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lixiebokie · 1 month

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chocolate and ice cream

footballer! jake x reader

genre: very fluffy, reader is slightly insecure and has a big obvious crush on jake, use of she/her

not proof read cuz cba

even with no interest of football the girls still chose to stay back on a friday afternoon to watch the game along with the rest of school. she could have been at home but she wasn’t complaining, watching the team run around the pitch while having no clue what was going on left some sort of excitement. she loved the team aswell. especially jake, she liked watching jake.

in the end they’d won which wasn’t surprising with how often they win but still she was happy for them, and also happy to get home. her best friend had ran up to her boyfriend before she could get a sight on her. either she could walk by herself or have the risk of being the third wheel of them.

she chose the first option. her house wasn’t far from school and it was summer so the sunshine felt nice on her skin. the walk by herself might be relaxing. someone stopped her before she could leave the gates. a taller, more built person. halting her by putting his hands in a stopping motioning and walking backwards.

“jake, congrats!” jake pushed his hair back smiling. the sun was in his eyes and he was trying his best to block it without looking agitated.

“thanks,” he looked around. “where you going?”

“home.” she answered. y/n was slightly confused why he was asking a silly question when it was obvious where she was going. but she also couldn’t help the blush on her cheeks as she got to speak to him.

“um, we’re heading out hee’s diner. you in?” she thought for a moment. the risk of being a third wheel of heeseung and her best friend wasn’t as big if jake was there. and jake was going to be there. was there really another answer.

“um sure.”

“great!” he smiled big showing his bright smiled. he began walking back towards a group of people, the rest of the team.

“found her!” he shouted to her friend. skipping back to his friends to join in their playful fighting.

maybe jake didn’t want her there. it seemed like her friend might have budge y/ns way into their celebration with her girlfriend card. knowing her she’d done it because jake was there. but at the end of the day, it wasn’t a date. it was a celebration for the team. her friends. this was not about her.

heeseungs family had owned the diner for a little over a decade. she wasn’t there for the opening but had been introduced first year of high school when her friends crush on heeseung had become. they would come after school everyday for a hot chocolate in the winter time but also so her friend could find a chance to talk to heeseung.

that’s also the time she’d met jake. she’d began leaving one afternoon because heeseung had invited them to hang out in the back. she had declined, this would give her friend an opportunity to be alone with heeseung. upon her exit she bump into a boy who was entering, it was jake. she had always wished she’d stayed that night. they had only given each other a small smile but as time went on it became a greeting then into conversation.

quickly taking their table the group surrounding a small sized table near the kitchen. her friend and heeseung had dibs seats futher way from the windows and jake and pushed into the other side of the booth with one of his friends either side.

y/n stood awkwardly. she wasn’t particularly close with any of them except her friend, and the two boys. she felt herself moving futher away as the boys got louder and laughed harder.

“hey, someone let y/n sit down.” jake had took notice pushing jay out the way to show them her discomforted face.

“you’re squishing her with your fat asses. sunghoon move.” her friend swatted her hand around.

she awkwardly sat next to jake giving a shy smile then looking down at her lap.

“im gonna go see my mum.” heeseung stood and began pushing out of the booth. “you want anything?”

the boys began listing their orders. “do you want anything?” jake asked in a whisper.

she shook her head at him.

“not even a burger?” she shook again.

“you want to share my waffel?” she could see her friend eyeing her in the corner of her eye. “she’s never been one to request an order. that would be so cute wouldn’t it y/n?”

she looked between them before focusing on jake.

“yeah, sure.”

“get some waffles.” he shouted over to heeseung. “and y/ns wants a milkshake.” heeseung sent a thumbs up before walking into the kitchen. she turned to jake sending a look. he didn’t return in instead giving a playful wink.

she hadn’t been alright after that. jake had asked her a few question of what she was doing after school or if she had any plans for summer. but all her answers were short and quite. jake had flustered her to the point she physically could not look at him in the eyes resulting to his lap or the table. their food had come and jake cut the waffel in half for her. he begun eating his but eyed her as she moved her side around the plate mixing it into the chocolate and ice cream placed on the side.

“you alright?” he asked placing down his fork. his voice was low as his friends got louder.

“yeah fine, just a little late to be eating isn’t it?” jake hummed in agreance. it had gotten darker and she have been home by now.

she wasn’t enjoying herself she wasn’t going to lie but being around jake made her not want to leave.

jake picked up her fork stabbing her mushed side and halfing it. he raised it up until it was at her mouths level. she was confused but opened her mouth enough until the food could enter. he pulled the fork back putting it on the table infront of her. “couldn’t waste a good waffle.” he picked up her milkshake and went to feed it to her like he had done with the waffle but she spotted a few of his friends eyes on her. instead she grabbed the glass off him taking a sip.

jake finished up his waffel collecting the last of the chocolate sauce of the plate with his index finger. she watched as he smeared his finger around licking it off his finger. he pulled his finger up once last time collecting the last of it. going to put it in his mouth then quickly wiped it on the side of her face.

she gasped playfully playfully hitting jake while desperately trying to rub it off her cheek. he stayed laugh giving her no help except passing her tissues.

“gosh you’re too funny to annoy.”

“well i hope you found that funny because.” she in the end they’d won which wasn’t surprising with how often they win but still she was happy for them, and also happy to get home.

her best friend had ran up to her boyfriend before she could get a sight on her. either she could walk by herself or have the risk of being the third wheel of them.

she chose the first option. her house wasn’t far from school and it was summer so the sunshine felt nice on her skin. the walk by herself might be relaxing.

someone stopped her before she could leave the gates. a taller, more built person.

halting her by putting his hands in a stopping motioning and walking backwards.

“jake, congrats!” jake pushed his hair back smiling. the sun was in his eyes and he was trying his best to block it without looking agitated.

“thanks,” he looked around. “where you going?”

“um, we’re heading out hee’s diner. you in?” she thought for a moment. the risk of being a third wheel of heeseung and her best friend wasn’t as big if jake was there.

and jake was going to be there. was there really another answer.

“um, sure.”

“great!” he smiled big showing his bright smiled. he began walking back towards a group of people, the rest of the team.

“found her!” he shouted to her friend. skipping back to his friends to join in their playful fighting.

maybe jake didn’t want her there. it seemed like her friend might have budge y/ns way into their celebration with her girlfriend card.

knowing her she’d done it because jake was there.

but at the end of the day, it wasn’t a date. it was a celebration for the team. her friends. this was not about her.

heeseungs family had owned the diner for a little over a decade.

she wasn’t there for the opening but had been introduced first year of high school when her friends crush on heeseung had become. they would come after school everyday for a hot chocolate in the winter time but also so her friend could find a chance to talk to heeseung.

she had always wished she’d stayed that night. they had only given each other a small smile but as time went on it became a greeting then into conversation.

y/n stood awkwardly. she wasn’t particularly close with any of them except her friend, and the two boys. she felt herself moving futher away as the boys got louder and laughed harder.

“hey, someone let y/n sit down.” jake had took notice pushing jay out the way to show them her discomforted face.

“you’re squishing her with your fat asses. sunghoon move.” her friend swatted her hand around.

she awkwardly sat next to jake giving a shy smile then looking down at her lap.

“im gonna go see my mum.” heeseung stood and began pushing out of the booth. “you want anything?”

the boys began listing their orders. “do you want anything?” jake asked in a whisper.

she shook her head at him.

“not even a burger?” she shook again.

“you want to share my waffel?” she could see her friend eyeing her in the corner of her eye. “she’s never been one to request an order. that would be so cute wouldn’t it y/n?”

she looked between them before focusing on jake.

“yeah, sure.”

“get a waffles.” he shouted over to heeseung. “and y/ns wants a milkshake.” heeseung sent a thumbs up before walking into the kitchen. she turned to jake sending a look. he didn’t return in instead giving a playful wink.

their food had come and jake cut the waffel in half for her. he begun eating his but eyed her as she moved her side around the plate mixing it into the chocolate and ice cream placed on the side.

“you alright?” he asked placing down his fork. his voice was low as his friends got louder.

“yeah fine, just a little late to be eating isn’t it?” jake hummed in agreance. it had gotten darker and she have been home by now.

she wasn’t enjoying herself she wasn’t going to lie but being around jake made her not want to leave.

jake picked up her fork stabbing her mushed side and halfing it. he raised it up until it was at her mouths level. she was confused but opened her mouth enough until the food could enter.

jake pulled the fork back putting it on the table infront of her. “couldn’t waste a good waffle.” he picked up her milkshake and went to feed it to her like he had done with the waffle but she spotted a few of his friends eyes on her. instead she grabbed the glass off him taking a sip.

jake finished up his waffel collecting the last of the chocolate sauce of the plate with his index finger. she watched as he smeared his finger around licking it off his finger.

he pulled his finger up once last time collecting the last of it. he went to put it in his mouth then quickly wiped it on the side of her face. she gasped playfully playfully hitting jake while desperately trying to rub it off her cheek. he stayed laugh giving her no help except passing her tissues.

“gosh you’re too funny to annoy.”

“well i hope you found that funny because.” she looked around spotting the melted ice cream on his side of the plate.

she picked some copying jake’s actions of collecting it with one of his fingers and dripped it along his upper lip. a white stripe tracing just beneath his nose imitating a moustache.

instead of showing a reaction like she had, he simply liking it up with his tongue. she frowned as he began laughing once again. “you’re no fun.” she groaned as he wiped the rest the the excess tissues he’d given her.

“do you mind if i have a sip the waffle is quite sugary?” jake asked. she nodded handing the glass back to him and searching for a spare straw. he hadn’t given her time, his lips surrounding the straw she had just been using. she watched as he took a gulps and dropped it back down.

“heeseungs mum is the best isn’t she?”

it was about time she left. everyone was too loud she was tired and the stunt jake had just pulled left her stunned. luckily a call from her father gave her an excuse to ignore what had just happened and instead give her a reason to leave.

leaving the diner the air had gotten colder and her dad was parked around the corner. someone had followed her out after she bidded her goodbyes.

jake walked with her. his hands in his pockets as he watched her moving along.

“so what are you doing tomorrow?”

she shurgged looking up to him. “nothing exciting.”

“maybe we could meet up? just the two of us?” she stopped turning to him with a confused look. “well i could tell you weren’t enjoining the rodey atmosphere and well i couldn’t talk to you as much as i wanted to.” he kicked his feet around. “so i was wondering if you wanted to go somewhere. we can decide were ever you want so just have a think?”

she smiled up to him, trying to keep her panicking down.

“yeah i would like to..”

“great, i’ll text you.” she had expected jake to walk back towards the diner but instead he leaned down softly leaving a kiss on her cheek.

“i’ll see ya.”

did jake just ask her on a date?

looked around spotting the melted ice cream on his side of the plate.

she picked some copying jake’s actions of collecting it with one of his fingers and dripped it along his upper lip.

a white stripe tracing just beneath his nose imitating a moustache.

“heeseungs mum is the best isn’t she?”

it was about time she left. everyone was too loud she was tired and the stunt jake had just pulled left her stunned.

luckily a call from her father gave her an excuse to ignore what had just happened and instead give her a reason to leave.

leaving the diner the air had gotten colder and her dad was parked around the corner.

someone had followed her out after she bidded her goodbyes.

jake walked with her. his hands in his pockets as he watched her moving along.

“so what are you doing tomorrow?”

she shurgged looking up to him. “nothing exciting.”

“maybe we could meet up? just the two of us?” she stopped turning to him with a confused look.

“well i could tell you weren’t enjoining the rodey atmosphere and well i couldn’t talk to you as much as i wanted to.” he kicked his feet around. “so i was wondering if you wanted to go somewhere. we can decide were ever you want so just have a think?”

she smiled up to him, trying to keep her panicking down.

“yeah i would like to..”

“great, i’ll text you.” she had expected jake to walk back towards the diner but instead he leaned down softly leaving a kiss on her cheek.

“i’ll see ya.”

did jake just ask her on a date?

🐶❤️🐶❤️🐶❤️🐶❤️🐶❤️🐶❤️🐶❤️🐶❤️🐶

#enhypen #jake #enhypen imagines #jake imagines #jake scernios #jake soft hours #jake oneshot #jake soft thoughts #jake drabble #jake drabbles #jake smut

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lixiebokie · 2 months

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giggling and kicking my feet 🥰

bets and situations ; skz ; minho x reader

original ask: requested by anonymous: minho and “is that how you usually get out of these situations? by fucking your way out of them?” please

pairing: lee minho/reader content info: rivals to lovers. street racing. stubborn!reader. placing bets, betting sex (still explicit consent), fucking vs making love. outdoor sex. sex on a car. explicit sexual content. word count: 3400 words.

masterlist. part of the valentine’s day stories series. credit to prompts. requests are closed.

enjoy! <3

Sure, you are a little insufferable.

But Lee Minho is worse.

He carries himself with an elitist pomposity, like he is above the other drivers just because he once raced professionally. Trophies or not, he is out here with the rest of you, illegally racing cars down desert roads, placing bets in the dead of night.

You were content until this fucker came along. Lee Minho and the stupid pretty face that won him fan clubs and brand deals. Ugh. You hate him for having that life and for giving it up when it is a fantasy for you. The world of professional racing is notoriously hostile to women. You admit there is a tinge of bitterness on your side of every interaction, but he goads you like an asshole.

He arrives with his usual entourage. A couple of them are racers, though not professionals, and a couple just spectate and mind his vehicle. He has a nice car, almost as pretty as him.

You whistle as he approaches. He looks at you with his usual exasperation, delicate features pinched with annoyance. His hair was a vibrant red in his racing days, quite the act of showmanship, but it’s a natural dark brown now, framing his mean, stupid, handsome face.

“Hey, pretty boy,” you say. “Finally gonna grow a pair and race me?”

His scowl turns to a bitchy little sneer. He laughs sarcastically.

“Not worth the mileage,” he says. He shoulders past you, his leather jacket against your denim. “Winning against a little girl does nothing for my massive ego.” He says this with a sarcastic flourish, mocking your derision of him.

You know the comment is a deliberately cheap shot. Unfortunately, in reality, Minho is the least chauvinist racer you have ever met, treating the women here with the same basic dignity as the men.

It’s just you he hates, because you hate him too. It was inevitable. You were hostile when first meeting. You challenged him to a few too many personal races. You were a sore loser and even worse winner. What started as an effort to prove something spiralled into a rivalry.

You won the last couple races. You gloated a little too hard and now he is refusing to race you again.

“Sure,” you say. “Sounds to me like you’re scared to lose for the third time in a row.”

He just keeps walking, ignoring you, which is so much more infuriating than when he snaps back.

You decide to keep your distance tonight. If you continue to agitate yourself, you are going to develop a stress aneurysm. So you keep to your own group, race your own races, and collect your own winnings.

But, ugh.

He is right there.

Just in the corner of your eye, just skirting the periphery of your space, just breathing the same night air. When you are looking at him, he captivates you. When you look away, he is like an impossible itch, begging for your attention again. You constantly catch him looking at you too, which does not help matters.

By the end of the night, you feel like a live wire, all electricity and unbound energy. Not a single race has satisfied you. You won three of four, making way more money than you lost, but it is not enough. It is never enough. You already know how good you are. You know you can beat most of these guys blindfolded.

Your only perfect match is Lee Minho. The only victory that matters is that one.

As the crowd disperses and everyone departs, you march towards him. He is saying goodbye to his crewmates, his back to you, but his buddy cracks a grin when he sees you coming. He smacks Minho on the shoulder before turning away.

Minho turns around with a befuddled look on his face. When he sees you, it slackens to that unamused vexation. He pockets his hands in his leather jacket and slouches against his car. He shakes his head as you stomp up to him.

“One race,” you say.

“No,” he replies, without missing a beat.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” is his insufferable reply.

“That’s not an answer,” you say.

“That’s too bad.” He gives you a final shrug then turns, opening his car door, preparing to leave.

“Wait,” you say.

You heart is racing. Somehow, you feel like tonight is different from every other night. Maybe it is the perfect crispness on the breeze, the remarkably clear sky, or maybe just the way those jeans seem to hug his thighs. Stupid hottie. You will have him and his attention. You will get the better of him, one way or another. It was all leading to this.

“One race,” you say. “A bet worth the mileage.”

“I don’t need your money,” he says.

“I’m not offering money,” you reply.

Finally, he closes the car door. He sighs, a very loud and dramatic sigh, like you are the biggest inconvenience on earth.

“What are you offering?” he says, facing you. The disinterest in his tone is betrayed by the curious sweep of his gaze, an up-and-down perusal like he expects to find his prize somewhere on your body.

Oh.

You feel flushed inside, realizing that it exactly what he is thinking. Looking at you with a hungry, lecherous gaze, anticipating you are about to offer up yourself as a potential prize.

It makes your heart stutter and your lips do the same, your next words all tangled up on your tongue. It did not even occur to you to offer such a thing. You hate him, so of course you would never think about him that way. But now that he is looking at you like that, his expression coloured with interest and suggestion, you find yourself too shocked to even parse your feelings.

The only thing that is obvious, abundantly obvious, is the punch of heat in your gut. No, lower. Heat that curls up inside you and makes you second guess. Heat that is curious about the look in his eye.

Then you shake your head. You resist the urge to smack him for throwing you off. You were in control and now you are flustered.

“Not me,” you snap.

His eyes, which have made their way down your whole body, follow the same path up. He meets your gaze eventually. Then he says nothing, because he is the worst, and just lifts an eyebrow at you.

“My car,” you say, with no-nonsense finality. “I bet my car.”

He blinks at you. Long, slow blinks like a cat. It takes him a second to find a sentence.

“Your car,” he says. He tilts his head and squints, looking at you with scrutiny, like he is trying to see through your ploy. “And what do you want if you win?”

“Admit I’m the better driver once and for all,” you say. The words feel a little foolish leaving your mouth. You have been chasing the high of that confession, aggravated every time he dodged it, but saying it out loud makes you feel needy. You clear your throat and stand straight like you are unbothered. “That’s all I want,” you say.

He rubs a hand across his jaw, laughs incredulously, then swings his arms out at his sides.

“Fine,” he says.

By now, everyone else has gone. It is just you and him under the streetlights, the long empty road stretched across the dunes ahead. You stare at one another, like there is no road and no sky, no world at all outside each other. It is intense and all-consuming.

You hold out a hand. He takes it and yanks you closer to him.

“I would have told you that for free,” he says. “Since it’s the truth. You just had to ask.”

Now it is your turn to blink, looking at him with shock. You would have been less stupefied if he called you a tirade of rude names, or tried to weave doubts in your mind. Instead, he smiles at you, and it is not half as smarmy as usual. He drops your hand and turns away, leaving you gawking at the air as he ducks into his car.

He honks the horn, snapping you to attention.

The heat rushes back in a hurry. You swallow, then walk to your car on suddenly shaky legs.

He wins.

Of course he wins.

You were distracted by his parting words. You and him are so closely matched in skill that a fleeting weakness is all it takes for one to overtake the other. You were faring well at the start, but his engine revved and your attention strayed. Your prize was somewhat nullified by his confession, your behaviour embarrassing in hindsight. You bet your car. What were you thinking?

You weren’t. And it was all his fault.

Your car skids to a screaming halt just seconds after him. You smack the steering wheel with frustration.

Maybe I should have just bet my body, you think to yourself, a thought that has you shivering from something other than adrenaline. Thoughts like that are not like you. And Lee Minho is the last man on earth you could ever want. Even though he is simultaneously the only man you want, or at least the only one with an opinion that matters, the only man whose attention you ever want. He is always the highlight of your night.

Oh god, you think with a nervous twist in your gut, I like that arrogant loser.

Facing him is hard and it has nothing to do with losing your car.

He is not gloating because he is not the type. He is just leaning against his vehicle with his arms crossed, watching your nerves and passion get the better of you. He does not flinch when you get right in his face, huffing from exertion.

“Do-over,” you say.

“Absolutely not,” he replies.

“You got in my head on purpose.”

“I can only do that if you let me in,” he says, looking smug.

“One more race,” you insist.

“You have nothing left to bet.”

“Me,” you blurt. “I bet myself.”

You feel some satisfaction at the flicker of surprise that creases his brow, but then he is just staring and blinking again. Your heart still thinks it is in a race, stampeding so far ahead that your whole body is awash with heat.

“You,” he finally says. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, then he tilts his head in that studious way. “What does that mean?”

You feel so hot it is making you a little woozy. It’s just aftershocks from the race, you tell yourself, even though that heat comes from somewhere much more intimate.

You cross your arms stubbornly. You look away. You even stomp your foot.

“You know what I fucking mean,” you snap.

“Is that how you usually get out of these situations?” he asks in a teasing tone. “By fucking your way out of them?”

You refuse to answer. You arms are still crossed, your face still turned.

He touches your chin, a painfully delicate touch. Whenever you do fuck someone, it is hard and fast, like everything else you enjoy. Your greatest rival should be touching you with the roughest touch of all, but it is the very opposite. It is a suggestion of a touch, little more than a caress as he turns your face to his. You swallow until the intense focus of his sharp eyes.

“I don’t fuck like that,” he says. He bats his pretty eyelashes while smirking like a devil. “I don’t have to make bets. I make love to people because they want it. Sorry.” He rolls his eyes and turns away, wiggling his fingers in a sarcastic good-bye wave as he slides into his driver seat. “You can keep your car. I don’t want or need it. Good night.”

You put yourself between the door and car, stopping him from closing it. He looks at you, eyes narrowed more intensely.

“Now, now,” he says.

“I’m a big girl,” you snap. “I don’t need you protecting my honour. I wouldn’t offer to let you fuck me if I didn’t mean it.”

He stares at you, contemplative behind those dark eyes. He has just returned your vehicle so you have no reason to make another bet, other than to prove the veracity of your previous offer: that you do want to fuck him, even if you don’t want to admit it.

“I told you that you can keep your car,” he says.

You are amazed smoke is not blowing out of your ears, considering how hot your face feels.

“I heard you,” you say.

He gets out of the car slowly, holding your gaze the entire time. You take a step back.

Then he walks at you, which forces you to take another backwards step. Step by step across the tarmac. The breeze tousles a bit of his hair, but nothing stops his stride and his eyes never leave yours.

You find it difficult to catch your breath. Garnering this man’s undivided attention has been your only goal for months, and the reality of it is heady. He is intoxicating.

It seems the feeling is reciprocated, given how he looks at you, which just makes you stumble in your backwards trek. He catches your wrist, tugging you upright, yanking you closer. You collide with his chest, disoriented from so little.

“So,” he says. “If you win, we fuck. And if I win, we make love. Is that correct?”

“Whatever, there’s no difference,” you say. You are instinctively combative when flustered, redirecting the source of your embarrassment to confrontation.

It seemingly works. His attention diverts and he says, “Yes, there is.”

“No, there isn’t.”

“Yes, there—” He stops himself from retaliating with the same childish rejoinder. He props his hands on his hips, shaking his head at himself as he stares up at the stars.

Eventually he huffs, rakes his teeth over his bottom lip, then looks at you.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll race.”

Your heart is already revving like an engine. You take another couple steps back to smirk at him triumphantly. You walk right into your car, that smug face dropping in surprise. It gives him the opportunity to crowd you against it, planting his hands on either side of your head. You hold your breath.

“You have to pass my test first,” he says.

“Excuse me!” Your own incredulity resounds. You smack his chest but he does not move.

“It’s just two questions,” he says. “You’re a smart girl. You’ll figure it out.”

He is tormenting you. You hate him. You hope he never stops.

“Fine,” you snap. His smirk makes your whole belly swoop with anticipation.

“Good,” he says, then stands back.

You hold his stare, refusing to show any weakness. At least you can catch your breath in the space between you.

Then he says, “Get on your knees.”

Your legs are already shaky – from nerves, from the dwindling adrenaline of your race. There are a lot of reasons your knees buckle. Plenty of explanations for why you do not hesitate, sinking to your knees right there on the road.

Your gaze drops, flustered by his demand and your response. You look at his shoes, all black, well-worn, scuffing the tarmac as he steps towards you.

“Now tell me,” he says, then gathers a fistful of your hair and yanks your head back. He meets your gaze as he says, “Is this fucking or making love?”

Then his fingers are in your mouth. You let him in without any hesitation, like your whole body is instinctively attuned to his. His grip is firm, his fingers relentless, undoubtedly fucking your mouth with the sloppy, mean thrust you would expect from an enemy. Still, it feels good, unbelievably so, your mouth wet and hot and his fingers sliding over your tongue, the soft suction of your lips making his eyes blaze and his throat bob as he swallows.

When he slides out, a trail of spit connects his fingers to your lips. Your lips quiver with a shuddering breath.

“Well?” he says.

You swallow, but eventually manage a weak, “Fucking.”

“Good,” he says, grinning that wicked grin. “That’s one out of two. How about this one?”

He drops to his knees. You are face-to-face now, kneeling on the road in the dead of night. There are no witnesses to this scene except maybe the stars, the clear night revealing all your secrets.

His face is as open, his expression suddenly so devastatingly soft and vulnerable. Your breath stutters before he even moves. He cups your cheeks with both hands and draws you to him.

Your eyes close when your lips touch. He strokes his thumbs across your cheeks and licks into your mouth with decadent slowness, like he wants to savour every second of your taste. Your mouths move together like they were made for each other, never racing too far ahead. A perfect give-and-take.

When he stops, you feel dizzy and bereft, but only for a second. He cups your jaw and tilts your face just so, then his fingers are parting your tender lips and the taste of him is on your tongue once more. Your eyes close and you moan thoughtlessly, bobbing your head to the gentle rhythm he sets.

“This,” he says in a feathery-light voice.

You shiver as he slowly withdraws his fingers. He wipes his thumb across your lips to clean you. You let him cup your chin and tilt your face, this time so he can look you in the eye.

“Tell me what we’re doing,” he says.

The suggestion makes you throb. You are hot and aching when you admit, “Making love.”

“Good,” he says, then pecks your lips before rolling onto the balls of his feet and shooting upright. “Now we can race.”

It is a perfect draw.

You are both distracted. When you slam on the brakes in the same place at the same moment, it is with a singular purpose in mind.

Doors slam. You meet in the space between your vehicles.

“I won,” you say, just to be argumentative.

He is shrugging out of his jacket. It his the ground. He does not break his stride, already going for his belt. Your knees nearly buckle again.

“Fine,” he replies. “Then get over here. I’m fucking you on the hood of my car.”

Fucking you is exactly what he does. It is not making love. He strips you methodically, your jacket and shirt and bra. Your jeans get shoved down past your knees and he bends you over the hood, still warm from the purring engine. You are hot and frantic, cheek pressed to the hood of your rival’s car while he works you open and shoves himself inside you.

You make a sharp sound then a low moan, hands plastered to the hot hood. He fucks you like he races you, without holding anything back because he knows you can take him.

It feels as primal as a race, the animal instinct that conquers you in a rush of adrenaline. It is your singular focus, the steady thud of him inside you. You do not care about appearances, about seeming ridiculous, meeting every thrust and moan with your own. He sounds good and feels better, your bodies in harmony, chasing each other to the finish line.

He yanks you up, your back arching as he turns your head for a kiss. It puts you over, clenching hard around him, setting him off. He makes a soft sound then groans with pleasure. He stays there for a minute, both of you breathing hard.

“I want you to keep your car,” he finally speaks, “because I need you to come back tomorrow and race me again.”

You gasp when his hand moves between your legs, working you up again, slowly but surely.

“Because next time I’ll win,” he says. “You sounded so good getting fucked. I want to see your face when you come on my cock again and again from making love.”

“Won’t happen,” you say, even while your on the cusp of doing just that.

“Mm,” he says, then laughs that light, evil laugh as you come all over his hand. He kisses the side of your head and says, “Wanna bet?”

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lixiebokie · 2 months

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i will be updating sorry i love you veryy soon so lmk if you want to be added to the taglist list!! ❤️

#straykids imagines #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin smut #felix imagines #felix smut #straykids #lee felix #hwang hyunjin

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lixiebokie · 2 months

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fr someone be my moots 🥺

i want more mutuals!!! please message me!!!! pls be my friend <3

#sturniolo triplets #straykids

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lixiebokie · 2 months

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Cutest little lady💖

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lixiebokie · 3 months

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I NEED MINHO RN

Call my bluff, call you ‘babe’ ♡ Minho

♡ 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

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lixiebokie · 3 months

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sorry i love you

genre: lee felix x reader, hwang hyunjin x reader college au; dancer!felix x artist!reader x artist!hyunjin, fluff, angst

masterlist

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chapter 1: dorm parties

“do you think everyone has a soulmate?” felix thought for a moment popping another cherry into his mouth.

“i would like to hope so.” he responded eyes not leaving the view of the open city from the small window of bedroom. he watched as the car zoomed past and people walked past. “i hope i have a soulmate.”felix broke his gaze now looking at y/n. “are you serious? ofcourse you have!”

you were 15 then. everything was so different. felix was so different. 15-year-old him would have never threw a house party like this. so full that the wriggle past people was almost impossible or loud booming rave music that you both would make fun of together.

but everything had changed. of course it had you were no longer teenagers, now young adults who had classes tomorrow morning but in lixs famous words ‘deal with it in the morning.’

“excuse me.. sorry..”

“hey move the fuck out the way!” nessa shouted as y/n watching the crowd of people part and nessa walked through. the scene was what she imagine moses would look like parting the sea. she was always so confident but no matter what she never switched up no matter how much attention she got.

unlike felix.

“abit harsh ness.” the other girl rolled her eyes playfully.

“if you want a job done you have to do it.”

y/n still doesn’t know how she manage to land a best friend like nessa kate.

if life was a movie she’d be the it girl. everyone loved her, never afraid to speak her mind yet still able to keep her opinions respectful until it didn’t need to be.

“so, you’re going to find a cute boy to talk to and i’m going to find minho. we’ll meet back in 40?” she watched her hair flick around as she turned as if she was looking for someone.

“minho? why?” y/n asked. it was obvious nessa had a thing for him but that was something only y/n knew. everytime she seen him on campus she’d send him a sweet smile or a shy ‘hi’ if she was feeling confident. usually followed by y/n trying to dodge felixs eyes trying to catch hers. the rest of the group shit on felix for ditching them for him how would they react if nessa started dating him? especially hyunjin..

“i just want to talk to him..” she shyed away looking off to hide her smile.

“hm or kiss h-“

“okay bye love you. ttyl!”

——

felix looked gorgeous tonight. dyed blonde locks pushed back with a few strands hanging over his eyes. black outfit tightly wrapping his tiny figure, his sleeves pulled up that the veins in his arms were visable.

his freckles were y/n’s favourite thing on lixs face. they weren’t as visable as usual but still could be see up close.

he was just.. stunning.

when felix had found y/n’s eyes he couldn’t help but smile across the room to her. he lifted his arm motioning her to come over to him.

“im so happy you’re here.” he shouted over the music close to her ear. she was tense from how close he was and his hands on her arms holding his balance.

“it’s..full.”

“i know. crazy..” the song changed and so did felixs mood. his mouth widened into a smile and his eyes went big showing the blue contacts he’d put in.

“this is my song!” he shouted loud enough that she could hear clearly over the music.

one thing about felix that never seemed to change was the love he had for dancing. the song was familiar, his first or second dance recital he had perform this song with a few of his team mates.felix took a few steps back letting go of y/n’s arms and began to recall the moves. they weren’t perfect, but how perfect could they in a room crowded with people. but almost accurate.

felixs dream had never to be a dancer, it was something he did for fun. just for fun. he wanted to be a baker. open his own bakery on lonely street, the street opposite the beach so he’d have the view of a life time while doing what he loves.

so when he changed his culinary major to dance everyone was quite shocked. something was off about it. that was until he told the others about how his new friends had offered him a place on their dance team. also known as the schools dance team and one of the most talented in the country.

y/n watched as a circle had formed around felix as he kept dancing. he turned to her showing a smile after seeing the attention he’d gained, not missing one move. finally finishing he stuck a pose as people whistled and cheered for him.

“that was good, blondie.” minho wrapped his arm around the shorter boys shoulder.

“thanks min.” minho pulled back now looking towards y/n would still awkwardly stood with them. he was intimidating, leader of the dance team, there was rumours that even if one mistake was made he have a show made of you.

hopefully felix was able to keep up..

“oh, um this is y/n.” goosebump rised where ever minhos eyes landed on her. he looked back up leaning forward to shake her hand. “she’s my friend.”

friend. yes not best friend this wasn’t high school anymore.

his arm slapped the top of his thigh as he pulled back, straightening his back and looking back to felix.

not even a hello?

“i should go find hannie before he tries to swing off anything.” minho stepped back rocking on his heels, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“good idea, i’ll find you later.” felix nodded and the older awkwardly walked off in a swift manner.

“he’s.. nice.” y/n stuttered out trying to make some sort of small talk but also wanting to get that awkward encounter out her mind.

felix turned from back around his shoulder. “he’s just shy.”

“lee minho, shy?” felix nodded.

“believe it or not he didn’t properly talk to me until i joined danceracha. hannie had to do all the talking.”

and the tension was back.

no matter how close her and felix were nothing could stop the thought that they no longer knew each other. y/n couldn’t even remember the last time a conversation was held for longer than five minutes.

felix wasnt like nessa.

he let the attention get to him.

it wasn’t bad at first, puberty hit and he started getting flirted with, going on dates. it was whatever but then he got cozy with the frat boys and switch his major from culinary to dance. two things he loved but something in the way he followed lee minho around campus seemed to be strange. then felix started partying, doing frat things even when he wasn’t apart of it.

he didn’t care for uni anymore it was more of a live life now thinking about it later mentality one felix never use to have. live fast, love dance. the moto of his dance team really reflected his new way of living. none of it affected y/n as much as the others hated it. well except she was slowly becoming more distance with the boy she was in love it.

“i should go find-“

“actually i wanted to ask you something.”

felix interrupted before she could walk off.

yes? she wanted to ask. anything for you felix.

but instead she turned back around and just looked at him, waiting for him to finish what he wanted.

“the girls dance team, you know the one hyunjins sister is in, wants a new logo. i showed them a few of things you’ve drew and they’d love to meet you.”

y/n sighed. does he really expect her to want to do more drawing on top of her uni work?

“you don’t have to but i thought it would be nice. and i’m friends with some of them. it might be nice to get close with some of them, it must be tiring only having nessa for your girl problems.” is he serious right now?

y/n shrugged. “couldn’t you ask hyunjin?”

“you think hyunjin is going to agree to work with ‘preppy bitches’?” felix air quoted hyunjins words before throwing down his hands looking with a dumbfounded expression.

chan: haven’t seen jinnie for a while is he with you?

y/n glanced at her phone then looked back up at lix.

“ill think about it”

“great!” felix answered before walking off to meet minho and the rest of dance friends.

you: no, i’ll go see if i can find him.

it was a surprise hyunjin didn’t end up like felix. he was just as attractive: tall, long healthy brown shoulder length hair, dumpling face with a piercing gaze and great sense of style. but hyunjin didn’t let just anyone get close to him.

he wasn’t shy for say, just not outspoken.

“hey have you seen hyunjin?” y/n asked walking up to seungmin surrounded by his music friends. he shrugged. “check lixs room?”

“oh y/n!” she could tell the voice out. she was caught up to by a few girls on two or so one being yeji, hyunjins younger sister.

the two other girls she recognised as girls on her team.

“felix told us you’re designing our new logo. that’s so neet!”

“well you know me.” she awkwardly laughed with the girls as they looked at one another. she couldn’t believe felix had already told them she would do it. even after minutes prior telling him she wasn’t sure. if he didn’t want to let anyone down no way should that have anything to do with her.

“come get a drink with us?” yeji linked her arm guiding her to the kitchen.

“i really shouldn’t.. im suppose to find-“

“it’s just one, then we’ll let you go. promise.” in the kitchen there was lots of girls all wearing the same dance jacket.

she started to feel nervous as they got closer and the girls all turned to smile at them. their was also a boy, dark hair and small frame. he stood with them but went quiet when they reached them.

“everyone this is y/n. she’s gonna be designing our logo.” the girls all showed her welcome and even a few gave a hug to show their appreciation. there was no backing out now.

she’d rather stress and overwork herself than have 15 angry dancers on her back at all times especially when one was her friends sister and someone she use to be quite close to.

yeji had spent about 20 minutes talking to her about how her uni life was going so far and how she was enjoying everything and her new friends. every other minute she was receiving texts from chan asking her were she was, how hyunjin was. she found other times herself watching felix in the corner of her eye as he spoke to a group of girls. some old one direction song blasting through the speakers next to do the drinks made it almost impossible to hear anyone.

“it’s been so long since we spoke-“

“listen yej i appreciate this but i really need to get to hyunjin.”

“why is something wrong?” he eyes turned doe like and big at the mention of her brothers name. face suddenly filled with worry.

“no he’s fine, just gonna check on him.”

“ahh true, he’s never been a party person. how are we even related?” she laughed looking into y/n’s cup.

“you’ve had barley any drink. want me to go check up?”

she passed her drink to her. “no ill be fine, it was nice catching up.”

——

“found you!” y/n peeked in finding hyunjin sat on felixs small bed. legs crossed with his sketch pad rested on them.

he gave her a small smile as she walked in quietly closing the door.

“just had to escape your sister and her friends.” y/n joked and sat down next to him.

hyunjin rolled his eyes and scoffed. “what about felix?”

“hm? what about him?” y/n peeked up at his name making hyunjin chuckle.

he closed his sketchbook putting it to the side and resting his weight on his arms.

“you spoke to him?”

y/n hummed looking down at the creased duvet. playing with it between her fingers.

“yeah, i spoke to minho aswell. it was terrifying.” hyunjin laughed.

“you spoke to anyone tonight?”

“vanessa.” hyunjin answered pressing at his tiny phone typing a message to someone. “ and chans up my ass making sure i’m okay.”

felixs room was nothing unusual. white walls and laminate floor, a box for his jewellery which stood on top of his drawers of clothes, on the ground next to it a neat folded pile which needed to be put away. but one thing that stood out was a small cork box placed on his desk leant against the wall.

it was full of random shit, a cinema ticket for fast and furious, some photos jotted around of him a dance shows and with the dance team and some of his parents.

not far in front of it stood a framed photo of felix and minho. they were dressed up in one of their dance uniforms. much like the solider uniform cheryl cole wore in her fight for this love music video.

y/n picked it up taking a closer look. felix seemed so happy around minho liked he’d found the older he always wanted but never had.

“what you got there?” hyunjin asked looking over her shoulder.

y/n turned to him not putting down the photo. “you think we were abit harsh on him?”

hyunjin went to scoff but sighed after seeing her sad expression.

“hey i remember this night!” hyunjin avoided and instead pointed to a photo seemly hidden by the photo frame.

she placed it down pulling the photo off its clip.

it was a photo of her. it was from hyunjins eighteenth a night she didn’t remember much of but was one of the best nights of her life. her arms wrapped around felixs neck and his on her waist. both squished together in a big hug but still smiling at the camera. felixs smile wider from his lack of intoxication and eyes red from the flash.

y/n smiled down fiddling with the ends that had creased over time. she felt like she was in that scene from mean girls.

but felix was cady and he wasn’t madly inlove with her like cady was for aaron.

HJ’s 18th

my bff 4 life

was scribbled on the back in felixs swirly writing.

no wonder it had been hidden, felix must have been so embarrassed it wasn’t a good photo to begin with, eyes presented red from the flash and all fuzzy from nessas shaking hands.

y/n felt angry for some reason. it was hidden. the only photo of the group on his stupid cork board was out of sight.

replaced with lee fucking minho.

she threw the photo down making it fly off his desk behind. she didn’t see it land anyway, now truly out of sight.

“i don’t understand why you still like him.“

y/n turned leaning on the desk. what wasn’t there to love about felix? he was kind, and loving. he always put her first, he was ambitious and a great baker. only, only half of that was true now. was she often wondered was she holding onto someone who was no longer there?

“the same way you like nessa.” she shurgged still leaning on the desk behind her.

“except ness isn’t some attention loving-“

the door opened and felix stumbled in. interrupt hyunjin mid sentence.

“please down tell me you were hooking up in my room!” he pinched his nose teasing them.

y/n smiled awkwardly but hyunjin wasn’t as impressed.

he picked up his sketchbook and walked out before felix could say anything else.

felix sighed walking over to his bed to pull out a storage box.

“so, you and hyunjin?”

“it’s not like that..”

felix grabbed rumidged through the box “then what is it?” he asked glancing to her. he grabbed something out the box and pushed it back under the bed. “i thought hyunjin was into ness?” felix propped up his feet so he could hug his knees.

“what are you doing in here?”

“um.. last time i checked this is my room.” he teased rising to his feet. “so?” she sighed. felix had no right to now be interested in hyunjins personal life after bailing on him after 5 years of friendship to play buddies with the dance team.

and hyunjin wouldn’t be happy finding she was going around telling everyone his business.

“i don’t know lix.” felix hummed raising his eyebrow but shurgging off showing he wasn’t as curious as he made out to be.

“oh that reminds me!” he walked to his bedside tide taking a envelope out the drawer.

he came closer to her until he was in speaking distance holding out the card. “happy early birthday from me and the dance team.” she looked to his hand hesitating to take it but she wasn’t going to leave him like that. “i have a comp on your birthday dinner, and i don’t think your friends would want me there anyway.” your friends not our friends. that had just shown felix had completely block the rest of them out of his new stylish life.

it was true, when making invitations to her birthday dinner seungmin had taken felix off the guest list and nessa had to persuade him to put him back on when reminding him of how special her and felixs friendship was but if the group could have it their way, lix would not be there. looks like today is their lucky day.

felix continued on. “but we should go out one night, me and you? to celebrate. not every day you turn 21.”

she nodded taking the card from his hand. “well i better go get this to yeji.” he held up a cropped dance jacket, red with the girls dance team name on the back in diamonds. “she left it last time she was here. so i’ll see you?” and with that felix was gone.

last time yeji was here? excuse me?

🐣🥟🐣🥟🐣🥟🐣🥟🐣🥟🐣🥟🐣🥟🐣🥟🐣

join the taglist!

#stray kids #skz #hyunjin #hwang hyunjin #felix #lee felix #stray kids imagines #hyunjin imagines #hwang hyunjin imagines #hyunjin drabbles #hyunjin one shot #hyunjin smut #hyunjin fluff #felix imagines #lee felix imagines #felix drabbles #felix one shot #felix smut #felix fluff

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lixiebokie · 3 months

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i teared up 🥺💕

i am so obsessed with your writing style and im so happy to see that you like to write kidfics because i don’t see them often !! could you write seungmin as a dad?

sending love <3

alright. kenzie gave me dad!seungmin brain worms. everyone enjoy (i certainly enjoyed writing it) and let me know if this deserves to have a continuation

TINY HANDS | seungmin dad!seungmin. request. 640 words.

Tiny hands.

It’s the one thing Seungmin will never get used to—ten fingers, ten little fingernails, soft skin that he can’t get enough of.

“What are you doing?”

Seungmin looks up just as you’re walking into the living room, freshly showered and hair still damp. Beautiful as ever.

He doesn’t allow himself to be distracted for too long, immediately turning his attention back to the sleeping baby in his lap. His baby.

“I’m counting her fingers.” he says, rubbing his thumb along each individual digit. He could get lost in his own head like this, comparing the size of his own hand to the borderline microscopic ones that your daughter has.

“Well, does she have them all?” you ask as you burrow into the armchair across from him, “Because if she doesn’t then I have a phone call to make.”

Seungmin chuckles and brings one of her tiny hands to his lips, places a small kiss on her knuckles. “Don’t worry, they’re all here.”

Everything about her is so delicate. Seungmin was scared at first, worried that she’d break if he touched her. Born two weeks early, she was smaller than anything he’d ever seen before. Seungmin couldn’t believe that he had a part in creating that, in making a human so beautiful, living proof of your love for one another. It’s still surreal to him, like a dream that he hopes he never wakes up from.

Once he got over his initial fear that he’d accidentally hurt her, Seungmin never spent a second without her close to him.

Sometimes you scold him, tell him that she’ll never get used to sleeping in her crib because she’s always nestled into the crook of his elbow. Even when he’s doing things around the house, he baby wears like a champ, has her pressed up against his chest as he parades around the living room in what was supposed to be your swaddle carrier.

“That wasn’t a gift for you, idiot.” Is what Minho had said the first time he stopped by and caught a glimpse of Seungmin with it on.

“He literally won’t take it off.” you laughed, grabbing the bags of groceries out of Minho’s hands so he could shuffle over and coo over her sleeping figure tucked into the fabric, a proud look on Seungmin’s face.

Seungmin doesn’t know how he’s going to do it when she gets bigger. What if he never gets to carry her again? What if she doesn't want him to carry her? What if her hands grow so much that he can’t hold both of them in his own anymore? Seungmin’s thought about it so many times, has driven himself to tears over hypothetical situations that are eons away from ever happening.

Seungmin holds his daughter like he has the world in his hands. He rubs his nose against her cheeks and smiles when she blinks at him, makes noises that have her opening and closing her mouth in an attempt to copy him. He takes an endless amount of pictures that eat away at the storage on his phone but he really couldn’t care less. He sings to her when she cries and laughs when she burps after every feeding session. He whispers stories to her about how the two of you met when she wakes up in the middle of the night and he has to rock her back to sleep. He hopes and dreams that one day, when she’s older, she’ll know that his love for her extends much farther than any distance imaginable.

Tiny hands. Ten little fingers. Seungmin watches as they wrap around his own and smiles brighter than the sun.

When you eventually move to snuggle up next to him, your head against his chest as you both sit with a finger curled inside of each of your daughter’s little fists, nothing else matters.

This is love, and it’s Seungmin’s to keep forever.

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lixiebokie · 3 months

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idea 1

idea 2

#sturniolo triplets #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #sturniolo triplets imagines #chris sturniolo imagines

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lixiebokie · 3 months

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no offense but the soft uncertain kiss followed by a pause where the people look each other in the eyes and then fucking pull eachother back into a more passionate kiss will always be the most soul destroying trope , catch me lying on the fucking ground sobbing and rewatching The Scene™✌🏼✌🏼✌🏼

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