjusts to everything, I have to give him that.”

Exactly three weeks after, the boys are huddled at the lobby of their room. All of them are still in their pajamas and are still sleepy except for the ever so excited Joshua and Jeonghan, and of course the ever so enthusiastic leader Seungcheol.

None of the boys know who is going to room with whom, only the two Evil Twin Princes—that’s what the members call them—do, and they are excited for the reaction of everyone.

“Ooookay..” Their manager huffs, looking at a printed picture of rocks with the members’ names scribbled on it. Jesus, why didn’t the two Evil Twin Princes just wrote the names on a piece of paper?

“Room number 1, the solo room, goes to DK.”

Seokmin’s eyes lights up. Suddenly he’s awake. He’s glad to finally have a solo room. He runs toward the two Evil Twin Princes to hug the two and thank them.

“Next.. This has 4 beds. Seungkwan, Dino, Jun, The8. Come on over.”

“Still no Hansol?!” Seungkwan asks in both disappointment and dismay. Hansol looks as equally dismayed as Seungkwan does. Seungkwan goes to the Evil Twin Princes. “Hyung, you two had one job!”

Jeonghan only rolls his eyes.

“Vernon and Hoshi, you up.”

“Cool!” Soonyoung cheers, going towards Vernon (but accidentally tripping along the way because he fell asleep while walking). “Vernon, you’re like a turtle. You calm me down.”

Everyone wonders why of all things, it had to be a turtle.

“Oh, this is pretty interesting.” The manager doesn’t hold back longer. “Woozi, Mingyu, congrats on sharing a room.”

And with that, Jihoon grumbles and gives the Evil Twin Princes death glares. Mingyu could only plead for him to relocate him to wherever Minghao is, or at least Wonwoo.

“Hyung, I don’t want to die just yet, please!” Mingyu pleads but the Evil Twin Princes just laugh.

“This may be the pit of despair.” Jeonghan mutters on Joshua’s ear. Of course, they laugh again.

“Does this mean Wonwoo and I will room with Shua and Jeonghan?” Seungcheol says excitedly, jumping up and down, the opposite on Wonwoo who’s asleep with his head resting on Mingyu’s shoulder.

The manager chuckles coldly. “Nice try, leader boy, you’re rooming with only Wonwoo. Jeonghan and Joshua room together. That’s all, goodbye. Your stuff will be here by tomorrow morning.”

Seungcheol frowns at the two 95s and Wonwoo just wants to get this over with and finally sleep.

Jeonghan and Joshua have noticed that everyone is happy with the arrangement, save it for Seungkwan, Seungcheol, Mingyu, and Jihoon. The four aren’t exactly satisfied with the arrangement.

In Seungkwan’s defense, “I thought that after almost 3 years of debut, I will be finally be roomed with Hansol, a.k.a my same year best friend! Not that I don’t like Chan, and Jun hyung, and The8 hyung. They’re great, actually, but you see my point?!”

In Mingyu’s defense, “I really don’t want to die just yet. Can Seungcheol hyung and I just trade places? I would like to room with Wonwoo hyung. Meanie will have a comeback.”

In Jihoon’s defense, “I don’t want to face lifetime imprisonment with murder as a case. That would be bad for our image.”

And finally, in Seungcheol’s defense, “I thought same year people always stick together?”

Jeonghan is actually okay with them whining. He thinks that it will pass after a couple of days, but it’s been a full week and it’s getting in the way of their teamwork. It’s frustrating for Jeonghan’s part, so, when he’s had enough of the repetitive complains, he goes to him shared room with Joshua and grabs Jihoon, Mingyu, Seungkwan, and Seungcheol’s rocks.

“What are you doing?” Joshua stands by the door, watching as Jeonghan picks the rocks, but he’s only passed by. He follows Jeonghan, and into the backyard is where they are headed. He sees Jeonghan crouching down, digging a little hole on the soil and burying the four rocks.

Joshua laughs. Not just a little laugh, but a hysterical one.

“Jesus, Jeonghan, what are you doing?” He asks in between laughs.

The frown in Jeonghan’s face grows, so what Joshua does is come to him and embrace him.

“There, there..” Joshua caresses Jeonghan’s back gently. “They’ll understand, don’t worry.”

“Practice today is cancelled!” Seokmin, their human megaphone, has his voice ringing through all the walls of the Seventeen dormitory. “Seungkwan is ill! Mingyu, too! Jihoon hyung, too! And Seungcheol hyung!”

Everybody at the dorm gets alarmed. Hansol immediately goes to Seungkwan. Wonwoo, although nobody expects it and although Seungcheol is his roommate, goes to his original best friend Mingyu. Soonyoung goes to Jihoon, while the Evil Twin Princes go to Seungcheol.

“Well, this is a crisis.” Joshua says plainly, no emotion on his face, just a blank one. He says that while putting a soaked cloth on Seungcheol’s forehead.

“Seungkwan’s coughing badly.” Jeonghan says with a hiss. “Mingyu has a high fever. Jihoon, too.” He sighs and the two fell silent, and only Seungcheol’s light snores could be heard.

A couple of errands have passed. The two took turns on watching over Seungcheol, and checking up on the other ill members. Joshua and Jeonghan even went out to buy them food, but eventually, the two are trapped again inside Seungcheol’s room.

When night falls, Seokmin has volunteered to substitute for the two (Evil) Twin Princes so they could get some rest (boy is really thankful to have a solo room). So, the two agree and go to their room to rest. Joshua sits on his chair in front of the desk to write a little on his diary, while Jeonghan easily plops down the bed.

One.. Two.. Three.. Four.. Five.. Six.. Seven.. Eight.. Nine..

Nine?

Joshua stops counting the rocks. He never intended to count them. He just got distracted while searching for the right Korean word to write in his diary. But then, he’s slightly alarmed.

“Hannie, why are there only 9 rocks?” Joshua asks with a soft voice.

Jeonghan mumbles an “I don’t know.”

“Rock Mingyu is gone. Rock Jihoon, too. Rock Seungkwan. And Rock Seungcheol!” He whisper shouts, his face contorting from frowning.

“They’re just rocks, Shua.”

And Joshua suddenly remembers everything.

“Oh my god! Oh my god, Jeonghan! You buried them!” Joshua stands up to attack Jeonghan from the bed, shaking the body of his half asleep other half twin. “Yoon Jeonghan! Unbury them right now!”

“Shuaaaa!” Jeonghan whines, flailing his hands to get rid of Joshua. “It’s just a rock!”

“Yeah, but look! You buried the rocks of the four members and now they’re sick! Yoon Jeonghan!” Joshua retaliates.

The two are at the backyard at 11 in the evening, trying to find where Jeonghan buried the four stupid rocks. He’s supposed to be asleep now, but his annoying twin just won’t get off of him unless he unburies the rocks that are connected to the immune system of their four members. They’re out there in the cold just to unbury a rock.

A freaking rock!

“I can’t remember anything, Shua.” Jeonghan reasons out.

“Try to remember it harder. You’re so good at holding grudges, please be good at finding rocks, too.”

“This was your idea, though.”

“It’s your fault, though.”

Silence fills the two of them as they search separately for the missing rocks. Jeonghan keeps mumbling curses to himself, Joshua keeps calling out the rocks as if it’s a dog who will come to him on cue. It’s stupid, but the two go for it anyway. It’s something they could keep in their memory anyway.

“Ah, Shua! It’s here!” Jeonghan eventually find a concaved spot on the ground, and he remembers it’s where he buried the rocks. He doesn’t remember not putting soil above the rocks, though? Why is it open? And why the heck are there only three rocks?

“Jihoonie, Seungkwannie, Cheollie… Where’s Gyu’s?” Jeonghan looks at Joshua with ultimate wonder and worry, making the two of them share similar looks. “Dammit, forget it. Wherever Gyu’s is, at least it’s unburied.”

Joshua nods and the two of them return to their room.

The next day is a surprise for the two of them. Seungkwan is already in the living room chatting with Soonyoung and Hansol; Seungcheol is already working out; And—

“Is that.. Mingyu and Jihoon laughing together?!” Jeonghan says a little too loudly and everyone already hears him before he could do something about it. “Oh, Shua! What a sight to see! Is this the next life?!”

Jihoon frowns a little, but walks towards Joshua and Jeonghan along with Mingyu. “We would like to apologize for our odd behavior.”

The (Evil?) Twin Princes chuckle and dismiss the two, heading over to the living room. Seungkwan apologizes immediately, putting a brighter smile on the two’s faces. Seungcheol does, too, and the two tease him, but Seungcheol laughs along and goes back to working out.

“I told you, it’s all about the rocks.” Joshua whispers to Jeonghan’s ear and they both chuckle, and continue to whisper to each other. “I was thinking up all night, tho. Mingyu’s rock is gone. I thought he would run away or something. But how the heck did he and Jihoon make up? Also, won’t we get Mingyu a new rock?”

“I put Mingyu’s name on Jihoon’s rock. They both share a room anyway.” Jeonghan confesses.

“Oh my god.” Joshua gasps, and laughs again with Jeonghan.

Seungkwan, Hansol, and Soonyoung give them questioning looks, but then, nobody could ever keep up with these two Evil Twin Princes’ inside jokes that only them could understand.

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wonpluswonistwo · 7 years

Text

Things You Find In A Book (Wonwoo Scenario)

Pairing: Wonwoo x Reader

Word Count: 1460

Warnings: None

Type: Fluff!

Summary: You’re on the verge of failing Calculus, so your math teacher asks you to check out a supplemental textbook. You are confident in your skills of being organized until you leave behind your textbook in the library. Will you get it back?

A/N: Sorry for taking so long!!! College apps are ASS but, aside from thatn, sorry for any mistakes!

The World of Calculus, it read. To you, it seemed more like, The World of Complete Boredom. Alas, your math grade was...for lack of a better term, terrible. Absolutely horrifying. On-verge-of-failing horrible. And so, this new Calculus textbook, the whole 396 pages, was (supposedly, according to the librarian) your best friend until the end of the school year. I might as well not lose it, you thought as you took a pen out of your bag and wrote your phone number on a small slip of paper.

“837-652-4017. I’m not going to lose it anyway,” you scoffed, crazed at the idea of you losing such a large book. You tucked the slip of paper into the front cover of your book, ignoring the blank name tag on the inside of the cover that you could have used. You didn’t need the whole school to know you needed an extra textbook. What were you? Dumb? Maybe.

You took your arm and swept your belongings from the desk into your backpack and stood up, patting down the crinkles in your skirt. You were just about to pick up your textbook when your phone started ringing, much to the annoyance of the librarians, who glared at you. You nodded an apology and picked up the call, running out the big french doors.

“Hello? Who’s calling?” A loud voice answered your greeting, making you jump in fright.

“Hon-eyyyyyy, you are dead meat!” Oh geez, it was Woozi. He never really called unless you happened to be “dead meat.”

“Woozi? What the heck?”

“(Y/N), you are missing our lunch appointment! Are you sightseeing all the boys in the courtyard?” You groaned internally, remembering the time Woozi caught you puppy-eyeing a popular boy from the balcony above the school courtyard.

“Shut up Woozi, I was studying-” You heard a loud, sarcastic gasp from the other end of the phone before you heard:

“STUDYING? You….you study?” You closed your eyes in frustration, lips pressed together.

“Shut UP Woozi! I’m coming, alright?” You angrily hung up, huffing about how rude he was and began your trek to the school cafeteria.

The moment you stepped into the cafeteria, you regretted promising Woozi to eat in the caf. It was loud, rowdy, and most annoyingly, filled with many of the people you hated. Ignoring several catcalls and staring down some innocent freshman, you made your way toward the brown haired boy who was smirking and sipping an iced coffee.

“Beat it, Woozi. I don’t want to hear your voice right now.” He just wiggled his eyebrows and motioned for you to sit. He placed his head on his hand and asked:

“What were you studying? Calc?” You nodded, rolling your eyes at the same time.

“Honestly, not needed. But my teacher won’t give it up. Some ‘You have to pass this class’ trash talk.”

“Rare! A teacher sees something-” You immediately stood up, as if you were about to leave, but Woozi pulled you down and said, “Hey, whoa, whoa, chill, fam!”

Meanwhile, Wonwoo was trying to find a spot in the library to study his anatomy worksheets. He happened upon a table and sat down before anyone else could take it. As he looked behind him, he caught a nasty look from a student who was about to beeline to his table. Wonwoo sighed heavily and set his papers on the desk when he saw a textbook. He picked it up and a piece of paper fell out, labeled “837-652-4017 Please return to owner!”

Wonwoo looked around, suspicious. Why would someone write it on a paper instead of the designated space on the inside of the cover? What if it was one of those tricks so that you would carry the book outside and trigger the alarm? He shook his head, trying to expel all the worst case scenarios that could happen if he happened to text the number.

He slowly punched in the phone number, one number at a time to make sure he wasn’t making any errors: “8...3...7...6...5...2...4...0...1...7.” He checked it once, checked it twice, and checked it one more time. However, Wonwoo struggled to formulate a message.

“To Whom It May Concern…” Too formal.

“What’s up? I found your textbook today!” Too casual.

“Hi, my name is Wonwoo and I…” I’m not trying to introduce myself.

“Hi, I just happened to have found your phone number in your math textbook today; how should I return it to you?” Seemed like a perfect combination of formal and cooooool. But he was still unsure; would the owner be creeped out? Out of frustration, Wonwoo slammed his phone onto the table only to hear a faint “beep”. The sound of a sent message.

“No! Wait! Come back! No!” Wonwoo frantically pressed on random places on the screen, trying to un-send the message, but the harm was done. The message had been sent.

You were in the middle of stuffing your face with spaghetti when your phone started ringing and spazzing. “Hey, can you stop getting so many messages all the time?” Woozi asked, exasperated. You cringed as you looked at the number. Unrecognizable.

“Sorry, I just need to see it.” You casually pressed the notification, and waited for the messages to load. However, the moment you saw the words, your eyes popped out and your heart began pounding. “Dammit! I forgot it when I told myself not to! Ugh, I’m so stupid!”

“Ha! It’s about time you noticed,” Woozi joked, his head jolting forward suddenly as you knocked him in the head.

“Shut up, Woozi!” You groaned internally. You had to deal with an idiot of a friend, an empty stomach, annoying teachers, and now a forgotten textbook. How much worse could your day get?

Wonwoo stood awkwardly outside of the library doors, your book tucked carefully under his arm. He wondered what you would look like. Would you have long hair or short hair? Fair skin or tan skin? Dyed hair or natural colored hair? The questions floated around until he saw a girl frantically looking around the hallway. Was that her? Wonwoo took a closer look, and his heart literally stopped. She was breathtaking. Panicking, but still beautiful.

Wonwoo froze, not knowing what to do. Should he like....comb his hair with his fingers? Or should he like...walk over and talk to her? Wonwoo chose to do the easiest thing: comb his hair. A mistake. The girl turned toward his direction and tilted her head in confusion, as if she were judging him. He quickly shoved his hand in the pocket, his hair now disheveled.

Perfectly disheveled… you thought as you stood in the middle of the hallway inspecting this person. You shook your head, trying to focus on what you were trying to look for. Your textbook. You were just about to enter the library when you felt a hand on your shoulder. You turned around as you heard a deep voice say,

“Just wondering, did you leave your textbook?” You nodded vigorously, almost desperate. You looked up, and there he was. The boy with the perfectly disheveled hair. “Well, um...here it is.” You were just about to take it out of his hands when he blurted out, “Actually, let me write your name in it so people know who to give it to if you lose it again.” He opened the textbook and opened it to the front page, about to write your name down until he realized...he didn’t know your name.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know you yet. What’s your name?” he asked. You didn’t know how to respond. First of all, obviously, he had the perfect chisled jawline, soft hair, smooth sk- SHUT UP (Y/N)! you thought, scolding yourself for once again getting sidetracked.

“Uh…(Y/N).” He nodded in understanding, starting to scribble in your textbook. When he finished, he handed it to you with a gleaming smile.

“Don��t lose it again! But if you do, you’d better hope the person who finds it is as nice as me!” Wonwoo internally cringed at his own words and just walked away, looking back and waving goodbye.

“Is he asking me to lose it again? I’m so confused…” you said as you opened the textbook to see if your phone number was still in the book. Sure enough, your phone number was there, and your name, and...some small writing. You squinted and read the message, your heart immediately increasing the speed of the beats.

Hey (Y/N), looks like you need help with Calc? I can help tutor you if you want...and since you take my breath away, I’ll tutor you for free :) Call me! 836-879-2286

-Admin Gene

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #wonwoo #kpop #17writersnet #woozi #jihoon

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