#how to eat bibimbap

[salanaii]

Bibimbap

비빔밥

Rice mixed with vegetables, meat, an egg, and chili pepper paste

Today’s recipe is bibimbap, a super-popular Korean dish you might have heard about already! It’s made of a bowl of rice, sautéed and seasoned vegetables (namul: 나물), a bit of hot pepper paste (gochujang: 고추장), and usually a bit of seasoned raw beef, too (yukhoe: 육회).

Bibim (비빔) translates as “mixed,” and bap (밥) means “cooked rice,” so bibimbap literally means “mixed rice.” Before eating it you’re supposed to mix everything all together.

There are many variations on this dish, from simple to elaborate, and this recipe I’m showing you today is for one you could consider “classic” bibimbap. If you ordered bibimbap in a Korean restaurant, you would probably get something like this dish, with regional variations. I’m also going to show you bibimbap prepared and served in a heated stone or earthenware bowl called dolsot-bibimbap (돌솥비빔밥). “Dolsot” means “stone pot” in Korean, and this version is well-known for the way the bowl makes a layer of crispy, crackling rice on the bottom of the bibimbap.

Even though we mix up bibimbap before we eat it, each ingredient needs to be prepared with care and individuality, bringing out their unique flavors, textures and colors so they come together beautifully in the bowl and deliciously in your mouth. The different ingredients aren’t random, they’re chosen because they balance, harmonize, and offset each other.

This recipe isn’t quick and easy, it takes some time to make. But if you’re really in a rush you can make a great bibimbap with the soybean sprouts, spinach, and carrot (or red bell pepper, or both), and gochujang, toasted sesame oil, and an egg— those items are unskippable!

I’m going to share some more bibimbap recipes on my website in the future, and you’ll see how many different variations there are. This version is a little different than the version in my cookbook, because I make a quick and simple soup with the bean sprouts. When I started my YouTube channel, bibimbap was one of the first recipes I made, because it’s such an essential dish in Korean cuisine. So I’m happy to remake the video now in HD with much better editing and instruction. I’ve been building up to this video by remaking videos for the ingredients, too. I remade yukhoe, and sigeumchi-namul, and my yukagaejang video has a lot of detail about preparing the mountain vegetable fernbrake.

So if you’ve been following my videos, you’re now ready to be a bibimbap master! Ready? Let’s start!

Ingredients (serves 4)

5 cups cooked short-grain rice

12 ounces soy bean sprouts, washed and drained

8 ounces of spinach blanched and washed with the excess water squeezed out by hand

1 large carrot

1 large red bell pepper

1 large zucchini

1 English cucumber

3 to 4 green onions, chopped

½ pound fresh lean cut of beef (fillet mignon, flank steak)

4 ounces fernbrake (gosari), fresh or soaked from ½ ounce dried gosari (details below)

1 ounce dried bellflower roots (doraji), soaked in cold water for 18 to 24 hours.

4 eggs

kosher salt

vegetable oil

toasted sesame oil

toasted sesame seeds

garlic

soy sauce

honey (or sugar)

Korean hot pepper paste (gochujang)

How to prepare dried fernbrake (gosari) for use

If you have presoaked or fresh fernbrake you can use it straight away, but if you have dried fernbrake you’ll need to get it ready to eat. It’s fast if you have a pressure cooker, but if you don’t it will take some time.

With a pressure cooker:

Wash ½ ounce of dried gosari and boil it with 5 cups of water in a pressure cooker for 30 minutes.

Drain and rinse in cold water a couple of times.

Drain. It should make 4 ounces.

In a pot on the stove:

In a large saucepan add ½ ounce of dried gosari to 7 cups of water. Bring to a boil over medium-high heat and boil for 30 minutes. Cover and let stand until cool, about 2 to 3 hours.

Rinse the fernbrake a couple of times, drain and put in a bowl. Cover with fresh cold water and let soak for at least 8 hours or overnight in a cool place, changing the water 2 or 3 times during the soaking.

Taste the gosari: It should be soft. If it’s tough, boil it again in a fresh pot of water for about 20 minutes and then let it sit, covered, until soft.

Drain. It should make 4 ounces.

Make rice

If you have a usual method for making rice or have a rice cooker, go ahead and make 5 cups of rice like you usually do. But here’s how I do it on a pot on the stove. 2 cups of dried rice makes about 5 cups of cooked rice.

Rinse 2 cups of rice in cold water and scrub the wet rice with your hand. Rinse and drain until the drained water is pretty clear.

Put the rice in a heavy-bottomed pot. Add 2 cups of water, cover, and soak for 30 minutes.

Cook over medium high heat for 7 to 8 minutes until the surface is covered with abundant bubbles that are spluttering noisily and look like they’re about to overflow the pot. Turn the rice over a few times with a spoon and cover the pot again.

Turn the heat to very low and simmer for another 10 minutes until the rice is fully cooked and fluffy. Remove from the heat.

Fluff the rice with a spoon to release excess steam. Let the rice stand, covered, at room temperature to keep it warm.

Prepare and cook the ingredients for bibimbap

I like to get a big platter and then put each vegetable on it as they’re ready. I think it looks really pretty, but you don’t have to do this. When all vegetables are prepared and ready to use, the platter looks pretty delicious!

Soybean sprouts:

Put the soy bean sprouts in a pot and add 4 cups water and 2 or 3 teaspoons salt. Cover and cook for 20 minutes over medium high heat. Take out the sprouts with tongs and put them into a bowl, leaving about ½ cup of sprouts in the pot with the water you used to boil them. This is the soup to serve with bibimbap later.

In a bowl, mix the sprouts by hand with ½ teaspoons salt, 1 teaspoon minced garlic, and 2 teaspoons toasted sesame oil. Put them on the large platter.

Spinach:

Cut up the blanched spinach a few times and put it in a bowl. Mix by hand with 1 teaspoon garlic, 1 teaspoon toasted sesame oil, ½ teaspoon kosher salt, and 1 teaspoon sesame seeds. Cover and put it next to the soy bean sprouts on the platter.

Other fresh vegetables:

Cut the carrot into matchsticks, put them in a bowl, and mix with a pinch of salt. Let stand for 5 to 10 minutes until sweating.

Cut the red bell pepper into halves, deseed, and slice into strips. Put them in a bowl.

Cut the zucchini into matchsticks and mix with ½ teaspoon kosher salt.

Cut the cucumber into halves lengthwise and slice thinly crosswise. Mix with ¼ teaspoon kosher salt.

Beef:

Cut the beef into matchsticks and put them in a bowl.

Mix with 1 tablespoon minced garlic, 1 tablespoon soy sauce, 1 tablespoon honey, 2 teaspoons toasted sesame oil, and 1 teaspoon sesame seeds with a spoon.

Cover and keep in the fridge until ready to use.

Mountain vegetables:

Cut the fernbrake (gosari) a few times into bite size pieces. Set aside.

Put the bellflower roots (doraji) in a large bowl. Add 1 or 2 tablespoons salt. Rub for a minute to wilt slightly and release some of the bitterness. Rinse them in cold water a couple of times and drain. If you find some roots are too thick, split them lengthwise. Set aside.

Let’s cook!

Heat up a pan over medium high heat. Squeeze out excess water from the carrot. Add a few drops of cooking oil to the pan and sauté the carrot for 1 minute. Put it on the platter next to the soy bean sprouts and spinach. Clean the pan with wet paper towel or wash it.

Heat a few drops of cooking oil in the pan and squeeze out the excess water from the cucumber. Sauté with ½ teaspoon minced garlic and a few drops of toasted sesame oil for 30 seconds. Put it on the platter. Clean the pan.

Heat up the pan with a few drops of cooking oil. Add the red bell pepper and sprinkle a pinch of salt over top. Sauté for 30 seconds. Put it on the platter. Clean the pan.

Heat up the pan and squeeze out excess water from the zucchini. Add a few drops of cooking oil and sauté with 1 teaspoon minced garlic, 1 tablespoon chopped green onion, a drop of toasted sesame oil for 1 minute until slightly softened. Put it on the platter. Clean the pan.

Heat up the pan with a few drops of cooking oil. Add the bellflower roots and sauté for 2 to 3 minutes. Lower the heat to medium so as not to brown them. Add 1 teaspoon minced garlic and a drop of toasted sesame oil. Stir for another minute until a little softened. Put it on the platter. Clean the pan.

Heat up the pan. Add a few drops of cooking oil. Stir the gosari for 2 minutes until a little softened. Add ½  teaspoon of minced garlic, 2 teaspoons soy sauce, and 2 teaspoons sugar, and keep stirring for another minute. Put it on the platter.

Serve

Here are a couple of ways to serve: bibimbap in a regular, shallow bowl, and dolsot-bibimbap in a stone or earthenware bowl.

In a regular, shallow bowl

Reheat the soybean sprout soup.

Divide the cooked rice into 4 portions. Each portion will be a little more than 1 cup of rice.

Put the rice in each of 4 bowls and arrange the vegetables and beef on the rice. Top with a raw egg yolk and gochujang. If you prefer your eggs and beef cooked, use a fried egg sunny side up and slightly pan-fry the beef before putting them on the top of rice.

Sprinkle the bibimbap with the sesame seeds and drizzle with sesame oil to taste.

Ladle the soup to a small bowl and sprinkle some chopped green onion over top.

Serve right away with more hot pepper paste on the side, and maybe kimchi too.

Dolsot-bibimbap in a hot earthenware bowl (ttukbaegi) or hot stone bowl (dolsot)

Reheat the soybean sprout soup.

Put a few drops of toasted sesame oil in the bottom of each of 4 earthenware bowls. They should be big enough to hold 4 to 6 cups each.

Divide the rice among the bowls. Arrange the vegetables and beef on the rice. Top each serving with a raw egg yolk and 1 tablespoon gochujang. If you prefer your eggs and beef cooked, use a fried egg sunny side up and slightly pan-fry the beef before putting them on the top of rice.

Set each pot on a burner. Heat over medium high heat until you hear a ticking, crackling sound coming from the rice.

Sprinkle the bibimbap with the sesame seeds, drizzle with sesame oil to taste.

Ladle the soup to a small bowl and sprinkle some chopped green onion over top.

Serve right away with more hot pepper paste on the side and maybe kimchi too.

Eat

Gently but firmly mix everything together in the bowl with your spoon. Try not to crush the more delicate ingredients.

Eat with your spoon.

Posted on Sunday, January 6th, 2008 at 11:14 pm. Last updated on September 18, 2022.

[dullanyan]

if i dont eat a gyro soon i WILL deteriorate

[jilixthinker]

sweet taster

=͟͟͞♡ minho × fem!reader

word count: 1.6K

content warning: smut, established relationship, sub!minho, cock play, kinda chubby (but not really) minho, a little bit of feederism if you squint, it's all very loving and sweet

a/c: i feel things about minho's imaginary soft tummy, that's it.

=͟͟͞♡ please, consider reblogging if you like my works!

"That was definitively too much."

Your home smells like savory and sweet, the nice scent lingering in your living room like a warm blanket, and Minho groans in delight as he plops on the couch with his eyes closed, stress from the work beginning to melt away. He loves when he comes home to the smell of one of your cooking, it makes him feel spoiled and pampered.

The portion of bibimbap was more than generous, but what truly tested his stomach capacity were the three big slices of apple pie he gobbled down while you watched him with adoring eyes, fingers softly caressing his plush tighs.

Minho has a sweet tooth and you love cooking and baking for him, that is always been your love language. In addition to that, in the last year of your relationship you started to experiment in the kitchen with lots of different baking recipies, and your loving boyfriend has been your official taster since that.

You cook, he eats, and you look fondly at him while he savors your baked goods, making a series of cute tiny sounds of pleasure that leaves you cooing and pinching at his soft cheeks. That is how you would describe happiness.

"Are you full?" you ask, sitting next to him and immediately nuzzling your face in the crook of his neck.

Minho smiles and his arm circles your shoulder, bringing you closer to him. You nose at his sweater and he smells like candy, smells sweet and intrinsecally like home and Minho. “So full,” he chuckles, placing a wet kiss on the top of your head.

"I guess you don't have space for one last treat then..." you smile against his skin as your hand drops to his belly. It feels tensed and a little swollen because of all the food he ate, and you start to massage it slowly.

"Treat?" Minho's eyes get all round and you hear him sniffing at the air in search of a distinct odor that will make him understand what are you referring to.

"I tried baking some cream eclairs." you smile at him, pinching the soft pudge below his belly button between your thumb and pointer. It's so soft that you wanna eat him whole.

"Well, I guess I can make some space, then".

You sit up again just in time to catch a glimpse of Minho's tongue lapping at the corner of his mouth, pre-savoring the dessert, and you feel a familar warmth spreading through your body. He is just too cute, too precious, too sweet to be yours.

"Let me get it for you. Wanna feed you." You smile as you stand up and head to the kitchen, the platter of creamy sweets ready in the oven.

When you come back, Minho is waiting for you with big pleading eyes, eager to taste the product of your baking. You place the plate on a cushion next to him, but instead of sitting down on the couch, you find your place on his lap, straddling his soft yet muscular thighs.

"Open wide." you say, taking one eclair in your hand and bringing it to Minho's mouth. You tap him under his chin and his mouth falls open easily.

Keeping eye contact, Minho leans forward to take a big bite, chewing slowly to let the flavor really envelop his senses. The lemon cream is sweet and warm, and it melts in his mouth.

You stare at him, pushing the eclair back to his lips when Minho is done chewing, inviting him to take another bite. With a loud gulp, Minho opens up again, and his tongue swirls against your thumb.

"How does it taste?" you ask while you brush a few crumbs from his lips.

Minho swallows the last bit of the eclair and the tip of his tongue laps at his plump lips once again. "Tastes amazing." he puffs out, his breath smells exactly like the cream.

"Want another?" you ask, taking the second one on your hand without even waiting for his answer.

"I am very full, baby." he mumbles, arm falling down to rest on the top of his stretched tummy. "I don't know if I can fit another one. But they taste like heaven."

"Just one more." you murmur as you leave a small peck on the corner of Minho's mouth, licking a bit of sugar away. "You look so cute when you eat. Please, just one more."

Minho sighs, his tummy is stretched and slighly uncomfortable, but saliva begins to pool inside his mouth as a pavlovian response to the thought of the sweet taste. "Just one more." he conceeds.

You hum and bring the pastry in front of his mouth. Minho diligently parts his lips once again and accepts the eclair. Crumbs are all over his shirt and pants, and there are cream smudges all around his pretty red mouth, even stuck between his teeth.

"So gorgeous for me." you whisper as your hips buck involuntarily against Minho's groin. And then you notice that you are not the only one enjoying this.

"You're hard, uh?" you ask with a chuckle, lowering your hand to cup him through his sweats and squeezing him lightly. Minho hisses and you rub his protruding stomach, feeling the soft skin under the fabric.

Minho finishes swallowing and breathes a sigh of relief as he hears you lowering the band of his sweats. “Yeah. It was sweet,” he huffs. "You are sweet. Got me all hard."

You take the opportunity to remove his pants completely to gain easy access to fondle him through his briefs in the process. Minho's breath is is soft and tender, and he smells amazing, all sugary and pretty for you.

"Wanna touch you. Can I, baby?" you ask, finding a comfortable position on the floor, between his parted legs.

The room is warm, but Minho's legs are tensed and his thin hair are fluffy. You caress them and massage the muscles underneath, and you see his fattened cock twitching against his groin. You see a few pearls of precum glistening on the chubby tip, and you wonder if his release would taste like cream if you fed him enough sweets. The thought is enough to rub your legs together, your panties are already sticking to your folds. But this is for Minho, you think.

"You can do anything you want to me." he murmurs, eyes almost closing and head resting on the cushions behind him.

You smile and you scoot forward to wrap one hand around his cock, squeezing it. His swollen cock immediately chubs up even more and wets the fabric of the sweatshirt. The cockhead looks all sensitive, and you tentatively circle the palm of your other hand around it, coaxing a sweet moan out of Minho's lips.

"My sweet, sweet boy." you coo, starting a lazy rhythm of stroking and circling, stopping just to stimulate his spongy head every once in a while. "You are so sweet that I wanna eat you up."

Minho's chuckles breathily and lets out a soft sob as his thighs begin to shake.

"Am I your dessert?" he asks, looking down at you with big eyes and still a few crumbs of eclair on the corner of his mouth. He mindlessly licks them off.

"You so are, pretty. You are my candy, my cake, my chocolate milk." you answer, sliding your thumb against his slit and making him whine slowly. "And I really need to eat you. I am serious."

You lower your head past his leaky cock to brush your cheek against the soft pudge under Minho's belly button. And then you bite him.

The tender flesh is warm and squishy, and the taste of Minho's skin, together with the cream scent still lingering in the air makes you moan against him.

"F-fuck, baby." he mutters, and you feel his cock throbbing in your fist.

With the tip of your tongue you lick at the velvety scar across his lower stomach and then you twirl it inside of his belly button, mimicking the way he usually fucks himself into you. He whines at the movement and his body twitches again.

"Love you." you whisper, keeping your grip steady on him. "Love how soft you get for me. How sweet. Love when you eat well and you look like this. You are so delicious, Mimo."

You keep biting softly at the fluffy fat of his pudge, savoring its taste and jerking him slowly, letting the schlick sound of his wet cock resonate through the room. Minho is pliant under your touch and his eyes are glassy.

"Uhm – I am. I-I am cumming, baby. Sorry." he moans when your finger dips a little into his slit.

"Don't be sorry, honey. You wanna cum?" you ask with a loving tone while your hand slides smoothly on his aching muscle. "Wanna cream on me like the sweet pastry you are? You can, pretty baby. Let it all go for me."

And Minho obeys, as he always does. With one last pump he begins to shoot thick ropes of creamy cum all over your hand and his round belly, covering his pale skin with glossy spurts that accumulate on the curve just above his ribcage.

When he is done, you lap at some of his release and it actually tastes sweet. It could be your imagination or just the fact that you are aroused, but you swear you can taste some of the cream on his orgasm.

"Wow." he puffs, hand covering his eyes in a shy attempt to hide himself. "That was... something."

You chuckle and kiss his tummy one last time before looking up to his face. "Then you will not be surprised when I'll tell you I baked more, right?"

Minho's face blushes to an adorable shade of pink. "Maybe... m-maybe I can eat one more".

©️ jilixthinker, 2024. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

[osamucide]

⊹ FOR SURE

RELATIVELY STABLE AND TENTATIVELY ABLE TO SAY FOR CERTAIN WHETHER THIS UNCERTAINTY IS FOR SURE

wc: 2k

cw: sad and probably ooc dazai but he’s my husband so i actually know how he falls apart, pretty straightforward references to anxiety+dissociation, references to self harm+suicidal ideation but nothing graphic, angst+hurt/comfort, dazai cries and then you feed him that's all

reid: a little spur of the moment something i started when i wasn’t feeling so hot a bit ago. ethel cain’s cover of this song has altered the course of my life anyway enjoy me projecting

⊹ ⊹ ⊹

He was quiet when he got home, which is uncharacteristic, unless he’s scheming. But there was no glint in his eyes and no menace behind his grin, only exhaustion. What’s more is there was no downcast expression, no particularly sluggish movement to suggest he was upset; granted, he would regularly go on performing his usual persona even if he was upset. He was always all moving puzzle pieces, all thick mask and mystery.

It’s a good thing you’ve learned to read him so plainly.

You owe it to the little shared space you’re in, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, reading a book of his as he shakes his coat off and tosses it across the small dining table with two chairs side-by-side at it instead of across from one another. Dazai usually hangs his coat up on the rack by the door, slips his shoes off mindlessly and comes to flop his entire body weight on top of you, but tonight he pulls his laces undone and leaves his shoes tucked neatly against the wall, walks by the back of the couch to press a ghostly kiss to the crown of your head, and heads straight to the bathroom, which he locks himself in.

You swallow as you hear the shower start. You had specifically picked out an apartment with a standing shower, no tub, when you moved in with him. You’d emptied it of razors a handful of times and you probably would a handful of times more, and you kept all of both of your medication in your bedside table. Still, you can no longer quite focus on the words in front of you.

So, you flick the television on. A little more noise in your brain helps tune out the shower that’s just that—a shower. He showers, most often, because he’s feeling strange and not because he needs to feel clean. Maybe he needs to feel clean, but not in a way that a shower will allow. He does it anyway. You wait.

When the water turns off and he doesn’t immediately bounce out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, singsonging which leftovers you should heat up for him, you turn the TV volume down a few notches. When it’s been five minutes or so, you find yourself in the kitchen putting day-old bibimbap in the microwave. When it’s been ten, you’re knocking on the door.

"Osamu?" Your voice is soft as your knock. "I waited for you to eat." Dirty trick, you know. But you also know he won’t otherwise; not on a night like this.

You hear a bit of shuffling before the bathroom door creaks open. His eyes are red, his nose flushed, and he’s rubbing his face with the corner of his towel like he’s just awoken from a nap. He’s got no bandages on. He nearly whispers, "You didn’t have to."

"Wanted to." You work the towel from his hands as he turns the light off. He’ll hide behind the darkness if nothing else, but it’s alright; you’ll let him. You pat water from his shoulders before you sling the towel around him like a cape. You whisper back, "I’ll get you clothes. Please get silverware, yes?"

You don’t give him much of a choice, but he’s in a state where he’s pliant enough to listen to corporeal orders. Getting silverware will be a marginally easier task than dressing for him right now.

After pulling a sweatshirt and pair of pajama pants out of your drawers—they’re his, or maybe yours, doesn’t really matter; what does matter is they cover as much skin as possible—you return to him on the couch, two bowls of cooling bibimbap with chopsticks stuck in them on coffee table. He’s got as much of his bare body under the towel as it will allow.

When you set next to him and peel the towel back he looks nearly catatonic. It spurs tears to your lash line, but you hold back. "Arms, please."

He shoves himself into the hoodie, tousling his wet mop of hair in the process, and takes the pants from you, which he stands robotically to step into. When he sits you wrap five fingers across the top of his flannel-clad thigh and press a short kiss to his cheek.

As if sparked by your touch, he curls himself into you.

You’re quick to receive him; you unlock his hands from where they latch behind your neck, gently, like everything else, and you lean back, back, until your head is hitting the pillow you were lounged up against earlier. His fingers scramble for somewhere to land; you will his weight down onto you, his shoulder and hip to tuck beside yours on the inside of the couch, his free arm and leg to sling across your body and his sweet face in the side of your neck. The water from his hair soaks through your shirt. You don’t care. You feel his breath; your fingertips trace circles along his spine, and your outside hand comes to tangle up with his. Eating will have to wait.

You don’t waste time asking if he wants to talk. If he did, he would’ve started by now.

So you focus on his breathing, and how lucky you are to have it ghosting along your collarbone. He’s gray, then white, then gray, then blue in the light of the TV as his thumb moves across the back of your hand, stiff, like it’s just been freed from paralysis.

You wait for his breath to shake; you know it will.

And he knows you know, because he squeezes your hand in a pulsing rhythm like a heartbeat. He hates this. He hates that you've seen him crumble so many times that you know exactly what he needs.

You say it so softly, again, almost a whisper: "I've got you, my love."

He doesn't want you to say it's okay or let it out or talk to me; this is another thing you know very well. He feels like he's floating away from what little sense of self he has to begin with and it's not okay, and he doesn't want to talk about it, he doesn't want to be told when to cry or not, but he does need reminded that you're here, and you're real, and so is he, and so is this thing that both have; you'll grab his ankles and pull him down out of the air. You always do. You always do.

So he cries anyway.

It's like hearing a foreign language leave his mouth. There's something so assured about Dazai even while he believes he's all smoke and mirrors and seeing—hearing—his voice jump between heaving breaths and cracking sobs has always jarred you in some way. Moreover, now that you're so attuned to the way he breaks, it fills you with a tired anger that you can't place on anything concrete. It's a frustration you're glad to shoulder with him, but a frustration no less. You would set fire to everything you could touch, strangle it all to death with your bare hands, if it guaranteed his peace. But you know he wouldn't want that, not anymore; you quell the rage inside you between strands of his hair, fingerpads combing over his scalp with all that anger channeled into love, pure love. For as terrible and rotten as he's convinced he is, he's truly turned you into something softer than you thought yourself capable of being.

You feel his heart racing double-time against yours; you briefly wish you had no chest, no ribs, no physical form to separate you from him, so that your heart could cradle his, give over to his troubled body the time of the breath yours breathes.

He's all jagged edges right now and you're holding him like he's made of cotton. It makes him worse, momentarily, and he tears his hand away from yours; he knows wrapping around you like this, like a boa constrictor around its prey, will make his arms lose feeling but he does it anyway, like he's worried you'll go up in a cloud of dust if he doesn't hold onto you tight enough. He knows it's probably uncomfortable for you, too, laying back on his knotted fingers while he shoves every piece of himself as close as he can get to you, but you don't say anything, don't even make a sound when he hyperventilates into your shoulder and pushes out pathetic whimpers between his stuttering. He knows his face is twisted into that expression he long ago deemed too ugly to look at in the mirror. He gasps like he's underwater, and you just press your cheek to his temple while you lose track of if the wetness on your shoulder is from his hair or his eyes. It doesn't matter. You love him so fucking much.

He weeps against you with his constraint surrendered, loud but muffled by your shirt, at least until whatever movie was on is over. When he finally lifts his head, your eyes flutter open. You hadn't realized you closed them.

You tilt to look at him; the seam of your shirt collar is imprinted into his cheek. His bangs have dried wildly; you push them away from his eyes which are raw with sorrow, and Dazai's hands unclasp from behind you, settling back to how they first were with one curled up into the couch and the other interlaced with yours. He's devastatingly beautiful. You can't help the ghost of the sad smile you wear; it's because he's so gorgeous, and also you want to let him know you're content to be here—not content with what's upset him, not at all, but content to pick him up and help him haul himself forward. He does not reflect the smile back to you. You don't blame him.

"Let's eat." You leave the please unspoken, but it hangs there anyway.

"It's cold," he complains, still distant, but with a glimmer of a pout you think may be him. He's not getting out of it, though.

You sit him up, keep him close to your side and pick up a bowl; it's indeed cold, but you take a bite anyway, as if to show him it's not so bad. When you hold sliced carrot and broccoli to his lips, he looks at you like you're trying to feed him dirt, but opens his mouth anyway.

And it may as well be medicine going down. Not that he particularly cares for reheated and recooled leftover bibimbap, but your fingers being at the other end of the chopsticks makes it appealing. More than appealing. Delightful, even. He never really understood how things like food, music, or art could be healing until he met you and you doodles silly pictures of him on slow Sunday mornings, sang old love songs to him while you shooed him away from the stove as you cooked dinner, fed him leftovers in your shared home, on your shared couch, surrounded by all the things that were both yours and his, sweatshirts, books, blankets, chopsticks alike.

And he tells you that in his own way.

"Heat it up again for me? Please?"

He speaks the plea this time, and you grin—not sad this time, but wholly, as he relights slowly in front of you. And as already established, you'd do anything for him.

"Mhm."

"I love you," he blurts. Tags it on. You stand, gathering both bowls, still grinning.

"I love you." No question about any of it. You press a kiss to the crown of his head. He unfurls the blanket from where you'd slung it over the back of the couch earlier, picking up the remote to flick through the channels, finally breathing steadily as he waits for you to return from the kitchen. Your kitchen, his kitchen. He hears the microwave hum, in another room, not on another planet. He knows he'll be alright.

[senascoop]

☁︎ . , HYPE BOY . . . 엔하이펜 ☁︎

╰ cause you're my, chemical hype boy

WHO IN ENHYPEN IS MOST LIKELY TO COOK FOR YOU ON A BAD DAY; (enhypen × reader)

a/n. i just wanted to thank y’all for the notes on the previous fic, it made my day. <3

#01 . , KIM SUNOO ☁︎ 김수누 !

╰ chicken noodle soup

Sunoo’s nurturing and caring nature makes him the most likely to cook for you on a bad day. He’s always attentive to your needs and would want to comfort you with a homemade meal. His cheerful and supportive attitude would be a great remedy for a rough day.

"Come on, you need to eat something," he coaxed, his voice tender but insistent. When you didn’t move, he reached out, lightly tugging at the blanket. “You know, I didn’t spend all that time making this soup just for it to get cold. Please?”

“Come on, try to eat a little,” he coaxed softly, scooping up some soup with the spoon. If you didn’t have the strength to lift your head, Sunoo wouldn’t hesitate to feed you himself, carefully guiding the spoon to your lips with a gentle smile.

#02 . , P.JS / JAY ☁︎ 박종성 !

╰ hearty beef stew

Jay, being a taurus, enjoys the comforts of home and has a knack for cooking. If you’re having a bad day, he’s likely to whip up a meal to cheer you up, showing his thoughtfulness and practical support.

“Well, guess what?” he said, his voice taking on a cheerful lilt. “I’m making you my special beef stew. Just the way you like it.”

“It’s not trouble if it’s for you. Plus, I know how much you love this.” He ladled the stew into the bowl, the hearty broth steaming up in the cool air. The sight alone was enough to lift your spirits a little.

By the time you finished, Jay was still there, leaning in closer as if trying to soak up every bit of your presence. “Feeling a little better now?” he asked softly, his fingers reaching out to brush a stray hair from your face.

#03 . , S.JY / JAKE ☁︎ 심재윤 !

╰ spicy korean bibimbap

Jake, with his warm and caring side, would also be likely to cook for you. He values acts of service as a way to show his affection and would take the opportunity to comfort you through a homemade meal.

“Hey, bad day?” Jake asked gently, glancing at you over his shoulder as he stirred the sizzling vegetables in the pan.

Jake smiled softly, setting down the spatula. “Well, you’re in luck because I made bibimbap, and you know what that means,” he said, his voice taking on a playful tone. “Spicy food therapy.”

He plated the bibimbap with a flourish, the vibrant colors of the vegetables, the golden yolk of the egg, and the steaming rice creating a picture-perfect dish that was hard to resist.

“There you go,” Jake said, sliding the bowl in front of you. “Eat up, and don’t hold back. Let it all out.”

#04 . , LEE HEESEUNG ☁︎ 이희승 !

╰ spaghetti bolognese

Heeseung’s balanced and thoughtful nature means he’d consider cooking for you, especially if he knows it would help improve your mood. He might not be as proactive as Sunoo or Jay, but he’d definitely step up if he saw it was needed.

He hoisted you up onto the kitchen counter effortlessly, making sure you were comfortable. “You sit there and look pretty while I work my magic.”

As he moved around the kitchen, sautéing onions and browning the meat, he kept glancing back at you, his eyes full of concern.

“Here,” Heeseung said, handing you a tissue when he noticed tears pooling in your eyes again. “No more crying, okay? At least not while I’m making food,” he teased, hoping to coax a smile out of you.

Heeseung, leaning his hip against the counter as he watched you eat. “Good food makes everything a little better, right? Especially when it’s made with love.” He nudged you playfully.

#05 . , YANG JUNGWON ☁︎ 양정원 !

╰ quinoa salad

Jungwon is caring but tends to approach problems with a more analytical mindset. He might suggest ordering in or finding another way to help, but he would be willing to cook if it was the best way to comfort you.

“Okay, I got this,” he mumbled to himself, throwing everything into a pot with determination, even if he was internally debating whether quinoa needed to be rinsed first or not.

Finally, he plopped the salad into a bowl and brought it over, setting it down in front of you with a dramatic flourish. “Ta-da! Fresh quinoa salad, chef’s special,” he announced proudly, even though he was still wondering if it tasted halfway decent.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. “Yeah, well, I’m not letting you stay sad on my watch. And hey, if this doesn’t cut it, I’m still up for ordering dumplings,” he offered, a playful glint in his eyes.

#06 . , PARK SUNGHOON ☁︎ 박성훈 !

╰ cheesy nachos

Sunghoon’s adventurous spirit might make him less inclined to cook, as he might prefer to take you out or find a different way to cheer you up. He’d still be supportive but might choose other methods of comfort over cooking.

Sunghoon glanced at you with a soft, determined look in his eyes. “Hey, how about we make some cheesy nachos? Our favorite, right? Just like old times.”

Without a word, you wrapped your arms around his waist, pressing your face into his back as he started laying out the tortilla chips on a tray.

Your quiet sobs still echoed through the room, but Sunghoon’s steady presence grounded you. He patted your hands on his stomach reassuringly. “I got you. Just hold on to me.”

As he grated the cheese and sprinkled it generously over the chips, he spoke softly, trying to distract you from your sadness. “Remember that time we tried to make these, and we burned the first batch because we got too busy arguing about whether we should add jalapeños?”

#07 . , NISHIMURA RIKI ☁︎ 리키 !

╰ stir fried noodles

Niki, like Sunghoon, has a spontaneous and adventurous personality. Cooking might not be his first choice for cheering you up; he’d likely prefer to take you out or engage in an activity that might lift your spirits.

He scratched his head, glancing around the kitchen. “But I’m warning you, I’m not exactly a Michelin-star chef or anything. But I can definitely make some stir-fried noodles—easy peasy, lemon squeezy!” He gave a confident nod, though you could tell he was hyping himself up more than anything.

As he got to work, he kept the mood light, humming a tune as he gathered the ingredients. “You know, they say music makes the food taste better, so prepare your taste buds!” He started singing loudly, cracking his voice on purpose and adding dramatic high notes that had you laughing through your tears.

He kept glancing over his shoulder to check if you were still smiling, his own grin never fading as he stirred the noodles. “Smells good, right? I mean, if I can’t cheer you up with my face, at least my cooking will do the job,” he joked, adding a playful wink.

© senascoop | tumblr

[disneyprincemuke]

ღ this barbie can cook

every single weekend, without fail, there is one thing that mick looks forward to that has absolutely nothing to do with the adrenaline from the race. it’s actually the fact that she makes him lunch all 4 days of a race weekend and they eat it together in honda’s cafeteria together while the prop up her ipad on the table and bond over a korean drama she managed to coax him into watching.

during pre-season testing in bahrain, she made him a lot of japanese food. japanese curry as promised, then a bowl of ramen, gyudon and then onigiri for race day.

for their first race weekend, korean food. korean fried chicken, bibimbap, japchae and bulgogi in that order. in jeddah, she tried threw him a wildcard of dishes while somehow still sticking to a theme: baked potato, mashed potatoes, potato soup and sauteed potatoes.

it’s a game they like to play every weekend — how long can mick decipher the theme of food she’s making him?

“hi,” she grins, dropping her bright pink lunch bag on the table. she thanks mick softly as he pulls the chair next to him out for her to take a seat. “i brought lunch!”

he smiles with a nod. it’s funny that she would say that as if it’s something that they did not establish beforehand — that she would be making him lunch every race weekend that they’re teammates. “did you now?”

“i made pakora,” she says as she starts to take out multiple tupperwares out from her bag. “fried veggies.”

“really?” he scrunches his nose with a frown, pulling a giggle as she throws her head back. “veggies on media day? you’ve gone cruel, barbie. where’s my junk food?”

she blinks at him, eyes wide as she formulates a response in her head. “it’s fried. it’s already junk food, mick.”

he scoffs, furrowing his eyebrows and scowling in feigned disgust. “this is ridiculous, barbie! vegetables on media day!”

she stiffens up and turns to him, blinking slowly. “you don’t like it? really?” her voice comes out softly and fragile as her lips quiver slightly. she starts to put the cover back on her tupperware. “we can just get something from catering. it’s okay.”

only then mick realises that he’s messed up. he’s always joked around with her, the girl either tilting her head in confusion at jokes with depth or simply faking a laugh to try and please him. otherwise, jokes usually just go over her head.

“no!” mick sits up quickly, patting her hands lightly, shaking his head profusely. “barbie, i was joking. usually you only give me the healthy food on race day — it’s media day. get it?”

she stares at him, eyes still wide and hesitant. “are you sure? it’s okay if you don’t want it, really.”

“barbie.” he tears her hands from the tupperware along its cover. “it was a joke. you know i look forward to your cooked lunches every weekend! thank you so much for cooking again.”

“you’re sure?”

he grins. “of course. so,” he taps on her ipad, “is the new episode out yet?”

instantly, she perks up as if forgetting her initial concerns. “yes! the new episodes are out — there’s 2!” she taps away on her ipad to turn on the show she’s decided they will watch and spend the entire day discussing.

“oh, cool. so, how long did it take you to make this meal?”

“just a while,” she shrugs. she takes out their utensils, offering the other pair to mick. “let’s have lunch!”

taglist: @33-81 @darleneslane @namgification @happy-nico @nikfigueiredo @localwhoore @notawc @angsthology @renarots @elliegrey2803 @cha-hot @cosmoscoffeee @fanficweasley @sugarhoneylemons @aquangxl @omgsuperstarg @strawberryubin @lovecarsgoingvroom @mangotaitai @cherry-piee @ladyladybuggg @lethalvenus @spilled-coffee-cup @charizznorizz @wcnorris @storminacloud @minkyungseokie @viennakarma @leilanixx @daniellef89x @fezlvr @lavisenri @xcharlottemikaelsonx @ultraviolencesam @selsbackyard @ilove-tswizzle @riddle-me-im-sirius @kindestofkings

[yanderederee]

LittleSnack

a/n:ive been eating a lot lately, and getting a little insecure about it.. so here’s some comfort♡

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“You packed way too much food again!”

Your friend said in an appalled tone.

Atsushi Murasakibara’s ears perked at the mention of too much food, immediately lifting his head up from his previously sleeping position. Looking over at you right away, he stared down your loaded bento.

His mouth watered. Grilled beef, a side of fragrant pan noodles, dumplings, and … leftover Bibimbap. Now his mouth was watering ….

Of course, Murasakibara had finished his lunch long ago. Now that it was lunch though, he was sort of regretting it. No matter how many times he regrets eating his lunch too soon, he always does it again the next day…

“You eat like that everyday y/n… pretty soon, you’re gonna start gaining even more weight…” your friend continued with a judgmental overlook.

You laughed off her rude comment. “You know I’m not worried about that kind of stuff. I just have a big appetite.”

Your defense fell on deaf ears as your friend sighed. “Can’t you just use a normal excuse, like ‘I accidentally made too much!’ And offer the rest of what you shouldn’t eat to someone you like?”

You paused eating upon her words, annoyance prickling your good mood. “I don’t need to make an excuse for my eating habits… I’m happy just the way I am.” You replied calmly, continuing your lunch with a bit more attitude.

Murasakibara, overheating the entire thing, smirked. He’d always had a little bit of an admiration towards you and your large appetite. It was rare to find a girl who ate as much as you. But since he was never all that interested in girls, he made no effort in learning more about you than that.

Seeing this new side of you was nice. He liked the way you stood up for yourself, and took pride in the way you were. Not to mention, the food you brought in always looked homemade. He couldn’t help but wonder if you made it yourself.

“Whatever, just trying to look out for you.” Your friend shrugged, and kept silent about the subject.

Murasakibara glanced at you, instead of your food, and noticed a weird look on your face. Even after you finished the entirety of your bento, you still looked unsatisfied.

The food looked great, and he couldn’t imagine you’d still be hungry. Maybe you were; he was often still hungry after any meal he had too. That’s why he snacked so much, anyway.

That had to be it, you were snacky. No matter how delicious the food you had was, it was true you had nothing sweet.

Dessert was the most important part of a meal, after all.

Without realizing the meaning behind his actions before acting on them, he began searching his snack-school bag for what he had on him.

Four bags of different chips, three mambo sticks, two rice cakes, a few handfuls of Sakura mochi candies, a bag of hi-chew, and two red bean buns.

Looking at the assortment made his mouth water. He was definitely going to indulge in some snacks as well. Reaching in, he pulled out a bag of chips, a mambo stick, four Sakura mochi, a handful of hichew, and a red bean bun. He honestly had no idea what kind of food or snacks you liked, so he just grabbed a little bit of everything.

Hauling the load in his stupidly large hands, he quietly walked over to your desk. You were sitting alone now with your bento neatly put away, since lunch was only a minute from ending.

“Y/n-chin…” your classmate said in a deadpan tone, before laying the snacks out on your desk. Your eyes bulged wide in shock. Your mouth fell open, confused. Speechless, you craned your neck up to look at your tall classmate. “M-Murasakibara-kun…?” You asked.

He nodded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “You looked hungry… teach yells at me if she catches me snacking during class though, so careful not go get caught…” he looked away after catching your glistening gaze.

Why was he suddenly embarrassed?

“Y-you didn’t have to! I couldn’t..” you tried to offer the snacks back, but he already started walking away. “Eat them all y/n-chin~”

And just as he sat back in his seat, the class bell rang to start lessons. Crap, he was gonna have to sneak-snack again.

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Murasakibara was putting away his school materials, careful not to squish any of the snacks inside. “M-Murasakibara-kun…” you said quietly while standing over his desk. With an unimpressed glance, he looked at you, practically at each other’s height even though he was sitting.

“Thanks for the snacks today… they were really good.” You smiled at him. “I don’t have anything to repay you though, so…”

You looked down at your fidgeting fingers. “I-if you don’t mind, I’d like to cook you something. I-I always accidentally make too much food at home, enough for an extra bento or two… so, if there’s anything you’d like, I’d be happy to make something for you.”

As if buffering, Murasakibara sat unmoving in silence. Well, this was a surprise. He wasn’t sure how he should respond. He didn’t offer you the snacks to get something out of you, but he’d be lying if he didn’t want to eat your cooking.

“Really?” He asked.

You nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely!”

“You’re sure?” He asked again.

You laughed heartily at this. He wasn’t sure what was so funny, but your continued laughter was making him feel some type of way. It made him smile, like he was happy or something.

“Yes I’m sure! Do you have any requests?” You asked after finally getting your giggling under control.

Murasakibara looked up, and hummed in thought. “Anything I want…. That’s a dangerous question y/n-chin, since I like everything…”

You hummed in unison, and thought. “Buttered chicken?”

“Sounds yummy.”

“Sautéed carrots?”

His nose wrinkled. “Hate carrots.”

You giggled. “No carrots. Pork dumplings?”

“Sure…”

“Muchim?”

“As long as it isn’t too spicy.”

Satisfied, you nodded, and pulled your bag over your shoulder in preparation to leave. “Look forward to it, then!”

Murasakibara wasn’t sure why, but he felt the urge to call out for you when you began to walk away. He didn’t though, remained sitting while he watched you leave.

“What was that about?” Himuro asked suddenly, scaring the purple giant half to death. “Nothin’” he huffed in reply.

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The next day, Murasakibara almost forgot about yesterday’s events. He forgot things pretty easily. As he put his shoes away, he began thinking about if he’d have enough time to eat his bento before the beginning of the day bell rang.

“Murasakibara-kun,” he heard his name call out to him from behind, halfway down the hall. He stopped, and looked back to see you with two large furushiki wrappings in hand. “I might have went a little overboard, sorry.” You laughed quietly.

Oh yeah, you promised to bring him lunch today. He wasn’t sure how he forgot that.

“Thanks,” he accepted the purple furushiki, surprised by its hefty weight.

“I hope it’s to your liking!” You grinned up at him. Caught up in surprise, he only just realized how fucking short you were. Everyone was short compared to him but, well, he could have easily missed you if he didn’t actively look down.

Before he had the chance to reply, you were jogging off to your shared classroom, carefree and greeting friends along the way.

…

The hours seemed to pass agonizingly slow between then and lunch time… Despite being successful in scarfing down the lunch his mom packed him for the day (as per usual), he was eager to finally enjoy the food he’d been wishing he could eat from your bento from afar.

…

Finally, the heavenly sound of the lunch bell ended morning lectures. Immediately, he pulled out the wrapped bento box, unwrapped the furushiki, and popped open the first of three boxes.

He wanted to eat slowly, savor each bite for its amazing flavor. But that was just impossible. He barely had enough time to chew between each bite, he was eating so fast.

Too distracted by the food in front of him, he hadn’t noticed you staring at him. “He sure is eating fast,” you chuckled to yourself, making your friend cock an eyebrow at you. “Why the sudden interest? Wait… isn’t that one of your lunch boxes? No, that’s definitely your furushiki on his desk. Y/n, did you..?!” She asked, almost choking on her own lunch.

“W-what can I say… I-I accidentally made too much…” you looked away from her suspecting squint. “Oh my god.” She whispered, looking back to Murasakibara. “Never for a thousand years would I have guessed… you and Mu—“ she tried to tease you, but you cut her off with a sush.

“Not out loud..!” You whispered red faced.

Glancing back again, you spotted Murasakibara seeking you out, mouth full and giving you a big thumbs up. You almost gasped, his approval earning a much deeper blush out of you.

Once he’d finished, he wrapped everything back up. Though, when he handed it back to you, it was much… lumpier than you remembered.

“It was good.” Murasakibara reported back to you in his usual dull tone. “Just good?” Your friend huffed. “That’s it?”

Murasakibara narrowed his eyes, not sure what she meant. It’s not like he was very fond of her anyway, given her attitude toward the way you ate in the first place. Was she trying to get on his nerves?

“She went out of her way to make extra food for you? Can’t you act a little more grateful for her kindness?” She asked, pulling her own finished dishes away from your desk.

“S-stop.!” You hissed.

Your friend shrugged, unfazed. “Just sayin’.” She said just before walking away, leaving you two in shock.

“D-don’t worry about—“ you tried to laugh off the poor attitude she left behind, but Murasakibara got the idea.

“The Muchim was a little spicy, but i really liked it. The rice you made was fluffier than how my mom makes it, so I liked it better. The sauce you put on the chicken was also different than I’ve had before, so I really liked that too… I also liked the way you fried the dumplings on the bottom…” he tried thinking of different ways to compliment your exceptional cooking, but he wasn’t really that good with words. Hell, he wasn’t very social in general. Talking to you at all was out of his normal behavior.

Nevertheless, his kind words struck a cord in you. “It wasn’t too much?” You asked.

“I could have thirds.” He admitted.

“I have some leftover from my own lunch, if you-“

“Nah, that’s your food y/n-chin. You should finish it.” Murasakibara pointed at the lunchbox wrapping he handed back to you. “I also left some snacks in there for you as thanks, make sure to eat those too.”

That explains why the wrapping was lumpy. You couldn’t help but laugh again. “That’s thoughtful of you, thanks.”

Murasakibara nodded, and started walking back to his desk, but felt a tug on his sleeve that made him stop and look back.

“Sorry… but, do you mind if I call you by a nickname? After all, not only do you call me by my first name, but it’s also shortened…”

He looked down at you silently for a moment too long to feel comfortable. “I-I just mean, Murasakibara is a bit of a mouthful, you know?”

Crap, were you overstepping? Nervously, you averted your gaze. He liked seeing this shy side of you too. Atsushi smiled, and sat in the seat your friend left open. “Sure. What’d you have in mind?”

Happily surprised at his change of tone, you unfolded the lunch cloth, and pulled out a red bean bun.

Til the end of lunch, you both sat and chatted with one another.

[kangaroosmile]

Washing away the bad energy - Jisung

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description: When you come home after work you find a tired Jisung on your sofa who had a very bad day. You offer him to wash all the bad energy away.

pairing: Han Jisung x gnreader

genre: fluff, boyfriend Jisung, gnreader, non-sexual nudity, reader is taking care of Jisung, you help Jisung take a shower

word count: ~1.7 k

trigger warning: nudity (non-sexual), mentioning of food and eating, mental health issues

A/N: If there are any tags or tw you think I should add, please inform me about it ♡ but now enjoy the story.

You can find more of my stories under Stray Kids Masterlist

-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-♡-

When you opened the door to your apartment, the light in your living room was turned on. When you walked further in, you noticed Jisung sitting on your sofa deeply wrapped in your favourite blanket. He was watching a documentary, his eyes focused on your TV. You placed the takeaway on your kitchen table and walked over towards Jisung. When you stopped in front of him he finally seemed to notice you. And you noticed how tired he looked.

"How was your day?", Jisung asked.

"Tiring. How are you?" He kept quiet for a moment, looking towards the tv instead of answering. "You don't need to tell me how you are right now", you whispered, softly playing with his hair. "Just tell me what you need right now." A soft smile appeared on his face as his glance turned back to you. He slowly opened his arms and it just took you a second to drive into his arms. You made yourself comfortable as Jisung wrapped his arms around you tightly. A soft sigh escaped Jisungs lips.

For a few moments you two just listened to the documentary which was still playing on the TV.

"I got us both some takeaway. If you want, we can eat that and then we can do what you want. What do you think?", you asked, while running your hand through his hair.

"What have you bought?", he mumbled against your shoulder, his eyes softly closed.

"Bibimbap and cheesecake."

"Nice!", Jisung said, slowly getting up from your sofa, still wrapped in the big blanket. You got up as well and grabbed the takeaway bag to sit down next to Jisung at your coffee table. You let him open the bag and watched as a wide smile appeared on his lips.

"Thanks for grabbing takeaway", he whispered, shortly leaning in and placing his head on your shoulder.

"When you texted me, asking whether you could stop by after work I knew I just wanted to spoil you a bit." Hearing this, Jisung softly moved his body against you as a whine left his mouth. Laughing at his reaction, you carried his cheeks for a second.

"Let's eat before everything gets cold." Jisung nodded and started to dig in. In silence and with the television in the background you two are. You learned to enjoy this side of your relationship just as much as the cheerful times. After a while Jisung had stopped eating and was now just looking at you. His eyes started to move from you to his hands and back again. "Is there anything I can do for you?" Jisung let out a deep breath.

"I don't want to force myself on you. I… what if you don't want to do what I ask you for but you are doing it anyways?", he ranted, looking everywhere but at you.

"Jisungie", you mumbled, taking his hands in yours. "I know you have these thoughts and I know it's hard to let them go. But I can assure you that I am fine with everything. Otherwise I wouldn't say yes to it", you explained. "And I will tell you this every time you ask." You smiled at him, hoping it was looking encouraging and honest. His glance fell on his hands again.

"I'm sorry that I am like this." Hr whispered.

"There is nothing you need to feel sorry about." He stayed silent and you knew he was thinking about what you had said. Then he softly nodded his head. You were not sure whether he was really believing in what you have said but you would tell him that every time he would need to hear it. "Will you tell me what was on your mind?"

"I wanted to ask whether I could side hug you but then I was unsure because you were still eating and I didn't want to interrupt you", he then explained.

"Oh Sungie", you breathed, softly patting his cheek. "Of course you can do that. And thank you for being honest with me. It really means a lot to me." Jisungs shoulders went down a bit as he exhaled. Without another word Jisung leaned in and hugged you from the side. You placed a short kiss on the top of his head and then finished the rest of your Bibimbap.

"Today was hard", whispered Jisung after a while. "I got up too late which meant I didn't have enough time to prepare for the day." You wrapped your free arm around him and pulled him closer. "Then the yoghurt I wanted to eat had gone bad. And one of the managers said my song is too dark so we can't use it in our next comeback."

"Oh that's a lot in one day", you muttered.

"It was", he said, his voice trembling and his eyes already watery. If possible, you pulled him even closer.

"But you did it. You got through everything and now you are here", you mumbled carrying his back.

"Yes… I did", he replied, his voice still trembling.

"You can be proud of yourself."

"You know what we will do now?", you asked, backing away a bit to look at Jisung. The other looked confused and shook his head. "We will wash all the bad things away. Of course only if you are comfortable with this", you suggested, feeling a bit nervous because it would be something new. You have never seen him completely naked and you didn't know whether Jisung was fine with this or not.

"You would do that for me?", he asked, his eyes wide and his eyebrows high up. As you stood up, you nodded and held your hand out towards him. He took it and let himself be pulled up. Together you walked towards your bath.

"I will get you a new towel and a few clothes you left the last time around", you told him, while playing with his hair. He softly nodded and as you left your bathroom he started to undress himself. You were humming a soft melody as you walked back in. Jisung had his back towards you already completely naked. Carefully you stroked over his wide shoulders which made him fall slightly against you. A light sigh escaped his mouth and he leaned even more into you. You wrapped your arms around his upper body and his hands closed around yours in front of his chest. For a moment you stayed like this. Just enjoying having him close but then you carefully patted his chest.

"Let's wash all the bad energy off." At that, Jisung nodded and slowly stepped into the bathtub. He crouched down and waited as you turned the water on. "Is the temperature alright for you?", you asked while letting the water run over Jisungs hands.

"Yes. That's nice", he mumbled and closed his eyes as you started to let the warm water run over his back and shoulders. You softly started to continue the melody you had hummed earlier, carefully spreading the shampoo over Jisungs shoulders, neck, back and chest.

"I'm gonna smell like you", muttered Jisung, looking up with a wide but tired looking smile. You couldn't hold back a giggle as you nodded and kissed his still dry hair.

"That's true. My Jisungie will smell like me." It made him laugh lightly, leaning against your hand which was now on his head. "Can I wash your hair now?", you asked softly as you stroked through his hair. Letting out a sigh, he nodded as an answer. When his hair was wet and washed you let the warm water run over his body a few more moments. His shoulders seemed much more relaxed now. He looked quite adorable playing with the small runlet of water.

"Thank you for this" muttered Jisung and looked up to you. You smiled back at him.

"Do you want to get out now?" Without saying anything he stood up and closed the tap, while you stepped back and held a towel out for him to grab. After a moment Jisung accepted the towel and began to pat his body dry. Meanwhile you took a hairdryer out of one of your small bathroom cabinets and plucked it in. When you turned towards Jisung again he had dressed himself already. You nearly cooed seeing him standing there in front of you with sleepy eyes and sweater paws. "Let's dry your hair a bit. What do you think, jagi?", you whispered as you held out a hand for him to take. You saw Jisungs cheeks softly turning pink and a bright smile appearing on his lips. He sat down on the edge of the bathtub and closed his eyes when you started to dry his hair. You parted his hair a few times, always careful to not pull at his hair. And when his hair was dry enough you turned off the hairdryer.

Suddenly Jisung leaned forwards right against your body, slowly wrapping his arms around your torso.

"I am so grateful for having you in my life", he whispered against your hoodie but you heard him nonetheless.

"And I am so thankful to have you in my life as well", you replied to his confession and placed a soft kiss on his forehead.

"Can we go to your bed for some cuddles?"

"Just for cuddles? Does that mean you are planning to go to your own home tonight?", you asked jokingly, which made Jisung laugh.

"I would like to sleep here tonight, if that's alright." With a wide smile you nodded and pulled him up.

"Of course that's alright." As you two walked into your bedroom you noticed that Jisung seemed already in a lighter mood again. As Jisung made himself comfortable under your covers you changed into your pyjamas and shortly texted Chan. After that you joined Jisung and within minutes both of you had fallen asleep. With arms linked.

You:

Took care of Sungie. He is doing better again. We are going to sleep now. :)

21:58

Chan:

Thanks for taking care of Jisung in a way we can't. I really hope we can all meet soon again.

Sleep well you two.

22:01

[gunwookies]

cute things zb1 does in a relationship

pairing: zb1 x gn! reader genre: fluff! suggestive at hao's, lil angsty at taerae's warnings: slightly cringey word count: 3.5k notes: I tried to write every character based on my interpretation of the members! also for yujin's I assumed the reader goes to school since he does too.

jiwoong:

he always makes sure that you are well fed!

jiwoong always asks you if you’ve eaten. just like he cares so much about his health, he cares so much about your health! when you’re stressed you often forget to eat so he’s the one that always makes sure your tummy is full! he lovesss to cook for you! when you come home from work tired, he knows that food is the way to your heart. so he always welcomes you home with a plate of rice or a bowl of soup ready to listen to you talk about your day. if you’re too tired he’ll even feed you because he finds you so cute.

you unlock your apartment door, trudging through. your nose is hit with the strong smell of garlic and chili oil. your eyes find their way towards the kitchen, where jiwoong’s back is facing you as he spoons some bibimbap into a porcelain bowl.

“you’re home?” jiwoong asks, his back still facing you as he finishes preparing the food. you smile to yourself as his voice gives you the comfort you’d been longing for all day. you drop your bags on the couch as you head towards the kitchen. you wrap your arms around jiwoong’s waist, snuggling your cheek into his back. you feel jiwoong slightly giggle and look up to see the cute crinkle of his eyes. “are you tired?” he asked, looking down at you over his shoulder.

 “mhm,” you affirmed. he turned around to face you, your arms still around his waist. his hands reached your face, fingers cupping your cheeks as he placed a small peck on your forehead. his fingers lightly caress your ears as he places his forehead against yours.

“how about you have some of this bibimbap i made you and then we can watch a movie and cuddle? yeah?” he whispers. you nodded enthusiastically before stealing a quick peck on his lips.

zhang hao:

constantly praises and compliments you

hao is your number one fan and he always wants you to remember that. he literally cannot go an hour without praising you. he’ll randomly stop you when you’re walking together down the street to just tell you how beautiful you look. as soon as you wake up next to him, hair all messy and face puffy, he doesn’t hesitate to tell you how attractive you are as he looks straight into your eyes. he loves seeing how shy you get at his words, but even more how you gain confidence when you are around him. he definitely feels pride from having such an amazing partner as you.

you wrapped a towel around your body as you stepped out of the shower. hao had booked a dinner reservation for the both of you as it was your three year anniversary. you were so excited as today was such a special day and you were ready to spend it with your boyfriend in such a romantic way. as you walked out of the bathroom, you saw hao leaning against the bedframe, scrolling on his phone. his gaze raised as he saw you from the corner of his eyes. a small smirk formed on his lips as his eyes were glued on your frame. he shoved his phone into his pocket as he walked towards you. you didn’t pay him any mind as you walked towards your closet, looking for something to wear. as you stood in front of your clothes, you felt hao’s arms snake around your waist. 

“you look so beautiful, right now,” he whispered, placing a small kiss on your neck. he continued to place kisses all across your neck and shoulders.

“come on, hao. i need to get dressed.”

“but you just look so gorgeous like this. i can’t believe i get to see this beauty with my own two eyes,” he whispers into your ear, before he places a kiss there. you turn around, hiding your blushing face into his neck. 

“we’re gonna be late.”

“ i think we should just stay home and do… other things,” he smiled innocently. and of course, you could only agree.

hanbin:

loves to spoil you

hanbin just loves to see you happy, especially when he’s the reason. and he’ll do anything to achieve that. he always notices the twinkle in your eyes when you see something you want. he doesn’t even think twice about buying it for you, because he just want to see you happy like that. you never even ask for anything but hanbin just always knows exactly what you want. even just going to the convenience store, he always brings something for you. even when you don’t ask for anything. more than anything, he loves giving you meaningful gifts. like how he once gifted you a weighted blanket because you complained that you weren’t sleeping well. 

you rushed down the stairs of your apartment, still in your pjs. hanbin had texted you that he was outside of your apartment. you were completely confused as you had just seen each other for breakfast this morning. but it was still an opportunity to see your favorite person, so you were delighted. as you walked outside in the windy cold, you noticed hanbin leaning against a tree. he broke into a sweet smile as his eyes met yours. you walked towards him and noticed his hands hidden behind his back. 

“hey, love,” he smiled as you reached him. you waddled in front of him, placing a peck on his lips. you noticed how his arms didn’t even reach to touch you as you kissed him. you looked down to see he was holding something in his hands. hanbin noticed your gaze and hesitantly stretched his arms towards you. flowers. he bought you a bouquet of flowers. you broke into a smile, noticing how they were your favorite flowers, camelia flowers. 

“what is this for?” you asked, as you grabbed the bouquet, placing it against your chest.

“i just saw them as i was walking home and i had to get them for you. pretty flowers for such a pretty person,” he said, smiling shyly, his ears growing red. you giggled, leaning into his embrace. 

“thank you, hanbinnie,” you muttered, kissing his cheek.

matthew:

he loves taking pictures of you

matthew just loves admiring your beauty. anytime he can, he just takes out his phone and snaps a picture of you. he especially loves doing it in secret. whenever he wakes up before you in the morning, he loves to sneak pictures of you sleeping because you just look so peaceful and beautiful. he even has a picture album named after you where he just has pictures of you. whenever you guys go on dates he always makes sure to take a picture of you, wether it be from across the table or in front of a beautiful scenery. whenever you’re not with him, he’ll go through the photo album and smile at the beauty. 

you walked hand-in-hand with your boyfriend over a bridge that overlooked the han river. 

“aw, come on! i was not that awkward,” matthew whined as he recalled the day he confessed to you.

“matthew, you were stuttering and you couldn’t even look me in the eyes,” you giggled, leaning your head on his shoulder. it was true, you had never seen matthew look so nervous until that day three years ago. 

“okay, i definitely was nervous. but, you can’t blame me. i liked you so much that i probably wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if you rejected me.” you giggled, pinching his cheek. you settled back into comfortable silence as your eyes wandered around your surroundings.

“the river looks so beautiful with all the lights reflecting on it like that,” you noticed, stopping to stare. 

“it really does look beautiful. here, go stand there. let me take a picture,” mathew says, taking out his phone. you walked over towards the edge of the bridge, standing awkwardly in front. you didn’t really know what to do so you just threw up a peace sign as you always did. “come on, y/n. you can do better than that,” matthew says. “you should look at my instagram for inspo,” he grinned behind the camera. you giggled, before throwing your hands back into the peace signs. what you didn’t know is that matthew was able to capture that beautiful smile of yours. “you look so cute!” he praised as he looked at the pictures he took. 

taerae:

takes care of you even when he’s mad at you

you’re taerae’s number one moodmaker. so when you fight, it really hurts him. because of that he tends to give you the silent treatment. if he tries to talk to you he knows he’ll break down into tears so he just waits for you to come up to him. but, you can be just as stubborn as him so this could mean whole days without talking. however, taerae feels responsible for taking care of you anyways, so he does so in small and quiet ways, like leaving you coffee in the morning when you wake up, throwing a blanket over you and turning the tv off when you fall asleep on the couch, or folding your laundry just the way you like it without asking, which usually cause you to give in and forgive him. 

you had locked yourself in your room for hours, silently crying in your bed as you replayed the scene over in your head. you had never fought so bad with taerae and it was all for nothing. it was stupid. you hated fighting with him. why’d he have to overwork himself so much? why couldn’t he just come home and rest with you? it wasn’t fair that his agency was taking your boyfriend away from you. but it was also his dream, and you couldn’t take that away from him. you just wanted to run into his arms and hug him and tell him everything was okay. but then the scenes of him yelling at you, eyebrows furrowed replayed in your head. you were too stubborn to forgive him so easily. suddenly, you heard a knock at the door. you jolted in your bed, standing up to head to the door. you hesitated before opening it, as you weren’t sure if you wanted to face taerae like this. however, you wiped your tears and opened the door. to your surprise, there was no one there. but you looked down and noticed a cup of tea on the floor.  as you picked it up, you noticed there was a note stuck to it. 

“i love you no matter what. i’m sorry - taerae”

ricky:

he loves to make you nervous

ricky is such a naturally flirty guy, but only with you. so, he just loves doing little things that he knows will make your heart flutter. you’re usually pretty shy when it comes to physical affection, so ricky loves to catch you off-guard. he loves to see the way your breath hitches and your eyes panic when he does something risky. he doesn’t care if you’re alone or surrounded by people. but secretly, it affects ricky just as much as it does to you. he would never want you to know how fast his heart beats or how his hands shake, when he does these kinds of things.

“hahah loser! i’ve beaten you three times now,” you say as you stick out your tongue at your boyfriend. ricky pouted as he threw the game controller onto the bed. 

“it’s just because you’re distracting me!” he whined, throwing himself back on the bed. you shook your head in disbelief.

“what do you mean? i’m just playing mario kart fair and square! i haven’t even talked to you!” you mirrored ricky’s pout, crossing you arms against your chest. 

“yeah, well you’re so cute i can’t focus,” he mutters. your breath hitched just the slightest.

“ricky… th-this is just your way of sidetracking me so i’ll lose. guess what? it won’t work!” ricky chuckled, sitting back up as he gripped the game controller.

“we’ll see about that? if i win this next round, you owe me ice cream,” he proposed. 

“deal. you won’t win though,” you affirmed. this time you were completely determined to beat ricky, this was ice cream on the line. as the game started, your eyes were focused on the screen. you were pleased to realize you were beating ricky! though he was only two places behind you, you were sure that you could beat him. that was until an overwhelming force pushed your back into the bed. less than a second later, a pair of lips attacked yours. they moved swiftly against yours, his tongue lightly licking your lips. you could feel your heart beating a thousand miles per hour. without realizing it, you became completely captivated and forgot all about the game. but, ricky didn’t. just as quickly as he kissed you, he parted from you, getting back into the game. and before you knew it, he had won.

“RICKY!” you whined, lightly punching his bicep. 

“you were totally into it,” he smirked. “and you owe me ice cream.”

gyuvin:

he’s literally attached to your hip

apart from being your boyfriend, gyuvin is your bestfriend. that’s why he wants to do absolutely everything with you. he also thinks you’re literally the cutest person on earth, so he tends to baby you. no matter what you’re doing, gyuvin either has an arm around you, his hand in yours, caressing your face, your hair. there is absolutely no scenario in which gyuvin isn’t touching you in some way. and you’ve become absolutely dependant on his touch, to the point where you’ve become just as needy for his touch. 

you were laying on the couch of your shared apartment, gyuvin’s head laying on your lap. your fingers played with his hair, gently ruffling it as your eyes stay stuck on the tv screen. suddenly, you felt a storm in your stomach. gyuvin turned his head to look at you, the corner of his lips pointing upwards. 

“are you hungry?” he asked, a cute downward smile on his lips. you nodded slowly, a shy smile on your lips. gyuvin then got up, sitting down next to you. 

“how about we go down to the convenience store and get some ramen and snacks?” he suggested, a mischievous smile on his lips. 

“you go. i don’t wanna get up,” you whined, leaning against his shoulder.

“come on! you know i can’t do anything without you. plus, you’ll have so much more fun with me than alone here with your tv,” he grinned, standing up in front of you.

“alright, kim kwaja. let’s go,” you sighed, giving him your hand to pull you up. 

you walked along the street, your arm locked in gyuvin’s. 

“i’m so cold,” you grumbled, snuggling into gyuvin’s chest. “i should’ve just stayed inside.” gyuvin giggled at how cute you looked, all grumpy and annoyed. he took your hands in his, warming them up with friction and placing a kiss on the back of your hands before putting them in his pocket. your cheeks heated up at the sweet act. 

“better?” his voice asked, lovingly.

“yeah,” you muttered, cheesing to yourself. 

“see. how can you live without me?” 

gunwook:

he gets jealous

gunwook’s biggest pride is you. so when he feels like that is being challenged, he tends to get a little irritated. however, he never makes it your problem because he understands that you’re such a charming person that it’s only natural for others to flirt with you. that doesn’t stop him from feeling a little jealous on the inside, though. he’s not usually a confrontational guy, gunwook is such a cutie, especially for you. but when he feels threatened, he tends to puff up his chest and pretend he’s all cool and mighty. you think its the cutest thing in the world. 

gunwook had taken you on a date to the amusement park. you’d been nagging gunwook for forever to go and he’d finally complied.  after going on all the rides you wanted to go to at least three times, you were both so tired. 

“how about we go get something to eat?” gunwook offered, squeezing your hand in his. you nodded enthusiastically. 

“how about we get some churros? ooh, and a milkshake?” you you asked, giving gunwook those puppy eyes that always worked on him. 

“yeah, yeah, alright. let’s go,” he said, melting completely. 

“ooh!” you gasped as you saw a couple wearing matching headbands. gunwook noticed the way your eyes lit up and immediately knew. 

“ok, you go get the food and i’ll go get us some cute headbands,” he said with a low chuckle. you giggled, thanking him with a kiss on the cheek before heading to get the food.  as you approached the food booth, you noticed a familiar face. your childhood friend, jungwon, was standing in line. as soon as he saw you, his eyes lit up.

“y/n!” he yelled, waving you over. “it’s been so long,” he said as he embraced you in a hug. as you got your food, you engaged in a long and enthusiastic conversation with him.

when gunwook arrived, wearing pink bunny ears and holding another pair in his hand, he didn’t like the view. he didn’t like the way jungwon was looking at you, or the way he kept touching your shoulder when he talked to you. he sped up walking to you and surprised you by wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“oh! hi, gunwook. this is jungwon,” you said, smiling. 

“hi. i’m her boyfriend, gunwook. nice to meet you,” he said with an unusually deep voice, placing the bunny ears on your head before shaking jungwon’s hand without cracking a smile.

“well, nice to meet you too! i'll get going y/n. it was nice to see you,” jungwon said, giving you a pat on the shoulder before walking away. you smiled at him, then turned towards gunwook. 

“you didn’t have to scare him off like that,” you scolded him.

“i just didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he pouted, wrapping his arms around your waist and hiding his face in your neck. 

“you’re just the cutest, aren’t you?” you whisper.

yujin

he’s always blowing up your phone

yujin will literally relate anything he sees to you. because of that he’s always sending you pictures of things that remind him of you, or tiktoks, or memes that will make you laugh. he just sees you in every little thing and wants you to know. when you get home from school, you go straight to your phone to watch all the tiktoks yujin’s sent you and one by one respond to them. he’s also the type of boyfriend that would call you in the middle of a school day. he’d be obsessed with you.

you were able to sneak into the bathroom during math class, since you knew he wouldn’t notice you were gone. you quickly entered the bathroom stall in the far left, and rang your boyfriend. he immediately picked up.

“hi,” he said, all giggly. your cheeks warmed at the sound of his voice. 

“hey yujinnie,” you replied, warmly. “how’s your day been?” 

“i haven’t seen your face yet, so not that good,” he complained. you laughed lightly, but enough to make yujin smile. “it’s not fair that i don’t get to see you laugh with my own two eyes right now.”

“don’t be so whiny, yujin. here, i’ll turn on my camera,” you gave in. you turned on your camera, your smiling face being the first thing yujin saw. he gasped.

“what is this golden light that’s blinding my eyes? is it a goddess? an angel? oh wait it’s just y/n’s beauty” he announced dramatically. you chuckled, shaking your head.

“hey! now you turn on your camera!” you whined.

“alright, alright,” he complied. instantly, his face filled the screen. you gawked at how beautiful he look under the horrible bathroom lighting. his hair slightly fluffy, and a few strands falling over his eyes. he looked so cute it made you mad. 

“you’re alright,” you shrugged. 

“after i just compared you to a goddess? just ‘alright’?” he frowned jokingly.

“okay! i guess you’re pretty handsome,” you mutter. 

“i’ll take it!”

“sooo, do you wanna go to the movies after school? there’s this really good horror movie i wanna watch!” you suggested.

“sounds good, i’ll meet you there at three? maybe we can grab something to eat beforehand.”

“okay. i’ll see you later!” you said, sending him a kiss through the screen. he grabbed it in the air, holding it against his heart. 

“see you later, y/n.” you thought you saw a semblance of pink on his cheeks before the call ended.

[jjvr4yxc]

They won't notice.

Summary: Dong Wook is attracted to you.

Today you will be visiting a variety show, well, you're gonna be one of the cast/members.

You will be with Kim Beom, Lee Dong-Wook,Song Kang and Kim Soohyun. You might be wondering why it's all boys... Well I am too.

Right now you are in the car, waiting patiently until you get to your destination. Today was a very tough day as a trainee actor, not only you need to be a member of some show, but with professional actors too! (Hot too, hehe)

Your train of thoughts got cut off when the vehicle suddenly stopped, making you look at the driver and to the window, that's when it hits you, you're here. (That's kind of a dumb paragraph)

Your palms started to sweat and your whole half body became noodles-- you are so nervous right now, being with professional actors with a lot of money! And in a big industry too! (Big dick 🤭)

The door opened, gesturing you to get out of the car, in which you did. Following the producers, you are now face to face with the handsome actors.

“hi everyone!” I bowed, bending my knees, “it's nice to meet you!” you beamed.

The actors smiled and introduced themselves, “I'm (Full Name), you can call me anything you want!”

“anything?” Mr. Lee repeated, making you nod and smile.

Mr. Lee looked at the rest of the men and smirked, in which they confusedly did too.

“well then, why don't you start your day?” the producers start, making y'all go inside and find your room, making the way to the room, you noticed it's a lavender painted room, it's fascinating. You will be the only one who will sleep here, sadly, while the men will be in one big room.

You unpacked your things and got outside.

“hi again” you smiled at them, making them copy the action, suddenly Beom asked us what to eat for lunch, we all agreed on eating bibimbap.

Mr. Lee cut the ingredients needed, while the rest of them were doing things, “Princess, do you know how to make desserts or anything sweet?” Wook ask, making you nod. “my family owns a cafe, you can trust me on that!” making him smile and continue what his doing.

You decide to grab the ingredients you're gonna need, you'll make Brownies, your favorite, since it's only 11:00PM, you can finish this.

Finding where the flour is, you found it above the counter, making you frown. You tried reaching it, but it was really high, you're too focused on getting the flour to notice that there is a person behind you, which is really close.

“do you need a little help?” Dong Wook/s deep voice let out, making you turn around, only to bump into his chest, which takes you long to process.

Looking up with a doe eyes, you smiled, nodding, “yes please ” you replied. He suddenly raised his brows, making you notice that there is only a single inch between your faces because he came downwards..

Your eyes widened, when he leaned to give your lips a peck.

“they won't notice that we are almost fucking, they won't.. plus I turned off the cameras.. just for you”

“we barely know each other.”

“so?..”

“we can't--” you got cut off when he smashed his lips into your own, making you stop taking.

Ok I'm tired I'll continue this tomorrow.

Plus this is fanfiction, you know it will have alot of chapters.

And tomorrow the continuation will be smut.

Don't worry, every man in this fic will have sex with you.

[wannaeatramyeon]

Gun Park x Reader: this is our place (we make the rules)

Chapter 5 - Probably should read ch1 first

Gun has a new neighbour. Index: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Epilogue

You are this close. This close to having a breakdown.

Who the hell flirts and says ‘are you hungry for food or something else,’ and invites you in for actual food. 

And, you think as you consider jamming the chopsticks into your eyes, why the hell did you follow him into his home. Do you have no sense of propriety especially after what an asshole Gun has been?

Are you so overcome with horniness that you abandon all standards?

Yeah Gun Park might be hot. Maybe even the hottest thing you have ever seen. 

Too bad he is rotten. A- a… 

Douche, your brain offers and you slump at the impact of the word, like a bang that just fizzles out, missing the mark. You were hoping for the most aggressive curses known to man. But yeah. He is a douche. A douchebag. 

Who the hell has black eyes. Who wears sunglasses indoors. Who does he think he is.

You know what? Fuck it. 

You will not be intimidated by his home. All clean lines and pretentious.

Clearly lacking a personality, just like him.

If he has invited you for food. You will eat. You will eat him out of house and home and gorge yourself until your stomach bursts.

With gusto, you tuck into the food laid out before you. Just about enough for two people if they had small appetites.

Douche. You swallow down a mouthful of bibimbap.

Douchebag. And inhale the pickled radish.

Asshole. You take a swig of the sharing bottle of Coca Cola. 

.

.

By the time that Gun comes out, he’s staring at a few stray clumps of rice.

“Hungry?”

“Starving,” you give him the biggest grin you can. Ha, that’ll teach him.

With a shrug, he takes out his phone, taps a few more times then tucks it away into his pocket.

“More food is on the way.”

Oh. Your grin turns into a grimace, “...Thanks.”

.

.

Waiting for the next food delivery is painful.

The minutes slog by. Seems to slow down even more when Gun takes a seat at the dining table opposite you. Observing you with those sharp black eyes.

Gun doesn’t speak.

He hardly finds that he needs to in most situations, preferring to let the silence settle and permeate. Grow uncomfortable until fools find the need to fill it. Spilling more than they intended.

“So,” you lean back into your seat and cross your arms, “Gun Park?”

“...”

“That’s your name, right?”

“Yes.”

“Gun Park,” you repeat again, testing the way the words sound on your tongue. Huh. It’s not as repulsive as you thought it would be.

“Y/N,” he says, and you jolt at the fact he knows who you are.

“How do you know?”

“I looked up who you are,” He says casually, like everyone just looks up random people, “I was curious.”

Oh yeah. Sure, that explains it. 

“What did you find?”

Gun rattles off statements about you. Reduces your life down to a few lines and facts and dates. Punctuates it with, “That was all the PI could find.”

“Private investigator?” You hear your voice getting higher with each syllable. The ‘-tor’ is shrill.

“...”

“You said you looked me up! I thought you meant on social or something! AISH!” You flop back into your seat and click your tongue at Gun, who seems tickled at your reaction.

Seriously. Who is this guy anyway. This sounds like some rich Chaebol shit, which… tracks. 

You glance around at his clothes, his stinking rich aura, the apartment that would be described as minimalist and never sparse or empty.

“Y/N.” Gun says again, this time he’s the one that’s testing out your name. He thinks of your furious eyes, the foot jammed between the door, all the times you flipped him off and finds he can’t help accompanying it with a small smile.

Oh.

All your anger and exasperation evaporates with that smile. Not a smirk, not mocking. 

His face lights up and transforms. Eyes crinkling slightly at the corners, a ghost of a dimple on his cheeks. It takes years off him, looking more boyish.

Damn, he is handsome.

.

.

Gun finds out very little else about you. 

At least, nothing that answers what he wanted to know.

As he eats, you ramble something about college and your family and friends. Moan about your sink. Talk a little about how odd it is to have money. To buy what you want but you still can’t bring yourself too.

He finds he doesn’t mind your words. Voice pleasing and warm, seeping into his skin.

And as you grow comfortable, gesticulating and body growing easy - Gun can’t recall ever having shared a meal with someone in his home. 

Can’t recall sitting with someone else in their company like this.

.

.

Silence settles, this time amenable, almost pleasant. Any annoyance long expired.

You notice the kitchen stove is spotless to the point of unused.

“Have you even used that?”

“Never.”

“So you just order takeout all the time?”

“When I’m home, yes.”

“You can’t cook?”

“I prefer spending my time doing other things.”

“Like what?”

Gun gives you another smile, this time teasing.

Your breath catches in your throat and your stupid traitorous heart pounds.

.

.

Over the weeks, as you cook you find the portion sizes growing infinitesimally.

It gets to the point that there’s enough for another portion left over and then some.

Huh. Will you fancy that.

.

.

The most difficult thing is getting Gun to thaw.

Because once he thaws and warms to you, he himself melts into a puddle surprisingly quickly.

Getting past those walls? Worming your way under his skin and finding a heart there? Nigh on impossible.

Actually statistically impossible, never been done before.

Saying that. He's never had such a constant, harmless presence in his life before too.

Someone that doesn't want anything from him or expect anything either. Doesn't know who he is, and accepts what they see.

There is no exchange of power. Barely even any exchange of words.

Gun finds with you, there's no ulterior motive.

If there's never any danger in the first place, then the walls don't need to be built as high.

.

.

Each time you see him, he's a little less frosty. The curt nod developing into a ‘Morning’ or ‘Evening’. Or when he’s in a particular good mood - ‘Hello’.

You continue flipping him off on the odd occasion and he stills the gesture, not used to the disrespect. (Who would even dare to do that to Gun Park especially if they want to keep their finger.)

Then he huffs, a tiny and subtle exhale and the briefest quirk of the lips. But it's there.

And so. You build up your confidence.

.

.

“Here,” you hold out a tupperware to Gun that he receives with thanks and little rebuttal.

By the next morning, or a few days after that, you always get your container back. Left on your doorstep with a sticky note and a messy scrawl.

‘thanks’

‘this was good’

‘more salt’

‘i dont like cilantro’

‘you should make this again’

‘too much garlic’

Even the criticism perks on your day. 

It becomes something you look forward to each morning. You keep the notes, hiding them away in a drawer.

The handwriting that initially is almost illegible you can now read with ease.

[moony-ghoul]

ghouls go to breakfast hcs:

dew: dew gets nauseous if he eats too early in the morning so he usually will just have coffee while the others eat, despite this he always helps first thing in the morning when it comes to making breakfast, swiss cuts him up some fruit after they clean up and he’ll snack on that before lunch. he has his coffee w oat milk and pretends like he doesn’t want any sugar but will scoop about 4 tablespoons in after the first sip

rain: he’s not the biggest fan of ‘traditional’ breakfast foods, he loves bibimbap, rice w a shit ton of lil side plates to add in? he goes crazy. however rain loves a good sleep in and doesn’t like having to wait for the rice to cook AND cut up veggies AND fry eggs, luckily there’s a lil fire ghoul who’s love language is acts of service who will make sure all of rains side plates are ready for him the moment he wakes up. after breakfast he likes to sit outside w his herbal tea and a good book, he’s not 100% sure what the tea is but mount said it’s good for digestion

phantom: complete opposite of dew. this mf needs food in their mouth as soon as they open their eyes or they will die (they won’t). thankfully much like rain has dew, ant has swiss who wakes up at a ridiculous time and makes sure his lil bat has a 3 course meal to wake up to. ant eats a lot and they eat fast, they’ll have something that resembles a full english breakfast and a bowl of cereal and fruit and whatever left overs the others don’t want. nobody knows how that ghoul can possibly fit so much food in them and absolutely no one is shocked when they’re curled on the couch 30 minutes later complaining about a stomach ache before having their post breakfast nap

swiss: swiss is easy when it comes to breakfast, he’s typically cooking most of everyone else’s so he makes a plate w a lil bit of everyone else’s food. he will have at least three different kinds of eggs tho usually one fried, one scrambled and an omelet (“gotta have protein for the gainz”). he switches up between tea and coffee depending on his mood but he always drinks it straight no milk no sweetener “i’m sweet enough”

mount: mount much like dew and swiss is one of the dens chefs. he doesn’t touch any of the meat tho the texture causes him problems so that’s left to dew and swiss, mount is a master at omelettes tho he has a secret cheese dealer and always has the most amazing cheese that compliment the rest of the omelet perfectly, along w his home grown veggies and herbs. the abbey does have a few chickens that mount will help care for but that’s mostly up to zeph. every morning he starts off w one of his homemade teas he’s got a cupboard full of different mixes of herbs that he’ll switch between depending on what the day has in store

cumulus: forever mounts princess cumulus tends to wake up to a beautiful steaming mug of chamomile tea in bed, she enjoys it while she spends time freshening herself up for the day (washing her face, taking off her silk cap and fixing her hair up). by the time she wanders into the kitchen mount always has her fav of his omelettes ready, ricotta and spinach with a side of sliced up strawberries. he quite literally has it ready on a silver platter for her

cirrus: cirrus is basically half alive in the morning until she has at least 2 mugs of close to boiling black coffee. she goes absolutely ham on the sausages, heat does not effect her so she’ll grab them straight out of the pan while swiss is still cooking them, if they’re still raw in the middle she honestly prefers it. she might snack on some pineapple if she’s feeling peckish but for the most part her mornings start off w a plate full of pork (bacon and sausage)

aurora: if you wake up aurora before she’s done having her beauty sleep all hell will break loose. she’s usually the last one up and is also one of swiss’ morning princesses. she sits at the head of the table every morning and swiss brings her a bowl of yogurt, granola (ofc made by mount) and berries. he would not dare forget to serve it with a kiss

this post is inspired by this one from @iamthecomet

[candywife333]

You Can Have Him

Summary: I am having Jungkook's baby. That's right bitches, you heard me right. We had a one night stand and now I am going to make him pay in cash and chocolate doughnuts-- currency of the gods. No emotions, just mucho dinero. That's the motto for today. There's no way he can fall in love with a virtual freeloader right? Let's all pray that he doesn't for my sake and yours.

chubby reader x idol (loaded) jungkook

Disclaimer: This character of Jungkook is not a representation of the real life Jungkook. Keep in mind this is all fiction.

Mini- series

(haven't decided on how many parts. I guess however many it takes me to get my thoughts across)

PART 2 of Only Here for Food

You know when your bladder just can't hold in the piss and it has to empty itself under just about any circumstance? Well that was me right now, as I sauntered into HYBE. I used the wonderful bathroom on the first floor and with a jolly grin on my face went to the cafe. Their desserts were simply exquisite. "One new york classic cheese cake with a boba tea please". I clapped my hands , giggling in glee as I saw all the other options I couldn't wait to try every time I visited the HYBE building.

I took my aesthetic picture of the desserts as the employee who handed me the food smiled at me. Happiness is contagious, just like the plague and that is the best part about it. Trudging over to the BTS waiting room , I saw my favorite super squishy couch and sat on it, ready to eat my dessert and some bibimbap with pork belly I had made for lunch today.

I kept all my food on the table, having brought an abundant amount for the guys as well. They may like it, and if they didn't I had so many neighbors I could just distribute the food to. I dove into the bibimbap, moaning as the flavors hit my tastebuds. This is truly what I lived for, fatty oily sweet and savory rice loaded with greasy meat, spiced vegetables, and fried egg. Taehyung walked in, clearly surprised at what I had brought and my presence. "Hey Y/N , what are you doing here? Jungkook is in the recording room".

I smiled, "Oh, I didn't come for Jungkook necessarily. I was just going to give him papers that my lawyer drew up in case I saw him around the building. I actually just came here to eat and brought some food with me in case you guys wanted to try any. Made it all early this morning after my mommy pilates class". I chewed loudly with fervor, "Why don't you also try some food? I made bibimbap, japchae with tiger shrimp, fish cake stew with sausages, and kimbap. It's all home made".

Taehyung reluctantly took his first bite, and then it was game over. He sat there eating the food with me as I showed him reruns of different series I was watching. I showed him how I was midway through death note and my plans to dress up as a Shinigami this halloween. I was also knitting a shinigami inspired scarf with apples laced all throughout. He chuckled and laughed with me.

The rest of the guys filtered in, behooved to see Taehyung get along so well with Y/N. They saw the abundance of food, and Jin was the first to serve himself a plate, exclaiming and gesticulating ,"So good Y/N, so good, you are truly a goddess. I was just missing home made food so much". The rest of the guys also decided to chow down, trying to steal the cheesecake from Y/n as she was slowly eating it, attempting to prolong the experience.

Jungkook walked in, sweaty and tired from recording his new track for a feature when he saw Y/n. His face contorted into disgust. What the hell was this girl doing here again? Wasn't setting up a child support plan after his unfortunately positive paternity test enough for her?

He loudly stomped in the room, slapping his doc martens against the ground. Y/N heard the noise and looked up to see him. "Hi JK, want to try some food? I just made it this morning. Took me two hours, but I wanted to bring a treat for all of you just in case. Was supposed to go on a picnic today with my boy toys but I thought I would feed you guys instead". Jungkook nodded his head with pure defiance and rage, till a singular word filtered through his brain, boy toys?!?!! He shrieked in a fury, "What the hell do you mean by boy toy women? What type of males are you frolicking with? Are you getting run through by every damn male out there?"

Y/N weakly smiled, "I mean, I wish I had the braveness to cavort with every handsome man I met. But I am just too scared of STDs you know. Trust me on this though JK, if STDs never existed, I would fuck my way through an entire fraternity. I have the stamina of a stallion". She proceeded to imitate a neighing of a horse, as the boys all tried not to choke, aspirate, and die on their food.

Y/n continued, "I just came here to talk to you about honoring the part of our agreement that talks about baby time twice a week. Twice a week I will be here so we can have our baby interaction time , so as a dad you can be close to the baby". Jungkook was ready to rip all his hair out of his head. What the hell was she talking about? Then he remembered the part of the contract which stipulated that he was supposed to meet her twice a week to interact with the baby as it was in the womb and for one year post partum.

"Just let me know once you are ready, and we will go into a private room so you can touch the baby directly-- you know skin to skin contact and all". The boys tried to not laugh openly at Jungkook as he stared at y/N horrified of her request. They all filtered out immediately. Namjoon stated somberly, "Jungkook you can use this room with Y/N, I will close the door so you and her can have private time with the Baby".

Jungkook timidly walked over to Y/n and sat next to her. She emanated the scent of fresh laundry and coconuts, very appealing and nothing that he had ever smelled on any of the girls he usually bedded. Y/n lifted up her dress and Jungkook was shell shocked to see red lacy panties stretched down due to a surprisingly round baby bump the size of a small melon. Her thighs were thick and glistening with moisture . He almost had the urge to bite her thighs. Wait, what the fuck, where was this thought coming from?!

Y/N lifted one eyebrow, "Aren't you going to touch the baby? Don't be scared by my pussy, don't worry, it won't bite. It will maintain its distance, it is well trained and domesticated". Jungkook's hands slightly trembled as he placed both of them on either side of her stomach. He felt the warmth of her silky skin radiating through his hands, as an unwarranted image of Y/N with his cum stuffed up her pussy and his cum sprayed all over her pregnant stomach ambushed him. He jolted away, hands moving away due to the sudden unbidden thought invading his mind, infiltrating his brain.

He asked softly with concern, "Is this normal for your stomach to be this big for two months?" Y/N cooly replied, "They are actually twins. I am preparing cribs and clothes for them. Double the work actually, but I can't wait". She giggled, nose scrunching up and mirth in her eyes. Jungkook saw how beautiful she was, for the first time since he consciously met her.

Y/N squealed out, "Ok now Mr Jungkook. Hands off the goodies. Visitation hours are over". She flipped down her dress as Jungkook now couldn't get the image of her ripe swollen stomach and panties out of his mind. She clouded his thoughts so quickly, no wonder he got her pregnant he mused to himself.

The members came back in as Y/N stared at her phone, watching death note on youtube with Jimin who snuggled up next to her. Jungkook felt a flash of envy thunder through his body as he saw the mother of his kids so close to Jimin. He shouldn't feel this way, but he did. A model named Jin Hee, from one of their previous photo shoots came over to Jungkook and sidled up to him.

Jin Hee held on to Jungkook's arm and started talking to him, flirting with him, as Y/N watched the scene unravel from the corner of her eye. She had great peripheral vision, took her vitamin A and carrot intake very seriously, thank you very much. As Jungkook sat down now, Jin Hee sat so close to him, she might as well be on his lap. Jin Hee was clearly trying to prod Y/N to breaking since the news had spread quickly about Jungkook's baby momma. Everybody knew who Y/N was in the HYBE building.

Jin Hee, a stereotypically thin model had been vying for Jungkook's attention for the longest time. She did not want to lose to a fat pregnant non celebrity baby momma. Y/N calmly put her phone down next to her, to the confusion of Jimin. In a calm voice that could slice a human's flesh with its sharpness, she drawled out firmly, eyes facing Jin Hee, "You can have him you know. I don't fight over community dick. If you want him, you can have him. You clinging to him like a baby koala is making you look desperate. I am not jealous of you in the least. My eyes are on a different prize, and Jungkook is not it. I eat leftovers usually, but if Jungkook was a left over, I would throw him in the trash".

[jilixthinker]

embryos

PART 1 PART 2

pairing: felix × jisung

genre: angst, supernatural, smut

summary: "purity. those who possess it can have the access. it's like a key. only the pure souls who die in your world can enter in mine. the only requirement is a body. flesh in exchange for the eternal sun".

word count: 5.8K (in part 2)

content warning: depression, death, mentions of suicide, pain and sufference, parallel universes, smut, jisung and felix are so in love it hurts, eventual happy ending

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

“Jisung”.

Jisung hears a familiar voice calling him. Jisung? Was that the right name? His ears do not react. Another low sounding voice echoes around him.

“Jisung. Once is fine. Twice is too much for anyone”.

Something touches his face and, no, this is definitely déjà vu. In a split second a sequence of speed motion images run through his mind. Morning, coffee, car, crash, hospital, bed, car, house, shower, bathroom, mirror, hand. When he opens his eyes he expects to be looking at that boy with a comforting smile but, instead, he is lying on the couch in his living room, his legs obscenely open, considering that he is still naked. Standing in front of him he can see Chan and Minho, who have a unquestionbly unnatural complexion.

“I hate you, okay? You need to stop killing us every twenty minutes because I don't know how much more my heart will hold up. What the fuck were you doing lying on the bathroom floor? Thank God I have the keys to your house, or I would have had to call the fire department-.

Chan is as frantic as he’s ever saw him, his breath short and his eyes literally out of his frame. He is clutching his wrist a while Minho, beside him, looks at him wearily.

“I think I slipped while drying my hair”.

Jisung's voice is really a mess. He stutters out that sentence with every syllable and he messily tries to sit up, not without Chan supporting him from the back.

“Fantastic. Now you can't even survive half a day? God, why?”

Chan brings both hands to his face and shakes his head weakly.

“I'm sorry. I really am”.

Minho strokes his boyfriends’s back and barely smiles at Jisung.

“You don't have to feel sorry for us, you have to feel sorry for yourself. You fainted because you had nothing in your stomach, so now do me, you, us, and humanity a favor. Eat”.

From a bag he hadn't even seen, Chan pulls out an aluminum container with bibimbap and one with bulgogi. The food smells delicious and Jisung does not realize how hungry he is until he has two chopsticks in his hand and starts eating. He devours the food within minutes, feeling the gaze of the two friends on him. Chan occasionally massages his shoulder muscles while Minho picks up grains of rice escaping from the chopsticks.

“Jisung, you need to eat regularly“.

“I'm going to buy something at the supermarket tonight”.

Chan crosses his thighs on the sofa and points to three bags full of food at the foot of the sofa.

“We went grocery shopping before we came to you. I don't like the idea of you going out alone”.

“Chan, I am really glad, from the bottom of my heart, but you can't live depending on me”.

Chan is about to answer back and Jisung shakes his hands in front of his face. “No, wait, listen to me. Tonight you and Minho will go out for dinner and then to the movies or, I don't know, whatever you would do if nothing had happened. Take it as a personal favor, okay? I can't stand to see you so distressed”.

Minho on the other side of the couch nods and smiles at Jisung, then winks at him.

“He's been a pain in the ass lately, you know? All he does is talking about you. Jisung, Jisung, Jisung. If I didn't know better I'd think he has a crush on you. But I swear I'll find a way to shut his mouth”.

Jisung chokes on the bulgogi and starts spitting bits of meat all over the couch.

“God, no, please. I don't want to know the details. Spare me”.

Chan tries to fight a smile while Minho, on the other hand, bursts into a silvery laugh. Jisung looks at them and thinks they are adorable, even though sometimes he hates them. But at the end it's always been what works for them.

Two hours and endless recommendations later, Jisung closes the front door and slumps against it. He puts his hand on his chest and feels its heart drumming loudly against his ribs, like a bird in a cage. The smell of bulgogi still hovers in the kitchen and in the living room, and the sky outside the window is gray, clouds swollen with rain. Jisung walks away from the hall, heading to the bathroom. He doesn't even want to go back into that room, he has no idea why his legs are heading there.

Once he enters in the bathroom he notices that the smell of humidity has completely disappeared - Chan opened the window - and the puddles of water on the floor have evaporated.

“Are you still here?”

The words vibrate up his throat and Jisung feels like an immense coward because he is not even looking in the right direction. His eyes are fixed on the tiles.

“I told you before. I have always been here”.

The voice answers his question, soft and gentle.

That is the exact moment Jisung starts to think that he has really gone crazy. So this is what it feels like to hit rock bottom. He turns with a movement that costs him inhuman effort and faces his mirror. There, clear as a spring day, the stranger's face stands vibrant as before. Like a few hours earlier he smiles sweetly, just with his lips. Jisung thinks he must smell like the Sun, even though the Sun has no scent. It is perfect, and all that perfection makes him feel safe instead of intimidating him.

“So why haven't I seen you before?” he asks, his voice is barely a whisper.

The stranger takes a step forward. Jisung doesn’t know where, since he is behind a mirror, but he knows he does it because now his face is closer.

“It's because of the accident. It did reset he rational sphere of your brain".

As he speaks, Jisung can see small white teeth inside the stranger’s mouth. He looks so alive, so close, so real.

“Are you a ghost?”

He shakes his head and blonde hair swing on his head. A strand escapes from behind his ears and slips over his eyes.

“I am a future memory”.

Jisung moves closer to the mirror until his pelvis slams against the sink. The boy in front of him does not move away. He remains motionless, looking at him. He has a face he cannot classify. He has simple, thin, almost ephebic features. Childlike features that could go unnoticed when placed next to millions of other faces. But then he looks at his red plush lips curved into a sweet smile and big eyes that study him with a calmness he does not possess, and Jisung is certain that he would never forget a face like that.

“Are you real?”

“Reality is what you see”.

“Can you only give me enigmatic answers?”

The stranger puffs out a sound which is similar to a laughter, and in Jisung's head it resonates like millions of tiny bells trilling all at once.

“As long as your questions are. You can try asking me something simpler though”.

The boy crosses his arms against his chest, accommodating. His shoulders are tiny. Jisung imagines he could fly away with a breath of wind.

“Do you have a name?”

He nods, slow and graceful. As if he is weighing every word so that nothing is left to chance.

“Felix”.

He has a simple name, he thinks, it must be real. It has to be.

“Jisung”.

“I know”.

Jisung closes his eyes and rests his hands on the edge of the sink to keep himself from slipping on the floor.

“Do you know who I am?"

“No, we have never met. But I know your name”.

“How?”

“That's just something I know. Like the phases of the moon and the name of the oceans. Maybe I've always known it”.

Felix takes another step forward, into the middle of nowhere, and his forehead almost touches the cold, reflective surface. Jisung breathes heavy and slow as he watches the other rest his fingers beside him against the mirror.

“Where did you come from?”

“I don't know if you would believe me”.

“Please” he murmurs heartily “I'm just trying to understand. If there was something I was sure of, it was that I wasn't crazy. Then this morning I walk into my bathroom and behind the mirror I find you. You saying you don't know me but still you know my name, saying you've always been here while I've never seen you. And now I don't know if I'm crazy or not. Maybe I'm talking to myself, maybe I'm dreaming or maybe it's real. The fact is that I had a certainty, and now I have none. The least I can do is trying to find a sense to this”.

Felix’s reflection moves away from the mirror and looks deep into it, as if he was searching for something he had lost, something he knew he can find somewhere in between Jisung’s eyes.

Something important.

“Felix?”

He utters that name and Jisung’s body is invaded by small electric shocks that start from the tips of his toes and radiate down the column of his back, straight to his forehead. Whatever Felix is looking for seems to be a long way from being found.

“Have you ever heard of the alternative reality theory?”

Jisung nods, confused. “Vaguely”.

“An alternative reality is a separate and distinct dimension, which coexists with the earthly one. It can be identified with a space-time continuum. Basically, everything you can perceive around you, every smallest particle of matter, it’s present in equal form and measure in a parallel dimension. The two realities are superimposed on each other, occupying the same space and time. It is a perfect and unstoppable circle”.

The concepts that flow from Felix's lips are distant, intangible, complex. Jisung presses his fingertips against his temples, trying to assimilate as much information as possible.

“Metaphysics managed to explain every single, small, tiny detail. Except for one. It has failed to provide a reason. And it's funny when you think about it, isn't it? It answered all the thorniest questions, all the most difficult complications but not the simplest one”.

Felix lifts his gaze and Jisung feels stripped of any foothold, feels himself floating in the void, adrift.

“A choice. My world offers a second chance to those who could not survive the cruelty of yours. But this world does not test, does not lay snares. This world is the right world. Without pain, anger, envy, rejection. Only love”.

Jisung tries to imagine this world. He doesn't even need to close his eyes to make it palpable. He sees Felix's face reflecting bright sunlight as he rests on a green English lawn, tiny daisies in his hair and a few ladybugs on the fabric of his pants.

“You come from there”.

Felix smiles again. The room regains its brightness.

“I come from there. Or from here. It is relative. Now you are able to perceive the overlap of spaces”.

Jisung reaches out a hand toward the glass but stops a few inches away, as if frightened by what might ensue upon contact. Felix is close, he can outline with his mind the shape of his lips.

“But I see you”.

Felix is a little lost in his smile. Jisung, on the other hand, is lost in his deep gaze.

“I know. It's absurd, I recognize that. But I assure you it's strange even for me”.

“No”. Jisung shakes his head and feels something from the marrow rising to the surface, radiating within his veins like an endless lava flow.

“No”, he continues. “No. I see you. I see you”.

He leans infinitesimally forward and touches with his fingers the spot where Felix, on the other side of the mirror and on the other side of the universe, is resting his clear fingertips. He should feel a calm, safe warmth and waves pouring their foam onto the rocks. Instead he just feels cold.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Jisung does not go back to university. Chan keeps calling him, first with gentleness and compassion, but now he is just tired. Minho is a shadow of his boyfriend, nothing more. The phone keeps ringing, Jisung keeps not answering. Reality begins to get blurrier day by day. Chan persists in leaving lunch in front of Jisung’s door almost every day but the bags remain intact because the door is no longer opened. Then, one day, the bags vanish, just as the phone stops ringing. Jisung doesn’t even notice because he cannot even describe his own face anymore, let alone remember having had friends. Or maybe the memories linger somewhere, buried deep in a remote, hazy corner of his unconscious, but no one goes into it. Thus Jisung's old life is covered by layers and layers of thin, opaque dust. He buries Chan, Minho, his parents, his brother, the accident. It buries Jisung and everything he had before. The only figure that seems to stand out is the thin, sharp figure of Felix, which is practically a paradox because Jisung is not even sure that Felix exists. But whether he exists or not, he is there. He is there, day and night, watching him. He watches him even though Jisung is not in the room. He does not know how he does it, he does not even know if it is really possible. But he knows he does, because he feels his eyes everywhere he goes. They talk for the longest time. Sometimes they use words, sometimes they talk to each other in silence. Jisung thought it was a movie invention, but he realizes how crucial this little snippet of everyday life has become to him. He wonders about the meaning of the thousands of mundane actions he performs every day without even thinking about it.

The fact is that Jisung is opal. He knows it. He knows it as he has always known that he cannot be a star but only a small black dwarf. And he accepts it, because it can only be so. But Felix is a red giant at its best. Felix speaks, and the continuum of all possible worlds stops, leaving room only for a chasm. Felix shines without anything overshadowing him. And maybe that’s Jisung who is a reflection in the mirror, because if there is anything he feels able to swear to without any fear, it is that Felix is indeed, infinitely, diamond.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

“How is the rain like?”

Jisung is sitting with messy legs while holding a cup of lukewarm coffee. Felix, on the other side of the mirror, looks at him waiting for his answer.

“Sad. As if the sky is too tired to continue to shine, then little tears fall down on the Earth”.

Felix laughs with his lean shoulders shaking as his eyes close in two perfect crescents.

“You are being melodramatic”.

Jisung takes a sip of coffee as he carefully follows Felix’s movements in front of him. He watches his shirt curl over his soft hips and lingers on the edge that leaves a few inches of white skin exposed.

“Doesn't it rain there?”

Felix, as is his habit, shakes his head, letting thin strands of long hair fall across his forehead.

“Just sunshine”.

“Always?”.

“Always”.

Seoul has not seen the sun for weeks, but it seems it’s been years. A thick blanket of clouds covers all the blue, turning it into a deep leaden gray.

“You never saw the rain?”

“I have seen it in your world”.

Jisung stops drinking and stares at Felix's tight lips.

“Have you been in my world?”

“I lived there for a long part of my existence”.

“I thought you were born there”.

“No one was born here”.

Jisung pictures a wide-eyed Felix facing a suffering horizon polluted by mankind's cruelty. A tiny hand gripping the air as if to grasp something.

“How?”

Felix bites his mouth and catches the pout between small teeth. Thin fingers reboot his hair.

“Purity. Those who possess it can have the access. It is like a key. Only the pure souls who die in your world can enter in mine. The only requirement is a body. Flesh in exchange for the eternal sun”.

“You have faced death”. Jisung lets the words flow. “You, who are so much closer to life than I have ever been. You died. Why?”

Felix understands and smiles light as a feather.

“I was fragile, Jisung. I could no longer exist in that circle of evil where I had grown up. It was too much, and I was tired”

Jisung rests his forearms on the shelf and cannot understand whether he blames or thanks the other's cruel fate.

“What are you now?”

“I am just Felix. There is a mirror between these worlds, that’s true, but I have not regretted for one second the decision I made. I have never been more alive than this-.

“Don't you ever wish to go back?”

Felix murmurs something that Jisung feels like a gust of wind.

“I have what I want now”.

And Jisung knows that, even though Felix looked away to observe something undefined behind the mirror, he is talking about him.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

It’s during a sleepless night when he discovers that Felix also has a diamond voice. Jisung drags himself to the bathroom and curls up in the chair in front of the mirror overlooking the other world. Felix begins to sing softly and slowly, so quietly that at first it almost sounds like he is whispering. It goes on for what must be hours and Jisung rests in silence without taking his eyes off his face. By the time Felix closes his lips it’s already dawn, faint beams of light penetrating through the window.

“Do you think that if I had met you earlier something would change?”

“I believe we were destined to meet exactly like this. I can't imagine anything different from what we have now”.

“But maybe...” Jisung begins with a nostalgic spark in his eyes, “maybe you would make a different decision. I can't help but thinking about how it would be if we met in college. What I would say to you if I met you in a park. What I would think if I walked into a coffee shop one day and saw you there, sitting in front of the window, waiting for your coffee".

Felix smiles and strokes the mirror with his fingertips, following the border of Jisung's face.

“You probably wouldn't even notice me”.

Jisung slides his gaze along the other man's slender figure. He observes the soft blonde hair with the texture of a cloud, the rosebuds of the mouth, the thin, delicate line of the jawline. He observes the small, elegant nose and the dark eyes contoured by long, thick lashes. His voice cracks.

“How could I not?”

“I never belonged to that world, Jisung. It rejected me. I was an inconvenient bacterium, just as you are. And I couldn't give you anything”.

Felix takes a deep breath and Jisung thinks he wants to sink into the absolute purity of his beauty.

“You would give me everything I need. As you do now”.

“I was the shadow of myself”.

“That would have been enough”.

“I'm sorry”.

“I'm the one who is sorry, for not finding you sooner”.

Then Jisung stands up, letting the blanket on his legs slide off and settle on the floor like a puddle.

“Felix”.

Felix looks at him fixedly and loudly, because he understands. He did it from the beginning, and the fact that he does not answer him only means that he knows. Jisung feels something, very close to his heart, expanding and starting to press against his chest to come out.

“I would like to kiss you”.

Then Felix closes his eyes. Jisung moves closer, weighing each step until he reaches the mirror. He caresses it, inwardly, with all the tenderness he is capable of. He imagines the strands of hair in his fingers, the warm, tender skin on his cheeks, imagines the parted lips trembling at his closeness and the small arms tensing as his hands touch them. Felix is beautiful, and he cries a salty tear that remains there, caught between his eyelashes, tiny and invisible. Then Jisung kisses him, ignoring the foreign and cold presence of the glass. He kisses him ignoring the fact that he is not physically with him. He kisses him ignoring all physical and natural laws. He kisses him simply because Felix must know that Jisung does not care who, what, where, or how he is, he kisses him because he feels that he was born for that purpose. Because it is right. Jisung kisses Felix, and Felix knows it. And when after years, centuries, and millennia he opens his eyes, Jisung finds nothing but a wonderful smile that tastes a little bit like the Sun.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

One day Jisung picks up his cell phone and realizes that he has missed more than forty calls from the same number. Chan's name stands out at the top of the message notifications and stands there to remind him of everything he was trying to forget. As he sits on the bed and lives again every moment of the incident, the phone decides to ring. Jisung throws it away and the cell phone gets stuck under his pillow, making him wonder if he can even decide not to answer it. By now Chan hates him, one more call will not change anything.

He finally grabs it and unlocks the screen.

“No”.

Jisung frowns. He hasn't spoken to anyone in weeks, but the other person is addressing him as if to continue an open conversation. Moreover, the voice he hears does not belong to either Chan or Minho, he is quite sure.

"No, what?”

The voice continues to speak, and now it is Minho's. Jisung closes his eyes and runs his hand over his forehead as if to gather all his frustration. He is about to respond. He opens his mouth, catches his breath, and

“Minho?”

The voice comes out strange, as if he said the name twice in overlapping. Jisung clears his throat and rubs his arms, starting to feel a strange sensation on his skin.

“No, your majesty the queen. I won't take a no as an answer from anyone, especially not from you”.

Minho is friendly joking, as if nothing had happened. Jisung immediately loses all the strength in his legs and collapses on the bed. This call happened already, he thinks. But he hopes it's a bad joke and he is about to yell at Minho to get over with all of this, because it's anything but funny.

But then he hears it. A plaintive snort, a little bit drawling and with a hint of sarcasm, familiar. He heard it a thousand times and would recognize it among billions of voices.

Because it belongs to him.

But Jisung didn’t open his mouth. He has stayed silent since the beginning of the call, and maybe he didn’t even called Minho’s name before. Then, he understands. He needs only a few more seconds of background noise and the snap of a kiss to be horribly sure of it.

“Jisung? Sorry, that animal took my phone from my hands while you were answering me”.

The phone slips from Jisung’s hand and falls to the floor. The screen probably breaks, but it doesn't matter. Jisung stands motionless for minutes as he realizes that he heard himself talking to Minho in a reality from weeks earlier.

A reality that no longer exists.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

“Are you happy?”

Felix curls his fingers against the mirror. Their hands are resting against each other. It’s something they do often since it’s the only expedient they have to feel close. And so they talk for hours with their fingers in contact, separated only by a thin layer of glass.

“Since you've been there, yes. I am happy”.

Jisung lifts the corners of his mouth in a small smile and wedges his lips where Felix's neck should be.

“Your world”, he resumes in a warm voice “It should be everything you want, shouldn't it? You should have been happy anyway. It's your second chance, the right one”.

“That’s true, everything here is love. But I am only offered a chance, not a certainty. As if I had a royal flush in poker but my hand was shaking too much to win”.

Jisung turns away from the reflected skin and runs the back of his hand along Felis’s soft profile.

“What are you missing?”

“A companion. I need my half to be complete. Someone to share my choice that brought me here. Someone who had my same bad luck and who watched me exist. Someone who lives for me. This is what I lack, and until I find it I will be forced to be the reflection of myself”.

Jisung reads an ancient melancholy in Felix's eyes, breaking against his irises like clear foam in the sea.

“I cannot imagine anyone not wanting to love you till the end of time”.

Felix rubs his nose against the mirror, where Jisung’s cheek is placed, and heat seems to expand through the material. Jisung brushes the warm skin with his fingertips.

“I cannot find a mate, Jisung. I already have you”.

And he says it with such extreme simplicity that it sounds like a concept already tried and known, as if read in an encyclopedia. Felix looks at him but does not wait for an answer. He knows it has been that way for Jisung from the first moment he saw him, or perhaps even before, when he was unaware of his existence and living as a shadow of himself.

“I would die for you”.

Jisung wonders if Felix can hear the sound of his heart falling in love with him.

You are already here. You just have to figure it out.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

One day Jisung wakes up and realizes that his body has different needs from his brain. He sits on the floor, crosses his legs, and begins to think about when was the last time he stepped outside of the house, the last time he bought something to eat, and wait, how long has it been since I've eaten? Without questioning Felix and, as if propelled by an alien force, he runs to the closet. When he slips the first leg of his pants on, his first thought is that someone has entered his room and replaced all his garments with larger ones. He looks at the label, checks the seams and pockets and, inside the back pocket, finds his lighter. In that moment he looks at his thighs and realizes how, by now, they have reached the circumference of what used to be his arms. Perhaps it has been more than two weeks since he has eaten. For a moment he is tempted to go back into the bathroom, look for Felix and stay together with him, as always. He sniffs the air and he’s almost sure he no longer remembers its smell. I need to breathe, Jisung thinks, I need to breathe and fast. He picks up a random jacket and throws it over his shoulders. Underneath he has a short-sleeved T-shirt that is surely too thin for the temperature outside, but Jisung pays it no mind.

When he closes the front door behind him he feels as if he is somehow betraying himself and also Felix, who stays behind the mirror in his bathroom waiting patiently for him. He shakes his head and it almost feels as a part of himself quickly detaching from his body, that part that Jisung has been consecrating to Felix for the longest time now.

He takes the stairs quickly, feverishly, almost as if an invisible shadow was following him. When he tightens his fingers around the handle of the armored exit door, he stops for a second. You can still go back, you can go upstairs and back to your happy place. He looks at his fingers, skeletal and gnarled, attached to his hand only by a miracle. Jisung laughs when he goes outside, and it's a hollow laugh. It is still raining outside. His steps are slow and without rhythm, his legs barely able to give him direction as he walks with his head down, the thin, annoying rain tapping the back of his head.

He is not lonely, Jisung. Loneliness is a familiar feeling for him, almost intimate and comforting, and it would only confirm his normality. But Jisung feels alienated, out of touch with the world as never before, and he almost regrets the calm and peaceful feeling of voluntary isolation with which he has learned to live and settle.

He smiles to himself as he whispers against the wet sidewalk. “I have nothing left, not even my contempt”.

He thinks about Felix's words, his stories and justifications so enigmatic and elusive that he doubts he could even have uttered them, and he is surprised at himself for simply accepting them as an irrefutable truth, without even considering the possibility that they might be a lie. But then again, why would Felix lie to him? Felix is pure, he is innocent, and he is a virgin diamond; he has given up the burden of life that rejected him as dross. Jisung, on the other hand, could be a liar, with his identity he hates more than it’s human to hate and the rejection and disgust he feels for his petty image.

“Maybe I am the one lying to Felix. Maybe I am the one not existing”.

This probability invests Jisung in the exact moment his words leave his mouth, and the possibility shakes him until he loses his bearings. Is it so? Is it the truth? Jisung tries to think about when Felix came into his life, how much time has passed since their first meeting, but he cannot remember whether it is days, weeks, or even months that separate him from that moment. The only thing he is sure of is that he was able to sense his presence only after the incident. Felix's explanation rings crystal clear in his memory: it's the accident's fault. It reset the rational sphere of your brain. Suddenly Jisung is shaken by a laugh so violent that it almost sounds like a retch of vomit. He arches his back and abandons his arms along his sides as his whole body shakes from the vibrations.

“Did it reset the rational sphere of your brain? It's you that it reset, Jisung. Oh, for fuck's sake”.

His joints stop working for a second, and Jisung finds himself on his knees, his body still shot through with inconstant shudders. And it’s borderline comical that he is laughing so hard that he is even crying, with tears misting his eyes and mingling with the rain on his cheeks, because what keeps him from stopping is the awareness of the terror that will assail him as soon as he comes to his senses, when what is making him laugh now will leave room only for his thoughts. Unexpectedly, everything suddenly makes sense: the incident, the mirror, Chan's phone call, everything. Jisung raises his face to the sky and drops of water angrily hit his eyes, without shame or qualms.

“I am dead, and this is my purgatory”

And now there should be silence. In books, the discovery of truth is always followed by a silence that is unforgiving and leaves no hope.

Jisung turns around, and finds himself completely alone in one of the busiest streets of Seoul. No cars bottled up in traffic sounding any horns, no buses stopping at any traffic lights, no pedestrians looking around before crossing the street. The rain now falls fiercely on the bare, cold asphalt, and Jisung realizes he did everything wrong.

Death would have been his redemption, but he never died. Jisung is alive at the expense of another person, like a parasite. And, above all, this is not his purgatory. A purgatory is promised to those with a hope of atonement. Jisung, on the other hand, is an opal, and as every opal he continually forgets his nature, always seeking a chance that life has denied him from birth, on principle. This thought flares up within him, but its light is dim and soon gives way to a stubborn, rumbling sound of footsteps.

When Jisung looks for the strength to get back up, he realizes that he is further away than ever from the truth, since the silence around him no longer exists, and the noise is only the last drop in the jar filled to the brim.

And that is when he sees it. First he is far away, and he does not understand how it is possible for the sound to reach him, but then the stomping of the sidewalk becomes familiar and also alien, and his puzzle of possibilities explodes like a giant red

or a diamond

and Jisung instead implodes like a black dwarf

or an opal

as his eyes are completely dry from tears, and the rain continues to fall as always, because everything has always happened that way, and he has never learned how to play this game. In fact, Jisung's mouth remains open, and perhaps if he believed in a God now he would pray. But the sky is heavy and spits out its indifference to him.

He doesn't even realize when the blood begins to run from his nose and the taste of iron wets his lips, because the footsteps are now only a few feet away from him and the bitter laughter comes rumbling back into his throat, making him cough.

It could be a hallucination or a dream, but the noise is real, as are the bony legs advancing in his direction. The white sweater clinging to an anemic body is also real, and so are blonde hair covering black eyes. And the most real thing of all is a face Jisung knows as florid and full, but which is only emaciated and wispy under a blanket of clouds that seem immensely wrong above him.

Jisung bleeds and laughs. Blood covers his teeth, and his lament remains dry inside his chest as he watches a Felix, not his Felix, but one he doesn’t know, walking past him without noticing him, in the real world.

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

©️ jilixthinker, 2023. please do not copy, translate, or republish my works anywhere.

[tenderlyrenjun]

Golden Hour

minors + inactive/empty blogs do not interact

includes … celebrity chef!reader x idol-producer!mark, height difference, flirting, themes related to golden hour and child, kitchen sex, fingering, making out, light choking, oral sex (f receiving), penetration, safe sex ... I got a little inspired (?) and wrote this literally today after I got off work.

wc: 5,2k (two scenes)

“So …” You lean across the cluttered counter, most of the cooking utensils used thus far, since the class finished past your instruction ten minutes ago, the other party guests having already moved on to mingling and eating their bibimbap dishes, garnished by a simple omelette. “… how do you like your eggs?”

Mark licks his bottom lip, dragging it behind his teeth, and turns a brown egg, uncracked, in his hands, smoothly gliding the entire oval across his dorsal veins. He opens his mouth, but so many factors surface, once he takes everything into consideration – fried egg sandwiches during 9 AM business meetings at the studio; feta frittata eggs with a Sunday brunch mimosa; fluffy scrambled omelettes, adding an extra dash of protein, before the gym. And those are just scenarios, the last one mostly inspired by the matching, scanty gym outfit you gatekeep below that long apron, making you appear a little more exposed than his hippocampus can handle: crop top tank pushing up your chest, leggings laying so flat that he saw the outline of your thong when you spun the straps around your waist, fastening the long strands twice. Conversely, if he considers just the ingredients – of an omelette – or just the egg, ignoring his personal skill level, as shown by the pulped bibimbap dish nearly starting a fire on the hot plate at the end of his table, Mark … still has too many options.

So, he taps his neatly cut fingernail on one of the three eggs he’d been allotted at the beginning of the class and answers, “Scrambled,” slowly, because he’s used to it, to that technique. A scrambled egg is simple; no finesse. And he can cook it at any convenience, with the bare minimum number of utensils – in a pan, whisked by a fork; cracked over a steaming bowl of ramen, mixed by wooden chopsticks; heated in a microwave, nearly exploding after he sets the timer for five minutes.

Mark puts his egg back in the dispenser, sighs, and glances around the room. He honestly did not know what to expect from this “party”. Three rows of two long kitchen islands stand, placed equidistant in Renjun’s penthouse dining room, extending all the way to the living room where Jisung’s, his roommate, guitar accessories scatter across the coffee table. On his way up the elevator – actually a little before that, too, when he was at the studio, still evicting this tune he got stuck in his head, Mark considered the party to be a casual hangout, having heard that maybe 15 people, max, would be in attendance, not some theatre production, complete with a whole stage refurbishment. Ah, maybe he got his hopes up too high, relying more on the intimacy of a small party to keep him from a spatula, possibly wrapped up in conversation over a potential collaboration, like a networking event, rather than an actual cooking lesson from the youngest celebrity chef in the country’s largest metropolis with peers who doing the same as him, better than him. Mark thought he might excel, once he saw bibimbap on the schedule, the most basic breakfast dish, even though his stomach’s morning routine has been limited to toast or cereal for nearly a decade (much to Haechan’s grievance). Then, he overcooked the steak, resulting in you giving him yours; and he cooked his mushrooms first, the most potent flavor seeping down to the carrots, again resulting in you handing off your dish. The rice, really, was the only thing unscathed, mostly because he threw two cups in a cooker, leaving it untouched for 20 minutes.

“Sorry,” Mark apologizes. He winces, realizing how much of your time he monopolized during class – whether it was messing up a step in the recipe or staring at you too long until you noticed him again.

“It’s okay,” you tell him gently, bumping his arm, quickly, to scoot him down the counter. He complies, feet shuffling tinily, and watches you officially take over his project. “It happens. I think most people tend to, like, really develop their cooking skills around the same time their cells start dying,” you joke, giving him a light grin while you pull a clean glass bowl into frame.

“Mmhmm.”

Mark passes off all three eggs to you, and his fingers brush your hands, nails grazing, briefly, between your knuckles. He glances down at where they meet but jumps back to your face, stumbling at your chest, a consequence of the height difference, sternum hidden by both your boobs squished together and the apron holding them in place, albeit low-cut. You say nothing, instruct nothing, since the class is practically over (and he stays, like a teacher’s pet), so he leans back, checking out the gap in your apron, just to make sure you really do wear, like, actual clothes, including that thong he saw earlier, small triangle branded on your lower back like a tramp stamp. And you do! – wear clothes, which, at least, concludes one of his spinning thoughts today (it’s not even six o’clock yet, the time work usually ends). Then, his stomach rumbles, reminding him that breakfast was 12-hours ago.

“You’re, um, really good at this,” he brings his attention back to the purpose of this party.

“Yeah, thanks,” you accept, tone vocally light, which almost has him thanking you, too – be-because you have given him something to focus on this afternoon, temporarily relieving himself from the mental journalling his brain has been writing since 4 AM (would that be weird?; he doesn’t do it anyways). “I have a degree in physical chemistry,” you tell him, sharply whisking the eggs into a consistent yellow solution. “I’m making them eggs fluffy. I hope that’s okay.” You look at him, pausing the wooden sticks between your fingers, bowl pressed into your stomach, below your chest, and he has to look, bouncing from your eyes to boobs bowl.

Mark nods, twice, eyes widening downward, like a baby cheetah, half his bottom lip inside his mouth again, teeth chewing at the seam. He can’t trust himself not to stutter, not when his tongue falls numbly over his lower incisors and his toes bear his entire body weight, palms pushed into the edge of the counter to balance him.

“Sorry,” you apologize, reflexively, in the silence. And he winces, involuntarily stepping forward to revoke his silence, to verbally answer you so that you don’t have to take your eyes off the food. But you talk again and explain, “I’m not really used to the, like, customer service yet.” Your arms tense again, restarting the whisking, blending out the albumen on the perimeter. His fingers, too, strain, flexed wide enough to display his webbed metacarpal. If you were like his other friends, like Renjun, Mark might have already started massaging your shoulders, getting you to relax. But you’re not. And he barely knows you, mostly knows of you, from all the interviews preceding him in the magazine, little tidbits floating around the Internet as if fact without giving you the opportunity to confirm or deny them. “Sometimes, I just start cooking and forget to ask people – customers –“ You point at him, and he wishes you wouldn’t. It adds to the distance between you, making him count the millimeters you retracted when your fingers brushed tips. “– about their preferences.” You turn the electric stove top on, over medium heat, then reach for aluminium-wrapped slice of butter, unwrapping it at the back and pushing the soggy square (Mark winces again; that is probably his fault, having waiting too long to use it) into the pan via chopsticks. “But I’m, uh, I’m working on it.” You pull the pan off the stove, butter halfway melted, easy for you to slip and slide, coating the entire surface. And once you finish, putting it back to melt the rest, you glance around the room, small whisper drawing his ear to your lips. “It’s just hard … being the youngest person in the room, always obligated to absorb everyone’s opinions, everyone’s advice – whether solicited or not, kinda balancing this dichotomy where people want to guide you into what they think is the right direction or completely takeover the thing you’re doing.” You stab at the remaining butter with your chopstick, wood thumping the metal pan, then, lower the stove heat and sigh, “Sorry, that sounds weird, I know.”

“No, I, uh, I get it,” Mark croaks, stuttering getting even worse after you hand the glass bowl of whisked eggs to him. He tries to, like, replace you in front of the stove, but you stand still and guide both his hands on the rim, fingers filling in the gaps between his. You face the bowl toward his chest, a little lower than he would do on his own, but he keeps quiet at the discomfort, body stiffened, diaphragm concaved all the way. He tilts the eggs out fast, faster than you probably intended because you put up more resistance against him, slowing the pour until the curds form gently in the pan. You pull away first, completing his plan – in which he stands at the stove, you at the side. And Mark smacks his lips, tongue pushing on his bottom lip. “You’re trying to find some equilibrium between your environment – the people, the setting, whatever – and your own identity.” You hand him the cooking chopsticks, temporarily distracting his train of thought, but he bounces back quickly when you nudge his hand over the pan, directing him through scrambling the egg curds, through pushing the eggs outward to inward. “S-sometimes,” he breathes, shakily, grounding his body in cooking, “people will tell me that I’m, like, mature for my age, or – or, like, an old soul, and give me more responsibilities than I know what to do with. And it’s not like I can’t ask for help or anything; everyone gives me enough unsolicited advice to make me feel, like, okay, or whatever, with asking for help. But other times, people feel this need to, like, take care of me.” You hand him a rubber spatula and take away the chopsticks, which slightly proves his point, but he keeps to that point, using the spatula to put around the eggs evenly, fluffing them edges to middle. “Thanks.”

“Mmhmm,” you acknowledge before sitting on the counter, blue Nikes swinging against a cabinet door. And Mark copies you, leaning on the counter, just right of the electric stove and pan, eyeing you up. “Eyes on the pan, Mark.”

“Right, yeah.”

Mark uncrosses his arms and turns back to the last step of his bibimbap, folding the eggs over itself. But they look complete, a little wet, yellow dark and runny, but still, complete.

“Do I, um, do I do anything else?” he asks, holding both the handles of the pan and spatula. He cautiously looks up at you, through his own lashes, careful not to stutter at your chest again (even though you sit with your palms digging into your knees, biceps supporting their weight higher). You stare at him a second, something indiscernible crossing your mouth, then you shake your head, fringe falling in front of your ears, prompting you to tuck them back.

“Is there something else you want to do?”

Ask you out.

Maybe.

A beat passes.

“I don’t know,” Mark answers, nervously laughing to himself, under his breath. “I, uh, usually see people add stuff at the end – like, sprinkle some cilantro or squirt a side of ketchup.”

You hop down the counter and walk around his side, putting the pan between the two of you, which makes Mark tilt his head left, almost bonking his long blond hair (really his shoulder) on your head, if the height difference hadn’t returned. And the spatula drops from his hand, involuntarily he tells himself, when you nudge into his personal space. You catch it, not so easily, he notices – and apologizes, then you undo his folds to the omelette.

“People usually add spices and veggies to taste,” you start, not looking at him. “The eggs should be slightly wet when you’re adding the final ingredients, so you need to act quick –”

Mark jumps behind you, arm reaching across the counter, toward the far side, at the bowl of diced vegetables mixed with crushed pepper. He shakes it across the eggs, like he’s seen TV chefs do on Netflix. The silence, as you watch him top off the omelette with a literal pinch of salt, is a deafening few seconds, and he feels a sense of pride, that expectation of him excelling returning to the scene as he hoped before the class. But it leaves his body, the next second, when he realizes how close he stands to you – his chest pressed against your shoulders; your neck bending backwards, nearly resting on his bicep just to see his face.

“Ye-yeah,” you stutter, and suddenly, he sees you less confidently, and his mouth dries, preventing him from both apologizing for the intimacy and moving. “Just like that.” You swallow, thickly, fleetingly dipping your gaze to his lips; so quick, he thinks he hallucinated it.

“Th-then, does it, um, does it look done now?”

Mark’s shoulders stagger to his ears, tucking his chin to chest. He pulls his stomach backward, without the rest of his body, standing like a geometric abstract painting, limbs stacked one on top of the other.

You snap your head back to the pan, hair hitting his shirt. “Wh – Yeah, no, yeah, you were perf – good; you did good.” You kick up your elbow, outside his oblique, parenthetically trapping him tightly in place (otherwise, he’d fall). He watches you repeat his fold in the eggs, this time with ingredients sandwiched in the middle, yolk running less and less, tucking bell peppers and mushrooms inside. It’s a basic dish – the omelette – not even complete, since it will top the bibimbap.

Making an omelette takes longer than he thought it would, to be honest; well, making a good omelette. And this is probably the reason why he never makes one himself. All the recipes say 5-10 minutes, including prep time, but he has been here, with you, probably longer than that. Although, it could be his fault, needing to fill the silence with words, to say something – because he really cannot talk and check you out at the same time. You keep the conversation going, always articulating something interesting or relatable, to him, beyond the simple stuck-in-a-matrix TikTok clickbait that Renjun sends him at three in the morning. So, when you start moving again, shutting down the stove, plating his bibimbap, and untying your apron, Mark grabs your arm, fast, just strong enough to catch your attention; he releases immediately upon receiving your eye contact.

“Don’t,” he breathes, somehow winded. Then, he inhales, sharply, filling his lungs. “Eat with me?” he asks, “un-unless you have somewhere else to be.”

You turn around, at a better angle, back pushed against the stove buttons, apron hanging half an inch off your body. And Mark grabs you by the waist, hauling you into his chest, away from the sparking stove. But you both push each other away again, noticing the intimacy, hands rubbing into where you touched each other – you at your hips, him at his chest. And the two meter distance returns.

“No, I, um, I was just going to the gym after this.” You look him up and down, and his eyes sparkle. “But, no, yeah.” You take off the apron completely, folding it onto the counter. “I c-can eat with you. Just let me get a spoon.”

Mark produces one nearly out of thin air (really, he swiped one of the three off the counter to make space for your apron). “We can share,” he nods at the ceramic bowl, “this bibimbap. Yours is probably cold by now,” he reasons, because, if you go, you might not come back, and he doesn’t want to let this be a mirage or, worse, be a dream; dreams can become nightmares. And as another beat overtakes the conversation, overtakes his request and explanation, Mark thinks he fell into another night with the same nightmare. The bibimbap is only a single serving, if that, drowned by three servings of eggs. You barely know him, only revealing maybe one or two vulnerable thoughts, on which he piggybacked his own apprehensions. And really, Mark should feel bad, about monopolizing your time both during and after class, even though this is technically a party and he has yet to say more than three words to his best friend, Renjun. He phrased his request, less like a question, more like a demand, and he can’t find a reason why you would agree, his brain already lined up three objections for you to reject –

“Okay.”

Mark freezes, hand clenching around the air, since you took the spoon away from him (he hadn’t noticed  you did that, to be honest). He only moves after you squeeze his arm, guiding him away from the stove too, like he did you, except the stove is really off right now. And everything rushes out at once – he follows you to the side, still far from the rest of the party guests, who he, frankly, forgot were in the room still, despite this not being his apartment; and he repeats, “Okay.” Mark tilts his head to the side, you blurring the rest of his vision. “Okay? Okay. Cool, cool, okay, cool.” You hop back on the counter and skulk your foot between his thighs, bringing him a little bit closer, out of the aisle. His hands fall on both your sides, lowering him down your chest, which looks about the same without the apron – pushed up and compressed together. “Actually …”

Mark’s request for you to eat with him changes.

In terms of location and subject.

He brought up that the bibimbap might not be an ideal meal to share, and that he wants to share a meal with you. It took a couple minutes, skirting around the whole date question, since he literally only knew you a couple hours, but if you know, you know. And Mark knew that he really wanted to see you more … privately. So, eventually, he got through the question, getting you back to his apartment on the lie that he has more food at home. But you never confirmed his lie, or maybe you never doubted him (he’ll clear it up later), because you shove him against the wall, kissing him between the photos of his friends and family, who he definitely does not want to see him railing the girl of his dreams.

Mark changes the position, scratching his nails up your scalp, behind your head, coiling thick strands around his fingers while he walks you down the living room to his bed, never letting up on the embrace.

However, the two of you fall on the ground, in the kitchen, Mark’s elbow slamming into the ground first as he tries to protect you from the hard wood floors. He yelps in pain, too, but you poke your tongue in his mouth, arms wrapping around his neck. You stumble toward his lips, chest beating on his, your back coming off the ground, nearly toppling him over. And Mark fumbles, hand feeling around the floor until he can sit upright, sloped against the island cabinets, which seem to have a lot of use today. He raises his chin higher, trying to match the way you bounce on his lap, cupping his face still. And, Jesus Christ, Mark compares your lips to every other person he has ever kissed before – his newest hairstylist a year after he became an adult; the concessions stand clerk at the movie theatre when he was 17; another idol he met through a mixed-up sandwich. You’re better than all of them, he concludes, swollen lips as pliant at his half-lidded eyes, puckering repeatedly to give you a sounding board each time you dive into his face. He grabs your ass, like an anchor, heels of his palms kneading into the muscles.

“Mm – Mark,” you moan, not breaking apart, hot breath exhaling down his tongue. You stand on your knees, and your nails drag into his hair, tugging at the roots.

“Fuck.”

Mark kisses you again, harder, bending you across his legs, one hand belting behind your waist, the other slamming into the ground. You hang off his neck, nearly dragging him on the floor with you, had he not already set himself up for support. Then, he starts falling back into the island, repeatedly pecking you, one last lick on your teeth before pulling away. He needs the reprieve, to organize his thoughts, figure out the first way he can fuck you tonight without blundering like a clumsy virgin. And when he peaks an eye open, he sees yours still closed; sees your chest heaving, the neckline somehow lower. So, Mark kisses you again, more chaste, patting down the side of your hair until his palm rests on your cheek.

“Why – why did you stop?” you ask, sinking your ass onto his thighs.

“I –“ Mark swallows. He wants you in his bed now, thrusting into you so rough that his blue sheets tear off the corners. He also wants you on his couch, the next immediate mattress, rubbing his boner up your tight, giving each other tight hand jobs, clinging to each other just to save room. But as he darts across your now flushed face, Mark is momentarily returned to that first moment when he saw you walk into Renjun’s apartment, a confident chef who eventually gave him your full attention, and he answers, “On the counter.” He taps your ass, getting you both to stand. He helps you jump on the granite, hands around your waist to place you perfectly in front of him.

“Like this?”

You wrap your legs and arms around him, nearly falling off, so Mark scoots closer to the edge, his mostly hard cock grazing the edge and your knee.

“Yeah,” he hisses, hands traveling down your calves, like a massage. “Good girl,” he praises. Mark brings one up your thigh, between your thighs, not quite touching the middle just yet. “Can I?” he asks, thumb resting on your stomach, above the waist band he already folded down your belly button. You both stare at each other, delicately grinding the paper-thin air between you two. Then, you roll down the counter, humping his abs so tightly that his shirt rides up.

“Yeah, Mark, please,” you moan again. “You c-can touch.”

Mark, impatient, doesn’t take your pants off, sliding all five digits down your stomach, palm facing you. His longest fingers trace your underwear, mentally drawing himself a picture of the thong you kept hidden from him for hours. It’s thinner than he imagined, wetter, too, the skinny string disappearing between your pussy lips, choking your clit. Mark breathes down your lips, inhaling through his nose as your breath hitches repeatedly, open-mouthed, staccato ah’s decreasing in octaves from moans to groans. He pads his index and ring finger on either side of your cunt, middle finger stroking your clit lightly. Actually, he tries not to touch you directly, wanting the ghost of his fingers to burn your loins first, but you keep grinding closer and closer to him; eventually, his fingers slip inside, starting with two interphalangeal creases. The tightness of your leggings holds his wrist against your lower stomach, but his fingers have some range, able to gesture for your G-spot to come hither, to find him.

“Wanna fuck you so bad,” he whimpers, kissing you again before you can retort – because it’s not a request; he’s not asking. Mark is telling you that he wants to fuck you so bad, right now, monster cock straining his jeans fully.

“You can,” you tell him between a kiss. Mark’s free hand holds you around the neck, palm on your jugular, thumb reaching across your larynx. Nothing supports your head, so you keep rocking forward, incidentally dropping further down his fingers in your cunt, stifling your voice box in his hand. “You can f-fuck – fuck – me, Mark.”

He almost takes you up on it, even stripping the both of you down to your underwear. And he finds out that your bra has been holding up your boobs, not your crop top, not the apron, your bra. He hopes you have a duplicate of this one, because he’s going to rip it.

Not actually though.

In reality, outside his thoughts, Mark hesitates. His cock twitches on his stomach, smooth tip leaking under the waistband, as he debates how he wants to get between your legs. Either way – stuffing you with his cock or lapping at your walls – would sprawl you across his kitchen counter, displaying you like a perfect meal prepared by his Michelin charisma, having moved the appetizer (flirting) from Renjun’s apartment into a main dish at his place. His place. Oh, yeah, you definitely have all night. So, Mark settles between your thighs, pushing your knees more open.

“No more teasing,” he tells you.

“What – Oh, fuck, just like that, Mark!”

You fall onto your forearms, over the counter, as Mark licks his way into your pussy, one finger holding the tiny thong string off to the side. He extends his tongue, all the way, angling his head diagonally. He keeps his wet muscle still and shakes his head, side-to-side, nose rubbing just outside your labia, more on your thigh, pushing your pussy lips together so tightly that your clit bears most of the tension. You moan his name, repeatedly, growing louder and louder over each passing syllable, encouraging him further – or, rather, deeper.

Mark pulls his dick out of his pants, stroking down only once, holding the pulsing base firmly, prematurely lining himself with the thought of your cunt.

“Ah, Mark,” you scream, palm slamming into the counter. Mark throws his glance at your face and sees your lips form a giant ‘O’ – God, he could fuck your mouth pussy. And he strokes himself again. The way you squirm on his kitchen island realigns your clit with his nose, and you grind the little nub on his nub, the hard ball jingling wetly. Your ass, too, bounces on the table, practically spanking yourself on the granite. Mark bites his lips higher, catching your clit in a hard suction, drinking the shaky nerves, tongue abrading the entire surface area. You return your hands to his hair, scratching into his scalp, never tugging him away, only yanking him tighter. And your thighs quiver, squeezing his cheeks, knees outlining his ears. “Mark, Mark,” you chant, “Mark, I’m gonna – I’m gonna – Oh, my God, I’m gonna – “

Then, he pulls away.

And you nearly scream again.

“Mark,” you whine for a good few seconds.

“Wait for me,” he tells you, holding your chin between his thumb and index finger to press a quick kiss on your lips. You try to elongate the kiss again, your sweaty ass adhering on the counter, but he pulls away fully after the one quick kiss. “Good girls wait,” he mumbles.

Mark leaves for a second, heading into his bathroom for a condom.

He catches himself in the mirror, toned abs full on display, lengthy cock flopping sans balls outside his briefs. His hair, too, has more volume than it normally does, even when his stylist fixes it up for concerts or stages (who knew sex hair looked this good?). Mark checks himself out another minute, then grabs a neatly packed L-condom. He exhales, jumping once, only to realize that it was a mistake when his dick hits his thigh. And he takes a moment, to just breathe, before going back to you, cock now wrapped up with protection.

In the kitchen, Mark finds you fingering yourself, writhing on the counter, opposite hand covering your mouth. He watches a little bit longer (but not long enough to be a pervert), then stalks between your thighs. You gasp, eyes widening.

“I thought I told you, ‘Good girls wait’.”

Your chest heaves a few seconds, and he realizes that he probably disturbed your orgasm a second time.

“I – I need to prep myself,” you explain, weakly, but he lets it go with the next half of your sentence boosting his ego, “Your dick is too big.”

“Mmhmm,” he nods. Mark wraps your thong around his dick, the little tiny crotch part choking his length, and rubs the new apparatus on your vulva, until you whine again, writhe again. “You’re gonna like it big,” he mumbles before untangling himself and impaling his cock all the way inside your cunt. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, shallowly thrusting half an inch out your labia, the acute angle between your bodies chafing his cock under your clit. Your pussy throbs at a 3010 tempo, practically squeezing him out, which gives him an excuse to thrust again, to bottom out again, the furthest part in your uterus clinching his leaky tip. “You – you feel s-so close,” Mark lisps, “T-to cumming.”

“I am,” you confirm, voice tight, moans asphyxiating your throat. “Mm – Mark, close.”

“Go ahead,” he tells you. “Come on, baby, you can cum. Be a good girl, cum.” Mark abuses your cunt harder, holding your waist lowly, sliding your ass off the counter as he pounds you harder and harder, cock driving up your pussy at the perfect angle, for what seems like the both of you. He tries continuously accelerating his speed, but as your pussy strangles him, and his thighs bruise on your ass, his cock flops around inside your cunt, spinning clockwise, ricocheting your walls.

“Ah, ah, ah!”

Mark weighs down your hips with one hand, the other tilting your chin up to look at him, to watch just him make you feel so damn good. Somewhere along the moaning and the sloshing, Mark squeezes his eyes shut, a familiar pressure building in his ears; he chases it, bucking his hips faster, spanking his thighs on your ass, your pussy ultimately trapping his tip deep in your uterus, only letting his shaft spring back and forth, veins stinging your velvety walls.

“Fuck, fuck, yeah, good girl,” Mark raps in one breath, all the music in his head building up and up and up, until the bass drops, and white noise backs up your screams like an instrumental. He digs his thumbs into your waist, grinding his hips on your labia, burying his cum as far as it can go, though impeded by the condom. And he lays down on the counter with you, feet floating off the ground.

You curl into his side, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. He can hear you steady your breathing, and it slows his, too. The moment hangs in the air, much like his feet, and Mark doesn’t know how much time passes, only enough for him to close his eyes, not a single thought behind those lids.

But you break the silence, mumbling something into his naked shoulder.

“Hmm? What was that?”

Mark lifts his head up, opening his eyes to stare at your newly shy smile.

“I just noticed you never asked me how I liked my eggs,” you laugh.

And Mark laughs too. “Okay, so how do you like your eggs then?” he plays along.

“Fertilized.”

[pretty-blkgirl]

Changbin Day

//gn!reader x Changbin//

Synopsis: You surprise your boyfriend for his birthday

Genre: fluff, suggestive

Warnings: suggestive (no explicit smut but MDNI)

A/N: Not 100% in love with this but I wanted to write something for Binnie Day so I hope you enjoooooooy

~~~~|~~~~

“Baby, can I look now?” Your boyfriend asks for the 12th time. You wanted to be annoyed but you only giggle, making him whine slightly.

You put a blindfold on him, and he was holding your hand while you led him around the house.

He couldn’t stand not being able to see where you were taking him, and he was even more upset that he couldn’t predict what his surprise was.

This year you both decided on something small and intimate, so he took some time to hang out with the members yesterday and planned to do something with you on his actual birthday.

You were determined to top yourself every year. You knew he would be satisfied with takeout and a movie if that’s what you planned, but you always wanted to do something special for him.

He deserved the absolute world, and you wanted to make sure he knew how much you loved him.

Your original plan was to take him to Disney World, but you remembered he specifically asked for something intimate, so you came up with something you hoped he’d like.

“Baby we’ve been walking for hours”

“It’s been 2 minutes”

He whines again and you roll your eyes playfully. You stopped at the dining room and let go of his hand, slightly startling him.

“Baby? Where’d you go? Can I take this off?”

“Yeah, take it off,” You say nervously

He snatches the blindfold off and rubs his eyes for a second. Once done, he looks at the dining room and gasps softly.

You spent hours decorating the room, deciding upon a soft pink and black for the colors.

You loved the color scheme because you felt it represented Changbin perfectly. He had a dark, intimidating exterior but once you interacted with him, you quickly realized he was the sweetest, kindest person ever.

You watched his face as he looked down at the table, seeing all his favorite foods, then at the corner of gifts labeled with numbers.

“Baby, how many presents did you get me?” He asked.

You tell him 24, which makes him laugh.

“Really? 24 gifts?”

“Well, that’s how old you are. I thought it was cute”

He suddenly grabs you and hugs you so tight you can’t breathe. You stay in the hug for a while, silently expressing your love for one another before he hesitantly lets go.

You smile, pointing down to the food, “Let’s eat before it gets cold”

You both take a seat and he wastes no time digging into the seaweed soup. You watch as he takes a huge spoonful, then another, then another.

“This is nuts” He sighs, taking another bite, “Did my mom make this? It tastes like hers”

“No, I made it but it is her recipe. She taught me how to make it the other day”

He can’t hide the huge smile that decorates his face. You direct him to the bulgogi and bibimbap, and he happily starts to eat both. Once you’re sure he likes the food, you start to eat as well, mentally patting yourself on the back for the delicious meal.

You two eat and talk for a while, just until he gets full and suggests putting the food away. Once you two put the food up, you take him back into the dining room and pull out his cake.

He looks fondly at the cute pink and white cake with sparkling 2 & 4 candles on it.

You grab a lighter and light the candles while he turns off the lights. Then, you begin singing Happy Birthday.

He laughs because you purposely sing bad, something you both do when it’s each other’s birthday.

He applauds you when you finish and takes a second to make a wish. When he blows out the candles, you turn on the lights then cheer and start to kiss all over his face.

He takes advantage of the affection and wraps his arms around you, grabbing your face and putting his lips on yours. Before you know it, you’re sitting at the table with him standing in between your legs, still making out.

You know he wants nothing more than to bend you over the table but you stop him before things can go further

“Baby you still have gifts to open”

He ignores you and starts to kiss your neck, earning a slight moan. You feel yourself start to melt at his touch, throwing your head back when he bites at your collar bone.

His hands are on your thighs, opening then as much as he can. One hand starts to travel up your shirt but you use up the last bit of your strength to stop him once more.

“Baby please open at least one gift”

He sighs but stops and helps you off the table. You walk him over to the corner and tell him to choose one of the numbered gifts.

“There’s so many,” He says, “I don’t know what to choose”

“Yeah, originally I was gonna start giving you the gifts 24 days ago, just so you have something to open til your birthday. But some stuff didn’t come in time”

He nods, “So that’s why they’re numbered?”

You smirk, “Yep”

He stares at the neatly wrapped gifts and starts to reach for some, first going for the biggest one and then the smallest. He ends up stopping before he could grab any, making you groan

“Baby just choose one”

After a couple more seconds of deciding, he settles upon the box marked “24”. The wrapping paper was plain white with both a pelargonium zonale and a gladiolus painted on it.

“My birth flowers?” He asks. You nod and make a mental note to thank Hyunjin for painting the plants for you.

He carefully takes off the wrapping paper and is met with a white box. He opens it, finding a black, lace lingerie set.

He pulls it out to get a good look, and you see the tip of his ears start to turn pink.

A confident smile starts to appear on his face when he turns his head to look at you

You take the set from him and start to walk out the room with him right behind you.

“Nice pick” you say, stopping at the hallway bathroom, “Go wait for me in the room while I put this on”

He wastes no time running to the bedroom, excited noises leaving his mouth as you chuckle loudly.

~~~~|~~~~

A/N: While I was researching his birth flowers, I found one for his specific birth date (the perlargonium) and his birth month (the gladiolus). So I decided to just add both to be safe!