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im gonna eat this up.

UNLUCKY GIRL SYNDROME ✦ PSH & SJY | TEASER !

inspired by operation true love

pairing ➻ sunghoon x f! reader x jake

synopsis ➻ if it was possible to see the number of people who would fall in love with you over your lifetime, most people would agree to it in a heartbeat, but some might not. you don't get that choice, labelled by a mysterious system as someone destined to receive no love and threatened to fix this 'error' before it's too late. but who will be your saviour, the social pariah sunghoon, or the school's golden boy sim jaeyun?

genres & tropes ➻ slow burn, love triangle, mystery

content warning ➻ profanity & some more serious themes like neglect and burnout + please be aware that this doesn't contain polyamory so there will be only one of them that you end up with

word count ➻ current 6.2 k, anticipated 15 - 20 k

note ➻ i was very excited to create this and share it with you all, so i sincerely hope you enjoy! it will be my first (enhablr) long fic, to celebrate 100 followers [i hope i finish this before i reach 200]

release date ➻ august!

INTRODUCING THE LOVE INTERESTS !

WELL . . . WHAT DO THEY THINK OF YOU ?

interviewer: what do you think of y/n, sunghoon?

sunghoon: she pisses me off.

interviewer: can you elaborate?

sunghoon: no.

interviewer: what about you, jake?

jake: y/n? y/n... hmmm the name's not familiar. are you sure she goes to decelis?

OH ! THEN, PERHAPS A SCENE FROM THE STORY WILL DO ?

finally. after a long hard day of, well, avoiding pushy fangirls and brown-nosers, jake has glimpsed some freedom.

he finds himself enjoying the breeze on a local park bench instead. it’s close enough to decelis that he still flinches every time he hears a high-pitched noise, but finding peace is not impossible.

especially when the park is full of families having fun and apparent couples lazing on the grass. it’s not often he gets to experience an atmosphere like this. not often that he’s allowed to pause and allow himself to feel the moment long enough to experience anything at all, actually.

it feels as if most of his time is spent in making connections, modelling, events and the time he does get to spend at school is used up dodging people who want to talk about said activities.

it’s downright exhausting, and it’s to the point jake considers dropping modelling several times a week. the issue, of course, is that he loves it. to him, it’s a form of art, especially when he can see all of the incredible content created from him. it’s like a part of him is permanently out there for people to know and experience and that’s just amazing to him.

so yeah. an impasse. but enough rumination, right now was his time to truly feel peace and enjoy the ambiance the fresh air and trees provided.

that is, until someone goes crashing to the ground in front of him, and yeah jake did think that a block of pavement jutting at an angle from the previous would be an issue, but seeing the stray train of thought come to fruition was unfortunate.

what just happened settles in, and jake scrambles off of the bench, mourning his peace only a little bit after taking in the familiar decelis girls’ uniform.

“oh my god, are you okay?” his hands hover unsure, twitching in the air uselessly in response to the girl’s groan filling the surroundings.

when you turn towards the boy to reassure him that ‘yeah, i just got my shit rocked in front of you, but i’m fine!’

you gasp when you notice who is, “it’s you! coffee boy!”

jake is a little astonished, since when was he coffee boy? “hey! i have a name.”

you furrow your brow a bit, and he can’t tell if you’re trying to remember said name or that’s pain on your face.

“jake! right?”

he ignores the odd, new feeling of someone having to confirm his name instead of intuitively knowing it before he even says a word and nods, “and you’re y/n.”

he’s not sure if he would have remembered your name were it not for the way your last encounter with him went.

you nod enthusiastically, before frowning at the sting you feel on your knees. it seemed they were slightly skinned. you frown, contemplating what you should do, still on the floor.

jake clears his throat, “you, uh, should probably do something about that.”

you raise an unimpressed brow, as if to say, ‘what, pray tell, should i do here in the middle of the park?’

but, not one to be discouraged, you reach into your bag, frowning and dumping one of the pockets contents onto the ground in search of what you need. you cheer slightly in triumph, grabbing the handkerchief around your skinned knee for now.

good enough until you get home.

you hear jake chuckle and fix your gaze back on him, confused as to what’s funny in the situation right now.

he smiles, pointing at an item from your backpack, “you’re still carrying a flip-phone around in this day and age?”

the blood evaporates out of your body. you don’t want it to be true, but as you follow his finger with bated breath, your heart stutters as your gaze lands on it.

it, being a bright. pink. flip-phone.

unbeknownst to you, jake frowns in confusion as he notices the drastic change in your demeanour. he remains dumbfounded as you flounder, shoving everything back in your backpack whilst completely ignoring the object.

he doesn’t even have the time to question you before you bolt away, leaving him and the flip phone.

jake’s unable to hold his curiosity back and he picks up the phone. he almost drops it at the message sitting on the home screen that greets him.

hey, you’re not supposed to look at this! (¬_¬)

just what the hell was this? jake shrugs off the unnerving feeling and pockets the cell, deciding he’d give it to you eventually when you spoke again. although with the way you ran off, you didn’t seem too keen about it.

the model is utterly confused, but. oh well. he supposed being strange was one of your character traits.

permanent taglist: @ashtxrie @luvlyhee @won4kiss

special tags: @boyfhee @sungbyhoon @fleurre

everyone already tagged will be tagged again for the actual post, but if you would like to be tagged as well (special tags) then comment below or send an ask 🫶

the stars in between the dates and times, the flower next to his name, the pretty rainbow color scheme, the vintage-y feel...i'm in love already, i need this album out sooner

THE HOUSE : introduction

kinktober

warnings: sentient house? LOL

a/n: first cbinktober post! this is just a little intro, so i hope it gets u guys excited for what’s coming next :) please let me know which 🚪 is your fav!!! enjoy <3

it’s a physical thing, the way your body relaxes when the columns come into view through the windshield of your car. the columns, the bridge, the gate, the rhythmically blinking light above the victorian style door.  

three slow blinks. on, off. on, off. on, off. one-mississippi, two-mississippi, three. 

come home, come home, come home. 

your car beeps when you lock it, and the leaves rustle and snap as your feet carry you to the old gate. they crunch under the platform of your boots; the rusty, obsidian gate eases open when you walk up to it. the porch light stops flickering then, almost as if the house knows that you’re within its perimeter. 

it does know. your ever omniscient friend. 

your boots echo across the wooden deck when they thunk up the steps to the door. there’s no need to reach for the key in your pocket because the door unlocks itself, bolts clicking and hinges squealing as it cracks open with a slow creak. 

it’s quiet inside. it’s not an eerie silence, no. it’s welcoming and peaceful, the kind of quiet that soothes you to sleep and envelops you like an embrace after a long, grueling day where everything is too loud. wind whistles in the open air of the foyer until the door closes and deadbolts itself again. 

there’s a fire crackling in the hearth when you make your way to the living room to set your bag down. 

“thanks, it’s getting a little cool outside,” you say, and the old walls of the house groan their response. it takes care of you, just like you take care of it. “are they alright today?”

your own question has you looking down towards the hallway before settling yourself against the couch. it’s a long hallway, wide and spacious with an antique rug blanketing the hardwood floor all the way to the end of the corridor. the doors call to you already, but that’s no surprise; they always do, heart pulled in eight different directions. 

the house would tell you if anything was amiss. the occupants behind each door are all doing well, but they miss you deeply. it’s something you feel as sure as you breathe and and as sure as your heart beats in your chest, something innate and steadfast. the longer you keep yourself from them, the more you ache with the feeling too. you lift yourself from the old couch before you even realize what you’re doing, and your soul is soothed slowly but surely as you step closer and closer to the maw of the corridor. 

you caress your hand against the frame of the first door on your right and are immediately calmed. you can feel the emotions behind the door with one touch: joy, shyness, yearning, and it seeps into your body until you’re smiling softly at the wood. it’s a beautiful, light green, with thin tree limbs winding and curling around the rectangular frame of it. there are always vibrant green leaves slipping through the crack at the bottom of the door; ducking down to push them back inside does nothing, but you do it anyway. your fingers skim the floor when you gently push the leaves back under the crack of the door, and just like you expected, a force - something, someone, pushes them right back to you. a gift. 

the second door on the right has you breathing in deeply, the fresh smell of roses filling your nose until you’re exhaling a peaceful sigh. the door is older, more worn, a deep kelly green that chips away with every loving use. a brick outline frames the door, and there are bright, sweet scented flowers that grow right through the mortar and clay of it. you always like to use them along your mantel for decoration or weave them into a wreath for your front door. you don’t have to pick them; they almost jump into your hands when you reach for them, like they know they’ll be touched with love, with tenderness and care and purpose. the flowers love you because the one inside loves you, and three red roses bloom right before your eyes. 

your feet carry you on to the third door, it’s uniquely arched with scalloped edging like the shells you used to find on the beach with your family. the door shines pearlescent, shimmering with iridescent pinks and whites and lavenders. there’s a knocker in the middle of it, a beautiful queen conch shell, and you gingerly lift it to knock three times. with an eager press of your ear against the door, you wait. it takes a moment, but you hear three knocks back in response. not against the door, no, a bit of distance away, like a shell clacking softly against a rock. your fingers slide against the door until they trace across the pearl door knob. it’s cool against the tips of your fingers when you draw your hand away. 

the fourth, and last, door on the same side of the hall is another arched one, but it comes to a point at the top almost like a leaf. it’s a light, oaky brown, with elvish runes following the curve of the arch. expertly carved vines line the sides of the door, and you trace them with your fingers, along with the dual bows and arrows carved into the middle. there’s no knob, all it takes to get you through the door is your voice, a specific, special word. you look towards the runes at the top, lips mouthing the sindarin words softly. you shouldn’t know them, you don’t really know how you do either, other than the knowledge that the house has given you plenty of unexplainable, extraordinary gifts. a symbol at the end flashes bright white and changes to another right before your eyes. meleth e-guilen. love of my life. 

you make your way to the front of the hall again, the other side this time. the next door is a denim blue color; the paint peels and cracks around the well-used door knob. the knob is warm when you touch it, always is, still warm to the touch from the last time you used it to open the door. you look away for only a moment and the door disappears, you can see the blank space in the wall through your periphery, but it blinks into view again right when you look back. the worn, blue wood is warm when you rest your palm against it. it’s then that your palm tingles, an unseen presence right where your hand rests. a hand, another palm on the other side of the door, laying right where yours is. 

the sixth door is beautifully arched, dove white and ornate, fit for royalty. there’s a carving of a grandiose wreath in the middle of the door, and in the middle of that, a dazzling carving of a heart. even just standing in front of the door sends contentment seeping into your body, and you rest your forehead on it to close your eyes for a moment. all you feel is warmth, protection, love, a dreamy press of lips to your temple. even leaning against the door, you’re content enough that you could fall asleep here, just like the one you love who’s right inside. the longer your eyes stay closed, the more it feels like you’re in the room, underneath a soft blanket, cradled in lithe arms. the only thing that moves you from the door is the knowledge that you’ll truly feel it later. 

if you didn’t know any better, you’d walk smack dab into the seventh door. it’s as black as night, deep, infinite obsidian. the more you stare at it, the more it looks like a black hole, the more it looks like somewhere you can walk right into and never come out of. but the darkness is peaceful too, you’ve never been afraid of the seventh door. stars begin to glimmer on the door the longer you linger before it, just as beautiful as the ones in the night sky. you’re about to move along to the last door when the stars shift and change colors, bright orange and blue and white, transporting you lightyears away to what something tells you to be the cassiopeia constellation. the heart nebula settles before you, twinkling and burning bright before it disappears altogether and gives way to the darkness once more. 

the last door, the eighth, looks worse for wear than the others. it’s charred black and brown, burnt around the frame and bleeding inward toward the middle of the door. it smells like a campfire, like the comforts of the warm, blazing hearth in your living room. it’s not hot to the touch, but sometimes it smokes like it is. the smoke discolors the wall around the door, turning it an ashy gray. it’s not dangerous like you might expect, just different, special like the one inside. as if he can hear your thoughts, a gold coin comes rolling out from under the crack of the door. you stop it with your boot, and it swirls in a circle before clinking to a stop on the hardwood right before the rug. you bend down to roll it under the crack of the door where it came from, and it comes right back out. 

you make your way back to the front of the hall and pause there. time stands still in the house when you open one of the doors, when you walk your way inside a new world, and you’re almost thrumming with excitement, ready to see the eight who hold your heart in their hands. 

“i’m going now,” you call. the walls of the house moan their approval. all it wants is for you to be happy. “i’ll be back soon, okay?”