#happy bday jeongin

[thathyperarmystay]

Seungmin: Hey Chan, did you know STAYs think that sound in Heyday is a bed?

Chan: Yeah... do you not think so?

Seungmin: I'm pretty sure it's just your old bones creaking

[hyunpic]

[brownieboyyylixiee]

Did yu know that it's my cats birthday today.?

"But yu don't have a cat tho...?"

I do, I can show yu a pic of him 💞

My cat;

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEE KNOW BABY I LOVE YU!!💞💞!!!

[mrsfae]

໒꒰՞ ܸ. .ܸ՞꒱ა ꒷ ᘡ ۫ 🐿️ 𖨂 hᥲρρᥡ hᥲᥒ dᥲᥡ ! ៹

[4raykage]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY LEE FELIX YONGBOK!!!🎉🩵

[baby-stay92]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY STAY

[lieblingspulli]

The Embrace : SKZ

W.C: 3.1k

Leeknow x Reader

Summary: Very soft Leeknow hours. Minho is a committed boyfriend, he’ll study what you study! 

A.N: I know it’s unrelated to SKZ but Jimin’s Face album came out and it's honestly sooooo good. Y’all should listen to it 🫣ANYWAYS back to our regularly scheduled program.  Hahaha, I listened to It's Not That Serious by ASTN, You by Vietra and other songs similar to these. It’s not related but the vibe is there. Also got inspired by lots of Renoir paintings and a particular Egon Schiele titled, The Embrace (1917). Enjoy!

Masterlist!

SKZ Masterlist

Minho felt strangely at ease. Here he was, reading, out of all people. Truth be told, Minho was never one to read. He always had something better to do, like practice his dance techniques or go out to eat with his friends. In fact, Minho would probably rather do anything else than read. He just wasn’t a reader. And that’s O.K. That’s what you always told him at least. Minho was never one to read, but for you, he’d do anything. 

You owned hundreds of books. You loved to paint and you loved to talk about being creative. Minho thinks that most of your creativity comes from the books you read. Just thinking about you having fun made Minho relax. Whenever you painted, you loved to have him in your company. You would teasingly beg for him to be your muse, but he settled to be an observationist instead. He loved to just watch you paint, coming up with color combinations he could never have thought of himself. He loved when you got hit with inspiration and ran to your makeshift painting studio (really just the extra bedroom) in order to capture it. 

These days, you were going to school for fine art and you were never really struck with spontaneous ideas. Minho could see this really bummed you out. The studio was always a mess, you never had enough time between assignments and class to clean everything up. Minho would have cleaned it for you, but he was afraid he’d disturb your method of madness. He knew what it was like to have a particular system to feed into your creativity. Every artist liked things a certain way. He thought of all the times he practiced by himself, having a carefully curated schedule of practice to keep his brain alert and ready to dance. To sing. To write. He knew that, out of all people, you’d be the most understanding of this and vice versa. 

These past few weeks had been grueling and seriously draining for you. With critiques coming up, you were always frantically painting. The colors you chose seemed less vibrant to Minho. There was less spark to it. Less love in it. All he wanted to do was wrap you up in support and try anything to make you relaxed again. 

He even forced you to go to the art museum with him to study other paintings, citing it was strictly for school purposes and not actually just to force you out of the studio. He had pushed you along the exhibits, pointing out the few paintings he did recognize. But he felt it wasn’t enough. His lack of knowledge didn’t bridge the gap between the two of you and Minho felt too far away from you to provide you the support you needed. The museum date was still fun, but it didn’t fulfill the goal for either of you two. 

As soon as Minho opened the door after coming back from the museum, you hurried to the studio to survey your latest batch of portraits. Minho huffed in annoyance and got straight to work. Even though he couldn’t paint, at least he could still make the effort to know what went on in that brain of yours.

Without making a huge racket, Minho chose every book you had on art, art history, and art technique. Eyeing the pile, Minho decided it wasn’t enough. He set them aside in a hidden spot and ran to grab his keys and jacket. 

With a quick kiss and goodbye, Minho feigned that he had to run to the store really quickly. You absentmindedly agreed and continued stressing over the lighting perspective in your portrait. He felt bad leaving you in such a dark place by yourself but he had to do it. 

“Bye honey!” Minho yelled as he ran out the door. 

For the next hour, Minho scoured the local library for books he could possibly gather intelligence from and he even bought some reading supplies, like a stupid cat bookmark with googly eyes and reading tabs that had llamas on them. Minho’s confidence was high as he carried his books in the tote bag that the local library gave him in through the front door. As expected, you were still in the studio, this time with a coffee. He peeked into the studio through the doorway and observed you for a second. 

“Babe?” He called. 

“Hm?” He heard you say, but you didn’t turn around. 

“Are you okay?” Minho entered the room and padded over to you before eventually reaching for your shoulders and giving you a small massage. He kissed your shoulder and he felt you loosen up, relieving all the tension in your neck and shoulders. He heard you sigh in defeat. 

“What’s wrong baby?” He whispered and kissed behind your ear. You closed your eyes. 

“I can’t get this stupid painting right Minho. It’s driving me crazy. Batshit crazy!” You raised your voice a little and strained through your frustration. He massaged your shoulders deeply, thinking about how little help he provided. 

“How about I make you dinner then? Let’s take a break.” He tried enticing you out of your chair and gently pushed you to lean back against him. “Sound good?” He kissed the top of your head. You looked up and he saw your glossy eyes, full of frustration, exhaustion, and anxiety. He gently smiled at you. 

“Yea, let’s go.” You whispered as he petted your hair back. 

A couple hours later, you were taking a hot shower and Minho was in bed, beginning to read from his pile of books. He had post-its and a pencil in hand as he flipped through the pages. He was currently studying the history of oil painting. Your favorite medium was oil, so he began with that. 

While you showered, he read. While you painted, he read. While you took naps, he read. Whenever he wasn’t dancing and on tight schedules, with you or comforting you, and cooking, he was reading. Of course, you were so preoccupied with your deadlines, you thought he had just taken up reading as a hobby to wait out your lack of attention towards him. Minho was a sneaky one. 

Luckily, Minho had a great attention span when applied. He could rotate through 3 books at the same time, which improved his reading efficiency. Minho felt like an old man, truth be told. Even the members noticed. He usually brought the smallest book in the pile with him to work and read while he was on breaks. Jisung and Changbin incessantly teased him, but he also had a lot of support from people like Hyunjin who often gave him tips from his own experience. Through this process, Minho rapidly expanded his knowledge of the world of art and its creative processes. 

Although he primarily did this for you, he also gained inspiration for his own creative processes too, using the vivid imagery to evoke certain emotions in his dance and song repertoire. There was a noticeable difference in his demeanor now that he was so focused on his books. Everyone in the group was quite confused at first, but when he explained it to them, they were all gungho on the plan. 

You finally began to become suspicious of Minho’s behavior after you got home one day and really looked at the books on his bedside table for once. You had just changed out of your class painting overalls when you happened to stroll by the bed and drop your hair clip. After picking it up, you made eye contact with his nightly stack of books that he usually read in bed as you got ready for bed. At first glance, the books seemed normal, but then you read the titles out loud. 

Color and light techniques in Oil. Mary Cassatt in Practice. Renoir and Other Masters. Pencil, Pastel and Everything In Between? What?

You flipped through the pages, finding tabs on particular pages, marked with small post-its and even multiple bookmarks, all stupid looking animal bookmarks. You laughed out loud at first. You didn’t know Minho liked art. Usually he was so clueless about it that when you went to museums with him, you often had to explain to him the significance of basic paintings like Monets or Renoirs. What was he doing with advanced painting technique books? 

Unfortunately, Minho was gone for the day, busy with press and recording sessions for his group’s upcoming comeback. You wouldn’t see him until at least 11 p.m. You put the last book down where you found it and began searching the apartment, convinced there was more. As you made your way through the living room, you found two large piles with museum catalogs, art magazines, books and more. You were astonished with the obviously large pile in front of you. Some had post-its on the front cover, marking them finished or for return. You were left with just as much confusion as when you began to look through the books. Was Minho learning this… for you? 

You picked up a particularly interesting looking one called, “Toulouse-Lautrec in Color Study.” It had several chapters on the usage of color and lighting within his paintings. This book seemed to be bought, not borrowed, telling from the way Minho’s writing was scribbled all over the pages. Some were stupid comments, like her face looks gross and others were genuine observations such as the orange of the paper gives his skin a tone without using any extra color, suggest to Y/n? You continued reading through the comments, realizing he was marking these up for you. Almost all the comments were suggestions and notes to convey to you. You started to tear up, knowing that someone who hated to read and hated to study had willingly studied for weeks, gathering knowledge just to understand and help their partner. You gently placed the book back on its pile. 

The sun began to set and you sat on the couch, feeling a headache come on. Not quite sure what to do with this newly acquired information, you ate a bagel and proceeded to take a nap. Your studio sessions at school had worn you out to the bone. Earlier today, your professor recommended a complete overhaul of your portfolio, citing it just lacked that special tonality of color and depth. It frustrated the hell out of you. You groaned and smashed your face into the pillow before slowly succumbing to the sleep you so well deserved. 

-

Minho came home to a dark apartment. Usually it wasn’t loud, but it also wasn’t dark either. He set his stuff down at the doorway and carefully removed his shoes, trying to be quiet. Either you were gone, or asleep, he assumed. Minho walked through the apartment, scanning for any sign of life. When he finally got to the bedroom and peeked in, he found you face down on the bed, not even covered in a blanket. He laughed and carefully climbed into the bed, careful not to jostle you around. As you softly breathed, clearly in dreamland, he observed your fluttering eyelashes and your slightly parted lips. Your skin glowed in the soft lamp light. Your hair softly was pushed behind your ear. He adored when you looked relaxed, it made you look like an angel. 

Recalling that you had class today, he carefully got off the bed and headed over to the kitchen to prepare a light dinner. As he fished the ingredients out of the fridge, Minho hummed a soft tune. He thought about how much he admired your tenacity to continue your art as he cut his veggies. Minho dreamily thought of you and him in the future, in a house, with cats and maybe a kid. He sighed, hoping he could relieve your stress. 

When you opened your eyes, you blearily made eye contact with the stack of books on Minho’s side. As you blinked, you remembered your findings. The tears welled up in your eyes. You wiped them and sluggishly propped yourself up, still tired from the day’s work. Although most of the time, this was simply exhaustion from all the work you’ve been putting into your art. You heard some clinking from the kitchen and recognized Minho’s humming through the silence of the bedroom. 

The apartment was warm as you trudged through the kitchen doorway. Minho immediately looked up at you and smiled. You gazed lovingly at him, in his kiss the cook apron and his teddy bear kitchen towel thrown over his shoulder. 

“Good morning sleeping beauty.” Minho snickered. 

“Oh stop it.” You felt the words coming thick out your throat, still not used to talking quite yet. “How was work?” You asked before sitting at the island. Minho grunted in response. You took that as not good. 

“Choreo got changed for some performances and it didn’t go well. It was the first day of rehearsing these changes. Felix kicked my shin. Jisung bumped into Chan. Changbin is Changbin.” He scoffed. You giggled at the thought of Jisung running into Chan. 

“What did Changbin do to you?” You laughed. Minho glared at you. You put your hands up in innocence. “I take it back.” Minho chuckled and turned back to his sizzling pan. 

“How was your meeting today in the studio?” He asked behind his back. Now it was your turn to grunt. Minho raised his eyebrow even though you couldn’t see his face. 

“Oh?”  

“Yea, my portfolio basically got dumped in the trash.” 

“Oh no, did Mr. Fuckface say that?” 

“Yea, he said it didn’t have that ‘spark’ or ‘depth.’ ” You airquoted and chuckled bitterly. “I think it’s the colors. I just can’t get them right. The tones aren’t matching up or creating the depth of shadows I usually can do.” You sighed and leaned forward to rest your head on your hand. Minho poured the pan’s contents into a bowl and placed the pan down before turning around to look at you. He studied your posture and face. 

“Maybe it’s the stress.” He suggested lightly. You looked up at him and gave him a face. He shrugged and wiped his hands on the towel. “Baby, you spend all day cooped up in that bedroom, trying to will out a painting that’s not there. I can see and feel the stress radiating off of you.” 

“Minho, I have deadlines to meet.” You defended yourself. 

“Y/n, you’re burnt out.” He countered and served two portions of the food he made. You grumbled a thank you when he set the plate in front of you and sat across from you. Minho reached out for your hand and you obliged. His thumb rubbed circles into your palm and you stared at his hand. 

“I love you, you know that right?” Minho said. He continued to rub circles. Your mouth flattened  to form a line. 

“I love you too Minho.” You sighed and felt your throat close up with emotion. 

“Baby, I think you should rest for a while. You’re clearly burnt out. Let’s do something fun, go somewhere cool. I just want you to relax.” Minho’s voice tightened. If you began to cry, he would too. It was a domino effect. Minho continued. 

“You inspire me, you know. I love what you do. You work so hard, it makes me so proud to be called your boyfriend. It makes me want to create just like you do.” He lovingly gazed at you and you kept eye contact with him. 

“You’re the idol here though.” You strained to talk. You felt defeated, honestly. By the lack of confidence in your work and by the mush of ideas in your brain. Then you remembered the books. This cheered you up considerably. You continued to listen to Minho speak. 

“I know it’s hard right now, but I want to help you more. I want to pitch ideas to you and observe and help. I-” He hesitated with his words. “I just want to be there with you when you feel it’s too hard to keep going. I know I can do it.” His voice wavered. You wiped a tear from your eye. 

“Hey, let’s not cry.” He laughed. You laughed in response. 

“You’re actually the most angelic person ever Minho. You read all those books just to help me?” Minho’s eyes widened, caught in the spotlight. He blushed and his ears got red before he looked down at his plate. He shyly smiled at himself, nodding and looking up. “Yea, I just wanted to be able to help you more than I could have before. I felt limited. Dumb.” He rubbed his ears. Your eyes widened and you leaned forward to grab his other hand. 

“Hey, Minho. You are not dumb. You are intelligent and kind and terribly creative. It drives me crazy how smart you are. Don’t say that.” You held both his hands in yours. “Baby. Seriously, you inspire me so much.” Minho giggled shyly. The apartment was silent. 

“Did you seriously do all that for me?” You whispered, as if there were people around. He nodded. “Yeah.” 

Your jaw dropped and he smiled widely. 

“You’re crazy and I love you so much for it.” You kissed his knuckles. Minho’s neck got even more red than before. 

“Come here.” You got up and he followed in suit. You wrapped his firm arms around your shoulders and yours snaked around his waist. Minho allowed you to do whatever you wanted with him, he was all yours to keep. He listened to your soft breathing as he gazed into your eyes and lips. He melted right into your arms and held you tight. 

Not long after, he heard sniffles and felt your chest constrict sporadically. Minho gently rubbed your back and swayed, letting you cry your frustrations out. Little did he know, you weren’t just crying out of frustration, but out of so much love. You felt what it was to actually want to work harder, knowing that even though things were hard, you wouldn’t have it any other way. Minho kissed your head and you squeezed his shirt in your hands. His strong arms held you tight. 

Nothing could compare to the ethereal feeling Minho felt in his heart, being held like this and feeling the warmth of the apartment you two had made a home together. He absolutely adored everything about you. He wasn’t ready to let you go quite yet. 

“I love you Minho.” Your whispers were muffled by his chest. He sniffled. “I love you too Y/n. I always will.”

-

[hyuuukais]

⚝⭒๋࣭ ⭑ SKZ TEXTS ⭑

─── dad!skz x reader

─── random texts w dad!skz

─── warnings : reader + skz called pet names (love, baby, darling), pregnancy

CHAN, MINHO, CHANGBIN

HYUNJIN, HAN, FELIX

SEUNGMIN, JEONGIN

─── notes : happy bday to my dad, who would have been 61 today 💙 i love you and miss you like crazy, but i hope wherever you are now is treating you well and all your health issues have been resolved. i'm gonna cry if i type any more !!! love always, your bean. i hope u guys enjoyed the dad!skz texts <3<3<3 all photos are from pinterest btw!

─── taglist : @chaeryred @toplinelix @channie-143 @staysinbloom

[soobnny]

howl and sophie — han jisung x reader ; he realizes he’s in love with you (0.8k words)

advance happy bday hanji!

“Do you guys ever think about how Howl spent his whole life—“

“Is Chan coming back already?” Jeongin questions, unknowingly cutting Jisung off as he impatiently checks the expensive watch wrapped around his wrist.

He’d lost a bet earlier and had promised to get the kids ice cream, and if you were to ask the youngest how long the boy’s been gone, it’s been around 23 minutes and 24 seconds, but he’d never admit to his impatience.

“Howl spent his life looking—“

“Sorry, I’m late.” Chan comes rushing through the door, crouched down to his knees the moment he’s inside with his dominant hand gripping a plastic bag from the convenience store.

He’s still panting when the boys swarm him, the youngest managing to catch the bag and veering off to the direction of the kitchen.

“Hyung!” Jisung calls out the eldest’s attention, and you notice your best friend’s features drop when Chan moves to break the fight in the kitchen as to who has which flavor.

“Hyung, don’t ignore me.”

He’s whining now, arms crossed and body unmoving from the space he’s occupying on the couch. Jisung has his tells when he’s getting sulky, his lips form a pout and his eyebrows furrow just a little—all tells so blatantly obvious on his face at the very moment.

Jisung should know better than to expect his friends to listen to him when there’s free ice cream and a limited stock of flavors up for grabs in the kitchen. They might be good friends most of the time, but they are not below putting their entire attention to making sure they do not have the worst flavor.

He’s still sulking, and you can hear his breathing getting a little louder, but their attention is still glued on the kitchen table.

You place a hand on his arm gently, shifting closer to the pouting boy. You know exactly what he wants to say, but you choose to ask him anyway.

“What is it?”

It’s comedic the way the pout instantly washes away from his features, instead replaced with a giddy smile as he angles his body to look at you properly.

Jisung’s always been cute in the way he could never hide how wide his smile gets.

Howl spent his entire life looking for his Sophie.

“Howl spent his entire life looking for his Sophie. Don’t you think that’s the most romantic thing ever? Especially when he tells her she might as well take a piece of his heart.”

You’ve heard him talk about Howl’s Moving Castle a thousand times now, but you let him ramble anyway. You’d lose nothing but your time, but it’s easily compensated with the way he’s smiling at you.

“Are you talking about that movie again?”

It’s Changbin who butts in the conversation when Jisung takes a deep breath in between his spoken 1000-word essay about Howl and Sophie. The older boy is seated on the bean bag in front of the pair of you, ice cream in hand as he monstrously takes a bite off.

“How he spent his entire life searching for Sophie?”

“(Name), what ice cream flavor do you want?” There’s a call from the kitchen, and Jisung’s starting to pout again.

“Don’t worry, they just don’t understand the movie like you do.” You whisper in his ear, enough to solicit a laugh from the boy.

Then, when you expect him to continue, he grows quiet.

In all honesty, even Han Jisung doesn’t understand why. He thinks about this all the time, and he’s never had a problem talking to you, but now his head is blanking.

It isn’t until you take his hands in yours and encourage him to keep talking that he realizes oh—is this how Howl feels about Sophie?

This is a dilemma.

Jisung’s always known he’s had a crush on you, but the way you’d listened to him with a sweet and gentle smile on your face, with your attention unwavering, he’s suddenly painfully self-conscious about how much more he feels about you and how his hands are probably sweating from the sudden realization.

“Jisung?”

“Hey, I know another topic he never shuts up about.” Seungmin hums, having gone back from the kitchen. “His big fat crush on—“

“Chan was asking you what flavor you wanted, right?” Jisung suddenly interrupts, eyes flickering between you and Seungmin, the kitchen, then back on you.

“Come on, (name). Let’s get some ice cream.” Then, he abruptly gets up from his seat and pulls you to the direction of where there’s only two pieces of ice cream in the plastic bag.

“What was Seungmin say—“

“Here. Take this.” He all but shoves the ice cream in your hands, smiling a little too sheepishly before hurrying to shut Seungmin up.

[chan4evurrr]

skz texts | happy birthday to you

notes: ok this one is a little self indulgent but its my bday today lmao (happy cancer szn!!!) so i wrote this very rushed very quick round of texts to cope with the fact that, in my opinion, birthdays kinda suck. hope you all enjoy it even if it isn't your birthday today, which im sure is true for most of you. bc that would be weird if we all had the same birthday. ALSO THANKS FOR 1K FOLLOWERS thats so cool i love making these silly little posts for y'all. as always, feel free to leave me requests and pls enjoy!!! xoxo

WARNINGS: suggestiveness in lee know and seungmin's specifically, swearing, let me know if you'd like me to tag anything else :)

BANG CHAN

LEE MINHO

SEO CHANGBIN

HWANG HYUNJIN

HAN JISUNG

LEE FELIX

KIM SEUNGMIN

YANG JEONGIN

[brownieboyyylixiee]

Happy Lee Know Day!! 💞

[outofconcheol]

The Sun Also Rises (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: dancer!Minho x ballerina!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: smut, fluff, some angst, strangers to lovers, travel au, 18+

summary: sometimes, one night is all it takes to change everything. and that's where Minho meets you.

warnings: pov switches, feelings of burnout and poor mental health discussed, alcohol, swearing, alcohol, kind of a language barrier (Minho can understand but is bad at speaking English), lots of tension, they're literally idiots I can't, Hyunjin being the voice of reason, Kento Yamazaki also makes a cameo (twinnn where have you been)

word count: 8k

a/n: consider this my early bday gift to me (and Minho), since both of our bdays are coming up in October. this is based on the film Before Sunrise. I'm very happy with how this fic turned out, it feels very me, so i hope you enjoy! thank you to Beezy @hobeemin for the lovely banner!

smut warnings under the cut!

smut warnings: sexual tension abound, lots of kissing (too much for two people who just met), grinding, beach sex (be cautious when attempting irl), nipple play, fingering (f!receiving), pull-out method (again be cautious and wrap it before you tap it), cumshot

The night breeze rustles through the trees, and even though it's late, the city teems with life. Whispers can be heard around every corner, the clinking of wine glasses muddled with the sound of laughter. Minho’s stomach rumbles, the warm, spicy scent of paella wafting from somewhere nearby, and he remembers he hasn’t eaten since this morning.

For a brief moment, he misses the food back in Korea – the deep, earthy flavour of a steaming pot of doenjang jjigae from his eomma’s kitchen. He should really call his parents – they’d probably want to know how their son ended up lost and halfway across the world, stumbling through Gracìa on an empty stomach. 

To be fair, Minho didn’t even know himself. If he was Hyunjin, he could have said that he was attracted to the abstract, flowing architecture of Gaudì, and he wanted to study it. Maybe if he was Jeongin, he’d point to the numerous shops and boutiques that lined the streets of Barcelona, a fashion lover’s paradise. 

But he was Lee Minho –  a failed dance school drop-out, kicked out of his own crew because one day, the music had just stopped. And so did he, frozen in the middle of the routine, before he made a break for it and ran. The weak link in the chain. A note slightly out of tune. 

The discordance of it all didn’t escape him – being here in such an enchanting city, when inside it felt like he’d stumbled and stumbled until he wasn’t even sure if he’d ever be able to dance again. 

And he only had himself to blame.

The streets continue to wind, Minho’s sluggish feet under their spell, going wherever they lead. He remains a prisoner to his thoughts, the sights melding into a blur around him, until suddenly, he hears it. Around the corner.

Music.

And not just any kind – real music. The jovial sound of a live band, so different from the synthetic beats he was used to when it came to choreographing. His feet have a mind of their own, entranced and leading him straight to the source of the sound.

The scene he stumbles into is beyond what he could have imagined for this time of night – under a canopy of twinkling lights, were dancers. Dancers everywhere, twirling and prancing like they were out of a storybook, perfectly in tune with the music. 

Minho ducks behind a tree, his foot tapping in sync to the beat, and watches them dance, their toes skipping from right to left as they move back in forth in a circle. It’s beyond captivating, and he longs to join them. 

He wonders if they recognize him as one of them, or if he seems like just another plain tourist, happily enjoying the feeling of getting lost in a foreign city. 

The circle stalls, the music changing into a slower, more enthralling lilt, to signal the entry of someone new. Minho’s eyebrow quirks when the sea of people parts, the moon’s spotlight now on a solitary figure. 

His breath catches in his throat as he spots you – nimble movements a stark contrast to the rustic giddiness of the common crowd. He knows you must be classically trained – movements precise and ethereal, your meticulous form a stark contrast to the fluidity that surrounds you. He’s spellbound with the way you move – a vision of grace, so different from the swift, powerful movements he was used to executing, watching how the music takes hold of you, like you’re a marionette on strings, letting it lead you wherever you need to go.

Time ceases to exist the longer he watches, taken with the elegant lines of your body, a smile pulling at his lips. He’s so lost in his mind that he doesn’t notice when the music stops, until he feels the rustle of a figure next to him.

Minho turns in surprise, and tumbles backwards into the tree.

It’s you. The dancer.

Your doe eyes look up at him in concern, and it’s only then that Minho feels the sharp twang of pain from colliding with the sturdy trunk, rubbing gingerly at his shoulder.

“Are you always this clumsy?” Your lips curve in a lovely grin, and Minho feels his ears grow hot.

“I’m sorry, I’m new here, I didn’t…” he manages to choke out, too drawn in by the way your eyes sparkle with amusement and mischief.

“Sooo, should I call you New Here, or…” you trail off, and Minho pauses, a few silent breaths passing between you before he finally gets it. His name. You were asking for his name.

“Minho.”

“Ah. Minho. I’m ____.”

“You dance well,” Minho manages to blurt out. 

The words felt heavy on his tongue, like it’d been ages since he’d talked to someone unfamiliar, too caught up in his comfortable ways. His schedule had been simple. Eat, sleep, dance, repeat. And of course go home to feed the cats. But being here felt like challenging everything he’d known.

“You noticed?” You raise an eyebrow in question, and Minho can tell that you’re wondering whether he’s being genuine or saying it just to say it. You were probably used to it – fleeting tourists who flirted for a brief moment before disappearing into the night, too captivated by your beauty to act reasonably.

Maybe he was a fool then too.

“I dance as well. Not here though. Back home. It’s different,” he steps closer, heart warming when you don’t back away, honoured that he’s won your trust. Dance was a language he could always speak, no matter where he was in the world.

“Different isn’t always bad,” you reply, tilting your head curiously. “What do you dance?”

“Hip-hop,” he rambles, feeling his shyness dissipate when you tune in to the conversation. “It’s not like you, I mean you were–, wow, but I like to tell stories. When I dance.”

He feels himself grow warm at his stilted words, silently cursing the fact that he hadn’t taken Chan up on those English lessons when he’d met up with him for coffee last time. But he never imagined he’d be here.

Your smile only grows as you nod your head along with his words, understanding exactly what he meant.

“So, Minho, what brings you here? To Barcelona.”

Minho bristles, unsure how to answer the question. There were so many reasons, and you were a complete stranger. Did he dare reveal the truth?

“Here, I can be lost, I think,” Minho whispers, hoping you’ll know he means in more than ways than one. “Seoul is different. I think too much. The noise hurts.”

“I know exactly what you mean. I moved here six years ago, and sometimes it feels like I’m living inside a painting. It’s both magical and lonely sometimes.”

A flicker of relief washes over him. You understood him. Minho had been searching for so long for someone who understood – his friends could comfort him, but they didn’t really get it. The paralysis he felt. 

“You’re kind. Kind and good at dancing,” he grins shyly, bunny teeth poking through his lips.

“You’re good with words,” you tease back. “You should have been a writer instead.”

“Too late for that now,” Minho sighs, his entire figure slumping, and he watches you freeze. He wants to tell you it’s not your fault he feels this way, that you didn’t do anything, but the words remain clogged in his throat.

“Well it’s barely 10pm. I wouldn’t say it’s that late,” you say, voice filled with warmth, and Minho slowly comes back to himself, giving you a chuckle.

“Can I, you, we, go somewhere? Together?”

Minho watches you pause for a moment, scared that what he’d offered caused you to hesitate. But something about you made him want to keep talking to you, even if it was only for tonight.

“Sure, I’d love to.” He watches your eyes scrunch in enthusiasm. “I can show you some of my favourite places around the city.”

You beckon to him with a hand, gesturing to the shadowy streets. Minho gulped – this was the biggest risk he’d taken since being here, almost a risk as big as leaving Korea. But with the way you’d captured him from the very first moment he’d seen you tonight, he wondered if it might just be one that paid off.

The night air hums with a new kind of energy as Minho follows you through the streets – whereas before, it all seemed a blur, now the city had truly come alive in his eyes. He peered through the windows of every building you passed, watching happy patrons laugh with each other, the heady buzz of alcohol in their veins.

Minho’s stomach only grumbles louder at the thought of booze, a pang of hunger hitting him. Embarrassed, he braces a hand around his stomach, hoping you haven’t caught on —

But you’re more perceptive than he gives you credit for, already turning around to face him.

“Okay, I definitely know where we need to go first,” you flick his arm, and Minho yelps at the surprising amount of force in the tiny jab. “You can’t dance on an empty stomach.”

Minho wants to tell you that he’d never planned on dancing at all, wasn’t even sure if he could anymore, but you’re forging ahead, on a mission.

A couple of blocks later, and Minho is hit with a tantalizing array of scents – the zing of freshly ground spices, the florality of fresh fruits, and the richness of cooked meats.

“Welcome to one of my favourite places in Barcelona,” you grin, gesturing to the wide variety of stalls laid out in front of you both. “Please take your pick.”

Minho knows exactly what he wants, heading straight for a stall serving paella. He’d passed too many damn places with the stuff already, he wasn’t going to miss out on it this time.

You following along, practically skipping with him, eyes alight with excitement.

Minho falters when the kind old gentleman running the stall greets him with an ¡hola!.

“I, uh, uno, por favor,” he stutters, ears burning with embarrassment. 

You step in, gracefully saving Minho from his shame, quickly tittering off a huge order to the stall owner, and Minho feels himself relax.

“He said it’ll take a little bit for the food,” you tell him. “Do you want to explore for a bit?”

Bobbing his head yes, Minho wishes he could so badly take your hand as you weave through the market. But he wasn’t sure if you’d find that overstepping. Whatever he felt, all he knew was that the night seemed endless in the best way, full of possibilities.

The loud voices of the vendors and the clanging of different pots meld together like s symphony in his head, and Minho feels his cold limbs fill up with warmth. Maybe, just maybe, he’d come out of this trip being able to dance again.

Out of the corner of his eye, Minho sees something that makes him stop in his tracks. He taps you on the shoulder, and your face falls with concern, but when you turn to see what he’s pointing at, your eyes light up again.

“Hola,” Minho approaches the flower stall more confidently this time. The fresh scent of many different blooms makes him think of his mother’s garden in Korea, full of mugunghwas. He sees the brilliant hue of a bouquet of red carnations, and silently puts up a finger, his eyes darting to you.

The lady running the stall understands him immediately, her eyes gleaming with excitement. She grabs one from the bunch, taking special care to trim the stem. Minho rummages around in his pocket for some spare change, handing the lady more than she probably charged him for, but his heart thuds as he turns around, holding the flower out.

“For you,” he says shyly. “You’re a good guide.”

He watches your lips part in a surprised oh!, and your entire face changes colour when he holds out the flower, suddenly becoming just as shy.

“Oh Minho, you shouldn’t have… thank you.”

You take the flower from him, thumbing at the soft petals and inhaling the sweet scent. You’d received hundreds of flowers in your lifetime, huge bouquets filled with every single kind you could think of, but somehow Minho’s humble gift of a single stem makes you feel the most special. Like he actually sees you.

The two of you remain there for a few moments, unable to follow the exchange with words, until you catch the lady from the stall eyeing you both curiously.

“I think… I think maybe we should go eat,” you finally manage to breathe out, breaking the haze of the exchange. You weren’t sure why it had been so charged, a still moment amidst the hectic market, but it felt like something you’d want to hold on to.

"___?” Minho looks at you, his voice soft. “I’m glad I came here. With you.”

You met his gaze, heart beating just a little faster. 

"Me too."

Belly full, Minho follows you again through the city. Anyone looking at the two of you would think he was a little lost cat, following you around. But really, it was the opposite. Something about him made you want to stay with him. In your six years in the city, you hadn’t made very many friends. You chalked it up the the demanding nature of your job, saying you were always tired after dance practice and your feet were sore from wearing pointe shoes 85% of the time.

But you knew that was mostly an excuse. Right here, right now, it felt nice being with someone. Sharing things with someone. It only made you think of what would happen when the night would end, and Minho would leave, your loneliness welcoming you into the abyss once more.

Turning the corner, you spot it. The cozy bar was tucked away on a quiet street, its silence punctuated by the soft clinking of glasses.

Pushing the wooden door ajar, you lead Minho into the small, quaint space, filled with flickering candles and the scent of citrus and spices. The bartender sees you come in, waving a hand in greeting, and his grin only widens more when he sees Minho trail in behind you.

“Hello Kento,” you wave back, and Minho pauses again, studying the man across the bar.

“おはようございます (ohayu gozaimasu),” Minho’s low voice rumbles among the quiet din of the bar, and your jaw drops open in surprise. Minho does nothing but wink, moving to a quiet corner to pull out a chair for you.

Kento comes by to take your order, tempting you both with some of the fine-label vermouth he keeps under the bar, and you watch Minho quietly converse with him for a few moments, exchanging hushed words in Japanese.

His voice is pretty, you think. In another life maybe he could have been a singer.

“You’re full of surprises,” you tease him, watching him fidget with his napkin. 

“Tokyo is close by to Seoul,” he shrugs like it’s nothing. “And I like to watch animes.”

“Where did you come from Minho? Why haven’t we met before?” You give him a wide grin.

Minho becomes quiet, his handsome face marred by what seems to be a dark cloud.

“Leaving Korea was not my plan,” he manages to grunt. “I have things there. My cats. An apartment. Dancing.”

“So what made you do it?” The words slip out, and instantly you regret them, watching pain twinge on his face. You’d hit an unexpected nerve.

“I’m looking for something,” he admits. “I don’t know what it is. My friend Hyunjin told me about Barcelona.”

“Well I think we were always meant to meet then. Hyunjin sent you to me so I can help you,” you reach over, grabbing his hand within yours. Under the dim light you study it – muscled and with prominent veins. He had a dancer’s body for certain. “Us lonely dancers only have each other to rely on huh?”

“Dancing made me happy. I, uh, what’s the word, like clothes, they–” he stumbles through his thoughts, but you don’t need him to voice them.

“Fit. It makes you feel like you belong.”

“Not anymore.”

“Why?” you blurt out, instantly regretting it when he recoils. “I’m sorry Minho, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, no it’s okay.”

Kento swings by then, with two glasses of vermouth, rich, and slightly sweet with a hint of bitterness. Watching Minho knock back the alcohol, you see his body loosen up, instantly feeling the tension from the previous conversation melt away.

“Have you ever had a bad dance?” Minho asks, brown eyes glimmering with interest.

“Oh, many times,” you respond with a light laugh. “One time, when I just moved here, I slipped during a performance of Swan Lake in front of a huge crowd. I locked myself in my apartment for a week.”

Minho chuckles, but then leans in, like he’s genuinely concerned. “How did you recover?”

You know he’s probably talking about the smarting ankle you must have had, but you think he means more.

“I walked in the next week and continued dancing like nothing happened, But it took time to get over. The pressure to be perfect can be overwhelming sometimes.”

Minho nodded, understanding the weight of expectations when it came to doing what you both loved. 

“I want to let go,” he says, gaze softening. “But it’s hard.”

“I believe in you, Minho. You’ll find the music again.”

“For you, I’ll try,” he teases softly, but you can hear the hint of determination in his voice.

Your eyes met, and for a moment, the air between you crackled. You realize this entire time, you hadn’t let go of Minho’s hand. And he hadn’t made you either. Pulling him up with you, Minho yelps in surprise, barely having a second to wave goodbye to Kento before you’re dragging him through the door, back out into the cold night.

“I think I know something that may help.”

Buzzing from the alcohol, you drag Minho deeper into the neighbourhood, the glow of the streetlights casting a warm golden hue over the cobblestones. 

Heat radiates from where his palm meets yours, a soft breeze helping to calm the racing of your heart. Eventually, you hear it – the echo of a faint tune reverberating from the nearby buildings, and you know you’re almost there. A group of street musicians come into view, their lively jig fading away to a slower, more sensual melody.

“You’ve been talking this entire time about being bad at dancing, but I haven’t seen you actually do it,” You giggle, eyes gleaming with mischief. You take a few steps towards the middle of the square, beckoning Minho with a playful grin. “Come on.”

You watch Minho stall, and your heart races, thinking maybe you messed up. Maybe it was too soon for him, maybe he was scared and didn’t want to try again.

“Here? In front of everyone?” he replied, chewing nervously at his lip. 

“Why not?” you challenge. “Forget everyone else. It’s just you and me. Two people who love to dance.” 

You squeeze Minho’s hand in yours, squealing in shock when he pulls you close to him, arm wrapping around your waist. Leaning into his chest, you inhale his warm, woody scent, feeling yourself shiver.

“Okay,” he sighs. “But don’t think badly of me.”

“I could never,” you whisper into his neck.

Minho chuckles at that, stepping back to dramatically bow, before sweeping you into his arms once more. You move into the open space of the plaza, surrendering to the rhythm as the notes of the music envelope you both. Pressing lightly into Minho, your hand comes to rest in the soft hair at the nape of his neck.

“Tell me more about you,” you breathe against his lips. “I want to know.”

“My cats, they’re called Soonie, Doongie and Dori, they live with me in my apartment,” he smiles, pride taking over his expression when he thinks of them. “You?”

You twirl free from him, dress flaring for a moment,, then spin back, hand finding his once more.

“My mother was a ballet dancer. She hurt herself when I was young and could never dance again. It’s why I chose to follow her,” you admit, finally letting yourself break free from the walls you’d built.

You let your arms float gracefully above your head, marveling at the way you and Minho moved together. His movements  were fluid and free, a sharp contrast to your precision, bodies weaving together like the finest tapestry. The air between you crackled, the pull between you like two halves of a magnet.

“You’re beautiful,” Minho says, his gaze intense as it meets your eyes, then travels, to your lips, down your neck, even further. You feel a throb between your legs, sparks erupting across your skin everywhere he touched. 

The heat between you was palpable, an electric current that seemed to pulse with every beat of the music. The world no longer felt as big or scary anymore, narrowed down to the two of you, everything else fading into the background. 

Suddenly, the scene around you spins, and you’re looking up at the stars, Minho’s face hovering above yours. You lean in, lips ghost against his jaw.

“Am I distracting you, Minho?” His breath caught at your query, and he sighs, drinking in the subtle scent of your skin.

You gasp when he spins you around, back meeting his front. Shivers run up your spine when he leans in, chuckling in your ear.

“Yes, but I like it,” he groans, low voice ringing in your ears, and everything around you fades as you begin to move together. Hips swaying side to side, Minho’s palms settle below your waist, so close to where you need him, and you whine softly. Even though you’re turned away, you can feel his smirk in your ear, and it all feels like it’s too much. Yet you don’t want it to stop.

The haze lifts with one particular thrust of his hips into you. A small moan leaves your mouth, and everything clears, and your heart begins to race. Shakily, your eyes meet Minho’s, surprised to find them blown out in deep pools of lust.

Minho’s shaking fingers cup the line of your jaw, his lips pressing against yours. You comd your fingers through his hair, sighing against him, finally giving in. He kisses you first with the utmost gentleness, pulling back to search your eyes for anything wrong.

Despite the chill in the night air, you’ve never felt warmer.

When you nod no, Minho leans in again, his previous gentleness giving way to hunger, the tip of his tongue gliding past your lower lip, sighing at your taste. You feel like you’ll keel over if he’s not holding you, all the blood in your body rushing away from your head.

When he finally pulls away, breathless and wide-eyed, you feel your words clogged in the back of your throat.

“I-,” you struggle, seeking brief respite from the emotions coursing through you, but not wanting the moment to end.

“I didn’t expect this night to turn out like this,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe.

“I’m glad it did,” Minho replied. 

Looking around, you realize the music had long stopped, the band dispersing, no sign that they were even there to witness you and Minho’s dance.

“Do you have to go?” Minho asks, and his voice sounds impossibly small, like he’s afraid to know the answer.

You pause. So much waited for you ahead – performances, errands, the struggles of daily life in a foreign city. But you decided that right now, you had more than enough time to leave that behind. 

Shaking your head, you nod no, air swirling with the thrill of the unexpected. And you were ready to embrace whatever came next.

Minho feels the breeze ruffle his hair, and lets his eyes close, shoulders sighing in relief. The lapping of the waves against the shore becomes even louder, the sound of traffic and other people fading away. The sand squishes in between his toes, and he lies back on his jacket, looking straight up at the stars.  For the first time since he’d left Seoul, Minho felt completely at peace. Whereas uncertainty scared him before, now he completely welcomed the unknown. After all, it was what had lead him to you.

Minho feels his body heat when he thinks of you two dancing in the square, your face looking up at his, the feeling of your soft lips. It’d been so long since he was last with someone – dance always took over his life, leaving little time for love. But he thinks that maybe he’d been going about it all wrong.

He feels a tap on his shoulder, and he turns to see you lying right next to him on top of your coat. He can feel the warmth radiating from you, your hair tousled by the sea breeze and flying in the wind.

He really wants to kiss you again.

The two of you sit in silence for a moment, letting the rhythmic crash of waves fill in for the unspoken words in between you.

“Hey,” you interrupt the quiet with a whisper, like you’re afraid to shatter the serenity of this moment.

“Hey,” Minho says back, reaching over to brush a stray strand of hair out of your eyes. His fingers linger a little too long on your cheekbone before he drops it.

You stare at him, swirling patterns in the sand between you.

“I get it, you know. How you feel. I feel it every day when I dance. Ballet is beautiful, but it’s also... constricting,” you sigh. “Sometimes I just want to be free – free to dance, to live, to love.”

Minho nods, feeling a lump in his throat. 

“I also want that. But I’m scared. What if I’m free and I’m still not happy?”

There’s a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes, a rawness in his voice. 

“I think happiness finds you when you least expect it,” you say gently, your voice like a gentle pat on the back.

Minho had never expected you at all. But he was glad you were here anyway.

“Can I kiss you?” He manages to choke out, heart racing as he takes in the way the moonlight casts shadows against the curve of your jaw and the softness of your lips. The urge to touch you again felt almost unbearable.

The space between you vanishes, and Minho sees you smile, leaning in closer, and his heart thuds in his chest. He reaches out again, pulling you towards him.

Your lips meet softly, shy and tentative compared to the way he kissed you in the square. It’s as gentle as the lulling of the waves, and Minho feels the world fade away, only able to register the cold sand underneath him, and you. 

As you broke apart, breathless, Minho sees you search his face. 

“What’s on your mind, Minho?”

Minho knows he’s always been pretty poor with words. Chan was the lyrical one in the friend group. Where Minho thrived, and always had, was action. So he decides to show you.

. . . 

Minho leans in again, capturing your lips with a fierce urgency, releasing a euphoric sigh into your mouth. Not wanting to push more than you’re comfortable, he wants for you to respond, fingers carding into his hair, pulling slightly at the strands, warmth blossoming in his chest.

You wonders if he knows you can feel the rapid beat of his heart, his pulse point right there below your fingertips, and you reach for his hand. 

“I want you,” Minho finally manages to say. The words are strained, like he’s been holding them back for too long. 

“I thought it was just me this entire time,” your own voice cracks.” I thought you were just being nice.” 

Because the truth was, you’d wanted him the very first moment you saw him. He may have thought little of himself, but he was a vision in your eyes. A masterpiece to be admired, a person to be cherished.

Minho pulls you into him, body meshing with yours, until you can no longer tell where he ends and you begin. You gasp when you feel his hardness underneath his jeans.

“I am not just nice,” he smiles against your lips. His hands cradle your face, before reaching his arms behind you, fingers ghosting down the the curve of your spine. 

Kicking your shoes off, you feel his fingers run up and under your skirt, skimming against your bare legs and he your breath hitch, chest rising and falling in the pale light of the moon. 

Lips falling to your neck, he inhales your sweet jasmine scent, teeth grazing lightly against the soft skin. You whine into his mouth, hands fisting at the edge of his shirt, struggling to pull it over his head. He slides over you, using one hand to pin both arms behind you, reaching over with the other to slide your your dress down to your stomach, finally peeling it off, and you lie back, eyes alight with desire as you take him in.

The clink of his belt rings in your ears as both your clothes finally finish falling away, and desire pools between your legs. Sliding up against your warm coat, you spread your legs for him, a low hum escaping his parted lips at your messy arousal gleaming on your thighs in the low light. Trailing his eyes back up to your lips, he inches towards you, his breath tickling your bare skin as he leaves kisses on your jaw, your collarbone, in between your breasts. The veins in his arms bulge as his hands come up to cup both your breasts, rubbing your nipples between his fingers until they stiffen, and you let out a soft moan.

The teasing doesn’t stop, his lips enclosing over the hardened buds, messily sucking on them. While it felt amazing, you knew the sun would rise soon, and the time you had with each other was limited. You trap his hand in yours, guiding it to your throbbing clit. He nudges your legs, coaxing you to spread them further, before plunging a finger inside your wet heat, sliding it in and out. Your breath comes out in sharp gasps, your pleas for more being answered swiftly as he slides a second one in, laying his head on your stomach as more and more of your arousal coats his fingers. You mewl, unable to contain your volume as you swallow them deeper, loving the rough drag against your slick walls. His thumb grazes your clit, rubbing it in slow, delicate circles before speeding up, rubbing faster, and his grunts of determination are what push you over the edge as you come.

Breath leaving you in heavy pants, your lips find his desperately, and he teases you with his tongue, his hard cock rubbing up against your wet entrance. You gasp when he pushes in, and he pauses, wondering if it’s too much, but you nod, letting him know it’s okay. He thrusts shallowly, before pushing in all the way, watching you squirm underneath him while rutting your hips.

“Fuck,” he sighs, pushing his cock in deeper, bucking his hips against yours as your nails dig into his back. “You feel so good.”

“Oh my god, Minho, I can’t–, it’s too much,” you groan, rocking against him in an attempt to quell the burning in between your thighs..

“That’s it,” he grunts, trapping your clit in between his fingers, rubbing tight circles until you snap, seeking his lips once again, your orgasm flooding your entire body like a wave. Minho speeds up his thrusts to join you, groaning when he feels himself explode, pulling out and jerking himself off, white ropes of cum splashing against his toned stomach and onto your  stomach before slumping against you.

You can feel his his chest heave with the weight of his breaths, your sticky bodies curled around each other. You begin to shiver from the breeze, and Minho cradles your sticky body in his arms, brushing the damp strands of your hair from your face before pressing a kiss to your shoulder.

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo)” he whispers against your cheek. You don’t know what the words mean, but you hold them close anyway.

When the first light of dawn washes over the beach, orange and pink and purple poking out from between the clouds, you both know it’s time. It’s hushed – an eerie silence falling in between you and Minho as you scramble to throw your layers back on, the sticky feeling between your thighs a reminder that it hadn’t all just been a dream. 

From the corner of your eye, you see Minho hum absentmindedly to himself, running his fingers through his hair to tame the messy strands, and your heart lurches. 

The silence remains as you bid the sea farewell, the familiar streets of the city you called home greeting you once more. Only this time, you felt like a stranger, unsure of where your relationship stood. You supposed the same could be said for the man next to you.

It takes a few short moments before you’re seated at a café, stirring your coffee pensively. The rich, bitter aroma mixes with the salt from the sea that sticks to your clothes, and you feel nauseous. Across from you, Minho was gazing out at the horizon, his expression pensive.

You knew it was only supposed to be temporary. One of those single brief moments where two strangers met each other, eventually passing like ships in the night, both of them holding onto the memory forever. So why did it hurt so much?

“Are you ready to go back to work?” Minho asked, his voice warm and gentle, snapping you from your thoughts.

“Yeah,” you replied, forcing a smile. “I’ve been rehearsing for weeks. But…” 

You hesitate, heart feeling heavy.

“I know,” Minho finishes your thought. “It feels different this time.”

“I love ballet, I really do,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. “But dancing isn’t my whole life. I think I’m just like you Minho. I’ve been searching for something real, something that goes beyond the stage.”

You watch Minho’s face twist, like he wants to say something, and you already know he would have asked you if you’d found it. Because he’d been searching for the same thing. It felt so cruel to have it ripped from your grasp the moment the sun began to rise.

You shared a moment of silence, the weight of everything hanging between you. You took a sip of your coffee, but instead of calming you, the warm liquid only makes your heart race.

“What are you going to do?” You asked Minho, watching his face jump to meet your gaze. “After tonight?”

“Go back to Seoul,” Minho struggles to keep his voice steady. “Maybe take a break from dance, to try something new.”

“Do it,” you encouraged, voice wobbling. “You owe it to yourself to explore what brings you joy. Don’t let fear hold you back.”

The café soon begins to fill with the clink of dishes, the laughter of patrons, the aroma of freshly baked pastries. It felt surreal, almost like a scene from a movie.

Minho reached across the table, his hand covering yours. “Thank you ___. For everything. I wish I knew how to say more.”

You squeezed his hand gently, eyes glistening. “You don’t have to say anything. Just promise you won’t forget this.”

You won’t forget me.

While you and Minho labour through finishing your breakfast, the clock behind you continues ticking, each passing second a reminder that time was running out.

By the time you leave, the sun has fully risen, casting a warm glow over the cobblestone streets. Walking side by side, you travel deeper into the city, the streets blurring into each other until you come upon a familiar one. The one that leads to your apartment. It was over. 

“What did it mean?” you ask him, voice tinged with sadness. “What you said on the beach?”

Minho’s smooth voice had lingered in the back of your mind all morning, and you wished you knew Korean, that you could say something back to him. Like he’d tried for you.

Minho looked at you, a hint of a smile on his lips, though his eyes were clouded with emotion.

“I can’t tell.”

Both of you knew it was because it might change everything.

You falter, wondering if you should say something, make a promise to keep in touch, to meet again. But it seems so useless, knowing Minho would probably never come back, and you’d never scrap together the time or money to fly to his side of the world.

You settle for throwing your arms around him, wrapping him in a tight embrace. You bury your head into his neck, committing his familiar scent to memory, wishing it could last forever.

When you pull away, you’re already backing down the street, Minho’s somber expression looking after you.

“I guess this is it,” you said, voice trembling slightly.

Minho nodded, a bittersweet smile on his lips. 

“Take care of yourself, ___.”

The knot in your stomach only grows tighter when you see him step away, tears pricking your eyes. With one last lingering look, he turned and walked away, the sunlight catching in his hair.

As he turned the corner, you whispered a silent wish to the rising sun, that no matter what happened, that Minho would be happy. And that if he was, maybe you could be too.

Adjusting your pointe shoes, the soft strains of music fill the air. You stand on your tip toes, gazing at your reflection in the mirror. What looks back at you looks the same as it always has – perfect form, straight posture, the picture of elegance. But only you know there’s something different now, a wild longing in your heart.

It had been months since that one night with Minho, but he’d never left your mind. Somehow, even though he was oceans away, his ghost trailed after you everywhere you went. When you spun, you could almost feel his hands around your waist, guiding you in a duet. When you came home to your apartment, you wished he was there, the two of you laughing over a cup of coffee. Every time you smelled the ocean breeze, you remembered his lips meeting yours, bodies tangled together in the sand.

He was everywhere and nowhere to be found, all at once.

When practice ends, you chat with your fellow dancers, wishing them a swift goodbye before running out the door.

When the longing built to its worst, you always knew where to go, the warmth of Kento’s bar waiting for you at the end of another rough day. Before, he would tease you, asking where your “special friend who spoke good Japanese” was, but now he only slides a matcha in your direction, his eyes sad while he chuckles about how you needed to cut back on the vermouth.

In a daze, you scroll through your phone, heart dropping when you realized there were no photos of Minho in your phone. The date remained a figment of your memory, like he’d never existed at all. And you had nothing to look back on.

Tears prick your eyes when you realize how stupid you’d been. So caught up in the moment that you hadn’t even thought of asking for his number, or any contact information. There were a million people named  “Minho” from Seoul to wade through every time you opened social media to check.

You wondered if Minho thought of you as often as you thought of him. What was he doing now? Was he happy?

Sighing heavily, you decide you’ll probably never know the answer.

Until your phone buzzes.

. . .

Minho sighs deeply, his muscles aching from another grueling day in the studio. He feels Soonie brush against his feet, his oldest friend curling up into a ball at his feet, and he reaches down to scratch between his ears. Looking out over the balcony, the twinkling city lights of Seoul gleam back at him, but his thoughts are full of another place. And another person. 

No matter how much he immersed himself in his routine—classes, rehearsals, and performances—something felt off. His friends would joke about his trip, saying he’d come back a changed man, like a monk who’d found enlightenment, but his serious expression always shut them down. 

He hears footsteps on the balcony behind him, and Hyunjin comes to sit next to him, holding out a steaming cup of noodles in his hands.

“Eat hyung,” he scolds Minho. “You have to be exhausted from practice today.”

Minho accepts the cup, picking up a few with his chopsticks, but decides he can’t stomach them, staring absently at the cup.

“Hyung, I don’t mean to pry, but,” Hyunjin sounds unsure, like he’s poking a sleeping dragon. “What happened in Barcelona?”

Minho shoots up at Hyunjin’s perceptive question, knowing his pabo face was terrible at hiding things. Especially from his best friend. 

Whereas Minho struggled to find the words with you, they all came flooding out in front of Hyunjin, recalling everything from the moment he saw you to how you continued to linger in his mind even now. How he couldn’t shake you no matter how hard he tried.

Hyunjin listens along, nodding his head in understanding, and finally leans back, brushing a hand over Soonie’s fur.

“Hyung, I know you’re stupid, but like, have you ever thought about just reaching out? Why are you torturing yourself like this?”

“Hyunjin-ah,” Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “You don’t understand, it’s–”

“Complicated? What is so complicated about it? You like her. It sounds like she likes you. Why waste time on the what-ifs?”

Hyunjin pats him on the back, saying that if the weekend rolls around and Minho doesn’t have an update for him, he’ll threaten to air-fry him.

Minho sighs, taking a deep breath. He pulls out his phone and opens Instagram, thumb hovering over your username. He’d found you right after he’d left of course, easily putting your name and Barcelona together. But he’d never been able to take the final leap to reach out, to build on whatever had started that night.

But now, he decides he’s done wasting time.

When Minho steps off the plane, the air in Barcelona is thick with the smell of orange blossoms and the distant strumming of Spanish guitar. It had only taken a few messages back and forth for you two to fall into the same easy rhythm. Hyunjin teased him for constantly checking his phone for notifications from you, but deep down, he knew that his friends wanted him to chase whatever made him happy.

It hadn’t taken much longer for him to decide to decide to book a flight, seeing an ad for the ballet troupe’s latest performance on your Instagram story. Now, as he watches the streets pass by in the cab, he feels like he might be nauseous, wondering if he’d made the right choice.

But then he thinks back to how one night hand changed everything, and decides that you’re a chance worth taking. 

When he arrives at the performance hall, Minho ducks by the crowd, slipping into the plush velvet seat. Around him, the audience buzzes with excitement, but Minho pays them no mind, his eyes trained on the stage, dark for now.

When the lights go down and the curtains draw back, Minho has to hold in his breath. It was exactly like the first time.

You, in your silver and white costume, gliding across the stage like a wisp of smoke, letting the music lead you wherever you needed to go. Your performance cries with unspoken passion and longing and Minho wonders if all this time, you’ve felt the same way, unable to let him go like he had with you.

Minho doesn’t know if minutes or hours pass before the music finally stops, but he pushes his way through the audience, moving against the crowd to find the backstage exit. To find you.

. . .

“I’m sorry sir, you can’t come back here, this is only for performers…” 

The security guard’s voice booms at the door to the dressing room, and Sakura, your fellow dancer, nudges you, rolling her eyes. A laugh bubbles in your throat, wondering what crazy person had made their way backstage, but then you hear it.

A voice that stops you in your tracks. One you thought you’d never hear again.

“Please, I just need to –, please,” it begs, and you’re up out of your chair before you can even stop yourself.

Pushing past the guard, your eyes widen in disbelief when you see Minho outside. He looks different now, hair longer, and maybe the colour had changed, but the real difference is in his eyes. No longer empty, they light up when they see you.

“Minho?” You whisper, unable to believe that it’s actually real. That he’s actually here.

“Surprise,” he grins, taking a step towards you.

The security guard eyes you both suspiciously, Minho in his long trench and crisp pressed slacks, and you in your sweats, the remnants of your shimmery makeup still lingering on your face, before he slips away.

“What are you doing here?”

“가지마, 나랑 같이 있어 (gajima, narang gatchi isseo). It means that I want you to stay together with me,” he admitted, voice steady despite the whirlwind of emotions churning inside you both. 

Tears of happiness shimmered in your eyes as you moved closer, closing the distance between you two. 

“I thought you were just being nice,” you joke, but it comes out a sob.

Minho took your hands in his, and you feel the warmth radiate from his skin. 

“I am not just nice,” he smiles, reaching over to thumb away a stray tear rolling down your cheek. His lips fill the spot where the tear had once been.

“Come with me,” he whispers against your temple. “I have to show you something.”

. . .

Hand in hand, the cobblestone streets of Barcelona greet you both once more, only this time, everything had changed.

Minho comes to a pause right then, feeling the weight that he’d been shouldering for months finally lift from his shoulder now that he had you in his arms again.

“Do you remember this place?” he asked.

You looked around, a smile spreading across your face as recognition dawned. “This is where we danced that night.”

“Will you dance with me again?,” he poses, his chest  filled with fear and trepidation, but also hope.

You take a step back, sinking into a deep bow in front of him. Minho grins, catchind your hand to spin you back towards him. The world around you faded as you began to move together, time stopping for the both of you.

As he slowed, breathless and beaming, he feels you burrow into the crook of his neck., whispering against his skin.

“Am I distracting you Minho?”

Minho tilts his chin up to meet your gaze, a smirk pulling at his lips.

“Yes, but I like it,” he breathes, closing the gap to crash his lips against yours. “I like you.”

“I like you too, Minho.”

The sun would rise again tomorrow. But this time, you’d be by his side.

a/n pt. 2: this reminds me of Collision!Minho a bit, they're like two sides of the same coin haha. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

[soolh1k]

Heyyy I love your work. Can we get a part 2 for the reaction when the boys forget your bday/ anniversary?? It was really good and now my heart needs more, happy ending preferably. Thanks 💗

ᯓᡣ𐭩 a love like war ᯓᡣ𐭩

synopsis. please, stay

pairing. bf! skz x reader genre. mostly fluff

a/n. hiii, it's been a while and i'm finally on vacations!! i'll be uploading more i promiseeee. requests are open but it will take me sometime. thank u for taking the time to request, i appreciate it 💓 !! :))) let me know if you'd like to be tagged !!

warnings. english is not my first language so apologies for any misspelling or grammar.

request. yesss si tú me quisieras (first part)

✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ BANGCHAN

✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ MINHO

✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ CHANGBIN

✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ HYUNJIN

✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ JISUNG

✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ FELIX

✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ SEUNGMIN

✩ ── ⋅ ⋅ JEONGIN

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆

Taglist!!

@albaficaslover

@damselettism

@moon0fthenight

[changisworld]

since it's I.N's month, could be one where gf decides to do something "special" for him, shoving her underwear on his pocket and waiting for him on the restroom?

literally sprinted to post this JUST in time for his bday😭 HAPPY 23RD BIRTHDAY JEONGIN<3

WORD COUNT:1,874

18+, MDNI!! smut warnings under the cut

©ANY translation, copy & paste, posting of my work is strictly forbidden for ANY posts/ writing i post.

main masterlist here

any reblogs/ comments are deeply appreciated!!

SMUT WARNINGS; oral(M receive), public sex, marking, pet names;baby, hunny etc, quite cute tbh, public teasing, finger sucking, mentions of spit, tiniest tiniest bit of dirty talk?? aftercare(as much as you can give in a public bathroom.) creampie, SO much eye contact, bits of fluff

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You are currently out for dinner with Jeongin, Seungmin & your friend Yuna for Jeongins birthday. (happy 23rd birthday jeongin<3). The dinner has been going really well & you’re enjoying the food you ordered & a glass of wine ordered by yuna, You’re laughing with the 3 of them when you feel jeongin put his hand on the top of your thigh & caress it, his eyes not even batting down once, still talking to Seungmin about random group activities.

You suck in a deep breath, trying to act as if the simple gesture isn’t already making you blush & heat up under his touch. You put your hand above his & hold it as you continue eating & talking but his hand moves again but this time, he’s moves his hand forward, now cupping the part of your cunt that he can reach with you sitting down. You stop chewing half way through, feeling yourself leaking in your panties. You throw a flushed look to Jeongin but he just looks back giving you the same gorgeous dimpled smile he always does. A second later, he pulls his hand away to help put his dish onto the middle of the table to help the waitress take away the plates easier.

You think for a moment before coming up with a plan.

You ‘accidentally’ drop your fork & reach down to pick it up, but at the same time you use your free hand to wiggle your panties off your legs, past your heels & you ball it up in your hand before putting the fork you dropped, onto the pile of plates.

The waitress comes & takes the dishes away a few minutes later & refills everyone’s wine & you begin looking at menus.

“Since it’s Jeongins birthday, y/n where are you gonna take him hm?” Seungmin winks, smiling over the menu hes holding. You raise your eyebrows & smile back

“It’s a surprise, lips are sealed sorry. anyways i’m gonna go to the bathroom, if i’m not back in time, order me the chocolate molten lava cake please” Yuna nods at you & Jeongin, Yuna & seungmin keep having their own conversation, in the meantime you lean over to kiss his cheek but you also put your hand in his pocket & drop the panties that have been balled up in your hand for the past 5 minutes, into his pocket.

You stand up & head to the bathroom, smiling to yourself, feeling proud. You turn the corner & head into the single woman’s bathroom stall & close the door, not locking it. You walk over to the sink & look at yourself & dab your finger on the tip of your lips, getting rid of the slightly messy lipstick from eating.

Not even two minutes later, the door opens & steps in Jeongin. You turn around so you’re leaning against the sink, facing him.

“Took ya long enough, what did you tell them?” You ask, reaching over slightly & pulling his dress tie towards you so he is now right in front of you, he smiles & starts twirling your hair on his finger while looking into your eyes.

“Some lame excuse about me saying i was gonna go find a person who could ask the chef to give me strawberry sauce instead of caramel.” He chuckles slightly before leaning down to your neck to bite it slightly, you hiss at the contact.

“And they just believed it?” You lean into his mouth & touch, already palming his cock through his dress pants, creating an obvious tent.

“Who cares if they didn’t, they wouldn’t say anything regardless, but we need to make this quick baby, don’t wanna get kicked out by getting caught now do we?” He asks you rhetorically, hand already sliding down to cup your pussy, not surprisingly already dripping, You sigh at the contact & loosen his the & undo the top three buttons so you have access to his collarbones before leaning in & sucking a mark on them, hand still working on his boner.

“You’re so wet baby, did my hand really do this to you hm? you get off on such simple touches in front of our friends hm?” you can feel him smirking against your neck as he pulls back before making eye contact with you, reaching into his pocket & pulling out your soaked panties.

“So dirty my love, couldn’t even wait until we got home hm? you wanted me in here so badly” You roll your eyes before pulling him by the tie again & kissing him again, your lipstick smudging on his face along with your own. “You’re just as dirty baby, you knew where to find me & came, into the girls bathroom too.” you say in-between kisses.

You undo his zipper & trouser button before pulling them along with his underwear just enough to set his cock free, already hard & red, leaking at the tip slightly. You stop kissing him to trail yourself down his frame until you end up on his knees & you instantly kiss his tip, making it even more red but with your lipstick staining it this time, you’re convinced his dick blushed. You look up at Jeongin whos looking down at you with nothing but love but also lust in his eyes, which makes you think you genuinely leaked onto the floor.

You take his tip into your mouth & begin twirling your tongue around it just the way he likes. Your hands reach up on instinct & start playing with his balls & he grips onto the sink to balance himself as he throws his head back, biting his lip to try hold back his whines.

“Your mouth is so f-ffucking good baby, it’s so wet holy fuck” He says, trying to keep his voice calm but just comes out high pitched & whiny. You decide to thank his compliment by hallowing your cheeks as much as you possibly can & going as deep as you can, your nose almost touches his pelvis as you begin humming & gagging around him, spit coming out your mouth & dripping onto your knees & the floor beneath you.

After another minute or so, he pulls your hair roughly off his dick, you whine at the sudden gesture.

“Sorry baby i-i was gonna cum, yo-your mouth is too good. get up on the sink plea-se” He pants out, sweat beading at his forehead & getting caught in his eyebrows. You stand up, giggling at how fucked out he was & begin to climb onto the sink but he helps you anyway.

He hikes your dress up & puts his fingers to your lips, you open your mouth instantly & you let them rest on your tongue before you coat them with spit. He pulls them back out & runs them over your already dripping cunt.

“Didn’t even need your spit baby, you’re soaked already, here, use this to keep you quiet” He hands them to you & you take this opportunity to put them in your mouth, looking up at him with shiny eyes.

“Don’t even need to prep ya’, you ready?” He asks, how pumping his wet dick in his hand slowly, waiting for your go-ahead.

You nod instantly & desperately so he breaches your cunt with the tip & you shudder & his eyebrows furrow. He slides all the way to the hilt & you throw your head back & groan into the fabric in your mouth.

Jeongin leans over you & pulls the panties out of your mouth & shoves them back in his pocket & bites your bottom lip.

“I’ll just silence your moans with my lips instead hunny” You begin to whine as you already feel your orgasm bubbling up, Jeongin knows your body like the back of his hand & knows exactly where to hit to get you to cum almost instantly.

“You’re so fucking b-big innie holy fuck, n-not gonna last” you say, eyes rolling back.

“don’t speak like that unless you don’t wanna cum before i do i mean it, you’re moulded just for my dick.. i’m sure of it.” He says back, voice breathy & whiny.

He starts kissing you as his other hand worms it’s way down to your clit & starts pressing down on it & drawing figures with it just the way you like it & before you can even warn him, you’re clenching around his dick & you cum. Your legs begin shaking & you break the kiss & you end up with your lips against his neck & you subconsciously suck a dark hickey onto it. Jeongin cums straight after seeing & feeling your orgasm & lips on his neck. His ropes of cum shoot out inside you & you feel it inside you too.

You both come down from your orgasms together, Jeongin in-between your legs, putting most of his body weight on you as you are still on top of the sink against the wall, panting heavily. You give the hickey you just gave him a gentle kiss & you reach over to grab some paper towels from the paper towel dispenser & start dabbing jeongins face from all the sweat on it & he laughs.

“I think i need a bit more than a few paper towels hunny, look at me.” You laugh, looking up at his face as he looks at himself in the mirror, face & neck completely covered in lipstick, all smudged.

“i dont even wanna know what my face must look like if yours is that covered” you say, getting off the sink with Jeongins help & you both let out another chuckle at the state of your face, lips still stained with lipstick but your cheeks are just as stained as them.

Jeongin & you both work on trying to make yourselves look presentable again but it proves a lot easier said than done. Jeongin kisses your cheek while you are still trying to get your hair to not look as if a bird lives in it.

“That’s the best it’s gonna get y/n, you have a brush in your clutch bag.” Jeongin says, holding your waist from behind & balancing his chin on you. “I wonder if dessert arrived yet, cmon we gotta go, probably a hugeee line outside the bathroom right now.” He gives you a kiss on your cheek & looks in the mirror again, sighing.

“Well we would have gave them a good audio show wouldnt we?” you chuckle to him, throwing your hair up to cover all the tugs. “alright, let’s go. hope you enjoyed this birthday present baby” You turn around & hold onto his shoulders.

“Just being with you is an amazing birthday present, why not i give you a ‘thank you’ present at home hm? by the way, i’m keeping these. for my own use.” He says, smiling at you with his dimples on his cheeks, holding your panties in his palm again.

You giggle before walking over & unlocking the door, hand in hand with Jeongin & swallowing your pride before walking back over to the table with Yuna & Seungmin… who had already finished dessert.

[wooahaes]

a surprise to soothe anxieties

pairing: non-idol!i.n x fem!reader, ft coworkers!3racha... and also seungcheol from accounting in a throwaway line

genre: established relationship au. kinda fluffy? kinda comfort-y.

warnings: reader is written to have anxiety in some form. 3racha being readers friends to the point of 'yeah we'll throw hands for u.' food mentions. reader worries jeongin forgot her bday. also a lil hint that reader's past relationships have been kinda shit. candles(/flame) mentioned but they're battery-operated/fake.

word count: ~1.5k

daisy's notes: know tht i loved writing chris + binnie + jisung popping in for a moment.

Jeongin had kissed you that morning before you left for work. “Good morning,” he said, casual as could be. “Have a good day at work, okay?”

Which… If you were honest, wasn’t exactly what you wanted to hear first thing on your birthday. 

You’d never been someone who was so attached to having your birthday recognized to an absurd degree. Sure, you liked to do little things to celebrate—but unless a person was close to you, you were pretty indifferent to whether people recognized your birthday. Of course, for the people closest to you, the sting from them forgetting was pretty inevitable no matter how much you wished it wasn’t. For Jeongin… You tried to talk yourself out of overthinking it. Most likely, he hadn’t put any thoughts into it yet—it was early, and he had mentioned he had plans for today. Jeongin would likely call you at lunch (or just text if he was busy) when he remembered. Was it too clingy to wonder? You weren’t sure, but most of your day at work had been spent overthinking everything.

“You’re pacing,” Chris didn’t look up from his computer screen for a moment. “What did you two argue over?”

Of course Chris would guess that. While you and Jeongin didn’t fight often (you bickered most often over the silliest things, yes, but fights? The two of you were good at stepping back, calming down, and talking things out), Chris knew how you were when things were a little rough. You paced too much, you couldn’t focus for too long, and you apparently were prone to sighing sometimes (although that one was something Changbin noticed and pointed out to you). 

“Nothing!” You paused. “But…” With a sigh, you leaned against the copier. “It’s my birthday and Jeongin didn’t say anything.” 

Chris looked up. “Hold on. It’s your birthday? And you didn’t tell any of us?” 

You just crossed your arms, shrugging. “It’s not a huge deal—”

“Seungcheol in accounting pouts when you don’t wish him a happy birthday,” Chris pointed his pen at you. “That’s why Jeonghan sent out that email once. I would have bought you something if I knew—”

“It’s fine, Chris,” you waved him off. “I’m fine.”

He nodded after a moment. “Fine… But if you want me to buy lunch one day, just say the word.” Then he turned, watching you closer. “I don’t think Jeongin forgot, by the way.”

You let out a heavy sigh. “I know, but…”

“Can’t help wondering?” 

Changbin looked up from his seat. “Wondering what?”

“Her boyfriend didn’t wish her happy birthday,” Chris turned back to him. “You know Jeongin, right?”

Changbin looked at you. “Do I need to fight him? I work out. I could do it.” 

Despite how buff Changbin was, you didn’t think he had it in him to hurt another person—regardless of the way he was joking now. You shook your head anyway. “I’m not hurt by it—”

“You should be,” Jisung leaned back in his chair, butting his way into the conversation oh-so-casually. “I would be. He’s your boyfriend. He should do better.” 

You turned, poking Jisung’s forehead. “Jeongin is nowhere near the worst guy I’ve dated. Forgetting to say ‘happy birthday’ this morning is nothing.” 

Even still, the thought never fully left your head. Although you noticed the way Jisung quietly set a snack on your desk at one point, giving you a shy smile before heading back to his own desk—and the casual way Changbin offered to refill your water bottle for you at one point, just to be nice—it hadn’t exactly lightened your mood any. Hell, you ended up taking Chris up on the offer to buy you lunch, just to get out of the office for a little bit. All throughout work, your mind kept going back to Jeongin. Seungmin had texted you a little ‘happy birthday! you’re getting old :)’ at one point. How did Jeongin’s best friend remember and he didn’t…?

By the time you were off work, Chris had convinced you to let him drive you home. It was your birthday, the least he could do is spare you another trip through public transportation. Not that it was hard to convince you—you’d denied it maybe twice, just because it was out of the way, but asking if you wanted to put up with the journey home was all you needed to agree. He’d walked you into the lobby of your building, giving you a warm hug.

Before he left, he held you by the upper arms for a moment. “If Jeongin did forget… Just let us know. We’ll rough him up for you,” he chuckled, just trying to get a smile out of you.

It did work, to be fair. You just rolled your eyes. “Uh-huh. Drive home safe, Chris.”

You stepped into the elevator, already feeling how jittery you’d become. If Jeongin didn’t say anything… How were you supposed to gently correct him? It felt weird to do. You hugged yourself, letting out a slow sigh. People were busy. People sometimes forgot things. Forgetting one birthday wouldn’t be too bad, especially if he was sorry for it later. The elevator slowed to a stop, and you stepped out to head to your apartment. You slowly punched in the code to your apartment door, took a moment to compose yourself, and then stepped inside.

Immediately, you were greeted to the sight of dimmed lights with little battery-operated candles lighting the way to the dinner table. You stopped where you stood, just staring at the sight that greeted you for a moment before slowly stepping in. Stepping out of your work shoes, you set them aside before blindly groping for where you’d left your house slippers when leaving that morning. But you could hear Jeongin moving about the apartment slowly.

“Happy birthday to you…”

His voice carried through the apartment, pretty as ever as he continued to sing the song. Even though you hated when people sang it to you, you always made an exception for Jeongin because of the way he’d sing it to you. His voice was always kept soft rather than the loud half-yelling half-singing people would do—which felt like a competition for attention. Slowly, he came into view, carrying a little cake with candles lit on top of it. He stopped, smiling at you as he finished the song.

“Happy birthday—”

All at once, your emotions overwhelmed you and tears were running down your cheeks. When did he set all of this up? How did he get everything without you realizing…? You could smell your favorite dinner from where you stood, and everything seemed to hit you threefold. Jeongin’s eyes widened as he quickly moved to set the cake down and then come to you. 

“Are you okay?” He giggled. “Angel? Sunshine?” He paused, only deciding to tease you a little further with a playful, “My love—”

You just wrapped your arms around him, sniffling. “I thought you forgot.”

“Ah… So it’s my fault you’re crying,” he didn’t seem bothered by it—almost as if he was teasing himself for the act. He squeezed you closer to him. “I wanted to surprise you. I should have texted you like I was going to, but…” 

You just squeezed him tighter, too relieved because your favorite person hadn’t forgotten you like your anxiety had tried to tell you. You knew it was silly, but still… It was hard to not worry when those thoughts had haunted you all day. He swayed with you for a moment, giggling softly as he pressed soft kisses against the side of your head.

“I made your favorite,” he said. “I had to watch a video to make sure I was doing it right, but it tastes good!” He craned his neck and rested his head atop yours, taking full advantage of the fact you were a step lower than him right now. A moment later, he drew away, looking you in the eyes. “Did I really upset you that much…?”

You shook your head, wiping at your eyes. “No, just…” With a deep breath, you composed yourself before facing him fully. “I guess I got carried away with my thoughts.” 

“I’m sorry,” he kissed your forehead. “I’ll say something next time and then surprise you with things.” His hands ran down your arms until he was holding your hands in his own, taking a step back. “Why don’t we eat instead? I don’t want it to get cold.”

You let him guide you away easily enough. “Okay,” you said. “Jeongin?”

“Mhm?”

“I love you,” you said, soft and shyer than before. “Thank you for the surprise. It’s sweet.”

“So you like it?” His eyes lit up a little, and he was smiling at you again. “I’ll outdo it next year.” 

And maybe he would. But you’d be looking forward to it regardless, happy to be loved by him.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @weird-bookworm @bangchansbae @jinnie-ret @cheesemonky

[vintagesuga]

Are you serious! - Y.Jeongin

Genre: Fluff, semi sick fic. Like I mentioned, he is sick but don't go into detail

Pairing: Yang Jeongin x gn!reader

Warning: mentions of food

a/n: I missed his bday live :( Any who happy birthday to Man bread. He hasn't been a baby for quite some time, lol. Just a cute little thing. Not proofread.

You sighed as you hung up the phone. Of course, this would happen because when have you ever planned something and it didn't end up in flames? All you wanted was to throw a nice little party for Jeongin, but the universe took that personally. You had just gotten off the phone with the bakery. Apparently, their entire batch of frosting was made wrong, so they would have to make a whole new batch. This would mean that you had to push back the dinner you planned so you could have the cake on time.

Then, when you had picked up the balloons earlier, they all had been the wrong ones. Instead of the cute fox themed balloons you wanted, they had made you cat themed ones instead. It wasn't that big of a deal (it was), so you didn't make a huge fuss, but still.

Now you couldn't find his present either. It was a custom-made bracelet with both Jeongin and your birthday plus your anniversary date. A little cringe, but he loved wearing bracelets, and you wanted to give him a special one. You knew you had put the box in your closet. Made sure that it was there all the time. But now, nothing. It was as if it had vanished into thin air.

So here you stood at the jewelers, looking for a sufficient stand-in. Assessing your options and making sure it was perfect. Once you were done looking, you paid and made your way to your car. All that was left was to pick up the cake and meet Jeongin at your place for a nice quiet dinner. No more fuss, no more running around.

“Hey Angel. I think I caught a stomach bug. Can we reschedule that dinner you had planned?” Jeongin’s hoarse voice never sounded more upsetting than it did right now. Of course, you weren't upset with him. You could never be upset with him.

It was just the circumstances you found yourself in. Every single thing you planned today just ended up being a nuisance.

“But, I. Today is the worst!” You exclaimed angrily at the sky. You huffed as you opened your car door and climbed inside.

“Oh? What happened today?” Jeongin asked, curious as to what made you so upset.

“Where do I even start? I had this cute dinner planned for us tonight. I had balloons and a cake planned, but the balloons ended up being the wrong ones. Then the bakery called and said that they had to push my pick up back cause their frosting was botched.” Once you started, you couldn't stop.

“When I went to look for your present, I couldn't find it, which really sucks cause I thought it was so cute and now I can't give it to you. So I went looking for another present. Like, I know you don't care about materialistic stuff like that, but I do. And now, you're sick.” You took a breather.

“I'm not upset at you cause that's something you can't help. But I just wanted to have a nice surprise for dinner tonight.”

Jeongin was silent on his end for a moment. He thought it was cute. Your plans for tonight sounded so sweet, but you went through so much trouble.

“Why don't you come over still. You can bring some balloons and my cake, give me my present and we can watch a movie. Just because I'm sick doesn't mean I can't see you. I need my daily dose of (name).” You could practically hear the smile in Jeongin's voice.

“I was already planning on coming over regardless. I need to baby you when you're sick. It's the only time you let me dote on you.” Your tone was a mix between teasing and pouty. Still a little spur about all the misfortune you had gone through. “Let me go and pick up your cake, grab like 2 or 3 balloons, and I'll be over there, ok?”

When the door opened, you were met with Jeongin's bright smile. He was wrapped head to toe with his biggest blanket. You could still see the hoodie he was wearing poking out, his feet covered by the fluffier socks he could find. His nose and cheeks were pink, and he was sniffling here and there. His hair was all over the place. Despite his suffering, he was just so cute.

“Do I get to peek at the cake now, or do I have to wait?” He laughed as he took the box from you. He placed it on the kitchen counter as you found some bowls for the soup you brought. You ended up tying the balloons down in the living room.

“No. You have to wait.” You shuffled around him, shooing him out of the kitchen. “But you can open your present.”

You handed Jeongin the small bag. Watching carefully as he opened the jewelry box inside. The bracelet wasn't too grand, just a simple little thing with a small charm; your initial.

“It's nothing too special, and I still plan on giving you your other present. I'm going to tear apart my room if I have to.”

“No. I think this is perfect.” Jeongin’s smile was blinding. He wasn't going to deny your other gift, but he wanted you to know that he still loved this one. You walked over to him, bowls of soup in hand. Jeongin placed a sweet kiss to your cheek, taking a bowl from you and following behind.

“The only present I care about is seeing your face at the end of the day.” Jeongin watched in delight as your cheeks flushed. You were so easy to fluster, and he found great joy in showering you in compliments.

“Gross.” You fein disgust as you wipe your cheek. “I don't ever want to hear you being so sappy again.”

“But you love it!”

“Shut up and eat your soup.”

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