Lee Know Skz - Blog Posts

────* ˚ ✦ BONDS OF PASSION ( stray kids )

❛ In a night of profound emotional connection and intimacy, you and Minho explore your bond through the intricate art of shibari, culminating in a tender embrace that deepens your love and gratitude.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.2k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 28 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ I'm always saying this, but I really love shibari; it's quite literally one of my favorite kinks. So, thank you to my wonderful mootie, Merin, for making the request! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: MDNI, this is Y/N's first time participating in shibari, Minho has experience in shibari, intensely emotional sex, fingering, oral (f. receiving), penetration, unprotected sex (please don't do this), let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

The world outside seemed to fade away as if his bedroom had slipped into a realm of its own, where time slowed and the only reality was the two of you, kneeling on the floor. Every breath shared in the confined space felt amplified, the air thick with anticipation. The weight of your bare bodies pressed against the cool wooden floor, facing each other in a vulnerable dance of gazes that held unspoken promises. His eyes, deep pools of dark intensity, locked onto yours with a fervor you had never witnessed before. Minho's gaze bore into you, filled with a passion so palpable it sent shivers down your spine, yet there was something more—a quiet confidence, an ease born of experience, that radiated from him like a quiet storm. It was a look that only someone who had navigated these waters before could possess.

In contrast, you could feel the uncertainty swirling within your own eyes, a reflection of the storm raging inside you. You imagined how pale your face must appear under the soft light, as your heart pounded relentlessly against your chest, each beat echoing in the stillness of the room. The silence between you both was almost deafening, broken only by the rhythmic rise and fall of your breaths. You were acutely aware that this was uncharted territory for you, a space where Minho had already traveled with ease. 

This would be the first time you would surrender so completely, relinquishing not just the control of your body but also the reins of your heart and soul. The thought of it made your pulse race even faster, a flutter of nerves and excitement tangling within you. The rope you had both chosen together, a symbol of trust and shared desire, lay between you on the floor, a silent witness to the intimacy about to unfold. As you knelt before him, you knew that tonight, you would willingly empty your mind, allowing Minho to guide you into a world where he alone dictated the pace, where his touch would define your every movement and sensation. And as the rope waited patiently, you found yourself ready to embark on this journey with him, prepared to lose yourself in the intensity of the moment.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly before Minho’s lips finally curled into a gentle, reassuring smile, a subtle yet powerful gesture that sent a cascade of tingles racing across your skin. The moment felt suspended in a delicate balance between anticipation and reality, where the space between you two was charged with an unspoken understanding. The warmth of his gaze enveloped you, pulling you into the depths of his emotions, where you could glimpse the full spectrum of his intentions, his unyielding desire, and the raw intensity of his feelings. In that gaze, you found solace, a calming balm to the storm of thoughts that had been churning within you.

The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you cocooned in this intimate bubble. Minho’s eyes spoke volumes, revealing the depth of his commitment to you, and in that moment, all remnants of doubt and anxiety began to dissipate. The air around you, thick with silent anticipation, was finally pierced by the soft melody of his voice, tender and careful as if coaxing your soul to dance with his. “Do you remember our safe word?” he asked, the question a gentle reminder of the trust that formed the foundation of what was about to unfold.

His eyes left yours momentarily, tracing the contours of your expression as if seeking any lingering traces of hesitation. You met his gaze with a timid nod, the ghost of a smile beginning to tug at your lips. “Mercy,” you whispered, the word carrying with it a promise of trust, a signal that you were still willing to journey into this new, uncharted territory with him. 

Minho’s smile widened, a reflection of the satisfaction and joy that your willingness brought him. It was a smile that held a thousand promises, a smile that reassured you of the care he would take as he led you further into this passionate exploration. In that smile, you saw not just a lover, but a guide, someone who would hold you through the most intense moments and bring you safely to the other side. And as you both prepared to step into this new chapter together, the connection between you deepened, wrapped in the shared understanding that, no matter what, you were in this together.

Minho rose to his feet, and your eyes couldn’t help but follow the fluid motion of his form, tracing the contours of his body as he moved with a quiet, unspoken elegance. Every inch of him was a masterpiece, a living testament to the beauty that lies in the harmony of strength and grace. As he made his way behind you, you allowed yourself to drink in the sight of him, this man who stood before you like a vision of divine perfection. His naked form, something you had always admired, seemed almost otherworldly in its beauty, a reflection of the statues of ancient gods that once graced the grand temples of old.

Minho’s physique was a study in contrasts, lean yet muscular, with each muscle defined in a way that spoke of both power and restraint. His body was a work of art, chiseled with the same care and precision that an ancient sculptor might have applied to marble, capturing the very essence of masculine beauty. Every movement he made was deliberate, infused with a quiet confidence that spoke of his inner strength. There was a grace in the way he carried himself, an elegance that made your knees tremble with admiration, as if you were in the presence of a god who needed no words to command the space around him.

The sharp lines of his jaw were a testament to the precision with which nature had crafted him, a strong and unwavering feature that brought to mind the angular perfection of the statues that had survived the ages. It was a defining trait, one that spoke of the strength and resolve that lay beneath the surface, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how perfectly it seemed to fit him, as if he had been carved by the hands of an ancient artisan intent on embodying the ideal of masculine beauty.

And then there were his hands, the part of him you cherished most. Those hands, both graceful and strong, were like those of a Greek statue, crafted with a care that reflected both power and delicacy. Whether they were guiding him through the fluid movements of a dance or exploring every inch of your body with a precision that drove you to the edge of insanity, his hands conveyed an artistry that was unparalleled. They spoke of his physical prowess, of his ability to channel his strength into the most delicate of touches, and in those moments, you could feel the depth of his connection to you, as if his very soul was intertwined with yours.

Lee Minho, the man who held your heart in his hands, was a raw beauty to behold, a living embodiment of the divine made flesh. His presence, his very essence, was something that captivated you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame, and as you gazed upon him, you couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of awe at the man who stood before you, a man whose soul you firmly believed was tied to yours in a bond that was as unbreakable as it was beautiful.

Your bare skin ignited with a fiery sensation the very moment Minho's warm, naked torso pressed firmly against your back. His presence was a comforting weight, his legs resting on either side of your crossed limbs, encasing you in a protective embrace. You could feel his breath, warm and gentle, fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck, sending shivers racing down your spine. As he reached around you, his hands moved with a deliberate tenderness, uncrossing your legs with a fluid grace that left you breathless. The moment his strong legs pinned yours beneath him, you felt an exhilarating surge of vulnerability and trust. His touch was a soothing balm, and as your skin prickled with tiny bumps in response, you surrendered yourself to his guidance, allowing him to mold your body however he wished.

A featherlight kiss brushed the nape of your neck, his plump lips barely grazing your skin, yet the sensation was enough to draw a muted gasp from your parted lips. Minho gently pulled you back, easing you into his embrace until your full weight rested against him, your back flush with his chest. The intimacy of the moment was overwhelming, and you found yourself biting back a moan as his warmth seeped into your very being. 

Minho had only just begun to touch you, yet already the worries that had once plagued your mind — whether large or small, old or new — began to dissolve, fading into the background as your thoughts grew quieter. With each passing second, you felt your mind and body gradually submit to the serene headspace Minho had so patiently explained to you before. He had been right; there truly was nothing that compared to the bliss of surrendering every burden, every lingering doubt, to the gentle pleasure that was slowly consuming your senses. 

Time seemed to blur as he held you close, his strong arms wrapped securely around your chest, anchoring you in the moment. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat and the soft rise and fall of his breathing became your world, a lullaby that lulled you deeper into tranquility. You reached up, fingers trembling slightly as you interlaced them with his, feeling the warmth and strength in his grasp. In his embrace, you found a sanctuary, a place where you could lose yourself completely, letting go of everything except the profound connection you shared with him. 

It took a moment for you to realize that Minho had begun gently rocking your bodies from side to side, his embrace warm and secure, as though he was cradling your very soul. His breath, warm against your ear, sent waves of desire coursing through you, a passion so intense it bordered on painful. His voice, soft and tender, murmured words that sent shivers down your spine. "Your pretty head is already so empty, baby," he whispered, each word laced with adoration. "You're doing so good for me already." As his lips trailed tender kisses along every inch of your exposed skin, you instinctively squeezed his fingers, your silent way of letting him know you were still present, still with him. 

Minho’s fingers tightened around yours in response, a comforting reassurance that melted any lingering doubts. "I can't thank you enough for trusting me like this," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine reverence. "It’s such an honor to share this moment with you." The delicacy of his words sent a soft whine escaping from your lips, quickly turning into a moan that echoed the vulnerability you felt in his presence. With a final, lingering kiss pressed onto your shoulder, Minho slowly unwrapped his arms from around your torso, his touch lingering like the ghost of a warm embrace. 

He shifted his position with a graceful ease, one knee sinking to the floor while the other foot remained firmly planted, his body hovering over yours like a guardian angel. His eyes, filled with a quiet intensity, never left yours as he reached for the rope that had been momentarily forgotten between you. With practiced care, he began working the rope free from its tight spiral, each loop unfurling in a fluid motion until it lay in a long, taut line behind you. 

With a few measured tugs, Minho folded the length in half, aligning the two ends with meticulous precision before letting the rope rest lazily over one of your shoulders. The looped end of the rope was held between his teeth, a playful glint in his eyes as he let the rough texture brush against your overly sensitive skin. The sensation sent your breath hitching, your heartbeat quickening in anticipation of what was to come. Every fiber of your being was attuned to him, to the way his touch promised both restraint and release, as you surrender yourself completely to the moment, to Minho.

Once the rope was positioned just right, Minho wasted no time in pressing his firm chest against your back once more. The warmth of his skin sent a comforting shiver through you, and as his body began to sway, it felt as though you were both caught in an entrancing dance. Slowly, he guided you into a series of circular motions, the gentle rhythm lulling you deeper into a shared trance. The way he moved with you was like a carefully choreographed ballet, each step measured and intentional, designed to draw out the pleasure simmering just beneath the surface.

As Minho pinned your arms beneath his own, a surge of instinct had you clutching the back of his thighs, seeking an anchor in the storm of sensations that were building between you. The heat of the moment intensified, and you closed your eyes, surrendering to the waves of pleasure that washed over you with each of Minho’s expert touches. His hands, strong yet tender, guided your movements, and the synergy between your bodies grew with every slow, deliberate motion. The connection was so deep, so visceral, that you lost track of time, completely immersed in the dance of your shared intimacy.

At some point, you became aware that your legs had returned to their original x-patterned position. The realization came just as Minho’s hands, heavy with intent yet comforting in their touch, pressed against your feet. He let them linger there for a moment before slowly, sensually, dragging them up the length of your legs. His fingers caressed your inner thighs, ghosting over your aching arousal, teasing you with the promise of more. Finally, his hands found their home on your waist, and the sensation was so overwhelming that a guttural moan escaped your lips, raw and unbidden. 

Your head fell back against Minho’s shoulder, your eyes fluttering open for a brief second. Through the haze of desire, you caught sight of his gaze — an all-consuming love that pierced through the fog of your mind, grounding you in the moment. The way his eyes locked onto yours, filled with an intensity that spoke of both passion and devotion, sent a shiver down your spine. You reached out with a trembling hand to squeeze his bicep, offering a blissed-out grin in return, a silent acknowledgment of the profound connection you shared. Then, with a soft sigh, you let your eyes drift closed once more, allowing yourself to sink back into the warmth of his embrace, the intimacy of this moment enveloping you completely.

A few moments passed in this heavenly embrace, each second stretching into eternity as you basked in the warmth of Minho’s touch. The world outside seemed to melt away, leaving only the two of you entwined in this intimate dance. But then, the gentle hold on your waist faded, replaced by the firm yet careful grip of Minho's hands as they moved to capture your wrists. With a tender precision, he brought them together in front of your body, the motion so fluid it felt almost like an extension of the dance you were sharing.

He held your wrists together with one hand, a possessive yet loving grasp that sent a fresh wave of desire coursing through your veins. His free hand trailed up the length of your arm, a ghostly touch that left your skin tingling in its wake, before finding its place in your hair. His fingers wove through the strands, gripping just firmly enough to draw a moan from your lips. It wasn't painful — far from it — but the pressure was just enough to remind you of the power he held, the control he wielded over your body and senses.

The rhythmic, circular motions he had so carefully orchestrated came to an abrupt stop, leaving you breathless with anticipation. Then, with a controlled force, Minho pushed both of your bodies forward, guiding you down until your chest and stomach were pressed firmly against the ground. Your knees spread to the sides, a position that left you utterly vulnerable and exposed, and the raw, guttural moan that tore from your throat was a testament to the overwhelming arousal that flooded your senses.

As your mind struggled to catch up with this new, intoxicating position, Minho's warm body followed yours, his presence a constant, grounding force. The sensation of his naked flesh draping over your folded form sent shivers of pleasure coursing down your spine, each touch amplifying the closeness you shared. The weight of him pressed against your overly sensitive skin was both a comfort and a thrill, intensifying the already electric connection between you. It was as though every inch of your body was attuned to his, every nerve ending alive with the sensation of Minho, his touch, his breath, his very essence surrounding you, holding you captive in this moment of pure, unbridled intimacy.

Despite the rope held between his teeth, Minho managed to press a tender kiss onto your flushed cheek, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. As his lips lingered, you felt the first tentative grind of his hardened arousal against your lower back, the intimate friction igniting a new wave of sensation that rippled through your body. The slow, deliberate movement caused both of you to rock back and forth in a rhythm that was as mesmerizing as it was intoxicating, a silent dance that spoke of unspoken desires and deepening connection.

Your mouth fell open in a wordless gasp, your senses immediately drowning in the overwhelming pleasure that blossomed from this newfound contact. Each subtle shift of his hips against you sent shockwaves of arousal spiraling through your core, leaving you painfully wet and clenching around the emptiness inside, desperate for more. The need within you grew with every passing second, a relentless ache that only intensified as your body responded to his touch with soft whines and gasps, spilling from your lips without restraint.

Your eyelids crinkled in pleasure, brows knitting together as your mind struggled to keep up with the storm of sensations crashing over you. But any semblance of control was quickly lost as you felt Minho's hardened length begin to leak onto your lower back, the warmth of his arousal mingling with your own fevered skin. The combination was electrifying, a heady mix of intimacy and desire that left you trembling. 

Minho’s breathing grew strained, the steady rhythm faltering as he momentarily lost himself in his own pleasure, the sound of it like a raw, primal symphony that echoed in your ears. The very air between you crackled with the intensity of the moment, each breath, each touch, each whisper of fabric against skin drawing you deeper into the vortex of sensation that consumed you both. And as the two of you rocked together, moving in perfect unison, it felt as though nothing else existed beyond the boundaries of this shared moment, this exquisite blend of passion and connection.

However, the fleeting pleasure of Minho's grinding against your lower back was soon replaced by a new sensation as he shifted positions once again. His movements were deliberate, yet unhurried, as he slowly pulled away, the grinding coming to a hesitant halt. The rope that had been held between his teeth now trailed gently across the expanse of your back, leaving a tingling path in its wake. The sensation was enough to elicit a soft moan from your lips, a sound that only deepened when Minho's fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you back into the solid warmth of his chest. His grip was firm yet tender, sending ripples of electricity across your skin, each pulse intensifying the connection between you.

The way your body instinctively melted into each of Minho's silent commands was intoxicating, a surrender that felt both empowering and liberating. In his hands, you felt safe, cherished, and utterly consumed by the depth of your shared intimacy. There was no need to worry or overthink, as your soul-tied lover had taken control of every aspect of your pleasure, guiding you with a deftness that only heightened your arousal with every passing second. The trust between you was palpable, a silent understanding that allowed you to let go completely, to revel in the sensations that Minho was expertly crafting.

Your awareness of his actions dimmed as you lost yourself in the familiar rhythm of your bodies moving in perfect unison. The steady rocking was a dance of pure sensation, each movement a testament to the deep connection you shared. It wasn't long before you felt Minho's hand release its hold on your hair, and your dazed eyes fluttered open, curiosity piqued by the change in his touch. His free hand joined the other, which had been holding both of your wrists, and you watched through half-lidded eyes as the rope glided smoothly over your skin, its texture a reminder of the gentle power Minho wielded over you.

With slow, deliberate movements, Minho began to wrap the rope around your wrists, his expert hands tying the first knot with a precision that was both arousing and reassuring. The pressure of the rope was firm, enough to make you feel bound, yet not tight enough to cause discomfort. It was a tender introduction, a prelude to what was to come, and the anticipation of it sent a thrill through your body. The way Minho's hands moved with such care and intention made it clear that this was only the beginning, and the thought of what lay ahead left you breathless, your heart pounding in sync with the rhythm of your shared desire.

Your breath catches as Minho's teeth graze your earlobe, a playful nip that sends a shiver down your spine. He'd just secured the first knot around your wrists, tugging lightly to ensure it held firm. The binding was precise, a testament to his careful attention. "How are we feeling, my love?" he murmured, his voice softer than a whisper, as though the very air around you would break if he spoke too loudly. Even through the fog of your bliss, you managed a silent nod, your senses dulled yet heightened by the intimacy of the moment. Minho's quiet chuckle warmed your heart, its gentle timbre resonating deep within you.

Releasing his grip on your wrists, Minho didn't pause in the rhythmic sway of your bodies. His hands moved with purpose, trailing up and down your arms in a tender effort to ground you in the here and now. The sensation was electric, a soothing contrast to the growing intensity between you. "Use your words for me," he coaxed, his tone a mix of gentle insistence and deep affection. "I need to know you're here with me." The sheer tenderness in his voice drew a whimper from your lips, the weight of your love for him pressing heavily on your chest.

As his chin came to rest softly on your shoulder, you tilted your head just enough to meet his gaze. His expression was one of pure serenity, a soft smile playing at the corners of his lips as he watched you. The sight of him, so calm and full of love, made your heart swell, your cheeks flushing a deeper shade of crimson. With a small, almost shy smile, you whispered, "I'm here. I'm with you." The words were meant for him alone, a quiet reassurance that you were still present, still grounded in this moment with him.

Minho's smile widened at your response, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was as sweet as it was brief. "Are you comfortable?" he asked, his eyes searching yours for any sign of discomfort, any hint that you were anything less than utterly content. But all he found was the evidence of your mind blissfully clouded, your expression soft and open. You managed another nod, followed by a whispered "yes," the word barely more than a breath. He hummed in satisfaction, pressing a kiss to your temple before his hand moved to rest against your throat.

The shift in his touch brought a new intensity to the moment, his wrist firm against your throat as he quickened the pace of your shared rhythm. The atmosphere in the room thickened, the air heavy with the weight of your connection. "My love," he murmured into your ear, his breath warm against your sensitive skin, sending another shiver through you. "From this point forward, I will be picking up the pace. Just keep in mind that I adore you completely, so if you need me to stop, all you have to do is use the safe word, and I will do as asked. Please nod your head if you understand this, baby. I need you to stay here with me."

The gentle pleading in his voice tugged at your heart, and you felt an overwhelming surge of emotion. His concern, his care, it all spoke to the depth of his feelings for you. With a soft yet firm resolve, you met his gaze, your eyes locking onto his with an intensity that mirrored his own. Slowly, you nodded, the movement small but full of assurance.

Minho's eyes softened further, the relief evident as he leaned in to capture your lips once more in a kiss that was both tender and full of promise. This moment, this connection between you, was more than just physical—it was a profound expression of the love and trust you shared. As the kiss deepened, the rhythm of your bodies followed suit, each movement syncing perfectly with the other, a dance of intimacy that enveloped you both.

Minho presses another gentle kiss to your temple, a soft, unspoken acknowledgment of your consent. The delicate touch of his lips sends a soothing warmth through you, a silent promise of care and affection. Using the wrist he had previously rested against your neck, he gently guides your head back to rest on his shoulder, his touch both tender and commanding. At the same time, he lifts your wrists slightly by the ropes binding them, a subtle shift that draws you closer to him.

As your eyes flutter closed, surrendering to the intensity of the moment, you feel yourself being enveloped by the sensations surrounding you. Minho's movements become a rhythm you can't help but follow, his hips coaxing you to roll your own in an erotic dance reminiscent of the way you move when seated on his lap. The heat of his skin meets the tender, restrained touch of your tied hands, and you instinctively let your fingers brush against his cheek, a soft caress that makes his breath hitch—a delightful response to your affectionate gesture amidst the consuming passion.

You begin to roll your hips in sync with Minho’s guiding movements, the rhythm now an unspoken dance between you. Shifting your head, you nestle your face into the curve of his neck, the closeness a balm to your senses. With swift, practiced motions, Minho directs your bound hands to move in a semi-circle in front of you, a motion that feels like a step in a choreographed routine. The pace of your bodies swaying together grows more urgent and intense, your breaths becoming sharp, matching Minho's as the anticipation of the moment electrifies every nerve in your body. 

As soon as your tied hands completed their arc from one side to the other, Minho eased back, allowing your pliant body to drape across his strong thigh. The soft, powerful support of his leg cradled you, and you surrendered completely to the enveloping tranquility that your mind floated upon. With your eyes still closed, you surrendered to the all-encompassing serenity that seemed to cocoon you.

Once you were settled on his thigh, Minho used his other leg to gently spread your knees further apart. A soft moan, which quickly morphed into a whine, escaped your lips as his firm hand pressed against your chest and traveled slowly down to cup your drenched arousal. But just as quickly, he withdrew, leaving you in a state of aching anticipation.

Minho shifted his body slightly, pulling you closer with the rope that bound your wrists. A hand guided your head forward, and you reluctantly opened your eyes to meet his intense gaze. His eyes, soft yet laden with a dark anticipation, locked onto yours as he resumed the sensual, circular rocking of your bodies. The tender yet unyielding rhythm of his movements sent shivers down your spine, and you felt a thrill at the shift in his gaze, a potent blend of tenderness and longing.

Leaning forward, Minho pushed you backward until your head nearly touched the ground, his lips parting in a teasing promise. Instinctively, you parted your own lips, expecting a kiss, but instead, he breathed into your mouth, the warm, intoxicating air a seductive caress as his eyes remained locked on yours. Just as abruptly, he pulled away, pressing you back firmly against his chest, leaving both of you breathless. 

Your cheeks pressed together, and a thrilling shiver raced up your spine as you watched Minho pull the rope tighter, binding your wrists securely against your chest. The sensation of the rope against your skin, combined with the proximity of his body and the intensity of his gaze, created a heady, intoxicating blend of pleasure and anticipation that left you utterly enraptured.

As the session deepens, Minho maintains a steady rhythm, swaying your bodies together in perfect harmony. His skilled hands move with deliberate grace, meticulously tying the rope to ensure your hands remain securely pressed against your chest. The rope's embrace is both encompassing and protective, each knot and loop placed with exquisite care. Minho pauses occasionally, his eyes soft yet attentive, as if silently checking in on you.

The rope winds its way around your shoulders, torso, and then descends to your thighs, hips, and legs. Each pass of the rope feels grounding and intense, its firm grip holding your legs apart to reveal your glistening core. The tightening sensation of the rope, combined with Minho’s unwavering presence, envelops you in a profound sense of vulnerability and trust. As Minho finishes the intricate tying, the final knot meticulously placed, you become aware of the intensity of the emotions coursing through you. A few tears have traced paths down your cheeks, each one tenderly kissed away by Minho.

With a gentle sigh, Minho allows you to rest on the ground, still bound but comforted. He kneels beside you, his eyes sparkling with admiration as he interlocks his fingers with one of yours. His gaze is filled with a tender appreciation for the intricate work he has completed. Leaning in, he presses a soft, loving kiss to your lips, his free hand caressing your hair with affectionate strokes. Despite the bonds that encircle you, there’s an astonishing sense of relaxation that washes over your body, a profound feeling of safety you’ve never experienced before.

The realization of how deeply safe and cherished you feel brings fresh tears to your eyes. Minho coos softly, his voice a gentle balm to your soul, as he kisses away each tear with a tenderness that rekindles your love for him. This renewed affection is even more intense and consuming than before. In a moment of pure connection, you turn your head to capture his lips in a kiss filled with tender passion, a testament to the profound bond you share.

What began as a tender kiss soon transformed into an urgent expression of unrestrained desire. Each touch of your lips against Minho’s was imbued with growing desperation, your moans escaping into the intoxicating dance of your shared kiss. His breath, once controlled, now came in ragged gasps, a stark testament to the fervor that had taken hold. As your previously clouded thoughts cleared, all that remained was an all-consuming craving for his body.

Though your hands were bound tightly against your chest, your fingertips clawed into his chiseled torso, digging in as though to silently convey your deep-seated needs. Minho’s groans were a symphony of pleasure, his brows knitting together as he relished the sting of your touch. The closeness between you was so profound that it blurred the lines of where one of you began and the other ended. This intoxicating proximity had you pressing your hips fervently against his, the ropes he had so meticulously wrapped around your hips digging into both of your heated skins, enhancing the fervor of the moment.

You luxuriated in the way his hands roamed over your bound body, pausing to explore the ropes before continuing their journey. Minho’s movements were deliberate, a testament to his careful attention to your every reaction. He eventually positioned himself between your tied knees, his eyes gleaming with a hunger that made you shiver with anticipation. His gaze lingered, taking in the sight of your flushed, sweat-drenched skin and the rhythm of your chest rising and falling as you panted.

A moan, almost drunken in its intensity, escaped Minho’s lips as his eyes fell upon your achingly drenched arousal. “God, you’re already so deliciously wet for me,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with admiration. You responded with a desperate whine, arching your hips upwards in a silent plea for him to meet your needs. His eyes softened at your response, and he leaned in to place a brief, affectionate kiss on your lips before trailing his mouth downward. His kisses, messy and fervent, left a heated trail along your skin, heightening the intensity of the moment as he continued to explore.

You writhed beneath his touch, your mouth parting as a continuous stream of moans and gasps spilled forth. Every sensation was magnified by the ropes binding your body, which restricted your movements and made it challenging to maintain eye contact with him. When his breath, warm and tantalizing, brushed against your throbbing core, a cry of delight escaped your lips. 

"Min, please," you whispered, your first unprompted plea since this passionate encounter began. The sound of your desperate request drew Minho's gaze upward, his eyes now burning with an even more insatiable hunger. "Please, baby," you continued to beg, your voice faltering as you struggled to articulate the depth of your need. "I need you, please, I really need—"

Your words were abruptly cut off by a loud, guttural moan that tore from your throat as Minho's exquisite lips finally made contact with your sensitive clit. The sensation of his lips enveloping and gently sucking, exactly as you had longed for, was electrifying. His touch was slow and deliberate, his movements methodical, each caress sending waves of unparalleled pleasure crashing over you. 

Minho's tongue danced along the edges of your core, and you bucked your hips into his face, seeking more of the intoxicating sensation. Your knuckles turned white as you gripped your tied hands, a desperate attempt to ground yourself amidst the overwhelming pleasure. When his fingers finally entered the warmth of your aching arousal, your eyes fluttered back, a primal moan escaping you as another wave of ecstasy surged through your body.

In the past, you might have confidently declared that Minho was an exceptional lover, but the present moment redefined your understanding of his skill. His fingers moved with a slow, deliberate rhythm, a pace that was both torturous and exquisite, plunging in and out of you with an intensity that left you breathless. The sensation was so overwhelmingly blissful that it eclipsed any previous experience, tightening your lower abdomen with a fervor you had never known.

Minho’s gaze was a palpable force, watching you intently as you arched your back in response to his relentless exploration of that sensitive, perfect spot inside you. His free hand pressed firmly against your abdomen, enhancing the pressure and making each thrust of his fingers feel even more profound. Meanwhile, his mouth returned to your pulsing clit, lavishing it with tender, expert attention.

The building pressure in your abdomen reached a crescendo, and you were overwhelmed by a powerful wave of pleasure that swept through your convulsing body. Minho's voice reached you as though from a great distance, his words muffled and indistinct amidst the roaring storm of your climax. Your focus remained solely on the rhythmic motion of his fingers, which continued to move deliberately in and out of you, guiding you through the final throes of your release.

As the waves of pleasure began to recede, Minho withdrew his fingers, and you watched with a mixture of awe and lingering desire as he brought them to his mouth. He cleaned your arousal with a slow, savoring sweep of his tongue, his eyes never leaving you as he did so. The sight of him tasting you, coupled with the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips, left you breathless and yearning for more.

As your breathing gradually evened out, Minho’s form loomed over you, his presence both commanding and tender. He crawled with a deliberate slowness, the heat of his hardened length brushing against your stomach with each movement. Supporting himself on his forearms, which framed either side of your head, and balancing on his knees that bracketed your hips, he created an intimate cocoon of sensation and anticipation.

Minho’s eyes sparkled with a gleeful satisfaction as he gazed down at you, a radiant smile lighting up his face. The sight of him made your cheeks flush with a warm, bashful hue, and you responded to his smile with one of your own, unable to resist the magnetic pull of his gaze. Yet, each time his aching, hardened core brushed against your skin, a hitch in his breath made it clear that the night’s pleasures were far from over. The renewed flutter of arousal in your own still-sensitive core sent a thrilling shiver through you.

“You were mesmerizing just now,” Minho murmured, his voice a soft whisper meant solely for your ears. The intimacy of his words deepened the blush on your cheeks, and rather than voicing a response, you pressed your lips to his in a fervent kiss. It was a silent plea for more, a desperate declaration of your lingering need for him. The intensity of your kiss drove Minho to groan deeply, his hips settling onto your pelvis. You felt the undeniable heat of his hardness and the telltale slickness that marked his need.

The contact elicited a shared moan from both of you, and you instinctively arched your hips upwards, meeting his body with an eager urgency. Minho shifted his weight to one arm, his free hand gently cradling your jaw as he pulled away just enough to meet your eyes. His gaze held a silent question, one that was answered by your breathless plea. “Please, Min, I’ve never felt so good,” you panted, “I want to have all of you, please.”

His eyes softened with understanding, and he leaned in to capture your lips once more. The hand that had held your jaw now descended, wrapping around his aching arousal. He groaned deeply at the touch, momentarily pausing to steady himself before he began to pump his length, spreading his own wetness and heightening his anticipation. When he finally pressed the tip of his length against your core, the breath between you both became a held moment of shared expectation.

With a careful, measured thrust, Minho sheathed himself fully inside you. Your eyes rolled back in your head as his tip found that sensitive spot with a precise, overwhelming pressure. Your back arched instinctively, seeking deeper connection. Minho’s forehead pressed against yours, his face contorted in a mixture of pleasure and intensity. His groans vibrated through you as he surrendered to the enveloping warmth of your pulsing tightness, the sensation of being within you driving him to the edge of his control.

Though Minho was often the type to drive you to the edge with relentless, vigorous thrusts that had you chanting his name like a sacred mantra, tonight was a different kind of exploration—one that delved deeply into the emotional connection you shared. This evening was about savoring the intimacy and connection between you.

The ropes that Minho had meticulously bound around your body pressed gently against your skin, creating a delicious tension that made your blood hum with heightened sensation. Each touch of the rope intensified the bliss that flowed through you, amplifying the pleasure you felt with every slow, deliberate motion of Minho’s hips. He would draw back just enough to tease, then push back into you with a depth that elicited soft, breathy moans from your lips.

Minho, too, was caught in the throes of this more tender passion. His eyes struggled to remain open as the pleasure overtook him, pulling him deeper into the shared experience. When you felt the telltale twitch of his length inside you, it was clear that he was nearing his peak. Determined to enhance the moment, you began to move your hips in time with his, each motion guided by the need to match his rhythm. Your moans grew louder as your sensitive clit grazed against his pelvis, driving both of you toward the precipice.

As Minho’s thrusts became more erratic and fevered, his control slipping as he chased his climax, the intensity between you both surged. Finally, with a thrust that struck your sensitive spot with a forceful precision, you both were pulled into an intimate, breathless crescendo. In that climactic moment, you pressed together, bodies entwined, as you both reached the peak of your pleasure simultaneously.

As the intensity of your shared passion began to wane, minutes slipped by in a languid haze. Your breath gradually settled, finding its rhythm once more, while Minho tenderly withdrew his softened length from your still-throbbing core. The room was infused with a soft glow, and you admired the way Minho’s skin gleamed with a sheen of sweat, a testament to the fervor of your union. You scarcely registered the sweet, murmured praises he offered as he meticulously began to untie the ropes that had bound you so intimately.

Your mind was still enveloped in the intoxicating fog of your shared ecstasy, yet every fiber of your being was alight with a blazing warmth that spoke of deep affection. “I love you, Min,” you breathed out, gently interrupting his gentle murmurings. His head snapped up at the sound of your voice, and his eyes softened with a tenderness that made your heart skip a beat. The unspoken emotion between you was palpable, and you continued, “Thank you for taking care of me. You have no idea how much I love you.”

As Minho unfastened the final knot securing your wrists, you did not hesitate. You drew him closer, enveloping him in a wordless embrace that conveyed a depth of emotion words could not capture. The silence of the moment spoke volumes, a shared connection that transcended language, as you both held each other tightly, savoring the quiet after the storm of your passion.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

hiii my green how are youuu ??😽 i hope you dont mind me hopping in here to request something ><

ive been thinking a lot abt skz and shibari since i read your headcanons and i was wondering if you could write something like this with minho and fem!reader where the reader is the one being tied up ?? something really comforting and intimate, with lots of emotional connection if its okay ?? ofc dont feel pressured and/or rushed !! take your time<33

n e wayy, take care, ilyy🫶🏽🫶🏽

Beautiful Merin, hello! All things considered, I'm doing pretty good! Merin, I will never mind you making requests, they're all truly wonderful 🥰🫶

The way I was giggling and kicking my feet when I read your request, you have no idea how fucking excited I was to finally write something focused on the pure beauty of shibari 😩 I really, really loved writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it!

Please make sure to drink water! ILY! ── ( 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 )

────* ˚ ✦ BONDS OF PASSION (MDNI)

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ) 7.2k

𑁍ࠬܓ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ( stray kids )

❛ In which the members of Stray Kids navigate the world of fatherhood without you.

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) 4.4k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This request was absolutely devastating to write, thank you! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has passed away, each member is a single father still in love with you, mentions of grief, some of the kids fall under the LGBTQ+ community.

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

방찬 ── BANG CHAN.

Chan's office was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the desk lamps, casting a warm yet somber light across the room. The gentle hum of the night time silence was broken only by the rhythmic, soothing breaths of his three-year-old daughter, who lay peacefully on the worn leather couch. Her tiny face, so serene in slumber, was a haunting mirror of your beautiful features, stirring a profound ache in Chan's heart.

As he watched her, tears began to silently trace their way down his cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of his sorrow and longing. He could still hear your final, trembling words: "Love her twice as much in my absence." The memory was a dagger, twisting with the relentless guilt and grief that had become his constant companions. The sight of his daughter's innocent face, so reminiscent of you, only deepened his anguish.

Today had been especially trying. Chan had promised his little girl a joyous outing to the park, a precious respite from his hectic work schedule. But the day took an unexpected turn when Changbin called in a panic, frantically searching for the nearly completed recording of their latest song. What Chan had hoped would be a swift resolution morphed into hours of desperate searching, only to end in the devastating realization that they would have to begin the recording anew.

All the while, his daughter’s patience wore thin. She had no toys, no distractions, just the suffocating boredom of waiting. Her disappointment was palpable, a silent reproach that cut deeper than any words could. Chan felt like he was failing her, failing in the promise he had made to you. Driven by the need to make amends, he gently woke his daughter. Her initial crankiness gave way to curiosity as he apologized for breaking his promise and proposed a sleepover at home. Movies, games, a fort, and endless cuddles — her eyes sparkled at the thought, and her frown dissolved into giggles.

At home, they transformed the living room into a magical fortress of pillows and blankets, a sanctuary just for them. They watched animated tales, played games, and reveled in the simple joy of being together. Wrapped in the cozy embrace of their fort, she eventually succumbed to sleep once more, nestled against him. Her hair, a tousled mess, and a small trail of drool on his shirt were endearing reminders of her tender age and boundless trust in him.

Chan held her close, his heart swelling with love and a bittersweet yearning. She was the living embodiment of his heart, and as he gazed at her, he whispered a vow into the stillness of the night. He promised to love her with all his might, carrying the weight of both his love and the part of you that would forever reside in their lives. In that quiet moment, amidst the echoes of his promises, he felt a fragile sense of peace, knowing that as long as he held her, he was keeping your memory alive.

이민호 ── LEE MINHO.

Minho lay in the dim, soft glow of his bedroom, shadows whispering across the walls as the twins slept peacefully beside him. Their tiny forms had claimed your side of the bed, filling the void where your presence once brought warmth and comfort. The night he returned home with the babies, he had attempted to sleep alone, but the emptiness was unbearable. He tossed and turned, haunted by the silence, until one of the babies began to cry, inevitably waking the other. In his desperation to soothe them, he gathered every pillow he could find, crafting a makeshift crib in his bed. Their delicate features softened in the calm of his presence, and they finally drifted off to sleep.

As Minho gazed at their angelic faces, hands entwined even in slumber, his heart ached with the weight of your absence. How could he begin to process this loss? You had spent almost ten months nurturing these little miracles, only to be taken away before you could revel in the beauty of their existence. Ten months of creating life, and you would never witness the serene way they held hands in their sleep. Ten months of dreams and hopes, and you would miss their first birthdays, graduations, weddings. It was unbearably cruel, and Minho’s soul was tormented by the thought.

You wouldn’t even be here to laugh about the pregnancy mix-up that had both of you convinced it would be a boy and a girl, only to welcome two beautiful baby girls into the world. His friends had offered to stay and help, but he had declined, needing the solitude to grapple with his grief. Now, in the stillness of the night, he questioned if he had made the right choice.

Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks as the full weight of his new reality settled over him. He was to raise these precious little princesses on his own, and the responsibility felt crushing. Yet, as he watched their peaceful slumber, he knew he had to summon every ounce of strength for them. They were his world now, the living, breathing remnants of your love. He vowed to cherish them, to love them fiercely, and to guide them through life with unwavering dedication, for they were all he had left of you, and he was all they had.

In the hushed silence, he whispered promises into the night, pledging to be the best father he could be. He would ensure they knew how deeply you loved them, even if you couldn’t be there to tell them yourself. And as he held them close, feeling the rise and fall of their tiny chests, a fragile peace washed over him. He knew that in every laugh, every tear, and every milestone, you would be there in spirit, guiding him, loving them, always.

서창빈 ── SEO CHANGBIN.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the park as Changbin and his 13-year-old son sat on a weathered wooden bench, savoring their ice cream. The park buzzed with the laughter of children, their joy mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the summer breeze. Parents lounged on the grass, basking in the last light of day, while Changbin watched his son’s face light up with a blush as he received a message.

Changbin couldn’t resist teasing him. "Who’s got you smiling like that?" he asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity.

His son’s cheeks reddened further, and he looked away, trying to hide his smile. "Just a girl from school," he mumbled, glancing at his phone. "She texted to congratulate me on today’s soccer game."

Changbin’s interest was piqued. "A girl, huh? Do you like her?" he inquired gently, but his son just rolled his eyes, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After a while, his son broke the comfortable silence with a question that took Changbin by surprise. "Dad, how did you know Mom was the one for you?"

Changbin's heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of love and nostalgia. He took a deep breath, the memory washing over him like a tender wave. "Well," he began softly, "it was before you were born. Your mom and I had only been dating for a few months. One evening, we decided to take a ride on my motorcycle to grab some food. On the way back, she spotted a bookstore and got all excited. She tapped my shoulder and pointed it out, her eyes sparkling like a child's. I couldn't say no to that."

He smiled, lost in the memory. "We stopped, and I handed her my card, telling her to get whatever she wanted. She promised she’d come out empty-handed, but I knew better." He chuckled, remembering your sheepish yet triumphant expression as you emerged with a bag hidden behind your back. "She ended up buying two books and couldn’t stop talking about them, her excitement contagious. When I told her I was glad she found something, she did this little dance of joy before climbing back onto the bike. She had to hold the bag since her backpack was already stuffed with our food, but she was too happy to care."

Changbin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. "That’s when I knew she was the one. It wasn’t some grand gesture; it was her pure joy in the little things, her passion for life. I wish you could have known her. She loved you so much, even before you were born."

His son’s eyes mirrored his own longing and admiration. "I wish I’d known her too," he said softly. "My goal in life is to find my soulmate, like you found Mom. I want to love someone as much as you loved her."

Changbin’s heart ached with pride and sorrow. "You deserve to have someone by your side for a long time," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, "Who knows, maybe this girl from school is your one."

His son groaned, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he nudged Changbin, causing his ice cream to topple onto the ground. Changbin laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the park. His own ice cream slipped from his grasp, joining his son’s on the pavement, and they both burst into laughter, the joy of the moment a soothing balm to their hearts.

In that golden hour, surrounded by the simple pleasures of ice cream and shared memories, Changbin felt a profound sense of peace. Despite the heartache and loss, he and his son would continue to find love and joy in the little things, just as you had taught him. And in those moments of laughter and connection, he felt your presence with them, a silent guardian watching over their journey, smiling at their shared happiness.

황현진 ── HWANG HYUNJIN.

Hyunjin sat alone in the dimly lit room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden hue over the familiar surroundings. The air was thick with memories, each piece of furniture and every stroke of paint a testament to the love and labor he had shared with you. His heart ached with a bittersweet nostalgia as he looked around, his mind filled with the echoes of laughter and the whispers of cherished moments.

He remembered the countless hours spent building the furniture, the frustration and triumph mingling as he struggled with stubborn screws, while you sat nearby, reading the instructions with a patience that never failed to calm him. The nursery walls, painted in a tapestry of happy themes, bore the marks of your combined artistic talents, creating a sanctuary for the new life you both awaited with eager anticipation.

The night he returned home with the baby, your absence a gaping void beside him, was etched into his soul. He had sat in the rocking chair, the one he had bought especially for you, cradling the fragile bundle in his arms, paralyzed by the fear of being alone. Many nights, he had dozed off in that chair, too afraid to leave its comforting embrace, haunted by the silence that your departure had left behind.

A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the day he found your child drawing on the walls, their tiny hands busy creating a colorful mural over your delicate paintings. It had pained him to see your work altered, but the sight of their concentrated little face, so much like yours, had softened his heart. He had chosen to let them be creative, to express themselves freely, even if it meant sacrificing a piece of you.

He thought of the time his six-year-old had cried in his arms, their tiny body trembling with confusion and hurt because they didn't fit in with the boys or the girls. Hyunjin had held them close, whispering reassurances, his heart breaking at the familiar pain. It had been a long journey, but he had worked tirelessly to make their home a sanctuary of love and acceptance.

The memories came in a flood, each one a cherished gem: the summer in middle school when they returned home with bags of new clothes and put on a fashion show, proudly displaying their androgynous style; the pride parade, where he meticulously placed sticky rainbow gems on their face, their giddy excitement lighting up the day; and finally, the day they graduated and moved out, leaving behind an empty room filled with the ghosts of the past.

Tears rolled down Hyunjin’s face as he sat in the rocking chair, now old and creaky, thinking of all the moments he had cherished yet wished he could have shared with you. The weight of the memories pressed down on him, a heavy, inescapable burden.

Suddenly, his phone rang, startling him from his reverie. He hastily wiped his tears and saw it was a FaceTime call from his child. He answered, and their beaming face filled the screen, the excitement in their eyes mirrored by the twinkling fairy lights in their new apartment's bedroom.

“Hey, Dad! Look at my new room!” they exclaimed, panning the camera around to show off their new space, their voice bubbling with pride and joy.

Hyunjin’s heart swelled with pride and love. “It looks amazing, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I miss you,” they confessed, their eyes shining with unshed tears. “Can we spend the first night together, through the phone?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, trying to mask his lingering sadness. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of moving out?”

They laughed, a sound that was pure and unfiltered joy. “Maybe, but I know you’re in my old room crying already.”

He laughed too, the heaviness lifting just a bit. “You got me there.”

They didn’t hang up, staying connected through the screen as the night deepened. Hyunjin lay back in the rocking chair, his child propped up in their new bed, both finding solace in the familiar presence of each other. As they talked and laughed, Hyunjin realized that though you weren’t physically there, your spirit lived on in these moments, in the love that continued to bind them together. And for now, that was enough.

한지성 ── HAN JISUNG.

Jisung found his seven-year-old child hidden within the treehouse that the three of you had built together. This small wooden sanctuary, once filled with laughter and joy, now bore the heavy weight of sorrow. They were still in their funeral attire, the black clothes contrasting sharply against the soft glow of the setting sun. The murmurs of the guests lingering in the backyard became a distant, indistinct hum as Jisung climbed into the treehouse, his heart burdened with grief and a simmering anger at the universe for taking you away so cruelly.

His son's youthful face was etched with a grief that seemed too profound for such a young soul. Jisung felt a surge of helplessness as he reached out, pulling his child close, wrapping him in an embrace meant to shield him from the cruel world outside. “I miss Mom,” came the soft, heart-wrenching whisper, each word a dagger to Jisung’s already shattered heart.

“I miss Mom too,” Jisung murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. They sat together in silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on them like an insurmountable force.

It had been nearly a year since you had fallen ill, the sickness so severe that the doctors had given you only a few months at most. Yet, you had defied their grim prognosis, your spirit burning brightly despite the frailty of your body. Jisung remembered the countless nights spent by your side, swallowing his fears and anger as you spoke of your impending death with a calm acceptance that had always made him furious. To him, it felt as though you had given up, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the case. You hadn’t wanted to waste what little time you had left fighting an unwinnable battle. Perhaps if he had truly listened, if he had embraced those fleeting moments instead of railing against them, he might have cherished your final days more deeply.

His son, too young to fully grasp the concept of death, struggled with the finality of it all. He understood that you would never return, yet accepting it was a different matter entirely. Jisung’s heart broke anew each time he saw the confusion and sorrow in his child’s eyes, a mirror of his own torment.

Holding his son tighter, Jisung wished he could find the right words to ease the pain, to make sense of a world that had suddenly lost its light. But words failed him, crumbled under the weight of their shared grief. Instead, he let the silence speak, hoping the strength of his embrace could convey the love and comfort his words could not.

The treehouse, once a symbol of their shared joy, now held their sorrow. The walls, which had echoed with laughter and dreams, now seemed to absorb their pain, standing as silent witnesses to their loss. But within this small, sacred space, surrounded by the memories of happier times, Jisung hoped they could begin to heal. He would be there for his son, a steadfast presence in the storm of their grief, guiding him through the darkness with a love that, while tested, remained unbroken.

As the last light of day faded, Jisung held his son close, both finding a semblance of solace in each other’s presence. In the quiet, grief-stricken aftermath, they began to forge a new bond, one tempered by loss but strengthened by their enduring love. And in that silent communion, Jisung found a glimmer of hope that they would eventually find their way through the darkness together.

이용복 ── LEE YONGBOK.

In a home where the relentless energy of three young girls and their single father painted every day with hues of joyous chaos, peace was a fleeting visitor. The air thrummed with the symphony of exuberant laughter, the vibrant discord of simultaneous chatter, and the relentless rhythm of youthful exuberance. Yongbok would never trade this tempestuous world for anything, yet a hollow ache lingered for the presence of the one who had been the steady heartbeat of their lives.

Your sudden departure had cast a profound shadow over their once lively abode, transforming it into a quieter realm where your laughter’s echoes were replaced by an oppressive silence. As time wove its delicate fabric over the jagged edges of grief, the house gradually adjusted to a new cadence, yet the weight of your absence hung heavy in every corner.

Despite this, Yongbok discovered fragments of you embedded within the fabric of their daily lives. He saw your essence in the selfless nurturing of his eldest daughter, who had seamlessly stepped into the role of co-caregiver. Her quiet acts of love and responsibility were a poignant echo of the devotion you had always shown, a continuation of your spirit in her every gesture.

In the middle child’s vibrant monologues about obscure topics, Yongbok glimpsed your enduring influence. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge mirrored the intellectual curiosity you had nurtured, each passionate explanation a living testament to your legacy.

The youngest, with her mischievous gleam and boundless spirit, kept Yongbok perpetually on his toes. Her playful antics and joyful mischief were a vivid reminder of the vivacity you had infused into their home, a living echo of the light you had brought into their lives.

In the quiet moments, Yongbok could still feel your presence. The post-it notes left in his lunch bag by his eldest daughter, each inscribed with a simple message of love, were imbued with your warmth. The tender strokes of his middle daughter’s fingers through his hair during their movie nights were a silent connection to you. And in the gentle inquiries of his youngest, her head peeking around the door to ensure he was alright, he felt the deep compassion you had instilled in her.

Though you were absent from the milestones and daily rhythms, your essence lived on through them. In the small, tender acts of affection and love, you continued to be a cherished part of their lives, an enduring presence in their hearts.

김승민 ── KIM SEUNGMIN.

Seungmin had been absent through the vast expanse of your pregnancy, the relentless demands of touring keeping him away. He returned just in time to witness the birth, only to be swallowed by the crushing weight of your absence. The pain of missing those precious moments with you, of not being there to share in the miracle of your last days, was a wound that never healed. This haunting regret followed him, a constant reminder of a future lost.

The day you passed, Seungmin left Stray Kids, unable to bear the weight of the stage without you by his side. He couldn’t find solace in the bright lights or the rhythms of his music. Instead, he focused on his two sons—an older one, now sixteen, and a younger one, now twelve. The older boy, once a vibrant spirit, had retreated into the shadows of his room, his once lively demeanor replaced by a sullen silence. The baseball games that had once bound them together now lay abandoned, and Seungmin, despite the storm within, knew he had to reach out.

Determined to bridge the chasm that had grown between them, Seungmin planned a day just for the two of them. He left the youngest with his closest friend, Jeongin, and took his older son out. The car ride was a quiet procession of unspoken thoughts, the weight of their shared grief hanging heavily between them. When they finally arrived at their destination, Seungmin braced himself, ready to face the tender fracture of their relationship.

It took patience, but eventually, the silence broke. The older boy revealed his feelings for a boy at school, emotions that he struggled to understand. Seungmin was taken aback, but he remained calm, his heart aching with a blend of surprise and concern. As his son’s tears fell freely, Seungmin pulled him into a tender embrace, his own heart aching with a mixture of empathy and love. He whispered reassurances into his son’s hair, promising acceptance and protection, vowing to stand by him no matter what.

The boy, still tearful but comforted, then showed Seungmin a small journal. Inside was a song he had penned, a poignant melody woven with the threads of his conflicted feelings for the boy at school. The song was hauntingly beautiful, a reflection of his son’s delicate soul and burgeoning talent. Seungmin’s heart swelled with pride and love as he listened, recognizing the echoes of his own musical spirit in his child’s creation.

As the day drew to a close, Seungmin received a snapshot from Jeongin—his youngest child, covered in dirt and beaming with the joy of a day spent playing baseball. The image was a burst of pure happiness, a vivid reminder that even amidst the sorrow, moments of light and joy persisted.

As the sun set, Seungmin felt a renewed connection with his older son, a fragile yet precious bond rekindled through their shared experiences and heartfelt conversation. Though the regret of not being there for you lingered, he found solace in the fact that he was striving to be the father you would have been proud of. In the quiet moments of the evening, he hoped, with all his heart, that wherever you were, you watched over them and felt a deep pride in the man he was becoming—a father striving to honor your memory through the love and strength he gave to your family.

양정인 ── YANG JEONGIN.

Jeongin’s youngest daughter was a restless spirit, her stubborn yet carefree nature a constant reminder of the love she once shared with you. Each burst of laughter, every defiant flicker of joy, was a living echo of your vibrant presence. In contrast, his oldest son was a mirror of Jeongin’s own meticulous nature, his life meticulously ordered, each ambition carefully planned.

Lately, Jeongin’s heart had been heavy with worry. His daughter, brimming with reckless exuberance, frequently dashed off to meet a boy Jeongin knew was unworthy. The thought of her entangled with someone without a future gnawed at him, leaving him adrift in a sea of concern. As he lay awake at night, the silence seemed to taunt him, and he often found himself wondering how you would have navigated these troubled waters if you had still been there to guide them.

One night, as the moonlight spilled softly through the window, Jeongin was wrenched from sleep by the unmistakable sound of muffled sobs. His heart raced as he followed the cries to his daughter’s room. He paused at the door, the murmur of his son’s voice cutting through the silence. The room, once a sanctuary of dreams, was now a cocoon of whispered regrets and stifled tears. His daughter’s voice wavered with the weight of her shame, confessing her feelings of foolishness for having trusted the boy. His son, with a soothing calmness that mirrored your gentle strength, reassured her that she wasn’t foolish, merely swept up in the exhilarating tide of young love. He told her she deserved better than a boy with no future, his words a soft balm to her wounded spirit.

Jeongin’s heart ached with a mixture of pride and sorrow as he heard his son’s comforting tones, the echoes of your nurturing spirit resonating in his voice. After a few moments, he gathered the courage to step into the room. His eyes were tender with understanding as he took in the scene: his daughter’s tear-streaked face, her hands buried in her lap. Her cries grew louder as she saw him, her embarrassment palpable as she shielded her face with her hands.

Jeongin knelt before her, his expression a blend of love and compassion. Gently, he reached for her hands, drawing them away from her face to hold them in his own. His touch was a lifeline, a silent promise of unwavering support.

“You told me so, I know,” she choked out, her voice a trembling whisper.

“I would never say that, my love,” Jeongin murmured, his voice rich with tenderness. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close against his chest. His gaze met his son’s, a shared understanding passing between them.

“I know it hurts,” Jeongin whispered into her hair, his voice a soothing melody against her ear, “but this isn’t the end.” His embrace was a warm cocoon, a sanctuary of love amidst the storm of her emotions. The night unfolded in a delicate tapestry of comfort and hope, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together, even in the quiet absence of your guiding presence.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Post taglist: @bowsnbang @nothinginterestingtoshowhere

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

( 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 ): Release Date: Posted!

𑁍ࠬܓ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔

❛ In which the members of Stray Kids navigate the world of fatherhood without you.

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) 4.4k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This request was absolutely devastating to write, thank you! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has passed away, each member is a single father still in love with you, mentions of grief, some of the kids fall under the LGBTQ+ community.

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

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꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx

hi it’s 👽 i saw that you wrote about a reader that smokes weed in your felix oneshot and i was just wondering what type of potheads you think skz members would be

POTHEADS — stray kids

스트레이 키즈 ⨳ genre/s: headcanons (?) ⨳ warnings: obviously the members of skz are stoners, mentions of anxiety, stress, feeling overwhelmed, let me know if i missed anything please i’m high ⨳ rating: 18+ ⨳ word count: 1.8k ⨳ summary: green decides what kind of stoners the stray kids members are. 

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🍃 방찬 — BANG CHAN. 

I feel like he started smoking weed after he heard it helped relieve anxiety and stress as well as  insomnia. He keeps a bong in his bedroom right under his bed so he can give it a few hits right before bed. Chan also seems to me like the kind of person who would walk around with a handful of neatly-rolled joints in a small tin box that also carries a lighter. It’s often that Chan would excuse himself and walk towards his car just to smoke a joint to calm his mind as soon as his anxiety started to get the better of him, and he would return to work red-eyed and freshly sprayed cologne that everyone pretended to not notice. 

When he’s high alone he almost always finds himself staring at the ceiling with a blank expression for a long while, just feeling the blissful emptiness of his own mind. He also just sleeps heavily, like sometimes he’ll be immediately knocked out after a hit of his bong or two. If he’s high while working he finds it easier to focus and really get into the zone of the most routine parts of it, and sometimes being high really helps him think better when it comes to writing. It’s mostly just a hit or miss. 

However, when he’s high along with friends, it becomes a different story entirely. He’s just so energetic, so talkative and giggly — there’s a reason he’s so popular amongst idols. He treats the world like a wonder that delights him every single time. Whatever story you tell him, it is received with great enthusiasm and it’s the very thing most like about him. 

On the downside, smoking as much as he does really causes memory loss for him, and it’s a struggle he accepts if it means a good night’s sleep. He actually did try to stay sober for at least a month and found that he hated who he became without weed since he didn’t have anything to console his anxiety or to knock him out for the night. 

🍃 리노 — LEE KNOW. 

Minho doesn’t exactly give me stoner vibes, but I do think he enjoys eating edibles (a.k.a. Felix’s brownies) every once in a while to take the edge off or to relax with the boys. If he’s feeling a little more adventurous, he’ll smoke from whatever the others are smoking from — bong, pipe, joint, whatever. Generally speaking, though, I wouldn’t consider him to be a full-blown pothead since I don’t think he’s the kind to enjoy the feeling of not being in control of his awareness often. 

Regardless of if he’s alone or not, I think he would be the kind of guy who would just eat constantly. As a matter of fact, don’t even talk to him if you don’t have something to feed him. It’s ridiculous, honestly. When he is eating, though, he’s so giggly. Jokes that he wouldn’t laugh at, he finds to be the funniest damn thing in the world — just no thought process going on, just giggles. 

🍃 창빈 — CHANGBIN. 

Changbin started smoking as a teenager and this is a hill I’m willing to die on even though there’s literally nothing that I could say to justify this opinion — I can just picture him sneaking out of the house and school to smoke joints with his buddies and then enjoying the nauseous thrill of getting away with it when he’d return to where he’s supposed to be. I think this might be when he discovered his passion for rapping, I think he was goofing around with his friends singing and rapped a little too well. He probably became curious about it and started doing research and trying to write some verses for himself. 

Perhaps he tried to quit around the time of his debut, though, since he wanted to remain sober and sharp during this extremely crucial period of his career. He did so well for a long time, you’d never tell he used to get high all the time back in his teenage years. But then he recognized the familiar scent of weed in the dormitories with the other members and quickly found out it was because of Chan — that was enough for him to return to his old ways, his leader was doing it while being the company’s golden child. 

Presently, I believe Changbin only smokes out of a bong. He’s at that point in life where he doesn’t really care about leaving something so obviously related to weed out in his room, so he keeps it in the bathroom cabinet that he uses by himself in his own apartment. There’s not a moment he’s home but not high, it’s the first thing he does when he wakes up, comes back home, and goes to sleep. That bong is always packed, and he genuinely loves it that way. It just makes him feel like he’s traveled back to the days he was young and naive, writing only for himself and rapping in exchange for the laughter of his friends. 

While high, he’d also feel starved all the time. It’s not uncommon for him to be eating so much after getting high — which explains the constant jokes the other members make about him loving to eat so much, he’s always high. He’s also very loud and giggly, and just loves making other people laugh. However, if you catch him alone, he’d likely rope into you a very intense conversation in which you confess your darkest thoughts and feelings though he never judges and keeps it to himself. 

🍃 현진 — HYUNJIN. 

Being such a devout artist and enjoyer of the arts, I wouldn’t be surprised at all if he stumbled upon like-minded people who happened to also spend time smoking weed. He’d love it from the first puff of smoke, freely allowing his mind to fog up as he melted into every tingle of his skin that seemed to follow the beat of the music playing in the distance. This would be the moment that would forever change the course of his life as he soon found himself obsessed with perfecting the art of rolling a flawless joint. 

He would often add various types of flowers into his joint just to enhance his experience. The beautiful mixture of the very different types of flowers was absolutely intoxicating, and it always inspired him with an abundance of creativity that he always spilt into either the blank canvases he’d buy in dozens or the hundreds of half-filled notebooks he collected everywhere. 

I feel like Hyunjin and Changbin would enjoy smoking together a lot. Changbin already likes having deep conversations when he’s like this, and I feel like Hyunjin would also enjoy having these types of conversations as well as the philosophical ones. And I think Hyunjin would like smoking with Felix, too, since they’d always end up listening to soft music that makes them feel like they’re levitating while describing every thought that crosses their mind. 

Sometimes he would accidentally get too high, which then causes to become very anxious. For this, he always carries various crystals in his pockets for him to fiddle with as a way to ground himself. But overall, I’d kill to smoke with him so we can be artists together and then maybe even share our works and have a whole discussion about it all. It just sounds so peaceful to me. 

🍃 한 — HAN. 

Han was encouraged by Chan to start smoking, that much I would say. He’s just so overwhelmed with anxiety, constantly feeling as though he were a cup full of water that is just about to spill over. So Chan invited him into his world of soothing serenity as he’d smoke him out for a while. Eventually Han just started getting his own pipe and his own weed. 

His memory is absolutely shot as of now, but it’s okay because he’s not so overly-conscious of the fact that he’s constantly perceived by other people so he’ll consider it a win anyway. He would constantly smell like weed, which the other members find irritating because they’d panic about someone finding out they all smoke. He just always gets a little too high and forgets that he’s not supposed to be a pothead. 

🍃 이용복 — FELIX. 

I’m not sure when exactly he would start smoking, but I do know he would be the kind of guy to mindlessly always be smoking people out when he smokes. He just enjoys having company when he’s taking the edge off, he definitely sees socializing as smoking and vice versa. It’s very rare to catch him hanging out with a friend and not smoking with them. 

Whenever he finds out about a tour or a long trip away from home for work, he’s always sure to bake some treats so he can still get high without drawing too much attention to himself with the smell. He’s just paranoid, but it’s fine. Felix also just likes bragging about his baking skills since nobody ever really tastes the usual twinge of weed, it could really pass as a normal brownie until it hits you an hour later. 

Yeah, he’s always high, I’m so certain of it, he’s just very good at hiding it. 

🍃 승민 — SEUNGMIN. 

Seungmin was probably very bewildered when he found out his members smoked weed, always watching them get high while he sat in a corner quietly. He’d be so curious to know what it felt like, but the members didn’t let him even hold a lighter before he was old enough to. That doesn’t mean he didn’t constantly irritate the members while trying to take a puff whenever they smoked together. 

As soon as he was considered an adult, he bought himself so much weed along with a brand new bong as well as a whole box of prerolls to celebrate. He did stop smoking it pretty soon after, though, because he realized the risks of damage to his throat if he continued so he now settles with the edibles. 

He’s very goofy when he’s high, too, always throwing sly jokes left and right as if his life depended on it. He just likes making others laugh since the silence feels too loud. I’d also dare say he becomes very sleepy easily as well, so he’d probably be the first to knock out in the middle of a smoking session. 

🍃 아이엔 — I.N.

Jeongin definitely had mixed feelings about his members smoking when he found out. He was raised with the very emphasized idea that smoking and doing drugs will definitely lead to your own demise so he was definitely very concerned for his members. However, everyone was very surprised when he actually asked to smoke for his birthday to celebrate his becoming an official adult — he just wanted to at least try it out before he condemned something. 

Him getting into the sticky world of potheads was probably even more surprising. Jeongin is mostly a social smoker, but sometimes he enjoys rolling very uneven joints for himself to smoke when he’s particularly overwhelmed. Overall, he’s very much quiet when high, always observing everyone else with an occasional laugh every now and then. It almost feels like he’s watching a scene from a movie, he’d say. 

posted: 06 • 30 • 2024

💬 a note from green;

This was honestly so much fun to do while stoned myself, I genuinely want to smoke with all the members of SKZ so badly. I’m also so psyched to find fellow stoner stays on here, let’s all smoke together please and thank you. Thank you so much for the request! Sending you all the love!

( 🏷️ ) permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx

hi green !! i’ve been a quiet enjoyer of your works and i finally grew the courage to make a request i hope that’s okay !!

what would puppy love with lee know look like ? if it’s with a male reader, that would be great ! thank you !

PUPPY LOVE— lee minho

스트레이 키즈 ( 리노 ) x male reader genre. fluff warnings. it's gay, the gays get in trouble at school therefore minho gets in trouble at home, gay, more gay, they're in high school and in love and it's them against the world, also it’s mostly written from minho’s pov rating. everyone word count. 1.0k summary. in which high school lee minho is so madly in love with you that he's willing to follow you anywhere, anytime.

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Puppy-Love-Minho who would wake up before the sun was even up so he could be the first to see you when you arrived at school, falling asleep on his desk while he waited. He would always look away sheepishly when he would wake up to find you watching him with twinkling eyes, laughing lightly. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who would follow you into the faculty break room with his heart beating in his throat while you rummaged around to see if you could find anything of interest. He would’ve never done something that could earn him a scolding, though because you suggested it, he agreed to be the lookout while simultaneously swooning at the goofy smirk you wore while you found love notes from teachers by the coffee machine. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who, in the terrifying realization that the well-known strict math teacher was making her way into the faculty break room, grabbed you by the wrist without a word before bolting out of the room while you stumbled and tripped behind him. The shouting from your teacher being drowned out by the crazed giggles coming out of both of your mouths as you continued to run as fast as you possibly could while trying not to fixate too much on the fact that he was still holding your wrist. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who would pull you into one of the stalls of the boys’ bathroom to finally rest from running, having you stand on the toilet together though still huddled — your legs becoming a tangled mess as you both panted and laughed breathlessly, trying to calm the loud drums of your hearts. It was a matter of seconds before you both really noticed how close together your faces were, your lips a hair’s width away from touching his. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who would turn away shyly, hoping to whatever gods existed that you couldn’t hear the way his heart beat erratically at such a scene. His ears burned red as the blood crept up and pooled into his cheeks all the while his hands trembled. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who almost passed out when the principal of your school suddenly opens the bathroom stall in which you’d both hidden in, his face contorted in anger as he pointed his finger towards the exit. Although Minho could only imagine the amount of trouble he’ll find himself in at home, he couldn’t help but be guilt-free at the sight of your amused grin that made you look as though you thought this whole ordeal was funny. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who received the scolding of his life the second he stepped foot inside of his home, very much as he’d predicted, and got sent to his room without the privilege of leaving unless it was to use the bathroom. Even still, he replayed the morning’s events in his head with a lovesick smile on his face. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who almost yells out when he hears a rock hit his bedroom window, finding you standing down in his backyard with a stupid grin on your face when he finally grows the courage to peer outside. His heart doing somersaults in his chest at the sight, at the thought of his parents finding you standing there as well — at the thrill of it all.  

Puppy-Love-Minho who can almost envision his own funeral as he manages to sneak past his parents’ bedroom to meet you outside, body tensed as he prays once again that nothing goes wrong. He can only breathe once you both make it outside the property, walking down the neighborhood — only then did he finally ask you what the hell you thought you were doing. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who huffs as you laugh at his anxiety, shoving you lightly though he had to look away to hide the smile that threatened to slip up. He listens intently as you apologize sincerely for getting him in trouble, and feels as though he might pass out as you pull out a kitty keychain out of your pocket and offer it to him. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who forgets to breathe when you step forward as you hand him his gift, keeping your eyes on his as you do so. Although he panicked at the thought of anyone in his neighborhood seeing him kiss another boy, he couldn’t pull away for the small hope that you would press your lips against his. 

Puppy-Love-Minho whose breath absolutely leaves him when he notices you slowly leaning in, your eyes on his trembling lips.

Puppy-Love-Minho who sees your short hesitation as you look up into his eyes, trying to read him, and closes the small gap between your lips in a small burst of adrenaline. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who could almost hear imaginary fireworks exploding in the background as his blood pumped through his veins at record speed. His hands find your waist so that he could pull himself closer to you in order to deepen the kiss, feeling himself becoming bolder by the second. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who feels your teeth against his lips as you laugh softly, somehow triggering shame to creep up as the weight of both of your actions finally settles.

Puppy-Love-Minho who immediately softens when you grab ahold of both of his hands and tell him that it was okay, that you didn’t mean to laugh — you just couldn’t wrap your head around the fact that he felt the same way about you. He laughs at you, and tells you he’s the one who should be thanking his lucky stars for reciprocating his feelings. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who doesn’t want to let you go when you try to say goodbye; though he eventually does with a sigh when you promise you’d see him tomorrow at school.

Puppy-Love-Minho who doesn’t move from his spot until you were completely out of sight, waving at you every single time you turned to see if he’d gone back inside. Even after you were long gone he remained there, barely able to process the amount of thrill the last twenty four hours had brought to him. 

Puppy-Love-Minho who almost throws up when he realizes he needs to sneak back inside without his parents noticing, and he prays to his lucky stars that he can avoid getting caught. 

posted: 06 • 29 • 2024

💬 a note from green;

Thank you so much for this request! It was so much fun to write honestly but that might be because i accidentally got stoned out of my mind, and I really hope you enjoy this! Also, thank you for enjoying my other works, it really makes my day when I hear people tell me that. Hope to hear from you again!

( 🏷️ ) permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx

currently checking my pulse to make sure i’m still alive after this because…wow. i absolutely live for soft lino and this is something that’s gonna be burned into my brain forever and i’m pretty sure that’s not a joke. this is so beautiful, so tender, so endearing. might as well just have stolen my heart and ate it in front of me because again…wow.

Sweet Lee Know that wakes up before you just to cook breakfast for you before he leaves for his schedule.

Sweet Lee Know that leans his forehead to yours after he had a really long day "hi, my home, I missed you"

Sweet Lee Know that covers your eyes when there's a scary scene in a movie "I got you, my love." and takes his hand off when the scene is over "See, it's nothing to be scared about."

Sweet Lee Know that takes your hand and kisses your knuckles whenever you caress his cheek.

Sweet Lee Know that would kiss every imperfection you think you have on your body "I will never get tired of loving you. The whole you..."

Sweet Lee Know that cheers you when you try to learn his dance (but fail) and it ends up with him backhugging you "you should take my place in the band, you're better than me" (even though you know you're not).

Sweet Lee Know that comes to pick you up from work because he says he wants to spend more time with you. He just does it because he's afraid something will happen to you.

Sweet Lee Know that wears a hair elastic on his wrist because you always misplace yours.

Sweet Lee Know that cooks you chicken soup when you get a cold and kisses your forehead to measure your fever level.

Sweet Lee Know that feeds you the soup "I know, love, I know but just a few spoons, okay?" and he blows on the soup to make it colder.

Sweet Lee Know that is always the big spoon because he says you're small and have to be protected.

Sweet Lee Know that pretends to be tired when you're tired cause he knows you won't get some rest if he doesn't get some too.

Sweet Lee Know that kisses your forehead every morning "good morning, angel. I love you"

Sweet Lee Know that doesn't say "Love you." but instead he says "I love you." because the "I" means something.

Sweet Lee Know that pouts and frowns when he knows he'll leave for more than a week "Why aren’t you Tinkerbell so I can put you in my pocket, huh?"

Sweet Lee Know that knows he can't text you or call a lot when he's gone but he always sends a heart emoji so you know he's thinking about you.

Sweet Lee Know that keeps another bottle of your perfume and sprays it in the hotel room so he can cope with being away from you for so long.

Sweet Lee Know that stays glued to the crook of your neck when he returns "I missed you so much it hurt"

Sweet Lee Know that would want you to tell him every single tiny thing you did while he was away.

Sweet Lee Know that would caress your hair when you fall asleep at his chest "I want to feel you at my chest forever"

Sweet Lee Know that when he kisses you slowly, he cups your cheek.

Sweet Lee Know that kisses your eyes before you fall asleep "sweet dreams, angel. I love you"

Sweet Lee Know that loves to do your skin care routine cause he loves the way you giggle when he tickles your face.

Sweet Lee Know that sits you on his lap, hides your face in the crook of his neck and softly sings to you when there's a thunderstorm because you're afraid. When you flinch, he caresses your hair and hugs you tighter at his chest "shh shhh, baby, I'm here, it'll be over soon, just listen to my voice, okay?"

Sweet Lee Know that always wants you both sleeping naked because he says you're closer this way and he doesn't want anything between the two of you.

Sweet Lee Know that is afraid of heights but will climb the highest mountain if that's what it takes to get to you.

Sweet Lee Know that whispers to you every night after you fall asleep "I can't wait for the day I'll call you my wife."

Do not copy/modify/repost without my permission.

©️sometimesleeknows All rights reserved.

Bf!SKZ

Prompt: Random shit!pt.2

Taglist:@danceonmyheyday @stillwjk-channie-lixie @estella-novella

Lee Felix x AFAB | Bur ❄️

Warnings: Fluff|2nd POV|Establish relationship

Synopsis: Bf!Felix is stressed out, constantly missing out on dinner and never home. You, as the ever considerate partner you are, know the perfect way to get him to relax.

Author Note: This is a 2 part mini series that was meant to be released in December… but writers block has been kicking my ass

Part 2 🐻‍❄️

You knew not to expect Felix to be home before late at night. The dance company he worked at was busy with their recent holiday projects.

One of them being a huge dance performance, Felix tasked to be the main lead.

Still, he never fails to let you know when he does come home. Usually giving you a long and weak hug with a kiss before quickly crashing.

Sometimes you’re lucky and can convince him to stay up just to eat something.

What you didn’t expect was for your boyfriend to walk in at only 7, still looking just as exhausted as other nights.

“What happened?” You sat up from the couch as you set aside the fuzzy blanket you had been cuddled up in. He shuffled towards you and seemingly collapsed before you could fully stand up.

He grumbled into your shoulder, muffled by your shirt. It was endearing to see him practically melt in your arms, hands threaded into his blond hair.

“The power went out, let us go early so they could fix the issue.”

Even when gravelly and barely loud enough to properly hear, the exhaustion was clear. “But you’ll be back tomorrow?” You guessed as he hummed in confirmation.

“Probably, we still have a lot to do.”

You sighed in tandem, a small chuckle following after, finding it funny you were in sync. “Did you eat something today?”

He hummed back. It wasn’t an answer that told you much but judging by his dismissive tone you can guess it’s a no.

“It’s not too late to order take out.”

He didn’t respond this time, no huffing and puffing, no squeeze around your waist where his arms were wrapped around.

His breathing evened out as his chest pressed against yours with each gentle breath he took. It made you smile slightly in admiration.

“Or not…” You mumbled, burying your face into his soft blond hair.

Boyfriend!SKZ Texts

Prompt: Calling them your husband

Hyung Line

Pack Life| SKZ x AFAB|🐺

Includes: |Werewolf!SKZ|Human!AFAB|Y/n is banned from this household|3rd POV sometimes 2nd|Fluff|Smut(?)|Poly OT8|Omegaverse|MxM|

Synopsis: Your roommate Chan is a really nice guy, sometimes too nice in your opinion. That seemed to be proven right when he let 7 guys slowly move in one by one. At least they’re all respectful about the little space, and strangely cuddly.

Or: Reader is oblivious and doesn’t know until it’s too late that she’s living with a pack of werewolves, who want to add her to the pack.

Want to be added to the taglist when this comes out? Click here ⬆️

BF!SKZ TEXTS

Prompt: Positions

Hyung Line

BF!SKZ TEXTS

Prompt: Random shit

Hyung Line

Bf!SKZ Texts

Prompt: Your parents want to meet them

Hyung Line

Chan

Minho

Changbin

Hyunjin

Bf!SKZ Texts

Prompt: Sending explicit questions

Hyung Line

BF!SKZ Hyung Line Texts

[🦋 Asking for a baby] Bang Chan & Minho

[🦋 Asking for a baby] Changbin & Hyunjin

[🦋Dirty Contact names] 2

[🦋 Anniversary Bouquet’s] 3

[🦋 Hot and bothered] 4

[🦋 Explicit question] 5

[🦋 Meeting your parents] 6

[🦋 Random shit] 7

[🦋 Positions] 8

[🦋 Husband?] 9

[🦋 Random shit!pt.2] 10

Bf!SKZ Texts

Prompt: flowers for your anniversary

Hyung Line

Bf!SKZ Texts

Prompt: Your boyfriend finds out about his interesting contact name

Hyung Line

Bang Chan

Minho

Changbin

Hyunjin

Bf!SKZ Texts

Prompt: You ask your boyfriend for a baby

Bang Chan & Minho

Bang Chan

Lee Know

@nn_sam02

But you belong to me.

I know it hurts you,

But I need to tell you something.

the fast lane : part 5 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, angst, chan isn't as much of a dick (yayyy), jisung is the best, lots of vroom vrooming, not proofread, brief mentions of injury, tiny bit suggestive if you squint, that's it i think 3.6 k wc

series masterlist

part 5 : white knight and black knight

"You ready?" Jisung asked.

Y/n nodded shakily, adjusting her leather jacket. The material felt foreign, unusually smooth and uncomfortable against her skin. Jisung had kindly lent it to her, since she didn't have a racing jacket of her own yet, and not for the first time, Y/n was truly grateful for his amiable nature and quick smile.

He was just so easy to be friends with.

Y/n had only spent several days in Jisung's company as he'd helped train her, but by the time Saturday's race came around, she felt as if she'd known him for years. It was a pleasant feeling, to have someone who was so willingly kind to her after experiencing Chan's confusing attitude towards her, and the other racers' nonchalance and ignorance of her presence entirely. Minho's absence still bitterly tugged at Y/n's heartstrings, but with Jisung's constant chattering, grinning, and spontaneous antics, the sadness and longing began to slowly fade away, and Y/n surprisingly found herself enjoying herself in and out of the arena for the first time since Minho's impromptu training sessions.

Jisung nudged her shoulder suddenly, chuckling as she blinked, having been so lost in her thoughts that she'd forgotten where she was. "You'll be fine, Y/n."

Y/n exhaled, nodding, glad that he'd mistaken her quietness for nerves. She liked Jisung, but being a naturally suspicious person, she was finding it truly difficult to open up and tell him things that might have come easy to someone else. She understood now, why Chan acted the way he did, how he might have been feeling the same way as she did, not knowing who to trust or open up to.

Y/n was surprised she currently even had the capacity to hear herself think. The arena was bright and bustling, trails of car exhaust smoke rising in wisping plumes against the night sky. The floodlights were slightly dimmed, their usual blinding, white glare toned down by the hundreds of coloured light bulbs threading through the grandstands, giving the arena and racetrack a garishly dramatic, multi-coloured aura of reds, pinks, blues, and yellows. The cars racing in the next heat were already lined up, decorated in flashy stripes and sheens of neon colours that made Y/n's head spin if she looked for too long. Minho's car, her car now, was there too, the neon green and chrome black cast sending a jolting, bittersweet pang through her heart. Jisung's neon red and candy-pink Mustang was positioned directly behind hers.

Someone brushed past her shoulder suddenly, smelling woodsy and spicy. Y/n knew that scent now.

Chan moved past her, walking into the crowds towards his car as if she'd conjured him there out of her thoughts. She hadn't seen him around much since their shared breakdown in the tuning shop, but she was relieved to at least see that he was okay. Yn subconsciously realised she'd been coming around to him, albeit extremely slowly and warily.

Not to say she had forgiven him for what he'd done to Minho.

Y/n considered going after him suddenly, feeling a strange urge to reconnect with him the way they'd done in the garage. But she knew in her heart Chan wouldn't want to talk about it, especially since he'd been crying. She had a feeling most of the racers here weren't really into shows of affection or vulnerability unless it was shoving their tongues down the throats of the grid girls, who were currently swarming flirtatiously around a blonde-haired racer clad in jet black and blue.

Not that there was any time to reconnect with Chan anyway.

Jisung clapped her on the back, giving her a final, million-watt smile before disappearing behind her to enter his own car in the lineup. Y/n took a shaky breath and opened the car door of her own, sliding smoothly into the driver's seat. Her fingers found their place on the wheel, the cool leather sending an involuntary shiver up her spine. She closed her eyes tightly and tried to focus. Opening them again, trying to clear her head, Y/n glanced in her rearview mirror, noticing Jisung making his final adjustments in his seat. Y/n fought a tiny, fond laugh as he hit his elbow on the window frame, his lean top half temporarily disappearing as he keeled over dramatically at the pain.

Dragging her eyes away from her friend, Y/n glanced across to her left, noticing Chan clenching the wheel of his own car next to her. His sleek, dark Corvette was polished to an effortless shine, the red streamlining catching the multi-coloured lights sprinkled around the racetrack. He was wearing the exact same black and red racing suit he'd worn when she'd first ran into him, and Y/n cringed at the memory, remembering how she'd fallen straight onto her ass afterwards. She was also convinced that Chan probably slept in his racing suit at this point. She was about to smile at the thought, turning to look at him, when she realised he looked a lot more focused than usual.

No, not focused.

Tense.

Like he was worried about something.

Every single muscle was rigid and stiff. He kept shifting in his seat, his usual bravado disappearing completely as he fretted silently to himself, frowning every now and then. Y/n hastily redirected her gaze as Chan's eyes caught hers, her heart thudding at the unexpected glance.

A grating rev from her other side made Y/n jolt. Glaring at the racer to her left, Y/n's jaw dropped a little as she realised the racer who had been flirting with the grid girls was staring directly at her. Her glare disappeared as quickly as it had come, a sudden shyness and sense of inferiority crashing over her being. His car must have been the most expensive one on the track. The McLaren P1's sleek, deep blue body was decorated with vibrant, sky blue lightning strikes detailed in black and white. It was truly stunning.

So is the racer inside it, Y/n thought.

She promptly realised she'd been staring at the blonde-haired racer for some time now. He was doing the same, his dark, almost boyishly pretty eyes boring into Y/n's with an intensity that made her want to shrink into oblivion. His face was freckled, the blonde strands falling down over his forehead and nape in messy, loosely clustered strands. She could faintly see his roots growing out, the colour beneath the harsh dye a pleasant, dark, chocolatey brown.

Y/n watched, stupefied, as the racer smirked, a strand of pretty blonde hair falling into his face. He shook his head a little, shaking it out of the way, before cocking a confident eyebrow at her and smirking again, his tongue darting out to briefly touch his teeth. Heat flooded Y/n's cheeks at the expression, though she knew he was mocking her, nonverbally telling her to stay out of the way.

Out of his way, most likely.

She watched as he threw his head back and laughed, though she couldn't hear it from her car. It didn't seem like the friendly type of laugh, either. More derisive and taunting. Y/n's hands clenched involuntarily on the wheel and she looked straight ahead, trying to redirect her moral compass, and focus.

This would have been so much easier if Minho was here, she thought desperately. She leant forward a little and watched with hawk-like eyes as a grid girl sashayed onto the track, holding a single, black-and-white checkered flag. Y/n's heart thudded as she watched the girl raise the flag. Y/n glanced at Chan one more time before the flag dropped.

The instant the green signal flared, they were off.

Tires screeched against asphalt as the cars launched forward, engines roaring. The blonde-haired racer's car had already disappeared round a turn as soon as the signal flare had launched, and Y/n sputtered, faltering momentarily.

How had he gotten there so fast?

Recollecting herself, Y/n's heart leapt into her throat as she slammed her foot on the gas. The adrenaline surged through her veins as the world around her blurred, the car's momentum throwing her against the seat. Jisung's car sped past her, stuck in the middle between Chan's car and her own, but she strangely found she didn't mind. Jisung seemed to have enough skill to hold his own, and Y/n was far more focused and preoccupied on beating two particular cars.

Chan’s car surged ahead at first, taking an early lead like Y/n had always seen him do, with smooth confidence and practiced ease. Y/n glanced at her rearview mirror; she could already see the blonde racer's car coming up behind her. He was so incredibly fast that Y/n put him out of her mind, instead focusing on Chan's car beside her.

Forget about the hot blonde guy, she thought. I just have to place, and beat Chan.

Chan's car was faster, smoother, and Y/n could tell that he knew the track like the back of his hand. But Y/n stayed focused, her knuckles white against the wheel, refusing to be intimidated. She could feel the power beneath her, every turn and shift of the road pushing her to test her limits, and go beyond. She gritted her teeth and wrenched the wheel, eyes laser-focused on the track ahead and the cars vying to overtake her.

The cars whipped around tight corners, engines screaming, sparks flying as their bumpers almost brushed. Y/n inched closer, narrowing the gap between her car and Chan's. Her eyes flicked to the speedometer—she was pushing her car harder than ever.

Y/n saw Chan’s engine suddenly sputter, and his car jerking violently. The reckless revving dropped, and the smooth power that was seconds ago relied on faltered. His car slowed, losing speed, and within seconds, it was clear—his car was stalling.

Y/n's eyes instinctively flickered back and forth between the track ahead and Chan's car, now dropping behind her. She could see him beat his fist against the wheel, his expression wild and glaring. Her heart hammered against her chest as she grit her teeth, wondering if she should slow down. But regaining her rationality, she cast Chan one last glance and sped past, right behind Jisung and the blonde racer. Steeling her focus, she looked ahead at the finish line, the grid girl now standing on the side of the track, waving the checkered flag.

Her hands tightened on the wheel. This is it.

The finish line was in sight, the wind whipping past her, the crowd roaring as they saw her take the lead, directly behind the blonde. She sped ahead, leaving Chan and his stalling car behind.

Seconds later, Y/n crossed the line, the rush of her first placing victory flooding through her veins. She slammed on the brakes, coming to a hard stop, her heart pounding, barely believing what had just happened.

She turned the engine off and with clammy hands, opened the door, stumbling out. Her ankles and wrists ached with the exertion and her fingers hurt, like they had been molded to the steering wheel. She made a mental note to buy gloves and loosen her grip next time.

The thought flew out of Y/n's head as a large, lean figure tackled her in a hug, her hearing muffling temporarily along with the roars from the crowd. Jisung lifted her above the ground, his hair slick with sweat, eyes crinkled as he laughed. He shrieked, jumping up and down on the spot, Y/n jolting in his arms.

"You did it!" he cheered. "Even beat me and Chan. How's that for a proper race, uh?"

Y/n smiled, letting out a tentative, wheezy laugh, struggling in his grip.

"Thank you, Jisung, but I can't breathe-"

"Oh! Oh, sorry, sorry," he placed her back on the ground, readjusting the jacket from where he'd disheveled it. He grinned at her, running a gloved hand through his hair. The haphazardly neon, overexcited crowd bustled around them, jostling and shouting. "Better?"

Y/n nodded, relieved, just as she spotted a head of messy blonde hair. Peeking behind her friend, she noticed the blonde racer pushing and brushing his way through the crowd. She blurted out a half-hearted excuse to Jisung and disappeared into the mess of people, trying to keep him in her sight.

Finally making her way through to the other side of the crowd, Y/n inhaled in a much-needed breath of cold, slightly smoky air, and glanced around hastily, her eyes settling on the racer. He was a little way away, talking to a slim, well-dressed man with a stern face. Y/n stumbled past a crowd of flamboyantly dressed young women and came up beside him, panting slightly. The well-dressed man disappeared with a glance at her, just as the blonde racer turned to face her. Y/n's breath escaped her lungs in a low whoosh.

He was beautiful.

Stuttering slightly, and feeling like a common peasant in the presence of someone so ethereally charming, Y/n found she had temporarily lost the capacity for speech. Her words finally came out in a rather pathetic, stumbling mess of fragments.

"U-um, I just- wanted to say, that-"

The racer raised an eyebrow, his expression not unfriendly nor open. More... mildly irritated and hesitantly curious at the same time. Y/n was convinced she couldn't have pulled off the expression if she tried.

His voice broke through the charged, slightly smoky atmosphere, the tone and pitch of it deep and thick and smooth like honey.

"Yes?"

Y/n's knees almost buckled. His voice was rich and accented, like Chan's but just a little bit more so. Y/n noticed his freckles again, spotting the bridge of his nose and cheeks, his eyes veiled by long, dark lashes. There was a slighter larger freckle on the smooth curve of his cheekbone, shaped a little like a heart. She fought the sudden urge to smile at the cuteness of it and awkwardly cleared her throat.

"Um, congratulations. For winning the race."

Her words came out more composed than before. Y/n silently congratulated herself on being able to form a singular coherent sentence in front of this ethereal supermodel of a human being.

"Thank you."

Y/n fidgeted, unsure of what to do. She intertwined her fingers, trying not to make things awkward. The supermodel racer simply stared at her, tilting his head slightly, before reaching out and tugging lightly on the collar of her borrowed jacket. A jolt of fire seared through Y/n at the touch, though he had made no contact with her skin. Like a static shock.

"Stealing Jisung's things, hmm?"

Y/n stuttered. "He let me me borrow it. Uhm, for the race."

"I see. Congratulations to you too. Much better since your last try."

Y/n almost choked on her saliva, the humiliating memory of her first race resurfacing in her mind. Had he been watching her?

All this time?

The racer seemed to notice her assumption, because his eyes widened infinitesimally, his hands clenching into fists. Seemingly irritated, he huffed out a breath that felt more forced than genuine.

Must be to keep up an image, Y/n thought ruefully to herself. I bet he's a softie under all of it. Like Chan. I think.

The blonde's thick, velvety voice floated through the air to her again, this time tinted in clarity and begrudging respect.

"Don't get cocky, rookie."

"Okay."

The racer simply nodded, apparently deeming the conversation finished, and brushed past her into the crowd.

Y/n watched him go.

☆★☆

The crowd was like a human barrier; Y/n was pushing and stumbling her way through, trying to get back to Jisung. Suddenly turning around, she ran directly into someone, almost falling over backwards. Panic set in her chest as she stumbled, the jostling crowd around her doing nothing to help her regain her bearings or balance.

Y/n squeezed her eyes shut, bracing, just as a pair of strong arms coiled around her waist, warm and stable. Her feet caught themselves on the asphalt, and one foot hovered unsurely just above the ground. Y/n looked up at Chan.

He smiled ruefully. "Should have caught you the first time, uh?"

Y/n's heart dropped out from her ribcage, down her legs, and out of her ass. She flushed suddenly at the feeling of his arms around her waist, cheeks tingling with fire.

"Thanks," she managed to get out as Chan pulled her fully upright. He released his hold on her and Y/n's body almost followed him like a magnet, already feeling cold without his touch. A sense of bittersweet disappointment filled her stomach. She blinked, hard, before looking up at him, unsure of what to say. Was he upset he'd lost?

"Um, your car-"

"Don't worry about it," Chan's expression was unreadable.

Such a carefully constructed mask, Y/n thought. A lot like Minho's.

But where Minho's mask was gold and ivory, Chan's was silver and obsidian.

Opposites.

In every way, it seemed. Black and white. Light and dark. Like two knights from opposing kingdoms, standing for completely different things.

White knight and black knight.

Y/n snapped out of her thoughts, opening her mouth to speak. Chan beat her to it.

"I'm sorry."

What?

Y/n's dumbfounded expression must have betrayed her surprise, because Chan rolled his eyes, tapping his foot on the asphalt. He huffed, seemingly trying to steel himself, or keep his irritation in check. Knowing Chan as little as she did, she went ahead and assumed it was probably the latter.

"Just- I'm sorry. That I shouted at Minho in front of you, that I left the tuning shop so suddenly. I didn't mean to get so sentimental, just- memories, y'know?"

Y/n blinked, her capacity for speech returning from its brief holiday.

"Oh. Um- it's okay."

Chan blinked back at her, expression mildly surprised. His eyebrows shot up into his hairline, disbelieving. It was clear he hadn't been expecting to be forgiven.

"I thought you'd be pissed."

Y/n shrugged. "I was, but I let it go after a while. I forgive you. You know, if that's what you want to hear."

Chan's mouth formed a small, 'o' and Y/n's cheeks puffed up, trying to hold back a laugh.

"You look like a pufferfish," she snickered.

Chan flushed a light pink across his cheekbones and tutted once at her before hastily running a hand through his dark, sweat-slicked hair. Now that he was standing a little closer, Y/n could see the light bruising around his right eye showing through. She could see the light, careful smoothing of concealer over the sweat-sheened area and bit the inside of her cheek. A tiny patch of purple and green bloomed in faint patches at the corner of his eye, and to Y/n, it looked like it'd gotten worse since the last time they'd seen each other. Se glanced up at the racer, suddenly concerned, but decided not to say anything.

Chan suddenly opened his mouth to retort to her comment and was immediately tackled by a tornado with dirty blonde hair and a mesh shirt. He let out an oof and stumbled back a few steps, freezing as Jisung joyfully squeezed him around the middle. Chan exhaled before hesitantly patting Jisung on the back. Y/n chuckled.

"Y/n beat you," Jisung's voice was muffled, though it contained no small amount of glee.

Chan groaned. "Well spotted. Uh- you can let go now."

Jisung lifted his head from where it was buried in Chan's shoulder, and reluctantly let go, cheeks puffing out in a pout.

Y/n chuckled at her friend's antics and glanced at Chan. The crowd around her was beginning to feel suffocating.

"Let's go sit down."

☆★☆

Chan groaned as Jisung snatched his drink for the fourth time, laughing.

Y/n had dragged the both of them up into the bleachers, where they could watch the entire event without being crowded. The neon flashing lights and the screeching of the cars had dimmed, as if someone had draped a blanket over it, dulling the lights and colours and noises.

She dragged her gaze away from the arena below and turned her gaze to Jisung. He was busy scarfing down the rest of Chan's drink. Tossing it into a nearby bin, he turned to her with a cheeky grin. Chan groaned and shoved him lightly, displeased with the theft of his refreshment, sending Jisung into a fit of laughter.

Looking down at the arena again, Y/n replayed the events of the night. The blonde haired racer popped into her mind, and she turned to Jisung suddenly, curious.

"Jisung?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you, um- there's this blonde haired racer, he was next to me in the lineup. Do you maybe know who he is? He had the McLaren with the lightning strikes on it."

Jisung nodded thoughtfully. Chan was preoccupied, running calloused fingertips over the thick silver chain on his wrist. He looked up in interest just as Jisung spoke.

"Blonde hair, McLaren, lightning strikes... sounds like someone we know, huh, Chan?"

Chan rolled his eyes, leaning back in his seat. The night breeze blew his dark hair black, the wind running its cool fingers through the sweat-dried locks.

"Oh, we know him all right."

Jisung grinned cheekily, chuckling. "Chan hates him because he's a better racer."

"I do not. And he's not that good."

"Mhm, totally..."

"Oh, shut up, Jisung."

The younger boy laughed, holding up his hands in defence, leaning away from Chan. The shit-eating grin on Jisung's face was wiped away by a swift, sharp slap to the upside of his head. He groaned and flopped dramatically to the arena floor. Y/n, meanwhile, just blinked softly, unbothered by their antics.

"What's his name?" she asked inquisitively.

Chan huffed, stretching out his long legs in front of him before propping them up on the seat in front. His voice was gravelly.

"Lee Felix."

a/n: i planned to post this a month ago but oops. also felix introduction yay !

the fast lane : part 4 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, chan cries, reader cries, everyone cries, mention of injuries, brief description of injury, trauma-ma-ma-ma wc 3.9 k

series masterlist

part 4 : unexpected contact

"Minho, wake up!"

Y/n sank to her knees beside him. Minho's outline was blurred through the haze of Y/n's tears. She placed a hand on his shoulder; it was cold, almost lifeless.

She should call someone- who was she even meant to call? The arena was empty and the sky was beginning to dim in deep gloaming tones. Looking down at Minho again, she shook him uselessly, squeezing his shoulder and pressing her palm pleadingly to his clammy, tearstained face.

"Please, Minho..."

His eyes fluttered but he showed no sign of movement beyond that. His face was so soft and delicate in sleep, eyelashes like a dusting of cocoa against his lids. The chiseled angles of his nose and jaw, the little white scars on the line of his throat and his temples. The perfect porcelain mask was cracked and Y/n tried desperately to piece it together, crying and coaxing and trying with shaking hands to do something, anything.

Nothing was working.

Y/n cupped his face, pressing her forehead to his. Hot, salty tears streamed down her face, dripping onto his cheekbones like tiny rivers of molten gold. She knew in her heart that he'd passed out from the distress. She stroked his hair, deep purplish-brown in the dimming light, and whispered to him sweet nothings she wouldn't remember and he wouldn't hear.

"Min..." she hiccupped, barely able to see through the onslaught of hot tears. "Please wake up."

She had felt two pairs of hands grasping her, ripping her away from Minho like a bandage being ripped off a half-healed wound. Blood pooled in Y/n's footsteps as she was hauled to the backstage area, pushed down onto the couch. She remembered her hands, sweaty with the emotional exertion, slipping against each other as she'd wrung them together, pacing behind the closed door.

She remembered wo people shouting frantically and a muffled groan, boyish and pretty. The slam of a door, weak protests, and then the revving of a car. When she'd finally been let out of the room, he wasn't there.

She remembered being told to go home.

She remembered returning to the arena the next day, and how he hadn't been there.

Or the day after that.

Or the day after that one either.

She remembered showing up six days later, having been told she had been signed up for a race the following Saturday. She'd just smiled weakly as she'd been informed, knowing that Minho had been the one to register her. That information only made her heart ache more as time passed.

She remembered asking around, only to be told that he'd been taken to get medical attention, and that no one knew where he was. She'd cried after that, curling up into a ball against the backstage door, where she'd fallen backwards and met Minho for the first time.

A pair of strong arms had coiled around her, comforting her, though later she couldn't seem to remember who it was. The image danced just out of reach, her memory fogged over by her aching longing and worry.

What if he never returned?

What if he'd collapsed because of what Chan had said?

Or worse, what if he'd-

What if-

Y/n flew bolt upright, gasping and shaking and covered in a thin sheen of sweat. She spasmed for a moment, flailing, before realising where she was.

The tuning shop's lights were off, the sun filling the space through the half-opened garage door. It was wide and spacious, several other cars lined up beside the one Y/n was working on. Minho's car, she reminded herself. It was his. And he'd been grudgingly trusting enough to allow her to keep it.

"I have another I can use," he'd said, refusing to make eye contact as Y/n had thrown her arms around him, squealing.

Her very own car.

Y/n smiled sadly, willing her eyes not to well up as she ran her fingertips along the chrome-green and black satin cast. Exactly like his motorbike, she remembered. He always did like matching items.

The sun cast a golden glow over the cement, reflecting and lighting up the area. The cheerful chattering of birds and the amiable talking of the occasional racers who passed by should have lifted Y/n's spirits.

Strangely enough, it hadn't.

She'd fallen asleep after about an hour of engine adjustments, too exhausted by her racing thoughts and neverending worries to do anything more than idly sit and adjust a miscellaneous bolt. Her fingers and the front of her shirt was stained with engine grease, though she wasn't entirely sure how it'd gotten there.

Y/n sighed and propped herself up against the car, elbows on her knees as she stared quietly out of the garage. She could see the wheels of cars and a little bit of the arena entrance from her. She had no will to be where she was right now, but she was kept in place by a bone-deep, aching tiredness that took a firm grip on every part of her body. She was more than content to sit here for the rest of the day and wallow endlessly in her weeping, abyssal sorrow.

"You gonna sit there all day?" A quiet, somber, accented voice shook her out of the haze of her thoughts. Almost. She was too caught up in her fugue state to even bother turning or acknowledging whoever was at the entrance.

Without looking to see who it was, Y/n let out a tiny, almost inaudible, half-hearted "mm" before relapsing into silence once again.

There was a sigh, then the quiet thudding of boots as whoever it was moved to sit down next to her. The intoxicating scent of a familiar, spicy, woodsy cologne filled her nostrils and she turned hesitantly, the small action unexpectedly taking most of her strength.

Chan gazed back at her, expression hard and solemn.

Y/n blinked, his presence finally registering in the fog of her mind. She opened her mouth, then closed it unsurely, shoulders tensing.

"Why are you here?" she whispered, eyes filling with a fresh wave of tears, though from what emotions or thoughts, she wasn't sure. "I haven't seen you since-"

"I know," he murmured.

There were dark rings around his eyes, and the space under his right eye was slightly red and purple, like he'd bruised the soft skin there. He looked pale and he hadn't bothered to style his hair, the strands falling in soft, thin waves past his forehead. Y/n wondered if he'd been having trouble sleeping, or if he'd slept at all.

Y/n turned her face away to hide the fresh tears streaming down her cheeks like little paths of fire. Her voice was quiet, hesitant, shaky.

"Are you going to shout at me too in whatever language you were spitting at Minho in?" Her voice was bitter, quiet, almost resentful.

Chan didn't reply.

Y/n knew in her heart that she had no right to be truly resentful towards him. After all, she had no clue what had transpired between him and Minho, but she couldn't shake the feeling that Chan had done something terribly, terribly wrong. And, Y/n reasoned with herself, even if he had, there was no reason for him to have snapped at Minho the way he did. Y/n fought the urge to seethe in the racer's face, though he showed no signs of aggression. He simply sat quiet and docile, seemingly reflecting as he watched the dappled sunlight from the garage cast patterns across the cement floor.

"Y/n," he whispered.

It was so faint she almost didn't catch it. Turning her face back towards him, she felt a small wave of surprise overcoming her features at the soft expression of her name. He was clearly struggling to maintain his cold, almost expressionless mask, the facade doing nothing to hide the thinly-veiled distress in his dark eyes. He looked so genuinely upset that Y/n couldn't help but turn her body towards him, tilting her head.

They stared at each other for a few seconds. It felt like ages had passed before Chan spoke, quiet and shaky like the way Y/n herself had spoken only moments before.

"Just- I can't tell you what happened, okay?"

Y/n blinked before an unexpectedly fierce scowl overcame her features, twisting it into a resentful, bitter mask. She recoiled minutely like she was disgusted. She felt disgusted, and she wasn't even sure why.

"Why not? You know, after all, I don't deserve to know why my friend collapsed, or why you yelled at him in the first place, or why you're such a jerk, but you know what, it's fine. It's fine, Chan."

Her voice came out sharp and spiteful, reminiscent of the sound of crashing, shattering glass. A glistening shard flew from her mouth and embedded itself in Chan's chest in a clean, swift swipe. He looked taken aback at the sudden harshness of her tone, looking almost guilty, and the remorseful, stupefied expression on his face was like a dagger to Y/n's heart, a clean, white slice too fresh and painful to fully comprehend.

Y/n knew she was projecting, knew she should hold back since Chan was so clearly distressed, but she couldn't help herself. She couldn't help stepping back hastily when Chan rose to his feet and moved soundlessly towards her, his hands out in front of him like she was a wild, untamed animal he was trying not to spook.

Y/n couldn't help it when she batted his hands away with surprising sharpness, glaring up at him like she was attempting to burn laser holes through his skull. She couldn't help it when Chan swiftly stepped closer, expression desperate like the air of a man who knew he was losing his audience.

Or his sanity.

Or perhaps both. One could never really know nowadays.

What Y/n did know was that she wanted nothing to do with Chan, or what he had done. Not until he had simply just proved to her that he hadn't intended to hurt Minho the way he had. He was Y/n's first real friend, the first person to want to know her, truly as she was. Minho, who wanted Y/n with all her complications, worries, desires.

Minho, who listened to her stories, doing his best to keep up with her even when she got excited and spoke so fast she became dizzy.

Minho, who chided her as he ruffled her hair, his gaze lovingly scolding.

Minho, who had once driven her, a complete stranger home, simply because he was worried for her safety.

Minho who dragged her to the cafe after every practice, who drove her home, every time smelling of cinnamon and vanilla.

Minho, the sadist, the feline-eyed racer, the embodiment of untarnished strength and quiet confidence.

Minho, the pretty mask of ivory porcelain and dripping gold.

Minho, and her. Her.

Just her.

Y/n burst into tears.

Chan's arms were suddenly on her shoulders, her biceps, skating across the fabric of her jacket, wrapping around her waist until she sunk to the floor in his arms, a shattered, broken mess of glass and tears. Her knee scraped the cement through her ripped jeans but she didn't feel it, clinging to Chan even though all she wanted to do was push him away. A loud sob escaped her mouth and she buried her face in his jacket as his arms coiled around her even tighter, almost protectively. His hand brushed her knee, readjusting it gently so it didn't press against the ground, his retracting fingertips stained lightly with her blood.

Y/n closed her eyes tight, so tight, like if she did it hard enough Minho would suddenly reappear and take Chan's place. She was a swirling, confused mess of overwhelming agony and longing sadness. Y/n did not know how it felt to drown in a dark, lonely ocean, but she supposed this is must what it would have felt like. Sinking like a stone in a sea of doubt, gasping for oxygen but instead dousing her insides in the fresh, painful frigidness of her situation.

She was barely aware when Chan adjusted himself to lean against the car again, Y/n in his lap. She clung to him, the weeks of maintaining the nonchalant facade disappearing in the unexpected comfort of his embrace. Turning her head to the side, overwhelmed by sudden dizziness from her emotional onslaught, she dimly noticed that the sleeve of her jacket was wet, soft, dark patches making patterns on the fabric like the first few raindrops at the beginning of a storm. It took her several moments to comprehend the fact that Chan was also crying.

His face was buried into the crook of her neck, nuzzling into the juncture, soaking it with his tears. Strangely, Y/n didn't mind, too preoccupied with the combined vulnerability of the situation. She stopped sniffing, blinking to remove the blurry tears from her vision. A quiet, repeated whimper came from her shoulder, Chan's voice muffled by the fabric and the force at which he was burying his face into her neck.

"Please, don't go... Stay with me, I'm sorry, I should never have done this, please-"

Y/n stilled, trying to understand through the aftermath of her tears. She wasn't sure if he was talking to her, or reliving a memory of someone, or something else. Maybe he was talking to Minho, or another close friend. It was impossible for Y/n to tell.

He was pleading.

"Chan?" Y/n whispered, voice raw and cracked. A sudden realisation dawned on her. She knew it was completely outside the bounds of propriety to interrupt his whimpering pleas but she couldn't let the thought remain unsaid. Gathering her courage, she touched his shoulder. He lifted his head slightly, indicating that he was listening. Or maybe he just needed air, having shoved his face into her shoulder for so long. But Y/n took the opportunity as it came, though a little shakily.

"It was you, wasn't it?" She whispered almost inaudibly. "The night I cried backstage, a few days after Minho collapsed.. you were the one who held me."

Chan nodded infinitesimally, almost guiltily, like he'd been caught. A choked sob ripped out of his lungs, his eyes glazed, and Y/n opened her mouth, unsure. He was clearly in pain, and Y/n had a strong feeling it wasn't the physical type. Chan murmured something shakily in Korean before pressing his head to her shoulder again, shoulders heaving with the force of his tears.

They sat like that for a while, Y/n eventually feeling bold enough to reach up and stroke his hair lightly. It was like pinfeathers beneath her fingers, softer than she could have ever imagined. Chan's cries quieted after a while, and so did Y/n's halfhearted sniffing, leaving the both of them clinging to each other, the way a person drowning in the sea might cling to a piece of debris.

It should have felt strange, considering that Y/n didn't even know Chan well, but she felt too boneless and spent to currently care about physical boundaries. And so did he, clearly feeling careless enough to run his fingers lightly up and down her spine, not daring to go past her middle back. The sense of affinity hanging in the atmosphere descended like a cloud upon Y/n and Chan until the advancing, rhythmic sound of footsteps sounded from the corridor outside. The door handle turned and Y/n hastily scrambled off Chan's lap, unceremoniously falling on her ass beside him. Chan smoothed a large, veiny hand through his hair just as the door opened.

To Y/n's enormous surprise, a cat came strolling through the doorway, looking around inquisitively before moving to lie down in the sunlight. Chan spluttered before pointing to the doorway, confused.

"Whose footsteps were those, then?" he stuttered, looking at Y/n as if she might have known the answer.

She simply fought a smile and shrugged back before standing up, and slowly moving closer to the cat. The dark, jet black fur shone honey brown and was flecked with gold under the wash of sunlight. Y/n stroked its back gently, feeling the cat's satisfied purr rumble up from its throat. It mewed at Chan as he settled on the other side, his long legs folded up to his chest. He leaned forward, petting the cat, and his knee brushed Y/n's. The touch sent a jolt through her and Y/n felt heat rise in her cheeks, petting the cat a little faster to hide the crimson splotches on her face. If Chan noticed, he didn't say anything, having apparently come to a conclusion that the footsteps outside the door must have been someone else.

Y/n pressed her lips together to stop herself from bursting out in questions. The moment was quiet and almost intimate, and Y/n felt like she'd be ruining it if she bombarded the dark-haired racer with questions. Looking down at the cat as it tilted green eyes at her, she smiled and scratched it lightly behind the ear. It looked a little bit like Minho; inquisitive, quietly confident eyes and fur the same shade as his hair when it hit the light. Y/n felt a pang in her chest and turned to Chan. Now or never, she supposed.

"Chan?" she whispered, not for the first time.

He responded with a "hm", seemingly distracted by the cat.

"Do- do you know where Minho is? Is he okay?"

Chan turned to her. Y/n's breath caught; his eyes had lightened to a dark brown, the sun casting an almost glowing sheen over his tanned skin. His eyes were rimmed in red and tear tracks stained his cheekbones like the hollowing path water makes through the ground, and the water caught the light, sparkling when he blinked at her. The slight bruise under his eye was rosy and pale purple. His hair, however un-styled and messy it was, swept down over his forehead in a way that strangely made Y/n's heart thud far faster than it should have.

Chan opened his mouth to speak. "He's-"

"Minho's fine. At home, resting." A voice sounded from the doorway. A slim, agile-looking racer was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. He had an air of good nature, with his hair dyed a dirty blonde, and the dark roots growing out under the strands. His eyes were wide and dark, yet they were sparkly with a mischievous light that glinted as he tilted his head at Chan. There was silence between the three, until the man clicked his fingers, the cat rising from its position like a sleeper agent and padding to the racer's feet. It wound itself between his legs, pawing at the thick silver zips on his boots. The man reached down and gently picked the cat up, stroking it and whispering. Y/n watched the man, fascinated, though Chan looked politely unfazed.

"Was it you making those heavy footsteps before?" Y/n asked timidly.

The racer simply nodded, not taking his eyes off the cat. Y/n's gaze traveled down to where the cat's dark, fluffy tail flicked at the waist level of the man. The racer's physique was slim and lean, his shoulders broad, chest tapering down to a slender, pretty waist that Y/n was almost jealous of. He was wearing a plain black short-sleeve mesh shirt, tucked into combat pants similar to Y/n's own. He was fairly short, just like Chan and Minho, yet tall enough that Y/n figured if she stood, he would be able to look down into her face.

The racer tilted his head, noticing Chan's gaze and Y/n's stare. He gave Y/n a million-watt bright, cheeky grin, eyes slitting with the exuberant movement, before his gaze slid back to the cat. She liked him instantly.

"I didn't think she would wander here," he said quietly, still smiling, referring to the cat. He tapped its nose softly but cheekily before moving to sit right next to Y/n. His knees took up most of her personal space, but she found that she didn't mind, feeling more curious than anything. He looked up at Y/n, poking her cheek lightly.

"Why you crying?" he said curiously. "Yah, Chan, what'd you say- oh, you're crying too, alright... are we just having a quick breakdown sesh in here? Cool, cool, cool."

Y/n heard Chan sigh. Turning her head just enough to see him out of her peripheral, Y/n watched as he leant back on his hands, stretching out his legs in front of him. He looked relieved, and Y/n wondered if he was glad that the cat-wielding racer on her other side had provided a welcome distraction from the previous conversation. Fighting a sigh herself, Y/n turned to the cheeky-looking man before reaching out to lightly ruffle the cat's fur.

"Are you friends with Minho?" she said softly, glancing up at the man. He nodded with a small "mm" before gently tugging on Y/n's hand, directing it to the spot behind the cat's ears. Surprised at the sudden contact. Y/n watched as the cat purred loudly at the feeling of her fingertips brushing its ears. The man chuckled before letting go.

"Minho and I have been close friends for a long time," he said quietly before glancing at Chan. "How are things, you know, after-"

"Things are fine," Chan's voice was tight, strained. Y/n tensed involuntarily.

The man sighed, voice softening, before he turned to Y/n. "If you want to know about Minho, he's fine. He's at home, recuperating. I went to see him yesterday just to drop a few things off for him, and I'm going again tonight, if you want me to say anything to him from you."

Y/n shook her head lightly at his offer, polite and appreciative. "Thank you, but I would much rather he rest, and come back healed. Do you know when he's coming back, by the way?"

"Probably within the next few days," Chan interrupted blandly. "He's never away for long. Too worried about you."

Y/n spluttered. "Me? What do you mean-"

The racer interrupted, laughing nervously before shooting Chan a glare, unbeknownst to Y/n. His voice tightened.

"Don't worry. Minho will be back soon. And he'll be happy to find out there's a stray hanging around the arena too. He loves cats," he scratched the cat's dark fur with a smile. "Oh, and I'm Jisung."

Y/n nodded. "I'm Y/n."

Jisung shot her another smile, bright enough to outshine the sunlight filtering into the garage. It dimmed slightly as Chan got up with a huff, brushing off his clothes. His eyes were suspiciously glassy and Y/n made to take his hand, voice coming out shaky but concerned.

"Chan, wait, where are you going-"

She moved to stand up too, hand still outstretched. She only got about halfway, crouching, before Chan took her hand as if on impulse, squeezing it quickly but gently before hastily leaving the room. The garage door swung shut behind him.

Y/n froze in position, hand tingling from the unexpected but welcome contact. A sudden rush of heat flooded to her cheeks and she gulped, that familiar pit of strange, fluttering tenderness settling in the pit of her stomach.

Jisung pointedly looked away.

a/n: this took way too long oops

the fast lane : part 3 (bangchan x reader x felix)

Summary: Welcome to the world of underground street racing. Chan is known for his flashy cars and confident attitude. You're new to the racing scene, eager but inexperienced. Felix is known for his sneaky tactics and charming demeanour. What happens when all three of your worlds collide?

Warnings: skz racer!au, fluff, soft minho, brief mention of a past injury (read part two for context if you haven't already) reader gets tangled up in a mess, angsty chan and minho wc 3.2 k

series masterlist

part 3 : porcelain and gold

Y/n groaned for the millionth time, banging her forehead on the wheel. Her hands clenched the cool leather beneath her fingertips and she let out a heaving sigh, squeezing her eyes shut.

The arena was bright and silent, glaring floodlights casting an almost blinding glow onto the lined up cars. The road was cool and damp, fresh from the light rain. The sky was murky with early-morning fog, shades of yellow and orange peeking out from behind the clouds. Y/n could distantly hear birdsong and the noise of the city upstreet, but right now, everything was quiet. Racing on the empty track, devoid of any obstacles or cars reassured Y/n a little, and she knew that if she made a mistake, nothing too bad would happen. But she still felt tense.

Sighing and starting the car again, she drove to the side tarmac, rolling down the window and cutting the revving engine.

Minho leaned down, forearms resting on the window frame. He tilted his head and pressed a couple fingers lightly into her shoulder, firm but gentle. Y/n looked up.

"That was better," he said quietly, nodding.

Y/n sighed, defeated. "It's not good enough-"

Minho interrupted, "Do you think I would have offered to get up this fucking early to train you for no reason? No. You're doing well, okay? It's just the turns that you need to work on."

Y/n bit her lip, fighting the rising pit of anxiety in her stomach. Opening the door, she stepped out and leaned against the cool surface of the car, trying to slow her breathing. Minho said nothing, simply letting her recuperate. When Y/n finally opened her eyes, she looked straight up at the man standing in front of her, eyes tired but sincere.

"I really do appreciate this, Minho, but I don't feel that I'm getting any better. It just feels like I'm going in circles."

Minho blinked. "You are going in circles. That's the whole point."

Y/n's mouth lifted up at the corners and she chuckled, punching the man lightly on the shoulder. He grinned and leaned against the car- his car- next to her.

Y/n had decided to take a couple days' break from racing, instead focusing on getting back to 100 percent. The cut in her neck had healed slowly, leaving her with nothing but a small, white scar on her nape. Her head felt better too, no longer bruised or sore. Since the street races ran almost every night, Y/n had decided to go back a couple days after the night when Minho had dropped her home.

She'd found him lurking around the backstage arena, watching the races. He had looked up in surprise, barely-masked, thankful relief, and something else. Some glint in his eyes that Y/n couldn't quite pinpoint. He'd unexpectedly smiled when Y/n had walked up to him and shyly proffered him a lollipop, exactly like the one he'd been sucking on the night she hit her head. Y/n remembered the way he'd almost immediately stuffed it in his mouth, smiling around the thin, white stick.

You'd both spent the night up in the arena stands, out of the light and out of the other racers' sight. Just quietly observing, testing the waters around each other. Y/n had felt tense at being in such close proximity with him, but it had slowly melted away over the next few hours.

Minho was actually quite funny. In a sadistic, sarcastic way, but Y/n adored it nonetheless. He was quiet and intellectual, but ambitious and unafraid. He was a contradiction in all of the best ways.

She'd continued visiting him at the arena most nights, and you would both often end up in the stands, talking into the early hours of the morning about various things. But as much as they talked, Y/n continued to feel as if she didn't know much about him at all. Minho had a way of dodging questions smoothly and turning them on her, often so seamlessly that she didn't even realise until she replayed her interactions with him in her mind later on.

This little routine of visiting had continued for about a week and a half, and Y/n was simply content to keep it that way. But Minho had other ideas, telling her one night that she'd benefit from training instead of just winging her races. Y/n had denied it, retorting with the fact that she had no one to teach her. She'd thought about asking Chan, but she didn't trust him at all, and besides, he seemed to be too busy working on or fixing his car, racing (and winning, unfortunately), and flirting with the pretty women fawning over his racecar. She had told Minho about the ordeal with Chan the first night they'd met, and how cocky he was. Minho had simply nodded.

"We used to be close friends," he'd told her. "But we don't talk anymore."

Then he'd changed the subject.

Used to be. Y/n wondered if something had happened between them. Did they fall out? Did they decide not to talk anymore for some unknown reason? Or did they both just choose their separate pathways and slowly lose their connection with each other?

Y/n wanted so badly to ask Minho about what had happened, but it felt wrong, almost demanding. Seeing as he had been so kind to her, Y/n felt that it was rude to ask him something so personal, even if she wasn't sure why he had decided to befriend her in the first place. And if she was being honest, Y/n also felt that he wasn't really the kind of person who would welcome such a personal question with an open heart and mindset.

She also wasn't really sure if she and Minho were friends. Sure, he was nice and all, but could she really trust him? What if he was just like Chan? What could he possibly be trying to achieve by befriending her?

No, Y/n shook her head. He wasn't like that, she was sure of it.

Said man's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Blinking up at him, she stopped dead in her tracks. She'd been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't even realised they'd left the arena.

They were standing in front of a little cafe. Y/n recognised it briefly, realising she'd passed it so many times before during her walks to the arena. She'd never stopped to look at it. It was quite pretty, and-

Minho flicked her forehead.

"Ow," she whined, hands pressing over the sore spot. "What'd you do that for? And why are we here-"

Minho rolled his eyes. "Well, I flicked your forehead because you've been in your head all day. You didn't even realise when we left the arena. I'm not sure you even knew that you were walking. And secondly, I'm hungry and this place has good food. Come on."

He took her hand and tugged her inside, the little bell above the shop door tingling. He led her to a little table booth in the far corner, pushing her lightly to sit down. It was a light push but Minho's standards, but Y/n knew that sometimes he forgot his own considerable strength and she almost stumbled, landing on the cushioned booth seat with an oof. Minho disappeared for a few minutes and Y/n realised he'd gone to the front to get something to eat. She hadn't brought money with her to buy anything, but she wasn't really hungry, so she sat back and looked out the window, waiting for him to return.

The cafe was modern but cute, boho-chic furnishings making up the majority of the wooden tables and chairs. The rest of the tables and chairs were white, and it all contrasted nicely against the various, lush, potted plants spilling their vines and leaves down wooden, high-set shelves. The counter up the front had a display glass lining its expanse, and behind it were stocked all sorts of pastries and other food. The place was pretty much empty and Y/n wondered why before realising that it was extremely early. Not even caffeine-lovers came down to buy their daily coffee this early. The lights were off, and there was no need for them to be on, since the sunlight spilling into the cafe from the large windows illuminated everything in a soft, golden glow. Y/n began to feel sleepy.

Minho walked up, holding two mugs and a slice of cheesecake on a pretty silver tray. He set it down and pushed one of the mugs towards her. The rich scent of vanilla and cinnamon wafted into her face, filling her lungs with a pleasantly soft, warm, and spicy aroma. She inhaled deeply before looking up at Minho questioningly.

"Is this for me?" she said quietly, almost hesitantly.

He took a big gulp from his own mug before setting it down and inclining his head. "Yeah."

Y/n felt a warm flush tingle on her cheeks. "You didn't have to, Minho."

He rolled his eyes and took another gulp from the mug. "You're right, I didn't have to, but I wanted to. But if you don't want it, feel free to starve," he took one of the forks from the tray and cut the cheesecake slice into two halves, putting one on his tea plate and pushing the other half towards her. Y/n smiled.

"Cheesecake?"

Minho nodded. "Mmm. My friend loves it. I always order it when I come here. Reminds me of him."

Y/n smiled sincerely, staying quiet. She filed away this unexpected piece of personal information into a hidden chamber of her heart. The last thing she wanted to do was scare him into closing up again, and she nodded her head in acknowledgement before taking a sip from her mug.

The sweet, intoxicating heat of vanilla foam and the spicy, gingerbread-like taste of cinnamon flooded her body and she sagged back into the booth seat.

"Oh," she groaned. "This is so good..."

She heard Minho chuckle. Feeling a little bolder, she sat upright again and glanced at him curiously. He was dressed in black leather, a dark grey hoodie under his leather jacket. She could hear his combat boots absentmindedly tapping on the floor. His hair shone a lighter purplish-brown under the sunlight spilling onto the table, and his eyes were lightened to a honey brown. Y/n noticed his hands fiddling with the handle of his mug, the fingertips running up and down the smooth, ceramic surface. Y/n wondered if he was nervous, or perhaps upset about something.

"Min, are you okay?" she asked gently and quietly.

"Hmm? Yeah, sorry," he blinked at her, as if he'd snapped out of a daze. Y/n felt a knot of worry settle in the pit of her stomach, and feeling brazen, she reached out and placed a slender, much smaller hand over his. Heat from his hand flooded into hers.

Minho looked up in surprise, his fidgeting stopping. They locked eyes for a moment before Y/n pulled her hand away slowly, unsure of his reaction. She kicked herself mentally, worried she'd overstepped a boundary.

To Y/n's surprise, he chuckled. He didn't move his hand or snap at her like she had expected him to. He looked her right in the eyes, and Y/n swore for a second that there was a flash of gratefulness in his gaze. Y/n's palm froze and she smiled back, almost uncertainly.

Then, to complete this entirely unlikely scenario, Minho took her hand, calloused fingertips brushing her wrist, and placed it between his palms. Again, he was firm and gentle; not too much force, nor too little. Simply steady and reassuring.

Heat flooded Y/n's cheeks. She hadn't expected that he would be so open to her affection. He noticed her scarlet cheeks and smirked, his voice coming a little lower than before.

"You called me Min."

Y/n squeaked in embarrassment and looked away, flushing. She attempted to pull her hand out of his grip, but he was unrelenting.

"It-it was just a heat of the moment thing," she stuttered.

Minho laughed, the sound light like the foam in her mug. "Heat of the moment? Are you sure that's the phrase you were going for?"

"Shut up."

Minho chuckled before settling back into the booth seat. "It's fine, by the way."

"What is?"

He huffed a little. "I don't mind you calling me Min. But not in a sappy, lovey-dovey way, got it?"

Y/n lifted her mug to her mouth in order to hide her smile.

-

Minho opened the door to the passenger seat of his racecar, slamming the door shut. He didn't bother putting his seatbelt on, and Y/n chided him before revving the engine and speeding off. They'd returned to the arena after spending almost two and a half hours in the cafe, both of them having been too caught up in their animated conversation to notice the time passing by.

The arena was still empty, and the afternoon sun shone high in the sky. The floodlights hadn't turned on yet, and it was the sun that caught the sleek angles and edges of Minho's car as Y/n steered it around the arena track. Her hands gripped the smooth leather of the wheel and her feet danced across the pedals as Minho instructed her through the turns.

"Good, that's it- turn a little more, angle the car."

Y/n did as he said, fingers digging into the steering wheel as she sped up and executed the turn perfectly.

Minho let out a whoop of triumph and Y/n laughed in disbelief, pulling the car to the side of the track. She stumbled out and so did Minho, who swooped her up in a sudden, unexpected hug.

"Took you long enough," he said, grinning. He set her back down onto the tarmac, cheeks flushed. Whether it was in exhilaration or something else, Y/n didn't know. She was too happy to care.

The laughter died down and Y/n gazed up at Minho, his dark eyes locking with her own. They both stood there, Minho's arms encircling Y/n's waist where he'd lifted her, and her arms clutching his broad shoulders where she'd held on. He looked so pretty, the sun smoothing all his features into ivory porcelain and molten gold. Y/n saw his cheek tuck in slightly, like he was biting the inside of it. He leaned down slightly, and opened his mouth to say something, a slight flash of guilt flickering in his eyes, and then-

"What a performance."

Y/n and Minho both jerked their hands off each other like they'd been caught doing something wrong.

Chan was walking across the tarmac towards them. He was clapping slowly and the sound echoed throughout the arena, causing an unpleasant chill to run down Y/n's spine. One of Minho's hands was still on her waist and she felt it tighten infinitesimally around her hip.

Chan reached them, smirking. He had put his hands into the pockets of his racing suit, the same black and red one he'd worn the night Y/n had met him. This time, she disliked him even more.

Chan's smile faded as his eyes flitted to Minho. Y/n glanced up at her friend just as his hand dropped from her waist. He looked suddenly pale.

"Minho?" she said hesitantly. But he didn't seem to hear, his eyes fixed on the racer. Y/n saw the lines of his shoulders tense just as Chan spoke.

"I didn't think you'd have the guts to show up here, Minho," his voice was cool and calm, yet tinted with an undertone of menace.

"I've been here spectating most nights."

"I know," Chan's voice lowered. "I meant here. On the tracks. You know, after..."

Y/n heard Minho suck in a breath.

Chan was seemingly oblivious to the tense atmosphere. Stepping closer to Minho, he looked him dead in the eyes. Y/n swore she could have cut the tension in the air with a knife. She stumbled back unsurely as Chan's shoulder nudged her as he passed. He was so close to Minho, so close that Y/n could see that there was only a few centimeters worth of space between them. She could see Chan trembling and she took another step back, unsure if they were about to fight, or worse.

Minho had gone as still as a statue, and Y/n could see the cracks appearing in his nonchalant facade. Chan was still too, but in an entirely different way. Where Minho was tense, Chan was shaking.

Like he was holding back.

Y/n heard a string of unfamiliar, garbled words come out of Chan's mouth and she shook her head a little, frowning, before she realised Chan was speaking a different language. It sounded Japanese, Korean maybe? She wasn't sure. A wave of guilt washed over her. They clearly did not want her to understand, or become a part of whatever it was they were fighting over. It didn't look much like a fight, nor a disagreement. Y/n had no clue what it was, but she knew it was something serious.

Chan spoke again, this time with a hint of venom in his tone. Even though she couldn't understand what he was saying, she could clearly tell he was blaming Minho for something. Minho looked like he was about to cry, or run away, or hit Chan. Or all three.

With a final spit of venom-laced Korean, Chan turned and stormed away, not sparing Y/n a second glance. She stumbled a step back, feeling a nauseous mix of guilt, anger at Chan, worry for Minho, shameful curiousness at both, and more than all of that, fear. Taking a second to come to herself, she turned to her friend, unsure of whether to speak. The sun had set, and Minho's features were no longer ivory and molten gold. The dawning twilight had hardened his face into a mask of cracked stone, the haphazard gaps run through with dripping silvery gunmetal. Y/n realised with a startled confusion that he was crying.

What had Chan said to him, she wondered. Turning back to the direction Chan had stormed off in, she bit her lip, trying to decide between consoling her friend and asking the other clearly angry racer if he was okay. She disliked Chan, but the stark deviation from his cocky, ambitious, flirty demeanor to the solemn, almost devastated expression he'd held as he spat made Y/n's heartstrings twitch. She couldn't help but feel as if she'd tangled herself up in a much bigger problem, and the fine hair on the back of her neck and her arms stood up at the thought. Her blood began to frost over in her veins, and she felt upset for some reason, like the entire dispute had been her fault. A dull, ugly thud echoed from behind her.

Minho had collapsed to the ground.

a/n: ooooooohh.....