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justwearthegoddamncardigan · 4 months

Note

could you possibly do a platonic gladers thing where reader was the first to come out of the box? like they came up with the note like teresa but “the first” if that makes sense 😭 anyway the reader is just sort of a parental figure to everyone? whatever gender you’d like to put and scenarios, the thought just popped in my head. ofc do this only if you’d like to!! pls don’t feel obligated!! love ur work <333 /p

HI LOVE THIS!! Thank you for the request ❤

Everyone loves Y/n

Platonic gladers x gender neutral!reader, set during tmr (movieverse)

3k - longish fic but worth it if you love platonic love 🫶

Warnings: discussions of Newt's suicide attempt; but more like the recovery after it, still please take care everyone, also language warning

1. Alby

You're the first one. Welcome.

You stuff the crinkled note back in your pocket just as you've done so many times before, re-examining it and hoping for some clue as to why you're stuck in here alone.

Except- you're not alone anymore.

The boy stands beside the Box, staring around the same way you did when you first climbed out, exactly 30 days ago.

Come on, Y/n. Time to go. You take a deep breath, resolving yourself, and you step out from where you'd been standing hidden in the trees.

The guy notices you immediately and takes a defensive stance, understandably hostile and scared. "Who are you? Don't come any closer!"

"Woah, hey," you raise your arms nonthreateningly, continuing to move slowly towards him. "It's alright."

"Where am I?" demands the boy.

"To be honest, I haven't got a clue," you tell him. "But you've got no idea how happy I am to see you."

His eyes narrow. "What?"

You shrug. "I thought I'd be alone here, forever."

At his silence, you continue. "So I've been here for a month. I was sent up in this Box, like you, with a bunch of resources and... hey, they've sent more stuff," you say happily, peering into the Box.

"Alright listen man," you say. "I don't really have answers for you, but I did start developing a routine for how to live here, and I'd love for us to work together."

The boy holds your gaze for a second, before giving a single nod.

You let out a sigh of relief. "Great, wonderful. I'm Y/n, by the way." You stick out your hand to shake. "Oh- memories. Your name is all you get, everything else is gone. But hey, let's make new memories here, together." You flash a cheesy grin and clap the guy on the shoulder.

You don't know how someone conveys sarcasm in a single look, but the new guy manages it just fine.

2. Minho

"Here, this way- shit."

You turn the corner and see the wall sliding into place, sealing off your exit.

"Which way now?" asks Minho, fear evident in his voice.

"Uh- that was already my backup route," you say honestly, backing away from the closed wall. "Just follow me, we'll find another way back."

You start down a lane, moving faster now, admittedly guessing your way through the paths and taking turns on instinct, aiming for the vague direction of the Glade.

Somewhere across the Maze a Griever lets out a screech.

"Yeah, okay," you mutter. Shuck. "In here, quickly," you direct, pushing Minho ahead into a smaller lane.

"Alright, here's the deal." You squat down, forcing Minho down with you, and keeping your voice low. "If I'm right, we're close to the Glade now. There should be a right turn at the end of the path next to us now, then a left and a straight shot back to the Glade."

"What if you're not right?" hisses Minho, wincing at the Griever's screech.

"Then we're dead," you say flatly. "Cause that Griever's in the same direction we're going. By the sound of it, we'll be running the path right beside it's lane."

"What."

"Look, Minho. Do you trust me?"

He hesitates, before; "Yes, fine. Let's go."

You shoot him a grin, patting his shoulder. "Perfect. Follow me, stay close."

You run through the route you'd explained to Minho, feeling your blood chill as you get closer to the Griever, its screeches becoming deafening.

You turn to check on Minho, who gives you a firm nod despite the terror you can see in his eyes.

The two of you turn into the final stretch, separated from the Griever by a single wall, and you sprint back to the Glade, heart pounding in your chest.

You collapse into the grass, breathing heavily as Minho falls in beside you.

"What the hell happened to you two?" demands Alby, running up to you and Minho.

You sit up. "Maze changed, and there was a Griever near the Glade," you explain. "Too near."

"Bloody hell," says Newt, hands balanced on his hips. "Are you sure this was a good idea?"

So far you and Alby have been the only people to enter the Maze. Today was meant to be a beginner's run for Minho, your newest Glader and technically the Greenie even though he's never acted like it. You wanted to build a team of Runners, to see if more people could help with searching for an exit.

You look to Minho, still bent over in the grass. "Let's talk in the hut," you say, patting his arm.

"What did you think?" you ask, after you've both gotten water and a few minutes to let the adrenaline fade.

Minho flicks his gaze up at you, before dropping it. "I freaked out. I don't think I'm cut out for this Runner klunk."

You hum softly, tapping on the table Gally had lovingly built and sanded until it shone. "Do you think everyone was immediately good at their jobs?"

"Running is different," responds Minho, dodging the question.

"You were fast," you say. "I think you'd beat any of us in a race if we bothered to test it out. And you've got a level head, which is the most important thing when you're in the Maze."

You lean forward. "But you also need the guts to set foot in the Maze in the first place. And Minho, you were the first volunteer to run with me today. That's exactly the bravery we need in Runners."

You're met with silence. "If I asked you to be a Runner," you say quietly. "Would you say yes?"

"You could be asking the wrong person," hedges Minho.

"I don't think so," you say.

"I- why? Why me?"

"Because I believe in you," you say simply. "I think you could do it."

The silence stretches as you wait for Minho's response. Then; "Okay, I'll do it." He gives you a nod, expression resolving.

You sit back, a mock-thoughtful expression on your face. "I mean, I said if I asked you, this was really more hypothetical-"

"Y/n, I swear-"

You let out a laugh, and Minho rolls his eyes at you, grinning.

3. Newt

Overtime, the Gladers have grown into a wider community, with new jobs and groups slowly added.

Alby steps into the leader position and you move into your gardening job, as well as mentoring the Medjacks on the side. You tend to pick up a little of every job, passing what you know to newly formed groups until they can develop on their own.

Minho's grown far beyond what you could have expected from him, moving on to memorising routes, constructing a scarily detailed Map, and hand-picking the new Runners.

Newt becomes a Runner too, and you almost lose him.

They're some of the worst memories you'll ever have, that day Minho ran in in the freezing morning, screaming for help. The Medjack hut was finished literally a day before, and the Medjacks themselves were barely trained to patch up the Slicers. So everyone turned to you... And you were so, so, out of your depth.

You'd built a temporary brace for your own twisted ankle from your first month alone in the Glade, but for this you were completely unqualified and unprepared.

It’s been months now, with Newt slowly healing overtime. You worked with the Medjacks to set up a few movement drills, but it’s been painstakingly slow progress.

“I want to try walking again.”

You lift your gaze to Newt in the dark. “Now?”

“I wanna go outside.”

You hesitate.

“Come on, Y/n, I barely got five steps in today before Jeff made me sit down again. I’m fine, I promise.”

“You’re fine when the Medjacks say you’re fine,” you reply.

“The Medjacks don’t know shit,” retorts Newt. “They’re just making stuff up as they go. That’s what we’ve all been doing.”

“I trust them,” you say steadily. “Alby and I chose them for a reason.”

“Y/n, can you please just let me outside.”

You let out a breath. “Fine. Take your crutches.”

You don’t go far; the ground is too uneven and the crutches slip in the grass. You end up dropping them near the top of a hill.

“Here, let’s sit.”

You reach a hand out to Newt, which he thankfully takes, letting you help him down so you’re both lying back on the grass, facing up at the night sky.

“It was a good idea,” you say, breaking the silence. “I get why you wanted to come out.”

"Yeah," says Newt. He jerks his chin upwards. “The stars, they’re what I’m here for.”

You tip your head back, following Newt’s eye line. “You know, my first night here, I hadn’t built a place to sleep. I just lay on the ground like this, looking up at the stars.”

Newt shifts, moving one hand to point upwards. "I recognise most of the constellations," he tells you.

"Really?"

"Yep. That's Orion, right there. And over there is Gemini. And that star is Sirius, in Canis Major."

You search your mind for a hint of a memory, trying to call up knowledge you might have had before being put here.

"It's all bullshit," says Newt.

You turn to him in surprise.

"The stars," he says, still staring upwards. "None of them should be arranged like that, the constellations wouldn't be that close, or even in the same area, if this was real."

"Oh," you say, voice soft.

Newt lets out a flat laugh. “I don’t know why they let me keep this knowledge, when they’ve taken everything else away.”

He sits up, eyes flicking down to you. “…sorry.”

You shake your head, sitting up and turning to face him. “It’s okay. I’d rather you say this stuff than keep it bottled up.”

“Right,” says Newt. “I guess we should… get back to the hut.”

Neither of you move to get up.

“Newt,” you say. You face forward, resting your arms loosely around your knees.

”Yeah?”

“Please stay with us,” you say, voice quiet. You turn to him, letting go of your legs to gently take his hands. “We need you, I- we- okay, let me just-” You take a deep breath. “Listen, we’re gonna get out of here some day. And I want to sit with you under real skies, with real stars, so you can tell me each and every constellation you see. Cause I know your nerdy ass studied all of them in another life, and I don’t know, when we run out, we can just... make up new ones? I think that’s something I want to do with you.”

“Yeah, okay- yes. Okay.” Newt’s eyes are wet, and he squeezes your hands right back.

“And talk to us,” you continue. “When you’re struggling, or hurting, or… anything. Just talk to us, Newt. Please. We need you, and we care about you, so much.”

“I’ll try, I’m trying.”

“That’s all I’m asking,” you say.

“God, okay,” you start, after staying there under the stars for a while. “Look at us. Let’s get back in the hut, c’mon.”

You help him up, handing him his crutches.

“So, we’re trying,” you say, looking Newt in the eye.

“Yes, we’re trying.”

You get the smallest of smiles from him, and count it as the biggest win.

4. Gally

"First he breaks all our rules, then he tries to convince us to abandon them entirely? These rules have held us together for years, why are we questioning them now?"

You frown slightly, taking in Gally's words from your seat at the back of Council Hall.

"If Alby was here, he'd agree with me, and you know it."

You watch pain flicker across Newt's face for a second, before he speaks. "Let's take a break. I want Minho, Gally, and Y/n in here, the rest of you just give us ten minutes."

As the others clear out, you join the three in the centre of the room.

"Newt, this really isn't complicated. That shank broke our rules, and he needs to be punished," says Gally.

Newt sighs, and you notice how tired he looks. He needs Alby. "You're not wrong, Gally, but..."

"Y/n, what are you thinking?" asks Minho, jerking his chin at you as Newt trails off.

You raise your eyebrows. "You know I have no say in this, Min. I'm not a Keeper, or any kind of leader. I'm pretty much just here to watch the meetings."

"Seriously, Y/n?"

"Fine," says Newt. "Then suppose we're asking you as friends asking a friend, not as a council leaders or Keepers."

"I don't-"

"Just speak, Y/n," says Gally exasperatedly.

"I- alright, the idea that Newt's having right now, mine's the same."

"Well, we'd love to hear it from your mouth," says Minho drily.

"Yeah Y/n, what am I thinking?" Newt crosses his arms, lifting a brow.

You sigh. "Punish Thomas for breaking the rules, but make him a Runner."

"You can't be serious," says Gally immediately.

Newt shrugs. "They're right, that's what I was thinking."

"I'm down to train him," says Minho. "I think he'd make a good Runner."

"Good. Call the Council back in then, we'll make the announcement."

"You're making a mistake," says Gally angrily. "Tell the others without me." He storms out as the rest of the Keepers file in.

"Gally-"

"Nah, Fry."

"I got him," you say, nodding at Frypan.

"You're alright," you whisper as you brush past a stressed-looking Thomas. You squeeze his shoulder reassuringly, and he gives you a small smile of gratitude.

You shut the door behind you, chasing Gally down as he storms into his hut.

"Gally wait-"

"I don't want to hear it, Y/n."

He slams his door shut, closing you out. You sigh, and let yourself in.

"Get out of my hut, Y/n."

"Stop, Gally," you say sharply. "Just listen."

Miraculously, he stays quiet, leaning back on the wall and crossing his arms.

"I... I know you're scared, Gally."

"What-"

"Oh my god, just hear me out," you huff, rolling your eyes. "Okay, so yes, we just got attacked by Grievers, right here in the Glade. And yeah, it's probably linked to Thomas. And- yes, making him a Runner and letting him pretty much just fuck around and find out could put us in danger. ...But he's also the closest we've ever been to understanding the Maze and this whole place. I think he's the key to getting us out of here."

You sit down on Gally's bed, gesturing for him to sit down beside you. He lets out a huff, but reluctantly takes a seat.

You look him in the eye. "Gally I've been here for three years, and it's great. We've built a structure, a life, a goddamn society. But I really, really want to see the outside world."

Gally scrubs a hand over his face, dropping his gaze. "Yeah, I know, Y/n. I'm just- I'm trying to keep everyone safe. Newt and Minho are blinded by this hope, they're believing too much in one guy who's been here for literal days."

"I know, I know. But we need to take that risk, if we want to get out of here, alright?"

Gally sighs, then nods. "Yeah, fine."

"I'm gonna help Thomas, and Newt and Minho in whatever plans they make."

You hold out your fist. "Promise me you'll follow the plans we make, and stick with us. Don't... you know, make your own group and stay here and get killed, or whatever you were planning to do."

Gally rolls his eyes at you, and reluctantly brings his fist up to knock against yours, following through with the handshake the two of you used to do after building something, back when you used to help out with the other jobs. "Yeah, yeah, we get it Y/n. You've been here the whole time, you know us sooo well, you can read our minds."

You grin widely. "Damn right I can."

5. Thomas (everyone loves Y/n)

"Do you think this'll work?" asks Thomas, chewing on his lip worriedly.

"Of course it will," you say. "Have a little faith in your plan, Thomas. You don't need approval from me."

Thomas huffs out a laugh. "Thanks. It's nice to hear you're confident, though."

You raise your eyebrows, smiling a little confusedly. "I mean, I'm glad my support motivates you."

Thomas squints his eyes at you. "Y/n, you know you're like... super respected, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, everyone looks up to you. You don't notice the way people turn to you in tense situations and stuff? You're kinda like an understated leader, I guess."

"Ah, right." You smile at him. "It's cause I was the first person here, which I do get credit for, I don't know why. Totally underserved, Alby's the one who built this place."

"Bullshit." You turn in surprise as Minho walks in, Newt following behind him.

"What?"

"Undeserved credit, my ass," says Minho, crossing his arms. "If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be a Runner."

"Yeah," says Newt, coming over to your side. He props an elbow on your shoulder, grinning at the frown you send him. "And you know what," he says quietly. "If it wasn't for you, I might not even be here."

You smack his arm. "Don't even say-"

"Gally, tell Y/n we love them," interrupts Minho.

"Huh?" Gally lifts a brow, before nodding. "Yeah, everyone loves you, man. Don't take it personally. If it wasn't for you, I probably wouldn't even be on board with this plan right now."

"Ugh-" you pinch the bridge of your nose.

Thomas leans in. "Told you so."

"God, let's just do the plan. Let's go, everybody out," you say hurriedly, shoving Newt out, ignoring Minho's snickers.

You stand between Minho and Gally as Thomas and Newt explain the plan to the Gladers, feeling yourself surrounded by friends; family.

Time to get out of here.

The end chapter is cheesy but I love it thank you for reading <3333

#the maze runner #platonic gladers x reader #alby x reader #minho x reader #newt x reader #gally x reader #thomas x reader #my writing

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yejinnie · 7 months

Text

☆ father like son.

- pairing. leeknow x reader

- tags. fluff

you came to your boyfriend's apartment to pet sit his three cats, which it was a miracle to you, as boredom was consuming you whole when you were home alone. however, as the whines that left your lover's and his three cats mouth, you realised how much in common your son's have with their father.

it was an quiet afternoon, were you find yourself longing for the day to end, due to the extraordinary boringness that was swallowing you whole.

tired sighs left your mouth, it seemed as if you been laying on your back for hours, seemlessly scrolling through your phone, however, it has only been 20 minutes.

the whole day has been wasted just like that, but it wasn't because you weren't motivated, it just was because there was nothing on your to-do list today, therefore, there was nothing to preoccupied the void that filled your brain with boredom.

you layed on your back on the cold wooden floor in your living room, the tunes in the background coming from your tv and the cold sensation from the wooden floor pressing amongst your back, was long forgotten. you were lost in the mind of your own.

however you were shortly interrupted by the ringing sound coming from your phone. your eyes weren't bothered to check who the caller was, as you felt it may of have been a scammer.

"hello?" you picked up, a confused tone leaving your mouth, as you listen to the sweet voice that had easily just lighten your terrible day by three words.

"wanna come over?"

a smile perked up your face and before you knew it, you started to sprint towards the front door. "i'll be right there!!"

who knew your day could easily be lighten up by a boy who owned three cats?

three quicken knocks hit the door of where your lover lives, slowly opening to reveal the kitten obsessed boy. leeknow stood there, wearing his usual grey sweatpants and white t-shirt, interwining both of your hands together and pulling you into a warm hug.

you stood there for a few seconds, allowing yourself to feel his warmth against your collided bodies, lost in the moment together.

however, this peaceful moment was interrupted by a furry figure that rubbed against your legs, begging for attention, which his two other brothers started to join after seeing your figure hidden by your boyfriend's back.

"i think that a sign to go inside" minho chuckled, still holding your hand while pulling you inside his apartment.

it's been a few hours since you been pet sitting with your boyfriend, however, night was falling and your desire to sleep was nearing.

"jagiya~ stay with me" lino whined, revealing his cute pout which easily persuaded you to stay. His sons crawled to where you sat on the couch, rubbing against your soft skin, purring and whining just like their father.

"fine, since you keep sulking" you teasingly responded, earning a clingy and more pouting leeknow, who kept saying he wasn't.

layed in your lovers bed, his fit arms firmly holding you tight against his chest, protecting you from the world.

there stood his little three furry sons, soonie, doongie and dori, cuddling with you guys, as if they were jealous.

littles whiney purs were heard from the three cats, making you and leeknow move your attention to them, before placing them between the both of you.

sleep over took all of you, embracing the moment, holding your sleeping lover and your three babies closely near you, with one thing left in your mind before you were drifted into dreamland.

'you are just like your father, whiny, clingy and will always win my heart'.

thank you for all the supports!! omg ive gotten so many notes it's fascinating and I'm literally dying from shock with how much attention I've been getting lately!!

now it would be an honour to write about what you guys want, so please, send me some requests of what you want me to write and ill try my best to construct it into your liking!! (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠✧⁠*

#lee know #lee minho #lee know fanfic #lee know fluff #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #lee know soft hours #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know skz #skz #stray kids #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #skz lee know #stray kids soft hours #skz imagines #not edited

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stay-tiny-ville · 4 months

Text

Lee Minho

Summary ~ Cat boy Lee Minho being cat boy (Or dating head cannons for Lee Minho)

A.N. - thank you all so much for appreciating my other posts it means a lot :)

A.N. 2 - ALL THATS LEFT IS SEUNGMIN IN AND HYUNJIN

A.N. 3 - feel free to send in asks for ideas after I finish Skz and Atz :))

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jagi/ya is the only normal or sweet name he’ll give you he’ll call you tiny, tiny baby, baby bird to annoy you (if you beat me near death, maybe kitten but I hate that name)

I understand how people think he’s the tsundere type but I definitely think it’s way less of mean love and more of him being less openly lovey dovey

He strikes me as the reserved type and would be touchy in public

It’s not to make it seem like he’s ashamed of you

Absolutely not

He just likes his business and doesn’t like it in public view

We all been knew that in all ways except physical, Lino is a cat (please tell me you understand the vine I’m referencing)

And how I saw this post a while ago about how cats consider you apart of their clan or family or whatever the actual term is and they look out for you

Lino 🤝 you

His first thought when he wakes up is to check on you

Like if you’re laying so where your neck doesn’t get hurt or if you still are covered by the blanket

If you get sick you aren’t moving a muscle

Like one time you were quietly cooking breakfast in the kitchen and when he silently made his way into the kitchen he froze mid step as he knew something was wrong

Your posture was off and slumped and the real selling point was your stuffy nose sniffles

He doesn’t hesitate to mom walk over to you and lean around the counter to stare into your soul

You blink back in surprise and he just narrows his eyes

His hand basically flies to your forehead and his eyes widen in the slightest when he feels how hot you are

He pulls whatever you’re holding out of your hand and picks you up immediately and you could have screamed if you knew it wouldn’t have killed your throat

He beelines to the bedroom and you can’t even utter a word

He doesn’t even utter a word

He leaves you on the bed and just dips

He comes back in 10 minutes with a tray of sick soup and medications

He sets the tray on your lap and he brushes hair out of your face with the hand closest to you

When you go for the steaming soup he quickly grabs ahold of your wrist so you don’t absolutely cook your tongue

He takes the bowl and trades you for the meds while he takes a spoonful and blows on it

He feeds you the soop :(

The meds quickly knock you out after eating and when he sees you get drowsy he takes away the tray to the other room

You open your eyes hours later to the skin of his neck in your face

At your movement he looks down at you and rests his hand on your forehead again

His slight grimace is all you need to know

The overwhelming urge to sneeze takes over and you sit up quickly to do so

The groan that comes immediately after brings him to coo at you

“Oooooooh tiny, little bird, did that hurt?”

You groan and he does his little huff laugh salndxtvycdkne

You spend the rest of the day full body on top of him while he “complains” about how you’re going to get him sick but you just groan

(I don’t think he’s the type to like EVER get sick- correct me if I’m wrong I never looked into it lmao)

Even if you are Gorden Ramsey level Chef you aren’t allowed to cook

It’s another one of his looking out for you tidbits as he feels important making stuff you love and keeps you alive lmao

Plus it keeps you from accident cutting or burning yourself

The type to brush his hand on your cheek when talking to you

Like you’re talking to him about the new outfit you just got and he smiles while you twirl about and when you smile up at him he brushes your hair behind your ear and lets his hand rest on your cheek

Sob

I personally am always cold and since he is cat boy I just know he takes it upon himself to keep you warm

Bundles you in his jackets

Holds your hands in his pockets

Hugs where he wraps you in the jacket he’s wearing

Sob part 2

NAPS ON HIS THIGHS PLEASE

I love naps

NAPS WITH THE CATO BABIES

omg you are cat mom and you have no choice

If you are allergic well then I suppose that is just how you go out 🤷🏻‍♀️

I adore his singing and I def don’t get enough of it and I would beg him to sing nonstop

Por favor señor I beg of thee 🙏🏻

If you were to go with him to rehearsal when the studio is empty so it’s just him he would love that

Like def bring him food (that you bought since he won’t let you in the kitchen)

And when it gets later he would teach you little dances omg that’d be so cute

He’s the sweetest little boy at heart and his main priority is to look out for you :((

#skz imagines #skz x reader #skz fluff #skz scenarios #stray kids #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #skz fanfic #lee know x reader #lee know #lee minho #lee minho x reader #skz lee know #skz lee minho #skz lee know x reader #skz lee Minho x Reader

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astraystayyh · 5 months

Text

Echoes of love

"to love someone is firstly to confess; i am prepared to be devastated by you."

Chapter ii. to remember

genre : memory loss trope. angst. slow burn. unrequited love except you were in a loving relationship and everything changes overnight.

pairing : minho x reader. (3racha cameo)

summary : if given the choice would you love minho again? yes, you would've once said in a heartbeat. but now, you aren't sure of your response anymore.

cw : depiction of a nightmare and anxiety attack. allusion to mc having a bad family history with alcohol. suggestive in the end (allusion to sex but no smut). reader had she/her pronouns.

word count : 11k words.

song recs : the night we met/terrible love/black friday/cover me/already gone/enough.

chapter i. skz quotes series masterlist.

A.N: PT. 2 IS HERE!!!! i hope you'll enjoy this one, she's my baby and i put so much work and thought into her, so feedback is highly highly appreciated!!! thank you to my @forlix for being with me every step of this journey, i love u the most<33

Day 33.

With a gentle, absentminded sweep, your fingers trace the delicate contours of your wrist, a faint dance with the pulse beneath your skin– the cocoon of the soul you’re gradually growing accustomed to. It is a trying task, you've found out, to no longer yearn to flee from your body, leaving the weight of your worries for your bones and flesh alone to bear.

A subtle fragrance floats in the air surrounding you- the familiar gardenia and honey tones of your sweet perfume. It is a scent you reserve for special occasions, such as this one- your first date, in three months according to the world, in more than a year for your memory.

You swiftly retrieve a mirror from your pouch, checking your appearance for the tenth time in mere minutes. Your nude lipstick is still, unsurprisingly, in place, and you smile reassuringly at your reflection. She smiles back, though sometimes you half-expect her not to. In defiance, perhaps, maybe even repulse.

The melodious chime of the café's bell captures your attention, and the man you've been awaiting finally enters. He confidently strides in, clad in a blue polo and black slacks, an evident effort poured into his appearance.

Standing before you, his warm, gleaming eyes meet yours, effortlessly melting your lingering worries. You smile at him, he beams at you.

“Did I keep you waiting?” Changbin, your date, asks as he pulls the chair adjacent to you.

“No, just in time.”

Two weeks ago.

Day 17.

“Use me. Use me to remember,” Minho whispers, the distance between your lips resembling the thin edge of a blade.

You close your eyes, the world narrowing down to the sound of your heartbeat, a rhythmic drum drowning out any attempt at coherent thoughts. Kiss him, your heart chants, kiss him and all your memories will flood back. But what if they don't? What if the abyss persists before the brightest beam of light?

A tender kiss lands on your forehead, gently interrupting your tumultuous thoughts. Minho’s lips are as warm, as soft as you remember them. They're now imprinted into your skin, no longer a hazy memory beyond your reach.

His hands cradle your hair, smoothing it down, making the ringing in your ears soften. You surrender to his gentle embrace, to the soft tide of emotions rippling from him to you, pulling your wounded soul to safe shores.

“You need to forgive yourself,” he whispers, his words echoing against your skin, lips still pressed to your forehead. A rush of warmth overwhelms you, all your senses coming to life, ringing the alarm- he sees you, he sees through you.

“None of this is your fault,” he assures, a sudden cooling balm against your scorching wounds. These are the words you've been aching to hear. You didn't know, but Minho did, reading between the lines of your quivering lips and your reluctance to look into his eyes.

He knows you better than you know yourself.

“Don’t blame yourself, please.”

“But all I do is hurt people,” you confess, tears streaming down your face like a relentless downpour, soaking Minho's hands.

You expect punishment to strike you, bolting lighting aiming straight for your heart as you finally admit to your biggest sin- the shadow of sorrow that trails your every step. It is the way it has always been since you were a child. It is what you fled from.

What you don't expect is for tenderness to cradle you instead— in Minho's warm hand as he gently guides you to his chest, your ear resting above his steady heartbeat. Its rhythmic cadence akin to a lullaby- you shouldn't apologize for existing, you hear it sing to you.

“If you need forgiveness, I’ll give that to you. you’re forgiven, okay? I forgive you. Today and tomorrow. I'll forgive you until you'll forgive yourself.”

“Okay,” you nod, muffled words against the fabric of his shirt.

“Now, will you please come back with me? The cats will miss you a lot if you don’t,” he suggests, pressing his cheek onto the crown of your head.

“I don't want to leave them,” you reply in a small voice, dewdrops gathering in your eyes at the thought of running again.

“You don’t have to. It’s your home too.”

“Okay,” you sigh in acceptance, relief, encircling his waist with your arms. He is all inviting, like an open book, and you're resting between his pages, scribbled with love confessions for you.

The world stills, waves slowing their relentless crash against the shore, as you draw in a deep breath from the pits of your soul. You don't remember all you’ve once felt for Minho. But you know it must have been safe, like stumbling upon a haven and then learning it was specially carved for you.

“I miss you, Minho.”

“I know, I miss you too.”

Day 19.

“Minho, can you come to the kitchen please?” your voice reverberates through the house, weaving through the air and reaching the bedroom where Minho has been ensnared, his less-than-graceful complaints echoing loudly for the past hour. You had sealed him within without explanation, only making him promise not to leave the room until you told him to, much to his dismay, and deep down, amusement.

He chuckles lowly to himself as he rises from the bed, before making his way to the kitchen. There, he finds you near the doorway, hands concealed behind your back, dusty flour adorning your cheek like an artist’s absentminded paint stroke.

“So…,” you trail off and Minho smiles, crossing his arms before his chest.

“So?”

“A situation may have happened.”

“Which situation?” he inquires amusedly, attempting to peer past you into the kitchen. Your extended arms block his view.

“You know how I got a concussion from the car accident,” you ask.

“I do.”

“I think it may have affected my cooking abilities.”

“But you didn't have any to begin with?” he muses, tilting his head to the side innocently.

“Shut up,” you playfully admonish before clasping your hands in a silent plea. “Will you help me?”

“Mm, what are you making?” he inquires, leaning against the doorway.

“Pudding.”

“Pudding?”

“For you.”

“Oh.”

A blush creeps up Minho’s neck as he grapples to find a reply, his surprised gasp hanging into the air. You giggle faintly, entertained by his sudden speech impairment.

In response, Minho takes a step forward, delicately brushing away the flour on your cheek, his thumb hovering near the corner of your mouth. “How did this get here?”

“Huh?” you sputter, pink splashing across your cheeks like spilled Rosé.

Minho is testing your waters, dipping one toe in, hoping he’ll find your reassuring embrace lurking beneath the surface. Did you blush from the heat of the stove or his touch? Minho doesn’t know. Minho needs to find out.

“And you also forgot this,” he lightly pouts, reaching over your head to the hanger behind you, caging you between his arms.

He’s sacrificing his heart, placing it on the frontlines of hurt once again. Yet, when you look up at him, dewy eyes flickering to his lips, Minho feels a single match lighten up in his core, not enough to burn all his doubts. But enough to signal hope.

Hope is a perilous possession, akin to cradling a fragile glass that threatens to shatter at the slightest tremor. Hope is the only thread Minho can now hang onto.

“You forgot your apron,” he finally says, withdrawing two aprons from the hanger. He drapes one over your head before placing a hand on your shoulder, gently turning you around. He silently ties the strings into a ribbon, his fingers brushing against your spine. He can distinctly remember the feel of your bare skin beneath his fingertips, silky, smooth, intoxicating.

“There, a pretty knot,” he whispers, not moving back an inch, waiting for you to swivel around. Yet, you remain silent, undoing your hair from its loose ponytail. Your hair cascades over your shoulders, resembling the unveiling of curtains, and Minho senses something unfurling in the depths of his stomach.

“Tie it for me?” you whisper, handing him the hair tie without looking back. Your fingertips brush against each other, and Minho inhales deeply.

“Sure,” he says, voice thick with emotion, he needs to drink water. He needs to drink you in.

He gathers your hair strands in another low ponytail, trembling hands as they brush against the nape of your neck, akin to powerless leaves before the autumn breeze. He’s close, so close to you, so much his chest almost brushes against your back.

As soon as he’s done, Minho swiftly steps back before doing something he’ll surely regret, like placing a tender kiss on your shoulder, or worse, confessing that he misses the simple act of brushing your hair at night.

“So, pudding,” he clears his throat, rolling up the sleeves of his white hoodie. your eyes follow his movement, lingering on the veins protruding on his forearms. Minho feels a bit foolish for wanting to flex for you.

“It’s really easy actually. bring me two eggs?”

“Sure,” you grin, heading for the fridge as Minho retrieves sugar from the cupboard, throwing away the odd liquid mixture you managed to conjure.

You stand beside Minho, eyebrows furrowed as he explains why the milk needs to be brought to a boil before adding the cornstarch, or how adding the vanilla at the very end will help preserve its flavor. You listen intently, nodding along, and the tension between you dispels, leaving place for something comforting, familiar– you’re erasing the remnants of his sobs, the sight of him crumbling over the green kitchen tiles.

“Let's leave it to chill,” he finally says, closing the fridge’s door.

“Okay,” you nod, packing away the butter. Minho leans against the countertop, an ember of curiosity ablaze at the tip of his tongue

“Why did you want to make pudding?” he asks and you freeze in place.

“To see if I’m capable of not being a lost cause,” you respond playfully but the undertones of your voice indicate otherwise- laden, charged. One more match that you could light up?

“Really?” he says softly, taking one step toward you.

“No,” you giggle faintly and he nods, a gentle smile unfurling on his face, gradual as the eclipse of a moon.

“It was supposed to be your birthday gift. That's why I locked you in the room. I even bought little birthday hats for the cats, silly I know, and very late, but, turns out I’m a horrible-”

“I wanna see the birthday hats,” he cuts you off.

“Really? They’re really ugly.”

“It's my birthday gift, right?”

Five minutes later, you and Minho are seated on the floor, legs crisscrossed, three perplexed cats before you, and on their heads, obnoxiously neon green hats.

“They look so…” you tilt your head, assessing the view before you.

“Stupid?” Minho suggests, eliciting a startled snort from you that swiftly transforms into an almost maniac cackle, which in turn, catches Minho off guard. He gazes at you bewilderedly before succumbing to a fit of giggles, which intensifies your laughter, as you punctuate his shoulder with light hits, tears streaming down your face in an attempt to regain composure.

One hundred matches light up in Minho’s heart at the sight, all at once.

“My God, they look so stupid, I’m so sorry,” you laugh harder, your body collapsing to the ground, hands tightly clutching your stomach.

They can laugh again, the house sighs in relief, something other than sobs can still echo within my walls.

Day 22.

“I miss the sea,” you sigh softly, cradling a cup of chamomile tea between your hands. Minho, absorbed in his book, glances up to find a melancholic expression etched on your face—a poignant blend of sorrow and longing that he knows weighs heavy on your heart.

“We saw it over at the bridge, no?” he ventures tentatively, setting the book aside on the living room table.

“Yes, but I miss the sand, and the waves lapping at my feet. I miss feeling the sea, not just seeing it.”

“I’d take you, in a heartbeat,” he says assuredly, ready to bring you the moon if only you dare ask. “But it's far, and you can't get into a car.”

“I can try.”

“You can?” he questions, hope budding in his eyes.

“I mean- I want to, it's just… I don't know,” you retract, nails drumming anxiously against your cup, gaze lost into the amber liquid.

“Talk to me, yeah?” he smiles softly, draping a reassuring hand on your arm. His thumb swipes across the slate of your shoulder, and an impossible knot in your throat untangles.

“The accident took a lot from me. My health, my memories, a year of moving forward.” You quiet down, eyes meeting his in a barely veiled vulnerability. Silence speaks of your hardest loss— him.

“Can you help me get the sea back?”

Minho’s radiant smile is louder than any spoken agreement.

…

Thread by thread, drop by drop, your fears unravel as Minho lowers all the car windows’ before gently guiding you into the car seat, dispelling any prospect of feeling confined within the vehicle.

He remembers everything, even the panic that gripped your being when you went into his enclosed car, nearly a month ago.

“Can I blindfold you? It might help, so you wouldn't see the car lights since it’s night,” he suggests.

“Yeah, that'd be nice,” you agree, your hand lightly gripping the car seat.

“Hey, hey,” he calls out gently, “I'm here, okay? The second you feel overwhelmed I'm stopping this car.”

“Will you drive safely?”

“Of course. I promise you.”

Your nod is met with the softening of Minho's eyes, as he delicately tucks a strand of your hair behind the curve of your ear.

“I'm proud of you,” he whispers, tone laden with so much tenderness, love, that your throat becomes a garden, vocal cords bound not by thorns but the delicate blossoming of flowers.

With a gentle touch, Minho wraps a tie around your eyes, cocooning you in a tranquil darkness. His hand seeks yours instinctively, fingers intertwining with yours akin to the wind weaving through the strands of your hair.

In this moment, every fracture within you is delicately filled by Minho.

He starts driving, a soothing piano instrumental playing out of the car’s speakers- his hand still in yours. “Breathe,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing a soothing path across your palm.

“Follow my touch.” A gentle sweep to the right, an invitation to inhale slowly. “In,” his voice guides, and you draw in a deep breath.

Another caress to the left, a silent directive to release your confined breath. “Out,” he whispers, and you exhale, surrendering to the rhythm orchestrated by his thumb.

He raises the music’s volume, his touch becoming a maestro, speaking silently to you. You’re grateful for it, for the way in which he’s driving- avoiding curbs and speeding, safely, making the wheels float across the road.

Your heart still constricts in your chest, anxiety squeezing your veins, bleeding them dry, but you focus on Minho’s thumb, you let it guide you, like a compass navigating the dark tunnels of your heart.

“We're almost there,” he reassures as he stops by a red light.

“I look silly, right?” you reply, giggling a bit.

“What?” he asks, confused.

“I can feel you looking,” you clarify.

“How so?”

“My right cheek is tingling.”

Minho snorts incredulously. “What does that even mean?”

“You have a piercing stare. You're like melting through my skin and vibrating my bones.”

“Idiot,” he chuckles. My my my idiot, Minho grieves to say once again. The human heart is peculiar, he learns day after day, mourning the loss of a myriad of minuscule things, even words.

“And, you don't look silly,” he clears his throat minutes later, as he finally parks by the beach.

“You look pretty,” he utters, unraveling your blindfold, and you blink, caught between the sudden light and the weight of his words. “You always do,” he concludes, a whispered confession that lingers like the afterglow of a sunset, painting your world in golden hues.

“Minho, I…” you trail off, eyes landing on the vast sea ahead, blending into the sky in an alluring shade of turquoise. “We're here!” you shout bewildered, a magnificent grin on your face.

“We are,” Minho smiles, drinking in the delight in your expression.

“Oh my god I missed the sea!” you giggle as you undo your seatbelt, quickly opening the car’s door and taking off running.

Minho follows closely behind, captivated, as he watches you glide across the shore, the sand ricocheting off the soles of your shoes. You look like a fairy, bending the wind to your will, coaxing it into a choreography that mirrors the rhythm of your movements, your messy footprints marking your pathway to happiness once again.

Upon the sand, you finally settle down, and Minho walks over, sitting beside you. Both of you quietly gaze ahead, entranced by the moon's silver glow caressing the water’s surface. Each shimmering wave resembles glistening diamonds, a celestial mirror reflecting the lights in the sky.

“Have I ever told you why I love the sea?” you speak after a while, tone softer, more content.

“You did.”

“Can I tell you again?” you say. Can I tell you what I still remember? He understands.

“Of course.”

"There was a beach near our home, back then," you reminisce, a nostalgic aura enveloping your words. “And whenever I felt lonely I used to go there and watch the waves, to calm me down. But, one time, I was really overwhelmed so I ended up crying. And then, coincidentally, it started raining too.”

Your eyes widen slightly, a hint of amusement in your voice. “At that moment, I chuckled at the timing, how the sky was crying with me.”

“Ever since that day, I liked to believe that the sea is made up of the sky’s tears, the ones that fell in sync with those of humans, so it'd comfort us. And the tears grew from a pond to a river, to a vast ocean, as humans cried more and more. That's why sometimes the sea’s waters are gentle because those are tears of happiness falling somewhere. Sometimes they're stormy, since someone is crying out of anger. Sometimes they're melancholic, just relentlessly crashing against the shore, because someone is in pain. Like we are.”

A tranquil hush falls over the night as you quiet down, before turning around to meet Minho’s teary eyes, mirroring yours.

“And if the sea persists through tempests and tranquility, if it goes on despite the myriad of emotions it holds within, then so will we.”

Hope isn't fragile, as Minho once believed. Hope scrapes its bloody palms against the rough surface as it climbs defiantly to the pinnacle once again. Hope picks out rugged stones with weathered hands and builds a home out of them. Hope is strong, it clutches onto the thinnest threads so we’d endure and endure once more. As many times as we need to.

“Well, the sky isn't crying right now,” Minho notes.

“I know,” you smile softly, “Because we're holding on to hope.”

Day 26.

Under the soft glow of the TV, Dori settles comfortably on your shoulders, nuzzling her tiny nose onto your face every now and then. Soonie and Doongie are a bit far away, playing with a piece of yarn, captivated by its vibrant red threads.

It is an ordinary, comforting setting to watch a movie with Minho, on a Sunday night, a bowl of popcorn nestled on his lap while his cats lounge around. So familiar that the world around you blurs, like the vague brushes of an impressionist painting— a vivid déjà-vu sensation clinging to your body. You’ve lived this scene before. You want to live it again, now and in the future. More and more.

However something is different— your skin tingles, a buzzing sensation that travels from thigh to knee to hand, as if your body knows that something’s amiss. Minho’s touch perhaps, his palm casually resting upon your skin.

You don’t know where this urge is coming from— to lay your head on his shoulder, to have him run his fingers through your hair. Even more, to lose yourself in the nutmeg and peppermint notes of his cologne, to disintegrate your worries into his hold and rest.

“Would you mind if some of my friends came over?” Minho speaks up suddenly, cutting off your trailing train of thought.

“Hm?” you hum absentmindedly before clearing your throat. “I mean, no, I don't mind. Who are they?”

“Han and Chan. They’ve been asking about you for a while now.”

“Sure, this is your home.”

“It is yours too,” he says, gaze locking onto yours. His eyes are like a dark tapestry woven with threads of stardust- you’d never tire of looking into them, into the universe they seem to cradle within.

Do you know that there is a galaxy inside you? You almost slip out, words in an urgent race against your mind. You barely stop them at the tip of your tongue, before smiling and peeling your eyes away from his, painfully, like scratching a burn scab long before it heals.

…

“They’re here,” Minho announces as someone knocks on the door.

“Okay,” you smile, a tad nervous. You’re not even sure what for.

“If they annoy you too much tell me, I’ll kick them out,” he reassures, raising his brows playfully at you.

“That's mean,” you giggle, albeit soothed by his words.

“They already love you,” he grabs your wrist, his thumb gently swiping over your pulse. “No need to be worried.”

He drops it, as though a countdown is ingrained into his brain— never to touch you for more than ten seconds. Wouldn't it be selfish, pathetic even, to ask him for more?

As Minho heads to open the door, you linger in the living room, idly fidgeting with the hem of your sweatshirt. It is a weird circumstance to greet strangers who know you— you may have brushed against their shoulders in an alley and not known who they were.

Your thoughts dissolve as two men saunter into the living room, stopping in their tracks once their eyes land on you. They’re both beautiful– that is the first thing you note, closely followed by how relieved they seem to see you. Simultaneous soft sighs escape them, gentle smiles blooming across their faces. Tentatively, you return the gesture.

Minho takes the initiative to introduce them. “Yn. This is Chan,” he points to the man on the right, clad in black from head to toe, his smile grows wider, his eyes disappearing into moon crescents, two dimples peeking gleefully on his cheeks.

“And Han,” the younger man, sporting a Supreme t-shirt despite the cold, beams at you, highlighting his round cheeks, and an adam-apple that weirdly resembles a heart.

“I want to hug you but Minho put us on a strict no-touch notice because of your ribs,” Han speaks first, a small pout tugging at his lips as he glances at Minho, who simply rolls his eyes at his words.

“You can never keep something for yourself,” Minho sighs, rubbing the space between his eyebrows. You stifle an amused giggle.

“And she technically doesn’t remember us so it’d be weird for her to hug a stranger,” Chan notes, offering you an understanding smile.

“Hey, I didn’t mean it in a creepy way! more of ‘Oh my god I’m so happy you’re alive, thank you for still being here, I was so worried about you’.”

“But were you worried?” you ask, tilting your head to the side.

“Of course, I-”

“Then why weren’t you at my bedside?” you question, an eyebrow raised, and Minho chuckles at your words.

“W-what?” Han asks, glancing worriedly at the two men by his side.

“Why weren’t you there sobbing when I woke up? It doesn’t look like you were worried,” you muse, throwing a wink to Minho who walks over to you.

“Right, you should’ve sent her a pic of you crying,” Minho adds, as you drape a hand on his shoulder.

“A picture for every day you didn’t come see me,” you say solemnly as Han’s face grows paler by the second.

“I-I didn’t, I really was worried, I swear, I kept asking Minho every day about you and…” he trails off as giddy smiles break out on your face and Minho’s before you both burst out laughing.

“You guys are evil,” Han laments, as Chan pats his back in faux sympathy, a string of giggles falling from his full lips.

“I’m sorry. we made you dinner to make up for it,” you grin and Minho looks at you pointedly.

“He made you dinner,” you correct with a huff, and Minho smiles, satisfied, raising his brows smugly at his two friends.

“Let’s choose a movie then!” Han claps, turning to the TV as Minho sidles by his side.

“I’ll set up the table,” Chan announces.

“I’ll help you,” you offer, and he nods, clearly grateful for your assistance.

You’re taking out four plates from the cupboard, Chan effortlessly bringing out the glasses, clearly familiar with the nooks and crannies of your home, when he suddenly speaks.

“How are you, Yn?”

“Do you want the truth?” you ask back, and he grins. “Always.”

“I’m okay. Right now. I don’t know if I’ll still be tomorrow, you know? It all fluctuates so much.”

“Mm, I understand,” he says, and something about his tone indicates that he isn’t saying this just to comfort you. “And that’s okay too. What you went through wasn’t easy, but good times will come again. They always do, you know, just like the sun always comes back after the rain.”

“The sun,” you repeat, as you glance out at the living room, where Minho is laughing at something Han just said, his head tipped back, bunny teeth peeking out.

Perhaps the sun rays were by your side all along.

“Thank you, Chan,” you beam at him. “Truly, for being worried about me too.”

“It's nothing to thank us for. We care about you, even though you don’t remember us,” he pouts, a hand on his heart in mock offense.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I got amnesia!” you chuckle.

"Excuses!" he drawls with a playful tone as he exits the kitchen, and you can't help but laugh quietly to yourself. You recognize what he's doing—making light of your accident to alleviate the weight on your heart.

The night blurs in your memory, but this time it is tinged with happiness and laughter. The three men recall fun stories of their time together, a seven-year bond rooted in love and care, albeit silently. You witnessed it in the details—Chan ensuring the food was on their plates first, Minho peeling shrimp for Han, the latter rubbing Chan’s arms when he complained of being cold.

Then you saw it directed towards you– how they put on the movie you wanted and watched in anticipation as you took the first bite of food, draped the fuzziest blanket around you, and rushed to your side simultaneously when you stumbled on your feet.

You were loved, although you didn’t know of it. The accident took away your memories but it didn’t plague theirs.

“Thank you,” you beam at the two men as you walk them to the door. Opening your arms wide, you invite them in for a hug. Han embraces you first, a large smile on his face, and you gently beckon Chan in too. “Easy,” he whispers in Han's ears, careful not to put any pressure on your ribs. They both pat your back as you wrap an arm around their respective shoulders before leaning away.

“I’ll call you,” Minho bids them farewell, tipping his chin forward. They wave to him before finally leaving

You close the door, leaning against the auburn wood. Minho watches you, a soft smile playing on his face.

“Good?” he inquires, closing the distance between you.

“Mm, good,” you reply with a smile as he halts just an inch away. His intoxicating scent envelops you, permeating your bones and flowing through your veins like liquid warmth.

A torrent of memories floods your mind—images of you pressed against this same door. It is dark, a stark contrast from your first memory, a lone lunar beam of light slashing through the night. Minho’s hands grip your waist with a fevered urgency, while yours entwines around the nape of his neck, in passion, in hunger, almost as if you were deprived of him for so long.

You angle his mouth closer to yours, his lips pressing against your own repeatedly, a desperate attempt to brand the contours of his mouth into your soul. His hair, a cascade of midnight silk, tickles your fingers with an electric charge, like the crackling of the air before a storm. His tongue sweeps across your lower lip, seeking entrance, one you willingly surrender, white flag easily thrown to the ground. With every kiss, your bodies meld together, so much so that you could merge into the door, disappearing into the shadows as one.

“What's wrong?” Minho breaks your trance and you snap out of your reverie, a bright flush adorning your cheeks.

“N-nothing,” you stammer.

“You’re all red, do you have a fever?” he asks, coming closer, his hand pressed to your forehead. His woody scent envelops you once again– everything about him is enticing— his cologne, his lips on you, his fingertips dragging underneath your shirt, his eyes piercing yours, undressing you before his hands ever could.

“Yn?” he questions and you grab his jaw, angling his face away from you.

“Stay like this, don’t look at me for a moment.”

“What?”

“Just… please,” you say and he chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief, and yet he complies, his side profile now facing you.

How does he live with these memories each time he looks at you?

You take in a deep breath, focusing on his silhouette. It might seem counterproductive to fixate on the same man consuming your thoughts, but how could you not when he was mere centimeters away, his eyes averted from yours?

You exhale softly as your gaze glides along the graceful curve of his neck, a solitary mole resting just beneath his sculpted jawline, leading the way to his plump lips, a cupid's bow delicately carved by the hands of the divine archer himself — crafted to be kissed, to be adored.

Your eyes trail up, tracing the high bridge of his nose, another mole perched at its pinnacle, sharp and smooth as if chiseled by a master sculptor, one who dedicated months to perfecting his artistry. His eyes are a mesmerizing brown, punctuated with long lashes that flutter like the delicate wings of an angel with each slow blink.

Minho sweeps aside strands of his hair, his fingertip delicately fluffing them upwards. It dawns on you, a sudden revelation of the necessity of art — to immortalize such beauty for generations to come.

You imagine admirers gazing upon Minho, sighing in sheer amazement, their hearts tightening with emotions that words struggle to encapsulate in the face of this epitome of beauty. Inside and out, you reflect, inside and out.

“You told them not to drink around me, right?” you ask softly.

A blush grows from the base of Minho's neck to the tip of his ears, like roots expanding into the soil. He sighs before finally looking at you.

“I did. How’d you figure it out?” he wonders.

“I asked Han if he wanted a drink, but he refused so categorically that I assumed he didn't like alcohol. But most of his stories were of him drunk,” you chuckle quietly, and Minho shrugs sheepishly.

“We get loud when we drink. You don’t like that,” he says simply as if it’s a given, an absolute certainty that he’d do anything but make you uncomfortable.

He's beautiful, the light of his heart basking his face in a glow that even Michaelangelo's skillful hands wouldn’t be able to replicate.

And he loves you.

Till when? Your heart sounds out in alarm. Till when will he love you? What if the grains of sand slip away from the hourglass before you can reciprocate his love? Two stars colliding at disparate speeds, never converging into a singular entity, destined to erupt and scatter into cosmic dust.

How long do you have left? How many more days will he love you for?

How many more days do you have to love him back?

Day 30.

Minho is sick.

He tried his best to conceal it from you, as he came back from his dance studio, strands of his hair clinging to his forehead, a thin sheen of perspiration above his right eyebrow. Yet, his uncharacteristic silence betrayed him, as he quietly retreated into the shower, emerging with a solemn expression on his face.

Seated on the bed, book long forgotten by your side, you bit your lip tentatively. “You're okay?” you inquired, perched on the edge, concern etched in your gaze.

“Mm, just tired,” Minho responded, his attempt at reassurance falling short as he laid down on the floor mattress. “Can you turn off the lights?” he softly requested. “Hurts my eyes.”

“Yeah, of course. Will you sleep now?”

“I think so.”

“Okay then. Good night, Minho,” you uttered gently, the veins in your heart tangled with worry. “Good night,” he whispered in return.

In the stillness of the night, you were roused by soft whimpers escaping Minho's lips. He writhed in apparent discomfort, his features contorted with an unseen anguish. His pupils moved furiously underneath the thin layer of his eyelids, betraying the tumultuous thoughts raging in his mind.

You've never seen Minho so disrupted in his sleep, mouth slightly hung agape as if he struggled to breathe in the depths of his dreams. Your worry for him came back to haunt you ten times fold.

You lean over the bed, gently shaking his shoulders. “Minho, wake up.”

“No... no-no, don't-don't go,” he whispers, caught in the vines of a restless dream, seemingly wrapping around his mind, trapping him in. “Minho, come on wake up,” your pleas grow more insistent, but so do his. “Don't go, s-stay,” he implores, voice broken, prompting you to abandon your bed and join him on his mattress.

“Minho!” you call out, shaking him until his eyes finally flutter open. He gasps for air— as if inhaling his first breath on this earth, shooting upright, wide-eyed and disoriented.

His gaze locks on yours and he instantly cradles your face in his sweaty hands, bringing you closer to him until your noses bump into one another. “You didn't go,” he whispers, and you shake your head. “I'm here.”

“Fuck,” he swears, releasing his hold on you and sinking back into the pillow.

“Minho, what's wrong?” you ask softly, afraid you're treading on stormy waters.

“I… I don't know. I don't feel good,” He admits, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt, as if the fabric morphed into a vise around his throat. A flush creeps up his neck, red dots splashing across his ivory skin. A droplet of sweat traces a slow path down his temple, as the white fabric clings uncomfortably to his warm skin.

“Do you have a fever?”you ask, placing your hand on his forehead, sensing an unusual heat radiating beneath your touch. “Minho, where is your thermometer?”

“Bedside drawer,” he breathes out.

Fetching the thermometer, you gently tug at his chin, opening his mouth to check his temperature. “Stay still”" you instruct, watching anxiously as the numbers climb steadily.

“40°C, fuck Minho, you have a really high fever,” you exclaim as he shuts his eyes, an unmistakable weariness claiming him, rendering him malleable, akin to the silk pillow he's resting on.

“I feel dizzy,” he admits, burying his face into the covers.

“You need to take a cold shower now,” you urge a sudden lump materializes in your throat at the sight of his suffering.

“It's okay, I'll just sleep.”

“No, no, it's far from okay!” you almost exclaim, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes as if you were peeling an onion—your own emotional layers unraveling, exposing the depth of your concern for Minho.

“Minho, please, you have a really high fever,” you plead, feeling an unexpected surge of panic at his unwillingness to cooperate.

“Yn… are you worried about me?”

“I am.”

“It feels nice. Please be worried about me more,” he mumbles, eyes still closed, eliciting an incredulous laugh from you.

“You are so unbelievable, my god,” you pull him up and he doesn't resist, nearly stumbling on his feet.

“Okay?” you ask, running your hand through the nape of his neck.

“Mm,” he hums, burying his head in your shoulder. “Sleepy.”

“I know, you'll sleep after the shower,” you reassure softly, guiding him to the bathroom, his entire body weight leaning onto yours. There, you turn on the light, your right hand holding Minho's waist tightly as you lead him to settle atop the toilet.

“Can I take off your shirt?”

“Are you planning to undress me?” he smiles lazily, hooded eyes locked onto yours.

“No, I just-” you stammer, but he’s quick to cut you off.

“Because I don't mind.”

“I can't believe you're flirting with me while you're sick.”

“I always am, I can't help it,” he says, raising his hands as a silent signal for you to remove his shirt.

“You're awfully candid tonight,” you observe, seizing the edges of his shirt and drawing it over his head. His tongue glides across his lips, his gaze drawing tantalizingly slow over your form, and you clench his shirt tighter in your hands. He's the one with the fever, yet it's you who feels ablaze, flames of longing licking at your every sense.

“Come here,” you beckon, the icy water now flowing as you turn the knob. He reaches his hand out to you, and you grasp it, guiding him under the frigid cascade, soaking you both.

“C-cold,” he stutters, and you nod, your breath escaping in short, visible puffs.

“I-I know, just a little longer,” you reassure.

2 a.m. is a peculiar time to shower, the water droplets echoing against the tiled floor is the only sound that can be heard. That, and your labored breaths in tandem with the chilly embrace of the water filling your bones. The quiet makes way for other unspoken sentiments to surge forth, electric and palpable, heightened by the way Minho gazes at you through the liquid curtain, his hands clinging tightly to your arms for stability.

Droplets of water weave seamlessly through his hair, and an unexpected pang of jealousy grips you— you envy the liberty of those water beads as they thread through his locks, tracing the contours of his broad shoulders, nestling in the enticing recesses of his collarbones, without fearing the consequences of such acts. You don't dare look further down, wary that the rivulets on his skin may lead to your own undoing. Instead, you close your eyes thanking the stars that you weren’t wearing a white shirt, which would have turned translucent by now. You don’t even want to contemplate the consequences of such a premise.

After a few minutes, you turn off the water, stepping out of the shower and swiftly enveloping Minho in a towel.

“Go change, I have some spare clothes in here. Oh, and don't wear a top,” you instruct.

Minho chuckles quietly and you roll your eyes. “Shh. Make sure to dry your hair too.”

Taking your time in getting dressed, you peel off each wet layer, depositing them into the washing machine, before donning a spare pajama from a cabinet. You stroll to the kitchen to pour Minho a glass of water and retrieve medicine from the drawer, lingering at the counter long enough to ensure he'd be dressed by the time you return to the room.

You knock softly before opening the door, and the sight of Minho freezes you in your tracks. The room basks in warm, orange hues from the lamp's glow, playing upon Minho's skin and casting enticing shadows on the contours of his muscles—a masterpiece created by the skilled hands of light. His toned arms rest between his legs, back against the headboard, and an inexplicable urge to flee washes over you, your heart sinking to your knees in the face of his long-avoided vision of beauty.

You swallow the tumultuous thoughts raging within you before handing him his medicine, which he drinks diligently. Pressing your palm to his forehead, you're relieved to find a slight reduction in his temperature. “It will go down more once the medicine takes effect,” you assure.

“One of my students had a nasty cold. I think I got it from him,” he explains, and you nod, your hand lingering near his. Your fingers twitch as his pinky brushes against yours—akin to birds fluttering their wings in anticipation, awaiting, aching for a release from their cage, at last.

“I'm tired,” Minho sighs, closing his eyes. “Lay down,” you gently instruct, and he complies, resting his head on the pillow.

“It's cold,” he whines, swaying like a child throwing a bedtime tantrum. He's endearing, melting the frost that had gathered in your heart.

“You have a fever, silly,” you chuckle, pushing strands of his hair from his forehead, twirling them around. “Your hair's gotten longer,” you muse as you braid a tiny section of his bangs, only to undo it again.

“Can you play with my hair some more?” he requests softly.

“Of course,” you reply, threading your fingers through his locks, jet black as if all the stars in the sky collided, leaving behind nothing but a dark abyss.

“Please stay healthy, Min. Take care of yourself too.”

“But I like it more when you take care of me,” he pouts, before sighing shortly after. “I'll probably regret a lot of my words tomorrow, right?”

“Why is that?”

“Because you don’t feel the same for me,” he confesses, leaving you silent, grappling with the echoes of his words. What do you feel for Minho?

The question jolts the breath from your windpipe violently, an unyielding force crashing against your lungs till the answer finds its footing on your tongue.

“Can I ask you something?” you finally speak, cringing at the sound of your voice disrupting the fragile quiet.

“Anything.”

“Where did your scar come from?” you inquire, gesturing towards the mark just below his belly button.

“I got surgery a long time ago. I’m kind of self-conscious about it,” he confesses, a bit shyly.

“Really? But it’s beautiful, it looks like a strike of lightning,” you sincerely remark, coaxing a tender smile from Minho, unfolding like the gradual sunrises of autumn.

“This is exactly what you told me months ago.”

“Did I?”

“Mm, and then you traced it with your fingertips,” he grabs your hand, hovering it over his stomach. You can easily slip out of his grasp; you choose not to.

“Like this?” you murmur, tracing his scar gently, fingertips grazing his skin like a lit fire, subtly enough not to scorch. His flesh tenses beneath your caress, muscles constricting as you navigate from right to left—a trajectory of dusty stars akin to the Milky Way, his skin soft to the touch, rippling beneath you with thinly veiled goosebumps.

“Yes,” he breathes out, his gaze wide, running furiously over your face. Yet, your attention lingers on his skin, shadows dancing across its surface, its honeyed hue a shade you wish to sear behind your eyelids. Your hands ascend and descend, mapping his body which blushes in response, as if his very being memorized your touch, imprinting your fingerprints onto its memory. You slide down his forearms, pausing over his fragile veins, seemingly offering you his life.

Silence envelops you, punctuated only by the weighty exhales escaping you both, for there are feelings that words cannot encapsulate, no matter how much human languages strive to, ultimately succumbing to the profundity of silence— the one language only souls comprehend.

Your hands ascend to his neck, thumb grazing the tender skin cradling his pulse. It resonates throughout your bones, echoing from his being to yours as if you’re harboring two lives within you.

“You… you could've kissed me over at the bridge,” you whisper, bringing to light the question that’s been lingering at the back of your mind. “Why didn't you?”

“I wanted you to kiss me because you wanted to. Not because you longed for our past or our future. I wanted you to want me in the present,” Minho explains, vulnerability seeping into his words, like honey melting into a warm cup of tea.

“I’m scared,” you admit, your voice a fragile murmur, even as your head leans forward, hair cascading around Minho’s face, enclosing him in an intimate curtain. Minho gently grabs your hand and cradles it against his cheek, pressing a tender kiss to the center of your palm.

“Right now. Do you want me?” he asks simply, offering himself openly to you.

Do you want him?

After a momentary pause, you tentatively lean in, planting a gentle kiss upon his forehead. A resonant exhale escapes him, as your lips trace a path along his cheeks, leaving behind a trail of tiny kisses. Moving to the tender skin beneath his eyes— as easily bruised as your emotions—you bestow soft pecks to it as if seeking forgiveness for every tear he shed in your name.

His eyes remained closed, his trust evident in the surrender of his being to you. The answer to your internal query is written all over his features— the hushed exhale escaping his body, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the tranquility nestled between his eyebrows.

Yes. Yes, you do.

Your lips finally meet Minho’s in a delicate union, unmoving like rose petals folding onto one another. A surge of warmth emanates from the depths of your heart, coursing through your entire being like sunrays, submerging your soul in a tranquil white glow.

Leaning away ever so slightly, you press a tender kiss on his lower lip, enclosing it between your own. Your hand cradles his jaw, running gently through his damp strands. Your lips move against his slowly in a saccharine kiss, parting, only to meet again, in the same tenderness, perhaps a growing one as you become accustomed to the contours of his lips, to the languid moves of his mouth, following your rhythm. You were leading the dance, his lips mere puppets to your heart’s wishes. He didn't rush you, only allowed you to kiss him, whichever way you wanted.

A pause, a moment suspended in time, your hands trembling as they rest upon his cheeks, his palm hovering above your own, offering a comforting press. The gesture reassures you in your curiosity that won’t be satiated, urging you to seal your lips on his with a tentative fervor. The world outside dissolves into a distant murmur, the seconds blending into a timeless run, you slamming the door before your worries protesting at the entrance of your mind. Tomorrow, you’ll find the answers. Tonight, you are kissing Minho.

As you press a final, lingering kiss to his velvety mouth, visions of you at peace flood your being. You see yourself sinking into the warm pool of your aunt’s country club, you see yourself walking on the beach with sand molding to the contours of your feet, you see yourself laying on the grass while observing sunrays weaving through the trees. And then, amidst your most serene memories, the act of pressing your lips to Minho stands out, the warmth of his mouth against yours eclipsing all other sensations.

Leaning away, you rest your forehead on his shoulder, and Minho's hands cradle your hair.

"Which lip balm do you use,” you giggle against his bare skin, relishing in the sweet taste of his lips.

“Yours.”

Day 31.

Minho’s nose is buried in the crook of your neck, his arm draped across the expanse of your stomach. He sinks further into you, binding himself to your body, anchoring his hold on your being. You are warm, your skin is soft to the touch and Minho doesn’t want to wake up from this tender dream, akin to plummeting into a sea of silky pillows, falling into a blanket of clouds.

Except, he's awake, Minho realizes with a jolt. He blinks repeatedly, allowing the sunrays to stream to his eyes, his pupils dilating once they settle on you— so much their obsidian depths swallows the brown of his irises whole. You stir beneath his touch, making your cheek press upon the crown of his head. He's fully awake now, snatched from the velvet threads of his dreams made up of you, thrown into your arms once again after thirty-three days.

A soft gasp escapes Minho’s lips, the air stolen from his lungs as if it was yours to claim. Echoes of the night replay in his mind— a fever, you tending him to me, a cold cascade of water, you tracing his scar, and then, the kiss.

You kissed him. A long shiver runs down his spine at the memory, a subtle twitch that stirs you from slumber once again.

What does one kiss mean? The question dances wildly in Minho’s mind. More importantly, what do you want it to mean?

Minho whines softly, closing his eyes for a few seconds, relishing in the fragrance of your hair, in the serenity that floods his being each time he’s around you. This was his most restful slumber in weeks, because you were near, his mind recognizing you, relaxing underneath your touch, drifting to a mindless sleep.

Reluctantly, he untangles himself from you, a bittersweet departure from your arms. Work was calling his name.

He prayed you’d call his too soon.

….

You wake up to an empty bed, the only lingering trace of the night you spent being the tingling of your lips, as if aching to be kissed once again. You sigh, running a hand through your face. It was much easier to succumb to your heart’s wishes when it was late at night, when minho laid bare beneath your touch, so enticing in the gentlest of ways. When you were cradled by the moon’s soft glow, blanketed by the night’s cloak of darkness.

But it was light now, the sun was glaring as it streamed through the windows, exposing all the flawed ways of your mind.

What does one kiss mean?

Nothing, if it wasn’t minho who you had kissed. If it wasn’t as tender as the meeting of your lips.

The tomorrow you believed far quickly came, and you still beheld no answers. A few hours drifted by and you still knew nothing. What does this kiss mean? It's late afternoon and you’re strolling through the park nearby and you can't find an answer. The question rings in your mind as you sit by a bench, and you still don’t know.

“You seem preoccupied,” a voice quips up nearby and you startle. You hadn’t even noticed the man sitting by your side. His arms crossed before his chest, making impressive muscles constrict beneath the snug fabric of his black shirt, a cascade of fluffy black curls sat at the top of his head, a slight smirk etched on his lips.

“Pardon?”

“I said you seem preoccupied.”

“No i heard that,” you roll your eyes subtly, “do i know you?”

“No. You just look worried, that's all.”

“You really don’t know me?” you ask, a tad apprehensive, unsure if this was someone else your memory faulted you of.

“No? Are you a celebrity of some sorts?” he inquires, tone much more cheerful, angling his body towards you.

“No, i’m not,” you giggle, before quieting down, an exhausted sigh escaping your body. “Is it that obvious then?”

“Yeah. I’m afraid so,” he pouts sympathetically, tone almost desolate and you huff, burying your face in your hands.

“Do you need help with something?” he offers after a while, his concern evident in the frown of his brows. You are comforted by the anonymity of talking to a stranger, you were but a blank canvas to him. You wouldn't see him again, anyways.

“I feel lost. I can't seem to find the answers I'm looking for.”

“Maybe you’re just not asking the right questions.”

Oh.

The guy claps his hands suddenly, long before you could dwell on his words and their implications

“I actually have a question for you!”

“Ask away.”

“Do you want to go on a date with me?”

“No?” you chuckle, amusement dripping from your voice. “I don't know you?”

“That's the point of a date.”

“Are you this bored?” you smile, arching an eyebrow at him.

“I'm not bored. I just need to take my mind off things,” he shrugs, a slight smirk on his face. but you somehow see beyond it, right into the dull twinkle of his eyes. Maybe he also couldn’t find the answers he was looking for.

“So you're using me?” you fake outrage and he giggles, a high pitched sound that reverberates through the playground, making some kids nearby stare at you. You stifle a surprised laugh.

“I'm not using you if I tell you upfront why I asked you out.”

“You are right, but i decline your kind offer,” you say solemnly and he nods, shaking his head in defeat.

“Here is my card, in case you change your mind. Or need a little escape, call me,” he smiles, handing you a sleek black card before getting up and dusting his pants. “See you,” he says, as if he was sure you'd call him back. you stare in disbelief at his retreating figure, before glancing down at the card.

Mr. Seo Changbin, you read, CEO of Gold’s Gym— the largest gym branch in the country.

Oh wow.

The amused smile lingers on your lips as you gaze ahead, lost in thought, contemplating the words spoken by Changbin. Maybe he was right; perhaps you are afraid of asking the right questions. Sucking in a deep breath, you decide to take the longer route home, eventually finding yourself outside your favorite bakery; the one you discovered on one of your many walks with Minho.

You go to open its door when an unexpected tingling at the back of your neck freezes you in your tracks. Your heart tightens in your chest as you turn around slowly, greeted by the sharp eyes of two familiar faces—Lia and Mari, your coworkers from before your accident. A tentative smile graces your lips, but the alarms of warning in your mind intensify.

“Hey, yn!”

“Hey, guys,” you greet back, taking a step backwards from them.

“How have you been since… You know, your accident,” Lia pouts, but the question lacks sincerity, as if they were wearing masks before you, concealing their true intentions. You wonder which one they'll put on next.

“Good, i’ve been good,” you force a smile, as their eyes move up and down your body, judgment dripping from their gaze.

“We wanted to come see you but we didn’t know if you were still at your listed address. Since your boyfriend lives there.”

“Oh, um, yeah, I still live there.”

“But didn’t you forget about him?” Lia feigns ignorance and you feel anxiety picking at your skin like relentless protruding needles. You want to run.

“Lia that’s rude. I think he's her ex-boyfriend now," Mari chuckles, mockery palpable in her tone.

“Poor Minho, he must suffer a lot. Say hey to him from me,"Lia smiles, a chilling feline grin, her eyes narrowing down like a hawk peering at his prey.

“I will.”

“We’ll see you at work. If you’re still able to keep up with the tasks,” they leave, ugly laughs echoing after them, and an urge to throw up overtakes you, the scent of pastries furthering your nausea. You hasten your steps toward your building.

You’re almost safe, almost, keys trembling in your hand as you struggle to enter your apartment, when the door adjacent to you opens. Your neighbors smile at you, although it is a gesture tinged with pity. You painfully smile back before slamming the door.

Yeart hammering in your chest, you press your back against the door, hand clawing at your throat.

“Did you know she got into a car accident, and apparently she forgot her boyfriend?”

“Really? They were so cute though.”

“Yeah, it’s a shame.”

Their words suffocate you, stepping atop your lungs, syllables choking you from within. Is this what everything thought of you? Did they all pity you for the accident? For forgetting your lover? Did they see you as a burden, a parasite plaguing his life? Is this what Han and Chan saw when their eyes lingered on you? Is this what the librarian and florist whispered to each other each time you passed by?

You didn’t know these people and yet they had their minds set on you, fixated storylines you couldn’t change, no matter how much you tried to rewrite them.

Your thoughts spiral like the unloosened screws of a ticking clock. Minho, the unanswered questions, the expectations of others—everything converges in the base of your mind, making your ears ring cacophonically within your skull.

You slide down the door, fingers trembling as you take out your phone then Changbin’s card from your pocket. You dial his number with haste. You needed a breather, to talk to someone who knew nothing of you, of who you were, of who you could be.

“Hello?” his voice booms clearly through the phone.

“Changbin,” you breathe out. “Let's go on a date tomorrow.”

You were asleep when minho came back from work, your back turned towards him, soft exhales escaping your body. He didn't want to disturb you, so, he made sure to come earlier the next day, a strawberry and cream pastry in his hand that he knew you loved. Perhaps, you’d both talk about your kiss today, what it meant for you both.

But, he doesn’t find you home. The only indication that you had just left was the lingering scent of your perfume, tickling his nose as if to mock him. Poor minho— the gardenia and honey tones spelled out in the air; the one fragrance you strictly reserve for dates. The one you used to put for him.

It looked like you found your answer after all.

Day 33.

“Did I keep you waiting?”

“No, just in time,” you smile as Changbin pulls the chair in front of you, settling down with ease, a pang of confidence coloring his movements.

“How are you, today?”

“Better, i think,” you falter under his scrutinizing gaze, your facade cracking. “I don't know, it’s all complicated,” you sigh and he nods, signaling for the waiter to take your drinks order. Chai latte for you, hot chocolate for him.

“Spill, what’s preoccupying you?” he leans forward, arms crossed on the table.

“You don’t even know my name,” you giggle, looking around at the warm interior. Cozy, faint music playing in the background, taupe chairs and amber tables, the smell of cinnamon rolls wafting through the air. Minho would like it here.

“What's your name?”

“Yn.”

“Okay, Yn,” he emphasizes, a slight smirk on his face. “Spill.”

You shake your head as the waiter places down your drinks, wrapping your fingers around the heated cup, hoping the warmth would seep into your being through your palm lines.

“Did you want to become a therapist by any chance?” you muse, arching an eyebrow at him.

“No, it’s just fixing others' problems helps me forget my own,” he winks and you snort at his honesty. it was admirable, how frank he was to a complete stranger.

“Fine, it’s a long story, but basically…” you lick your lips, wondering what’s the best way to go on about this. “I got into a car accident and I lost my memory of the past year and so.”

Changbin winces at your words and you sigh. “Yeah. Except I was in a relationship before…”

“And you totally forgot about it?”

“I did. It hurt him a lot.”

Changbin nods in understanding, taking a sip of his drink. He places his chin on his palm, carefully eyeing you.

“But how does that make you feel?”

“Me?”

“Yes, you. You're the one who lost your memories after all.”

“I feel guilty for forgetting such a relationship.”

“Why is that?”

“Because everyday i can see why I fell in love with him.”

“And you don't love him now?”

“No,” you quickly say before pausing, shoulders dropping under the weight of your questioning. “I don't know. It's complicated.”

Changbin absentmindedly tugs at the charms of his bracelet, gaze flicking down to his wrist for a couple seconds, before locking on yours intently.

“Describe him to me in one sentence.”

“You sound like my annoying French teacher,” you roll your eyes and he huffs, not offended in the least. “Look, I just want to know my competition.”

“Do you have a retort for everything?”

“What can I say? I'm witty and all that,” he shrugs confidently and you giggle before quieting down, muling over his question. “In a sentence…” you muse, fingers drumming along your cup. You don't even realize that a fond smile has unfolded on your lips, but Changbin does.

“He's the light rain that falls during spring, that makes the flower bloom and the smell of earth waft through the air. He brings things back to life, in a way.”

Changbin smiles softly, tilting his head to the side. “Can you really not see it, or are you hiding the truth because you're scared?”

“What do you mean?”

“Yn, he brought you back to life.”

“I… no.” you pause, voice faltering. “Did he?”

You see Minho pushing you on a wheelchair to your home. Minho protecting you from your mind. Minho washing your hair. Minho making you tea. Minho baring his soul to you. Minho helping you cook. Minho bringing the sea to you. Minho holding your hand. Minho comforting you before comforting himself. Minho forgiving you so you'd forgive yourself. Minho devastating himself so you'd piece your heart together. Minho, minho, minho.

“Fuck, he did,” you whisper in realization, as a grand feeling swells in your heart suddenly, pushing your heart against the confines of your ribs. Flowers bloom into your entire body, petals melding into the coursing blood in your veins, butterflies fluttering their delicate wings across your chest, an effulgent light flooding in like the sun was spilled inside your very core.

“Aren’t I so smart,” Changbin grins, satisfied at the awestruck expression on your face.

“What should I do?” you ask anxiously, gripping the edges of the table.

“Go talk to him. Don't waste any more time.”

“You are right, oh my god,” you grab your purse, standing up abruptly. “I have to go, I…”

“It's okay, don't worry about me, I'm always the side chick,” he sighs in faux sadness and you giggle, swatting his shoulder.

“Thank you so much. I'll repay you for this, I promise!” you start walking before stopping and turning around.

“Oh and Changbin?”

“Yes?”

“You know what to do too. They made you that bracelet right? You haven't taken your eyes off of it.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, “those are my lines.”

“They are mine now too,” Laughter dances from your lips as you flee the café, taking off running to your home. It was near, merely a five-minute walk, nestled beside the playground where you encountered Changbin. Yet, urgency propels your steps, a fervent need to reach Minho swiftly. You had wasted thirty-three days, three million seconds that could’ve been spent with Minho. You don’t know how many more breaths the universe might extend, what if the stars tire of your reluctance and blow the winds of his love to another soul? You couldn’t stomach it.

You climb up the stairs, chest heaving, breaths escaping your being in an erratic rhythm. you didn't even know what to say, your words remained unscripted, unsure of what confessions will spill forth when your eyes will meet Minho's. Yet, you're not worried. You know that whatever surfaces would be surging from your heart.

What you don’t anticipate is for an uncharacteristic silence to find you at home, the scent of your perfume faintly wafting into the air. Minho sat in the living room, a bag by his side, his head downcast. The cats watching you from the corner of the room.

A desert- dry sensation clings to your mouth, your tongue heavy as if crafted from lead. Your once vibrant excitement extinguishes, much like a match blown out, leaving only a lingering stench behind.

“Minho?”

“Yn,” he responds, eyes actively avoiding yours. “I was waiting for you. I... I'll be gone for a few days, a week at most.”

“What? Where to?”

“I already told my parents to come pick up the cats so you don't have to worry about feeding them. The fridge is stacked, so you-” his voice falters, “so don't worry about that either.”

“Minho... what-what are you saying?”

“I need time away, alone. I'm sorry, I tried, I tried so hard, Yn, but there is only so much I can take,” he whispers, and your heart shatters, tiny million pieces blown away by the wind.

“Minho, look at me,” you crouch before him, your hands resting on his knees. He still avoids your gaze.

“Minho, please,” you plead, and his eyes finally lock on yours. They glisten with tears, reflecting light akin to a celestial mirror.

“My heart hurts so much, but it's not your fault. Loving me once doesn't mean you'll love me again, and it's okay if you want to see other people. I just... I need to go somewhere, for a little. I need to make room for the pain because it's overwhelming me,” he confesses, his words eating at your insides. Was it too late? Have you lost him?

Minho gently takes away your hands before standing up. Fear overwhelms you as you watch his shoulders drop, his eyes glazing over the walls one last time. He will come back, but not here, not to you. He's bidding goodbye to the home and you because you killed his hope. He would leave everything behind but echoes of him that you'd be sentenced to hear alone, every day, every night.

“Minho,” you seize his wrist, “Minho, don't go.”

"Why?" he asks in the smallest voice you've heard from him. He's like a river cut off by a dam, yearning to run back home, to flow the way it used to, back to you. His heart rings loudly in his ears, pain overwhelming him, yet your touch calms him down. You are the knife and the medicine, the scorch and the cooling balm; you are everything at once.

“I'll make room in your heart, I'll take out all the bad weeds and start again. Just don't go.”

“What do you mean?” He's breathless, hope inflating in his heart, clouds parting to reveal the sun.

“I know things won't go back to the way they used to. I don't think I'll ever remember everything, but I want you to tell me,” there is a lump growing in your throat, but you push it away. Your voice breaks and cracks, yet you still speak. You need him to know.

“I want you to take me to all the places we've visited and then tell me how we fell in love in them. I want you to show me how I loved you,” your hand trails down his hand, intertwining your fingers with his, pulling him closer. “I want to learn you, what you like, what you hate, what makes you angry and what makes your heart flutter.”

“And I want to love you, not because you love me, but because my heart chose you," your hand travels up his arm, settling right down at his cheek. Your thumb swipes across his tender skin. “I choose you over and over again. It's you, Minho, it's always been you.”

“You want me again?” he says tentatively, eyes wide, pouring onto yours—your galaxy to love, to admire, to peer into for the rest of your life.

“I want you. Please don't go.”

“Swear it, please.”

Instead of ephemeral words, you softly press your lips to his, as you did last night. “I swear,” you whisper against his mouth. “I'm falling in love with you,” you peck his lips, hand snaking up against his neck, moving his mouth closer to yours. “Not falling,” you say, pressing your forehead to his, nuzzling his nose against your own. “I'm coming back. I'm coming home.”

“You came back to me,” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“I'll always do,” you promise, a grin overtaking your mouth. “Can you kiss me, Minho?”

Minho blinks in amazement, his eyes darting all over your face, each blink resembling the capture of an image. He's stitching this moment into his mind, the hue of your cheeks and the gleam in your eyes. He missed the way you're looking at him, the slight shiver running through you as he brushes his lips against your own, slowly savoring the feel of you so near. His hands find your jaw, cradling it softly, and then he kisses you, just like how he dreamed of doing for the past month.

The kiss is dizzying, far different from your previous one. You’re no longer grasping at elusive cigarette smoke, fleeting through the gaps between your fingers. You are no longer awaiting a beacon of remembrance to shine upon your mind. You have minho, and he's delicately nibbling your lower lip, eliciting a soft gasp from you. His tongue glides across the tingling expanse, soothing down the pang of hurt, asking you for more. You willingly give it to him in a fervent, whirlwind kiss, his hands finding solace in the curve of your waist, while yours become poets, weaving tales in his hair, tugging at his strands the way you've always yearned to.

It is muscle memory, to press your body against his, to gasp into his mouth, to match the rhythm of his tongue, the way it circles tantalizingly around yours, the way you groan against his mouth, as he briefly parts from you, his giggle a sweet prelude to meeting your lips once again with increased fervor. His tongue weaves words against the roof of your mouth— I missed you, I want you, I love you.

Minho snakes his hand around your lower back, guiding you back until his legs find the couch. He eases you down, fingers hooked through the loop of your jeans. You kiss him again, a cadence as natural as breathing. Time unravels, rewinding to mend the fractures in his heart, erasing thirty-three days of heartbreak in mere seconds. You kiss him, again and again, thirty three days of longing exploding in your touch.

“Are you crying?” you whisper against his lips, your thumbs delicately swiping across his damp cheeks. Unaware of his flowing tears, he closes his eyes, embarrassment coursing through him. “I'm here,” you reassure, peppering his face with kisses – from his ear to his nose, cheeks to the corner of his mouth. “I'm here, honey. I want you.”

“Only me?” he questions, tone fragile.

“Only you,” you kiss him again, tenderly, inhaling life through his lips. “Let me show you how much, hm?”

Your lips trace a path down his neck as you draw his shirt over his head. An ivory canvas, he is meant for you to mark, to touch however you desire. Your lips graze the scar on his stomach, kissing it in the way you've ached to do since two nights before.

You're sinking to your knees before him and yet you’re the one in control, rippling shivers all over his skin. He’s impatient, needing you close, so he quickly pulls you up, before hovering over you, his hands drawing everywhere, running wild across your body. He missed the plush feel of your skin, the contours of your body that he yearned to explore once again. He's a prisoner deprived of the light for so long, sinking into the sun once again.

Minho's eyes never leave yours, as he touches you, moves in you in ways your soul seems to remember. He's gentle, removing strands of your hair out of your eyes, smoothing down the side of your head. All encompassing, drinking in your moans and groans, burning you up and soothing you all at once. “Good?” he asks, again and again, waiting to hear your affirmation before picking up speed again. Your answer is yes each time he asks, as he seals the void in you, the one he's been carefully stitching up for the past weeks. You store his glazed eyes and scrunched eyebrows in the gallery of your mind, you make room for new memories with Minho.

You're overwhelming him, in the most beautiful ways, contradicting feelings coursing through him like a rain flood. He's aching yet relieved to have you beneath him, lost in waves of pleasure so he grabs your hand to anchor himself, entwining his fingers with yours, before bringing it to his mouth, placing a tender smile on your palm. You beam at him, trust reflecting in your eyes as you bare your being to him. It is a rare fortune to be chosen by you not once, but twice, he can't believe how lucky he is to have you as his guiding star.

Your eyes never leave Minho’s, a shimmering pool mirroring your emotions. You see everything you feel in him—your better reflection. You had missed him, you were home now. “Miss you,” he whispers as he buries his face in your neck, seemingly hearing your thoughts. “Missed you so much,” he mumbles as your hands tangle in his hair, tears descending gently upon your cheeks, as they are on his. “Please don't leave me again.”

“I won't- I won't,” you promise, as light floods your vision, reaching the pinnacle of your pleasure. Colors burst before your eyes in a kaleidoscope, resembling shades of Minho— the warm brown of his eyes, the honeyed hue of his skin, the pink tint of his ears whenever he's embarrassed, the red of his lips, swollen as they kiss you. Tonight and tomorrow and every day after this one.

Day 1.

In the hushed aftermath, your head rests upon Minho’s bare chest, listening to the quiet rhythm of his heartbeat, calming down as the seconds trickle by. His arm curls around your body protectively, keeping you from slipping off the couch. Your knuckles trail up and down his shoulders, soothing the places where you had scratched too hard. His hand seeks yours, delivering a kiss as tender as the silence enveloping you—quiet and secure. The forgotten past doesn't matter; you will rewrite your story once more.

“Do you think our designated stars are sad somewhere far away?”

“Why would they be?”

“I don't know. Don't you think it's bittersweet how they missed out on so many days of loving one another?”

“I don't know, did they?” he muses, planting a tender kiss on your shoulder. “I think mine loved you all the same.”

740 notes · View notes

thesupreme316 · 8 months

Note

Hiii I’m here to request ( take your time)

I wonder how aew guys would react to their s/o being clumsy ( she gets hurt lot from being clumsy )

Have a amazing day and take care of yourself

AEW STARS REACT TO: Their S/O being clumsy

Pairings: Eddie Kingston X Reader, Kenny Omega X Reader, Ricky Starks X Reader, Hook X Reader, Nick Wayne X Reader, MJF X Reader, Daniel Garcia X Reader

Word Count: 832

Supreme Speaks: heyyy, thanks to anon for this request (and sorry for taking so long) and I HOPE YOU ARE DOING WELL AND ARE TAKING CARE OF YOURSELF. that's it I think...at least i'm uploading once a week neow...anyways, please remember that you are loved and appreciated.

Warnings: none tbh, GIFS AINT MINE

Taglist: @eddie-kingstons-wifey @hookerforhook @hooks-martin @wwenhlimagines @sheinthatfandom @cassie0sstuff @batzy-watzy @triscillal

Eddie Kingston

This man laughs at you

Like a full-on cackle

But don’t get it twisted

He will make sure that you’re all right

But he’s gonna laugh through it

Will buy bubble wrap baby safety items to “keep you safe” (mainly to tease you)

Mans even grabbed a helmet for you

“Remember when you ran into the light pole?? And then you tripped over a cat??”

He’s a tease and will not hesitate to remind you of all your clumsy actions

But he still loves you…even if you don’t have the best balance

Daniel Garcia

He doesn’t know you

Mans would full-on walk away from you and pretend he doesn’t know you

“Oh my god ma’am are you okay? Whispers stop tripping on air”

When while y’all are on vlogs with Isiah

He just looked off into space or into the camera like he’s on the office

Sometimes he would check on you and quickly walk away

It’s not that he’s not concerned…he just embarrassed a lil

Daniel still loves you to bits and pieces

But your name on his phone is still “Two Left Feet”

Ricky Starks

This man laughs at you pt. 2

Teases you like no tomorrow

Have you ever seen those videos where the dogs mock their owners?? Like that one dog pretending to hop on one foot cause his owner was doing it??

…That’s Ricky…

A dog that mocks you every chance he can

He would mock you over and over again to the point where it’s just an instant reply

Once he walked in on you covered in orange juice (cause you know the fridge fell or something) and he instantly started laughing

“I’m so glad I don’t have to clean that up”

He has videos and pictures of you tripping, slipping, falling, running into doors

I mean he would help wipe the juice off your face…but that’s it…you’re on your own

Hook

Man catches you before you fall every time

He will move you out of the way of danger without looking

He doesn’t understand how you are so clumsy and still alive

Doesn’t flinch if he hears a big crash…that’s just the universe letting him know that you are still alive

It’s when you are very quiet that scares him

Like the time he didn’t hear a noise for an hour, Hook decided to check on you

And he found you on the floor holding your foot in silence…looking up at the ceiling in disappointment

“You good?” “Yeah” “Do you need ice?” “No” “Do you wanna be left alone?” “Yeah”

And then he closed the door and sat back down

As long as you are not severely hurt, Hook is fine

Kenny Omega

Immediately cares for you…folds every time

Gets surprised and scared every time you trip or if there is a big noise

But finds your clumsiness adorable

“AWW, you are still so cute…even though you are as fragile as Don’s ego”

Instantly cuddles you, hugs you, and comforts you if anything happens

Has actually wrapped you up in bubble wrap before

Tries his best to make sure that you don’t have to get up to get anything

Worries about if he’s not there to help you and you get seriously injured

But he quickly realizes that it’s a daily thing and that you are fine

He hopes…

MJF

THIS MAN IS EVIL LAUGHING AT YOU

YOU KNOW THAT PICTURE OF SHINEE’S KEY WAS TAKING A PICTURE WHILE MINHO WAS DROWNING? (Here’s the pic)

That’s him…In fact…that’s his home screen

Doesn’t understand how he fell in love with you when you are this clumsy

Has weird nicknames for you

“Hi my little butterfingers, how are you today?”

But also would take your clumsiness and use it to make him look so strong

Just catches you when you fall and would be “What would you do without me here?”

In his mind, he’s your Superman

Nick Wayne

Mans is clumsy too and no you cannot change my mind

Doesn’t judge you at all…will still laugh at you

While he’s laughing at you running into a wall, Nick runs into a door

Now you both on the ground…laughing in pain

You both be covered with bandaids and bruises from running into anything and everything at least once a week

He risks his safety just for you (kith kith)

“I got you sweetheart. place himself between you and the wall Now you won’t stub your toe”

But then he stubbed his toe…so now you have to nurse him

Overall…he just wants to make sure that you are okay

173 notes · View notes

therhythmafterthesummer · 10 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/therhythmafterthesummer/723756900577099776/i-dont-know-if-you-have-a-anon-or-not-but-id

Thinking about this….. if you done this…. would you share 🥹🥹 pretty please 🙏🥹

Always ready to read your any of works 🥹🥹

Hope you’re having a good day or have a good day

i gotchu, bb.

thanks for sending this ask. hope y'all enjoy !

Pairing: Werewolf!Chan x Human!F.Reader (one of the main pairings of my WereRoomies series. you don’t really need to read any other instalment to understand/enjoy this piece). | Word Count: ~2k | Themes & Warnings: fantasy/supernatural AU · smut · roommates to ??? | this piece takes place before these two got together · allusion to the reader being chubby · self-pleasure (both parties are getting off, but not engaging with each other) · voyeurism · improper use of supernatural abilities · Chris’ inner wolf won’t shut up · mentions and hints of: fingering, knotting, breeding, etc · Guilty & Moping Christopher · self-loathing

minors do not interact.

Chris would’ve never thought he’d be this weak. He was usually very good at ignoring this attraction he felt. A couple of months of you living here with him had practically trained him for it. However, a handful of nights a week, it was almost impossible to ignore.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, really. It was only natural that someone your age would indulge in one of the most primal needs an animal could have, and, of course, like a proper human, you had tools to deal with all that.

The first time it happened, he almost dropped dead right then and there. It took him a moment to notice back then. He was so sleepy he thought he might’ve been hearing things, but, after a few moments of that faint buzzing sound resonating through the walls, the first quiet moan gave it all away.

It was almost embarrassing how quickly he started to get hard the moment he realised you were a few steps away, getting off. Chris had covered his face and ears with his pillow in a desperate attempt to not hear. Having enhanced hearing didn’t make it okay to eavesdrop, especially not during such intimate circumstances.

That night, he had to stop his hands from moving multiple times. He refused to get off to the sound of your quiet whines, to the buzz of the toy… He refused to even start imagining the scene you’d be painting in your room. He tried to distract himself, watching cute videos on his phone, or putting his headset on to try and muffle the sounds travelling through your shared home.

He’d succeeded for the most part, but after you were… finished, he heard you going through the motions of leaving your room, going to the bathroom, and then back to your room… He needed to drink something, his mouth was dry and his senses were on edge, plus, a cold shower was more than needed, considering his traitorous cock just wouldn’t go soft.

He had to wait almost twenty minutes to leave his room, just in case you were still awake. Honestly, the moment he stepped out of his room and went into the bathroom, he was almost winded by the smell of your scent in the hall. It wasn’t your fault, it probably just lingered there from when you had walked through here earlier, but, God, it wasn’t helping his problem one bit…

Regardless, Chris had been able to keep himself in check that night. No boundaries were broken, and that was enough to ease his mind.

However, even if he’d succeeded, he wasn’t really prepared to deal with this on the regular.

Every night he heard the buzz, it was a night spent in agony. Sometimes he’d just stay in his room, headphones plugged in, playing a game on max volume. On other nights, it’d be so incredibly difficult to hold himself back from doing something he’d regret, so he’d just leave the flat altogether.

He’d go to Changbin’s, or Minho’s, or Jisung’s, or anyone’s, as long as he got to be away from you and your goddamn scent and the alluring sounds coming out of your room.

He should’ve known that this couldn’t last. Chris was bound to break, and the tortuous workday he’d had today, coupled with just how incredibly exhausted he was, seemed to have lowered his inhibitions enough for his hand to mindlessly find its way to his crotch as soon as he heard that godforsaken buzz.

“Oh, shit…” Chris mumbled under his breath, leaning his head back against the headboard of his bed.

What was he doing?

Well, he knew what he was doing, but why was he doing it?

Using his supernatural hearing for this was beyond creepy, immoral, you definitely didn’t deserve it. But, God, how could he not do it when you sounded just so… pretty?

He couldn’t think straight, not when sparks of pleasure were running up and down his spine with each stroke of his hand, not when he tightened his grip just right. If you were to have your hands on him, would you hold him like this? He’d be more than delighted to show you what he liked. He just knew that you’d be able to perfectly mimic the pressure that made him dizzy, that you’d work him up diligently, that your hands would feel a hundred times better than his did.

Chris could hear the faint buzz in the distance, the quiet whines and sighs, the muffled moans… He could picture it all in detail. You, sprawled on your bed–that bed he himself had laid on many, many times before… platonically–legs spread, a hand on your breast and the other holding a toy between your legs.

What toy were you using? Was it a dildo? A bullet? One of those trendy suction ones? He selfishly hoped it wasn’t a dildo. A dildo wouldn’t be enough for a girl like you, he was sure. His fingers would be much more suitable. He’d prep you so well, stuff you with as many of his digits as he could, touch you however you liked to be touched, using the bullet or the suction toy on your sensitive clit…

But he wasn’t there right now. You were on your own, playing with yourself and your toy. His mind really couldn’t decide on which one it would be, the mental image he had kept shifting between devices. The only thing that was a constant was the look on your face, all blissed-out, with your eyes closed and your mouth slightly agape.

Would you be teasing your nipples? Rolling them between your fingers? Pinching them? If you weren’t, he’d gladly do it for you. God, the soft flesh would just feel incredible in his hold, he just knew. The sight would surely be heavenly.

Lick, suck, fuck, perfect tits just for me…

After spitting in his hand, Chris brought it back to his aching cock, smearing the saliva all over himself before he tightened his grip and pumped. Oh, how he wished it was you. Your hands, your mouth, your cunt, or even your thighs… He’d take anything you were willing to give him, he just knew you’d look so, so gorgeous while you choked on him, while you took him in any and every single one of your holes…

His spit and the pre-cum spilling from his tip helped lubricate him, each stroke produced an obscene squelching sound that just joined the quiet sounds you were making in your room. The buzzing increased, your whines became more frequent, and Chris just sped up the motions of his hand in response.

What if he just barged out of his room and went straight to yours? Would you let him take you? There was a small, very idiotic part of him that believed you would. You’d open your legs further, let him settle his body between them, and plunge himself right in while he kissed you. You’d be so warm around his cock, tight while you adjusted to his size, he was simply salivating at the thought.

Perfect, perfect cunt that’ll take her alpha’s cock like it was made to… mine, for me, for my cock, for my knot… to be stuffed to the very brim with my pups…

Chris’ chest was vibrating slightly with his contained growls, the thought of kissing you, fucking you, claiming you, and scenting you in one of the most obscene ways possible had his instincts on edge. His inner wolf wanted you, of course he did. He was just another part of Chris, who was already absolutely crazy about you. Every single part of him knew just how well you’d take anything he gave you, how well you’d do for him.

His logical mind wouldn’t let him leave his bed, though. He’d risk too much by acting purely on his wolf’s instincts. Instead, he just sped his strokes, matching the rapid pace you seemed to have set for yourself. Was your toy at top speed? Or was there still more? He wanted to find out. He wanted to be the one to use it on you, to have you moan his name in his ear and squirm under him.

Just the mere thought of you saying his name got him so, so close. There was nothing more that he wanted right now than to have his pretty roommate crumbling in bliss, he just knew he could make you feel so incredibly good if you just gave him a chance.

Pleasure mate, satisfy mate, scent, mark as mine, mine, mine, mine, mine….

All of a sudden, the quietest of moans left your mouth, and you started gasping for air. He could practically smell your scent, floral, fresh, aroused, satisfied…

Oh, he was so doomed…

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…” Chris mindlessly swore under his breath, speeding the movement of his hand, thrusting into his grip as the telltale signs of his orgasm clouded his senses.

Biting down hard on his bottom lip, he let his climax wash over him. His cum was warm, thick, and creamy since he hadn’t unloaded for days now. He had to make a conscious effort not to growl like the fucking horny dog he was while he got the expanse of his torso drenched in his release. It felt like he was coming for an eternity, and, by the time he had milked himself dry, all noise coming from your room had stopped completely.

Chris heaved a sigh, and his ears started ringing. This was just what he needed after such a long, strenuous day at work. He felt his frustrations quickly evaporate, replaced with the rush of endorphins only a good wank could release into his system. He laid there, panting, his head lolled to the side as the bliss of his orgasm relaxed his muscles, and for a moment, he felt like he was floating, even sleepy.

He was deep in bliss, light, satisfied…

But then, dread started to seep in.

“Oh, God, what’ve you done, you fucking idiot?” Chris reached for his discarded shorts on the floor and used them to clean up the mess he made. When was the last time he came this hard? There was so much cum…

What a waste…

“Shut the fuck up, dude”, he shook his head, like that would eliminate the thought.

How was he going to look you in the eyes tomorrow? You were his roommate. His female, very much human roommate that had trusted him enough to move in with him, and this was how he acted? By secretly listening in to you pleasuring yourself in the privacy of your own room? You had no idea what he was, that he was capable of doing this at all, so of course you would go ahead and make all the noise you wanted within those four walls. It was your right, but he had to go ahead and be disgusting about it. How could he do this?

His skeleton almost jumped out of his skin when he heard the door to your room open, only to hear the bathroom door closing a few seconds after.

Would you be just washing your hands? Or would you be washing your toys as well…?

Chris shook his head again. He had a serious problem…

With a sigh, he plopped on his bed, and decided to wait until you were done so he could go to the bathroom himself and clean up properly.

Squish, knead, hold tight… Must cuddle mate, make sure mate’s satisfied, happy…

He flicked himself on the forehead, right in the middle. He was capable of keeping his instincts in check, goddamn it. Why was his subconscious slipping like this?

As he laid there, staring at the ceiling, with the phantom of your scent lingering around him, he figured it was time to accept that he was incredibly attracted to you. Physically. Enough for him to become a desperate mess and lose his composure just at the thought of you masturbating a few metres away from him.

He knew, of course. He knew since the very first moment he saw you. But this was odd for him. Chris typically didn’t feel attracted to people in this way just out of nowhere. The fact that he’d known you for a couple of months already seemed to have made everything so much worse. You were nice, funny, kind, and, quite possibly, the most beautiful person he’d ever seen… He, very clearly, had a crush on you. What was he going to do about that?

When you finally retreated to your room, he didn’t dare leave his bed. The last thing he wanted was for you to start worrying about whether he’d heard you or not.

He heard you, alright, but you didn’t need to know that.

After twenty or so minutes, he finally made his way to the bathroom, and your scent still lingering in the room almost made his eyes roll to the back of his head.

Flowers… Fresh flowers… Mate’s scent…

While he cleaned himself up, Chris tried his best to ignore whatever instincts were running rampant deep inside him. His inner wolf was a horny idiot that was making him do stupid things whenever you were concerned. But, by association, that meant that he was a horny idiot who had just had a mindblowing orgasm thinking about his roommate. Thinking about you.

When he finally tucked himself back into bed, he couldn’t help but feel like he was the absolute worst person on earth. You didn’t deserve this, for the disgusting, horny werewolf you didn’t even know was a werewolf to be disrespecting you like this. He needed to do better.

But, God, why did you have to be so pretty? And so… his type? He was sure he didn’t have a type before he met you, but the more he had to be around you, the more he realised you were certainly his type.

Soft mate, squishy mate…

Sighing, Chris laid on his side and reached for one of the spare pillows on his bed. His senses were immediately flooded with your scent. That was when he remembered you’d laid your head here earlier today. No wonder he could smell your scent so vividly.

Your smile had been so big when you’d started talking to him about your day… The memory had his heart skipping a beat, and his stomach sank.

Hugging the pillow tight to his chest, he curled himself into a ball under the covers.

Kind mate, perfect mate…

Once again, Chris ignored whatever fuckery his instincts were trying to tell him. He reminded himself that you were his roommate, essentially a friend at this point, and as such, he was supposed to protect you and make you feel safe. It didn’t matter how pretty your moans were, how he wanted to get drowned in your scent… None of that justified what he’d just done. He couldn’t break your trust like this ever again.

Chris certainly needed to do better. So he swore he’d never ever do this again.

He just won’t do this again…

…Right?

Author's Note: aaahh, this was so much fun to write. ngl, i'm kinda tempted to write a drabble with this scenario again, but after our dearest, prettiest pack mum has already found out about Chris' condition... special thanks to @notastraykid for providing her valuable insight, opinions, and ideas💜

tagging everyone that wants to be tagged in my wereroomies instalments. if you don’t want to be tagged in little ask responses like these let me know ! If you want to be added to the tag list, you can fill in this form. be aware that you must have an indication that you’re an adult in your blog if you want me to tag you in my works

@comet-falls · @princelingperfect · @iadorethemskz · @kileidoscope · @maknae00 · @compersian · @dundullresident · @vitrealisbunny · @yeetfellx · @minnysproutgriffinteddy · @oiminho · @binchangf · @leedunno · @luxsonny · @shutupandstoptalking · @akimi-youngblood · @mamieishere · @straylightdream · @4kwp · @bintificreads · @seo--changbin

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#stray kids supernatural au #stray kids fantasy AU #stray kids werewolf au #bang chan smut #stray kids smut #stray kids fanfiction #bang chan fanfiction #bang chan fic #bang chan x reader #chan x reader #skz fanfic #skz fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #werewolf chan #werewolf bang chan #✨🌙✏

324 notes · View notes

hyunnieshannie · 9 months

Text

Isn't it Lovely?

🖤: Hyunjin x Reader | Han Jisung x Reader 🖊️: approx 6.3K 🚨: Hanahaki AU, there is so much trauma and Angst. Major character death. No hopeful ending. Angst- No Comfort. A/N: I am so sorry... Hyune I'm so sorry.. Jisung... I am so sorry.. Reader... I am so sorry...

Play this while you read? | Mood Board | ART

It was starting to get even harder to breathe. Hidden away in your apartment you forced yourself to finish the letters you started. You thought keeping it away from everyone was the best choice but as you sit in the darkness of your room you wish you had told someone. Anyone. You didn’t want to do this alone anymore. The more you wrote the more you cried, the more you wished you had just told one person- so one person would be there with you.

You knew you couldn't tell anyone. You knew exactly what they had done had they known from the beginning. They’d have dragged you straight to a hospital and forcibly removed what slowly, and not so silently killed you. Your phone buzzed beside you and slowly you checked your messages. Jisung. You smile lightly at your phone. Tomorrow, you’d give him the box of letters. He’ll give out each letter. He’ll understand, right?

You sign the card meant for the top of the box addressed to Jisung,

Ji,

Take this box and keep it safe. Please don’t open it, don’t look inside not until next week okay? Don’t ask me questions, just trust me okay? Next week open it, and give everything to the people they’re addressed to. Please.

Thank you Ji, for always being there for me.

One more week. One more and everyone will know. Avoiding letting anyone know was always the best option. You know Jisung would have ripped you right out of the apartment and brought you to a doctor but you couldn’t live like that- having the flowers delicately taken out of you while they knowingly ripped out the feeling of love altogether. It would be no way to live- without the memory or feeling of ever being in love again. You couldn’t handle that- living as a shell of who you once were.

One more week and you wouldn’t be on this earth anymore and everyone around you would be moving on with their lives. They’d have received the letters you had written them- maybe even shed a tear but eventually, they would come to forget you. Changbin would still be happy with Felix, and Seungmin would be attending his lectures and still trying to charm the girl in this English class. Jeongin would be cuddled up with his new girlfriend struggling to figure out what to do for their month anniversary. Chan would still be babying all of them, Minho would still be attempting to adopt new cats Hyunjin- Hyunjin would still be with the girl he had met in his art lecture. He would be happy, and in love as he always dreamed of. No one appreciated love the way he did, the way he saw love in such a beautiful way. The way you knew he would treat her with absolute respect and adoration, she would never need to fear losing him. He wasn’t that kind of guy. Life would simply, go on.

Jisung would be the only one who would probably be more hurt than the rest. Being your best friend for so long. He had grown up with you, he had always been there for you. He was there when you found out you had the gene, the stupid goddamn gene that landed you where you were now. Cursed by your genetics, and betrayed by your heart- Hanahaki had taken over. Jisung always warned you to be careful who you’d fall in love with, he always told you to keep your heart closed off unless you knew for sure they could love you back- you did for the most part. You had your walls up until you met Hwang Hyunjin.

Hwang Hyunjin destroyed the walls you had built to shield your very delicate heart. Hwang Hyunjin was the definition of a dream. Sweet, caring, attentive and the way he viewed the world was so beautiful. Anyone would have fallen for him, everyone did. Not only did he have such a gorgeous personality but he was also so incredibly handsome. Delicate features, and a toned body. He was ethereal, to say the least, a deadly combination of looks and sincerity. How could anyone not have fallen for someone who could easily be mistaken for an angel?

You had first met Hyunjin through Jisung. They had met in college. The music major and the artist. They hadn’t always gotten along but once they realised they had a lot more in common than they had originally thought they became inseparable. The day you met Hyunjin was on his twenty-first birthday. It was cold out, the leftover freezing rain from the winter being poured out upon the earth as he and Jisung ran into your apartment soaked and shaking. You had quickly run to Jisung failing to properly notice the other standing beside him, taking his hands in your own as you tried to warm up the shivering boy.

“Jisung you’re soaked! Oh my god get in the shower before you catch a cold I’ll dry your clothes!” You worried,

“Y/N..” Jisung smiled, his teeth still chattering from the cold. “Y/N This is Hyunjin, he’s-” he lets out a soft sneeze,

“Yes yes the artist Jisung I know- now get in the shower and warm up!” you look to the other boy, Tall, with long dark -wet hair that stuck to his face. His body trembling, “And you!” you say, “You’re next. For now in front of the heater!” you pointed to the small space heater you had set up in the living room where you were originally sitting- reading. Jisung hurries himself to the washroom, and Hyunjin sits quietly on the spot on the floor in front of the heater- his hands up in front of it as he attempts to keep them warm. “You’re shaking” you sigh as you drape your duvet over him.

“T-thanks,” he says softly, “You know, spring shouldn’t be this cold.”

“Well you two shouldn’t be running around in the rain, what were you thinking?” You said at you patter him down-

“Han said we’d have more fun here, apparently Birthdays should be spent with friends and not at home watching dramas” Your eyes widen at the confession,

“Happy birthday.” You smile,

“Thank you-”

“Now, this is going to sound weird but I really don't want you getting sick especially not on your birthday- undress in the bedroom and keep that blanket on you until your turn, I’ll get a head start on drying your clothes.” Hyunjin sits up watching you as you speak. He nods getting up slowly from his spot on the floor and heads into your bedroom. A few minutes later he emerges cocooned in your duvet clutching his clothes. He hands them to you and follows you to the laundry room- you throw them into the wash alongside Jisung's and run them on a light cycle. You were sure Jisung had left clothes somewhere in the guest room the question was where. With Hyunjin trailing you like a lost puppy you wandered into the spare bedroom and riffled through the closet. Surely he had something. You spot the blue gym bag buried deep in the back of the closet, with a light tug you drag it out of its spot and peek inside. Gym shorts, a tank top and a pair of sweats.

“Well it’s not much, and you’re definitely taller than Ji but it’ll have to do until your clothes are clean and dry.” You hand him the bag, he fishes out the sweats and bows politely.

“Thanks, honestly Your blankets are soft and all but uh- It’s weird being under someone's blankets naked and it wasn’t even for a good reason.” He laughs, and your brain freezes at the realization of what he’s saying. Your cheeks heat up at the image of Hyunjin under the blanket- naked for a ‘good reason’ No, no no- don’t think of that.

“Uh, not to interrupt whatever the fuck is going on here but-” Jisung clears his throat at the door, his lower body wrapped in his designated towel, “Mind tossing the bag?” Hyunjin laughs as he holds the blanket closed with one hand and tosses the gym bag towards Jisung who almost manages to drop it as it falls into his hands,

“I’ll uh-” you mutter, “Grab you a towel.”

The rest of yours and Jisung's friends arrive an hour after the whole ordeal alongside a few others you didn’t quite fully know. Jisung sat happily in his shorts and tank while Hyunjin sat in front of the heater in Jisung's sweats.

“Classy Hyune,” a boy you had seen on campus but never spoke to, “Meet a girl and suddenly you’re shirtless.” He smiles as he walks in behind Chan,

“Y/N!” Chan smiles, “Taking care of the children I see”

“Honestly as a single mother of three, you should really be helping out here more Chris.” You laugh,

“Please I’m the one that takes care of Changbin and Felix. Your only responsibility is that one” Chan giggles as he points to Jisung.

“Mom- Dad stop fighting” Felix chimes in, Hyunjin still sat quietly as he watched you interact with your friends. Jeongin swiftly takes his hoodie off and throws it at Hyunjin’s face.

“Put a shirt on you heathen, we’re in the presence of a nice girl who’s helped you not get sick and you thank her by traumatizing her with your bare chest?” the same boy who has mentioned Hyunjin’s outfit- or lack thereof scoffs, “Apologies, he has no manners, I’m Yang Jeongin, unfortunately, i’m friends with the birthday boy so I will be taking responsibility for him” you smile at the boy, he seems sweet. Hyujin throws the sweater on, still carefully watching as everyone talks around him.

“Please. Nice girl? Y/N spends half her time pants-less and the other half shirtless. If you think Hyune’s chest is traumatizing wait till you see her-” You give Seungmin a punch before he finishes his sentence, “SEE WHAT I MEAN? ANYTHING BUT NICE.”

After that day the nine of you began to spend more time together. Hyunjin was often quiet, he enjoyed sitting back and observing the conversation. He’d speak up occasionally but most of the time it felt like he was studying everyone. Jisung had mentioned it for a long time Hyunjin just kept to himself. That was until he had started hanging around Jisung. Hyunjin had introduced him to Jeongin and from there the three of them had begun a small friendship. He mentioned how Hyunjin wasn’t usually this quiet around his friends and that maybe, he just needed to get used to the group.

The more you spent time with the group including Hyunjin and Jeongin the more you got to know them (naturally as one would). You learned of Hyunjin’s love of art- and dance. You learned his favourite colours, foods, and seasons and that his favourite flower was the rose. You learned how he spoke softly around the group but when he spoke to you he was more- himself. He seemed to prefer one-on-one conversations to those with a group. He enjoyed watching everyone yell over each other but never wanted to speak over anyone. Oftentimes times the two of you would spend your time just talking to each other while the others yelled over one another.

You got too close to him, too fast. You just didn’t know that at the time.

He asked about your interests and your dreams, and he listened and responded thoughtfully to questions you’d ask. He’d bring you coffee and ask you to keep him company. You fell fast for him but you were only ever a good friend to him.

“There’s this girl in my class.” Hyunjin sighs, “She’s sweet, cute. Her art is just, wow. She’s so talented, and I- god I feel so stupid Y/N” Your heart drops into your stomach. You lost him, yet he was never yours to lose. He’d always be your friend though right? So why does it feel like your heart just shattered?

“You’re not stupid Jinnie, you admire her- so talk to her.” You smile as you bring the warm cup of coffee you’d been neglecting as you watched Hyunjn paint.

“Should I?” He asks genuinely, and you nod.

“Of course Jinnie,”

The first date went well. Hyunjin came back to you and Jisung absolutely elated. He told the two of you how they had talked all night about art, their interests, and what they wanted to do in the future. He told you two how she had agreed to a second date and he how he hasn’t felt this excited about a girl in a while. He had unintentionally planted the seeds of your demise that night. Neither of you knew yet.

By the third date, he had decided to officially ask her out. She said yes. She’d have been stupid to say no. That was the first time you felt the pain in your chest. You choked in attempts to take a breath, only to land yourself in a coughing fit- something stuck in your throat and you desperately forced the cough to rid yourself of it. You knew, yet what hurt the most was to see it fully. To fully let it sink in as you stared down at the rose petal covered in spit and blood laying on the palm of your hand. You cried for the first time over Hyunjin that night.

Your group of nine had become a group of ten within a few weeks. Hyunjin brought his new girlfriend around quite often. He didn’t sit as close to you anymore, and when the group began to talk over each other he wouldn’t lean in to talk to you about how stupid they were all being. Instead, he whispered into her ear about- you wouldn’t know what. You watched, silently as your heart broke more. You could feel the sting in your chest, not only from the aching of heartbreak but the thorns puncturing your lungs as the roses grew. You excused yourself from the group, quietly heading to the furthest washroom in Chan's house. Heaving as you desperately tried to breathe, coughing up more of those delicate red rose petals. You didn’t think it would happen this fast.

What neither you, nor Hyunjin noticed was the way Jisung watched you. Watched as the light in your eyes died out watching them- watched as you held back tears. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to accept it. Maybe the disease hadn’t come? Yes you had the genes for it- but maybe just maybe he was so lucky that you were unaffected by it. You’d have told him if something happened. You’d have told him if you were coughing up petals. You were his best friend and he was yours. He trusted you more than anything to tell him. You would- You would tell him.

Jisung coughed that night. A small, purplish-blue petal forced it’s way up his throat. He stared down at it in horror. You didn’t love him as he did you.

Almost a month later, Hyunjin had come to you asking for a woman's opinion on what to get his girlfriend for their month anniversary. You smiled through it, and the two of you went shopping- sometimes you thought you could pretend this wasn’t happening. That it wasn’t this god-awful disease of unrequited love attacking you. Sometimes you’d pretend you just caught a bad cold, and that Hyunjin was still your Jinnie, your close friend. Someone you’d love as a friend forever, but- reality was never so kind. He’d mention something she’d done that made him happy, or he’d see something she may like and ask you for advice and you’d feel the thorns, the threat of the roots squeezing your lungs until they could no longer garner any oxygen. Excusing yourself to the nearest washroom and barely making it inside before you coughed up more of the rose petals, you found that as the condition worsened, the blood that was once just specks and spots came out in larger quantities as time went on.

You’ve begun to hate roses.

“Oh sweetheart-” an elderly woman whispered as she watched you whimper over the sink, she wiped away the blood from your mouth with a paper towel. “You should have those removed my dear.” You nodded and walked away quietly as she stood and watched you. Pitying you. You made your way back to Hyunjin who stood waiting near the benches just before the washrooms, the elderly woman behind you following along, “Deary-” she called out, but stopped as she eyed down Hyunjin. “That cough is quite heavy, I’d suggest heading home alone- lest the boy catch anything.” She smiles softly. She knows. She extended her hand offering a mask, “Rid yourself of that cough dear, it’ll be best.” was the last thing she said before walking away.

“A-are you sick? What cough? Y/N Should you be resting!? You could have told me!” Hyunjin panics, as he quickly brings a hand to your face to check your temperature “You don’t feel warm, common Let's get you some tea and then home-” He says grabbing your wrist and gently tugging you along.

“I’m fine Hyunjin honestly.” you sigh.

You hid yourself away for a week after that day. Hyunjin and Jisung regularly came to check up on you to make sure you were recovering from your cold well. You lied. Saying you were fine and healthy again, and they both believed you.

Once more you found yourself with the other nine in Chan’s house. Everyone sat around playing cards. Drinking, overall having a good time. You tried hard never to laugh too hard- god forbid you coughed up a flower in front of everyone. When everyone got bored- the group moved from inside to Chan's backyard. Quickly he started up a fire for the night, you watched as the flames rose and danced around the air before dissipating into the night.

“You guys are gross!” Jeongin yells as he runs out of Chan's house, “Someone tell Hyunjin to be less gross.” he complains, the group laughs.

“What did he do now?” You smile- only to regret the question immediately.

“He’s so fucking mushy, can you do all your I love you’s in private and not with the group- like god not everyone wants to see your pda and shit” Jeonging yells, Hyunjin slowly making his way outside with his girlfriend's hand in his- laughing.

“Please Innie, you’ll understand when you’re in love.” He smiles. Thank god for the summer weather- a small gust of wind pushes the smoke from the fire into your face and your coughs are easily excused as getting a lung full of smoke. You excuse yourself to hide away and spit out the soggy petals into the toilet. Cleaning your mouth out and quickly swish mouth wash around in it to avoid the iron scent of blood within it. You slowly make your way outside where everyone was still chatting away.

“You guys hear about Yeonjun?” Seungmin sighs,

“Terrible isn’t it?” Hyunjin’s girlfriend says softly, “Hanahaki. Rare but devastating. I heard he’s having the flowers removed.”

“That’s better than suffering.” Chan sighs, “I mean- what would you guys do if you had the gene and then- you know-”

“I’d have them removed.” Hyunjin’s girlfriend says, “I’d rather lose the memory of the person than to die by suffocation.” you wince at the thought and let out a small cough, and the attention turns to you.

“Sorry, it’s like when you talk about lice and you can’t help but itch-” you mutter, “Talking about Hanaki is particularly uncomfortable for Jisung and I-” you sigh, as the others look to Jisung.

“Yeah uh- we both, have the gene- but there's no guarantee it will happen you know?” he smiles up at you, “I mean neither of us has started coughing up petals and we’ve been in relationships before ya know?”

“Isn’t it like a love thing though, not just a puppy love but like- oh god this is so mushy but like true love?” Minho asks,

“There is no real science behind it-” you say, “You never know who will trigger it- it just happens.”

“What would you two do if it happened, if I may ask-” Felix mutters,

“I wouldn’t remove them.” You sigh, the silence that follows is deafening, the only sound is that of that fire and the slight rustling of the leaves in the summer wind.

“W-why not” Hyunjin stutters, “You’d rather die in love with someone who doesn’t love you back than to live a long life and possibly find someone else?” Hyunjin didn’t mean to sound like he was judging- but it hit hard, it still hurt,

“The thing about removing it Hyune, is that removal affects everyone differently. Some- lose memories of the person they once loved. Everything about them just- poof, gone. Others- they uh-” Jisung tries,

“They’ll never be able to feel love at all ever again.” You finish.

“Oh.” Hyunjin mutters, “Well if either of you ever falls in love with someone that triggers it- tell us. Okay?”

“I wouldn’t keep it from you guys- I’m sure we're fine!” Jisung smiles. What no one knew was that Jisung was suffering. Hiding away just as you were. Neither of you went to the other to tell them what was going on because Jisung would rather suffer than have you pity him for loving you all this time. You had fallen in love and he saw it, and you had survived- unaffected by your cursed genetics. So he would spare you the details, he wouldn’t allow you to witness him- wilting away as he desperately held on to you. Your last memories of him would not be of him coughing up flowers. God forbid you ever found out. He would not allow it.

You could barely move, barely breathe. Your lungs hurt to take in air, the coughing never stopped yet still you pushed- and pushed. You tried so hard to be normal around your friends, but soon enough you couldn’t push anymore. You hid yourself away. Claiming to be busy with work- You ignored calls, and didn’t open the door when people came looking for you. The coughing was so bad and the blood loss made you feel dizzy. Your time was coming. You clicked your phone on and sent a quick message to your friends.

STRAYS

Y/N: Movie night, my place friday @ 6 please I’ve been so shit without y’all

Minho: SHE LIVES! Bet! See you there!

Felix: Im down!

You ignored the rest of the incoming texts. You had a mission, two days to complete it and it required all of your strength. You got up from your bed, dragging your bucket of petals alongside you as you planted yourself in the living room and began to write.

To: Chris.

To: Minho.

To: Changbin.

To: Felix

To: Seungmin

To: Jeongin

To: Jisung

To: Hyunjin

To: Mom & Dad

The last three of your letters being the most important. You needed to take your time with those three.

Jisung had decided to head over early. He was coughing still but not too badly, he felt fine enough to go hang out with you for a bit and help you set up. You had been working so much he was glad to finally see you- he just wanted to be the first one to see you. He made his way up to your door- opting to knock first before letting himself in, but when you didn’t answer he made use of his key and made his way inside. The apartment was quiet and dark. Perhaps you weren’t home yet. He made his way into the living room and sat himself on the couch, taking out his phone to call you. The confusion hit more when he heard your phone buzzing, but there was no effort from you to answer the call.

“Y/N?” Jisung called out, but you didn’t answer. He made his way to your bedroom, knocking on the door softly. Still, nothing. He pushed the door open and immediately his legs gave out. Eyes watering, the cough returning in full force. The screams Jisung let out were heartbreaking. And thats how everyone else found him. Screaming, crying, and coughing up bloodied flower petals. Chan rushed to him instantly, picking him up off the floor in front of your room,

“Han!” Chan called out to him, “Han talk to me what happened?” only then did Chan look up, and see what Jisung was sobbing over. “Felix.” Chan held back his tears as much as he could as he looked to Jisung, “Felix come here and shut the fucking door to her room, shut it- shut it now!” He yelled out, as Felix rushed to the door, Hyunjin let go of his girlfriends hand, making his way slowly to your door but Jisung looked up and glared.

“Get out.” He spat, “Get out!”

“H-Han” Hyunjin said in confusion,

“GET OUT HYUNJIN GET THE FUCK OUT YOU DON’T GET TO SEE HER, YOU DON’T GET TO FUCKING SEE HER” He screamed, attempting to lunge at Hyunjin, “IT’S YOUR FAULT- IT’S YOUR FAULT SHE’S DEAD- IT’S YOUR FAULT!” Jisung was yelling on pure adrenaline, his mind wasn’t processing the words he was saying to his best friend. He needed someone to blame, and Hyunjin just seemed like the best answer.

“FELIX! CLOSE THE DAMN DOOR” Minho yelled out,

“Dead..” Hyunjin looks into your room just as Felix closes the door, the only glimpse of you he got was your hand hanging off the bed. Jisung’s screams were interrupted by more coughing, petals spilling out of his mouth as he clutched his chest, heaving. It took a moment to process but it clicked. You were gone. and Jisung was dying.

“Uh, guys. We uh- we can’t leave her like that.” Seungmin sighs, as tears slowly stream down his face. “I’m going to go call the cops.”

You never got to put the card explaining to Jisung to wait a week before giving out the letters. It lay in your room while the box lay collecting dust in the living room. Where everyone sat waiting for the authorities to arrive. Minho was ultimately the one to hand out the letters to everyone sitting around.

No one read them until they had gone home.

The funeral was nice. Jisung thought there was a terrible irony in the flower arrangement that decorated your casket. To die by roses, only to be buried with them in the end. You’d have hated it. The group hadn’t really seen each other since that day. Some of them had tried checking up on Jisung having learned of his condition but he simply ignored them. He couldn’t bring himself to tell them he’d be meeting the same fate because everyone had the same questions. ‘Who is it Jisung? Maybe if we tell them.’ No one noticed how Jisung loved you.

He stood alongside your family, as guests came and went paying their respects to your family, him as your lifelong best friend included. Chan came up first, said a few words to everyone before he disappeared back into the crowd. Seungmin and Jeonging were next. Minho and Changbin followed after. When Jisung had spotted Hyunjin making his way up slowly to your family he half expected his girlfriend to be following along, but she made no appearance. You never did give his name to your family. You didn’t want them to blame him.

Jisung wanted to blame him, but he knew he couldn’t. Hyunjin just didn’t know. It wasn’t a lack of caring, it was the complete lack of knowledge and Jisung couldn’t blame him for that.

“My name is Hwang Hyunjin,” he said softly, “I’m-” he choked on his words, “I did it to her-” he sobbed, bringing his hands up to cover his face as he hid in shame from your family, “I didn’t know- I swear- If I had-” your mother places a hand on his shoulder, in attempt to comfort him,

“It wasn’t your fault,” was all she could say as Hyunjin sobbed. Jisung excuses himself from your family, motioning for Hyunjin to follow him. The two of them find an empty hallway to talk in.

“Jisung?” Hyunjin sniffles, as he tries to wipe away his tears that seemingly won’t stop.

“I watched her fall in love with you Hyunjin. I watched her love you with everything she had in her.” Jisung coughs, it hurts to cough up the tiny followers you loved so much. Would he be the next to go? Probably. Hyunjin’s eyes grow wide as he watches the dainty petals fall from Jisung’s lips. Tiny blue and purple petals- covered in spit and blood.

Jisung was tired. He was so tired.

“You know she hid it from us all? She died alone Hyune,” He takes a deep breath in, Hyunjin could see the way Jisung struggles to breathe- two people. Two people in his life with the same disease, how could he have been so blind to it?

“I-” Hyunjin stutters, it was his fault. It was all his fault. “I didn’t know- If I had known Jisung- I could have-”

“That’s not how love works Hyunjin and you know it. She didn’t tell you because she didn’t want you to pity her, she didn’t tell you because she didn’t want you to force yourself to love her because she was dying.” Jisung lets out another loud cough. “I’m sorry you know?”

“Sorry?” Hyunjin mutters, “For what? I should be the one apologizing.”

“For saying it was your fault she died-” Jisung sighs, “It wasn’t, I should have noticed but it wasn’t your fault. She hid it for a reason.”

“You know, the worst part is- I can’t win in this situation,” Hyunjin sighs as he leans against the wall, sinking down to the ground. “If I had known she liked me, I’d have asked her out-” Jisung looks to him confused, “I always thought she just saw me as a friend- as someone she was close to- never- as someone she could love like that.” Jisung watches as Hyunjin takes out a crumpled piece of paper out of his coat pocket, “Didn’t know till she wrote it all out and she was gone. Should have seen Jisu’s reaction when she found out.”

“How is she by the way?” Jisung asks,

“Wouldn’t know, we broke up. Couldn’t be with her after I killed someone- She couldn’t handle knowing her friend died because of me either. She liked Y/N a lot. They weren’t that close but she liked her.” Hyunjin shakily hands over the piece of paper to Jisung.

Hyunjin,

Where do I even start? I guess, I start with I’m sorry. Probably should have told everyone sooner. I hope you’re not blaming yourself. If you are- please don’t. Please, please don’t. It’s not your fault. You know, since they told me I had the gene, I was warned. Warned to keep my heart guarded, warned to keep myself safe, not to love just anyone. I don’t regret it you know? I don’t at all. I couldn’t help it. I didn’t expect you to tear down those walls I had so quickly, but still, I don’t regret letting you in.

I guess you probably have a lot of questions huh?

Firstly yes, your shirtlessness when we first met did traumatise me :) kidding. But seriously. I’m sure you have so many questions that I wish I could just answer for you but- they’re a bit complicated. So ill answer the ones I can think of right now,

Does it hurt? Unfortunately. These kinds of flowers are, beautiful. Truly a symbol of love, but also dangerous and-, I can feel them in my lungs. It does hurt but it's bearable.

How long? I think the first time I coughed up a petal was when you first asked out Jisu. How long had I been into you? Well, I’m not sure, to be honest. I think I took a liking to you after we had met, but I definitely knew when we would spend days together in your studio and I’d watch you get lost in your canvass. (I hope you’re still painting, by the way, you’re so talented. Don’t ever stop please.)

Am I scared? Terribly. I wish I told one of you sooner so I don’t have to do this alone- Jinnie I’m terrified.

Why didn’t I tell you? For a lot of reasons but honestly, because you looked so happy with Jisu! Gosh, I hope you two are okay right now- selfish of me to be confessing to you over a letter after I straight up died, but honestly, wholeheartedly I hope the two of you are happy! You deserve to love and be loved. I’ve never met anyone who sees so much beauty in falling in love- who thinks of it in such a fairytale way. You deserve to be happy, so I guess that’s why I didn’t say anything. She loves you, and you her. And knowing that you’re happy makes it easier for me to leave.

Jisung pushes the paper back to Hyunjin, he can’t read anymore.

“You know, she ended it with ‘I love you Jinnie, live happily for me, and love strongly for me’ and I couldn’t even do that for her,” Hyunjin says softly, Jisung could tell he was breaking inside. Jisung could also tell he’d read through that letter like his life depended on it, like it would keep him grounded.

“You have time to live happily Hyune- to love for her. You still have time,” Jisung says,

“What about you-” Hyunjin could feel the tears threatening to breach again, he couldn’t lose another person. Maybe he could help Jisung, maybe he could do something- anything to save him.

“They can’t love me back.” He sighs, “It’s fine.”

“Who is it?” Hyunjin asks, “Maybe we could talk to them or something. We both saw how not saying anything ends, maybe if we just get you to talk to-”

“I can’t Hyunjin,” Jisung says somewhat aggressively, “She can never love me back, it was too late even before-”

“No- Maybe they can! Maybe we can-” Hyunjin panics as he cuts off Jisung, he can’t lose his best friend, he can’t. “We- we can-”

“HYUNJIN SHES DEAD. SHE CAN’T.” Jisung shouts, and it clicks for Hyunjin, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled, you’re scared and hurting. I know you just want to help but-” Jisung choked as he coughed, “There’s no helping this one and I think what hurts the most Hyune- is that loving you killed her faster than loving her is killing me," Jisung sighs,

"What do you mean?"

"I found her in full bloom. She had a rose bush growing inside her, thorns and all" Jisung sighs, “Roses out of her mouth, and chest- You know people romanticize it like it’s some beautiful display, but no one seems to remember how much blood comes with your chest bursting with flowers.” Jisung shutters.

"R-roses.." Hyunjin stutters

"Yeah- fuck I shouldn’t have said that- sorry."

"No- I just- wish I knew sooner." Hyunjin is about to burst, with more tears. He knows what Jisung is saying isn’t to place blame on him, but to help him understand what he was going through- what you went through, he also knew Jisung didn’t always know how to explain his feelings fully- but it didn’t make it hurt any less, it didn’t make him blame himself any less either "What about you then-"

"Forget me not’s. small, but invasive. they spread fast - definitely not as painful as a rose but- still they hurt. I’ll have them removed soon.” Jisung sighs,

“You’re gonna do the surgery?” Hyunjin looks to Jisung, like he has some sort of hope in his eyes, and it kills Jisung inside, but he simply nods.

It was getting harder to breathe as he stared down at the contract. Jisung knew this would be it. Removing them would only lead to him forgetting you. Forgetting how he loved you. Forgetting your smile, your laugh. How when you were happy you’d scrunch your nose. Or when you were upset or sad or had too much on your mind your leg would bounce subtly.

Would Hyunjin had noticed all of these things?

God. Jisung thought to himself. He should have just told you.

He stared down at the contract once more, A violent coughing fit threatened to breach but he knew it wouldn’t ever feel better. The roots were already too far gone, hugging his lungs tight. Every day he could feel the small purple and blue forget-me-nots making their way up his throat threatening to burst out of his chest and mouth in full bloom.

Slowly he rises from his seat.

It’s time.

Jisung never did sign the contract. Opting to go home. Lay down. And hug your sweater and one other thing that reminded him of you.

“You always said you’d follow me to the ends of the earth” You smiled, a gentle one at him as get let out a breath. “Lets go?” and he did, he followed you to the ends of the earth.

Hyunjin couldn’t even scream, something blocked out the screams he so desperately wanted to let out. His heart shattered. He could feel the physical pain of it breaking within his chest.

Hyunjin found Jisung clutching a photo of you and him as kids. On the back, in pen, he had written his last words.

If I have to let you go, I’d rather be dead.

Tag List: @chanlixiiee @amalieworldidk @jaebaebaegot7 @maeleelee @iadorethemskz @maenijw @hangin-out-with-the-street-rats @jinniespuppy @painstakingly-juno @lethallyprotected @elizalabs3 @jisungsbff01 @seungminslittlepup @lieghscloud @foxinnie8 @scarletbedlam @kpoppin-to-the-beat @stay-berry @bbymatz @kurxxmi

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mrworldwideshoulders · 10 months

Text

i choose you || reader x knj

When your best friend abandons you at a wedding with a bunch of strangers and the guy she’s trying to set you up with is just not that into you, you decide to have some fun instead of sulking in the corner, which earns you the attention - and the affection - of a stranger named Kim Namjoon.

✓ Pairing: reader x Namjoon (very briefly feat. Jin) ✓ WC: 4.5k ✓ Rating: rated T / PG-13 ✓ Genre: mostly fluff, smidgen of angst, strangers to lovers-ish, love at first sight-ish ✓ Warnings: alcohol consumption, foul language, minho slander (he’s choi minho, he can handle it), seokjin is drunk, loud, and in love, bad descriptions of making out, dimple descriptions, reader is a hoe for namjoon’s forearms, namjoon is a big awkward cutie ✓ a/n: hehehe it's another wedding fic sorry lolololol. this is the prequel to where love finds us and the way you look tonight, if ya wanna check those out afterwards. i meant to have this out last month but oh well, here it is in july :) i like this one a lot because it's a lil bit goofy and i hope you enjoy it too! as always beta’d and bannered by teh amazing april (@onmypillow-onmytable)! thx! ly - robyn ✓ P.S. I do not own BTS or their likenesses, nor do I own the music of Bruno Mars (lol), they just inspire me.

part of the 24k magic collection (masterlist)

“Remind me again why I’m here?” you complain as your best friend, Ji-eun, pulls you by the arm into the reception hall. “When you asked me if I wanted to do something this weekend, crashing someone’s wedding reception was not what I had in mind.”

“It’s not crashing if you’re invited,” shrugs Ji-eun. “I was invited. And then I invited you. Ergo, you were invited.”

“That is absolutely not how weddings work. Who invited you, anyway? I don’t recognize anyone here.”

“The bride?” says Ji-eun, as if it should be obvious. “We’re co-workers, or something. She invited everyone from our department.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. “I’m totally underdressed.” You eye all of the women around you dressed in semi-formal gowns and you elbow Ji-eun in the ribs. “Why didn’t you tell me there was a dress code?” The strapless cocktail dress you thought was such a good idea earlier suddenly seems like the worst decision you ever made, and you didn’t even bring a sweater to save face either, all because the only instruction Ji-eun could bother to give you when she texted this morning was “wear a dress” and “something with lots of cleavage.” Ji-eun, you’ve decided, is bound and determined to drag you into trouble at every opportunity. It’s a wonder you’re both still alive – and not cellmates in jail – with all of the questionable situations she’s been pulling you into since middle school.

“You look hot,” she says. “Don’t even worry about it. You’ll blend right in.”

“Did you just say ‘hot’ and ‘blend in’ in the same sentence?”

“Ugh, you’re so self-conscious. You are hot. I think it’s time you embraced that.” She pouts at the look on your face. “Come on, y/n,” she wheedles. “Minho will be here, and I’ve been wanting to introduce you guys for ages. He’s such a great guy. Did I mention he’s hot? And dying to meet you? Please let me play matchmaker. Then later when you’re happily married to the love of your life, you can say it was all thanks to your best friend in the entire world who loves you enough to set you up with her hot guy friends.”

“Yeah, well, the position of ‘best friend in the entire world’ might be opening up sometime soon if you keep setting me up with these duds.”

“You’re so mean!” she whines. “I told you the last one was just a misunderstanding.”

“He ditched and left me with the check, Eun. It was not a misunderstanding. It was a calculated move.” The guy even had the audacity to call you later that night to see if you wanted to go out again, claiming “bathroom trouble” as the reason for sticking you with the check. As if you were dumb or desperate enough to fall for that – especially since he’d conveniently been hit by “bathroom trouble” once he was mostly done eating, not to mention your waitress had been kind enough to let you know that she’d seen him slipping out through a side door – apparently completely fine.

“Stop complaining. Come on. Sparks are going to fly between you two, I just know it.” She resumes tugging on your arm and you reluctantly allow her to pull you along as she weaves through the crowd, finally stopping you in front of a man who must be the fabled Minho. “Oppa!” coos Ji-eun. “This is y/n. You remember, don’t you?” She shoots him a knowing look.

“Ah, Ji-eun!” he greets her. “I remember. The one you were telling me about, right?” Minho glances at you. “Eun, she’s gorgeous. Where have you been keeping her?” He takes your hand and plants a kiss on it. “Choi Minho.”

“Y/n,” you reply, somewhat taken aback at his outward display of affection. “I’ve heard a lot about you, so it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“Have fun, you two,” teases Ji-eun in a sing-song voice. “I’m off to snag myself a drink or a handsome groomsman, whichever one comes first.”

“She’s really something else, isn’t she?” you say, looking to break the awkward silence that falls once Ji-eun is gone. “So how do you two know each other? I don’t think she said.”

“University,” says Minho. “We were in the same major. Same year, too, but she insists on calling me oppa.” He shakes his head and chuckles. Minho says it like it’s something that bothers him, but it clearly doesn’t, or else he would have corrected her before now.

“Oh, I guess you were a business major, too.” You nod. “Explains why we never ran into each other. I barely saw her the whole time, and we were roommates.”

“We went to the same university?” Minho seems surprised. “I never would have guessed. What major were you in?” Something about the incredulous look on his face rubs you the wrong way.

“Uh, yeah. We did.” You narrow your eyes. “I was a graphic design major.”

“Graphic design. Wow.” Minho inhales sharply through his teeth. “How’s that going for you? I hear it’s pretty competitive. You know, if you’re ever looking to change fields I’m sure I could find something for you at my company. A favor for a friend of a friend, yeah?

“Oh, um,” you say, “I…have a job. And I kind of like it, so I’m not really planning on moving any time soon.”

“Well, you let me know if you ever change your mind.” He winks and touches your bare arm. “Any friend of Eun’s is a friend of mine. And I’m sure we could take much better care of you than wherever you’re working now.” Minho’s eyes wander from your face down to your chest and then somewhere over your shoulder, where something – or someone – else seems to catch his eye.

“Uh…thanks,” you say, unsure how else to respond, feeling a little uncomfortable. You wish you had a drink to settle your nerves and a sweater to cover your chest. Why did Ji-eun have to leave? you curse internally. She knows I’m not good at this. “So,” you say brightly, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction. “What does your company do?”

“We’re in transportation, mostly,” he says, his eyes still somewhere behind you, “but we’ve got our fingers in a lot of pies.”

A few more minutes of conversation with him pass, and it’s already obvious that you and Minho don’t exactly have a lot in common – nor does it seem that you’re really his type, because he keeps glancing at a pretty bridesmaid in a lavender dress somewhere behind you. You’re beginning to wonder what exactly Ji-eun expected the two of you to talk about, because the two of you are polar opposites, and not in the endearing, meet cute, opposites attract sort of way, in the way that even if you did decide to date you’d probably end up butting heads over anything and everything. You steal a covert glance the next time Minho’s eyes wander away from your face and over your shoulder. The bridesmaid is chatting animatedly with what looks like another bridesmaid, cutting glances every so often in your direction – or Minho’s direction, more like. You sigh internally and try to hide your frown. Of course. Minho looks like he could be an idol or an actor; it only makes sense that he wouldn’t be interested in you. He probably only even agreed to meet you as a favor to Ji-eun. Well, if he’s not even going to pretend he’s interested – then why should you? “Minho?” you say sweetly. “I’m going to go get a drink.”

“Don’t miss me too much while you’re gone.” He grins.

“I’ll, uh, do my best.” You find your way over to the bar and watch as Minho approaches the bridesmaid he was making eyes at, any thoughts of you surely already forgotten. You shake your head and sip your wine. He’s probably better suited for her than he is for you. You blow out a long breath and order a glass of white wine from the bartender. Why does it have to be like this? Every guy, every date, every time you even attempt to put yourself out there – it just never works. Sure, part of it is probably your fault for having unrealistic standards. And part of you doesn’t even really want a relationship, not after watching your parents tear each other to pieces every time they set foot in the same room together. It’s not like it’s always been your dream to fall in love and get married, either. The only thing you’ve ever wanted for yourself is to be happy. If that’s with a man in your life – then so be it. Everyone always says that you’ll know when the right one comes along, but you’re starting to think that has about as much likelihood of happening as you becoming president.

You throw back half of your wine in one gulp. Ah, should I just leave? you wonder to yourself, scanning the room for Ji-eun. There’s no point in me staying if Minho isn’t interested and nobody else is either. What else am I here for other than that? You debate slipping out the front door, flagging down a taxi, and going home, but eventually decide against it, feeling a twinge of guilt at the idea of abandoning Ji-eun at this wedding by herself – even if she did technically do the same thing to you. Really starting to question who’s putting the most effort into this friendship, you gripe internally.

You finish the rest of your wine and request another from the bartender. What am I doing? you think suddenly, the first glass of wine beginning to hit you as you start on the second. Am I really just standing here drowning my troubles at a wedding, of all places? This is so dumb. You scan the room. The dance floor is crowded, with people moving back and forth, dancing, reveling in the moment, the music pounding all around. Instead of lingering by the bar, feeling pitiful and alone…the realization dawns on you that you should be out there, having fun. Or, at the very least, keeping your mind occupied enough to forget the disappointment of yet another man having no interest in you.

“Dance like no one’s watching, right?” you say to yourself, downing the rest of your second glass of wine and hopefully, washing away the nerves that normally plague you, the fear of being perceived when it comes to doing anything in social situations. As the wine hits you, you begin to feel pleasantly warm and tipsy, and you move toward the crowd, the lights bouncing off the lacquered wood floor. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you close your eyes and feel yourself start to move with the beat of the music. You don’t even know the happy couple, but you silently thank them for hiring such a good DJ.

Minutes pass, though it feels much longer, with you tossing your hair, moving your hips and head back and forth to the beat of the music, forgetting about the fact that your best friend is a terrible matchmaker, and the fact that it feels like she’s genuinely trying to set you up for failure, making you question everything about yourself, forgetting about the fact that you couldn’t even hold a man’s attention for longer than ten minutes, even in a stupidly revealing cocktail dress that your friend made you wear under false pretenses. And in those moments, it’s just you, and the music, remembering that you are pretty, and one guy’s stupid opinion of you doesn’t matter. Love will come, or it won’t, and you’re determined to be happy with your life either way.

The strappy heels you’re wearing prove to be your downfall, and you eventually decide to extricate yourself from the throng of wedding guests, limping back over to the bar. Your cheeks are flushed, and you’re exhausted, but there’s a sense of exhilaration pumping through you, feeling somewhat revitalized by making yourself do something you wouldn’t normally do on your own. You steady yourself against the bar, standing on one foot while you rest the other, and request another glass of wine from the bartender.

“Looks like you were enjoying yourself out there.” A low voice materializes next to you. Your head swivels in the direction of the voice to find a man standing just feet away from you, holding a bottle of beer and watching you with interest. He’s much taller than you, but not intimidating, with an approachable air about him, and warm brown eyes that remind you of autumn. A dark blazer is slung over one shoulder, leaving him in a simple white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the folded cuffs tugging at his muscular forearms. His friendly smile accentuates the dimple in his cheek.

“Oh!” you say, cheeks flushing. You put your other foot back on the ground in surprise. “Yeah. I guess. I don’t normally do that kind of thing, but my friend dragged me here because she wanted me to meet this guy, but they both disappeared, and then I was just standing here all alone feeling sorry for myself.” You lift one shoulder in a shrug. ”I don’t even really know anyone here, but I figured I might as well make the best of it and have some fun.”

“Looks like we’re in the same boat,” he says with a chuckle. ”I sort of got dragged here too.”

“Well, from one wedding crasher to another, let me introduce myself.” You hold out a hand jokingly for him to shake. “I’m y/n.”

“Y/n,” he repeats, taking your hand. “Nice to meet you, y/n. I’m Namjoon.”

"There, now we both know at least one other person." You smile, taking a sip from the glass of wine that the bartender has just set in front of you.

“So this guy your friend wanted you to meet,” he says. “You didn’t like him?”

"No?" You make a face. “I mean, he was all right, I guess, but I don't think we had very much in common. Besides, he was making googly eyes at some bridesmaid the whole time I was talking to him." A rueful sigh huffs through your lips. "I’ve got to stop listening to Ji-eun. She means well, but one thing she doesn’t have is a talent for matchmaking.”

“Sorry to hear that," says Namjoon. "About the guy.”

“It’s okay. At least we didn’t waste too much of each other's time.” You smile. “Anyway, why aren’t you out there? Isn’t everyone supposed to be dancing? It’s a party, after all.”

“Oh, no.” He chuckles. His laugh feels affable and warm, just like his smile. “I’m a terrible dancer. It's better that I don’t. I’d probably end up breaking something, or someone. I’m just here for the atmosphere.” He sets his bottle down on the bar top. “Besides, I was having more fun watching you.” His brown eyes twinkle.

Your heart flutters in your chest and you find yourself trying to hold back a laugh.

“Not buying it?” he says teasingly. You shake your head, still smiling. “Sorry. I’ve never been very good at this. Whatever this is.”

“I’ll give you a point for trying.”

“Ah, good. That means I didn’t fail completely, right?”

“Right. Something like that.” You laugh. “So who dragged you here? Are your friends equally as annoying as mine?”

"My friend, Seokjin, who's been bugging me to get out for weeks. He claims to know the groom or something. No, wait, it was the best man…or maybe it was the best man’s friend? I’m actually not sure.” He scans the crowded dance floor and points. “Him, right there, with the shoulders.” You follow his line of vision over to a tall, broad-shouldered man, flailing his arms and virtually towering over his dance partner, who, come to think of it, looks a lot like…Ji-eun? "He might actually be more dangerous on the dance floor than me.”

“Funny,” you say. “That's my best friend he's dancing with.”

“Really?” Namjoon looks at you, then back at them. “Wow. I guess it’s only right that our annoying best friends found their way to each other.”

“No offense to your friend, but I don’t think it’ll last very long. Ji-eun’s not known for committing long-term. She’s a walking contradiction. Convinced she’ll be the one to introduce me to my one and only, yet has no interest in finding one of her own.”

“As luck would have it, neither is Jin. They’re a perfect match.”

You raise your glass. “In that case, may the Seokjins and the Ji-euns of the world always find their way to each other.”

He clinks his bottle with your cup. “Hear, hear.”

Namjoon is easy to talk to, and he's especially interested in your job illustrating book covers for a publishing house. "It's nothing special." You wave your hands. “It’s a really small company. And I’ve only been doing it for about a year, so I’m not very good at it yet.”

"Are you kidding?” he says, awestruck. “I’ve never met anyone who does that. And you must be good, or you wouldn’t be doing it professionally.”

“Well, it pays the bills,” you say, dipping your head modestly, “and it gives me plenty of free time to work on my own art.”

“Really?“ Namjoon looks intrigued. “What medium do you prefer?”

“I’m a painter. Mostly. But I like to experiment with a little bit of everything.”

“Wow. She designs book covers. She paints. And now I’m wondering where you’ve been all my life.” A tinge of pink colors his cheeks. “Uh…I just meant…” He rubs at his neck self-consciously. “Anyway.”

He’s awfully cute when he’s flustered.

The conversation takes a slight turn, and you find yourself listening with interest as he tells you about his work as a grad student, his dissertation on the intersection of art and philosophy, his plans for the future after he finishes his doctorate. Tenure, professorhood, the papers he wants to write. The art he'd like to buy if he had the money. If it were anyone else, you know you'd be starting to zone out by now, but there's something about Namjoon's low, even voice that draws you in and keeps you paying attention. Like a documentary narrator, or a radio host.

"You're staring at me," he says, his tone light and teasing.

You were listening so intently that you didn't even realize what you were doing. "Was I?" You turn away slightly, hoping to hide the blooming patches of pink on your cheeks. "Sorry."

"It's okay." Namjoon's eyes crinkle into a smile. "It's all I can do to get the freshmen in my courses to look at anything other than their screens, so trust me, I don't mind it at all. I'm just glad you don't think I'm boring."

"Boring?" you say, surprised. "Are there people out there who think you're boring?"

"Oh, definitely. You'd be surprised. Jin, for one. He swears up and down that he doesn't think so, but a few minutes in and his eyes are already starting to glaze over. You, on the other hand…well, I've been monologuing for ages, but you've just been standing there with that mesmerized look on your face the whole time."

"Mesmerized?" You chuckle. "I don't know about that."

"No, it's true," he insists. "Admit it. I fascinate you."

"And?” you ask. “What about it?”

“What do you say we get out of here?” he says, barely blinking an eye. The corner of his mouth quirks. “This party’s almost over anyway. We can continue this conversation somewhere we can actually hear ourselves think.”

You hesitate. You barely know this guy. But he likes you – you can tell. He’s the first guy in a long time to express genuine interest in you or your job or your personal life in general. It doesn’t hurt that he’s easy to look at, either, with his striking brown eyes and easy, dimpled smile. There’s just something about the way he looks at you that makes your palms tingle and you heart feel like it’s about to explode. And what is it about rolled up sleeves and exposed forearms that just drives you absolutely insane? Maybe it’s the alcohol talking, or the letdown from Ji-eun’s unsuccessful attempt to set you up with Minho – but you have to see where this goes. “Okay,” you say finally. “Where should we go?”

He’s about to speak when Seokjin and Ji-eun stumble up, arm in arm. “Namjoon-ah! My best friend!” Seokjin exclaims drunkenly. He throws his long arms over Namjoon’s shoulders from behind, pink-cheeked and grinning. “I think I’m in love.”

“Oh, really?” Namjoon eyes his friend with a dry expression. “Who is she, then?”

He looks at Ji-eun blankly, then back at Namjoon. "Ah, well, her name isn't important. What matters is…I'm in love." Seokjin pokes a long finger into Namjoon’s cheek. “And I’m going to marry her.”

“Oppa!” squeals Ji-eun, pulling him back toward her. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. I’ll bet.” Namjoon’s gaze cuts in your direction. “Sorry. Normally he’s better at holding his liquor than this,” he whispers. “I should really get him home before he gets any louder – and gets us uninvited from future events.”

“Same here,” you say apologetically. “If we can manage to split them apart again.” Seokjin and Ji-eun are once again furiously making out, hands in places you’re not even sure you’re supposed to be looking.

“They’ll have to come up for air sometime. I think we might have a chance then. You grab yours and I’ll grab mine?”

“Deal.” The second Ji-eun pulls away from Seokjin to take a breath, you take her firmly by the arm and pull her toward the door of the reception hall, ignoring her protesting about being separated from the love of her life, while Namjoon tugs Seokjin along behind you. There’s a line of people outside already waiting for taxis, given that you’re in the middle of the city, so you join the queue behind another couple, still trying to prevent Ji-eun and Seokjin from devouring each other whole on the sidewalk.

“Nicely done,” says Namjoon, the dimple in his cheek reappearing alongside his grin, while he maintains a firm grip on Seokjin's arm. “I take it you have experience with this?”

“Only every Saturday night since university.” You chuckle. “Between the two of us I’m definitely the responsible one.”

“Eonni!” whines Ji-eun. “Don’t tell him that! He’ll think you’re boring!”

You plant an elbow firmly into the side of her ribs, sending her into silence.

"That's okay." His smile doesn't waver. "I'm a little bit boring myself, so what's one boring person to another?"

Boring? you think. You're not boring at all. You’re passionate about what you love. You’re the first man to look at me that way: like I’m the most interesting person in the world to you, when really it’s the other way around. You’re sweet. You’re adorably awkward. You’re bad at flirting – but something about you draws me in anyway. And I know we’ve only just met…but I want to know everything about you. What makes you happy, what inspires you, what intrigues you…I want to spend hours listening to you tell me all about it.

The crowd waiting for cabs disperses until it's just you and Namjoon. "I guess this is it, then,” he says as a taxi finally pulls to a stop in front of you. “We should do this again sometime. Minus the drunk people, of course. Not that I don’t enjoy dragging a hundred and thirty pounds of dead weight around with me, but it does put a damper on things, doesn’t it?”

“Yah, you bastard! I’m not that heavy!” Seokjin bellows, as he's struggling to stay upright, his words still slurring together.

“Yeah,” you say. “I’d like that. Maybe we can actually finish that conversation we were having before we got interrupted.” You nudge Ji-eun, who seems determined to make herself as unwieldy as possible, not so gently into the cab, sending her tumbling into the backseat, and turn back to him. “By the way…I really appreciate it. You talking to me. It made me forget how totally out of place I was.”

“Ah, it was nothing.” He ducks his head sheepishly. “As a fellow wedding crasher, I’m happy to have helped. Thanks for putting up with me rambling all night.”

“Please.” You smile, waving your hand. “Nothing to put up with. I had a good time.”

“Well…good night, y/n.” Namjoon closes the car door after you. “Get home safe. Until next time?”

“Until next time.” You look up at him. “Good night, Namjoon.” You sit back in your seat, allowing the flutter of excitement that’s been slowly building in your stomach to take flight. This guy…he likes you. He really likes you. You’re going to see him again. And for the first time, in a long time, if not ever…you’re excited. Really excited. Your hand goes to your mouth, barely concealing the grin that’s forming on your lips.

As your taxi pulls away from the curb, a hand suddenly appears in the half-open window, causing it to jerk to a stop. Namjoon appears next to the car, shaking his hand ruefully and wincing. "Damn, that hurts. Guess that'll teach me, won't it?" He leans down, bringing his face closer to yours. "Sorry about that. You were just about to disappear when it dawned on me that I forgot to ask you for your number, and I knew I had to do something before I lost you."

“Oh! My number.” Your heart flutters again. “Yeah, you’re going to need that, aren’t you?”

Namjoon watches as you tap your number into his phone. “Good thing I remembered when I did. That could have been a disaster.”

“A disaster, huh?” you ask, handing his phone back to him.

“Catastrophic.” He laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “How else would we have found out if we were meant to be if we didn’t go on an actual first date?” He gazes down at you with a teasing grin. “Anyway – I’ll call you?”

“Soon, I hope.” You smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

“I’ll try not to keep you waiting too long.” Namjoon’s eyes meet with yours momentarily before he turns away, letting out an awkward chuckle. “Well…good night, y/n. I mean it this time. Really.”

“Good night,” you say, stifling a giggle. “Get home safe.”

The taxi finally pulls away from the curb, and you can’t help looking out the window after him as he walks back toward Seokjin. He’s handsome, even from behind. Ji-eun flops against you, and you shift her to a more comfortable position against your shoulder. “I knew dragging you along was a good idea. Did I call it, or what?” she mumbles proudly. “You know, I saw the way you were looking at that guy just now.” She pokes teasingly at your arm, eyes half-closed. “Like you wanted to dive right in and take up residence in his dimples. And sparks like a fireworks show. It’s so obvious! You are smitten.” Ji-eun sing-songs the last part.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, pressing your lips together to hide your smile. Ji-eun might not have introduced you to the love of your life – but it’s the first time in a while that you’ve felt this way about anyone – and you suppose you do have to thank her for that.

#bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts #bts series #bts x reader #bts au #bts fluff #reader x namjoon #reader x rm #reader x kim namjoon #bts x you #bts x fem!reader #namjoon fluff #kim namjoon #mrworldwideshoulders #namjoon x reader

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hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf · 5 months

Text

Boss

You’re a menace

ceo!jisung x overworked admin!minho

Trigger warnings: none that i know of!

Content warnings: oral, light nipple play, praise, begging, dirty talk, a little hair pulling, finger fucking, names (babe, baby, angel), jisung's a bit of a tease (what else is new), minho gets desperate

Summary: the morning after proves to be just as eventful

Word count: 7599

A/N: omg hi babies ❤️💙 it’s been so long!! shoutout to rae for keeping me online for more than two days this time, you’re a real one. thank you all for your patience while i continue to sort myself and become a functioning member of society again. i’ve got some stuff planned and i’m continuing to work hard to put together more stories for your enjoyment. i'm also redoing my tag list so please don't hesitate to reach out and i'll happily add you!! anyways, follow me here and check out my main!! hard thoughts are always welcome, as are dms. i’d love to make friends with you all!! much love ❤️💙

Tags: @bahng-chrizz

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Smut below the cut

Jisung stretched his arms over his head and let out a groan of appreciation before allowing himself to relax back into the sheets, the early morning light filtering into the dim room. Like every morning, visions of Minho danced in his mind as he drifted in and out of consciousness. Unlike every morning, they were memories instead of fantasies.

“That’s right, take it all. Just like that…”

His body ached deliciously, he realized, and he found himself wanting to milk the situation. He was sure he could get Minho to baby him if he pouted enough.

So he finally opened his eyes and rolled onto his side, only to find himself alone in the bed. He sat up immediately, starting to panic. Then he heard the kitchen sink cut on and let out a sigh. He sank back down onto the pillows and stared at the wall, still groggy. He was debating getting up when he heard the sink cut off and Minho walking towards the bedroom.

The door opened to reveal the older man in a simple pair of sweats, carrying a tray filled with food. “Oh, you’re up.” He smiled and Jisung’s heart jumped into his throat.

“Yeah.” He nodded, sitting up again and rubbing his eyes. “What time is it?”

“A little after six.” Minho hummed as he placed the tray on the nightstand and circled the bed to sit on the opposite side. “How did you sleep?”

“Like a rock.” Jisung smiled to himself and picked up the glass of orange juice that sat on the tray, taking a gulp before glancing at the man beside him. “You?”

“It was the best sleep I’ve had in months.” He hummed and leaned back against the headboard, crossing his legs at the ankle. “I don't recall the last time I did anything so physically draining.” He chuckled, turning his head to look at Jisung, who was now happily munching on a slice of toast. “How do you feel?”

There was his opening to get taken care of.

“Sore.” He pouted adorably, a tiny piece of bread still sticking halfway out of his mouth. “I don’t think I can even move.”

Minho’s heart skipped a beat at the sight but he recovered quickly and rolled his eyes playfully. “Well you’re gonna have to because we have work in a couple hours.”

Jisung frowned at the lack of doting and finished chewing the food in his mouth before speaking again. “So you’re not gonna baby me or anything?”

“Are you a baby?” Jisung’s frown deepened and Minho laughed quietly. “Well you did call me daddy last night…”

“That was an accident, I slipped up! Stop teasing me!” Minho only laughed harder at Jisung’s indignance and leaned towards him, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I don’t want to. It’s fun messing with you like this.” Jisung immediately clammed up at the proximity and Minho continued, leaning in further until they were almost nose to nose. “Besides, it was hot. I wanna hear you say it again.”

“No way!” The younger protested despite the way his heart rate spiked in excitement.

“You’d dare to deny me anything I ask for after how many times I made you cum last night?” The corners of his eyes crinkled as his grin betrayed his tone, proving he was far from bothered by this interaction. Once more, Jisung was struck by Minho’s beauty. The proximity made his heart beat so fast he worried he might pass out. His mind raced just as quickly and his cheeks heated up as more memories of the previous night flooded his head. Minho took Jisung’s silence as embarrassment and pulled back, nudging the hand that held the unfinished toast. “Eat. We have to leave soon if you still wanna stop for coffee on the way back to yours.”

Jisung quickly pulled himself from his thoughts and nodded despite his disappointment at things not escalating. When the last bite of bread was halfway to his mouth, he paused. “You know…” he started as Minho made to get off the bed. “You never let me blow you last night.”

Minho paused with one leg hanging off the bed, trying to ignore the blood rushing to his dick. “You’re right.” He hummed, trying to sound casual. If he got his hands on Jisung before they made it out of bed, they wouldn’t be going to work at all. One glance over his shoulder told him that was exactly what was gonna happen.

“I want to.” It wasn’t a request or a demand, it was simply a fact. He wanted to inhale Minho’s cock and he had from the moment he met him.

“And I want you to eat your breakfast.” He fired back. He’d wanted those pretty lips wrapped around his dick for even longer than Jisung had but he was worried what people might say if both of them were late to or even missed work. It was no secret that Jisung wanted Minho. The older man had already gotten plenty of side-eye just for being the object of their boss’s obsession. Any inkling that their suspicions had come true would make him a pariah.

“What if I’d rather have you for breakfast?” Jisung challenged, raising an eyebrow.

“Jisung…” He warned, cock already twitching to life despite his best efforts to ignore it. He needed to get out of this bed and get in the shower. Now.

“Minho...” He sighed, dropping the last of the toast back on the plate and turning to face him. “Listen, I already know what you’re thinking. I know you’re worried about what will happen if people find out. To tell you the truth, I don’t really care if people know. You are my favorite in the office, everyone already knows that. They have eyes.” Minho opened his mouth to protest but Jisung didn’t stop so he settled back into his previous position. “But I know it’s bothering you and I’m not gonna let anything bad happen. I can’t just go around firing people for mistreating you for something I quite literally begged for so obviously I’m not gonna let anyone know. If we’re late, you can drop me off across the street and take a lap around the block so we aren’t walking in together. I will figure something out but can we please fool around just a little while longer?”

Minho’s cheeks were flushed a soft pink by the time Jisung was finished speaking. Who was this man in front of him? The Jisung he knew was desperate and cocky, not careful and considerate. His cockiness was one of the things that turned Minho on. But something about the way Jisung was trying to do right by him made his insides feel funny.

His response was simple. He didn’t speak and opted instead to pull the younger man onto his lap. Jisung’s breath hitched at the small display of strength as if he hadn’t been manhandled by this man multiple times within the last twelve hours. His hands rested comfortably on Minho’s shoulders as he settled down, taking notice of the bulge pressing against his ass.

“Can I kiss you?”

“You didn’t ask last night.” Minho offered a wry smile as he pulled Jisung into him.

The younger man rolled his eyes but pressed his lips to Minho’s instead of arguing back that Minho hadn’t exactly asked about a few things he did last night either. It felt nice kissing Minho. His lips were soft and inviting and Jisung decided at that moment that he could die happy if he got to kiss Minho for the rest of his life. He was being presumptuous, of course. You couldn't decide you’d spend your life with someone after spending a single night with them. But he could indulge in his delusions for a little while. Who could it really hurt?

Minho’s tongue slipped into his mouth and he let out a soft whine, grinding down against him. The squeeze on his hips was a subtle warning to slow down lest he lose the opportunity to blow Minho in favor of getting fucked again. To Minho’s surprise, Jisung took the warning for what it was and stilled his hips, sucking on the older man’s tongue instead.

Minho let out a surprised moan and squeezed Jisung’s bare ass, arching into him when his fingers ghosted over his chest. Jisung was delighted by how responsive Minho was and fought back a grin when the older man moaned pathetically at a light pinch to his nipples. He didn’t say anything as his lips trailed to Minho’s jaw, just continued to manipulate his body until the bulge pressing against his ass was entirely unignorable. His own dick was rock hard as he licked and sucked on Minho’s neck and shoulders, leaving a trail of spit behind.

He was careful not to leave any marks above the collar for Minho’s sake but he certainly didn’t shy away from trying to fluster him. “Beautiful…” He whispered as he pulled back to admire the red mark on Minho’s shoulder. Immediately, the man beneath him flushed red, giving him another surge of courage. “I like when you blush for me.”

“I thought you were a bottom.” Minho retorted, afraid to lose the upper hand.

“Are bottoms not allowed to appreciate the effect they have on tops?” He rolled his eyes, pinching Minho’s nipples again and earning another weak moan.

“Whatever…” He mumbled, watching as Jisung leaned down to lick his chest. It was then that he noticed just how hard the younger man was. His cock was an angry red as it strained between them and Minho saw that as his opportunity to take control again. He’d planned on caving and telling Jisung to just blow him already, but seeing his stiff cock made him rethink that plan. Instead, he wrapped one hand around Jisung’s dick while the other gave his ass a rough squeeze. Jisung’s hips canted forwards in response and he made a small noise as he lapped at one of Minho’s nipples while pinching the other.

Both of them were getting pathetic after a few minutes of this back and forth, Jisung lightly biting Minho’s nipples and Minho tugging Jisung’s dick in response. Jisung refused to give in. He couldn’t let Minho fuck him without first getting a taste of his beautiful cock.

Finally, Minho surrendered. “Just fucking blow me already, Jisung, oh my god.” He groaned, both frustrated and unbelievably turned on. How had he gotten so worked up from a twink toying with his nipples?

Because it’s not just any twink, it’s Jisung.

“Thank fuck. I was going crazy.” Jisung laughed breathlessly and quickly moved down the bed, lapping up the smear of precum he’d left on Minho’s belly. He quickly removed Minho’s sweats and bit his lip when his dick sprung free and slapped against the very same area he’d just licked. “Now that I’m getting a closer look, every inch of you is beautiful…” he mused, wrapping a hand around the base and looking up at Minho through his lashes.

“Shut up…” Minho grumbled, flustered at how quickly Jisung had turned the tables. No, Jisung didn’t plan to top, but the fact that he had Minho in shambles was borderline terrifying to Minho. It wasn’t rare for him to be at the mercy of another but it was extremely rare for him to be this much of a mess, especially just from foreplay.

“I don’t wanna.” Jisung hummed, giving a gentle squeeze as he licked the tip. He took note of the way Minho’s lips parted further in a silent gasp. “I like playing with you.” He grinned and Minho felt something jump inside him. “Maybe it’s the brat in me but I wanna be a tease. I think it’s cute seeing you like this after how rough you were last night.”

“You’re gonna regret this next time, Ji- oh fuck-” he couldn’t finish his sentence as the younger man swallowed him whole. Jisung’s mouth felt perfect, like it was made for sucking cock - his cock. Warm, wet, and able to take his full length without gagging. It was dizzying.

Jisung felt pride swell in his chest as he looked up through his lashes and saw Minho’s jaw already hanging slack. His hand moved from Minho’s dick to knead at the soft flesh of his thigh, nose pressing against his pelvis, and he heard a low groan above him. God he’d wanted this for so long…

He felt a hand in his hair and swallowed as Minho held him in place. “Fuck, Ji…” he all but hissed at the way Jisung’s throat constricted around him. To make things more difficult for Minho, Jisung shook his head and the older man’s body went rigid. He hollowed his cheeks as he pulled off for air, sucking hard until he finally released him with a pop. “Where the fuck did you learn that?” Minho asked breathlessly.

Jisung was practically glowing at that point, about to lose his own mind over the way Minho was reacting to him. It was such a simple motion and he’d never known anyone to go insane over it so the fact that Minho, the hard-to-get man he’d wanted to bang since the moment they met, was already about to go feral was more than a little gratifying.

“Probably the internet.” He shrugged and licked a fat stripe from the base to the tip before pausing. “And I thought I told you not to call me Ji last night.”

“I’m sorry I blanked when you put my whole dick in your mouth?” Minho sounded incredulous and Jisung just laughed as his tongue swirled around the tip. “How is that the thing on your mind when you’ve got me balls deep in your fucking face?”

“Well maybe I want you to use my full name. I already told you I like it.” He huffed adorably before suckling on the side. He grinned at the soft gasp he earned and briefly sucked on his balls before peppering kisses all the way back to the tip.

Minho allowed his eyes to slip shut as Jisung flicked his tongue back and forth over the underside of the head. Despite having gone six rounds last night and being utterly exhausted, Minho was still unbelievably horny. He wanted to stay in bed with Jisung all day, fucking like rabbits and only stopping for water, but he couldn’t and it was frustrating him. How was he supposed to get this out of his system in time for work?

Jisung took advantage of Minho’s lack of attention and took him all the way once more, internally cheering at the choked gasp that came from above him. This time, though, he didn’t stay in place very long. He pulled back to the tip, only to swallow him whole once more. He repeated his actions, bobbing his head rhythmically to earn a symphony of surprisingly pitiful moans. What happened to the demanding man who took control of Jisung’s body and damn near forced compliance the night before?

Jisung’s thoughts wandered further and his fingers moved of their own accord. At first, they teased Minho’s balls, enhancing the heavenly sensation that he was experiencing. Then, when he was entirely relaxed despite being so high strung, they traveled further and ghosted over his hole. Immediately, Minho grabbed Jisung’s wrist to stop him as a strange tingle of anxiety slithered up his spine. “Don’t.” He croaked weakly, eyes opening just enough to find Jisung’s gaze.

He wasn’t afraid of bottoming, he’d bottomed plenty of times in the past and loved every second of it. But he couldn’t bottom for Jisung. Not when he wanted to maintain control. Something inside of him needed to be in control when it came to the man currently kitten-licking the tip of his dick. He needed to be the one in charge so Jisung could take a break from the pressure of having to be the boss and just relax. He had to take care of him, not the other way around.

“One day.” Jisung hummed as soon as he pulled off to breathe. He was entirely unbothered by Minho’s protest, not seeing the nervousness in the older man’s expression. He wasn’t all that serious about getting Minho to bottom for him but if he decided he wanted to, he knew he could. He always got his way in the end.

Minho responded only with a scoff as he released Jisung’s wrist, melting back into the pillows when the younger relented. The hand on his dick forced away every thought that wasn’t about Jisung or what he was doing and his eyes closed once more. Again, Jisung used the opportunity to catch him by surprise and reached up to pinch his nipple as he suckled on the head of his cock.

Minho’s pathetic sound made his dick twitch and he groaned around the cock in his mouth, eyes rolling back. Part of him hated how hot this was because he feared he may never be this attracted to anyone else ever again.

His thoughts were disrupted by Minho’s hand tangling in his hair and shoving him down on his dick. They both moaned weakly as Minho guided Jisung’s head, body jerking each time his nipples were so much as grazed. He was somewhat disappointed when Jisung’s fingers left his chest but he was quickly pacified by the way his balls were fondled.

Minho felt the heat pooling in his belly begin to spread through his entire body as he got closer to the edge. His face and chest were flushed a pretty rose color as his pulse thrummed in his ears. He was so fucking close. He just needed…

“Jisung-” Minho groaned as he grabbed the younger man’s hand and pulled it back up his body. Jisung immediately understood and would’ve smirked if not for the dick in his mouth. Minho was cute when he was desperate.

However, he decided to be a tease. He pretended not to know what was being asked of him and raked his nails down Minho’s chest, watching with glee as the older man shuddered. “Don’t- ah- don’t do this…” Minho practically whined and Jisung felt his dick throb. “You know what I meant.”

“Do I?” He asked as soon as he pulled off. Okay, maybe he did want a little control. Who could blame him though? Minho was quiet, lethal. And currently, he was a fucking mess over a blow job.

“Jisung…” He frowned, annoyed at the way he was being toyed with.

“What?” He feigned innocence, fingertips tracing random shapes on Minho’s side.

“You know what I want.”

“Mm I do.” He hummed with a smug grin. “But I wanna hear you say it.”

“Don’t make me beg you, Jisung, I already have to suck up to you at work.”

He seemed close to throwing a tantrum and Jisung huffed in amusement. He finally knew how to get under Minho’s skin. Minho, the only man who could tame Jisung’s brattiness, wanted instant gratification and hated begging. Jisung wasn’t the only selfish one.

“You know, I didn't intend to make you beg, I was just having fun messing with you. But now that you’ve given me the idea, I think I wanna hear you beg for me.” Who knows if I’ll be in any position of power like this again? Gotta milk this while I can. He added mentally.

Everything was silent for a moment and when Minho didn’t immediately give in, Jisung swallowed his disappointment and hurriedly wrapped his lips back around the gorgeous cock before him. At least he’d still gotten to blow him and would finally know what he tasted like. But his hands still didn’t move and Minho’s resolve crumbled quickly.

Okay, just this once…

“Jisung, please…” his voice was almost undetectable but Jisung managed to pick up on it and worked a little faster. “I’m so fucking close, I just need-” he cut himself off and tugged at Jisung’s hands again, disappointment painted on his face when he still didn’t get what he wanted. “I need you to do it again, Jisung. Please. It’s not the same if I do it myself. It feels fucking amazing when you do it and I’m gonna cum if you do it again.” He hated begging but he needed the stimulation.

Jisung was frozen in place, pupils blown wide with lust as he looked up at Minho’s humiliated expression. He’d spent months trying to get Minho to say a nice word to him and now he was begging for mercy. “Was that so hard?” He teased as he reached up and twisted both of Minho's nipples, earning a glare despite the obvious pleasure showing on his face.

“Shut up…” he mumbled before another yelp was pulled from him when Jisung pinched him again, lips ghosting over the tip of his dick. “Oh fuck- keep doing that, oh my god, I’m so fucking close.” The begging was effortless and shameless this time, though he knew he’d regret it later.

Finally satisfied with Minho’s response, Jisung pressed his tongue into the slit before looking up at him. “Cum for me. I just know you’re gonna look so pretty…”

Humiliated by Jisung’s words but too close to ecstasy to argue, Minho complied. He let go, arching into Jisung’s touch as he came undone. White hot pleasure flooded his body, like lava in his veins as his entire body jerked with the force of his orgasm.

Jisung was quick to catch everything in his mouth, moaning loudly at the taste. He continued to toy with Minho’s nipples and give his full attention to the pulsing cock in his mouth until the older man had to push him away as he quickly became overstimulated. Jisung reluctantly released the man beneath him and got up on his knees, opening his mouth to show that he’d swallowed everything.

Minho lay panting as Jisung forced his way into his arms and they both spoke at the same time.

“That was so fucking hot. You’re so fucking hot.”

“If you play with me like that again, I’m ruining you.”

Minho could take neither the teasing nor the praise Jisung seemed so eager to dole out. Jisung was thrilled to have gotten under his skin. Neither of them wanted to let this go, but for very different reasons.

Jisung was surprised at the hostility he sensed and froze just as Minho wrapped his arms around him. “I’m so sorry. I got carried away. You were clearly flustered the entire time and then I lost all common sense and kept pushing until you begged.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I want to apologize. I was doing too much. I mean, you never so much as hinted at wanting me to finger fuck you and I was about to. I was entirely dazed and let myself lose control.”

“Oh my god, Jisung, stop talking. Just give me a minute to think.” Minho squeezed his arms around Jisung to emphasize his point as he regained clarity.

Jisung went quiet and watched Minho’s face as he processed what had just happened. He was starting to feel guilty. He was used to being coaxed into begging, being forced to submit in every way imaginable. He doubted Minho had ever submitted once in his life. His personality was just so dominant and he was clearly well-versed in taming brats like Jisung.

“I have never experienced anything like that.” Jisung felt his fears being confirmed and averted his gaze but listened, bracing himself for the chastisement. “It was humiliating to be put in that role by you of all people.” His heart sank further and he prepared to back away, hands already pressing on Minho's chest. “I’ve bottomed plenty of times, though never for someone I’ve previously topped, and I’ve never had such a mind-blowing orgasm.” Wait. Pause. He wasn’t mad? “Consider this your warning: if you try to make that a regular thing, I will make you pay.” Oh. Maybe he was… “But right now I’m gonna fuck you because holy shit, babe.” He finished, groaning as he buried his face in Jisung’s neck and took a deep breath of his scent.

“You’re…not mad?” He asked quietly, already tipping his head back to bare his throat to the older.

“I’m too fucking horny to be mad right now.” The way his voice dipped made Jisung’s dick twitch back to life. The fear of having fucked up had killed his boner but all it took was one soft bite below his earlobe and his raging hard-on was back. “I’m still gonna make a mess of you but don’t think too hard about it. It’s not a punishment. I’m just fucked up right now, baby.”

He simply nodded in response and let Minho flip them over, sighing when his back hit the sheets. He was still naked from the night before so their dicks rubbed deliciously against each other while Minho attacked his neck and he couldn’t stifle a moan. Seeing his reaction to the simple touch, Minho reached between them and took both of their cocks in one hand, slowly stroking them together as he sucked a mark into Jisung’s shoulder. He was dumbfounded by how hard he still was after how hard he came but he certainly wasn’t mad about it.

Another soft moan tumbled from Jisung’s lips and Minho pulled back to look down at him, rolling his hips for more friction. Jisung’s eyes were already closed, his lips parted as his breathing grew ragged. Minho hadn’t taken the time to fully appreciate him last night, having only wanted to force him into submission and fuck the attitude right out of him. Now that he was looking at him… “You’re so pretty, baby…” he whispered, watching as Jisung’s cheeks flushed pink.

The younger man opened his eyes and pouted adorably at the compliment. “Shut up.” He whined and Minho laughed.

“Oh come on, we both know you thrive on praise just like you lose your damn mind over being degraded.” He rolled his eyes and Jisung froze. He wasn’t sure how to act now. Last night, Minho had absolutely wrecked him, broken him down in a matter of minutes, but now he was seeing an entirely different side of him and was confused. “Take the compliment so we can move on.”

Jisung nodded slowly, cautiously, and frowned as Minho released their cocks. He was on the verge of protest when Minho pressed their lips together in a surprisingly gentle kiss and allowed his hands to ghost up Jisung’s sides. He gasped against Minho's lips, hands flying to his shoulders.

He eagerly parted his lips when he felt Minho's tongue seeking entrance, one hand sliding to tangle in the older man’s silky tresses. Minho’s hands wandered as his tongue explored Jisung’s mouth, catching a taste of himself just before he retreated. He wanted to make out but there was a more pressing issue to attend to.

Jisung frowned when Minho pulled away but his disappointment was quickly replaced with a dizzying wave of desire as kisses were trailed down his body. His dick was already leaking at the thought of what could happen next and he shuddered when he felt soft kisses pressed to his hips. Minho’s next statement made his whole body threaten to shut down.

“I’ve wanted to do this since the first time I saw your picture. Wanted to suck your dick, eat you out if you’d let me. God, I could do that for hours…”

Jisung shuddered at Minho’s words and the way his warm breath fanned across his dick. He desperately wanted that. But he knew they were running out of time. “Next time.” He moaned breathily. “When we don’t have anywhere to be, you can take as long as you want with me.” He assured him, nodding enthusiastically. He wished they could afford to do it right then but he knew better.

“Already planning to spend the night with me again?” Minho teased, half expecting Jisung to clam up at the realization that he’d been caught making plans.

“Is that an invitation? Cause I’ll show up if you’re serious.” Jisung lifted his head, looking down just in time to see Minho licking his lips. Their gazes met and Jisung stifled a gasp at the intensity he saw in Minho's eyes.

“You better take your ass home and pack a bag after work because you won’t be leaving until Monday morning if you intend to show up at my door tonight.” He only broke eye contact to duck his head, lips pressing briefly to the tip of Jisung’s cock. “I’ll take my time going down on you and eating your sweet ass. Make you cum so many times you black out. You won’t be able to leave the bed even if you want to because your legs won’t work.”

Holy shit… His whole body lit up as he let out a weak moan, the tantalizing burn of arousal tingling through every inch of him. The thought alone made his eyes roll back and his toes curl. I’ll eat your ass too, if you let me.

“What’s that, baby?”

“Hmm?” Jisung was entirely dazed, imagining how their weekend would go, and hadn’t realized he’d spoken his thoughts.

“You said something.”

“Oh.” His cheeks flushed red as he came back to reality, no longer entirely dazed due to his own mortification. Had he really said that out loud? “It’s not important.”

“Tell me.” Minho’s voice was sultry as he coaxed the younger man, lips ghosting over Jisung’s hips while one hand slowly worked his cock.

“But-”

“Please?” Jisung whimpered at Minho’s pleading expression, suddenly hating that he’d managed to get Minho to beg earlier because now he was weaponizing it.

“I-I said I’d do the same if you’d let me…” He mumbled, cheeks blazing. He looked anywhere but at the man between his legs, worried he’d be upset after warning Jisung against toying with him.

Minho could only laugh, pressing his lips to Jisung’s thigh after a moment. “You’re persistent. Do you really wanna top me that bad?”

“Yes- I mean no…I dunno, maybe?” He whined, wiggling under Minho's touch. “It's hard to think when you’re playing with my dick.” He huffed.

“Should I stop?”

“No!” He hated how panicked he sounded.

“That’s what I thought.” Minho chuckled and nipped at his thigh, earning a whimper. “We can finish that conversation tonight. Right now, I need to…” his voice trailed off and he licked up the vein that ran along the underside of Jisung’s dick.

“Yes. Yes, you do- oh my god.” Jisung let his head fall back into the pillows and tangled a hand in Minho's hair as he wrapped his lips around the head. He tugged gently at the silky locks, trying to guide Minho to take more of him, but didn’t force it when he felt resistance.

Minho’s approach was to focus on the tip while his hands worked the rest. He couldn’t throat dick as well as Jisung. He knew he actually had a gag reflex, even if only a mild one, so he opted to take a more teasing approach.

He sucked hard and Jisung made a pathetic noise, back arching slightly. Satisfied with the reaction, he pulled off to kiss and suck along the side instead. The barely-audible whine of protest had him digging his thumb into the slit in an attempt to quell Jisung’s neediness.

Jisung’s hips jerked back in response in a feeble attempt to keep his composure. A small yelp tumbled from his lips, morphing into a moan when Minho sucked on his balls. A knot settled in the pit of his belly and he knew he wouldn’t last long, especially if Minho was about to do what he thought.

He allowed his legs to be pushed up, quickly hooking them over the older man’s shoulders when prompted, and felt as if he was sinking further into the bed upon feeling Minho’s tongue flatten against his hole. “Please…” He let out a reedy moan, tugging at Minho's hair as he tried his damndest to hold still. He felt nails biting into his skin as his ass was squeezed with one hand and his dick throbbed in Minho's grasp.

Each pass of Minho’s tongue made his body more tense as he fought to remain composed. It was damn near impossible with the onslaught of pleasure. After what felt like eternity but could only have been a couple minutes, he felt Minho pull back a bit. He whined but was quickly pacified when he felt a long finger pressing into him.

The older man seemed frenzied as he worked Jisung open, the lewd sounds of Minho sucking one of the prettiest dicks he’d ever seen filling the room and making them both hotter. He wanted to slow down but he was entranced, hellbent on making the younger cum before he actually fucked him.

Jisung’s breathing was labored as Minho sucked harshly on the tip while pumping two fingers inside him, occasionally curling them to brush against his prostate. He was embarrassingly close to letting go despite Minho barely doing anything. It had been less than five minutes and his legs were already shaking. So he declared that.

“Oh fuck- ‘m so close-” he cried, pulling at Minho’s hair while his free hand bunched up the sheets.

Minho pulled off for a moment, curling his fingers to make up for the absence of his mouth, and took in Jisung’s expression. His eyes were squeezed shut, his brows drawn down, and his pillowy lips hung open in a small “o” shape. “Then cum for me, baby.” He urged, his voice strained.

Jisung needed no further convincing and the second Minho's lips were back around the head of his cock, his back arched off the bed before his entire body jerked as the band in his belly finally snapped. The sounds he let out were worthy of being recorded and shared with the world. His dick throbbed as ropes of hot cum filled Minho’s mouth and he made a pathetic noise at the thought of Minho swallowing everything.

Minho did just that, groaning at the taste as he drained every last drop from Jisung. As Jisung came down from his high, Minho peppered kisses along his hips, earning soft gasps every few seconds. There was that urge not to leave the bed again…

Finally, he pulled back. Jisung whimpered in dismay at the loss of contact, his bleary eyes opening slowly. He wanted more. He watched as the older man started to get up and frowned. “Minho-”

“Wait.” His voice was soft as he delivered the simple command and Jisung’s mouth instantly snapped shut. His eyes followed Minho as he crawled to the edge of the bed and plucked the bottle of lube from where it had been dropped on the floor the previous night.

Jisung felt a rush of arousal at the sight of the bottle and his teeth began to weather his bottom lip in anticipation as memories flooded his mind. He wanted nothing more than to be filled. He could feel the ghost of Minho's touch as he recalled the events of the night before and he found himself fighting the urge to drag Minho back on top of him.

Minho was quick to settle on his knees between Jisung’s legs, uncapping the bottle and squeezing a ridiculous amount into his palm. “You’re a menace, Han Jisung.” He groaned as he spread the lube all over his dick. Jisung pouted at that but didn’t get a chance to ask why Minho was being mean again. “I came six times last night, I shouldn’t be so worked up.”

Jisung’s disappointment quickly shifted to pride and he couldn’t stifle the soft laugh that slipped out. “I’m a menace? Maybe you’re just desperate.” He quipped, expecting a retort full of fake venom. That’s not what he got though.

“Oh I definitely am. I’ve wanted a piece of you since before we actually met.” He admitted as he squeezed a little more lube onto his fingers and pressed them against Jisung’s entrance, massaging. Jisung’s eyes widened briefly before they rolled back and he let out a withering moan. Minho smirked, satisfied with the reaction. As soon as the words left his mouth, he’d been worried that Jisung would hold it over him. Instead, the younger man simply keened.

While Jisung was distracted, Minho took the opportunity to press the head of his thick cock to his hole. Eyes that had slipped shut were suddenly wide open and full of want. Seeing just how desperate Jisung was becoming, Minho refrained from pushing in and leaned down instead. His messy hand wrapped around Jisung’s dick as their lips met, eating up the frustrated noise the younger let out.

“Minho…” he moaned into the kiss, hands naturally coming to rest on Minho’s shoulders. The slide of their lips lit a fire under his skin and his toes curled. He tried to wiggle his way onto Minho's cock and made a distressed noise when he couldn’t. “Put it in. Please?” He whined, pulling back to make eye contact.

What he saw made his heart race. Minho looked at him with wonder and admiration, so many unspoken praises behind his eyes. He looked at Jisung as if he’d hung the stars in the sky. At least, that’s what Jisung interpreted it as.

“You’re cute when you’re desperate.” He teased, no malice present in his tone. His voice sounded sweet, like honey.

“Please…” Jisung whispered, something catching in his throat and rendering him incapable of uttering anything more. Maybe he was delusional, maybe it was just the sex, but he swore he saw affection somewhere in that gaze.

“Adorable.” A lazy smile spread across Minho’s lips as he brought them to meet Jisung’s once more and guided his length into the younger man. They ate up each other’s sounds, their kisses already drunk and sloppy.

Minho was big and filled Jisung perfectly. Jisung decided on the spot that this was a sign from the universe that they were meant for each other. Who else could make him feel like this? He’d certainly never encountered anyone as perfect as Minho.

Minho began to trail his lips along Jisung’s jaw, burying his face in his neck and taking a deep breath. He felt Jisung clench involuntarily and smirked at the gasp he let out. His tongue darted out, flattening over Jisung’s pulse point, and he groaned at the taste of his sweat. “Every inch of you tastes like heaven, baby…” he whispered in his ear, lips ghosting over his earlobe.

Jisung shuddered at that, Minho’s words and the way he teased his ear sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing down over his body. He couldn’t form a coherent thought, let alone string together a sentence. Minho had hit the nail on the head when he said Jisung thrived on praise.

The younger man rocked his hips, desperate for friction. Minho hadn’t moved an inch since he bottomed out and it was driving him insane. “Plea- ah..!” His begging morphed into a pathetic moan as Minho drove him up the bed with a single thrust.

He set a rhythmic pace, going slow so that Jisung could feel every inch of him. It was torture but he loved it. He wanted this to last a while before they had to leave the bed and pretend none of this ever happened in front of his associates.

Jisung’s nails dug into his back and he let out a low groan before attacking his neck with bites and kisses. “You’re driving me fucking insane.” He all but growled, grunting as their hips met with each thrust. “You take me so well, baby. How the fuck am I supposed to act normal at work when I know how good you feel?”

Jisung could only let out a strangled moan as his cock twitched at the dirty talk. His mouth hung open, letting out tiny sounds right beside Minho’s ear each time the headboard met the wall. The neighbors were gonna be sick of him by Monday if they weren’t already…

After a particularly hard thrust, Jisung pressed a palm against the headboard to brace himself while the other continued to claw at Minho’s back. He could feel the knot in his belly getting tighter but he forced it away, wanting to hold on as long as possible. Hands guided his legs around Minho’s waist and he instantly locked his ankles as he attempted to pull him in deeper. “Fuck- it’s so good-” he slurred, head tipping further back when he felt lips on his throat.

“Yeah? You like it, baby?” Jisung’s weak moan was answer enough and Minho fought the urge to leave a mark on his golden skin, not wanting to have to watch him try to explain it later. Instead, he licked over each kiss and let out a guttural noise each time.

His own orgasm was drawing closer but he didn’t want to finish early and have to get Jisung off another way so he paused and pulled back just enough to see the younger man’s flushed face. His expression was that of pure bliss and it made Minho’s cock twitch as need burned through his body. “Stunning…” he whispered before catching Jisung’s lips in a sweet kiss, a strong arm wrapping around him and pulling him impossibly closer.

The praise was intoxicating. He’d been called pretty plenty of times, had men falling at his feet to tell him how beautiful he was, but it was different coming from Minho. More gratifying. Add that to the way their tongues danced, exploring and taking every opportunity to taste as much of each other as possible, and he was on cloud nine. He’d have the worst time trying to focus later…

When they finally parted for air, Jisung rocked his hips. “Please keep going…” he whispered, finally peeking out with half-lidded eyes to see Minho staring intensely at him once more. “I need it.” He added and watched as the older man caved.

Minho captured Jisung’s lips once more as he resumed his previous actions and greedily drank up the series of moans and whimpers that followed. He worked a bit faster now, almost frenzied as he tried to finish them both off. His head was spinning and his pulse was racing as his orgasm drew closer. He was so fucking close…

“O-oh! There! Just like that! Oh my god ‘m gonna cum-” Jisung’s cries only pushed him closer to the edge and he nodded as he buried his face in his neck.

“That’s right, baby, let go. Cum for me, angel.” Minho’s coaching was the last straw for Jisung and he let out a wail as a blistering orgasm wracked his body. His body shuddered with each shockwave of pleasure, nails biting into Minho’s back. He let out a symphony of sounds, each one prettier than the last, and Minho knew immediately that he would become addicted to this.

Even in the midst of his orgasm, Jisung thought of Minho. He knew the older man was right on the edge and he wanted to get him there faster. He wanted to help him finish. Mostly, though, he wanted to be filled with cum.

He was subtle with his motions and Minho thought he was simply clinging to him but his intentions became obvious when he felt both hands on his chest. “Ji…” he whispered, lips already parting in a silent moan despite his best efforts.

His hips stuttered and his thrusts grew sloppy when Jisung began toying with his nipples like before. He muttered something about Jisung being a tease and finally sank his teeth into his shoulder as the knot in his belly unraveled. He bit and sucked on the sweat-slick skin there, dead set on leaving another mark.

A particularly rough twist made him cry out against Jisung’s skin as he emptied himself. His whole body was on fire as he came and began to slow down. Jisung let out a soft whine at the sensation of Minho’s cum inside him and immediately slipped his arms around his neck while his legs pulled him in deeper, holding onto him for dear life.

Minho's hot breath on his skin made him even more reluctant to let go of him, so he didn’t. He held him in place as they gasped for air, stars dancing behind their eyes. Finally, Jisung broke the silence.

“I don’t wanna go to work.” He groaned in annoyance as he reluctantly loosened his grip on Minho.

Minho didn’t answer right away, too preoccupied with littering lazy kisses along Jisung’s collarbone and jaw as he whispered more praises. When he did respond, however, it was exactly what Jisung anticipated. “Unfortunately, we have to.” He glanced at the clock and sighed. “We have less than an hour to get ready. We should shower so we aren’t late.” He groaned, reflecting Jisung’s annoyance.

“I guess.” He sighed but made no move to push Minho off him. “I’m gonna be thinking about this all day.”

“Me too.” Minho grinned and kissed him briefly, rocking his hips teasingly and swallowing the moan he earned. “Come on. We’ve got all weekend to do this.” He whispered finally, lips never parting from Jisung’s until he began to force himself out of bed.

The weekend couldn’t get here fast enough…

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