#minho fluff

[leezanetheofficial]

This was so good! sad but good!

𝕎𝕙𝕒𝕥 𝕕𝕠 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕞𝕖𝕒𝕟?

part one

Warning: Angst, cursing, Tired reader, really clingy Felix.

Summary: Y/n's exhausted and slowly breaking down.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Today was one of those mentally off days. Y/n’s body felt like it was on autopilot, moving without her full control. Every step she took seemed harder than the last, her mind foggy and clouded by exhaustion. Her stomach churned from the overdose of caffeine that had only made her feel worse, mixing with the emptiness of not eating anything all day. Her skin had lost its usual warmth, now pale and clammy, drenched in sweat as the lack of sleep began to hit its peak. It was a feeling she knew all too well, but one that still managed to knock her out every time.

She barely heard her manager’s voice through the haze, his words distant as he waved his hand in front of her face. “Y/n, are you listening?”

She flinched, her heart racing as the sound of his voice jerked her from the haze. Her eyes focused on him, trying to piece everything together. “Uh… what?” she mumbled, blinking in confusion, her brain struggling to catch up.

Her manager sighed but gave her a soft, understanding smile, though there was a hint of impatience there. “Oh right… I finished filing the documents you asked me to—”

“Great!” he interrupted, raising an eyebrow, his tone lighter now as he leaned forward. “Can you just go over them again and make sure there aren’t any mistakes?”

Y/n mentally groaned, the thought of reviewing pages of fine print when her head felt like it was splitting open. But she knew the importance. She couldn't afford to mess anything up.

He really was a sweet man—kind, professional, and understanding. It wasn’t his fault that they were all running on fumes. But the reality was, some idiot had royally messed up one of the key projects they were set to present. It had thrown everything off course, and now everyone was scrambling, working endless hours to catch up with the other departments that had their shit together.

“Yeah, sure. I’ll get started right now,” she said softly, the words almost coming out as a whisper. She blinked a few times, gathering the willpower to lift herself from her chair. “May I be excused?”

Her manager gave her a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Of course, dear. Thank you so much for your hard work.” He hesitated for a moment, his gaze softening as he looked at her. “I really do appreciate it, more than you know.”

Y/n nodded, trying to hide the fatigue creeping into her bones. Before she could leave, he stopped her, holding out his wallet and pulling out his company card. “Here, take this,” he said gently. “Get yourself some dinner... well, technically breakfast.” He glanced at his watch, a guilty laugh escaping him when he realized it was already 3 AM. “You really don’t have to, but I can’t stand seeing you like this.”

She took the card hesitantly, his concern evident in his eyes. “You really don’t have to, sir. But… thank you.” Her lips curved into a tired but genuine smile, her mood shifting slightly, softened by his kindness.

He gave her a reassuring smile, watching as she stood, her shoulders heavy with the weight of the night’s work. "You deserve it, Y/n. Get some rest when you can, okay?" She nodded, grateful, and walked out of the office, the card tucked into her pocket.

It was around 4:30 AM when Y/n's phone vibrated softly on the desk. She glanced at the screen, seeing Chan’s name light up. His call was a relief in the quiet, late hours of her work shift.

“Baby?” His voice sounded husky, still laced with the grogginess of just waking up. His tone carried a trace of concern.

“Hey, Channie,” Y/n said sweetly, though her voice wavered from exhaustion. Her eyelids fluttered in an attempt to stay open as she balanced the phone between her shoulder and ear, all while continuing to work.

“Hey, where are you? It’s 4 AM…” Chan's words came out in a small panic. Y/n could tell he was still trying to shake off sleep, his voice deepening with worry.

“I’m sorry, babe, I’m still at work,” Y/n sighed, turning a page in her file while typing something up. She clicked a few buttons on her laptop before glancing out the window. The city streets were silent, the world wrapped in a peaceful stillness that seemed a world apart from her busy desk. “Mr. Ji asked me to finish something quickly... I'll be home in a bit, I promise.”

Chan let out a frustrated groan, but his voice softened. “Still at work? Baby, it’s 4 AM. Come home already.” There was a slight panic in his tone now. He shifted under the covers, careful not to wake up Han, who had been nestled against him the entire night. The warmth of his touch was still fresh on his skin, but his concern for her outweighed any desire to stay in bed.

“Yeah... I know, I’m sorry. But Mr. Ji is being really worried about this project,” she explained, the guilt in her chest growing heavier with every word. She didn’t want to add more to his plate. “I’ll be done soon. I’ll be home before you know it.”

There was a pause, followed by Chan’s soft, frustrated sigh. “I can come pick you up right now…” His voice was filled with worry. “You don’t have to be out so late by yourself.”

“No, babe—” Y/n interrupted gently, “it’s way too late, and you have practice in an hour and a half. Get some rest, okay? I’ll be home soon.” She spoke with a calmness she didn’t entirely feel, trying her best to soothe him.

Chan’s frown deepened, even though she couldn’t see it. “Who’s going to drop you off? You shouldn’t be out at this hour alone. It’s not safe…”

“I’ll ask Yi-so Unnie to drop me off,” Y/n reassured him, trying to sound convincing. “She’ll take me home. Don’t worry, please? Just go back to sleep.”

There was a long silence, and Y/n could almost hear his internal battle. Finally, with a resigned sigh, Chan let out a quiet, “Okay... just call me if you need anything, alright?”

“I promise,” Y/n said softly, a smile tugging at her lips despite the weight of the moment. She felt the stress melting a little with each reassuring word. “How are my boys?”

“They’re good, all asleep,” Chan replied, his voice lighter now. He’d finally crawled back into bed, pulling Han back into his arms, the warmth and comfort of his body providing a sense of peace. He closed his eyes, feeling the tension in his shoulders slowly ease.

"Felix is mad at you," Chan said, chuckling lightly, his tone teasing yet knowing. Y/n furrowed her brow. Chan knew all too well how dramatic Felix had been these past few days, sulking about how little time Y/n had been able to spend with him due to her hectic schedule.

Y/n sighed, leaning back in her chair, and pinching the bridge of her nose. "I know, I know," she muttered, clearly exhausted herself. "Is he sleeping with you?" she asked, her voice carrying a hint of concern, though there was a small smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. Felix always slept with her every night, curling up beside her for comfort and companionship. Her long nights at the office had clearly been taking a toll on him, and that made her feel a pang of guilt.

Chan chuckled softly, shaking his head. "No, he's with Changbin," he replied, his voice still laced with a tired yawn. He stretched his arms overhead, the exhaustion evident in the way his shoulders slumped.

Y/n’s frown deepened slightly, the guilt gnawing at her as she glanced over at the clock on the wall. "I really need to wrap this up," she murmured more to herself than to Chan. It was late, and she knew Felix would be waiting for her, feeling abandoned.

"He'll survive," he said, teasing again, though there was a comforting warmth in his voice. "But maybe just send him a text before you come home, so he knows you haven’t forgotten him completely."

Y/n gave him a small, grateful smile. "I will," she promised softly, though her mind was already on the long to-do list she still had to get through. The work would never stop, but neither could her relationship with Felix—she just hoped he understood.

“I’m glad to hear that. See you soon, my love,” Y/n replied, her heart aching as she imagined him lying next to Han.

“Did you eat something?” His voice was soft, his eyes growing heavy with sleep again.

“Yeah, baby,” Y/n responded, a tiny lie slipping past her lips. “Get some rest. You sound exhausted. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Chan murmured, his voice growing quieter. He drifted back into sleep, the call fading into silence.

Y/n smiled as she quickly hung up, her gaze drifting back to the screen. But the guilt still gnawed at her—she was only halfway through her work, and the night was far from over.

It was now 5:20 AM, and Y/n was almost done with her work. The office was quiet, save for the soft hum of her computer. She was confident she’d be wrapped up by 5:45. Letting out a loud yawn, she stretched her arms overhead before grabbing her coffee cup. The bitter taste jolted her awake, though only slightly.

"Hey, neighbor," came a familiar voice. Hae, one of her co-workers, knocked lightly on the office door before pushing it open. "Hey, love," Y/n greeted with a tired smile, her eyes flickering up from the pile of papers she was working through. "Are you done with work?"

"Almost," Hae replied, swinging herself into the office chair with a casual stretch. "Are you?"

"Yeah," Y/n groaned, rubbing her face and flipping a page in her book. "I’m so tired. I can’t wait to get out of here."

"Same here," Hae agreed with a dramatic sigh, flopping back in her chair. "So, once we’re done, wanna grab breakfast? We don’t have to be back until 8 anyway." She rolled her eyes at the thought of getting only a few hours of sleep.

Y/n laughed softly. "Yeah, sure. Mr. Ji gave me the company card, so we can go get something to eat."

"Great!" Hae beamed, standing up from the chair with a bounce in her step. "See you in a bit." She waved and stepped out of the room, leaving Y/n chuckling at how adorable she was.

The moment Hae was out of sight, Y/n’s focus returned to the computer screen in front of her, but not for long. Her phone vibrated on the desk, and without looking, she picked it up. It was one of her boyfriends, likely Changbin.

"Hey, bunny," Changbin's voice came through the phone. She could hear the sound of him rattling around in the kitchen, probably making his usual protein shake. "Where are you? Did you head out for work already?"

"Hey, baby," Y/n sighed, leaning back in her chair. "I didn’t come home last night. I’m still at work."

“What? You didn’t come home?” Changbin’s voice was filled with concern. “Why? That’s so unhealthy.”

She winced, knowing what was coming. "Yeah, but remember how I told you we’re behind because of one of my coworkers?”

"Yeah, I remember..." His voice softened, but she could tell he was holding back his irritation.

“Binnie, be nice,” Y/n scolded, cutting him off before he could say something sharp. "We’re almost done, though. Just a bit longer."

He exhaled loudly. "But you’ve been coming home really late these past few days, going to work really early. You barely eat and you're practically running on coffee. We’ve barely seen you.” He pouted, even though Y/n couldn’t see it. She could hear the concern in his voice, though.

“I know. I know,” Y/n whispered, feeling her chest tighten. She was trying so hard to stay composed, but the weight of everything was getting to her. The constant pressure, the long hours—she was on the verge of breaking down. "I’m just...really tired."

There was a pause on the other end before Changbin let out a sigh. "I’m heading to the gym right now, but I’ll swing by and drop off your jacket. You need anything?"

Y/n shook her head, even though he couldn’t see it. "Don’t bother. I’m leaving the office now. You’ll probably find me home." She tried to sound nonchalant, but her voice was tight, like a rubber band stretched too thin.

“Are you sure?” Changbin asked, his voice laced with worry. "I can grab you something to eat, too, if you need it."

"No, it’s okay," Y/n quickly dismissed him, trying to push back the feelings welling up in her chest. "I’m leaving soon. Go work out. I’ll be home before you know it."

"Okay..." Changbin’s voice was defeated, but he didn’t push her any further. "I love you. Call me if you need anything, alright?"

"I will. I love you too." Y/n's words came out a little too quickly, but she needed him to hang up. Her head was starting to ache, and she couldn’t bear to talk much longer. She pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to fight back the tears that threatened to spill over. "Bye, my love."

She hung up, her fingers trembling slightly as she set the phone down. For a moment, she just sat there in silence, the office lights buzzing overhead. She closed her eyes for a beat, trying to steady her breathing, but the tension was too much. It was too much.

"Finally," Y/n huffed, letting the tension leave her shoulders as she stood in the empty office, basking in the quiet after a long day of work. She had managed to finish everything in time and turned in all the reports. She finally felt like she could breathe. "Hey, neighbor, you finished?" Hae's voice cut through the stillness as she leaned casually against the doorframe. She was already wearing her coat, a small bag slung over her shoulder, ready to head out.

"Yeah, just handed everything in," Y/n said with a relieved smile. "Lemme grab my stuff and we can go."

As she tossed a few stray papers into her bag and pulled on her coat, Hae lingered in the doorway, trying to make small talk. "It’s quite chill outside," she noted, shoving her hands into her pockets.

"Yeah," Y/n chuckled, the image of her boyfriend popping into her mind. "My boyfriend wanted to bring me another jacket just because it’s so cold."

Hae raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Aww, that’s sweet. How are they, by the way?"

"They're good," Y/n said with a soft laugh. "Probably really mad I didn’t come home. I kind of...forgot to charge my phone." She cursed under her breath as she fumbled with her dead phone. "Great timing, huh?"

"I've got a charger," Hae offered with a grin, pulling out a cord from her bag. "We can charge it at the cafe."

"Thanks," Y/n said, gratefully accepting the charger and slipping her phone back into her bag. She locked her office door and followed Hae out into the chilly evening air.

After they grabbed a quick breakfast at the cafe, they parted ways. Y/n didn’t realize until she was on her way home that she had completely forgotten to charge her phone after all. The day had already begun for most people, but for her, it was time to sleep.

When she arrived at the house, she could hear footsteps echoing through the halls, indicating that everyone was getting ready for their schedules. Y/n sighed softly, pushing her tired body to unlock the door. She stepped inside, shedding her shoes and coat, and called out, "I’m home!"

Her feet dragged on the floor as she made her way through the house, exhaustion pulling at every step. "Babe?" Leeknow's voice came from the kitchen, and he appeared in the doorway. Dressed in sweatpants, a hoodie, and a cap, he looked comfortable but clearly concerned as he rushed over to her.

"Why weren’t you answering our calls?" He asked, pulling her into a warm hug, his worry evident in his voice.

"My phone died, my love. I totally forgot to charge it," she explained softly, resting her head on his chest. "Are you good? Did you sleep well?" she asked, planting a soft kiss on his lips.

"Yeah, I did," he replied, brushing a hand gently through her hair. "But you, you're burning up," he frowned, his palm coming to rest on her forehead. "Are you sick?"

"No, just really tired," she yawned, fighting to stay awake as her body screamed for rest.

"Okay, go wash up and get into bed. I’ll make you some warm hot chocolate," he cooed, guiding her toward the stairs with gentle hands.

"I just had breakfast, baby. Just get ready for work. I promise I’m okay, I just need to recharge before going back in," she reassured him, giving him one more soft kiss on the lips. "Go on, I’ll be fine."

Leeknow looked at her with concern, rubbing her cheek with his thumb. "O-okay... but I’ll come check on you before I leave, yeah?"

Y/n nodded, offering him a tired smile, before slowly making her way up the stairs, feeling his eyes follow her every step. His worry gnawed at him as he watched her sluggish movements, but he didn’t say anything.

Upstairs, the house was busy with everyone getting ready for the day. Y/n managed to sneak past everyone and into her room, where she quickly washed up and changed into something more comfortable. She turned off the lights, allowing herself to collapse into her cozy bed. A sigh of relief left her lips as she curled up, closing her eyes and letting the weight of the day melt away. The sound of the house buzzing with activity was drowned out as she finally allowed herself to fall into a deep, well-deserved sleep.

20 minutes hadn’t even passed by when suddenly her door opened and closed. She was too tired to open her eyes to see how it was but she could tell by the persons cologne.

Her blanket shifted, the soft fabric sliding off as Felix’s body pressed against hers, seeking warmth. His small sniffles reached her ears as he nestled closer, his head resting against her chest. "Y/nnie?" he mumbled, his voice thick with something between sleepiness and sadness.

Y/N’s eyelids fluttered open slowly, the hazy room coming into focus. She blinked once, twice, before realizing Felix was right there, pouting, his soft features contorted with a mixture of discomfort and longing. He wrapped his arms around her waist, his hands cold against her skin as he nuzzled his head under her chin, snuggling into the crook of her neck.

"Hey, babyboy, what’s wrong?" she murmured softly, her voice thick with the grogginess of sleep. Without even thinking, her hand instinctively moved to stroke his arm, soothing him with gentle touches. She threaded her fingers through his tousled blonde hair, the faint scent of his shampoo mixing with the warmth of his body.

Felix let out a soft whimper, his voice muffled against her skin. "You didn’t cuddle with me last night..." His words were laced with an almost childlike sadness, his lower lip protruding in a small, endearing pout.

Y/N’s heart tugged, and she felt a wave of guilt rush over her. Felix always craved her attention, often joking about it, but tonight was different. He needed her, and she hadn't been there. "I’m sorry, Lix," she whispered, her fingers brushing through his hair again. "I had so much work to do. It was a long night…"

"I know, but still…" His voice faltered, and he tightened his hold around her waist, his body curling further into hers, as if trying to get as close as physically possible. "You’ve been working so much. You don’t even have time for me anymore."

The guilt in her chest tightened. Felix was right. He was always by her side, but recently, the overwhelming weight of her responsibilities had kept them apart. "Baby," she started, her voice low, "I'm really sorry. It wasn’t intentional."

Felix looked up at her with big, wide eyes, his brow furrowed in that familiar, pouty expression she knew too well. His voice wavered, vulnerable. "But… I don’t get it, Y/N. You’re always with Han and everyone else. When it’s my turn… I’m always the last one."

She felt her chest tighten at his words. This wasn’t how she had intended for him to feel, but exhaustion clouded her thoughts, making it hard to communicate. "Sunshine," she interrupted gently, her tone more fatigued than she intended. "Can we talk later? I’m just so tired right now."

Felix’s face shifted, a flash of hurt crossing his features. "Fine. If you don’t love me anymore, just say that. You’re always laying up with Han and the rest, and when it comes to me, you just ignore me…" His voice cracked as he pulled away from her, slipping out of her grip. His body shifted away as he sat up, the room feeling much colder without him against her.

"Felix, it’s not like that," Y/N protested, frustration rising as she tried to reach for him, her tiredness now turning into worry. "I promise, I do love you. I just—"

"Whatever," he muttered, his tone sharp now, tinged with bitterness. He stood up, pacing away from her bed. "You don’t get it, Y/N. You’ve been too busy for me. I’m not going to sit here and beg for your attention anymore."

"Please, Lix," Y/N pleaded softly, trying to push herself up from the bed, but her body felt like lead, heavy with exhaustion. "I’ve been up all night, but I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry."

Felix turned to her, his back facing her as he stood by the door, frustration radiating off him. "I get it, okay? You’ve got a million things on your plate. But it’s fine. It’s whatever." His words dripped with resentment, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of the conversation had drained him.

Y/N’s heart sank as she watched him storm out of the room, the door shutting behind him with a soft thud. She sank back into her bed, her mind reeling with guilt and exhaustion.

She hadn't wanted things to get like this, but as she lay there, her eyelids fluttering shut again, she couldn’t help but wonder if the rift between them had gotten too wide to fix with just a few apologies.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Don't forget to reblog and follow! <3

A/N: Thank you anon!

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[talkingsaxy]

PHOTOS YOU'VE TAKEN OF YOUR BOYFRIEND MINHO

please don't repost, requests open!

[strayingawayy]

dance class with daddy!

...where your little girl teaches her daddy, the main dancer of one of the biggest kpop groups, how to dance

“you’re doing it wrong!” your daughter shouted, hands on her hips as she glared at minho.

minho, ever the professional, stopped mid-spin, eyes wide. "what do you mean, i’m doing it wrong? i’m literally following you!" he tried to mimic her tiny movements, his arms flailing in all the wrong directions.

“no, daddy! like this!” she spun in a perfect circle, her arms extended gracefully, before stopping to point at him again. “do the feet! the feet!”

minho blinked, clearly confused. “the feet? you didn’t tell me about feet!”

“do the feet!” she demanded, bouncing on the spot, her voice serious like a little dance instructor.

you were on the sidelines, biting back your laughter. minho, the literal main dancer of stray kids, was struggling to keep up with your toddler. it was hilarious.

minho tried again, his feet doing some awkward shuffle. “like this?”

“no! no! you need to do the other feet!” she screeched, pointing at the floor dramatically. “other feet, daddy!”

he froze, looking at you for help. “what other feet?” his voice was desperate, almost pleading for you to intervene.

“i have no idea,” you said, barely containing your laughter. “she changes the choreography every five seconds. just follow her.”

you watched as your daughter stomped over to minho and grabbed his hand, tugging him into position. “now we jump!” she announced proudly, before proceeding to jump up and down in rapid succession.

minho gave you a wide-eyed look, his body already aching from the "dance." “she’s a drill sergeant, not a dance teacher.”

"jump, daddy!" she yelled, practically jumping herself into the air, her little legs barely lifting off the ground. minho sighed, giving a half-hearted jump. “like this?”

“no!” she shouted. “like this!” she then proceeded to twist her body in a way that looked like an interpretive dance move gone wrong.

you were wiping away tears of laughter, watching minho try to follow along. every time he thought he had it, she changed the move. "she’s a genius" you teased.

minho collapsed onto the couch, defeated but amused. "i’m officially her backup dancer."

your daughter, hands on her hips, nodded seriously, as if she were the one making the final judgment. “good job, daddy.”

minho grinned, rubbing his sore arms. “i’m never going to live this down.”

but you knew, as the three of you giggled together, that these were the moments minho would treasure most. no stage, no spotlight—just his little girl and the other feet.

___

@staytilldeath @somedumbthings @itisjustpaula

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Tunnel Vision - Minho

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: bad boy! Minho x student! reader

summary: You can't stand the boy that sits behind you in class. He's rude, arrogant and a huge Playboy. and now you're paired with him for your newest poetry assignment.

warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, Playboy Minho, heavy kissing, groping.

It's not that you hated your new poetry course. Just one specific person in your new poetry class. Minho would show up late or sometimes not at all. And when he did bother to show up, he would sit at the desk behind yours. He would lean into your ear and ask you what he missed.

His breath would be warm against your neck and the first time he whispered, you actually felt butterflies. You were nice and smiled. You would turn your head and tell him in hushed tones what he had missed. He'd notice the slight flush in your cheeks and it would make him smirk because he knew. He knew that your head was pounding because of him.

But then one day after the class had ended a girl had pushed her way through a crowd of students to get to him. She yelled and cried because he never called her again. She told him he was an asshole and his response was “what's your name again?”

So now when Minho strolls into class late and takes his seat behind you, you keep your head forward. You suffocate the butterflies in your stomach and square your shoulders. You refuse to be another notch on that man's belt. You refuse to let him make you feel so warm and wet and so-

“I think I'll partner you with Minho this week.”

Your eyes flash to the front of the class where the teacher is looking directly at you. “No, no I can't. I…” you plead but the teacher just shakes his head and hands you the newest template for the poetry course this week.

Minho's dorm room was exactly as you expected. Messy, unkempt, a real boy's place. As the two of you stepped inside he off the cuff mentioned he had a roommate but the two of you should be undisturbed for the night.

“Who's your roommate?” You ask as you pull a few textbooks out of your bag. Your voice was flat and ultimately uninterested but you needed to make some kind of small talk to cut through this tension of being in Minho's living room. Minho rummaged through his fridge and pulled out a few beers before making his way back to you on the couch. “You don't know him.” He said quickly. He slid the second beer across his coffee table to you. You rolled your eyes and pushed it to the edge of the table and pulled out the template from class. “Let's get started, okay? The sooner we get this going, the sooner we can be done and never speak to each other again.”

Minho smirked, his slender fingers tapping against the neck of his beer bottle. “Aw, what's the matter? You don't like me?” He leaned in closer. “Nope.” You snapped back. This response made Minho laugh. A loud, full laugh that promised that he didn't believe you. He was cocky and he was sure that every girl wanted him. His eyes lingered on you as you continued to read over the template. “So, what bullshit do we have to write about now?” Minho asked while taking another swig of his beer. You sighed heavily in response. “Love. The subject is just love. It says to write about any kind of love, however it speaks to you.”

Minho let out a huff. “Between a beautiful woman's legs, that's the only love I need.” He remarks. “You're disgusting.” You retort. You slide a template over to where he sits, “just write something, pervert.” Minho's face scrunches up for a moment, “aren't we supposed to be working on this together, partner?”

“You're a big boy, you can handle it.” You scold, your hand gripping tightly to your pencil. “Just write.” Minho sighs loudly as his body slumps deeper into the couch. An hour goes by without either of you saying a word to one another. Just the sounds of pencils scraping and pages turning fills the air around you. “This is stupid.” Minho complains, finally breaking the silence. The sound of a pencil hitting the coffee table breaks you out of your writing trance and you shoot a glaring look at him. “If you hate this so much, why did you sign up for this class?” You quip back.

Minho's eyes flash an intensity that matches yours. An angry, exacerbated look that contracts with his normal cool and calm demeanor. Has he never had someone challenge him before? Has he never had a girl stand up to him instead of immediately falling to her knees? You hold your stance and the two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity. Then Minho grabs your half-written poem in an instant before you can even process what he is doing. He stands up from the couch and holds it ceremoniously. “Let's see what Miss Goody-Goody wrote about love, eh?” You fumble up from the couch and take a confident dive at Minho to try to get the paper back but miss as he pulls the paper away at the last minute. “Give that back!” You demand. But Minho holds the paper just out of reach, laughing proudly as he does. You look back at the coffee table to find his paper sitting there unprotected and take your chance, snatching it quickly into your hands. Minho's eyes widen as he realizes where this little chess game has led the two of you and his cheeks begin to burn a bright, hot red. His voice drops to a low, intimidating octane, “give it here. I'm serious.” His hand splayed out in front of you.

You let out a triumphant laugh and stick up your nose at him. “No way!” Minho smirk turns to a serious expression and he takes a few steps towards you, causing you to take a few steps back. Soon you are frantically trying to figure out your next move. You quickly fake left before turning to the right and easing your way around Minho and down the hall to an open door welcoming you inside. You hastily run into the room and shut the door behind you, hearing the pounding sound of Minho's palms flat against the other side of the door. “This isn't funny anymore! Come out of there!” He shouts from the hallway.

You clear your throat ready to read the poem out loud. Minho groans loudly before giving the door one last defeated thud. Your eyes scan the page and you find yourself frozen by something you did not expect.

A carnation bright

Unfold for me

This is everything and nothing

I put a ribbon and signed the envelope

Postage stamp

In the garden you wait

Surrounded by a soil that drains

Who waters you?

Where is the watering can that fills your petals, sweet Carnation?

I pluck you so carefully

Lie you down on the softest pillow

You've ever felt

You clutch the page in your hands, a slight tremble causing the paper to crinkle under your fingertips. Your eyes pour over every line again and again. The words are erased and written again, scribbled over and corrected. But the words he chose, the words he decided were the right ones to express himself, they stayed etched in pencil led with a secretive beauty. You slowly make your way to the bedroom door and turn the door knob. You find Minho sitting in the hallway across from the door. He glares up at you, his face painted red in embarrassment. “Don't say anything. I know it's bad.” He whispers, his voice shaking slightly.

You step out into the hallway and kneel in front of where Minho sits. “It's not bad, Minho. It's actually…good.” You confess. You watch Minho's head lift up as he searches your face for any hint of a lie. Then he lifts up your paper, “you didn't write anything.” He smirks.

Then it was your face that burned red. You had written a few pathetic lines of poetry before erasing everything in frustration. “I hate what I wrote. I hate everything I write.” you murmur. This causes Minho's smile to grow and spread across his face. But this smile was different, not a mocking, cocky smile but a smile that seemed to understand exactly what you meant. “That just means you're good at what you do. Come here, I'll show you.” He said and then stood up taking your hand in his and pulling you back into the bedroom. The bedroom that was, in fact, his bedroom. In the far corner of the room stood a tall, broad bookshelf so full that it almost looked like it would bend and break if just one more book was added. Minho searched the shelf for just a moment before pulling out three books. He then turned on his heels to face you. “These authors didn't even get published until their late 40s. Can you believe that? Now everyone reads them!” His eyes lit up with the kind of fascination designated for a child on Christmas morning. He placed the books in your hands and begged you to read them. You looked down at the books in your hands and furrowed your brow. This was not the boy you were expecting. Why did he have to act like such an asshole all the time? Why did he have to act so uninterested and bored all of the time?

You look up from the books and stare at Minho for a moment. “Why are you so afraid of people seeing this side of you?”

Minho jolts from your blunt question. His eyes lock with yours and for a moment his mouth hangs open in silence. Then he steps closer to you. “Because this side is too real, too raw. If they are the real me then they can hurt the real me. And I can't risk that.”

Something snaps in you at his response. You didn't know if it was his honesty or the fact that you had been feeling the exact same way but something outside of yourself brought your lips to his. His lips were surprisingly tender. His hands made their way up to your jawline and nestled there as the two of you worked in tandem. Your nose brushed against one another as his mouth opened in invitation. Your tongue scraped softly against his teeth, giving way to his teeth biting and holding onto your bottom lip. A soft and vulnerable noise escaped you at that moment. And a flash of all the women who have ever been in this room entered your mind, causing you to break the kiss. You stumble back and press your hand over your mouth. “I can't. I'm sorry.” You turn towards the bedroom door and make your way down the hallway to leave. You frantically and admittedly quite clumsily grab your book bag and jacket before making a b-line to the front door.

Minho never tried to stop you, never called your name out and begged you to stay. You walked back to your dorm room and threw yourself onto the bed. You bury your face in your pillow until all light leaves and only darkness remains. He wasn't just a fuckboy, player, or asshole. He was actually someone who you could fall in love with. And that thought was scarier than anything else.

taglist: @simply-trash5 @sugawhaaa @trixiekaulitz @chrizzztopherbang @cassidymb121 @roanns-posts @staysinbloom @yaorzu-blog @bubblebisk @cotton-candycloudz @beautyinhypnosis @domicaru @strawberry31 @slxtmeri @newhope8 @tinyelfperson @dandelions-143 @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @msauthor @fun-fanfics @ell0thebell @stephanieeeyang @juskz @kimahreummm @readr1221 @kayleefriedchicken @ovulatingrn @hwnglixho @darthmaddie25 @queen-in-the-shadows @itgirlalisaa @miinhoo @greyaia @chanchansgirly @skzleeknowcore @skz-smut-reader @thatisrankharry @hearts4yawnzzn @jchotch726 @cherricola-star @minh0scat @kibs-and-bits @minhosgirlposts @firelordtsuki @softkisshyunjin @doyunkang @cocofia143 @nchhuhi @iovecb97 @skzfairyyydreamz @mikeysonlygirl @kwitchabtchn @staystaystaystaaaaa @stay3096 @starmyteez @xanhnax @estella-novella @delulustardust @luvserie @stray-squad

[luvtak]

fade into you, lmh x reader

genre/tw est. relationship! suggestive, pure sugar cane fluff (like high fructose corn syrup fluff), minho only knows how to talk with his hands </3, gn!reader!! minho calls you kitty and honey <3!! seriously cavity inducing fluff be warned !! mostly unedited…

w/c 848

omg i haven’t posted a fic in so long nor have i written anything in months :(( but i’m finally a lot more settled after a busy drama filled couple of months! I hope you love this fic as much as i loved writing it. I’m not kidding when i say i wrote this in an hour on my phones notes app, don’t be afraid to tell me how you feel hehe 🩵

It’s cold outside your sleeping bag, frigid morning fog seeping into the once cozy tent. You shiver at Minho’s nose pressing into your neck, his face as cold as a dog who’s been outside too long. 

You’re not sure why you let your boyfriend convince you to camp in the middle of autumn… less sure why he insisted it was just the two of you, but you could never refuse Minho when he asked you so nicely— hands easing sighs while his mouth asked the question; the only thing you could say was yes, over and over. 

Unfortunately, the ecstasy of being asked was not akin to the actual experience.

Insistent rain stormed down from the second you arrived to the last minute before your eyes closed, Minho in all his excitement forgot the cooler and was forced to drive all the way back—leaving you to shiver in the tent alone. No, it was not the romantic getaway your boyfriend promised, but being here now—warm despite the wilderness’s wishes—you think it could be.

“Are you still cold, honey?” Minho asks, his voice just a whisper amongst the whistling trees. 

With your eyes still closed, you can only imagine what he looks like… Soft with sleep, his eyelashes cascading shadows across the slopes of his skin, beautiful like hypnos after creating dreams. You can feel his breath against your neck and his hands clutching at your waist, so safe despite how strong he is. 

“No, min, I’m just right” you say, and you can feel his laugh, rumbling through him, feel his smile against your skin. 

You wish he knew how much you cherish him… how much you treasure these little moments with him. How you’ll think about this moment every time he’s away from you; rolling the memory around your tongue like it’s a piece of candy. 

Sometimes, you’re sure you can see a cord running from you to him, wrapping around the two of you like cling wrap—like every moment you’ve ever had was crafted by the fates, your story weaved by the gods themselves. 

“Just right huh?” he says, before he’s lifting his head to look at you, eyes open and beautiful. “Well goldilocks, look how pretty you are this morning.” His smile is mischievous and if you didn’t know better you may think he was joking, but his tone gives him away: too quiet to be anything but the truth. 

“Minho!” you cry, embarrassed by compliments this early, “lay back down, I need you to keep me warm.” He smiles down at you, knowing you well enough to see that you’re flustered, it’s always too easy; one compliment, and your skin is hot, his kiss lasts a second too long and you’re pulling away shaking. 

Minho doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of making your blood rush, enjoying the chase even when he has you. 

When his skin gets closer to yours again, chest to chest/heart to heart, you find yourself breathing his air like you share one pair of lungs. He’s so close to you, searing your skin even as the sleeping bag pulls awkwardly around your legs, letting cool air settle around your figure. 

His lips are so close to yours, one breath away from a kiss, so close you can feel his words flow into your open mouth. 

“Are you warm now, kitty?”  he asks, his eyes boring into yours before flitting down to look at your skin; miles and miles of it under his hands, valleys of skin that are his as much as yours.

“I’m warm, Minho, are you?” Just a whisper.

“just right.” A smirk. 

One breath, two breaths, three, and then he’s kissing you. Lips urging gasps to flow out of you, hands grasping at his tension filled spine. You’ve shared many kisses, sweet and sultry, frantic and lust filled, but something about this hunger is foreign to you. 

His kiss is filled with wanting yes, but it’s almost like he’s trying to tell you something but forgot the words. His hands on your thighs urging you to listen, please please please understand, they say, clutching at the muscle like he’s afraid you’ll never know. 

But you do, and so do your lips and your hands and you try your hardest to speak his language; responding to every bite with a nip of your own, gasping when his hands ask, kissing away the sleep still in his eyes. You know what he’s saying, I love you, I’m sorry you’re cold, I’m sorry I made you come on this rain coated trip, I love you I'm sorry, I love you I love you.” 

Your boy, always so embarrassed to tell you how he feels, but never afraid to show you. 

When you pull apart, hands locked together still, eyes gleaming with an inside joke, a shared confession; you can see he wants to say something, see he’s trying to build the courage to split his heart open. Instead he flits his eyes up to the sky and smiles. 

Look honey, the suns coming out” 

And you understand. 

© LUVTAK 2024

[xoxo-lixie]

His Jacket ᝰ.ᐟ

Paring- Minho x Reader

Summary- Y/N shivers on a cold night, refusing to admit Minho was right about bringing a jacket.

The night air was sharp and cold as Y/N and Minho walked down the quiet street, the soft glow of streetlights reflecting off the pavement. They’d just left a cozy bistro downtown, where the warmth of good food and Minho’s teasing smile had made for the perfect date. But now, as the wind whipped through the city, Y/N was seriously regretting her decision to leave her jacket at home.

Her short black dress, while undeniably stunning, wasn’t exactly windproof. She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to shield herself from the cold, but it was no use. The thin fabric did nothing to stop the chill from biting at her skin.

Minho noticed instantly. “You’re freezing,” he said, his tone equal parts amused and annoyed.

“I’m fine,” Y/N insisted, though her teeth were practically chattering.

He stopped walking, turning to face her with a knowing look. “Y/N, you’re shaking.”

“It’s just a little cold,” she said, her voice defensive. “No big deal.”

Minho raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was holding back a laugh. “This is why I told you to bring a jacket.”

Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes so hard she swore she could see the sky. “Minho, I told you already. It would’ve ruined the outfit!”

“And now look at you,” he shot back, gesturing at her shivering form. “Was it worth it?”

“Yes, actually!” she said stubbornly, pulling the dress tighter around herself. “I looked amazing tonight, and I wasn’t about to cover it up with some bulky coat.”

Minho let out an incredulous laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Unbelievable. So you’d rather freeze to death than—”

“I’m not freezing to death!” she interrupted, though the way her voice wavered kind of betrayed her.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Minho muttered, his breath puffing out in the cold air. He stepped closer, shaking his head in exasperation as he slipped an arm around her waist. “Come here, stubborn.”

Y/N resisted for a second out of pure principle, but the warmth of his body against hers was too tempting to ignore. She let herself lean into him, his solid frame shielding her from the worst of the wind.

“Better?” he asked, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Marginally,” she said, pretending to sound unimpressed, though she was secretly grateful.

Minho rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath before stepping back. Before Y/N could protest, he shrugged off his leather jacket and draped it over her shoulders.

“Minho!” she started, already trying to push it off. “You’ll get cold!”

“Too late for that,” he said, smirking as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I’m already cold, thanks to a certain someone who ignored me earlier.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Y/N shot back, though she was already pulling the jacket closer, inhaling the faint scent of his cologne. It was warm, soft, and so Minho that she couldn’t bring herself to argue further.

“You’re welcome, by the way,” he said, arching an eyebrow at her as they started walking again.

“I didn’t say thank you,” she replied, though there was a smile tugging at her lips.

“You didn’t have to. I’m just that thoughtful,” he quipped, grinning when she let out an annoyed huff.

“You’re also insufferable,” she muttered.

“And yet, you love me,” he said with a wink.

Y/N glared at him, though the blush on her cheeks—half from the cold, half from his teasing—gave her away. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she grumbled.

Minho laughed, pulling her close again as they neared the car. As he opened the door for her, he leaned down and whispered, “Don’t forget to bring a jacket next time, okay?”

“Don’t count on it,” Y/N shot back, slipping into the passenger seat with a defiant smile.

Minho just shook his head, laughing as he closed the door behind her. “You’re impossible,” he muttered under his breath, though his grin didn’t fade for a second.

[thewinter-eden]

That Your Man?

images are mine (except middle LK pic that I got from pinterest). please do not use without permission. Apparently all the ATE pcs are my inspo this time.

part 2 of my skz crack!horror series.

pairing: Lee Minho x fem!reader rating: mature, dark themes summary: mugger!Minho holds you and your bf up in an empty parking lot one night, ready to give you the old ‘your money or your life’ routine, but when your bf pushes you into the line of fire so he can run away, Minho has second thoughts.

warnings: Fear, Minho has a gun, attempted mugging (obv), asshole bf, rude Minho, scared but defeated reader, Minho's kinda soft but he ain't gonna admit it, language, satire, unrealistic robbery, unrealistic Minho, food-related insecurity, nerve/muscle/twitch-related insecurity, hurt/comfort, Minho’s a softie but also a criminal coffee.

Comment and reblogs appreciated!

word count: 4k

series info PART 2 INFO

“Shit, babe, don’t cry.” Your boyfriend pulls you off to the side, a playful laugh on his lips as he uses your scarf to wipe your face. It’s a brand new scarf—he just gave it to you for your birthday, and some of the fibers stick to your face. “It’s just a movie.” He crouches low to your face, diminishing his own height more than necessary in a way that makes you feel so small.

Embarrassment floods your cheeks with heat, and you do your best to pull yourself together. This is not at all how you thought this would go. Crying in front of him is one of the less enjoyable ways to spend an evening, particularly when he’s in a diminutive mood, as he is right now. You’re both standing outside the theater, huddled together in the glow of the neon sign, while people pass you by with the scent of popcorn and chocolate on their clothes.

“Sorry,” You laugh at yourself. It’s easier to deal with him laughing at you when you’re already laughing at yourself. The movie was a biopic on a musician you’ve always loved, and the final scenes had been comprised of the last footage taken of them before their death. You didn’t mean to cry through the credits, but here you are, sniffling into your new scarf.

“Aww, that’s okay, babe.” Your boyfriend coos, and gives your arm a squeeze. He’d thought the movie was ‘sensationalist crap.’ “You wanna grab food? We can get whatever takeout you want.”

That’s how you found yourself crossing the dark parking lot towards McDonalds, Jake’s debit card in hand for his half of the bill. You hadn’t really wanted crappy fast food for your birthday dinner, but while you had been considering your options, Jake had caught sight of the famous golden arches gleaming across the lot.

He couldn’t go with you to collect the food, of course. He had a work call to make and would rather sit in the heat of his car than walk through the cold as he did.

This behavior isn’t new.

You’re used to it.

You’re independent, you can handle being left to your own devices.

And his work calls are boring as hell to listen to, anyway, so why not make the most of the situation and take a walk?

It’s even starting to snow.

It’s a beautiful night for a walk.

As you turn your face to the sky to catch fresh snowflakes on the tip of your nose, you hear running footsteps behind you. “Babe!” Jake’s voice pants.

You turn to find him fighting the slick of the icy parking lot to catch up with you. He’s laughing, rolling his eyes at himself, waving his wallet at you. “I totally forgot.”

You open your arms to catch him as he comes skittering into reach, shiny black shoes nearly slipping out from under him. His long limbs flail briefly before settling against you, his weight thrown against your hip to keep himself upright.

He’s got his earpiece in, his phone clutched in one hand, the word ‘conference’ rolling across the info line. His side of the call is muted so he can speak to you.

You thread your fingers through his jacket, leaning up to press a kiss to his lips, but he’s too busy digging through his wallet to receive it. Your lips glance off his chin and are left cold and unsatisfied.

This is also normal. You’ve stopped letting it sting.

“Here.” He plucks his debit card from your hand and replaces it with another. “Use my work card for my half. I can technically write this off as an expense since I’m working.” He gestures to his phone significantly and then pinches your cheek fondly. “Thanks babe. Love you.”

Derision swirls in your gut, but you fight it down. “Love you too.”

But he’s already checked out of the conversation. His eyes float somewhere above your head, listening to whomever is speaking on his call. A twinge of annoyance twists his lips.

Deciding to leave him to his work, you turn on your heel and continue your jilted jaunt to McDonalds, only to run smack into someone in the otherwise empty parking lot.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You pull yourself away from the man you’ve just plowed into, looking for his face past the blackness of his hood and face mask to gauge how much you might have just pissed him off.

Because that’s just what you need—getting chewed out by a stranger in the cold.

“Babe?” Jake’s voice wonders behind you. “You okay?”

You don’t answer.

You can’t.

Because you’ve just seen it.

Poking through the folds of the stranger’s dark jacket, the muzzle gleaming in the light of the street lamps, and pointing straight at you, is the barrel of a handgun.

You’re frozen.

The man steps closer and you see his eyes then, narrow and focused. They meet your gaze for an instant, flickering with some unreadable thought, and then settle just over your shoulder. He’s sizing up your boyfriend, still silent as the night.

“Babe, answer me, are you—holy shit.” Jake is standing next to you then, his searching gaze landing on the gun, and his hand grips your arm.

You’re mentally going through your options, working your way through potential scenarios.

Most likely, it’s your average mugging.

Probably nothing like the time you and your nephew gathered up all of his tiny plastic play kitchen mugs and pelted them at your brother, all while shouting “You’re being mugged!” Great fun for a six-year-old, probably not so much for this man.

He’ll take your phones and your wallets, maybe even your car keys, but he probably won’t shoot anybody. He just wants quick cash, maybe for drugs or rent, and he’s probably not interested in being a wanted murderer.

He looks too old to be a teenager, and he’s rock solid, calm and collected, which comforts you. He’s not a stupid kid, and he’s not totally strung out. You might just be lucky enough to rely on some rational decision making.

While you’re thinking your way through your chances of surviving, Jake is erupting into panic next to you.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. This isn’t happening. Oh my god.” His hold on your arm is like a vice, clenching around your muscle with more than enough strength to bruise. Half of you wants to pry his fingers off before they splinter the bone, the other half wants to hide behind him and pretend this isn’t happening.

“Calm down.” The stranger scolds your boyfriend coolly, but he’s cut off.

“Oh my god, please don’t hurt me. Please don’t hurt me. I have an electric car, just take it.” And then Jake’s scrambling through his pockets, while the stranger’s eyes further narrow into slits.

His gaze darts to you, where you’re still frozen.

“Take it easy, Romeo,” The stranger takes a step closer, an action that completely spooks Jake.

Your boyfriend lets out a wail of terror and promptly dives behind you, his hands hurling you forward. You scream, your body colliding with solid warmth. In the next second he’s gone, bolting back across the parking lot towards his car.

You hardly notice the flash of headlights or the screech of tires as he squeals out onto the street, because your boyfriend’s actions have just launched you directly into the arms of the man who’s trying to mug you.

The stranger had caught you by reflex, his gun now jammed forcefully into your ribs, and you definitely hadn’t accounted for this scenario.

There’s a rush of grunts and tangled limbs and skidding shoes as you shove yourself away from him, your eyes wide, lungs gasping, but the stranger is staring in the direction that Jake just drove off in.

“Shit,” He mutters in disbelief, and finally turns back to you.

You’re still petrified, terrified, abandoned.

Where are you gonna go now? Hoof it to McDonalds and hope the bigger, stronger man doesn’t catch you before you get there?

Well.

Then again.

Might be your best option.

But then the stranger reaches behind himself and tucks the gun into his waistband, bringing his now empty hands back into view. In a second, he’s knocked his hood back and tugged his mask down, revealing shocks of fluffy brown hair and the highest cheekbones you’ve ever seen. He hooks a thumb back towards the street. “That your man?”

It’s enough to open the floodgates.

You burst into tears, so relieved that you’re no longer at gunpoint, terrified because you’re alone with the man who tried to mug you (did he even get the chance?), pissed and hurt because your boyfriend shoved you into the arms of a gunman, confused because the gunman is now speaking casually to you.

It’s a lot.

At your sudden explosion of emotion, the man leans back on his heels, sighing at you. This isn’t how he expected the altercation to go, but now that he’s left in the whirlwind aftermath of your nightmare boyfriend saving his own ass, all he can do is stare as you dissolve into a puddle of tears.

Through sobs, which you barely manage to hide in your scarf, you squint up at him past the falling snow. “What do you want? Are you robbing me?” You might as well ask—what is he gonna do, shoot you?

After a few seconds of pensive silence, the man steps forward with a nod. You flinch backwards, but he just lifts his empty hand, palm up. “Yeah, I am. Give me the card he just gave you.”

You blink, tears momentarily paused. “The card?”

He nods towards where your hand is still clenched around the company credit card. “Yeah I heard all that ‘pay for my half with the work card’ bullshit. I saw that lame-o pathetic kiss, too. He’s a real winner. Gimme.”

His fingers crook at you expectantly, and you’re so tense that you jump and immediately pass the card over. He tucks it into his pocket, and then cocks his head oddly at your scarf. “What is that fucking monstrosity and why are you wearing it with the tag still on it?”

He doesn’t know what to do, either. None of his victims have ever sacrificed their girlfriends to him before; admittedly at a loss, he decides to play it by ear. You haven’t called the cops yet, so he still has some time to see where this goes.

More confused than ever, your eyes fall to the bright orange and blue felt scarf, and realize that there is in fact a tag sticking out of one of the folds. Before you can take a closer look at it, the stranger’s hand snaps out and plucks the scarf off your neck. A rush of cold air chills your skin where the fabric once was.

He’s…stealing your scarf?

“Hey, wait—” You argue, and then freeze when his challenging eyes snap back up to you. “That was a birthday present, please don’t take it.”

He holds up the tag, a neon green discount marker from a local thrift store. “Who gave it to you? Because—”

You snatch the scarf back, humiliated. “My boyfriend gave it to me.” You can’t believe you just yanked something out of the hands of the man with the gun.

He gazes at you for a long moment, hands jammed in his pockets. He doesn’t know much about you, except for the fact that you handle duress better than your boyfriend does, but he did overhear the company card conversation which suggested you were expected to pay for your own dinner while your boyfriend wasn’t even willing to pay for his own, and that you were sent to collect dinner by yourself, and, now, that your birthday gift had been a horrendous piece of second hand garbage that—by the looks of your clothes—isn’t your style at all.

“Your boyfriend got you a thrifted scarf for your birthday.” He repeats blandly.

You sniffle, putting a few more feet of distance between you. “He knows I like cozy things.” There’s not much you can say to defend Jake at this point, but you can’t take any more degradation right now.

“Tell me he got you something better last year.” The stranger scoffs.

You scowl at him. “Aren’t you robbing me?”

His teeth flash in the lamplight, and he waggles Jake’s company card at you. “I already did. Shall we go get him fired?”

Voracious, incredibly stressed laughter bursts out of you. “What?”

This guy holds you up in a dark parking lot at nearly midnight, witnesses the most embarrassing display of emotional betrayal you can imagine, and is now offering to get your boyfriend fired as payback for abandoning you?

He tucks the card back in his pocket with a shrug. “Just seems to me like it’s more worth my time to give that asshole what’s coming to him than to steal the money you probably don’t have, considering he makes you pay for shit.”

There’s nothing in the world that could have prepared you for that.

Your mouth falls open. “I have money!”

“Are you offering?” His hand goes back towards the gun in his waistband, his smirk teasing, and your heart leaps into your throat. His joke falls flat when your gaze drops to the ground, chin tucking against your chest, your entire personality seeming to instantly deflate.

His heart sinks at the sight, which is not something he wants to decipher right now.

“Alright, wait.” He drops the edge of his jacket back down over the gun. “I was kidding, please don’t cry again. I’m Minho, what’s your name?”

“Why the hell would I tell you my name?” You snap. Then you shoot him a look. “Why the hell would you tell me your name?”

He shrugs again—an action he seems very fond of—and nods to the scarf still in your hands. “Throw that piece of shit away and come with me. There’s a coffee shop right over there that’s still open. You can warm up while you order another ride.”

You balk, moving backwards once again. At this point, you could fit an entire shopping cart train between you, and Minho is smiling.

“I’m not going with you!” You exclaim, clutching the scarf like a shield.

He points to the other side of the parking lot, where a coffee shop pours warm light out onto the pavement. “We would be walking. Just come with me for a cup of coffee. Alright? You said you like cozy things.”

A few seconds of tense silence pass. He blows snowflakes out of his eyelashes and blinks at you expectantly. You can’t understand what the hell is happening right now.

“Why?”

Minho sighs, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “You just got mugged, alright, you’re in distress. You just got stranded here with a dangerous stranger, and you look like you’re turning blue. I can’t just leave you here.”

“You had no trouble robbing me at gunpoint, why can’t you just leave me alone?”

The teasing smile falls from his face and he frowns at you. “Because I just robbed you at gunpoint and that’s not even why you’re crying. That’s a whole new level of pathetic. I can’t in good conscience leave you here.”

You burst into tears all over again.

He lifts his hands in surrender, approaching you carefully. “Alright, listen. I’d rather run up a shit ton of debt on your ex’s company credit card than keep making you cry. So can we start with a cup of coffee? Please? Once you’re in the Uber I’ll be on my way, buying TVs and chipotle gift cards until he’s out of a job. I swear.” He crosses his heart.

“He’s not my ex.” You sniffle, because he’s not. Who wouldn’t be terrified in the face of an armed robbery? You can’t totally blame Jake for his reaction, as miserable as it makes you feel. Did he even think about coming back for you? What if you had been shot after he left?

Minho shakes his head at you and watches you crumble all over again. “Come on, jagi, why are you this upset over that deadbeat nobody? You’re making me feel funny.” Pity. The nurturing monsoon swirling in his gut is pity—something he’s never felt for somebody he’s mugged before. His eyes lift to take in the movie theater behind you, and then at the scarf still clenched in your fists as you weep.

“Don’t tell me today is your birthday.”

You sob harder, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes. You’re not afraid of this strange criminal anymore, rather heartbroken and disappointed that your already lame evening has taken such a miserable turn.

“Well, shit.” Minho mumbles. “Wait, shit. He was going to make you pay for your own fucking McDonalds on your birthday?”

“Why do you care so much?” You screech, reeling away when his hand touches your arm.

He throws up his hands in equal amounts of frustration, eyes widening as much as yours. “Because you look like an abandoned fucking kitten and I’d be a horrible person to just leave you here.”

“You are a horrible person.” You shout back, and then your mouth clamps shut. Your hand slaps over your lips, staring at him in utter terror as you realize that you’re firing insults at someone who could just shoot you if he decides you’re offensive enough.

But he just laughs at you. “Yeah, fair enough. So, come on—coffee?”

Without a single sane reason to support this decision, you walk across the parking lot with him and step into the comforting heat of the busy coffee shop. It’s weird, it’s definitely weird, but in the past five minutes he’s showed you more interest than Jake has in three months, and you can’t help but want to spend a few more minutes in the company of someone so attentive.

And as the light washes over his decidedly attractive face, you realize that he’s not so bad to look at, either.

After all, he robbed Jake—not you.

Minho stands at the counter, ordering your drinks, and then nudges you and points at a display case full of cake. “Eh? For your birthday?”

Your stomach rumbles with hunger, but your face flushes with heat. “Oh, no, I’m good.”

He frowns. “I’m not going to make you pay for it, not after the way that ass treated you.”

“Because it was so much worse than the way you pulled a gun on me?” You hiss, eyes flashing to the barista who miraculously doesn’t hear you.

Minho rolls his eyes. “If you were my girlfriend, I never would have pulled a gun on you, much less pushed you in front of one. It’s completely different. Get a slice of cake.”

The barista’s eyes go wide.

You wave his suggestion away. “No, really. Thanks anyway.” The cake does look incredible, though.

“I can hear your stomach growling. Would you rather go get something different? Protein?” Minho pushes, glancing around your person as though he expects you to faint right in front of him. It’s almost sweet enough to cancel out your suspicion of him as he waits for you to order a slice of birthday cake.

You step away from the register instead. “I’ll eat at home.”

Minho squints at you. “You don’t eat in public?” It’s sarcasm.

“…No.” It’s not sarcasm.

“Because…”

You’re getting antsy, the barista’s getting antsy, and the three people in line behind you are getting antsy.

Minho doesn’t care.

Why would he? He’ll just rob them all later.

“Because I have a facial spasm when I eat.” You whisper, embarrassment flooding your cheeks.

The man before you looks like he’s not surprised at all by this information. “So? That’s not uncommon.”

“But it embarrassed my boyfriend—”

“Your ex.”

“It embarrassed him so we stopped doing meal dates in public.”

He stares at you. “You’re fucking with me.”

“No, my face twitches really badly and it’s embarrassing. Just the coffee please. Please. I can’t take this anymore.” You can’t stand the fact that you’re spending so long holding up the line, so you shake your head at him and move towards a table in the corner, refusing to delay the process any longer.

Your retreat forces Minho to turn around and complete his order, paying with Jake’s company card, but a few moments later he’s approaching your table with two plates of cake. He puts one in front of you with a hard set frown. “Just eat the damn cake. Your ex is shit. It’s not like your side of the booth faces the room anyway, so you won’t feel uncomfortable.”

He sits across from you, scooting his own plate closer to himself.

“He’s not my ex.” You argue quietly. “And my side of the booth still faces you.” It shouldn’t matter, to show one of your more mortifying qualities to the guy who held you up in the parking lot, but it does. You want to put your beautiful slice of cake into a to-go box and take it home to eat it curled up in your armchair where no one can see you.

Minho doesn’t look up from his cake. “He’ll be your ex boyfriend after tonight. There’s no reason for you to be holding on to the bitch ass who throws you at the barrel of a gun on his worst day and is too ashamed of you to take you to dinner—or let you fucking kiss him—on his best. Now eat your cake before he becomes your late boyfriend.”

Blood drains from your face as you reach for your fork. “Please don’t hurt us.” The words break past your lips in a whisper, but you scoop up a bite of cake. It nearly wobbles right off your fork as your hand trembles, but you manage to keep it onboard. “I really don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to chill out and have some birthday cake.” Minho glances up at you right as you take a bite and lift your hand to hide your face politely. He frowns as you chew. “Put your hand down. Did I tell you to cover your face?”

Your eyebrows lower, tears pooling in your eyes. “You’re being kinda mean to me.” It’s too weird, the juxtaposition of the man who mugged you at gunpoint outside and the man who is having cake and coffee with you in celebration of your birthday.

Though, to be fair, he didn’t really get the chance to rob you before Jake freaked out, so does it really count?

He just stares at you blankly. “Would you rather I take you out back and mug you again?” Before you can start crying again, he nudges your foot under the table with his own. “You’re safe, jagi. I’m sorry I scared you out there.”

It takes a second, but you convince yourself to relax. You’re safe.

You eat your cake, you drink your coffee, you smile every time Minho calls you jagi, exactly as he intends; you force yourself stop paying attention to the twitching in your cheeks while you chew, not even knowing that he’s watching you because it’s cute, not because it’s weird. He spends ten minutes trying to convince you to break up with Jake, and by the end of the meal—the first meal you’ve had in public since you started dating Jake a year and a half ago—you’ve decided you agree with him.

No more Jake.

Minho all but cheers. No more Jake.

At the end of the night, he watches you order an Uber, and then he borrows someone else’s phone. Actually borrows it, doesn’t steal it.

“Yes, hello, police? A woman has just been mugged. The guy had a gun, and he drove off in an electric car—” And, despite your insincere protest, he gives a description of your boyfriend as the assailant before hanging up. Minho returns the phone, waits with you for your Uber, and then sends you off with a cheeky wave of Jake’s company card.

He keeps the scarf.

Let me know what you think!

PART 2 INFO

taglist:

@whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @estella-novella @babyphotos0325 @softfor-svtptg @furfoxsake22 @tubelightanyaa

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐬𝐨 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧' 𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐛𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐧・l.m

—there were two things in the world that challenged your intellectual ability one: AP US History and two: lee minho. what are you going to do when he catches you cheating, and grabs your thigh, forcing you to give him the answers too.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・minho x reader // 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・academic rivals to lovers, sexual tension // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・1.5k // 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・thigh touching, squeezing, and kissing, very slight bruising, cheating on tests, slight language, he gets on his knees, this is lowkey freaky, no actually Minho gets on his knees and kisses your thigh.

𝐚/𝐧・guys i'm kinda shy about this bc it was not supposed to be this freaky, but I had this thought like four months ago and it just kind of...unraveled 🙈 idk how I feel about this I like the idea of it but I feel like it flows weird idk might just be a me problem plus I needed to get it out of my drafts so 😗

If you really think about it—it isn't your fault that the curriculum was impossible to learn, the school board was practically begging you to cheat.

Besides, the whole testing system was pointless anyway. You couldn’t accurately quantify knowledge with a few bubbled answers. And if your teacher hadn’t made this test 40% of your grade, you might’ve actually been able to understand. But no— the stress alone had made sure of that.

For a second, you naively convince yourself you actually have a chance. Then you read the first question—and realize you're royally fucked.

It isn’t just one thing; no, the universe spreads a thick layer of icing all over your 'I’m fucked' cake, because not only is the test 100 questions of pure agony, but you’re sitting next to none other than Lee Minho—Yale's wet dream and your life long rival.

He shifts beside you, bubbling in the answers with infuriating ease. It was enraging—how calm he was, how even though his eyes were trained on the paper in front of him, it still felt like he was making calculated moves against you.

You grind your teeth, reading and rereading the questions until you go cross-eyed. It just didn't make sense. Why were there so many dates? Who were all these people? Why couldn't you seem to remember anything? The ink on your thigh screams at you, itching to pull up your skirt and color all the correct answers.

It was stupid, completely idiotic to even consider giving in to the temptation, but you had no other choice. You couldn't fail this test. You steal a glance at Minho, making sure he’s still peacefully, obnoxiously distracted with being perfect, before sliding your skirt up to reveal the answer key you wrote last night. With a deep breath, you fill in the correct answers, stealing paranoid glances at the teacher every other question.

You're almost done. Just a few more. But then—a tingle runs down your spine.

You could practically taste the smirk on his face the minute his gaze lands on your thighs. You stiffen, holding your breath as if that might magically make you disappear. Unfortunately, your efforts are to no avail.

Minho must have been waiting for a moment like this for years—a classic got'ya moment. It was perfect, practically presented to him on a silver platter. You clench your eyelids and except the worst, for him to stand up and announce to the class your humiliating defeat, to strut up to the teacher and flush your entire life away.

And yet, the moment passes by. His gaze never wavers, instead it gets heavier—needier, fire licking up your spine. You can feel the heat of his breath fanning across your cheek as he leans in—so close, too close.

"Is that what I think it is?" That cocky little bend in his lips grows as he watches you fumble to yank the skirt back down, shooting him a nasty side-eye.

"No," you say steadily—almost convincing yourself.

"No?" His voice is low, laced with amusement, but there's something else there, something strained. "Then let me see."

"No." You scoff, pulling your leg away from him. He presses his tongue against his cheek, both frustrated and annoyed.

"So fuckin’ stubborn." His voice drops, and suddenly, the space between you vanishes. His fingers capture your thigh, prying them apart with a hot, deliberate pressure. Your breath hitches—the heat of his palm seeping into your flesh, spreading up, up, up.

You want to gasp, to smack his hand away, and scream bloody murder; but the other part of you, the other small microscopic part of you relishes in his touch—leaving you dizzy and breathless.

His hand never moves, even as he copies the answers down—his fingers a steady pressure against your soft flesh. You hate the way your pulse betrays you, hammering against your ribs like thunder.

You twitch—just enough for him to notice, just enough for him to squeeze hard. You fight not to gasp, your stomach twisting with something you don’t dare name. He doesn’t say another word. He doesn’t have to. You feel it.

Don’t you dare move.

You don't breathe—not until he's already finished the work, releasing your thigh and walking up to the teacher; sliding his test into the professor's hands with an infuriatingly perfect smile. The teacher returns his smile ten times brighter, both pleased and impressed, bowing politely to dismiss him back.

It takes five seconds before your brain catches up with your body, jaw dropping in utter disbelief—Minho was the first one to turn in his test, making him the first to get a perfect score, therefore putting him slightly above your soon-to-be perfect score—which means he beat you.

"What the hell was that?" you spit. Minho doesn’t spare you a glance as he slips back into his seat, swiveling around with a smirk on his face and his tongue in his cheek.

"What, 'that,' are we talking about? My undeniable victory, or how slow this class is?" Minho muses, throwing his feet onto the desk, and tipping his chair back as if the whole scheme was a piece of cake. You were ready to punch him square in his freakishly perfect jaw.

"You are unbelievable—" You don’t get to finish your scornful sentence before the bell rings. The class erupts from their seats, filing to the front. There was so much you wanted to do, but you couldn’t—your hands were tied, tight, painfully behind your back. So instead, you do the only thing you can: turn in that stupid test.

When you get back to your desk, you find Minho leaning against his, a cocky smirk still playing on his pretty pink lips.

"Oh, you're just loving this, aren't you?" you spit venomously, stuffing supplies back into your bag with a little extra vigor. Minho cocks his head, standing up a little straighter. "Loving beating you? Yeah, you could say that."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "You couldn’t have done it without the answers I wrote on my thigh." At the mention of your thigh, Minho’s gaze tilts downward. His entire demeanor transforms—once cocky and proud, now washed away in an instant—something softer taking its place, something you couldn’t quite place.

Gently, disarmingly, Minho brings his palm to your waist, guiding you to sit on one of the desks behind you. "What—" you begin, but he beats you to it, asking, "Did I do this?" Confused, you look down at the mark in question—darkened fingerprints ghosting over your skin where his fingers had pressed a little too hard.

You swallow. "I didn't notice it."

"Does it hurt?" he frowns, gingerly brushing the bruise forming on your thigh. His voice is uncharacteristically soft, almost as if he's actually concerned about your well-being.

"Yeah, kind of," you wince, but you don't move from his soft touch. His lips press into a thin line, the slight furrow of his brows deepening with guilt.

"What, you wanna kiss it, make it feel better?" you joke, a weak attempt to ease the tension. He pauses for a moment, then, in one swift motion, drops to his knees before you.

You gasp, a quick, trembling breath that melts the words in your throat. His eyes stay locked on yours, the weight of his gaze heavy as he inches closer, mouth nearing your thigh. You hold your breath, heart hammering against your ribs. He takes his time—two agonizing seconds stretching into hours. His breath is hot against your skin, before his lips finally brush the bruise, leaving a gentle kiss in its wake.

"There, all better," he says, standing back up and slinging his backpack over his shoulder, nonchalantly. He doesn't say another word, simply waltzing out the door like he didn't just leave you a spaghetti noodle, all slippery thoughts and wobbly limbs.

You stand there, jaw in the center of the earth, gripping the edge of the desk so hard it threatened to crack. The class had filed out ages ago, leaving you to regather your thoughts in sweet silence.

You still feel his lips, hot and gentle, against the flesh of your thigh—reliving the moment over and over and over again. You couldn't bear to look at him, weeks into the future, still dizzy and disoriented, struggling to focus with him so close beside you. Minho knew, no matter how much you hated that thought. Minho knew, he saw how your grades started slipping, how slowly your comebacks started getting shorter, sweeter, a little bit more flirtatious.

That was his plan the entire time; because, even on his knees—Minho held all the pieces.

cookie owns this. thank you.

RAAAA its been a hot minute since I've posted something but I hope you liked this (if you did seriously consider reblogging with tags it helps my motivation and self-esteem so so soooo much.

[catiuskaa]

missed me, missed me, now you gotta...

SUMMARY: minho wasn’t grumpy, nor he was jealous. but he hasn’t been the same ever since he fell in love with you.

REQUESTED! by a sweet annonie right here. pookie, your idea was lovely to write! lil grumpy minho, im melting… it’s a bit short, but I hope you like it! <3

CW: use of (crack) text messages to convey the plot, starring: han quokka as cupid + reader’s bsf, clingy minho as king of my heart, and ngl, type 1 diabetes fluff ahead. keep insulin shots close just in case! lol

WC: 1.1k

A/N: i love how i’m slowly turning into a minho blog/page lmaoo, only minho: the man, the myth, the legend!

[🪻☆🌫️☆🪻]

The same ringtone buzzed again during rehearsals. Its ding had sounded so many times already that it had started to get repetitive really quickly.

Minho frowned as he looked in the mirror, retouching his rolled sleeves just once more for what he secretly knew it had been more than twenty times. In the span of ten minutes. Maybe even less.

But Minho wasn’t ‘grumpy’.

He so wasn’t.

His day had been normal so far. He had no reason to be grumpy. Not one what-so-ever.

He had woken up in between your arms, and even if he had ‘complained’ about it, he loved being the little spoon. And also, his cats jumped on the bed and, just for once, none of them landed on his face.

There had been just one thing.

…

Well. Technically more than one.

You had rushed outside this morning. You claimed you didn’t have time to have breakfast with him, because you were late for something he didn’t really get. Because of that, you hadn’t come over to the JYP building with him. He had to drive over alone. And you hadn’t pecked him goodbye at the entrance like always.

But he. Wasn’t. Grumpy.

Not. At. All.

> sunggie: girl, did you hide his cats or smth?

< minho’s owner: lol, wdym dude?

> sunggie: he looks like he’s going to kill me.

> sunggie: And he loves me! Wtf??

“Jisung-ah.”

Han shrieked in his place in the sofa, his phone almost falling off his hands. He quickly turned it off, hoping that the grumpy dancer hadn’t seen the old or new messages.

“Who were you texting?” Minho frowned, deeper this time.

“Oh.” Jisung chuckled. “Just checking in on noona.”

“My girlfriend?” The way Minho enunciated the title felt a bit possesive. Jisung eyed at him weirdly for a second. Even he felt weird himself.

Jisung nodded sheepishly, turning his phone back on but quickly opening a random app.

“Yeah. I owed her a call back.” He shrugged, nonchalantly accepting that he had opened Subway Surfers, and started to play.

As the catchy music came from Han’s phone, Minho shook his head.

Not grumpy.

Not at all.

But the thought that you had been texting Han and didn’t text him —instead of him— did funny things in his chest.

Now, keep in mind that Minho would never describe himself as a jealous man.

He trusted you with his cats, of course he trusted you regarding your relationship. But he had barely got a hold of you all day. And Han had. By call and text. Like he was doing now.

Not grumpy.

Sure.

< minho’s owner: you dead yet?

Jisung groaned.

> sunggie: no! you made me lose my score!

> sunggie: and I don’t have any keys! ㅠㅠ

< minho’s owner: sucks to suck, lol

< minho’s owner: but what’s wrong with my future husband? did you do something?

> sunggie: he’s moody since he came in this morning.

> sunggie: you weren’t here tho. smth wrong between ya?

< minho’s owner: no…? just had to run to work early…

And then, something in Jisung’s paboracha brain connected. Probably because of how he had named your contact in his phone.

> sunggie: omg

< minho’s owner: what?

> sunggie: that corny dumbass

> sunggie: he’s so stupid

< minho’s owner: bitch what is it???

> sunggie: he’s moody bc u didn’t come in with him today!

You hesitated. Could that be it?

< minho’s owner: really? u think so?

> sunggie: bitch I know so!

> sunggie: imma go get boba for the boys, get your ass here and come w/ me

Jisung’s brain started to work at cupid’s speed.

< minho’s owner: omw. be there in 5’

“Guys, I’m gonna go get boba. Do any of you want something?”

The rest of the gang blabbered something while some kept going over the steps of the choreography and the others rested on the couch, doozing off or on their phones. Han quickly noted down everyone’s orders, not before being squinted down by Minho. He held back a shiver.

“Clingy prick…” Jisung mumbled, leaving quickly.

He walked out of the JYP building, waiving and half bowing to the staff members and other artists in the building.

< minho’s owner: just parked! ^^

Jisung entered the boba place next to the building, smiling at the cashier as he read down the orders on his note app, and stood aside, waiting for the drinks.

“Hey!” You smiled widely at him, taking off your scarf, merely leaving it hanging on your shoulders. He clapped your hand, playfully slapping your back.

“Working hard?” Jisung snickered, pointing at the bag on your other hand.

You side-eyed at him, giggling softly.

“Took some snacks before heading off.” You shrugged. “We can sneak these in, right?”

Jisung scratched the back of his neck. “We’ll… come up with something.”

You both struggled carrying the drinks, teasing each other and betting who’d make a mess first. But all giggles came to an end when the security guard stared at you.

“Name and business?” He asked in a low huff.

Your body stiffened.

“She’s my sister,” Han chimed back. You were in fact far from being his sister, but that didn’t matter when the guard seemed to nod. “She’s just helping me carry the drinks inside.”

“And the bag? What’s inside?”

You cleared your throat, smiling. “Clothes for him to change once he finishes training.” You lied.

Thank God for his imagination. And for his stupid idea of shoving your scarf and his hoodie into the bag of snacks.

“Ok. You may come in.” The guard smiled politely.

Only after the both of you had gotten into the elevator you allowed yourselves to let out a sight full of relief. You two then smirked, high-fiving.

“Thank you, bro.” You teased in a snicker.

He cackled. “You’re welcome, sis.”

You both laughed and joked until you reached the training room.

“The person you dream of is back!” Han cackled.

“Noona!” Felix grinned happily.

“Yeah, that’s me!” You cackled at Jisung’s faked frown.

You smiled and greeted everyone as you entered, leaving a certain bunny boy for last.

You sat next to him on the couch, and without missing a beat, he took your legs and layed them on his lap.

You took a sip of his drink, and he stared at you, almost with a squint.

“You’ve made me jealous of fucking Han Jisung.” He stated matter-o-factly, making you practically choke on the tapioka pearls.

You coughed. “What?”

“You texted him all evening. And me? Not even a good luck kiss this morning.”

“Aw, are you grumpy, kitten?” You grinned teasingly, speaking only towards him in a soft tone to his ear. You pecked his cheek.

He needed more of those.

Grumpy, huh?

“Yes. Very.” He mumbled, hiding his blushed and pleased grin in the crook of your neck. “Need more kisses.”

“Well, you know how it goes.” You mumbled in a snicker. He hummed at you, waiting for you to explain.

You kissed his forehead softly, his hands stroking your thighs.

“Missed me, missed me, now you gotta kiss me.”

~Kats, who can write this in one sit, but can’t figure out how chemistry works (yes have exams, why did I choose this for myself, help)

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

hiiii can you do an Hyunchan x reader where the boys are really mad at her an ignorining her and she has a panic attack.

ℙ𝕒𝕥𝕚𝕖𝕟𝕔𝕖

Warning: Angst/fluff

Summary: Request!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

"Chan?" she called out softly, her voice barely rising above the hum of the quiet room as she stood by the living room door. The tension in the air was thick, heavy. It had been 12 hours since the argument, and neither Chan nor Hyunjin had said a word to her. The silence was suffocating, making her feel like she was going to lose it.

"Hyunjin?" She tried again, this time addressing the other side of the room, but once more, there was no response. Her heart pounded in her chest.

"Are you guys going to ignore me forever?" she muttered, barely more than a whisper. Still, neither of them budged, their backs turned, their attention focused elsewhere.

Her chest tightened, and the pressure behind her eyes threatened to spill over. "Please? I’m sorry… I just—please don’t ignore me," she begged, taking a few tentative steps forward, but the distance between them felt as if it were growing wider. She could feel the weight of their silence pressing down on her.

Hyunjin laid his head on Chan's shoulder, his body language as cold as his silence. They refused to look at her. The tears she had been holding back began to burn, stinging her eyes, threatening to fall as she silently begged them to forgive her for the words exchanged earlier.

Her breath hitched in her throat as she turned away, feeling the overwhelming weight of her emotions. Defeated, she slowly made her way to the kitchen. She could feel the air thick with tension, her body moving on autopilot as she began to prepare dinner. They had already eaten lunch without her earlier, and now, after just returning from practice, she was left to make dinner alone, as though everything was fine.

The tears blurred her vision, and her head spun with confusion and sorrow. It was as if the world was closing in on her, the weight of it all pressing harder with every passing second. She could hear her own thoughts, each one darker than the last, and she hated how powerless she felt to push them away.

Once the food was done and plated, she brought it to the table in silence. Her hands shook slightly as she set the plates down, then quietly made her way back to the living room.

"I made you guys some dinner, if you want it," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I put it on the table. I'll go eat in the room, so don't worry about me." She didn't wait for a response, knowing it was unlikely she’d get one.

Once in their room, she sat at her vanity, the food on her plate growing cold as she picked at it slowly, each bite feeling like it was stuck in her throat. The tears started to fall, silently at first, as she stared blankly ahead, lost in her own thoughts.

Would they break up with her? The thought kept running through her mind, a constant whisper of doubt that she couldn’t shake.

She hadn’t even noticed her breathing quicken, the pressure in her chest building, until it was almost too much to bear. Her chest tightened painfully, and her hands trembled as she clutched her chest. The feeling of rejection weighed heavily on her, and she felt the panic beginning to spiral.

"Please... enough," she whispered to herself, trying desperately to compose herself, but the sobs started to escape anyway. Her head throbbed, her heart raced, and the room felt like it was spinning. She felt utterly alone.

Then, the door opened.

Her heart skipped a beat, and through the mirror, she saw Chan and Hyunjin standing in the doorway. They had finished dinner.

She quickly wiped her eyes, but the damage was done. Her tears streaked down her cheeks as she bowed her head in embarrassment. Her breathing was still erratic, but she refused to let them see her like this, not wanting them to see how fragile she truly felt.

"Y/nnie? Baby?" Chan’s voice was hoarse, filled with concern, as he hurried to her side. Hyunjin was right behind him.

Chan knelt beside her, trying to catch her gaze, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She turned away, too embarrassed, her face flushed with shame.

"Hey… look at me," he urged gently, his hand reaching to cup her cheek, his touch warm and soft.

Her breathing quickened again, and she pulled away from his touch. "Please, I’m sorry..." she whispered, her voice shaking with each breath. "Please dont break up with me, i can change."

Hyunjin's frown deepened as he knelt beside her on the other side. "Y/nnie… you’re panicking," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. "I’m so sorry I made you feel like this."

He truly had no idea it had gone this far. He never wanted her to feel like this, never wanted to push her to the point where she felt like she might lose them.

"You… you don’t have to be with me. I’ve accepted it," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Chan’s heart sank, and he pulled her gently off the chair, guiding her to the bed. He held her close, his hands reassuring as he wrapped her in his arms, trying to calm her.

"I’ll go make her some tea," Hyunjin whispered, but Chan didn’t let go, his focus entirely on her. He nodded, thankful for Hyunjin’s understanding.

"Hey… shhh," Chan whispered, his voice soft, soothing. "It’s okay. No one is going to leave you. We were just being assholes, and we should’ve talked things out with you, Y/nnie. I’m sorry." He kissed the top of her head, his words gentle but full of remorse.

But she wasn’t sure she believed him. If she weren’t in this state, would they still be mad at her?

"But you can’t just do that to me," she cried into his chest, her voice cracking. "It hurts, Chan. It hurts so much. I would never do that to you guys."

Chan’s grip tightened around her, his voice filled with regret. "You’re right, Y/n. We shouldn’t have treated you like that. We were just so angry, and now we’re learning from our mistakes. I never want to put you through this again, baby." He gently tilted her chin, urging her to meet his eyes. "Hey… look at me."

She slowly lifted her gaze to his, and his heart melted as he saw the pain still clouding her eyes.

"My beautiful girl," he whispered, his voice soft with affection and regret. "I’m so sorry. You can put me on any punishment duty you want."

"Anything?" she asked, her voice tinged with mischief, a small glimmer of her old spark returning in her eyes.

"Anything," Chan gulped, knowing that he and Hyunjin were about to go on a rollercoaster ride of their own making. But he would do whatever it took to make things right, for her.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Don't forget to reblog and follow! <3

A/N: Thank you anon!

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[pnutbutter-n-j-elyy]

𝗪𝗵𝗲𝗻 𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗔𝗰𝗰𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗮𝗹𝗹𝘆 𝗕𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗨𝗽 𝗮𝗻 𝗜𝗻𝘀𝗲𝗰𝘂𝗿𝗶𝘁𝘆 | 𝗛𝘆𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗣𝘁𝟐

Warnings: None

Hyung Line x Reader. Angst.

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ᗷᗩᑎGᑕᕼᗩᑎ

Days had passed, and the tension between you and Chan grew unbearable.

You had tried contacting him, but he’d buried himself in his work, refusing to answer your calls or texts, and every attempt to approach him in person was met with cold indifference.

It was as if he had sealed himself off from you completely, and the guilt gnawed at your insides like a festering wound.

It wasn’t until one late evening, when you found yourself standing outside the studio again, that you realized something had to give. You couldn’t let things end like this - not over a misunderstanding, not when you cared about him so much.

When you loved him so much.

Pushing open the door, you saw him sitting at the same desk, headphones on, eyes glued to his laptop screen. The music played softly in the background, but the atmosphere was anything but peaceful.

You cleared your throat, and when he didn’t react, you took a deep breath and spoke.

"Chan, please. We need to talk."

For a moment, you thought he was going to ignore you again, but then he pulled off his headphones and glanced over his shoulder. His eyes were tired, and there were dark circles beneath them, evidence of sleepless nights.

"There’s nothing to talk about," he muttered, turning back to his screen.

“Please,” you said, your voice pleading. "Please."

He tensed, when he heard the hurt in your voice, and then sighed, pushing the chair back but not looking at you, his shoulders tense. He turned to you, his brown eyes tired and sad.

"I’m sorry," you began, your voice barely above a whisper. Afraid if you spoke any louder it might shatter.

“I didn’t realize how much you were carrying, and my words...I didn’t mean to make you feel like I don’t see everything you do. Because I do, baby. I see and appreciate everything."

He flinched at your words, but remained silent, his gaze fixed on the floor. You sniffed and wiped the tears you had so miserably failed to keep in. You missed him. Even if only for a few days it felt like eons.

“I know you’re the leader, and I know you have the weight of so much responsibility on your shoulders,” you continued, wiping your eyes, as more tears fell. “But you don’t have to do it all alone. You don’t always have to be strong. I can be strong for you too if you just ask.”

You hiccup, trying to control your shaky voice. "I want you to ask I don't want you to hurt anymore. Please...you can ask for help too. You don't always have to take everything on yourself. I only said what I said because I wanted to convey how upset I was seeing you tire yourself out, Chan-I...I don't want you to be tired anymore."

You were furiously wiping at your face, feeling like a child not able to properly convey their emotions.

“You don’t have to carry that burden by yourself. You’re not alone in this. The members, your fans, me...we’re all here for you. Please just ask us. We'll do anything for you.”

Chan's hands fidgeted in his lap. You felt the urge to run into his arms- you selfishly wanted to have him comfort you. When he was the one who needed comfort in this moment.

"I'm sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry-" You weep. "I miss you, Channie...so much...I don't want you to be mad at me anymore. I'm sorry. I really am..."

For the first time in days, his eyes met yours, and the raw emotion swirling within them took your breath away.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice cracking, muffled by the sleeve of his sweater, which his face was buried in. “I’m scared that if I stop, everything will fall apart. That if I’m not there, something will go wrong, and it’ll be my fault. And that if I ask for help and things go wrong; you'll be to blame when you've done nothing wrong.” His voice was low and sad, and you could tell by the tightness of it he was trying to hold back tears as well.

Your heart ached as you listened to his confession, realizing just how much he had been hiding behind his calm exterior. How he took on stress to make sure any possible stressors wouldn't arise for those he loved and cared for.

"Oh, baby..."

He closed his eyes, his body trembling as the weight of his fears and insecurities finally crashed down around him.

He then looked up at your eyes that mirrored his own.

It seemed like the sadness in yours took his breath away too. Seemed like it shattered all the resolve he had left as he stood up and you launched himself into your arms, pulling him so close that your bodies would have melded together if possible.

You hiccupped out more sobs as you clung to him.

For a moment- a split second he wanted to remain angry, and he resisted -but then he collapsed against you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he buried his face in your shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice muffled against your shirt. His tears wetting it. “I didn’t mean to push you away. I never mean to do that baby, I'm sorry.”

You held him tighter, tears slipping down your cheeks as you whispered, “It’s okay. I promise.”

You stayed like that for what felt like hours, holding each other in the dimly lit studio as the walls between you slowly crumbled. And in that moment, you knew that no matter how heavy the weight on his shoulders was, you would always be there to help him carry it.

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ᗰIᑎᕼO

The next morning, the air between you and Minho was still thick with tension. You had barely slept, and when you shuffled into the kitchen, you found him already there, making coffee in silence. He didn’t even look up when you entered the room.

You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say. The weight of last night’s conversation hung between you like an invisible barrier, and every second that passed without him acknowledging you made the distance feel even greater.

He slid over a cup of coffee to you without as much as looking at you, and as you held the warm drink in your hands they began to tremble.

"Minho..." you began, your voice hesitant, unsure how to approach him. “Can we talk?” Your fingers tapped against the cup nervously.

He didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he took a slow sip of his coffee, his throat working, and eyes fixed on the countertop. For a moment, you wondered if he would ignore you altogether, but then, without turning, he spoke.

“What exactly do you want to talk about?” His voice was flat, and that cold edge you feared had settled firmly in place.

You bit your lip, nervousness and guilt warring inside you. “What I said last night...it came out wrong. I didn’t mean-”

“You think I’m cold,” he interrupted, finally turning to face you. His expression was unreadable, but the hurt in the brown eyes you loved so much was impossible to miss. “It’s fine. I get it. I’ve heard it before. Its nothing to take to heart.”

You shook your head, stepping closer to him. “No, you don’t get it. I don’t think you’re cold. I know you’re not.” Your fingers gripped the cup to the point your hands were hot, and you set the cup down so you wouldn't drop it.

Minho bit his lip now. “Really? Because that’s not what it sounded like last night.”

You took another step toward him, your heart aching at how distant he felt, even when you were standing right in front of him. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I shouldn’t have said that. I didn't mean it al all.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening as he leaned back against the counter. “It’s not about what you said,” he muttered, his voice low as he looked at his coffee. “It’s about the fact that...maybe you’re right. Maybe that’s all people see when they look at me. Thats all they ever say so when you said it- the person I love most in this world...it made it feel...true.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You could hear the vulnerability in his voice - the fear of being misunderstood, of being seen as something he wasn’t. Because he truly wasn't.

And suddenly, you understood how deeply your careless words had cut him.

You reached out, gently placing your hand on his arm. This time, he didn’t pull away, but his gaze remained fixed on the floor. He set his coffee down as you searched for words to say.

“Love, look at me,” you said softly, your voice trembling. Slowly, his eyes lifted to meet yours, and you could see the storm of emotions swirling beneath the surface. Something sparking when he saw the shine in yours.

“You’re not cold,” you said firmly, holding his gaze. “You're - not cold at all." You swallowed the knot trying to form. "You’re kind. You’re thoughtful. You care about the people around you more than anyone realizes. And maybe you don’t always show it in the way people expect, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there. I see it. All the time.” The knot was relentless and made a home there, your voice breaking slightly.

He stared at you, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, you weren’t sure if your words were getting through. But then, slowly, his shoulders slumped, and the tension seemed to drain out of him. He allowed you to hold his hands.

“It’s just...hard sometimes,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know how to be any other way. I'm not cold I just...aren't feelings a precious thing? I don't know how to not be the way I am. It feels normal to be 'serious' and 'cold' like people say. I don't feel that way. I feel loved and loving. I just don't show it off in...big ways...” He swallowed. "Maybe that makes me mean and cold."

Your heart broke at his confession. You had always known Minho to be one who kept his emotions in check, one who always seemed to have everything under control. But now, standing in front of you, he seemed so vulnerable, so...human. Which you had always seen him as.

“You’re not mean or cold,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. You pursed your lips to keep yourself from crying, but it didn't work. “You’re human. It's okay to have different ways of showing emotions and letting people in. I'm sorry I made you feel that way.”

He looked at you, his eyes softening as the walls he’d built around himself began to crumble. “I forgive you, lovely. I was just being petty...I’m sorry I shut you out,” he murmured, his hand reaching up to gently touch your cheek. “I just...didn’t know how to deal with it. I don't want you to ever see me that way.”

You pouted, you bottom lip jutting out as you cried silently, your brows furrowed to try to stop yourself mid cry.

For the first time since last night, a small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips and Minho chuckled quietly. He moved his thumb to your lip and looked at you.

"It's going to get stuck that way, Darling." He kissed them and then pulled you into a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he rested his chin on top of your head, rubbing circles on your back gently as you sniffled into his chest.

“It's okay my love,” he promised softly. “I’m sorry I scared you by ignoring you.” He said guessing the exact reason why you were crying. "Shh, it's okay. It's all going to be okay..." He cooed softly as he rocked you back in forth. "I love you. So much. I love you." He placed a soft kiss on your head, and you buried into him further earning a laugh.

In that moment, everything felt right again. The weight of the misunderstanding lifted, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the quiet understanding that, no matter how sharp his edges, you would always find a way to soften them.

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ᑕᕼᗩᑎGᗷIᑎ

The next morning, the apartment was eerily quiet. Changbin hadn’t come out of the bedroom since last night, and you had spent the night tossing and turning on the couch, unable to shake the guilt that weighed heavily on your chest.

You knew you had hurt him, but what made it worse was that you hadn’t even realized how deep his insecurities ran. Changbin was always so strong, so confident - but now, you saw the cracks in the armor he wore every day. And it hurt you that you had hurt him.

You took a deep breath, gathering your courage before walking to the bedroom door. You knocked softly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“Changbin?” you called out quietly. “Can I come in?”

There was a long pause before you heard him say, “Come in.”

When you opened the door, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched, his head bowed. He didn’t look up when you entered, and the sight of him like that broke your heart all over again.

You sat down beside him the bed dipping, close but not touching, waiting for him to speak first since it seemed all the words left your mind.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally broke the silence. “I’m sorry for last night,” he said quietly, his voice filled with exhaustion. “I overreacted.” His voice was sad and quiet and you felt the power of the initial guilt amplify tenfold.

You shook your head, the tears threatening to spill making it hard to speak. “No, I’m the one who should apologize. I didn’t mean to make you feel like you weren’t enough. That’s the last thing I would ever want to do, Binnie, please believe me.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, still not looking at you. “It’s not your fault. I just...I’ve always felt like I have to prove myself, and becoming an idol made that even harder, you know? Like I have to be the best since everyone is watching now. And when you said that...it just hit me in the worst way. Because it's you.”

You nodded, understanding dawning on you. “You’ve always been hard on yourself.”

Changbin let out a bitter laugh. “Yeah, maybe too hard. But I don’t know how to be any other way. I feel like if I stop, if I’m not constantly pushing myself, then...I’ll lose everything. I tried so hard to get.” His eyes met yours.

Your chest tightened at his words. You knew how much he put into his work, how much he cared about being successful, not just for himself, but for everyone around him. But hearing him say it out loud, hearing the fear and vulnerability in his voice - it was almost too much to bear.

“You won’t lose anything, let alone me.” you said softly, reaching out to take his hand. You had noticed the look in his eyes and wanted him to be assured that you would never leave him. “You’re already so much more than enough, baby. You’re talented, hardworking, and you care so much about everyone around you. You don’t need to prove anything to anyone. Especially not me. Or the guys. Or your family. We all see how much you put in everything.”

He finally looked up at you, his eyes filled with emotion. “Sometimes, it feels like no matter how hard I try, it’s never enough. And when you said what you did...it felt like you were confirming it. And you're the...last person I would want to hear the from.” His adam's apple bobbed up and down as he put his forearm to his eyes. "Damn, I didn't want to cry." He mumbled. "Give me a second."

You squeezed his hand and waited for him to collect himself. Once he did you spoke, your voice trembling with emotion. “I’m so sorry I made you feel like that. I never wanted to hurt you. You mean so much to me, and I think you’re incredible just the way you are. More than I deserve, BinBin. Truly.”

Changbin’s expression softened, the tension in his shoulders slowly easing. “I know you didn’t mean it. I was just...in my head. It’s something I’ve been struggling with for a while.”

He let out a long breath, the weight of his insecurities finally surfacing. “I just don’t want to disappoint anyone. Especially you.”

Your heart ached at his words, and you gently cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You could never disappoint me, Changbin. I love you for who you are, not for how hard you work or how much you achieve. You’re enough, just as you are.” You look into his eyes. "You may not be perfect, but everything about you is perfect to me."

His eyes shined, and for a moment, he looked like he was about to break. But instead, he pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your shoulder. You held him close, feeling his body relax against yours as the tension finally melted away.

“I’m sorry I shut you out,” he whispered against your neck. “I just didn’t know how to handle it.” His lips brushed against it softly and you felt a warmth wash over you.

You pressed a kiss to his temple just as gently, your heart swelling with love for him. “It’s okay. I'm sorry as well.”

Changbin pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I'm going to talk to you more about this stuff. I don’t want to keep shutting you out.” He kissed you again, but this time on your lips, and you felt a wetness.

You smiled softly, brushing away stray tears from his cheeks and lips. “I’m always here for you, no matter what. And I mean always baby.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss, as if sealing the promise between you. Then moving into a slow and lazy kisses as he pulled you down onto the bed with him.

You stayed there, cuddled together and kissing until the early afternoon, everything just as perfect as the man beside you.

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ᕼYᑌᑎᒍIᑎ

The hours dragged on painfully after Hyunjin had left you standing in the kitchen. The apartment felt too big, too empty without him, and your mind kept replaying the argument over and over again, picking apart every word you had said, every hurtful implication that had slipped out.

You hadn’t meant to wound him. Whenever you had wounded him, you never did it intentionally. You loved him too much to do that.

You had only wanted to comfort him; to let him know he didn’t have to bear the weight of perfection like he thought he had to. You didn't want him to continue working himself to the bone; making himself tired trying to fit a mold that others wanted to fit him into. But instead, you had used your words to unintentionally cut deeper into the very insecurities he worked so hard to keep hidden.

It was nearing midnight when you finally heard the soft sound of the bedroom door opening. Hyunjin stepped out, his face pale and his eyes red-rimmed from crying. He looked fragile, vulnerable in a way that broke your heart all over again.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly, his voice so small it made your chest tighten with guilt.

You nodded quickly, standing up from the couch. “Of course. Of course.”

He walked over to you, sitting down on the couch beside you, though there was still a noticeable space between you. Hyunjin seemed hesitant, his fingers nervously playing with the hem of his oversized sweater. He then laid his head into your lap. You hesitantly threaded your fingers through his hair, until he leaned into your touch, letting you do it freely. The silence was thick, heavy with unspoken words and raw emotions.

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” he began, his voice shaky. “I didn’t mean to lash out at you. I was...I was scared.”

You blinked, surprised by his confession, your hand pausing. “Scared? Of what?”

Hyunjin swallowed hard, his eyes half lidded as he spoke. “Scared that you see me the same way I see myself. Flawed. Not good enough. I’ve always had this fear...this feeling like I’ll never be able to live up to the version of me that people expect. And when you said what you did, I thought...I thought it was proof that even you felt that way. And I don't want you to feel like that about me. At all.” He whined quietly.

Tears welled up in your eyes again as you listened to him. You had known Hyunjin struggled with self-doubt- struggled with the fact that people only saw him as a pretty face- a perfect face, but hearing him lay it all out like this, so raw and vulnerable, made your heart ache for him.

“I would never think that,” you said softly, reaching out to take his hand with your free one. “You’re everything to me, Hyunjin. And I’m sorry if I made you feel like you weren’t enough, or your weren't fitting the mold others want you to fit. I only said what I did because I hate seeing you push yourself so hard. I want you to be happy. I don't want you to see yourself as flawed. We all are- but how is that any different. I love you. I don't want you to be perfect- I want you to be you.”

He looked up at you then, his eyes filled with so much pain that it made your breath catch in your throat. “But what if I’m not good enough as me?”

Your heart broke at the vulnerability in his voice, and you squeezed his hand tighter, shaking your head, swallowing. “You are more than good enough, Hyunjin. You are so talented, so kind, and you work harder than anyone I’ve ever known. You don’t have to be perfect. Again, I love you for who you are, not who you think you should be.”

Hyunjin’s lower lip trembled, and for a moment, it looked like he might start crying again. But instead, he sat up, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His grip was tight, almost desperate, as if he was holding onto you for dear life.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against your skin. “I’m so sorry for pushing you away.”

You held him just as tightly, your own tears falling freely now. “It’s okay. I’m here. I’ll always be here. You don't have to apologize Jinnie...”

For a long time, the two of you sat there in each other’s arms, the weight of the argument finally starting to lift. Hyunjin’s breathing eventually steadied, and you could feel the tension slowly draining from his body as he relaxed into your embrace.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were still red, but there was a softness in them now, a peace that you hadn’t seen in a long time.

“I’ll try to be better,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll try not to let my insecurities get the best of me.”

You smiled at him, brushing a strand of hair away from his face. “I'll try to be better with my words as well. We’ll work through our issues together. You don’t have to do this alone.” You touched his cheek and smiled.

Hyunjin nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He kissed you gently. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice filled with so much sincerity that it made your heart swell.

“I love you too,” you whispered back, your hands gently cupping his face. “More than anything.”

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@iyeeeverydee @parisanmorovati @seungmincenteric

@panbish-1209 @fxiry-vtt @sseawavee

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@kkkeopi @neverendingstay @moony-9

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@leezanetheofficial @tr-mha-fan @bubbly-moon

@redstayrosie @whatdoyouwanttocallmefor @courtnort455

@modesttiger @night-storm7 @ka0ila

@loveyouamory

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[strawberriesoup]

don’t come crying₊˚⊹♡

♡ genre: minho x reader, oneshot, friends to lovers, angst, fluff

♡ warnings: swearing, kissing, heartbreak

♡ wc: 2.7k

♡ a/n: HAPPY VALENTINES DAYY here’s a quick, bite-sized minho oneshot that i somehow wrote yesterday and today. it’s not proofread in any way so good luck reading (JK I HOPE YOU ENJOYY)

if you make it all the way through, please leave some feedback! i always love to hear other people’s thoughts!! your feedback is what keeps me writing stories like these <33

♡ taglist: @jisunggy @hannamoon143 @fly-you-dam-fools @chancloud8 @hannieslittlerockstar @vixensss @skzpvol @gxtwllsn @yinzgarden @kayleefriedchicken @nightmarenyxx @dwesion

if you would like to be added to my series taglist or my general taglist, send me a comment or an ask! <3

―୨♡୧―

Objectively speaking, Minho is an asshole.

Said asshole is currently sprawled over your couch, eating your cookies, and he has the nerve to berate you about who you chose to go out with on Valentine's Day? He’s insufferable.

Your eye twitches as Minho scornfully regards the picture of your date— which you had only sent him after he had nagged you nonstop for ten minutes— pointing out that his hair color didn’t quite suit him, and also that he should probably shave more often.

Having had quite enough, you snatch the phone from his grasp, earning yourself a loud “Hey!” of protest. Shutting the screen off, you toss it on the ground and cross your arms, glaring at his form on the couch next to you. If you were a jerk like Minho, you definitely would have smacked him by now. But, since you’re not, you press your mouth into a straight line and blink widely at him.

“You done?” You ask thinly.

Minho stretches before responding, whole body quivering with the effort.

“No, but I suppose I should shut up now if I want any more of those cookies,” He examines a nail with apparent disintrest.

“Good choice,” It takes everything in you to not wipe that goddamn expression off his face. He just looks so… ugh. You can’t even look at him right now. The sight of his face incites a type of rage in you that should probably be studied. “Why do you care so much anyways, huh? It’s not like your date is any better,” then you gasp, tapping the side of your head in mock remembrance, “Oh, wait, that’s right! You don’t have a date, do you?”

The roll of his eyes and curl of his lip give you your answer before he can even speak.

“That’s what I thought. Now you can shut up and eat the fucking cookie,” You snap, pushing yourself up from the couch. Minho’s voice trails after you as you storm off to your room.

“Just don’t come crying to me when he stands you up tomorrow!”

Your door slams shut before you have to hear another word from his mouth.

This is dumb. He’s a perfectly fine guy! Minho’s just being overdramatic for absolutely no reason whatsoever. Have you been wrong about guys before? Yes. Has Minho been right the majority of the time? Also yes. But that doesn’t mean he’s right this time.

You sigh dreamily just thinking about it. Just last week, he had asked you to be his valentine with a huge bouquet of crimson roses and box of chocolates. Call it childish, but you have been absolutely giddy ever since. The world seems three shades brighter, and you walk with an extra skip in your step. That is, until a certain someone had to go and open his big, opinionated, mouth.

His words circle in your mind, but you shake your head quickly to clear it. Minho’s probably just in a foul mood because you have a date and he doesn’t. Why he’s taking it out on you though is beyond you, but you try not to take it to heart too much.

You have a good feeling about this one. You just know it will go well tomorrow, and you can’t wait to rub your success in Minho’s smug face.

જ⁀➴

You have a bad feeling about this.

Your date-to-be is sitting across from you, leaning back and listening to you talk. You two had decided to touch base at a cafe before tomorrow, just to go over plans. As you are reviewing the meetup time, you swear you can sense a hint of annoyance in the curve of his lip. His knee taps up and down, as if impatient. No, that can’t be right. Minho’s words had just gotten to you, that’s all. Nevertheless, your stomach sinks a bit as your date finishes off his coffee and stands up.

“Yup, sounds good.” He tosses his empty cup in the trash, “I gotta go, but i’ll see you tomorrow,”

Without so much as a wave goodbye, you watch him head out. The door announces his departure with a pleaseant ring.

There you sit, half-finished latte in hand. He didn’t even offer to pay.

You hate to admit it, but Minho might be right. You don’t understand. What did you do wrong? Did you come off as too eager? Minho does always tell you that you’re too clingy, you guess. But it just doesn’t make sense, you had seen your date just the other day and he was all smiles, holding your hand as you walked and wrapping his jacket around your shoulders when you shivered. You must have done something wrong for him to be acting like this, there’s no other explanation. Unless he’s just had a particularly bad day.

You nod as you push out your chair and stand. That might just be it. Still, Minho’s words of warning run rampant in your mind, despite your efforts to push them to the back of your mind.

Everything will be fine, Minho’s just a hater.

જ⁀➴

Just because he’s not here yet doesn’t mean he’s not showing up.

This morning you had put on the cute little dress you had planned with a hum on your lips, a good nights sleep having managed to put some pep back into your step. When you had finished touching up your hair, you were not at all surprised to find Minho spread across your couch, watching a show and eating a bowl of cereal like he owned the place. You’re quite used to it at this point, he doesn’t know how to stay at his own house for the life of him. No words were exchanged, Minho merely glancing in your direction in greeting before returning his attention to the show.

Good. You like him better when that big mouth of his is shut.

You tap a heel nervously, the inside of your cheeks sore and raw from how much you had been chewing on them. How long has it been now? Half an hour? It might even be more, it feels like you have been standing beside this bus stop for ages. Countlesss couples had passed by, fingers intertwined as they tuck their partners hair behind their ear, or stifling giggles as whispered jokes are exchanged.

He’s not coming, is he?

Of course he’s not, you were a fool for thinking he would. Your unanswered text stares up at you, the read receipt sitting gut-droppingly below it. Hot tears prick at your eyes as you hunch your shoulders into yourself. What do you even do now? Just… go home?

Your feet move on their own, carrying you in the direction you came. When you started running, you’re not sure, but the chilly breeze stings your flushed face as you push your way through the busy sidewalk.

You pull out your phone as you run, tapping on Minho’s contact. Your blurred vision makes it nearly impossible to type a sentence. A simple, ‘you were right’ is all it reads.

Sent.

જ⁀➴

Minho had graciously not blessed you with his presence when you stumble through your front door, cheeks stained with tears and nose running. You don’t even know if he read the message, but you’re sure once he does, he’s going to be a smug little shit about it, as per usual.

It’s all you can do to not hurl yourself onto your bed and just sleep for the next three days. Maybe you’ll wake up and this will all be some bad dream.

Your disheveled appearance in the mirror stares back at you dully, assuring you that this is not a dream, and you did indeed just get stood up on Valentine's Day.

The cold of the mirror chills your hand as you lean forward on it, breaking eye contact with yourself. Your mind still can’t comprehend it. Why? Why are you always second best? Every single time you open your stitched up heart up to someone, they rip out the seams and leave you with the pieces. Frustrated tears sear behind your eyes, but you purse your lips and shove them back down. There’s no point in crying.

A single knock. Your front door opens before you can take a breath to answer it. Only one person would be so bold as to enter your place without so much as waiting for a response. The one and only, Lee fucking Minho.

You can hear him shuffling around the front door, most likely kicking off his shoes. There is absolutely no way you are going out to greet him, he’s only here to rub it in your face that he was right the whole time. And while yes, that is in fact true, it’s really the last thing you need to be hearing right now. Your fist unintentionally curls in on itself as you hear his footsteps approaching your door.

You cross from your mirror to your bed, flopping down and burying your face in the pillow. Maybe it will block out his voice when he comes in and starts yapping.

A long moment passes. You don’t hear his movements anymore. Then, softly, three knocks sound against the wood of your door.

You decidedly do not answer. He really can’t take a hint, huh?

Instead of opening the door immediately like usual, Minho waits a moment before knocking again. The knocks are just as soft and careful as before. The switch in mannerisms has your eyebrows furrowed. What’s the matter with him?

“What do you want, Minho.” Your voice is muffled, face still stuffed in the pillow.

This time, your door opens. The soft padding of his footsteps cross your room, but you don’t raise your head. You’re not sure what keeps you hidden. Embarrassment? Anger? Both? Nevertheless, you won’t be showing your face anytime soon.

The edge of your bed dips as he sits on the edge of it, not a word uttered. Yet. You tense as he takes a breath in, preparing your heart and mind for whatever he’s going to spew at you.

And yet, no such thing happens. A hand lightly sets itself on your shoulder, making you jump slightly in surprise. As he draws his hand soothingly across your back, your shoulders drop and you let out a shaky sigh.

When you finally gather the courage to look up at him, you find his gaze fixed on his lap. There, he holds a small handful of assorted wildflowers. You look from Minho, to the flowers, then back to him. Since when were his lashes this… pretty?

“It hurts, you know.”

His voice, nearly a whisper, cuts through the silence. He keeps his eyes locked on the flowers as he fiddles with one of the petals.

“Seeing you give some loser a chance,” he continues, “And you get hurt. Every. Time.” He searches your face, that little wrinkle between his eyebrows visible. “When are you going to decide you’ve had enough?”

You’re trapped in those big brown eyes of his, filled with a mixture of concern and genuine confusion. Despite his efforts to be the biggest nuisance in your life, he cares about you, even if he rarely shows it.

At your lack of response, Minho sighs and drops his hand from your shoulder, bringing it to his little bouquet of flowers. His little bouquet that suspiciously resembles the flowers planted outside of your building, along the sidewalk.

You flip over, facing the ceiling. It’s easier than facing him.

“I don’t know. I really don’t. I just… I just want to be loved, y’know? Every single time, I think: ‘this one’s different’,” You let out a rueful laugh, “guess you were right, huh, genius?” You prod him in the side with one finger.

Not even a witty retort falls from Minho’s lips. In favor of an answer, he offers to you the bunch of flowers.

You turn your head, watching as a pink petal flutters from the bouquet and lands gracefully on your sheets. Your eyes never leave his face as you reach out slowly and accept his gift.

A beat of silence falls as you bring the petals to your nose. The quiet is unusual. With Minho, the bickering is practically non-stop, a quick response always on the tip of both of your tongues. But now, only the quiet whistle of his breath fills the room.

“Is this..?” You tilt your head at him as you draw yourself into a seated position.

He blinks a couple times. You wonder if he’s ever asked anyone to be his valentine before.

“It’s- yeah.” He states simply, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth.

Minho’s demeanor is somewhat relaxed, but the way he keeps twisting his ring to the tip of his finger and back gives tell to his nervousness. His lips are pursed a bit at the corners, his little dimples making an appearance.

This is a side of him you rarely see. In fact, he’s never acted this way before. His blunt quips replaced with a type of openness that seems foreign even to himself.

You know what. Fuck it.

Grabbing his chin, you draw close to him. His eyes widen and he freezes in place. You take in his features with a squint. The angle of his brow, the fullness of his lips, that little beauty mark at the end of his nose. Instead of making your stomach twist in annoyance, his face ignites a little flame in your chest. You’ve always known Minho as an attractive man, you’d have to be blind to think otherwise, but you’ve never seen him quite in this light.

This whole time, he’s been trying to protect you. In his own, strange, Minho way.

His throat bobs as he swallows, lips parting. The sight of his bunny teeth peeking from beneath his lip is the final straw. You close the distance, capturing his lips in a swift kiss.

The moment is brief, and you pull away just as quickly as you had leaned in, his chin still grasped between your fingers.

He blinks rapidly for a couple of seconds, a habit of his you’ve picked up.

You break into a smile at his reaction, giddy at finally having the upper hand.

“You know, you could at least— oof!” Halfway through your sentence, you are interrupted by Minho’s grip on your arm as he yanks you towards him.

He catches you as you fall backwards over his lap, his arm supporting your back. You’re at a loss for words, your mouth opening and closing dumbly a couple of times. Minho lets out a huff of laughter and rolls his eyes.

“You’re actually an idiot, hope you realize that,” he observes.

“Just kiss me, you asshole,”

Grabbing the collar of his shirt, you drag him down to you. You can feel him smile against your lips as he tightens his grip around you, one hand drifting through your hair while the other holds you steady.

This. It feels right. More right than any of those other guys had made you feel, despite their fancy gifts and extravagant shows of so-called ‘love’. Maybe the reason none of them had worked out was because deep down, you truly only want one person. And that person is here, holding you between his own two arms, quenching the thirst for him that you didn’t even realize you had until you tried a sip. His lips move in harmony with yours. He’s firm, but not desperate. Gentle, but confident. Your body melts under his every touch, until you can't imagine being anywhere else but here.

He pulls away first, cheeks flushed a pretty shade of pink that matches the flowers sitting forgotten on the mattress. He quirks an eyebrow wryly at you.

“So much for not coming crying,”

Your eyes widen in disbelief, “Excuse me? I did not!”

“Did too.”

“Did not!”

“Did too.”

“You’re such an ass, Lee Minho.”

જ⁀➴

[strayingawayy]

i'm all ears...

...the one where minho's there to listen, even when you've forgotten the sound of your own voice.

the night does something to lee minho.

sarcastic comments and playful bantering turn into drowsy, lovesick eyes and lips that are forever pressed to your skin. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

usually, you melt into it. usually, atleast.

but tonight, you are tired.

sweet suffering jesus, you are so fucking tired.

you don’t say it. you don’t have to. minho notices the second he slips under the covers, hair damp, skin smelling like something clean, something warm. his fingers ghost over your jaw, barely there, but still enough to tell.

you’re more tired than you were yesterday.

minho knows silences. he understands the way they settle in rooms, in bodies, in the spaces between words left unsaid. he knows the difference between the silence that means talk to me and the silence that means stay, but don’t ask.

this is the latter.

so he doesn’t ask. he doesn’t press.

instead, he shifts closer, pulling the blankets over you like he’s tucking you into the safest place in the world. and it is, with soondoongdori curled around your lying figure as minho pushes your hair up and presses a kiss to your forehead. a silent promise that he'll be there when you wake up.

and then, just before sleep takes you, his fingers find yours under the sheets. a pinky hooked around yours, small but certain.

i’m here, it says. i’m all ears, when you’re ready.

the weight of exhaustion sits heavy on your chest, pressing into the space between your ribs, curling into your lungs and making it hard to breathe on the nights minho isn't with you. you’re not sure when it started. this endless ache, this feeling of running on fumes, but minho notices. he always does.

he doesn’t ask you to explain. doesn’t tell you that you should rest more, or that you should take care of yourself better. he knows you know all of that already. knows that sometimes, knowing isn’t enough.

so he stays.

somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, you feel him shift, feel the whisper of his lips against your temple.

“sleep," he murmurs, voice like a tide rolling in. steady. certain. home.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, you do.

...

when you wake, it’s to the smell of tangerines and something warm, something sweet. the sheets beside you are empty, but only just, his warmth lingers in the space where he lay, in the pillow that still smells like him as you're greeted by the felines that make his home, along with you.

you hear the soft shuffle of sock clad feet in the next room, the faint sound of a knife against a cutting board.

when you sit up, minho is already there, standing in the doorway with a small plate of fruit in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. his hair is still a little messy, his hoodie hanging loose on his frame, lips slightly pouty and ready to be kissed, should you want to.

"good morning," he says, and there’s something about the way he looks at you, like he’s been waiting for you to wake up, like he’s been making sure the world is soft enough for you to return to, that makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion.

he walks over, setting the plate down beside you before sitting at the edge of the bed. his fingers find yours again, slow, careful, tracing the lines of your palm.

“eat first,” he says, because eating was always a priority with him. “then tell me what’s on your mind.”

it’s not a request. it’s not a demand. it’s just him, letting you move at your own pace. letting you have the space to breathe, to exist.

so you do. you take a bite of the orange he peeled for you, let the juice burst bright and sweet against your tongue.

and when you finally speak, when the words finally come, tentative but real...he listens.

like soft paws listen to the steady hum of home.

[jinnie-ret]

take a chance with me

lee know x reader

genre: mostly fluff, teeny angst

content warnings: one mention of a stroke (it's not an actual one just Minho malfunctioning lol)

word count: 1.8k

summary: lee know was too scared to express his feelings - lucky you were there to convince him his feelings were mutual

a/n: Umm... hi, lol. It's been a while since I've posted. Hopefully this is a nice surprise hehe

1K FOLLOWERS PLAYLIST 💚🖤

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Waking up early each morning and leaving your home at 06:30am would seem like a chore to most people. For you? It was incredibly rewarding to enter the workplace, opening up the front office for the day. Your friends had questioned you wondering how you did it, but helping your parents manage a cat rescue home soothed a part of your soul you didn't know you needed healing, particularly when dreaming of becoming an astronaut, a bus driver or a world famous actor as a child.

Though the biting winds sent a chill through your bones, the sun shone down upon you, rays reflecting off of the icy pavements on your route to work. The weather really couldn't make it's mind up recently. It reminded you of someone.

"Minho, hi! You're early!" you grinned, poking your head out of your scarf that you had wrapped securely around your neck. He seemed to brighten your day even further, as cheesy as it sounded. It was the way he bantered with you, back and forth, exciting you for what witty statement he'd come out with next.

"Visitor's Day, remember?" Minho simply commented, a cloud of air escaping his mouth as his teeth chattered, hands shoved deeply into his coat pockets.

"Oh, I nearly forgot!" your eyebrows furrowed in concern, your own hands digging around your pockets for the schedule of the day. It was a fortnightly occurrence in which you'd accept visitors looking around, hoping to re-home the cats that deserved a place to feel safe, loved and looked after. In fact, it was how you met Minho.

Two years ago was when he first set foot into the establishment, quiet, demure and unfazed. That was, until he was led to the small huts outside where the cats resided. Sneaking out some treats from his pocket, he fed a gorgeous boy he soon named Dori, feeling an instant attachment (the two of them). He tried to find his way back inside, ready to sign some adoption papers, when he stumbled into what he thought was merely a stack of boxes, not initially realising that you were behind them and trying to haul them inside on your own.

"I'm so sorry!" you had gasped apologetically, immediately grabbing a broom to the side and sweeping the rogue pieces of kibble that had escaped it's confines.

"Eh, don't worry," Minho shrugged, trying to play it cool although he couldn't stop himself from giving you a quick scan from head to toe in case he had hurt you, "at least they're not being starved, it's reassuring," he added on, laughing through his nose as he straightened up the boxes of cat food.

"You should see Gingy, he's a chonky boy," you jokes, brushing your hair out of your face and glancing up at him. All you could think was, and later you berated yourself for it, but the cat that got to go home with this one was certainly lucky.

"Oh? What if he heard that?" Minho teases, wondering if you'd feign the dramatics, or even get flustered at the idea.

"He knows," you shake your head and chuckle, making a smarter decision now in only grabbing one box.

"Oh, sorry did you need any-"

"Did you want some help with-"

Comically, you both fell silent simultaneously, feeling awkward that you had spoken over and cut off each other at the same time.

"I'll grab a box," Minho speaks up, moving to stand beside you.

"Oh thank you! That's a great help, truly. I was just going to ask if you wanted those adoption papers," you practically beamed.

"How could you tell?"

"You've got some blue fluff on you. That's from Lilo's hut."

"Actually, his name is Dori."

And when you found out Minho had two other cats and the reasoning behind the name 'Dori', you melted instantly. On the spot. Like, literally on the floor had it not been for the rational part of your brain telling you to stop falling for a man you had just met. Minho's sweet Dori completed his little cat family, the soft, gentle trio of boys.

To say you were Minho's biggest advocate when he admitted to wanting to help out and work alongside you at the Cat Rescue, would be completely right. You had brought him straight to your parents, informing them of how knowledgeable and tender he was in interacting with the cats and the rest was history.

Although, that wasn't where this story ended.

"Did you also forget the key?" Minho snapped you out of your reverie.

"Huh? What- no, here," you grasped the key and eagerly gave it to Minho, unsure if your fingers would have the strength to unlock the door, locking up from the inhumanely cold temperatures.

"Ah, she did remember," Minho smirked, soon having to catch his balance after you impulsively shoved his shoulder a bit too hard with your own.

"Unlock the door, pudding boy," you joked, Minho rolling his eyes in response. He could never let you have the upper hand for too long, however.

"I prefer jagi," he batted his eyelashes at you in an over the top way, making you groan and cover your eyes as a form of protection. You loved it really, you just weren't sure on if you should show it.

Minho had told you many times before that you wore your heart on your sleeve. Whether it was you recklessly running into the middle of the road to save a kitten from being hit, or spending your savings on allowing a family the chance to adopt a cat into their lives, you acted upon your love for others. On the other hand, he knew he was too scared to show you how he really felt. Banter, jokes, 'fake' flirting was the perfect cover up to distract him from his feelings, as well as the ones he hadn't yet recognised you shared.

Oddly, there was an awkwardness in the air between the two of you by the end of the day. Perhaps it was the elderly pair who commented on your selflessness as a couple, or seeing many young partners enter and adopt their first pet together. It triggered emotions within you both that had remained hidden for too long. You weren't just good friends, but you were made for each other. The love of cats; the gentleness you exuded and he let slip more often than he'd like to admit and the ease in which you both took in pushing the others' buttons.

Minho always thought you were bolder than him.

"Do you ever think we'll find love, Minho?" you yawned, sweeping up the remnants of dirt that had escaped the many pairs of shoes that entered the home today.

"We?" Minho paused, his grip on the mop slipping ever so slightly before he regained his composure, "I'm not really searching."

Of course he wasn't, not when-

"But is that because you’ve already found it? I don’t want to be bold but-" you nearly scolded yourself for daring to speak when your mind was all over the place.

"That would shock me if you weren’t," Minho snorted, easily falling back into his natural self.

"I'm being real, right now, Min," you squeezed your eyes shuts, back facing him and not wanting to face rejection.

"That's good, here's me thinking you were an illusion all along-"

"Just take a chance, Minho! With me. I-if it doesn’t work out, then we’ll still be friends, we’ll figure it out," you glanced over at him cautiously. Whilst your words were rushed and fumbly, your actions were timid.

Minho's brain malfunctioned. Is this what it felt like to have a stroke? Did you just confess your love for him? Wasn't it just another bit of banter?

"We're friends?" he teased, in that tone he always used. It now felt like a painful reminder, that you'd never truly get through to him. Really, he was testing the waters, and masking it as usual.

"I wish you would just be honest with me," you sighed quietly, your posture slightly hunched. Minho didn't like that. He liked when you stood tall, confident, proud.

"About what? I haven’t lied about anything," Minho busied himself with mopping the floor in order to distract himself from you. As long as he could see the shine in the wooden flooring panning across the entrance of the home, it was enough to put the aside the guilt he felt when the sparkle in your eye dimmed ever so slightly.

The days seemed to drag on endlessly after the unspoken rejection from the guy you had been crushing on for years, now. He hadn't opened up with you in a while - that's the shop we're talking about, not Minho and his thoughts and feelings. He hadn't ever really done that with you, minus a couple of short, rare occasions. Your parents had noticed the slight dullness that seemed to tie the two of you together, it taking a lot of convincing from them to you to lead another Visitor's Day with Minho. The only convincing factor for you in that moment had been when you drifted off into your own thoughts, fading away from the lecture you were receiving and instead finding comfort in the fact that it would be a busy day. There would be no time to think when you were working.

But when it came to the end of both of your shifts? Too much time to think, to dwell, to ponder.

"Well, umm, bye," you nodded politely at him and robotically waved with how stiff you felt in looking at him. Yet it seemed to give ample opportunity for Minho to grab your hand and pull you back towards him before you could rush away, just like he had regrettably done all those evenings ago.

"Oh, what's this about?" you questioned, praying that your hands didn't start getting clammy simply from being so close to him in this way.

"We're going on a date," Minho firmly stated, but his words didn't match his actions, his eyes shyly trailing off to the side and the tops of his ears turning red. How endearing.

"No."

"No?!"

"You can look me in the eyes and say it."

Oh, yes, he had definitely gotten lucky with you. Even though his heart pounded in worry that you would reject him too and he would have been too late, he was able to look you in the eyes and throw a one liner right back at you.

"Hmm, maybe I change my mind," Minho shrugged, feigning a carelessness and dropping his hand from yours.

"Hey! Come on!" you pulled him back towards you, chest to chest, an intense amount of love pouring from both of your souls as you gazed into each others' eyes.

"I'm taking you on a date," Minho affirmed, poking your nose to startle you before you realised he too had been on another planet.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

tagged: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @katzline @kiwihrt @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @his-angell @2minstan @skzoologist @lovingchan @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria @theo4eve @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143 @arumlilyeclipse

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Gangster's Wife - Minho

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: mafia boss! Minho x fem! reader

summary: Your father owes a lot of money to a lot of bad people. So when a ruthless gangster shows up demanding payment, you offer yourself instead.

warnings: gun use, gun play, virgin reader, choking, breath play, slight dubcon, fingering, nipple play, lots of praise, unprotected sex, pet names

Minho ran his hand over the cool metal of his gun. Snow was beginning to fall and the drop in temperature was causing his breath to cloud around your father's face. “This is your last chance, old man. Where's my fucking money?”

Your father stammered and stuttered while Minho cocked his gun, pressing the barrel into his temple. You stood in the hallway of your childhood home. You knew your father had gambling issues. But you had no idea he had gotten involved with the most notorious Mafia in Seoul.

Minho's expression remains cold and unyielding as he listens to your father's desperate pleas. He tightens his grip on the gun and cocks it, the sound echoing through the room. "You have until midnight tonight," he growls. You stand frozen watching the scene play out before you. And somehow your own voice cuts through the tension, “take me instead!”

Minho's eyes flicker to you, his gaze appraising as he takes in your slender frame and youthful appearance. A small smirk plays on his lips as he lowers the gun from your father's head. "You think you can replace your father's debt with yourself? How cute.”

Tears start to well in your eyes while your father collapses on the floor. You lock eyes with him for a moment as he shakes his head desperately. Still, you stand your ground stepping forward towards the terrifying gangster. “Please!” You beg, “I'll do anything! Just leave my father be.”

Minho's smirk grows more pronounced as he considers your offer, circling you like a predator. "Anything, hmm?" He steps closer, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "You truly have no idea what you're offering, do you?” He holsters his gun behind him and roughly grabs your arm. His calloused hands grip your skin as he pulls you towards his car parked outside. Before you could utter the words wait or goodbye to your father, you were whisked away to a sprawling manor. Once inside his luxurious mansion, Minho pushes you against the wall, his body pressing close. "You're a virgin, aren't you?" He murmurs, his hand reaching up to tilt your chin. 

Your eyes widen in disbelief. “No! I'm not a…” your voice trails off in an obvious lie. Minho's eyes narrow, his grip on your chin tightening. "Liar," he accuses, his voice dripping with disdain. "I can smell your innocence, feel it in the way you tremble.”

Without a second thought, you make a reach for his gun still holstered away. But as soon as you make a move for his gun, Minho's reflexes kick in. He grabs your wrist mid-air, his eyes flashing with anger and a hint of something else - was that amusement? He spins you around and slams you against the wall again. He pins your arm behind your back, his other hand reaching up to wrap around your throat. He squeezes, cutting off your air supply. "Trying to steal my gun, huh? You really are a foolish little thing," he chuckles, his breath warm against your ear. You let out a soft whimper, your body attempting and failing to break free from Minho's grasp. He tightens his hold around your neck, enjoying your struggling attempts to free yourself. He can feel your pulse fluttering under his hand, a sign that you're running out of oxygen. He pulls out his gun and places it on the table beside you, within his reach but not yours. “You know what I could do right now?” He whispers roughly into your ear, his expression unreadable. You feel the familiar sensation of his other hand on you again, this time finding your bare thigh. "I could fuck you right here against this wall," he says calmly, his fingers creeping higher up your thigh. He's still holding you in a chokehold, making it hard for you to speak or move. "No one would hear you scream. You'd be all mine.” 

You feel your heart pounding in your ears at his threat. But soon his grip loosens around your neck. Minho releases your neck completely, watching you slowly step back from the wall as the tear rolls down your cheek. He reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb, his expression softening ever so slightly. You glance at his hands as he grabs his gun again from the table. He adjusts it in its holster, his eyes fixed on you as you wipe your tears. He seems to be fighting an internal battle, his expression torn. He takes a deep breath and speaks, his tone surprisingly gentle. "That should teach you to throw yourself into the flames of Hell for someone else. It's dangerous out here, princess. Come here.” He reaches out and gently catches your wrist, pulling you closer. His touch is surprisingly tender, completely different from how roughly he handled you before. He studies your face, noting the lingering fear in your eyes. "No more tears.” You nod your head softly, still keeping a cautious distance from the terrifying gangster. "Good girl," Minho murmurs, his thumb rubbing your wrist soothingly. He unexpectedly reaches out to wipe a smudge of mascara under your eye. Your heart flutters for a moment. The feeling of his hand so soft causing a fire to start to burn in the pit of your stomach. He releases your wrist and gestures for you to sit down on the couch next to him. A slow, satisfied smirk spreads across Minho's face as he watches you move towards him and sit carefully next to him on the couch. He reaches out and cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. "Such a good girl," he praises, his voice low and husky. "You have no idea how much trouble you're getting yourself into.” Your eyes roll back for a moment from the mix of his expensive cologne and devilishly smooth accent. You lean instinctively as he speaks. His breathing becomes slightly heavier as he maintains his position, studying your expression intently. His free hand moves to rest on your thigh. "Tell me..." He whispers again, his voice thick with desire "Do you want me to kiss you?" His thumb traces your lower lip. “Yes…” you whisper unexpectedly, your warm breath mingling with his. A satisfied smirk plays at the corners of Minho's mouth at your honest response.

Without hesitation, he closes the distance between you, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. His fingers tilt your chin up, controlling the angle while his other hand grips your thigh firmly. You let out a soft moan and he swallows it greedily, deepening the kiss further. His tongue pushes past your lips to explore your mouth, tasting and teasing you. He breaks the kiss suddenly, leaving you breathless. His forehead rests against yours as he catches his breath. "You taste even better than I imagined.” With one hand still on your face, his other hand trails up your inner thigh, fingertips ghosting over your already soaked panties. "You're such a good girl, being so ready for me." His voice is low and teasing as he presses against your center through the fabric "But tell me something,” He demands softly, his fingers hooking in the waistband of your underwear. "Have you ever been touched here before?" His fingers trace the edge of your virgin territory, teasing but not entering. You shake your head while Minho's eyes soften as he takes in your innocent form. He places a gentle, tender kiss against your neck. His hand moves away for a moment and you panic that he may stop. That you may never feel this excitement and danger ever again. But then his fingers slowly push your panties aside, exposing your dampened folds. He gently parts you with his fingers, revealing your tight, untouched entrance. "Good girl for telling the truth.” Your back arches from the gentle praise. The vibration of his voice against your neck causes your nipples to harden. He notices your excited nipples and smirks, leaning down to capture one through your dress with his mouth. He sucks and nibbles gently, his fingers still holding you open. His middle finger slowly circles your entrance, gathering your virgin wetness. You cover your mouth with your hand and instinctively push your chest further into Minho’s mouth. The strap of your dress falls haphazardly off your shoulder. Minho takes the hint and pulls the other strap down, exposing your breasts fully. He switches to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment as the first. His finger finally pushes inside you, just the tip, testing your virgin tightness. He groans against your breast. Your mind flashes with the stories of how everyone had lost their virginity. You braced yourself for pain but there was none. You just wanted more. Minho's single finger continues to move inside of you while his mouth nibbles and pulls at your hardened nipples. Your hips thrust clumsily into his hand, desperate for more. Minho groans against your sensitive breast as he slides another finger inside your tight hole, stretching you slowly. “It feels…so good. Please, don't stop.” Minho's breathing hitches at your innocent admission, his fingers moving faster now, hitting your most sensitive spots. "That's it, sweetheart, come for me like this first. Show me how virgin tight you are." His thumb finds your clit and starts rubbing in fast circles as his fingers curl deeper. His fingers continue moving inside you as you come undone, feeling your tight channel clench around them. With a satisfied smirk, he moves back up to capture your mouth in a hungry kiss, silencing your cries. He slowly removes his fingers, showing them to you - glistening with your virgin juices. Your eyes slowly open again, your head lifting back up to face Minho who was now on top of you, caging you in. His expression turns serious, his eyes locked with yours. "Look into my eyes. I want to see your face when I take your virginity." He positions himself between your legs, his hands spreading your thighs wider. "This might hurt a little, but just look at me and breathe.”

This was it. The stories. The fairytales. The warnings. Why did you thrust yourself into harm's way? Into the open arms of the devil himself? He starts to slowly push himself inside you, watching your face intently. Your body is struggling to accommodate his size, and you let out a whimper as he continues. Then he stops moving, letting you adjust to the feeling of him inside you. "Breathe with me, sweetheart.” He repeats. His eyes never leave yours, watching you with the utmost care and protecting as he sheaths himself deeper. "Shh, look at me..." He pants, his face contorted with concentration and the urge to push deeper. "You're so tight, it's like trying to fit a king-sized bed in a dollhouse." He tries to push deeper, encountering little resistance as your body slowly opens to him. He grits his teeth, his hands shaking with the effort of not pushing too hard, too fast. He can feel your tight walls stretching around him, trying to accommodate his size. He finally bottoms out inside you, his entire length buried inside your virgin pussy. He stays still for a moment, savoring the feeling of being completely inside you. Minho watches your face still. Your eyes lock with his, your pupils dilating and expanding you with each breath. Then he starts to move, slowly at first, letting you feel every inch of him as he pulls out and pushes back in. He can feel your cervix pressing against the tip of his dick with each thrust. "That's right, you're mine now. This perfect cunt belongs to me.” You lace your fingers together around the back of his neck. Your face just inches from his as he keeps his steady pace. You part your mouth to moan but instead you whine, “show me what you've got.” Minho's movements quicken, becoming more forceful as he hears your words. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room. He grabs your waist roughly, pulling you closer as he thrusts harder. A devilish smirk splitting across his face. His free hand moves to his holster, never breaking his rhythm. The cold metal of his gun presses against your neck as he thrusts deep inside you. “You really do like to play with fire, don't you?” He whispers roughly with his index finger on the trigger. Your body pulsates with a new and unexplored heat that courses through your veins like a deadly poison. Minho chuckles darkly, increasing his pace "Good girl, such a good little mafia princess." He presses the gun harder against your neck, using his dominant position to assert control "Now, who owns this tight little virgin cunt? Say it…”

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[seokmattchuus]

Photocard Talk with Stray Kids - Fake Texts

A/n: 1. Birthday fics are too hard to write bc I stan too many people. Birthday posts might just be reactions/fake text/sub videos from now on bc god damn, I suck. 2. I didn't know what else to name this, so I kept it basic.