#e: SKZ Red Carpet
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[PRESS][241225] STRAY KIDS • 2024 SBS GAYODAEJEON RED CARPET
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Kworld Festa Red Carpet
#stray kids#lee know#lee minho#minho#kpop#edit#skz#gif#straykidznet#hd#red carpet#e: 190816 kworld festa
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two tails | reader x minho |
Two
Pairing: self insert, female reader x lee minho
Genre: strangers to lovers, neighbors to lovers, fluff
Tags: neighbors au, comfort fic, catowner!minho, catowner!reader, author!reader, bestfriend!seungmin, coworker!hyunjin, florist!jisung, punk!jisung (yeah boiiii), agedup!skz, slow burn, plot-driven, gradual romance, lil bit of angst, strained parental relationship, explicit language, mentions of food, passive body shaming
Word count: 5.5k (y e e t we love self indulgence)
Tagging: @lauraneuuh
Chapters
P | ONE | TWO | THREE
busybody noun
:an officious or inquisitive person.
₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎
There are a couple things that your mother is known for--or rather, a couple things that she has been deemed.
Mother, wife, friend, matriarch, socialite, unofficial event planner, gossip, show off, professional nagger, and, to certain people, bitch.
And yet, somehow your mother was intertwined with some of the most prominent circles within the city, and she knew everything about everyone’s business. Frankly, she often didn’t have anything better to to with her time. ” If she had any job at all, it would be calling you every weekend to give her opinions on your rather “less than auspicious” life choices.
To her, another one of your “less than auspicious” life choices had to do with the way that you had dressed yourself; however little sense this made.
Your mother sipped at her tea with dainty fingers, barely cracking with age due to her expensive hand creams.
“Quickly. Go get changed. We don’t have much more time and you’re dallying. It should fit you, just as long as you haven’t put on any more weight.” Her hawk-like gaze inspected your hips and thighs. “Hmm. I think you’ll be fine.”
Seungmin, where he sat on the couch with perfect posture tapped his feet up and down with discomfort.
I hate you for doing this to me, he glared at you with despair, hiding it behind the wide smile he performed for your mother.
“What? Do you not trust me to be alone with your friend here?”
Your best friend nervously chuckled out in that little puppy-like way that he would. “What? Ahh no, I’ll be fine, go on Y/n, I should be leaving soon anyway, I was just stopping by.”
Your mother’s eyes followed you up your staircase, watching for the very moment that you closed your bedroom door. The second you did, her snide voice hissed out loud whispers, undoubtedly drilling Seungmin about the usual questions: are you married, where do you live, what’s your profession, what does your family do etc.
The little metal zipper of the pencil skirt pinched your fingertips as you attacked it up your body. Once again, your mother had underestimated your clothing size. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes looking at the tags for the designer matching skirt and blazer ensemble. There was nothing in your mother’s life that didn’t denote the status that she “worked so hard for.”
In a way, you hated that you had done this to Seungmin as well. Initially you had thought that having some kind of male presence over when your mother arrived would deter her stabbing remarks about your singledom, but in fact, it has just made it worse. For once in your life, you just wanted to hold something over her. Now, you’d likely traumatized the best friend that you had.
You nearly slipped on the carpeted stairs in your nylon stockings on the way down, but held fast the the banister, looking a bit like some kind of sad, business-casual, plastic-looking prom queen.
Seungmin’s eyes widened seeing you in the toning skirt. Likely you knew that he must’ve been keeping his jokes to himself the very best that he could--you wouldn’t hear the end of it later.
“Wonderful. Let’s get going.” Your mother set down her teacup with a clink. “I’ve got some cosmetics in the car that you can use as well. We’ll be stopping off at the flower shop before we get to the venue. I’ve ordered an arrangement for the bride-to-be.”
“I feel like a China doll.” You muttered under your breath, catching a little laugh from your friend. Your eyes met as if to ask him if he was okay, which he rolled his eyes as his answer.
You put on the only pair of kitten heels that you owned: they were brown, banged up and the pleather was cracking a little at the edges. Of course, your mother let out an exasperated sigh upon seeing them.
“I’ll bring shoes next time.”
Seungmin politely opened the door for the both of you and the spring morning’s sun washed your face in it’s warmth. The morning was perfect: the exact kind of day that you would spend in your garden writing or reading on the single-person porch swing you had just installed. Dew still held to the Kelly green blades of grass and your cherry blossom tree bowed a little in the breeze.
“Well, it was nice meeting and speaking with you Seungmin--”
“--We’ve met before thou--”
“--You seem to be a strapping and organized young man. I do hope that you consider what we discussed.”
Seungmin appeared to flush a little, “I-I’ll think about it.”
You tugged at your friend’s shirt, pulling him in to whisper, “What the hell did she talk to you about?”
“Don’t worry about it.” His eyes fluttered around nervously. “She just kept going on about how she wanted me to--”
“--Oh, Y/n!”
From your mother’s surprised expression on the other side of the car, to the way that Seungmin stopped dead in his sentence, you knew exactly who that voice belonged to.
Your body turned around in slow-motion, hoping that this must have been some kind of nightmare, and that you hadn’t woken up that morning yet and were cozily still tucked in bed.
If it would have been socially acceptable, you would have hidden behind that car until he walked away, but it was too late considering he already knew you were there.
Your mother let out some kind of ungodly squeal before rushing towards Minho and taking his hand in hers to shake.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you! I take it that you know my daughter? And who might you be, such a handsome man as yourself???”
You really did contemplate hiding behind that car.
It was unfair how you had to run him into at a time when he looked like that. Your mother was nearly eating him with her eyes while Minho looked to you in his confusion.
Of course when your mother had to see him, he was fresh off of his morning run: white cotton sleeveless shirt, running joggers, a thick headband with sweat dripping down his body in rivets from his forehead to the curves of his toned arms.
Life was just too fucking unfair.
“Minho!” Internally, you crawled so far into yourself it was like you were barely there. You squeaked out the words coupled with a poorly-timed voice crack, “I didn’t plan on seeing YOu here!”
“Minho?!” Seungmin echoed your phrase, grabbing onto your arm with force.
“Uh, hello, nice to meet you I’m Lee Minho. And yes, I do know Y/n, I actually live a couple doors down--”
“--A neighbor! How wonderful! I know she doesn’t leave the house that much, but I’m so glad that the two of you have met. Do you live your family..? Or...your wife...?”
He smiled warmly, polite as always, “No Ma’am, I’m not married, I live with my mother.”
“Your mother? Well, that’s very honorable.”
You and your best friend locked eyes upon hearing the answer to the question that both of you had been silently wondering.
With a little eyebrow raised, he gave you a smirk, before braiding his hand through his locks strung with sweat. “I also live with my cats too.”
“Cats?” Your mother tried her best to hide the distaste in her mouth. “That’s...honorable as well. Taking care of animals is...hm, well, Y/n get in the car, time is ticking!!”
Your mother’s shrill voice was clipped by the sound of the car door closing behind her. You and your best friend choked in silent laughter together.
“Are you sure I don’t look ridiculous?” You patted down your itchy grey blazer.
Seungmin nodded, “Do you want me to tell you the truth? Not your colors. But, you’ll just have to live with it.”
“I think that you look nice.” Minho’s compliment melted into your skin like honey. “But I agree, the colors don’t work the best. Sorry.”
“Oh. Thank you...” Your cheeks warmed, “Sorry! God, I’m-this is Seungmin, my-my friend Seungmin, sorry I didn’t introduce you both, my head is just--”
“--Nice to meet you. Finally.” Seungmin’s expression turned a bit more stoic, a stark contrast to his softer features.
“Nice to meet you as well.”
“Okayyyy, well, I’ll just...get going then. See you both...later.”
Seungmin slammed the door behind you, leaving you with your huffing mother in the car.
“All of these handsome men around you and you can’t lock down one? I can’t believe you...” She threw her makeup bag on your lap. “I’ll play matchmaker if you want me to, I don’t mind, but you know that I have a lot going on already--”
“--Haven’t you already started? Don’t pretend like you didn’t tell Seungmin something. Seungmin is my friend, mom.”
“I just don’t get you. Aren’t you ever a bit sad that you don’t get invited to things like this since you have no female friends...?”
“Honestly? I don’t really care--”
“--You should. Thank God that you have me.”
₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎
The front windows to the floral shop winked in the morning sun and the gold lettering of the signage glistened with a similar glow. On the display, there were several dozens of different types of flowers all arranged into different glass vases, tied with bows or swaddled in burlap. The arrangements of roses, chrysanthemums, peonies, daises, sunflowers and other wildflowers appeared to be freshly cut, and beaded with water droplets.
“Here. Take my card. If any of them seem to be brown at all, tell them that you won’t pay until they fix it.”
You took the little plastic card from her red painted nails. “Will do.”
There was a little bell hung over the shop door, and it tinkled when you entered like fairy chimes. The entire place seemed a little magical: the kind of place that you would find yourself reiterating in your writings. On the marble tiled floors, flecks of dirt seemed to gather in the grout.
The golden brass counter stretched on for nearly the whole length of the shop, and held a display case which doubled as a cooler holding smaller things like corsages and boutonnières.
“Can I help you?”
The man approached you wiping the dirt off of his hands onto his canvas apron which was stained with smudges of green and brown. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the tattoos adorning his arms in beautiful patterns of black with muted colors of yellow, lavender and pink. They were nearly all floral in design and reminded you of the drawings from a botany book. His shaggy dark hair had a bit of a curl to it that tasseled over his eyes. His smile too was devastatingly charming, decorating it was a black hooped lip ring.
“Here to pick up an order?”
“Y-yes, for L/n.”
“I just finished that one up, lucky for you.” He palmed through the little stack of receipts near the register. “I’ll go get it real quick.”
It was criminal how fast you found your heart beating after hearing how strikingly soothing his voice had sounded. You also found your head spinning over how familiar he seemed, like someone you had met before, but couldn’t place where.
He had brought the sizeable arrangement over, and upon seeing it, you knew that your mother must’ve asked them to pull out all the works. Not only were flowers like this a bit of an unusual bridal shower gift, but it was just one more way for her to show off. The moment that the two of you would arrive with that, heads would turn, and that was exactly what she wanted. It was so large, you had to crane a little to see the florist behind it.
“That’ll be 360.”
Never had you been more thankful to pay for a gift with someone else’s money.
When you passed him the card, you noted the little scrapes up and down his hands and forearms, looking a bit like cat scratches.
“It’s the roses.” He chuckled. “This job is a lot more dangerous than you would think.”
“Oh.” A heat in your cheeks rose along with his observation of you.
“Beautiful day isn’t it?” He tapped at the register, then nodded to the sunlight streamlining in from the windows. There were little rainbows speckling the store from the prisms hung above the displays.
“I-it really is.”
Your eyes wandered to his nametag which looked like he had decorated with hand-drawn stars. Jisung. Once again, he caught your eyes, slyly rolling his tongue over that black hoop.
“It’s the kind of day that makes me wish I wasn’t cooped up in here and doing something else; going somewhere else. You seen the cherry blossoms yet?”
“I-I have one in my yard.”
“Oh really? It’s my favorite time of year because of them.”
His smile was a bit in the shape of a heart, and the way that his eyes smiled along with it was just as charming as the rest of him.
Blaze.
He was Blaze.
Quite literally, never in your life could you have said that you had felt your heart skip a beat, but, you imagined that there’s a first time for everything.
He scribbled down something down on the receipt, handing you both the card and the slip.
“Have a good one, ‘kay?”
Had it been socially acceptable, you would have slapped yourself square in the face, right then and there, to snap yourself out of your awe.
“Yo-you as well.”
It was a miracle you didn’t drop that expensive-ass floral arrangement getting out of there as fast as you did.
“What took you so long? People will start wondering where we are.”
Your mother said a couple more chastising remarks, but they faded away once you looked at the crinkled piece of paper on your hand:
I hope to see you again, Blossom.
₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎
“Y/n!!! Oh my god, I am so happy to see you. I’ve been decaying, simply drying out in this office all by myself.”
You swatted your melodramatic friend by the backside of his head, subsequently ruffling up his perfectly primped long, blond hair.
“Shut up. You’re surviving just fine without me.”
Hyunjin lowered his voice into a rather loud whisper, “Everyone here is just so boring.”
“I don’t know what you’re expecting ‘Jin. It’s a publishing company, all we do is read here. You kind of did it to yourself too. Hell, you edit the children’s books!! You don’t have a thing to complain about.”
“Are you sure that you can’t take an office here? We could eat lunch together, make coffee together from that broken-ass coffee machine, and bitch about Mr. Yoon together. By the way, what are you doing here anyway besides not seeing me?”
“Picking up a couple manuscripts. I finished the ones from before.”
“You’re inhuman. I don’t know how you get through 300+ pages over a weekend.”
You shrugged, “It’s just what I like to do, that’s all. And, no, I will not be taking an office here, not when I have my classes too.”
“Aren’t you the perfect symbol of adulthood.” Hyunjin pulled up for you the creaky plastic office chair from the empty desk next to his.
“Tell that to my mother, I think she’d have a different oponion.”
“Screw your mother--and you can tell her that I said that too.” Your coworker fiddled with his white collar, pulling it from his neck. You knew how much he hated those and would have much rather preferred the silky low-cut ones which had become his trademark.
“If only it were that easy.”
“How’s Princess Bomi doing?”
“My cat or the story?”
“I was talking about the story, but sure, tell me about your cat too.”
Hyunjin was a sarcastic little shit, but that was why you loved him. Seungmin tended to be the same sometimes--you surmised that perhaps you made the same type of people gravitate towards you.
“It’s been pretty well received actually, and I think I’m just about done with the first book, there’s probably only a few chapters left. I just passed 8,000 reads.”
“Wow, that’s actually...really impressive. I mean it.”
When he wasn’t being a sarcastic little shit, Hyunjin was actually a genuine friend. He had been supportive of your writing ever since he forced the information out of you a few months ago after seeing a your chaotic notes mixed in with your manuscript ones. Of course, he had laughed at the prospect of you naming your main character after your cat, but he understood otherwise.
“You’ve been getting good feedback?”
“Mmhm! They really like Bomi as a character, that, and it seems like Blaze has some fans too...”
Upon saying the same, the boy from the flower shop sneakily crept back into your head along with that stupidly Blaze-like smile of his--or at least, the smile that you had always pictured Blaze to have.
Hyunjin snapped his fingers in front of your face. “Earth to Y/n? Where did you go?”
“Huh? Oh sorry, I think I just got...lost in thought.”
“I said I think that you should really consider brining it to the company. What if they want to publish it? I think that it’s worth a shot. You said yourself that its successful online. What makes you think that people wouldn’t be interested in the print version?”
“I--Hyunjin, Princess Bomi is kind of a personal thing...”
“--Why do I even bother!” In his mock disgust, Hyunjin crossed his flabbergast arms against his chest. “I’m only trying to give you a helpful suggestion.”
Above the two of you, the florescent white lights bore down on you with a harsh luminescence.
“But--” You shyly picked at the hem of your blouse, “I could use your help with something else.”
“What?”
“What do you suggest that I wear...to meet someone’s mom?”
Hyunjin practically leapt out of his chair and three feet into the air.
“YOU’RE MEETING SOMEONE’S MOTHER?! I’M SO PROUD OF YOU!!”
“Get your ass back down in your seat.” You whipped your head around to see your coworkers concerned glances. “Yes, I am.”
“Thank God that you asked me. This is a serious matter.”
“I can’t exactly ask Seungmin...so...”
“Don’t you worry! I know exactly what you can do. So,” His voice turned sing-songy, “~What’s he like~ And how come you didn’t tell me about this sooner??”
“-Because I knew that you would have this exact same reaction.”
“I promise I’ll calm down, okay, go:”
“Well, he’s my neighbor, and I’ve only met him a few weeks ago, and he’s got cats, and he’s really sweet and not to mention hot as well but in like kind of a... cozy, librarian kind of way? Anyway, he wears cardigans--and you know that I’m a sucker for a good cardigan--and I’m convinced that the universe is trying to get me to destroy him but, that’s beside the point--”
“Slow down slow down! Literally all of the words you said just now don’t make sense together.”
You wheeled your chair closer to the man across from you, “And then he asked me to meet his cats and his mom or maybe just his cats or his mom, he was kinda unclear about that now that I think about it...”
“So he’s hot and has cats, hmm, sounds right up your alley.”
“I-I guess.”
“Are you sure he’s not, you know, trying to be neighborly?”
You punched Hyunjin’s arm so hard you jiggled your glasses on your face. “Don’t ruin this for me.”
“Sorry I brought it up! Ok, ok, I think I know what you should do. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you bag this sexy librarian man?”
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“I sure as hell hope that you’re not trying to be neighborly.”
You smoothed down your freshly ironed blouse: a floral pattern with birds, something “light and springy” just as Hyunjin had recommended. The pleats in your trousers were in shape as well. He had suggested too that you tied your hair up, something about it being professional and “dateable.”
Bomi sauntered up to you while you inspected your outfit in the full-length mirror. Her gorgeous green eyes were squinted after her day-long nap, and she yawned while she brushed up against your leg.
“To what do I owe the pleasure Bomi?” You bent down to pat her head, which she promptly shied away from. “You think that this looks good? Mother-worthy?”
Bomi blinked.
“Thanks for your input Bo.”
Another yawn.
Your nightstand held your little jewelry tree, and from it you took a dainty silver necklace that hung just above the neckline of your blouse, as well as the thin tan wristwatch that you wore once in a blue moon.
The watch face read 5 o’clock exactly.
“Shit! Shit shit shit shit!.”
Bomi scrambled out of your way as you flew around the room trying to find a matching pair of socks. You stopped one more in front of the mirror. Your mother’s words always did find a way of seeping back into your skin like poison. Even if you had looked “nice” a nagging voice deep down echoed: “you’ve only ever been less than auspicious. Why don’t you ever change that?”
“Screw your mother.” Hyunjin had said.
If it only was that easy.
Your footsteps clomped down the stairs, and you threw on the same pair of kitten heels.
“Shit. The gift.” You slapped your forehead, cursing your horrid memory.
“And don’t forget to bring his mother something. A gift. Something small but thoughtful. Something that she can use. Mothers eat shit up like that.”
You frantically searched your entire home for something that resembled a gift. After a few moments of searching, you had resolved to go without it--you’d explain that it was in the mail, or misplaced, or anything but the fact that you didn’t have one. You grabbed your humorous amount of keychains on your keys, eyes catching that little box of complimentary chocolates from the bridal shower.
“Good enough.”
₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎
One more time, you checked your reflection in the glass door leading to Minho’s mother’s townhouse.
“This is fine, you can do this. Don’t screw this up, you’re fine, you’re fine.”
Minho opened the door, looking as confusingly adorable and downright gorgeous as you had grown to know him as. This time, he had ditched the cardigan for a sky blue sweater that still pooled at his palms. Seeing how casually he had dressed, you instantly felt overdressed, and made a mental reminder to cuss out Hyunjin when you got the chance later.
“Come in,” He gently ushered you to the spot where you switched on shoes for slippers.
“You-um, look really nice.” Minho pushed up his glasses up his nose bridge, “Really pretty.”
“Th-thank you, um, you too.”
He snickered, “No one has called me pretty before.”
“Shit, Sorry, that was weird, sorry, I’m just kinda...nervous.”
“No, not at all, I don’t mind. I appreciate the compliment.”
You stood at the doorway, awkward silence permeating the air. Suddenly, you remembered the chocolates in your hands.
“Oh, this is for you and your mother, I thought I might as well bring something over...”
Minho took it from you, and you prayed that he wouldn’t think too much of the packaging that just looked a little too wedding-y.
“Thank you for this.” He popped the box open excitedly, “What kind are they?”
It took a couple seconds, but you watched in horror as his expression turned from thrilled to deeply confused.
“What is it?” You craned your neck over to see.
“Are they...supposed to look like that?”
Inside of the little plastic compartments, each of the chocolates had melted into blobs pathetically and swirled together making one huge, brown, melted--and then solidified again--chocolate mess.
“Oh my god.” Your throat felt as tight as a knot in your embarrassment. “They’ve...”
Minho hurriedly closed the box. “It’s okay! Don’t worry about it.” He tried the best he could to suppress his laughter. “It’s still about the same.”
“No it’s not.” You whined out the words. “Don’t let your mother can’t see them, oh shit, oh shit.”
“What happened to them?”
Your horrid memory suddenly let you remember the fact that those chocolates had stayed in the car after the bridal shower when you had gone to visit your mother’s home.
“Nothing good, just-hide them--”
“Minho? Is that Y/n? Is she here?”
“--Hide it, quick!!!”
Minho shoved the box behind a large houseplant, still hiding his laughter caught in his throat.
“Ahhh Y/n! It’s so good to meet you at last! I’ve heard so much about you!”
You greeted Minho’s mother with a bow, throwing the box of chocolates a disdainful glare. She was a gentle looking woman who appeared to be a little older than your own, or, perhaps the same age. You wouldn��t be surprised if your mother had paid enough to procure the elixir of life; sounds like something she would have done.
“I’m so happy to meet you as well. Thank you for inviting me in.”
“Minho!!” His mother nudged his arm, “You didn’t tell me how pretty she was.”
Your cheeks flushed with heat when you gave another little bow in thanks. “Your home is really lovely too.”
“Oh, it was all Minho’s idea, I’m just the one that did the cooking. I’m always happy to cook for a neighbor.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ve got a couple more things to prepare, Minho, you go show her the cats, I’m sure that she’d like that--I hear that you have a cat too?”
You nodded. “Are you sure that you don’t need any help?”
“No no, you both go on, I’ll handle this.”
By each passing moment, this all started to feel a bit more like a playdate than an official meeting of one’s mother. Here you were, a grown woman, and you had gone over to someone’s house to play with their cats. Maybe you weren’t as much of a grown woman as you thought you were.
“Over here.” Minho guided you to the living room: it was a modest one with furniture that looked to be very old, with beautiful traditional pictures of landscapes with assorted baby photos hanging on the walls. Everywhere, there was little pieces of evidence of the residence of cats: cat toys, scratching pads, a couple cat carriers and the cat tree nearest the window. At the top tier of the structure, there was a white and orange cat lazing with a foot slung over the side.
“Doongie?” You carefully approached the furball to pet it’s tiny paw.
“That one is Soonie, I have two cats that look a bit similar. Doongie is probably somewhere strange. You never know cats. Mine really like hopping on top of the china cabinet; it scares my mother half to death”
“I can imagine.”
Soonie remained unbothered, little cat body peacefully sleeping.
“Over here is Dori, the youngest one.”
Dori was a bit striped, with a grey body and a white belly. The smaller cat was rolled up into a perfect cinnamon roll on the loveseat. The cat stirred hearing it’s name, and keened into Minho’s touch when he scratched its head. You copied the touch, and Dori granted you the same permission.
“You cats are so sweet...wanna trade?”
“I...think that I’m good with the cat’s I’ve got. But that is a tempting offer.”
Making a rather loud appearance was Doongie, who ambled into the room with a series of loud yowls and meows, looking up to both you and Minho with striking yellow eyes.
“Doongie!” You crouched down to give the cat scratches under it’s chin, making it purr slightly. “Did you miss me? I hope that you’ve been staying out of trouble.”
Minho’s gentle brown eyes observed your interactions with his cats, simply letting you play around with them as you wished. Every once and a while, you could catch his eyes following you with a contented little grin on his face.
There was something so domestic and comforting about the whole scene. Inside the townhouse that felt well loved and with the smell of a homecooked meal in the air, there was something so peaceful about it all that was a little foreign to you.
“Minho! Please come help me with the bowls!”
₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎
Crickets chirped along the pathway and into the spring’s chilly nighttime air. Minho had offered to walk you home, even though you were just two houses down. Because of this, it seemed as if the two of you were walking in slow motion, taking one step after the other as slowly and carefully as you could. Absentmindedly, you both wanted just a little more time.
After spending the night being on your best behavior, you felt as if you could finally breathe. Granted, you had grandly spilled soup all over Minho’s mother, but this seemed to diffuse quickly once she had laughed raucously at the event. She was a sweet woman, with a kind soul, much like Minho. Her lightly wrinkled face shone like the sun and made you feel loved even without knowing her much.
In many ways, you wondered what it would be like having a mother as such. It was likely however, maybe you just weren’t supposed to know.
Minho cast his gaze up to the sprinkling of stars spread out over the vast sky: most of them invisible due to the closeness to the city.
“You know, I’m starting to really like living out here, in the suburbs I mean. Everything in the city was so fast and chaotic, it’s nice to sit back and let things be still for a while.”
“You don’t miss it?”
“Not as much as I did. The city...holds a lot of memories for me; some of them I’d rather forget. Being out here feels like a new start.”
The two of you stopped near the light coming from your porch. In the soft glow of yellow, coupled with the gentle navy blue tint of the night, Minho looked ethereal--perhaps even a little fairy-like.
You cursed out your writer brain for thinking of your little made up world at a time like this when you had this boy, real, in front of you.
“I had a nice time with you tonight.” Minho shoved his hands into his pants pockets with a cute little smirk. “I think my cats are a fan of you as well, so, that puts a good word in for you in my book.”
“Me too. Thank-thank you for inviting me.”
“Next time, we should do something different, I heard actually that there’s a meteor shower in a couple weeks.”
“Wait, next time?”
“Or, we could do something sooner if you’d like.”
“You want to do something else? With me?”
“Yes you, who else would I be talking about?” Minho capped his sentence with a little snicker.
“S-sorry, I just...don’t understand...why would you... I mean, I don’t do too much besides kinda hide in my house with my cat...there isn’t really a lot of things interesting about--”
Minho squatted down, sweeping something off of the sidewalk. It wasn’t until he had put it in your hair that you had realized he had taken one of the cherry blossoms from your tree to tuck it behind your ear. His head titled slightly as he admired the decoration, fingers lingering by the side of your cheek for a moment.
“I disagree.” He hushed, barely saying the words louder than a whisper. “Even though you you tent to get yourself into...situations--not that I mind anyway, you are special. Hell, and I haven’t even known you that long. Don’t let anyone tell you differently.”
Had it been socially acceptable, you would’ve kissed him right then and there.
If only it were that easy.
₍⸍⸌̣ʷ̣̫⸍̣⸌₎
Chapter 25
There Blaze was, standing, simple, cuts on his face and that little scar on his eyebrow twitching. The campfire illuminated his eyes with the flames, creating that brazen fire that he had gotten his name from.
Bomi knew him well. In fact, she thought she had known him better than most--a fact which she selfishly kept to herself. Blaze was everything she had known for the past year or so, and the time had interwoven their paths in ways that she had never expected. Before her was a person who knew her too, perhaps better than she knew herself.
Blaze’s callused hand rose to cup her cheek, thumb rubbing over her own battle scars.
“If you’ll not have me, please know Princess, you are the strongest warrior, bravest leader, and wisest friend that I have had the pleasure of knowing. I’ll stay by your side until I breathe my last breath.”
With a shaking hand, Bomi took Blaze’s hand resting on her cheek. She memorized the way that his skin felt on hers, making a million silent wishes that she knew would never come true.
“You and I, we both know that fate would have other plans for us...I’m sorry.”
Bomi turned from the warmth of the campfire, and the way that his eyes held hers.
She wished a million wishes, and he was nearly every one one of them.
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haleigh st o p there is no one more deserving of tickets to see skz....of course u deserve them sunflower !!! if only they knew miss hyunjins was gonna be at their show they could pull out the red carpet fbdsjj n e ways congrats it’s gonna be amazing ! 💓💕 -sierra 💌
sierra this is really really sweet of u 💞💞💞 pls KMFDK i genuinely hope they’ve never seen this blog bc they unfortunately know what tumblr is..... but i adore u, i hope u got tickets as well!!!!!
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A Life Spent In Service (A Stray Kids Criminal AU) - Chapter 1
I remain silent, all thoughts of coherent speech long having fled my mind in the haze of utter fear. No surprise there; I am a hostage, after all. I am the former secretary of a businessman in trouble with Stray Kids, more commonly abbreviated as SKZ.
SKZ is an internationally established criminal organisation with large bases of operations in every major commercial city in the world. My former employer had borrowed a massive sum of money from them sometime back, one he could not repay in time. And now, he paid the price with his life. And my freedom.
Manacles ensnare all four of my limbs. They have chained both my arms to the wrists of two stoic guards at my sides, and my feet are chained together, the metal links measuring not more than five palms’ width.
Once, I’d brought up how straining it was on my ankles to walk with such a short chain linking the manacles on my feet. (Brought up, not complained, Heavens no, I would never dare be so shameless.)
The guard did not even spare me a glance as he replied, “You are in no position to be bargaining. And besides, the Boss has been generous with you already. You should be grateful. Most only have three palms’ width.”
My bare feet stumble on the concrete as the two guards march me out of my cell. We make our way down multiple corridors and up countless staircases, soon coming to an elaborately decorated foyer.
One of the guards stationed at the unbelievably busy and crowded lobby entrance notices us. The guards I am shackled to stop to converse with the other, and I hear the words “Boss,” “unfinished business,” and “life”. Suddenly, my tongue weighs heavily in my sandpapery mouth.
I note, subconsciously, that they are all wearing the same standard black, just with a stylistic range. Some mill around in formal shirts, polo tees, or turtlenecks paired with perfectly pressed dress pants; others have suit jackets made and worn in different styles and materials.
I see skirts and dresses and dress pants, single- and double-breasted jackets, notched and peaked lapels, and buttons and buttons galore. Wools, velvets, and all kinds of cotton and cashmere pass me by, but silk is the prevalent material I see.
The formal dress code is impossible to miss. But, it is the different coloured trims, pocket squares, and crests that truly catch my eye. Reds, blacks, whites, blues and purples flash across my vision. Occasionally, I see a flash of hot pink or mint green before it disappears.
I also note a few lapels, cuffs and pocket colours are identical to the trims, while others are not. That was all I managed to glimpse before the guards quickly dragged me into one of the elevators lining the west walls. No one enters after us, despite the spaciousness.
They hit the E button for the highest floor; a quick glimpse at the graciously provided floor directory reveals the Executive floor as our destination. The ride up is silent, and I am smart enough to keep my mouth shut before it kills me.
Upon arrival, the elevator doors slide open, and my jaw instantly drops to the lowest it can go.
The luxury is unimaginable. The marble flooring is perfectly maintained; the shine is one of the most radiant things my eyes have ever had the pleasure to witness. I count nine sets of double doors down the only hallway: four on each side and the main set directly ahead.
One pair of guards stationed outside one of the many sets of double doors notices us coming, and one of them quickly alerts whoever is within. Moments later, the same pair pulls the doors open silently, allowing us entry.
Once the doors swing noiselessly open, a bright light spills outwards into the hallway like a red carpet of sorts, blinding me. The sudden assault of sunlight on my eyes is a stark contrast to the lightless cell that was my previous accommodation.
The two guards march me in, in complete silence, and I hear the doors close behind us with a soft thud, almost as if sealing my fate. Truthfully, it would be more accurate to say the guards marched in and dragged an unwilling me along.
The guard on my left raises his hand in a salute, jerking my left hand upwards. My whole body is then yanked into a deep bow of 90 degrees as the guards greet their superior. Still stunned, I don’t protest. A voice commands them; I don’t hear the exact words, but the guards straighten up, standing perfectly still.
As they rise from the deep bow, I squint as the Sun’s rays decide to stab me mercilessly in the eyes. I take stock of my situation and look at the room around me, allowing my eyes some time to adjust. The first thing I notice is just how quiet it is.
Pindrop silence rules, save for the occasional scratch of a pen, click of a computer keyboard or mouse, or the muted thud of a mug against its cork coaster. It was almost as if the slightest sound produced would get you killed, even if it was unintentional.
I decide to make the prudent choice and continue keeping my mouth shut, not wanting to risk death. Ignoring the silence, for now, I turn to my surroundings. The figure behind the desk draws my eyes, and I unconsciously study them.
A head braced on a fist, the left elbow to which said fist is connected resting on an expensive ebony desk. Silvery-grey hair, almost blonde, is styled to perfection. Even with just a glance, the employment of numerous hair products is plain, including hair gel. The shorter strands escape from the products’ confines to frame a youthful face.
The right hand, most likely his dominant hand, is busy, absentmindedly twirling an ornate fountain pen. A pair of chocolate brown eyes critique the words precisely printed onto the piece of paper resting on the desk.
Hung meticulously on a clothes hanger near the plush office chair is a sharply-pressed, unsullied, jet-black velvet suit coat. Emblazoned on the suit coat’s left breast are two white lines, an equal sign with uneven lengths, the lower line noticeably longer. Underneath that is a crest of some sort, swooping smears of blood-red against midnight black.
Upon squinting, I notice they are not lines but alphanumerics. In a font size that minuscule, anyone would have mistaken them for lines. The top line consists of only three white letters, SKZ.
I realise then why this is the Executive floor, and my eyes widen with cognisance. The guards did not have this emblazoned on their jackets, which means this suit coat is the personal property of an SKZ executive. I am about to meet my Maker.
I put the chilling thought to the back of my mind, refocusing. The second line was still a mystery to me. Straining my eyes, I barely manage to make out the second line. It provides no answers. If anything, it merely serves to baffle me. I glare at the six alphanumerics staring back at me. 3RACHA.
I take a moment to scream mentally. Alright, panicking will not help at all. Now, stay calm, and think. Just what can 3RACHA mean? I rack my mind until I remember a little tidbit I had heard years back, and the memory sends me mentally reeling.
3RACHA are the brains behind SKZ. They were the first three members of SKZ. So this is a member and a leader? I am well and truly dead. I will not make it out of here alive.
Nonetheless, the shocking discovery does not deter me from continuing my discreet studying of such a feared man. A black turtleneck, the same dark hue as the suit coat, hugs his figure quite flatteringly. His arm muscles are most prominent, the fabric curving over the flesh and straining with the effort of holding together.
An impatient-sounding rhythmic tapping sounds from behind the desk. It soon stops, the man behind the desk swivelling the office chair to the side and standing abruptly.
I lower my eyes to the floor and hold my breath. Although I am not a religious man, I prayed fervently to every deity my mind could remember at that moment. Please let this not be the moment my life would end.
A series of sharp, intimidating, and disquieting clicks that only grow louder with every passing moment follows the rustle of fabric. The marble’s reflection catches my eye, and I note that the suit coat is now loosely draped over the figure’s shoulders, so loose as to be considered casual, even.
As the clicks fade past me, I note the make of the executive’s shoes in an almost dream-like haze. The path he chose to take allows me an unobstructed view of a pair of dress shoes, dyed with the blood of the midnight sky, hugging fast and powerful feet.
With every step, the hem of a set of ebony dress slacks rises and falls, revealing black, formal socks peeking through from beneath. A hastily murmured instruction, and the guards stay put, waiting for the figure’s return.
I take advantage of his absence to look around the room. Two Stratford buttoned tub chairs upholstered in black premier leather rest before the desk. A plush carpet, crimson and most probably made of the finest wool, rests under the heavy desk and chairs.
The carpeting’s bold colouring contrasts nicely with the icy marble flooring, seemingly carved from the darkest jet. A row of cabinets hugs the eastern wall, stocked with drinks and snacks of every kind.
The southern wall, situated behind the ebony desk, is nothing but floor-to-ceiling windows, metallic gold windowsills with ornate finishings and crimson velvet curtains. There are no curtain hooks or sashes; I assume technology commands everything in this room.
Currently, the curtains are pulled to the opposing walls, allowing sunlight to illuminate the room. It creates an almost stage effect, with the gather at the midpoint of the fabric.
The centrepiece of the western wall is the assemblage of eight majestic floor-to-ceiling ebony bookshelves and a set of double doors not dissimilar to the ones leading into this room.
Expensive seems to be the choice for any and all furniture and decorations, and the room is nothing short of regal. Regal and luxurious, of course.
My eyes have long since adjusted to the bright sunlight. As the doors swing open once again and the man returns, he slips effortlessly and soundlessly onto the seat, reoccupying the chair. He swivels it back around and continues smoothly with his work as if he had never left.
I shake as I finally recognise just whose weight that chair bears. There is only one person who adores the colour red this much in Stray Kids. Thus, there can only be one person to whom this office belongs: one of the most feared leaders of the Underground, J.ONE.
Known for his mercilessness, J.ONE values loyalty above all else. Betrayal is the equivalent of signing your own death sentence.
His body count, for someone so young, is jaw-droppingly high. At just 21 years of age, he ranks at #28 in the entire Underground with 780 kills. Taking immense pride in his work, his calling card, an Ace of Spades, is always left behind in a clearly visible spot.
We stand, a chained man with his head hung low and two obedient soldiers. The marble floor beneath my feet is freezing and polished to such perfection that I can see my reflection, complete with every blemish.
The silence continues its long reign, and no one dares to break it until a dissatisfied tsk sounds from behind the desk. My head snaps upward in a panic to the figure behind the desk as the silvery-grey, almost-blonde locks sway exaggeratedly from side to side in mock disappointment.
The ornate pen in his grasp finishes its graceful arc through the air and races across the page. He makes a few markings on the document he just read before returning it to its manila folder and tossing it aside.
Another obedient underling, standing to J.ONE’s left and next to the desk, deftly and single-handedly catches the file just as it slides clear off the desk. He silently replaces it in a pile so high I break into a cold sweat just looking at it.
All this while, the minion only faces the same direction as J.ONE. Back toward the windows and face toward the door through which we just entered.
The pile sits on what many would have called a serving tray in a high-end restaurant. Here, it is merely used as a functional and practical piece of furniture to hold office work. I expect a yell or harsh criticism to fall from the feared man’s lips for the underling just touching his work.
But J.ONE doesn’t flinch, doesn’t break concentration, doesn’t reprimand his subordinate; he merely hums noncommittally and levels a distracted nod in the minion’s general direction.
It seems the underling had done what they were supposed to do, to a perfect enough degree to be praised by J.ONE.
Only now does the minion turn towards his superior. The minion remains silent as he salutes his superior, holding the position. Only when J.ONE nods in dismissal does he then turn to face the door again in perfect parade rest, left hand held at a perfect 90-degree angle at the elbow.
The silver tray piled high with manila folders of different thicknesses is still perfectly balanced in that hand. That pile would be the contractual rejects, then, I think in a fascinated daze, as I have the rare privilege to watch J.ONE work.
All too soon, the minion turns to J.ONE and bows once more. J.ONE must have signalled, or a specific time has come, as the underling then bears the staggering mountain of rejected contracts toward the doors with practised ease.
The doors swing apart soundlessly, and I only register they were open in the first place when another minion enters. He, too, holds an empty tray still in his hands as he takes the recently vacated place of the previous one next to the desk.
The muted click of the doors shutting again reaches my ears. All through this, J.ONE works undisturbed, the exchange completed in silence, and I am getting more unnerved as the clock ticks on.
J.ONE rejects yet another contract, and the towering pile resting on a serving cart to his right begins to dwindle. J.ONE sets the pen down and reaches for the mug. It is taken off its coaster, raised, and quickly pulled away. Too quickly.
J.ONE looks into it sharply, and the subsequent frown which mars a smooth forehead raises alarm bells, ringing deafeningly in the minds of all present in the room.
A breath later, he puts the mug down, and the loud thud is a hair-raising foreshadowing as to what could possibly happen to my head if I anger J.ONE. An irritated sigh slips from his lips, and he reaches for the intercom on his desk. J.ONE is none too pleased as he orders, “Hana. Get in here, now.”
The doors swing open not a moment later, and a woman steps into the office. I realise with a jolt that all the guards and underlings I have seen enter this office have worn the same black velvet uniforms with the same crimson trim.
They’re all J.ONE’s subordinates, I think, as she bows. She remains in that position as J.ONE finishes making a marking on a piece of paperwork. Since that dissatisfied glare, he has never looked at the mug or touched it.
After J.ONE allows her to stand straight once more, he turns to level the woman with a pointed stare. He then glares down at the empty mug just within his arm’s reach as if the object had offended him somehow. Ah, so that’s the issue.
Instantly, Hana is excusing herself to the beverage cabinet. J.ONE lets her leave with a quick nod. She swiftly disappears from my peripheral vision, and I dare not turn my head to look for fear of further angering J.ONE.
She comes back sooner than expected, and the smell of hot chocolate attacks my nose. All through that, J.ONE’s focus has been entirely on paperwork.
Hana sets the new, full mug down and removes the empty one, and J.ONE utters a quick “thanks.” Hana bows once more, then remains where she is: next to the other minion beside J.ONE’s desk. J.ONE takes a sip and inflectionless mutters, “passable,” and then orders Hana to bring a chair.
She complies without complaint. A suffocating silence chokes the room as we wait for Hana’s return. J.ONE sets his pen down silently and leans back in his office chair. Hands resting slack in his lap and eyes closed, he was the human representation of ‘relaxed’.
She returns, a wooden, cushionless chair in hand. I suppose I don’t get to be picky as a prisoner. Truthfully, I would have been surprised if they had offered choices to me.
Hana moves the two Stratford chairs to the side and sets the wooden chair down before J.ONE’s desk, and now makes to move back to where she was standing before J.ONE had given the order. He raises his arm, a silent command to stop. She does.
He is still leaning back in his office chair, eyes still closed. His arm points at Hana and the other minion, then drops back onto his lap. A firm yet quiet “both of you, out” slips from his lips, an unambiguous dismissal.
Both subordinates bow deeply before hurrying to the door. J.ONE waits as they make their exit. As soon as the door closes, the relaxed air around him vanishes. He is still reclining in the office chair, but his eyes snap open and zero in on me.
Many have said that his gaze alone could cut a grown man in half. I have always been sceptical of the rumour, but now that I am faced with it and see where and how it began with my own two eyes, I stand unarguably corrected. It is indisputably true.
If I were not chained, the force and sharpness would definitely have knocked me bodily onto the floor and left me in a stunned daze. Although it didn’t, there was still a compromise: the weight of his stare had stolen all the breath in my lungs, and I was now the living definition of the word ‘breathless’.
“Sit,” he orders. He motions to the chair, and its armrests and front legs become my new captors.
A staring contest of sorts ensues. I fidget in the seat so graciously provided to me as J.ONE leans forward, bracing his elbows on the desk. He steeples his fingers and rests his chin on the peak, levelling me with one of his sharp stares, a silent assessment of my person.
A time passes, of which I know not how long; he barely opens his mouth to begin speaking when a knock sounds on the door. J.ONE’s eyes drag slowly upward, irritation clear on his features at being interrupted. He demands them to identify themselves, leaning back in his office chair.
“It’s CB97 and SPEARB, sir,” calls one of the guards from beyond the door, and J.ONE’s face breaks into a boyish grin.
The doors open at his command, and two men stride into the lavishly furnished office, stopping after crossing the threshold. J.ONE waves his hand in my direction, dismissing me.
The guards move to drag me out of the room once again, until he adds, “but I still want him here; there is some unfinished business we still need to discuss.” The two guards bow, then lift the chair off the floor, lugging me to the side like a sack of rice as their superior conducts business.
The two men step toward the desk after the guards have moved me aside. I take this opportunity to study them. Their hair is styled perfectly, uniforms without a crease. They are both dressed in a similar style, and for a moment, I think they may be a superior and subordinate pair.
However, upon closer inspection, one is wearing solid black; the other has blue trims on the cuffs, lapels and pockets. Their suit jackets also bear the same two emblems as J.ONE’s.
I’ve just met three of the eight top executives of this organisation. I’ve just met 3RACHA. My brain feels the sudden need to remind me of the fact, and I find reality increasingly harder to grasp. And I am still alive. My survival up until this point is a miracle!
The pair seemed to have some information of paramount importance to disseminate. Both have undoubtedly already noticed me cuffed to the chair, so I bow my head, preferring not to look imminent death in the eye so brazenly.
“We need to talk,” Those are the only words that leave the taller’s mouth, and from the reflection of the marble under our feet, I watch as J.ONE turns serious again. He nods, then gestures in my general direction, and I am unchained.
For a moment, I think I may be set free, but of course, that is all but wishful thinking. Because the next thing I know, I am outside J.ONE’s office once more, a ways away from the doors.
I stare blankly at them, at the material I can now identify as cherry wood, in the same position as when we first got here: chained by both wrists to the same two guards.
Snippets of their conversation float into my ears; I hear nothing that gives me insight into what could be so urgent as to require immediate attention.
I eavesdrop for a while, and after some time, a loud “WHAT?!” sounds from behind those closed doors. The harsh exclamation effectively snaps me out of whatever daydream I found myself in.
As it currently stands, I believe it is safe to assume that along with the entry comes terrible news. News that instantly angers J.ONE. The sharp screech that assaults my ears would most probably be him standing from his chair; the slam that follows almost immediately after resonates from within the office.
Not too long later, the main doors blow wide open with all the destructive force of a raging hurricane. Through all that, the guards on either side of both me and the door remain shockingly unfazed.
I, however, fear for my life as I watch one of the most dangerous men who will ever grace Earth visibly begins to fume.
I subconsciously note that his outfit has changed. Although the black velvet remains, J.ONE now dons a high-collared suit with bold crimson trim, the turtleneck nowhere to be seen. Silver chains are loosely attached to both sides of his right shoulder pad and left breast pocket.
One chain on his right shoulder is particularly long, strung from the end of his shoulder pad to the fourth button. His left earring, too, has been exchanged.
In place of the small silver hoop and dripping silver chains I saw previously, a medium-sized crucifix now swings from his earlobe.
He storms out of the room and down the corridor. He is in such a fit of rage that the increase in the length of his stride is quite exponential and is now much longer than the one I had witnessed first-hand.
The other two executives have trouble keeping pace with the marked increase in length and have to jog. The muttering under his breath cannot be a good sign for anybody, I think wryly to myself.
I watch all three executives disappear down the hallway and into one of the already waiting elevators. The last I see of them before the elevator doors slide closed is the other two trying their best to calm a fuming J.ONE.
One sentence, however, resounds in my mind. One of the executives had mentioned it in J.ONE’s office, loud enough for me to hear from outside his office doors.
The sentence turns the warm, liquid blood flowing in my veins to cold, hard ice. My bones turn to lead, and my senses feel as if someone had administered a dose of anaesthetic to me.
I believe this one sentence was what undoubtedly induced J.ONE’s fit of rage.
“They’ve turned on us.”
A Life Spent In Service (A Stray Kids Criminal AU)
Synopsis:
From the mistreated secretary of a large company’s corrupt chairperson to the personal assistant of a feared and dangerous leader of a criminal organisation to whom his previous employer was indebted: these are the personal accounts of a life spent in service.
༒ Crime Boss!Han Jisung
༒ Crime Boss’ Personal Assistant!Reader
༒ 1st Person POV
༒ Warnings: Guns, blood, mild descriptions of violence, gore
COMING SOON: ON TUMBLR, WATTPAD AND AO3
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[PRESS][241225] STRAY KIDS • 2024 SBS GAYODAEJEON RED CARPET
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[PRESS][241225] STRAY KIDS • 2024 SBS GAYODAEJEON RED CARPET
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[PRESS][241225] STRAY KIDS • 2024 SBS GAYODAEJEON RED CARPET
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[PRESS][241225] STRAY KIDS • 2024 SBS GAYODAEJEON RED CARPET
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[PRESS][241225] STRAY KIDS • 2024 SBS GAYODAEJEON RED CARPET
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[PRESS][241225] STRAY KIDS • 2024 SBS GAYODAEJEON RED CARPET
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