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@stayycalm
✨ WELCOME ✨ + Navigation
✨HELLO!✨
☀️You can call me Cal☀️
Welcome to my blog! if you are here from Ao3 ( stayycalm ) hello!
thank you for all your love and support on this blog so far, I’m super excited to continue writing here and on Ao3!
I pretty much only write for SKZ but I love lots of groups!
request are open for both fics and just chatting!
Feel free to check out my rule guide if you have any questions!
• ✨ MASTER LIST ✨
until we meet again! Much love <3
"Fixation"
𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Maknae Line x mostlyGN!reader (use of she/her in Felix's) ˒˓ established relationship. 𝓰enre/ angst (the real angst is the fact that there will be no pt 2 for either line 😭). When they are surrounded by beauty daily, you don't always fit that mold; it's easy to get fixated on your flaws.
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — this was requested by 🌟 Anon, sorry I've been gone for so long! I hope you missed me! But I am alive and hoping to get back to writing more frequently! I hope I did both parts justice to your request, Anon. Let me know what u think! <3
Hyung Line
Han:
Han hated that his mind could find something wrong with someone he loved.
That was the part that made him feel the most ashamed.
Because if anyone asked him what he loved about you, he wouldn’t hesitate to list a thousand things.
The way you laughed before you even finished telling a joke because you already knew it was funny. The way you always remembered the smallest details about him, things he didn’t even realize he had mentioned. The way you took care of him when he was exhausted, like he was still someone worth taking care of even when he felt like he had nothing left to give.
He loved the way you just existed.
The way being around you made everything feel quieter.
You were the kind of person Han used to think only existed in fiction, someone who made him believe that maybe, somehow, he could be loved without having to earn it every second.
And yet, somehow, there was still one thing.
One stupid, meaningless thing, one thing his eyes kept finding even when he didn’t want them to.
Your hips, your legs.
The shape of them.
The curves that weren’t smooth in the way he had seen everywhere else.
The prominent dips at your hips that changed the silhouette of your body.
It wasn’t even something he could explain.
That was what made it worse, because there was no reason, no logic behind the thoughts that crossed his mind when he'd find himself staring at you.
They were just… there.
And Han hated that his brain had decided this was something worth focusing on.
At first, he convinced himself it was nothing.
Everyone had preferences; no one was perfect.
But then he started noticing how often his attention drifted there.
When you stood in front of the mirror getting ready.
When you walked ahead of him.
When you wore certain clothes that showed the shape of your body more clearly.
And every time, he felt that same uncomfortable twist in his chest.
Not because you looked bad.
That was the part he couldn’t stand.
You didn’t look bad; you looked like yourself, totally and completely yourself.
And that made him feel even worse.
Because how could something so natural bother him?
How could he look at someone he loved and have even one thought that wasn’t completely full of affection?
Han had spent his entire life fighting against the idea that people were only valuable because of how they looked.
He hated those kinds of judgments.
He hated how easily people tore themselves apart over things they couldn’t control.
He had comforted his own members and reassured fans. He had told them that their bodies were not something they needed to apologize for.
And now he was sitting here, carrying around a thought he would never want anyone else to have about themselves.
The hypocrisy made him sick.
Especially because you trusted him.
You loved him, despite his own flaws.
And he was terrified of what that said about him.
Because if he loved you, shouldn’t he love everything?
Shouldn’t every part of you feel precious?
Shouldn’t he look at you and only see the person he adored?
Instead, there were moments when his mind betrayed him.
Moments where he wished your body looked different, times when he imagined a different shape.
A different version of you.
And every single time, guilt followed immediately after.
Because he didn’t want a different person.
He wanted you.
That also made it so confusing. It wasn’t that he wanted someone else; it wasn’t that he loved you less.
It was just this one thing, this one thing he couldn’t seem to let go of.
And he hated himself for it.
He hated the way his eyes automatically went to your legs when you walked out in a more form-fitting outfit.
The way he caught himself thinking about it over and over again.
Then you looked over.
“What?”
He flinched.
“What?” he met your eyes for a moment in the mirror.
“You’re staring.” You point out.
His heart dropped.
Because suddenly he wondered how long he had been doing it.
Long enough for you to notice, but could you read his thoughts? Did you know the awful things he thought in a vicious cycle?
“It's nothing,” he said too quickly.
Your brows lifted in an unspoken question.
He knew immediately how guilty he sounded.
“I was just—” He stopped.
Because what could he say?
I was thinking about how much I hate your hips, that your curves bother me.
I was wondering why my brain keeps picking you, the person I love, apart.
I was trying to understand why I can adore every other part of you and still struggle with this.
No version of that didn’t sound cruel.
So he just looked away, and somehow that hurt more.
Because your expression changed.
Not dramatically, just a tiny flicker of emotion.
And Han knew he caused it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
You frowned.
“For what?”
He didn’t answer.
Because he didn’t know how to explain something that even he didn’t understand.
How could he tell them the truth without hurting you?
How could he admit that there was something about you that bothered him when you had given him nothing but love?
“You didn’t do anything,” he finally said.
And that was the truth.
Because you hadn’t done anything.
The problem was him.
Felix:
Felix had never thought strength was something he needed to prove.
For most of his life, he had never fit neatly into one box.
He had never wanted to; he liked the softness in himself.
His gentleness, the way he could be emotional without feeling ashamed of it.
How he could enjoy things people considered feminine while still feeling completely comfortable being himself.
He had never believed that kindness made someone weak, never thought that softness meant someone couldn’t be strong.
And then he met you.
And somehow, you made every part of that belief feel even more true.
Because you were strong.
Not just in the way people said someone was strong because they were independent or confident.
You were physically strong, the kind of strong that surprised people, the kind of strong that came from years of hard work and dedication.
Felix loved that about you.
At least, he used to.
He loved watching you do things that made you happy.
He loved seeing your confidence.
When you first started dating, he thought it was one of the most attractive things about you.
You didn’t try to make her smaller.
You were soft in your own way.
You were just yourself.
And Felix admired that.
He admired you.
Until other people started noticing, the noticing didn't bother him; it's what other people started saying.
At first, he laughed.
Because it was ridiculous.
“You two are such a funny couple.”
He remembered someone saying it casually.
Felix had smiled.
“What do you mean?”
They shrugged.
“I don’t know. She’s so much more muscular than you.”
They said it like it was supposed to be a joke.
A harmless comment, something he should have forgotten five minutes later.
But he didn’t.
Because after that, he started hearing it everywhere.
“She could probably beat you in a fight.”
“You’re lucky she protects you.”
“She’s basically the boyfriend in the relationship.”
Everyone laughed.
And Felix laughed too.
Because what else was he supposed to do?
He didn’t want anyone to think it bothered him; he didn’t want to seem insecure.
Because wasn’t that the whole point?
Wasn’t he supposed to be comfortable with himself?
Wasn’t he supposed to be the person who didn’t care about outdated expectations?
He had spent so long being proud of who he was.
So why did those comments hurt? Why did they stay with him?
Why did he start looking at you differently?
That was the part that made him feel the worst.
Because you hadn’t changed.
You were still the same person he fell in love with.
Still the same person who held his hand when he was overwhelmed, the same person who reminded him to eat when he got too busy, the one who looked at him like he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen.
But suddenly, when he looked at your arms, your shoulders, the strength you carried so naturally—
There was something uncomfortable twisting in his chest.
And he hated it because it wasn’t your fault.
He knew that. He knew you had never once made him feel less masculine.
You never laughed at him, never made him feel like he was lacking.
The only person doing that was him.
And that made his resentment even uglier.
Because how could he resent someone who had only ever loved him exactly the way he was?
The first time he realized how much his resentment had grown was when you asked him a simple question.
“Do you want to come work out with me?”
Felix looked up.
“What?”
You smiled.
“I thought maybe you’d like it. We could go together.”
Before, he would have said yes.
He would have loved spending time with you, talking and laughing as you worked out.
But suddenly, all he could think about was standing beside you.
Watching people look at the two of you, feeling them compare him to you, watching himself become the joke again.
“No.” The answer came too quickly.
Your smile faltered slightly.
“No?”
Felix immediately regretted it.
“I mean—sorry. I’m just tired.”
You studied him for a moment, trying to understand what was going on.
You always knew when something was wrong.
“Are you sure?”
And Felix hated that he wanted to lie.
“Yes.”
You didn’t look convinced, but not wanting to push him, you gave him a peck on the cheek before grabbing your gym bag.
That night, he couldn’t sleep.
Because the truth was sitting painfully in his chest.
He wasn’t angry at you.
But there was a small, ugly part of him that wished you were weaker than him, your muscles less defined.
That part of him wished people would look at them and see him as the one who was stronger, more masculine.
The one who was supposed to be the protector, the one who was supposed to make you feel safe.
And he hated himself for thinking that.
Because you never asked him to be any of those things.
You didn’t need him because he could lift something heavy for you; your love didn’t rely on him being stronger.
You loved him because he was Felix.
So why did he care?
Why did he let strangers convince him that something amazing about you was something embarrassing about him?
Seungmin:
At first, Seungmin thought it was cute.
That was the part he would remind himself of later.
When the irritation started building, when the patience started thinning, when he found himself staring across the table with a feeling he didn’t want to admit was there, he always went back to the beginning.
Because at the beginning, it had been cute.
The way you always ordered the same thing.
The way you looked through menus carefully, not because you were indecisive, but because you already knew there were only a handful of things you would actually eat.
The way you would get excited over something as simple as chicken nuggets and fries.
The way you would smile when a restaurant had macaroni and cheese.
It had been endearing at first, different, and a little funny.
Seungmin remembered teasing you about it.
“You’re telling me you came all the way here and you’re ordering the same thing you would eat at home?”
You had laughed.
“What? It’s good.”
And honestly?
He didn’t mind.
Because when you first fall in love with someone, the little things that make them different feel special.
They feel like secrets, like little pieces of a person you get to discover.
But somewhere along the way, that feeling changed.
The same thing that once made him smile started becoming something he noticed before anything else.
And Seungmin hated that.
Because it felt unfair.
You were still the same person.
You hadn’t changed, and that's what was starting to bother him.
It started with small things.
A dinner date where you had to leave a restaurant because there was nothing you wanted to eat.
A night out with friends where everyone ordered food and you sat quietly with a plate of fries.
A vacation where Seungmin spent more time searching for places you would eat than actually enjoying himself.
At first, he told himself it was fine.
Relationships required compromise.
Everyone had habits and preferences.
But eventually, it started feeling less like a preference.
It started feeling like their entire life had to revolve around it.
And that was when Seungmin started getting frustrated.
Because he didn’t understand.
That was the part he hated admitting.
He didn’t understand why you were like this.
He understood disliking certain foods; after all, everyone had things they didn’t like.
But this?
Only eating a handful of things, avoiding entire restaurants, and refusing to try anything new?
It felt impossible.
And the worst part was that he knew he sounded judgmental.
Every time he caught himself thinking Why can’t you just try it?
He felt annoyed watching you order the same meal again, the times he felt embarrassed trying to explain your eating habits to friends.
He knew he was being unfair.
But knowing didn’t make the frustration disappear.
He knew it had become a real problem when his friends invited them out.
It was supposed to be a fun, casual night out to eat and get drinks.
Everyone was excited, and Seungmin had been looking forward to it.
Until he remembered what restaurant you were going to.
He felt the irritation before you even arrived.
And he hated himself for it, because you hadn’t even done anything.
You were just walking beside him, smiling, completely unaware that he was already mentally preparing himself.
When you sat down, everyone started looking through the menu.
“What are you getting?” Someone asked you.
You smiled awkwardly.
“I’m not sure yet.”
But Seungmin already knew.
A few minutes later, when the waiter came back to get everyone's order, you quietly asked the server if you could get plain chicken and a side of fries.
And Seungmin felt that familiar wave of embarrassment, immediately followed by guilt.
Because why was he embarrassed?
You weren’t necessarily being rude.
You weren’t insulting the food; you weren’t ruining anything.
You were just ordering the food you liked.
But when he looked around the table and saw everyone else trying new dishes, laughing, sharing food…
And then looked back at you eating the same thing you always did…
Something inside him twisted.
He hated that it bothered him.
That night, on the way home, you both were quiet.
Too quiet.
“Are you okay?” Your voice broke the silence first.
The question almost made him laugh.
Because you were asking him.
You were the one sitting there, probably feeling awkward all night, and you were worried about him.
“Yeah.”
A pause.
“You sure?”
He sighed.
“I’m fine.”
But his tone wasn’t convincing.
You looked down as the familiar guilty feeling washed over.
Because you knew.
Maybe not the exact thoughts running through his head.
But enough.
“You were embarrassed.” The words were quiet.
Seungmin froze.
“What?”
“You were embarrassed by me.”
“No.” his response was too fast to be genuine.
You looked at him.
And he hated that you were right.
“I wasn’t embarrassed by you,” he started but stopped, not knowing what else to say.
“Then what was it?”
He didn’t answer.
Because the truth was ugly.
“I just…” He stopped.
Because saying it out loud would make it so much worse.
“I get tired.”
Your expression shifted from sad to confused.
“Tired?”
And suddenly Seungmin heard how cruel it sounded.
“I mean—”
“No, I understand.”
Your voice was softer now.
And that made it so much worse.
“I know it’s probably annoying,” you start.
“That’s not what I said,” he interrupted.
“But you think it,” you cut him off.
Silence.
Seungmin looked away.
Because he didn’t want to hurt you, but he also couldn’t lie.
“I just don’t understand it.” The words came out harsher than he intended.
Your face fell, and he immediately regretted saying anything.
“I don’t understand why you can’t just try things.”
There it was.
The frustration, the thing he had been holding back for so long.
Your eyes lowered.
And that hurt more than anger would have.
Because you weren’t fighting him, you weren’t defending yourself.
“You’re allowed to be annoyed.”
The calmness in your voice made him feel terrible.
“ I don’t want to feel like I’m something you have to tolerate.”
And suddenly, Seungmin had nothing to say, because that was never what he wanted.
He never wanted you to feel like a burden.
But that was exactly how he had started making you feel.
Jeongin:
Jeongin had always believed that the way you present yourself says a lot about a person.
Not everything.
He knew that.
He wasn’t naive enough to think clothes defined someone’s personality or worth.
But he believed there was something beautiful about effort, the little details. The thought someone put into choosing what they wore, the way an outfit could change the way someone carried themselves.
The way confidence could come from something as simple as looking in the mirror and liking what you saw.
For Jeongin, fashion was never just clothes.
It was expression, it was creativity.
It was a way to show people pieces of himself without saying a word.
So when he fell in love with someone who seemed to have absolutely no interest in any of that…
At first, he thought it was charming.
You were the complete opposite of him.
Where Jeongin would think about what he was wearing, how things fit, whether colors matched, whether an outfit felt right—
You grabbed whatever was comfortable.
Whatever was easy or close by.
And somehow, he loved that about you.
At least, he thought he did.
Because in the beginning, your unbothered spirit felt refreshing.
You didn’t care about impressing anyone; you didn’t spend hours deciding what to wear, and you didn’t care if something was trendy.
You were just comfortable, and He admired that.
Until he started noticing other things.
The oversized clothes that swallowed your frame, the old shirts that had clearly been lying on your bedroom floor too long.
The way you would show up to places looking like you hadn't left your house in days.
The way you would wear things that didn’t fit properly.
Not because you couldn’t find something else, not because you didn’t have options.
Simply because you didn’t care.
And that was the part that started bothering him.
Because Jeongin understood comfort.
He did.
But sometimes it felt like you didn’t even try.
Not for yourself, not for other people, not even for him.
And he hated how much that bothered him.
Because what kind of person gets upset over something so superficial?
At first, he tried to help; that was how he justified it.
He wasn’t trying to change you; he just wanted to show you that he cared.
So he started buying you a few things here and there, nothing too crazy.
A jacket he thought would look amazing on you, a pair of pants that actually fit your waist, a shirt that complemented your eyes.
When he gave you the clothes, your face lit up.
“You got this for me?”
He smiled.
“Try them on.”
And when you came out wearing the outfit, he couldn’t help but stare.
Because there it was.
The version of you he always knew existed.
One that made his chest tighten, the clothes fit you perfectly, and you looked put together, even beautiful.
“You look amazing.” he grinned widely, showing off his dimples.
You returned the smile.
“Really?”
“Yeah.” And he meant it.
That was the frustrating part because you looked good; he always knew you could.
He just wished you would see it.
For a while, you did.
You wore the clothes, you matched with him, letting him coordinate outfits for dates.
And Jeongin felt ridiculously happy about it.
Not because you looked different, but because it felt like you cared.
But then you went right back to your old clothes again.
A week later, you were back in your usual clothes.
The oversized hoodie and baggy pants.
The things Jeongin thought maybe it was just a one-time thing, after all, he had his lazy days too.
But he still felt that disappointment before he could stop it.
A small, ugly thought.
Why won’t you try harder?
And every time he thought it, he hated himself.
Because you weren’t doing anything wrong.
You were just being yourself
The thing that bothered him most was going out together.
Especially when other people were around.
Jeongin cared about looking good; he cared about how he represented himself in public, and by default, he cared about how you looked together.
That sounded horrible when he admitted it.
Like you were an accessory, like you existed only to complete some image in his head.
But he couldn’t pretend it wasn’t true.
Sometimes he would look at you standing beside him and feel a strange disappointment.
Not because you were unattractive.
You weren’t.
That was the thing, you were beautiful.
But Jeongin kept thinking about potential.
About how amazing you could look if you just put in a little effort.
He couldn't stop the way his thoughts ran.
'If only you cared.'
'Why don't you even try?'
One day, you were supposed to go out with some friends.
Jeongin had dressed carefully.
As he always did, he had picked an outfit he felt good in.
Something that made him confident.
When you came out wearing something completely different than what he expected, his expression changed before he could hide it.
Just for a second, but you saw it.
“What?”
Jeongin blinked.
“Nothing.”
You looked down at yourself.
“You don’t like it.”
He sighed.
He didn’t have to say anything.
You already knew.
“I just thought maybe you’d wear the outfit I got you,” he said, gesturing to the bag resting on your bed.
Your eyes flickered over to the bed before sighing.
You weren't angry, just tired.
“Jeongin–” you started.
“Do you actually like the way I dress?”
The question hit harder than he expected.
Because the answer was complicated.
"I love that you dress comfortably-" he winced because of how bad that sounded.
you looked away.
“So you don’t.”
“That’s not it-” he protests.
“Then why are you always trying to change it?”
Silence.
And Jeongin hated that he didn’t have an immediate answer.
Because he wanted to say he was just helping, but even he knew that wasn’t completely true anymore.
“I just think you could look…” He stopped.
Because the word that almost came out was wrong.
Better.
You could look better.
And that was such an awful thing to say.
Because better, according to who?
According to him?
According to some standard he had created?
He didn’t want to become resentful.
He didn’t want to look at someone he loved and only see what frustrated him.
But he also couldn’t pretend the feeling wasn’t there.
And that was the part that haunted him, because love was supposed to make things easier.
It was supposed to make you want to choose someone.
But he was terrified of a future where he still chose you…
And still secretly wished you were different.
A future where he loved you, but the admiration slowly disappeared.
A future where the person beside him was still the same person he fell in love with…
But he was no longer sure he was the same person who fell in love with you.
And that thought terrified him more than anything.
Because how could he promise forever to someone when he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from wanting them to become someone else?
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"Fixation"
𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Hyung Line x mostlyGN!reader (use of she/her in Changbin's) ˒˓ established relationship. 𝓰enre/ angst (the real angst is the fact that there will be no pt 2 for either line 😭) When they are surrounded by beauty daily, you don't always fit that mold; it's easy to get fixated on your flaws.
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — this was requested by 🌟 Anon, sorry I've been gone for so long! I hope you missed me! But I am alive and hoping to get back to writing more frequently! Let me know what u think! <3
Maknae Line
Chan:
Chan had always been the person who noticed the little things.
It was something everyone knew about him.
He noticed when you got quieter than usual. He noticed when people’s laughter sounded forced. He noticed when the boys were tired but insisted they were fine. He noticed the tiny changes in the people he loved because caring about someone meant paying attention.
But there was one thing he wished he didn’t notice.
Your smile.
It wasn’t that he didn’t love it.
That was the part that made everything worse.
He loved the way your face changed when you laughed. The way your eyes squeezed shut when you tried to hold back a smile. The way you forgot to be self-conscious when you were comfortable, when you were with him, just existing without worrying about how you looked.
But then there were moments when you remembered.
Moments when you would cover your mouth, when you smiled smaller, the way you'd turned away from mirrors.
And Chan hated that he understood why, hated the way he thought about it, about you.
It was the gap from a missing tooth you never got fixed; it was the unevenness you were always trying to hide, and sometimes it was just the way your smile didn’t look like the ones he saw everywhere else.
The perfect smiles and straight teeth, the ones that looked effortless.
Chan had heard you joke about it before.
“I know, my smile is kind of a mess.”
You would say it casually, like it didn’t bother you.
But Chan always heard the part you didn’t say aloud.
Please tell me you don’t see it too.
And every time, he would tell you the same thing.
“You’re beautiful.”
And he meant it.
He really did.
But the problem was that sometimes, when he looked at photos of the two of you, or when you'd smiled at him without thinking, there was a small, ugly thought that slipped into his mind.
A thought he immediately hated.
You’d be even prettier if your teeth were perfect.
It was never something he'd say out loud, never something he wanted to think.
But it existed, and he hated that.
Because he knew what it felt like to have people judge him. To have strangers decide things about him based on things he couldn’t control. He knew how exhausting it was to feel like every little flaw was something the world could point at.
So why was he doing the same thing in his own mind?
You never asked him to fix his flaws.
You never looked at him and decided he wasn’t enough.
You loved him loudly.
You loved his insecurities. His habits. His flaws. The parts of himself he hated most..
And yet he caught himself wishing this one thing was different, wishing that you'd change yourself for him.
That realization made him feel sick, and he silently vowed to be better.
But he didn’t magically stop noticing.
He wished he could say that after everything, after hearing you admit how much you hated your smile, something in him changed completely.
That suddenly, all those thoughts disappeared, and he never looked again.
But he did.
When you laughed, his eyes still flickered there; when you smiled in pictures, he still focused on your mouth.
And every time he did, he hated himself a little more.
Because you trusted him with something fragile.
You trusted him with the parts of yourself that you were afraid everyone was judging you for.
He was supposed to be the person who made you feel safe, to love you despite your flaws, and he tried.
He did his best to make sure you never noticed his stares.
The worst part was you did.
You noticed the way he sometimes paused, the way he seemed to stare at your pictures for a beat too long.
You noticed every little hesitation because you had spent years studying people’s reactions.
Trying to figure out if you were being judged, waiting for someone to point out your insecurities, to look at them the way you looked at yourself.
And Chan hated that he had become another person you had to read.
One night, they were lying beside him, half asleep.
The room was dark, quiet.
They were scrolling through your phone when you suddenly stopped.
Chan noticed.
“What?”
You hesitated.
“Do you ever wish I looked different?”
His heart stopped.
“What?”
You laughed quietly, but there was no humor in it.
“Don’t do that. You know what I mean.”
Chan stared at the ceiling, trying to think of what to say, because the answer should have been easy.
It should have been immediate.
“No.”
But he had hesitated.
Only for a second.
But it was enough for you to notice.
You weren't angry, just hurt.
A quiet kind of hurt that was somehow worse than you being angry.
“Right.” Your tone was flat and unconvinced.
“Hey—” He started
“No, it’s okay,” you added before he could speak.
It wasn’t. You both knew it wasn’t.
“I know I’m not everyone’s idea of pretty.” your voice broke a little.
“Don’t say that,” he pleaded.
“Why?” Your voice cracked.
“Because you love me?”
Chan went silent.
And that silence hurt more than he wanted it to.
Lee Know:
Lee Know had always been good at keeping his emotions under control.
It was almost annoying how good he was at it.
It took a lot for him to react; his face was always a well-composed mask, hiding what he was really thinking and feeling, it was something he learned early on in his time as a trainee.
People liked to think he was cold and uncaring.
But the truth was that Lee Know cared, almost too much.
He just didn’t always know how to express it.
And that was why he noticed you.
All the time, He noticed every little thing.
The way you tried to act normal when your face started warming up.
'It's rosacea, and it's a nightmare,' you told him, half laughing as you cupped your flushed cheeks.
You would laugh and then suddenly become aware of yourself because your skin had betrayed you when someone complimented you, or when you got angry, and your face reminded him of a strawberry. When you were on the verge of tears, your face caught between red and deep purple hues.
Your emotions never stayed hidden; they couldn’t. Your face always gave you away.
And sometimes…
Lee Know hated that.
Not because he hated you.
He would never hate you.
That was what made it so much harder, because he loved you.
He loved how passionate you are, the way you liven up a room with your excitement.
He loved that when you were happy, it radiated from every pore on your body.
When you were embarrassed, and became this flustered, adorable mess.
When you were excited, your eyes lit up before you even spoke.
You were open in a way Lee Know had never been.
And maybe that was why it bothered him.
Because he had spent so much of his life learning how to hide, how to keep things controlled, learning how to make sure nobody could see too much.
And you were the complete opposite.
You felt everything openly, even when you didn’t want to.
Especially when you didn’t want to.
And you hated it.
Lee Know knew you did.
When you tried to pretend it didn’t, you'd joked about it.
“Oh my gosh, my face is exposing me again.”
You’d laugh.
But he heard the frustration underneath; he felt your embarrassment.
He saw the way your smile faded when someone else pointed it out.
“You’re blushing.” they's tease
“I’m not,” you'd deny, even as the flush would deepen, spreading down your neck.
“You totally are.” Their laughter only made it worse.
“It’s just my skin.” You'd defend.
People didn’t mean anything by it.
Most of the time, they were teasing in a harmless way.
But Lee Know knew something about harmless comments; they stuck with you and him.
One evening, you were getting ready to go out.
You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your clothes.
Lee Know was sitting on the bed, watching.
You caught his eye through the reflection.
“What?” you asked, already feeling your face warm.
“Nothing.” his expression remained unchanged.
You narrowed your eyes.
“You’re staring,” you point out.
“I’m thinking,” he replied evenly.
“That’s dangerous,” you joke.
Normally, he would have laughed; normally, you both would have laughed.
But instead, you looked back at the mirror.
Your expression changed.
Slightly, but he saw it.
“You wish I didn’t do that?” your voice was small.
He frowned.
“Do what?”
You gestured vaguely at your face.
“This.”
His stomach dropped.
“Your skin? That's not your fault," he reminded you.
You shrugged.
“I don’t know. Just…” You looked away.
“Sometimes I feel like I can’t have a normal reaction to anything without everyone knowing.”
Lee Know didn’t say anything because what could he say?
that he understands? That he noticed?
That sometimes he wished your face didn’t reveal every emotion because he hated seeing you become uncomfortable?
None of that sounded right.
Because the truth was uglier.
The truth was that sometimes, he wished he didn’t have to see your every thought so easily; he wished he didn't have to know when you were upset; he hated how nothing you feel is secret.
And he knew that wasn’t your fault, and that made it so much harder.
Changbin:
Changbin had always been proud of himself.
Not in an arrogant way.
He worked hard to get where he was today.
His body. His confidence. His place in the world.
He knew how much effort it took to become someone who could stand on a stage and feel like he belonged there. He knew how many times he had to remind himself that he was enough.
That he was talented enough, strong enough, good enough.
He had spent years building himself up, becoming the man he was today, your man.
You were an amazing partner, always cheering him on, supporting him, and loving him; you were perfect in his eyes and more than he could ever ask for.
So it was frustrating how easily one little thing could make him feel like he was falling apart.
Your height.
It was stupid; he knew it was stupid.
Because Changbin wasn’t insecure about many things.
But standing next to you sometimes made him feel like the entire world was pointing and laughing at something he couldn’t change.
People noticed, how could they not?
At first, it was funny.
“I can't believe the height difference,” they'd say.
“Wait, she's taller than you?” when they'd first meet you both.
“Changbin, are you sure you’re the boyfriend?” they'd tease.
It was always lighthearted, not meant to be cruel.
And Changbin laughed too.
Of course, he did. He was good at that, turning things into jokes.
Making sure nobody knew when something actually hit a nerve.
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he’d say.
“I’m cute and portable.”
They would laugh.
You would laugh, kissing his cheek, saying something along the lines of keeping him in your pocket before changing the subject.
And normally, that would be enough.
But after the jokes stopped, he would remember every single comment, every single laugh at his expense.
The worst part was that you never cared what people said, why would you?
That made it harder because you loved him exactly the way he was.
You never teased him about his height or made him feel less.
If anything, you loved that he was shorter.
You loved the way he carried himself with confidence, how he never let the teasing get to him, because he never let it show how much it bothered him.
“You know,” you would tell him, smiling, “your confidence makes you taller.”
He would roll his eyes.
“Are you saying I need metaphorical height?”
“No,” you’d laugh.
“I’m saying I love you.” You'd wrap your arms around him, pulling him close, and he loved being in your arms; it was his favorite place to be.
Changbin hated the thoughts that plagued him.
Because it wasn’t fair.
Not to you, and not to himself.
He knew height didn’t determine someone’s worth.
He knew that.
But there was still a part of him that hated standing with you in photos, your arms around him, leaning down to be closer to him.
A part of him that hated when someone casually mentioned it.
He sometimes wondered if people looked at you and thought he wasn’t what you deserved.
One day, you were getting ready to attend an event together.
You stood there trying on clothes, while Changbin watched admiringly.
You looked incredible, you always did.
But when you stepped into a pair of black high heels, making your long legs go on for miles, he should have been drooling at the sight of you standing in front of him, but instead, he felt that familiar little ache.
You were even taller than him in his platform shoes.
Not that it should matter.
He still felt that sting of emotion.
“You’re quiet.” Your voice pulled him back.
“What?”
“You’ve been quiet this whole time.” You crossed your arms over your chest.
He forced a smile.
“Just thinking.”
You studied him; you were good at reading him.
Maybe too good.
“You’re thinking about it.” you gave him a knowing look.
He glanced away.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he denied.
“Yes, you do.” The softness in your voice made him feel worse.
Because you weren’t angry, you weren’t annoyed.
You just moved to the closet, and when you came back out, you had traded your heels for a bejeweled pair of sandals. You didn't say anything, just grabbed your phone and your purse, giving him a peck on the cheek as you took his hand to pull him out of the room.
He opened the car door for you before getting in on the other side. You didn't mention your change of wardrobe, just pulled up the direction to the event, and chatted about your day.
And somehow that made him feel worse.
He wondered how you could love him more than he loved himself, because the person he wanted to stand tall for…
was the same person who made him feel small, and where was the pride in that?
Hyunjin:
Hyunjin had always been surrounded by beauty.
It was everywhere, and he loved to capture it, either in the pictures he would take or, better yet, he'd ink them on paper and mark them on canvas; he'd find it in the smallest details.
The way sunlight fell across a room, the shape of hands fisted in satin sheets.
The expressions people made when they thought nobody was watching.
He was someone who collected little pieces of beauty without even trying.
Maybe that was why it bothered him so much.
Because when it came to the person he loved most…
He noticed the things you hated, and he hated that he noticed.
The acne scars were old; they weren’t painful anymore.
At least not the way they used to hurt, the painful extraction, and the burn of open sores are a thing of the past.
But the deep marks they left behind hurt in a diffrent way.
The rough texture, the unevenness across your cheeks, and the dark faded marks still left you hurting.
Places where their skin didn’t look like the smooth images you saw everywhere.
Your skin was something you had always been insecure about.
Hyunjin knew that; he knew because he had watched you try to hide it.
The makeup you used to cover it, the angles you'd avoided in photos.
The way your fingers would trace over your face after a shower, staring at yourself in the mirror before looking away when he'd come close.
And sometimes…
Hyunjin’s eyes went there too, staring at the indents, the discoloration, making a face before he could stop himself
He hated that the most.
Not the scars, not your skin.
Himself.
Because he knew better, he knew how cruel the world could be; he knew better than anyone else how much pressure people put on appearances.
He knew how exhausting it was to feel like you were constantly being looked at.
So why did he, the person who was supposed to love every part of you, still think the things he thought about you?
Why did his brain still compare?
Why did he still have moments where he wished you looked different?
How you'd look without the scars.
The thought always made him feel sick because he didn’t want a different version of you.
He loved you.
He loved your laugh, your voice, the way you cared about him, the way you remembered little things about him that even he forgot.
He loved who you were.
But sometimes, his mind betrayed him.
And he was terrified that meant something about his heart.
You noticed, you always noticed.
“You’re staring.” Your voice broke the quiet.
Hyunjin hummed as he watched you watch yourself.
He hated mirrors, not because of himself, but because of what they did to you.
He saw the way your confidence changed the second you looked at yourself.
The way you tilted your head, the way your fingers traced the sides of your face.
Checking and scrutinizing, looking for every flaw.
“You’re beautiful.” He said.
You smiled sadly.
“You don’t have to say that every time.”
His chest tightened.
“I’m not saying it because I have to.”
You just shrugged the words off.
That hurt.
Because you didn’t believe him.
And Hyunjin wondered if that was because nobody had ever convinced you or because he hadn’t done enough.
“Do you think I’d look better without them?” Your eyes met his in the mirror.
He flinched, knowing exactly what you were talking about.
He hesitated only for a second.
But it was enough.
Your smile dropped, and he saw it.
“I knew it,” you muttered, looking away from the mirror.
His heart dropped.
“No-" he started
“You hesitated.” You cut him off.
“I was thinking,” he explained
“That’s worse.”
The words were quiet.
Not angry, just hurt.
And Hyunjin felt something inside him crack.
“I love you.”
You give him a half-hearted smile.
“I know.”
“Then why are you saying it like that?” he moves closer, worried.
Your eyes watering.
“Because I know you love me.”
That hurt; he didn't understand why you looked so sad when he told you he loved you.
“Then what?” he begged.
You looked away.
“Because sometimes I think you love me despite it.”
Hyunjin went still.
Despite.
One word, one horrible word.
Because he knew exactly what it meant.
You didn’t think he loved all of you.
You thought there were pieces he tolerated.
And he hated that you were right.
TAG LIST:@vernorica123 @quaxing-lour @staytinyarmy @elisabeeee @stronglychanbiased @kittykatz1227 @jenzlovschan @mysticpolicedonut @roron33 @socandytales @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @dungeonduchess @thereadinglurker @harmonygallery @ghostly-xxo @enhacolor @sailorkoss @skeletonontheroad @felixlsworld @the3catlovers @leeknowz-pudding @sibulamoos @d1gital-data @peartreegarden @lyftyyy @mehrmonga @yoli123-8 @finding-nikaa @euphysia @whoa-jo @dragon03138 @wanderingrusalka @cardtak @havenwithleeknow @kwanniehae @awesome-oana1234 @lyuuu88 @ridhi1608 @ellie1725 @estella-novella @gnabcc @piscesrising01 @meelbarnes @eternalwooyoung @beal-o @stay-tiny-things @writtenbypeachy @ohmygays0 @i23haerin @cchapssaltteok
" Let Me Help "
𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Bang Chan x gn!reader ˒˓ established relationship. 𝓰enre/ angst, comfort, an actual happy ending for once lol, work stress is all-consuming, and perfectionist Chan has a hard time accepting help.
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — here is the last of the Lover's Roulette fics! this on is for @vividomakeup thank you to everyone who participated, and thank you so much for all the love you've given my account! Let me know what u think! <3
The studio smells like cold coffee and something metallic, like exhaustion has a scent, and it’s soaked into the walls.
It’s past 3 a.m.
Again.
The only light comes from the monitors, casting a blue glow over Chan’s face. His eyes are rimmed red, eyelids heavy, skin pale under the glowing screens. There’s an untouched protein bar on the desk, and a cup of ramen that has long gone cold.
He hasn’t eaten properly in two days.
He hasn’t slept more than two hours at a time in well over a week.
And he’s still clicking, adjusting, replaying the same eight seconds of a track over and over like if he listens long enough, it’ll magically fix itself.
“Chan,” you say softly from the doorway.
He doesn’t look at you. “Mm?”
“You should take a break.”
“I am,” he answers immediately. “This is the break.”
You swallow. He responded the same way to your texts, and he has said the same thing for three hours.
You take a breath and walk toward him, placing the water bottle you brought on the desk. “Just drink something. Please.”
He sighs, but he does it. Takes a small sip. Sets it back down.
That’s the thing.
He never outright refuses you. He just… minimizes everything. Pushes through. Like, what his body needs is optional.
Like he is.
You move behind him and rest your hands on his shoulders. They’re rigid, so tense like he's made of stone.
“You’re tense,” you whisper.
“I’m fine.” his usual response to anything.
“You’re not.” You're anything but convinced by his words.
“I said I’m fine.” His jaw tightens.
There it is, that edge. The one that’s been creeping in more and more lately. Not at the members. Not at the staff.
Just with you.
Every time you text, check in, ask if he's eaten, and make sure he's taking breaks.
And that's why you're here now, because you knew he was lying, lying about taking breaks, about eating, about how exhausted he actually is.
You knead his shoulders gently. “You’ve been here all week, Chris. You barely came home.”
“Deadlines don’t care if I’m tired,” as if that justified anything.
“I care if you’re tired.” You keep your voice gentle.
Silence.
He pulls off his headphones and rubs his face. “I just need to finish this. Then I can rest.”
“You said that yesterday.” You move to lean against his desk, crossing your arms.
“And I meant it yesterday,” he shoots back.
“Then why are you still here?” Your question seems to burn up the last of his patience.
He turns slightly toward you, and for a second, you see it in the way his shoulders seem weighed down, how his hands tremble, the way his eyes shine not with tears but with sheer exhaustion.
But instead of collapsing into you, he hardens himself and keeps pushing.
“I don’t need you babying me.” his tone is harsh.
The words hit you hard.
“I’m not—”
“Yes, you are.” His voice rises, sharp in the small room. “You’re hovering. You’re acting like I can’t handle myself.”
“I’m acting like you haven’t slept,” you whisper.
"I’m doing my job!” he snaps back.
Silence after his words echoes around the two of you.
The only sound coming from the monitors hum and the faint sound of a click track from his headphones.
Your arms tighten like you are holding yourself togeather.
“I’m not a child,” he continues, voice rough. “I don’t need someone checking if I’ve eaten or if I’ve slept. I know what I’m doing.”
You nod slowly, because if you speak, you'll cry.
And you refuse to cry here, in front of him, knowing that will only make the situation worse.
This studio has already taken so much of him from you; you won't let it have your tears, too.
“Alright,” you say quietly.
He looks almost relieved.
That hurt more than you thought it would.
You grab your bag. “I’ll stop.”
He doesn’t answer.
He just turns back to the screen.
And that’s worse than if he’d yelled again.
The apartment feels too big when you get home; it feels emptier tonight than it has in the past few days.
You sit on the edge ofyour shared bed and finally let yourself cry.
You never wanted to baby him; you just wanted him to take care of himself, you just wanted him here.
But if he didn't want your help, you'd honor his wishes.
You don’t go back to the studio the next night.
Or the one after that.
Three days later, you're folding laundry when there’s a knock at the door.
It’s almost midnight, and since you couldn't sleep, you decided to actually fold the pile of laundry that's been sitting untouched in a basket for the past few weeks.
You don’t know who would be stopping by at this hour, but the members have checked in with you every couple of days since you came to the company.
When you open the door, Chan is standing there.
He looks wrecked, worse than before.
His hair is covered in a black beanie, dark circles stain his skin, and his lips are cracked. His shoulders sag like someone finally cut the strings that were holding him upright.
“Hey,” he says, his voice breaks on the word.
All your anger dissolves.
“Chris…”
He swallows. His eyes are glassy. “Can I come in?”
You step aside immediately, letting him in, and he takes off his shoes as you shut the door and move back to the laundry.
He stands in the middle of your room like he’s not sure he deserves to be here.
“I messed up,” he says, quickly.
You cross your arms, not defensively, just to hold yourself together. “You were tired.”
“That’s not an excuse,” he sounds so broken.
“No,” you whisper. “It’s not.”
His breath shakes. He runs a hand through his hair. A moment passes before he speaks again.
“I thought if I just pushed harder, I’d feel better about it. Like if I worked enough, it would be enough.”
Your chest aches at his confession.
“But I can’t think,” he continues. “I keep replaying that moment. The way you looked at me.”
You don’t realize you're crying until he steps closer and brushes a tear from your cheek with trembling fingers.
“I don’t need you babying me,” he repeats, voice breaking. “God. Why did I say that?”
“Because you’re used to doing it all yourself,” you say softly. “And you didn’t want to admit it.”
His composure cracks.
“I am,” he whispers.
The confession sounds like it hurts.
“I’m so tired,” he breathes. “I don’t remember the last time I slept without hearing the track in my head. I don’t remember the last time I wasn’t scared it wasn’t good enough.”
Your hands reach for him automatically.
He doesn’t pull away, instead He all but collapses into your arms.
Not gracefully, not composed.
He finally lets go.
His forehead presses into your shoulder, and his arms wrap around your waist like youre the only solid thing left in the world.
“I didn’t mean it,” he sobs quietly. “I need you. I need you so much and I hate that I do because it feels weak.”
“It’s not weak,” you cry, holding him tighter. “It’s human.”
His shoulders shake.
“I don’t know how to stop,” he admits. “If I slow down, I feel like everything will fall apart.”
“Then let me help you,” you whisper.
He grips your shirt like he’s afraid you will disappear.
“I can’t do this alone,” he finally says.
And it sounds like surrender.
“I know,” you murmur into his hair. “You don’t have to.”
We stand there for a moment longer before you guide him to the bedroom.
He doesn’t argue.
That alone tells you how exhausted he is.
You help him change out of his days-old clothes. He moves slowly, like even lifting his arms is too much.
When you lie down, he hesitates.
“Will you…?” His voice is small.
You turn and open your arms to him with a soft smile.
He curls into you immediately, pressing his face into your chest, one arm draped across your waist. You run your fingers through his hair, scratching gently at his scalp the way he loves.
His breathing is uneven at first.
Restless.
Like his body doesn’t remember how to power down.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again.
“I know.”
“I’ll try,” he says. “To let you in more. To not push you away when I’m scared.”
“You don’t have to be perfect with me,” I whisper. “Just let me help.”
His grip tightens, and you give him a squeeze back as you continue to play with his hair for several minutes.
slowly his grip loosens as his body grows heavier, his breathing evens out.
For the first time in weeks, he's actually sleeping.
You don’t move, even when your arm starts to tingle from falling asleep.
Because feeling his weight against you, the steady rise and fall of his chest, is worth everything.
you press a soft kiss to his hair.
“I love you,” you whisper before drifting off.
tag list:
@vernorica123 @quaxing-lour @staytinyarmy @elisabeeee @stronglychanbiased @kittykatz1227 @jenzlovschan @mysticpolicedonut @roron33 @socandytales @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @dungeonduchess @thereadinglurker @harmonygallery @ghostly-xxo @enhacolor @sailorkoss @skeletonontheroad @felixlsworld @the3catlovers @leeknowz-pudding @sibulamoos @d1gital-data @peartreegarden @lyftyyy @mehrmonga @yoli123-8 @finding-nikaa @euphysia @whoa-jo @dragon03138 @wanderingrusalka @cardtak @havenwithleeknow @kwanniehae @awesome-oana1234 @lyuuu88 @ridhi1608 @ellie1725 @estella-novella @gnabcc @piscesrising01 @meelbarnes @eternalwooyoung @beal-o @stay-tiny-things @writtenbypeachy @ohmygays0 @i23haerin @cchapssaltteok
" Biased "
𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Kim Seungmin x Female!reader ˒˓ established relationship. 𝓰enre/ angst (the real angst is the fact that there will be no pt 2), when you jokingly pick another member as your bias, your boyfriend doesn't find the joke funny, so he gives you what you want, it's just a joke, right?
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — this is 2/3 of the Angst for Lover's Roulette requested by @straya-kids I hope you enjoyed this cause Seungmin low-key pissed me off in this, and poor Lixie being dragged into it too. Let me know what u think! <3
The dorm was loud in that comfortable, filled with that end-of-day kind of noise that felt normal instead of annoying. Empty takeout containers littered the coffee table, someone had music playing faintly from a speaker, and the guys were sprawled across couches and the floor in various states of exhaustion.
You were curled into Seungmin’s side, legs tucked under you, listening to them argue about who had better one-liners.
“I’m just saying,” Changbin insisted, pointing his chopsticks accusingly, “if we’re ranking who comes up with the best lines, I'm the best, it's literally my job.”
“You?” Han scoffed jokingly, ready to argue. “Please.”
Seungmin snorted beside you. “Hyung, you have nothing on me.”
The room burst into laughter.
Changbin gasped in mock offense. “You think you're the king of petty comments.”
“Petty?” Seungmin feigned hurt. “I’m witty.”
You smiled against Seungmin’s shoulder.
“I think it’s funny,” you chimed in.
Several heads turned toward you.
“Of course you do,” Han grinned. “You’re biased.”
“Am not,” you protested lightly.
“Wait,” Changbin leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “I have a question.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Should I be worried?”
He pointed at Seungmin. “How did he get someone as nice as you?”
The room erupted immediately.
Seungmin straightened, scoffing, but there was the faintest smile quirking the corners of his mouth up.
“Excuse me?” he said. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I mean,” Changbin continued dramatically, “she’s so sweet and patient. She puts up with our nonsense, and you—” he gestured vaguely.
More laughter.
You couldn’t help it, you giggled.
Seungmin looked down at you with mock horror. “Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing at you,” you said quickly, smiling.
“Oh?” Hyunjin leaned forward. “Then tell us. Why are you dating him?”
Seungmin groaned. “Can we not?”
“No, no,” Chan grinned. “I’m curious too.”
You pretended to think, tapping your chin thoughtfully.
“Well,” you began, “he’s smart.”
Seungmin tried to look unaffected, but his posture shifted slightly.
“He’s funny,” you continued. “Even if he pretends he’s not trying.”
A few muffled laughs come from the members.
“And,” you finished, smiling at him, “he just has a lot of great qualities.”
Seungmin’s cheeks turned noticeably red.
The members instantly pounce on the opportunity.
“Look at him!” Han laughed. “He’s blushing!”
“I am not,” Seungmin snapped, though his voice betrayed him.
Changbin gasped dramatically. “The king of comebacks has nothing to say?”
You nudged Seungmin gently. “It’s cute.”
He covered his face briefly. “I hate all of you.”
The teasing only lasted a little before the conversation shifted, but you were still smiling when you glanced around the room.
“They all have great qualities, though,” you said casually.
“Oh?” Changbin perked up. “Go on.”
“Well,” you shrugged, gesturing loosely, “Chan’s a really good leader. He takes care of everyone. Hyunjin’s creative. Jeongin's voice is unreal. Felix is—”
“Handsome?” Felix supplied playfully, winking at you.
You laughed. “Yeah, that too. But I was gonna say you are kind, and you make everyone comfortable.”
Seungmin stiffened slightly beside you.
You didn’t notice.
“So,” Hyunjin smirked, leaning forward, “if Seungmin wasn’t here… who’s your bias?”
The room immediately went quiet.
Seungmin rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to answer that.”
You smirked. “What? It’s harmless.”
He gave you a look.
You pointed across the room casually.
“If I had to pick? Probably Felix.”
The dorm exploded in a chorus of 'Oh's.
Felix clutched his chest dramatically. “I’m honored.”
“You’re dead,” Han said to him through laughter.
Seungmin scoffed, though his jaw tightened just slightly. “Good taste, I guess.”
You bumped your shoulder into his. “Relax. You’re always my favorite.”
He hummed.
But the teasing didn’t stop.
“Careful,” Changbin laughed. “You might lose your girlfriend, Seungmin.”
“I’m not worried,” Seungmin replied coolly.
The dorm absolutely lost it.
Felix was still clutching his chest dramatically. “I’d like to thank the academy,” he said, standing up and bowing slightly in your direction. “This is truly an honor.”
You laughed, hiding your face in your hands. “Oh my gosh, stop.”
“Should we change seats?” Hyunjin added with a wicked grin. “Felix, you can take Seungmin’s spot.”
“Don’t tempt me,” Felix said lightly, flashing his signature smile at you.
You rolled your eyes. “You guys are ridiculous.”
Felix plopped down on the arm of the couch next to you, leaning slightly closer in exaggerated confidence. “So,” he said smoothly, lowering his voice in mock seriousness, “what is it exactly that makes me bias material?”
The others in the room waited for your response
You laughed, playing along easily. “Your voice, and you bake.”
“I do bake,” he repeated proudly.
“plus you give really good hugs.”
Felix nods. “I give elite hugs.”
“See?” you grinned. “How could I not choose you?”
Felix shot a playful glance toward Seungmin. “Sorry, Seungmin. Sometimes the heart wants what it wants.”
More laughter erupted.
You nudged Felix’s shoulder lightly. “Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not!” he insisted, though he flashed you a teasing wink. “I’m just appreciating my number one fan.”
“Your number one fan?” you scoffed. “Relax.”
Changbin leaned back against the couch, grinning. “This is dangerous. Seungmin’s really quiet right now.”
You instinctively glanced at Seungmin.
He was leaning back in his seat, arms crossed loosely, rolling his eyes.
“Please,” he huffed. “You’re all dramatic.”
There was no bite to it, just his usual dismissive tone.
You smiled, bumping your shoulder gently against his. “You’re still my favorite, Min.”
He only hummed.
Felix leaned back dramatically. “It’s fine. I’ll accept being the secret bias.”
“Secret?” you laughed. “I literally just announced it.”
The teasing continued as the conversation moved on, it was all harmless and joking, the way they always did. Felix kept pretending to fan himself or blow you kisses across the room.
Seungmin would just huff occasionally and roll his eyes.
Which was normal.
That’s what they always did, so you didn’t think anything of it.
You didn’t notice that this time, he wasn’t teasing back.
You smiled as the conversation drifted once again.
Hours later, the dorm had somewhat quieted, with a few of the members leaving for their own dorm.
You slipped into Seungmin’s room, closing the door behind you as you always did, getting ready to spend the night.
You grabbed your sleep clothes from the pile near the door, humming softly to yourself as you peeled off your shirt and sweats, tossing them aside, leaving you in your underwear. You sigh with relief as you unclip your bra, letting it fall to the floor.
The air felt cool against your bare skin as you reached for the oversized shirt you usually slept in.
The door suddenly swung open, and you turned, expecting to see Seungmin.
You froze.
Felix moved into the room, talking with someone in the hall before turning and meeting your terrified expression. He froze mid-step, eyes widening in immediate horror.
“Oh—” he started, but before he could say anything, hands shoved Felix forward.
“WAIT!" Felix barely got out before he stumbled.
The door slammed shut behind him, the lock clicking.
Felix, completely caught off guard by you and whoever pushed him, lost his footing as he tried to regain his balance, and ended up crashing straight into you.
You both fell hard.
Your back hit the floor first, air rushing from your lungs in a sharp gasp, your head knocking against the hardwood. It wasn’t hard enough to make you dizzy, but it stung with a sharp, disorienting throb.
And then Felix was on top of you.
For half a second, neither of you moved.
His hands were braced on either side of you, his face inches from yours, eyes wide with pure shock. His cheeks flushed a deep, mortified red.
You were painfully aware of how little you were wearing.
Your breath caught, as tears instantly burned in your eyes.
“Oh my god— I’m so sorry— I didn’t—” Felix stammered, scrambling backward so fast he nearly slipped again. He turned his head sharply away, one hand flying up to cover his eyes. “I swear I didn’t know, I didn’t see anything— I mean— I wasn’t trying to—”
Your hands shook.
The humiliation hit you all at once, hot and suffocating.
Felix pushed himself further away from you, backing toward the door blindly, eyes squeezed shut. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated desperately. “Hey, open the door! This isn’t funny!”
Your head still throbbed faintly, but you barely registered it.
You scrambled to your feet, arms wrapping around yourself instinctively as tears finally spilled over. Without saying a word, you rushed to Seungmin’s bed and dove under the covers, yanking them over your body like they could erase what just happened.
You curled into yourself, face burning, heart pounding violently in your chest.
Felix kept pounding on the door, voice tight with panic.
“Open it! Seriously, open it!”
“I didn’t know,” Felix said quickly, his muffled voice directed at you this time. “I swear I didn’t know you were changing. I’m so sorry.”
You couldn’t speak. You just shook under the covers, mortified.
He pounded on the door. “This isn't funny! Open it!”
No response as seconds stretched.
It felt suffocating.
“I’m really sorry,” he repeated again softly.
Before he could finish, the lock clicked, and the door opened followed by the sound of a very confused Han.
"Why are you in here?"
Felix stepped out immediately. “I’m really sorry,” he said again before the door shut.
Silence.
You stayed curled under the blanket, crying quietly.
Then the door opened again a few minutes later.
“Did you enjoy your seven minutes in heaven with your bias?”
Seungmin’s voice cut through the room.
Mocking and spiteful.
“…I beg your pardon?” Your voice was shaking, both from you crying and from the sudden anger his tone brought out. You moved the comforter to glare at him.
He leaned against the doorframe. “Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy being alone with him.”
Your vision blurred red, as you realized.
He shoved Felix in here, and he locked the door
You ripped the blanket off, anger overpowering shame. His eyes widened at your state of undress, but you didn’t care. You grabbed your clothes and dressed quickly.
“You—” he started.
You walked past him into the hallway, slamming the door behind you as you walked as fast as you could to leave.
The living room fell silent as you stormed in, the eyes of Han and Felix on you, but you ignored them.
Seungmin followed close behind.
“What were you doing in there naked with Felix?” he demanded.
You spun on him.
“Why did you lock him in there while I was changing?!”
Silence.
Felix stood from the couch, expression hardened with anger and disappointment.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That wasn’t funny.”
Seungmin froze.
“You embarrassed her,” Felix continued. “And you put me in a terrible position too.”
You swallowed hard.
“You knew I was getting ready for bed, and you thought you'd, what? Prove a point?” you said softly to Seungmin.
His face finally shifted, guilt breaking the anger that was there a moment ago.
But the damage was already done.
"I didn't know you were— you know." he defends weakly as you shake your head, grabbing your things before making your way to the door.
"I need some space, I'll reach out when I'm ready to talk." You look at him over your shoulder before shutting the door firmly behind you.
Tag List:
@vernorica123 @quaxing-lour @staytinyarmy @elisabeeee @stronglychanbiased @kittykatz1227 @jenzlovschan @mysticpolicedonut @roron33 @socandytales @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @dungeonduchess @thereadinglurker @harmonygallery @ghostly-xxo @enhacolor @sailorkoss @skeletonontheroad @felixlsworld @the3catlovers @leeknowz-pudding @sibulamoos @d1gital-data @peartreegarden @lyftyyy @mehrmonga @yoli123-8 @finding-nikaa @euphysia @whoa-jo @dragon03138 @wanderingrusalka @cardtak @havenwithleeknow @kwanniehae @awesome-oana1234 @lyuuu88 @ridhi1608 @ellie1725 @estella-novella @gnabcc @piscesrising01 @meelbarnes @eternalwooyoung @beal-o @stay-tiny-things @writtenbypeachy @ohmygays0 @i23haerin @cchapssaltteok
sorry for the delay...
Sorry, I haven't been active. My grandpa passed away last week, and right after, my partner and I got really sick, so I didn't realize that the last two fics for Lovers Roulette didn't post for some reason. I'm posting them now, and I'm sorry I didn't catch it sooner.
" Slow Dancing "
𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Lee Know x GN!reader ˒˓ soft domestic life with Lee Know. 𝓰enre/ fluff, nothing but a calm, cozy late night with Minho where you end up slow dancing in the kitchen.
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — here's the final fluff fic for Lover's Roulette! This is for @blahtimestwo i have a major heachache and its making my vison a little blurry but i hope you enjoy the fic!
The apartment was quiet when you stepped inside.
But the silence wasnt empty, the space was wrapped in that soft hush that came after a long day had stretched itself thin and finally decided to rest. Your shoulders sagged the moment the door clicked shut behind you. The cold air outside still clung to your coat, but the warm scent drifting through the room made you pause.
Garlic, butter, and something savory.
Along with the sounds coming from the kitchen, you heard music.
Soft classical music floated through the air, gentle strings and piano notes that curled around the corners of the apartment like warm steam.
The lights were dimmed, shadows soft and flowing against the walls, and when you took a few steps forward, you noticed the flicker of candlelight dancing across the kitchen counter.
Your heart warmed instantly.
He was home.
You slipped off your shoes quietly, listening. The faint clink of a pan, the sound of someone humming under their breath, low and familiar, comforting.
When you rounded the corner into the kitchen, there he was.
Lee Know stood at the stove, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, hair slightly messy as if he’d run his hand through it a dozen times.
His movements were calm and precise, the same way he approached dancing, controlled, graceful, effortlessly confident.
The candlelight painted warm highlights over his skin, and for a moment you simply stood there, watching him.
After the kind of day you’d had, long hours, endless emails, the way time seemed determined to drag, the sight of him felt like finally exhaling.
He glanced over his shoulder, sensing you before hearing you.
“You’re home,” he said softly, a small smile tugging at his lips.
You didn’t answer right away. Instead, you crossed the kitchen quietly and wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, pressing your cheek against his back.
His body relaxed against yours instantly.
“Tired?” he asked, voice softer now.
“Mhm,” you murmured. “But better now.”
He chuckled quietly, placing his hand over yours where they rested on his stomach. You could feel the warmth of him through his shirt, steady and grounding.
“You smell like outside,” he teased gently.
You laughed under your breath. “That’s rude.”
He turned his head slightly, and you leaned up just enough to press a kiss to his cheek.
His smile widened, soft and unguarded, the one that only ever appeared when the two of you were alone.
“I’m going to shower,” you said quietly. “I’ll be right back.”
He nodded. “Food will be ready soon.”
You squeezed him once more before letting go, already missing his warmth.
The shower washed away the day slowly.
Steam filled the bathroom, curling around your shoulders as hot water ran down your back. You stood there longer than usual, letting the tension melt from your muscles. The sound of the music still drifted faintly through the door, muted but still there.
Your chest warmed at the thought of your boyfriend waiting for you with dinner.
By the time you stepped out, dressed in soft clothes and feeling like yourself again, the apartment felt even cozier somehow.
The candles were still flickering when you returned to the kitchen, and now two plates sat neatly on the counter. He had even set out glasses, chopsticks, everything perfectly arranged.
Lee Know looked up as you entered.
“There you are,” he said, pulling out the stool beside him.
You sat down, smiling. “This smells amazing.”
“It better,” he replied with mock seriousness. “I worked hard.”
You bumped your shoulder lightly against his as you picked up your chopsticks. The food was warm and comforting, simple but perfect, the kind of meal that made your body relax from the inside out.
For a while, you just ate and talked.
You told him about a coworker who accidentally sent the wrong email file to everyone. He laughed quietly, shaking his head. He told you about practice, about a moment where Jisung kept messing up the same part of the choreography until they were all laughing too hard to continue.
You listened, watching the way his eyes softened when he spoke about the members, the small gestures of his hands as he explained things.
Somewhere between stories and laughter, the tiredness melted away completely.
It felt safe here.
Just the two of you, candlelight, music, warm food.
Home.
When your plates were empty, you stood up automatically to collect them.
“I’ll help,” he said, already reaching for one.
“You cooked,” you argued lightly.
“And we clean together,” he countered.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t protest, smiling fondly.
The music continued as you worked side by side, the sound of running water and quiet conversation filling the space. Your movements gradually slowed, falling into rhythm with the gentle melody drifting through the kitchen.
At some point, you realized you were swaying slightly.
He noticed too.
“You’re dancing,” he said softly.
“I’m cleaning,” you corrected, though you were smiling.
“Looks like dancing.”
You nudged him with your hip. He nudged you back.
The moment stretched, easy and playful, until he suddenly reached out and caught your hand.
You blinked.
The song shifted into something softer, slower strings filling the air.
Lee Know stepped closer, his fingers warm around yours.
“Come here,” he murmured.
You laughed softly as he pulled you toward him, your wet hands forgotten. His other hand rested gently at your waist, guiding you without pressure.
“You’re serious?” you asked.
He lifted an eyebrow. “I can dance, you know.”
“I know,” you said. “That’s why this is intimidating.”
A quiet chuckle escaped him as he began to move, guiding you into a slow sway.
The kitchen suddenly felt smaller, more intimate, the candlelight flickering around you as you stepped together, turned, and swayed again.
He moved carefully, adjusting to you, not the other way around.
You laughed when you nearly stepped on his foot.
“Sorry!”
“You’re fine,” he said, pulling you closer instead of letting go. You rest your head against his chest.
Your hands settled more comfortably, one in his, the other resting lightly against his shoulder. His heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek.
The world outside the apartment faded away.
It was just this, just the two of you.
He spun you slowly, your laughter filling the room, and when you came back into his arms you bumped into his chest.
“Oh my gosh,” you groaned, hiding your face.
He laughed quietly, the soft kind that rumbled against you and tightened his arms around your waist.
“See?” he said. “Perfect.”
You tilted your head up, smiling. “You’re biased.”
“Maybe.”
The swaying slowed again.
You're breathing in his familiar scent. His chin rested lightly near the top of your head, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself relax completely against him.
His fingers traced small patterns against your back.
The music fades into the background as you let your bodies sway together.
You felt him shift slightly, pulling back just enough to look at you.
His eyes were warm, slightly tired in the way that came from long days, but a content smile was on his lips.
And then he leaned down and kissed you.
It wasn’t rushed, just soft, full of love.
You melted into it, your hands curling into his shirt as he held you steady.
When you finally pulled back, you rested your forehead against his chest again, exhaling quietly.
You stayed like that, swaying gently, listening.
“I like this,” you whispered.
He hummed softly. “Me too.”
His hand moved up to cradle the back of your head, and you closed your eyes again as he rested his forehead on yours.
“Long day?” he asked quietly after a moment.
“Mhm,” you said. “But this makes it better.”
He pressed a small kiss to your hair.
“Then we’ll do this more often.”
You smiled against him. “Deal.”
The two of you continued to sway long after the song ended, neither bothering to move away.
“I think we’ve officially been dancing in the kitchen too long.”
“There’s no time limit,” he murmured.
You tilted your head back to look at him. “You’re getting sentimental.”
He narrowed his eyes playfully. “Don’t tell anyone.”
You grinned.
This moment felt so perfect.
Outside, the world moved on.
Inside, time stretched soft and gentle around the two of you, laughter lingering in the air, hearts beating quietly together.
tag list:
@vernorica123 @quaxing-lour @staytinyarmy @elisabeeee @stronglychanbiased @kittykatz1227 @jenzlovschan @mysticpolicedonut @roron33 @socandytales @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @dungeonduchess @thereadinglurker @harmonygallery @ghostly-xxo @enhacolor @sailorkoss @skeletonontheroad @felixlsworld @the3catlovers @leeknowz-pudding @sibulamoos @d1gital-data @peartreegarden @lyftyyy @mehrmonga @yoli123-8 @finding-nikaa @euphysia @whoa-jo @dragon03138 @wanderingrusalka @cardtak @havenwithleeknow @kwanniehae @awesome-oana1234 @lyuuu88 @ridhi1608 @ellie1725 @estella-novella @gnabcc @piscesrising01 @meelbarnes @eternalwooyoung @beal-o @stay-tiny-things @writtenbypeachy @ohmygays0 @i23haerin @cchapssaltteok
" Kissing Practice "
𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Bang Chan x Female!reader ˒˓ boy next door vibes?. 𝓰enre/ smut, minor alcohol use, oral (f reciving), unprotected sex ( don't be silly) Bang Chan is sweet, sexy, and always willing to help a lady in distress.
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — here's the final spicy fic for Lover's Roulette! This was requested by @peartreegarden and once again spicy is something so beyond me but I hope you enjoy!
The faint glow of your phone screen lights up your bare kitchen as you pace, barefoot on the cool tile. It’s past midnight, and you’re on FaceTime with your best friend, venting about your life updates.
“I’m serious,” you groan, yanking open another cabinet only to find it as empty as the last one. A single half-used bag of rice stares back at you judgmentally.
“I need to go grocery shopping tomorrow. This is pathetic.” You shut the door a little too hard. “And yeah, I know I said college in the big city would be different. I thought I’d finally… meet new people. Get out there. Maybe get with someone. But nope!"
You throw your hands up in defeat. "I've barely kissed anyone. Like, ever.”
Your friend’s face softens on the screen. “Babe, you’re not pathetic. You’re just… selective. And shy. It’s cute.”
You huff, leaning against the counter. “Cute isn't getting me laid.”
She laughs. “What about that hot neighbor you're always telling me about? The frat-boy-looking one with the dimples? Chan, right? You literally live next door. That’s rom-com territory.”
You roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “Yeah. In my dreams.”
You chat about her life and more than successful romantic escapades, before blowing kisses with promises to talk soon.
The next afternoon, the universe decides today was the day you needed to be humbled.
You’re juggling four paper grocery bags up the last flight of stairs, making your way to your door, when one splits right down the side like it personally hates you.
Boxes of cereal, packets of ramen, a couple of containers of different types of berries, and worst of all, a couple boxes of cookies you’d been craving tumble across the hallway floor.
“Are you serious?” you mutter, trying to figure out a way to manage the other bags still in your arms.
You’re so focused on the fallen items that you don’t hear the door open behind you.
“Need some help?”
You jump like you’ve been electrocuted, nearly dropping the bags still in your grasp. When you twist around, there he is in all his annoyingly attractive glory.
His hair was lightly messy, oversized hoodie, and that stupidly charming dimpled smile. Before you could respond, he was already crouching with a few of your escaped cookie boxes in his hands.
Your face flushes with embarrassment. “Uh—yeah. Please.”
He gathers the rest without comment, then stands next to you, waiting patiently.
You turn toward your door and freeze. standing there for a long moment as you come to the realization. Your hands are full, and your keys are… oh lord.
Chan looks at you with a questioning glance, and your face warms even more as you clear your throat.
"My keys are..." trailing off when he looks at you expectantly.
“They’re, um…” Your voice drops to a mortified whisper. “In my back pocket.”
He pauses. Then a low, amused chuckle rumbles out of him. “May I?”
You nod quickly, staring at the wall like it’s the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. His fingers brush the denim of your jeans, quick, polite, barely even touching you, and then he’s unlocking your door like it’s nothing.
Inside, you dump your armload onto the counter with a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank you. You’re literally a life-saver.”
He sets down the last few items and leans one hip against your counter, arms crossed casually. “I’m not one to leave a lady in distress.”
That grin again, you feel your insides turn to jelly as you stare at him before realizing you must look crazy.
“Let me make it up to you,” you blurt out.
You try your best to avoid looking directly at him, because wow, the way his hoodie hangs off his shoulders and chest is unfair. “I’ll order takeout,” you blurt. “I don’t wanna cook. So it’s takeout or nothing.”
He laughs, easy and warm. “I’m always down for free food.”
The awkwardness melts away faster than you expect. Chan’s surprisingly easy to talk to. You learn he’s studying music production, you tell him about the book club and volunteering group you’re in, and somehow the groceries get put away while you both ramble.
By the time the delivery notification pings, you’re laughing like you’ve known each other for months.
He grabs the food from the hall, returns, and raises a brow at the two green bottles of soju nestled in the bag.
You shrug, already reaching for one. “Can’t have fried chicken without soju.”
He grins and lets you pour him a shot.
The food disappears. The soju dwindles. Conversation stays light as you both start to feel the liquor, the faint buzz helping you relax more.
He mentions offhand that he’s single.
Your jaw actually drops.
“What?” he laughs. “What makes that so hard to believe?”
You gesture vaguely at all of him. “I mean. Look at you. Plus, you’re, like, super sweet. Helping your stranger neighbor when she’s in distress.”
He rolls his eyes, cheeks tinting the tiniest bit pink. “Thanks, I guess.” Then he turns it back on you. “So why are you single?”
You laugh, but it comes out brittle. “Yeah… that’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
He tilts his head, waiting.
You sigh, leaning back against the couch, dramatically throwing one leg over his lap and an arm over your eyes. “I’m just… inexperienced. Like, really inexperienced. I thought moving here would help me change that, but every attempt at dating has gone absolutely nowhere. I’ve barely even kissed anyone properly. It’s embarrassing.”
Silence stretches for a beat, until you peek out from under your arm.
He’s watching you with heavy-lidded eyes, expression unreadable but warm.
“We could practice,” he says quietly, like he’s testing the words.
Your heart stutters. “What?”
He shifts closer. “We could practice. If you wanted.”
Your brows knit, the soju muddying your train of thought. “Practice what?”
“Kissing.”
The word lands like a spark, your whole body flushes hot. “You… know what you’re saying, right?”
In answer, he moves to the center of the couch and reaches for you, gently tugging until you’re straddling his lap. Your pulse hammers in your throat as you stare down into his steady, warm eyes.
“We’ll start slow,” he murmurs. “Just tell me to stop if you don’t like something.”
You nod, throat too tight for words.
He taps his fingers lightly against your bare thighs. “Use your words.”
The gentle command melts something inside you. “Yes.”
His smile is dazzling, soft, and reassuring. One hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing your skin, and then he pulls you down.
His lips are plush and warm.
You sigh into it without meaning to, melting against him. Your hands find his hair, fingers threading through soft strands as the kiss deepens slowly.
He lets you lead the pace at first, then coaxes your mouth open with gentle kisses, tongue brushing yours in a way that makes your stomach flip.
It’s dizzying, almost addictive.
Minutes blur. Kissing turns to making out, slow drags of lips, soft gasps, his hands sliding up your sides under your shirt, thumbs stroking skin. You rock against him instinctively, mind hazy with lust and liquor, your hip chasing friction, and he groans low in his throat.
When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing hard.
“Can I…?” His fingers skim the waistband of your shorts.
You nod frantically. “Please.”
He eases you onto your back on the couch, kissing down your neck, your collarbone, pushing your shirt up and off. Every touch feels electric because it’s new.
his mouth on your stomach, your ribs, the soft underside of your breast. When he tugs your shorts and underwear down in one go, you tense, suddenly shy.
He pauses, kissing the inside of your thigh. “Still okay?”
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Just… nervous.”
“I’ve got you.” He settles between your legs, eyes locked on yours as he lowers his head.
The first swipe of his tongue makes you gasp, as a sharp strike of pleasure shoots through your body. He’s slow at first, learning you, humming softly when your hips jerk.
Then he gets focused, lips closing around your clit, sucking gently while his tongue draws small circles and your hands fly to his hair, thighs trembling.
It builds fast. Too fast. You’re whimpering, pleading, and then you shatter with a broken cry, back arching off the cushions as unfamiliar waves of pleasure wash over you.
He kisses back up your body while you float, dazed. When he reaches your mouth again, you taste yourself on his tongue and moan into it.
“Want more?” he asks against your lips.
“Yes.”
He sheds his clothes quickly, hoodie first, then sweats, and you can’t stop staring. He’s beautiful. Thick, hard, and already leaking at the tip.
He watches you with dark eyes as you feel your whole body buzz in anticipation. When he moves to lean over you, pressing another soft kiss to your lips as he lines himself up, rubbing the head through your slick folds.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” he breathes.
You nod, nails digging into his shoulders as he pushes in, slowly, carefully. a few inches at a time, you suck in a breath. There’s a stretch, a slight burn, but it’s good, overwhelmingly good.
When he bottoms out, he stills, forehead pressed to yours. “You okay?”
“So good,” you whimper, your legs trembling. “More. Please.”
He starts slow, moving with deep rolls of his hips that make you see stars. But the way you’re clinging to him, whimpering his name, it snaps something in him.
His pace quickens, his hip moving to an unheard rhythm, each thrust harder, rougher than the last. The couch creaks under you. His hand finds yours, fingers lacing tight as he fucks into you with abandon.
“Fuck—you feel so good,” he groans. “So tight around me.”
You’re babbling now, his name, pleas, broken moans. He hooks one of your legs higher, changing the angle, and you cry out when he hits that one spot inside you.
“Right there—please—”
He thrusts into you relentlessly until you’re clenching around him, coming again with a sob. He follows right after, hips stuttering, burying himself deep as he spills into you with a low, wrecked moan.
For a long minute you just breathe together, sweaty and tangled.
He kisses your temple, soft now. “You did so good.”
You laugh weakly, still dazed. “That… was practice?”
“I’ll be honest.” He nuzzles against your jaw, voice dropping. “ I’m not done teaching you everything.”
Your heart does a ridiculous little somersault.
“Then… don’t stop,” you whisper, fingers tightening in his hair. “I want the full course.”
He groans low in his throat, leaning down to kiss you slowly.
“Careful what you ask for,” he murmurs against your mouth. “I’m a very thorough teacher.”
You pull him down into another kiss
tag list:@vernorica123 @quaxing-lour @staytinyarmy @elisabeeee @stronglychanbiased @kittykatz1227 @jenzlovschan @mysticpolicedonut @roron33 @socandytales @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @dungeonduchess @thereadinglurker @harmonygallery @ghostly-xxo @enhacolor @sailorkoss @skeletonontheroad @felixlsworld @the3catlovers @leeknowz-pudding @sibulamoos @d1gital-data @peartreegarden @lyftyyy @mehrmonga @yoli123-8 @finding-nikaa @euphysia @whoa-jo @dragon03138 @wanderingrusalka @cardtak @havenwithleeknow @kwanniehae @awesome-oana1234 @lyuuu88 @ridhi1608 @ellie1725 @estella-novella @gnabcc @piscesrising01 @meelbarnes @eternalwooyoung @beal-o @stay-tiny-things @writtenbypeachy @ohmygays0 @i23haerin @cchapssaltteok
" Dress Up "
𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Yang Jeongin x gn!reader ˒˓established relationship. 𝓰enre/ fluff, domestic Jeongin, shopping date with your boyfriend leads to styling each other, which leads to loads of giggles and crimes against fashion.
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — here's another fluff for Lover's Roulette fics! This is 2 out of 3 requested by Anon! hope you enjoy!
Shopping with Jeongin was never just shopping.
It was wandering slowly through crowded stores while he held your hand like he’d lose you otherwise, stopping every few minutes because something caught his eye.
Not loud or stressful, just spending time with him, just enjoying a day out together without the pressure of cameras.
You’d gone to three different stores because he decided he wanted to “upgrade his closet,” which mostly meant pulling you toward things and asking, “Does this look like me?” while you nodded enthusiastically at everything.
You loved days like this, no rushing from schedules, no entourage, just walking side by side through stores while soft music played overhead,
By lunchtime your feet were already a little sore, but your heart felt full.
The café you stopped at was small and warm, sunlight spilling through big windows onto wooden tables. You shared fries even though you’d ordered separate meals, and Jeongin kept stealing bites of your food like he always did, pretending he wasn’t when you caught him.
“You literally have the same thing,” you laughed.
“It tastes better when it’s yours,” he said, shamelessly stealing another bite.
You rolled your eyes but let him have the rest.
Afterward, coffees in hand, the two of you sank into your chairs and scrolled quietly through your phones. It was a comfortable silence as sunlight stretched across the table.
A sudden video on your feed made you grin.
You nudged him with your elbow. “Wait, look at this.”
He leaned over, shoulder bumping yours as you pressed play.
A couple laughed hysterically while trying on outfits the other picked out. The guy strutted dramatically, the girl doubled over laughing, both clearly having the time of their lives.
You didn’t even finish the video before turning to him.
“We should do this.”
Jeongin’s eyes lit up instantly.
“Yes.”
He finished the rest of his drink in one go and stood up. “Come on, let’s go.”
You laughed, scrambling to grab your things before he could actually drag you outside.
The next store was huge, endless racks, soft neutral lighting, mirrors everywhere.
You clapped your hands once. “Okay. Rules.”
Jeongin stood at attention, already smiling.
“Ten minutes. Pick as many outfits as you can for each other. Meet back at the changing rooms when time’s up.”
He nodded seriously as he saluted dramatically. “Yes, captain.”
Then he took off in the opposite direction, completely committed.
You watched him disappear between racks and laughed under your breath.
This is going to be fun.
Your own excitement bubbled immediately as you started hunting.
You grabbed things you always thought would look good on him, things you always wanted to see him in: layered denim, oversized fits, softer textures, something slightly edgy, and something ridiculously hideous, just because you wanted to see his reaction.
Your arms filled quickly.
You were practically running by the end, weaving around displays, whispering, “Okay, one more… maybe this too…”
When your phone buzzed with the timer, you hurried back toward the fitting rooms feeling triumphant.
And then you stopped short.
Jeongin was standing there.
Behind him… was a rack full of clothes.
Not a handful.
An entire rack.
Hangars packed tight with shirts, jeans, jackets, sweaters, colors, and textures spilling everywhere.
Your jaw dropped. “Did you clear out the whole store?”
He shrugged like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “I got to dress you up however I want. I wasn’t going to waste that.”
You stared at him in disbelief.
Then slowly pouted.
He groaned. “No.”
You kept pouting.
“Fine,” he sighed dramatically. “Top five.”
You watched smugly as he sorted through the mountain of clothes, muttering to himself like it physically hurt him to put things back.
When he finally narrowed it down, you handed him the first outfit and disappeared into your changing room.
“Are you ready?” you called once you were dressed.
“Yeah,” he answered.
The curtains opened at the exact same time.
You both froze.
You were wearing oversized dark wash jeans with little heart patches, a white tank tucked just slightly at the waist, and a cozy oversized zip-up hoodie with striped sleeves and thumb holes.
Jeongin stood across from you in grey-washed jeans, an oversized black sweater frayed at the bottom, and a denim vest layered perfectly over top.
You stared.
He stared.
And then both of you snorted at the exact same moment.
“We literally dressed each other the same,” you laughed.
“You copied my vision,” he said confidently.
“Oh please.”
He spun once dramatically, making you laugh harder as the vest swayed.
The next few outfits blurred together in the best way.
You watched him appear in soft knits that made him look impossibly cozy, loose streetwear that made him look effortlessly cool, and one outfit that made you stare a little too long because wow.
Meanwhile, he dressed you in things you wouldn’t normally pick, softer colors, oversized layers, pieces that felt comfortable but somehow made you look better than you expected.
Every time you stepped out, his expression softened just slightly.
Every time he stepped out, you forgot what you were about to say.
At one point, he came out wearing different variations of layered plaid and burst into helpless laughter.
“I can't believe you actually put that on,” you wipe a tear from your eye as you fight to hold in your laughter.
He crossed his arms. “It’s not my fault, I had blind faith in you.”
You shook your head, smiling so much your cheeks hurt.
People passing by smiled at you two, your laughter contagious, the ease between you obvious.
By the time you reached the final outfits, both of you were a little breathless.
“Last one,” he said.
You stepped out together.
And paused before a smile broke over your faces.
You were both dressed in dark navy jeans. You wore a sleeveless high-neck tank with a denim jacket that matched the jeans. He had on a simple white t-shirt under a navy Yankees windbreaker.
You looked at each other, then at the mirror, and then you both started laughing at the same time.
“Not us being accidentally matchy,” you said.
“We’re that couple now,” he teased.
But neither of you moved to go back inside.
You studied him in the mirror, the relaxed way the jacket sat on his shoulders, the comfortable smile tugging at his lips.
He noticed you looking.
“What?”
“You just look… really good,” you admitted softly.
His ears turned a little pink.
“You too,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “I like this one.”
You nodded. “Me too.”
There was something warm about it, like you’d unknowingly picked pieces that fit together because you just… fit together.
He leaned closer, bumping his shoulder against yours. “Guess we have to buy them.”
“Obviously,” you said.
The sun had dipped lower when you finally stepped outside again, shopping bags swinging gently at your sides.
Jeongin reached for your hand automatically.
Your fingers laced together like they belonged there.
“That was fun,” he said after a moment.
You smiled. “Yeah. We should do it again sometime.”
He nodded, glancing at you with that soft, fond look that always made your stomach flutter.
“I like seeing what you think looks good on me.”
You squeezed his hand. “I just like looking at you.”
He laughed quietly, pulling you a little closer as you walked.
Next time,” he said, “we should do shoes too.”
You laughed. “You’re dangerous with a shopping budget.”
He grinned, pulling you gently closer as you walked.
“And you,” he said, “are very easy to dress up.”
And as you kept walking together, laughing, teasing, perfectly in step, you realized this might be your favorite kind of date.
tag list:
@vernorica123 @quaxing-lour @staytinyarmy @elisabeeee @stronglychanbiased @kittykatz1227 @jenzlovschan @mysticpolicedonut @roron33 @socandytales @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @dungeonduchess @thereadinglurker @harmonygallery @ghostly-xxo @enhacolor @sailorkoss @skeletonontheroad @felixlsworld @the3catlovers @leeknowz-pudding @sibulamoos @d1gital-data @peartreegarden @lyftyyy @mehrmonga @yoli123-8 @finding-nikaa @euphysia @whoa-jo @dragon03138 @wanderingrusalka @cardtak @havenwithleeknow @kwanniehae @awesome-oana1234 @lyuuu88 @ridhi1608 @ellie1725 @estella-novella @gnabcc @piscesrising01 @meelbarnes @eternalwooyoung @beal-o @stay-tiny-things @writtenbypeachy @ohmygays0 @i23haerin @cchapssaltteok
" Hands To Yourself "
𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Han Jisung x female!reader ˒˓ established relationship. 𝓰enre/ smut, teasing, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it), you bet your boyfriend that he won't be able to keep his hands off you, you're right.
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — Here's the first of the spicy fics for Lover's Roulette! I'm still figuring out spicy (angst is clearly my thing), but I hope you enjoy. This one is for @d1gital-data. Let me know what u think! <3
The dorm is quiet for once, no schedules, no other voices overlapping. Just you and Jisung, sprawled across the living room couch on one of his rare, treasured days off.
He’s wearing a soft black t-shirt that clings just enough to hint at the shape of his shoulders, loose grey sweatpants that sit low on his hips, bare face glowing under the soft light of the TV screen.
No makeup, no pressure, just the two of you, relaxed and smiling, listening to him crack jokes as you watch the anime he picked out.
He sits with his legs spread casually as he lounges with one arm thrown over the back of the couch.
He shifts to talking animatedly about a new track he and Chan were messing with late last night, then something about Changbin’s verse, then a melody he can’t get out of his head. His voice is soft, a little raspy from lack of sleep, and that lazy, lopsided smile keeps tugging at his lips.
You’re barely listening.
Your gaze drifts from his animated hands to the way his t-shirt stretches across his chest when he shifts, to the long, toned line of his muscles, the way they flex unintentionally when he gestures. Your mouth goes dry.
You lick your lips as your body slowly starts to warm.
He’s still talking, something about a bridge he wants to rework, when you move.
You swing one leg over his lap in one smooth motion and settle yourself atop his lap, legs on either side of his hips.
His brows shoot up, surprise flickering across his face, but he doesn’t stop talking. His voice hitches for half a second before smoothing out again, like he’s determined to pretend he’s unaffected.
You’re not paying attention to what he's saying anymore, eyes fixed on the way his lips form the words.
Your heart is hammering, blood burning hot under your skin. You want to sink your teeth into him. You want to know if he tastes as delicious as he looks.
Leaning in, you press a soft kiss to his cheek.
He smiles instantly, sweet and unsuspecting, as he continues to tell you about his work.
You continue, letting your body take over as your mind melts away as the feeling of his skin against your lips.
trailing slow, deliberate kisses along his cheekbone, his jaw, down the warm column of his neck. You can feel his pulse jump under your lips.
“Bet you can’t keep your hands off me,” you whisper against his skin, voice low and taunting.
He stutters mid-sentence, and you grin before going back to what you were doing, this time licking and sucking little marks as you go.
The sound that leaves him when you find that spot just below his ear, when you suck gently, then harder, is a tiny, broken whine.
His words die completely in his throat, only to be replaced by soft noises.
His hands fly to your hips on reflex, fingers digging in like he’s anchoring himself.
You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, his pupils blown, cheeks already flushed.
“What did I say?” you question in a teasing tone.
He blinks, dazed. His mouth opens in protest.
You catch both his wrists and guide his hands firmly back to the couch on either side of his hips, palms flat against the cushions.
“No touching,” you repeat, softer this time but leaving zero room for argument, “unless I say so.”
His throat bobs. He nods once, small and helpless.
You return to his neck, kissing, sucking lightly, careful to keep the marks faint. You know how furious the stylists get when he shows up looking like a bruised peach.
He’s shaking beneath you already, small tremors running through his frame as he fights to obey. Every tiny sound he makes, every choked whimper, every sharp inhale, feeds the heat pooling low in your belly.
Your hands slide down the front of his shirt. You feel the way his abs twitch and jump under your palms. When your chilled fingers slip under the hem to touch bare skin, he lets out the most pathetic little whine you’ve ever heard from him.
You smile against his collarbone.
When you tug his shirt up, he lifts his arms eagerly, practically ripping it off. The second his hands drop again, he reaches for your shirt.
You catch his wrists gently and press them back to the couch.
He whimpers, actually whimpers, and looks up at you with glassy, pleading eyes.
“Please.”
“Not yet,” you murmur, brushing your lips over his.
You kiss your way down his chest, letting your teeth graze his skin, nails scraping lightly over the ink on his ribs and the delicate lines of his tattoo. His eyes roll back. His hips jerk up involuntarily.
You tsk softly.
“So sensitive.”
Then you slide down between his legs.
You blink up at him with exaggerated innocence as your hands smooth over the obvious bulge straining his sweats. He throws his head back with a keening sound that makes your core clench.
You tease him over the fabric, slow strokes, watching the way his abs flex and thighs jump every time you drag your palm harder.
Then, in one quick motion, you tug the waistband down.
He hisses when the cool air hits him. You run one finger lightly over the slick tip and he curses under his breath, hips bucking.
You wrap your hand around him, stroking slowly and deliberately, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his navel and lower stomach.
His head is tipped back, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack in silent cries before he bites his lip so hard you’re worried he’ll draw blood.
When you finally take him into your mouth, he cries out raw, louder than you’ve ever heard him.
His hand flies up to slap over his own mouth.
You peek up at him through your lashes, lips still wrapped around him.
His face is flushed, eyes glassy. His hand pressed so tightly over his lips as he tried to muffle the sounds he was unable to hold back.
You hold his gaze as you slide your tongue along the underside, slow and teasing.
His hand drops as he lets out a sob. Fingers dig into the armrest instead, nails biting into the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded.
You work him with your mouth and hand in perfect rhythm, watching every crack in his composure. He’s long past being quiet. He’s pleading now.
'Stop,'
'No, don’t stop,'
'Please, fuck,' his voice wrecked and shaking.
You can’t wait anymore.
You pull off with a wet sound as he cries out in protest, you stand, shoving your own pants and underwear down, before climbing back into his lap.
He stares up at you, eyes wide and desperate.
You hover above him, dripping. You take him in your hand and guide him to your entrance, rubbing him against you, letting him feel how soaked you are.
He sobs, actually sobs, begging.
“Please—use me, ride me, anything—please—”
You sink down slowly.
The stretch burns for a heartbeat, then melts into something else entirely. You feel so full, overwhelmed, and he fits so perfectly.
He swears he’s died. The way you feel around him is unreal. He gasps against your mouth as you press a heated kiss to his lips.
You give yourself a second to adjust, then impatience wins.
You start to move.
The sting fades fast, replaced by the addictive drag of him inside you. You brace your hands on his shoulders and rock, grinding, both of you whimpering.
He kisses you like he’s starving, tongue sliding against yours, desperate and messy.
You lose yourself in it, in him, so much that you don’t even register when his hands finally take hold of your hips, gripping hard enough to bruise as he thrusts up into you.
You cry out, and it's His turn to swallow the sound.
He’s taking now, taking what you teased him with for so long, and you can’t even bring yourself to care.
You wrap your arms around his shoulders, bury your face in his neck as he pulls you impossibly closer.
One of his hands slips between you, fingers finding your clit and rubbing tight, perfect circles.
You shatter moments later, legs trembling, crying his name against his skin as pleasure crashes through you in brutal waves.
He curses, hips stuttering. You feel him pulse inside you, spilling hot and deep as he clings to you, kissing you through both your aftershocks.
When the haze finally clears, you’re still kissing, slow, soft, lazy.
Your legs are jelly. His chest heaves against your own.
You pull back just enough to look at him.
“You didn’t keep your hands to yourself,” you mumble, half-scolding, voice wrecked.
He gives you that crooked, smug little smirk, eyes still dark and heavy-lidded.
“I guess…” he rasps, thumb brushing over the marks he left on your hips, “…we’ll have to try again.”
Tag list:
@vernorica123 @quaxing-lour @staytinyarmy @elisabeeee @stronglychanbiased @kittykatz1227 @jenzlovschan @mysticpolicedonut @roron33 @socandytales @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @dungeonduchess @thereadinglurker @harmonygallery @ghostly-xxo @enhacolor @sailorkoss @skeletonontheroad @felixlsworld @the3catlovers @leeknowz-pudding @sibulamoos @d1gital-data @peartreegarden @lyftyyy @mehrmonga @yoli123-8 @finding-nikaa @euphysia @whoa-jo @dragon03138 @wanderingrusalka @cardtak @havenwithleeknow @kwanniehae @awesome-oana1234 @lyuuu88 @ridhi1608 @ellie1725 @estella-novella @gnabcc @piscesrising01 @meelbarnes @eternalwooyoung @beal-o @stay-tiny-things @writtenbypeachy @ohmygays0 @i23haerin @cchapssaltteok
" Welcome Home "
𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Lee Felix x gn!reader ˒˓ established relationship. 𝓰enre/ fluff, soft-comfort, you stay up waiting for Felix to return from a long trip overseas, well, you try.
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — Here's the second fic for Lover's Roulette! 1 of 2 of the fluff fics, but for some reason Tumblr has dubbed it mature??? This one is for @sibulamoos Let me know what u think! <3
The apartment had never felt so quiet.
You were curled into the corner of the couch, wrapped in one of Felix’s oversized shirts, the soft black one that still smelled faintly like his cologne and something uniquely him. Your sweatpants were tied loosely around your waist, fuzzy socks tucked beneath the blanket cocooned around your shoulders.
A mug of hot chocolate sat untouched on the coffee table, the drink long gone from steaming to lukewarm, the lights kept low, not helping with your sleepiness.
Your phone rested loosely in your hand.
You're checking the time again. And again.
Every minute felt longer than the last, eyelids burning as the time crept forward. Felix had warned you, late flight, possible delays, but he’d promised he’d be home tonight.
And he always kept his promises.
The last text sits on your lock screen, burned into your brain.
1:56 AM Lixie ☀️: I miss you. I’ll be home so soon, love 🩵
Your body shifted on the couch for the fifth time in the past ten minutes, trying to find a position that might keep you awake. You rubbed at your eyes, muttering under your breath.
“Stay up… just a little longer,” you whispered to yourself. “He’ll be home any minute.”
Your head tipped back against the couch.
For a moment, you were winning.
Then your chin dipped.
A soft, accidental snore slipped past your lips.
You jolted awake, heart stuttering as embarrassment flushed through you, even though no one was there to hear it. You huffed quietly, forcing yourself upright again.
“I’m awake,” you murmured stubbornly, trying to convince your body.
But your phone slipped from your grasp, landing face-up on the floor beside the couch.
And this time, sleep claimed you before you even realized you were losing; hours, maybe minutes, passed before the faint jingle of keys cut through the silence.
Felix stepped inside slowly, careful not to let the door creak too loudly as it shut behind him. The weight of exhaustion settled deep into his bones the second he was home, truly home. He slipped off his shoes near the door, rolling his shoulders as he let out a relieved sigh.
God, he’d missed this place.
Missed you.
As he moved further into the apartment, his eyes caught on something familiar: your head of hair resting against the back of the couch, blanket wrapped around you like a shield against the night chill. Soft, steady rise and fall of your chest as tiny snores escape you.
Felix pauses, taking in the sight of you passed out on the couch.
Then he smiled.
Setting his duffel bags down quietly, he crossed the living room with careful steps, his heart swelling with love at the sight of you. His shirt hung off your frame, blanket swallowing your form, and his chest warmed at the thought that you’d waited up for him.
Even when your body couldn’t anymore.
He crouched beside the couch, resting a gentle hand on your outstretched leg. His thumb brushed softly over your knee.
“Love,” he whispered, voice deep and soothing. He gave your leg the slightest shake, careful not to startle you.
You hummed but didn’t wake.
Felix smiled wider, eyes crinkling as he tried again, a little louder but still tender. “Hey… baby.”
This time, your body shifted. Your lashes fluttered as your mind slowly caught up with the world around you. When your eyes opened, sleepy and unfocused, they landed on him.
“Lixie,” you murmured, voice thick with sleep.
He nodded, grin soft and unmistakably his. “Hello, love.”
You leaned forward without thinking, pressing the gentlest kiss to his lips. It was brief, but it was full of everything you hadn’t been able to say while he was gone.
You hummed quietly as you pulled back, eyes already threatening to close again.
“When did you get in?” you asked.
Felix didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he stood and held his hands out to you.
You blinked slowly, then slipped your hands into his. He pulled you up with ease, guiding you against him as you leaned instinctively into his warmth. The familiar solid comfort of him grounded you instantly, even half-asleep.
He led you toward the bedroom, not bothering with the lights. The room felt much smaller in the dark, but all your focus is on him. He's here, he's home.
He sat you gently on the bed, kneeling in front of you as his fingers worked quietly at the drawstring of your pants.
You barely registered it, only sighed softly as he slid them down your legs, one at a time.
He stands, the soft rustle of him shedding his own clothes in the dark, barely registering before the mattress dips behind you. His presence surrounded you as he guided you under the covers, arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you back against him.
Bare skin meets bare skin.
Warmth seeped into you, down your legs, across your arms, sending goosebumps racing along your skin. You shivered, pressing back into him, needing to be closer.
He pressed a kiss just behind your ear.
Your voice was barely a whisper now. “Welcome home, Lix.”
His arms tightened just a little.
“Sleep well, love,” Felix murmured, voice full of tenderness.
And with him finally home, you let yourself drift back into sleep. safe, warm, and exactly where you both belong.
tag list:
@vernorica123 @quaxing-lour @staytinyarmy @elisabeeee @stronglychanbiased @kittykatz1227 @jenzlovschan @mysticpolicedonut @roron33 @socandytales @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @dungeonduchess @thereadinglurker @harmonygallery @ghostly-xxo @enhacolor @sailorkoss @skeletonontheroad @felixlsworld @the3catlovers @leeknowz-pudding @sibulamoos @d1gital-data @peartreegarden @lyftyyy @mehrmonga @yoli123-8 @finding-nikaa @euphysia @whoa-jo @dragon03138 @wanderingrusalka @cardtak @havenwithleeknow @kwanniehae @awesome-oana1234 @lyuuu88 @ridhi1608 @ellie1725 @estella-novella @gnabcc @piscesrising01 @meelbarnes @eternalwooyoung @beal-o @stay-tiny-things @writtenbypeachy @ohmygays0 @i23haerin @cchapssaltteok
" if you're gonna lie "
𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Lee Know x gn!reader ˒˓established relationship. 𝓰enre/ angst, hurt, no comfort, cheating, mentions of self-doubt and depression, toxic relationship, Lee Know kinda sucks in this one ngl.
[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — here's the first of my Lover's Roulette fics! This was requested by Anon and is 1 of 3 angst fics on the list! hope you enjoy!
The first thing you notice is the quiet.
Not the comfortable kind that used to live in your apartment, the kind that wrapped around the two of you when you were tangled together on the couch, his legs thrown over yours, your laughter still echoing.
This is a hollow quiet, a silence that hums in your ears and reminds you how alone you are, even when someone else technically lives here.
The clock on the microwave reads 1:43 a.m.
You’re on the floor with your back against the couch, phone discarded somewhere near your knee, staring at the ceiling like it might give you answers.
Your eyes burn, the kind of ache that comes from crying for so long your body doesn’t know how to stop anymore. The dark circles under them feel permanent now, like a second shadow that follows you everywhere.
You try not to think about how this has become routine.
You try not to think about how a year ago, you would’ve been counting down the minutes until Lee Know came home, heart fluttering at the sound of his key in the door.
Now you count the hours.
You count how long it’s been since he last texted.
You count how many nights you’ve fallen asleep alone in a bed that doesn't even smell like him anymore, and it hasn't for a while now.
When you first started dating, everything was warm and bright and dizzying.
Minho had been soft in a way you didn’t expect. Soft where everyone else said he was cold. He used to press his forehead to yours in the kitchen while water boiled over on the stove, laughing when you panicked and rushed to turn it off.
He used to steal bites of your food even when he had his own, grin crooked and unapologetic.
He used to leave little notes in your bag when you went to work.
Eat today. Don’t skip meals.
you are my case143.
You still have one of them folded in your wallet, creased and worn at the edges. The ink is faded now, but you can still trace his handwriting with your thumb, still remembering the way your chest used to flutter with butterflies when you found them.
You don’t know why you keep it.
Maybe it’s proof that this was real once.
Maybe it’s proof that you didn’t imagine being loved.
but here you sit, whole body aching from the weight of a broken heart and from sitting on the floor for who knows how many hours.
You remember the night he asked you to move in.
He’d been nervous, you could tell. He hovered in the doorway, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, rocking back and forth on his heels like he couldn’t stand still.
You were sitting on the floor, much like you are now, only then you were ready for one of your movie nights. a spread of treats and drinks in front of you as you piled pillows and blankets for the two of you.
“Stay,” he said finally. “Not just tonight. Like… stay stay.”
Your heart had leapt into your throat.
You said yes before he could take back the words.
Now, sometimes, you wonder if that was the moment everything started to go wrong.
The first time he came home with a lipstick smudge on his cheek, you laughed.
It was late, and he looked exhausted, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded as he kicked off his shoes. You notice the faint red mark near his jaw and tease him about it, reaching up to wipe it away.
“Fanservice getting a little too real?” you joke.
He freezes for half a second.
Just half.
Then he smiles, small and tired. “Must’ve been from the stage makeup. I didn’t even notice.”
You believe him.
Because not believing him was something so foreign to you then.
A few days after that, you caught a floral scent on his jacket.
It’s subtle. You almost miss it. Almost.
It’s not yours. You don’t wear floral. You never have. You like clean scents, soft and simple, things that fade into the background.
This didn't fade.
You hold the fabric a little closer, breathing it in like maybe you’re wrong, like maybe your brain is just looking for something to hurt itself with.
“Probably one of the stylists,” you tell yourself out loud, voice too loud in the empty room. “ Or someone hugged him.”
There are a lot of women he works with.
There are a lot of reasons it could be.
You hang the jacket back up and pretend your mind isn't racing.
It start subtley, the way he's gone more often.
At first, it’s just later than usual. Midnight instead of ten. One a.m. instead of midnight.
Then it’s not at all.
When you ask, he doesn’t even look guilty. Just tired.
“Comebacks are busy,” he says, rubbing at his eyes. “You know how it is.”
You nod.
You tell yourself this is what supporting him looks like. This is what being a good partner means.
Being understanding and patient.
Even when patience starts to feel like you’re slowly dying to yourself.
Slowly, you stop asking him to eat dinner with you, you stop asking him to watch movies, you stop asking for anything.
because this should be enough for you, he is enough for you, and you are just being dramatic, at least thats what you tell yourself.
Lies start to come easier than the truth, for both of you.
You can hear it in the way he talks, in the pauses between his words, in the way his eyes slide away from yours. He doesn’t stay long enough for you to argue about it. He doesn’t stay long enough for you to ask too many questions.
Some nights, he doesn’t come home at all.
Those are the worst.
You lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks, counting your breaths, counting all the ways you could’ve been better, prettier, smarter, less needy, Less you.
You replay every argument, trying to find the moment when he started pulling away from you.
You tell yourself all relationships have rough patches, and you tell yourself if you just hold on long enough, things will change.
Your friends start to notice.
“You look tired,” one of them says gently over coffee, eyes flicking to the dark circles under yours.
“I’m fine,” you lie.
They ask about Minho.
You talk about his schedules, their comeback, and his members. You talk about everything except how you feel.
Because if you voice your doubts out loud, they might become real.
This becomes your new normal on the days he does come home; it’s usually early morning.
The door clicks open softly, like he’s trying not to wake you, but you’re not asleep, you never are.
He smells like alcohol and something expensive.
He collapses into bed, turning toward you without really seeing you. You lie there, frozen, staring at the familiar lines of his face, the ones you’ve memorized in the dark.
Your heart aches in a way that feels physical.
You wonder where he was, you wonder who he was with, and you wonder if she knows about you.
There’s a night you almost leave.
You stand in your bedroom with a bag half-packed on the bed behind you. Your clothes are folded neatly, like you’re trying to make this a clean break.
He’s not home, of course.
You stare at his side of the bed, the empty, untouched sheets.
Zipping your bag takes a moment as your hands tremble, slinging it over your shoulder, you step out of your room and shut the door behind you.
When you turn the corner towards the living room, you spot the bouquet of roses on the counter with a note in familiar handwriting.
'My love for you is like a rose.'
Your chest tightens.
You turn around and unzip the bag.
You unpack.
You tell yourself you’ll stay a little longer, wait it out.
The first time he says another name, you think you’re dreaming.
You’re so tired. So worn down. Your brain has been living in a fog for weeks now.
He shifts closer, arm brushing against yours, breath warm against your neck.
“Mm… don’t stop,” he murmurs.
Then the name slips out of his mouth.
It’s not yours.
Your entire body goes cold.
You lie there, staring into the dark, heart pounding so hard you’re sure it’s going to wake him. You tell yourself you misheard. That you imagined it.
But when he mumbles it again, softer this time, like a secret, something inside you finally cracks.
You don’t cry.
You just stare.
It takes you days to find the courage to say something.
You rehearse it in the mirror. In the shower. In your head at three in the morning when sleep won’t come.
Don’t yell, don’t beg, don’t cry.
When you finally do, it comes out all wrong.
You didn’t want to cry. You really didn’t. But the moment you open your mouth, everything you’ve been holding back spills out instead.
Your body shakes as you sob, unable to put what you're feeling into words.
he doesn't say anything he just pulls you into his arms and you let yourself feel the warmth and comfort that he used to shower you with.
And for a little while, things feel better.
He comes home earlier. He texts you during the day. He kisses your forehead when he leaves.
You let yourself hope.
Hope is dangerous, but you hold onto it anyway.
Then, slowly, the old patterns creep back in.
First, it's the late nights, then the excuses start, and soon the distance settles in again.
You don’t confront him this time; you don’t think you can survive this.
You keep it to yourself, keep it shoved deep down, going through the motions, trying to be happy with whatever scraps he's willing to give, but the pain slowly hardens into something burning.
The fight happens on a Tuesday.
It’s stupid, really. It starts over his phone, lighting up on the counter while he’s in the shower, a name you don’t recognize glowing across the screen, mocking you.
You don’t touch it, you just stare.
By the time he comes back into the kitchen, hair damp, sweats slung low on his hips, you’re already shaking.
“Who is she?” you ask.
He blinks. “What?”
“The girl who just texted you.” Your voice is steadier than you feel. “Who is she, Minho?”
He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “You're looking through my phone now?”
“I didn’t touch it,” you snap. “It lit up. I saw the name. That’s it. Don’t turn this around on me.”
His jaw tightens.
“God, you’re always looking for something,” he mutters.
That's what sets you off.
Your stomach churns. “What do you mean exactly?"
"If you have nothing to hide, it should't be a problem for me to look, unless you're afraid of what I'd find?"
he scoffs at me, but doesnt meet my gaze. "there's no reason-"
" A reason for what? To leave? Because you’ve been giving me a lot of those lately,” you cut him off.
He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “You’re being crazy.”
The words hit harder than you expect.
“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then stop acting like it,” he shoots back. “I work with a lot of women. You know that. I told you that from the start.”
“I know,” you say, stepping closer, voice rising. “I knew. And I trusted you. So what happened to that trust, Minho? What happened to the part of you that didn’t make me feel like I was losing my mind just for asking where you’ve been?”
He scoffs. “I’ve been working.”
“Until three in the morning?”
“Yes!” his voice rises to meet yours.
“I didn't realize your job required you to cheat on me!"
He tenses like you smacked him, the sudden silence buzzes in your ears as you wait for him to respond.
“Say it,” you whisper. “Say I’m wrong. Say I’m crazy.”
He looks at you, eyes sharp, defensive, and something in his expression makes your stomach drop.
“You are,” he says. “You’re crazy. You’re turning nothing into something because you’re insecure.”
The room feels too small.
“Insecure?” you laugh, but it comes out broken. “I’m not insecure, Minho. I’m hurting. There’s a difference.”
He turns away, grabbing a glass from the cabinet, slamming it down on the counter harder than necessary.
“I don’t have time for this,” he says. “I don’t have time to come home and get interrogated like I’m some kind of criminal.”
“You don’t have time for me,” you snap. “Just say that.”
He freezes.
“You’re twisting everything,” he finally says. “I’m tired. I’m stressed. And instead of being supportive, you’re accusing me of cheating.”
“Because it feels like you are!” you shout.
The words hang in the air between you, ugly and irreversible.
His eyes go wide. “Wow. That’s what you really think of me?”
“I don’t know what to think,” you cry. “But what am I supposed to think when you don’t come home? And when you do, you smell like someone else? When you make up every excuse to not be here.”
His face drains of color.
He drags a hand down his face. “You’re reading too much into it.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” he snaps. “I just—you always do this. You take one thing and turn it into this whole story in your head.”
Your vision blurs with tears.
“A story?” you repeat. “This is my life, Minho. This is us.”
He looks away.
That hurts more than anything he’s said.
“You told me you trusted me,” he says.
“I did,” you reply. “I trusted you with everything. So why does it feel like I’m the only one still fighting for this?”
He doesn’t answer.
The quiet that follows is worse than the shouting.
You wipe at your face angrily. “If you stopped loving me, just tell me. Don’t make me feel like I’m crazy for noticing.”
“I’m not,” he says quickly. Too quickly. “I would never do that to you.”
“I heard you,” you say, voice breaking. “You said her name.”
He looks at you like he’s been punched.
“What? I—”
You’re crying now, hands shaking, chest tight. “Don’t lie to me. Please. Just don’t.”
For a moment, you think he’s going to walk away or call you crazy again.
Instead, he sits down in front of you.
And he cries.
Minho’s hands come up to cover his face, shoulders shaking as he apologizes over and over, words tumbling over each other.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I never meant to hurt you. it was a mistake.”
Your heart breaks all over again.
Because this is the Minho you fell in love with, the sensitive one, the one who used to take care of you.
One second, you are both kneeling on the floor crying, the next his hands find yours. His forehead presses to your shoulder. His lips brush against your skin, soft and familiar and devastating.
One thing leads to another, and your clothes are left behind as you both fall into your bed, hands and mouths leaving burning trails as tears continue to pour from both of you.
“I won’t do it again,” he whispers. “I promise. I swear. I love you. You’re—you’re everything to me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You close your eyes, and you let yourself believe him.
Because it’s easier to believe the lie than face the truth, because if he’s going to lie, at least he's lying with you.
The next morning, you wake to the bed dipping, and when you open your eyes, you see him sitting on the edge of the bed fully dressed, his shoulders slump head in his hands.
“I can’t do this right now,” he mutters. “I need air.”
He grabs his jacket, heading for the door.
“Minho,” you call, voice breaking. “Don’t walk away from me. Please.”
He hesitates, hand on the handle.
For a second, you think he might turn around.
Then the door closes.
You spend the whole day in bed, crying so hard you feel your voice give out, and eventually you pass out from exhaustion.
Later, when you stir awake, there's an arm draped over your waist like nothing’s wrong, you find yourself staring at the ceiling.
Thinking about who you were before Lee Know, about who you became with him.
You don’t know who you are without him.
You don’t know how to be alone.
So you stay.
You stay in the hope that one day, somehow, this will get better.
And in the dark, with his breath warm against your neck and his heartbeat steady against your back, you whisper a promise you don’t know how to keep.
“Just a little longer.”
tag list:
@vernorica123 @quaxing-lour @staytinyarmy @elisabeeee @stronglychanbiased @kittykatz1227 @jenzlovschan @mysticpolicedonut @roron33 @socandytales @f1ln4dr3cl16mv33 @dungeonduchess @thereadinglurker @harmonygallery @ghostly-xxo @enhacolor @sailorkoss @skeletonontheroad @felixlsworld @the3catlovers @leeknowz-pudding @sibulamoos @d1gital-data @peartreegarden @lyftyyy @mehrmonga @yoli123-8 @finding-nikaa @euphysia @whoa-jo @dragon03138 @wanderingrusalka @cardtak @havenwithleeknow @kwanniehae @awesome-oana1234 @lyuuu88 @ridhi1608 @ellie1725 @estella-novella @gnabcc @piscesrising01 @meelbarnes @eternalwooyoung @beal-o @stay-tiny-things @writtenbypeachy @ohmygays0 @i23haerin @cchapssaltteok
daily stray kids question ~ day 5
the way I spent a whole half hour on the bus wondering which question to give today- i was on a roll yesterday adding like a million new ones to my list and finally decided on this one today <3 but i hope you’re doing well today~! Fun fact, most of these questions, like today’s, were manifested based on my instagram feed, so i got today’s after seeing a bit too many clips of seungmin’s divine vocals in divine hehe
1. What’s your favorite song that shows off seungmin’s vocals, and specific part of the song (if u want)? This could be his solos or skz-records too! I honestly think goodbye or cover me has to hit at least top five, right, but those are js my thoughts hehe~ but it doesn’t just have to be his emotional parts! There’s also the aforementioned seungtro in divine to consider 🤤
I hope you enjoyed today’s question! I think there was a previous question about your favorite Han!pop song, so this is the second question to ever ask about one specific member in particular :p and it’s almost Valentine’s Day, so if you celebrate, eat lots of chocolate and candies! I always see these candy hearts online but I’ve never had one before, so I lowkey am planning to stalk the nearby convenience store for them- should i be worried about their flavor or taste??
~ ❔
OOOOOH this is a good one!
For me i love his opening line in Divine, it itches all the right spots in my brain! But I also love his vocals in Love Poem!!
daily skz question~ day 4
I DID IT (slide in ya face muah) I FINALLY FINISHED THAT GODFORSAKEN LAB- education is a nightmare i think im going to just marry rich 😔 omg you guys all had such good choices and answers yesterday i felt so proud reading them all! (I also added a lot of shows to my ‘to be watched’ list hehe)~ so onto today’s question! I thought of it after recalling the heartbreak of my phone battery dying before mountains even finished during the dominate tour…
1. If stray kids performed a concert where you live, what would be your dream set list? It doesn’t really matter how long it is! Honestly, it could just be like, blind spot on repeat, and any song from their skz-record or ever sung in their discography is fair game~ you can name it by album or the individual song, up to you!
Also, just while you’re reading this, i sent out some authors the rules of this project but forgive me if im repeating myself, i completely forgot which authors i already sent it to- so I’m just going to summarize it real quick:
The three main rules to this project are that, like i said above, any and all songs ever part of skz’s discography, unofficial or a cover, are fair game as answers for all related questions. To respect ur inbox space, if you haven’t yet answered a daily ask, i wont send u any more until i see that one is answered :) adding on, if you’d like to quit this project at any time, just don’t answer a daily question and I’ll remove you from my list after a week of it being unanswered~!
I’m not sure about where you live, but the weather’s getting warmer here, so have some refreshing drinks and desserts 😋 thanks for answering!
~ ❔
First off I’d cry if they performed in my home state cause I’m pretty sure that will never happen 😭
If we are sticking with a similar set list length like what thy did for the past DominATE tour, that’s like 25 songs in the main set, 5 for the first encore, and 2 for the second encore. So here’s my dream set list.
1. Divine
2. Ceremony
3. JJAM
4. Side effects
5. Easy
6. S-class
7. Back door
8. Wow (Lee know, Hyunjin, Felix)
9. 3Racha (Chan, Changbin, Han)
10. Can’t stop (Seungmin, I.N)
11. Charmer
12. Megaverse
13. Maze of memories
14. The View
15. Cheese
16. Halftime
17. Domino
18. Bounce back
19. Walkin on water
20. Cover me
21. Phoenix
22. Lose my breathe (Skz ver)
23. Falling up
24. Social path
25. Mixtape: Oh
Encore 1:
26. I like it
27. Stray kids
28. FAM
29. Star lost
30. Blind spot
Final encore:
31. LALALALA
32. Hall of Fame
daily skz question~ day 3
Good evening~! I’m typing this out on the bus right now since i have a busy schedule so i dont think ill have a chance till later in the day to actually send these out ToT so that’s why it might be coming to you now~ welcome to day 3 of the daily stray kids question agenda! (That’s actually such a mouthful i need to come up with a better name soon) and here’s today’s question~
1. Which franchise/kdrama/media do you think a stray kids song of your choice would be a perfect ost for? Ofc they’ve done so many, like slash and never ending story, and come play, so they definitely have lots of duality, so i suppose that means it’s more of a personal preference which song of theirs you choose! (I could totally see cover me echoing in the background as the two leads reunite in the rain running into each others arms 🤭)
I’m not sure about where you live, but where i am lots of people are coming down with the cold, so I’ll sign off today by saying stay healthy and drink lots of water~! <3
~ ❔
Sorry I’m a little behind on these!!!
For me I wish that Slash was used differently in Deadpool and Wolverine, like it could have been such a dope fight montage song and they barely played 13 seconds of the song that you can’t even really hear it!😤
Hihiii! I heard you’d be alright with participating in the daily stray kids question agenda~! So glad to have so many people actually join 🥺 i hope you’re doing well and enjoy this project? Thing? not sure what to call it TT im only crashing out a tiny bit because tumblr is tweaking and not letting me send asks out so i have to wait an hour for every five authors i ask but ANYWAYS welcome to day 2! today’s question is~
1. Do you have a favorite Japanese comeback, and what’s your favorite song from that comeback? It could be the title track or not, but hear me out when i say butterflies 👀 because i just like the whole bouncy vibe hehe
Thanks for sharing your thoughts and participating in this~ it’s pretty late where i am so I’ll sign off by saying sweet dreams and sleep softly (if its morning in ur timezone then, uhm, hope you had a good night’s rest!)
~ ❔
Gosh it’s hard to pick a favorite Japanese comeback cause they are all so good😂🥲
But I really like scars and giant!
can I ask something? and I don't want to be rude. but why do you make the reader and friends call han by his stage name/last name? isn't that kind of weird? wouldn't his girlfriend use his first name?
Not rude at all!
To be honest it’s not something I have really paid much attention to, it’s a name all the members call him all the time (I know they also call him Jisung) but more often than not he’s called Han/Hannie so thats why?
I kinda bounce around with calling them by their stage name vs their first name. It’s like a nickname thing to me.
For example: I call my partner by their nickname more than their actual and when I use their actual name they know it’s fairly serious. So that’s kinda the mentality I have with Han vs Jisung (Han is an everyday silly nickname name, and Jisung is when it’s serious)
I also don’t always follow that rule for all of them I.e ( Lee know - Minho, Felix - Yongbok and I flip flop a lot with Chan -Chris)
To make a short story long, i don’t know why i do what i do, but by golly, do i do it.