#seo changbin au imagine

[4linos]

the future in his eyes.

seo changbin x fem!reader

synopsis: after accidentally catching the bouquet at a wedding, changbin opens up about his feelings, revealing his quiet hopes for a future with you, no pressure, just love.

warnings: fluff, marriage/wedding talks, smut (towards the end), MDNI.

wc: 3374

The lights in the reception hall glow like soft stars, strung overhead in warm arcs that blur against the laughter and sparkle of champagne flutes. You're holding Changbin’s hand under the table, tracing slow circles on his palm while he listens to the groom's brother make an overly long, questionably sober speech.

You’re not really listening. Neither is Changbin, not fully.

He leans in close, murmuring in your ear, “If he starts crying again I’m going to cry, too. Out of secondhand embarrassment.”

You snort quietly. “You’re such a hater.”

He grins, cheek pressed against yours. “He used a metaphor about steering ships in storms for love. That’s a hate crime.”

You bite your lip to hold back your laugh, but it bubbles up anyway, full and bright, and he looks so pleased with himself for making you laugh like that, you can’t help but lean into him more. It's been like this all evening, stolen moments, shared glances, inside jokes spoken in half-whispers. The rest of the room blurs. You’re here together, like always.

Dating Changbin has always felt a little bit like that: like finding the eye of the storm and deciding to live there. He’s loud and chaotic and funny in every possible way, but with you, he’s soft. Constant. Safe.

So when the bride stands up and shouts, “Alright! Bouquet toss, let’s go!” you don’t think anything of it.

Until your best friend, the bride marches across the dance floor, grabs you by the wrist, and yanks you up from your seat like a woman on a mission.

You blink, startled. “Wait, what are you—”

She grins at Changbin across the table. “Borrowing her for a sec!”

You shoot him a panicked look, but he just raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. He lifts his wine glass toward you like he’s toasting your sudden kidnapping.

Your friend doesn’t even slow down. “You’re coming up front,” she says, pulling you toward the growing crowd of women forming a semi-circle behind her.

“I’m not catching that thing,” you protest, laughing nervously. “That’s not—seriously, I don’t need—”

“Oh shut up, it’s tradition,” she says, spinning to face you. “And besides, it’ll be funny. Just pretend to try.”

You freeze. “Funny?”

She gives you a pointed look. “You’ve been dating Changbin for 3 years. You think people aren’t already talking?”

Your stomach does something tight and wild. “That’s not—what does that have to do with anything?”

She shrugs, devilish. “Nothing. But imagine the look on his face if you caught it.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You know she’s teasing. Sort of. But it touches a nerve you didn’t expect to feel so exposed tonight.

You step into the circle of bouquet-hopefuls, half-laughing and half-nauseous. The bride turns her back, bouquet in hand, hyping up the crowd as someone starts a drumroll on the back of a chair.

You haven’t really talked about forever with Changbin. Not directly. There’s a rhythm to your relationship, steady, cozy, full of little rituals. Friday takeout. Sunday mornings spent making pancakes and fighting over what music to play. You say I love you like it’s breathing. You’ve built a world together.

But neither of you has dared crack that door open further. Not yet.

And across the room, you see him.

Changbin.

He’s now watching from the side of the dance floor with his jacket off, sleeves rolled up, hands in his pockets, dangerously attractive in that effortless way he always is when he’s not thinking about how good he looks.

“Alright, ladies! On three!” your best friend shouts, her back to you all, bouquet held high like a trophy.

“One!”

A wave of tension.

“Two!”

A few people crouch, arms ready.

“THREE!”

The bouquet flies into the air and you don’t move. You take a literal step back.

And it still lands in your hands.

It’s a perfect catch. Unintentional. A total accident.

Everyone screams.

You stare down at the bouquet in your hands like it personally betrayed you.

“Oh my god!” someone shrieks. “She caught it!”

Laughter erupts. A few of the other girls groan dramatically, one pretending to faint. There’s a chorus of oohs and claps and joking shouts about wedding bells, and you just stand there, frozen, cheeks flushed, bouquet clutched against your chest.

You don’t know what to do with your hands. You don’t know what to do with your face.

And then you look up and your eyes find Changbin.

He’s still standing on the edge of the dance floor.

Still staring at you.

But he’s not laughing.

His expression isn’t teasing, or smug, or even surprised.

He’s just… looking at you. Quietly. Like he’s seeing something he didn’t expect. Something that hit him harder than he thought it would.

And it’s not panic in his eyes.

It’s not even fear.

It’s something else.

Wonder, maybe.

A little awe.

And something warm.

Someone elbows him. and Changbin finally blinks like he’s just remembered how to move, laughing as he gets shoved from behind teasingly.

You feel like you’re burning. You hold the bouquet like it’s about to detonate and wave off the attention as best you can, ducking out of the circle, finding a quiet edge of the reception hall where people are more distracted with cake than your accidental brush with fate.

You’re halfway through convincing yourself that this doesn’t mean anything you’re dating, yes, but that doesn’t mean a flying bouquet from your best friend should cause this much emotional static, when you hear footsteps behind you.

You don’t turn around.

You don’t have to.

“You ran away,” Changbin says softly, just behind your shoulder.

You glance back at him. “I panicked.”

He smiles. “You looked cute.”

You roll your eyes, but your face is warm. “I looked like I caught something I wasn’t supposed to.”

He takes another step closer. You can feel the heat from his body even before he touches you, but then his hand grazes the small of your back just enough to ground you.

He looks down at the bouquet still in your hands. “You didn’t even try to catch it.”

“I know.”

“And yet…”

You raise an eyebrow. “I’m telling you, it just flew at me.”

He grins. Then he goes quiet.

And for a few seconds, neither of you says anything.

You look down at the bouquet. It's a little frayed now from the fall, one flower slightly squished, the ribbon twisted, but still beautiful. Classic. Soft.

You don't realize you're fidgeting with it until he gently covers your hands with his.

“Hey,” he says, voice quieter now. “Can I tell you something weird?”

You glance up. “Since when do you ask first?”

That earns a small, lopsided smile. But he’s serious underneath.

“I liked it,” he says.

Your breath stutters. “Liked what?”

He nods toward the bouquet. “The sight of you. Holding that.”

You blink. The world slows.

He doesn’t look away. “I wasn’t expecting it. But it did something to me.”

You swallow. “Like… gave you a heart attack?”

“No.” He laughs softly, then shakes his head. “More like… it made something real.”

You’re not breathing.

He continues, gently, “I didn’t know I’d react like that. But when I saw you with it, it wasn’t like, ‘Oh no, we have to get married now.’” He meets your eyes. “It was more like… ‘Yeah. I’d be lucky as hell if someday, it was you.’”

Your heart cracks open like lightning down the middle of your chest.

Changbin keeps talking, like the words have been sitting heavy on his tongue for a while now, waiting for a moment to spill out.

“I think part of me’s been afraid to say anything because… what we have right now is so good. So easy. And I didn’t want to scare you. Or jinx it. Or make it heavier than it needs to be.”

You grip the bouquet tighter.

“But,” he adds, “seeing you with that stupid bundle of flowers made me realize… I do think about it. Not in some rushed way. Just… in the way you do when you’re really happy. When you can see it. A future. Not in sharp detail. Just… in feelings.”

He smiles, shy and small. “I liked how it looked on you. That kind of future.”

You’re quiet for a moment. The music in the background fades to a slow, romantic hum, barely a heartbeat above silence.

Then you whisper, “You didn’t scare me.”

He blinks. “No?”

You shake your head. “You kind of… undid me. But not scared.”

He exhales, relief warm on your cheek. You lean your forehead against his shoulder, bouquet still clutched between you.

After a moment, you add, “You’re right. It’s not rushed. It’s not even about marriage right now. It’s just… knowing we’re headed somewhere. Together.”

He wraps his arms around you. “Yeah. That.”

You let yourself melt into him, into the warmth, the scent of his cologne, the familiar way he holds you like you fit just right. People move around you. Music drifts. The night keeps going.

But here, right here, it’s still.

-

The reception has faded into the cozy kind of chaos that only happens after midnight. A few people are still dancing barefoot on the floor, someone’s passed out on a couch with a dessert plate balanced on their chest, and the DJ’s resorted to a late-night playlist of slow R&B and guilty pleasure pop.

You and Changbin have retreated outside, away from the buzz, onto a little stone terrace strung with fairy lights. The air’s cool, crisp, the kind that makes your skin hum after being warm all evening. You’re sitting on a bench, legs tucked under you, shoes long since abandoned. Changbin’s next to you, shoulder brushing yours, both of you wrapped in a silence that’s thick but comfortable.

He’s still holding the bouquet.

You had tried to joke about it earlier “You can’t just steal bridal flowers, you’re going to get cursed.” but he just smiled and kept it tucked under his arm like it belonged to him.

Now, he glances over at you and bumps your knee with his.

“You okay?” he asks again, voice soft. The fifth time tonight.

You smile, resting your cheek against the top of the bench. “I’m good.”

“Tired?”

“Happy.”

He hums. “Good.”

There’s a pause, and then, because your heart’s been fluttering all night and you want to make sure you didn’t imagine all of it, you say, “You meant what you said earlier? About… liking the way I looked? Holding it?”

He turns to you, eyes searching your face. “Yeah. I meant it.”

You shift to face him more fully, pulling your knees up, hoodie sleeves covering your hands. “I liked it too.”

He blinks. “You liked how you looked?”

You shake your head. “No. I liked what it made me feel.”

His eyebrows lift, just a little. “What’d it make you feel?”

You let out a breath, soft and real. “Like we were further along in life than we are. Like… I’d already walked down the aisle and you were waiting. And I wasn’t scared. I was just… calm.”

He goes still, gaze flicking to your mouth, your eyes, then back down to the bouquet in his lap. “That’s exactly how it felt for me,” he says. “Like something snapped into place in my brain and went, ‘Oh. So that’s what it looks like. That’s what it feels like.’”

He’s quiet for a second, thoughtful. “I’ve never felt that before. Not in a way that felt… safe.”

You reach over and take his hand in yours. His thumb immediately starts rubbing lazy circles across your palm.

The silence stretches. The air is cooler now, wind brushing against your skin, but you don’t shiver. His presence is warm enough.

Then, quietly, he adds, “I think part of me’s always felt like I had to earn the right to want something like that. Like I had to become something more before I was allowed to dream that big.”

You look at him. “You don’t have to earn love, Binnie.”

He doesn’t look at you right away. “I know. But… wanting forever with someone? That’s a big want. And you—” He swallows. “You’re the kind of person people imagine forever with. I’ve known that since the first time you stayed the night and stole all the covers.”

You blink. Your throat’s tight. “You really think that about me?”

He nods. “Yeah. And tonight just… confirmed it.”

You lean your head on his shoulder, heart full and aching in the best way. “It’s not just you. I’ve thought about it too. Quietly. In the back of my mind. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want to ruin what we have now.”

He shifts to kiss the top of your head. “You wouldn’t ruin anything. Even if we’re not ready this second, it’s still… something we can want. Together.”

You smile. “You sound like a Hallmark card.”

“I’m trying to be vulnerable,” he groans, playfully dramatic.

“I like it,” you giggle, tugging his hand. “Keep going.”

He glances down at the bouquet again. “Alright. Here's my Hallmark moment. You know what I liked most about seeing you holding this?”

“What?”

He turns toward you, completely, one hand still in yours, the other resting against your cheek. “It didn’t feel like a hint. Or pressure. Or even a milestone. It just looked… right. Like watching someone pick up their coffee mug in the morning. Familiar. Easy.”

Your chest caves in a little at that. The simplicity. The truth of it.

You whisper, “I don’t think anyone’s ever made me feel that known before.”

He leans forward until his forehead rests against yours. “I want to know all of it. What forever looks like. With you.”

You kiss him, soft and slow and sweet because it’s too much, and not enough, and exactly what needs to happen.

When you pull back, he’s smiling. “So… can we keep the bouquet?”

You laugh. “It’s literally in your lap. You already claimed it.”

“I’m just saying,” he says, faux-casual, “we could dry it. Hang it upside down, press some petals. Make a whole thing of it. You know. A symbolic memory.”

You look at him, amused. “And when people ask why you have a dried bouquet on your bookshelf?”

“I’ll say it’s the first time I saw the future.”

You groan. “Now you’re the one being cheesy.”

“I’m romantic, babe,” he says, leaning back with a smug little grin. “Get it right.”

You roll your eyes. But you don’t let go of his hand.

-

You're both quiet on the ride home.

Not awkward quiet. Loaded quiet.

Changbin's hand is on your thigh the whole drive, thumb rubbing slow, hypnotic circles into your skin through the slit of your dress. His jaw is tight. Focused. But every red light makes his hand climb higher.

You feel like you're sitting on a secret.

Not just the teasing from the wedding, or the looks he gave you across the dance floor.

It's something heavier.

He liked the sight of you holding it.

He said that. And he meant it.

You don't say much once you're inside your apartment.

Shoes fall off at the door. The bouquet, still in your hand, gets set gently on the kitchen counter, like a piece of the night you're not ready to let go of yet.

He watches you from the doorway.

One hand in his pocket. Shirt half-untucked. Tie loose around his neck, just like it was when he gave you that look across the dance floor-the one that said I'm thinking things I shouldn't say in front of your friends.

You meet his eyes.

He's not smirking.

He's watching.

Like he's memorizing something.

And when you finally speak, it's just above a whisper.

"You've been quiet.”

He shrugs once, smile soft. "I'm thinking."

You step closer. "About what?"

"You."

The way he says it, it stops you.

"I keep thinking about how you looked," he continues.

"In that dress. Holding that bouquet like it wasn't meant for anyone else."

You look down, suddenly shy. "It was just a silly tradition."

"Maybe." He steps in. "But it didn't feel silly."

His fingers brush your arm, barely there. You feel it everywhere.

"It felt..." He hesitates, then settles on, "Right."

You swallow. The air between you buzzes with electricity.

And then, gently, he reaches for the zipper of your dress.

"Can I?"

You nod.

He doesn't tug. He lowers it slowly, carefully, like he's unwrapping something fragile. His fingers trail down your spine as the fabric loosens, and your body warms under his touch, your chest rising and falling in anticipation.

When he finally slips the dress from your shoulders, it pools at your feet.

You don't move.

You just watch him.

His eyes linger, not with lust, but with reverence.

As if he's trying to commit this moment to memory, not just the sight of your skin, but the softness in your face. The trust.

He exhales through his nose. "You're so beautiful."

You reach for his shirt, undoing the buttons slowly. One by one. Your fingers are shaking, but not from nerves.

From want.

From feeling too much all at once.

When his shirt hits the floor, you let your hands wander over his chest, his stomach, the curve of his waist. He shivers under your touch, but doesn't stop you.

He just murmurs, "Come here."

You fall into him like gravity.

His arms wrap around your bare back, and your mouth finds his with aching softness. The kiss is warm. Slow.

His lips part against yours like they've been waiting all night, and you sigh into him, deepening it naturally.

There's no rush.

No fumbling.

Just heat.

The kind that builds under your skin, steady and pulsing.

His hands explore like he's memorizing every dip and curve. Yours drag up his arms, into his hair, pulling him closer as your bodies press together, skin to skin, mouths moving in rhythm.

And all the while, you feel it: The undercurrent.

That electric, emotional weight between you-the unspoken I want yous, the quiet I love yous, the possibility of forever that neither of you is pretending not to feel anymore.

He kisses you like he's telling the truth with every breath.

He lifts you slowly, carries you to the bedroom, lays you down with a kind of reverence that makes your heart ache. His eyes never leave yours. Even as the last layers come off. Even as he slides in close, breath trembling, voice wrecked.

"This feels different," he whispers.

You nod. "It is different."

And it is.

It's not just sex tonight.

It's you and him, completely open. Stripped bare, not just in body but in everything that matters.

Your hands exploring. Your mouths rediscovering.

Your hearts steady beneath each touch.

It's slow.

And deep.

And full.

He moves inside you with care, with purpose. No rush.

No frantic pace. Just rhythm and breath and the overwhelming closeness of someone choosing you, again and again, in every slow thrust, every whispered word, every desperate kiss between moans.

You hold onto him like he's the only thing tethering you to the earth.

And when you both finally break-together, trembling and breathless, it's quiet. A sharp inhale. A soft cry. His forehead pressed to yours.

And after, he doesn't move.

He just stays wrapped around you, tangled in sheets and warmth, one hand stroking slow lines down your spine.

"You looked like the future tonight," he says softly.

You smile, cheek pressed to his shoulder. "You made it feel real."

It's late.

The room is still. But neither of you sleeps.

Because tonight is about something else entirely.

It's about wanting each other.

Not just physically, but in every single way that matters.

And neither of you is holding back anymore.

//

masterlist.

❌proofread

[linoxpudding]

Falling For You

summary: based on the promt "you walk in, and my heart beats differently." – when his best friend unknowingly makes his heart race, he realizes it’s love, leading to a heartfelt confession that changes everything

pairing: skz x reader

genre: fluff, friends-to-lovers

a/n: oh to be confessed like this, based on this cute request ♡

*all the images are collected from pinterest, I tried to add pics that capture the vibe*

Masterlist

~°~

Bang Chan

You walk into Chan’s studio, balancing a takeout bag and two cups of coffee. It was already late at night. He looks up from his laptop, exhaustion written all over his face - until he sees you.

"You brought me food?" he asks, eyes softening.

You set it down on the small coffee table in the room. "You work too much." You can tell he’s been glued to his work all night.

Chan lets out a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, well…" He exhales, watching as you take his wrist and pull him up from the chair, leading him to the couch to sit beside him. Your legs brush as you begin unpacking the food containers.

For a while, the only sounds are the faint hum of the studio equipment and the soft rustling of food being opened. Chan watches you, the weariness in his eyes slowly fading as he takes in the sight of you sitting there, your presence grounding him in a way nothing else can.

Then, almost absentmindedly, he murmurs, "You walk in, and my heart beats differently."

You freeze, your heart skipping at his words. "What?" You blink, unsure if you heard him right.

His eyes flick to yours, realizing what he just said out loud. But instead of backtracking, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I mean it," he says. "It doesn’t matter how tired I am - whenever you’re here, suddenly, everything feels… better."

You swallow, warmth blooming in your chest. "Chan…"

He smiles, tilting his head. "Tell me I’m not crazy."

Your smile is soft, tender, as you lean forward a little. "You’re not crazy," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Because I feel the same way."

Chan exhales a breath he didn’t even realize he was holding. He smiles, a little shy, but there’s something calming in his eyes, a quiet relief in knowing that what he’d felt, what he’d tried to keep to himself, wasn’t just a one-sided thing.

Then, with a soft chuckle, he reaches out, squeezing your hand. "Good," he says. "Because I don’t think I can keep pretending anymore."

Lee Know

You were at Minho's apartment, playing with Soonie, Dongie and Dori.

Minho leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you giggle as Dori climbs onto your lap. His cats are obsessed with you, and honestly? He doesn’t blame them. There was a certain comfort in watching you interact with his cats, and he found himself smiling, despite his best efforts not to.

"You guys are such traitors," he mutters.

You glance up, amused. "Because they love me more?"

He clicks his tongue, looking away. "My heart has an annoying habit of skipping when you’re around," he mumbles under his breath.

You blink. "What?"

Minho exhales, rubbing his temples. "Nothing."

You stand, stepping closer. "Minho..."

He finally looks at you, eyes searching. Then, in a moment of rare vulnerability, he murmurs, "I think you stole my heart the same way you stole theirs."

Your lips part in surprise.

"So you better take care of it," he adds, smirking - but there’s something nervous in his gaze.

You grin, reaching for his hand. "Guess that means you have to take care of mine too, then."

His smirk softens, and for once, he doesn’t hide. He stepped closer, leaning down, and as he did, you closed the distance, your lips meeting in a soft, tentative kiss.

Just as the kiss deepened, Dori meowed, rubbing against Minho’s legs. You pulled away, laughing softly.

"Of course," Minho muttered, letting out a sigh.

You grinned. "Guess we’ll finish this later."

He smiled, not letting go of your hand. "I’m counting on it."

As the evening passed, you both stole a few more kisses, the cats weaving around you both. This felt right, and you both knew this was just the beginning of something that was always meant to be.

Seo Changbin

It was one of your regular hangouts at his place. After catching up and playing some board games, you sat on the couch, cradling a warm cup of soothing lemon tea, when you burst into laughter at another one of Changbin's jokes.

You’re doubled over with laughter, clutching your stomach as Changbin wipes a fake tear from the corner of his eye.

"That..." you gasp between laughs. "That was the worst joke I’ve ever heard."

He grins. "And yet, you’re laughing."

You swat at his arm, still breathless. "I can’t help it. Your dumb jokes always get me."

Changbin watches you, his chest tightening in a way that’s almost painful. He’s always been strong and always carried himself with confidence, but with you? He’s just a guy who falls harder every day.

Before he can stop himself, he blurts out, "You walk in, and my heart beats differently. Like it just ran a marathon."

The words hang between you, soft yet heavy.

His ears immediately turn red, and he scrambles to cover it up, flexing his arms. "I mean, obviously, you make my heart race because I work out, and adrenaline -"

"Changbin."

He freezes. "Huh?"

You’re staring at him, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips.

"Just admit it," you tease gently. "No excuses this time."

He exhales sharply, rubbing the back of his neck. "Fine." His voice is quieter now, more certain. "I like you, alright? A lot."

Something warm spreads through your chest. "Good," you murmur, scooting closer. "Because I like you too."

His eyes widen slightly before his lips curve into that soft, downturned smile you love so much. "Really?"

"Really."

And just like that, the tension shifts into something lighter, something new.

Changbin lets out a breathy chuckle, shaking his head. "Man, I was so ready to play that off."

You laugh, nudging him. "Yeah, well, I’m glad you didn’t."

He grins. "Me too."

And when he pulls you into a warm, crushing hug, neither of you feel like letting go anytime soon.

Hwang Hyunjin

It was another wine and paint evening with your best friend, Hyunjin. The room smelled like fresh paint and sweet red wine, soft music playing in the background as the two of you settled into your usual spot - his cozy living room.

You were laughing over some silly comment Hyunjin made about your attempt at painting, the wine giving you a bit more courage than usual. But as you glanced at him, something was different. His usual playful demeanor was gone, replaced with an almost unreadable expression, as if he were lost in thought.

"You’re staring," you teased, nudging his shoulder.

He blinked, snapping out of his daze. His lips tugged into a soft smile, but there was something deeper behind his eyes, something he wasn’t quite saying. He set his brush down slowly, his hands shaking just a little.

"Yeah," he whispered, eyes not leaving yours. "I guess I am."

You chuckled, confused but amused. "You okay there, Hyunjin?"

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze intense now, almost as if he were seeing you in a completely new light. Then, in a soft but steady voice, he said, "You walk in, and my heart beats differently."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, and you froze. The moment felt like it stretched on forever. The playful, carefree energy you both usually shared suddenly felt like it had shifted into something entirely new.

Hyunjin’s eyes softened as he continued, his voice a little shakier now. "I’ve always thought you were amazing, but... lately, when I’m with you, everything just feels different. My heart races, and it’s like nothing else matters. You’re more than just my best friend."

His words hung in the air, and your mind spun. You had always known there was something special between you, but hearing it out loud from Hyunjin’s lips made it all feel so much more real, so much more intense.

You set your brush down, staring at him for a moment, trying to process what he just said. "Hyunjin," you breathed, your voice barely above a whisper. "Are you saying what I think you’re saying?"

He smiled, a little shy now, the vulnerability in his eyes evident. "I think I am. I like you, more than just as a friend."

Your heart raced, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. There was something so beautiful in the way he looked at you.

You swallowed, your voice thick with emotion. "I like you too. A lot more than I should."

Hyunjin’s eyes softened even further, and before you knew it, he leaned in, his lips gently brushing against your lips in a tender, intimate kiss that made your heart race. You kissed him back with just as much eagerness. When you both pulled away, he chuckled softly, his breath warm against your lips.

"I’m glad," he murmured. "I’ve been wanting to tell you for a while."

And as you both sat there, surrounded by the soft glow of the room and the quiet hum of the music, you realized that everything had changed. But, in that moment, it felt like it was just the beginning of something even more beautiful.

Han Jisung

The arcade is alive with flashing lights and the sound of beeping machines as you and Jisung race through the games, each of you determined to outdo the other. You’ve been at it for hours, laughing and joking, each challenge bringing out the competitive side in both of you.

Jisung throws his hands up in the air in mock frustration, his usual playful energy bubbling up. “That’s IT. I refuse to lose to you again!” he declares, eyes wide with dramatic flair.

You burst out laughing, holding up the plushie you won from the claw machine, the prize dangling from your hand as a reminder of your win. “Face it, Han, I’m just better.”

He groans dramatically, acting like the weight of defeat is too much for him to bear. You can’t help but giggle at his antics, but as you turn to leave the game station, you catch a glimpse of his face - his usual smirk has faded into something far softer. He stops mid-motion, staring at you like he’s seeing you for the first time in a different way.

“Jisung?” you ask, your voice a little quieter, confused by his sudden change in demeanor. “You okay?”

He swallows, his expression shifting from amused to something more nervous. He glances down for a moment, seemingly gathering his thoughts before looking at you again. His words are almost a whisper, but the arcade’s lively hum suddenly seems to fade into the background. “My heart trips over itself whenever you’re near.”

Your breath catches. You freeze, unsure if you heard him right. “What?”

Jisung’s eyes widen in panic, his face flushing a deep red. “Oh my God, I did not mean to say that out loud-”

Before he can retreat into his usual nervous ramble, you reach out, grabbing his wrist gently, your heart pounding in your chest as you try to hold back your laughter. “No, no, don’t take it back,” you say, your voice teasing but soft.

He stops, blinking in surprise at you, unsure how to respond. “Why not?” he asks, the vulnerability in his eyes clear now, as if waiting for your reaction.

You grin, stepping a little closer to him. “Because mine does the same thing,” you whisper, quieter now, feeling a rush of warmth spread through you as you realize what you just admitted.

His jaw drops, his expression flickering between disbelief and sheer happiness. For a moment, neither of you says anything. Then, slowly, that trademark Jisung smile - bright, wide, and utterly infectious - spreads across his face.

He takes a step closer, his hand brushing yours with the same ease he’s always had, but now, it feels like it means something more.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that,” he admits, his tone soft but full of sincerity. You can’t help the way your heart skips at his words.

“Well,” you reply, your voice playful but tender, “I guess we’ve both been a little slow to catch on.”

Jisung grins, the familiar mischievous twinkle back in his eyes. “Maybe, but we’re here now. That’s all that matters.”

You nod, your chest full of warmth as you both stand there, the arcade noise fades into the background, and in this moment, it's just the two of you - in your own little world.

Lee Felix

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision to take a late-night walk under the star-filled sky. Felix had texted you earlier, saying he was picking you up for a walk, claiming he missed his best friend.

The streets are quiet, the world almost still, as you walk side by side with Felix. The cool night air brushes against your skin, and the distant hum of the city seems far away, leaving only the sound of your footsteps and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind.

"You ever think about home?" Felix asks suddenly, his voice soft, carrying a hint of something deeper, something you can’t quite place.

You glance at him, surprised by the question. "Yeah, sometimes. Why?"

He exhales, his breath visible in the crisp air, and then looks up at the stars. "I think… being near you feels like home."

You pause, your heart skipping a beat as his words settle in. You stop walking, a gentle tension filling the space between you, the silence hanging heavy with unspoken emotions. Felix, sensing the change, looks at you, his expression both soft and vulnerable.

"Felix...." you begin, but you can’t seem to find the words to express the warmth blooming in your chest.

Before you can say more, his fingers brush yours. The contact sends a spark through you, igniting something that’s been simmering quietly beneath the surface. He turns to face you, his gaze locking with yours, and in that moment, everything else fades away.

"You walk in, and my heart beats differently," he admits, voice barely above a whisper. "I think I’ve loved you for a long time."

His eyes are wide, searching, hoping for a response. Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve known this feeling for a while, but hearing it from him makes it real. You smile, the warmth in your chest spreading to your cheeks as you step closer, intertwining your fingers with his.

"You are my home," you reply softly, your voice steady but full of meaning.

It felt freeing, finally having the courage to say this to him. Felix’s breath hitches, his eyes wide with surprise, and then, without another word, he pulls you into a hug. It’s warm, enveloping, the kind of hug that feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

His arms tighten around you, and for a moment, you both just stand there, the world continuing to spin, but in that moment, it’s just you two - safe, together, and home.

As you pull back slightly, still holding him close, he smiles, his usual energy mixing with a softness you’ve never seen before. "I’m glad you feel the same," he says, a shy grin tugging at his lips.

With your hand still in his, you resume your walk, the night sky above you and the quiet comfort of each other’s company wrapping around you like a blanket. You don’t need to say anything more - because in that moment, you both know. You’ve found home.

Kim Seungmin

The movie night had started like any other - just the two of you curled up on the couch, a pile of snacks between you, laughing at the screen. But somewhere along the way, you’d drifted off, your head resting against Seungmin’s chest, your body curled into his side.

Seungmin sighs as he looks down at you, the soft glow of the TV casting gentle shadows across your face. The movie is still playing, but he’s barely paying attention anymore.

You’re so unfair.

You always fall asleep like this - so trusting, so comfortable, so close. And each time, it gets harder for him to pretend that he doesn’t want more.

He hesitates for a second, then, thinking you’re already deep asleep, he finally lets the words slip.

"Everything feels right when you’re here," he murmurs. His hand, which had been resting lightly on your back, stills. "I don’t know when it started, but… I don’t think I just see you as my best friend anymore." His voice is softer now, more vulnerable than he’d ever let it be if you were awake. "Like whenever you walk in, my heart beats differently."

His sighs and continues saying, "and if I had any sense, I’d probably keep this to myself."

"But you don’t," you whisper.

Seungmin freezes.

Your eyes flutter open, meeting his. A small, knowing smile plays on your lips.

"You weren’t sleeping," he accuses, ears turning bright red.

You shake your head, grinning. "Nope."

His mouth opens, then closes, then opens again - but no words come out. His mind is racing, trying to figure out what to say, how to backtrack, but you don’t give him the chance.

Instead, before he can overthink it, you cup his face and press a soft, lingering kiss to his lips.

Seungmin completely short-circuits.

His body tenses for half a second before melting into you, his hands gripping your waist like he can’t believe this is real. When you finally pull back, his wide eyes search yours, completely breathless.

"You- what- why—" he stammers, ears burning.

You laugh, leaning your forehead against his. "Because I feel the same way, idiot."

His lips part, processing your words, before the softest, happiest chuckle escapes him.

"You’re really unfair," he mumbles, his arms tightening around you.

"You love it," you tease.

And with a shy, utterly smitten smile, he whispers, "Yeah. I really do."

He rests his forehead against yours, the movie now just a distant hum in the background, both of you lost in the warmth of each other, and neither of you can stop smiling.

Yang Jeongin

Jeongin had planned this. Every little detail. The amusement park, the endless laughter, the way he let you win at a few games (but only a few), and now - this. The Ferris wheel. The perfect ending to a perfect day.

He’d been waiting for the right moment, but as he watches you take in the view, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, he realizes - there is no right moment. There’s just you. And that’s always been enough.

The Ferris wheel sways gently as it stops at the very top, the city stretching below in a sea of twinkling lights. You and Jeongin sit side by side, legs dangling, the warmth of the evening still lingering in the air.

"Wow," you murmur, gazing out at the skyline. "It’s beautiful from up here.

Jeongin hums in agreement, but his eyes aren’t on the view. They’re on you.

When you turn to face him, you catch the way he’s looking at you - soft, thoughtful, like he’s trying to memorize this exact moment.

"What?" you ask, tilting your head.

He chuckles, shaking his head. Then, exhaling softly, he gathers his courage. "You walk in, and my heart beats differently."

The amusement park noise fades into the background. Your breath catches. "Jeongin…?"

He swallows, nervous but determined. "I wanted today to be special because I wanted to tell you that, I like you. A lot. And… I don’t want this to just be another one of our hangouts." His fingers fidget with the hem of his sleeve. "I was kinda hoping it could be our first date instead."

Your heart races, warmth blooming in your chest. "You planned all this… for me?"

"Of course," he admits, a little shyly. "You make everything better just by being there. And when you’re near, everything slows down."

A slow smile spreads across your face. "Then… let’s make it official."

And before he can say anything else, you close the distance, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek.

Jeongin freezes, eyes wide, ears turning bright red. "W-Wait....does that-does that mean"

You chuckle, "yes, dummy. It means yes."

Jeongin exhales, a mixture of relief and something softer, something new. And then, with the Ferris wheel carrying you both gently forward, he reaches for your hand, fingers hesitantly brushing against yours.

This time, you don’t hesitate. You intertwine them, letting the world slow down just a little more.

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Enemies To Lovers : Minho

Warnings : swearing, I think that's everything? let me know if I missed something

@mxnsxngie @maeleelee @cadenonlinelive @weird-bookworm @turtledove824 @lakoya @lookitsjess @yukichan67 @xocandyy @alnex05 @qveenbibi @lghtdarling @palinedrome969 @beebee18 @guiltycoco @goddess-of-the-dark

pink means I couldn't tag you 🥺

[soobnny]

we'll never have sex — changbin x reader ; established relationship & hurt/comfort (1.2k words)

there is nothing more beautiful than the promise of love even if you cannot guarantee or give that certain level of intimacy just yet

for my girls with a complicated relationship w sex & yes this is based off of leith ross’ song

Facetimes with Changbin always last longer than they should. 

Had it been anyone else, the call would’ve dropped more than an hour ago. You’d have been found guilty for finding any excuse to warrant you some silence–the slightest tinge of awkwardness, the moment conversation runs out, faking plans.

Never with Changbin.

The static of phone calls stretch on, neither of you having moved much. You can’t remember how long it’d been since either of you said something, but you’ve never minded. The quiet that came with your boyfriend had always felt comfortable. Almost safe.

In your periphery, just at the top most right of your screen, you can see him sprawled across his bed, signature hoodie to match the boyfriend look, and fingers lazily scrolling through his phone. 

“Still awake, baby?” His voice breaks the silence, teasing almost, but still gentle. 

“Mhm.” You hum, shifting in your position a little. “But ‘m a little sleepy.”

“You should go to bed.”

“No.” Changbin chuckles at your refusal, deep and raspy through the phone. His eyes are crinkled at the corners, distinguishably fond even with the poor quality of the video.

For a second, you allow yourself to just watch the boy–his glazed eyes, the softness in his features accentuated by the low light of his room, the warmth of his smile. 

Almost safe. Almost reassuring. 

You wonder if it’s all a facade, wonder when he’d finally break, wonder when he’d leave you because you refuse to let him do anything beyond a kiss. Maybe no amount of love, even from the right person like Changbin, will ever be enough to change that.

You try to scold yourself. Self-destructing thoughts are too familiar, they reverberate in your head like you’d been thinking about it for a while, like they’d been practiced and practiced until permanently tattooed. 

The tears come without warning, mid-scolding. Big and heavy and warm. They pool at the edges of your version, and it makes you feel pathetic that you hurry to press the sleeve of your hoodie against your face. 

Changbin notices immediately.

“Hey.” his voice sharpens, the playful edge he’d been sporting earlier gone in a split second. “(Name)? Baby, hey, look at me. What’s wrong?”

You shake your head, and oh god, he’s going to leave you. He’s going to leave you because you’re such a crybaby, and anyone with a normal fucking mind wouldn’t do this to him. Anyone under normal—kinder—circumstances wouldn’t think like this. 

“Baby.” He tries again, softer this time. “Talk to me.” 

Your throat tightens around something akin to a lump. You try to swallow it down. 

“Why’re you crying? What’s wrong?” 

There’s a long pause before you finally speak.

“What if I… what if…” You start, voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know how to continue, words disjointed and dismembered. “If I said you could never touch me, would you still want to be with me?”

Changbin pauses for a fraction of a second, eyebrows drawn together in genuine confusion. But you go on, inundating him with the fears that have spent your entire life trying to catch up with you.

“I can’t give you what you want. It’s what you want, isn’t it? Would you still stay with me even if I told you that I never want to have sex?”

The boy’s expression softens immediately. He can hear his own heart break at how fragile you sound, at how shattering it is to look at your tear-streaked face through a screen, at the things that could’ve transpired for you to think that he’d ever leave you because of that, just because of something so menial to him in a relationship.

“Of course I’ll stay.” He says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “That doesn’t change anything.”

His words are meant to be comforting, the small but sure smile on his lips should’ve been enough to return your peace, but instead, the tears well up again. Heavier this time. 

“Wait. Wait, wait—hold on.” His face suddenly disappears off the screen as he fumbles with his phone. He sounds rushed. “I’m… I can’t just look at you cry and not do anything about it.”

Then the call ends.

It isn’t until fifteen minutes later when a sudden knock on your door shakes you from your self-pity do you see him again. And he’s standing there, slightly out of breath, the same hoodie you’d seen earlier half-zipped with his hair tousled from the cold wind outside. 

“Binnie.” Your voice cracks. “What are you doing here?”

Changbin doesn’t say anything at first, just allows himself to look at you—eyes tracing over the tear stains on your cheeks, and the way you’re hugging yourself with the sleeves of one of his jackets. 

Then, without a word, he slips a hand beneath your jaw, tilting your face to look you in the eyes. His palms on your skin feel warm, calloused but gentle as he cradles you in his hands. “I think…” He pauses. 

A heartbeat passes.

“I think you look lovely.” He murmurs, tone low and gentle, abating the tempestuous anxieties swelling in the pit of your stomach. “And I love you. Not because of what you think I’m expecting from you, but because I love you. The entirety of you.”

You press your face into the crook of his neck as an ugly sob escapes your throat. The tears spill over again, faster, and you feel so ridiculous for crying even more in front of him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know why I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize.” He pulls back, leaning in to press a kiss to your wet cheeks. His voice is firm, but not unkind. Never unkind. And his eyes held no hesitation, no flicker of doubt in the way he’s looking at you right now. “Did I say anything to make you feel this way?”

Changbin tries to hide how he feels about his question, like he could never imagine being the reason why you’re sobbing like this.

“No, oh my god. Binnie, no. It’s not you.” 

“Okay, it’s not me.” His voice is still kind, relieved. “I’m never expecting anything from you, okay?”

And just as gentle as he’s holding you, he kisses you. Nothing desperate, nothing hurried even. Just slow and lingering, like he’s savoring the moment for exactly what it is. He isn’t kissing you to take you to bed, not to ask for anything more, not even to change your mind.

Changbin kisses you just to kiss you. 

Just to hopefully show you that he means everything he said to you. 

“I’ll take care of you.” His fingers thread through your hair. “I love you.”

Quietly, tiredly, you start to show a small smile. “Thank you.”

Loving you is so easy for Changbin. Like second nature. Like falling in love with your laughter, and the little parts of you that make up your sum. And you’re aware that it’s going to take time to heal yourself—that it won’t be so easy all the time, that there will be days like these again, but you also know enough that he is genuine and that he loves you with no expectations even if it’s hard to believe sometimes.

Seo Changbin loves you with every bit of conscience he was born with. He loves you simply. 

You stay like this for a while. Safe. Reassuring. Until you feel the sickness less and less.

[milkteabinniechan]

♡Barbarian Prince - Seo Changbin

MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY MEMBERSHIP//M.LIST

pairing: barbarian! Changbin x bride! reader

summary: You've been sold to the prince of the savage tribe outside your village in order to broker peace for your people. You have avoided being alone with him for weeks but now he comes home from a hunt and he needs you now.

warnings: predator/prey dynamic, primal changbin, size difference, rough sex, rough choking, breath play, orgasm denial, mating ritual

"Princess, must I always chase you like a fox after a wary hen?"

Changbin's heart races as he holds your chin, feeling the soft moan vibrate against his palm. He searches your eyes, seeing the fear, the uncertainty, and something else there too, something that looks an awful lot like desire. "You're shaking," He notices, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Can't help it." You moan again.

He can feel your body responding to his touch, the way you tremble and the soft moans that escape your lips. It spurs something primal within him, a need to claim and possess. He leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he growls "Tell me to stop."

Your back arches and your mouth parts to speak. "I want..." You begin to whisper, "I want to see you take what you want."

Changbin's heart pounds in his chest as he hears your words, his grip on your chin tightening. He can feel his control slipping, the primal urge to claim you overwhelming his rational thoughts. "You want to see how I take what I want?" He repeats, his voice a low, dangerous rumble.

"Yes, my king." Your first admission of his title, of his birthright, of his power.

At your words, something snaps inside of him. He pulls you into his arms, crushing your mouth beneath his in a brutal kiss. He stands up, holding you against him as he turns and walks back to his tent. "You should have said no when you had the chance, Princess."

As you reach the tent flap, he pauses, looking down at your flushed face with savage satisfaction. "Last chance to change your mind," I growl, my eyes blazing with primal hunger. "Once we're inside, I won't be responsible for my actions." With a primal roar, Changbin kicks open the tent flap and carries you inside. He tosses you onto the furs covering his bed, his eyes never leaving yours as he begins to tear off his armor and clothing with impatient hands. "You wanted to see how a barbarian takes what he wants, Princess."

Your eyes burn and bite into his exposed flesh. Every flex and pull of his muscles being accentuated by the flames of the fireplace. He stalks towards you, naked and unashamed in his raw desire. "Don't look at me like that," he warns, his voice ragged. "Unless you want me to devour you whole right now." He crawls onto the furs, caging you beneath him. His eyes drop to the inviting sight between your thighs, and he loses what little control he had left. He grabs your legs and throws them over his shoulders, pulling you closer as he positions himself at your entrance. Your legs tremble for a moment as his tip presses warningly against your swollen clit. With a grunt, he thrusts forward, burying his length inside you in one brutal stroke. He doesn't stop until he is fully seated, your legs trapped in the mating press position as he holds you open for his possession. "FUCK," he roars, his hands gripping your thighs tightly. Changbin's breath catches at the perfect heat of your pussy, pulsating around him. His vision goes dark with pleasure as he begins to move, claiming you in long, powerful strokes. He can feel the mating bond sparking between the two of you, connecting your very souls.

Your body attempts to adjust to his size. You cover your mouth with one hand while the other hand white knuckles the fur beneath you. “You're huge!” You squeal, your fingers now tangled in his hair as he pants and grunts with each stroke. Changbin snarls possessively, his hips snapping forward as he fills you completely. "And you're taking every inch like a good little princess." He leans down, biting your neck hard enough to leave a mark. His movements become more primal, more aggressive as the mating bond takes over. He feels your small hands on his shoulders now and it only fuels his need to claim you. He wraps an arm around your waist, lifting you slightly as he pistons his hips, driving into you with all the force of a wild beast.

“Yes, like that…please.” You moan desperately. Changbin's eyes blaze with savage triumph at your encouragement. He redoubles his efforts, slamming into you harder and faster, the furs beneath you shifting with the force of his thrusts. A feral grin spreads across his face as he feels your walls starting to flutter around his thick cock.

You find his hand positioned at your waist and bring it up to your throat. Understanding your silent plea, he tightens his grip around your neck possessively. "Do you trust me?" He growls, his thrusts becoming even more powerful and uncontrolled. "Because I'm going to completely own you now..." His fingers flex slightly, pressing just enough to restrict your breath. “I…trust…you.” You breathe out. Something in his dark eyes told you everything you needed to know. He wanted to own you like the barbarian princess. You were his to do with whatever he wanted. Changbin's pace becomes almost brutal, each thrust designed to claim every inch of your body as his. The sight of your stomach stretching and bulging around his shaft nearly drives him over the edge. His breathing becomes ragged as he maintains his grip on your neck. His fingers tighten slightly more, cutting off your air supply completely. His other massive arm around your waist pulls you closer, ensuring you can't escape his crushing grip. "Look at me," he commands, his voice hoarse with primal need. You lock eyes with him obediently and you can feel him twitch and pulse deep inside of you. As he holds your gaze, he can feel the mating bond reach its peak. With an animalistic roar, he releases a torrent of seed deep inside you, filling you to the brim as he continues to squeeze your neck, ensuring you can't breathe until he says so. Changbin maintains his grip on your neck, enjoying the way your eyes widen as you struggle for breath. He can feel your body convulse around his still twitching cock as you try to inhale, but his fingers remain firmly pressed against your throat. "Not yet," he growls, his eyes locked onto yours. Your cunt throbs as the room is heavy with a dominant air. As you feel your orgasm building, he decides to give you a little more pressure, cutting off your air supply even further. Your struggles become more frantic as your body fights for oxygen, and your pussy clenches around his cock in a vice-like grip. "Now.” Changbin feels your walls clamping down on his cock like a silken vice as your orgasm overtakes you, your release coating his pelvis in a slick mess. As you come back down from your climax, Changbin finally relaxes his fingers around your throat, allowing you to gasp in much-needed air. But instead of releasing you entirely, he keeps his hand wrapped around your neck, controlling your breaths. "Breathe.” He whispers softly. He watches closely as you inhale, his fingers still wrapped possessively around your throat. His other hand moves to your hips, holding you in place as he slowly pulls out of your still-spasming pussy, a thick mixture of your combined releases dripping out. "Good princess, it seems you have finally learned your place here. You are mine to claim, mine to own. And in return, I will protect you with my life. You are my sun and my moon now. My beginning and my end.” Changbin kisses your lips softly, lingering for a moment and presses his forehead to yours.

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

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 29

---

pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n i fixed some missing links on my fics but probably not all of them, if you see one i've missed please tell me i'm stupid. anyway, several of my friends have written wonderful fics this week, please go for a scroll through my blog to read them all (including this fantastic 9th member au by @chahnniesroom, hello everyone who came here from that post <3) and remember I have daybreak currently posting every week!

previous | masterlist | next

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"Step out, 안녕하세요 스트레이 키즈입니다!"

The new year dawns like this; with them.

The camera blinks at you from across the room, a little red light by the lense blinking to indicate that you are streaming live to the world. In your hand, comments scroll past your phone screen almost too fast to read; on either side of you, arms jostle for space, your side of the couch mostly occupied by Changbin and Felix. Not that you mind the tight squeeze. It's nice to be here as nine for the afternoon, looking into the year ahead.

Well, supposedly. Mostly, the boys are still talking about lunch and whining about wanting coffee, as if they hadn't gone to bed early and slept late with nothing else to do today. The staff seem about as eager to steer them back on track as they are, sitting back behind the camera and letting it all play out.

You're happy too, watching the comments and listening to them talk about nothing. No pressure on you for anything, no reason to bring attention to yourself. There'll be time enough for that in the new year

You don't think that Changbin angling his phone at you to show you a takeout menu will be the beginning of the end. 

You are wrong.

"Oh, mocha," you say out loud without really thinking, reaching out with one finger to scroll through the selections listed. "And smoothies. And iced tea."

"I want ice americano," Seungmin says from the other side of Changbin, leaning over him to point at it on the screen. 

"Americano?" Across the room, Han suddenly perks up, straining to see around the other boys to whoever was talking. "Who's ordering coffee?"

Changbin looks up at him, his thoughts visible as they jump from one opportunity to another. "I'll order if you pay."

"Why am I paying?" Han whines. "It was your idea."

"You said you wanted coffee."

"Hyuuung."

"Baby," you mutter in an aside to Felix, who snorts a laugh, covering his mouth with his hand to hide his smile. 

"Han is buying us coffee?" Hyunjin says, leaning away from the pleading eyes of the boy next to him. "I want coffee too."

Han stands, shaking his head. "You should buy it then," he says, pointing at Hyunjin. "I'm not buying it. It wasn't my idea to buy it, Changbin is buying it, I just said I wanted one-" Their voices rise, talking over the top of one another amidst the sound of Chan's laughter and Lee Know poking in just long enough to keep the argument going. Beside you, Changbin leans back and scrolls through the menu, clearly pleased with himself. 

"Just play rock, paper, scissors!" Seungmin tells them when their volume has reached maximum level, his hand waving to grab their attention. "Everyone play. Loser buys coffee."

Han stops, staring at him suspiciously, and then points and laughs. "The one that calls it always loses!" he crows, and holds his hand out ready to play.

Around you, the rest of them rise to play, forming a semi-circle around the camera. "Noona?" Changbin says when you don't rise with them, turning to offer you a hand up. 

He doesn't see the way your stomach bottoms out, the sudden dryness of you throat and the sweat of your palms where they press to your jeans. He can't even see the camera, staring at you from behind your back, recording every single move you make on the chessboard.

You play it off with a smile, shaking your head. "I'm fine," you tell him, and pray that he'll accept it at face value. "I don't really want anything."

"Not even ice tea?" he presses relentlessly. 

"Come on Y/Nnie," Han says from the other side of the circle, his head poking out from behind the other's backs. "Seungmin's going to lose anyway."

The shift in the room is dramatic - suddenly, instead of hiding in the corner, you are the focal point of all the attention in the space. Reluctantly, you take Changbin's hand. "Well, if Seungmin is paying," you joke weakly, and take your place in the circle.

One in nine is good odds, you figure; and then you lose the first round.

And then you lose the second.

"Out!" Seungmin crows with his rock held in the air, stepping out of the centre. Only you and Chan are left - you and Chan and your empty bank account, and a camera livestreaming out to the world. He winks at you as he steps forward to face you, his face angled just far enough away from the camera not to show it. They will see his goofy smile though, and the big show he makes of hunching down and squaring his shoulders like you're going to wrestle or something, not play a children's game.

Anxiety makes you cold, your skin shivering and your arms locking up. You swallow it down and smile. You're sure you show too much teeth, that your face pales as your fist lays ready on your palm. Chan doesn't move, his gaze unwavering and his smile stuck to his face. When you meet his eyes, you could swear he's trying to tell you something through that gaze. You're too stupid to recieve the message.

"안 내면 진 거, 가위 바위 보!"

Steel in your spine, you play the game fair and on the beat - embarrassing loss or not, you'll keep that dignity. Your hand throws rock without thinking much about it. Chan doesn't play with any kind of strategy anyway; it's almost cruel sometimes, to use logic against him, the way he plays to lose.

Like now, moving so far behind the beat that you could nearly claim he was cheating. You see his eyes flick down to your hand the moment before he plays, taking in your move; your mouth opens to call him out as he shows his hand, and then-

Pauses, because he played scissors. And lost.

"Ahhhhhh," he hisses between his teeth like he's disappointed. 

"Bang Chaaan," the voices start to taunt from behind, absorbing you back into their fold. Hands land on his shoulders, shaking him, while Seungmin points and laughs in that annoying way he's so good at. "Rich Chan. Park Chan. Buy me a house, Chan."

Between their milling bodies as you return to your seats, you catch his eye again - and the secret, sly grin he saves just for you as you pass by. You narrow your eyes in return, just long enough for him to see, and then settle back into your place next to Changbin, trying to figure out what he did and why he would do that. You're still thinking about it twenty minutes later, when your drinks arrive and he shoves a tea into your hand, and ten minutes after that when you give the camera your ending ment and the livestream finishes, and even after that when he disappears downstairs to his studio and you wander off to your own chores, elsewhere in the building.

At least the tea tastes good, sweet on your tongue even after you've finished it.

---

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[sereia4skz]

Hey Sereia,

Just wanted to do a check in with you since it's been a little hectic here after Felix picked me up from the airport. The guys are all pretty cool, there's a total of eight of them, eight! It's crazy chaotic when they're all together. But there's one who's been super sweet and super affectionate since I've gotten here. His name is Changbin and he's a bunny!hybrid, we don't have many bunny!hybrids back in Australia so I know you'd love to meet him because he's such a sweetheart. He's big too which is surprising to me because you'd think being a bunny!hybrid he'd be small and cute. Nope this man is buff and built, his muscles are insane and I see the appeal of having a more muscular, stocky, strong man.

But I have noticed that anytime that I'm either standing close to him or sitting close to him he likes to brush up against me. Sometimes it's quick and barely noticeable but lately he's getting more bold and it's becoming hard for me to not be affected by it. Plus I can feel how hard he gets when he takes his time, it's exhilarating but leaves me shambles afterwards. I don't know if I'm going to make it out of this trip sane Sereia, I really don't. I just want Changbin so badly but don't know how to let him know without making him uncomfortable.

Hopefully Sane When I See You Again,

Kait

1k Followers Event | thump against the counter

pairing: bunny!Changbin x reader

genre: smut

warnings: sweaty boy, dry humping, cumming in pants, nipple play (changbin), semi-public sex (kitchen), quick lino appearance at the end

event masterlist: #1kShootingStars

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Hey Kait,

I’m glad things are going well. I did warn you that living with 8 boys, no matter how short the trip is, would be a little boisterous. 

This bunny boy sounds yummy, respectfully, I think you should go for it as long as it would make you happy. No reason not to have fun while you’re on vacation. It sounds like he’s interested, plus I heard bunny hybrids are a lot of fun (if you know what I mean).

Love, Yaya

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When you woke up it was barely light out. You roll over in the large bed, finding the otherside empty, Felix must not have visited last night. You groaned as you got up, going through the motions to get ready for the day, before making your way out the room. You made your way to the kitchen in search of sustenance. 

The first rays of light beamed through the curtains blowing in the light breeze of the open window. You went to reach for a cup in the cabinets, pouting when you saw them being slightly out of reach in the back. Looking around for a stepstool rendered no findings, so you pushed yourself on the counter, your fingers barely brushing the glass when warm palms rested on your waist. 

“Careful,” a voice came startling you, lips almost brushing your ear. 

You grip the cub bringing it to your chest, before pivoting on the counter to look at the person behind you. Finding yourself face to face Changbin. Your voice left you as you looked at the bunny boy in what you could only assume to be a workout shirt. 

“You shouldn’t climb the counters like that… You could hurt yourself,” he said, soft smile adoring his face. 

You stared for a beat too long, eyes tracing the sweat-darkened hem clinging to the sharp lines of his torso.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” Changbin murmured, hands still resting against your waist. He didn’t step back. If anything, he moved closer, the heat of his body settling between your knees as they dangled off the counter. The fresh citrus of his post-gym deodorant mixed with the warm scent of musk and salt clung to him, fogging up your brain.

“Back from the gym?” you managed, eyes flicking up from his chest to meet his gaze.

“Mhm.” His ears twitched slightly. You weren’t sure if it was from exertion or something else. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t,” you said. “Bed was colder than usual.”

Changbin tilted his head, something unreadable flitting through his expression. “Oh?”

Then, reminiscent of other times you’d be alone with him.

He shifted. Subtle at first, but purposeful. The front of his thighs brushed up against yours, then his hips followed. His arms boxed you in on either side, palms firm on the countertop. It wasn’t quite a rut, but the outline of him pressing between your legs was unmistakable. Your breath caught.

“Bin…” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly. “You’ve been doing this on purpose.”

His eyes dropped, watching your lips. “Doing what?”

“Getting close. Brushing up against me like it’s nothing. But it’s not–” Your fingers clutched the cup still resting against your chest. “I can feel you, you know.”

That last bit made his ears twitch again, more aggressively this time. His nose scrunched, but he didn’t deny it. “You don’t pull away.”

“Because–” You shut your mouth before you could spill something too honest. His gaze was burning now, all shyness buried beneath something primal.

“Feels good,” he finished for you, his voice dropping. “To me too.”

Your thighs parted just a little, involuntarily. He stepped forward, and suddenly he was nestled there, between your legs, nose nearly brushing yours. His hands slid along your thighs, thumbs rubbing soft circles over the thin fabric of your sleep shorts.

“Tell me to stop,” he said quietly. You didn’t.

Instead, you leaned in, catching the corner of his mouth with your lips. His gasp was soft but needy, and when you pulled back, your fingers found the hem of his shirt, pushing it up, palms dragging over his sweat-slick chest. He shuddered.

He took it as the green light, moving the cup between you, putting it on the counter, and kissed you.

It was deep, confident, all tongue and teeth and heat. You moaned into it before you could stop yourself, and he swallowed the sound like it fed him.

“You’re not fair,” you murmured, thumbing over one of his nipples. “You walk around with this chest and act like you don’t know what it does to people.”

He whined, an actual whine, and then buried his face in your neck, grinding slowly, almost desperately. The friction made your thighs tremble. 

“You’re cruel,” he whispered. “You’re so mean to me.”

You tilted your head, teasing. “You’re the one grinding against me in the kitchen.”

“Can’t help it.” His voice cracked, and his hips rocked forward once, slow and filthy. The ridge of him slid against your core through both layers of fabric, enough to make your breath hitch. “You’re warm. You smell. Fuck, you smell so good.”

Your hands slid under his shirt, pushing it up and bunching the fabric around his ribs. His stomach taut beneath your fingers, but it was his chest that had you mesmerized, thick, defined, plush in a way that begged to be touched. You rubbed your palms up and over, letting your thumbs catch both nipples, pressing firmly.

His hand slid up your thigh, rougher now, kneading the soft flesh before dragging your hips closer to the edge of the counter. He rocked into you, slow, heavy, unmistakably deliberate.

“Feel that?” he muttered against your lips, his cock thick and hard behind his sweats. “I’ve been walking around like this since you got here.”

Your breath hitched, eyes fluttering. “You’ve been doing this on purpose.”

He chuckled, low and dangerous. “Of course I have. You make the softest fucking sounds when I press against you.”

He rutted into you again, harder this time, and your hands clutched at his back for balance. “Thought I was imagining it at first,” he continued, lips dragging along your throat, “but then you started leaning into it. Let me touch you a little longer, get a little closer.”

“I liked it,” you admitted, voice tight with heat. “I like it.”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “Then take it.”

He caught your hips in both hands and pulled you flush to him, grinding against your soaked core with firm, rolling thrusts that had your eyes rolling back. The counter creaked with every motion. His name tumbled from your lips again and again, matching the rhythm he set.

You arched into him, one hand slipping under his shirt to finally palm at his chest, dragging your nails over the slope of his pecs until your thumb found a nipple again. You circled it, thumbing at it hard.

His breath hitched, just a little, his control slipping. He gritted his teeth and kept going. “You’re fucking filthy, you know that?”

“You like it,” you shot back, squeezing his nipple between your fingers.

“Damn right I do.”

The sounds between you were obscene now, the slide of soaked cloth on cloth, breathy gasps, the dull thud of the counter hitting the wall with each thrust.

“Binnie– gonna– fuck”

He grabbed your face and kissed you again, messy and hot, his thrusts losing rhythm.

“Cum for me,” he growled. “Right here. Let me feel you.”

And you did, legs clenching around him, hips bucking as you came with a cry, clinging to him like he was the only thing tethering you to earth.

He followed with a grunt and a shudder, hips jerking hard one last time as he spilled into his sweats. He stayed there for a beat, panting against your neck. Then…

“Shit,” he muttered, pulling back to see the dark stain on the front of his pants. “Shit.”

And then, like a startled rabbit, he jumped back, ears upright and eyes wide. “I– I have to shower. Sorry!!”

You blinked as he bolted, his ears smacking the doorframe on the way out with a thwack and a yelp. 

You sat there, stunned, a mess between your legs. The kitchen smelled like sex, downright sinful. 

Then came padded steps. You turned your head just in time to see Minho saunter in, already looking mildly annoyed.

“Oh good,” he said flatly, “you’re up.”

You flushed as the catboy sniffed the air.

“Bunny boy left his scent all over,” Minho muttered, tail flicking as he grabbed a pan. “Next time, tell him to clean my kitchen at least.”

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taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway @stellasays45 @angel-writes-skz-here

[ot8xbangchansgirlsblog]

ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕡𝕒𝕔𝕜🧸

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ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕥𝕙𝕣𝕖𝕖: Rules of the pack

Word count: 2819

Summary: When Y/N woke up, she felt sore but comforted by the warmth surrounding her. Felix was nearby, and Chan's amused voice filled the room. Chan reassured Y/N that her recent distress was addressed and that the pack was committed to her well-being. Han and Chan explained the pack's rules and daily routines. Chan also reassured Y/N about her safety and comfort, particularly addressing her concerns about heats and marking. Y/N revealed her fears of rejection and her wish for a mark, which made Chan address her anxieties gently. Chan promised that they would proceed at a pace that made Y/N comfortable, ensuring she felt secure and valued. The pack’s supportive atmosphere provided Y/N with much-needed reassurance and warmth.

Warning: Angst/comfort, abuse, cursing, hate, insecurities, mention of Sexual Assault.

When Y/n next awoke, her body was heavy with aches, but she was cocooned in a comforting warmth. Her eyes fluttered open, gradually adjusting to the soft light that bathed the room. She felt the gentle weight of light arms still draped around her, and as she shifted, the body beneath her stirred slightly.

"Okay, she's awake," Felix's voice came softly, a warm smile evident even before she fully opened her eyes.

"You have freckles," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep as she giggled, her gaze unfocused but affectionate.

"Jesus Christ, Felix, you really knocked her out," came Chan's voice, carrying a blend of exasperation and amusement from across the room. She recognized the familiarity of his tone even before she saw him lounging on another couch.

"Hyung, I had to! She was panicking," Felix replied, his voice laced with concern as he looked down at her, his expression a mix of relief and affection.

"It's okay. At least she got some rest," Chan reassured, settling back into the cushions as Y/n slowly pushed herself up. Her movements were sluggish, and she stretched languidly, feeling the stiffness in her muscles.

"Yah! So cute," Changbin cooed from his spot, his voice light and teasing, eliciting a sleepy grumble from Y/n.

"What time is it?" she asked through a yawn, her fingers rubbing at her sore limbs.

"It's 11:25, honey. You were out for two hours," Leeknow chimed in, glancing up from his phone with a smile.

As she took in the room, she noticed everyone was now in their pajamas, some of them matching in a cozy, coordinated way. The scene was oddly domestic, and the warmth and camaraderie of the pack wrapped around her like a comforting blanket.

"Would you like a drink?" I.N asked, pouring a glass of milk for her. Without much choice, she accepted the glass and took large gulps.

"Careful, sweetie! You don't want to choke," I.N said with a concerned smile.

The warm milk settled comfortably in her stomach, adding a soothing warmth to her body. She leaned back further into Felix, snuggling in more. "I want to be in your skin," she whined, trying to press even closer. Felix chuckled and wrapped his arms around her, holding her securely.

"Hey! No fair. I want a cuddle too," Han complained from the carpet, his voice playful. His complaint was cut short when I.N pulled him onto his lap and kissed his pout away.

"Okay, ew, can we get this meeting over with? Or is Y/n so out of it?" Leeknow yawned, laying his head on Chan's shoulder. Chan happily wrapped his arms around him, providing a snug embrace.

"Yeah, I think she can function, right, little one?" Chan asked, and Y/n responded with a small, sleepy moan that made him chuckle. "First off, Y/nnie," he said, catching her gaze through her lashes and drawing a few 'awwwws' from the pack. "I'm sorry for the way the boys reacted. It was absolutely unacceptable, and I've made sure it won't happen again."

"Oppa!" Y/n shrieked in surprise, her eyes widening.

"No, I didn't kill them! They're just in a time-out or whatever you want to call it," Chan quickly reassured her, noticing her relief. "Y/n, you're safe here. I promise, as your pack alpha, no one will hurt you—not even if they're in the pack. We are all about love here, and Hyunjin's ego problem is just part of who he is. Just ask Han."

"Ugh! When I joined, he was the worst," Han added with a dramatic sigh.

"Tell me about it! These two used to throw things at each other and weren't even allowed to be in the same room," Changbin groaned, rubbing his face in frustration.

"It was the worst," I.N chimed in, his eyes wide with remembered horror.

"Pffttt, once I.N got headphones thrown at his head because he chose Hyunjin's side over Han's," Felix snickered, causing the room to burst into laughter.

"It's not funny, hyung!" I.N groaned, glaring at Felix. "I had a huge knot on my head and had to reassure fans that I wasn't being abused. Worst 72 hours of my life!"

"Hey! I apologized, and he learned his lesson," Han shrugged, sticking his tongue out at the younger boy.

"Yeah, you're done," I.N said, pushing Han off his lap. Han tumbled onto the carpet, and Y/n couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

"Anyways, back to the point!" Chan said, regaining everyone's attention. "Y/n, we want you to be in our pack. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, okay?" Her heart warmed at the sincerity in his voice. She nodded in response, and Chan's smile widened even more. "We have a few pack rules to go over and some things we need to straighten out—"

"Ooh, can I say the rules?" Han asked eagerly, bouncing into Chan's lap as if it were his own personal throne.

"Okay, go ahead, love," Chan said with a smile.

Han clapped his hands together enthusiastically, then turned his attention to Y/n. "Alright, alright," he began, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Number one: The most important rule. NO omega is allowed to go out without an alpha or beta at ANY point of the day, no matter what. It's dangerous and scary out there," Han said, shivering slightly as if the danger were real. "Channie-hyung says it's safer this way because no rogues will disturb us or try to kidnap or harm us."

"Yeah, that's right," Chan interjected, nodding gravely. "I know it sounds a bit demanding, but I want all of you safe no matter what. So you have to follow that rule, okay?"

"Yes, oppa," Y/n replied, her voice earnest. She actually found the rule reassuring; Han was right, she was terrified of being out alone without protection—exactly how she'd ended up kidnapped in the first place.

"Okay, next rules!" Han cleared his throat dramatically. "No visitors unless Channie-hyung is aware and confident that they're no harm. Curfew is midnight. Alphas are the only ones allowed to hunt. No leaving the house without informing each other. Dinner is usually at 8, so make sure you're here for that."

Y/n giggled at Han's enthusiastic recitation. Minho, who had been silently listening, rolled his eyes.

"This one is mostly Minho-hyung's rule," Han continued, with a cheeky grin. "No going into the kitchen unless you're told to or ask first because apparently, that's his den."

Minho huffed, crossing his arms. "Only Felix is allowed in the kitchen. I swear, if I didn't put that rule in place, the house would've been burned down by now!"

"Dramatic much?" Han teased, but a sudden pinch from Minho made him yelp. "OW! Rude!"

"Just continue," Minho grumbled, still glaring but with a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

Han rolled his eyes but was clearly enjoying himself. "Alright, alright. What was I saying? Oh right. Okay, we aren't allowed to enter Hyunjin's painting room..." Han said with a dramatic flourish. "I think that's all. We're allowed to shift but only outside. The fullmoon gets really busy so we always decide to stay in our part of the forest when we shift. The rules are pretty easy, any questions?"

Y/n shook her head, looking back at Chan, who nodded in approval.

"Alright, a bit of information for you," Chan said, his tone shifting to something more informative. "We usually leave the house at 6 a.m. for practice and other activities. If you'd rather sleep in, that's perfectly fine; Minho will probably leave some breakfast for you. Just make sure you don't skip meals, okay? And every week, we have Taco Tuesday, game night on Fridays, and sometimes we do pizza-making on Mondays." He glanced around to ensure everyone was paying attention. "Does anyone else want to add anything?"

"Whatever Chan says goes," Changbin said with a nod, "but he always makes sure we're all involved. It's all about teamwork. If you have any trouble with alphas or anything else, come to one of us. We'll take care of it." His tone was reassuring, and Y/N felt a warm flush of gratitude at their protective nature.

"U-um, Alpha—"

"Please, Y/nnie, don't call me that," Chan quickly interrupted with a soft smile. "Call me Channie, Chan, Chris, or Oppa—whatever feels right for you. Now, go ahead."

Y/n nodded, taking a deep breath before continuing timidly, "What about... heats?"

There was a brief silence, and Chan's expression softened. "Hey, there's no need to be embarrassed. It's completely normal," he said gently. Y/n's eyes widened in surprise. In her past experiences, discussing heats with alphas had always been taboo, something they avoided at all costs.

"Y/n, heats are normal," Chan continued. "We have a designated room for that, and Felix will show it to you. Do you normally handle it on your own?"

"N-no," Y/n stammered, her voice dropping to a whisper as painful memories surfaced. "Normally, we don't have a choice..." Her eyes filled with tears as she recalled how her previous situations had forced her into isolation during such times. "They just..."

She choked on her words, unable to continue. Felix, who had been listening quietly, tightened his embrace around her. The pack fell silent, sensing the gravity of her pain.

"It's okay, Y/N," Chan said softly, his voice filled with sympathy. "Here, you won't have to go through it alone. We're here to support you, and you can always rely on us. You're part of this family now, and we take care of our own."

Felix nodded, his eyes filled with reassurance. "We'll make sure you're comfortable and supported. You're never alone here, okay?"

Y/n nodded, her heart swelling with a mixture of relief and emotion. The pack's warmth and support enveloped her, providing a sense of safety she hadn't felt in a long time.

"Hyung, maybe we shouldn't talk about this right now," Felix said softly, noticing how the smaller omega tensed at the mention of heats.

Chan's concern deepened, and he quickly nodded in agreement. "Alright, we'll set this aside for now. Y/n, you can either ride it out alone or ask any of us for help. It's completely your choice. We'll make sure you have everything you need to be comfortable, and we'll take care of you."

"Really, Oppa?" Y/n's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Yes, love," Chan affirmed, his voice full of reassurance. "Is there anything else you'd like to ask?" His gaze was filled with concern for the younger omega. He wanted to understand what had happened to her to make her so wary. The thought of alphas abusing her made him seethe with anger, but he knew he needed to remain composed.

"Can... can I build a nest? I haven't done that in a while," she asked timidly.

"Of course, you can!" Chan said with a warm smile. "I was actually planning on suggesting that you order whatever you need online. Felix can help you pick the best options." He looked over at Felix, who beamed with joy at the opportunity to assist.

"And what about... pups?" Y/n's voice trembled slightly as she asked, her eyes darting nervously around the room. "Do you want me to conceive during my first heat? I have no—"

The room erupted in gasps. Felix's expression shifted to one of shock, while Chan's face turned stern but gentle.

"Y/n, no, no, no. We need to discuss that as a group when the time comes. We're not rushing you into anything, and honestly, I don't think any of us are ready for that kind of responsibility right now," Chan said, his tone firm yet caring. "Let's take things slowly. We'll get there when we're ready. Speaking of which, we may need to consider birth control options for you."

Y/n's shoulders relaxed slightly at the reassurance, and she looked at Chan with a mix of relief and gratitude. Felix continued to hold her close, his hand gently stroking her back. The pack members exchanged glances, their earlier tension replaced.

"Oh yes! I'll book her an appointment, Hyung," Minho says, sitting up with a determined look. He scribbles down a note, clearly taking charge of the situation.

Chan sighs deeply, shifting Han on his lap to make himself more comfortable. "Y/n, I do need to speak to you about something," he begins, his expression turning serious. "It's about your patches. Felix mentioned them, and we think it might be best to get you checked by a doctor as soon as possible. We want to make sure you're okay." His voice carries an edge of concern, hoping she won't become overwhelmed by the news.

"O-okay, they really are irritating," Y/n responds, her tone a mix of relief and apprehension. Chan lets out a sigh of relief as well, glad to see her accepting the suggestion without panic.

"Great! We'll schedule an appointment for tomorrow, before you all go shopping and do whatever it is you omegas like to do," Chan says with a chuckle, glancing at Han who is busy twirling the string of Chan's hoodie around his fingers. "I.N, will you be with them tomorrow while Changbin and I finish up in the studio?"

"Yeah, of course, Hyung. I don't have any plans," I.N replies. "Will Minho be joining us?"

"I don't have a choice," Minho grumbles, though there's a hint of amusement in his voice. Chan nudges his cheek with his nose, causing Minho to roll his eyes.

"Three omegas against our Innie? They'll make him run mad," Minho jokes.

"Hey!" all three omegas exclaim simultaneously, making Minho snicker.

"I'm just being honest. It's like setting up for a disaster," Minho continues, a teasing lilt in his voice.

"I'm with Minho on this one. You lot are a handful—OW!" Chan winces as Han playfully bites his shoulder. A small bite mark starts to form, and Han shrugs with a mischievous grin.

"You asked for it," Han says with a nonchalant shrug, high-fiving both Felix and Y/n. The room fills with their giggles, a warm and lighthearted atmosphere settling over everyone.

"What am I going to do with you, ugh!" Chan groans playfully.

"When will I get marked, oppa?" Y/N's voice is soft, and her eyes are filled with a mix of hope and vulnerability. The room's atmosphere shifts instantly, everyone's attention focusing on Chan. The playful banter stops as the seriousness of her question settles in.

"How about we first get you comfortable and then we can talk about marking you?" Chan says, his tone gentle but firm. He wants to assure her without rushing into anything. His intention is to make Y/N feel secure and not overwhelmed, but it seems to have the opposite effect.

Y/N's expression falters, her eyes wide with hurt and confusion. She shrinks against Felix, her omega's distress turning her form small and withdrawn. Chan notices immediately and, with a frown of concern, gently nudges Han off his lap.

"Hey, hey, come here," Chan says softly, opening his arms for Y/N. His voice is soothing, trying to bridge the gap between his intentions and her feelings. "Come to me, Y/n."

With a tentative motion, Y/n crawls into Chan's lap, her body trembling slightly. Chan wraps his arms around her, pulling her close in an attempt to comfort her. He can feel the tension in her small frame and the quiet whimpers that escape her.

"What's wrong?" Chan asks gently, his voice filled with concern. He tilts her chin up so he can meet her gaze, hoping to make her feel more secure. He notices her eyes are now gold meaning her omega was in charge right now. "Tell me what's going on."

Y/N's eyes well up with tears, and she buries her face in Chan's chest, her voice trembling as she speaks. "S-she thinks you're rejecting us. She wants your mark so bad," she whispers, her words barely audible. The hurt in her voice is clear, and Chan's heart aches for her.

"Does she want it right now?" Chan asks, his worry evident. He wants to make sure she knows that he's not rejecting her, and that he genuinely cares for her well-being.

Y/N nods slowly, her tears soaking into Chan's shirt. "Y-yes, she thinks you'll find better. She's scared. She wants to be yours," she confesses, her words filled with desperation and insecurity.

Chan's expression softens as he looks down at her, his heart breaking for her. "Oh, Y/N," he murmurs, his voice tender. "I'm not rejecting you. It's not about that at all. I just want to make sure you're comfortable and ready before we move forward. I don't want to rush you into something you're not prepared for."

He gently strokes her hair, trying to soothe her. "It's important to me that you feel safe and secure. We'll take our time with this, and we'll do it when it feels right for both of us. You're not just a mark to me. You're important, and I care about you deeply."

Y/N's sobs start to quiet down as Chan continues to hold her close, his words calming her. Felix, Han, and the rest of the pack watch with concern.

Chan continues to speak softly, his arms wrapping around Y/N protectively. "We'll take this step by step. I promise you, you're safe here. We'll make sure you're comfortable and that this is right for both of us. It's not about finding someone better; it's about making sure we both feel right about this."

Y/N finally looks up at Chan, her eyes still filled with tears but also with a glimmer of hope. "Thank you," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

🍄🌻🥞🌿

Dont forget to reblog and follow! <3

Taglist: @ihrtlix @bowsnbang @katsukis1wife @thegingerthatwaited

[christopherisfoive]

Terms and Conditions (Changbin one-shot)

Roommate AU | Changbin x Reader | Comedy + Sugesstive | College Setting

word count: 1.3 k

a/n: last one shot before the requests start coming out. also i feel so warm that so many of you actually sent me requests. I was only expecting one or two. T-T makes me so happy that you guys want more of my writing. <3

You and Changbin were never supposed to be roommates.

You were supposed to live with Mina—your quiet, soft-spoken friend from chem lab who baked banana bread and cried during Pixar movies. Not with her extremely built, extremely loud best friend who apparently thinks 3AM is a perfectly reasonable time to blast a gym playlist and deadlift in the living room.

But Mina bailed after getting into a study abroad program in Europe.

And Changbin, who “just needed a place for the semester,” slid into her spot with a duffel bag, ten tubs of protein powder, and a megawatt smile like this was some kind of blessing.

You told yourself you could handle it.

Two months later, your self-control is hanging on by a thread, and you’re convinced the universe is laughing at you.

Especially when he walks around shirtless. All. The. Time.

Now, here you are—sitting in the cramped kitchen of your shared apartment at 11:48PM, watching him absolutely obliterate a tub of protein powder like it insulted his ancestors.

"That is not one scoop," you mutter, staring as he shovels another mound into his shaker bottle.

Changbin doesn’t look up. “It’s leg day tomorrow.”

“It was leg day yesterday.”

“And?”

“And you sound like a blender when you breathe after the gym.”

He finally glances up from his protein apocalypse, one eyebrow raised. His hair is damp from a shower, sticking to his forehead. He’s shirtless, obviously, because why wouldn’t he be? And the gray sweatpants aren’t helping. You’re only human.

“You have no idea how much I hold back just to be a tolerable roommate,” he says, shaking the bottle like he’s challenging it to a fight. “I could be doing protein shots in the bathroom at 3AM. Be grateful.”

“Oh, I am. Especially when you moan while drinking it.”

“I do not moan—”

“You do. Yesterday? You drank it like it was your last request on death row.”

His mouth twitches. “Sorry I enjoy my supplements. Some of us are dedicated.”

You roll your eyes and toss a popcorn kernel at him. It bounces off his shoulder.

He picks it up. Eats it.

“You’re lucky I’m not territorial angel,” he says, mouth full. “You keep stealing my stuff.”

“I borrowed one scoop of pre-workout.”

“For what? Running your mouth?”

Your jaw drops. “Wow.”

“Wow what?” He grins. “Wanna fight about it?”

You stand. “I’ll win.”

“You’re like half my size.”

“I have rage strength.”

“You have cartoon character energy.”

You’re in each other’s faces now, barely six inches apart. You hadn’t meant to close the distance, but the smirk on his lips dared you to, and now neither of you is backing down.

His eyes flicker down—just once—to your lips.

And there it is.

That quiet shift.

The silence between a joke and a mistake.

You swallow. “This is a really bad idea.”

Changbin’s voice drops. “What is?”

“Whatever this is.”

“We’re just talking,” he says, tone too low, too easy. “Having a little midnight bonding.”

Your heart is hammering. You want to step back. You really do.

But then he leans in, just a fraction, breath warm against your cheek.

“You gonna take more of my protein powder, baby?” he murmurs.

You blink. “What the hell.”

“Sorry,” he says quickly, laughing. “Slipped out.”

“Yeah, okay. Keep it in your pants, gym boy.”

“Can’t promise anything if you keep staring at me like that.”

“I’m not staring.”

“You’re absolutely staring.”

There’s another beat of silence.

Your voice comes out quieter. “You’re not as annoying when you’re quiet like this.”

He tilts his head, eyes never leaving yours. “You’re not as mean when your voice goes all soft like that.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

It’s only a second.

But it lingers.

You finally clear your throat. “Goodnight, Changbin.”

You turn and walk off—quick, firm steps, refusing to let him see your expression.

You don’t see the smile tugging at his lips.

Or the way he whispers, “Yeah. Night, baby,” under his breath.

It’s 1:30AM, and you’re standing in the kitchen, hunting for something to snack on—because why not eat half your weight in chips when you're trying to avoid sleep?

The silence between you and Changbin has been stretched thin ever since your brief moment in the living room. It’s not that you’re avoiding each other—well, maybe you are—but it's mostly because you know if either of you opens your mouth, you're gonna say something ridiculous.

“Found them,” you mutter to yourself as you pull open a cupboard.

Suddenly, Changbin appears next to you, and you don’t even notice until your elbow accidentally jabs into his ribs.

“Ow—what the hell?” Changbin huffs, taking a step back, but in the process, his foot hits the trash can, sending it tumbling across the floor.

You panic. “No!” You scramble forward to catch it, but you’re too late—your hand shoots out, and in a clumsy attempt to steady yourself, you slam into him.

Changbin stumbles back, and you’re completely off balance now. His body collides with yours, and suddenly, your face is inches from his. Your hands fly to his chest, but he’s already got his arms around you to keep you from falling flat on your face.

And then—like the universe just decided to mess with you both—your lips land right on his.

It’s a full kiss. Not a light peck, not a brush of lips—no, you accidentally full-on kiss Changbin like it’s something you’ve been doing for years.

You freeze.

Changbin freezes.

The moment drags out for way too long, and you’re both too stunned to move.

You pull back first, but not before you notice the way his lips look swollen and the breath he’s holding in.

“Uh…” you clear your throat. “Sorry. That was—”

“Yeah, it was,” he says quickly, his voice rougher than usual.

“I didn’t mean to—”

He cuts you off with a smirk.

“Didn’t mean to kiss me like that?”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t mean to kiss you at all, okay?”

He grins wider. “Mhm. I’m pretty sure that’s the second time you’ve said that.”

“I swear to god—”

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” he adds, watching you closely as you try to compose yourself. He leans closer, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Now, I’m curious, Y/N. What’s it feel like?”

You blink. “What’s what feel like?”

“Kissing me.”

Your face goes hot.

“You’re unbelievable,” you say, flustered and trying to get back to your bag of chips.

“Come on. You can’t just kiss me and not talk about it.” He steps in front of you, blocking the pantry. “You can’t get away with that.”

You shove at his chest lightly, but Changbin stays right there, a little too close for comfort.

“I wasn’t kissing you on purpose,” you protest, crossing your arms defensively.

Changbin grins, leaning in even closer, his voice dropping lower. “Really? Because it seemed pretty intentional to me. What’s it like to kiss someone this handsome?”

You’re about to smack him, but instead, you breathe out an exasperated laugh.

“I hate you sometimes.”

He smirks. “I know you don’t. You wouldn’t have kissed me if you did.”

You glare at him, trying to hide your smile, but it's impossible.

“You know,” he continues, eyes gleaming, “I think this whole ‘not being in a relationship’ thing is getting old.”

You narrow your eyes. “We live together. We’re basically in a relationship.”

“Hmm.” He raises an eyebrow. “So, when are you gonna kiss me again? Accidentally, of course.”

You groan. “I didn’t—”

He steps back, clearly satisfied. “Yeah, sure. Keep denying it.”

You walk past him to grab your chips, and Changbin calls after you.

“You know,” he says casually, “I’m just gonna say it. I think we should kiss again, but on purpose this time.”

You flip him off without turning around.

[linoxpudding]

Inches In Between Us

summary: moment where you and him are caught too close for comfort… or maybe just close enough, tension simmers

pairing: skz x gn!reader

genre: slight angst, fluff, forced proximity trope

a/n: this one’s been sitting in my drafts forever (based on this request) I took my time crafting each moment to really bring the tension and emotion to life! comment below and let me know which scene had your heart doing somersaults ♡

Masterlist

~°~

Bang Chan (established relationship)

You flew across two countries just to see him.

You told yourself it was worth it—the late-night packing, the long airport waits, the time off you had to beg your manager for. You missed him. You missed you and him, and those Facetimes squeezed between rehearsals weren’t enough.

But now, sitting stiffly on the plush leather seat of the tour bus, knees locked together and jaw tight with frustration, you weren’t sure why you bothered.

You had claimed the wide back row—meant to seat four or five—but you sat all the way in the corner, facing the window, hoping to be left alone.

Chan’s voice had barely left your ears since the fight earlier—sharp words you both didn’t mean, silence that hurt more than shouting. He’d said he needed space.

So, you decided to give it to him.

Now that the schedule was over, the members and staff had scattered across the bus, most of them slouched in the two-seaters lining either side of the aisle. Some had earbuds in, some quietly scrolled their phones, but no one said a word about the tension radiating from the very back.

Chan climbed in last.

For a second, you thought—hoped—he’d take one of the many empty two-seaters. Maybe even sit with Minho or Changbin, who were already half-asleep a few rows ahead.

But no. He walked straight to the back and slid into the long seat. Not just the seat—but right next to you. Right up against you.

You blinked at him. “Seriously?”

In response, he just leaned back with a soft exhale, gaze forward.

Annoyed, you got up and moved to a two-seater near the middle of the bus. You didn’t look at him.

Seconds later, the seat dipped beside you again.

You didn’t even have to look to know it was him. The quiet, stubborn presence. That familiar scent. The way your thigh brushed against his because the seat was narrow and neither of you budged.

You huffed, loud enough for only him to hear, but said nothing. You didn’t want to draw attention. Not to the fight. Not to how your heart still sped up when he was near—even now.

His thigh pressed against yours, his shoulder brushing yours. There wasn’t enough room not to touch unless you climbed out the window. You didn’t move. Neither did he.

You refused to look at him, eyes glued to the streetlights racing by outside. Still, you felt him— his quiet sigh, his fidgeting fingers. The way he turned his body toward you, even if he didn’t say a word.

"You’re really not gonna say anything?" he finally whispered, voice low enough that no one in front could hear.

You shrugged.

"You were the one who said you needed space," you murmured bitterly, still not looking.

He was silent for a long second, then said, "Yeah. I was wrong."

"You can’t just say stuff like that and expect it to go away, Chan."

"I know," he said. "That’s why I’m here. In your space. Because I don’t want it. I want you."

“You told me to fly out. You wanted me here. And then you barely looked at me all day.”

Chan’s jaw tensed. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You think that makes it better?” Your voice cracked. “I cleared my schedule, booked time off, flew across countries just to watch you pull away from me every second. I know what dating an idol means, Chan, but this—this felt different.”

He looked like he’d been punched. “I know. I messed up.”

He reached for your hand, tentative. You let him, but didn’t squeeze back yet.

“I thought if I focused on the tour stuff first, I could make time for you later. But I just pushed you away, I’m sorry, baby.”

You turned to the window again, biting your lip.

“I was just excited to see you,” you whispered. “And you made me feel like an afterthought.”

Chan exhaled shakily. “You’re not. You’re the only part of this I don’t want to mess up.”

His voice was rough, edged with guilt.

“For the rest of today, I’m yours,” he said, gently pulling your intertwined hands to his chest. “No staff. No members. Just us. And I swear, I won’t let you feel like this again. Let me fix it.”

You hesitated. But you looked at him and there it was again: that open, vulnerable gaze only you ever got. He was looking at you— eyes glassy, sincere, scared.

So you nodded.

He leaned in, his voice even quieter.

"You can keep being mad at me. I’ll sit here the whole ride, touching your knee like a loser, until you’re ready to forgive me. I just… I don’t want this silence anymore."

Your anger crumbled a little at the edges. He was ridiculous. Dramatic. Stubborn. And yours.

You huffed, barely hiding the smile tugging at your lips. "You’re squishing me."

"Good," he said, bumping your shoulder gently. "I missed you."

You let your head drop onto his shoulder, just for a second. “You’re lucky we’re in public.”

He smirked. “Trust me. I know.”

Lee Know (frenemies)

It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend. A break from the city, from work, from stress.

A weekend camping trip with all your friends consisting of a bonfire, setting up tents, good food, and no cell service— sure, it sounded cute on paper. Until you found out Lee Minho was coming too.

Minho. The eye-roll king. Your arch nemesis in every group chat and game night. The one who always had something smug to say, who knew exactly how to push your buttons and enjoyed doing it.

So, here you were, standing in the middle of a forest clearing with an uneven patch of dirt under your shoes, mosquitoes humming in your ears, and Minho—a.k.a. your personal plague—stretching beside you like he owned the woods.

You didn’t even want to make eye contact.

“Alright!” Chan clapped his hands. “Everyone gets paired up in tents—but, to make things fun, we’re drawing sticks.”

Groans went up immediately, mostly from you and Jeongin.

“What is this? Summer camp?” you muttered.

“Exactly,” Felix grinned, holding out the small bundle of color-coded sticks. “Pick your destiny!”

One by one, your friends picked sticks, with excitement and curiosity filling the air.

You pulled yours last. It was red.

And then your heart sank.

“Red too,” Minho called casually, holding his up and locking eyes with you.

You blinked. “No. Nope. Pick again.”

He smirked. “Aw, are you scared of sharing a tent with me?”

“More like scared for my sanity.”

You whipped around to Han. “Please, just switch with me. I’ll give you my hoodie—the one you love. Or that extra brownie from earlier!”

Jisung burst out laughing, already dragging his guitar to a fancy-looking tent. “Can’t switch! I got the one with the LED light strip and padded floor. I’m not giving THAT up for your romantic tension!”

“There is no tension,” you barked. “Only rage!”

Minho was already walking toward your sad, lopsided tent, humming like he was enjoying every second of your meltdown. You shot pleading eyes at Chan, at Hyunjin, at anyone—but they were all pretending to be busy adjusting gear or unrolling mats.

Betrayal. Pure betrayal.

Sighing dramatically, you picked up your bag and trudged after Minho, muttering curses under your breath. Grumbling and defeated, you stomped into the tent, tossing your bag to the far corner. The inside was cozier than you expected, but that didn’t mean you were happy about it. 

“Okay but seriously,” you said, peering into the tent, “why is there only one camping mattress?”

Minho, behind you, tsked. “You lost. I shouldn’t have to suffer.”

“You think I didn’t suffer the moment I saw your face and ‘red stick’ in the same moment?”

He didn’t answer, just ducked inside and threw his sleeping bag onto the narrow mattress—if you could even call it that. It was barely wider than your body, lumpy, and definitely not meant for two.

“Oh, hell no,” you snapped, following him in. “That’s not just yours.”

Minho raised an eyebrow as he flopped down and smirked. “You wanna sleep on the floor then?”

“No. You sleep on the floor.”

“I got here first.”

You both stared at each other for a moment. The unspoken war was real. 

“Fine. I’m not giving it up,” you stubbornly said and climbed in.

There was maybe—maybe—three inches of space between your bodies. Arms touching. Legs bumping. Shoulders pressed awkwardly side-by-side.

This was not ideal.

“Stop moving,” you hissed as he adjusted.

“You’re poking me with your elbow!”

“You’re hogging the blanket!”

“Your knee is in my spine!”

A moment passed.

Silence.

Then, somehow—inevitably—you both stilled. The night was quiet outside the tent, filled only with the distant crackling fire and soft murmurs from the others. Inside, the air was warm. Heavy.

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest. Every little breath.

His eyes met yours. And you didn’t look away.

The bickering faded. The closeness became unbearable in a different way. His face was inches from yours, eyes flickering from your mouth to your gaze and back again.

Your heart pounded. Loud. Messy. Dangerous.

“Don’t snore,” you broke the silence.

“I don’t snore,” Minho piped up, rolling his eyes. “But I do talk in my sleep. Usually insults.”

“You’re really annoying,” you whispered.

“So are you,” he replied quietly.

But he didn’t move away. And neither did you. His hand brushed yours under the blanket. Barely touching. But enough to make your breath hitch.

You both leaned in—slow, tentative, until your noses almost touched—

“Yah! Who stole the marshmallows?!”

Han’s voice rang outside the tent and you both jerked away like you’d been electrocuted.

Minho cleared his throat, turning stiffly onto his side. “Sleep. Now.”

You swallowed hard, heart racing, facing the opposite direction.

But long after the outside voices faded, you stayed awake, replaying that moment—one breath away from disaster.

*************************************

The sun had barely risen over the quiet campsite, dew still clinging to the grass and birds chirping in the distance. Most tents were still zipped up, the fire pit long gone cold.

Han yawned dramatically as he and Hyunjin wandered toward your tent, both of them tasked with rounding people up for breakfast duty. "Let’s just yell and run," Han muttered. "Classic wake-up strategy."

Hyunjin shushed him. “No, I want to see their faces. Especially those two.”

Han smirked. “Ohhh right. Mortal enemies sharing a tent. Bet they killed each other in their sleep.”

They unzipped the tent slowly, careful not to wake any potential dragons.

But what they did see stopped them in their tracks.

Inside, the two of you were a complete mess of limbs—your arm flopped across Minho’s chest, his hand loosely resting on your waist, legs tangled beneath the thin blanket. One of his knees was even wedged between your thighs, and your face was tucked into the crook of his neck.

Utterly relaxed. Peaceful. Intimate.

Hyunjin let out a quiet gasp. “Oh my God.”

Han clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes wide. “Dude. What… the hell?”

Hyunjin grinned. “So the tension finally melted.”

Han whispered, “Yeah. Into a puddle of cuddles and potential kisses? Do you think they kissed?”

Hyunjin smirked, “It might’ve happened.”

They slipped away without waking either of you—though Han did snap a silent photo on his phone, “just for documentation.”

However, the quiet rustling outside was just enough to stir you.

You blinked, stretching a little—only to freeze the second you realized something was very wrong.

Your cheek wasn’t against your pillow.

It was on someone's chest.

Warm. Steady. Rising and falling slowly beneath you.

You shifted just a little—and then you noticed it. Minho’s arm around your waist. One of your legs slung over his. His hand resting lightly on your back.

You nearly stopped breathing.

And just then, he stirred too—brow furrowing, eyes fluttering open. He blinked once. Twice. Then looked down.

Right at you.

There was a beat of silent realization. Eyes locking. Tension crackling in the small, stuffy tent.

Your breath caught. His hand twitched on your back.

“…You—”

“This isn’t—” you both started at once.

You scrambled back in a panic, elbowing the tent wall as you untangled your legs and rolled toward the exit. “I—I didn’t mean to—!”

“You’re the one who shoved me over in your sleep!” he whisper-hissed, equally flustered, hair a mess and voice rough from sleep.

You yanked the zipper open and practically ran out, heart pounding, cheeks burning.

The morning air slapped your face as you stumbled into the open, hoping no one saw. (Too late.)

From the campfire pit, Han and Hyunjin exchanged a look—and then burst into laughter.

Inside the tent, Minho sat up, running a hand through his hair and muttering to himself.

“…So dramatic.”

But even as he said it, a faint, undeniable smile pulled at his lips.

Because your warmth still lingered on his skin.

And that moment—however brief—was now burned into him.

*************************************

Back at the communal camp kitchen, Han was making scrambled eggs while Hyunjin cut fruit, both humming softly. Minho emerged from the trees a while later, hair a bit messy, lips pressed in a line as he poured water into the kettle like nothing happened.

“You sleep okay?” Han asked innocently.

Minho side-eyed him. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Han shrugged. “You know. Considering the person you used to say you’d rather fight a bear than share a tent with.”

Minho didn’t look up. “Shut up. There’s nothing between us.”

But then he hesitated. Almost like something tugged at him.

And when he glanced over his shoulder, there you were—laughing at something Felix said, your cheeks squished adorably in the cool air, your hair a mess from sleep. You tossed your head back as you laughed, eyes sparkling while Minho was watching. And he smiled softly. Almost in a daze, like it bloomed out of his chest before he even knew it was there.

Han caught it, catching the way Minho lingered just a second too long before turning back around.

He didn’t say anything.

He just smiled too—watching his best friend quietly fall.

Seo Changbin (friends to lovers)

Changbin’s apartment smelled like buttered popcorn and clean laundry.

It was your favorite place to be lately—low lights, cozy blanket, a ridiculous action movie playing on the screen, and him beside you, warm and familiar. Your legs were tangled casually over his, a bowl of popcorn between you, laughter spilling out as some over-the-top fight scene played.

"This is the dumbest movie you’ve made me watch," you grinned, tossing a popcorn kernel at him.

Changbin caught it in his mouth effortlessly and winked. "Admit it. You love it."

"I love mocking it," you teased, nudging his thigh with your foot.

He caught your ankle before you could pull back, grinning wickedly. “You sure you want to start something?”

You wiggled your toes defiantly. “What, you’re gonna fight me?”

“I could win.”

“You wish, Seo Changbin.”

That’s all it took.

Suddenly, the popcorn bowl was tossed aside, and you were squealing, squirming, as Changbin tackled you onto the couch in a flurry of limbs and laughter.

It wasn’t serious—just a mess of soft slaps, blocked pokes, mock grunts. You wrestled, pushing at his shoulders, but he was strong and quick, playful growls leaving his throat as he countered every move with ease.

“Okay, okay, I take it back!” you laughed breathlessly, trying to twist away.

He caught your wrists.

One smooth motion, and you were pinned flat against the couch cushions, Changbin hovering above you—knees on either side of your hips, hands holding yours gently but firmly down beside your head.

The laughter stopped. Well everything… stopped.

His chest was rising and falling, breath just a little uneven. Your wrists burned under his fingers, not from pressure but from presence. The movie still played in the background, but it was a muffled hum now—nothing compared to the thunder of your heart.

He was close. Too close.

His face hovered just above yours, eyes flickering over every part of your expression—your parted lips, your wide eyes, the heat that was now unmistakably there in both of your gazes.

Neither of you moved.

You swallowed hard. “Are you gonna let me up?”

He didn’t blink. “Do you want me to?”

You couldn’t answer.

Because maybe you didn’t want him to.

Your silence stretched. His grip loosened ever so slightly, just enough that your hands could move if you wanted—but you didn’t pull away. Not yet.

Your fingers curled around his wrists instead, and his breath caught audibly.

“You’re dangerous,” you whispered.

He leaned a little closer, voice low. “You bring it out in me.”

For a second—just a second—he dipped his head, your noses brushing, lips almost meeting. Almost.

But he hesitated. Like he needed permission. Like he didn’t want to cross a line unless you asked him to.

“Binnie…” you breathed, and that was all it took.

His forehead touched yours. Not a kiss, not yet—but his weight above you, his warmth, the want in his eyes was enough to melt you.

“You’re more than just a friend to me,” he murmured. “I’ve been trying to hide it for so long, but when you look at me like that—”

You surged up just enough to press your lips to his.

Soft. Careful. But charged like fire.

He kissed you back like he’d been waiting forever.

Changbin’s lips lingered on yours like he wasn’t ready to let go just yet.

You watched him in that small, quiet moment—his lashes brushing his cheeks, his hands still cradling your wrists. He looked… vulnerable. Not like the loud, confident Changbin who barked laughs and flexed his arms to annoy you. This was different.

He finally opened his eyes and met your gaze—softer now. Nervous, even.

“So…” he said, voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “Now what?”

Your heart flipped.

You smiled shyly and tugged your hands free, only to lace your fingers with his. “Now,” you whispered, “you help me up, because you’re crushing me.”

A breathless laugh escaped him, and he immediately rolled off to the side, reaching down to help you sit up. “Sorry,” he said, a little flushed. “Didn’t mean to KO you on the first date.”

You both paused.

You tilted your head. “So this is a date now?”

He looked a little caught, but the smile never left his face. “I mean… if you want it to be.”

You nudged his knee with yours. “Only if it ends with another kiss.”

Changbin turned bright red, chuckled, and rubbed the back of his neck. “You’re gonna make fun of me forever for this, aren’t you?”

You leaned in, close enough that your noses touched again, your voice barely a breath. “Probably.”

He kissed you again—quick, sweet, like he couldn’t help himself.

Then he got up, held out his hand, and pulled you to your feet. Still holding on. Still close.

“So,” he said again, this time with a grin, “sleepover rules still apply. I’m making ramen. You’re picking the next movie. And maybe later, we kiss again.”

You smirked, tugging him toward the kitchen. “We’ll see if you earn it.”

“Hey!” he whined playfully. “I pinned you! That’s gotta count for something!”

“It counts as me letting you win, obviously.”

“Oh, it’s on.”

And just like that, you were back to bickering—but now, between the sarcasm and the teasing, were shy glances, soft smiles, and the kind of tension that didn’t need words anymore.

You’d always been close. Now, you were closer than ever.

Hwang Hyunjin (crushing on seonbae)

It was your second week as a trainee for a new girl group under JYP Entertainment, and you had already learned that the training schedule was intense. You were still trying to find your rhythm in a world filled with highly talented idols, and it felt like everything was moving too fast. You spent most of your time in the practice rooms, working on vocal exercises, choreography, and dance routines.

One day, after a particularly long session, you found yourself taking a quick break to catch your breath. You'd never thought you'd meet Hyunjin from Stray Kids during your training, but here you were, sitting in the corner of the studio, trying to recover from a grueling dance practice. He was in the middle of a solo routine, and you couldn’t help but watch, captivated by his flawless movements. The way he danced was mesmerizing, and for a moment, you forgot everything around you. You did harbour a huge secret crush on him. 

When his practice ended, he caught you staring, a playful smirk appearing on his face. “Like what you see?” he asked with a teasing tone.

Caught off guard, you blushed, quickly looking away. “Oh! Uh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“No need to apologize,” he interrupted, walking over to where you were sitting. “I saw you struggling with your choreography earlier. Need some help?”

You blinked, surprised by his offer. You had only been a trainee for a short time, and the idea of dancing with someone like Hyunjin made you nervous. But his smile was disarming, and you could tell he genuinely wanted to help.

"Actually, yes," you admitted, standing up. "I can't quite get the moves down for our routine. Maybe you could show me some tips?"

Hyunjin grinned, taking his place in front of you. "No problem. I'll teach you the basics, and we'll see if we can make it a little more fun."

He started by showing you the footwork, his body moving effortlessly to the beat. You mimicked his movements, but the steps felt awkward under your feet. Hyunjin noticed immediately and gave a little chuckle.

“You’re overthinking it,” he said, gently placing his hands on your shoulders. “Relax. You’re supposed to feel the music, not stress about the steps.”

His hands lingered just a second too long, and you felt a heat rush to your cheeks. You took a deep breath, nodding. “I’ll try again.”

You continued practicing, and as the movements started to feel more natural, Hyunjin encouraged you with small comments here and there. The choreography was getting better, but you were still a little offbeat.

"Okay, how about this," Hyunjin suggested. "Let’s do the next part together. I'll guide you."

Before you could say anything, he stood close behind you, his hand lightly resting on your waist to help guide your movements. His proximity caught you off guard, and your heart skipped a beat. The way his body was pressed against yours, his warmth radiating onto you, was almost overwhelming. You could feel his breath on the back of your neck as he leaned in to correct your posture.

“Here, just like this,” he said, adjusting your hips with his hands. The touch was gentle, but the closeness made it impossible to ignore the sudden tension in the air. You could feel your body growing tense, unsure of how to act with him so near.

His grip shifted slightly, and you found yourself in an almost perfect mirror of his stance. "See?" Hyunjin smiled, his voice low. "Much better."

The way his eyes locked onto yours made your breath catch in your throat. The dance had become less about learning the moves and more about the unspoken connection forming between you two in the space. His hands were still guiding you, his touch firm but soft, and every movement seemed to bring you closer together.

You both continued practicing, but it wasn’t long before the movements became more fluid, and you realized that it wasn’t just the choreography that was making you feel this way. Hyunjin’s presence, his proximity, was stirring something in you. Every time he adjusted your form, his hand would brush against your skin, sending a shiver through your body. Your heart beat faster, and the air between you felt heavier, charged with an unspoken tension.

At one point, you made a small mistake and spun the wrong way, causing your bodies to collide. For a brief second, you both froze, trapped in a moment of unintended intimacy. Hyunjin’s chest was pressed against your back, his arms still holding you in place as you both tried to steady yourselves. His breath hitched slightly, and you could feel his heartbeat racing against your skin.

You locked eyes, and for a second, everything else faded. The studio, the other trainees, the music—it was just the two of you, caught in this unexpectedly close moment. The space between you was nonexistent. The gentle brush of his fingers on your arm sent a jolt of electricity through you.

“Well,” Hyunjin said, his voice now husky, as he reluctantly stepped back, breaking the tension. “I guess we got a little… carried away.”

You bit your lip, trying to steady yourself. “I—I didn’t expect that,” you murmured.

He smiled, a little sheepishly. "Yeah, me neither. But hey, at least the moves are starting to look good, right?"

You nodded, though your thoughts were still a little scattered from the closeness you’d just shared. You both stood there for a moment, the silence between you filled with the lingering tension that neither of you dared to acknowledge.

“Well, if you ever need more help," Hyunjin said, his voice returning to its usual playful tone, "I’m just a call away.”

You gave a small, nervous smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As he left the practice room, you stayed behind for a few moments longer, your heart still racing from the unexpected intimacy of the dance. There was a mix of excitement and confusion swirling inside you. What was that? Was it just the dance, or was there something more there?

You didn’t have time to answer your own questions because, as a trainee, there was always another routine to learn, another move to perfect. But as you left the studio later that day, your mind kept returning to the way Hyunjin had touched you, the way he’d held you close, and how in that one moment, you couldn’t tell if it was just dance… or something more.

Han Jisung (secretly dating)

It was game night, a regular gathering with the boys at their dorm, where laughter and playful competition filled the air. You'd been looking forward to this night, to unwind and enjoy their company, especially Han Jisung's. You were secretly dating him, keeping it low-key for the time being, but lately, it felt like a secret you wanted to shout from the rooftops. There was just one problem—you didn’t know how to tell the others without making things awkward.

Tonight, everyone was hyped up and playing a board game, the atmosphere light and buzzing with friendly rivalry. The stakes had gotten higher as the rounds went on, and the trash talk was flying. You and Felix had become a bit of an invincible duo—strategizing, making each other laugh, and working seamlessly together. 

But as Hyunjin leaned back in his chair with a smirk and exclaimed, “Oh my god, Felix and Y/N, you guys are totally an unbeatable duo!” the comment seemed to hit differently. Jisung, who had been quiet for a while, stiffened beside you, his eyes momentarily narrowing as he watched you laugh along with Felix.

You noticed the subtle change in his demeanor. A quiet jealousy simmered beneath his usual playful and easy-going attitude. You felt your stomach tighten with an instinctive pull toward him. Felix, oblivious to the shift, was still bantering with Hyunjin.

But Jisung was different. He was unusually quiet, and the energy in the room had shifted in a way that only you could sense. You could feel his gaze lingering on you for a little too long, and it made your heart race—nervous, excited. The tension between you two was palpable, something you both tried to keep under wraps.

As the game continued, you couldn't help but glance over at Jisung. His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. His playful vibe had shifted into something more guarded. It wasn’t like him to stay quiet for so long, and it made you feel uneasy, like you had inadvertently caused the shift in the air.

Felix was deep in conversation with Hyunjin, while the others were absorbed in the game, but you couldn’t focus anymore. You excused yourself from the table, slipping into the hallway in an attempt to get some space. You figured you could give Jisung a moment to cool down or maybe even talk about whatever had been bothering him.

But before you could walk further, Jisung was there. You didn’t even hear him approach, but suddenly his hand was on your wrist, and he was gently tugging you toward the hallway leading to his room. “Hey, where are you going?” you asked, trying to keep the casual tone.

He didn’t respond right away, his grip firm but gentle. There was a certain intensity to his gaze now—his eyes darkened slightly, and his usual teasing smile was replaced with something more serious. “I need to talk to you,” he muttered, his voice low.

You didn’t say anything. You knew this wasn’t just about the game anymore.

When you reached his room, Jisung quickly closed the door behind you, his hand resting on the handle for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. The two of you stood in the middle of the room for a few seconds, the air thick with unspoken words.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t like the way you two were... getting so close. Felix and you, laughing together like that.” His eyes were intense, full of something you hadn’t seen before—something raw. “It’s not like you’ve done anything wrong, but… it makes me feel something I don’t know how to handle.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You stepped closer to him, instinctively. “Hannie…” you began, but he interrupted you.

“I want to tell them, baby. I want to tell everyone we’re together,” he said, his hand gripping yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles gently, though his voice was firm. “I’m tired of pretending like we’re just friends.” He took a step closer, his face inches from yours now. His breath was warm against your skin, and you could feel his heart racing in his chest, matching yours.

The proximity was overwhelming, intoxicating, and for a moment, you forgot everything around you—the noise of the game, the others in the house. It was just him, and the desire in his eyes. You couldn’t lie to yourself any longer; you felt the same way. You had been trying to ignore it, keeping your relationship under wraps for the sake of the group, but in that moment, it all felt like too much to keep inside.

You swallowed, struggling to find the right words. “I want to tell them too, baby. I really do. But…” you hesitated. “Do you think they’ll understand?”

Jisung’s eyes softened, and he gently cupped your cheek with his free hand. “It’s not about them understanding,” he said, his voice tender now, the tension easing from his shoulders. “It’s about us. I want to be open with everyone, especially with you. You mean so much to me.”

The words hung in the air, a promise wrapped in vulnerability. You were quiet for a beat, the intensity of the moment consuming you. Slowly, you nodded. “Okay. Let’s tell them. Together.”

He smiled, the usual playful glint returning to his eyes, but there was still an undercurrent of sincerity. Without another word, he closed the gap between you two and kissed you, soft and slow, as if savoring the moment that had been a long time coming. The kiss deepened, both of you letting go of the tension and unspoken feelings you’d been holding onto.

When you pulled away, your foreheads touched, breaths mingling. He whispered, “I’m so glad you’re mine.”

You smiled, your heart lighter than it had been in weeks. “Me too,” you said softly.

From that moment on, there was no more hiding. You were his, and he was yours, and that was all that mattered.

Lee Felix (colleagues to lovers)

The music video shoot had gone longer than expected, and most of the staff had either stepped out for a break or were busy resetting lights outside. The trailer where touch-ups usually happened—the one usually buzzing with stylists, cords, and brushes—was now completely empty.

You were the only one there, you were sitting on the couch scrolling through your phone when Felix popped in, flashing that signature grin and muttering, “Hyung said I need my hair re-gelled. Sorry,” like he was inconveniencing you, even though it was literally your job.

“Sit,” you said, trying to sound normal. Professional.

But nothing about Felix ever let you stay fully calm. Not the way he tugged off his jacket with one hand and tossed it lazily on the couch. Not the way his damp dark hair curled against his forehead, making him look more boyish, more human, than the stage idol version everyone else saw.

You stood behind him, gently combing through his roots. The gel hadn’t fully set, and you needed to rework it from the front.

"Can you tilt your head back?" you asked.

He did, but the angle was awkward. He sat too low in the chair, so you had to lean forward, your hips brushing the armrest. When you reached to push his fringe back, your chest nearly grazed his shoulder.

He stilled. You froze.

Then, in one ungraceful second, your foot slipped against the leg of the chair. Your balance tipped forward—too fast to catch. A small gasp escaped you as your knees bumped the edge, and suddenly you were no longer standing.

You landed on him.

Your hands flew to his shoulders to steady yourself, but it was too late—your body was already pressed against his, knees planted on either side of his lap, your faces just inches apart.

His breath ghosted across your cheek. Warm. Shaky.

Neither of you moved.

“Sorry—” you whispered, trying to push yourself back up.

But his hands had found your waist. Not tight, not holding, just there. Warm, grounding. And when your eyes met, something shifted.

“No—” he breathed, voice quieter than you’d ever heard. “Don’t move.”

Your breath caught.

“Felix—”

“I didn’t mind… I mean, it’s okay. I just…” His stammered.

You blinked at him, heart hammering, heat blooming across your chest and neck. You’d danced around this for weeks—maybe months.

The lingering stares, the way his smile always stretched wider when you were near. But this…

His hands were still on your waist. And for a moment, neither of you moved.

The only sound was the low hum of a distant monitor and your heartbeat hammering in your chest.

Then, slowly, his fingers reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch barely grazing your skin. The motion was so gentle, so intimate, that it made your breath hitch. And the moment his hand dropped, his eyes widened—like he hadn’t realized what he was doing until it was already done.

“I—I didn’t mean to—sorry, that was—” he breathed, voice shaky.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. His cologne wrapped around you like a net, grounding and dizzying all at once.

“I just—” he went on, swallowing, “God, I’m sorry.”

You stared down at him.

His face was already flushed pink, his eyes still locked on yours like he wasn’t sure if he should let go or pull you closer.

“I didn’t mind,” you said quietly.

He blinked.

“What?”

Your voice came out softer this time, more vulnerable. “I didn’t mind. That you touched my hair.”

“Really?” he asked.

You nodded.

He exhaled through a breathless laugh, like disbelief. “Because I’ve been trying not to do anything like that since you started.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you,” he said instantly. No hesitation. Just the truth.

“And I didn’t want to make things weird. But God, you’re always so close, and you’re so gentle, and I’m pretty sure I’ve started dreaming about the way you touch my hair—”

You kissed him.

Quick. Certain. Nothing intense, just a quiet yes to everything he’d just admitted.

His hands tightened on your hips, grounding himself. “Okay,” he whispered against your lips, dazed. “Yeah. That just happened.”

You laughed softly and brushed a strand of hair from his forehead. “It did.”

“I still need to finish your look,” you teased.

He grinned, pulling you even closer. “I think you just did.”

The silence was comforting this time. Not awkward but intimate.

Kim Seungmin (sunshine x grumpy)

When Chan invited you for a quiet weekend at his countryside farmhouse, you didn’t hesitate. It had been months since you last saw your best friend—too many midnight voice notes, too many “I miss you’s” with a sad emoji tacked on at the end. So you packed a bag and drove up that Friday evening, not even bothering to ask who else would be there. 

Chan had welcomed you in with the warmest hug and whispered, “Seungmin’s here. Try not to combust.”

You elbowed him, cheeks warm. “I don’t like him.”

“Sure,” he smirked.

Of course Seungmin was here. Still just as grumpy, still refusing to smile at your stupid jokes, still never calling you by your name—just “you” or “Chan’s friend.”

And yet, somehow, you still looked for him in every room.

By Saturday night, you were full of barbecue, three glasses into a fruity drink, and cozy in an oversized hoodie. Laughter buzzed through the warm-lit living room. Chan had pulled out board games and card decks, and Hyunjin tossed on a playlist. You and Seungmin had exchanged exactly four words since arriving: “Morning,” “Move” and “No, thanks”

After too many rounds of Mario Kart, Chan flopped onto the massive couch and clapped his hands. “Okay, new game. Seven Minutes in Heaven.”

“Are we in high-school?” you and Seungmin said in perfect sync from opposite ends of the couch.

Everyone laughed, but Chan just wiggled his eyebrows. “Come on, you’re all cowards. It’ll be fun.”

Chan started spinning a bottle, and before you could sneak away, your name was called—followed by Seungmin’s.

The room howled.

You whipped around to Chan, whispering furiously, “You rigged that!”

“Did not,” he said with a very smug expression. “Enjoy.”

The closet—tucked in the corner of the master bedroom—was dim, a little too warm, and far too tight for two people. The door shut behind you with a soft click.

“I hate them,” Seungmin muttered, already looking up at the ceiling like it might offer a hatch out.

You nervously glanced around in the little space. You took a breath. “Wow. Cozy.”

“Not really,” he said flatly.

You smiled anyway. “I forgot how much fun you are at parties.”

His lips twitched. The smallest, smallest smirk.

Minutes passed. Maybe only one. Maybe ten. You didn’t know. The quiet between you felt heavier than the night sky outside.

Then—he spoke.

“You flew all this way just to see Chan?” he asked.

Your brows rose. “Yeah, why?”

“No reason,” he said immediately, then hesitated. “Just… wondering.”

You took a step closer, trying to read him. “Why do you always look at me like I annoy you, but then keep showing up in every room I’m in?”

His jaw flexed. “You don’t annoy me.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

He pushed off the wall now, standing straighter, closer. “You’re… too much sometimes.”

You blinked. “Too much?”

“Too much sunshine. Too much sweetness. It gets under my skin.”

You smirked. “Good.”

He gave you a flat look. “This is ridiculous.”

“Then why are you blushing?”

“I’m not.”

You grinned. “You are. It’s kind of cute.”

He glanced away, jaw tightening, but the pink in his cheeks betrayed him.

You leaned in just a little. “What’s wrong, Seungmin? Closet too small? Or is it just me that’s making you all flustered?”

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“You wound me,” you gasped, hand over your chest. “I’m just being friendly.”

“Yeah, well… maybe tone it down a little.”

You tilted your head. “But I thought I was ‘too much sweetness’ and ‘gets under your skin’—don’t tell me I’m growing on you.”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you always talk this much?”

“Only when I’m stuck in a closet with my longtime crush.”

Seungmin froze.

Your eyes widened. Crap. You hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“…What?” he said after a beat, voice lower.

You scrambled. “I mean—not crush crush. I mean like, maybe. Possibly. Okay, definitely. For a long time. Like years-long. But you were always so—”

He took a step forward. You stopped babbling.

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you for a moment, then leaned in slightly, voice dry. “Chan told me you’d be here.”

“…Okay?”

“I’ve been trying to act normal since yesterday.”

“That was you acting normal?”

He smirked, just a little. “I don’t flirt like you do.”

“I don’t flirt—”

“Really?” he stepped closer, close enough that your breath caught. “Then what would you call this?”

You were backed against the shelf, heart in your throat, eyes flicking between his and his mouth. He braced one arm beside your head, gaze sharp.

“…Trouble,” you whispered.

He smirked again—wider this time. “Yeah. You’re trouble.”

And then, just before the timer outside buzzed, he kissed you.

Slow, deliberate, and nothing like the annoyed boy who always pretended you were too much.

When he pulled back, lips barely grazing yours, he whispered, “Next time, we skip the game.”

And when the door finally swung open to the cheering crowd, neither of you said a word—but the heat in your face said everything.

Yang Jeongin (brother's best friend)

You hadn’t seen Jeongin properly in almost a year—well you really haven’t seen him much since he’d debuted and got busy with his idol life. But when your brother casually mentioned, “Jeongin’s having a little dinner thing at his place. Just a few of us. You should come—it’s been forever.”  something fluttered in your chest that you tried very hard to ignore.

You’d crushed on him since you were probably twelve, back when he was just your brother’s slightly awkward best friend who always let you have the last slice of pizza. And now? Now he was I.N—idol, heartthrob, and the same boy who still texted your brother dumb memes at 2am.

You didn’t expect much when you arrived—just polite greetings, awkward small talk, maybe a few inside jokes that would go over your head. But when Jeongin opened the door…

Your heart did that stupid thing again.

He looked tired but beautiful, hoodie sleeves pushed up, the kind of soft glow that came from being around people he trusted. He looked mature now—fame-polished, confident, sharper around the edges—but you still saw glimpses of the boy who used to chase your brother through your backyard, who used to steal popsicles from your freezer and grin like he won the lottery.

“Hey,” he smiled, eyes flickering over your face for a second too long. “Didn’t know you were coming.”

“My brother dragged me,” you said lightly.

Jeongin tilted his head, still holding the door open. “Good. I’m glad you’re here.”

The dinner was casual, cozy. Laughter echoed through the apartment, plates clinked, and stories flowed like old times. But something about the way Jeongin kept glancing at you when your brother wasn’t looking—when he refilled your drink before anyone else’s, when your knees accidentally touched under the table and he didn’t move away—it felt like you weren’t imagining it anymore.

It wasn’t until later—when everyone was a little too full and a little too tipsy and began playing loud music—that you slipped away to find some quiet. 

The bathroom was unlocked, thankfully, and you slipped in, locking the door behind you. Only to turn around and freeze.

“Oh?” you exhaled.

Jeongin stood leaning against the counter, arms crossed, he was startled to see you too.

You nodded, suddenly too aware of the small space, the way the air felt heavier between you two. You both stood there in silence, not quite looking at each other. You should leave, your mind said. Step out, apologise, pretend this didn’t feel like something.

But for some reason… you stayed.

His gaze flicked to you, then away. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Just… needed a break from all the noise,” you said softly. “Didn’t think I’d find you here too.”

He gave a half-smile. “Yeah, well. Guess we’re still in sync.” Then he shifted. “I didn’t think you’d actually come tonight.”

You shrugged, trying to ignore the way your hands felt clammy. “Yeah, well. My brother can be pretty persuasive.”

Jeongin smiled, then glanced down, almost bashful. For a second, he looked like the boy you remembered—the one who got flustered when you caught him singing in your garage.

You stepped back, “I’ll find somewhere else—”

You were about to step toward the door when he suddenly reached out and caught your wrist.

“Wait.”

You turned, startled by the contact. His hand was warm around your wrist, gentle but firm enough to make you pause.

His voice was quiet. Earnest. “How long are we gonna pretend we’re not dying to be with each other?”

Your stomach flipped.

You looked away, jaw tight. “My brother would never agree.”

He chuckled—soft, humorless. “Your brother doesn’t get to decide who I want.”

“Innie,” you warned.

He locked the door behind him.

“Innie?” he echoed, teasing. “You haven’t called me that in a while.”

You froze. “Jeongin—”

“I know. Your brother would kill me.” His voice was lower now, almost a whisper. “But it’s driving me insane, pretending I don’t feel something every time you walk into a room.”

He stepped in. Close. Too close.

“I thought I was imagining it,” he said, finally looking at you. “But the way you look at me sometimes... it doesn’t feel one-sided.”

“It’s not,” you whispered.

“Don’t tempt me,” he said, voice rough.

He pinned you to the counter so easily you couldn’t think straight.

He stepped even more closer before saying quietly. “If I kissed you right now, would you push me away?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you closed the space between you, barely a breath apart. And whispered, “I should.”

“But you won’t,” he said, voice hoarse.

“No,” you breathed, “I won’t.”

And then he kissed you—soft, hesitant at first, like he knew the line he was crossing. But when your fingers curled into his hoodie and he pulled you closer, you both forgot everything but the feeling of finally, finally not pretending.

----------------

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Forced Proximity Trope Taglist:

@4ng3l-ch1ld @dolphin-scream-s

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Different ways boyfriend!Stray Kids say "I Love You"

Warnings : food, mentions of not doing well, brief suggestive in Changbin's

A/N : Been having a hard time the last little while, so I thought I'd make some texts to help me feel better. Hopefully they bring a smile to your face as well. Also if you like TXT as well, please check out my Worlds of Love series ! Thank you 💕

@mxnsxngie @maeleelee @babyboyquokka @weird-bookworm

[sweetkpopmusings]

stray kids soulmate aus | s. changbin <3

a/n: finally posting the next skz soulmate au !! i loved writing for sweet baby angel changbin :,,,-) i'm really in my skz feels these days, so hopefully i can write more soulmate aus soon <333 pics not mine~

content: fluff, soulmate au | wc: 1.6k | warnings: none! | pairing: soulmate!changbin x gn!reader | requests: open

♡ chan | minho | changbin | hyunjin | jisung | felix | seungmin | jeongin ♡

every month, you send a package to your soulmate, knowing only your names before you meet.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“changbin?” chan called from outside the bedroom, “are you ready yet?”

changbin, half-dressed and digging through his closet, answered, “almost!”

chan peeked his head inside, tilting it in confusion, “is something wrong?”

“it doesn’t fit.”

“what doesn’t fit?”

“the new shirt i ordered. i could’ve sworn i ordered it in my usual size…ugh!”

“oh that sucks, but…can’t you just wear another shirt?”

changbin groaned, “yeah, sure, i can. the whole point was to wear that shirt today.”

hyunjin appeared in the doorway, “do you need help picking out an outfit?”

chan explained the vague situation to hyunjin, and, during that time, changbin settled for a plain black t-shirt and denim jacket that matched his jeans. the car arrived to pick them up, so, with a final loud groan, changbin grabbed his favorite necklace from his dresser and headed out for the day.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

as soon as you opened your eyes, you checked your phone to confirm today’s date. earlier that month, your soulmate, whom you only knew as “changbin,” sent you a custom t-shirt in the mail. when you unfolded the shirt, a cute handwritten note slipped out, telling you that it needed to be worn on a specific date because i’ll be wearing one just like it. it’ll be a long workday for me, so knowing that we’re matching will give me the strength to do well! please take a picture, so, one day, i can see how cute you look~~ thank you for being my good luck charm, my love <3

rolling out of bed, you smiled. you had never heard changbin’s voice, but you imagined he always had a bright tone. his messages were always so sweet. even if he sent you a glamorous gift, you cherished the handwritten note more than anything. 

with your outfit completed, photo taken, and your mood at an all-time high, you decided to make the most of your day off. hoping the soulmate airwaves connected you, you thought let’s have a good day today, changbin! i’m rooting for you! as you stepped out your front door.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚  

“all right,” chan sighed, stretching his arms, “i say we move onto the next track, yeah?”

jisung agreed, so changbin checked to see which song they needed to record next, “let’s see…ah, it’s jisung’s song, ‘volcano…’” changbin’s tone dropped, but he spoke again quickly, “who’s up first?”

changbin made a mental note to apologize to jisung later. it wasn’t jisung’s fault that they were recording the song he wrote about his soulmate on the one day when changbin ruined his attempt to have a cute moment with his soulmate. chan, sensing the shift in changbin’s energy, suggested they take a break. even the members who weren’t in a sour mood enthusiastically agreed, all shuffling out of the studio for some fresh air.  

“changbin-hyung!” felix chirped, “want to walk with me? i could use some company!”

changbin couldn’t resist the smile that formed on his face. even in his worst mood, felix’s sunshine demeanor would win him over. as they walked, they chatted about the new animation felix was obsessed with, with felix re-enacting the most interesting parts. changbin’s shoulders relaxed, and he was grateful that the evening air and felix’s voice were so healing. standing at the edge of a slightly crowded street, changbin thought that maybe the bad day was behind him.

“what’s been on your mind today?” felix asked.

“it’s going to sound so stupid.”

felix shook his head, “no way! if it upset you, then it’s not stupid.”

“okay,” changbin sighed, “today, i was supposed to wear this one shirt, but i guess i didn’t pay attention and ordered it in the wrong size. normally that wouldn’t be a big deal, but i sent y/n the same shirt. we were supposed to be matching today…kind of like a good luck charm.”

felix frowned, “i’m sorry. it never feels good when a plan doesn’t work out, especially an exciting one!” felix paused, and then grinned as brightly as he could, “you’re wearing the necklace y/n got you though! you’ve been doing great in the studio today, so that must be working like a lucky charm, right?”

“yeah, probably. it’s just…” changbin frowned, “hearing jisung’s song made me feel even worse. i’m so happy jisung met his person, but i can’t help that i’m jealous. i see how much better he feels on his bad days after he talks to his partner, and it hurts to know that i can only talk to y/n once a month through handwritten notes. it’s beautiful, and i love every word they share, but on days like today, it feels like it’s not enough…”

changbin’s voice trailed off, turning his head toward the opposite side of the street. maybe people-watching strangers could counteract the tears forming in his eyes.

felix rubbed changbin’s shoulder, “it’s okay to feel sad. i know you’ll meet y/n when the time is right, but that doesn’t make it any better in the present moment. maybe you can write out your monthly message to them tonight, if that would help?”

felix glanced over at changbin when he didn’t hear a reply after a minute or so, “changbin? are you with me?”

changbin stared down the street, captivated by someone wearing the exact shirt he was supposed to be wearing today. though his heart was racing, he doubted it was real. he had to be imagining it since he was thinking about you all day, right?

your eyes searched the crowd in front of you, as you were unable to shake the feeling that someone was looking right at you. you slowed your steps, scanning every face to find one you recognized. you were about to give up, but then a familiar necklace caught your eye. everything stopped when you met the gaze of the person wearing it. 

it felt too good to be true. how could you just run into your soulmate on a random evening, in an area you’d only been to once or twice before? besides, he wasn’t wearing the same shirt as you, which he had planned. but that necklace looked exactly like the one you gifted changbin for his birthday. even as you doubted yourself, looking at the man in front of you gave you the feeling that he was the one you had been searching for all along.

you waved at him and asked, “changbin?”

you knew you were correct the second he started giggling and jumping up and down. you laughed, every cell inside you bursting with joy because there he is!

“changbin? what’re you…” felix followed changbin’s gaze, “oh my god! is that y/n?”

felix deciphered a yes!!! amidst all of changbin’s excited noises, so he nudged changbin, “stop waving and go say ‘hello’!”

changbin bounded towards you, unable to stop his smile from growing bigger and bigger as the distance between you two finally disappeared.

“y/n! i’m so sorry i’m not wearing the shirt! i messed up and ordered the wrong size!”

you giggled at the pout that formed on his face, despite the look of pure joy in his eyes, “it’s okay, changbin! you look cute! besides, that would explain why this one isn’t in my usual size.”

“really?” changbin felt relieved, “so i didn’t mess up as badly as i thought?”

“no, not at all,” you shook your head, overwhelmed by the cuteness of changbin, your soulmate, “i can switch with you–since you must have mine in your closet–so we can match next time!”

changbin shook his head, “no way. you look way too cute in that for me to give you a different one.”

“should we share it then?” you joked.

“why shouldn’t we? we’re sharing the rest of our lives, aren’t we?”

you felt heat rush to your face at his words, bringing yet another giggle to changbin’s lips. you heard someone call his name with the news that they had to leave in a few minutes, which prompted changbin to get your contact information. the smile never left his face, even when he started to say goodbye. in his mind, nothing was more exciting than the fact that tonight, he could finally ask you how was your day, my love?

“i’ll talk to you later then, yeah?” you beamed.

“yes, please! i’m so sorry i have to leave right now, but i promise i’ll make it up to you.”

“i do not doubt that, changbin.”

you waved, watching him walk in the direction he came from. after a few steps, he turned around to look at you again.

“what’re you smiling so much for?” you giggled.

“i guess you really are my good luck charm today, y/n.”

you felt butterflies swarm inside you as your laughs mixed, filling the crowded street with pure joy and endless possibilities.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[estellan0vella]

The Romantic Trials and Tribulations of Han Peter Jisung: H.JS Han Jisung x fem!reader (College AU)

WC: 19.3K

CW: Panic Attacks and Anxiety, Sexual Harassment and Assault Attempt, Violence and Physical Assault, Jisung falls fast and hard, Discussion of mental health issues, Language barrier difficulties (reader is Brazilian-Korean), Jisung is a yapper, strangers to lovers, CurlySung with a little manbun General Masterlist SKZ Masterlist

The living room is a mess of blankets, snack wrappers, and bodies sprawled across the couch and floor. You’re wedged between Chan-hee and Kevin as the bluish glow of Twilight plays on the TV. You barely even care about the movie, half-listening as Edward broods over Bella while the real entertainment unfolds in front of you.

Juyeon and Jacob are wrestling like their lives depend on it, grunting and cursing as they roll across the floor, limbs flailing. The cause of their battle? A single, lonely piece of kimbap sitting on the coffee table, the last remnant of the meal you cooked earlier. 

“You two are fucking ridiculous,” Chan-hee says, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. “It’s one piece of kimbap.”

“It’s the last piece,” Juyeon grunts, trying to pin Jacob’s arm behind his back. “And Y/N made it. That makes it sacred."

Kevin throws his head back with a dramatic sigh. “Just fucking split it.”

“No,” Juyeon and Jacob yell at the same time, their voices muffled as they continue to struggle.

Kevin rolls his eyes and throws a popcorn kernel at them. It bounces off Jacob’s head. “You guys are fucking exhausting.”

Jacob finally manages to wriggle free, lunging for the kimbap, but Juyeon is quicker. He snatches it up, shoving it into his mouth before Jacob can stop him. 

Jacob lets out a horrified gasp, flopping onto the floor like he’s just been stabbed. “You’re dead to me,” he mutters, face buried in the carpet.

Juyeon chews triumphantly. “Worth it.”

Kevin claps his hands together. “Okay, children, now that that fucking disaster is over, tomorrow, movie marathon?”

You shift uncomfortably, tucking your hands into the sleeves of your jumper. “I... um... I can’t,” you mumble, your Portuguese accent thick as you struggle to piece the sentence together. “I, uh, plans with Minho.”

Chan-hee’s head snaps toward you so fast you think he might get whiplash. “Excuse me?!”

Kevin gasps, clutching his chest like you just personally betrayed him and you sink further into the couch. “He, um, needs help, with, uh study. Marine life.”

Chan-hee stares at you, utterly scandalized. “We’re not even classed as your best friends, are we?”

Your eyes widen in panic. “You are! You are! Just different. I know Minho longer. Like, um,  since I born longer.”

Jacob, Juyeon, and Kevin all let out dramatic gasps, clutching at each other like the revelation is too much to bear. Juyeon strokes Jacob’s hair like he’s comforting a grieving widow. “We’ll get through this,” he murmurs.

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “You all are dramatic.”

Kevin leans in, grinning. “Remember how he threatened us when you moved in?”

Everyone falls silent for a moment. Then, as if on cue, they all shudder.

“Oh, fuck,” Juyeon mutters.

“I still have nightmares,” Jacob adds.

Chan-hee rubs his arms like he’s suddenly cold. “He didn’t even have to yell. Just stared at us with that fucking psychotic look, like he was planning where to hide our bodies.”

Kevin nods solemnly. “Yeah. That was terrifying.” He turns back to you. “So what are the plans for you and Mr. Murder Stare?”

You hesitate, already regretting saying anything. “Um, going to frat house. Meeting his, uh, friends.”

The room falls dead silent before Kevin and Chan-hee both let out twin gasps of pure horror.

Jacob scrambles to his feet. “We need the sage.”

“Now,” Chan-hee agrees, already digging through the mess of the coffee table.

Juyeon stands, nodding gravely. “I’ll get the lighter.”

You blink in confusion. “Uh, what?”

Kevin grabs your shoulders, shaking you slightly. “Y/N, you’re stepping into Alpha Phi territory. That place is cursed.”

“They’re demons,” Chan-hee adds. “We have to cleanse you before you go in.”

Jacob returns with a bundle of sage, holding it like it’s a weapon. Juyeon flicks the lighter open, flame dancing.

You sigh. There’s no arguing with them when they get like this. “Okay. Do... whatever.”

Kevin grins. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Chan-hee waves his hands dramatically. “Everyone, gather around! We must protect our dear Y/N from the hellfire she is about to walk into.”

Juyeon lights the sage, the scent of burning herbs filling the air. Jacob starts humming some kind of ominous chant, waving his hands in circles.

Chan-hee presses a hand to your forehead. “Be gone, evil spirits of Alpha Phi! May the ghost of marine biology protect you!”

Kevin stifles a laugh as he moves behind you, making a cross over your back with the sage. “We anoint you with the power of sanity, so you do not lose yourself among the testosterone-ridden fiends.”

Juyeon walks in circles around you, waving the sage like a priest performing an exorcism. Jacob throws popcorn in the air like it’s holy water.

You sit there, letting them do whatever the fuck this is, fingers playing with the hem of your jumper. Your face is warm, a mix of embarrassment and amusement bubbling up as they take it all way too seriously.

Kevin finally steps back, nodding in satisfaction. “Alright. She’s protected.”

Jacob pats your head. “If you feel possessed, let us know.”

You shake your head, exhaling slowly. Your anxiety is still there, humming beneath your skin, but they always make things feel a little lighter. Even if they’re fucking insane.

Chan-hee flops back onto the couch. “Now, let’s finish this fucking movie. And someone make more kimbap before Jacob kills Juyeon.”

Minho stands in the middle of the Alpha Phi frat house living room, a spatula in his hand, smacking it against his palm with slow, deliberate force. The rhythmic sound echoes through the space, a sharp snap against his skin, a warning. He doesn’t say anything at first, just lets the repeated slap of silicone against flesh set the tone.

Hyunjin, sprawled half-asleep on the couch with his buzzed head resting against a pillow, blinks sluggishly. “What the fuck is going on?”

Minho lets the spatula land one more time, tilting his head slightly. “All of you have a chance to live past tomorrow as long as you listen to what I say right now.”

Seungmin leans forward from his spot in the armchair, adjusting his glasses. “The fuck does that mean?”

Minho finally stops hitting his palm and plants the spatula against his hip. “My best friend is coming over tomorrow afternoon.”

Chan looks up and sighs, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. “Min, you have people over all the time. We literally hear you fucking them. So what if you’re fucking your best friend?”

Minho freezes. A visible shudder runs through him before he lets out the most guttural, agonized gag. His entire body convulses, and he violently dry heaves, doubling over, hands on his knees. The sound is disgusting like he’s about to vomit all over the carpet.

“Dude, what the fuck-”

Felix, who has been sitting quietly on the couch with Jisung nestled between his legs, presses his lips together, watching with faint amusement as Minho continues to gag like he’s choking on pure horror.

Jisung, still fidgeting with his cube while Felix braids tiny sections of his hair and shoves random clips into it, looks up. “That was a really strong reaction. We should unpack that.”

Minho abruptly straightens, eyes burning with rage. He strides over to Chan and smacks him across the shoulder with the spatula. Hard.

“Ow, what the fuck?!”

Minho smacks him again. “This is not like that, you absolute fuckhead!” Another smack. “She’s my best friend. Only a friend.” Smack. “And everyone here knows I prefer cock anyway!” Smack, smack, smack.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Minho!”

Minho finally relents, shaking the spatula at the rest of them. “She’s coming over because I have a marine life portion of my veterinary science course, and she studies marine biology and she has crippling anxiety.”

Seungmin gestures lazily to Jisung. “He also has crippling anxiety.”

Jisung, still on the floor, barely looks up, too focused on clicking his cube back and forth as Felix continues to mess with his hair, now twisting the strands into uneven sections and securing them with tiny hair ties.

Jisung hums. “Yeah, but mine makes me hyper as fuck. I can’t sit still. I can’t stop talking. My brain is like a YouTube autoplay button that someone forgot to turn off.”

Minho exhales sharply, running a hand through his honey-blonde hair. “Exactly. You and her have very different presentations of anxiety. You’re a chihuahua on crack cocaine.”

Jisung grins. “Aww, thanks.”

Minho ignores him. “She can’t talk to new people. I have to do that for her. If I don’t, she just shuts down.”

Felix frowns. “Are you sure bringing her here is a good idea?”

Minho presses the spatula against his palm again. “No, which is why I am giving you all this talk now and why all of you shall have the fear of Minho put in you.”

Jisung glances up, blinking. “Isn’t the saying fear of God?”

Minho points a finger upwards. “God, if you believe, is up there.” He slowly lowers the finger and points directly at Jisung. “I am right here. Much, much closer.”

Seungmin smirks. “Yeah, because Satan came to earth and took on the name Lee Minho.”

Minho shrugs. “Maybe. Now, listen the fuck up. She doesn’t like loud noises or sudden loud noises. They make her panic, so being quiet is fucking necessary.” He stops and turns to glare at Chan, Changbin, and Hyunjin. “So all three of you stay the fuck out of the kitchen. No fire alarms.”

Chan scowls. “Hey-”

“No.” Minho raises the spatula again. “I swear to god, if that fire alarm goes off, I will fucking end you.”

Changbin groans. “That was one time.”

“One time my ass. You nearly burned the whole fucking kitchen down.”

Hyunjin throws his hands up. “Okay, yeah, that was bad, but-”

“Do you want to die?”

“No.”

“Then stay the fuck out of the kitchen.”

Felix squeezes Jisung’s pec absentmindedly as he glances up at Minho. “So basically, we just have to be on our best behaviour?”

Minho tilts his head, considering. “No. You all need to know the consequences of fucking up.”

Seungmin sighs. “Here we go.”

Minho cracks his neck. Then, slowly, he levels his gaze at Chan first. “If you say anything that makes her uncomfortable, I will personally drag you by your stupid curly head of hair and drown you in the fucking toilet.”

Chan raises an eyebrow. “That seems excessive.”

Minho ignores him and moves to Changbin. “If you yell near her, I will rip out your vocal cords with my bare hands and string them up like decorations.”

Changbin snorts. “Creative.”

Next, Hyunjin. “If you scare her in any way, I will take that ugly fucking buzzcut of yours and carve a smiley face into the back of your head with my pocket knife.”

Hyunjin gasps, hand flying to his hair. “Bitch!”

Felix is next. “If you touch her without permission, I will break all ten of your fingers and then feed them to you.”

Felix pouts. “I wouldn’t touch her-”

Minho moves on. “Seungmin.”

Seungmin sighs dramatically. “Let me guess. If I insult her, you’ll shove my head into the oven?”

Minho shrugs. “Actually, I was thinking of locking you in the laundry room and filling it with spiders, but the oven is a solid alternative.”

Lastly, Jeongin. Minho crosses his arms. “If you do anything stupid, I will throw your entire fucking sewing machine out the window.”

Jeongin gasps, clutching his chest. “That’s fucked up.”

“Wait a second.” Chan gestures vaguely at the group. “You didn’t threaten Jisung.”

Minho turns to Jisung, who looks up from his fidget cube with curious eyes. “I will take your consoles,” Minho says. “And then I will gently tuck you into bed, and I will make you take a nap if you scare her with your rambling.”

“That’s fucking favouritism!” 

“What the fuck?!” 

“Are you kidding me?” 

Jisung sputters, eyes wide. “No, wait, that’s not favouritism! I hate naps more than anything!”

Felix ruffles his hair, snickering. “Aww, poor baby.”

Jisung flails. “No, seriously, I fucking hate naps! I’d rather be waterboarded!”

Minho smirks. “Sucks to suck, buddy.”

Jisung groans, collapsing against Felix’s legs. “I fucking hate this house.”

Minho lets the chaos settle for a moment, rolling his shoulders before fixing them all with another pointed look. The spatula, still firm in his grip, smacks against his palm once more. It’s almost a reflex at this point.

“Also, there’s something else you need to know,” he says, his tone measured, but firm enough that it silences the lingering murmurs of complaint about favouritism. “Her Korean is very broken. She spent most of her life in Brazil. Technically, her first language is Korean, but she has spoken Portuguese for so long that she’s basically relearning the language now. She’s got a strong accent, and sometimes it takes her a few seconds to translate. She also uses her hands a lot when she talks, she gestures to try and figure out what she’s trying to say.”

Felix immediately nods. “Oh, yeah. I get that.” His fingers absentmindedly smooth down one of Jisung’s messy little braids. “I did the same thing when I moved here. It’s fucking hard. Your brain works twice as much trying to make sure you don’t sound like an idiot.”

Jisung perks up. “Oh! I was like that when I lived in Malaysia! Learning Malay was fucking hard, dude.” He clicks his fidget cube rapidly, his knee bouncing as the energy spikes in his chest. “Like, okay, so, I was already speaking English and Korean, right? But then I get thrown into this whole new language, and it’s like- fuck- what’s the word? Overload! Yeah, like, my brain was constantly buffering. And then when I finally got used to Malay, I had to start learning Mandarin too because everyone around me spoke it, and let me tell you, the tonal shit? A fucking nightmare.”

Changbin nudges Jeongin. “He’s going off.”

Jeongin smirks. “It’s kinda impressive how his mouth can keep up with his brain.”

Jisung barely pauses to breathe. “Oh, and don’t even get me started on writing! The characters, the sentence structure, the grammar, it’s a whole fucking process. Sometimes I’ll write something and realize I mixed up three languages in one sentence, and I have no idea how the fuck it happened. And then, like, my brain is just constantly flipping between them, and-”

Minho sighs. “Come on, Ji. We’ll get you some decaffeinated tea to wind you down, and I’ll sort out that mess on your head before Felix ruins your hair permanently.”

Jisung bounces to his feet instantly, almost knocking over the coffee table in the process. “Okay!” He scurries after Minho like an excited puppy, his fidget cube still clicking away in his hand.

Once they’re in the kitchen, Minho flips the light to a lower setting, the glow dimming into something softer. Jisung’s energy is still at its peak, but Minho knows the drill.

Jisung plops himself onto the counter, swinging his legs. “You know, I’ve been thinking about trying boxing more seriously. Not just for cardio, but like, an actual thing.” His fingers drum against his thighs. “Like, you know how we go to the gym and spar sometimes? What if I did that, but, like, a couple more times a week?”

Minho grabs the kettle and starts filling it with water. “Try the tea first.” He sets it on the stove, turning to face Jisung with a raised brow. “If you can sit through one sensory video without bouncing off the fucking walls, we’ll talk about increasing your gym time.”

Jisung narrows his eyes. “You drive a hard bargain.” He twists his fidget cube in his palm, considering. “What video?”

Minho leans against the counter. “One of those animated ones.”

Jisung claps his hands. “I love those. My favourite is when they change faces, and I’m like, ‘Aww, smiley peas,’ and then they switch, and I’m like, ‘Awww, smiley banana!’ And when they line up like a rainbow? Fucking art.”

Minho just shakes his head, amused, as he sets a mug on the counter. He brews the tea, setting it in front of Jisung before pulling out his phone to queue up a video. The screen fills with soft, satisfying animations, fruits and vegetables bouncing, colours shifting in rhythm with calm background music.

Jisung picks up his mug, blowing on the tea before taking a cautious sip. His shoulders drop slightly as the warmth spreads through him, the combination of the video and the drink working its magic.

Minho stands behind him, carefully undoing the mess Felix created in his hair. His fingers work gently, untangling knots and loosening the haphazard braids.

“You let him get really carried away this time,” Minho murmurs, combing his fingers through Jisung’s hair.

Jisung hums, watching as the fruit on screen morphs into another shape. “He likes playing with it. And honestly? It feels kinda nice.”

Minho chuckles. “You’re such a fucking cat.”

Jisung shrugs. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The kitchen is quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds being the soft music from the video and the occasional sip from Jisung’s tea. His knee still bounces, but slower now. The energy isn’t gone, but it’s settled, softened around the edges.

Minho finishes untangling the last braid and smooths his hands over Jisung’s hair. “There. Good as new.”

Jisung sighs dramatically. “You’re the best, Min. Seriously. What would I do without you?”

Minho smirks, tossing the fidget cube back to him. “Probably combust.”

Jisung catches it easily, already clicking it again. “Yeah. Probably.”

The summer heat clings to your skin as you step up the worn stone steps leading to the Alpha Phi frat house. The sun hangs high, casting long shadows against the pavement, and your fingers twitch against the chain strap of your black quilted shoulder bag. Your silver anxiety rings spin under your thumb, a nervous habit you can’t seem to break.

You inhale deeply, adjusting your fitted black cropped turtleneck, the fabric snug against your torso while your wide-leg grey trousers billow softly with each movement. The material is light, breathable, but you still feel the weight of your own nerves pressing against your chest.

You reach the front door, hesitating for only a second before pressing the doorbell. Your eyes widen as Love Me Like This by NMIXX rings out at full volume, echoing across the porch and probably into the street. 

Before you can fully process the absurdity, the door swings open, and Minho is standing there, smirking. The sight of him eases something tight in your chest.

His eyes flick to your expression, the slight tension in your posture, and his smirk softens into something gentler. "Hey," he says, and before you can overthink it, he pulls you into a hug.

You let yourself relax for just a second, your face pressing briefly against his shoulder. The familiar warmth of him is grounding, and when he pulls back, you manage a small smile.

"How have you been?" he asks, watching as your fingers fidget with the strap of your bag.

You hesitate for a moment, translating in your head before answering. "I got project partner," you say slowly, your Korean clumsy, the sentence structure awkward. "Beom-Seok. He, uh, he is something."

Minho’s eyes narrow instantly. "Need me to fight him?"

Your eyes widen, shaking your head quickly. "No! No!"

Minho just exhales, giving you a look. "You ready?"

You nod.

"You don’t have to speak if you don’t want to, okay?" His voice is quieter now, just for you. "I’ll just tell you their names, and then we’ll head up to my room."

Another nod and Minho steps back, motioning for you to enter. You toe off your white Converse at the doorway, leaving you in your black ankle socks, and step inside. The air is cooler, the scent of something vaguely fried lingering in the space.

Then, suddenly, seven heads appear from the living room doorway, stacked on top of each other like a fucking totem pole of nosy idiots.

Minho groans. "Are you fucking serious?"

The heads remain stacked. A curious, synchronized tilt. You instinctively step slightly behind Minho, peeking out cautiously.

Minho gestures vaguely at the group. "Y/N, meet Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Felix, Jisung, Jeongin, and Seungmin." He points them out one by one.

You nod, heart pounding, and manage, "Nice to meet you."

The accent is unmistakable, thick and foreign, the syllables slow as you carefully piece them together. The words don’t flow naturally, each one feeling like a small mountain to climb.

You glance at Minho, silently asking if you said it right and he nods approvingly. "You got it. Pronunciation was great."

Felix grins. "Super impressive. It took me way longer when I was learning Korean."

"Oh!" Jisung practically vibrates where he stands. "That’s so cool! You’re, like, bilingual. Or trilingual? Do you speak anything else? Because that’s fucking sick. Oh, right, I should introduce myself properly. Han Jisung, at your service. Investigative journalism major, criminal psych minor. Also part-time nuisance, full-time genius. And, like, I totally get the whole language struggle thing. I lived in Malaysia for a while, right? So I had to learn Malay, and it was so fucking hard, like, the sentence structure? The way verbs change? Fucking insane. And then I came back here, and my Korean was rusty as shit, so I had to relearn a bunch-"

"Jesus Christ, someone stop him," Seungmin mutters.

Chan sighs, reaching out to slap a hand over Jisung’s mouth and Jisung nods in thanks, eyes still buzzing with energy.

Minho sighs, shaking his head. "Let’s go," he murmurs to you, leading you away from the mess and up the stairs.

The sound of the others talking fades as you follow Minho to his room, the walls lined with posters and books, a desk cluttered but organized in a way only he would understand. The scent of fresh laundry lingers, familiar and oddly comforting.

You glance at him, hesitating before saying, "Jisung is cute."

"He’s single, you know. You could get that chronically anxious dick."

Your foot immediately swings out, colliding with his shin and Minho yelps, stumbling back, clutching his leg dramatically. "You little-"

Before he can finish, you snatch a magazine from his desk and swat him over the head.

He wails. "Violence!"

You huff, crossing your arms and Minho groans, rubbing his shin. "Fine. No more comments about Jisung’s dick. Jesus."

You glare for a second longer before tossing the magazine back onto his desk.

Minho exhales, shaking his head. "You and your fucking kicks."

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

He notices but doesn’t say anything, just nudges your arm lightly.

"Come on," he says. "Let’s actually study before we end up talking about Jisung’s fucking anxiety again."

You nod, settling onto the floor with him, feeling just a little less on edge.

As soon as Minho and you disappear upstairs, Jisung spins around dramatically, clutching his chest like he’s been physically struck. His eyes are wide, sparkling with something unhinged, and his mouth falls open as if he’s about to recite the most poetic sonnet of his life.

“Love at first sight,” he breathes, staggering slightly as if the sheer weight of his emotions is too much to bear. 

Jeongin’s head snaps toward him so fast it looks like he might get whiplash. “Minho’s friend?!”

Jisung nods rapidly, his whole body vibrating like an over-caffeinated bobblehead. “Yes! Yes! Yes! Minho’s friend! The most beautiful creature to ever grace this filthy frat house! The embodiment of grace, of elegance, of shyness so devastating it makes my heart fucking ache! The little peek from behind him? The way she barely spoke but when she did, the accent, Jeongin! The fucking accent!”

Changbin stares at him, horrified. “Do you have a fucking death wish? Do you want to die? Because that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you try to pull anything with Minho’s best friend.”

Chan squints at Jisung like he’s just grown a second head. “Jisung, I know you’re mentally ill, but are you fucking insane?!”

Jisung throws his arms in the air, his fidget cube clattering onto the couch. “I can’t control it! My heart! It’s not mine anymore! It now beats for her! She had a halo, I swear to god! A halo! And a sexy accent! And she studies marine biology! Marine biology, Chan! Do you know how much I know about ocean life?! Too much! An unhealthy amount! I have years of marine documentary knowledge just rotting in my brain, waiting for the perfect moment to be used, and this is it! This is my moment!”

Seungmin pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is the worst thing you’ve ever said.”

Jisung, completely unfazed, keeps going. “Did you see her?! Did you see how fucking delicate she was? Like a little fairy? Like, holy fuck, I swear I saw wings. All quiet and pretty and soft, like a book character that just came to life. Like, I know she’s shy, and I know she has anxiety, but holy shit, that just makes her even more unreal. Like, I have anxiety, but it makes me feel like a coked-up raccoon, she has anxiety, and it makes her look like a fragile porcelain doll that I want to protect with my life! It’s a different kind of anxiety! It’s the kind of anxiety that makes my soul yearn-”

Seungmin groans. “You need to be medicated.”

Changbin shakes his head. “No, he needs a fucking lobotomy.”

Jisung keeps talking like he doesn’t even hear them. “And her outfit? The black turtleneck, the wide-leg trousers? That’s the kind of effortless fashion that’s just unfair. Like, she could’ve worn a trash bag, and she still would’ve looked like an ethereal being that descended from the heavens just to ruin my life! And the way she held her bag? Like, the little fiddling with the strap? That was the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my entire existence, and I watch baby animal compilations at least once a day!”

“Shut him the fuck up,” Hyunjin mutters.

Chan doesn’t even hesitate. He lunges forward, smacking Jisung upside the head.

Jisung yelps, but he barely stops talking. “-and don’t even get me started on her rings, because holy shit, there’s something about silver jewellery that just does something to me, and- ow, what the fuck, Chan-”

Hyunjin joins in, smacking the other side of Jisung’s head. “Shut the fuck up!”

Jisung shrieks, ducking as Changbin swings at him next and Changbin finally gets him, jabbing him in the ribs. “MINHO IS GOING TO FUCKING MURDER YOU.”

Felix, watching the absolute carnage unfold, simply tilts his head. “I think it’s sweet.”

Jisung gasps dramatically, clutching Felix’s wrist like he’s just been given a lifeline. “Thank you, Felix! Someone here actually appreciates romance.” He composes himself, straightening his spine. “I need a plan.”

Felix nods solemnly. “First, you need a sword to defend yourself against Minho.”

Jisung nods back, equally serious. “Right. A sword.”

Changbin gapes at them. “Are you two fucking dumb? A sword?! Against Minho?! He’ll just take it from you and stab you with it!”

Jisung waves a hand. “Details, details.” He places a hand over his heart again. “I am willing to risk it all for love.”

Felix tilts his head. “Honestly? If Minho were to let anyone here date his friend, it’d probably be Jisung.”

Jisung’s eyes widen. Slowly, a grin spreads across his face. “Gentlemen, welcome to the romantic trials and tribulations of Han Peter Jisung.”

The quiet room is a sanctuary. A place where the hum of voices, the constant shuffle of students, the relentless buzz of the outside world all fade into the background. It’s one of the few spaces on campus where only a handful of students have access, those who need silence, those who require a place to breathe.

You exhale slowly, adjusting the volume on your laptop as the Korean narration of the marine biology documentary plays quietly. The Portuguese subtitles flicker at the bottom of the screen, your eyes following each word carefully. It’s the best way you’ve found to strengthen your Korean, forcing your brain to process both languages at once.

Your fingers toy with the anxiety rings on your hands, silver bands spinning as you jot down notes in your notebook. The documentary covers coral ecosystems, the way the reefs function as an underwater city teeming with life. You’re completely engrossed until the door opens.

Jisung stands in the doorway, holding up his access pass like he’s proving he has a reason to be here. His fitted black zip-up jacket hugs his frame, the high neck zipped up just below his chin, and his light-wash, wide-leg denim jeans hang loosely over his black combat boots. There’s something effortlessly cool about him, but the nervous energy buzzing around him makes him feel more approachable.

His expression is open, a small smile tugging at his lips. He doesn’t look like he’s here to disturb the quiet, though his very presence carries an air of movement, of something constantly in motion. He hesitates just slightly, eyes flickering toward the empty seat next to you.

“Can I sit with you?”

You nod and Jisung’s smile widens as he settles into the chair beside you, leaning in just enough to peek at your laptop screen. “Ooh, I love that documentary. They’re talking about coral life, right?”

You nod again, fingers still fidgeting with the rings on your hand.

Jisung glances at the screen again, tilting his head slightly. “Can I watch with you?”

Another nod. He seems completely unbothered by your silence, instead resting his arms on the table as he scans the subtitles. After a second, he furrows his brows. “What language are the subtitles?”

You hesitate for a moment, mentally piecing together the sentence before speaking. “Uh, Portuguese? Is that how you say?”

Jisung hums thoughtfully. “Close. You put too much emphasis on the initial consonant and not enough on the vowel.”

“Oh.” You repeat the word, trying to correct it.

Jisung grins. “Yeah, you got it.”

You smile, just a little.

He doesn’t seem to expect you to talk much, which is a relief. Instead, he starts filling the silence with easy chatter, his voice animated but careful, slow enough that you can follow along. 

“I love marine biology documentaries. I mean, I love all documentaries, but marine life is especially cool. Did you know octopuses can change colour not just to blend in, but also based on their mood? Like, they literally express emotions through their skin. That’s insane. And don’t even get me started on mimic octopuses. They can literally impersonate other sea creatures. Like, full-on cosplay. They can pretend to be sea snakes, lionfish, crabs. It’s like if I just shapeshifted into Minho whenever I wanted to scare someone.”

You do know. You know everything he’s saying, but you let him talk. Jisung watches your expression as he continues, testing how much you understand. If you look even slightly lost, he slows down, repeats certain words, and if that doesn’t work, he pulls out his phone, opening a translator app and speaking directly into it.

You blink in surprise when the app suddenly speaks in Portuguese, perfectly clear and easy to understand. 

Jisung grins. “I use it a lot. Seoul has a ton of tourists, and I like helping people if they need it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod again.

He keeps going, keeping his voice soft so he doesn’t disrupt the quiet of the room. “Also, jellyfish? Some of them are basically immortal, like, they just revert back to their younger form and start their life cycle over. Which is kinda cool, but also terrifying because imagine if humans could do that? Like, if you hit eighty and just decided to turn back into a baby instead of dying. That’s some horror movie shit.”

Your lips twitch, amusement flickering across your face.

Jisung notices immediately, his grin widening. “Oh, I saw that. I made you smile. That’s a win for me.”

Jisung leans back slightly, staring at the screen as the documentary shifts to a segment about symbiotic relationships in the ocean. “Oh, clownfish and anemones! Classic duo. Everyone thinks of Finding Nemo, but the wild part is that clownfish can actually change sex. If the dominant female in the group dies, the largest male will turn into a female to take her place. Like, full biological transformation. That’s commitment.”

“You know lots.”

Jisung shrugs, fidgeting slightly with the sleeve of his jacket. “I get hyper-fixated on stuff sometimes. Documentaries are my comfort zone.”

You understand that more than he realizes.

Jisung tilts his head. “You’re really quiet.”

Your fingers twist the rings on your hand. “I do not know what to say.”

“That’s okay. I talk enough for both of us.”

You huff a quiet laugh, and Jisung grins like he just won something.

The documentary continues playing, but you find yourself paying more attention to Jisung’s presence beside you. He’s restless, always moving in some way, bouncing his knee, tapping his fingers, adjusting the zipper of his jacket. But it doesn’t feel disruptive. It feels natural.

He doesn’t press you to talk, doesn’t expect you to meet him at his energy level. He just exists beside you, comfortable in his own whirlwind of movement, and for the first time in a while, you don’t feel the pressure to shrink yourself down.

Maybe, just maybe, Jisung isn’t as overwhelming as you first thought.

Jisung practically explodes into Felix’s room, the door swinging open with such force that it bounces off the wall. Felix, who had been comfortably hunched over his gaming setup, lets out a startled noise, nearly dropping his controller.

“The fuck, Jisung?” Felix huffs, yanking off his headset.

“I spent time with Y/N today!”

That gets Felix’s attention. Immediately, he pauses his game and spins in his chair, his full focus now on Jisung. “Oh?”

Jisung nods so violently that his hair flops in his face, his excitement barely contained. “We were in one of the quiet rooms. Just me and her, no interruptions, just vibes. And we watched a documentary. A marine biology documentary. Felix, do you understand how fucking insane that is?!”

Felix smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, yeah. Wild.”

Jisung is undeterred, pacing the small space as he gestures wildly. “She looked so pretty, man. Like, she was just sitting there, watching the documentary, and I swear to god, she has this ethereal kind of presence. Like, you know when the light hits someone just right and they look all angelic and shit? That was her. She was wearing this really nice fitted bodysuit, deep V-neck, and I am a man, Felix, I noticed, and those high-waisted jeans? Fucking criminal. The way they fit her-"

Felix bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Jesus, you’re gone, dude.”

“I am!” Jisung agrees, throwing his arms up. “And the jewellery, her little silver rings? I think I ascended when she started fidgeting with them. It’s so fucking cute! Like, she was just sitting there, all focused, twirling the chain around her fingers like some kind of shy goddess-”

Felix raises a hand. “Okay, Romeo, calm the fuck down.”

Jisung stops abruptly, inhaling deeply before exhaling all at once. Felix watches him for a moment before grinning. “Well, it seems like your hyper fixation on documentaries finally did something for you.”

Jisung nods rapidly, his whole body vibrating with agreement. “I know, right?! It’s like the universe finally aligned like this was the moment my excessive knowledge of marine biology was meant for! She didn’t even get annoyed when I rambled. She let me talk! And you know how people usually get all ‘Jisung, shut the fuck up’ when I start going off? She didn’t do that! She just listened! Like an angel! Like the patron saint of patience and marine ecosystems!”

Felix snickers, tilting his head. “So what’s the plan, loverboy?”

Jisung's face splits into a mischievous grin. He dramatically claps his hands together, rubbing them like a cartoon villain. “I have a plan,” 

Felix raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m going to write a journalism article on investigating the effects of plastic on aquatic life. And then I’m going to ask Y/N to help me.”

Felix stares at him for a second before bursting out laughing. “That’s actually smart.”

Jisung grins, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “I know! She’s literally a marine biology major, Felix. This is perfect! It’s academic, it’s something I genuinely care about, and it means I’ll get to spend more time with her!”

Felix shakes his head, still grinning. “Damn, you’re really in deep, huh?”

Jisung groans dramatically, flopping onto Felix’s bed. “Felix, I am drowning. And you know what? I don’t want a fucking lifeboat. I’m just gonna let the ocean of my emotions consume me.”

Felix rolls his eyes. “Alright, Shakespeare, go get started on your research before you combust.”

Jisung sits up instantly, determination burning in his eyes. “You’re right. I need to prepare. This has to be perfect.”

Felix watches as Jisung scrambles to his feet, already pulling out his phone, probably to start researching on the way to his room.

As he reaches the doorway, Jisung pauses. Then he turns back, pointing dramatically at Felix. “Operation Love at High Tide is officially in motion.”

Felix groans. “I fucking hate you.”

Jisung just grins and bolts down the hallway, already mumbling excitedly to himself.

The quiet room is a refuge against the relentless heatwave. The campus feels suffocating, the humidity pressing in from all sides, and your body always feels heavier when it’s this hot, like the warmth drags your energy down until your limbs are sluggish, your mind slower to process. It doesn’t help that Beom-Seok has been more unbearable than usual, his usual annoying flirtations escalating into excessive physical contact, hands lingering far too long on your wrist, your shoulder, even the small of your back. The moment you’d managed to shake him, you’d practically sprinted to the quiet room, seeking out the air conditioning and solitude.

The cool air soothes the tension in your body as you sit at the table, your laptop open in front of you, an article on turtles and microplastics affecting their breeding cycles displayed on the screen. 

Your green maxi skirt pools around your legs as you shift, the material soft against your skin. The white crochet halter top breathes easily in the heat, and the bandana keeping your hair back prevents it from sticking to your skin.

The door swings open and Jisung steps inside. His white Nirvana graphic tee is slightly oversized, hanging loose over his camouflage cargo pants, and his white chunky sneakers make soft thuds against the floor as he moves toward you. A white bandana keeps his hair out of his face, but a few strands still manage to escape, framing his features.

He places his bag on the chair across from you before sliding one of the cups in his hands toward you. “Hey,” he says, his tone easy, familiar. “Figured you’d need this.”

You blink at the iced latte in front of you, condensation already beading on the plastic. Your fingers brush against the cold surface as you hesitate, glancing up at him.

Jisung grins. “I figured you’d want something iced since, you know, death heat.”

Your lips part, struggling for a second to form the right words. “Oh. Uh, thanks.”

Jisung waves a hand, plopping down across from you and taking a sip of his own iced americano. “Don’t judge the outfit, okay? I’m running out of clean clothes because I’m sweating through everything in this fucking heatwave. I think my laundry basket is actually mocking me at this point.”

You tilt your head slightly, glancing at his shirt and pants. “You.. look fine.”

Jisung grins. “See, this is why I like you and I need your help.”

You glance at him, waiting.

“I chose to do a journalism article on investigating the effects of plastic on aquatic life,” he announces, pulling his notebooks from his backpack. “And I thought, you know who can help me? Y/N.”

Your eyebrows raise slightly as he slides his notes toward you. The pages are chaotic, a mess of hurried writing, crossed-out sentences, and doodles.

Jisung rubs the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, not much. And not factual enough. Which is why I desperately need your help.”

You pull the notebook closer, your eyes scanning the pages. You have to read slowly, taking your time to process the Korean and translate it in your head. But as you go through his notes, something becomes increasingly clear, there’s barely anything about plastics and aquatic life. Instead, it’s filled with scattered thoughts, personal opinions, and elaborate doodles of sea creatures.

You pause, a small smile tugging at your lips as you read one of the notes scrawled in the middle of the page. 

Male dolphins should be cancelled. Make a #MeToo movement for female dolphins at a later date.

A quiet laugh escapes before you can stop it. Jisung immediately perks up. “Oh my god, I made you laugh. That means you got to that part, huh?”

You glance at him, still amused. “Male… dolphins?”

Jisung groans, throwing his head back. “They’re rapists, Y/N! It’s awful! I was doing some research, and it turns out they have fucking gangs where they kidnap female dolphins and force them to mate. And it gets worse! They also hump humans! There are actual recorded incidents of people getting harassed by fucking dolphins! Like, imagine going on a nice vacation, swimming in the ocean, and then bam! Sexual assault by a dolphin! I trusted them! We all trusted them!”

You already know all of this. But you let him talk.

“And the thing is, everyone thinks dolphins are these cute, friendly ocean puppies, but no! They’re fucking menaces! And you know what else? They kill for fun! They’ll just murder baby porpoises for no fucking reason! They don’t even eat them, they just do it! Like some serial killer shit! If dolphins had access to land, they’d probably be running underground crime rings or some mafia bullshit.”

You sip your latte, watching him with mild amusement and Jisung slams his notebook shut. “I’m sorry, I just needed to get that off my chest.”

You nod solemnly. “I get.”

Jisung exhales deeply, slumping forward onto the table. “So. Are you gonna help me fix my article so it actually has, you know, real information?”

“Yes. I help.”

Jisung beams. “You’re the best.”

You tap your pen against Jisung’s notebook, eyeing the chaotic scrawl of words and sketches, a mix of actual research and unhinged commentary about marine life. Your fingers twitch slightly as you resist the urge to cross out half of what’s written and start from scratch. 

“You need more, um, fact? More, uh, sources. Not just, your, uh,” You wave a hand vaguely at the dolphin rant section.

Jisung snickers but nods, tapping his fingers against his iced americano. “Yeah, okay, fair. I might have gotten a little carried away.”

You tilt your laptop toward him, opening the article you had been reading before he arrived. The page is filled with data, references, and case studies on how microplastics affect the reproductive cycles of sea turtles. 

“This...” You hesitate, searching for the word before sighing and resorting to miming. You point at the screen, then gesture with your fingers like you’re flipping through pages of a book.

Jisung immediately brightens. “Oh! Research! Like, actual academic sources?”

You nod quickly. “Yes! That.”

Jisung scoots closer, eyes scanning the article as he sips his drink. “Okay, this is actually sick. Sea turtles getting fucked over by microplastics? Not sick. But the amount of data here? Sick.” He tilts his head, reading. “Wait, so the microplastics don’t just mess with their digestion, they actually affect temperature-dependent sex determination?”

“Yes. Uh, how to say...” You gesture vaguely in the air, thinking. “More heat, more...” You pause, then trace the outline of a turtle shell with your fingers.

Jisung watches, amused but also genuinely interested. “More heat makes more turtles?”

You shake your head quickly. “No, no. More, uh, female?”

“Oh shit, it skews the ratio?”

“Yes!” You smile slightly, relieved he understands. “More heat, more female. Less male.”

Jisung whistles, rubbing his chin. “So they’re basically just making future generations completely unbalanced because of plastic. Yeah, okay, I definitely need to fix this shit.” He flips through his own pages, groaning as he lands on yet another doodle of a very muscular crab holding a knife. “Jesus, past Jisung, what the fuck were you on?”

You can’t help but laugh quietly. Jisung hears it and grins, immediately encouraged. “Alright, let’s really get to work. What other sources should I be using?”

You start scrolling, pulling up more articles, explaining them in slow, broken Korean while he listens attentively, nodding along. He asks questions, some smart, some absolutely ridiculous, but he cares, and that alone makes it easier to keep going.

Then, suddenly, you hear it. Beom-Seok’s voice.

Your fingers immediately tighten around your anxiety rings, your whole body going rigid as your stomach twists itself into knots. You hear him somewhere outside, laughing loudly, his voice carrying through the hall. It’s too much, too familiar, and you really don’t want to deal with him right now.

You turn quickly to Jisung, your voice low, urgent. “I... not here.”

Jisung frowns slightly, looking at you properly for the first time. His energy settles just enough for him to catch the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers tremble slightly as you twist your rings over and over again.

Jisung doesn’t ask questions, he just nods without hesitation. And then, because he is Jisung, he immediately hypes himself up like he’s about to walk into a literal fight. He bounces up on the balls of his feet, shaking out his arms, taking a quick sip of his americano before setting it down like he’s getting into the zone. Then, without warning, he starts throwing quick jabs in the air, shaking his head like he’s about to step into a boxing ring.

You stare at him, blinking until he catches your expression and grins. “What? Minho says I gotta be ready at all times. I could get jumped. You never know.”

Beom-Seok’s voice is closer now, just outside the room. Jisung straightens up, rolls his shoulders, and swings the door open like a bouncer checking for ID. He leans against the frame, immediately raising an eyebrow.

“Pass?” he asks, voice flat.

Beom-Seok blinks at him. “What?”

Jisung gestures vaguely toward the quiet room. “This is a pass-only room, dude. You got one?”

Beom-Seok frowns. “I’m not trying to come in. I’m looking for Y/N.”

“Well, it’s just me and my mental health issues in here.”

Beom-Seok blinks again. “What?”

“You know, it’s actually crazy how much people underestimate the importance of mental health rooms. Like, did you know that excessive stimulation can literally fry your nervous system? It’s actually fucked up. And people assume that just because I’m loud, I don’t get overwhelmed, but oh-ho, my guy, let me tell you-”

Beom-Seok’s brows knit together. “I just-”

“-sometimes the only thing keeping me from absolutely losing my shit is a fidget cube. A fidget cube. Can you imagine? The fragile balance of my entire existence depends on the smooth rotation of a tiny plastic fucking cube. And you know what else is fucked up? The government. But we don’t have time to get into that-”

Beom-Seok’s jaw tightens. “I just want to know where-”

“-and speaking of time, isn’t it wild how time perception changes depending on emotional states? Like, when you’re having fun, time moves fast as fuck, but when you’re stuck in a boring ass conversation-” he gestures vaguely at Beom-Seok “-it’s like time stops completely. Scientists have theories about it, but honestly, my personal belief is that it’s all a simulation, and we’re just pawns in a very elaborate-”

Beom-Seok stares at him like he’s just grown a second head. “Are you on something?”

“I am simply powered by caffeine and anxiety!”

Beom-Seok clenches his jaw, clearly trying to decide whether or not it’s even worth engaging anymore. “Look, just tell Y/N I’m looking for her.”

Jisung tilts his head. “Oh, yeah, sure. I’ll get right on that.”

Beom-Seok stares at him for another few seconds, then exhales sharply, shaking his head as he turns to walk away and Jisung grins to himself, watching him leave before slowly shutting the door.

You peek out from behind the table, shoulders still tight, but relief creeping in. “He... gone?”

Jisung nods proudly. “Yup! He stood no chance against my greatest weapon, insufferable energy.”

You exhale, tension draining from your muscles. “Thank you.”

Jisung flops back into his chair, sipping his iced americano like he didn’t just mentally exhaust another human being into leaving. “Anytime. Now, let’s get back to fixing my disaster of an article.”

Two weeks have passed, and the quiet room has become a routine, a ritual. Every day, you and Jisung escape here, seeking the crisp relief of the air conditioning while the outside world suffocates under the relentless heatwave. The afternoons stretch into evenings, iced coffee sweating against plastic cups, the hum of your laptops a constant background noise.

You’ve been meaning to start Jisung’s article. Really. It’s just that every time he sits down, notebook open, laptop glowing, he gets distracted. It always starts small, he’ll see something in the news while opening his browser or remember something halfway through a sip of his coffee, and suddenly, the conversation veers.

Today is no different.

Jisung leans back in his chair, his sleeveless white top clinging to his skin in the summer heat. His broad chest stretches the fabric in a way that should be illegal, and a black bandana keeps his hair back, but a few strands have escaped, curling against his forehead, and he’s tied part of it in a little bun at the back of his head to stop it from touching his neck.

He’s halfway through an enthusiastic retelling of a Princess Diana documentary, gesturing animatedly with his iced americano in one hand.

You sit across from him, quietly sipping your iced latte. The cream-coloured cropped blouse you’re wearing ties just below your breasts, the billowy sleeves falling loosely over your arms. Your blue maxi skirt pools over your crossed legs, the soft fabric cooling against your skin. A matching blue bandana keeps your hair back, two strands framing your face.

Jisung doesn’t need you to speak. He never does. He just talks, and you listen. And you like it.

“The wildest part? The fucking conspiracy theories. Like, okay. I love a good conspiracy. Did aliens build the pyramids? Maybe. But the amount of people who think MI6 had her killed? The theories actually make sense, which is the fucked-up part. The Royal Family hated her, and suddenly she dies in a crash with zero CCTV footage from the tunnel?”

You blink at him, processing his rant. “You think she was, um, killed?”

“I mean. It wouldn’t surprise me.”

You shake your head slightly, sipping your coffee. “You watch many, uh, true crime?”

Jisung snorts. “Too much. Documentaries, podcasts, YouTube deep dives, all of it.” He takes another sip of his coffee. “You ever watch that one on, uh, what’s his face, Ted Bundy?”

You nod slowly. “Yes. Many...” You search for the word, frowning before miming a camera with your hands. “Many, uh, films?”

Jisung grins. “Movies! Yeah, yeah, there’s been a shit ton.” He leans forward, resting his chin in his hand. “You like true crime?”

You hesitate. “Sometimes.”

Jisung hums, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup. “Fair. It’s fascinating but also terrifying.”

You nod in agreement, twisting one of your silver rings absentmindedly. There’s a comfortable silence between you, the low hum of the air conditioning filling the space.

Then, finally, you clear your throat. “You... should start, uh, making, um...” You pause, struggling to piece the sentence together before settling on the easiest way to say it. “Mind... maps?”

Jisung tilts his head, thinking. “Mindmaps?”

You nod. “To, um... build... up main parts?” You frown, thinking harder before miming connecting dots in the air. “Like, um... break... break research?”

Jisung watches your hands, his grin growing. “Ohhh, I get it! Like, use a research paper, break it into sections, and then use those small ideas to flow into the full article?”

You exhale in relief, nodding. “Yes! That.”

Jisung beams. “Fuck yeah. That makes so much sense.” He immediately unzips his bag, pulling out highlighters, notebooks, his laptop, and a ridiculous number of coloured pens. “We’re about to make this shit art.”

You shake your head but smile, watching as he spreads out his supplies.

He flips open a blank page in his notebook, tapping a pen against his lip. “Okay, so first, we pick a research paper, right? Which one should we use?”

You pull your laptop closer, scrolling through the saved articles. After a few seconds, you tilt the screen toward him. “This? It, um, good?”

Jisung leans in, scanning the page. “Microplastics and their impact on marine food chains. Yeah, okay, this is perfect.” He cracks his knuckles, grabbing a green highlighter. “Let’s fucking go.”

You both start working, reading through the paper and breaking it down into simple ideas. Jisung is surprisingly focused when he wants to be, humming softly as he underlines key points and draws messy bubbles around main topics.

You glance at his notebook and immediately stifle a laugh. His mindmap is chaos. Some sections are neatly labelled, others have tiny doodles next to them. You spot a tiny, angry-looking jellyfish wearing sunglasses in the corner.

Jisung catches you looking and grins. “What? He’s a cool motherfucker.”

You shake your head, laughing softly.

Jisung taps his pen against the page, thinking. “I don’t want this to be a boring-ass report, though. If people wanted to read a report, they’d just read the research paper.”

You tilt your head. “So... add, um, your, uh,” You pause, struggling before pointing at him. “You.”

Jisung blinks. “Me?”

You nod. “You... is funny.”

Jisung beams. “Fuck yeah, I am. How's this?”

His first attempt at a joke is scrawled across the page in slightly uneven handwriting:

Microplastics: because just fucking up the land wasn’t enough, we had to ruin the ocean too.

He glances up, waiting. You blink at the words, considering them for a moment before tilting your head slightly. “It good,” you say carefully. “But, maybe, shorter?”

Jisung grins, flipping the page to rewrite it. “Alright, alright, let me work my comedic genius.” He mutters to himself as he rewords it, scribbling out different variations before nodding to himself and showing you the final version.

Microplastics: land pollution wasn’t enough, so we said fuck it, let’s poison fish too.

You huff out a quiet laugh, nodding. Jisung’s grin stretches wider. “Yes! Okay, that one stays.”

He gets back to work, tossing out different one-liners for various sections of his article. Some make you roll your eyes. Some are so bad you just stare at him until he groans and crosses them out himself. But the ones that make you actually laugh? Those, he keeps.

For the section on the ocean’s rising temperatures, he jots down: The ocean is getting hotter, and not in a sexy way.

You giggle at that one, covering your mouth, and Jisung fist pumps. “See? This is why I need you. You’re my official bullshit detector.”

Another one, for the way microplastics are now showing up in human bodies: Congratulations, you’re now 30% water and 5% plastic. We’re all just one step away from becoming living Barbie dolls.

You snort, shaking your head, and Jisung beams as he underlines it.

Then he gets to the part about dolphins. His eyes light up mischievously, and before you can even process what’s happening, he scribbles down: Male dolphins: proof that even the ocean has predatory men.

You laugh, really laugh, a full-bodied, breathy noise that catches even you by surprise. Jisung gasps, pressing a dramatic hand to his chest. “I knew it! I fucking knew that one would land.”

You shake your head, still smiling. “It... good.”

Jisung grins, practically bouncing in his seat as he scribbles more notes. His energy fills the room, easy and contagious, and for once, you don’t feel overwhelmed by it.

Then there’s a knock at the door. Your stomach drops. You don’t need to hear the voice to know who it is. Jisung groans before standing up and making his way to the door. He swings it open just enough to poke his head out, squinting dramatically at whoever is standing outside.

“You again?”

Beom-Seok stands there, brows furrowed in frustration. “Where’s Y/N?”

Jisung lets out a long, suffering sigh and leans against the doorframe. “Ahh, here we go again. The saga of men who can’t take a fucking hint continues.”

Beom-Seok frowns. “What?”

Jisung ignores him completely, launching straight into another one of his infamous rants. “You know what I don’t understand? Clingy men. Like, bro, why do some guys act like GPS trackers with fucking attachment issues? Like, what happened? Did your parents not hug you enough as a kid? Do you need therapy? A pet? A hobby? Why are some dudes so allergic to leaving women the fuck alone?”

Beom-Seok sighs, visibly annoyed. “I just need to-”

“Oh, no, I get it,” Jisung continues, nodding like he’s solving a true crime case. “You’re one of those guys who thinks ‘no’ means ‘convince me,’ huh? Like, ‘Oh, she’s just playing hard to get.’ Nah, my guy. You are the game, and it’s called Leave Her the Fuck Alone Simulator 3000.”

Beom-Seok exhales sharply, jaw clenching. “Is she in there or not?”

Jisung grins, tilting his head. “Hmmm, mystery. The suspense. The drama. What will happen next? Will the creepy guy take a fucking hint, or will he continue embarrassing himself? Stay tuned for the next episode of No One Wants You Here.”

Beom-Seok’s patience is clearly thinning. “Look-”

Jisung keeps going, undeterred. “Also, fun fact? If you keep showing up like this, it stops being persistence and starts being a fucking horror movie. ‘Oh, but I just wanna talk to her’, okay, Michael Myers, then why the fuck are you showing up like an unwanted jump scare? Ever heard of a text? A call? A restraining order?”

Beom-Seok glares at him now. “I don’t even know you.”

Jisung gasps, fake-offended. “And yet,” he says, placing a hand over his heart, “I already know so much about you. The fact that you have the personality of a wet napkin? That’s one. The fact that your hair looks like it was cut by a blindfolded five-year-old? That’s two. And three, the fact that you’re still standing here after I’ve made it so fucking clear that you’re not wanted?” He clicks his tongue. “Tragic.”

Beom-Seok looks about two seconds away from punching him. “Just tell Y/N I was looking for her.”

Jisung raises his brows. “Yeah, I could do that. But I won’t.”

Beom-Seok exhales sharply, shaking his head before finally walking away.

Jisung watches him go, then slams the door shut with a triumphant grin. He turns back to you, flexing dramatically. “And that’s how you fend off unwanted male attention, my dear Y/N.”

You exhale, the tension in your body finally easing. “Thank you.”

Jisung waves a hand. “Anytime.” He plops back into his seat, cracking his knuckles. “Now, let’s get back to roasting the ocean’s biggest predators. And no, I don’t mean sharks. I mean dolphins.”

You shake your head, amused, as Jisung dives right back into his notebook, ready to turn his article into something only he could write.

The quiet room is supposed to be safe. The air conditioning hums steadily as you sit at the table, legs crossed beneath your flowing green maxi skirt, your fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of your brown cropped blouse, the billowy sleeves soft against your skin. The green bandana holds your hair back, keeping the damp strands from sticking to your forehead.

You don’t move when the door opens, assuming it’s Jisung coming in with his usual chaotic energy, maybe a new documentary to ramble about, maybe another iced coffee for you without you even asking.

"You’ve been avoiding me."

Your entire body goes rigid. The voice is not Jisung’s. You slowly turn your head, dread clawing up your throat as you see Beom-Seok standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.

Your chair scrapes against the floor as you stand up abruptly, backing away without thinking. Your breath comes quicker now, panic settling under your skin, making your hands shake as you clutch the edge of the table like it’s a lifeline.

Beom-Seok steps inside, closing the door behind him. "It’s not very nice of you," 

He moves toward you, and before you can react, his hand clamps around your wrist, yanking you forward. You stumble, colliding against his chest, the sudden proximity making bile rise in your throat.

"You keep running away. That’s not fair, Y/N. I just want to talk."

His other hand reaches for the tie of your blouse, fingers grazing the fabric. The panic spikes in your chest as you struggle, twisting in his hold. 

"Let go," 

His fingers pull at your blouse, yanking, and the thin fabric tears with a sharp rip. Something in you snaps. You shove at him, hands pushing against his chest, his shoulders, anywhere to get him off of you. His grip doesn’t loosen, and when he leans in, trying to press his mouth against yours, your instincts take over.

You slam your forehead into his nose. Beom-Seok shouts, jerking back in shock, and in that split second, you kick him in the shin as hard as you possibly can. He stumbles, cursing, and you don’t waste a second.

You run. Your feet pound against the floor as you sprint down the hallway, gripping your skirt in one hand to keep from tripping, the other clutching your torn blouse to your chest. Your heart is a drum against your ribs, your breaths sharp and panicked, your vision blurring at the edges.

You don’t stop. You don’t look back. Then, suddenly, you crash into something solid.

Arms wrap around you instinctively as you collide with a warm, broad chest, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Your fingers tighten into the fabric of a ribbed beige top, your body trembling violently as you cling to the person holding you.

Jisung. His hands steady you, one firm around your waist, the other reaching up to cradle the back of your head.

"Woah, hey, hey, hey," he says, his voice instantly softer than you’ve ever heard it. "What’s going on?"

His body tenses. His gaze flickers to the torn fabric of your blouse, to the way you’re holding it together, to the sheer terror in your wide, unfocused eyes.

Jisung exhales slowly, his grip on you tightening. "Y/N," he murmurs, his voice carefully even, like he’s trying not to scare you more.

But you can’t breathe.  The world is closing in, the hallway spinning, your own heartbeat too loud in your ears. Your chest locks up, your breaths coming in short, frantic gasps, but no air fills your lungs. You grip Jisung tighter, burying your face against him as your entire body trembles violently.

"You gotta breathe, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice low, reassuring. "You're gonna have a panic attack if you don’t breathe."

You can’t. Your gasps turn desperate, your fingers clutching at him like he’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

Jisung  moves carefully, slowly lowering the both of you to the ground until he’s sitting with his back against the wall, keeping you curled up against his chest. His arms stay wrapped around you, one hand stroking your back, the other still resting against the back of your head.

"It’s okay," he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. "I got you. I got you."

Your breaths are still erratic, your chest rising and falling too fast, your body shaking.

Jisung gently shushes you, his hand running up and down your back in soothing motions. "I know, I know," he murmurs. "It’s okay. Just breathe with me, okay? Just try."

You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on the steady warmth of his body, the way he’s grounding you, holding you together when you feel like you’re going to break apart.

Jisung keeps rocking you slightly, his voice constant, whispering to you, not expecting you to respond, not forcing you to speak. "You’re safe," he murmurs. "I promise. You’re safe now."

Your gasps start to slow, just barely, as you cling to his voice, to the soft, steady sound of it.

"You’re not alone, I got you."

The frat house is an absolute mess. The portable air conditioning unit hums pathetically in the middle of the living room, barely offering any relief against the oppressive heatwave that refuses to let up. The seven shirtless men sprawled around the space are nothing short of miserable.

"This is fucking unbearable," Chan groans, tilting his head back against the couch, eyes closed. Sweat glistens on his skin, his black gym shorts clinging to his thighs. "I feel like I’m melting into the furniture."

"You are melting into the furniture," Jeongin mutters, sprawled out on the floor in front of the AC like a starfish. "You’re going to leave a sweat imprint."

"Shut the fuck up, it’s so hot," Changbin huffs, lying next to Jeongin, arms crossed over his bare chest. "I swear to god, if I hear the words heatwave one more time, I’m punching something."

Felix, leaning against the arm of the couch, lazily fans himself with an old magazine. "It’s so hot my freckles feel like they’re melting off."

Hyunjin, draped across the other couch with his arm over his eyes, groans dramatically. "If I have to move, I’m going to die."

Seungmin shifts slightly, sitting on the coffee table with his elbows on his knees. "I don’t get how some people actually like summer. It’s stupid hot, everything’s sticky, and I’m constantly questioning whether I’m sweating or just wet from the fucking air."

Minho lets out an exhausted sigh. "If we don’t get rain soon, I’m going to start sacrificing you guys to the gods."

The front door swings open and Jisung walks in, and he’s carrying you on his back, your handbag slung over his shoulder alongside his own backpack. His arms are locked under your thighs, holding you securely, and you’re clinging to him.

Jisung crouches slightly, letting you slide off his back, but you don’t step away. You stay close, lingering just behind him, your blouse still torn, the fabric clutched tightly to your chest. Your shoulders are tense, and your eyes remain downcast, your whole body wound up like a tightly coiled spring.

Minho raises an eyebrow. "Since when did you two know each other?"

Jisung clears his throat, adjusting your bag on his shoulder. "Uh, so, she’s been helping me with an investigative journalism assignment, but I was on my way to meet her, and she came running out of the quiet room. It took me a while to calm her down, but I still don’t know what happened."

You shift slightly, still half-hidden behind Jisung. Your fingers twist the fabric of your blouse, your throat tightening. "He… grab me. And he try to-" You pause, struggling, before tapping your lips. "What’s... word?"

Jisung’s entire body goes rigid.

"And he uh..." You gesture to your blouse, still torn, still exposing your shoulder. Your voice is small, but you keep going. "So I uh..." You tap your forehead lightly, then point to Jisung’s nose. "And then I kick. Hard."

"Who?"

You glance up at Jisung, hesitating, and he furrows his brows, realization dawning. "Oh. Oh fuck." He snaps his fingers. "That guy, right? The one who kept showing up? The one that wouldn’t fucking leave? I knew something was off with him. Knew it. You can always tell when a guy’s got that weird creep energy, you know? Like, why do some dudes think persistence is charming? It’s not! It’s fucking terrifying! If a girl isn’t responding, that doesn’t mean try harder, it means back the fuck off! Like, holy shit, it’s not a fucking game, and-"

"Jisung," Minho cuts in, voice low, controlled. "Who?"

You swallow hard. "My project partner. Beom-Seok."

Minho doesn’t speak. He just stands, movements slow and deliberate, walking toward the door. He grabs his shoes. Then his T-shirt. "Are you going to be okay with Jisung?"

You nod hesitantly, still pressed close to Jisung. "Jisung is nice."

Minho nods, something flickering in his eyes. A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips for just a second, he’s glad you’re branching out, that you’re letting someone else in.

Jeongin moves first, rolling his shoulders as he grabs his sneakers. Seungmin follows, cracking his knuckles. Chan and Changbin exchange a glance before moving toward the door without a word. 

Felix ties his hair back, jaw tense. "Where is he?"

Chan pulls his t-shirt over his head. "We’ll find him."

Minho turns to you, stepping forward. His hands are warm as they settle gently on your shoulders, then move up to cup your face. He studies you for a moment, taking in every detail, your trembling fingers, the way your eyes are still wet, the tension in your jaw.

Then he pulls you into a hug. His chin rests on top of your head, and one of his hands gently smooths over your hair, grounding you.

"I’m gonna go fight that fucker, okay? We’re all gonna beat him up. He’ll never come near you again."

You nod against his chest, gripping the back of his shirt and Minho squeezes your shoulders once more before pulling back, his gaze lingering on you for just a second longer. Then he turns on his heel and walks out the door and the others follow.

As soon as the door closes, Jisung leads you into the kitchen, the overhead light flickering slightly before settling into a dull glow. He gestures toward the cabinets, already reaching for a couple of glasses. "Tea? Coffee? Booze?"

You hesitate for a second, rolling the options around in your head before mumbling, "Cachaca?"

Jisung pauses, blinking at you. "Cachaca? I think we have some somewhere. Minho drinks it."

You nod quickly, trying to explain. "Yes, I-" You wave your hand through the air in a dramatic swoosh motion, trying to find the right word.

Jisung watches, grinning. "Posted it?"

"Yes! Posted! Woosh! From Brazil!"

Jisung laughs, shaking his head as he moves toward one of the higher cabinets, standing on his tiptoes slightly as he rummages through the bottles. "Damn, so we’ve got imported liquor in this frat house? Fancy as fuck."

You shift slightly, still holding your torn blouse together, the fabric damp against your skin. Jisung glances at you out of the corner of his eye before setting the bottle down and walking over to the chair and grabbing a jacket. Without a word, he drapes it over your shoulders. It’s too big, warm from his body heat, and the fabric instantly makes you feel safer.

Your fingers automatically slip into the pockets out of instinct and they brush against something inside. You pull out two tickets, frowning slightly as you inspect them. COEX Aquarium. Gangnam. Next week.

Jisung freezes mid-pour, eyes flickering between you and the tickets. "Oh. Uh-" He rubs the back of his neck. "Forget about those."

You glance up at him, raising an eyebrow. "Why?"

He exhales, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "I was gonna ask you to go with me. Like, on a date. But after, you know, that dickhead, I figured you might not want to go on a date right now."

You shake your head immediately, gripping the tickets slightly tighter. "No, no," you insist, struggling to find the right words. "You are... very nice. Not bad like Beom-Seok. "I would like date with you. You are nice. You no care I am bad at Korean. You are good man, Jisung."

Jisung watches you for a long moment, unreadable, before he exhales through his nose. "Don’t feel forced-"

"I no feel forced," you interrupt, shaking your head more firmly this time. "I, uh, would like to go on date with you."

Jisung studies you for a second longer before he breaks into a grin. "Great!" Then he pauses, tilting his head. "So, to summarize what just happened here, you asked me on a date that I paid for?"

You nod, smiling slightly and Jisung snorts. "Okay, well, can’t complain, can I?" He slides a glass of cachaca toward you, ice clinking against the sides before he takes a sip of his own.

The alcohol burns, sharp and familiar as it settles in your chest and Jisung hums contentedly before his eyes light up with an idea. 

"Ooh, wait. Let me show you these videos I like watching. It’s animated dancing fruit and vegetables, there’s one where they dance to Pink Venom."

Jisung pulls his phone out, quickly typing before angling the screen toward you. The video starts playing, a hyper-stylized animated sequence of little fruit characters, their bodies bouncing to the beat of BLACKPINK’s Pink Venom. Tiny, grinning strawberries spin in circles. A smug-looking banana moonwalks across the screen. The entire thing is completely ridiculous.

You stare at it for a long moment before letting out a small, breathy laugh.

Jisung grins, leaning closer. "It's art."

You shake your head, but you keep watching, sipping your drink. Jisung rests his chin in his hand, his smile lazy and content as he watches you instead of the screen.

For the first time all night, the weight pressing on your chest feels just a little bit lighter.

Minho is lying on his back on Jisung’s bed, one arm draped over his forehead, the other resting on his stomach, a small ice pack balanced over his bruised knuckles. His tank top sticks slightly to his skin from the humidity, and his legs are stretched out in a pair of loose gym shorts. He’s tired but he’s also satisfied, his body still thrumming with the remnants of adrenaline from earlier.

Minho cracks an eye open just in time to see Jisung slip out of bed and cross the room to his closet. “What the fuck are you doing?” Minho mutters, shifting slightly to sit up.

Jisung doesn’t answer. Instead, he rummages through his closet, pushing aside sneakers, stacks of manga, and a box labelled Jisung’s Hoard (DO NOT TOUCH, CHANGBIN I MEAN IT) before finally pulling out a riot shield.

Minho stares as Jisung holds it up in front of his body, gripping the handle tightly, his head barely peeking over the top.

“I’m going on a date with Y/N next week,” Jisung announces and then, as if expecting immediate violence, he ducks behind the shield. 

Minho blinks slowly, then sighs. “You’re such a dumbass.”

“Okay, listen, before you say anything, or hit anything, just think for a second, okay? I didn’t plan for it to happen like this, I was gonna ask her in a cute way, but then she found the tickets in my pocket and technically she asked me first so if anything you should be mad at her, actually, wait, no, don’t be mad at her, I take that back, that would be bad, I mean-"

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose. “Jisung.”

"-okay but I swear I'm not a creep, I was gonna take her anyway just as a friend, you know I love aquariums, but then she found them and she wanted to go and she said I’m nice and not a bad man, which was very validating by the way-”

“Jisung.”

“-and I promise I’m gonna be good to her, I’m not gonna fuck around, I mean, I barely date to begin with because most people are annoying and I have trust issues but she’s-”

“Jisung.”

"-different, you know she’s different, you’ve known her forever, I’ve only known her a few weeks and I already know she’s different, she doesn’t make me shut up and she lets me ramble and do you know how rare that is, do you know how many people tell me to just shut the fuck up and-"

Minho exhales loudly. “Jisung.”

Jisung freezes, peeking out from behind the shield.

Minho stares at him for a long moment before shrugging. “Okay.”

Jisung blinks. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” Minho shrugs again, shifting slightly as he repositions the ice pack over his knuckles.

Jisung stays behind the riot shield, just in case and Minho watches him for a second before sighing. “Did you buy that just to break the news to me?”

Jisung straightens slightly, still gripping the shield. “No, I bought it because I thought it’d look cool. But it’s multi-purpose.” He pauses, then reaches into his closet again, pulling out a fucking katana.

Still behind the shield, Jisung holds up the sword. “This is what I actually bought to tell you the news.”

Minho stares at the blade, unimpressed and Jisung wiggles it slightly. “It’s fake, but it looks real enough that I hoped you’d piss your pants.”

Minho snorts. “Idiot.”

Jisung carefully sets the katana down but does not lower the shield. He eyes Minho warily. “You’re really not gonna attack me?”

“No.”

Jisung narrows his eyes. “Why?”

Minho rolls his shoulders, exhaling slowly. “If it were Hyunjin or Jeongin, I’d attack. But not you.”

Jisung frowns. “Why?”

“They’re sluts.”

“What the fuck kind of logic is that?”

“They’d hump and dump, and you wouldn’t,” Minho explains simply. “You care about people’s feelings too much”

Jisung stares. “That’s the nicest and most backhanded thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Minho smirks. “You know I’m right.”

Jisung sighs, finally lowering the shield slightly. “Yeah, okay, fair.” He crosses his arms. “Jeongin always says I’m scared of women, and that’s why I don’t hump and dump.”

Minho snickers. “He’s a little shit.”

“Women don’t scare me. Well, some do. But not Y/N.”

Minho hums, watching him carefully. “You like her.”

Jisung huffs. “No shit.”

Minho doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches for a pillow.

Jisung sees it and his eyes widen. Minho moves fast, throwing the pillow straight at Jisung’s head. Jisung screeches, throwing the shield up again just in time. The pillow bounces off with a dramatic thump, landing on the floor as Jisung stumbles slightly under the weight of the shield.

Minho smirks. “Just had to do something about it.”

Jisung groans, collapsing onto the bed with the shield still in his arms. “I fucking knew you were gonna do something.”

Minho just chuckles, settling back against the pillows as Jisung exhales, staring up at the ceiling, his heart still racing. He knows Minho isn’t mad, but still, he wasn’t about to risk it. Slowly, his fingers trace the edge of the shield, his mind drifting. He really does like you. And for once, he’s not scared of what that means.

Minho stands in front of your closet, arms crossed, eyes scanning your clothes with the kind of focus most people would reserve for a life-or-death situation. You stand beside him, fingers twisting the silver anxiety rings on your hands, your stomach already tight with nerves.

"It’s 10 a.m. You’re meeting Jisung at 1 p.m. That gives us three hours to pick out an outfit and get you ready, more than enough time. And I’ve even factored in an extra hour for me to give you a calming talk so you don’t freak the fuck out."

You let out a slow breath, nodding and Minho hums, his sharp eyes darting over the options in your closet. "It’s still a fucking heatwave, so you need something light."

He pulls out a black mini-dress with contrasting white trim on the straps. The fabric is soft, the cut simple but flattering, barely reaching mid-thigh. He holds it up against you, tilting his head as he assesses.

You glance at the dress, then back at Minho, nodding in approval. Minho tosses the dress onto your bed before moving to your shoe rack. He crouches, tapping his chin before grabbing a pair of white sneakers and a pair of mid-calf socks. 

"You’ll be walking around COEX, so these are practical," he explains. "And they go with the dress. Simple, clean."

Next, he steps over to your collection of bags, brows furrowing in concentration before he selects a small white handbag. He holds it out, nodding in satisfaction. "Done. Outfit complete. Go put it on."

You take everything and hurry into your bathroom, closing the door behind you. Your hands shake slightly as you set the clothes down on the counter, taking a deep breath to steady yourself.

You change quickly, pulling the dress over your head, smoothing the fabric down over your hips. The material is soft against your skin, breathable and perfect for the oppressive heat outside. You slip on the socks and sneakers, then glance at yourself in the mirror.

The dress is cute, simple but flattering. The white trim adds a soft contrast, and the sneakers keep the whole look casual enough that you don’t feel overdressed.

You step back into your room and Minho turns, eyes scanning you up and down. He nods, satisfied. "It’s perfect. Heatwave suitable, cute, and kind of casual sexy." He gestures toward your vanity. "Now, hair and makeup."

You hesitate, shifting slightly. "I... thought you would no like.... me and Jisung uh date." 

Minho exhales, shaking his head. "I’m protective, not possessive," he says simply. "You can date whoever you like. But if Jisung makes you upset, I will have to de-limb him."

You stare at him for a second before letting out a small, breathy laugh and Minho smirks, nudging you toward your seat in front of the mirror. "Oh, and you need to do my makeup. I have a date with Chan later."

"Chan?"

Minho shrugs, a smirk playing on his lips as he stands behind you, eyes narrowing slightly as he surveys your face through the mirror. He tilts his head, assessing, before reaching for your makeup bag. "Alright, let’s get this done quickly. You need something light and natural, nothing too heavy in this disgusting-ass heatwave."

You nod, sitting still as Minho gets to work. His movements are practiced, efficient, the result of years of perfecting his own makeup routine and frequently doing yours. He applies a light layer of foundation, blending it in effortlessly with a sponge, making sure it evens out your complexion without feeling cakey.

"Close your eyes," he mutters, already reaching for a soft brown eyeshadow. 

You stay still, your fingers twisting your silver rings as Minho moves on to your brows, quickly filling them in with light strokes. His touch is gentle but firm, his expression focused as he works.

"Okay, look up," he instructs. He holds your chin lightly as he swipes a small coat of mascara on your lashes, careful not to smudge it. "You need to be able to survive the day without looking like a raccoon."

You hum softly in agreement, your hands still gripping the hem of your dress nervously.

Minho sighs as he picks up a lip tint. "Relax, Jesus," he mutters, swiping the colour onto your lips. "Jisung isn’t gonna sacrifice you at the aquarium. Now, hair."

He quickly gathers your hair into his hands, pulling it up into a loose, messy bun at the crown of your head. He leaves a few strands out to frame your face, stepping back to examine his work.

"Perfect," he announces, smoothing his hands over your shoulders. "Alright, my turn. Make me hot."

He flops down into the chair, legs spread lazily, watching as you pick up his makeup bag. You pull out a primer first, dabbing a small amount onto his skin.

Minho smirks. "If you make me too pretty, Chan won’t be able to control himself."

You shake your head, smiling slightly as you begin blending his foundation. His skin is already annoyingly smooth, so it doesn’t take much work.

As you carefully contour his cheekbones, you pause, tilting your head. "You no tell me you like Chan."

Minho exhales through his nose, amused. "I didn’t know until I sucked his dick. I’ll know if I love him once I’ve fucked him."

You shake your head, suppressing a laugh as you pick up the highlighter. "You uh, top?"

Minho stares at you. "Yes, duh."

You furrow your brows, concentrating as you sweep highlighter over the bridge of his nose. "No duh. I think you uh, take? How you say?"

Minho tilts his head. "Sub? Bottom? Take it up the ass?"

You nod. "Yes?"

Minho sighs dramatically. "Oh, my sweet best friend who peed on me when she was one and traumatized four-year-old Minho, no, I do not bottom."

You pause mid-swipe, blinking. "What?"

Minho leans forward slightly, voice dropping into a dramatic whisper. "I was four years old, four, and I thought, hey, let me be helpful, let me change the baby’s diaper. And what did you do? You fucking pissed on me. My soul left my body that day."

You stare at him, trying so hard not to laugh. "I... sorry?"

Minho rolls his eyes, but his lips twitch in amusement. "You should be. You ruined my childhood."

You shake your head as you move on to his under-eye makeup, carefully blending out the concealer. "Your nose is so nice."

Minho smirks. "I know."

You roll your eyes, but your fingers are careful as you set his makeup, making sure everything looks smooth. Finally, you swipe a light layer of lip balm onto his lips before sitting back.

"Done."

Minho stands, inspecting himself in the mirror. He tilts his head, humming in approval. "Damn, I do look hot."

You smile slightly, proud of your work.

Then Minho turns to you, expression softening. "Okay," he says, his voice quieter. "Now, listen to me."

You inhale deeply, already nervous.

Minho gently takes your shoulders, turning you to face him. "You look amazing," he says firmly. "And you are amazing. Jisung’s gonna have the best fucking time today because he gets to be with you."

You chew on your lip, your fingers twitching. "I nervous."

"I know," Minho says. "And that’s fine. But this is Jisung we’re talking about. He already adores you, okay? He’s not expecting anything, he’s just excited to spend time with you. You don’t have to be perfect."

You exhale shakily, nodding and Minho squeezes your shoulders. "You got this," he murmurs. "And if anything happens, you call me. Okay?"

You nod again, a little more sure this time.

Minho smiles. "Now, go make that idiot fall even harder for you."

And somehow, you feel like maybe, you can.

The subway station is already busy when you arrive, the hum of conversations, the echoing chime of announcements, and the distant screech of a train pulling in filling the underground air. The sheer amount of people swarming around makes your stomach tighten, anxiety curling in your chest like a tightly wound spring.

Then you spot Jisung leaning against a pillar, hands in the pockets of his light-wash baggy jeans, oversized black graphic sweatshirt swallowing his frame in an effortlessly casual way and his black beret-style cap sits low over his forehead, round-framed glasses perched on his nose. A long silver chain dangles from his neck, catching the dim subway lighting as he shifts.

The moment he sees you, his entire face lights up. "Y/N!"

You relax slightly, just at the sight of him as he bounces toward you, taking a moment to look you over. "Damn," he says, exaggeratedly adjusting his glasses like he’s inspecting you. "You look cute as fuck."

You smile, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "Thank you."

Jisung grins before offering his arm dramatically. "Shall we, my lady?"

You huff out a small laugh before slipping your hand into the crook of his arm. Together, you make your way onto the subway platform, the train pulling in just as you reach the edge.

Once inside, it’s crowded. You tense slightly, pressing yourself closer to Jisung as bodies push around you. He notices instantly, shifting so that his arm is wrapped securely around your waist. His other hand reaches up, grabbing the overhead handle for balance.

"Hold on to me," he murmurs, his voice light but reassuring.

You don’t hesitate, wrapping your arms around his torso. His sweatshirt is soft against your skin, his scent a mix of fabric softener and something warm and familiar.

Jisung hums. "Sorry about the subway situation. I tried to learn to drive last year, but my instructor suffered a mental breakdown and quit driving forever after my fourth lesson when I ran over a fox and then crashed into a tree."

You blink up at him. "What?"

Jisung nods solemnly. "Tragic, really. Do you wanna hear the full horror story?"

You hesitate, but the subway is already moving, and focusing on him instead of the cramped space seems far better. You nod.

Jisung grins. "Okay, buckle up, lesson one was already a shitshow. So, I get into the driver’s seat, right? I think I’m ready. My instructor is like, 'Okay, we’re just gonna gently ease onto the road,' and I’m like, got it. So, what do I do? I fucking floor it. Almost ran over an old lady in the crosswalk."

"Jisung!"

"My instructor screamed so loud that I thought she was gonna pass out. She made me pull over and just sat there for like five minutes, staring into the void. I had to keep apologizing while she processed the fact that she almost died."

You shake your head, biting back a smile. "Next lesson?"

Jisung smirks. "Lesson two. So, I get back in the car. I think, okay, this time I’ll be normal. But then, turns out, I have a horrible habit of mistaking the gas for the brake. So, we’re in a parking lot, right? Just doing slow practice. My instructor’s feeling confident, she’s like, ‘Okay, let’s try reversing into a spot.’ I try. Instead of gently backing in, I fucking slam the gas. The car flies backwards. Hits a fucking shopping cart. Cart goes flying, hits another car, sets off the alarm. Instructor? Sobbing."

"No."

Jisung nods dramatically. "Oh yes. The store manager comes out, asks if everything’s okay, and my instructor’s just sitting there with her head in her hands, whispering, ‘Why me?’ I thought she was gonna quit right then."

You laugh softly, shaking your head. "Lesson three?"

Jisung sighs. "Lesson three was almost normal. Except, I kept forgetting the difference between the turn signal and the windshield wipers. So, every time I tried to turn, I just aggressively turned the wipers on instead. It was sunny as fuck outside. My instructor started twitching every time I reached for the controls."

You giggle, gripping onto him a little tighter as the subway car rocks. "Okay, last lesson?"

Jisung exhales dramatically. "Lesson four. The one that ended it all. So. We’re driving down this quiet-ass street, everything seems fine. I’m focused, I’m chill, I’m not hitting the gas like an idiot. And then it happens."

You furrow your brows. "What happens?"

Jisung presses his lips together. "I see something dart out from the trees. I think it’s a cat. But no. It’s a fox." 

Your eyes widen. "You hit a fox?"

"I hit the fuck out of that fox."

You gasp, hands tightening slightly on his sweatshirt. "What happened?"

Jisung shakes his head, as if still haunted. "It was so bad. The fox bounced off the windshield. Like, full-on ragdoll mode. There was blood everywhere. And the worst part? Chunks of it got stuck in the grill of the car."

"Jisung!"

"I KNOW!" He throws his head back. "The instructor screams, I panic, I swerve, and guess what? Straight into a fucking tree."

"You crash the car?"

Jisung groans. "Yes. The airbag fucking explodes in my face. I’m sitting there, stunned as shit, and my instructor? She gets out of the car. She walks away. Doesn’t even look at me. Just leaves."

You stare at him. "She quit?"

"Forever!" Jisung throws up his hands. "She sent me a fucking text later, saying she was retiring and that driving was too stressful."

You laugh, covering your mouth. "You bad at driving."

Jisung sighs dramatically, hugging you a little closer. "Yeah. So this is why we’re taking the subway."

You shake your head, still giggling as the train rattles toward Gangnam. Jisung holds onto the overhead handle, keeping you steady against him, his warmth pressing against you in the cramped space.

And somehow, even with the overwhelming noise and the sheer number of people around you, you don’t feel as anxious anymore. Not with Jisung’s arm wrapped securely around you, his voice filling the space between you with ridiculous stories and endless laughter.

The entrance to the COEX Aquarium is bright and bustling, the cool air inside a welcome contrast to the oppressive heat outside. The faint scent of saltwater fills the air, mixed with the clean sterility of glass and metal. People shuffle through the check-in, collecting tickets and brochures, voices overlapping in excited chatter.

Jisung immediately makes a beeline for the check-in counter, grabbing a map from the stand with an eager grin. His round glasses slide slightly down his nose as he reads, and he absentmindedly pushes them up with a knuckle.

“Alright,” he announces, flipping the map dramatically. “So, the tour goes in this order: Rainbow Lounge, then the Story of Korean Fish, Fish in Wonderland, Amazonia World, Marine Touch Lab, Mangrove and Beach, Living Reef Gallery, Ocean Kingdom, Marine Mammal Village, Deep Blue Square, Deep Blue Sea Tunnel, Garden of Jellyfish, Penguin's Playground, and then, boom, gift shop.”

You nod, gripping the strap of your handbag, feeling the smooth material under your fingers as a grounding technique. "Sounds… good."

Jisung grins, tucking the map into his back pocket before reaching for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours effortlessly. "Let's go," he says, tugging you forward. "I need you to tell me all the facts about the creatures, and then I'll tell you my superior facts."

You blink up at him, slightly startled by the warmth of his palm against yours, but his excitement is contagious, and it helps ease the lingering anxiety in your chest. You nod again, squeezing his hand slightly in agreement.

The first exhibit is the Rainbow Lounge, a room bathed in soft blue lighting with massive curved tanks lining the walls. Inside, schools of vibrantly coloured fish glide through the water, their scales shimmering under the lights, reflecting hues of red, yellow, blue, and green. The effect is mesmerizing as if stepping into an underwater dream.

Jisung whistles, eyes wide as he presses closer to the glass. "Damn. This looks like a gay fish nightclub."

You huff out a small laugh, stepping beside him. Your gaze follows the movements of the fish, recognizing different species instantly. You point at a particularly bright fish with long, flowing fins. "That… is uh, people call it Dory fish."

Jisung nods, grinning. "Ahh, Finding Nemo’s sidekick. Got it."

You gesture to another fish with a striking pink-and-purple gradient. "This is… fairy wrasse," you continue, carefully picking your words. "Males... uh.." You pause, miming a size difference with your hands.

Jisung furrows his brows before gasping. "Oh! Males grow bigger?"

You nod, relieved. "Yes! And change colour. When, they, uh," You gesture vaguely, trying to think of the right word.

Jisung tilts his head, thinking, then smirks. "When they’re horny?"

"No!" You swat at his arm, making him laugh. "When they... grow. Mature."

"Uh-huh, sure," Jisung teases, wiggling his eyebrows. "They hit fish puberty."

You shake your head, but your lips twitch slightly in amusement. You move on, pointing at another group of fish with iridescent scales. "These... are neon tetras. They live in... big groups. Uh, shoals." You glance at Jisung to make sure he understands.

He nods enthusiastically. "Yeah! They gotta stick together so they don’t get eaten."

You point at another fish, gesturing with your fingers in a sharp motion. "This one has teeth. It... bite."

Jisung leans in, squinting. "Wait, what?" His voice drops to a whisper. "Biting fish? In the gay nightclub?"

You nod. "Yes. It bite."

Jisung gasps dramatically. "A fish biter? In this economy?" He shakes his head in mock disappointment. "Truly, there are no safe spaces left."

You press your lips together, holding back a laugh. Jisung’s amusement grows as he watches you struggle. "You want to laugh," he accuses playfully. "I see it."

You shake your head quickly, but the small smile on your face gives you away.

Jisung leans against the glass, watching the fish swim in rhythmic patterns. "Okay, my turn for facts," he says, clearing his throat. "Did you know that clownfish are all born male, but if the dominant female dies, the biggest male turns into a female?"

You nod, already knowing this, but you let him continue.

Jisung grins, clearly proud of himself. "Which means that in Finding Nemo, Marlin should’ve turned into a girl and married Dory. Disney lied to us."

You shake your head, amused, as he moves on to another fact. "Oh! Also, parrotfish sleep in their own mucus bubble to protect themselves from predators. Like, they literally spit out a cocoon of snot and sleep inside it. Which is both disgusting and kind of genius."

You nod again, already aware of this, but you enjoy watching him talk. His enthusiasm is infectious, and the way he gestures with his free hand while keeping the other firmly wrapped around yours makes something warm settle in your chest.

Jisung glances at you. "Wait, you already knew that, didn’t you?"

You hesitate, then nod sheepishly and Jisung groans dramatically, flopping against the railing. "Ugh. My documentary knowledge is nothing compared to yours."

You shake your head quickly. "No! It… good."

He lifts his head, narrowing his eyes playfully. "Good, but not great."

You hesitate before nodding again, lips twitching. "Yes."

Jisung gasps, clutching his chest. "You wound me."

You giggle, and Jisung grins, clearly pleased. "Fine, I’ll just keep going until I say something you don’t know."

The entrance to Ocean Kingdom is dimly lit, designed to mimic the deep sea, where only beams of artificial blue light filter through the massive tanks lining the walls. The air is noticeably cooler here, the faint hum of filtration systems and the rhythmic sound of water bubbling creating a serene atmosphere. The exhibit is all sleek glass, towering tanks filled with sharks gliding effortlessly through the water, their movements smooth and eerily silent.

Jisung stops dead in his tracks, gripping your hand tightly. "Holy shit," he breathes. His round glasses reflect the light from the water, his eyes wide with pure, unfiltered excitement. "Okay, this is so fucking cool. I love sharks."

You nod, stepping closer to the thick glass. A massive sand tiger shark swims past, its long, jagged teeth permanently exposed, giving it an almost menacing grin. The blacktip reef sharks follow close behind, their streamlined bodies sleek and agile as they weave through the artificial coral structures.

You glance at Jisung. "You like sharks?"

Jisung nods so aggressively his beret nearly slips off. "Like? Like?! I fucking adore sharks. They’re so misunderstood. They get all this bad press because of Jaws and dumbasses who think every shark is out here just waiting to eat people."

You smile slightly, pressing your hand against the glass as a hammerhead shark swims by. "Sharks, no like eat people."

Jisung gasps, gripping your arm. "See?! You get it!"

You nod, as you point at the hammerhead, then gesture with your hands to show the width of its oddly shaped head. "This is... hammerhead. Their head... is like..." You pause, miming a wide sweep with your hands.

Jisung watches your hands, nodding in encouragement. "Uh-huh, yeah, like a...?"

You think for a moment before snapping your fingers. "Like radar! It... help them find fish in sand."

Jisung’s jaw drops. "They scan the ocean floor?! That’s fucking insane."

"Yes! They sense, uh..." You pause, struggling for the right word, then tap your fingertips together in quick succession.

Jisung immediately jumps in, eyes lighting up. "Movement?"

You beam, nodding quickly. "Yes! Movement! In sand!"

Jisung watches as another hammerhead glides by. "Damn. That’s fucking metal."

You step closer to another tank, pointing at a whitetip reef shark resting on the bottom. "This shark no need to swim."

Jisung blinks. "Wait, what?"

You nod. "Most sharks need swim to breathe. This one can stop."

Jisung looks at the shark in shock. "So it just vibes? Like, it can just take a fucking nap?"

You smile, nodding. "Yes. Nap shark."

Jisung clutches his chest dramatically. "That’s so fucking unfair. If I stop breathing, I die. But this bitch? Just chilling at the bottom of the ocean? That’s some bullshit."

You giggle, and Jisung grins, clearly pleased with himself.

Then it’s his turn. "Okay, my turn for shark facts," he announces, straightening his posture.

You nod, waiting.

Jisung points at a nurse shark in one of the smaller tanks. "Did you know sharks have been around for over 400 million years? That’s older than dinosaurs. Like, these motherfuckers have been thriving while whole-ass species got wiped out."

You nod, already knowing this, but pretending you don’t so he’ll keep rambling. "Wow..."

Jisung puffs up proudly. "Yeah. And get this, sharks have a sixth sense. Like, actual superpowers. They can detect electric fields in the water, which is how they hunt shit hiding under the sand. Like, everything gives off tiny little electric signals, even beating hearts. Sharks can fucking sense it. They’re like ocean assassins!"

You nod again, listening as he moves on to his next fact.

"Oh! And their skin? It’s not smooth. It’s covered in tiny scales called dermal denticles, which literally means ‘skin teeth.’ If you rub a shark one way, it’s smooth, but the other way? It’s like sandpaper. Imagine having fucking teeth all over your body."

You hum, feigning deep thought. "Weird…"

Jisung nods enthusiastically. "Right? And get this, sharks can go into a frenzy when they smell blood. But it’s not like in the movies where they just attack randomly. They’re just curious. They check shit out first. They’re not mindless killers."

You already know this, but you nod seriously, making him feel like the smartest person in the world. "Smart shark."

Jisung grins, squeezing your hand slightly. "Exactly! They’re smart as fuck."

He pauses, watching as a massive tiger shark swims past. The stripes on its body stand out even under the dim lighting. Jisung leans in slightly. "Wait, isn’t that the one that eats everything?"

You nod. "Tiger shark. It eat… uh…" You pause, struggling for the right word. "It eat… anything. Trash. Uh…" You mime throwing something.

"Oh shit, like actual garbage?"

You nod. "Yes! Tires, license plate… even chair!"

Jisung gapes at you. "A fucking chair?"

You nod again. "Yes. It eat… no care. Just… eat."

Jisung stares at the tiger shark with newfound respect. "Honestly? Same."

You giggle, and Jisung grins at you before suddenly tilting his head in thought. "Oh, I have a question," he says. "So, I lived in Malaysia for a bit, right? And had to learn to speak a bit of Malay. Even when speaking Malay, I always thought in Korean first. So, do you think in Portuguese and then translate?"

Your eyes widen slightly. You nod slowly. "Yes… is very… hard. Head… always busy."

Jisung hums in understanding, rubbing circles on the back of your hand with his thumb. "Damn, Y/N, your brain must be on fire 24/7."

You huff a small laugh, nodding. "Sometimes… yes."

Jisung watches you for a moment before giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. "Well, for what it’s worth, you speak Korean really well. Like, way better than I would if I tried to learn Portuguese."

"Thank you."

Jisung grins, nudging your shoulder lightly. "You’re welcome, smart girl."

The Penguin Playground is colder than the rest of the aquarium, the temperature-controlled environment mimicking the frigid conditions of the Antarctic. A light mist hangs in the air, condensation forming on the glass of the massive enclosures where dozens of penguins waddle, dive, and swim with surprising grace. The sound of their squawking fills the room, along with the occasional splash of water as they torpedo through the pool.

Jisung practically vibrates with excitement beside you, his grip on your hand tightening as he tugs you closer to the glass. "Ooh, okay, listen, I watched a whole-ass documentary on penguins last night, so I have so many facts."

You nod, already smiling as he gears up for another intense ramble.

Jisung clears his throat dramatically. "Okay, first of all, people always think penguins are these cute, loyal, fluffy little bastards but no. These motherfuckers are ruthless. Did you know that some penguins fucking cheat on their mates?"

You blink up at him, feigning shock. "Cheat?"

"YES!" Jisung exclaims, eyes wide. "Like, they have ‘mating pairs’ and whatever, but some penguins just go around fucking other penguins on the side. Like, dead-ass homewrecking each other’s little ice nests."

You huff a small laugh, nodding as if this is the most shocking news you’ve ever heard. "Bad penguins."

"Right?" Jisung scoffs, shaking his head. "And it gets worse. You know how they give their mates those cute little pebbles, right? Like, oh, here’s a stone, I love you, let’s build a nest together?"

You nod.

Jisung grips your shoulders. "Some of them fucking STEAL the pebbles."

Your mouth drops open. "No."

"YES!" Jisung exclaims, pointing aggressively at the penguins behind the glass. "Some of these sneaky little bitches literally go around stealing the best pebbles from other nests instead of looking for their own. Just straight-up robbery. And you wanna know why? Because the best pebbles get you the best mates. It’s like fucking gold-digging but in the penguin world."

You shake your head, barely holding in your giggles. "Scammers."

"THEY ARE!" Jisung throws his hands up. "They’re fucking criminals! And you know what else? Some of these thieving motherfuckers actually TRADE the stolen pebbles for sex."

Your eyes widen as you process that. "Trade?"

"TRADE!" Jisung yells, clearly outraged. "Like, ‘Oh, you want this really nice rock? That’ll cost you one fuck.’" He turns to the glass, pointing at the penguins. "Who taught them capitalism?!"

You snort, covering your mouth with your hand as laughter shakes your shoulders.

"And listen, if you thought that was the worst of it, let me tell you about their shit habits, literally. Did you know penguins fart? Like, a lot?"

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity. "Fart?"

"So much fucking farting."

You press your lips together, pretending to be intrigued. "Why?"

Jisung smirks, adjusting his glasses dramatically. "Because of their diet, my dear Y/N. These little tuxedo-wearing menaces eat so much fucking krill and fish that their guts are basically fermentation chambers. They store gas like it’s a fucking science experiment, and then, boom, stinky ass farts."

You shake your head, covering your face with your hands as you giggle.

Jisung leans in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "And it gets worse."

You peek up at him through your fingers. "Worse?"

"Yes." Jisung nods grimly. "Because penguins, my dear Y/N, shit with force. These little bastards don’t just poop. They launch that shit. Like, projectile diarrhoea. Scientists actually did a study to measure how far a penguin can fire its own crap."

You stare at him, struggling to keep a straight face. "Really?"

"Really!" Jisung nods eagerly. "The average launch distance of a penguin’s explosive diarrhoea is about 1.3 meters. That’s like, over four feet of straight-up shit cannon."

You can’t hold it in anymore, you burst out laughing, doubling over slightly as your shoulders shake. Jisung beams, clearly thrilled that he got you to laugh.

"And," Jisung continues, clearly on a roll now, "if you thought we have it bad with public restrooms, imagine being a fucking penguin scientist. These poor fuckers have to sit around in a frozen hellscape, measuring how far penguin shit flies for the sake of science. Imagine going to college and getting a degree, only to end up with a job where you’re literally dodging high-speed bird turds in the fucking Antarctic."

You gasp for air between giggles, clutching your stomach. "Jisung!"

Jisung grins. "What? It’s true! Imagine coming home after work and someone’s like, ‘Hey, what do you do for a living?’ and you just have to be like, ‘Oh, you know, just penguin poop physics.’"

You wipe at your eyes, shaking your head as you finally manage to compose yourself. "That is so sad."

Jisung nods solemnly. "Rest in peace to all the penguin poop researchers." He sighs dramatically. "They were the real ones."

You giggle again, looking back at the penguins. Some are waddling around, pecking at the ice, others diving smoothly into the water, their little bodies streamlined and graceful despite how ridiculous they look on land.

Jisung nudges your arm. "You still think they’re cute?"

You nod without hesitation. "Yes."

Jisung sighs, shaking his head. "Even knowing they’re cheating, thieving, rock-trading, shit-launching criminals?"

You smile. "Yes."

Jisung grins. "Yeah, me too."

You both stand there for a moment, just watching the penguins in comfortable silence. Then Jisung gently tugs on your hand. "C’mon, let’s go buy unnecessary amounts of shit from the gift shop."

The sun is still brutal when you and Jisung step out of the COEX Aquarium, but the heat doesn’t seem as oppressive after the hours spent in the cool, dimly lit exhibits. The matching turtle plush keychains you both bought at the gift shop swing slightly with each step, yours hanging off the strap of your handbag, and Jisung’s clipped to a belt loop on his oversized jeans.

He’d insisted on matching, grinning like a maniac as he dramatically held up the two keychains side by side, saying, "Look, they’re like us, one is shy and the other talks too much."

Jisung stretches, groaning as he rolls his shoulders. "Okay, so what now?" he asks, tilting his head to squint at you behind his round glasses. His hair is slightly messy from wearing his beret all day, but he hasn’t put it back on, letting the slight breeze cool him off. "The date can’t end here. We could go to a cafe or get bubble tea, I am starving. Like, actually starving. I thought the penguins might’ve tasted nice with some rice back there."

You wrinkle your nose, playfully nudging his side. "Jisung!"

"What?!" Jisung grins, rubbing his stomach dramatically. "It’s their fault for being so plump and round! If we were in a survival situation, you’d consider it too."

You shake your head, holding back a laugh. "No. Bad."

Jisung groans. "Fine, fine, I’ll find food that isn’t a penguin." He turns to you expectantly. "So? What do you wanna eat?"

You hesitate, thinking. "We could... go get... cheesecake? Is that how you say?"

Jisung gasps.

You blink at him in confusion. "What-"

"You are a dream woman," he interrupts, placing both hands on his chest as if he’s just been blessed by the universe. "Cheesecake is my fucking favourite. That’s it. That’s the final straw. You have to be my girlfriend now."

You freeze slightly, your brain stumbling over the last word. "Girlfriend?"

Jisung blinks at you before realization dawns. "Oh. Right. You don’t..." He pauses before trying again. "You know? Girlfriend?"

You still look lost, trying to piece it together, so Jisung immediately jumps into action.

He clutches his chest dramatically, swaying like he’s about to faint. "Oh, my love," he sighs, reaching for you as if in a tragic romance drama. "I cannot live without you!"

You blink, watching him curiously and Jisung moves on to the next demonstration, pressing his hands together in the shape of a heart and wiggling his eyebrows. "You know? Love. Romance. Heart-fluttering moments."

You tilt your head slightly, still not entirely sure what he means.

Jisung groans, then escalates immediately. He mimes sex. Your eyes widen as he thrusts his hips dramatically, makes an obscene hand gesture, and moans loudly, loud enough that people turn to stare.

"JISUNG!" you gasp as you smack his arm.

He just laughs. "Now you get it!"

You cover your face with your hands, still mortified. "Yes! I get! I get!"

Jisung snickers, nudging you playfully. "So? You gonna be my girlfriend or what?"

You peek at him through your fingers. "You like me?"

Jisung scoffs. "Duh." He reaches out, gently pulling your hands away from your face so you’ll look at him. "Of course I like you. You’re amazing. You’re smart as hell, you let me ramble for hours, you listen to my dumbass facts, and you even pretend to be impressed even though you already know everything. That’s some top-tier girlfriend material shit right there."

You stare at him, taking in his sincerity and Jisung watches you expectantly, still holding your hands. "So? What do you think?"

You hesitate, feeling your heart pound a little too hard. Then, slowly, you nod. "I like you too."

Jisung grins, squeezing your hands. "Fucking finally," he sighs dramatically. "Alright, now that we’re officially dating, I’m taking my hot girlfriend to get cheesecake."

You giggle softly, letting him pull you along as the heat of the summer sun bears down on the city. But somehow, despite the heatwave, despite the sweat sticking to your skin, being with Jisung makes everything feel lighter.

The frat house is dimly lit when you and Jisung step inside, the air slightly cooler than the humid streets outside. It’s quiet for once, which is rare for a house full of chaotic men, but you assume most of them are either out or recovering from whatever questionable decisions they made last night.

Jisung, however, is still buzzing with energy. He kicks off his shoes, dragging you inside excitedly. “Okay, okay, you need to see my realm,” he announces, gripping your wrist as he starts leading you toward the stairs. “It’s like fucking Mary Poppins’ bag, but a room. I buy so much random shit that I never use. It’s basically a museum of bad financial decisions.”

You raise a curious eyebrow but let him pull you along, his excitement infectious. The stairs creak under your steps as you both make your way up, and Jisung keeps talking, gesturing wildly. “Honestly, I don’t even know half the shit I own. Sometimes I open a drawer and it’s like, oh, hello, cursed object I forgot about.”

You giggle, shaking your head as he finally stops in front of his door. He turns to you dramatically, gripping the handle. “Prepare yourself,” he warns, wiggling his eyebrows. “This is not just a room. This is an experience.”

With that, he swings open the door.

The first thing you notice is that Jisung was not exaggerating. His room is a chaotic explosion of random shit. Posters cover the walls, some of them normal, bands, movies, anime, while others are questionable choices, like a framed photo of Shrek in a Renaissance-style painting.

There are plushies stacked in one corner, a full arcade joystick setup next to his desk, multiple fidget cubes scattered on his nightstand, and an entire shelf dedicated to random collectables. A rubber chicken, a Funko Pop of Michael Scott from The Office, a tiny golden Buddha, and what looks like an actual taxidermied frog playing a tiny violin.

You step inside cautiously, glancing around. "You buy a lot."

Jisung grins proudly, kicking some clothes out of the way. “I know, right? It’s fucking awesome.”

He immediately starts pointing things out, launching into the backstory of every ridiculous item.

“This,” he says, grabbing a tiny, handheld fan from his desk, “was supposed to save my life during this heatwave, but it barely blows any air, so now it just sits here collecting dust like a useless piece of shit.”

You hum, pretending to be deeply fascinated.

He grabs a remote-controlled car next. “Bought this because I thought it would be funny to terrorize the frat house, but then Changbin fucking stepped on it, so now it just drives in circles forever.”

You nod, clearly taking notes on his terrible purchasing habits. Then he picks up a weirdly realistic-looking pigeon figurine.

You blink at it. "Pigeon?"

Jisung grins, shaking the bird at you. “YES. I bought this because I read somewhere that pigeons are government spies, and I thought it would be hilarious to keep one as a double agent.”

You narrow your eyes at him. "You believe that?"

Jisung shrugs. "I mean, not really, but the possibility is funny as fuck.”

You shake your head, barely holding in your laughter as you continue looking around. Then your eyes land on something big and ominous leaning against the wall. A riot shield.

You point at it. "Why?"

Jisung follows your gaze, then laughs, walking over to grab it. “Ohhh, this thing? Yeah, okay, so it looked really fucking cool when I bought it, but then I just never used it. It sat in my closet for months.”

You tilt your head. "But you use?"

Jisung nods dramatically. "Yes, it finally proved useful when I told Minho we were going on a date. I used it to protect myself from his wrath."

Your eyes widen slightly. "Minho hit you?"

Jisung grins. “No, but I wasn’t about to take my chances.”

Then, without warning, he reaches under his bed and pulls out something even more ridiculous, a realistic-looking katana.

Your mouth drops open slightly. "A sword?!"

Jisung nods, holding it up with a completely serious expression. “This, my dear Y/N, is what I actually bought to protect myself against Minho.”

You blink at him, then glance at the sword again. "It real?"

Jisung snickers. “No, it’s fake but it looks real enough to make Minho hesitate for like, two seconds.”

You shake your head, amused but not surprised. Then Jisung suddenly gasps, eyes lighting up. "OH! You need a stone!"

You tilt your head. "Stone?"

Jisung nods enthusiastically. "Like penguins, right? They give each other stones to say, I like you, let’s build a nest, let’s be criminals together.”

You nod, playing along, and Jisung immediately dives into his desk drawer, rummaging through random junk until he finally pulls out a small pebble. He holds it up proudly before walking back over and placing it gently into your palm.

You stare at it, warmth spreading in your chest. "My stone?"

Jisung nods. "Your stone."

You turn it over in your fingers, rubbing the smooth surface before looking back up at him. "You give me nest?"

Jisung grins. “Hell yeah, I give you a nest. We’re in this together now.”

You giggle, gripping the stone a little tighter.

Jisung watches you for a moment, his smile softening. Then, before you can process it, he steps closer, tilting his head slightly as he studies your face. There’s a pause, a moment of quiet anticipation, before he leans in, his hand gently cupping your cheek as his lips press against yours.

The kiss is warm, deep, and unmistakably Jisung, a little eager, a little messy, but so full of feeling that your chest tightens. His lips move against yours with a slow, deliberate pressure, as if he’s been waiting for this, as if he’s been thinking about this moment for longer than he’d ever admit.

His free hand finds your waist, fingers curling slightly against your dress as he pulls you in, his body flush against yours. You feel the slight tremble in his hands, the way his heart races against your own, and you melt into him, pressing up on your toes to kiss him back with just as much uncertainty and want.

When he finally pulls away, his breath is uneven, his forehead resting lightly against yours. He exhales a soft, breathy laugh, his grip on your waist loosening just slightly.

"Well, I guess the romantic trials and tribulations of Han Peter Jisung paid off."

And you laugh, because, somehow, it feels like the truest thing in the world.

Requested by Anon

Han Jisung Taglist: @puppymsworld

General Taglist: @nightmarenyxx @velvetmoonlght @annafee_bou @mlink64 @intoanothermind @furfoxsake22 @daaaph-lol @tirena1 @yu-winchester @cristy-101 @puppymsworld

Proofread by the one, the only, the lovely @hwangjoanna (who has a Squid Game SKZ AU which you should all go and show some love

Dividers by: @enchanthings-a

Curlysung as a result of this poll

Please like, reblog and comment as I researched so much for this story, I researched aquariums in seoul and went on a deep dive on the CEOX aquarium website and all attractions mentioned are attractions that exist at CEOX aquarium and I also did so much research on marine biology, so much

[kangaracha]

QUEENMAKER | CHAPTER 32

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pairing chan x reader

genre ninth member au, angst, fluff, coming of age, social media, cancel culture, anxiety, depression, forbidden love,

summary To JYPE, the solution is simple; take the sole trainee that will not debut with your brand new girl group, and use her to replace the missing vocalist in your male group that insisted on starting as nine.

Unfortunately, to the fans and the members themselves, it isn't that simple.

status ongoing

taglist OPEN

a/n everybody. stay calm.

previous | masterlist | next

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"Do you want to go for a walk?" you suggest one glass in, when it becomes clear that you won't be reaching the level of drunk you'd been aspiring to tonight. Not that you'd been aspiring very high anyway; you'd already learned, somewhere in between a myriad of training years, that drinking only caused more problems the next day. Just like smoking, or spending the night with some boy you knew would get cut from the program long before any debut came around to cause problems.

Not that it was hard to find a boy like that, back in the day; most of them were the left-overs from Stray Kids, with no new make debuts in sight. Or that your dating life had even found time to really thrive, when you filled every hour with work.

Anyway, you ask him to walk, knowing that he will say yes, and so you walk, shoulders close but not quite touching, all the way down to the river.

"Wow," he says when you get to the bank, staring out over the still, black water. "That's pretty." 

You agree before you even look, your own eyes mesmerised by the parklands around you. The night is still and cold, the stars blinking through the clouds overhead and your breath rising like a mist in front of you. It had snowed in the evening, a light, fresh coat of powder that just covers the ground. It will be gone in the morning, its beauty as transient as anything else's; but tonight, it feels a little like it fell just for you.

"It's cold," you remark, just to break the still and silent air, your chin finding the shelter of your collar. Chan turns away from the water, stepping close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body.

"You wanted to walk," he reminds you as he slips an arm around yours and lets you walk close beside him, leeching off his body heat. "I told you not to."

"I didn't realise it had snowed," you admit. "It's the end of winter. It's not supposed to snow anymore."

"You control the weather now?" he asks, and you slap the arm of his jacket, causing more noise than anything else. "Do you think it snowed just to annoy you?"

"No, it snowed because Jeongin cursed us earlier." You glance back at the city, your apartment building lost in the haze of lights. "He said he hopes it doesn't snow for his graduation, so it's going to snow for the next two weeks now."

"His graduation." Chan pretends to wipe away a tear, even as you smack his arm. "Our little baby, all grown up."

"He's only graduating," you say, watching how he smirks. "He's not getting any older."

"Not like us," Chan sighs. "We get older every day."

"Speak for yourself."

The grin flashes once more across his face and then fades again. "It's so weird, seeing him graduate. He was so small when he joined the company. Unconfident, or whatever the word is."

"He was cute," you agree. "He was my favourite part of the survival show."

"I still can't believe you watched that." His head shakes, even as he smiles. 

Your laughter rises into the still air. "Of course I did," you say on the end of your breath. "I watched everything. I'm the biggest Stay there is now."

"Oh?" His eyebrow raises. "Do you have a bias, then?"

"Why? Are you hoping that it's you?"

"No, no, no," he says, a fraction too early to be casual. "Just wondering."

"Oh." You pretend to be disappointed, kicking at the snow on the ground. "Well, I'm not going to pick you if you aren't going to be excited about it."

"I could be excited about it." 

"You don't look very excited."

"My favourite idol is standing right next to me, so I'm trying to be cool about it."

You snort a laugh. "You're such a loser," you tell him wholeheartedly. It comes out affectionate anyway, just the same as the squeeze he gives your arm in response, his fingers trying to pinch you through your thick winter coat. "Or a shameless flirt. Do you ever wonder why you have like, a million girlfriends?"

"What, Stay?" he asks, his ears turning red. "I don't know why they say that. I didn't do anything."

"You don't even know when you're flirting," you say sadly, shaking your head.

"I know when I'm flirting," he says. "I'm just not flirting with them."

"Who are you flirting with, then?"

He refuses to meet your eye when you look at him, staring out at the river instead, like there is something of extreme interest out there in the still water. "No one," he says defensively.

Weird. Your conversation with Changbin earlier runs through your mind again, narrowing your eyes even as he avoids them. Your mouth almost opens to ask him, just on instinct; and then stops, because you're not entirely sure that he would answer if you did. Or that you want to ask.

"Could have fooled me," you say instead, and watch him breathe out in relief. Weird; Changbin was right, that is the word for it. The way he's acting, the things he is and isn't saying...

"Sorry," he says, like he isn't sorry at all. "It's all a lie. I don't love any of you."

"Or Stay?"

"Nope." He pauses, glancing at the path ahead while he draws in a breath. "Especially not after today. They'll have to try a lot harder than that if they want my respect."

All the breath leaves your chest at once, surprise catching itself in your throat at the thread of vehemency that exists within the even cadence of his voice. "It was only a few of them," you say; though around the constriction of your own chest at the thought of it, you don't know why you're defending them. 

"It's more than a few," he throws back, before you can even decide if you're going to rally a proper argument or not. "I saw a picture of that banner you were talking about. It was..."

"Not worth crying over?" you guess wryly, ignoring the black feeling that twinges in your gut at the memory of it.

"No," Chan replies pointedly, ruffling your hat and the hair underneath. "It was cruel. Don't go around thinking that you deserved that."

"I don't think I deserved it." You take your time fixing your hair, brushing dark locks back away from your eyes. "I've worked for this. I just worry that I'm...wrong."

He is already shaking his head. "You're not wrong. I kind of wish you were, because then that would mean you don't spend every day working yourself to death."

"I'm not working to death."

"Just until your back gives out and your voice starts cracking."

You turn to look at him and the amused smile that hides in the corner of his mouth, affronted. "Excuse me," you say, the airs of your voice rising. "Jagiya, my voice never cracks. I'm a professional."

His smile grows wider, escaping from its prison to light up his face. "That's true," he admits. "It's kind of annoying, actually. You could set the bar lower."

"I can't do that," you answer. "You already told me I have to stop dancing. I can't be bad at both, what will I do then?"

"Visuals?" Chan's eyes narrow, peering at your face like he's evaluating you. 

You wave him away with one hand, ducking away from his scrutiny. "You want me to take Changbin's job? He'll be sad."

Chan shrugs. "We can deal with upset Changbin." You scoff and he laughs, a low noise that rumbles out from the centre of his chest. "Does this mean you're going to listen to me about the dancing, then?"

You can feel your cheeks turn red, the memory of your conversation earlier in the night playing fresh in your mind. You hadn't lied to him - you have been thinking about it, almost obsessively, since he'd sat you down there and told you in no uncertain terms that things would change. That you were the thing that needs to change, as embarrassing and frustrating and utterly confidence-breaking as it is. "Of course I am," you mumble, your voice constricted by some base desire to defend yourself against...what? Your pride? "I listen to you about everything. Why wouldn't I?"

"I wasn't sure," he replies simply, his voice neither accusatory nor pleading. "You were pretty...angry earlier. It didn't seem like you liked the idea."

"I don't like-" You stop yourself midway, forcing yourself to take a breath and collate your thoughts in a way that makes sense. "I don't think it's a good idea for the group. But I get where you're coming from and I...can agree that maybe I need to...tone it down."

"Tone it up," he amends, squeezing your shoulders. "Talk on stage like you do at home, go crazy."

"Do I go crazy at home?"

His head tilts, looking at you. "Not really," he admits freely. "You could try it though."

"I thought you told me I should be myself?"

"Don't use my words against me."

A laugh slips from you, bubbling softly from the back of your throat when you least expect it. It sounds nice in the night air, ringing just so to your attuned ear. It's almost as nice as when Chan laughs along with you, hushed to avoid breaking the stillness of the moment. You should laugh more often; and make him laugh, instead of watching his face pinch with worry. You could both use a little more of the carefree joy he's talking about.

"I deleted all of my social media," you blurt out without precedence, the sudden wish to tell him pressing through the apprehension that had held you back before. "I asked skijigi to manage bubble too. I just have to write something for her to post once a week or whatever."

"That's-" For a second, he is lost for words, his face awe-struck. "You didn't have to do anything today, you know. I only meant for you to think about it."

"I thought about it for the rest of the show," you reply. "I knew anyway. I've been pretending for months that I'd stop looking at fan comments, I just needed you to yell at me for me to...actually do it."

Acknowledge addiction, but you don't want to phrase it like that, not in the face of the wry smile he gives you. Nor do you tell him about the itch under your skin that begs you to go and look at the responses to your performance and your mistake. 

And the period of time when you'd disappeared together with no explanation.

"I'm sorry if it seemed like I was yelling," he says. "I was just trying to tell you-"

"No," you correct him before he can rush to explain a slight that hadn't occurred in the first place. "That was bad phrasing. You were - everything you said was perfect. And right."

"About everything?" he asks, and you nod. "Even about being yourself? Ignoring the company?"

Your answer is slow, your voice without breath as the weight of what he's asking settles upon you. "If you promise to tell me if - anything hurts the group. I - you said earlier that you don't care if we go home because the fans don't like me. I don't want you to think like that and then ignore things."

"Y/N." His arm is like a vise grip around your shoulders, holding on like you might slip away and disappear. "I said that because there's no way it will ever happen. And even if it did, I'm not leaving my whole career to depend on someone's misery. None of us want success like that."

Your mouth opens to protest, your feet stuttering on the pavement. "Don't argue with me," he says before you can speak. "Just accept that you're worth it, okay? To all of us. It's not that unbelievable."

Your mouth closes and then opens again, speechless. Your eyes watch the toes of your boots sinking into the show, your knees almost too weak to carry you. "I'm going to do it," you say, piece by piece. "I can't promise it will change anything though."

"It'll change what happened today," he answers, the level gaze of his eyes too intense for you to meet. "That's all I care about."

You don't know what to say in response, your heart floating on air and crashing to the ground all in the same moment. A breath of cold air saves you, the wind whipping away the shelter of your collar and stinging your cheeks as it whips past. Your hair knows and tangles in the wind; you shove your hat further down on your head and then huddle into your coat, hissing at the cold. "That's freezing," you comment, as if noting it will help to stave it off. "What are we doing out here?"

"You wanted to walk," Chan reminds you, the smug glee in his voice unmistakeable. "I told you it would be cold."

The tension drains from your body as his teasing tone returns, the warm nature of his voice pushing the previous discussion from your mind. "We should have had another drink before we went," you say, and you're surprised to find that you mean it wholeheartedly.

"Are you sure you could handle another one?" he asks. "You're already all sweet and sobby and weird."

"I only had one."

"And look, your face is all red."

You turn to look at him, the mist of his breath whispering past your face. "So is yours," you point out, your finger poking at the flush of his cheek. "You're being a lot weirder than me, too."

"Am I?" he asks, indulgent.

You nod. "Even Changbin messaged me to ask what was up with you earlier."

He frowns, his mouth curving like he's going to pout. "What does that mean? I wasn't being weird earlier."

"I don't know." You shrug, and his arm squeezes your shoulder, pulling you closer again. "I didn't think you were doing anything strange."

"But I am now?"

Your feet ease to a stop in the shadow between streetlights, slipping out of the reach of his arm so that your eyes can search his face, like you'll find the answer written across his forehead or something. He waits patiently, his lips pressed together to hold back a smile while you make your judgement, his eyes daring you to accuse him of something. 

"You tell me," you say after a moment, and you watch with fascination as uncertainty flickers over that face as his confidence crumbles from the inside. You're sure then that he's hiding something, even as he swallows what he's feeling and lifts his chin again, assessing.

"There is actually something I've been meaning to tell you," he says slowly, in the kind of voice that makes your heart suddenly leap and skip a beat in your chest, all of your skin suddenly alive to the touch of his hand against the back of yours, the shift of the air in the yawning space between you. "Although I think you already kind of know."

"Do I?" You search your memory for what he could possibly be talking about, confusion creasing your face, and come up short. Hadn't you just been talking honestly about the day, and the future, and the secrets you might have been withholding from each other? Hadn't he already said everything nice about you that there could possibly be to comment on? You continue down the list, past what he's already said to what he might say next, but still, you don't know - you've talked about your life, and Jeongin, and the future of Stray Kids, and whether or not he is flirting-

Why would you think that, you scold yourself, right as he says, "I don't know if it's good or bad news though."

Your heart lodges itself firmly in your throat without thinking, your chest squeezing - but not with the same black feeling of anxiety that usually plagues you, only some stupid thrill of something like butterflies. "You know you're going to have to come clean now, right?" you ask, trying to play like you're not holding anticipation so tight in your chest at the direction your thoughts are going that it feels like your ribs might cave in; and pretending that there isn't the possibility that you might like it.

"Yeah, I know," he says, and suddenly he can't quite look at you, his head ducking and then turning to look out at the river, the lights, anything but the situation he is creating. Not that he's trying to run away; rather, his weight shifts an inch closer, like two moons that can't pull away from each other. "Now it's awkward though."

You smile in a way that you hope isn't giddy. "And whose fault is that?" you ask, teasing him in just the same way as he would you.

His head tips to the sky, mouth sighing out a breath of mist and hot air. "Mine," he admits freely. "It was a moment of weakness. I thought we were being wild and irresponsible tonight."

"There's still time." You reach out for his hand, lacing your fingers together pointedly. "I can be irresponsible if you can."

"Can you be my friend even if I say something really stupid?" he asks. "At least until we walk home?"

You eye him warily. "Is it that bad?" you ask. 

"No!" he hurries to answer, before you can get any ideas. "It's fine, I swear, it's just-" He stops himself short, drawing in a breath instead of spilling words out on one and composing himself. It's a trick you should learn, you think as you watch it, as he turns back to you and sets his jaw and lines the words up in the back of his throat, right before he starts to speak. 

"I like you," he says, devastatingly blunt.

Your mind freezes, and then starts spinning again twice as fast.

You're pretty sure he can see the race of your heart in your chest, the shock that widens your eyes and sets your spine ram-rod straight. Your mouth opens to say something, and then stops before you can blurt out something stupid like, of course you do, we're friends, or what's that supposed to mean or I like you too. Be cool, you tell yourself instead, sending the instruction sternly to your heart and the fluttering in your chest like it will help. If anything, it only makes the world around you spin more, the river and the stars and the dim light of the lanterns that line the path blurring together into a background of black and grey that pinpoints your focus on only one thing.

Him.

"Sorry," he says again, though even he doesn't seem to understand what he's apologising for. "That's confusing. I - am in love with you? I have a big, stupid crush on you. And I know that it's not...ideal, when we have to work together forever, and I will not be offended if you turn me down, or even sad, I just wanted you to know because we keep promising not to lie to each other and it feels like I'm lying to you all the time-"

You don't think before you step forward, your mouth shutting him up as effectively as any words would.

It's simple and fleeting, your lips pressed to his and your hands curled around the lapels of his jacket. His mouth is soft and accepting, a gasp catches in the back of his throat, and then-

And then he pulls away, his eyes wide and his chest heaving in a startled breath. You can feel the movement of his ribcage under his jacket - stunned, you let go, ducking your head as shame fills your cheeks. Crazy, you chastise yourself, before his open mouth can even begin to say it for himself. That's not what he meant. That's not what he wanted.

His hands reach for you first, fingers grazing the edge of your jawline. The soft cup of his palms forces you to look up at him again, into those soft brown eyes you're too afraid to meet-

He kisses you again, harder this time. Desperate, and hungry, his mouth searching and his body so close that the heat of his skin sets you alight too. There's no escape, but there isn't anywhere you want to go anyway - not when you can stay here in this moment forever, captured in the taste of his mouth and the soft touch of his fingers sliding along the back of your neck. You emerge, breathless, only when he pulls away again, staring at you like there is nothing else in the world worth seeing.

"That feels like it was a mistake," you say quietly, though you can't miss the gaping hole in your tone where the regret should be.

"Sorry," Chan answers, and puts another inch of space between you. "If you didn't want-"

You reach up again, pressing a fleeting kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I wanted," you answer firmly when you are sure he's speechless, your fingers curling into his shoulder. "I don't think it was the smartest thing to do, but...I wanted. So I did." His eyes look at you like they don't believe you, his mouth opening again to issue some guilt-free ticket out. "You told me to do whatever I wanted."

A surprised laugh sputters out of his mouth. "I didn't think that you felt the same way," he answers.

"Neither did I," you say slowly. "I didn't even realise it was an option."

"I thought you already knew," he says, bemused.

"No?" you say. "Why would you think that?"

"Because - it was something you said earlier. It doesn't matter." He waves it away before you can probe any further, his fingers landing in the length of your hair, messing with the dark locks. "Does this mean you'll still be my friend while we walk home?"

The back of your hand thumps solidly against his chest, a stupid giggle bursting from his mouth at the sound that it makes. "This is serious, you know," you tell him, but there's a laugh hiding in the back of your throat as well, threatening to break free at the face he pulls at you. "We can't just-"

His mouth swallows the words that are about to spill out of your own, shutting you up more effectively than anything he could have said. "Greedy," you murmur when he pulls away and he laughs, the warmth of his breath ghosting across his face. 

"I wanted," he says, his voice so low that even if there were other people around, only you would hear it. "So I did."

You hit him again. He laughs.

"Let's go home," he says, turning you back the way you came with the hand that he takes in his own. "It's too cold out here for this."

"For what?" you ask insistently, even though you follow along too giddy and willing to sell the ire in your voice. You feel kind of like you're floating - like all the alcohol has hit you at once. Like you've just won something that you've wanted your whole life, even though you only realised you wanted it in the last ten minutes. 

"For whatever you're trying to argue about now," he tells you, ever patient, and drags you onwards. "And another drink."

"That's all?" 

"What else do you want?"

Your answer hesitates for a moment, even at the sight of the cunning smile that plays on his lips, waiting for you to speak. I don't know, you almost say simply out of habit; and then stop yourself short, because this time, it isn't true. This time, you do know what you want, and you have it right here in the palm of your hands.

And for once, you look at him and there is not a doubt in your mind that you know what he is thinking. What he wants, what he is brave enough to admit even when you were too scared to so much as consider it. You, and him, and nothing else, not for tonight.

"I don't want anything else," you answer, quiet but true, the smile on your face so much softer than the nervous, giddy energy that jolts through your veins at the thought of it. "Just what I already have. That's enough."

"Me too," he answers, and squeezes your hand as he leads the way home.

TAGLIST

@kokinu09 @rainfallingfromthesky @lixie-phoria @mysweethannie @chlodavids

@hanniemylovelyquokka @tfshouldidohere @lauraliisa @puppysmileseungmin @kalopsian-thoughts

@puppy-minnie @readerofallthingss @dvbkie099 @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @acker-night

@d-chagi @lynlyndoll @borahae-reads @ihrtlix @yienmarkk

@minhwa @i2innie @jinnie-ret @conwunder @amesification

@starssongs98 @weirdhumanbeinglol @morinuu @the-weird-mold-in-the-sink @bokkiesplace

@amyyscorner @jiisungllvr @skzstaykatsy @blackhairandbangs @jungkookies1002

@hyuuukais @imsiriuslyreal @thatonedemigodfromseoul @gini143 @mercurywritesstuff

@splat00z @filmbypsh @palindrome969 @crabrangoongirl25 @enzos-shit

@jabmastersupriseee @kayleefriedchicken @hynjinswrld @duhgurl @cheshireshiya

@keepswingin

[sereia4skz]

1K Followers Event 

★ To celebrate reaching 1k followers I'll be hosting another event!!!

★ I'll be taking request for fake texts/drabbles/oneshots for hybrid!stray kids. You should let me know which member(s)/pairings x reader you would like to see. PLEASE READ STORY THEMES UTC

STATUS: OPEN

#1kShootingStars: masterlist

A/N: super excited, and so happy to have reached another milestone so fast. I appreciate anyone who stays in character just to make it immersive but it's up to you

You're flying in from Australia, your friend Felix, offered to let you stay with his pack. After much discussion with his Pack Leader, you agree. What is going to happen? Keep updating your friend (me), about your time there and your encounters with your friend and his pack (your ask).

A/N pt2: anyways have fun with it and be as vague/precise as you want. feel free to suggest other kinks you’d prefer too

━━━━━━━━━━━━⋆｡°✩

wolf!BANGCHAN

★ About: Pack leader, rubs himself all over the house and the boys (scent-marking), howls when he's alone because he thinks it’s cool but the boys make fun of him for it

★ Kinks: Breeding, begging, daddy kink duh, public sex

cat!LEEKNOW

★ About: Moms all of them, runs the place like the military, aloof, despite being super agile he’ll  knock stuff over for attention, weirdly super high maintenance about odd things

★ Kinks: Butt stuff just all over, spanking, sharing, blades

bunny!CHANGBIN

★ About: Has way too much energy, bounces around like a maniac, squeezes people to death to show affection

★ Kinks: Dry humping, vibrators, shibari, size differences

ferret!HYUNJIN

★ About: Steals shiny things, dramatically hides under furniture when you disagree with him, wraps himself around others, kinda like a snake he’ll just flop and be impossible to hold

★ Kinks: Dollification, cockwarming, oral (giving), camera/filming

quokka!HAN

★ About: Curious and has no self preservation skills, will just follow anyone anywhere, will climb on anything and everything, including people.

★ Kinks: DP, ice/temperature play, voyeurism, pegging/ass play

kitten!FELIX

★ About: Headbutts for affection, purrs loudly when happy, loves warm laundry piles, and will get hair everywhere, curls up in your bag so you accidentally bring him places, has a please love me look that is downright magic

★ Kinks: Licking, feminization, restraints, wax/temperature play

puppy!SEUNGMIN

★ About: Grumpy golden retriever energy, whines for attention and then pretended you were bothering him, gnaws on sleeves, gets jealous if you pet someone else 

★ Kinks: Pup play duh, collars & leashes, spit, choking, oral (receiving)

fox!JEONGIN

★ About: Flicks tail  at the boys when annoyed, fake-sleeps to eavesdrop, lowkey scheming with Minnie all the time, mischievous ass guy with a shopping problem

★ Kinks: Dacryphilia, marking, tit fucking (just tits tbh), choking

taglist: @diekleinesuesse @tillaboo @felixsonlyrealwife @geni-627 @skz8riley @lezleeferguson-120 @pixie-felix @headfirstfortoro @alnex05 @baby-stay92 @encoredesires @androgynouscrownorbit @channiesluvrclub @my-neurodivergent-world @chims-dimple @bookswillfindyouaway

[lilmisssona]

⋆⁺❅ A Second Chance ⋆⁺❅

⋆⁺❅ Pairing - Changbin × Fem Reader

⋆⁺❅ Plot - Dating Changbin means constantly competing with his busy schedule for time together. However, it pushes you to your limit when he fails to come home on time for Christmas. As frustration builds, you start questioning where you truly stand in his priorities.

⋆⁺❅ Genre - Angst, Hurt, Comfort, Fluff

⋆⁺❅ Warnings - Pretty angsty, abandonment, Hurt to comfort, Idol au

⋆⁺❅ Word Count - 8.4K ⋆⁺❅ Screenshot Count - 4

⋆⁺❅ A/N - Episode 3 of Staymas is here! Dating a K-pop idol might seem like a dream, but what lies behind the spotlight tells a different story. This episode explores the struggles, heartbreak, and reality behind the fantasy. Hope it speaks to you all! Just slightly proofread so apologies for any mistake 🙂‍↕️

⋆⁺❅ SKZ Masterlist ⋆⁺❅ Staymas Masterlist

Snow fell in thick, soft flurries outside the apartment window, painting the world in a pristine white blanket. It should have felt magical...it was Christmas Eve, after all..but inside, your heart felt heavy, weighed down by a familiar ache.

It was your third Christmas with Changbin, and you had been so excited this time. For months, you’d clung to the promise he’d made -

This Christmas would be different.

He’d assured you that after the relentless tours, promotions, and schedules that had kept him away for the past eight months, he’d finally spend it by your side.

Being with someone like Changbin came with challenges, and you knew that better than anyone. He was part of 3RACHA and Stray Kids, a group that had taken the world by storm. Every sleepless night, every grueling choreography, every chart-topping success, it all made you so proud of him. But pride didn’t quiet the loneliness that echoed through your days and nights. You understood his dreams, you admired his passion, but sometimes, understanding didn’t make it hurt any less.

Still, tonight was supposed to be different. You’d convinced yourself of that. Pushing aside the nagging doubts, you poured your energy into decorating the apartment. A silver Christmas tree stood in the corner, its shimmering ornaments carefully arranged. The table was set like something out of a storybook:candles glowing softly amidst dishes you had spent the whole day preparing. Even the gifts you’d wrapped with such care sat neatly beneath the tree, waiting for him.

“Maybe tonight, it’ll finally feel like Christmas,”

you whispered to yourself as you looked around at your work. Satisfied, you sank into the couch, pulling a blanket over yourself. With a smile, you grabbed , your phone and sent him a text.

But as the hours crept by, the apartment remained eerily quiet. The candles burned low, casting shadows across the untouched dishes. The tree’s lights blinked cheerfully, mocking the emptiness that surrounded you.

You glanced at your phone again, the screen still void of any reply. The clock struck nine. Then ten. Your stomach twisted as doubt settled in. Maybe he’s on his way, you thought, desperately clinging to hope. Maybe he got caught up in traffic.

But then the phone buzzed, and for a fleeting moment, your heart soared. You scrambled to unlock it, only to feel that fragile hope shatter.

The words blurred as tears welled up in your eyes. A bitter laugh slipped past your lips.....hollow and cold. Merry Christmas? That was all? No apology. No acknowledgment of the effort you’d put into tonight. Just two sentences, as if you were an afterthought.

Your chest ached as the realization sunk in. This wasn’t new. He’d done this before-broken promises that left you waiting, hoping for a moment of connection that never came. You had told yourself things would change, that this time he meant it. But here you were again, sitting in a beautifully decorated apartment, surrounded by cold food and a tree that felt more lonely than festive.

“Why do I even bother?” you whispered into the silence, the weight of your disappointment crushing you. You wanted to scream, to cry, to demand why he couldn’t make space for you in his busy world. But all you did was sit there, staring at the flickering candles, wondering how much more your heart could take.

-----------------------------------------------------

Across town, Changbin leaned against the cold studio wall, exhaustion etched into every line of his face. The set buzzed with relentless energy...directors shouting, assistants rushing with equipment, and lights glaring harshly above him. The festive decorations, draped in fake snow and oversized ornaments, felt like a cruel parody of joy, mocking him with every twinkle.

This shoot wasn’t supposed to happen. It had been a last-minute addition, labeled “urgent” and impossible to decline. His schedule, already unforgiving, had swallowed his days whole.....grueling dance practices, back-to-back interviews, rehearsals, and midnight studio sessions. Changbin had always prided himself on his dedication, but tonight, that commitment felt more like a chain than a choice.

The set, designed to exude holiday magic, only amplified the ache in his chest. The sparkling lights and oversized Christmas trees weren’t festive to him; they were reminders of what he’d promised you and failed to deliver.

He could see you in his mind’s eye, your face lighting up when you’d told him about your Christmas plans. He remembered the way your voice had bubbled with excitement as you described the dishes you’d cook, the decorations you’d hung, and the gifts you’d wrapped just for him.

“Are you sure you’ll be home on time?” you’d asked, your eyes searching his for reassurance.

“Of course,” he’d said with a smile, ruffling your hair. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Now those words felt like a cruel lie.

When the director finally called for a break, Changbin sank into a chair, his body heavy with fatigue. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and for a fleeting moment, he hesitated. When he finally pulled it out, your message greeted him:

YN💞: Dinner’s ready!

YN💞: Everything’s set!

YN💞: I can’t wait for you to come home Binnie 🫶🥰

Your excitement leapt from the screen, twisting the guilt in his chest into something unbearable. He could picture you waiting, the table set perfectly, the apartment glowing with the warmth of your efforts. You believed in him....trusted him to keep his promise.

But what could he say? Another excuse? Another hollow apology? His fingers hovered over the screen before he shoved the phone back into his pocket, the weight of it heavier than ever.

“I’ll text her later,” he muttered to himself, though he knew it was a lie.

The hours dragged mercilessly. Retakes turned into more retakes, delays stacked upon delays, and by the time the shoot finally wrapped, it was well past midnight. His body felt like it might collapse, his mind too fogged with exhaustion to think clearly.

Sitting in the back of the van, Changbin stared at his phone, his heart heavy. He typed the message quickly, as if rushing it would dull the sting.

Binnie🫶���: Schedule Ran Late

Binnie🫶💕: Don’t Wait Up

Binnie🫶💕: Merry Christmas Love ❤️

Hitting send, he leaned back against the seat, closing his eyes. The thought of you sitting alone, surrounded by cold food and untouched decorations, tore at him, but the exhaustion pulling him under was stronger.

“Take me back to the dorm,” he told the driver quietly.

As the van sped through the city, he let his mind drift to a different version of the night - a version where he walked through the door of your apartment, pulled you into his arms, and sat down to share the meal you’d prepared with so much care. He imagined your laughter, the way your eyes would light up when he handed you the gift he’d hidden in his bag, and the warmth of your smile as you teased him for being late.

But that wasn’t reality.

Instead, he stumbled into the dorm, his legs heavy, his heart heavier. Dropping his bag by the door, he collapsed onto his bed without even changing.

In the dark, guilt whispered to him, soft but unrelenting. His last thought before exhaustion claimed him was a quiet, desperate promise:

I’ll make it up to her. I have to.

------------------------------------------------------

The apartment was silent, save for the faint crackle of candles burning low on the dining table. You sat at the edge of your seat, staring at the untouched plates of food you’d spent hours preparing. Each dish was a labor of love - Changbin’s favorites, perfected through trial and error. Tonight, you had wanted everything to be flawless.

The table was a vision of warmth and care. Gold-rimmed glasses reflected the soft glow of fairy lights strung across the room. A delicate Christmas centerpiece, sprinkled with pinecones and holly, stood proudly at the center. Everything screamed holiday magic, but it all felt hollow without him there.

You’d imagined it so differently. Changbin walking through the door, exhausted but smiling, pulling you into a hug. Dinner would be filled with laughter, stolen glances, and shared stories. Later, you’d cuddle on the couch, the sound of Christmas carols mingling with his quiet whispers as the world outside faded into irrelevance.

But that fantasy shattered the moment his message buzzed onto your screen.

Binnie🫶💕: Schedule Ran Late

Binnie🫶💕: Don’t Wait Up

Binnie🫶💕: Merry Christmas love ❤️

You’d stared at it, willing the words to change, hoping there was some mistake. But there wasn’t. He wasn’t coming home.

The carefully built walls of understanding and patience you’d maintained for months began to crack. You told yourself you shouldn’t be upset. He was busy. His life wasn’t easy. You knew this when you fell in love with him. But the excuses you repeated in your mind did nothing to stop the sting.

Midnight came with his message and went. The food, once steaming and inviting, grew cold. The candles melted down to stubs, their soft flicker dimming with time. Still, you waited, staring at the clock as if it could rewind the hours and bring him back to you.

Finally, you stood and began clearing the plates. The sound of dishes clinking in the sink echoed through the apartment, sharp and unforgiving. Your hands scrubbed the plates with a force that made your knuckles ache. Tears slipped down your cheeks, unbidden and unstoppable.

Why do I always come second?

The thought hit you like a punch to the gut. You’d spent months convincing yourself that this was what it meant to love someone like Changbin, someone whose passion and dedication burned so brightly it often eclipsed everything else. You’d told yourself his absence didn’t mean he cared any less, that it was enough to support him from the sidelines.

But tonight, it didn’t feel like enough.

After cleaning up, you shuffled into the living room. The Christmas movie you’d put on earlier played on the screen, its cheerful music and heartwarming scenes mocking the ache in your chest. You curled up on the couch, pulling a blanket tightly around your shoulders, desperate for any kind of comfort.

The festive scenes on the TV blurred as fresh tears filled your eyes. You’d chosen this movie for him...another small gesture to make tonight special. Now, it was nothing more than background noise in an apartment that felt emptier than ever.

Your gaze flicked to the table. The centerpiece sat untouched, its once-vivid greenery now muted in the dim light. The image of the meal you’d prepared, the effort you’d poured into every detail, haunted you.

“Why can’t I be enough?” you whispered into the stillness, the words trembling with pain.

You knew he worked hard. You knew he was chasing dreams that required sacrifice. But was it wrong to want him to choose you, even for one night? To make you feel like you were more than just another responsibility on his endless list?

The tears came faster now, your body shaking as you buried your face in your hands. You hated this...hated feeling so vulnerable, so small. But the loneliness that settled in your chest was suffocating, and no amount of rationalizing could ease it.

The movie played on, oblivious to your pain. Its happy endings felt like a cruel reminder of what you didn’t have tonight. The love you’d poured into your relationship seemed to hang in the air, unanswered and unreciprocated.

You stretched out on the couch, exhaustion from the day and the crying weighing heavily on you. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the TV, and the soft shadows of the fairy lights danced on the walls.

“I just wanted to spend tonight with you,” you murmured, your voice barely audible over the sound of the film.

Sleep crept in slowly, pulling you under despite the heaviness in your chest. But even in sleep, there was no peace. Your dreams were fragmented, filled with fleeting images of Changbin...his warm smile, his comforting presence, the promises he’d made and broken.

And so, you lay there on the couch, bathed in the dim light of the TV, your cheeks still damp with tears, the weight of your heartbreak settling into the quiet of the night.

-----------------------------------------------------

The dorm was dark when Changbin arrived, and for once, the quiet didn’t bring him peace. His body ached with exhaustion, but it was the kind that settled in his chest, not his muscles. He dropped his bag near the door, barely making it to his bed before collapsing. His mind swirled with thoughts of you,your message, your disappointment, but sleep claimed him too quickly for guilt to take root.

Morning didn’t offer mercy. The moment he opened his eyes, the heaviness hit him like a freight train. He reached for his phone, rereading your message until the words blurred. The sharpness of your pain seeped through every syllable, making it harder to breathe. He typed and deleted replies, each one feeling more hollow than the last.

He thought about calling you but couldn’t bring himself to dial. What could he possibly say? “I’m sorry” felt inadequate. So instead, he clung to the hope that he could make it right. After practice, after the chaos, he would fix this.

When he finally stood outside your door, the weight of his hesitation nearly crushed him. In one hand, he clutched a bouquet of your favorite flowers, their petals trembling as he fidgeted with them. In the other, a bag of carefully chosen gifts - a futile attempt to bridge the gap between you. He had planned this moment in his head, rehearsing his apology a thousand times. But now, standing in front of the door, he realized he was terrified.

The guilt was suffocating, gnawing at him with every passing second. Finally, he forced himself to knock lightly, his heart pounding as the seconds stretched into what felt like hours.

When he stepped inside, the silence struck him first. It was the kind of silence that wasn’t empty but heavy, laden with unspoken words and shattered expectations. Then, he saw you. You were on the couch, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the blank TV screen. The way you sat...so stiff, so distant...made him want to shrink into nothingness.

“Hey,” he tried, his voice barely above a whisper.

You didn’t acknowledge him at first, the air between you stretching unbearably thin. Finally, you turned your head, and when your eyes met his, his heart cracked. They were tired, swollen, and red-rimmed, a clear reflection of the tears you’d shed. Tears he had caused.

“You’re late,” you said, your voice flat, stripped of any warmth.

“I know,” he started, shifting uncomfortably. “I’m sorry. The shoot ran late, and I....”

“And you what?” you cut him off sharply, your tone biting. “Decided I wasn’t worth the effort? Decided it was easier to ignore me than to try?”

He flinched, the venom in your words hitting harder than he expected. “It’s not like that,” he said, a defensive edge creeping into his voice. “You don’t understand...”

“Oh, I don’t understand?” You stood up suddenly, the force of your pain radiating in every word. “I don’t understand what it’s like to spend hours cooking your favorite meals, setting up a table, waiting by the door for you, only for you not to bother showing up? You didn’t even call, Changbin.”

“I was exhausted!” he snapped, his frustration boiling over. “Do you think I wanted to miss it? Do you think I don’t care?”

“If you cared, you would’ve been here!” you shot back, your voice breaking as tears welled in your eyes. “I don’t need flowers, or gifts, or apologies. I needed you. Just you. But you couldn’t even give me that.”

His defenses crumbled as he saw you breaking in front of him, your tears spilling over despite your efforts to hold them back. “I didn’t want to ruin everything by coming home like that,” he said weakly. “I didn’t want you to see me like....”

“You ruined it anyway!” you screamed, your voice raw. “You don’t get it, do you? Last night wasn’t just about Christmas. It was about us. About me sitting alone at a table set for two, wondering if I even matter to you anymore.”

“You matter to me more than anything,” he pleaded, stepping closer, his voice cracking. “I was thinking about you the whole time...”

“Then why weren’t you here?” you interrupted, your voice trembling with the weight of your anguish. “Why is it so easy for you to put everything else before me? Why do I have to keep convincing myself that I’m enough when your actions scream otherwise?”

He had no answer. Every excuse he had felt hollow, every apology meaningless. The flowers in his hand suddenly felt ridiculous, a cheap token compared to the love you’d given him without hesitation.

You grabbed your coat, your movements sharp and decisive.

“Where are you going?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

“Out,” you said, not sparing him a glance.

“Y/N, please,” he begged, reaching for your arm, but you pulled away.

“Just stop, Changbin,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “You’ve already let me down enough.”

And then you were gone, the door slamming shut behind you, leaving him in a silence so oppressive it felt like it might swallow him whole.

He stood there, frozen, his heart in his throat. The flowers slipped from his hand, landing forgotten on the floor. Slowly, he sank onto the couch, burying his face in his hands.

Your words echoed in his mind, relentless and unforgiving.

"Why weren’t you here?"

"You didn’t even try."

He sat there for what felt like hours, replaying every moment, every choice that had led to this. The guilt was a living thing, wrapping itself around him and squeezing until he couldn’t breathe.

He had thought he was tired last night, but now he realized exhaustion was nothing compared to the weight of losing you. And he was terrified it might already be too late to make things right.

-----------------------------------------------------

You stepped out into the streets, the cold afternoon breeze brushing against your skin. Yet, it barely registered. The chill was nothing compared to the numbness inside you. It was strange how the ache of love could seep so deeply into your bones, leaving behind only a hollow shell of what once was. They were right - Love that gives you joy can just as easily bring unbearable pain.

And today, it had broken you.

You wandered aimlessly, your feet carrying you to a nearby park. The quiet rustle of the trees and the distant laughter of children did little to soothe the storm raging in your chest. You sank onto a bench, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself as if to hold the pieces of your heart together.

The argument replayed in your mind like a broken record, each word sharper than the last. The sound of your voice trembling with anger, his frustration bleeding into his tone...it all echoed in your head, relentless and unyielding.

Around you, happy couples strolled hand in hand, their smiles and laughter only deepening the ache in your chest. Tears spilled freely now, streaking down your face as you let yourself feel the weight of it all.

"Should I break up with him?"

The thought was terrifying, but it lingered, stubborn and insistent. Could you keep going like this? Loving someone who made you feel so small, so invisible? The hours passed as you sat there, lost in the labyrinth of your own pain, searching for an answer that didn’t seem to exist.

When the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you finally rose from the bench. Your limbs felt heavy, your heart even more so. Heading back to your apartment...the place that once felt warm and safe...now felt like walking into a stranger’s house. The walls that once held your happiest moments now felt cold and distant.

You hesitated at the entrance, the weight of the earlier fight pressing down on you. You couldn’t bear to face him, not yet. The thought of his apologies, his explanations, his guilt-filled eyes...it was too much.

Instead, you turned on your heel and headed toward YFN’s place. Maybe talking to her would help. Maybe spilling the pain you’d been holding in would ease the tightness in your chest. You needed someone to remind you who you were, to tell you that you deserved more than this suffocating love.

------------------------------------------------------

Changbin sat alone in the apartment long after you had stormed out. The silence felt heavier than anything he'd ever experienced, pressing against his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake off. The soft glow of the Christmas lights, once warm and festive, now felt mocking, cruel reminders of a night that was supposed to be magical but ended in disaster. His eyes darted to the table you had so lovingly set the night before. The untouched food, now cold and forgotten, felt like a metaphor for your relationship...something once vibrant and full of warmth, now abandoned and left to wither.

He buried his face in his hands, guilt clawing at his insides with a ferocity that refused to let up. Each passing second without you felt like a lifetime. He reached for his phone when it buzzed, his heart leaping at the thought that maybe...just maybe..it was you. But it wasn’t. It was his manager, reminding him about tomorrow’s schedule. The triviality of it all hit him like a slap in the face. None of it mattered. Not the schedules, not the shoots, not the rehearsals. What good was it all if he couldn’t keep the one thing that made it all bearable?

He tossed the phone onto the couch, a single tear sliding down his cheek as the weight of his failures settled over him like a suffocating blanket. How had it come to this? How had he let things spiral so far out of control? He thought back to the look in your eyes before you left—the pain, the betrayal, the disappointment. It was a look he’d never forget, one that would haunt him for as long as he lived.

The next morning was no better. He woke up late, the weight of his guilt still heavy on his chest. The ache in his body was nothing compared to the torment in his heart. The walls of the practice room felt like they were closing in on him as he went through the motions, his usual energy replaced by a hollow, lifeless shell of himself.

Han was the first to notice. He always noticed.

“Hyung,” Han said softly, pulling Changbin aside. “What’s going on? You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.”

Changbin didn’t know how to answer. The weight of his actions, of his failure to show up for you, weighed so heavily on his heart that he could barely speak about it. But Han wasn’t letting him off that easy.

“You look like you’ve been through a storm,” Han continued, his voice softer now. “What happened?”

Han quietly motioned for Changbin to sit. Once they were both settled on the couch, the silence between them hung heavy, thick with unspoken tension. Changbin’s head was lowered, and for a moment, Han wondered if his friend would say anything at all. The weight of the silence stretched, suffocating, until finally, the dam broke.

“I didn’t go home last night,” Changbin admitted, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. “Y/N spent all day preparing for Christmas Eve. She cooked. She made everything look perfect. And I… I stayed at the dorms. I didn’t even go back to her.”

Han’s eyebrows furrowed, his disbelief clear. “Why? Did something happen? Did she… understand?”

Changbin hesitated, his defenses creeping up even as his guilt overwhelmed him. “I was exhausted,” he began, though the words felt hollow even to him. “I had this shoot, and it ran late, and I just… I didn’t have it in me to go home and face her.”

Han leaned forward, his gaze sharp but not unkind. “So, you’re telling me you left her alone on Christmas Eve? Changbin Hyung, come on. You know better than that.”

Changbin’s voice cracked as he tried to explain, desperation bleeding into his words. “I thought it was the better option. I thought… showing up like that, completely drained, would ruin everything she worked so hard for. But now… now I realize I hurt her even more by not going at all.”

Han let out a long sigh, shaking his head slowly. “You’re right. You messed up. Big time.”

Changbin swallowed hard, his throat dry, his chest tightening with shame. “How do I fix it, Hannie?” he asked, his voice trembling as he leaned back against the practice room wall. He dropped his head into his hands, as though searching for answers in the quiet darkness behind his closed eyes.

Han watched him closely, his own heart aching for his friend. The usually composed, confident Changbin looked utterly defeated, like a man who had just realized how deeply he had wounded the one person he couldn’t bear to lose.

“Will she even take me back after all this?” Changbin whispered, his voice barely audible, yet thick with emotion. The thought of losing you completely was unbearable, and the weight of that fear pressed down on him like a storm.

Han’s gaze softened, but he didn’t let up. He leaned closer, his tone gentle but firm. “I don’t know if she’ll take you back, Hyung. I can’t promise you that. But what I do know is this: you can’t just sit here and hope she’ll forgive you. You have to try. You have to show her you want this—you have to prove it. Not with words, but with actions.”

Changbin’s shoulders sagged, Han’s words hitting him like a punch to the gut. But in the midst of the sting, there was something else: clarity. Han wasn’t offering him false reassurances or easy solutions. He was challenging him to take responsibility, to step up, to fight for what he’d almost let slip away.

“But how?” Changbin’s voice was raw, stripped of all the bravado he usually carried. “What if it’s too late? What if I’ve already ruined everything?”

Han exhaled slowly, his gaze steady. He understood that fear, that self-doubt, better than most. But he also knew it couldn’t be an excuse. “I can’t tell you exactly how to fix it,” he said honestly. “But I do know that if you love her...really love her....you’ll find a way. You’ll make sacrifices. You’ll show her, not just tell her, that you understand what you did wrong and that you’re willing to change.”

Changbin’s hands clenched into fists, his mind racing. Every word Han said felt like a spark igniting something deep within him. He thought of you....your laugh, your warmth, the way you had looked at him with so much hope and love, even as he took it for granted.

“I need to fix this,” he whispered, more to himself than to Han. “I need to make it right.”

Han nodded, a small but encouraging smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Then go. Go to her. Don’t let her walk away....not without knowing how hard you’re willing to fight for her.”

Changbin’s fists tightened, his heart hammering in his chest as his mind raced. Thoughts of you flooded his consciousness...of all the promises he had made, of everything he had taken for granted. His breath hitched as the weight of his mistakes pressed down on him.

“I need to fix this,” he murmured, more to himself than to Han. “I need to make it right.”

Han nodded slowly, a faint, encouraging smile on his face. “Then go. Go to her. Be there for her. Don’t let her walk away without knowing you fought for her, that you’re willing to fight for this.”

-----------------------------------------------------

After practice, Changbin didn’t waste a single second. His mind had been spinning throughout the session, but now that the final notes had been struck and the lights had dimmed, there was no more time for hesitation. He could feel the crushing weight of his decision, but there was no turning back. The past few days had been nothing but regret, and he couldn’t bear another second without trying to make things right.

He pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers trembling just slightly as he dialed his manager’s number.

“I need to cancel my schedule for tonight,” Changbin said, his voice sharp, cutting through the tension that had settled deep in his chest. His tone was firm, resolute...there was no room for negotiation. Tonight, this mattered more than any shoot, more than any event. He had made a promise to himself, and he was determined to keep it.

There was a brief, pregnant pause. Then the manager’s voice crackled through the line, sharp and incredulous.

“Changbin, this is important!” his manager began, clearly not ready to give in so easily.

“I’ll make it up later,” Changbin interrupted, his patience running thin. “It’s not negotiable. Cancel it.”

He could practically feel the manager’s frustration on the other end, the disbelief at his refusal to budge. But tonight, Changbin wasn’t backing down.

Another tense silence filled the space between them. Changbin’s heart pounded louder with each passing second, the minutes ticking by, taking him further from his regrets and closer to you. Finally, the manager let out a defeated sigh.

“Fine. But you owe me one,” the manager grumbled.

Changbin didn’t care about the debt. He didn’t care about anything else in that moment. He was done with the excuses, done with letting work consume every ounce of his life. You needed him, and he had ignored that for far too long. Without another word, he ended the call. The phone’s screen went dark, and for the first time in what felt like forever, a sense of clarity settled over him. No more distractions. No more excuses. There was only one thing left to do.

The car screeched to a halt outside your building, and before the driver could even fully park, Changbin was already out of the vehicle. His mind was set, his resolve unshakable. He didn’t look back as he marched toward the entrance, his fingers fumbling for his phone. He quickly sent you a message, letting you know he was on his way, though words couldn’t fully capture the urgency in his heart.

But when the message failed to send, his heart sank.

“Fuck!” he shouted into the emptiness, his frustration echoing in the silence. You had blocked him, and now there was no way to find you. Panic surged through him. He dialed your number again, his fingers trembling as the call went straight to voicemail. He tried again. And again. Desperation clawed at him with each failed attempt.

After what felt like an eternity, his phone buzzed, a fleeting hope rising in his chest. He snatched it up, praying it was you. But it wasn’t. It was a message from your friend.

He immediately got to work, knowing how much Christmas meant to you. You had talked about it so many times....the magic of the season, the small, intimate moments shared with someone you cared about. Changbin decided that if he was going to prove his commitment to you, it had to be meaningful, personal.

The whole afternoon was spent transforming the apartment. He rearranged the furniture, finished decorating the half-done Christmas tree, and hung the lights carefully, making sure the room felt warm and inviting—just like you always imagined it would. He even found the candles you loved, setting them around the apartment to create a soft, intimate glow.

But it wasn’t just the decorations that mattere....it was the food. Changbin knew you loved a particular dish, a comfort food that reminded you of your family. He’d never made it himself before, but he spent hours in the kitchen, making sure it was perfect. The pressure to get it right was overwhelming, but he didn’t care. This was for you. This was his way of showing you that he was willing to fight for your trust. Finally, after hours of frantic work, the apartment was ready. The smell of your favorite dishes filled the air, and the tree sparkled in the corner, casting a warm, inviting glow.

-------------------------------------------------------

When you stood in front of the door, your hands were sweating with anticipation, your heart pounding in your chest. The cool air felt thick around you, as if the world itself was holding its breath. Part of you didn’t want to believe the texts he had sent YFN, promising he’d change, that he was going to make things right.

You had heard all these words before....sweet nothings meant to soothe, promises made in the heat of guilt that never amounted to anything. You knew him better than anyone. His words had always been a comfort, but they had never been enough to back up the actions. You had fallen for that before.

But then, there was this sliver of hope that you couldn’t quite shake. A tiny part of you, despite all the hurt, the frustration, the disappointment...wanted to believe. You wanted to believe that he had finally realized the weight of his mistakes, that he had truly changed. You wanted to believe that he would show you, not just tell you, that he was ready to be the person you needed him to be.

Still, doubts gnawed at you. Could he really change? Was it possible for him to be different, to be there for you the way you had always hoped? Or were you just setting yourself up for more heartbreak? The questions spiraled in your mind, each one louder than the last.

And yet, despite all the fear and uncertainty, you couldn’t stop yourself. Maybe it was the last shred of hope, the desperate desire for things to be different, that made you raise your hand and knock on the door. The sound of the knock echoed in the stillness, and for a moment, you stood there, frozen, bracing yourself for whatever came next.

----------------------------------------------------

When Changbin opened the door, you stood frozen for a moment. Your hands trembled as they hovered at your sides, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. As you looked up at him, your eyes were guarded, distant, shielded behind a mask you had perfected over the past days. The hurt, the anger, everything that had been weighing you down was there, hiding just beneath the surface. But despite everything, despite how much you tried to keep him at arm’s length, he saw the vulnerability there. It was fleeting, but it was enough for him to know that you weren’t entirely closed off to him.

You stepped into the apartment, your breath catching in your throat. The moment you crossed the threshold, something felt different. The atmosphere in the room was unlike anything you had expected. The warm glow of candles flickered in the dim light, casting soft, dancing shadows on the walls. The scent of your favorite dishes, the ones that always comforted you, wafted through the air, pulling at your senses and making you feel a little lighter, despite everything. It was as if you had stepped into another world - a world where the pain, the confusion, the distance didn’t exist. For a split second, you felt suspended in time, caught between disbelief and a longing you didn’t want to acknowledge.

You stood there, frozen, taking it all in. Changbin had rearranged the apartment, changed the entire atmosphere with his efforts. It was as though he had taken the same care and dedication he poured into his music and channeled it into this moment, this space. The decorations were thoughtful, intimate...a soft, gentle reminder of the warmth he had once promised to share with you. And as you stood there, you couldn’t help but be stunned by the sight of it all. You hadn’t expected this. You didn’t know what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Changbin stood by the couch, his expression nervous, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you were thinking. His heart raced as you took in the room...the lights, the decorations, everything he had done. There was a mix of hope and anxiety in his eyes, and you could feel it as he silently waited for your response.

"Changbin..." Your voice was barely a whisper, filled with disbelief, as though you couldn't quite fathom that this was real. "You did all this?"

His voice trembled slightly as he stepped closer to you. "Y/N... I'm so sorry. I messed up. I know I don’t deserve you, but I need to fix this. Please, let me show you that I’m willing to try."

The silence between you both was heavy, thick with the unspoken words, with the weight of everything that had happened in the past few days. It felt like the space itself was holding its breath, waiting for you to speak, to react.

Finally, your voice broke, raw with emotion. "You don’t even know how much it hurt when you didn’t come back that night, Changbin. I spent the entire day preparing everything, waiting for you… Christmas Eve, a day we were supposed to share. I waited for hours, and you didn’t even care enough to show up. Do you have any idea what that felt like?"

Changbin felt the sharp sting of your words, each one cutting deeper than he could have imagined. He could hear the tremor in your voice, the vulnerability in your words, and it shattered his heart. But he didn’t argue. He didn’t try to defend himself because he knew you were right. He had left you when you needed him the most. And nothing he could say would take that pain away.

"I wasn’t thinking," he admitted quietly, his voice thick with regret. "I was selfish. I thought I could push through everything....work, the shoot, the schedule....but I ignored you. I ignored us. And I hate that I hurt you like this. I’m so sorry, Y/N."

You stood there, arms tightly crossed in front of you, your gaze turned away from him, as though you couldn’t bear to look at him just yet. "I don’t know if I can forget this, Changbin. You hurt me so much. You didn’t even think about what I needed, what I was feeling. It’s like I didn’t matter."

Changbin’s chest tightened at your words. The last thing he ever wanted was for you to feel like you didn’t matter. He wanted so badly to reach out, to hold you, to tell you everything would be okay, but he knew that words alone wouldn’t be enough this time. He had to show you. He had to prove to you that he was truly sorry, that he could be better.

"I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness," he said softly, the words heavy with sincerity. "But I need you to know that I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I won’t make excuses anymore. I’ll show you how much you mean to me if you’ll let me."

You stayed silent for what felt like an eternity, and Changbin could feel his heart race. Was he too late? Had he ruined everything? Was there any way to repair the damage he had caused?

Finally, you sighed, your voice soft but uncertain. "I just... I don’t know. I’m so confused, Changbin. The loneliness, the waiting... I feel like I’ve been pushed aside. Like I didn’t matter."

"I understand," he said quietly, his voice gentle but filled with determination. "And I’m so sorry. You should never have felt that way. I should’ve been there for you. But I’m here now. I’m not going anywhere. Please, let me show you how much you mean to me."

"How?" you asked, your voice trembling, barely a whisper.

Changbin could feel the weight of your question, the gravity of it, and he knew there was no going back. He had to be completely honest with you, to show you how committed he was to making things right. "I want to show you something," he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I know I’ve let you down, and I can’t undo that. But tonight, I want to make it up to you. I’ve cleared my schedule for the next two days. No work, no distractions. Just you and me. I’m not going to let this slip away."

You searched his face for any sign of insincerity, any hint of him just saying what he thought you wanted to hear. But there was nothing...only the raw vulnerability in his eyes, the quiet sincerity in his voice. For a moment, he held his breath, waiting for your response.

"You don’t have to do all this, Changbin," you said softly, your voice carrying a mixture of sadness and doubt. "I’m not sure anything will change just because you... cancel your schedule."

He nodded, understanding the skepticism in your voice. "I know. But I want to show you that I can be better. That I will be better for you. I’m not asking for forgiveness right away, but just... let me prove it."

You didn’t respond immediately. Instead, you turned away, and he motioned for you to follow him. As you walked into the shared room, the soft glow of Christmas lights bathed the space, casting gentle shadows across the walls. The familiar scent of something delicious filled the air, pulling at your senses. You followed him into the room, and that’s when you saw it...on the table, a beautifully set spread of food. The sight took you by surprise. There, amid the candles and the warm, inviting glow, was the comfort food you had always described as a childhood memory. The dish you always loved, the one that never failed to make you feel at home.

"I made dinner," Changbin said quietly, his voice full of nervous excitement. "I know it’s not much, but I thought it might help."

You looked at the table, taking in the sight of the food: the sweet potato noodles, the tteok guk, the roasted vegetables, and of course, the dish you always cherished. Changbin had even prepared a dessert, and you could see the care he had put into every detail. It wasn’t just the food, though. It was the fact that he had taken the time, the effort, to make this night special for you. He had given you something that mattered to him: his time, his undivided attention.

"You did all this for me?" you asked softly, your voice barely audible, a small sense of disbelief in your words.

Changbin smiled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. "I did. Because I want you to know that you matter. That I’m not going to make the same mistakes again."

You bit your lip, torn between the pain of the past and the small, flickering hope that maybe...just maybe...things could be different. You didn’t know how to trust him again. The hurt was still fresh, but the sincerity in his eyes made you want to try.

"I don’t know how to trust you again," you said quietly, the vulnerability in your voice making his chest tighten.

"I understand," he replied gently, his voice full of determination. "And I’m not asking you to trust me right away. But I’m here, Y/N. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll prove it to you. Slowly, if I have to."

You stood there, your heart heavy with emotions you hadn’t been able to process before. Slowly, you nodded, a small, uncertain smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

"Fine," you said quietly, the words carrying more weight than you intended. "I’m giving you one last chance. Don’t disappoint me."

Changbin’s heart soared with a feeling he hadn’t dared to expect. It wasn’t perfect...far from it...but it was enough to breathe life back into his hope. That small, fragile thread of connection, once torn and frayed, was beginning to weave itself back together. There was still a long way to go, but the fact that you were here, sharing this moment, was more than he could have hoped for......

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As the evening unfolded, the two of you sat at the table, surrounded by the warmth of the flickering candles and the delicious scent of food filling the air. The silence between you was no longer heavy or awkward; it was a comfortable quiet, a space where the two of you could just be, without the weight of everything that had happened before. Changbin had worked tirelessly to clear his schedule, to create a space that would help you feel safe again. And slowly, you began to feel it, the effort, the thought, the care that he had poured into this night. It wasn’t just the meal he had prepared; it was the time, the attention, the honesty.

The food was incredible! far better than anything Changbin had anticipated. You could taste the care he had put into every dish, and something about that made the meal feel even more meaningful. The flavors were rich and comforting, each bite an affirmation of the effort he had put into making this evening about more than just an apology. It was about rebuilding, piece by piece. You couldn’t help but appreciate how much he had given of himself to make this moment special.

Changbin watched you closely, his eyes never straying far from your face. There was a nervousness there, of course...he had made so many mistakes before, and he wasn’t sure if this would be enough to fix things...but there was something else, too. A quiet determination. This wasn’t about erasing the past; it wasn’t about expecting forgiveness on the spot. It was about showing you that he was here, that he was present, and that he was willing to put in the work.

“You’ve really been thinking about this, haven’t you?” you asked after a moment, your voice filled with a mix of surprise and appreciation. Your eyes met his, and for the first time in a while, you saw something different in his gaze. Something real.

Changbin nodded, his expression softening. “Every day. I’m not just sorry for what I did. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t important. I know I’ve hurt you, and I hate that. But I’m here now, and I promise...I’m not going to make the same mistake again.”

There was a long pause as his words settled between you. For the first time in days, you felt a small, tentative shift. It wasn’t a magical fix, and there was still so much hurt to process, but there was something undeniable in the way he was looking at you now. A sincerity that hadn’t been there before. It was a moment that didn’t erase the past but made the future feel a little less uncertain...

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Over the next two days, Changbin kept his word. He had cleared his schedule completely, no distractions, no work, no practice. Just the two of you. Every moment was spent together, whether it was quietly reading side by side, making breakfast together, or simply talking about anything and everything. As the hours passed, you felt something you hadn’t felt in weeks: peace. Slowly, bit by bit, the anger and doubt that had clung to you like a weight began to fade. It wasn’t gone entirely, but it was lighter now. You began to see that, maybe, this wasn’t the end of something broken. Maybe it was the beginning of something new.

You weren’t sure what the future would bring, but for the first time in a long while, you could feel the space between you and Changbin beginning to fill with warmth again. A warmth that hadn’t been there in weeks, maybe longer. It was subtle at first, a soft shift in the way you interacted, but it was there...gradually rebuilding itself.

On the third morning, you awoke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle glow across the room. You stirred from sleep, feeling the comforting warmth of Changbin’s body pressed against yours. His arms were around you, pulling you close, and his face was buried in your hair, his breath soft and steady against the back of your neck. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against yours, the quiet reassurance that came with his presence. For the first time in a while, the weight of the past didn’t feel quite as heavy.

“Morning,” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, his words muffled as he nuzzled closer to you.

A soft smile tugged at your lips as you turned your head just slightly to plant a gentle kiss on the top of his messy hair. He groaned quietly, his lips curving into a sleepy smile as he lazily shifted closer to you, as though not wanting to break the quiet, peaceful bubble you had created over the past few days.

His lips brushed against your skin as he kissed your neck, his breath warm and comforting against your skin. “Mmm, don’t leave yet,” he whispered, his voice thick with the remnants of sleep. He tightened his hold on you just a little, as though he was afraid the moment would slip away if he let go.

As you lay there, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, something deep inside you shifted. The ache from the past few weeks was still there, still lingering, but it felt distant now. Lighter. The reassurance in his touch was something you hadn’t realized you’d been craving. This wasn’t about him being perfect. It wasn’t about fixing everything overnight. It wasn’t about erasing the past...it was about something else. It was about this moment. This peace. This effort.

Changbin had made an effort. He had cleared his schedule. He had shown up when it mattered most. And somehow, in all of that, he had made you feel like you were the priority again. It hadn’t been easy for him, and it hadn’t been easy for you either, but the fact that he had tried...had kept trying...meant something. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

You shifted just slightly, glancing down at him as he lazily pulled you closer, his lips still pressed against your skin. His hair was messy, his face still soft with sleep, but there was something new in his expression now. A warmth that hadn’t been there before. A softness, a vulnerability. You could feel the sincerity in his touch, in the way he made sure to be present for you, to show up every day since he had apologized.

You didn’t say anything for a moment. The air around you felt different...almost sacred. Safe. Slowly, Changbin looked up at you, his dark eyes still sleepy but now holding something deeper. Something you could trust. Something that felt real.

“Thank you for giving me a chance,” he murmured quietly, his voice hoarse from sleep, but there was an undeniable sincerity behind every word.

You smiled gently, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “It’s not about ‘thank you,’” you replied softly. “It’s about showing up. And you’ve been showing up.”

His expression softened, and a silent understanding passed between you both. It was unspoken, but it was there. You weren’t there yet. There was still a long way to go. But you were both working on it, together. Slowly, you were rebuilding something that had once seemed irreparably broken.

Changbin shifted again, kissing your cheek gently before murmuring, “I’ll keep showing up, Y/N. I promise.”

And in that moment, you realized something...perhaps you had been too afraid to admit it before, but now you understood: this was just the beginning. Not the perfect beginning, but a real one. And that was all either of you needed right now. With patience, with effort, and with time, everything else would fall into place. Together, slowly, you would make it through....

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⋆⁺❅ ENDNOTE - Everything Here is a work of fiction and my own imagination. This does not represent the real life characteristics of Stray Kids. Make sure to like, reblog comment, and follow me for new updates!