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mae-gi-writes · 11 months

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rile you up | lee Minho (xo kitty)

You’re Minho’s latest form of entertainment and he cannot just get enough of riling you up.

Genre: romcom, slice of life, school!au, minho is a little dick

———

“Fuck you, Minho.”

“What a ray of sunshine you are on this fine day.”

You grit your teeth together, almost grind them to nothing, and repeat the words with even more conviction, “I said fuck you.”

”Watch that tongue sunshine, might fall out if you’re not careful,” Minho’s grin just widens at the way your eyes have narrowed into slights. If looks could kill, he would’ve been shot int he head twice, revived, and shot once again. But thankfully for him, your narrow-eyed stare is nothing scarier than a cute kitten ready to take her claws out.

It’s a boring, rainy and muddy Wednesday afternoon and you really don’t want to be here, in English Lit, listening to professor Lau drone on and on about love and friendship in the verses of Lord Byron’s poems and how, if you read in-between the lines and analyze the intonations, the words, the onomatopieas, you’ll find a much deeper definition of Lord Byron’s feelings.

And Minho sitting right beside you is not making it much easier.

“You’ve got a pimple growing on your left cheek,” Minho squints at your face as you turn away, cupping your face with your hands as your eyes find the lock tick, tick, ticking at the far end of the classroom. Thirty more minutes of this torture.

“Can you just stop hyper-analyzing me like I’m some kind of lab rat?I’m really not in the mood for this right now.” You snap back.

“Woah,” Minho sighs before he shakes his head, “you really did wake up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

“And you, my friend, need to mind your own business.”

“Minho and Y/N.”

Professor Lau’s voice causes both of them to wince, physically, before looking up to see the said old man with bespectacled glasses, the book of poems in his hand and his eyebrows raised as though he expected better.

If you’re being honest, you really do enjoy Professor Lau’s classes, normally. Normally.

But not today. Today, you’re having a completely off day. You woke up late, you couldn’t sleep at all last night, and all the coffee had run out by the time you’d made it to campus. Your grades are suffering and you’re currently trying to ploughing through all the assignments without drowning.

And the worst of it all, you miss home.

You miss your mom. You miss your family, your brother with whom you would fight with at every occasion and play Mario kart with. You missed your grandma, your aunts, the food they cooked, the shared laughter, the smiles…

You’re in so deep in your thought process that you haven’t even registered that Professor Lau is telling you off until he calls for your name that brings you back to attention.

“—yes?” Your eyes flit up to Professor Lau’s and a wave of emotion suddenly takes its toll on you. You try hard to blink back the sudden burn of tears at the corner of your eyes, crawling up your throat.

“I was expecting better of your behaviour, miss Y/N,” he says, pointedly looking between you and Minho with pursed lips, “in my office after class. You’re up for cleaning duty.”

Great. That’s exactly what you need. After everything.

Fucking. Great.

———

“These pretty hands cannot clean,” these are Minho’s first words as the rest of the class files out to leave you two alone on cleaning duty and as you had predicted, there are papers all over the place, test papers and pens and pencils, “I’ve taken care of my hands all these years. I am not ruining it just to clean a classroom.”

“You are so freaking dramatic,” you roll your eyes, standing up to find the cleaning supplies that are stacked at the back of the class, in the storage closet, “let’s just get this over with and we can both move on with our lives and I won’t have to see you again for the rest of this week.”

“What’s up your arse, dude?” Minho follows you, one hand leaning on the doorframe as you start pulling out the duster, the cleaning rags and the shiny new broom that Professor Lau is currently obsessed with, “you’ve been acting really weird.”

“What?” You scoff, proceeding to hand him the broom because you know he’s never going to be the one on his hands and knees cleaning the floors, “I’m not. I’m just tired.”

“No, you’ve been acting off all week. You’re all snappy, your dark circles are so prominent you look like a walking zombie and you keep asking me to go fuck myself,” Minho rolls his eyes, “also, how do you use this?”

“Jesus chri—“ you make a move towards him, grabbing the hand holding the broom while struggling to circle his back and grabbing the other, “you keep that thing steady, then you brush the dirt from this one—“ you grip his hand and shuffle it over the floor in a sweeping motion, “until it goes into the pan. Got it?”

It's only then you realize the warmth emanating from Minho's back. If you move a little closer, you could press your cheek against him. He smells like something citrus and fresh mint and man.

Somehow, it makes goosebumps explode all over your skin. You step back abruptly, noting the heat searing through your palms where you had touched him just as he turns to face you, "you seem to be a natural at this. Why don't you do it?"

"I'm gonna take care of the floors," you're glad for the distraction that comes in the form of the rag, for there's a knot of heat in the middle of your chest and you're not quite sure how to deal with it, "let's just get this over with."

There's a long moment of silence as both of you focus on your tasks, which helps to calm down your nerves. Somehow, the sound of Minho's brush is conforting to hear.

Until he speaks up, "so you're gonna tell me what's wrong?"

"Why should I tell you, of all people?"

"Because there's nobody else around and seeing you all mopey makes me actually feel bad for you."

You wipe off the dusty corner by the teacher's desk, "Do you have any ounce of decency in you somewhere?"

"Not when you're involved," Minho snickers.

You whip around, throw the balled-up rag at him and smirk in satiafaction when it hits him square in the head, "ow--what the fuck, Y/N?!"

Glad that you managed to piss him off, you turn and continue, "oops sorry. My hand slipped."

It's not ultimately Minho's fault that you're more anxious, more easily irritated than usual. So you can't really take it out on him. But he doesn't make it any easier either.

Thankfully, the rest of the cleanup goes smoothly as butter and he parts ways with the excuse that he needs to go find his aupposed lunch date, to which you merely rolles your eyes and headed for the dining hall alone.

It doesn't normally bother you to be alone. On the contrary, you relish in those silent moments of freedom without having to hear an earful from Kitty and Q, or having Yuri complain about yet another one of her life's family miseries.

But as you find a vacant seat by the door, you can't help but suddenly feel a little small in a room full of people who seem to be right where they should be. And something in your heart constricts and clenches so hard it causes a soft sob to die at the back of your throat.

You grip your spoon a little tighter and bite down so hard on your lip that you feel the tangy taste of blood.

It feels lonely.

------

You're kind of sick.

Not physically sick.

Just sick of hearing christmas carols ringing all over campus. Sick of smelling hot chocolate in the air, sick of seeing luggages being dragged on vacation.

Sick of being here.

For an international student, returning home for Christmas was never an option. The airplane ticket is too expensive for your familt to afford, and you wouldn't ever impose that on them. But if you had to admit to that selfish part of you; you wished you were privileged enough to get to fly out at every chance you got.

Alas, that is not the kind of life that you live.

So when the doorbell rings at seven-thirty in the morning on Christmas Eve, you're more than surprised to find none other than Minho standing by your door with his hands in his pockets.

"Wh--Yeah? What do you want?" You frown upon noticing the lack of luggage behind him. Knowing Minho, he packed like a diva.

He hums and peeks inside your flat, causing you to shuffle into his peripheral vision, "what do you want Minho?"

"You're not packed."

"Wise observation, smartass."

He brushes past you and strides inside, taking his shoes off casually by the door, "why not?"

"None of your business."

He throws you an exasperated look, "you gonna keep being like this?"

"I don't know, are you gonna keep annoying the hell out of me?"

He can't help the grin that spreads over his face at that, "you're fun to mess around with."

"Well for your information, it's not fun. Not for me," you don't hesitate to walk over before grabbing onto his arm and tugging over to the door, "really. I'm fine. Now leave."

"I'm surprised you're not going home for Christmas," he continues as you're pushing him out of the door.

It stings, "why?"

"International kids usually do," he folds his arms, proceeds to lean into the open doorway and you got another whiff of his scent, "what? Daddy didn't want to pay for you this time?"

"My dad died. Two years ago."

There's surprise first, that flashes through his eyes. Then realization slowly dawns.

There’s some kind of weight in your chest. Like your heart has just broke.

"What?" You laugh but it's dry and twisted, "cat got your tongue? Too shocked to speak? Poor little Y/N, who doesn't have a father to pay off her credit card bills, right?"

"I didn't know--"

"Of course you didn't. You never asked."

"I'm--" he swallows, looks away, "—sorry."

You scoff, "don't. It's okay. I've been over it for the past two years."

It's not what he says but rather the way he looks at you that makes your insides shrivel up with dread and fear and the idea that he'll never look at you the same way ever again.

Because the thing is, no matter how much Mjnjo teases you, bullies you into oblivion, you do enjoy the attention, the banter. It's almost as if it's better than just being ignored altogether.

And amidst all his teasing and his annoying personaity, there are bite and smidges of Minho's kindness smattered in-between, flecks of tenderness that makes your heart soar, your brrath

To have such a man look down at you, pity you, makes you want to be sick.

"Y/N--" you cut him off before he can even try to make it up to you, "it's fine, Minho. Just drop it--"

"Wha--I said I was sorry, don't give me that look--"

"I said drop it!" You swerve around on him, anger bubbling from deep within your chest as blood pulses through, rushes through you, "for one goddamn second, can you just leave me alone?! I don’t need this—this constant bullying of your part! It’s tiring and it’s just so goddamn frustrating and humiliating so will you just stop?!”

The shocked silence that follows your sudden outburst is heavy. If the tension had been thick before, it’s now so hard you can barely cut it with a knife. You try to regulate your staccato breaths, try not to let your body take over your mind as you focus on breathing in, breathing out, breathing in. Breathing out. Just like that.

Calm. Like water. Like you’re a river that never stops.

“Just go, Minho,” your words are bitter. You can barely look his way, an overwhelming surge of irritation, guilt and hurt swimming through you.

Thankfully, the young man seems just as surprised as you are and leaves without even a backward glance. That’s when you finally cave in and allow your legs to crumble to your floor. Pressing your head against the door, your body instantly gives into the sadness that crumbles through you like used up tissue, soaking in all the tears that are suddenly cascading down your cheeks without restraint.

You cry yourself to sleep that night.

———

“Minho, I’m really sorry about my behaviour.”

You stare.

Your reflection stares back.

Shit. This doesn’t feel right. You close your eyes, exhale a soft breath, and open them once more only to find a set of familiar brown eyes gazing back at you.

It’s just the day after Christmas and though the majority of your friends were still off campus, you’re well aware that a certain Korean young man has decidedly stayed back because of his mother’s offshoot shooting commercial.

However, you still hadn’t gotten the guts to go back and ask him for a formal apology yet. Did you even need one when he’d been the one prodding you with a stick like he would with a nest of aggressive bees?

Oh well. You decided you’d be the bigger person and make the first move. As always.

So you look back to your reflection with renewed determination, take a deep breath before forcing the words out, “I am really sorry for my shitty behaviour, Minho, I should’ve—no,” you shake your head, start again and clasp your hands together for good measure, “I’m really sorry if I offended you in any way, I was hurt—no. God. I sound so pathetic.” You can’t help but curse at the mirror.

Inhale. Exhale. Deep breath. And you try once more, this time adding a small smile.

“I’m really sorry for everything that I said. I was being a bit insensitive and wasn’t in the right headspace—“ you break off with a frustrated snarl, “god! Why is it so hard to apologize to the dude?!”

“The dude’s standing right here.”

Shocked, you swivel around only to find none other than the said question in person leaning against your doorway, eyebrows raised and a semblance of a smirk lining his lips.

“M—Minho,” you feel like slapping yourself for sounding like a stuttering goldfish. Quickly, your hands smooth down your sweater, hiding them in the big bell sleeves as your eyes find everything — anything, to get off his face, “what—what are you doing here?”

“I was looking for you, actually.”

“Why?”

You’re still not looking, deciding that the faint crack in your dorm room is much more interesting.

Minho’s footsteps approach as he strides close, close enough that you get a whiff of his expensive cologne and restrain yourself from sighing out loud.

The bastard smells too good, you feel like crying.

“Why?” He scoffs, “isn’t it obvious?”

“Not really.”

“Alright. Fine,” you’re still not looking at him, which is why you almost jump out of your skin the moment you feel the gentlest graze of his fingertips at your jaw.

“Wha—“ you stutter, eyes flashing up to his on instinct.

Dark brown meets swirls of maroon. You almost lose your breath.

In the mid-morning light with sunshine falling over half of his face, Minho looks like he’d just walked out of some fashion magazine.

“What are you…doing?” You manage to murmur out. Barely.

It’s hard to concentrate when he’s right there, in your personal space, looking a little too dashing for his own good.

“You’re right. I was being a selfish dick to you two days ago,” his grip on your chin is firm, his dark eyes even firmer, “so I’m sorry if you took it the wrong way.”

You laugh, “wait—is Minho actually apologizing? To me?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“But this is a legendary moment,” you fake a mocking gasp at him, “I should record this right now.”

“Don’t make me regret it, Y/N.”

Chuckling, your eyes crinkle up as you allow yourself to roam over his features, “okay okay, I’ll stop.”

Minho fidgets and doesn’t say anything back. Weird, considering that he has a comeback for everything. You feel his hand drop from your chin as he takes a step back, lips pressed together and face looking like he’s uncomfortable being here.

Do you make him uncomfortable? It’s not a sight you’re used to seeing. Something tugs at your heartstrings but you try and ignore it.

“What is it?” You ask instead.

“There is…” his eyes dart away, “something I need to tell you.”

“About?”

His hand drops. Instantly, cold swoops in.

“About me. And you.”

You squint, “Minho I swear, if this is one of your stupid jokes again—“

“I like you.”

You blink.

He gazes back. His eyes. They’re gazing straight at you. Focused. Intense. Hot.

So hot it causes a flame to burst in your chest.

Wait…your mind backtracks, what?

“You—“ your mouth opens. Closes. Opens once more, "I'm sorry--what?"

His eyes answer in his stead. Dark orbs swirling with a depth that makes your skin explode in goosebumps. You realize, all too soon, how close you are, how -- if you want -- you can diminish the space between just with one single step forward.

"I like you," he says it honestly. Somehow, you relish in the way he says it. Clear and transparent. No inside games, no beating around the bush, "maybe more than a little."

You sense a but. "And?"

He rolls his eyes, "and maybe I just don't know how to show it."

"You mean, acting like a five year old boy who bullies his crush for fun because he likes her?"

"Something like that."

"Okay," you drag out the word in hopes that it will hide the way your heart suddenly skips a beat, the way your legs feel weaker at the knees, "so what--what now?"

"Well, that's the part where you tell me you like me back--" Minho catches himself upon seeing you raise a brow at him, "--or not. Your choice, your rules, doll."

Doll? You can feel the flame bursting through your chest and squeezing your heart. It aches so much it hurts, though it seems that your smile can't help tugging at the corners of your lips as you watch him and despite his seeming nonchalance about the whole matter, there's the slightest sheen of pink that gives him away.

Cute. Your brain chants.

"Well," you tilt your chin up in what you hope is a confident manner, "you normally take a girl out to dinner first."

"Is that a yes?" Minho smirks.

"Did you hear what I said?"

"Yes, yes I heard alright. Fine," he sighs and crosses his arms over his chest, "tomorrow night. Dinner. Be ready by six. I'll pick you up."

"Tomorrow? But wait I--"

"You better be there, doll."

And with that, he swivels on his feet and walk away while whistling a soft tune, leaving your heart flooded with a tide of mixed emotions that erupt through your chest and butterflies running along your skin.

---

Minho: I'll come pick you up by six. Be ready then. Wear something cute but casual. Nothing fancy.

Y/N: i like how you're telling me how to dress up when you're the one who's supposes to be wooing me.

Minho: oh you don't have to worry about that.

The way he replies so smoothly has goosebumps running along the back of your neck and you squeeze your hands into fists. You're still sitting on your bed, trying to digest all this new information as another flurry of messages burst through your phone, probably fron Kitty's latest reaction your news.

Kitty: what?! Minho?! And you?! He asked you out?!!! Omg how did I not see this coming!!!

Y/N: i thought you were a matchmaker.

Kitty: well YEAH before he went and ruined it!!! Anyway, what are you WEARING?!

Y/N: i have absolutely no idea. He said something cute but casual, so I'm guessing there's not gonna be any fancy dinners or anything.

Kitty: omg!! Minho and casual doesn't sound right. Maybe he really is trying to woo you!!

Y/N: should I wear shorts? Pants? A skirt?

Kitty: definitely no pants. Maybe that cute skater skirt you wore to Yuri's party last semester?

So you do. The skirt's baby blue colour contrasts well with the simple white tshirt you decided to wear with it, and throwing on a beige cardigan and some white sneakers complete the look. You add a small blue bow into your hair to match, and take one last look at yourself in hopes that you're looking exactly how Minho wants you to--

No. That's the wrong way to go about it. Minho likes you. Yes. You. Not the girls he's always so uses to seeing. You don't have to impress him.

That’s how you meet him right outside your door, with your newly-found resolve as you catch the simple white tee and ripped jeans, hair styled just the way he likes it, just enough to make every woman’s heart swoon.

His eyes do a once-over, “not bad, Y/N. You clean up nice.”

“Not bad?” You scoff, “I’m sure there are much better adjectives to use.”

He grins, “we’ll see.”

Minho brings you over to the Han river by electric scooter, with you standing in front and holding on to the handlebars as he guides you across the street even though it’s technically illegal for people to do such a thing. But with the wind in your hair and Minho’s warmth at your back, you don’t find yourself complaining.

“Han river?” You raise a brow at him as he parks and pays for his e-scooter ride, “really? So cliche.”

“The Han River is a classic,” he looks at you pointedly, “and I’ll have you know, I’ve never brought anyone here before.”

“Ooh, does that mean anything?” You wriggle your brows and he scoffs, looks away, “shut up.”

You weren’t expecting him, of all people, to be a fan of romantic gestures such as this. But when he parks his scooter in favor of walking alongside you by the trail — even with his multiple complaints about the dirt being too dirty and people needing to revisit their wardrobe fashion — you can’t help but wonder how much effort he’s putting into just being with you. Because knowing Minho, walking on crushed grass and having his shoes in dirt is quite a big deal.

“Look, do you want to be swooned or not?” He replies when you ask him the question, even looks offended that you’d dared ask such a thing, “I thought girls loved it when boys brought them here.”

“Yes I know that,” your grin is so wide that you’re surprised it hasn’t broken your face in two yet, “and don’t get me wrong. I love it, but I never thought you—of all people — would bring me here, of all places. It’s just not…”

“Not what?” He scowls.

“Just not you,” you confess, and then, seeing that his frown seems to take a permanent fixture on his face, you quickly add, “so the fact that you’re doing it…thanks. It means…something. You know?”

Heat springs through your cheeks at the sudden confession and you quickly look away, anywhere, but not before glancing at Minho to see that he has a faint smile dancing across his lips.

As the evening wears on, you get to talk about everything and anything; from worries about your future and the rigorous routine of adult life, about which game box is better and which restaurant serves the best korean noodles, which Minho argues does not exist, considering that every single noodle joint in Seoul is a pro in making them.

"We're the city of noodles and gimbap, obviously there's more than one good noodle stop."

"You speak like someone who hasn't tasted Uncle Cha's food yet. You know, the snack from across the road to campus."

Minho's nose wrinkles, "nah I'm good--"

"Oh no you don't," you grab onto his arm before he has a chance to run away, "nu-uh. Let's go get them right now, actually."

Surprisingly awed by Cha's cuisine, Minho has no other choice than to grumble out a faint agreement. It's no secret that it makes your day.

"But the environment--" Minho shudders, "I think I saw a cockcroach scuttling about in there."

“Oh yeah,” you let your eyes follow the wall and trail back up to him, pointing at his face, “there’s one.”

Shoving you playfully, he pulls out his tongue in such a childish manner you can’t help but burst out laughing.

You decide to take the walk back along the Han River even if it makes a detour, stopping by a coffee shop to grab some hot chocolate. The city lights now illuminate the city like stars scraping the earth’s surface and you can’t help but feel amazed by how beautiful the scenery is, with the wind trickling through your hair and soft music from busking sessions in the background.

“I’ve never actually walked along the Han River before,” you confess to him as you gaze down at the black waters sloshing against the river edge, “thanks, Minho.”

He has the look of a satisfied five year old child who got a gold star for his best behaviour, “you’re welcome.”

“Who knew you’d be the one to bring me here?” You jostle his shoulder playfully before taking a sip of your hot chocolate.

“What’s that you’re implying?” He frowns.

“That you’ve surprised me and my expectations.”

“And that’s supposed to be a compliment?” He looks horrified and dramatic, “you’re harsh, Y/N. I’ll have you know, I haven’t—“ he stops himself just in time for you to swoop in and push, “yeah? You haven’t what?”

“Nevermind,” he sips his own drink and you notice the way his ears have turned red.

You giggle, “tell me, have you gone on dates before?”

“Wha—of course I have! What kind of question is that?!” You keep on laughing and laughing at his face, shaking your head as you try and muffle your chuckles the best you can, “oh god—oh my god, you never have. It’s written all over your face—“

“You talk too much,” he mutters into his drink and turns away from you, ears as red as a fire engine.

You nudge him, smiling, loving that side of him that he’s never really shown anyone before. Because you all know the cool, confident Minho. But this, this side of Minho is uncharted territory.

And you’re all here for it.

“Why not, though?”

His eyes narrow as he looks back at you, “what?”

“Why haven’t you brought anyone out before?’ You fidget with your cup, glad that it’s warming your hands so you can busy yourself with something, “because I’ve seen you, with different types of girls. All the time—“

“Yeah that didn’t mean anything.”

“But you still went out with them.”

“Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?”

“What?” Heat flushes through you, “no, I just—“

That’s when you feel it. His hand, fluttering up to yours. He pries your hold from your cup gently before bringing it down between you, fingers entangling with yours like they’re meant to be there in the first place.

And when your eyes flutter to lock onto his, there’s liquid warmth in those pools of brown, a tenderness you’ve seldom seen before.

“This is new too,” he murmurs then, “all of this.”

Your heart skips a beat. There are no words to be said.

You swallow thickly, look away, and don’t miss the soft chuckle that falls from his lips as he keeps swinging your hands back and forth between you, his smile a permanent fixture on his face. One that your lips mirror faintly as you keep walking back towards your dorms in comforting silence.

———

“Was that romantic enough for you?”

Minho’s question is met with a chuckle from your part as you finally reach your dormitory. A few stray students are still studying deep into the night, some already asleep on the deep blue couches in the common room as you make your way through, hands still entertained from earlier.

Your heart has been skipping and rollerblading into ecstasy ever since.

“Hmm,” you hum, even tilting your head in thought, “guess so. Though if I had any complaints—“

“You wouldn’t tell me, because there aren’t any,” Minho finishes for you, “right?”

“Oh i have plenty, but I’ll keep it for another time,” you flash him a mischievous smile. You’ve reached your corridor by that time, your words causing Minho to shoot you a suggestive look.

“another time?” He repeats with a cock of his brow.

You bite your lip and look away to avoid the fact that there’s a faint, yet growing smile on your face, “yeah. Maybe.”

The said young man’s lips pulls into a small smile, “I can work with that.” He murmurs, and something warm pools in the middle of your chest.

It’s hard to control yourself around Minho especially when he’s not being a little shit. Because the fact is; he’s very enticingly charming and likable.

“Well, that’s me,” you’ve reached your door then, glad that for once your dorm room is free of activity since both your roommates have gone home for the Christmas season, and turn towards Minho.

“Thanks you, for tonight,” your cheeks are warm with heat but you can’t resist grinning up at him, “I had more fun than expected.”

Minho sucks in a dramatic breath, “wow. I think i finally got a compliment out of your mouth.”

“Trust me, that’s me being nice.”

“I know,” he flashes a grin at you and before you know it, his arm has gone up to press against the doorway, caging you in and suddenly making you feel smaller than you are already. His body heat rolls into you in waves, the scent of his boyish cologne making you dizzy as your body leans into him unconsciously.

“So,” he breathes. He’s so close, so close that if you move just a little, your noses would brush, “since I’ve taken you out on a date, do I get to kiss you now?”

Air stills in your lungs. Your teeth find your lower lip.

“It depends,” your whisper is so soft he barely catches it, too enthralled by the way your mouth curves and moves with the words, “will you take me out again?”

“If her highness wishes,” Minho chuckles, tilting his head so that your noses brush. Electricity zaps through your body, goosebumps raising at the back of your neck, “I’ll take you wherever you want.”

Your eyes lock. There’s warmth, want. Desire swimming through his own pools of brown.

“Sounds like a promise,” you breathe, “so when will that—“

“Y/N.”

The way he says your name has a knot tightening in your stomach. Your body tenses in anticipation.

He’s gazing at you as if he’s only just seeing you. His lips are so close, you can feel his breaths on your lips. Hot against cold. He smells divine.

You’re so lost in your own daydream that you respond a few seconds late, “y-yeah?”

“Do me a favor?”

One hand cradles your cheek. You freeze.

“Hm?”

“Stop talking.”

And before you can do anything else, his mouth presses against yours.

Fireworks explode. Behind your eyelids. Through your body. Blood races and your brain goes fuzzy with want and desire as Minho’s other hand wraps around your waist to tug you in, his other hand clasping your jaw firmly as he kisses you. Once. Twice. He’s a good kisser, yet so gentle and tentative.

You’re taken by surprise for a few seconds, before you finally melt into him and kiss him back. A sigh escapes you as your hands go up to wrap around his neck, and the groan of satisfaction he lets out makes your entire nerves buzz with delight.

Tilting his head to the side to kiss you deeper, longer, you let out a gasp against his mouth as he pulls you even closer still, as if he can’t get enough of you. You haven’t realized you’re pressed to the door until your back meets the hard wood underneath and you yelp softly at the way his tongue swipes over your bottom lip to ask for entrance.

He kisses you softly, yet so firmly as if you’re the only thing keeping him alive, satiated. His hand at your hip moves up, tracing the back of your spine, the side of your rib cage before brushing against the corner of your bra and making you squirm while your hands curl into his hair. You tug, causing a grumble to echo out of Minho’s chest. His tongue darts in and you part for him like melted butter so that he can kiss you and ravage you without restraint.

Everything falls away, with only Minho being your anchor. You smell him, feel him against you, and want nothing else other than the dizzying rush that makes your stomach erupt with fireflies.

Your mouths part with a pop and he takes this chance to nip at your jaw, littering kisses down your neck before suckling on a soft patch of skin. Your body reacts instantly, curving into him as your lips part in a soft, minuscule moan. That’s enough to snap him back to attention.

He gazes up at you, chest heaving and all heavy breaths. His lips are swollen and red and just so beautiful. Hair tousled like he’s just tumbled out of bed and you quickly decide that’s the look you love best on him.

The curfew bell sounds and he curses.

“Minho,” you murmur when he leans in, noses brushing to capture your lips into his once more. You sigh, eyes falling shut as he takes your next set of words away.

It’s almost as if he’s drunk on you, as if he just can’t get enough.

The thought makes you shiver. Your heart swells with emotion.

“Minho,” you murmur once more against his lips. He groans, pulls away onto to bury his face into your neck and humming, “yeah?”

“Curfew’s in two minutes.”

“I know,” he’s pressing open-mouthed kisses over your collarbone and you can’t help but whimper and cradling his head closer to you despite trying to make sense of your thoughts.

“Y—You should go,” you stutter out but it’s almost like you’re talking to yourself. He’s clearly in his own world, suckling onto your skin and leaving purple marks to claim you as his. He pulls away, groaning appreciatively at the sight you make.

“Do I really have to go?” His dark eyes — darker than you’ve ever seen them — flickers over your features. There’s a kind of hunger to them that makes you shiver.

“Yes,” you stammer out, heart almost bursting out of your chest when the boy merely tugs you close before he rests his head atop yours. He holds you, breaths you in, and your eyes close on their own accord, taking in the moment like it’s the last.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” his whisper grazes the shell of your ear and you shiver. He pulls back and there’s the kind of crooked smile that makes your heart tighten, “goodnight, Y/N.”

“Good night, Minho,” you murmur and dropping a last kiss atop your temple, you watch him walk away, raising a salute with his hand as he does so.

———

A/N: GAHHH IDK WHAT I WROTE AND I GAVE UP AT THE END I HOPE IT’S ALRIGHT BUT ANYWAY I’VE BEEN OBSSESSED WITH MINHO THESE DAYS.

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taetr4ck · 3 days

Note

my baby congratulations on 500 followers !!! you deserve it so so much im so proud of you😽

for the event i want to request ‘heaven is a place on earth’ by belinda carlisle + lee know<3

again, im so so proud of you !!! take care, i love youuu🫶🏽

heaven is a place on earth — lee know

lee know x reader, reader is exhausted — fluff, comfort. taglist form.

a/n : aaaaah thank you so much my loveee !! i'm proud of you more than you ever know, i love you so much 💌 i hope this is to your liking !

They say,

In heaven, love comes first.

But to you, all you crave is your personal heaven— longing to be part of something greater, to be embraced in something that sees you as a single thing.

You ache with the warmth of belonging in someone’s heart— you crave to be seen.

“Everything is so tiring.”

You plop down on the couch, a long sigh escaping your lips.

“Long day?” Minho sat by your side, softly caressing your hair. You relaxed in his gesture, closing your eyes in exhaustion.

“Long week, or month, or year. I don’t know. I’m just so tired I want to sleep forever,” you feel your chest hurting after saying that.

“Ah, my baby…” he looked at you with worry. His eyes reflected a hint of sadness and empathy— one full of genuine worry.

Minho stood up, looking at you in awe.

He then offered his hand, unsure of what to do.

“Let’s do something,” he uttered.

You grasped his hand without hesitation, your body completely surrendering to him. He started to sway you in the fall of the night, with the stars watching both of you dance under the midnight sky.

“When you walk into the room…” he sang softly. He coasted you in a tranquil sway, making your body melt in his touch.

“You pull me close, we start to move…”

To be loved means to be consumed. To love means to radiate with inexhaustible light. To be loved is to fade, while to love is to persist. '

“And we’re spinning with the stars above…” he looked at you with a smile, continuing to float together in the silence of the night.

He stopped. He looked at you solemnly, and his eyes seemed to soften with the natural hues of the night. His eyes shone at you as if they were the brightest stars in the sky— but those stars belong to you, only you.

He tenderly pressed his lips against yours, a gentle caress following your delicate dance.

To you, you have already found your personal heaven; where he never made you feel alone— he waits for you and you come around— he reached for you and brought you love.

“...and you lift me up in a wave of love.”

⋆ taetr4ck, est may 2023.

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leviackermanscleaningbuddy · 1 year

Text

✨Have some of my favorite songs right now represented by their coinciding Skz member moodboards. ✨

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aliskzoo · 8 months

Text

To Atone for your Sins

“Well darling, all we want to do is help you. Don’t you think they deserve it?”

Homicidal outbreaks, drug littered streets and more menacing people than ever are starting to leak through the cracks of the city walls. And you don’t want a single bite of it. So, when one of your new found friends gets himself caught up in trouble, will you pick up old habits to help, or will you crawl back into hiding?

This story will include scenes of violence and graphic themes, some instances of stalking, and other themes that some viewers may find uncomfortable. I will always specific what is in each chapter, but this is just an overall warning for the rest of this story.

Genre: Action, angst, mature.

Pairing: Ateez, some skz members as well cause why not~

Chapter One: Fuck Fate

900+ words

Warnings// swearing, alcohol, men being weird, kinda talk about religion but not really. Don’t think I’m missing anything. And yes this is based in a strip club.

Authors note: hiiiii, so this is the first chapter for my first series ha. Any and all feedback is very much appreciated. Also the chapters will get larger in terms of words and length, this first chapter is just kinda an introduction to the oc. Enjoy :)

I don’t remember much before this.

Well, that’s a lie. But for the sake of my own sanity, and new identity I ignore it.

All the nightmares, the anxiety…. the guilt.

One person shouldn’t have to go through so much. But I guess fate had other plans for me.

You know what, fuck fate. It landed me here, surrounded by old rich men, willing to spend all their life savings on one night of mediocre pleasure. Around other girls, who are either incurable alcoholics, walking drug mules or are too innocent for their own good. So yeah, fuck fate, or fuck whatever God that runs this absolute shit show of a world.

The girls are ok though, as much as I judge them, they’re all nice. But this place just seems to suck the life out of people, drowning all the bearable moments in copious amounts of average liquor.

This bar seems to either only use the money they get on more alcohol, like we need anymore, or the god damn lights that are blinding me on this rickety old stage. At least my set is nearly over for the night, maybe I should go check on Chuck, he’s always got more money to give me. And maybe I should check on-

“Lucy!”

Shit, I’m just standing here aren’t I. Dammit, now I’m gonna look like an-

“Lucy!”

I did it again didn’t I?

“I’m comin’ Mary, don’t get those lace panties in a twist.” I say as I come off the stage, instantly feeling the temperature difference as I move away from the lights.

“Don’t come at me with that attitude honey, you were just standing there for a whole minute! If anything you should be thanking me for saving your ass-“

“Don’t you have a set to start Mary?”

“Oh shit!”

Oh Mary, if anything she’s just as bad as me when it comes to rambling on. Except I seem to enjoy doing it in my own head, on stage, in front of an audience of paying customers, embarrassing the absolute shit out of myself. But hey, the more I do that, the more pity money I get so I can’t really complain.

As I walk from backstage onto the floor, I spot one of my favourite regulars sitting at the end of the bar, sipping his usual gin tonic. “Why is he one of your favourite customers?” you may ask. Well, because he gives me his money and DOESN’T except me to suck him off. Crazy right?

“Look who’s here on his only night off!” patting his shoulder and letting it linger there juust a little, circling around him to the other side of the bar and picking up the liquor to give him a refill.

“To see my favourite girl of course!” He yells, drawing attention from the greedy men in the audience, some of which who HAVE asked me to suck them off.

“Now now Jisung, no need to get all possessive of me”

“I can’t help it Lucy, you’re a gorgeous girl, and sweet let me tell ya. These greedy fuckers don’t deserve a single second of your time!” God, he really knows how to flatter a girl doesn’t he?

The conversation slowly went into Jisung explaining his day as I cleaned up behind the bar. Every now and then looking up to see him in his own little bubble, explaining his day with his whole body. God he really should be some kind of performer, maybe I should ask if he wants another job? Although he’d probably say no to stripping.

“-I swear Lucy, this guy was HUGE!” He continued, stretching out his arms like he was trying to show me how big the dude really was. He has a thing for over exaggerating.

“Well there’s no chance he’s bigger then you.” That’s probably the worst thing I’ve ever said, but it still makes the tips of Jisung’s ears turn pink.

“Ha, uhh- I mean, obviously! Just look at these guns-“ this is probably the 100th time he’s flexed his arms to me in the last hour, but I gotta say he is quite the looker.

The night from then is kinda boring, I had to go back and forth from the stage and the bar. Had a couple private sessions, which jisung wasn’t too happy with, but besides that it was pretty quiet, typical for a Tuesday night.

And finally, I’m clocking out and leaving this shit hole for a whole 10 hours. The last thing I wanna do right now though is think about the long shift I have tomorrow. Walking out of the ridiculously hot bar and into the crispy air of the night is a feeling I will never get over. A breathe of fresh air, literally. God I can’t wait to pass out when I get home, just wanna block out the rest of the wor-

“LuCy! Lucy!”

Oh for fucks sake!

“Yeah Craig, why aren’t you onto the next bar? We closed an hour ag-“

“Help me- help me please, Lucy I’m begging you”

“Craig seriously, I’m not in the mood for this bullshit again”

“No I’m serious! Lucy please, I need a place to sta-“

“NO! Nope, not happening”

“Bu-“

“Go home to your wife and kids Craig.”

And with that, he was off. Running through the alleyway, stumbling over garbage cans and his own feet towards the street and out of sight.

Why do customers seriously think that the pity party they throw is gonna get them in to our beds. It ain’t our fault their wives find out their spending every penny on strippers and alcohol. God I hope I don’t wake up in the morning, I don’t wanna deal with Craig’s whining bullshit at the asscrack of midday about how I should’ve let him come home with me. We’ll see what happens, I guess.

#ateez fanfic #ateez #kpop au #kpop scenarios #hongjoong #seonghwa #yunho #yeosang #san angst #song mingi #wooyoung #jongho #skz scenarios #bang chan #skz jisung #changbin #lee minho #ateez angst #skz angst

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rose-likesto-write · 2 years

Text

You matter the most..

Pairing: Winner's Song Min Ho x reader (gender neutral)

Genre: Fluff, cringest fluff

AU!: Idol member, established relationship

Warning: mention of cardiac arrest (once), bullying (mention of word)

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.3 K

A/N: Hey dear anon!! Thank you so much for requesting it!! I hope that you will like it and I am sorry if it wasn't something you wanted to read. Please it's a request to send me your valuable feedbacks, it genuinely means alot :)

Also this gif isn't mine..

Summary: Being in love is one feeling and your partner making you feel it day in and out is another..

'What is going on today? Why is everyone looking like this at me as if they are gonna open their mouth a blunder will occur' You thought while nibbling on the edge of your pen a habit which you developed as a result of being tensed.You didn't know what and why but you had this feeling as if it's important day for you but the there is as such no sign to confirm the day.

The whole day is weird, first all your colleagues are acting as if something has happened but they don't wanna tell you, your work bestie Gia had came up with a lame excuse which left you alone to do the project by yourself and that bully worker of yours nowhere to be present.

I mean, ofcourse you are happy that she isn't here because she terribly a pain in ass but like no matter what even if it's for one second you guys pass by you don't keep back from hurling a few sassy remarks.

She kinda hates you because she is delusional person and the reason you ask why? She came to know or rather saw who your boyfriend was which was none other than Song Min Ho aka Winner's Mino. (She was his die hard fan)

Mino is an angel in disguise in your life and you are always so so grateful and thankful that you have such a loving partner by your side. He is one of the live examples of duality, the way he speaks, his presence and aura gives the vibe of being powerful, strong headed but it's only you, his family, his friends and the fans who know his sweet and sensitive personality.

Now, speaking of Mino is that he wasn't able to talk you for the past two days but you didn't mind considering that he was currently in the foreign state preparing for a show at the moment.

Currently, it's 7 pm and you are almost through with the project just the final touches and rechecking of the final draft.You let a yawn escape before a knock came in on the door, "Please come in".

"Y/N, you may leave now and I know about the project as Gia already told me. Its okay, I will see to it. Have a great and happy birthday to you"Your boss said with a small smile before closing the door. "Okay, that's weird but today isn't my birthday. Its still 26th and my birthday is on 27th. Maybe he got confused. Anyways, let's go back!" You said to yourself before packing up and leaving the office.

Somehow, the happy birthday was running through your head but you didn't mind. It was almost quarter to 8 when you reached your apartment.On your way, you met your sweet neighbour an old lady in her mid 60s.

"Hello aunty. How are you? How is your health?" You said with a small smile."I am good darling. How are you doing? So, what's the plan for today? Are you going somewhere out?" She said while you gently shook your head. "I am okay but just tired considering I have to complete my project all alone and I don't have any plans."

"Why don't you have one? Its your special day today isn't it" She furrowed her eyebrows. "No, aunty I think you got confused but my birthday isn't today but tomorrow. Anyways, I will take your leave" with that you went towards your home.

While you were unlocking the door, your phone was vibrating. You took it out only to see the number of notifications coming up of 'updating the settings of phone'."You are troubling me alot for the past two days. Mino was right, I should have bought the new phone. Anyways let's get in".

As soon as you entered, the lights that were once off were switched on and song scream of 'Happy Birthday To You' was heard, giving you a good enough reason to have a cardiac arrest."OMG!!! WHAT IN THE WORLD J-"Happiest Birthday Dear!!" Your bestie Gia said with a smile and hugged you tightly followed by your family members. "I hope you loved your surprise!!!" Your parents said with huge smiles on their faces as your other friends and some office workers wished you. "So, that was why Gia you were giving me lame excuse and stuff but why my phone is show-

"We kinda might have done something in your phone though and especially it was already good as dead. It was perfect for us. We had to act crazy and inform almost all people as to not wish a birthday. Why did you think we came from the other route in morning?" Gia and your other friend Kiara said with mischievous smiles.

That's when it hit you as to why did your day seemed weird than before. You were all smiles but then you missed Mino, he wasn't here but at the same time he didn't even call you. Was he also part of the plan? Maybe so that your family can surprise you? You didn't know the answer.

"Thank you everyone! It means a lot. I s-"Nah dear! One major surprise is still left!!!" Your dad said with a small smile. "What is it dad?" You said with a confused look."

You remember how much you were crying and saying that we should shift near in your area or close by?" You had a big smile on your face, "OMG!!! Are you coming.. no, no wait ! Did you already shift in here?""Nah, baby. We still need a few months but we have this two surprises for you!!" Your dad said and shifted slightly enough to make some space for someone to fit in.

That's when he came with a gift in his hand. "Happy Birthday to you~ Happy Birthday to you~ Happy Birthday... Happy Birthday.. Happy Birthday to you~"Your boyfriend Mino came and you ran to him like a mad person. "Mino!!!!" You slightly started crying.

"Happy Birthday my love!!! I love you so much.. I am sorry that I didn't wish you. Me and your family had planned this small surprise but just like dad said that we have some surprises for you, do you wanna see them?"You excitedly nodded your head. "Okay, here we go!" He ruffled your hair. "Okay this is the present from mom and dad!! One of the surprises my bad" opening the top a cute little golden retriever was peaking its head out. "Oh, my god!! Thank you so much!!" You gently hugged the puppy and started kissing it and in return you earned alot of licks.

"Haha, you are do cute. Mino? Where is the other su-A gasp left from your mouth as now Mino was kneeling down with a beautiful diamond ring showcasing its glory was resting in the black box.

"Y/N Y/L/N!!! Its been almost 4 years since we have started dating. We went through all sorts of ups and downs, created alot of beautiful memories, had our own share of fair fights and arguments, have clicked a tons of terrible and embarrassing pictures and have stories. I don't wanna stop this here or maybe in future. I wanna continue this to till our last breath with our own little family. So, my small request is that accept me your beloved husband. Will you marry me?"Tears again started to threaten from your eyes while your parents and friends were hyping up you to say yes.

"Ofcourse, it's a yes Song Min Ho" you brokedown and he gently slipped the ring before kissing your crown. "Your happiness matters to me and I always wanted to be your happiness! You are my everything!!! You matter the most".

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blu-joons · 2 years

Text

BEST FRIEND WINNER A⇴Z HEADCANON ⇴ Song Minho

A ⇴ ATTENTION

He likes to know that you’re paying attention and so Minho will want your attention more than you want his. You’re the person that he wants to have listening to him the most and caring about what he has to say.

B ⇴ BICKER

You both have your moments when you want your own way, and bicker to let the other person know that too. You can squabble like kids when you both feel really passionate about what you want and try and disagree with the other person that what they want definitely isn’t as good as what you want.

C ⇴ COMFORT

He hates seeing you upset, and although Minho isn’t the best at comforting, he’ll always try his best when it comes to you. Every time when you get upset around Minho, you can expect an arm around your shoulders as he lets you know that he’s there whilst you vent, sob, or anything else that you want to do.

D ⇴ DISAGREEMENTS

Out of the two of you, Minho was the more likely to cause conflict as he had the shorter temper from time to time. He can get a little snappy when he’s getting stressed about work or worrying about the things that he has to do. But you know that once he’s had his snap, Minho will always apologise as he knows that whatever happened between the two of you stemmed from him getting annoyed.

E ⇴ EARLY YEARS

It took a little bit of time for your friendship to build, at the start there was definitely a little bit of awkwardness between the two of you. You weren’t necessarily hesitant around each other, but you wanted to get a better understanding of one another before you completely let your guards down. It was something that you laughed over now as you wondered why either of you ever got so nervous with the other.

F ⇴ FAMILY

Minho’s family were huge fans of yours, mainly because they knew just how much you meant to Minho too. He talked about you fondly and spoke about you with a wide smile on his face too which was what his family needed to know how much he meant to you. As someone that Minho adored, you were someone that his family adored too, even before they met you, their opinions were all so high towards you.

G ⇴ GETTING TOGETHER

Home was usually where you usually hung out, the two of you both just liked to be in the comfort of your own space. You’d sit in the background if Minho was busy doing something or make yourself at home if he decided to nap, just like how he decided to sprawl out to sleep at your home whenever he was there too.

H ⇴ HABITS

The two of you had a habit of forgetting about plans that you’d made with your friends and making plans just the two of you instead. You weren’t fans of the big and loud social occasions that were sometimes arranged, instead you preferred to just stay at home and watch something with food for just you two.

I ⇴ INSIDE JOKES

Your inside jokes were usually funny things that either of you had done around the other person. With the two of you being so comfortable with one another, you had your fair share of mishaps where one of you had tripped or sometimes said the wrong thing that the other person just wouldn’t let you forget.

J ⇴ JEALOUSY

He didn’t like anyone threatening his spot as your best friend, and Minho wasn’t afraid to let you know that he was jealous whenever anyone did too. He was good at hiding it around every other person, but for Minho he felt that it would be better to let you know how he was feeling about things. You hated him feeling jealous, and whenever he mentioned it to you, you’d be there to reassure him.

K ⇴ KICKS

Minho got a kick out of making you proud and hearing from you that he had done a good job. He loved the fact that you always hyped up his talents and didn’t let him be humble either, as much as he downplayed how good he was at his work and his hobbies, you refused to let him not realise how skilled he was.

L ⇴ LOVE

He loved how easy things were with you, nothing was ever too much trouble for Minho with you around. He would do anything for you, even if you asked him to get you a glass of water after he’d just sat down from getting one for himself. It was anyone else, he would say no, but when you did so much for him, he was more than happy to do the little things that kept your friendship working so well.

M ⇴ MEETING

The two of you first met when you were at school together, although at the time you remembered not being that close. A few years later you bumped into each other again, and started chatting about your old memories, in the end you exchanged numbers and found yourselves meeting up a lot more thereafter.

N ⇴ NONSENSE

You were definitely one of only a few that Minho let his guard down around. He let go around you because there was no pressure, no one telling him what he could do or not do, and no one judging him either.

O ⇴ OBSESSION

Minho was obsessed with how relaxed you were, using you as a calming influence in his life. He took a lot of inspiration from how chilled you were and tried to be as positive as you were as much as he could be.

P ⇴ PRECIOUS MOMENTS

The moments that meant the most to Minho were the ones when he could open up to you and get things off of his chest. He confided in you a lot about the things that were going on in his head, mainly because Minho knew that no one understood and offered advice in reply as well as you did for him.

Q ⇴ QUESTIONS

Your opinion was something that Minho valued a lot and so when he was working on something he would often ask you what you thought. Whether it was music, drawing, or anything else, he loved your view.

R ⇴ RANDOM FACTS

Every year for your birthday, Minho painted you a painting that you could keep, trying his best to paint something that the two of you had done over the year. You were a huge fan of his artwork and never failed to be surprised by the things that he created, treasuring every single year what Minho designed for you.

S ⇴ SUPPORT

If there was one person that Minho could count on to be in his corner, it was definitely you. If he mentioned to you that there was something coming up and that he was nervous about it, you’d make a note and remember to be there for him if you were able to, without telling him in advance that you’d be there.

T ⇴ TRIPS

Usually when you got time off, you both actually loved just taking a trip home. Shutting yourselves away for a while and doing your own things were the only things that the two of you needed. Minho especially loved having you at his place where he was comfortable and hoped that you would be comfortable too.

U ⇴ ULTIMATE

Together the two of you were inseparable, it was known by everyone that the two of you were the best of friends.

V ⇴ VISITS

It brought a smile to his face whenever you decided to Minho when he was being creative. Whether it was music, painting, or anything else, he loved having you there so that he could show you what he was up to.

W ⇴ WISDOM

He tried his best to use his own experiences to be able to offer up the best possible advice that Minho could to you.

X ⇴ XXXX

Usually when the two of you were by yourselves was when you were most affectionate with one another. You didn’t mind sitting close to one another, and definitely wouldn’t be afraid of hugging each other either.

Y ⇴ YOU

You were his favourite, the go-to person for Minho was always you.

Z ⇴ ZZZ

The comfort of home is something that Minho loves and so usually he’ll try and get you to go to his place more than take him to your place when you spend the evening together, as that’s definitely Minho’s favourite spot.

---

Masterlist

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catiuskaa · 5 months

Text

sway with me —bf!minho thoughts.

A/N: the bf!thoughts series is finished! I’m so happy I could finish it. I had so much fun coming up with these lil scenarios. Feel free to check them all out, they’re all linked in my masterlist!

(because everyone loved chan's edition so much and it's really easy to get ot8 brainrot for headcanons and because i love my little bunny boy minho~!)

(this ended up being longer than expected lol)

minho, who’s been training all afternoon inside the company’s practice room. He feels sweaty as he pants, laying on the floor.

minho, who’s so comfortable resting on the wooden floor that doesn’t even bother to open his eyes when the door creaks open, a known silhouette entering with small steps.

minho, who can’t stop a small smile that creeps from the deepest parts of his body when he hears your soft tone of voice call his name, almost in a whisper. “Minho, baby? Are you awake?” For a moment, he pretends to be asleep, and relaxes his body, feeling you move closer to him.

minho, who snickers before lauching his body over yours, rolling on the floor with your body pressed tightly against his, and then stops, smiling from all your giggling when he pins you down.

minho, who gently lowers his head and stays right above yours, almost tempting you to move when he boops your nose with his, then tenderly leaves a shy kiss on your forehead.

minho, who gets too shy after that display of affection that he grins slyly, abruptly letting all his weight on you.

minho, who teasingly refuses to move from on top of you, a childish mockery that you cherish because of how sappy and cute he looks when he wiggles his eyebrows and raises his tone of voice, just like a toddler.

minho, who blushes furiously after you enticingly start peppering his face with kisses, unconciously leaning for more, but then, he reminded himself where you both were.

minho, who quickly rushes back to his feet as you cackle, still on the floor. “Yeah. Reeeeeeally funny.” He mumbles, not being able to cover his red-tinted cheeks or his flustered smile.

minho, who says he has to finish his training. “just one more time, jagi.” He claims, lying through his teeth.

minho, who only wants to dance again because he loves to feel your stare on him as his body moves to the music, smirking at you through the mirror when your cheeks turn slightly pink.

minho, who grins like a fool when you recognize the song and stand up from the sofa, cheeky as you laugh and state that you know this dance better than he does.

minho, who lets you have the spotlight as you laugh, making up moves as you dance, letting the rythm and the melody guide your way.

minnho, who loves to see you dancing anytime, not only because of how good your skills may or may not be, but because how cheerful you look.

minho, who finishes practice and gets home with you with a big smile on his face despite how draining training can get sometimes.

minho, who thinks the best part of the day is when he comes out of the shower and you smile at him, moving your paperwork somewhere else as you start heating up dinner for both of you.

minho, who backhugs you and moves his hand from your waist to underneath your shirt, a move not overly sexual coming from him, but rather one that makes your heart flutter.

minho, who slowly sways your body as he humms, happy that you like dancing and cooking with him, but even happier that you are here with him.

(aish it got so fluffy i almost cried abkdbakdjakd so cute i love minho ajdjajdjkadka —more incomprehensible sounds from cuteness overload—)

#just look at him #HE LOOKS SO GOOD WITH GLASSES #i want to nomnom #HIS SMILE #i cant even #brb swooning #simping #stray kids #stray kids x reader #soft hours #lee minho fluff #stray kids fluff #minho headcanons #lee know #stray kids scenarios #lee know headcanons #skz scenarios #stray kids imagines

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sailorrlino · 2 months

Text

Rodeo | lmh (m)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Pairing: hitman!Minho x arms dealer! F. reader

𓆩⟡𓆪 Summary: Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. He likes it that way. When you appear on his target list, his relationship with you becomes quite the opposite - complicated, rough, and unreliable.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Word Count: 18,249

𓆩⟡𓆪 Genre: Cyberpunk | Smut | Angst | Peers to Something

𓆩⟡𓆪 Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

𓆩⟡𓆪 Warnings: Violence, world building, murder, discussion of murder, depictions of blood and fight sequences, brief mentions of drugs, depictions of wounds and treating them with syringes if you don’t like needles, explicit language, depiction of an anxiety attack, angst and self-doubt, Minho being an idiot, gun fights and scenes with weapons, some vague terms and references specific to the world building, sexually explicit content featuring oral (f. receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected sex, cum eating, bodily fluids, and mentions of spit in several places. I think that covers everything, for the most part.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N: This is what happens when writers just write what they're inspired for. After almost two months of being unable to write, I got this random idea and I just went with it and took advantage of the moment and... genuinely had so much fun writing this. It got so much longer and more complex than I meant to, but I hope you enjoy.

𓆩⟡𓆪 A/N 2: This work is heavily inspired by Fallout 4, Blade Runner, Altered Carbon and the lovely song Rodeo by WayV. I imagine Rodeo playing during the shootout scene at the bar. Additionally, a fun fact: I use the nato alphabet to communicate Minho's targets and reader's target in this spells out 'reader' in the nato alphabet :)

𓆩⟡𓆪 Posted: Sunday, March 3 2024

𓆩⟡𓆪 Disclaimer: All members of Stray Kids are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

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Any work is good work.

Minho isn’t so sure that his father would say that as he crouches down next to the body on the living room floor. His thigh muscles protest, aching and tight from hours of sitting crouched across the street in the chill of a high-rise building waiting for his prey to enter this very building.

Neon light bleeds through the foggy window behind him. The room is awash in watery pink as he pulls out his scanner with one hand and leans forward with the other, pressing his gloved fingers to the man's chin to push his head to the side. It rolls easily, giving a fleshy sound that might make someone squeamish as the man’s cheek hits the floor.

Any work is good work, Minho thinks as he scans the man's non-existent pulse with his watch. He sees the blue ring of the biochip flash beneath cooling flesh, his watch flashing green with a soft buzz. The man’s entire life flashes on the screen - full name, date of birth, ID number, blood type, and place of work. Everything about him casts a sickly green glow on Minho’s sharp face.

Tapping a few buttons on the watch face, he waits, holding his wrist near his mouth as the sound of a dial tone chimes once. It’s silent in the apartment, though he can hear the hum of airborne traffic a few blocks off as the roar of adrenaline winds down.

“Receiving,” a male voice answers. Minho doesn’t know who it is - he just knows he’s one of any of the Delegators who work for Collect Co.

“Collection request number alpha-echo-tango-delta complete, served by Collector 102598.”

“Collected alpha-echo-tango-delta confirmed. Please place a beacon before you leave. All credits for this Collection have been transferred to your account. Please wait five to seven business days before funds are available for use. Your next collection is in four hours, seven minutes, and eight United Seconds.”

The line goes dead. The glow of the watch makes him squint before he can lower his brightness, scrolling to his bank account. He sees the credits added with a transaction pending. When he was a kid, the number glowing at the bottom of the screen to indicate his balance might have excited him. Now, it’s just a number on a screen that confirms the power won’t go out at his apartment and that he won’t go hungry.

Minho’s knees crack as he stands. He groans and leans backward, pressing his hands into the small of his back. A series of cracks slither up his spine, making his eyes roll back as he shuts them for a moment and shivers.

He’s so goddamn sore.

Leaving the body on the carpet of the living area, he goes over to pick up the handgun resting on the counter. The energy weapon glows at his touch, syncing with his interface briefly before he holsters it inside his jacket.

While he is technically within the law to eliminate targets for Collect Co., Minho finds that most people find it unsettling when Collectors walk around with weapons. He hasn’t given much thought to what people think about him, but it certainly causes a lot less trouble when he looks like an average businessman going to and from work instead of a licensed killer.

The gun isn’t technically legal, either. He would probably get away with it if a United Enforcer stopped him. The hitmen of the privately funded but government-sanctioned Collect Co., do not technically outrank the government’s militia, but no one with a badge is going to tell a Collector no. Not if they can help it, anyway.

Tossing a beacon on the counter for the cleanup crew to track to the apartment and get rid of the body and clean, Minho heads outside into the rain. He ducks his head down against it, water sliding off the slicker jacket he hugs a little tighter. He feels warmth kick in and his mouth twitches at the sign of the heating system in the body armor on his chest is doing its job. A nifty little upgrade from you, he knows.

At the thought of you, Minho turns north toward the speed train, remembering that he needs an adjustment on his armor that is out of sync with his watch, and JumpPacks. He already used the last one about five hours ago and he feels the numbness of exhaustion buzzing at his edges, a warning sign that if he doesn’t get a jump or sleep he’s going to pass out.

Whichever comes first.

Smears of color splash across the wet sidewalk as he jogs down the steps to the train. It smells wet and foul, making him tuck his chin to his chest as he rushes to the fast-closing door of the train. He steps over the threshold just as the doors clang shut, the hissing of an airlock barely finishing before it launches forward.

He tenses to avoid being pitched forward into one of the standing railings. As the train rocks, the fluorescents above nearly blinding him, he finds a seat toward the back of an empty car. This late at night, there are only two other people in sight, both of them curled heaps of clothes on a seat, fast asleep.

Sleep tugs at him the moment Minho sits down. He has a twenty-minute ride to North Ward Three, dropping his head against the back of the seat and closing his eyes.

The light still hums behind his closed lids, making a splash of colors. There’s no sound save for the whine of the magnetic rail beneath his feet and the occasional mechanical creek as the vehicle sways.

He melts into the seat a little, limbs loose. Fuck he needs a JumpPack. The last forty-eight hours awake are wearing him thin at the edges, stretching him like fabric over a surface far too wide. The forty-eight-hour mark is when he starts to decline, and as soon as he starts to creep toward seventy, he knows it’ll get messy.

Minho is a lot of things, but he is ultimately human. The JumpPack can help him push beyond shaky hands, imagining things that aren’t there and the foggy thinking, but they won’t keep him sharp forever.

As if proving his point, Minho hangs somewhere between awake and asleep, suspended in a dreamy space where he can still feel the rocking of the train but doesn’t feel the ache in his limbs or the pressure growing behind his eyes.

He flinches when the chime echoes above him at the next stop, eyes flying wide for a moment as his gaze sweeps the train car, his hand on the inside of his jacket where he grips the handle of a very nice knife.

No one enters the car. It’s just him and the other two sleeping people - he isn’t sure they’re even alive, really - and he relaxes, cursing at himself. This time when he drifts, he does so with a little more awareness, hand tucked warm against his chest and wrapped firmly around the blade.

It’s a unique little knife, snug in the sheath that’s buckled to the leather harness under his jacket. The handle is firm and made from non-conductive material that fits his exact grip from the meticulous measurements you took of his hand. You crafted the blade from a metal alloy you’d been playing around with and lined it with a highly conductive silver alloy you’d perfected.

When the button on the end of the handle is pressed, 5,000 volts of lethal electricity pulses through the sliver, finishing off a victim if he manages to fuck up a killing blow. It’s saved his life a few times in situations like now when he’s exhausted and his guard is blurry, or when someone has decided to make him the target for robbery.

A lot of your little gadgets have saved his life. You like to remind him every time he visits you. He doesn’t mind, though. You’re an easy enough arms dealer - easier than anyone else in the city, really. You don’t ask the kind of questions that he doesn’t want to answer, and you’re always two steps ahead of him. Even your prices are fair, which he used to find suspicious.

But Changbin and Jisung both swear by your tech and your business, and Minho is just happy that he doesn’t have to worry about you trying to give him a shitty deal or fuck him over.

The Collection industry is made for fucking over. He knows the system can be fucked with, especially the closer to the top you get.

Almost everyone tries to fuck Minho over. More than once he’s shown up as a Collection Request. He doesn’t know if it’s the system trying to clean up after itself or someone pulling strings to get him out of their way. It’s probably both, but every time it happens, he’s managed to evade it.

A Reverse Collection, those in his industry call it. In a way, it’s sort of like a pop quiz. He gets attacked or shot at, and if he wins, he passes the test and reverses the Collection, earning him more time without any coworkers trying to murder him. The Delegators don’t seem to care which Collector murders the other, and he’s never suffered for coming out on top.

Any work is good work.

Minho snorts at the thought, feeling the deep twinge in his extremities as he rouses himself, the train coming to his stop.

Rain sluices the streets in North Ward Three. Here, the streets are busier with an assault of people, smells, and sounds. LED umbrellas float along like jellyfish as people walk from pleasure house to food stand to fight arena. The hologram advertisements and neon signs are louder here, inescapable.

“The United Republic stands for justice, equality, prosperity and freedom, bought by the noble sacrifice of the United Church. Join us today-” Minho presses the ad blocker on his watch.

Immediately the holograms vanish and there’s just the neon watercolor reflecting off the umbrellas as he walks down the stairs of Neon Rodeo, the orange lights making his eyes throb as he reaches the door manned by two guards.

They know him immediately but they scan the biochip in his neck anyway. When they’re pleased, they step aside and the door slides automatically, the base vibrating his ribcage as he steps into the dingy light, hesitating to let his eyes adjust.

True to the name, there is neon fucking everywhere. The servers are dressed in chaps with LED lights and glittering tassels, their cowboy hats flashing smiling faces on top of their head. The neon here is low-grade and covered in layers of dust, giving the air a dusky, burning sort of glow as he walks around tables.

Eyes follow him as he goes. The regulars are familiar with him, tipping their head in greeting though he doesn’t do more than watch them from the corner of his eyes. The servers all slow-smile at him, teeth too white and too glittering. He finds them more unsettling than attractive, and he quickens his step to the unmarked door at the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool.

Hyunjin is perhaps the most unsettling thing in the Neon Rodeo. His eyes are a strange grey, looking at Minho as he approaches. There is a predatory gaze in Hyunjin’s eyes that never fades, a sort of knowing in them that Minho can’t shake. Minho knows Hyunjin is entirely human, but every time he approaches the man, Minho is suddenly unsure.

Nightcrawler.

Minho has heard the whispers about Hyunjin. He believes them, too. Everything about Hyunjin is like a carefully balanced blade, ready to tip in either direction. His senses are honed to perfection and he has a habit of both blending in and standing out depending on his mood.

And he can kill. Minho has seen the lethal man in action a single time when someone tried to push past him into the Builder’s sanctuary. Hyunjin had been so fast that even Minho had a hard time keeping up, struck by how efficiently and quickly the former assassin moved.

Unnatural. Everything about him is uncanny, which is in line with everything Minho has heard about the underground sect of killers. What Minho does is legally sanctioned murder. The Nightcrawlers do something far more sinister, their skills going beyond the natural desire for order in the United Republic.

Agents of disorder and chaos. That’s what some say. Minho isn’t sure where his opinion lands on the spectrum, but he gives them a healthy distance and respect either way.

Even the way Hyunjin sits on the barstool is unnatural, one foot kicked up on the bar between his legs, the other stretched out in front of him as he leans forward, his hand on the front lip of the seat.

“Hello, Cowboy,” Hyunjin greets, voice deep and smooth.

His hair is blonde today, slicked back out of his face, the ends touching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a black button-up with a cow print pattern across the shoulders and white, beaded tassels outlining the pattern. His dark pants are tight and he makes no effort to hide the gun on his waist or the knife handle peeking out the top of his cowboy boot.

“I don’t like when you call me that.”

Hyunjin’s smile makes the hair on Minho’s arms stand on end. “I know, but I like it.”

The guard makes no move to let Minho in and he tries not to show he’s irritated. By the way the grin spreads on Hyunjin’s face, Minho can safely assume he isn’t doing a great job. “Is the Builder in or not?”

“Who is to say?”

“Just tell her I’m here.”

“If she’s in, she already knows.” Hyunjin nods toward an empty stool at the bar. “You can wait, Cowboy.”

Gritting his teeth, Minho turns on his heel to sit on the stool a few feet away. Hyunjin’s uncanny eyes follow him, never leaving him once. Minho ignores him in favor of asking for water at the bar, the headache pressing behind his eyes growing more intense with the loud music and the choking smell of cigars.

When the water comes back, it’s warm without ice. He glares at the bartender who has already moved on to paying customers. The water is tepid and a little sour, making him cringe. He’s pretty sure it came from the faucet, but he sips on it anyway, eying the grimy fingerprints on the glass.

A cowgirl slides up next to him, her pink vest pulled tight across her chest, showing sweat-slick skin. She smells like vanilla, the scent overpowering as she leans in, lacquered lips grinning.

“Don’t,” Minho grunts, sipping the water. “Not interested.”

“But you’re so pretty.”

A severe reprimand dies on his tongue as Hyunjin appears like a wraith, leaning in close to murmur, “Builder is ready for you, Cowboy.”

The cowgirl cowers away from the Nightcrawler, pressing up against the counter and fleeing as soon as he slinks away. If Hyunjin is offended, he doesn’t show it. He slips back onto the stool with that same eager lean, watching Minho through narrowed eyes as the Collector gets up and walks briskly to the now-open door.

Minho doesn’t turn around when the door shuts behind him, immediately cutting off all sound. The door leads to a step of steps, mirrored walls on either side with glowing orange light strips above them. He climbs the stairs as quickly as he can, his head swimming a little as he gets to the top.

The entire second floor is a massive, open-concept workshop. Tables covered with papers and instruments are placed in a chaotic maze, glowing screens with slow-spinning schematics and drawings giving the space a clinical, blue light. Workbenches with user interfaces hum along the corners of the room. Closed metal doors and offices stretch down a hall toward the pack, all under high-tech padlocks and surely protected with some sort of weapon system, if Minho had to guess.

Amid the organized chaos is you. The Builder.

Minho hates calling you that. He thinks it’s a little ridiculous of a title, but it suits you. There is nothing in this room you haven’t built and no weapon on his person that was not carefully crafted by you. He hesitates to watch you, standing at the edge of your luminescent domain as you lean over something, a small welding tool in your hand.

“Do you need a formal invitation, Cowboy?”

He doesn’t mind the name from you. He tells himself that it’s because, despite his predisposition to not liking people, he doesn’t dislike you. You’re easy to deal with, sort of like the weapons you make. You make his life functional and you’re to the point. He admires that, and he’s willing to take a little bit of prodding and joking from you as a trade-off.

Wordlessly, he floats toward you. You don’t look up to greet him, but you kick your foot out and hook the toe of your boot underneath the leg of a stool to pull it out for him to sit on. He can smell a hint of jasmine and amber wafting from where you sit, making him clench his jaw as he fights a shiver.

“I don’t have long,” he says, forgoing the seat. “Just need JumpPacks and wanted to drop off my armor. It’s having trouble connecting with the interface of the watch. I hit it pretty hard last night and I think I damaged the receiver.”

That gets your attention, drawing your sharp gaze up to him. But instead of dropping your eyes to his chest where the flexible armor stretches across his chest, you zero in on Minho’s face.

Your silence is uncomfortable, but he remains unmoving, willing himself to stay in place under your calculating gaze. You lean forward, eyes drinking him in, examining him the way you would a schematic for a weapon or a complicated piece of data.

Minho busies himself with looking at you in return. There’s a crease growing deeper in your brow and your pretty mouth - he doesn’t remember when he started thinking it was pretty - begins to dip, displeased at something you find in his face.

“When is the last time you slept?”

“Are you psychoanalyzing me?” You level a stare at him and he feels his mouth twitch. Minho thinks besides the occasional joke from Jisung - which he defines as Jisung accidentally hurting himself - you might be the only person who makes him want to smile. “Fifty-two hours, eighteen minutes and forty United Seconds.”

“No to the JumpPack,” you say finally. “Sleep.”

“I have another target in three hours, twenty-eight minutes and fifteen United Seconds.”

“Down the hall and second door on the right. Sleep for two hours. It won’t kill you.” He opens his mouth to protest you cut him off, “I’ll be done by the time you’re up. Take off your armor.”

His hands open and close. You’ve never declined a JumpPack before. You’ve definitely never offered sleep before. He stands buoyed by his confusion before he reluctantly sheds the jacket. It crinkles in the silence as he shucks it from his shoulder and neatly folds it, placing it on the stool you had intended for him to sit on.

Next, he sheds the holster, his gun, and a few knives clanking as he does. You seem amused by the amount of weapons he’s managed to shove in the leather straps and he shrugs a little at your arched brow.

Minho’s shirt is more armor than a shirt. It’s made from highly coveted synthetic material with hard but flexible geometric pieces stitched in that sync with his watch to turn on a light energy shield, pulse when there’s an energy weapon aimed at him, and generally keep anyone from being able to stab him. You’ve also added little things like warming sensors and anti-theft.

Delicately, Minho peels off the shirt. He marvels as it moves, surprised at the give and flex of the material every time. He hands it over and you snatch it, tossing it on your work counter as if it’s not the most expensive piece of technology he owns.

Immediately he’s covered in goosebumps. Your studio is bitter cold and you always wear sweaters and jackets with sleeves pulled over your hands. You’re dressed as such now, the too-long sleeves on your arms pooling over your hands as he stands there, trying not to shiver.

You pay no mind to his armor, instead standing up and twisting your mouth in a frown as your gaze skirts his chest and stomach. For a second he feels self-conscious, which he thinks is a little ridiculous as he glances down his chest. He realizes there is bruising blooming across him, spider webbing across to show when the armor unsynced and he took a few hard punches.

Minho holds his breath when you lift your hands, as though you’re going to brush the tips of your fingers over each wound. Your hands are smaller than his and far more delicate, nimble fingers reminding him of artists. His mother was an artist. Her slim hands and careful brushstrokes are one of the few things he remembers about her.

That, and that she chose to leave him.

Minho finds himself so hypnotized by your hands that your voice startles him when you say, “Three hours, twenty-seven minutes and five seconds, Cowboy.”

You drop your hands and step away. He nods and sheds his watch as well, handing it over. “Alright.”

With heavy footsteps, he follows the directions to the appointed room. He’s a little off balance, his hip catching the corner of a table as he goes. He curses loudly, hands shooting to his hip where pain blooms from the jab. Your laughter trills behind him and he scowls over his shoulder at you, but you’re unfolding his armored shirt.

Muttering under his breath, he goes to the hall to the second door on the right. He’s never been in the hall before, but there are several doors lining each side. He carefully tries the handle, glancing up at the ceiling where a camera stares at him.

The handle gives under his hand easily and he swings the door open to what looks like a very small and well-kept medical room. He raises his brows as he steps in and closes the door behind him. There’s no lock on the door, his finger brushing across the handle to find one. He thinks about grabbing the chair tucked into the desk and sticking it under the handle, but the thought evaporates as quickly as it forms.

He’s not in danger here.

Slowly, he trods to the cot. It’s a standard size with a thin mattress and scratchy blankets. Carefully, he sits down and immediately his body sighs. Minho’s eyelids flutter as he sags for a second, shoulders rolling inward as he curves in on himself, exhaustion pressing in.

He needs to take off his boots, but his arms feel heavy. He promises himself that he’ll do it in five more minutes before he gives up and lays down on his side, kicking his feet up boots and all onto the cot. The room is cool so he reaches for the blankets, uncaring that they scrape against his bumps and bruises.

The last fifty-some-odd hours begin to press in on Minho, a physical force that squeezes everything out of him until he’s fading fast into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

A gentle knock pulls Minho from a heavy sleep. He feels the dregs of it like a weighted shadow he can’t shake off, groaning and blinking at the ceiling a few times. His limbs feel heavier than ever and his neck cracks as he rolls it to the side to look at the room he’s in.

He suddenly remembers where he is, flinching a little as he sits up, movements jerky with nervousness. The room is still dark and cool, the itchy blanket falling to the floor as he sits and stares toward the door where there’s another knock.

“Come in,” he rasps, voice deep and rough with sleep.

A crack of light appears in the doorway as you slip in. You’ve got your arms full of stuff, using your elbow to smack the touchpad near the door. Dark orange light fills the room, gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt his vision but bright enough to see that the stuff you’ve brought in is food and several bottles of water and some sort of blue liquid.

Minho eyes all of it warily, straightening as you stand in front of him, holding it out. He doesn’t move to take it and your mouth presses in a flat, firm line. “I know Collectors don’t have to be smart, but I do assume you know how to utilize the main food groups of the pyramid.”

He can smell the jasmine and amber again, soothing. “Why did you bring me food?”

“Because you look like shit, Cowboy. Don’t go losing your mind over a small gesture of goodwill.”

Chagrined, he snatches the items from your hand. He immediately realizes that there are energy bars, protein bars, and packs of gel that will replenish immediate levels of hormones and vitamins. He eyes you curiously as he sets the pile on the bed next to him, ripping a foil back open with his teeth.

You cross the room to lean against the medical table in the corner, crossing your arms over your chest. When he doesn’t eat right away, you raise your brows, waiting. He pops the end of a gel back in his mouth and squeezes, immediately tasting blueberry and lemonade. It’s not half bad, making him hum in fascination.

That gets a grin from you, his mouth twitching at the corner again as he works the gel in his mouth to break it apart.

“Fixed your armor. How hard did you knock the watch?” His guilty expression tells all and you scowl. “It’s made with durast carbonate. It’s pretty shockproof.”

“Didn’t mean to. Some guy’s goons jumped me when I was calling in the Collection. It um… took a bullet.”

“How did they get the jump on you, hmm?” He stares. “Were you tired?”

Instead of answering, he tosses the empty gel back on the bed and picks up a protein bar. He looks at it, squinting his eyes in the dim light. It’s peanut butter flavored, which he enjoys. He rips it open with his teeth and tears into it, realizing just how hungry he is.

Minho has no idea when his last meal was. He thinks you know his line of thinking, but you don’t say anything more. You’ve already gotten your barbs in and you don’t intend to poke until he’s truly annoyed or embarrassed, which he appreciates.

Without another word, you push off the desk and head to the door, slipping back through to leave him alone while he chews absently.

Alone, Minho realizes the importance of accepting food from you without second-guessing it. He slows his chewing, contemplating about that.

Minho’s relationship with you is like a good weapon - uncomplicated, refined, and trustworthy. Your tech has never failed him, you’ve always been reliable for a fast turnaround time or understanding of what he’s asking for, and you’ve never sold information about him.

Ever. He had tried to buy information from you on himself through multiple channels and pseudonyms just to see if you would, but he’d been met with steely silence each time.

He eats with a little more enthusiasm as he realizes he does trust you. You’re as steadfast as the guns you build, and there is a confidence in that that he can at least resonate with.

Examining the contents of the blue liquid, he realizes it’s electrolytes and mineral compounds. As he takes long gulps, he realizes he feels infinitely better already, senses sharp, aches a little less terrible, and his headache is gone entirely. He’s not at a hundred percent, but he’s a hell of a lot better than if he had waited around for his next Collection.

When he finishes, he crumbles the trash together and tosses it into the incinerator. He hears the fire hiss as it destroys the waste and sends the fumes somewhere to be turned into energy.

In the main part of your lab, Minho spots you. He hesitates in the hall for a moment, watching you play with his watch. Movement in the corner of the room makes him tense up, hand going to the knife in his boot. He realizes it’s just Jeongin sliding across the room on a rolling chair, pushing away from his computer to examine what you’re doing.

Minho only relaxes marginally. He’s still getting used to seeing your apprentice in your workspace, and though the youth is excitable and intelligent, Minho refuses to let Jeongin near any of his builds. The trust he’s established with you over the last three years does not extend to apprentices he’s only known for a few months, no matter how much you trust them.

You trust the Nightcrawler too, and Minho cannot fathom why.

As though sensing you on the edge of the room, you turn and look at him over your shoulder. The corner of your mouth lifts up and you beckon him eagerly before hunching over whatever you’re working on again. He strolls over, crossing his arms over his chest to lean against your worktable on the other side of you, eyeing Jeongin on your other side.

“Hello, Collector. How are you today?” Jeongin asks politely, giving Minho a smile that touches his eyes.

Minho says nothing. You elbow him sharply in the ribs and he coughs, clutching his stomach as he mumbles, “Fine, you?”

“Doing great, thanks! This piece of tech is a marvel.”

“My watch?”

It is his watch. A green light flashes on the underside of the face, the bio scanner that connects with the one with his neck to monitor his nervous system. You push the watch toward him and he carefully picks it up, brushing his thumb across the cool, glass screen.

An interface lights up again. He can’t figure out what’s so special until you gesture for him to put it on. It fits nicely, the perfect size. As he slides it into place and looks at the watch face, a diagram of thin body armor comes up, spinning. Except it looks different than the diagram that he’s used to, giving you a questioning look. You point to the corner of the room at a mannequin.

He walks over to it, cocking his head to the side as he stops in front of it. It’s far different from the armored shirt he wears. The contraption is equal parts ribcage and the thorax of a spider. The material looks like leather but feels hard to the touch like metal.

Skirting his fingers to the hem, he bends the bottom of the shirt, watching as it flexes easily. It makes no sense to him how something could be so hard and flex immediately. If he were to guess, whatever the cloth is made from is a newer technology than he has access to. Perhaps more bio-engineered spider web.

Minho’s fingers skirt inside of it, brushing across a strange, prickling fabric. It doesn’t hurt, but he brushes his fingers back and forth, rubbing the material between his fingers. It’s abrasive, but he can’t imagine what it is.

Blue flashes on the diagram on the watch. He pauses and presses his fingers to the needle-thin fabric. The watch flashes again and lines of color light up on the diagram, showing his nervous system in different, complex colors. He raises his brows. It’s far more sophisticated than what he came in with.

“The needles,” he calls, not taking his eyes off the contraption. “Do they connect with me?”

“Yes. When you put it on, it syncs with your biochemistry.” You get up and walk toward him. “You won’t even feel them. They’re the smallest on the market right now, and incredibly accurate. They use them in military armor to report back live health reports and status during enfighting. They’re more accurate than the sensors lined in your last one.”

“What’s the point, though?”

You reach out and tap the watch. He watches curiously as a series of icons pop up, each a different color. “Inside of this,” you instruct, tapping the hard shell, “Is a series of chemical compounds. When you have on the armor underneath your shirt, you can tap to inject what you need. The needles don’t push deep, but they’re high-grade enough to break the barrier needed to disperse the compounds.”

Minho looks up at you, silent. You don’t notice his trepidation, carrying on as you go into salesperson mode, explaining everything. “Blue is elektrolytes,” you instruct, pointing to it. “Green is a chemical compound of cortisol and adrenaline. Yellow is endorphins and an incredibly high-dose painkiller.”

“And purple?”

“Jump,” you deadpan. “But a compounded version Jeongin and I have worked on that lasts longer with less damaging effect. You should be able to sleep easier after using it. And you won’t need several JumpPacks a day to keep going. I can give you refills too, since it’s non-addictive.”

Minho stares. “What?”

“What part didn’t you get?”

“This is for me?” You scowl but he immediately notices the way you divert your eyes. You glance up at the ceiling, shifting from foot to food. “This is worth a million United Credits at least. I can’t afford it.”

“Do you see a price tag?”

“You can’t give me this for free.”

“Of course I can. It’s just a prototype, so if it accidentally malfunctions and sends all injection options to your body at once and kills you, well…” You shrug. “At least you didn’t pay me. Consider yourself a test subject. I’ve never integrated the needle network into armor before. I don’t have the builds the military uses, just intel. I had to do it from scratch, so it might not work. Your current armor doesn’t protect you from plasma. This does.”

Minho doesn’t buy your bullshit for two seconds. He knows you wouldn’t give him this if it would risk killing him. For all your jesting and affectation, Minho has learned how to read you pretty well, and the way you blow him off and scoff tells him everything he needs to know.

It is a favor and a gift, and a new sort of olive branch that he is unsure how to accept or take from you. Taking this gift worth more than his entire salary complicates things.

Did you make this specifically for him? He’s not sure. But the fact that he wants the answer to be yes is worse than anything else he can think of.

Minho has peers. You’re a peer. Always have been. Anything else would complicate the simplicity of the relationship, and Minho immediately steps back and removes the watch. You watch him with razor-sharp intelligence, drinking him in as he holds out the watch to you.

“The one I have is sufficient enough, Builder.”

You snatch the watch from him, pivoting on your heel and walking with a ramrod-straight spine back to the table. For a second he thinks you’re going to kick him out but then you take a breath and melt into a smile, though a little sharp at the edges and not reaching your eyes.

“Fixed the connection. I also reinforced it again. Give me a moment to sync to your old armor.”

Old armor. As if the new one is still his. His stomach flips and he grimaces.

The affectation in your voice makes Minho uncomfortable. He doesn’t move, watching you tap viciously against the screen on your work desk. Jeongin spins a pen in his hand, glancing between the two of you nervously. When he notices Minho glaring at him, he grins awkwardly and pushes his chair behind one of the clear screens, his face distorted by blue lettering and diagram.

Wordlessly, you hand him the watch and turn away when he takes it. You say nothing else, moving on to a different project as Minho delicately picks up the shirt. He slides it over, feeling the warmth seep into his cool skin. He meticulously pulls the hardness with weapons on, followed by his jacket.

Fully dressed, he waits for you to say something. He doesn’t know what he expects - or wants - you to say. But he pauses anyway, eyes on your bent shape. His gaze flits to your hands, delicate fingers typing wildly, tense as you wait for him to leave.

It feels like a stone has sunk to the bottom of Minho’s stomach. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, torn between walking out and preparing for his next Collection and staying to… what? He doesn’t know. He has no idea what to say or do, but he feels the palpable shift in your mood.

So Minho chooses the easiest option. He nods to himself and heads toward the exit. You don’t spare him a second glance but he certainly looks at you out of the corner of his eye. Your jaw is clenched and you tap with a ferocity that thinks might shatter your desktop interface.

As soon as the door opens, Minho is drowning in thumping base and synth again. Hyunjin leans on the stool, this time with his back against the wall and his glittering eyes focused on Minho. Though the former Nightcrawler wasn’t in the room, Minho has a sneaking suspicion that Hyunjin knows everything that happens in the Builder’s workshop.

Hyunjin’s smirk is all-knowing and Minho storms by him, hating him for it.

Rain no longer falls from a dark sky. Opaque, charcoal skies stretch above him, lines of moving air traffic creating layers of latticework. Looking at the watch - which shows his normal armor once more - tells him it's in the early morning hours now.

The streets are not as busy as the night before. There are still glaring advertisements and he spots a group of cloaked United Church members walking around to accept alms and recruit, but the energy is muted outside of the clubs and pleasure houses.

Morning commuters fill the speed train tunnels. United Travel Agents lurk in the crowd, watchful eyes on anyone causing trouble or trying to double up on the scanners as travelers pass through, machines charging their United Credits as they go.

Minho falls into the dull buzz of morning travel. Glancing at his watch, he knows he has enough time to go home and change. He likes to receive his calls while he’s at home anyway. He tries not to replay the last conversation between the two of you. The offer you’d made him. The meaning behind it, whatever it may be.

It’s nearly impossible, but he manages. Especially once he gets into his apartment, sinking into the routine of showering, changing, and sliding back into his clothes like a second skin. As soon as he reties his boots, his watch begins to ring.

“Receiving,” he answers, straightening up.

“Collection echo-tango-foxtrot-bravo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

“Collection accepted.”

The line goes dead. Minho slides his weapons into their holsters, then pulls on his rain jacket. It always rains in the city, like God is weeping for what he has become.

Any work is good work.

Minho leaves the apartment to take another life.

The water runs red in Minho’s shower. He stares it for a while, hot water rushing down his neck, shoulders and back in rivulets. It turns pink the longer he stares, the wound on his leg bleeding less and less.

The irony is not lost on him that if he had accepted your gift, he might not have taken a gnarly hunting knife to the thigh. He was lucky that it was an energy weapon, the blade cauterizing the wound immediately. He’d had to pick the wound back open to flush out the dead, burned skin and pour burning antiseptic on it.

Shifting, Minho examines the wound. Pain blooms in his thigh as he turns, making him suck in a sharp hiss. The wound is to the bone. He knows he’s lucky it was not a well-made weapon, the ion pulse too weak to sever his limb. Still, it’s a deep wound and it would surely fuck him up if he didn’t have the next twenty-four hours to himself.

If the knife had been one of yours…

A pulse of frustration echoes through him. He presses his closed fist to the old tile of the shower wall, feeling the dissonance between the scalding water and cool tile steady him. His knuckles are sore from the last Collection - which had gone wrong in every way possible - and he’s brutally aware of just how much everything hurts.

Yet the ache isn’t what bothers him. His Collection target getting the jump on him from inside intel isn’t what bothers him. Minho has had that happen enough times that he no longer feels surprised when a Collection knows he’s coming.

What fucking bothers him is the ripple effect of his rejection of your offer made.

Minho shuts off the water and steps out the water carefully. He can barely put weight on the leg, gritting his teeth as he grabs a towel and hobbles out of the bathroom, the steam billowing out into the tiny apartment and dissipating.

Blue neon lights from the shop across the way burn in his window. He hardly needs to turn the lights on in his own home to see in the dark, the ever-present glow of blue guiding the way.

Carefully, he sits on his bed. Another pulse of pain from the wound makes him shiver and take several deep, steadying breaths. He peels back the towel at the waist, revealing a single, thick thigh with a horrible cut right in the meat of it.

“Fuck,” he whispers. Walking around has made it bleed again, scarlet trickling toward the towel.

Trying not to disturb the wound, he reaches for the medical kit under the bed. The metal is cool to the touch as he flips the latches, rummaging around the bandages, antiseptics, and gels until he finds what he’s looking for.

Minho takes the single, long syringe and uncaps it with his teeth, spitting the cap on the floor somewhere. He flicks his hand a few times, holding it up to make sure there are no bubbles in the vial. Holding his wound carefully with one hand and with the syringe in the other, he inserts the needle deep into the flesh, the sting minor compared to the throbbing ache the cut itself emanates.

The compound burns as he injects himself. He clenches his teeth, pushing down on the plunger with steady pressure. He can already feel the numbness spreading in his leg as the local anesthesia takes root. He knows he’ll be itching when it wears off, the tiny nanobots working to stitch the muscle and tissue back together already making his skin crawl.

DeepStitch is an expensive thing to have. He pulls the syringe out carefully, glancing at the medical kit. It only came with one, meaning he was going to have to replace the vile. Medical compounds made for healing abnormal wounds cost a fortune, especially the type with micro-technology to assist the process.

Tossing out the empty syringe, Mingo lays on his bed, uncaring if he’s damp and in a towel. The numbness in his thigh spreads, making him shiver. He tries not to think about the fact that there are thousands of microscopic bots working on internally stitching his muscles an tendons as quickly as they can before the blood in his body deteriorates them.

The medical advancement of this world is beyond Minho, but he’s grateful for it as he drifts in a half-sleep. He finds it harder to sleep after using JumpPacks, his body unable to adjust from the constant state of false energy and adrenaline.

It makes him think about your stupid fucking offer again. A piece of armor that could sync with him and balance his hormones and chemical compounds at the tap of a wrist. Something that high caliber for a low-level contract killer was beyond him.

There was crazy, and then there was that.

Minho wonders if you’ve been charging him fairly, suddenly. He’s always thought the weapons and tech you provide him with were good prices. They were well-made but always within his budget, albeit he stopped looking at what you were billing him a long time ago. Now that he knows you’re willing to offer something that he’d only find on a United Praetor in the military, he wonders if you’ve been cutting him deals.

He’s never asked the others. Changbin and Jisung seem friendly with you, enough to make Minho wary about asking them questions. Though they’re the closest things that Minho has to friends, he doesn’t trust them whenever it comes to you.

Jisung already thinks it’s sweet that Minho is nice to you, and he hates that. Even if it’s true.

Time fades away as Minho circles his conversation with you over and over again. He examines every moment of it. When he can surmise nothing else of the interaction but you offering an olive branch of friendship, something a step beyond peers, he goes back to all of his other interactions.

He remembers almost every one of them.

Minho’s memory is fine-tuned. It has to be in his line of work. But the memories of you are particularly sharp. He’s able to recall the way you always poke fun at him to the exact line of his tolerance, the way you always know how to get in a good jibe without actually pissing him off. The way that you let Jisung and Changbin have it in front of him for his benefit, especially after they’ve irritated him, like you’re giving him a gift or saying I’m on your team.

Thoughts of you ultimately lead to other things like the way your eyes reflect the blue light of your many screens. Or the way you always smell like jasmine and amber. The way you pull your sleeves over your hands in sweater paws because it’s bitter cold in your studio to avoid explosions and corrosion of items. The way the nickname Cowboy runs so smooth off your tongue, making his toes curl.

Minho’s fingers twitch when he thinks about brushing the backs of his knuckles against your soft skin. He’s thought about it before and immediately cringed at the fantasy. Now, between exhaustion clinging to him and the numb limb, he doesn’t jerk away at the idea.

He finally falls asleep thinking of you and what it would be like to accept that olive branch.

The ringing of Minho’s watch wrenches him from sleep. He sits up straight in bed, gasping and hand shooting toward the nightstand where there’s a draw with one of his guns. He realizes that his wrist is vibrating and when he looks at the screen, he sighs with equal parts tension and regret as he realizes it’s work calling.

Fuck. He slept for almost twenty hours straight.

Clearing his throat, he answers. “Receiving.”

“Collection romeo-echo-alpha-delta-echo-romeo has been assigned to Collector 102598. You have five United Hours to complete your Collection.”

Information flashes on Minho’s watch and he feels the world disappear from underneath his feet. Your name, age, permanent place of residency address, and anything the government has both legally and illegally obtained flashes before him. He’s never even seen your full name before and there it is, glowing on his watch as he stares at the information.

It feels obscene to know any of this. He flicks his wrist, turning off the display. He doesn’t want to see any of it, doesn’t want to see when you were born, doesn’t want to see what ward you pay taxes in, doesn’t want to know your criminal history.

Minho’s ears are ringing. The Delegator does not confirm that Minho has heard or received the assigned target for Collection. Minho stares at the wall, his vision blurring at the edges as the name - your name - echoes in his mind over and over again. He hears it at the same rhythm as his pounding heart, pumping blood through his system as his watch flashes a high heart rate warning.

Your name. Your full government name and ID number. He’s only ever known your first name, but you’ve always been Builder to him anyway. Minho can’t remember if he’s ever said your name, and suddenly he wants to. He wants to know what it sounds like shaped by his mouth, what it tastes like on his tongue. Wants to say it so many different ways, laughing, smirking, sighing–

Three years and he can’t believe he’s never so much as said your name, and now that very name is on his list to kill.

Indecision roots his feet to the spot. This isn’t like a Reverse Collection where other hitmen try to kill him and he can get away with killing them instead, clearing his name for a little longer. This is a direct and finite order to eliminate you. There is no alternative to this Collection.

Irreversible.

Running his hands through his hair, he looks around his apartment. It looks unlived-in and completely impersonal. Just like the impersonal way he calls you Builder, as though not using your fucking name makes it more sterile. As if it keeps you further away from earning his trust.

Which you have earned. Implicitly. Minho can think of no one else he would let take care of him. That he would sleep or eat in the presence of. That he trusts not to kill him in his sleep while he’s unarmed.

Now he’s supposed to murder you?

Bile turns in his stomach. He hears the ticking of the clock on the wall. Every second inches closer to the decision he has to make.

Will he or won’t he?

Minho grabs his gun from the nightstand and walks toward the door.

He’s only a few steps toward it when he realizes he’s not dressed or prepared for whatever he is about to do - what is he about to do? He has no idea. All he knows is that he is dazed and his hands are starting to shake and his heart rate is climbing, his watch flashing a warning.

The room begins to tilt as his breathing comes out in haggard breaths. He stumbles a little bit, the blood pumping through him roaring in his ears. He belatedly realizes he’s having a panic attack, blindly trying to get back to his bed where he can sit.

What does one do during a panic attack? He has no idea, he’s never had one. He thinks of the last time he saw someone panic and immediately bends over to put his head between his knees, gulping air through his nose and out through his mouth.

What was it that Jisung said about panic?

It’s hard to remember. He thinks maybe there was counting involved, so he breathes in for seven seconds and then out for seven seconds. Does it again. And again.

Slowly, the world swims back into focus. He can feel the twinge in his thigh as he comes down from the momentary lapse of panic and judgment. When he trusts that he’s not going to vomit on his bare feet, he slowly sits upright, looking around the neon-blue room.

Quiet blankets the apartment. The world outside is faint. He can hear the clock on the wall as the minute hand moves, each marking the passing of a United Second. With a deep breath, he moves.

There are no thoughts as he goes. His mind is a single list of action items, marketing them off as he goes. Get dressed. Check his weapons. Arm himself to the teeth with things you’ve made him. Message Jisung a cryptic, one-word text that only the other Collector will understand. Arm a bomb. Leave.

It’s clinical.

Minho had always understood with absolute clarity the reality of his line of work. He’s always had a failsafe - or a killswitch, so to speak. From the first day of work, Minho’s only purpose was to kill until he died. He was always meant to die. And he tells himself that the single, little safe space he has in the world he started saving for… well. If you ever needed it.

Any work is good work.

Clouds hold in their rain. The night feels ominous. Minho glances up at the choked clouds, wondering what they’re up to. The Ministry of Weather controls the atmosphere in some parts of the city. Minho does not travel in those parts of the city - those assassinations are beyond the abilities of a Collector and reserved for Nightcrawlers.

Paranoia is imminent, but Minho tries not to look over his shoulder every five seconds. The mysterious nature of Collect Co. is still something he doesn’t understand, so it’s difficult to unravel the nature of his assignment. Without a doubt, whoever placed Minho as the Collector knows you supply his weapons.

That simple fact branches out into multiple possibilities. Perhaps the person who wants you gone simply thinks Minho is the best person for the job because he’s in your tentative circle of trust and a familiar enough face to slip through you’re defenses. Or perhaps the problem is him and they know he won’t complete the Collection, earning a job termination and his name showing up on the Collection list.

Either way, it’s on purpose. Of that, he knows for sure.

From his years working for Collect Co., there are only a few things that Minho is sure about. Delegators do exactly what their title suggests - they delegate kills. Callers are a tier above Delegators, calling the shots working the network of requests that come in for contracted kills. Legals do all of the paperwork and research before agreeing to a contract, and at the very top of the chain is the Floorman.

Beyond that, Minho has no concept of the hierarchy or who is hiring Collect Co. for jobs. There are obvious manipulations to the system and it’s impossible to work objectively within a private company that works with but not for the government, and Minho has little doubt that the financial benefactors are who really control assignments.

Which leads him back to the root of the question: why you? Is Minho the problem, or do you have enemies so large that they hold sway in Collect Co. He doesn’t consider that your deeds are nefarious enough to warrant a hit. What you do is illegal but you sell to the military, too.

So it begs the question: is it you or him who they really want gone?

Maybe it’s even a combination.

Still, he attempts not to seem paranoid. It’s easier than it should be, Minho’s mind so singularly focused on getting to you as he takes the train and traves to North Ward Three that he doesn’t have time to look around every corner or see if he’s being followed. There are other ways of keeping tabs on him, anyway.

The rain still holds as Minho gets off the speed train and ducks into the street. He keeps to the sides, activating his ad blocker as he’s immediately slammed by a screaming neon world. His gaze and gait must be sharper than he realizes, because people veer away from him, his energy repelling them.

From the corner of his eye, he notes Watchers - people responsible for keeping an eye on what’s going on in the street for their employer - take note of him. Some melt into the doorway of their workplace, and others call for runners.

Trouble. Minho looks like trouble and he can sense the shift as they catch wind of him.

The Watchers are no threat to him. Their entire purpose is to close the doors and pull back when they catch a sense of danger in the air. They’ll stay out of his way and won’t engage with him unless he threatens their clubs and shops.

Minho has little intention of doing that. He wants to make this as painless as possible.

Neon Rodeo burns like a dying sun. The orange falls over him as he jogs down the steps and lets the guards scan him. If they notice anything is off, they say and do nothing. Neon Rodeo is perhaps the only business without a Watcher, and it’s only because no one would dare interrupt the business with the Nightcrawler inside.

Synth rattles Minho from the ground up as he steps inside. The cowboy hats and their little smiling faces float like phantoms in the night. He only has a singular goal and he looks at no one else as he heads towards the back, sidestepping sweaty bodies and perfumed hair.

It’s full tonight, the weekend crowd packing the bar from corner to corner. It’s no matter. He cuts his way to the back where Hyunjin sits on a stool. Today, Hyunjin’s hair is blood red and his eyes are sharp, unnatural green. For a moment, Minho thinks of a chameleon before Hyunjin kicks a leg out and blocks the hall leading to the door.

“Your patronage has been terminated, Cowboy.”

Minho’s heart flips. Are you that angry with him? He drinks in Hyunjin’s dress and slowly his anxiety turns to understanding. Hyunjin is dressed in all black today. His shirt is armored and in place of pants with tassels are tactical trousers with pockets and weapons strapped to his thighs.

An assessment of the Nightcrawler tells Minho that there are weapons he doesn’t see. There’s a plasma pistol on his hip, a bandolier of small knives strapped across his chest, knives in his boot, and another plasma pistol on this calf.

Hyunjin’s fingers drum against his thigh as he watches Minho with those unsettling eyes. “Want to try, Cowboy?”

“I need to speak with her.”

“No.”

“I’m not-” Minho grits his teeth. “I’m not Collecting.”

“Didn’t say you were.”

Hyunjin knows. He doesn’t know how the Nightcrawler knows you’re a Collection on Minho’s list, but it’s clear in the way Hyunjin leers.

“Look, you can go in with me. Let me get her to safety.”

“And what do you think safety is, Cowboy? Even if you’re not lying, they’ll come after you too.”

“Listne, Nightcrawler-”

Hyunjin grins. It’s unnerving, and there isn’t much that unnerves Minho. “No, you listen. I tolerate you because I am ordered to. Now, I don’t have to. My only orders were to say no and to not harm you.” He leans back and spreads his hands and shrugs. The neon lights catch his blood red hair. “I’m always within my right to make a judgment call.”

“I’d never hurt her.”

“You’re not friends, last I checked.” Hyunjin cocks his head to the side. “You don’t have friends, right? That’s why you reject acts of faith?”

“What do you know of acts of faith, Nightcrawler?”

“You’d be surprised, Collector.”

Hyunjin is unmoving. Minho’s fingers twitch and Hyunjin’s eyes follow the movement. For a second, Minho wonders if he could beat his adversary to the draw. They could do it like an old fashioned movie, the bar the perfect setting for it. Hyunjin is totally unmoving and relaxed, not moving his hand toward his weapons.

He’s that confident in beating me.

United Seconds are ticking by. Every minute Minho doesn’t make his collection is time lost. He licks his lips ready to mount another argument when Hyunjin’s eyes flicker and look over Minho’s shoulders. His eyes narrow a fraction as they dart back to Minho.

“Here’s an act of faith. Let’s see what you do this time.”

The energy in the bar shifts. He feels the tremor go through the air and the hair on the back of his neck stands on end. Minho turns his head to the side, not enough to fully look back over his shoulder but enough to see the group of Collectors disperse in the crowd.

Both, Minho realizes. The Collection had been for them both, and it was a good excuse to get them in the same place. He grits his teeth as he realizes how predictable he is. They might have come even if he didn’t arrive, but they might have sent a smaller force.

Glancing at Hyunjin, Minho watches as the Nightcrawler does nothing. He waits for Minho, raising his brows and smirking.

Act of faith.

Normally, Minho doesn't believe in public acts of violence. Collectors are mostly prohibited from killing in public or endangering the lives of United Republic Citizens unless entirely unavoidable.

Now, though, he causes a scene and pulls his gun, swiveling around and leveling it at the nearest Collector he has a clean line of sight on. He feels the hum of the weapon and the click of the safety as he squeezes the trigger, the pulse of the weapon barely perceptible as it fires.

Plasma weapons are bright when they fire. It’s nearly blinding in the dark as he shoots, screams shattering the bar as the world turns into pops of energy and sizzling air. He ducks down as someone shoots at him, instincts kicking in as he grabs the leg of a table and yanks it toward him.

Behind him, Hyunjin lets out a manic laugh and stands from the stool. He drops a small device next to Minho, drawing his attention for a second. Minho watches as it expands with a shimmer of translucent energy - a shield. He looks at the Nightcrawler who crouches with him, grinning as he peers over the table and shields with his green eyes.

“There are eight. They’re just going to pin us here and shoot at us like fish in a barrel.”

“Is there a way through that door?”

“Sure there is. If they want to melt it down, I’m sure they have plasma blades, judging from the look of their very nice weapons. They can’t blow it without leveling the street.”

“Does she have a way out the back?”

“No, then I would have two doors to watch.”

A spray of metal and plasma ricochets off the shield that has molded to the shape of the table. Hyunjin gestures as if to showcase his point and Minho grits his teeth. Peeking around the table, he can see patrons hiding under tables and covering their heads. Collectors stand spread out, fanning the entrance and blocking the way, but they don’t come any closer.

They want to make the Collection, but they don’t want to face a Collector and a Nightcrawler together.

“Aren’t you some sort of unmatched assassin, Nightcrawler?” Minho asks, checking the mag on his plasma gun. “Can you just take them all out? That should be light work for you.”

“I’m good at not being seen, Cowboy. I’m not inhuman.”

“Oh good, so you’re actually useless when visible?”

Hyunjin’s face darkens. “You’d be surprised how often you don’t see me.”

The threat isn’t lost on Minho but it doesn’t have time to sink into its full effect as bullets rain down on them. They cringe together to ensure they’re behind the shield, which whines under the plasma assault and flickers. Minho thinks it will hold, but it’s only as wide as the table it molds to and the table isn’t very large.

Hyunjin reaches into his pocket and pulls out a grenade. Minho grabs it, looking at him with wild eyes. Hyunjin pulls his hand away. “It’s a flash grenade,” he snaps. “I’m not going to kill everyone.” He pauses and smirks. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“That’s hardly less settling.”

“You know,” Hyunjin muses, pulling the ring from the grenad. Green light pulses on it slowly, counting down until it starts to release blinding white flashes. “One day you and I are going to have a talk about why you think your profession is so much different than mine.”

“One is legal, for starters.”

Hyunjin lobs the grenade. “Right, so what you’re doing right now? This is legal?”

Minho is spared from having to answer as the world explodes in white. He and Hyunjin move at the same time, letting the memory of where the Collectors stand as they close their eyes and shoot. Minho’s shot blind thousands of times and it usually pays off.

It does for the most part now, the pair of them dropping Collectors as they shoot. The white light fades and there’s only a single Collector left standing by the door, his gun aimed at Minho. He swivels to shoot, but a bullet hits the Collector in the shoulder, twisting him backward from impact as he squeezes the trigger of his gun.

The shot catches Minho in the shoulder, knocking him back a step. He curses but keeps his weapon trained on the fallen Collector until he hears high-pitched screaming. It stops his heart, the sound of the Collector’s voice reaching a level of madness that echoes even after he gargles and goes silent.

Minho looks at Hyunjin with an accusatory glare but Hyunjin juts his thumb behind him in answer, pointing to where you stand at the door with a heavy pistol in your and. Minho blinks a few times in surprise.

“I think the nano-tips work, Jeongin.” You glance over your shoulder where the younger boy stands on the stairs behind you, armed to the teeth. “Remind me to write that down.”

Silence stretches in Neon Rodeo, save the soft quivering crying and sparking sign that’s been shot over the bar. From the corner of his eye, Minho sees it flash between Rodeo and Odeo over and over again, bouncing between the two words as the ‘R’ tries to fight for its life.

Then there’s you.

You stare at him with a guarded expression, drinking him in. Your gaze lingers on his arm, reminding him that it does in fact burn where the plasma bullet graze his shoulder. Next to him, Hyunjin shifts. The Nightcrawler barely moves forward, sliding part of his body between Minho and where you stand in the doorway to your studio, Hyunjin’s hand resting on top of his gun.

“You gonna kill me, Cowboy?” Your voice wavers when you ask. By the twitch in your lip, Minho can tell you’re upset that it does.

“No. I want to help.” Hyunjin snorts and Minho is reminded of his earlier question. What do you think safety is? “Consider it an act of faith,” Minho offers and Hyunjin’s snickering turns to curiosity. “I’ve rejected yours in the past. Let me off you the only one I have.”

No one moves. Minho slowly lifts his wrist toward Hyunjin, displaying the information. The Nightcrawler looks it over and raises his brows, looking back at Minho. “What strange turn of events, Minho.”

It’s the first time Hyunjin has ever used his name. He says nothing as the Nightcrawler heads over to you, murmuring quietly. Your face is inscrutable as you nod and look over your shoulder, saying something to Jeongin. He nods fiercely, face set in determination that makes Minho’s mouth twitch a little.

The three of them join Minho wordlessly as he turns on his heels and heads up the stares. Hyunjin’s watch flashes and lets them know that the United Enforcers are three minutes out and they need to get where they’re going.

You take the lead then, hurrying out the door but not out into the street, ducking into a noodle shop three doors down from Neon Rodeo. You shout in United New Mandarin at the woman behind the counter, shocking him - not that Minho knows anything about you at all - and the woman waves you off.

Through the shop and into the stock room you lead everyone, hoping over bags of flower and starch until you reach a table that you climb up on and pull a vent from a ceiling. It’s far too large to be a normal vent, and his questions are answered when he realizes it leads to a small garage that faces the next street over.

Once into the garage, Hyunjin takes the lead out into the street, weapon up. Minho brings up the rear, falling into a defensive unit as you go. Jeongin walks closely behind Hyunjin, his steps a little clumsy but his head on a swivel.

Good, Minho thinks. Jeongin is alert.

“Decided not to kill me?” you whisper as you skirt out into the street and hug the building face.

Minho can barely hear you over the fabric you’ve pulled up over your face. He blinks and thinks to do the same, pulling the hood up on his jacket and sliding up a black gaitor over the lower half of his face.

“I was never going to kill you.”

“Hard to tell with you.”

“I… don’t have an argument.”

And he doesn’t. He realizes that he’s kept you at arm's length despite your best attempts to spark some sort of friendship. What reason could he do that other than sparing himself if he had to kill you one day? It makes the most logical sense.

“I thought we were friends.” That makes him pause. You notice a few steps ahead of him that he’s stopped, looking at you. “We stopped being just business acquaintances over a year ago, Collector. My normal clients don’t get to test my new hardware or request as many JumpPacks as you do on the house.”

“They’re on the house?”

“Of course they are!” you snap at him. “Do you not look at your billing, Collector? How do you know I’m not overcharging you?”

“I stopped looking once I trusted you weren’t robbing me.”

“See, that’s a funny word coming from you. Trust.”

A whistle catches Minho’s attention. You both turn to see that Hyunjin and Jeongin are nearly three-blocks away at the entrance of a nondescript shop. Color floods Minho’s face when he realizes the pair of you had stopped walking to have your argument and he curses himself as you start moving again.

“I do trust you.” You say nothing to his comment. “I’m sorry I didn’t accept the armor.”

“It wasn’t about rejecting the armor, Collector.” The world Collector sounds dirty in your mouth. He suddenly wants to hear you call him Cowboy again. “It was about rejecting me when I thought we were already friends. I was wrong.”

Hyunjin leads them down into an alleyway that is void of anything besides dumpsters and murky puddles. The smell turns Minho’s stomach but he resists the urge to gag as Hyunjin bends down to pull up a sewer grate. He flashes his flashlight inside and nods before jumping down and vanishing. There’s a light splash as he lands and calls up for Jeongin.

Minho crouches close to you as Jeongjin adjusts to follow Hyunjin down.

“You weren’t,” he says as Jeongin jumps. You turn to look at him, confused. “Wrong. You weren’t wrong.”

You look him up and down, hesitating. Hyunjin calls your name and you turn away from Minho, checking your legs and arms to make sure your pockets are zipped. Minho watches as you jump. He realizes his holding his breath until he hears your feet splash.

Quickly, he scrambles to the grate, pulling the top with him. Looking through the hole, he sees the orange light of glowsticks as you and Jeongin crack and shake them, lighting up the tunnel in a very small ring of light. Hyunjin has turned off his flashlight and looks up at Minho, gesturing for him to hurry.

Minho holsters his weapon and jumps down, bending at the knee as he lands to absorb the fall. His boots splash loudly in the tunnel, echoing for a few seconds. His shoulder wound aches as he straightens up. Hyunjin is already lifting Jeongin up to pull the great back over the hole. The scrape of metal on the concrete sounds much louder in the watery tunnel, making Minho cringe.

Looking both ways, he sees the sewer is less of a sewer and more of a tunnel. The cloth pulled over his face does little to keep out the rancid smell, and he winces when he sees fat, black rats scattering on the edges of the orange light.

Something touches his arm and he jerks, hand going to his gun. You lean back and apologize, holding out a glowstick. He relaxes and takes it, fingers brushing yours as he does. He instantly gets a chill down his spine, though his fingers are warm where they brushed yours.

Minho clears his throat and holds the glowstick up, looking around the tunnel. He can hear the faint echoes of dripping water and every movement of the group feels loud in the pressing silence of the dark.

“What is this?” he asks, looking at you.

It’s Hyunjin who answers, “Nightcrawler shit. You’re welcome.”

“Should we expect any of your former coworkers, then?”

“They’re not so bad.” Hyunjin unholsters his weapon as he begins walking south down the tunnel, throwing Minho a sharp grin. “It’s the Darklings I worry about.”

You fall into step behind Hyunjin immediately, ducking your head to murmur something to him as you go. The glow of your light gets farther away as Minho stands staring at Hyunjin, unsure if he’s serious or not.

Jeongin steps up next to Minho. “He was joking about Darklings, right? The People Underneath are a myth?”

“Have you ever heard Hyunjin tell a joke?”

Minho leaves Jeongin thinking about it before the younger rushes to keep up with him, feet splashing wildly.

Whether Hyunjin was joking about the Darklings or not, they don’t run into anything except rats and roaches in the underground tunnels. Minho finds himself itching to ask the Nightcrawler questions and demand where they’re going, but he doesn’t,

An act of faith.

It was an act of faith when Minho showed Hyunjin the safehouse on his watch. It was one of the few things that Minho protected more fiercely than his life, and he was hoping that when Hyunjin saw the coordinates, title of ownership, and Minho’s information, he’d gain a little trust.

Minho had been right. Hyunjin, though still sharp at the edges, has become unnervingly benign with Minho, addressing him by his name. It’s not much to most, but he knows among killers it’s a huge step. One that means a little more trust, if not at least peers.

You remain quiet for the most part. Your eyes stray toward Minho often and when he catches you looking, you don’t look away. Your gaze is hesitant and questioning, as though you’re trying to figure him out like one of the schematics on your screens.

Biting into a protein bar, he quickens his pace to fall into step with you. “What will you do with your lab?”

Your lips twitch. “Chemical fire. There’s a stop-line in the frame of the building so it should be controlled. I promised not to burn down Neon Rodeo when I established my office there.”

“Who owns that place, anyway?”

“Bangchan.” The name sounds familiar. “Reformed Nightcrawler.”

“You keep unusual company.”

“Better than none.”

That gets a little bit of a laugh from him. You smile when he does and he swears it’s brighter than the glowsticks you carry. “I deserved that one. I’m working on it, alright.”

“How do Jisung and Changbin deal with you?”

“The same way I deal with them.” You hum, nodding in understanding. For a few minutes, it’s just wet steps echoing in the tunnels. “What made you decide to come with me? I assume you have your own fallback plans.”

“I do, but I don’t know. I wanted to accept your olive branch.” You look at him. “I wanted to trust you.”

He nods. His gut twists a little at that, both anxious and pleased. He’d been right about offering an act of faith in return for the one he scorned. Now, he just has to keep you alive, which he grows more confident in doing.

“Where are we going?”

He looks up at you. “Hyunjin didn’t tell you?”

“No, just said to trust you.” Minho’s brows shoot up and you snort. “I know. Whatever you showed him convinced him.”

“It’s a safe house on Isla de Suenos.” You look up at him sharply and he gives a soft grin. “My mother belonged to a very well-off family. I’m not supposed to exist, and she had to decide at a young age whether or not I was worth throwing away her family and their power. A single safehouse purchased with offshore accounts and through a network of money-changing and bought secrecy is the only thing she could give me.”

“She didn’t choose you?” He shakes his head. You think about that for a second and he lets the words sink in, waiting for the pity, which he hates. Instead, you hum. “No wonder you don’t choose people either.”

Your candor is a relief. You don’t tell him sorry or try to comfort him. You accept this as a fact of life, a normalcy that a mother would choose wealth and power over a child. “There are no records tying us together, but the title of the house is under what my name would have been if she’d taken me. Lee. My family name would be Lee.”

“What is it now?”

“I don’t have one. My father was servant-class. We don’t have family names.”

“He worked for your mother’s family?” Minho nods. “Lee. I like it. Will you keep it?”

“Maybe. It’s who I have to be, now.”

“No longer the Collector?” He shakes his head. “Good. Perhaps I like you more as just Lee Minho.”

Minho bites back a grin.

By the time they get to the surface again, they’re just outside of the city-proper on the northeast shore. Here, the night is bitter cold as the salty air blasts off the ocean, dark waves rushing and receding against the shoreline.

They take a brief break once their topside, Minho gasping deep breaths of fresh air in as he gulps down water. Now that they can see without the glowsticks, they toss them into the trash and breathe in silence.

Carefully, Minho peers at the wound on his shoulder. It’s caterized from the heat of the plasma, but the burn hurts something vicious. He has no medical supplies on him, and he examines the chawed flesh with mild concern.

Seeing the injury, you get up wordleslly from the rock where you sit and come over. Your hand digs in one of your pockets and you produce a packet of burn gel and antiseptic, wordlessly gesturing to the wound. He nods and you offer a tentative grin before ripping the antiseptic open with your teeth, spitting the crinkling material on the ground.

With steady hands, you squeeze out the translucent gel on the tips of your fingers and peel the damaged parts of Minho’s shirt away from the flesh. He sucks in a breath when you apply the cool gel to the wound, the stinging of the antibiotic catching him off guard. You shoot him an apologetic wince before continuing to press it lightly into the burned flesh.

You smell like jasmine and amber. Minho breathes it in deep, a soothing scent mixed with the salty air of the seat just a few yards away. His eyes flutter shut as your fingers work his shoulder, deft and skilled like an artist.

“My mom liked to paint,” Minho says automatically, unsure where the comment comes from. “That’s one of the few things I know about her. She had artists hands. You have hands like hers. Graceful.”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say I’m an artist but I do draw designs for weapons a lot.”

“It’s a kind of art.”

“I suppose it is.”

Your closeness makes Minho dizzy. Instead of chasing you away in the past, he lets you linger and spread the burn gel on his shoulder. He doesn’t open his eyes, letting the sound of the ocean and the press of your steady fingers lull him into a moment of relaxation.

He can almost pretend you both haven’t thrown your life away to head to some house he’s never been to with little to no plan but to arrive there alive.

“Does it hurt?” he shakes his head at your question. You voice is soft and raspy, rising the hairs on the back of his neck. You’re so close he can feel the heat radiating from you, making him lean in on instinct, seeking the warmth. “If you let me give you better armor, plasma won’t hurt you.”

Minho’s eyes flutter open. “You brought it with you?”

“Of course I did.” Your face is inches from his, eyelashes fanning your bright, glittering eyes as you look up at him. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Hyunjin’s voice shatters the moment before Minho can respond. “Hello, yes, the child and I are still here.”

“I’m not a child!”

“The child and I need to leave, however. Seungmin and Felix are waiting to escort us. I believe your friend left transportation for you, Minho.”

You whirl around. “You’re leaving? What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“I have some Nightcrawling to do with Bangchan and Seungmin. I’m taking the child to stay with Swan.”

Minho has no idea who Swan is. He sees the uncertainty color your face as you regard your guard - your friend. “You would do that? Take him to stay with her?”

“Of course. Swan likes strays.”

“I am right here,” Jeongin reminds everyone, crossing his arms over his chest. “And I’m not a child.”

Hyunjin grins at him. It’s real and not a leer, something that Minho doesn’t think he’s ever seen. Hyunjin grabs Jeongin by the shoulder, pulling him along before flicking his poison-green eyes toward Minho and you. “Enjoy your evening. I’ll be around, Minho.”

“Wait!” you bolt over to them, catching everyone by surprise as you throw your arms around the two of them and squeeze. The smile on Hyunjin’s face is so soft that Minho has to look away, equal parts something like jealousy and feeling like he’s intruding. “Here.”

You divest several items from your pockets, shoving them into their hands. Medical gels, a few gadgets, and a little Scorpion figurine that you shove into Hyunjin’s hands. He raises a single brow in amusement but you say nothing to the Nightcrawler, rushing back to stand at Minho’s side.

Hyunjin and Jeongin lift their hand in waves to Minho before turning and heading down the beach at a slow pace, their feet sinking into the sand. Cold wind whips at Minho as he stands watching with you silent by his side, waiting.

Without a word, he turns and beckons you, heading up the rocky coast before heading back down precariously to a tiny cove with a boat buoyed between the rocks. It’s hardly a safe-looking boat and he realizes it probably wouldn’t have carried them all, but it’s something.

Minho climbs into the boat carefully before helping you step down into it. The rocking water throws you off balance and he steadies you, hands tight on your waist. You mutter an apology but he doesn’t let go until he’s sure you’re okay, eyes searching.

A moment of tension passes, his fingers pressed into the fabric of your hips, your closeness overpowering the sea air again. You clear your throat and it passes. Minho lets you go as he finds the key and plugs it in to turn on the engine.

You busy yourself with untying ropes, your steps unsteady as the vessel moves unpredictably beneath your feet. Once you manage to get rid of all the lines, he begins to navigate out the cove backward, turning the wheel violently from side to side as he fights the tide.

Thankfully with every swell that pushes the boat into the cove, it drags it back out. It takes about three swells before the craft is pulled into the ocean proper and he throws the throttle in reverse, water rooster tailing for a moment as he does.

You join him at the helm and stand close as he turns it around and drives. Wind rips at his jacket, blowing back the hood. He’s thankful for the face cover fighting the icy wind, squinting as he drives in the late hours of the night across a rippling black ocean.

The water gets rough as he turns to the east, glancing at the coordinates on his watch every once in a while. Your hand shoots out to grab his forearm on a particularly violent dip. He curses, pain radiating from his shoulder as you do. You immediately shout an apology and let go, but Minho snakes an arm around your waist, pulling you tight.

For a second, you stiffen, looking up at him uncertain. He remains steadfast in his hold, willing his heart to slowdown as he drives, determined to keep you from falling off the boat and into the water before you can even make it to the safehouse.

You relax into him after a second, pressing closer and letting him hold on as you go. He relaxes when you accept his help, breathing out a slow breath that he didn’t know he was holding.

It takes almost forty five minutes, but the dark shadow of Isla de Suenos materializes in the night. The city is a spec of light on the misty horizon as the waves begin to slow down until he can let down on the throttle, bringing the boat to a troll instead of a plane.

The collection of islands that surround the massive, man-made mountain in the middle of the seat are all only about seven acres in size and are privately owned. The level of exclusivity is something Minho is incredibly unfamiliar with, and he gets nervous as they approach the barely visible shield surrounding the collection of islands.

“Minho, there’s a-”

“It’ll let us through.” He squeezes your waist on instinct, hoping it’s true. As the boat passes, he holds his breath. He feels the biochip in his neck flicker and then they’re through the shield. The water is falt calm on the other side of the energy wall, tapping gently against the hull. “It’s biometric.”

“And you were sure that was going to work?”

“Mostly.”

“Mostly is not a great attitude in the invention field, Minho.”

It takes a second, but he realizes you’re calling him by his name and not Cowboy. He likes the sound of it on your tongue, though he doesn’t mind the diminutive.

Even in still waters, he doesn’t remove his arm around your waist, the protective instinct still high as he steers the boat according to his watch. Islands with lights hidden behind thick jungle and rockface slide past them.

The beacon on his watch flashes and he turns the boat, trolling to a long, empty dock ahead of them. The island is no different from the rest, covered in sprawling jungle and foliage that look monstrous in the ominous night.

Quickly, you tie off the boat and disembark. Your steps on the dock feel loud in the quiet night, the two of you hurrying along and up the shore until you hit the stone stairway that leads through the trees. Though he isn’t holding you close to him anymore, you still keep yourself pressed close, the back of your hands brushing as you begin the climb up the island.

Minho has no idea what the house looks like. He only knows that it’s coded to his biochip and that it’s always been there if he needs it. He doesn’t know if it’s stocked or if the electricity is on, or if it’s been raided and taken over. He doesn’t even know if there are codes to get access.

It is the most unprepared he has ever been.

A large estate springs up among the trees. The entire building is constructed on a platform with foliage and trees brushing along the foundations. It’s made up of windows and metal framing, the windows dark and hiding whatever exists within.

It is exquisit. Minho has never seen an estate or a luxury home before in person, but he knows that’s what this is. The thought seems a little silly as he leads you toward the modular home, steps quiet as he glances around. He cannot imagine that anyone but he and his could enter the grounds, but he’s still on edge.

At the door, there’s a single bioscanner. He leans his neck toward it, letting it flash over his biochip. The scanner turns green and he hears the hiss of an airlock. Glancing at you and shrugging, he tries the handle and pulls the door open toward him.

Inside, the air is cool. He steps in first, hand on his gun as he looks around the interior. It’s sparkling clean and decorated with dark wood furniture and greenery. He takes a few steps inside, flinching when automatic lights come on and cast a warm, gold glow in the house.

“You’ve been living as a fucking Collector when this existed the entire time?” you deadpan from the door.

No kidding, he thinks, turning to look at the multi-story wonder that is the home. It’s three levels of tropical opulence, making his head spin at all of the possibilities.

“I didn’t know what was here, honestly.” He turns to look at you and nods. You step inside and pull the door shut, tapping the screen beside it. The locks click in place again and with another tap, he sees the windows darken to privacy mode. “I assumed she didn’t leave me something grand.”

“It’s a good start on an apology. She’s still a bitch for leaving you and I think you should let me fight her.”

A ripple of fondness goes through him and he smiles at you, uncontrolled and large. You shoot a shy one back before looking away at the wonder of the home.

Unlike him, you seem to relax immediately, kicking your shoes off to wander around the house. He follows suit after a moment of hesitation, peeling the cover off of his face and kicking of his shoes. He leaves his holster open on his weapons, hands hovering near them as he follows you.

The house is extravagent. Smaller than he originally thought, with only three bedrooms and two bathrooms, but the spaces for each are massive and sprawling with greenery. It feels like the jungle is a part of the house - and he realizes it is, at least in the atrium. There’s a large pool and something that looks like a hot spring behind the house, hidden from the world by think palms and palmetto.

Each room is richly designed and cleaned, as though it has been kept for him all this time. He’ll have to worry about that at some point, unsure who has kept the house in such a presentable state while it’s existed.

After you’ve fed your curiosity, you drift to one of the rooms with a private bathroom. He takes the room across from you, feet dragging as the exhaustion hits him. His limbs feel heavy and peeling off his shirt with the injure arm makes him curse and hiss. He doesn’t bother looking in the mirror, knowing the old bruises from a few days ago are still there.

Steam fills the bathroom. He’s a little put out when he realizes that the stone shower has a wall of glass to reveal the jungle on the other side, but he realizes there’s no one to watch him. He shakes the uneasiness and steps under the scalding water, moaning as he closes his eyes and lets it run down him.

A screen with a dozen or more settings sits in the rockface of the shower, but he doesn’t know how to use them. He hits another button hoping for what is more water pressure and instead gets a heavenly waft of eucalyptus. He leaves the settings alone, settling for tranquility over scrubbing himself.

Minho doesn’t know how long he stays in the shower. His fingers prune and the crust and blood eventually peel away. He spends a short amount of time scrubbing his own skin, eager to get out of the shower and check on you.

Now that he has you, a new sort of stream of conscious has made itself permanent, always wondering where you are and if you’re okay.

Steam clouds the bathroom as he steps out, wrapping a towel around his waist. Water clings to him as he ruffles his wet hair, strolling out into the bedroom. He walks toward the table by the door, rifling through his things looking for medical gel.

A knock draws his attention and you open the door a crack, making a sound of surprise when you don’t expect to see him standing right in front of you. Your eyes dip down to where the towel is on his waist and back up, immediately opting to look at the ceiling.

Minho’s lips pressed into a firm line, trying to eat the smirk threatening to take over.

“Sorry, I assumed you were still in the shower. I - um - brought more gel for your shoulder.”

He steps away from the door, leaving drips of water as he does. “Come on in.”

“Are you sure?”

He shrugs and then winces, the burn pulling taught as he does. You enter immediately, shutting the door behind you and ripping the top off the packet as you do, eyes focused on the wound. You’ve got your fingers slathered in gel and pressing to his shoulder before you realize the forwardness, pausing to glance up at him.

Now, Minho does smirk. “I’m at your mercy.”

“Sorry. I know it’s hurting you and…”

“You don’t want me to hurt,” he fills in, remembering your words from earlier.

You nod and chew your bottom lip as you work. He studies you closely. He doesn’t know if it’s his acceptance that you’re more than just someone he buys weapons from, the exhaustion or the little sliver of feeling he’s always pretended wasn’t there, but Minho suddenly feels a little bolder.

A little braver.

“I never had a chance to thank you.”

“For what?” You throw the antiseptic on the table and rip open the burn gel. “Anything. Everything. I don’t think I’ve ever said thank you.”

“There’s a lot of things you haven’t said.”

“So let me.” You dart a look at him, nervous. When you don’t interrupt he continues, “You were right. We stopped being industry peers a long time ago, and I’ve purposefully ignored multiple favors from you to keep the illusion that simple relationships meant I couldn’t be hurt. Or hurt others.”

“And now?”

“I realize it was silly.”

“Hmm. At least you admit your faults, Cowboy.”

He smiles. You finish applying the gel, but you don’t move away from him. You linger, looking up through silky lashes at him. Your face takes on a dreamy look, mouth parted a little and he feels heat coil in his stomach at that look.

“Why’d you offer me that armor?”

“I was afraid of how often you were working. I knew you were getting hurt and I wanted to help. Why’d you reject it?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

There’s a long pause. Your gaze drops to his mouth. You’re only a few inches away, the ghost of your breath against his neck. “What if I want you to?”

Minho needs no other permission. It’s like a dam giving way, the past few days able to wedge their way in and open him up to let the rawness spill out of him. He surges forward, catching your mouth against his as he does so, hands shooting to your waist.

You don’t push him away. Worse, you melt into him like it’s natural, hands skating up his arms and around the back of his neck to pull him in closer to you. Your mouth is warm and minty and addicting, scattering his thoughts to the stars as your lips move against his.

Heat is trapped between your bodies. He feels like he’s burning up from the inside, squeezing your hips as his tongue brushes against your bottom lip. You open up for him easily, like you were always made to and he groans.

Every time he has ever held back from you fuels him forward. He presses into you, turning you to push you on the mattress. You go willingly, opening your legs to let him slot between them. He leaves over you, mouth hungry. Devouring. Ravenous.

You gasp between kisses, nails grazing down his flexing arms. He wants to fucking drown in you as he bites the edge of your jaw, tasting the soap on your skin. You smell like jasmine and amber, though now he can smell the eucalyptus too, driving him insane.

You.

The one thing he’s let himself trust. The one person he’s let in, even when he didn’t want to admit it. The one person he wants to have more than anything else.

Greedy hands scrape up his chest. Your fingers are warm and searching as he nips the tender flesh of your neck, tongue laving over the bite to soothe it. The sounds dripping from your mouth are so pretty, driving him inside as he traces his desire with tongue and teeth.

The fabric of your shirt scrapes against his skin, itchy and in the way. His hands pull at the hem and he hesitates, looking down at you through a heavy-lidded gaze and panting. You not frantically, hands pulling at his to guide the shirt upwards and off, revealing warm skin.

Minho wants to taste every part of you. You create art with your schematics and your weapons, but you are art. He worships you with tongue and teeth, hands brushing up your stomach to cup your chest. His tongue pulls a languid moan from you as he flicks it over the peak of your nipple.

Fuck.

He’s greedy, sucking gentle on your pert bud, ensuring to scrap his teeth along the sensitive flesh. You writhe underneath him, unable to remain still. His other hand works you too, tweaking your stiff peak as he trails spit-slick kisses across your chest to wrap his lips around that nipple too.

Minho looks up at you through his lashes. You’re a rendering of pleasure, head pressing into the bed, chest pushed up, a sheen of sweat on your collarbones and neck. It drives him wild, cock throbbing heavily as he trails his mouth toward, fingers pulling your pants as he goes.

Your fingers twist in the sheets. Everything he does affects you and he’s drunk on it, heart thudding in his chest as he drops down to his knees. His towel falls and the cool air makes him shiver. He feels the sticky tip of his cock brush against his leg but he ignores the ache between his thighs, fixing his eyes on what’s between yours instead.

Pretty and wet, all for him. For him. He gets to have you. But he doesn’t yet, making you wait and feel the personal hell it’s been for him to pretend he wasn’t yours as he kisses up your thighs, licking warm skin and digging his teeth in.

“Minho,” you half gasp, half wine. He smiles against your knee, giving it a gentle peck. “Please.”

“Yeah?” he switches legs, biting your calf. “Want it that bad?”

“Need it.”

He brings a hand up to your dripping cunt, dragging a curled knuckle through your wetness. You let out a keen and he grins against your leg even more, hypnotized by the way your petty little hole clenches at the contact.

Minho drags it out. Plays with you, dragging that knuckle slow-soft through your folds, avoiding your clit. You let out a sound that’s almost a sob and he chuckles, bringing his hand up to suck at the stickiness on his finger.

“Hmm. Sweet.”

“Bet it’s better from the source,” you shoot back, trying to make a jab and failing with how weak your voice is.

“True,” he agrees, leaning forward.

Your taste blooms on his tongue as he licks up your center, slow and patient. He savors the taste, humming as he does. You buck under his mouth and he grips your thighs, pulling you open. You’re warm and wet and perfect, and he listens to your breath hitch as he licks you slowly, making sure to circle around your clit each time.

One of your hands shoots to his hair. He doesn’t mind as you pull. The sting feels good and spurs him on, eating you out properly. He loves the sounds you make for him, loves the way your thighs twitch as he sucks your click into his mouth, tongue flicking over it.

It’s wet and messy and just the way he likes it, slick dripping down his chin as he presses himself in further, desperate to fuck you into sanity with just his mouth.

He doesn’t have a problem doing it. You buck against his face and he lets you, holding his tongue flat for you to grind against. Your fingers in his hair have him in a vice grip and he moans, a steady stream of mhmmm dripping sweet from his mouth into your heat.

“Fuck,” you gasp. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

“Come on,” he mouths against you. “Take what you want, baby.”

The endearment slips from him more natural than anything he’s ever done. His fingers squeeze your thighs as you undulate against him, his entire attention fixated on you as the begin to shake. Your hand twists in his hair and he groans, equal parts pain and pleasure as you come apart.

He hums in satisfaction, keeping his mouth working on you, drinking you in as you continue to tremble. The power trip that comes with seeing you come is unmatched, lighting a fire in him as he licks you to oversensitivity.

“Minho,” you beg, voice squeaking. He grins, kissing your cunt before he mouths his way back up to you, capturing your mouth with his. You’re eager to taste yourself, tongue licking at him more than anything, smearing your slick on his lips. He feels his eyes roll back. You’re going to kill him. “More.”

Minho would conquer the world and call it yours if you wanted him to. There’s nothing he wouldn’t give you. Pretending otherwise was the great folly of man, he realizes, as he shuffles you up the bed and climbs between your legs, standing up on his knees.

You watch him, pupils blown and fucked out as he heaves. He can hardly catch his breath as he reaches down to take his cock in his hand, pumping leisurely as he watches you. The way you look at him like you’ll consume him whole makes him shiver. He wants you to. Want you to burn him up until there’s nothing left.

Leaning down, he drops his cock out of his hand in favor of sliding a hand between you’re legs. You’re a mess of spit and cum, making the glide easy as he slips a finger into your heat to work you open. Your head falls to the side, giving him access to suck at your jawline as he fucks you open with his finger, adding a second when he knows you can take it.

Your hips roll up to meet his thrusts as he scissors his fingers open, pressing against your warm walls to push the stretch further. You’re putty in his hands but he’s a mess in yours, too. He’s shaking by the time he slips his hand from between your legs to press the crown of his cock at your entrance, hesitating.

Minho looks up at you. He already knows there’s no going back for him, three years of his own stubborn delusions robbing him of what could have been. But he asks, anyway. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve been sure for a long time. It was you who needed convincing.”

“What a stuipd man I am.”

“Yes,” you agree. “But mine.”

That drives him wild. Simple words and yet the very action of you claiming him erodes the last bit of resistance. He pushes into you and goes slow with a considerable amount of effort, shaking and panting as he tries to keep it together.

You’re warm and tight and twitches of pleasure ripple through him from cock to stomach. Minho swears he comes alive for the first time as he seats himself in your cunt to the hilt, barely able to catch his breath as he ducks down to press his mouth against yours.

It’s not delicate, but it isn’t the same ferocity as earlier. It’s something else that lingers between madness and relief. He only begins to move when he feels your hips wiggle. He smiles into the kiss, retracting his hips before surging forward again.

Delirious. That is the only word that comes to mind as he starts to fuck you slow and deep. Your mouths bump together but you’re both breathing raggedly, shaking together. Your hands card through his hair, soothing and soft. His lashes flutter as he drops his head further. You press your lips against his forehead as he picks up the pace, letting your hands worship him as he fucks you.

How could he ever think he was sparing you from him? How could he ever make the mistake that if he kept on the fringes, you wouldn’t leave him ruined like this? It seems unimaginative now. Like something that was always meant to happen.

No wonder Collect Co. knew he would go running to you like a dog when they assigned you to him. Everyone else could admit it except him, an egregious error on his part.

But Minho has you now. Gasping his name and moving in his arms. Rolling your hips to meet his, your cunt clenching on his cock as he fucks you harder. He wants to dig into you and never let go. Wants to sink in to the very core and live there.

“Mine,” you growl as though you can read his thoughts. “Even though you tried not to be. You are mine, Lee Minho.”

When you say his full name like that, voicing the boy who could have been and now who is, he starts to come apart. His pace quickens as he chases your second release, holding you tight to him as he feels you clench longer and longer around him until you’re sobbing his name and spilling down his shaft.

Minho all but growls your name as he comes. Never again will you be Builder. You’re his. First and last name his to say. The acknowledgment almost makes him cry as he slows his thrusts, gasping for air as he tosses his head back, heat escaping between the two of you.

Finally, he stops fucking you, hands linked with yours as he leans up to catch his breath. He’s still seated in you, feeling the cum drip between where your ass is pressed against his thighs. He doesn’t care, feeling the sweat and the water from his shoulder drip down his back.

His arm burns where he’s used it. He’d been unaware of the pain while lost in you, but he feels it now, throbbing. He doesn’t care. He’d do it again a thousand times.

Slowly, he unravels from you. Your hands don’t let him go far, pulling him down next to you to roll toward. He smiles, tired and dreamy at the edges as he lets you. The bed is soft against his balmy skin, the cool air helping calm him down.

Finally, both of you can breathe. He knows that he needs to shower again, but he doesn’t want to get up. He wants to keep you near. Now that he’s all in, he wants to stay all in.

“We should call this place the Jungle Rodeo.” He cracks an eye open at you to realize you’re hiding a grin as you look up at him. “You know, since we can’t go back to Neon Rodeo.”

“What is it with you and rodeos?”

“You find Cowboys at the rodeo.”

“Oh?”

“And you’re here… so… it’s a rodeo.”

He blinks at you. “Your intellect is astounding.”

You laugh and it’s like taking a JumpPack straight to his bloodstream, a rush of energy and euphoria driving him upward and toward you. He smothers you with kisses, driving by the need to taste you again. You let him, giggling.

“What do you say then, hmm?” he growls, nipping your bottom lip. “Want to go for another ride?”

“That joke was terrible.”

“You know what they say. When at the rodeo.”

You laugh again and Minho is a goner once more, just like he was the first day he met you at Neon Rodeo.

TAG LIST:

@stayceebs97 @skzswife @bettybeako

#lee know smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho smut #lino smut #lee minho x you #lee know fic #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfic #lee know fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know x you

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hansolsfearofbugs · 9 months

Text

Skz- Before He Confesses

little things they do while they have a crush on you, sfw

huyng line edition - Bang Chan, Lee Know, Changbin, Hyunjin

maknae line

part 2- how he confesses: hyung line

Chan

finds himself looking out for you like he does for the members

little things like making sure to set some of your favorite snacks aside (yes he payed attention) before the members get to them

or packing an extra hoodie in case you get cold (this one's not totally selfless...he can't deny how much he likes seeing you in his clothes)

this is more of a thing that'd happen when y'all are in a relationship but he would absolutely hold you in a way where he could hear your heartbeat

that hairtie you left lying around that one time? he's keeping it on his wrist in case you ever need it

sticking with that theme: he would remember all of the little things you've told him about yourself

he would know your favorite food, restaurants, places, clothing brands, books, tv shows, movies, colors, jewelry, and anything else

tries to casually slip his knowledge of these things into conversations hoping to impress you

would overthink every text he sends you

like he would draft everything in his notes app, read it over to make sure there's no typos and that theres the right balance of exclamation points so he doesn't seem to angry, but not so many that it's weird, and would have to take a deep breath before sending you anything

one of the members definitely found the note in his phone with all the drafted messages and he got so much shit for it lol

watches videos of you two over and over again while smiling like an idiot

Lee Minho

finds himself talking to soonie, doongie, and dori about you

"she's just funny and sweet"

"meow"

"exactlyyy"

is scared to get caught staring at you so he purposefully looks down when he's near you which just makes it more obvious that he likes you

this is what gets him caught by the members

is reduced to a quiet, blushing mess when the members confront him about his feelings for you

stalks your social media to figure out what music you're listening too

makes a playlist titled "her" with all the songs you like and listens to it to feel closer to you

will purposefully mix your songs in with his when he has the aux to impress you

so happy when he sees you smiling and singing along to one of your songs

brings you coffee and pastries in the morning but doesn't actually have the courage to give them to you in person

just leaves them by your stuff with a little note so you know it's for you :)

seo changbin

changbin is absolutely the type to become your boy bsf to get close to you

is there to listen or give you advice on everything

#1 outfit advice friend

i mean he's not necessarily the best at outfit advice but it's the enthusiasm that counts

gets so happy when you send him pics of different outfits and ask for his opinons

thinks you look so pretty in everything you send him

purposefully "accidentally" matches with you now that he knows what you're wearing

stands close to you whenever you're in group settings and will stare down any guy he catches checking you out

tries to "accidentally" make physical contact whenever he can

hand gently on your waist as he walks past you

knees brushing together under the table

grabbing your hands when he's excited

touches your shoulder when laughing

you're the only one thats allowed to call him binnie

the members heard you call him binnie and when he just let it happen they were so confused

that's how they figured out he liked you

they teased the hell out of him for it

hwang hyunjin

catches all his sketches turning into you

what can he say? you're his muse

daydreams romantic scenarios with you before he falls asleep

his personal favorite is slow dancing with you on an empty stage in the moonlight after everyone else has left

has made several paintings and sketches of that exact scenario

will sketch pretty flowers on napkins when y'all are out as gifts for you

has a collection of book quotes and songs that remind him of you

purposefully shows off a bit in dance practice whenever he knows you're watching

has a talent for finding you in a crowd if you go to a performance

takes note of the jewelry you wear and buys himself pieces in similar styles so he can match with you

has read every book and watched every tv show he's ever heard you talk about

always asks you to do up his tie for him when he's getting ready for awards shows

doodles on your arm when he's bored

likes to sit next to you while he sketches or reads and you get work done

doesn't bother him that its quiet, he just likes to be in your presence

steals glances at you while you're reading or working because he thinks you look extra pretty while you're concentrating

a/n: if you enjoyed this check out the maknae line version!

check out part 2- how they confess: hyung line

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chicken-fifi · 2 years

Text

Car Rides - Mino (Winner) Imagine

Requested by anon: omg can't believe that your request is finally open! T~T can i please have mino (winner) scenario? it can be light angst to fluff/sexy where they are an ex but then mino tries to make his way back to y/n, she accepts, and ends up in sexy time (LOL). thanksies girl! <3

Word Count: 718 words

You got into the passenger seat of the car, shutting the door just as a fast food cup hit the window.

“What happened?” Minho asked, concern laced in his voice as he locked the door of the car.

“Date gone wrong,” you responded simply. “Apparently I’m supposed to be okay with sex on the first date and I’m not.”

Minho quickly put the car in drive and stepped on the gas leaving the restaurant as quickly as he could. After a few minutes of driving in silence he opened his mouth again.

“Why’d you call me?” he asked, genuinely confused as to why you called him, your ex, to come and pick you up rather than one of your friends. “I mean I don’t mind but, well, it’s odd.”

You collected your thoughts trying to figure out yourself why you called him out of all people. It was safe to say that neither of you had tried to contact the other since you’d mutually ended things. While you’d contemplated reaching out a few times, you never did out of fear of being rejected.

“I didn’t know who else to call,” you finally answered, your mouth moving faster than your brain. “You were the first person to pop into my head that I knew would come…regardless of whatever is going on between us.”

He didn’t say a word, his fingers beginning to tap the steering wheel as he pulled to a stop at a traffic light.

“Are you still at the same place?” he asked as he began driving again, switching lanes, getting ready to turn on a side street.

You nodded, hand going to the seat belt buckle ready to undo it once he stopped outside your house. Once he did, you undid the seatbelt, turning to thank him as you noticed him pulling the keys out of the ignition.

“Let me walk you up,” he said, undoing his own seatbelt before he hopped out of the car meeting you as you got out.

Opening your front door you were quick to turn around and offer him something to drink, just an extra thank you for going out his way and getting you out of a tough situation. Inside he stood awkwardly in the kitchen as you poured him a glass of water. His eyes naturally went to a picture hanging on the wall of you two on a date. His heart quenched a little. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss you or that he didn’t regret not reaching out sooner. Quite frankly, he hated the fact you two had broken up in the first place. You had both thrown in the towel so easily.

“It’s my favorite picture of us,” you said, noticing his gaze on the photo as you handed him the glass. “I haven’t had the heart to take it down.”

Minho looked down at you gently, “I miss you,” he said gently. “I miss us. I hate that you’re being treated like less than a human being capable of making your own decisions and having your own standards by other men. I hate that I can’t love you like you deserved to be loved anymore. I hate the fact that I gave up so quickly.”

You reached out and took his hand in yours, not daring to meet his eyes, “I miss us too.”

He gulped, squeezing your hand tightly as he took a step towards you before backing off, “I feel so disgusting for making a move on you after what you just had to deal with.”

You stepped closer to him quickly going onto the tips of your toes and pressing a kiss to his lips. Before you could pull away, his hand went around your waist pulling you closer to him. He set down the glass in his hand before it went to cheek. Your own hands looped around his neck. The two of you pulled away briefly, foreheads resting against one another.

“Can you stay?” you asked, nose brushing against his as you placed another kiss on his lips. “Please stay.”

Minho locked his lips with yours, his hands squeezing your hips as he pulled you even closer allowing you to feel every inch of his body.

“I’ll stay for as long as you want me too.”

#kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #winner #winner masterlist #winner imagines #winner scenarios #winner mino #winner song minho #mino #mino imagines #mino scenarios #song minho #song minho imagines #song minho scenarios

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dreamescapeswriting · 1 year

Text

Stray Kids Reaction || You have a Tattoo(s) and it turns them on [M]

Skz x Fem!Reader

⤜MASTERLIST

⤜ MINORS DNI! Mentions of sexual acts/descriptions of sexual acts

A/N: Awh you didn’t ask for too much at all my lovely anon, I hope this is okay for you sweetie!! First post back and I’m super nervous

CHAN:

It wasn't your first tattoo but it was the first tattoo in the place that seemed to be driving your boyfriend completely wild at just the first look at it. When you'd told Chan that you were going to get a tattoo he hadn't seemed that bothered by the news, that was until right now as he was staring at you from behind.

"What do you think?" You questioned, slowly turning your head to glance over your shoulder at your boyfriend who appeared to just be staring down at the tattoo in complete silence. Worry began to wash over you as you instantly went to the worst-case scenario and that he hated the tattoo or that something was spelt wrong. It was the lyrics to one of his songs, one that you held close to your heart and Chan knew that which was why his feelings were so conflicted right now.

"Is it spelt wrong?" You quizzed as your voice came out a little shaky, gently lowering your shirt when Chan's hands encased yours, keeping your shirt held up at your lower back.

"It's perfect," He breathed out, his heart hammering rapidly against his chest so much he was afraid it was about to burst right out of his chest. The tattoo was incredible and he almost felt guilty for the fact that instead of being completely and utterly in love with the lyrics he was busy picturing something else.

"So..." You trailed off, waiting for the other pin to drop since it sounded as though there was meant to be a "but" at the end of his sentence,

"I'm just imagining what it's going to look like when I'm fucking you from behind," He admitted, his ears beginning to burn a bright red as he realised he'd blurted the words out loud. Butterflies began to swarm all over your entire body as you thought about what he'd just said,

"Then I guess it better hurry and heal so you can make your imagination come true," You smirked, spinning around in his arms and wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, pressing your chest flush with his as he shivered a little.

MINHO:

Minho hadn't shown much interest when you told him that you were going to get a tattoo, in fact, he'd almost completely forgotten about it until you came home wearing a skirt. Not that was something completely un-ordinary for you but something he found odd when watching you from the kitchen. For the last five minutes, you'd been shifting uncomfortably with your legs spread, appearing as though you were trying not to itch your leg.

"Can you pass me an ice pack and a clean tea towel?" You called out to your boyfriend while you sat on the sofa, your feet were up on the coffee table in front of you spread slightly apart. You knew how itchy tattoos could be but for some reason, the one on your inner thigh was the worst itching sensation you'd come to deal with and you knew a cooling pad would help a lot. Minho arched his brow but did as was requested of him, slowly making his way over to you when the reason for the ice became clear, his pants began to grow tighter as he eyed up the ink on your leg.

"What?" You giggled watching in amusement as Minho suddenly sank to his knees in front of you, the sight was funny, to say the least as he sat directly between your legs admiring the inkwork.

"Was this the tattoo you were getting?" His voice barely came out above a whisper as his fingertips gently caressed over the skin of your inner thigh and stared at the design you'd had done.

"Obviously baby," There was a shake to your voice whenever his fingers trailed a little too high on your skin. Minho knew that your thighs were one of your weakest points but he just couldn't help himself, not when it looked this good.

"How long until I can bury my face between your legs?" The comment caught you completely off guard as your skin began to burn at the thought of it all. You squirmed a little on the spot and looked down at your boyfriend who began to kiss your other thigh, biting and nipping on the skin as you let out a small whimper of his name.

"I-It's probably fine to do right now," You admitted, the itching of the tattoo completely fading from your mind as you gave in to the tender kisses on your legs from your boyfriend.

CHANGBIN:

This was supposed to be a surprise for your boyfriend but that was completely thrown out when Changbin walked into the bathroom to find you changing the film that covered the tattoo on your arm. The shop had given you instructions to keep it wrapped for the first four days and after that, you were free to remove it but keep the tattoo moisturised as much as possible to help the healing.

"Haven't you heard of knocking?" You teased Changbin softly as he stared down at your arm, barging into the bathroom while you were in here was nothing new, you really should learn to lock the door. The tattoo was on your upper arm and you knew realistically you wouldn't be able to hide it for long but you thought you could have at least held out until it was healed before revealing it to him.

"You didn't tell me about this," He gasped out, his hands gently holding your arm as he turned it slowly to get a good look at the tattoo. He'd be lying to himself if the sight of you inked up wasn't making all of the blood in his body rush to his cock as he stared at it he wasn't sure what the big deal was, he'd seen tattoos on people a million times before but there was something about it being on you that drove him restless.

"It was supposed to be a surprise," You giggled a little, watching as your boyfriend's eyes continued to drink in the appearance of the ink all over your arm. It wasn't anything huge but it was something you'd been planning to get for a while, something that held very special meaning to both you and Changbin.

"Do you like it at least?" You questioned since he was being deathly silent on the matter it worried you that he thought it was too much or maybe he found it stupid.

"What do you think?" His voice dropped in tone as he nodded down to his sweats, your eyes slowly began to travel down until you saw the tent that he appeared to be pitching. Your throat ran dry as you realised that your boyfriend was hard all because of a simple tattoo.

"A tattoo did that?" You laughed nervously,

"No babe, YOUR tattoo did that," He whispered huskily, his lips slowly finding their way toward your neck as he began to leave sloppy kisses up and down your bare skin nipping and sucking whenever he could.

"Damn, what are you going to do when I get more?" You laughed nervously, letting out a small squeal as he wrapped your left leg around his hip and ground himself against you.

"I guess you'll have to get some more and figure that out yourself," He answered cockily, going back to kissing down your neck while you let out soft whimpers of his name.

HYUNJIN:

Tattoos on you had always driven Hyunjin over the edge, there was just something about them that always turned him on when it came to you. It wasn't as though it was like that for everyone, only you. Even now the small whimpers and whines you would let out whenever Hyunjin let his hands massage the cream into your skin weren't doing his imagination any favours. Ever since you'd come home with your latest addition to your skin, Hyunjin had barely been able to keep his hands to himself, wanting nothing more than to touch you as much as he could. When you'd asked him to help apply some cream to your back he practically flew out of his home art studio to come and help you.

"That's so nice," You moaned out as his hands softly rubbed the cream into the freshly-inked skin making your body completely relax against his touch. You'd only asked him to apply a little cream, not an entire backrub but it appeared as though Hyunjin was down to make you completely relax with him.

"You should get more tattoos," Hyunjin whispered to you, his lips finding their place on the back of your neck while his hands slowly came to a stop and you let out a grumble in protest.

"Why'd you stop?" You questioned, slowly craning your neck to be able to look at him only to find him staring at you with a darkened look in his eyes.

"I figured my hands would be much more useful somewhere else," He whispered seductively, his hands slowly running up the innards of your thigh as you let out a small breath of realisation. Your entire body was on fire the moment you realised what he was hinting at and you giggled to yourself,

"Oh? Is that right?" You slowly turned so that you were sitting up and facing him as he smirked back at you, two seconds away from kissing you into a frenzy.

"Only if you want to," He told you, slowly inching himself closer to your body before you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

JISUNG:

Jisung had been there while you were getting your tattoo done and you'd never seen the man act so strange before. Every minute he was shifting in his seat, blushing whenever you caught him staring at your thigh and whimpering when the tattoo was finally completed. Even after you'd paid the lady behind the counter he was rushing you out of the shop and in the direction of the car.

"I thought you wanted to go and look for the new manga you were wanting," You laughed nervously wondering what the big rush with getting you into the car was. The two of you had planned to go shopping after your tattoo but it appeared as though that option was no longer on the table.

"That was before," He whispered, unlocking the car so quickly he was almost dropping the keys onto the floor. In all the time you'd been dating you couldn't think of a time you'd seen Jisung this much in a rush about something, his hands were shaking and he appeared to look around nervously.

"Before what?" You raised your eyebrow as your boyfriend took you into the back of the car instead of the front and he laid you down on the seats. It began to click in your mind what exactly he was doing and you couldn't help but feel a little ego boost from it all,

"Before I got so horny I was ready to fuck you in that damn tattoo chair," He breathed out, shutting the door as he began to kiss you like a man starved. His lips crashed against yours hungrily, biting and sucking on your bottom lip while his hands ran down your waist, attempting to untuck the shirt from your skirt as you giggled against his lips.

"Slow down there cowboy," You pressed your palm against his chest and shook your head, there was absolutely no way you were about to have sex in the middle of a car parking lot in broad daylight.

"Let's get home before you start dry humping my leg like a needy pup," You said, sliding out from under him and getting out of the car to get back into the driver's seat, listening to your boyfriend whimper in protest.

FELIX:

Though Felix had never voiced what your tattoos did to him, it didn't exactly take a genius to figure out that they turned him on. Just last week you'd gotten another one added to your body and Felix had barely been able to leave you alone for more than 20 minutes at a time. Even now when you were supposed to be having a gaming night with his friends he was sitting with you right next to him,

"If you're not careful I'll be sitting on your lap next," You teased him as he attempted to pull you even closer to him. He didn't care that his friends were in the room, your tattoos were on display and all he wanted to do was take you into the bathroom and show you how much he adored them.

"That's not a bad thing," He whispered in your ear, not missing a beat as he bit down on your ear lobe and let out a small whimper when you scooted away from him. There was a time and a place for him to act needy toward you and this was neither,

"We're at your friend's place," You laughed, sliding a cardigan on to cover up the tattoos on your arms not that it was going to do much to sway him when he'd already laid eyes on them.

"Then let's go home," He was completely serious about it too but you shook your head at him, going to get another drink from the kitchen and letting his friends tease him for how needy he was acting toward you.

SEUNGMIN:

Those who assumed that Seungmin was quiet and laid back in the bedroom clearly hadn't been friends with your boyfriend long enough, or Seungmin was just incredibly good at hiding his true intentions around people. The boys would constantly tease him about how much of a laid-back lover he must have been but they couldn't have been more wrong.

"S-Seungmin," You whined out, your legs beginning to burn from how long the two of you had been at this. Ever since you'd gotten another tattoo the man had barely left you alone, getting needier whenever he would see the ink that lined your collarbone. It wasn't anything extravagant nor was it anything that was majorly a turn-on but the sight of ink on your body drove Seungmin mad with desire.

"Fucked out already baby? I've only made you cum four times," He chuckled to himself, holding you still on top of him as you lazily leaned your head against his shoulder trying to catch your breath.

"You're like a fucking wild animal whenever I get a new tattoo," You breathed out, enjoying the way his hands slowly began to rub up and down your back gently.

"I can't help it, there's just something about the way it looks on you," He admitted to you, watching as your eyes slowly began to shut as you struggled to stay awake.

JEONGIN:

Jeongin had no idea what it was that turned him on so much about you having tattoos, it never happened whenever he saw someone else with a tattoo. Though he'd always found them to be "badass" or "cool-looking" on other people there was just something about you that sent the man frantic.

"What about this one?" You questioned as you stepped into the changing area's waiting station, you were supposed to be choosing a dress for your friend's wedding but it appeared as though you were struggling majorly. Whatever option you picked never felt right when you were alone so you'd dragged your boyfriend out with you to help.

"What's the back like?" Jeongin questioned, his eyes travelling up and down your body as you slowly did a spin to show him the back of the gown. Within seconds you were being pushed back into the changing room and the door was locked, your heart was practically in your throat with how fast you'd been moved.

"Innie?" You giggled, feeling your boyfriend press your body against the wall, his hands slowly trailing down your waist and dragging you close. Jeongin's heart was racing as he let out a small whimper of your name,

"It's backless," He whispered as if that was clearing anything up but you were just as confused as before, you'd worn plenty of backless dresses before and he'd never reacted this way to them.

"Your tattoo," Realisation began to crash into you as you smirked at him. Of course, you had tattoos everywhere but for some reason, the one on your back - which was your most recent - was the one that caused Jeongin to get turned on the most. Maybe it was the size of it or the fact that it was so incredibly detailed you had no idea, all you knew was that whenever he saw it he would get so turned on he'd take you anywhere to take care of his needs.

"I'm not fucking you in the changing rooms," You chuckled as he let out a small whimper in protest to you, sounding almost so needy you wanted to give in to him but this was a public area and you still needed to find a dress to wear.

"Shall I get this dress?" You whispered to him, your fingers slowly curling a strand of his hair around your finger. Jeongin's eyes never left yours, as though he was in a trance with you.

"Get this dress. I won't leave you alone the whole night at the wedding," A smirk began to grow on your lips as you thought about it, the thought of having him attached to you all night long sounded like bliss.

"This dress it is then, now..." You began to pull away from him as you spoke,

"Get out and let me change." You drove him slowly toward the door as he protested for you not to let him go out there the way that he was, he had no way of hiding how hard he was right now.

"We'll go straight home and I'll take care of you baby," You promised, leaving one last long kiss on his lips before shoving him out and into a chair to wait for you.

Tagline: @chiisaiblog @hanasonmi @sw33tnight @taestannie @army24--7 @acciocriativity @scarletemeterio @kimahnjung98 @halesandy @aerastus @laylasbunbunny @critssq @lenfilms @btsiguess-kpop

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bluejutdae · 3 months

Text

MAIN MASTERLIST

to better organize the masterlists, i'll make different posts all linked ;)

Fake texts - SMAU -> masterlist

SOLO fics (or text fics) -> masterlist

Series ->

Stray Kids saying I love you without saying I love you: Chan, Minho, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin and Jeongin.

best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Chan , Minho, Changbin, Jisung , Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin.

Stray Kids as… ->

Stray Kids as specific types of tea | OT8

Stray Kids as very specific vibes | OT8

00 line as silly frogs | Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin

Stray Kids as Romantic Clichè Scenarios | OT8

Stray Kids as University Courses I'd create based on them | OT8

Stray Kids as colors | OT8

Stray Kids as Hozier songs | OT8

Stray Kids as types of Boyfriends | OT8

#Thiana masterlist #bluejutdae masterlist

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whimsicalwritingsandmore · 5 months

Text

Want You Back | ateez x reader

Pairing: werewolf!ot8!ateez x werewolf!reader

Genre: fluff mostly, romance, poly, a little angst?

Warnings for this chapter: none

Word Count: 2702 words

a/n: hello!! so I was able to edit a lot today. :') I'm hoping to have the next chapter up by Sunday! Let me know what you think about this chapter, I would love to hear your thoughts on this one! Happy reading! <3

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 4

You felt off all day.

It was something you couldn’t explain. Out of nowhere that morning, you woke up with a slight headache and a sudden uneasy feeling that refused to go away until late in the afternoon. It was Friday, and you decided to close early due to your bizarre state. You planned a night-in with some warm tea, hearty soup and a marathon of a new series you started.

Currently, while finishing up cleaning the tables and organising the chairs, you paid no attention to anything and swayed mindlessly to the soft music in your headphones with the fresh scent of lavender filling the room which you were using to wipe the tables down. Your friends had already left for the evening and the skyline of Seoul provided a composed and serene atmosphere, one which you were very grateful for at this time.

You pondered the cause for your sudden headache and a spike in anxiety. Werewolves rarely got sick, the main reason may be because of exhaustion, but as far as you could recall, you weren’t over-exerting or pushing yourself too hard. While the beginning of your journey was far from effortless, you paced yourself when it came to facing challenges. Because you knew if you overworked yourself, especially since you were still recovering at the time, Jisung wouldn’t hesitate to tell Chan and Minho. You could handle Chan but you were afraid of an angry Minho.

As you continued to lose yourself in your thoughts and music, you didn't hear the bell of your cafe ring. However, you felt your emotions suddenly shift and there was a rapid electric rush through your body. Following it was a pull you knew all too well.

It couldn’t be?

You spun around and halted at the figure in front of you. He was still slightly dripping wet, his hair damp and his clothes stuck to him but his face glowed beautifully. His eyes sparkled and he panted with a slight smile beginning to form as he looked at you in awe and admiration.

Song Mingi, your soulmate, and one of the loves of your life stood in front of you in the flesh. It had been six months since you last saw him and the last time you saw him was during the worst times of your life, one that took a lot of therapy to start unpacking. Luckily, Chan knew someone who helped you immensely in deconstructing all the walls you had built.

You thought a lot about this moment, coming face to face with one of your soulmates and unravelling all the feelings and emotions that had been buried inside you for so long. There were times when you wracked your brain with so many different scenarios, playing out what you would say, how you would act and your responses when they responded. You hoped to prepare yourself for the imminent confrontation but truthfully, you were far from well-prepared.

As Mingi approached you cautiously, you were stumped. So many questions began to flood your mind. What are you supposed to do? Should you be aloof and standoffish? Should you start yelling? Should you run away, let Chan handle it and never look back?

The main question you had was, did you harbour any hate towards Mingi? Hate was a very strong word and you couldn’t begin to fathom hating one of your mates. Yes, you were hurt, angry and disappointed in them but part of you didn’t want to throw in the towel just yet. If there was any possibility for reconciliation, you were willing to try, albeit you wouldn’t go easy on them.

Something you learnt in therapy was that relationships are a work in progress. It’ll never be perfect like you were told growing up and it didn’t necessarily have to be set in stone with you not having a choice about it. You did in fact have a choice, and while you still believed fate had a role in bringing people together, a real relationship requires showing up, learning from mistakes, taking accountability and trying again if both parties truly care for each other. If not, you knew you had to face the harsh reality of walking away even if it broke you.

You wanted to make it work with your soulmates, and Mingi was the one out of your eight mates who you were closest to after Hongjoong. He was the second one you had bonded with and spent a lot of time together before meeting everyone else. You would describe him as your tall alpha with a soft heart and sweet personality. He wore his heart on his sleeve, he’s a tenderheart and big softie who would seek you out to share his snacks with because he didn't like to eat alone. He struggled with his self-esteem because being the middle child had him being forgotten a lot. You were there along with the boys to give him comfort and show him his worth. Song Mingi is the tenderest, sweetest and softest person out of the entire pack.

"Mingi..." you murmured.

"Y-Y/N..." his voice broke out in a raspy tone.

The moment he spoke snapped you out of your daze. You just wanted to hug him, embrace him and feel his warmth again. As your finger grazed his hand, he pulled you into a bone-crushing hug, stroking your hair and kissing the top of your head repeatedly.

"It's you! It's really you!" He cried.

That’s all it took for you to break your facade and you broke down in his embrace, sniffles and sobs racking your body. Mingi just pulled you closer.

"Don't cry, don't cry angel. I know I have a lot to apologise for. I-I can't even b-begin to explain it. There are no e-excuses for my actions. I'll make it up to y-you. No matter what, I won't ever hurt you like that again."

You felt the sincerity in his words. You knew he was being sincerely honest. You weren't ready to forgive him - you both still had to have a proper conversation about everything. But for now, you wanted to have this moment with him, after so long you finally had your Mingi again.

It took a while to peel Mingi off you because he kept refusing. He was taller than you and much stronger so it took a lot of convincing that you weren’t going to vanish into thin air once he let you go. He wouldn't even sit if you didn't. When you placed him in a chair and moved away to give him a blanket, some tea and maybe a change of clothes, he bolted upright and grabbed your hand, holding onto it for dear life.

Your apartment was right above the café. You had a few oversized jerseys in your closet as you were currently experimenting with your style that could fit him but it seemed to be futile on retrieving anything.

Mingi refused to part with you so instead he followed you foot to foot behind the counter as you pulled out one of the blankets from under the counter that you had for safekeeping for the colder days. He stood close by as you made him some tea.

Suddenly, your phone went off signalling a message. Mingi was confused by the sound and intrigued by the device you pulled out of your pocket. As you quickly checked to see who it was, Mingi quickly snatched it from you to see what it was.

"Hey—Mingi!"

Your shouts went unanswered as Mingi stared at the screen. He was confused by the interface. Who is Jisung? Somehow he exited out of that app and managed to click on Instagram. Your profile was the first page when he opened the app and his brows pinched in even more confusion.

"Is that you?" he asked

You tried to get your phone back so you could explain things to him but Mingi is taller than you.

He pressed on the picture with you and Chan. It was a harmless picture that was taken during Chan’s birthday party with the two of you posing with big smiles as you both leaned against the kitchen counter watching Seungmin and Hyunjin fight over something. Your caption was simple: Happy birthday to my best friend. However, Mingi’s instincts kicked in seeing the two of you standing in close proximity. He felt a low growl wanting to erupt from his throat, his protective senses coming in. But he noticed your smile. You hadn't smiled like that in a long time. It was only with them and the last time was probably when…he couldn’t remember the last time.

You were able to grab back your phone after accidentally stepping on his foot.

“Ow!” he cried.

“Finally.” you sighed.

"Who is that?" You could hear the pain that was evident in his voice. Even if you did want to be cold towards him, you didn’t have the heart to. It was difficult to remain aloof.

"He's my friend," you answered, "His name is Chan and he was the one who found me in the lake and brought me back with him."

"The lake? You came through the lake?”

You nodded, “Yeah, I don’t know how, all I remember is jumping in and then everything went dark. Then next thing I knew I was here.”

“That's why we couldn't find you. You were in this realm all the time?"

You hummed and nodded.

"Yeah, I…I didn't want to come home…” you stuttered, “I-I couldn't..." you trailed off.

Truth be told, you weren’t 100% certain what to expect from Mingi. There was so much heaviness weighing on your shoulders and in the air, that you couldn’t read what was going through Mingi’s mind or predict his next move.

Was he going to snap at you, ridicule you or berate you?

Mingi felt your uncertainty as the spark of your bond started to drop and he brought you into an immediate hug.

"I can't blame you,” he started, “We left you with a lot of broken promises, we didn't take care of you like we are supposed to. It hurts to hear that you didn’t want to come back to us but…you were also hurting a lot more than we were."

You didn’t realise the tears cascading down your face. For so long, you just wanted to be heard, understood and comforted.

"Mingi, we have to talk about all that…”

“Let’s talk now then. At least cover some bases?”

You agreed and brought the tea to a table in the far corner away from the window. You sat opposite Mingi with great effort as he was still uneasy not being able to feel your touch, you saw the way he never took his eyes off you.

You cleared your throat holding the teacup securely in your hand.

“First of all, I’m really, really, really, really sorry for not realising sooner the damage we were doing to you. I know an apology isn’t even enough. The fact that it had to take you being separated from us, for us to recognise the severity is inexcusable.” he began.

You listened intently, anxious at what he had to say.

“When I discovered how damaged our bond became, it felt like an entire collapse of my world. I don’t even know how to explain it, it was as if the one thing that kept me going was stripped away and I was operating on autopilot with no clear way ahead,” he paused, “My birthday wasn’t the same. It wasn’t a celebration, there was more grief than anything. I always told you how much you meant to me and you going missing showed me just how important you are to me Y/N. You’re my entire world and I can’t bear the thought of living without you. I hate it and I don’t want to live like that. I should have noticed my treatment towards you, I should have told the boys, I should have supported you and been there for you. I’m so sorry for failing you.”

“Mingi…”

“Hit me, yell at me, tell me as it is. Don’t hold back Y/N but please…don’t give up on me. Please give me a chance to make it up to you.”

“I…I appreciate your honesty Mingi. You seem to be sincere. I thought I would never be understood. It felt like I was drowning in a sea of my feelings. Everyday I prayed one of you would wrap your arms around me and end the nightmare I was living in. All my life…I was taught how to be a perfect mate and to consider your mate as your whole world, but when your mate forgets you, your world falls apart and you’re left stranded in a dark void with no real direction to follow. When I was running from those rogues, it came to my mind that you all were on the other side of town with Lila…”

Mingi grimaced at that realisation. You were in danger and they were so far away from you. He held your hands that were still wrapped around the teacup, rubbing soothing circles to comfort and help you gather your thoughts.

“I always thought it was my fault,” you cried, “I wanted to call out for you through the bond but I couldn’t even focus. I felt like a failure, I thought I failed at being a Luna, and so many questions plagued my mind every day and night. What does Lila have that I don’t? Why am I always a second choice? Why does Mrs Kim hate me? What’s wrong with me?”

Your voice broke as you spoke. Mingi wanted to kick himself for doing this to you. He finally saw the way you had been broken. You questioned your self worth, they made you question your worthiness. You didn’t know how you were so important, you were a precious gem to him, you were priceless.

“Nothing’s wrong you angel, if anything, something is clearly wrong with the rest of us because we’re plain idiots for making you think you’re unworthy. You deserved to be loved, adored and respected.” he answered.

“It hurts Mingi. All I ever wanted was to be someone's favourite person growing up. I wanted to be the one, you could come to for anything. I wanted to help in any way I could. I just wanted to be loved.”

“And you are loved, my love. I love you so deeply and truly, I really do. I will never let you feel that way again. As long as I live, you’d be showered unconditionally with love and respect.”

You closed your eyes and regulated your breathing to compose yourself.

“I’m willing to work things out Mingi. But you should know, I’m not sure if I trust you right now. So many thoughts come in, what if it happens again? What if -”

“It won’t. It will never happen again, angel. I know that seems like an empty promise. But it isn't! I promise you, I will make you trust me again.”

You looked at Mingi with some uncertainty. You never considered love would be like this, you always thought it would be easy. You didn’t know what was going to happen next but at least for now, this was a start.

“Tiny steps. Let’s take tiny steps then. I’ll introduce you to Chan tomorrow, he’ll help you get in contact with the others. Let them know you’re safe.”

Even after all the hurt they gave you, Mingi was in awe at the way you cared so deeply for them.

“Let’s head upstairs,” you said tiredly.

As you both made your way to the apartment, Mingi thought about everything. It pained him deeply to know the hurt they caused you. He made a silent promise to himself that he’ll be better for you.

That night, he couldn’t sleep. You’re the best thing that ever happened to him and you deserve unconditional and unwavering love. In no way, shape or form were you ever a second choice. You could never be second - you were and will always be first.

He’ll make things right again. He promised.

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Tag list: @eastleighsblog , @sehun096rainbow

#ateez x reader #ot8 ateez x reader #poly ateez x reader #poly!ateez #ateez series #ateez fluff #ateez fanfic

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cheeseceli · 4 months

Text

Christmas

Pairing: Ot8 stray kids × Gn!Reader (individual)

Genre: fluff scenarios

Description: activities Stray Kids would like to have with you on Christmas day

Warnings: I repeat the word "Christmas" way too much, mention of food at Chan and Felix's

A/n: I don't like this but I really wanted to write something for Christmas so here it is. Next year will be better

Bang Chan - dinner

Just sitting with you in a table full of the most delicious foods he could ever think of feels like a dream. He also gets to talk to you about everything and anything all at once, reminding each other about the whole year. He realises this year was particularly good, especially with you in it. So he soon starts to talk about his plans for the future, the one he hopes he can share with you too. He has a guess that the next year will be pretty good

Lee Know - snow

It doesn't matter if it snows a lot of other days besides Christmas, you both will be out in the streets when it's 25th of December. And if it snows right at its night, you can bet that he'll be running to get out of the house asap. For a second it feels like you both are the only ones in the world and the sky had decided to snow exclusively to create this moment. Just making a snowman, creating a snow fight or even just seeing the snowflakes fall from above might be one of the prettiest moments in Minho's life. But he doesn't think it's all because of the weather.

Changbin - gift giving

He knows Christmas is way more than just gifts, but he'd be lying if he said that he didn't like to gift people. Especially gifting you. He loves your reaction the most. He likes how excited you get, how you try to guess what the present is and your smile when you open the box. The happiness and gratitude in your eyes is the biggest gift he could ever receive.

Hyunjin - exploring the city

He'd take you to the best places in town, the prettiest ones, so the magic of this date could feel more visible. Having Christmas lights all over the place, those huge Christmas trees and perhaps even fireworks seems like a day he'd remember. But hopefully you remember the places you visited more than him so you can tell him how it was later, because he was too focused at looking at how your eyes shone to pay attention to any firework in the sky

Han - Movies

Watching movies in your shared bed with matching pajamas from the Christmas eve till the actual Christmas. It seems perfect to him. Some might think it's basic or not memorable at all, especially for a first time spending the holiday together, but he disagrees. He loves how simple it is. Just the two of you loving each other in silence and enjoying each others company seems great. You might even fall asleep hugging one another, but that just makes it more magical in his opinion.

Felix - baking

Not cliche if it's true. This man just LOVES baking with you. Cinnamon biscuits, pies, brownies or whatever to be honest. What exactly you are baking doesn't matter so much. He just loves to be there in the kitchen with you: flour all over the place and a smile in both of your lips. The fact that it's Christmas, such an important holiday, and you chose to spend it with him just makes it more cheerful.

Seungmin - Christmas tree

Decorating the tree would be so fun next to Seungmin. You both together would have the smartest of ideas on how to design the tree this year. It would look genuinely pretty. And just trying to figure where to put each decoration and the beautiful result would be so domestic but also exclusive to him. He thinks he doesn't ever want to decorate another Christmas tree if you are not by his side

I.N - karaoke

You both would be singing Mariah Carey till 2 AM, I just know it. Jokes aside I think he would genuinely like to have a small karaoke night, Christmas themed. And even before/after that night he would probably be hugging you from behind and singing a sweet melody in your ear, which you'd later realise to be a Christmas song. It feels a little bit like a movie, one that he likes very much.

Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Dividers by @cafekitsune

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writingforstraykids · 6 months

Text

All the times you fell in love with Chan

Pairing: Chan x femReader (mention of Minho | short mention of ot8)

Word Count: 3505

Summary: Falling for Chan has happened in small stages, and some moments stuck out: making time for you after his live streams, taking care of you as you're on your period, teaching you how to slow dance and many more...

Warnings/Tags: fluff, friends to lovers, cuddles, mentions of insomnia

A/N: Just a collection of short drabbles/scenarios with Chan🤭~ Moon🌙

You’ve known Chan your whole life and growing up you tried not to think of him as more than your big brother and best friend. Nevertheless, you found yourself falling for him steadily and thinking back there are a few moments only increasing your feelings for him…

One

Chan smiles softly, watching you fool around with Seungmin and Minho, smacking a pillow onto the first's head. Minho starts laughing at Seungmin's baffled look and lets you hide behind him as the younger one seeks revenge.

"I'm sorry," you giggle and jump up, running away. Seungmin races after you, and you quickly hide behind Chan.

Chan giggles and reaches back, hands grabbing your sides. "Need an escape?" he asks.

"Yes, please," you laugh, and he grabs your hand, pulling you after him. The pair of you race up the stairs, and Chan quickly pulls you into his room, slamming the door closed. You find yourself pressed against the door as he locks the door, still laughing softly. You giggle breathlessly and look at him, amused. “Good morning, by the way.”

“Morning, dear,” he chuckles before taking a step back.

You make your way over to his bed and throw yourself onto it, pulling out your phone. “Give him five minutes, then he’ll be busy chasing someone else.” Chan snorts before joining you on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He yawns and rubs his face tiredly. You glance at him and frown softly. “How did you sleep?”

“Do I really look that bad?” he asks, contorting his face.

Putting your phone away, you teasingly poke his cheek. “Only a little.”

“Fuck off,” he mutters beneath his breath and squirms away as you tickle his side. “Stop that!”

You smirk and calmly rest your head on his chest. “You had trouble sleeping again?”

“It’s my own fault, honestly. I needed to finish that new song, and once I was done, I wasn’t feeling tired anymore,” he sighs.

“You’re an idiot,” you tell him kindly and yelp, surprised as Chan pulls you on top of him.

Chan smirks up at you and hugs you close. “I know I am.”

You smile at him and fondly roll your eyes. “We could just stay here for a while. Take a nap.”

“Yeah?” he asks, eyes growing incredibly soft.

“Yeah,” you nod and quickly make yourself comfortable on his chest as you start blushing. Chan has been your best friend for years, but now that you are both older, some things have changed. His hugs are still comforting as ever, but there’s a different type of intimacy to it.

Two

Knowing how much Chan struggled throughout the training phase, especially before finally debuting, you loved nothing more than seeing him truly happy. When you first visited after their debut and met all his members, you could tell how proud he was of them. What stood out to you was how much the younger ones seemed to adore him and vice versa. They all welcomed you warmly, making sure you felt at home for the week you stayed with them. Chan started to miss you quite quickly again every time, so you found yourself back in Seoul more often than you could count. Changbin once jokingly mentioned you were their secret ninth member already, and Minho called you his little sister. With every visit, the time you stayed got longer, and your bond with each of them deepened. So when your university suggested studying abroad for a year, you knew where to go.

You make your way through the airport, pulling your suitcase after you, and try to figure out where to find the closest cab. Your phone buzzes in your pants pocket, and you curse softly to yourself as you fumble for it, still staring up at the many screens and signs. You take the call without even looking at who called you and finally spot the directions for the cabs. “Y/N L/N speaking?”

The moment you hear his giggle, you know who it is. “You picked up without looking again?”

“Sorry, I’m currently at the airport and trying to find my way out of here,” you laugh.

“May I help you with that?” he asks, and you suddenly hear his voice double.

You turn around stunned and stare right into his soft brown eyes. “Chan,” you breathe out, the phone still pressed to your ear.

“Welcome back, dear,” he says before ending the call. He pulls you into a tight hug and sways with you from feet to feet. “Gosh, I missed you.”

“I missed you too, Channie,” you smile and hug him back tightly. “Won’t be leaving that soon this time. You’re sure you can cope with me for a whole year?”

“I could cope with you forever,” Chan says quietly, and you pull back, searching his eyes.

“I’ll ask you about that again when we say goodbye in a year,” you tell him, only halfheartedly teasing.

Chan smiles at you fondly, his dimples appearing, making him look very soft. When the hell did he become so pretty? “My answer will be the same.”

Three

You sigh softly and close your laptop, finally done with all of your online classes for the day. Starting your period this morning, you aren’t in the best mood, and you’re glad the boys are all busy working somewhere else. It gets really hard pretending to function and having fun whilst you're internally dying because of the pain. You bury your head in your arms on your laptop as another cramp hits you and bite back a groan.

“You’re okay?”

You look up, slowly sitting up straight again, and meet Chan’s worried eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine,” you nod quickly.

Chan spots your favorite mug and the package of teabags next to you. He strolls over, takes it, and realizes it’s the tea you drink to ease your cramps. “That time of the month again already?” he asks, and you blink at him.

“Uh, yeah,” you say quietly, blushing a little.

“Bad day?” he asks, and you simply nod. “You’re done with school for the day?”

“Yeah, luckily,” you tell him.

“Alright, go pack up your things and meet me in my room after, alright?”

“Okay?” you nod, confused.

“Also, you can grab a pair of my sweatpants and put them on,” he tells you. “They’re probably more comfortable than your fitting ones right now.”

You stare at him, stunned for a moment. “But…uhm, what if, you know,” you ramble, not quite knowing how to say it. “They’re really strong right now, what if the blood-.”

“It’s okay,” he assures you. “I wouldn’t mind, honestly.”

“Oh, okay,” you nod slowly, taking your laptop as he hands it to you. He sends you off with a patient smile, and you turn back around, halfway up the stairs.”Chan?”

“Yes, you can take a sweater as well,” he tells you, not even looking in your direction as he makes some more tea for you. He grins to himself as you laugh at him knowing exactly what you wanted.

Chan was right, his sweatpants that sit more loosely around your hips feel a lot better. Also, the comfortable sweater makes you feel warm and safe instantly. You make your way back to his room after changing and stop in the doorframe. “What is all that?” you ask, surprised.

A few of your favorite snacks and fresh tea are on the small table next to his bed. He’s currently checking the temperature of a heating pad, the package of your painkillers of choice sticking out of the pocket of his pants. “After last time, I wanted to be prepared,” he tells you, holding out the heating pad. “Is that alright?”

“Yeah, that’s perfect,” you nod, holding onto it. After coming here not even two months ago, you haven’t been prepared enough for your first period. No painkillers, tea, snacks, or anything to help you feel more comfortable. Of course, Chan had gone out to grab some stuff for you, but it was a shitty start for all of you.

“Uh, do you have everything you need?” he asks, covering his mattress with a warm, fuzzy blanket.

“Yeah,” you nod, still staring at him.

“I can still go and buy what you need, really, that’s no problem,” he assures you.

“It’s okay,” you tell him quietly, feeling tears brim your eyes. How fucking sweet was that?

Chan nods satisfied, and opens the window to let in some fresh air, knowing you felt hot quickly during your period. “You wanna watch a movie or something? I can still finish work later,” he tells you and turns around, frowning as you don’t answer. He spots the tears in your eyes, and his whole demeanor softens even more. “Oh, dear, that bad?” he asks softly, and you quickly shake your head.

“No, I just…didn’t expect all that,” you admit, and hug the heating pad close. “You didn’t have to do all that, you know.”

“I wanted to,” he assures you before stepping over and pulling you into a warm hug. “I want you to be as comfortable as possible, even if you feel like shit, okay?”

You bury your face in his chest and nod gently. “Okay,” you whisper.

“Now stop acting like I did something massive and come cuddle,” he giggles, and you make sure to remind him that this is, in fact, massive.

Four

You gently knock on Chan’s door before poking your head inside. “Channie?” you ask quietly, not sure if he’s currently doing a livestream.

He glances over at you, smiling as he spots you. “Yes, dear?”

“Do you have a few minutes?” you ask as he checks the time on his phone.

“I’m about to go live..but, what’s wrong?” he asks, almost sounding a little worried.

“Someone pissed me off, that’s all. It’s not that important, don’t worry,” you wave him off.

“Why don’t you go and have some hot chocolate or something? Felix made brownies today, I’m sure he’ll give you some,” he smirks and checks the time once more. “We can talk later? I’ll call you once I’m done.”

“Yeah?” you beam at him, making him giggle.

“Of course,” he laughs before waving you outside. “Piss off, I have work to do.”

He joins you downstairs later, plopping down onto the sofa heavily. You glance at him as he sits there with his eyes closed for a moment, seeming like he has to ground himself for a minute. Gently nudging his side, you tilt your head at him. “You’re alright?”

“Tired, that’s all,” he nods, opening his eyes and giving you a weak smile. “Didn’t get much sleep last night, and it’s starting to show.”

“Oh,” you nod and squint your eyes at him suspiciously. “You should get some sleep then.”

“No, I promised you to talk after the live,” he shakes his head firmly. “You’re important to me, so I want to have time for you when you need me.”

You gently pat his thigh, not noticing how he stiffens at the sudden touch. “That’s really sweet, you know?”

“So, what happened?” he asks curiously.

You start ranting about what happened today at work. He responds with little hums, encouraging you about doing the right thing as his head slowly grows heavier against your shoulder. As you continue your story, you feed him small bites of Felix’s brownies, and Chan sleepily lets you have your way of spoiling him. He tries to stay awake; he really does, but as soon as you start playing with his hair, massaging his scalp so softly, he can’t fight it anymore. You smile to yourself as you notice and pull him down with you onto the sofa. Chan cuddles into you in his sleep, wrapping his arms around you and holding you close. “Night, Channie,” you whisper, and he hums drowsily in response. Chan being all soft and sleepy is a sight you’d never get tired of.

Five

You groan frustratedly as you turn for the hundredth time tonight, still unable to sleep. You went to bed four hours ago once they all got back from their concert and called it a night. Back then, you weren’t really tired, but looking at your friends’ faces, you knew they were. There was no use in trying to keep them up. Nevertheless, you were unable to get any rest, tossing and turning since you went to bed.

You’ve tried reading a book, but your eyes started to hurt after a while. Then you went scrolling through your phone, and once you saw one or two too many edits of your best friend and started to question your feelings for him, once again, you threw that idea overboard as well. Now you’re lying awake, trying to convince yourself that Chan means nothing more than a big brother and best friend to you. You try and fail miserably, knowing you fell for the handsome softie quite a while ago.

After another twenty minutes of self-pitying and messing up your sheets, you throw on a sweater of Chan, which he forgot in your room today, and make your way downstairs quietly. Maybe watching some tv and hot chocolate would help you relax. You notice too late that the lights in the living room are on and bite back a sigh as you spot Chan. The one you wanted to avoid after all those thoughts before. You need a moment to notice Minho as well, curled up next to Chan, head resting in his lap. He seems to be asleep peacefully as Chan’s mindlessly playing with his hair and watching tv, more or less attentive. “Hey,” you whisper, trying not to wake Minho.

“Hey,” he gives back with a tired smile and pats the spot next to him. “Can’t sleep?”

“Nope,” you shake your head and sit down carefully.

“Any reason?” he asks, wrapping his arm around you and pulling you against him.

You sigh softly and shake your head. “Not really, no,” you tell him. “What about Minnie?”

Chan chuckles softly. “You know how the adrenaline gets to him, he needs some time until his body calms down again,” he tells you and glances at his friend. “He knew I’d be awake, it isn’t the first time.”

“Mhm, I get that,” you nod gently and lean comfortably against him. “Tell me a story?”

“A story?” he giggles. “Like a bedtime story for little kids, is that what you want?”

“Chan,” you groan softly. “I’m not five anymore.”

“You were quite an adorable five-year-old, though,” he smirks, and you shoot him a playful glare.

“You were only seven, don’t think you’re all grown-up,” you snort.

“You sound like Min,” he laughs. “He keeps on telling me that one year isn’t that much either.”

“Well, it isn’t. Neither are two,” you insist, and Chan simply grins.

“Not anymore…but I still remember how pissed you were once I turned 18, and you were still sweet 16,” he giggles.

“You’re an ass,” Minho suddenly chimes in drowsily. “It’s not that much of a difference, old man.”

“Fuck off,” Chan pokes his side, making him squirm.

“Now tell her some damn story, I wanna sleep,” he protests softly and closes his eyes again.

“Unbelievable,” Chan sighs but gives in since the two of you seem to agree.

It doesn’t take long until your head rests next to Minho’s, and you’re slowly falling asleep. Chan never fails to get you to sleep.

Six

“What the hell are you still doing in your sweatpants?” Chan’s voice cuts through the silence of your room.

“I don’t wanna go,” you mumble into your pillow, hiding your face as his confused eyes meet yours.

The mattress dips beneath his weight as he gets comfortable next to you, mirroring your position. “But you were so excited only a few days ago.”

“I’m not anymore,” you whine softly.

“Why? Come on, Min helped you pick that beautiful dress, Felix, Jeongin, and you bought the fitting jewelry…didn’t Hannie and Seungmin also help you pick out some make-up?” he asks, irritated. “Changbin helped with your shoes, Hyunjin offered to help with doing your hair…what the hell is keeping you from going after that team effort? Is it because I didn’t do anything?” he asks teasingly.

“No,” you giggle and peak at him shyly. “I’ll embarrass myself.”

“What?!” he asks confused. “Why the hell would that be the case, huh?”

“They want us to slow dance in the beginning,” you explain, and he nods, still not getting the problem. “I don’t have a partner…and I don’t know how to.”

“Fucks sake, why didn’t you say so earlier?” he giggles at you and teasingly pokes your side. “I can show you how to dance.”

“Doesn’t matter if I look all fancy by myself,” you mumble sadly.

“Who said anything about you going alone, huh?” he asks, rolling his eyes. “I can come with you.”

You sit up, frowning down at him. “You?”

“Okay, sorry, there are seven other people at your disposal if you don’t want me,” he shoots back, only partly joking.

“No, Channie, that’s not…I just didn’t expect that,” you tell him and chuckle as he jumps up.

“Great, I’ll go get the guys to get you ready why I search for a suit or something fancy,” he announces, and before you can protest, he’s gone.

Only shortly after, you’re ready with the help of your friends and make your way over to Chan’s room. You knock at his door before stepping inside. He turns around, fixing his tie as he looks at you.

“See, that would’ve been a complete waste not to go,” he smirks and takes your hands, pulling you in front of the mirror with him. “You look amazing, dear,” he tells you gently, and your delusional ass actually believes there’s love in his eyes.

“Thank you, you don’t look so bad yourself,” you wink at him. It’s an understatement; he looks incredibly handsome.

Chan pulls you against his chest, smoothly wrapping his arm around your waist. “Ready?” he asks, taking your hand and meeting your eyes.

“Yeah,” you whisper, swallowing softly at how close he suddenly is. His cologne surrounds you, his hand feels soft against yours, and his hold on you spreads warmth through your whole body. He slowly guides you through the room, showing you the steps patiently as he sways with you. You don’t need a fancy ballgown in some massive hall surrounded by way too many people. He and you right here were all you needed.

Seven

You hum along to the tune playing through your headphones, not noticing Minho sneaking up on you. He suddenly plops on the sofa beside you, making you flinch heavily. “Min!” you protest.

“What?” he asks innocently. “It’s not my fault you’re listening to your love’s song for the hundredth time today.”

“My…what?” you ask, blushing heavily. “Chan’s not my love.”

“Only almost,” Minho shrugs and smirks at you. “No turning back once we’re connected, huh?” he grins.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask, laughing at him.

“We both know who he wrote that one about,” he says, but searching your eyes, he realizes you don’t. “Alright, fine, I do then.”

“I…I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you shake your head, slightly amused.

“Oh dear,” he sighs softly. “You didn’t hear that from me, but your beloved Channie hyung wrote that one about you.”

“He what?!” you exclaim, and Minho’s eyes widen.

“Hey!” he curses at you quietly.

“He wrote that one about me?” you whisper.

“You’re either blind or dumb. I don’t know what I’d prefer at this point,” Minho snorts, and you punch his arm in protest. “He’s in love with you, and if you feel even slightly the same…Please tell him already. He’s getting on my nerves. I love you, but I don’t want to hear how sparkly your eyes are while I’m trying to enjoy my pudding.”

You can’t help but laugh at the disgust lacing his features. “You’re sure about this?”

“Very,” Minho nods patiently, blinking at you as you don’t respond. “Are you?”

“I’m pretty sure I want more than friendship with him, yes,” you nod gently.

“Gross,” Minho comments. “Well, then get on with it. Do I have to do everything around here?”

“Right now?” you ask, confused.

Minho groans softly. “Chan hyung!”

“What?” Chan shouts back from upstairs, and you try to cover Minho’s mouth.

“Come down here, I was right!” he shouts, and your eyes widen in betrayal.

“He knew?” you breathe out.

“He’s as much a coward as you are, someone had to give you a push. It’s getting exhausting seeing the two of you dance around each other,” he grins and gets up as Chan comes downstairs. “Thank me later,” he smirks.

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Chan’s eyes meet yours, and you can tell Minho isn’t lying. Your heartbeat fastens, and you barely get out his name, unsure how to begin. Why was it so hard to say how you felt?

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