#skz love tropes

[leeknowlover99]

Skz as love tropes

found it in my drafts ;)

warnings: fluff, suggestive content

masterlist

Bang Chan - coworkers to lovers

you and Chan spent way too much time in a studio. working late nights, eating takeaway pizza, testing new ideas, leaving in the mornings when sun was already high up in the sky. you spent countless nights falling asleep on couch in small studio room. ever since you started working together something between you clicked, you understood and inspired each other. two lost souls trying to find peace in music, stressed overachievers trying to create something perfect. it should not come as a surprise that one day when nothing was working as it should in a heat of the moment you shared the most hungry passionate kiss you could imagine, changing your dynamic forever.

Lee Know/ Minho - neighbors to lovers

your relationship grew slowly. from passing each other on the corridor to saying shy hellos in the elevator to meeting in the coffee shop near by to taking care of his cat when he was on a business trip to going on long walks and talking about life together. Minho with tough and unreadable exterior turned into the softest person you knew. his kindness amazed you with each day. in a span of months from the total stranger he became your comfort person. the change in your relationship seemed so natural. you didn’t even realize when it turned from shy glances to getting railed in his sheets.

Changbin - exes to lovers

you tried to stay away from each other, you really did. it was not working out between you, work forced you to be separated more time than you would like. character differences caused loud arguments. but without each other you were even more doomed. stress piling up in your bodies, minds clouded with too many thoughts, sleepless nights when you missed each other way too much. so when one day you bumped into Changbin in a party next thing you knew you were pressed against him in someones bedroom, hungrily trying to make up for all the lost time. him whispering “i’m not gonna let you go ever again” against your lips.

Hyunjin - soulmates

nobody could replace Hyunjin. nobody could come even close. you have never met someone as passionate, gentle and unreal as him. the way you completed each other could only be described by word soulmates. you understood each other without any words, always knew what the other one needed, could sense emotions like you lived inside each others heads. one look at you two and everybody could see that. your eyes beamed with love when you were together, face glowed. lips curled into most gorgeous smiles. you just had that effect on each other.

Felix - fake dating

it started as an innocent lie but became so much more. the arrangement worked for both of you so you kept going with it. as time passed it was becoming more and more challenging to create that narrative. but neither of you wanted to end it. so you started going on dates, hanging out with your families, posting each other on social media, sleeping in the same bed. the line between the lie and reality was becoming blurry until one day of just vanished. you were no longer pretending, you were no longer keeping the act only when people were around. you were kissing in the loneliness of Felix’s room and although none of you said it you both knew that it became something more.

Han/ Jisung - fwb to lovers

Jisung was never the best when it came to any kind of relationships. one drunk night out with his pretty best friend and all he could think about is your perfect body and those plump lips. he needed you. you seemed to have the same idea. you also seemed to have the same problem with relationships. so after that one night neither of you talked about this. you just silently communicated when you needed each other. expressed your desires and feeling through gentle touches and passionate kisses. way too intimate for only friends. it took a long time for both of you to understand and admit that. but when you did you were two happiest people on this planet.

Seungmin - rivals to lovers

it was always the competition between you two. Y/N vs Kim Seungmin. you were both good, way better than everyone else. but neither of you liked sharing the spotlight. so you constantly tried to either beat the other one or mess with them. after all only one person could get the dreamt internship. this week has been particularly intense, electricity basically sparkling in the air when you were both in the same room. you needed to relax during weekend, that’s how you ended up at Chan’s party already drunk. what you did not expect was to find Seungmin here as well. the look he send your way when he saw you in the flimsy black dress made you weak. from that look only you knew the only competition you will be having tonight is who cums first.

Jeongin - childhood best friends to lovers

stolen glances, shy smiles, late night talks. you and your childhood best friend Jeongin were always more. but you were both too timid and unsure to act on it, so you loved each other in silence. spending all your precious days together, enjoying small moments, but deep down longing for more. and more did come. Jeongin gathered all his courage. “will you go to prom with me?” one day he appeared at your front door with a bouquet of tulips. “as friends?” you asked hoping for a negative answer. “as boyfriend and girlfriend” he responded quietly, cheeks blushed. you provided your response by connecting your lips in a shy kiss which quickly became more passionate when all your suppressed feelings could be finally released.

#skz headcanons #skz love tropes #skz smut #skz masterlist #skz reactions #skz hard thoughts #skz drabbles #skz fanfic #skz x reader #skz x you #skz imagines #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #bang chan #lee know #lee minho #changbin drabbles #hyunjin #hyunjin fluff #felix fluff #seungmin fluff #jeongin

[taeminsung]

♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── love comes again..

pairing ||  bang chan x reader summary || chan finds you again, but this time, doesn't let go. genre/s || love trope. fluff. romance. trope || childhood best friends masterlist || stray kids as love tropes mina’s notes ||  the first chapter of stray kids as love tropes! please enjoy ♡ 

Seeing trainees in the halls of the company building always pulled at Chan’s heartstrings. The memories, both good and bad, flash in his mind. It served as a time that seemed to have hardened him in some respects but in other cases made me incredibly soft when it came to people who supported him during that time, mostly his kids. Yet, he couldn’t help but remember someone whose smile warmed his breaking soul during that time. Still to this day, you crossed his mind, often leaving him wondering if you changed your number or what you were doing these days. It was the late nights when Minho makes sure that everyone is fed that Chan’s mind drifts back to you the most.

˚⁎⁺˳

Chan, your soft voice filled the small space in the studio JYP had given him. Chan hummed in response, pulling his eyes off his computer scene to see you standing at the door, an exhausted look on your face, yet food in your hands. You need to take a break to eat, you smile, the light not meeting your eyes. He knew that you stayed up extremely late trying to nail the choreography for a monthly evaluation. Yet, he also knew that this one didn’t go great for you, while you managed to get the dance, the rap you were asked to do took a hit. This was the part he hated the most. Getting close with people who had the possibility to leave.

Instead of saying anything, he returned the smile of someone who had been his friend since you were both young, motioning for you to come into the space, moving papers on the desk for you to put stuff down. Silence filled the room, with no air of awkwardness, as you both ate the food, Chan looking at his computer every few bites to adjust something. The thing was, he knew that there was always a chance that you would get eliminated as a trainee but there was also something in his chest that was telling him to not put up the walls around his heart for you.

While Chan was nearing debut, having barely dealt with the blow of losing both Minho and Felix, he couldn’t even fathom the thought of losing you too. You were sunshine in the dark clouds that filled his head. A small hope that maybe things will work out. It wasn’t until a week later, when your tradition of bringing him food late at night, didn’t happen that he got nervous. Were you just in the practice room? Taking vocal lessons with Seungmin? Pulling himself out of his studio, he made his way around the building, poking his head into various rooms, having no luck in finding you. It wasn’t until Chan overheard Sana say I still can’t believe they got eliminated to Momo that he just knew without asking, that it was you.

As he made his way back to his studio, he made a small vow to himself to not get close to any of the other trainees, even if he made it through debut, because he couldn’t stand the way his heart was breaking for a third time. Once the door clicked shut, he let himself fall to the floor, burying his face into his knees, and letting the tears fall. A hand landed on his back, moving up and down before a sob rocked his body. He would never forgive himself for not making sure to protect you more.

˚⁎⁺˳

Schedules leading up to MAMA were going to be the death of Chan. He could tell it was also going to be for his members as well. It felt like little things were going to keep going wrong in their rehearsals and the stress was starting to get to them. They just needed one day of things to go right. Just one. Chan knew that getting to rehearse in their stage outfits would help and was relieved when he walked into the practice studio that day to see half the members dressed. Three days left, he reminded himself. Three days then a day of rest for everyone. They could do it. He needed to do it for them.

Struggling to not let his exhaustion show on stage for their ending, he could see Jeongin struggling just the same. Three… two… one…, Chan counted before the lights cut and he reached for his youngest member. Pride swelled in his chest that they were able to pull the performance off and nothing went wrong. Now, all he wanted was to get home, change into his favorite sweats, crawl under the blankets, and not emerge for as long as he possibly could. As he collected his kids and ushered them backstage, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him when he saw someone who looked strangely like you pass in front of him. There was no way. Right? You’d surely contact him if you knew you both were going to be at MAMA. Yet, he cursed himself because he didn’t even know there was a chance you’d be here.

A million questions seemed to be running through his head because Changbin was now dragging him through the halls to their room backstage so they could get a quick rest before going back to sit with the other idols. Would you not tell him you debuted? It’s not that your friendship ended on bad terms, but Chan was always too nervous to reach out to you after the elimination. Did you blame him for it? Did you hold a grudge against him for making it? Lost in his own world of questions and thoughts of you, he was dragged back into reality when Seungmin asked Minho, Hyung, isn’t that y/n? Chan's eyes were then glued to the monitor as he watched your group perform an amazing piece.

Even after your group was off stage, he couldn’t help but be stuck on the way you performed. All the nerves you used to have in the practice room were gone. Now you were confident in the same way he knew Hyunjin to be confident on stage. What felt like pride again was swelling his chest knowing that you were able to reach your dream. His best friend since childhood making a name on stage. You stepped into your calling and didn’t let the terrible moment in your past slow you down, or so he hoped. Chan hyung, we are going to grab dinner before going back to the dorms. You coming? Han questioned before heading back out to the stage.

The rest of the night went on and all of Chan’s thoughts were consumed by you. How had you been? Were you happy? Did you pick up on composing? The memory of the late nights in the studio, your head resting on his shoulder while he explained what he was doing consumed his vision for a fleeting moment. Had you finished that song you and Han were working on? Did you miss him like he missed you? So caught up in his own mind, he just let the motions of the night carry him through. It wasn’t until he was sitting at the restaurant with Han calling your name that Chan snapped back to reality. His members invited your group out for dinner. He couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips when you took the empty seat next to his.

Conversations flowed among the many people gathered around, alcohol bottles littering the table in celebration of the awards won and performances completed. Chan listened intently as you explained to Han and Seungmin what happened after you got eliminated from JYP and how you managed to find the current group you were in. The breath he didn’t even know he was holding escaped although a little shaky. The tension seemed to dissipate when you said you didn’t hold any resentment for the past and couldn’t be happier because it let you to where you are now.

It was when you turned to him after everyone started talking again that his skin seemed to feel like it was on fire when you looked at him. I’m so happy to see Minho and Felix back with you, you whispered so only he could hear. You deserved to have this group, a smile pulling at your lips. Maybe it was the way the familiar feeling of your presence calmed him down while also giving him newfound energy. I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you, after… well after everything, you continued, I just didn’t know how to tell my best friend that I wasn’t good enough. The smile turning sad as your eyes dropped.

Chan’s hand twitched to reach out to you and tilt your chin up. It didn’t sit well with him that you could ever think you weren’t good enough. For who? For him? Because he knew that you were more than enough to be called his best friend and he would be damned to hear you say otherwise. But we made it, your face tilted up to look at him again. Something about the ‘we’ in your sentence broke something in his chest. That’s all he ever wanted. For you both to make it and settle into your dreams. Maybe it was the way he now viewed you, not the little one who would follow him around, but the confident person that you had grown up to become. In his mind, he reached out to caress your cheek, but in reality, he settled for You’ll always be enough for me.

Both of you were pulling back into the chaos of the conversation between the two groups as the debate on best dramas was in full swing. As Chan saw you smile wide at the mention of a show, it dawned on him what the feeling in his chest had been since he saw you in passing backstage. This time away from you, but always thinking of you, gave him the space to understand that he didn’t want anyone else to fill the space next to him where you used to be. No. What he wanted was for you to be back in the space. Maybe a little closer this time. The crushing weight of the realization that he was in love with you hit him before he even blinked.

Adjusting his position, he moved his leg so that it would be pressed against yours as he moved his chair slightly closer to you as well. His eyes noticed that your hands sat in your lap and before he could even think if it was a good idea, his hand was extending to lacing his fingers with yours. Daring a glance at your face, he could see the pink that dusted your cheeks and the way your smile slowly grew, eyes focused on your intertwined hands. When you didn’t pull away, joining in another conversation with Hyunjin instead, he knew that maybe you shared the same feelings as him. All he knew was at the end of tonight, he would make sure he had your number and would never let you go from his side again.

All the time for catching up could be spent tomorrow in the comfort of either of your places, filling each other in on everything that was missed, including the feelings that were already taking over.

from mina with love ♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── thank you for reading! ♡ tag list || @orchid-mantis-petals; @i-dontevenknowman; @deadcrow-donteat

#stray kids #stray kids love tropes #bang chan #chan #channie #stray kids imagine #bang chan imagine #chan imagine #skz imagine #stray kids fluff #stray kids comfort #bang chan fluff #chan fluff #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids oneshot #chan oneshot #bang chan oneshot #chan fic #bang chan fic #stray kids fic #stray kids dream

[seung-mong]

shoot to kill - bangchan

includes: ex (?) bf! chan x fem reader, ANGST idk im in the mood to break hearts ig, fluff at the end, soft smut, mostly chan reassuring and praising reader

"alright fuck, then maybe we should just take a break."

the words leave chan before he can really think about it, hanging in the air like a knife that's been thrown and stops midair, your gaze ice cold and freezing it in it's track.

"really. thats your solution? a fucking break?" you scoff, your (chan's) shirt that usually hangs loosely suddenly suffocating you, wrapping you in a snake-like grip and making your head feel like you're going to explode.

"yea, i just dont think us being together is good for us anymore."

chan has a bad habit. he says shit he doesnt mean, blames the anger that builds in his chest and spits out words he knows will hurt. because thats what he wants to do. he knows its wrong, fucked even. the way he wants you to hurt the way he hurts.

"christopher."

its a plea. take it back, please. you stand there in front of him, defenseless. the way his full name falls off your tongue sounds wrong. it's devoid of all the emotions you'd usually call him with. where's the gentleness, the softness you usually regard him with?

"maybe we just.. need to stay away from each other right now." chan's voice is steady, betraying the way his insides seem to shake, he's not sure if he's shivering from the cold, or the way your eyes seem to look at him as if you're seeing him for the first time.

"you can't be serious." it hurts to speak, your words squeezing out of you as you struggle to breathe, tears freely flowing.

he should turn this around. surrender. no, he isn't serious. he's so stupid and he loves you and he's just so hurt by what you said a while ago and he's tired and- "i'll sleep at changbin's tonight."

your chest hurts, physically feels like its being ripped apart as you stare at your lover with empty eyes. "thats your solution? to run away? over such a stupid-"

"stupid?" chan laughs hollowly, running a hand through his hair, feeling all the anger rise in him again. "it isn't stupid, y/n. you're the one who keeps running away. you're the one who keeps pushing away this conversation every single time i bring it up." he's raising his voice now, can see how tense his body is from the reflection on the glass window.

"you're asking me to pick up my whole life and move to seoul with you. this isn't some silly request like asking me to pick where to eat for dinner, it's my whole fucking life, chris!" you raise yours in response, taking a step closer to him.

"that's what i did for you! i dont understand it, y/n. i moved to chicago. for you. picked up my whole fucking life and moved because i loved you. so why can't you fucking do that for me? this is my work, y/n." he takes a step, towering over you.

"no, don't twist it like that. we made plans, chan. we talked about it for months. it wasn't some spontaneous decision. we both wanted this-"

"well maybe i dont want this anymore."

oh.

...

"you don't mean that."

...

"channie? please. you don't mean that." your voice is breaks, shaky as you step away from him, clutching at your chest.

he can feel guilt eat at his stomach as he watches you, whole body shaking as sobs rack through your frame. he needs to apologize, he knows it. but you've hurt him too.

"i just... i need a break, y/n."

you sink into the couch behind you, shaking your head when chan hesitantly approaches you, kneeling on the floor in front of you. he places a hand on your knee, and his chest tightens when you flinch away from him.

"love-"

"don't." you spit the word out, refusing to even look at him.

"love, please-"

"a break's what you want? you fucking have it. tell changbin to expect you." you push his arm away when he makes a move to reach for you. you unfurl yourself from the couch, stepping aside from the man who holds your heart, ignoring his calls of your name as you walk into your shared bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.

sleep comes quickly when you cry yourself to sleep, curled into a ball in your bed, heart empty as the overwhelming scent of chan sticks to his pillows. you faintly hear the soft click of the front door, and then complete silence.

it's hard to remember how you fell asleep, almost as if there was a smooth transition from sobbing heavily into your pillow and breathing into a deep sleep. your head is pounding when your eyes open, puffy and sore from your tears. your throat is dry, stomach aching, and heart heavy.

there's a chance chan will never sleep beside you again.

you push aside the bitter feeling, letting out a painful groan when you stretch your limbs, swinging your feet off your bed. the floor is cold, and you have to tiptoe to the bathroom to freshen up.

you look as horrible as you feel. you try not to spend too much time looking at yourself.

the thought of spending your whole day alone in your big apartment makes you uneasy, part of you wishing you could stay cooped up in your room forever. but you know deep down that's not what's truly bothering you, not when the uncertainty eats at you from the inside.

how is he?

is he thinking about you?

why hasn't he messaged you?

...... is it really the end?

you walk to the door, taking a deep breath as tears brim just below your waterline, promising to be productive today, and not to wallow in self pity all day. your scream leaves you before you can register what exactly is sitting by front of your door, large frame leaning against the door toppling over in his sleep.

"what the hell!" you scream, heart suddenly beating too fast at your liking as you finally take the scene in.

"baby?" chan's voice is croaky, as if his throat had been scratched raw. he's still wearing the clothes from last night, shoulder leaning against the doorframe before you swung the door open, causing him to lose balance.

"what the fuck are you doing here?" you sigh, guilt tugging at your heart when chan stands up, groaning and rubbing at his back.

"i- i didn't...."

you stare at him in silence, unable to control the way your brows furrow in anger. he stares back at you, lips suddenly going dry when he sees the way that you look at him, as if he was a bother.

"i thought you went to bin's." you push past him, heading straight to the kitchen as if you had no worry in the world, pretending to busy yourself with dishes despite there not being a single dish in the sink.

"i..... i couldn't leave you." his voice cracks as he takes another step toward you. you turn your back to him, denying him of your attention as you pretend to busy yourself with breakfast, pulling open drawers and taking out pots.

"wow. that's rich." your voice is laced with pure venom when you bite back, sinking deep into chan's heart as he shuffles awkwardly to stand by the kitchen counter.

"you locked the door."

you only hum in response.

"i.... i tried to go in, thought i'd apologize to you but.... it was locked."

"yea. you don't really expect anyone to go in your room when you're on a break."

the silence is heavy on your shoulders, but you know if you say any more the tears will start pouring. you're too mad at chan to break down in front of him, pride and ego wrestling as you maintain your unbothered facade, working your way around him as if his presence meant nothing to you.

"i turned down the job offer last night."

you drop the spatula you were holding in your hand, letting it clank against the metal pot.

"you what?" you finally turn to face him, disbelief etched onto your face.

you finally soften when you see chris mere feet away from you, eyes red and puffy a sign that he had been crying too. his hair is a mess, and his clothes from last night look rumpled, as if he had been restless all night.

"i- you have to know, my love. i will always choose you, nothing else. i was stupid and-"

"christopher, i never said no." you feel irritation rise in you again, but you take another step closer to your lover. "i never said i didnt want to go. i needed time to think, chris. time. to process. and now you've turned down your dream job and i-"

"i know, i know." chris reaches out to you, letting out what you think is a breath of relief when you dont push him away as he wraps his fingers around your wrists. "but i.... this job, it's going to be demanding and i'm constantly going to have to move and.... look, chicago is your home." he raises a hand to cup your face, wiping away the stray tear that had slipped down your cheek.

"and seoul is yours." you argue back.

"no, you are."

you let out a sob at that, allowing yourself to fully melt into chan's warm embrace. he immediately scoops you into his arms, pressing your face into his chest as he kisses the top of your head repeatedly, patting your hair down.

"it doesnt matter what im doing or where i am, as long as you're there." chan starts to choke up, pulling your face away to properly look you in the eyes. "i dont know what the future holds for me, love. all i know is that i want you by my side. in ten, twenty, thirty years." he plants soft kisses all over your face as you sniffle.

"but i- i feel so bad. i dont want to stop you from doing what you want." you groan, but chan simply giggles lovingly at you.

"i dont want you to think that, i dont even think that. its just a job, y/n. its not even a job i really want. it pays well yea, but it's not something id drop everything for. especially not you." he wipes away the tears that are still falling, cooing at you when you hiccup.

"i love you, chan. i'm so sorry." you sob, pushing your face into his shirt.

"don't apologize. i should be the one saying sorry. i was such a dick last night, i-" he sighs, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "you know i dont mean what i say, right?"

god he hopes you say yes, he prays to any god, even those he doesnt believe in that you know he never means those things. he doesnt think theres anything worse than the possibility that you could actually think he doesnt want you or a life with you.

"i- i know. but... still hurts when you say it." you sniif, wiping away your tears with the back of your hand.

chan pulls away to look down at you. "i know, my love. im sorry. i'll work on that, i promise. can't stand it when you're sad. i hate knowing im the one who hurts you." he leans down to kiss you, the salty taste of your tears making his chest hurt.

"let me love on you, yea? let me take care of you baby, please."

you nod, jumping up when chan taps at your thighs. he catches you, wrapping his hands around your thighs as he carries you to your bedroom. "need to feel you," you sigh when chan gently places you on the bed.

he stands in between your spread legs, quickly throwing off his hoodie and letting it fall to the floor, leaving him half naked. he leans down to hover over you, lips instantly finding yours in a messy, heated kiss. his hands find their way under your shirt, tips of his fingers grazing your underboob.

"wanna fuck you in my shirt." chan hums against your cheek, squeezing your sides when you squirm against him.

"wanna feel your skin on mine though, please baby?" you beg, holding onto chan's shoulders as he kisses down your chest. he hums in agreement, rolling his shirt off so it sits on top of your breast.

"i'll give you whatever you want, baby. just ask me. promise i'll give it to you, i'll take care of you." he presses soft kisses across your stomach and chest all the while, only pulling away to lift the fabric off you. chan eyes you hungrily, only dressed in your underwear.

"you're the most beautiful girl ive ever seen, my love. so perfect for me." he sighs, fingers tangling in your hair as he kisses you deeply.

"want your pants off, need to feel all of you." you whine, fingers already flying to undo his pants.

"such a good girl, using your voice. you know id do anything you asked." he hums, kicking everything off until he lays bare against you, cock already hard as it rubs against your thigh.

"enough with the teasing, channie. need you in me."

"there's no rush, baby." chan hums, fingers dipping down to see how wet you are, surprised to find you already soaking.

"huh. guess she was crying for me too, hmm?"

you lightly slap at his shoulder, fighting the scolding smile that threatens to paint your face. "just put it in already, please."

"hmm. since you asked so nicely." he kisses your cheek, lips still against your skin as he pushes in you, holding your legs as par apart as he can. your breath catches in your throat at the feeling of him stretching you, fingers digging onto his broad back as he settles deep within you.

"feel good?" he asks, pillowy lips trailing across your face.

"so deep- love you, channie." you babble, and chan can't help but giggle. he presses his bare chest against yours, feeling satisfied when every inch of his skin is met with your own. his hands find yours, interlocking them before he dips down to kiss you on the lips.

"lets go slow, kay baby? need to feel all of you. every inch." he coos, hips slowly pulling back before he sinks back in, keeping the same torturously slow pace.

you whin when it starts to get too much and yet not enough at the same time, heels digging into his lower back to push him in quicker everytime he pulls out. "please, channie. need it faster."

"greedy," chan tuts, rubbing his nose against your jawline. "but, what my love wants, she gets."

his pace starts to pick up, lewd sounds of skin against skin filling up the room aside from the occassional moan you let out. chan grunts against your ear, letting out deep sighs and high pitched whimpers everytime you clench around him or reach up to kiss at his neck.

"m close," you whine, throwing yoru arm around your lover's neck to pull him closer. he easily complies, keeping the same rhythm as you press yourself against him.

"wanna feel you cum, baby. wanna feel that pretty pussy clench around me." he groans, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight circles on the bud.

you let out a silent scream when you cum, legs shaking against chan's waist as he fucks you through your high, letting out a breathy whimper when he feels how tight you've become.

"fuck! love you so much, channie." you sob.

that's what pushes him over the edge, shooting his load deep inside you as his hips stutter, groaning lowly with every thrust. he buries his face into the crook of your neck as you hold him, back sweaty from all the movement.

your breathing seems to sync as you both calm down, chan's hands rubbing up and down your sides as yours curl into his hair, holding him snuggly against you.

"i love you more than anything, y/n." chan suddenly breathes against your neck. he pulls away to look at you, and your breath catches in your throat when you see his eyes are brimming with tears.

"channie?" you pout, gently carressing his cheeks with your thumb. he leans into your touch, quickly kissing the palm of your hand before he nuzzles into it.

"don't wanna lose you. hurts so fucking much just thinking about it."

you're caught off guard by his sudden vulnerability, but you coo at him all the same. "you won't lose me, baby. we'll get through everything." you promise, heart squeezing when his tears start to fall.

"almost did. hate myself so much for hurting you." he sniffs, quickly wiping away his tears.

"baby, listen to me, okay?" you sigh. you try to sit up to look at him better, but chan whines, resting his head in between your chest and tightening his hold around your body. you giggle at him, hands quickly finding its way to his hair as you play with it. "you won't lose me. we just gotta... talk through everything, okay?"

"but i hurt you.... i dont think when i get mad. say things i dont mean."

"and you said you'd work on it. i trust you." he lifts his head up so he looks up at you, chin resting on your stomach.

"i love you. i hope you believe me when i say that. honestly, i dont think those three words can even begin to describe how i feel for you." he sighs, pinching at your side.

you giggle at him, thinking back to how he called you his home.

you push away the curls that cover his eyes, smiling down sweetly at him. "i know what you feel for me channie." you reassure him, pulling him up by the shoulders so he hovers directly above you.

"'s exactly what i feel for you, my beautiful boy." you coo, pulling him down for a kiss.

taglist: @abcdefgiwsmcty@n034sy@148-seungmin

#seung mong! #skz smut #skz #skz fanfic #stray kids #bang chan #bangchan x reader #bangchan fluff #bangchan angst #bangchan smut #chan smut #chan x yn #chan fluff #chan angst #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #i need a chan honestly #he loves yn your honor! #youre my home trope is one of the best like what the hellll

[hwajin]

#! — [waves] Hwang Hyunjin

— gn!reader // nsfw — siren hyunjin! req. by @whatudowhennooneseesyou <3

He was intoxicating, in every sense of the word, in any way it was possible. The way his hands, cold but firey against your body, slid up and down your thighs, and your hips, and your waist as if you were a meal to be devoured, the way his cold breath fanned over you, how the damp huff of air covered your skin in the smallest of bumps, a sign of his effect on you. The effect he had on anyone if he only wanted to, the effect that would come with a simple strumming of his vocal chords. And yet he decided to gift you with his affection while he could have anyone, chose you to show his interest, his longing. Longing for love, or pleasure, only - you didn't care. You were ready to give him everything he desired, anything he needed.

Hyunjin's touch felt cold to the skin, forbidden, secretive. Every move of his swimming into the next like the softest, most delicate waves, and every bit of contact against your body with his had you drowning into him a little more, had you floating on a body of water. He was addicting, his kisses were, his cold against you was. You felt like you could never get enough of him if you wanted to, grabbing onto him so he wouldn't slip away the moment mutual satisfaction was granted and over and done with. You knew he couldn't stay with you, yet you wished for nothing more.

Your hands entangled in Hyunjin's hair, always damp, a bit wet, giving him a look so seductive you arched your back into him a bit more. The feeling of drowning returned with every thrust against your hips he made, with every fluid motions of his body against your own. And he was so hard to resist, luring you in and occupying your mind without saying a single word. As though it was telepathy, as though he was thinking the sweetest of words and praises, the most alluring promises and sent them right to you, non vocally. Your fingers clawed into his scaled skin, making him hiss out, making him bite down on the plushness of your neck. The moment was heated, limbs all over each other, lips clashing together in unspoken passion and sinful lust. The feeling of release was creeping up on you, the feeling that would call for the end of you and him, for the moment he'd vanish to reappear again whenever he felt needed. So you wanted to procrastinate it, because Hyunjin'd never leave without having you satisfied. Would stay until he gave you what you gave him, intoxicating pleasure that never seemed to run out when both of you met.

"C'mon baby, let go, for me."

And yet, your high was gushing over you faster than you could look, with Hyunjin's words hushed against the shell of your ear, singing a sweet melody you couldn't resist. Your head fell back, your limbs contracting, and Hyunjin's own release coating you from within. A feeling like no else, and yet you despised it. Becasue in the blink of an eye he was gone, your body left cold. And you found yourself wishing for the next time again.

@etherealeeknow @linoskitty @unexceptional-h @rseanne @diue @es-kay-zee @urcracksisx @jeyelleohe @yunkiwii @meloohmel @nyrasneedy @seochhj @spidercomics @chans-starlight @angelwonie @lix-ables @yvniek4ng @ppiri-bahng @sstarryreads @svintsandghosts

#i've written 2 mystical creature hyunjin fics so far and both of them were about him leaving??? #and it being all forbidden?? #i love that trope tho with mystical stuff can you blame me #this was SO much fun to write does anyone notice the word plays i added #genius of me if i'm honest #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin smut #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin scenarios #skz scenarios #skz smut #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios

[shadowofahope]

We Are Liars

Pairing: rich college student! Changbin x college student reader

Warning: Flufffffff

Premise: He needed an out of his mothers attempts to set him up. Your summer schedule was empty. Maybe him asking you to be his fake girlfriend wasn't the worst idea. It did make a lot of sense. But then again it was too easy to say yes...

Word count: 4.7 K

Authors notes: Tada! I've been very overtired recently so please forgive the errors. I'll go back to fix them but for now I wanted you to have our lovely Changbin!

SKZ Masterlist

“Every time I go back home my mother incessantly tries to set me up with her friends daughters, even their nieces. No matter how many times I tell her that I want to find love on my own, she just still pushes. I was so tired of it, I just blurted out I have a girlfriend.”

He looked tired, honestly. Him asking you out to a late night coffee run, you weren’t expecting to meet up with him looking so exhausted. He was always busy and the others always told him he looked tired but this seemed different, but you guessed this made sense now.

You sip your coffe nodding along to his words, setting it down on the metal table, leaning back to give him your full attention. “Ok, well why me?”

“She knows of you in our friend circle, but she’s never met you or seen us together. I panicked and you were the first person I thought of. Being friends already I figured it’d be the easiest sell.” 

The antsy leg bounces unde the table weren’t lost on you. Agitation wouldn’t be the right word for the look hardened on his face. You could see it clear as day though, he wasn’t one to mask his feelings or insecurities. 

“Fair enough.” Because it did make sense to some extent. If it was one of the other girls that hung around occasionally, you wouldn’t bet money on their acting abilities. Or honestly their inability to not have a crush on him. Most of them, as annoying as they were, were just around clinging like flies to hot trash. Trying almost anything to get the boys to notice him, Changbin being the easiest sell as he was the richest friend in the group. Or at least he had the richest parents, you had pointed out once to the caddy bunch. They made some comment about being the only male in the family and blah blah blah. You had walked away without saying anything at that point, you didn’t see a point in listening anymore.

“She started asking me all these questions about how we met, so I just told her we met through Minho, which is the truth, but then she demanded for me to bring you home this summer. So now I’m sitting in a deep dark whole that I dug for myself that I’m really hoping you’d help me out of…I’ll even pay you for it…” His eyes squeeze shut, creating crows feet around them, hands coming up in a praying nature, bottom lip coming out in a pout. Putting on his best pitiful show.

He really didn’t need to beg so hard, but it was cute. “Ok. I’ll help.”

“You’ll come home with me?” He sounded almost shocked, did he really think you’d protest to helping a friend?

“Yea. No one should be forced into anything. I feel bad enough for you.” You laugh at him, keeping a light air around you. You did feel bad for him, relationships were hard already but add on a pressure cooker of a mother and who knows what someone would be willing to do to release it.

Knowing Changbin and being close to Changbin were two different things. You had hung out within groups but never alone, until tonight. However, you had never felt uncomfortable around him or unsettled. It seemed easy enough, and if you had to act with PDA, it definitely didn’t help that he was attractive. Not someone you’d usually find yourself drawn to, but maybe you’d get to see a new side to the rich, muscle man.

“Seriously?!” His eyes light up, as he reaches his hand across the table to yours. “Thank you, thank you, so much. I’ll definitely repay you for everything!”

“However.” You try to mask your smile behind a mask of seriousness. “We are going to have to set up boundaries, those of PDA.” 

You use your head to gesture to his large hands still enveloping your smaller one. Not that you had a real problem with it, it was warm in the cool night air.

He chuckles nervously, “Yea, we don’t want anyone feeling uncomfortable…”, pulling his hands back from you.

“That goes both ways.” You genuine smile returning. “How are you generally in relationships and around your friends and parents?”

Finding out the logistics before hand would be a better idea than going in blinde. Especially as your normal reaction to things is keeping space between you and other people. Be that mentally or physically. You don’t want to recoil suddenly if he went to hold you hand infront of his parents. That would put an end to your show rather quickly.

“Hm-” He stares off, slightly behind you in contemplation. “Well I would say I am slightly on the clingier side. I like to hold hands, cuddling or just be touching in general. I’m very open to letting everyone know I’m with someone, I tend to be possessive in that sense. Normally I’d use pet names too. But i’ve never brought someone home so I’m not really sure how I’d be. My guess would be probably the same.”

You mull over his words carefully, factoring in your ability to act with him. 

“Ok, Well I’m comfortable with the PDA level. I can accept clingy.” You coo at him. Who knew muscles had such a cute needy side. “Do you have a pet name you want to be called or can I wing it?”

“You can wing it. I don’t mind, I tend to use baby for my partners.”

“Baby it is.” You stand up, grabbing your coffee off the table. “Well shall we go create some evidence?” 

“Evidence?” He eyes you suspiciously. 

“Yep. Lets take some photos of us, plus I can use one as my lockscreen” 

“That’s a cute idea! I want one too.” He exclaims clambering to his feet to join you in your walk down the street. He catches up with you rather quickly, which doesnt surprise you at all. But his next words do catch you off guard. “Should we practice?” 

“Practice?”

His hand slides down your exposed wrist, fingers slotting between yours to intertwine your hands. Lifting your joined hands up for you to get a good view of them.

“Practice.” Something about that look he gives you makes you want to wipe that smirk off his face. If he thinks he can beat you in the cheekiness department, he is utterly wrong. 

“Then how about kissing? Do we ignore that or should we practice?” 

The innocence in your voice is lost behind the sounds of him chocking, followed by your hysterical laughing. Neither of you letting go of eachother, creating fake memories for the trip to come.

🌊☀️🌊☀️

“Nervous?”

“Yes and no.” You explain. “On one hand if it doesn’t go well, its not the end of the world because were not actually together. On the other, it’ll be a really awkward homecoming for you if this doesn’t work.”

“Fair points. Just be yourself, with a little bit of me.” 

You roll your eyes at him, turning to look out the window. The drive was 4 hours overall, which you had spent 3 hours just talking and getting to know eachother, flushing out details like; how long have you been official, were exactly you met, first dates, etc. Obvious questions anyone might ask. Somehow you started talking about your childhoods and siblings, turning to various ex’s. Leading you to mention that your last relationship failed because of toxicity, but he allowed you to ghost over it. Not wanting to dwell or talk about it. You may be having to fake being vulnerable, but there was no way you’d actually show it now.

8 minutes left of your journey in the comfort of his slightly sporty highly expensive car with your own personal chauffeur, 4 hours was a breeze. 

And just like you assumed, when he pulled up to the beach house his parents and sister were waiting out front for the two of you. Their eagerness to meet you was overwhelming but you held it together well. Open arms for hugging, warm welcomes and benign ushered inside to chat about the detaisl they were dying to know. 

How remarkably easy it was to walk around on a tour with his hand in yours, luggage moved to your shared room for the nights you’ll be staying. His mother making a fuss about you two needing to share a bed because no matter where she would set up Changbin she knew her son would sneak back to you. Remarks she made, making you turn an eye to his, although he dodged eye contact very well. 

Physical contact you both had made sure you were accustomed to, so even without thinking you would seek eachother out. Small kisses here and there, pecks on the cheek or forehead. His favourite place to keep his hand you found was on your lower back. So trip through the small town with his mother, also meant a large amount of teasing from her. His need to hold onto you continuously, she’d laugh at, pester him about being possessive and smitten with you. 

Which is exactly what you both had planned. So shockingly convincing you were, it became comfortable. Easy. His warmth was contagious. 

Not only his, but his whole family. From baking in the kitchen with his mother, to discussing with his dad about his favourite starwars movie in the franchise, to going out on lunch dates with his older sister talking about her drama filled work place and the guy she had a crush on in the office. 

Watching him interacting with his family on calm nights like this, started making you think of things that were no longer possible. What it would be like to have someone like him love you, have his family love you.

Thinking back to last summer, the idea of dating again seemed like eons away. Leaving one toxic relationship behind you didn’t want to let yourself become that comfortable again. Setting yourself away on a shelf, adorned with forgotten trinkets of other peoples pasts. 

Maybe that’s why you didn’t know how to act in a healthy relationship. Letting him set up his boundaries and agreeing with them meant he wouldn’t know that you were broken in a way. The unrelenting bluntness and over communication made some relationships weaker, but on another hand made many stronger. 

Minho knew everything you went through with your ex, his uncompromising support for you to make your own choices, but also his need to scold you when you were being careless flourished your mere ‘childhood friends’ title to best friends. Over the years, no matter what friends you each made he kept your secrets adn you kept his. 

But maybe it was time to share them with someone new. You’d never felt so welcome and at home with a partner before. It would be easy to get swept away by his parents and sister, swept out to sea from high tide, until when? You’d find yourself buried under the think sand, suffocating to feel this love again? 

In this moment, you wouldnt let yourself dwell on anything. 

A ping from a phone set down next to you grabs your attention. Changbins screen lights up with text notification. 

“My love,” You call out, catching his attention. “Your friend messaged you about tonight.” 

He doesnt hesitate in bounding over to you, settling down next to you, arm resting behind you on the back of the couch. He unlocks his phone, opening the text nodding at it before angling the phone for you to see. 

You read it over quickly, before his mother observes “Are you two planning to go out tonight?” 

“Just him” You smile at her, but continue explaining as she looks a little irritated with her son. “He’s going to have a drink with his old friends while I take advantage of the jacuzzi tub in his bathroom.”

“She’s been eyeing it for a while now.” He leans over to land a gentle kiss on your temple, a soft smile forms on your face. 

“Alright…” She says unsure, but drops it nevertheless. 

🌊☀️🌊☀️

They’d been out for a few hours now, going to their favourite club when they were younger. It was a little closer to town, so they had carpooled together. You had waved at them when they left, and he remembers thinking how at ease he would be if this relationship were real. 

Now he’s many drinks in, and a few of them are tipsier then others. Him being one of the drunker ones.

“So when are we gonna meet this girlfriend of yours Bin?” His friend remarks, raising his voice to be heard over the loud music playing. 

“How bout right now.” He shouts back, struggling to pull out his phone from his back pocket whilst still sitting on it. 

“Man it’s 3 in the morning, you think she’s gonna be awake?” His other friend leans closer to him, making sure he doesn’t fall off his chair as he fights his jeans.

“Mhm!” Finally managing to rescue his phone from its compounds he carefully calls your num ber. It only takes a few rings before it connects. He smirks to himself, he knew you’d be awake. 

“BABY!” Shouts gleefully into the phone.

An airy chuckle comes through the receiver. 

“Yes my love?” Your warm sound already making him feel sleepy.

“Would you be able to pick me up from the club? I don wanna take a taxi.” His words slightly slur, but he fights through the fog of the alcohol. A pout forms on his lips, one he forgets that you can’t see.

“Where are your keys?”

“On my gym bag” He sings, knowing he’s won. 

“Do you want me to come get you now?” 

“Yesssss pleassssssse” Now there’s no hiding his sleepiness. 

“Be there soon.”

“Yay!” Cheering he hangs up, turning to his friends.

“There you go! Now you’ll get to see how beautiful and amazing she is.” Turning serious. “Now none of you go falling for her, she’s taken”

He doesn’t wait for them to respond, instead he clambers to his feet to push his way through the crowd to make it outside. You were coming to get him, he wanted to be there. He was excited to see you again, even though it hadn’t been that long since he left you behind he had already begun to miss you the moment they drove away.

His friends follow him through the mass, making sure he doesn’t stumble too far to hurt himself. Or anyone else for that matter.

His body vibrates in impatience and delight when he sees his car pulling up.

“BABY! You’re here.” He shouts gleefully as he slings himself onto you in a too tight embrace as soon as you step up on the curb. He pulls back just to pout at you and look down at your clothes. “But why do you have to look so cute?”

You had dropped your book and slipped into the closest things you could find, that wasn’t your pjs, which at the time you had grabbed one of his shirt’s and a pair of your jean shorts. Your hair in a messy ponytail tail with your glasses still on your face, you couldn’t help but smile at his cuteness.

Ruffling his hair you coo at him “cmon you drunk, lets get you home.”

“Here, we can help.” Two of his friends attempt to pry him off of you and usher him into the car.

“I want bed and cuddles” he whines as you break contact. 

“You know what would get you bed and cuddles faster? If you weren’t so drunk” you laugh at his plight. 

“Hi y/n, I’m Wooyoung.” A hand comes out for you to shake. “Sorry for the lousy first meeting.”

“Honestly it’s ok, it’s still nice to meet you Wooyoung”

The gir standing behind himl snubs her nose at you but you pay her no mind as the other two guys come round the car also giving their introductions, to then point out the female and drop her name. You only nod at her.

You hear a scuffle behind you as changbin starts to re-emerge from his seat, trying to make another break for you. The males run round to stop him. 

Heels click next to you. Something grateing about the voice makes your skin feel icky. “He let’s you drive his car.” 

That was definitely a statement, not a question. But still you felt a tug to answer.

“Sometimes.” You smile watching the men fight, before turning to her “have a good night”

“Changbin! If you want bed and cuddles you need to get into the car.” You tell him sternly.

He gives you a goofy smile before giving a “goodnight guys” and disappearing into the car.

“Have a good night y/n, it was nice meeting you again.”

“You guys as well. Hopefully I’ll see you soon.” A smile once again before climbing into the drivers seat and heading towards the beach house.

🌊☀️🌊☀️

“Remind me not to drink that much again.” Changbin groans, rolling over holding his head in pain. 

“I don’t know, you were pretty cute.” You mock contemplation, tapping your chin with your finger in consideration. Sitting on the edge of your shared bed, you’re already dressed and ready for the day. You had graciously let him sleep in a little longer before waking him up.

“I was what?” He shoots you a look from his hiding spot. 

“You heard me. If I had known you were like that I would have drank with you guys more often.” The smirk on your face might as well be permanently plastered there. This was something you weren’t going to forget easily. 

“What did I do?”

You don’t answer, walking across the room to pick up his phone. You unlock it, clicking on the video that Wooyoung sent him before tossing it onto the bed next to him. He scrambles to reach it, sitting up to watch carefully. Forgetting about the pain he was just in.

“Did I actually demand bed and cuddles from you?” 

“The whole drive home.” You laugh evilly, heading out the door. “Now get dressed my love, your mother said brunch is ready.” 

You hear a muffled mumble from behind you, but you don’t bother to check on it. You head down for food.

Halfway through food, he gets a call. Quickly leaving to answer it, leaving you and his mother and sister to continue eating and chatting. It doesn’t take him long to return. Hand on your back, but talking to the group. 

“Dad wants me to go with him to the office today.” He sighs dejectively. He eyes you meekly, you’re unsure if he’s upset because of the hangover or he wanted to stay with you. You didn’t do much throughout the day anyways. You liked reading while listening to the waves, sometimes zoning out at the view even. 

“Oh ok, I’ll stay here and help with the set up for tonight.” You smile up at him. Purposefully setting the question aside for later when it would be just the two of you again. 

The at end summer party his family threw every year was tonight. They invited all their friends and their families to it. Changbin mentioned he hated it the most as that’s when his mother would stop her subtle hints at setting him up and blatantly attempt to arrange dates for him. This time thankfully he had you, so he could actually enjoy the night.

“Are you sure?” His puppy dog pout comes back, you can’t help but laugh, reaching up to kiss him ont he cheek in hopes of cheering up.

“I’d love to have her help.” His mother sings from the other side of the table. “We’ll be alright.”

“I can take her shopping later to pick out a dress for tonight!” His sister speaks up.

“Noona, you don’t have to.” He tries to derail.

“Of course I dont, but I want to spend some quality time with my sister-in-law!” She squeaks happily, putting on an overdramatic show just to annoy her brother. 

“Upgraded already?” Changbin chimes, giving you a pointed look. “Did you put my family under a spell or something? Why do they love you so much?” 

Both of you break into matching smiles. He gives you a quick peck on the lips, before turning to leave the room.

Your smile doesn’t recede when you watch his back as he leaves, turning back to food you find his sister and his mother beaming at you. 

Excited giggles and chatter from the other two about the party when they decide to stop staring at you.

🌊☀️🌊☀️

“Are you positive that this is necessary?” You call out from the dressing room. 

You had tried on countless dresses, creating your own fashion show when you’d unveil them to her. But each time them seeming not quite right to either of you. 

“You can’t wear my brothers shirts forever.” She calls back.

“Says you.” You mumble, still loud enough for her to hear. You can make out her faint laughter through the door. 

“Ok, last one then we’ll head home.” You dont react in time to her flinging the bottom of a dress over your door onto your head. You can’t stop yourself from outright laughing at her eagerness.

“Fine.” 

Hanging the dress up on the hook you can now take a moment to look at it. A periwinkle empire waist full length dress, full flowy skirt bottom, with a shimmer of silver over the thin strap. Huh, something about this one pulls you in. You don’t realize your staring at it for so long until you hear her ask.

“Is it on?” 

“Uh, one more minute.” 

You slide the soft over your skin, the complimenting colour to you skin tone giving you a slight glow. Somehow out of the million dress you’ve tried on this one seems to fit perfectly. The zipper glides up, creating a snug but comfortable fit. 

“Ready!” You call out.

Stepping out you don’t wait to look at her reaction. Spinning around to look at yourself in the mirror, your eyes widen.

“This one.” You sigh.

“This one.” She smiles at you in the reflection.

🌊☀️🌊☀️

“You look….” He scans the dress, to your hair and makeup. A light glow on your skin, his sister insisted on. Spending the evening getting ready with her allowed you to surprise him with the look for tonight. “...amazing,”

“Thank you. You’re looking very handsome in this look. I think I like it.” You tease, eyeing him up and down dramatically. And he did, the black slacks and white button up loosley buttoned was definitely a good look for him. Slightly snug in all the right places, biceps and thighs to be exact. Both equally impressive. 

“Oh we like it hm?” He teases back. Maye you should reevaluate your ‘type’.

“Mm, might need to request we go to parties like this more often.” You laugh at the idea.

“Then lets get this party over with and I’m all yours to stare at.” His chuckle comes out genuine as he grabs your hand and leads you down the stairs.

When entering the party area Wooyoung makes himself known to the two of you. Hurriedly you make your way over, joining the large group there. Introductions of more of their oldtime friends turns to introductions to uncles and aunts and other family friends and at one point you think your head is about to start spinning with how many people you’ve just met in such a short time. 

Even then, the smile on your face never wavers. Nor does his. 

Eventually you find yourself in a conversation with his dad on the couch with an uncle of his and a family friend. You weren’t a huge fan of heels so you ending up opting to sit down with his father as he continued talking to his friends.

But like the whole trip here, your time without him was short. Your phone vibrates in your hand.

You give him a cheeky smirk before leaning over to tell his father where you were going and excusing yourseslf. You meet eachother at the back door. Heels left behind on the porch, hands intertwined you begin walking down the beach towards the water.

“Couldn’t stay away huh?” You tease, the breeze off the water feeling like bliss through your hair. It was starting to get a little too warm in the crowded house. 

“You seemed to be having fun though, talking to other people…” You catch the accusation in his words.

“Jealous of your own dad?” You pry farther. 

“Yes. Jealous of anyone who gets to spend time with you.” Once again his infamous pout appears. This pout would be the death of you. 

The cutest muscle man you’d ever seen. One you’d been allowed to see close up and personal for what feels like forever but also only a moment in time. 

“Confession time” He stills your walk when you reach the waters edge.

“I think I’ve been forgetting that all of this is fake.” He holds up your hands to look at them, and how perfectly they fit together. Slowly he lets go, dropping them and takes a step away. 

You take a deep breath, before taking a few steps into the cool night water. Honesty and communication had always been your thing, the two of you. Easy reading others and their needs but also able to talk about what you wanted openly. Maybe that’s what made this work.

“You’re not the only one.” You admit, feeling the water rise and fall with the ebbing tide.

“What do we do?” He whispers, you turn to face him still on the beach. “I don’t know if I can go back….. I don’t want to go back.”

“Then, it sounds like we only have one option.” It all made sense, but then again nothing made sense. You didn’t have to think with Changbin, you just had to be. “We stop lying. Stop pretending. We stop faking.” 

He takes hesitant steps into the water. Standing in front of you. “From now on, its real? Every moment, every kiss, every word, every touch. All real?”

Letting his words sink you, you think about what he’s asking.

“It’s already been real for me.”

You see the realization dawn on him. Cups your face and kisses you. Kisses you for all the kisses that contained the lies you told together. 

“And I’ll be taking my payment in kisses please.” You manage between an onslaught of kisses and giggles. His arms wrapping around you keeping you close to him, the light in his eyes igniting into something more mischievous.

“I can think of another way for payment if you’ll accept it.” 

You pretend to mull it over before hungrily kissing him, your tongue slipping into his mouth. A moan esapes him when you push him further to then pull away. 

“From you? Payment accepted.” You give him a peck before pushing against his chest and running up the beach towards the house. Hell catch up quickly, you know that for a fact, but you also know he knows exactly where you’re headed. To his bedroom. The first night of you being together, no longer liars but two people loving eachother. 

In the warmth of the truth. 

SKZ Masterlist

#skz fanfiction #skz fanfic #skz changbin x reader #skz changbin fluff #stray kids changbin #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #skz drabbles #skz fake dating au #stray kids seo changbin #skz seo changbin #seo changbin #changbin #skz x reader #changbin x reader #changbin x y/n #changbin x you #fake dating trope #but with a mutual understanding #requited love #mutual pining #friends to lovers

[hyunjinfanatic]

CAN WE JUST TALK ABOUT HOW THERE ARE LIKE NO ENEMIES TO LOVERS FF ABOUT FELIX ON HERE? LIKE IT CAN BE ANY AU AND STILL NO ONE HAS WRITTEN ANYTHING ABOUT HIM. (maybe he is too sweet) BUT LIKE MAYBE FELIX IS Y/N’S BODYGUARD SENT BY HER PARENTS OR MAYBE HE IS SENT TO PROTECT HER BECAUSE SHE IS THE PRINCESS IDK I JUST NEED SOMETHING BECAUSE I LOVE THE IDEA OF Y/N AND FELIX “hating” EACH OTHER WHEN IN REALITY THEY ARE SCARED OF THE CONSEQUINCES OF THEIR FEELINGS??? LIKE OMGG

(also sorry for the caps it sounds like i am yelling i js am very passionate about this trope especially with my bias :)) )

#skz imagines #stray kids fluff #stray kids smut #skz fanfic #skz fantasy au #skz felix #lee felix fanfic #felix fanfic #felix fluff #i literally just love this trope that’s why i posted this

[axel-skz]

You know what? A heart can only sink and drop so many times in a fic.

Like seriously, it’s sank enough now. The metaphor is deceased.

Stop.

The heart is in his foot, it can sink no more. Beat a different metaphor to death, please?

This is a joke and not aimed at anyone-

#stray kids #skz #love stray kids #stray kids scenarios #reading #fanfics #stories #tropes #metaphor #stop it

[charmerchannie]

Hi luv! Since you're taking requests I was wondering if you could make skz texts where they accidentally confess their feelings for y/n and y/n is shocked because she didn't think they felt the same way? Thank you! 🩷

oooh yes a classic trope. I hope you like it!

They accidentally confess to you

Ot8 x fem!reader

Warnings: lots of cursing, i cant resist felix saying c*nt, we know he loves it; not in order bc tumblr decided to be fucking weird, but skz never cares about age order anyway

Master list - requests are open

#skz fake texts #skz smau #skz texts #stray kids fake texts #stray kids x reader #stray kids smau #stray kids texts #stray kids fanfic #request

[skzdarlings]

05. sharing a bed series ; skz ; han

masterlist.

sharing a bed series part 5/8. because it’s the cheesiest most classic trope and it’s FUN. -

pairing: han jisung/reader content info: dom!reader. sub!jisung. sexual content. enemies2lovers, sharing a bed trope. past misunderstandings, grudges, bickering. femdom feat: face slapping, face sitting, hair pulling, choking, riding, denial-n-cumming-anyway, kneeling, more pussy eating. this one is a little longer. teehee :)

-

“Hey, I hope you had a good flight…”

Chan’s voice message crackles through your phone speaker but you can barely hear him over the bustling airport. You wait until you are outside in the pick-up zone to try listening again.  It is marginally quieter out here, cars coming and going, light snowfall brightening the winter night.  With your luggage at your feet, you replay his voice mail. 

“Hey, I hope you had a good flight.  Something came up at work and I’m not gonna be able to pick you up.  I’m really sorry ‘bout it, mate.  Jisung is on his way to get you.  I know, I know, but he’ll get you home, yeah?  If you’re still mad tomorrow, I’ll take you to lunch and you can kill me there.  Buh-byyeeeee!”   

Oh, that son of a bitch. 

The message ends just as a pair of headlights flash over you.  You can see through the front window but despite the direct eye contact Jisung still feels the need the honk the horn not once, not twice, but three times. 

You stand there with your arms hanging helplessly at your sides.  Snow falls on your head and a frown darkens your whole face.  Jisung just smiles and waves like an idiot, honking the horn again. 

I am going to kill Chan, you think to yourself. 

Jisung loves putting you in situations where you are the unrepentant supervillain of his life, so ignoring him and getting in a cab would just play into his horrible little hands.  He might look unassuming in his puffy coat and backwards cap, might look soft and friendly with his fair hair and plushy pink smile, might look innocent with his big brown eyes peering at you with cartoonishly saccharine enthusiasm, but in reality none of that is true. 

Han Jisung is the worst. 

Han Jisung is your nemesis. 

Han Jisung honks the horn again.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” you shout.  You roll your eyes and heft your luggage over your shoulder, stomping with an incredible degree of petulance for a woman of your age.  You toss your bag in the trunk then slide into the passenger seat. 

Jisung honks again. 

“Hello, hello, welcome to Flight H.A.N with Jisung airlines, this is your pilot speaking—”

You turn on the radio to shut him up.  You are not in the mood for his shenanigans. 

Jisung cringes with theatrical chagrin.   

“Yikes,” he says with a bubbly laugh.  “Tough crowd.”

“Just drive.”  

“Yes, mistress, right away, mistress, Jisung lives to serve his mistress, please don’t hurt Jisung or leave him out in the cold tonight—”

You thunk your head against the headrest, glaring ahead as Jisung smoothly joins the traffic flow despite his nonsensical rambling. 

You vaguely remember a time when Jisung was shy, back before he made it his life mission to send you hurtling into an annoyance-induced death.  You also vaguely remember a time you liked him, him and his quietness, him and his quirky humour, him and his big, stupid, brown eyes. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Jisung sings along with the radio so you flip the station to one with talking.   He strums his fingers on the steering wheel, lips pursed and eyebrows lifted.  He casts you a few side glances that you pointedly ignore.   When you see him open his mouth, you hold up a finger. 

“Do not even think about it,” you say.  “Whatever you were about to say or do… Don’t.”

He presses his lips together and makes an obnoxiously loud pop.

“Kk,” he says.  “This should be a fun half hour.”

The airport is outside of the city, a half-hour drive to your downtown apartment.  Usually.  The weather has traffic horrifically backed up.  Half an hour comes and goes and you are barely out of view of the airport. 

“We could play a game,” Jisung says, looking at you sideways.  “I spy with my little—”

“Nope.”

“Okay, cool. Cool, cool, cool.”  He nods, strumming the steering wheel again. 

The radio blathers on, you barely listening.  You scroll through your phone until there are zero notifications, then you scroll through your photo album just for something to look at.  Jisung hums to himself and you try not to get annoyed all over again.  You exploding at something so inconsequential would give him way too much satisfaction.   

The snow comes down harder.  It pulls your attention from your phone to the blustery world outside.  Everything is a harsh grey, the dark night foggily illuminated by the white snow.  Even Jisung is concentrating now, his brow furrowed as he stares through the front window. 

“Shit,” he says. 

He changes stations to catch a road update.  Your jaws drop in unison when the reporter mentions a thirteen hour delay on the main bridge into the city. 

“Thirteen fucking hours?” you say.  It comes out wheezy.  “It’s winter!  Why are they always so surprised by the fucking snow!  God!  What the hell are we gonna do?”

“We’re not going anywhere near the bridge, that’s what we’re gonna do,” Jisung says, flipping the car into reverse and immediately changing course. 

“How else are we getting downtown?” 

He looks at you like you’re so stupid that he can’t believe it, his eyebrows jumping up his face. 

“Uh, hello, welcome back to town, it’s snowing here,” Jisung says.  “We’re going downtown tomorrow when it won’t kill us or trap us in a car—”

“I want to go home—”

“Do you want to spend thirteen hours in a car with me?”  Jisung asks.  “Because that’s what going home will involve right now, k?”

He sounds terse.  You feel a little better when he acts short with you too, more justified in your own rudeness. 

“Fine,” you say.  “What are we doing then?”   

A ten minute trip turns into an hour long drive with traffic delays, but eventually you are rolling into the snow-covered parking lot of the only motel with a vacancy sign.  You and Jisung do not speak, stepping out of the car and crunching along the snow in silence.  The motel parking lot is washed a golden colour, the yellow balcony lights beaming over the white snow.   It holds the promise of warmth.   You hurry inside. 

You shake yourself off in the tiny entryway while Jisung dings the desk bell.  Someone appears to check you in. 

“You’re a lucky couple,” she says.  “Lots of folks have stopped because of the weather.  We have exactly one room left available.  It’s a nice cozy double bed.  Sounds good?”  

“Ummm…”  You join Jisung at the desk, a million frantic thoughts running through your brain.  “Hold on, we’re not—”

“Did you hear that, baby?” Jisung says with exaggerated fondness, because he can’t help but taunt you.  “We’re a lucky couple.  Isn’t that just our luck the only room available has one bed?” 

You step on his foot deliberately and he yelps. 

“Is there really no other option?” you ask the attendant with some degree of desperation. 

“No, sorry.”  She gives you a funny look but shakes her head.  “I doubt you’ll have better luck finding a room anywhere else tonight.  You can have this one or enjoy a car nap.” 

“My beautiful wife and I are happy with a double,” Jisung says, already holding out his credit card.  “Right, baby?” 

You smack his ass, hard and swift.  His eyes widen.   You smirk.

“Right, baby,” you say with a snarl. 

-

Tonight’s only saving grace is the hot water; you enjoy a long shower before changing into sleep shorts and a camisole.   You join Jisung in the room, finding him sprawled on the double bed with air pods in his ears.  He tossed his hat somewhere and is laying there in jeans and a t-shirt – remarkable, as you thought he might strip to his underwear just to be annoying.  But no, he lays there peacefully.  His fair hair is darker at the root, neatly framing his unfortunately handsome face.  He has one arm flexed under his head, the muscle more pronounced than you remember it being.  His eyes are closed as he nods along to the music. 

You grab a pillow and thwack him in the gut.  It startles him to attention, a strangled sound leaving his throat. 

“You stay on that side of the bed and you do not move, got it?” you say. 

He sticks his tongue out at you.   

“Very mature,” you say. 

You lay down with your back to him.  After twenty minutes, he still has his bedside light on so you snap at him.  He whines like a little baby but turns it off, leaving just his phone beaming at his face.  You can hear his music but say nothing. 

You can’t sleep.  You want to roll over but you absolutely refuse to face him. 

His phone screen finally goes dark after god knows how long and he puts it aside.  There is a long stretch of silence in the dark.  You swear you have never been so uncomfortable laying on this side in all your life.  Knowing you will not be able to sleep without turning at least once, you decide to roll over.  You figure Jisung laid down with his back to you anyway.

He didn’t.  He is staring right at you, his big eyes making him look like a pathetic little lemur gawping at a human in the dark. 

“Why don’t you like me?” Jisung says.

“Oh no,” you say, immediately rolling onto your back.  “Absolutely not.  We are not having a heart to heart.”

“Oh come oooon, please,” he whines.  “This is the time and place—”

“It really isn’t—”

“It’s a classic story, a boy, and a girl—”

“I don’t like stories—”

“Forced to share a bed and share their secret feelings—”

“Those feelings are disgust, hatred, and revulsion—”

“Opening their hearts and—whoa, wait, what?  Hatred?  You hate me?”  Jisung pushes himself up on one elbow, staring down at you with a completely horrified look on his face. 

You try to ignore him and his stupid expressions, glaring at the ceiling as if it can do anything to save you.   Your heart is beating fast but it doesn’t feel good.  The pounding is coupled with a nauseous turn in your gut.

It is open knowledge that you do not like Han Jisung one bit, but you seldom vocalize it so explicitly.  Certainly not to his face.  Certainly not beside him in bed. 

“That can’t possibly surprise you,” you say.

“Well, it does actually!”  Jisung says.  “I knew you didn’t like me but hate me?  How could you hate me?  I’m delightful.” 

Even now, the clown is trying to joke.  Because that’s all it is to him, isn’t it?  Everything is just a joke all the time.  Everything and everyone is a punchline waiting to happen.  But you aren’t laughing.  Your hands close into fists and you dig your nails into your palms to keep your frustration in check.  Your neck feels hot and your stomach is still turning.  You feel embarrassed about things you haven’t even said yet.  Your tongue feels swollen somehow, your throat lined thickly.  It takes several deep breaths before you can speak.

“Well,” you say bitterly, “I guess I just can’t help being a massive bitch.  The worst you’ve ever met, right?” 

There is a beat of silence, then Jisung flips on the bedside light.

You slap your fists down on the bedcovers and glare at him.

“Turn off the light,” you say. 

“No way, you were just talking in a voice.  What did you mean? Why do you--”

“Jisung, I swear to god, if you don’t turn off that light—”

“Look, can we just—”

You shove the covers down and climb on top of him without thinking, trying to reach the light yourself.  He grabs you by the arms and pushes you back.  You end up tussling ungracefully, you wriggling around like a worm and Jisung clearly in control but just as clearly trying to go easy on you.  It puts you at an impasse.  With an angry huff, you push away from him.

“If I said something—” he starts. 

You laugh, a joyless cackle. 

“If,” you repeat.  “You’ve said a lot of somethings over the years, Jisung.” 

“I—I didn’t mean it if I—I don’t even know what I—”

You look at him.  He seems to be genuinely confounded and more than a little miserable, his eyes darting around as he racks his brain, his brow furrowed with obvious upset.  His hand is frozen on his head, a clump of hair feathering through his fingers. 

He meets your gaze and you roll your eyes.  You feel hot and uncomfortable again, the source of your nausea climbing up and up and up until it is clawing its way past your lips and—

“The day we met,” you say, finally, after years of stamping down the humiliating memory, “you said I was a massive bitch, the worst you had ever met.  And it—”

You are not sad.  You refuse to be sad.  This pain is years old now and it does not hurt you anymore.  But you are angry –  with him, with yourself, with this whole shitty circumstance, and the angrier you get, the more tears stab at your eyes. 

You swallow down a lump in your throat and take a steadying breath.  You stare at the wall because his attentive, earnest gaze is too much to bear. 

“I know I’m a little awkward when I first meet people,” you say.  “I’m shy and weird and sometimes… sometimes people think I’m a bitch when really I’m just quiet.  Chan introduced me to you because he said that you were kinda the same, and that we had lots in common, and he thought we would get along.  And then we met and—”

“We did,” Jisung says softly.

Your vision is blurry now.  You sniff hard, wiping your arm under your nose. 

“Yes,” you say.  “We did.  We got along amazing.  We were quiet for a second and then it was like… like we were already friends. As if we always knew each other. I’ve never spoken like that to someone so quickly.  It’s like I just forgot to be shy.   I was so happy and then—”

“I remember all this,” Jisung says, still sounding confused.  “I don’t get it.  It was Changbin’s birthday, right?  We were talking all night and it was great but then you just left without saying bye.  Then the next time we met you already hated me—”

You finally look at him, hitting him with the full force of your emotional expression.  He clearly was not expecting the tears because he literally jumps at the sight of you. 

“I left after overhearing you talk about me in the kitchen to one of your stupid friends,” you snap.  “’That woman is without doubt a totally massive bitch.  The worst I’ve ever met.’  And you were laughing.  Just… just standing there laughing about it, about me.  And I had no idea why.  Why?  What had I said or done?  It was humiliating.  And it hurt, and the reason it hurt so bad was because it came from you.”  You jab him in the chest, trying to sound angry because your tears are falling now and it just makes you feel pathetic.  “It hurt, Jisung,” you say, “because it was you.  From anyone else I wouldn’t care.  But you were the one person I expected to understand me.  The one person who got what it was like.  So to hear you saying those things—god.  I never wanted to see you again, but then you and Chan started your stupid projects together and I couldn’t get away from you.  And you just got more and more in my face no matter what I did—”

“Oh my god.” Jisung slaps both hands to his head.  He closes his eyes and shakes his head, as if he can’t believe what he is hearing.  “Hold on,” he says, abruptly getting out of bed.  “Just… just hold on.” 

He runs away.  You sit there more confused than anything, your face wet, your breathing uneven.  He is gone long enough for you to get angry again, glaring at him when he gets back in the bed.

“Here,” he says, giving you the tissue box he evidently retrieved from the bathroom.  “Just… here.” 

He takes a tissue and awkwardly dabs at your cheek.  You snatch it away from him, frowning. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he says.  He gets off the bed again, hovering awkwardly at the side while you wipe your face clean.   He waits until you are composed, swaying where he stands, clasping and unclasping his hands.  When you stop sniffling, he lets out a huge exhale.  “Okay,” he says.  “Look.  I’m sorry.  I’m… I’m really, really fucking sorry.  And I want to explain, I really do, but… but if I explain, I think it’s only gonna make you upset.”

You give him a very sarcastic look.

“I’m already upset, you stupid jerk,” you say.  “Just spit it out so I can go to sleep.” 

“Right.”  He runs his hand through his hair again.  It falls softly down and flutters when he exhales.  “God.  Okay.  This is gonna sound so stupid.  But, yeah, okay, I do remember saying that actually.  I didn’t know you heard me but… but that’s not an excuse.  I know.  I shouldn’t have said it at all.  I totally do know that.  But also… I said it, but I didn’t.  What I mean is, what you heard me saying, I was not actually saying.”

You stare at him for a long moment. 

“What,” you say, “the fuck?” 

He waves his hands around defensively. 

“What I mean is,” he says, “and stay with me… but… I actually meant it as a compliment.” 

“A compliment,” you say.  “A compliment?  You called me a massive bitch as a compliment?”

“Yes.” 

“Do you seriously expect me to believe that?” you shout, grabbing a pillow and hurling it at him.

His reflexes are fast.  He ducks and the pillow sails over his head, whacking the blinds with a clatter.  He looks there then looks at you, just in time for you to throw the tissue box.  He dodges that too, ducking down again.  The box hits the radiator and thunks to the ground. 

“Okay, listen—” he says.

He is not fast enough when you chuck the second pillow. 

“Okay, okay, I deserved that,” he says, holding the offending pillow up in surrender.  He tentatively approaches the bed with it, eying you as he gently lays it back down.

You glare.

“I promise I can explain,” he says.  “And you’re gonna love this explanation, because it is going to completely and totally humiliate me and you will have something to hold over my head for the rest of your life.”

“I’m listening,” you say.  You feel embarrassed about crying so the least he can do is embarrass himself too. 

“Thank you,” he says.  He gets back on the bed, kneeling and tipping his head back.  It looks like he’s praying, gathering the strength to admit whatever he is about to admit. 

You cross your arms.  You are annoyed he is taking so long and also annoyed that you genuinely want to know.  Han Jisung has no problem blurting every stupid thought that crosses his mind, at least when it comes to you, so you cannot begin to imagine what dark secret he can’t bring himself to speak out loud. 

You are halfway convinced he is trying to come up with a lie when he finally throws his arms out as if in supplication. 

“I’m a fucking freak!” he says, with all the verve and jubilation of hallelujah.  He closes his eyes and nods his head.  “I’m a pervert and I think with my dick like ninety-eight per cent of the time.  The other two per cent of the time I am honestly probably thinking with my prostate, though I haven’t really worked that one out yet completely—”

“What?”  Your whole face screws tight with bewilderment.  “What the fuck are you talking about?” 

“I love bitches.  No wait.”  He shakes his head.  “That came out wrong.  Hold on.  I love… well, yeah, no, bitches.  Mean girls.  Bullies.  Catwoman.”

“Catwoman.”

“That whip… t-cha.”

“Jisung—”

“Look I was telling my friend about you because Minho’s an even bigger freak than me.  He’s the only one who knows my secret and—”

“Your secret,” you say slowly. “That you… like bitches?”

“That I love bitches,” he says.  “When I told him that you were the biggest bitch I ever met, it was because we both knew that what I meant was: holy shit dude, I just found my soulmate, she’s the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, I’m getting married tonight, and if she asked me to tattoo her face on my butt right now I would do it.” 

You hate that you laugh, but the comment is so unexpected that it sputters out of you.

Jisung smiles, releasing a pent-up breath of relief. 

“You were… are… funny, and smart, and yeah a bit quiet but you still don’t let it stop you from defending yourself or someone else when something is wrong.  Remember when you told off that creep at the party?  The one who was bugging Felix?  You don’t take anyone’s shit and then you just move on quietly like it was nothing.  I was obsessed with you from the second we started talking.  Then I was a stupid horny pervert and opened my big stupid mouth and now you hate me.” 

“I’m still not sure I really get it,” you say, admittedly flustered at his admission.  You had no idea Jisung saw you that way.  The woman he’s describing does sound pretty amazing, and he sounds sincerely infatuated.   When your heart starts skipping beats again, it feels different than before.  “Explain,” you say. 

He slaps his thighs in a motion of surrender. 

“Yup,” he says.  “Okay.  Fine.  Cool.  I like when women boss me around.  I like when they are mean to me.  I like when they hurt me and make me cry.   It… it gets my dick hard, okay?  I love bitches.  I LOVE BITCHES—”

You reach out to slap a hand over his mouth, remembering it’s a motel in the middle of the night. 

Jisung’s shoulders jump and he laughs into your hand, clearly embarrassed as he remembers where he is.  You laugh in spite of yourself, lowering your hand. 

“Oops,” he says.

“Oops,” you reply. 

Oops, you misunderstood your eavesdropping. 

Oops, Jisung never hated you. 

Oops, you find yourself staring into his eyes for way too long. 

“So just to clarify,” you say.  “You’re into, like, female domination stuff, and you called me a bitch as the highest form of compliment in your crazy brain, and then you spent the next two years being as annoying as possible because…”

“I thought you were just, like, crazy edging me or something,” Jisung says, making you laugh helplessly into your hands.  He laughs too, even while looking a little pained.  “I did!  I was like shit, she’s so nasty, she’s really taking me for a fucking ride.  I would have kept doing this for the rest of our lives if this conversation didn’t happen.  I would’ve been at your wedding like damn, she’s really got me going this time—”

“You’re so stupid,” you say, pushing at his chest without any real animosity. 

“I know, I really am,” he says.  He draws an X over his chest.  “But cross my heart and hope to die, everything I have told you is the complete truth.  I’d tell you to slap me because you definitely deserve it but honestly, it would give me a boner and I don’t think either of us wants that since we’re stuck in the same bed all night.” 

He says it jokingly, of course.  But you can hear the twinge of flirtation and truth under his just kidding. 

And maybe you’re still on an adrenaline kick.  Maybe your emotions are right at the surface.  Maybe you hated him so much because deep down you liked him, and you hated that you liked him because of a misunderstanding. 

And maybe, just maybe, those big brown eyes have drawn you in from the second you first saw him. 

“Slap you,” you say, as if in deep contemplation.  “Slap you where?  Your face?” 

This clearly catches him off guard.  He opens his mouth and a garbled sound comes out.  He thumps a fist on his chest. 

“Uh, yeah,” he says.  “Sure.  Whatever, you know.  You know.” 

“Mhm.” You move so you are kneeling too, facing each other.  You watch as he swallows hard, the gulp going down his throat.  All the adrenaline you built up earlier is suffusing into the race of your bloodstream.  Heat simmers below the surface of your skin.  “And you like that?  Getting slapped when you’ve been bad?”

“Oh my god,” he says.  “Are you.. are we… is something happening right now?  Oh my god.  Hold on.”  He says that but then all he does is stand up and sit back down again, rekneeling in the exact same position.  “Right, okay,” he says.  “Slap away.”

You snort, rolling your eyes but smiling.  You lift your hand but he is staring at you so expectantly that it just feels weird, not sexy, and you laugh giddily with amusement. 

“Aww, come oooon,” he whines, but laughingly too.  “Don’t get shy.  You were so good at it.”

“I’ve had years of bitchy practice, I guess,” you say with a quirked eyebrow, making him grin.  You shake your head.  “I dunno.  Just.  Do something to earn a slap I guess.  It’s too weird to just smack you out of nowhere.” 

“Do something?” he asks.  “Uh, I dunno.  As far as I’m concerned, I’ve never done anything in my life to earn a slap.  I’m seriously the most charming and funny and perfect guy ever and I—” 

Your slap him across the face.  The sound startles you because it sounds harder than it felt, ringing out loud with only the faintest sting on your palm.   

Jisung looks genuinely surprised.  His head turned with the impact of the slap, his jaw falling open.  He blinks himself back into focus and you are about to ask if he’s all right, then he looks at you in a way he has never looked at you before.  The desire and desperation of his gaze moves right through you, gathering hot in every intimate place. 

“Did you like that?” he asks, his voice a little gravelly as it drops low. 

“I don’t know,” you say softly.  You reach out to touch his chin, a delicate touch that makes him shiver.  You turn his face to look at the faint redness on his cheek.  “Can I try again to be sure?”

He nods and swallows again. 

You don’t ask for build-up this time.  You pull your hand back and bring it down sharply on his cheek. 

This time it makes him whimper.  It flushes you with heat. 

“Oh my god,” you say.  “What else?” 

“Uh, oh, fuck, um.”  He touches his cheek and sucks in a breath.  He pushes his hair only for it flop back in place.  “Um,” he says.  “Choking.  F-fingers?  Fingers in my mouth...  Um, haha, I can’t think.  Bondage?  Yeah.  Erm, denial.  Overstimulation.  Puuussy… yes, um, pussy.  On my face please.  Uhh… Punishment.  Pulling my hair… Oh, hello.” 

You take hold of his shoulders and push, guiding him to lay on his back.  He is already panting when you straddle him, his eyes wide when you lean down. 

“Do you still hate me?” he asks when you are millimetres away from his mouth.

You pretend to think about it.

“Hm,” you say with obvious theatricality, stealing a page from his book.  “Yeah.  I hate you so much.  You’re my worst enemy.  Sorry, baby.”

“That’s hot,” he says with a nervous little giggle.  “You’re hot.  You know I think—mmmf.”

You interrupt whatever long-winded joke was incoming.  He does not protest this interruption as it involves a kiss, a good kiss, a deep kiss, one that pushes his head into the plushness of his pillow, one that has him moaning into your mouth.   He lifts his hands to touch you, fingertips barely grazing your bare thighs when you seize his wrists.  You shove them into the bed, pinned on either side of his head.  He bucks under you, his mouth opening under your kiss.  You bite at his bottom lip and drag your teeth, making his hips move even more. 

You break away quickly and just as quickly slap him.  It knocks a surprised breath out of him, his eyes a bit watery when he looks up at you. 

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, baby,” you say.  “I’m just getting started.”

“Oh my god.” 

You try not to smile but Jisung makes it hard.  You feel flushed with excitement, hot with power and anticipation.  You squeeze his hips between your thighs and push the hem of his shirt up and over his chest.   He whimpers again but doesn’t move, his eyes closing when you hold down his wrists and duck your head. 

“Fuck, oh god,” he murmurs, a constant stream of mumbled expletives as your mouth runs over his chest, kissing and licking and biting, teasing him until he can’t help but buck his hips for friction.   When you feel him fully hard in his jeans you lean back, smirk, then climb off him.  “Oh god, you’re too good at this,” he says, keeping his hands where you left them and gazing at you with wanting eyes. 

You blow him a kiss and shimmy out of your shorts and underwear.  Thoughtlessly he swings a hand down to touch himself, squeezing his dick through his jeans and groaning. 

“Did I tell you that you could—” you start, but he puts his hand back beside his head before you can finish.  His smile is far too innocent.  “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you say. 

“Am I?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows. 

“Shut up,” you reply, getting back on top of him.  “I still hate you.” 

“Oh god, yes,” he says.  His hips buck into the air as you scoot over his chest.  “More.” 

“I hate you,” you say, moving until your legs are on either side of his head.  “ I hate you so much, Han Jisung.  I’m going to ruin you.” 

“Fuck.” 

He already has his mouth open when you lower onto his face.  You grip the headboard and rock yourself over his tongue, back and forth until he finds your rhythm and takes over.  What he lacks in precision he compensates with eagerness, licking at you without any care for the mess it makes of him, wet and sloppy and hot as his tongue moves inside you then up and down your pussy, circling your clit, sucking, flicking, back and forth, around and around—

“Oh my god,” you say, looking down at where you can see the top of his face, his eyes closed as he works, as he moans, as he squeezes your thighs in his hands and drags his tongue all over you.   You grip the headboard tight when you come, throwing your head back and grinding down against him. 

You lift your hips off his face, hovering above him on shaky thighs.   You shuffle back and sit on his abdomen so you can see him, his eyes wide and wet mouth open as he pants.  He licks his lips and murmurs please, please, please in a hoarse voice. 

“Please?” you repeat, a little out of breath as well. 

You swirl your fingers over his bare chest and fiddle with the t-shirt still bunched under his chin.  He moves his face wherever you push it, tipping his head back, tilting it to the side.  He goes cross-eyed when your fingers dance in front of him, touching his lips.  His mouth falls open and his eyes close when you slide two fingers inside his mouth.  

“Please what, Jisung?” you ask, slowly finger-fucking his mouth.  “What do you want?”

He can’t speak around your fingers so he just whines, digging his fingers into the meat of your thighs. 

“Oh,” you say.  Your giggle is filled with genuine delight, even while your voice is rough.  “I see.  You want to put your dick inside me, baby?  Hmm?  You wanna say you’re sorry and that you’ll be good and let me ride you?” 

“Good, so good,” he says, drooling around your fingers when you slide them out.   He swallows hard, choking on nothing, then nods his head.  “Please, please.   Yes.” 

You lean down and kiss his wet mouth, a chaste peck.  You rub the corner of his lips, smiling at his closed eyes and wrecked expression. 

“Okay,” you say.  “Get ready for me then.”  

You have a string of condoms in your luggage, always tucked in the pocket in case of emergency.  Emergencies like a snow storm trapping you in bed with your former worst enemy turned lover. 

When you get back to him, Jisung is laying there completely naked, flushed and stroking himself as he watches you.   He lets you take his hand off his dick, holds you obediently when you guide his hands to your waist.   He kisses you when you lean down, a hot and heavy kiss as you straddle him again.   It ends when you push him flat and sit back, already grinning because you know you are about to short-circuit his brain.

“Wanna see a trick?” you say, and proceed to put the condom on him with your mouth.   You laugh when you see his face after, his mouth hanging open as he blinks at you. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” he says, but laughs a little. 

His head thunks back into the pillows when you guide him inside you.   You put your hands over his, holding them to your hips as you rock over him.   His chest lifts and falls and his eyes close as he concentrates on not rushing your pace.  He keeps holding your waist firmly when you slide your hands over his chest. 

“Look at me,” you say. 

He blinks his eyes open.  You smile.

“Good boy.” 

He makes a noise that sounds more pained than when you slapped him.  It lights up inside you like fire and you move faster, take him deeper.   You get a bit dizzy with how good it feels, his dick curving up to drive against the softest, most sensitive part of you, sending you hurtling towards another orgasm.  You rub yourself at the same time, looking down at him as he gasps and moans, as he holds your hips and fucks you back. 

You bring your hand to his neck and gently circle it, rubbing yourself harder when he whines with chest-deep desperation. 

“I—I’m gonna—oh god—” he says, squeezing your hips so tightly that you think it might bruise.  

It feels so good, his rough hands coupled with his dick hitting perfectly inside you.  Your whole body draws taut for its crest.   

“Don’t,” you say, laughing a little, not even to be mean but because it feels so good that you feel giddy.  You squeeze his throat and his hips get erratic under you.  “Not yet,” you say.  “Me first.”

“Oh my god,” he says, looking up at you with frantic eyes.  “I—I can’t—I’m gonna—”

“Jisung,” you say, squeezing his throat harder so he makes a choked-up sound that goes straight to your pussy.  “Are you gonna be good or bad?” 

“I’m—I’m—oh god.”

You stop touching yourself because you know he doesn’t stand a chance outlasting you.  You ride him through his orgasm, choking him as he spasms and moans and cries out.   His head lifts for a second, his eyes closed and brows furrowed, then he flops back down with an exhausted heave.  

His eyes open again, watery and huge. 

“Oh fuck,” he says, voice like gravel as you release his throat.  A deep breath shudders out of him.  “Oh… fuck,” he says, dreamily, smiling, then pouting.  “Oh! Fuck!” 

You giggle at him managing to say the same thing in three different voices. 

You slip your fingers into his hair and tug, yanking his head up.  He follows with a gasp. 

“I should hit you again for that,” you say. 

You slide off him, carefully.  He sucks in a ragged, tearful breath when you touch his dick to deal with the condom.  After, you rub your palm on the oversensitive head of it, making him grab at you and cry out.   It squeezes a tear out of him and you kiss it away. 

“Come on,” you say, grabbing him by the hair again.  You get off the bed and drag him to follow.  “I’m not done with you.” 

He is a little shaky and boneless from coming.  His footing is unsteady from the moment he touches the ground, moving with thoughtless obedience.  He thumps down heavily onto his knees.  When he sways, you straighten him.  He blinks up at you, on his knees, already nodding. 

You put your leg over his shoulder and draw him in.  For the second time, he gets you off with his mouth, his hands on your ass and his face buried in your pussy.  You sink your fingers in his hair and let it wash over you, humming happily when you are finished. 

You lower your leg off his shoulder.  Jisung slumps backwards, leaning against the bed and breathing hard, his face and hair a mess. 

“Wow,” he says.  He looks up at you.  “That was the hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

You laugh, feeling hot and flushed but satisfied.  

“Me too,” you say, making him smile. 

You help him back into the bed because his legs seem a little numb.  You lay beside him, rubbing the inside of his thigh as he kisses all over your face.   You giggle then fall into a proper kiss, winding around each other affectionately.  

“I’m gonna send Chan a gift basket,” Jisung says, making you snort.  “I am!  Thank you for having a family emergency, your timing couldn’t be better.”

You tip your head and look at him with confusion.

“Family emergency?” you say.  “He told me he was working?”

“Working?”  Jisung furrows his brow.  “Huh?  We don’t have anything coming up at work.  He phoned me from the road and said he was heading out to visit family?  He said he wouldn’t be back all week-end.” 

“He told me he was stuck working and would see me tomorrow,” you say, your eyes narrowing as you slowly put two-and-two and together.  

“I didn’t even know why he was asking me and not Changbin or something,” Jisung continues to muse aloud.  “He said you were wanting to talk to me, though, so I figured—”

“I never said that!  I mean, I’m glad we did but…”  You sit up, glaring at the wall.

Jisung bursts into laughter, covering his mouth as he looks at you. 

“Did Chan hustle us?” he asks. 

“He threw us together in a snow storm so we’d be forced to reconcile!”

“I don’t think Chan can control the weather—”

“Oh, he definitely can.  I bet he delayed the bridge himself—”

Jisung laughs some more, kissing the side of your face lovingly while you continue to glare contemptuously at the wall. 

“Well,” you say, looking at him.  You kiss him sweetly on the nose and he smiles at you.  “That’s fine,” you say.  “A vacancy for my sworn enemy just opened up.  Looks like I found a replacement.” 

“I’m good with that,” Jisung says.  “But… you’re not allowed to enemy-fuck him like that.  That’s just for me, right?” 

You settle in his arms, forgetting about Chan for the time being, forgetting to glare, forgetting about everything that happened before tonight.  You smile at him, brushing a bit of hair off his sweaty forehead.  He is still flushed and beautiful, his hopeful eyes locked on yours.  He smiles back. 

“Yeah,” you say.  “It’s only ever been just you, Jisung.” 

He visibly melts, his laugh a breathless thing.  He leans in and kisses you and you hold his face, kissing him back.  You can feel him smiling against your lips and you smile too. 

#skz smut #stray kids smut #han jisung x reader #han jisung smut #han jisung x dom!reader #sub!jisung x dom!reader #skz x reader #sub!skz x dom!reader

[taeminsung]

♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── enchanted..

pairing ||  minho x reader summary || when a change in his usual routine meant meeting you, minho couldn't help but be enchanted to meet you. genre/s || love trope. fluff. romance. angst. trope || love at first sight masterlist || stray kids as love tropes mina’s notes ||  sorry for the delay! life was hectic and writers block sucks. please enjoy ♡ 

Routine was something Minho thrived in. Something about the consistency of his day in the mornings caused the inner calm to be brought to the surface before the hectic schedule of his afternoons and evenings made his peace disappear. It’s why he loved the short walk to the same coffee shop with Seungmin where they ordered their usuals, before heading off to the company building.

Until the day he walked into the café with Seungmin in toe, that his life changed without him knowing it. The sound of an unfamiliar voice filled his ears, what can I get started for you? it asked. So quickly did his attention snap to you, someone new to the place he made a part of his life. When his eyes finally landed on you, your smile took his breath away. It melted away something in his chest that he didn’t know existed. You were like a ray of light in the darkroom that he’d been stuck in for some time. Excuse me? your voice rang out again, softer this time. Seungmin nudged him with a knowing smile before placing their usual order and pulling his older brother away from the forming line.

When schedules pulled them out of their usual routine, Minho couldn’t stop the small frown that kept appearing on his face in between the different activities. Why wouldn’t he stop his mind from drifting back to you? The encounter with you didn’t last more than a few minutes, yet he thought back to your smile and soft voice. The color of your hair and how it framed your face. Minho wanted to know more about you. What were your hobbies? Did you listen to their music? Catching the eyes of Seungmin in the mirror, he only grew more frustrated at himself knowing that once this small break was over, the same conversation with his younger brother would be brought back up.

On the next flight, he couldn’t stop kicking himself once he realized that he never caught your name either. How could something he deemed so small be the only thing that consumed his mind outside of lyrics and choreography? What was it about you that kept him in this state? The lingering questions kept him up. Did you recognize them? Was there someone else in your life that you care for? What else did you do? Minho would ponder these questions while he finally got to lay in his own bed wide awake, cursing himself because he knew that the schedule would continue to take him away from you.

Why wouldn’t he bring himself to stop thinking about you? All he could dream about was showing up at your door, flowers in hand, confessing to you all the thoughts that occupied his mind since that moment he laid eyes on you. Maybe it was for the better, this, longing love for someone he didn’t even know, but that didn’t stop him from imagining what your lives would be like together. Tossing and turning, he pulled out his phone to see their schedule for the next few days, only signing when he realized how much they had going on. What if the small opening at the end of the week allowed him for a fast stop at the café just to see you for a second. Yeah, he was out of his mind.

Opening the door, the next morning, he felt the bubble in his chest seconds before your voice rang out into the quiet space. He knew it was early when he dragged Seungmin out the door, but he didn’t want to miss the chance to see you. You should ask for their name, Seungmin had suggested on the walkover. When Minho saw the same smile as before etched on your face as you greeted them asking again what you could get started, he melted a little bit. Without answering your question he instead replied with, What’s your name?, leaving Seungmin to scoff in disbelief. The soft giggle you let leave your lips made Minho’s knees grow weak as you answered, y/n, bowing slightly to him.

While Minho monitored the member's dance practice, he couldn’t focus as all that possessed his mind was you. y/n he thought. A pretty name to match the pretty face. He was going crazy. His mind wouldn’t let him do anything besides daydreaming about what a future with you looks like. Yet, he knew that Chan was about three seconds away from smacking him or kicking him out of practice until he could be fully invested. Why did you have this effect on him?

Minho’s new routine was getting to the café a little earlier than he did before to ask you one new question a day as a way to get to know you. It was obvious to everyone that he was putty in your hands while you pondered his questions every day, indulging him in making sure that no answer was a one-word answer even though you could have easily replied that way. Was this feeling mutual? What was he feeling? When you smiled at him, all he wanted to do was gift you the world. When you giggled at something he said, all he wanted to do was kiss you.

When an off day finally arrived, Minho followed his usual schedule of going to the café to see you, only to find that you weren’t there, which was the first time since he’d met you that you were there. You had become such a constant part of his days that it felt like everything in this day would go wrong. Making it back to the dorm, he watched as the others shuffled around, filling a picnic basket with food and collecting blankets. We wanted to hang out by the river today, Felix said as he ushered Minho back out the door. The other members are going to meet us there, Felix happily provided more information as he continued to push Minho down the street.

As they approached, Minho couldn’t help but think this would be a great place to take you on dates. Lounging with you, head cuddled into his lap while he plays with your hair, enjoying the weather and the company of each other. So badly did he realize that if he wanted all of these moments, he kept dreaming to come true, he needed to find time to confess to you.

A soft giggle floated across the open space between the rest of the boys and him, bringing his attention back from his daydreams to, well you who was sitting with Seungmin. His feet stopped working as he stared at you. The way you seemed to be glowing under the sun as your laugh caused your eyes to close while you tipped your head back. Gods you were breathtaking. An angel on this earth was placed into his life to bring joy back into it. Seungmin invited them, Hyunjin said as he appeared out of nowhere to grab a few things from Felix. Said something about not wanting to get up so early anymore. Felix just laughed as he continued walking past the stunned Minho. Truly he didn’t know if he wanted to smack his younger member or thank him a million times over again for this.

Then your smile turned towards him as you waved over his way, causing his feet to move without thinking about it. His hand extending down to you before asking, walk with me for a minute? A shy smile pulled at his lips when your hand slipped into his and didn’t let go once you were standing and walking with him. Hope bloomed in his chest that maybe, just maybe, you felt the same way too. Stopping near the edge of the river, he finally turned to face you. The person he was so madly head over heels for. I’m glad Seungmin invited me out, you said looking out over the water, I haven’t made a lot of friends since moving here, so it feels nice to be included. Oh, how his heart ached. He couldn’t understand how someone like you hadn’t made friends yet, but he was practically glad for this little selfish moment of getting you.

I’m more than happy you could come, Minho started, pausing when you looked at him, a smile spread on your face. He felt weak in the knees just looking at you. How had you already made him this crazy over you when he hadn’t even confessed yet. I like you, he blurted out, I have since the moment I met you.

It felt like he no longer had control of his tongue or thoughts. The first day we went into the café, I was so enchanted by you. You are all I can think about in every moment. The words kept coming out of him with no sign of slowing down. Only becoming easier when the look in your eyes seemed to encourage him to continue. I just kept hoping that our story didn’t end there, Minho said before whispering, I just hope you feel the same. Slowly your fingers laced with his, tugging him slightly close to where you stood. I was over the moon when Seungmin invited me because it meant I got to spend time with you outside of the café, you said quietly, I’ve liked you since the moment you walked through the café doors.

The hope that was blooming in his chest burst, forcing him to smile while ducking his head. There it was. The words he so desperately wanted to hear. You like him, he thought before looking back to your face and gently tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Can I kiss you?

from mina with love ♡ ˚⁎⁺˳ ── thank you for reading! ♡ tag list || @orchid-mantis-petals; @i-dontevenknowman; @deadcrow-donteat; @turtledove824; @hhwangsmoon; @kidrauhlschik; @jazziwritesthings

#stray kids #stray kids love tropes #minho #lee know #stray kids imagine #minho imagine #lee know imagine #skz imagine #stray kids fluff #stray kids comfort #minho fluff #lee know fluff #minho x reader #lee know x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids oneshot #minho oneshot #lee know oneshot #minho fic #lee know fic #stray kids fic #stray kids dream

[roseykat]

TITLE: Venom Biter

PAIRING: Minho x reader

SUMMARY: The end of a relationship between you and Minho turns as sour as it could ever get. A lovers to enemies trope.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

TAGS: breakups, hate sex, post-breakup sex, unprotected sex, swearing, angst, manhandling, push and shove, spitting, choking, oral sex (f!reader receiving), angst, strong hints of degradation, use of degrading names such as 'slut' and 'whore'.

A/N: this was originally meant to be for one of the days I had planned for Kinktober but I was up to my neck in work and I didn't want to post something sort of half-assed so I had to hone down on most of the work for this piece.

MASTERLIST

“Broke up?” Chan’s eyes refuse to blink. “You two broke up!?”

His confused filled stare shoots for the direction of his best friend, Minho, who quietly sits opposite him across the table. He looks slightly withdrawn or…off colour. It can’t have been the gruelling two hour lecture they finished before heading out to lunch. If it were that, Minho would be complaining his head off saying how boring it was or cursing himself for not changing his minor earlier. 

He’s just not his usual self. In other social settings, he could talk until the cows came home. But the entire hour that they’ve spent together at lunch, Chan has been doing all the conversing and only receiving vague one-word answers. It wasn’t until he asked what was up with Minho that his friend dished out the news that he and his girlfriend - you, had split up.

“Why?” Chan proceeds, still swimming in shock.

A sigh leaves Minho’s mouth. He truly doesn’t feel like revisiting this subject. When he even thinks about the answer, all he can recall is the firey shouting match you both had the day things crumbled. 

“It’s messy,” he replies with a cloudy and ambiguous answer. 

“If you talk about it, then it might help you make sense of it all.”

He groans this time, “I really, really don’t want to do that. What’s done is done.” 

“Done?” Chan questions, still not letting up on an interrogation. “You were in a relationship with Y/N, for years. You guys talked about a whole future together. That’s not something you just sweep under the rug and forget about.”

If there’s one thing he almost did forget about, it’s that you were friends with him - not just Chan, but the seven others as well. After all, it was Minho who introduced you to those select people whom he calls his brothers. They would’ve found out eventually if Minho refrained from telling them who you were dating all those years ago.

Though naturally, you became very close with them. 

“We’ve both chosen to do that so there’s nothing really much left to dispute.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrow, realising he left out a crucial question to the situation, “why did you guys break up in the first place?”

Minho feels like he’s going to run out of sighs, “she doesn’t love me anymore and I don’t love her anymore. That’s literally all there is to it.” 

“You’re telling me you both fell out of love - at the same time,” Chan responds, still having a difficult time trying to comprehend his friend's situation.

“Pretty much,” Minho confirms with a nod. 

Chan finds that extremely hard to believe from his friend - the very person who would enter a different realm whenever he was in a five centimetre radius of you. His eyes would glaze over as if he were possessed; always fixated on you, he’d smile more than he usually would, and was comfortable in the space around you. 

There had to be another reason, surely. 

But it had almost been three weeks since Chan dissected the news out of Minho, and it was almost like pulling teeth trying to dive for the details. Each attempt was as fruitless as the next and in the end, Chan just plucked the same answers.

Regardless, it seemed to play out better than expected. Minho saved himself from having to dish out explanations as to why you wouldn’t be around anymore. As a result, telling Chan was the best option and since the others didn’t know, Minho was okay with him telling them so that he didn’t have to. 

In saying that, Minho left out very central details of what happened leading up to the breakup. He never mentioned the constant fighting, the lying, the false accusations, the shouting matches, up until the point where you were both swimming in the toxicity the pair of you created. 

He also absconded from the fact to Chan that not only did you both separate, but you’ve also both come to view the other differently and not through a good lens. Minho shouted it in your face the other day to which you did the same; “I hate you.” And that was that.

But his friends probably didn’t need to know all of that. 

Since that day, you’ve been in the process of trying to find an apartment for yourself which isn’t easy. You want to remain in town and not too far out so that you don’t have a long commute to work, and at the same time, you don't want to break the bank trying to find a nice place to rent in the city. All in all, it was tough, but you were ready to just leave. 

Having packed up the majority of your stuff in boxes, all you had to do was wait for landlords to contact you back about possible vacant apartments. Thankfully Minho was lenient in allowing you to stay until you found a place. 

You slept in the spare room, mainly keeping to yourself and the boxes of things surrounding the space. Occasionally you would have to lock yourself in there and throw on some noise-cancelling headphones whenever Minho brought around another woman to sleep with.

It was his house, you knew that and now that you have no ties to him and he’s letting you stay, it was never your place to question his actions. 

Still, that could never lessen the hurt. It was painful which is why you hated him so much. You don’t know how a person could move on so quickly after so many years of being told how much you’re loved. It was like he never meant it. With that being said, when you eventually managed to find a decent place, you were free from Minho. 

All of your items were ready to be moved out, taking a couple of days to actually get them to your new place. In the tiring process, you also had to factor in your work schedule which meant it would take longer to continue moving your stuff. Nonetheless, you had the majority of your boxes out of Minho's house with only a few remaining that you needed to swing by and pick up.

"Something wrong?" he wears a blank look on his face when you arrive on the doorstep to his house.

"Some of my stuff is still here, can I come in to grab it please?" You ask politely. He gives a silent answer in return by opening his door wider for you to walk in before he goes back to whatever it was he was doing.

You make your way into the spare room where the last of your things remain, but there is one odd detail you notice as you approach the items. What was supposed to be taped down lids to the boxes had in fact been opened; not in the state you had originally left it in. 

"Minho," you call out, hoping he heard you.

Sure enough, he did. Minho walks into the spare room with a puzzled expression, wondering why he's been summoned, "what?"

“Why are these open?” You ask, lifting one box off of the other to check if the rest were open as well. “Half of my stuff isn’t in here.”  

“You were coming back for those?” he replies with a question. 

“What the hell else would I be coming back here for?” 

“That's what I thought when you got here,” he says. “I thought it was for other things that you left behind, not ones in these boxes."

Your eyes never leave his face, tracking any sudden shifts in his muscles to try to figure out if he’s actually telling the truth or not. Even though you and Minho aren’t together, you're sure he wouldn't do anything malicious out of spite.

“So why is half my stuff missing?” 

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, “I thought you didn’t need any of it and that you left it here on purpose for me to deal with or throw out.” 

“So what…” you trail off, expecting his answer. Minho hesitates for a few moments, sitting on the fence about whether he should actually tell you or not. But the least he can do right now is be honest. 

“I told the…girl I bought around the other day that if she wanted anything-“ 

“No you fucking didn’t.” 

“-she could have whatever was left in the boxes,” Minho finishes the rest of his sentence which would’ve been better for you not to hear. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you for leaving them behind in the first place!” Minho argues back, trying to defend himself here even though he knows he’s in the wrong. “You were gone for a few days Y/N, I thought you just left!” 

“I never left them behind! I told you how long it was going to take my things to move!” You shout at him, tears brimming your eyes. “Now my stuff…”

The hurt genuinely sets in. Minho feels a sharp stab of pain in his chest when he sees how visibly upset you are. He knows that he’s been nothing short of a dickhead within the past month and now he’s gone and made things worse. It’s no point in him now to say that it was an honest mistake.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, truly.”

You shove him backwards into the dresser, knocking down some of the empty photo frames that were once homes for pictures of you and Minho, “you’re not sorry. You’re the fucking worst.”

Taken aback by your actions, Minho turns behind him to see the frames flat on the surface then looks back at you, “seriously Y/N, I would not have done that out of spite.”

“But it’s the fact that you still did it!” You raise your voice at him and shove him back again. “You didn’t bother calling or texting me about it when you should’ve!” 

Minho predicts your next move and catches your arms to stop you from pushing him back impossibly further into the dresser. He shoves you back, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed which causes you to land on it behind you.

Before the surprise kicks in, Minho is kneeling on top of you, nearly straddling your lower half as he starts pinning your arms to the side of your head. Yet with a split second of momentum to break free, you struggle but manage to flip the tables and pin Minho on his back. 

You mount his hips before your mouth comes down to kiss Minho so aggressively that it takes him a moment to react. With any other woman that he’s slept with so far, he would allow them to be on top. But because it’s you, and supposedly hates your guts, not to mention his untapped pride, it’s not going to happen. So Minho fights back, kissing and biting nearly every part of your upper body in the process until you’re under him. 

He sucks large, deep, red hickies into the skin of your neck, in places where everyone would be able to see them. Minho would want people to know that you’re just a whore he uses. Especially for the next guy you sleep with who would go down on you and see the myriad of hickies that Minho would eventually put between your thighs when he rips your pants down. 

“Wanna play this fucking game with me,” he rasps before yanking down your off. 

Despite being a dickhead Minho will still eat you out for prep. But it’s not soft and teasing when he does go down on you. It’s tongue and finger fucking you until you’re dizzy from how hard you’re about to cum. It gives you the opportunity to pull and tug on his hair until his scalp starts burning, forcing you to be as vocal as you’ve ever been. 

His fingers curl up into that sensitive spot while his tongue and mouth work simultaneously. He’s always been good at giving head, but unusually better now that he’s relatively angry. In the back of your mind, you supposed it helped having not slept with anyone for a month, making it easier to reach that peak of delicious, eye-rolling ecstasy. 

“Fuck!” you scream out, voice projecting throughout the room as Minho sucks on your clit. “Fuck you…you’re gonna make me cum.” 

Those words are something Minho could never get tired of hearing you say. Even in the headspace that he’s in now, he wants nothing more than to hear how good he’s making your body feel. However, he doesn’t need verbal confirmation from you to know that you’re about to cum. When your walls seize and clamp around his fingers, when you’re trembling around his head, Minho knows what that means. 

The quick drag of his fingers is only light work for him, pumping at a pace that has you panting to try and keep up with it. As a result, it’s not long before Minho brings you to your sweet release; a toe-curling burst of euphoria that has you silently creaming around his fingers. 

He has no patience for you to descend from your orgasm, sucking his fingers clean as he pulls away from your pussy. He gets to unbuckling his belt faster than he can even comprehend that this is still happening. 

“H-Hurry,” you whine, trying to quell the hunger for Minho’s cock while you wait.

His eyes squeeze shut, hissing as he coats his length with your slick, “shut the fuck up.”

Despite being in a haze post-orgasm, you manage to sit up quickly to turn and push Minho down by his shoulders. You find yourself straddling his hips once more, reaching down and behind for his cock, aligning it with your hole. Minho allows you to work for it yourself, watching his cock vanish by the second as you sink down. 

“Mmm…f-fuck,,” you whine, unable to come to grips with how much you miss him filling you out. 

Taking a couple of slow strokes up and down allows you to realise that never in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine hate sex with Minho would be this…rough. Both of you pushing, shoving, and manhandling each other around, speaking to each other with such disregard for the other person's feelings – beyond the point of degradation.

“Come on,” Minho grunts, fingernails embedding themselves into your hips so that the indents remaining become as equally as vibrant as the hickies blooming on your neck. 

You look down at him with disgust before your hand lowers to his throat, choking him out by the sides of his neck. That familiar feeling of restriction to Minho forces him to repress his sick enjoyment of it, even more so when you start really riding him. 

“Fuck you,” you strain out, trying to assert some degree of control even though you’re battling with oversensitivity from your previous orgasm. 

You slam your hips down repeatedly, building up a good pace and rhythm that’s enough for small moans to force their way out of your mouth. With a cock like Minho’s, it’s impossible to keep quiet no matter how much you try. However, as you work for your own orgasm, you don’t want to give him any satisfaction by making him think that he’s the one doing it; yet in reality, he is. 

Nonetheless, you continue to use him just as much as he’s using you until the luxury of pleasure accelerates in the pit of your stomach. In saying that, it doesn’t take long for Minho to find that information out as you continue to ride him. The observation is clear-cut;

“Nobody’s fucked you since me haven’t they?” He asks you breathlessly, watching you roll your hips deliciously over his cock. “Know how I can tell? Because you keep fucking clenching around my dick.”

Your eyebrows furrow, struggling to find an answer for him because he is right and that’s not your fault, “s-so what? Want me to stop?” 

“Didn’t say that, did I?” He argues back, too proud to say ‘no’. “Just…just keep moving.”

A firm hand of yours catches his taut jaw, and while his mouth is open, you lean down and spit right in it. 

You curse right at him, “fuck you.” 

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment, Minho is shocked, but not in a bad way. In that moment you despised him so much that he made you do something a normal person would find disgusting. Although it’s not long before a sick smirk spreads across his face, failing to pretend as if he didn’t just enjoy that, swallowing it back. 

“Course you’d be into that you fucking whore,” he rasps, his body jolting every time your hips slam down. 

“I’m not the whore who’s taking it,” you snipe back at him. 

Your comment riles Minho, resulting in him nearly bucking you off his body before flipping you onto your stomach. He yanks both of your hands behind your back as something for him to latch onto when he pushes his cock back into you, and starts fucking hard and fast. 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut. 

The new angle makes his dick slip in just that extra bit deeper, achieving a sensation which you miss all too much. With the amount of relentlessness that Minho puts behind his thrusts is nothing but a fast, brutal, and unforgiving type of fucking. He’s not holding back with you, no matter how much you hate him and he hates you, he will fuck you to tears.

“Such a fucking slut,” he drives forward nastily. “Needy, loud, slut.” 

Your choked moans and whimpers are typical responses to hearing him call you that name again. In bed, if you weren’t his lover, you were his slut. Minho wouldn’t care less if the bed broke beneath him trying to fuck you like the whore you always wanted him to treat you as. But it was phenomenal.  

Now, that’s only a distant memory clawing to come back. 

“Make me cum…make me fucking cum,” you demand, acknowledging how close you are to the cliff of ecstasy.

Minho's breathing picks up from hearing the pure desperation in your voice, and so does his pace. His only release is not but a minute away, respecting that and also his motive to continue rearranging your guts. 

Yet the possibility of keeping up any longer draws to a short term. Minho’s hold on your wrists behind your back becomes a solid death grip with no chance of escape until the wet heat from your pussy has his hips jumping out of rhythm. 

His head tilts to the sky, the pleasure screaming at him from the base of his cock, “y-yes, fuck I'm cumming.”

At that very instant, Minho’s release rocks him over. His hands let go of yours in lieu of grabbing onto your ass instead. The pain and sting of his fingernails scraping deep into your flash forces strained whimpers and mewls from your throat, helping to push you over the verge of your second orgasm. 

“Y-Yes, cumming, oh fuck-” you cry out with a shaky voice, stiffening while your hole seizes rhythmically around Minho’s length. 

The pleasure is throat-gripping, making you forget the words to express how good you feel. Except, in the vapour of your orgasmic haze, you still don't want to accept the fact that it's Minho who makes you feel that way.

He pauses for a moment then thrusts hard back into you, making you keep the warm load that you were so undeservingly given, regardless if your walls are spasming and contracting it out. Then just as he was fast to try to get inside you, he's just as fast when he pulls out and flops beside you.

The air in the room becomes breathable again now that your heart rate isn't racing to the heavens, but picks back up quickly when you decide to hop off the bed and get dressed. You couldn't care less if you were sore and unbalanced. The thought of staying in the room with Minho any longer was suffocating.

“About your stuff,” he starts, filling the silent void with an exasperated voice. “I’ll try to get it back.” 

You zip your jeans up, “don’t bother. I know you did give it away for whatever reason, but for what reason is something I’m betting you’ll take to the grave with you.” 

Minho is up and now following suit by putting his clothes on. If now is the time to get one thing off of his chest, it’s now. Since the day you both separated, there has been no proper conversation. Both of you are too stubborn to admit wrongs and fix rights, but in your eyes, it's too far gone. There’s no going back to a good thing that was once more. 

"I won't if we can just talk it out," he offers the opportunity to you.

“Minho, the nights that I had to listen to you fuck someone else in the next room right after we just broke up was a clear sign that we did not need to talk it out. All it made me do is realise that you didn't actually love me."

“That’s not true,” he shakes his head as you hear a twinge of desperation in his voice like he's pleading his case. "That's not true at all."

"It is though," you correct him. "You were free to sleep with whoever you wanted to because we had broken up at that point, but not a day after that did you wait."

Minho follows through with his explanation, “I was trying to get you out of my head. Spending too long just thinking about you makes me want to lose it. It didn't mean that I never loved you before."

“So you’re just going to continue being delusional? To fuck your way through trying to forget me?” You question, nearly laughing. "I honestly think you're just being pathetic."

He shrugs, “if it means that I don’t have to feel heartbreak, then yes.”

Part of you gets it. Minho’s found a vice and is using it as a tool to deal with his pain. But you’re in pain too, and you haven’t done anything to upset him ever since you split. Maybe it is as bad for him as he says it is. Maybe he doesn’t truly know how to navigate himself out of this like you’re attempting to.

It’s almost a rebuttal to your statement about whether he truly loved you or not; if he’s using other people to drive the thought of you out of his brain because it’s too painful to deal with, then maybe you were more than just a lover to him. 

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I cannot stand being around you anymore because of how much it hurts to know that you're not actually with me. I'd rather try to forget your existence in order to not feel that type of heartbreak," Minho explains, his words coming from a place inside him that must've just opened up.

But he continues, "the second we split, I needed every last memory of you out of this house. But I know that this hurts you too and that this past month I’ve hurt you and that’s no justification to say that my reason is because you mean more than my entire life.”

There’s an ache in your chest that you’ve never felt before, a blend of all the emotional pain that could’ve been prevented had the two of you just talked. But that ache is fuelled by the fact that you can hear the waiver in Minho’s voice, and even though his back is still turned to you while he sits on the edge of the bed, you’re sure he’s crying.

-

A/N: Dare I say that I want to make a part 2 to this where Minho and reader try to rekindle, things are pretty tender but they sort of want to make it work...

#rosiewritesskz #stray kids smut #skz smut #lee know smut #lee know x reader

[luvyeni]

—｛🎂｝... LUVYENI'S; MAIN MASTERLIST !

WARNING:: 18+ most of these works are explicit content , if you are under the age of 18 please do not interact with the explicit content , but fluff and angst will be on this account , you may interact with that , but if i find out you're underage interacting with smut , you will be blocked completely from my page.

DISCLAIMER:: ‼this is a work of fiction , all the stories below do not represent the idols in any way.

recent work:: camera ready 00' line series

© luvyeni. translating and/or reposting to other forums are not allowed

m= mature s= suggestive f= fluff

—｛🍰｝... STRAY KIDS !

BANG CHAN

curious (m)

fear (m)

LEE KNOW

lonely (m)

listening ft. felix (m)

no permission ft. hyunjin (m)

CHANGBIN

first match (m)

lock you up (m)

let me use you (m)

HYUNJIN

distracted (m)

no permission ft. lee know (m)

forever with you (m)

HAN

audience ft. jeongin (m)

FELIX

dlmlu (m)(a)

1 am (m)

listening ft. leeknow (m)

tensions rising (m)

not together (you're mine) (m)

SEUNGMIN

car picnic (m)

I.N

mini skirt (m)

audience ft. jisung (m)

hands (m)

louder (m)

bad day (m)

OT8

loser has to share (m) (fic)

the condom breaks (m)

not friends but not friends (s)

perv/yandere!skz with 9th member (m)

a court of thorns and roses (series)(m)(a)(f)

sexting with skz (1)(2)

STRAYKIDS HARD THOUGHTS HERE !

—｛🍰｝... ENHYPEN !

JUNGWON

HEESEUNG

campus secrets (f)

girl on the train (m)

make it up to me (m)

JAY

take it slow (m)

another one(m)

forever and always (m)

JAKE

good girl (m)

SUNGHOON

prettiest girl (m)

SUNOO

NI-KI

OT7

type of student they are (f)

not friends but not together (s)

different tropes with enhypen hyung line (m)

sexting with enhypen hyung line (1)(2)(3)

ENHYPEN HARD THOUGHTS HERE !

—｛🍰｝... TOMORROW X TOGETHER !

SOOBIN

all mines (m)

YEONJUN

late night (m)

never again (m)

BEOMGYU

right now (m)

TAEHYUN

study (m)

HUENING KAI

ready for bed

OT5

changing your hairstyle with tubatu (f)

friends leaving you out (a)(f)

member looking at you (a)

teasing them and leaving (m)

free use with with tubatu and 6th member (m)

sexting with tubatu (1)(2)

TUBATU HARD THOUGHTS HERE !

— ｛🍰｝... NCT DREAM !

MARK

nice boy (m)

RENJUN

crazy smile (m)

camera ready ft. 00' line (series)(m)

JENO

mine only (m)

camera ready 00' line (series)(m)

HAECHAN

hands off (f)(s)

one more time (m)

wake up (m)

camera ready ft. 00' line (series)(m)

JAEMIN

sensitive (m)

camera ready ft. 00' line (series)(m)

CHENLE

my bestfriends roommate (m)

interrupted (m)

morning sex (m)

if you love me (m)

this and that ft. jisung (m)

JISUNG

first time (m)

first time pt. 2 (m)

lollipop

just one kiss (m)

date night (m)

alone time (m)

this and that ft. chenle (m)

OT7

backstage (m) (fic)

the condom breaks with nct dream (a)(m)

unplanned pregnancy with nct dream (a)

after the break up with dream (a)(f)

innocent touches (f)

hand jobs with dream (m)

sharing a bed with dream (m)

sexting with nct dream (1)(2)

NCT DREAM HARD THOUGHTS HERE !

—｛🍰｝... NCT 127 !

TAEIL

TAEYONG

JOHNNY

that shirts (m)

wash day (m)

YUTA

whenever he wants (m)

DOYOUNG

on the edge (m)

JAEHYUN

JUNGWOO

OT7

sexting with nct 127 (1)

NCT HARD THOUGHTS HERE !

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #kpop hard thoughts #kpop hard hours #kpop reactions #stray kids smut #nct dream smut #txt smut #nct 127 smut #enhypen smut #stray kids hard thoughts #stray kids hard hours #txt hard thoughts #txt hard hours #nct dream hard hours #nct dream hard thoughts #nct 127 hard thoughts #nct 127 hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen hard hours #nct dream x reader #stray kids x reader #skz hard hours #txt x reader #enhypen x reader #nct dream reactions #nct 127 reactions #stray kids reactions #txt reactions

[etherealinowrites]

love on the court | lmh

jock leeknow x nerd female reader

✮ ❝ lee minho, a 23 year old senior at levanter uni is the jack of it all. he was the captain of the football team, the president of the dance club, the resident chef and a loving cat dad of three cuties. it was unfair how he seemed to just have it all! good looks, amazing physique, never ending charisma and irresistible charm. safe to say, he was the most popular guy at your college, known for being the heartthrob and heartbreaker of everyone attending. but when he crosses paths with the shy and smart y/n, who is walking around, trying her best to keep her 8.5 gpa intact, he cannot help but feel he’s been wearing a mask all along. and why does only y/n have the power to take it off him? drawn to the silent beauty, minho feels his priorities change and who knows, maybe they fall in love? one thing is for sure, he has a whole lot to prove if he wants to win her heart and have his own love on the court. ❞ ✮

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

➺ genre: university/college au, jock minho, athlete minho, shy girl x popular guy trope, strangers to lovers, typical college romance, nerd y/n, goody two shoes y/n and rule breake minho. cliche. CLICHE. so fucking cliche. it’s basically a 2000s girly movie in 2023 with lee minho in it. also some smau to make it fun.

➺ warnings: eventual smut, crude language- sweating and profanity, partying, clubbing, drinking and alcohol, mentions of drugs (none of the characters take them but they’re mentioned), causal sex, hooking up (i mean they’re all over age and in college so the usual), issues of mental health (anxiety and panic attack related to exams and assignments etc), minors dni

➺ schedule: whenever i can find time (i’m a full time uni student AND a part time intern AND i freelance so please try to understand🩵) . releases: october 2023.

➺ word count: in progress

➺ series taglist (don’t ask to be tagged if you’re a minor!!) : @endzii23 @you-make-skz-stay @tinyelfperson @nattisbored @jetblackbelle @helpsplease @lolos-hoes @noellllslut @thevampiregoth @astraystayyh @seo--changbin @jisunglyricist @felinows @she-wintersoldat @abbiestearsricochet @miin17 @laryisthinking @jisuperboard @theboyz-jacob @aishjah @skz-streamer @semi-semiisbae @httphans @urmomma0324

@hanjisunginc @moasworld @vixensss @realrintaro @ilovehimyourhonour @binnielovie @idkluvutellme @gnfelix @yandere-stories @berrybearbear @brooklynie @justletmehavethenamemarsomfg @phtogravi @yeetlixs @ddazed-lhs @skzwife-02 @moonlyah @babigriin @m111nho @boi-bi-ahaha @leeracha @hxraiiii @reidsfav @doyouknowbtsswag @skzwife-02 @dariangarcia @chlodavids

(taglist is CLOSED)

✮ ✮ ✮

🩵meet the characters pt1

🩵meet the characters pt2

✨dynamics 📱

->chapter one | the meet cute - 3.5K

you make acquaintance of your uni’s football team captain

->chapter two | the strike - 📱

the two friend groups have some heart to hearts

->chapter three | twitterati - 📱

the people of the uni are the biggest gossip mongers ever

-> chapter four | locker room talk - 5K

apparently the guys talked about you. oh, and minho wants to take you out. nothing big. (you were freaking out)

…..more to be added

#stray kids #skz #leeknow #lee minho #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #stray kids x reader #leeknow x reader #leeknow angst #leeknow fluff #stray kids imagines #leeknow x you #leeknow scenarios #leeknow smut #lee minho smut #lee minho fluff #lee minho series #lee minho x reader #lee minho fanfiction #skz smau #stray kids smau #han jisung #bang chan #yang jeongin #kim seungmin #hwang hyunjin #seo changbin #lee felix #🩵lotc

[bandgie]

Okay tw, adult content

https://www.tumblr.com/ninthcurse/742991807838912512/thinking-about-legally-mandated-free-use-sluts?source=share

This had me thinking about that with skz

tw for link: freeuse, con-noncon/cnc (is that how you say it?), public sex

NO BECAUSE ANON YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW MUCH I LOVE THAT TROPE ACTUALLY

tw for post below: fem!reader, cockwarming, public sex (implied), pussy play, blowjob/throatfucking, somno (kinda), free-use reader, boob play

not public property but skz property !! going on a road tip and sucking off the members in the back of the van...chan having you cock-warm him while he works on the new album...minho twisting your nipples on a public bus... changbin fucking you after an intense workout because he just has so much energy... hyunjin playing with your pussy while you're scrolling on your phone (hyunjin loves sex when you ignore him idk why I think this)...han humping you in his sleep because he's just so used to fucking you all the time...Felix sucking and licking your boobs gently...seungmin making you give him head no matter where you guys are or who's there...jeongin fucking you in front of his hyung's cuz you almost moan the loudest on his cock

yeah......yeah

no cuz I would love to go into detail about where and how they'd fuck you BUT maybe another time...remind me

#smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz #stray kids #skz hard hours #skz hard thoughts #poly!skz

[forwntrx]

girls like girls (like boys do)

(reader x winter / reader x yunjin) smau series

you are the fifth member of aespa. one of the aces. loved by the public, the media, and even other idols. you were confident and assured in everything, except...your sexuality. you were so sure you were straight, just like a pin, until you met yunjin.

huh yunjin. a member of le sserafim. when she slips her number in your cookie at music bank, your whole life is thrown off balance. from that point on, she relentlessly tries to steal your heart, not knowing that winter was the one who set her eyes on it first. kim minjeong has loved you ever since she met you, but she was so sure that you could never see her that way. she lets go of her feelings and chooses to be your best friend instead. that is, until yunjin tries to make you hers. the three of you become locked in a triangle no one can escape. not without getting hurt that is.

- " i wanted her first. "

- " didn’t you ever hear second is the best, first is the worst? "

- " that’s not how that goes. "

STATUS - ongoing! not started yet but updates will come soon. my second smau so give me grace

TAGS - GAY GAY, 'unrequited' love (at first), fluff, pining, angsty a little bit i'm sorry, slow burn, slice of life, friends to enemies to friends to best friends to lovers (winter, most of this happens before but there will be flashbacks), strangers to lovers (yunjin), one bed trope hehe, fake dating, tipsy!yunjin, dorks in love, arguments, found family with aespa, !!! CHOOSE YOUR OWN ENDING !!!, think of it like a decision game where it branches out those two branches being either yunjin or winter

TAGS (PT2) - lesbian!winter, lesbian!yunjin, lesbian!reader, reader is clueless & indecisive, winter is bad with emotions and communication, she's trying her best, yunjin is the biggest flirt to ever exist, eventual winter and yunjin friendship (emphasis on the eventual), yunjin is annoying but in the best way possible, overthinker!yunjin, protective!winter, lots of fun guys

IDOLS FT. - yeonjun (txt), sunghoon (enha), jake (enha), aespa, le sserafim, yuqi (g-idle), tzuyu (twice) jihyo (twice), yeji (itzy), jeongin (skz), chaeryeong (itzy), other idol mentions most likely

CONTENT WARNING - sex jokes, alcohol, suggestive jokes, might have suggestive scenes nothing graphic and is sfw, too many pretty girls, swears, angst (sorry but only a little), very unserious sometimes, live a little, will update more later

TAGLIST - open! free! ready for whoever wants to be on it, just send me an ask

PROFILES ! — y/n's groupies | yunjin's haters | the idol club

I. FIRST ACT

music bank cookie

just me ()i-dle

canon event

room 312

exile

20 questions

oh okay

comfortable

so cute

on mine

is this your love affair?

i hate you

the jealous type

II. SECOND ACT

14. talk?

#yunjin #huh yunjin #winter #smau #kpop smau #winter x reader #yunjin x reader #aespa #aespa x fem reader #lesserafim x fem reader #lesserafim x reader #aespa x reader #txt #enha #lesserfim scenarios #aespa scenarios #karina x fem reader #gxg #aespa smau #kpop crack #aespa winter #kim minjeong x reader #smau series #aespa fanfic #lesserafim yunjin #kim chaewon #yoo karina #aespa imagines

[astraystayyh]

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33. 

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear. 

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory. 

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse. 

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance. 

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you. 

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago. 

Day 17. 

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade. 

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores. 

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes. 

He knows you better than you know yourself. 

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands. 

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from. 

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you. 

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.” 

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head. 

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again. 

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you. 

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you. 

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19. 

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement. 

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.  

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.  

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.” 

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask. 

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently. 

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?” 

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.” 

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment. 

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé. 

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out. 

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms. 

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope. 

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto. 

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating. 

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in. 

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back. 

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night. 

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you. 

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?” 

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure. 

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles. 

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door. 

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place. 

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up? 

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you. 

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-” 

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.” 

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you. 

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach. 

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls. 

Day 22. 

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart. 

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.” 

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.” 

“I can try.” 

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.  

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles. 

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him. 

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle. 

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago. 

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?” 

“Of course. I promise you.” 

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear. 

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers. 

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm. 

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road. 

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart. 

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light. 

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit. 

“What?” he asks, confused. 

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify. 

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.” 

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words. 

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.  

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face. 

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression. 

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running. 

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again. 

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content. 

“You did.” 

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands. 

“Of course.” 

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.” 

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to. 

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.” 

Day 26. 

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads. 

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more. 

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin. 

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest. 

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought. 

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.” 

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within. 

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals. 

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door. 

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for. 

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you. 

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.” 

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more? 

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were. 

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.                          

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks. 

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart. 

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words. 

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle. 

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile. 

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words. 

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side. 

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder. 

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second. 

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing. 

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips. 

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly. 

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends. 

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?” 

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.” 

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out. 

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along. 

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense. 

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle. 

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs. 

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks. 

“N-nothing,” you stammer. 

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you. 

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you? 

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out. 

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.  

And he loves you. 

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for? 

How many more days do you have to love him back? 

Day 30. 

Minho is sick. 

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face. 

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind. 

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented. 

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow. 

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on. 

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers. 

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering. 

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you. 

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?” 

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet. 

“Anything.” 

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly. 

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to. 

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea. 

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm. 

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you. 

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows. 

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted. 

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds. 

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days. 

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again. 

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean? 

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep. 

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name. 

He prayed you’d call his too soon. 

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean? 

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips. 

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of. 

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways. 

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh. 

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!” 

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?” 

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him. 

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh. 

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.  

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card. 

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify. 

“Hey, yn!” 

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them. 

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.  

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run. 

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey. 

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat. 

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by? 

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be. 

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both. 

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all. 

Day 33. 

“Did I keep you waiting?” 

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?” 

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him. 

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table. 

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here. 

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines. 

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger. 

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.” 

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you. 

“But how does that make you feel?” 

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.” 

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.” 

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?” 

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.  

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.” 

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Yn, he brought you back to life.” 

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?” 

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.  

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core. 

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table. 

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder. 

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around. 

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it. 

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart. 

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room. 

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind. 

“Minho?” 

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to. 

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.  

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again. 

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho. 

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.  

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one. 

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?” 

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.” 

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