#( my f key is basically broken so apologies in advance if a word or two looks weird )

[malimomo]

— for @undercoverpena ‘s april showers event

javier peña x f!reader

nsfw • juicy bits at the end

word count: 1,186 (not including translations).

summary: whenever it rains outside, it always put you to sleep, making the drive home a bore until you offered to apologize to Javi.

I apologize for any Spanish grammatical mistakes or errors, todavía estoy aprendiendo!

“Wake up.” A gentle voice whispered. You stirred in your sleep and mumbled a string of curses, hoping that whoever the hell interrupted you would leave you be. It was raining heavily on the drive back from escaping the dealers and the sound of raindrops against the car helped you fall asleep.

“Damn, let me sleep.” You grumbled, shifting in the blanket Javi gave you.

Sighing, he leaned from the driver’s seat and kissed your forehead. “We’re at the motel. You can sleep there.”

Huffing, you rubbed sleep off your eyes, got out of the car, and followed Javi with nothing but the clothes on your back. The escape you two made from the standoff didn’t give you enough time to pack anything except for the basics: yourselves and enough money to get by.

The motel attendant didn’t give a damn that the money you two had was reserved for yourselves; all that mattered to her was to give Javi the best night of his life. She offered him what all of her clients got which was pretty basic.

“I’ll make an exception for you.” She cooed, leaning over the counter to further expose her cleavage, “I’ll throw in a free room for your little friend over here if you let me take the lead tonight.” She added.

“I think I’ll be fine with sleeping with my—”

“—girlfriend.” You interrupted. Not this again.

“What’s wrong with adding a third?” The gal asked. “My name is Cherri, with an ‘i’, not a ‘y’.”

While Javi continued to refuse her advances, you noticed a growing pile of debit and credit cards messily hidden behind a cup of pens and pencils. Names and numbers were scribbled on crumpled paper and there were some bills in a jar next to the cup, obviously tips.

“So this is your side gig, right?” You scoffed, referring to the sketchy counter. “I understand earning money but fucking guests and stealing their personal info is low and desperate.”

Cherri rolled her eyes. “A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do up here to survive.” Holding a cigarette in between her finger tips, she took in a whiff and blew the smoke off to her side. “I’m not ashamed to admit to fucking any man or woman who comes in. Hell, I'm sure I can give your boyfriend a better night than you.” She gave you a challenging look and smirked when Javi quietly sucked in a breath.

Your face turned with red with your growing anger he immediately grabbed your nearest hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

“Screw you!” You hissed.

“Take your damn room keys and get that bitch out of my sight.” Cherri hissed, throwing them at Javi. After you have her a proper goodbye, which was the middle finger, you and your flustered boyfriend walked to your room for the night. As you passed by, the counter, you swiped a couple bills out of the jar.

Upon entering, you gave a disgusted look as your eyes wandered around. The walls were dirty, blinds broken, and the carpet had questionable stains. When you sat on the bed, a horrible squeaky sound came out. Living in this environment wasn’t one you weren’t used to. Hell, you’ve been on the streets or in the jungle at the communist camp. This was a blissful place to sleep compared to those.

“I know it’s not the best but we have to lay low.” He commented gently, hoping to ease the tension from your previous conversation.

“If women keeping begging you to sleep with them then I’m changing the definition of ‘laying low’, got that?” You replied harshly. “Damn it’s as if you slept with all of them. Do you have a specific reputation I’m not aware of?”

“None that I haven’t told you.” Javi chuckled. “You’re the only one for me, right?”

Nodding your head, you prepared for bed and did your best to not move when you laid down. Javi laughed as he plopped next to you, the hinges squeaking louder. He kissed your cheek moved your chin gently to face him.

“Don’t give me those brown puppy eyes.” You said, holding back a smile. “We’re in a terrible situation.”

Javi pulled you in for a snuggle. “Not with that attitude.” While his protective embrace was around your waist, his hands and fingers were doing other devious acts to the lower half of your body.

The conversation with Cherri was long out of your mind as you two lazily fucked, Javi whispering sweet nothings in your ear as he had some fingers wrapped around your throat. Your turned on your side to face him, his grip tightening as you pulled him in deeper. When you closed the gap in between your bodies, Javi quietly reminded, “You are the only whore for me.”

It was that horrid squeaking of the bed that woke you up. Sighing, you stood up, got dressed, and grabbed your purse before you messily a note to Javi that you’d be in the car for the night. Closing your eyes, you fell asleep to the sound of the rain once you were sitting on the passenger’s seat.

“Wake up.”

You moved around the seat and smelled the blanket wrapped around you, along with the familiar scent was two meals from McDonalds Javi bought. That restaurant—if you want to call it that—was your constant saving grace on the road.

“Javi, where are we?” You mumbled, not opening your eyes.

“On our way.” He replied. “It’s crazy how you can sleep this much on a drive.”

«¿Te he dicho que me encanta la lluvia?»

I told you I love the rain.

You sighed, opening one eye. «Soy de Seattle y me hace pensar en casa.»

I’m from Seattle and it reminds me of home

Javi nodded his head with a smile. «Tu canción de cuna.»

Your lullaby.

Smiling, you sat up, leaned over, and kissed his cheek while your lips trailed down his neck. “You know me so well.” You whispered.

“Not well enough to kick you out of bed and make you sleep in the car.” He grumbled, keeping his eyes on the road.

“Can I apologize?” You offered. After he nodded his head, you grinned and added, “park on the side of the road.”

The car windows were drenched and it wasn’t just rain that was fogging them up. You and Javi were in the backseat of the car; he was lying on the seats while you were bunched up at his feet, sucking, licking and kissing his hard cock with vigor.

“Jesus,” Javi growled as your attention on him intensified. Your mouth engulfed his dick, your lips sucking up the pre-cum that spouted out; your fingers gently fondling his balls gently. Before you could gain full control, Javi roughly grabbed your hair, making you fall down onto him. His dick was up and erect, wet from your saliva, ready for you to take in.

When you hovered over him, he pulled you in closer and kissed your forehead. Then, he roughly thrusted into you, his grunts matching in pace with your moans. The rain fell heavily on the car windows, and this time it didn’t make you fall asleep.

#narcos smut #narcos fanfiction #javier peña x f!reader #javier pena x f!reader #javi x reader #javi x f!reader #javier peña smut #UndercoverAprilShowersChallenge #javi p x reader #javi p x you #undercover april showers challenge #event writing #writing challenge #divider by saradika graphics

[rkxsungwoon-blog]

☆ mga5 callbacks; june 27 ! performance: the last of the real ones by fall out boy (singing + piano) ↪ song reference ( 0:06 - 1:11, 2:42 - 3:33 ) / piano reference ( 0:07 - 1:14, 3:08 - 4:01 )

when the email arrives, sungwoon is preoccupied, which is what he’ll call being elbow deep in kimchi for posterity’s sake. the kitchen looks like the scene of a bloody murder, and he grimaces at the thought of having to clean it up alone (unless he can rope any of the guys into doing it for him). it’s one of those things that just had to be done during his day off from work, however, like… laundry, or cleaning the bathroom, or washing the floors. to be clear, sungwoon is not a fussy person by nature; he just feels better when he has a lot on his plate. keeping himself busy with a thousand different things means he has no time to dwell, and sungwoon has too much to dwell on these days. the mgas aren’t even first on his list of ‘shit sungwoon is very obviously and determinedly not touching with a ten foot pole’.

but they are there, a persistent reminder of decisions he’s made, for better or for worse. decisions they’ve all made, since this year is about more than just him and daniel. in some ways, he’s a supporting character this time around; the bulk of the anxiety, the nervousness, the fluttering feelings that come with your first performance ought to belong to woojin, kenta, and minhyun. sungwoon is a little older, a little wiser, no longer the wide-eyed newbie with shaky knees from last season. he wonders what it says about him that he sort of misses that. not the shaky knees part, but being excited for what’s to come—for the beginning of a journey, not a stroll down a familiar path.

unlike the rest, he’s not waiting on the results of their audition with the same fervor. his lack of interest isn’t born out of confidence; rather, the experience of having gone through all this once already mellows him out and makes him less desperate for the news, knowing it’ll come when it comes. thus, when the first member of empty enigma receives an all-important email from mnet, sungwoon is in no haste to check if he received one too. “i’ll do it later,” he says, turning his attention back to his work. neither kenta nor minhyun seem eager to open it anyway—until daniel arrives and shatters the calm with his exuberance.

sungwoon is only tangentially aware of the results (and the celebrations), but he can’t stop the smile from spreading over his face as he hears the other celebrate behind him. he’s thrilled on their behalf, obviously. in his biased opinion, all his friends deserve to make it till the end of this competition. from his self-imposed exile in the kitchen, he makes it a point to look over his shoulder and say, “i always knew you guys had it in you,” the way all gruff-but-proud dads do in the movies.  

but otherwise, sungwoon is, once again, elbow deep in kimchi no matter how much kenta and daniel bother him to check his phone please (“do you guys just not want to eat, then?” sungwoon grumbles). they’re too persistent for him to ignore, so he washes up and takes his sweet time in pulling out his phone to check the inbox (just to mess with them).

and maybe there is a brief moment where sungwoon’s throat constricts because he can’t see anything from mnet there, and he thinks, wildly, about how funny it would be if he was the only member of the band so far who didn’t actually qualify. but he refreshes and there it is, the callback notice with all the details he needs for the second round of pre-show performances. he keeps his expression impassive as he turns the screen to show the rest of his friends. “i’m in,” he says in his best hacker voice. and later, once they’ve bothered woojin into checking his emails as well, he can say, “we’re all in.” no dream-like disbelief to spare here; sungwoon believes that empty enigma deserves at least this much. it’s not full confirmation of all their hard work—they’re not on the show yet—but it’s a step forward.  

and they’re all taking it together.

-

sungwoon takes a few more days off work to figure out his performance. his boss doesn’t buy his cryptic, half-assed excuses for why he needs the vacation; she simply tells him to consider the time off his belated birthday gift. the kind edge to her smile makes sungwoon feel marginally better about being selfish here. if he really pushed himself, he could’ve managed to put something together while working days, but sungwoon wants to give the callbacks his entire focus. unlike daniel or kenta or even woojin, he doesn’t instinctively know what he’ll be performing. the back ups (and their back ups) from his first audition are obsolete or sound boring to him now. sungwoon feels the need to start over.

daniel’s doing an original song, from what he knows. sungwoon wonders if he should go the same route too. maybe do a song off the album, since they are meant to promote it whenever they can. hunched over his desk, he goes through the album tracklist multiple times in search of a potential song—and comes back to sleepless in phoenix and winter everywhere each time.  it would be the ultimate power play, right? to perform his own released song on a platform like the mgas? as squall, as empty enigma’s frontman, this should be his job.

but after spending a couple of hours reworking the songs to fit the two minute limit, sungwoon decides against it. they’re too blatant, too personal. he almost tells himself they belong to squall, but he knows that’s not entirely true. the album and these songs were the first time he tried to reconcile squall and sungwoon into one person. the results are… still a little confusing, but sungwoon made the attempt and feels better about harnessing them both overall. maybe they aren’t so different—all personas, all facets that ultimately combine to make him who he is.

searching for a replacement is a daunting task, mostly because it forces sungwoon to confront what type of performer he wants to be in front of the judges. the risky play would be to sing and dance, but it feels like a risk for risk’s sake and nothing else. he could just sing a powerhouse ballad or something (sungwoon knows he’s good enough to pull it off), but that doesn’t feel like him either—it’s too safe. the answer lies somewhere with squall, who all but shoves sungwoon to the song he eventually settles on. it’s… almost perfect: rock, with a sick piano accompaniment sungwoon quickly makes his own. it combines the best parts of him.

sleepless nights pile up as he works on the rearrangement, settling for nothing less than perfection. there is quite a bit to work through; his first attempt at the rearrangement is too dramatic, so he shifts gears and tweaks until he’s happy with the way it sounds. the big worry following that is pronunciation. doing a song purely in english is always tricky, but sungwoon has done enough covers with empty enigma to feel comfortable with it. the rest of the band members are busy with their own preparations in the meantime, and while he’d never call their house quiet, it does feel a little lonely. he consoles himself by thinking about how good performance day will be, to see them all come together.

(in his weaker moments, sungwoon nearly texts daniel, the lyrics from his chosen song swimming in his head. he’s not sure why it resonates with him so much. the translation into korean is clunky, the original meaning lost, but when he thinks of that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from, daniel’s face pops into his mind. at the end of the day, he doesn’t. it seems too much too soon, a blatant acknowledgement of whatever there is between them. sungwoon wishes he could name it, but it’s still too uncertain for him to believe in wholeheartedly. maybe one day, when he confronts the feelings he’s been avoiding, but for now—he thinks, and dreams).

-

“i’m not playing a keytar for the callbacks.”

at certain times in a young man’s life, he has to put his foot down. for sungwoon, this is one of those times. in his eagerness to pull off the best performance possible, he forgot to consider the logistics of… well, everything. specifically, how much effort and sheer physical strength it takes to lug a keyboard across town for a two minute performance. kenta suggests the keytar instead, and sungwoon almost warms up to the idea until he remembers how fucking stupid a keytar looks on anyone. this is not the time for sungwoon to look fucking stupid.

minhyun offers to help, which is nearly enough for sungwoon to insist on doing it himself, but god knows he can’t afford to be petty today. so he swallows his pride and accepts minhyun’s generous offer, promising vaguely to pay him back somehow. smiles, a little, when minhyun’s back is turned, so faintly that he doesn’t even know it until the moment passes. the whole band is dressed in empty enigma t-shirts, courtesy of kenta, to try and get some promo in where they can. it feels like they’re outfitted for a war, which might be fitting in the case of the mgas. at least

they arrive at the venue together with time to spare, though sungwoon doesn’t linger where he’s not meant to—he has a whole fucking keyboard to take care of. maybe he regrets insisting on bringing it, but it’s too late now! instead of focusing on his questionable upper body strength, he takes some time to survey the crowd gathered around. empty enigma are only five out of a hundred. it seemed like such a large number, but sungwoon has worked bigger crowds as squall before. still, this isn’t a dimly lit club, the haze of the smoke machine obscuring the audience’s faces. he actually spots quite a few familiar ones as he makes his way over to some free seats with the rest of the band.

which places them near people sungwoon is mildly uncomfortable to see here. he ends up seated directly in front of eunji and turns around briefly to offer a half-hearted smile. somehow, he doesn’t feel like it lands the way he intends it to. joohyun is further away, saving sungwoon the awkwardness of having to say hello, but she’s right behind daniel. and there is, despite his best efforts, a heavy weight settling on his shoulders as he thinks about the reality he’s been desperately trying to avoid by keeping busy and not allowing his mind to drift to daniel’s confession of a few weeks ago. sometimes sungwoon wishes he were more ignorant and less likely to pick up on the glaringly obvious clues in front of him.

this is not what he wants to think about during callbacks, not when he’s spent so long studiously ignoring the ramifications of whatever the fuck it means to be in love with someone who tells you he’s split between two people. in his darker moments, sungwoon wonders if he’ll ever be enough for someone on his own. while he knows daniel’s indecision doesn’t come from a place of cruelty, if he allows himself to dwell on it, he just feels like shit. in his lighter moments, sungwoon wonders if he could ever be selfless enough to retreat and make the decision that much simpler on daniel, to cut himself out of the equation altogether before he has a chance to get hurt, but—

(“i really, really like you.”)

if only he weren’t greedy. if only he didn’t want so desperately to be chosen this time.

his heart might be a mess, but his head is still alert enough to note the entrance of the five ceos and the hush that descends throughout the room. sungwoon recalls their faces with startling clarity from the previous year, and thinks wryly that he might have an edge on most others here. he’s familiar with being judged by them. but with that comes regret as well; he’d felt inadequate for the first time in a while in front of their eyes during the last season. if sungwoon knew they would be present for this round of judging, he likely would’ve done something different to show he took their criticisms to heart and worked hard to improve. sing and dance, damn the risk, just to make it clear he respected them enough to work on their notes.

it’s too late now. resting a hand on the keyboard propped up beside his chair, sungwoon swallows a sigh and plasters a smile on his face. at the end of the day, he’s still excited about his performance the direction he’s chosen to take. sungwoon just hopes his oversight won’t come back to bite him in the ass. his earlier confidence taking another hit, he’s a little quieter than normal as the ceos begin calling individual performers up one after another. the people in front of the band are rowdy enough on their own; sungwoon makes a face in their direction, then leans over to woojin to whisper, “you’d think the loud crowd would tone it down for the cameras,” to have woojin nod in agreement.

the performances blur together soon enough. a few stand out enough for sungwoon to straighten up in his seat in interest, and some have him slumping down and cringing. kenta’s chatty, likely because he’s nervous, so the bulk of sungwoon’s commentary is directed at him. part of him misses the familiarity of daniel, the long-suffering patience with which he endured sungwoon’s reactions last year. he wants desperately to talk to him, but he’s scared of looking over and seeing something he doesn’t want to. so he contents himself with talking to kenta and woojin, laughing and critiquing and expressing excitement for their performances, until—

he glances over by accident in time to see joohyun lean forward to whisper something in daniel’s ear. sungwoon blinks hard and tears his eyes away, ignoring the voice in his head that whispers, they look so good together. it’s different knowing daniel cares about joohyun and different seeing it in front of him, the easy way in which they both seem to fit, like two puzzle pieces put together at last. maybe this is what love should look like, the proper fucking kind of love. whatever sungwoon feels still seems unnatural some days, like he’s going against nature and everything right in the world and this heartache is his punishment for it. maybe he’ll hurt a thousand times over for the slimmest glimmer of hope—

running a hand through his hair and destroying the hairstyle he carefully worked on this morning, sungwoon tells himself to snap the fuck out of it. this is not the time or place for personal problems. compartmentalization is a wondrous skill, and he retreats into the safe, protective nonchalance of squall. but even squall is morose and annoyed and burning with the bitter kind of jealousy sungwoon specifically does not want to engage in, so he breaks away from him as well and finds himself drifting.

when daniel’s name is called, sungwoon is still a little distracted and dazed, able to offer only a hasty, “good luck,” before he’s gone. he barely notices minhyun has moved into the seat beside him until his hand wraps around sungwoon’s, and he’d laugh at how regular this seems to have become if it weren’t for the tight feeling in his chest. if he didn’t need this and the cheap comfort it provides. whether it’s minhyun or just the physical contact itself, the brief moment anchors him more solidly to the ground and he thinks, it’s okay. i have this.

daniel’s performance is as good as sungwoon expects it to be, and he’s so proud of his friend for having the courage to do an original song. he wishes he had enough courage to lean over and say so, but something keeps him rooted in place. kenta and minhyun perform shortly after, with sungwoon jokingly telling kenta to “hit ‘em with the high and low,” before his performance. they’re both good—minhyun, especially, is much better than sungwoon expected—and he can’t help but think that this is his band. all these talented individuals are his friends. woojin absolutely kills it with his dancing as well; sungwoon genuinely didn’t know he was that good. giving woojin’s shoulder a gentle, congratulatory squeeze when he returns to his seat, sungwoon turns to the front and awaits his turn.  

by some twist of fate, hyun bin is the one to call his name. it’s ironic enough that he feels like it might be on purpose. hyun bin was the one to deliver his elimination sentence last year, his complimentary words offset by the harsh truth. sungwoon sucks in a deep breath and stands up to answer the summons, keyboard in tow. full circle, right? he resolutely does not look at daniel or joohyun or any of his friends as he stands in front of the judges, his back straight and head held high, focus narrowing on the stage and only the stage. no time for bullshit—this is his spotlight.

“hello, my name is ha sungwoon.” diligently, he sinks into a bow before throwing the ceos a smile. “i didn’t think we would meet again so soon.” or at all, but life has a funny way of working out. “i’m no longer the tiny giant from last year; i’ve grown.” literally, because shoe lifts, which he points to with a sheepish laugh, but in skill as well. he hopes that much will be obvious on its own. “i will be performing the last of the real ones by fall out boy today. thank you for this opportunity.” with practiced ease, he slips his keyboard out of its cover and finishes setting up, mind calming as he stands poised to begin.

the first notes he plays stand on their own, bereft of sungwoon’s vocals. he’d thought about cutting straight to the first verse initially, but the initial moment of accompaniment grounds him, puts him in a familiar territory. everything else falls away, like a crumbling cliff-face into the dark sea below. thinking (or overthinking) is not necessary when he plays the piano; it comes from somewhere within, his fingers guided by an unseen force. the piano rearrangement is a lot softer than the original, but sungwoon intended it that way on purpose. the stripped down version allows his vocals to stand out more without sacrificing the integrity of the song. but it’s still representative of him and the things he loves best: singing, playing the piano, and getting creative with his music. he can’t think of anything else that could better express the artist he is and wants to be.  

i was just an only child of the universe and then i found you and then i found you you are the sun and i am just the planets spinning around you spinning around you

you were too good to be true gold plated but what's inside you but what's inside you i know this whole damn city thinks it needs you but not as much as i do as much as i do, yeah

the ghost of a smile touches his lips as he flows easily into the first verse. initially, it is slow, a gentle confession he pours his heart into. eyes fluttering shut, sungwoon channels his own feelings of discovery and sense of wonderment at falling in love so intensely for the first time into his words. it’s supposed to be tentative and meek. you’re supposed to get swept up in the tide, especially when the person you care about burns more brightly than you do. his eyes snap open as he transitions into the second part of the verse, growing louder as the near accusation that pours from his mouth. the fear and anxiety is something sungwoon knows well, and for now he embraces it. a song is always about more than the words and the voice singing it—it’s about the emotions it elicits in the singer and the audience. and he’s peeling back the layers here to leave himself bare.

his gaze drifts to daniel momentarily as he sings the final three lines of the verse, maybe because he’s feeling brave (maybe because he’s just feeling it). and it’s no longer than the span of a heartbeat, but the heat in sungwoon’s eyes morphs into something delicate as he thinks, you know what i mean, right?

'cause you're the last of a dying breed write our names in the wet concrete i wonder if your therapist knows everything about me i'm here in search of your glory there's been a million before me that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from you're just the last of the real ones

the small pause as he sings, yeah, gives sungwoon a chance to collect himself before launching into the chorus. his voice reaches a crescendo while his fingers fly across the keys. the chorus is the highlight, the culmination of all that lovesick desperation. sungwoon doesn’t know if he’d call this a typical love song, but he doesn’t want to sing a typical song for a typical love. he needs more—that ultra fucking kind of love. his mouth twists into a smirk at the word glory, courtesy of squall. there’s been a million on the stage before him, likely, but as sungwoon looks at the judges near the end of the chorus, he wants to be more than just a number.

i'm here at the beginning of the end oh, the end of infinity with you i'm here at the beginning of the end oh, the end of infinity with you

i'm done with having dreams the thing that i believe oh, you drain all the fear from me i'm done with having dreams the thing that i believe you drain the fear from me

he softens once more for the first part of the bridge, his voice growing quieter to match the gentle accompaniment. in his mind’s eye, sungwoon is the only one in the room, singing to himself. and maybe he should be scared of being so vulnerable when more than a hundred people are looking at him to judge. the second half of the bridge all but punches through his apprehensions, face splitting into a genuine, unabashed grin as he sings without any fear. he can’t relate fully—sungwoon still has too many dreams he’s not ready to put to bed just yet, but the thing he believes in is himself, his own capabilities. most of that is thanks to himself. he thinks about how he’d run away after the last mgas, lost and broken and embarrassed, but he’s changed now. fortune favors the bold. it should favor him.

'cause you're the last of a dying breed write our names in the wet concrete i wonder if your therapist knows everything about me i'm here in search of your glory there's been a million before me that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from you're just the last of the real ones

because of the way he rearranged the song, sungwoon decides to play around with the ending. the final line builds into a high note he holds for a few seconds, the accompaniment lingering as it fades. his heart is in his throat as he blinks and sinks into another bow, thanking the audience for watching his performance. without his voice and the piano, he suddenly feels a little exposed and hastens to get offstage. heading back to his seat on unsteady legs (not just because of the keyboard’s bulk; he bets he looks hilarious trying to drag something of that size along with him), sungwoon all but collapses in his seat. the post-performance buzz fades slowly, awareness creeping back in at a snail’s pace, but then—

sungwoon starts as daniel reaches for his hand, his fingers curling open to receive him of their own accord. a jolt runs down his spine at the moment of contact. eyebrow raised, he glances over in question, wondering if he’s okay, wondering if he didn’t mean to reach for someone else. but daniel’s hand wraps around his own, steady and sure, and sungwoon’s eyes soften despite his own scattered misgivings.

maybe he’s destined to end up here every single time, feeling foolish and embarrassed by his own thoughts yet accepting whatever daniel gives him anyway like he hasn’t been waiting for it. maybe he’s destined to take it all—the ugly and the confusing parts, the truths that hurt and the lies daniel won’t say. maybe if sungwoon could do it all again, he’d do it exactly like this. he’d choose to be here. he’d choose to fall in love with daniel (but, his heart supplies, that was never really up to him, was it?)

sungwoon brushes his thumb over daniel’s knuckles before squeezing tightly, fiercely, leftover courage from the performance making him bold. he doesn’t know exactly where they are or what to expect, but for now he’ll take this moment and hold it in his heart.

that ultra-kind of love you never walk away from—

yeah, he thinks. it might be.

#rkmga5 #rkmga5callback #( c: solo ) #danielxrk #rkminhyun #rkkenta #rkpwj #joohyunrk #rkeunji #( because mentioned ) #( wc: 4237 ) #( i'm so sick and tired of myself!! ) #( sorry mods ily ) #( my f key is basically broken so apologies in advance if a word or two looks weird )