Day 5 Dclencheur

day 5 · 「déclencheur」

❝𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚘𝚏𝚏.❞

➥ Model!Minho x Photographer!Reader (f) — 3.5k

➥ The author chooses not to tag every single act to preserve some element of surprise where applicable. By continuing, you accept to read at your own risk. Read full disclaimer here.

⚠ — Crass & objectifying language, raw depictions of sex, praise kink.

➥ It’s a known fact that Lee Minho is a whore for compliments, but it’s a particularly useful piece of information when you want to seduce the shit out of him.

If you had Lee Minho on the cover of your magazine, that issue was a guaranteed killer sale. Regardless of his obscenely high booking fee, he was the it guy everybody was after to do a pictorial with. So pleasant to look at, extremely attractive, smolder for days, practically a modern-day sex icon who could and would fuck you through a goddamn photograph.

Your shoot days with him were more like a self-indulgent me time rather than work due to how aggressively you were flirting with each other. He probably did this with everyone, but who would give a rat’s ass really? Your ego was getting stroked to the point of having violent orgasms, and you weren’t complaining.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t have the teensiest bit of a crush on him, though.

“There’s my favorite model,” you greeted him into your studio, “How we doin’ today, pretty?”

“We would do fucking great if someone didn’t forget the Cartier pieces,” Minho shot death glares to his assistant by the door, “You like the styling at least?”

“Give the man a break. You look fantastic,” you reassured him and grabbed your camera, “Ready to begin?”

Poof. On cue. Minho’s entire personality changed into whatever you wanted it to be every time he walked in front of your lens. You wanted dreamy? You got it. You wanted a player? You got it. You wanted an unhinged serial killer? You got it, got it, got it.

“Show me your side profile again?” you shot five frames back to back, “Fucking gorgeous.”

What you absolutely loved about working with Minho was what a goddamn exhibitionist he was, and unapologetically so. You never had to indulge in camera foreplay with him because he was just always in the mood. Every time you had a shoot together, not only was he clearly into it, but it was almost like he was striking these bold-ass poses on purpose to seduce you, manspreading, excessive use of his tongue and lips, literally feeling himself as if to say ‘You wanna hit this, don’t you?’, taunting you without a single word. You knew why that was, of course. 

Minho fished for praise like the attention whore he was every chance he got, and to his absolute pleasure, you were never stingy with it.

“Thank you, everyone, for your hard work,” you wrapped up the shoot and addressed the set, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to be alone with my model. I’ll do a few more shots for my portfolio now that I have him cornered.”

It was standard practice at this point. Minho never said no to having extra photographs taken by you on the condition that you provided him with the digital copies right afterwards. The set was cleared momentarily, and you looked Minho up and down, grinning to yourself thinking about the alleged concept you concocted.

“Shall we do a little exercise? So that you can get in the zone,” you changed the memory card of your camera, “What turns you on, pretty?”

“The question is pretty redundant, don’t you think?” he sprawled on the leather tufted chair he was posing on moments ago, “Are you asking on purpose to hear it out loud?”

“Hear what out loud?”

“That it’s you that turns me on,” he pressed two fingers on his right temple, “I can’t stay soft when I have a shoot with you, and I think you know.”

“Are you sure it’s me because I can bet money it’s the compliments.”

“What if it’s you showering me with compliments?” 

You squinted your eyes, thinking about how Minho had this compulsive need to have the last word. You walked towards him and lowered your body to be at his eye level.

“Why do you like hearing how gorgeous you are so much?”

“You know you like it when I hardcore simp over you. You’re no better than me,” he mockingly chuckled, “Shall we do a little exercise?”

He suddenly sat up in his seat and brought his face millimeters away from yours. He was so close, you could practically feel his lips on you.

“You’re the sexiest fucking woman I’ve ever laid my eyes on, and you get me weak as fuck in the knees,” he spoke in a voice at least one and a half octaves lower, “Everybody knows how bad I wanna fuck you.”

“Do they?” you sneered with an amused expression on your face.

“Yes, because I tell them.”

“You actually tell people that you want to fuck me.”

“No, I tell them I want to blow your back out so fucking hard you won’t be able to walk straight for a week.”

This was way past your usual back-and-forth at this point, and you were goddamn perjuring yourself if you claimed you weren’t aroused even in the slightest. A part of you absolutely wanted to close the microscopic distance between you, but the other well-versed-in-Minhoism part of you got the sickest pleasure from not giving him what he wanted and was dying to see how far he was willing to take it.

“Has anyone ever told you you might be giving too much credit to yourself?”

“Free trial,” he reclined back in his seat, exhibiting the outline of what you could be sitting on like a badly wrapped present, “If you’re not satisfied, 200% money back guarantee, no questions asked.”

You snorted in amusement and went back to your camera, changing the setting to monochrome and zooming in on his eyes.

“If you give me what I want, I’ll take you up on your offer.”

That was the beauty of macro lenses. If you zoomed close enough, you could see the unspoken words flash in someone’s eyes, and Minho’s were currently screaming ‘No fucking way’ even though his façade was perfectly intact.

“Name your price,” he smugly demanded instead.

You peeled your eyes off your viewfinder and looked directly into his eyes.

“I want to shoot nudes of you.”

He was surprised, but not because of the shock value. He just thought you would throw something much harder at him.

“That’s nothing.”

“While you’re masturbating.”

Now he was contemplating. Stripping was one thing—he modeled for boudoir photographers from time to time himself, but even though Minho was infinitely comfortable with his sexuality, masturbating without knowing where these photos could end up at…

But it was you for fuck’s sake.

“Do you guarantee you’re not going to make a profit off of these without my knowledge?”

“Absolutely.”

“And you’ll sleep with me?”

“No.”

You pushed a nearby leather armchair next to the camera and assumed the exact same position as him. You looked like mirror images of each other.

“I’ll fuck you,” you declared as if you were challenging him.

The hesitation evanesced as quickly as it came, and Minho returned to his insufferably smug self in a matter of seconds.

“Then give me something to work with, baby.”

“You want magazines or something?”

“No, I want you.”

You burst out laughing, more hysterically than out of amusement. This guy could insist.

“You can’t touch me just yet.”

“I know,” he acknowledged, “but whatever you want me to remove, you’ll also take it off.”

Your eyes briefly traveled on his face, trying to figure out what kind of a game he was after. If it was Lee Minho, shortcuts were out of the question unless he was the one taking them.

Well… Whatever.

“Fine,” you accepted his proposal, and the battle began in earnest. 

You took off your shoes, and so did he. You took off your watch, and so did he. You took off your top, and so did he.

And you were now 1-0 ahead because you had a bra on whereas his fucking sculpted-in-the-Renaissance of a torso was all bare, ready to be eyefucked by you.

“You should go on one of those sexiest men alive lists. It’s annoying how hot you are,” you went on aggressive offense, “It’s like somebody photoshopped you.”

Minho didn’t say anything and just grinned at you. You grinned back while unbuttoning your jeans. He got rid of his pants with you. 

When you discarded your underwear, however, all his arrogance was erased from his face. He was staring at your pussy like a virgin seeing a naked girl for the first time.

“Do you like it?”

“I knew it was pretty, but I didn’t know how much,” he thickly swallowed.

You opened your legs wider apart, putting your slick folds on perfect display for him. Minho had no control over how he was reacting to you, audibly grunting at the delicious sight.

“See how wet?” you spread your labia to give him a better view, “It’s because of you.”

“I get that a lot,” he flashed a shit-eating grin, then channeled all his attention to your core again, “I think my tongue and your cunt might be a perfect match made in hell.”

“Your underwear,” you urged him to follow through, “Take it off.”

You had witnessed Minho sporting a hard on in front of your camera like it was part of his styling several times before, but seeing in the flesh?

Fucking priceless.

“Spread your thighs for me,” you demanded, naïvely thinking he would oblige without a hiccup.

“I will if you come closer.”

“I will if you lay down on the floor.” 

It was a battle, and Minho knew he had a lot more to lose compared to you. Even though he was being a pain in the ass, he had no choice but to do as asked, but you were at least playing fair. Once he held up his end of the bargain, you set up your camera to take shots every eight seconds, then walked to him.

“You’re not close enough,” he complained like a kid being denied a shiny toy, “I want to feel your warmth next to me.”

“Then no peeking. Close your eyes,” you took off your bra and threw it on his face, crawling closer to him like a preying tigress right after, “I’m right beside you. Now touch yourself.” 

Minho wrapped his fingers around his delicious girth, languidly stroking himself to full hardness with no rush whatsoever like he was in his bed on a lazy Sunday morning.

“Bring your pussy close to my face,” he quietly pleaded, “I swear I’m not gonna do anything. I just wanna feel it close.”

You didn’t think much honestly. Within two seconds, you were straddling his face, your thighs on either side of him, and if your reflexes hadn’t kicked in, Minho’s sudden attempt to steal a lick was indeed going to be successful.

“Shh, behave,” you rebuked him and squeezed his face between your fingers, “You swore.”

Eyes still closed, he bit into his mischievous smile, having infinite amounts of fun. So what if he did? Were you that gullible to believe everybody that pinky promised you? 

“Come on, at least make it drip on my face.”

“Less talking, more jerking.”

You urged him, but unbeknownst to Minho you were doing the same thing. You licked your fingers and started rubbing your pussy on his face, close enough to make him go insane because of the wet sounds, but far enough that he couldn’t try anything again. All you could think about was how it would be the hottest fucking thing in the world if you squirted all over his gorgeous features right about now.

“I can hear how wet you are. I can smell it,” he hissed out of sheer lust, “You want me, too. You want me bad.”

“Yes, I do. Who wouldn’t want you?” you responded shamelessly, “Look at you, a fucking sex god in the flesh.”

Minho moaned so loudly hearing your words that you knew you got him where you wanted him. Right in the palm of your hand, literally and figuratively.

“Say it again,” he begged, “Again.”

You had never seen him this fucking desperate before, and it was more satisfying than the best porn out there. You lowered your body and breathily spoke into his ear.

“You’re a sex god, Minho.”

“Then worship me.” 

You lay down beside him and started running your hand all over his torso, his firm skin under your fingertips forcing more slick to ooze out of you.

“Your body is fucking unreal,” you uttered almost like a moan, “You make me wanna do really nasty things to you.”

“Who’s holding you back?” he squeezed his cock tighter, and drops of precum began pooling around his slit, “I’m available for your personal use anytime you want.”

“I can start by sitting on your pretty face maybe. Ease you into it,” you placed a ghost kiss on his forehead.

“If you let me creampie you first, it’ll be a treat to watch me get messy on your cunt later on.”

His words literally took your breath away, and Minho was simply in love with how much power he had over you without doing anything. This was the moment to land the killshot.

“I wanna have the nastiest fucking sex of my life with you. Sweat, spit, cum everywhere,” he rubbed his flushed cock faster, “Say yes. Say yes and I’ll blow your fucking mind.”

You could watch Minho jerk off to you for hours if he could last, but you had negative willpower left to resist the raging urge to fuck him like your life depended on it. You wanted him like you’d never wanted anything else in your life. 

And he knew.

You pressed your lips on the corner of his mouth for a long while, then whispered the answer he was dying to hear.

“Yes.”

He suddenly snapped his eyes open and immediately grabbed your waist, pulling you close to make you straddle him.

“Sit on it, gorgeous. Take all of it.”

It didn’t matter how wet you were. Minho’s girth was so thick that you were struggling to even push the tip in, and all his self-control was working at full capacity not to cum to this right then and there. 

“Shh, you can take it, baby. I know you can,” he soothed you, “I’ll mold your pussy for myself just right.”

He finally broke through. You were so tight around him that he had to move extra slow inside you until he bottomed out, otherwise he really was going to explode. All of you right in front of him to feel, and he didn’t know where to grope you first. His hands eventually landed on your ass and gave your cheeks a firm squeeze.

“Bad move to play mind games with me,” he maniacally smiled, “I’m so fucking obsessed with you, now we’re gonna have to fuck every time we see each other. I don’t give a shit if we’re in public or not.”

When that first thrust hit, you sharply inhaled and closed your eyes. It felt too full inside you.

“See what you’ve been missing out on?” he derided, arrogance dripping from every single one of his words, “I want all your holes, one for each meal of the day. I’ll be damned if I ever skip breakfast again.”

“You’re gonna give me yours in return I presume?” you pressed your hands on his chest.

“Anything you want is yours. Just fuck me.”

You obscenely licked all over your palm and cupped his balls behind you. They were so tightened already, and the frenzied moans Minho let out when you caressed him were just everything you could ask for.

“So full, you’re dying to unload inside me, aren’t you?” you jeered contently, “Go on, cream my pussy so I can finally have you make out with it.”

“With absolute pleasure,” he held onto your waist tighter, “Not gonna lie, eating my cum out of your cunt has been the number two fantasy of mine for the longest time.”

“What’s the number one?”

You lost your balance when he abruptly pulled your body down. His face was right in front of yours, begging to be revered with as many kisses as you could offer him.

“To eat it out of your ass,” he sighed right before crashlanding on your lips.

Minho’s appetite knew no bounds. If he kissed you long enough, you could cum to that alone. His thrusts went berserk as he ran his hands all over your back, his mouth refusing to detach from yours, and you eventually felt something erupt inside you. Warm. Pleasantly sticky. Filling you up to the brim.

He didn’t even wait to gather his wits. You found yourself on your back with one hasty turn, and before you could register what was happening, you saw Minho between your legs.

“Forcefeed me,” he squeezed your thighs so hard there would surely be Minho-shaped bruises on your skin the next day, “Keep my face down. Don’t let me breathe.”

“Eat till you’re full,” you pressed his face closer, “Like a hardcore fucking simp would.”

He immediately started ravaging your pussy as instructed. The feeling was so intense that you were about to lose your mind, and it was worse because you could hear the shutter sounds recording the way you were absolutely disheveling the Lee Minho’s million-dollar face, his entire mouth and chin soaked with your slick.

If these frames ever went public, his crazed fans would actually kill you, and it was the weirdest fucking turn on you were experiencing.

“Did you know I have a picture of you on my sun visor next to a vibrator?” you confessed while riding his face, “You’re so fucking pretty I can’t stop masturbating to you even in the middle of traffic.”

You were absolutely murdering him with your words. His moans in your pussy were pathetically loud as if he was the one getting his dick sucked. This was like all of Minho’s most violent wet dreams come true, and he didn’t give a shit if he overdosed on desire tonight. He would die like a fucking rockstar.

“Like that. Fuck, just like that! Spit on it,” you gritted your teeth, “God, nobody does it like you.”

It was as though you wanted him to wreck you. Every word you uttered that even remotely resembled praise was bringing out the absolute worst in Minho. He was eating your pussy like an out-of-control animal in heat, growling into you and smacking his lips to make the wettest fucking sounds ever. 

You weren’t wet—you were fucking flooding his face, so much so that it should have been considered waterboarding. He wasn’t moaning—he was grunting into you as if he was mad, like a full on rampage. You had never had your pussy ravished like this before. Your legs were uncontrollably shaking. You were practically screaming, but you’d run out of fucks to give as to who heard it. You had Lee fucking Minho eating your soul out of you like a goddamn dementor—you wanted them to hear it and die a painful death because of jealousy for all you cared.

When you started clenching too much, Minho got alerted to how close you were, which prompted him to immediately stop and ram his fully hard cock into you. You forgot everything you had in your vocabulary. All you could moan was his name over and over and over again, and it was the perfect opportunity for Minho to take advantage of.

“Who gets this pussy dripping wet?”

“Minho…”

“Who gets to eat your creampied cunt?”

“Ah, Minho…”

“Who’s fucking you this good, baby?”

“Minho…”

“Who’s the only god you worship?”

“Minho. Minho. MINHO!!!”

Who the fuck would be able to resist cumming when you were screaming your lungs out in hellfire level pleasure anyway? Sure as fuck not Minho. Your own orgasm hit you so hard that dragged-out moans kept spilling from your lips. He slowed his pace down thinking he was making you uncomfortable, however…

“NO!” you grabbed his waist in panic, “Keep… Just keep… don’t stop y—”

“Are you still cumming?”

You fervently nodded while making stupidly incoherent sounds. Your entire body was shaking like you were having a seizure, and needless to say, Minho lived for that shit.

“Fucked so good, can’t let go just yet,” he let out a teasing laugh and held you in his arms, “Shh, shh, shh I got you. Hold on to me.” 

He fucked you through your orgasm with his lips on yours, but it felt unnecessarily intimate. When you were finally done, you could feel your heart beating in your pussy, and the soreness in your legs became way too perceptible all of a sudden.

“I think we make a fantastic pair,” Minho brushed the damp strings of hair away from your face, “I want a copy of that entire memory card.”

“Not this time, pretty,” you softly bit into his lips and diabolically smiled, “You either see this pussy in the flesh, or you don’t see it at all.”

「© 2023, exxxtraoddinary · No translations, rewrites, or reposts permitted」

✉ Enjoyed this? It would be cool of you to reblog so that my work can reach more people.

yours to keep

words: 1,728 tags: bang chan x f!reader, established relationship, fluff, kissing, attempt at humor. mentions of marriage. vague adhd!reader. notes: this is filled with nothing but fluff. tooth rotting fluff almost. I was feeling so incredibly soft for chan and I just had to get this out of my system. also the movie playing in the bg is absolutely kiki's delivery service.

-o0o-

You’ve refreshed the same three social media apps at least four different times each, falling into an incredibly boring spiral of doom scrolling, before you remember that if you’re bored enough you always have a boyfriend you can bother. It’s one of your favorite activities actually. Because he’s such a good sport about it. 

Shifting closer to him on the couch, you perch your chin on his shoulder, pressing close. He immediately leans into your touch, making a small little noise at your proximity. It makes your heart melt a little. 

For a few moments you silently watch him work. Clicking about on his laptop, pulling up various recording and editing programs, adding in and taking out bits of audio. You wonder what the track sounds like, but Chan has his big headphones secured to his head, so all you can do right now is imagine. 

It’s not completely silent. There’s a Studio Ghibli movie playing in the background that neither of you are watching, volume low enough to be nothing but white noise because you kind of extremely hate when there’s long stretches of absolutely no noise. It’s this weird thing your brain does; where it sort of feels all fuzzy and prickly if things are quiet for too long. 

Gently, you push one side of his headphones away from the ear closest to you. “Baby.” 

Chan hums in acknowledgement, but his attention is still focused entirely on his laptop. 

You’d be more annoyed if you weren’t so used to it by now. It’s kind of his job to be attached to it any second of the day that he’s not either preparing to perform or actively performing. Besides, you’re both sitting together and quietly enjoying each other's company while doing your own things and it’s kind of perfect. Except the thing you were working on has steadily lost your attention and now you want to ask your boyfriend a very important question. 

“On a scale of 1-10, how busy are you?” That’s not the question. It’s one of many lead up questions to accurately gauge how invested Chan is in his current project and how easy it will be to distract him. 

Another hum, and you watch his cursor rifle around in several different lists and menus. “Maybe a 6.7? Even 6 if I can find the specific snare I’m looking for in the next few minutes.” 

Below a 7 is promising. “So you can totally pause what you’re doing and give me like, five minutes?” 

Chan clicks around some more, and you recognize a little bit of what he’s doing. Going through the process of saving his progress before shutting his laptop entirely. “Actually, I can give you ten minutes.”

“You’re so generous.” You absolutely take that as your cue to crawl into his lap, taking the place of his computer as he places it somewhere safe off to the side. 

“I think I’ve been staring at the screen too long, my eyes are starting to rebel.” He groans, tipping his head back and scrubbing his palms over his face. 

Of course you still have that very important question to ask him, but he looks so soft and touchable and you really can’t help yourself. Moving his hands away, you lean in, pressing kisses to both of his cheeks, under each eye. To the tip of his nose, and even kissing his dimple when you feel him smile under your mouth. Using your hands to tilt his face, you kiss each side of his jaw. You move back up, placing a kiss to the curve of his forehead. 

Finally, finally, you kiss his mouth. He’s still smiling, but he kisses back happily. 

“Feel better?” 

He nods, eyes still closed. “I think your kisses might be magic.”

“Oh, they absolutely are.” You kiss him again simply because you can. It’s the sort of kiss that makes your bones all liquid and warm. A kiss you can feel in the roots of your teeth and the hinges of your jaw. It makes your stomach flutter, filled to the brim with colorful wings. 

It’s the type of kiss that almost makes you forget the question you wanted to ask him. 

“I actually have a very important question for you.” You declare, placing your hands firmly on his shoulders to try and keep him at arm's length. Lest you be drawn back into that mouth of his. 

Blinking up at you, breathing heavily and gaze a little dizzy, Chan nods. He mirrors the gesture, anchoring his hands at your hips. “Lay it on me, boss.” 

Settling into his lap, you try to ignore how stupidly wrecked he looks. You want to dive back in so badly, but you must stay strong, soldier. 

“If, for some unknown reason, you had to leave me to be with someone else, who would you choose?” 

That, at least, seems to sober him. Instead of looking soft and kiss-drunk, he comes back to himself, the gears behind his eyes starting to turn and grind together as he processes your insane question. 

You like to ask him things like this from time to time. Completely unprompted but thought provoking questions, because they really do feel important. You like to know these things. Not in a paranoid jealous sort of way. It’s all genuine curiosity. You just like to know.

“What kind of question is that? I don’t know. I can’t say I’ve ever thought about leaving you, or being with anyone else.” 

“That is the sweetest sentiment and I need you to know I’m feeling very warm and mushy over it, but it’s also incredibly boring.” 

“Wow, ok. I don’t know! Who would you choose?” He tries to throw the question back at you, but you’re ready. Of course you are; why would you even ask the question without having an answer of your own? 

“Changbin.”

It makes Chan laugh. It knocks its way out of him, causing him to lean to the side just a little bit with the force of it. “No hesitation!”

“No hesitation needed. He’s Seo Changbin.” 

Chan is still laughing. Little giggles as he nods along to your declaration. His fingers press into your waist, slipping between the hem of your shirt and your sweatpants, skin seeking skin. 

He didn’t ask for an explanation, but you have one. Because of course you do. “He’s the type of guy who would probably introduce himself as my boyfriend. Like, he’s the famous one, but I’m not his girlfriend. He’s my boyfriend. Does that make sense?”

“I hate to agree, but it absolutely does.”

“Right! Unfortunately I’m stuck with you.” You ignore his breathy wow, drawn out as he tries his best to not laugh again. “Because you’re the only person who plays into my jokes in the exact way that I enjoy.” 

You make sure to punctuate your explanation with a pout and shrug, truly playing into being overdramatic. Teasing him because it’s fun and easy and all he really does is smile so wide at you. The things you would do for that smile. 

He leans forward, close enough to place a quick kiss to the tip of your nose before he’s settling back into his seat. “Aw, I love you too.”

“Yeah, I guess I’m stupidly in love with you. It’s whatever.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Though,” You start, thoughtfully. “If I had to choose someone to get drunk married to in Vegas, I’d 100% no questions asked, pick Lino.”

Chan leans forward once again, into your space. The tilt of his brow and the line of his mouth spell out genuine concern, and it makes your insides twist up for the briefest of seconds. “Wait, what? Not me? But babe, I want to drunk marry you in Vegas so bad.” 

Ok, that makes you laugh. The weird little guilty knot immediately dissolves at his incredulous tone. “Absolutely not! We’re never getting drunk married in Vegas by some celebrity impersonator. Are you crazy?”

Well now he’s frowning. It makes you want to wrap him up in your arms and never let him go. Tuck him away safely in a spot behind your ribs, where no one can get to him and nothing can hurt him.

You’re smaller than him, not only because you’re shorter by a good few inches, but also in sheer mass and bulk. But you’d try your best. It’s probably a little morbid, and he’d absolutely give you a look if you ever mentioned it out loud. But it’s true nonetheless. 

You’d crack yourself open and rearrange everything if it meant you could fit him perfectly in the space next to your heart. 

Cradling his face in your hands, you make sure that he’s listening, tipping your head to meet his eyes and smoothing your thumb along the swell of his bottom lip. “We’d get sober married, on a beach or something, by one of our very good friends that got their license online!” 

Without missing a beat, Chan is nodding. “Seungmin.” 

“No question. He’d show up with a print out certificate from Ordained.com that he managed to get the night before.”

Chan’s eyes disappear as he laughs, and you press both of your thumbs into the apples of his cheeks as his smile transforms his face. There’s always something about the way Chan smiles that is contagious. Without fail you can’t help but smile too, scrunching up your nose and feeling your heart overflow with love. 

The things you would do for that smile. 

“Hold on. Did you just propose to me?” Chan asks, once his laughter has trickled off into intermittent giggling. You’re still holding his face, and his fingers have fully migrated up under your top to spread out along our back. 

You scoff, shaking your head. “No. We’re too young and you’re too busy for us to be married. Hell no. If anything I pre-proposed to you.”

“Aw, well I accept.”

“Good. We’d have a problem if you didn’t.” 

It’s his turn to pull you into a kiss. Both of your smiles pressing against each other. 

The credits of the movie neither of you were watching have started rolling, the familiar music washing over the both of you, and you could really spend the rest of the night here with him. The rest of the weekend. Maybe even the rest of your lives, some day.

a/n: you've read you when minho gets hurt but get ready for a fun new concept of minho when you get hurt!!!!

if you thought that you turned into a mother hen when minho got hurt, the antithesis lives in the way minho would react when you were the one in pain. he’s calm and he teases but he somehow always knows exactly what to do, even before you yourself know what you want.

you weren’t particularly a clumsy person, but everyone has times where their feet refuse to work or they nick themselves in the neck with their hair straightener - or in your case now, when you take the biggest sip of your tea, forgetting that you had just made it and it was a near-boiling temperature. you have to resist the urge to spit it out, and it feels like fire working it’s way down your throat when your muscles finally cooperate enough for you to swallow the burning sip. 

you must make a noise, because minho’s attention - which was previously trained on the way your cat was licking his paw - flips to you so fast you’re surprised you didn’t hear his neck crack. his eyes flicker all over your body, from your head to your fingers and down to your legs like he was looking for blood to be gushing out of you. he must see something in your expression because he melts a bit when he meets your eyes, scooting himself closer to you and letting you lean into his body.

“what happened, mine?” he says, words curled up with fondness. 

“i burnt my tongue,” your say with a wince, the shape of the letters sending pings of pain across your tongue. you glare heatedly at the cup of steaming tea you left on the table, sitting there in it’s false innocence. you stick your tongue out at him like a petulant child, the cold air from the room soothing the ache a little bit.

“let me see,” he cups your face in his hand, pulling you closer to him so he could get a look - you’re sure your tongue is ridiculously red, and the look on your face even more so. he peers down, his eyes crossing a bit and he looks so cute that you want to bite him. he smiles a bit, leaning up to press a kiss to your tongue, a quick thing that catches you off guard. 

an unintelligible sound leaves your mouth, muffled by the way his fingers are still squeezing your cheeks and your tongue is still peeking out of your mouth. 

“did i fix it?” he looks so pleased, like he truly believed that his kiss would heal your physical wounds. you don’t have the heart to tell him that your tongue is still stinging when you put it back into your mouth, but he has healed any distress you were feeling on the inside, so you just nod and snuggle into him, tea forgotten.

it was so silly, such a simple thing, but something about it made your heart want to burst out of your chest. god, you love him, with every fiber in your being. you love him for knowing you, love him for knowing that while coddling is what he needs, a distraction was the cure that would sooth your hurt in any circumstance. 

later, you’d be pouty all day until he caved to your wide shiny eyes and went to buy you ice cream to soothe your tongue. later, he would spoon feed you and babble at you like you’re one of his kittens, later he would flutter kisses all over your face and tell you that you’re never allowed to be hurt when he’s around. 

right now, you’re content to sit in his arms with a burning tongue as long as he’s there.

—

soft hours

BF!SKZ | Asking about Christmas gifts

Requested? Yes! By @turtledove824 (sorry, love, I accidentally deleted your ask and the cute and beautiful words you sent me ;-;) but thank you for all the words and the warm welcome back.

Pairing: SKZ x FEM!reader

Type: fake text

Warnings: some swearing and some insinuations but that's it!

Tag list form is in bio! (Only 50 slots available, fill the form if you want to be tagged)

SKZ TAGLIST: @jedi-dreea @saiko-skz

SAM TAGLIST: @turtledove824

DRUNKEN WITH A SENSE OF LOVE | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | romance / drunken confessions / fake dating au

synopsis | you and hyunjin got drunk at different times, and you two took care of each other similarly. 

word count | 7.1k+

warning | mentions of insecurity / brief allusion to sexual themes / alcohol and drunkenness  

note | i changed almost everything about this.

Hyunjin has gotten himself etched to the back of your mind, and you genuinely did not like that.

You didn't blame him, though. If anything, you blame yourself for falling so head over heels for him.

For one, Hyunjin couldn’t help who falls in love with him. He couldn’t suppress his overwhelmingly good looks if he tried, which he never did. He enjoyed the positive attention, however shallow they often were. He also couldn’t put a pause on his decent personality, which came as a genuine surprise to you after you got to know him better through this fake dating scheme. You always thought beautiful people harbored the ugliest heart, out of envy and bitterness. Hyunjin wasn’t like that. You didn’t think he was, at least. 

For two, you should have known better than to fall in love with a man leagues above your selection pool. People called it self-degradation, a lack of self-esteem, having no self-worth, and whatnot. You considered it a down-to-earth trait, a reality check, understanding your limits, and whatnot. Hyunjin was a boy you should fall in love with in moderation but never utterly, ardently, absolutely. You were, unfortunately, the latter. 

For three, and this was the stupidest part, you two were temporarily dating. Hyunjin was honest when he approached you and said that his friends, at the ripe age of twenties and pursuing higher education, thought you were good enough to be the butt of a romantic joke. They had challenged him to chase you, get you into a relationship, and break your heart. It was a heinous and, frankly, childish game, but you agreed to it with him for the prize money. 

It was worth it at that time. It was easy money! Who wouldn’t want that? You didn’t feel that way now. Pretending to be in a loving relationship with him has short-term perks but long-term losses. 

Hyunjin was practically in you, etched to the back of your mind, tattooed on the inside of your skin, taken by your bloodied to the bottom of your grave. The degree to which your heart dropped for him was unexplainable by yourself. Therefore, having the excuse to go on dates and hold his hands in public, snuggle with him during outings with his friends, and maintain a pleasant friendship with him behind closed doors were great experiences. But when the time comes for separation, you will hurt, not merely over the breakup, but the reminder that he has never felt more for you, that your wonderful experience with him was just an experience.

Clumsy stumbling could be heard outside his apartment, and not a second later came a round of demanding knocks. Hyunjin's head perked up at the noise, his eyes wide in alert at the sudden banging. He looked at the door momentarily before finally looking over to the clock, his brows furrowing slightly at the late time. He waited to check if it could be a drunken stranger approaching the wrong door, but soon enough, another round of aggressive knocks sounded.

Holding the thought that it could just be his roommate, Han Jisung, coming back home late for yet another odd reason, and also praying inwardly that he wouldn't have to spend the night taking care of a loud, obnoxious, and very drunk Jisung, he made his way up and approached the door.

Flinging the door open, Hyunjin did a double-take before his annoyed expression morphed into one of surprise. His arm went slack against the wooden frame of the door, and he took an instinctive step forward when he saw your drunken state—your features were scrunched up in discomfort, your eyes squinted because astigmatism had taken over on your walk to the apartment building, and you were hunched over. You were not at all the way you used to look, not the way he was used to seeing you, which was always so presentable and well put together.

An amused smile appeared on his face as he eyed you up and down, wanting nothing more than to make fun of and tease you even without your ability to form the perfect retorts he has grown to be highly fond of. But you sniffed for a moment and took a step forward. In that exact second, you had Hyunjin doubling over to catch you before you could fall to the floor, concern lining up the crinkles of his eyes as he looked down at you.

"Woah, alright! Let’s stand slowly, okay?" he commanded gently, cooing at your side as if talking to a child. 

His arms curled around your shoulder and waist with a protective grip, and he hoisted your weight by supporting you with his own. Pulling you into the apartment, he shut the door slowly with his feet before returning his attention to you, hoping to bring you to the couch where you could lie down and rest.

“Jeez, babe, how much did you drink?” he laughed, dragging your unresponsive body along with him.

You groaned lowly, trying your best to hold down the acidic taste rushing at the back of your mouth. You wouldn’t know it, but this was not what you had planned for the night. Your friends did their job sending you home safely. Who would have thought you’d leave your apartment shortly after just to stumble to Hyunjin’s home? It was a short distance from your place, but what a miracle you made it without any major accidents! And what a disaster you made it to his home while being high on alcoholic honesty!

You snapped your head up. You were at the perfect angle to stare at his side profile, allowing you the premium shot of his perfect jawline, luscious locks, beautiful lashes, button tip of his nose, and just the most kissable lips you have ever seen. A grimace reached your face. It was an instinctive response. His good looks indeed couldn’t hide even behind the blurriest of eyes. You thought if you lied to your body enough, your mind would follow, so you grimaced whenever you looked at him, hoping to start disliking him. It hasn’t worked. 

"Hwang Hyunjin,” you muttered.

He chuckled. “Yes. That is me."

You gulped, still staring at him. Then, as you lowered your eyes to the floor, you leisurely suggested what’s been on your mind recently, “We should break up."

Of all the things you have done within these few months of him meeting you, including you agreeing to help him lie to his friends about this fake dating challenge to punching someone in the face for shaming his impulsive sex life, which you weren’t surprised he has, this one caught him off guard the most. This one also made him panic. It was fear, like sweaty hands and dry lips, like his mind racing with terrible thoughts, racing with made-up reasons as to why you would want that, racing with every single action he has done that could be counted as a mistake.

"Wh–what? Why do you–why? Why are we breaking up? We are fine. I didn't do anything–did I do something?" Hyunjin stuttered, unconsciously tightening his grip on your body before he let out a gentle but firm whisper, "No."

“I know, I am sorry. I don’t know–I’m just sorry,” you slurred, long stopped looking at him and instead was now leaning your entire weight against him like a wall. Your hands waved about in the air. "You are mad at me, aren't you? Of course–“ you snorted obnoxiously–“it’s a lot of money! I’ll pay you. Break up with me, don’t be mad.”

Hyunjin stared at you as you laughed manically. It sounded choked up, like you’ve got wet coughs prepared in your throat, but he could tell you were far from shedding tears, unlike good ol’ sensitive him, who remained in a state of anxiety and was still trying to process why you brought up separation. It wasn’t time for the fake dating to end. It was nowhere near it! To suggest breaking up so early must mean something was wrong with him, but what was? He couldn’t tell! To think he was just losing his mind over what to do once it was time for this fake relationship to end. 

“Hyunjin,” you called him once when you noticed his silence. Looking up at him, you furrowed your brows and reached up to brush his face clumsily with your hand, pushing your fingertips against his skull. “Hyunjin? Hey. Answer me. Hey. Hello. Hyunjin!”

He leaned away from your aggressive touch, his shoulders relaxing at your playful antics. A smile formed uncontrollably on his lips when you doubled down on smearing your hands all over his face after his dodges. He was left haplessly struggling between missing your direct eyeball pokes and keeping you from falling to the ground. You grinned out loud; he mirrored it, and he didn’t hear the sound of your laughs mixing together because he hears it all the time.

“You are very drunk, [Name],” he managed to comment after grabbing both of your hands and keeping them at his face level. His tight-lipped smile sparkled when you attempted a struggle, like a parent reprimanding their child, then he moved your hands to your face and squeezed your cheeks together. Your lip jutted out in response. He leaned in to kiss your cupid’s bow. “You’re being silly. Let’s get you cleaned up and back to bed.”

The frown on your face made him nervous. His hands slowly slipped from your face, and your hands fell to your sides. You remained silent, and he let the clogs in your brain move. Your thoughts weren’t clear. The only thing you were sure of was that the man standing before you was Hwang Hyunjin, your temporary boyfriend, and you’d spent the whole night trying to drink your feelings for him away. You came to his apartment for a reason—you needed to break up with him for your own good.

“No, I can’t go to bed yet. I have something to do.” You yawned and waved an arm dismissively. You spoke before you finished yawning, leaving your words hanging in the air in slow motion. “I came to tell you something.”

Hyunjin’s hands curled into fists. He let go, tightened them, and let go again to alleviate the sweat gathering at his palms. You were surprisingly hell-bent on the topic, which led him to believe it went beyond a moment of drunkenness. It must have been a conclusion formed long ago, and you have just now mustered the courage to let him know. But why? What did he do? What did he not do? 

He was more than nervous, if there was a word to describe the state of his heart. This was more than a personal problem, which he admittedly still has to work through, but far more significant than himself was you—his feelings for you, his immense affection for you, the fact that he loved you the way you warned yourself not to love him but did anyway. It wasn’t your fault. Your observant eyes, your sincerity, your care for him. It wasn’t your fault. He fell in love with you of his own accord.

If you left him, he would be like a dog without a leash, a dog without an owner. He would wander aimlessly, filled with rage and dread, sniffing every darkened corner for a whiff of your scent. 

“Are you breaking up with me?” he asked meekly. 

You sucked in a deep breath to counter your congested chest, then you shook your head in agreement. “Yes.” 

You were very drunk. He shouldn’t take your words into consideration. “That’s fine,” he said as he stepped toward you, “can we get cleaned up and go to bed anyway? It’s very late.”

“No, I don’t want you touching me anymore.” You stepped back dramatically and hugged yourself into a protective stance. “It’s for the better.” 

He wondered what that meant. Were you repulsed by him? Did you finally realize how disgusting his inability to stay away from sexual and romantic validation was? Were you ashamed to be associated with him because of his impulsive behavior? He was only good for a short time; did you come to that realization? You were too good for him. He always knew that.

Hyunjin retreated his hand from mid-air. His hands met before his abdomen, his fingers immediately picking at each other as he uncomfortably shifted his weight. The corner of his lips arched downward at your rejection, but he tried to keep them neutral so he wouldn’t be influenced into crying. There wasn’t much else he could do with himself if being near you was no longer an option. He looked lost and wronged; he felt so.

“[Name], did I do something?” he asked, rubbing his elbow awkwardly. “Why do you suddenly want to break up with me?”

You blinked at a random space on the wall. Sitting below your sight was a messy square table with unwashed cups, scattered papers, and a closed laptop. Even in a state of haze, you knew they didn’t belong to him. Hyunjin was more organized than that. He told you once it made his school experience much easier to have everything in one place: his computer, which you knew he often kept in his school bag. You sniffed; you knew him like the back of your hand. 

“I can’t tell you,” you replied slowly, not looking at him. “It’s a secret.” 

Hyunjin tilted his head. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” 

He sounded convincing, so you gradually moved your eyes to access him. Standing in front of you, timid as a mouse, was Hwang Hyunjin. You knew that, and you knew that your secret was to be kept from him. Yet, somehow, all that did not register once you were engaged in a conversation with him. He was Hyunjin, just a person you were talking to. If he promised not to tell, then it should be fine. 

“You promise?” you asked. 

Hyunjin nodded. “I promise.” 

You pouted with a glare, willing him to waver and show any sign of deception, but he stood his ground and waited for you to expose your deepest and darkest feelings to him. A faint grumble sounded from your mouth. You looked around briefly to check for any eavesdroppers before you walked a few tentative steps toward him, and you confessed, “I’m in love with you.” 

It was like a shot through the heart, and the shot was aimed so successfully that the organ tore off its hinges and fell to his abdomen where his hands fiddled nervously with each other. It may be asking for an exit out of his body, it may be seeking its new owner, or it may come knocking boldly at your mouth and ask to fit inside you. Hyunjin remained perplexed at your confession. The confession had a bitter taste; he wasn’t sure what to make of it or if he deserved it from someone like you. 

“[Name]…” 

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. “I am very in love with you. It’s stupid.” 

He couldn’t tell, but you understood, despite a fogged mind, that letting him know your affection for him was a cause for your demise. Your emotions were in a whirlwind, collecting up the fragments of all the heart pieces you've broken because of Hyunjin and how you had confronted yourself multiple times with your own delusions that this wouldn't be like the movies. He would never fall in love with you just because you two got closer from months of fake dating.

Even then, he was empathetic to your body language, especially how much they mirrored his. His shoulders slumped at how you turned away from him to trail your attention off somewhere safer, where he wasn’t in your sight. Registering his beautiful face was hard for you because you couldn’t have him; processing his existence and your proximity to him was difficult because you could never have him. You turned away from him to further signify to yourself the assumed truth, your trembling fingers pulling at each other to avoid an awkward standstill. 

Hyunjin was etched to the back of your brain. He was overwhelming, and he was far away. Unable to contain the sudden reminder that you were never going to get over him, a rush of tears started to tremble their way up to your eyes. Your face scrunched without remorse, and your head dropped near your shoulders alarmingly quickly that it startled him.

“I love you, I’m so sorry,” you sobbed. It made him panic. “Please break up with me.” 

“Why are we breaking up if you love me, silly?” he forced a laugh once he approached you. 

His lanky arms were clumsy and gentle after he pulled at his sweater sleeves to wipe your tears. They hovered awkwardly over your face, gauging how much strength to use to effectively dry your eyes but not push you any further away from him. He cooed a bunch of nonsense, but they were sweet like sleepy kisses on your hands. Eventually, he cupped your face and wiped your eyes with his thumbs. You let him; he made you laugh when he apologized for using too much force, even though he never did. 

“You don’t love me, Hyunjin,” you muttered. 

“Nonsense,” he retorted within a second, “who said that?”

You didn’t reply, so he stood with his arms raised for a whole minute while you leaned the weight of your head against his palms. He thought it terribly horrific that he ought to remember the shape of your face with his slender fingers because of his inability to sew his skin into yours. If his hands were like superglue, he could be attached to you forever—your face, your features, you, his most favorite thing in the world. His hands would burn, but what of it? Better you scorch him than to never be touched by you at all. 

“Hyunjin,” you called when you were finished zoning out.

“Mhm?” 

“I love you. I’m sorry,” you said. “I’m so ugly.” 

Growing up being valued for his beautiful features taught him to devalue it. He didn’t care for it. He wouldn't cry about it if he were to earn a permanent scar across his face. Yet, even then, if he were to have one, he was sure people would rave about how the scar ruined his face rather than talk about how he obtained it. Except for you. You’d ask about it, like you always asked everything about him. 

The kind of person you were, his most favorite person in the world—you were detailed like that, and you made him feel an essence of humanity others didn’t. With you, he wasn’t ethereal, he wasn’t a God, he wasn’t an angel fallen to Earth. He didn’t have to be because you never put him on some miraculous pedestal. He was just Hwang Hyunjin; his favorite food is his mother’s cooking, he makes clumsy mistakes and looks funny when he does, and he enjoys making art. 

Not a model, not God’s favorite, not pretty. Just a boy, and he’s in love with you.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m ugly too.” 

He didn’t deny your false claims; you were the prettiest he had ever known, but only he needed to know that. When there comes a time for him to praise and worship your physical body, he will. For now, there wasn’t anything much he wanted to say in return. Just that he was the same as you. 

Your souls didn’t collide that way, obviously. You two were completely different people with varying hobbies and friend groups. However, Hyunjin was willing to chase you like Hell to meet where you were. There wasn’t anything he wanted to be if he couldn’t be it with you. Whatever you are, he is.

There was another long pause. Hyunjin patiently waited, tender eyes concentrated on each crevice of your face as he stroked your stained cheeks with his thumb. You didn’t say anything more, only slapping your hands over his and pulling them from your face. He thought you were moving away, but you took a step forward instead and dove into his arms. You hugged him around his neck, hanging off him like a sloth. He chuckled, swaying you side to side. You were tired, he knew. 

“It’s getting late, baby,” he whispered, leaning back to watch your closed eyes and laughing. He ran a hand through your hair multiple times, getting a clearer view of your face. “Let’s clean up and go to bed, okay?”

You groaned and muttered in response. He didn’t hear what you said. He kept sweeping your hair back. Supporting you with his weight, you were heavy, but he didn’t mind. You wouldn’t be able to change your clothes by yourself, so he would help you. It’d be sloppy and slow, and he wouldn’t mind. You would take up most of the bed, sprawled out without a clue that you weren’t sleeping in your apartment. Your body heat would scratch up a fever in him, and he wouldn’t mind. He enjoyed taking care of you. 

Staring at him as he stroked your hair, you pouted before uttering three familiar words, “I love you.” 

Hyunjin smiled. Whatever you are, he is. He kissed your nose and your eyes. He told you he loves you too.

It was one of those nights when Hyunjin couldn’t spend time with you, and you were unreasonably disappointed about it.

You slouched atop the couch you got at a flea market, which Hyunjin had to convince you to get after repeatedly reassuring you that there wouldn’t be any actual fleas hiding in the creases. This uncomfortable position resulted from five hours of continuous mumbling about how you should not be upset that Hyunjin didn’t choose to spend the night with you, which he had done the past few weeks. He has been somewhat clingy lately, and you couldn’t imagine why. You thought your act was good. There was no way his friends doubted you. 

This could be the calm before the storm. Even though you two had concocted a detailed timeline for your fake dating, you wouldn’t be surprised if Hyunjin abruptly cut it short. If that was true, his current sweetness was nothing more than a buildup to a dramatic and convincing breakup. 

Pouting in dismay, you rolled up the bag of chips and reached for the tea table beside you, your fingertips wiggling to graze past the black binder clip you used to keep the plastic bag sealed. Amid your frustrated groaning, still refusing to get your ass off the couch even after more than ten seconds of struggling, the doorbell suddenly rang, and coming after that were loud bangs at your door.

A shiver ran down your spine as you snapped your head toward the direction of the noise, your brows rising abruptly at the fearful intrusion. Slowly throwing your chip bag on the table, you stood up and tip-toed your way over to the door where you pressed your hands to the wooden surface and carefully looked through the peephole.

A gasp caught in your throat when you saw Hyunjin’s face standing just a few inches away from the circle as if leaning against the door for support. You immediately moved out and unlocked your door, swinging it open to reveal him fully. Taking a good look at his face before he started to throw his little drunken tantrum—messy hair, concentrated brows, droopy eyelids, and a general look of discomfort—you concluded that he definitely has been downing more shots than he could handle.

“What happened to you?” 

You stepped up to put your hands on either side of his arm, carefully bringing him into your apartment. He stumbled with most of his weight straining on your shoulder. There were so many stutters in his steps that you almost dragged him into a fall with you on your way to the couch. After setting him down, he snorted at the cushy feeling of your couch. It took him a while to process the new environment, and then he arched his neck to find you. 

Hyunjin could barely make out your face. He couldn’t even be sure if he went to your apartment, but subconsciously, he could tell he was at your place. He felt it in your timid touches just now, and whatever scent he whiffed out of the air, it smelt like you. Licking his lower lip as his worries slowly faded away and his attention—as much as he could muster—returned, he mumbled a string of incoherent noises under his breath before he, much to your palpitating heart’s dismay, pulled you onto the couch next to him. 

He got on top of you; his legs had to bend in weird ways to accommodate the small couch, and he placed his palms on either side of your head to trap you under him. You felt heat forming on your cheeks as you shrunk beneath his shadow, your eyes widening at the proximity. Hyunjin has never done this before. The closeness wasn’t new, but the position of it was. Being under him was an unbelievable feeling. He looked beautiful, and his toned muscles became more visible by supporting his own weight. How your thoughts were smeared! You doubted your body would forget how well he could cage you in. 

Hyunjin stared at you with a low, drunken hum. Then, suddenly, he leaned down to meet your face. 

“[Name],” he started, lowering his head tiredly to your shoulder, “you wanted to break up with me?”

You blinked up at the ceiling, confused, but you figured it could be the alcohol talking for him, so you chose to disregard all the questions that popped into your head. Holding out your arms to push against his chest, you attempted to sit up. “I don’t want to break up with you, Hyunjin.”

He seemed to be processing your answer as he allowed you to set him aside and give yourself more space. You sat quietly next to him, letting him have the time to think over what he wanted to say. The thoughtful pout on his face told you it was difficult for him to use his brain, but it looked cute enough that you almost took a picture to tease him about it once he got sober. You wondered if his response would be nonsense as well.

“Why do you want to break up with me?” he whispered, causing you to sigh. He hasn’t heard you, after all. His lips were pursed into a frown, and his eyes were squinted to show that he was very close to leaking a few tears down his cheeks, but you couldn’t read between the lines and realize what his despair meant. Hands fiddling with the hem of his shirt, he abruptly turned to you and sniffed. “You can’t do that to me. I won’t–I won’t let you do that to me.” 

You tilted your head to the side, your brows constantly furrowed. Where was he getting this idea from? You tried to recall any off-handed comments you made. Still, they were primarily directed elsewhere and never at your fake relationship. You’ve never said anything bad about him, not to him, and never behind his back. There wasn’t anything outstandingly mean to say anyway, so what sprung this on? 

Returning to reality, your head faintly shook as you looked up at Hyunjin to ask his drunken state about the reason behind this outburst. Your eyes widened instead when you saw he had taken his shirt off, the lump of fabric discarded on the floor carelessly. Heat blossomed at the base of your neck, and you felt your joints sour in panic; seriously, what sprung this on! This was a much bigger issue than drunkenness! 

When you noticed his hands reaching to the belt of his jeans, you immediately lunged toward him and circled his wrists to stop his movements. Your panic became a surprised concern at his need to strip naked in your apartment. You doubted he wanted to show you his body. Even if he did, this wasn’t how you wanted to do it. 

Moving his hands away, you urged, “No. We’re not doing that.”

“No, I have to! I have to!” 

He snatched his hands away from yours and dove to unbuckle his belt again. His movements grew increasingly frustrated the more you blocked his attempt to remove his pants. You were annoying, but he wasn’t angry at you. He was scared. He wasn’t getting what he wanted, and he thought you might leave him if he didn’t show you what he could offer. It scared him that you didn’t want to see him whole, so eventually, he began to sob. 

“I have to show you, [Name]. Please let me!” Hyunjin whined, hands tugging harshly at each other by his chest.

“You don’t have to show me anything,” you assured as you grabbed a few tissues from the tea table. You dabbled softly at his eyes. “Come on, let’s put your clothes back on.”

Tears rolled down his cheeks like knives against your skin. He felt uncomfortable at this unfamiliar sequence. Things usually go smoothly after he reveals himself. Nobody has ever refused to see him, so why did you? What about himself was so repulsive that you couldn’t take one look at his bare skin? Why didn’t you love him back? 

“No.” he slurred, then paused to catch his breath. 

The moment of calm was gone too soon. His hands reached up to ruffle his hair in a frenzy. His heart hammering against his chest, yet his brain wasn’t sane enough to understand what the sudden panic was about, just that it had something to do with you. That obliviousness, as a result, was making him even more agitated.

“You need to love me again!” he exclaimed, eyes brimming with unknown tears. “People love me when I take my clothes off. You need to love me again!” 

A puff of air slowly made its way out of your half-parted lips. You could feel the stretching of your heartstrings. Hyunjin cried as he shrank into himself, his arms going around his cold body for a sense of comfort, and the sight toyed with your head by sending waves of deep anguish like mere laps of the ocean. The feeling deranged you—to realize Hyunjin experiences such a level of hopelessness and loneliness was heartbreaking. More importantly, you felt ignorant of his problems. You should have been a better friend, perhaps even a better lover.

“Hey,” you called out gently as you scooted toward him. You brought one hand up to his face to direct his eyes to you. You smiled softly when you found that he was opening his squinted eyes to stare back. “I’m going to get something, so wait here for me, okay?”

He sniffed, tasting the tears rolling down his mouth, and nodded. You rubbed his cheek with your thumb, ever so gingerly placing a hand at the small of his back, hoping to calm him down, but it turned out Hyunjin had a thought of his own. After feeling the warmth of your hand, he took it as a sign that you wanted to hug him, so he obliged immediately by wrapping his arms around your torso and putting his head on your shoulder.

You breathed a small chuckle when he made weird noises after finding a space at the crook of your neck. The transition from him throwing a tantrum to having a mini panic attack to being the clingiest person you have ever met was amusing. As was the transition from your mind being filled with annoyance and confusion to having your feelings torn into shreds to breathing out a chuckle. It was entertaining, and the fact that Hyunjin could bring out so many different aspects of your emotions was undeniably endearing.

He was that kind of person. He has always been. More than beautiful, he was expressive, selfless, and tender-minded. Watching him allowed you to live an emotional life vicariously. All the things you ignored in the past because of mental stress were repainted in colors by his hands. The movie you never watched, the ice cream you never tried, the districts you never visited, and the fireworks show you never stayed for—everything meant something to Hyunjin, so everything meant something to you. 

To him, love was a grave of sacrifices. Of his time, his space, his body, and his mind. He was willing to give, and he has given you all except one. You wouldn’t know any of it. 

You moved to the back of the couch, cautiously pressing your back up against the edge. Hyunjin followed you, shifting his position so he lay stuffed against your chest with your arms around his shoulders. His fingers played with each other shyly on top of his bare chest as he looked around your apartment absentmindedly. He couldn’t register anything but the fabric of your clothes and how small you made him feel. 

He finally looked at you after a moment. His cries had long ceased and left only trails of dry tears on his dearest cheeks. With his eyelashes still wet, glittering beautifully in the air, he blinked, his eyes widening after he found out you had been looking down at him. Suddenly, He grinned childishly with a hint of sun hidden in his smile. “What are you looking at?”

You hummed, finding Hyunjin utterly irresistible even with his tear-stained cheeks and slurred laughter. He was all messy and puzzling, but your heart pushed against itself to give him space to stay inside. “I’m looking at you, silly.” 

“Oh, you’re looking at me.” He giggled, covering half his face with his hands and shutting his eyes shyly. He squirmed around in your arms, but not once did he move far enough to not feel you against him. When he was done, he returned back to the original position, and he peeked an eye through the gap between his fingers. He laughed. “ I am looking at you too.”

“I know you are,” you said, fingers threading through his feathery locks with serenity, and a smile so heartwarming that Hyunjin couldn’t help but focus his sight on it.

“Why?” he asked, his eyes shaky.

You pursed your lips together and shrugged. “I can’t tell you. It is a secret.”

Hyunjin’s gaze hardened naively, a gasp ripping through his throat as he leaned back against your hand. “Tell me! I promise I won’t tell anyone else.”

“You promise?” 

“I promise!” he exclaimed, sitting up slightly and bumping his forehead against your chin. He burst into a fit of giggles then, rubbing his forehead for a while before reaching the same hand out to touch your chin sloppily. “I’m sorry, I hit your face.”

“It's okay,” you said, your thumb soothing against the spot he had bumped into you. “But you promise me you can keep a secret? It’s very important!”

He nodded eagerly. “I promise!”

“Okay,” you said as you looked up at the sky, pretending to think. “The reason why I am looking at you is really simple. It is because I love you.”

You glanced back down at him to find him looking at you in astonishment. He licked his lower lip. His mind cleared a little for the first time, and he felt all of the universe that was your body pressed close to him. Beyond that, there were more minor things. Your heart beat faster than his, making him chase after you like a madman; the warmth of your skin equated to the warmth he manually cultivated in his bed by stacking multiple blankets together, an attempt to replicate your presence at night; your soft voice, going through his blurry ears, sounded like the subconscious voice he hears all the time. Maybe his subconscious was all just you.

Those were all fragments of proof of how much he loved you. To think you returned his feelings—he didn’t know what to think. 

“Really?” He sounded so surprised. It was almost heartbreaking.

“Yes,” you nodded, “even when we both have clothes on.” 

He looked down and touched your shirt. “Oh, you are wearing a shirt.”

“Yes, I am.”

He gazed at it briefly before, with an invisible shrug, leaned his cheek against your chest. “You’re warm. I like it.”

You smiled, feeling like your lips were about to extend out of your cheeks to become wider. “You’re cold because you took your shirt off!”

He scoffed and said nothing. Hyunjin was unguarded and half-stripped before you, chastely snuggling up against your chest while slurred words spilled out of his mouth like a mantra. You didn’t try to understand him; he wasn’t looking to have a conversation. You just wanted to lay together without a thought or a worry. Occasionally, he would sit up just to look at your face, then hum and lay back down, continuing to rot. 

It was such a wondrous thing.

“Do you want to wash up and go to bed?” you asked. “Are you tired?” 

“No. I want to stay here. I like it here.” 

Hyunjin let out a dreamy sigh. He threw his head back with a smile, his hair hitting your jaw and sprawled over the crook of your neck. He tilted his head then, letting it fall along your shoulder. His eyes were closed with bliss, and he laughed to himself. When he opened his eyes, there was only the shadow of your side profile, which was good for him. He wanted to kiss the skin, filled with close-up bumps and blemishes. It was a side profile he’ll know for the rest of his life, and he’ll whisper ‘I love you’ to a million times. 

“I have a secret to tell you,” he mentioned.

You raised a brow, intrigued, and urged him to continue, “What is it?”

He bit his lower lip and scurried off your body. You sat up straighter then, watching as he stumbled over to the front door for the bag he discarded on the ground. He crouched to pull a small notebook out easily before returning to you. He stopped by the couch, his eyes concentrated as he stared at the notebook's cover. Then, without another word, he dropped back onto your body and made you wrap your arms around him like before. 

“I draw you all the time. In my sketchbook.” 

He grinned out loud in the same way you would grin at him. His fingers played with the blank pages before, finally, he arrived at one filled with traces of his pencil. You gasped. He wasn’t spilling nonsense. The page was filled with beautiful sketches of your face, and so was the next one and the next. He kept flipping his notebook, and everywhere you could find pieces of yourself dotted out sincerely by his hand. 

They didn’t look to come from memories, but they were definitely from moments not even you could remember. But Hyunjin remembered everything because he detailed it all in the lines. His inability to not consume all of you tied his hands together and made you his ultimate muse. Almost unconsciously, for a while, the only thing he knew to draw was you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t know how else to pour you out of his mind. 

It was overwhelming, and you could see that. He was showing you all his blood work: mornings spent missing you with the tip of a crooked pencil, afternoons spent recalling your features in his head, nights spent tracing your face with his lead-filled fingers under a desk lamp. If he could inhale these sketches of you into his bloodstream and poison himself with those images, leaving an organ tattoo of your presence, he would. 

“I love this one,” he said, pointing at a full-body sketch of you. “I was waiting for you at the coffee shop, and you were walking towards me. I love it. I was so excited to see you. I memorized what you wore.” 

This sketchbook stayed with him all the time; he felt like he was bringing you with him, like a kid refusing to let go of their blanket. You wouldn’t know anything about that. The beautiful boy in your arms admired you constantly, from the farthest corner of his soul to the tip of his button nose, and you wouldn’t know anything about it. 

“I draw you all the time,” he added. “I will never forget what you look like, but I always want to remember.” 

The implications of that didn’t fly over your head. His addition to telling you the truth disabled your ability to attribute the fact that he draws you in his free time to him being artistic. But more than being afraid of rejection, you feared a mutual connection. The only thing worse than you finding Hyunjin loveable was him finding that you were as well. 

“Do you know why?” he asked, looking at you expectantly. 

You wavered. You hadn’t spoken since he showed you his sketches. “Why?”

Hyunjin stared at you. Within the drunken fog of his eyes, there was earnestness. “Because I love you too.”

You didn’t know what to say, and you wouldn’t. There was solace in choosing to believe that he didn’t mean it. When tomorrow arrives, and he returns sober, you wouldn’t speak of this conversation at all. When night comes tomorrow, and he’s had a full day of rest, Hyunjin would vividly recall how you took care of him and told him you loved him, and he would draw you again. 

“Do you like them?”

His question snapped you out of your trance. Your sight blurred through a sudden quake before it focused on his face. Hyunjin pouted, his fingers tapping patiently at his notebook for your response. You softened with love and squeezed him in a hug, a smile blooming on your face. 

“I’ve never liked anything more,” you complimented, “except for you!”

His legs kicked when you nuzzled your face to the back of his neck. His heart filled, like the sun could fill up a piece of land and the moon could fill up a river, and in return for his joy, he let out a boisterous laugh. He didn’t hear how it sounded with yours. Still, it was such a wondrous thing. Your love was such a wondrous thing.

order nr 2 coming right up 🤭🤭 skz’s the one and only dwaekki changbin <3 21 from hurt/comfort, 4 from injury and 1 action 🫶 i hope it makes sense 😭😭

Let Me Kiss it Better

𝐍𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠. . .

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ genre and tags: fluff. baseball au. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ warnings: reader gets hit with a baseball. mention of a bump. kisses. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ pairing: changbin x fem!reader. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ wc: 975. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ a/n: skdjsk this idea omg i was so excited, and yes dw it made sense! hope you enjoy, ilysm axe!!

You were sitting on one of the bleachers, waiting in anticipation as Changbin walked up to the base to bat. His team was up, and if he played this right, they would win the game. Half of the audience was rooting for Changbin just like you, watching carefully as the pitcher prepared to throw the ball. 

With his leg lifted up, he pitched the ball and you watched as it soared through the air, right towards where Changbin was standing preparing to bat. You could practically see his eyes focus on the ball like a predator focuses on its prey. With one strong (and very accurate) swing of the bat, the baseball went flying across the field, and Changbin ran through the bases with ease.

Even before he had reached home base, the audience erupted in cheers, knowing he would have more than enough time to get there given how far the ball went. 

You were so excited, cheering as loudly as you could so that maybe Changbin would be able to distinguish your voice from the rest of the shouting. You were so focused on watching him as he finally made it to the home base that you didn’t see the baseball rushing towards you. Neither did you hear the, “watch out!” that someone next to you had shouted last minute.

But you felt the impact of the ball right on your forehead, and the subsequent pain that followed. You weren’t even sure how you managed to get hit. The game was over, and you were standing to the sides— you shouldn’t have been in the line of danger in any way. 

But unluckily for you, some jerk on the other team was a sore loser. You had looked down to the field again, seeing as a boy on the other team watched you get hit with a smirk on his ugly face. He had thrown the ball at you on purpose - because you were Changbin’s girlfriend.

Luckily, he had just thrown it with his hands. If it had been with the bat, the injury would’ve probably been worse. It definitely wasn’t going to give you brain damage or anything, but it hurt like hell either way.

You stumbled down the bleachers and back to the hallway by the changing rooms to find your boyfriend. He would probably be there shortly, and maybe he would know what to do with a baseball to the head. Tears were pricking at your eyes from the pain, but you were trying to hold them back.

8 minutes later, you heard the excited chatter that followed the team after every win. Your boyfriend was in the front of the group, wearing a bright smile at his win, yet again. As they walked into the hallway, he noticed you sitting on the bench immediately and rushed over to you, excusing himself from the rest of the team who went into the changing rooms.

“We won again!” He cheered happily, and that’s when the tears burst through. You went to hug him, and while he was confused as to why you were crying, he hugged you back for a moment.

“Hey…” He pulled back, tilting up your chin gently so you were looking at him and he could see your face. “Are… are those good tears or bad tears?” Concern was laced in his tone, and a gentle expression covered his features, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at the shiny tears on your cheeks.

“Bad.” You managed to mumble out, wincing at the pain.

“What happened?” He asked softly.

“I just got hit with a baseball, you know. Nothing much…” You wiped your tears from your cheeks, looking down at your shoes awkwardly.

“What!? You got hit with a ball?! Where!? How hard did it hit you-” He placed his hands on your shoulders, eyes searching over your figure to try to find where the ball had hit you.

“I got hit in the forehead.” You pointed to the left side of your forehead, “My head’s been hurting like crazy, but I don’t think I was hit as hard as I could’ve been.” You reasoned, letting Changbin inspect your forehead carefully.

“Let’s go get some ice, it’ll help with future swelling.” He said quickly, standing up and holding out his hand.

“Will it swell?! Does that mean I’m gonna have an ugly bump on my forehead?” You asked in disgust.

He giggled, “Well not if we go get some ice, come on babe.” You took his hand, following him to the nurse’s office in the school to get ice and paper towels.

Once you had obtained it, Changbin led you out to the stairs at the side of the school, sitting down with you. It was a pleasant day, so it would be a shame to stay indoors. 

“We should go on a date this weekend.” He said, smiling cheekily.

“Not if I have a bump on my head.”

“I still want to take you somewhere, even if you have a bump on your head, you’ll still look pretty.” He told you.

“You’re such a flirt.” You teased, pressing the ice to your forehead carefully.

“Are you still in pain?” Changbin asked after a moment of silence, moving your hand with the ice to look at the spot again.

“A little bit.” You pouted, looking at him with dazzling eyes - his favourite feature on you. It melted his heart whenever you gave him that look. No matter how many times, it still worked on him.

“Let me kiss it better.” He compromised, pulling you closer and pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. “I love you.” He whispered to you, making you smile and look back at him.

“I love you too.” You pressed your lips to his softly, getting lost in a kiss and forgetting about the pain.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ skz taglist: @kangtaehyunzzz,, @yeonjuns-bluehair,, @syrxiee2,, @ddenoudepression