#am i in my skz era??? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

agippangs · 1 year ago

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FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCKKKKK IM DOWN SO BAD FOR DESPERATE PERVY HANJI

— inhale, (exhale) | hjs (m)

tired of hearing your whining day after day, early-morning Saturday chores become Jisung’s new norm. however, when reprieve comes in the form of one ridiculously lacy pair of panties and things get risqué, Jisung finds himself enjoying his chores more than ever, and when you find out what exactly he’s doing every Saturday morning do you accept it? or rather— what are you gonna do about it?

❥ pairing: han jisung x afab!reader ❥ genre: pwp (minimal), smut & fluff ❥ rating: 18+ ❥ word count: 8.6k (oops) ❥ warnings: there’s literally 4 smut scenes. kinda domestic, perv!hanji!! the word warm x100, panty sniffing, f &m!masturbation, oral sex, penetrative sex, sexual guilt, exhibitionism, or voyeurism…, kinda soft, fingering, blowjob, face fucking, pussy eating, multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, barely any d/s dynamics but attempted sub!ji, dom!reader, teasing, overstimulation, i got carried away this was supposed to be porn with barely any plot yet i managed to sneak some angst, fluff, very fluffy and bit sappy at points, quite literally don’t know what i was trying to do…, tried to give this a plot bc i wanted a longer word count and i succeeded, breast play, i think that’s it! lmk if i’m missing anything <3

❥ a/n: hi my loves, this monstrosity is for my little delulu happy bday ari <3 it’s my first time writing sub-ish!idol so… don’t expect too much 😭 and i’m sorry this is way longer and way more dramatic than it needs to be… but i had fun writing it and i hope you like it <3 @hanjiesgf hi ari pie

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Jisung curls his fingers in your shared sheets before smoothing his hands over the material— flattening frozen peaks and hills crinkled by you two moving around each other in your sleep.

He’s never been a fan of doing any household chores and surely has never wanted to take on this specific task, rummaging through dirty clothes— separating them and folding them— or having to wake up so early to do it.

His arms stretch over his head as a loud yawn leaves his lips, his legs moving automatically towards the hamper in the corner of your bedroom. He grunts with effort as he picks it up, the both of your clothes from the past week and a half piling up until it was practically spilling over the top of the bin. Jisung had never had much of a problem with it, but you couldn't stand to see the mountain of dirty clothes everyday.

Since you two moved in together, you’ve been badgering Jisung a lot more lately concerning cleanliness. It was up to the both of you to keep the place clean and you needed him to realize it wasn’t just his space anymore. He realizes that, but he’s stubborn, and when he almost falls down the stairs because of the heavy weight of the hamper he wants to throw a full blown tantrum— not unlike he used to in kindergarten when someone would get his favorite alphabet blocks before he could get the chance.

Your apartment, or penthouse rather, was all clean lines and immaculate to the touch. The railing of the stairs was made of tempered glass, and floor length windows stretched across one wall. The blinds were down, but even if they weren’t it was impossible to see inside unless someone had a drone that could see through privacy glass.

Jisung’s slippers scuff against the floor as he drops the hamper down, leaving it in front of the stairs and crossing through the living room to the kitchen. Your home was an open floor plan, each room stretching into the other, and gave the clean minimalistic feel you both loved immensely. It didn’t make it any less homey, various antique decorations decorating every table and handmade blankets and quilts thrown over the couch.

Photos of you, Jisung, and your friends, were plastered to every wall with matching frames. The rug in the living room was softer than a cloud, and Jisung always found himself curling his feet into it any chance he could.

He opened up the fridge, scanning its contents looking for anything to soothe the dryness of his throat. Water, of course, would be the best choice, however it would never be his first choice, and he settled on the last of the apple juice at the bottom of the fridge. You two needed to go grocery shopping but would most likely save that for Sunday.

The weekends were no longer a chance to kick back and relax, allowing empty pizza boxes and soda bottles to sit on the counter until Monday, but cleaning up and keeping things clean made Jisung feel better than he originally thought it would. He felt more responsible, more adult-like, and it pleased him. Despite his constant complaints to you, he liked following your advice and he liked doing what you say.

He leaned over the counter, scanning over your home and everything you both worked for, and couldn’t help the satisfaction and pride that crept into his chest. It wasn’t hard to lose sight of what was most important sometimes, but he found that he was never able to. Not with you by his side reminding him. When his eyes settled back on the hamper though he groaned, setting his glass down and moving to retrieve it.

He sighed as he walked past the kitchen and guest rooms to reach the laundry room. The glare of the rising sun crossed the windows, settling on his slouched body as he tugged the dirty clothes from the hamper and separated them into three piles — one in a wooden basket, one on the floor, and the other inside the washing machine. The whites would be going first, he decided, then colors and darks. The first time, he made the mistake of mixing them together and ruined about thirty percent of your wardrobe. It only made him hate the task even more.

As he moved, switching to simply sit with his legs splayed to the side instead of the torturous crouch he had sat in previously, he could hear you moving around the kitchen— probably making breakfast. He was sure you had most likely heard him get out of the bed and had woken up shortly after. He’d tried to get up quietly like he always did, but he had simply come to realize there was nothing that could get past you. He couldn’t say he didn’t like how attentive you were towards him, so he didn’t say anything about it.

After another handful of white shirts he was finally starting to see the bottom of the hamper. He moved quicker at the idea of finally finishing and being able to start on the colored clothes in the next hour, when he reached the last item in the basket. His hands stopped abruptly— almost comically— as he slowly picked the black lace panties sitting lonely at the bottom of the plastic hamper.

His hands almost cradled it as he thought back to the first time he saw you wear them. Short grey shorts, small white tank top, and black lace peeking from over the hem. He remembered the way his mouth had dried almost instantly as you bent over the counter, wiping the surface and putting away clean dishes. He could still remember the curve of your ass in your too-tight shorts and your plush thighs, your cute chattering just background noise as you talked to Felix on the phone.

He hadn’t seen them before then so he knew they were new, but it didn’t matter. The image was burned into his mind, waiting for a chance to come back to the surface, and now it had its chance.

Jisung wasn’t a pervert, or anything of the sort, and he had always been confident in that fact until that day. He swallowed hard, bringing his other hand to stretch your panties in full view in front of him. He didn’t want to acknowledge the heat in his groin, and simply dragged his fingers over the lace, wondering how it would feel against your plush skin. He made sure to let every detail engrave itself in his mind, his eyes running over the lacy material too many times to count.

He was practically drooling, and he found himself moving the piece of clothing closer to his face. Before he could stop himself— he didn’t want to stop himself— he inhaled against the lace, a soft moan leaving him as he took in your scent. Inside his pants, his cock was already fully hard, and all Jisung had to do was take one of his hands down to his pants and press it down on his erection before he was whimpering, dragging your panties against his nose again.

Vaguely he heard your shuffling from only a few rooms down, the fridge opening and closing, and got harder by the thought of you catching him, his hand in his pants and your used underwear pressed up against his face. Would you be disgusted? Turned on? Unaffected? He didn’t know, but he wanted to. He wanted to see the look on your face as he came in his pants on your smell alone, the lace tickling his nose and rubbing against his tongue, making you tremble against him— using him like your own personal toy.

Jisung sighed as he started to pump himself under the fabric of his pajamas, wondering what you would say if you could see him— would you see how desperate he was and try to help? Maybe with your mouth, wrapped around his cock in a way that would make him tremble.

Jisung continued to pump himself and eventually, he had your pretty underwear wrapped around him, using it to pump himself harder, faster, crying out at the feeling of the soft fabric against his sensitive tip. He thought about how good you would feel, how wet you would be and the mess that you would make in those same panties. He thought about fucking you into the floor, your lacy panties covered in his cum— thought about how tight you would feel around him, about the sounds you’d make, your lacy underwear dangling off your ankle— the cause of all his problems but abandoned in the sight of the better prize.

“Fuck,” he whimpered, his body shaking and his breaths coming out shallow as he continued to fuck himself with your panties. Through shaky breaths he watched as your underwear became covered in precum, and with a muffled sob and his eyes fluttering shut, Jisung sighed as his white cum painted your black underwear, contrasting so starkly against each other and soaking the fabric with his release. His hand squeezed the panties as he came, pumping the last drops of his cum before he threw them to the side as if they burned him.

He stiffened as he heard your footsteps move closer, his hand whipping out of his pants quickly before pressing start on the washing machine.

“You okay, babe?” You called, and he could tell you were in the hallway— not too close but not very far.

“I’m good,” he croaked, his voice hoarse from disuse and pure nerves. In the moment, he had wanted you to see, wanted you to come in and watch him, but now the reality of the situation is sinking in and— he really just did that. Jisung took a deep breath, fixing his pants before burying your underwear under the pile it belonged to and picking himself up. Everything was fine.

Everything was not fine.

Jisung isn’t a pervert. He knows this, so why is it that every Saturday morning, without fail, he’s soaking your underwear in cum before joining you at the table for breakfast? Why does he find himself imagining you under him, lacy underwear in hand, more and more often?

His sweatpants shield the mess in his underwear as he practically slams the washing machine door shut, and he winces at the sound it makes. You’ve been badgering him now for how harshly he’s handling things, but he can’t help it. The dissipation of his post-orgasm high just brings guilt and uncomfortability, and he can’t take it. Every Saturday is the same, yet somehow every Saturday it gets worse.

Jisung raises himself up, again hiding his new obsession under its respective pile, before exiting the laundry room and going to the bathroom to wash his hands. It’s pretty much become a daily routine, but you never notice. Whether it’s you just thinking he has an attitude about washing the clothes and that’s why he slams the washing machine door shut so hard or if he’s simply washing his hands before breakfast he doesn’t know, but he does know he’s really starting to like his only chore way too much.

The afternoon passes by fast, his busy mind and chores around the apartment keeping him in check. The ten minutes he spent helping you look for the charger to your speaker effectively contributed to passing the time before he finally let his exhausted body fall on your mattress. His eyes shut in bliss as he relaxes against the soft fabric and he spreads his arms wide, a long sigh leaving his lips.

“My poor baby,” you tease, standing at the door as you watch him relax into the bedding. It’s not like he has to do much, but it’s just like him to feel tired after a little cleaning. It’s not something anyone really wants to do, at least to you, but it has to get done and you’ve realized a long time ago it’s up to you to make sure that it does. You sit down next to him, running a hand through his hair as he hums in response, rubbing his head against your palm to encourage you to continue.

You smile a little, looking around your bedroom and feeling your chest lighten at the simple fact that it’s yours. The both of you. It’s a pride you’ve never felt before, and you know Jisung feels it too no matter how much he refuses to admit it. You’ve honestly been noticing how much less he complains about cleaning or taking part in the weekly chores. Less and less does he sigh, huff and puff, or groan, simply becoming a cacophony of noises as he moves around to do anything even remotely close to responsible or adult-like. He even wakes up easily, making his way to the laundry room like it’s become second nature.

He doesn’t let clothes pile up anymore, nor does he get annoyed at your nagging because he never gives you the chance. It’s been weeks since you last nagged him about anything besides handling things with care, and you’re shocked. You haven’t brought it up because you know how annoying it can be for someone to act surprised that you’re simply doing the “right thing”, so you’ve let him do his thing while you continue to do your own.

Soft snores leave your boyfriend's lips as your fingers stop moving against his scalp. You frown slightly at the sight, brushing his hair back behind his ear and gazing down at his face. So pretty, so soft, all yours.

Feeling nice you decide to finish the laundry for him and let him sleep. It takes a bit of effort to drag yourself back out of bed, but you make your way briskly through your apartment and into the laundry room, the last pile of clothes sitting on the floor in front of the machine. You throw the wet clothes into the dryer, going a little overboard with dryer sheets, before picking through the last pile and dropping each item into the washer. Your knees ache from dropping up and down to pick up and drop down clothes, so you’re relieved when you reach the end of the pile.

You don’t know what leads you to inspect the last items because really you have no reason to, but you can’t ignore the urge to pick through these items even more than usual. You drop shirts, socks, shorts, underwear, and some stray scarves and hats before your favorite black underwear.

When you pick them up, pinching them between your thumb and your index, you don’t expect it to stay stuck together, the fabric not dangling like it usually would. You lean closer, your eyes squinting in confusion by the globs of cum sitting in your panties, some of it dried and cracking as you spread your panties open.

You don’t know how to describe the feeling it’s brought to you. Your eyebrows raise at the sight because it’s a lot, sitting in the middle of your panties as if you soaked them, but you know you didn’t, and you know there’s only one other person who could have. Your mind is empty, mouth gaping, and eyebrows stuck in an arch. The washing machine beeps from disuse, but you pay it no mind.

Your legs clench together and you’re no stranger to the heat that rises in you as you continue to inspect. Just looking, as if the evidence of what has clearly happened would disappear if you blinked. You bring yourself back, allowing a spiral of thoughts to overcome you as you throw the underwear into the washer and press start, your ability to think finally starting to return.

Fucking Han Jisung.

No wonder he’s been so agreeable, you scoff, turning off the lights in the laundry room and shutting the door before making your way back upstairs. You don’t know what to do with this information, not entirely sure how to go about confronting him, if you even do. What then? It’ll just be awkward, and you still don’t know how you feel about it. Your mind tells you to just let the heat in your gut speak for you, but is that really enough?

When you step into your bedroom Jisung is still sleeping, curled up around a large pillow with his chest rising softly. Your lips press together as your shoulders slump and you allow your thoughts to sit in the back of your mind until later. As of now, there’s only a couple hours until you have to start making dinner and you’re aching for the comfort of your bed.

You feel a wave of warmth rush over you as you look over him. That comfortable feeling you get when you love someone. Everything felt warm, the soft sheets surrounding you, rumpled but clean and soft, felt like you were laying on a cloud. The dim light that filtered through the curtains gave your bedroom a warm, homey glow. The TV still played a silly romcom softly in the front of the room and his hair, fanned around your pillows, resembled a halo of his own.

As much as you would love to keep going, scanning him up and down, you decide against it. For now, at least. You know he’s tired. You’re tired too, and as soon as your head hits the pillow you’re asleep.

Jisung doesn’t like this familiarity.

He didn’t like the fact that he had to do laundry every Saturday in the first place. And then he also didn’t appreciate the way his body reacted to damn underwear. But what he especially detested was how much he loved it – the thrill of getting caught, the feeling of lace on his skin, the sight of his cum painted all over the fabric.

Jisung doesn’t like the fact that you washed the rest of the clothes.

He was so sure his heart stopped when he first saw the empty spot on the floor where the pile of clothes had been, and had been even more sure when he’d taken the whites out the dryer and saw your lacy panties in the washing machine.

He had tip-toed around you for a few days after that, not sure if you knew and not sure if you would say anything if you did, but after a few days of his sketchy behavior and no inkling of notice from you, Jisung decided he was in the clear. He was sure of it, but it didn’t help the anxiousness that settled in his chest as he sat in front of the washing machine for the 6th Saturday in a row, his pants tugged down and his cock hard and aching.

God, he's so fucking sexy. And pretty. And perfect. Your precious, precious boyfriend.

Your hand trails down your body – brain working tirelessly to replace your fingers with his own that would leave a trail of warmth over your skin. Just as the tip of your hand brushes over your underwear, a loud gasp and a light thump makes you give a stuttered sigh.

His girthy cock stands tall, the tip red and wet, smacking against his torso and leaving splotches of precum over his shirt. You want to lick him clean. His hands settle next to him on the floor, hips tilted as he spreads his legs comfortably.

Your fingers skim over the wet lips of your pussy, middle finger itching to spread them. You’re met with heavy, wet arousal that immediately covers the tip of your finger when you try to dip it past your entrance. Dragging it up along your opening, you settle your fingers next to your clit, and lean against the wall as you watch Jisung through the crack in the door.

He wraps one hand around the length of his cock, pulling down precum from his tip to coat himself completely. Your fingers move over your swollen clit, the lightest of brushes sending heat to your body.

You watch him move his hand over himself frantically, your panties moving along his cock, and his hot, lewd panting filling up your head and fogging your brain.

You bite back a moan at the sight. If only he knew you were at the door, would he be able to stop himself or would he keep going, making eye contact and fucking himself into an orgasm, moving his hand over himself until he was a shuddering mess. And when you would take him in your mouth, licking all the way up to the sensitive head and back, and suck at the tip with hollowed cheeks until he unraveled from under you. You know you can’t deep-throat him, he’s too big— too wide, but you do know you’re capable of sucking him to incoherency with just your lips wrapped around him.

You were positive that if you’d caught Jisung in the act like you’d planned you’d confront him— ask him why and for how long— not stand at the door with your hand shoved under the waistband of your shorts and lip caught between your teeth to silence your moans.

Jisung’s body racks with shivers before he leans over, cumming in your panties with a guttural moan.

“Oh,” he sighs, “fuck.”

You lean back against the wall, back arched and hips jerking while you ride out the waves of your orgasm, mind slowly floating back to consciousness. You register harsh breathing in your vicinity— Jisung was still coming down from his high. As you pull your hand away from your sensitive pussy, you realize you should move away from the door and somehow explain why you haven’t even started breakfast yet.

Gathering your wits and pulling yourself together as quickly as possible, you watch him sit up and shove your underwear under the pile and pull his pants up. You can tell he’s still reeling from the force of his orgasm just by the way his movements are slow and languid. He throws the last few whites in the washing machine before pressing start, and that’s all you need to propel you away from the door and make you start backing away in the direction of the kitchen.

You had given a lot of thought about what happened in the laundry room, to be honest. It’s not what you expected to happen at all, and surely isn’t something you thought would be sticking to your thoughts as much as it is. All you can think about is Jisung, your panties in his hand, pressed against his nose, his mouth, his cock, leading him to his most powerful orgasms. It leads you to your own, it excites you and even turns you on when you fantasize about it. But these fantasies weren’t something you had ever thought about before— and now you can’t help the thought of being able to see it without a door separating you both.

Your hands move through the motions of washing the dishes but your mind is far away. You can see Jisung from where you stand, and you know his eyes are glued to the television even though his back is facing you. The long sigh that leaves you feels like a weight has been taken off your body, as if it’s held all the confusion and frustration and utter horniness you’ve been battling for the past few days.

You’ve always had a clear head, have always been the voice of reason besides being as wild as your friends sometimes consider you to be, and you don’t know why this situation has to be different than any other. You know by now that you like it and you want to see it, so why can’t you just say it? You don’t know, but the disconnect it’s creating just serves to frustrate you even more.

Instead of going to make breakfast like you usually do while Jisung washes the clothes, you sneak downstairs and watch him through the door. Every Saturday without fail. The fact that it’s your used underwear only makes you wetter, and the moan that leaves your mouth almost gets you caught and puts an end to whatever game you two are playing.

He doesn’t hear you though, he never does, too lost in the haze of lust that surrounds him. Practically hard just at the thought of what he’ll be doing as soon as he gets downstairs.

The impulsivity to watch him is the same impulsivity that makes you confront him once and for all. You really do think things through, sometimes even more than necessary, but when it comes to Jisung it’s always been hard not to do whatever you feel like doing. Jisung doesn’t often take initiative and do things for the both of you, so you’ve taken it upon yourself to do so at times.

You thought back to the conversation you two had only a few nights ago, curled up under your duvet. As the evening drew near, faint bits of sunlight trickled through your closed curtains, lightly illuminating your bedroom, the main source of light coming from the long chandelier that hung from the ceiling just beyond your bed, hanging above the free space in your room.

The room is quiet, save for the soft movement of Jisung in your closet. A towel wrapped around his waist as he rummages through your shared belongings for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Your hands travel between the sheets, digging underneath pillows and under the mounds formed from your blankets for the remote. The two sounds mingle together, the comfortingly subdued noises bringing an intimate warmth that blankets the atmosphere. The comfortability of the way you move around each other is what leads you to ask the question that’s been sitting on your tongue for two months.

You yawn, bringing a manicured hand to your lips and Jisung turns around at the sound, a fond smile lifting his lips as he shushes you, ensuring that you don’t need to wait for him. You smile softly, leaning up and adjusting yourself so that you can look at Jisung head on, the smile disappearing in place of a contemplative look.

“What’s up, baby?” Jisung asks, setting down the clothes in his hands to sit next to you on the bed, laying a comforting palm on your thigh through the covers. You shake your head, bringing back a comforting smile— one that you hope will make him see that he doesn’t have to be worried.

“I was talking to Jieun today and she was saying she and Felix had talked about some… kinks and fetishes they had, and how much it’s broadened their sex life and made it better.”

This is true, but not why you’re bringing this particular topic up, of course. You haven’t told Jieun or anyone about what you’ve caught Jisung getting up to or how it’s made you feel, but you decide that the best way to open up the conversation is by bringing up your mutual friends.

“Made it better,” Jisung repeats, his eyebrows furrowing, “Baby, I don’t think I want to know about Felix’s sex life.”

Jisung makes a show of groaning loudly as you shove his shoulder in response, unable to help the fond eye roll in response to his words. Jisung always knows how to make everything so unserious and you can never be mad at him for it. He’s too cute and it always helps you when you’re stressed about whatever it is you need to get off your chest— like now— as his soft laughs echo around you.

“Sung, what I’m saying is, have you thought about it? Like, kinks you have that you might want to try?”

Jisung is silent for a moment before tilting his head down and chuckling. When he looks back up at you he smiles and reaches over to squish your cheeks and pull your head closer.

“Nah baby, shit is already perfect.” He kisses you, gentle, languid, and it serves to distract you from the lingering puzzlement at his answer to your question. Your chest warms at the feeling of his hands on your skin, cupping your chin and tracing shapes along the flesh. Your arms wrap around his shoulders to drag him closer and you feel him grin before pulling away, leaving light pecks on your lips and across your face.

When he stands he has to fix his towel, slipping so low off his hips you can see the shadow of hair along his pelvis. The heat in your stomach is far from gone, and it’s harder than usual to drag your eyes from his skin.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

“Ok,” you chirp, but you’re already halfway out the bedroom, rushing downstairs to grab a glass of water. Though now that you’re away from Jisung his words ring around your head, further confusing and upsetting you. It’s clear that he’s lying to you, but why? It’s not like you’ve ever judged him before about anything, and even if it is something that could be potentially shameful, after five years and moving in together, you two are surely on the path of marriage. It wouldn’t be so unnatural to talk about something like this at such a stage in your relationship.

There’s no possible way you’ve been imagining this tension, and you know what you’ve seen. He could be in denial, you presume, but after months of the same cycle there’s no chance that he has no fetish for it. A lingerie fetish? Kink? Whatever it is, you just want to come clean about it and you had the chance, but after Jisung’s vehement denial there was no way you could comfortably spill everything you knew, and no way to say it in a way that you didn’t know what he was up to.

‘I’ve been having fantasies about you sniffing my underwear for no clear reason.’ It doesn't sound remotely believable to your own ears and you know Jisung is smarter than that. You’ve never had to be the one to squeeze information out of him. You’ve always been clear in what you want, what you need, and have always succeeded in getting him to come clean about what he wants and needs. It’s no secret who takes control in that area, so the fact that you’re stuck only worries you more.

The ice cold water glides down your throat and you sigh in bliss, smacking your lips together and taking a deep breath, relaxing your shoulders and setting this conflict to the back of your mind. You just breathe, ignoring the secrets and confusion that’s been plaguing your mind. It feels wrong to have to keep things from your boyfriend and you wonder if he feels the same way, having to lie to your face over something that should be simple.

Your walk back to your shared bedroom is less rushed than your departure, and you simply savor the peace and quiet of your apartment. The moonlight shines through cracks in the window, settling a soft blue glimmer over your furniture. You can hear the TV playing softly when you arrive and you mask your true emotions with a placid smile.

That was a week ago. You’ve done a lot of thinking since then— it feels like all you’ve been doing recently is thinking. Yet here you stand, in front of the laundry room door, waiting, wondering, when you should just go in and put an end to all of this.

This entire situation feels a tad too dramatic for your liking, and you just want to have sex with your boyfriend without wondering if it’s not enough for him, wondering if he wants more and why he won’t just tell you that. Your hand is raised ready to knock on the door, but you drop it when you hear the telltale signs of Jisung pulling his pants down, the sighs that fill the room. You’re as still as a statue, nervous to walk in on your own boyfriend.

Time stands still, all you can think about is what you’re about to do— and what could come from it. Relief for you both? Or maybe anger, or maybe something else that your muddled brain can’t manage to think of. Shouldn’t you also come clean about the fact that you’ve been watching him? That you’ve known for a long time and just let him believe he needed to keep things secret because of your own internal battle? The questions and doubts that plague your mind almost lead you to turn around, to simply forget about the entire thing and let Jisung continue with whatever he calls these daily escapades.

But you know you can’t. In a relationship it’s up to you both to lay things down clear and precise, to bring your worries to your partner and fix them together, explore them together, and enjoy the closeness you wouldn’t be able to have with anyone else. You know you can’t just leave things as they are. Your mind won’t let you, it never would. You’d simply drive yourself crazy until you couldn’t keep it in anymore and would reveal it in the worst way possible.

You settle your nerves and take it upon yourself to venture inside into the sunlit room, your gaze locked on Jisung’s waist. Your breath shudders when his hand whips out his pants and he sits up, his chest heaving and cheeks red.

“Babe, don’t sneak up on me like that.” He laughed, but it sounded painfully forced, and you looked up at him hoping your gaze looked soft and that your anxiousness didn’t come off as anger.

“What were you doing?”

“The laundry…?”

Jisung swallowed, his hands tightening into fists as he stared at your naked collarbone— not able to look you in the eye. His mind was a plethora of thoughts, of guilt, of regret— wondering if he had really been so wrapped up that he hadn’t managed to hear you walking to the laundry room and how he could be so stupid to get caught after months of the same routine.

You scoff, taking a few steps inside the room and pushing the door closed behind you. “Don’t lie to me, Sung. You were touching yourself, right?”

A silence stretches between you both, simply staring at each other and waiting for one of you to say something more. Jisung, waiting for you to say you’re joking, that you know he would never do something like that, to say something that would stop the rapid beating of his heart and the anxiousness that takes over his being. And you, waiting, hoping, for Jisung to simply come clean. To trust in you and reveal that yes, he is, and he has been for a long time.

The silence stretches for a long time, sending a chill down your spine and a realization.

Jisung clenches his teeth before whimpering, “Fuck, I’m sorry.” His hands drop to his sides and your face falls slack as his shoulders start to shake. “I’m sorry, you’re probably so mad so— so disgusted.”

“What? Baby, no, no I’m not.”

With clammy hands you interlock your fingers with his and gently tilt his chin so that you can look at him. “I’m not mad,” you repeat, “I’m not disgusted either.”

Jisung blinks rapidly, nodding his head at your words and taking in a deep breath as he steps closer to you, leaning down so that his head can knock against yours.

“You’re not mad.”

A soft laugh echoes from your lips and you feel a huff of air on your lips as the beginning of a smile graces his lips. “You have nothing to be sorry for. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jisung sighs, “I just couldn’t.”

You nod. It was hard for you to even come inside, wondering if he would be upset with you and not even thinking he could’ve been ashamed. You squeeze his hand and lean up to nip his cheek, proceeding to litter small kisses all over his face.

Jisung’s laughs make your heart feel light and allow you to feel better about the mini episode he just had— as well as the extensive episode you both have been fluttering around. You leave a kiss full of relief on his lips, salty and wet, moving your mouth against his as he returns it. Slowly, your lips start to press against each other more eagerly, lapping over each other and filling you with warmth.

Jisung brings a hand to your hair, pulling you closer to him before pinning you against the farthest side of the room, your waist trapped between him and the wall. In a matter of seconds he’s devouring you until you’re left breathless, your lips swollen and wet. His mouth moves along the sensitive parts of your neck, down the line of your throat, while his other hand separates from your own to run down your waist and touch you where he knows you shiver with need.

He slips his leg between your parted ones, allowing you to settle down right on top of his muscular thigh. As the kiss grows deeper, your hips begin to move, gyrating and pressing down against him. Using him. As your bodies move with one another, your pleasure continues to rise, forming from your center and spreading over your body.

Jisung gasps, but it’s swallowed up by your mouth all over again. You let your hands slide up the back of his loose t-shirt. His skin is warm, and Jisung hums into your mouth when he moves closer, your chests pressing together with each movement.

Suddenly, Jisung’s lips are pulled away from yours and you groan loudly, chasing after him. You succeed, biting at Jisung’s bottom lip to get him to open up again, but it doesn’t last long.

“Baby, wait.”

“What? what’s wrong?”

“Can you.. can you put the panties on for me?”

You blink once in response before a fire ignites in your groin. The smirk that lifts your lips and the pleased sigh that leaves your mouth fills the otherwise silent room and you drop down on the ground, pulling your shorts and your underwear off your body and pulling on the black, lacy ones— the cause of this mess.

Once you pull them all the way up and face Jisung again, you push him back gently, and Jisung pecks at your lips repeatedly until his back hits the floor. Then, like every girl’s wet dream, you're grabbing his hands to hold by his head.

Jisung then proceeds to kiss the shit out of you, your lips crashing together, ravishing you until your lungs clench and a lewd moan falls from your lips. He desperately tries to avoid bucking his hips upwards into yours, but fails again and again. Eventually, you drag your mouth away, trailing it down his neck. He’s gasping against you, and he curls into your touch, whimpering when sharp teeth nip at his skin. There’s a tongue soothing the wound, sucking at the same spot, lapping over it. You can feel him starting to shake, whimpering more often than not, before he’s yanking his hands free from your hold and dragging your face back up. You can feel Jisung smiling into it, chuckling just the tiniest bit, but resume kissing him.

He holds his gaze on yours when you fall apart, relaxing your body while the pulsing of your orgasm courses through you. He leans down into your arms right after, pressing tightly against your chest, so tight that you could feel his heartbeat pacing fast against yours. The kisses he gives you are soft and gentle, your thighs still trembling when he pulls away, pulling his grey t-shirt over his head.

The unmistakable shape of his erection that you feel brushing against your stomach lets you know just how turned on he is, and you equally so. His lips return to yours only after he has stripped himself, and your hands move from his shoulders to his chest, trailing down his naked skin, where you slide your fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

You lean forward, switching positions and taking him into your hand. He’s heavy, full of cum, and you slide your body down so that your mouth is right against his cock. You leave a kitten lick on the underside of his shaft, feeling the veins and the way Jisung throbs. He’s a pleasant weight on your tongue and you swirl it around the tip before sucking him into your mouth.

Still with your eyes on his face, you lean closer, kissing his sensitive tip before fitting your lips around the head, taking him into your mouth again. You hear him gasp before it turns into a deep groan, sucking and licking as you take him deeper.

Jisung sighs, his hand gripping your hair— trying not to force you down on him. Your body buzzes from the sensation and you feel hot all over, and you resist the urge to reach down and stroke your fingers to search for your own pleasure, choosing to focus on pleasing him instead.

His lips fall open with a few deep grunts escaping his soft lips, his hips moving faster as he pumps himself into your mouth. “Fuck, baby. I’m gonna cum.”

Your fingers dig into his thighs and you whimper around him, the vibrations from your throat making his body spasm as he nears his orgasm. You pull off of him, your lips swollen and red, slicked with spit and pre cum.

“Come on baby,” you rasp, your throat scratchy and hoarse. “You can cum.”

Jisung’s movement becomes harsh as he pumps himself, his speed growing rapidly, and you see him twitching, his girth widening, before he pumps his cum onto your face with a long, drawn-out, groan.

“Are you gonna touch me?” You smirk, clawing at your own shirt and pulling it off. He nods, already moving to flip your positions yet again.

All you can feel is his touch, his fingers tweaking at your nipples and his lips that keep moving down and kissing the skin of your breasts that spill over your bra. He pulls his hand, the one that has been kneading at your breasts, and trails it down, stroking his tongue over your skin while his free hand moves lower, and lower, slipping under your shorts to find your cunt.

He traces down your panties, soaked with your arousal, running over the lace and moaning at the feeling of it clinging into your clit. His thumb follows the wet trail on the flimsy fabric to find your opening, hardly shielding you from his touch. He twists his hand while he continues to press his thumb in circles over your covered entrance, his fingers find your clit, and then he pinches, hard, sending you over the edge and into one of the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had.

You squirm at the feeling of your release, before your fingers slowly peel the scrap of black lace down your thighs, making a show out of it while you make him wait. You continue to tease him, staring him down as you slip your feet from them and he pulls them off, frantically, and you watch him lift the lace to his nose. Inhaling deeply, breathing you in. His lashes flutter, and the view of him taking you in so shamelessly makes you shudder.

He drops the fabric in the next moment, looming over you with hooded eyes, and you pull him down to leave a lingering kiss on his lips. He continues to kiss you as he spreads your legs apart, holding them down with heavy hands. With your pussy so wet, his fingers slide easily through your folds, and he can feel just how wet you are, but the way you clench and throb around him makes him moan deeply. His lips find your hips, then he moves down, running his mouth down your legs, taking time to trail along your thighs, your calves, your ankles, and you keep your eyes on him the whole time.

You let out a gasp at the first stroke of his tongue over your clit. Your legs lift a little, but Jisung presses them back down, keeping you in place— keeping you right where he wants you.

“Don't make me wait, Ji.”

Jisung needed no further warning. He grabbed your hips and squeezed them, pulling you even closer to his waiting tongue. You were moaning— your sounds filling the room— and he felt like he was in heaven. He was the one making you feel this, he was the reason, and it made him so proud. He runs a shaky hand along your skin as you cry out at the feeling of his tongue swiping against your wet cunt. You can’t do much but moan and sigh. It’s funny to you, how you have the upper hand but he has you shaking from under him, building you up and then breaking you down with immense pleasure— a feeling that you can barely think around.

You hear a soft gasp as he gives you a few more kisses with his tongue, tasting you, before he looks up again and whimpers, “I wanna make you feel good.” — And he’s unrelenting in showing you just how determined he is to make good of his words. His grip tightens on your thighs, as the swipes of his tongue grow more intensely. He sucks at your clit, pressing his tongue against you to send you into your second orgasm.

Your hips moved frantically against his face— chasing your own pleasure. You chanted his name as he pumped his fingers in and out of your cunt, growing desperate and restless with each stroke. He could feel your legs shaking, your body squirming as you reached your peak.

“Jisung, oh god.”

His breathing is shaky, labored and uneven, rising up and slotting himself between your thighs. You want him, more than anything, no matter what. He kisses the corner of your lips, smiling against your mouth.

You kissed him so sweetly after that, but it was all a ploy, a distraction for you to line his cock up with your entrance, and push it into your tight hole. His eyes widened as he felt himself stretch your walls, and he made to pull away from the kiss to gasp, but you didn’t let him. Chasing his lips, you kept him close, tangled in a mess of tongue and teeth, with no room to breathe.

“My empty-headed baby. Take anything I give you right?”

All Jisung can do is nod— your thoughts leave you as he continues to move in and out of you, filling you up and satisfying you the way he always does, but you manage to speak without realizing. “You’re so filthy, getting off to my panties— !” Your walls contract as he thrusts into you deeper, lifting your legs and situating them against his shoulders. He buries himself so deep inside it’s almost like he’s melded himself into you. He’s so big, you can barely breathe, allowing him to bring pleasure to you both as he moves.

“I-i’m so dirty,” he moans, his voice raspy with need, as he pumps his cock. “And you love it.”

Your mouth falls open, overwhelmed with satisfaction. You can only focus on the feeling of his cock dragging against you, his tip hitting so hard it feels like he’s moving around your organs. He pounds into you, not allowing anything but lewd moans to leave your lips for even a moment. His harsh groans and your airy sighs fill the room, slaps of his skin against yours lewd and wet. “Oh god, I’m gonna—”

Your words become nothing but a moan when his thrusts don’t falter and instead pick up. You don’t know how he’s managing to keep going, how he’s managed to move even quicker.

"Come on, baby," you whisper, clenching your jaw, letting him know that you’re on the brink of orgasm. Jisung bends down, taking your lip into his mouth, tugging and sucking and making you sigh in bliss. Then his fingers come down to find your clit, sending you erupting into an earth-shattering orgasm.

Your own orgasm was what did it. A few more thrusts into your sloppy cunt, and he was spilling his seed right into you, coating your walls. He was throwing his head back, letting out a deep moan as he buried himself in you, hips stuttering as he released spurt after spurt, your poor pussy taking everything he gave. You watched him in awe, flickering your eyes to the abandoned underwear for only a moment— before you glued your eyes to the man in front of you. It was even better in person.

“Oh baby,” you sigh, “does it feel good?”

Jisung nods, his hair brushing against your naked skin, and he presses a soft kiss against your collarbone. His lips rest there as you both come down from your high, basking in the glow of your orgasms and relishing in the presence of each other.

Your chest heaves with the force of your breaths but otherwise your body feels light, airy, and any negative thought you’d entertained before is completely gone in lieu of the sex you and Jisung have just had, the mutual understanding you’ve created with the meshing of your bodies.

You feel content, like you’ve done all this worrying for nothing— and really— you both had. Worrying about being judged or ridiculed was ridiculous in a relationship such as yours, and once again you’ve been reminded of that.

a/n: an abrupt ending…?? from me??? no… no way!!?? as always, i hope you enjoyed and tysmmm for reading!! everyone say happy bday ari !!! <3 or don’t… she’s a loser anyway so who cares fr

mini taglist: idk why i always feel bad tagging as if y’all didn’t literally ask me but 😭 tysm!! @myjisung @svintsandghosts @hwan-g @hoeforstraykids @itsisa @raspbinniecreme

#I AM TRULY IN MY LOVERS ERA WITH JISUNG #hanji #skz recs

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staybabblingbaby · 5 months ago

Text

Soulmate Garden AU Ch.1 (Dahlia) a2 d5

[Caution: These are not full fics, or even full parts of fics for some, these are part of my writing progress archive!]

Concept: Growing up, you knew Soulmates weren't all that they cracked up to be. So when, on your 18th birthday, your skin is painted with a garden of flower buds, you resolve to hide it from everyone. Who had ever heard of someone with 8 soulmates, anyway?

Or; Reader has 8 soulmates and no issue avoiding all of them. It's up to SKZ to show her that while every soulbond might not be made of fairy tales, theirs certainly could be.

Word Count: 5,368

Notes: My friend Tiny said this was very Wattpad era of me, so I'm so sorry that I'm cringe, guys. She also said she loved it and I am also p satisfied w it, so. Celebrations! It's also fucking long for me, like damn. Chill. I do have some disclaimers abt this tho. 1) I have never been to a k-pop concert, I am doing my best working off of what videos, vlogs, blogs, and Quora and Reddit answers for this. I'm very sorry if it's horribly inaccurate. Also it's idealized so it'd gonna be inaccurate 2) Covid never happened in this universe! Send-offs for everyone!

Dividers by @saradika

Warnings: She/Her Reader, sort of dissociating? ish?

Leave me comments or questions or anything! Love hearing from folks <3

Masterlist <3 | Prev Part | Next Part

“Yes, Ma, I promise I’m doing just fine,” You grunt into your phone, tucking the device between your cheek and shoulder as you juggle your groceries and try to dig out your keys, “No one has tried to mug me, I’m eating well, and the job is the same as the last time you called.”

You manage to both open your door and kick it shut as your mother replies, “I just worry about you dear. You’re so far away from us now, what if you need help?”

You waddle to your kitchen counter to offload your burdens, stretching your cramping fingers out as you go to properly hold your phone again.

“I know, Ma, but I’m sure I’ll make some friends with time and then they can help me out.” you finally reply with a sigh. You begin the arduous task of actually putting your groceries away, resigned to the fate of a functional adult.

You hear your sister bark out a laugh in the background. It’s possibly about hearing ‘you’ and ‘friends’ in the same sentence (Which, ouch. True, but ouch). You magnanimously ignore her.

“Honey, I love you, but it’s been almost a year. You have yet to tell me about a single friend.” Your Mom retorts. Again, ouch.

“I have Taylor!” You defend, slamming your fridge shut with a pout.

“Your roommate doesn’t count!” Your little sister taunts from the background. You hear your mother shush her but her agreement is implied when she doesn’t correct the little gremlin.

“He so does!” You argue, “We hang out in contexts that are not work or school, we eat meals together, and we’re even going to a concert this weekend! That’s friends! That’s best friends, even.” You sound a bit pathetic even to yourself, but the day your sister wins over you is the day you die.

“That’s a friendly roommate,” Is your sister’s amused response, “I bet you don’t even know what his favorite color is.” Your silence is answer enough, and she cracks up, laughing so hard that you hear a muted thump as she falls off of whatever furniture she’d been occupying.

Guess you’re dying today.

Your mother changes the subject to the goings-on of your hometown while your sister asphyxiates in the background. You’ve only been away for a little under a year now, but as you listen to her talk about which of your littlest cousins are starting school and which of your relatives are causing drama, you realize that it’s already been a little under a year.

You flop onto your couch as your mom babbles away, holding back an existential crisis.

Your fingers begin tracing the long-since memorized lines of your soulmark over your clothes as you ponder the passing of time, fully zoned out of your mother’s gossip. Your sister seems to catch on to your long silence, interrupting you mother to pester you into giving her more material to taunt you over.

“What concert are you going to, anyway?” She questions.

“Oh, it’s a K-Pop group called Stray Kids,” You tell her. You can practically feel her interest shrivel up and die as soon as you say K-Pop, bless her elitist, snobby, little heart. “Taylor likes them a lot, and his boyfriend dumped him last month, so I got some good tickets to cheer him up.”

Your mother coos at you briefly before your sister overtakes the conversation again, “Are they even good?” You can hear the sneer in her voice as she falls into Music Snob (tm) mode, so you roll your eyes when you reply.

“They’re fun to dance to when I’m doing chores, so that’s good enough for me.”

“You can’t even understand them.” She complains.

“I can, actually.” You inform her primly, “My language elective was Korean. I took the whole course.”

“You’re a weirdo.”

“Tell that to my sweet, sweet, degree, kiddo.” It’s finally your turn to taunt.

“Whatever, you’re not even going with a friend, just your roommate. How fun could it be?” She pouts back.

“I told you, we are friends! Best friends, even!”

“You still don’t know his favorite color.” She retorts smugly.

“I know his favorite flower, that’s gotta count for something!” Your mother hums in agreement, and you picture her watching your bickering like a tennis match, assigning points in her head.

“It doesn’t, because you know everyone’s favorite flower! You know the mail guy’s favorite flower! It’s like an obsession.” You picture your sister rolling her eyes at you, exasperation pouring off of her. The image makes you grin as you reply.

“Only if it’s still Jim. I haven’t been around to ask anyone new.” You point out. Reasonably, you think, but for some reason your sister lets out a loud groan of annoyance and you hear her exaggerated stomps ass she removes herself from your presence. Your mother lets out an amused little huff and you imagine you’ve won the tennis match in her head.

No death for you today. Score!

Your mom yaps with you for a little longer, before finally bidding you farewell, telling you that you should call more often (like you don’t chat literally every Friday afternoon like clockwork), tell your dad to come home soon if you happen to call him (you won’t. He won’t either), and tell her all about how the concert goes next week. You promise to do that one easily.

When she hangs up, you’re left with the ringing silence of an empty apartment. Moving to LA has been a quieter experience than you’re used to in general, for many reasons. Sure, the city itself is louder than your little suburb by miles, but life has been... More peaceful, since. Quieter.

It still makes you uneasy, even 10 months later.

You get up from the couch and drift off to your room like a ghost, opening Spotify on your way. The opening notes of Ruth B’s Lost Boy and a something nauseous swirling in your gut is all that follows you.

On concert morning, you’re woken up bright and early by your air-horn of a roommate slamming your door open.

“Concert daaaaaaaaay~” He trills at you from the doorway. You don’t even open your eyes when you roll over and throw a pillow at him in protest. A soft ‘oof’ tells you that you hit your mark for once. Nice.

“Nice shot!” Taylor cheers, “But now I have your ammo, so it’s up time.”

You roll over again, taking the edge of your blanket with you and tossing it over your head. You pull a stuffed animal under with you, and curl tightly around it.

“Nmf gmf.” You grumble at him through a mouthful of fluff.

“Nuh-uh!” Taylor tuts, already fluent in Morning Grumble, “We gotta get up. There’s food to be eaten, outfits to put on, and lines to beat!”

You let out a long, agonized, groan, but obligingly roll over and starfish out with childish protest. Taylor waits until you open your eyes to glare at his annoyingly cheerful blond bedhead before he leaves your doorway with a sunny smile. Smug bastard.

He leaves your door open too, the shit, allowing the sweet smell of french toast and eggs to drift into your room. You sit up with a whiney groan, scrubbing harshly at your face.

You’d forgive him this time. Just for the french toast.

You lean over to grab your phone from your bedside table, just waking the screen to check the time. When the numbers register you lay right the way back down with another long wail of protest.

Four in the morning. That french toast had better be fucking good.

You eventually stumble into the kitchen and are promptly handed a very large and very welcomed cup of coffee. Taylor hands you a plate piled high with french toast and eggs, fruits and toppings already out, before you can even try to start bitching at him.

You take in the spread with a furrowed brow, before slowly lifting your head to pin Taylor with a suspicious stare.

“My dude, it is four in the morning. How?”

Taylor just shrugs at you. “Couldn’t sleep. Too excited.”

You nod slowly at him. “I’ll drive. You’re napping in the car.”

This triggers a round of outraged whining from your sleep-deprived roommate, which you cull by pointing out that headaches and concerts are an awful combo. He subsides but insists he’ll be even more excited in the car, since it’s closer to concert time. You tell him to do it anyway.

“Why are we up so early in the first place?” You complain as you drain the last dregs of your drink. “The concert isn’t for, like, fifteen hours.”

“The concert is only fifteen hours away! Countdowns have already started, mark my words!” Taylor counters, “You got us Soundcheck tickets! VIP! We have to take advantage! I want the entire experience. Freebies, insane merch lines, sponsor booths, everything.” He gets more and more incensed as he goes on, leaning farther over the table, his shirt almost dragging in the puddles of syrup on his plate.

You raise your hands in surrender to his wild-eyed look. “Whatever,” You concede, “You’re the boss, this is your day.”

Taylor nods in satisfaction, leaning back. You notice that he actually does take some syrup with him as he re-seats himself. “As it should be.” Is his prim reply.

You sort of just laugh at him, and your routine of friendly bickering continues as the two of you make quick work of fixing up the kitchen.

You two split off to get ready, Taylor demanding a leave time of 6am sharp. You do your best to appease him, dressing up enough to say you put effort in, but paying mind to comfort over style. You’re putting the last touches on your eye liner when Taylor barges in.

You give him a stink eye for not knocking, which he blissfully ignores as he looks over you top to bottom. He summarily declares you “Good, but not good enough” and stampedes over to raid your closet.

At this point in your cohabitation you’ve learned to just let him do his thing when he gets like this. He doesn’t let you dress yourself when you go clubbing with his friends either, the jerk. Your fashion sense is perfectly acceptable, thank-you-very-much.

He tells you you’re being assigned a bias for today based on your wardrobe as he tosses you a white and navy stripped polo shirt and some navy sweatpants with racer strips on the side. He pulls up a reference photo on your phone and tells you to accessorize while he goes to find an appropriate tie from his stash for you.

Looking at the picture of Han Jisung on your screen, you admit that the outfit is pretty close already. You decide to leave the polo’s buttons undone, grabbing a white camisole to put on under. Your accessories take a bit longer, and you can’t see the shoes to match those, but Taylor seems satisfied enough when he comes back.

He hands you a tie and a handful of pins to complete your look and begins pushing you out the door before you can even put them on properly. When you protest this he insists that the two of you are running late, despite the concert still being more than 13 hours away.

You do, in fact, make him sleep in the car. He does not appreciate this, but early morning traffic can lull even the most dutiful of soldiers to sleep. He’s somehow even more chipper than usual when he wakes up, despite being groggy and bleary-eyed.

The crowd, when the two of you arrive, isn’t as big as you were expecting it to be. With all of Taylor’s rushing, you’d expected to barely be able to see the doors. The merch booth he was so excited about isn’t even open yet, and he settles the two of you into the line to enter the venue instead of camping there.

It’s immediately obvious who the extrovert between the two of you is, Taylor’s bouncy blond head beginning to duck and weave among the small crowd as soon as you claim your spot, laughs and excited exchanges popping up wherever he stopped. You, on the other hand, stay exactly where you’d been left and fiddle around on your phone, Taylor’s clear backpack abandoned in your arms.

You’re pretty sure this is purposeful on his part. You know each other well enough by now that he’s well aware of your tendency to stay planted once you’re settled. You’re definitely being used to stake out your spot. You steal one of his granola bars as payment for your services.

An hour or so drags through, and Taylor has thoroughly befriended most of the people around you. Once he’s decided that it’s about time to line up for some of the merch booths, Taylor leaves you in the tender care of the other fans as he goes to stake out a spot. He gracefully accepts both your wallet and your request of “a t-shirt and something they can sign”

The group of four people behind you, in particular, take his (only semi-joking) request of “take care of my introvert for me” seriously.

“So are you a Han bias?” One asks you as Taylor prances off. Her outfit is majority blue, little Bbokari (You can admit that the little characters charm you. You probably know their names better than the Stray Kids themselves) hair clips and keychains decorating her person.

You look down at yourself and then back up at her, almost having forgotten that you were dressed up as him. “Ah, no. Taylor, my friend, dressed me this morning. We’re here for him today. Though, he did say Han was my assigned bias today.” You laugh nervously, hoping they don’t judge your lack of knowledge.

Thankfully none of them seem discouraged by your response, giggling along with your little joke. In fact one of them, dressed head to toe in merch, seems almost excited by the prospect.

“Are you a baby Stay then?” She asks you with sparkling eyes. You wave your hands in front of yourself a bit defensively.

“Ah, no. I wouldn’t go that far. I like their music when Taylor plays it around the apartment, but I wouldn’t consider myself part of the fandom. This is actually my first k-pop experience in general.” You explain, “When I say we’re here for him, I mean I am here in total ignorance.”

Another girl, dressed in a loud assortment of colors you vaguely recognize from the music video Taylor had on loop in your living room for a week and a half when it dropped, lets out a low whistle. “Throwing you right into the deep end, huh? Hardcore.”

The group of you laugh a bit, the only guy in their group agreeing with, “Well if you’re not a fan now, you will be when you leave. Their performances are amazing, honestly.”

You absorb the gushing with an open heart, truly hoping for that to be the case. You take this opportunity to take the spotlight off of yourself.

“Oh, have you guys been to a Stray Kids concert before? It’s Taylor’s first.”

That question is the key to the floodgates, and you end up spending the next 3 and a half hours waiting for Taylor’s return (with text updates from the man himself, assuring you that he is still where he’s supposed to be) being regaled with tales of concerts, events, and comebacks past. You feel a bit like you’re getting a crash course in all things Stray Kids, phones often popping out to show you clips, fancams, and photos.

It makes you smile, feeling very included and welcomed as you occasionally pepper in a question or two to keep them going. It’s just like dinners at the apartment with Taylor, him unloading his stress through fandom, and you unloading yours through listening to his ramblings.

This is exactly why you came with him today.

Taylor makes his return loaded down with goodies both purchased and gifted by other fans, to which you welcome him by cheering loudly. This triggers your new group to do the same. Somehow, the five of you cheering leads to a large portion of the early crowd, which had grown by the hour, cheering with you.

You feel a bit shy at the power you apparently hold, and laugh about it with your new friends.

Eventually Taylor and Merch Girl (you hadn’t managed to catch any of their names, you realize belatedly. It’d be too awkward to ask now. You resolve to simply Not Address Them) split off to do more rounds among other fans, distributing their own freebies.

You hadn’t even realized Taylor had made freebies. You’re also not sure how he found the time. Love finds a way, you suppose.

The other group’s Token Guy Friend (who will always been Token Guy to you, so sorry Token Guy) passes the conversation back to you. Not appreciated, Token Guy.

You can’t be all that mad though, as he shuffles through his bag to produce a piece of paper and a chisel-tipped sharpie. He passes the items to you with a grin.

“If you’re close to the stage you should have a sign! You might get an interaction that way!” He enthuses. The remaining girls cheer at the idea, sighing over the possibility of you getting an interaction at your very first concert.

You hold back correcting them that it’s just your first k-pop concert. You’re sure that’s what they mean anyways, as the experience so far has been quite different from your usual.

You look at the items in your hand, and then back at him. He offers to let you use his back to write on. You once again stare between his meticulous outfit and the sharpie in your hand. You are so not going to ruin someone’s day with what was supposed to be a kind gesture.

You motion for him to wait a moment and dig around in your own bag for a moment, the seat cushion Taylor had insisted you bring slapping you incessantly from where it hangs as you shuffle both your shoulder bag and Taylor’s backpack around. Eventually you manage to pull out your travel first aid kit, pulling a gauze pad from it.

You unclip the seat cushion from your bag and place it on the ground, motioning for Token Guy to kneel. He does so bemusedly.

“I’m gonna make it fancy,” You inform him, “those random calligraphy classes from high-school aren’t going to fail me today.” He makes a noise of assent and you’re crowding over his bent back, unfurling the gauze pad to make a barrier between the paper and his shirt.

He and the girls make their conversation around you as you sink into concentration. It’s very difficult to make nice, even, lines on an uneven surface like a back, and you have to keep gently slapping Token Guy’s shoulder when he laughs to remind him not to move.

Taylor and Merch Girl have returned by the time you finish your sign, Taylor laughingly cautioning any of them from breaking your concentration for anything less than Token Guy’s health. Unless they wanted to face your Wrath(tm), of course.

His advice seems to have been heeded, because by the time you tune back into the outside world you have a sign with very pretty (and most importantly - legible) calligraphy that reads:

[HAN! You’ve been assigned as my bias today! Make me fall for you?]

You even took the time to add Korean translations in smaller script beneath each line. You also take the time to admire your own foresight for laying out the gauze pad, small black marks littering it’s surface. Token Guy seems equally impressed when he looks at it, before taking the initiative to trash both it and the wrapper for you.

Merch Girl reads your sign when you proudly hold it in front of yourself and cackles.

“So that’s why he really brought you along, huh?” She teases, elbowing Taylor like they’re old friends. He has that effect on people. “She can talk to them for you if the Aussie line isn’t around.” Taylor gives a sheepish laugh and a faux-guilty shrug.

“That, and she bought the tickets. I couldn’t leave her behind if I tried.” He pokes at you as he speaks, mirth dancing in his eyes. Laughter erupts around the group as you shout your offence, making to start roughhousing with him like you do your sister.

The time passes joyously this way until the doors finally open to begin letting people in for sound check.

You’re not gonna lie, you’re already super tired and peopled out. Luckily, Taylor had clocked you flagging before even you had, and sent you to sit in “introvert time out” on your cushion in a shaded spot away from the crowd. So you could make it through sound check and the actual concert. Probably.

You and Taylor pass through security unscathed, having already eaten or trashed any snacks or drinks you’d brought with you, and having not bothered bringing much else. Both of your bags were just full of merch and freebies at this point.

Once you actually enter the venue you take the lead, dragging Taylor by the wrist to your seats. You’re actually super excited to show him the seats you’d gotten, having kept anything beyond ‘soundcheck’ a secret.

Taylor is already vibrating with excitement as you lead him to the floor seats. He’s nearly trembling as you lead him right up the center, past rows and rows of little white chairs erected for the reserved seating tickets. When you finally sit him down right in front of the thrust stage, plopping into the seat beside him with satisfaction, he turns to you with saucer-wide eyes.

“Noo...” He whispers.

“Oh, yes.” You return, blessing him with a grin and little eyebrow wiggle.

Taylor basically tackles you in a hug, almost knocking you into the person next to you, and squeals his thanks so loudly that you’re sure the entire stadium hears. When he’s done thanking you he pulls back, hands on your shoulders, with the most deadly serious eyes you had ever seen on him.

“I would die for you.” He intones lowly. You crack first, the two of you breaking into a giggle fit that was almost concerning with it’s intensity. When the two of you calm down and turn to settle and sit properly, he nudges your shoulder with his.

“Seriously,” He says, eyes soft, “You’re the best ever. You need anything from today on? I’m your guy.”

You chuckle at him, nudging him back, “Do my dishes for the next month, then.” You tease.

He rears back, hands up in joking surrender, “Woah, woah! Let’s not go that far! I meant if you needed to escape from the mob or something, not chores.” He gives an exaggerated shudder before breaking into his usual silly grin.

The two of you spend the next however long indulging in familiar banter, waving at the group of fans you’d made friends with outside when you spotted them not terribly far away, and generally recharging your batteries for the concert. Taylor eventually moves on to talking to the people around you, and you rest your head on his shoulder.

You close your eyes for just a moment, trying to turn the lights off in your brain for a bit. You really needed the music to start soon, you were going to fall asleep.

Almost as if in answer to your prayers, the group begins trickling on stage for sound check.

To be honest, both soundcheck and the concert pass in a blur for you.

Once things kick off, you’re swept away in a wave of cheers, music, and lights. You hadn’t expected front row seats to be quite as intense as they were, but you made a note to yourself to not book such tickets for yourself in the future.

You couldn’t really handle it.

Still, Taylor seems to have the time of his life, and you manage to immerse yourself in the concert enough to shake your sign at Han when he passes by, earning yourself a wink and a cheek heart. Taylor was nearly euphoric at having caught the interaction with his phone camera.

By the time it’s over, you’re fairly sure you had a good time, but also 100% sure that you were completely overwhelmed. Taylor manages to drag you to the send off that you paid for spots at anyway. Curse his charming, sunny demeanor.

You can’t really process how it happened at this point, but you end up practically pinned to the railing of the barricade at the send-off location, separated from Taylor, and clinging to your façade of an excited fan with a white knuckled grip. You have three things on you to get signed, and a mission from Taylor to get all three scribbled on.

Your sign for Han, a ballcap Taylor had customized, and a Lee Know photocard Taylor had entrusted to you with a gravity you weren’t sure it warranted. He had, like, three of the same one.

You try to drum up the determination to see your mission through, but find it difficult to dredge up any will at all.

Time waits for no man, however, and soon enough the members begin making their way through, delivering high-fives, autographs, and aegyo as they pass through. You end up squished almost violently to the railing, ducking a bit and making yourself as small as possible as hands, phones, and items all get waved around and over you.

You’re not sure you like send-off.

There’s so many noises and sights and smells that you have a really hard time keeping track of which member is where. Plus, you’re still a lot overwhelmed from lining up before dawn and the concert itself. You’re tired, you’re cranky, and you want to go home.

At some point Lee Know must pass by you, and you must have presented the photocard properly, because you have a signed one now. That’s cool. The faster you get the requested autographs, the faster you can leave.

Bangchan spawns in front of you from the aether, from your point of view. You may be a bit more out of it than you’d like to admit. Still, you dutifully hold out your ballcap for him to sign, exchanging post-concert niceties on pure autopilot.

Because you’re not all that present at the moment, or maybe because all you’d had was your breakfast and some granola bars in the last 13 hours, you don’t hold your balance the way you should when someone shoves at you from behind. You catch yourself on the railing, but you dropped the freshly signed cap.

Bangchan kindly stoops to pick it up for you, and you thank him. A couple of things happen very quickly at that point.

1) Unlike the first two exchanges of the cap, because of the awkward and quick nature of Bangchan’s action, it is no longer being handed to you with lots of space between your hand and his.

2) You’re still being jostled around. No matter how much you brace for the impact of the bodies surrounding you, you couldn’t possibly keep totally still.

3) These two things have a consequence. Your hand brushes Chan’s as he hands you the cap.

The world stops for you for a moment, as pins and needles stab into dozens of familiar spots all across your lower abdomen. You freeze, dumb, awkward, overwhelmed smile plastered to your face as Bangchan turns away from you.

The pain isn’t that bad, really, more like a bad period cramp mixed with a sleeping limb waking up. Still, you curl your arm around your stomach, and your body bows with the motion. As if you could protect your reality from shattering and reshaping itself in front of you.

Static fills your ears and your poor, overloaded, brain throbs with the beginnings of a migraine.

Bangchan is your soulmate.

International k-pop sensation Bangchan is one of your eight soulmates.

Bangchan is part of a group with eight members.

Your soulmate is already moving away from you, your minor interaction just a footnote of his day, the tingling pain of your soulmate bond awakening probably blending in with a thousand other minor aches and pains from a very physically intense day for him.

You come back to clarity with the resolve that you’d like it to stay that way.

With a sense of urgency, you look around the crowd you’re part of, noting distinct faces and colors for the first time. You’re not really sure what you’re looking for until you spot it, and suddenly your escape plan is fully formed.

There, just a couple shoves and elbow throws away, is Blue Bbokari Girl from this morning.

You struggle your way over, people falling into the space you’d left at the railing like a pack of hyenas on fresh meat. When you reach her you the gently at her sleeve to get her attention.

She turns to you with confusion first, a bright greeting next, and finally a concerned scrunch of her brow as she takes in your hunched form.

“Hey, I’m feeling kind of sick, can you help me get out of the crowd?” You’re sure you look convincingly pathetic and weak as you plead with her. If only because you really did feel pathetic and weak at the moment.

“Oh, of course, hun! Just a moment.” She begins to crane her neck around to scan the crowd like you’d done moments prior. You feel a bit bad for interrupting her night like this, but as she calls out to someone behind her, you’re more thankful than anything.

Blue Bbokari Girl successfully gets the attention of someone you don’t recognize, and a quick summary of, “She’s sick, help her leave!” shouted over the crowd has you being passed through the crowd unmolested.

You find yourself enveloped in a chain of fans, one passing you to another, pausing, and calling on someone else to pass you to until you’ve finally stumbled free of the send-off mob.

Feeling a bit like you’d just been spat out of the maw of a great creature, you look back at the rustling crowd, now looking like it had never been disturbed at all.

The last lady who had finally freed you, an older woman with a Jiniret picket, eyes you with concern as you put you back to the nearest wall and slide down it.

“Will you be okay, sweetie?” She questions you worriedly, “Do you have anyone to pick you up?”

You smile weakly at her and assure her that you just have to get ahold of your roommate and he’d get you home safe and sound. She tries to insist on waiting with you, but you persuade her to return to the crowd with promises that you’d make your way to a bathroom or security guard once the worst of your vertigo had passed.

You watch her return with morbid fascination, amazed when she just sort of gets absorbed back into the mass of people. Almost like it ate her. You once again marvel at making it out of such a thing unscathed.

Truth be told, your stomach was only sore and tender this point, the sharp, needle-point pains long gone. Still, you take a moment to bring your knees to your chest, just breathing as you press your forehead to them. If anyone were to look at you then, you wonder what they’d think of you curled up on the floor and trembling like your dog had just died.

You hope they’d view you with kindness.

After giving yourself a moment to just feel, though you couldn’t tell anyone what you had felt, you gather yourself enough to totter to your feet and drag yourself to the nearest bathroom. You text Taylor as you go.

[Hey. Felt sick, in bathroom rn. lmk when we can leave pls?]

Perma Tag List: @mbioooo0000

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #skz fic #w.i.p fic #w.i.p #baby writes #stray kids soulmate au #SKZ Soulmate AU #Soulmate Garden AU #SGAU

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bandzboy · 1 year ago

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hi tris!!! what are your top 3 skz songs?? <3

god.......... this is gonna be SO HARD okay let me think...

m.i.a

sunshine

spread my wings

ask me my top 3 anything (kpop edition)

#i know you are gonna be like... bestie this top 3 is so random #BUT LIKE.... having to choose a top 3 from a discography from a group #that is so beloved to me for years is hard #so i thought top 3 of all time that have impacted me since 2018 dkfjgk #so there's that #m.i.a has been my fav skz song since FOREVER #i stanned them during i am who era and it has been that song ever since #nobody can beat her i fear she is that girl #asks #em 🪻

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atelophobicself · 1 year ago

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what do you mean MATZ?!

also, i feel like ateez and stray kids are just sharing aesthetics now, it’s not only ateezification of skz it’s also skzfication of ateez. like, this:

could be skz promotion and i wouldn’t question it. if you don’t see it, let me have it. i love my mayfly forever.

[231114] ATEEZ THE WORLD EP.FIN : WILL Tracklist

2023. 12. 01 2PM RELEASE

#ateez #era: the world ep fin : will #ateez comeback #wait there are unit songs on here?? or at least ones with lyrics by only members!#ateezification of skz #skzification of ateez #mayfly unit always in my heart #i am so waiting for this comeback!#is this just a music blog now?#atelophobicshitpost

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sparklingchan · 10 months ago

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Serendipity || Seo Changbin (Stray Kids)

Pairing: Reader(fem.) X Changbin

Word Count: 5.4k+

Warnings: Suggestive, mentions of pregnancy (the reader is not pregnant) , mentions of poison, Changbin is sweeter than sugar. Set in the Joseon Era.

Genre: Royal AU, Arranged marriage AU, fluff with very slight angst.

Description: The King of Joseon had chosen you as his queen. But there are those that wish for this union to fail. Will your love be enough to overcome the competitiveness of the Palace?

A/N: Hello everyone! Back with another installation of the SKZ Royal AU. I am genuinely in love with this one ngl. King Changbin is a rizzler y'all. Hope you guys have fun reading this <3

Do check out the other fics in the skz royal series. (The stories are not interrelated)

Here's the link to the masterlist.

Being a woman in this country is not an easy task. Especially when one is a candidate for the position of the country's Queen.

You'd dreamt of this for years, the idea sewn into every thought by your father even since you were child. With time, you'd welcomed the thought without a complaint.

"My lady, the Royal messenger is here." Somi informs you, and your nervousness just goes up by a thousand.

Did you manage to become the Queen and make your father proud? Or did you get disqualified and were now just a daughter of some minister and free to marry any other commoner like yourself?

You run down the hallway and enter the pavillion in front of your house, the colorful banners of the Royal entourage shine under the bright sun.

You straighten your robes and kneel down, head almost touching the ground, as a mark of respect for the King's verdict.

The chief Eunuch opens up the scroll in his hands.

"Please find enclosed the Royal Edict from the King's Court:

I, Seo Changbin, the King of Joseon, have chosen Miss y/n of House Kim as my wife and, by extension, the Queen of our beloved country. I have consulted the three High State Councilors and my mother- the Queen Dowager about the same and we have all unanimously agreed that she would be the best choice for the country as well as the Royal family, owing it all to her wits, beauty and manners.

Congratulations to Miss y/n and her family.

The Royal family would also like to extend an invitation to the bride-to-be to shift into the Detached Palace at the earliest as part of the customary pre wedding ritual. "

It feels as if someone had punched out the air from your lungs, you couldn't speak nor stand, while your parents and brother continuously thanked the Royal Eunuch, accepting all the gifts sent by the Palace for you.

But you couldn't move. You just stayed there, frozen. For life as you had known it has come to an end.

And thereafter begins a new, Royal chapter of your life.

"I'm going to miss you, my child."

The days since the Edict pass by in a heartbeat. All the members of your family were busy with packing your belongings while you were busy with mentally preparing yourself to leave your family and house behind forever.

Yes, you'd always wanted to be a Queen. Yes, you'd spent years getting ready for this role. Yet when the time finally comes, it hurts you to think about leaving behind twenty three years of your life.

"I'm going to miss you too, mother." On hearing your words, your mother cries harder.

But as usual, your father shows no emotion. His face is calm.

"Remember, y/n, there are no friends in the Palace other than your husband. You cannot confide in anyone but him. The other concubines will do anything to gain his favor, but you shall always be a step ahead. Be vigilant and loyal. You will make a great Queen." He says. Like the strategist he'd always been.

"Yes, father." You reply, swallowing the lump in your throat.

Your mother clinges to your arm.

"We will try and visit you whenever we can. I'm sure his Majesty will allow."

"Yes, of course. You can visit me anytime. The Palace is only a few hours from here."

"Oh, my child! How will I ever live without you!" Another sob tears out from your mother's throat. You hug her with all the love and care you could muster up in that moment.

Your father walks out of the room, hands behind his back and face twisted into a frown.

The Detached Palace is to be a temporary residence for the bride-to-be. For over the next thirty days, you would be receiving lessons on various subjects like history, Royal Etiquette, sewing, cooking and most importantly- lessons on intimacy. The last lesson is considered most important, according to Somi, since it allows you to birth as many healthy heirs as possible.

After helping you dress up for the night and setting up your bed, your maids take your leave for the night, only Somi remaining by your side.

"Do you think I'll see the King tomorrow? It's queer but I'd like to know what my future husband looks like, at least."

Somi sighs, "I don't think it's allowed, my lady. I believe you can only see his Majesty on your wedding day. A month from now."

You're oddly disappointed. You had dreamt so many nights of seeing the King, holding his hand, being by his side, yet the King in those dreams often never had a face.

Was it wrong to yearn to look at your future husband's face? Just once?

A subtle knock on your door startles the both of you.

"Yes?"

"My lady, the King is here to see you." Your handmaid almost whispers the words through the door.

With unparalleled urgency, Somi helps you straighten your clothes and rushes off towards the door.

"Your majesty." The maids and Somi greet him with the customary bow, while you purse your lips in a line, head hanging in a subtle bow.

Your heart hammers against your chest. It's so loud, you're sure even the King could hear it.

"Please give us some privacy." The King commands.

And you heart beats faster on hearing his voice for the first time. Gentle, yet authoritative, just like you'd dreamt.

When Somi closes the door behind her, you almost regret wishing to see your future husband. The proximity makes you nervous and you could only hope you'd not faint in front of him.

"My lady, you may rise."

You'd almost forgotten you were still bowing to him. You mentally slap yourself.

"Y-yes, your majesty. " your voice comes out as an embarrassing squeak, your eyes still on the ground.

You'd prayed for this moment for years, y/n. Why couldn't you just meet his eyes?

As if sensing your inner conflict, the King takes two long strides towards you and hooks his index finger under your chin, sending a chill down your body.

"My lady, please look at me."

And you do.

And he's like everything you'd ever wished for.

Perfect, like a beautifully crafted sculpture.

His soft brown locks, his rosy lips, the subtle mischief in his eyes. Everything is perfect.

"Y-yes, your majesty. Sorry." You mumble.

The king smiles, rubbing circles into your cheeks.

"You may call me Changbin when we're alone."

You nod.

"I just came to ask if you're finding your new residence comfortable. We both shall be busy with lessons tomorrow onwards so I figured tonight would be a good time to visit my bride."

His bride? His bride?

Your legs feel weak.

"I'm finding it extremely comfortable, your majesty. Thank you for your hospitality. "

Changbin let's out a low chuckle, leaning towards you. His lips hover inches above yours. And when he speaks, you feel hot air on your lips, "I told you, y/n. Call me Changbin."

You frantically nod.

"Good. Better be careful next time, my bride."

When you wake up the next morning, you're sure you'd dreamt everything that happened last night.

But apparently not.

"The King is a dashing young man." Somi teases as she lathers a concoction of herbs into your hair. "You're lucky, my lady. He seems to be a gentleman."

But you are too caught up in your thoughts to reply to her.

Did the king of Joseon really come all the way to the Detached Palace to see you? What if he's disappointed with how you had reacted? But he shouldn't blame you at all.

You had not been expecting anyone yesterday night, especially not him. But he did come to you. And he touched your chin. If you focus hard enough, you could feel his touch lingering in the area.

"My lady?" Somi clicks her fingers in front of your eyes, "Come back to earth. We have to get you ready for the classes today."

Blushing, you reply, "What classes do I have today?"

You had three classes today: Palace etiquette, literature and what Somi insists most important: lessons on reproduction.

While Palace etiquette mostly includes lesson on how to behave with Royal elders, ministers, maids, the King, literature includes important pieces of literature that are important for a woman.

And lastly, the most dreaded time arrived.

The reproduction lessons.

The tutor shows you all sorts of obnoxious hand movements and some drawings of couples in intimate positions. You feel uncomfortable from the beginning till the end.

A woman at least five decades older than you is teaching you about intimacy? Very awkward, to say the least.

But you heave a sigh of relief when the classes end for the day and you make your way to your room in the Detached palace.

"It's just the first day, Somi and I'm already tired to the bone." You say, kicking your shoes off.

"Well, it's going to be a lifetime of time this now, my lady. And you best be prepared for it."

You reply Somi with silence. But her words make you wonder. If this palace life would ever be less tiring someday? Would it even be worth it?

Perhaps not.

But King Changbin 's face flashes in front of your eyes; his sparkling eyes, mischievous grin, his feather like touch- maybe he is what will make everything worth it.

That night, after your maids get your bed ready while Somi is combing your hair, a familiar announcement echoes through the corridors of the Detached Palace.

"My lady, the King is here to see you."

His smiling face peeps through the doors as your maids hurry out of the room. He wears blue silk robes, and you feel weaker in his presence than you did yesterday.

"Did you miss me, y/n?"

And thus begins a month of secret nightly visits by the King of Joseon to the Detached Palace.

Everyday, you wake up looking forward to the time when King Changbin would come knocking at your doors, always up to some jesting.

Sometimes, he brings you fruits you'd mentioned you liked or he tells you stories from his childhood. At other times, he tells you about that one teacher he will hate till the end of time.

But most times, he spends his time listening to you talk- about everything and everyone, about the skies and gods, about ghosts and afterlife, about favourite foods and literature. After you'd overcome the initial shyness, opening upto Changbin was as easy as breathing, almost natural. Of course, you were still nervous around him, but it's a feeling you'd come to like.

Is this what the writers and poets describe as 'butterflies'?

"Do you think I'll make a good Queen?" You ask him one night. He sits in front you on a cushion, across the room, a position you told him is appropriate for two unwed people (although he did not agree to it initially).

If your nightly shenanigans were to be ever discovered by anyone, you would not want to be found in close proximity to each other even though you were betrothed to each other. He's breaking Palace rules everyday as it is.

He hums, "Of course! I think you'll make a great Queen. You're so good at your lessons already."

"That does not guarantee anything. I might not be good at taking the responsibilities."

"Do you trust my judgment, y/n? I think you'll make a great Queen. And even if you are overwhelmed, I shall always be here."

That night he leaves earlier than he usually does, owing to the fact that tomorrow is the day where his concubines are to be welcomed into the palace. Five of them.

The thought leaves you feeling bitter and dejected, but you make sure to not make those feelings obvious. This is a rule for Kings, to take as many concubines as possible to ensure the continuation of the blood line.

"Don't worry, my lady. Your rank in the palace is above these petty concubines. They will not mess with you." Somi comforts your thoughts the next day.

"But what if Changbin favors them more?"

Somi does not reply to that question.

On your 18th birthday, your father had promised to you that he would make you the Queen of this country. He kept his promise because here you are, after five years, getting dressed to be married to the most powerful man in the country.

Your father always insisted that powerful men do not love but Changbin's sparkling eyes always contradicted everything your father had taught. Nevertheless, you know the competitiveness among the concubines for the King's affection is mad. More often than not, even the Queen gets involved in petty fights.

But you try to remove all thoughts of your father and the concubines today. Because today, you are to be married to King Changbin. From today, your name will be written in the historical logs of the Royal family. From today, a new life begins.

"Are you okay, my lady?" Somi asks, "You look worried."

"I'm fine. Just hope the ceremony goes well."

The ceremony does go well and in all honesty, you were not worried about the ceremony itself. You were worried about the aftermath.

The maids guide you to your new palace, and get you dressed in white robes for the wedding night. The night when you will finally meet Changbin as his wife. The butterflies swim around in your belly.

The bed is decorated with flower petals and a few candles are lit. Everything is perfect.

"The King is here." One of your ladies in waiting announce and you get up to greet your husband.

The maids leave the room as the doors slide open and Changbin steps in, also dressed in white robes. He looks dashing, but his signature grin is nowhere to be found.

When the doors close behind him, he walks past you to the bed, the scent of liquor evident in his breath.

"Have you been drinking, your majesty?" You ask him, worried by his odd behavior.

What was wrong with him? Why wouldn't he even bother to meet your eyes?

"Changbin." He slurs, wrapping the blankets around him, "Call me Changbin."

He turns away from you and is snoring away in no time.

The butterflies in your stomach flutter around before dropping dead.

You did not sleep that night. Even though you were sleeping next to the man you love, you felt lonelier than ever.

Many times during the night, you consider walking out of the bed chamber to the servants quarter so you could talk to Somi. But you couldn't do that. Because you were now the Queen of this country and every single step you take will have its repercussions.

When morning comes, Changbin wakes up in a haste and greets you with a subtle nod and walks out of the chamber in long strides.

You well the tears back. It's your first day as Queen and hadn't he always promised to be there when you were overwhelmed? Had he lied? Or was it Changbin's doppelganger who visited you every night in the Detached palace?

Somi comes in a few minutes later with an excited smile on her face.

When she does your hair for the day, she asks, "So, how was the wedding night?"

You want to answer her truthfully - how cold Changbin had been, how he had not even looked at you let alone touch you, how you think he had changed almost overnight. But you see the prying eyes of the other palace maids and swallow your sadness.

"It was perfect. Like everything I'd ever hoped for."

"He was gentle, I hope." She says through a grin, but it feels like someone pouring alcohol on an open wound.

"Yes. He was."

As part of royal customs, the new bride is supposed to visit the senior most female member of the family and greet her. In your case, the member happens to King Changbin's mother.

Somi dresses you in the most exquisite silks and adorns your hair with the most precious flower but you feel nothing at all when everyone compliments you on the way out of your new Queen's palace.

Your mother in law's palace is a little far from the Queen's palace yet it is as beautiful as any other palace. From inside as well as outside.

"Greetings, your majesty. It is nice to meet you." You bow in front of the Queen Dowager.

The woman-not more than sixty years of age- looks at you with a gentle smile.

"Come in, y/n. Please be at ease."

You're seated in front of her on a cushion while the Queen Dowager's maids serve you breakfast.

"I hope your first day here goes well, my child. Our family is thrilled to have you." She says.

"The pleasure is all mine, your majesty. I am honored to be a part of this family." You say.

In the back of your mind, you wonder if Changbin is thrilled to have you or not. Probably not.

The mere thought of yesterday's rejection stings.

"Y/n, truth be told, my son is a quite a troubled man. His father was murdered in front of his eyes. He was made the king when he was only 16 years old. It's been 7 years since then, but the burden only gets worse. I hope you, as a Queen and as his wife, can help him lessen these burdens. Can you do that?" The Queen Dowager asks again, sipping tea from a small cup.

"I will do everything I can to help him." If only he'd let you.

"Good, good. I'm glad. And one more thing, y/n, you know as Queen one of your primary duties is to produce an heir for Changbin's throne. I hope you're working on that, yes?"

Heat reaches your cheeks. If only the poor woman knew what her dear son had done last night. If his behavior continues, perhaps it will be long before the Queen Dowager sees the face of a royal grandchild.

"We are trying, your majesty. We will not disappoint you." You reply, sipping tea from your own cup.

"Great! I shall send all types of herbs and tonics to help you conceive as fast as possible. I shall also draw up a chart after consulting the astrologer..." the Queen Dowager's voice fades into the background as your mind drifts off to the nights in the Detached palace, when Changbin would come and spend all his free time with you, against the rules of the palace. At that time, you had been sure that producing an heir would be a beautiful process, not a chore.

But Changbin does not even treat the thought like a chore.

Did he not love you? Did his Royal duties burden him too much?

When you leave the Queen Dowager's palace, you walk past The King's palace. It is as beautiful and majestic as they say. But you wonder if you'll ever be able to set foot in the same.

As if on cue, you see Concubine Jung walking out of the King's palace, her maids behind her. The butterflies in your stomach burn with jealousy.

She has a smirk on her face when she sees you.

"Eun, did you know there's a rumor around the palace that the King refused to sleep with the Queen last night? Sad, isn't it?" Concubine Jung says.

One of her maids giggle and nod, "Of course! How could the Queen even live with this shame?"

You cry yourself to sleep that night, while Somi does everything in her abilities to soothe you.

Needless to say, nothing worked.

"My lady, wake up. The King has invited you to breakfast with him." Somi informs one morning, six months after your wedding.

"Tell him I have a bad stomach bug. I cannot go."

You'd be found dead before sharing a meal with him and that obnoxious Concubine Jung. You'd shared enough meals with them already.

The past months, the King had not visited you even once but often you'd see him walking the gardens with Concubine Jung at his side.

After the first few weeks, you had no tears left to shed anymore so when the rumor came in last month that Concubine Jung might be pregnant, your eyes do not water no matter how much you force yourself to cry.

"I do not wish to congratulate them." You say, true and plain.

"My lady, he's invited only you. Not anyone else."

So you agree. As a last attempt to make your marriage work, even if it's just for your own sake.

Somi dresses you in green robes- The King's favorite. You quickly make your way to his palace, as if someone else would take your place if you didn't hurry. It's sad your thoughts had turned so negative in just half a year in the palace.

Your father had told you the King would take in many lovers during his lifetime, and that being Queen is about having power, not being loved.

But you think he didn't warn you enough. He didn't warn you how lonely it would be to sleep on the cold bed every night, how painful it would be to see the King smile at someone else.

Even if you did wish for a child, how could you produce you a child without Changbin?

"Good morning, your majesty." You say to him when you enter his bed chamber. It smells like cinnamon, a smell he'd often carry with himself back when he used to visit you at the Detached palace. Back when you were sure the king had been in love with you.

"Hello, my Queen. Please have a seat."

The butterflies dance around for a split second.

"Did you sleep well last night?" He asks, taking a seat in front of you.

"Yes." Lies. "Thank you for inviting me over."

When the maids leave the both of you alone, his demeanor changes.

"Actually, y/n, I had something to talk to you about." He says, casually, as if he hadn't been hurting you everyday for the past few months.

"What is it?" You ask.

He sighs, "It's mother. Ever since that rumor of Concubine Jung being pregnant spread. She wants the first grandchild to be of the Queen."

His words do not faze you, "How can I help you, Changbin?"

He frowns. Since when had your tone become this melancholic?

"Um, so if I have your consent, I'd like to try for a child tomorrow night. We'll see how that goes, yeah?"

"Okay. I will be honored." You say.

You finish up the food quickly and almost slide the doors open when he grabs your arm from behind.

"Y/n, what is it? Did something happen? Are your parents well?"

"My parents are well enough, thank you for asking." You say, keeping your eyes on the ground.

"Then? What happened? Is it Concubine Jung? Really, you did not have to be jealous of her. She's not pregnant. I can assure you of that. I have not consummated my marriage with any one of the concubines."

His words seem to have an effect on you. Your heart blossoms with hope but you keep your face and voice neutral.

"I am not jealous, Changbin. If one of the concubines get pregnant, I shall wish you both well."

You force your arm out of his grip and walk out the palace, not looking back once.

Changbin's stares at your leaving figure, now worried beyond relief that he might have broken the one person he cared for the most by his pursuits of a greater good.

While the past few months for you had been filled with loneliness, for Changbin it was almost the same-if not worse.

The first night of your marriage was filled with as many butterflies for him, as it was for you.

He had fallen in love with you and he wasn't afraid to show the world how much you meant to him. He wanted to hold you, kiss you, make love to you. And he had all plans to do that on the first night.

But that was until he had overheard a secret conversation between Concubine Jung and her father- Minister Jung.

For all he knew, Minister Jung had always wanted his daughter to be the Queen but being the dim-wit that she was, Concubine Jung could not even get through the first stage.

"Father, it's been two days since I'd been in the palace and that man has not visited me once. He had not even asked for my name the day of the welcoming. What kind of man is he? And you say I am to be Queen!"

"Hush, child. In this palace, even the walls are listening. Be careful. And as far as the position of Queen is concerned, you need not worry. If the King does bed the Queen tonight and she get pregnant, we shall make sure her pregnancy terminates before maturity. I have connections with all sorts of medicine vendors in the country, be assured, she shall never see the face of a child. After we weaken the Queen, we can take her throne as easily!"

Changbin had wanted to laugh at the man's foolish plans but deep down, he was worried as well. For you.

Which is why he pushed you away for so long and kept Concubine Jung close. While she tried everything in her power to seduce him, he refused her under the pretense of keeping an oath of abstinence for a year.

Every time she tried to even hold his hand, Changbin thought of you; your innocent eyes, your talks, your wit, your hands, your beautiful hair. No woman could make him feel like you do.

Changbin's secret informants had confirmed that Minister Jung had not one but two houses full of gold and cash he'd collected as illegal taxes from the local people. He'd also sometimes force husbands to send their wives to him in exchange for money. Even the thought nauseated Changbin.

Every time Concubine Jung visited, he made sure to collect some sort of evidence through her. He even visited her every night and while she snored away, he stole some of her gold jewlery and clothes to get them checked as evidence of the illegal taxes her father had been collecting.

And sure enough, after a few months of spying on her and her father, Changbin had gathered enough evidence by now to expose both of them at the court.

But he realised quickly that Minister Jung had a few tricks up his sleeves as well. The rumor of his daughter's pregnancy would make it difficult for Changbin to expose him easily, and so Changbin waited every night that the rumors would die down so he could run to the Queen's Palace and hug you with all his might. You were not safe unless the father and daughter were deposed.

And for some selfish reasons, Changbin had hoped you'd understand the reason behind his distance. But no woman could find a logical reason behind her lover being absent and it was horribly wrong for him to expect you to do the same.

"Are you stupid?" His friend, the eccentric dancer Minho had asked him.

Changbin had told him how coldly you'd behaved this afternoon when he'd asked you if you wished to try for a child. Most women would giggle and blush. But you were like a statue.

"You push her away for months and make her feel lonely and not loved and what not and you have the audacity to ask her that?"

"Well, yes. Mother had been pressuring me for a child and obviously, even with the pressure, I would never do anything that y/n would not have wanted but I thought it would be a great way to reconnect with her. Even if it didn't end in child making or whatever."

Minho let's out a frustrated groan, "You have to learn so much, Bin. But let's start with this- be honest with her. She's your wife and you ought to tell her everything. Give answers to all her questions and hold her hand if she let's you. Small steps first, a child can wait."

Changbin nods, " Okay, should I go to her right now?"

"Yes, you idiot!" Minho says, earning a slap on the arm from The King of Joseon.

He should be glad he's not being beheaded for calling the King an idiot.

You're almost done getting ready for bed when the lady in waiting makes an unexpected announcement .

"My lady, the King is here to see you."

Your heart leaps and the butterflies come alive again only to die down once you realise why he might be there. For a child. Isn't that why he's here? Isn't that why people get married in the first place?

"Y/n." He sighs when he enters the room, almost out of relief. He purses his lips.

"Is there anything I could help you with?" You ask.

Oh, how badly he'd hurt you. He could see the hurt in your eyes, in your voice, in your mannerisms.

"Y/n, I'm sorry. I really am. I know I have caused you pain and I cannot imagine how lonely it must have been. But I hope you know that I really do love you and only you."

"Then why the distance? Why visit Concubine Jung every night?" You ask, hands on your hips.

The tears that had left you threatened to return again.

And he tells you everything. From the conversation he overheard to how insistently Concubine Jung asked him for a child to how much solid proof he'd collected over the months and how he'd sent those evidences to the Minister of Security, who in turn ensured that by tomorrow the Jungs will out of the palace and be imprisoned for life.

It all makes sense to you now, of course it does. Yet you feel guilty. He'd been trying to protect you, all this while.

"I'm sorry, Changbin. I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I only-"

"Don't apologize, y/n. It's me that should apologize. I should have somehow tried to contact you and tell you about everything. I'm-"

"No, no, Please. Don't. You only tried to protect me and-"

"No, y/n, it's all my fault, please-"

Somi overhears the entire conversation through the door, her mind finally relaxing after the misunderstanding had been solved between you and the King. She could no longer stand you being this sad. And she somehow knew King Changbin had his own reasons for his behavior.

She hears soft sounds of kissing through the door and takes it as a sign to move away from the door, and join the other maids waiting outside the palace door. She smiles to herself.

The butterflies burn with passion.

"I do not wish for a child this early. I want to be here like this with you for a while, just y/n and Changbin and maybe two or three years later, we could try for a child. What do you think?"

When he kissed you initially, you half expected this to end up in the bed. But it did. And you're glad it did.

The butterflies bloom more than ever.

You're wrapped in his arms, tightly. The nakedness no longer bothering the either of you.

"I agree. I want to be this close to you every night, not as a Queen or the mother of your child. But as y/n. As your wife."

Changbin draws his face closer to you, pecking you on the lips, "And so you shall, my love."

And so you shall.

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