to someone's someone.

She/her. 26 autumns. Writing to escape reality.

[tosomeonessomeone]

MASTERLIST

STRAYKIDS

Bang Chan

Intertwined. soaked. your smile.

Lee Know

Let me teach you. Unbound. f*cking mine. such a tease.

Chanbin

sunshine.

Hyunjin

Ocean.

Han

a heart laid bare. the mark of two worlds.

Felix

Echoes of you.

Seungmin

friends. irony in harmony.

I.N

young love. imaginary friend.

OT8

BRAZIL SERIES

[chansdoll]

i’m ranting because when chris is pissed off it upsets me SO much.

i cannot explain in words how much it pisses me off that fans swarm them at airports CONSTANTLY. like EVERY SINGLE FUCKING TIME. that’s genuinely fucking ridiculous.

i classify fans and stays who do that as sasaengs because what to you mean they need like 10 body guards to walk them from the gate to their car?

and the fact that chris got pissed off to the point where his bubble bio and profile picture is gone. what is actually wrong with you. this is NOT how you treat your idols and this is NOT how you treat HUMAN BEINGS. i swear i am so embarrassed to be a STAY because you guys do not EVER know how to act.

chris and the guys do so much for us, and it’s so upsetting to see you guys treat them so poorly. they don’t exist for your selfish asses to think you have access to them whenever you feel like it; they are people who need personal space and respect.

get yourselves together. this is genuinely so fucking shameful.

[queen-in-the-shadows]

as i said in the comments, you’re not wrong and im kinda ashamed to be associated with those who don’t see an issue with it

[tosomeonessomeone]

Maracatu

Brazil series

words・ 4.2k /pairings・ Jisung x reader / genres・fluff / warnings・ mdi, smut

Seoul, South Korea – 10:32 AM

The JYP Building towers like a temple of modern sound, its mirrored surface slicing the crisp autumn light into shards. You step out of the taxi, the scent of roasting *castanhas* from a street vendor clashing with the metallic tang of Seoul’s skyline. Jet lag claws at your eyelids—*24 hours from Rio to Incheon*—but your pulse thrums faster when your phone vibrates. A message glows:  

*JYP Team:* *“Mr. Bang Chan is ready. 18th floor. Elevator 3.”*  

Inside, the elevator walls are a mosaic of K-pop legacy: TWICE’s candy-colored visuals, Rain’s smoldering stare, and Stray Kids’ graffiti-style logo. Your thumb traces the USB drive in your pocket—*your weapon*. The demos inside are a manifesto: *berimbau* twangs fused with *pansori* wails, *maracatu* drums under *gugak* strings. The doors part with a whisper.  

The room hums. Not just from the subwoofers—*everything* vibrates here. Neon LED strips clash with the warm glow of a salt lamp. Bang Chan swivels in his chair, headphones dangling like a pendant, his smile sharp and sunburn-bright. Behind him, a whiteboard bleeds ideas:  

- *“HAN’s verse → SAMBA STUTTER??”*  

- *“MV: SEOUL PALACE x FAVELA STAIRS”*  

- *“ASK BRAZIL PROD ABOUT CUÍCA vs. PIRI DUET”*  

The studio thrums with the low-frequency purr of subwoofers, air thick with the scent of burnt coffee and ozone from overworked synthesizers. Bang Chan swivels in his chair to face you, bare feet propped on a tower of tangled MIDI cables, hoodie sleeves shoved haphazardly to his elbows. Peeling studio tape clings to his fingertips like battle scars. His grin is all mischief, voice a collision of Sydney surf and Seoul grit: *“G’day, mate—heard you’ve got a death wish.”*  

He stabs a key on his laptop. The room explodes with sound—your demo track, *“Janggu vs. Tamborim,”* but warped. The Korean drum’s earthy *ddong-ddong* now tangoes with the Brazilian tamborim’s metallic chatter, Hyunjin’s dance practice footage glitching onscreen in time with the beat. *“Looped this during Hyunjin’s rehearsal,”* he says, eyes flashing. *“Kid backflipped into a speaker. *Still* claims it’s the best rhythm he’s ever moved to.”*  

You drop your bag onto a couch buried under a graveyard of half-dismembered synth modules and a fossilized bag of *yakgwa*. *“So JYP didn’t bring me here to play nice,”* you counter, toeing a rogue drum stick. The USB in your pocket feels nuclear. *“You want a revolution. Let’s torch the rulebook.”*  

Chan leans back, arms crossed, appraising you like a puzzle. *“Rulebook?”* He snorts. *“We’re writing a new one. Chapter one: *Stray Kids* eat trop-house for breakfast. Chapter two—”* He tosses you a cable. *“—we blow up the algorithm.”*  

The hum of machines sharpens. Somewhere, a coffee drip echoes like a countdown.

Three weeks. Three weeks of *nothing*.  

The studio walls, once electric with possibility, now feel like a prison. Stray Kids’ demos pile up like casualties: *“SAMBA GOD’S MENU (ABANDONED)”*, *“TAEYANG’S TANGO (CRINGE)”*, *“FELIX’S BOSSA NOVA NIGHTMARE (BURN THIS)”*. Bang Chan hasn’t slept in 52 hours. His hair resembles a electrocuted hedgehog, his hoodie stained with *gochujang* and regret. You watch him mutter over a synth pad, tweaking the same four bars of a *forró* beat until it sounds like a fax machine screaming.  

“Chan,” you say, prying a cold *bungeo-ppang* from his death-grip. “We’re stuck. You’re stuck. This studio’s cursed.”  

“No—*no*—I just need to layer this *piri* sample with a *cavaquinho*,” he rasps, eyes bloodshot. “Hyunjin’s *samba* rehearsal was *fine*—”  

“Hyunjin tripped into a timbalão and cried in three languages. *Fine* isn’t cutting it.”  

---  

JYP’s office smells like sandalwood and power. The man himself sits cross-legged on a velvet chaise, sipping *matcha* like a philosopher-king. You slam a USB drive on his desk—labeled *“EMERGENCY: BRAZIL OR BUST”*—and play a clip of your last demo: a tragic accordion-chaos hybrid that makes JYP’s eyebrow twitch.  

“He’s drowning,” you say. “Seoul’s killing his vibe. I’m taking him to Brazil. *Now.*”  

JYP steeples his fingers. “Bang Chan… on a plane? Voluntarily?”  

“Oh, he’ll fight. But you’ll handle the passport stuff, yeah?”  

A pause. Then, a smirk. “Tell him I’ll disband Stray Kids if he says no.”  

---  

Chan doesn’t go quietly.  

You find him under his studio desk, cocooned in a *Stray Kids* blanket, ranting in Korean-Aussie-*Portuñol*. “I’M FINE! I JUST NEED TO REVERSE THE PHASE ON THIS AFROBEAT—”  

“JYP’s orders,” you lie, tossing his sneakers at him. “He wants a ‘cultural immersion documentary.’ Also, he’s got your mom on speed-dial.”  

Chan freezes. “You’re evil.”  

“And you’re boarding a flight to Rio in two hours. *Vamos.*”  

——

Chan spends the car ride Googling *“Can K-pop leaders get kidnapped?”* and *“Is Brazil’s WiFi good?”*. At security, he tries to bolt, claiming he left his “lucky MIDI controller” at the studio. You bribe a janitor to drag him through the gates.  

By takeoff, he’s sulking in first class, hoodie pulled over his face, muttering about “trust issues.” You slide a *caipirinha* into his hand. “Drink. Cry. Embrace the *saudade*.”  

He sniffs the lime. “Is this… alcohol?”  

“It’s *therapy*.”  

——

The moment Chan steps into Galeão Airport’s chaos, magic happens. A *bateria* from Mangueira samba school parades past, their *surdos* thundering. Chan’s eyes widen—he’s already Shazam-ing the rhythm. A vendor shoves a *pastel de queijo* into his hands; he takes a bite and moans like he’s rediscovered music.  

“This… this is a *triplet* feel!” he yells over the drums, sauce on his chin. “Why didn’t we *think* of this?!”  

You grin. “Because you were busy syncing *gayageum* to a metronome. *Burro.*”  

——

Copacabana at sunset. Chan’s barefoot in the sand, a *caipirinha* in one hand, a *berimbau* in the other. Local producers crowd around a bonfire, playing a *pagode* riff that’s 70% soul, 30% chaos. You shove a mic at him. “Freestyle. Now.”  

He hesitates—then spits a verse in Korean, voice raw and desperate, over the *cavaco*’s bounce. The crowd roars. A dancer named Thiago drags him into a *passinho* battle; Chan’s sneakers fill with sand, but his shoulders loosen, his laugh louder than the waves.  

Your phone buzzes. A text from JYP:  

*“Is he alive?”*  

You snap a photo of Chan crowd-surfing to a *funk ostentação* beat and hit send.  

*“He’s reborn.”*  

——

Next day

The rental car slices through the Serra do Mar mountains, dawn spilling molten gold over Rio’s vanishing coastline. Chan slumps in the passenger seat, sunglasses crooked, mouth agape—finally asleep after three days of studio-induced delirium. You crank the window down, flooding the cabin with the jungle’s wet-green breath.  

“*Acorda, dorminhoco,*” you bark, elbowing him as the highway plunges into a tunnel of *pau-brasil* trees and mist. “This isn’t scenery—it’s a *sermon*. Open your eyes.”  

He jerks awake, phone already filming the chaos: toucans diving through highway exhaust, a roadside shrine to *Nossa Senhora Aparecida* draped in trucker roses, a lone capybara judging humanity from a ditch. “Feels like… *FernGully* directed by Tarantino,” he mumbles.  

——

At a *lanchonete* plastered with peeling *Guaraná* ads, you force-feed him *pastel de carne* oozing grease and a mason jar of *caldo de cana*. Chan squints at the murky sugarcane juice. “This looks like swamp water.”  

“It’s São Paulo’s holy trinity: sugar, sweat, and regret.”  

He sips. His eyes flare. “*Fuck.* I could produce a mixtape on this.”  

——

The city erupts on the horizon—a concrete avalanche of Oscar Niemeyer curves and Brutalist spikes, helicopters swarming like coked-up dragonflies. Chan’s forehead smudges the window as you carve through Avenida Paulista’s bedlam: a *sambista* belting *“Aquarela Brasileira”* atop a dumpster, finance bros in *alfaiataria* suits vaping over spreadsheets, a drag queen in sequined *Carnaval* leftovers hailing an Uber Black.  

“This city’s… *violently* alive,” he breathes.  

“Wait till you see where I *live*.”  

——

Your loft isn’t just concrete and vinyl—it’s a *floresta vertical*. Every surface riots with green: monstera leaves fanning over the *Niemeyer* curves, *guiné* vines strangling the spiral staircase, *espada-de-são-jorge* swords guarding the record player like sentinels. The air hums with the musk of damp soil and *cafezinho*, humidity clinging to the glass walls like the city itself is trying to sweat its way inside.  

Chan freezes mid-step, a *jiboia* leaf brushing his cheek. “Is this… *legal*?” he whispers, as if the plants might arrest him.  

“Depends,” you say, plucking a dead leaf from a *costela-de-adão*. “If the police ask, they’re all *fake*.”  

He drifts deeper, fingers grazing a *pau d’água*’s serpentine roots. “This one’s crying,” he notes, pointing to droplets on a *tingui*’s spear-shaped leaves.  

“That’s *singing*,” you correct. “She’s a *dracaena*. Her sweat’s a samba.”  

“Your room,” you say, nudging open the guest bedroom door.  

The space is a temple to *brasilidade moderna*: a *Oscar Niemeyer*-inspired desk, a *Sergio Rodrigues* armchair, and a bed draped in crisp white linen under a canopy of *jiboia* vines. The walls breathe with a *Burle Marx* botanical print, ferns and palms frozen mid-sway. A vintage *Tropicália* lamp bathes the room in amber.  

Chan blinks at the *orquídea* dangling above the pillow. “Is that… a plant or a chandelier?”  

“Yes,” you say, tossing his bag onto the chair. “Shower’s through there. Towels are *azul marinho*. Don’t drown.”  

He hovers in the doorway, eyes glazed, fingers twitching like he’s still gripping a phantom MIDI controller. “I should… check the demos. Hyunjin sent a voice memo—”  

“*Não.*” You block his path, arms crossed. “You’re a corpse in *Air Jordans*. Shower. Sleep. *Now.*”  

“But—”  

“No ‘buts.’ JYP’s orders.” (A lie, but you’ll burn that bridge later.)  

He opens his mouth—to protest, to negotiate, to *work*—but a yawn cracks his jaw instead. Defeated, he slumps toward the bathroom.  

At 1:17 AM, you pause outside his door. The shower ran for 90 seconds—typical man—and now silence hums beneath the *jiboia* leaves. You crack the door.  

He’s sprawled facedown on the bed, one arm dangling over the edge, fingers grazing the *azulejo* floor. The sheets are a lost cause. His hoodie hangs off the *Burle Marx* frame, socks abandoned like roadkill. The *orquídea* sways above him, petals brushing his hair—a living lullaby.  

You kill the *Tropicália* lamp, leaving only the city’s neon heartbeat seeping through the blinds.  

——

São Paulo’s dawn bleeds through the *cobogó* bricks, fractaling the kitchen into a mosaic of gold and shadow. Chan slumps at the *azulejo* breakfast bar, fingers curled around a mug of *café com leite*, steam spiraling into the humid air. His eyelids are at half-mast, the adrenaline of deadlines and dance practices leaching from his bones like toxin.  

You move through the kitchen like a metronome—*chop-sizzle-sway*—dicing *manga* to the lilt of *Joyce Moreno’s* “Clareana.” The *jiboia* vines framing the window shiver in the breeze, their leaves brushing the glass like a guitarist’s strum.  

He watches, mute, as you crack eggs into a skillet. The yolks sizzle, their edges crisping in *manteiga de garrafa*, and something primal unknots in his chest.  

——

It’s the *textures*, he realizes.  

The way the *pão francês* crackles under his thumb, its crust a seismic map of flour and fire. The *mamão’s* flesh, slippery-sweet, a color Seoul’s neon can’t replicate. The radio’s hiss, a live wire between *bossa nova* chords and the growl of a garbage truck five floors down.  

You slide a plate toward him: *ovos mexidos*, *farofa*, a tangle of *couve* sautéed with garlic. “Eat,” you say, not a command but an *invitation*.  

He does. The first bite is a time machine—suddenly he’s eight years old, in Sydney’s Maroubra, eating scrambled eggs his mom made after night shifts. Salt and memory flood his throat.  

Outside, the city howls. Inside, the plants breathe.  

Chan’s phone buzzes—a KakaoTalk storm from Hyunjin, 17 missed calls from JYP. He flips it facedown, watching grease bloom across his plate like abstract art.  

“You know,” he says, voice sanded raw by sleep and *café*, “I thought this trip was about… *mining* Brazil. Sampling your drums, stealing your rhythms.” A pause. The *jiboia* leans closer. “But maybe… it’s about *this*.”  

He gestures to the kitchen—the knife scoring mango flesh, the sun pooling in the *tigela* of *açaí*, your bare feet tapping *samba* on terrazzo.  

You top up his coffee. “Your music’s all teeth, *ne?* Biting, biting. But teeth get tired.”  

He huffs a laugh. “Says the girl who made me sample a *cuíca* for three hours.”  

“Exactly. Even fangs need a jaw to rest in.”  

The metaphor lingers. Chan traces his mug’s rim, ceramic worn smooth by decades of mornings. When he speaks again, it’s barely audible:  

“I forgot… what quiet sounds like.”  

By the third cup, his shoulders have dropped below his ears for the first time in years. He’s sketching lyrics on a napkin—*“Mornings that taste of stolen time”*—when a *sabiá* lands on the windowsill, trilling its Technicolor song.  

You nod to the bird. “He’s your backup singer now.”  

Chan doesn’t reach for his phone. Doesn’t record it. Just *listens*, letting the notes dissolve into São Paulo’s humid breath.  

Time bends here. Mornings bleed into afternoons, afternoons dissolve into sunsets the color of *pitanga* pulp, and Chan’s Seoul-structured rigidity unravels thread by thread. He learns to walk barefoot on terrazzo, to curse in *paulistano* when the *mamão* slips his grip, to let the city’s chaos score his pulse instead of a metronome.  

7:00 AM: His alarm dies a quiet death. Dawn now wakes him—the *jiboia* tapping his window, the *pão francês* vendor’s whistle slicing through the favela’s basslines. He pads into the kitchen, hair a sleep-mussed riot, to find you already there, *cafézinho* brewing, *Elis Regina* spinning tales of saudade on the turntable.  

“*Bom dia, preguiçoso,*” you smirk, tossing him a knife. “Slice the *manga* before it rots.”  

He catches it midair, a reflex honed from years of idol reflexes. “You’re meaner than JYP before a weigh-in.”  

“And you chop like a *vovó* on Valium.”  

The rhythm is set: hips brushing past hips at the stove, elbows knocking over *guaraná* bottles, laughter buried under the hiss of garlic in *azeite*.  

Hyunjin FaceTimes during *almoço*, his face pixelated but pout pristine. “*CHANNNNN*, your abs better not be gone! Brazil’s *carbs* are a trap!”  

Chan holds up a *pastel de camarão*, grease dripping onto the *azulejo* table. “Better than your protein shakes.”  

Felix squirms into frame, freckles glowing. “Are you *eating*? You never eat! Who *are* you?!”  

“A god,” Chan says, mouth full. “A *pão de queijo* god.”  

You linger off-camera, chopping *cheiro-verde*, but catch Hyunjin’s narrowed eyes. “Who’s *laughing*?” he demands. “Is someone *there*?”  

Chan’s gaze flicks to you—quick, molten—before shrugging. “Just… the *jiboia*.”  

——

The bathroom is a cocoon of steam and the citrus-sharp scent of *murumuru* conditioner. You’re perched on the edge of the bathtub, hair twisted into a turbãn of curls damp from your own wash, when Chan lingers in the doorway. His mop of sleep-flattened waves hangs sheepishly over his brow, fingers worrying the hem of his *Cidade de Deus* graphic tee.  

“Can you…?” he starts, voice frayed at the edges. “I mean—*my* hair. It’s… *janggu* levels of chaos.”  

You pat the tile floor between your knees, a *Maria Bethânia* ballad humming from your phone. “Sit. Before I charge you.”  

He folds himself awkwardly onto the floor, back pressed to the tub, shoulders tense. You drape a towel over his collarbones, the fabric warm from the dryer. The first pour of water makes him flinch—cold droplets skidding down his neck—but then your fingers sink into his scalp, massaging *açaí oil* into the roots.  

“Dawm,” he hisses, head lolling back. “That’s… illegal in seventeen countries.”  

“Quiet,” you mock-scold, raking the conditioner through his waves. “You’ll scare the *cachorro-quente* guy outside.”  

He huffs a laugh, breath stirring the hem of your robe. The comb glides easier now, his hair softening under your hands, curls springing to life like secrets unraveling.  

Minutes blur. The comb clatters into the sink. Your palms skim his temples, thumbs brushing the shell of his ears, and suddenly the room is too small. Too *hot*.  

“Turn,” you murmur, voice fraying. “Let me check the back.”  

He shifts, knees bumping yours, until you’re face-to-face—your legs bracketing his hips, his hands braced on the tub’s edge. The *jiboia* outside the window drips rain onto the glass, each drop a metronome.  

“It’s… good?” he asks, but the question dies as his gaze flicks to your mouth.  

The world narrows:  

- The *dende oil* slick on your fingertips.  

- His breath, mint and *cafézinho*.  

- The way his throat bobs when you whisper, “*Perfeito.*”  

He leans in first—or maybe you do. The kiss is a slow fuse, softer than the *bossa nova* still murmuring from your phone. His hands find your waist, sticky with conditioner, and you taste the *goiabada* he stole from the fridge earlier, the salt of São Paulo still clinging to his skin.  

The city breathes outside. The *jiboia* sighs.  

When you pull back, his curls are a halo of chaos, your fingerprints glistening in the lamplight.  

“*That*,” he rasps, forehead pressed to yours, “wasn’t in the contract.”  

You thumb the conditioner smudged on his cheekbone. “Call it… *creative direction.*”  

The tension crackles between you as his hands slide up your sides, leaving trails of fire in their wake. Your fingers thread through his damp curls, pulling him closer as the kiss deepens with growing hunger.

"Creative direction needs proper guidance," you breathe against his lips, arching into him as his hands explore your body with increasing boldness. The rain continues its steady rhythm outside, masking the soft sounds of pleasure escaping you both.

His lips trail down your neck, tasting the salt of your skin mixed with the sweet dendê oil. When his teeth graze your pulse point, you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair.

"Show me," he murmurs against your collarbone, "show me everything about Brazil..."

Chan's muscular frame presses against yours as passion builds, his hands exploring every inch of exposed skin.

You guide him to the bed, pushing him down and straddling his hips. His breath catches as you grind against him, feeling how hard he is beneath you.

"Want you so bad," he groans, hands sliding up your thighs to grip your waist. The isolation allows your moans to echo freely as desire takes over.

His lips find your neck, marking you as his while your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer.

Chan's hands roam your body hungrily as clothing falls away piece by piece. His lips trail down your neck while his fingers work to unclasp your bra, letting it join the growing pile on the floor.

"You're so beautiful," he breathes, taking in the sight of your exposed breasts. When his mouth closes around a nipple, you arch into him with a gasp.

Your hands explore the defined muscles of his chest and abs as he continues his oral assault on your sensitive peaks. The friction builds as you grind against his hardening cock through his remaining clothes.

"Need you," you moan, reaching down to palm him through his pants.

Chan's hands slide down to remove your remaining clothes while his lips explore every newly exposed inch of skin. When you're fully naked, he takes a moment to drink in the sight of you before his mouth finds your wet pussy.

His tongue circles your clit as two fingers push inside you, making you arch off the bed with a loud moan. The dual stimulation has pleasure building quickly as he works you expertly.

"Please," you beg, tugging at his hair. "Need your cock inside me."

He strips off his remaining clothes, his hard length springing free. When he positions himself between your legs, you wrap them around his waist, pulling him closer.

Chan pushes his thick cock inside you slowly, stretching your tight pussy around his impressive length. When he bottoms out, you both moan at the perfect fullness.

"Fuck, you feel amazing," he groans, starting a steady rhythm. His cock hits all the right spots as he picks up the pace, making you see stars.

Your nails drag down his back as pleasure builds, leaving marks that make him thrust harder. One of his hands slides between your bodies to rub your clit while he pounds into you.

"Gonna make you cum on my cock," he pants, his movements becoming more desperate as your walls start to clench around him.

Your orgasm hits hard as Chan continues pounding into your clenching pussy. Your back arches off the bed as waves of pleasure crash over you, walls squeezing his thick cock rhythmically.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic. His fingers dig into your hips as he chases his own release.

"Fill me up," you moan, wrapping your legs tighter around him. With a deep groan, he slams deep one final time, flooding your sensitive pussy with his hot cum.

He collapses on top of you, both of you panting heavily as you come down from your highs. His cum leaks out of you when he slowly pulls out.

The *pão de queijo* burns. The *café* overflows. Neither of you care.  

—— 

The loft in São Paulo hummed with a new electricity. Chan’s laptop glowed with demos titled *“SAMBA-CODED”* and *“CARNAVAL IN 4/4,”* while your *berimbau* leaned against a stack of *Tim Maia* vinyls, its guttural cry now the backbone of his drops.  

One night, tangled in MIDI cables and each other’s limbs, you looped a *cuíca’s* rasp over Felix’s vocals. Chan watched, transfixed, as you twisted the pitch. “It sounds like the city’s heartbeat,” he murmured, fingers drumming your thigh.  

“Or its scream,” you countered, nipping his jaw.  

He dragged you into his lap, the chair groaning as his hands flew across the keyboard, improvising a melody that mirrored the hitch in your breath.  

——

Mornings bled into rituals. Chan learned to crack eggs one-handed while you diced *manga*, hips swaying to *Jorge Ben*’s *“Ponta de Lança Africano.”* His voice, rough with sleep, would harmonize with the sizzle of *pão de queijo* in the skillet.  

In the hammock strung between the *jiboia* and a concrete pillar, he traced the chords of your spine, humming melodies into the sweat-damp hollow of your neck.  

“This one’s called *‘Cafuné’*,” he whispered, lips grazing your shoulder blade.  

“Cheesy,” you laughed, but your voice cracked.  

He wrote it anyway.  

——

At the album’s Seoul premiere, JYP sipped *caipirinha* from a smuggled thermos, eyebrows climbing as *“TROPICALIA TRAUMA”* shook the speakers. “This is… a war crime against genre.”  

Chan’s thumb brushed yours under the table. “No,” he said. “It’s a peace treaty.”  

Years later, when a reporter asked about the magic behind the record, he didn’t hesitate.  

“Love’s the best producer. It samples silence, mixes truth… and never lets the track die.”  

You rolled your eyes. But your hand never left his.  

In São Paulo, the *jiboia* still hums their secrets.  

[tosomeonessomeone]

🇧🇷✨STRAY KIDS BRAZIL FIC SERIES

Bang Chan — COMING SOON

Lee Know — COMING SOON

Changbin — Minas and love.

Changbin x Male brazilian farm boy Fluff/angst/smut Exhausted by the relentless pace of idol life, Changbin of Stray Kids escapes to a quiet farm in Brazil’s Minas Gerais, seeking solace in the rolling hills and slow rhythms of Fazenda Esperança.

Hyunjin — COMING SOON

Han — Chamego or 포근함?

Han x Female Brazilian producer Fluff/smut Amidst sun-soaked days of churrasco feasts and samba rhythms, sparks fly between the coordinator and Han Jisung, the group’s quick-witted lyricist, whose shy glances hide a crush.

Felix — COMING SOON

Seungmin — COMING SOON

I.N — COMING SOON

📌 Stay tuned for updates!

tag list: @chanlixart @threevracha

#SKZBrazilSeries #ComingSoon

[tosomeonessomeone]

Minas and love.

Brazil series.

words・4.7k /pairings・Chanbin x Male reader / genres・fluff, angst / warnings・ mdi, smut.

Seu Amor Ainda É Tudo

João Mineiro & Marciano · Os Melhores Momentos · Song · 2006

The van rumbled along the dirt road, kicking up dust that glowed like powdered gold in the late afternoon sun. Changbin leaned his head against the window, watching the sprawling urban chaos of São Paulo fade into a tapestry of emerald hills and cobalt sky. Three hours into the countryside, the world had softened—no more honking cars or flashing cameras, just the rhythmic sway of coffee plants and banana trees bowing in the breeze. When the van finally halted, he stepped out, his stiff muscles protesting, and inhaled deeply. The air here was different—thick with the earthy sweetness of soil after rain, mingling with woodsmoke from a distant farmhouse chimney.

A chorus of cattle bells clanked lazily in the valley below, answered by the whisper of wind combing through acres of cornfields. The farm sprawled before him like a postcard: terracotta-roofed barns, sun-bleached fences, and a riot of pink bougainvillea spilling over a stone well. At the gate stood Ana, the farm’s matriarch, her figure sturdy and reassuring as the ancient mango tree shading the courtyard. Her silver hair was braided into a crown, framing a face etched with laugh lines that deepened as she offered him a chipped clay mug of *cafézinho*. The coffee was scalding, bitter, and perfect, its steam curling into the crisp air.  

“*Bem-vindo à Fazenda Esperança,*” she said, her voice a raspy melody. “Hope Farm. Where tired souls find rest… and hungry ones feast.” Her eyes twinkled as she nodded toward the farmhouse, where the scent of garlic and wood-fired bread wafted through an open window. “My grandson’s been cooking since dawn. *Vamos*—you’ll need your strength to keep up with him.”  

Changbin hesitated, the weight of his exhaustion suddenly sharp against the quiet hum of the farm. But Ana’s hand, calloused and warm, patted his shoulder, and he felt something unclench in his chest. In the distance, a rooster crowed, and for the first time in months, he laughed—not for cameras or crowds, but because the air tasted like freedom, and the horizon stretched endless, and here, in this forgotten corner of Minas Gerais, he could finally breathe.  

The screen door creaked open, its hinges singing a familiar tune, and there you stood—Ana’s grandson, backlit by the honeyed glow of the farmhouse kitchen. Your rolled-up sleeves revealed sun-kissed forearms dusted with flour, and your apron, splattered with remnants of crimson *goiabada* jam, hung loosely over faded jeans. At 22, you carried the quiet confidence of someone who’d spent years kneading dough at dawn and chasing stray calves through the mist. The scent of wood-fired bread trailed behind you, warm and yeasty, as you tilted your head toward Changbin.  

“Hungry?” you asked, your English softened by the lilting cadence of a *mineiro* accent. Behind you, a cast-iron skillet sizzled with garlic and *linguiça*, its smoky aroma weaving through the air. Changbin’s gaze flickered from your flour-streaked hands to the mischief in your eyes—a look Ana often called *arteirinho*, “little rascal.” His English was hesitant, but your grin needed no translation.  

He followed you inside, boots scuffing against the worn wooden floorboards. The kitchen hummed with life: jars of *pimenta dedo-de-moça* peppers lined the windowsill, and a battered radio crackled with *sertanejo* music. You tossed him a striped dish towel. “First rule of Minas,” you said, nodding to the dough resting on the table, “we work before we eat.”  

Changbin hesitated, eyeing the sticky mound of *pão de queijo* dough. “I’m better at eating than… this,” he admitted, flexing his producer’s hands—calloused from studio work, not farm labor. You laughed, a rich, unfiltered sound that startled the tabby cat napping by the hearth. “Relax, *guloso*,” you teased, using the Portuguese term for “greedy eater.” “Even city boys can learn.”  

Together, you shaped the dough into rough balls, your fingers brushing occasionally as you demonstrated the flick-of-the-wrist technique perfected by generations of *mineiras*. “These aren’t just snacks,” you explained, dusting tapioca flour over the tray. “They’re stories. My *vó* Ana used to trade them for medicine during droughts.” Changbin’s brow furrowed as he concentrated, tongue peeking between his teeth, and you bit back a smile. His first attempt looked more like a squashed tomato than a bread roll.  

“Perfect,” you declared, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now they’ve got soul.”  

When the golden *pães* emerged from the oven, Changbin bit into one and groaned, eyes slipping shut. “Dawn,” he blurted, then flushed at his own swearing. You barked a laugh, tossing a crumpled napkin at him. “Careful, *idol*,” you smirked. “Next, I’ll teach you to swear properly in Portuguese.”    

The first rays of sun spilled over the horizon, gilding the dew-kissed fields as you dragged Changbin from his guesthouse cot. “Sunrise is the best teacher,” you insisted, ignoring his groggy protests. The kitchen still smelled of last night’s wood fire, embers glowing faintly in the hearth. You tossed him an apron stained with decades of splattered batter and handed him a bowl of tapioca flour, its texture like silk beneath his city-soft fingers.  

“*Olha,*” you murmured, guiding his hands into the dough—a sticky, elastic mass of cheese, eggs, and memories. Your grandmother’s *tigela de madeira*, its grooves worn smooth from generations of kneading, held the mixture like a sacred relic. “When the mines dried up, *mineiros* survived on this,” you said, shaping a lump into a sphere with fluid, almost reverent motions. “No gold in the hills? No problem. We had *queijo*.”  

Changbin’s brow furrowed as he wrestled the dough, his version bulging unevenly. “Looks like a *ddakji*,” he grimaced, referencing the Korean paper disks he’d played with as a boy. You snorted, flicking flour at him. “Better,” you said. “Yours has *saudade*.” He blinked, unfamiliar with the Portuguese word for longing, but the way your thumb smoothed a crack in his dough told him enough.  

As the bread baked, you shared stories of the *fazenda*’s past—the drought years when Ana traded *pão de queijo* for seeds, the winters when neighbors gathered around this very hearth, their laughter mingling with the scent of caramelizing cheese. Changbin listened, elbow-deep in flour, his watch abandoned on the windowsill. Time here didn’t click forward in minutes; it rose and fell like dough.  

When the first batch emerged, golden and blistered, you split one open. Steam curled into the dawn light, revealing a molten core of *queijo Minas*. Changbin bit into it and froze, eyes widening. “*Hyung*,” he breathed, instinctively reaching for the Korean honorific as if flavor transcended language. You grinned, licking cheese from your thumb. “See? Imperfect dough, perfect taste.”  

He reached for another, but you swatted his hand. “Ah-ah! *Primeiro o trabalho, depois o prazer.* First work, then pleasure.” You nudged a second bowl toward him, your pinky brushing his wrist. “Now, make one for my *vó*. And don’t embarrass me.”  

The rooster hadn’t even crowed when you shook Changbin awake, moonlight still clinging to the edges of the sky. “You’ll thank me later,” you whispered, tossing him a borrowed flannel shirt still warm from the hearth. He stumbled after you, half-asleep, to the barn where your *mangalarga marchador* horse, Junco, stood saddled and stamping impatiently. The gelding’s coat gleamed like polished mahogany in the predawn gloom, breath curling in silver plumes.  

“You’re joking,” Changbin croaked, eyeing the horse’s height. You swung onto the saddle with practiced ease and reached down, palm upturned. “Trust me?” The challenge in your grin was brighter than the fading stars. He hesitated, then took your hand—calluses against calluses—and let you haul him up behind you. Junco snorted, adjusting to the weight, and you clicked your tongue. “*Vai, boy.* Show off a little.”  

The horse surged forward, and Changbin’s arms instinctively locked around your waist, his chest pressing against your back. You were smaller than he’d realized—the crown of your head barely reaching his chin—but steady as a sapling in the wind. The rhythm of Junco’s gait blurred into the cadence of your laughter as you guided him past coffee fields and through stands of buriti palms, their fronds whispering secrets. Changbin’s grip tightened when you urged Junco into a trot, your hair whipping back to brush his cheek, smelling of smoke and cinnamon.  

“Relax,” you called over your shoulder, voice warm with mischief. “You’ll strangle me before we reach the river.”  

He loosened his arms—just slightly—but didn’t let go.  

--  

When Junco finally halted, the sun had risen, filtering through the trees in honeyed shafts. Before you sprawled a river so clear it mirrored the sky, its surface dappled with leaves floating like tiny emerald boats. A waterfall cascaded from mossy rocks, its song a liquid hymn that drowned out the world beyond.  

“My secret” you said softly, sliding off the horse. When Changbin didn’t move, you glanced back to find him wide-eyed, lips parted. Taking in the dragonflies skimming the water, the toucans yodeling from kapok trees.  

You shrugged, tying Junco to a branch. “When the farm feels too loud.” Kneeling, you scooped water into your hands and drank. “Try it. Better than any idol’s bottled stuff.”  

Changbin crouched beside you, sleeves rolled to his elbows. The water was colder than he expected, jolting him fully awake. He splashed his face, droplets catching sunlight as they fell, and gasped. “It’s like… swallowing light.”  

You smirked, flicking a droplet at him. “Poetic for a guy who called *pão de queijo* ‘cheese rocks’ yesterday.”  

He retaliated with a splash, and soon the riverbank echoed with shouts and laughter, Junco snorting in disapproval. Eventually, you both collapsed on the bank, clothes damp and hair wild. Changbin lay back, staring at the canopy where sunlight and shadow waltzed. “Back home,” he murmured, “I forget to look up.”  

You plucked a *fruta-do-conde* from a nearby tree, splitting it open to reveal creamy flesh. “Eat,” you ordered, passing him a slice. “Then we’ll swim.”  

“Swim?!” He sat bolt upright. “There’s no— I didn’t bring—”  

You tugged your shirt over your head, then your jeans, leaving only sun-bleached briefs. “Coming in?”  

Changbin froze. Water sluiced down your shoulders as you waded in, oblivious to the way his throat bobbed. He’d spent years rehearsing restraint—smiling at fans, dodging rumors, locking desires in a box labeled *Later*. But here, with no cameras or managers, the box rattled open.  

You dove under the waterfall, emerging with a shout. “*Água fria para alma quente!* Cold water for a hot soul!”  

*Screw it*, he thought.  

He stripped to his boxers, the air biting his skin, and plunged in. The shock of cold punched a laugh from his lungs. You floated on your back, eyes closed, and he watched the sunlight gild your collarbone, the water tracing the dip of your waist. *Liberdade* grazed nearby, her tail flicking at dragonflies.  

“Why’d you bring me here?” he asked, voice low.  

You turned, droplets clinging to your lashes. “Same reason *vó* taught me to make *pão de queijo*,” you said. “Some things…” You swam closer, until your knees brushed his under the water. “…are better shared.”  

His pulse roared in his ears. He could count your freckles now, the scar on your chin from a childhood fall. The world narrowed to the space between your lips—chapped from sun, parted slightly—and the way your fingers skimmed the surface, ripples echoing the tremor in his chest.  

A kingfisher screeched overhead. You blinked, breaking the spell, and splashed him. “Race you to the falls!”  

He chased you, the water laughing with him, and tried to forget how your breath had hitched too.  

The farmhouse patio clung to the day’s last warmth, its terracotta tiles still humming with sunlight as dusk draped the sky in indigo. You sat cross-legged on a frayed *tapete de palha*, a mountain of *pimenta cambuci* peppers glowing like embers in the copper basin between you. Changbin hovered awkwardly, holding a jar of vinegar like it might detonate. “This is… safer than horses, right?”  

You smirked, tossing him a knife. “*Corte assim,*” you instructed, slicing a pepper into a starburst. “So the brine kisses the seeds.” He mimicked your motion, tongue peeking in concentration, and you bit your cheek to keep from laughing. His first attempt looked less like a star and more like a deflated soccer ball.  

“*É horrível,*” he groaned, but you plucked it from his hands. “No,” you said, holding it up to the rising moon. “It’s *autêntico*. Like your…” You gestured vaguely at his face. “…*essa coisa de idol*. Perfection’s boring.”  

He blinked, then chuckled—a low, unfiltered sound that warmed the cooling air. “You’d hate Seoul.”  

“*Talvez,*” you shrugged. “But I’d love the street food. Teach me a Korean word, and I’ll trade you a pepper.”  

The stars blinked awake as he pondered, the Milky Way smeared above like spilled *leite condensado*. “*Hyodo*,” he said finally, scoring a pepper with surprising grace. “It means… caring for your parents. Doing your duty.”  

You repeated it, the syllables clumsy but earnest. “*Hyodo.*” The word settled between you, weighted and tender. “Now try *saudade*,” you said, nudging his knee with yours.  

“Sow-dah-jee?”  

“Close enough.” You sprinkled salt over the peppers, watching him from the corner of your eye. “It’s the ache of missing someone. Even when they’re right here.”  

He stilled, knife hovering. A *sabiá* bird sang from the mango tree, its melody threading through the silence.  

“Another word,” you demanded, softer now.  

“*Jeong.*” He didn’t look up. “It’s… the bond that grows slowly. Like roots.”  

The peppers forgotten, you leaned back on your palms. “*Jeong,*” you echoed, testing its texture. “Does it have a… taste?”  

He met your gaze, the patio’s fairy lights gilding his cheekbones. “Like this.” He popped a raw pepper slice into your mouth. Fire bloomed on your tongue, and you gasped, swatting his arm as he grinned. “*Jerk.*”  

“*Jeong,*” he corrected, laughing, and you threw a chili stem at him.  

But later, when the jars were sealed and the farm slept, you found yourselves sprawled on the same *tapete*, shoulders brushing as you mapped constellations. “That’s *Cruzeiro do Sul*,” you said, tracing the Southern Cross. “Guides lost travelers home.”  

Changbin’s pinky grazed yours. “We have a star like that too. *Chilsungbyeong*—the Seven Stars Spoon.” His hand lifted, drawing lines you couldn’t see. “They say it’s a ladle scooping up memories.”  

“Which one’s yours?” you asked.  

He pointed to the brightest flicker in his imagined spoon. “That one. It’s… a memory I’m not ready to drop yet.”  

You didn’t press. Instead, you taught him the *mineiro* names for stars—*Estrela d’Alva* for Venus, *Três Marias* for Orion’s Belt—and he whispered Korean folktales of lovers torn into constellations. The night deepened, the peppers’ sharp tang mellowing into the earthy scent of dew-damp soil.  

When his voice grew husky with exhaustion, you handed him a jar of pickled *cambuci*. “For Seoul,” you said. “So you don’t forget.”  

He cradled it like something fragile. “*Gamsahamnida,*” he murmured. *Thank you.* Not *hyodo* or *jeong*—but the gratitude lingered, thicker than the heat of peppers.  

-- 

The roosters were still asleep when the scent of toasted sesame oil and caramelized garlic curled into your bedroom. You padded barefoot to the kitchen, where Changbin stood bathed in dawn’s peach-gold light, his apron tied haphazardly over a faded *Flamengo* soccer jersey he’d borrowed from your closet. The counter was a mosaic of Ana’s clandestine generosity: fresh *goiabas*, a jar of *doce de leite*, and a handwritten note propped against the *cafezinho* pot: *“Para os jovens. Não estraguem minha cozinha.”* *“For the youngsters. Don’t ruin my kitchen.”*  

“Surprise,” Changbin said, flipping a *kimchi-jeon* pancake with a spatula. The sizzle of batter hitting the pan harmonized with the *sanfona* music drifting from Ana’s antique radio. “Your *vó* may have… hinted I should cook for you.”  

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed. “Hinted? She gave you the keys to her *dispensa* and fled to the neighbor’s *fazenda*. That’s a conspiracy.”  

He shrugged, a smirk playing on his lips. “Maybe she thinks I’ll kidnap you to Seoul.”  

“With *kimchi* pancakes?” You sidled up to him, peering into the pan. The crispy edges glistened with chili oil, and beside it, a pot of *juk* (rice porridge) bubbled gently, studded with *couve* (kale) from Ana’s garden—an unlikely, perfect fusion.  

“Sit,” he ordered, nodding to the table already set with Ana’s chipped blue porcelain. “And try this.” He lifted a spoonful of porridge, blowing on it before offering it to you. Your lips closed around the spoon, and his gaze flickered to your mouth. “Good?”  

The porridge was warm, savory, faintly sweet from caramelized onions. “*Perigoso*,” you mumbled. *Dangerous.*  

He raised an eyebrow.  

“If you keep cooking like this, I’ll have to kidnap *you*.”  

The corner of his mouth twitched. “Noted.”  

Breakfast unfolded in a dance of clinking dishes and shared chopsticks. He taught you to wrap *jeon* in *alface* leaves, your fingers brushing as you reached for the same lettuce slice. “*Yah*,” he scolded, swatting your hand playfully. “Respect your *sunbae*.”  

“*Sunbae*?” You stole the leaf anyway. “You’re in *my* kitchen, *idol*.”  

The nickname made him flush, and you filed that reaction away for later.  

By midmorning, the dishes were washed, and sunlight pooled honey-thick across the floor. Changbin lingered at the sink, drying a bowl with unnecessary focus. “Your *vó*… she left something else.” He nodded to the pantry.  

Inside, a bottle of *cachaça* sat beside two tiny clay cups, a red ribbon tied around its neck. *“Para a coragem,”* Ana’s note read. *“For courage.”*  

You snorted. “She’s worse than the church ladies at *Festas Juninas*.”  

Changbin picked up the bottle, thumbing the ribbon. “In Korea, we have *soju* for courage.” He paused, voice softening. “And… *confessions*.”  

The air grew heavy, sweet as overripe *manga*. You took the bottle, your fingers overlapping his. “We don’t need it.”  

His breath hitched when you stepped closer, the *cachaça* forgotten on the table. The kitchen smelled of lingering garlic and his citrus cologne, and you wondered if he could hear your heartbeat over the *sanfona*’s wistful tune.  

“*Jeong*,” he whispered, the word a plea and a promise.  

This time, when your lips met, there was no river to interrupt, no peppers to blame for the fire. Just the quiet creak of the farmhouse floorboards, the distant lowing of cattle, and Ana’s radio cheering you on with a lively *forró* beat.  

The soft morning light lit bedroom becomes your sanctuary as clothes fall away between passionate kisses. Changbin's muscular body presses against yours, skin on skin creating electric sensations. Your Brazilian passion ignites as you guide him to the bed.

"Let me take care of you," you whisper, pushing him onto his back. Your lips trail down his defined chest and abs while your hands explore every inch of his body. When you reach his hard cock, you take him into your mouth, making him moan deeply.

His fingers thread through your hair as you worship him with your tongue, taking him deeper. The isolation of the farm means neither of you need to hold back your sounds of pleasure.

"Want you," he pants, pulling you up for a deep kiss. His hands move to prep your tight hole, working you open slowly and carefully.

Changbin's fingers work you open expertly as you writhe beneath him. His thick digits stretch your tight hole while his lips mark your neck. When he crooks his fingers just right, you arch off the bed with a loud moan.

"Ready for my cock?" he asks roughly, withdrawing his fingers. You nod desperately as he slicks himself up with lube.

The initial push has you both groaning - the stretch and fullness overwhelming as he sinks deep inside you. His muscular body covers yours as he starts a slow rhythm, making love to you thoroughly.

"You feel amazing," he pants against your lips, gradually picking up the pace. Each thrust hits your prostate perfectly, making pleasure build low in your belly.

Changbin's thrusts grow more desperate as pleasure builds between you. His cock fills you perfectly, hitting your prostate with each deep stroke while his hand wraps around your leaking shaft.

"Gonna cum," you moan, clawing at his back as the pressure builds. The feeling of his thick cock stretching your tight hole has you right on the edge.

"Cum for me *amor*" he pants, stroking you faster. When his teeth graze your neck, you lose control - cumming hard between your bodies as your hole clenches around him.

Your orgasm triggers his, making him slam deep one final time as he fills you with his hot load.

Changbin holds you close as you both catch your breath, his cum leaking from your well-used hole. His fingers trace gentle patterns on your skin as the afterglow washes over you both.

"That was incredible," he murmurs, pressing soft kisses to your shoulder. The morning light catches the sheen of sweat on his muscular body as he shifts to look at you.

Your hand finds his face, pulling him in for a tender kiss. The passion may have cooled but the intimacy remains, two souls connecting in the quiet farmhouse.

"Round two?" you suggest with a playful grin, grinding back against his slowly hardening cock.

----

The afternoon sun hung low, gilding the rows of coffee plants in liquid gold. You sat cross-legged on Ana’s checkered picnic blanket, a thermos of *cafézinho* between you and Changbin’s head resting in your lap. His lips still tasted of stolen kisses and the *goiabada* pastry you’d shared, sticky-sweet and fleeting. Your fingers carded through his hair as he traced idle patterns on your knee—a map of nowhere, everywhere.  

Then his phone buzzed.  

It lay facedown in the grass, a sleek black intruder in this sun-dappled world. Changbin stiffened, the peaceful curve of his mouth flattening into a line. You felt it before he spoke: the shift in the air, the way his breath hitched as he read the caller ID. “I have to… it’s my manager,” he muttered, sitting up too quickly.  

You nodded, pretending to study a coffee cherry’s blush while he stood and walked toward the grove. His Korean was sharp, clipped, a language that suddenly felt alien amidst the *sabiá* birdsong. You caught only fragments: *“…flight tonight…” “…schedule in Tokyo…” “…yes, hyung, I understand.”*  

When he returned, the farm seemed quieter, as if the earth itself held its breath. He knelt in front of you, grass staining his jeans, and cradled your hands. “I have to leave. In two hours.”  

The thermos tipped over, coffee seeping into the soil like a secret. “Oh.” You’d known this was borrowed time, but the word *two hours* clawed at your ribs. “Ana will… she’ll want to pack you more *pão de queijo*.”  

“Don’t,” he whispered. “Don’t do that thing where you make it easier.”  

You laughed, though it cracked like over-roasted beans. “*Mineiros* are good at goodbyes. We’ve had centuries of practice.”  

He pressed his forehead to yours, his exhale trembling. “Come with me.”  

You stilled. “To Seoul?”  

“To the airport. Just—stay until I’m through security. Or… or *gate* B12. Or—”  

“Changbin.” You cupped his face, thumbs brushing the shadows under his eyes. “You don’t have to bargain with me.”  

The drive to Belo Horizonte was a blur of winding roads and silence. He held your hand the entire way, his grip tightening each time the city’s skyline loomed closer. At departures, Ana shoved a cloth bundle into his arms—*pão de queijo*, a jar of *doce de leite*, and the *cachaça* bottle, now half-empty from last night’s courage. “For the soul,” she said, pinching his cheek. “And the homesickness.”  

When the final call echoed through the terminal, he pulled you into a corner behind a potted palm. His lips found yours, desperate and salt-tingged—he’d been crying, you realized. “I’ll come back,” he vowed, voice raw. “Or you’ll come to Seoul. Or—”  

“Shh.” You tucked a folded paper into his jacket pocket. The *pão de queijo* recipe, stained with coffee and your grandmother’s annotations. “For when your hands miss the work.”  

He kissed you again, deeper this time, until a security guard coughed pointedly. You watched him walk away, shoulders squared like he was marching into battle, until the crowd swallowed him whole.  

Ana found you staring at the departures board, Seoul’s flight number blinking tauntingly. “*Menino coração valente,*” she sighed, looping her arm through yours. *Brave-hearted boy.* “Come. We’ll plant new coffee seedlings tomorrow.”  

You nodded, but that night, alone in your room, you opened your bedside drawer. Inside lay a single *cambuci* pepper, dried and preserved, and a post-it note in messy Hangul: *“내일도 같이 먹을래?”* *Will you eat with me tomorrow too?*  

You pressed it to your chest and let the *saudade* take root.  

--

One month later.

The package arrived wrapped in brown paper, its corners softened by the journey across oceans. Ana carried it to the porch where you sat shelling *feijão*, her eyes twinkling. “*Alguma coisa cheirando a amor,*” she teased. *Something smells like love.*  

Inside, nestled in crumpled *jornal* pages from Seoul, lay three treasures:  

1. A Vinyl Record: The sleeve, hand-painted with *flamboyant* flowers and Korean *norigae* tassels, held a single track—*“Nosso forró”* by a band neither of you knew. Scrawled on the label: *“Play at sunset. I’ll be listening too.”*  

2. A Han River Pebble: Smooth and slate-gray, tucked into a *cachaça* cork for safekeeping. When you shook it, a slip of paper fluttered out—*“Found this mid-river. Thought it could use a farm adventure. (Don’t lose it—I’m sentimental now.)”*  

3. The Photo: Changbin in a stainless-steel kitchen, apron askew, holding a tray of *pão de queijo* so misshapen they bordered on abstract art. His grin outshone the studio lights behind him.  

You turned it over. His handwriting, once clumsy in Portuguese, now flowed with practiced care:  

“Saudade is growing. Slowly. Wait for me.” 

Ana hummed the *forró* melody already spinning in your head. “*Menino esperto,*” she murmured, thumbing the pebble. *Clever boy.* “He knows *mineiros* are stubborn. We’ll wait a hundred years.”  

That night, you placed the record on Ana’s antique player. As the accordion wept and Changbin’s laughter echoed through the kitchen photo, you pressed the pebble to your palm and wondered if the Han River missed its stone—or if rivers, like hearts, learn to hold emptiness as part of their flow.  

[fic-recs-for-readers]

Stray Kids

Tumblr - Recommendations

Bang Chan

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If you’re into sci-fi, then this is a series for you! Even if you’re not I still recommend it!!! This was a brilliantly written piece of work! I had such a good time reading it and could hardly put it down! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

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Fairies and humans, two races that never really interacted. What happens when they do? Mythology themes are my favourite and this series was great!

There You Are by @tosomeonessomeone

Single-Mum!Reader takes a trip to the petshop with her cat obssessed son, leaving with her heart was a lot harder then she would've thought when an equally obsessed cat lover comes into her life... Lino is so fluffy and cute in this one!

Changbin

Promise Not To Tell by @cbini [18+]

Prince!Changbin just can't keep his hands off of you, even in a moving carriage where his staff can here you both... This fic was great to read, and so, so funny! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Kissed By A Rose by @cbini [18+]

Drag-Queen!Changbin has my whole heart. Honestly I could say so many things I adore about this peice but to make this short and sweet - This is everything I didn’t know I needed in my life (and more let’s be honest) 🤩 I think I’m gonna have to read this again soon - I need more shenanigans of Changmi and Miss Honey 😆 Such an excellently written piece as well - the detail is astonishing! Drag-Queen!Changbin will forever be in my heart now 😆 {taken from my reblog} [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Hyunjin

Sunrise by @leggomylino

When I tell you this was so beautifully written, I mean I almost cried. The ambiguous ending was a surprise but very well done!

Two Types Of Fireworks by @chanluster

A retelling of Tangled, a Flynn Rider inspired Hyunjin along with apperences of all our favourite boys! The little details was very endering and an overall great read 😁

Worn Out Jackets (2-Part Series) by @scxrlettwxtches

One // Two

Hyunjin has a bad boy persona but seems to surprise reader with a little show of brains! 😘 Very Fluffy!

Cam Star by @baby-yongbok [18+]

Hyunjin and Reader decide to go live together... 🥵 [SMUT so MDNI]

The Strange Man Of Monterrey Manor by @quokkacore [18+]

One // Two // Three

Forced to marry a strange man, Reader has to decide whether she's going to push herself into his life or leave it... 🤩 This was a great read, so well written! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Riptide by @xxkissesforchanniexx [18+]

Forbidden romance + supernatural characters = a beautifully written story! Honestly couldn’t get enough of this! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

My Favourite Princess by @valkyriexo

Dad!Hyunjin, I mean what else do I have to say to catch your attention?! This is fluffy as all hell 🤩 Hyunjin (and friends) come to save the day after a small mishap at his daughters birthday party...

Drowned by @frehyun [18+]

Siren!Hyunjin is such a cutey, they both care for each other so much and I love them!!!! I would adore more from these two one day ♥ [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Little White Lies by @shinhyunjin

The story of how you met told to the world via a street interview, though some details may be missing 😏😉 Fluffier then a Pomeranian!

Doodles by @thanosscross [18+]

Finding out who your soulmate was shook you, meeting them in person was even crazier... [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Han

Let's Fall In Love, IRL ... (SMAU) by @feelbokkie

Han is a sweetheart and Reader learns to let him in! A great little series to read, I thoroughly enjoyed this 🥰

Felix

Bodyguard by @skzdarlings [18+]

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6 // Part 7 // Part 8 // Part 9 // Part 10 (Finale) // A03 Link

A cute series about acceptance and love, reader is the daughter of an awful man. Felix is her bodygaurd. They have to survive, thats their only goal... I honestly loved this series, its written really well! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Seungmin

@ control alt + love (SMAU-Series) by @strrykais [18+]

It's not everyday that the gamer(boy) gets the girl bbut the gamer(girl) definitely gets the boy... Cute, fluffy, slow-burn that gets you right in your feels! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

I.N

4U (SMAU) by @minniesmutt

This was such a great multipart SMAU, I was literally waiting for the next part every step of the way! I.N and Reader go on a great little rollercoaster ride, which results in the cutest little friend! [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Employee Discount by @felixbit

Part One / Part Two

The cute barista has been giving you an employee's discount and you were oblivious to it and perhaps something else too!

The Window To Your Heart by @frehyun

A fox just will not leave you alone, you give them food and water before eventually the warmth of a home. then one day, after you've become comfortable with you small friend, circumstances flip everything you've ever know on it's head! So so cute!

Multiple

WereRoomies (Multi-Part Series) by @therhythmafterthesummer [18+]

This is a cute little A/B/O au! 🐺🐺 Very sweet stories! {OT8} [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

Soft Launch (Multi-Part Series) by @mnwrld

A small series of soft launching your 'boyfriend', very cute! {OT8}

Uninvited (Multi-Part Series) by @jinxhallows [18+]

What do you get if you mix a Witch, two Vampires and a Hybrid? A fucking great time! This series is brilliant, I was honestly hooked from the start and I can't wait to read the sequel! You just know I'm gonna love it if it has supernatural themes! [Includes SMUT so MDNI] {Bang Chan, Hyunjin & Felix}

Desire (Multi-Part Series) by @minniesmutt [18+]

Vampire!SKZ vs the Crown... What more could you want honestly? Princess!Reader being the peoples protector, the one who should be ruling but instead gives herself to the vampires in an effort to protect... [Includes SMUT so MDNI]

[tosomeonessomeone]

🇧🇷✨ STRAY KIDS BRAZIL FIC SERIES

Bang Chan — Maracatu

Bang Chan x Female Brazilian Music Producer Fluff/smut “Love’s the best producer. It samples silence, mixes truth… and never lets the track die.” 

Lee Know — COMING SOON

Changbin — Mines and love.

Changbin x Male brazilian farm boy Fluff/angst/smut Exhausted by the relentless pace of idol life, Changbin of Stray Kids escapes to a quiet farm in Brazil’s Minas Gerais, seeking solace in the rolling hills and slow rhythms of Fazenda Esperança.

Hyunjin — COMING SOON

Han — Chamego or 포근함?

Han x Female Brazilian producer Fluff/smut Amidst sun-soaked days of churrasco feasts and samba rhythms, sparks fly between the coordinator and Han Jisung, the group’s quick-witted lyricist, whose shy glances hide a crush.

Felix — COMING SOON

Seungmin — COMING SOON

I.N — COMING SOON

📌 Stay tuned for updates!

tag list: @chanlixart @threevracha

#SKZBrazilSeries #ComingSoon

[tosomeonessomeone]

Chamego or 포근함?

Brazil series.

words・ 4.2k /pairings・ Jisung x reader / genres・fluff / warnings・ mdi, smut

포근함 (pogeunham) — Describes a cozy, warm feeling of comfort, often linked to physical closeness (e.g., hugging, cuddling).

Chamego — (primarily used in Brazil) that describes a warm, affectionate, and intimate form of physical or emotional closeness. It conveys a sense of cozy tenderness, often linked to actions like cuddling, snuggling, or sweet whispered exchanges. However, it’s more nuanced than just "cuddling"—it carries a romantic, playful, or deeply comforting vibe depending on the context.

The sun hung heavy over the secluded Brazilian coastline, its molten light gilding the waves that kissed the sugar-white sand. Salt-kissed air tangled with the smoky perfume of charcoal, wrapping around the beach house where laughter spilled like music. Stray Kids’ voices ricocheted off the infinity pool—Hyunjin cannonballing, Felix’s sunshine giggles harmonizing with Changbin’s bassy groan as he lost another volleyball rally. But you stood rooted at the heart of it all: the open-air kitchen, where skewers of *picanha* glistened like rubies over flames, and secrets simmered alongside the *feijoada*.  

“Sunday *churrasco* isn’t just food—it’s *alma*,” you said, soul slipping into the word as you threaded garlic-rubbed beef onto skewers. Soo-jin, Minho’s sharp-tongued girlfriend, smirked while dicing mangoes for *vinagrete*. “Alma, huh? Explains why you’re sweating like this is a holy ritual.” Minho, ever the provocateur, flicked a sausage on the grill with a chef’s flourish. “Hyunjin’s been eyeing the meat like it’s his ex’s Instagram. When do we eat?”  

The trio fell into sync—knives chopping, flames crackling, banter sharpening. Soo-jin nodded toward the pool, where Felix and Changbin clinked glasses of *caipirinha*, lime wedges clinging to the rims. “Ten-to-one odds Felix faceplants in the pool by sunset.” Minho’s gaze slid to you, sly as a cat. “But you’re the main event. Still pretending you *don’t* short-circuit when Jisung exists?” The tongs slipped in your grip. “I don’t—” “Liar,” he sing-songed. “You turned red when he called you ‘master of the grill.’” Soo-jin snorted. “And him? When you explained *farofa*? Bro was writing ballads in his head.”  

As if conjured by the tease, Jisung materialized beside the grill, sleeves shoved above his elbows, hair wind-wrecked and eyes bright as the horizon. “Need a hero?” His voice was honey and mischief, and your pulse stuttered. Minho thrust a bowl of onions into his chest. “You’re on peasant duty. Cry us a river.” Jisung mock-saluted, shoulder nudging yours as he settled beside you. The rhythm didn’t falter—your hands seasoning meat, his fingers peeling onions with comedic precision. “Seungmin tried surfing earlier,” he said, grin crooked. “Looked like a wet cat fighting a dishwasher.” You choked on a laugh, and his knee bumped yours beneath the table. *Lingered*.  

The ocean breeze carried Jeongin’s voice demanding more *brigadeiros*, Hyunjin’s splash-battle yelps, and the sizzle of fat hitting flames. But here, in the kitchen’s humid halo, time bent. Jisung’s jokes softened, his glances lingering on your profile like he was memorizing the slope of your laughter. When your fingers brushed passing a skewer, the world narrowed to the salt on his collarbone, the fleck of chili powder on his thumb, and the unspoken thing glowing brighter than the embers beneath the grill.  

Platters of *picanha*, glistening with garlic butter, sat beside bowls of *farofa* and jewel-like *vinagrete*. Chan, ever the doting leader, leaned back in his chair, his Australian girlfriend laughing as Felix’s boyfriend mimicked a kookaburra call. “Feels like home,” Felix sighed, fanning himself. “Just swap the eucalyptus for palm trees.”  

Minho and Soo-jin bickered over charred sausage links, their banter sharp but fond, while Changbin’s girlfriend—a makeup artist with a lethal eyeliner wing—snapped photos of Hyunjin posing dramatically with a skewer. “Single *and* starving,” Hyunjin lamented, flopping next to Jeongin, who was already halfway through his third *brigadeiro*. Seungmin’s girlfriend, a pro baseball player she was skinny but with biceps that could crush coconuts, arm-wrestled him for the last slice of grilled pineapple. “You’re *embarrassing* me,” Seungmin hissed, though his grin betrayed him.  

And then there was you and Jisung.  

Perched at the edge of the weathered teak table, knees almost touching under the checkered tablecloth. He’d claimed the seat casually—“Easier to steal your *feijoada*”—but now his leg bounced nervously, his jokes a half-beat too quick. You focused on the way the sun caught in his hair, turning it amber, while he drummed his fingers to the bossa nova drifting from the speakers. *Your* playlist.  

“Pass the *pão de alho*?” Jisung asked, leaning close enough that his whisper brushed your ear. You handed him the garlic bread, your fingertips grazing his. A spark. A pause. The table erupted as Jeongin accidentally knocked over Hyunjin’s *caipirinha*, the lime-soaked ice cascading onto the sand. “*Ai, meu Deus*,” you muttered, scrambling for napkins. Jisung laughed, low and warm, as he helped mop the mess. “Hyunjin’s gonna make this his villain origin story.”  

Conversation ebbed—stories of Australia’s beaches, debates over the best *churrasco* cuts, Seungmin’s girlfriend recounting her no-hitter game. Yet every lull pulled you and Jisung into orbit. His shoulder pressed to yours when reaching for the chimichurri. Your laugh harmonizing with his at Minho’s impression of a capybara. A shared glance when Chan mentioned “unfinished business,” his tone teasing but pointed.  

The afternoon sun melted into liquid gold, pooling over the infinity pool and glazing the beach where waves whispered promises of cool relief. Most of the group had migrated to the water—Jeongin cannonballing with a screech, Seungmin’s girlfriend hurling a beach ball hard enough to make Felix yelp—but Hyunjin had other plans. He cornered you by the tiki bar, still clutching an empty *caipirinha* glass like a prop. “Teach me samba,” he demanded, wrist flicking dramatically. “I *refuse* to let Brazilian Stays roast me again. I’ll be irresistible or die trying.”  

You laughed, but Hyunjin’s pout was weaponized. “Fine. But don’t blame me when you pull a muscle.”  

Minho, sprawled on a lounge chair with Soo-jin painting his nails neon green, perked up. “Oh, this’ll be good. Jisung! Bet you 50,000 won our *churrasco* expert can’t hip-swivel.”  

Jisung, mid-sip of guaraná, choked. “I’m not betting on—*hyung*.”  

Too late. Hyunjin had already commandeered the Bluetooth speaker, swapping bossa nova for a throbbing samba beat. You sighed, kicking off your sandals, the terracotta tiles warm under your feet. The sundress you’d thrown on after lunch—lightweight, breezy—suddenly felt too thin under Jisung’s gaze.  

Then the music took over.  

Hips swaying, arms arcing like palm fronds in a storm, you moved as if the rhythm lived in your bones. The dress clung, betrayed the curves you’d hidden under oversized shirts and chef aprons. Hyunjin gaped, forgetting to mimic your steps. “Wow,” Felix whistled from the pool, while Changbin’s girlfriend muttered, “How’s she even real?”  

But it was Jisung who unraveled.  

He’d frozen, guaraná can dented in his grip, eyes dark and wide. Every roll of your shoulders, every sharp snap of your hips, hit him like a wave. Minho leaned over, stage-whispering, “RIP Han Jisung. Cause of death: *a Brazilian goddess*.”  

“Shut. Up,” Jisung hissed, ears crimson.  

Hyunjin, ever the chaos magnet, grabbed your hand. “Teach me the *real* thing!” You guided him into a basic step, but his limbs moved like overcooked spaghetti. “No—*fluid*, like water,” you corrected, adjusting his stance. Out of the corner of your eye, Jisung stood abruptly, pacing toward the bar. *Running away.*  

Minho pounced. “Where you going, Sungie? Heat too much?”  

“To get water,” Jisung muttered, voice strangled.  

“Bring some for the rest of us!” Seungmin’s girlfriend called. “You look *dehydrated*.”  

The group howled. You spun Hyunjin into a turn, but your pulse raced for a different reason. Jisung’s reaction—the way he’d stared, like he’d been sucker-punched by longing—thrummed under your skin.  

Then Minho shouted, “Jisung-ah, your phone’s buzzing! Is it your *crush*?”  

Jisung fumbled the glass bottle he’d just grabbed, water sloshing over his shirt. The fabric clung. You missed a step.  

Hyunjin seized the chance to dip you, nearly dropping you both. “Focus, teacher!” he laughed, oblivious. But you were too aware of Jisung’s silhouette in the fading light, shirt transparent, jaw tight as he watched Hyunjin’s hands grip your waist.  

When the song ended, the group erupted in applause. Cheeks flushed, you broke away, only to find Jisung in front of you, holding out a fresh guaraná. “For the… uh. For the sweat,” he mumbled.  

Minho snorted. “Smooth.”  

You took the drink, fingertips brushing his. His gaze dropped to your lips. The air hummed, louder than the cicadas.  

The sun bled into the horizon, painting the sky in molten hues of tangerine and violet, as the first notes of *forró pé de serra* spilled from the speakers—a accordion’s sigh, a zabumba’s heartbeat. Hyunjin had long abandoned his samba quest, dragged into the pool by a vengeful Jeongin, while the others scattered like seabirds. Only Minho remained, a devil in neon-green nails, sprawled on the patio couch.  

“You can’t teach *forró* alone,” he drawled, twirling his phone like a baton. “Jisung’s two left feet need salvation. *Be his hero.*”  

Jisung, still pink from the samba spectacle, choked on his guaraná. “I’m good—”  

“You’re *terrible*,” Minho corrected. “Do it for Brazil’s honor.”  

The challenge hung in the balmy air. You swallowed, nerves fluttering. *Forró* wasn’t just a dance—it was whispered secrets in dim-lit bars, thighs brushing, hands clasped tight. But Minho’s grin was a dare.  

“Okay,” you said, voice steadier than your pulse. “But no laughing.”  

Jisung rose like a man heading to his execution.  

You positioned him under the swaying palm lights, your hand tentatively gripping his shoulder, his palm damp against your waist. “It’s… um, all about the *basicinho*,” you stammered, launching into a nervous monologue. “Three steps—side, together, side. Like a heartbeat. And the *giro*—the spin—comes after the *tippity-tap* of the feet. *Forró*’s about connection, you know? Like, your body talks. But not *talks* talks. Unless you’re, uh, into that—”  

“*Tippity-tap*?” Jisung echoed, lips twitching.  

“Shut up. Focus.”  

He tried. Oh, he *tried*. But his steps were stiff, his grip tentative, like you were made of glass. Until Minho shouted, “Jisung-ah, if you hold her any looser, she’ll float to Rio!”  

Jisung’s jaw clenched. His hand slid lower, anchoring you against him.  

The music swelled—a faster *arrasta-pé*. Your bodies synced, knees bumping, hips swaying in time. You rambled to fill the silence. “This song? It’s by *Dominguinhos*—king of *forró*. He said the best dancers listen with their skin. Which sounds weird, but—”  

“You’re blabbering,” Jisung murmured, spinning you out before pulling you back, chest to chest.  

“You’re *staring*.”  

“Can’t help it.”  

The admission hung between you. His thumb brushed the dip of your waist, igniting a trail of fire. Around you, the group’s laughter dimmed—Seungmin’s girlfriend dragging him to bed, Chan and Felix debating Tim Tam flavors in the kitchen. Even Minho vanished, leaving his neon nail polish behind like a spectral wink.  

Night unfurled its velvet cloak, the beach house now a constellation of hanging lanterns. You didn’t notice when the music softened, or when the others slipped away. All that remained: the press of Jisung’s calloused palm, the hitch in his breath when your temple grazed his jaw.  

“Your *basicinho*’s improved,” you teased, voice barely audible.  

“Had a good teacher.” His nose skimmed your ear. “Also, I have no idea what I’m doing.”  

“Just… feel it.”  

He did.  

The dance dissolved into something slower, raw. No steps, no rules—just the creak of the wooden deck, the distant shush of waves, and Jisung’s voice, rough as sand. “I lied earlier. The *churrasco* wasn’t the best part of today.”  

Your heart hammered. “Yeah?”  

“Yeah.” His forehead touched yours. “This is.”  

The night air thick with salt and the distant murmur of the kitchen crew clattering plates. Jisung’s hands still rested on your waist, his grip loose but trembling, as if he feared you’d vanish if he held too tight.  

“The Korean way,” you pressed, voice feather-light, “or the Brazilian way?”  

His brow furrowed, thumb absently tracing the lace hem of your dress. “What?”  

You stepped back just enough to see his face, moonlight etching the panic in his eyes. “Korean style’s *ppalli-ppalli*—direct. A ‘Let’s date’ text. Flowers. Maybe a handshake if you’re feeling retro.” You grinned, but your pulse roared in your ears. “Brazilian’s… messier. You confess during Carnival, drunk on *cachaça*, or whisper it in a samba club where no one can hear.”  

Jisung’s laugh was shaky. “Sounds like a *telenovela*.”  

“It’s *passion*,” you countered, stepping closer again. His breath hitched. “But you—you’re all… *aegyo* and mixtapes. Poetic texts at 2 a.m.”  

“I’m not *that* corny,” he muttered, but his ears burned.  

The waves hissed, a rhythm older than languages. You tilted your head. “So? Which one wins?”  

For a heartbeat, he faltered. Then his hands slid up your arms, slow as a tide pulling sand, until his palms cradled your face. “*My* way,” he whispered, voice roughened by a day of laughter and longing. “The… the *Jisung* way.”  

Your lips parted, but he pressed on, words tumbling like pebbles. “I practiced a speech. In Korean. About… *neon naui bit*—you’re my light, or whatever. But then you danced, and I forgot all of it. Now I’m just… *here*. With salt in my hair and my heart doing *this*—” He guided your hand to his chest, where his heartbeat thrashed against his ribs. “—and I don’t care if it’s *jeong* or *saudade* or whatever. I just… I *like* you. A lot. *Too* much. And if I don’t kiss you right now, I’ll—”  

You kissed him first.  

It wasn’t Korean propriety or Brazilian fire—it was the shudder of his exhale, the way his fingers tangled in your hair like he’d dreamed of it for years, the taste of guaraná and nervous hope. The world dissolved into the press of his lips, the sigh he muffled against your mouth, the distant crash of waves keeping time.  

When you broke apart, foreheads touching, he rasped, “Was that… enough?”  

You laughed, breathless. “*idiota*. That was perfect.”  

Somewhere in the shadows, Minho’s voice floated from an upstairs window: “ABOUT TIME!” followed by a chorus of giggles and a thud—likely Hyunjin falling off a chair.  

Jisung groaned, burying his face in your neck. “I’m moving to Antarctica.”  

“Too late,” you whispered, kissing the shell of his ear. “You’re stuck with me.”  

——

The night draped itself around you like silk, the rhythmic crash of waves a distant lullaby beyond the shuttered windows. Jisung’s back pressed against the carved wooden headboard, your legs bracketing his hips, his hands anchored to your waist like you were the only steady thing in a spinning world. His thumbs traced idle circles over the thin fabric of your sleepshirt, the heat of his palms searing through to your skin. 

“So,” he said, grinning as you stole another kiss, “is this the Brazilian way? Stealing a man’s bed *and* his dignity?”  

“You’re the one who said I could be a real Brazilian,” you teased, nipping his lower lip.  

He groaned, fingers threading into your hair. “Regretting that now.”  

“Liar.”  

When your palm slid under his shirt, tracing the taut plane of his stomach, he hissed, “*Jagiya*—you’re playing dirty.”  

You pulled back, heart jackhammering. “Last chance to back out.”  

The cultural differences between you fade away as passion takes over. His K-pop idol perfection meets your raw Brazilian sensuality, creating an intoxicating chemistry. Your caramel skin glows against his pale complexion as his hands explore the curves that drove him crazy during all those production meetings.

"I've wanted you since the first day you walked into that studio," Jisung confesses between kisses, his accent thicker with desire. His fingers trace the outline of your full lips, remembering how they'd curl into knowing smiles whenever you caught him staring.

The secrecy of your position at JYP makes this even more thrilling - the respected producer and the rising star, finally giving in to months of tension. His perfectly sculpted idol body presses against your lush curves as the ocean waves crash outside.

The moonlight filtering through the shutters casts ethereal patterns across your intertwined bodies. His touch burns through the thin fabric, leaving trails of fire wherever his fingers roam. The intimate position has your hearts racing, bodies pressed close as the ocean's song fills the night air.

You can feel every breath Jisung takes, his chest rising and falling against yours. The way he holds you - like you're precious yet dangerous - makes desire pool low in your belly. His thumbs continue their maddening circles on your waist, each touch building the tension between you.

Your fingers trace each button of his linen shirt as you undo them slowly, savoring the reveal of his smooth chest beneath. Jisung's hands mirror your movements as he slides your dress down, his touch leaving goosebumps in its wake.

The moonlight bathes your bodies in a soft glow as more skin is exposed. His breath catches when the dress pools at your feet, leaving you bare except for your delicate underwear. 

"You're stunning," he whispers, hands settling on your waist to pull you closer. The heat of his bare chest against yours makes your head spin as his lips find your neck, pressing soft kisses along your pulse point.

His lips trail down your neck as his hands slide up your sides, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. The way Jisung touches you - reverent yet hungry - makes your breath catch. You arch into him as his thumbs brush the undersides of your breasts.

"You're driving me crazy," he murmurs against your collarbone, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. His hands move to unclasp your bra while yours explore the lean muscles of his back.

The sound of waves provides a rhythm as clothing continues to fall away, skin pressing against skin in the moonlit bedroom. When his fingers hook into the waistband of your panties, you shiver in anticipation.

"Please," you whisper, rolling your hips against his growing hardness.

Jisung's hands explore every inch of your exposed skin. He manhandles you, laying you on your back and laying himself between your legs. His weight presses you deliciously into the mattress as his lips find your neck, leaving hot kisses and gentle bites that make you gasp.

His hands slide down to remove your panties, dragging them slowly down your legs while kissing a trail along your inner thighs. Once they're off, you reach for his boxers, pushing them down his hips to free his hard cock.

The moonlight illuminates your naked bodies as he settles back between your legs. His hands roam over your curves, squeezing your breasts and teasing your nipples until you're arching into his touch.

"Want you so bad," he groans against your neck, grinding his bare length against your wet pussy. The friction makes you both moan, bodies moving together in growing desperation.

With a mischievous grin, you push Jisung onto his back and straddle his hips, your wet pussy sliding against his hard cock. His hands immediately grip your thick thighs as you begin rolling your hips, teasing him with the friction.

"Fuck, you're so sexy," he groans, watching your breasts bounce as you move. You reach between your legs to guide his cock to your entrance, sinking down slowly until he's fully sheathed inside you.

The angle has him hitting deeper, making you moan as you start to ride him. Your hands brace on his chest for leverage as you pick up the pace, your ass jiggling with each bounce.

"Let me show you how we like it in Brazil," you purr, climbing off his cock and getting on your hands and knees. You arch your back, presenting your dripping pussy and round ass to him.

Jisung groans at the sight, gripping your hips roughly as he positions himself behind you. Without warning, he slams his thick cock deep inside you, making you cry out in pleasure.

"Fuck me hard," you demand, pushing back against him. "Show me what that Korean dick can do."

He sets a brutal pace, his balls slapping against your clit with each thrust as he pounds into your tight hole. His fingers dig into the soft flesh of your ass, spreading you wider.

Your moans fill the beach house bedroom as Jisung pounds into your dripping pussy from behind, his cock stretching you perfectly. His hands grip your ass, spreading your cheeks to watch himself disappear inside you over and over.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, speeding up his thrusts. The sound of skin slapping against skin mingles with the crashing waves.

You can feel your orgasm building as his thick cock hits your g-spot repeatedly. One of his hands slides around to rub your clit, making your thighs tremble.

"Cum for me," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "Want to feel this tight Brazilian pussy squeeze my cock."

Your orgasm crashes over you like a tidal wave as Jisung continues pounding into your clenching pussy. Your arms give out, face pressing into the mattress as your walls squeeze his cock rhythmically.

"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groans, his thrusts becoming erratic. His fingers dig into your hips hard enough to leave bruises as he chases his own release.

With a guttural groan, he slams deep one final time, his cock pulsing as he empties himself inside your sensitive pussy.

Jisung collapses on top of you, both of you panting heavily as you come down from your highs. His cum drips down your thighs as he slowly pulls out, making you whimper at the loss.

"That was..." he trails off, rolling to pull you against his chest. His fingers trace lazy patterns on your sweaty skin as the ocean breeze cools your heated bodies.

You snuggle into him, feeling thoroughly satisfied as his hands continue their gentle exploration. The moonlight catches the marks he left on your skin - evidence of your passionate encounter.

"Think you can handle another round?" you tease, grinding your ass back against him. His cock twitches with interest against you.

——

Later, skin sticky and souls quiet, you lay curled into him, his heartbeat a drum under your cheek. He traced idle patterns on your back. “So… do I get a citizenship now?”  

You snorted. “You wish.”  

“Worth a try.” His arms tightened around you. “For the record? The ‘Korean way’ involves breakfast in bed tomorrow. *Kimchi* pancakes. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  

You smiled into the dark. The ocean sighed. Somewhere down the hall, Minho’s voice echoed, “USE PROTECTION!” followed by a door slam.  

Jisung buried his face in a pillow. “I’m *actually* moving to Antarctica.”  

“Too late,” you whispered, kissing the fluttering pulse at his throat. “You’re Brazilian now.”  

——

The first rays of sun seeped through the gauzy curtains, painting Jisung’s bare shoulders in gold. You woke to the weight of his arm slung over your waist, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breath warm and steady. For a moment, you lay still, savoring the quiet—the distant crash of waves, the rustle of palm fronds, the way his fingers twitched against your hip even in sleep.  

Then reality hit.  

A clatter of pans echoed from the kitchen below, followed by Chan’s booming laugh and Felix’s off-key rendition of *“De manhã”*. Jisung stirred, blinking groggily. “Are they… *frying bacon* to a samba beat?”  

You giggled, rolling to face him. His hair stuck up in chaotic tufts, pillow creases etched into his cheek. *Adorable*. “Welcome to a Brazilian morning. Chaos included.”  

He flopped onto his back, arm slung over his eyes. “I need five more years of sleep.”  

“Too bad.” You pressed a kiss to his collarbone, delighting in his shiver. “Chan’s probably making kimchi pancakes. *You* promised me breakfast.”  

“I was *delirious* last night,” he grumbled, but his hands slid down to your thighs, anchoring you against him.  

——

Descending the stairs hand-in-hand, you braced for impact. The group was clustered around the dining table—Hyunjin scrolling through dance videos, Minho flipping *pão de queijo* with a spatula, Seungmin’s girlfriend arm-wrestling Changbin.  

The room froze.  

Minho’s smirk was nuclear. “Well, well. Look who survived the *Brazilian initiation*.”  

Jisung’s grip tightened on yours. “Hyung, I will *end you*—”  

“*Aww*, they’re matching!” Felix cooed, pointing at the twin hickeys on your neck and Jisung’s.  

“*FELIX!*” Jisung lunged, but you tugged him toward the kitchen, where Chan stood flipping pancakes with one hand and sipping *cafézinho* with the other. “Ignore them,” he said, sliding a plate of *kimchi jeon* your way. “They’ve been placing bets since sunrise.”  

Jisung groaned. “Who won?”  

“Me,” Minho called. “I said you’d look like a disheveled puppy. *Pay up, Lee Know supremacy!*”  

The table was a collision of cultures: golden *pão de queijo* beside spicy kimchi, fresh *açaí* bowls next to steaming *doenjang jjigae*. You split a *brigadeiro* with Jisung, laughing as he pretended to hate the sweetness. “It’s *too much*,” he complained, yet stole another from your plate.  

Hyunjin, ever the menace, kicked Jisung under the table. “So. How *Brazilian* was it?”  

Jisung choked on his coffee. You kicked Hyunjin back. “How *single* are you?”  

The table erupted. Jeongin hurled a *pão de queijo* at Hyunjin’s head.  

After breakfast, you escaped to the beach, toes sinking into sun-warmed sand. Jisung walked beside you, quiet until you reached the tidepools. “Last night…” he started, uncharacteristically hesitant.  

You braced for regret.  

“...I didn’t know it could feel like that,” he admitted, staring at the horizon. “Like… *home*.”  

Your chest tightened. “Even with Minho’s commentary?”  

“*Especially* with Minho’s commentary.” He grinned, then sobered. “I’m… scared. Of fucking this up.”  

You interlaced your fingers, salt spray kissing your skin. “So don’t.”  

He huffed a laugh. “Simple as that?”  

“No.” You turned to him, heart in your throat. “But we’ll suck at it together.”  

He kissed you then—slow, sweet, flavored with coffee and *brigadeiro*. When he pulled back, he pressed his forehead to yours. “Deal.”  

[tosomeonessomeone]

ANNOUNCEMENT

ATTENTION, LOVELY READERS! 🇧🇷💫

Guess what? Stray Kids is landing in Brazil in LESS THAN A MONTH—and yes, this Brazilian fangirl is FREAKING OUT! 🌟 To celebrate their long-awaited arrival (and channel my excitement into something creative), I’m launching a BRAND-NEW SERIES where each member gets tangled in a whirlwind romance with a fiery Brazilian. 🌶️💘

Think sun-kissed beaches, Carnival sparks, late-night pão de queijo dates, and chemistry hotter than our feijoada. 🔥 Whether it’s Changbin’s smoldering stares, Felix’s sunshine smile, or Hyunjin’s poetic charm—every story will dive into love, culture clashes, and sizzling moments you’ll wish were your reality. 🙈

Ready to stan with me? Drop a 💚 if you’re hyped—and stay tuned for the first chapter dropping SOON! Let’s make this comeback extra special, STAYs! 😉✨

P.S. Which member’s story do you want first? Comment below—I might take requests! 🎶

[tosomeonessomeone]

there you are.

words•5.2k /pairings・Lee know x Solo mom reader / genres・fluff, humor / warnings・ MDI, intercourse

You shifted Rio’s warm weight on your hip, his little fingers crumpling the orange-cat drawing he’d clung to all morning. “Mama, *pleeeease* can we get one?” he whined, burying his face in your shoulder. His plea was sugar-coated, sticky as the juice stain on your sleeve from breakfast—the third shirt this week. At 30, solo motherhood meant your world spun to the rhythm of daycare alarms, client deadlines, and the perpetual tang of spilled apple sauce. But Rio’s eyes—wide as the cartoon kittens he’d scribbled—melted your resolve. “We’ll *look*,” you relented, steering the stroller toward *Whisker Haven*, its address hastily scribbled on a Post-it from your coworker. *Just looking*, you told yourself. *No commitments*.  

The shelter hummed like a living thing. Cedar chips and lavender cleaner mingled in the air, punctuated by trills and mews from wall-mounted cages. Rio squirmed free before you could unclip him, darting toward a sunlit playpen where a lanky volunteer knelt, tousled chestnut hair catching the light. His hands moved with practiced ease, flicking a feather toy just out of reach of a speckled kitten. “C’mon, little warrior,” he coaxed, voice low and playful. “Jump higher.”  

Rio crashed into the scene like a tiny tornado. “Hi!” he announced, planting himself beside the stranger. The man glanced up, and your breath hitched—not at his sharp jawline or the faint scar threading his brow, but at the way his smile transformed his face. Crow’s feet crinkled, warm as summer honey.  

“Hey there, adventurer,” he said, tilting his head to match Rio’s height. “I’m Minho. Wanna try?” He offered the feather wand, handle first. Rio seized it with a warrior’s cry, sending the kitten pouncing.  

Minho rose, brushing cat hair off his jeans. His gaze found yours, steady and curious. “He’s a natural,” he said, nodding toward Rio, who was now giggling as the kitten batted his shoelaces. There was no pity in his tone, no *single-mom radar* flicker—just genuine warmth. You tucked a stray hair behind your ear, suddenly aware of your faded jeans and the granola bar wrapper peeking out of your tote.  

“Thanks,” you said, softer than intended. “He’s been… obsessed.”  

Minho crouched again, steadying Rio’s grip on the toy. “Obsession’s good here,” he replied, glancing up through his lashes. “Means he’s got passion. And good taste.”  

The kitten leapt, landing in Rio’s lap. Your son’s squeal of delight echoed off the walls, and for the first time in weeks, you felt your shoulders relax. *Just looking*, you’d said. But as Minho’s laughter tangled with Rio’s, something fragile and hopeful stirred in your chest—a feeling you hadn’t dared name in years.  

Weekends bloomed into a rhythm of shelter visits, the three of you falling into a routine as comfortable as an old sweater. Minho became a fixture in your Saturdays, his patience with Rio as endless as his cat trivia. He taught your son to cradle kittens like clouds, guiding his small hands with a steadiness that made your throat tighten. “Support their paws, buddy—like they’re holding tiny secrets,” he’d say, and Rio would nod, solemn as a scholar.  

You learned Minho was 26, a grad student in animal behavior who spoke of feline body language like it was Shakespeare. “Cats arch their backs not just to scare foes, but to feel bigger when they’re scared,” he explained once, demonstrating with a theatrical curve of his spine that sent Rio into giggles. But it was the slow blinks that undid you—the way Minho would lock eyes with a wary cat, lids drifting shut in a languid Morse code. “They’re saying, ‘I trust you,’” he murmured to Rio during one lesson. Then, glancing at you across the playpen, he repeated the gesture, slow and deliberate. Your cheeks burned. *It’s just a demo*, you told yourself, even as your pulse skittered.  

One rainy afternoon, the shelter emptied early, the patter of droplets harmonizing with the kittens’ purrs. Rio dozed in his stroller, thumb tucked in his mouth, worn out from chasing a energetic tabby. Minho appeared beside you, two steaming mugs in hand. “Matcha latte,” he said, voice low to avoid waking Rio. “No sugar, just like you mentioned last week.”  

You blinked, startled he’d remembered your offhand comment about hating sweet drinks. His fingers grazed yours as you took the mug, calloused from scrubbing litter boxes yet impossibly gentle. The silence between you thickened, charged like the storm-heavy air.  

“He’s lucky,” Minho said suddenly, nodding at Rio. “Not every kid gets a mom who works two jobs *and* lets him turn her kitchen into a cat art gallery.”  

Your grip tightened on the mug. He knew. Of course he did—you’d confessed it weeks ago, that offhand moment when he’d asked about Rio’s father. But hearing him acknowledge it now, without a trace of pity, unraveled something in you.  

“Some days, it doesn’t feel like enough,” you admitted, the words slipping out before you could cage them. “The deadlines, the daycare bills… What if I’m just—”  

“Enough.” Minho’s interruption was soft but firm. He stepped closer, the scent of matcha and cedar enveloping you. “You’re *everything* he needs.”  

Tears breached your lashes before you could stop them. You turned away, but Minho was already there, offering a tissue printed with a grinning cat and the pun *“Hang in there, paw-some human!”* A wet laugh escaped you. “Do you stock these for all the crying women who wander in?”  

“Just the ones who pretend they’ve got it all figured out.” His smile was tender, a silent invitation to lean in.  

Outside, rain drummed its approval. Rio sighed in his sleep, Tofu—the tabby he’d claimed as his soulmate—curled at his feet. And in that fragile, honeyed moment, you let yourself imagine: Minho’s hand brushing yours not by accident, his slow-blink smiles reserved just for you, weekends that stretched into years.  

The rain softens to a whisper as Minho leans against the adoption desk, his gaze steady on yours. *“You know,”* he begins, tracing the rim of his mug, *“I started volunteering here after my sister’s cat, Mochi, passed. She’d had him since we were kids.”* He pauses, a shadow flickering in his eyes. *“She’s in remission now, but back then… the shelter was the only place that didn’t feel heavy.”*  

Your breath catches. This is more than he’s ever shared—a fissure in his usual playful armor. *“Minho, I…”*  

He shakes his head, smiling faintly. *“Don’t. I’m not fishing for sympathy. Just… you should know I’ve seen how love can be a lifeline. Even the furry kind.”*  

The admission hangs between you, raw and real. You glance at Rio, his lashes fluttering in sleep, then back at Minho. *“After Rio’s dad left,”* you say, the words tasting less bitter than usual, *“I almost gave up freelancing. Too unstable. But then Rio drew his first cat—a scribbled blob with fangs—and I thought…* Okay. We’ll build a life where he gets to keep that joy.”  

Minho’s thumb brushes your wrist, fleeting. *“You did.”*  

A kitten mews from a nearby crate, breaking the tension. Minho chuckles, scooping up the bold calico intruder. *“This is Soybean. She’s a door-dasher—escapes every chance she gets.”*  

*“Like someone else I know,”* you tease, nodding at Rio, who’s begun snoring softly.  

Minho cradles Soybean against his chest, her purrs a rumbling echo of his next words. *“When I’m with you two… it feels like I’ve found something I didn’t know I was searching for.”*  

Your heart stammers. *“Minho—”*  

*“Not asking for labels,”* he interjects, setting Soybean down. *“Just… want you to see what I see. A woman who paints worlds for a living, raises a kind-hearted kid, and still makes time to laugh at my terrible cat puns.”* He gestures to the tissue still crumpled in your hand. *“That’s not surviving. That’s* thriving.”  

The shelter’s clock ticks, loud in the silence. You step closer, until the steam from your mug curls into his. *“What if I see you too?”* you whisper. *“The guy who teaches kittens—and single moms—how to trust again?”*  

His slow blink is answer enough.  

The adoption day arrives, and Tofu—now lord of Rio’s sock drawer and ruler of half-eaten goldfish crackers—officially becomes family. When Minho shows up at your apartment with a cat tree taller than Rio, your son erupts into a frenzy, launching himself at Minho’s legs. “Hyung! Tofu needs a *castle*!”  

Minho laughs, setting down the box with a thud. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, revealing forearms still scratched from last week’s kitten wrestling match. “Every queen deserves a throne,” he says, winking at you. You cross your arms, feigning suspicion. “And you just *happened* to have a cat tree lying around?”  

“I’m full of surprises,” he says, tossing Rio a package of felt mice to “test” for Tofu. For the next hour, you watch Minho assemble the tower with the precision of an engineer, indulging Rio’s demands to add “secret tunnels” (a cardboard tube) and a “treasure box” (your old sunglasses case). Tofu watches from the couch, her crooked tail flicking in approval.  

By sunset, the living room is a jungle of scratching posts and dangling toys. You order pizza, and Minho stays—not because you ask, but because Rio tugs him to the table with sauce-stained hands. “You *gotta* try the pepperoni, hyung! It’s Mama’s favorite.” Minho’s knee brushes yours under the table, lingering a beat too long.  

Later, after Rio’s bedtime stories (*“Again, Mama! The one with the space cat!”*), Minho hovers at the door, his usual confidence fraying. “The shelter’s fundraiser… I’d like you both there. With me.” He hesitates, fingers drumming his thigh. “Not as volunteers. As… my date.”  

Your pulse stutters. *Date*. The word feels too big, too bright for your cluttered life. But Minho’s gaze is steady, his vulnerability disarming. “Okay,” you whisper.  

The fundraiser glows with string lights and the murmur of well-dressed attendees. Rio, in a bow tie that keeps slipping sideways, drags you and Minho to a photo booth plastered with cat-ear headbands. “Family picture!” he declares, shoving a pair of cardboard whiskers at Minho. You freeze, but Minho just grins, clipping the whiskers to his hair. “Your majesty,” he says, bowing to Rio.  

The camera flashes: Minho’s arm around your waist, your head tilted toward him, Rio mid-laugh with frosting smeared on his chin. When the strip prints, Minho tucks it into his wallet, his ears pink. “For luck,” he mutters.  

You escape to the garden when the crowd swells, Rio asleep in your arms. Cherry blossoms drift around you like confetti. Minho brushes a petal from your hair, his voice soft. “I know I’m younger. I know your world is… *a lot*. But I’m not going anywhere.”  

Your throat tightens. “Why?”  

He steps closer, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. “Love isn’t about age,” he says, nuzzling your temple as Rio’s breath evens against your shoulder. “It’s about who stays.”  

The kiss is gentle. When you pull back, Minho’s forehead rests against yours. “I’m not asking for a spotlight,” he whispers. “Just a corner of your chaos.”  

You laugh, tearful, and his mouth finds yours again. *Chaos*, you think, as Rio snores and Tofu bats at a falling blossom. *Maybe chaos is where love grows best*. 

As you and Minho lingered under the cherry blossoms, Rio’s frosting-smeared face pressed against your shoulder, the night felt suspended in time—soft and hopeful. But then a voice cut through the quiet.  

“Minho! There you are!”  

A woman in a sleek black dress approached, her heels clicking sharply against the garden stones. She was familiar—a longtime donor, maybe, or a board member. Her gaze flickered to Rio, then to your intertwined fingers, before settling on Minho. “We need you inside. The press wants a quote about next year’s expansion.”  

Minho hesitated, his hand still warm on your waist. “Give me five minutes, Soojin.”  

Soojin’s smile tightened. “Now, Minho. This is the *real work*.” Her emphasis lingered, a blade thinly veiled.  

You stiffened, shifting Rio higher on your hip. “Go,” you said, too quickly. “We’re fine.”  

Minho searched your face. “I’ll be right back.”  

But he wasn’t.  

Minutes bled into an hour. Rio grew restless, tugging at his bow tie, while you paced the garden path. Laughter and clinking glasses spilled from the venue, a world away from the sticky reality of motherhood. When Minho finally reappeared, his tie loosened and hair ruffled, Soojin trailed behind him, her laugh sharp as champagne bubbles.  

“—such a *natural* with the donors,” she purred, patting his arm. “You’ll go far, if you stay focused.” Her eyes slid to you, polite but dismissive. “Goodnight.”  

Minho reached for you, but you stepped back. “You should get back,” you said, voice brittle. “The *real work*.”  

He flinched. “That’s not what I—”  

“It’s fine.” You adjusted Rio’s blanket, avoiding his gaze. “We’re used to being an afterthought.”  

The words hung between you, cruel and untrue, but fear had already coiled around your heart. Minho’s jaw tightened. “You think I’d choose *that* over you two?”  

You didn’t answer. Rio whimpered in his sleep, and you turned toward the exit.  

“Wait.” Minho caught your wrist, his voice raw. “I’m not him. I’m not going to vanish because something shinier comes along.”  

Tears blurred the fairy lights. “How do I know that?”  

He stepped closer, his thumb brushing your pulse point. “Because I’m asking you to trust me,” he whispered. “Even when it’s hard.”  

The gulf between you trembled, fragile as a spiderweb. Then Rio stirred, his small hand patting your cheek. “Mama, go home?”  

Minho released you, his eyes shadowed. “Let me drive you.”  

You shook your head. “We’ll take a taxi.”  

The ride home was silent, Rio’s head heavy on your shoulder. As you tucked him into bed, Tofu curled at his feet, your phone buzzed.  

**Minho:** *I’m here. However long it takes.*  

You didn’t reply. But you didn’t delete the message either.  

A week of silence. Seven days of Minho’s unanswered calls piling up like unread apologies, and Rio’s relentless questions chipping away at your resolve. *“Did Minho-hyung get lost? Is he mad at us?”* You’d deflected with hollow excuses—*“He’s just busy, sweetheart”*—but Rio’s crumpled frown mirrored the guilt gnawing at your ribs.  

On Saturday morning, you flee to the park, pushing Rio’s stroller through the fog-thick air. Tofu peers from the basket, her tail flicking like a metronome counting down your dread. The lake glimmers ahead, its surface still as held breath. Rio babbles to Tofu about turtles, unaware as you round the bend—and there he is.  

Minho slouches on a bench, his hoodie sleeves pushed up to reveal forearms still marked with fading kitten scratches. A paper cup sits abandoned beside him, steam long gone. His gaze is fixed on the water, shoulders hunched like he’s carrying the sky. You pivot sharply, but Tofu leaps from the stroller with a yowl, darting straight to him.  

“Y/N.”  

His voice is sandpaper-rough, and you flinch. Rio twists in his seat, squealing, *“Hyung! Mama, look—it’s Minho!”*  

You fumble for Tofu, but she’s already in his lap, kneading his thighs like dough. Traitor.  

“Hey, troublemaker,” Minho murmurs, scratching her chin. His eyes lock onto yours, shadowed and sleepless. “Missed you.”  

Rio tugs your sleeve, lower lip wobbling. “Mama, *please*.”  

You crouch, adjusting his scarf to avoid Minho’s stare. “Stay here with Tofu, okay? Just for a minute.”  

“But—”  

“*Please*, Rio.”  

He nods, solemn, and you rise on unsteady legs. Minho meets you halfway, the morning chill sharpening the lines of his face.  

“You’ve been ghosting me,” he says, voice low.  

“I’ve been… figuring things out.”  

“By shutting me out?” He steps closer, Tofu pressed to his chest like a shield. “Talk to me. *Please*.”  

The plea unravels you. “What’s there to say? You saw how Soojin looked at me—like I was a *distraction*. And I can’t—I won’t be the thing that holds you back from—”  

“From what? Schmoozing donors?” He laughs, bitter. “That’s not me, Y/N. Never was.”  

“But it’s part of your job! Your *future*—”  

“I quit.”  

The words hang between you, brittle as ice.  

“What?”  

“Donor relations. Events. All of it.” He sets Tofu down, his hands trembling. “I told them I’m sticking to the cats. And the kids. And… you.”  

Your breath hitches. “You didn’t have to do that.”  

“Yeah, I did.” He swipes a hand over his face. “Because I’d rather mop piss puddles every day than lose you two.”  

Rio’s laughter floats over, Tofu now chasing a leaf he’s waving. Minho’s gaze softens. “I’ve been here every morning. Hoping you’d come. I’m not going anywhere, Y/N.”  

Tears blur the fog-drenched trees. “I’m scared,” you whisper.  

He reaches for you, pausing just shy of your cheek. “Let me be scared with you. Let me *help*.”  

You lean into his touch, his palm warm against your skin. “What if I break?”  

“Then I’ll put you back together.” His thumb brushes away a tear. “However many times it takes.”  

Rio crashes into your legs, Tofu circling his ankles. “Group hug!” he demands, arms stretched wide.  

Minho scoops him up, your little trio—*family*—colliding in a tangle of limbs and purrs. The fog lifts, sunlight spilling gold across the path ahead.  

The click of Rio’s bedroom door echoes like a held breath. You retreat to the kitchen, hands trembling as you fill the kettle. Moonlight spills through the window, silvering the mugs you set out—the chipped one Rio painted with paw prints, and Minho’s favorite, striped like a tabby’s fur.  

Footsteps pad behind you.  

“Need help?” Minho leans against the doorway, sleeves rolled up, shadows pooling under his eyes.  

You shake your head, but he steps closer anyway, his warmth a quiet challenge to the distance you’ve carved. The kettle whistles, sharp and urgent.  

“Why’d you really quit donor work?” you ask, pouring hot water too fast. It sloshes, scalding your thumb.  

Minho catches your wrist, guiding the kettle down. “Because I finally figured out what matters.” His thumb brushes the burn, soothing. “Saw my dad chase promotions my whole childhood. Missed every school play, every birthday. I swore I’d never be that guy.”  

You stare at the steam curling between you. “And us? Are we just… another promise?”  

He turns your hand over, tracing the lines of your palm. “You’re the reason I keep them.”  

The confession hangs, fragile. You pull away, busying yourself with tea bags. Chamomile for him, earl grey for you—he’d remembered.  

“I keep waiting for you to realize this is too much,” you whisper. “A single mom, a chaotic kid, a cat who hates your shoes—”  

“Y/N.” He steps into your space, the counter’s edge pressing into your back. “You think I don’t know what I’m signing up for? I’ve seen your late-night panic over daycare bills. The way you cry when Rio draws family pictures with *three* people now. Hell, I’ve scrubbed puke off my favorite jeans thanks to Tofu’s hairballs.” His voice cracks. “I’m not here for *easy*. I’m here for *you*.”  

Tears blur the mugs. “What if I’m not enough?”  

He frames your face, calloused palms anchoring you. “You’re everything. The deadlines, the mess, the *fear*—it’s all part of you. And I want all of it.”  

Your breath hitches. “Even when I push you away?”  

“Especially then.” His forehead rests against yours, the tea forgotten. “You don’t have to be brave alone anymore.”  

The admission unravels you. “I don’t know how to do this,” you rasp. “To trust someone to… stay.”  

Minho’s thumb catches a tear. “Let me show you.”  

Outside, rain begins to fall, tapping a rhythm against the window. The first brush of Minho’s lips is tentative, a question whispered into the fragile space between your breaths. But when your fingers fist in his hoodie, tugging him closer, the hesitation shatters. His hands slide from your face to your waist, lifting you onto the counter with a ease that steals your breath. Tea mugs clatter forgotten as he steps between your knees, his mouth slanting over yours with a hunger that mirrors the storm outside.  

This isn’t the careful Minho who blinks slowly at skittish kittens. This is wildfire—calloused palms skimming your ribs, teeth grazing your lower lip, a groan rumbling deep in his chest when you arch against him. His hoodie smells like cedar and the faint musk of the shelter, a scent that’s become as familiar as your own chaos.  

“Minho—” you gasp, breaking the kiss, but his name is a plea, not a protest.  

He stills, forehead pressed to yours, breath ragged. “Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, but his thumb traces the hammering pulse at your neck, betraying his own unraveling.  

You don’t. Instead, you knot your hands in his hair, dragging him back. The counter digs into your thighs, the cold edge a stark contrast to the heat of his mouth. He kisses like he’s memorizing you—the sigh you stifle when his tongue flicks yours, the hitch in your breath as his hands slide under your shirt, branding your skin.  

Minho guides you through the darkened hallway, his steps careful and measured despite the desire thrumming through his veins. Your bare feet pad silently across the wooden floors, past Rio's room where soft snores filter through the crack under the door, and Tofu's favorite sleeping spot by the window.

His hands never leave your body - ghosting over your hip, tracing the small of your back, fingers intertwined with yours as he leads you to your bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you with barely a whisper, and suddenly the air feels charged, electric with anticipation.

Moonlight spills through your curtains, painting Minho's bare chest in silver shadows as he backs you toward the bed. His movements are controlled, deliberate - every touch calculated to keep quiet. When your knees hit the mattress, he catches you before you fall, lowering you to the sheets with such care that your heart swells.

"Shh," he breathes against your ear when the bed frame creaks slightly, his warm weight settling over you. His fingers trail down your sides, hooks in your belt loops. "We'll have to be very, very quiet."

The challenge in his whispered words sends a shiver down your spine, especially when his teeth graze your earlobe, testing just how silent you can stay.

Minho's fingers tremble slightly as they work at your jeans button, his usual confidence wavering as moonlight reveals the vulnerability in his eyes. When you reach to help, he catches your wrist, pressing a kiss to your palm.

"Let me," he whispers, "I want to remember every second of this." His hands slide your jeans down with aching slowness, but you notice how he hesitates at the scars on your thighs, the stretch marks mapping your hips. Before self-consciousness can take root, he's tracing each mark with reverent fingers, then following with his lips.

"Beautiful," he breathes against your skin. When you start to protest, he silences you with a deep kiss. "Every inch of you."

You reach for his belt, but notice his own moment of hesitation as your fingers brush his stomach. This confident man who spends his days wrangling large dogs suddenly seems unsure, and you remember the burn scars he usually keeps hidden under long sleeves.

"You don't have to—" he starts, but you quiet him by pressing kisses along the scarred tissue of his right arm, feeling his breath catch. Your fingers work his belt open as your lips trace each mark, each imperfection that makes him perfectly him.

Soon you're both down to underwear, skin against skin, every touch electric yet tender. His fingers trace the curve of your breasts through your bra, while yours map the hard planes of his chest, both of you learning each other's bodies with wondering hands.

"You're sure?" he asks, thumbs hooked in your panties, waiting for permission despite the obvious desire straining against his boxers. His eyes hold yours, dark with want but soft with something deeper.

You nod, lifting your hips to help him slide your panties down your legs. His breath catches as he takes in your naked form, illuminated by moonlight. Your instinct is to cover yourself, but the raw adoration in his gaze holds you still.

Minho trails kisses up your inner thigh, his touch growing bolder as your breathing quickens. When his tongue finds your clit, you have to bite your lip to stay quiet. His hands grip your thighs, holding you steady as he works you with his mouth, each stroke of his tongue deliberate and precise.

You reach down to tangle your fingers in his hair, tugging gently when he hits a particularly sensitive spot. His responding groan vibrates against you, sending sparks of pleasure up your spine. Your other hand fists in the sheets, trying to anchor yourself as the pressure builds.

"Minho," you gasp, barely a whisper, "I need you. Please."

He crawls up your body, kissing a path from your navel to your breasts, then capturing your lips. You can taste yourself on his tongue as he positions himself between your thighs, the hard length of his cock pressing against your entrance.

"I adore you," he breathes against your mouth as he slowly pushes inside, stretching you deliciously. "Gosh, I adore you so much."

Your bodies move together in the darkness, finding a rhythm as natural as breathing. Each thrust is measured, careful not to make the bed creak, but the restraint only makes it more intense. His forehead presses against yours, sharing each shaky breath as you climb toward ecstasy together.

Minho's thrusts grow deeper, more urgent as your walls clench around him. His cock fills you perfectly, hitting spots that make you see stars. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, changing the angle until he's grinding against your clit with each movement.

"Fuck," he pants against your neck, struggling to keep his voice down. "You feel amazing. So tight, so perfect."

Your nails dig into his back as the pressure builds, every nerve ending on fire. The familiar coil of heat in your belly winds tighter and tighter. Minho seems to sense how close you are - his fingers find your clit, circling it in time with his thrusts.

"Come for me," he whispers, his voice rough with need. "I want to feel you come on my cock."

The combination of his words, his touch, and the delicious stretch of him inside you sends you over the edge. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, your pussy clenching rhythmically around him as you bite down on his shoulder to muffle your cries.

The feeling of you coming undone triggers his own release. His hips stutter, losing their rhythm as he buries himself deep inside you with a muffled groan. You can feel his cock pulsing as he fills you, his whole body trembling with the intensity of his orgasm.

For several long moments, you lie there tangled together, hearts racing, bodies slick with sweat. Minho peppers soft kisses across your face - your forehead, your cheeks, the tip of your nose - as if he can't bear to stop touching you.

Minho chuckles softly against your neck, his fingers drawing lazy circles on your hip. "You know," he murmurs with a playful nip at your earlobe, "if we keep this up, Rio might get that little sister he's been begging for."

Your laughter bubbles up, soft and intimate in the darkness. "Only you would think about making babies right after our first time," you tease, turning to face him with a grin. Your fingers trace the smile lines around his eyes, memorizing how he looks in this moment - hair mussed from your hands, lips swollen from kisses.

"Hey, I'm just being practical," he defends playfully, pulling you closer. "Rio's been asking for a playmate ever since he saw Mrs. Kim's new baby. And Tofu could use another human to train."

You snort, burying your face in his chest to muffle the sound. "Of course you'd bring the pets into this conversation," you whisper. "Such a typical shelter worker."

"Speaking of," he murmurs, his hand sliding down to cup your ass, "we should probably practice that baby-making technique a few more times. You know, for science."

Three years later, sunlight drips like honey through the windows of your shared home, gilding the mosaic of chaos and love that is your life. Minho stands at the stove, spatula in hand, crafting pancake dinosaurs with the precision of a man who’s learned to find art in the messy. His free hand rests on the curve of your belly, where your daughter kicks impatiently, as if already eager to join the fray. “Princess Appa’s practicing her roundhouse kicks,” he teases, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head.  

Under the table, Rio—now six and savant of all things glitter and mischief—huddles with Tofu, their whispers punctuated by the crinkle of a manila folder. You bite your lip, heart swollen, as he peeks up at you. *“Now, Mama?”*  

You nod, tears already pricking your lashes.  

Rio scrambles out, folder clutched to his *Star Wars* pajamas, and tugs Minho’s apron with the gravity of a diplomat. “Appa! Father’s Day present!”  

Minho grins, flipping a T-Rex onto a plate. “Let’s see it, space ranger.”  

Rio thrusts the folder forward, its cover a masterpiece of sticker explosions: cats in rocket ships, a lopsided family portrait labeled *“ME, MAMA, MINHO, TOFU & BABY SIS,”* and a glitter-glue galaxy that glints in the light. Inside, the adoption papers gleam, their legalese softened by Rio’s crayon scrawl: *“PLEEZ BE MY REEL DAD”* looping across the top.  

Minho freezes. The spatula clatters to the floor.  

“Mama did the grown-up words,” Rio explains, bouncing on his toes, “but the *‘forever daddy’* part is *mine*! And Tofu helped!” He points to the corner, where a smudged paw print is stamped in purple ink.  

Minho sinks to his knees, the linoleum cool against his palms. He stares at the papers, then at Rio’s hopeful face—so like your own—then at you. “You… you’re sure?”  

You crouch beside him, Tofu weaving figure-eights around your ankles. “We’ve never been surer of anything.”  

A tear splashes onto the folder, blurring the “DAD” in Rio’s title. Another follows. Rio’s eyes widen. “Did I spell it wrong?!”  

Minho drags him into a hug, laughter and sobs tangled in his throat. “It’s perfect. *You’re* perfect.”  

Later, after pancake dinosaurs fossilize and the notary—a friend from the shelter who’d arrived with confetti and cat-shaped cookies—witnesses the signatures, Minho sits on the porch swing, Rio sprawled across his lap, sticky with syrup and dreams. Your daughter pirouettes beneath your skin, and Minho presses his palm to your belly, his thumb brushing the spot where her foot jabs. “Hey, little comet,” he murmurs. “Your brother’s already plotting your first mission to Mars.”  

You lean into him, the adoption papers now framed beside Rio’s first crayon cat drawing. Tofu’s paw print is immortalized in gold ink beneath your signatures—a family relic. “Think she’ll survive the chaos?”  

Minho’s slow blink is a language only you know. *I love you. I’m here. Always.* “She’ll be the chaos queen,” he says, grinning.  

And when she’s born—on a tempestuous night with Minho reciting cat facts as a breathing coach, Rio “assisting” with a toy stethoscope, and Tofu yowling backup vocals—you’ll finally understand: family isn’t found in the quiet. It’s built in the storm, one paw print, one pancake, one *“forever daddy”* at a time.  

[tosomeonessomeone]

Open requests ✨️

Grettings, my lovely ones!

I'm here to let you know that I'm currently accepting requests. I'm dedicated to making your wishes a reality ✨️

If you have a song that brings a Stray Kids member to mind, I'd be delighted to craft a story from it. Whether you're seeking a spicy, fluffy, funny, or sad narrative, just let me know, and I'll do my utmost to bring it to life!

[tosomeonessomeone]

The mark of two worlds.

words・ 6.9k /pairings・ Jisung x reader / genres・fluff, a little angst / warnings・ love making

On your 21st birthday, the world as you knew it changed forever. It started with a strange tingling sensation on your wrist, where a small, intricate mark had appeared overnight. At first, you thought it was just a weird birthmark or a temporary tattoo you’d forgotten about. But then, in the blink of an eye, you were no longer in your cozy apartment in Seoul. Instead, you found yourself standing in the middle of a quaint, sunlit living room in a house you’d never seen before.

Panic surged through you. *Where am I? How did I get here?* You stumbled backward, your heart racing, as you took in your surroundings. The house was warm and inviting, filled with soft furniture, bookshelves lined with your favorite novels, and a kitchen that smelled faintly of vanilla. It felt... familiar, as if it had been waiting for you.

Over the next few weeks, you discovered that the mark on your wrist was no ordinary mark. It was a *soulmate mark*, a gateway to an alternate universe. Every time you touched it and focused, you could teleport between your world and this peaceful, idyllic house in a charming little city. It became your sanctuary, a place where you could escape the chaos of your life.

In your world, you were a rising star—a recently graduated literature student turned international sensation after your debut novel took the world by storm. Your days were filled with interviews, book signings, and endless deadlines. But here, in this other universe, you were just... *you*. No fame, no expectations, just quiet moments to breathe and be yourself.

For three years, you visited the house regularly, growing more and more attached to it. You filled the shelves with your favorite books, cooked meals in the cozy kitchen, and even planted flowers in the small garden outside. It felt like a second home, a place where you could recharge before returning to your hectic life.

But one day, everything changed.

You teleported to the house as usual, expecting the familiar silence and solitude. Instead, you were met with the sound of someone crashing into a table, followed by a startled yelp. Your eyes widened as you saw a boy—no, a man—in his early twenties, standing in the middle of the living room, looking just as shocked as you were.

He had messy brown hair, wide, panicked eyes, and a mark on his wrist that glowed faintly, just like yours. For a moment, you both just stared at each other, frozen in place.

“W-who are you?!” he stammered, his voice trembling. “How did I get here?!”

You recognized him instantly. It was *Han Jisung*, the talented rapper, singer, and lyricist from Stray Kids. But in this moment, he wasn’t the confident idol you’d seen on stage. He was just a boy, confused and scared, just like you had been three years ago.

“I... I think I’m your soulmate,” you said softly, holding up your wrist to show him the mark.

His eyes darted to your wrist, then to his own, and the realization slowly dawned on him. “Soulmate marks... alternate universes... this is insane,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But... it kind of makes sense?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension in the room easing just a little. “Yeah, it’s a lot to take in. But... welcome to your second home, Jisung.”

He blinked at you, his panic slowly giving way to curiosity. “You know who I am?”

“Of course I do. You’re kind of a big deal in my world,” you said with a smile. “But here... you’re just Jisung. And I’m just me.”

For the first time, a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “Just Jisung, huh? I think I like the sound of that.”

One of the first things you did was exchange numbers. It was a practical decision—after all, you both had lives to return to in your normal universes—but it quickly became something more. Texts turned into late-night phone calls, and soon, you were sharing snippets of your days with each other. Jisung would send you voice notes of new lyrics he was working on, and you’d send him photos of your writing desk or the view from your apartment window. It was a strange but beautiful way to build a connection, bridging the gap between your two worlds.

Your weekly meetings in the alternate universe became a ritual. Every Saturday afternoon, without fail, you’d both teleport to the house and spend hours together. Sometimes you’d cook meals in the cozy kitchen, laughing as Jisung attempted (and failed) to chop vegetables without nearly cutting his fingers off. Other times, you’d curl up on the couch with a book or a movie, enjoying the simple pleasure of each other’s company.

One of the best parts of this alternate universe was the freedom it offered. You could go out for walks in the city without worrying about paparazzi or fans recognizing you. The streets were quiet and peaceful, lined with quaint shops and cafes. It felt like a dream, a world where you could just exist as two ordinary people, hand in hand, without a care in the world.

But back in your normal universe, things were a little more complicated. Jisung couldn’t keep the secret of your relationship from his Stray Kids members for long. One evening, during a late-night practice session, he accidentally let it slip.

“So, uh, I’ve been spending a lot of time with someone,” he said casually, trying to sound nonchalant but failing miserably.

The room went silent. All eyes turned to him.

“Wait, what?” Changbin was the first to break the silence. “You’ve been *what*?”

“Who is it?” Hyunjin demanded, his eyes narrowing. “Is it someone we know?”

Jisung hesitated, but the members weren’t about to let him off the hook. Under their relentless questioning, he finally caved and told them everything—about the soulmate mark, the alternate universe, and you.

The reaction was... loud, to say the least.

“YOU HAVE A SOULMATE?!” Felix shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.

“And she’s *the* Y/N? The writer?!” Jeongin added, looking utterly starstruck.

“This is so unfair!” Seungmin complained, crossing his arms. “Why does Jisung get to have a soulmate who’s, like, the coolest person ever?”

Chan, ever the leader, tried to calm everyone down, but even he couldn’t hide his curiosity. “So, when do we get to meet her?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “No way. Absolutely not. She’s *my* soulmate, and I’m not sharing her with you guys. You’ll just annoy her.”

But the members weren’t about to take no for an answer. Over the next few days, they bombarded Jisung with demands to meet you in your normal universe. They even started brainstorming ways to “accidentally” run into you, much to Jisung’s dismay.

“They’re relentless,” he complained to you during one of your weekly meetings. “I swear, if they ever meet you, they’re going to embarrass me so much.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “I think it’s sweet. They just want to make sure I’m good enough for you.”

Jisung rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. “You’re more than good enough. They’re just jealous.”

Despite his protests, you could tell that Jisung was secretly pleased by how much his members cared. And while you weren’t quite ready to meet them yet, you couldn’t help but feel a little excited at the thought of being welcomed into his world—even if it meant dealing with seven overprotective Stray Kids members.

After weeks of relentless pestering, Jisung finally gave in. The Stray Kids members had made it clear that they weren’t going to drop the subject until they met you, and Jisung knew better than to fight a losing battle. So, one evening, he texted you with a mix of excitement and dread.

**Jisung:** So... the guys won’t stop bugging me about meeting you. I tried to hold them off, but they’re like a pack of wolves. What do you think? Are you up for it?

You stared at your phone, a nervous flutter in your chest. Meeting Jisung’s members was a big step, and while you were curious about the people who meant so much to him, the thought of facing eight incredibly talented and charismatic idols was more than a little intimidating. Still, you couldn’t deny that you were curious about them too.

**You:** I mean... I guess it’s inevitable, right? As long as they promise not to interrogate me too much, I’m in.

**Jisung:** Oh, they’re definitely going to interrogate you. But don’t worry, I’ll protect you. Mostly.

You laughed, shaking your head. **You:** Mostly? That’s not very reassuring.

**Jisung:** Trust me, you’ll be fine. You’re amazing, and they’re going to love you. Just... maybe brace yourself for a lot of chaos.

The day of the meeting arrived, and Jisung had arranged for you to come to the Stray Kids dorm after their practice. You stood outside the building, clutching a small bag of pastries you’d brought as a peace offering, and took a deep breath. Before you could second-guess yourself, the door swung open, and Jisung appeared, his face lighting up when he saw you.

“Hey,” he said, pulling you into a quick hug. “You ready for this?”

“Not even a little,” you admitted, laughing nervously. “But let’s do it anyway.”

He grinned and took your hand, leading you inside. The moment you stepped into the living room, all eyes turned to you. The members were scattered around the room, some on the couch, others on the floor, but they all froze when they saw you.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” Jisung announced, his voice a mix of pride and apprehension. “Y/N, this is... well, you know who they are.”

For a moment, there was silence. Then, all at once, chaos erupted.

“Oh my god, it’s really her!” Felix exclaimed, jumping to his feet.

“Hi, I’m Hyunjin,” Hyunjin said, giving you a dramatic bow. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“Did you really write *Whispers in the Dark*?” Jeongin asked, his eyes wide with awe. “That book destroyed me.”

“Okay, okay, give her some space,” Jisung said, stepping in front of you like a human shield. “Don’t scare her off before she even sits down.”

You laughed, holding up the bag of pastries. “I brought these as a peace offering. I figured you guys might be hungry after practice.”

“You’re already my favorite,” Changbin declared, grabbing the bag and peeking inside. “Oh, these look amazing.”

As the members dug into the pastries, the initial tension eased, and the room filled with lively chatter. They bombarded you with questions—about your books, your writing process, and how you and Jisung had met—but it was all so genuine and enthusiastic that you couldn’t help but feel at ease.

At one point, Chan leaned over to Jisung and whispered, “You’re so lucky. She’s perfect.”

Jisung grinned, his chest puffing with pride. “I know.”

The evening flew by in a blur of laughter and stories. The members took turns teasing Jisung, much to his embarrassment, but it was all in good fun. You quickly realized that this was just their way of showing affection, and you couldn’t help but admire how close they were.

As the night wound down, Jisung walked you to the door, his hand lingering in yours. “So... what did you think?” he asked, his voice soft.

“They’re amazing,” you said, smiling up at him. “A little overwhelming, but amazing. I can see why they mean so much to you.”

He smiled, his eyes warm. “Yeah, they’re my family. And now... you’re part of that too.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you squeezed his hand. “I’m glad.”

As you left the dorm, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging. Meeting Jisung’s members had been a big step, but it had also brought you closer to him—and to the world he called home. And as chaotic as it was, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

——

Almost a year had passed since Jisung first stumbled into your shared sanctuary, and in that time, your bond had only grown stronger. You’d shared countless moments together—laughing over burnt pancakes, staying up late talking about your dreams, and exploring the charming streets of your alternate universe. But there was one thing Jisung had never done: kiss you.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. In fact, the thought crossed his mind more often than he cared to admit. But Jisung was a gentleman at heart, and he wanted everything to be perfect. He didn’t want to rush or pressure you, so he held back, content to simply be by your side.

That is, until Minho brought it up.

It was a rare quiet afternoon at the Stray Kids dorm. Jisung was lounging on the couch, scrolling through his phone, when Minho plopped down beside him with a mischievous grin.

“So,” Minho began, his tone dripping with curiosity, “how’s Y/N?”

Jisung glanced at him, sensing trouble. “She’s great. Why?”

Minho shrugged, feigning innocence. “No reason. I was just wondering... have you kissed her yet?”

Jisung froze, his cheeks turning bright red. “W-what? That’s none of your business!”

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying Jisung’s flustered reaction. “Almost a year together, and you haven’t even kissed her? Jisung, what are you waiting for? A written invitation?”

“It’s not that simple,” Jisung muttered, sinking into the couch. “I don’t want to mess things up. What if she’s not ready? What if I’m bad at it? What if—”

“What if you stop overthinking and just go for it?” Minho interrupted, rolling his eyes. “Y/N clearly adores you. Trust me, she’s not going to run away if you kiss her.”

Jisung groaned, covering his face with a pillow. “Why are you like this?”

Minho laughed, patting Jisung on the shoulder. “Because someone has to knock some sense into you. Now go. Be the dorky gentleman she fell for, but maybe add a little romance, huh?”

Later that evening, Jisung teleported to the alternate universe, his mind still racing from Minho’s words. You were in the kitchen, humming to yourself as you stirred a pot of soup. The sight of you—so effortlessly beautiful and at ease—made his heart skip a beat.

“Hey,” he said, leaning against the doorway.

You turned and smiled at him. “Hey yourself. Hungry? I made your favorite.”

He nodded, but his usual enthusiasm was replaced with a nervous energy. As the two of you sat down to eat, he couldn’t stop replaying Minho’s advice in his head. *Just go for it. Be romantic.*

After dinner, you moved to the living room, where a cozy fire crackled in the fireplace. You curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, and Jisung sat beside you, his hands fidgeting in his lap.

“You’re quiet tonight,” you said, tilting your head to look at him. “Everything okay?”

Jisung took a deep breath, his heart pounding. “Yeah, I just... I’ve been thinking.”

“About what?”

He hesitated, then turned to face you, his eyes searching yours. “About us. About how much you mean to me. And about how I’ve been too scared to do something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you realized what he was saying. “Jisung...”

Before you could say more, he leaned in, his hand gently cupping your cheek. His touch was warm and tentative, as if he was giving you every opportunity to pull away. But you didn’t. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your lips meeting his in a soft, lingering kiss.

It was everything Jisung had imagined and more—sweet, tender, and filled with all the emotions he’d been holding back. When he finally pulled away, his cheeks were flushed, and he couldn’t stop the goofy grin spreading across his face.

“Wow,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “That was... wow.”

You laughed, your own cheeks tinged with pink. “Took you long enough.”

He groaned, burying his face in your shoulder. “Don’t tease me. I was nervous, okay?”

You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his. “Well, for the record, it was worth the wait.”

Jisung smiled, his heart swelling with happiness. For the first time in a long time, he felt like he’d gotten something exactly right. And as the fire crackled and the night stretched on, he knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your story—one he couldn’t wait to write with you.

Over the next few months, your relationship with Jisung deepened in ways you hadn’t imagined possible. The kiss had opened a door to a new level of intimacy, and every moment you spent together felt like a treasure. Here are some of the most memorable moments that defined your journey:

The Rainy Day Adventure

One afternoon, as you both lounged in the cozy house, a sudden downpour began. The rain tapped against the windows, creating a soothing rhythm. Jisung, ever the spontaneous one, grabbed your hand and pulled you outside.

“What are you doing?!” you laughed, shielding your face from the rain.

“Living a little!” he shouted back, spinning you around in the middle of the empty street. The two of you danced and splashed in puddles like kids, completely drenched but utterly carefree. When you finally ran back inside, shivering and laughing, Jisung wrapped a blanket around you and pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“You’re ridiculous,” you said, grinning up at him.

“Yeah, but you love it,” he replied, his eyes sparkling.

The Late-Night Confession

One night, after a long day in your respective universes, you both teleported to the house at the same time. Exhausted, you collapsed onto the couch, your head resting on Jisung’s shoulder. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the refrigerator.

“Can I tell you something?” Jisung asked, his voice breaking the silence.

You looked up at him, curious. “Of course.”

He hesitated, then said, “I used to think I didn’t deserve something like this—like you. Being an idol, it’s easy to feel like you’re always performing, even when you’re not on stage. But with you... I feel like I can just be me. And that means more to me than anything.”

Your heart ached at his vulnerability. “Jisung, you deserve every good thing in the world. And I’m so glad I get to be part of your life.”

He smiled, pulling you closer. “Me too.”

The First Fight

Not every moment was perfect. One day, after a particularly stressful week, you and Jisung had your first real argument. It started over something trivial—a missed text message—but quickly escalated into a heated discussion about balancing your relationship with your individual lives.

“I just feel like you don’t understand how hard it is for me to juggle everything,” Jisung said, his voice tinged with frustration.

“And I feel like you don’t understand how much I worry about you,” you shot back.

The fight ended with both of you storming off to different rooms. But after a few hours of cooling down, Jisung found you in the kitchen, where you were absently stirring a cup of tea.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, leaning against the doorway. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like your feelings don’t matter.”

You looked up at him, your anger melting away. “I’m sorry too. I know you’re doing your best.”

He crossed the room and wrapped his arms around you, his chin resting on your head. “We’ll figure it out, okay? Together.”

The Quiet Moments

Not every moment was grand or dramatic. Some of your favorite memories were the quiet ones—reading side by side on the couch, Jisung humming as he cooked breakfast, or simply holding hands as you walked through the city. Those moments reminded you that love wasn’t always about big gestures; sometimes, it was about simply being together.

As the months turned into years, your relationship with Jisung became a tapestry of these moments—big and small, joyful and challenging. And through it all, one thing remained constant: the unwavering love and connection you shared, a bond that transcended universes and defied all odds.

——

The day of your one-year anniversary arrived, and Jisung had been acting suspiciously secretive all week. He’d been texting more than usual, disappearing for hours at a time, and even shooing you out of the house in the alternate universe with vague excuses like, “I just need to... uh, reorganize the bookshelf. Yeah.”

You played along, pretending not to notice his nervous energy, but you couldn’t help feeling excited. Jisung wasn’t exactly subtle, and you had a feeling he was planning something special.

When the day finally came, Jisung teleported to your apartment in your normal universe, looking unusually dressed up in a crisp white shirt and dark jeans. He held out his hand, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Ready?” he asked.

“For what?” you replied, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ll see,” he said, grinning.

He led you to a rooftop garden you’d never been to before. It was breathtaking—strings of fairy lights crisscrossed overhead, casting a warm glow over the space. A small table was set up in the center, complete with candles, flowers, and a bottle of champagne. Soft music played in the background, and the city skyline stretched out before you, twinkling like a sea of stars.

“Jisung... this is incredible,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He smiled, clearly pleased with your reaction. “I wanted to make tonight special. Because you’re special.”

The two of you sat down to a delicious meal, laughing and reminiscing about the past year. Jisung told you stories about his early days as a trainee, and you shared your own memories of writing your first book. It was a perfect evening, filled with love and laughter.

After dinner, Jisung handed you a small, beautifully wrapped box. “Happy anniversary,” he said, his voice soft.

You opened it carefully, your breath catching when you saw what was inside. It was a delicate silver bracelet, with a tiny charm shaped like a book. Engraved on the back were the words, *“To my favorite story.”*

“Jisung...” you said, your eyes filling with tears. “It’s beautiful.”

He took the bracelet and fastened it around your wrist, his fingers lingering on your skin. “You’re my favorite story, Y/N. Every chapter with you is better than the last.”

Later that night, back in the alternate universe, the two of you sat by the fireplace, wrapped in a blanket. The air between you was charged with a new kind of energy, a quiet understanding that something had shifted.

Jisung reached out, his hand cupping your cheek as he leaned in. His kiss was slow and deliberate, filled with all the love and longing he’d been holding back. You responded in kind, your hands tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

The alternate universe’s house was bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, the curtains gently swaying in the breeze from the open window. You and Jisung had spent the evening wrapped in each other’s arms, talking and laughing, but as the hours passed, the air between you shifted. There was a new kind of tension, a quiet understanding that something deeper was unfolding.

You were sitting on the edge of the bed, your fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on the sheets, when Jisung walked over and knelt in front of you. His eyes, usually so full of mischief and energy, were soft and serious as they met yours.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I need you to know something.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding as you waited for him to continue.

“You mean everything to me,” he said, his hands resting on your knees. “Not just because of the soulmate mark or because of this universe. You mean everything because of who you are. Because you make me feel like I can be myself, completely and without fear.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you reached out to cup his face. “Jisung, you’re my whole world. More than I can ever put into words.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment before he stood up, pulling you with him. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, as if he was savoring the moment. But when you responded, kissing him back with equal intensity, the hesitation melted away.

The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, filled with all the love and longing you’d both been holding back. His hands moved to the small of your back, pressing you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair. Every touch, every breath, felt like a promise—a promise to love, to protect, to cherish.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice trembling slightly.

You nodded, your heart swelling with emotion. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

He smiled, his eyes searching yours for a moment before he leaned in again, his lips trailing soft kisses along your jawline and down your neck. Your breath hitched as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his touch gentle but confident. He pulled it over your head, his eyes never leaving yours as he took in the sight of you.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispered, his voice filled with awe.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, but before you could respond, he kissed you again, his hands exploring every inch of your skin. His touch was electric, sending shivers down your spine as he slowly undressed you, each movement filled with reverence.

When you were both bare, he laid you down on the bed, his body hovering over yours. His eyes locked with yours, and in that moment, you felt completely and utterly seen. There was no pretense, no masks—just the two of you, raw and vulnerable.

He kissed you again, his hands roaming your body as if he was memorizing every curve, every freckle. His lips trailed down your chest, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You gasped as he reached the sensitive skin of your stomach, your fingers tightening in his hair.

“Jisung,” you breathed, your voice barely audible.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire but still filled with love. “I’ve got you,” he whispered. “I’ll always have you.”

When he finally entered you, it was slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving yours. The connection between you was overwhelming, a perfect blend of physical and emotional intimacy. Every movement, every touch, was filled with love and trust, a silent promise that this was more than just passion—it was forever.

As the world outside faded away, it was just the two of you, lost in each other. The stars outside the window seemed to shine brighter, as if they were bearing witness to this moment, this unbreakable bond between soulmates.

When it was over, you lay together, your bodies intertwined, your breaths slowly returning to normal. Jisung pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, his arms tightening around you.

“You’re my forever,” he whispered, his voice filled with emotion.

You smiled, your heart overflowing with love. “And you’re mine.”

And as you drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, you knew that this was just the beginning of a lifetime of moments like this—moments of love, of trust, of unshakable connection.

The morning after your anniversary, you woke up to the soft sound of Jisung humming. The sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. You turned to see him sitting on the edge of the bed, already dressed and looking at you with a soft smile.

“Good morning,” he said, his voice gentle.

“Good morning,” you replied, stretching lazily. “What are you doing up so early?”

He shrugged, his smile turning mischievous. “I wanted to make you breakfast. But I also didn’t want to wake you. You looked so peaceful.”

You sat up, pulling the blanket around you. “Breakfast, huh? Should I be worried?”

He laughed, standing up and offering you his hand. “Come on, let’s find out.”

In the kitchen, Jisung had laid out an impressive spread—pancakes, fresh fruit, and even a pot of your favorite tea. You raised an eyebrow, impressed.

“Did you actually make all this?” you asked, teasing.

“Hey, I’m full of surprises,” he said, pretending to be offended. “Besides, I had some help from a certain someone who may or may not have left me a recipe.”

You laughed, sitting down at the table. “Well, it looks amazing. Thank you.”

As you ate, the conversation flowed easily, filled with the kind of comfortable banter that had become second nature to you. Jisung told you about a new song he was working on, and you shared your latest writing project. It was a perfect morning, filled with laughter and love.

After breakfast, Jisung suggested spending the day exploring the alternate universe’s city. The two of you wandered through the streets, hand in hand, stopping at little shops and cafes along the way. It was a rare treat to be able to go out without worrying about paparazzi or fans, and you soaked in every moment.

At one point, you stumbled upon a small park with a beautiful fountain in the center. Jisung pulled you over to it, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“Make a wish,” he said, handing you a coin.

You closed your eyes, thought for a moment, and tossed the coin into the water. When you opened your eyes, Jisung was watching you with a curious smile.

“What did you wish for?” he asked.

“If I tell you, it won’t come true,” you replied, teasing.

He pouted, but then his expression softened. “I think I can guess.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And what’s that?”

He leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “That we’ll always have this. That no matter what happens, we’ll always find our way back to each other.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “You’re pretty good at guessing.”

He smiled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know you better than you think.”

As the stars began to appear in the sky, you and Jisung sat together, wrapped in a blanket and lost in your own world. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear—you were in this together, no matter what.

——

Despite Jisung’s initial reluctance, the Stray Kids members eventually wore him down and convinced him to let them spend a day with you in your normal universe. Jisung had been hesitant, worried about how the group dynamic might overwhelm you, but he finally gave in after relentless teasing and pleading from the members. “Fine,” he said, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. “But if any of you embarrass me, I’m kicking you out of the dorm.”

The day started early, with Jisung picking you up from your apartment. He was unusually jittery, pacing back and forth as you grabbed your bag. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he asked, his voice tinged with both excitement and anxiety. “They’re... a lot.”

You laughed, slipping your hand into his. “I think I can handle it. Besides, I’ve been curious about meeting them properly.”

The plan was to meet the group at a popular café in Seoul, one that was known for being idol-friendly and discreet. When you arrived, the members were already there, seated around a large table and chatting animatedly. The moment Jisung walked in with you, the room erupted.

“Finally!” Changbin exclaimed, standing up and waving dramatically. “We were starting to think Jisung was hiding you forever.”

“Y/N!” Felix called out, his bright smile lighting up the room. “Over here!”

You waved back, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement as Jisung led you to the table. Introductions were quick—most of them already knew who you were, thanks to Jisung’s endless stories—and soon you were seated between Jisung and Hyunjin, who immediately started asking you about your latest book.

“I read it in one sitting,” Hyunjin said, his eyes wide with enthusiasm. “The way you write about emotions—it’s like you’re inside my head.”

You laughed, flattered. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

The café visit was just the beginning. From there, the group decided to make a day of it, dragging you along to various spots around Seoul. First was a visit to a popular arcade, where Jeongin challenged you to a game of air hockey. (“I’m not going easy on you just because you’re Jisung’s soulmate,” he declared, only to lose spectacularly.)

Next was a spontaneous karaoke session in a private room, where the members took turns performing their favorite songs. Jisung, of course, stole the show with an impromptu rap he’d written about you, much to your embarrassment and the group’s delight.

“Y/N, you’re inspiring lyrics now!” Chan teased, clapping Jisung on the back. “Watch out, or he’ll write a whole album about you.”

Jisung’s cheeks turned pink, but he didn’t deny it. “Maybe I will,” he muttered, earning a round of cheers from the group.

Amid the chaos, there were quieter moments too. At one point, Minho pulled you aside while the others were busy arguing over which song to sing next. “Can I talk to you for a second?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically serious.

You nodded, following him to a quieter corner of the room. “Is everything okay?”

Minho smiled, shaking his head. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to say... you’re good for him, you know. Jisung. He’s happier when he’s with you.”

The comment caught you off guard, and you felt a warm rush of gratitude. “Thank you, Minho. That means a lot.”

He shrugged, his usual playful demeanor returning. “Don’t tell him I said that, though. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

You laughed, promising to keep it between the two of you.

By late afternoon, the group was starving, so they decided to hit up a famous barbecue spot. The meal was a feast, with plates of meat, kimchi, and banchan covering the table. Jisung, ever the gentleman, made sure your plate was always full, even as the others playfully fought over the last piece of samgyeopsal.

“Y/N, you have to try this,” Felix said, handing you a piece of grilled pork wrapped in lettuce. “It’s life-changing.”

You took a bite, nodding in agreement. “Okay, you’re right. This is amazing.”

As the meal went on, the conversation turned to stories about Jisung—embarrassing ones, of course. “Remember that time he tripped on stage during rehearsal?” Seungmin said, grinning. “He tried to play it off like it was part of the choreography.”

Jisung groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Why do you guys do this to me?”

You laughed, squeezing his hand. “Don’t worry. I think it’s cute.”

As the sun began to set, the group reluctantly decided to call it a day. The members hugged you goodbye, each of them promising to hang out again soon. “You’re officially one of us now,” Chan said, giving you a warm smile. “Welcome to the family.”

Jisung walked you home, his hand firmly in yours. “So... what did you think?” he asked, his voice tinged with nervousness.

You smiled up at him. “I think they’re amazing. A little overwhelming, but amazing. I can see why they mean so much to you.”

He sighed in relief, pulling you into a hug. “I’m glad you had fun. And... thanks for putting up with them. They can be a lot.”

You laughed, resting your head against his chest. “They’re your family. And now they’re mine too.”

As you stood there, wrapped in each other’s arms, you realized just how much your life had changed since meeting Jisung. It wasn’t just him—it was his world, his friends, his family. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

But then, it happened.

A fan recognized Jisung. Then another. And another. Within minutes, a crowd had gathered, phones out, cameras flashing. You tried to stay calm, but the situation escalated quickly. Someone snapped a photo of Jisung holding your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours. Another caught him leaning in to whisper something in your ear, his expression soft and intimate.

The photos went viral within hours.

The internet exploded. Your fans were thrilled, flooding your social media with messages of support and excitement. “Finally!” one comment read. “We always knew you’d find your soulmate!” But Jisung’s fans were... less kind. While some were happy for him, others lashed out, accusing you of being a distraction or questioning the authenticity of your relationship. The comments were relentless, and the pressure was overwhelming.

Jisung tried to shield you from the worst of it, but it was impossible to avoid. The constant scrutiny, the invasive questions, the speculation—it all became too much. You started having anxiety attacks, your chest tightening every time you opened your phone or stepped outside. Jisung, who had battled social anxiety himself, recognized the signs immediately.

“We need to get out of here,” he said one night, his voice firm but gentle. “Just for a little while. Until things calm down.”

You nodded, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t do this, Jisung. I can’t.”

He pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “You don’t have to. We’ll figure it out together.”

The two of you teleported to the alternate universe, to the house that had always been your sanctuary. For a month, you disappeared from the world. No social media, no interviews, no public appearances. Just you and Jisung, finding solace in each other and the quiet life you’d built together.

During that time, Jisung kept in touch with Chan, who acted as a bridge between you and the outside world. “Y/N’s struggling,” Jisung explained during one of their calls. “She’s having social anxiety, and I know how bad that can be. I need to protect her.”

Chan understood. “Take all the time you need,” he said. “We’ll handle things on this end.”

The members were supportive, sending messages of encouragement and keeping the worst of the rumors at bay. But even with their help, the outside world felt like a distant, hostile place.

After a month, things began to calm down. The initial frenzy had died down, and while the comments and speculation hadn’t completely stopped, they were less overwhelming. You and Jisung spent hours talking about what to do next.

“We can’t hide forever,” you said one evening, sitting by the fireplace. “I don’t want to live in fear.”

Jisung nodded, his hand squeezing yours. “I don’t either. But we need to do this on our terms.”

Together, you decided to make an official statement. It was time to tell the world the truth—about your soulmate marks, about your relationship, and about the need for privacy.

The day of the announcement, you and Jisung sat side by side, holding hands as you recorded a video. It was short but heartfelt.

“Hi, everyone,” Jisung began, his voice steady. “We wanted to take a moment to address the rumors and share something important with you. Y/N and I... we’re soulmates. We discovered this almost two years ago, and it’s been the most incredible journey of our lives.”

You smiled, picking up where he left off. “Our relationship is something we’ve always cherished, and we’ve worked hard to protect it. But recently, things have gotten out of hand. The invasion of our privacy has been overwhelming, and it’s taken a toll on both of us.”

Jisung nodded, his expression serious. “We’re asking for your understanding and respect. We’re just two people trying to navigate life together, and we hope you can support us in a way that allows us to do that.”

The video ended with a simple message: “Thank you for your love and support. Please give us the space we need to be happy.”

The reaction was mixed but mostly positive. Your fans rallied behind you, flooding your social media with messages of love and support. Jisung’s fans, while still divided, began to come around, many of them expressing their respect for your honesty and vulnerability.

The Stray Kids members were the first to publicly support you, posting messages of encouragement and urging fans to respect your privacy. “Love is love,” Chan wrote. “Let’s give them the space they deserve.”

In the weeks that followed, you and Jisung slowly began to re-enter the world. You were more cautious, more intentional about what you shared and how you presented yourselves. But the weight of secrecy was gone, replaced by a sense of freedom and relief.

One evening, as you sat together in the alternate universe’s house, Jisung turned to you with a smile. “We made it through,” he said. “And we’re stronger because of it.”

You nodded, leaning into him. “Yeah, we are. And no matter what happens, we’ll always have this.”

As the fire crackled and the stars shone outside, you knew that this was just another chapter in your story—a story that was far from over.

[tosomeonessomeone]

irony in harmony.

words・ 7.9k /pairings・ Seungmin x reader / genres・fluff / warnings・ little bit spicy?

The studio was buzzing with energy, a rare kind of electricity that only came when creative minds collided. Y/N adjusted her headphones, her fingers flying over the soundboard as she fine-tuned the latest track. Her two best friends, Mia and Jisoo, were deep in discussion with the Stray Kids members, their voices a low hum in the background. The room was a chaotic blend of laughter, technical jargon, and the occasional burst of music.

Y/N was the visual director of their trio, the one who brought their musical visions to life with stunning visuals and concepts. She was known for her sharp wit and even sharper tongue, a trait that had earned her both admirers and adversaries in the industry. But today, she was all business, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He had heard about Y/N and her friends, the trio that had taken the music world by storm with their innovative productions. But seeing her in action was something else entirely. There was an intensity about her, a fierce dedication that was both intimidating and captivating.

He caught her eye as she glanced up from the soundboard, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, with a smirk that could only be described as wicked, she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Enjoying the show?" she quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Seungmin chuckled, pushing off the wall and walking over to her. "Just admiring the view," he shot back, his tone equally ironic.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Cute. But flattery won't get you anywhere with me."

"Noted," Seungmin replied, his grin widening. "But just so you know, I'm not easily intimidated."

"Good," Y/N said, turning back to the soundboard. "Because neither am I."

And just like that, a spark was lit. Two sarcastic, sharp-witted individuals, each recognizing a kindred spirit in the other. It was the beginning of a friendship that would soon blossom into something much deeper.

The days turned into weeks, and the collaboration between Stray Kids and Y/N's trio was in full swing. The studio became their second home, a place where creativity flowed freely and ideas were born and refined. Y/N and Seungmin found themselves working closely together, their banter becoming a staple of the studio atmosphere.

One afternoon, as they were reviewing the latest edits for the music video, Seungmin leaned back in his chair and glanced at Y/N. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be the visual director, you spend an awful lot of time in the sound booth."

Y/N didn't look up from her laptop. "And for someone who's supposed to be a singer, you spend an awful lot of time critiquing my work."

"Touché," Seungmin said with a laugh. "But seriously, you're good at this. Like, really good."

Y/N finally looked up, a hint of surprise in her eyes. "Thanks. Coming from you, that actually means something."

Seungmin shrugged. "Just calling it like I see it. You've got a knack for bringing out the best in people."

Y/N studied him for a moment, then smiled. "You're not so bad yourself, Seungmin."

He feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Ouch. That one hurt."

"Good," Y/N said, her smile turning into a grin. "You needed to be taken down a peg or two."

The collaboration was a whirlwind of creativity and energy. Mia, the choreographer director, was a force to be reckoned with. Her sharp eye for detail and relentless drive for perfection had the dance line of Stray Kids—Hyunjin, Lee Know, and Felix—completely floored. They spent hours in the dance studio, pushing their limits and learning new routines that Mia choreographed with precision and flair.

"Again," Mia commanded, her voice firm but encouraging. "You need to hit that move with more power, Hyunjin. Imagine you're breaking through a wall."

Hyunjin nodded, sweat dripping from his brow as he repeated the move. Lee Know and Felix followed suit, their movements synchronized and sharp. Mia watched them with a critical eye, nodding in approval as they nailed the routine.

"You're getting there," she said with a small smile. "But don't get complacent. We have a lot more to cover."

Meanwhile, Jisoo, the musical producer, was in her element with 3Racha—Bang Chan, Changbin, and Han—and the vocal line—Seungmin and I.N. They were in the sound booth, fine-tuning the tracks for the new album. Jisoo's expertise and innovative approach to music production had the boys in awe.

"Let's try that bridge again," Jisoo suggested, her fingers flying over the soundboard. "I want to add a layer of harmonies here to give it more depth."

Bang Chan nodded, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "That sounds amazing. Let's do it."

Changbin and Han exchanged glances, their respect for Jisoo evident. "She's a genius," Changbin whispered to Han, who nodded in agreement.

I.N, ever the eager learner, was soaking up every bit of knowledge he could from Jisoo. "Can you show me how you did that effect on the vocals?" he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

Jisoo smiled, patting him on the shoulder. "Of course, I.N. Let's break it down."

While the rest of the group was immersed in their respective tasks, Seungmin found his attention constantly drifting to Y/N. She was in her element, moving between the sound booth and the editing suite with ease. Her sharp wit and quick comebacks kept everyone on their toes, but there was a softness to her that Seungmin couldn't ignore.

One evening, as they were wrapping up for the day, Seungmin found himself alone with Y/N in the editing suite. She was reviewing the latest cuts for the music video, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Need any help?" Seungmin asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Y/N glanced up, a small smile playing on her lips. "Depends. Are you any good at editing?"

Seungmin chuckled. "Not really. But I'm great at moral support."

Y/N laughed, the sound music to his ears. "Well, I could use some of that. This scene is giving me a headache."

Seungmin walked over, standing behind her chair as he looked at the screen. "What's the issue?"

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. "The transitions are off. It's not flowing the way I want it to."

Seungmin studied the screen, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "What if you tried cutting it here?" he suggested, pointing to a specific frame. "It might create a smoother transition."

Y/N considered his suggestion, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she made the adjustment. She played the sequence again, and this time, the transition was seamless.

"Wow," Y/N said, turning to look at him with a surprised smile. "That actually worked. Thanks, Seungmin."

Seungmin grinned, his heart swelling with pride. "Anytime. I told you I'm good at moral support."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Don't let it go to your head."

Their laughter filled the room, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. But then reality came crashing back as Mia called out from the hallway, "Y/N, we need you in the dance studio!"

Y/N sighed, closing her laptop. "Duty calls."

The week was winding down, and late Friday evening, the usual hustle and bustle of the studio had quieted. Most of the team had dispersed, either heading home or grabbing a late dinner. Seungmin, however, found himself lingering. Something felt off. Y/N, who was usually in the thick of things, was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t spotted her in the music studio, the dance studio, or even the editing suite. It was unusual, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

He found Jisoo in the sound booth, tweaking the final mix of a track. “Hey,” Seungmin said, leaning against the doorframe. “Have you seen Y/N? She’s not in her usual spots.”

Jisoo glanced up, her expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. “Oh, she’s in her art studio. Has been since she got here. She’s probably deep in her creative zone. Trust me, it’s best not to disturb her when she’s like this.”

Seungmin frowned. “But it’s been hours. Shouldn’t someone check on her?”

Jisoo smirked, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through him. “Why? Worried about her, Seungmin?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just… curious. She’s usually around, that’s all.”

Jisoo chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, if you’re that curious, go ahead. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Y/N can be… intense when she’s working.”

Seungmin nodded, already turning to leave. “Thanks, Jisoo.”

As he made his way down the hallway toward Y/N’s art studio, he could hear faint music drifting through the door. It wasn’t the usual track they’d been working on—it was something softer, more melodic. He paused outside the door, his hand hovering over the knob. The music grew louder, and then he heard it—Y/N’s voice.

She was singing.

Seungmin froze, his breath catching in his throat. Her voice was rich and soulful, filled with emotion he hadn’t expected. She wasn’t just singing; she was pouring her heart out, her voice rising and falling with the melody. It was raw, beautiful, and completely captivating.

He stood there, transfixed, as she sang the final notes, her voice fading into silence. For a moment, he couldn’t move. He had no idea she could sing like that. Why had she never mentioned it? Why had she hidden this part of herself?

Before he could overthink it, he knocked on the door.

“Jisoo, Mia, unless the building is on fire, leave me alone,” Y/N called out, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Seungmin hesitated, then cleared his throat. “It’s me… Seungmin.”

There was a long pause, and then the sound of footsteps approaching the door. It opened slowly, revealing Y/N with a slightly embarrassed smile. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and there were smudges of paint on her hands and cheeks. She looked… stunning.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer now. “What are you doing here?”

Seungmin scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward. “I, uh, was looking for you. Jisoo said you were here, and I just… wanted to check on you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small smirk. “Check on me? That’s sweet. But I’m fine, really. Just working on some stuff.”

Seungmin glanced past her into the studio. The room was a chaotic blend of canvases, sketches, and half-finished projects. There was a record player in the corner, the source of the music he’d heard earlier. “You’ve been in here all day?”

Y/N shrugged. “Time flies when you’re in the zone. What about you? Shouldn’t you be with the others?”

“I was,” Seungmin said, his eyes locking onto hers. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about where you were.”

Y/N’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer. “Well, now you know. I’m here, painting, listening to music, and… singing, apparently.”

Seungmin’s face lit up. “Yeah, about that. Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that? You’re amazing.”

Y/N looked away, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not a big deal. I just… sing for myself. It helps me think.”

“Not a big deal?” Seungmin repeated, stepping closer. “Y/N, you have an incredible voice. You should be sharing it with the world.”

She shook her head, her expression turning serious. “It’s not that simple. Singing is… personal for me. It’s not something I do for other people.”

Seungmin studied her, his heart aching at the vulnerability in her eyes. “I get that. But just so you know, I’m really glad I got to hear it. Even if it was by accident.”

Y/N looked back at him, her smile returning. “Thanks, Seungmin. That means a lot.”

They stood there for a moment, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Then Y/N stepped back, gesturing for him to come in. “Since you’re here, want to see what I’ve been working on?”

Seungmin grinned, following her into the studio. “I’d love to.”

As the weeks went by, Seungmin and Y/N’s bond deepened in ways neither of them could have anticipated. Seungmin, ever the diligent member of Stray Kids, would fulfill his responsibilities with the group—recording vocals, practicing choreography, and participating in meetings—but his mind often wandered to Y/N. The moment his duties were done, he’d slip away, making his way to her art studio like it was his second home.

Y/N’s studio had become their sanctuary. The walls were adorned with sketches, mood boards, and half-finished concepts for Stray Kids’ upcoming album. The air was always filled with the soft music a mix of nostalgic classics and modern indie tracks. Seungmin would sit quietly in the corner, sometimes journaling, sometimes just watching her work. He loved the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way she bit her lip when she was deep in thought, and the way her eyes lit up when a concept finally came together.

“You’re staring again,” Y/N said one evening, not looking up from her sketchpad. Her voice was teasing, but there was a warmth to it that made Seungmin’s heart skip a beat.

“Am I?” he replied, feigning innocence. “Maybe I’m just admiring your artistic process.”

Y/N smirked, finally glancing up at him. “Admiring, huh? You sure you’re not just avoiding practice?”

Seungmin laughed, shaking his head. “Trust me, if I wanted to avoid practice, I’d find a better excuse than watching you draw.”

“Good to know,” Y/N said, her tone playful. “But seriously, don’t you have better things to do than hang out in my studio all day?”

Seungmin leaned back in his chair, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Nope. This is exactly where I want to be.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked back down at her sketchpad, pretending to focus on her work. But Seungmin didn’t miss the way her hands trembled slightly, or the way her breath hitched for just a moment. He didn’t say anything, though. Instead, he let the comfortable silence settle between them, the music filling the space as they worked side by side.

Outside the studio, the rest of the group had started to notice the growing connection between the two. Mia and Jisoo exchanged knowing glances whenever Seungmin disappeared after practice, and the Stray Kids members weren’t much better.

“Where’s Seungmin?” Hyunjin asked one afternoon, glancing around the dance studio. “He said he’d help me with this part of the choreography.”

Mia smirked, not looking up from her notes. “Where do you think? He’s probably in Y/N’s studio, ‘admiring her artistic process.’”

The group erupted into laughter, and even Bang Chan couldn’t hide his grin. “Leave him alone,” he said, though his tone was light. “If he’s happy, let him be.”

The studio was alive with its usual energy, but there was an undercurrent of amusement that day. Everyone had noticed the growing connection between Y/N and Seungmin—everyone except the two of them. Mia and Jisoo, in particular, had taken to exchanging knowing glances whenever the pair was in the same room. Even the Stray Kids members, who were usually too wrapped up in their own chaos to pay attention, had started placing bets on how long it would take for the two to figure things out.

One afternoon, during a rare break, Mia leaned over to Jisoo, her voice low. "Do you think they'll ever figure it out?"

Jisoo smirked, her eyes flickering toward Y/N and Seungmin, who were sitting side by side on the couch, reviewing the latest edits for the music video. "Not if we don't give them a little push."

Mia raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "What did you have in mind?"

Jisoo shrugged, her smile widening. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a little nudge here and there. They’re both too stubborn to make the first move."

Mia chuckled, shaking her head. "They’re hopeless. But you’re right. Someone’s gotta do something before they drive the rest of us crazy."

Meanwhile, Seungmin was doing his best to focus on the edits, but it was nearly impossible with Y/N sitting so close to him. Their shoulders brushed every time one of them moved, and the warmth of her body next to his was driving him crazy. He could smell the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and sweet—and it was distracting in the best way.

"You know," he said, trying to sound casual, "we make a pretty good team."

Y/N glanced at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "We do, don’t we?"

Seungmin’s heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Yeah. I mean, we balance each other out. You’re all sharp edges, and I’m... well, I’m the charming one."

Y/N laughed, the sound music to his ears. "Keep telling yourself that."

Seungmin grinned, but inside, he was a mess. He wanted to tell her how he felt, to confess that he’d been falling for her for weeks now. But he was terrified of ruining what they had. And from the way Y/N was acting—her teasing smiles, the way her eyes lingered on him just a little too long—it seemed like she might feel the same way. But he couldn’t be sure.

Across the room, the rest of the team was watching them with amused expressions. Hyunjin elbowed Felix, nodding toward the oblivious pair. "How long do you think it’ll take them to figure it out?"

Felix shrugged, grinning. "At this rate? Forever. They’re both too stubborn."

Bang Chan, who had been quietly observing the scene, chimed in. "Maybe they just need a little push. You know, like in those dramas where the friends set them up on a fake date or something."

Jisoo, who had overheard, smirked. "Oh, trust me, we’re already on it."

Later that evening, as the group was packing up to leave, Mia and Jisoo cornered Y/N in the hallway. "Hey," Mia said, her tone casual but her eyes gleaming with mischief. "We’re all going out for dinner tonight. You should come."

Y/N hesitated, glancing back toward the studio where Seungmin was still packing up his things. "I don’t know... I was planning to finish up some work—"

"Nope," Jisoo interrupted, linking her arm through Y/N’s. "You’ve been working too hard. You need a break. And besides, Seungmin’s coming too."

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, and she quickly looked away, hoping they didn’t notice the way her cheeks flushed. "Oh. Well, I guess I could come for a little while."

Mia and Jisoo exchanged a triumphant look. "Great," Mia said, her smile widening. "We’ll see you there."

As the group gathered at the restaurant, Seungmin found himself seated next to Y/N, their knees brushing under the table. The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and teasing, but Seungmin couldn’t help but notice the way Y/N’s eyes sparkled when she laughed, or the way her hand occasionally brushed against his when she reached for her drink.

At one point, Y/N leaned over to him, her voice low. "Thanks for coming tonight. I know you’re not big on group outings."

Seungmin smiled, his heart skipping a beat at the way she was looking at him. "I wouldn’t miss it. Besides, it’s nice to see you outside the studio for once."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away. "Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I’m still a workaholic at heart."

Seungmin chuckled, his gaze softening. "I know. But even workaholics need a break sometimes."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. The noise of the restaurant, the laughter of their friends—it all disappeared, leaving just the two of them. Seungmin’s heart was pounding, and he could see the same uncertainty in Y/N’s eyes. He wanted to say something, to tell her how he felt, but before he could, the moment was broken by Mia’s voice.

"Alright, everyone! Group photo time!"

The night had been full of laughter and camaraderie, but as the evening wound down, the group’s plan was set into motion. Mia and Jisoo, along with the rest of the Stray Kids members, had conspired to make sure Seungmin was the one to walk Y/N home. They all knew it was only a matter of time before the two of them figured out what everyone else already saw—that they were perfect for each other.

As Seungmin and Y/N walked through the quiet streets, the city lights casting a soft glow around them, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They talked about everything and nothing—music, their favorite movies, the chaos of the studio, and even their childhood dreams. Y/N, who was usually guarded, found herself opening up in ways she hadn’t expected.

"You know," she said, her voice light but tinged with vulnerability, "I have this weird hobby. I collect vinyl records. It’s kind of a passion of mine."

Seungmin’s eyes lit up with interest. "Really? That’s so cool. I’ve always loved the sound of vinyl. There’s something so... authentic about it."

Y/N smiled, a hint of pride in her expression. "Exactly. It’s like you can feel the music, you know? It’s not just something you listen to—it’s something you experience."

Seungmin nodded, his curiosity piqued. "Can I see your collection sometime?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure. Why not? You’re already walking me home. Might as well come in."

When they arrived at her apartment, Y/N led Seungmin inside, her heart racing slightly. She wasn’t used to having people in her space, especially not someone like Seungmin. But as she showed him her collection of vinyl records, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. The records were neatly organized on shelves, their covers a mix of classic albums and obscure finds.

Seungmin picked up one of the records, his fingers gently tracing the cover. "This is amazing," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "I didn’t know you were into this kind of music."

Y/N shrugged, trying to play it cool. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me."

Seungmin looked at her, his expression serious. "I’d like to."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. There was something in his eyes, something that made her heart race. She wanted to tell him everything, to let him in. But she was scared. Scared of being vulnerable, scared of getting hurt.

Seungmin seemed to sense her hesitation. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. "You don’t have to be afraid, Y/N. Not with me."

Y/N looked down at their joined hands, her mind racing. She wanted to believe him, to trust him. But it was so hard. "Seungmin, I..."

He waited, giving her the space to find the words. And finally, she took a deep breath and said, "I’m not easy."

Seungmin’s heart stopped for a moment, but he kept his expression calm. "I don’t care."

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. "You don’t understand. I’m... complicated. I push people away. I don’t let anyone in. And I don’t want to hurt you."

Seungmin took a step closer, his voice soft but firm. "Y/N, I know you’re used to keeping people at arm’s length. But you don’t have to do that with me. I care about you. More than you know."

Y/N’s heart was pounding, and she could feel the walls she had built around herself starting to crumble. "Seungmin, I... I care about you too. But I’m scared. Scared of messing this up, scared of losing you."

Seungmin smiled, his thumb gently brushing over her hand. "You’re not going to lose me. Not unless you want to."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his. And in that moment, she knew. She knew that he meant every word, that he wasn’t going anywhere. And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she could let someone in.

"Seungmin," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I... I think I’m falling for you."

Seungmin’s heart soared, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. "Y/N, I’ve been falling for you since the moment I met you."

And then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, a whisper of a touch, as if he was giving her the chance to pull away if she wanted to. But Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her hands finding their way to his shoulders as the kiss deepened.

The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the music that played softly in the background. Seungmin’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss became more passionate, more urgent. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, her heart racing as she lost herself in the moment.

The air in Y/N’s apartment was thick with emotion, the kind that made every breath feel heavier, every touch more electric. Their kiss had started softly, a tentative exploration of feelings they had both been holding back for so long. But as the seconds turned into minutes, the intensity grew, their lips moving together in a rhythm that felt both natural and exhilarating.

Seungmin’s hands trembled slightly as they rested on Y/N’s waist, his touch gentle but firm, as if he was afraid she might disappear if he held on too tightly. Y/N, on the other hand, clung to him, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if she could erase the space between them entirely.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to steady their racing hearts. Seungmin’s eyes searched hers, his voice soft but filled with concern. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

Y/N smiled, her hands moving to cup his face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “This… you… it feels right.”

Seungmin’s breath hitched at her words, and for a moment, he just looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and affection. Then, slowly, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another kiss, this one deeper, more deliberate. It was as if her reassurance had unlocked something in him, a floodgate of emotions he had been holding back for far too long.

Their movements became more urgent, their hands exploring each other with a newfound sense of freedom. Y/N’s fingers found the hem of Seungmin’s shirt, tugging it upward until he pulled away just long enough to discard it. His hands followed suit, gently removing her sweater and letting it fall to the floor. The cool air of the room brushed against their skin, but neither of them noticed—they were too consumed by the heat of the moment.

Seungmin’s lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made Y/N shiver. She tilted her head back, her hands gripping his shoulders as she whispered his name, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through him. He paused, looking up at her with a mixture of desire and reverence. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she reached for him, pulling him back into a kiss that was filled with all the words they hadn’t said yet. It was a kiss that spoke of trust, of vulnerability, of a connection that went beyond the physical.

As they moved toward the bed, their movements were slow and deliberate, each touch filled with intention. Seungmin’s hands roamed over her skin, mapping every curve as if he was committing her to memory. Y/N’s breath hitched as his fingers traced the line of her spine, her own hands exploring the planes of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

When they finally lay down together, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, their bodies pressed close, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other. Seungmin’s lips found hers again, his kiss tender but insistent, as if he was trying to convey everything he felt but couldn’t put into words.

Y/N’s hands moved to the waistband of his pants, her fingers trembling slightly as she hesitated. Seungmin noticed and pulled back, his eyes searching hers. “We can stop,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “Whenever you want, we can stop.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t want to stop,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “I want this. I want you.”

Seungmin’s breath caught at her words, and for a moment, he just looked at her, his heart swelling with affection. Then, slowly, he nodded, his hands moving to help her as they shed the last barriers between them.

As the night wore on, their passion ebbed and flowed, each moment filled with a sense of discovery. Seungmin’s hands were gentle but firm, his touch sending shivers down Y/N’s spine as he explored every inch of her. Y/N, in turn, clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she whispered his name, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through him.

When they finally reached their peak, it was with a sense of completeness, as if they had finally found the missing piece of themselves in each other. They lay together afterward, their bodies tangled, their breaths slowly returning to normal. Seungmin’s arms were wrapped around her, his chin resting on top of her head as he pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

The soft glow of morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. Y/N stirred awake, her body still humming with the lingering sensations of the night before. For a moment, she lay still, her mind replaying the memories of their intimate connection, the way Seungmin had held her, touched her, whispered her name like it was the most precious sound in the world.

She turned her head slightly, her breath catching as she saw him lying beside her. Seungmin was still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, one arm draped loosely over her waist. His face was relaxed, the usual sharp edges of his features softened in sleep. Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Careful not to wake him, she shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to get a better look at him. Her fingers hovered over his face, tracing the lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips without actually touching him. She marveled at how peaceful he looked, how vulnerable. It was a side of him she hadn’t seen before, and it made her fall for him even more.

As if sensing her gaze, Seungmin’s eyes fluttered open, his sleepy gaze meeting hers. For a moment, he just stared at her, his expression soft and unguarded. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, and he reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her face.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks as the memories of the previous night came flooding back. “Did you sleep okay?”

Seungmin chuckled, his hand moving to rest on her hip. “Better than okay,” he said, his tone teasing. “Though I think you might’ve had something to do with that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Seungmin said, his grin widening. He pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead in a soft kiss. “But seriously, are you okay? Last night was… a lot.”

Y/N nodded, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “I’m more than okay,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. “It was perfect, Seungmin. You were perfect.”

They lay there for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside their little bubble feeling distant and unimportant. But eventually, the reality of the day began to creep in, and Y/N sighed, reluctantly pulling away.

“We should probably get up,” she said, though she made no move to actually leave the bed. “The others are going to wonder where we are.”

Seungmin groaned, pulling her back into his arms. “Let them wonder,” he said, his voice muffled against her hair. “I’m not ready to share you yet.”

Y/N laughed, the sound warm and melodic. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” Seungmin replied, his tone light but his words filled with meaning. He finally let her go, sitting up and stretching as he glanced around the room. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Y/N shrugged, sitting up as well and pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “I don’t know. I was thinking we could grab breakfast and then head to the studio. We still have a lot of work to do on the album.”

Seungmin nodded, though his expression turned thoughtful. “About that… do you think we should tell the others? About us, I mean.”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve been subtle. They’ve probably already figured it out.”

Seungmin chuckled, reaching over to take her hand. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But still, it feels like something we should do. You know, make it official.”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering at his words. “Okay,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Let’s tell them. But maybe after breakfast. I’m starving.”

Seungmin laughed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Deal. But first, shower. You’re not going anywhere smelling like that.”

Y/N gasped, playfully swatting his arm. “Excuse me? You’re one to talk!”

Seungmin grinned, dodging her next swipe as he climbed out of bed. “Come on, I’ll race you to the bathroom.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she watched him go. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this light, this happy. 

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows of Y/N’s apartment, casting a warm glow over the room. Seungmin and Y/N were in the middle of getting ready for the day, the easy rhythm of their movements a testament to the newfound comfort they had found in each other. Seungmin stood behind Y/N, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leaned slightly forward, tying her hair into a messy bun. His chin rested on her shoulder, his lips occasionally brushing against her neck in a way that made her shiver.

“Minnie,” Y/N said softly, her voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You’re going to make me mess up my hair.”

Seungmin chuckled, his arms tightening around her. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he teased, his voice low and warm against her ear.

Before Y/N could retort, the sound of Seungmin’s phone ringing cut through the quiet morning. He groaned, reluctantly letting go of her to fish his phone out of his pocket. When he saw Bang Chan’s name on the screen, he sighed and answered, putting it on speaker without thinking.

“Seungmin, where are you?” Bang Chan’s voice boomed through the phone, loud enough that Y/N could hear it clearly. “We’ve been waiting for you at the studio for over an hour. Are you still asleep?”

Seungmin winced, glancing at Y/N, who was trying—and failing—to stifle her laughter. “Uh, no, I’m not asleep,” he said, his voice slightly sheepish. “I’m just… running a little late.”

“A little late?” Bang Chan’s tone was incredulous, and in the background, the sound of the other Stray Kids members chiming in could be heard. “Seungmin, we have a schedule. You can’t just—”

Before Bang Chan could finish, Mia’s voice cut through the chaos. “Wait, is Y/N there too? Seungmin, are you with Y/N?”

Seungmin froze, his eyes widening as he realized the call was on speaker and everyone in the studio could hear. Y/N’s face flushed, and she quickly turned to him, mouthing, *“Hang up!”*

But it was too late. The boys erupted into a chorus of teasing, their voices overlapping as they tried to get more information.

“Seungmin and Y/N? Together? Since when?” Felix’s voice was filled with excitement.

“Oh, I *knew* it!” Hyunjin exclaimed, his tone triumphant. “I called it weeks ago!”

“Seungmin, you dog!” Changbin added, his laughter echoing through the phone.

Bang Chan, ever the leader, tried to regain control of the conversation. “Alright, alright, calm down. Seungmin, are you seriously late because you’re with Y/N? Do you know how unprofessional—”

Y/N had heard enough. She reached over and snatched the phone from Seungmin’s hand, her voice calm but firm as she interrupted Bang Chan. “Chan, we’ll be there in 40 minutes. Stop yelling at him. And tell the others to mind their own business.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, followed by a burst of laughter from the group. “Y/N, is that you?” Jisoo’s voice came through, tinged with amusement. “Wow, you’re already defending him. Cute.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks burning. “We’ll see you soon,” she said, ignoring Jisoo’s comment. “Bye.”

She ended the call before anyone else could say anything, tossing the phone back to Seungmin, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Bossy,” he said, his tone teasing as he stepped closer to her. “I like it.”

Y/N shot him a look, though there was no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky I ended that call. They were about to roast you alive.”

Seungmin shrugged, his arms sliding around her waist again. “Let them. I don’t care what they say. As long as I have you, I’m good.”

Y/N’s expression softened, and she reached up to gently cup his face. “You’re such a sap,” she said, her voice filled with affection.

Seungmin leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss. “Only for you,” he murmured.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of Y/N’s phone buzzing. She sighed, pulling away to check the message. “Mia says if we’re not at the studio in 15 minutes, she’s sending a search party.”

Seungmin groaned, resting his forehead against hers. “Do we *have* to go?”

Y/N laughed, giving him a gentle push. “Yes, we have to go. Come on, Minnie. Let’s get this over with.”

As they finished getting ready and headed out the door, Seungmin couldn’t help but smile. Despite the teasing they were bound to face, he felt a sense of contentment he hadn’t known before. With Y/N by his side, he felt like he could handle anything—even the chaos of their friends.

The studio was unusually quiet when Seungmin and Y/N walked in, each holding a coffee in hand. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, all eyes turned in their direction. The silence was deafening, the kind of quiet that made it clear everyone had been waiting for this moment. 

Y/N, ever the picture of calm confidence, didn’t miss a beat. She turned to Seungmin, her lips curving into a soft smile, and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth. “See you later, Minnie,” she said, her voice light and casual, as if she hadn’t just sent the entire room into shock.

Seungmin, for his part, stood frozen for a moment, his cheeks tinged with pink as he watched her walk away toward her art studio. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, even as he felt the weight of everyone’s stares.

The silence lasted all of three seconds before the room erupted.

“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!” Hyunjin shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.

“Did she just—? Did he just—? WHAT?!” Felix stammered, his eyes wide as saucers.

Bang Chan, ever the leader, was the first to recover. He crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at Seungmin. “So. You two, huh?”

Seungmin shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Yeah. We’re… together. Officially.”

The room exploded into cheers and laughter, the boys clapping Seungmin on the back and teasing him mercilessly. Meanwhile, Mia and Jisoo exchanged a triumphant look before bolting out of the room, their footsteps echoing as they chased after Y/N.

In the art studio, Y/N was already seated at her desk, her sketchpad open and her coffee steaming beside her. She looked up as the door flew open, revealing Mia and Jisoo, both out of breath but grinning from ear to ear.

“You did it!” Mia exclaimed, slamming the door shut behind her. “You finally made it official!”

Jisoo clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is amazing! Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for this? We had a whole *plan* to get you two together!”

Y/N blinked, her pen pausing mid-sketch. “A plan? What are you talking about?”

Mia plopped down on the couch, her grin widening. “Oh, you know. The late-night studio sessions. The ‘accidental’ alone time. The walking-home-together thing. All of it. We’ve been scheming for weeks.”

Y/N stared at them, her mouth opening and closing as she processed this information. “You… you *planned* this?”

Jisoo nodded, looking far too proud of herself. “Every single detail. And it worked, didn’t it?”

Y/N shook her head, a laugh bubbling up in her chest. “You two are unbelievable.”

Back in the main studio, Seungmin was still being bombarded with questions and teasing from the boys. 

“So, how long has this been going on?” Changbin asked, his tone full of mischief.

Just then, Mia and Jisoo burst back into the room, their faces glowing with excitement. “Guess what?” Mia announced, her voice carrying over the noise. “Y/N just found out about our plan!”

Seungmin’s eyes widened. “Wait, what plan?”

Jisoo grinned, crossing her arms. “The plan to get you two together. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Seungmin stared at them, his mouth hanging open. “You… you *planned* this?”

Mia nodded, looking far too pleased with herself. “Every. Single. Detail.”

Seungmin groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I knew we could’ve stayed in bed.”

The room erupted into laughter, the boys doubling over as Seungmin buried his face in his hands. 

“Seungmin!” Felix gasped between laughs. “You’re killing me!”

“Stay in bed?!” Hyunjin repeated, clutching his stomach. “Oh, this is too good.”

Epilogue

-

The studio was alive with its usual energy, the hum of creativity filling the air as the group worked on finalizing the album. Seungmin, however, found his attention drifting. His eyes kept wandering toward the door of Y/N’s art studio, his mind replaying the events of the morning. The way she’d kissed him in front of everyone, the way she’d confidently walked away, leaving him to deal with the chaos—it all made his heart race in the best way.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He excused himself from the vocal booth, ignoring the knowing smirks from the other members, and made his way to her studio. When he reached the door, he leaned casually against the frame, his arms crossed as he watched her work.

Y/N was seated at her desk, her sketchpad open and her headphones on. She was completely absorbed in her work, her brow furrowed in concentration as she added intricate details to the album cover design. Seungmin couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She was so focused, so passionate, and it was one of the many things he loved about her.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, catching her attention. Y/N looked up, her eyes widening slightly in surprise before a soft smile spread across her face. She pulled off her headphones and set them aside. “Hey,” she said, her voice warm. “What’s up?”

Seungmin pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Just wanted to check on you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes filled with affection. “You’ve been in here all day.”

Y/N shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Just trying to get this design finished. You know how it is.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence as Seungmin stepped closer, his hands resting on the back of her chair. “So,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone, “I was thinking… tonight. Mine or yours?”

Y/N looked up at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

Seungmin smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know. Where are we sleeping tonight? Mine or yours?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she let out a surprised laugh. “Seungmin!” she exclaimed, swatting his arm. “You can’t just say things like that!”

Seungmin chuckled, leaning down so his face was level with hers. “Why not? It’s a valid question.”

Y/N shook her head, though she couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

His grin widening. “But seriously, what do you think? Your place is closer, but mine has better snacks.”

Y/N laughed, her cheeks flushing as she looked up at him. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

Seungmin shook his head, his expression softening. “Nope. Not until you give me an answer.”

Y/N sighed, though there was no real annoyance in it. “Fine,” she said, her voice teasing. “Yours. But only because I’m curious about these so-called ‘better snacks.’”

Seungmin’s face lit up, and he straightened, looking far too pleased with himself. “Deal. But just so you know, I’m not sharing the good stuff.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “You’re such a dork.”

Seungmin leaned down again, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss. “Your dork,” he murmured.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she reached up to gently cup his face. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Mine.”

The moment was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat loudly outside the door. They pulled apart just as the door swung open, revealing Mia and Jisoo, both wearing identical smirks.

“Are you two done being adorable yet?” Mia asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “We’ve got work to do, you know.”

Jisoo nodded, crossing her arms. “Yeah, save the lovey-dovey stuff for after hours.”

Seungmin groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You two are the worst.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she stood up.

[ipistachio]

THIS IS A WORK OF ART ♡%

[tosomeonessomeone]

Imaginary friend.

words・ 4.9k /pairings・ I.N x reader / genres・fluff Happy birthday Innie~

Jeongin’s Perspective

The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the quiet room as Jeongin sat cross-legged on the floor of his childhood bedroom. It had been years since he’d had the chance to spend time here, his life now a whirlwind of rehearsals, performances, and interviews as a member of Stray Kids. But today, he was home—truly home—and the familiarity of the space brought a sense of calm he hadn’t realized he’d been missing.

Boxes were scattered around him, filled with old toys, schoolbooks, and memorabilia his mother had been urging him to sort through for years. With a sigh, he reached into one of the boxes and pulled out a worn, spiral-bound notebook. The cover was decorated with childish doodles—stars, hearts, and a name scrawled in bold, uneven letters: *Y/N*.

Jeongin’s breath hitched. He hadn’t thought about Y/N in years. Flipping through the pages, he was greeted by colorful drawings and messy handwriting. There were stories of adventures they’d gone on together, conversations they’d had, and even a detailed description of what Y/N looked like. Jeongin traced the lines of a drawing with his finger, a soft smile tugging at his lips. Y/N had been his constant companion during those lonely days when his older siblings were too busy to play and his parents were working late. She had been his confidant, his cheerleader, his friend.

But what struck him now was how *real* Y/N had felt. The journal described her laugh, her favorite color, even the way she’d tilt her head when she was thinking. It was as if Y/N had been a living, breathing person—not just a figment of his imagination.

Jeongin leaned back against the bed, the journal resting on his lap. “Where are you now, Y/N?” he murmured to himself, half-joking, half-wistful. The thought lingered in his mind as he closed the journal and set it aside, unaware of the chain of events he was about to set in motion.

Y/N’s Perspective

The grand piano stood center stage, its polished surface reflecting the warm glow of the concert hall lights. Y/N’s fingers danced across the keys, the final notes of Chopin’s *Nocturne in E-flat Major* lingering in the air like a whispered secret. The audience erupted into applause, but Y/N’s mind was already elsewhere. She had been feeling restless lately, as if something—or someone—was calling to her from the edges of her memory.

After the performance, Y/N returned to her hometown for a brief visit. Her parents’ house was a time capsule of her childhood, filled with trophies, sheet music, and the faint scent of nostalgia. While rummaging through an old box in the attic, she found a small, leather-bound diary. The cover was embossed with her name, the edges frayed with age.

Curious, Y/N opened the diary and began to read. The entries were written in the clumsy script of a child, filled with misspelled words and exaggerated emotions. But one name stood out, appearing again and again: *Jeongin*. 

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat. Jeongin had been her imaginary friend, the one who’d listened to her dreams of becoming a musician when no one else would. She remembered how Jeongin would sit beside her on the piano bench, humming along as she played. He had been so real to her—so *alive*. 

As she flipped through the pages, she found a drawing of Jeongin. It was crude, as most childhood drawings are, but the details were unmistakable: his bright eyes, his warm smile, the way his hair fell just so. Y/N’s chest tightened with a strange mix of emotions. It was as if she were looking at a long-lost friend, someone she hadn’t realized she’d been missing.

“Jeongin,” Y/N whispered, the name feeling foreign yet familiar on her tongue. She closed the diary and held it close, a sense of determination settling over her. She didn’t know how or why, but she needed to find out if Jeongin was real.

The First Thread 

That evening, Jeongin sat in his room, scrolling through his phone. On a whim, he decided to post a photo of the old journal on social media. He captioned it: *“Do you guys remember your imaginary friends? Mine was named Y/N, and she was the coolest. I wonder where she is now.”* 

The post quickly gained traction, with fans and friends alike sharing their own stories of imaginary companions. Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Y/N was scrolling through her feed when she stumbled upon Jeongin’s post. Her heart raced as she read the caption and saw the photo of the journal. It was too much of a coincidence to ignore.

With trembling fingers, Y/N sent a direct message to Jeongin: *“Hi, this might sound crazy, but… I think I was your imaginary friend. And you were mine.”*

Jeongin’s Perspective

Jeongin’s phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand, the glow of the screen lighting up the dark room. He groaned, rolling over to check the notifications. His post about Y/N had blown up overnight, with thousands of likes, comments, and shares. Fans were sharing their own stories of imaginary friends, and the hashtag #MyImaginaryFriend was trending. He smiled, scrolling through the comments. It was heartwarming to see how many people could relate to his childhood memories.

But then, a direct message notification caught his eye. The username was unfamiliar, but the message made his heart stop: 

*“Hi, this might sound crazy, but… I think I was your imaginary friend. And you were mine.”*

Jeongin sat up, his pulse quickening. He read the message again, then a third time, as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, unsure of how to respond. Was this some kind of prank? Or was it possible that Y/N—his Y/N—was real?

After a moment of hesitation, he typed back: *“This is… wild. Can you tell me more? What do you remember?”*

Y/N’s Perspective

Y/N stared at her phone, her heart pounding in her chest. She hadn’t expected Jeongin to respond so quickly—or at all, really. But there it was, a message from him, asking her to elaborate. She took a deep breath, her fingers trembling as she typed:

*“I found my old diary yesterday. It’s filled with stories about you—Jeongin. You were my imaginary friend when I was a kid. I used to talk to you about my dreams of becoming a musician. You’d sit with me while I practiced piano, and you always encouraged me. I even drew pictures of you. You had this smile… it’s hard to explain, but it felt so real.”*

She paused, then added: *“And then I saw your post. You described me exactly how I remember myself as a kid. My name, my personality… it’s all there. This can’t just be a coincidence, can it?”*

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, her stomach twisting with nerves. What if he thought she was crazy? What if this was all some big misunderstanding?

Jeongin’s Perspective

Jeongin’s eyes widened as he read Y/N’s message. His mind raced, trying to process what she was saying. It was one thing to have an imaginary friend as a child, but to have that friend turn out to be a real person—someone who had also imagined *him*—was beyond anything he could have imagined.

He typed back: *“This is insane. I have a journal filled with stories about you too. I even drew pictures of you. You had this laugh… it was so vivid. I used to talk to you about my dreams of becoming a singer. You were always so supportive. I can’t believe this is real.”*

He hesitated, then added: *“Do you think we could talk more? Maybe even… meet?”*

Y/N’s Perspective

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat as she read Jeongin’s reply. He wanted to meet her. The thought was equal parts thrilling and terrifying. She glanced at her calendar—she had a concert in Seoul next month. It was perfect timing.

She typed back: *“I’m actually performing in Seoul next month. Maybe we could meet then? If you’re free, of course.”*

She held her breath, waiting for his response.

Jeongin’s Perspective

Jeongin’s heart leapt at Y/N’s message. Seoul? She was coming to Seoul? He quickly checked his schedule. Stray Kids had a few days off around that time. It was meant to be.

*“I’ll be there,”* he replied, a smile spreading across his face. *“I can’t wait to meet you, Y/N.”*

The Countdown Begins

Over the next few weeks, Jeongin and Y/N exchanged messages almost daily. They shared stories from their childhoods, compared their memories, and marveled at the uncanny similarities. It was as if they had been living parallel lives, connected by an invisible thread.

Jeongin found himself looking forward to their conversations more than he cared to admit. There was something about Y/N that felt familiar, comforting, like coming home after a long journey. And Y/N felt the same way. Talking to Jeongin was like rediscovering a part of herself she hadn’t realized she’d lost.

As the day of their meeting approached, both of them felt a mix of excitement and nervousness. What would it be like to finally meet the person who had been such a big part of their childhood? Would the connection they felt through messages translate to real life?

Jeongin’s Perspective

Jeongin stood backstage at the Seoul Arts Center, clutching a bouquet of white lilies—Y/N’s favorite flowers, according to his childhood journal. His heart raced as he waited for her performance to begin. He had never been this nervous before, not even during Stray Kids’ biggest concerts. But this was different. This wasn’t just about meeting a fan or a fellow artist. This was about meeting someone who had been a part of his life in ways he couldn’t fully explain.

The lights dimmed, and the audience fell silent. Jeongin peeked through the curtain, his eyes immediately drawn to the grand piano at the center of the stage. And there she was—Y/N. She walked out with grace and confidence, her presence commanding the room. She wore a flowing black gown that shimmered under the stage lights, and her hair was swept into an elegant updo. She looked every bit the world-class musician she was.

As she sat at the piano and began to play, Jeongin felt as if the world had stopped. Her fingers moved effortlessly across the keys, the music swelling and filling the hall with emotion. He recognized the piece—it was one she had mentioned in their messages, a composition she had written during a particularly difficult time in her life. Listening to it now, he felt as if he were hearing her soul.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her. There was something about the way she played, the way she lost herself in the music, that felt familiar. It was as if he were seeing a part of himself reflected in her. The realization hit him like a wave: this was the girl he had imagined all those years ago. She was real, and she was even more incredible than he had ever dreamed.

Y/N’s Perspective

Y/N took a deep breath as she stepped onto the stage, the weight of the moment settling over her. She had performed in countless concerts before, but this one felt different. She knew Jeongin was here, somewhere in the audience, and the thought made her heart race. She had spent weeks imagining what it would be like to finally meet him, and now the moment was here.

As she began to play, she let the music carry her away. The piece she had chosen was deeply personal, a reflection of her journey as a musician and as a person. She poured her heart into every note, hoping that Jeongin would understand—that he would feel the connection between them, just as she did.

When she finished, the audience erupted into applause. She stood and bowed, her eyes scanning the crowd. And then she saw him. He was standing near the back, holding a bouquet of white lilies. Her breath caught in her throat. It was really him. Jeongin.

After the concert, Y/N made her way backstage, her heart pounding. She had barely stepped into the green room when she saw him—Jeongin, standing there with the bouquet in his hands. He looked just as nervous as she felt.

“Hi,” he said, his voice soft but steady. “You were amazing.”

Y/N smiled, her cheeks flushing. “Thank you. And thank you for coming.”

There was a moment of silence as they stood there, taking each other in. It was surreal, seeing each other in person after all these years. And yet, it felt so natural, as if they had known each other forever.

Jeongin held out the bouquet. “These are for you. White lilies, right? Your favorite.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in surprise. “You remembered?”

He nodded, a shy smile tugging at his lips. “How could I forget? You told me when we were kids.”

She took the flowers, her heart swelling with emotion. “Thank you. They’re beautiful.”

They sat down together, the bouquet resting between them. The conversation flowed easily, as if they were picking up where they had left off all those years ago. They talked about their childhoods, their careers, and the strange twist of fate that had brought them together.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Y/N said, her voice filled with wonder. “All this time, I thought you were just a figment of my imagination. But you were real. You were always real.”

Jeongin nodded, his eyes never leaving hers. “I feel the same way. It’s like… we were meant to find each other.”

There was a pause, and then Y/N reached into her bag and pulled out her old diary. She opened it to a page with a drawing of Jeongin and handed it to him. “This is how I remember you,” she said softly.

Jeongin took the diary, his eyes widening as he saw the drawing. It was him—his smile, his eyes, even the way he used to tilt his head when he was thinking. “This is incredible,” he whispered. “It’s like you saw me before you even knew me.”

Y/N’s Perspective

Y/N sat in her apartment, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of her old diary. It had been a couple of months since her concert in Seoul and her unforgettable meeting with Jeongin. Since then, they had kept in touch almost daily, their conversations flowing effortlessly through texts, calls, and video chats. It felt like they were making up for lost time, sharing stories, dreams, and even the mundane details of their lives.

One evening, as she scrolled through her schedule for the upcoming months, her eyes landed on a notification from her orchestra’s management team. They had finalized the tour dates for their next series of performances. Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she read the list of cities: New York, Paris, Tokyo, and… Seoul again. But what caught her attention even more was the timing. Stray Kids had just announced their world tour dates, and their stops overlapped with hers in several cities.

Her fingers trembled as she opened Jeongin’s chat. *“Guess what? My orchestra’s tour dates just came out, and it looks like we’ll be in some of the same cities as Stray Kids. New York, Paris, Tokyo… and Seoul, of course.”*

Jeongin’s reply came almost instantly: *“No way! That’s amazing! We’ll finally get to see each other again. I can’t wait.”*

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering at his enthusiasm. The thought of seeing him again filled her with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Their first meeting had been magical, but this felt different. It felt like the start of something more.

Jeongin’s Perspective

Jeongin couldn’t stop smiling as he read Y/N’s message. The idea of seeing her again—multiple times, no less—made his heart race. He had been thinking about her a lot lately, more than he cared to admit. There was something about her that felt like home, a connection that went beyond their shared childhood memories.

He quickly pulled up Stray Kids’ tour schedule and compared it to the dates Y/N had sent. Sure enough, their paths would cross in New York, Paris, and Tokyo. He couldn’t believe their luck. It was as if the universe was conspiring to bring them together.

*“This is perfect,”* he typed back. *“I’ll make sure to get you tickets to our shows. And maybe… we can hang out after? If you’re not too busy, of course.”*

Y/N’s reply was immediate: *“I’d love that. It’s a date.”*

Jeongin’s cheeks flushed at her choice of words. Was it a date? He wasn’t sure, but the thought made his stomach do somersaults.

New York: The First Stop

The first overlap was in New York. Y/N’s orchestra was performing at Carnegie Hall, while Stray Kids had a sold-out show at Madison Square Garden. Jeongin managed to secure front-row tickets for Y/N and even arranged for her to meet the rest of the members backstage.

Jeongin’s Perspective

Jeongin sat in the green room of Madison Square Garden, scrolling through his messages with Y/N. The rest of Stray Kids were scattered around the room, some chatting, others resting before the show. Hyunjin, ever the observant one, noticed Jeongin’s constant smiling at his phone and nudged him playfully.

“Who’s got you grinning like that, Jeongin-ah?” Hyunjin teased. “Is it Y/N again?”

Jeongin’s cheeks flushed, but he couldn’t hide his smile. “Yeah, it’s her. She’s coming to the show tonight.”

The mention of Y/N caught the attention of the other members. Chan, who had been stretching nearby, turned to Jeongin with a curious look. “Wait, the Y/N? The one from your childhood?”

Jeongin nodded, his excitement bubbling over. “Yeah, she’s in New York for her orchestra performance. I got her tickets to our show.”

Felix leaned forward, his eyes wide with interest. “So, what’s she like? Is she as cool as you remember?”

Jeongin’s face lit up as he described her. “She’s amazing. She’s a pianist, and she’s so talented. When she plays, it’s like… the whole world stops. And she’s kind and funny, and—” He paused, realizing he was rambling. “I don’t know, it’s just crazy how real she is.”

Changbin smirked, crossing his arms. “Sounds like someone’s got a crush.”

Jeongin’s face turned red, and he quickly shook his head. “It’s not like that! I mean… it’s just… she’s special, you know?”

The members exchanged knowing glances, their teasing smiles making Jeongin even more flustered. Seungmin, ever the voice of reason, chimed in. “It’s cool that you two reconnected. Not many people get to meet their imaginary friends in real life.”

Jeongin laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s pretty wild. I still can’t believe it sometimes.”

After the concert, the members gathered backstage, still buzzing from the energy of the performance. Jeongin was visibly excited, pacing back and forth as he waited for Y/N to arrive. When she finally appeared, escorted by a staff member, the members couldn’t help but notice how Jeongin’s entire demeanor changed.

“Y/N!” he greeted her warmly, pulling her into a quick hug. “You made it!”

Y/N smiled, her eyes sparkling. “Of course! You were incredible out there. I couldn’t stop cheering.”

Jeongin introduced her to the members, who greeted her with friendly curiosity. “So, you’re the famous Y/N,” Han said with a grin. “Jeongin’s been talking about you nonstop.”

Y/N laughed, glancing at Jeongin. “All good things, I hope?”

“Only the best,” Jeongin assured her, his cheeks turning pink.

The members quickly warmed up to Y/N, asking her about her music and her performances. They were impressed by her talent and charisma, and it was clear why Jeongin had been so captivated by her. As the night went on, the group dynamic felt natural, as if Y/N had always been a part of their circle.

Paris: A Night to Remember

In Paris, Y/N’s orchestra performed at the Philharmonie, and Stray Kids had a show at Accor Arena. This time, Jeongin insisted on attending Y/N’s concert. He sat in the audience, mesmerized as she played. There was something about watching her perform that felt intimate, as if he were seeing a side of her that no one else could.

After the show, they met at a quiet café near the Seine. The city was alive with lights and laughter, and the atmosphere was perfect. They talked for hours, sharing stories and dreams, their connection growing stronger with every passing moment.

As they walked along the river, Jeongin hesitated for a moment before taking Y/N’s hand. She didn’t pull away, and they continued walking in comfortable silence, the city’s magic wrapping around them.

Jeongin and Y/N’s bond continued to grow. After attending her orchestra performance, Jeongin couldn’t stop gushing about her to the members. “She’s just… incredible,” he said, his voice filled with admiration. “The way she plays, the way she connects with the audience—it’s like she’s telling a story with every note.”

Hyunjin raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his lips. “You’re really into her, aren’t you?”

Jeongin hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah, I think I am. It’s just… she feels like home, you know? Like we’ve known each other forever.”

Chan patted Jeongin on the back, his expression supportive. “That’s rare, Jeongin-ah. If she makes you happy, then go for it.”

Tokyo: A Turning Point

In Tokyo, their schedules were packed, but they managed to steal a few moments together. After Stray Kids’ show, Jeongin surprised Y/N with a visit to a quiet park known for its cherry blossoms. The trees were in full bloom, their petals falling like snow around them.

“This is beautiful,” Y/N said, her voice filled with awe.

Jeongin nodded, his eyes on her. “Not as beautiful as you.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she looked at him, her heart pounding. There was something in his gaze that made her breath catch. Before she could say anything, Jeongin spoke again.

“Y/N, I know this might sound crazy, but… I feel like you’ve always been a part of my life. Even when we were kids, even when we didn’t know each other. And now that we’ve found each other, I don’t want to let you go.”

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears. “I feel the same way,” she whispered. “It’s like… we were meant to find each other.”

Jeongin reached for her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “Then let’s not waste any more time. Let’s see where this takes us.”

After their quiet moment under the cherry blossoms, Jeongin returned to the hotel to find the members waiting for him. They took one look at his dazed expression and knew something had happened.

“Spill it,” Felix said, leaning forward. “What happened with Y/N?”

Jeongin sat down, a soft smile on his face. “We talked. Like, really talked. And I told her how I feel.”

The members exchanged excited glances. “And?” Han prompted.

“She feels the same way,” Jeongin admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s like… we’re finally on the same page.”

The room erupted in cheers and congratulations, the members clapping Jeongin on the back and teasing him good-naturedly. “Our Jeongin’s all grown up,” Changbin said, pretending to wipe away a tear.

Jeongin laughed, shaking his head. “It’s not like that yet. We’re just… taking it one step at a time.”

Jeongin’s Perspective

The world tour continued, and with each city, Jeongin and Y/N’s connection grew stronger. Their meetings became the highlight of his hectic schedule, a quiet refuge amidst the chaos of performances, interviews, and travel. The members of Stray Kids noticed the change in him—he was happier, more relaxed, and even more focused on stage. They teased him relentlessly, of course, but it was all in good fun. They could see how much Y/N meant to him.

In London, after another electrifying show, Jeongin found himself backstage, scrolling through photos from the night. One in particular caught his eye: a candid shot of Y/N in the audience, her face lit up with joy as she watched him perform. He couldn’t help but smile. She had become such an important part of his life, and he couldn’t imagine going back to how things were before.

“Jeongin-ah,” Chan called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “We’re heading out for dinner. You coming?”

Jeongin hesitated. He had promised to meet Y/N after the show, but he didn’t want to leave the members hanging. Before he could respond, Hyunjin chimed in. “Why don’t you invite Y/N? We’d love to hang out with her again.”

Jeongin’s eyes lit up. “Really? You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not,” Felix said with a grin. “She’s basically one of us now.”

Y/N’s Perspective

Y/N was waiting outside the venue when Jeongin texted her: *“The guys want to have dinner with us. You in?”*

She smiled, her heart warming at the thought. She had grown fond of the Stray Kids members during their brief interactions, and the idea of spending more time with them—and Jeongin—was too good to pass up. *“I’d love to,”* she replied.

When she arrived at the restaurant, the members greeted her with their usual warmth and humor. “Y/N!” Han exclaimed, pulling out a chair for her. “Sit here. We need to hear more about how Jeongin was as a kid.”

Jeongin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Please don’t.”

Y/N laughed, sitting down. “Well, he was always very supportive. Even as an imaginary friend, he believed in me more than anyone else.”

The members cooed in unison, teasing Jeongin mercilessly. “Aww, our Jeongin’s a softie,” Changbin said, ruffling Jeongin’s hair.

As the night went on, the conversation flowed effortlessly. Y/N felt completely at ease with the group, as if she had known them for years. Jeongin watched her with a soft smile, his heart swelling with pride. She fit in so perfectly, and he couldn’t have been happier.

After dinner, Jeongin and Y/N decided to take a walk through the city. The streets of London were quiet, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the lively atmosphere of the restaurant. They walked side by side, their hands occasionally brushing, neither of them daring to bridge the gap just yet.

“I had a great time tonight,” Y/N said, breaking the silence. “Your members are amazing.”

Jeongin nodded, his hands tucked into his pockets. “They really like you. I think they might even like you more than me.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “That’s not possible. You’re their Jeongin.”

He smiled, his heart skipping a beat at her words. There was something about the way she said his name that made him feel… special. Like he was the only person in the world that mattered to her.

They stopped at a small park, the moonlight casting a soft glow over the trees. Jeongin turned to Y/N, his expression serious. “Y/N, I… I need to tell you something.”

She looked at him, her eyes wide with curiosity. “What is it?”

He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. “I know this might sound crazy, but… I think I’m falling for you. And I don’t want to pretend like I’m not. You mean so much to me, and I don’t want to lose you.”

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. She had been feeling the same way but hadn’t dared to say it out loud. “Jeongin,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I feel the same way. You’ve always been a part of me, even when we were kids. And now… I don’t want to let you go either.”

Jeongin reached for her hand, his touch warm and reassuring. “Can I kiss you?.”

Y/N nodded, her eyes filling with tears. 

They stood there for a moment, the world around them fading away. And then, slowly, Jeongin leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle, tentative kiss. It was soft and sweet, a perfect reflection of the bond they shared. Y/N’s hands found their way to his shoulders, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. It was a moment of pure connection, a silent promise of everything they meant to each other.

When they finally pulled away, Jeongin rested his forehead against hers, his breath mingling with hers. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N smiled, her heart swelling with emotion. “Me too.”

As they walked back to the hotel, Y/N glanced at Jeongin with a playful smile. “You know, I think I need a special name for you. Something that’s just mine.”

Jeongin raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

She thought for a moment, then grinned. “How about ‘Innie’? It’s cute, just like you.”

Jeongin laughed, his cheeks turning pink. “Innie, huh? I like it. But only if I get to call you something special too.”

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “What did you have in mind?”

He smiled softly, his eyes warm. “How about ‘Nari’? It means lily, like the flowers you love so much.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered at the sweetness of the name. “Nari,” she repeated, testing it out. “I love it.”

Jeongin squeezed her hand, his smile widening. “Then it’s settled. You’re my Nari, and I’m your Innie.”

[tosomeonessomeone]

irony in harmony.

words・ 7.9k /pairings・ Seungmin x reader / genres・fluff / warnings・ little bit spicy?

The studio was buzzing with energy, a rare kind of electricity that only came when creative minds collided. Y/N adjusted her headphones, her fingers flying over the soundboard as she fine-tuned the latest track. Her two best friends, Mia and Jisoo, were deep in discussion with the Stray Kids members, their voices a low hum in the background. The room was a chaotic blend of laughter, technical jargon, and the occasional burst of music.

Y/N was the visual director of their trio, the one who brought their musical visions to life with stunning visuals and concepts. She was known for her sharp wit and even sharper tongue, a trait that had earned her both admirers and adversaries in the industry. But today, she was all business, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He had heard about Y/N and her friends, the trio that had taken the music world by storm with their innovative productions. But seeing her in action was something else entirely. There was an intensity about her, a fierce dedication that was both intimidating and captivating.

He caught her eye as she glanced up from the soundboard, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, with a smirk that could only be described as wicked, she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Enjoying the show?" she quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Seungmin chuckled, pushing off the wall and walking over to her. "Just admiring the view," he shot back, his tone equally ironic.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Cute. But flattery won't get you anywhere with me."

"Noted," Seungmin replied, his grin widening. "But just so you know, I'm not easily intimidated."

"Good," Y/N said, turning back to the soundboard. "Because neither am I."

And just like that, a spark was lit. Two sarcastic, sharp-witted individuals, each recognizing a kindred spirit in the other. It was the beginning of a friendship that would soon blossom into something much deeper.

The days turned into weeks, and the collaboration between Stray Kids and Y/N's trio was in full swing. The studio became their second home, a place where creativity flowed freely and ideas were born and refined. Y/N and Seungmin found themselves working closely together, their banter becoming a staple of the studio atmosphere.

One afternoon, as they were reviewing the latest edits for the music video, Seungmin leaned back in his chair and glanced at Y/N. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be the visual director, you spend an awful lot of time in the sound booth."

Y/N didn't look up from her laptop. "And for someone who's supposed to be a singer, you spend an awful lot of time critiquing my work."

"Touché," Seungmin said with a laugh. "But seriously, you're good at this. Like, really good."

Y/N finally looked up, a hint of surprise in her eyes. "Thanks. Coming from you, that actually means something."

Seungmin shrugged. "Just calling it like I see it. You've got a knack for bringing out the best in people."

Y/N studied him for a moment, then smiled. "You're not so bad yourself, Seungmin."

He feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Ouch. That one hurt."

"Good," Y/N said, her smile turning into a grin. "You needed to be taken down a peg or two."

The collaboration was a whirlwind of creativity and energy. Mia, the choreographer director, was a force to be reckoned with. Her sharp eye for detail and relentless drive for perfection had the dance line of Stray Kids—Hyunjin, Lee Know, and Felix—completely floored. They spent hours in the dance studio, pushing their limits and learning new routines that Mia choreographed with precision and flair.

"Again," Mia commanded, her voice firm but encouraging. "You need to hit that move with more power, Hyunjin. Imagine you're breaking through a wall."

Hyunjin nodded, sweat dripping from his brow as he repeated the move. Lee Know and Felix followed suit, their movements synchronized and sharp. Mia watched them with a critical eye, nodding in approval as they nailed the routine.

"You're getting there," she said with a small smile. "But don't get complacent. We have a lot more to cover."

Meanwhile, Jisoo, the musical producer, was in her element with 3Racha—Bang Chan, Changbin, and Han—and the vocal line—Seungmin and I.N. They were in the sound booth, fine-tuning the tracks for the new album. Jisoo's expertise and innovative approach to music production had the boys in awe.

"Let's try that bridge again," Jisoo suggested, her fingers flying over the soundboard. "I want to add a layer of harmonies here to give it more depth."

Bang Chan nodded, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "That sounds amazing. Let's do it."

Changbin and Han exchanged glances, their respect for Jisoo evident. "She's a genius," Changbin whispered to Han, who nodded in agreement.

I.N, ever the eager learner, was soaking up every bit of knowledge he could from Jisoo. "Can you show me how you did that effect on the vocals?" he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

Jisoo smiled, patting him on the shoulder. "Of course, I.N. Let's break it down."

While the rest of the group was immersed in their respective tasks, Seungmin found his attention constantly drifting to Y/N. She was in her element, moving between the sound booth and the editing suite with ease. Her sharp wit and quick comebacks kept everyone on their toes, but there was a softness to her that Seungmin couldn't ignore.

One evening, as they were wrapping up for the day, Seungmin found himself alone with Y/N in the editing suite. She was reviewing the latest cuts for the music video, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Need any help?" Seungmin asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Y/N glanced up, a small smile playing on her lips. "Depends. Are you any good at editing?"

Seungmin chuckled. "Not really. But I'm great at moral support."

Y/N laughed, the sound music to his ears. "Well, I could use some of that. This scene is giving me a headache."

Seungmin walked over, standing behind her chair as he looked at the screen. "What's the issue?"

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. "The transitions are off. It's not flowing the way I want it to."

Seungmin studied the screen, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "What if you tried cutting it here?" he suggested, pointing to a specific frame. "It might create a smoother transition."

Y/N considered his suggestion, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she made the adjustment. She played the sequence again, and this time, the transition was seamless.

"Wow," Y/N said, turning to look at him with a surprised smile. "That actually worked. Thanks, Seungmin."

Seungmin grinned, his heart swelling with pride. "Anytime. I told you I'm good at moral support."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Don't let it go to your head."

Their laughter filled the room, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. But then reality came crashing back as Mia called out from the hallway, "Y/N, we need you in the dance studio!"

Y/N sighed, closing her laptop. "Duty calls."

The week was winding down, and late Friday evening, the usual hustle and bustle of the studio had quieted. Most of the team had dispersed, either heading home or grabbing a late dinner. Seungmin, however, found himself lingering. Something felt off. Y/N, who was usually in the thick of things, was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t spotted her in the music studio, the dance studio, or even the editing suite. It was unusual, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

He found Jisoo in the sound booth, tweaking the final mix of a track. “Hey,” Seungmin said, leaning against the doorframe. “Have you seen Y/N? She’s not in her usual spots.”

Jisoo glanced up, her expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. “Oh, she’s in her art studio. Has been since she got here. She’s probably deep in her creative zone. Trust me, it’s best not to disturb her when she’s like this.”

Seungmin frowned. “But it’s been hours. Shouldn’t someone check on her?”

Jisoo smirked, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through him. “Why? Worried about her, Seungmin?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just… curious. She’s usually around, that’s all.”

Jisoo chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, if you’re that curious, go ahead. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Y/N can be… intense when she’s working.”

Seungmin nodded, already turning to leave. “Thanks, Jisoo.”

As he made his way down the hallway toward Y/N’s art studio, he could hear faint music drifting through the door. It wasn’t the usual track they’d been working on—it was something softer, more melodic. He paused outside the door, his hand hovering over the knob. The music grew louder, and then he heard it—Y/N’s voice.

She was singing.

Seungmin froze, his breath catching in his throat. Her voice was rich and soulful, filled with emotion he hadn’t expected. She wasn’t just singing; she was pouring her heart out, her voice rising and falling with the melody. It was raw, beautiful, and completely captivating.

He stood there, transfixed, as she sang the final notes, her voice fading into silence. For a moment, he couldn’t move. He had no idea she could sing like that. Why had she never mentioned it? Why had she hidden this part of herself?

Before he could overthink it, he knocked on the door.

“Jisoo, Mia, unless the building is on fire, leave me alone,” Y/N called out, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Seungmin hesitated, then cleared his throat. “It’s me… Seungmin.”

There was a long pause, and then the sound of footsteps approaching the door. It opened slowly, revealing Y/N with a slightly embarrassed smile. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and there were smudges of paint on her hands and cheeks. She looked… stunning.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer now. “What are you doing here?”

Seungmin scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward. “I, uh, was looking for you. Jisoo said you were here, and I just… wanted to check on you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small smirk. “Check on me? That’s sweet. But I’m fine, really. Just working on some stuff.”

Seungmin glanced past her into the studio. The room was a chaotic blend of canvases, sketches, and half-finished projects. There was a record player in the corner, the source of the music he’d heard earlier. “You’ve been in here all day?”

Y/N shrugged. “Time flies when you’re in the zone. What about you? Shouldn’t you be with the others?”

“I was,” Seungmin said, his eyes locking onto hers. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about where you were.”

Y/N’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer. “Well, now you know. I’m here, painting, listening to music, and… singing, apparently.”

Seungmin’s face lit up. “Yeah, about that. Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that? You’re amazing.”

Y/N looked away, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not a big deal. I just… sing for myself. It helps me think.”

“Not a big deal?” Seungmin repeated, stepping closer. “Y/N, you have an incredible voice. You should be sharing it with the world.”

She shook her head, her expression turning serious. “It’s not that simple. Singing is… personal for me. It’s not something I do for other people.”

Seungmin studied her, his heart aching at the vulnerability in her eyes. “I get that. But just so you know, I’m really glad I got to hear it. Even if it was by accident.”

Y/N looked back at him, her smile returning. “Thanks, Seungmin. That means a lot.”

They stood there for a moment, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Then Y/N stepped back, gesturing for him to come in. “Since you’re here, want to see what I’ve been working on?”

Seungmin grinned, following her into the studio. “I’d love to.”

As the weeks went by, Seungmin and Y/N’s bond deepened in ways neither of them could have anticipated. Seungmin, ever the diligent member of Stray Kids, would fulfill his responsibilities with the group—recording vocals, practicing choreography, and participating in meetings—but his mind often wandered to Y/N. The moment his duties were done, he’d slip away, making his way to her art studio like it was his second home.

Y/N’s studio had become their sanctuary. The walls were adorned with sketches, mood boards, and half-finished concepts for Stray Kids’ upcoming album. The air was always filled with the soft music a mix of nostalgic classics and modern indie tracks. Seungmin would sit quietly in the corner, sometimes journaling, sometimes just watching her work. He loved the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way she bit her lip when she was deep in thought, and the way her eyes lit up when a concept finally came together.

“You’re staring again,” Y/N said one evening, not looking up from her sketchpad. Her voice was teasing, but there was a warmth to it that made Seungmin’s heart skip a beat.

“Am I?” he replied, feigning innocence. “Maybe I’m just admiring your artistic process.”

Y/N smirked, finally glancing up at him. “Admiring, huh? You sure you’re not just avoiding practice?”

Seungmin laughed, shaking his head. “Trust me, if I wanted to avoid practice, I’d find a better excuse than watching you draw.”

“Good to know,” Y/N said, her tone playful. “But seriously, don’t you have better things to do than hang out in my studio all day?”

Seungmin leaned back in his chair, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Nope. This is exactly where I want to be.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked back down at her sketchpad, pretending to focus on her work. But Seungmin didn’t miss the way her hands trembled slightly, or the way her breath hitched for just a moment. He didn’t say anything, though. Instead, he let the comfortable silence settle between them, the music filling the space as they worked side by side.

Outside the studio, the rest of the group had started to notice the growing connection between the two. Mia and Jisoo exchanged knowing glances whenever Seungmin disappeared after practice, and the Stray Kids members weren’t much better.

“Where’s Seungmin?” Hyunjin asked one afternoon, glancing around the dance studio. “He said he’d help me with this part of the choreography.”

Mia smirked, not looking up from her notes. “Where do you think? He’s probably in Y/N’s studio, ‘admiring her artistic process.’”

The group erupted into laughter, and even Bang Chan couldn’t hide his grin. “Leave him alone,” he said, though his tone was light. “If he’s happy, let him be.”

The studio was alive with its usual energy, but there was an undercurrent of amusement that day. Everyone had noticed the growing connection between Y/N and Seungmin—everyone except the two of them. Mia and Jisoo, in particular, had taken to exchanging knowing glances whenever the pair was in the same room. Even the Stray Kids members, who were usually too wrapped up in their own chaos to pay attention, had started placing bets on how long it would take for the two to figure things out.

One afternoon, during a rare break, Mia leaned over to Jisoo, her voice low. "Do you think they'll ever figure it out?"

Jisoo smirked, her eyes flickering toward Y/N and Seungmin, who were sitting side by side on the couch, reviewing the latest edits for the music video. "Not if we don't give them a little push."

Mia raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "What did you have in mind?"

Jisoo shrugged, her smile widening. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a little nudge here and there. They’re both too stubborn to make the first move."

Mia chuckled, shaking her head. "They’re hopeless. But you’re right. Someone’s gotta do something before they drive the rest of us crazy."

Meanwhile, Seungmin was doing his best to focus on the edits, but it was nearly impossible with Y/N sitting so close to him. Their shoulders brushed every time one of them moved, and the warmth of her body next to his was driving him crazy. He could smell the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and sweet—and it was distracting in the best way.

"You know," he said, trying to sound casual, "we make a pretty good team."

Y/N glanced at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "We do, don’t we?"

Seungmin’s heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Yeah. I mean, we balance each other out. You’re all sharp edges, and I’m... well, I’m the charming one."

Y/N laughed, the sound music to his ears. "Keep telling yourself that."

Seungmin grinned, but inside, he was a mess. He wanted to tell her how he felt, to confess that he’d been falling for her for weeks now. But he was terrified of ruining what they had. And from the way Y/N was acting—her teasing smiles, the way her eyes lingered on him just a little too long—it seemed like she might feel the same way. But he couldn’t be sure.

Across the room, the rest of the team was watching them with amused expressions. Hyunjin elbowed Felix, nodding toward the oblivious pair. "How long do you think it’ll take them to figure it out?"

Felix shrugged, grinning. "At this rate? Forever. They’re both too stubborn."

Bang Chan, who had been quietly observing the scene, chimed in. "Maybe they just need a little push. You know, like in those dramas where the friends set them up on a fake date or something."

Jisoo, who had overheard, smirked. "Oh, trust me, we’re already on it."

Later that evening, as the group was packing up to leave, Mia and Jisoo cornered Y/N in the hallway. "Hey," Mia said, her tone casual but her eyes gleaming with mischief. "We’re all going out for dinner tonight. You should come."

Y/N hesitated, glancing back toward the studio where Seungmin was still packing up his things. "I don’t know... I was planning to finish up some work—"

"Nope," Jisoo interrupted, linking her arm through Y/N’s. "You’ve been working too hard. You need a break. And besides, Seungmin’s coming too."

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, and she quickly looked away, hoping they didn’t notice the way her cheeks flushed. "Oh. Well, I guess I could come for a little while."

Mia and Jisoo exchanged a triumphant look. "Great," Mia said, her smile widening. "We’ll see you there."

As the group gathered at the restaurant, Seungmin found himself seated next to Y/N, their knees brushing under the table. The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and teasing, but Seungmin couldn’t help but notice the way Y/N’s eyes sparkled when she laughed, or the way her hand occasionally brushed against his when she reached for her drink.

At one point, Y/N leaned over to him, her voice low. "Thanks for coming tonight. I know you’re not big on group outings."

Seungmin smiled, his heart skipping a beat at the way she was looking at him. "I wouldn’t miss it. Besides, it’s nice to see you outside the studio for once."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away. "Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I’m still a workaholic at heart."

Seungmin chuckled, his gaze softening. "I know. But even workaholics need a break sometimes."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. The noise of the restaurant, the laughter of their friends—it all disappeared, leaving just the two of them. Seungmin’s heart was pounding, and he could see the same uncertainty in Y/N’s eyes. He wanted to say something, to tell her how he felt, but before he could, the moment was broken by Mia’s voice.

"Alright, everyone! Group photo time!"

The night had been full of laughter and camaraderie, but as the evening wound down, the group’s plan was set into motion. Mia and Jisoo, along with the rest of the Stray Kids members, had conspired to make sure Seungmin was the one to walk Y/N home. They all knew it was only a matter of time before the two of them figured out what everyone else already saw—that they were perfect for each other.

As Seungmin and Y/N walked through the quiet streets, the city lights casting a soft glow around them, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They talked about everything and nothing—music, their favorite movies, the chaos of the studio, and even their childhood dreams. Y/N, who was usually guarded, found herself opening up in ways she hadn’t expected.

"You know," she said, her voice light but tinged with vulnerability, "I have this weird hobby. I collect vinyl records. It’s kind of a passion of mine."

Seungmin’s eyes lit up with interest. "Really? That’s so cool. I’ve always loved the sound of vinyl. There’s something so... authentic about it."

Y/N smiled, a hint of pride in her expression. "Exactly. It’s like you can feel the music, you know? It’s not just something you listen to—it’s something you experience."

Seungmin nodded, his curiosity piqued. "Can I see your collection sometime?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure. Why not? You’re already walking me home. Might as well come in."

When they arrived at her apartment, Y/N led Seungmin inside, her heart racing slightly. She wasn’t used to having people in her space, especially not someone like Seungmin. But as she showed him her collection of vinyl records, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. The records were neatly organized on shelves, their covers a mix of classic albums and obscure finds.

Seungmin picked up one of the records, his fingers gently tracing the cover. "This is amazing," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "I didn’t know you were into this kind of music."

Y/N shrugged, trying to play it cool. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me."

Seungmin looked at her, his expression serious. "I’d like to."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. There was something in his eyes, something that made her heart race. She wanted to tell him everything, to let him in. But she was scared. Scared of being vulnerable, scared of getting hurt.

Seungmin seemed to sense her hesitation. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. "You don’t have to be afraid, Y/N. Not with me."

Y/N looked down at their joined hands, her mind racing. She wanted to believe him, to trust him. But it was so hard. "Seungmin, I..."

He waited, giving her the space to find the words. And finally, she took a deep breath and said, "I’m not easy."

Seungmin’s heart stopped for a moment, but he kept his expression calm. "I don’t care."

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. "You don’t understand. I’m... complicated. I push people away. I don’t let anyone in. And I don’t want to hurt you."

Seungmin took a step closer, his voice soft but firm. "Y/N, I know you’re used to keeping people at arm’s length. But you don’t have to do that with me. I care about you. More than you know."

Y/N’s heart was pounding, and she could feel the walls she had built around herself starting to crumble. "Seungmin, I... I care about you too. But I’m scared. Scared of messing this up, scared of losing you."

Seungmin smiled, his thumb gently brushing over her hand. "You’re not going to lose me. Not unless you want to."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his. And in that moment, she knew. She knew that he meant every word, that he wasn’t going anywhere. And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she could let someone in.

"Seungmin," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I... I think I’m falling for you."

Seungmin’s heart soared, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. "Y/N, I’ve been falling for you since the moment I met you."

And then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, a whisper of a touch, as if he was giving her the chance to pull away if she wanted to. But Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her hands finding their way to his shoulders as the kiss deepened.

The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the music that played softly in the background. Seungmin’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss became more passionate, more urgent. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, her heart racing as she lost herself in the moment.

The air in Y/N’s apartment was thick with emotion, the kind that made every breath feel heavier, every touch more electric. Their kiss had started softly, a tentative exploration of feelings they had both been holding back for so long. But as the seconds turned into minutes, the intensity grew, their lips moving together in a rhythm that felt both natural and exhilarating.

Seungmin’s hands trembled slightly as they rested on Y/N’s waist, his touch gentle but firm, as if he was afraid she might disappear if he held on too tightly. Y/N, on the other hand, clung to him, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if she could erase the space between them entirely.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to steady their racing hearts. Seungmin’s eyes searched hers, his voice soft but filled with concern. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

Y/N smiled, her hands moving to cup his face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “This… you… it feels right.”

Seungmin’s breath hitched at her words, and for a moment, he just looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and affection. Then, slowly, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another kiss, this one deeper, more deliberate. It was as if her reassurance had unlocked something in him, a floodgate of emotions he had been holding back for far too long.

Their movements became more urgent, their hands exploring each other with a newfound sense of freedom. Y/N’s fingers found the hem of Seungmin’s shirt, tugging it upward until he pulled away just long enough to discard it. His hands followed suit, gently removing her sweater and letting it fall to the floor. The cool air of the room brushed against their skin, but neither of them noticed—they were too consumed by the heat of the moment.

Seungmin’s lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made Y/N shiver. She tilted her head back, her hands gripping his shoulders as she whispered his name, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through him. He paused, looking up at her with a mixture of desire and reverence. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she reached for him, pulling him back into a kiss that was filled with all the words they hadn’t said yet. It was a kiss that spoke of trust, of vulnerability, of a connection that went beyond the physical.

As they moved toward the bed, their movements were slow and deliberate, each touch filled with intention. Seungmin’s hands roamed over her skin, mapping every curve as if he was committing her to memory. Y/N’s breath hitched as his fingers traced the line of her spine, her own hands exploring the planes of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

When they finally lay down together, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, their bodies pressed close, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other. Seungmin’s lips found hers again, his kiss tender but insistent, as if he was trying to convey everything he felt but couldn’t put into words.

Y/N’s hands moved to the waistband of his pants, her fingers trembling slightly as she hesitated. Seungmin noticed and pulled back, his eyes searching hers. “We can stop,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “Whenever you want, we can stop.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t want to stop,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “I want this. I want you.”

Seungmin’s breath caught at her words, and for a moment, he just looked at her, his heart swelling with affection. Then, slowly, he nodded, his hands moving to help her as they shed the last barriers between them.

As the night wore on, their passion ebbed and flowed, each moment filled with a sense of discovery. Seungmin’s hands were gentle but firm, his touch sending shivers down Y/N’s spine as he explored every inch of her. Y/N, in turn, clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she whispered his name, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through him.

When they finally reached their peak, it was with a sense of completeness, as if they had finally found the missing piece of themselves in each other. They lay together afterward, their bodies tangled, their breaths slowly returning to normal. Seungmin’s arms were wrapped around her, his chin resting on top of her head as he pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

The soft glow of morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. Y/N stirred awake, her body still humming with the lingering sensations of the night before. For a moment, she lay still, her mind replaying the memories of their intimate connection, the way Seungmin had held her, touched her, whispered her name like it was the most precious sound in the world.

She turned her head slightly, her breath catching as she saw him lying beside her. Seungmin was still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, one arm draped loosely over her waist. His face was relaxed, the usual sharp edges of his features softened in sleep. Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Careful not to wake him, she shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to get a better look at him. Her fingers hovered over his face, tracing the lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips without actually touching him. She marveled at how peaceful he looked, how vulnerable. It was a side of him she hadn’t seen before, and it made her fall for him even more.

As if sensing her gaze, Seungmin’s eyes fluttered open, his sleepy gaze meeting hers. For a moment, he just stared at her, his expression soft and unguarded. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, and he reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her face.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks as the memories of the previous night came flooding back. “Did you sleep okay?”

Seungmin chuckled, his hand moving to rest on her hip. “Better than okay,” he said, his tone teasing. “Though I think you might’ve had something to do with that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Seungmin said, his grin widening. He pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead in a soft kiss. “But seriously, are you okay? Last night was… a lot.”

Y/N nodded, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “I’m more than okay,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. “It was perfect, Seungmin. You were perfect.”

They lay there for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside their little bubble feeling distant and unimportant. But eventually, the reality of the day began to creep in, and Y/N sighed, reluctantly pulling away.

“We should probably get up,” she said, though she made no move to actually leave the bed. “The others are going to wonder where we are.”

Seungmin groaned, pulling her back into his arms. “Let them wonder,” he said, his voice muffled against her hair. “I’m not ready to share you yet.”

Y/N laughed, the sound warm and melodic. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” Seungmin replied, his tone light but his words filled with meaning. He finally let her go, sitting up and stretching as he glanced around the room. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Y/N shrugged, sitting up as well and pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “I don’t know. I was thinking we could grab breakfast and then head to the studio. We still have a lot of work to do on the album.”

Seungmin nodded, though his expression turned thoughtful. “About that… do you think we should tell the others? About us, I mean.”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve been subtle. They’ve probably already figured it out.”

Seungmin chuckled, reaching over to take her hand. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But still, it feels like something we should do. You know, make it official.”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering at his words. “Okay,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Let’s tell them. But maybe after breakfast. I’m starving.”

Seungmin laughed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Deal. But first, shower. You’re not going anywhere smelling like that.”

Y/N gasped, playfully swatting his arm. “Excuse me? You’re one to talk!”

Seungmin grinned, dodging her next swipe as he climbed out of bed. “Come on, I’ll race you to the bathroom.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she watched him go. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this light, this happy. 

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows of Y/N’s apartment, casting a warm glow over the room. Seungmin and Y/N were in the middle of getting ready for the day, the easy rhythm of their movements a testament to the newfound comfort they had found in each other. Seungmin stood behind Y/N, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leaned slightly forward, tying her hair into a messy bun. His chin rested on her shoulder, his lips occasionally brushing against her neck in a way that made her shiver.

“Minnie,” Y/N said softly, her voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You’re going to make me mess up my hair.”

Seungmin chuckled, his arms tightening around her. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he teased, his voice low and warm against her ear.

Before Y/N could retort, the sound of Seungmin’s phone ringing cut through the quiet morning. He groaned, reluctantly letting go of her to fish his phone out of his pocket. When he saw Bang Chan’s name on the screen, he sighed and answered, putting it on speaker without thinking.

“Seungmin, where are you?” Bang Chan’s voice boomed through the phone, loud enough that Y/N could hear it clearly. “We’ve been waiting for you at the studio for over an hour. Are you still asleep?”

Seungmin winced, glancing at Y/N, who was trying—and failing—to stifle her laughter. “Uh, no, I’m not asleep,” he said, his voice slightly sheepish. “I’m just… running a little late.”

“A little late?” Bang Chan’s tone was incredulous, and in the background, the sound of the other Stray Kids members chiming in could be heard. “Seungmin, we have a schedule. You can’t just—”

Before Bang Chan could finish, Mia’s voice cut through the chaos. “Wait, is Y/N there too? Seungmin, are you with Y/N?”

Seungmin froze, his eyes widening as he realized the call was on speaker and everyone in the studio could hear. Y/N’s face flushed, and she quickly turned to him, mouthing, *“Hang up!”*

But it was too late. The boys erupted into a chorus of teasing, their voices overlapping as they tried to get more information.

“Seungmin and Y/N? Together? Since when?” Felix’s voice was filled with excitement.

“Oh, I *knew* it!” Hyunjin exclaimed, his tone triumphant. “I called it weeks ago!”

“Seungmin, you dog!” Changbin added, his laughter echoing through the phone.

Bang Chan, ever the leader, tried to regain control of the conversation. “Alright, alright, calm down. Seungmin, are you seriously late because you’re with Y/N? Do you know how unprofessional—”

Y/N had heard enough. She reached over and snatched the phone from Seungmin’s hand, her voice calm but firm as she interrupted Bang Chan. “Chan, we’ll be there in 40 minutes. Stop yelling at him. And tell the others to mind their own business.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, followed by a burst of laughter from the group. “Y/N, is that you?” Jisoo’s voice came through, tinged with amusement. “Wow, you’re already defending him. Cute.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks burning. “We’ll see you soon,” she said, ignoring Jisoo’s comment. “Bye.”

She ended the call before anyone else could say anything, tossing the phone back to Seungmin, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Bossy,” he said, his tone teasing as he stepped closer to her. “I like it.”

Y/N shot him a look, though there was no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky I ended that call. They were about to roast you alive.”

Seungmin shrugged, his arms sliding around her waist again. “Let them. I don’t care what they say. As long as I have you, I’m good.”

Y/N’s expression softened, and she reached up to gently cup his face. “You’re such a sap,” she said, her voice filled with affection.

Seungmin leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss. “Only for you,” he murmured.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of Y/N’s phone buzzing. She sighed, pulling away to check the message. “Mia says if we’re not at the studio in 15 minutes, she’s sending a search party.”

Seungmin groaned, resting his forehead against hers. “Do we *have* to go?”

Y/N laughed, giving him a gentle push. “Yes, we have to go. Come on, Minnie. Let’s get this over with.”

As they finished getting ready and headed out the door, Seungmin couldn’t help but smile. Despite the teasing they were bound to face, he felt a sense of contentment he hadn’t known before. With Y/N by his side, he felt like he could handle anything—even the chaos of their friends.

The studio was unusually quiet when Seungmin and Y/N walked in, each holding a coffee in hand. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, all eyes turned in their direction. The silence was deafening, the kind of quiet that made it clear everyone had been waiting for this moment. 

Y/N, ever the picture of calm confidence, didn’t miss a beat. She turned to Seungmin, her lips curving into a soft smile, and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth. “See you later, Minnie,” she said, her voice light and casual, as if she hadn’t just sent the entire room into shock.

Seungmin, for his part, stood frozen for a moment, his cheeks tinged with pink as he watched her walk away toward her art studio. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, even as he felt the weight of everyone’s stares.

The silence lasted all of three seconds before the room erupted.

“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!” Hyunjin shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.

“Did she just—? Did he just—? WHAT?!” Felix stammered, his eyes wide as saucers.

Bang Chan, ever the leader, was the first to recover. He crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at Seungmin. “So. You two, huh?”

Seungmin shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Yeah. We’re… together. Officially.”

The room exploded into cheers and laughter, the boys clapping Seungmin on the back and teasing him mercilessly. Meanwhile, Mia and Jisoo exchanged a triumphant look before bolting out of the room, their footsteps echoing as they chased after Y/N.

In the art studio, Y/N was already seated at her desk, her sketchpad open and her coffee steaming beside her. She looked up as the door flew open, revealing Mia and Jisoo, both out of breath but grinning from ear to ear.

“You did it!” Mia exclaimed, slamming the door shut behind her. “You finally made it official!”

Jisoo clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is amazing! Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for this? We had a whole *plan* to get you two together!”

Y/N blinked, her pen pausing mid-sketch. “A plan? What are you talking about?”

Mia plopped down on the couch, her grin widening. “Oh, you know. The late-night studio sessions. The ‘accidental’ alone time. The walking-home-together thing. All of it. We’ve been scheming for weeks.”

Y/N stared at them, her mouth opening and closing as she processed this information. “You… you *planned* this?”

Jisoo nodded, looking far too proud of herself. “Every single detail. And it worked, didn’t it?”

Y/N shook her head, a laugh bubbling up in her chest. “You two are unbelievable.”

Back in the main studio, Seungmin was still being bombarded with questions and teasing from the boys. 

“So, how long has this been going on?” Changbin asked, his tone full of mischief.

Just then, Mia and Jisoo burst back into the room, their faces glowing with excitement. “Guess what?” Mia announced, her voice carrying over the noise. “Y/N just found out about our plan!”

Seungmin’s eyes widened. “Wait, what plan?”

Jisoo grinned, crossing her arms. “The plan to get you two together. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Seungmin stared at them, his mouth hanging open. “You… you *planned* this?”

Mia nodded, looking far too pleased with herself. “Every. Single. Detail.”

Seungmin groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I knew we could’ve stayed in bed.”

The room erupted into laughter, the boys doubling over as Seungmin buried his face in his hands. 

“Seungmin!” Felix gasped between laughs. “You’re killing me!”

“Stay in bed?!” Hyunjin repeated, clutching his stomach. “Oh, this is too good.”

Epilogue

-

The studio was alive with its usual energy, the hum of creativity filling the air as the group worked on finalizing the album. Seungmin, however, found his attention drifting. His eyes kept wandering toward the door of Y/N’s art studio, his mind replaying the events of the morning. The way she’d kissed him in front of everyone, the way she’d confidently walked away, leaving him to deal with the chaos—it all made his heart race in the best way.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He excused himself from the vocal booth, ignoring the knowing smirks from the other members, and made his way to her studio. When he reached the door, he leaned casually against the frame, his arms crossed as he watched her work.

Y/N was seated at her desk, her sketchpad open and her headphones on. She was completely absorbed in her work, her brow furrowed in concentration as she added intricate details to the album cover design. Seungmin couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She was so focused, so passionate, and it was one of the many things he loved about her.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, catching her attention. Y/N looked up, her eyes widening slightly in surprise before a soft smile spread across her face. She pulled off her headphones and set them aside. “Hey,” she said, her voice warm. “What’s up?”

Seungmin pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Just wanted to check on you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes filled with affection. “You’ve been in here all day.”

Y/N shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Just trying to get this design finished. You know how it is.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence as Seungmin stepped closer, his hands resting on the back of her chair. “So,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone, “I was thinking… tonight. Mine or yours?”

Y/N looked up at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

Seungmin smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know. Where are we sleeping tonight? Mine or yours?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she let out a surprised laugh. “Seungmin!” she exclaimed, swatting his arm. “You can’t just say things like that!”

Seungmin chuckled, leaning down so his face was level with hers. “Why not? It’s a valid question.”

Y/N shook her head, though she couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

His grin widening. “But seriously, what do you think? Your place is closer, but mine has better snacks.”

Y/N laughed, her cheeks flushing as she looked up at him. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

Seungmin shook his head, his expression softening. “Nope. Not until you give me an answer.”

Y/N sighed, though there was no real annoyance in it. “Fine,” she said, her voice teasing. “Yours. But only because I’m curious about these so-called ‘better snacks.’”

Seungmin’s face lit up, and he straightened, looking far too pleased with himself. “Deal. But just so you know, I’m not sharing the good stuff.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “You’re such a dork.”

Seungmin leaned down again, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss. “Your dork,” he murmured.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she reached up to gently cup his face. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Mine.”

The moment was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat loudly outside the door. They pulled apart just as the door swung open, revealing Mia and Jisoo, both wearing identical smirks.

“Are you two done being adorable yet?” Mia asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “We’ve got work to do, you know.”

Jisoo nodded, crossing her arms. “Yeah, save the lovey-dovey stuff for after hours.”

Seungmin groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You two are the worst.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she stood up.

[staytinyluv]

i’m obsessed with this 😭😭

here, take this 🤲🏆 “cutest seungmin fic” cause omg what is this!? i teared up and then giggled and then fell off my seat. 10/10!!!

[tosomeonessomeone]

irony in harmony.

words・ 7.9k /pairings・ Seungmin x reader / genres・fluff / warnings・ little bit spicy?

The studio was buzzing with energy, a rare kind of electricity that only came when creative minds collided. Y/N adjusted her headphones, her fingers flying over the soundboard as she fine-tuned the latest track. Her two best friends, Mia and Jisoo, were deep in discussion with the Stray Kids members, their voices a low hum in the background. The room was a chaotic blend of laughter, technical jargon, and the occasional burst of music.

Y/N was the visual director of their trio, the one who brought their musical visions to life with stunning visuals and concepts. She was known for her sharp wit and even sharper tongue, a trait that had earned her both admirers and adversaries in the industry. But today, she was all business, her focus entirely on the task at hand.

Seungmin leaned against the wall, watching the scene unfold with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He had heard about Y/N and her friends, the trio that had taken the music world by storm with their innovative productions. But seeing her in action was something else entirely. There was an intensity about her, a fierce dedication that was both intimidating and captivating.

He caught her eye as she glanced up from the soundboard, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, with a smirk that could only be described as wicked, she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Enjoying the show?" she quipped, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Seungmin chuckled, pushing off the wall and walking over to her. "Just admiring the view," he shot back, his tone equally ironic.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a small smile. "Cute. But flattery won't get you anywhere with me."

"Noted," Seungmin replied, his grin widening. "But just so you know, I'm not easily intimidated."

"Good," Y/N said, turning back to the soundboard. "Because neither am I."

And just like that, a spark was lit. Two sarcastic, sharp-witted individuals, each recognizing a kindred spirit in the other. It was the beginning of a friendship that would soon blossom into something much deeper.

The days turned into weeks, and the collaboration between Stray Kids and Y/N's trio was in full swing. The studio became their second home, a place where creativity flowed freely and ideas were born and refined. Y/N and Seungmin found themselves working closely together, their banter becoming a staple of the studio atmosphere.

One afternoon, as they were reviewing the latest edits for the music video, Seungmin leaned back in his chair and glanced at Y/N. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be the visual director, you spend an awful lot of time in the sound booth."

Y/N didn't look up from her laptop. "And for someone who's supposed to be a singer, you spend an awful lot of time critiquing my work."

"Touché," Seungmin said with a laugh. "But seriously, you're good at this. Like, really good."

Y/N finally looked up, a hint of surprise in her eyes. "Thanks. Coming from you, that actually means something."

Seungmin shrugged. "Just calling it like I see it. You've got a knack for bringing out the best in people."

Y/N studied him for a moment, then smiled. "You're not so bad yourself, Seungmin."

He feigned offense, placing a hand over his heart. "Ouch. That one hurt."

"Good," Y/N said, her smile turning into a grin. "You needed to be taken down a peg or two."

The collaboration was a whirlwind of creativity and energy. Mia, the choreographer director, was a force to be reckoned with. Her sharp eye for detail and relentless drive for perfection had the dance line of Stray Kids—Hyunjin, Lee Know, and Felix—completely floored. They spent hours in the dance studio, pushing their limits and learning new routines that Mia choreographed with precision and flair.

"Again," Mia commanded, her voice firm but encouraging. "You need to hit that move with more power, Hyunjin. Imagine you're breaking through a wall."

Hyunjin nodded, sweat dripping from his brow as he repeated the move. Lee Know and Felix followed suit, their movements synchronized and sharp. Mia watched them with a critical eye, nodding in approval as they nailed the routine.

"You're getting there," she said with a small smile. "But don't get complacent. We have a lot more to cover."

Meanwhile, Jisoo, the musical producer, was in her element with 3Racha—Bang Chan, Changbin, and Han—and the vocal line—Seungmin and I.N. They were in the sound booth, fine-tuning the tracks for the new album. Jisoo's expertise and innovative approach to music production had the boys in awe.

"Let's try that bridge again," Jisoo suggested, her fingers flying over the soundboard. "I want to add a layer of harmonies here to give it more depth."

Bang Chan nodded, his eyes lighting up with excitement. "That sounds amazing. Let's do it."

Changbin and Han exchanged glances, their respect for Jisoo evident. "She's a genius," Changbin whispered to Han, who nodded in agreement.

I.N, ever the eager learner, was soaking up every bit of knowledge he could from Jisoo. "Can you show me how you did that effect on the vocals?" he asked, his eyes wide with curiosity.

Jisoo smiled, patting him on the shoulder. "Of course, I.N. Let's break it down."

While the rest of the group was immersed in their respective tasks, Seungmin found his attention constantly drifting to Y/N. She was in her element, moving between the sound booth and the editing suite with ease. Her sharp wit and quick comebacks kept everyone on their toes, but there was a softness to her that Seungmin couldn't ignore.

One evening, as they were wrapping up for the day, Seungmin found himself alone with Y/N in the editing suite. She was reviewing the latest cuts for the music video, her brow furrowed in concentration.

"Need any help?" Seungmin asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Y/N glanced up, a small smile playing on her lips. "Depends. Are you any good at editing?"

Seungmin chuckled. "Not really. But I'm great at moral support."

Y/N laughed, the sound music to his ears. "Well, I could use some of that. This scene is giving me a headache."

Seungmin walked over, standing behind her chair as he looked at the screen. "What's the issue?"

Y/N sighed, running a hand through her hair. "The transitions are off. It's not flowing the way I want it to."

Seungmin studied the screen, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "What if you tried cutting it here?" he suggested, pointing to a specific frame. "It might create a smoother transition."

Y/N considered his suggestion, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she made the adjustment. She played the sequence again, and this time, the transition was seamless.

"Wow," Y/N said, turning to look at him with a surprised smile. "That actually worked. Thanks, Seungmin."

Seungmin grinned, his heart swelling with pride. "Anytime. I told you I'm good at moral support."

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Don't let it go to your head."

Their laughter filled the room, and for a moment, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. But then reality came crashing back as Mia called out from the hallway, "Y/N, we need you in the dance studio!"

Y/N sighed, closing her laptop. "Duty calls."

The week was winding down, and late Friday evening, the usual hustle and bustle of the studio had quieted. Most of the team had dispersed, either heading home or grabbing a late dinner. Seungmin, however, found himself lingering. Something felt off. Y/N, who was usually in the thick of things, was nowhere to be seen. He hadn’t spotted her in the music studio, the dance studio, or even the editing suite. It was unusual, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit.

He found Jisoo in the sound booth, tweaking the final mix of a track. “Hey,” Seungmin said, leaning against the doorframe. “Have you seen Y/N? She’s not in her usual spots.”

Jisoo glanced up, her expression a mix of amusement and mild exasperation. “Oh, she’s in her art studio. Has been since she got here. She’s probably deep in her creative zone. Trust me, it’s best not to disturb her when she’s like this.”

Seungmin frowned. “But it’s been hours. Shouldn’t someone check on her?”

Jisoo smirked, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she could see right through him. “Why? Worried about her, Seungmin?”

He shrugged, trying to play it cool. “Just… curious. She’s usually around, that’s all.”

Jisoo chuckled, shaking her head. “Well, if you’re that curious, go ahead. But don’t say I didn’t warn you. Y/N can be… intense when she’s working.”

Seungmin nodded, already turning to leave. “Thanks, Jisoo.”

As he made his way down the hallway toward Y/N’s art studio, he could hear faint music drifting through the door. It wasn’t the usual track they’d been working on—it was something softer, more melodic. He paused outside the door, his hand hovering over the knob. The music grew louder, and then he heard it—Y/N’s voice.

She was singing.

Seungmin froze, his breath catching in his throat. Her voice was rich and soulful, filled with emotion he hadn’t expected. She wasn’t just singing; she was pouring her heart out, her voice rising and falling with the melody. It was raw, beautiful, and completely captivating.

He stood there, transfixed, as she sang the final notes, her voice fading into silence. For a moment, he couldn’t move. He had no idea she could sing like that. Why had she never mentioned it? Why had she hidden this part of herself?

Before he could overthink it, he knocked on the door.

“Jisoo, Mia, unless the building is on fire, leave me alone,” Y/N called out, her voice tinged with annoyance.

Seungmin hesitated, then cleared his throat. “It’s me… Seungmin.”

There was a long pause, and then the sound of footsteps approaching the door. It opened slowly, revealing Y/N with a slightly embarrassed smile. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun, and there were smudges of paint on her hands and cheeks. She looked… stunning.

“Hey,” she said, her voice softer now. “What are you doing here?”

Seungmin scratched the back of his neck, suddenly feeling awkward. “I, uh, was looking for you. Jisoo said you were here, and I just… wanted to check on you.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a small smirk. “Check on me? That’s sweet. But I’m fine, really. Just working on some stuff.”

Seungmin glanced past her into the studio. The room was a chaotic blend of canvases, sketches, and half-finished projects. There was a record player in the corner, the source of the music he’d heard earlier. “You’ve been in here all day?”

Y/N shrugged. “Time flies when you’re in the zone. What about you? Shouldn’t you be with the others?”

“I was,” Seungmin said, his eyes locking onto hers. “But I couldn’t stop thinking about where you were.”

Y/N’s smirk faltered for a moment, replaced by something softer. “Well, now you know. I’m here, painting, listening to music, and… singing, apparently.”

Seungmin’s face lit up. “Yeah, about that. Why didn’t you tell me you could sing like that? You’re amazing.”

Y/N looked away, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not a big deal. I just… sing for myself. It helps me think.”

“Not a big deal?” Seungmin repeated, stepping closer. “Y/N, you have an incredible voice. You should be sharing it with the world.”

She shook her head, her expression turning serious. “It’s not that simple. Singing is… personal for me. It’s not something I do for other people.”

Seungmin studied her, his heart aching at the vulnerability in her eyes. “I get that. But just so you know, I’m really glad I got to hear it. Even if it was by accident.”

Y/N looked back at him, her smile returning. “Thanks, Seungmin. That means a lot.”

They stood there for a moment, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Then Y/N stepped back, gesturing for him to come in. “Since you’re here, want to see what I’ve been working on?”

Seungmin grinned, following her into the studio. “I’d love to.”

As the weeks went by, Seungmin and Y/N’s bond deepened in ways neither of them could have anticipated. Seungmin, ever the diligent member of Stray Kids, would fulfill his responsibilities with the group—recording vocals, practicing choreography, and participating in meetings—but his mind often wandered to Y/N. The moment his duties were done, he’d slip away, making his way to her art studio like it was his second home.

Y/N’s studio had become their sanctuary. The walls were adorned with sketches, mood boards, and half-finished concepts for Stray Kids’ upcoming album. The air was always filled with the soft music a mix of nostalgic classics and modern indie tracks. Seungmin would sit quietly in the corner, sometimes journaling, sometimes just watching her work. He loved the way her brow furrowed in concentration, the way she bit her lip when she was deep in thought, and the way her eyes lit up when a concept finally came together.

“You’re staring again,” Y/N said one evening, not looking up from her sketchpad. Her voice was teasing, but there was a warmth to it that made Seungmin’s heart skip a beat.

“Am I?” he replied, feigning innocence. “Maybe I’m just admiring your artistic process.”

Y/N smirked, finally glancing up at him. “Admiring, huh? You sure you’re not just avoiding practice?”

Seungmin laughed, shaking his head. “Trust me, if I wanted to avoid practice, I’d find a better excuse than watching you draw.”

“Good to know,” Y/N said, her tone playful. “But seriously, don’t you have better things to do than hang out in my studio all day?”

Seungmin leaned back in his chair, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Nope. This is exactly where I want to be.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked back down at her sketchpad, pretending to focus on her work. But Seungmin didn’t miss the way her hands trembled slightly, or the way her breath hitched for just a moment. He didn’t say anything, though. Instead, he let the comfortable silence settle between them, the music filling the space as they worked side by side.

Outside the studio, the rest of the group had started to notice the growing connection between the two. Mia and Jisoo exchanged knowing glances whenever Seungmin disappeared after practice, and the Stray Kids members weren’t much better.

“Where’s Seungmin?” Hyunjin asked one afternoon, glancing around the dance studio. “He said he’d help me with this part of the choreography.”

Mia smirked, not looking up from her notes. “Where do you think? He’s probably in Y/N’s studio, ‘admiring her artistic process.’”

The group erupted into laughter, and even Bang Chan couldn’t hide his grin. “Leave him alone,” he said, though his tone was light. “If he’s happy, let him be.”

The studio was alive with its usual energy, but there was an undercurrent of amusement that day. Everyone had noticed the growing connection between Y/N and Seungmin—everyone except the two of them. Mia and Jisoo, in particular, had taken to exchanging knowing glances whenever the pair was in the same room. Even the Stray Kids members, who were usually too wrapped up in their own chaos to pay attention, had started placing bets on how long it would take for the two to figure things out.

One afternoon, during a rare break, Mia leaned over to Jisoo, her voice low. "Do you think they'll ever figure it out?"

Jisoo smirked, her eyes flickering toward Y/N and Seungmin, who were sitting side by side on the couch, reviewing the latest edits for the music video. "Not if we don't give them a little push."

Mia raised an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "What did you have in mind?"

Jisoo shrugged, her smile widening. "Oh, I don’t know. Maybe a little nudge here and there. They’re both too stubborn to make the first move."

Mia chuckled, shaking her head. "They’re hopeless. But you’re right. Someone’s gotta do something before they drive the rest of us crazy."

Meanwhile, Seungmin was doing his best to focus on the edits, but it was nearly impossible with Y/N sitting so close to him. Their shoulders brushed every time one of them moved, and the warmth of her body next to his was driving him crazy. He could smell the faint scent of her perfume—something floral and sweet—and it was distracting in the best way.

"You know," he said, trying to sound casual, "we make a pretty good team."

Y/N glanced at him, a small smile playing on her lips. "We do, don’t we?"

Seungmin’s heart raced, but he forced himself to stay calm. "Yeah. I mean, we balance each other out. You’re all sharp edges, and I’m... well, I’m the charming one."

Y/N laughed, the sound music to his ears. "Keep telling yourself that."

Seungmin grinned, but inside, he was a mess. He wanted to tell her how he felt, to confess that he’d been falling for her for weeks now. But he was terrified of ruining what they had. And from the way Y/N was acting—her teasing smiles, the way her eyes lingered on him just a little too long—it seemed like she might feel the same way. But he couldn’t be sure.

Across the room, the rest of the team was watching them with amused expressions. Hyunjin elbowed Felix, nodding toward the oblivious pair. "How long do you think it’ll take them to figure it out?"

Felix shrugged, grinning. "At this rate? Forever. They’re both too stubborn."

Bang Chan, who had been quietly observing the scene, chimed in. "Maybe they just need a little push. You know, like in those dramas where the friends set them up on a fake date or something."

Jisoo, who had overheard, smirked. "Oh, trust me, we’re already on it."

Later that evening, as the group was packing up to leave, Mia and Jisoo cornered Y/N in the hallway. "Hey," Mia said, her tone casual but her eyes gleaming with mischief. "We’re all going out for dinner tonight. You should come."

Y/N hesitated, glancing back toward the studio where Seungmin was still packing up his things. "I don’t know... I was planning to finish up some work—"

"Nope," Jisoo interrupted, linking her arm through Y/N’s. "You’ve been working too hard. You need a break. And besides, Seungmin’s coming too."

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, and she quickly looked away, hoping they didn’t notice the way her cheeks flushed. "Oh. Well, I guess I could come for a little while."

Mia and Jisoo exchanged a triumphant look. "Great," Mia said, her smile widening. "We’ll see you there."

As the group gathered at the restaurant, Seungmin found himself seated next to Y/N, their knees brushing under the table. The conversation flowed easily, filled with laughter and teasing, but Seungmin couldn’t help but notice the way Y/N’s eyes sparkled when she laughed, or the way her hand occasionally brushed against his when she reached for her drink.

At one point, Y/N leaned over to him, her voice low. "Thanks for coming tonight. I know you’re not big on group outings."

Seungmin smiled, his heart skipping a beat at the way she was looking at him. "I wouldn’t miss it. Besides, it’s nice to see you outside the studio for once."

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, and she quickly looked away. "Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. I’m still a workaholic at heart."

Seungmin chuckled, his gaze softening. "I know. But even workaholics need a break sometimes."

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the rest of the world faded away. The noise of the restaurant, the laughter of their friends—it all disappeared, leaving just the two of them. Seungmin’s heart was pounding, and he could see the same uncertainty in Y/N’s eyes. He wanted to say something, to tell her how he felt, but before he could, the moment was broken by Mia’s voice.

"Alright, everyone! Group photo time!"

The night had been full of laughter and camaraderie, but as the evening wound down, the group’s plan was set into motion. Mia and Jisoo, along with the rest of the Stray Kids members, had conspired to make sure Seungmin was the one to walk Y/N home. They all knew it was only a matter of time before the two of them figured out what everyone else already saw—that they were perfect for each other.

As Seungmin and Y/N walked through the quiet streets, the city lights casting a soft glow around them, the conversation flowed effortlessly. They talked about everything and nothing—music, their favorite movies, the chaos of the studio, and even their childhood dreams. Y/N, who was usually guarded, found herself opening up in ways she hadn’t expected.

"You know," she said, her voice light but tinged with vulnerability, "I have this weird hobby. I collect vinyl records. It’s kind of a passion of mine."

Seungmin’s eyes lit up with interest. "Really? That’s so cool. I’ve always loved the sound of vinyl. There’s something so... authentic about it."

Y/N smiled, a hint of pride in her expression. "Exactly. It’s like you can feel the music, you know? It’s not just something you listen to—it’s something you experience."

Seungmin nodded, his curiosity piqued. "Can I see your collection sometime?"

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then shrugged. "Sure. Why not? You’re already walking me home. Might as well come in."

When they arrived at her apartment, Y/N led Seungmin inside, her heart racing slightly. She wasn’t used to having people in her space, especially not someone like Seungmin. But as she showed him her collection of vinyl records, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. The records were neatly organized on shelves, their covers a mix of classic albums and obscure finds.

Seungmin picked up one of the records, his fingers gently tracing the cover. "This is amazing," he said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "I didn’t know you were into this kind of music."

Y/N shrugged, trying to play it cool. "There’s a lot you don’t know about me."

Seungmin looked at her, his expression serious. "I’d like to."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. There was something in his eyes, something that made her heart race. She wanted to tell him everything, to let him in. But she was scared. Scared of being vulnerable, scared of getting hurt.

Seungmin seemed to sense her hesitation. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his. "You don’t have to be afraid, Y/N. Not with me."

Y/N looked down at their joined hands, her mind racing. She wanted to believe him, to trust him. But it was so hard. "Seungmin, I..."

He waited, giving her the space to find the words. And finally, she took a deep breath and said, "I’m not easy."

Seungmin’s heart stopped for a moment, but he kept his expression calm. "I don’t care."

Y/N’s eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away. "You don’t understand. I’m... complicated. I push people away. I don’t let anyone in. And I don’t want to hurt you."

Seungmin took a step closer, his voice soft but firm. "Y/N, I know you’re used to keeping people at arm’s length. But you don’t have to do that with me. I care about you. More than you know."

Y/N’s heart was pounding, and she could feel the walls she had built around herself starting to crumble. "Seungmin, I... I care about you too. But I’m scared. Scared of messing this up, scared of losing you."

Seungmin smiled, his thumb gently brushing over her hand. "You’re not going to lose me. Not unless you want to."

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his. And in that moment, she knew. She knew that he meant every word, that he wasn’t going anywhere. And for the first time in a long time, she let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, she could let someone in.

"Seungmin," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I... I think I’m falling for you."

Seungmin’s heart soared, and he couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face. "Y/N, I’ve been falling for you since the moment I met you."

And then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers in a soft, tentative kiss. It was gentle at first, a whisper of a touch, as if he was giving her the chance to pull away if she wanted to. But Y/N didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned into him, her hands finding their way to his shoulders as the kiss deepened.

The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them and the music that played softly in the background. Seungmin’s hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer as the kiss became more passionate, more urgent. Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, her heart racing as she lost herself in the moment.

The air in Y/N’s apartment was thick with emotion, the kind that made every breath feel heavier, every touch more electric. Their kiss had started softly, a tentative exploration of feelings they had both been holding back for so long. But as the seconds turned into minutes, the intensity grew, their lips moving together in a rhythm that felt both natural and exhilarating.

Seungmin’s hands trembled slightly as they rested on Y/N’s waist, his touch gentle but firm, as if he was afraid she might disappear if he held on too tightly. Y/N, on the other hand, clung to him, her fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer as if she could erase the space between them entirely.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting against each other as they tried to steady their racing hearts. Seungmin’s eyes searched hers, his voice soft but filled with concern. “Are you sure about this?” he asked, his thumb brushing against her cheek. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

Y/N smiled, her hands moving to cup his face. “I’ve never been more sure of anything,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “This… you… it feels right.”

Seungmin’s breath hitched at her words, and for a moment, he just looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of awe and affection. Then, slowly, he leaned in again, capturing her lips in another kiss, this one deeper, more deliberate. It was as if her reassurance had unlocked something in him, a floodgate of emotions he had been holding back for far too long.

Their movements became more urgent, their hands exploring each other with a newfound sense of freedom. Y/N’s fingers found the hem of Seungmin’s shirt, tugging it upward until he pulled away just long enough to discard it. His hands followed suit, gently removing her sweater and letting it fall to the floor. The cool air of the room brushed against their skin, but neither of them noticed—they were too consumed by the heat of the moment.

Seungmin’s lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made Y/N shiver. She tilted her head back, her hands gripping his shoulders as she whispered his name, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through him. He paused, looking up at her with a mixture of desire and reverence. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she reached for him, pulling him back into a kiss that was filled with all the words they hadn’t said yet. It was a kiss that spoke of trust, of vulnerability, of a connection that went beyond the physical.

As they moved toward the bed, their movements were slow and deliberate, each touch filled with intention. Seungmin’s hands roamed over her skin, mapping every curve as if he was committing her to memory. Y/N’s breath hitched as his fingers traced the line of her spine, her own hands exploring the planes of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her palm.

When they finally lay down together, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, their bodies pressed close, their breaths mingling as they lost themselves in each other. Seungmin’s lips found hers again, his kiss tender but insistent, as if he was trying to convey everything he felt but couldn’t put into words.

Y/N’s hands moved to the waistband of his pants, her fingers trembling slightly as she hesitated. Seungmin noticed and pulled back, his eyes searching hers. “We can stop,” he said softly, his voice filled with concern. “Whenever you want, we can stop.”

Y/N shook her head, her eyes never leaving his. “I don’t want to stop,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “I want this. I want you.”

Seungmin’s breath caught at her words, and for a moment, he just looked at her, his heart swelling with affection. Then, slowly, he nodded, his hands moving to help her as they shed the last barriers between them.

As the night wore on, their passion ebbed and flowed, each moment filled with a sense of discovery. Seungmin’s hands were gentle but firm, his touch sending shivers down Y/N’s spine as he explored every inch of her. Y/N, in turn, clung to him, her nails digging into his back as she whispered his name, the sound sending a jolt of electricity through him.

When they finally reached their peak, it was with a sense of completeness, as if they had finally found the missing piece of themselves in each other. They lay together afterward, their bodies tangled, their breaths slowly returning to normal. Seungmin’s arms were wrapped around her, his chin resting on top of her head as he pressed a soft kiss to her hair.

The soft glow of morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a warm, golden hue across the room. Y/N stirred awake, her body still humming with the lingering sensations of the night before. For a moment, she lay still, her mind replaying the memories of their intimate connection, the way Seungmin had held her, touched her, whispered her name like it was the most precious sound in the world.

She turned her head slightly, her breath catching as she saw him lying beside her. Seungmin was still asleep, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, one arm draped loosely over her waist. His face was relaxed, the usual sharp edges of his features softened in sleep. Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with a warmth she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Careful not to wake him, she shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow to get a better look at him. Her fingers hovered over his face, tracing the lines of his jaw and the curve of his lips without actually touching him. She marveled at how peaceful he looked, how vulnerable. It was a side of him she hadn’t seen before, and it made her fall for him even more.

As if sensing her gaze, Seungmin’s eyes fluttered open, his sleepy gaze meeting hers. For a moment, he just stared at her, his expression soft and unguarded. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, and he reached up to brush a strand of hair away from her face.

“Morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” Y/N replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks as the memories of the previous night came flooding back. “Did you sleep okay?”

Seungmin chuckled, his hand moving to rest on her hip. “Better than okay,” he said, his tone teasing. “Though I think you might’ve had something to do with that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t suppress the smile that tugged at her lips. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told,” Seungmin said, his grin widening. He pulled her closer, his lips brushing against her forehead in a soft kiss. “But seriously, are you okay? Last night was… a lot.”

Y/N nodded, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest. “I’m more than okay,” she said, her voice filled with sincerity. “It was perfect, Seungmin. You were perfect.”

They lay there for a while, wrapped in each other’s arms, the world outside their little bubble feeling distant and unimportant. But eventually, the reality of the day began to creep in, and Y/N sighed, reluctantly pulling away.

“We should probably get up,” she said, though she made no move to actually leave the bed. “The others are going to wonder where we are.”

Seungmin groaned, pulling her back into his arms. “Let them wonder,” he said, his voice muffled against her hair. “I’m not ready to share you yet.”

Y/N laughed, the sound warm and melodic. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” Seungmin replied, his tone light but his words filled with meaning. He finally let her go, sitting up and stretching as he glanced around the room. “So, what’s the plan for today?”

Y/N shrugged, sitting up as well and pulling the blanket around her shoulders. “I don’t know. I was thinking we could grab breakfast and then head to the studio. We still have a lot of work to do on the album.”

Seungmin nodded, though his expression turned thoughtful. “About that… do you think we should tell the others? About us, I mean.”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers twisting the edge of the blanket. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I mean, it’s not like we’ve been subtle. They’ve probably already figured it out.”

Seungmin chuckled, reaching over to take her hand. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But still, it feels like something we should do. You know, make it official.”

Y/N smiled, her heart fluttering at his words. “Okay,” she said, squeezing his hand. “Let’s tell them. But maybe after breakfast. I’m starving.”

Seungmin laughed, leaning in to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Deal. But first, shower. You’re not going anywhere smelling like that.”

Y/N gasped, playfully swatting his arm. “Excuse me? You’re one to talk!”

Seungmin grinned, dodging her next swipe as he climbed out of bed. “Come on, I’ll race you to the bathroom.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she watched him go. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt this light, this happy. 

The morning sunlight streamed through the windows of Y/N’s apartment, casting a warm glow over the room. Seungmin and Y/N were in the middle of getting ready for the day, the easy rhythm of their movements a testament to the newfound comfort they had found in each other. Seungmin stood behind Y/N, his arms wrapped around her waist as she leaned slightly forward, tying her hair into a messy bun. His chin rested on her shoulder, his lips occasionally brushing against her neck in a way that made her shiver.

“Minnie,” Y/N said softly, her voice a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You’re going to make me mess up my hair.”

Seungmin chuckled, his arms tightening around her. “You’re cute when you’re flustered,” he teased, his voice low and warm against her ear.

Before Y/N could retort, the sound of Seungmin’s phone ringing cut through the quiet morning. He groaned, reluctantly letting go of her to fish his phone out of his pocket. When he saw Bang Chan’s name on the screen, he sighed and answered, putting it on speaker without thinking.

“Seungmin, where are you?” Bang Chan’s voice boomed through the phone, loud enough that Y/N could hear it clearly. “We’ve been waiting for you at the studio for over an hour. Are you still asleep?”

Seungmin winced, glancing at Y/N, who was trying—and failing—to stifle her laughter. “Uh, no, I’m not asleep,” he said, his voice slightly sheepish. “I’m just… running a little late.”

“A little late?” Bang Chan’s tone was incredulous, and in the background, the sound of the other Stray Kids members chiming in could be heard. “Seungmin, we have a schedule. You can’t just—”

Before Bang Chan could finish, Mia’s voice cut through the chaos. “Wait, is Y/N there too? Seungmin, are you with Y/N?”

Seungmin froze, his eyes widening as he realized the call was on speaker and everyone in the studio could hear. Y/N’s face flushed, and she quickly turned to him, mouthing, *“Hang up!”*

But it was too late. The boys erupted into a chorus of teasing, their voices overlapping as they tried to get more information.

“Seungmin and Y/N? Together? Since when?” Felix’s voice was filled with excitement.

“Oh, I *knew* it!” Hyunjin exclaimed, his tone triumphant. “I called it weeks ago!”

“Seungmin, you dog!” Changbin added, his laughter echoing through the phone.

Bang Chan, ever the leader, tried to regain control of the conversation. “Alright, alright, calm down. Seungmin, are you seriously late because you’re with Y/N? Do you know how unprofessional—”

Y/N had heard enough. She reached over and snatched the phone from Seungmin’s hand, her voice calm but firm as she interrupted Bang Chan. “Chan, we’ll be there in 40 minutes. Stop yelling at him. And tell the others to mind their own business.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, followed by a burst of laughter from the group. “Y/N, is that you?” Jisoo’s voice came through, tinged with amusement. “Wow, you’re already defending him. Cute.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, her cheeks burning. “We’ll see you soon,” she said, ignoring Jisoo’s comment. “Bye.”

She ended the call before anyone else could say anything, tossing the phone back to Seungmin, who was grinning from ear to ear. “Bossy,” he said, his tone teasing as he stepped closer to her. “I like it.”

Y/N shot him a look, though there was no real heat behind it. “You’re lucky I ended that call. They were about to roast you alive.”

Seungmin shrugged, his arms sliding around her waist again. “Let them. I don’t care what they say. As long as I have you, I’m good.”

Y/N’s expression softened, and she reached up to gently cup his face. “You’re such a sap,” she said, her voice filled with affection.

Seungmin leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss. “Only for you,” he murmured.

The moment was interrupted by the sound of Y/N’s phone buzzing. She sighed, pulling away to check the message. “Mia says if we’re not at the studio in 15 minutes, she’s sending a search party.”

Seungmin groaned, resting his forehead against hers. “Do we *have* to go?”

Y/N laughed, giving him a gentle push. “Yes, we have to go. Come on, Minnie. Let’s get this over with.”

As they finished getting ready and headed out the door, Seungmin couldn’t help but smile. Despite the teasing they were bound to face, he felt a sense of contentment he hadn’t known before. With Y/N by his side, he felt like he could handle anything—even the chaos of their friends.

The studio was unusually quiet when Seungmin and Y/N walked in, each holding a coffee in hand. The moment the door clicked shut behind them, all eyes turned in their direction. The silence was deafening, the kind of quiet that made it clear everyone had been waiting for this moment. 

Y/N, ever the picture of calm confidence, didn’t miss a beat. She turned to Seungmin, her lips curving into a soft smile, and leaned in to press a kiss to his cheek, just shy of the corner of his mouth. “See you later, Minnie,” she said, her voice light and casual, as if she hadn’t just sent the entire room into shock.

Seungmin, for his part, stood frozen for a moment, his cheeks tinged with pink as he watched her walk away toward her art studio. He couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face, even as he felt the weight of everyone’s stares.

The silence lasted all of three seconds before the room erupted.

“WHAT JUST HAPPENED?!” Hyunjin shouted, his voice echoing off the walls.

“Did she just—? Did he just—? WHAT?!” Felix stammered, his eyes wide as saucers.

Bang Chan, ever the leader, was the first to recover. He crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips as he looked at Seungmin. “So. You two, huh?”

Seungmin shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the grin on his face gave him away. “Yeah. We’re… together. Officially.”

The room exploded into cheers and laughter, the boys clapping Seungmin on the back and teasing him mercilessly. Meanwhile, Mia and Jisoo exchanged a triumphant look before bolting out of the room, their footsteps echoing as they chased after Y/N.

In the art studio, Y/N was already seated at her desk, her sketchpad open and her coffee steaming beside her. She looked up as the door flew open, revealing Mia and Jisoo, both out of breath but grinning from ear to ear.

“You did it!” Mia exclaimed, slamming the door shut behind her. “You finally made it official!”

Jisoo clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “This is amazing! Do you know how long we’ve been waiting for this? We had a whole *plan* to get you two together!”

Y/N blinked, her pen pausing mid-sketch. “A plan? What are you talking about?”

Mia plopped down on the couch, her grin widening. “Oh, you know. The late-night studio sessions. The ‘accidental’ alone time. The walking-home-together thing. All of it. We’ve been scheming for weeks.”

Y/N stared at them, her mouth opening and closing as she processed this information. “You… you *planned* this?”

Jisoo nodded, looking far too proud of herself. “Every single detail. And it worked, didn’t it?”

Y/N shook her head, a laugh bubbling up in her chest. “You two are unbelievable.”

Back in the main studio, Seungmin was still being bombarded with questions and teasing from the boys. 

“So, how long has this been going on?” Changbin asked, his tone full of mischief.

Just then, Mia and Jisoo burst back into the room, their faces glowing with excitement. “Guess what?” Mia announced, her voice carrying over the noise. “Y/N just found out about our plan!”

Seungmin’s eyes widened. “Wait, what plan?”

Jisoo grinned, crossing her arms. “The plan to get you two together. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Seungmin stared at them, his mouth hanging open. “You… you *planned* this?”

Mia nodded, looking far too pleased with herself. “Every. Single. Detail.”

Seungmin groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I knew we could’ve stayed in bed.”

The room erupted into laughter, the boys doubling over as Seungmin buried his face in his hands. 

“Seungmin!” Felix gasped between laughs. “You’re killing me!”

“Stay in bed?!” Hyunjin repeated, clutching his stomach. “Oh, this is too good.”

Epilogue

-

The studio was alive with its usual energy, the hum of creativity filling the air as the group worked on finalizing the album. Seungmin, however, found his attention drifting. His eyes kept wandering toward the door of Y/N’s art studio, his mind replaying the events of the morning. The way she’d kissed him in front of everyone, the way she’d confidently walked away, leaving him to deal with the chaos—it all made his heart race in the best way.

Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore. He excused himself from the vocal booth, ignoring the knowing smirks from the other members, and made his way to her studio. When he reached the door, he leaned casually against the frame, his arms crossed as he watched her work.

Y/N was seated at her desk, her sketchpad open and her headphones on. She was completely absorbed in her work, her brow furrowed in concentration as she added intricate details to the album cover design. Seungmin couldn’t help but smile at the sight. She was so focused, so passionate, and it was one of the many things he loved about her.

After a moment, he cleared his throat, catching her attention. Y/N looked up, her eyes widening slightly in surprise before a soft smile spread across her face. She pulled off her headphones and set them aside. “Hey,” she said, her voice warm. “What’s up?”

Seungmin pushed off the doorframe and stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “Just wanted to check on you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes filled with affection. “You’ve been in here all day.”

Y/N shrugged, leaning back in her chair. “Just trying to get this design finished. You know how it is.”

There was a moment of comfortable silence as Seungmin stepped closer, his hands resting on the back of her chair. “So,” he said, his voice dropping to a softer tone, “I was thinking… tonight. Mine or yours?”

Y/N looked up at him, her brow furrowing in confusion. “What?”

Seungmin smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know. Where are we sleeping tonight? Mine or yours?”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and she let out a surprised laugh. “Seungmin!” she exclaimed, swatting his arm. “You can’t just say things like that!”

Seungmin chuckled, leaning down so his face was level with hers. “Why not? It’s a valid question.”

Y/N shook her head, though she couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at her lips. “You’re impossible.”

His grin widening. “But seriously, what do you think? Your place is closer, but mine has better snacks.”

Y/N laughed, her cheeks flushing as she looked up at him. “You’re really not going to let this go, are you?”

Seungmin shook his head, his expression softening. “Nope. Not until you give me an answer.”

Y/N sighed, though there was no real annoyance in it. “Fine,” she said, her voice teasing. “Yours. But only because I’m curious about these so-called ‘better snacks.’”

Seungmin’s face lit up, and he straightened, looking far too pleased with himself. “Deal. But just so you know, I’m not sharing the good stuff.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile betrayed her amusement. “You’re such a dork.”

Seungmin leaned down again, his lips brushing against hers in a soft kiss. “Your dork,” he murmured.

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat, and she reached up to gently cup his face. “Yeah,” she whispered. “Mine.”

The moment was interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat loudly outside the door. They pulled apart just as the door swung open, revealing Mia and Jisoo, both wearing identical smirks.

“Are you two done being adorable yet?” Mia asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “We’ve got work to do, you know.”

Jisoo nodded, crossing her arms. “Yeah, save the lovey-dovey stuff for after hours.”

Seungmin groaned, running a hand through his hair. “You two are the worst.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head as she stood up.

[theglitchywriterboi]

I hope every writer who sees this writes LOADS the next few months. Like freetime opens up, no writers block, the ability to focus, etc etc you're able to write loads & make lots of progress <3

[stevviefox]

Passing along for all the writers out there!