skzbow - Tumblr blog

skzbow · 7 months ago

Text

i’m like extremely late but this whole series was SO GOOD!!! the part at the beginning made me cry bc that was actually so distressing i’m so glad it wasn’t a dream! the ninth door being a space for all of them is so 🥹🥹 i love this fic sm

THE SURPRISE : finale

kinktober

pairing: stray kids x afab!reader

warnings: angst (sorry in advance lol)… with a happy ending though!!! nipple play, (double?!) cunnilingus, thigh fucking, multiple orgasms (f!rec), fingering, mxm moments, masturbation, cum cum cum and more cum!

w/c: 8.6k!

a/n: i can’t believe this is it! last one, what a ride! 🧡🖤 thank you to everyone who’s read this series from beginning to end. i know it was just a kinktober event, but it was so much more than that to me lol - i hope it was to you too! i’d also love to sincerely thank my friend @ssickmagnolia8 for some of the inspo and ideas on this! truly, genuinely, this fic wouldn’t be happening if it weren’t for you! reblogs and comments are always appreciated :) happy halloween!! 🕸️🎃🦇🍂👻

the hearth is still lit.

that’s the first thing you notice when you roll over on the couch, a throw blanket tucked tightly in your curled fingers and pulled up to your chin. you blink the sleep from your eyes and sit up slowly, propping your palm on the couch and rubbing at your face with the other. it’s dark in the living area, the main source of light is the flickering fire and the lamp on the table at the other end of the couch.

you’re tempted to lay back down and spend the rest of your night on the couch instead of making the trek to your bedroom, but your stomach rumbles loudly before you can. you didn’t realize how hungry you were, maybe that’s what woke you up in the first place, so you stand from the couch and fold the blanket, setting it where it belongs on the back of the sofa.

you pause to light a couple of fall scented candles on the hutch by the wide entryway of the kitchen. the overhead chandelier is on, and your jaw drops when you round the island and make your way to the dining table, taking note of the buffet that’s laid out on it. you definitely didn’t cook it, no, the house usually takes care of that for you, and it most certainly went out of its way tonight. your attention is taken mostly by the smoking cauldron in the middle of the table. when you pick up the ladle, liquid comes with it, bright red and fizzy, and when you bring it to your nose it smells like strawberries. it tastes like it too, your lips smack as you swallow what seems to be… spiked punch? that’s new.

there’s a charcuterie board to your left in the shape of a witch, a crockpot full of eyeball meatballs to your right. there’s sandwiches and pasta salad and some sort of cake, and your stomach is soothed the second you stick a toothpick in one of the savory meatballs and bring it to your lips. you hum and nod your head, shaking your fists the way chan does when he eats something he likes.

“when did you have time to make all this?” you ask the house. you never heard pots and pans moving around in the kitchen, it definitely would have woken you up. but the house stays quiet, letting you stew on your question.

you’re picking up a plate to fix your dinner when chan walks through the doorway of the kitchen. he smiles widely when he sees you, dimples popping on his cheeks.

“oh, you’re up! we didn’t wake you up did we?”

we? your confusion must show plainly on your face because chan giggles.

“we moved back to the parlor a bit ago, didn’t wanna wake you up after you fell asleep. jeongin covered you up before we left. you didn’t get cold, did you?”

you shake your head no, but your sleep must have left you more dazed than you thought, because it takes you a minute to register chan’s appearance before you.

he’s shirtless, but there’s a leafy looking skirt settled low around his hips, adonis belt peeking out above the cheap fabric. there’s a green flower crown on his head with a few small twigs and vines sticking out sporadically. you’re about to ask him why the hell he’s wearing clothes at all when you notice his hair. his hair. his straight, dark brown hair.

“chan! what did you do to your hair?!”

you take the flower crown from his head to feel of his short locks. it’s silky, maybe a little dry under your fingertips, no curls or moss to be found.

“i um- i straightened it?” he laughs, but it sounds sheepish and nervous. “does it look bad? haha, it probably looks bad, yeah?”

chan is incapable of looking bad, no matter what he thinks. you shake your head again. he doesn’t look bad, you’re just confused.

he furrows his brows and cocks his head, leaning into you slightly.

“is something the matter?”

“no, no sorry- i’m just-” confused. really, really confused. and it’s got you feeling out of your element. “i think i’m still tired. you, um. you said everyone was here?”

chan nods his head, but the furrow of his brows is still present.

“you wanna head back there and let me fix your plate? you like all this stuff, yeah? just go relax and i’ll be back there in a bit.”

you don’t even bother refusing him, you just hand him your empty styrofoam plate and walk dazedly around the table. chan watches as you leave, but you don’t stay long enough to see it.

the back hallway isn’t nearly as dim as the front of the house is, and the closer you get to your parlor, the louder it gets. the tinny thump of bass, a dramatic holler from changbin, jisung’s deep ha-ha-ha laugh. there’s a black cobweb taped to the corner of the door, a fake, bloody handprint on the dark trim of the frame.

you step to the door just in time to see minho accidentally slosh his cup of punch all over his chest, and seungmin points at him and laughs. you’re as quiet as a mouse, standing in the doorway with wide, trembling eyes.

you survey minho first, dabbing at the sticky red punch on his semi-bare chest. he’s wearing what looks to be a toga, but there’s gray body paint all over his legs, arms, chest, neck, and face. a roman sculpture. jeongin is the closest to him, laughing boldly and handing more napkins to his hyung, clad in all black, with fake horns on his head, clip on wings, and a tail that hooks onto the belt loop at the back of his pants.

your breath catches in your throat. what the fuck is going on?

changbin, manspreading on the couch in a purple clamshell bra and a pair of ridiculous, shimmery green bell bottoms. his hair is spray painted red. hyunjin sits next to him and fiddles with the point of his ear, taking it off to pinch the tip of it and then molding it back to the shell of his ear. his hair is to his shoulders, but there’s a braid running down the side.

felix and jisung are talking animatedly beside the booming speaker. jisung is wearing white, but only his face is painted a pale blue. the makeup he’s done has hollowed out his eyes and cheeks, leaving him ghastly and pale. jisung tries to take the golden crown from felix’s hair and gets his hand smacked for it. felix, a princess. complete with a crown on his head and a flowing pink dress.

seungmin looks almost normal, clad in black slacks, a black shirt, and a pair of small devil horns perched atop of his head. the biggest difference is his eyes. the full, shimmery onyx of them has disappeared to show white and deep, chocolate brown. normal eyes, human eyes.

the shuddering breath you take must be loud enough to cut through the music because all of their heads snap towards you.

“there you are, sleeping beauty!” felix bunches up the front of his dress to scurry over and give you a warm hug that you only halfway return. “you slept so long you almost missed the party!”

“baby, you good? you look like you’ve seen a ghost!” jisung winks, and changbin giggles at his joke. jisung’s smile drops when he doesn’t hear you laugh. “hey, that was a good one! we’ve been friends for years and you’ve never not laughed at my jokes!” it’s true, no matter how stupid they are. the look on your face must take him aback because his face turns serious. “baby. hey, really. you alright?”

friends. you’ve been friends for years? oh god.

you’re shaking, and you have just enough wherewithal to feel twin tears drip pitifully from your eyes. you shake your head frantically, wiping your eyes with shaky hands.

“what- what. what’s going on?” you’re shifting in place, completely unable to move from the doorway.

changbin gets up from the couch then with a grunt and hyunjin follows. changbin shoulders his way to you and cups your cheeks, feeling your clammy skin and looking into your eyes. “did we mess up the punch that bad? we followed the recipe, i swear! how much did you drink?”

you’re not drunk. you wish that was the case, you wish that would explain what’s going on.

changbin’s hands are warm and so gentle on your face, but your face crumples under his fingertips when you realize his fingers aren’t webbed. he walked his way to you on two legs. where is his tail? his iridescent, blue-green tail with the wispy, billowing fins. it’s so beautiful and he’s always so proud of it. where are the gills on his neck? his ear fins? his bright blue eyes?

seungmin nudges at changbin’s bicep and steps into your space. “breathe with me.”

you’ve heard those words before, just the last time you saw him. he cups your trembling hand and brings it to his chest, inhaling deeply before slowly exhaling. you follow him as best you can, but you’re not doing a very good job of it. you’re overwhelmed, you’re scared, but you’re trying. you’d follow him anywhere.

it couldn’t have all been fake, could it? a pathetic, lovesick dream your subconscious conjured up because you’re hopelessly in love with the eight best people you’ve ever known. it’s all you’ve ever wanted, they’re all you’ve ever wanted. full, all-encompassing and honest love, as deep as the sea and as high as the sky. it makes more sense the longer you stand here, sniveling and crying woefully in front of the people you love the most, the people that only consider you a friend.

you’re your own worst enemy. of course it’s fake. of course it was all a dream, they’d never love you like that. it’s even worse that your mind made you believe it was real. your perfect escape from the reality outside of your house was a trick of your mind the whole time. maybe you’ve finally lost it.

you spent countless nights wrapped in their arms. they kissed your lips, they carved you from the inside out and made space for themselves inside your body.

your mind is a cruel, cruel place, and your heart cracks open in the doorway of your own home.

“your- your eyes,” you whimper. seungmin blinks, and jeongin leans forward to look at his hyung’s face and see what you’re talking about. “they- they’re not…” black. as black as the night sky. they glimmer with worry now, but not as brightly as they usually do. seungmin always carried galaxies in his eyes.

“we should take a step back. we’re crowding you too much, you can’t even step through the door, jagi, why don’t you come sit down?” minho. he reaches for your hand, tenderly holds it in his own as the boys part around you. he’s leading you slowly to the couch in the middle of the parlor, his other hand cups your elbow to steady you, but you stop in your tracks and look at him with wide, frantic eyes.

“jagi,” you repeat. “jagi! no, that’s not-!” what you call me. that’s not what he calls you. he calls you blossom, you’re minho’s blossom. you’re his petal.

“that’s not what?” minho asks. he stops with you, thumb caressing your knuckles to try and calm you down. his eyes are kind when he looks at you, patient, and that’s what breaks you.

“that’s not what you call me!” you wail. the floodgates have opened, your cheeks are hot and soaked with tears, and you pull your hand from his to clasp yours together. begging, pleading. “please, you don’t- you don’t call me that! i’m- i’m your blossom! minho. minho, don’t you remember?”

he opens his mouth to speak and nothing comes out. he doesn’t remember. he doesn’t even know in the first place, and he must think you’re fucking insane. you’re embarrassing yourself so badly.

felix’s small hand is covering his mouth. he’s crying, he’s never been able to stand seeing anyone cry without getting emotional himself, and here you are. it’s too much. you’ve ruined everything. you need to run upstairs and lock yourself in your room until they ultimately leave and never come back, but you can’t shut up now that you’ve started.

“it- it- it-! it was so real! everything felt so real, i- it’s everything i’ve ever wanted! all of you… you’re all i’ve ever w-wanted, and i had it! i had you! i… i need t-to go back to sleep. i want to go back to sleep, i don’t-”

you turn away from minho and squeeze quickly past the other boys just to run smack dab into chan in the doorway. you collide with his chest, and the plate of food he was carrying for you drops noisily to the floor. all it does is make you cry harder, but chan doesn’t look twice at the food that’s making a mess of your hardwood floor. all he looks at is you. he cups your messy face in his hands and forces you look him in the eye.

“hey! hey hey hey, you okay? you okay? what’s the matter? tell me so i can fix it. i promise i’ll fix it, you just have to tell me.” he’s babbling. his hair is dark brown. the tips of his ears are pink, not green.

chan follows right behind you when you slip past him. you can hear seven other sets of frantic footsteps behind him. you’re racing for the stairs when you catch sight of your living room and immediately think of the hallway across from it. a beacon in the night, proof that what you had with them was real. you’ll show them. you can prove it.

the doors.

their doors.

chan nearly runs straight into the staircase when you suddenly change your direction. you’re passing the kitchen, the candlelit hutch, the couch and the hearth.

“look!” you cry, and a smile overtakes your lips. they’ll remember when they see, you know they will. this is all just a misunderstanding. “look, i’ll show you!”

you stop in the grand, open entryway of your living room, and the smile falls from your face immediately.

gone is the long hallway, gone is the ornate rug covering its floor.

gone are the eight doors, four on each side.

there’s only one door sitting in the enclosed wall, and you rush forward to open it. the house really can be finicky sometimes. you never thought it would be finicky with you, but maybe it’s just a harmless halloween prank. there’s a first time for everything, right? your hand is sweaty when you grip the knob, fingers shaking as you twist your wrist to open the door.

a broom clatters to the floor. there’s a purple vacuum in the corner, a mop. a few folded blankets on the lone shelf.

it’s like the floor falls out from under your feet, and your knees wobble. you’re crying again, you can distantly feel the collar of your shirt soaking with tears, along with the eight sets of worried eyes on you and your chest caving in.

“how could you do this to me?” your voice trembles. you look up towards the ceiling, scan the walls. “you- how could you do this to me?”

the house always answers when you call, but it remains completely silent. there’s no groaning of the pipes or creaking of the old wood. the picture frames don’t rattle on the walls.

did you make that up too?

hyunjin is the first to reach you when you turn to face them and sink piteously to the floor. you just need to sit, but you can’t make it to the couch. there are tears in his eyes, he’s sensitive too, but he sniffles harshly to compose himself because he doesn’t want his tears to upset you any further. a warrior. he cups your face in his hands, like chan did earlier, like changbin. hyunjin is speaking, but you can’t hear what he’s saying. all you do is lay in his arms and watch his lips move until the air around hyunjin begins to ripple like a pool, until the corners of your vision begin to fade into completely darkne—

you jolt awake with a gasp, chest heaving so hard it feels fit to burst. it takes a moment for your body and mind to realize that you’re safe, that whatever was causing you to panic in your sleep disappeared when your eyes opened. you blink them now, and you can hardly see because of the sunlight in the room. salty tears have clumped your eyelashes together; the sunlight reflects a bright sparkle in the field of your vision until the tear falls from your lashes.

there’s someone kneeling in front of you and hands cupping your face. you don’t know how you didn’t notice earlier, but their hands are touching you so softly that it feels like you’re being kissed by a breeze.

he’s blurry but as beautiful as ever, backlit by two tall balcony doors behind him. his face blocks the ball of the sun, but its rays shine around his head like a halo. hyunjin smiles softly when your eyes finally focus on him. he’s holding your face in his hands, and your eyes flutter when you blink rapidly. you can feel more tears slip down your face as you do and roll sideways into your hairline, but hyunjin’s thumbs catch them before they can go too far.

“av-‘osto, melethril nîn. why do you weep?”

it was all just a dream?

you can hear birds chirping. you lift up onto your elbow to get a closer look at him, and your chin trembles when you take him in. your hand comes up to shakily thumb at the pointed tip of his ear. it’s sensitive, hyunjin shivers but never once stops smiling. his hair is down instead of plaited, it falls loosely down his shoulders, so you tuck it behind his ear and follow the long strands until they taper off around his lithe stomach. his dark green tunic is soft, the vee of the neck left untied so that you can see his chest.

there’s a pat to your leg. you have to force yourself to look away from hyunjin, but he nods at you and continues to smile. you sit up even further on your elbow to see minho. he’s naked as he always is, and he catches your eye and winks. he’s sitting at your feet, rubbing your legs over the comforter you’re underneath.

“you were dreaming,” he says, and you shake your head firmly.

“no. no, not a dream. a- a fucking nightmare. it felt… oh god, it felt so real. i was so scared.” you can feel yourself trembling again at the mere thought of it. you can hardly stand it. how could you ever live in a world where they don’t love you the way you love them? you sniffle and scrub at your eyes. you’ve never had a dream that realistic. minho’s gaze hardens and his head snaps to the corner.

“kim seungmin.”

you look to the far corner of the room and see seungmin leaning against it with his arms crossed. his shadow is dark even with the sunlight seeping into the room through the balcony doors, his form unmistakable. he steps into the light then, bringing his hands to his hips to glare back at minho. his eyes are beautifully infinite, two deep, inky pools of black.

“hey, it wasn’t me! i would never fucking do that!”

seungmin never gave you nightmares. he loves you too much to do that, even though he could. even though if it were anyone else, he would.

their impending argument is only interrupted by a low, rumbling growl. you smell smoke in the air then, the scent of a campfire. you roll over on the bed to see it yourself, and you already know who you’ll be seeing when the smoke dissipates. jeongin sits beside you on the bed, he’s frowning at his hyungs, but his gaze softens when he looks down at you. he leans down and presses a slow kiss to your shoulder. his chest is warm where it touches your arm.

jeongin places his hand on the small of your back when you sit up fully. he scratches your back with his claws, gentle over your sleep shirt.

it hits you then that you don’t really know where you are. you’re not in your bed, you’re not on the couch in the living room, you’re not anywhere you recognize in one of their worlds. now that you’re sitting up and looking around the large, open room, you know this is not a place you’ve been before. but you can’t say it’s not familiar, because it is.

it’s jisung’s blue comforter that covers your lower half.

the bed underneath you is not a bed at all, more like a huge, makeshift pallet of thick pelts, big enough to cover nearly the entire middle of the room.

your stomach swoops then, and you meet eyes with seungmin. the other four are looking around the room like you are, just as in awe as you.

there’s an oak bathtub in the corner of the room, a vanity made of tree trunks.

a small, wooden table stands beside the pallet, and atop of it, a vase with a single red rose.

“where are we?” you breathe.

it almost feels mystical. the air is crisp, the sunlight is warm.

no one has time to answer because the door bursts open. you hadn’t noticed it before, even though it’s the centerpiece of the room, right in the middle of the wall. it startles you, but you’re quick to relax again when you see just who it is.

chan and jisung stand on either side of changbin, shouldering the majority of his weight as they quickly survey the new space. jisung starts pointing frantically when he sees the pallet and they help him wobble to it. changbin’s legs are weak and unsteady, but he’s smiling wide.

“angelfish, look! isn’t this amazing?” is the first thing he says when he sees you. he shakily crawls up the middle of the pallet and plops himself right between you and jeongin. you can see changbin wiggling both sets of new toes when you curl against his big, warm shoulder. “baby sea cucumbers.”

changbin has toes. and feet. and legs. there’s no tail in sight. despite the addition of changbin’s newfound legs, his hair is still a vibrant blue-green, his eyes are as blue as the sea. you pick up his wrist that’s laying between you and find webs connecting his thick fingers. his ear fins are gone and so are his gills, but that doesn’t make you nearly as anxious now as it did in your nightmare. you trace the lines on his palm with the tip of your finger.

“it is amazing, baby,” you smile, so happy to have him next to you. changbin’s nose scrunches when he grins.

“so- so you’re okay? you’re okay? we came as fast as we could.” chan’s eyes roam what little bit of your body he can see, almost like he’s looking for any visible injuries. his worried gaze lingers the longest on your face. “it felt really, really bad. something felt- i dunno, something just felt wrong.”

“i felt it too!” hyunjin says. he perks up beside you, nodding his head fiercely. “i dropped everything to rush here.”

“me too, i almosssst broke the door down.” jeongin. he leans forward to look over you and changbin to address hyunjin.

“where? where are we? where is h-”

you’re interrupted again when felix power walks through the open door like he owns the place. chan shifts his body in front of you to make way and blocks your view of the outside.

“they locked me in the fucking castle! i had to climb out of my window and slide down a fucking beanstalk to get here! a big one!” he’s pacing. his pajama shirt is a couple sizes too big, and the end flutters every time he takes an angry step. jisung’s head turns every which way as he watches felix with wide eyes. felix stops so suddenly in his tracks in front of the pallet that his bare feet squeak on the floor. “ah, i knew you’d be here! bubby, is everything good?”

everything is good now. now that your eight are here with you.

“i’m okay. i just… i had a really bad nightmare.”

it sounds so trivial when you say it in front of all of them, so silly and juvenile coming from your lips, like a child standing in the doorway of their parents’ room in the wee hours of the morning. your shoulders hunch in on themselves slightly. you had such a bad nightmare that it pulled them out of their worlds to check on you?

felix drops to his knees on the pallet and sprawls between your covered legs to lay there on his stomach. “was it scary?”

everyone gravitates to you then, moths to your flame, as you retell the story of your worst nightmare. chan sits down on the other side of minho, seungmin kneels beside hyunjin. jisung lays across jeongin’s legs. you cry again, felix cries. you already lived through it once, but reliving it again is almost as difficult. it hits you frequently but especially now, just how much joy their love brings to your life. minho’s makes the flowers grow, jeongin’s is as rich as gold.

“you must have really been hurting for all of us to feel it,” seungmin says, and he squeezes your ankle.

a small, sad smile appears on your face when you look at him, but your face morphs into one of utter shock when you look past him. the open door is just over seungmin’s shoulder, and your stomach swoops all over again.

you can see into your living room straight across the way, the ornate rug that lines the hallway.

eight doors, four on each side.

the room you sit in is beautiful, and so is its door.

the ninth door is infinitely black, as vast as space. elvish runes line the arch at the top and soot singes its frame. there’s a carving of a wreath in the middle of the door, a pearl doorknob. the paint is worn and chipping around the edges of it. an entwined garland of flowers, vines, and twigs drapes across the top of the frame.

you were so taken with the eight in front of you that you didn’t notice, but everything clicks into place now.

a new, ninth door at the end of your hallway, just for the nine of you. a shared haven away from the harsh reality and monotony of everyday life. you realize that you’re lucky enough to have this as a reality too, and it’s filled with endless, unconditional love. love without stipulations. it always has been, this is just a new place to share it. to bask in it.

“it’s so beautiful…”

“yeah, it is beautiful.” when you look at chan, he’s already looking at you. there’s something so soft, so fond in his eyes that it takes your breath away more than the door did. his head is tilted slightly to the side, the smile on his face is close-lipped and as sweet as sugar. you watch in real time as green begins to tint his ears.

his hair is muted-green and curly, not brown and straight. there’s pieces of stringy moss mixed in among the curls. he’s so cute. the longer you look at him, the greener he blushes, the more sheepish his smile turns.

jisung is looking back and forth between the two of you from his spot on jeongin’s legs. he’s so cute too, his eyes are so expressive even though they’re nearly transparent. you can tell he’s eaten today because the form of his body is completely outlined. his hair is disheveled against his forehead, and you can distantly make out the hint of stubble above his lips. his chin is resting on his crossed arms, and his socked feet are crossed at the ankle and swaying behind him.

“woah man, you’re really green,” he says, and chan sputters. “hey, and like. baby. baby, you ever notice that half of us are super naked? like, all the time? the big guys were basically sword fighting when we were on the way over here.”

changbin chitters under his breath and cocks his head.

“sword fighting? we didn’t have any swords.”

“i love sword fighting!” hyunjin’s eyes light up beside you. “i am very good at it, though i must say i prefer my bows.”

you jut your chin towards jisung and raise your eyebrows. you’ll let him figure out how to handle this one on his own, settling instead on shrugging yourself out from under the blankets and stretching your legs when you stand. goosebumps prickle on your bare legs from the crisp air of the room. you raise your arms above your head too with a barely concealed yawn, sleep shirt rucking up with the movement and showing a sliver of your belly. seungmin watches like a hawk; his gaze feels like a brand.

their voices are a comforting background noise as you putter around the room, but you can’t stay away from the balcony doors any longer.

you walk to the beautiful, french doors and pause before it to feel the excited thrum of your heart. if the room alone is this beautiful, you can’t imagine its exterior. but it takes your breath away all the same when you turn the knob and step outside. you step right into the soft grass. it tickles the soles of your feet, so you don’t stray too far.

your first thought is about chan, how he’s going to be absolutely smitten with the vast forest that seems to reach as far as the eye can see. the treetops are filled with vibrant yellows, deep reds, and warm oranges, a beautiful ode to autumn. leaves flutter sporadically to the ground when the wind blows softly. your gaze slides to the right when you hear something clatter in the breeze. a white, wooden gate reverberates as it knocks repeatedly against its fence post, greenery of a flourishing garden contained inside its pickets. on the other side of the garden is a bridge, with wooden planks and rails made of sturdy rope. it leads across a winding moat, allowing access to the forest beyond. the moat bleeds out in the middle into a deeper pool, surrounded by a sandy bank and a tall, smooth rock, something a certain mermaid you know will be very fond of.

you’re daydreaming when arms wrap around your waist and a solid chest presses to your back. you know who it is by the smell. fresh, sweet floral.

minho is quiet for several moments as he takes in the scenery. you can tell when he finds the garden because he hums, and his arms tighten around your waist. you bring your hands down to play with his short fingers.

“this was made for us,” he says. there is no hint of question in his voice, he speaks like it’s set in stone. minho noses at the loose collar of your shirt and kisses the sensitive skin of your neck. “we’ll explore it soon, hm? for now, it’s time for little blossoms to come back to bed.”

he sways you from side to side, and you lean back into his chest with a wide smile.

you don’t call me that! i’m- i’m your blossom! minho. minho, don’t you remember?

“i love when you call me that.” it’s whispered, a confession that’s already been taken.

“i’ll never stop then. you’ll be my blossom for the rest of time, you can’t take it back now.” minho turns you around in his arms. the corners of his lips are quirked cutely, just like a cat. “is that what you want?”

you’ve never wanted anything more, to be theirs until you take your last breath. to be loved, to be kept.

when he leads you back into the room, you’re welcomed with open arms and miles and miles of beautiful skin. the pelts are warm, but jeongin’s arms are even warmer when he pulls you into him. you’re being touched from all directions, no inch of skin left uncovered or unkissed. you’re soaking your underwear before you know it. all the attention you’re getting goes straight south and jeongin can tell. his tongue slithers out of his mouth to smell it.

“let ussss pleasssse you.”

jeongin’s lips are warm, his hands are warm, so you gasp when jisung curls himself on the other side of you to kiss along your neck too. jisung always runs cool, it’s just a side effect of his ghastly nature, but it feels so good when they kiss you together, when their hands caress the same spots seconds after each other, and they only grumble a little bit when chan disrupts them to slip behind you. you let him lift and move you around until you’re laying between his legs, head pillowed on his bulky chest.

your sweet, shy dryad is surprisingly the one who lifts your shirt up. all three of them help you shrug it off and away from the pallet, and hyunjin leans completely over jisung to latch onto your right nipple. his lips are so puffy, his tongue is so silky. wisps of his hair fall from behind his ears and tickle the sensitive skin of your stomach. hyunjin’s shirt has disappeared too, leaving his beautiful, wiry muscles on display. you moan when he flutters his tongue against the hardened bud, and jisung echoes it, but you can’t tell if it’s because of your own pleasure-stricken noise or because of hyunjin’s weight pinning him sideways to the bed beside you. maybe it’s a little bit of both. he’s squished in place, only able to mouth against your neck.

chan reaches underneath your arms and cups your tits from behind, shaking them in his hands. hyunjin moans against the jiggling skin of them, sticking his tongue out of his mouth to catch your nipple again with cute, furrowed brows. you throw your head back when hyunjin opens his mouth wider then, sucking your nipple in along with the tender skin around it, sucking as much of your breast into his mouth as he can. his jaw trembles when he does, and his breath whistles through his nose when he inhales sharply.

“holy shit,” jisung wheezes.

chan’s warm hands still cup the underside of your tits, and seungmin’s hand reaches over the pinch at your other nipple. he’s sitting on the other side of jeongin but not pushing him down onto the bed like hyunjin does to jisung. his horns are in the way. seungmin uses his grip on your nipple to shake your breast in chan’s grasp.

“i don’t think all dollies have tits as good as these,” he muses, and jeongin hums his assent. “must just be ours.”

felix slides between your legs again and lowers onto his stomach. he’s naked, you think they all might be now, but you can’t tell.

“definitely just ours.” you can’t see felix too well with hyunjin leaning over you, but you can see his toothy grin. it stays on his face as he pulls your soaked panties to the side.

felix’s tongue is teasing and dexterous on your clit. such a wriggly little thing, so naughty for a prince who, in all actuality, should still be an untouched virgin. you’ve ruined him, he’s helped ruin you. felix spreads your lips with his tiny fingers and slurps away at your swollen cunt, soaking himself in your juices. he’s messy with it, always is, wet all the way down to his chin. he focuses the point of his tongue right around your clit before hollowing his cheeks and sucking.

you squeal, back bowing and limbs writhing as they make you see stars. jisung is grinding against your hip, jeongin and chan are both hard and leaking too.

felix gives one last, long lick up the slit of your pussy and pulls away with that same grin from moments ago.

“let’s take these off, bubby, i think changbinnie hyung wants a taste too.” you lift your hips to help felix take off your ruined panties, but before he can toss them into the pile of clothes by the pallet, they’re snatched from his hands by jeongin. felix laughs and moves to the side so changbin can fumble his way between your spread legs. felix kneads at the muscles on changbin’s back and leans into his shoulder, watching raptly as changbin presses a deep kiss to your clit. “here, hyung, let me spread it for you.”

changbin stays kissing and nuzzling your clit while felix brings his fingers up again to spread your labia. you can see them now, only because hyunjin sits back on his heels to watch too. with felix spreading your lips open, changbin has all access to his favorite pearl. you whimper when changbin’s nose nuzzles against felix’s little fingers, and you’re not the only one moaning as changbin’s tongue catches wetly on the vee of felix’s digits. changbin’s lips are peachy and slick, his blue eyes hazy when he looks up at you. you’re keeping eye contact with him until felix leans down and nuzzles his face back between your legs too, making your eyes fall shut. changbin’s too broad for them to both have room to eat, but felix kisses your mons and your lips and the wet inside of your thigh. changbin ducks to lap at your hole and turns his head so felix can have more room, and felix licks sloppily at the tip-top of your clit. his chin nudges changbin’s plush cheek.

“it feels so good, doesn’t it?” minho asks. he’s kneeling behind felix and carding his fingers through his long hair. petting a cat. you nod your head, eyes clamped tightly closed. the sight is just too much. “what part of my blossom feels the best? where does it feel good?”

“fuckfuckfuck,” you keen. “fuck, my pussy. my pussy feels so good!”

“your pretty fucking pussy, oh god… ohgod,” jisung moans. it’s muffled by your shoulder, he’s got the ball of it between his teeth. he’s still rutting frantically against your hip and his arm is draped over your stomach, knuckles brushing jeongin’s flexing abs.

the youngest is no better. he grinds his hard cock onto your opposite hip, but it only serves to frustrate him. jeongin manhandles you then, picking up your leg that’s closest to him and bending it to your chest. you make a confused noise but it quickly turns into a desperate moan when you realize what he’s doing. his cock fits snugly in the divot between the top of your thigh and your hip. the skin bunches up sweetly there and hugs his cock just right. he starts thrusting then, fucking you. holds your leg with thickly clawed fingers.

jisung’s mouth is wide open as he watches jeongin, and he quickly copies his idea. jisung folds your other leg to your chest and hugs it tight, slipping his leaky cock between the folds of skin at your thigh and hip. he shudders as soon as his hips start rabbiting, short little frantic thrusts. jeongin watches him with sharp eyes and an even sharper smile.

their movements push you back onto chan, his cock hard and throbbing at the dip of your back. one of his veiny hands moves from your breast to your neck. not choking, just holding, tipping your head back against his shoulder so he can whisper in your ear.

you’re completely bracketed on all sides. nothing feels better than this.

“we loved you there too. in your- your dream. you have to know we loved you there too. it wasn’t my dream, but i- i know we did. there’s no universe that exists where we don’t.” chan holds you to him as best he can with you being fucked the way you are. he holds your neck, his other hand squeezes underneath your chest. he’s cradling you, savoring the feel of your body against his even though he has a lifetime to get used to it.

changbin prods his webbed fingers at your hole and you cum with a wail. jisung follows right away, pushing and pulling at your knee to give him all the stimulation he needs to ride out his orgasm with you. you hear him cum as much as you feel it, beautiful, boisterous cries are pressed into your shoulder as his thick cum pools down your stomach. felix is back to kissing your thighs, so changbin licks you through yours, soft tongue rolling on your clit until you’re pushing his head away with trembling fingers.

you’re not given much reprieve, cunt still sensitive and pulsing when minho bullies himself between changbin and felix. felix laughs gleefully and changbin settles himself on chan’s thigh, cheek squishing against the muscle while he waits to see what minho is up to.

your hole clenches hard when two of minho’s little fingers prod at it. jeongin slows his movements to watch, and felix kisses the underside of your spread thigh.

“let me in. just let me in, hm? let me give you another one.” your pussy throbs. your brain can’t keep up, but your body can. it listens to minho beautifully, pussy unclenching and making room for minho just as he asked you to. you welcome his fingers inside and keep them snug, he curls them up and massages that special spot of yours with the pads of his fingers. you barely have enough cognizance to focus on the muscles flexing in his arm or the satisfied, fierce expression on his handsome face. his eyes are wild, and his smile is growing.

your hand is moving, curling into a fist and wrapping around something hot. you turn your head slightly and see hyunjin laying beside you instead of jisung, his big hand blanketing yours as he wraps your hand around his hard cock. hyunjin rocks into your shared grip, rolls his sinewy hips fluidly and kisses sweetly at your breast.

a tight squeeze to your other leg has your head lolling the opposite way now. that’s how jeongin cums, finally fucking balls deep into the space between your thigh and your hip, with his claws poking into the sweaty skin of your leg. his cum is warm, and smoke billows from his aggressively flared nostrils as he tries to hide his noises from the others.

“oh, he’s so cute,” hyunjin pants. he tightens his hand over yours, helps you curl your fingers tighter so his cock is enveloped by sweet pressure. jeongin ignores him and splays out on his back, chest heaving and abs glistening as he tries to catch his breath. hyunjin cums then - he cums in your hand and it seeps slowly down your knuckles just as minho crooks his fingers meanly.

“ooh!” you yelp, and changbin grins against chan’s thigh. he copies it in his own distorted, mermadian trill.

“i like that noise,” he says, so minho makes you do it again. he’s fucking you so roughly that chan has to tighten his hold on you so you don’t buck away from them, from the relentless pleasure they give you. it’s as slow as molasses when you cum this time, it starts in your gut and you feel it all over your body, bursting at the seams. it’s glitter, it’s stars, it’s some unexplainable third thing that turns you limp and malleable and pliant. your orgasm has soaked minho to his elbow. your vision may be bleary, but you don’t think the image of felix sucking hour wetness from minho’s fingers is a mirage. you can tell when felix cums too, his hips rut roughly down onto your lower leg and his cute little asscheeks clench when minho makes him gag hard on his digits.

minho’s cock is an angry pink, and it leaks steadily from the tip as he polishes it over the mound of your quivering cunt. it doesn’t take him long to cum, not with your juices and felix’s spit all over his hand and changbin’s cheek now pressed tight to his thigh to watch. his cum splashes warmly into your pussy, and he presses his piss-slit right to your clit so that’s where most of his cum oozes. it’s nasty, it’s sexy, it’s oh, so good.

chan and seungmin help lift you up so that chan can move from around your back. he’s a great pillow, but it’s nice to lay back completely and stretch your limbs. you’re worn out, but you’re not done yet.

“there’s too fucking many of us!” jisung grouches. there are limbs everywhere and you’re all sweating profusely. jisung is leaning over hyunjin’s shoulder to watch, so you know he’s just pouting. the pallet is huge - there’s plenty of room for everyone, but your boys seem to like to stick close to each other. it makes your heart thrum in your chest.

“nah, it’s perfect,” seungmin replies. your eyes follow him as he straddles your chest. “isn’t it, dolly?”

you stick your tongue out so he can lay the head of his cock on it. his pre is salty, it makes your mouth water and sends a string of drool seeping down your cheek. seungmin hasn’t paralyzed you, not like last time, he just has that effect on you. you can hear the slick sound of chan beside you too, stroking his big cock to the sight of seungmin using your mouth. seungmin’s balls shake lightly against your chin with the rough movement of his hand. when he cums in your mouth, it slides right down your tongue and towards your throat.

“hold it, don’t swallow,” seungmin says, so you keep your throat closed and hold his cum in your mouth like he told you. his cum is bitter, the taste of it seeps into your tastebuds and coats your gums, your teeth. chan’s cock is slick in his hand, changbin is humping his against your shin. seungmin straddles your chest like it’s his throne. he lets you hold his cum in your mouth until you’re needy, until your brows are furrowing and you look up at him with pleading eyes. “ah, you’re too cute. swallow it now, there you go.”

you stick your tongue out again to show him you’re good, that you swallowed everything he had to give you. he slinks off your chest when chan nudges at him with a grimace, beating his cock in his fist until he’s flushing pretty green all over. he doesn’t straddle you like you’re expecting, just kneels by your heaving chest. chan slaps his cock against your drooping breast, taps the head against your hardened nipple and whimpers loudly when his precum leaves it wet. it’s sticky like his cum, and there’s a sticky spot on your back where chan was pressed earlier, leaving you sticking uncomfortably to jisung’s blue comforter.

“can- can i cum here? please?” he asks, pretty eyes locked on the way your tits sway with his harsh movements.

you smack your tongue. you just know your voice is going to be scratchy.

“you wanna cum on my tits, channie?” a lazy, satisfied smile. you may be wrecked completely but you still have it in you to tease.

“yes. yeah, yeah, gosh. your tits- ‘m gonna… gonna cum, g-gonna blow, fuck.”

you cup your tits in your hands and jiggle them when he cums just to tease him further. it oozes from his tip slowly, his sap-like cum making the skin of your chest even stickier. you need a bath anyway, but you really need one now. chan uses his clean hand to caress your cheek, thumb at your bottom lip, before he sits down beside you. hyunjin rests his head on chan’s thigh.

changbin still ruts desperately against your shin, but he’s too far away for your liking.

“come here to me, binnie,” you coo, and his blue eyes snap open. he sits up on his wobbly knees - it takes you grabbing underneath his armpits and minho pushing him from behind just to get him curled up beside you. his coordination is shot, and his poor new legs are just too tough to use right now. one of his legs lays flopped over yours, and he curls up tightly beside your shoulder. changbin grinds against your hip, cooing out in a pretty overtone. he’s sweet, wrapping his arm around your stomach to pull you closer. his arms are so strong and capable. changbin cums in pearly ropes against your hip when your hand comes down to circle the head.

“that feels much better with two,” he sighs, burying his face in your sweaty neck. you hum. he’s not the only one missing his dual-cocks. maybe you can play with them in the bath later after his tail grows back, or maybe you can in the moat.

“it feels much better with how many?!” jisung squawks.

“help us to the bathtub later and you can find out, hannie,” you cajole, and changbin giggles into your neck.

you do desperately need a bath. you all do. it’s sticky, sweaty, and the entire room reeks of sex, but you’re too exhausted to move.

the exhaustion isn’t just physical, it’s emotional too. your world was turned on its head earlier. even if it wasn’t real, the effects of it were. distantly, you can feel the slight burn in your eyes from crying earlier, the dull throb in your temple.

but it lead you here, it lead all of you here. it brought them straight to you when you needed them the most.

there’s no lingering sadness, only joy, only contentment. you crane your head to see jisung’s face smushed against hyunjin’s shoulder. his eyes are drooping, he’s sated and sleepy. hyunjin sleeps soundly against chan’s thigh, and even chan’s head is nodding. felix is spooned tight behind changbin, minho is curled behind him and playing with his long hair again. jeongin lays flat on his back and seungmin has a leg thrown over his, even the sleep paralysis demon looks close to dozing off. the pallet is warm and comfortable; you could all use a nap.

the door creaks then, just slight enough for your ears to catch it. your head perks up. the door is still open, you can see the hallway leading into your living room. eight doors, four on each side.

“did you do this for me?” you ask. it’s not meant for the ones beside you, so they don’t hear it.

the only answer you get is another creak of the door, and you watch as it begins to ease shut. the house always answers when you call. the further it closes, the sleepier you get. changbin sighs deeply into your neck, chan drowsily rests his head atop of yours, and the beautiful, ninth door shuts with a muted click.

you wouldn’t mind staying for a while.

sindarin dictionary!

av-‘osto - do not be afraid

melethril nîn - my beloved

#stray kids #*ot8 #skz

373 notes · View notes

skzbow · 7 months ago

Text

241116

#he’s the most beautiful ever #pretty perfect lee minho #i love him #stray kids #skz

337 notes · View notes

skzbow · 7 months ago

Text

may you always kill it omg this was so HOT!! also how did you know i’ve also been deep into omegaverse lately 🫵 i love how felix was a little jealous at first i think that’s so cute and how reluctant channie was at first bc he didn’t want to take advantage of the omegas like 🥺🥺

🐺꒷꒦⊹ ࣪ ˖ᡣ𐭩 give you what you need lee felix x f!reader x bang chan

Your preheat hit this morning, in the middle of your first class. Your stomach tying itself into knots, the first cramp tearing your abdomen apart, a cold sweat beading on your forehead by the time you stumbled into your next class, the one you shared with Felix – dragging him right into his own preheat as soon as he wrapped his lithe, familiar arms around you. So, really, when the door to your bedroom creaks open, and you hear Chan hesitantly calling your name, it’s your own fault. Your own fault that you didn’t tell anyone, that you just hurried home, half ripped each other's clothes off and went at it. That you were panting and moaning into each other’s mouths so loud that you didn’t hear the front door get unlocked by the only person except for you and Felix who has a key; the only alpha you both trust, the unofficial pack alpha to your pack of friends. OR You and Felix have been helping each other through your heats for years – until Chan walks in on you.

word count: 6.6k words

author's note: skzms omegaverse debut!! wrote this slick smut because I've been having a rough time and needed distraction. straight filth! with a lil bit of feelings ofc <3 but yeah, enjoy!! also to the people who wanted chanlix, I hope this scratches the itch!

warnings: omegaverse! typical warnings apply: unprotected sex, breeding, possessiveness, talk of mating, biting, so much slick, hints of pred/prey in the way they talk; alpha!chan, omega!reader, omega!felix with a boypussy and a little cock; omegas scissoring <3; a tiiiny moment of blood

skzms' masterlist

Felix licks into your mouth with a barely contained, breathless whimper, his hand sliding down to grip your ass and drag you closer, smearing a strip of your milky lemonade slick against his naked thigh in the process.

You follow the lead of his hands, arching into him, brain already deliriously foggy as your hands slide over the slope of his back and down, down, down, until you can press a fingertip against his leaking hole, sending him reeling into your arms, moaning into your mouth so hard a string of drool drips between you and onto the sheets.

It’s become a ritual of sorts, for you and Felix to help each other through your heats — even if it only takes the edge off, doesn’t fully satiate that most base kind of need that settles so deeply into your bones during that time. It was the obvious choice when your heats started to sync up because you were living together. That and, as Felix vehemently told you, he’d rather do this than let either of you be touched by some predatory alphas when you were at your most vulnerable.

Felix’s hands tighten on your body, and he hauls you closer until he can grind his small, barely developed omega cock against your clit, and you can smell his scent explode in the room as a gush of slick drips out of his pussy. You’re sure the smell of strawberry lemonade is permeating the rest of the apartment at this point, if not reaching into the hallway.

With a desperate huff, Felix parts from you, an irritated little scowl on his pretty, flushed face. He struggles to sit up between your legs, rips his cardigan off, tossing it somewhere onto the floor before winding his pretty little hands around your thigh and manhandling you until you’re on your side, Felix sitting between your thighs, straddling one of them. He drags up his shirt, puts the hem of it between his teeth as he shuffles forward, hugging your leg against his chest, spreading you open so lewdly it satisfies something deep within you. Presenting. To be taken.

His hole, hot and drippy, with his little cock at the top, makes contact with your throbbing pussy, and it sends pleasure shivering through your entire body. There’s a loud squelch when slick skin slides against slick skin, your sensitive pussy rubbing against his. The moan Felix lets out before his instincts kick in, and he starts humping you, is deafening. His hips kick forward again and again, his cock dragging over your hole, sometimes even slipping inside with the force with which he’s humping you, making you leak more, try to clench around him, keep him inside even if he’s small. He’d come inside you before like this, and it had felt like nothing you’ve ever felt before.

With a particularly good roll of his hips, Felix throws his head back and almost howls. When his head drops forward, his eyes are wild and his canines are poking against the plush of his lips – his body wants to mate. You can feel a tingling in your jaw as your body responds to him readily.

So you had no time to warn anyone, to let your friends know, to ask someone to bring you some groceries to help you get through the next few days. Because even if Felix was also an omega, your body knew him now, knew that when he was close, so was relief – so as soon as your delirious preheat brain smelled him, it was done. Game over. You needed him and you needed him now.

You left that class halfway through, Felix’s hand clammy in yours, his small boner pressing against your ass as he held you tight while waiting for the bus, letting you bury your face in his scent gland on the ride home to tide you over, even as you could feel your slick dampening your panties, could hear his aborted little gasps in his throat at the sensation. Though, luckily, to everyone else, you just looked like one omega, taking care of another. Because that’s what you were, right? Just … friends, helping each other out. Out of necessity. Though, you would really call Felix your best friend. You were always together, attached at the hip, always sitting next to each other or on top of one another, even when with your other friends, who never failed to tease you about it. Because teasing was all there was to do. They would never take you seriously after all.

Omegas didn’t get into relationships with other omegas. It just wasn’t done, didn’t make any evolutionary sense.

It doesn’t matter. You swallow down the bitterness before your scent can sour and tip Felix off because he would stop. Go against his biology and every nerve in his body screaming for friction to stop and ask you what’s wrong. And you don’t want to think. You want the cramps to stop – want to come, want to spill hot and slick all over Felix’s little cock or his fingers or your mouth, and then you want to help him get there, too, and snuggle down into your haphazardly thrown together nest and scent each other until you both fell asleep. Groceries and texting your friends be damned.

So, really, when the door to your bedroom creaks open, and you hear Chan hesitantly calling your name, it’s your own fault. Your own fault that you didn’t tell anyone, that you just hurried home, half ripped each other's clothes off and went at it. That you were panting and moaning into each other’s mouths so loud that you didn’t hear the front door get unlocked by the only person except for you and Felix who has a key; the only alpha you both trust, the unofficial pack alpha to your pack of friends.

You don’t know what he walks into, but you can only imagine what you must look like when you blink your hazy eyes open, and you meet his wide eyes. His pupils are so blown they look almost black, and you can see the barely perceptible rise of his chest, the flare of his nostrils as he inhales and his next breath shudders out of him.

“Sh-shit I’m so s-sorry,” Chan exclaims, his voice thick with something you can’t put your finger on.

Felix’s head whips up in his direction, and he freezes, then sniffs the air.

That’s when you notice it, too – Chan’s scent. Subtle enough in its normal form, it’s rich, earthy vanilla, like it was just scraped out of the pod, now thickening with something that’s almost alcoholic.

Arousal, you realise.

His gaze trained on your face as if he’s trying not to look down where you and Felix are naked and still connected. Felix grinds forward and everything’s suddenly so much wetter. You mewl and watch as Chan’s hands ball into fists.

“D-do you do this a lot? No, don’t answer that, I mean, fuck, I’m so sorry,” Chan whines and shakes himself, like he’s trying to shake the thoughts out of his head. Felix looks at you. You look at him. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and his cock jumps where he’s still slowly, absentmindedly rutting it against your pussy. There’s a squelch that makes Chan wince.

“T-that was inappropriate, I’m so sorry, it’s hard to think straight when you … you know what, I’m just … I’m just gonna g-go.”

He takes a shaky step backwards, towards the door, but Felix’s voice stops him dead in his tracks.

“Don’t.”

Chan freezes. He looks unsure. There’s a thick bulge in his jeans now that makes your mouth water. You have a hard time thinking but you know one thing – you can’t let him leave now.

“Stay,” you breathe, try to make your voice sound soothing, but it comes out in something more akin to a purr. Felix nearly answers with one of his own, and you watch as Chan shivers.

Then Felix gets up. You bite back the whimper at the loss of his warmth, your knees knocking together on instinct, trying to protect your modesty even though there’s nothing more that you want than to roll over and present yourself for Chan’s taking. Chan’s eyes drop between your legs and for a delicious second stay glued there, before he flushes a darker red and looks at Felix instead — curses when he looks down and sees Felix’s slick drip down his inner thighs, his cock standing proudly between his legs. Chan screws his eyes shut and crosses his hands in front of his crotch, as if it could hide any of it.

As if drawn by an invisible string, you get up, too. Felix hears you coming, lets you wrap yourself around his back, tugs your arms tighter around himself as you stand in front of Chan, who still has his eyes screwed shut. Chan’s scent is overwhelming now, heavy and dark, like he’s barely holding it together, and your scent sweetens in response. Like you’re trying to make yourself more tempting, trying to lure your alpha into giving you what you want. You feel dizzy with want.

When Felix steps forward, you join him. You don’t need to speak, an unspoken understanding of what you want hanging between you.

You take Chan’s hand as Felix walks up behind him, gently pushes him towards the bed. Chan seems to resist for a second, before he sinks down onto the edge of it.

Felix smiles at him.

“Alpha,” he purrs, and Chan’s mouth falls open. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip. You need to resist the urge to lean in and suck it into your mouth.

“Felix, I don’t know if this is a good idea,” he starts, cuts himself off with a groan when you sink onto the bed next to him and nuzzle into his neck, right over his scent gland. It smells good, so unbelievably good, and it sends shivers of contentment through you, your limbs loosening, body warming. The knots in your stomach are less taut, some of the confusion settling, being replaced by a dizzying, all-encompassing kind of need.

Distantly you notice the bed dip, then a loud groan ripples through Chan’s chest. When you blink your eyes open, Felix is nuzzling into the other side of Chan’s neck, his own eyes slipped shut, one of his hands sliding over, grabbing at Chan’s chest. Your fingers dig into Chan’s thigh harder, slip a little further between his legs, scratch again the seam of Chan’s pants.

“F-fuck,” Chan breathes out, and you pull back enough to look at him. The eye contact almost sobers him.

“Y-you’re not in your right mind to agree to this,” he mumbles, hisses when Felix drags his teeth over his sensitive skin, “you’re in heat. I can’t … fuck … I couldn’t take advantage of you like this.”

You scowl at him.

“As if we never asked you for help before.”

Because you did. Both of you, at some point in time, had gone to him, the one alpha you trusted more than anyone, and asked if he would help you with your heats. And Chan had declined. Had, truthfully, shattered your little heart, absolutely devastated you, and made you swear you would never tell anyone about the crush you had on him. You never even told Felix about it. So embarrassed were you that you thought he could want you like that. Strong, reliable, kind, the best man you ever met – he deserved a better partner. But that was in the past. You got under Felix and over your crush, at least that’s what you tell yourself most days.

“B-but we’re friends,” Chan stammers, though it turns into a stuttery moan when Felix runs his hand from his chest to his neck, wrapping loosely around his jaw and turning him towards him. Something possessive rankles in your heart.

“We could be more,” Felix purrs, and you don’t know if it’s your heat, but it’s like you’ve never wanted anything more in your life. “Come on, alpha, don’t you want to take care of your omegas?”

Chan swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing heavily, chuckles like he can’t believe his ears.

“Omegas …”

You slide closer to Chan’s other side, your hand slipping precariously close to the bulge in Chan’s jeans. The thought of his knot alone makes you drip. Such a strong alpha, he would give you the most beautiful pups. You reach out, brush your pinky over the stiff denim covering it, only a featherlight touch he like can hardly feel. Chan gasps nonetheless.

You lean closer, your lips brushing Chan’s ear.

“Yes, alpha,” you breathe into Chan’s ear, “take care of us. We need you.”

Chan’s head falls back before he turns to you. When he does, his face hovers only inches away, and you give him your best doe eyes. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Felix, something unreadable on his face as he stares at the two of you – reaches a hand between his own legs and squeezes. Chan’s nostrils flare.

“Fuuuuck,” Chan moans out, his hand surging out to wrap around your waist, pulling you against him as if to steady you, but you suspect it’s more for his own sake. “Are you sure? You gotta be sure. I can’t do this if you’re not sure. Even if you’re driving me fucking crazy right now.”

“We’re sure,” you whisper, lean in until your lips are brushing over his, “please, we trust you. Please, Channie.”

The begging seems to do him in because before you can even finish saying his name, his lips are on yours, and he’s kissing you like he’s trying to devour you. His fingers dig into the plush of your waist, locking you in place, leaving you no way to escape. As if you would want to.

But then, his mouth is ripped away from you and Felix drags him into his own eager mouth, licks into his mouth so hard Chan can do nothing but take it, kiss him back, drag his hand up and wind it around the back of Felix’s head.

You growl unhappily and Felix smiles into Chan’s lips before he reaches out, screws his fingers into the material of your tank top and pulls you onto all fours over Chan’s lap and into his lips instead, right in front of Chan’s shocked face.

Chan curses under his breath, his hand coming to the bulge in his jeans, squeezing at it, hard. It sends you for a tailspin, knowing how much you’re affecting him, and it makes you kiss Felix even filthier, putting on a show until Chan’s hand finds the back of your thighs. He hisses when his fingers meet the slick that’s dripping out of you at this point.

“Y-you really … fuck, I swear I’m not trying to be creepy …” Chan starts, but trails off.

Felix pulls back from you with one last nip to your bottom lip, giving you a lazy smile that makes you want to jump his bones, before he sits back and turns back to Chan.

“Spit it out, Chris.”

Chan flushes a deep red.

“You really … do this. Kiss. Fuck.”

You blink at Chan, not understanding. He winces, looks at you like he’s about to tell a child that Santa isn’t real. Unnecessarily, you think. You’re not that innocent.

“There’s … uh, lots of … uhhh … porn out there, of this sort of thing … I just didn’t know if it was really a thing.”

Oh. He doesn’t mean it like that, you know it, but it still hurts. Felix huffs next to you, his brows furrowing, and then his hand finds yours. He pulls you a little closer.

“Yes, we do. We don’t just do it for some alpha’s gratification. What we have goes much deeper than that.”

Your heart skips an uneven beat, and you look at Felix, who’s already looking back at you. There’s so much affection in his big brown eyes it makes you dizzy. He squeezes your hand, and you lean in to peck his lips before you can stop yourself. You blush when you pull back, ready to apologise for it, but Felix smiles at you so softly you think you might not have to.

When he turns back to Chan, however, his eyes are steely again. “Now take off your shirt, I wanna suck your cock.”

Your eyes widen at his tone. Something dark flickers in Chan’s eyes, but he does what he’s asked. He crosses his arms over his chest and pulls his black shirt over his head. He tosses it somewhere in your room, but you’re not even looking. All you can do is stare.

Chan is all muscle. Wide, solid waist, even wider shoulders, strong arms and stronger shoulders. Milky skin pulled taut over his pecs, down over defined abs. There’s a hint of a happy trail that leads under the waistband of his jeans, and your mouth waters at the same time as your pussy gushes more slick. Your body pumps out more pheromones, and you can see Chan’s pupils dilate before you and Felix pounce on him.

Chan is being pushed back against the bed by your hands in his hair and Felix’s on his chest, running his fingers greedily over his muscles. Chan stares from you to Felix hovering over him like he can’t believe his luck, but your biology picks this moment to come back with a vengeance.

A surge of cramps rips through your insides, and you hiss, curl in on yourself. Your hole clenches around nothing, making the ache in your belly worse until your ears are ringing with it. There’s a soothing hand on the base of your spine, Chan’s voice somewhere, saying your name, you think.

“Y/N, sweetheart,” he speaks again, and it reaches you like you’re underwater, “let alpha take care of you, hm?”

You try and nod as best as you can, but it’s all you can muster. You let your body get tugged his way and that, until you’re sitting on your knees. For a second, you think you’ll fall, but then there are strong hands on your hips.

They tug you down and suddenly, there’s a hot, wet mouth on your cunt, and you nearly scream with relief when Chan sucks on your clit hard.

The pleasure is almost too much after so much neglect, but your body is also greedy, now that it’s finally being touched, and touched by an alpha no less. The warring urges make you feel half insane. Blind and dumb, you lean back. You place the palm of your hand on Chan’s chest, spread your legs even wider and Chan doesn’t miss a beat – mumbles vague praises into you, angles his head just so, opens his mouth and lets you grind your hole over his tongue. Your slick drools out of you, but it only makes Chan moan heavily against you, swallow it down, nudge his nose forward until it bumps against your clit with every rut of your hips.

The pressure inside of you is building so fast it’s almost terrifying, every waft of Chan’s dark, alcoholic vanilla making your body more and more pliant, and you can’t think of anything but release. Your free hand winds into Chan’s hair to hold him in place and Chan moans, his hips stuttering up behind you, and you can hear a filthy gagging noise.

Blearily, you turn your head and make eye contact with Felix’s teary eyes, his small fingers and pink mouth stretched around Chan’s cock, knot bulging at its base already. He’s fully naked now, dusty nipples pebbled prettily, and he has a hand shoved between his legs, two fingers buried inside of himself as he sucks Chan off.

The image along with the feeling and the lewd sounds of Chan fucking his tongue into you send you hurtling toward the edge, but what pushes you over it is when Felix pulls off and reveals inches and inches of Chan’s thick, red cock until it finally falls from his swollen lips, and he smiles at you.

You come with a yell, the pain in your guts exploding into white-hot pleasure, taking your breath away for a second. Your fingers tighten on Chan’s hair until you’re sure it must hurt, but he doesn’t let up, laps at you hard, licks every last bit of pleasure right out of you, humming and moaning and swallowing your slick greedily until you’re shaking and trembling in his hold.

“Feeling better, darling?” Chan asks from where he’s still lying underneath you.

You nod distractedly, but you’re distracted by him. He looks nothing short of slick drunk, cheeks pink, hair sweaty and mussed, his whole chin wet with your release, his pupils blown. His speech is slightly slurred. When he licks his lips, and moans at the taste, more need blooms in your abdomen.

The pain is gone, yes, but the orgasm did nothing to alleviate your need for him. You still can’t think straight, the only thing on your mind getting his stupid knot inside of you.

“Wan’ your cock,” you mumble, and Chan blinks, though you’re sure he heard you. But you’ll repeat yourself if you have to. “Want your cock. Your knot. Wan’ you to fuck me full, alpha.”

Chan’s mouth falls open, and he curses loudly.

“Jesus, fuck, you’ll be the death of me,” he mumbles, his scent deepening, and you’re about to beg again when the bed dips, and you watch Felix crawl closer to you. He looks wild, lips all swollen, his whole body flushed with his heat. His eyes are narrowed prettily.

“I want his knot, too.”

“I want it first,” you say, and Felix glares at you. There’s something feline about him in that moment.

“No, me,” he retorts.

Your scowl deepens. A feral kind of irritation bubbles in your guts.

“No, my heat started first, I should get alpha’s knot first.”

Felix glares at you and then he jumps you.

He topples you off Chan’s chest and onto the bed, so hard, you nearly both go flying off and onto the floor. He catches you just in time, manhandles you until you’re on your back and you only get to meet his dark eyes for a brief second before he leans in and kisses you meanly, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, teeth clacking together.

“When did you ever want a knot so badly, hm? Was I not enough for you?” he growls into your mouth without pulling back, staring into your eyes wildly.

You glare back, slide a hand between your sweaty bodies until you can touch him. Run two fingers around his hole to gather some slick before wrapping your hand around his little cock.

Felix moans weakly, screws his pretty eyes shut, fingers digging into the sheets on each side of your head.

“Jealous?”

He doesn’t answer, only opens his eyes to stare at you before he surges in to kiss you again. He winds one of his hands around the back of your head, holds you in place as he kisses you, then bites your lip meanly – so meanly his revealed canine pierces your lip and sends a stab of pain through your system. A second later, you taste blood.

Felix moans wantonly when he tastes it, too, his hand sliding into your hair, tugging so he can kiss you deeper, lick up every drop of blood he can while you writhe beneath him, your body like a live wire as he takes and takes and takes. You’re getting lightheaded, deprived of oxygen, his body pinning you against the bed, his mouth on yours, though you can’t begin to complain. Having Felix like this feels more right than nature ever could.

But suddenly, he’s hauled off you in one fell swoop. Lifted off by strong, merciless hands, tossed next to you on the mattress like he weighs nothing. The sudden absence of him is disorienting, but then the heat of his body is replaced by Chan’s, who is burning even hotter. He braces one hand next to your head, the other next to Felix’s and stares down at you.

He’s intense. Gorgeous. Strong and yet so, so soft. The only alpha you’ve ever trusted like this, even when there’s a drop of sweat rolling down the dip of his collarbone and something wild in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You wonder if he’s going into rut, driven into it by the haywire pheromones of two omegas throwing themselves at him, or if this is just him letting go of control. It makes you shiver with a kind of fear that only makes you want him more.

“Stop fighting,” he growls out and Felix next to you gasps, “you’ll both get your knot. Or do you doubt that alpha can take care of you?”

You shake your head vehemently, and Felix follows. Chan watches your wide eyes, your trembling chest, and his eyes only get darker.

“That’s right,” he murmurs, dips down to nudge at your scent gland, and it makes shivers run down your spine. He drags first his lips, then his tongue, then his teeth over it, and your brain loses all focus except the desperate urge for him to bite down. Mate you, mate Felix, let you sink your teeth into Felix as well, bound to each other forever, just the three of you.

Felix’s hand finds yours, and you squeeze hard when Chan digs his teeth into your skin. Not nearly enough to break skin, not even to bruise, but it makes you whimper, nonetheless, legs trying to close, but you can’t. Chan’s thick thigh is wedged in between yours, pitifully out of reach of where you’re aching for him.

“Gonna fuck you full, give you my pups,” Chan mumbles, pulls back and stares at you, then Felix, before he dips down to lick and suck at his scent gland, too. Felix whines pathetically, hips bucking into the air. He hasn’t even come yet, and the desperation in the little mewls he lets out with every one of Chan’s ministrations makes your chest ache.

You roll over, press yourself against him, and he preens underneath you when you nuzzle your own face into the side of his neck. It’s scenting, but it’s also a little more than that, your lips lazily sucking at his shoulders, his neck, anywhere you can reach. Then Chan hums and reaches down, slides two fingers into him, and Felix moans.

“P-please,” he gasps, little moans punched out of him with every rut of Chan’s fingers inside of him, “m-more.”

Chan hums soothingly again and pulls away enough to look down at him. Felix stares up at him with a devastating look in his eyes. All his previous brattiness has dissolved, he just looks inconsolable now.

“Think you can come for me? Then I’ll give Y/Nie her knot, and you get it next. Sound good, omega?” Chan asks, voice so velvety it makes you squeeze your legs together.

Felix nods and Chan smiles, whispers a quiet “good boy” and then he dips back down to mouth over Felix’s scent gland again, his hand speeding up between his legs. You smooth your own hand over Felix’s chest and suck a mark into his neck, and he convulses violently.

“Bite me,” he whispers, sobs. You freeze. He sobs again.

“Bite me, please, bite me, make me yours,” he continues, the words blubbering out between tears. You want to ask who he’s talking to, but a part of you is terrified of the answer. Because what happens if Felix and Chan mate. What happens to you?

Felix wails, and you whimper, nuzzle in deeper, jostled by every rock of his hips to meet Chan’s fingers.

“B-both of you, p-please, mate me. Take me. Wanna be yours.”

Tears blur your vision when you open your mouth and you bite. Not enough to draw blood, not a real mating bite but still enough to make your stomach swoop with something unnamed. And it’s enough for Felix.

He comes with a strangled scream, shooting ropes of cum over his abdomen. His body convulses, bucking his hips harder into Chan’s fingers, chasing the fullness until he’s spent, and he goes limp, putty in your and Chan’s arms.

Your lips are still attached to Felix’s neck, your hand splayed over his stomach, still rising and falling quickly, jerking with every sniffle. He sniffles weakly when Chan gingerly pulls out of him, nods when Chan pets his hair, asks him if he’s okay.

Your mind is swimming, your head replaying his words over and over again, and you’re trying too hard to not get your hopes up. Focus instead on soothing your tongue over the redness on Felix’s delicate skin where your teeth just were, lap up more of his sweet scent, even though it’s difficult for omegas to smell each other’s scents. But you know him so well. Even when it’s not much, it’s so comforting. Familiar. Yours.

It invades your senses, makes more heat pool between your legs where the arousal never left, the ache for a knot not something that can be satiated by one orgasm alone. And Chan seems to know – seems to sense it, or maybe smell it on you because when Felix has calmed, his attention, his big, dark eyes, his intense, overwhelming attention shifts back to you.

He comes to hover over you; bites his bottom lip absentmindedly as he drinks you in, let his eyes, then his palms roam over your body. It’s unhurried, yet intense, makes your legs part, your hips can’t upwards until your pussy is right there, on display for him. Presented for him.

Your alpha senses it. Lets his gaze fall between your legs, now without a remnant of shame, and hums approvingly. He looks intently, as if it’s entirely new, as if he didn’t lick an orgasm out of you already, brings both hands to your thighs, spreads the lips of your cunt open and presses the pad of his thumb into your entrance, making a dribble of slick run out of your hole and into the sheets. You moan weakly, but you don’t dare move. It’s like you’re pinned to the bed by his gaze. Distantly, you realise you’re shaking.

“Pretty,” Chan hums, and you preen. Your body lights up at the compliment, legs spreading wider, hole clenching around nothing right under Chan’s watchful eyes. “So perfect, omega. All for me, hm?”

You nod blearily, your eyes screwed shut. It’s all too much.

“Turn around then, let me give you what you want,” Chan orders and removes his hands from your body. You feel the absence keenly, but the promise of him finally giving you what you need has you scrambling to turn around.

Planting your knees on the bed, you let yourself fall forward, arch your back for your alpha. Your eyes meet Felix’s, who is still lying next to you. He smiles dazedly, but before you can smile back, you feel the tip of Chan’s cock nudge at your hole, and it makes you screw your eyes shut. It feels big. Too big.

“Shh, relax, omega, you can take it,” Chan grumbles, and you nod, to nobody in particular, “you’re made for this, pretty. Made for me. Made to take my knot.”

You nod again, desperate to agree, your heated cheek dragging against the sheets, and you mewl when he pushes forward and the head of his cock breaches you.

Chan curses, a growl brewing deep in his chest as he slowly presses in, inch by gloriously torturous inch, splitting you open until your ears are ringing, and you feel like you’re about to come, just from the feeling of him alone. Something deep inside you, some feral, base part, is purring in a satisfaction you’ve never felt before. Like your wolf is being completed.

When he’s fully seated inside of you, he barely gives you a moment to adjust, and you wouldn’t want it any other way. He moans, but then he’s already pulling out and pushing back in and there’s a lewd squelch of slick when your body tries to suck him back in, through the stretch and all the discomfort because the pleasure is so addicting, the feeling of fulness so right.

“Fuuuckkk, omega,” Chan growls, and starts fucking you slowly. You whimper, rut your hips back weakly. “You’re so tight, omega. No-one ever fucked you right, huh.”

Of course, someone has, but you shake your head. You can tell he’s just babbling, lost somewhere deep in his own head, your alpha wanting you all to himself. He can have you. You want him to.

“I’ll take care of you, baby,” he mumbles as he fucks in deep, grinding over your g-spot as he does, “gonna fuck you full. Make you come all over my knot.”

His pace picks up, his fingers digging into your hips like a vice and your body slumps forward harder, legs sliding further apart, inviting him in deeper and deeper until the head of his cock kisses your cervix with every thrust. You mewl, clench around him, scramble for purchase on the sheets. But before your fingers can screw into the cotton, Felix’s hand finds yours. His eyes are glassy as he scoots across the sheets and closer to you. His hand threads into your hair, pets it soothingly.

“Poor omegas, need it so bad, hm?” Chan mumbles behind you, brings his thumbs to where he’s thrusting into you over and over and over again. He parts the lips of your pussy, making him slide deeper, until his knot catches against your hole every time he bottoms out. It feels huge. Too big to fit inside of you. You nearly start crying then. It’s all you want, but you think your body won’t be able to take it.

Felix pets your cheek, pushes his face forward until you can feel his breath on your face every time Chan ruts into you, almost ruts you up the bed with how hard he’s fucking you. You’re gushing wetness, your body seizing tighter and tighter around Chan’s cock as the pleasure builds.

“What’s wrong, baby?” Felix purrs, and you sob. Tears push their way past your lashes and Felix thumbs them away.

“C-can’t take it,” you slur out, cut yourself off with a moan when Chan slows down, grinds his hips just right and rubs over your g-spot hard, “knot’s t-too big.”

Felix’s body shivers a little with the words, the hand that’s not resting on your face coming down to tug at his cock haphazardly.

“’s not, baby,” he mumbles, dips his head forwards to kiss you, moaning a little when he can feel the impact of every one of Chan’s slow thrusts, “You can take it. You were made for taking alpha’s cock. Made for us.”

You whine and lean back in, catch Felix in a sloppy kiss that he reciprocates happily, Chan behind you stutters out a moan as his hips stutter forwards, fuck into you harder, pressing his knot against your hole until you’re whimpering into Felix’s mouth until he pulls back. There’s a thick string of spit that connects your lips when he does.

“Let alpha take care of you, okay?” he asks, and you manage to nod, before Chan is leaning over you, caging you against the bed, and you scream out a moan when he rams his cock inside you. Felix is still holding your hand as Chan plows into you, hard and deep and fast, growling into your ear as he rams his fucks you so hard you see stars, until you’re nothing but a pliant vessel for pleasure, until your abdomen is seizing, and you can feel your orgasm coming, but you know you need one more thing. One last thing to truly sate you.

“Knot me,” you slur, squeeze Felix’s hand hard, “alpha, please, need your knot. Please, please pleas- Aaaaaaah.”

Chan forces his knot into you with a loud growl, presses it against your entrances until it gives, swallows it and locks him against your body as Chan comes inside of you. Your orgasm slams into you, forces you deeper into the sheets as you sob, convulse around Chan’s cock as he fills you up blindingly hot and so much that it starts drooling out around the sides of his knot, drips onto the sheets. You have to stop yourself from crying out for it, have to tell yourself there’s enough, it’ll take.

But your wolf doesn’t know that. Only purrs in satisfaction at being completed, at getting what it so desperately craved, from the best alpha you know. Your heart aches a little.

Chan is still panting into your neck, but slowly, he unsticks his sweaty chest from your sweaty back and soothes his palms over your sides.

“Lie down with me, darling,” he murmurs, and you follow where his hands lead you, hissing when the change of position tugs at where his knot is still lodged inside of you.

Once you’re finally lying down, he hums more praises, runs his warm, warm hands over every inch of skin he can reach, presses sweet little kisses to your nape, until you’re purring and nearly dozing off.

Distantly, you feel how Felix slides closer, glues himself to your front, warm, silky skin smelling like strawberries, his little boner poking into your leg, his arm slung over you. He nuzzles your nose with his and you hum happily, blindly throw an arm over him, too.

This may just be the beginning of your heat, but it’s already the best you’ve ever had.

Minho greets you, Felix and Chan a couple days later, when you emerge from your heats and the rut you’d inevitably thrown Chan into, with two omegas in heat begging from him 24/7. Hyunjin had to bring you food at some point, and just the smell of Changbin on him nearly sent him stark mad.

Now Minho just raises an eyebrow at his fellow alpha, as he saunters over.

“Greedy. Taking two of our prettiest omegas all for yourself.”

“Yeah, can your old man dick even keep up?” Seungmin taunts, but Chan just laughs.

He pulls you into his side, makes Felix on your other side stumble into you until you’re wedged between them.

“Yeah, if you ever need help taking care of them, let us know,” Minho teases and winks at you, giggles evilly when you blush furiously.

Chan’s arm on you tightens, fingers digging into your waist, pain blooming when he presses right into the smattering of bruises still blooming there from where he’d held you down.

“Absolutely not. They’re mine.”

Your heart sings.

Maybe one day you can have what you want. Two bites. One on each side of your neck. Marking you as taken. Marking you as theirs.

skzms masterlist // ko-fi

🔖 general taglist: follow and turn on notifications for my library account: @skzms-library 🔞 I monitor ages over there, just like I used to do with my taglist. I will block minors and ageless blogs, and you'll have to message me again to get unblocked. so just have your age in your bio before you follow!

#*chan #*felix #mmm alpha bang chan omega felix #skz #stray kids

2K notes · View notes

skzbow · 8 months ago

Photo

dear god he’s literally the most beautiful ever

prettiest boy !

#wahhh beautiful blonde boy!!!#stray kids #skz #lee know #lee minho

523 notes · View notes

skzbow · 8 months ago

Text

elf hyunjin is so gorgeous ems omg! the foot fetish is very hyune coded and you write it so sexy like 😵‍💫😵‍💫 it was never my thing but it might be now who knows

THE ELVEN WARRIOR : hwang hyunjin

kinktober

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

warnings: sindar/woodland realm elf!hyune (from lord of the rings/the hobbit), non-sexual bathing turned sexual bathing, ear kink (he’s an elf), toe sucking, hyunjin’s foot kink, foot worship, masturbation, cunnilingus, unprotected sex

a/n: you def don’t have to have seen/read anything tolkien related to read this! hyunjin does wax poetic about reader in sindarin though, but i’m including a little dictionary at the end so you can know what he says! thank you to @linofeet for finally watching lotr so i have even more of a reason to indulge myself <3 reblogs and comments are always appreciated :)

it’s not that anything feels particularly wrong, per se, when you hover in front of the heavy oaken door, it just feels… off.

off. that’s the best way you can put it, and it has you feeling uneasy where you stand. the arrowheads on the dual bows and arrows in the middle of the door look to be duller than usual, feathers fraying with use at the other end of the arrows as your eyes take in the carvings. you don’t have to give it much thought. even the slightly off-kilter feeling in the air could have clued you in.

blood has been shed, and hyunjin is hurt.

your heart thuds in your chest as you steady yourself in front of the door, resting your head on the cool oak to gather yourself before speaking.

“êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn.”

the sindarin words slip fluidly from your lips, and the runes at the top of the door flash a brilliant white as the door begins to rattle. there's no knob on this side of it because your voice allows you access in, but something inside clicks like it’s unlocking regardless. the door eases open a crack and you’re rushing to push it open fully so that you can slip inside.

you rush inside and close the door with your shoulders, leaning back on the oak until the door clicks shut with your weight.

you’ve walked straight into hyunjin’s bathing chambers, and that’s where you find him, soaking in the tub with his head thrown back against the wooden lip of it. there’s only one lantern on the wall that’s lit to leave the room shrouded in a peaceful darkness, mainly illuminated by the light from the window and the candles around hyunjin’s bath. his bows and arrows are stacked halfheartedly on the vanity that sits across from the tub — made of two tree stumps and a thick slab of wood — like he came straight to his bathing chambers after he returned home for the day.

“indeed it does!” he declares, lifting his head and smiling wistfully at you from where he sits. “join me, anna-nîn. glassen na chen cenin.”

you look down at yourself. the house clothed you in a short, silk nightgown that barely touches your thighs. there’s white, frilly lace framing the hem of the cups around your breasts and a small green bow right at the dip in the middle. it’s beautiful; hyunjin loves you in silk.

the tub is just as grand as the one relaxing in it. it’s made out of a large, carved out oak tree with an oaken spigot protruding from the wall for the water. it sits right in front of an equally-as-grand circular window overlooking the vast, dark greenery of mirkwood. the hazy sunlight backlights hyunjin in radiant, warm, orange light, and your feet carry you to him without thought. hyunjin lifts his hand to help you step into the tub, but instead of settling down in it like he would prefer, you sit comfortably on the sill of the window. he pouts.

now that you’re closer to him, you can see the bruises that litter his torso, the nicks sliced into the precious skin of his arms.

“you’re hurt,” you mumble, fussing your fingers at the tender flesh beside one of his bruises and frowning. hyunjin hums. he gathers your hands in his and kisses your knuckles. his are bruised and tender pink.

“ungoliant-spawn. wretched beasts,” he hisses. the great spiders. even the thought of them makes you shiver, and your hands tighten when you think about your beloved hyunjin having to get up close and personal with one to kill it. “all is well now. a scout alerted us of one lurking and it put up a fight, that’s all. it’s just a few cuts and bruises; they’ll be gone by nightfall.”

you know it’s true, but you still don’t like it.

the water sloshes gently as hyunjin settles himself backwards between your legs. he uses your pelvis as a pillow and lets go of your hands, only to wrap his long fingers around your ankles to massage your legs. he can still look up at you like this, so he does, leans his head back against your thigh and crinkles his eyes when they make contact with yours.

“would you please brush my hair?” he asks. it hits you then that hyunjin is needy. he may be the captain of mirkwood’s guard, but he’s tender-hearted and loving to his very core in spite of his military duties. he craves intimacy and benevolence after the scare he experienced earlier, so that’s what you’ll give him.

his dark hair is thrown into a messy, loose plait and tied with a strand of twine. your breath catches in your throat when you untie the twine and begin to sift your fingers through the braid to let his hair down. it cascades down his back after you’re done, silky and smooth and strong, the ends of it dipping lightly into the warm water of the bath. he gasps when you gather it in your hand like a ponytail and use your other hand to comb your fingers through the slightly curled strands.

touching an elf’s hair is an intimacy like no other, and the fact that hyunjin craves this with you never fails to make your heart fill with warmth.

the bristles of his brush are soft because his hair doesn’t tangle. the intricate, carved handle is cool to the touch when you take hold of it, and hyunjin sighs as you gently run the teeth through his hair. your fingers help too, gathering the strands together or straightening it out when you’re done brushing. it’s calming for both of you, hyunjin because the pampering makes him feel loved, you because of the repetitive motions and the feeling that you’re taking care of someone you care so deeply for.

hyunjin’s sweet, content sighs spur you on, but it isn’t until your fingers brush against the tip of his pointed ear that his noises turn raspier, more desperate. his body relaxes completely between the spread of your legs at the touch, nearly going limp at the treatment you’re giving him.

you lean forward then, placing the brush down on the windowsill where it came from and wrapping your arms fully around hyunjin. hyunjin’s arms come to snake around yours. the sloshing of the water and his dewy, wet skin soaks the thin fabric of your nightgown. you’ll pull it off soon, but for now, you settle on placing soft kisses against the warm skin of his ear, starting at the lobe and working your way up slowly to the pointed tip.

“s-s-sensitive,” he shudders. hyunjin tilts his head to the side to give you more room, and your bottom lip catches wetly on the point of his ear. he shivers when you make your way back down using your tongue, licking hotly at the pinkening skin. when you move on to give the same attention to his other ear, you cup your hand underneath his chin to move him where you want him.

you pull back and hyunjin quivers; he immediately turns his head to look at you with furrowed brows. that’s when you decide to take the gown off. the wet parts of the fabric stick to your skin, but it goes over your shoulders easily enough to leave you bare for him. you toss the gown into the pile where his rumpled clothes sit as hyunjin’s greedy hands reach for your waist, tugging you gently from the windowsill and into the bath water with him.

“cenedril af fae nîn… ‘law chîn thilia mi chinech,” hyunjin breathes. he moans when the skin of your stomach brushes against his thigh.

the water is perfectly warm and smells like the oils and candles hyunjin has set up all around the edge of the oak. it’s an oasis, curated perfectly to his needs after a hard day and made even better by your presence. he pulls you closer to him and kisses the between your breasts.

you cup his cheek. “let me bathe you.”

your knees pop when you shift on them, sitting up straighter so that you can reach hyunjin’s body better. there’s a net cloth on the edge of the tub, but hyunjin’s hand stops you quickly when you go to pick it up. the eye contact you make with him always feels like too much, like he’s looking so deep into your soul that he can see all of your cracks and crevices. your eyes dip down to his full lips but they ultimately trail back up to the warm brown of his.

“use your hands?” he asks quietly, and a small smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

it would be easier to get the grime off of his body with the cloth, but you both know that’s not what he’s looking for. you lather your hands with the bar of soap in the wooden bowl on the corner of the tub and bring it first to his shoulders, massaging the tight muscles until he groans. he holds his hair out of the way so you can wash down his back, and he leans back onto you again when you wrap your arms around his waist to lather his stomach and chest. you’re gentle there, paying close attention to the large bruise sitting dormant where his ribs rest.

you’re gentle with his hands too, doing your best to get the dirt and blood from underneath his fingernails and dabbing healing oil onto his cracked and bruised knuckles.

“i’m already feeling so much better,” hyunjin says. he presses tender kisses to your neck and jaw as you work your lather onto his thighs underneath the water. “you take such good care of me, meleth nîn, will you let me take care of you too?”

“but- but i’m… not done yet!” you fuss, scrubbing halfheartedly at his calf, but it’s so hard to focus with hyunjin tonguing at your pulse point.

it’s hard to focus, so you don’t. you let hyunjin guide your limbs until you’re reclined back against the sloping lip of the oak tub, legs spread and bent slightly so he can settle between your feet. you’re expecting his fingers between your thighs, not for him to lift one of your legs from the water by your ankle and bring it to his lips.

he starts at the bone of your ankle, eyes piercing into yours sensually as he slowly presses his lips there. the bath water drips off of your skin and hyunjin follows it with his tongue, lapping lightly at your ankle before kissing it again. he doesn’t stay there for long though; he teases at it with his teeth and noses to the bottom of your foot, pressing the ball to his lips so he can kiss you there too. your toes curl against his nose when he licks hotly at the wet skin, and it has a shrill whimper leaving your mouth.

“more,” he breathes against you. more noises, more sounds. he loves when you moan for him.

hyunjin closes his eyes in bliss. you watch him with your jaw dropped open, watching as he lets himself go completely, kissing and sucking and licking all across the bottom of your foot. he opens his eyes again only when his lips trail to your toes. they bore into yours then, fluttering and rolling back in his head for a moment when he sucks your two middle toes between his lips. hyunjin massages the sole of your foot while he works his mouth, licks wetly between the little digits and sucks them back inside again.

your back arches as he takes the other foot in his hold and brings it up to his face too. your palms are braced on either side of you so you don’t slip further down in the tub because you have a feeling that hyunjin might just be a little too preoccupied to notice. he goes back and forth between the two, mouthing against your feet like he hardly knows what to do with himself. he rubs their arches against his cheeks and moans loudly in response.

“they’re so soft,” hyunjin whimpers, before he sucks the big toe of your right foot into his mouth.

your cunt is pitifully wet underneath the water, sticky-wet and untouched and throbbing with all the attention hyunjin is paying to your feet. it sends a lick of embarrassment down your spine that this is what’s gotten you so worked up, but it’s gone before you can think too long about it. no one’s ever paid this much attention to your feet, no one’s ever liked them this much, not until hyunjin. it feels good; you feel sexy.

your fingers find their way between your legs as hyunjin continues to worship both of your feet. the first touch to your clit makes you sigh, it’s swollen and hardened with need, and rubbing your middle finger against it only makes your hips quake.

“hyunjinnie,” you moan, fingers speeding up. he hums around your toes, and it turns into somewhat of a purr when he sees what you’re up to. “that feels so good.”

he brings your feet down to rest on his shoulders so that he can watch you play with yourself for him. hyunjin rubs your ankles, caresses the tops of your feet with gentle thumbs. you can spread your legs a little more like this, so you widen the stance of your knees to give yourself more room. it spreads your labia, and the warmth tingles your clit when you feel the water directly on it.

“up. up, on the edge,” hyunjin rushes. his hands find your hips and help to maneuver you until your lower body is suspended out of the water. you’re almost seated in a squat, but you’re far enough up on the lip of the tub that it’s comfortable. your cunt is spread open like this. there’s no hiding from hyunjin’s roaming eyes. “melethril nîn, allow me to taste you…”

“fuck, please.”

you hardly have the wherewithal for much else, especially not when hyunjin noses right against your cunt and inhales deeply. it makes you shy, has your legs wobbling as your knees try to kiss each other, but hyunjin keeps his hands at your thighs to keep them open.

the first touch of his warm tongue has you mewling. your taste must be muted from the water, but you don’t think it will be for long with how much wetness you feel yourself steadily leaking. hyunjin spreads your lips with two slender fingers and licks right into your hole, wiggling it as deep as it’ll go so that he can taste you better. his silky hair falls around his face as he ducks his head to lap at your pussy; the soft strands tickle your already shaking thighs.

you card your fingers through his hair, brush it back from his face and gather it in your hands in a loose ponytail behind his head. your hold is gentle, but hyunjin cries out at the touch regardless. his tongue becomes more insistent then, it circles your clit roughly before he sucks it between his plush lips and bats his tongue against it that way. his mouth is always so warm, his tongue always so slick. he slurps loudly, eyeing your reaction as his cheeks hollow to suck hard against your clit. it makes you squeal, and hyunjin keeps repeating that same motion like he wants you to make that noise again and again and again. his hands crawl underneath you to cup your ass cheeks and lift you even higher out of the water to get at you better.

your fingers tighten in his long hair as hyunjin’s tongue rolls relentlessly against your clit. he grunts, eyebrows knitting when you use your grip on his hair to pull him into you just right.

it always builds so quickly, the burning in your gut does when hyunjin licks at you the way he is.

“s-stick your tongue out- yes, like that. stay there, stay right there, baby, oh my-!” you cry. hyunjin does as you say, sticking his tongue out and holding still so you can ride his face to your liking. your hips buck so harshly that water sloshes over the sides of the tub, but neither of you pay it any mind. your swollen clit brushes against the round of hyunjin’s nose when you grind forward and right back down onto his waiting tongue when your hips drop. it’s addicting, it’s maddening. you’re going to cum so hard.

his strong, dexterous hands keep you above the water when your legs begin to tremble with effort. you’re panting, exhaling a pathetic moan in every breath from all the pleasure you’re feeling. it isn’t until one of hyunjin’s pinky fingers creeps in between your cheeks to prod at your smallest hole that your body locks in place and you cum, right against the flat of hyunjin’s waiting tongue.

hyunjin picks up your slack when you stop moving, frantically bobbing his head to rub his tongue against you to help you ride out your orgasm. he moans with you, lets you grip his beautiful hair as hard as you want.

“get- here. here, hyunjin, fuck me, please come here.”

he scrambles forward on his knees until the head of his hard cock bumps against your pulsing clit.

hyunjin grips himself in hand and fumbles for another vial of oil on the edge of the tub, eases the tip to your hole, but he pauses to look at your face. he smiles then, thumbs the corner of your lips and presses his forehead to yours, a particularly elven sign of familiarity and love.

“thîr vain chîn darn thulen.”

“thalion nîn,” you breathe, tilting your head so your forehead bumps against his again. “an ngell nîn, take what you need from me.”

he doesn’t need any other convincing than that. hyunjin fucks himself inside and sighs deeply, leaning more of his weight on you like your body has soothed him to his very core. his hair curtains your faces.

hyunjin rolls his hips until they’re pressed against you fully, cock so deep you think you might feel him in your lungs. he leans in to kiss you then, swallowing your whimpers and whines and feeding you his own to take their place. you cup his head in your hands, and hyunjin’s beautiful noises rise in pitch when your thumbs caress the sensitive points of his ears.

“i will not last like this,” he rasps. not with the way your cunt squeezes him, not with your fingers touching his ears or playing with his hair. hyunjin takes one of your tits in hand and squeezes, jiggling the flesh before squeezing it again.

the splashing of the water is loud enough that it almost covers the frantic sounds of your coupling. the slapping of skin, the moans of pleasure. you can only hope that the woodland realm’s iavas festivities are merry enough to block the pleasure filled sounds coming from their captain of the guard’s bathing chambers.

hyunjin takes hold of your slippery waist to drag you down on his cock, and you watch as the thick veins in his arm bulge with the movements. hyunjin is so beautiful that it’s unbearable, unbelievable, he’s so elegant and capable that it has your eyes crossing in your skull.

“you’re so fucking hot,” you cry. your eloquence is lost, but thrives off of your bluntness. “so- so big, so big inside me, hyunjinnie, wanna cum on your cock.”

“yes!” hyunjin pleads. “yes, please- i beg, let me feel it!”

you squeak when he doubles down and fucks you harder, caging you against the oak in his desperation to rut into you deeply and make you cum. he fucks you so frantically that you’re worried about the state of his knobby knees on the hard bottom of the tub, but hyunjin pays it no mind. he’s so responsive to the clenching of your cunt that it makes your head spin, always moaning loudly in appreciation or biting his sinful bottom lip.

the muscles in your thigh tremble when his cock hits that special gummy spot inside, the one that makes your toes curl and your back arch.

“there?” hyunjin asks, focusing all his energy on fucking you steadily to get you to make that noise again. “you like it best right there?”

you can’t even speak. you want to tell him yes, you love it, you love him. you want to beg, plead for your own orgasm and for his, but you can’t make a sound. your breath catches wetly in your throat when hyunjin’s thumb nestles against your swollen clit and that’s it— he catches your thigh in his grasp as you thrash through your orgasm, each deep stroke punching pitiful little gasps from your throat.

hyunjin continues to fuck you until his own pleasure crests, and he spills inside of you with a moan that rivals the sound of music. his fingers clutch the skin of your thighs as he shivers through his orgasm, curling in on himself and subsequently curling more into you in the process. hyunjin’s silky hair is coiling at the roots with sweat and the ends are soaked from where they were dipped in the water.

there’s hardly any left in the tub. both you and hyunjin look over the edge of the oak to see water pooling all around the basin. he giggles then, something joyous and light, and places his chin on the lip of the oak to look fondly at you.

“did you happen to bring any towels?”

sindarin dictionary!

êl síla erin lû e-govaned vîn - a star shines on the hour of our meeting

anna-nîn - my gift

glassen na chen cenin - it is my joy to see you

cenedril af fae nîn - mirror to my soul

‘law chîn thilia mi chinech - your radiance shines like the moon

meleth nîn - my love

melethril nîn - my beloved

thîr vain chîn darn thulen - your beauty took my breath away

thalion nîn - my champion

an ngell nîn - please (lit. for my joy)

iavas - autumn

found most of these beautiful translations here!

#*hyunjin #stray kids #skz #hyunjin also is very much elf coded he’s gorgeous

412 notes · View notes

skzbow · 8 months ago

Text

THE STATUE : lee minho

kinktober

pairing: lee minho x afab!reader

warnings: predator/prey chase, manhandling, messy kissing, spit, unprotected sex, face slapping, thigh riding, creampie

a/n: despite the tags this is actually a lot more tender horny than you might expect LOL. i had soo much fun writing this one! i hope you all enjoy as much as i did. reblogs and comments are always appreciated :)

the grass is cool underneath your bare feet when you step through the second door.

you didn’t change clothes when you opened the door back into your home hallway after your time with chan, but like magic, your attire changes right as you step into this particular world. you don a white sundress now, something flowy and thin and comfortable enough that you might try to sneak it back into your own closet when you get back home.

it’s midday here in the garden. the sun shines brightly, and the flowers lift toward it with reaching petals and growing stems.

the hedges are neatly trimmed, as always, snipped finely into squares and circles and — cats? it almost looks like a totem pole. it’s cute, a new addition to the garden that you haven’t seen before but will certainly never miss. the tall bush is sheared into the shape of three cat heads. they sit on top of each other, peering into the garden with pretty petal eyes and neatly pointed ears.

there’s a quaint garden table set placed next to it, and you can’t help but laugh. of course minho would want to spend his time relaxing next to the cat bush after a long day filled with gardening, sipping a cool glass of ice lemonade and kicking his feet up in the chair opposite of him.

you sit for a moment at the cute little bistro set, plucking minutely at the hem of your dress and taking in the beautiful efforts minho has made in the garden. it’s his pride and joy, his life’s work, and you are always able to see his dedicated endeavors in maintaining the greenery before you.

the garden maze is your favorite thing he’s created. it’s breathtaking - made solely of rows and rows of pristinely clipped bushes. they wind and swirl until you find your way to the eye of it, the middle, where a great fountain sits.

the only fountain you’re interested in now though is the one sitting right across the garden. you can see it plainly from where you’re resting in the chair, you can hear the splashing of the water where it flows serenely from the tiers and into the receptacle at the bottom. minho’s there, as always. stone still and frozen in a kneel as the watering basin he holds pours endlessly into the fountain. he’s handsome even like this; his cast stone features still manage to make warmth bloom in your stomach just like his human skin does.

it’s with said warmth blooming that you decide to make your way to the fountain. you stare at minho from across the water, the flow distorting his features before you. it’s blissfully cool when you lift your foot to step into the fountain, rucking up the bottom of your dress and clutching the fabric to your thighs so it doesn’t get wet. you walk slowly across the fountain, feet splashing in the water, until you reach the edge of it where minho sits.

you lower yourself onto your knees in front of him. it doesn’t matter that the bottom of your dress falls into the water now, nothing matters but the statue in front of you. your fingers trail along his thighs first, his thick thighs that already have your mouth watering. they trace his shin, the top of his foot, the smooth plain of his stomach. a giggle floats between your teeth because you know he knows what you’re doing; you know he can feel your touch.

the water sloshes lightly when you lean forward. his cheek is cool and hard against the pucker of your soft lips, a juxtaposition you’ve come to be quite fond of. your lips kiss his cheek, his neck, and it isn’t until your hand reaches between his legs for his cock that you kiss his mouth. it’s something chaste and sweet, as sweet as it can be to kiss a statue. he likes this though - the naughty game you play together, the fact that he turns you on even like this.

his cock is soft, hard as rock between your fingers but naturally soft, even though you know he won’t be for long. his lips are the same, but the smallest shudder of breath coming from between the thin seam of them has you easing back on your haunches.

minho begins to thaw under your fingertips. you can feel the stone transforming into something softer, something human.

when you look up and into his eyes, they’re brown and filled with mirth. his pupils shake when they search yours, and you grin at him before standing to your feet.

it takes a while sometimes, this process does. every ounce of minho’s handsome body must turn from stone back into human flesh - you can hear the stone cracking and shifting slowly as it does. you were worried it was painful at first, but minho reassured you once that it was more of a nuisance than anything else, more painful of a wait than actual pain.

you take a step back as his hair turns dark and silky and falls over his forehead.

“hi, minho,” you say, a toothy grin still spread wide on your face. “i’d kiss you again, but i think you’re gonna have to catch me if you want it…”

that’s when you break off into a sprint, feet high-stepping over the wall of the fountain and carrying you quickly to the mouth of the garden maze. you risk one look back, one look just to see how far his transformation has come and how much of a head start you have, and you see a sharp grin spreading over his softening features.

adrenaline is already pumping hard through your body, so you turn around to hightail it into the maze.

you’ve been all the way through it before — several times even — but the maze always seems to change. it seems never ending, impossible. you make it past the first swirl of bushes before you hear minho’s water basin drop to the ground with a heavy clang. it almost makes you squeal, fear spiking and making your chest hot to the touch where your heart beats frantically. you slap a hand over your mouth to keep silent and remain on the path, sprinting around bushy dead ends and past the curves and endless angles of the walls inside the maze.

it almost feels like a scene from a horror movie, something you’d watch huddled under a blanket with a bowl of popcorn in your lap and a hand half covering your eyes when the music picks up. a damsel in distress, running panic-stricken through the woods and tripping over nothing while the slasher walks behind, slowly and sinisterly. they always get caught in the end, don’t they?

minho cackles when he reaches the entrance to the maze - it sends another chill down your spine, heart pounding in your chest. it’s only a matter of time before he finds you, but you’ll make him work for it until he does. you take another hurried turn and run right into a dead end. there’s no time to think, not with minho catching up with you. he knows this maze frontwards and backwards and with his eyes closed. he made it with his own hands after all.

you sprint through the maze as best you can until you’re nearly gasping for breath. the grass is cool and soft underneath your feet, soft enough that the rustle of them through the blades is quieter than it would be anywhere else.

minho makes his presence known though, and he does it on purpose because he knows how much it makes your heart pound. you can hear that joyous, maniacal laugh every so often; his hands shake the bushes so that you can hear him coming. he’s closing in on you, he’s closer than you thought, and you can’t help the broken whimper you let out when you meet another dead end head on. a split second decision has you dropping to your knees and crawling underneath the wall of the bush, scooting deep enough under it that minho can’t possibly see the white of your dress, the color of your sweat-slicked skin.

your hand comes to your mouth to stop the gasp you want to let free so badly. his bare feet walk slowly around the corner and he pauses where he stands. all you can do is lay there and wait with bated breath. it catches in your throat and your body locks completely still when he steps towards the bush you’re hiding under.

“blossom,” he sings, something airy and faux sweet. your eyes squeeze shut. “where did my pretty petal go?”

he laughs. you’re almost expecting him to peek under the bush to really get you shrieking, but he doesn’t — he steps away from the bush and keeps walking, rounds the dead end to keep on his way. you hold your breath even after his feet move from your sight and the sound of rustling fades from your ears.

it’s completely silent, eerily so, but you finally let out a shaky breath when you feel like he’s off your trail.

you should know better than that.

it turns into a shrill scream soon enough; there’s a rough hand on your ankle and you’re being tugged out from underneath the safety of the bush before you can even inhale the breath you just let out. you kick your legs, digging your fingers into the grass as if it’ll save you from your captor. minho just laughs and blocks the frantic kicking of your legs with his strong arms. he pushes at your hip until you’re turned over on your back and that really gets you flailing, legs still kicking and arms now joining in the mix.

the look on minho’s face is positively wild. his smile is wide, his eyes are wide, and the laugh coming from his mouth would probably scare any normal person. the adrenaline spikes again, but you’re more excited than anything now. he’s got you where he wants you. a fly in the maw of a venus fly trap. completely, utterly caught.

your arms tire quicker than you like, or maybe minho’s just that strong. he pins them to the ground with an ease that has heat swirling in your gut, has your cunt clenching desperately already.

it’s then that your legs give out. they spread on their own, without his insistent coaxing. it’s hard to keep up with anyway, the facade you put up… like you don’t want to be exactly where you are. like you didn’t want him to catch you in the first place.

minho cocks his head and it has you whimpering. if you pout hard enough, your eyes will tear up. you know he’ll love that.

he coos at you when your eyes begin to glisten.

“pretty dew drops,” minho sighs. “in those teary little eyes…”

you’re beautifully pliant when he fusses with your dress. minho loves sundresses on you, loves the ease they give him to get at your body and loves how they look on you in general. the white makes you look more innocent than the two of you know you are, pure, virgin white. esteemed lily of the valley, radiant gardenia.

minho’s devilish grin softens as your body is bared to him. he eyes the swell of your tits, the softness of your stomach. minho kneads at your hips, digs his fingers into your skin until you’re writhing.

“why would you ever run from me when i would find you anywhere?” he hums. “i’ll find you every time, no matter what. all i wanted was my kiss.”

he gets it — takes it. minho blankets you when he leans down, and your lips are parting for him before his lips even reach yours. he surprises you then, a small ounce of payback for the little game you played, by taking your bottom lip between his teeth and biting. it’s hard enough that your eyes squeeze shut; it forces a tear to trail into your hairline and a pitiful whimper to leave your mouth. he tugs at it meanly with his teeth until finally letting go to kiss you for real. it’s rough from the start, all spit and tongue and teeth, and minho takes charge of it completely. you kiss him back with all you’re worth, arching against his body and circling his tongue with yours messily until he’s patting your cheek to get your attention.

minho grips your chin with two fingers and uses his hold on you to open your mouth. your tongue lolls out because you know he wants, and minho sucks it between his lips. your stomach clenches and your hips roll, bucking wildly against his thick thigh that rests snugly between your legs. minho’s cheeks hollow as he sucks sloppily on your tongue. heat builds and builds and builds in your stomach at the noises it makes. his plump lips are slick when he pulls back, and you know what he wants before he ever opens his mouth to speak. you stick your tongue out of your mouth further just for minho to slap it with two fingers. it doesn’t take long for a glob of frothy spit to land on your quivering tongue — no sooner than it lands does minho lean in again with his lips pursed, spreading the spit on the pad of your wet tongue with his lips. it’s sloppy, so fucking sloppy, and spit trails down your chin when he pushes more saliva through the pucker of his lips and onto your waiting tongue.

you only swallow the mess when he pulls away to see what he’s made of you. you make a show of it for him too, swiping your fingers against your sopping wet chin and pushing the remnants between your lips, sucking on your fingers.

“you put up such a fight, but look at you now…”

writhing on the grass, dress pushed over your tits and your fingers fucking your own mouth. call it what it is; you’re whoring yourself out for him.

“i just wanted to play with you,” you whine, fingers slipping from your slick mouth.

minho eases onto his elbows and cubs your cheek in one of his warm palms while the other places itself on the crown of your head. he’s always so warm, as bright as the sun, that’s why the flowers trust him so much.

“playful petal.”

he nuzzles his nose against yours, kisses your top lip before gazing into your bleary eyes. there’s a tender, closed-mouth smile on his face that he only reserves for the things he loves, and you’re lucky enough to be one of them. his eyelashes are so long, you’d count them one by one if you only had the wherewithal. minho’s thumb taps a rhythm against your cheek that has you gasping, and you nod your head earnestly because you know what he’s asking.

his hand doesn’t rear back until your eyebrows furrow with want.

you register the crack of the slap before you feel its sting, and both have you moaning into the air between you. the hit would have had your head shunting to the side, but minho’s hand on your head keeps you in place. he breathes in your moan, kisses it softly from your lips as his thumb caresses the heated skin of your cheek.

“yes!” you warble, voice catching in your throat. “fucking- yes! please, a-again?”

“i’m so nice to you, giving you everything you want,” he sighs like he’s put upon, but he’s far from that. the hand from your cheek reaches down to grip at your hips, pulling at it until you’re grinding against his thigh again. once the circling of your hips picks up in a frantic rhythm, he slaps you again. you clutch at his shoulders like your life depends on it, like he’s the only thing that can ground you. it feels too good, too much, the pain and the pleasure he so willingly gives you. “do you want to know a secret?”

you nod. that’s all you have the power to do, but you want to know. you want to know everything that comes to his mind.

“i love you more than anything in this world,” minho whispers against your swollen lips. he kisses you then, a kiss so tender it makes your face crumple in a sob.

“i love you,” you cry. your nails rake down his back as your hips swivel desperately against the meat of his thigh. “i love you, i lov- love you, minho. my minho, my- oh!”

you freeze when you cum, body locking where you’re pressed tightly against him. you’re frozen still until he takes your hip in his hand again and forces you to move. you can feel the muscles in his arm bulging as you clutch at him, shivering apart with his help.

“blooming for me,” minho coos, and he’s pushing the head of his cock inside your fluttering cunt before you’re done feeling the last of your aftershocks. you can cum again like this, you know you can, it’ll be so easy with minho’s cock spearing itself deep inside your soaked cunt. you can feel him all around you, you can feel him everywhere. inside and out.

he cups both palms underneath your head so it doesn’t hit the ground when his thrusts sharpen. his teeth grit, and your eyes lock on his sweet, crooked front tooth. he’s so beautiful always but especially beautiful when he feels pleasure that your body gives him, that you give him.

you don't have to reach down to touch your clit because the angle of minho’s dexterous hips has his pubic mound rubbing right against it. the coarse hair there gets your eyes rolling, and minho hums deep in his throat when your moans float into the air.

minho ruts into you so deeply that you’re sure his knees will be stained green by the grass.

“fuck me until you cum,” you cry. you want to get him there so badly after the chase you put him through earlier. you do everything you can, clenching your cunt until he’s sighing dreamily and running your hands over every bit of his body you can reach. somehow though, your efforts get you there first, along with minho’s cock bullying itself where you’re gummy and silky soft. you bloom for him again, like you always do, pulsing and throbbing on his cock that steadily pistons inside of you.

that’s what ultimately gets minho there too, and he leans back on his haunches and pulls out far enough that only the tip of his soaked cock remains in the hold of your cunt. he jacks himself inside of you, twisting the base of his dick with a rough hand.

“ask me for it again,” he grits. the knuckles of minho’s fingers lightly tap against your swollen labia as he polishes himself. “beg for my cum and i’ll give it to you.”

your hips buck at his words. you reach for his arms, gripping onto his forearms desperately.

“please give it to me!” he makes it so easy for you to beg. you want his cum more than anything, want him to empty himself somewhere warm and tight and wet. “please, i- oh, minho, my pussy wants your cum so bad. i want you to cum, i want it inside me- p-please, please cum inside me, baby, f-fuck!”

you’re lucky he’s in a giving mood. he may have jokingly fussed about your little game earlier, but that’s all it was. he loves the chase, loves when you feel playful enough to mess around with him and have fun. minho dips his thumb into your mouth when he starts to cum, roughly jacking his cock until his cum spurts ropes inside of your clenching cunt. his stomach caves in and his thighs shake sweetly - they shake so hard that you move your hands to them to feel it, to feel the way you make his body react.

his softening cock slips from your hole with a slick noise, and his cum follows when you make an effort to push it out. minho thumbs one of your puffy lips to the side to watch it drip slowly down to your asshole with a satisfied quirk to his mouth.

you’re so focused on minho that it takes you several moments to notice something tickling at your back and sides. you only rouse from your daze when the feeling becomes more incessant, and that’s when you see that there’s a fresh bed of flowers blooming underneath and around you. beautiful reds and yellows and blues, whites to match your pretty dress that he likes so much. pinks and reds to match the flushing of minho’s cheeks.

the flowers reach for you just as minho does, but the softness of their petals could never compare to the softness of his lips when he kisses you.

#playful mimo my beloved #i can literally hear his cackle btw he’s so cute #*minho #stray kids #skz

864 notes · View notes

skzbow · 8 months ago

Text

i think abt this fic all the time bc i literally need to fall in love with lee minho. him being such a doting big brother and wanting to have a baby of his own ��‍💫 the BREEDING 😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 might be one of my fav fics of all time tbh

Lost in Translation

Pairing: Lee Minho x fem reader

W/c: 26.5k

Warnings: accidental nudity, hospital visit, mention of masturbation, use of pet names, breast/nipple play, clitoral stimulation, unprotected sex, bulge kink, sexual asphyxiation, breeding kink, creampie, oral sex (male receiving), brief mention of pregnancy

Synopsis: The older brother of the boy you babysit is an enigma, in every sense of the word- and you’re determined to figure him out.

[this work was based off a request by @antoniorhinothethird - thank you for requesting!]

18+. Mdni!

•

The idea of babysitting isn’t some brilliant proposal you conjured up in a day- but it’s not exactly a choice, either. The idea isn’t even yours, in fact, the advertisements you published on the colorful inquiry site at your mother’s behest. But “college courses are virtual these days” and “you’ll be a mother at some point in your life,” according to her. So two months into the semester, you’ll now spend the majority of your time in a new place you’ll call home, just 30 minutes out at the Lee Household.

The Lee household is considerably larger than you’d originally anticipated it to be, spanning a sizable amount of grassland and standing nobly tall at 2 stories high. The exterior of the flashy home is surrounded by paved gravel driveways, lining the neat rows of bushels and vines that surround the off-white architectural build. Giant glass windows reflect sunlight in nearly every room of the house, with the exception of the dimly-lit library on the second floor, which flaunts colossal cherry wooden bookshelves that line the walls and cover most of the smaller windows.

“Joon is usually very mellow in the daytime,” Mrs. Lee tells you as she walks you through a tour of the garden. “You’ll only have to worry about his feeding schedules, which I’ve already written and posted on the refrigerator.”

She pivots in front of you, stopping for a moment and gesturing to the stone fountain by the rose bushes. “Do you like it? It was a gift from my husband. When he’s not running the furniture business, he works in restoration a lot. This was his first project.”

“Wow,” you say, your lips parted at the sight of the koi fish and the cascading waterfall from its lips. “It’s very beautiful.”

Mrs. Lee smiles at you in response, turning on her heel and continuing to the iron gates in the front.

“Do you have any other questions?” She asks, clasping her hands together and shooting you a saccharine smile. She’s intimating, not because of her personality, which you quickly clock as rather warm and inviting. But rather, because she’s so elegant, her navy silk dress perfectly complementing the chunky pearl earrings she wears, making her look like a character from an old film. You’re not sure you’ve ever crossed paths with such an interesting woman before.

“I think that covers everything,” you say finally, giving her a small bow. “I’ll be sure to provide updates throughout the day.”

“Oh, no need,” she says quickly. “Unless it’s an emergency, l know you’ll have your hands full doing your work while watching Joon. Feel free to just give us a little summary when we’re home for the evening.”

She shoots you a little wink when she finishes speaking, clasping her hands together again and smiling down at you.

“We’ll see you tomorrow for your first day!” She exclaims warmly, opening gate doors as you make your exit out of the garden. When you begin down the paved road, Mrs. Lee suddenly gasps, calling out to you again in a frantic manner.

“Oh! Y/n, wait please!” She calls, pulling the skirt of her dress up to her ankles to jog over to where you’re standing.

“My other son will be home from school in the afternoon tomorrow. Don’t be alarmed if you hear him moving about the house. He’ll just keep to himself.”

You ponder the words for a moment, a little frustrated when you realize there will be two kids in the household instead of one, like she’d previously mentioned. But you just nod and smile at her, seeing yourself out of the driveway once again and beginning the journey back home to prepare for your first day here tomorrow.

This castle-at-end-of-the-road is eerily quiet when no one’s home, a once lively sight of rose bushes and marble statues appearing like something out of a horror movie when you’re by yourself. At every corner you turn, your brain runs rampant with paranoia, placing shadowy figures and silhouettes of people where there are none- except for when you’re in the presence of Joon.

At just a year old, Joon is considered one of the cutest ages, only being able to babble incoherent noises and flail his little hands around when he wants something. His closet is full of matching neutral tones, per his mother’s styling, and his sparse black hair is combed neatly to one side.

Mrs. Lee is right about him- he doesn’t cry. Nor does he ever make a fuss, really. He simply sits quietly, in the comfort of his crib, or his high chair, and he curiously peers at the world around him. You’re certain he’s taken a liking to you already, judging at how he smiles when you spoon-feed him mashed carrots and mimic airplane noises. And he only cries briefly once in the day, stopping almost immediately when you put him down for his nap.

This may be an easier gig than you thought.

While Joon naps, you take the opportunity to get some work done in the library, settling comfortably on the velvet armchair in the corner and running through a few of your online class assignments for the week.

Although you’ll be babysitting here for the next few weeks, you’re also completing your final year at university this year, your last semester being completely remote. Which gives you time to take on the babysitting task as a side hustle, and hopefully save enough money to travel a bit after university like you’ve always dreamt of.

At half past noon, Joon is still peacefully asleep in his crib where you’ve left him, the ambient sound of waves echoing softly from his baby monitor as little snores emit from his curled lips. He looks like an angel when he sleeps, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell to twice its size at the sight of him.

The gentle breeze of the October wind travels through the open windows of the library, sending chills up your spine when you sit down to work again. You get up from where you’re sitting on the armchair to latch the windows shut, making sure to lock them, before turning around to take your seat again- quickly startled by the figure standing in the doorway.

“Jesus,” you yelp, one hand clutching your chest in fear as you nearly drop your laptop.

The figure- or man, rather, says nothing, scanning the room like he’s searching for something, before turning on his heel and exiting the room once again.

He’s tall, with a slim yet muscular build, honey tanned skin complementing his chocolate brown tresses. He’s also dressed rather casually in a pair of light-wash jeans and a black top, a black leather jacket thrown over his broad shoulders and left unzipped.

“Sorry, did you need something?” You call out, perplexed by his demeanor. You can’t remember if the Lees warned you of potential visitors, but you’re suddenly panicked for Joon, remembering you left his door open.

“Nope,” the man calls out over his shoulder, not turning around to face you. And then you see it- a black backpack, slung over one shoulder and seemingly filled to the brim with textbooks.

Their other son.

This must be the son Mrs. Lee warned you would be making appearances in the afternoon. But you had assumed him to be much younger, especially considering he’s definitely old enough to be watching over his own brother.

Before you can gather your thoughts to introduce yourself, he’s gone again, disappearing down the hall the same way he so mysteriously appeared. And you wonder, briefly, how he can be so much colder than his own mother.

The first day of your new job is a success. When Mrs. Lee returns home for the evening, she pays you in cash, true to her traditional style, and sends you home with a tin of shortbread cookies as another ‘thank you’, though she’s already voiced it a million times. But the second day is rougher than the first, reminding you of why babysitting isn’t always an easy task despite what it may seem.

Joon is particularly antsy today, flailing his arms around when you try to spoon feed him and whining relentlessly when you pick him up. He needs several diaper changes in just your first few hours of working, and when you finally do get him clean, he’s a crying, screaming mess.

Fortunately, he still goes down for his nap at noon, which means you have a narrow window of time to complete your work for the day and get freshened up. The windows in the library are propped wide open again, a cold breeze coming through as you settle in your new favorite spot and open your laptop.

There are a myriad of assignments to complete today, and you’re briefly panicked that you won’t be able to complete the necessary few pieces if Joon suddenly wakes again. But still, you try, skimming through textbooks and typing away as much as you can to make steady progress. And at the hour mark, Joon begins to cry. Rather he wails, loudly, from the other room, startling you when you’re already in deep concentration working through a practice quiz.

You make your way down the hallway and to the right, where Joon’s room is, approaching the crib and catching a glimpse of his anguished state. His face is a robust shade of red as he wails loudly, bubbles of saliva forming at his nostrils and his eyes squeezed shut. You guide him out of the crib and into the safety of your arms, shushing him gently and rocking him back and forth the way Mrs. Lee taught you. And Joon calms instantly, hiccuping through tears as he locks his gaze on yours and fists at strands of your hair.

“That’s okay,” you coo at him, grazing your finger along his chin and cleaning some of the drool that dribbles from the corners of his lips. “I’m here. Look at you! You’re okay,” you continue, giggling at him when his quivering lips pull into a small smile. He softens in your arms, smiling and babbling with hushed sounds, clutching tightly on strands of your hair as you balance him in your arms.

“You want to come do some work?” You ask, nodding your head as if to coax an answer out of him. “That’s a good baby, huh? Let’s go do some work.”

And you travel back to the library with Joon in your arms, giving him gentle pats on his back as you hoist him tighter into your embrace and balance your laptop with one arm.

When you’re starting on your last task of the evening, you’re interrupted again today by Mrs. Lee’s eldest son, who pokes his head in the doorway and observes as you coo down at Joon’s sleeping figure while working on your computer with one hand.

“Do you want me to take him?” You hear from the doorway, and you crane your neck to look where he’s standing, his hands shoved in his pockets and his backpack slung lazily over one arm.

“I’m okay,” you respond, typing out a word with one hand. He furrows his eyebrows at your failed attempt, approaching you and reaching out his arms to take Joon from your embrace.

“You can’t work like this,” he says, as he peacefully transfers Joon to his own arms. “He won’t wake up if I put him back, I promise.”

“Thanks,” you reply, taking note of his features now that he’s at a closer proximity to you for the first time. He has large round eyes, and long eyelashes that make even you jealous. His nose bridge is sharp and straight, and when he chuckles softly at Joon, you notice his skewed front teeth, ones that make his smile seem sweeter- softer.

As he begins out the doorway, you try to think of what to say to him, not wanting to have another awkward run-in with him like your last one. But nothing comes to mind that won’t be just as awkward as the encounter itself, and you settle on painful silence once again.

As you unlock your laptop, continuing on to your last assignment, you hear the faint noise of Mrs. Lee’s elder son putting Joon back to sleep.

Except he sounds different than he has during your two previous encounters. He’s laughing, babbling, even cooing at Joon as he puts him back to sleep. And though you really shouldn’t intrude, you make your way to the doorway again, where you peer down the hall to listen in on the endearing noises he makes.

“Are you sleepy?” He asks, his voice two octaves higher than usual. “Let’s sleep now, okay? No, you can’t have my shirt. That’s mine, remember? Let’s have good dreams now. I love you!”

You hear Joon giggling from the end of the corridor and you smile to yourself, wholly moved by the tender little moment he shares with his baby brother. He might not be his full-time caregiver, but he certainly knows what he’s doing. As you stay pondering his behavior for a moment, you don’t even notice when he exits the room again, turning to watch you standing around the doorway. Your ear is still leaned into the corridor, clearly having listened in on the private moment.

“Sorry,” you say quickly, straightening your posture, a wave of embarrassment quickly washing over you. “I was making sure Joon got to bed okay.”

He just nods once, looking you over briefly before meeting your gaze again.

“Minho,” he then practically mutters, averting your gaze as he waits for you to speak.

It’s his name, you realize, barely even having registered what he said to you. He’s telling you his name.

“Y/n,” you respond quickly, giving him a small bow and smiling nervously.

And Minho says nothing, pivoting on his heel to exit the corridor and disappear all over again.

For two weeks, your job runs smoothly, no glaring problems or hangups. Joon remains fond of you, obedient at mealtimes and when he’s put to bed. And the system of completing your college coursework goes smoothly, being able to get through several assignments a day while Joon takes his afternoon nap. If anything, you might be more productive than you were before this job, despite balancing it between university.

It’s an overcast Tuesday afternoon, and you’ve spent most of your day working in Joon’s nursery on the rocking chair next to his crib. He’s been a little fussy today, but you find that he calms down a little at the repetitive clicking noises of your laptop keyboard. Once you’ve confirmed he’s asleep, little snores emitting from his lips, you gather your belongings and sneak away to the library again. Only this time, it’s not vacant.

Minho sits in your usual spot today, his legs propped up on the footrest in front of him and a book in his lap. He doesn’t even notice you in the doorway, strands of hair hanging loosely in front of his face as he scans the page of his book. He also looks significantly more casual than other days you’ve seen him around, wearing a plain black t-shirt and gray sweats, a pair of round wireframe glasses resting on the bridge of his nose.

He feels your gaze on him, shuffling about suddenly and closing his book.

“Sorry,” Minho says. “I was just… reading.”

He realizes how awkward he sounds, verbally conveying his actions to you like this, but he’s too caught off guard to form a more coherent string of words.

“It’s okay,” you say politely, setting your bag down on the floor and occupying the chair across from him.

“What book?” You ask, cocking your head at the small red novel he clutches in his lap.

“Hm? Oh, uh… it’s Love and Limerence. By Dorothy Tennov.”

You nod in response, studying the cherub painted on the cover, wielding a bow and arrow.

“Big romance fan?”

“No,” Minho says, chuckling at your words. “It’s a required read for my class.”

“How neat,” you reply. “What class requires romance novels these days?”

“My philosophy course,” Minho says, running the pads of his fingers over the raised text on the cover. “The psychology of emotion.”

“PHIL 105,” you say, knowing very well the course he speaks of.

“Yeah- you’ve taken it?”

“No, but I had a friend who did in freshman year. I’m in my last semester now- my remaining classes are virtual, though.”

“It’s my last semester, too,” Minho says with a little smile, fiddling with the lobe of his ear as he talks.

“Well best of luck to you in the final stretch,” you reply, shooting him a small smile back. “I hope it all goes smoothly.”

Minho gives a half nod, and then furrows his eyebrows together, like he’s just remembered something.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” he says suddenly, sitting up and gathering his belongings.

“Oh, I really don’t mind-”

“Catch you later,” He interrupts with a nervous tone, almost jogging out of the library and back down the corridor.

And just like the first day you met him, you maintain the same idea of him- he’s such an enigma. Appearing in and out of the household, not one to voice his thoughts or his opinions, no eagerness to know the stranger sitting in his house watching over his baby brother. But somehow, like the rest of the household, you can’t help but have a lingering curiosity for Minho, too.

“My husband and I might be late getting back today,” Mrs. Lee says one morning as you feed Joon his breakfast. His tongue dodges the plastic spoon, dribbling mashed food out from the corners of his lips and laughing when you go to dab his face clean with a napkin.

“That’s alright,” you reply, loading up the spoon with more food. “I can wait until you’ve arrived.”

“You will?” Mrs. Lee asks, a kind of sparkle in her eyes as she speaks. “That would mean the world to us. It’s just that my husband has an auction to attend today. And sometimes these events run longer than they’re meant to.”

“No problem at all,” you say, smiling at her as you turn your attention back to Joon. “Joon and I will just hang out a little longer today. Isn’t that right?”

He babbles something in response, a string of saliva trailing from his lips, and Mrs. Lee laughs at the sight.

“He’s really taken a liking to you!”

As she fixes Joon’s hair, Minho enters the kitchen, dressed for the day with his backpack already slung over his shoulder.

“Minho,” his mother says in a scolding tone. “No gum for breakfast. Have a fruit.”

“Can’t,” he replies curtly. “My philosophy exam is today.”

“What does that have to do with depriving yourself of food?”

“It’s bad luck to eat before an exam,” Minho retorts, coming around the granite island to kiss her on the cheek. “Besides,” Minho continues. “I’m ditching my second class, so I’ll be home a little earlier.”

When he turns around, his gaze meets yours, and he instantly stiffens.

His gaze turns cold again, his hands shoving in his jacket pockets as he says nothing to you. He just bows, once, and then turns to exit like he’s suddenly in some rush.

“Bye,” he calls out, and you’re not even sure who he’s addressing it to at this point.

“I should get going, too,” Mrs. Lee says to you. “I’ll call you when we leave the event tonight. And please, feel free to make yourself comfortable after Joon gets put to bed. There’s cash on the table if you want to order something for dinner, and extra blankets are in the upstairs closet if you get sleepy.”

“Thank you,” you say to Mrs. Lee as she gathers her car keys and handbag. And the house is quiet again when you’re all alone, with the exception of Joon’s heavy breathing as he stares at you curiously.

“It’s like a mansion here,” you say to your best friend as you balance Joon in your arms and crane your neck on your shoulder to hold the phone against your ear. “Mrs. Lee is so nice. I thought she’d be stuck up or something, but she’s like a second mother.”

“You hit the jackpot,” your friend voices on the other end of the line. “Any idea how long they need you around?”

“Not sure,” you reply, wiping the granite counter with a rag as you finish up the dishes. “Probably until their son is done with the semester.”

“Son?” She says excitedly. “Is he cute?”

“Please,” you echo, rolling your eyes. “His looks mean nothing considering he doesn’t say a word.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that. He just doesn’t talk. We go to the same university and it’s like pulling teeth trying to figure out something as simple as what his major is. I think he despises having me around.”

“I mean, to be fair, I wouldn’t love someone in my space 24/7. It’s probably a territorial thing.”

“He’s not a cat,” you respond, laughing lightly. “He’s a grown man. I just get the feeling he doesn’t like me.”

“Well I highly doubt that,” she says, and you can hear her shuffling about on her end of the line.

“Hey, I have to go,” she chimes in. “But I’ll talk to you later. Good luck with baby Joon and the cat man.”

“Thanks,” you reply, chuckling to yourself.

As you hang up the phone, you turn around to gather the last of the dishes, stopping in your tracks when you’re met with Minho himself.

He’s standing in the kitchen, popping a bubble of gum with his teeth, his gaze locked coldly on yours as he observes the place.

That’s right- he did say he would be home a bit earlier after his exam today. Was he standing there for the entirety of your conversation? You can’t recall how long the phone call lasted, or even the specifics of what you said. But you do know it certainly wasn’t good.

“Hi,” you say nervously, scanning his expression for a hint of what he’s thinking. But he provides you none, kicking off his boots and making his way up the stairs again.

The guilt is still eating away at you two hours later- Minho hasn’t descended the staircase once since the incident, and you can hardly focus on your school work at the thought of what he’s thinking of you.

Here you are, complaining about him seeming “cold” or “off”- the whole time you’re the one talking about him behind his back and stirring up drama. If he hated you before, he definitely despises you now. And if he's as close with his mother as he seemed this morning, you could be out of a job by tomorrow.

In reluctant steps, you ascend the wooden staircase, clutching a small mug of coffee and a stack of buttered toast. You remember Minho saying he’d have breakfast after his exam, a task he wasn’t able to complete due to your impolite conversation earlier. And while you’re not even sure he’s going to give you the time of day anymore, it’s worth a shot to try.

At the top of the staircase, you realize you’re unsure of which room even belongs to Minho. There are rows of doors down the corridor, which you peer into, looking for any sign of him.

A closet, another closet, the laundry room… it feels like a futile task at this point- not to mention, the sinking feeling that you’re intruding, poking into every room in the house like this.

But at the end of the hallway, just across the staircase from Joon’s room, lies one more closed door you haven’t tried yet, and you’re sure this one has to be his.

With a deep breath, you balance the mug of coffee on the plate you’re carrying, bringing your free hand up to knock, just once.

No answer.

You pause for a moment, debating whether to just leave and drop the idea of an apology altogether. But you don’t, instead forcing yourself to knock once more this time, a little harder than the first.

And after muffled sounds of shuffling about, the door finally opens again, Minho standing with a confused expression on his face. He has a pair of earphones in, one side pulled out to hear you, his glasses sat on his face and a number of textbooks on the bed behind him.

“Is Joon okay?” He asks, looking down the hall in panic as you meet his gaze.

“What? Oh! Yes, he’s fine. He’s sleeping.”

“Oh. What are you…”

“I… made you some breakfast. I know you didn’t have any before your exam this morning. And no, gum isn’t a breakfast food.” You chuckle lightly as you hold the items out to him, and Minho looks down at them, blinking a few times before speaking.

“Oh. Uh, thanks. You didn’t have to do that.”

“It’s no problem. Should I leave them with you?”

“Oh, you can put them on the desk over there,” Minho replies, and it’s then that you notice his hands are full with papers. He steps aside to let you in, gesturing to the desk with a piece of paper, and you oblige, clearing the space of a few scattered items and setting down his breakfast.

When you turn around to look at the place, your lips part in awe at the sight of the grandiosity of it. Minho’s room has bigger windows than any of the others you’ve seen, concave around a crescent-shaped seating area that boasts tall ceilings and large glass windows. There are books lining the floors, the desk space and even the window sills, many of them left bookmarked or lying open where they sit.

His giant wooden bed frame is almost hidden behind a hanging curtain, and his desk is nearly inhabitable at the amount of university paraphernalia that lives on its surface.

“Wow,” you say, craning your neck to look around the room. “It’s really nice in here.”

“Thanks,” Minho says awkwardly, toying with a loose hem on his pants.

“You really like reading,” you comment, taking note of the books he has lying around. When you say this, Minho seems to stiffen a bit, shutting some of the books and lining them on their spines along his shelves.

“Yeah,” he mutters, dropping a few books and kicking them away from him.

You nod at him, pursing your lips, well aware that you’re in the midst of yet another awkward interaction with him, but wanting to fulfill the reason you came up here all the same.

“Listen,” you begin. “I wanted to apologize. I don’t know how much you heard of that, but I assume it was enough to be hurt by it. And you’re justified in being hurt. It was totally uncalled for of me to say those things- and sure, you might be a quiet person. But that doesn’t make it okay for me to go around airing it out like it’s my business. In fact I shouldn’t even be on my phone on the job. I’m here to watch your brother, and I get paid for that service, and it’s completely unprofessional-”

“It’s cool,” Minho says, an unchanging expression on his face.

“Oh, um… I mean, if you want to fire me I totally understand.”

Minho chuckles softly, and then shakes his head. “I’m not going to fire you. I am quiet. It’s cool. Really.”

“I mean, I totally get that-”

“Unless you want to be fired?” He inquires with a half-smile, and you chuckle softly in response.

“I really don’t. I love watching your brother.”

“Good,” he replies. “Then we’re all good.”

And although you want to say something else to him, you don’t, feeling as though you should be satisfied with the state of the conversation. You apologized, he forgave you, and you haven’t lost your job. And he’s still quiet, but that’s just who he is.

When Joon wakes from his afternoon nap, it’s nearly 3pm. He’s a crying mess when he’s up again, flailing his arms around to beg for a bottle, which you promptly prepare for him after a diaper change.

With Joon in your arms, you get some chores around the house finished, including vacuuming the rugs, dusting off the furniture and tidying Joon’s toys that are usually scattered about his nursery.

Doing chores wasn’t an agreement between you and Mrs. Lee- in fact, she usually urges you to focus on your schoolwork and take breaks when you’re not caring for Joon. But you want to, feeling compelled to take care of the space as much as you care for Joon. Although tensions are still somewhat present between you and Minho, the Lee household feels comfortable to you by this point, almost like a second home now.

After chores, the library calls out to you again, evening beginning to fall over the neighborhood and painting the sky with vibrant hues of an autumnal sunset.

The windows are still rolled open from earlier, and your velvet couch looks particularly inviting at this hour, beams of sunset setting it aglow and luring you to choose a book from the cherry wood shelves around you.

So you do, selecting a children’s book about animals, comfortably sprawling out on the chair with Joon in your arms. He eyes the book curiously, spreading his short, chubby fingers over the cover and tapping repeatedly, as if asking you to read to him.

And you do, setting the book on your knee to angle the pages toward him, as you begin to vocalize the choppy sentences to him.

“A is for apple, hanging from a tree,” you say, caressing his stubby fingers as he pouts in focus. “B is for buzzing bumblebee.”

Joon’s lips curl into a smile, making his best attempt to clap as you point out the colorful images to him.

“C is for crab, walking in the sand… D is for dolphin, swimming toward the land!”

Joon laughs hysterically now, clapping his little hands and rocking back and forth in your lap. You laugh, too, at his darling reaction, and give him a little kiss on the head as he fiddles with the cover of the book.

It’s moments like this that reaffirm the notion for you that this job was the right idea, after all. You’re inexplicably happy alongside him like this, seeing the world through his eyes and rediscovering things you would otherwise take for granted, like silly picture books or doing chores with him in your arms. You feel so protective of him, eager to make his mom proud and provide a safe, nurturing environment for him as his babysitter- not because you’re paid to do it, but because he now holds a special place in your heart.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles you from the doorway, and you look up to find Minho standing there, an amused smirk tugging at his lips.

“Did you… want something to eat? I was going to order takeout, unless you wanted something else.”

“Sure,” you reply, propping Joon up a little closer to your chest. “Anything’s fine with me.”

“I’ll get Chinese, then,” Minho says nodding. He averts your gaze a little, but you can tell he’s just a little awkward when he’s face-to-face with you like this. And perhaps your best friend is right- perhaps it’s not unusual of him to feel territorial over his household. After all, you are here almost every hour of the day, making yourself comfortable in almost every room, tending to the chores here and eating food from their kitchen. You suppose you would be irritated at the thought of it, too.

As Minho leaves to place an order, you take Joon back to the nursery, where you gently put him to sleep for the evening and program his baby monitor to play calm ocean noises again. It’s like clockwork- he’s out like a light, and the minute he leaves your arms, you’re exhausted, too. The stress of watching over him while balancing your school work might finally be getting to you now- you’re undoubtedly tired, your limbs aching from sauntering about this big house all day with Joon in your arms. And although you’re on a good track, you can hardly remember which assignment pertains to each of your classes these days.

When Minho returns almost an hour later, he holds a thin plastic bag in hand, his other one clutching a fistful of cutlery and two plates. He gives you a small nod when he enters the library, and you put away your laptop to join him on the floor in front of the coffee table.

For a moment, he says nothing as he prepares a plate for you, sliding a cup of wonton soup toward you and dividing portions of chow mein and tofu with wooden chopsticks.

You watch as he breaks a spring roll in half, holding both sides up and comparing to make sure they’re even.

“You’re very precise,” you say with a soft laugh, and a breathy chuckle emits from his lips, too.

“I’m trying to make sure it’s even.”

“However you cut it is fine,” you respond, pleasantly surprised at how polite he is.

When he’s finished dividing your portions, he slides a plate to you, setting a plastic fork down on the napkin beside you and ushering to the food.

“Enjoy,” he says, shooting you a small smile.

And the two of you eat in silence, the room quiet, aside from the sounds of slurping soup present between you two. Although it’s quiet, it feels comfortable, having him keep you company like this. It’s a change of pace from your usual days babysitting in the Lee household.

“How is your school work?” Minho interrupts your thoughts, and you’re momentarily taken aback by him initiating the conversation first.

“It’s good,” you respond, poking at the vegetables on your plate with a chopstick. “It’s on my own time, so I mostly just have to make sure I’m staying on track. But I’m finding it easy to get through despite watching Joon in the daytime.”

Minho nods in response, keeping his gaze set on the bowl of soup in front of him.

“How did your exam go?” you ask, and Minho cocks his head a little. “I got full marks,” he responds after a moment of silence.

“That’s great! I guess you were right about skipping breakfast having something to do with your academic success, then.”

And Minho laughs for the first time- not a chuckle or a giggle, but a laugh, holding one hand up to his mouth as he does. His laugh is gentle and melodic, filling the room around him with its sound, and you can’t help but laugh, too.

“I suppose,” he responds. “I also go nowhere without those philosophy books, so I have them memorized like the back of my hand.”

“Philosophy major?” you voice back, and Minho nods.

“So Love and Limerence is like second nature to you at this point.”

Minho gets a little awkward at this, his smile fading a little as he pokes around his chow mein. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “You could say that.”

And fearing you’ve somehow offended him, you change the subject again.

“Well I’m a business major,” you chime in. “So we don’t get interesting reads at all. And I’m not lugging around a six-pound textbook about returns on investments in my backpack.”

He laughs again, and you feel satisfied at the motion. Making him laugh feels like an exciting feat, like you’ve succeeded at something after trying so hard to. And considering how hard you’ve been trying to break down his walls these days, maybe it is an exciting feat, getting to know the stranger you’ve been sharing a home with for one month now.

“Business is a great field,” Minho says, slurping down the remainder of his soup. “Your parents must be really proud of the direction you’re headed.”

You shrug in response. “They’re indifferent. I don’t have a great relationship with them. They mostly just want me out of their hair once I graduate.”

“You have any post-college plans?” Minho inquires.

“I finished an internship before this whole babysitting gig, actually. I want to travel a bit after graduation, and then I’ll really settle down for the whole 9-5 working life.”

“Where are you hoping to travel to?”

There’s a glint in Minho’s eyes as he presses you for answers, like he’s genuinely interested in what you have to say. It makes you feel all warm inside- not many people usually care what you’re up to these days, your family trying their hardest to send you away to work another job and your most of your friends having drifted apart when you began university. Even the friends you do have are more distant these days, considering their classes are still in person, and you don’t have a need to be back on campus anymore. It’s a bit of a lonely life you lead, so being here beside Minho feels different, but pleasant.

“I’m not sure,” you say with a smile. “I’m not really sure where I belong yet.”

“Hey, I don’t know where I belong, either,” Minho echoes. “So that makes two of us.”

When the two of you are finished with dinner, Minho takes your plates downstairs, despite you offering, and you’re briefly left alone in the library. It’s much later than usual now, nearing 9:00, when you’re usually home by 7. The house also has a different vibe to it this hour, many of the rooms feeling much dimmer despite the same lamps being on, and the corridors feeling much quieter and more haunting. You feel a wave of sleepiness wash over you, and though you don’t want to be asleep when Mrs. Lee arrives, you can’t help but shut your eyes for a few minutes. You can still make out the shape of the bookshelves behind your heavy eyelashes, trying your best not to close your eyes completely, but your mind has already wandered off to slumber, and inevitably, your body follows shortly after.

You’re somewhere between sleep and consciousness when you feel Minho enter the room once again, looming over you like he wants to ask you something. But he says nothing- instead, he unfolds a knit blanket above you, sprawling it out over your legs and pulling it up to your torso. And you hadn’t realized how cold you were before he did, because you’re almost instantly with a wave of warmth and comfort over your listless body.

It feels almost uncharacteristic or Minho to carry out an action this polite- but as he takes his seat across from you, watching as you doze off peacefully, you think he may finally be coming around to you.

“I’m ditching my second class again today,” Minho announces the next morning at breakfast. He doesn’t eat much, you notice, as he bites into a single apple and hoists his backpack further up his shoulders.

“I’ll be home a bit earlier,” he then continues, eyeing you a little, and you give him a little nod.

“Then help with lunch,” Mrs. Lee says, gathering her own briefcase for work. “Y/n shouldn’t do it all by herself when you’re here.”

“Oh, it’s no worry at all,” you quickly chime in, not wanting to be the reason Minho refutes his mother’s words. “It’s what I’m here to do, after all.”

“No worries,” Minho says back to you. “I’ll be home around noon and we can prepare something together.”

For some reason, your heart flutters a little at the implication of doing something alongside Minho- something so planned and seemingly intimate. You normally just take the days as they come, so having a commitment hanging over your head like this is a little nerve-racking. And in all your worrying, you don’t respond to Minho, realizing only as he’s exiting the house with his apple in hand.

“I might be late again today,” Mrs. Lee turns to you, snapping you out of your trance. “But Minho can stay for the remainder of the time. I’ll still pay you the full amount like I did yesterday-”

“I’m happy to stay again,” you reply to her. “Like I said, it’s what I’m here to do.”

She smiles in return, clasping her hands and gesturing to the food on the table.

“I can’t get Minho to eat for the life of me, but help yourself to whatever you’d like. And thank you again, for staying.”

You’re reading to Joon in the living room when Minho arrives home from school. He kicks off his shoes dramatically, tossing his bag on the floor and breathing out a heavy sigh while you thumb through the pages of a new picture book.

“Hi,” Minho says first, his expression remaining stoic and unchanging.

“Hey,” you reply, hoisting Joon a little further up in your arms. “How was school?”

“Terrible,” he responds, making his way around the granite island to collect another apple.

“Why’s that?”

“Professor Kim,” he says curtly, polishing the apple on his button down shirt before taking a generous bite. “A three hour lecture on a Friday really wasn’t a smart choice. ”

You chuckle a little to yourself, adjusting your position on the floor and trying to balance Joon in your embrace. Minho takes notice of your struggle, abandoning his apple on the counter to come take Joon from your arms.

“Thanks,” you say, dusting off your legs as you stand again. “I’m going to get started on something for Joon to eat if you want to wait around. Unless you’re sticking to this exclusively-apple diet.”

Minho chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I’ll help. We don’t have much prepared right now and I really need to go grocery shopping.” He secures Joon in his high chair, cocking his head toward the fridge.

“Could you just grab his orange juice? It should be the blue bottle on the right.”

And you comply with his request, promptly locating the blue sippy cup and handing it to Minho.

“Thank you,” he says, setting it down on the white tray in front of Joon and twisting it open. “This should be enough to hold him off until we can whip something up with the few ingredients we have. I want to do something with those sweet potatoes, they’re reaching the end of their time.”

Joon is a little fussy as he reaches for his sippy cup, flailing his arms around and sliding the cup across the tray to the edge. The cap seems to loosen as he does, tilting dangerously to one side.

“I got it,” you say to Minho, as you approach Joon. You retrieve the cup from the edge of the tray, twisting off the cap again to secure it properly. And as you do, Joon lets out a particularly loud yelp, knocking his hand toward you and letting the bottle fall off the tray entirely.

As you realize what’s happening, you bring two hands up to push it away from you, but you’re too late- the entirety of the bottle’s contents are spilt onto your shirt, completely soaking you and dripping onto the floor with loud, wet noises.

Minho doesn’t see what happened, but he turns around at the sound of your loud gasp, his eyes widening at the sight of you. Even your hair’s gotten wet, stringy pieces falling into your face, damp with the tangy scent of orange juice and dripping down your shirt. His mind races with guilty thoughts, feeling as though he should have stayed watching Joon, being the one to have been caught in the crossfire of his tantrum instead. Joon’s always fussy before meals- he knows this very well. As his mind races with the urgency to grab a towel, a rag- something, his eyes graze to your t-shirt, and he practically freezes.

Your thin white t-shirt is soaked like the rest of you, painting a clear outline of your black bra as the cold contents drip down your chest and torso. The see-through fabric sticks to your body like a cellophane wrapping, outlining every inch of you, every curve and every raised goosebump as you shudder at the sensation. Minho’s eyes remain locked on your dampened breasts for an embarrassing amount of time, taking careful note of the way your hardened nipples practically protrude through the thin white fabric, almost appearing increasingly noticeable with every passing second. The delicate curves of your stomach are accentuated with your skin-tight shirt, even your navel now visible.

A shake of your hands finally snaps him out of his trance, and you wrap your arms around yourself in a futile effort to cover yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you utter to him, at a loss for words at the notion of being so exposed to him. And Minho is quick to shake his head, now scrambling for a towel.

“Don’t apologize,” he says, pulling a towel off the oven handle and sliding it to you. “Here, use this and I’ll go get a larger towel from upstairs and a change of clothes.”

You want to deny the offer, feeling shameful for having already intruded this much on the Lee household and still needing more from them. But as you look down at your t-shirt, you know you don’t have a choice, the fabric now feeling cold and uncomfortable as it sticks to your flesh.

“Thanks,” you say to him, giving a small nod and not moving your hands from your chest.

And Minho retreats upstairs quickly, trying his best to avert his gaze as you remain in the kitchen.

As Joon babbles incoherently next to you, you can’t help but feel stupid, a sense of shame and embarrassment replacing the excitement you had to be preparing lunch alongside Minho for the afternoon. You’re in disbelief he’s practically seen you half naked like this, and you feel inadequate at not being able to stop Joon from committing the incident in the first place. As you run your hands up and down the raised goosebumps on your arms, you do your best to hold back tears, hoping Minho won’t think less of you for being caught in such a humiliating accident.

Minho is gone for a little while, and you blot at the wet patches on your shirt as you wait, Joon now laughing at your messy state. You can’t help but laugh a little, too, admittedly amused at what a disaster the afternoon has been- and you haven’t even begun the cooking part of it yet.

When he returns, he tosses you a large white bath towel and a gray t-shirt, still keeping his gaze on the floor instead of on yours.

“Here,” he says simply, his veiny arm scratching the back of his head. “I can also get a sweater if you’re cold.”

As you observe the t-shirt, you realize it’s one of his, not one of Mrs. Lee’s. For some reason, you’d assumed Minho would opt for a woman’s clothes as your change, but the t-shirt has clearly been pulled from his closet, and you blush a little at the idea of wearing his clothes.

“This is fine,” you reply, wrapping the bath towel around your body and excusing yourself to the bathroom.

You peel the sticky clothes off your body, crumpling them into a pile and changing into Minho’s t-shirt. It’s a bit large on you, but it’s much more comfortable, hanging loosely off your body and covering every bit of you that was previously exposed. His shirt smells like him, too, a pleasant scent of laundry detergent and his musky cologne.

When you exit the bathroom, you gesture to the change of clothes, your wet crumpled clothes balled in your hand. “I kinda look like you now,” you say, and Minho chuckles.

“You can keep it,” he responds, giving you another once-over and nodding shyly. “It looks better on you, anyway.”

He holds his hand out to you for the wet clothes, which he kindly takes from you to put in the wash. As he does, you go to the fridge to retrieve more orange juice for Joon- except there is none. You desperately search for milk, orange juice- any form of a snack that will keep him busy until his mealtime. But the kitchen is void of anything he can consume, and you begin to panic a little, knowing Joon hasn’t eaten in a good while now.

“That was the last of his orange juice,” you say to Minho when he returns. “And there’s not much else for him to snack on.”

Minho searches the kitchen too, digging through cabinets and moving around jars in the fridge to check for expiration dates. But he quickly realizes you’re right- the fridge is even more sparse than he’d assumed it to be.

“I guess we’ll have to make a trip to the store, then. How do you feel about strapping him into a car seat?”

“I’ve never done it,” you reply nervously.

“I can show you,” Minho says, grabbing his keys off the kitchen counter and spinning them around his index finger. “We can do it together.”

The nearest grocery store is just 20 minutes out from the Lee household. Minho drives a fancy black SUV, and he guides you through how to strap Joon into his car seat, which you carry out with no issues. He drives with one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the center console as you chat with him about your university courses. For the first time, you notice how Minho seems much more comfortable around you now, cracking jokes occasionally and smiling at your stories about your afternoons alone with Joon. When Joon chimes in from the back seat with his excited babbling, you and Minho babble equally in response, sharing laughter at the ridiculous exchanges among the three of you.

You opt to carry Joon inside the grocery store while Minho walks alongside you, checking off a list he routinely uses to stock up on all of Joon’s favorite foods. And the atmosphere around you is homely, instilling the same sense of comfort in you as your afternoons alone with Joon. One that reminds you why you’re doing this job in the first place- you feel respected here, like your efforts don’t go unnoticed, and like you belong. It fills the lonely void inside of you with the sounds of Joon’s laughter, Minho’s tales of his classes and the trivial tasks of grocery store runs and learning to maneuver a baby car seat.

“I think that’s it,” Minho says as he checks the list one last time. “Milk, juice, bread…” he reads the items one by one again, and then nods affirmatively when he’s ensured they’re in the basket.

“That’s it,” he repeats, shooting you a small smile. “Let’s go pay.”

An older cashier gestures you to her lane at the registers, beginning to scan your items as Minho places them down on the conveyor belt. And then she gives a little wave to Joon, who curiously stares back at her.

“What a beautiful baby,” she says, pausing from scanning with a jar of mashed carrots in her hand.

Joon smiles in response, a trickle of drool escaping his lips.

“And what a beautiful family,” she continues, looking back and forth between you and Minho. “It’s not easy being young parents, but I can tell the two of you are doing a fine job at it.”

“Oh,” you say, chuckling lightly. “We’re not-”

“Thank you,” Minho interrupts, placing an arm around your waist and pulling you a little closer to him.

“We don’t get told that very often.”

You almost freeze at the contact, butterflies erupting in your stomach as he keeps his hand on the small of your back. This woman thinks the two of you are a couple- and worse, Minho is playing along with it. You can’t figure out why he’d entertain such a blatant lie, but you don’t interrupt him either, curious to see where he’s taking this little bit.

“People can be so unfair,” the cashier replies, shaking her head. “As long as the child is cared for, your status shouldn’t matter.”

“Exactly,” Minho replies, throwing his hand in the air like she’s making a point that pertains to him. “You know, when we got married, everyone told us it would never work. And now look at us- our child just turned 1 and we’re already making plans for a second honeymoon.”

“That’s amazing!” The woman says, clasping her hand over her heart like she’s touched by the bogus story.

“It is, isn’t it honey?” Minho says, turning to you.

Thoughts swirl your mind about this performance he’s putting on, but you’re undoubtedly entertained by the whole thing, stifling laughter as you nod in response.

“It is amazing,” you say finally. “We eloped and had a shotgun wedding- booked it to Italy right after and now we’re thinking of taking the little one to Paris for a real ceremony.”

The older woman removes her glasses now, wiping her eyes and shaking her head in disbelief. You can’t help but feel bad for her, seeing how easily she’s falling for your blatant lies, but Minho shows no remorse, grinning ear to ear and keeping his hand on the small of your back.

“Well I’ll tell you what,” the woman says, putting her glasses back on and shifting her eyes around the store.

“Since you guys just made my day, I’m going to provide you with our senior discount. It’s not everyday I see a young couple so beautiful raising such a darling little child.”

“Oh, you really don’t-” you start to say, and Minho interrupts you before you can finish.

“That would mean the world to us,” he says in an exaggerated voice, giving the cashier a little bow. “It would help us out a ton.”

You want to protest, to slap Minho in his pretty little face and ask what the hell he thinks he’s doing lying for a discount like this, but you’re afraid the cashier will see right through your whole stunt and reprimand both of you. So you just nod and let Minho take the lead again.

“Thank you,” you echo back to her,” holding Joon’s stubby little fingers as the woman types a lengthy code into the computer.

And Minho smiles at you, shooting you a little wink as he gathers boxes of cereal and jars of food in his arms.

“What was that?” You practically yell as you exit the store, balancing Joon in one arm and a bag of groceries in another. “You totally lied to her.”

“I didn’t lie,” Minho says. “I told her a different reality.”

“That is literally what a lie is,” you echo back to him, securing Joon in his car seat and lining grocery bags on the floor. Minho slides into the driver's seat again, putting his keys in the ignition but not yet starting the car as he waits for you to get in, too.

“I mean, that was like a 10% discount,” you continue, huffing frustratedly as you wait for him to speak. “How is that worth telling someone a whole list of lies?”

“You know, there’s this really cool theory called the anthropic principle,” Minho begins, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Suggests the existence of a multitude of universes.”

“What?”

“So,” he continues. “Philosophically speaking, maybe in one of those we're married, and we have a child, and our honeymoon was in Italy.”

You stay quiet for a moment, pondering his words, completely unsure of if he’s flirting with you or teasing you right now.

“And maybe,” he chimes in again. “In one of them, we robbed the store and killed the cashier. And in another, we don’t even know each other.”

“What are you getting at?” You say, narrowing your eyes in confusion.

“It’s not lying,” Minho says with a smile as he finally starts up the car. “We just told her about a different reality.”

“So it’s lying,” you say with a smile, unable to hold back the giggle that escapes your lips.

“A little,” he finally says. “But it was fun, right?”

And you start to say no, but you can’t get the words out, aware you’ll be lying twice today if you do.

Minho takes your silence as confirmation, a grin plastered on his face as he rests one arm behind your headrest to pull out of the parking lot. And you can’t help but smile, too, the spontaneous thrill of lying to the cashier admittedly being some of the most fun you’ve had all week. And the conclusion stands- Minho’s a little odd. But he’s great company.

Mrs. Lee is late again tonight, the second hand on the clock ticking in slow intervals as it nears 10pm. You yawn for the umpteenth time tonight, exhausted from having done so much today, wanting nothing more than to sleep in the comfort of your own bed at home and mentally recharge for another day of this tomorrow. But you’ve promised to wait for her, always eager to wait it out until the last second, because Mrs. Lee always expresses her sincerest gratitude when you wait for her.

“Sorry, she’s really late today,” Minho says as he lowers the volume on the television. You completed a few more chores around the house after dinner while Minho powered through his schoolwork, putting Joon to bed before settling on the sofa and watching old cartoon reruns. Now you’ve been in and out of sleep for the better part of an hour, Minho remaining close by watching infomercials again, peering at your tired figure and feeling guilty that you’ve been here so long.

“It’s okay,” you reply quietly, letting out another yawn. You cross your arms over yourself, still dressed comfortably in Minho’s t-shirt, and do your best to keep your gaze on the television.

Tonight Minho is stuck on an infomercial for artificial plants, the dull narration lulling you to sleep even further as he checks the time on his watch and glances nervously at the front door.

Minho cranes his neck at your figure again, not missing the way gray bags hang heavy below your eyes, your lashes half-lidded as you feign sleep and force your gaze onto the infomercial.

“Don’t you have an early exam tomorrow?” You say to Minho, another yawn escaping your lips as you speak. “Don’t wait up on my account. You should get some sleep.”

Minho shuts off the television, standing up from where he’s sitting and dusting off his pants.

“I’ll take you home,” he announces, fishing around on the table for his car keys.

“It’s okay,” you reply, not wanting to inconvenience him anymore than you already have today. “I can walk to the bus stop.”

“You’re not walking,” Minho retorts, scoffing as you sit up and rub your tired eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s pitch black outside.”

“It’s fine,” you say, gathering your book bag and rushing to put your shoes on. It’s a race between the two of you now, Minho scrambling to locate his car keys while you get ready to leave for the evening.

“It’s really not a problem- where are my keys?” Minho mutters to himself, patting the pockets on his jacket and rearranging stacks of papers on the coffee table.

“I’m fine, really.”

“No, I’ll drive you,” Minho says, still tossing aside the mess he’s made to locate his keys.

“I’ll walk,” you reiterate again, and Minho finally exhales frustratedly.

“Then I’ll walk with you,” he finally announces, ditching the car keys altogether and stopping to look at you. He looks tired, too, evident bags under his eyes and his hair tousled from running his hands through it frustratedly.

“Minho, I really don’t want to burden you-”

“It’s not a burden.”

As he speaks, you hear Joon’s baby monitor alerting you that he’s awake for the evening, wailing loudly when he realizes that he’s alone. It’s perfect timing, too, Minho already having planned to wake him up so he can walk you back.

“Wait here,” Minho says to you as he begins toward the stairs. “I’ll get his harness.”

The dim street lights illuminate the dark paved roads, a crisp chill in the air as you walk alongside Minho with your hands in your pockets.

Joon sits comfortably in his harness against Minho’s chest, curiously taking in the atmosphere around him as you walk in silence to your bus stop. It’s not a long walk, only 20 minutes from Minho’s, but you feel admittedly much safer with Minho by your side, his and Joon’s presence feeling homely even at this hour. For nearly the entirety of the walk, the two of you say nothing, too tired to engage in conversation, but still comfortable in the presence of each other, and not needing to say anything. Joon babbles saliva every now and then, Minho bringing a finger up to wipe his chin, and the only other sounds are that of crickets and the gentle sway of the trees.

“This is me,” you say to Minho when you reach the familiar blue bench of your stop.

You sit on one side of the bench, slinging your book bag over beside you and crossing your legs. And to your surprise, Minho occupies the other side, one hand resting gently on the back of Joon’s head while the other pats his back gently.

“You don’t have to wait,” you tell Minho quickly, and he just shakes his head silently in response.

The silence between you remains, Joon toying with the collar of Minho’s shirt as you wait for the bus. There’s so much you want to ask Minho, so much you still want to find out from him. You’re well aware that you haven’t quite figured him out yet, but you’re undoubtedly sure that he is a nice guy, after all. From lending you his t-shirt, waiting up for you on late nights, even walking you to your bus stop and waiting for the bus with you. You think briefly back to his little joke at the grocery store, smiling to yourself when you remember he’d chosen to pretend you were a married couple for no other reason than to make you laugh after having had such a rough day. And his innate fascination with looking at everything through a philosophical lens, the passion for his favorite subject so robustly present wherever he goes.

“What’s that theory again?” You ask Minho as your thoughts verbalize amidst the silence.

“Hm?”

“The one about the universe.”

“The anthropic principle?” He questions, and you hum in response.

“Yeah, that one. Do you think there are like, a million versions of us right now, just…sitting here?”

“Sure,” Minho replies. “But the conditions would have to be just right.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the theory states that conditions have to be just right for us to coexist in the universe we’re in right now. It’s sort of like a coincidence that this one evolved so that we could thrive in it. So there might be other versions of us, just not as definitive. We might be rocks, or bugs. Or maybe there’s a more advanced version, where we’re still on our honeymoon in Italy.”

“Or the one where we killed that cashier,” you chime in.

“Exactly,” Minho replies, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You ponder his words for a moment.

“Do they all follow the same timeline?” You ask him.

“What do you mean?”

“Do they all last forever? What if we got divorced? Would we part ways in every universe?”

Minho stays quiet for a moment, thinking back to the philosophical theories tucked in the back of his mind.

“I don’t know,” he finally replies. “I’d like to think some versions have a happy ending, but maybe some of them don’t.”

As silence falls over you again, your bus finally turns the corner, making its way down the street toward your stop.

“That’s me,” you say, getting up and gathering your belongings again.

Minho stands up, too, saying nothing as the bus finally halts in front of you, the brakes screeching to a stop with the loud exhaust of the doors as they open.

“Thanks,” you say to Minho before getting on. “For walking me.”

“It’s no problem,” he replies, shooting you a tired smile.

Minho watches as you board the bus, taking your seat toward the back. He scans the aisles momentarily, making sure you’re sat somewhere safe, away from anyone he might deem sketchy at this hour. And when he feels confident you’ll make it home okay, he brings Joon’s hand up in front of him, giving you a little wave as he watches you smile back through the tinted windows, sending him off with a wave back.

From then on, things shift between the two of you. Minho is a constant, always offering to walk you home on late nights to engage in discussions about your university work or his favorite theories. When he’s home early from his classes, the two of you enjoy cooking for Joon together, making trips to the grocery store where the cashiers are now fully convinced you’re a married couple. On late nights, the two of you often engage in lighthearted philosophical debates while you wait for Mrs. Lee to get home for the evening. When he’s walking you home for the night, doing homework alongside you or just passing by, Minho indulges you in all his favorite philosophical questions, and you entertain them, using the opportunity to get a better glimpse into his mind and how he thinks.

It’s exactly this that tears down Minho’s walls, you find- he, in all his philosophically-educated glory, sharing his perspective while you poke holes in his arguments and reach a conclusion together. Sometimes you’ll reach a stalemate, the argument fizzling out with no clear answer. And sometimes he can change your mind almost instantly, the arguments leaving his lips like second nature, always quick to persuade you in the opposite direction and provide clear reasoning. He’s very skilled at his work, and you quickly realize why he’s so passionate about philosophy in the first place.

It’s not something Minho’s used to yet- having a companion like this, one who actually cares about anything he has to say. Someone to come home to, somebody to bask in the simplicities of life with and affirm that he’s not completely incapable of making real human connections. And admittedly, maybe he loves playing house with you, coming home to your home-cooked meals and caring for the baby together.

Maybe this version of the universe deems you a babysitter, and he, just an outcast. But sometimes Minho swears he can see different versions where you’re so much more than that to each other.

In late November, you take your first week off, leaving on a small family trip to a city just a few hours out to go see extended family.

You tell Minho of your little excursion the week prior, and he pretends to be disheartened, but you know deep down he must be relieved to have some space to himself again. Of course you’re not able to watch Joon, and Mrs. Lee has a friend watch him in your absence, but you’re surprised at how much you miss the Lee household when you’re not there. The trip to the city is filled with repetitive questions from family about your major, your internship, your potential salary in an entry-level position and general university questions. And yet all you catch yourself thinking about is Joon, and Mrs. Lee and especially Minho.

You wonder what he’s doing in the comfort of his grand room all by himself, surrounded by books and tall windows. Minho once told you that he can go a whole day without talking when he’s not having philosophical debates with you over coffee. You wonder if he’s talked today, or if he attended his classes or how his exam on Tuesday went. Thoughts of him plague your mind every waking second- whether Minho would like a certain food, if Minho would agree with this statement, even what the people around you would think if you dragged him along and played house with him like you do back home. In this version of the universe, maybe he’s reading a book or watching a movie, but in another, he could be right here, telling his string of lies to your extended family.

On the last day of your family vacation, you find yourself in an old bookstore, and all you can think about is Minho. He’d love it here, you think, grazing your fingertips along the old cracked spines and yellowing pages. And as you scan through the philosophy section, several of the books already piquing your interest, you spot it.

The small familiar crimson book, just barely larger than your hand, delicate to the touch and painted with the same Cupid depiction as the one you know so well. A first edition copy of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence. You can’t help but smile to yourself, scanning the book’s contents briefly before closing it again and bringing it up to the counter. It’s not like you’re trying to worsen this little developing crush you have on Minho, but he seems to be everywhere you go- and candidly, you just want to have him figured out.

When you return to the Lee household from your vacation, the atmosphere is calm, sunbeams shining through the large glass windows and illuminating the house with a romantic glow. Joon eats his breakfast well, downing his orange juice and causing you little trouble throughout the day. And Minho arrives just after 3, his backpack slung over his shoulder and a book in hand.

Your heart beats erratically to see him again, trying your best to avert his gaze as he enters through the front door and kicks off his shoes. When he makes his way through the kitchen, you attempt to look busy, wiping down the counters with a kitchen rag and balancing Joon in your arms.

“Hi,” Minho says, a little shyly as you keep your eyesight on the granite counter below you.

“Hey,” you respond, pretending like you hadn’t noticed him enter the room, when in reality, you’ve been well aware of his arrival since he parked his car out front.

“How was your trip?” Minho asks, setting down his backpack and loosening the collar of his sweater.

He’s dressed for the chilly weather outside, a simple black knit sweater paired with blue jeans.

“It was good,” you reply, folding the rag with one hand and setting it aside. “I kinda missed it here.”

Minho smiles at you nervously, toying with the hem of his sweater as he hears you speak.

“It was pretty quiet without you here. I think Joon missed you.”

“Did he?” You question excitedly, poking at Joon with your finger and cooing at him. “Is that right? You missed me?” And Joon giggles excitedly, smiling between the two of you.

When the room falls quiet again, Minho clears his throat like he wants to say something, but he doesn’t, instead keeping his gaze fixed on yours. The room is teeming with awkward tension between the two of you, two hearts clouded in desire to act on this conflicting emotion of fleeting lust and a mutual understanding of each other, but neither one of you say anything, letting it die with your silence and circle your minds aimlessly again.

“I got you something,” you say suddenly, and Minho’s heart quickens a little.

“Me?” He questions, pointing to himself as if you need clarity of who he speaks of.

“Yes, you. It’s in my bag upstairs.”

And you begin your ascent to the staircase, motioning for Minho to follow you as you bring Joon with you.

“Close your eyes,” you tell Minho when you‘ve entered the library again.

“Should I be scared?” He asks, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

“Close them!” You exclaim, and he finally puts his hands out in front of him, shutting his eyes, a big grin plastered on his face. You place the book in Minho’s palms gently, making sure to position it so that the cover is facing him properly.

“Now open.”

When Minho opens his eyes again, he doesn’t even need to read the words before knowing what it is. He’s immediately familiar with the first edition of Dorothy Tennov’s Love and Limerence he holds in his hands, uniquely characterized by the contrasting art style to his, and the much older, yellowing pages.

“My book,” Minho says, biting his lip as he holds back a bigger smile, one that will most definitely point to the incriminating fact that he’s smitten.

“Your book,” you echo, leaning on the wall across from him. “It’s a first edition. The bookkeeper said they’re pretty rare to come by.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Don’t worry about it,” you reply, fixing Joon’s hair and averting Minho’s gaze. You’re afraid if you make eye contact with him, this whole nonchalant front will crumble down in front of you, because you’re embarrassingly smitten with him, too.

“Thank you,” Minho says, thumbing the raised gold-foiled cover outline of Cupid. “I’ll go put it with the rest of them.”

And he disappears down the corridor, his book tucked in the endeared clutch of his hands.

While Minho adds his book to the rest of his collection, you put Joon down for his nap, gently placing him on the soft blanket in his crib and adjusting the baby monitor. He blinks up at you a few times, his lips pulling into a shaky smile as his lashes finally flutter shut and a wave of sleepiness washes over him. You exit the room quietly, closing the door just halfway like you always do, and then make your way down the corridor to Minho’s room. The door is left ajar, but you hear him shuffling about, and you enter after giving a gentle knock.

Minho seems startled at this, jumping up from where he’s standing, in front of his bookshelf with Love and Limerence held open in the palms of his hands. He shuts it quickly, shoving it on the top with another stack of books, and then almost shields his bookshelf as he turns to face you.

“I didn't hear you come in,” he says, nervously shifting his eyes to more stacks of books on his window sill and nightstand.

“I put Joon down for his nap,” you reply, cocking an eyebrow as he stands there awkwardly. “Is… everything okay?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, blinking nervously when he sees you peer over his torso at the bookshelf.

“Where’d you put it?”

“Can’t remember,” Minho says, a breathy chuckle emitting from his lips as he tries his best to avoid talking about it. But you catch on- and you’re certainly not going to let him evade the subject.

“What are you hiding?” You finally ask, eyeing him with a small smile. Minho’s face drops a little, sighing once as he steps aside and grants you full visibility of his bookshelf. There’s nothing out of the ordinary- books of all colors and sizes lined neatly on the shelves, some of them left open or bookmarked. A good amount of them appear to be philosophy books, which doesn’t come as a surprise to you.

“It’s just your books,” you say flatly, and Minho scratches the back of his head before he speaks again.

“Love and Limerence isn’t a required read for university.” He says in a low voice.

“Oh,” you reply, unsure of why it should really matter to you.

“None of them are,” he continues. “It’s just my personal… collection. Of romance novels.”

And then you finally understand.

Minho- the stoic, otherwise quiet being, in all his philosophical studiousness and awkwardness, is a sucker for romance. Once the cogs begin turning in your head, they don’t stop, everything about him now making a little more sense to you. Why he stays locked up in his little tower all day reading book after book, why he’s so hopeful when he speaks of the human condition and of love, why he loves taking care of people so much. He’s just a big softie underneath it all.

“There’s nothing weird about that,” you chime in. “In fact, it’s really cool.”

“Yeah right,” he retorts.

“I’m dead serious. I’ve never met someone with so many copies of Thorns and Roses before.”

Minho shakes his head, moving to sit on his bed with his palms tucked under his legs. His gaze remains locked on the floor, an expression of shame still visible on his face. And when you see him exhale deeply, like he’s been nervously holding his breath all this time, you feel bad for him. If there’s anything you’ve learned about him since meeting him, it’s that he’s really a bit of a dork. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen him look so vulnerable before.

“Which one’s your favorite?” You ask, skimming your finger along the neat row of spines.

He shrugs. “Pride and Prejudice, maybe. But these days it’s Love and Limerence.”

Minho’s voice is trembling, just above a whisper as he reads off his list of favorite novels to you. And you chuckle softly in reply, pulling the little red book out of its respective home on the shelf and tossing it to him.

“Read me your favorite passage.”

He furrows his brows a little, like he thinks you might be making fun of him. But when you take a seat next to him on the bed, wide-eyed and gesturing to the book in his hands, he realizes you’re genuinely asking him to.

“Go on,” you say, gesturing to the book once more.

Minho opens the book to the middle, flipping through yellowing pages with small font. Most of the pages are littered generously with blue sticky notes, Minho’s messy handwriting annotating all his favorite passages. When he finds the page he’s searching for, he eyes you cautiously, as if waiting for permission to begin reading. And with a deep breath, he begins, his voice shaking a little as he finds his footing.

“Now by these presents let me assure you that you are not only in my heart, but my veins, this morning. I turn from you half abashed--yet you haunt me, and some look, word or touch thrills through my whole frame--yes, at the very moment when I am labouring to think of something, if not somebody else.”

At the last words, his gaze meets yours again, eyelashes trembling as he waits for your reaction. He waits for you to laugh, or to dismiss the words, or leave altogether. But you just stare back at him, your heart beating erratically at the poetry he utters, completely in awe with him.

He feels otherworldly at this distance, this intricate fascination with love and human connection. The way his brown tresses fall loosely in front of his big eyes as he speaks, his plump lips pulling into a nervous smile to reveal the row of skewed teeth you find a home in every time. He’s like the passage reads- thrilling your whole frame, consuming you whole and filling your mind with thoughts of him, and his poetry and his kind demeanor. You find yourself a little closer to him, your eyes darting to his lips and then back to his curious eyes, fantasies of him running rampant in your mind.

And Minho keeps his gaze locked on yours, too, leaning in a little closer to you, the book closing on its own as his hand slips away from holding it open and onto the bed beside you. The implications are there, the atmosphere around you heavy with desire and uncertainty, and just as you wield the courage to bring your lips a little closer to his, you’re promptly interrupted.

“Minho-ah!” A voice calls from downstairs. You quickly clock it as Mrs. Lee’s, who must be home early from work.

“I’m home early!” She calls again, confirming your theory, her footsteps getting louder as she makes her way up the stairs.

You sit up promptly, smoothing down your shirt and standing to bow when Mrs. Lee pokes her head in the doorway. Minho stands up too, making the whole situation look unbearably obvious, and you pray she can’t tell what’s going on between the two of you.

“Y/n,” she says with a warm smile. “I’m sorry I forgot to tell you I would be home a little earlier today. Joon has a doctor’s appointment.”

“No worries at all!” You voice back, bowing again as she smiles. “I was actually going to leave early today. I have a bit of a headache.”

“Oh, do you want a cup of tea?” She asks, heavy concern present in her voice.

“No thanks, I think I just need some sleep.”

You turn to Minho, who’s standing with his hands in his pockets, looking a little disappointed as you give him a small bow.

“Take care,” you say to him, pivoting to head back to the library and gather your things.

Minho hears his mom see you out of the front door, chatting briefly with you about your trip and sending you off with a little wave.

He shuts his bedroom door and locks it, sprawling out on the duvet of his bed and running his hands over the book still beside him.

He’s not sure what happened- whether you were about to kiss him, or whether it was just wishful thinking. But every way he interprets the encounter, Minho swears he can feel your yearning for him, too. Is he crazy to think you might feel the same? Maybe he, too, finds it laboring to think of something- if not, someone else, besides you.

Joon is a particularly picky eater in afternoons, making a big fuss of foods he usually devours in the mornings and evenings. He skillfully dodges every spoon, every bite and feigns his interest in even his favorite snacks and desserts. And while you’re usually patient with him, today you’re frustrated, having mentally scolded yourself several times since yesterday’s events.

A part of you wants to ditch all of this, reminding yourself that you’re here to work a job, not lust after the son of the person who hired you. But the other part of you can’t help but imagine how things would be different if you just let yourself fall gracefully into him- he’s so much more than a fleeting thought to you. You want to understand him, having challenged yourself to figuring him out from the moment you came across him. But maybe you want him to understand you, too. You want him to understand that you feel at home whenever he’s around, his philosophical discussions and this game of house you play making you feel like you belong here. You want him to understand that although you know he feels like an outcast, none of his odd quirks matter to you when he’s reading his favorite love stories across from you in the library, catching glimpses of you when he thinks you’re not looking. And that maybe this universe conditioned itself just right so that you took up this job and crossed paths- and that has to mean something bigger.

There’s nothing different about the afternoon following yesterday’s, except for you spending a considerable amount of time on your hair and makeup, the anticipation bubbling inside you at the idea of seeing Minho again. You have no definitive plan, no script of how it’s going to go when he arrives from school. But you also know there’s something in your throat that wants so desperately to get out, and you won’t let it. As Joon toys with the cereal in his bowl, he looks up at you with big, curious eyes, and you wonder what he’s thinking, if anything. He doesn't know anything beyond the simple tasks of eating and sleeping, living with the comfortable knowledge that he’s being cared for. And although it seems much easier, you can’t help but sympathize. What a gift it is to feel- what a gift it is to carry emotions so deeply they eat away at you like this.

You’re infatuated with Minho- that fact stands true. And whether or not it benefits you to do anything about it, you’re determined to do something with all of this feeling, lest it slips through your fingers like he almost did.

You don’t hear Minho come home when he does, busy in the garden tending to Mrs. Lee’s plants when the usual alert of his car pulling into the driveway passes you by. So when he wanders the corridors searching everywhere for you, you don’t take notice.

Minho’s desperate, hoping to ask you to stay just a little bit longer tonight, having also had the epiphany that he’s completely fallen for you, too. And what he hopes to do with it, he’s unsure- but he does know that every romance novel on his shelf would refute the idea of letting this feeling dissipate. Kiss her, tell her, do something. Anything.

He strides down the halls with purpose and vigor, a nervous smile pulling at his face at the thought of seeing you again. It’s all he’s thought about today, having had just two hours of sleep as he sorted out what to say to you. And while he’s not well-versed in the practice of confessing his love, he feels his whole life has been devoted to the very purpose of being here and finding you. The debates you share, midnight walks to the bus stop, the book- he’d be a fool not to reciprocate what you yearn for. And when he doesn’t find you, Minho feels the familiar pit of worry form in his stomach. He’s not accounted for a change of plans, or even what might happen if you reject his admission. He wants to believe so badly that the answer is yes, risking everything just to say something.

20 minutes after he’s been home, Minho receives a phone call, answering in a rush while he checks the upstairs rooms for you.

“Hello?”

“It’s Sujin from class,” the phone at the other end says plainly. “I’m here for our project.”

And Minho freezes, remembering very well that he has a project due very soon, and his partner is here tonight to work on it with him. He sighs heavily into the line at the change in plans, knowing he’ll have to bottle his emotions another day and act on them tomorrow when he can get you alone.

“Oh, right,” Minho responds, making his way to the stairs and jogging down them. “The door should be unlocked.”

He stuffs his phone in his back pocket, making his way to the door to meet Sujin, and as he passes the sliding door to the backyard, he finally sees you. Knelt on the ground in a white sundress, your hands tainted with soil as you tend to the tomato plants and hum to yourself. Minho smiles at the sight of you, the urge to tell you right now stronger than ever. But before he can call out to you, Sujin’s already made her way inside, peering curiously around the place and clutching her purse in hand.

“Wow,” she says, chuckling lightly. “You didn’t tell me you were rich.”

Minho scratches the back of his head awkwardly as she grazes a marble sculpture with her fingers. His eyes remain on you through the glass door, transfixed by the way you tuck your hair behind your ears and pat your dress as you stand up again. Sujin takes note of Minho’s evident distraction, briefly glancing out the window and back to him.

“Where are we working?” She asks, pursing her lips together.

“We can work upstairs,” Minho explains, as you finally make your way inside.

At first you’re confused at the sight, Minho looming over a girl much prettier than you, her long hair styled neatly over one shoulder and a matching formal two-piece hugging her curves beautifully. And then as you see her begin up the stairs in the direction of Minho’s room, you finally understand.

Of course there’s another woman.

Of course there was a catch to all of this, because why else would things condition themselves so perfectly that you’d win him over?

And suddenly everything feels pointless- confessing to him, feeling any ounce of emotion regarding all of this, even working this job. He has a girlfriend, and she’s much prettier than you are. And he's trailing behind her after giving you a shy nod, likely embarrassed at the fact that you’ll be here tending to his household while he fucks her in his upstairs bedroom.

You can’t help but think that perhaps something got lost in translation, because Minho evidently never liked you, and unless this version of the universe magically conditions to work in your favor just once, it’s going to remain that way.

When the tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes, they don’t stop. You can’t feed Joon without hiccuping through a hot rush of tears that fall from your cheeks onto his tray below him. Joon seems to sense something is wrong, pausing the task of dodging his food to observe the way your face contorts as you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand. And when you do stop to look at him, all you can see is Minho, his eyes and lips resembling exactly that of his elder brother’s.

The chores feel like a futile task now, and you let them sit there for the remainder of the evening you’re working for. In fact, the only thing you do complete is the task of getting Joon to bed when the sun begins to set, marching carefully upstairs to not interrupt Minho’s time with his girlfriend. And the word makes you sick, to think that he’s been stringing you along all while having a girlfriend- a fact he so conveniently left out.

Joon goes down without a fuss, and when he’s finally asleep, you escape the confines of the second story to lock yourself in the downstairs living room and complete your school work. How much of that is spent crying instead, you can’t quite remember.

It’s just after 9 when Sujin leaves for the evening, but you’re not awake to take notice when she does. You wake to the familiar sound of infomercials playing quietly on the television in front of you, Minho sitting on the floor in front of the sofa you occupy. His head hangs as he holds a book in his lap, probably some cheesy romance he projects onto him and his girlfriend, and his thin wireframe glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.

The dull narration on the television advertises jewelry tonight, and you let out a sigh as you feel your swollen eyes adjust to the bright screen in front of you. At this, Minho turns around, giving you a sheepish smile as you try to shut your eyes again. But it’s too late- he’s already seen you awake for the evening.

“Hi,” Minho says for the first time today, bookmarking his page and lowering the volume on the television. “She’s late again today, but I saved you some takeout.”

“I’m not hungry,” you reply quickly, sitting up and reaching for your bag. “In fact, I need to go home.”

“Oh, sure,” Minho replies, a little hurt at your rushed tone. “I can walk you-”

“No need,” you say to him, pulling on your sneakers and doing everything in your power to avert his gaze. He furrows his brows a little, knowing you never reject his offers to walk you home.

“Is everything-”

“Fine. I just need to get home,” you reiterate, finally sitting down and smoothing down your wrinkled dress.

Every part of him is annoying you right now, your mind teeming with the reminder that you’ve been wasting your time trying to know him better while he’s been entertaining a whole girlfriend these past few months.

“Y/n, wait,” Minho calls, still intent on telling you tonight, while the feelings remain stronger than ever. But you’ve already crossed the room to the front door, where you avert his gaze so he won’t see you begin to cry again.

“Bye,” you call to him, not even looking back before you’re turning the knob and seeing yourself out. “Tell Mrs. Lee it was an emergency.”

And he wants to ask if it was, but he can’t, staring at your rushed figure jogging down the street as you distance yourself from him before he can string you along any further.

Thus begins the game of avoidance.

It starts through keeping your conversations with Minho as short as possible, not engaging him when he tells you about theories he’s studied this week or what his days on campus were like. When he asks about your day, you give him one-word responses, muttering a simple “fine” before turning your attention to Joon again.

When Minho asks to go to the grocery store, you pretend you have a headache- for three days straight. So he makes the trips solo, balancing bags on one arm and telling you about how the cashiers have begun to ask where his pretend wife’s been. You give him no reaction, nodding as you feed Joon his dinner and glance at the clock for the umpteeth time, desperate to get away from him.

And the mystery woman remains, marching into the Lee household in afternoons like she owns the place, already having memorized the path to Minho’s room as she makes her way up the stairs and doesn’t acknowledge you. She’s beautiful everyday that she’s here, short skirts and long ponytails you can’t seem to look away from. And she’s even more hypnotic when she’s in the presence of Minho, the two of them as a couple certainly a sight for sore eyes. If they were a married couple, you’d reckon they'd be much more distinguished than you and Minho would.

“Do you want a coffee?” Minho peers into the library one night to ask you. You keep your gaze locked on the computer in front of you, trying your best to keep your guard up as he waits for a response.

“No, thank you,” you say coldly, continuing to work on your essay.

When he realizes you’re not going to say anything else, Minho enters the room reluctantly, his hands shoved in his pockets as he leans against the doorframe and gives you a once-over. You say nothing, still, holding back your emotions so as not to cause a scene. And Minho can tell something’s wrong in the way that you shift your eyes to him briefly and shake your head as if scolding yourself for doing so.

“Did I do something?” Minho finally asks, his voice a little shaky.

“No,” you say quickly, skimming the same sentence on your laptop screen over and over again.

“Are you… sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure.”

He fiddles with a loose thread in the pocket of his pants, keeping his gaze on the floor and thinking about your differing behavior toward him the past week.

“We just haven’t talked much. And you never really leave here anymore. I wanted to make sure I didn’t overstep any boundaries-”

“Overstep?” You interrupt, scanning your eyes over the screen of your computer. “There’s nothing to overstep. I get paid to watch your brother, not hang out with you.”

You feel guilty the minute the words leave your mouth, but you feel even worse knowing he’s just been stringing you along with a girlfriend this whole time. The atmosphere feels akin to when you first met him, awkward and cold, and with tensions high like this, you don’t feel at home in the Lee household anymore.

“Sorry,” Minho says, nodding. “You’re right. I guess I’m overstepping by asking.”

You only look up at him when he leaves, his shoulders sagging as he leaves you alone once again- only this time, you have a feeling he’s going to stop making an attempt to rekindle things anymore.

And you’re right- Minho stops trying entirely. There are no more offers to walk you home, no philosophical debates over coffee or grocery store trips where you act as a married couple. You’re still covered in knit blankets when you fall asleep accidentally on the couch, but Minho doesn’t stick around watching his infomercials to wait up for you anymore. And he still saves you his takeout when he orders, but he leaves it neatly packaged for you in the fridge instead of bringing it up to you like he used to.

You’ve gone from a mutual infatuation for each other to complete strangers once again. The house feels lonely and cold like it once did, your only real human interaction occurring in the few minutes you have with Mrs. Lee at the start and end of the day.

Minho doesn’t talk to you at all, locking himself away in his room like he did when you first started caring for Joon. And when you see him in passing at late hours of the night, he looks indifferent, sagging his shoulders as he averts your gaze with a book in hand and disappears down the corridors again. At some point, you begin to see his girlfriend less- in fact, his stoic composure makes you wonder if something’s happened between them. But as time goes on, you start to realize this is less about his girlfriend- and more about you.

What a gift it is to feel- but also what a curse. To let something consume you so entirely you can barely breathe without it. It’s laboring to think of anything else, of anyone else besides Minho and what he means to you. And as you replay your last interaction in your head for the nth time this evening, you think back to the day you started here. You knew the fundamentals of caring for a baby, having trained just enough to land a job doing it. All you wanted was to be liked by Mrs. Lee, and by baby Joon- and by extension, Minho. This household quickly became someplace you felt like you actually belonged in. But your purpose here has completely diverted from its original path, having prioritized Minho’s complexities and his feelings toward you above what you were hired here to do. You’ve experienced a roller coaster of emotions trying to understand him, and just when you thought you’d cracked him, you realized his heart belongs to someone else. So with the comfortable knowledge in mind that perhaps the universe isn’t, in fact, conditioned for you to mean anything more to him than just a babysitter, you understand it’s time to stop forcing any other version of it.

There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary two weeks into your avoidance of Minho.

You still haven’t talked, he still keeps his distance and you get paid to perform the job you’re here to do. But one afternoon before Minho’s even home from school, Joon refuses to eat. It starts with a tantrum he throws at breakfast time, which you consider typical as he knocks his cereal onto the floor and waves his hands around restlessly. You can only spoon feed him a couple spoons of yogurt before he’s put down for his afternoon nap. And when you wake him for his post-nap meal, he’s just as fussy. He seems to be bothered by something, crying loudly as you offer him different snacks and try your best to calm him down. But nothing seems to work, and when he begins refusing his bottles late into the afternoon, you start to panic.

Mrs. Lee isn’t home for a few hours, you’re unsure of when Minho gets home and you don’t have any way of getting to a hospital right now. The guilt and the fear eat away at you as Joon cries loudly, his face turning a bright shade of red as snot dribbles from his nose onto his shirt. He must be hungry, and clearly uncomfortable by something, only you’re entirely unsure what. His pacifier doesn’t calm him, nor does his favorite stuffed animal or his favorite television program. When his crying reaches the 10-minute mark, you feel hopeless, well prepared to drag him onto the bus to the nearest hospital yourself, fully convinced you’re going to lose your job. And as you begin to cry, too, the front door opens, Minho walking in with his backpack clutched casually in one hand and his car keys in the other. His girlfriend is with him this time, her head hanging as she uses her phone, completely oblivious to the atmosphere around her.

“Minho,” you call helplessly from the kitchen, and his head snaps instantly to look at you. Your eyes are nearly bloodshot from crying, your sleeves drenched in tears from wiping your eyes and your voice shaky as you speak. It’s the first time you’ve said his name in weeks, you realize, feeling your heart race as you call for him.

“What happened?” Minho asks when he turns the corner, throwing off his backpack and approaching a very fussy Joon.

“He won’t eat,” you reply through hiccups, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweater again. “I’ve tried everything. He won’t stop crying.”

Minho takes Joon in his arms, rocking him gently back and forth, to no avail; Joon starts crying even harder now, dribbling snot onto Minho’s sweatshirt and hitting his chest repeatedly.

“I’ll have to take him to the clinic,” Minho says in a rushed tone, fishing his car keys out of his pocket and making his way toward the door.

His girlfriend finally turns the corner into the kitchen, putting down her cellphone and huffing frustratedly.

“What’s going on?”

“Sorry,” Minho replies, shoving past her with Joon in his arms. “I have to go. We can work on our project another time.”

Your heart drops at the words- project. Project, as in a project for his university. With a classmate.

You want to cry more now, for being so stupidly angry with him over nothing, but you still have to help Minho take Joon to the clinic. Sujin doesn’t protest, quick to exit without so much as a goodbye as Minho scrambles to fetch Joon’s car seat.

“I’ll get him in the car seat,” you say, pulling your sneakers on as he balances Joon in his arms.

“You’re coming?”

“Of course I’m coming,” you scoff, already taking Joon from his arms and ushering him outside. “Go start the car.”

“Lee?” A nurse calls, holding a clipboard close to her chest as she scans the waiting room.

You and Minho both stand up, Minho balancing Joon in his arms as the nurse gestures you to the door.

“Please, follow me.”

Both of you walk side-by-side down the corridor as she double-checks papers on her clipboard, making a sharp right and leading you into a private room.

Minho sets Joon down on the examination table, holding his arms to steady him, and you stand beside him as you wait for the doctor.

“She’s just reviewing the results,” the nurse says, referring to the x-rays Joon took earlier. “She’ll be in shortly to discuss them.”

Minho nods silently as the nurse leaves the room, leaving the two of you alone once again. You say nothing, unsure of how to break the awkward silence as Minho wipes a string of drool from Joon’s mouth and avoids eye contact with you.

You feel awkward, embarrassed and so, so stupid, for having treated Minho like absolute scum because you assumed the worst of him. It breaks you to see him avert your gaze like this, treating you the same way he did when you first crossed paths. He has his guard completely up again, and you’re not sure he’s ever going to let it down around you. As you lose yourself in doubtful thoughts, the door opens, Joon’s doctor sauntering inside and wiping her hands with the strong scent of hand sanitizer.

“Hi there,” she says cheerfully, giving you both a warm smile. “Are we here for baby Joon today?”

“Yes,” you both say in unison, and she laughs a little.

“You two are very synced. They say it happens in the first year of marriage.”

“We’re not married,” Minho chimes in quickly, and you turn to look at him, feeling a pit in your stomach all over again.

“No?” She questions. “My apologies. Is mom here today?”

“I’m just his babysitter,” you say quietly. “This is his brother.”

“I see,” the doctor says, eyeing you both. “Well you may notice I’m fairly calm, and that’s because there’s no terrible news I have to share. Baby Joon is just suffering from a little mucus buildup. He’s probably feeling the impaction, and the discomfort has caused a loss of appetite.”

You feel a weight off your shoulders instantly, relieved that this isn’t a more serious matter. He’s going to be fine, you think to yourself. He’s going to be his normal self as soon as this is over.

“… Just be sure to use a syringe to drain the mucus a couple times per day, and make sure he gets plenty of sleep.”

As the doctor writes Joon a prescription for his saline syringe, you catch Minho’s gaze briefly, shooting him a relieved look. He gives you a small nod in response, as if to say he’s glad you came along. And he is, he just can’t say it out loud.

“I think he’s finally sleeping,” Minho says, patting Joon’s back gently as he stands up from his chair. The two of you have been sat in the library for nearly two hours since getting back home, in complete silence as you read your books and wait for Joon to fall asleep. You take breaks every now and then to drain Joon’s mucus, alternating roles between holding his face still and using the syringe on him. And when he’s finally comfortable again, he dozes back off to sleep, little snores escaping his lips.

Minho leaves the room to put Joon to bed, and while he’s gone, you take the opportunity to pack your stuff and prepare to leave for the night. You feel guilty, not having said much to Minho this evening, especially with the newfound knowledge that this mystery woman was just a partner for his project. But you’re not sure what to say, well aware that he’s probably already decided you hate him, and there’s not much else you can do to fix things.

“He’s down,” Minho says as he re-enters the library.

“That’s good,” you reply with a solemn smile, packing your laptop in your bag and slinging it over your shoulder.

“I should get going.”

“Do you… need me to walk you?” Minho asks a little shyly, and although the offer is tempting, you shake your head no.

“I’ll be fine. It’s really not as unsafe as you’d think.”

Minho just nods, understanding that you still don’t want to be close to him. And he gives you a little bow, before he exits the room and makes his way up the stairs to his own.

As you begin to leave, an object left on the chair across from you catches your eye.

It’s Minho’s book- the first edition copy of Love and Limerence you gifted him. You take the small book in your hands, scanning its contents briefly and examining the pages. He’s already annotated several of them, despite having read the book numerous times now, and you can’t help but smile at his scribbled notes circling all his favorite quotes and underlining them twice. You know it’s valuable to him, despite coming from somebody he probably despises right now, but you decide to take it up to him anyway, not wanting him to lose it.

When you’re outside his door, you give a small knock as it’s left ajar, and Minho hums in response.

You enter quietly, holding the book out to him and shooting him a small smile.

“You left this downstairs,” you say, and Minho reaches for it quickly, embarrassed you might’ve seen some of his annotations.

“Thanks,” he replies, setting it back on his bookshelf of romance novels.

He takes a seat on the edge of his bed, patting the spot next to him, and you join him at a comfortable distance as he keeps his gaze on the hardwood floor.

For a moment, no one says anything. And then he sighs deeply, before finally speaking.

“I’m sorry. If I made you uncomfortable.”

“You didn’t,” you’re quick to reply.

“I clearly did,” Minho retorts. “And I know I’m quiet, and I kind of shut myself off from the rest of the world. But I never meant for it to affect you.”

“It didn’t affect me,” you reiterate.

He scoffs lightly in response.

“Why won’t you just say it? You haven’t talked to me in weeks. You don’t even look at me. I clearly did something to push you away.”

You don’t reply immediately, pondering what to say. And ultimately, you let your emotions speak for themselves.

“I was jealous.”

“Of what?”

“Of the girl. The one who’s been here almost every night.”

“Sujin?”

“Look, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know who she is or what she is to you-”

“My project partner,” Minho interrupts. “One who hates my guts.”

“Project partner,” you continue. “It doesn’t matter who she is- I like you, Minho,” you finally emphasize, turning to meet his gaze. His lips are parted in shock, his eyebrows furrowed as he hears you speak.

“I’m fucking infatuated with you, and it drives me crazy. I can’t go on vacation without seeing you in the books at the stores, I can’t sleep at night without your stupid theories replaying in my head. And I jump to the worst possible conclusions when you’re even near another girl. I’m going crazy trying to be liked by you- trying to look at everything through the lens of your romance theories or your book quotes, or whatever. But it’s so scary to like someone this much.”

Minho says nothing for a minute, collecting his thoughts as you let go of the breath you’ve been holding. He’s not used to people liking him- let alone being this intrigued by him. And especially when it’s in the form of reciprocation, from the one person he’s infatuated with, too.

“Why is it scary?” Minho questions, facing you now, his eyes darting briefly over your lips and then back up to your worried gaze.

“Because I’m here for a job. I’m not supposed to be feeling all this. You’re not supposed to be part of this.”

“How do you know that?” Minho retorts, leaning in a little closer to you now.

“I just…”

“You’re allowed to feel, y/n. You’re allowed to want this.”

And before you can protest his words, his lips are on yours, kissing you passionately like he’s pacifying the arguments before they can come to fruition. Your heart beats erratically in your chest, your mind racing with a million thoughts about what you’re doing, and what this whole thing even implies, but you shut them out with the rest of your concerns, pressing your thighs together as he brings two hands to your face and cups your chin gently. His lips work against yours so beautifully, so effortlessly, like the two of you have done this several times before. And maybe you have, in all his alternate universe theories- on your honeymoon, on the run from the police- right here in the comfort of his grand bedroom, his hands snaking up to pull off your cardigan as you tug desperately at the fabric of his t-shirt. Minho says nothing between passionate kisses, afraid if he talks you might realize what’s happening and leave. But you won’t leave, especially not when you’ve been dreaming of this, too.

When your cardigan is off, Minho moves a little closer to you on the bed, letting one hand guide itself onto your waist and trace the gentle curve of your body there. He’s delicate with his movements, careful not to startle you with his touches, but he’s also admittedly thought about this for weeks. The thought of you confessing was never something that crossed his mind- he was so sure he’d driven you away after that night. Never in his wildest fantasies had Minho considered the possibility that you were this smitten with him, too. But he did have thoughts of your lips on his, thoughts of your hands intertwined with his and ungodly visions of you under him, right here in his bed. Visions of his mouth on your breasts after you’d accidentally exposed yourself to him in the kitchen and he was forced to give attention to the massive erection that grew in his pants. And after you’d gifted him his favorite book, attentive to the details he’d indulged you in which he never otherwise shared with people, visions of making love to you ran rampant in his mind, filling you up over and over again with remnants of him as a form of saying I’m infatuated with you, too.

Minho’s kisses become needier as your words replay in his head, darting his tongue out to dance against yours with the sounds of exchanging saliva present between your plump, eager lips. He pushes you back gently so that you’re now lying on his pillow, the angle so intimate, the view of his room from here like something you’re not supposed to see. The ceilings appear even larger when you’re flat against his bed, the curtains that drape over his bedpost seemingly miles high.

Minho’s kisses trail down to your neck now, eagerly peppering your flesh in wet kisses as your hands reach up to tangle in his hair, holding him closer to you and letting him graze his lips wherever he desires. You can’t help but feel guilty having him all over you like this when you remember how you’ve treated him these past couple months- criticizing his tendencies to be quiet, intruding on his space and pushing him away because of a girl you’d assumed to be his girlfriend. But you also know most of it has been because you want him to mean more to you- perhaps you’ve just been trying to change things so that in this version of the universe, he’s not just an enigma to you. You want all of this- his lips on yours, his body pressed into you and to give yourself completely to him.

“Just so we’re clear,” Minho says suddenly, pulling away from you to hold eye contact with you. “I’m crazy about you, too. I really like you.”

And you can’t help but smile back in response, pulling him in again to press his lips on yours. He smiles into the kiss, too, satisfied you’re both on the same page. And although your now eager movements imply something more is about to happen, you don’t have to verbalize anything, his fingers snaking up your shirt serving as answer enough.

“Is this okay?” Minho asks, grazing your flesh with his big hands as he toys with the hem of your shirt.

You nod in response, sitting up a little and completing the task of pulling it off over your head and discarding it beside you. You waste no time on your bra, either, reaching around to unclasp it and rid yourself of the fabric without him having to ask. His eyes widen again at the sight, having remembered every curve of your body since that incident in the kitchen. But now in front of him again, he feels his cock swell in his pants, desperate to act on the urge. In nimble movements, his hand cups the mound of your breast, kneading it gently and sighing at the sensation of your soft skin against his. His mouth finds yours again, indulging you in a slow, passionate kiss, and then he trails down until he meets his hand at the mound of your breast, pressing a chaste kiss to your flesh before finally latching his lips around your nipple.

He starts with gentle kisses while your nipple rests between his lips, a string of saliva dribbling down to coat your hardened bud. And then he takes it between his lips with more force, beginning a gentle sucking motion as he gives your other nipple attention with his free hand, circling the tip with his thumb in tender movements.

You sigh beneath him, the sensation sending a shiver up your core, your nipples hardening even more in his touch, now eager for him to give your soaking core some attention. But he takes his time stimulating you, moving to your other breast to take your nipple in his mouth and leave a trail of saliva. Your body shivers when the cool air grazes your wet nipples as he pulls away, and he meets your lips again to kiss you passionately.

While he kisses you, your hands now toy with the hem of his shirt too, signifying for him to take it off. And Minho reciprocates with a little nod, finally pulling his shirt over his head and revealing his bare chest to you. It’s a marvelous sight to see more of his honey-tanned skin, his toned muscles and his broad pectorals practically begging for you to touch them. And just above his stomach, a horizontal pale pink scar, one that he eyes momentarily and then gives you a shy shrug.

You run your fingers along the scar briefly, tracing it in its entirety and bringing your hand up to caress his face.

“I didn’t think I could be any more attracted to you,” you say to him sheepishly, tracing the scar again. “You look like the poetry you’re so obsessed with.”

Minho feels an involuntary smile pulling at his face as he leans in to kiss you again, this time intent on giving himself fully to you the way you deserve.

Your kisses both grow hungrier, needier, as your bodies tangle into each other, and Minho loops a finger into the hem of your panties, tugging them down so that he has access to your sopping cunt. As your hands tangle further into his soft brown hair, his finger traces down the length of your stomach, dipping into every curve and over every inch of flesh he only got a brief sight of. And when he finds your mound, you arch up into him, parting your legs slightly to give him access. Minho doesn’t waste another second, attaching the pads of his fingers to your clit and working you in circular motions as he kisses you. Little gasps escape your mouth as he does, breathing heavily into his kisses and grinding your core closer to him as he quickens his pace, smearing your arousal around your aching clit and circling two fingers around to massage you gently. His cock is now fully erect against his abdomen, prodding into your upper thigh as he trails his kisses down your neck again, but he’s patient, forgiving with his movements, eager to pleasure you first.

As his kisses graze your neck, you tug his boxers over his cock, pulling them down so you’re equal parts undressed. Minho winces a little at the sensation, a bead of precum already dripping down the head of his cock, and you feel yourself clench around nothing at just the sight of him hard for you.

When he takes note of your anticipation, he glances down at his own erection, locking his gaze with yours again as if to confirm again that this is okay. You nod in response, reaching your hands around to loop them behind his neck and pull him a little closer. And then your gaze falls to his cock again, waiting for him to make the next move.

The two of you say nothing as Minho’s hand finds the base of his cock, pumping himself gently before leaning in to kiss you. He lets himself hover closer over you, until his cock is kissing your entrance in the same gentle, wet movements as your lips. You lift your leg up slightly to grant him access, and then in gentle movements as your eyes remain shut, you feel him push his tip inside of you, stretching you out around his girth and causing you to gasp. He’s bigger than you anticipated, even the dripping arousal of your cunt having trouble taking him wholly. But he brings his fingers down to your clit again, massaging you slowly to ease the pain. And it works, your body relaxing around him as he pulls back a little and thrusts in again, this time pushing further until he’s completely bottomed out inside of you. You let out a fervent moan at the sensation, his cock pulsating inside of you as he holds it there, feeling every inch of you clench around him and take him so well now. And then with a gentle kiss to your lips, he begins to move, his hips pulling back slowly to thrust back inside of you.

You feel so full of him, having him exactly as you’d always imagined him- circling your thoughts, hovering over you and finally inside of you, his cock brushing against your cervix so delicately with every thrust. Your labored breaths become one as you pant into each other’s mouths with overwhelming pleasure. Minho steadies himself with one hand on the mattress beside you, quickening his pace a little as he feels his cock twitch inside of you in response to a particularly pornographic moan of yours.

“Fuck,” he breathes, shutting his eyes as he continues to slip in and out of your soaking cunt. “You’re so full of me, aren’t you?”

He brings his lips to your neck again, nibbling the flesh between his teeth and letting it bruise as you moan beneath him.

“I’ve thought about you everyday,” you respond, angling his lips to yours again as he fucks you. “I’ve thought about this so many times.”

“Yeah?” Minho says with a satisfied smile, working circles back onto your clit.

“Yes,” you breathe back, toying with his hair as your arms wrap around his neck. “I wanted you to fuck me like the characters in your romance novels.”

Minho feels his cock twitch again, wincing and slowing his pace so as not to finish just yet.

“I can’t help it,” you whimper underneath him. “I think about you all the time. I think about you fucking me all the time.”

Minho intertwines his hand with yours, pressing it down on your abdomen and letting yourself feel when his bulge fills you up at every thrust, the motion visible beneath your palms.

“Feel that, baby?” He asks between kisses to your drooly lips. “Feel how good I fuck you? Is this what you imagined?”

You gasp at the sensation once you feel it, the bulge of his cock protruding against your palm with every pump inside of you. You nod breathlessly, almost unable to reply to his words now.

“I imagined it, too,” he says, picking up his pace now. “You don’t know how badly I wanted to bend you over the couch and fuck you right there the moment I met you.”

He groans a little as you clench around him and moan in response.

“Minho,” you say breathlessly, not missing the way his cock twitches inside of you once again. “Will you finish inside of me?”

He pauses for a moment, scanning your expression for a sign of whether or not you’re being serious.

“Please,” you beg, as if reading his thoughts. “I’m on birth control. Just want to feel your seed inside of me.”

He shuts his eyes briefly as you wrap your legs around his waist and pull him in a little closer.

“Are you sure it’s okay?” Minho asks, locking his gaze on yours again. “I want to, but I want you to be sure about it.”

“I’m sure,” you say quickly, the last syllable hitching in the back of your throat as he hits a particularly sensitive spot. “Please, just wanna feel you fill me up.”

He thrusts harder into you now, the room teeming with the squelching noises of your pussy taking him so effortlessly.

“You like it when we play house like this, huh?” He says, wrapping a hand gently around your throat. “You like imagining me as your husband, don’t you? Fucking you like we’re married?”

And it doesn’t take you more than a second to think before you’re nodding desperately at his words. You do love it, this sense of belonging when you’re in the Lee household. But you also get aroused at this second life you lead alongside him, caring for the baby like it’s one of yours and being fucked by Minho when no one else is around to hear your lewd moans.

“Yes,” you reply, your response muffled by his grasp on your throat. “You make such a good dad.”

“We’d make such good parents,” he emphasizes, kissing you breathlessly. “What do you say I fuck a baby into you and we find out for real?”

You feel yourself contract around his girth at the words, not having considered it seriously, but turned on at the idea of carrying a child just for him.

“Is that what you want?” Minho asks, nearing his orgasm as he thrusts even faster into you now, panting into your mouth above you.

“Yes,” you reply with a whimper. “Want you to fill me up so bad.”

“Yeah?” He cuts you off, pressing your abdomen harder with his hand. “I’m gonna cum, baby. Want you to feel it.”

Your senses hone in on the feeling of your palm over his bulge, pulsating rhythmically as he nears his orgasm.

“I’m cumming, fuck, I’m gonna finish,” Minho says, shutting his eyes in pleasure as he moves at his fastest pace now, his grip around your throat holding you steady as you lose yourself underneath him. He’s never finished inside someone before, but he has no intention of pulling out now, the conversation of impregnating you sending him over the edge as he reaches the cusp of his release.

You contract around his breathlessly now, eager to take his load, never having taken someone’s either, but desperate for Minho to be your first.

And with a few more harsh thrusts, Minho’s cock twitches once inside of you, finally letting out a generous load of his cum inside of you, the gush of his release filling you up so fully, the warm sensation of his milky white release thrusting deep inside of your pussy as he fucks the rest into you.

He feels his head spin, his eyes shutting instinctively at the sensation as he lets go fully inside of you, no urgency to pull out or stave off his release like he usually has to. And it takes a while before he’s begun to soften again, the knowledge of giving you his cum almost rousing him again and lengthening the period of his release inside of you. Minho already knows he’s going to be addicted to finishing inside of you from here on out- and he doesn’t want it any other way.

The warm feeling is all it takes for you to finish in mere seconds, contracting around him as he fucks you through his orgasm, your release mixing with his and dribbling down the side of your thighs as he begins to slow down. Minho doesn’t pull out immediately, instead caressing your face to gauge your reaction as he softens inside of you.

“Was it okay?” Minho queries, tucking sweaty strands of hair behind your ears and loosening his grasp on your throat.

“It was more than okay,” you say breathlessly, tears pricking the corners of your eyes as he smiles down at you. “I feel so full of you.”

Minho kisses you sweetly, rubbing his thumb along your hand soothingly as he pulls out of you, a string of his cum connecting to you still and dribbling onto the sheets as he rolls over to lay on his side.

For a moment, the two of you say nothing, your chests rising and falling as you catch your breath and ponder the day’s events. It’s not what you expected was going to happen when you saw yourself up to his room again, but it is what you’d hoped would happen eventually. And the atmosphere feels much lighter around you now, completely void of the lingering sexual and emotional tension that’s plagued you for so long.

“Minho?” you say quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Philosophically speaking, how many versions of us do you think are lying next to each other like this, right now?”

Minho thinks over your words for a moment, and then he chuckles lightly.

“Well if the universe was conditioned right, I’d hope for an infinite amount. But considering how long it took us to get here in this version, I’d say just one.”

And he sits up, leaning in for another kiss as two fingers tuck his arousal further into you, holding his release inside of your still-sensitive body.

“Have some bacon, honey,” Mrs. Lee says to you as she scrambles to get her things together for the day. “I made a lot, so help yourself.”

“Thanks,” you reply, strapping Joon into his high chair and smoothing down your skirt.

Ever since that evening, you and Minho have been inseparable. The two of you wait until Mrs. Lee is gone for the morning, desperately grabbing at each other and giggling between kisses until Minho has to leave for his classes. And when he returns, it’s much of the same, the two of you helping put Joon down for his afternoon nap before escaping up to his bedroom and making love until Joon wakes again.

Minho is completely and utterly obsessed with you, the same way you are with him, but you both know this game of house you play can’t go on forever. Mostly because you feel the guilt eating away at you day by day, every waking minute you’re tending to your duties as a babysitter or conversing with Mrs. Lee. It’s hard to be in the same room as Minho when she’s around, the urge to just confess even more present when she attempts to facilitate conversation between the two of you and you’re forced to act like he’s still a mystery.

But you have him more figured out than you ever have before, memorizing the freckles on his body like the back of your hand, reciting his favorite quotes like prayers and replaying the melodic giggles that escape his lips. You don’t want to be apart from him, but the point still stands- it’s scary to like someone this much. He consumes you more than he ever has before, filling every waking second of your life with remnants of him. You love when he reads romantic philosophical theories to you, or when he cooks you and Joon dinner after a long day. But you feel guilty when you’re alone with Joon again, hoping he can’t somehow tell that you’re only thinking of his brother when you’re preparing his bottles or feeding him. You hope Mrs. Lee doesn’t notice when your hair is a little too tousled to have just been from a nap, or the time you had to cross your legs to keep Minho’s release inside of you when the two of you had finished just in time for her to make it home. It’s selfish, and it’s unfair. And with no sign of this fling stopping anytime soon, you don’t see any other option to be fit.

“I’m leaving,” Mrs. Lee finally says, grabbing her car keys off the kitchen table and pulling her heels on. “Make sure to get Joon his medicine!”

The two of you watch as she shuts the front door behind her, and then you wait until her car starts, holding your breath as she pulls out of the driveway and begins down the street in what feels like an agonizing amount of time.

The minute she’s gone, Minho turns to you again, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you lean back against the counter.

“Morning,” he says with a shy smile. He wastes no time leaning in for a romantic kiss, which you reciprocate, wrapping your arms around his neck and smiling into him.

When he pulls away, the two of you say nothing, holding each other in a comfortable embrace as he rubs little circles into the small of your back.

“I guess it’s just mom and dad home right now,” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your neck. “I’ll ditch class right now if you want me to fill you up again.”

And his offer is tempting as he presses his erection into you, working more kisses down the nape of your neck and trailing his hands up your skirt.

“No,” you finally say, pushing him away and collecting your thoughts. “You need to get to class. I have a lot of stuff to do. I’m working, in case you forgot.”

“Okay, okay,” Minho says, holding his hands up in surrender. “I digress.”

He pulls back to caress your face with a visible smirk as your eyes graze his thighs, so beautifully sculpted under the fabric of his jeans. You’re not sure you’ve ever been so sinfully tempted by somebody before, like Eve to the apple, like a moth to a flame- he’s intoxicating, but you know you shouldn’t be indulging this while you’re here to fulfill your role as a babysitter.

“You should go,” you say to him, swallowing nervously as his hands trace the outline of your lips.

“Yeah,” Minho replies, a hint of disappointment present in his voice.

And without another word, he gathers his car keys off the table, sending you off with a little wave as he disappears for the day.

You may have Minho mostly figured out now- his fascination with romance and philosophy, his soft interior under the stoic exterior he presents everyone else with, his astounding levels of emotional intelligence and unwavering kindness for the people he loves. But now that things have become a little more complicated between the two of you, you fear all of this will come to an end as fortuitously as it all began.

The reality is, this isn’t one of Minho’s romance novels- you’re both real people, with emotions and convictions and reservations. And though you want this fleeting thing to last forever, you’re well aware that things don’t work that way, especially when you’re just a babysitter at the end of it all. Sure, Minho sees you as much more than that- but you were hired to be here in the Lee household, paid to fulfill your role here, and once this comes to an end, your relationship with Minho likely will, too.

… and thus, the decision to quit your job isn’t one you take lightly. It succeeds hours of thinking, weighing your options and planning out exactly what you’re going to tell Mrs. Lee when she asks why you’re leaving so suddenly. You want to do another internship, you decide on telling her, hoping she doesn’t poke enough holes to get the truth out of you- “I think far too much about your eldest son and it’s eating me alive.”

All day long, you try your best to shut Minho out of your thoughts, focusing on your online courses and caring for Joon like you used to. But it feels futile, this task of pretending things are the way they used to be. They’re not- you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back and hooking up with her eldest son. When all’s said and done, you’ll be right back in your own home, with your parents desperate to send you elsewhere once again, and your own life to tend to. This double life you romanticize isn’t real, nor is it attainable anymore.

Your phone call with Mrs. Lee to announce your decision doesn’t set anything in stone yet, her words urging you to speak with her later this week when she has some free time. But you know once you do speak with her, you’ll only have a few evenings left with Minho until this is all over. And you don’t have the heart to tell him just yet, but if things go anything the way they did when you first brought it up to him, you know he’s going to be heartbroken.

When Minho arrives home that evening, he can already sense something is wrong. You’re sat in the garden, where you typically don’t go, your legs crossed neatly over one of the sunlounger chairs as you let your thoughts consume you. Mrs. Lee’s koi fish fountain stands nobly in front of you, a robust stream of water trickling from its lips and into the concrete bowl below. You’re mesmerized by it as you always are, the steady sound of water coupled with the birds chirping in the sunny greenery around you as peaceful as ever.

“Hey,” Minho says, sliding open the screen door and stepping outside to meet you.

“Hi,” you reply, holding a hand up over you to shield your eyes from the sun. You’d forgotten how divine he looked today, his white button up now folded up at the sleeves and exposing his veiny forearms to you.

“How was your day?” Minho asks, pressing a small kiss to your temple as he occupies the spot beside you and stares at the fountain.

“Okay,” you respond, though you’re lying through your teeth. “Joon went down about an hour ago.”

Minho nods, and then he furrows his brows together as he speaks again.

“Why are you out here?”

You shrug in response, keeping short with your words as he pushes you for answers. And you want to tell him it’s because you made the most painful decision to call Mrs. Lee and forfeit all of this, but you know it’ll only hurt more, so you divert from the truth.

“It was stuffy inside,” you voice back, shooting him a small smile.

Minho seems to relax beside you, his shoulders sagging a little as he takes notice of your calm demeanor. He doesn’t have reason to believe anything’s wrong, judging by the way you converse so casually.

“You want me to cook you something?” Minho asks, placing his palm up next to you, and you let your hand intertwine with his.

“Will you read to me?” You ask, eager to indulge in your favorite activity alongside him.

“I can read to you,” Minho echoes back, pressing a chaste kiss to the back of your hand. “Which book?”

You’re both in the cozy atmosphere of the library later that evening, Minho sat on his favorite velvet armchair as you occupy a spot in his lap with his arms wrapped around you. The book is positioned in front of him so you can both see, his fingers holding open the thin pages as the poetry leaves his lips, pausing in between lines to press kisses to the crook of your neck when he’s reminded of you in his favorite characters.

And you hold back tears in the moment, wanting so badly to tell Minho that you’ll be letting go of all of this, running back to the monotony of your old life, one where Minho doesn’t exist and you don’t have to balance the complicated feelings of liking someone to this degree. But you bite back your words, careful not to ruin the intimate moment you share while he loves you in an ignorant state of bliss.

“The pleasures of love are always in proportion to the fear,” Minho begins a new chapter, grazing your neck with his lips.

He trails a bit lower to graze your shoulder now, pressing a small trail of kisses as he pauses his reading. You giggle softly in response, feeling his fingers find the strap of your tank top to pull it down your shoulder so he can pepper kisses there, too.

“Minho,” you say softly, writhing in his embrace as he tickles every inch of your skin with his kisses, now shutting the book and setting it on the arm of the chair.

“Can’t help it,” Minho responds, shutting his eyes as he snakes his hands up the back of your tank top. “You look so beautiful right now.”

As you adjust in his lap, you can feel he’s now rock-hard in his jeans below you, his thighs flexing underneath you as he wraps two hands around your waist and runs them up and down your sides. You take the hint, turning around in his lap to face him, and let your arms wrap around his neck to steady yourself.

“What are you thinking about?” Minho asks, bringing his lips to yours as he feels his hardened cock graze against the fabric of his jeans, eager to pleasure you.

You want to express your fears, your doubts, to tell him the truth about what you spoke about on the phone with Mrs. Lee earlier today. But you can’t, not when he looks so tantalizing in front of you like this, his bulge perfectly outlined in his tight jeans and his veiny arms flexing below the fabric of his collared button-up. You’ve been roused for him since he left in the morning, his offer swirling your mind coupled with his appearance, like something out of a wet dream.

“You,” you voice back, whimpering pathetically into another kiss and rocking your hips gently over him so that he’s practically whimpering for you, too.

Neither of you have to say much, knowing already where the evening is headed, as you unzip his pants and palm his erection through the fabric of his boxers. Minho watches as you slide off his lap, dropping to your knees in front of him and tugging the fabric of his jeans. He complies with your urges, pulling them down to his knees and freeing his erection from his boxers, exhaling deeply as the cool breeze of the room grazes his leaking tip.

Without a second to waste, you take him in your mouth, letting your saliva coat his shaft as you kiss his tip tenderly and then guide him down your throat, the base of his cock just barely meeting your lips as you struggle to take him fully. Minho groans at the contact, bucking his hips off the chair to guide himself further into you, feeling his cock twitch when you gag a little at the contact. You stay like that for a good while, bobbing your head in rhythmic motions up and down his hardened length, your saliva allowing you to graze his shaft with ease.

Minho’s thighs contract desperately below him, trying his best to stave off the orgasm he’s been longing for since the moment he saw you this morning. His hands find your hair, pulling your locks into a makeshift ponytail and gasping as you take him a bit deeper now, pulling back again to pepper the tip of his wettened cock in drooly kisses.

“Fuck,” Minho breathes out, clutching the arm of the chair so desperately. “Baby, stop, I don’t want to finish yet,”

And you release him with a gentle pop, knowing exactly what it is he wants so badly. You never deny it, sitting back up again to position yourself over his cock you intertwine his hands with yours. He uses one hand to tug your panties to the side, and then in one swift motion, you guide his cock inside of you, sliding down the slick of his length and bottoming out with ease. You take him so well now, always able to adjust to his girth instantly as your cunt is always dripping in anticipation when he’s near.

Minho’s hand moves to push your tank top up, taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking harshly as you begin to bounce on him with gentle movements. The room fills with sounds of panting, sucking and desperate moans as his cock fills you fully with every thrust, brushing against your cervix as he moves to your other nipple and kneads your breast desperately.

“What was that quote again?” You ask in labored breaths as he comes back up to kiss your lips.

“The pleasures of love,” he begins, breathlessly working his lips against yours as you clench around his length. “Are always in proportion to the fear.”

Minho feels his cock twitch inside of you, always nearing his finish much faster when you make him recite all his favorite quotes and book excerpts to you.

Except this one speaks much louder to you, directly aligning with your present-day emotions, circling your mind relentlessly as he fills you. Maybe this is what his book speaks of- the pleasures of love, being filled so fully and lovingly by Minho, two pieces of one whole like you’re both made for this, to make love into the late hours of the night while he recites poetry to you.

And all of this in proportion to the fear- this constant fear that he’s just a fleeting entity, that you’re both naive to play house like this and pretend it’s anything more. The fear present while you’re sneaking behind Mrs. Lee’s back, letting him fuck you like he’s married to you and indulge you in all of his deepest secrets, as though you’re the only one allowed to know him this intimately.

The love and fear and indeed in proportion to one another- you love him as much as you’re afraid of loving him.

“I love you,” you say suddenly, bringing him in for another kiss before he can respond. But the way his kisses work against yours, hungry and passionate, there’s not a hint of reluctance in his response when he pulls away to speak again.

“I love you,” Minho breathes back, working his kisses against yours as his cock pulsates inside of you, desperate for release. “And I hope every version of the universe is conditioned for us to be right here.”

You smile into him, slowing your movements as you feel him contract inside of you, and then his thighs flex as he finally finishes inside of you, shooting hot white ropes of his cum into your still-clenching cunt, his release already beginning to dribble back down his length as he feels you slow down over him.

You bring a hand between the two of you, gathering his cum on the pads of your fingers to circle your clit in gentle movements, stimulating yourself to your release, too, as you contract desperately around him and breathe labored kisses back into his mouth. Your juices mix with his as you catch your breath, keeping him inside of you as your chest rises and falls with gentle movements. But the two of you say nothing, pressing your lips together to indulge in more passionate kisses for the few minutes you have left before Mrs. Lee makes it home for the evening.

The garden is particularly beautiful the next afternoon, teeming with the sounds of birds chirping and trees swaying in the gentle autumn breeze. Mrs. Lee let you know she’d be home a little earlier to have a chat about your decision to leave, and when Joon is put down for his afternoon nap, you receive the call that she’s in the garden waiting for you. You enter hesitantly, worried Minho might catch you and question what you’re doing out here. But he’s not home from school yet, you remind yourself, glancing around the tall grass and neat rows of potted plants for Mrs. Lee.

“Y/n!” A voice calls from one of the patio chairs. “Come, sit!”

Mrs. Lee sits with her back facing you, a large white sun hat atop her neatly styled hair and complementing her matching white jumpsuit. Her gaze remains locked on the koi fountain you’re always transfixed by, too.

“Hi Mrs. Lee,” you say, giving her a small bow as you take the seat next to her. “It’s a pleasure to see you again.”

She nods with a smile. “So good to see you when we have a little more time. I’m sorry I’m always such a mess in the mornings.”

You shake your head quickly, brushing off her words. “Not at all! It’s always nice to greet the family before I start my day.”

She just smiles in response, turning to nod at you, and then she turns back to the fountain.

“I was a little surprised when you called the other day. I hope things are going okay.”

“They are,” you interrupt quickly. “They absolutely are. Joon is so pleasant, and the job is great. I really love it here.”

“I hope everything at home is okay,” she moves on to say, and you quickly reassure her.

“Yes, everything is fine! Everyone is doing great.”

“I understand,” Mrs. Lee says, eyeing the ground before turning to face you now. “You’ve done so much for us, I’d be lying if I said I’m not going to miss having you around here in the mornings.”

You shoot her a sympathetic look, feeling a pit form in your stomach, too. You feel the same, probably tenfold, at the idea of leaving behind the household you’ve called home for so many days.

“I’m going to miss it here, too.”

“And I know Joon is going to be heartbroken,” Mrs. Lee says with a chuckle.

You chuckle too, giving her an understanding nod.

She pauses briefly, furrowing her brows together, before continuing her speech.

“You’re such a bright young woman, and I know you’re destined to do amazing things. If there’s a way I can help in this transition, please don’t hesitate to let me know, okay?”

You nod at her words, and watch as she smooths down her top before standing up. She seems to wait for a moment, as if hoping for you to say something, and when you don’t, she begins to make her way back inside.

“Well, I’ll let you go for the evening. Thank you again, for everything. And you have my phone number if-”

“Mrs. Lee?” You call out suddenly, catching her before she can get much further. She turns around at the worry present in your voice, her face shifting into that of concern.

Without having to voice anything else, Mrs. Lee sits down again, waiting for you to continue. But you can’t, your heart beating wildly in your chest at the thought of even bringing up the topic of Minho. I’m in love with your son, you want to say to her. I’m so in love with Minho and I hope you understand I don’t have a choice but to leave this all behind me.

“You know,” Mrs. Lee interrupts your thoughts, breaking the silence that fills the air. “This koi fountain was my first gift from Mr. Lee.”

You nod at her, remembering when she introduced it to you on your first day here.

“We weren’t married yet. It was his first restoration project, and my dad hated him. So he had a lot of trouble getting it over to me.”

You chuckle lightly, amused at her story which seems to calm you down a little.

“Luckily his parents adored me,” she continues. “And they offered to house it in their backyard until we married. For the 15 years we dated, my koi fish lived in their garden. And when we did marry, they rented a big truck to help haul it over. It was such a project! But it’s my favorite part of the garden.”

You shoot her a saccharine smile, well endeared at the way she speaks of Mr. Lee. You can tell she’s in love with him, even this many years later.

“Sometimes I wondered why they would do something so nice for me. But as I grew closer to them, I learned not to question what was meant for me. They loved me, as did Mr. Lee. And I wasn’t going to run from any of that, no matter what I felt I deserved.”

Your head snaps in her direction at her last words, realizing how they apply to you. But she doesn’t know about Minho- at least not to your knowledge, or Minho’s. She gives you a sheepish smile as you furrow your brows, and then she takes your hand in hers, giving it a little squeeze.

“I hope you won't run from what you deserve, either.”

You nod a little bit at her words, finally understanding the weight of them, and then you look back at her with a confused expression.

“Mrs. Lee, are you talking about…”

“Minho?” She finally says, with a warm smile. She takes your other hand in hers, too, tilting her face to yours so that she’s making proper eye contact as she speaks.

“I had wondered why he was so happy these days. Minho’s always been a bit of an outcast. But I haven’t seen this spark in him since he started his obsession with all those romance novels and philosophy studies of his.”

You chuckle lightly, a weight off your shoulders as she finally speaks of what circles your mind so heavily.

“But how did you…”

“I knew it when I saw it,” she says. “I knew it, because he had the same look in his eyes as when I met his father.”

You feel your heart swell in your chest, your shoulders relaxing as she continues to speak.

“He speaks of you like poetry,” she tells you. “And for that alone, I’m thankful for you. Now what you choose to do is your decision- but I hope you know you will always have a home here with us. Not just as a babysitter, but as family.”

When Mrs. Lee finishes her speech, she gives your hands a little squeeze, smiling at you and back at the koi fish fountain. It feels much more sentimental to you even now, the beautiful waterfall that cascades serving as a reminder of its permanent restoration rooted in the infatuation Mr. Lee had for Mrs. Lee. And watching it stand so beautifully like it did all those years ago, you’re reminded that love can be a lasting thing, no matter the circumstances. The universe can condition itself to make things last, affirming the philosophical notions Minho’s always told you. And that perhaps you do deserve this, a sense of belonging here in the Lee household, right here alongside Mrs. Lee and Minho, and even baby Joon.

As you watch the fountain together, the sound of the sliding door makes itself known behind you, and you turn around to find Minho entering the garden, baby Joon sitting comfortably in his arms as he makes his way over.

“Hi,” Minho says, coming around to give Mrs. Lee a kiss on her cheek. “What’s going on here?”

He looks visibly worried, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Mrs. Lee, as if to silently ask you what she’s told you.

But Mrs. Lee just smiles at him, as she gets up from where she’s sitting and smooths down her jumpsuit.

“We were just having a girl chat. I’ll leave you two alone.”

And she disappears behind the screen door again, shooting you a little wink as she does, her anecdote circling your mind, still.

“What happened?” Minho asks, settling down next to you and balancing baby Joon on his knee. Joon fists at the fabric of his shirt, babbling incoherently as you smile down at him.

“Nothing,” you say, leaning in to press a quick kiss to his lips. You refrain from saying anything about leaving, not wanting to interrupt the tender moment you share with Minho and Joon in the sunlight of the garden.

“You have a really cool mom,” you settle on saying, smiling at Minho as he chuckles softly in response.

The afternoon sun beams through the glass windows of the library as you lie comfortably in Minho’s lap, his book positioned in front of you as he presses a small kiss to the back of your hand before turning the page.

Outside, the birds chirp songs of early spring, the steady stream of Mrs. Lee’s koi fountain audible as you peer down at the garden.

Mr. and Mrs. Lee sit in the tall grass, fiddling with a box of tools as Mr. Lee repairs a new project for Mrs. Lee. This one’s a much larger fountain, one he’d told you would take several months, perhaps even years. But Mrs. Lee sits beside him, relishing in stories of his restoration process and laughing with him as he works. You can’t help but smile at the sight, her stories about him playing in your mind whenever you catch a glimpse of them together.

“Do you think they could be us in another universe?” You ask Minho, turning to face him as he peers out the window, too.

“I hope so,” he says with a smile.

You settle closer to him in his lap, pressing a small kiss to his hand as he continues reading.

“And think not that you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.”

At his words, you hear baby Joon cry out, having woken from his afternoon nap.

“I’ll get him,” Minho says, shutting the book and setting it aside to go tend to the baby.

And as you peer back out the window, the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Lee’s laughter filling your ears, baby Joon’s voice calling to you, Minho’s philosophy book perched on the chair beside you and the sun beams shining their light through the windows, you know that this is belonging, this is love.

#*minho #stray kids #skz #fics that made me believe in love or something idk

9K notes · View notes

skzbow · 8 months ago

Text

🥺🤏🏼

#made to be my bf honestly #he’s so cutieful #chan #stray kids #bang chan #christopher bang

2K notes · View notes

skzbow · 8 months ago

Text

THIS WAS SO HOT GOD

🫧 ꒱⠀ ⠀ׁ⠀⠀ׅ⠀⠀ so high, h. hyunjin

꒰ 🗯️ ꒱ WEED，𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽𝗒 𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 ＆ 𝖿𝖾𝗆 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋，𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗒’𝗋𝖾 𝖻𝗈𝗍𝗁 𝗁𝗎𝗀𝗁 𝖺𝗌𝖿，𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗀��－𝗋𝗂𝖽𝗂𝗇𝗀，𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 𝗀𝖾𝗍𝗌 𝖺 𝗅𝗂𝗅 𝖻𝗂𝗍 𝗆𝖾𝖺𝗇，𝗉𝖾𝗍𝗇𝖺𝗆𝖾𝗌，𝗁𝗒𝗎𝗇 𝗂𝗇 𝖻𝗅𝖺𝖼𝗄 𝗍𝖺𝗇𝗄 𝗍𝗈𝗉… EDITED. note，𝗂𝗏𝖾 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗌𝗆𝗈𝗄𝖾𝖽 𝗐𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗅𝗂𝗄𝖾 𝟥 𝗍𝗂𝗆𝖾𝗌 𝗌𝗈 𝖽𝗈𝗇𝗍 ＠ 𝗆𝖾 𝗂𝖿 𝗂𝗍𝗌 𝗂𝗇𝖺𝖼𝖼𝗎𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗂𝖽𝗀𝖺𝖿 😭

[ 𝟢．𝟫𝗄 𝗐𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 ] ☆ [ 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝗋𝖾𝗉𝗈𝗌𝗍 ] ☆ [ 𝗆．𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍 ]

"JUST.. JUST LIKE that, yeah," Hyunjin breathed out a cloud of smoke, smothering you with the scent of weed and regret. Your hands plastered upon his chest, frail whines slipping past the confines of your lips. His hands splayed on your waist, steadying you, grounding you to his own being. Your hips rutted against his bulge, hidden beneath the thick, annoying jeans, studded with a belt that you were too high to figure out how to unbuckle. Hyunjin hummed in satisfaction as you continued, desperate and eager to please.

"You're doing good, baby, fuck," Hyunjin muttered with the rolled blunt between his pursed lips. His eyes traveled up and down your figure, coyly stopping at your tits, covered delicately by the fabric of whatever random t-shirt you decided on today. No bra, he could see your hardened nipples poking through the fabric; he practically studied your body, taking it all in. The only touch he gave was that on your waist, and it sure as shit wasn't enough. "You poor thing, the weed makin' you all needy, right, baby?" He watched you nod, purely desperate. It stroked his ego beyond relief, his lips tugging in a smile, raising a hand to his mouth to take out the burning roll, emitting a cloud of smoke. More and more smoke, dizzying your already lost mind.

"H-Hyunjin... stop, s'embarrassing!"

"Oh, we're far past that, baby," Hyunjin chuckled, inhaling deeply, the burn of the smoke hitting his throat, seeping into his mind. He grabbed your jaw, bringing your face to his and instructing you to open, you did, already knowing what was happening. He blew another cloud in between your lips, watching as you obediently took the second hand smoke. "Good girl," He emphasized his words by tapping your cheek at each syllable.

"Keep going," Hyunjin leaned back, enjoying the scene before him, the slender touch of his eyes on your body was hot, making more heat rise to your cheeks, "Don't stop until you cum. I wanna see you get off like this," You hesitantly did so, continuing to rut against him, unsure if you could even do that. Hyunjin was confident though. He had no doubt a needy brat like you could do it.

Meanwhile, he decided to light the last blunt, roughly put together by you earlier when he had you on his lap. He already knew then that things would escalate like this, now he has the physical embodiment of it. He chuckled and grabbed the little red lighter again, handing it to you and giving you those brown, caramelized eyes. You knew what he wanted, so you pushed through your fuzzy mind and clicked the lighter on.

"Look at that, you did it," Hyunjin almost sounded astounded, "You listen so well." He watched your thighs shake, your breath get heavier. You dropped the lighter, the flame immediately cutting.

"Mmgh, Hyun," Your hands dug into the black fabric of his tank top, pinching his skin in the best way. He watched you shiver and shake, eyes growing wide with anticipation, "M' cumming, fuck!"

The rough fabric of his jeans felt so heavenly against your barren clit, rubbing harshly. You felt blinded by such a pleasure. And before another word could be uttered you moaned his name and felt the immediate rush of your climax rush through you. Paired with the heightened senses from being high, it was intense, to say the least. You sucked in a breath that felt like needles in your lungs.

Hyunjin, on the other hand, watched in awe and a bit of amusement as you fell apart on top of him. He sucked in one breath after the other of the smoke. Pursing his lips he rubbed your thigh and waist in unison. His praise was silent as you calmed down from your previous orgasm, swooping in for the rescue.

"Poor thing," Hyunjin was sincere, he couldn't help but find you cute in moments like this, "Let me help you more, hon." He lifted you slightly from your collapsed position on his chest, helping you to lift your hips. His own lifted as well, sliding his sweats down his thighs, freeing the hardening length of his cock. The tip leaked with arousal, anticipation built in your body. The cloud of smoke smothered you from his mouth again, the floaty feeling of being high suffocating. "This'll help, sweetheart."

You nodded, feeling that intense need to feel him again. You situated your shaky limbs over him, sinking down on the length. It stretched you out nice and slow, the thickness of it jaw-dropping.

"Oh, fuck, that's good..." Hyunjin hummed. His hand patted your thigh, the touch leaving you whimpering into his chest. You were sensitive, incredibly so. Hyunjin murmured into your hair a soft praise and slithered his hand up your back. You sunk into his chest further, loving his touch, loving the way he filled you up just right. The stretch, the fullness. Hyunjin knew you'd be too sensitive to do much, but he figured a round of cockwarming while he finished off the last blunt would be nice; it sure as shit was. A little bit torturous though. All he wanted to do was move, fuck up into your needy little hole, all the while you were dead asleep, too drunk on your own precious pleasures to even be awake to continue.

"As soon as you're up, I'm fucking the shit out of you, y'know," He mostly said to himself with a slight chuckle, kissing the side of your head as a small cloud of smoke emitted past his lips.

#*hyunjin #hyune is so gorgeous #skz #stray kids

630 notes · View notes

skzbow · 8 months ago

Text

this made me cry! but in a good way! i want to be treated this gently :’)

Limits

pairing: lee minho x gn!reader genre/warnings: established relationship, somewhat suggestive, allusions to sexual activities (?), hurt/comfort, mc is overwhelmed and showcases such symptoms as a result, self-indulgent af because i can word count: ~0.5k note: this stuff can be scary, so remember that communication and consent are the sexiest things in a relationship ♡

As soon as your head hits the pillow, Minho knows something is different. Wrong.

Your once fervent kisses slow, lips barely meeting to brush up against his. Wandering touches become hesitant from underneath him, your hands instead settling to stiffly drape over his shoulders. Your chest raises rapidly, pressing against him in short bursts, and Minho’s hand dancing along the hem of your shirt halts.

Releasing the fabric, he quickly leans back until he can see your face, carefully hovering over your taut form. And what he sees makes his heart plummet to the depths of his stomach. Wide, shifting eyes flit around the room, avoiding his concerned stare. You’re on the brink of hyperventilating, sucking in shallow breaths sure to make your lungs burn in exertion. Glistening tears pooling in your eyes catch the bedroom’s soft lighting, and Minho is frozen, unable to tear his gaze away and ask what is happening until you start subtly pushing against him.

Snapping back into reality, Minho scrambles off you, barely noticing your arms fall limply to the bed, and lies on his side in the space beside you. “Hey, hey, shhh, it’s okay, it’s okay,” Minho soothes, bringing a hand up to tenderly cup your cheek. His thumb brushes over your cheekbone, hoping the touch will comfort you, even if only the slightest, as his eyes hurriedly scan your body. His heart is beating out of his chest and the growing lump in his throat isn't helping when he doesn’t find anything irregular except the love bites he left on exposed skin. “What’s wrong?”

You snap your gaze up and finally meet his worried one. The rise and fall of your chest slows ever so slightly. “I don’t know,” you breathe, rushing your next words. “Can you hold me for a minute?”

“Of course.” Minho tucks his arm underneath you and wraps the other around your waist, pulling you into his chest. His fingertips lightly scratch the base of your neck as your shaking body relaxes in his embrace. You hide your face in his neck, immediately nuzzling further as if you’ve finally returned home—as if he was your sanctuary from the rest of the world. Minutes pass, and he feels the tension slowly leave your body. Your breathing gradually steadies, small puffs of air tickling his neck.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why, but I just can’t do it right now,” you murmur, lips grazing his skin.

Minho stills, furrowing his brows before gently grasping your shoulder and pulling you back to look at him. “Don’t be sorry. Never be sorry for telling me how you feel,” he whispered, resting his forehead against yours. “I will never force you to do anything you don’t want to. Okay?”

He watches you nod in response but doesn’t break his stare.

“Okay,” you say.

Minho presses a chaste kiss to your forehead and gathers you in his arms again. “Good.”

liked this work? want to let me know how i did? please like, comment, and/or reblog; they are greatly appreciated my asks are always open ♡

taglist : @linospuddin @linocz @spicyhyunn @inlovewithstraykids @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21

@hwangism143 @feelikecinderella @celebration88 @ssickmagnolia8

#*minho #skz #stray kids

551 notes · View notes

skzbow · 8 months ago

Text

this is literally so so so cute i would feel so safe with minho

Language Barrier

Pairing: Lee Minho x Reader

Word Count: 7K

Tags: fluff, first meeting, first kiss, strangers to lovers

Summary: When the power goes out while you’re in an ATM vestibule, you come to realize you’re stuck inside until the police come to open the door. But there’s one problem, you don’t speak a lick of Korean, and the man inside doesn’t seem to speak an ounce of English.

———

A/N: Please note that sentences that are Italicized are meant to be in Korean and sentences that are regular text are in English.

‘How are you?’ - English

‘I’m fine thank you, and you?’ - Korean

—————————————————————————

Luck was not on your side today.

It’s not like you’re an unlucky person as a whole, no, that’s not it. Today was just one of those days that when you say ‘How could this get any worse?’, the universe takes it as a challenge.

Perhaps you should’ve just kept your mouth shut after you spilled coffee on your blouse this morning. But, you’ve always been such a ‘glass-half-full’ sort of person that you tried to take every inconvenience in stride. Everyone has their limit, though.

Before you came here on a business trip, you had heard about the Korean Monsoon season.

Everyone and their mother told you about how much it would pour, how it would feel like the skies suddenly opened up. But, you didn’t take anyone’s warning seriously. You would wave them off with a scoff.

“It’s just rain,” you thought. “How bad could it be?”

You’re eating those words now as you run through the streets in your nice, newly-soaked, professional heels. Your slacks are sticking to your legs, making the fabric ten times heavier. With your bag held over your head, you look around frantically for the bank.

It doesn’t help that it’s close to 10 PM and visibility is already horrible at this time. Yes, you should have gone earlier, but you were distracted!

Where is it? Where is it?

There!

You spot the glass doors and practically sprint up to them, grab the handle, and rip the door open.

A giant sigh of relief comes out of your lips as you step inside the tiny vestibule.

The only other man inside the place jumps a bit at your noise. He glances over his shoulder at you, but immediately turns back to what he’s doing at the ATM. You pay him no mind as you shake the rainwater off of your bag.

It’s after hours at the bank, meaning the only thing open and available is one ATM inside the room between the bank itself and the streets of Seoul.

Soft beeping comes from the ATM as the other man presses a few buttons. There’s an umbrella on the floor at his feet.

After brushing the water off your jacket, you bring your bag in front of you and start fishing out your card. Countless items inside your bag are now completely soaked.

Ugh, there goes all those business cards you collected at the meeting. Most of the ink is bleeding off the cardstock. Maybe, if you try really hard, you can make out the phone numbers on the cards.

Is that a 6 or an 8?

Or maybe the email addresses will be easier to understand. Surely, it just their names and their company’s–

There’s a bright flash of lightning followed immediately by a booming clap of thunder at the same time the lights in the ATM vestibule flicker and go out completely.

You fight the yelp that bubbles in your throat. The man in front of you seems to lose the fight against his reactions and lets out a tiny yip.

His shoulders come up and he seems to bristle like a cat.

“You’re kidding,” you mumble, looking up at the lights. It was almost pitch black inside now, save for the tiny emergency lights that kick on on either side of the glowing Exit sign.

The man lets out a grumble and a sigh.

You look over and see that the ATM has completely shut off. Figures.

The storm must’ve triggered some sort of power outage. Great. Now you’ll have to find some other ATM.

Why, oh why, did the restaurant that your boss wanted to take you to tomorrow morning have to be cash only?

Whatever, there should be a bank a few blocks from here.

Your heels click on the tile as you make your way to the door. When you grab the handle and pull, it doesn’t budge.

There’s a beat.

You try again, really putting your back into it this time.

“Am I stupid or what?” you whisper to yourself, trying the other door and pulling equally as hard.

“They’re not going to open,” the man behind you says. “The fail-safe locks probably kicked in once the power went out. It’s a security measure.”

You turn around and look at him with a blank look on your face. “Oh, ah, um… s-sorry, no… no Korean.”

The man blinks at you. “You don’t speak Korean?”

You blink right back at him. “Um…” All you can do is shake your head with wide eyes and a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry,” you repeat.

Another series of blinks are exchanged.

“No… Korean?” he asks slowly. His English sounds so unsure.

You nod. “No… no Korean.”

A tiny, exasperated sigh comes from his lips and he looks around, as if anything inside this tiny little room would be able to help him communicate with you. Meanwhile, you turn back to the door and give it another sharp tug to no avail.

“No,” he says firmly, drawing your attention back to him. He motions down to the door handles and then shakes his head.

“No?” you repeat, a bit confused.

“No.”

Honestly, the primitive conversation between the two of you would be somewhat laughable if you didn’t feel frustrated beyond belief.

“Why?” you ask, becoming annoyed. Obviously, he knows something that you don’t.

The man blinks at you and shifts around nervously on his feet. His hands motion around as he tries to conjure up a sentence in English. “N… No. Closed?... Closed.” He nods, saying the word rather confidently.

Yes, you know the door is closed. But, why?

After a second, he sees that whatever he said evidently isn’t good enough, so he points back to the ATM, to the light that is now off due to no power, and then to the locks. You follow his pointing and the cogs in your brain start turning slowly.

“Fail-safe locks,” you state and then finally release the door handles.

“Fail… Fail-safe locks,” he repeats slowly. “Fail-safe locks.”

“Fail-safe locks?” you parrot his Korean back to him and he nods.

A small hum comes from your chest and you take a step back from the door finally. “How long do you think–” you cut yourself off when you look over at him. The man is staring at you, not following a word you’re saying.

Your hand comes up and you brush some wet hair off your forehead and then scratch the back of your head as a nervous tick. There’s no point in even asking the question, he won’t be able to understand anything you’re saying.

If you were in his shoes, you’d probably be a bit annoyed too. But at the same time, he’s already been kinder than most would be in this situation.

He’s locked in an ATM vestibule with someone who doesn’t speak the same language as him– in his own country. He’s been more than kind. Most people would just wave you off and forget trying to communicate at all.

But here he was, talking slowly and making sure you can understand what he’s saying. He’s going so far as to point around the room to make sure you understand.

The man notices you give up and he lets out a tiny sigh, turning to then peer out the glass doors at the streets of Seoul. There’s basically no one out there, everyone has taken shelter from the squall.

“We’ll have to wait until the police come to open the door.” He pats at his pockets, searching for his phone.

Even with how terrible your Korean is, you still pick up on a few words. “Police?” A beat. “Police?”

“Yes,” he answers in English, taking his phone out and tapping the screen a few times before holding it up to his ear. The man continues to look through the glass doors, watching all the different cars drive by, none of them police cars.

You decide to turn around, walking around the tiny room.

All of the lights are off except for the emergency lights. They cast a dull glow through the entirety of the vestibule. There's barely enough light to see from one side of the room to the other.

Rain starts hammering against the glass as the man speaks into his phone. “Yes, hi, hello. I am currently trapped with another woman inside the ATM vestibule of Metrobank Seoul… Namdaemunno… Yes, that one.”

Your ears perk up when he mentions the name of the bank and the address. Ah, he must have called the police. His face pulls into a slightly annoyed look, but he doesn’t speak with a hint of it through the phone, at least, not that you’re really able to tell.

The man says a few more words into the phone before he hangs up with a sigh. He runs a hand through his hair and then down his face in an exasperated fashion before turning to look at you. His mouth opens to say something, but he thinks better of it and he grimaces even more.

Your own features pull into a sympathetic expression and you look away, slightly embarrassed. Should you have learned more of the language before coming here? Absolutely. But at the same time, you didn’t have much time to prepare once you were told you had to travel here for business.

He shuffles from foot to foot and looks around, shoving his hands in his pockets and desperately trying to remember every English class he took in school.

“Police…” he says slowly, thinking through every word he wants to try and say. “Police are… busy.”

“Busy?”

“Yes. Busy. Busy with… car…” He brings both of his hands together and claps and then makes an explosion noise with his hands.

“A car accident?”

He snaps his fingers and points to you, as if you’re a team during a game of charades.

“Car accident,” he says in Korean.

“Car accident,” you repeat and he nods.

Despite the reality of the situation, you smile. The humor in all of this does not escape you. You decide to try and meet him halfway, even with your butchered pronunciation.

“Police… time… long?” Your head cocks to the side and you point to your watch. He shakes his head and shrugs in exaggerated movements.

Scoffing, you roll your eyes. The accident was that bad, huh? No wonder the power went out then, the car must have smashed into electrical lines after that loud clap of thunder. This probably means all of the traffic lights and such are out too.

The police are most likely directing traffic and making sure no one gets injured; two idiots stranded in an ATM vestibule are the least of their concerns. Honestly, you can’t be in a safer place. Well, unless this guy is a murderer, but you haven’t gotten a harsh vibe yet.

You sigh and lean against the wall near the corner across from the ATM. Your body slides down to the floor and you stare straight ahead. It seems like you’re going to be in here for a while then.

The man takes one last look outside the doors before walking in your direction. He leans against the adjacent wall and takes a seat on the floor with you. His shoes almost touch the side of yours. It’s at this time that you let yourself take a moment to really look at him.

He has to be around your age; older than a college graduate but younger than someone settled into their career. Something that definitely doesn’t escape your attention is how… pretty he is. His skin is near perfect and so is his hair. Everything, down to the clothes he’s wearing, is absolutely flawless– and he’s only in sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie!

Next to him, especially in your current drowned rat state, you probably look like something worse than a hot mess. You quickly comb your hair off your forehead once more and pull at your soaking wet clothes sticking to your skin.

The man’s lips purse for a moment and he opens his mouth as if to say something, then promptly stops, opting for a grumble of frustration.

After a moment, an idea flickers through your mind and you hold up one finger to him to say ‘one moment’. You reach down into your pocket for your phone and take it out, tapping at a few screens and bringing up the Translate app.

‘What’s your name?’ you type into the phone and it immediately translates it into Korean below it. You turn your phone around and hold it up to him.

The man looks at you, then your phone, and his eyes light up. If you’re not mistaken, you even see a little bit of relief flash over his features. A tiny smirk pulls at one corner of his lips before he looks back at you.

“Minho,” he answers and motions to you.

“Y/N,” you reply. “Nice to meet you, Minho.” You hold your hand out for a handshake.

Minho looks at your hand and his smirk gets wider before he grabs your hand and shakes it gently. The skin on his palm is so soft. “Nice to meet you, Y/N.”

After shaking his hand, you bring your phone back up to your face and type another sentence into the translate app.

‘I’m very sorry for not knowing Korean, I’m here on business.’

Minho looks at your phone, reading the statement before shaking his head and pulling out his own phone. He types away and then holds it up for you to read.

‘No need to apologize. With my line of work, my English should be better. It’s a very hard language to learn.’

A little laugh huffs from your nose and you nod and type.

‘Try learning Korean.’

Minho laughs with you and his smirk grows into a playful smile. Jesus Christ, this man is gorgeous. He looks down and taps a bit on his phone and then he holds it up to you. With the way his smirk pulls at his lips, it almost reminds you of a devious little cat.

‘I could tell you were a foreigner when you first came into the bank.’

Your eyebrow raises. “Oh, really?”

He’s chuckling when he brings his phone back to type more and then hold it up for you to read.

‘You don’t have an umbrella.’

Laughter leaves your lips when you read that and your head tilts back to rest against the wall. The wetness from your clothes is beginning to seep into your bones. Plus, the feeling of the fabric sticking to your skin is starting to become overstimulating.

But, you try and keep it together. You don’t really have another option at the moment.

You type a message back to Minho.

‘People tried to warn me about the Monsoon Season. As you can see, I didn’t listen.’

He reads your message and sucks his teeth with a smirk. Minho shakes his head and motions to the glass doors, as if to say ‘Look!’.

“I know, I know!” you laugh and look outside at the sheets of rain pouring from the sky. Puddles have turned into small ravines flowing down the sides of the road. Any car that passes by creates a huge splash as they pass through them.

Every once in a while, the sky will light up and thunder will follow it quickly.

Minho laughs with you. “Next time… you listen.” He nudges your leg with his foot.

You look over at him. “I will, trust me.”

A long look is shared between the two of you. There’s this tiny nagging feeling at the back of your mind, it’s that same feeling you get when you see someone in public that you swear you’ve seen before. Maybe he just has one of those faces?

No, you definitely haven’t met him before. You would remember if he was someone you shook hands with in the last few days. A man that gorgeous would never slip under your radar, you’re certain.

Minho stares back at you, eyes flitting about at your soaking wet hair matting to your skin. It looks like his one hand twitches for a moment and then he shifts in his seat.

Back to the app.

The two of you type away on your phones and hold them up at the same time with the exact same question on them.

‘What do you do for work?’

Again, the two of you let out little huffs of laughter and he motions to you as if to tell you to go first.

So you do, you type down on your phone a little answer for him.

‘Right now, I’m only the assistant to a CEO for a huge company. Wherever he goes, I go. I write all his contracts; everything he does goes through me first. I’m more of an administrator than an assistant, though.’

Minho reads your answer carefully and then types out a small response with a tiny crease in between his brows.

‘Why do you say ‘right now’?’

A sad smile spreads on your face as you look down at your phone to type out a response.

‘I studied hard and have a Mathematics degree. But no matter where I apply, they say I don’t have enough experience. Back in America, the job market is absolutely horrible. So, I’m stuck.’

Minho’s eyes scan through your message and a frown pulls at his lips. He looks back up at you, meeting your eyes and then back to your phone before he begins to type his own message.

Your silent communication warms your heart a little bit. The glow from his phone lights up his features and you study him carefully. His teeth poke out from his top lip– it’s absolutely adorable.

He seems to think for a long moment before his thumbs fly over his screen.

Rain is coming down in sheets outside the door, it’s the only other sound inside the room besides the light clicking of the haptics on his phone.

You reach back and once more run your fingers through your hair– it seems to be drying now, but not in a good way. The humidity of the rain is apparent in the way it's starting to frizz up.

Minho turns his phone around after a moment of typing.

‘I’ve heard about how hard it is to get a job in America, I’m very sorry it’s so unfair. For what it’s worth, I think there’s nothing wrong with the job you have now. Hard work is hard work no matter if it's an assistant or a scientist.’

His words strike a chord within your heart, they tug at your chest and at the corner of your lips which twitch into a wistful smile on your face.

“Thank you,” you say to him in Korean, looking directly into his eyes. Minho smiles back at you when he hears it.

“You are welcome,” he answers in English.

His smile seems so warm for a stranger. He looks at you as if you’re an old friend, not like a woman, still soaking wet from the rain, sitting on the floor with him inside an ATM vestibule. He’s so genuine.

After a few seconds of just looking at him, you bring your phone up to type once more.

‘Your turn. What do you do?’

Minho stares at your phone for a long time, seemingly reading the sentence over and over again. His bottom lip pulls between his teeth and he seems to weigh something in his mind.

His brown eyes flick to yours, then back to the phone, then back to you again before he looks down at his phone.

You never realized how much just body language alone can convey.

He types slower, his thumbs not moving as quickly as before. Why does he seem so apprehensive?

Eventually, he turns the phone around.

‘I’m an idol.’

“Oh,” you say softly. Your shoulders shrug a bit and you cock your head to the side. “Like a K-pop idol?”

Minho nods in response. “Stray Kids.”

The name rings a bell, it’s just one you’ve heard floating around for a few months now. You think one of your friends is into them, but you can’t remember. She’s into so many different groups, it’s hard to keep track anymore.

You type in your phone.

‘I’ve heard the name before. Weren’t you guys at the MET Gala?’

With a breathy chuckle, he nods. A smile spreads across your face.

‘Wow, I’m trapped in a room with a celebrity then. You know, people write stories like this.’

Your joke definitely lands because he snorts a huff of laughter as you type on your phone a little bit more after that.

‘Don’t worry, I won’t take pictures and post them all over Twitter or anything. This will just be a funny story for me to tell my friends when I get back home to America.’

“Thank you,” Minho says softly with genuine gratitude in his voice. God, you can’t even imagine what it’s like being an idol. There probably wasn’t a single place he felt safe going to anymore. There are always cameras just waiting to take his picture.

‘When do you go back to America?’

‘In a few days. My boss loves to extend his business trips at the last minute. So, I could be here three more days or seven more days. It’s very hard to pack to come on these trips.’

A bittersweet expression settles on his handsome face.

You think for a long moment before typing away at your phone and showing it to him.

‘Have you ever been to New Jersey? That’s the state I’m from.’

Minho’s lips purse as he thinks for a long few moments. Very slowly, he nods, almost unsure. He types in his phone, then thinks for a moment, then types again.

‘I think we’ve been there twice. Is Newark in New Jersey?’

Excitedly, you nod. “Yes, that’s up in North Jersey!” You’re so excited that you forget to type down on your phone. “Oh!” you say with a laugh, looking back down at your phone.

‘Yes, that’s in the northern part of the state, about an hour or so from my hometown. I grew up in the central region, right on the beach. It only takes ten minutes to get to the beach from my house.’

Minho’s smile widens and he looks at you with a slightly envious look in his eyes. You giggle in response.

‘Two other members love the beach, but they’re from Australia.’

‘Australian beaches are probably not that different from American beaches. But I’ve never been to Australia. Have you?’

Minho nods and you see him close his translation app and switch over to his camera roll. His fingers quickly begin scrolling up through the countless amount of photos he has on his phone.

Not wanting to invade his privacy, you look away from his phone and out the doors in the vestibule once more. Not a single soul is walking– or running– along the sidewalks anymore.

Due to the power outage, there’s not even street lights illuminating in the puddles, it’s almost eerie looking. But, surprisingly, you don’t feel uneasy at all. Especially not with Minho sitting at your side.

Said man hums to get your attention, shuffling closer to you, and you look down at his phone. The picture is absolutely gorgeous.

It’s a photo of the beach, you’re assuming in Australia. The red sun is peeking above the horizon and painting the sky a beautiful wash of reds, pinks, and purples, all of the colors melting into one another. The clouds are wispy and glow in the morning sun.

The ocean seems so beautifully blue, even the foam at the crash of the waves is beautiful.

In front of the ocean is a gaggle of boys, it looks like there’s about seven of them. Each of them have bright, beautiful smiles on their faces reaching their eyes.

You’ve never been able to feel joy radiating from a photo like this, it seems to be contagious since you find a smile pulling at your own lips.

“This photo is beautiful,” you whisper, not taking your eyes off of it.

Minho hums, maybe he understood what you said. His thumb moves and he scrolls to the next picture where two of the boys have taken one of the others by his legs and arms and seem to be pretending to toss him into the surf.

A soft giggle comes from your lips and you find yourself leaning towards him a bit to get a better look at the photo. Truly, you didn’t even notice your shoulders brushing against each other, and by his lack of reaction, it seems Minho didn’t either.

“Friends?” you ask him in your choppy Korean.

Minho looks over at you, his face closer to you than before. His eyes widen a bit at your proximity, but he doesn’t back up at all.

“Family,” he corrects you in his soft English.

An even warmer feeling spreads through your chest and you look back down at the photo. They must be his band members, but they just look so much closer than that. It reminds you of all of your friends back home.

Before you can even think twice, you’re opening your own camera roll, scrolling through an endless sea of memories before finding one specific morning you woke up to go watch the sunrise on the beach.

A tiny, awe-struck noise comes from Minho when he looks down at it.

“Sunrise,” you say and then think for a moment. You’re not sure of the Korean you want to say. “Favorite… time.”

He’s so patient when you speak, it absolutely melts your heart. There’s a different air about his softness with you too. He’s not treating you like a child just learning how to speak, no, he’s just being… nice. He’s being sweet and genuine and it speaks volumes about his character.

“Sunrise,” he says in Korean.

“Sunrise,” you repeat, looking up at him. His eyes were already trained on your face by the time you looked up. A tiny dusting of pink covers your cheeks. How long has he been looking at you?

A happy smile spreads over his lips, the edges curl up playfully. He nods. “Sunrise. Sunrise.”

“Sunrise.” Your voice says softly once more before looking back down at your phone.

Swiping through a few more pictures, you show him the boardwalk that runs down the beaches by your house. Everything from shops, to amusement park rides, to lemonade and ice cream stands litter the entirety of the shore.

He points down at the ferris wheel and shakes his head. “No,” he says simply.

“No?” you ask with a laugh. “Why not?”

“No… no high,” he shakes his head and motions his hands around to emphasize his point.

“Best picture,” you giggle holding your hand up in the air to emphasize the height aspect, then you’re swiping to the next picture taken from the top of the ferris wheel. This time, it was sunset. “Sunset.”

“Sunset.” A pause. “My… My… favorite time.”

A soft hum bubbles up in your throat. He loves sunset whereas you love sunrise. How cute.

“Sunset is beautiful,” you say slowly. Your eyes are still on your phone when you swipe to another photo.

“Beautiful,” Minho whispers softly.

Humming, you nod. “Yes, beautiful.”

A soft puff of air comes out of his nose and fans out over your cheek. When did he get this close? You look up at him and almost bump his nose with yours.

Minho’s head flinches back a bit at your sudden movement, but he makes no move to get further away from you.

He sighs softly, his eyes flitting all over your face, taking in every one of your features. “Beautiful,” he murmurs.

Your eyes widen, that pink blush making its way back to your face. You can’t even help the tiny, giddy giggle that bubbles in your throat. You look down shyly, biting your bottom lip.

Tender, gentle fingers lift your chin back up. Truly, you didn’t notice how cold your skin was until his warm touch spread on your skin.

Is this really happening?

A shiver races down your spine and a soft shudder comes out of your lips. Minho’s eyes look down at your lips and then down at your arm where goosebumps begin to raise.

He pulls away gently, making your brows furrow. Did you do something wrong? Maybe you misread his–

He’s shrugging off his hoodie.

Oh, he thinks you're cold.

Before you can even think to tell him you’re okay, he’s pulling your shoulder forward a bit so he can drape it over your back, bundling you up in such a pleasant, soft warmth. With small, fussy movements, he’s closing the hoodie around your body.

Perhaps you didn’t even notice how cold you were until you were suddenly surrounded in a warmth that can be compared to the fuzziest blanket you own. Not to mention the absolutely delightful scent that wafts upwards into your nose from the fabric.

It’s such a clean, cozy, calming scent. It’s like you buried your nose into the Mahogany Teakwood candle at Bath and Body Works.

Your eyes stay trained on his face while he bundles you up tightly. His hands gently grab your arms and rub up and down a few times to create even more warmth.

“Better,” he murmurs, finally looking up to meet your eyes.

How is it that a stranger has wormed himself into your heart like this? His tender gaze makes your soul feel calm, like those pictures of the morning surf under the sunrise.

“Thank you,” you whisper back to him. Your hands come up to grab at the hoodie, curling into the fabric.

Minho smiles back at you, you can see how his smile grows as he watches you relax into his clothing. There’s no space between your shoulders as you rest against adjacent walls, your two bodies have melted into the corner.

There’s a clap of thunder outside, but neither of you move. Your feet shuffle on the floor as you bring your knees closer to your chest. His legs adjust around yours, feeding them under your bent knees and tangling your limbs up further.

It’s so hard to break Minho’s eye contact, but you do it slowly, looking down at your phone and opening up the translate app once more. His soft breathing hits your cheek with every exhale.

‘You’re too nice to a stranger.’

Minho hums, almost in agreement. He picks up his phone and types back.

‘I’m usually not.’

You read the statement and then look at him, your head cocked to the side. Your brows furrow in confusion, but he types more before you can even ask another question.

‘I don’t know why I feel drawn to you.’

The text looks right back at you. Your heart flutters in your chest and you know that your cheeks get redder and redder by the second. Still, you can’t contain the giddy laugh that makes its way past your lips.

You bite the inside of your cheek to try and hide the smile, but it only makes Minho smile wider. His hand slowly comes up towards your cheek. Right before he’s able to make contact, he stops, hovering over your skin and gazing into your eyes.

A silent question is asked through his eyes. It’s a language that you don’t need any sort of app for. An answer is communicated right back.

Soft, tender warmth spreads over your cheek, radiating all throughout your body in the most gentle glow. His thumb caresses over your cheek bone, swiping gentle strokes back and forth.

You feel the same as him, that’s the strange part. There’s something so alluring about him that you just can’t put your finger on it. He’s pulling you in like a magnet and you don’t even want to fight against it.

There’s so many words sitting on the tip of your tongue, but you know that each and every one of them would fall on deaf ears. Nothing that you can say in the moment would make sense to him.

Exhales are shared and mingled together in the minimal space between your faces,

“Beautiful,” he whispers for your ears only. Not like there’s anyone else to hear it except the ATM sitting dormant in the corner of the vestibule. Not even the mice in the walls would have been able to hear his murmur.

Love at first sight was something you always gawked and scoffed at. You always thought that it was such a Hallmark invention, that there was no way you would be able to just look at someone once and immediately fall head over heels for them.

But here you were, sitting on a dirty floor, feeling your heart beating faster and faster in your chest. Letting your face be cradled by a man you didn’t know two hours ago. By the man who patiently worked with you to communicate.

How is this even possible?

You can count on one hand the amount of things you know about one another.

Minho, who is a famous idol in Korea, who loves sunset and hates heights, who has the most expressive brown eyes you’ve ever seen.

Minho, who did whatever he could just to talk to you when he could have just as easily sat in silence on the other side of the vestibule.

His hand slowly drags down your cheek, each finger gliding down your skin towards your jawline to lift under your chin.

Another silent question passes through both of you in the one language you seem to both be fluent in.

Your eyes flick down to his lips and he hears you loud and clear.

Minho leans in slowly, his lips brushing against yours in a featherlight touch. But, despite how soft the kiss is, heat spreads through your body in a grand wave, rushing through your fingertips and into your toes.

The first press is long and sweet, the two of you simply melting into the sensation of being locked together.

He pulls away only for a moment, his eyes gazing down at your lips before he swoops in again, this time his movements a bit quicker.

His hand returns to your cheek, guiding your head to tilt to the side to gain better access to your lips.

A soft sigh leaves your nose and your own hand travels up to grab at his shirt gently, just needing to hold onto him in any way possible.

Minho responds to your sigh, his lips moving a bit faster against yours. Both of your lips part and close, moving like mirror images of one another. Every few kisses, your noses brush against one another, but it doesn’t deter you from your actions at all.

Slowly, your hand travels from his shirt up to his neck, running up the side of his flushed skin. He feels feverish to the touch and it only spurs you on to keep moving. At the contact on his own body, Minho lets out a tiny grunt against your lips, his kisses stutter for a moment but he’s back to kissing you after just a moment.

Up, up, up, your hand travels over his moving jaw, to his cheek, then moving back to thread in his soft, brown trusses of hair. God, everything about him is just so perfect. It’s like you’re combing your fingers through the softest of cotton.

His kisses are getting deeper, little sighs come from both of your mouths as the passion continues on. Minho’s body turns towards yours a bit more, his knees canting up and almost forcing your legs onto his lap.

Tentatively, you feel his tongue poke out from between his lips, licking gently at your lower lip. You don’t even hesitate to give him access to your mouth. A gentle moan claws its way up your throat as his tongue licks into your mouth.

The hand on your cheek grips you a bit tighter, holding your face to his– as if you would want to try and move away from Minho and his addicting kisses.

“I just can’t help it,” he whispers in Korean against your spit, soaked lips before capturing them once more. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Y/N.”

All you catch is your name and it sends a shiver down your spine. You don’t even need to know what else he said, his tone says it all. The way it comes out in a breathy exhale is enough to send your mind reeling.

“Please,” you murmur into his mouth before he presses his lips to yours once more with the same amount of passion and need in his actions.

More and more rain hits the glass doors, becoming the only sound that can be heard in the room except for your shared exhales, pants, and breathy moans.

Slowly, the kisses begin to calm down. Minho pulls away for a moment to take a long breath. His thumb moves to brush against your lower lip like a butterfly landing on a flower.

His eyes open just a crack, gazing down at your mouth with a hazy look in his eye. As he slowly catches his breath, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing along the heated skin on your face.

“Forgive me, I didn’t do things in order,” he whispers. “I should’ve taken you out first.”

Your eyes open and you look at him in confusion. “Hm?”

His jaw clenches before he swallows and he takes another long moment to look over your face, his features soft and welcoming.

There’s some movement as his other hand blindly pats around his lap for his phone. He can’t physically tear himself away from you long enough to even look down.

Another tiny laugh comes from your lips.

Your fingers move out of his hair to come around and gently run over his features, brushing against his jawline, to then trace up to his lips and up the length of his nose, memorizing each and every detail.

Minho melts into your touch, his face moving closer to your touch, seeking you out.

His hand finally finds his phone and he grabs it blindly, flipping it around in his lap and tearing his gaze away from your face to glance down at it.

Thumbs are flying across the screen to type at his translate app. He’s typing so quickly on his phone that you can't help but laugh a bit.

Before he’s able to turn the phone around, there are a few sharp knocks against the glass of the vestibule. The two of you practically jump out of your skin and your heads whip over to the doors.

Red and blue lights are flashing outside and it looks like two police officers are standing outside, peering in at you both. They wave when they see they’ve caught your attention.

Minho looks at the police officers, then to you, then back to the officers, and then back to you once more. His mouth opens and closes a few times and he tries to form a few words but you’re untangling your limbs from one another.

In a moment, you’re both on your feet as the officers work on unlocking the doors from the outside.

Minho gently grabs at your arm and you look down where he’s touching and your heart sinks a little. His eyes look a little questioning and desperate.

“Oh,” you say sadly. You shrug off his jacket, and hand it back to him. Minho’s eyebrows pull together and his lips part. He looks down at the jacket and then up at you.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Are you two alright?” The police officer calls inside in Korean.

“We’re okay,” Minho responds without breaking eye contact with you. He puts a hand on his jacket still dangling over your arm and pushes it back towards you.

“Minho?” you ask, looking at him and then at the officer approaching you both.

“We apologize for the delay, but we knew you two were safe, so we had to prioritize,” the officer says.

You blink at him blankly for a moment before then looking back at Minho.

“She’s a foreigner,” he says to the officer, finally looking away from you. “She doesn’t know Korean.”

“Ah,” the officer responds. “My apologies. You can tell her that she’s free to go.” He nods at the two of you and motions towards the door. You take his hint and slowly begin follow him.

Once again, Minho tugs on your arm and you pause, turning around to look at him. He’s holding his phone up to your face with a pleading look in his eye.

‘Can I please buy you a drink?’

A wide smile spreads across your cheeks and you can’t deny the relief that you feel inside your chest. The moment your lips twitch upwards, Minho immediately mirrors it.

“Yes,” you respond. “I love to go.”

He chuckles at your choppy Korean once more before taking his jacket out of your hands and wrapping you inside it once more. This time, he grabs the hood and pulls it up over your head.

With a satisfied hum, he nods and laces your fingers together.

“Come,” he says confidently.

“Lead way.”

#*minho #the way i can picture his soft little voice too ahh #stray kids #skz

6K notes · View notes