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WIPS

Fake Texts Masterlist

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School of Mysteries : A Kpop Murder Mystery Au Masterlist

MASTERLIST

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MASTERLISTS

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masterlist ~

stray kids <3

ateez <3

tomorrow x together <3

popular works

stray kids when they forget to pick you up

guardian angel - bad boy! highschool! seonghwa au

cafe cuddles - lee know one-shot

txt reactions to showering with their s/o for the first time

stray kids reactions to their s/o being drunk and flirty

stray kids reactions to their s/o having insomnia

ateez reactions to their s/o being in need of comfort

ateez in an argument (part 1)

how stray kids spoil with s/o

stray kids reactions to their crush complimenting their muscles

stray kids reaction to their s/o skipping meals

5:23pm - a seungmin timestamp

personal favourites

familiar stranger - hongjoong one-shot

k. - hongjoong one-shot

stray kids reactions to sharing a bed with their crush

how ateez likes to be comforted

ateez confessing their love to their best friend

happier with you - hyunlix one-shot

stray kids soft thoughts (i just had to include this!!)

ateez when their s/o is insecure about their body (plus-sized)

Just Hold Me

Pairing: Stray Kids Changbin x Reader

Rating: R

Word count: 9.7k

Genre: angsty, fluff, smut, hybrid au

Warnings: smut, angst, loneliness, cuddling with a stranger, cockwarming, soft smut UwU, strangers to lovers

Synopsis: You've been going through a period of depression and feeling rather alone. When you see a flyer advertising a professional cuddling business, you laugh it off at first because there's no way you're that desperate. Only the idea won't seem to leave your mind. One day you're feeling especially bad and before you know it you're inside the building and signing up for a session.

This is a prompt by @hybridfanfiction <3

A/N: Okay, trust me on this one. If Changbin is the tiniest bit attractive to you, you should read this.

Stary Kids Masterlist

Things had not been looking great lately. Slowly but surely you had grown apart from your friends as your lives had moved in different directions and you had less and less to talk about. Work was okay but you just went there to pay your bills. There were one or two colleagues that were worth your time but they were often busy with their own lives that you rarely saw them outside of work. It had been some time since your last date and even longer since your last relationship. You and your family had not spoken in years which was the only good thing given how toxic they had been for as long as you could remember. Even now after all this time, you doubted that they had changed and their words from the past sometimes still swirled in your head when you lay awake at 3 am. 

All these things together had damped your mood significantly even if you did not want to admit it. 

It was Thursday when you found yourself alone in the coffee kitchen at work watching the dark liquid run out of the machine. In your head, you ran down the long list of the things you had to do today and tomorrow and wondered how you would do everything in this short of a time. You were already exhausted just from thinking about it and yearned to just sleep for a week. 

"Hey.” 

Your colleague Minho, one of your only work friends, had entered that kitchen; surely in search of a cup of coffee. He smiled and asked:

“Are you excited about your vacation already?"

"I will be at home."

"So? You can have fun at home too."

"Yeah. I bet you and the S.O. have fun at home."

It was supposed to be playful banter but it ended up sounding bitter even to your ears. Minho and his boyfriend were happy together and you were happy for Minho but you could not help yourself but be envious of what they had. Stupid society making you think that you needed a partner in your life to be happy and fulfilled. Unfortunately, it was also a known fact that humans were social creatures and that not having enough bonds with others affected one negatively.  

"Are you okay?"

"I’m fine."

Minho raised an eyebrow and waited for you to tell him the truth. Knowing him he would not let this go until you told him what was up so it was better to just get it over with or come up with a better excuse. You sighed.

"I haven’t been feeling too hot. That’s all I’m sure a little vacation will help."

Minho was not convinced but let you be on your way, mainly because he did not like the risk of having hot coffee all over his suit. The rest of Thursday flew by in a heated frenzy and when you got home you fell into bed for a night of restless sleep. 

On Friday morning you dragged yourself to the office and found a flyer on your desk. It read:

"Need a hug?

Everyone needs physical contact in their lives but sometimes we don’t have the right person. Our professional cuddlers are here to help you meet your needs. Talk to us today for more information and book your cuddling session! "

How could anyone be a professional cuddler? If you had not been so tired, you would have laughed at the flyer. You wondered who had left this on your desk but forgot about it as soon as you dove into work, after all, you still had a lot to do before you could leave for your well-deserved vacation. 

Afterward, you could not tell if that day went by too fast or not fast enough, but one thing was sure you left well after your usual time and spent the evening mindlessly watching stuff on the internet. 

On Saturday morning you woke up at your usual time, much too early for someone on vacation. You had not planned anything for your free time so you drifted through your apartment unsure of what to do. The dust on the TV in the living room was the trigger that set you off, and you started operation deep clean. You started dusting the tv but then there was the drawer that you always wanted to reorganize so you took everything out of it. Some stuff from the drawer was supposed to go into another drawer but first, you had to take everything out there too and throw away some junk that you had never gotten around to. Like this, your apartment turned into pure chaos in a matter of hours, and somehow by the end of the day, you were no further along than at 10 am. You fell into bed at 10 pm and left your home in a state of disarray. This meant that you spent Sunday doing the same thing in reverse, organizing, throwing away things, and debating what to do with some of the odd ends. All of this was only delaying the unavoidable. When you put away the last pieces that had been lying around, you sank into the couch and started watching some random videos. The feeling rose so slowly from the back of your mind that you did not notice it at first. Like a frog in boiling water, you sat on the couch, unaware of the heat rising. 

You had nothing else to do and the videos could no longer distract your mind from the fact that you were lonely and depressed and on the brink of burnout. Your mind repeated the same visions of you being forever alone and friendless until the tears gathered in the corners of your eyes. You let them drop and cried. 

Monday morning was bleak. The grey light that drifted through the windows only seemed fitting for the hopelessness that you felt inside. There was no one you could call, no one that cared enough, no one that was close enough that you could tell them how you really felt and if there was, could you really burden someone with your nonsense? 

Your stomach growled and you fought your way to the kitchen to eat something as there was a small chance that it would lift your spirits. In the hallway, you bumped into your bag that you had placed on the ground at some point yesterday and had been too preoccupied to put away. You picked it up and took it to the kitchen to throw away the receipts that had gathered at the bottom. You placed your wallet on the kitchen counter and scooped out all the rest. The receipts headed for the trash bin and the lip balm joined the wallet on the counter. A thick piece of paper caught your attention. You unfolded it and saw the text you had laughed at on Friday but now it hit differently. Wouldn’t it be nice to just hug someone? 

The day passed without you being able to tell what you did the whole time but at 4 am after too much restless rolling around in bed you vowed to do better the next day. New week, new you. After all, sitting at home and crying was not going to solve your problems. 

On Tuesday morning, you picked up your phone and called the cuddle company. The woman on the other end of the line said her bit and asked: "What can I do for you?"

"I want to book a session."

"Sure. Let me check."

She clicked on your keyboard.

"Do you have any preference for your cuddler?"

"No, not really."

"Okay. Someone canceled so there is a free slot today at 10 am. Would that work for you?"

"Yes. That would be awesome!"

"Very good. Please bring some comfortable clothes. Oh and something else, please make sure to shower before you come here."

"Yes of course."

"Okay see you later then!"

You could not believe your luck; in just two hours you would be at your appointment cuddling with someone. As instructed you showered and packed a thin sweater and loose yoga pants into a gym bag. As you left behind your apartment, the doubts about this endeavor had risen from the back of your mind. What if this person was creepy and weird, some pervert who worked there to touch people without their consent? So on the way to the cuddling company, you almost turned back several times, and the only reason you did not was that you did not want to be the second person to cancel this same appointment. 

The lady at the counter was the same person you had talked to on the phone and she lead you to the most comfortable room you had ever been in; candles, quiet music, and a bed - for lack of a better word - filled with pillows and blankets. 

"You can change in here and your cuddler will be here soon."

"Thanks."

She left you alone and you changed into your comfortable clothes. The bed was more like a combination of a sofa and a bed; it had cushioned sides and a back like a couch but a big area where you could lie down with three of four people if needed. You sat down on it and wrapped yourself in the most fluffy-looking blanket. This was already relaxing and you almost wanted to be alone. With your clothes and the blanket, it would be pretty warm but that was probably the reason why the air in the room was cool. 

A knock on the door let you perk up and it was followed by a voice.

"Can I come in?"

"Yes!"

You were not sure what you had expected but the man who entered was certainly not it. If it was not for the pink fluffy sweater he was wearing you would have guessed he was on the way to defend his boxing title. Even this loose sweater could not conceal his barrel chest and huge arms. If you had met him on the streets he would have been pretty intimidating; the only thing that could have made it worse was about 10 cm of height. 

"Hi, I’m Changbin, your cuddler for today," he said with a cheerful smile. You moved to stand up but Changbin waved you off.

"Stay there, you look comfy already. What’s your name?"

You introduced yourself too and Changbin came to the bed to sit beside you at a respectful distance. 

"Nice to meet you. Is this your first time here?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Then we will start with some basic things. I will tell you when something is not okay and you can do the same. If you are uncomfortable say so. it’s okay. I won’t be mad or anything."

You nodded and Changbin continued:

"Good. You can touch me anywhere above the waist, but be careful with my ears."

You had not noticed the fuzzy brown ears pocking out of his hair until Changbin had drawn your attention to them.

"Oh. You are-?"

"Yes."

Hybrids existed but you had rarely seen one let alone talked to one. Because they are more resistant to many harmful substances and most were stronger than humans, hybrids often worked in dangerous environments like mines and power plants. 

"Here. Give me your hand."

You freed your hand from under the blanket that did not want to let you go. He took your index finger and guided it to his ear. The fur on the ears was soft but bendy like a soft dog’s fur but not as soft as cat’s fur; it was somewhere in between. Changbin let go of your hand and you gently took the ear between your index finger and thumb, fascinated by the foreign texture. Your fingers slid down the side of his ear and to your surprise his hair was soft, pretty much as a regular human's hair would feel. Absentmindedly you combed the hair around his ear mesmerized by the transition between fur and hair. 

Changbin’s chuckle broke the spell and you looked into his amused face. His eyes sparkled with delight as your face burned from embarrassment and you pulled your hand back. 

"Sorry."

"It’s okay," he said and smiled which made it worse if you were honest. "You can play with them but don’t press too hard."

"Got it. So," you began desperately wanting to change the subject away from your fascination with his ears. "how do we do this now?"

"It’s different for each person but I like to start by just lying down and you can rest your head on my arm and we will see from there. You can talk about anything you like."

Yes, those arms looked like they were good pillows. 

"Is it okay if I take my sweater off? It will be super warm under there."

"ehm…"

"Don’t worry I’m wearing a t-shirt."

He smiled and waited for your answer while your head was swimming with the thought of how he looked shirtless. 

"Sure. That’s okay," you said, and how wrong you were. Changbin must be one of the most muscular people you had ever seen in real life. Sure you had seen actors or athletes on tv but you had never been in a room with any of those people. But here was Changbin; artists and medicine students could come and study all the muscles in their full glory as the tight shirt left hardly anything to the imagination. He still reminded you of a boxer in the sense that he did not look like his body was just for show, but rather balanced in a way to fit a specific need. You had already noticed his arms before but now that the planes and curves were not obscured by the sweater they looked even bigger. You were so distracted that, afterward, you could not even remember which color the t-shirt was. 

Changbin pulled back the blanket and slipped under it, to lay next to you. After a bit of repositioning, he extend his arm over the pillows and your eyes followed the movement from his shoulder to his hand. As he had suggested before you rested your head on his outstretched arm, your cheek touching the hot, silky smooth inside of his upper arm. You pressed your hands to your chest trying not to touch him with else than your ear and cheek. It was surreal to lay in bed in an unfamiliar room with a - hot - stranger that you paid to be there with you. You lay there frozen, your face barely resting on Changbin’s arm, afraid that your head would be too heavy on him. If he thought this was weird, he did not say anything but just scanned your face and his ear twitched. There had not been any noise that you could hear but maybe he could hear better than you or maybe those years of listening to loud music had affected you after all. 

A comfortable silence settled between you and without making a conscious decision you released the tension from your neck and rested on his arm. Changbin just radiated a calm comfort that came in handy for someone in his line of work. It was the opposite of going to get a haircut, the hairstylists always wanted to talk, and Changbin just wanted to be there with you whether you talked or not, it did not matter. As you calmed down and relaxed you noticed something. Changbin smelled amazing but you could not quite say what. There was a hint of cologne but more than that there was something sweet and fresh like spring flowers. You wanted to bury your face in whatever the source of it was and inhale deeply. 

Changbin let you adjust to his presence but after some time - you could not tell how long you had been there nor was there a clock that you could see - he spoke in a soft voice. 

"What do you do when you are not here?" 

"I work at a company … it’s just a boring office job."

"Hmm... I have never worked in an office. What is it like?"

Changbin made eye contact and seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. 

"I do the usual stuff, I guess. I write emails, make phone calls and assure that my boss doesn’t go wandering off before his appointments… Can I?"

"Oh, sure."

Tentatively you reached out to touch his chest. One of your not-so-close-any-more-friends had always said "man tits" which at the time was pretty annoying but now it made perfect sense. Most men you personally knew were rather flat - not something you had ever thought- but Changbin’s pecs were more round and protruded from his form. You had the urge to squeeze his chest but that felt inappropriate so you opted for the middle of his chest. Changbin shifted and you pulled your hand back as if his chest was suddenly hot. 

“It’s okay.” He said. 

Changbin was lying on his side now, facing you, and he directed your hand back to his chest. The slow steady beat of his heart made him more real in this surreal moment. It grounded you in a way, he was here with you, alive and warm and gorgeous. 

“Can you hold me?”

It was a dangerous question at least that how it felt to you when the words left your mouth. Changbin slung his arms around you and you wrapped your arms around him too. This mountain of muscles had a bit of padding which only made the sensation better. Where he flexed the muscles became hard as rock and you were sure you could break your teeth if you tried to bite into his bicep. 

For a short time, you just lay there in his arms, inhaling his flowery scent and reveling in the sensation of being held. It was warm but not just on a physical level but also on an emotional level, the warmth melted away the worries of everyday life, silencing the nagging voice that was always talking about productivity. 

After he had asked about you, it only seemed polite to ask him something too so you said: 

“What do you like to do when you don’t cuddle people?”

“I like listening to music and watching movies.”

"Who doesn’t? I didn’t have a lot of time lately to watch things. My list of movies that I want to watch is so long. Which movie did you like recently?"

You talked a bit about movies and it seemed he liked some of the same ones but also really enjoyed horror movies.

"I’m a wimp for horror movies, I get scared too easily."

"Maybe you just need good company."

"Maybe."

A knock on the door made you jerk away from Changbin. It was dumb really, you had literally paid for Changbin to be there and it was not like the person on the other side of the door did not know that. 

"I’ll be right there," said Changbin to the door, and a quiet "okay" followed from the outside. 

"What is it?"

"Time is almost up."

"Oh."

Right, I’m just the 10 o’clock appointment. His arms tightened around you and you could don’t help but smile into his neck. You did not want to let go but when you eventually had to, your heart dropped a bit. 

"You can change if you want and please check out at the desk."

"Yes, sure."

Changbin smiled and picked up his fluff sweater. 

"Thank you, Changbin."

"It was a pleasure to meet you. Maybe we will see each other again."

With that, he left. 

You went home feeling as if you were walking on clouds, so light and without worry about anything. Whoever had put the flyer on your desk needed your thanks, it had helped to get you into a better mind space and when you got home you took some time to think about how you could improve your mental health. The next time Minho asked you to go out with him and his partner you would say yes and the three of you had a good time at the restaurant. You paid more attention to your thoughts and tried to be more kind to yourself on days when you could not get things done. In the weeks that followed you sometimes thought about the hot Hybrid from the cuddle company and on one of those days, you decided to call again. You did not remember the voice of the receptionist but it could be the same person. She offered you an appointment on Tuesday evening with you took. You would have to leave work early but it would be okay, working a bit less had been one of the things you wanted to do to reduce your stress and improve your mental health. 

The lobby looked the same as the first time you had been there and the room you were led to was the one you had been in last time as well. One of the pictures on the wall was different tho. You did not remember what it had been before but now it was a snow-covered mountainscape again a clear blue sky with clouds trying to run up the flanks. 

"Hi, you are back."

You had been wondering if your memory of Changbin had been accurate after all you had not been in a good state of mind when you had first met him and it was possible that he was not as hot as you remembered. But he was. 

Changbin had cut his hair and it made his furry ears stand out more; there just was something very attractive about a good undercut. Other than his hair he was unchanged, not very tall but certainly making up for that by being buff. You closed the distance and hug him to find his flowery smell was also as good as you remembered. He hugged you back. In his zip-up hoodie and loose pants you did not get as much warmth but being in his arms was familiar and comfortable. 

"You wanna lie down?"

His words tickled your ear and you nodded into the crook of his neck. 

####

"How have you been?"

Your head rested on Changbin’s chest and your hand drew patterns on the dark t-shirt that covered his belly. If you were honest this felt too much like lying in bed with a boyfriend and you had to remind yourself that Changbin was not your romantic partner. 

"Actually, really well," you said. "Work has been less stressful and I went out with friends. I had forgotten how nice it could be to spend time with other people."

"I’m happy that you are feeling better."

It could have sounded like a platitude but Changbin seemed genuinely interested in your boring life and it soothed your soul knowing that someone cared; even if it was only the guy you paid to hold you in his arms. But what nice arms they were. 

"But I agree, just spending time with friends is important. Humans are social creatures after all."

"You must get a lot of interaction."

He chuckled. 

"Yes, I like to have time to myself after work. As much as I like my job it can be a bit exhausting."

You did not have a reply for that so you snuggled into him a bit more but what you wanted was something different. It was nice to use his chest as a pillow but you wanted to get a tight hug. 

"Can you lie on your side and we hug? That was really nice last time."

"Sure."

That’s more like it. You only had one arm around him because Changbin did not want to lie on your other arm, it would probably go numb quickly with his weight on it but you still pouted into his shoulder. He had wrapped both arms around you, pressing your body to his upper body but his hips chastely pulled back so you would not touch. You ran your hands over the vast expanse of his back, trying not to think about pressing all of your body against his because it would not help the situation between your legs. The first time you had seen him it had not been your moody state that had made him attractive to you because now that you felt much better he was just as alluring. Your hand wandered up to his shoulder and your mouth watered at the muscles hardening under your finger as Changbin tightened his grip around you slightly. You sincerely worried that you would soak through your pants and that would be mortifying. Okay, distract yourself. Ask something! 

"I hope you don’t mind me asking but how did you end up here?"

"It’s not a typical job for a hybrid, is it?" 

"Not really."

"No," he confirmed. 

"I worked in a mine for a few years but it closed down - not profitable enough I guess."

"What did you mine?"

"Uranium ore but don’t worry I’m not radioactive anymore."

"What?"

You pulled back to look into his eyes and his arms immediately loosed to let you move. Changbin smirked but continued in a matter-of-fact kind of tone.

"The concentration of uranium is relatively low in the ore but we still had to wear some protective helmets, so we didn’t breathe the dust in but the radiation can enter other ways. I couldn’t start working until levels were around normal."

You settled back into your previous position of burying your face in the crook of his neck while he continued in a softer voice. 

"It took about a year and I had to take some medication to speed the process up. After that, I came to the city to find another job. Not a lot of places hire Hybrid so it took some time to find my way here. A bunch of people wanted me as their personal hybrid but I turned that down."

"Did anyone here ever want … your personal skills?"

You should not have said that but the words had just tumbled out of your mouth and you tried to paddle back:

"Actually, you don’t -"

"It’s okay and no, not really, but some people walked out on me."

"Really? Why? You seem very nice."

He chuckled near your ear. 

"I am but some people still think hybrids will give them cooties."

And yet they gladly fuck them at brothels, you thought. Some people still lived in the past where hybrids were either slaves or fuck toys and sometimes both at the same time, totally oblivious to the fact that they had almost all the rights that humans had. Some things like marrying or adopting children were still not granted but Hybrid rights groups were working on that too. It was not like you would mind taking this hybrid home but you could hardly say that while he was on the job and you were his client. 

"People are dumb."

Changbin hummed in response and you melted into his arms again. You listened to his heart beating in his chest and both of you fell into a comfortable silence. There was nothing important enough to be said; nothing more important than lying in Changbin’s bulky arms and breathing in his scent. 

A soft knock on the door pulled you out of your mediation. You could not tell how much time had passed. 5 mins? 30 mins? 3 hours? Who knew?

"Got it," Changbin said to the door. 

"Time is up?"

"Almost."

Your stomach dropped at the thought of having to leave but Changbin had other things to do, other people to cuddle. Maybe you could have been jealous that other people would get to be this close to him, to get to simply be in his presence but in reality, you hoped that other people got a bit of joy from hugging Changbin. Most people deserved to experience this level of coziness. Changbin’s arms tightened around you and you could don’t help but smile into his neck. Eventually, you had to let go and Changbin got out of the bed. 

"You can change if you want and please check out at the desk."

"Yes, I will."

Changbin smiled and picked up his hoodie. 

"Thank you for today, Changbin."

He gave you a last smile before he turned his back to you. At the door, he rested his hand on the handle but did not open it. 

"You know, we also do home visits. So if you need another session you can ask for that too. You know, some people are more comfortable in their own homes. See you around."

With that, he was gone. 

You tried not to think about having another appointment with the hot cuddler but you had felt so good afterward that it was impossible for you to not cave. On Thursday morning of the following week, you called the cuddle center again and greeted the woman on the other end. 

"What can I do for you?"

"I wanted to book a session with Changbin."

"Changbin? Yeah, sure. When do you have time?"

"I have to work all week, so in the evening would be great."

"Okay. I have a spot on Monday at 5 pm. Is that okay for you?"

"Sure. but ehm…"

"Yes?"

"I would like to book a session at my home."

"At your home?"

"Yes, he said it was possible to book a home session."

For a second the only noise that came out of the speaker was the static rustle of the connection.

"Yes of course. I’m sorry I was distracted for a moment, of course, you can book that. I will just ask him when he is free for that. Just a moment."

Something muffled the speaker and a moment later the woman was back. 

"Is tomorrow at 6 pm okay for you?"

"Yes."

"Awesome. I will need your address."

You gave your address as your heart hammered in your chest at the thought of spending time with Changbin again. 

"Okay, then Changbin will be there tomorrow at 6 pm. Have fun."

"Thanks."

"Bye!"

"Bye."

You did not have a lot of time to clean but you did your best and focused on the rooms he was most likely to see: the bedroom, the bathroom, and your small living room. It seemed logical that you would go to your bedroom but it may be too awkward for him to lay with you in your bed. Friday passed somehow without you knowing what you even did that day and you left a bit earlier than usual to shower before Changbin got to your place. It was good planning on your part because Changbin arrived on time. 

You were worried that the vibe would be off when the two of you met outside of the neutral environment of the company. When the doorbell rang and you opened the door to your apartment, you jerked up and ran to the door. Changbin still looked like he did in your not-so-dry dreams; Broad shoulders, thick arms, and like someone you did not want to mess with. 

"Hi."

"Hey. Can I come in?"

"Yes, please."

You stepped aside and Changbin entered your apartment. He took off his shoes and slipped out of the black jacket he wore over his sweater. 

"Where can I put this?"

"There."

One of the hangers next to the door was free and Changbin hung his jacket there before taking off the bucket hat that hid his ears he stuck to his sports bag. He saw you looking at the bag and said:

"Brought some comfortable clothes."

"Of course. That makes sense."

"Where do you want me?"

"In my bedroom, if that’s okay with you."

Under any other circumstances that would have been an invitation to fuck your brains out but you said it as innocently as possible. He was here to work and not for other things. Changbin bit back a smirk and nodded.

"Bathroom is over there and the bedroom is there. Take your time, I’ll wait for you."

"Okay."

When you entered the bedroom your gut crawled in anticipation, but you did not know what you were excited for. You sat on the bed and waited for Changbin to return. You had tidied up and cleaned in here, changed the sheets, and finally installed the fairy lights that had been lying in your drawer for ages. Your bedroom looked nicer than ever if you may say so yourself.

When Changbin returned from the bathroom he set his bag down near the door and walked over to you. You hated how he looked. Before you met him you had always thought that you did not care how thick or thin a guy was but Changbin proved you otherwise. The curves of his arms and chest were turning you on so hard, that you wondered if this had been a bad idea. Nevertheless Changbin, in his black t-shirt and thin, loose sweatpants, was here and you could not just send him away again. He sat down on your bed next to you. 

"How do you want me?"

Your horny mind added a sultry tone to what he said but you tried your best to speak neutrally. 

"Maybe you can lie down and I put my head on your chest?"

"Sure."

He lay down on the blanket next to you and you scutched closer. It was odd touching him again, having his smell in your nose again; both were familiar and immediately made you feel comfortable. Slowly as not to startle him, you reached out and ran a finger on one of his fuzzy ears; the touch was light and the ear reflexively moved out from under your finger. It was cute and you smiled at the tiny motion. 

"That tickles."

Changbin brushed over his ear but smiled at your amused face. 

"But it’s fun."

"Is it?"

"Yes," you chucked at Changbin’s playful pout.

"It’s cute."

You had said that out loud when you did not mean to and Changbin used it to tease you a bit.

"Oh, I’m cute?"

"Yes, you are."

"Damn right I am."

You could not help but laugh at the cuteness of his statement and Changbin beamed at you, delighted with your response. 

"Come here, cutie, I wanna hug you."

You opened your arms for Changbin who gladly accepted your invitation and rolled into your arms with his back to you. His weight was was a bit much for your arm so you threaded your right arm through the space between his neck and mattress. Your other hand had to go somewhere too but all options seemed risky; you could rest it on his side - not completely spooning him but maybe a bit awkward - or you could opt for his stomach but that could look like you were trying to feel him up, his chest was also not the best option for the same reason. Changbin noticed you hesitating and said:

"Do you not like being the big spoon?"

"No! I mean, I like both."

"Then come."

He grabbed your hand and pulled you in. His hand pressed your palm flat to his chest which automatically brought you into a position where your front was pressed against his hard back and you did not dare to breathe, afraid your shaking breath would expose your thoughts. Why did you do this to yourself? Was bringing this hot guy that you had no chance with to your apartment the best idea? When he left would you sniff on his pillow like a creep? You tried to shake the thoughts and concentrate on the moment; you have a round of self-doubt later. 

For one thing, you had to give yourself credit though, in that position, it would have been easy to press up against his ass - which now that you thought about it, you had not paid much attention to - but you had kept a chaste distance. Maybe there is some hope for me after all.

Changbin interlaced his fingers with yours on his chest. The huff that he released almost sounded like a moan making your heart drop between your legs and the little hairs on your arms stand on edge. How would it be if he moaned in earnest? You did not dare to think about how he would sound and of course, that meant it was all that you could think about. Would he be loud and unrestrained, not caring if the neighbors heard? Or low and carefully controlled so his quiet groans could only be heard by you? Both options and more played in your head, and you hated your brain at that moment. Wasn’t it enough that you were wet already? No, you had to soak through your underwear this time. Concentrate on something else! Before you could think of something else to distract yourself, Changbin spoke. 

"Can I tell you something?"

You just hummed as your hand drew random patterns on his chest. 

“I know, you’re turned on.”

You froze. He had said that just when you rubbed your legs together and it had plunged you into cold water. 

“Ehm, no, I’m not,” you stuttered. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to do anything. We can just continue to cuddle it’s okay.”

You thought you were going to implode. Your face was on fire and you were glad that he could not see you. He was still holding your hand to his chest and you could feel your palm getting sweaty as if the embarrassment was leaking from you. 

"How do you know?"

"I have a good nose."

"Right. I’m sorry."

"For what?"

"For making you uncomfortable."

"I’m not uncomfortable."

"You are not?"

"No." 

Changbin turned so he could see your face and said:

"I didn’t bring it up to make you uncomfortable either" - He lightly squeezed your hand - "It’s okay if you want me to ignore it, but if you want to do something about it, I’m up for it."

Hearing him say that he was up for getting you off was the last thing you expected to hear today and your knee-jerk reaction was to laugh it off because you were embarrassed about being this transparent. You should have known better than to let yourself go like this around someone who could literally smell how horny you were. The question that remained was would you take him up on his offer or not. So far Changbin had not given you any indication that he was not trustworthy and even now he did not pressure you into fucking him. That should sound like the bare minimum but you had certainly witnessed other behavior before and this felt like a fresh breath of air. 

“What if I say yes? What do you suggest we do?”

“We are comfortable like this so maybe cockwarming?” he said as if he had told you that could also be the little spoon if you wanted to. The thought of laying in his arms, warm and relaxed but also filling your dripping hole was heavenly; straight out of your waking dreams. 

“I want that,” you whispered. That was one of the embarrassing moments in your life so far. The hot guy you were simping over knew that you had the hots for him and now you admitted it out loud too. He must think you are a needy hoe. If he did think that, Changbin did not say anything about it, he just nodded and gave you a smile that warmed you from the inside out. 

“Okay, just a moment.”

Changbin jumped out of bed and walked over to his bag. You stared as he bend down to roam in the side pocket, giving you a good look at his round ass which claimed higher on your “need to touch” list. 

Changbin came back with a handful of plastic-wrapped condoms which he dumped on your nightstand. 

“Are you planning on using all of them?”

You attempted a joke but it came out more hopeful than humorous. 

“Better too many than not enough.”

“I have condoms too.”

“I’m sure you do,” he said and pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek before whispering in your ear. “But they probably don’t fit me.”

While you processed that bombshell he got back into position, both of you laying on your side and facing each other, however now he came close, his hips almost touching yours. His hand rang down from your hip over your thigh to your knee. He lifted it up and over his hips so he was effectively between your legs. 

“Would like this be okay?”

You nodded. Even though you were both fully clothed it was one of the hottest moments you had had in some time. He kneaded your ass and you got bold. Your hand slid down his chest until you reached the hem of his pants. You looked into his eyes looking for a sign to stop but he just bit his lip and waited. His pants wear made from a thin light material so when your fingers swept over the general area of his crotch the heat coming from him told you where you had to direct your hand. At first, his outline was not so easy to trace but it did not take long until he got harder. Changbin sighed and grabbed your ass firmer as you stroked him through his pants trying to gauge if he had said the truth about the condoms not fitting him. It would be easier to tell when you saw him but he did feel pretty thick. 

His hand left your cheek to stop your stroking, gently touching your hand.

"I’m good now."

When you look down you could see that he was ready as the pants did not do much to hide his arousal. Maybe it was a bit silly but you blushed. It was not your first time but it was the first time with him and you felt a bit unsure, still testing the waters. Changbin pulled back and lay on his back before lifting his hips and pushing the pants down. The garment landed on the floor of your tidy room but you could not care less. This was supposed to be a wholesome cuddling session and not in your wildest dreams you would have thought it would lead to you drooling over a dick. It was not super long but with very nice girth and you wanted to suck it. The neatly trimmed hair at the base gave you the impression of good personal hygiene and nothing was more attractive than that. Changbin did not see the hunger in your eyes instead he reached for the nightstand and got one of the foil-wrapped condoms. 

“Can I,” you asked. Any excuse to touch him was welcome and Changbin handed you the package. With a bit of amusement twinkling in his eyes, he watched as you fumbled your way into opening the fool packaging. Curse your sweaty fingers! 

You had stroked him through the pants but feeling the velvety skin slide under your fingers was so much better. Warm and hard, he felt heavy in your hand. On the underside ran a more prominent vein up towards the tip before disappearing under it. You held the tip in hand and leaned forward, kissing the underside and tracing the vein with your tongue. After a sharp intake of air, Changbin let out a sigh that was almost a moan and it shook you to your core. It started low and quiet, ending in a higher more desperate tone; that one you wanted to hear again but louder and even more desperate.

As your tongue reached the tip he whimpered and breathlessly whispered: "Don’t."

"Why not? Are you gonna cum early?"

"Don’t. Please."

He met your flirty question with a sad plea. You had never met anyone who you wanted to blow more but who also did not want just that. Maybe when there was time later you would ask for the reason but now you could only respect his boundaries and put the condom on him. 

"Okay, sorry."

Nevertheless, he enjoyed it when you stoked him and rolled the thin latex from the tip down. Changbin watched with interest as you fumbled with the hem of your pants and wondered if you should take them off now too.

"I gotta warn you, I’m not wearing pretty underwear."

Changbin smirked. 

"That’s okay, you will not wear them for long."

You laughed and his smirk turned into a genuine smile. You were glad that the person who you would have a one-night stand with was Changbin. He just had a comfortable presence, even now that he was lying half-naked in your bed, standing at the ready you wanted to wrap your arms around him and cuddle. That did not mean that you did not also want him fuck the light daylights out of you but rather it seemed possible that both of these views could exist at the same time. You were sure that Changbin could break you in half if he wanted to but the only thing he wanted was for you to cuddle with him and warm his pretty cock. You would not let him wait for too long and pushed down your pants and underwear in one go and threw them on the ground. Without the pants, your wetness was exposed to the cool air of the bedroom and Changbin hummed. 

"What?"

"You smell so good."

It was hard not to feel embarrassed that he could smell you but the rational side of you argued that hybrids in general had a better sense of smell so he must be used to all the different scents around him. You pushed the embarrassment aside for now and fell into his arms, literally; Changbin held you in a crushing embrace as if you had not hugged in years while you nuzzled into his chest. 

"How should we do this?" you asked.

"On the side, facing each other?"

"Sounds Good."

You rolled off his chest and swung your leg over his hips. Since the first time you had been in a room with Changbin, you had wanted him inside you and soon that would happen. You were worried by the size of him so maybe it was a good thing that Changbin took his sweet time. 

He grabbed his length and dragged the tip over your sensitive clit, each back and forth made you shiver. It was just not enough stimulation and you needed more. Then he took the tip on a journey around your entrance, spreading the wetness and making you want to grab his ass and make him push in already. 

"How long are you going to do this before you go in already? Are you waiting for me to beg?"

"No, but it’s easier when you really want it."

You groaned. To add to your frustration, he even stopped running his tip over your clit. Just when you opened your mouth to protest, his cool, dry fingers made contact with your overheated skin and he went straight to business. A few circles over your clit, made you bite back a moan then he slid two fingers inside you. It was the best feeling in the world to finally have something enter you after yearning for it for ages. The pads of his fingers pressed into the ball of nerves hidden behind your walls and your hands grabbed the fabric of his shirt tight. 

“Stop teasing me.”

You caught his eyes and tried to sound as confident as possible; not like he could reduce you to a bubbling mess at any second. 

“I would never tease you.”

That sounded like a lie but after two more strokes of his fingers, he replaced them with his tip rubbing the outside around your entrance which was enough to shut you up for a moment. 

When he pushed in, it stretched you so much, that you thought he may not fit. In this position, he could not enter very deep and with your muscles clamping down on him you could push him out again easily. So he had to hold himself in place with his hand which was not the situation for a relaxing cockwarming session. 

"I would love to stay like this but I think you're gonna slip out."

"Yeah, you’re right."

As soon as his hand no longer braced it, he slipped right out of you which was both a relief and a loss. 

"Can you maybe … lie on top of me?"

"I don’t know, I’m pretty heavy."

"Do you know weighted blankets?” -Changbin laughed- “I’d just love to feel your weight on me."

This evening was just full of embarrassing things or maybe it was just your mind saying that. However, that may be Changbin nodded and said "Okay" in a soft tone.

You rolled onto your back and waited for him to follow. Lying down and spreading your legs sounded and felt awkward even though you had done it before but your wet center was not exposed to the cool air for too long. Changbin kneeled between your legs, lined himself up, and slowly pushed in. He did not stop until he was all the way in, watching your face to check your reaction. It was a bit uncomfortable as he pushed in, the stretch was more than you had in a long and you wondered if more foreplay would have helped with that, alas you were passed that now and it was not too bad. His hips met yours and you relaxed; now that he was not moving any more the size of him seemed more manageable. Changbin leaned forward and brought his arms down left and right of your upper body so his weight was not on you. 

“Is it okay?” He asked.

“A bit uncomfortable but it will be okay.”

“Say if you want to stop, I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I think it will be okay, just need a bit of time.”

Changbin looked concerned and his ears twitched; it was heartwarming to see that he cared about your comfort and you could not help but ask: "Can I kiss you?" 

Was that not a silly question considering he was currently on top of you and balls deep buried inside you but still you had not kissed before nor had you talked about it. He nodded and leaned in slowly. 

Your lips brushed over his, just a light touch but the hairs on your body rose. The first kiss with someone new was exhilarating, foreign, and familiar at the same time. Familiar because you had kissed others before but Foreign because it was a new pair of lips that pressed against you and there was much to explore. Changbin let you take the lead, neither pushing for more nor pulling back. He was content to let you push your tongue past his lips and explode his hot mouth. 

You pulled back leaving Changbin breathless and wrapped your arms around his body. His pupils were blown wide and for a moment you fully expect him to just pound you into the mattress but his hips stayed still and he rested his head on your shoulder. 

It was easy to get lost in the sensation of lying under him, warm and heavy on you. Whatever happened nothing could touch you while you were there between his arms and shielded by his body. 

Your hands drew on Changbin’s back as you lay together and you lost track of time between you sharing sweet kisses and you simply hugging each other. From time to time, one of you moved your hips just to maintain a bit of stimulation; You would wiggle your hips as much as it was possible against his weight and sometimes he would give you a few slow thrusts in return. You had no idea how much time passed between you kissing and reveling in the rare movement of your hips. Your arms were wrapped around his torso and he kissed your cheek before whispering into your ear.

"I have to stop soon."

"Oh? Why?"

"If you have an erection for too long it gets … uncomfortable."

"Oh."

"Do you want me … to move?"

You had become so comfortable just feeling him on top and inside you, the thought of him thrusting into you needed a moment to sink in. The few times he had moved, it had been slow and fluid but what if he used those big thighs and round butt for real? It was something you now had to experience. 

"Yes."

Your raspy tone surprised even you and Changbin swallowed audibly before he pulled out and thrust back in. The rhythm was slow so you could get used to the new situation after not moving and relaxing for so long. It did not take long until it got frustrating with how little stimulation, how little friction it offered you. You dug your heels into his delightfully round butt and he followed your lead; his hips pressing against your swollen, neglected clit with every thrust. Your whole body tingled and the heat rose; making you sweat from one moment to the next. 

When you looked at Changbin you saw the fond smile on his face and you forgot about moving his hips. 

"What is it?"

"I like when you do that."

"Do what?"

"Taking what you need."

That strung a cord with you. He liked it when you used his body to get off? That was one of the sexiest things anyone had ever said to you and after having mostly seen the selfish side of partners in your bed this was indeed something else. What would he say when you rode him next time? 

Changbin sat back on his heels and grabbed the hem of his shirt. You stared at his beautiful body as he threw the shirt on the floor. When Changbin noticed your eyes on him, he froze.

"It was warm." He said as if that needed explanation. "If you're uncomfortable I can put it back on."

"No! I mean, it’s okay."

Your face burned. Why had you stumbled over your words now that this very hot guy had taken off his shirt that had not hidden a lot anyways? Pretty easy to say: You had not thought he could get any hotter but you had been wrong. Imagining how he looked with his shirt off and actually having it in front of you were two different things. The chest just drew your attention to it which was saying a lot because arms were now on full display too in all their thick glory. Casually as if it was a normal thing to do, Changbin combed his hair with both hands. He totally did not do it to flex his arms for you and no noise spilled from your throat when you saw it.

"Changbin."

He had the audacity to smile but was himself up with your needy hole again. You held onto his arms as his hips move against you with your legs guiding his thrusts into a faster pace. The feeling of his hard muscles under your palms and the perfect rhythm of his hips let the tension rise from your gut into your whole body but you needed more; you needed him to go faster than your legs could move his hips. You were so close, only a bit more. It was impossible to string a single thought let alone a sentence together but somehow he knew what to do. 

Changbin’s hands held you by your shoulders and his hips snapped against you. It felt like every single muscle in your body tensed at the same time and a moan got caught in your throat when you were released. 

You were boneless; floating on the tail end of your high just enjoying the last few sloppy thrusts that Changbin gave you before shuddering to a halt. 

Changbin’s head rested on your shoulder as he caught his breath and you brushes over his sweaty back. 

"Puh, I know this was not part of the service but wow."

Changbin laughed, lifted himself off you, and rolled over. 

"I’m glad you liked it. It’s usually not something I offer."

"I guess I’m lucky then."

"No. I like spending time with you."

It should not have been as surprising but you still felt like he had hit you between the eyes. 

"You do?"

"Yes," he said and you could swear he had a light blush on his face.

"I’m just gonna…" He gestured to the bathroom.

"Yes, of cause."

When he came back, Changbin was stark naked and you respectfully looked away as he sat down on the bed next to you.

"Changbin? Would you like to go on a date with me?"

"I would love to."

###

On Monday Minho peeked into your office. 

“You look different. What happened?”

“Nothing happened,” you said a bit too fast. 

“You are a terrible liar.”

“I’m not. Really, nothing happened.”

“Bull shit. You are glowing on a Monday morning, something is up.”

You signed while Minho stared at you. 

“Okay fine. Something happened.”

It was fun seeing Minho dangle in the pause that followed the sentence. You should not tease him too much though so you had mercy with him.

“I met someone.”

“And you banged?”

“Minho.”

“What? It’s true, isn’t it? And it was good given how you float 5 cm over your seat.”

“…”

“Come on spill the tea. How did you meet? How are they? Are you dating or was it just a fling??”

You did not get much work done that morning.

A/N 2: I totally pulled the part about the mine out of my ass lol

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© thekaykery 2023

BF!jisung — Protective Boyfriend Texts 🎀✨️

—cw: angsty, mention of exes, slight swearing/suggestiveness

—an: kinda self-indulgent lol but i digress...

🩷: one screenshot is technically a video.

seungmin thinks you’re the prettiest at your most ordinary. fluff and softness. pre-established relationship. (happy (very late) birthday to youuu my @starsandrqindrops i love u 💓)

there is an uncharacteristic tiredness that’s weighing on seungmin’s bones, making the mere act of moving his limbs draining. a faint headache pulsates from the base of his temple, and he shuts his eyes closed, forcing darkness to surround his senses, hoping that it’ll muffle the ache latching to his being.

but what soothes his senses is the sound of running water, more so the knowledge that you are near, just out of reach. you’ll come out soon of the shower and seungmin will be okay.

he doesn’t voice these thoughts to you as you come into the room, towel in hand as you dry your hair, clad in one of his old t-shirts. but his body seems to speak for him, eyes snapping open at the sound of you padding to the bed, spine readjusting so he’d sit against the headboard, eager to look at you more intently.

“tired?” you ask, planting a kiss on his temple before retrieving your hair bush from the bedside drawer. the pain in his head subsides, your existence the antidote for all his ailments.

“no, how was your day?” he asks softly, his warm palm resting on your bare knee. you quickly glance at him, at the way his eyebrows scrunch together ever so slightly, as if begging you to speak, to weave the dreadful silence with your sweet voice.

“it was good, i tried a new restaurant today,” you speak gently, combing slowly through your hair.

“yeah, what is it called?” he says, thumb circling your soft skin. he is no longer angry at the light, for it highlights every contour of your features. he no longer yearns for the dark, as in its absence he gets to see you. in all your ordinary glory.

and you look so beautiful.

“blossom, they have the cutest pastries. i think you’d really like their cheesecake. it’s decorated with edible flowers. and their coffee is to die for,” you recall excitedly, your eyes locking on his every now and then.

“mm,” he says absentmindedly, laying his head atop your lap. “what else did you do?”

“i had the most boring class today, you know the one with…” your voice fades into the background of seungmin’s mind, lingering like a sweet dream that doesn’t disappear even after you wake.

he’s focused on your bare face, and the way your lips move with each word you utter, he sees your gleaming eyes, radiant under the light, although unnecessary— the star you harbor for heart enough to lighten you up. he sees your hair settling into the curls he loves the most, wet droplets falling into your shirt—his. he sees the slate of your nose that he loves to peck and the cheeks he always cradles before sleeping. he sees you, at your most vulnerable state, at your most beautiful one, and he loves you. god, does he love you so much.

“are you even listening to me?” you giggle, running your hand through his black hair, the one you dyed between giddy kisses in the bathroom.

“you are so pretty,” he whispers, voice suddenly hoarse with emotion. he doesn’t know where this love tide came from, but he knows that the weariness is gone, that a warmth only you can produce has replaced it.

your cheeks are no longer devoid of color, a faint pink hue seeping through them. you smile, widely, with no hand before your mouth, no intent to hide from him. “i love you, you are the pretty one.”

“i know,” he smiles cheekily, further burying his head in your lap, arms wound around your legs. “keep talking.”

“what am i? your asmr podcast?” you chuckle, leaning down to press a kiss on the crown of his head. his headache is long gone.

“yes, you are mine. only mine, right?” he adds, a bit vulnerably, voice weaker.

“only yours.”

pieces of you

single dad!chan. x fem!reader

genre : neighbors!au. fluff. angst. slow burn. mutual pining. 8.7k wc

summary : In which you and chan are each other's missing pieces. Alternatively, Chris and his daughter come knocking at your apartment asking for flour, and he's no longer embarrassed when you open the door.

a.n. : my chris best girl dad agenda is going strong!!!!!! my second fic for the winter falls collab with my writer xi hehe i hope you will all enjoy reading!! feedback is highly appreciated 🤍 the song chris will write for sowon is light by sleeping at last, highly recommend listening to it!!

winter falls masterlist.

i. 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this.”

“Shh, daddy smile.”

Soft murmurs linger just beyond your door, elusive words that could easily be dismissed as figments of your imagination. However, any doubt in your mind dissipates with three resounding knocks, jolting you from your momentary contemplation. 

A reluctant groan escapes you as you glance down at your attire—a loosely hanging oversized hoodie, a testament to the numerous times it has been tugged down, and a pair of pajama pants whose matching top has mysteriously vanished. Clearly, you don't feel presentable enough to welcome anyone at this late hour. So, you remain motionless, futilely lowering the TV volume in hopes that whoever's behind the door will just continue with their night. But the knocks persist against your wish, so, with a resigned sigh, you rise from your seat, your blanket cascading to the ground in a soft descent.

“What–” the words dissolve in your mouth like a sweet nectar as you open the door, your eyes beholding no one in your periphery. A slight tug at your pants draws your attention downward, only to find the most adorable child your eyes have ever laid on. She's clad in Rapunzel-themed pajamas, wolf slippers bumping into your plain ones, and, to your surprise, a whisk cradled in her small hand. 

“Hey there,” your voice softens as you crouch to meet her warm gaze. You find an innocent happiness gleaming in her eyes, a radiant spark shining even beneath the corridor's muted light. Two dimples adorn her cheeks as she smiles at you. 

“Hi, my dad wants to tell you something,” she says, pointing with her whisk to the very end of the hallway. You crane your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the elusive figure. 

“Your dad?”

“Mm. He’s a bit shy, that’s why he’s hiding,” she confides in a whisper. But, despite her earnest attempt, her words still resound loudly in the vacant space, causing giggles to spill out of your mouth. 

“And you aren’t shy?” you inquire, tilting your head. 

“Nu-uh,” she shakes her head with conviction as someone emerges behind her. She instinctively wraps an arm around their leg, nestling her cheek against their thigh. 

She isn't shy because she feels protected.

You rise from your place, eyes locking with a familiar shade of brown. Only these hold a mesmerizing quality to them making your very breath catch in your throat. Kindness pours from his gaze as it travels down your face, a sentiment that further materializes as delicate smile lines stitch around the corner of his eyes.  

He’s beautiful. 

Your eyes trail down to two pairs of dimples, mirroring the ones of his daughter perfectly. She is his living portrait, sharing his eyes, lips, and smile. Yet, his cheeks blush in a hue she does not possess, while his left hand fiddles with his earlobe, in an unspoken, timid gesture. For some odd reason, it pierces straight through your heart.

“Sorry for bothering you,” a smooth Australian accent rolls off his tongue, similar to rich butter spread on warm bread- it infuses your being with tingles pulsating from the base of your toes. You suddenly no longer miss your blanket.

“I'm your next-door neighbor. We were just making cookies and we realized we actually  don’t have flour,” he explains, a bashful smile imprinted onto his lips. 

“You didn’t check beforehand?” you ask, laughter tinting your voice. 

“I forgot,” he admits, but his tone sounds almost sad as if beating himself over it. A fleeting shadow veils his face briefly, dissipating like a passing cloud grazing the sun.

“Can we borrow some from you? I told Sowon that we could go to the store but she said it’s too cold out,” he asks, his hand resting on his daughter’s shoulder soothingly. 

“It is too cold out,” you agree with a frown, looking down at Sowon to which she smiles brightly, happy to have your support. 

“And of course, I'll bring you flour. Don’t worry about it. Do you want to come in meanwhile?”

“It's okay, we'll wait here. Don’t want to intrude.” 

“Thank you!” Sowon beams, her missing tooth in full display. 

“Yeah, thank you so much…” he trails out, tilting his head as if to silently inquire about your name.

“Yn. And you?”

“Chris.”

“Nice to meet you, Chris,” you smile, shaking his extended hand. His fingers wrap around your palm, and it feels as if you’re grasping thunder, crackling with an electricity that your eyes can’t behold, yet your soul does, suddenly illuminated from within. 

Your smile grows as you detach yourself from his hold, before bending forward to bop Sowon’s nose. “And nice to meet you too Rapunzel.” 

Your words make her hide behind her father’s leg, peeking out slightly to look at you. 

“See I'm not the only one who gets shy,” Chan chuckles, and Sowon whines in complaint, further burying her face in her dad’s grey sweatpants. 

Adorable, so much it stirs a long-forgotten melancholy within your being. 

“She gets a pass, she's still young, right Sowon?”

“Are you calling me old then?” Chan fakes outrage, bringing one hand to his chest while the other cradles Sowon’s back. 

“Old enough to forget about flour,” you wink and he laughs, looking down at your slippers. 

“Touché.” 

A few minutes go by before you come back, a recipient full of flour in your hands. The sight before you makes you pause in your tracks– Chris, leaning against the wall, Sowon propped on his hip, her arms loosely hanging around his neck, her eyes closed. 

“Did she…” you whisper and he turns to you. 

“Yeah, fell asleep,” he smiles fondly, tucking a few strands of her hair behind the curve of her ear. “She’ll be disappointed when she wakes up to no cookies. She wanted us to have a baking holiday tradition.”

“You don’t know how to make them?” 

“No, I was counting on a six-year-old to assist me,” he chuckles quietly, prompting a snort from you. 

“Well, keep the flour, in case you need it again.” 

“Thank you, Yn,” he grins, the smile taking over his entire face, grabbing the recipient from you. 

“You’re welcome Chris,” you say, as you both linger around the door still, not making any attempt to move. 

Your eyes refuse to peel away from his, as if there were a magnetic force drawing you to him, telling you that your gaze belonged to rest on him.

“Uhm,” he clears his throat, leaning away from the wall. “I'll get going.”

“Yeah, sleep well, Chris.”

“Thank you,” he smiles before turning around. 

An idea brews in your head, a germ sprouted by the clear adoration in which Sowon gazed at her dad, and the disappointment in his face as he said he would no longer be making cookies. Had you wished to dig a little deeper, you would’ve also found a long-buried feeling of a little girl who would have loved holiday traditions as well. You close the door before heading straight to your kitchen. 

One hour later 

You knock softly on Chris’ door, fidgeting from one foot to another. You almost retract back to your apartment after your fourth knock, when the door finally opens, Chris coming into your line of sight. 

“Hi,” you greet, hands behind your back. 

“Hey,” he smiles, leaning his arm on the doorway, right above your head. He tilts his head to the side, silently wondering what you want. The words dissolve in your mouth at the way his eyes fixate on you as if trying to peer behind your irises onto your mind. 

“Cookies,” you bring the plate before him, as his eyes grow wide, an incredulous smile drawn on his lips. 

“You made them?” 

“Yeah, didn't want Sowon to be disappointed,” you shrug and his eyes grow wild, racking all over your face in disbelief. 

“You didn't have to do this,” he finally says, tone softening, syllables ringing like a sweet sonnet in your ears. 

“I know. I wanted to. and I'm a baker so making cookies comes easily to me, don't worry about it,” you shrug sheepishly, biting your lower lip slightly. You felt scrutinized by him in ways you haven't felt before. 

“Thank you, Yn, I don’t even know what to say,” he says, his smile resembling a beam of light. A surge of pride courses through you at managing to bring it forth. 

“No need to say anything. I hope I didn't wake you up,” you smile sheepishly and he shakes his head. 

“No, I- I was working in my studio and Sowon is asleep. It's just us two. Always has been,” he adds, tone slightly changing, air growing heavier between you both. It's just them two. 

“Studio?” you inquire, hoping to dispel the tension latching around you both. 

“I'm a music producer,” he clarifies. “I made a studio here so I could stay the night with Sowon.” 

“I'm sure she appreciates that,” you say as you hand the plate to him. His fingertips brush against your own, and a slight electricity courses through you at the touch, the hallway suddenly brighter from the fireworks ricocheting off of you both.

“I…. I'll get going.”

“Yeah, yeah, don't want to take more of your time.”

“I'll see you around.” 

“Yeah, I'll see you,” he says, words not ringing carelessly into the air, sounding more like a promise. He'll see you, he'll make sure of it. 

ii. 

“Can you wait!” a voice echoes near the building entrance, and you prevent the elevator doors from closing as hurried steps near you. 

You recognize the voice easily by the light tingles running down your spine, the Australian accent shooting straight through your heart. Its owner materializes, Chris— leather jacket hugging his muscles snuggly, black t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, cap nestled on his head, rebellious strands of ebony hair peeking behind it.

You find the breath knocked out of you once again at his sight. He's beautiful, even more so in broad daylight, where every feature of his comes to life, beckoning, demanding your sole attention. 

“Hey, Yn,” he smiles in delight, uttering your name in a familiarity that infuses your being with warmth. Even though you've only talked once, two days ago. 

“Hey, Chris,” you greet back, pressing the fourth elevator button again. you face the mirror to find Chris already looking at you, his eyes instantly locking with yours. 

“The cookies were good,” he smiles softly and you grin. “I'm glad you think so.” 

“Where is your bakery? I need to taste more of your baking.” 

The butterflies in your stomach tone down at his words, your attraction momentarily forgotten as gratitude coats your heart instead.

“I can text you the address?” you propose. 

“Yeah, here,” he takes out his phone, a picture of him and Sowon set as his lock screen— their cheeks are pressed tightly to one another, messily done eyeliner on both their eyes. you giggle to yourself as you grab the device.

“Cute picture,” you muse and he brings an arm to his neck, scratching the side of it timidly. 

“She insists on trying her makeup on me.” 

“She makes you look better,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes, tongue poking against his cheek. 

“She wants to become a stylist,” he explains, as the elevator doors open. He lets you out first, arm stretched forward.

“I find her passion really cute so I buy her anything she asks for,” he shrugs and you chuckle, pointing to the bag of pink ribbons he is carrying. 

“Let me guess, she wants to use these on you?”

“Yeah. She also said that I quote ‘need to learn new hairstyles because her friends always come to class with intricate braids, and she can't go to class with a simple one.’” He repeats, tone growing slightly high-pitched as he mimics his daughter's words. Yet, the fond smile on his face is louder, screaming of his love for her. 

“She has you wrapped around your finger,” you muse, leaning against your door. The keys in your bag are long forgotten. 

“She can be very scary for such a little girl.” 

“What does she threaten you with?” you ask, feigning horror. 

“No goodnight kisses,” he whispers, as if scared she'd hear him beyond the wooden door. 

“Torture,” you gasp, placing your hand on his shoulder reassuringly. Yet, the smiles slip out of your face instantly. Was it normal for clothes to dissolve under your touch, layers of cotton and leather doing nothing to stop the warmth of his skin from seeping through you? Was it normal to be so affected by such an innocent touch? 

“Uhm,” you clear your throat, “I can help you. with her hair, I mean.” 

“You don't have to. I already took too much from your time with the cookies,” he seems truly apologetic, his tone sobering as if despising others doing things for him. You see yourself in him, in the way he wants to carry the world’s burden on his shoulders. It is a reflection you wish to mend. 

“I don't mind, I remember feeling jealous of the other girls in my school so I made myself learn all the braids.” 

And then you see his gratefulness, the twinkle in his eyes that you can only grasp for a millisecond before they disappear into moon crescents. Happiness looks grand on him, overtaking his entire face, brightening his features with a glow too ethereal to be of mankind, as if they were carved to translate joy. You find yourself willing to give up more of your time to see it.

“Thank you,” he breathes out and you nod, a grin taking over your face as well. 

“You’re welcome. Let me just change my clothes.” 

☃︎⋆꙳•❅

“And then, you pull the right strand all over to the middle one. Then you repeat, this way the ribbon is braided into the hair,” you explain to a very concentrated Chris, his eyebrows furrowed as he follows your movements. 

“It looks easy when you do it,” he frowns and you giggle, handing the mirror to Sowon so she'd be able to look at her hair. 

“Do you like it,” you ask, a tad apprehensive and she beams, dimples that almost swallow her chubby cheeks surging forth. 

“Pretty!” she exclaims and you giggle, bopping her nose. “You are pretty.”

“And you are pretty too. right, daddy?”

You turn back to find Chris watching you, a smile so fond on his face that it renders your insides putty, coats your cheek in the palest shade of pink.

“Very much so,” he says, tone quieter, his eyes never leaving yours. 

Sowon suddenly climbs on her dad’s lap, star and moon stickers in hand. She places them all over his face, and he sits there diligently, arms wrapped around her midriff so she won't slip away. Every carefully placed sticker is punctuated by a soft gasp from him and a small giggle from her. You could feel the love radiating from both of them, a feeling so strong it made your heart twist in your chest. 

Were there red neon exits you weren’t aware of in your being? Ones through which love trickled away all these years ago? Were the spaces between your fingers carved to hold someone’s hand, or to make everything you've ever wanted slip from your grasp?

“What do you think?” Sowon startles you and you force a smile on your face, willing the heaviness in your heart to dissipate. There were questions you'd never find the answers to, you had to make peace with that.

“I love it!” you grin and Sowon nods, satisfied. You look down at your lap as Chris fixates his eyes on you, a worried crease growing between his eyebrows. 

“Fun is over, you need to do your homework, Miss Bang,” he scolds and you snort, as Sowon rolls her eyes slightly. 

“Did you just roll your eyes at me?” he fakes offense and you giggle as Sowon huffs slightly. “Dad, I told you I have no homework. I already did it with uncle Felix.” 

“Oh, right,” he deflates slightly before brightening up once again, “then, you should put away all these hairbrushes and ribbons, okay?”

“Will you watch a movie later with me?”

“Of course, baby.”

“Okay then,” she grins, quickly standing up to start putting away her things. you smile, getting up your turn to leave. Chris understands and stands with you on cue. 

“You can stay and watch the movie with us.”

“It's okay, I have some things to work on,” you turn around, but then you feel his fingers wrapping around your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. 

“Are you okay?” he asks, hand still burning straight through your skin, igniting a million nerve ends with a simple touch. You avoid his eyes, looking down at the ground. It seems to be response enough for him. 

“We’re conditioned to say yes even when we aren’t, right?” he speaks softly, his words travel through your veins in a rapid course against the current of your blood— which one will reach your heart first and flood it? 

Your facade cracks. His voice wins. 

“So, you don't have to reply now,” his thumb swipes once across your pulse. “But I'll be here if you ever wish to tell the truth.” 

iii.

You’ve grown exceptionally fond of Chris in the span of mere months, more than you would like to admit to yourself. It was an easy task, as natural as the current of a waterfall. Yet, you did not plan for it, for a new emotion to settle on top of your lungs, to make you more aware of your heart and how it beats, slightly faster, around Chris. But it happened serendipitously, against all odds, when he knocked on your door at 10 p.m. asking for salt.

“Should I start buying groceries for you?” you joked, and it took Chris a millisecond longer to respond, his gaze wandering across your face, as if discovering the world’s eighth wonder, hidden in plain sight all these years. 

“For my defense, I have a daughter that likes experimenting with cooking,” he smiled, and you raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Just with salt?”

“She added four teaspoons of it in an omelet. Then forced me to eat it because I always tell her food shouldn't go to waste,” he shudders at the memory and you chuckle loudly. 

Chris knocks on the doors of your heart, once.

It happened when you spotted a cockroach the size of your palm on your bedroom wall. You would’ve killed it, you were going to, except it started flying towards you and you let out a loud shriek you didn’t know your vocal chords were capable of conjuring. So, you called Chris. 

“Can you please come over,” you murmured, crouching near the entrance door, a pair of slippers in your hand.

“Why are you whispering? are you okay?” he sounded worried, and you heard the turning of a lock as he opened the door to his apartment. He didn’t ask questions, instantly coming to your aid. A sudden urge to weep filled your being at his gesture. 

“There is a cockroach. a flying one,” you precised, horror dripping from your tongue and his laugh flooded your ear, tiny squeaks that made your hold on the slipper grow limp. 

“I'm from Australia,” he knocked on your door, and you stood up promptly. “I've seen worse,” he said once you finally opened it, his eyes softening incredibly when they met yours. 

He did kill the cockroach, by spraying your insect repellent enough times to asphyxiate you too. “I don't think I can sleep in there tonight,” you sighed, gulping down ice cold water, “why does it feel like we went through war?” 

“We? You were behind my back all the time.”

 “I was cheering you on, from afar. Spiritually.”

 “I can’t believe a cockroach scares you this much.”

 “You literally screamed when it flied towards you too.”

 “I didn't scream! I made a very manly, non-terrified sound.”

 “Mm, sure,” you giggled, voice softening at the blushing of the tip of his ears. Chris didn't have to force the door down to your heart, you willingly opened it for him. 

And after that, it was a race to find the silliest excuses to see one another. Chris suddenly taking up an inkling for baking, you manifesting a newfound interest in music, Sowon needing her makeup done for a dance, Chris visiting you in your bakery, Sowon craving your cookies and you teaching her the recipe, Chris knocking on your door and you knocking on his. The same giddy smiles on your faces as you usher each other in. And it always, always ending with a movie night. 

“Let's watch Tangled,” Sowon exclaims, clapping her hands excitedly. 

“Baby, we watched this movie for the past…” he looks at you for support. “Three,” you whisper, a bashful smile on your face. “Yeah, for the past three movie nights,” he whines slightly.

“But I love it,” she says, her pout morphing into a huge grin. “Again! Again! Again!”

“Fine,” he concedes, mouthing “save me,” from afar to you. You giggle softly while Sowon cozies up to your side, your arm naturally draping across her body while her legs stretch atop Chris’ lap, naturally, as if having you both by her side was the way things have always been. The only reality she’s ever known.

It is a fleeting fifty minutes as the three of you watch the movie, Sowon reciting excitedly the lines that she seems to remember. But then the quiet is replaced by her soft snores, her body growing light against you.

“She fell asleep,” you whisper, tapping Chris’ shoulder to catch his attention. He tilts his head to the side, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips as his eyes land on his daughter. 

“I'm sorry you have to watch the same movie every time,” he says apologetically and you shake your head. 

“I don't mind. Tangled is a good movie.” 

“Are you here just because of the movie?” he smiles, dimples peeking through. The juxtaposition between the weight of his words and the soft expression on his face makes a buzzing warmth spread through you. He’s cold and hot, in and out, yours but not. 

“What do you want me to be here for?” you throw back, squeezing his shoulder slightly. 

“The company.”

“I do find Sowon entertaining.”

“Just her?” he pouts and you giggle, tipping your head back. 

“And you too, I suppose, by extension.”

“By extension, mm,” he hums, as he gathers Sowon in his arms, freeing her from your hold. “Then I guess I shouldn't come visit you in your bakery anymore. Since you only enjoy my presence by extension.”

“So sassy,” you shout-whisper as you both walk to Sowon's bedroom, “I like your company too, idiot.” 

“Yeah?” he turns back to look at you, tone a tad bit too hopeful. He doesn’t care that he sounds eager for your approval, not when he feels as if he can only truly breathe when you're near. 

“Yeah, Chris, I really do,” you speak earnestly, and Chris bites his lower lip slightly, suddenly overwhelmed by the gentleness of your tone. Your eyes follow his action instantly. 

He lowers Sowon gently onto the bed and she stirs awake, blinking repeatedly at the both of you. “Yn,” she calls out quietly once her eyes land on yours and you kneel before her bed. Chris watches from the door entrance as Sowon cups her hand near your ear, before whispering something to you. He notices your body stiffening, your gaze fleeting to him before you relax, pressing a kiss to her cheek. 

He wishes he could freeze time, stitch this moment into his eyelids until it is the only thing he sees when he goes to sleep. Loneliness is too big of an enemy for one person to fight off, but it seems more harmless when you are near. 

Chris sees you right here, every night, not forcing your place into his family, but falling seamlessly into place. Perhaps you were the missing piece that’ll soothe the burn in his heart. Perhaps he’d let you in, even as fear paralyzes his being at the mere thought of asking you to stay. 

One week later. 

You've grown used to the knocks on your door at ungodly hours of the night, Chris seeking your company each time you both fail to fall asleep. Except this time, there is a chilling premonition in your heart as you walk to your home’s entrance, anxiety coiling like a steel ball in your throat. 

"What’s wrong?" you ask upon opening the door, locking eyes with Chris's bloodshot gaze.

“Sowon,” he heaves, tone laden with fear, so different from how he usually pronounces her name. The syllables pierce through your heart like an arrowhead dipped in alarm. 

"Sowon?" you question, peering behind him to his slightly ajar apartment door.

"Yes, she has a high fever, and it won’t come down. I tried everything, and I-I don’t know what to do anymore. She’s shaking, but I can’t—" He trembles, his quivers akin to delicate chinaware on the precipice of an earthquake, poised to shatter at your feet. You'd plunge to the ground first, anything to soften his impending collapse.  

“It’s okay,” you soothe, your voice soft as you grasp his wrist. “Let’s go see her, okay?”

“It's her first time being this sick,” he whispers, clearly distraught, one hand running through his freshly dyed blonde hair. 

“It's okay. Don’t panic, it happens. Did you give her medicine?”

“Yes, a few minutes ago,” he replies as you guide him towards her room.

“Good, it'll start working soon,” you reassure, opening the door and crouching before Sowon.

“Hey, Rapunzel," you coo softly, and Sowon attempts to muster a smile. Her cheeks flush, eyes dim like withered petals.

“How are you feeling?” you ask, pressing your hand to her feverish forehead. You cast a wary glance at Chan, who's anxiously biting his thumb.

“Cold,” she whispers, and you nod, peeling off her blanket. “I know you are, but you have a high fever. We need to let it cool down, okay?”

“I-I’m shaking,” Sowon sighs, lower lip protruding and trembling, both from the iciness clawing at her frail being, and the tears welling in her waterline, like a cup on the brink of overflowing. 

“Shh, don't cry. It will pass, it's okay,” you murmur soothingly, cradling her face on your lap, gently moving damp strands of her hair behind her ear.

"Chris, can you bring me a towel and a bowl with cold water?" you ask softly, and the man startles, painfully peeling his eyes away from his daughter, as if doing so would consign her to a dark fate.

"Sure. Sure," he repeats, scurrying out of the room.

Sowon buries her cheek in your thigh, small hands clinging tightly to yours. You tie her hair up into a loose bun as Chan hurriedly comes back, a bassinet in his hand.

"Thank you," you smile, as he kneels beside the bed, his hand resting on Someone's knee gently.

“Hey sweetheart,” he coos softly, and Sowon blinks at him, light spilling over her face. 

“Hey daddy,” she replies as you dip the towel into the water, before squeezing the fabric to remove any liquid excess. 

“You're being so strong. I love you so much my pretty girl,” he says, bringing her small hand to rest upon his cheek, bestowing a gentle kiss on her palm. 

The moment feels so intimate, so tender, that you almost feel like an intruder. You imagine this is what thorns on roses must feel like, so out of place amid delicate petals and stems. 

“I love you too,” she grins, and you remain silent, diligently wiping her face and neck with the dampened towel. You soon lose track of the number of times you've repeated this motion, but Sowon’s eyes are now closed and her body is no longer trembling. 

You rest your palm upon her forehead, a sigh of relief escaping your body as you realize that her fever has gone down noticeably- the medicine finally taking effect.

“It's better now,” you smile reassuringly and Chris’s eyes widen, irises shaking as he looks back to his daughter. 

“Will she be okay?” 

“She will be. She just needs to sleep a bit.” 

“Okay, thank you.” 

“Can we prepare her something to eat meanwhile?” 

“Mm,” he absentmindedly nods, his fingers trailing down Sowon’s features delicately, resting upon her round cheeks. 

"She looks just like you," you softly smile.

"I know," he admits, not with pride but in surrender, as if his reflection was nothing but a cursed fate. His voice tastes like ocean water, salty, acid, suffocating.

“Chris…” you trail off and he shakes his head, abruptly standing up. 

“Let's make her chicken noodle soup. She loves it,” he says and you nod. A ticking bomb resides in his veins, devoid of a countdown, leaving you unsure of when he'll finally explode. 

You get your answer soon after—it takes two minutes and thirty-three seconds for the first tear to roll down Chris’s cheek. You spot it as you retrieve carrots from the fridge, averting your gaze as Chan angrily wipes it away.

A few seconds later, five tears follow the same agonizing trail, and now the knife is shaking in Chris’s hands. He squeezes his eyes shut as if frustrated by his pain, by the emotions escaping through the cracks in his heart.

You stay silent, bringing the water to a simmer.

The clank of metal against the counter snaps your attention, and you see Chris with his head lowered down, his hands tightly clutching the counter.

Your tongue moves before you can order it to speak. 

"Chris," you call out, your hand finding its place on his back. An ugly sob escapes his lips, a raw cry unearthed from the depths of the soil where he buried his feelings, never allowing himself the grace of grieving, then moving on. 

“I'm a horrible father,” he utters so brokenly as if this idea were cemented into his head, woven into every thought of himself—an adjective that lingers like a phantom each time Sowon calls him dad.

“You're not, what are you saying?” you gently turn him around so he'd face you. But his eyes remain downcast, as if ashamed to meet your gaze. 

“I didn't know what to do. I panicked. I-I wasn't enough to help her.”

“It's okay, you can't know everything, you are trying your best-”

“No, no, no, it's not just about this!” he snaps,  despair clinging to his eyes as he finally looks at you. “It’s hard. It’s so hard to be here alone, and I- I try but it's not enough, I can't do everything and I'm not a good enough parent for her, there will a-always be something missing.” 

“You're wrong,” you say but he shakes his head in disagreement. “Chris, you're wrong,” you cradle his face, taking you both by surprise. Your thumb swipes gently underneath the skin of his eyes, wiping his cascading tears. 

“You love Sowon. And she can feel it, she can see it, she can hear it. Everyone can. A parent can't be perfect, but they should love. And you love her.” 

“What if I can't even love her enough for a father? How will I ever fill the role of two parents?” he's leaning onto your palm, hanging onto your every word. You'd sit for hours and untangle every thread of his mind if you have to, until you single out the infested one and burn it away. 

“She loves you Chris. She looks at you as if you hang every star in the sky. As if you're responsible for every good thing that happens in our world. She loves you and you love her.”

You gaze up at the ceiling, tears welling in your eyes. Chan notices the subtle tremble in your hand against his cheek.

“If I had someone who loved me as much as you love Sowon when I was a child, I would've turned out so differently,” you smile bitterly, swallowing down the lump in your throat. 

“You won't be a perfect dad. You can't be. But she won't grow up with a throbbing heart, pulsating because of a void that cannot be filled. Her veins won't be poisoned by hate and abandonment. Because she knows what it's like to be loved,” you pause, as your voice breaks, traitorous tears rolling down your cheeks. “To be cared for.” 

Your eyes hold his in a silent conversation, secretly telling him what your tongue cannot speak of— Sowon, an untarnished blossom, won't unfurl into a solitary flower the way you did.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers after a while, eyes softening in understanding. His knuckles brush gently against your cheek. 

“Why are you apologizing?” 

“So you'd find a reason within you to forgive,” he says, as he leans forward to press a tender kiss on your forehead. And somehow it feels more intimate than any way you've been touched before. 

Five days later.

chris [11:32 p.m.]: you up?

yn [11:32 p.m.]: i just got bad flashbacks to my college years

chris [11:33 p.m.]: ajaksjsbsbbs

chris [11:33 p.m.]: i didn’t mean it like that ㅠㅠ 

chris [11:33 p.m.]: wanna come over? i'm in the studio but im not feeling inspired 

yn [11:34 p.m.]: and how will i help? 

chris [11:34 p.m.]: i find your presence inspiring 

You don’t reply, instead putting on your slippers and walking over to his apartment. He opens the door before you even have the chance to knock. 

“What are you working on?” you ask once you’re settled atop his chair, spinning around slightly. He looks down at the pillow on his lap, lightly plucking its pink fur. “A song for Sowon,” he admits softly and your eyes grow a little wide. 

“That is so sweet,” you pout, inching closer to him. “How is it going?”

“I've finished the melody and now I'm working on the lyrics. There is just.. so much i want to tell her, i'm unsure if ill be able to express it well.” 

“Can I read what you wrote?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, sure,” he searches through his papers. “Here.”

May these words be the first to find your ears

The world is brighter than the sun now that you're here

I'll give you everything I have

I'll teach you everything I know

I promise I'll do better

I will soften every edge

I'll hold the world to its best

And I'll do better

Tears spring to your eyes unexpectedly, you try to stop their flow but they fall upon the paper, splattering like a broken mosaic, mimicking the brokenness of your own heart. 

“I'm sorry,” you spin around, your back to him as you attempt to dry your tears, and yet they show no desire to stop. Chris is in your heart and he’s kicking every other emotion out, forcing you to make amends with your sadness, the one you buried years, years ago. 

Chris gently grabs the back of the chair, pulling you back to him before spinning your chair once again until you are facing him. You bury your face in your hands and his rests reassuringly on your knee, squeezing it slightly. “Is it so bad it made you sob?” 

“Shut up, you know this isn’t the case.” 

His hand delicately traces up your arm, gently lifting your fingers from your face. He kneels before you, his thumb tenderly wiping away the traces of tears on your cheeks.

“Talk to me?” 

“It's so beautiful, so warm, so loving. Everything a parent should think of their child,” a traitorous hiccup escapes your lips. “Everything my parents never felt for me.” 

Chris’ mouth morphs into a pout, eyebrows scrunching tightly. You shake your head, smoothing down the worried crease between his eyes. 

“I don't feel sad over things I can't control and I love myself enough now to compensate for what I didn't have, but sometimes-'' your voice breaks, Chan’s hold on your hands tightens. “It stings to remember what could’ve been.” 

Stings was an understatement, it is rather a pulsating void, throbbing in ache every day, calling out for its missing piece. How can I fill you with what was lost when it chose to walk away? 

“Come here,” he whispers, coaxing you to your feet, his arms enveloping your body as he guides your head to the crook of his neck. His body runs warm, the material of his sweatshirt soft, and he smells nice too, the contours of his muscles tailor-made to complement the ridges of your own. 

“You grew up well, Yn. You did well.”

You clutch his shirt, tightening your grip as you fist the fabric in your palm. He's patting your back, and time slows down to match the rhythm of his touch. 

“Love can be hard, I know. Especially when the people who left are the ones supposed to be staying.” 

He understands, more than anyone you know. He missed out on a different kind of love too, two facets of the same coin. 

“You’re doing well too, Chris. You shouldn’t doubt yourself as much,” your arms trail up to encircle his neck, as his nose tickles your hair. You're the one hugging him now. “Sowon is really smart, she told me that she loves you a lot. She can feel it. She sees everything you do for her.”

“Is that what she told you that movie night?”

“Partly,” you whisper, and Chris leans away slightly, his warm palms still pressed to your waist, holding you close. 

“What else did she tell you?” he asks, curiosity barely hidden in his tone.

You pause for a while, eyes going over the entire room before finally locking on him.

“She thanked me, said that I make you smile more.” You suck in a deep breath, gathering your courage. “Do I?” 

“There are small lines that don’t show on my face until you're near.” 

“Oh.” That is the only coherent response you can formulate, and Chris giggles, a tiny squeak escaping his lips in a huff. “Cute,” he murmurs, planting a tender kiss on your temple. His lips linger, holding onto the moment a beat longer than necessary, causing your eyes to close in delight. Both of you find yourselves blushing as he leans away, a shared warmth coloring the space between you.

“Sorry, didn't mean to make the mood somber,” you say sheepishly as you sit back down, eyeing Chris’s laptop. “I wanna hear this,” you quickly point to a random track on his screen before he can reply, hoping to make the sadness flee away.

“This one? It’s not really good, let's listen to something else,” his rambling and eagerness to change the track pique your curiosity and you quickly click on the song before he can stop you.

connected.mp3 starts playing. 

Sultry beats inundate your ears, weaving through your veins and whisking you away to the pulsating rhythm of a dance club. You knew Chris produced good music, yet you never fathomed that his voice could be so luxuriously rich, cascading over you like molten wax. You feel a blush rise to your cheeks at the suggestive lyrics, the innuendos peeking behind every word. And then, a sudden jealousy claws at your heart, at the thought of Chris hunched in his studio, fantasizing about connecting with someone who isn’t you. 

You wished to be the only one Chris liked. 

“It’s a- a demo for one of my clients,” he explains through a stutter once the song is done, and you nod meekly, willing your body’s temperature to go down, for the possessivity crinkling in you to fizzle out. 

So, you put on your best taunting smirk.

“I know you want me don’t crumble.. No need to be desperate we’re just getting started,” you sing-song back. “You were feeling so cocky when you wrote this, right?” you grin, inching your chair closer to his. “Feeling yourself, Mr. Bang?”

He chuckles with a hint of annoyance, running his tongue along the expanse of his lower lip. Leaning back into his chair, he casually spreads his legs a bit wider, a gesture that suddenly leaves you feeling dizzy, on him.

“It’s cute how affected you seem by it,” he throws nonchalantly, crossing his arms before his chest.

“I'm not,” you smile, although your erratic heartbeat spoke of a different tale, you just didn't need to voice it to him. “I think you were the one getting all hot and bothered in your studio,” you stand between his legs, hovering over him as he leans back fully in his chair. 

“I was thinking of a pretty girl.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm,” he suddenly grabs your waist, you feel like your entire body is ablaze. “The prettiest.”

"Who is she?" you exhale, teetering on the edge of crashing your lips onto his, like an incoherent love poem, hastily scrambled on a notebook in a fit of anger.

“y–” The door suddenly opens, Sowon’s small frame standing by the door, she’s rubbing her eyes tiredly, her chick plushie dangling from her hand (a gift from her uncle Felix as she explained to you). You quickly scramble away from Chris as he clears his throat loudly.

“Daddy, I can't sleep,” she says faintly, a tiny pout drawn on her lips, and you can see Chris physically melt at her words, at the way she paddles to his chair, and tries her best to climb up his legs. She fails to do so, so he quickly scopes her up his arms until she’s buried in his hold. Her small hands wound up around his neck, and he tenderly pats down her hair, his gaze never wavering from her frame.

“Want me to sing to you, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she whispers, before making grabby hands at you, your heart softens like clay dough as you scoot closer, enclosing her fingers in your hold. 

“Sleep well, Sowonnie,” you whisper. 

“Can’t you stay with us?” she asks and you feel your blood freeze in your veins, your heart skipping three beats at once.

To stay. What a frightening concept. Even more scary when you realize that you aren’t opposed to it. 

You yearn to stay, for the first time in years, you wish you could. 

You swallow the growing lump in your throat, before smiling reassuringly. “I'll stay till you fall asleep.” 

Conditions, it is the way it has always been for you. staying till you’re no longer useful, staying till you're no longer wanted. Staying, but always with a time limit, always with an expiration date. 

iv. 

You’re avoiding him. 

Chris knows you are, since you no longer come over to his house, claiming that you’re tired, or that you have an important order to bake for the next day. He would have believed you had he not seen you only once in the past three weeks. 

Those were excuses, and each one of them weighed heavily on Chris’ heart, on his home too, his studio particularly, the one that got used to the sound of your laugh. 

He misses you. He never thought he’d miss someone again, craving you presence as if every breath leaving his body depended on you. He wasn’t a stranger to intimacy, fleeting hookups every now and then. Strangers invited him to their bed, knowing what they were signing up for– one night of pleasure, never to be seen again, their faces blurring into an indistinct mass in his mind, like an impressionist painting where no features stand out. Yet, with you, every detail is etched in his memory. 

He could pick you out of a crowded room, recognize the delicate curve of your neck, the fullness of your lips, and the way your nose scrunches when you smile.

He could draw the moles scattered on your body from memory alone, recognize your scent from miles away– your cotton shampoo and the specific laundry detergent you love to use and a hint of vanilla that never truly leaves you. 

He’d remember the curve of your lashes and the cascading of your hair, the airy giggles you leave across like a trail for him to follow everywhere, and your eyes– the way they gazed at him, softening slightly around the edges, shining brightly as if crafted from stardust, the way they softened even more when you looked at Sowon, voice growing slightly high pitched as you listened to his daughter’s rambles.

How did you manage to make his home yours without ever living in it?

“Dad?” Sowon calls out and he snaps his head up, locking eyes with his little girl. She’s sitting on a high stool, munching on her pizza, a pensive look on her face.

“Yes, sweetheart?” he asks, walking over to her side.

“Where is Ynnie?” she asks in a small voice and he freezes, mulling over his response. He settles for the truth.

“I don't know, baby.”

“Does she not want to play with me anymore?” Sowon whispers, and he doesn’t remember his daughter ever being this tentative about voicing a question. 

“No!” he's quick to reassure, cradling Sowon’s face between his much larger hands. “Of course not baby she loves you a lot.”

“Okay…” she nods, a small pout drawn on her lips still. Chris senses his heart physically crack in his chest.

“Do you wanna work in the studio with me?” he says in a joyful tone, and she instantly cheers up, the twinkle in her eyes found again. “Yes!” 

“Finish your food first, okay Wonnie?” 

“Okay!” 

In Chris's life, regrets have been scarce, and certainly not in the form of Sowon, his beacon of hope, as he named her. Having her was beholding a sun wherever he went. However, a fear lingers, a whisper in his heart, suggesting that letting you go might be his one true regret.

So when his daughter falls asleep, he knocks on your door once again. He's suddenly transported into that cold night, months ago, where he asked you for flour. Had he known you were behind it he would’ve knocked much sooner. 

“Hi,” you greet softly once you open the door. He takes a step forward, his wolf slippers matching with Sowon’s bump into your plain ones. You avert your gaze, finding anything but him to fixate on.

“You're avoiding me,” he says matter-of-factly, voice soft, resigning to you.

“I'm not,” you contradict, even as your eyes remain on the ground. He finds himself missing the color of your irises.

"Look at me, hm?" he implores, and you stay rooted in place. A soft sigh escapes him as he cradles your right cheek with his warm hand, his thumb gently sweeping across your cheekbone. "Yn, please, I want to look at you."

Maybe it is the pleading tone of his voice or the way his thumb tenderly grazes your skin, but something about Chris makes your resolve unravel, threads of fear unknotting before your eyes. So, you finally look at him. An exhale of relief escapes him. 

And then you speak.

“You asked me if I was okay, and I didn't reply, back then,” you say, leaning your head further against his palm as tears well up in your waterline. “Do you still want to know my answer?”

“Of course, always.”

“I'm happy. With you, with sowon. I feel this warmth that I have never known before when I'm with you. It was almost easy to forget I've known you during winter,” you chuckle dryly, “but it is all an illusion, I lie to myself thinking I could stay, I… I can't, I-“

“What if I ask you to stay?” he brings your hand to his heart, where it beats erratically, pulse seeping through your skin.

He’s as scared as you are.

“Chris…”

“What if I told you, Yn, please stay with me,” he breathes out, guiding your hand to gently cup his cheek. “Would you? Would you stay?”

“I'm terrified,” you whisper, as he tilts his head, bestowing a tender kiss on your palm. 

“I know, so am I. But, you make me believe that even my bruised parts are worthy of love.”

He wins, before years of skeletons and piled up doubts, he wins. 

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I'm staying.”

“You are?”

“I am,” you giggle lightly and he staggers back, the sun pouring into his smile. 

“Um, wow, okay. Thank you for staying,” his voice sounds airy, happiness floating in his tone, and you find it contagious, imprinting into your own.

“Thank you for asking me to stay.”

“You made it less daunting,” he pats your head, smoothing your hair down. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too.”

He giggles in response and you can't help but mirror the sound. “Why are you so nervous?”

“Whaaat? I'm not,” his tone grows high-pitched and you roll your eyes amusedly. 

“What happened to connected Chris?” 

“He is flustered by the girl he wrote about.”

Your cheeks tint red as he places a hand above your head, caging you in place. 

“I think the girl should get paid for being the muse.”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks, “I'll think about it.” His grin softens, as a content expression washes over his face. You know you must look the same. “Let's talk more tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” you grin, before placing a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Good night, Chris.”

“Good night, yn.”

You quietly watch as he walks to his apartment door, his hand settling on the door knob. He pauses, for a few seconds where the air around you stills, before swiveling around and walking over to you again. 

you win. 

“I forgot something,” he breathes out, before crashing his lips onto yours, furiously, as if needing to imprint his essence onto you, tainting your soul the way you have tainted him, permanently altering the composition of his being. His lips move on yours as if they've done this before, a dance they have rehearsed countless times, perhaps in all the dreams Chris visited you in. Yet, nothing compares to how it feels to have him touch you, lick your lower lip and drag his hand up your hips, press you against your apartment door, and nibble at your neck. 

Nothing could have prepared you for the passion he shows you, for how delicious it feels to be pressed against him, for the storm that your lips conjure, swirling in your heart in vibrant shades of red. Then, for the softness of his lips as they slow down their course, plump and rosy as they meet your own, tenderly, more gently, one kiss after the other. “My hope,” he whispers, as his lips find yours again, “my missing piece.”

He’s hot and cold, in yet seeking no out, finally yours.

bonus (one year later). 

“So I brought the eggs, milk, sugar,” Chris enumerates as he takes out the groceries, and you turn to look at Sowon to find her already gazing at you, a mischievous look on her face. 

“How much do you wanna bet he forgot flour?” you whisper and she giggles, burying her face in her hands to stifle her laugh.

“And… Wait, where is the flour?” he trails off and you burst out laughing, as you and Sowon high-five each other excitedly. 

“Daddy, you are really bad at groceries.”

“Am I?” he smiles sheepishly, fiddling with his earlobe in a manner that still makes your heart melt, renders your insides butterflies speaking of Chris’ name.

“Yes, it’s good Mom bought it,” she says naturally, looking down at her iPad. You and Chris freeze in your tracks, eyes instantly locking with one another, yours and his, glossy with emotion, a loving tide enveloping you both. 

It's her first time calling you mom. 

You swallow down the lump in your throat, crafted not by thorns but by petals, not by ache but with love, before placing your chin on the small of her shoulder, murmuring softly. "Mm, will you help me bake, baby?"

“Yes! I wanna be a baker when I grow up, just like you.”

“What happened to being a stylist?”

“I can't be both?” she frowns innocently. 

“You can be anything you want, princess.” you bop her nose and she giggles, pressing a sweet kiss to your cheek. 

In the grip of winter, Chris discovers a warmth that defies the season, casting off years of cold from the recesses of his bones. A soft smile graces his lips as he gazes at you, his hopes, his girls, the three of you clad in wolf slippers.

He’ll propose to you tomorrow.

tip toe - hwang hyunjin

a/n: happy birthday to our hyunie! he always catches me off guard with his immaculate love for art and dance. i hope he knows he is so loved and appreciated !🤍 *inspired by the song ‘tip toe’ by hybs.

synopsis: dance practice ran late into the night. hyunjin finds himself drawn to his best friend, and dance partner.

hyunjin x best friend!reader

please do not copy, steal or translate my works.

happy reading.

clover ☘︎

─ ☘︎*̥˚─── ☘︎*̥˚─

Hyunjin’s curious eyes gaze upon his best friend. Bare feet glide across the light oak, a beaming smile is painted on her lips. Music plays through the practice room. The girl comes to a stop taking in huge gasps of air once finishing her number. Hyunjin observes the droplets of sweat that fall from the girl’s chin. She licks her lips then releases a large sigh. Her sweatpants were low on her hips from moving with the beat. Her white cropped tee was shifted a bit, while wisps of hair poke out under her ball cap. Hyunjin bites his lip holding back a smile as she turns to him with a restless look.

“How was that? I’ve been practicing!” She says with a pretty smile.

Intense. Fervent. Hot. Sexy.

“You were flawless, y/n.”

Her smile beams brighter as she moseyed over. She flops beside Hyunjin letting herself slide down into a comfortable position. She removed her hat, tossing it to the side letting her hair free. Parts of hair clung to her sweaty forehead. Hyunjin hands her his unused sweat towel. She ganders before taking the cloth. Hyunjin stands up stretching his arms up above his head as high as he could go, releasing a long groan. Y/n folded the towel in her lap. She laughs at Hyunjin now on the floor doing stretching.

“I’m surprised you haven’t been dancing since we got here, Hyun.” She comments.

Hyunjin faces the floor. The heat rising is on his cheeks. “I didn’t want to be in your way.”

Y/n laughs. “We’ve danced together a countless amount of times.”

Hyunjin shakes his head, turning his body away from the girl. Hyunjin continues to warm his muscles up. From the corner of his eye, he watches as y/n is preoccupied by her phone. A playful, teasing smile taunts him as he selects a song to warm up too. He hums, turning on slow r&b track.

His movements were quick, fluid-like, flowing so gently and easily. His eyes trail away from his reflection in the studio mirror to see y/n slowly dancing her way to him. That teasing look she wore gets his stomach twisting, feeling a sudden rise of emotions. Her movements were almost copy paste, except she added her own touch to them. Something that Hyunjin couldn’t get enough of. Her hips swayed to the music as she came within a foot of Hyunjin.

Fingers curl around Hyunjin’s wrist, pulling him closer to her. Sparks erupted through his veins. He slid a hand up her forearm to her elbow. The gap between them closes, Hyunjin’s body is pressed against hers. She does a small turn causing her back to brush against Hyunjin’s chest. The hand he had on her elbow glides up to her shoulder, leaving light touches before slipping his hand beneath her jawline. He tilts her head backward to lay on his shoulder. Hyunjin could feel her breath hitch as he traced a thumb over her chin.

Running his tongue over his lips, his best friend's lips were mere centimeters from his. Hyunjin rests his forehead on hers. Their chests heave in sync with passion as they calm each other by looking into each other’s eyes. The music still plays on. Hyunjin rubs circles on the girl's arms. His lips flutter to the shell of her ear. “The things you’re doing to me. Tisk. You’re pulling me in.”

She releases an airy laugh. “I could say likewise.”

Hyunjin brings his lips to press a light kiss to her forehead. “Opposites attract. I like that.”

©️ luckieleaf 2024

No Contact

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 7.6k

Tags: ANGST with a happy ending, amnesia, memory loss, grief, pining, yearning, hurt/comfort

Summary: It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen. You weren't supposed to be in that car, but you were. When you lose your memories from the incident, Chan is ordered to stay away for your recovery's sake; but it takes a larger toll on him than anyone could have imagined. Until one day, he just can't take it anymore.

A/N: inspired by this post. Angst ahoy <3 I had too much fun writing this. Maybe I like writing emotions. Enjoy <3

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No contact. That’s what Chan was told was best for you. That’s what was going to help your healing process. 

No contact whatsoever. No texts, no calls, no little surprise visits. No fucking contact. None. 

He was told it would just hurt you if he talked to you— that he would just make it worse. That you would only become more confused and upset. It would be absolutely detrimental for him to see you.

Hell, it might even make you worse. 

It’s killing Chan slowly. Every single day feels like torture for him. The days get exponentially worse. He feels like a hollow shell of his former self, like the wind goes through him when he steps foot outside. It feels like his shoulders are permanently sagged forward. 

But the worst part is that you don’t even know it. You don’t know how he’s collapsing inwards like a dying star. 

It was one of the worst car accidents the city has seen in years. A friend was driving you home that night; Chan had begged to be the one to pick you up, but no, you said it was fine, the friend was heading that way anyway. Why make the unnecessary trip?

You told him he needed sleep. Always putting his needs before your own. You always did. 

He should’ve put up more of a fuss. He should’ve put his foot down. He should’ve already been outside the house in his car with the passenger seat warmer on by the time you left that stupid party. 

He should’ve gotten out of the car and opened the door for you and had a cold bottle of water waiting in the cup holder. He should’ve kissed you on the cheek and asked you all about your time. He should have been there.

But he wasn’t. 

A drunk driver slammed into the passenger side of your friend’s car at a speed that you shouldn’t have even survived.

Miracles do happen, though. But what a price to pay for a miracle. 

For as long as he lives, Chan will never forget the sheer panic and terror he felt when the call came in from your mother. You were already at the hospital undergoing emergency surgery.

He was the last to know. 

After all, he wasn’t your emergency contact. He’s only your boyfriend.

Was. Was your boyfriend. Was? Is that the right word? He isn’t. But he is. There was no breakup. 

Is that what he’s going through right now? A breakup? 

You’re not on a break. But what is this? What is this loss? This severance is so horrible. 

It’s fucked up. It’s a fucked up, amnesia induced breakup. 

Memory loss is a funny thing. Doctors scratch their heads and shrug their shoulders without any answers. The brain is a tricky thing. 

Chan did what he was allowed to in that hospital. He sat in that stark white room under those harsh LED lights and he waited until you were awake. He even waited much longer after that because only two visitors were permitted inside your room at a time— and he wasn’t about to force his way in and kick one of your parents out. 

He let your sister go in first. He even let your cousin go in before him. But when it was finally his turn… 

He never got to see you. 

“The last five years?” Chan asked with a tight throat. Did he even have any more tears left to cry? How is there any liquid left in his body?

“She says doesn’t remember anything, Chan.” Your mother’s voice was just as hollow as his. “She was asking about her freshman roommate.”

A doctor stood in between him and your mom. “It’s best if we don’t throw everything at her at once. Amnesia victims rarely never get their memories back, but we’ve found that it needs to happen organically. Seeing her will overwhelm her and that could stunt the healing process.”

Chan’s mouth opened and closed several times but no words came out at all. His heart may have stopped. 

Does that mean…?

No…

“He can’t see her at all?” Your mother asked quietly. “Not even to visit? He doesn’t have to mention he’s her boyfriend, he can just say that he’s a friend, or a coworker, or—“

The doctor cut her off. “No contact. Not until we’re a bit through recovery and she’s starting to get her memories back.”

Chan was suddenly in a chair. 

When did he sit down? The Doctor’s hands were on his shoulders and he was looking down at him with a sympathetic stare.  

“It’s not forever, son.”

Chan was only able to nod. His mouth was so dry, the back of his neck felt clammy. His head was spinning.

Books often speak of moments as ‘Earth-shattering’. Of moments so catastrophic that the planet stops spinning on its axis and time stands still.

He gets it now. 

The doctor spoke a few more words to your mother before walking away. She looked down at Chan sadly. 

Your mother sat on the chair next to him and wrapped him up in a hug. His world was falling apart around him. You were slipping through his fingers. He couldn’t even see you.

Hot tears poured down his face while he sat there with his head in his hands. Why does it feel like he’s losing you? Why is this the only way? Why are these the cards that are being dealt?

Why didn’t he pick you up from that fucking party?

“She loves you, Chan… she’ll come to her senses, I promise, I promise.”

It’s been two months, one week, two days and eight hours since he’s talked to you. That long since he’s known peace. Since he’s known any sort of comfort. 

You’re the last thing he thinks about before he closes his eyes at night and the first thing he thinks about in the morning. No matter how many times he wakes up and feels the cold bed next to him, it never dulls the ache in his chest.

It’s not a healthy mindset, he knows. And it’s not that you were codependent on one another, that’s not it at all. You were just… ripped away from him. 

Food has no taste. The sky isn’t as blue as it used to be. Clouds don’t make fun shapes like they did with you by his side. The stars are still in the sky, he thinks, he hasn’t had the guts to look at them. 

God, you love the stars so much. You always talked about how pretty they are— how absolutely breath-taking you think the universe is. Chan would simply listen, he would always listen. All he ever wanted to do was listen.

How is he supposed to look at anything the same way? How is any day supposed to be normal when half of his life is suddenly missing. What’s the point of making music if you’re not there to listen to it?

5:00 PM is the hardest hour to get through. You don’t open the door to his apartment when you get off work. You don’t tell him about the things that happened during your shift. 

He can’t leave little snacks out on the counter for you to eat when you get home like he used to. 

Mice would get to it before you did. 

His lonely apartment is slowly losing your smell. He could spray your perfume, sure, you keep a bottle at his place, but it’s not the same. You somehow made the scent sweeter by letting it linger on your skin. 

All of your old toiletries are still there where you left them. Your spare toothbrush has been bone dry and untouched since 9:28 AM that morning. Your shampoo bottles are still half full and waiting for you on your shower shelf.

It had rained a few days before your accident. You had started a puzzle on his dining room table that day– you told him it was the perfect rainy day activity. It was a picture of different comic book covers. It’s now collecting dust. Unmoved and unsolved. 

Just like him.

It was a battle and a half to throw away your leftovers from two nights before your car accident. He felt like he was throwing away your normal life, your tiny domestic traces. 

He didn’t want to cleanse you from his life, but you were washing away. Your ghost was eroding with time. 

Your spare car keys are still hanging on the key ring. Your rain coat is on the third hook draped right over your work bag. Even your phone charger is still plugged into the wall on your side of the bed.

Did you know you forgot to put your favorite gold earrings on that night? You left them on the nightstand. They’re still there, don’t worry. Right next to the glass of water you drank half of. 

Do you even remember them…? He got them for you for your first Christmas together. 

There are so many signs of a life interrupted integrated so deeply into his. 

You’re a clock whose hands stopped suddenly at 1:24 AM. 

This sort of haunting is unbearable. You’re not a phantom in his life, though. You’re something so unattainable that he had once but it was taken away with empty promises of return. 

It’s like you’re a shiny diamond hidden away beneath lasers and traps like in those stupid, cheesy spy movies you love so much. 

Do you know what he would give to watch one of those with you in his arms right now? 

Chan feels like he’s banging on the glass of a one sided window, screaming for you to remember him. Meanwhile you’re on the other side only staring into a mirror, trying to pick up the pieces from before. 

Your mom sends him updates on your condition all the time. He knows that you started working at the local library about three weeks ago. 

You had worked there in college before graduating and getting your last job. It was one of your favorite jobs you ever had. That library was so special to you. 

To him too. 

It’s the library where he first met you. 

The same library Chan finds himself in front of now. 

He shouldn’t go in. He can’t go in. He absolutely should not go inside. 

Bang Chan you should not and cannot go inside this library. Under no circumstances should you step foot inside this building where your other half is working. 

Absolutely not. 

The door emits a soft ding when he opens it. Electronic. Quiet. Peaceful. 

There’s a certain type of silence that sits in a library. It’s closer, thicker— warmer. It’s an expected silence. They’re supposed to be quiet. 

Chan can hear his sneakers take every step on the carpeted floor. There’s no one sitting behind the front desk; that’s where you usually were. 

His eyes look all around, but there’s no sign of you anywhere. A few people toddle around the shelves. 

There’s more soft beeping coming from the self checkout. That’s new. They didn’t have that when you worked here years ago. You probably hate it. 

On the day he met you, you were wearing a pair of dark green pants and a black long sleeve shirt. Your hair was clipped behind your head and pieces were falling over your face. 

Chan was only in the library to look for the bathroom. He was on his way to lunch with a friend, but he just had to stop somewhere. The library was the closest option. 

When he had heard the sound of books falling, he investigated and found you in the center of the carnage, the glasses on your nose sat crookedly and you rubbed your head. 

Your eyes met. He was a goner. 

How disgustingly poetic that he finds himself here now. Where he really shouldn’t be. He was quite literally prescribed a restraining order against you. 

Chan meanders around with his hands in his pockets, the silence getting louder and louder the further he gets inside.

Maybe you’re not working today? 

No one is anywhere to be seen. He’s checking down all the aisles but he doesn’t see you anywhere. 

Maybe it’s for the best that you’re not here. He’s not supposed to see you anyway. He’s breaking the doctor’s rules by doing this anyway. 

He needs to leave. He needs to get out of here. 

His feet stop in front of the very aisle where he saw you for the first time. 

Empty. 

You-less. 

If he thinks hard enough, Chan can picture you in front of him, laughing quietly with the most adorable, embarrassed blush on your cheeks. 

What a moment. 

Is it possible to spend eternity in that moment? Obviously internal clocks can be rewound, paused, flipped every which way; can he go back to that day? Can he go back to the day where every single poem suddenly made sense?

He would take any day, really, any day that had you in it. Birthdays, holidays, late night dates, Hell, he’d even take a day where he only saw you when you dropped off a drink for him in his studio. 

Anything, he would take anything just to see your smile bloom on your face while he watches.

“Can I help you find something?”

His breath catches in his throat, it feels like he’s physically punched in the chest. That voice. That beautiful, melodic voice. He hasn’t heard it in person in months, only in videos he had on his phone. 

Slowly, Chan turns to face the source of his favorite pitch. 

His throat immediately tightens. 

There you are. You. Beautiful you. 

Standing right there. Looking at him like a complete fucking stranger. 

“I…” his voice is hoarse. Chan can feel the tears in his eyes begin to form. He didn’t think this through, did he?

You’re staring at him expectantly, waiting for him to say anything. You’re waiting, come on, Chan. Speak up. Say something. 

Looking up at the shelf, you look back down at him with a smile. “A history guy, hm?”

No.

“Yeah.”

You giggle. “I always had a thing for History.”

He knows. 

“Really?”

“Mhmm.” You respond with a grin. 

Specifically Ancient Rome. He knows. 

You continue. “Specifically Ancient Rome.”

Chan nods and clears his throat. His palms feel so sweaty. His chest is almost panting. Every single cell in his body just wants to lunge forward and wrap you in a hug. 

He wants to bury his face in your neck and sob while you hold him. He wants to tell you that he missed you so much. He wants to tell you how your pillow is losing the scent of your shampoo. He wants to tell you that he’s been DVR-ing your favorite show so that you can watch it later. He wants to tell you about his day. He wants to kiss you until you’re breathless. He wants you to hear the new song he’s been working on.

But—

“If you need anything, let me know.”

You start to walk away.

Chan feels his heart physically break. It’s happening again. He’s on the other side of that one way mirror. It’s happening again! No, no please. 

His eyes widen, the words get caught in his throat. Fuck, Y/N, please!

“W-Wait!” he says quickly. 

You turn around with a curious look. 

“The Odyssey,” he blurts. “Where uh… where can I find it?”

Your eyes light up. “Oh, I love The Odyssey.”

He knows. You collect different translations of it. 

“I collect different translations of that book, here I’ll show you where it is.”

With a little hop in your step you lead him towards all the classics. 

He watches you like you’re an oasis in the desert— maybe it’s because you are. You’re what he’s been crawling towards for two months. 

You lead him all the way to the shelf where the Odyssey lives. Your nimble fingers reach forward and grab one of the copies. 

Green nail polish. You still paint your nails green. You picked that habit up a year after he met you. 

The memories have to be there, Y/N, they have to be. Chan bought you that first bottle of green nail polish as a joke on Saint Patrick’s Day. 

Y/N, please. 

“This translation is my favorite,” you whisper and hand him the book. 

Chan smiles sadly and takes the book from you, unable to meet your eyes. He knows if he gazes into those gorgeous eyes that he’ll lose it. He’ll fall to his knees and cry. 

“Thank you,” he whispers back. 

You stand there for a moment, he can feel your eyes on his face. He always has been able to tell when you were looking at him, it’s a little, secret superpower. 

From foot to foot, your weight shifts. 

You only do that when you’re confused. Why are you confused? Y/N, are you confused?

“I’m sorry…” you start, sounding so unsure. “You remind me of someone…”

It feels like a defibrillator was hooked up to his chest. Chan’s eyes widen and he finally looks up at you. 

You’re looking at him so carefully. He can see the gears turning in your head. Your tongue pokes out of your lips and wets them. 

Y/N, please. 

“I just… I can’t figure out who. Do I… do I know you? I was—” You stop yourself. 

Fuck. Fuck! What was he supposed to say? Fuck! 

Chan wants to scream. He wants to grab you by the shoulders and cry that he’s your soulmate, that he’s the person that knows you better than anyone else in this world. 

Yes, you do, you do know him. And he knows you. He knows how you take your coffee, what movies make you cry, what color jell-o is your favorite. 

He knows that you never wear matching socks and you always lift your feet when driving over railroad tracks. 

He knows that when you were 6 you ran into the corner of a cabinet and that’s how you got that scar next to your eyebrow. 

Chan knows that your entire life you wanted to be an author but you’re so scared of failure that you decided not to chase after it. 

He knows everything. 

“I just have one of those faces, I guess.” It comes out of his mouth so strained. 

You stare back at him so carefully. Do you see right through him?

“Maybe,” you say slowly. You don’t believe him. He knows that tone. You absolutely do not believe a word he’s saying. “Are you sure?”

Chan swallows, he grips the book in his hand tighter. The lump in his throat almost doesn’t go down, more tears prick at his eyes. 

“I would never forget a face like yours,” he chokes out. 

Your eyes widen and you blush, looking to the side with a smile. You always were a sucker for cheesy compliments. 

After thinking for a second, you reach into your pocket and take out a little slip of paper. 

“Here,” you say after scribbling something down. Holding it out, Chan sees it’s your phone number. He has it memorized. “If you ever need more books to read… or find… call me.”

Chan takes the paper with a racing heart. He gives you a smile, his dimples showing. “I think I will,” he whispers to you. 

Another few moments pass of you just staring at him before you nod and giggle nervously. “Well, I gotta get back to work, so..”

Chan nods and moves to the side. You walk past him. 

Your perfume curls around him like a blanket and he craves that sweet serenity he finds when he holds you close and breathes you in. 

Three steps after you pass him, you turn around. “Oh, I didn’t catch your name.”.

“Chan,” he answers softly. 

“Chan,” you repeat. It goes right through him. 

Your voice. Your sweet, beautiful, melodic voice. Finally, he heard you say his name again.

“I’m Y/N,” you whisper to him with a friendly smile. 

“Nice to meet you, Y/N.” Chan has to physically force the word ‘meet’ out of his mouth. 

“You too, Chan.”

And with that, you were gone, retreating back into your fortress of papyrus. 

—————————————————————

A bad idea was going into the library that day. 

An even worse idea was texting you the day after to ask how your day is going. 

And then an absolutely fucking idiotic move was asking if you wanted to go to dinner with him. 

And the worst part? You said yes. 

So, now here Chan was, standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom getting ready for what you thought was a first date, but to him was just a dinner date. 

How is he supposed to do this? He’s not, that’s how. 

Chan fiddles with his bracelet right before his phone rings. 

His heart drops when he sees the caller ID, your mother. 

“Ah, fuck…” he whispers before grabbing his phone. Of course you were going to tell your mom, you tell your mom everything. 

“Hello?” he asks warily into the phone. 

“Hi, Chan,” she says slowly, she sounds nervous, why does she sound nervous. 

“How are you? Is everything okay?”

“It’s Y/N…” Her voice lowers. Chan’s heart drops. “Before you panic, she’s okay! It’s um.. she’s getting ready right now… for a date…”

Chan isn’t moving. Yes, he knows you are. He knows it. But words won’t form in his mouth. 

“Channie.. I’m starting to wonder if that doctor isn’t right.. I can’t stand the thought of her finding someone else when you’re waiting for her… I tried to talk her out of it but she just seems so floaty and happy. God, I feel sick to my stomach.”

His jaw clenches. Now or never. 

“It’s with me,” he blurts. 

Your mom goes silent. Then a huge sigh comes out of her mouth. 

“I wish I could say I’m angry,” a little laugh follows it. “I think I’m only angry that you didn’t say something.”

He tells her everything, down to the way he pretended not to know you. 

“Well, you’re going to have to tell her eventually.” Your mom sounds unsure, herself. 

“Or maybe she’ll remember me.”

“What if she doesn’t?”

Chan sits down on the edge of his bed. His eyes are staring at the wall, unfocused. 

She’s right. What if you don’t? 

“Then, I’ll just … do it all again.”

Silence greets him on the other side of the line. Another tiny laugh comes from your mom. “I always knew you two were perfect together. Just like two magnets, you always come towards one another.”

—————————————————————

“I’ve never eaten here before,” you say with a chipper smile on your face from across the table. 

Yes, you have. 

“Really?” Chan asks, taking a sip of his water. 

“I pass it all the time and always wondered how the food was.”

He looks back down at the old menu. 

This restaurant was more than special to him. It’s where he took you on your first date. It’s an old fashioned burger joint with the greasiest, most delicious French fries in town. 

The first time you guys came here, you talked and talked until the place closed. And even after that, you drove around and talked until it was late. 

“I’ve been here a few times, it’s really good. The milkshakes are some of the best I’ve ever had.” Chan’s sweaty hands fiddle with the menu. 

He’s more nervous now than on the first date. 

“What’s the best one?” you ask with a smile. 

A small laugh comes out of his nose. “The peanut butter one.”

It was your favorite. 

“Yeah but then you can’t have any,” you say so nonchalantly, looking down at the menu. 

His eyebrows knit together. “What?”

“‘Cause of your allergy.”

He stops. 

You stop. 

He has a peanut allergy. Chan has a peanut allergy. 

His lips purse like he’s going to say something but you beat him to the punch. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out. “I… I don’t know why I thought that.” Your hands grip the menu a little tighter. “Maybe I’m thinking of someone else?”

Chan shakes his head. “No, no, it’s okay. I… I do have a peanut allergy. Maybe I said something before?”

You stare at him for a long second before looking back down at the menu once more. “Yeah… um. Maybe.”

He definitely did not say something. 

Dinner continues on. Chan listens to you talk and pretends he’s never heard your stories before and he tells you ones he knows he’s said before. 

The entire time, you were beaming at him, just like you used to before the accident. Your face never loses its constant happy glow. He’s not sure that the muscles in your face know how to frown.  

You’re the last two people in the restaurant. The staff doesn’t seem to mind. Maybe they recognize you both. Maybe. 

A lull dips into your conversation. Both of you know you should leave. Neither wants to. Especially the broken man sitting across from you. 

Chan takes the last sip of his drink. The bill has been paid for about an hour at this point. You’re looking down at your lap with a pink flush on your cheeks. 

You bite your lip and look up at Chan carefully. 

“Are you… are you sure I don’t know you, Chan?”

He stares at you. Did you know that you always bite your lip like that when you’re confused? 

“I just… I really feel like I know you. There’s just…” you pause, trying to find your words. He knows you want to tell him about the accident. He knows you want to say it but you don’t want to weird him out. 

What the fuck is he supposed to do? What is he supposed to tell you? 

“Something happened to me a little while ago, my brain’s been… fuzzy since then,” you explain shyly. “I know you said you don’t know me but I just… I can’t help feel like that’s not true.”

Chan’s jaw clenches, his knee bounces anxiously underneath the table. His head turns to the side in his typical nervous tick. 

Your mother’s words echo in his mind, his tongue suddenly feels like it’s swelling to the size of his mouth— making him unable to speak. Should he tell you? Is it now or never?

“I don’t mean to make it weird, Chan.”

He licks his lips and opens his mouth. 

Your phone rings. 

A sigh of relief comes from deep within Chan’s chest. 

Reluctantly, you pick up the phone and hold it to your ear. “Hello? …. No, I didn’t know…. Yeah, of course…. Sure… Yeah, see you tomorrow.”

Just as quickly as you answered the phone, you hang up. 

“Sorry,” you mumble. “Someone called out of work for tomorrow, they need me to come in.”

“Do you need to get going?” Chan asks, looking down at the time. It’s well past 10 o’clock. 

A sad smile crosses your face. “I mean… probably.” The time on your watch flashes back at you. He can tell you don’t want to go home yet. 

“Come on, Y/N, I’ll walk you home.”

Chan’s already standing up from the table, picking his jacket up off the back of his chair. You watch his movements and slowly get up, your movements screaming reluctance. 

—————————————————————

It’s three dates later when the two of you are walking down the street towards your house. It’s only a few blocks from here, but you both decide to take a tiny detour through the local park. 

“I have to say I’m a little excited to meet your friends,” you giggle. “I hope that’s not weird.”

You already have. 

“It’s not weird at all. I’m sure they’d like you.” Chan nudges your arm with his elbow, his hands staying in his pocket. 

“Changbin sounds like a blast.”

He was your favorite before.

“The two of you…” Chan thinks over his words carefully. “The two of you would definitely cause some mischief.”

And you have. 

A tiny lull of comfortable silence falls over the conversation. 

Both of you meander towards the swings. A cold wind blows through the air but neither of you react to it. 

With a tiny giggle, you sit down on one of the swings and hold onto the chains on the side. 

You are just so… you. You’re just your authentic self. Amnesia or not, you haven’t changed a bit. It’s so charming.

“I can’t remember the last time I went on the swings.” You start to move your body back and forth, not too much but enough to get the tiny thrill the toy brings. 

Chan walks up and stands next to you, his hand coming out and grabbing at the chain of the swing next to yours. 

The brightest smile stretches over your face. 

God, it really doesn’t take a lot to make you smile, does it? He guesses that means it doesn’t take a lot for him either since he smiles when you do.

He can’t help it.

He watches you move back and forth, the cold breeze kicking up a bit more and blowing dead leaves across the sidewalk. 

“What’s wrong, Chan? Allergic to swings?” you tease. 

He rolls his eyes with a smirk. “No, I just far more enjoy watching you have fun.”

Your cheeks flush. If he didn’t know you, maybe he would’ve chocked it up to the cold. But he knows the difference between your blush and the elements now. 

“You’re a smooth talker, Bang Chan.”

“It comes easy with you, Y/N L/N.”

Another laugh from you. 

“Shameless flirt.”

He puts his hand on his chest in mock hurt. “Ouch! I just speak the truth, that’s all. Not my fault I like seeing you blush.”

Every word that comes out of his mouth feels so natural. If he really thinks about it, he’s in a weirdly unique situation. Not many couples get to start over, to feel those butterflies again. But here he is, his palms starting to get sweaty as he imagines kissing you. 

Would you call it a first kiss? Maybe. 

It has been four dates. It wouldn’t be.. inappropriate to kiss you, would it? The two of you kissed on your third date a few years ago. 

He wants to kiss you so bad. 

Should he? Shouldn’t he? God, why is this so hard?

Chan reaches out and grabs the chain of your swing, pulling it to a very gentle stop. 

“Uh oh, fun police,” you tease and look up at him with a grin. 

Looking down at you, Chan allows his eyes to look over every detail of your face that he already had memorized. You haven’t changed at all except the new scar on the side of your forehead from the accident. 

It’s the same eyes, same nose, same chin that he fell in love with so long ago. 

The same asymmetrical eyes that you’re so self conscious of but he loves. Your hair is wind blown and splayed every which way. It adds a childish charm to your features. 

Very carefully, Chan moves his free hand down to cup your cheek. His warm palm soothes your ice cold face. He hears your breath catch in your throat at his touch. 

His thumb swipes over your cheek, fingertips run down the soft lines of your jawline. Eventually his thumb ends up under your chin which he tilts up. 

Your eyes sparkle. They somehow capture the light of the lamps around the playground. But they’ve always done that. 

You’re always so enchanting.

Is this a good idea? 

Is kissing you the best option? 

But does he even have the strength to stop himself now?

Almost three months without feeling your lips on his has been torture, and here he is, with you in his hands and there’s still this nagging feeling that he should stop. 

One look into your eyes quells that anxiety. 

Your eyes keep flickering down to his own lips, the shaky breath you let out is hot against his fingers. Everything feels warmer compared to the air outside. 

He can’t take it anymore. 

Chan leans down and presses his lips to yours. They’re warm and slightly chapped.

But, my god, he’s never felt anything this heavenly before. It’s like his entire body unwinds. Like a fire was lit inside his stomach. 

He moves his hand to the back of your head and keeps your lips pressed against his. Your head tilts to the side slightly. It’s just like he remembers. 

It’s just the first kiss, he can’t let himself get carried away. He can’t. 

He can’t let his fingers wind through your hair. He can’t melt into your touch on his cheek. He can’t let himself drown in your lips. 

But he is. 

He’s letting you consume his very soul in one kiss. 

How can something feel so healing yet hurt so badly at the same time? It’s like you’re ripping open a wound and bandaging it at the same time. 

No matter how hard he tries, he can’t bring his lips away from yours. Your hand slides down to caress his jawline with those soft, manicured fingers. 

Your lips open and close over his like mirror images. The feeling shoots straight down into Chan’s gut. It’s like the first time for him all over again. 

Those butterflies are going insane in his stomach. Your scent kicks up in the wind and he can’t help but take a large breath through his nose. 

God, he can’t stop himself. It feels too good. 

His hand moves from the back of your hair to cup your cheek and bring you closer. 

He immediately stops. 

Why is your face wet?

Chan pulls away from the kiss and looks down at you with concern written all over his expression. 

You’re crying. Why … why are you crying?

Your eyes open and you look at him confused. 

“Chan?” you whisper. You’re confused too. What?

“Why are you crying, Y/N?” he asks with a thick voice.

Your eyes widen and your own hand comes up to swipe at your cheeks. Sure enough, you’re met with tears. 

“I… I don’t know,” you say so quietly. “I-I’m not sure.”

Chan starts backing away, your eyes snap to focus on his. Your hand shoots up to grab at his to keep him there. You’re still so confused. 

Emotions are flying through your eyes. It almost looks like someone is clicking a light switch on and off in the back of your mind. A lightbulb is flickering in your soul like a dying neon sign in an old shop window. 

Every muscle in your face is twitching.

What’s happening?

“Channie—“ your own voice cuts off by a sob. 

Chan’s heart jumpstarts. You haven’t called him that… not in two months… that’s what you and your mother called him before the accident. 

Are you…? Are you remembering? What’s happening?

Please. 

Slowly, your hand falls from his. 

Chan stays there, unmoving like a statue. What’s happening inside your mind right now? It looks like you’re reaching and reaching for something that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

He's watching you struggle. It’s like when you can’t remember a word. It’s right there. It’s on the tip of your tongue.

You gulp, your eyes leave his and you look down at your lap. The dirt crunches under your feet as you shuffle your shoes around.

Chan swipes his thumb over your cheek, brushing away the tears. He’s biting back his own. 

“It’s okay—“ “I’m sorry—“ are both said at the exact same time. 

He knew it was coming. He knows you. But you don’t know him. Not anymore. 

But you do.

“It wasn’t the kiss. I—“ 

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

You know him. 

“Chan, I really loved the kiss.”

Chan. Not Channie. 

He brushes his thumb over your lips. “It’s okay,” he repeats gently. “You don’t have to explain.”

His other hand comes up and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your eyes slide shut at the sensation. 

Your bottom lip quivers and you pull it into your mouth and bite it. With a tight swallow, your throat bobs. 

“It happens sometimes,” you whisper. “It’s from the accident I had.”

Chan continues to soothingly rub your skin with his thumb. Slowly, he kneels down to be in front of you rather than leaning over. 

The dirt is cold on his knee. It seeps through the fabric of his pants. He couldn’t care less. 

“You don’t have to talk about it,” he whispers back to you. 

You shake your head gently, your hands folding in your lap. “No, no. I… I want to tell you. I need to tell you. It’s been happening more and more whenever I’m around you. It’s like every touch, every word you say bounces around my brain and makes me feel the worst case of deja vu.

“Every time I’m with you I feel like I’m trying to recall a dream I had last night but I just can’t remember what it was.”

You’re rambling. You only ramble when you’re overwhelmed and scared. 

“Chan, every time I’m with you it feels like some part of me is screaming to be let out.”

Your eyes open and you stare right through him. Chan feels his heart squeeze and almost stop completely. Despite your best efforts, the tears keep coming. 

“I was in a car accident a few months ago. I had such a severe concussion that I lost the last five years of my memory.” 

How is your voice so even?

Chan’s jaw clenches. Fuck fuck fuck. 

He knows. Yes, Y/N. He knows. Fuck, does he know! If anyone fucking knows, it’s him. 

“I—“ he starts but you cut him off. 

“Please,” you choke out and take a deep breath. “And since then I’ve been getting bits and pieces of my memory back. Sometimes they’re in large chunks, other times they just … come back.

“When I try to think about my life before the accident. There’s this… person there. Someone important. Someone so, so important that it physically hurts me to think about how I don’t know who it is. They’re a constant. And I love that they’re a constant.”

Your hand comes up to clutch at your jacket right over your chest. 

More tears come out of your eyes. The whites get more pink the more they flow. 

“But I know them. I do! I know them like I know the back of my hand. I-I know they love music. I know they take milk and sugar in their morning coffee. I know they don’t get enough sleep at night.”

Louder and louder your voice gets as you grow sadder and sadder. The sobs between thoughts wrack your chest. 

Him. You’re talking about him. 

Chan’s hands hold your face gently. His thumbs can’t keep up with how much you’re crying. 

Nothing has ever hurt this bad. 

You know him. You just don’t know it’s him. 

Nevertheless, you continue. “I remember that they have the most obnoxious phone alarm in the morning. I remember the passcode to their phone is 032518. I know that they have this one black sweatshirt that I love to steal even though it’s their favorite.”

Chan’s own eyes begin watering, he can’t stop it. You know him. You know him. You’ve remembered him this whole time and you didn’t even know it. 

You reach up and grab one of his hands and place it on your heart. Underneath your jacket, he can feel your heartbeat thudding violently against your chest. 

That same heartbeat he’s been dying to listen to while you play with his hair and tell him about your day. The heartbeat he would give anything to hear as he falls asleep. His throat gets tighter and tighter. 

“I’ve been surrounded by bits and pieces of a ghost and no one wants to help me. No one will tell me anything, and I’m so confused, Chan. I can tell that there’s something that everyone is avoiding telling me.”

A gust of wind picks up through the playground. It nips at his cheeks. It’s now he realizes how many tears are falling. 

A sob tears from his throat. 

You grip his hand tighter. 

“Tell me It’s you, Chan.” You’re begging. You’re actually begging while keeping his hand pressed against your heartbeat. 

“Tell me that you’re the person that I see in my dreams. Tell me you’re the one that loves when I draw hearts on the bathroom mirror after I shower. Please tell me that you’re the one that loves the smell of lemon cookies but can’t stand the taste.”

Oh, god, Y/N.

“Tell me that you’re the one that wanted to pick me up from the party that night but I said no.”

He breaks. 

He breaks right down in front of you. Every single ounce of self control leaves his body and he grabs you out of the swing, yanking you towards his body and holding you against his chest. The emotions that were being kept at bay come out like a raging storm. 

He falls backwards into the dirt, you come crashing into him. Your arms wrap around him at the same time he wraps around you. 

Chan buries his face in your neck, one hand on the back of your head and the other firmly around your waist. 

Wails leave his mouth as he holds you to him. They’re deep and come from the very depths of his soul. The wound that’s been open for months is bleeding.  

Every lonely night. Every dinner where he cooked for two instead of one by accident. Every long day he came back to an empty apartment. It’s all coming out. 

You’re crying just as hard as he is, both of your hands gripping the back of his hoodie like a lifeline. 

Your body in his arms is like a piece of a puzzle. Like he’s the dusty one sitting on his dining room table and you finally came in and finished it. 

Weeks and weeks of grief come crashing down on him. He can’t lie anymore. Not to you. Never to you. 

“It is me,” he cries into your neck, his hand running over the back of your head, feeling your hair slip through his fingers. It’s just like he remembers. “It’s all me, Y/N, It’s me.”

Your cries get louder, your body starts shaking in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you, Y/N,” he cries harder. “Fuck, I’ve missed you so much. I missed my girl. Oh my god, I’ve missed you.”

Chan can’t pull you close enough, he can’t get you close enough to his body. You shift around and press yourself into him. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry I didn’t pick you up that night. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m so sorry you got hurt.” 

Every ounce of grief is surfacing and clawing its way out of his throat. 

“I’m sorry I had to lie to you these last two weeks. I’m so sorry, Y/N. I was so broken without you. I broke the doctor’s orders. I needed to see you, Y/N.”

Despite how hard he has you gripped against him, you manage to pull away slightly. You sit up in his lap and look down at his red, tear soaked face. His eyes are puffy and his chest is sputtering with sobs. 

Both of your hands cup his cheeks and swipe away the tears the same way he did for you only a small bit ago. There’s a sad smile on your face. 

“Please don’t apologize, Channie, it’s okay. I forgive you.”

Channie. You called him Channie.

He cries harder and buries his face into your chest. Your arms immediately come around him and keep him there, fingers threading into his hair. 

You’re still crying. Both of you are. 

“I know you were just doing what you were told to,” you whisper into his hair. He can hear your voice reverberate in your chest. 

All he can do is cry. 

Months of build up led to this moment. Endless days of going through the motions just for the next to be as dull and tedious led to him falling into you in the middle of a playground at night. 

The only thing you do after that is hold him. You press kisses to the top of his head and whisper that you forgive him over and over. 

Each one adds a stitch to the wound, shutting it.

You’re finally in his arms. You’re finally back where you belong. 

“I missed you,” he says again, his cries dying down. He doesn't know what else to say. There's so much he wants to tell you, but everything dies on the tip of his tongue.

“I missed you too, Channie. My heart missed you so much.”

He sniffles and looks up at you. You pull your sweatshirt sleeve up and wipe away his stray tears gently. 

“Every day it just felt like something was missing. It was you. You were missing.”

Chan can’t find any words to say. He just stares at you. 

"I don't care how long it takes to remember, or even if I never do. I need you by my side for it, Chan."

His eyes sparkle at you for a moment but he leans up and captures your lips with his once more. It feels even better than the previous one.

The two of you relish in the contact, holding each other close and clinging to the closeness of it all.

It's taking everything within Chan not to start crying again. He's worried than any moment now, he'll wake up and this will all be some cruel dream.

But when you pull away from his lips, and he opens his eyes-- you're still there. You're still in his arms and smiling at him like you always did.

The burn is soothed.

“If you think about it,” you start with a tiny smile. “We’re lucky— in a way.”

His entire face screws up, even more confused. “Lucky?”

“How many people get to say they fell in love with the same person twice?”

Chan blinks twice before it feels like his entire body thaws. 

You and your glass half full attitude. He’ll never fucking get enough of it. 

His arms wrap around you again, bringing you down into his chest. You let out a breathy giggle 

“You’re never leaving my sight,” he breathes out. “Never again, baby, never.”

“I don’t ever want to, Channie. I never will.”

can’t get you off my mind

all good love stories start with a drunk stranger, don’t they?

warnings: mentions of alcohol, fem!reader

genre: fluff, comfort

word count: 4k

it starts at a bar. 

or really, it starts with a man at a bar. one that you’ve seen before in passing, a familiar face in a sea of more familiar faces. someone who you’ll later learn is one third of your best friend changbin’s production team, someone who you should have met years ago probably, someone who you would find is the perfect puzzle piece that fits into your jagged edges.

but right now, he is just a man at a bar with a beer in hand and a ridiculously dopey smile on his face. 

“marry me, please,” he says, absolutely serious but it’s a bit diluted from the way his words were slurred around the edges. “or i’ll have to kidnap you.”

“excuse me?” you raise a brow at him, his image swimming a bit as you turn your head to fully take him in. you’re not drunk, but youre a couple glasses of wine deep and you’re not known for being fully articulate whilst sober anyways. 

“i swear i’m going to marry you,” he says, eyes wide as he looks at you. “you might be the most perfect person i’ve ever seen.”

you’re not overly fond of men you haven’t met hitting on you, but this one seems a bit harmless. if you ignored the part where he said he would kidnap you. at least he wasn’t grabbing onto you or trying to touch you - that would have sent your fist flying towards his face and probably a swift exit from the bar. it was a little weird that you didn’t find him weird, but in retrospect you must have known, even then. 

“okay, listen,” you put your hands on your hips, giving him an unimpressed look. “if you find me when you’re sober, ask me again and maybe i’ll reconsider.”

“okay,” he nods, hair moving along with his movement like a puppy’s ears. “i can do that. i’ll find you, i promise. i’m gonna marry you, did you know?”

“so i’ve heard,” you roll your eyes, already feeling a bit fond about him. you didn’t think you’d meet him again, but you were sure that you’d look at this night with a fond smile later. 

he sends you the brightest smile you think you’ve ever seen on a person and scampers off, and you stand rooted to that one sticky spot in the bar for longer than you want to admit.

–

he’s in the back of your mind when you wake up the next morning, in a better mood than most - you never liked waking up early, it always took you a good hour and some coffee to be able to stand without grimacing. this morning though, you float around your apartment as you get dressed with a small smile on your face. 

a cute stranger who kept his boundaries and called you perfect? that wasn’t something that happened often, at least not to you. 

the floatiness followed you all the way through your morning routine until you found your feet stopping outside the coffee shop that you and changbin all but owned. you had no stock in it, but you’re sure that you supply them at least half of their revenue, you probably sit on their rickety chairs more often than your actual couch at home. this place has nursed you through every college class and job interview preparations and beyond, and if it ever closed you might lose time off of your life span. 

your movements from the door to the counter to your usual seat were robotic, muscle memory taking over while your head did somersaults through the clouds. it’s only when you take the first sip of coffee, the bitterness and heat hitting your tongue in a delightful dance, that you notice it. 

another man is sitting next to changbin. a man that looks awfully familiar, and it takes you a moment to realize why. it’s the man from the bar. 

“changbin?” you keep your eyes on the other man as you direct your question at changbin, trying hard to keep your face neutral. “explain?”

“i’m chan,” the man interjects before changbin can answer, reaching his hand across the table for you to shake. it’s warm, his grip somewhere perfectly in the middle of too hard and too soft, and he lets go after an appropriate amount of seconds. despite the neutral passivity of the gesture, you feel something ignite within you, and it threatens to sputter out when you catch no spark of recognition in his eyes. was he that drunk last night that he doesn’t remember you? do his sober eyes not find you as perfect?

“he crashed at my place last night,” changbin’s voice filters through your turmoil, and you finally break away from chan’s gaze to level him with a look. “and he needed coffee, so i brought him along. chan, this is y/n, my best friend.”

the conversation that followed flowed more freely than the coffee dripping from the machines behind the counter, and you almost hate how much you like it. chan is a little goofy, the man from the previous night shining through moments of seriousness and rapt attention. 

by the time you had to leave to go to work you felt like you knew him. you learned where he lived (close to you!), that he worked with changbin (he’s a producer!), and that he loved all animals but he adored dogs (he has one named berry!). just an hour of casual conversation had led to you needing more of him in every aspect of your life, but still in the back of your head lived the thought of him not remembering you from the night before.

changbin leaves first, citing some meeting he had to run to in the middle of a yawn, and when you were left with chan the embarrassment began to set in. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he blurts out, startling you so much you almost jump out of your seat. 

“what?” you ask, a mixture of surprise and disbelief combining into a confusing vortex within your head - was he going to go through this again? you didn’t know if your heart could take it. 

“i mean, i remember you,” he says before you could awkwardly excuse yourself and commit to getting to work early for the first time in a year just to escape being in a room alone with him for much longer. “i’m sorry, i was just embarrassed. i didn’t want to make a fool out of myself in front of changbin.”

“oh,” your breath leaves you all at once and you slump into your chair, understanding hitting you like a train. “that makes sense? i think?”

“i’m going to marry you,” he repeats, a mischievous glint in his eyes, the boy from last night shining through. “one day. i’m going to do it.”

“take me on a date first,” you tease back, a genuine smile stretching across your lips when he laughs, a full bodied thing that drew in eyes from the patrons across the room. for once, you didn’t seem to care that others’ eyes were on you. he made you feel comfortable. 

“what are you doing tomorrow?” his mouth turns upwards into a beautiful smile that you can’t help but return. 

“eager, are we?” you open your phone, sliding it across the table with the new contact page open on it. “i’m free.”

“you’re the most perfect person i’ve ever laid eyes on,” he says, as serious and genuine as the way he had proposed to you last night as he taps his number into your phone. “sorry if i’m a bit desperate.”

“don’t apologize,” you take your phone back, making a mental note to text him later. “i like it, for some unearthly reason. you’re cute, chan.”

the sound of his delighted laugh follows your footsteps all the way to work. 

— 

he picks you up for your first date at noon, right on the dot. he wasn’t a minute late, a polite knock sounding through your apartment just as the hour turned, as if he had been waiting and watching the time outside the door. 

god, is everything about this man endearing? 

he’s wearing shorts and a light sweater, looking like something out of a posh magazine. his hair is curly and swept off his forehead and he’s wearing a smile with the most adorable dimples shining through. 

he leads you to his car and you have to hold back an impressed whistle. you knew changbin and his team did well for themselves, the name 3racha all over the credits of songs on the radio, but this car was nice. you were going to have a talk with changbin about why he still drove the same beat up sedan he’s had since college but that was a thought for later. right now all you wanted to think about was the man who held the door open for you to slide into the passenger seat and was now holding your hand over the middle console. 

“do i get to know where we’re going?” you ask, peering at the map open on his phone but it tells you nothing more than that your destination was 15 minutes away and that he had to make a right turn in one mile. 

“it’s a surprise,” he says, voice a little nervous but it was masked with excitement. wherever he was taking you, you would be happy to be there if he was this happy the whole time. 

four songs on the radio later, one of which you teased him for when he revealed that he wrote it, he was pulling into a parking lot illuminated by flashing colorful lights. he had brought you to the fair. 

“i’ve never been to the fair!” you bounced a little in your seat, wriggling in excitement. “i’ve always wanted to go, how did you know?”

“lucky guess?” he shrugs, avoiding your gaze as he cuts the engine and unbuckles his seatbelt. 

“changbin told you, didn’t he,” you smile at the thought of chan asking his friend about what you’d like. it was cute, a word that you were probably exhausting when thinking about him even after a day of knowing him. 

“yes, but,” he flushes, the tips of his ears burning red. “i asked him after i had decided to come here, just to make sure it was a good idea. i didn’t steal it from him.”

“hey, it’s okay,” you squeeze his hand in yours that he had yet to let go of in what you hoped was a comforting gesture. you didn’t know what brought him calmness yet, but you wanted to learn. you wanted to learn everything about him. “now, take me to the fair, bang chan. i was promised a date.”

he finally meets your eyes again and he’s grinning so happily that you feel like you had just won a prize. who needed a fair when you had your very own carnival game right here? 

it turns out, you did. by the time the sun was beginning to set, your arms were full of various plushies that chan had won for you, each one earning him a hug and a kiss to his cheek. you treasured every single one, the fluttering in your chest when he stepped up to the booths to throw and shoot various things never ceasing. 

“let’s go to the ferris wheel,” you tug at him with your free hand, thanking the skies when you see no queue there. “i bet the sunset looks beautiful from the top.”

he’s quiet when he follows you there and into the carriage, his thigh pressing against yours as he slides in next to you, but you don’t notice in your excitement. it isn’t until the wheel ticks to the top and stops that he grabs your hand again, trembling a little. 

“chan? are you okay?” you ask, concern warping your voice as you turn towards him. your movement rocks the carriage a bit and he turns pale, ducking his head into your neck to hide. 

“yeah, ‘m okay,” he murmurs, his eyelashes ticking your skin when he blinks his eyes shut. “just don’t like heights very much.”

“oh my god, why didn’t you tell me?” you cry out, jumping a bit and regretting it when you rock the carriage again. “nevermind that, what can i do? it’ll go down soon, you’ll be alright.”

“just keep holding my hand?” he squeezes your fingers lightly and your heart melts. you may have made a joke that he was just trying to trick you into holding his hand any other time, but the fear in his shaking body was real and you’d never tease him for that. 

“of course,” you press a kiss to his hair, moving your other hand slowly to wrap around your intertwined fingers. the wheel begins to turn again, swaying the carriage as it descends. you keep your grip on his hand tight the entire time, all the way until you’re on your feet again on steady ground. 

“i’m so sorry,” you begin to say, the horror of subjecting him to his fear creeping up now that the crisis has passed. 

“i’m going to marry you,” he says, cutting off your apology and lifting your hands to his mouth so he could press a kiss to the back of yours. “no one’s ever been able to keep me that calm. thank you.”

you were left speechless after that and all you could do was smile at him, the ghost of it not leaving your face for the rest of the night. 

–

your thirty first date with chan ends with you crying into changbin’s arms, utterly confused and the feeling of despair creeping up your veins. you had met him your cafe as you had done several times since the fair, but when you arrived he wasn’t there. he came late, dark storms in his eyes and a hard set to his jaw and you didn’t understand what had made him like that. the usual smile and twinkle in his eyes were missing, and when you and asked him about what was wrong he had snapped at you in a way you hadn’t been talked to in years. 

you had left after that, brushing him off when his eyes had widened and he reached for you while calling out your name. you know that you should have given him a chance to explain, but at the time you were too hurt to consider it. 

you made your way to changbin’s apartment without thinking, your feet taking you to safety before your head could catch up. changbin had taken one look at your face before wrapping you up in his arm, walking you to his couch so he could cuddle you properly while words spilled out of you like a leaky faucet. you felt like you were back in college, crying and blubbering over a boy who had rejected you at a party, and you hated it. 

you didn’t notice changbin sending an angry text to chan, but the sound of changbin’s door opening with a bang startled you out of your tears. chan bursts in like a whirlwind, his hair sticking up at weird angles and a look of panic on his face as he takes you in. he reaches the couch in a few strides and falls to his knees in front of you, holding a crumpled bag from the cafe in his hand and taking your cheek gently into his other. his thumb wipes at the tear tracks there and you could practically taste the guilt emanating off of him. 

“love, i am so sorry,” he starts, ignoring changbin when he scoffs at the apology. “i shouldn’t have snapped at you, i had no right to do that. i got some bad news this morning and i wasn’t feeling my best, and i should have been honest with you. i’ll never do anything like that again, please forgive me? i’ll do anything.”

it was more his voice than his words that did it - he sounded so desperate, like he was trying to hold

onto a ledge that was crumbling, threatening to hurl his body into eternal nothingness. you knew him, you knew he was sorry, and against your first instinct you trusted him when he said he wouldn’t do it again. 

“is that an almond croissant?” you eye the bag in his hand. 

“it’s two almond croissants,” he nods fervently, his hair swishing back and forth with the movement. you sit up, sliding out of changbin’s arms and onto the floor in front of chan. chan’s arms replace changbin’s easily when you lean into him, and it feels like coming home. 

“it’s not like i have a nice couch you could be sitting on,” changbin mutters as he leaves, shaking his head fondly at the two of you before making himself scarce. 

chan kisses you, cradling your head gently into his hands, and they’re so warm. he slides his lips against yours, slowly like he’s taking his time memorizing the planes of your mouth to commit to memory. even after kissing him dozens of times you still find new things to learn about each other. 

“i swear,” he says, pulling away to meet your eyes. “i’m going to marry you, someday.”

“keep getting me croissants as apologies and we’ll see,” you say, sniffling into his neck. 

—

your eighty seventh date was spent in your bed, your head spinning like both hands on a clock simultaneously and your body exuding more sweat than you ever have. 

chan is wringing out a cool cloth to place on your forehead and it feels so nice that you moan. 

“i’m sorry,” you mutter, and chan has lost count of the amount of times you’ve said it at this point. “we had a date and i ruined it.”

“we were going to see a movie,” he says, running a hand up and down your spine. “and we will. we don’t need a movie theater when we have a screen right here, hmm?” 

“but the popcorn,” you complain, closing your eyes in bliss when he runs a hand through your hair, scratching gently at your scalp. an apology for being so sweaty was at the tip of your tongue but you hold it back in favor of enjoying the feeling of his touch. 

“i’ll make you all the popcorn you want when you’re feeling better,” he promises, dropping a kiss to the side of your head. “for now, how does soup sound?” 

“popcorn soup?“ you ask, a wave of dizziness taking over your body; if you weren’t lying down already, you’re sure that too would be falling over. 

“yeah, baby,” and even in your delirium the fondness in his voice was prominent. he couldn’t hide it even if he tried. “i’ll make you some popcorn soup. get some rest okay?”

you’re asleep before he leaves the room, and you only wake up when he shakes your shoulder a bit and helps you into an upright position. he feeds you bites of what is definitely not popcorn soup after putting a movie on your laptop, the screen sitting at the foot of your bed. the both of you fall asleep before the movie finishes, but you don’t mind. 

he stays with you for days, making you soup and tea and toast and feeding you medicine and being an all-around angel as he nurses you back to health. by the time you’re better you think you’ve fallen back in love with him several times. 

as you had expected and warned him about, he catches your sickness the next week, and now it’s your turn to be his nurse. you try and do the same job he did, but his delirium seems worse. the silver lining is that his fever isn’t as bad, so you’re babysitting a babbling boyfriend more than a sick one. 

the night before his fever breaks is the worst, since he doesn’t even recognize you. you shake your head at his silliness when he asks who you are and calls you pretty. you smile when he takes your hand in his and asks you to come closer. 

you tear up when he tells you that he has a girlfriend that he loves very much and so even though you’re pretty he can’t do anything else because his girlfriend is the prettiest one in the whole world. you let a tear slip when he tells you that he can’t wait to propose to his girlfriend and that he’s going to marry her someday. 

you tell him that you have a boyfriend that you're going to marry someday, trusting that he wouldn’t remember it in the morning. 

—

your hundredth and fifth date was not unlike your fifth, or your tenth, or your ninetieth. two and a half years later, you were just as endeared by him and he was just as obsessed with you - even more so, if it were possible. 

he takes the time to tell you how gorgeous you look when he picks you up just like he does on every date, and you hide your disgustingly fond smile for him behind his back like you do every time you see him. 

he parks and runs around the car to let you out like he does every time you habit this restaurant, a little fancier than your usual best but it was a favorite of the both of yours - across the street from the bar the two of you had met at. 

you start walking before he does, letting him jog to meet you and complain about how you left him, just like you do every time. before him. you might have thought the monotony would have gotten tiring, but he had a fantastical ability to make every moment feel like the first despite their practiced nature. 

he calls your name from behind you right on schedule and you hum in acknowledgement, turning towards him absentmindedly. the second you lay eyes on him you’re completely alert, though; he isn’t jogging after you, but rather he’s kneeling on the sidewalk, a small box in his hands as he smiles up at you. 

“i’ve told you that i’m going to marry you more times than i can count,” he starts, eyes shining like the stars twinkling in the night sky above you. “but this time i’m asking you.”

“chan,” you choke out, hands coming up to cover your mouth as it quivers. tears spring to your eyes and you silently curse yourself - you always thought you’d be level headed when you got proposed to, but nothing could have prepared you for this, not even the thousands of declarations he had made to you prior. 

“i love you. you’re the only one in the entire universe that i need more than blood or breath, you’re the song that runs through my heart and the fire that leads my path when i’m lost,” his voice is thick, like he’s trying to hold back his emotions long enough to get his words out. “i never thought that i would feel so strongly for someone, i never thought that i deserved a love like this until i met you.”

he pauses as you walk closer to him, letting you approach him before he continues. 

“my love, my eternal light,” he’s tearing up now, blinking fast to keep the salty water at bay. “will you marry me?”

“chan,” you start, kneeling down next to him and taking his wrists in your hands. “i never told you this, but ever since that first day i knew. i knew that the drunk idiot that was hitting on me would be my husband.”

he chuckles, smiling delightedly as the tears finally spring from both of your eyes in unison.

“so?” he trails off, searching your face with his eyes, waiting. 

“oh!” you tighten your grip on him in an apology. “of course i’ll marry you, gosh i love you so much.”

Text from Seungmin When You Go to Another Idol's Concert

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: fluff and crack

pov: 1st/2nd person (depends on how you view it)

description: Seungmin goes with you to a txt concert...kind of

pairing: boyfriend!Seungmin x reader (gender neutral but one picture is fem presenting because it's difficult finding pics, sorry)

warnings: swearing, one suggestive joke but barely

screenshot count: 14

©feelbokkie (2024) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

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Call my bluff, call you ‘babe’

♡ Pairing: Lee Minho × fem!reader

♡ Genre: Childhood friends to lovers, fluff

♡ CW: Implied smut, alcohol consumption. Twenty solid seconds of angst, but it doesn’t even really count. It’s just tooth-rotting fluff.

♡ Word count: 5.5k

♡ Synopsis: Minho has been your best friend since you two could barely form coherent sentences. He was there when your last baby tooth fell, he was there when you failed your high school exams, and he was there as you walked down the aisle.

♡ A/N: This was going to be just word-vomit fluff to make me cry, but I couldn’t control myself and before I knew it there were… so many words.

You were four years old when you met Minho. It was the first day of kindergarten, and you were assigned seats together. The entire day was spent with you chatting to every kid you could reach from your seat while Minho quietly sat painting and doodling by your side. You vaguely remember thinking he was odd and whining to your mom about how your seatmate was boring, and that was why he was the only kid in class you didn’t talk to. She smiled and told you maybe you should make an effort to talk to him. That same day, you racked your little brain for a reason why your seatmate might be so quiet and promptly decided that he was too shy to start a conversation himself. You then asked your mom if the fact that you didn’t talk to him might have made him sad, to which she hesitated, and that was enough to have your bottom lip wobbling.

You remember tears streaming down your cheeks as you frantically sobbed, inconsolable at the fact that your seatmate was sad and that it was partially because of you.

The next day, you asked if Minho would like to use your special glitter pens — you even told him you wouldn’t mind if he used your favorite colors. That was really all that was needed to plant the bud of friendship between you two.

Ever since that day, you two slowly became inseparable.

You attended the same elementary school after begging your parents, writing a very concise list of reasons why you two could not possibly be separated. Reasons such as the fact that Minho still didn’t know how to tie his shoelaces, so it would be dangerous for him to be alone in a new school. Or the fact that you were always losing your gloves, and Minho always carried an extra pair in his backpack just for you, so you would surely catch a cold if you didn’t have him beside you during winter.

All extremely valid reasons.

Minho began walking you home from school when you were both nine years old. He was often left alone due to his parents’ work schedules, which made him become the most street-smart kid in your class. You had to beg your mom for a week, but she ultimately caved in.

Your favorite thing to do on your way home was to stop randomly and doodle on the sidewalk with chalk, with Minho joining you in no time. You even had your favorite little sketching spot — right in front of a nice old lady’s flower shop, where you two would spend far too much time decorating her entrance pavement with flowers, rainbows, and smiley faces. She would later introduce herself to you, Ms. Kim, and would always thank you both with a flower of your choice. You always picked tulips, and Minho always picked daisies.

On one hazy winter day, you and Minho were eager to adorn the flower shop’s entrance with a new set of doodles since the ones you had done just yesterday got covered in snow. As you two did your best to dig through the piled-up snow with your gloved hands, you suddenly felt something hard slide down your throat. Your hands stilled, and you turned to look at Minho with wide eyes.

“What happened?” He asked. “Did you lose your glove in the snow this time?”

You shook your head frantically, careful not to swallow. “Teeth,” you simply said.

Minho looked at you like you were crazy, squinting his eyes as he studied your face. “What?”

You felt tears well up, and he immediately abandoned his mission of shuffling through the snow before pulling you into a big hug.

“Why are you crying? Don’t cry. I hate when you cry, I feel weird when you cry,” He said, but no tears left his worried eyes. Minho never cried, that was something you had learned a while back. 

You, however, cried until Ms. Kim noticed you two from the window, cooing as she approached you two with a gentle smile. You tried your best to explain your predicament. Minho sat with you behind the wooden counter, holding your hand in his, the smell of flowers making everything feel less catastrophic than it did ten minutes earlier.

Ms. Kim explained that you had no reason to cry, as it was normal for kids to swallow their baby teeth. And you remember harshly shaking your head and explaining with a trembling voice that you hadn’t cried because of that. You had cried because that was your last baby tooth, which meant you were officially a grown-up. You didn’t want to be a grown-up. Minho wasn’t a grown-up yet, with his last baby tooth still holding on proudly in his gums. You didn’t want to be a grown-up all alone; it would be terrible and sad.

That afternoon, you two went home together in silence, your respective flowers clutched in your hands. Minho was never good with words. Sadness engulfed him because he couldn’t do enough to make his best friend smile again. What was the point of a best friend if they didn’t make you laugh when you were crying?

Minho walked into school the next day with a proud smile on his face before placing his last baby tooth on your desk. You eyed it curiously, brows furrowed.

“There, I took it off last night,” He simply said. “Now we’re gonna be grown-ups together.”

At eleven years old, your daily after-school video game appointments began.

You had just cut your hair short; a bob you thought looked cute on your favorite singer turned out to be cataclysmically unflattering on you. And, at eleven years old, it was earth-shattering and definitely the end of your life (despite what your mother told you).

You spent every second out in public with your hair hidden by a beanie, hoping it would distract people from your disastrous haircut.

Except it had the opposite effect.

One particular day at school, a boy came up to you simply to inform you that your head looked like a mushroom before running away, laughing with his friends. They were foolish words spoken by a foolish boy, but you were eleven. Once again, earth-shattering and the end of your life.

You avoided everyone the entire day — including Minho, whom you always talked to no matter your mood. You knew you wouldn’t be able to avoid him for much longer, seeing as he walked you home every day, so you simply prayed he wouldn’t notice your puffy eyes or that he at least hadn’t heard any of the other kids making unfunny jokes about your haircut.

After school, Minho sighed in feigned annoyance when you told him you had lost your gloves again before retrieving a pair from his backpack. Like a habit, you asked if he wanted to hang out at your house, although the answer was always unchanging.

“My mom’s baking a cake,” you told him. “We can play video games and then eat it together.”

Minho hummed in agreement, adjusting his backpack before grabbing your hand as you two began your daily walk to your house. It was something you always did, never walking anywhere without your hands clasped together. These past few months, however, this once ordinary gesture had begun making your heart beat faster. You didn’t understand why, and you would rather not think about it because every time you did, the words from your other friends would echo inside your head. Their stories about how they felt their hearts racing when their crush had hugged them or even looked their way, making you question if maybe…

But it couldn’t be. Minho was your best friend. How could he be your crush?

It was another one of those afternoons, your mom busily making you two sandwiches as you and Minho played New Super Mario Bros on your Wii under the blanket fort you always meticulously built. Minho had been acting weird all day — even weirder than you, who had to endure all the asinine jokes and hurtful words from your peers. As you completed the last level for the umpteenth time, saving Princess Peach, Minho all but threw his controller to the side. You turned to shoot him a questioning look, which went ignored as he rummaged through his backpack.

He retrieved a crumpled-up piece of paper, which he promptly gave to you.

You cocked your head, awaiting some sort of explanation, but Minho simply picked up his controller once more and hit play on the game.

Unfolding the paper, words greeted you in Minho’s messy handwriting.

YOUR HAIR LOOKS CUTE. STOP HIDING IT.

Your lips parted slightly, but before you could say anything to him, Minho reached out and snatched your beanie from your head. Your short hair and bangs cascaded onto your face, partially obscuring your view. But you could still make out his side profile, where a faint smile appeared on his lips.

After that, you two were silent for the rest of the day, eventually dozing off under the tent lulled by the sound of your mother’s hand mixer and Mario’s theme song. The sun eventually set outside the window, and you woke up to two plates of your mother’s cake waiting for you on the coffee table.

From that point on, your beanie was left forgotten inside your drawer.

You were fifteen when you realized that perhaps your feelings for Minho weren’t all that platonic after all.

It all started with a letter on Minho’s desk on a rainy Friday. October 25th, Minho’s birthday.

Minho’s quiet nature hadn’t changed one bit since you first sat beside him at four years old. He would rather die than start a conversation, rarely went out to the movies with your friend group and, most importantly, hated being the center of attention. That was why he told no one about his birthday since you two began high school this year. It was the subject of much debate among your little group of friends, with some bribing Minho with his favorite snacks or promising to do his assignments until college just for some sort of clue; a day, month, even the day of the week he was born.

But Minho never budged.

So, seeing a letter on his desk on the day of his birthday was odd, to say the least.

You arrived back to the classroom late after chatting to your friend from another class in the hallway, catching as Minho sat down with a puzzled look on his face and an open letter in his hands.

“What’s up?” You asked, sitting on the desk in front of him.

He looked up, thick glasses crooked from a dodgeball incident earlier that week. “Yumi found out it’s my birthday today,” He informed you, a bit too nonchalantly. “She organized a birthday party at her house tomorrow with our friends.”

You immediately took the letter, reading it and blanching at the words written in the girl’s pretty handwriting. She had found out Minho’s birthday by snooping around Facebook until she found his mother, who had a plethora of pictures of Minho on his previous birthdays. Not only that, the letter ended with a paragraph where she confessed her feelings to him — with all the clichés and dramatics only an adolescent crush could provide.

You still remember your first thoughts upon learning that information: Oh, Yumi. Of course a girl like her would do something like this.

You cringe at your words now, but at fifteen, you deemed no girl worthy of your best friend. Especially ‘girls like Yumi,’ who in your eyes all but threw herself at him. At the time, you thought you were looking out for the boy who was practically your brother. Now, you understand you were simply an insecure fifteen-year-old who allowed ugly, misogynistic thoughts to brew inside your mind out of fear of losing Minho. For your immature brain, every girl interested in Minho was an enemy because they could easily take him away from you.

And Minho had never reciprocated any girl’s feelings, always politely turning down the few confessions he had gotten during middle school. You were ready to berate Yumi, your brows immediately furrowing as your face contorted, but Minho beat you to it, speaking before you could utter a word.

“I know I should be mad, but isn’t it a little… cute?”

You couldn’t help but scoff, the sound escaping your lips like a burst of disbelief. You also couldn’t help how your hands began to tremble as your heart shot up to your throat.

“Cute?” You asked with the strongest voice you could muster. “You think her invading your privacy is cute?”

And Minho simply shrugged, tapping his fingers on his desk. “A little bit. I know you don’t really like her, but she’s part of our friend group,” He said, taking the letter from your shaky hands. “Plus, she’s always been nice to me, and she is cute.”

That was all you could physically bear to hear, excusing yourself from the conversation with the lie that your friend had called you from the classroom window before sprinting out into the hallway. As you continued walking, your palms grew clammy and your heart weighed heavily in your chest.

You felt tears well up in your eyes once you reached the stairs. Sitting on the steps, you cried into the cardigan of your ugly school uniform. You didn’t care that you would be scolded for skipping class; all you cared about was that your best friend was going to be taken from you.

After school, as you and Minho were about to exit the school gates — your hands tightly clasped together as they always were — Yumi appeared carrying a cake, the rest of your friends behind her as they all sang happy birthday. 

Minho blew out the candles and made a wish. Everyone cheered as his best friend, Chan, shoved his face into the cake. Minho yelled at him, grumbling with glasses covered in white frosting, but ultimately laughing along. Yumi was quick to clean his face with a napkin, earning her a smile from Minho before he released your hand to gently squeeze her rosy cheeks.

You remained quiet, forcing out a smile and looking up at the sky every now and then so your tears wouldn’t fall.

All because Minho had let go of your hand.

Minho’s fifteenth birthday — that was the day you learned you could fool everyone else, but never yourself.

Your seventeenth summer was a drag.

Minho had just been broken up with a couple of months before, Yumi crying as she explained her parents wanted her to focus on her studies, and having a boyfriend was simply a distraction she couldn’t afford if she wanted to be a doctor someday. An unwilling participant in the entire situation, you sat awkwardly at the bus stop as she spoke.

You were ready to witness Minho cry for the first time in your life, maybe yell about how unfair her parents were being, but he simply pressed a kiss to her forehead just as your bus arrived.

Not much had changed when he began dating Yumi, with you learning that suppressing how you truly felt was worryingly easy. You still hung out with them, battling through their cuddles and kisses like a soldier on the front lines of a war. Never unscathed, but always strong. Nobody needed to know about how you cried into your mother’s arms almost every night before falling asleep.

The only change had been you and Minho’s daily gaming appointments. You two had since outgrown your video game phase, both now interested in diverging things that made it impossible for you to enjoy them together. You discovered your love for flowers went beyond doodling on the sidewalk in front of a flower shop, but Minho complained that growing flowers was too time-consuming, and he loved dancing, which you were far too uncoordinated and lazy to even try doing.

And so, you two settled for simply hanging out together at your house. Your room had easy access to the roof, which you two took full advantage of, setting up a permanent blanket fort where you would snuggle up with pillows and talk for hours after school.

That summer was no different, with Minho stretched out across the old mattress, watching the light pink sky slowly fade away as night set in while you two busied yourselves talking.

That was the day you finally gathered the courage to ask Minho about his breakup, desperate to understand why he had appeared so unfazed. After the one-year milestone of their relationship in February, you had begun to make peace with the fact that she would probably be around for a while.

Minho shrugged at your question, hands resting on his stomach while he gnawed on his bottom lip. He explained he was sure that he liked her, but it turned out he valued her as a friend much more than as a girlfriend.

You couldn’t help but scoff at the answer. You knew Minho better than you knew yourself at times, which was why you knew he was lying through his teeth.

“Why did you stay so long with her, then?” You questioned, the resentful lilt in your voice a bit too obvious. You cleared your throat before adding, “I mean, you surely didn’t act as just friends.”

“I guess I felt lonely before,” He explained. “I was selfish for staying with her, but I enjoyed having someone. Was especially nice after…” Minho trailed off, dismissively shaking his head, and you remember being close to throwing him off that roof as he kept being so damn enigmatic.

“After what?” You prodded, “Minho, I’m your best friend. What’s the point of us talking if you’re not gonna tell me the truth?”

He turned his head to look up at you, the darkening sky making his eyes gleam as if they held an entire galaxy of stars. You felt that familiar nervousness return.

“It was nice to not be so alone after so many years of pining after someone.”

You cocked your head to the side, and Minho had the gall to chuckle at your puzzled expression. You shook your head, mumbling to yourself that your conversation was pointless if he wouldn’t tell you the whole truth.

Lying next to him on the mattress with a sigh, you could feel the weight of Minho’s gaze on you. You couldn’t bring yourself to move.

You remember the moon was already high in the sky by the time one of you finally moved — Minho, who slowly inched his hand closer to yours before clasping it tightly in his. Despite your racing heart, you thought nothing of it. He was now single, so it wouldn’t be ludicrous to assume a habit you two had cultivated for many years would naturally return.

However, after some beats from your erratically racing heart, Minho’s fingers intertwined with yours. You had never done that before, always holding hands in a way that all but screamed platonic.

That night, with his thumb caressing your skin and his hand squeezing yours, Minho finally spoke the truth after so long.

“It’s you,” He said, tone nonchalant but voice audibly shaky. “Think I’ve been pining after you since I was nine and ripped my tooth out ‘cause I thought that’d make you stop being sad.”

You remember gasping quietly and his hand tightening around yours as the clock ticked and your silence remained. You remember finally mustering up the courage to turn to look at him and being met by an expression you had rarely seen on Minho’s face in the thirteen years you had known him — he was scared, wide eyes dancing around your face as if he looked for an answer in your features, his chapped lips parted slightly as if he was ready to backtrack the moment he saw any hint of doubt in your eyes.

You remember smiling at him and how his expression shifted into pure confusion. All it took was for him to finally have the nerve to hold your hand in the way he’d always wanted to, and for you to use his courage as a catalyst for your own. You remember how you closed the distance between you two and pressed your lips to his. You remember it feeling weird because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

But you also remember it feeling right because you were kissing Minho, your best friend.

Your transition from being best friends to being in a relationship was easier than you had ever thought it would be — it was also slower than you could have ever imagined.

Minho never asked you out or confessed his feelings beyond what was said on the roof, and neither did you. It was a shared knowledge between you, a silent agreement that didn’t need words — at least for now. The little gestures and subtle changes left no doubt in your minds that you two were, in fact, no longer just friends — like how you began to always intertwine your fingers while holding hands, or how Minho would pull you onto his lap when you hung out with your friends, or how you would rest your head on his shoulder as he played with your hair during lunch break.

Your friends certainly had questions, the confusion written all over their faces easy to read like a book, but you both knew they also understood your relationship without you needing to make a big deal out of it.

You picked him up from dance class every weekend, sometimes arriving earlier just to catch a glimpse of him through the glass door, as Minho insisted he was too embarrassed to dance in front of you.

One day, thoroughly unprompted, he reached into his backpack as you two exited his dance academy and pulled out a yellow tulip. You had furrowed your brows at the sudden gesture, and Minho nonchalantly told you that planting your favorite flower was surprisingly easy. Since becoming teenagers, you had stopped going to Ms. Kim’s flower shop, and you had long forgotten about how you two used to have your own respective flowers back in the day.

It seemed Minho hadn’t forgotten.

That was one thing you had come to know about him only after you began dating. Although he seemed cold and distant on the outside — rarely communicating his feelings through words — Minho secretly kept a mental note of every little detail about the people he cared about, and he unfailingly found a way to communicate his feelings through actions. Such as promptly handing you a brand-new flower he had picked before you even had the chance to mourn your tulip as it began to wilt.

You, on the other hand, had always been the type of person to communicate through words; spoken, written, or read, which is how you began saving your best daisies from the small garden you created in your backyard and practicing your flower arrangement skills exclusively by making pretty bouquets you could gift to Minho (always with little notes hidden among the flowers).

Your once explicitly platonic roof dates also left no room for doubt, as making out under your usual tent became a hard-to-break habit. In fact, that was how your family found out about your relationship. You were eighteen, with graduation just around the corner, when your mother caught Minho kissing you as tears welled up in your eyes at the thought of having to be apart from him during college (although you both knew that would never be the case, as you always moved mountains simply to stay together).

Everything was slow-paced, and neither of you had any desire to rush anything. Once, Minho told you he had waited eight years to finally kiss you, and somehow, that anticipation was what had made it all the more special.

And so, your first proper date only happened six months after your first kiss, and your first fight only happened a year and a half into your relationship. Not to mention your first I love you, which had been a slip-up that happened only in your first year of college after a drunken night with Chan and Minho. Your head on his lap, your tulip nestled among his daisies in a pretty vase on the coffee table as Chan hummed along to some song that came from his phone. You felt as if your entire being was filled with pure gratitude at that moment, and the liquid courage that flowed through your veins only helped you mutter out how much you loved Minho.

He looked down at you, hands cupping your cheeks with a silly smile adorning his face, and simply answered, “Well, I love you more.”

Your carefree attitude toward your relationship was almost a contrast to the one you had with your friendship. You and Minho had met so young that you could never truly pinpoint when you had become such close friends. You always wondered if that was what led you two to be so easygoing with what most people rush into. Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

You remember one of Minho’s new friends, Changbin, asking something about your sex life at some party during freshman year, and you two nonchalantly answering that you didn’t really have one. Your friends’ shock was understandable, but you and Minho only laughed.

Things happened when they were supposed to happen.

It was Minho’s 21st birthday, when your flowers were no longer in bloom, but your love remained blossoming like it was mid-spring. He had, as always, vetoed any and every plan of a celebration suggested by your friends. He opted to stay in with you, cuddling under a blanket fort like you had been doing for so many years. Chan graciously offered to sleep at a friend’s dorm, leaving your small shared apartment just for you and Minho.

He hadn’t planned for anything to happen, and neither had you. You were simply lying together, watching the flickering of the candles you had set up around the coffee table, recounting the innumerable memories you shared when you suddenly felt the earnest, all-consuming need to have Minho as close as possible.

It was clumsy, both of you inexperienced and nervous. Your teeth crashed together and your hands gripped each other tightly, the realization of the intensity of your yearning becoming undeniable. At some point, the entire tent collapsed on top of you, and laughter filled the room for a brief moment before being replaced by your sighs and whispered moans.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was you and Minho.

Graduation day was a blur in your mind.

It had all started with Minho and Chan drunk at eleven a.m., offering you the awful-tasting omelet they had cooked in your cramped kitchen. They then went on to zone out for most of the ceremony after stumbling out of your apartment.

You approached Minho after he was done taking pictures and getting scolded by his family for being drunk on his graduation day, his mother giving you an apologetic look as you whisked him away.

“You’re stressed,” you pointed out.

“Yeah.”

“Me too,” you replied with a sigh, resting against a large tree far enough away from the hustle and bustle of recently graduated students and crying families. “So is Chan. Don’t think I’ve seen him this drunk since Jisung’s birthday party last year.”

Minho chuckled, shifting on his feet and toying with the fabric of his gown. You furrowed your brows; he only ever got fidgety when hiding something. You learned that for the first time when you were thirteen and he had to wait until your birthday to tell you he’d gotten you two tickets to see your favorite band, and again when he had to keep Chan’s then-girlfriend’s plans of asking him to move in together a secret.

“You’re not nervous ‘cause of graduation, are you?”

You remember the way he stilled almost immediately.

“We always tell each other the truth, right?” He asked.

You remember the way your whole world spun as he pulled out a small box from his pocket and how everything seemed to fade into a white mist that surrounded Minho like a spotlight as he proposed to you.

Your wedding was small — both because that was how you had wanted it to be and because of your lack of money for a proper party.

After graduating, Minho became a dance teacher at the academy he attended as a teen, teaching little kids who he said always reminded him of you two. You used the money your parents had saved for you to travel after college to buy the old flower shop that held so many memories from your childhood. Neither of you used your degrees, and neither of you made a lot of money, but you were overflowing with an infatuation for life and a love for each other so great that it made up for any silly inconvenience that dared to come up.

The ceremony was held at a local church — although neither of you was particularly religious, that was the cheapest place available. You opted to walk down the aisle together; hands clasped the way you used to do for many years while walking home from school. Minho held onto a daisy bouquet you made, while you held the single tulip he had picked out for you that day.

“I’m not good with words,” was how Minho began his vows, the glow of the fairy lights and candles adorning the church rendering his attempt at hiding his tears futile. That was the first time you had ever seen him cry in the twenty-one years you’d known him. “But I think that never mattered with you. You know me better than I know myself. Most times, I don’t even have to say a word, and you’ll still understand me. It’s been this way since we were four, and you understood why I was so quiet, and you still chose to be my friend. Thank you for understanding me, and thank you for allowing me to love you. Loving you is what I do best and look how lucky I am; I’ve been able to do it for my whole life.” He then shot you a grin, the back of his hand wiping away your tears. He ended his speech with a line that was so very Minho, thought up with sincerity but spoken primarily to make you smile. “You’ve always felt like home, and I can’t wait to feel that way until we’re both food for the worms to eat.”

You had never cried so much as you did on the day of your wedding — which was remarkable, seeing as you’d been a crier your whole life. You remember the irony of it all; Minho, who had never been good with words, telling you about his love with words that came from his heart and spilled from his lips without any rehearsal, while you were rendered speechless and too emotional to even attempt to form a coherent sentence.

Your wedding vow was a simple, choked-up, “Thank you for being my best friend, Minho.”

Minho carried you home from the church, with your cheeks flushing pink and his smile beaming as your friends made rice cascade around the two of you like snow. It turned out the boy who hated attention didn’t mind the spotlight so long as it meant showing off his love for you.

Your honeymoon was spent in your small house above your flower shop — which you named Daisy’s Tulips — where you cuddled under a blanket fort the entire day, only leaving the comfort of the pillows and fluffy covers well after midnight to adorn the sidewalk in front of your house in a brand new chalk drawing.

“Can you imagine if we never said anything?” Minho suddenly wondered aloud, his chuckle echoing through the quiet street. “We were both pretty good at hiding our feelings for so long.”

And you simply shook your head, painting a daisy with white chalk on the sidewalk. “Minho, I know you. You wouldn’t have let me keep pretending after finding out I liked you too.”

“Who says I would have found out?”

“You said it yourself,” you explained, “I know you better than you know yourself, and that’s reciprocal. You would’ve found out ‘cause I can never hide anything from you.”

And Minho smiled, taking your hand in his just as you were done with your drawing. Your gaze shifted toward him, and you admired the man he had become. From the shy little boy who sat beside you to the quiet teenager with thick glasses to the man he had grown into; you loved every version of Minho you had the privilege to meet throughout your life, and you were certain you would love every new version of him you came to know in the future as well.

“Of course you can’t,” he stated matter-of-factly. “I’m your best friend, aren’t I?” He asked with a grin, and you nodded. He then added, “Thank you for being my best friend.”

♡ taglist: @bloom-ings, @linocz, @farahia, @mirbokk, @jisunglyricist

Breathe

hyunjin x photographer!reader. friends to lovers with so so much tension and pining. hyunjin is too pretty (yet again). suggestive in the end and reader is wearing a dress. inspired by Bathtub hyunjin.

thank you hyunjin yet again for being my eternal muse and inspiring this brainrot. wrote this while listening to All mine by plaza so.. please enjoy <333 feedback is highly appreciated 🫶🏻

Is it possible to drown in the depths of your emotions, until breathing becomes a forgotten process, one that eludes each one of your senses?

Yes, you believe, if standing before a vision of ethereal beauty, as you are now, all encapsulated within Hwang Hyunjin’s being.

The camera slightly shakes in your grasp as you linger by the threshold of the bathroom, eyeing Hyunjin’s silhouette submerged in the waters. He’s sitting inside the bathtub, fingers running through his raven locks, awaiting your return.

He doesn’t seem to notice your presence, nor do you wish him to. Instead, you remain silent by the door, allowing yourself a few seconds to savor the intoxicating aura he exudes.

See, he isn’t doing anything particular, nor is he adorned in anything enticing— a simple white shirt and matching linen pants. And yet, his presence fills the air, compelling oxygen particles to flee from your being, leaving you transfixed, unable to do anything but gaze at him.

“I can feel you staring,” he remarks casually, his eyes still drawn before him as he leans back, tapping the edge of the tub with his ring-clad fingers.

Your heart pulses against your ribs, a dance that the organ knows intimately by now, one that Hyunjin alone can orchestrate. It isn’t the first time he’s had this effect on you, it is a familiar territory you first breached when Minho introduced you to him.

Hyunjin is a friend, but his hands find your waist more times than deemed platonic, and you like his touch much more than you’d like to admit.

“I'm assessing my subject, you know?” A faint grin dances upon your lips as you approach the bathtub. Hyunjin is doing you a favor— you just booked your first photography gig, and your client only has one condition: to shoot it in a bathtub. You wanted to translate your vision to life beforehand, and Hyunjin volunteered to help you.

“And how do I look?” he inquires, his smile a sugary dream that coaxes forth his left dimple. You place your camera gently on the countertop, bending down to inspect him up close.

His eyelids glisten with the golden glitter you delicately applied earlier. His skin is dewy, glistening underneath the warm lightning, and his lips drip crimson, courtesy of the cherry chapstick you carefully tapped into place.

There is always a myriad of visions that come to your mind when you think of Hyunjin— a blazing fire where each flame surges higher towards the heavens, a burning dance of passion and confidence; or a delicate red rose standing resilient in an empty field, vulnerable yet unwavering in its strength.

And now, you see a siren, beckoning mortals with a voice of beauty, ensnaring them with its hypnotic allure, much like he captivates you in this moment.

“You look nice,” you settle on saying, and he playfully pouts, his thumb grazing against your wrist lightly, akin to the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wing. “That's it? You never compliment me properly.”

“Someone’s gotta keep your ego in check,” you shrug, grabbing a dozen of roses and scattering them all around his body. You nod, satisfied with the outcome, finally retrieving your camera.

“Let's start with a simple shot, look at the camera, as you would when seducing someone.”

Instead of looking at the lens, Hyunjin's gaze finds yours first. With a deliberate slowness, his eyes trace the contours of your form, sending delicious shivers down your spine. His pupils dilate, his gaze darkens, before he reluctantly tears his eyes away, finally shifting his focus to the camera.

it takes you a few beats longer to find your voice once again.

“Hold still, one… two… three,” you murmur, capturing a few shots, pausing for a few seconds to admire the warmth of the light bouncing off his honeyed skin. “Perfect.”

“Me or the picture?” he teases, a mischievous glint in his eyes, and you roll yours in response.

“The photographer.”

“You’re right, you're perfect,” he replies simply, and you're momentarily taken aback, your eyes widening slightly. He notices, a small smile playing on his lips as you grab his hand to adjust his pose.

“You aren't allowed to speak anymore,” you declare, guiding his index finger to his lips while his head rests on his other curled fist. He grins, before his expression morphs into a smoldering gaze, one that blankets your skin in hues of red from its sheer intensity.

“Look at me this time,” you instruct, and he nods obediently, directing his gaze towards you. Though your eyes remain fixed on the lens, you can sense the intensity of his gaze piercing through you—suddenly, the white dress you're wearing feels too sheer to contain the flames ignited by his stare.

“Mm,” you hum in approval as you look at the result. A sweet realization washes over you as you notice the subtle shift in his gaze— does he know his eyes unconsciously soften when they land on you?

With each click of the camera, your nerves dissipate, replaced by a growing confidence as each shot turns out exquisitely. They look worthy of gracing billboards worldwide, a privilege of working with a model as beautiful as him, one who portrays emotions as if they were crafted solely for him to feel.

“Good, let's try an overhead shot now,” you instruct, slinging the camera strap around your neck before climbing into the bathtub, legs on either side of his body. You’re hovering over him as he gazes up at you, his fluttering eyelashes echoing the erratic beat of your heart.

Your eyes briefly trace the contours of his now-translucent white shirt, a veil that delicately clings to his form, accentuating the sculpted lines of his physique—the arc of his v-line melding seamlessly into the fabric of his trousers. He possesses the body of a masterful dancer, a muse Michelangelo himself would have revered.

“Take off your shirt,” you suddenly request, and though your words are met with a quirked eyebrow, he obliges effortlessly. With a fluid motion, he peels the garment from his frame, sending it sailing across the bathroom's expanse.

“Good?” he questions but you remain silent because words have suddenly become beyond your grasp. Your client's request for a portrait suddenly feels inadequate and you almost itch to cancel it, because you know it won't exude the same beauty as Hyunjin’s. For each fiber of his being flusters you, makes you hyper aware of your every pulse point and how they all come together to chant Hyunjin’s name.

“Look up at me as you lean back,” you finally say, positioning the camera directly above his head. With each click, your heartbeat speeds up even more at the sight— collarbones and arms bathed in the play of light and shadow, his long, wet hair cascading over broad shoulders, and worse of all, a faint smirk that graces his placid face, as if he's aware of how breathtaking he looks in this moment.

“Should I do this?” he asks, picking up a rose and brushing its dewy petals against his lips. You swallow hard, nodding meekly before swiftly capturing a few more frames.

Emotions twist you into a peculiar being, yearning for your very soul to liquefy, transforming into the water droplets adorning the rose's petals, longing to caress Hyunjin’s lips too.

Hyunjin suddenly straightens his posture, hands coming to rest gently on your calves, fingers dancing along the hems of your dress with a delicate touch.

“How’d I do? Do I look good for you?” he asks and your knees weaken beneath you, his words rendering you a merciless leaf, swayed by the fiery winds he commands, with his words, with his touch, with his eyes, all solely on you.

“For me?” you echo, and he nods, his hand moving languidly up and down your leg, pausing delicately at your knee.

“Mm. You're the only one I want to impress.”

Your response escapes your being breathlessly. “And why is that?”

“Didn't you ask me not to speak?” he grins, running a hand through his hair. Swiftly, you place your camera on the counter before kneeling down, your thighs now brushing against his own.

“Speak,” you command, and in an instant, he seizes your waist, drawing your body close until you're straddling him, legs enveloping his middle.

“Say it again,” he whispers, and you thread your fingers through the strands of his hair, gently tugging at the edges until his head tilts back, exposing the expanse of his neck.

“I said…” you trail off, leaning in until your nose grazes the warmth of his skin.

Being this close to Hyunjin isn't unfamiliar to you; your interactions have always teetered on the brink of almost-kisses, your bodies drawn together like magnets, two halves of an orange yearning to reunite.

Yet, this moment feels different, much more fateful, as if the universe has granted you one final opportunity—to finally ignite in passion or perish into ash.

“Tell me. I want to know,” you urge, your voice a whisper against his skin, laden with unspoken desires.

“Because... I like you a lot. So much that you're the only one I think of all day. And I want you to like me too. I feel like I need it to breathe.”

His response catches you off guard with its vulnerability, the intimacy it drapes on this moment. The water envelops your intertwined bodies as your hands find solace atop his chest, his rapid heartbeat seeping into your palm.

“I always forget how to breathe around you,” you confess, a sheepish smile gracing your lips. The grin that blooms on his face is radiant, casting a glow on the room that cannot be replicated by artificial lighting.

“If you forget how to breathe, I'll give you all my oxygen,” he promises, his thumb tracing gently across your cheekbones. You see the sun in his smile, feel its warmth in his words that burn you. “I think it always belonged to you anyway,” he murmurs, his lips hovering tantalizingly close to yours. “I think... I wanna give you back what's yours. Would you let me, pretty?” he asks, his voice a tender plea.

And amidst all the planets you know and the countless universes that may exist, you cannot fathom a single one where your answer would be anything but yes.

“Please,” you whisper, and his lips crash against yours in a fervent dance.

Your lips part before swiftly meeting again, and you close your eyes, surrendering to a world where all your senses converge to breathe Hyunjin in—your hands exploring the contours of his chest, your mouth savoring the sweetness of his lips infused with your cherry chapstick, your nose inhaling his scent, a delicate blend of vanilla and tobacco pulling you into a dizzying dance, your ears catching the gentle rhythm of his breaths and the faint thud of his heartbeat, all resonating within you.

And you don't need your eyes to see Hyunjin; he's indelibly etched behind your eyelids from all the time you've spent admiring him before.

“Fuck,” he whispers as he draws back, “I should have kissed you much sooner.”

“Mm?” you grin, intertwining your hands behind his neck, “Was it that good?”

“You have no idea what you do to me, do you?”

“Then show me,” you grin, a playful glint in your eyes.

His gaze sparkles with mischief, his lips curling into a self-assured smirk, his hands finding your waist once more. Breathing is not necessary if it gives you Hyunjin in the end.

“Oh, I will.”

HARD LAUNCH | minho drabble. established relationship.

“Do you guys have french fries?”

“Minho.” you hiss, nudging his shin beneath the table.

He cocks an eyebrow before turning back to the waitress. She smiles softly, laughing at the two of you. 

“We do, yes.” 

“Wonderful,” Minho grins, “We’ll have a side order of those too.”

“Perfect. I’ll put that in for you guys and check back soon.” The waitress says happily, collecting the menus and scurrying off to tend to another table.

As soon as she’s out of earshot, you groan, covering your face with your hands. 

“Why would you do that?” 

Minho chuckles, shakes his head probably. You wouldn’t know since you can’t see him.

“Do what?”

Still using one hand to cover your eyes, you pull the other away, pointing an accusatory finger in his direction. “I told you I’d be fine. Why’d you have to ask for french fries? That’s so embarrassing.”

Minho hums. Unbothered. “You know what’s worse?”

“Literally nothing.” you mumble, returning your other hand to your face. It only serves to muffle your voice more. “This is humiliating. We’re in a nice restaurant and you ordered french fries because of me. Oh God. I’m going to hide in the bathroom.”

A good choice, you think. Minho’s in god damn slacks for crying out loud. Every second that passes is another second that your pity order of french fries is probably spending in the deep fryer, right next to the lobster tail and shrimp tartar that everyone else has a mature enough palate to eat. 

Before you can move to get up and make a beeline for the toilet, you feel Minho’s fingers wrap around your wrists, pulling until your hands give way to your face. You crack one eye open and then the other, his amused expression coming into view.

“What’s worse than ordering french fries is me knowing you’ll be hungry if there isn’t something familiar for you on the table.” he says pointedly, like your reason for feeling embarrassed is unnecessary. “Besides, who said I didn’t want any?”

“Min, look around,” you say, turning your head to glance at the room, “The napkins are cloth. Cloth! Nicer than my bed sheets. We can’t be seen eating french fries in a place like this. I told you I’d be—”

“—fine. Because as long as you’re here I can do anything.” Minho recites, word for word, cutting you off. 

Heat rushes to your cheeks immediately, spreads like wildfire when Minho smiles and leans on to his forearms. His button up tightens over his shoulders, hugs his arms, sleeves rolled up to the elbow.

“Just like how you’re doing this for me, let me do something for you.” 

You and Minho have been seeing each other for four months now, but even at that, you’re still not used to his straightforwardness. 

Seeing Minho has been nothing short of a dream. What started as just interacting at parties because of mutual friends eventually gave way to him asking for your number, and then hanging out separate from your friend group, until one day he plucked up the courage to ask you out. Since then, the two of you have been inseparable, always spending every free moment together. Laughing, talking, even sometimes just existing in the same space. It’s nice. So, so nice.

“Shouldn’t I be the one blushing right now?” Minho teases.

“Shut up.” you say, tearing your gaze away from him.

He laughs again before reaching out and placing a hand on top of yours. Soft. Minho is unbelievably soft.

It’s the thing you love the most about him. But more than that, more than the delicate skin of his fingers or the brush of his lips against yours, you love the softness of his eyes.

Minho is hard to crack, his emotions shrouded most of the time. Not that he wants to be, but because that’s just how he operates, or so you’ve learned. 

But despite all of that, his eyes are a dead giveaway. When he’s looking at pictures of his cats, or staring at you from across the room, or right now as steaming plates of some of the finest cuisine Seoul has to offer are being placed in front of him.

“Holy shit.” he whispers, staring in awe as the waitress walks away from the table.

“Is it rude for me to take a picture? Like, would anyone get offended?” 

Minho scoffs. “Babe, I would be offended if you didn’t document this right now.”

“Okay, okay,” you laugh, pulling out your phone.

“Do I get to be in it this time?”

You look up to find Minho pouting across the table. Another thing about your relationship— nobody knows yet. 

You’ve been teasing about the possibility of a boyfriend for two months now, you and Minho only having made it official about a few weeks ago. The most anyone has been able to see are carefully positioned photos where only his hand or other inconspicuous parts of him are visible.

It’s not that you don’t want people to know. It’s just hard with his job and all. Privacy reasons.

"For someone who likes to claim that people won't give me a hard time because of your fame you sure do seem eager to test that theory."

Minho smiles mischievously. “Well, yes. But I’m also waiting because I want to show you off.”

You busy yourself with opening your camera app to stop the heat creeping up your neck. “Yeah, yeah. You big flirt.”

Minho laughs but obliges, scoots back to let you get a good few pictures of the food. 

Photos aren’t enough to do it justice, though. So you opt for a video, scanning the table with your camera, only the bottom half of his torso visible across the table. A silk white button up only three-fourths of the way buttoned, sleeves rolled to his elbows.

Minho watches silently, his face unreadable. And then, at the last second, he dips his head down so fast you don’t even realize what’s happening until his face is fully in the shot, a shit-eating grin pushing his eyes into crescent moons.

“Min!” you laugh, ending the recording. 

He chuckles, straightening back out. “Post it.”

“Are you insane?”

“No, but I’m going to be if you don’t post it and then eat with me.” He nudges the plate of french fries towards you. “Come on.”

“You really want me to post it? You’re sure?”

Minho smiles. Soft. “Never been more sure about anything in my life.” he says, neither of you willing to address the weight of his words.

He grabs your hand, plants a kiss on the back of your knuckles. The resulting flip of your stomach is enough to give you the courage to hit post and tuck your phone away.

Whatever happens, you’ll deal with it later. Together.

[ tags: @102598s @skzstarnet @snowyquokka @jisunglyricist @itsgghowitsgg @alician87 @skzms @meloncremesoda @palindrome969 @ilychee08 @allaboutsan @legally-lixs @astronomicallyyy @doohnut @linocz @romancerry @djeniryuu @pinkpunkdynamite @pynchkilledme @stayceebs97 @candyquokka @liknws @beeracha @feelikecinderella @caitxx1 @lilac13 @sebastianswhore13 @classiclitandmemes @hyunverse @linosazuna @lastgreatamericandynasty1 @bubbly-moon @cookiesandcreammy ]

↬you call him by his name.

pairings: ot8 x reader

genre: humor, fluff (i think), established relationship

a/n: as always, i blame this on boredom. i hope you guys enjoy! if you do, please let me know<3

paper rings

synopsis: you're in love with your best friend, but technically, you're already engaged

pairing: non-idol!jisung x gn!reader (ft. the rest of skz and one roommate)

genre: best friends to lover, idiots

warnings: drinking. swearing. reader is implied to be bisexual. kys jokes.

word count: 4.1k words

a/n: i remember reading about someone and their best friend doing this lmao and just instantly thought of jisung. pls drop your comments and reblog lovies <3!

"i hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this"

Being Han Jisung's best friend was certainly... something. Three years ago when he sat down on the free seat next to you during your first sound engineering class and offered you a big grin, you never expected him to become an unreplaceable part of your life. It came with it's benefits too though; you were now friends with his extremely loud and boisterous group of friends, but hey, at least that meant that you would get free food from Jisung five days a week (technically it was his food the Minho would pack but, who cares? Certainly not him).

You found it extremely easy to become friends with Jisung. It was almost amusing, how quickly you had opened the door to your heart for entry by him. Asking for class notes soon became hour long conversations about anime and movies and campus gossip. A shared obsession over Taylor Swift soon became in-home ice cream sessions spent dissecting her lyrics. Your friendship had gotten to the point where everyday, Jisung would leave you a paper ring on your seat beside, scribbled with a inspirational message.

You two had a tendency of doing almost everything together. You both were similar in several ways. Jisung wanted to be a music producer and had already decided that you would be the sound engineer for his studio. You both had anxiety as well, and although it varied, you knew each other's tells. It was a habit, at this point, comforting each other and being the other person's crutch in life.

Although, doing everything together wasn't always beneficiary. You were often party to Jisung's mischievous schemes, a product of his irresistible longing to entice playful irritation within his hyungs. The rest of the group loved you though, causing Jisung to be let off easily as a result of you being present with him.

You couldn't really say that you showed any mercy to Jisung either. He was a compulsory addition, along with your phone and wallet, on your late night grocery runs. You could have a craving from sushi to just dollar-store ramen, Jisung was always there (and sometimes not of his own will and accord). Regardless of what time or what materialistic object was set in your sights, Jisung had to come with you.

He never complained though. The boy had a slightly concerning affinity towards eating blueberry muffins and barbecued chicken breast at two in the morning. Both of you having some of the most fucked up sleep schedules you had ever seen (rivaled only by that of Chan, if you could even call it a sleep schedule), caused these late night runs to be an extremely frequent occurrence.

-

Your eyes were closed as you sat in the park bench in the middle of some town whose name you could not pronounce. What was the point of going to a prestigious university if they didn't even take you on nice trips?

After Jisung had finally been released from the clutches of 3RACHA (aka three broke men making music that is destined for greatness as soon as they become money minded), he had found his way to you. Well, less found his way and more spam called you and blew up your phone with Jujitsu Kaizen memes (which was so infuriating because you hadn't even watched it and yet your phone's gallery was full of Gojo's six-pack, all thanks to Jisung).

You felt bad for even thinking it, but to be honest, you were kind of avoiding him. Lately, Jisung had been spending a lot of time with you. You were probably imagining it, but it felt like Jisung was stealing glances towards you more often, like his touches were lingering instead of fleeting.

Ah, hope. What a fickle thing. It had people grasping to ideals that could be never achieved, desperately trying to hold on to a light that was long past dimming. You were already prisoner to wishful thinking; you didn't want to be held captive to the confines of hope either.

You texted Jisung the location of the park that you had accidentally stumbled upon and had decided to spend the rest of your day in. The university you attended had paid for transport, dumped you here and left you to be. To be fair, there wasn't really much you could plan for a two-day one night trip. The idea was, for your friend group at least, to spend the first morning roaming around on your own, go out to a nice restaurant in the night and spend the second day in the beach before heading home.

Jisung was hijacked by his other friend group for the larger part of the day, causing you to be victim of walking around pitifully alone and threatening bodily harm if Jisung didn't properly apologize with Boba and breakfast pancakes. You were walking in and out of stores, window shopping (the unfortunate and yet to be expected aftermath of blowing all your money on arcade tickets), when you decided to sit down somewhere nice.

Of course you found the most sub-urban park you had ever seen, complete with a once copper now greening statue of some man who was probably extremely important to the towns history but never brought up in conversation, educational or otherwise. The park was full of children with rose-tinted cheeks and mothers lamenting about each other (with the addition of an occasional barking dog).

You wondered if you would live the same way someday, coming to the park with a man or woman you loved and a child in your arms. Maybe even a dog or two, although you highly doubted if you could handle one considering you didn't even have a hold on yourself. Soon, you saw the figure of Jisung approaching you, Boba in one hand and waving at you with another. He handed you the drink and proceeded to sit down, his thigh brushing against yours.

Beside you, you felt Jisung shuffling around. "Okay, I have a very important question. When did you feel happiest with me?"

You wondered what could have prompted such a question from him. Jisung did have a tendency to talk about the latest hit songs for two weeks and then suddenly ask you about something nearly superficially philosophical. The last time he had asked you something, it had prompted an hour long debate on the meaning of life that could only be stopped due to Minho allegedly accidentally bringing home a stray kitten.

You let out a snort, "People don't feel happy around you, they fear for their fucking lives."

Jisung shoved you playfully, "Hey, be serious!" He had been growing out his hair and it fell into his eyes, making you suppress the temptation to run your hands through it. The entire world was moving around you, cars driving, people talking, an annoyingly loud baby crying. But this moment, with Jisung looking at you with curious eyes and a wide smile, was at a standstill.

You instantly knew the answer and reflected his smile back at him, "When you first proposed to me."

-

University students were apparently supposed to be mature and always prepared. You and Jisung were clearly the exception. The two of you were doubled over in laughter (in the middle of the street that too) after recounting what had happened just a few short minutes before.

It was a mere two weeks after your mid-terms for your first year in university. Jisung was over at your dorm room, citing an escape from Changbin's chokehold as an excuse to instead trouble you with his presence. You both were curled up on the couch watching some trashy reality show when Jisung's stomach comically grumbled.

Without even bothering to grab your stuff, you both had gone to a fast food restaurant, craving french fries for dinner. As Jisung ordered, the cashier asked robotically, 'cash of credit'. Jisung looked at you with wide eyes. You reciprocated.

The cashier was growing impatient. "Well? Do I need to call someone?"

The both of you exchanged a glance. A curt nod. And ran for your lives as the cashier cursed behind you. You both ran as much as you could until your legs finally gave out. Finding yourself in front of an alleyway full of small shops, you began contemplating where was the best to go. Finally, the two of you went inside a small, family-owned café, and sat down, breathing heavily.

The café in itself was extremely cozy, decorated in varying shades of brown and beige. You were surprised and slightly disappointed about not discovering this gem of a place before. In your mind, you had already tucked it away to become a regular study destination. You certainly did need one after getting banned from the public library thanks to another one of Jisung's antics.

"Did he call us a green horse's explosive ass?" You questioned, just setting off another fit of giggles.

Jisung shrugged at you, his eyes suddenly narrowing. That couldn't be good. He had a look in his eyes that you knew all too well. Han Jisung was about to come up with a plan, and it would either be Nobel worthy or akin to a tsunami.

"Y/N," said Jisung, "I have an idea. Just play along."

He dragged you to the middle of the restaurant, earning stares from the onlookers who were peacefully eating. His right leg bounced up and down as you glared at him. What are you doing? you mouthed at him. Just trust me, he said back. You knew about his social anxiety. Then why on earth was he putting himself in such a situation?

He took a few steps backwards, letting go of your hands, and dropped down on one knee. Jisung took out something shiny out of his pocket and quickly wiped it on his sweater. You looked at him in confusion, eyebrows raising in disbelief when you realized what was happening.

"When I first met you, I knew you were the one for me. Everything about you fit everything about me as if we're meant to be. I don't know the definition eternal, but if we were to consider the conventional meaning... I would like to have the honor of spending the rest of it with you."

You arched an eyebrow, wondering how long it took your best friend to come up with that. Coming back to your surroundings, as if on cue, your hand flew to your mouth and your eyes began to water (more so because of how difficult it was for you to contain your laughter, but oh well; at least it got the job done.)

You rapidly began to nod, grinning at him ear to ear. He smiled back at you, slipping the ring onto your finger. You look down at it, suppressing yet another snicker after seeing the tacky pawn shop ring that adorned your hand. Jisung quickly wrapped his arms around you, picking you up and spinning you around. You giggled into the crook of his neck as the room burst into applause.

People came up to you with their congratulations while you two went to the counter to place your orders. "Two chicked burgers and one large french fries to go please," said Jisung kindly. He cocked his head towards you, "Baby, do you want the oreo milkshake?"

Jisung calling you 'baby' caught you by surprise. A part of you had nearly forgotten that you still had to put up the act. Blushing furiously (because you forgot, not because Jisung called you baby with a low drawl, obviously), you replied with a simple, "Sure. Thanks, honey." You smiled in achievement as Jisung began stuttering, cheeks tinted red.

"Oh, it's on the house for the soon to be married!" said the kindly old lady working the counter. Jisung quickly grabbed your food and the two of you rushed out of the store. As soon as you turned the corner, you both burst out laughing again.

"Jisung," you slapped him on the chest, "I feel so guilty!"

He just gave you a sheepish nod, grabbing a french fry and popping it in his mouth. You continued protesting but he put a finger on you lip and tilted the bag of food toward you. You gave him an admonishing look, picking up the food. He threw an arm around your shoulder while you settled into the curve of his collarbone, eating and walking in comfortable silence on the way home.

That was when, you thought, that was when you first started seeing him as someone more than just a friend.

-

Jisung tapped you impaitiently. "What say we do it again?" he asked sweetly.

"Oh my god Jisung, stop," you said pushing him playfully. He pouted at you while you glared at him, until Chan came up to the two of you and asked if he could talk to Jisung alone.

Jisung gave you an apologetic smile and strolled away with Chan, chatting away about something. As soon as he left, you let out a long exhale.

Nobody warned you about how painful being in love with your best friend would be. Nobody told you about how difficult it would be to restrain yourself from confessing all you feelings. Nobody told you how torturous it would be watching him gaze at other people, knowing that he would never look at you the same way.

You pinpointed that afternoon as the day when you started looking at Han Jisung through rose-tinted glasses. You went from being comforted by his light touches to craving them. You found yourself wanting to be something to him, something more than just a label of a 'best friend'.

You wanted him, wholly and completely, and were prepared to give yourself to him in the exact same way.

You would never, in a hundred years though, tell Jisung about your feelings. You had made up your mind. Telling him that you loved him would put your friendship at risk. You would much rather have Jisung at an arm's length than not at all.

You sat in the bench, lost in thought when you felt a throat clear in front of you. There Jisung was propped up on one knee, rattling off the same words he had told you all those months ago. He had a twinkle in his eye. You had tears in yours.

Jisung always lauded your performance in that tiny café. He said that your on command crying was so exceptional that 'aspiring actors should be grateful that you decided to settle on sound engineering'. You decided to spare his feelings and not tell him that your tears were a result of the absolute absurdity surrounding the entire situation.

The second and only other time that Jisung had whipped out his ring and you had whipped out your bridal tendencies was when your entire friend group was half-drunk in a bar, celebrating after mid-terms week. Jeongin wanted a full play by play of what, by then, was an iconic party story. You both went at again, albeit a little sloppily considering your inebriated state of mind.

This time though, tears ran down your face mercilessly. You couldn't take it anymore, your feelings growing and growing into something bigger than you could fathom. What started as the fluttering of a lone butterfly turned into a swarm of them and this, this was your breaking point.

Jisung looked at you with concern in his eyes. "Y/N? Are you okay? Is everything-"

"Stop," you snapped at him, "Just fucking stop, Jisung. Please."

He looked at you in confusion as you stood up and walked away.

-

The first place you went to was the hotel you were staying at. You quickly ran through the streets, wiping away your tears swiftly. There was something inherently wrong with you. You had utterly fucked up. You should have just played along. You should have just said yes. You should not have been hoping for something that you knew was out of reach.

You sat on your hotel bed when you heard a knock on your door. When you swung it open, Hyunjin and Seungmin stood there with an armful of chocolates and identical, all to familiar expressions on their face. Pity.

"Don't have a love life of your own so you came to interfere in mine?" You asked dryly, beckoning them inside. Out of everyone, only Hyunjin and Seungmin knew about your crush on Jisung.

-

You stood in the kitchen silently, swallowing the lump in your throat. Jisung was in the other room talking about this really pretty and amazing new transfer in their music production course. With every word of praise he spoke about her, another piece of your heart broke apart.

When you couldn't bear to listen to anymore of the incredible things that the enigmatic 'new year girl' had done anymore, you retreated into Felix's brightly lit kitchen. You opted to find solace in the soda that bubbled in your red Solo cup and the smell of brownies that somehow still lingered despite being taken out (and subsequently consumed) over an hour ago.

Hyunjin and Seungmin were walking into the kitchen when they spotted you. Hyunjin, ever the empath, knew that something was up with you. He attempted to talk to you about it, but you kept shutting him down. Seungmin, who was the most like you in the entire group, knew you needed time and lightly rested his fingers on Hyunjin's arm.

"You can stay," you said, your voice breaking in between. The three of you just stood there, the only sound being muffled chatter and the occasional sip of soda in your case and beer in theirs. Seungmin must have given Hyunjin a signal of affirmation when he turned to you, mouth opened as if to ask you a question.

He was walking on figurative eggshells when he asked you hesitantly, "You like him, don't you?"

You looked up at him with tears in your eyes and that was all it took for the two boys to quietly slip out of the apartment with you, grab ice cream and listen to your pathetic dilemma. Vowing to help you if you could keep Minho from yelling at them about the cat toy they had happened to lose, the three of you formed an extremely unlikely yet strong friendship, built on the very foundations of your pathetic unrequited love.

-

Hyunjin laid back on your bed and you settled to sit down beside him. He wordlessly handed you the chocolate, waiting for you to open it as Seungmin opted to sit down on the armchair across from the bed. Oddly enough, you had grown extremely close to the two of them after the conversation you had in the kitchen six months ago. Apart from Jisung and your roommate Reina, they were the people you were closest to.

Seungmin scoffed, "If you had a love life, we wouldn't be here in the first place."

You swore at him and threw the wrapping paper towards him. Hyunjin turned and attempted to giggle into the bedsheet undetected but earned a light slap from you in response. You slouched beside Hyunjin with a sigh, handing him block of chocolate, "Jisung told you, didn't he?"

"Yep," said Hyunjin loudly, chewing his chocolate. Seungmin pulled a face at him as you snapped a finger in the air to get their attention.

"Okay, so?"

Seungmin's eyes turned towards you. "He was horrified thinking that he had overstepped his boundaries blah blah blah, can't lose your friendship, ya da da," he said in a bored tone, "Please tell him you're in love with him. It will spare us all the pain."

You glared at him. "What if he- Hyunjin! Don't eat all of it!"

"I got you another," he said between mouthfuls, "and listen up. You know how we're your go to relationship venting people right? Well, turns out Minho hyung and Changbin hyung have taken up those responsibilities on Jisung's end. We met them up on the way here and, well, you both need to talk to each other."

Hyunjin finished triumphantly and reached for a bag of chips that lay innocently on the bedside, unaware of the fate that was about to befall them at the hands of a certain Hwang Hyunjin. Seungmin just pinched the bridge of his nose and said, "Look. Talk to him at that restaurant we'll be going to tonight, okay? You'll be all dressed up and maybe that'll help your cause considering how you look like a homeless person half the time."

You threw him a pillow and grateful smile in response.

-

"Can we talk?" asked Jisung as he stood near the chair next to you. Hyunjin shot you an encouraging thumbs up while Seungmin raised his glass of soju at you, a remind that you weren't allowed to drink yourself senseless (as worded by Seungmin himself), until you had a proper and sober conversation with Jisung about your feelings. You motioned for him to sit down on the chair beside you and Jisung followed suit.

The two of you sat in silence, and for the first time, it was heartbreakingly awkward. Silence with Jisung was never supposed to be like that. It wasn't supposed to be heavy. It was supposed to be a moment when you could just sit quietly and collect your thoughts. It was a moment when you would need a break from life, put the entire ordeal of existence on pause, and not have to explain why. It was a gift only Jisung could bestow upon you, and a curse only he could understand as well as.

"I have something to say as well. I'm sorry for running off like that," you say apologetically, in an attempt to break the silence. Jisung wordlessly hands you over a piece of what looks like green paper. It's a ring. A paper ring. It matches the pink one on his finger that he fiddles with unconsciously. You resist the overwhelming urge to place your hand on top of his and lace your fingers together.

"Oh. Is that all?"

"No- um, actually," you begin and then falter. Jisung looks at you intently, eyes prodding. It was almost as if was waiting for you to say something. His piercing gaze retreats and his expression transforms into one of defeat. He opens his mouth slightly to say something, which you do as well.

You take a deep breath, ready to deliver a confession that would rival that of the likes of a 16th century lovestruck noble, born from the pages of a Shakespearian play when you both blurt out at the same time, "I like you."

Jisung continued rambling, "I didn't know how to tell you. You're so smart and funny and beautiful and amazing that I thought you would never like me that way. I pretended to like other people so that you feel jealous, because, apparently according to Changbin hyung and Minho hyung, that is extremely effective. I should have known not to take advice from a man who literally calls his treadmill his wife and a cat mother. But I was desperate. And I didn't know and-"

"Jisung," you laughed, giving him a small shake, "I like you."

"Wait," Jisung's eyes widened as he stumbled over his words, "For real?"

You shake your head up and down, still processing everything. Jisung liked you. You. You, who were quick to snap at people when they hurt someone you loved. You, who waited and pushed until after a deadline. You, who either loved passionately or not at all.

Being loved by him was all you ever wanted, but how could he love someone as tangled up of a mess as you?

Jisung gave you a knowing look. He took you hands in his when he said, "I meant it all. The proposal. I don't know the meaning of eternity but, you give me a reason to look for it. If I look for the meaning of eternity then I have an excuse, an explanation as to why I should spend the rest of my life with you."

You looked at him, unshed drops of water reflecting in his eyes. Oh, those eyes you fondly called 'bob-shaped', those eyes that you could drown in.

"Jisung," you asked softly, "Is this the part where we kiss?"

Jisung rested his forehead on yours and gave a low chuckle, "I'm supposed to to be the idiot in this relationship, not you."

He pressed his lips onto yours and your reciprocated, ignoring all the cheering and hooting coming from the other side of the room. This moment belonged to the two of you. There was nobody you would rather give your heart too than your best friend Han Jisung, and there was nobody whose heart Jisung would rather have fit in his palm than yours.

• friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Changbin x reader

Chan , Minho, Hyunjin, Jisung , Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin.

genre: exes to friends to lovers, angst, happy ending

warnings: smut, mention and vague description of depression.

a/n: I tried something different for Changbin's part of the series and i don't think it's how I wanted it to be, but this is the best i can come up with rn. So here's almost 4k of smut and angst and angsty smut.

Your dress is too tight and your shoes are killing you, and this is all your fault. There’s a guy sitting on the other side of the table and he’s polite, he’s good looking, he has a good job and he is a nice guy all around. But he’s not… he’s not for you. No one is for you, you’re destined to be alone and, since you broke up with Changbin, over a year ago, the world has been sending you clues that confirm this theory.

Not that you’re an expert in relationships: in your first relationship your boyfriend cheated on you, and your last (number 2 out of 2, if we want to be precise) ended up with two broken hearts and a lack of hope about love.

The story goes like that: you met Changbin in college and you were suddenly drawn towards him, his sunny disposition, his loud laugh and his gorgeous smile. You didn’t share any classes, but you had a couple of common friends of friends, so it wasn’t too far-fetched hoping to meet him at a party, and you did. You danced so close to each other you can still taste his cologne on your tongue, his strong hands on your hips and you hoped they would leave marks on you. He walked you to your dorm and asked permission to kiss you, asked you out the next day, asked you to be his girlfriend the next week. It was all perfect, he was perfect, and you were so happy your first real love was him. You knew he loved you by the way he would touch you anytime he made love to you, and you knew you loved him. So you told him you loved him, and he complained he wanted to be the first one to say it. He kissed and bought you flowers on the way to the restaurant. On his weekly call with his parents he talked about you, told them he wanted to bring you home, that you were the one he would marry, and wanted them to consider you a daughter. And you loved every single word that left his mouth, wanting the same things.

And when you won a scholarship for a two year abroad program, he promised he would call every day, he would save money so he could come visit you. And he did, he called everyday, he wrote constantly, he would order flowers and have them delivered to you, he came to you when you felt homesick just a month after having left.

But it broke you. The constant loneliness, the distance, the lack of physical reassurance you were used to having from him, the absence of his smell in your nose, the absence of him was too much. He tried to comfort you, he doubled his calls and messages, he surprised you again outside your last class on a Friday, he held you closer to him, whispering how much you meant to him, how proud he was of you, how he was gonna marry you, how happy you were making him. He never wavered, never doubted your love, never complained, never broke his promises, never even considered putting an end to it. But you did.

You broke up with him. Constant images of him falling in love with some other girl he met in college, images of him being happy without you, being happy with his friends, carefree and not tied to someone too far to be relevant; it was too much, and you did what you did trying to protect yourself from even more suffering. You broke up with him and asked him to please stay your friend. In hindsight, you know it was wrong. You did him a disservice even just thinking he would cheat or forget about you just because you were physically distant, but emotions are not something you can easily reason with.

In hindsight you know you hurt him in ways he didn’t deserve, but it’s easy to say it now. Now that you’re friends again, with shared friends and enough emotional distance to be able to see each other without wanting to rip your hearts from your chests. Now you can joke about daily stuff, tease each other and eat together, knowing each other and being happy you’re still part of the other’s life. Now you’re friends and he’ll always be the only man you loved, cause you are never going to fall in love again. You’re never letting yourself be vulnerable, you’re never getting into a situation that can lead to a broken heart. Your heart broke when you broke Changbin’s and you left pieces of it in memories of your love for him, in the memories of him looking at you like you hung the moon. But how can you repair a broken heart, when you don’t trust the glue to hold? How can you repair it when you don’t trust yourself not to break it into pieces again?

You can’t. So you keep yourself at a distance from emotions. You have friends, a cat, a nice job. You don’t need anything else. The date is not a bad one, but it’s not what you want. You want a distraction, you want someone who gets you without having to explain yourself, you want someone you can keep at a distance. You’re planning your exit when your phone vibrates and a new excuse comes up in your mind. 

While texting with Changbin, you apologize with your date, saying there is an emergency and you have to leave and you’re sorry and the old trite excuses. You can see Changbin shaking his head while staring at this phone, so you press him for a rescue. He finally decides to enter and approach the table.

“Sorry to bother you, I’m agent Seo and I have to ask you a couple of questions.” He says in a deep voice, one you can recognize from years of bad jokes and mocking Felix.

“An agent?” Asks the other guy, in part suspicious and in part surprised.

You lightly punch Changbin and turn to your date. “Don’t mind him, please. He was born dumb. As I was saying, there's an emergency with a friend and we must go help him out.” There’s a fake expression of contrite on your face, but you don’t want the man to think it’s his fault this date is ending so fast. 

You manage to leave the restaurant quickly, and the warm spring hair is better than you were hoping.

“What were you doing, by the way?” You’re walking at a leisure speed in a tiny alley you both know it’s gonna bring you to the river. This time of the year is the perfect moment to walk along the river, the only downside is the amount of couples walking like you’re going to do.

“I’m trying to work on a song but nothing works. I’m stuck.”

“The great Seo Changbin? The mighty SpearB is stuck?” This, the teasing, the talking, the walking close towards a destination, is familiar like coming home after a long vacation. Everything is sort of weird, like you need to make everything real again, but it’s also exactly like you left it. Everything is still there, waiting for you to come home.

Without noticing it, you walk and chat for hours and it’s too late to be still today but too early to call it tomorrow. It’s the best moment of the night, a moment in which the city is sleeping and magic is possible, it’s a moment outside of time. A liminal time belonging to neither today nor tomorrow. And maybe exactly because of this, when Changbin stops outside your building’s door, wishing you goodnight, you don’t let him go. You hold his hand in yours and ask him not to leave you alone, to come up to your place, to keep you company.

He knows this is gonna break up his heart again, a knife digging deeper on a still open wound, but he can’t say no. He doesn’t know how to. And he knows you don’t mean it as anything more than just sex and the comfort of someone knowing you, knowing how to make you moan and make you cum, but he takes it anyway. He’ll take anything that comes from you. 

Because when you swore you’re never going to have your heart broken, he realized he was never going to get his heart to heal. Because the one he’s sure is the love of his life, doesn’t want love from him.

Just like he accepted it the first time, heart hurting and tears falling from his eyes until he got into Chan’s arms, where he collapsed and mourned your story, he accepts now. A tiny nod and he’s following you into the elevator.

He knows this is gonna hurt, but it’s not new, just different. He hurts when you say you’re not gonna let anyone get close to you. He hurts when you wear something he gifted you. He hurts when his mom asks about you, about how you’re doing. He hurts when Chan begs him to move on, to stop feeling so deep it’s slowly killing him. He hurts because you don’t know any of this, and he hurts fearing the day you might find out. He hurts, so might as well make it hurt for something he craves.

He knows what it is that you want, and he wastes no time kissing you, his lips soft yet demanding over yours, stealing your breath. His tongue is mapping your mouth, but it’s more like an expert of the zone. He spent months, years, worshiping every spot of your body, and he didn’t forget anything. His hands aren’t cautious on your body, either. Pushing and pulling. The green dress is quickly discarded on the floor and so is his shirt and trousers. His eyes might be the same, his voice too, but his body is different. That’s what happens when you try to bury the grief under hours in the gym. His shoulders are bigger, stronger, more defined, and you bite them, leaving marks as you go. Down to his chest and his tummy, luckily still covered by a layer of fat, until you’re on your knees, mouthing at his hard cock still covered by his underwear. If you were honest with yourself, you’d admit you missed this: his eyes filled with lust, the way he tastes, the way you can smell him from this position. But it’d be too much, too raw, so you set honestly aside and try to barricade your heart like you did for the past months.

From your positions you look up to him, eyes pleading with him to let you take what you want, and he’s a weak weak man, and all it takes is a nod from him and you’re finally getting him completely naked. Muscle memory takes the lead, and you’re licking at the head of his cock, humming around it just to hear him moan. You spit on it and use your fingers to help you make his shaft wet, easing the glide. His moans are beautiful, always so vocal and communicative. Changbin’s hands wrap around your head, holding you by your hair, and he fucks his thick cock into your mouth. “You’ve always been so good at this. Your mouth… fuck, your mouth.” His voice is deep and raspy and you’re aching between your legs, wet and neglected. You press your fingers down on your wet cunt, directly on your clit and thrust against them to relieve some of the need. “Please, Bin.” You lick a fat stripe from the base to the head of his cock. He can’t resist your begging, and it takes you both just a moment to fall in bed. Changbin’s on his back, his hands on your hips and you guide his length into your sopping hole. The stretch is a bit on the painful side, but it’s so exhilarating to feel it. Changbin watches you, still, except for his heaving chest and his hands squeezing at your hips, waiting for you to start. Waiting for you to dig the knife a little deeper. With your hands on his chest, you ride him fast and dirty. The room is filled with moans and groans and the squelching sounds you make anytime you move on top of him and the slaps of your ass against his bare sweaty thighs. It’s the most sensual music you’ve heard in ages. “You feel so good, always so good inside me” you praise him and it’s too much for him. Changbin plants his feet on the mattress and moves you: down against his cock and up, and down again. You forgot how addictive the drag of his cock against your walls felt. “It’s because I was made to fuck your pussy, nothing else can compare.” You tell yourself it is just something in the heat of the moment, it means nothing, right?

But it’s just a second later when he’s pulling you closer, strong arms crossed behind your back to keep you pushed against his chest. He’s fucking you fast and deep and it feels so good, he’s always known how to make you cum fast. You’re about to ask for something not even you know what it is, but he knows before you do. Changbin slaps your ass open handed and the sharp pain makes you cry in pleasure and pain mixed. You’re so close already, needing something, anything, and he delivers. He takes hold of your hips again and pushes you down on his cock, your clit pressing against his pubic bone and forces you to grind on him, making you shake, making you cum in an instant. You cry his name when you cum, and for a few moments he’s the only thing filling your mind. Changbin knows overstimulation is welcomed, so he keeps thrusting his hips against you and, without even asking, he pushes as deep as he can inside you and cums. You trust him like you’ve never trusted anyone else, so you can focus on the feeling of being filled, shaking and panting on his chest. You kiss his neck and bite lightly at his collarbone. “Fuck, this was so good…” you whisper. You dismount him but stay close to him, your head close to his on the pillow. Changbin’s heaving chest is glistening under the artificial lights that seep through the window, and you just want to draw indefinite shapes on his skin with your fingers. Changbin’s breath slows down and has an indecipherable smile on his lips. “What?” you ask. He turns his body towards you and for a long moment the only noise you can hear are the noises of the city filtered by the walls and the rustling of the sheets under your bodies. “This was good, you’re right. We should do it again”. You’re not sure that’s a good idea, and your expression tells him without you having to talk. His hand is on your cheek now, slowly sliding down on your neck and stopping there, fingers moving slowly and looking for your pulse point. “You should use me like this again.”

“Changbin…” you lift yourself on an elbow, a frown deep between your eyebrows. He can’t be doing this right now, he knows you. “I know,” he interrupts before you even form a sentence in your mind. “I’m not asking you to get back together. But we’re good at this. So let’s not stop. Use me anytime you want to, I’ll never say no to you.” His fingers keep slowly moving on your neck, your collarbones, your shoulders, and something in your stomach wants to escape, wants to scream and trash your body.

“Why?”

“I told you, we’re goo-”

“Is it just that? You want us to be… what? Friends with benefits?”

“Call it whatever you want.” He knows you too much for your own good, that’s why he keeps distracting you with his fingers and now with his lips on your shoulder, your upper arm, the swell of your still naked breast. You bury a hand in his unruly hair, undecided if you want to pull him in or push him away. Changbin’s tongue is playing with your nipple, wet and warm and so perfect, so skilled. “I don’t…” a breathy moan interrupts your words. “Don’t think it’s a good idea.” Almost as a punishment for your words, he nips at your nipple and tugs at it, still clamped between his teeth. He releases it and licks it, maybe an apology, maybe he’s just enjoying the noises you’re making. “Let me at least have this. I won’t ask for more.” He looks up at you, and there’s something in his eyes that makes you want to cry. Why are you feeling guilty? Why do you feel like you’re breaking his heart once again? “I know you don’t want a relationship, but if this is all I can have, I’m gonna take it.” Guilt gnaws at your stomach. Changbin kisses your sternum, your breast again, and hides in the crook of your neck. “You deserve better than…this.” Better than me.

“Maybe. But I want this. I’ll be glad for whatever you’ll let me have. Are you going to deny it to me?” Are you? With your hand still in his hair you push him away from your neck and kiss him on the side of his lips. “Let me think about it, uh? Let’s sleep for now”.

As soon as his breathing slows down, you slip off the bed to go clean yourself and wash your face. You look at yourself in the mirror, and you hate your reflection. With just a few requests, he made months of walls crumble like a house of cards under a storm. How can you stop the flood of feelings, now that the dam has shattered? And just like your feelings, tears are now cascading down your cheeks and a sob threatens to escape, too loud for the quiet hours. You calm yourself and, once back into the bedroom, you stop to look at Changbin’s sleeping form. He still looks so young, like nothing has changed in the last years, like you didn’t break his heart because you were too scared to suffer. And yet you made him suffer. This beautiful, sweet man who presented you the world into his hands and gifted it to you, who never once addressed to you in a mean way, not even when he had all the reasons to. This amazing man who’s ready to be hurt again just for some crumbles, and who deserves so much more.

You lie in bed again, covering both of you with the light duvet, and trace his facial features with a light touch. Now that you can’t lie to yourself anymore, you admit you missed this. Not just the sex, but the intimacy, hearing his soft snoring at night, feeling his ruffled hair under your fingers, simply just him. You fall asleep with a hand on his chest, counting his heart’s beats.

Hours later, you feel him stir under your arms. During the night you migrated towards him and hugged him. You’re not ready to let him go, physically and figuratively, so you strengthen your hold around his waist and place a delicate kiss behind his neck. “If you don’t have somewhere to go, would you stay?” 

“Ready for round two?” He rebuts, but you could feel the way his breath hitched. “No, maybe later. I was just thinking we could talk.”

“A simple ‘no’ would do just fine.” There’s fake humor in his tone, but he’s not fooling you. Not now that you’re letting yourself notice things again. “Binnie, would you consider dating me again?” 

Changbin’s strong, so it doesn’t really take effort to escape from your hold to sit on the bed and look at you suspiciously and with anger in his eyes. “Don’t be cruel.”

“That’s not-” You sit and rub your face with your hands in frustration. But he deserves patience. “Binnie, I’ve tried to barricade myself from feeling, and I managed pretty well until now. But the thing is… I know I made a mistake breaking up with you, and I know you didn’t deserve it then and you don’t deserve it now, but I'm still so in love with you…” He wipes a tear away from your face but says nothing, so you keep talking. “For so long I couldn't imagine myself with someone at my side, but I'm now realizing it’s because it’s you or no one. And I know I don’t deserve a second chance-”

“Answer one question.” You nod and once again you say a silent thank you to whoever decided to put you in the path of this amazing man. “Why did you break things off?”

“Because I was scared you’d leave me. I convinced myself you would find someone better and set me aside like I never mattered.”

“Did I ever do something to make you feel like that?” You shake your head, hating yourself. “Never, Bin. I was not expecting to miss you so much, and I think I spiraled and I didn’t accept your help. I think I was…”

You can’t say it, but he does it for you. “Depressed.” You sob again, but you’re not alone anymore. Changbin hugs you and throws the covers on both of you, holding and rocking you slowly, remembering it used to bring you comfort. 

“I never stopped loving you.” Hearing your confession is what finally makes him cry. 

It takes a while, but three months later you’re out on a date. You’re happy, holding hands and eating ice cream while watching the Han river’s rapid course and the reflection of the sun on it. Changbin laughs at the ice cream melting down your fingers and, uncaringly of the people surrounding you, he licks it. 

That’s the best thing of being in love with your soulmate, no matter what, you’re gonna end up together.

⭐️MasterList|nbhmoonchild🌙

Just an average writer trying to get her random-ass thoughts out so she feels a lil’ less lonely and a lil’ less crazy. I write mainly Kpop fics and stuff for BTS and NCT, but I dabble in some Day6 and Stray Kids love every now and then. As far as a content range, anywhere from every-day life to fantasy, nothing’s off the table. I keep it pretty PG, smut isn’t really my thing (at least to write anyways), but who knows, I change my mind often. Also, I only use names and likenesses, all of my work is purely fiction and does not in any way, shape, or form reflect on the real people. Do not copy, repost, or translate any of my work please. Everything I write+their rights are reserved under the Creative Commons License. Thank you💜

    -Moonie🌙

💕-Fluff, 💥-Angst, 🖤(M)-Mature, 💀-Supernatural, ✔-Complete, 💬-W.I.P., 🎄-Holiday, 🔮-Fantasy

-General shit works coming soon...

Moodboards:

Bulesque!Au

Bartenders!Kook & Tae

DJ!Hobi

Owners!Jin & Joon

Pianist!Yoongi

CostumeDesigner!Jimin

Waitress/Dancer!Reader

To Your Nation ATLA!Au

SouthernWaterTribe!Reader

NorthernWaterTribe!Jimin

Warrior!Seokjin

AirNomad!Taehyung

EarthKingdom!Namjoon

FireNation!Hoseok

FireNation!Jungkook

FireNation!Yoongi

Pokémon!Au

Trainer!Seokjin

Trainer!Yoongi

Trainer!Namjoon

Trainer!Hoseok

Trainer!Jimin

Trainer!Taehyung

Trainer!Jungkook

Trainer!Reader

Half-Bloods (Percy Jackson AU!)

Cabin 10- Kim Seokjin

Cabin 15- Min Yoongi

Cabin 6- Kim Namjoon

Cabin 19- Jung Hoseok

Cabin 7- Park Jimin

Cabin 11- Kim Taehyung

Cabin 17- Jeon Jungkook

Cabin 20- Y/N

Oneshots:

Kim Seokjin

[What’s Cookin’ Good Lookin’?]  Domestic!Seokjin-💕✔

Min Yoongi

[I Could Use A Hug]  Uni!Yoongi-💕💥✔

Kim Namjoon

[Every Part.]  BestFriend!Namjoon-💥✔

Jung Hoseok

-Coming Soon

Park Jimin

[7:27 pm]  WaterTribe!Jimin-💕💥🔮✔

Kim Taehyung

[Thaw]  HockeyPlayer!Taehyung-💕✔

Jeon Jungkook

[10:34 am]  Firebender!Jungkook-💕💥🔮✔

[Happy.] non-idol!Jungkook-💥✔

Fics:

7 Days Of Halloween

Music To My Ears- Kim Seokjin x Siren!Reader-💕💥💀✔

Follow The Light- Warlock!Min Yoongi x Wisp!Reader- 💕💥💀✔

The Heart Grows Fonder- Kim Namjoon x Dryad!Reader- 💕💀✔

Love Heals All- Jung Hoseok x Elf!Reader- 💕💥💀✔

Sweet Serendipity- Park Jimin x Faerie!Reader- 💕💀✔

My Last Hope- Clairvoyant!Kim Taehyung x Spirit!Reader- 💕💥💀✔

I Feel For You- Werewolf!Jeon Jungkook x Empath!Reader- 💕💥💀✔

Half-Bloods  

--Demigod!OT7 x Demigod!Reader- 💕💥🔮🖤💬

Prologue

ᾰ̓γᾰ́πη

--Cursed!Seokjin x Reader- 💕💥🔮💬

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

More Coming Soon...

Moodboards:

ATLA!AU-NCT 127

Oneshots:

NCT 127:

Moon Taeil

-Coming Soon

Seo Johnny

-Coming Soon

Lee Taeyong

-Coming Soon

Nakamoto Yuta

-Coming Soon

Kim Doyoung

-Coming Soon

Jung Jaehyun

-Coming Soon

Dong Sicheng (Winwin)

-Coming Soon

Kim Jungwoo

-Coming Soon

Lee Mark

-Coming Soon

Lee Donghyuck (Haechan)

[7:27 p.m.]-💕✔

NCT Dream

Huang Renjun

-Coming Soon

Lee Jeno

-Coming Soon

Na Jaemin

-Coming Soon

Zhong Chenle

-Coming Soon

Park Jisung

-Coming Soon

WayV

Qian Kun

-Coming Soon

Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul (Ten)

-Coming Soon

Wong Yukhei (Lucas)

-Coming Soon

Xiao Dejun (Xiaojun)

-Coming Soon

Wong Kunhang (Hendery)

-Coming Soon

Liu YangYang

-Coming Soon

Fics:

NCT 127

Coming Soon

NCT Dream

Coming soon

WayV

Coming Soon

Moodboards:

-Coming Soon-

OneShots:

Park JaeHyung (Jae)

-Coming Soon

Park Sungjin 

Santa Tell Me-💕🎄✔

Kang Younghyun (Young K/Brian)

-Coming Soon

Kim Wonpil

All I Want For Christmas-💕🎄✔

Yoon Dowoon

-Coming Soon

Fics:

         -Coming Soon....

Moodboards:

-Coming Soon-

OneShots:

Kim Woojin (yes, I’m still including him, suck it)

-Coming Soon

Bang Chan (Christopher)

-Coming Soon

Lee Minho (Lee Know)

-Coming Soon

Seo Changbin

-Coming Soon

Hwang Hyunjin

-Coming Soon

Han Jisung

-Coming Soon

Lee Felix

-Coming Soon

Kim Seungmin

-Coming Soon

Yang Jeongin (I.N)

-Coming Soon

Fics:

        -Coming Soon...

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Gif not mine