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multistan-kpopwritings · 9 months

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Hurry Now

➟ pairing(s): Han x y/n reader; afab reader

➟ genre(s): One Shot

➟ word count: 814

➟ warnings: none

It had been a long week and this interview was circling the drain quickly. The people on the other side of the cameras were rude and unprepared. Bit by bit Bang Chan grew angrier. His stiff body and stone face should have signaled the room, but only his bandmates noticed.

Just arriving at the office, your friend let you know Stray Kids was down the hall in studio 2, probably finishing their interview. Kicking yourself for almost missing them, you jogged down the hall. Making sure you didn't look like you just ran down the hall, you slipped into the room to hear your coworker thank the guys for their time. Stepping forward you offered your hand to Bang Chan, the leader of Stray Kids. "Hi, I'm Y/N. Thank you for letting us-" Chan cut you off aggressively.

"Thanks? Seriously? This had to be the worst interview, ever." He was glaring at you while he continued to rant, and you were intimidated. What could have happened to cause this seemingly kind and interesting man to unleash this fury? "And another thing, next time, if there is a next time, try not to make the guests do half the work." Trying to blink the tears away you apologized and bowed deeply to Chan before rushing out of the room, seeing the others couldn't look you in the eyes.

Ducking into your office you tried to steady your breath. You settled behind your desk and let your mind wander. What caused that outburst? Luckily all the videos were stored on the building server, and you would find what you needed.

In the studio, 7 men turned on Chan and began to raise their voices. They scolded him for the way he spoke to you. Heck, you had just walked in and probably had no idea what happened. Chan hung his head and kicked himself.

You paused the video halfway and checked the details. Ah, you knew the names and they were luckily, or unluckily for them, in your team. "Come in," you called to the person knocking on your door. Writing down the names of the troublesome employees, you looked up at the visitor. Dread instantly filled your stomach. Han Jisung stood in your office. Had Bang Chan sent him to finish the job of humiliating you?

"Hi," he said nervously. "I came to apologize on behalf of Bang Chan Hyung. I'm sorry. We're all sorry for how he spoke to you." Offering a small smile he gestured to the door. "Normally he wouldn't have-"

"Please. Stop. I understand," you pointed to the computer at your desk, "And they will be dealt with. I appreciate the apology." Sighing deeply you reached under your desk for the half-eaten candy bar. "Want one?" you asked waving the candy at the cute man across your desk. He quickly nodded with a boyish smile.

Catching the candy from the air, he smiled bigger. "My favorite," he announced, tearing the paper open. Taking a bite he stuffed his cheeks.

"Thank you again," you said softly, "For stopping by." Nodding, he wandered around your office, taking in your photos and awards on the wall. You watched him closely and couldn't help but find his puffy cheeks and the way his smile lit up his eyes endearing.

"Thanks for the chocolate," he said turning his attention back to you. "After a day like this with Chan Hyung, I needed it." Laughing at the cheap shot he took at his friend, you agreed.

"Yeah, me too," you giggled. The phone on your desk lit up with a call. The receptionist informed you that Bang Chan was waiting for you, and would like to see you. Han smiled at you and sat on the edge of your desk.

"Ah, my fearless leader has pulled his head from his butt," he laughed, "I bet he's on the way to apologize." Chewing the inside of his mouth he shrugged a little. "Maybe you can just accept mine… and not see him…" he trailed off.

"Oh? Why is that?" you asked, intrigued by his sudden nervousness. "He just fills a room with his," he waved his arms around, "Bang Chan-yness." He rolled his eyes at the way it sounded.

"Well I have a lot of Han Jisung-yness in this office today," you mused. "I don't know if there is any room for anything else. Maybe we should make him wait." That smile lit up his eyes again, making you laugh. Standing from your desk you walked across the room and took his hand. "Come on. If we go out the back, he'll never see us."

Raising his brows in surprise, he let you pull him down the hall. As you reached the door, he stopped and pulled your arm, causing you to stumble back into his arms.

"Hurry now! Let's go as fast as we can," he whispered.

#stray kids #han jisung #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids han #skz scenarios #skz jisung #skz x reader #stray kids han x reader #stray kids han jisung #stray kids jisung #skz fluff #skz #skz han jisung #skz han x reader #skz han

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blossom-hwa · 10 months

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materializes on your blog's metaphorical doorstep hi lina :DD

can i get a uhhhh hanji best friends idiots to lovers au (where he thinks they've been dating for a while and get confused when mc confesses) ??

alright thanks lina :DD

- person who lives in ur walls

to the person living in my walls: please get out of there. it's really cold. at least let me give you a blanket. or accept this idiots to lovers au as a way to get warm idk it's so stupid and fluffy and everyone is an idiot so maybe it'll warm you up idk I'm rambling hope you enjoy

summertime drabble fest: send me an idol from the list (Stray Kids, Ateez, TXT, Seventeen) + a prompt (check out the post for ideas) and I’ll write a drabble for you!

REQUESTS OPEN!!

Title: Expectations, Complications

Pairing: Jisung x gender neutral!reader

Word count: 2.1k

Genre: fluff, a pinch of angst, best friends to lovers, university!au

Warnings: cursing

The minute Jisung hits play, you know you're fucked.

Okay, no. Backtrack. Rewind. That's not where it starts—it's not even close.

It starts in high school. Senior year, prom. No one asked you out, and no one asked Jisung, so you went with a crowd of your friends and their dates. You drank. You danced. You screamed and laughed and cried at the afterparty, and you ended up on the roof of the party house at four in the morning, drunk and giggly and Jisung's head on your shoulder.

Still one of the best nights of your life, no contest. But it was in one of those moments, when you mumbled something incoherent and Jisung just giggled in response (before the two of you stumbled home together and spent the next morning nursing ridiculous hangovers in your respective houses), that you realized—that Jisung wasn't a friend. Not in the way you'd thought before, at least. That he was something else, something different, a friend and a thousand other things rolled into one—that you were fucked as hell for letting this happen.

But no. Maybe not. Maybe it wasn't then. Not senior year, not prom, but when you finally got your driver's license in sophomore year and drove Jisung out to get boba at your favorite place for the first time. No need to ask a friend for a ride, no need to beg your parents to take you to get your stupid boba fix for the week. Just you, your parents' shittiest car, and Jisung in the passenger seat rolling down the familiar roads to the tiny little cafe, and then sweet drinks in hand with tapioca pearls chewy between your teeth as you watched Jisung laugh loud and hard, his eyes squinted against the afternoon sun. You didn't know, not then, but you did know. Somehow. You didn't but you did, and the image is burned into your mind and it's never once gone away. It never will. And that's how you know you're fucked.

Except—it might not have been then. It could've been middle school, maybe. When someone kicked a soccer ball into your face and Jisung held your hand all the way to the tiny school clinic despite the fact that all middle schoolers thought holding hands was weird and gross. Or it could've been the summer before when you ran to the park together and jumped on the swings, rising higher, higher, higher into the air as the sun burned golden in the sky. Or maybe after the two week long fight you had (the longest one you've ever had, and you don't even remember what it was about) when you couldn't stand it anymore and decided to walk over to Jisung's house to apologize, only to swing open the door and find him on your doorstep first.

It could have been anything. A thousand and one moments in time, spread out over the years that have passed. Elementary school, middle school, high school, your first years of college—boba stores, the mall in your hometown, the neighborhood park—it could have been anything. Any combination. But see, the point is—

It doesn't matter.

It doesn't matter. None of it does. Not the exact day you knew, not the immediate second you realized, not the sheer length of time during which you've loved your best friend. Because you couldn't give an answer if someone asked, not to a single one of those questions, because with you, it's always been him. He's your beginning, your end. Your start, your finish. Everything you've ever known and wanted, everything you'll ever need.

And so when Jisung hits play and the song he wrote for you begins playing through the headphones you bought him for his last birthday, you know. You've known all along, distantly, but now—

You know well and truly for certain that you are incredibly, irrevocably fucked.

. . . . . There are tears in your eyes when the song finally ends and for a moment, Jisung's heart stops. Tears—what are they for? Happiness? Sadness? He didn't quite think that this song was—sad, per se, but maybe it was sadder than he thought, or too much too fast because after all you've only been dating for four weeks and five days—barely over a month—and god-fucking-damn-it now he's on the verge of hyperventilating because holy shit what if he just made the biggest mistake of his stupid twenty one years of life—

"I'm so sorry," he gasps out.

You turn around in the chair to face him but he can't meet your eyes. "I'm sorry, it was probably such a shitty song, or like I shouldn't have let you hear it now—it's too early and you probably weren't ready I'm so so so so sorry—"

"No!"

The sheer volume of that single word ends his rambling. Which is pretty impressive given that when Jisung is nervous, he tends to talk. And talk and talk and talk. Which is—bad. At least now. Because you're taking a deep breath, way too deep for you to be saying anything good in the next beat, but all Jisung can do now is hold his own breath and pray.

Dear God, if you can hear me, I know I haven't been the best when it comes to believing in you and I'm still mad you didn't hear my prayers last semester right before my Calc II final, but if I've done even a single good thing in my life please don't make it so that I messed this up, not when it's barely been a month since I started dating Y/N.

"Jisung, I..." You take the headphones off, placing them carefully on the desk. Your fingers twist in your lap, a familiar nervous habit of yours that doesn't do much to quell the anxiety building in his throat.

When you don't continue, Jisung opens his mouth. He can't help it. He needs to say something, anything, apologize again and pray that you'll help him forget this ever happened—

"I'm so sorry," you blurt out.

Jisung's heart drops. Shatters on the ground. I'm so sorry. He messed up, he messed up so bad—

"I'm sorry," you repeat, and your eyes are so shiny with tears it hurts. "I—I can't do this anymore."

He tries to speak. To move. Salvage something of this relationship. But nothing happens. Every muscle in him has frozen.

"Jisung, I—" The tears start to spill. "I'm so sorry. I can't do this. I love you, I love you so much and I—it's not just as a friend—"

Wait.

What?

"The song was beautiful." You're properly sobbing now, hands harshly wiping the tears from your eyes as you hunch over in the chair while Jisung still can't move. "Brilliant and lovely and I just—I can't. Because I know you just think we're friends—"

What the fuck.

"—but I can't keep it in anymore, I can't keep just thinking of you as a friend because I love you, I've been in love with you for so long it hurts, and I—I won't be able to stand it if this song was just about our friendship because I—it would hurt too much—"

"Y/N."

Jisung's mouth moves without his brain telling it to. And to his surprise, you stop talking. He hadn't thought he'd quite spoken loud enough for you to hear.

"I—Y/N." All the fear that's been building up since the start of your spiel melts away into pure confusion because—what the fuck? The two of you have been dating for a month now, four weeks and five days—he asked you to dinner and said "it's a date" and you didn't disagree, just smiled so widely and nodded—and he held your hand and you talked for hours and then he walked you to your dorm and—

"Haven't we been dating for a month already?"

You blink. Once. Twice. Three times. Silence stretches for a moment that seems way longer than just a moment, and then you finally open your mouth and utter a single word.

"What?"

Oh, fuck. Now he's panicking. "I—I asked you out, right, like for dinner? A month ago? And then I said 'it's a date' and I—you said yes, I think if I haven't been hallucinating this whole time, and we got dinner and it was a date and then we kept going out—like to the amusement park last week? Just us? Were they—" And now for all his rambling a couple seconds ago, his voice dwindles to a whisper because his throat suddenly hurts and he's not going to be able to stand it if you say no—

"Were they not dates?"

Your mouth opens and closes. At least you've stopped crying, Jisung thinks helplessly.

"I—I thought you meant that as a joke." Your voice is barely a whisper, hoarse and confused and god fucking damn it, Jisung really wants to hug you right now. "I thought—I mean, we get dinner together all the time, we do all these things together, I thought you were just being…normal?"

Oh dear.

Oh fucking dear.

"But it was just us two!" Jisung bursts out. You flinch. Oh, shit. Too loud. "Sorry," he apologizes, hunching into his shoulders. "But—I—it was just us two, all these times. Right?"

You blink about a million times again. "…Right."

"I meant them to be dates," Jisung says miserably. God, he's such a fuck up—how did he fail at asking you out this badly?

You swallow. Your throat bobs once, twice, a third time. "So we've been dating…this whole time?"

Jisung cringes. "I thought we were."

"Oh." You cringe too now, eyes riveted to your fingers twisting tightly in your lap. "Wow. I'm so stupid."

"No, I am." Jisung squeezes his eyes shut, then forces them open again. "Sorry. I should've been clearer—I mean, uh, assuming you still want to date, it's totally okay if you don't I guess—"

"No!"

Jisung freezes. No as in what? You don't want to date? You want to date? He shouldn't have been clearer? What—

"No," you repeat, voice softer now. "I—I really want to date you, Jisung. I really do." Your words are trembling but this time your gaze is steady. "I really, really want to. I'm just—I'm sorry I didn't realize it when you asked the first time."

Jisung laughs nervously. Scratches the back of his neck. "Well, uh, I probably could've asked better. More directly." He cringes. God, he's such a fucking embarrassment. "Sorry."

"It's not your fault I'm dense." You give him a little sheepish smile and Jisung nearly faints, it's so good to see a smile on your face after he just made you cry with a song. "Does that mean…this song…"

Ah. Yeah. "That was a song about you," Jisung says quietly. His ears are probably so, so red. "About how I…I really love you."

In your seat, you remain still for one moment, then two. Then, just as Jisung's about to start screaming out loud instead of just in his head because what if that was too much too soon too, you launch yourself off the chair and into his arms.

"Oof."

"Sorry." Your lips move against his shoulder as his arms automatically slide around your waist, pulling you closer as he always has—since the day so many years ago when you decided to be best friends on the playground and sealed it with a hug. "I love you. A lot. And—" You take a deep breath, shaky in your throat but not with tears this time, just a little bit of a laugh. "I'm sorry I'm so stupid."

Slowly, slowly, Jisung's hand rises up your back. Comes to stop behind your head, holding you as close to him as he can.

"It's okay," he murmurs, a smile finally beginning to curve his own lips. I love you so much. "And, uh. Don't worry." He cringes into you, but it doesn't feel so bad now. Not when he's pressed against your warmth this time and can feel your smile against his shoulder. "I'm a little stupid, too."

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stay-tinystars · 2 years

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And They Were Roommates

Ship: Jisung x reader

Fluff, friends to lovers(?), pining, roommate au

Word count: 507

Warnings: mentions of food, drinks, and movies.

AN: been MIA lately, and wrote this little scenario based on him stealing your clothes lol.

Frustration. If anything could describe your mood it was Frustration. You just wanted to put on your favorite hoodie, and settle in for the night. You swore you had put your hoodie on your desk chair. However it wasn't there, nor was it anywhere else in your room. You sighed in defeat as you decided to venture out of the room and go grab a night snack. Maybe you'd just curl up on the couch with the snacks and watch something on the TV.

When you opened the cupboard you saw your favorite pack of cookies open, and empty. Who would put the empty package back? At least you had your favorite drink in the fridge. Another sigh filled the air as you rested your head against the fridge after grabbing a bottle. Tonight was just continuing to frustrate you. As you went to sit on the couch you heard something fall in your roommates room. Jisung's door was half open, when you got there he was hanging off the bed reaching for his phone. You snickered, shaking your head as you opened the door a little more. He smiled as he looked up at you, before falling off the bed. Which made you laugh harder.

"Are you okay?" you asked, holding in a chuckle. He scrambled to get up. When he stood you found out where your hoodie had gone. It was currently adorning his torso.

"Yeah I'll be alright. Want to join me for a movie?" He gestured to his bed where his laptop displayed the beginning of a Ghibli film. A plate of your favorite cookies sat on his night stand, along with two bottles matching the one you had in hand. So that's where the cookies had gone."I was about to text you when I dropped my phone." He looked towards the ground, his lip curling slightly.

"Jisung?" He hummed in response as he plopped on the bed. "Why did you steal my hoodie?"

"Oh, you noticed?" He avoided your gaze, as you crossed your arms. "Well you always talk about on rainy night how much you enjoy curling into this hoodie, snacking and watching something. It sounded nice. So I wanted to try it."

"Why didn't you use your own hoodie?" You asked, gesturing towards where one of his favorite hoodies sat in a pile of clothes next to his closet. Before sitting on the edge of his bed.

He mumbled something, as he pulled the laptop towards him.

"What was that?" You cooked a brow.

"Because mine doesn't smell like you." He grabbed a cookie, stuffing it in his mouth. You smiled as you stood up grabbing his hoodie and slipping it on.

"That means I get to use yours" you then sat on the bed sliding towards him. He smiled back, bringing the plate of cookies over.

"Deal" He leaned against the wall, as you made yourself comfortable next to him. He pulled a blanket over your laps and set the laptop infront of you, and pressed play.

#han fluff #han imagines #han x reader #han jisung #skz han #skz jisung #stray kids imagines #stray kids han x reader #stray kids jisung #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #jisung roommate #han roommate

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thisisuno · 2 years

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PREVIEW FOR THE SERIES: THE MOUNTAIN KING

in which a wandering traveler stumbles upon a Changgwi who tries his best to lure them into the claws of the Mountain King. Will the Changgwi successfully trap the wandering traveler or perhaps...the underworld can wait a bit longer.

Han Jisung x fem!reader

genre/warnings: descriptive gore, death, mentions of psychotic nature, korean folklore, angst, mystery, romance.

based on Ahn Yeeun's song: CHANGGWI

You've come to realize that you could not blame anyone but yourself to end up in this predicament. Perhaps you could indulge in an illusion that you're perfectly fine and just a few meters away from home. Those fantasies could only do so much when you, a wandering traveler, ventured into the sacred forests blindly with no sense of direction. Yeah...you definetly are the one to blame. The sun is setting soon and fast as your footsteps hurry to find any distinct signs in the trees. However, there is no sign of luck as it all starts to blend together like the colors of the sky.

Your hanbok was dirtied and ripped from the twigs of shrubs and rocks you walked upon. The sleeves were a green mixed with brown from stumbling over the forest terrain. It was evident from any outsider's eyes that you were loss and struggling. Yet you could only hope someone saw you.

Sweat sticking to your forehead, you brushed away the branches that hung low and walked into a clearing. The sun disappeared between the mountains and the light vanished for a moment until the rising moon came into view. The crickets buzzed their songs and the creatures of the night came to life. Panicking, you searched around for any sign of shelter that would provide the slightest bit of warmth from the night.

Tap-tap-tap...The sound of footsteps on the ground startled you, because they were not yours. A shiver ran down your neck as you looked towards your surroundings; the moon provided such little light it was almost impossible to see though. The tapping of the footsteps came to a halt as a faint figure entered the clearing. All you could do was make out is the gat hat that sat on top of the head and the hanbok that outlined the figure.

There was something indescribable about the silhouette though because even though you could not see what most of the body looked like, you could very well see the sharp eyes that bore directly into yours.

#stray kids fanfic #skz x reader #skz fanfic #han jisung x reader #han jisung #stray kids au #stray kids #han jisung fic #han jisung x you #stray kids imagines #stray kids angst #stray kids jisung #stray kids han #stray kids han x reader #stray kids han jisung #no beta we die like men

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baby-yongbok · 1 month

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Boyfriend SKZ!Fake Texts - They have a wet dream about you

Genre: Smut, fairly detailed. Like, its dirty

Warnings: mentions of unprotected sex (wear a rubber, yall), breeding (? - if you squint and only for Jeongin's), Jeongin is a tad bit possessive, It gets more dirty the further you get.

✧ Masterlist ✧

Chan

Lee Know/Minho

Changbin

Hyunjin

Han

Felix

Seungmin

I.N

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forlix · 4 months

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· . ˚ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞

— the little mannerisms you pick up from the members of stray kids over the course of your relationship.

words・3.7k / pairings・ot8 x gn!reader / genres・fluff, humor, borderline crack, intentional lowercase, established relationship(s) / warnings・minsung’s are suggestive, touch of anxiety in felix's, jeongin's is lowkey gross LMFAO

a/n・massive shoutout to @/http.dwaekkii on tiktok for their edits about the boys' habits, which i consulted for chan, changbin, seungmin, and jeongin (and to @astraystayyh for beta reading hehe. what would i do without u). these were sooooo fun to write, hope u guys enjoy (｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )

chan + getting shy easily. poor thing gets embarrassed so quickly as it is. throw you into the mix and it’s just critical hit after critical hit. defense lowered. no health potions left. he folds like a lawn chair with a massive smile and a whiny “stooooop” every time you say something even remotely affectionate. the habit is adorable, and you love it to pieces.

but you like poking fun at it even more. “god forbid i find my literal underwear model of a boyfriend attractive,” you’d say, or something along those lines, which of course only triples his embarrassment and on more than one occasion results in him starfishing on your kitchen floor, his hood pulled over his face.

fast forward however many months. he’s still the worst compliment-receiver you know, but you discover one arbitrary afternoon that it’s rubbed off on you.

the two of you are cuddled together on the living room couch in your usual fashion, your legs thrown over his thighs and his hands tracing absently over your shins as you relay to him something you overheard on the subway. the conversation is painfully normal. you’re almost bored. you pause to take a breath, and he murmurs, out of nowhere, in the dreamiest tone: “so damn beautiful.”

“wha—huh? what is?”

“you. your voice, your face, everything. i‘m lucky.”

your expression of bewilderment persists for around ten seconds, and then slowly, so slowly, you begin to sandwich your head between your knees, balling yourself up like a spooked armadillo. chan wonders if he should call an ambulance.

“love?” no response. “what, uh, what’s happening right now, exactly?”

no response. no response. then, hoarsely, “you can’t...say shit like that…randomly.”

he notices two things after that. one, your skin is burning hot enough to fry something upon, and two, you’ve formed a fist in the fabric of his hoodie, which you only do when you’re pretending to be annoyed at him. the puzzle pieces fall into place, and he starts grinning like a madman.

“you’re…embarrassed?”

the guttural groan you emit is more than enough of an answer, and the cute aggression that overcomes chan is fucking debilitating. he wraps his arms around you and hauls you entirely off the couch and onto his lap, littering kisses over your face until it finally resigns into a matching smile. all intent to continue feigning grumpiness erased with the drop of a hat. you drape an arm over his neck.

“you’re so good to me, channie,” you sigh helplessly. “i love you.”

“love you more, baby.” he imprints these words directly upon your lips, then pulls away, giggles. “that was very me of you, by the way.”

“i know, right? i was just about to say.”

minho + butt touching. it’s quite simple, really. if lee minho is within proximity of someone’s buttocks, he will, as he lives and breathes, make it known. will it be a coy little swat or a yelp-eliciting, full-bodied grab? nobody ever knows, not even him. the unpredictability is what makes it exciting.

but it takes a while before this starts applying to you, because the way minho touches you is…different. doting. there’s no other way to describe how he always holds the nape of your neck while kissing you, how he rests a hand against the small of your back whenever he leads you somewhere, how during the nights you can’t sleep he guides you to the place on his chest where he knows his heartbeat is loudest. he even drags you into his trademark headlocks the same way one would hold an invaluable treasure. he’s so obsessed with all of you that he never thinks to pay just your butt special attention (though it is, indeed, a special butt).

you take it into your own hands. literally.

you don’t know what prompts it—maybe you’ve simply seen minho slap his members’ asses one too many times, or maybe you’re still thinking of the specific time minho slapped changbin’s ass in passing and it fucking echoed, or maybe minho just looks especially fine in this practice outfit, a skintight tee and washed sweatpants that hug him in all the right places—but you feel a new urge today as your boyfriend swings his duffel over his shoulder, circles around the kitchen counter.

he puckers up as he nears you, silently requesting his goodbye; you give it to him, relishing for a moment in the familiar, soft plush of his lips beneath yours. then he pulls away and turns to leave, and your hand acquires its target.

“go get ‘em, tiger.” thwack!

minho jumps a foot into the air. clutches his pearls and his left butt cheek. becomes the splitting image of that perplexed blonde lady surrounded by geometry.

but when he turns around to stare at you, the smirk melting across his face betrays how he really feels about what you’ve just done. good. really good.

you, meanwhile, look genuinely confused. “it’s like it moved on its own.”

minho beams. steps towards you daintily, intentionally, like a cat catching sight of a laser beam. brings a hand to your hip, murmurs, “that’s what we’re doing now?” kisses you again, for longer this time.

you fully foresee his fingers wandering to your ass to give it a gentle squeeze, but you reach up to cuff his shoulder when it happens anyways, and his laugh vibrates against your mouth. it seems you’ll be reaping what you’ve sown from now on.

(good luck.)

changbin + the Cackle™. yes, you said something exceptionally funny. yes, you expected changbin to find it funny too. but you couldn’t expect the godforsaken noise that left his mouth as he threw himself straight into the tree planter behind you.

your mind spun with frantic questions as you helped him out of the dirt. had the spirit of spongebob just usurped his vocal cords? were you on a date with the wicked witch of the west? most importantly—

“are you well?” you sputtered, which only made him laugh harder and his laugh so much crazier, so you started laughing, too. and you were goners, falling over each other until you’d been reduced to watery eyes and sore cheeks, your giggling interrupted only by the sound of you slapping his thigh every so often, heartily enough to reverberate around the little park in which you concluded your second date.

that’s how you fall for seo changbin: laughing. with a reckless, breathless abandon you didn’t think possible. stumbling across empty sidewalks, spitting noodles across dining tables, begging for mercy on studio couches. wrestling under tear-stained comforters, starting (and re-starting) silly stories, huffing into beaming kisses. the list goes on.

you never quite get used to that chortle of his, too busy enjoying its insanity to notice how your own chuckles grow shorter and shriller, how they gradually develop an edge like the chittering of a forest dweller.

you complete your transformation on your ninety-eighth date.

no, changbin doesn’t say anything exceptionally funny. no, he doesn’t expect you to find it funny, either. he expects least of all for you to fold over the kitchen island and start cackling like cruella de vil on helium.

han turns around from his seat on the couch. chan’s footsteps come to a halt as he emerges from the bathroom. both of them have fear in their eyes as they witness your undoing.

the only thing on changbin’s face, though, is unfettered delight.

“b-baby,” he sputters with a growing smile. “are you—”

you lift your face off the marble surface and turn to face him. the entirety of your forehead and the point of your nose is covered in flour. you blow a cloud of the stuff out of your mouth like a dragon awoken from slumber.

he loses it.

the two of you make your way onto the floor in slow motion, ending in a tangled heap against the side of the counter. changbin tries to clean off the flour and smears it all over your cheeks instead. you are zero help whatsoever, smacking his bicep like that’ll help you catch your breath. your synchronized, diabolical laughter reaches every corner of the apartment. your happiness reaches every nerve ending.

chan and han look at each other, sigh. han takes a video.

hyunjin + side-eyeing. this man is so god awful at controlling his face, bless him��and DAMN HIM.

on one hand, you love how in tune with his emotions he is, how confidently he puts them on display. and you love your synergy. you come closer to believing in soulmates every time you glance his way and discover your exact feelings written all over his features; it’s a special type of happiness, sharing a brain with your favorite person in the world.

on the other hand, you think there’s a time and place for candor, and he tends, well, not to think at all. during many a precarious situation, you’ll catch him wearing an expression so transparent that he might as well arrange the words THIS IS STUPID AND I HATE ALL OF YOU over his head in neon lights. cue a dig of your heel into his toe, a hiss of pain cut short by your piercing glare. if you’d known ahead of time that dating hwang hyunjin would have you doing so much damage control…you’d still date him, let’s be real. but you do get stressed at times.

the night the tables turn, you’re at a celebratory dinner for your coworker’s birthday. small caveat: you can’t stand her. she’s the type to spontaneously combust if she goes two minutes without talking about herself. certainly doesn’t help that she’s downing champagne like water, and her lips are looser than ever.

hyunjin comes with you, fortunately. or not. he spends the whole evening trying so hard not to laugh: snorting into his bread, excusing himself to “cough.” you think he actually starts doing breathing exercises at some point. you’re so, so grateful that he’s here, but you’re also deathly afraid that he’s gonna bring out those neon lights in front of your entire office.

then, she flirts with him.

from the opposite end of the table. perfectly wasted but still knowing perfectly well that he’s yours. the whole patio goes silent. hyunjin’s jaw hits the table.

your fork clatters to your plate.

FUCK time and place.

the side-eye you give her is devastating. truly masterful. your brow furrows. your eyes turn to slits. your gaze does the up-down-up of unadulterated incredulity. hyunjin recognizes the motions straightaway and starts smiling so hard his whole face hurts.

you take your boyfriend’s wrist and stand up. he follows suit. you don’t say a thing as you leave the restaurant, and you don’t have to. the intensity of your disdain was more than enough; anything more and she might’ve started crying.

once you’re on the curb outside, hyunjin pulls on your interlocked hands, brings you close. his lips brush against the shell of your ear. you hear laughter and his smirk in his voice.

“you’re so fucking sexy, holy shit.”

jisung + how he applies lip balm. that han jisung is the pioneer of modern day babygirlism is the worst kept secret in the world. that han jisung applies lip balm the riveting way he does, however, is unknown even to you. until one morning.

you pop into the bathroom and make your usual beeline for your toothbrush, only to end up motionless in front of the sink, staring. jisung is a bit off to the side, hair pinned back by a cinnamoroll headband, eyes glued to his phone, hand holding a tube of chapstick that you can actually see getting shorter in real time. he looks so pensive, so concentrated. how long has it been since he last blinked? you’ve half a mind to pull out a stopwatch.

finally, he rubs his lips together, recaps the chapstick, and makes eye contact with you in the mirror. a smile crosses his face, equal parts confused and amused.

“baby, your mouth is open.”

you close it. then you open it again, and your words come out in a barely-contained laugh: “what on earth did you just do?”

“what do you mean?”

“the—” you point at his mouth, then do your best impression of an elementary schooler trying to color inside the lines. “—that.”

jisung looks aghast. “that was LIP BALM.”

“no, i know what it—you’re so—i meant, why do you apply it like that?”

jisung continues to look aghast. “like what?”

“like you’re one of socrates’ prized pupils and the answer to the universe’s formation lies at the bottom of—” you step in close, reach into the pocket of his sweatpants. “—this tube!”

it might be the craziest thing you’ve ever said to him. he bursts into laughter, the kind that leaves him no recollection of what he does with his limbs, and when he can see straight again he discovers he’s pressed you gently against the counter. his fingers latched around the hem of your top, his grin inches away from yours. can’t stay away from you to save his life, this one.

“do i actually?”

“yes! holy shit, it’s so cute.” your arms circle around his neck, also without an ounce of thought, also through a fit of giggles. “no way you’ve always done that, right?”

“i don’t know. i’ve never thought about it.” a pause. a tilt of his head, with purpose. “am i…doing it wrong?”

the question is a trap and you realize it too late. your gaze drops from his eyes to his lips—a ray of sunlight glistens off the pink plush like a paid actor—then back to his eyes. let’s find out.

you lean in. so does he. and his mouth tastes and feels like melted fucking sugar. it’s such a pleasant surprise that you actually moan, and he chuckles against you. lifts you onto the edge of the sink. your mind really goes empty after that, save for one thought. i have to start doing that.

felix + checking his own pulse. you saw it from afar, the first time.

he stood by the stage’s entrance just before curtain up, pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of his neck. eyelids sealed closed, chest heaving. you tilted your head, puzzled. worried. then the concert began, and you pushed the image to the back of your mind.

it returned to the forefront right before bed.

“you do it when you’re nervous?”

“yeah. forces me to ground myself. turns off the world for a bit.” the hand rubbing circles into your back paused. “wanna give it a go?”

“what, checking my pulse?”

“mine.”

you lifted your head off the pillow. felix took your hand from where it sat upon his ribs, isolating two fingers and nestling them over his jugular. his quickened heartbeat pressed into your skin like the world’s gentlest tattoo.

the sixty seconds began and concluded in total silence.

“well?” he whispered.

“ninety-three,” you answered, lightheaded from the sheer intimacy of it all. “you’re nervous right now?”

“something like that,” he hummed. pulled you down, kissed you deeply. there were no more words exchanged that night.

the habit surfaced more than you knew. while driving to visit your parents. after a stupid argument with a bouquet of flowers tucked beneath his free arm. you started doing it for him in the times he couldn’t, and he’d cover your hand with his own and kiss the top of your head silently, gratefully.

two years have passed since, and you’ve vanished from the dinner table.

felix asks the nearest waiter for directions to the restrooms. you don’t notice when the door swings open, unmoving in your spot over the sink, your pointer and middle finger pressed against the side of your neck.

his hand finds your hip. you let him turn you around and bring you to his chest; he glances at the crystalline droplets studding your lashes and falling from your cheeks. his eyes convey what his mouth doesn’t need to, not anymore.

let me.

you do.

his fingers replace yours the moment you drop them from under your jaw, the movement like clockwork. he counts your every heartbeat with unblinking concentration, his heart growing heavier the higher the number climbs.

the sixty seconds begin and conclude in total silence.

“well?” you whisper.

“hundred and six,” he answers. to his confusion, a smile pulls at your lips.

he wonders if it’s a trick of the bathroom lights when he sees the tiny box you pluck from your pocket, but there’s no mistaking the reality of the diamond ring that sits behind its open lid.

the earth slants under his feet.

“crazy.” you giggle through your tears, run your thumb over his cheekbone. “that’s how many years i want with you.”

seungmin + poking eyes(?) he’s hardly touched puppym when your voice is slicing through the living room air like a fucking beyblade.

“KIM SEUNGMIN, UNHAND HIM THIS INSTANT.”

do you have a sixth sense just for this? he throws his hands up in exasperation. “he’s literally me. i’m allowed to do whatever i want with me.”

“he’s not you, he’s our son.” you pop out of nowhere to swipe the plushie from over your boyfriend’s shoulder. “my son, if you keep this up.”

“just say you hate me and my preferred avenues of self expression.”

upside-down, he watches you dust off puppym’s face and smooch his forehead with a tenderness that makes seungmin unhappier than he lets on. you then tuck him into your jacket pocket. the little shit’s expression looks strangely smug poking out of its cotton capsule.

“i’m asking you to not gauge his eyes out, not to deliver me the holy grail,” you say. “you’ll survive.”

but then he feels your hands on either side of his face, and you lean over him like the mj to his peter, leave a kiss on the space between his eyes, too. he has zero say in the bashful smile this brings to his face.

“but why do you do that, seriously?” you mutter.

“i have no idea,” he replies. “but it’s fun. try it.”

“i’ll think about it.” you lean in again, and he nearly forgets what you were talking about in the first place when you kiss him on the lips this time. “okay, i’ve thought about it. no.”

“hate you,” he says despite the literal hearts in his eyes, and then you’re off to work.

puppym takes strikingly after his father. they have the same bangs. the same compulsively squeezable quality. the same little :3 that can only allude to sinister plottings. you’d be loath to admit that you sort of comprehend seungmin’s poking predisposition.

one night, seungmin falls asleep before you even finish your nighttime routine, and you spot in his peaceful, upturned face an opportunity.

you lie belly-down on your side of the bed. your fingers splay into a peace-sign in the air. your smile stretches further into a cheshire grin the closer you bring your hand. you’re just about to reach the ends of his eyelashes when—

“I KNEW IT!”

you almost catapult into the ceiling. then you try to make a mad dash for the bathroom. but seungmin shoots a hand around your wrist like he’s actually peter parker and pins you down before you so much as take a step. your only remaining option is to sulk about your foiled plans. (and blush, because, well, you’re under him.)

“amateur,” he tsks. “you gotta test my breathing to make sure i’m asleep first. shit’s foolproof.”

you blink at him for a few seconds. his words finally click.

now you almost catapult him into the ceiling.

“HOW MANY TIMES?”

jeongin + eating food in one bite. so you might be an instigator.

“hwuck,” he grumbles around the whole ice cream cone in his mouth, face scrunched up in a brain-freeze-induced wince. “ayee ith waz a bah iyeah.” (translation: fuck, maybe this was a bad idea.)

“you got this. just take it slow,” you urge, except he’s stopped moving and speaking and closed his eyes as if he’s descending into a deep sleep. you’re actually concerned for about two seconds, and then his jaw begins to oscillate leisurely like an elderly cow in his favorite pasture. false alarm.

after some time, he swallows, beams. “so am i the fucking best or what.”

“yeah you are,” you echo, and he swings an arm over your shoulder, plants a chocolatey kiss on your temple. the two of you celebrate his daesangs with less enthusiasm.

“when are you doing that with me, by the way?”

“the one-bite thing?” he nods. “mmm, coaches don’t play.”

“mmm, this one will.”

“doubtful.”

fast forward a few weeks and you, jeongin, and his younger brother are sitting cross-legged on the porch in his backyard. three full-sized oranges rest in the center of your makeshift circle. damn is yoon hard to say no to. (runs in the family.)

“the rules!” he declares. “eat the orange whole! first to swallow it wins! you can’t spit it out!”

you wait. “is that it?”

“yes!”

why was the delivery so grand?

jeongin places a fond hand atop his brother’s head. “i’ve brought you a new loser, yoonie. get excited.”

you feign an indifferent scoff, but jeongin spots the fire that ignites behind your eyes like that of an anime protagonist, the resolute grip with which you palm your orange. he smirks. he’s never known you to take trash talk sitting down. or sitting cross-legged on his porch.

yoon counts you off. “ready…”

“good luck, coach,” jeongin sings.

“shut up, pipsqueak.”

“set…GO!”

in amusing unison, you and yoon try and fail to fasten your teeth around even half of the fruit. jeongin, meanwhile, fits the whole thing into his black hole of an oral cavity and launches into that dumb cow impression again.

desperate times call for desperate measures.

you rip the orange from your lips. “yoon! your brother’s ticklish, right?”

both yang siblings’ eyes widen—the younger’s in growing delight, the older’s in impending horror.

the latter reacts first. “ay, ay, ay, ah ahes eh ooles!” (translation: wait, wait, wait, that’s against the rules!)

but the former moves first, and you’re right behind him.

jeongin weakens when the younger boy assaults his sides, crumples when you target the back of his neck, the sounds leaving his mouth getting progressively louder and somehow even less intelligible.

he eventually has to spit out the orange to avoid death by pulp going down the wrong pipe and spins around in indignation, wiping at his chin with the back of his hand. but his annoyance—

you’re back on the floor, gnawing hopelessly at the the orange again. “ih ih eawahin, ooh.” (translation: this is embarrassing, yoon.)

yoon replies, “huh?” (translation: huh?)

—dissipates, immediately.

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