Happy 2min monday! ♡
Alisa U Zemlji Chuda
Claire Keane
Xuebing Du
Three Goblin Art
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
KIROKAZE

PR's Tumblrdome
occasionally subtle

if i look back, i am lost

No title available

Discoholic 🪩

pixel skylines

★
2025 on Tumblr: Trends That Defined the Year
will byers stan first human second

No title available

JVL
hello vonnie
wallacepolsom

seen from United Arab Emirates

seen from Germany

seen from Romania

seen from United States

seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia

seen from Türkiye
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from United States

seen from France
seen from Japan

seen from United Arab Emirates
seen from Germany
seen from Germany

seen from United Kingdom
seen from Germany
@endofjune30
Happy 2min monday! ♡
swiper no swiping.
seungminxreader.
2147.
angst. crack.
➜ seung is tired of everyone, blood, guns, mafioso shit.
please see copyright and universal warning in the masterlist. inspiration is creation, impersonation is criminal.
a/n; you guys know the drill. i suggest reading this first to learn about all the boys and their specialties. then hit up the mafia kids tag on my page for random mini drabbles. other full length fics are chan and bin. see you soon then🤎✨.
seungmin closed his eyes and exhaled.
this is not happening, he thought with an exaggerated eye roll.
he'd caught sight of the man earlier, pacing back and forth in front of the bank.
seungmin had been in the car then. jisung had said the man, now not only pacing but also waving his hands while having an apparently very important argument (with himself playing both roles mind you), must've gotten into jeongin's stash. jeongin had gasped at the insinuation, reaching forward to hit jisung's arm with a scandalized 'hyung'.
seungmin had watched both exchanges—the tweaker's one man reboot of one flew over the cuckoo's nest and jeongin and jisung's angry birds duet—maintaining his signature bored expression.
"can one of you idiots just go get changbin hyung's security deposit box while the day is still young?" seungmin pinched the bridge of his nose when it became clear to him that the bickering was reaching the song that never ends levels.
"it's innie's turn."
"hyung." jeongin gasped in the same tone again. "you know it's your turn!"
"oh is it?" jisung grinned in the rearview mirror back at jeongin. "han's law number 23, it's always the maknae's turn."
"that's not fair. and i thought law 23 was steak knives are for steaks not stabbing."
"no that's law 49 and it has an addendum because—"
seungmin was out of the car and slamming the passenger door before he was forced to listen to anymore of the maknae's and the fakenae's ridiculous conversations. he brushed shoulders with the pacing presumed crackhead, their hips knocking just slightly.
the crackhead turned angrily to seungmin, clearly perturbed that his debate with himself had been interrupted. his face scrunched in a scowl as he opened his mouth, but when he met seungmin's eyes, he closed it. a quiet fear seungmin was familiar with seeing on his adversaries faces taking over the man's drug dilated pupils.
seungmin stared him down before rolling his eyes and straightening his suit jacket. he didn't give the tweaker much more thought as he continued up the bank steps.
but he did briefly wonder how a drug addict could afford a ruger sp101 double action revolver.
"mr. kim," the bank manager was up before seungmin had even crossed the entrance mat. "i thought mr. han would be making the pickup today."
seungmin almost smirked, jeongin would be happy to hear that he was right that it had in fact been jisung's turn. but far be it from him to show any emotion so,
"no." was all seungmin said.
the manager seemed to be waiting for seungmin to say more, but seungmin continued to stare blankly. the manager cleared his throat awkwardly and outstretched his hand. "yes well, right this way mr. kim."
seungmin was quickly let into the vault. he keyed changbin's lock and then looked at the manager, whose ears turned red before he swiftly turned around. seungmin rolled his eyes and reached in to pull out whatever was so urgently crucial changbin had to send him, jisung, and jeongin on errand since mr. muscles was going to be busy all day...'talking', or so changbin called it whenever minho's interrogations required brute force persuasion.
shoving the bulky envelope into the space between the his slacks and the band of his briefs, seungmin locked everything back up. then, fixing his dress shirt and jacket, he hid the evidence of anything new on his person.
the manager turned back around then, smiling sheepishly as he led seungmin back the way they came. once they were out of the vault, the manager immediately secured the door behind them. he then walked around to face seungmin, reaching his hand out for a shake.
"it's always a pleasure to serve you and your brothers mr. kim, until next time. "
and trust, seungmin would've ignored the manager's attempt at a handshake either way, but he was doing so especially now as he made eye contact with a teller.
her eyes were wide and watering just slightly, gaze shifting down towards the glass where the crackhead from before was pointing the ruger sp101—seungmin tilted his head, hmm, it was actually a ruger lcr that he was brandishing. but seungmin was so sure that he'd felt an external hammer on the piece earlier during their brief brush. it wasn't often seungmin didn't get a gun guess right. now that he thought about it, he couldn't remember the last time. but the teller certainly was a breath away from a ruger bullet so he guessed every dog does have their day, unbelievable though it was.
all his inner monologue about his gun knowledge unsureities was put aside, however, because seungmin was sure he was going to kill jisung. it was his ass supposed to be dealing with shit. but nope, here he was stuck in the middle of a cliche bank robbery and rolling his eyes at the idiocy of it all.
jisung was so dead.
and speak of the devil, seungmin's phone buzzed. he took it out, glancing briefly at it before looking back at the now openly crying teller. she was mouthing something to seungmin but he couldn't make it out because then the crackhead was telling her to shut up, and he wasn't being quiet about it.
amateur.
seungmin sighed, reaching under his suit jacket to end this party before it really got started when the crackhead's voice finally captured the manager's attention. the manager swung his arm, that'd still been pathetically extended to seungmin, around and used it to point.
"yahh! hajima!"
seungmin could've gone blind from how hard he rolled his eyes then. yeah telling the bank robber to stop robbing the bank was sure to be effective. it always worked for dora after all.
seungmin looked around as the other tellers and patrons alike began to take notice. suddenly, the crackhead, clearly not prepared for resistance, started uttering out commands he had no doubt heard from whatever criminal minds episode gave him the courage to try to carry out this poorly planned felony.
he was telling everyone to shut up, get down, throw their phones out, don't move, hands up, i said don't move!
yeah seungmin could hear him and his contradictory commands clearly, but that was really none of his damn business. seungmin almost laughed out loud to himself at the audacity of it all. the affront to actual criminality was truly offensive. and don't get seungmin started on the way his tweakin ass was wielding the revolver: loose wrist, shaky finger on the trigger, no sight.
seungmin felt personally accosted.
i know that doped up bitch ain't talking to me, seungmin snorted to himself. he truly didn't give a flying rimmed cartridge what the tweaker was demanding.
seungmin could hear the scatter of items as scared patrons and security guards alike tossed their phones, purses, and was that a baby bottle?, oh for fucks sake, towards the crackhead who at this point was devolving. it was about to get messy in there, and fast. bored and annoyed was seungmin as he pulled his phone back out to respond to the message he received earlier.
knife boy: you good in there?
guns and pups: no
"hey what are you doing?! i said on the ground. i said toss your phones!" the crackhead swung his gun from the crying crowd of bank goers and employees towards seungmin. "are you-are you calling the cops?!"
seungmin pulled a face showing pure disgust and offense, "why the fuck would i do that?"
the man, taken off guard because who wouldn't call the cops in this situation, stuttered, "i-i...because you're a hostage?"
seungmin tilted his head, "are you sure?"
time seemed to stop as seungmin pulled one of his favourites from his waist band.
glock 19 gen 5.
three precise shots.
everyone was screaming now and the bank alarms, clearly rigged to be triggered by the sound of gunshots, were screaming now too. the manager was breathing heavy. brow damp with sweat and eyes wide as he took in the frantic sight of his prestigious establishment. people were trampling over each other to get out, and the crackhead was screaming on the ground with two new matching holes in each knee and one through the center of his palm. his revolver lay scattered across the floor.
seungmin walked over as the crackhead called him everything but what his mother named him, promising retribution. he had to give it to him though, because even then the man still tried to drag himself toward his ruger. as the tweaker's fingers closed around the handle of the gun seungmin stepped down, digging in the toe of his dress shoe as the man cried out from the crushing of his hand.
seungmin tilted his head with a smirk that said 'who's the hostage now?', shaking his head with mock sadness. "swiper no swiping. "
the man, bleeding all over the bank's nice linoleum, yanked back his hand and continued spewing expletives. "i know who you are you stupid bitch."
seungmin squatted by his face. "oh yeah? want an autograph?"
"let's see how fucking smug you are when i finish the job, hmm." the crackhead spat and seungmin merely stared at him. he kept his expression ever neutral but his mind was spinning, who was this guy? "what?! nothing to say?!!"
rude, seungmin thought with a click of his tongue. then seungmin reached out and squeezed the man's kneecap, blood spurting out afresh. the man howled, reaching his disfigured hands out to shove seungmin away.
seungmin's bored expression was ever present as he calmly answered the question the man had just rudely shouted at him. "no."
seungmin was just standing up as jeongin burst through the door, "hyung!"
seungmin was about to say it was fine when he felt two hands push against his side. he stumbled as a shot rang out.
"min!" jeongin yelled as he fired an answering shot of his own.
the man was dead, seungmin knew that without looking. if seungmin had taught anything to his brothers, it was the importance of shooting to kill. still jeongin ran over to the ghost of crackheads past, checking for a pulse that wasn't there and making sure to disarm him, ransacking his pockets for good measure. as jeongin did so he yelled back at seungmin.
"hyung talk to me, you good? you hit?"
"no i'm not i-" seungmin looked over and saw you. the teller he'd made eye contact with before, staring at him with red blooming over your blouse. "-you."
a single tear fell from your eye, "me."
seungmin's brow furrowed but he didn't have time to be confused because then he was surging forward to catch you as your eyes fluttered and your body dropped.
"hyung we gotta go, leave her." jeongin said as he handed a wad of cash to the bank manager, mumbling something about a camera malfunction.
but seungmin wasn't going to leave you until he found out what you were trying to tell him earlier and why the fuck you would take a bullet for a complete stranger.
"jesus." jisung's eyes widened as the two, well three of you got to the car.
jeongin closed the door after seungmin who was still cradling you to his chest and then he hopped into the passenger seat.
"jinnie hyung is gonna be so pissed. i know you saw he texted the g.c. bright and early 'no bringing home any more stray kids'. after last week's job, that man needs a day off bad." jisung turned to look at you, bloody and unconscious in his back seat. "she does not look good."
"would you just fucking drive." seungmin snapped, eyes still on your face. "ayenah reach into the glove compartment and get me something to slow this bleeding."
jeongin nodded, putting the two guns he'd collected in the cupholder while he searched around. "here hyung," jeongin handed over a hand towel, it would have to do.
"where'd you get that?"
jeongin followed seungmin's eyeline, "the guns?"
seungmin nodded.
"i pulled them both off that asshole back there. he must've had two. i saw the other revolver on the ground not to mention the hole in his hand, hell of a shot hyung."
but seungmin couldn't even hear the praise. couldn't really do anything but blink. because there it was. the reason you were bleeding out instead of him. it hadn't even occurred to him to search the man for a secondary weapon. so quick he had been to assume he'd made a mistake identifying the gun he'd felt. when really the mistake he'd made was not considering the crackhead wasn't a crackhead at all, and that as such, would be armed with more than one gun. and that second gun?
a ruger sp101 double action revolver.
he knew he'd felt a hammer.
don't be a silent reader. interaction is a writer's life blood. love you, mean it.💋
↳ taglist: @beppybeesnuggets, @goquokkaaa, @writtenbypeachy, @ayedomino-08, @fics-lovebot
Not sure if your taking requests but perhaps a Seungmin x Minho audio 🙏🙏🙏
Seungknow - 2Min
Here's your request, my love, use your imagination... 😏
Seungknow smut audio
𐙚 ₊ ⊹ do not disturb
♡ lee know is the emotionally unavailable dance major who becomes quietly obsessed with taking care of his accidental roommate. he doesn’t say “i care about you.” he changes your lightbulbs, cooks for you at 2 a.m., and gets irrationally angry when anyone else gets too close. “we’re not dating” — except everyone on campus thinks you are.
☆ genres: accidental roommates | domestic tension | slow-burn yearning | emotionally constipated minho | acts of service | “we’re not dating” but we act married | subtle possessiveness | campus romance | hidden softness ☆ warnings: explicit nsfw (18+ / MDNI), heavy detailed smut scenes, domestic sex, marking/hickeys, light choking, possessive talk, praise kink, teasing/edging, semi-public risk, multiple orgasms, emotional intimacy during sex, hurt/comfort ☆ playlist: darl+ing - seventeen | angel or devil - txt | not for sale - enhypen | unplugged boy - tws | dear my darling - boynextdoor |
---------------------------------------------------
The email had been very clear.
“Due to a system error in the off-campus housing portal, your assigned apartment (Unit 412) will be shared with one other approved tenant for the remainder of the semester. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
You had laughed when you read it. Laughed because it felt like a joke. Laughed because you were exhausted from moving boxes up three flights of stairs in the August heat. Laughed because what else were you supposed to do?
Then you opened the door to Unit 412 and stopped laughing.
Lee Minho was already there.
He stood in the middle of the living room like he owned it — black hoodie, sweatpants, arms crossed, expression unreadable as he watched you drag your last suitcase inside. His hair was slightly messy, like he’d run his hands through it too many times. His eyes, sharp and dark, flicked over you once before returning to the suitcase like it personally offended him.
“You’re the roommate,” he said. Not a question. A statement. Flat. Annoyed.
You straightened up, wiping sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, and gave him your brightest, friendliest smile.
“Hi! Yeah, I’m y/n. Housing mix-up, right? This is awkward but I promise I’m clean, quiet, and I don’t throw parties. We can make a chore chart or something if you want.”
Minho stared at you for a long second.
Then he turned and walked into the kitchen without another word.
You blinked.
Okay. Not a talker.
You dragged your suitcase further inside and looked around. The apartment was surprisingly nice — open layout, big windows, two bedrooms on opposite sides. One door was already closed with a small “Do Not Disturb” sign hanging on the knob. His room, obviously.
Minho reappeared from the kitchen holding a glass of water. He set it on the counter near you without comment.
You stared at it, then at him.
“…Thanks?”
He shrugged, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed again. “You looked like you were about to pass out.”
His voice was low, almost bored. But he didn’t leave. He just stood there, watching you with that unreadable expression.
You took the water and drank it, suddenly aware of how thirsty you actually were.
“So,” you said, trying to keep things light, “which room is mine?”
He tilted his head toward the open door on the left. “That one. I took the one with the better window. Sorry.”
He didn’t sound sorry.
You smiled anyway. “No problem. I’m easygoing.”
Minho hummed, like he didn’t quite believe you, then pushed off the counter.
“Dinner’s in the fridge if you’re hungry,” he said as he headed toward his room. “Leftovers from last night.”
You stared after him.
He cooked?
Before you could thank him, his door clicked shut.
The “Do Not Disturb” sign swayed gently.
You exhaled, looking around your new (shared) home.
The first week was a careful dance of avoidance and accidental domesticity.
Minho was gone most of the day — dance practices, classes, whatever mysterious schedule a dance major kept. You were busy with your own classes and part-time photography gigs. You barely saw each other.
But the apartment started showing signs of him anyway.
A perfectly folded stack of your laundry appeared on your bed one afternoon (he had “accidentally” mixed it with his and refused to admit it was intentional). A pot of kimchi jjigae was left on the stove with a sticky note that just said “eat” in neat handwriting. When you came home late from a shoot one night, the living room light was still on and Minho was on the couch, pretending to watch a drama while clearly waiting for you.
“You’re late,” he said without looking up.
You raised an eyebrow. “You’re not my dad.”
He finally glanced at you, expression flat. “You forgot to eat again. There’s leftovers.”
You stared at him.
He stared back.
Then he stood up, walked into the kitchen, and silently reheated the food for you.
You ate at the counter while he leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed, watching you like it was his job to make sure you actually finished the bowl.
“You don’t have to do this, you know,” you said between bites. “We’re just roommates.”
Minho shrugged. “You’re bad at taking care of yourself. Someone has to.”
His tone was annoyed.
But he stayed until you finished eating.
And when you thanked him, he just muttered “whatever” and disappeared into his room again.
The “Do Not Disturb” sign never moved.
But you were starting to think it might as well say “Do Not Fall For Your Roommate.”
Because Lee Minho was already becoming a problem.
The weeks after that were a masterclass in quiet chaos.
He wasn’t loud. He wasn’t messy. He was just… there. Always in the periphery, always doing small things that made your shared apartment feel less like a temporary mistake and more like something dangerously comfortable.
It started with the ramen.
You came home from a long photography shoot at 2:14 a.m., exhausted, starving, and too tired to cook. The apartment was dark except for the soft glow of the kitchen light. Minho was standing at the stove in black sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, hair slightly messy, stirring a pot like it was the most normal thing in the world.
You stopped in the doorway.
“…Are you cooking?”
He didn’t look up. “You forgot to eat again. Sit.”
You blinked. “How do you know I forgot to eat?”
He shrugged, sliding a bowl of kimchi jjigae in front of you as you sat at the counter. “You always do when you have shoots.”
You stared at the bowl, then at him.
He leaned against the opposite counter, arms crossed, watching you eat with that same unreadable expression. He didn’t say anything else. Just stood there until you finished.
When you thanked him, he muttered “whatever” again and disappeared into his room.
The next morning, your laundry was folded neatly on your bed.
You knew you hadn’t done it.
When you confronted him in the kitchen later, he was making coffee, back to you.
“You folded my clothes,” you said, half-amused, half-confused.
“You did it wrong,” he replied without turning around. “Everything was wrinkled. I fixed it.”
You leaned against the doorway, smiling. “You’re strangely domestic for someone who acts like he hates people.”
Minho finally glanced over his shoulder, expression flat. “I don’t hate people. I just don’t like most of them.”
You laughed. He turned back to the coffee maker, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth.
The pattern continued.
He started leaving sticky notes on the fridge:
There’s leftover tteokbokki. Eat it before it goes bad. - Minho
Your plants are dying. Water them. - Minho
Stop staying up until 4 a.m. editing. Sleep. - Minho
You teased him relentlessly about it.
“You know you’re acting like a worried husband, right?” you said one evening while he was silently reheating food for you again.
Minho didn’t even pause. “Eat your food.”
But his ears turned pink.
Your friends noticed before you did.
One weekend, you invited a couple of them over for a casual movie night. Minho was supposed to be out at dance practice.
He wasn’t.
He walked in halfway through the movie, took one look at the group on the couch, and immediately went to the kitchen. Ten minutes later, he emerged with a tray of perfectly cut fruit, homemade ramyeon, and drinks — placed it on the coffee table without a word, then sat on the floor beside your legs like it was his assigned spot.
Your friend Jisoo stared. “Wait… he lives here?”
You nodded. “Roommate. Housing error.”
Jisoo looked between you and Minho, who was now quietly watching the movie while occasionally glancing up to make sure you were eating the fruit he brought.
“…Looks like y'all are married,” she whispered.
You laughed. “We’re not. He’s just… like this.”
Minho didn’t comment.
But later that night, after everyone left, he lingered in the living room while you cleaned up.
“You can go to bed,” you told him. “I’ve got this.”
He ignored you and started helping anyway, silently drying dishes while you washed them.
When you bumped shoulders accidentally, he didn’t move away.
Neither did you.
The clinginess showed up in quieter ways too.
One night you came home late and freezing from a shoot. Minho was on the couch, pretending to read. The moment you walked in, he stood up, disappeared into his room, and came back with one of his hoodies.
“Put this on,” he said, tossing it at you. “Your room’s heater is shit.”
You pulled it on without arguing. It smelled like him — warm, clean, faintly like his cologne.
You caught him staring for a second too long before he looked away.
“Thanks,” you said softly.
He shrugged. “Whatever.”
But he stayed on the couch with you until you fell asleep watching a drama, a blanket mysteriously draped over both of you.
When you woke up the next morning, he was gone.
But the blanket was still there.
And so was the faint scent of him on your hoodie.
You told yourself it was just roommate stuff.
Minho was practical. He was helpful. He was… Minho.
But your friends were starting to look at you like you were the only one who couldn’t see what was happening.
And deep down, you were starting to wonder the same thing because, the domesticity didn’t stay small for long.
Minho’s care started slipping into your life in ways that felt too personal to ignore — quiet, practical, and impossibly consistent.
One rainy Thursday, you came home from a long outdoor shoot completely soaked and starting to sniffle. Your nose was running, your throat hurt, and you were too tired to do anything but collapse on the couch.
Minho took one look at you and disappeared into the bathroom.
He returned with a towel and your hair dryer.
“Sit,” he said, voice flat.
You blinked through your exhaustion. “What?”
“You’re dripping everywhere. Sit.”
You sat.
He stood behind the couch and gently dried your hair with the towel first, movements careful and efficient. Then he turned on the hair dryer, fingers combing through your damp strands with surprising gentleness. The warm air and his steady touch made your eyes flutter shut.
“You don’t have to do this,” you mumbled, voice hoarse.
“I know,” he replied.
But he kept going until your hair was dry and you stopped shivering.
When he finished, he placed a blanket over your lap and disappeared into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, he returned with a bowl of warm porridge and medicine.
“Eat,” he said, setting it on the coffee table. “Then sleep.”
You stared at the bowl, then at him.
“…Thank you.”
He shrugged like it was nothing and retreated to his room.
The “Do Not Disturb” sign stayed up.
But you noticed he left his door cracked open that night — just enough to hear if you needed anything.
He also started remembering things.
Your coffee order (extra shot, oat milk, one sugar). The days you had early classes. The exact brand of snacks you reached for when stressed. When your period was coming and you needed chocolate.
He never announced it. He just… did it.
One morning you woke up to find your favorite coffee and a small pack of painkillers on the kitchen counter with a sticky note that simply said:
Don’t forget to eat lunch.
No signature.
But you knew it was him.
-----
The jealousy started subtle.
You were in the shared living room one evening when a guy from your photography class, Jisung, stopped by to drop off a lens you’d lent him. He lingered in the doorway, chatting and laughing, standing a little too close as he complimented your latest shots.
Minho was in the kitchen, pretending to make tea.
But you felt his eyes on you the entire time.
When Jisung reached out to brush a stray hair from your shoulder, Minho’s spoon clattered loudly against the mug.
Jisung startled. “Oh, sorry — I didn’t know you had company.”
Minho didn’t look up. “She’s busy.”
His voice was calm. Almost bored.
But his knuckles were white around the mug.
Jisung left quickly after that.
The second the door closed, Minho set the mug down harder than necessary and walked over to you.
“You let him touch you,” he said, voice low.
You raised an eyebrow. “It was just my hair.”
He stared at you for a long moment, jaw tight.
Then he reached out and gently fixed the same strand of hair himself, fingers lingering against your cheek.
“Don’t,” he muttered.
You blinked. “Don’t what?”
He didn’t answer.
He just turned and went back to the kitchen like nothing had happened.
But that night, when you went to bed, you found one of his hoodies folded neatly on your pillow.
No note.
Just the hoodie.
The obsession grew quieter. Deeper.
He started waiting up when you had late shoots.
You’d come home at 1 a.m. to find him on the couch, pretending to watch a drama, eyes heavy with exhaustion but refusing to go to bed until you were safely inside.
One night you tried to tell him he didn’t have to.
Minho just looked at you, expression unreadable.
“I know,” he said.
But he stayed on the couch anyway.
You told yourself it was just roommate stuff.
Practical.
Convenient.
Nothing more.
But your friends were starting to look at you like you were the only one who couldn’t see what was happening.
The domestic routine had settled into something dangerously comfortable.
Minho still acted like he didn’t care. He still left the “Do Not Disturb” sign on his door. He still muttered “whatever” when you thanked him for the late-night ramen or the perfectly folded laundry.
But the small things kept piling up.
He started leaving the living room light on when you had late shoots. He started buying the exact brand of tea you liked when the old box ran out. He started sitting on the couch with you during movies instead of retreating to his room.
You told yourself it was just roommate courtesy.
Your friends told you you were delusional.
The tension finally snapped at a house party thrown by one of your mutual friends.
You hadn’t planned to go, but Minho had been unusually quiet that day, so you dragged him along, hoping it would loosen him up.
Big mistake.
The party was loud, crowded, and full of people who knew you as the friendly photography girl and Minho as the intimidating dance major who rarely spoke.
You were in the kitchen getting a drink when a guy from your department — Hyunjin — approached. He was charming, talkative, and had been flirting with you casually for weeks.
“Hey,” he said with an easy smile, leaning against the counter beside you. “You look good tonight. Finally taking a break from hiding behind that camera?”
You laughed lightly, friendly as always. “Trying to. You?”
Hyunjin stepped a little closer, eyes sparkling. “Better now that you’re here. Want to dance? Or we could go somewhere quieter and talk about that project you mentioned—”
A hand landed on your lower back.
Firm. Possessive.
Minho appeared at your side like a shadow, his body pressed close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off him.
“She’s busy,” he said, voice low and flat.
Hyunjin blinked, surprised by the sudden interruption. “Oh… sorry, man. I didn’t know you two were—”
“We’re not,” you started.
At the same time, Minho said, “She’s with me.”
The words came out calm. Controlled.
But his hand stayed on your lower back, fingers pressing slightly into the fabric of your shirt like he needed the contact to stay grounded.
Hyunjin raised his hands in surrender and backed off with an awkward laugh.
The second he was gone, you turned to Minho, heart racing.
“What was that?”
Minho didn’t look at you. His jaw was tight, eyes fixed on the crowd.
“He was too close,” he muttered.
You stared at him. “You’re acting jealous again.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You literally just told him I’m with you.”
Minho finally looked at you. His eyes were dark, conflicted, something raw flickering beneath the usual unreadable mask.
“I don’t like it when people touch you,” he said quietly. “Especially when they don’t know you.”
The honesty hit harder than expected.
You opened your mouth to respond, but Minho was already pulling you gently by the wrist, leading you out of the noisy kitchen and toward a quieter hallway.
The moment you were alone, he stopped.
Turned.
And kissed you.
It wasn’t soft.
It was frustrated. Hungry. Like he’d been holding back for weeks and finally lost the fight. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as his mouth moved against yours, deep and demanding.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers gripping his shirt.
For a moment, it felt like it would escalate — his body pressing you against the wall, thigh sliding between yours, breath ragged against your lips.
Then Minho pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, forehead pressed to yours.
“Fuck,” he whispered. “We shouldn’t—”
“Yeah,” you agreed, equally breathless, hands still fisted in his shirt. “We’re not… we’re just roommates.”
He nodded once, but didn’t move away.
Neither did you.
The hallway felt too small. The air too thick.
Minho’s thumb brushed your bottom lip once, almost reverently, before he forced himself to step back.
“Don’t let him touch you again,” he muttered, voice rough.
Then he turned and walked away before you could respond.
You stayed leaning against the wall for a long time, heart pounding, trying to convince yourself the kiss hadn’t meant anything.
It had felt like everything but it changed nothing on the surface.
Minho still acted like the same emotionally unavailable roommate — quiet, practical, and annoyingly competent. He still left the “Do Not Disturb” sign on his door. He still muttered “whatever” when you thanked him for the late-night food or the perfectly folded laundry.
But underneath, something had shifted.
The domesticity became heavier. More intimate. Harder to ignore.
It started with the laundry again.
One morning you woke up to find several of Minho’s hoodies and shirts mixed in with your clean clothes. You knew you hadn’t washed them. When you confronted him in the kitchen, he was making coffee, back turned to you.
“You put your clothes in my laundry again,” you said, holding up one of his black hoodies.
He didn’t turn around. “They were mixed. I fixed it.”
“You didn’t have to wash mine.”
“I was already doing a load.”
You stared at his back. “You’re doing my laundry now?”
He finally glanced over his shoulder, expression flat. “You do it wrong. Everything ends up wrinkled. It’s practical.”
You pulled his hoodie closer without thinking. It smelled like him — clean, warm, faintly like his cologne. You told yourself you were just borrowing it because it was soft.
You wore it for three days straight.
Minho noticed.
He didn’t say anything, but you caught him staring at you in it more than once, ears faintly pink before he looked away.
Movie nights became dangerous.
One Friday, you suggested watching a new drama together on the couch. Minho agreed with his usual noncommittal shrug.
Halfway through, you fell asleep.
When you woke up hours later, the TV was still on, but you were no longer sitting upright. You were lying down, head on Minho’s chest, his arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close like it was the most natural thing in the world.
His breathing was steady, but you could tell he wasn’t fully asleep.
You stayed very still, heart racing.
After a moment, Minho’s fingers brushed lightly up and down your back — slow, absentminded, like he didn’t realize he was doing it.
“…You’re warm,” he muttered sleepily when he felt you stir. “Stay.”
You didn’t move.
Neither did he.
You fell back asleep like that — tangled together on the couch, his heartbeat steady under your ear.
The next morning, he pretended it never happened.
But his hoodie was still on you when you woke up.
The care kept creeping in.
When you had a bad day, he showed up at your door with your favorite takeout without being asked.
When you mentioned your favorite tea was running low, a new box appeared on the counter the next day.
When you complained about the cold in your room, he “fixed” the heater — which somehow meant he started leaving his own blanket on your bed every night.
You tried to call him out on it.
“You’re spoiling me,” you said one evening while he was silently reheating food for you again.
Minho didn’t look up from the stove. “It’s practical. You forget to eat when you’re stressed.”
You smiled, leaning against the counter. “You’re acting like a worried boyfriend.”
He froze for half a second.
Then, voice flat: “I’m not.”
But his ears were red again.
Your friends were the first to say it out loud during a casual hangout at your apartment.
One of them watched Minho quietly refill your water glass without being asked, then disappear back into the kitchen.
“…You two are basically married,” she whispered.
You laughed. “We’re roommates.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Roommates don’t look at each other like that.”
You brushed it off.
But later that night, when Minho fell asleep on the couch beside you during another movie, his head eventually ending up on your shoulder, and you didn’t move him.
You just sat there, heart beating a little too fast, wondering when “roommates” had started feeling like something more.
Minho, still half-asleep, mumbled something against your shoulder.
“…Don’t leave.”
You froze.
He didn’t say anything else.
But his arm wrapped around your waist a little tighter.
And for the first time, you realized you didn’t want to leave either.
-----
The jealousy started escalating the week Seojun entered the picture.
Seojun was a confident, charismatic dance major in Minho’s department — loud where Minho was quiet, outgoing where Minho was reserved. He had been friendly with you for a while, but lately he’d been showing up more often, especially when you were around the dance building dropping off photos for a project.
One afternoon, you were waiting outside the practice room when Seojun spotted you.
“Hey!” he called, jogging over with an easy grin. “You here for Minho?”
You smiled back, friendly as always. “Yeah, I promised I’d bring him the edited shots from last week.”
Seojun leaned against the wall beside you, standing a little too close. “You’re too nice to him. He doesn’t deserve it.”
You laughed lightly. “He’s not that bad.”
Seojun tilted his head, eyes sparkling. “You know, if you ever get tired of dealing with his grumpy ass, I’d be happy to take you out sometime. Coffee? Or dinner? No pressure.”
Before you could respond, the practice room door opened.
Minho stepped out, hair slightly damp with sweat, towel around his neck. His eyes landed on Seojun’s proximity to you immediately.
His expression didn’t change much.
But you saw the way his jaw tightened. The way his hand flexed at his side.
He walked straight over and stopped right beside you, close enough that his arm brushed yours.
“She’s busy,” Minho said, voice flat and low.
Seojun raised an eyebrow, amused. “With you?”
Minho didn’t blink. “Yes.”
The tension was instant.
You tried to laugh it off. “Minho, it’s fine—”
But Minho was already gently grabbing your wrist, pulling you toward the exit without another word to Seojun.
You let him pull you along, heart racing.
The second you were outside, you turned on him.
“What was that?”
Minho didn’t look at you. “He was too close.”
“You literally told him I’m busy with you.”
He finally glanced at you, eyes dark. “You are.”
The possessiveness in his voice made your stomach flip.
You stared at him. “We’re not dating, Minho.”
“I know,” he said, voice tight. “But I still don’t like it.”
He didn’t elaborate.
He just started walking you back to the apartment, staying closer than usual, his shoulder brushing yours with every step.
It kept happening.
Whenever Seojun was around, Minho’s reactions became sharper.
During a group hangout at the apartment, Seojun sat next to you on the couch and casually rested his arm along the back of the seat behind you. Minho, who had been in the kitchen, appeared seconds later and sat directly on your other side, close enough that his thigh pressed against yours.
He didn’t say anything.
He just reached over and fixed the collar of your shirt, fingers lingering against your skin.
Seojun eventually moved.
Later that night, after everyone left, Minho was quieter than usual. He was washing dishes when you walked into the kitchen.
“You’re being weird again,” you said, leaning against the counter.
He didn’t look up. “I’m not.”
“You literally sat between me and Seojun like a guard dog.”
Minho’s hands paused on the plate. Then he continued washing, voice low.
“I don’t like when he touches you.”
The honesty made your breath catch.
You stepped closer. “Minho…”
He turned off the water and finally looked at you, eyes dark and conflicted.
“I know we’re not dating,” he said quietly. “But I still hate it.”
The air between you felt thick.
You didn’t know what to say.
So you didn’t say anything.
You just reached up and gently fixed a strand of hair that had fallen into his eyes.
Minho closed his eyes for a second, leaning into the touch like he was starving for it.
Then he pulled away, muttering something about needing to sleep, and disappeared into his room.
The “Do Not Disturb” sign never moved.
But you were starting to realize that the sign wasn’t for you.
It was for him.
Minho still kept his “Do Not Disturb” sign up like a shield, but the walls between you were crumbling faster than either of you could pretend otherwise. He was louder in his silence now — the way he’d linger in the kitchen when you were home, the way his eyes followed you when he thought you weren’t looking, the way his hoodies kept mysteriously appearing in your room.
You tried to act normal.
You failed.
One Thursday night you came home from a brutal editing session, shoulders aching, eyes burning. The apartment was warm and smelled like something delicious. Minho was at the stove again, stirring a pot of samgyetang with focused precision.
“You’re back,” he said without turning around.
“Yeah. Smells good.”
He hummed. A few minutes later, he set a steaming bowl in front of you at the counter, along with a glass of water and painkillers.
“Eat,” he ordered quietly.
You sat down, suddenly too tired to tease him. The first spoonful made your eyes flutter shut. Perfect, as always.
Minho leaned against the counter across from you, arms crossed, watching you eat like it was his personal responsibility. The silence felt heavier tonight. Charged.
When you finished, he took your bowl without a word and started washing it.
“You don’t have to keep doing this,” you said softly, standing up to help dry.
“I know.”
But he didn’t stop. His shoulder brushed yours as you worked side by side. Neither of you moved away.
Later that night, you were on the couch scrolling through photos when Minho came out of his room in a black t-shirt and sweatpants. He paused, then sat beside you instead of retreating to his usual spot.
You glanced at him. “Movie?”
He nodded once.
Halfway through, your head ended up on his shoulder. His arm slowly slid around you, pulling you closer until you were curled against his chest. His fingers traced slow, absent patterns on your arm.
“You’re warm,” he muttered, almost to himself.
You tilted your head up. His face was inches from yours, eyes dark and unreadable in the glow of the TV.
“Minho…”
He swallowed hard. Then he leaned down and kissed you.
This time, there was no hallway. No party. No interruption.
It started slow — hesitant, like he was still fighting himself. But the second you kissed him back, something in him snapped. The kiss deepened, turning hungry and desperate. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head as his tongue slid against yours.
You climbed into his lap without thinking, straddling him. Minho groaned softly into your mouth, hands gripping your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear.
“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips. “This is a bad idea.”
“Probably,” you whispered, rolling your hips once.
His grip tightened hard enough to bruise.
He stood up suddenly, carrying you like you weighed nothing, and walked straight to his room. The “Do Not Disturb” sign stared at you mockingly as he kicked the door shut behind him.
The second your back hit his bed, Minho was on you.
He kissed you like he’d been starving for months — deep, messy, possessive. His hands shoved your shirt up, mouth latching onto your neck, sucking a dark mark right below your ear.
“Mine,” he growled against your skin, so low you almost missed it.
You pulled his shirt off, nails dragging down his toned back. He hissed, grinding his hard cock against you through your clothes.
Clothes came off in a blur. When he finally pushed inside you, slow and deep, both of you moaned brokenly.
“Shit— so tight,” he panted, forehead pressed to yours. His eyes were dark, intense, completely focused on your face as he bottomed out. “Look at me.”
You did.
He started moving — deep, rolling thrusts that made your back arch. Every stroke felt deliberate, like he was trying to memorize how you felt around him. His hand came up to wrap gently around your throat, not squeezing hard, just holding you there as he fucked you.
“You feel so good,” he whispered, voice rough. “Better than I imagined. Fuck— been thinking about this for weeks.”
You moaned his name, legs wrapping tighter around his waist. He angled his hips and hit that spot inside you perfectly, drawing a sharp cry from your throat.
“That’s it,” he murmured, kissing you messily. “Let me hear you.”
He fucked you harder, one hand slipping between your bodies to rub tight circles on your clit. The pleasure built fast and overwhelming. When you came, clenching around him with a broken moan of his name, Minho cursed and followed right after, burying himself deep as he spilled inside you.
For a long moment, the only sound was both of you breathing hard.
Minho didn’t pull out. He collapsed on top of you, face buried in your neck, arms wrapped around you like a vice.
“Don’t say anything,” he whispered against your skin. “Just… stay.”
You stayed.
He fell asleep still inside you, holding you like you might vanish if he loosened his grip even slightly.
The next morning, he was already in the kitchen when you woke up. Two plates of breakfast waited on the counter.
He didn’t mention the sex.
But when you reached for your coffee, he gently fixed the collar of the hoodie you’d stolen from him — his hoodie — and his fingers lingered against your neck, right over the hickey he’d left.
You didn’t mention it either.
But the line between roommates and something more had been completely, irreversibly crossed.
“Morning,” you said softly.
“Sit,” he replied, voice low. He slid a plate of perfectly cooked eggs, rice, and grilled spam in front of you, along with your coffee — exactly how you liked it.
You ate in silence for a few minutes. The tension from last night still hummed between you, thick and unspoken.
“You’re not going to say anything?” you finally asked.
Minho paused, chopsticks hovering over his food. “About what?”
You raised an eyebrow. “About the fact that we had sex last night.”
He shrugged, ears turning faintly pink. “It happened.”
You stared at him. “That’s it?”
He finally looked up, expression carefully blank. “We’re still roommates. Don’t make it weird.”
But the way his gaze lingered on the hickey he’d left on your neck said otherwise.
The denial didn’t last long.
Over the next week, Minho’s care became almost suffocating in its intensity. He cooked every night. He waited up every time you had a late shoot. He started doing your laundry without even pretending it was an accident. And at night…
He stopped pretending he wanted space.
One evening you came home exhausted. Minho took one look at you, walked over, and pulled you into a slow, deep kiss right in the middle of the living room. No words. Just his hands sliding under your shirt, mouth claiming yours like he’d been thinking about it all day.
He carried you to his bed again.
This time, he took you apart slowly.
Minho laid you down gently, stripping you piece by piece with patient hands. His mouth followed — kissing down your neck, sucking marks across your collarbones, tongue teasing your nipples until you were squirming beneath him.
“Minho…” you breathed.
“Shh,” he murmured against your stomach, lips brushing lower. “Let me take care of you.”
He ate you out like he had all the time in the world — slow, filthy licks and gentle sucks on your clit, two fingers curling inside you until your thighs shook around his head. He didn’t stop even after you came the first time, just kept licking you through it, groaning softly like your taste was addictive.
When he finally crawled back up and pushed inside you, it was devastatingly deep. He fucked you with long, rolling thrusts, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked on your face the entire time.
“Look at me,” he whispered when your eyes fluttered shut. “Want to see you.”
Every thrust felt heavy with meaning. His hand came up to wrap around your throat again — light pressure, possessive, grounding. The other rubbed your clit in perfect rhythm until you came again, clenching hard around him.
Only then did Minho let himself go. He buried his face in your neck and fucked you harder, chasing his own release with broken, quiet moans of your name. When he came, he stayed deep inside you, hips twitching as he filled you up.
Afterwards, he didn’t pull away. He rolled onto his back and pulled you on top of him, still connected, arms wrapped tightly around your back.
“You’re staying here tonight,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question.
You smiled against his chest. “Okay.”
He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, fingers tracing slow circles on your bare skin. For once, he didn’t run back behind his walls. He just held you.
But the denial still lingered during daylight.
He still muttered “we’re not dating” when your friends teased you. He still put the “Do Not Disturb” sign on his door when other people came over. He still got prickly and quiet whenever Seojun texted you or when someone flirted with you on campus.
One afternoon Seojun stopped by the apartment to drop off dance footage for a project. Minho was in the kitchen, but the second Seojun leaned in a little too close while laughing at something you said, Minho appeared like a shadow.
He didn’t say anything. Just wrapped an arm around your waist from behind and pressed a slow kiss to the side of your neck — right over one of his many marks — while staring directly at Seojun.
Seojun got the message quickly.
When the door closed, you turned in Minho’s arms.
“You’re being possessive again.”
Minho’s jaw tightened. “I don’t like him near you.”
“You keep saying we’re not dating.”
He stared at you for a long moment, something vulnerable flickering in his eyes before he buried it.
“I know what I said.”
Then he kissed you hard, like he could avoid the truth if he just drowned it in physical closeness.
That night he fucked you against the kitchen counter after dinner — rough, desperate, and possessive. One hand around your throat, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave fingerprints as he pounded into you from behind.
“Say my name,” he growled against your ear. “Only mine.”
You came moaning his name. He followed right after, spilling deep inside you with a broken groan.
Afterwards, while he was carefully cleaning you up with a warm towel, he kissed your shoulder softly.
“…Stay in my room tonight,” he whispered.
You smiled. “I thought we weren’t dating?”
Minho froze, then buried his face in your neck, arms wrapping around you from behind.
“Shut up,” he mumbled against your skin, voice muffled and embarrassed.
But he didn’t let go.
And you were starting to realize that Lee Minho’s version of “we’re not dating” was beginning to sound a lot like “I don’t know how to admit I’m falling in love with you.”
Minho no longer waited for you to fall asleep on the couch. Most nights he simply pulled you into his room after dinner, wordlessly stripping you down and burying himself inside you like it was the only way he knew how to say the things he couldn’t voice.
One particular night, you came home after a long day of back-to-back shoots. The apartment was quiet, but the moment you stepped inside, Minho was there.
He didn’t speak. He just walked up to you, cupped your face, and kissed you slow and deep, like he’d been waiting hours for this exact moment. His hands slid under your shirt, thumbs brushing your ribs as he backed you toward his bedroom.
“Missed you,” he muttered against your lips. It was the closest thing to a confession he’d ever given.
He took his time with you that night.
Minho laid you out on his bed like you were something precious, mouth mapping every inch of your skin. He spent long minutes between your thighs, licking and sucking until you came twice on his tongue, fingers buried deep inside you, curling against that spot that made you see stars. He groaned every time you clenched around his fingers, like your pleasure fed something starving inside him.
When he finally pushed inside you, it was devastatingly slow. He held your gaze the entire time, forehead pressed to yours, one hand gently wrapped around your throat while the other pinned your wrist above your head.
“So good for me,” he whispered, voice rough as he rolled his hips deep. “Always so fucking perfect.”
Every thrust was measured, intentional, like he was trying to carve himself into your memory. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him impossibly closer, and he let out a broken sound that made your chest ache.
When you came again, clenching hard around him, Minho followed with a quiet, shuddering groan, spilling deep inside you while whispering your name against your neck like a secret.
Afterwards, he didn’t move. He stayed buried inside you, arms wrapped tightly around your body as he rolled you both onto your sides. His face stayed hidden in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.
You gently ran your fingers through his hair. “Minho… what are we doing?”
He was quiet for a long time.
Then, barely audible: “I don’t know.”
But his arms tightened around you like he was scared you’d pull away.
The next few days felt like borrowed time.
Minho’s care became almost overwhelming. He started waking up earlier just to make you breakfast. He left sticky notes on the mirror after you showered: “Drink water.” “You looked tired. Sleep early.” He even started doing your photography editing backups “because your laptop is old and slow.”
You caught him staring at you more often — soft, unguarded looks when he thought you weren’t paying attention. But the second you turned toward him, the mask would slip back into place. Flat expression. “Do Not Disturb” energy.
One afternoon, while you were both in the kitchen, you decided to test the waters.
“I found a new apartment listing,” you said casually, stirring your coffee. “It’s available next month. Closer to campus, cheaper rent…”
Minho’s entire body went still. The knife he was using to cut vegetables froze mid-air.
“You’re moving?” His voice was carefully neutral, but you heard the strain underneath.
“Yeah. The housing error gets fixed at the end of the semester anyway. Thought I should start looking.”
He didn’t respond. Just went back to chopping vegetables with a little more force than necessary.
That night, he fucked you like he was angry.
Bent over the kitchen counter right after dinner, your shorts shoved down, his cock slamming into you from behind with deep, punishing strokes. One hand fisted in your hair, the other gripping your hip hard enough to leave marks.
“You’re really leaving?” he growled against your ear, hips snapping harder. “After all this?”
You moaned, pushing back against him. “You said we’re not dating—”
He pulled your head back by your hair and bit down on your shoulder, sucking a dark hickey as he fucked you even deeper.
“Don’t say that right now,” he hissed.
He made you come twice before he finally let himself go, filling you up with a low, broken groan. Afterwards, instead of his usual quiet aftercare, he carried you to his bed and held you so tightly you could barely breathe.
“Don’t look for apartments yet,” he whispered against your hair in the dark.
You didn’t answer.
But you didn’t pull away either.
The next morning, Minho was quieter than usual. He made your coffee exactly how you liked it, but he wouldn’t meet your eyes. When you tried to tease him about burning the toast, he barely reacted.
You hated how much it hurt.
Because the truth was becoming impossible to ignore: you didn’t want to move out. You didn’t want to leave this apartment. You didn’t want to leave him.
And Lee Minho, for all his emotional constipation and “Do Not Disturb” signs, was starting to look like he felt the exact same way.
But neither of you knew how to say it.
Yet.
-----
The argument finally exploded in the kitchen on a random Tuesday night.
You’d been putting it off for days, but the new apartment listing had been confirmed. You set your phone down on the counter and took a deep breath.
“I found a place,” you said quietly. “It’s available at the end of the month. I think I’m going to take it.”
Minho was stirring rice in a pan. His hand stilled completely.
For a long moment, the only sound was the faint sizzle of the food.
“You’ll survive,” you added, trying to keep your voice light. “You lived alone before me anyway.”
Minho slowly set the spoon down and turned to face you. His expression was tight, jaw clenched, eyes darker than usual.
“I know I will,” he said flatly.
You nodded, heart aching. “Then why are you acting like this?”
He stared at you for a long second, something raw and frustrated breaking across his face. The “Do Not Disturb” mask he’d worn for months finally shattered.
“Because I liked living with you!” The words burst out of him, louder than you’d ever heard him speak. He immediately looked away, ears burning red. “More than I should’ve.”
Silence filled the kitchen.
Minho gripped the edge of the counter, knuckles white.
“I know I’m bad at this,” he continued, voice dropping. “I don’t say things. I just… do things. Cook for you. Wait up for you. Fold your stupid laundry. But every time I think about you moving out, it feels wrong. Like the apartment’s going to be too quiet. Like I’m going to be too… empty.”
He finally looked at you, eyes vulnerable in a way that made your chest tighten.
“I don’t want you to leave.”
You stepped closer until you were right in front of him. “Then ask me to stay, Minho.”
He swallowed hard. Then, barely above a whisper:
“…Stay.”
You smiled, soft and warm. “Okay.”
The tension snapped.
Minho pulled you into him almost desperately, kissing you like he’d been holding back for years. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks as the kiss turned deeper, slower, full of everything he’d never been able to say.
He lifted you onto the kitchen counter, stepping between your legs. But this time it wasn’t rushed or possessive. It was tender.
Clothes came off slowly. He kissed every inch of skin he revealed, murmuring quiet praises against your collarbone, your stomach, your thighs. When he finally slid inside you, it was gentle and deep, forehead pressed to yours, eyes locked.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered, rolling his hips in a slow, steady rhythm. “I’m not letting you go.”
You wrapped your arms around his neck, legs around his waist, holding him just as tightly. The pleasure built gradually, sweet and overwhelming, until you both came together — quiet moans and trembling breaths, bodies pressed impossibly close.
Afterwards, Minho carried you to his bed (your bed now, too), cleaned you up with careful hands, then pulled you against his chest. He buried his face in your hair, arms locked around you.
“No more looking at apartments,” he mumbled against your temple.
You laughed softly. “No more ‘we’re not dating’ either?”
He was quiet for a moment. Then:
“We’re dating,” he said, almost shyly. “If… you want.”
You tilted your head up and kissed him. “I want.”
-----
The next few weeks were sickeningly cute.
Minho still acted annoyed when your friends teased him about being whipped, but he no longer denied it. He started introducing you as “my girlfriend” in the most casual, deadpan way possible — like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
He took the “Do Not Disturb” sign down permanently.
Now the only sign on his door (your shared door) was a small handmade one you’d made together that read: “Do Not Disturb… unless you’re y/n”
Domestic life continued, only now it was openly affectionate.
He still cooked for you at 2 a.m. when you forgot to eat, but now he’d pull you into his lap afterwards and feed you bites while pressing kisses to your neck. He still folded your laundry, but now he’d steal kisses every time he passed you a stack of clothes. He still waited up for you, but now he’d greet you at the door with a hug that lasted way too long.
One lazy Sunday afternoon, you were both on the couch watching a drama. You were wearing his hoodie (as usual). Minho had his head in your lap, eyes half-closed as you played with his hair.
“You know,” you said softly, “I never thanked the housing office for their mistake.”
Minho hummed, turning his face to press a kiss to your thigh.
“Don’t thank them,” he muttered. “Thank me for not letting you move out.”
You laughed and leaned down to kiss him.
He smiled against your lips — small, genuine, and completely unguarded.
Lee Minho still wasn’t great with words.
But he didn’t need to be.
He showed you he loved you every single day — in the meals he cooked, the hoodies he let you steal, the way he held you at night like you were the only thing that mattered.
And you?
You stayed.
Right where you belonged.
LIFESAVER
李旻浩  𝗒𝗈𝗎 𝗌𝖺𝗏𝖾𝖽 𝖽𝗈𝗋𝗂’𝗌 𝗅𝗂𝖿𝖾 ?!
🐈⬛ cat dad!leeknow x cat lover!𝑓 rea──── ✿ 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿 𝖾𝗌𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗅𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉 . 𝑤𝑐 ✶ 𝟲𝟴𝟬 ' 𝗥𝗘𝗕𝗟𝗢𝗚𝟰𝗞𝗜𝗦𝗦 ❕ 𝖼𝗅𝗂𝖼𝗄 . 𝖼𝗈𝗅𝗅𝖾𝖼𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇
kailea . i missed writing for skz sm 🙏🙏
IF SOMEONE HAD ASKED MINHO a few years ago what was a must for him while looking for a partner, he’d have answered that they had to love his cats as much as he did.
that was before he found out that everybody knew how to act the part. first, they’d act interested and ask all the right questions, but when they eventually moved in together, they’d start complaining.
“there’s cat hair all over my clothes”
“they keep waking me up at the crack of dawn”
“why do you need me to take care of them? cant you just, i dont know, get an automatic feeding system for them?”
frankly, he didn’t think he was going to get a girlfriend who loved his cats as much as him. he’d already crossed it out from his mental checklist for finding a girlfriend.
that was until he met you.
when he mentioned his cats on your first date, you seemed genuinely interested in them. he didn’t think much of it, you were just putting on the performative act everybody put on. trying to get on his good side, he told himself.
the first time you met his cats was when you went over to his place when he was sick. you made him soup, took care of his laundry, and most importantly (to him), entertained soonie, doongie, and dori.
you watched cartoons with them and made their a thousand step food, that even minho found annoying sometimes, without complaint.
still, he convinced himself that you still wouldn’t be able to deal with living with three cats for a long period of time.
now, after a year of living with him at his apartment, he has never heard you complain once. you’d let them sleep on the bed and didn’t show even a hint of annoyance when soonie scratched you.
minho was currently on a business trip, so you were home with the cats. that’s when you noticed that dori had been acting strange. he hadn’t peed today though he normally pees three times a day. he looked like he was straining every time he used the litter box and he kept licking his genital area.
you weren’t some cat expert, but your gut told you something was wrong, so you took him to the vet.
“he’s very lucky you took him in today. it looks like he has a urinary blockage, things would’ve been life-threatening if you brought him in even a day later.” the vet said, still examining dori. “we’ll have to do some x-rays and blood work to assess his kidney values and electrolyte levels first, but he’ll have to stay here for at least two days.”
the vet took dori away for the x-rays and blood tests while you signed the paperwork, then you facetimed minho.
“jagiya?” he answered the phone, sweaty and out of breath. “what’s up?”
“dori has a urinary blockage. he’s getting his blood work and x-ray done.”
“what?” you could hear the shock in his voice. “how’d you find out?”
“he hasn’t been peed for a day.”
“and you noticed?”
“of course i did,” you said matter-of-factly “they’re like my kids.”
minho looked at you on his screen like you hung the stars.
“i could like, marry you.” you laughed at his words, but he wasn’t joking. “i’m dead serious, yn.”
“i’ll look forward to the proposal then,” you giggled. “the nurse just called for me. i’ll update you later, kay?”
the vet said dori would need to go on a strict wet food diet, so you got all the food recommendations he had and got a new, more interesting water fountain because it would apparently encourage dori to drink more water.
minho came back a week later, and it was like he loved you even more than before, if that was even possible.
he couldn’t stop thanking you for “saving dori’s life” and pampered you with kisses for the entire week.
that was the moment he knew you were the one for him
and of course, the promised proposal came half a year after.
🏷️ regulars ! 50/50 @starzyviolet @enhacolor @bunbunbl0gs @aprilmaejune77 @blinkystay @havennz @kiracchii @peskybirdysya @maddy24207 @bananabread785 @nujeskz @amarecerasus @11racha @ch3rry15pin @jisungsleftcheek @luvvvivi @stayjinnie @ysljoon @vxyselectric @lee-uh @imthestraykid @i-bitch-you-bitch @vi0let-writes @yxna-bliss @tanyaspartak @inhoswifee @mixxie2203 @imnotsupposedtobedoingthis @brbwritingfanfic @itsraininghyunebuckets. @s4ftlad3n @angel-writes-skz-here @babrieeee @cb9711 @savebangchan1997 @greenyweirdo @geni-627 @v3n7s @gigizzz @leovaldezslefttoe @theyknowagus @xyz77777777 @g4ngl3-nut3ll4 @binnies-quokka0 @sunshine-sun42 @femaholicc @thatonefan @plus-ultra @ready2readnwrite @barbie-girl84
𝐬𝐤𝐳 ౨ৎ falling first
𓂃love was always visible in the smallest things
𝓟airing :: stray Kids x reader
𝓖enre :: romance, fluff, comfort
𝓦arnings :: none
𝓦ord: 8k
𝓐/n :: it’s 3am and instead of sleeping i’m here romanticizing men who don’t know i exist
♫ :: 𝐠𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 — 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐛𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐞
M.list ┆m.skz ┆TAGLIST
𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧
he starts memorizing the smallest details about you without even realizing he’s doing it, as if his brain had decided to catalog every little piece of you to keep as a secret treasure.
he knows exactly how you like your coffee: moderately sweet, with a pinch of cinnamon when it’s cold outside, and always with an extra cup of ice water on the side because you tend to forget to stay hydrated. when you arrive at the studio, he already has the cup ready, placed casually on the table as if it were a coincidence. in truth, he woke up earlier just to stop by the right café and order it “the way she likes it.” he never admits it. he simply slides the cup toward you with a tired little smile and says, “it was leftover.”
he notices the songs you always skip on the shared playlist. when you’re in the car coming back from an event, he watches through the rearview mirror which parts you skip, and days later he creates an entire playlist with only the tracks you actually listen to until the end. he never sends it saying it’s for you. he saves it on his phone under the name “random” and plays it when you’re around, pretending it’s something he put together randomly for the group.
he recognizes the exact tone of your voice when you’re tired. that slight hoarseness, the way the words come out slower, almost lazy. on those days he becomes more protective without drawing attention: he lowers the music volume in the studio, brings a light blanket that “was leftover,” and adjusts the air conditioning to be warmer. if you yawn, he already knows. and his chest tightens with the urge to send you home to rest, but he only offers his shoulder and says softly, “you can lean on me a little, I’m awake anyway.”
he learns the way you bite your lower lip when you’re concentrated or nervous. he starts observing this in meetings and, without anyone noticing, changes the subject or makes a little joke just to see you relax. afterward he scolds himself mentally for paying so much attention, but he can’t stop.
he memorizes the perfume you wear. sometimes he buys the same fabric softener just so the hoodie he “accidentally” leaves near you carries a scent that reminds you of him. when you wear the hoodie and comment that it smells good, he feels his face burn and turns to the computer pretending to work.
he knows which days you tend to feel more anxious. on those days, he sends simple messages at 7 in the morning: “good morning, don’t forget to eat something before leaving.” he never says he remembers your mood cycle. he just takes care of you, silently, as if he wants nothing in return.
he begins to adjust his own sleep schedule to match yours. if he knows you’ll stay later at the studio helping, he stays too, even if he’s exhausted. he says he needs to finish a track, but actually he wants to make sure you don’t go home alone. the ride is always offered casually: “I’m heading that way anyway.”
he notices the way your eyes sparkle when you talk about something you love. so he starts bringing up conversations about those topics on purpose: a new movie, an indie song you mentioned in passing, a book you’re reading. he researches the subject beforehand just to be able to talk better and see that sparkle again. afterward he spends hours thinking about the smile you gave him.
he learns your little habits: how you twist the ring on your finger when you’re thoughtful, how you tuck your hair behind your ear when you feel shy, how you sigh in relief after the first sip of coffee. every detail becomes fuel for his compositions. he writes lyrics about “someone who makes the world feel quieter” without ever putting your name, but everyone who listens feels it’s too personal.
he becomes more sensitive to your mood than he’d like to admit. if you’re sad, he notices in the first second. he doesn’t ask directly what happened. instead, he does something practical: brings your favorite snack, plays a soft song in the studio, or simply stays nearby in comfortable silence, offering presence without pressure. his love shows in actions, never in grand words.
he starts dreaming about you and wakes up with his heart racing. then he spends the whole day trying not to look at you too much, afraid someone will notice. but when you enter the room, his eyes always find yours for a second longer than they should.
he keeps all the photos you take together. he has a secret folder called “references” on his computer, but they’re actually moments of you smiling, you focused while working, you laughing at some silly thing he said. he looks at those photos in the early mornings when the longing hits hard and the fear of ruining everything stops him from confessing.
he learns to cook your favorite dish. he spends hours watching tutorials on his phone, burns the first attempt, but the second one turns out perfect. when he brings it to the dorm and says “I made too much, want some?”, the quiet pride in his eyes gives everything away. he watches you eat with almost religious attention, happy to be able to make you feel good.
he worries about your health in ways that seem exaggerated even to him. if you mention you slept badly, the next day he shows up with a calming tea that “a staff member recommended.” if you cough, he already sets aside an extra jacket. everything disguised as leader care, but the affection is visibly greater when it comes to you.
he begins to write lyrics about silent love, about someone who loves from afar so as not to ruin what is already beautiful. he plays these songs quietly in the studio when he’s alone and imagines what it would be like to dedicate one to you. but he saves the file and never shows it. not yet.
he notices when you’re cold and, without saying anything, places his own jacket over your shoulders. then he pretends it was an accident. when you thank him, he just shrugs and murmurs, “no need to thank me.”
he catches himself smiling alone when he remembers something funny you said days ago. the members start to notice that he’s more distracted, softer, more patient. he denies everything, but his heart no longer obeys the rules he tries to impose.
he plans small and impossible futures: a walk with just you by the Han River at dawn, a studio session where you only play slow songs, a whole day without schedules where he can finally tell you everything he’s keeping inside. but for now, he continues hiding, loving through every detail, every gesture, every look that lasts a second longer.
he knows he’s in love. deeply. but the fear of losing your friendship, of complicating the group’s life, of not being able to give you the time you deserve, makes him keep this enormous love inside his chest, letting it leak only in silent, sweet forms full of care.
and even while trying to hide it, the love overflows. in every coffee made with affection, in every playlist thought of for you, in every night he stays awake just to make sure you get home safely. Bang Chan may be the leader who carries the world, but when it comes to you, he becomes someone who wants to carry only your heart, with all the care and all the delicacy that a love like this deserves.
————
𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨
he’s so subtle about it that most people would miss the signs, but if you look him in the eyes for more than two seconds, it’s painfully obvious — that soft, lingering gaze that melts just a little whenever you’re around. Minho tries so hard to keep his usual cool, sharp exterior, the teasing Lee Know that everyone knows. But with you, the walls crack in the quietest ways.
he starts showing up with your favorite snacks without being asked. not dramatically, just casually placing a small bag of the exact brand of strawberry milk candy you like on the practice room table. “they were on sale,” he mutters with a shrug, avoiding eye contact while his cats-like eyes flick back to your face the second you look away. he remembers every little preference like it’s second nature.
he watches you more than he should. during dance practice, when the group is resting, his eyes find you in the mirror reflection. not staring obviously, but soft, careful glances that trace the way you smile or how you tuck your hair back. if someone catches him, he immediately turns it into a teasing comment — “you’re doing that move wrong again” — but the fondness in his tone gives him away.
he becomes gentler with his teasing. instead of his usual sharp remarks, he pokes fun in ways that feel almost protective. if you’re struggling with a step, he corrects your posture with light fingers on your shoulders, lingering a heartbeat longer than necessary before pulling away like it burned him. “fix your arm like this,” he says quietly, voice lower than usual, eyes locked on yours a fraction too long.
he memorizes the way you take your drinks. hot americano with two pumps of vanilla on tired days, iced with extra shot when you’re energetic. he “accidentally” orders an extra one at the café near the company and hands it to you with a deadpan face. “don’t make it weird, I just didn’t want to waste it.” but his ears turn slightly pink when you thank him warmly.
he lets you into his quiet world without saying it outright. when the dorm is loud and chaotic, he finds excuses to pull you to the balcony or the corner of the living room where his cats are. he places one of them in your lap — “Soonie likes you” — and watches with the softest expression as you pet the cat, pretending to scroll on his phone but really just soaking in the peaceful sight of you.
his touches are rare but meaningful. a hand on your lower back guiding you through crowded hallways at events, gone so quickly you wonder if you imagined it. brushing a stray eyelash from your cheek during makeup touch-ups, his fingers hovering near your skin like he’s afraid to break something precious. every time, he pulls back with that signature blank face, but his eyes betray him — dark, warm, and full of unspoken words.
he notices when you’re overwhelmed. if the schedule is too hectic and you look tired, he suddenly becomes extra efficient, finishing tasks faster so the group can end practice earlier. “I’m hungry,” he lies smoothly, even though he ate two hours ago. later, he sends a single text: “get some rest.” no emojis, no extra fluff, but you can feel the care behind the short message.
he composes small choreographies in his mind with you in them. during late-night solo practices, he dances moves that feel softer, imagining your laughter filling the empty room. he never shows you these parts, but sometimes he demonstrates a new combination and asks for your opinion, watching your reaction like it’s the most important feedback in the world.
he defends you in the smallest, fiercest ways. if another member jokes too roughly, Minho shuts it down with a calm but cutting remark. “enough.” his voice is steady, but his hand clenches slightly at his side. afterward he acts like nothing happened, offering you a piece of chocolate from his pocket as silent comfort.
his smiles are different with you. the sharp, mischievous ones he gives the cameras turn genuine and boyish when you’re nearby. he tries to hide them by looking down or turning away, biting his lip, but the corners of his mouth still lift. if you catch him, he covers it with a dramatic eye-roll. “what are you staring at?”
he learns your habits like they’re choreography he needs to perfect. the way you hum when focused, how you stretch your neck when stressed, the nervous fidgeting with your sleeves. he starts mirroring some of them unconsciously — stretching when you do, humming the same tune under his breath. the members notice and tease him, but he denies it with a straight face while his heart races.
he stays late just to walk you out. “I need to grab something from the van anyway,” he says, even when it’s clear he doesn’t. the walk is quiet, comfortable. he matches your pace, hands in his pockets, stealing glances at your profile under the streetlights. when you reach the car, he opens the door for you without a word, eyes soft in the dim glow.
he gifts in the most understated way possible. a new hair tie because “you always lose yours,” or a keychain that matches one of his cats. each item is given with minimal explanation, but chosen with ridiculous care. he watches your face light up and has to look away quickly, pretending to be busy with his phone.
he becomes more patient with the chaos around him when you’re there. the usual Minho who gets easily annoyed by noise turns calmer, more tolerant. he even laughs at jokes he’d normally ignore, just because your laughter joins in. his eyes always drift back to you, like you’re the center of the room even when you’re trying to stay in the background.
at night, when insomnia hits, he scrolls through old group photos just to see your face. he saves a few secretly, telling himself it’s for “reference.” sometimes he catches himself smiling at the screen and shakes his head, whispering to himself, “this is stupid, Minho.”
he worries about you silently. if you mention a small cold, the next day there’s medicine and a warm drink waiting at your spot. “don’t get us sick,” he says gruffly, but the concern in his gaze is unmistakable. he checks on you through indirect questions to other staff, never admitting he’s asking specifically about you.
his love shows in the way he listens. really listens. when you talk about your day, he puts his phone down completely, chin resting on his hand, eyes steady on yours. no interruptions, no teasing until you’re done. it’s rare for him to give anyone that full attention, and it makes his feelings painfully obvious to anyone paying close attention.
he dreams of more but keeps it locked away. quiet dates at cat cafés, dancing together in an empty studio at 3 a.m., lazy mornings where he could finally say everything he holds back. for now, he hides behind subtle actions and sharp comments, but the love is there — clear as day in those deep brown eyes that soften only for you.
even when he tries to act indifferent, the truth slips through. a gentle hand steadying you, a perfectly timed snack, a gaze that lingers with quiet affection. Minho may be the master of subtle, but his heart is loud when it comes to you. and if you look closely enough, you’ll see he’s already completely, hopelessly in love.
————
𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐧
he’s the most obvious one out of all of them, even though he’s desperately trying to convince himself (and everyone else) that he’s not in love. but let’s be honest — it’s so painfully clear that to you, it already feels like you two are practically dating. Changbin treats you like his girlfriend in every single way, acting like a full-on boyfriend without ever having kissed you. the line between “close friend” and “this man is whipped” disappeared months ago.
he always sits next to you. no matter where the group is — in the van, at the dorm, during meals, in the studio — Changbin claims the spot beside you like it’s his reserved seat. he does it so naturally now that the members don’t even tease him about it anymore. if someone else tries to sit there, he gives them a look and says “move, that’s her spot” in his deep voice, then turns to you with a bright smile like he didn’t just act completely territorial.
he carries your stuff without asking. your bag? already on his shoulder. your coat? he’s holding it. if you’re carrying drinks or snacks for the group, he immediately takes the heavier bags from your hands. “you’re small, let me do it,” he says, flexing his arms a little on purpose while pretending it’s nothing. he even remembers which bag is yours and keeps track of it throughout the day.
he checks on you constantly, in full boyfriend mode. “did you eat?” “are you cold?” “you look tired, lean on me.” he brings you water before you even realize you’re thirsty. if you yawn, his arm is instantly around the back of your chair, ready for you to rest against him. he does it so casually that you’ve both stopped questioning it. to everyone else, it looks exactly like a couple.
he gets you food all the time. not just snacks — full meals. he shows up with your favorite chicken or ramyeon because “I was ordering anyway.” he knows your spice level, your favorite sides, even how you like your eggs in the morning. he watches you eat with the softest, proudest expression, then gets shy when you thank him and pretends to be busy lifting weights.
his physical affection is constant but somehow still “platonic” in his mind. he pulls you into hugs that last way too long, burying his face in your hair and breathing you in. he holds your hand when crossing the street “just in case.” he plays with your fingers when you’re sitting together. he rests his head on your shoulder during long car rides, mumbling “you’re comfortable” like it’s the most normal thing in the world. and you let him, because this is just how Changbin is with you.
he gets jealous in the most obvious ways. if another member jokes around with you too much or gets a little too close, Changbin suddenly becomes louder, flexing harder, showing off his muscles or rapping something impressive just to pull your attention back. he tries to play it cool but fails miserably. “why are you laughing so much at Hyunjin?” he’ll mutter under his breath, pouting until you give him your full focus again.
he calls you by cute nicknames that sound dangerously couple-like. “baby” slips out when he’s tired. “jagiya” when he’s being extra sweet. “my girl” when talking to the members. he says them so naturally that you’ve started responding to them without thinking. he catches himself sometimes and gets flustered, clearing his throat and adding “uh, I mean…” but the damage is already done.
he plans his schedule around you. if he knows you’ll be at the company late, he stays late too. if you have a day off, he suddenly “happens” to have free time and suggests doing something together. “the members are busy anyway,” he says, even though he’s the one who made sure everyone else had plans.
he protects you like it’s his job. someone speaks to you rudely? his deep voice cuts in immediately, calm but intimidating. paparazzi or fans getting too close? he’s standing in front of you, using his body as a shield. he doesn’t even think twice — it’s instinct now. you’re his person to take care of.
he remembers every little thing you tell him. a random comment about liking a certain color, a movie you want to watch, a stress-relief plushie you saw online. days or weeks later he shows up with it. “saw this and thought of you,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck shyly while his eyes shine with hope that you’ll like it. every gift is chosen with so much care it feels like boyfriend behavior.
he gets shy when you compliment him. when you tell him he did well in a performance or that his arms look strong, his ears turn bright red and he tries to hide his huge smile behind his hand. but he keeps stealing glances at you afterward, glowing for hours because of your words.
he talks about you to his family. you know because his mom once mentioned on a call how much “Binnie talks about you.” he got so embarrassed when you found out, hiding his face in a pillow while mumbling “she’s just a good friend…” but everyone can hear the lie in his voice.
he falls asleep thinking about you and wakes up checking his phone for your messages first thing. if you don’t text good morning, he sends one himself — “hope you slept well 💪” with a flexing emoji, trying to keep it cool when really he just wanted an excuse to talk to you.
he treats you like you’re already his. he shares his food from the same plate, lets you wear his hoodies (and loves seeing you in them), saves you the best seat, makes sure you’re always comfortable. the members have started calling you “Changbin’s girlfriend” behind your backs because it’s that obvious.
and the craziest part? you two haven’t even kissed yet. but the way he looks at you — eyes soft, full of adoration and quiet longing — makes it feel like you’re already in a relationship. he wants to confess so badly, but the fear of ruining what you have keeps him holding back. so instead he loves you loudly through actions: carrying your things, feeding you, protecting you, holding you close.
Changbin is head over heels, and he’s doing a terrible job at hiding it. to everyone around you, it’s clear as day that this man is already completely committed. he may not have said the words yet, but every single thing he does screams that you’re the one he wants. and deep down, you already know it too.
————
𝐡𝐲𝐮𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐧
he’s intense without even realizing it, like a quiet storm that keeps pulling you in. Hyunjin is always busy — schedules packed with photoshoots, practices, late-night art sessions, and world tours — yet somehow he’s constantly present in your life. he slips into your days like he belongs there, showing up in ways that feel both natural and overwhelming. he tries so hard to hide how deeply he feels, but it’s impossible. the way he looks at you gives everything away.
he stares too much. it’s not on purpose, but his eyes just find you and stay there. during group dinners he’ll be mid-conversation with someone else and suddenly go quiet, gaze locked on you across the table as you laugh at something Felix said. when you catch him, he blinks slowly like he’s coming out of a trance, then offers a soft, sheepish smile and looks away, pretending to be interested in his food. but minutes later, his eyes drift back to you again.
he gets distracted looking at you. in the middle of a dance practice he’ll miss a step because his focus slipped to the way you’re sitting in the corner, hair falling over your shoulder. “sorry, hyung,” he mutters to Chan, but his mind is elsewhere — replaying the small smile you gave him earlier. even when he’s in the middle of creating new choreography, his thoughts wander to you, and suddenly the movements become softer, more emotional, like every step is speaking about someone he can’t admit he’s falling for.
he pays attention to the smallest things. he notices when you change your nail color and casually says, “that shade looks pretty on you,” like it’s nothing. he remembers the exact playlist you made months ago and adds new songs to it that he thinks you’d like. if you mention loving a certain flower in passing, a small bouquet appears at the studio the next week with no note — just left where you’d find it. he tries to play it off as coincidence, but the details are too precise to be random.
he creates awkward silences that feel heavy with everything unsaid. sometimes when you’re alone together in the practice room after everyone else has left, conversation fades and you’re just sitting side by side. the air gets thick. he wants to say so much, but instead he just looks at you, lips slightly parted, eyes full of quiet intensity until one of you finally breaks the moment with a nervous laugh. those silences say more than words ever could.
he becomes more emotional only with you. the Hyunjin who keeps his feelings polished and artistic in front of cameras and members lets the mask slip when you’re near. he gets softer, almost vulnerable. if you compliment his new painting, his voice cracks just a little when he thanks you. when you’re having a bad day, he listens with his whole heart, eyes glistening as if your pain physically affects him. he’ll suddenly pull you into a long hug, holding you tighter than necessary, breathing you in like he needs it to survive.
even with a packed schedule, he finds ways to be there. he’ll text you at 2 a.m. from another country just because he saw something that reminded him of you — a beautiful sunset, a street artist, a cat that looked like one from your stories. “thought you’d like this,” he writes, followed by a photo. during breaks in his busy days, he calls you under the excuse of “needing an opinion on a song,” but really he just wants to hear your voice. he shows up at your favorite café when he only has thirty minutes free, ordering your usual and waiting for you with that gentle, intense stare.
his art starts reflecting you without him meaning to. sketches of hands that look suspiciously like yours. paintings with colors you once said you loved. lyrics he writes in his notebook about longing and unspoken feelings. when you ask to see his recent drawings, he hesitates, cheeks faintly pink, before showing you a few while carefully hiding the ones that feel too revealing.
he gets lost in moments with you. during late-night drives, he plays soft music and just drives slower than necessary, stealing glances at your profile illuminated by passing streetlights. the conversation flows easily until it doesn’t — and then that intense silence returns, filled with everything he’s too scared to say. he wants to tell you how you make his chaotic world feel calm, but instead he just reaches over and gently fixes a strand of hair that fell on your face, letting his fingers linger.
he tries to hide the depth of his feelings behind his usual dramatic, artistic personality, but it bleeds through in every interaction. the way his voice softens when he says your name. how he prioritizes your comfort over his own exhaustion. the lingering hugs where he rests his chin on your head and sways slightly, like he could stay there forever. the way his eyes light up when you enter the room, even when he’s surrounded by people.
Hyunjin is intensely, beautifully in love, and no matter how hard he tries to conceal it, it shows. in the stares that last too long, in the small attentions that mean the world, in the emotional openness he reserves only for you, and in the way he makes space for you in his overwhelmingly busy life. he may not have confessed yet, but his heart is already completely yours — loud and quiet at the same time, waiting for the moment when he finally stops hiding.
————
𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐱
he doesn’t even realize how much physical affection he pours into every interaction with you, but it’s constant, warm, and impossible to ignore. Felix’s love language is touch, and when it comes to you, it becomes completely involuntary — like his body naturally gravitates toward you for comfort, safety, and that soft feeling only you can give him. he tries to play it cool, but everyone can see he’s attached in the sweetest, most obvious way.
he touches you all the time. small, absentminded things at first: his fingers brushing your arm when he laughs at something you said, his hand resting on your lower back when walking through crowds, his knee pressing against yours under the table during meals. it’s never forced, but it’s constant. even when he’s trying to focus on a conversation with the members, his hand somehow ends up playing with the sleeve of your hoodie or tracing light patterns on your shoulder.
the members constantly tease him for it. “Felix, give her some space, mate,” Chan laughs when Felix is practically glued to your side on the couch. “Yeah, bro, you’re literally on top of her,” Seungmin adds with a smirk. Felix just blinks innocently, cheeks turning pink, and mumbles “I didn’t even notice…” while subtly scooting even closer instead of pulling away. deep down he knows he should create distance, but his body refuses.
he leans into you without thinking. during long van rides, his head naturally falls onto your shoulder, eyes half-closed as he seeks your warmth. if you’re standing together, he leans his body against yours like you’re his personal support. in the practice room, when everyone’s exhausted, he rests his forehead against your arm or back while catching his breath, breathing softly like your presence alone recharges him.
he actively seeks proximity. every chance he gets, he pulls you into hugs that last longer than normal — arms wrapped fully around you, face buried in your neck, squeezing gently like he needs the contact to survive the day. good morning hugs, goodbye hugs, “I missed you even though we saw each other yesterday” hugs. he holds your hand naturally, interlocking fingers without asking, giving soft squeezes when he’s nervous or excited. and the cheek kisses… he does them so often and so casually. a quick peck when he greets you, another when you say something cute, one more just because he feels like it. his lips are always warm and lingering just a second too long.
he craves comfort from you specifically. after tough practices or stressful schedules, he finds you like a magnet. “Can I hug you?” he asks with that deep, tired voice, already moving closer before you answer. once he’s in your arms, he melts — shoulders relaxing, a soft sigh escaping as he nuzzles closer. you’re his safe place, and even when he tries to hide how much he needs you, his body language screams it.
when you’re sitting together, his arm is almost always around you. not in an obvious “couple” way (at least in his mind), but draped casually over your shoulders while he plays with your hair or rubs small circles on your arm. if you’re cold, he pulls you into his lap without thinking, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “Better?” he whispers, voice low and sweet.
he gets shy when called out but never stops. the members will say “Felix is in his clingy era again” and he’ll laugh, hiding his face in your neck for a moment before peeking out with a bright smile. “She’s just really comfortable,” he defends, but the way he says it — soft, almost reverent — makes it clear it’s much more than that.
even in group settings, he’s always touching you. playing with your fingers during movie nights, resting his leg over yours, drawing little hearts absentmindedly on your skin with his fingertip. when he’s excited about something, he grabs both your hands and jumps lightly, eyes sparkling as he shares the moment with you physically.
at night, when the dorm is quiet, he sends texts like “are you still awake? can I come over for a bit?” and shows up just to cuddle. he curls into you like a cat, seeking your warmth and the steady beat of your heart. “You make everything feel better,” he murmurs sleepily, voice deep and honest in the dark, before catching himself and adding a shy “I mean… as a friend.”
he tries to hide the depth of his feelings behind his bright, sunshine personality, but the constant physical closeness betrays him. every touch, every hug, every cheek kiss carries quiet affection and longing. he’s not just being friendly — he’s in love, and his body shows it in the most tender, involuntary ways possible.
Felix may not have said the words yet, but the way he constantly reaches for you, melts into your touch, and finds comfort only in your presence makes it beautifully obvious. he’s completely smitten, and his hands, arms, and heart keep finding their way back to you every single time.
————
𝐡𝐚𝐧
he’s nervous and incredibly talkative around you, like his brain short-circuits the moment you enter the room and the only solution is to fill the silence with words. Jisung tries so hard to hide how much he likes you, but his chaotic, jittery energy makes it painfully obvious to everyone except (maybe) himself. He becomes a whirlwind of nervous rambling, bad jokes, and sudden blushing that gives him away every single time.
he talks nonstop just to have an excuse to stay near you. it doesn’t matter what the topic is — the weather, a weird dream he had, the new flavor of ramen he tried, or how his hoodies are mysteriously disappearing (he knows you stole one but won’t admit it). he jumps from subject to subject, words tumbling out faster than he can think. “Did you know that squirrels can remember the exact locations of thousands of nuts? Wait, that’s random, but today I saw this bird outside the studio and it reminded me of that one time you—” He keeps going, cheeks already warming because he knows he’s rambling again, but he can’t stop. Talking to you feels like the safest and scariest thing at the same time.
his jokes are terrible, but he loves making them because you laugh at every single one. “Why don’t skeletons fight each other? Because they don’t have the guts!” he says with a dramatic hand gesture, and when you burst out laughing, his whole face lights up like he just won the lottery. Even the members groan at how lame they are, but you always giggle, and that sound becomes his favorite motivation. He starts collecting dad jokes and random puns throughout the day just to have new material to throw at you. Every time you laugh, his heart does a little flip and he feels braver for two seconds… before the nervousness returns.
his energy turns completely chaotic when you’re around. he fidgets constantly — tapping his fingers on the table, bouncing his leg, spinning in the chair, or suddenly jumping up to show you a new dance move he just invented on the spot. If you’re in the dorm, he’s dragging you into impromptu karaoke sessions, singing dramatically off-key just to make you smile. The calm, collected Han that appears on stage disappears and is replaced by this hyper, sunshine version that only comes out for you. He tries to tone it down, but the second you look at him, the chaos restarts.
he gets shy out of nowhere, turning bright red in the middle of his own sentences. One moment he’s talking a mile a minute about a new anime he’s watching, and the next he catches you looking at him with that soft expression and completely freezes. His ears go pink, then his cheeks, and he stammers, “U-uh… what was I saying again?” He covers his face with his hands or pulls his hoodie over his head, mumbling “ignore me, I’m being weird again.” But even hidden, you can see the blush spreading down his neck.
he remembers tiny details but delivers them in the most chaotic way possible. “You said last month that you liked that one snack with the chocolate and the crispy thing, right? Well I bought ten packs because they were on sale and maybe you want some— wait, is that too much? Am I being creepy?” He talks so fast that the sweet gesture gets buried under nervous rambling, but the intention is always pure and full of affection.
when the nervousness peaks, he gets extra clumsy. he trips over his own feet while trying to show you something, spills his drink, or accidentally sends you ten voice messages in a row because texting felt too slow. Each time he apologizes profusely, face burning red, only for you to laugh and make him relax again. Your laughter is his safe button — the moment he hears it, he melts and starts talking even more.
he seeks you out in crowded rooms. even when the entire group is together, he somehow ends up right next to you, shoulder brushing yours, talking about anything and everything. If someone else tries to pull your attention away, he gets a little louder, telling another silly story or making another bad joke just to win your focus back. He doesn’t realize how obvious it is, but the members definitely do. “Han, breathe. She’s not going anywhere,” Changbin teases, making Jisung hide behind you in embarrassment.
late at night, when the chaos quiets down, he still texts you. long paragraphs about his day, random thoughts at 3 a.m., voice notes where he’s clearly nervous but trying to sound casual. “I saw this cloud today that looked like a quokka… and it made me think of you, haha. Wait, is that weird? Never mind, delete this.” But he never deletes it, and you always reply, which keeps him smiling for hours.
he tries to hide his feelings behind the endless talking and chaotic humor, but it never works. The way his eyes sparkle when you laugh at his jokes, the sudden blushes, the way he always finds a way to be close to you — it all screams how much he likes you. Deep down, Jisung is terrified of ruining the friendship, so he keeps everything behind bad puns and fast talking. But his heart is already completely yours, beating wildly every time you’re near.
Even when he’s trying his hardest to act normal, one look at his red cheeks and bright, nervous smile is enough to know: Han Jisung is head over heels, and he’s failing adorably at hiding it.
————
𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐦𝐢𝐧
he’s the master of disguised provocation, hiding every ounce of affection behind sharp, dry comments and endless teasing. Seungmin never shows his feelings directly — that would be too obvious, too vulnerable — so he expresses everything through implicância, those little jabs that sound mean to anyone who doesn’t know him but feel strangely warm to you. He’s never cruel, just relentlessly playful in that signature Seungmin way, while his hidden care slips through the cracks.
he picks on you constantly, but it’s his version of hello. “Did you forget how to walk properly or are you just trying to trip in front of me again?” he says with a straight face when you stumble slightly in the practice room. His tone is flat, almost bored, but there’s a tiny spark in his eyes that only you seem to catch. When you clap back with something equally sarcastic, the corner of his mouth twitches upward for half a second before he hides it.
his comments are always dry and delivered with perfect timing. “Wow, you actually managed to wake up before noon today. Should I call the news?” he mutters when you arrive early to a schedule, sliding a coffee toward you without making eye contact. He acts like it’s just another random drink he had extra, but it’s exactly how you like it — oat milk, one sugar, slightly less ice. He remembers. He always remembers.
he hides his attention so well that it almost feels accidental. During group photos he stands next to you “because it balances the formation,” but somehow he’s always positioned to shield you from the bright lights. If you’re quiet for too long, he throws a casual “you’re too loud today… wait, that’s not what I meant” to check if you’re okay, then quickly follows up with another tease so it doesn’t seem like he’s worried.
yet he’s incredibly caring in his own quiet, tsundere way. When you’re tired after long hours, he “accidentally” leaves his hoodie on the chair beside you. “It was too warm anyway,” he says dryly, even though the studio is freezing. If you look cold, he sighs dramatically and drapes it over your shoulders without another word, then goes back to scrolling on his phone like he didn’t just do something sweet.
he teases you in front of the members but defends you the second someone else tries it. “She’s not that bad at singing,” he says with a smirk when the others joke about your karaoke skills. But if a staff member or stranger makes even a light comment, his voice drops into that calm, cutting tone: “Let’s not.” No explanation. Just protection wrapped in his usual unbothered attitude.
he pays attention to the smallest changes. When you get a new haircut, he stares for a second longer than usual before saying “It’s… different. Not terrible, I guess.” Which, coming from Seungmin, is practically a love confession. If you’re stressed, he shows up with your favorite snack and says “Don’t blame me if it’s too sweet. You look like you need sugar.” He sits nearby in comfortable silence, pretending to read lyrics while secretly making sure you eat.
his physical affection is rare and subtle, but meaningful. A light flick to your forehead when you say something silly, followed immediately by him gently smoothing the spot with his thumb. Or when you’re sitting together, his leg pressed against yours under the table — never acknowledged, but never moved away either. If you fall asleep on the couch during a movie night, he throws a blanket over you without comment, then sits on the floor beside you so no one accidentally wakes you.
he gets softer only when he thinks you’re not looking. The members tease him for being extra sharp with you, but they’ve noticed how his gaze lingers when you’re focused on something else. How he saves the last piece of dessert for you. How his voice loses its teasing edge when he asks “You okay?” late at night through text, followed by “Never mind, you’re probably sleeping. Don’t reply.”
he writes tiny notes in that neat handwriting of his and leaves them where you’ll find them. “Your pitch was off by half a note today. Fix it.” But at the bottom, in smaller letters: “Still better than yesterday.” It’s his way of saying he’s proud. He never signs them.
even his teasing feels like flirting in disguise. “You’re lucky I tolerate you,” he says with a straight face while handing you his umbrella because it started raining. Or “Stop looking at me like that, it’s distracting” when you smile at him after a good performance, ears turning slightly pink before he looks away.
Seungmin tries so hard to keep everything hidden behind sarcasm and dry humor, but his care is always there — steady, reliable, and warm underneath the provocations. He may never say “I like you” outright, but every teasing comment, every hidden act of kindness, every lingering glance when he thinks you’re not paying attention reveals the truth.
To him, this is love: annoying you just enough to stay close, caring for you without making it obvious, and hoping you can read between the lines of his sharp tongue and soft actions. Because even though he hides it behind implicância and deadpan comments, Seungmin is quietly, deeply, and completely in love with you — in his own perfectly imperfect way.
————
𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧
he’s soft and painfully shy about it, the kind of love that makes him feel like a teenager again even though he’s trying so hard to be cool. Jeongin becomes the cutest of them all without even trying — a gentle blush that never quite leaves his cheeks, eyes that sparkle a little too brightly when you’re near, and a version of himself that feels both warmer and more nervous than usual. He tries desperately to act normal, but his feelings are too big to stay hidden.
he smiles differently when you’re around. It’s not his usual polite or playful smile that he gives fans and members. With you, it’s softer, smaller, almost bashful — the corners of his lips lift slowly like he’s trying to hold it back, but it always breaks through into something sweet and genuine that makes his eyes turn into little crescents. When you catch him smiling like that, he quickly looks away, biting his lip and pretending he was just thinking about something funny.
he becomes more careful with everything. Careful with his words, careful with his actions, careful not to stare too long even though he wants to. If you’re carrying something, he’s immediately there to take it from your hands with gentle fingers, saying “I got it” in that soft maknae voice. He walks on the side closer to the street when you’re together. He remembers how you like your drinks, what makes you laugh, and which songs calm you down. Every small thing is handled with quiet attention, like he’s afraid of messing up even the tiniest moment with you.
he tries so hard to appear normal. He’ll sit across from you in the dorm and force himself to act like he does with the other members — casual, a little playful, cracking small jokes. But his voice gets higher when he talks to you, and he fidgets with the hem of his shirt or the rings on his fingers. “How was your day?” he asks, trying to sound chill, but the way he leans forward slightly, fully focused on your answer, gives him away completely.
he gets adorably nervous in the most heart-melting ways. His cheeks flush pink at the smallest things — when your hands accidentally brush, when you compliment his singing, when you laugh at something he said. He’ll suddenly become very interested in the floor or his phone, mumbling “ah… it’s nothing” while his ears turn bright red. Sometimes he laughs nervously, that high-pitched, shy laugh that he only does when he’s overwhelmed by feelings, covering his mouth with his hand like he can hide how much he likes you.
he seeks quiet moments with you. In the middle of chaotic group hangouts, he’ll find excuses to pull you aside — “help me choose a song for practice?” or “can you look at this lyric?” — just to have a few minutes alone. In those moments his voice gets softer, almost whispery. He listens to you with his whole heart, head slightly tilted, eyes wide and attentive like you’re the most interesting person in the world.
his touches are light and hesitant, but full of meaning. A gentle hand on your shoulder when he wants your attention. Fingers brushing yours when passing something. When you’re cold, he offers his scarf without saying much, carefully wrapping it around you and adjusting it with focused care, then stepping back quickly as if he did something bold. Every touch feels like a quiet confession.
he becomes protective in the softest way. If someone teases you too much, he steps in calmly but firmly, “hey, that’s enough.” Afterward he gets shy again, rubbing the back of his neck and saying “I just thought it wasn’t nice…” while avoiding your eyes. He wants to be someone you can lean on, even if he still feels like the youngest who should be protected.
late at night he thinks about you constantly. He replays conversations in his head, smiling into his pillow when he remembers your laugh. He writes little messages he never sends — sweet, honest things he’s too shy to say out loud. Sometimes he practices saying “I like you” in the mirror, then gets embarrassed at himself and buries his face in his hands.
he tries to hide how much he cares, but it shows in everything. The way he saves the best snacks for you. How he learns your favorite seasons of anime so he can talk about them. The way his voice gets extra gentle when he asks if you’ve eaten or if you’re tired. He’s still trying to act like it’s all casual, but everyone can see how his entire demeanor changes when you walk into the room — softer, brighter, and undeniably in love.
Jeongin is the type of love that feels like warm sunlight and shy glances. He may not be bold or loud about his feelings, but the way he smiles only for you, the careful way he treats you, and the adorable nervousness that takes over whenever you’re close make his affection beautifully obvious. He’s trying his best to hide it, but his heart is already completely soft and completely yours — the cutest, most genuine kind of love.
© stlllle — 2O26
⋆𝑇𝑎𝑔: @velvetmoonlght @straystar-8 @honeybunny143 @aziul-glimpse @mandyjo8719 @niku0704 @rayraymylove @zzzmirella @may-day-143
𑣲baby boy
w/ hyung line skz
how do they react when you call them baby boy, seemingly out of nowhere ?
note: im slowly getting back into writing so forgive any mistakes ! chan referred to as chris cause we cool like that
maknae line here !
chris slowly peels his headphones off when you knock on his studio door, letting them hang around his neck. “you should have gone home,” he huffs, eyes still glued to his laptop.
you let yourself in, “i could have said the same thing to you.” you cross his studio in three strides, stopping to spin his desk chair around to face you. chris whines. the window is cracked on the opposing wall, letting the late night autumn breeze cool the room. the posters and papers stuck onto the walls shiver and rustle lightly. you reach out and cup his cheeks to stroke the discoloured skin under his eyes with your thumbs. results of long days of hard work, discipline, and probably not enough water.
you decide to press, “when was the last time you had a real meal?” passing another stroke over his cheek bones. he shrugs, leaning into your touch, letting his eyes flutter shut. you move one hand to pass through his blonde, unkept, curls, detangling a small piece.
“maybe this morning?” he finally answers, voice gravely with exhaustion.
you pause, leaving a hand in his hair, “chris. i made breakfast at seven. it’s almost midnight.” he doesn’t reply, knowing his bad habits affect the both of you. your thoughts catch up to you, “oh, honey. c’mon baby boy, we’re going home.”
his eyes open and you can feel the warmth flooding into his face beneath your hand. “oh. yeah, yeah, okay. home.” he spins around to fiddle with his laptop before closing it and tucking it under his arm.
you pretend to not notice the flush of his skin and turn to wait by the door. chris whips around his studio like a tornado, picking up the papers you know you’re going to have to wrangle out of his hands later. he meets you by the door and takes your hand with his free one. his palm is sweaty… i wonder why.
minho hears the front door open, but does not dare to move. his lap is the chosen resting spot for not one, not two, but all three of his cats. he dares not disturb his children.
“i’m back!” you call out, expecting to either be greeted by padded paws or socked feet. when none comes, you walk down the hall, closer to the living room. “min-” oh.
a quick succession of blinks morph into crescent moons as minho smiles. “hi, love.” he strokes each cat one by one.
you quiet your steps as you approach, then lean against the back of the couch, resting over one of the back pillows. “i see you’re preoccupied, i suppose i’ll go eat by myself.” you sigh dramatically. minho reaches back and grabs your arm, a teasing scowl on his face. by now, the cats have woken to the sound of your voices, and are beginning their exits. you stroke dori along the back while you kiss minho’s cheek. “come, it’ll get cold and neither of us like nuked rice.”
minho stands then stretches, a joint popping in the process. “how long were you sitting there? rather, how long did they have you trapped?”
he meets you behind the couch, “long enough that i cannot feel my ass.”
you reach around him, grabbing an entire hand of his ass with a smirk. “i can.” that earned you a light smack. you whine, “not fair, you gave me the perfect opportunity to-”
“i do not care. go wash up.”
you reach up to tap under his chin, “whatever you say, baby boy,” then turned and headed in the direction of the bathroom.
it didn’t hit minho until three hours later when you had your head rested on his arm while you watched a movie together. the way your eyes glinted under the living room light, the featherlight touch on his chin, and the way you called him baby boy. he might have to excuse himself if he thinks about it any longer.
changbin loves the gym, it’s true. he loves to be able to flex in the mirror and see the swell of his muscles, the fruit of his hard word and discipline. it wasn’t rare to find him practicing poses in front of the mirror, fresh out of the shower, or in the middle of changing. you tease him occasionally for it, poking at his biceps as you walk by, not that he minds.
more often that not, you want to get your hands on him. whether it be just resting a hand over his skin, have your hands wander his skin, or get a solid grip on his arms, you want to be in physical contact. to appreciate his work, you say. you think that you like his arms more than he does half of the time.
you’ll often suggest the idea of giving him a massage after a day of work, to help him relax. changbin doesn’t say no to the idea. if he’s one thing, he’s a man: he loves the feeling of you running your hands all over him, pushing into the sore muscles of his back after a day of work, or which ever part of his body he worked out that day.
today, however, you were feeling particularly mean, in a teasing mood if you would. changbin peeled his shirt off, laying flat on his stomach on your shared bed, ready for you to attack his aching back. you mount the backs of his thighs and start as you would, pushing into the meat in his shoulders, sides and back before you paused, leaning forwards.
“you had a long day today, didn’t you, baby boy?” you kneaded his lower back as he nodded and exhaled, content.
“wait-” changbin pushed himself onto his hands, rustling you backwards, yet you stayed perched on his elevated thighs, “baby-” he looked over his shoulder at you, ears tinged pink.
“what? don’t like the nickname?” he lowered himself back onto his stomach with a whine, “you’re my baby, and you’re my boy,” he can practically hear the cheshire smirk on your lips. he doesn’t respond, just groans into the pillow under his head when you hit it a painful spot near his left side.
you finish his promised massage with his face shoved so far into the pillow, you’re not sure how he’s breathing, neck burning hot and ears bright red.
hyunjin sits perched on the couch, legs crossed with a serious look on his face. you sit not so far away, an equally as serious look on your face. the standoff continues until you sigh in exasperation, “fine. you win, we’ll get beef.” hyunjin’s face immediately lights up, launching himself forwards to land on top of you, tipping you both backwards onto the rest of the couch.
he perches his chin on one palm and twirls a lock of hair in the other, “then can we also get-” you squish a finger to his lips.
“whatever you want now, no,” he pouts behind the finger, attempting to bite it as you pull back. he remains perched atop your body, forcing you to stay on the couch as you wiggle in an attempt to grab your phone to call in the food you just argued over for twenty minutes.
after hanging up the phone, hyunjin finally decides that he’ll allow you to breathe. he rolls off of you, unceremoniously landing flat on the floor with a huff. you nearly tip yourself off the couch and land on him as you roll to ask if he’s okay. he is.
around 25 minutes later the doorbell rings, by now, hyunjin had made it off the floor and was sitting up, leaning into the plush cushions of the couch, scrolling through netflix in an attempt to find something to watch while eating. he twitches at the bell but you stand before he does.
“thank you, my love,” you meet his eyes, practically stalking your movements, before his eyes squint with his smile.
you run a hand through his hair as you pass behind the couch, leaning down to kiss his cheek, “no problem, baby boy.”
the controller stills in his hold as he processes what you said. it wasn’t a big change from the usual cutesy nicknames but something in his gut stirred, heavy with desire.
he ate unusually fast, ready to pounce, given the chance.
insane debut post if you ask me :p @ hosungie | masterlist
“why don’t you date anymore?”
the answer is you. minho hears the way his door creaks open, and he raises up enough to watch as you make your way into his room. its the darker of the two bedrooms in this apartment, and he’s offered to switch rooms with you only to be denied. too much of a hassle, you’d always say. but you wander in on nights where your head hurts too much and you need the darkness, and he—who has known you since the two of you were old enough to toddle after the other and get into trouble—doesn’t mind sharing a bed with you.
“is it bad?” he asks as you crawl into his bed.
whatever you mumble as you gracefully flop down, he can’t make it out. ah. that bad, hm? he just nudges you closer so that you can hide your face in his shoulder.
he’s in love with you. he always has been.
but in the midst of what might be a rising migraine, he’ll just hold that fact to his chest for now. maybe tomorrow he’ll tell you. maybe next week. or maybe never: maybe his friends are wrong and you don’t feel the same way.
no matter what, there will always be the part of him that loves you in some way. so he’ll just cradle the back of your head for a moment and ask if you’ve eaten recently, just to know how he should dote on you now.
"why don't we ever go on a real date?" you ask it so casually that minho thinks he's dreaming for a moment.
he's made you breakfast and lunch today, doting on you a little more than he usually does. you fell asleep next to him last night, and woke up feeling better (you always do, apparently, since you always tell him that he's like your own dose of headache medicine). but minho's still caring for you, because he knows how bad your migraines can get. he knows how you tend to feel useless when you're left laying in the dark, hoping that medicine will work or sleep will wash it away once it finally claims you again.
"that implies we've gone on dates."
"haven't we?" again, so casual... it's frustrating in an endearing way. "we take advantage of couple's discounts."
right, but both of you would do that with anyone. "where do you want to go?" he decides to play along. if this is a game, the two of you will laugh. but maybe chris is right.
fuck, chris is right. chris wouldn't lie to him about this. not when he knows how deep this goes.
you just let out this long hum as you think, and he almost thinks you're messing with him. "first dates are so hard," you mumble to yourself, and minho doesn't think he's meant to catch it.
"so it doesn't have to be." he dries his hands on a dish towel, and then takes a long sip of his tea as he watches you. "didn't you say we've been on dates before?"
you just nod, and don't answer him, still caught up in your thoughts.
"how long?"
that gets your attention. you look at him, "hm?"
"how long have you known?"
you open your mouth, then close it, averting your gaze. "after jisung asked why you don't date anymore a few days ago. you looked over at me for a second, and then made an excuse, and..." you let out this long sigh. "i realized things weren't so one-sided for me."
one-sided...? "how long, then?"
"years. i don't know. i think i've spent my entire life loving you." you rest your cheek against your palm. "and somewhere along the way, it turned into something romantic. i don't know when. i've never thought about it."
he laughs a little. of course your story is parallel to his own. he doesn't know when he went from loving you like a friend to loving you like your souls are more than intertwined, from loving you to being in love with you.
after a moment of studying him, you pose the question back to him.
"always, i think." he can't imagine a time in his life where he hasn't loved you now, though. in some way, you were always love to him. "is that cheesy?"
it's your turn to laugh at him, warm and loving as always. "a little. but i don't mind. we can be cheesy for a while." you just grin at him. "maybe dinner."
dinner is good. simple. and he nods. "wherever you want to go." he'll follow you anywhere at this point.
𝙒𝙄𝙉𝙀 & 𝘿𝙄𝙉𝙀 এ how skz would wine and dine their partner
এ pairings: skz ot8 x reader (individually)
এ genre: fluff, romance
এ warnings: none really
এ word count: 2.8k
এ a/n: lowkey shit lmao but i wrote this in like 1 hour (sorry if anything feels repetitive in the fic, i tried to change it up for each one)
এ tag list: @ppangbalism @gadriezmannsgirl @stayville-citizen @velvetmoonlght @minho4luv @fandomtrash11 @latenightskz @yeonii08 @strcyk1ds
এ navigation
এ Bang Chan
Chan would approach wining and dining his partner with the same meticulous care he brings to everything else in his life. Weeks in advance, he'd be researching restaurants, reading reviews, and mentally cataloging every food preference you have ever mentioned in passing. He'd remember that offhand comment you made three months ago about loving truffle pasta, or how you mentioned wanting to try that new fusion place downtown.
The reservation would be made for a time that works perfectly with both of your schedules—he'd never make you feel rushed. Chan would choose somewhere with a balance of sophistication and comfort: upscale enough to feel special, but not so formal that conversation feels stifled. He'd probably pick a place with dim lighting and intimate booth seating where you could sit close together.
Throughout dinner, Chan would be completely present. His phone would be on silent, tucked away, because this time is sacred. He'd ask thoughtful questions, really listening to the answers, his eyes crinkling with genuine interest as you talks about your day, your dreams, your thoughts about the future. He'd have this way of making even mundane stories feel important, nodding along and asking follow-up questions that show he's truly engaged.
When it comes to ordering, Chan would be subtly attentive—suggesting dishes he knows you would love, offering to share multiple things so you can try everything. If you're indecisive, he'd gently help narrow down options without being pushy, trying to figure out what you would like the most. And he'd absolutely insist on taking care of the bill, brushing off any protests with that dimpled smile and a soft "I wanted to do this for you."
The evening wouldn't end at the restaurant. He'd take you on a walk afterward, maybe along the river or through a beautifully lit neighborhood, where conversation could continue naturally. He'd offer his jacket without being asked if there's even a hint of cold, and he'd reach for your hand like it's the most natural thing in the world. Every detail would whisper: You matter to me. I thought about you. I want you to feel cherished.
এ Lee Know
Minho would approach dating with his characteristic blend of cool confidence and hidden softness. He'd choose somewhere trendy but not pretentious—like a modern Korean restaurant with an extravagant menu with lots of complex yet heartfelt dishes. The atmosphere would be stylish enough to impress but relaxed enough for his playful personality to shine through.
From the moment you sit down, there'd be this electric dynamic of teasing and genuine affection. Minho would make his usual witty observations about the menu, the décor, the other diners—delivered with that signature deadpan expression that makes everything 100x funnier than they should be. He'd probably mock you gently for taking too long to decide what to order, but then immediately suggest getting both dishes you're torn between because he "wants to try everything anyway."
The food stealing would be inevitable and shameless. Minho would reach across with his fork, spearing a bite from your plate with a mischievous glint in his eyes. When you protest, he'd just smirk and offer his own plate in return, creating this intimate back-and-forth of sharing. It's his love language—this casual, comfortable intimacy that says what's mine is yours.
But beneath the teasing exterior, Minho would be incredibly attentive. He'd notice if you seemed tired or stressed, and he'd subtly steer conversation toward lighter topics. He'd remember your drink preferences perfectly, probably ordering for you before they even look at the menu. And in unexpected moments—between jokes and playful jabs—he'd drop these devastatingly sincere compliments that you completely off-guard. "You look really beautiful tonight," delivered so matter-of-factly it takes a moment to register, followed immediately by him changing the subject like he didn't just make their heart skip.
The evening would feel effortless with Minho, like spending time with someone who knows you completely and likes you anyway—teasing included.
এ Changbin
Changbin would wine and dine with unabashed enthusiasm and warmth. He's not trying to play it cool—he's genuinely excited to spend quality time with you, and it shows in everything he does. He'd probably choose somewhere interactive and fun, like a high-end Korean BBQ where you can grill together, or a lively restaurant with shareable dishes and a buzzing atmosphere.
From the start, Changbin would be openly affectionate and complimentary. "You look amazing" would come naturally, accompanied by that bright smile that reaches his eyes. Throughout the meal, he'd be animated and expressive, telling stories with his whole body, making you laugh with his natural charisma and occasional aegyo that he'd pull out specifically to see them smile.
At Korean BBQ, Changbin would absolutely take charge of the grilling, insisting on cooking the meat perfectly for you because you only deserve the best in his eyes. He'd prepare each piece with care, placing the best bites directly on their plate with a satisfied nod. "Try this one, I cooked it perfectly," he'd say with endearing confidence. The act of caring for you through food would feel natural to him, almost protective.
Conversation with Changbin would never lag. He'd want to know everything—about you day, your thoughts, your opinions on random topics. He'd share his own stories enthusiastically, probably getting sidetracked into tangents that somehow circle back to how much he appreciates you. "That reminds me of when you..." would be a common phrase, showing how often he thinks about you.
Changbin wouldn't be shy about physical affection either. A hand on the small of your back when walking to the table, reaching across to wipe a bit of sauce from the corner of your mouth, playing with your fingers across the table—all natural expressions of his affection. The entire evening would feel warm, secure, and joyful, like being wrapped in Changbin's genuine enthusiasm for the relationship.
এ Hyunjin
Hyunjin would approach wining and dining as an art form in itself. Every element would be considered: the aesthetic of the restaurant, the presentation of the food, the ambiance of the lighting. He'd choose somewhere visually stunning like a restaurant with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and with artistic décor splayed on the walls.
The entire evening would feel like stepping into a romantic film. Hyunjin would arrive looking effortlessly elegant, and he'd take a moment to appreciate your appearance with genuine admiration in his eyes. "You're beautiful" wouldn't just be words—it would be an observation, stated with the same appreciation he'd give a piece of art.
Throughout dinner, Hyunjin would notice details you might miss—the way the candlelight reflects in their wine glass, how the sunset through the window creates perfect golden hour lighting, the artistic plating of each dish. He'd probably want to capture some moments, not obsessively, but in that way where he wants to preserve beautiful memories. "The lighting is perfect right now," he'd say softly, and whether or not you take photos, the moment itself would feel preserved in amber.
Conversation with Hyunjin would flow between deep and dreamy. He'd ask philosophical questions about life and love, share his artistic inspirations, and listen with intense focus when you speak. There's something about his attention that feels complete—like in that moment, nothing else in the world exists but this conversation, this connection.
Hyunjin would be romantic in unexpected ways. He might bring a single flower, not a whole bouquet—but rather something elegant and simple. He'd reach across the table to tuck your hair behind your ear, let his hand linger on yours, create these soft moments of physical connection that feel both natural and intentional.
If possible, he'd plan for the dinner to end somewhere scenic—a walk along the beach at sunset, or a viewpoint overlooking city lights. The entire experience would feel like poetry, each moment carefully composed but never forced, creating an evening you would remember in soft-focus, warm-toned memories.
এ Han
Han would bring his whole heart to wining and dining his partner—emotions, humor, vulnerability, and all. He'd probably be adorably nervous beforehand, texting his you updates like "I'm on my way!" "Actually stuck in traffic, sorry!" "Okay NOW I'm on my way!" that somehow make the anticipation even sweeter.
The restaurant choice would be somewhere comfortable enough for genuine conversation likea cozy Italian place with a relaxed vibe yet loud enough to nor feel awkward when talking. Han would want atmosphere, but not so much formality that he can't be himself.
From the moment they sit down, Han would have you laughing. He'd do impressions of the overly formal waiter, make up ridiculous backstories for other diners, and narrate his internal monologue about choosing between pasta dishes with dramatic flair. But between the jokes and the laughter, there would be these moments of sudden sincerity that take your breath away.
"I'm really happy right now," he'd say out of nowhere, his expression softening. "Like, genuinely happy. Being here with you." And it would be so honest, so unguarded, that it would feel more romantic than any rehearsed line.
Han would be the type to reach across the table and just hold your while you talk, thumb brushing over your knuckles absently. He'd get animated when discussing music or something he's passionate about, then immediately redirect: "But wait, I want to hear about your thing—tell me more about that project you mentioned."
The emotional availability would be Han's superpower. He'd create space for real conversation—not just surface-level date talk, but actual feelings, dreams, fears, random thoughts at 2 AM. He'd share his own vulnerabilities too, creating this beautiful reciprocity of trust.
If you seem stressed or down, Han would notice immediately and shift into comfort mode—making it his mission to lift your spirit, whether through humor, heartfelt reassurance, or just listening. The evening would feel like spending time with someone who sees you completely and loves what he sees, someone who makes you laugh until your cheeks hurt and then makes your heart swell with unexpected tenderness.
এ Felix
Felix would approach wining and dining with his characteristic sunshine warmth and genuine enthusiasm. There would be nothing calculated about it—he'd choose a restaurant he's genuinely excited about, somewhere he thinks you would love, and his authentic joy would make the entire evening feel special.
He'd probably pick somewhere known for comfort food with a gourmet twist, or a place with a cozy, welcoming atmosphere. The vibe would be "elevated comfort," matching Felix's own energy.
From the moment you meet, Felix's smile would be radiant. He'd compliment you naturally and often—not in an over-the-top way, but with genuine appreciation. "I love that color on you," or "Your smile is my favorite thing," delivered with such sincerity it's impossible not to believe.
Felix would be endearingly enthusiastic about the food. He'd want to share everything, pushing dishes toward you with the words "You have to try this!" His eyes would light up with each new flavor, and his genuine reactions would make even simple dishes feel like an adventure. If he knew you love something particular—chocolate desserts, a specific cuisine—he'd have specifically chosen this restaurant with that in mind.
Conversation with Felix would feel easy and warm. He'd be genuinely interested in everything you has to say, asking follow-up questions and remembering details from previous conversations. "How did that thing go? The one you were worried about last week?" He'd share his own stories too, probably getting adorably sidetracked and then laughing at himself for rambling.
Physical affection would come naturally—a hand on your arm when laughing, leaning in close to hear them better, the kind of casual touching that speaks to comfort and affection. Felix would make you feel like you're the most interesting, wonderful person in the world, because in that moment, to him, you absolutely are.
The evening would end with Felix not wanting it to be over, suggesting "just one more drink" or "a quick walk" because he's genuinely enjoying every moment. Being with Felix would feel like being wrapped in a blanket of warmth and genuine care.
এ Seungmin
Seungmin would wine and dine with his signature blend of sharp wit and unexpected softness. He'd choose somewhere sophisticated but not stuffy. The atmosphere would be refined enough to feel special but relaxed enough for his personality to shine.
The evening would be filled with lighthearted banter. Seungmin would tease you endlessly, make dry observations about everything from the menu descriptions "'Deconstructed' just means they didn't finish making it" to the ambient music choices. His humor would keep things light and entertaining, creating an atmosphere where laughter comes easily.
But Seungmin's real romantic power would be in the unexpected moments of genuine tenderness. Just when you think the whole evening will be playful teasing, he'd say something devastatingly sincere. "I'm glad I get to do this with you," delivered with direct eye contact and a soft smile that transforms his whole face. These moments would be all the more powerful for their rarity and authenticity.
He'd be observant in the most quiet ways—noticing if your wine glass is empty and refilling it, remembering your preferences from previous dates, picking up on subtle mood shifts. "You okay?" he'd ask softly if he sensed something was off, and the genuine concern in his voice would make it clear that beneath the wit, he cares deeply.
Seungmin would be the type to have actually thought about what to order, maybe even looked at the menu beforehand. He'd make thoughtful suggestions based on what he knows you like, but frame it casually so it doesn't seem like he's been planning (even though he definitely has).
The conversation would be stimulating—Seungmin would want to talk about interesting topics, share opinions, engage in friendly debate. He'd challenge you intellectually while making it fun, creating the kind of dynamic where both people leave feeling energized and connected.
Throughout the evening, there would be these small gestures that reveal his care: adjusting the candle so it's not in your eyes, offering his jacket, walking on the street side of the sidewalk. Seungmin would show his affection through actions as much as words, creating an evening that balances entertainment with genuine romance and attraction.
এ I.N
Jeongin would approach wining and dining with a charming mix of youthful playfulness and surprising maturity. He'd choose somewhere trendy and Instagram-worthy—he'd want his partner to feel like they're somewhere special and cool, somewhere worth getting dressed up for. Maybe a rooftop restaurant with city views, or a stylish fusion place that's been getting buzz.
From the start, there would be this playful energy. Jeongin would tease you about taking too long to get ready (even though he thinks you look perfect), make jokes about being a "proper gentleman" while exaggeratedly pulling out your chair, and generally keep things light and fun. His smile would be constant—that bright, genuine smile that makes his eyes disappear.
But underneath the playfulness, Jeongin would be genuinely trying to impress. He'd have put thought into his outfit, the restaurant choice, the timing. He'd want you to feel special and cared for, even if he'd deflect any acknowledgment of his efforts with humor.
Throughout dinner, Jeongin would be attentive in sweet ways. He'd remember your favorite dishes and suggest similar items on the menu. If you mention being cold, he'd immediately offer his jacket. If you seem stressed about something, he'd try to make you laugh or offer surprisingly thoughtful advice—showing that maturity that sometimes catches people off-guard.
The teasing would be constant but always affectionate. He'd steal food from his your plate with a mischievous grin, make fun of your reactions to trying new foods, and generally create this dynamic of playful intimacy. But he'd also be the first to sincerely compliment you with that shy smile of his.
Jeongin would want to make memories—he'd probably suggest taking photos together, trying the signature cocktail even if it looks ridiculous, or sharing the most elaborate dessert on the menu. The evening would feel young and alive, full of laughter and lightness, but grounded in genuine affection and care.
As the night winds down, Jeongin would be reluctant for it to end, suggesting you walk around a bit more or find somewhere for late-night coffee. Being with him would feel like an adventure—fun and exciting, but also safe and cherished, like being with someone who makes you feel both giddy and genuinely cared for.
mistake pt.2 | lee minho
⇨ pairing: non-idol skz minho x f!reader
⇨ genre: angst, just angst. genuinely no happiness here
⇨ warnings: cheating, arguments, crying, emotional manipulation, mentions of anxiety, heartbreak, unhealthy coping, open ending, crying in the rain bcs im evil hehe. lmk if i missed anything.
⇨ word count: 1.6k
⇨ a/n: hello? finally? i never thought i was gonna do this cuz it has been like 2 years since i wrote part one. but yeah uhm this was not planned i literally wrote this at 2 am and then proof read and edited it in the morning so bear with me! i havent been active in so freaking long yall have prob forgot abt me but OH WELL here it is FINALLY lmk what u think. pls like and reblog, love u all very much!
Three months. Three whole months since everything fell apart. Three months since Minho looked you in the eyes and said words you still heard at night when your room got too quiet.
Three months since you found her lipstick in his apartment. Since you sat in your car afterward crying so hard you almost threw up. Since you kept asking yourself what she had that you didn’t.
And the worst part? Even after all of it, part of you still loved him, and you hated yourself for that. At first, moving on felt impossible. You stopped answering texts. Stopped going out unless someone forced you to. Some nights you’d just lay in bed staring at old pictures of him until sunrise, crying over someone who probably wasn’t even thinking about you anymore.
But eventually, the crying became less frequent. Then one day, somehow, you met Chan.
It wasn’t dramatic. No movie moment. No love-at-first-sight bullshit. You met him because your friend dragged you out for coffee after weeks of isolating yourself. And Chan was just… there. Quiet, easy to talk to, gentle. The kind of person that never made you feel pressured to fill silence.
At first you kept your distance. You expected him to lose patience eventually. Everybody did, but he never pushed. When you took hours to answer texts, he didn’t complain. When you cancelled plans because your anxiety got bad, he just told you to rest well. When you zoned out mid conversation, he noticed immediately.
“You okay?” he asked softly one night. You blinked, realizing you’d completely stopped listening.
“Sorry”
“Don’t apologize” He smiled a little. “You looked overwhelmed”
That almost ruined you. Because Minho used to get awkward or frustrated whenever you shut down. Chan just noticed, and that was the difference.
However, the scary part was how careful he was with you, like he knew you’d been hurt before. And maybe he did. Not because you told him every detail. You didn’t. But one night, while sitting in his car outside your apartment, he looked at you quietly and said,
“You don’t have to talk about your ex if you don’t want to.” You froze. Chan kept his eyes on the steering wheel.
“But whoever he was,” he continued softly, “he clearly hurt you pretty badly” Something in your chest tightened painfully. Because he said it so gently, no judgment, no irritation, no jealousy, just pure softness and understanding. And god, you almost cried right there.
—
The first time Minho saw you again was at a café. You were laughing, actually laughing after weeks, maybe even months. You weren't forcing a smile, neither pretending. You were laughing so hard your eyes disappeared the way they used to around him.
Except now it wasn’t him sitting across from you, It was another guy. Minho felt sick instantly. He stood frozen outside the café window, staring at the sight in front of him like it physically hurt.
Then he noticed the hoodie. Gray oversized hoodie, obviously not his. Some other guy’s hoodie hanging off your shoulders while you smiled at someone that wasn’t him. And suddenly he couldn’t breathe properly, because you looked lighter. That was the worst part.
You looked okay without him, maybe even happy.
Chan reached over the table and wiped whipped cream from the corner of your mouth with a laugh. You shoved his shoulder jokingly, smiling so brightly that Minho’s chest genuinely ached. You used to smile at him like that, and the realization hit harder than he expected. He ruined the best thing he ever had, and now someone else was getting the version of you he destroyed.
—
After that, Minho couldn’t stop thinking about you. He noticed everything. Your Instagram profile picture changed, the necklace he bought you disappeared, your captions stopped sounding sad and you stopped posting late night songs that reminded him of you.
And the thing that hurt most? you stopped reaching out. no drunk texts, no missed calls, no nothing. It was like you were finally learning how to live without him, meanwhile Minho was losing his mind. He started replaying your last argument over and over again at night.
“I wish I never fucking met you.” He didn’t mean it. God, he didn’t mean any of it. But he still said it, and now he’d do anything to take it back.
—
It was raining the night he finally confronted you. Of course it was raining, the universe loved dramatic timing. You had just gotten out of Chan’s car when you saw Minho standing outside your apartment building.
Your stomach dropped instantly. He looked exhausted. Dark circles under his eyes, hair messy, hoodie soaked from the rain and looking more depressed than ever.
For a second, neither of you spoke. Then his eyes landed on the hoodie you were wearing. Again, not his. Chan noticed the tension immediately. “You want me to stay?” he asked quietly, standing beside you, giving Minho a quick glare.
Minho heard that, and it killed him even more because Chan didn’t sound possessive or angry. Just concerned. You shook your head slowly. “I’ll be okay.” you gave him a faint smile. Chan hesitated before nodding. “Call me if you need anything.”
Minho noticed that too. The way Chan looked at you carefully before he went inside the building, like he genuinely cared, which he of course did.
The second Chan disappeared in the apartment building, silence filled the space between you. Then Minho finally spoke, his voice low, “So this is it?” You frowned slightly. “What?”
“You moved on that fast?”
You actually laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was unbelievable. “Fast?” you repeated quietly, “Are you serious?”
Minho clenched his jaw. “You’re already with someone else.”
“And you fucked my ex best friend.”
That shut him up immediately. Rain poured around both of you while your breathing grew uneven. “You don’t get to do this,” you said shakily. “You don’t get to act hurt now.”
“I am hurt.”
“Good.” you muttered, looking into his eyes, not giving a damn about his feelings now. His expression faltered. Good. Maybe now he understood what it felt like.
“You know what’s crazy?” your voice cracked. “I spent weeks crying in parking lots over you. Weeks wondering why I wasn’t enough for you.”
Minho looked down. “And now suddenly you can’t handle seeing me happy?” your voice cracked again.
“I never wanted to lose you.”
“You should’ve thought about that before cheating on me”
“I know.”
“No.” You shook your head. “I really don’t think you do”. His frustration started showing then. “Can you stop acting like I don’t regret it?”.
Your eyes burned. “Regret doesn’t erase what you did”. Minho ran a hand through his wet hair aggressively. “I said I’m sorry!”
The second his voice raised slightly, you instinctively stepped back. Tiny movement, barely noticeable, but Minho noticed and immediately went silent. Because suddenly he remembered everything.
The screaming. The shouting. The fear in your face during your last fight.
You used to feel safe around him. Now you flinched when he got too loud. His face completely fell.
“…fuck”. You looked away quickly, embarrassed by your own reaction, but Minho looked destroyed, like something inside him genuinely snapped.
“I did that to you,” he whispered. Neither of you spoke for a few seconds. Rain soaked through your clothes while tears mixed with raindrops on your cheeks. Finally, Minho spoke again, quieter this time.
“I hate myself for what I did to you.” Your throat tightened painfully. “Good,” you whispered. “Because I fucking hated myself for loving you.”
He looked like you slapped him. And maybe part of you wanted him to be hurt like the way you were before. “You only miss me now that someone else loves me right?”
“That’s not true.”
“Yes it is.”
Minho shook his head desperately. “I loved you before him.”
“Then why did you destroy me?”. He had no answer, because there wasn’t one. You wiped your face angrily. “You know what the difference is between you and Chan?” you asked quietly.
Minho’s expression tightened instantly. “He doesn’t make me feel hard to love."
That one nearly killed him. You could literally see it happen. His eyes watered immediately while he stood there looking completely shattered. “He’s patient with me,” you continued. “When I get quiet, he waits. He doesn’t yell, and he doesn’t make me feel crazy for being hurt.”
Every word hit Minho like a knife, because that used to be his place. And he ruined it himself. He ruined that place himself.
“I still love you.” The confession came out broken, raw and real. And shit, that hurt. Because part of you still loved him too. Not quite romantically, but in a way even you couldn't describe it either. It was complicated. But love wasn’t enough anymore. Not after this, not after everything.
Your lips trembled slightly. “I loved you so much that I let you destroy me”
Minho started crying then, actually crying. Right there in front of you. Somehow that hurt even worse because months ago, this was all you wanted, for him to understand your pain. For him to regret it, and now he finally did.
Too late.
You took a shaky step backward. Minho looked terrified immediately, like he already knew. which he did.
“I can’t do this again,” you whispered.
Then you turned around and walked toward your apartment building. This time, Minho didn’t stop you. He just stood there in the rain crying while the girl he loved walked away from him for the second time.
And this one, this one hurt the most.
taglist: @hanadulsetaad @justjxnniie @cutieleeknow @lovesunshinefelix @slayyparkjimin @canlovesstraykids @lynlyndoll @milf-ivy @mae-is-cute98 @onlyycb97wife @hearts4leeknow @coco-1997 @felixoasis @atinyniki
please reblog if you enjoyed it, likes do nothing! <3
─★ ˙Dating Lee Minho as a non-idol headcanons🧷 ̟ !!
Pairing: Lee Know × Non-idol reader
Genre: Fluff • Domestic • Comfort • Headcanons
Summary: Random thoughts and headcanons about what dating Lee Know would be like as someone outside of the idol industry.
╰┈➤ He’d constantly tease you like it’s a full-time job, but the second someone else does it too much, he suddenly gets protective.
╰┈➤ Your relationship would stay pretty private. Not because he’s ashamed of it — he just likes keeping the important things to himself.
╰┈➤ Late-night convenience store dates would become your thing. Half the time he’s buying snacks for himself, the other half he’s quietly grabbing your favorites too.
╰┈➤ His cats liking you would genuinely make him so happy. He’d try acting casual about it while secretly feeling relieved they accepted you.
╰┈➤ He’d send random messages at odd hours:
“did you eat”
“look at this cat”
“you’re awake right”
and somehow that becomes peak romance.
╰┈➤ Physical affection would be subtle but constant. Little shoulder touches, fixing your hair, pulling you closer absentmindedly, resting against you when he’s tired.
╰┈➤ He acts like he doesn’t care about being clingy but absolutely steals your hoodies and keeps them for weeks.
╰┈➤ Movie nights with him are impossible because he either predicts the ending immediately or starts making sarcastic commentary every ten minutes.
╰┈➤ He’d definitely judge your music taste at first and then secretly add your songs to his playlist later.
╰┈➤ Arguments wouldn’t last long. He seems like the type who prefers talking things through calmly instead of dragging problems out.
╰┈➤ He’d take care of you in quiet ways instead of overly dramatic ones:
making food for you,
walking you home,
remembering tiny details,
checking if you got enough sleep.
╰┈➤ Once he fully trusts someone, he’d be incredibly loyal and soft with them even if he pretends otherwise.
Author’s note:
Chat I lowkey disappeared but im back !! Anyways I hope you liked it , don’t forget to drink water and eat something yummy I had pizza today !
happy 2min monday © 羊羊西
Stray Kids as Your Lovesick Best Friend
Tag:smut, angst, fluff, drama, friends to lovers
Word count:5k
M.list / m.skz
LISTA DE TAGS
A/n:Idk if I liked this 😭
༄ Bang Chan :
You and Bang Chan have been best friends for over two years. What started as a comment on his SoundCloud cover turned into daily texts, late-night studio sessions, shared playlists, and him always making space for you no matter how packed his schedule is.
To the outside world he’s just your caring, protective leader friend. In reality, Chan has been madly in love with you for more than a year. He hides it behind gentle smiles and “just friends” behavior, but the feelings run deep and intense.
- He remembers every tiny detail about you: your exact coffee order, how you like your ramen, the way you steal his hoodies, and which days you feel more anxious. He shows up with your favorite snacks without you needing to say a word.
- He’s extremely protective. When you’re tired he pulls you into the studio, lays you on the couch, and gives you slow shoulder massages. His fingers always linger on your skin a little longer than necessary, thumbs pressing gently into your neck while he hums softly.
- Compliments make him shy. Tell him his voice in a song gave you chills and he’ll run a hand through his hair, ears turning red, laughing nervously while avoiding direct eye contact.
- He writes countless songs about you. There’s a hidden folder labeled “incomplete” filled with tracks about the girl whose smile lights up the entire room, whose laugh makes him forget his exhaustion, and how much he wants to keep her safe from everything.
- Soft Korean endearments slip out when he’s tired — “jagiya” falls from his lips once or twice before he quickly covers it with “ah, force of habit.”
- During group hangouts he always sits next to you. If any member (especially Hyunjin or Felix) playfully flirts with you, Chan goes quiet, jaw clenched, spinning the rings on his fingers while pretending he’s fine
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Chan suffers in silence most of the time. As the leader he feels he can’t be selfish, can’t risk ruining the friendship, and doesn’t want to burden you with his insane schedule. The tension builds until he can’t hold it anymore.
Late at night, after you leave the studio or after a video call where you were wearing his oversized hoodie, Chan locks the door, dims the lights, and sits back in his chair with his sweats already strained.
He opens his private folder and pulls up photos of you — candid shots of your laugh, you sleeping peacefully on the studio couch, one where his hoodie slipped off your shoulder exposing smooth skin and collarbone, or the latest selfie you sent him. His hand slides under the waistband, wrapping tightly around his hard, leaking cock.
He starts slow, eyes half-lidded, stroking up and down while imagining it’s your hand instead. “Fuck… baby,” he whispers, biting his lip to stay quiet. His pace quickens, thumb circling the sensitive head as precum drips over his fingers. He pictures you on your knees looking up at him, lips wrapped around his cock, or you riding him right there on the couch moaning his name.
He edges himself deliberately, stopping right before release to make the feeling last, always wanting to take care of you first even in his fantasies. When he finally cums it’s intense — thick ropes spilling over his fist and stomach while he chokes out your name in a broken, husky moan, chest heaving, head thrown back against the chair.
Afterward guilt mixes with longing. He cleans up quietly, stares at the ceiling, and whispers “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t be thinking of you like this.” These moments happen more often than he admits — after tight hugs post-concert, after seeing you in fitted clothes, or when your scent lingers on something you returned
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
It was pouring rain in Seoul that night. The clock read 3 AM, and the studio was completely empty except for the soft blue glow of the monitor. You were lying comfortably on the couch, but you had noticed Chan acting strange all evening. After a long, heavy silence, he slowly turned his chair toward you. His eyes were tired yet burning with emotion, his voice low and raw as he finally spoke:
“I’ve tried so hard to keep this as just friendship… but I can’t anymore. Every time you smile at me, every time you touch my arm or wear my hoodie, my heart feels like it’s going to explode. I know I’m not easy to love — I work too much, I’m always tired, always traveling. But I’m in love with you. Not as your friend. I love you so deeply it scares me.
If you don’t feel the same, we can pretend this never happened and stay exactly like we are. But if there’s even the smallest chance… I want to be the one who makes you happy. For real.”
He sat there with slightly trembling hands and glossy eyes, heart completely bare, waiting for your answer.
You felt your own heart racing as you sat up on the couch. Without hesitation, you moved closer, gently taking his hands in yours. “Chan… I’ve been in love with you too. For a long time. I was just scared of ruining what we have.”
The relief that washed over his face was instant. A bright, beautiful smile broke across his lips as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against his chest. His hand cradled the back of your head while rain continued to pour outside.
“Thank God…” he whispered against your hair, voice thick with emotion. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes soft and full of love, before leaning in and kissing you — slow, deep, and full of all the feelings he had kept hidden for so long. When you finally broke apart, foreheads resting together, he smiled again, brighter than ever.
“Be mine?” he asked softly, thumb brushing your cheek.
You nodded, smiling back. “I’m already yours, Chan.”
From that night on, Bang Chan was no longer hiding his love. He was your boyfriend — protective, caring, and completely devoted — and you were the happiest you had ever been together.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
༄Lee Minho:
You and Lee Minho have known each other since you were children. Your families lived close, you played together after school, shared secrets under blankets during sleepovers, and grew up side by side. He’s been in love with you for as long as he can remember — probably since the day you defended him from older kids on the playground and smiled at him like he was the most important person in the world. But Minho never found the courage to confess. Not once.
- He’s always been quietly protective and teasing in that signature Minho way. He calls you his “favorite annoying person,” brings you your favorite snacks without asking, and remembers every small habit of yours from childhood until now — how you hate thunderstorms, the way you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking, your coffee order, and the exact playlist that calms you down.
- His affection shows in actions rather than words. He dances with you in the practice room when no one’s around, lets you fall asleep on his shoulder during long car rides, and sends you pictures of cats that remind him of you. His stares linger a second too long when you laugh, but he always looks away before you notice.
- Minho is jealous in silence. When you started getting closer to Changbin, he smiled and teased you both like the good friend he is. Inside, it felt like something was slowly breaking. He watched you fall for Changbin and couldn’t say a word.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Minho keeps everything locked inside. He’s too proud, too scared of ruining the lifelong friendship, and now too aware that you’re happy with Changbin. So the love stays buried — except in the darkest, loneliest hours of the night.
After group dinners where he sees you sitting beside Changbin, laughing at his jokes and leaning into his touch, Minho comes home tense and aching. He locks his bedroom door, turns off the lights, and lies back on his bed with his phone in hand.
He opens the hidden album filled with old and new photos of you — pictures from childhood, you smiling brightly at him during tours, you wearing his sweater last winter, candid shots where you looked so beautiful it hurt. His hand slips under his sweatpants, wrapping around his already hard cock. He strokes slowly at first, eyes closed, remembering the times you hugged him tightly or when your fingers brushed his while sharing snacks.
“Fuck… why you?” he whispers bitterly, biting his lip as his hand moves faster. Precum leaks over his fingers while he imagines things he knows he can never have — you underneath him, moaning his name instead of Changbin’s, your legs wrapped around his waist, his cock buried deep inside you while he kisses you like he’s loved you his whole life. He pictures your face when you cum, the way your body would tremble for him, how warm and tight you’d feel.
His strokes become rough and desperate, hips bucking into his fist as he chokes back sounds. The mix of pleasure and pain is overwhelming — love, jealousy, years of unspoken feelings all crashing together. When he cums, it’s intense and almost painful, thick spurts coating his stomach and hand while he gasps your name quietly, eyes wet.
Afterward the guilt and sadness always hit harder. He cleans up in silence, staring at the ceiling with an empty ache in his chest, knowing he’ll never tell you. These nights happen more than he wants to admit, especially after seeing you happy with Changbin.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Minho never confesses.
He watches you fall deeper in love with Changbin, sees the way his bandmate makes you smile, and chooses to stay quiet. He tells himself it’s the right thing — he doesn’t want to hurt you, doesn’t want to lose you completely, and doesn’t want to create tension in the group. So he keeps being the teasing, caring Minho you’ve always known.
Sometimes, when you hug him goodbye, he holds on a little longer than usual, breathing in your scent like it’s the last time. When you ask if he’s okay, he just smirks and says “Of course, dummy. Don’t worry about me.”
Inside, the love he’s carried since childhood remains his secret — beautiful, painful, and forever unspoken. He smiles for you, teases you, supports your relationship with Changbin, and loves you from a distance that hurts more with every passing day.
But he never tells you.
He can’t.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
༄Changbin:
You and Changbin have been best friends for a long time. Everyone around you — the members, staff, even stays who see the clips — knows he’s head over heels for you. It’s painfully obvious. The way he looks at you, the way he acts, the way his voice gets softer when he talks to you… it’s not subtle. You know it too. And the worst part? You feel the exact same way. But both of you are absolute idiots who keep pretending it’s “just friendship.”
- He’s loud and confident with everyone else, but around you he gets a little clumsy. He flexes his arms “accidentally” when you’re nearby, then gets shy when you tease him about it.
- Calls you nicknames constantly: “baby”, “princess”, “my girl” — always with a laugh like it’s a joke, but his eyes say otherwise.
- Super touchy. He pulls you onto his lap during movie nights, wraps his arms around you from behind in the kitchen, rests his head on your shoulder while you’re on your phone. Everyone else just rolls their eyes and whispers “just confess already.”
- Gets jealous easily but tries to hide it. When another member gets too close or playful with you, Changbin suddenly gets louder, pulls you closer, or finds an excuse to drag you away.
- Writes lyrics about you all the time. Some lines are so obviously about you that the members tease him in the studio. He denies it while blushing furiously.
- Sends you gym selfies at 2 AM with captions like “thought you’d like this” and then panics if you compliment him too much.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Even though it’s obvious, neither of you confesses. The tension keeps building until it’s unbearable.
Changbin jerks off thinking about you almost every night. He lies in bed after practice, cock already hard just from remembering how you looked in his hoodie that day. He strokes himself roughly, imagining it’s your hand, your mouth, your tight pussy wrapped around him. He bites his pillow to stay quiet while he cums, groaning your name under his breath
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
It finally happened after a late-night practice. The other members had left. You were both alone in the dorm, sweaty and tired, sitting on the couch. The teasing had gone too far tonight — lingering touches, long eye contact, stupid excuses to be close.
Changbin suddenly grabbed your hand, his grip strong but shaky
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, voice low and serious. “Everyone knows I’m crazy about you. You know it too. I like you… fuck, I’m in love with you. I’ve been dying to kiss you for months. If you don’t feel the same, tell me now and I’ll shut up forever. But if you do… stop making me suffer.”
Your heart exploded. You answered by kissing him hard.
The kiss turned desperate instantly. Months of unspoken feelings poured out. Changbin pulled you onto his lap, hands gripping your waist tightly as he deepened the kiss, tongue sliding against yours. You could feel how hard he already was under you
“Fuck, I want you so bad,” he growled against your mouth.
Clothes came off fast. He laid you down on the couch, kissing down your neck, sucking marks onto your collarbone while his thick fingers found their way between your legs. He groaned when he felt how wet you were.
“All this for me? Shit… you’re soaked, baby.”
He fingered you open with two thick fingers, curling them perfectly while his thumb rubbed your clit. You were moaning his name, hips grinding against his hand. When you came on his fingers he didn’t stop — he kept going until you were shaking.
Then he finally pushed inside you.
Changbin’s cock was thick and heavy. He stretched you so good it made your eyes roll back. He buried his face in your neck, groaning deeply as he bottomed out.
“Fuck… so tight. So perfect for me,” he panted.
He fucked you hard and deep, hips snapping against yours. The sound of skin slapping and your mixed moans filled the room. He kept whispering filthy sweet things — “You’re mine now”, “Been dreaming about this pussy for so long”, “Cum for me again, baby”.
You came twice more before he finally let go, thrusting deep and spilling inside you with a loud, broken moan of your name, body trembling on top of yours.
Afterwards he didn’t pull out right away. He stayed buried inside you, kissing you softly, sweaty forehead pressed against yours.
“I love you,” he whispered, smiling like an idiot. “No more pretending.”
You smiled back, running your fingers through his curly hair.
“I love you too, Binnie. Finally.”
From that day on, Changbin became the most openly whipped boyfriend ever — and you two were no longer idiots who hid their feelings
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
༄Hyunjin:
You and Hyunjin have been friends for a while now. He’s the dramatic, artistic, affectionate one who always makes everything feel like a scene from a movie. The problem is: Hyunjin fell hard for you. Really hard. But he knows — painfully well — that you don’t feel the same way romantically. You’ve never shown interest, never flirted back, and he’s accepted (or at least pretends to) that you only see him as a friend. Still, that doesn’t stop his heart from aching every single day.
- He’s extra dramatic and clingy with you, but in a way that tries to hide how deep his feelings go. He showers you with compliments (“You look like a painting today”), draws little sketches of you in his notebook, and sends you voice notes singing softly just to hear your reaction.
- Loves physical affection: hugs that last a little too long, playing with your hair, resting his head on your lap while complaining about practice. He knows you see it as “Hyunjin being Hyunjin,” so he plays it off as his usual skinship.
- Gets quiet and moody when he sees you being extra close or sweet with other members. He masks it with playful jealousy (“Yah, why are you smiling at him like that?”) but inside it stings.
- Creates art about you constantly — paintings with soft colors that remind him of your smile, poems he never shows you, and choreographies that feel too emotional to be “just inspired by a friend.”
- Remembers every tiny detail you tell him and uses it to take care of you, hoping one day you might see him differently, even though he knows you won’t.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Hyunjin knows you don’t like him back, but the feelings won’t go away. So he keeps them locked inside and lets them out only when he’s alone.
Late at night in his room, after you’ve sent a casual “goodnight” text or after spending the whole day with you laughing and treating him like a best friend, the ache becomes too much. He lies on his bed, lights dim, and opens his private folder filled with photos and videos of you.
His hand slides into his pants, wrapping around his already leaking cock. He strokes himself slowly while staring at your pictures — you smiling at the camera, you wearing the hoodie he gave you, candid shots he took when you weren’t looking. His breathing gets heavier as he imagines things he knows will never happen: you looking at him with love, your hands on his body, your lips on his neck, you moaning his name as he sinks deep inside you.
“Fuck… why can’t you see me?” he whispers, voice breaking a little. His strokes turn faster, almost desperate, hips thrusting up into his fist. He edges himself, wanting the fantasy to last longer — imagining you riding him, whispering that you love him, your pussy clenching around his cock. When he finally cums, it’s intense and messy, thick spurts covering his stomach while he moans your name quietly, eyes squeezed shut in both pleasure and pain.
Afterward the sadness always hits harder than the relief. He cleans up feeling empty, sometimes with tears in his eyes, knowing you’ll never want him the way he wants you. These moments leave him more heartbroken every time, but he can’t stop.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Hyunjin never confesses.
He knows exactly how you feel — you’ve made it clear through your actions (or lack of them) — and he respects you too much to put you in an uncomfortable position or risk losing your friendship. So he continues being the fun, dramatic, caring Hyunjin you know and love as a friend.
He smiles when you talk about other guys. He teases you like always. He creates more art in silence. Sometimes he watches you from across the room with that soft, longing gaze before quickly looking away.
Deep down, the love remains — beautiful, intense, and painfully one-sided. Hyunjin carries it quietly, hoping that one day it will hurt less, while still cherishing every moment he gets to spend with you.
Even if you’ll never be his.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
༄han:
You and Han Jisung have been best friends since you were kids. That one innocent peck during a truth or dare game when you were both 13 years old never left his mind. For him, that little kiss marked the beginning of feelings that only grew stronger over the years. He’s madly, deeply in love with you — the kind of love that consumes him. But he never confessed. Not once. Instead, he acts almost exactly like a boyfriend without the official title.
- He’s extremely clingy and affectionate. He holds your hand in public “because it’s comfortable,” pulls you into his lap during movie nights, back-hugs you while you’re cooking, and falls asleep with his head on your chest when you watch dramas together.
- Calls you “baby”, “jagiya”, “my girl” so naturally that it sounds like it’s nothing, but his voice gets softer every time. He brings you snacks, writes you little notes, sends good morning and good night voice messages with his raspy singing, and gets sulky if you don’t reply fast.
- Treats you like his priority. Cancels plans with the members to stay with you when you’re sad, shares his headphones with you on flights, and gets genuinely upset if another member gets too close or flirty with you (even though he laughs it off).
- Remembers everything. Your favorite songs, the way you like your coffee, the exact date of your childhood memories together, and that little kiss from when you were 13 — which he still thinks about constantly.
- He’s touchy and jealous in a cute way. If you talk about another guy he gets extra loud and dramatic, then pouts and says “I’m better than him though, right?” while looking at you with those big sparkling eyes.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Even though he acts like your boyfriend, Han never confessed his real feelings. The tension eats him alive.
At night, after spending the whole day with you — hugging you, smelling your shampoo, feeling your body against his — he goes to his room extremely worked up. He locks the door, lies on his bed, and pulls up photos and videos of you. His hand slips inside his sweatpants, gripping his hard, leaking cock.
He strokes himself while remembering every touch you’ve shared. He imagines that 13-year-old kiss turning into so much more — you underneath him, moaning his name, legs wrapped around his waist as he fucks you deep and slow. “Fuck… baby, I want you so bad,” he whispers desperately, pumping his fist faster. He thinks about eating you out until you’re shaking, then sliding his cock inside your tight, wet pussy while telling you how much he’s loved you all these years.
His strokes get messy and needy. He edges himself, moaning quietly into his pillow, hips bucking as he pictures you riding him, tits bouncing, calling him “Jisungie” while you cum around his cock. When he finally finishes, he cums hard — thick, long spurts covering his stomach and chest while he chokes out your name, body trembling with the intensity of years of hidden love.
After he always feels the same bittersweet mix: satisfaction mixed with sadness because he still hasn’t told you the truth.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
It finally happened on a quiet night in the dorm. You two were cuddling on his bed watching a movie like always. Han was being extra quiet, heart hammering in his chest. He suddenly paused the movie and turned to you, cheeks flushed and eyes shining with nerves.
“I can’t keep doing this anymore…” he said, voice a little shaky. “Acting like your boyfriend when I’m not. Holding you, calling you baby, being jealous of everyone who gets close to you… All these years I’ve been in love with you. Since that stupid truth or dare kiss when we were 13. That kiss ruined me for anyone else. I’ve loved you for so long and I was too scared to say anything because I didn’t want to lose you. But I can’t pretend anymore. I’m completely in love with you. Please… tell me you feel something too.”
You looked at him, heart racing, and finally admitted what you had been feeling for a long time too. The relief on Han’s face was instant. He let out a shaky laugh and pulled you into a deep, desperate kiss — nothing like that innocent peck from years ago.
Clothes came off quickly. Han was needy and passionate, kissing every inch of your body like he was making up for lost time. He went down on you first, tongue working eagerly between your legs until you came on his mouth, moaning his name.
When he finally pushed inside you, he groaned loudly, burying his face in your neck.
“Fuck… you feel even better than I imagined,” he panted, thrusting deep and steady. “I’ve wanted this for so long… wanted you so much.”
He fucked you with years of pent-up love — passionate, a little messy, switching between slow deep thrusts and faster desperate ones. He came hard inside you while whispering “I love you, I love you, I love you” against your lips.
Afterwards he held you tight, refusing to let go, pressing soft kisses all over your face with the brightest smile you’d ever seen.
“So… you’re my girlfriend now, right?” he asked, still a little shy but incredibly happy.
You laughed and nodded.
“Yeah, Jisung. I’m yours.”
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
༄Felix:
You and Felix have been close friends for years. His feelings for you started long ago — probably the first time you stayed up all night playing games with him, laughing at his deep voice and letting him rest his head on your shoulder when he was tired. For a long time he kept it quiet, but lately he’s been getting hopeful. You’ve been extra affectionate, texting him first, staying longer at the dorm, complimenting his voice and freckles more often. Felix started believing you might feel the same. That hope made him brave enough to finally confess.
- He’s incredibly sweet and caring. Bakes your favorite brownies, sends you voice notes with his deep voice saying good morning, and always saves the prettiest sunset photos for you.
- Super affectionate: hugs that lift you off the ground, playing with your hair, holding your hand “because it’s cold,” and cuddling during movie nights while his heart races.
- Calls you “sunshine,” “angel,” and “my favorite person” with that bright smile and sparkling eyes. Lately he’s been bolder — complimenting how beautiful you look, staring at you longer, and getting shy when you catch him.
- Gets genuinely excited when you show him any extra attention. He overthinks every message, every touch, every “I missed you” and convinces himself the feelings are mutual.
- Writes little songs and lyrics about you in secret, practices dances thinking about how he’ll show you one day when you’re officially his.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Even with the new confidence, the years of hidden love make him desperate when he’s alone.
After nights where you cuddled close or fell asleep on his chest, Felix goes back to his room painfully hard. He locks the door, turns off the lights, and lies back with his phone showing pictures of you — you smiling at him, you wearing his hoodie, close-up shots of your lips and eyes.
He pushes his sweatpants down, wraps his hand around his thick, leaking cock and starts stroking slowly. “Fuck… you’re so pretty,” he whispers in that deep voice, eyes half-closed. He imagines you on top of him, riding him slowly while looking into his eyes, your hands on his chest, moaning his name. He thinks about spreading your legs, eating you out with his tongue until you’re shaking, then sliding deep inside your tight heat.
His hand moves faster, thumb rubbing over the sensitive head as precum drips down. He edges himself, moaning softly, hips bucking into his fist while fantasizing about filling you up and hearing you say you love him. When he cums, it’s intense — thick ropes spilling over his abs and hand while he groans your name deeply, body trembling with pleasure and longing.
Afterwards he always smiles at first, full of hope… then the doubt creeps back in.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Felix finally built up enough courage on a quiet evening at the dorm. He invited you over when the others were out, baked your favorite cookies, and set up a cozy movie night. Halfway through, he paused the movie, turned to you with nervous but shining eyes, freckles standing out on his flushed cheeks.
“I’ve liked you for so long… longer than you probably realize,” he said softly, voice deeper than usual from emotion. “Lately I’ve been feeling like maybe you feel the same. The way you look at me, the way you stay close… I can’t hold this in anymore. I’m in love with you. I want to be your boyfriend. I want to take care of you, kiss you, be with you for real. Will you… give me a chance?”
He looked at you with so much hope and love in his eyes, heart wide open.
You gently took his hands and told him the truth — that you loved him as a friend, a very dear one, but you didn’t have romantic feelings for him.
The silence that followed was heavy. Felix’s bright expression slowly crumbled. He tried to smile, but his eyes got glossy and his voice cracked a little when he spoke.
“Ah… I see. I’m sorry. I misunderstood everything, didn’t I?” He laughed weakly, trying to play it off even as his heart broke. “It’s okay. Really. I don’t want to lose our friendship. Just… give me a little time, yeah?”
He hugged you that night like always, but it was tighter and sadder. After you left, Felix sat alone in his room, staring at the wall with tears quietly running down his cheeks. The hope he had built up for months shattered completely.
Even though it hurts, Felix continues being the sweet, sunshine-like friend you know. He still bakes for you, still sends good morning messages, still calls you sunshine. But the sparkle in his eyes is a little dimmer now, and he no longer lets himself believe that one day you might love him back.
His love for you remains — warm, deep, and painfully one-sided.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
༄Seungmin:
You and Seungmin have been friends for years. He fell for you quietly and deeply, but never had the courage to confess. He convinced himself that you didn’t feel the same — you treated him like a close friend, nothing more. So he tried to move on. He started dating someone else. On the surface, life continued… but he never stopped thinking about you.
- He’s always been caring in a low-key way: remembering small things you like, sending dry-humored memes that only you two understand, checking on you when you’re quiet, and singing softly when you ask him to.
- Even while dating, he compares his girlfriend to you in his head. He feels guilty about it, but he can’t help it.
- He gets distant sometimes, especially when his feelings for you hit harder. He teases you less, avoids being alone with you too much, but still can’t stay completely away.
- Deep down he’s scared. Scared of rejection, scared of ruining the friendship, and now scared of what admitting his feelings would do to his current relationship.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Even with a girlfriend, Seungmin’s thoughts always drift back to you. The guilt eats at him, but the longing is stronger.
Late at night, after his girlfriend has fallen asleep or when he’s alone in the dorm, he thinks about you. He locks himself in the bathroom or lies in bed with his phone, opening old photos and videos of you. His hand slips under his waistband, gripping his hard cock as he starts stroking slowly.
He imagines you instead of his girlfriend — your smile, your voice saying his name, your body under his. “Fuck… why is it always you?” he whispers, biting his lip. His strokes get faster, almost angry, as he pictures fucking you deep and slow, your legs wrapped around him, you moaning his name while he tells you how long he’s loved you. He thinks about your mouth around his cock, your tight pussy clenching around him, your fingers in his hair as he makes you cum.
He cums hard with a quiet, broken moan, thick spurts covering his hand while your name slips from his lips. Afterward the guilt is crushing. He feels like shit for thinking about you while in a relationship, but he still can’t stop.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
His girlfriend always hated how close you two were. She was extremely jealous and made it clear she didn’t like you. One night the fight exploded. She gave him an ultimatum: “It’s her or me. Choose.”
Seungmin chose his girlfriend.
He distanced himself from you. The texts became rare, the hangouts stopped, and he pulled away even though it killed him inside. He told himself it was the right decision — he had a girlfriend, he needed to be loyal.
Months passed.
One day, through a mutual friend, Seungmin found out the truth: you had liked him. For a long time. You had feelings for him too, but you thought he only saw you as a friend, especially after he got a girlfriend. The realization hit him like a truck. All that time you had been waiting, hoping, and he had walked away.
Regret consumed him.
He tried to approach you again. Small messages, trying to meet for coffee, acting like old times. But you were done. Every time he got close, you pulled away. You didn’t answer his texts the same way. You avoided being alone with him. When he finally tried to talk about it, you looked at him with hurt and cold eyes:
“You made your choice, Seungmin. Now live with it. I don’t want to see you anymore.”
Seungmin stood there, heart sinking, knowing he had lost you for good. The girl he had loved in silence for years had once loved him back… and because he was too scared to confess and too quick to choose someone else, he destroyed any chance they had.
Now he stays with his girlfriend, carrying the heavy weight of regret every single day. He still thinks about you. He still dreams about you. But you no longer want him in your life, and he has no one to blame but himself.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
༄Jeongin:
You and Jeongin have been best friends for a few years now. He’s the maknae, but with you he feels like he can be himself completely — soft, playful, a little shy, and incredibly sweet. Jeongin has been crushing on you for a long time, almost since the beginning. His feelings are pure, warm, and so strong that everyone in the group teases him about it constantly. He gets flustered easily whenever your name is mentioned.
- He’s adorably obvious but tries to be subtle. Sends you good morning selfies with his fox-like smile, bakes cookies with you (and “accidentally” makes heart-shaped ones), saves every photo you send him, and gets excited like a puppy when you visit the dorm.
- Super affectionate in the cutest way: rests his head on your shoulder when he’s tired, plays with your fingers, gives you his hoodies because “they look better on you,” and sings to you softly with that beautiful voice when you can’t sleep.
- Calls you “baby” and “noona” (even if you’re not older) in a shy, teasing voice that makes his ears turn red. Gets jealous cutely — pouts and clings to you when another member is too close, then denies it while blushing.
- Writes cute lyrics and melodies about you in secret. Practices dances thinking about showing them to you one day. Remembers every little thing you like and surprises you constantly with small gifts or snacks.
- Looks at you like you hung the stars. His eyes sparkle whenever you laugh, and he smiles that big, bright smile only you can pull out of him so easily.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
Jeongin is full of pent-up feelings. He’s respectful and never pressures you, but when he’s alone the thoughts of you drive him crazy.
After spending the day with you — laughing, cuddling on the couch, feeling your warmth — he goes to his room, heart racing and body aching. He locks the door, lies on his bed, and pulls up his favorite photos of you smiling at him or wearing his clothes.
He pushes his pants down, his cock already hard and leaking just from thinking about you. He wraps his hand around himself and starts stroking slowly, biting his lip. “Ah… baby…” he whispers in that deep, breathy voice, eyes closed. He imagines you on top of him, kissing him softly, your hands in his hair while you ride him gently. He pictures spreading your legs, kissing down your body until he reaches your pussy, licking and sucking eagerly until you’re moaning his name and pulling his hair.
His hand moves faster, thumb rubbing over the sensitive head as precum drips down. He moans quietly into his pillow, hips bucking as he fantasizes about sliding deep inside you — warm, tight, and perfect. “I love you… I love you so much,” he whimpers while stroking harder, imagining your face when you cum around him. When he finally finishes, it’s intense and sweet — thick, warm spurts covering his stomach while he gasps your name, body shaking with pleasure and love.
Afterwards he always smiles shyly, a little embarrassed, but full of warmth and hope.
。 ゚ ꒰ঌ ✦໒꒱ ༘*.゚
One cozy evening, after a movie night where you two kept stealing glances and “accidentally” brushing hands, Jeongin couldn’t hold it anymore. He turned to you with flushed cheeks and those big sparkling eyes, voice soft and nervous:
“I… I really like you. Not just as a friend. I’ve liked you for so long… every time you smile at me my heart does flips. I know I’m the maknae and maybe I’m not the coolest, but I really, really want to be your boyfriend. I want to take care of you, make you smile every day, and kiss you whenever I want. If you don’t feel the same I’ll understand… but I had to tell you.”
You smiled, heart melting, and told him you felt the same way.
Jeongin’s face lit up like the sun. He let out a happy laugh and pulled you into the cutest, tightest hug, then kissed you softly — gentle at first, then deeper and full of all the love he’d been holding back.
That night turned passionate but incredibly sweet. Jeongin was gentle and eager, kissing every inch of your body like you were precious. He took his time eating you out, moaning against you because he loved how you tasted, making you cum on his tongue with his pretty eyes looking up at you.
When he finally pushed inside you, he groaned softly, burying his face in your neck. “You feel so good… so warm,” he whispered, voice shaky. He moved slowly at first, then faster, holding your hands and kissing you nonstop while whispering “I love you” between moans. You came together — him spilling deep inside you with a cute, breathy moan of your name, body trembling as he held you close.
Afterwards he refused to let you go. He cleaned you up gently, then cuddled you under the blankets, pressing little kisses all over your face and smiling non-stop.
“You’re my girlfriend now, right?” he asked, eyes shining with pure happiness.
“Yes, Innie. I’m all yours.”
Jeongin became the softest, sweetest, most loving boyfriend ever — always spoiling you, singing to you, making you laugh, and looking at you like you’re his whole world. You two are that adorable couple everyone envies: full of hugs, giggles, and endless affection.
© stlllle — 2O26
⋆Tag: @velvetmoonlght @straystar-8 @honeybunny143 @aziul-glimpse @mandyjo8719 @niku0704 @rayraymylove @zzzmirella @may-day-143
I'm in a reckless fever!
or: skz under anesthesia
warnings: none! ot8 (separate) x reader, fluff, crack, humor, no specific depictions of why they're at the hospital in the first place, probably (very) inaccurate, a heck ton of references, nonidol!au, established relationships.
wc: 5k-ish
a/n: imagine them speaking in slo-mo for maximum enjoyment <3
chan
The hospital elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, revealing a long hallway lined with numbered doors. You shifted the greasy paper bag in your hand, still warm against your palm, and stepped out.
Room 097. You nudged the door open with your elbow, balancing the food and a soda cup. Chan was exactly where you’d left him, propped up in bed in a 45 degree angle, eyelids heavy, hair messy and slightly curlee. The heart monitor beeped steadily beside him, its rhythmic pulse filling the quiet room.
“Brought fries,” you announced, shaking the bag a little. His head lolled toward the sound, reaction delayed.
“Fries?” Chan repeated, the word slow and dragged out. His expression suggested that anesthesia hadn’t quite worn off yet.
Chan's fingers twitched toward the bag before his hand even fully registered the movement, his wrist drooping mid-air.
You walked over and perched on the edge of his bed, the paper crinkling as you unfolded the top with exaggerated care — partly to keep grease off the sheets, partly to watch his face slowly crumple into anticipatory delight. His nose scrunched first, then his mouth fell open slightly, his whole body tilting towards you.
You handed him the bag, and his fingers curled around it carefully, then he pulled out a single fry, holding it up between thumb and forefinger, then, with a slowly, he took a bite.
The change was instantaneous. His eyes widened, fully awake now, and the heart monitor stuttered, skipped, then kicked into a faster rhythm. Beep-beep-beep.
You could practically see the dopamine hitting his bloodstream, his pupils dilating further as he chewed. “Oh,” he breathed, voice hushed with reverence. “Ohhh. this is goooood”
he attacked the next fry, fumbling slightly as his anesthesia-slowed reflexes struggled to keep up with his enthusiasm.
A fry slipped from his grip, landing on the blanket with a quiet *plop*. Without thinking, you picked it up and held it out to him. Chan leaned forward, mouth open, and let you pop it between his lips. His teeth grazed your fingertips, and he hummed around the bite.
“You—” he started, then paused to swallow, his tongue darting out to catch a stray grain of salt from his bottom lip. “You made these.” It wasn’t a question. It was a declaration, delivered by your boyfriend who’d just discovered the meaning of life in a paper bag of fast food fries.
You opened your mouth to correct him—Chan, I literally got these from the drive thru— but he was already rambling ahead, “S’why I love you,” he slurred, gesturing vaguely with a fry clutched between his fingers. “Magic hands. Could marry you. Would marry you. Right now.”
His head lolled to the side, “Do they do weddings here? In hospitals?” he paused, slowly reaching a finger to point at you "do you do weddings? like, as the bride?"
You couldn’t help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably as Chan blinked at you with solemn, drug-dazed sincerity.
The heart monitor’s tempo increased another notch after he heard your laugh, keeping time with the way his free hand pawed clumsily at yours, "Pretty sure you're not legally allowed to consent to marriage while hopped up on anesthetic drugs," you said, plucking another fry with your free hand from the bag and holding it out.
Chan's mouth opened automatically, eyes crossing slightly as he focused on the fry's approach. "Mmm, but I mean it, though" he insisted around the mouthful, cheeks puffing out.
He brought your joined hands to his mouth, pressing a greasy, exaggerated kiss to your knuckles. "you make amazing fries,” he mumbled against your skin, "you'd make an amazing wife too"
minho
Did I...hic... swallow a lightbulb?" Minho's voice was thick with confusion, syllables sliding together. His eyelids fluttered against the ceiling light's glare, and somewhere to his left, a machine beeped in what felt like slow motion.
The old nurse's chuckle was warm but professional. "No, sweetheart, that's just the anesthesia. You're in recovery." She adjusted his IV with practiced ease.
Minho's fingers twitched against the stiff hospital sheets, his brow furrowing deeper when they met empty space. "huh—" He exhaled sharply, arm flopping sideways with alarming lack of coordination. "Where's—?"
Your hand caught his just as panic started creasing his forehead. The instant your skin touched his, his whole body sagged back into the pillow in relief, "Oh," he murmured, thumb clumsily stroking your knuckles. "There you are." His smile was lopsided, pupils still blown wide from the drugs.
The nurse leaned over him with a penlight, her scrubs rustling from the movement. "Mr. Lee, can you tell me where you are right now?"
Minho blinked at the ceiling tiles, his gaze drifting. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "No," he admitted finally, his voice scratchy with sleep and drugs. Then his fingers tightened around yours, "But my girlfriend's here so it's probably okay."
You bit back a laugh as the nurse's eyebrows shot up. She turned to you with a smile. "He's adorable when he's high, isn't he?"
Minho made a noise of protest, or at least tried to, but it came out as more of a drowsy hum, his fingers flexing weakly around yours. "Not high," he mumbled, his tongue slow and heavy. "Just..." His head lolled toward you, eyes struggling to focus. "wait," he squinted at you "you brought pudding?"
You hadn't even taken the lid off yet, but somehow, he'd already caught the scent of vanilla from the little plastic cup in your bag.
The nurse chuckled again and patted his shoulder. "I'll leave you two to it," she said, slipping out of the curtained area with a final rustle of scrubs.
Minho's face lit up when you finally pulled it out and peeled back the foil seal, his drowsy expression shifting into something close to glee.
"You know me," he sighed dreamily. His hands twitched uselessly in his lap — still too uncoordinated to hold the spoon — so you scooped up a bite and guided it toward his mouth.
He accepted it with a happy noise, eyes fluttering shut as he savored it. "That's crazy," he said around the mouthful, "How do you always know?"
You were about to tease him, something about how it wasn't exactly a secret, given the way he hoarded pudding cups in your fridge — when his expression abruptly sharpened. His brows furrowed with sudden intensity, his gaze oddly serious as he squinted at you.
"Did you feed the cats, too?"
You blinked. Of all the things for him to latch onto in his anesthesia haze, that was what his brain had zeroed in on.
"Yes," you assured him, fighting a smile. "Automatic feeder’s working, water bowl’s full, and I gave them extra treats before I left."
Minho exhaled like he'd been holding his breath, his shoulders slumping in relief. "Good," he murmured, already drifting again. His eyelashes fluttered against his cheeks, heavy with exhaustion. " 'coz sometimes they get..." His words slurred together, the sentence trailing off into silence as his grip on your fingers loosened.
You watched him for a moment, the steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his lips parted slightly as his breathing evened out. he hadn't even finished his pudding cup.
A soft snore escaped him, and you couldn't help but laugh under your breath. the nurse was right— he is adorable like this.
changbin
"Ow," Changbin muttered, his voice gravelly, his eyelids felt glued shut, but when he finally managed to pry them open, harsh lights stabbed his vision. He groaned, squinting at the blurry figure sitting beside him. A person, vaguely familiar, holding what looked like his phone and wallet in their lap.
He blinked. Once, twice.
The person— you —looked up instantly, pocketing your phone with a soft smile. "Hey, Binnie. How’re you feeling?"
His pupils were still blown wide from the anesthesia, giving him the dazed, unfiltered honesty of someone who hadn’t quite remembered how to censor himself yet. He blinked at you, slowly , then exhaled a quiet, awed, “…Whoa.”
You stared back at him, “What?”
“You’re really pretty.” The words came out rough, slurred at the edges but painfully earnest. He tilted his head slightly, hospital blanket pooling around his waist as he squinted at you. “Are you a nurse?”
You nearly choked on your own spit trying not to laugh. “No,” you managed.
Changbin frowned, his brows knitting together in confusion. “But you’re here,” he pointed out, “And you’re holding my stuff.” He gestured vaguely at his phone and wallet in your lap.
You bit your lip to keep from grinning. “Yeah, because I came with you.”
His head snapped up so fast his IV line wobbled. “Wait.” his eyes widened slightly “You chose to be here?”
You nodded, watching as his expression cycled through disbelief, delight, and something dangerously close to smugness in the span of three seconds.
He opened his mouth — probably to say something ridiculous — but then his gaze dropped to his own hospital gown, and his face did a complicated little twist. “Do I… look okay?” he asked, voice suddenly small.
“You're drugged,” you said with a shrug.
He pouted. “That’s not what I asked.”
Before you could answer, he made a valiant attempt to flex his bicep under the thin blanket, but the effect was ruined by the way his elbow buckled halfway through.
The IV tugged at his wrist, and he hissed, dropping his arm with a grumble. Still, he managed a wobbly grin. “Still got it,” he mumbled, more to himself than to you.
“You can barely keep your eyes open,” you teased.
“But the muscle is there,” he insisted, patting his own bicep with a sleepy sort of pride.
The nurse chose that moment to walk in, clipboard in hand, and Changbin immediately perked up like he’d been waiting for an audience. “Do I look strong right now?” he asked her, voice dripping with hope.
She barely glanced up, “Sure.”
Changbin turned back to you, triumphant, but then his expression faltered. He bit his lip, suddenly shy, fingers picking at the edge of the blanket. “So…” he started, then stopped, swallowed, tried again. “Do you have a boyfriend?”
You blinked. “Changbin. I am your girlfriend.”
Then his eyes went huge.
“WHAT?”
You burst out laughing as he stared at you in utter, slack jawed disbelief, his head whipping between you and the nurse like he needed a second opinion. “You’re serious?” he demanded, voice cracking.
“Yes.”
“You’re my girlfriend?”
“Yes, Binnie.”
His entire face turned red so fast, then he dropped his head back onto the pillow with a muffled thump, hands covering his face as he started giggling, a high-pitched, disbelieving sound that dissolved into breathless, giddy laughter.
“No way,” he wheezed, peeking at you through his fingers. “No waaay.”
The nurse turned to you, and before she could even open her mouth, Changbin jabbed a finger in your direction, grinning so wide his cheeks must’ve ached. “That’s my girlfriend,” he announced.
“I know,” she said.
“No but like—” He grabbed your hand, squeezing your fingers like he needed proof you were real. “She’s mine.”
You squeezed his hand back, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the way your cheeks warmed at his dopey declaration. "Yes, yes, we've established this," you teased, but Changbin wasn't having it — he tugged your hand closer, his grip surprisingly strong for someone who'd just woken up from surgery.
"Wait, wait—" His eyes narrowed suddenly, a suspicious wrinkle forming between his brows. "Prove it."
You arched an eyebrow. "Prove what?"
"That you're my girlfriend." He crossed his arms over his chest, the IV line got tangled in the blanket halfway through the motion.
You leaned forward before he could fumble with the IV any further, pressing a quick, soft kiss to his lips — barely a brush, just enough to shut him up.
he froze, eyes wide, his breath hitching audibly against your mouth. When you pulled back, his entire face was slack with stunned silence, his fingers hovering in mid air.
“…Oh,” he said finally, voice hushed. the tips of his ears turned red, then he swallowed hard, and nodded once, “Yeah. That checks out.”
You snorted, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Satisfied?”
“…Can you do that again?”
hyunjin
"Hyunjin, you're drooling on the pillow," you said, poking his shoulder.
Hyunjin blinked slowly, his eyelids, the anesthesia still clinging to his thoughts. He smacked his lips once, twice, then frowned, "M'not drooling," he mumbled, his words slurring together. "M'a gentleman. Gentlemen don't drool." He lifted a hand to wipe his mouth that, sure enough, had a little spit trail down to his chin.
Then the nurses approached either side of his hospital bed, One of them had a pair of scissors in her hand, which, in his state, seemed vaguely threatening until he realized they were just for cutting off the hospital bracelet. The other nurse held a neatly folded stack of clothes. His clothes.
"Alright, Mr. Hwang, let's get you changed," one of them chirped, her voice far too cheerful for someone about to strip him bare.
she reaching for the flimsy ties of his gown. Hyunjin's reflexes were delayed, but he managed to clutch the thin paper fabric to his chest just as she gave it a tug.
"Ladies, ladies, calm down!" he giggled, his words still thick. His eyes darted to you, wide and pleading, as if you alone could shield him from this indignity. "I have a girlfriend!" he announced.
The nurses only laughed, unfazed, and the one holding a fresh set of clothes— soft sweatpants and a hoodie —tried to reassure him. "We see naked people every day, sweetheart. Yours isn't special," she sighed, reaching for the gown again.
Hyunjin gasped dramatically, twisting away just enough to escape her hands, his cheeks flushing pink, "No, no, she'll get mad!" he insisted, jerking his chin toward you. His voice dropped to a whisper, though it was still loud enough for everyone to hear. "She’s scary when she’s jealous."
You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of it all — Hyunjin, bleary eyed and pouting, clinging to his dignity (and his paper gown). “I’m not gonna get mad,” you said, shaking your head as you stepped closer.
It was true— you'd seen him in far more compromising positions, and besides, the nurses were just doing their job. But Hyunjin's face crumpled, his lower lip jutting out in a pout so exaggerated it could've been comical if it weren't for the genuine hurt flashing in his eyes.
"You don't care," he accused, his voice wobbling. The nurses exchanged amused glances, one of them muffling a snort behind her hand.
Rolling your eyes, you plucked the stack of clothes from the second nurse’s arms. “I care enough to dress you myself, you big baby,” you said, shooing the nurses away with a mock-stern wave. They retreated, still giggling, as you perched on the edge of the bed. Hyunjin blinked up at you, his drowsy defiance softening into something fond.
“You’re gonna…?” he slurred, and you nodded, already untangling the sleeves of his sweater. “Yeah, unless you want them to strip you.” His gasp was scandalized. “No! You’re my girlfriend. That’s your job.”
The paper gown crinkled as you peeled it away, Hyunjin’s arms flopping obediently when you guided them into the sweater. He swayed a little, forehead bumping against your shoulder, and you could feel his warm breath through the fabric.
“You’re heavy,” you grumbled, half heartedly, as you wrestled the sweater over his head. He hummed, nonsensically pleased, and muttered into your neck. “S’cause I’m a gentleman,” he mumbled, and you snorted, tugging the hem down over his hips. “Sure, keep telling yourself that.”
jisung
"Baloney," Jisung mumbled, his tongue heavy against the roof of his mouth. "Absolute…..baloney."
His eyelids fluttered, still glued shut with the weight of whatever they’d pumped into his veins. Around him, machines beeped in lazy intervals.
"I had a dream," he announced to no one in particular, louder this time, though his voice cracked midway. His fingers twitched against the stiff hospital sheets. "I had a girlfriend. Like, a whole girlfriend. Not just a ‘we held hands once’ thing. A full romcom montage girlfriend." He sighed, dreamy and dramatic, as if the memory alone was enough to melt him back into the mattress. "She laughed at my jokes. Even the bad ones. The really bad ones."
A quiet chuckle came from beside him. it was warm, familiar. "Yeah?"
Jisung's eyebrows shot up, his face twisting into a mix of confusion and exaggerated offense. "Yeah?" he repeated, dragging the word out like it personally wronged him.
His head lolled toward the sound, still fighting to pry his eyes open. "Don't 'yeah' me like that. This was cinematic. We—" He hiccuped, the motion making his IV tube sway. "—we fed each other and....cuddled..The whole cliché shebang."
The chuckle came again, softer now, closer. A hand brushed his wrist, fingers skimming the edge of his hospital bracelet. "Sounds serious."
"Dead serious," Jisung insisted, nodding so vigorously his neck protested. He winced, "I think she might’ve been a ghost."
The hand on his wrist squeezed, just enough to pinch. "Ow—hey!"
"Definitely not a ghost," you said, your thumb rubbing slow circles over the inside of his wrist where you'd pinched him.
Jisung's fingers twitched again, curling weakly toward your touch. His eyelids finally unstuck, blinking rapidly, he squinted up at you, pupils blown wide, the brown of his irises nearly swallowed by black.
Jisung stared at you for three full seconds before his lips parted in a slow, lopsided grin. "Oh," he said, dragging the syllable out, "You're real." His head flopped back against the pillow, a delirious laugh bubbling up from his chest.
"That's wild. I thought you were, like. A metaphor. Or a side effect. Or—" He hiccuped again, one hand flailing vaguely toward the IV drip. "— drugs."
You caught his hand mid-air, lacing your fingers through his. His skin was warm, slightly clammy, but his grip tightened instinctively around yours. "Nope," you said, popping the 'p' right in his face. "Just me. Your very real girlfriend."
Jisung blinked at you, like he was trying to commit every detail of your face to memory before the drugs wiped it clean again.
His grin widened, dopey and unfiltered, “Holy shit,” he breathed, his free hand lifting to poke your cheek— once, twice —as if testing for holographic resistance. “You’re solid. Like, actually solid. not a...ghost”
You snorted, catching his wandering fingers before they could migrate to your nose. “Ghost girlfriends don’t usually pinch,” you pointed out, squeezing his hand again for emphasis.
“Fair,” he conceded, then leaned in, “But listen,” he whispered, “If you were a ghost, I’d still be into it.
You burst out laughing, the sound bouncing off the walls. Jisung’s eyes lit up at the noise, his entire face softening at the noise. “You’re so gone”
Jisung’s happy expression turned into confusion. “Gone?” he repeated, tilting his head. “Nah. I’m here. Like, physically here.” He wiggled his toes under the thin hospital blanket for emphasis, then immediately winced. “Okay, maybe not all of me is here. My feet are kinda… zoning out.”
“They’ll come back,” you promised. “Just give the drugs time to wear off.”
felix
Felix blinked awake, eyes wide and unfocused, his face still slack. He looked around, then his head turned toward you, and his lips curled into a grin so sudden it was like someone had flipped a switch.
"There she is," he murmured, voice thick with sleep and whatever cocktail they'd pumped into his veins. "C'mere, c'mere." His hand flopped against the hospital bed sheets, patting the space beside him, " You're so... shiny right now. Like a... a disco ball, but softer. And smaller. And—" He squinted. "Are you glowing, or is that just me?"
You laughed, "I'm not glowing, lix" you stepped closer to him, sitting at the edge of the bed and planting a kiss on his forehead.
"I missed you," he announced solemnly, as if you'd been gone for years instead of the twenty minutes it took to wheel him out of surgery and back. "I missed you too, baby," you answered with a smile
Then, abruptly, he tensed. "Wait." His fingers tapped your arm, "Did you eat today?"
You laughed, "Yes, Felix. I ate."
His voice had lost its drowsy slur, "Are you sure you ate? fruits?.." He paused, holding a hand up to count on his fingers "like carrots, cucumbers, and also...yogurt"
"I had a sandwich," you said slowly, "and an apple. And yes, yogurt, if that’s what you’re worried about." You smoothed a hand down his arm, feeling the tension coiled there. "Felix, what’s—"
He exhaled sharply, his body sagging back against the pillows. "Good," he muttered, more to himself than to you. His eyelids fluttered, heavy with residual drowsiness. "That’s good." His grip loosened, fingers sliding down to lace clumsily with yours. "Gonna make you brownies when we get home," he mumbled, the words slurring at the edges.
"Brownies with walnuts," he clarified, because this was vital information. His voice was thick, half lost in the cottony haze of fading anesthesia. "And—and extra chocolate chips. The kind you like."
You smiled, squeezing his hand gently. "You're gonna burn them," you teased, "Like last time." The memory of smoke alarms and Felix waving a dish towel like a surrender flag made your chest ache with something fond and familiar.
Felix made a noise of protest, his head lolling toward you. "Not gonna burn them," he insisted, words smudging together at the edges. "Gonna use the timer. The one with the—" He gestured vaguely with his free hand, fingers sketching shapes in the air. "The beep. The loud beep."
seungmin
The first thing Seungmin noticed was the ceiling. It was off white, with large square lights glaring down at him. The second thing he noticed was the dryness — his throat felt like it had been stuffed with cotton balls, then set on fire. He tried to swallow and winced.
"Ugh," he croaked, his voice barely louder than a whisper. The word came out rough, scraping against his raw throat.
He blinked slowly, his eyelids heavy as if someone had glued weights to them. The lights above him cast a harsh glow that made his head pound. He squinted, turning his face away.
"Someone turn that shit off," he mumbled, but no one answered. The room was quiet except for the steady beep of a monitor nearby. He tried to lift his arm to shield his eyes, but his limbs felt like wet noodles. A dull ache radiated from his shoulder down to his fingertips.
Then he heard laughter — soft, familiar. His brows furrowed, and he turned his head toward the sound. You were sitting in a chair beside the bed, grinning at him like he’d just told the funniest joke in the world.
Seungmin’s smile was slow, the kind that started at one corner of his mouth and crept upward until it reached his eyes, crinkling them at the edges. "You're here," he said, voice still scratchy but suddenly brighter, as if your presence had flipped a switch in him.
"My throat hurts," he murmured, pouting in a way that would've been ridiculous if it weren't so endearing. "My head hurts, too. And the lighting in here is ugly." His voice was thin, frayed at the edges, but the way he said it made you laugh again.
The sound seemed to startle him, his eyes widening slightly before his expression melted into something unbearably fond. "Oh," he said, as if surprised by his own realization. "You're laughing. That's nice." He blinked slowly, his gaze drifting over your face like he was memorizing it.
Then, he added abruptly, "Actually, I might be dying. Can you check?"
You rolled your eyes (fondly) and reached for the water bottle on the bedside table, twisting the cap off with one hand. "You're not dying," you said, sliding a straw inside and guiding it toward his lips. "You're just dramatic."
He opened his mouth obediently, letting you guide the straw between his teeth. The first sip was tentative, but the second was greedy, his throat working as he swallowed.
Seungmin exhaled sharply through his nose, water droplets clinging to his lower lip as he pulled away from the straw. His eyes — still hazy from anesthesia — locked onto yours with sudden, startling clarity. The corners of his mouth twitched, and then, his entire face softened.
"Actually," he murmured, his voice still rough but lighter now, "things are looking up. The lighting is better now." and then, because Seungmin had never been subtle a day in his life, he added, "Or maybe it's just you."
You snorted, but your fingers tightened around the water bottle anyway. "Wow," you deadpanned. "You're so smooth post surgery. Do they pump you full of charm with the anesthesia, or is this just your natural state?"
Seungmin's laugh was a quiet, breathy thing, more vibration than sound. "Natural talent," he croaked, then winced. "Ow. Laughing hurts. Stop being funny." He reached for the water again, but his hand wobbled mid air, his fingers twitching toward yours instead.
You guided the straw back to his lips without comment, watching as he took another slow sip. His throat worked, Adam's apple bobbing, and when he leaned back against the pillow, his expression was smug. "See? Told you. Better already."
You arched an eyebrow. "The water or me?"
"Yes."
jeongin
The nurse who worked at the hospital was old. she had seen it all before — confused Post-operation patients, disoriented trauma cases, people who swore they were Napoleon. But this was different.
She checked Jeongin's chart again, tapping her pen against the clipboard. "And what's your name, sweetheart?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. Standard procedure. Always a standard procedure.
Jeongin blinked up at her, pupils still dilated from the anesthesia. His hair was a mess, sticking up in three different directions. He opened his mouth, hesitated — then his eyes slid past her shoulder, and his entire face transformed. A slow, dopey grin spread across his lips, so wide it looked like it might hurt. "You,"
You hadn't even said anything yet. You'd just walked into the recovery room holding a paper cup of water, freezing cold from the vending machine down the hall.
The nurse glanced between the two of you, eyebrows rising. "Do you know who this is?" she asked Jeongin, nodding toward you.
Jeongin didn’t even glance at the nurse. His gaze stayed locked on you, dopey and adoring.
“Of course I know,” he said, voice slurred but certain. “That’s—” He paused, brow furrowing, then brightened. “That’s my...girlfriend!”
The nurse’s pen hovered over her clipboard, her lips pursed in amusement. “Alright, Mr. yang,” she said, “What year is it?”
Jeongin blinked at her, his grin faltering for the first time since you’d walked in. His brow scrunched up, the effort of concentration visible in the way his fingers flexed against the sheets.
Then, with a sudden, helpless laugh, he turned his head toward you, his eyes pleading. “You tell her,” he said, then turned his head back to the nurse and whispered “She knows everything.”
You couldn’t help it — you snorted, pressing the back of your hand to your mouth to stifle the sound. and he beamed back at you.
the nurse chuckled, there was a fondness in it as she scribbled down in her clipboard. “Uh huh, and does ‘she’ know what planet we’re on, too?”
Jeongin’s face went blank for a second, then lit up again. “Earth,” he announced proudly, then, he added, “But I think she could tell you about the other ones. If you asked nice.”
The nurse’s pen paused mid scribble. She gave you a look — half exasperated, half amused — before sighing and flipping her clipboard shut. “Alright, Romeo. You’re officially the most charming post-op I’ve had all week.”
She patted Jeongin’s shoulder, then nodded toward the door. “He’s all yours. Just don’t let him try to walk yet” and she left with a final smile, the door clicking shut behind her.
Jeongin’s head turned to your direction, he tried weakly to reach for you, and you reached out and let him clumsily intertwine his fingers with yours.
“You’re real,” he murmured, he’d half convinced himself you were a hallucination.
You squeezed his hand, biting back a laugh. “Pretty sure. Unless we’re both hallucinating, which would be—”
“Awesome.”
taglist: @yourqueenlady @kloversung @hycnsung @seagulljk @g0matchi @eyyyylucieeee @zosauce @minniebitesfr @jazz7gnab @stormynight-240 @ariaaleelynn @pedropacals0l0s @caalcyon @hyunjinswife4ever @11racha @starlostjisung @straykitten88 @mandmilovehim @hanjinology @breakmeonce @carrotcakeesblog @supernaturalsunny @gwinamlvr @parkairis18 @g0obz @tumvlrgirlsblog @atetheluck @ivyonsaturn @shortcake-whoops @mylovchris @avchannie @emeraldgem22 @pinkyrec @yourtypicalnerd @skzhyunjinwifey @stryscribbles @jektaev @cb9711 @lostinmymind-daydreaming @b4echo @viisstrayy @binniebb @angellixmar @gnablana
@velvetmoonlght
★ 𝓢𝓽𝓻𝓪𝔂 𝓴𝓲𝓭𝓼 reaction you are best friends and he confess to you
𝓟airing: stray kids x fem!reader ★ 𝓖enre: friends to lovers, headcanons, fluff, slow burn ★ 𝓦ord𝓒ount: 3.4k words ★ 𝓦arnings: jealousy, slight possessiveness, mutual pining.
# Please do not repost, translate, copy, steal, or feed my works into AI without permission. All writings belong to me unless stated otherwise, and while you may share links with full credit, please do not reupload my content anywhere else.
𝓛ike★𝓡eblog for a kiss ── 𝓒lick for masterlist to see more.
୨୧ — Bang Chan
Chan wouldn’t confess because he finally “built up courage.” If anything, he’d confess because he’s exhausted. Not tired of you — tired of pretending he’s unaffected by you. You’d become too involved in his life without either of you noticing. He’s calling you between schedules, sending unfinished songs at unreasonable hours, asking what you ate that day like it’s part of his routine. At some point, the line between friendship and something else stops existing for him, and it frustrates him because he knows better than anyone how dangerous feelings can be when your life is already complicated.
So he tries being rational about it. He tells himself he’s just attached to you because you’re comforting, because you’re familiar, because you’ve been there too long to lose now. But then he catches himself waiting for your replies during busy days, rereading messages when he’s stressed, thinking about how badly he wants your attention specifically, and suddenly the situation feels impossible to ignore.
The actual confession would be messy in a very Chan way. Not dramatic, not smooth, just honest in a way that sounds almost accidental. He’d start talking about something completely unrelated before admitting he thinks he relies on you too much. Then that would turn into him admitting he wants to tell you everything first, good or bad. Then eventually he’d just stop trying to soften it and admit he likes you in a way that stopped feeling friendly a long time ago. The scary part about Chan is that when he’s sincere, he’s really sincere. No joking, no teasing, no leader persona. Just this exhausted honesty that makes it obvious he’s been carrying the feelings alone for a while.
୨୧ — Lee Know
Minho would hate the fact that he likes you. Not because there’s something wrong with you, but because he values control over himself more than anything, and suddenly he’s reacting emotionally to stupid things that shouldn’t matter. You reply late and he’s irritated for the rest of the evening. You cancel plans and he acts indifferent while internally feeling genuinely disappointed. Someone flirts with you in front of him and suddenly he’s quieter than usual, sharper around the edges. The worst part is that he’d realize how obvious he’s becoming before you do. Minho is very aware of himself, which means every soft look, every unnecessary favor, every moment where he gives in too easily around you would make him feel exposed.
Unlike Chan, Minho wouldn’t slowly open up emotionally. He’d get more sarcastic instead. More teasing. More annoying on purpose because it’s easier to provoke reactions from you than admit he actually cares what you think of him. But eventually even he gets tired of himself. Tired of acting irritated every time someone assumes you’re dating because secretly he wishes they were right. So one day he’d just say it very plainly. No buildup. No awkward speech. He’d admit that being around you stopped feeling casual for him a while ago, and now every time you treat him like “just a friend,” it annoys him more than it should. And then he’d look away immediately after saying it because despite how composed he acts, vulnerability still embarrasses him badly.
୨୧ — Seo Changbin
Changbin wouldn’t realize he’s in love with you through emotional introspection. He’d realize because everyone around him is sick of hearing your name. He talks about you constantly without noticing it. Every conversation somehow circles back to you. Someone mentions food? You’d like this place. Someone sends him a song? It reminds him of you. Someone asks about his day? Somehow you’re involved in the story. The members would catch on embarrassingly fast, but Changbin would genuinely think he’s acting normal until someone points out that he smiles differently whenever you text him.
What makes Changbin different is that he wouldn’t become quieter around you after catching feelings — he’d become worse. Louder, clingier, more attention-seeking. He’d want your reactions all the time because your approval starts affecting him too much. Compliments from you would stay in his head for days. If you laugh at one of his jokes, he suddenly becomes the funniest person alive. And when he finally confesses, it wouldn’t come from careful planning. It would happen because he accidentally says something too honest and can’t take it back afterward. He’d probably admit that you’ve become the first person he wants to share things with, and then realize halfway through talking how serious he sounds. The difference with Changbin is that once the truth is out, he wouldn’t really hold back anymore. There’s no cool distance with him. If he loves someone, it’s obvious, overwhelming, and impossible to miss.
୨୧ — Hwang Hyunjin
Hyunjin would fall in love with the details of you before he even notices you as a whole. The expressions you make when you’re annoyed. The way your voice changes when you’re tired. The specific things that make you laugh. He’s observant in a very dangerous way, especially with people he cares about, so once he starts paying attention to you too much, the feelings become unavoidable. But unlike Changbin, Hyunjin wouldn’t express it openly at first. He’d internalize everything. Romanticize everything. Conversations with you would replay in his head later while he’s alone, and suddenly he’s wondering why one specific look from you ruined his entire mood for the day.
The problem with Hyunjin is that he feels things deeply but hates looking emotionally exposed. So instead of confessing quickly, he’d spend months trapped in his own head trying to decide whether the friendship is worth risking. He’d analyze every interaction, every touch, every possibility that maybe you feel the same way too. And when he finally confesses, it wouldn’t sound casual at all because Hyunjin isn’t capable of being emotionally casual with people he truly loves. He’d say it carefully, almost quietly, like he’s admitting something he’s been hiding from himself too. Not in an exaggerated poetic way — just painfully sincere. Like someone finally admitting they’re tired of pretending their feelings are smaller than they really are.
୨୧ — Han Jisung
Jisung would become unbearably obvious after realizing he likes you, but he’d also somehow stay in denial at the same time. One day he’s treating you normally, and the next he’s suddenly hyperaware of everything you do. Your attention starts affecting him in embarrassing ways. If you praise him, he’s energetic for the rest of the day. If you seem distracted around him, he overthinks it for hours. He’d start acting weirdly nervous too, which would confuse you because Jisung is usually comfortable around you. Suddenly he’s talking too fast, interrupting himself, getting flustered when you compliment him back.
What separates Jisung from the others is that his feelings would make him genuinely restless. He wouldn’t know how to sit with them quietly. He’d try distracting himself, joking through it, pretending nothing changed, but eventually the pressure gets to him. And his confession wouldn’t be smooth at all because once Jisung gets emotional, he starts rambling uncontrollably. He’d probably confess by accident during a conversation that had nothing to do with romance, then immediately keep talking because silence makes him panic. Half the confession would just be him exposing himself unintentionally — admitting how long he’s liked you, how obvious everyone else apparently thought he was being, how annoying it is that you affect his mood so much. And honestly, the sincerity would hit harder because of how unplanned it sounds.
୨୧ — Lee Felix
Felix would treat you gently long before he realizes he’s in love with you. That’s why the shift would take him so long to notice. He already cares deeply about people naturally, so at first he wouldn’t understand why you specifically feel different. But eventually he’d notice that his entire day revolves around whether you seem okay or not. Your mood affects him immediately. If you’re stressed, he’s worried. If you seem distant, he starts wondering if he did something wrong. He’d become emotionally attached in a very quiet, steady way that sneaks up on him completely.
Unlike the others, Felix wouldn’t fight the feelings once he recognizes them. He’d be scared of confessing, yes, but not ashamed of loving you. There’s something very emotionally straightforward about him when it comes to caring for people. So when he eventually tells you, it would sound incredibly genuine because he wouldn’t try making himself seem cooler or less vulnerable than he actually is. He’d admit that loving you stopped feeling avoidable a while ago. That being around you became the safest part of his life without him noticing when it happened. And the thing about Felix is that when he speaks sincerely, people believe him immediately because nothing about him feels performative.
୨୧ — Kim Seungmin
Seungmin would notice the change slowly, and honestly, he’d resent it at first. Not because he dislikes you, but because he’s the type to keep his emotions under control, and suddenly you’re ruining that without even trying. He’d catch himself checking his phone too often waiting for your messages, replaying conversations in his head while pretending he’s above things like that. The annoying part is that he’d still act completely normal outwardly. Same teasing, same dry comments, same unimpressed expression whenever you say something ridiculous. If anything, he’d tease you more after developing feelings because it gives him something to hide behind.
But Seungmin’s problem is that he’s too attentive for his own good. Once he cares about someone romantically, he notices everything. He’d remember offhand comments you made months ago. He’d pick up on your moods before you say anything. He’d quietly start adjusting himself around you in ways you wouldn’t notice immediately, like staying awake longer because he knows that’s when you usually want to talk, or saving certain stories because he specifically wants to tell you later. And the confession itself would be surprisingly calm. No panic, no dramatic emotional breakdown. Just Seungmin finally getting tired of pretending his feelings aren’t obvious. He’d probably admit it during an ordinary conversation, almost casually, except his voice would sound more careful than usual. He’d tell you that somewhere along the way, you stopped feeling easy to be around because now every interaction means too much to him. And afterward he’d immediately try acting like he didn’t just completely change the friendship, even though you’d be able to tell he’s nervous from how quiet he suddenly gets.
୨୧ — Yang Jeongin
Jeongin would handle having feelings for you terribly, mostly because he wouldn’t know what to do with himself afterward. He’s expressive by nature, so hiding emotions has never really been his strength. The moment he realizes he likes you, everyone around him would probably figure it out too because suddenly he’s reacting to everything you do. If you give him attention, he’s in a good mood for hours. If you seem closer to someone else, he gets visibly irritated even while insisting he’s fine. And because he’s younger emotionally than some of the others, the jealousy would genuinely catch him off guard. He’d hate realizing how much your attention matters to him.
What makes Jeongin different is that his feelings would make him softer rather than nervous. He’d start following you around more naturally, always finding reasons to stay close to you longer than necessary. There’s something very instinctive about the way he loves people, so instead of overthinking every interaction like Hyunjin or trying to suppress it like Minho, he’d just slowly become more attached until it’s impossible to ignore. But the actual confession would still embarrass him badly. He’d probably blurt it out during a moment of frustration after holding it in too long, then immediately regret how direct he sounded. Not because he regretted liking you, but because now you know, and suddenly he feels exposed in a way he’s not used to. If you liked him back, though, his entire face would change instantly. Jeongin has one of those expressions where happiness reaches his eyes immediately, and after that, he wouldn’t bother pretending to be subtle anymore. He’d get clingy fast, completely comfortable acting like your person once he knows he’s allowed to be.
Sleep
˚˖𓍢ִִ໋⚡💤˚˖𓍢ִ🌊˚.⋆⁺.₊⋆ ━━━━⊱𖤝 ~ 이민호
𝓰enre; lee know x fem!reader, romance, established relationship, fluff, cute ⸝⸝ 𝔀ord count; 1.6k ⸝⸝ 𝔀arnings; semi detailed make out, the beach, reader has an interesting sleep schedule, mentions of saliva, reader is random and a little impulsive, lemme know if I missed any ⸝⸝ 𝓻ead time; 6:08
이민호 ~ 𖤝⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺.₊⋆˚˖𓍢ִִ໋⚡💤˚˖𓍢ִ🌊˚.
💫ᝰ.ᐟ lino has a chokehold on me at the time of writing this 😤😤
ততততততততততততততততততততততততত
★ synopsis —
minho wants to go to bed and he wants you in bed with him ...so how the hell did we end up at the beach?
— ꒰ > ⋆ < ꒱
The tv screen darkens in the already dark room as the end credits roll out. You take a peak at Minho, he had fallen asleep head on your lap almost halfway through the movie. You don't blame him though, it was a busy day for him and this was the third movie you watched tonight alone. You were actually surprised he had gotten through the first two movies in the first place.
You smile and caress his cheek, running your fingers on his jawline. He looks peaceful almost cute with his eyes closed, body relaxed and hair falling in his face. You slightly lean to the side to reach your phone Minho had thrown previously to the side with his own so you both can 'focus on the movie'.
It's almost 5 am. You're a little surprised your boyfriend hadn't fallen asleep way earlier, considering how late you started watching. Your hand softly grabs a lock of his brown hair and curls it through your fingers. You position your phone near his face, snapping a few pictures. The tv glows just well enough for Minho to be seen. You smile softly to yourself reviewing the new additions to your growing collection.
“Hope you got my good side.” Minho mumbles softly—almost into your bare thigh, you flinch startled.
“Oh my gosh— Minho, you scared the crap out of me. I thought you were asleep!” You laugh the silly fright off.
“I was ...until my idol sense told me I was being recorded.” He turns to hug your waist, head still on your lap. His face presses into your lower stomach.
“Sorry for waking you.” You say quietly, he grunts in response, holding you tighter.
“What time is it?” He asks after a minute.
“It's five a.m.” You reply, the clock had just turned. He peaks up at you.
“And you're still awake...?”
“Yeah. You know me and my crazy sleep schedule.” You chuckle a little. “I'm not sleepy.”
“Ugh I'm getting old, can't keep up with you youngens.” He says dramatically.
“We're hardly two years apart, Minho.” You laugh. He sits up leaving the comfort of your lap.
“I want to go to bed, and I want you in bed with me. We need to get your energy down.” He moves a strand of hair from your face, he holds eye contact.
“Yeah?” Your eyes subconsciously flicker down to his lips and then right back up again. “How do you suppose we do that?”
“Seems like you already have an idea yourself.” He raises his brow, inching closer to your face.
“Maybe,” you mumble looking away. Your heart picks up from just how close you two were, strumming in your chest like someone was plucking at your heart strings.
Minho only smirks, he definitely enjoys to sees you flustered. He moves his hand down to your chin, making you look at him before his lips connect with yours. You don't hesitate to kiss back, taking as much as you pleased. His soft lips are addictive, if you had it your way, those lips would be on yours 24/7. He pulls you closer by the waist until you're on top of him, he holds you there with his hands on your lower back. The soft grunts and heavy breathing fill in the room.
Minho pulls away for air, a string of saliva connects you both still. Your chest goes up and down, ragged breath in sync with his. You rest your forehead on his.
“Let's go to the beach,” you blurt out, not even bothering to think the thought through. Minho's eyebrows furrow in amusement.
“What? The beach?” He repeats. You nod against his skin.
“I want to watch the sunrise, it'll be so pretty.”
“And what about sleep?” He asks amused. You sit up straighter on his lap.
“Sleep can come after! You have the day off tomorrow so we can sleep all day if you want to.” You pout exaggeratedly, “so can we?”
You make sure to blink your eyes too, because you knew he could barely resist when you did this. Minho throws his head back and covers his face with his hand. He groans dramatically before peaking at you between his fingers, your face does not change to his dismay.
“You won't let up even if I say no, right?” He muses, his dark brown eyes sparkle. You chuckle.
“You know me so well.” He pats your ass.
“Up you go then if you want to get there in time.” He says nonchalantly. You practically jump in excitement. His heart flutters at your clearly excited self, one thing about your boyfriend is that he just loves to see you happy even though he may not act that way.
You run to the bedroom to get a blanket. You stop to pet Dori who was laying on the bed lazily. You quickly tell her that you and Minho were leaving, that she should be a good cat in your absence and to keep Soonie and Doongie out of trouble.
You find the blanket you were looking for. You tend to get cold easily and going to the beach at such hours, it was definitely going to be cold. You meet Minho in the foyer where he grabs the keys from the little dish reserved for keys especially. He holds out his hand and you take it, together you guys leave the house and go to the car.
Your boyfriend opens the car door for you and you get in. You are already excited, you love sunrises and sunsets. You can't wait to get some pretty pictures. As the time passes you and Minho fill some gaps with mindless conversation here and there but the drive was mostly silent.
The second Minho kills the engine, you bolt out of the car before he gets a word in. He shakes his head at your antics but follows after you, taking his time. You run across the sand barefoot, the blanket held around your shoulders flies behind you like a cape. The sky starts to brighten up though the sun is not seen just yet. The beach is completely empty besides the seagulls that fly above nearby. You stop a few feet in front of the waves.
“Took you long enough,” you say, lacing your fingers with Minho when he finally decides to join you. You lean close.
“You didn't even wait for me.” He pouts. You look up at him and smile.
“'Cause you were too slow.” With that you stick your tongue out at him. A flash of light catches your eye and your head snaps to the ocean.
In the horizon the sun starts peaking it's head slowly, making it's way to the sky leaving the line that meets the sea. The sun sparkles on the waves, making the water turn pretty shades of red and orange as well as blue. You let go of his hand and take your phone out and snap a million pictures. You turn to your boyfriend, grabbing his arm and pulling him in front of you.
“Pose for me, baby. Put them idol skills to use!” He laughs, caught off guard at your seriousness. “Minhooo!”
He bites his lip and does as he's told. You snap a few pics.
“Are my 'idol skills' to your liking, Jagiya?” He poses again, humoring you.
“Yes, they're perfect.” You roll your eyes but there's a smile on your lips as you take one more picture. “I'm done.”
Minho falls dramatically to the ground, pulling you down to sit with him. Your ass lands roughly on the sand, you wince.
“A warning would have been nice.” You complain.
“That's revenge for leaving me.” You roll your eyes again. You take the blanket and wrap it around both of you, giving you an excuse to be extra close. Not that you needed one.
You rest your head on his shoulder, looking out to the waves as the sun gets higher. Minho rests his head on your head, eyes closing for a moment.
“You really convinced me to go to the beach at this time.” He mutters as if he didn't believe it.
“That's cause you love me. You folded under no pressure,” you remind and then emphasize, “Zero. Pressure.”
“You're right, I do love you.” He kisses your head and you melt.
“I love you too.” You whisper barely over the sound of the waves but he hears you perfectly due to the proximity.
⪩⪨
Bonus:
The second you guys get home, Minho wastes no time in pulling you to the bedroom. After changing out of your sandy clothes, Minho literally throws you on the bed as you let out soft giggles.
“It's about time you go to bed.” He climbs into the sheets next to you and pulls them over your bodies.
“Still not sleepy,” You say like a child before letting out a chuckle.
“How are you not?!” he exclaims. “You've been up for God knows how long, it's almost seven thirty am...”
You shrug, cuddling closer to him.
“We might have dated for four years but to this day, I still don't understand how you function.” He flicks your forehead which earns him a glare. He kisses the spot as an apology. “Now sleep.”
“I'll try.” You close your eyes, attempting to comply. Not even a minute later, they fly open. “You know what we should do tomorrow?”
“It's already 'tomorrow', Jagi,” he groans.
“Nuh-uh. It's not tomorrow until we sleep,” you counter. Minho rolls his eyes, it's seven in the morning—still he doesn't question your logic.
“Right... And what were you saying about 'tomorrow'?”
“We should have a picnic near the lake.” You say, snuggling closer into his hold.
“You know what, that sounds like fun. I'll cook us something yummy too. What do you want to eat?” He asks you. No answer comes. Minho looks at you only to find you asleep. An air of humor escapes his nose as he pulls the blanket higher over you. He whispers a goodnight into your skin before closing his eyes too.
©2026 imbaebi — all rights reserved, I don't allow copy of my work, no translations or reposts whatsoever without my consent. Inspiration is one thing, plagiarism is another. my fics are made by ME, there may be mistakes along the way but that just means I'm human. reblogging is very appreciated, help a writer out and reblog !!
skz masterlist
permanent taglist — ;
@gyubvlin @nvuueas @shinette @8teezing

