2O24 HALLOWEEN EVENT

𑁍ࠬܓ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ( stray kids )

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

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) 4.4k

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

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

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

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

방찬 ── BANG CHAN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

이민호 ── LEE MINHO.

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

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

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

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

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

서창빈 ── SEO CHANGBIN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

황현진 ── HWANG HYUNJIN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

한지성 ── HAN JISUNG.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

이용복 ── LEE YONGBOK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

김승민 ── KIM SEUNGMIN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

양정인 ── YANG JEONGIN.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Post taglist: @bowsnbang @nothinginterestingtoshowhere

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

Hihihihi!! Hru!

I was wondering if you could write a stray kids x 9th member!reader where their a a maknae and their family lives far away so chans kinda a father figure for them? Like he looks after her and helps her fall asleep when they’re struggling, and maybe in skz vlogs or codes fans can see how much of a father figure he is to them. Its okay if you can’t ilyy bye❤️❤️

ꖛ ꙳꯬ 🦋 how he cares 𓂅 ໋⋅

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‧₊° pairing. chan x female reader ( platonically ! )

‧₊° content warnings. not proofread.

‧₊° rating. everyone

‧₊° summary. an episode of 2 kids’ show reveals just how deep your friendship with chan runs.

2 Kids’ Show has come to mean a lot for STAY, a fact that warmed your heart as you glanced around the set which was definitely an upgrade to the old yellow room with the blue couch, although the latter was a symbol of simpler times in a lot of ways. Still, the dingy feeling of a garage being occupied by a band was an aesthetic you hadn’t realized you’d appreciate this much.

Minho was already sitting on his assigned velvety green chair, a small stack of talking-point cards with the freshly designed logo of the show printed on the back in his hands as he waited for his cue to begin. Chan stood by your side, chatting lightly with his hairstylist as she ensured that his hair was perfect. You were already set and ready to begin, no trace of the tingling anxiety that usually plagued you before interviews and you knew it was because the only people you’d have to interact with were the very same people you spoke to daily — this was a relief to you these days.

“Okay!” The manager announced with a sharp clap of his hands in order to attract everyone’s attention. All of the staff quickly made their ways to their needed positions and the hairstylist Chan had been speaking to left him be. “Ready? Scene!”

“Where two kids share their secret stories and music, this is 2 Kids’ Show,” announced Minho, pausing for a moment for a light applause — to which you and Chan obliged albeit belatedly to tease your friend. Minho’s eyes playfully narrowed in your and Chan’s direction, though he quickly moved on with a smile. “I am 2 Kids’ Show’s handsome MC, Lee Know.”

You cupped your hands around your mouth to cheer exaggeratedly, overcompensating for the lack of an enthusiastic applause just a moment prior. Minho winced away from you even with the distance between the two of you. “You were scolding Hyunjin and Jeongin before, you don’t have any grounds to complain saying I don’t cheer now!”

“I do have a complaint actually, you’re being too loud! It hurts my ears!” Minho rolled his eyes playfully before glancing back at the cards in his hands with an amused smile. “Anyway, as you can see, today we have a special pair with us — Stray Kids’ wolf and bumblebee duo that STAY have always loved. To me, they’re a good representation of an endearing friendship, our oldest and youngest members — Chan and Y/N!”

Chan pressed a hand on your lower back to urge you forward, and you let yourself be guided by him with a practiced bright grin as you waved at your group member. You end up seated in between the two men, quickly grabbing one of the cushions of the couch and placing it on your lap out of habit. Chan followed suit, but only so he could fiddle with the fuzz.

“It’s so strange seeing you as our MC,” you commented lightly.

“Is it? Good or bad?”

You shrug innocently. “I guess we’re going to have to wait and see!”

“Careful,” Minho teased with an exaggerated ominous grin. “I’m the one leading this interview.”

Chan chuckled beside you, though he remained quiet otherwise.

“Okay! Chan and Y/N how have you two been lately?”

You glance over at Chan, unsure of whether he should begin speaking of you, but he made the choice for you as he absentmindedly nodded at you whilst keeping his eyes glued on the pillow. With an understanding nod, you clear your throat and turn to face Minho. Chan has been a bit on the quieter side, evidently exhausted by the grueling hours of work and the pressure of the recent comeback almost weighing him down slightly — although he would never admit it. “I’ve been pretty good, actually. Yesterday was my day off, so I was able to tend to my plants at home.”

“Oh, how are they?”

A frown tugged at yourself, pushing your lower lip into a frown. “Titi, my tradescantia died, which was really sad since it’d managed to live so long. They’re really difficult to keep alive since they require a lot of water, and I’ve heard how often they tend to die so I was very proud of myself when I managed to keep it for a bit despite our busy schedule.”

“Oh, Titi died?” Chan questioned, highly surprised by this new piece of information. It wasn’t uncommon for you to call or text him whenever one of your plants died since you had a deep love for them and always took their ends straight to your heart — it was a failure you couldn’t bring yourself to forgive, and it always made you work harder with the next plant. Not to say that you didn’t have a green thumb, your experience caring for them since childhood was more than enough proof of your abilities, but death comes to all and yet it hurts nevertheless. Titi in particular had been struggling for quite a bit despite your constant attempts to make things better for her, and by the time you found her completely lifeless in your pot, you were painfully aware of Chan being asleep after spending all night awake.

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a slightly guilty smile. “It was quite tragic, actually. But my gardenia flowers have just started blooming a few days ago, and I’m really excited to see them in their prime. It’s also nerve-wracking because they’re also said to be extremely difficult to maintain and I really don’t want to deal with another Titi. Since I don’t have an actual garden in a subtropical country, I had to invest in a container so I can control the temperature. They’re actually said to thrive really well with moderate warmth that is somewhere between 18°C and 21°C and their soil must be kept consistently moist at all times and also —”

Minho splayed his hands in front of himself to signal for you to stop, and so you snapped your mouth shut as a slight tinge of color rose to your cheeks. “You know we love you, and I will ask you about this after the interview. But we should probably move on with the questions.”

“Right. Sorry.”

Chan chuckled a bit, reaching out to rub your back in small circles to soothe you like he always did. Minho, catching the kind gesture, grinned brightly and pointed at Chan’s hand that stopped immediately when caught.

“That’s actually one of the things we wanted to talk about here,” Minho announced with a slight glint of mischief. “I think it’ll be okay if I jump a few questions now that we’re on the topic and then circle back to the others, right?”

The three of you glanced at your manager and director, both of whom nodded and motioned for Minho to continue. Chan drew his hand back, focusing on the pillow once more.

“Right, so I think we’re all guilty of watching some of the videos that STAYs make online. I for one find them to be very entertaining, but I also noticed that there’s a greater amount of content made of you two — a lot of people really admire your friendship, so how’s that looking so far?”

This time, you nudged Chan’s knee with your own. He glanced up and cleared his own throat. “I love watching those videos, honestly. I think it’s really interesting to see how many STAYs can appreciate it. I know Y/N and I have been through a lot together and it really makes me appreciate her even more these days.”

“Channie,” you teased. “You make it sound like we’re dating.”

“I was just about to say! Right?” Minho burst out, chuckling as Chan rolled his eyes. It’s a joke as old as time, really, and it couldn’t be further from the truth — no matter how many fans believe it to be true. You didn’t blame those who viewed you and Chan as something more than friends, however, because everyone is entitled to their own opinions when it really comes down to it, and it’s a consequence of being an idol that you needed to embrace regardless of how frustrating it could be at times. All that being said, you and the boys have found a way to bring humor into the whole thing, which oftentimes makes it easier to deal with.

As Chan reached across from your body to swat at Minho with his pillow, you couldn’t help but giggle. “Anyway,” he continued as he sent his friend a pointed look. “I just think that after being friends for so long, it’s natural for us to become as close as we are. Besides, Y/N always needs me, which makes me very happy.”

His words seemed to warm every cell in your body, these thoughts of his were not new to you since it was something that he frequently mentioned during those late nights spent either working or having a drink together. It was the mere thought of you making him feel as wanted as you knew he deserved to feel that made you content, it was the least you could do for him when he sacrificed so much for everyone in the group on a daily basis.

“I think we’ve earned the right to be this close.” Minho cocked his head to the side, silently urging you to elaborate on your comment. “I mean, I’m not born or raised in Korea like most of the other members are, and the only ones who could really understand what it meant to be homesick were him and Felix. Oftentimes, I would find myself in bed just wide awake because I couldn’t help but obsess over my troubles. Every time my mind was just spinning like that, I knew I could count on Chan, to calm me down.

It’s especially sweet, too, because we all know Chan is a bit of a workaholic, but whenever someone needs him he just…stops and turns all of his focus on us and it made me feel very seen. He listens, and offers his own insights and is just like the big brother I always need around. Usually those nights end with us in the living room, and I’ll fall asleep to the sounds of his keyboards click-clacking as he continues working. Chan just has that soothing aura that helps so much.”

Chan could only watch as you spoke about him, those mini stars that only seemed to appear when watching his members. You held his gaze for only a moment, hoping he could feel the sincerity oozing from your expression.

“I think it’s safe to say that STAYs really do see that.” Minho was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, lips curled up into a soft lopsided smile as he watched the interaction between the two. All of the members shared their own special friendships with you that you adored and appreciated with every fiber of your being, but the fact that Chan was your platonic soulmate was an undeniable fact. “The fact that Y/N is our maknae also probably plays a part in this friendship. Chan, has there ever been a time in which Y/N felt like she was older?”

After a moment of careful consideration, Chan responded with: “I think Y/N can be very nurturing when she wants to be. She’s always making sure that I’ve drank enough water and she often brings me meals when she can because I do spend an awful lot of time working. But other than that, she’s still very much a big baby — OW!”

Your hand stung slightly from when you smacked his arm, guilt seeped into your smile since you hadn’t meant for it to hurt that much. Nevertheless, you stood your ground.

“Would a big baby be that strong?”

Minho chuckled at the scene. “I think you’re proving him right, though.”

“I’ll hit you too, you know.’

“Okay, okay, let us move on from this before you start getting all violent.” Although he was partly teasing, Minho was not a stranger to your slaps that always hit harder than you’d mean to, as though you were a large puppy that didn’t know its strength. “Y/N, has Chan ever felt like he was younger?”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t even think about it,” Chan chortled.

“Don’t have to,” you said with a wicked grin curling up your lips. “He’s a big baby when he doesn’t get any attention and also when he’s sick.”

At this, Minho burst out laughing. “No, you’re right. She’s right.”

It was now Chan’s turn to let his hand fly and make contact with your arm, though his slap was significantly lighter than yours. You still pretended to be distressed due to the pain, clutching the area that he touched and twisting your face in mock suffering.

The questions on Minho’s talking-point cards continued rolling off of his tongue as the interview carried on. It was a time that, had the goal truly been to cover every single aspect of yours and Chan’s relationship, it’d never end. He was the kind of guy you trusted with everything, and you knew he felt the same way towards you. Bang Chan was your best friend, the brother you always needed, and your guide when in the darkness. By the time the cameras stopped rolling almost immediately after your collaborative singing in the end, the promise of buying lunch was on the tip of your tongue as you jogged to catch with his wider footsteps.

word count: 2.2k 🦋 posted: 01 • 03 • 2024

💬 a note from green;

First of all, Happy New Years! Hope it’s 2024 is being kind to everyone thus far.

Secondly, thank you for the request my dear Anonnie! I really hope this is good, I’ve never written anything about a ninth member, much less in a platonic way so I struggled slightly on how to do it. I’m gonna be very honest right now and say that I am not a platonic anything haha, my girlfriend (who found my account recently) will tell you that much. We did a lot of “platonic” shit before we finally admitted that we were, in fact, not being platonic at all. So, yeah. I do love a challenge so I really appreciate it!

Finally, I’m finally feeling better! All I have is a mild cough, nothing too bad compared to what I was dealing before so be ready for more posts!

⨳ kofi ⨳

( 🏷️ ) taglist: @grandpafelixx , @agi-ppangx

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

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

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐡𝐨 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.2k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 28 mins

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knowing that you enjoyed writing my requests honestly makes me so happy!

I know you haven’t forgotten my Hyunjin request, I’m literally so so excited about it!

But, GREEN! I can’t believe you’ve added my ult group, NewJeans!! This makes me SO excited! I want to come up with some requests, give me a few days and I’ll be back!

All the love,

🩷 Anon

Of course! I honestly enjoy all of my requests since they all challenge me and force me to be a little more creative each time, which I really love. But queer requests will always hold a very special place in my heart (especially if they're soft and comforting like yours tend to be).

AHH I'm honestly so excited to be done with it and post it >.< But I won't lie, I am lowkey struggling with the pacing and flow of it, so it's taking me forever to finish :( I'll get it done, I swear! I'm really determined to finish it for my own sanity LMAO

Hello? You're also a Bunny? I only just started getting into their fandom maybe a week or two ago, so I'm still very much learning about them, but I just love them so much already that I couldn't wait to write about them! They're all so adorable and funny 😩 And also, I was so pleasantly surprised to find so many queer Bunnies on here that also write amazing 'x Female Reader' pieces! Like, the second I realized it, I immediately made a post asking them to make requests so I could get started on writing for them and I almost immediately got asked to write for Hanni (Blue Lemonade), and it got so much love!

So, please do send me some requests for them! I'm genuinely so excited to make some friends who are also Bunnies 🥹

I hope that life is treating you well, 🩷! Please make sure that you stay hydrated, that you eat well, and overall please just take care of yourself! 🥰🫶

──── * ˚ ✦ ECHOES OF US ( stray kids )

❛ After a painful breakup, you and Jeongin struggle to maintain a civil front for your mutual friends, but when he accidentally calls you by your old pet name, unresolved emotions resurface, forcing you both to confront the lingering feelings between you.

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 12.6k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 50 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Say hello to my very first long-fic! It took me an eternity to get this done, but I'm actually very proud of how it turned out! Also, my very rough draft for this was accidentally posted a few days ago, so if you saw that...no you didn't! This was anonymously requested! (Anon, I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to finally finish this, but I hope I made up for it with how long it ended up being 🫠) Reblogs for this teaser are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of sibling death and grief, very brief mention of a dysfunctional home, use of they-them pronouns for Y/N, brief explanation of sibling death, Y/N's sibling has their own name, mentions of being abandoned, heartbreak, awkward re-encounter after almost a year, discussions on mental health, a whole lot of angst, comforting ending, let me know if I missed anything!

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

When Jeongin stepped through the door he had once shared with you, a sense of dread already coiled tightly around his heart, squeezing with every breath. He knew you'd kept your promise to move out by the end of the week, but the reality of it hit harder than he could have imagined. The front hallway, once cluttered with a chaotic jumble of shoes that you always left haphazardly by the entrance, now stood painfully bare, save for his own neatly aligned row of frequently worn sneakers. The absence of your presence echoed louder than any argument ever had, and suddenly he found himself longing for those moments of trivial annoyance—wishing, with a deep, aching desire, that he could quarrel with you about it just once more.

He kicked off his sneakers, setting them carefully amongst the rest of his now lonely footwear. For a moment, he stood there, hesitant, almost willing to call out your name, hoping against hope that you might answer from the bedroom or kitchen, your voice cutting through the oppressive silence that now smothered the apartment. But he knew better. He moved forward with heavy steps, not even bothering to put on his house slippers. The silence that greeted him as he wandered further inside was a deafening reminder of what he had lost. You were gone, and with you, the vibrant energy that had once filled these walls had vanished too.

The living room—once a collage of your combined tastes—was now stripped of the personal touches that made it home. The furniture remained, the couch where you both had laughed and argued, the coffee table marked with rings from careless mugs of tea during lazy mornings. Yet, all the little decorations, the framed art you insisted on hanging, the plants you’d tried so hard to keep alive—they had all disappeared with you. The emptiness was jarring, like a canvas half-painted and abruptly abandoned, leaving every wall and surface barren, the once warm and cozy atmosphere now reduced to a cold, unfamiliar space.

By the time Jeongin reached the bedroom, the last thread of his fragile composure snapped. The bed—where countless memories had been woven—was stripped down to its bare mattress, the sheets gone. The framed photographs of the two of you were turned face down on the bedside table, as if you couldn’t bear to look at them one last time. His eyes moved to the corner where your ridiculously large collection of stuffed animals had once spilled over, crowding half of the bed. That too was empty now. An overwhelming wave of loss washed over him, dragging him to his knees. 

Jeongin's breath came out in shaky gasps as he looked around the hollow shell of what had been your shared sanctuary. You were truly gone. Though he had been the one to end things between you, a decision made in a moment of confusion and pride, he was still hopelessly, painfully in love with you. The realization of his own foolishness crashed over him with unbearable weight, suffocating him in the silence that was once filled with your laughter, your presence, and your love.

Jeongin couldn’t summon a shred of resentment toward you, even if he tried. He understood, all too painfully, that everything that had unraveled between you over the past year was nothing but a sorrowful consequence of your grief. You had once been a soul overflowing with light, always searching for the silver lining amidst the clouds, a spirit who could find a glimmer of hope even in the darkest of times. You, who would often conspire with his mischievous best friend, Seungmin, forming a relentless duo to tease him until he’d feign a pout, forcing you to shower him with kisses until he laughed again. You, who came home every evening brimming with stories about the children you counseled at the school, your eyes alight with passion and care for each of them. All that Jeongin had loved so deeply about you seemed to have been buried alongside your sister, Nari, and this loss was a truth he still grappled with, even now.

As he crawled onto the empty, cold bed that had once been a warm sanctuary for both of you, Jeongin curled into himself, his body folding inward as if trying to shield himself from the harsh reality. His sobs came in ragged waves, tearing through him so violently that he trembled, his breath hitching with each shaky inhale. He missed you more than words could convey—he missed everything about you. The sound of your laughter echoed in his mind like a haunting melody, its tones shifting with your moods: soft and lyrical when merely amused, and loud, unrestrained when joy truly overwhelmed you. He missed those sounds, the ones that used to fill this now desolate space with life and love.

He missed the lazy afternoons you'd spend together, brainstorming new exercises for his music therapy sessions. Those moments would often devolve into impromptu concerts, filled with your carefree, barefoot dancing across the living room floor and his voice following your lead, blending into a harmony of shared happiness. It was in those moments that everything felt right in the world, where nothing existed but the two of you, lost in your own little universe of melodies and movements. He missed those afternoons like one misses the warmth of the sun after too many days of rain.

He missed teasing you in those quiet moments when you were deeply focused, often catching you sticking your tongue out ever so slightly—a quirk of concentration that never failed to endear him. He’d gently pinch it between his fingers, earning himself a mildly exasperated huff as you’d swat his hand away. But he knew that a smile would inevitably creep up on your lips, and you’d turn away to hide it, cheeks flushing with a mix of amusement and affection. It was the kind of simple, tender moment that spoke volumes about the depth of your bond, a bond that now felt irreparably severed.

Every corner of this home whispered memories of you, and he was haunted by them all—the good, the bad, the ones that made him laugh, and especially those that made him cry. Your absence left a void that nothing could fill, a hollow silence where there had once been laughter and love. And even though he knew it was your grief that had driven a wedge between you, he couldn’t help but wish he could find a way back to you, to the person you used to be, and to the love that once made him feel whole.

The night that shattered your world was meant to be a day of celebration: your younger sister Nari’s high school graduation. Jeongin could still see you in his mind's eye that morning, almost vibrating with pure, uncontainable joy. Your eyes were bright, brimming with excitement, and your smile—so wide and beautiful—tugged at his heart each time it graced your lips. Nari was the center of your universe, your pride, your joy, your true soulmate in a world that often felt uncertain and cold. You had been more than just a sister to her; you had been her guardian, her comforter, her everything. You were the one who took on the weight of raising her through the chaotic turmoil of your parents' messy divorce, providing stability where there was none. 

Jeongin could recall countless times Nari would recount how you shielded her from the constant, venomous arguments that echoed through your childhood home. Despite your own young age, you found ways to distract her, to pull her out of the chaos—whether it was with whispered jokes or made-up games that filled her mind with something brighter than the screaming. To Nari, you were a star, someone who had hung the moon just for her. She often spoke with a mix of awe and adoration about the afternoons you both spent sneaking into the little ice cream shop on the way home from school, spending hours laughing over melting cones until you were sure your mother had left for work. 

Jeongin also remembered the quiet, tender moments he would witness after you had graduated and moved out. Nights when Nari would sleep over, curled up beside you, as if you were her very own safe haven in a world that could be so unforgiving. There was a beauty in how you held her close, how you seemed to provide her with an anchor when everything else felt adrift. Yet, no relationship, no matter how deeply cherished, is without its storms. For as vividly as Jeongin could remember the soft, loving moments, he could just as clearly recall the bitter weeks leading up to Nari's graduation—weeks marked by harsh words and heated arguments.

You and Nari shared many things—your fierce loyalty, your protective instincts—but perhaps most notably, the sharp edge of your words. When tempers flared, both of you possessed a mercilessly cutting tongue that could lash out with a force that left deep, stinging wounds. Jeongin hated those fights, hated the cruel things you would shout at each other in the heat of the moment, words that cut so deeply and yet meant nothing once the anger faded. The conflict had started when Nari began dating an older guy who had already graduated. Neither you nor Jeongin liked him, sensing the danger in his recklessness, his penchant for illegal activities that threatened to drag your sister down a path she wasn't prepared for. But Nari, stubborn and convinced she had found the love of her life, refused to listen. The tension between you both grew unbearable, each argument driving another wedge between you and your beloved sister, and Jeongin could do nothing but stand helplessly on the sidelines, watching as she slowly pushed you away.

The real fracture came on what should have been a night of celebration. Nari was supposed to have dinner with you and Jeongin to celebrate her graduation. She promised to meet you both, to share in the joy of her achievement, but instead, she turned off her phone and ran off with her boyfriend to a party that everyone knew would be dangerous. For hours, you and Jeongin called and texted, reaching out to everyone who might have known where she was, each unanswered ring heightening the tension, every minute stretching into a painful eternity. 

And then, the call came—the one that brought your entire world crashing down. Nari had been found dead inside her boyfriend’s car. Both were intoxicated when he decided to drive, his recklessness steering them straight into a tree. The impact killed them both instantly. 

Jeongin would never forget the sound that tore through you in that moment, a wail of agony so deep and raw it seemed to shatter the very air around you. It was a sound that would forever echo in his heart, a haunting melody of a love lost too soon and a pain that could never be soothed.

The piercing sound of Jeongin's phone ringing in his back pocket cut through the thick, oppressive fog of memories that had been drowning him ever since he stepped into the cold, empty apartment that was once alive with the warmth of your shared moments. His body still trembled with the aftershocks of his own heartbreak, his face still wet with a cascade of tears that seemed endless. For a moment, he considered ignoring it, letting it fade away into the void of everything else that felt lost to him. But something compelled him to move, to reach into his pocket and pull out his phone. The screen flashed with a name: Chan. 

Jeongin’s first instinct was to let it ring out. He wasn’t sure he could bear the gentle, pity-laden concern he knew he would hear in Chan’s voice. The idea of facing someone else’s worry, of being forced to articulate the emptiness clawing at his chest, felt like too much. But he also knew that Chan wasn’t just calling for the sake of it—he was worried. Maybe that thought, the notion that someone still cared enough to reach out, was what finally convinced Jeongin to answer. With a shaky breath, he pressed the phone to his ear.

“Yes?” His voice came out rough and broken, as if he’d swallowed shards of glass, a hoarse rasp that even he barely recognized. On the other end, there was a sharp intake of breath, a small hitch that spoke volumes, followed by the sound of Chan clearing his throat in that awkward, nervous way he had when he didn’t know how to approach a delicate subject.

“Hey, how are you holding up?” Chan’s voice was gentle, tentative, as if afraid that anything more might cause Jeongin to shatter completely. The simple question, so innocuous yet loaded with care, brought fresh tears to Jeongin’s eyes. He swallowed thickly, trying to keep his composure, not wanting to add more weight to Chan’s worry.

“As well as I can be...everything is gone.” The words felt heavy on his tongue, sinking like stones into the silence that followed. There was a sigh on the other end, deep and empathetic, filled with an understanding that was both comforting and unbearable.

“I’ll stop by later, yeah?” Chan’s offer came with a note of encouragement, trying to lift the heavy blanket of despair. “I can bring Minho so he can cook you some food, and we can figure out what comes next.” There was kindness in his words, an attempt to pull Jeongin from the pit he’d found himself in, but the weight pressing on Jeongin’s chest didn’t budge, didn’t ease in the slightest.

“Maybe another time, Channie, thank you,” Jeongin murmured, his voice carrying the exhaustion of someone who had been running a losing race against his own emotions. “I think I just need a few days alone.” The silence that stretched between them after was telling, thick with Chan’s unspoken disapproval. Jeongin could almost see the frown on his friend’s face, the way he’d be chewing on his lip, holding back what he really wanted to say.

Eventually, Chan spoke again, his tone carefully measured, almost as if he were walking on eggshells. “Right. Um, hey...Felix wanted to pay Y/N a visit to make sure everything’s alright and to help with the moving. The problem is, none of us really know where they moved, and we thought that maybe they might’ve told you or something?”

The mention of your name was like a punch to the gut, a sharp twist of the knife that had already been embedded in his heart. Jeongin’s breath caught, and he could feel his throat tightening, the sting of tears threatening to spill over once more. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to stay composed, to not break apart all over again.

“No,” he sighed after a moment, rolling onto his back and staring up at the empty, featureless ceiling that seemed to stretch on like an abyss. “I thought you guys would’ve known... but maybe Y/N needs some time alone for a while too. I’m sure they’ll call when they’re ready.”

The words felt hollow, a brittle hope that tasted more like ash on his tongue, but it was all he could offer. And in the silence that followed, Jeongin could only listen to the faint sound of Chan’s breathing, the weight of their shared helplessness settling in like a cold, unwelcome presence in the room.

Jeongin had clung to a fragile hope that, in time, you would reach out to the circle of friends who had once been your shared lifeline. He never imagined that you would confide in him directly—he knew all too well that the pain of his departure still festered like an open wound. You had made it painfully clear how much you resented him for breaking things off when you needed him most. He could still hear your voice, raw with anger and hurt, echoing in his mind as you stormed out of the apartment for the last time.

But never in his darkest nightmares had he expected you to vanish completely, as if swallowed by the earth itself. There wasn't even a whisper of your whereabouts, not the faintest trace left behind to hint at where you might have gone. It was as if you had been erased from existence. When you left, you didn't just walk out of Jeongin's life—you walked away from everything that had tied you to this place. You resigned from your job as a school counselor, the one located just a short distance from Jeongin’s apartment where you had once found solace in guiding young lives through their own turmoil. Your phone number had changed, your social media accounts lay abandoned and untouched, gathering digital dust like forgotten relics of a past life.

For what felt like an eternity, each member of your once tightly-knit group of friends wore the weight of worry like a second skin, tirelessly searching for any sign of you, some confirmation that you were still out there, somewhere, still breathing. Nights were spent in hushed conversations and whispered theories, each one more desperate than the last, wondering if you were even alive. The silence you left in your wake was deafening, a void that consumed every bit of hope they tried to hold onto.

Yet, as the months dragged on and there was still no word—no signal, no letter, not even a single fleeting message—Jeongin and the others were forced to confront a harsh new reality. The absence of your presence became a palpable thing, a hollow emptiness that settled in their chests. Slowly, reluctantly, they began to understand that they might never see you again. And in that painful understanding, they had no choice but to piece together their broken hearts and try, however feebly, to move forward. 

But even as they moved on, a part of Jeongin remained anchored in that lingering silence, waiting for the day it would finally break.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Eight months had passed since you vanished without a word, leaving behind a void that swallowed everything and everyone you once knew. Jeongin found himself seated on a low stool in the center of his sunlit office, a space designed to cradle broken spirits. The room was filled with warmth, the soft, earth-toned walls bathed in a gentle, golden glow that made it feel like a sanctuary amidst the chaos. Around him, cushions were scattered like islands of comfort, and the soft hum of a guitar rested against his body, its strings vibrating gently with each subtle shift of his calloused fingers.

In front of him, a small group sat in a circle, each person a vessel of silent sorrow. Some had their eyes shut tight, trying to shut out the world, while others stared ahead, their gazes distant, lost in the labyrinth of their own pain. Today’s session was centered around grief—a familiar theme that Jeongin had come to understand all too well. His eyes swept over the group, his expression soft and understanding, a silent invitation for them to share their burdens. Directly across from him, a young woman who had recently lost her mother sat rigid, her shoulders taut as bowstrings, her fingers anxiously picking at the frayed edge of her sleeve. Beside her, an elderly man kept his gaze fixed on his wrinkled hands, folded so tightly in his lap it seemed as if he was afraid he might fall apart if he let go.

Jeongin's fingers began to dance over the guitar strings, coaxing out a few gentle notes that floated through the room like a soft breeze on a warm day. The melody was simple, almost like a lullaby—tender and soothing, a soft hand reaching out in the enveloping darkness. It was a song he had crafted with your help, your voice whispering in his mind, guiding the melody with your mesmerizing ideas and gentle critiques. He tried not to think of you now, of the countless hours you'd spent together creating this very piece, but the memory lingered like a ghost.

“Let’s take a deep breath,” he murmured, his voice a low hum that barely rose above the delicate strumming. “Breathe in... and out. Feel the music as it moves through you.” His voice was smooth and warm as he began to sing, threading through the air like a comforting embrace. The lyrics were a balm for weary souls, speaking of finding peace amid the storm, of a quiet place where one could lay down their burdens. He watched the room with quiet intent, observing as the music began to weave its subtle magic.

The young woman’s shoulders, once so tense, began to loosen ever so slightly, her breath easing into a more natural rhythm. The elderly man’s grip on his hands softened, his fingers unclenching as if the melody had given him permission to let go, if only for a moment. Jeongin’s heart ached as he shifted the melody into a new key, a hint of melancholy now woven into the notes. His voice leaned into the emotion, allowing it to crack and falter in just the right places, like a mirror reflecting the fractures of a breaking heart.

He knew the power of those small imperfections—the way a slight fracture in the music could resonate with the cracks in a person’s soul, giving them the courage to confront their own pain. The room felt heavy with unspoken sorrow, yet somehow lighter, too, as if each note was drawing out a little of the darkness from within. And as he continued to sing, Jeongin allowed himself to feel the weight of his own grief, letting it pour into the song, knowing that sometimes, in the quiet beauty of shared pain, there was a kind of healing.

Moments later, a soft sob broke the fragile silence. The young woman's face crumpled as she brought a trembling hand to her mouth, tears spilling down her cheeks in rivulets that caught the light. Jeongin’s heart ached for her, a deep, familiar pain unfurling in his chest. His mind flashed back to countless moments where he had seen that same expression etched across your own face—the anguish, the vulnerability. But he didn’t stop playing. Instead, he allowed the melody to swell, his fingers coaxing the guitar strings through the dark waters of sorrow and guiding them back toward a glimmer of hope, like a lighthouse in a storm.

“Let it out,” he murmured, his voice a soft, comforting undertone to the music. “There’s no need to hold back here.” His words were a gentle invitation, a permission to release the emotions that had been held back for far too long. And as if on cue, the room filled with the raw sounds of grief—soft, stifled sobs, muffled cries, the quiet sniffles of those who had long forgotten how to weep openly. Jeongin continued to play, his music becoming a vessel for their pain, a safe harbor where tears could flow without shame or judgment. 

Across the circle, he caught a glimpse of the elderly man, his head bowed low, his lips quivering as he mouthed the words of the song. His eyes were squeezed shut, as if trying to ward off a memory too painful to face. Jeongin’s gaze softened, and he let the melody shift, his fingers moving with practiced ease into something softer, gentler—like a lull after the fury of a storm. Each note was deliberate, a quiet caress to soothe the raw edges of the room's collective sorrow. He watched as the weight of grief began to lift, ever so slightly, and the room took a deep breath, exhaling the heaviness that had clung to them like a shadow.

When the final note faded into the stillness, Jeongin let the silence settle, heavy but not suffocating. He set his guitar down gently, his eyes meeting each person’s in turn, offering a silent acknowledgment of their pain. “Thank you for sharing this space with me,” he said, his voice a soft balm even as his own heart bore the scars of past regrets. Too often did Jeongin lose sleep over how he, despite his profession, had failed to help you through your own grief. “Grief is heavy, but together, we can carry it, even if just for a moment.”

The young woman wiped at her tears, her face still etched with the rawness of her emotions, but in her eyes, there was a faint spark—a glimmer of relief, as if, for the first time in a long while, she felt a little less alone. The elderly man’s shoulders sagged, a heavy breath escaping his lips, as though a burden had been lifted, if only for a moment. Jeongin offered a small, gentle smile, a subtle curve of his lips that spoke of understanding and quiet encouragement. He picked up his guitar again, fingers brushing against the strings with a familiar, comforting touch.

“How about we end with something light?” he suggested, strumming a few upbeat chords, his eyes brightening with a hint of mischief. “Maybe a song that reminds us of hope. Even when it’s hard to see, it’s always there… waiting for us.” His words hung in the air like a promise, a tender reminder that there was light even in the darkest of places.

And so, with his voice soft but steady, Jeongin led them into another song—one that spoke of healing, of finding strength in the most shattered places, and of a quiet, enduring joy that could bloom even in the darkest seasons of life. This was a song Jeongin had written and composed in the wake of your absence, in the silence that followed your sudden departure. It was a song born of hope, crafted in those long months of not knowing, a song he had always dreamed of sharing with you. And as he sang, he let that hope fill the room, weaving through the notes, a quiet, resilient thread that held the promise of brighter days.

Nearly thirty minutes had passed since the group therapy session had officially ended, but Jeongin's office was still filled with the quiet shuffling of his patients gradually making their way out. This wasn't unusual; some of them often lingered, seeking a few more moments to connect or share their thoughts, and Jeongin never minded. He found these moments invaluable—an opportunity to touch base, to offer a final bit of encouragement or reassurance. 

As Jeongin turned to watch the last patient leave, he was surprised to find his friend Changbin leaning against the doorframe. Changbin’s muscular arms were crossed over his broad chest, his eyes twinkling with a mix of admiration and amusement. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and it only grew wider when Jeongin’s gaze finally met his. "Bin," Jeongin greeted with a slight bow, his dimples appearing as he returned his friend's smile. He moved toward his desk on the opposite end of the room, a space that served as both his office and a therapy room within the clinic.

Without waiting for an invitation, Changbin followed him, settling himself comfortably into the leather chair meant for Jeongin. With a roll of his eyes and a shake of his head, Jeongin let out a small huff of amusement at his friend's antics. He took a seat in one of the smaller chairs intended for his patients, his gaze fixed on Changbin. "What are you doing here?" Jeongin finally asked, watching his friend lounging back in the chair, hands interlocked casually behind his head.

Changbin's playful demeanor slowly shifted, his eyes losing their mischievous spark as they settled into something more serious. He sighed, leaning forward to rest his forearms on Jeongin's desk, the sudden shift in atmosphere making Jeongin's heart pick up a little in pace. He tried to keep his expression soft, maintaining a small smile even as he braced himself for whatever Changbin had come to say.

For a moment, the room was filled with a heavy silence as Changbin seemed to struggle with his words, his brows furrowing in thought. Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke, "You know how Yongbok and Hannie wanted to have a joint celebration for their birthdays this Friday, right?" Jeongin's brows knit together in confusion; he hadn’t expected such a mundane topic. Still, he nodded, waiting for the real reason behind Changbin's visit.

"Well, everything will be pretty much the same... but we wanted to tell you this before you showed up." Changbin paused, his worried eyes meeting Jeongin's increasingly anxious gaze. After a deep breath, he continued, "Y/N moved back here a little over a week ago and reached out to us almost immediately. We helped them settle back down, and we've been spending some time with them, catching up on everything. Yongbok and Hannie wanted them to be included in their birthday celebration, but we also wanted to check in with you. Make sure you're okay with that first."

Jeongin felt his entire world tilt on its axis, Changbin's words crashing into him like a wave he hadn’t braced for. A million questions stormed through his mind, so fast and furious that he couldn’t quite grasp a single one. "Wait." His hand shot up, signaling his need for a pause as he shifted forward, perching on the edge of his chair. His voice, tinged with betrayal and hurt, spilled out in a rushed breath, "What do you mean Y/N moved back here a week ago? Why am I just learning about this now?"

A look of guilt shadowed Changbin's face, his expression softening with regret. "Y/N asked us not to tell you for a little bit because they weren't ready to handle it yet... but now that everything's settled, they have a new job and everything—Y/N is ready to meet with you if you'd like." He hesitated, and a flicker of panic widened his eyes as he quickly added, "But you didn't hear that last part from me. Y/N wanted to be the one to reach out at some point today or tomorrow."

The silence that followed was heavy, all-consuming, wrapping around Jeongin like a thick fog. He struggled to wrap his mind around the news of your return, the idea of seeing you again so unexpectedly unsettling. The weight of your absence, the questions left unanswered, all resurfaced in that single moment, leaving him adrift in a sea of emotions he wasn’t prepared to face.

Jeongin didn't quite know how to feel about you moving back into town after leaving him without so much as a goodbye. The news of your return stirred a storm of emotions within him, each one more complicated than the last. On one hand, he understood your reasons for leaving—the desperate need to escape from everything that reminded you of your younger sister, Nari, and the weight of your relationship with him, which had grown heavy with grief and unresolved pain. He could see why you had to flee, to distance yourself from the memories that clung to every corner of the town like shadows that wouldn't let you breathe. 

But understanding didn't erase the sting of abandonment. Jeongin couldn't ignore the countless sleepless nights he’d endured, his mind spiraling into an abyss of what-ifs and could-have-beens. He thought back to the moments when your relationship had still felt beautiful and safe, long before it had quietly begun to crumble beneath the weight of tragedy. In truth, he realized, the love between you had started to fray the very moment you received the devastating news of Nari’s fatal accident. It had unraveled slowly, painfully, until there was nothing left but a hollow shell of what once was. By the time he officially ended things, the love you shared had already been gone, replaced by a haunting emptiness.

For months after you left, Jeongin had nearly driven himself to madness, caught in a vicious cycle of regret and self-blame. Every waking moment was spent agonizing over all the different ways he might have pulled you out of your grief. Could he have said something different, done something more? Could he have been more patient, more understanding? He had replayed these thoughts over and over, like a broken record stuck on a painful refrain. There was a time when he couldn’t even look at his own reflection without being reminded of his failure—his inability to be the anchor you needed in the storm of your sorrow. He blamed himself for your sudden departure, believing that if he had fought for you a little harder, if he had held on just a bit longer, maybe things would have turned out differently.

Slowly, though, Jeongin had begun to emerge from the shadows of his own grief. He had started to come to terms with the loss—not just of Nari, whom he had loved deeply through you, but also the loss of the future he had imagined with you by his side. He’d begun to accept that his own heartbreak, mixed with the suffocating weight of guilt, was something he needed to release in order to move forward. Jeongin had finally allowed himself to realize that in the grand scheme of things, staying by your side would have meant losing himself in the process, trying to bring back a version of you that had vanished the day Nari did. He’d come to understand that you were never going to be the same person again, and neither was he.

And now, just when he was starting to find a semblance of peace, you chose this moment to step back into his life. It felt like the ground he had just managed to steady himself on was beginning to shake once more. Jeongin wasn’t sure if he was ready to face you again, to reopen wounds that were only just beginning to scar over. Yet, there was also a flicker of something else—a hope, perhaps, or maybe just curiosity—about what this new chapter could bring. But whatever it was, it left him feeling unsettled, standing on the precipice of a past he had tried so hard to leave behind.

As his mind continued to swirl with a torrent of thoughts, Jeongin was startled by the bitterness that began to simmer beneath the surface of his heart. The resentment was unexpected, an emotion so potent that it almost frightened him. It clawed at him, leaving a sour taste in his mouth, a stark contrast to the calm demeanor he usually carried. But as his gaze lifted, his eyes locked with Changbin's, and he saw the concern etched in his friend's face. The anxiety in Changbin's sincere eyes was unmistakable, quietly tracking the cascade of emotions that flickered across Jeongin's vulnerable features like a storm passing through. 

Despite the sharp sting of betrayal—the feeling of being kept in the dark by his closest friends, who had not only hidden your return from him but also lied to him so they could spend time with you—Jeongin found a small measure of solace in Changbin’s quiet empathy. It was as if Changbin's presence anchored him, a silent reassurance that he wasn’t navigating these turbulent waters alone. In that brief moment, Jeongin’s chaotic thoughts cleared enough for him to take a deep, steadying breath. He slumped back into his chair, his eyes dropping to his sneakers, suddenly feeling the weight of his own exhaustion. His shoulders sagged, heavy with the burden of emotions he could no longer ignore.

"I don’t know if I’ll be ready to meet with Y/N before the party," Jeongin confessed in a low murmur meant only for Changbin’s ears. The sadness in his voice was unmistakable, a raw and tender ache that clung to every word. He took a moment, trying to gather his thoughts that seemed to scatter like leaves in the wind. "But I’m not going to stand in the way of Y/N joining the birthday party—especially since it’s not my place to decide that. I’ll still be there, and I want to be as civil as possible. So, please, don’t let anyone make it more awkward than it needs to be, or I don’t think I’ll be able to handle it."

His voice trembled by the end, his courage wavering as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Changbin's once more. There was a flicker of something fragile there, something almost hopeful, despite the tangled mess of his emotions. Changbin nodded, a soft smile pulling at his lips, a small gesture of gratitude and understanding. He stood up, moving closer to lay a firm, reassuring hand on Jeongin’s shoulder—a rare show of affection, knowing how Jeongin tended to shy away from touch, especially when his emotions were laid bare like this.

"I’ll talk to the boys," Changbin promised, his voice steady, grounding. It was the most he could offer in that moment, aware of how delicate the situation was. 

With that, Changbin turned and quietly exited Jeongin's office, leaving the younger man alone with his thoughts. The room seemed to close in around him, heavy with the weight of everything he was yet to fully comprehend. Jeongin remained seated, lost in the labyrinth of his own complicated emotions—anger, sadness, regret, and something else, something almost like a glimmer of hope—all swirling together in a chaotic dance that he had no idea how to untangle.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

In the three days leading up to the eagerly awaited joint birthday party on Friday—an event hosted by Chan for Felix and Jisung—Jeongin found himself ensnared in a relentless spiral of anxiety and anticipation. The looming prospect of encountering you after nearly a year of absence gnawed at him with a persistence that bordered on torment. He grappled with a thousand imagined scenarios, each one an intricate tapestry of potential outcomes and emotional landmines. The uncertainty was a constant, unsettling presence in his life.

Jeongin’s small apartment, once shared with you, had become a labyrinth of memories and regrets. He often wandered its confines, the soft thud of his footsteps a mournful echo of the unease that had taken residence in his chest. The apartment seemed to sigh with each step he took, as if mourning the lost echoes of a time when you had been there. Despite his efforts to bury himself in work, the thought of you lingered like an unwelcome shadow, a constant undercurrent that refused to be ignored. He would catch himself staring at his phone, repeatedly re-reading the message you had sent him just hours after Changbin’s visit—a message that had become both a lifeline and a tormentor.

Your text, which read: 

Hey, Jeongin. It’s been a while. I know I left without much of an explanation and cut off contact... I’m sorry for how I handled things. I’m sorry for a lot of things, actually. But I wasn’t in the best place back then, and I needed time to figure things out on my own. I’m back in town now, and I’d like to talk sometime if you’re open to it. No pressure—I just feel like there are a lot of things that were left unsaid between us. Take care!

Every time Jeongin read these words, a storm of emotions would churn within him. The initial formality of your greeting felt like a cold draft from a distant past, a stark contrast to the warmth that had once existed between you. The passage of time loomed large, a reminder of the endless stretch of days that had passed since your sudden disappearance. He was struck by a poignant blend of nostalgia and pain, the abruptness of your departure a constant reminder of how unfinished your story had been.

Your apology, though a balm of sorts, stirred a complicated mix of relief and frustration within him. On one hand, it acknowledged the hurt you had caused, but on the other, it left a multitude of unresolved questions hanging in the air. Why did you leave so suddenly? Why did you sever all contact? Jeongin understood that you were not in a good place and needed space, but that understanding did little to soothe the sting of abandonment he felt. The sense of being left in the dark, coupled with a profound sadness over his inability to help you, left him grappling with a blend of guilt and anger.

The mention of wanting to talk now jolted him, a surge of conflicting emotions rushing to the surface. He was torn between the desire to reconnect and the fear of reopening old wounds. The prospect of addressing the myriad of things left unsaid between you brought with it a flood of memories—regrets, unresolved issues, and a yearning for closure. Each re-reading of your message plunged him deeper into a whirlpool of complicated thoughts and emotions, the turbulence of his feelings both paralyzing and consuming.

Ultimately, Jeongin found himself unable to craft a suitable response, and so he chose silence. His decision not to reply was one shrouded in uncertainty, a choice that left him questioning whether it was the right one. The silence that followed was both a refuge and a torment, a delicate balance between preserving his own peace and the unresolved echo of your return.

The night of the party arrived under a canopy of crisp, clear sky, the stars shimmering with an almost mocking brilliance. Jeongin drifted through the evening like a specter, his senses overwhelmed by a world that seemed too bright, too noisy, and far too indifferent to his turmoil. His apartment, once a sanctuary, had become a chaotic jumble of discarded outfits—each one cast aside with a frustrated sigh and a sense of resignation. The fabric of his clothes lay strewn about like the remnants of a battle fought and lost against his own anxiety. Nothing felt right, and the more he tried, the more he was convinced that nothing ever would.

Eventually, he settled on a modest ensemble—simple, unobtrusive, and devoid of any hint of personal flair. As he dressed, he glanced at his reflection in the mirror, and what he saw was a stranger staring back—an image of confusion and trepidation. He attempted a smile, one that was supposed to be confident and reassuring, but it fell flat, a mere shadow of what he hoped to project. By the time he arrived at Chan's place, his nerves were a live wire, sparking and fizzing with every heartbeat.

The apartment, already abuzz with the lively hum of music and the warm murmur of laughter, was suffused with the rich, inviting aroma of a feast. Jeongin took a deep breath, steeling himself before stepping into the vibrant chaos. Felix, ever the beacon of warmth, was the first to greet him. His smile was a radiant crescent, eyes sparkling with the playful twinkle of a galaxy etched upon his cheeks and nose. Felix enveloped Jeongin in a tight, enthusiastic hug, and Jeongin could almost gauge the number of drinks Felix had indulged in by the exuberance of the embrace. As he disentangled himself from the fervent welcome, he was met with a slew of half-hidden concern and reassuring smiles that nearly suffocated him with their well-meaning pity.

He made his way to the kitchen, where the counter was a tableau of gifts—boxes and bags for Felix and Han piled high in cheerful disarray. Jeongin added his own contribution to the heap and then sought refuge in the cool solace of the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water to soothe his parched throat. But then, as if fate itself had conspired to make this night even more unbearable, you appeared in the kitchen doorway.

You had been laughing lightly, a melodic sound that seemed to dance on the air, but upon spotting Jeongin, you froze mid-step. The sight of you was like a flash of brilliance in an otherwise dim landscape. You looked as radiant as ever, with a glimmer of the light that had once illuminated your eyes returning to them—a light Jeongin had once lost himself in with reckless abandon. At that moment, the gravity of his own emotions hit him with a brutal clarity. Despite having ended the relationship, he realized with a heavy heart that he was still desperately, achingly in love with you. Even after nearly a year of separation, the feelings remain undiminished.

You slowly composed yourself, though your body remained taut with the remnants of surprise. The smile you gave him was both disarming and electrifying, sending a shiver through him. With a polite bow, you greeted him, your voice soft and warm as you said, “I’m really glad to see you again, Jeongin.” The way you spoke his name made his knees feel weak, the sheer depth of his longing crystallizing in that single, familiar sound. He had not fully grasped how much he had yearned to hear his name on your lips again until that very moment.

Unable to find words, Jeongin merely bowed in return, his smile shy and tremulous. He watched you turn and leave the kitchen with a hurried pace, your earlier purpose forgotten. The realization dawned on him that he might need more than just water to navigate the emotional maelstrom of the evening.

Chan's party was a sanctuary of familiarity, a gathering of a close-knit circle of friends who had weathered years together. The night had unfolded in a haze of laughter and lively banter, and now, as Jeongin found himself pleasantly intoxicated from the endless rounds of drinking games, he couldn't help but revel in the camaraderie that had once again enveloped the room. It felt undeniably comforting to have everyone gathered under one roof again, especially you.

The past year had cast a shadow over the group's dynamic, your absence an unspoken void that lingered between them, palpable despite the silence. Yet now, with your return, the room seemed to breathe with a renewed vitality. It was as though the very air had shifted, carrying with it a sense of ease that had been sorely missed. Jeongin observed you from a distance, his gaze drawn to you as you reengaged with the group. He noted with quiet awe how you moved through conversations with an effortless grace, the same grace that had once been your hallmark.

It was apparent that you had emerged from the clutches of your grief, a revelation that stirred a profound admiration within Jeongin. The way you laughed, genuinely and freely, was a testament to your resilience. Though you had left without a word, seeking solace far away, you had returned with a newfound lightness. The laughter that now danced from your lips was a melody Jeongin had missed, a balm for the aching absence that had haunted him throughout the past year.

Jeongin watched with a bittersweet smile as you engaged with everyone—how your eyes crinkled at the corners when joy sparked within you, how they would occasionally meet his gaze with a fleeting, shy acknowledgment before darting away, leaving behind a gentle blush. Each moment was a delicate brush stroke on the canvas of your reunion, painting a picture of someone who had found a way to heal and reconnect.

The sight of you dancing playfully with Han to a song you both claimed had been crafted just for you was particularly poignant. Your movements were a symphony of carefree delight, a stark contrast to the somber image Jeongin had harbored of you. In these shared, joyful moments, as you reintegrated into the tapestry of old friendships, Jeongin felt his heart tugged with an intensity that defied explanation.

Though the effects of alcohol swirled around him, amplifying emotions and blurring the edges of reality, Jeongin knew that the depth of his feelings for you transcended any inebriation. The love he harbored was as real and potent as ever, a force that no amount of alcohol could replicate or diminish. He was falling for you once more, each glance and shared laugh reaffirming the connection that had never truly faded, only waiting for the right moment to reawaken.

Despite the undeniable truth of his lingering affection for you, Jeongin remained uncertain of how to navigate these turbulent emotions. For now, he chose to keep his feelings veiled in silence, retreating into the solitude of his thoughts. The haze of confusion was abruptly dispelled by the firm, reassuring weight of Minho’s hand settling on his shoulder, grounding him in the present moment.

Minho, his eyes glazed with the soft blur of alcohol—though not nearly as intoxicated as Felix and Han—clapped his hands together, a signal for attention. His voice, amplified by cupped hands, cut through the ambient noise of music and conversation. "Guys! Guys!" he bellowed, drawing the attention of the increasingly inebriated crowd. The room fell into a collective hush, eager eyes fixed on Minho as he continued with a grin that spoke of mischief. "As per Yongbok’s request, we’re about to kick off a game of UNO! But there’s a twist: every time someone lands a Plus Four card, we all take a shot. And the loser—well, they get a revolting concoction of mixed alcohols and juices!"

The announcement ignited a burst of enthusiastic cheers, the crowd’s energy crackling with anticipation. Laughter and playful shoves accompanied the clumsy shuffle to the circular coffee table at the heart of the living room. Jeongin, with a flicker of hope in his heart, watched as you navigated the sea of friends. His wish to have you beside him was met with a hint of disappointment as you chose a seat directly across from him, nestled between Hyunjin and Seungmin.

The seating arrangement became a familiar circle of camaraderie and chaos: You directly across from Jeongin, Seungmin to your right, Chan to Seungmin’s right, Felix to Chan’s right, Jeongin to Felix’s right, Minho to Jeongin’s right, Han to Minho’s right, Changbin to Hyunjin’s right, and Hyunjin bridging the gap between you and Changbin. The table soon overflowed with the raucous sound of drunken laughter, mischievous plotting, and playful bickering.

Jeongin found himself in an unexpected streak of triumph, his luck seemingly endless as he conquered each round of UNO. The others began to whisper suspicions of cheating, their playful accusations accompanied by slurred speech and tipsy frustration. Chan’s voice, tinged with exasperation, rose above the din. "How is it even possible that you’ve been winning non-stop?" he demanded, his words distorted by a chorus of drinks and Seungmin’s relentless strategy.

Jeongin rolled his eyes, a gesture that had become almost automatic in the face of such claims. Han, who had just suffered the fate of the foul concoction, gagged dramatically as he placed the empty cup down with a groan. The room’s attention shifted to you as you slammed your palm onto the table, a spark of mischief lighting up your eyes. The gesture was a beacon of playful challenge, and it made Jeongin’s heart flutter unexpectedly.

"Stand up then, if you’re not cheating," you teased, your voice laced with both suspicion and amusement. The room buzzed with agreement, and Jeongin could not suppress the smile that tugged at his lips as he rose to his feet. He had sobered somewhat since the game began, the action feeling less consequential for him than for the others.

Throughout the night, the games were interspersed with moments of easy banter between you and Jeongin, a reminder of the lighthearted days before the heartache had set in. Each playful remark, every shared glance, and the way you laughed at his jokes tugged at him, rekindling memories of warmth and affection. The realization of how deeply he missed the feeling of being in love with you clenched his heart painfully.

As Jeongin turned around slowly to prove his hands were empty, he couldn’t resist a smirk. "You didn’t empty out your pockets," you persisted, your stubbornness both charming and exasperating.

He met your gaze with a playful smirk of his own, the words slipping out before he could fully process their impact. "Come on, baby, don’t be like that," he said, his tone teasing.

The room fell silent in stunned unison, the playful atmosphere abruptly shifting to one of surprise and second-hand embarrassment. The weight of Jeongin’s unintended endearment hung in the air, leaving everyone, including him, to grapple with the sudden shift in the night’s delicate balance.

Jeongin’s heart sank as he watched the color drain from your face, a pallor of shock and disbelief that spoke volumes in the charged silence that followed. The name he had unintentionally let slip—a relic of a time when you were together—seemed to strike a chord deep within you. For a fleeting moment, your eyes revealed a heartache that cut through the pretense of composure you so desperately tried to maintain. The expression of hurt was almost palpable, like a silent scream against the fabric of the night.

You managed to reassemble yourself with a stubborn facade of mischief, your smile a delicate mask that barely concealed the storm within. Your words, though laced with playful banter, seemed to cut through the tension with a sharp edge. "I just think it's unnatural how many times you’ve won," you remarked with a smirk that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Jeongin’s slip-up hung in the air, a tangible weight that seemed to sour the atmosphere of the gathering. Despite your attempt to downplay the incident with a light-hearted quip, the sting of the old nickname echoed like a ghost of past intimacy, making the room feel suddenly foreign and strained. The previously buoyant mood had shifted, leaving behind an undercurrent of unease that neither the laughter nor the playful jabs could dispel.

Jeongin could feel the churning turmoil within him, his heart pounding relentlessly in his chest. The game continued around him, but he found himself withdrawing, purposefully avoiding your gaze. Each stolen glance, each forced smile, was a reminder of the painful reminder of how things had changed. The night, which had started with such promise, now felt heavy and laden with unresolved emotions.

As the hour grew late and the laughter waned, the group, sensing the shift in energy, collectively decided it was time to call it a night. The revelry that had marked the evening dissolved into a subdued murmur as everyone prepared to leave. For Jeongin, the end of the night came as a relief, though it was tinged with a sense of lingering regret and an unspoken wish for things to be different.

As Jeongin made his way through the dimly lit apartment, exchanging farewells with the departing guests, he caught a fleeting glimpse of you darting out of the building. His heart, already heavy with a tumultuous mix of emotions, quickened its pace as he instinctively sought to follow. With an urgency driven by both concern and an aching need to make things right, Jeongin scrambled to retrieve his jacket and pull on his shoes, the night air already beginning to bite at his skin as he hurried after you.

He managed to intercept you just as you stepped out onto the cold street. Your name slipped from his lips before he could catch it, a desperate utterance that hung in the frosty air between you. You paused, your breath visible in the night’s chill, and both of you stood there for a moment, hearts racing in unison. Jeongin's breath came in ragged bursts as he caught up with you, the weight of his impulsive actions settling heavily on his shoulders.

“Let me walk you home,” Jeongin implored, his voice trembling slightly with a mixture of anxiety and hope. The words, simple yet laden with his longing, seemed to hang in the air, as though the night itself held its breath in anticipation of your response. Your eyes softened, reflecting a tempest of emotions as they met his, and your lips parted slightly as if struggling to find the right words.

Instead of speaking, you turned and began walking forward, your steps deliberate yet hesitant. Jeongin, interpreting your silence as tacit consent, fell into step beside you. The street stretched out before you, unfamiliar and shadowed, and the air between you was charged with unspoken sentiments and lingering regrets. Walking side by side felt oddly reminiscent of days gone by, a bittersweet echo of times shared with friends, now tinged with the ache of what had been lost.

In the week since Jeongin learned of your return, he had been trapped in a cycle of conflicting emotions. The pangs of missing you, of realizing the depth of his feelings that still burned despite everything, battled with the frustration of your unexplained departure. Each time anger threatened to overwhelm him, guilt swiftly followed, a reminder of the suffering you must have endured. His internal struggle was a storm of longing and resentment, a turbulent sea he had yet to navigate.

As he stole glances at your profile in the dim streetlight, the familiar contours of your face brought an unexpected rush of grief. Memories of your younger sister, Nari, flooded his mind—her laughter, a joyful sound that once filled the air, her enthusiastic embraces that had always greeted him with warmth. Your eyes, once so bright with shared mirth, now seemed dimmed by her absence.

The realization that Nari would never again tackle him in playful greeting, that her laughter would never again ring out, was a heavy burden. It pressed down on Jeongin’s heart, a reminder of the irreplaceable void left behind. The twinkle that once danced in your eyes when you laughed at Nari's jokes was now a distant memory, a reminder of how deeply her loss had affected both of you. As you walked together through the unfamiliar streets, the weight of these lost joys seemed to bear down on Jeongin, making each step feel heavier than the last.

Engulfed in the whirlpool of his own somber reflections, Jeongin barely noticed when you came to a halt before an old, weathered apartment building. Absorbed in his tumultuous thoughts, he continued forward for a few steps, his mind adrift in a sea of regret and longing. It was only when the melodic sound of your giggle reached his ears, a playful echo that cut through the fog of his melancholy, that he realized he was walking alone. With a start, he turned, his face flushing with a sheepish smile as he moved to stand before you.

You were standing there, your knuckles clenched tightly around the strap of your bag, a telltale sign of the anxiety simmering beneath the surface. Your lips were caught between your teeth, a nervous habit that Jeongin had come to know all too well. The sight of your distress mirrored his own internal turmoil, causing his foot to tap restlessly on the pavement as he waited for you to speak. The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy shroud that seemed to settle between you.

After a few moments of strained silence, you released a shaky breath and offered him a small, timid smile. "It was good to see you again," you said softly, the words tinged with a trace of the anxiety that laced your voice. It was the same sentiment you had voiced earlier in the night, when you had first reappeared in Chan's kitchen after an eight-month absence.

This time, Jeongin’s response came with a gravity that reflected the depth of your absence. "I’m glad you came back," he said, his voice carrying the weight of the months spent apart, yet softened by a flicker of genuine contentment.

Your smile, though hesitant, shone brightly against the backdrop of the night. It was a beacon that pierced through the haze of Jeongin’s heartache, and despite the unresolved tension, he couldn’t help but return it with a warm, albeit uncertain, smile of his own. The air between you crackled with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved feelings, a delicate balance between the urge to bridge the gap and the inability to articulate the depth of your emotions.

As you cast an awkward glance back at the entrance of your apartment, Jeongin understood that you were grappling with the same indecision that plagued him. "This is me," you said, your voice betraying a trace of nervousness as you cleared your throat. "My place is a bit of a distance from our—sorry, your apartment. If you’re comfortable, I can offer you my couch for the night."

Despite the initial reluctance that had gripped him, the prospect of spending more time with you, however fleeting, was too inviting to resist. Jeongin found himself smiling softly, a gesture of acceptance that was both hesitant and heartfelt. Your genuine, wide smile in response seemed to illuminate the night, lifting the veil of uncertainty that had surrounded him. With a renewed sense of hope and a lingering trace of longing, Jeongin followed you inside, each step towards your apartment a tentative step towards mending the fragile thread that connected your hearts.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Your new apartment, though modest in size, exudes a quiet charm, nestled in a serene part of town far removed from the familiar streets you once traversed with Jeongin. The moment he crosses the threshold, he is enveloped by a dissonance of emotions—a strange fusion of comfort and estrangement. The space is distinctly different from the apartment you once shared, yet your presence lingers in every corner, making Jeongin feel both intimately connected and like an outsider peering into a world that has shifted just out of reach.

The living room, modestly furnished, reflects a minimalist elegance. A soft, neutral-colored couch rests against the wall, draped with a knitted throw blanket that adds a touch of warmth. This room is a far cry from the eclectic mix of your past home—a space once filled with a vibrant blend of your belongings and his—but it still bears the subtle imprint of your personality. A small shelf brims with books, many titles familiar from your old collection, but new ones have also appeared, whispering of the changes and growth you’ve experienced in your absence. The windowsill cradles a few houseplants, their greenery a delicate contrast to the sprawling flora that once filled your old living space. They are smaller, more contained, reflecting a more subdued chapter of your life.

Jeongin’s gaze drifts to the walls, bare and unadorned, stark in their emptiness. Gone are the framed photos and art prints that once animated every corner of your shared apartment. The absence of pictures—particularly those of the two of you—leaves an unexpected sting, a painful reminder of what has been left behind. Instead, there is a single framed photograph of your younger sister on a side table by the window, surrounded by a cluster of candles. It stands as a quiet tribute, a poignant memorial that tugs at Jeongin’s heartstrings, reminding him of the grief that ultimately drove a wedge between you both.

The apartment is imbued with a subdued quietness, a stark contrast to the lively energy of your former home, where laughter and soft music once intertwined to create a vibrant ambiance. Here, the atmosphere is more solitary, introspective, as if the space has been intentionally crafted as a sanctuary for healing—a refuge from the chaos of the past. A small kitchen table, cluttered with a few empty glasses and a half-read book, suggests many solitary evenings spent with your thoughts, lost in the pages or gazing into the distance, ensnared by memories.

The kitchen itself bears no evidence of the late-night culinary adventures you used to drag him into, those joyous moments of laughter and flour-covered countertops. As Jeongin takes in the scene, he is overwhelmed by a complex weave of emotions—nostalgia for what was, sorrow for what has been lost, and a poignant ache for the version of you who now stands before him. The differences are striking, revealing a careful, deliberate solitude you’ve constructed around yourself in this new space. It feels as though you’ve created a bubble of tranquility, a place where you can breathe freely from the weight of the past, and he wonders if there is still a place for him within it or if you have moved on to a new chapter without him.

The emptiness of your new apartment weighs heavily on him. It’s not merely the physical void but the absence of the vibrant, unfiltered you that he used to know. Standing there, a guest in what might have been his world, Jeongin is acutely aware of how much has changed and how deeply he still yearns for the comfort of what once was, now replaced by the stark reality of what is.

As Jeongin steps into your new apartment, he takes in its subtle details with a blend of curiosity and nostalgia. You move about with a quiet, almost anxious energy, as if the mere act of tidying is a way to manage the fluttering tension between you. Your hands, unsure of their purpose, engage in small, inconsequential tasks: smoothing the corner of the knitted blanket draped over the couch, adjusting the book that rests on the kitchen table, and shifting a houseplant slightly to the left. It is evident that you are aware of his gaze, but you strive to give him space to absorb his surroundings.

The silence stretches until you break it, your voice soft yet resolute. "It's not much, but... it's mine." There’s a delicate balance in your tone, a mixture of pride laced with vulnerability. You glance at him, seeking to gauge his reaction, your eyes reflecting a world of untold emotions. As you move towards the small kitchen area, you open a cabinet and retrieve two glasses. "Do you want some water? Tea? I think I have some wine if you'd prefer that." Your words tumble out in a gentle stream, an attempt to fill the quiet with something tangible, yet they carry an earnestness that reveals your underlying uncertainty about where you both stand.

Jeongin watches you, his gaze softening as he observes the careful grace of your movements—each gesture imbued with a quiet protectiveness, as if you're safeguarding something tender within yourself. The silence deepens for a moment before he responds, his voice subdued and tentative. "Water's fine." It is clear that he is navigating this new terrain with caution, his tone reflective of the delicate balance between past familiarity and present distance. You nod and move towards the fridge, your back turned to him as you pour the water.

Jeongin’s eyes wander around the apartment once more, deliberately avoiding the back of your head as you focus on the task at hand. When you hand him the glass, your fingers brush against his, sending a shiver through him. It’s a sensation he’s not quite accustomed to after all this time apart. He accepts the glass with a quiet "thanks," savoring the cool water as it soothes his dry throat. 

"Let’s sit," you suggest, motioning towards the couch. There is a steadiness in your voice that carries a quiet confidence, reminiscent of the times you had managed to ground him amidst the chaos. Jeongin follows you and settles beside you on the couch. The cushions feel foreign and different from those he remembers, amplifying his sense of longing for the comfort of the home you once shared. 

For a brief moment, Jeongin is at a loss for words, overwhelmed by the tangled emotions in his chest. He is unsure where to begin, but you gently ease the tension. "How’s work been?" you inquire, your voice a soothing balm to the heaviness in the room. "Are you still at the same clinic?" 

Grateful for the opening, Jeongin nods. "Yeah, still there. We started a new program recently... working with kids who've been through some really tough stuff. It’s been challenging, but rewarding." He watches as your eyes soften, a sign of the empathy and kindness he’s always admired in you. The sight of your genuine smile, the one he’s missed so dearly, is like a balm on a wound that has long ached. 

"That sounds so nice. You've always been so good with children." Your compliment is heartfelt, and Jeongin feels a pang of longing.

He responds with a light-hearted joke, "That’s more your area of expertise," referring to your work as a school counselor. You chuckle softly, taking a sip of water, and Jeongin senses there’s more you wish to share.

"And... what about everything else? How have you been holding up?" Your question is gentle but probing, and Jeongin’s grip tightens around his glass.

"It’s been... different," he admits. "The apartment feels empty without you there. Like something’s missing."

Jeongin hadn't intended for his words to emerge with such raw intensity, but they tumble out before he can rein them in. He watches as they land upon you, the way your gaze falls and a shadow of sorrow flits across your face. "I'm sorry," you murmur, the words almost lost in the quiet of the room. "For leaving like that. I didn’t know what else to do."

Your apology strikes a chord deep within him, a resonance of shared pain and regret. "I know," he replies softly, his voice carrying the weight of understanding. "I don’t really blame you. We both had to figure things out." The atmosphere between you shifts, the earlier tension giving way to something more tender—like an old wound beginning to mend. 

Jeongin sits beside you on the couch, his nerves stretched taut, a wire humming with unspoken words. His hands are clenched in his lap, a desperate attempt to hold himself together as the silence stretches, thick and heavy. His gaze is drawn to you, to the way you hold your glass of water—fingers wrapped around it as if it were a lifeline, anchoring you to some semblance of normalcy. 

He recognizes that look in your eyes—the one that signals you are about to reveal something profound, something that has been weighing on you. "When I left," you start, your voice so faint it nearly dissolves into the air. Jeongin’s breath catches in his throat. He had no clear expectations for the evening, but he can feel that whatever is coming will be laced with pain.

"I didn’t really have a plan," you continue, your voice trembling with the weight of your confession. "I just... needed to get away." He watches as your eyes drift to the water in your glass, your reflection shimmering and distorted. The impulse to reach out and offer comfort is almost overwhelming, but he remains still, his focus entirely on you.

"I ended up halfway across the country," you say, your voice gaining a faint thread of strength. "I reached out to Lily. You remember her, right? From college?" Jeongin nods, a wistful smile tugging at his lips despite the ache in his chest. He recalls Lily’s vivacious spirit, her constant care for you, and feels a pang of gratitude that she was there for you in a way he couldn't be.

"She didn’t ask questions; she just told me to come," you add. Jeongin’s heart clenches at the image of you in a strange, distant place, the weight of your grief looming like an oppressive storm. He loathes the thought of you feeling so alone and adrift, needing to travel so far for solace.

"She lives in this tiny coastal town," you continue, your voice lightening slightly as you recall the memory. "For a while, I thought maybe that was what I needed—being somewhere far away from everything." Jeongin can almost visualize it—a serene seaside town where the waves gently erase footprints, a place where time seems to stretch indefinitely, offering a balm for the wounded soul.

Yet, beneath the surface of your words, Jeongin senses an undercurrent of dissatisfaction. The coastal retreat, while soothing, evidently fell short of the healing you sought. His heart aches, burdened by the realization that he wasn’t able to provide the support you needed, even as he too was grappling with his own struggles. The distance between your shared past and the present feels vast, and he yearns for a way to bridge that gap, to be the anchor you needed, even though he was floundering himself.

You pause, and Jeongin watches as you swallow hard, the movement of your throat a testament to the weight of your words. "I eventually realized that it wasn't enough," you say, your voice trembling with the effort to hold back tears. "I needed more help. So, I checked myself into a grief recovery program..." The words falter, and Jeongin feels a tightening in his chest, the emotion reflected in your wavering tone. "A place where people go when they've lost someone and don't know how to keep living."

He stares at you, his vision blurring as he grapples with the magnitude of your suffering. He's known grief, but seeing it through your eyes—so raw, so utterly consuming—is a new experience for him. Guilt crashes over him like a relentless wave. He wasn't there for you. He couldn't help. He didn't even know how to begin.

Jeongin opens his mouth, an apology poised on his lips, but you continue, your voice cutting through the silence with a quiet determination. "There were days I wanted to leave, but I stayed. I wrote a lot. I planted a small garden there, just to feel like I was nurturing something again, you know? And slowly, I started to remember things without feeling like they were completely breaking me."

His hands tremble in his lap, the truth of your words stirring a deep regret within him. He should be happy that you found a way forward, relieved that you began to heal, but instead, he is overwhelmed by the ache of not being there for you—by the realization that he had abandoned you when you needed him most. His eyes search yours, desperate for some sign that you don’t harbor hatred towards him.

"I can't imagine what that must've been like," he finally manages, his voice thick with emotion. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry I ended things when you needed me. I didn’t know how to help you through it, and I—"

You shake your head, a wistful smile curving your lips. "I didn’t know how to let you help me, either. And I wasn’t ready to accept Nari’s death and move on yet. That’s why I left." Your words settle into the spaces between his ribs, a cold weight pressing heavily on his chest. He wants to explain, to tell you that he was lost too, that he struggled to keep his own head above water while watching you drown. But he stays silent, knowing that this moment belongs to you, just as much as it does to him.

"I needed to find a way to live with the grief," you say softly, "to not let it define every part of me. And maybe I needed to see if I could come back and face everything, including you."

Jeongin’s heart skips at that, a flicker of hope igniting within him. There is a softness in your eyes that he hasn't seen in so long, a hint of something that almost resembles hope. He takes a breath, feeling a slight loosening of the weight of his own regrets. "I'm glad you did," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. "I missed you—missed this, even if it wasn’t always easy."

You nod, and he sees a myriad of emotions dance across your face—relief, uncertainty, and perhaps the faintest trace of affection. There is much to unpack, many layers to explore, but for now, this moment of quiet honesty, of shared pain and cautious hope, feels like a tentative step towards understanding.

Jeongin notices his hand is closer to yours than he had realized, and for a fleeting moment, he wonders what it would be like to reach out, to touch your skin once more. But he doesn’t. Not yet. For now, he is content to sit beside you, to listen, and to cherish the hope that this—whatever it is—might be the beginning of finding each other again.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist @nxtt2-u @nebugalaxy @bokk-minnie @tajannah-price1 @lixies-favorite-cookie @madewithchildlabor (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

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

──── *ੈ♡⸝⸝ THROUGH MY EYES ( newjeans )

❛ In a quiet moment beneath the shade of an oak tree, you and Hyein discover the depth of your love for each other through a heartfelt drawing that captures the beauty you see in Hyein’s soul, leading to your first tender confessions.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐲𝐞𝐢𝐧 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 11 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Here's another wonderful request made by @dgybbvrcsacgswtcbkyv! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Non-Idol AU, High School AU, insecurities and self-esteem issues, mild anger, brief crying, two school girls in love, let me know if I missed anything!

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

The late afternoon sun lingers low in the sky, casting a warm, honeyed glow over the park. Its golden light filters through the thick canopy of leaves above, creating a dappled pattern that dances gently on the ground beneath the sprawling oak tree where you and Hyein have settled. A soft breeze stirs the branches, carrying with it the fresh scent of grass mingled with the faint sweetness of wildflowers blooming nearby. The air feels alive with the gentle promise of twilight, a perfect blend of warmth and coolness that makes everything seem to slow down, inviting a quiet moment of reflection.

You and Hyein, still in your school uniforms, occupy a well-worn wooden bench that has become your chosen spot for the afternoon. Your bags are carelessly tossed on the ground beside you, forgotten for now. Hyein sits with one leg tucked beneath her, her back resting against the bench’s armrest, giving her posture a laid-back elegance. Her school blouse is slightly untucked, a small rebellion against the neatness expected within classroom walls. The sleeves of her crisp, white shirt are rolled up to her elbows, revealing slender arms that are now comfortably exposed to the cooling air. Her tie hangs loosely around her neck, a simple gesture that hints at the relief of finally being free from the day’s structured demands. Her plaid skirt is carefully smoothed over her legs, creating soft pleats that fall in tidy lines. On her lap, her sketchpad rests, her pencil hovering uncertainly above the paper as she contemplates the self-portrait assigned by your art teacher, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Beside her, you sit close, your own school blazer draped over the back of the bench, as if marking your shared territory. Your sketchbook leans against your knee, pages already filled with faint outlines and shadows as you work on your own portrait. Your tie remains knotted around your neck, though it has shifted slightly askew from the day's wear, giving you a slightly disheveled look. Every so often, your eyes drift from your drawing to Hyein's face, watching the way the sun caresses her features. The light catches the delicate curve of her cheekbones, casting soft shadows that emphasize the natural beauty in her expression. Strands of her hair, gently tousled by the breeze, frame her face in a way that makes her seem almost ethereal, like a subject from an old painting.

Between the two of you rests a small pocket mirror, perched precariously on the bench. It's a shared tool, held between the brief pauses as you both glance into its reflective surface, examining your own faces with analytical intent before returning to the delicate lines of your portraits. The mirror catches the sun at certain angles, sending tiny flecks of light dancing around you, adding to the atmosphere of quiet intimacy.

Around you, the park is alive with the gentle sounds of a late afternoon drifting toward evening. The leaves rustle softly above, their movement creating a soothing, whispering melody. In the distance, the high-pitched laughter of children playing reaches your ears, mingling with the occasional chirp of birds hidden among the branches. Nearby, a small stream gurgles over smooth stones, its waters sparkling under the sun’s fading rays, creating a soft, calming background melody that weaves through the other sounds like a thread of tranquility. Occasionally, a few families or students from your school pass by on the gravel path, but their presence is like a distant hum—momentary and insignificant compared to the bubble of serenity you and Hyein have created around yourselves.

In this golden hour, time seems to stretch and bend, and you find yourselves lost in this quiet corner of the world, where every small detail becomes a story, every breath a shared moment of peace.

Hyein's usual bright expression seems dimmed today, like a cloud passing over the sun. As you sit side by side, sketching in the warm afternoon light, you notice her growing quieter, her brows knitting together in a frown of concentration—or perhaps something deeper. Her pencil hovers uncertainly over the page, and she has been staring at her sketch for what feels like too long. You can't help but watch her from the corner of your eye, a sense of concern tightening in your chest as you pick up on the faint tension in her posture, the way her movements have lost their usual fluidity. It's as if a storm is brewing beneath her surface, and you're close enough to feel its subtle tremors.

Moments pass, and you see the frustration begin to well up within her. Her lips press into a thin line, her grip on the pencil tightening as if she's trying to hold back a wave of emotion. Then, almost without warning, the dam breaks. Her hand moves with a sudden, furious energy, and the once-delicate lines of her sketch are obliterated by harsh, jagged strokes. The pencil becomes a weapon, each slash cutting across the page in a frenzy. The soft contours of what was supposed to be her self-portrait are lost beneath a chaotic lattice of dark, aggressive lines—an explosion of raw emotion laid bare in graphite.

The sound of the pencil's sharp edge scraping against the paper is grating, almost violent. You flinch, startled by the intensity of her actions, the suddenness of her discontent erupting into a crescendo that seems to scar the very essence of her drawing. The erratic marks dig deep into the paper, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil, each stroke bolder and darker than the last. It's as if she's not just covering the image of her face but trying to erase something deeper—something that words alone cannot touch. Finally, with a sigh that trembles at the edges, she drops the pencil, her shoulders slumping as her eyes lower to the mangled sketch in her lap.

You’ve been watching her with furrowed brows and eyes full of concern, unable to ignore the heaviness settling between you. "Hey, what's wrong? It was looking pretty good!" you offer gently, trying to coax a smile from her, but your words seem to fall flat.

Hyein turns away slightly, her profile guarded, as if shielding herself from your gaze. "I don't know..." she murmurs, so quietly that you have to lean in closer to catch her words. "Sometimes I just feel...I feel like I don't measure up."

Hearing this, you feel a pang in your chest. Setting the pocket mirror that had been resting between you on top of your sketchbook, you shift it all aside to scoot closer to her. Gently, you drape an arm around her shoulders and use your free hand to softly guide her face back toward yours. When you see her eyes brimming with unshed tears, your heart aches, confusion swirling within you as you try to piece together what could be making her feel this way. "Babe," you begin softly, your voice a tender whisper, "What do you mean you feel like you 'don't measure up'? I mean, look at me—I’m no Frida Kahlo. I’m kind of a mess, really. So, there’s no way your self-portrait could be worse than mine."

Your attempt to lighten the mood is met with a small, huffed-out chuckle from her, but her gaze drops again, her fingers fidgeting with her skirt in her lap. "It's not about my obviously superior art skills," she mumbles, a weak smile tugging at her lips. You let out a soft giggle at her attempt at humor, but your face quickly returns to its earlier expression of concern.

Hyein sighs again, the sound almost embarrassed, and her voice becomes quieter, as if she's confessing something she finds foolish. "I just...it’s so stupid, but I feel like I don’t look good...like, at all." She glances away, her words lingering in the space between you, heavy with vulnerability.

You pause, leaning in slightly, trying to catch her eyes and understand the meaning behind her words. "What do you mean?" you ask softly, a hint of confusion threading through your voice. You don’t bother hiding the bewilderment anymore; instead, you gently cup her cheek with your hand, thumb tracing delicate circles over her soft skin, hoping to offer some comfort. Yet, there’s a lingering frustration in the air—your failure to grasp her feelings only seems to add to it.

With a sudden surge of emotion, Hyein pushes your hands away, her touch firm but not harsh, and scoots further down the bench, putting distance between you. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest, her posture defensive. Even in her irritation, you can't help but notice the blush rising to her cheeks, a deep, rosy hue of embarrassment spreading like fire. For a moment, she hesitates, her eyes downcast, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her skirt in a nervous dance. Then, almost as if the words had been yanked out of her, she snaps, "I feel ugly, okay?"

Her voice is sharper than you expected, cutting through the afternoon air like a blade, and it takes you by surprise. You blink, momentarily stunned by the harshness of her tone and the weight of her confession. It’s such a rare thing for her to admit; she’s always been the effortlessly confident girl who caught your eye with her carefree spirit and bright energy—the very things that had drawn you to her and made you fall for her.

But as the initial shock fades, a wave of tenderness washes over you. Your heart swells with affection, and a soft smile tugs at your lips. Without thinking, you scoot closer again, your knee brushing against hers. You reach out with both hands, a light giggle escaping your lips as you gently grasp her face, guiding her closer. You press a firm kiss to her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your lips. Then, without pause, you move to her nose, planting another gentle kiss there, before finally capturing her lips in a brief, tender kiss that speaks volumes in its simplicity.

When you pull back, your eyes fluttering open, you’re met with her adorable pout. She glares at you weakly, her irritation still lingering, though softened by the corners of her lips threatening to curve upward. There's a mixture of annoyance and reluctant amusement in her eyes, and you can't help but chuckle softly at the sight, finding an undeniable charm in her reaction.

"Love," you begin, your voice a soft murmur, steady yet filled with a raw earnestness. You pause, searching for the right words, though your gaze never wavers from hers—deep, unwavering, and filled with affection. "I wish you could see what I see...I wish you could feel the way my heart squeezes every single time I look at you."

Without giving her time to respond, you let your hands slide from her cheeks to her shoulders, fingers pressing gently but firmly into her skin as if anchoring her to this moment. Your voice, like a gentle breeze weaving through the leaves overhead, carries the weight of every unsaid thought, every unspoken feeling. "Hyein," you continue, each word a carefully placed step forward, "I don’t think you’d be able to handle what you do to my heart whenever your eyes light up while you talk about the things you love. You wouldn't last a day if your knees buckled the way mine do when I hear your laughter. It’s like a melody that always finds a way to brighten my dullest days, so contagious it lingers in the air long after you stop. If only you could see the way your kindness radiates, the way it makes you shine. Sometimes, it almost convinces me that you must be some kind of angel, not just a girl."

As you speak, you watch her closely, noting the way her eyes begin to shimmer with unshed tears. But this time, they aren't tears of frustration or insecurity—there's a smile blooming there, soft and wide, spreading across her face like the first light of dawn. Your words seem to float between you, almost tangible, as if they could reach out and wrap around her, pulling her into your heart.

Even so, a shadow of doubt lingers on her face, her gaze dropping down, her lips trembling between a smile and something more unsure. You can see she's still caught in that place between believing your words and believing her own inner critic. Without another thought, you decide to show her exactly what you mean.

Reaching for your sketchbook, the pages whisper as they turn, the rustle a soft accompaniment to the tender atmosphere. You flip to a blank page and take a deep breath, feeling a rare determination settle within you. You’ve never been one to put much effort into drawing before, but now, you silently plead with whatever gods might be listening, praying to any divine force in this endless universe for a miracle. Just this once, you beg, let me draw something that captures even a fraction of her beauty.

Without another word, you begin. The pencil moves across the page with a certainty you’ve never felt before, your hand guided by something deeper than skill or practice. As you draw, you start to speak again, narrating each careful stroke, each delicate line. "See here," you say softly, "the way your smile curves—it’s not just about the shape, but the warmth it carries. It’s like a quiet promise, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm." You glance at her, catching the way her eyes follow each movement of your hand, her curiosity breaking through the last of her hesitation.

"And the way your eyes crinkle at the corners," you continue, your voice a soft, steady rhythm, "like they’re holding some secret joy. It’s more than just a detail; it’s a glimpse into your soul, into all the light you carry inside you." You shade in a section of the drawing, gesturing gently to the lines. "And the light in your hair here, it catches like it’s framing you, like you’re glowing from within."

As you bring her likeness to life, the world around you seems to hold its breath. The rustling of the leaves in the trees above, the distant laughter of children playing nearby—all of it fades into a soft, distant hum, creating a cocoon of quiet intimacy around the two of you. Hyein’s eyes remain fixed on the sketch, her expression softening, her lips parting slightly as she takes it all in, as if she’s finally beginning to see herself through your eyes.

When you finish, you pause, staring down at the drawing in your hands—a surprisingly good sketch that, despite your usual lack of artistic prowess, manages to capture not just her features but the light within her. It reveals the subtle expressions that make her so uniquely beautiful, the quiet moments that often go unnoticed by anyone but you. It’s more than a likeness; it’s a glimpse of her soul, the way you see her through the lens of your own affection.

Turning the sketchbook around, you hold it out to her like a precious offering, your heart pounding in your chest. Her eyes widen, the uncertainty in them shifting to something softer, something almost vulnerable. She studies the drawing intently, her gaze flicking back and forth between the lines and shades that capture the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes. Then, slowly, her eyes lift to meet yours, searching, as if seeking the truth behind your words.

"This is what Lee Hyein looks like through my eyes," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, suddenly shy in the face of your own revelation. You hadn’t realized just how deeply your feelings for her ran until this moment, how much of your heart you’d poured into this drawing. It feels like you’ve handed her a piece of yourself, raw and unfiltered.

For a moment, there is only the soft rustling of leaves above and the distant murmur of the world around you. Then, a small, genuine smile begins to bloom on her lips, delicate and fragile, like the first flower breaking through the snow after a long, cold winter. She leans in closer, her shoulder brushing against yours, warm and familiar. She hesitates, just for a heartbeat, before pressing a tender, electrifying kiss against your cheek.

"I love you," she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion, gratitude, and sincerity, each word weighted with a depth that sends a shiver through you. Your eyes widen slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you realize the significance of her words. This is the first time either of you has said those three sacred words. But Hyein’s expression is steady, unwavering, filled with a quiet certainty.

In that golden hour, under the shade of the old oak tree, time seems to stretch and slow. The world around you softens into a hazy blur of colors and distant sounds, fading away to grant you both this stolen moment of pure, unadulterated connection. It’s as if the universe itself pauses, holding its breath, to witness the spark that ignites between you.

With a surge of bravery, your heart swelling with a newfound courage, you lean in closer, your voice steady and clear despite the wild fluttering in your chest. "I love you, too," you reply, the words falling from your lips like a promise, firm and sure.

And there you sit, side by side, the world reduced to just the two of you. Her head gently comes to rest against your shoulder, and your heartbeats fall into a quiet, rhythmic sync, as if they were always meant to beat in time with each other. In that moment, you both feel like the only two people in the world, wrapped in a warmth that nothing could ever touch.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ My permanent taglist is open! (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

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

the problem with being creative is that you start to feel very guilty when you haven’t created anything in a while

hiii it’s been forever since we’ve spoken!! how have you been? life treating you good?

i have a lil request for you that may or may not be really really sad. i was thinking of hyunjin or maybe even lee know but it’s really up to you!

what kind of single father would he be? how does he deal with the death of y/n along with having a newborn/s to care for?

idk i just thought it would be interesting to see what your thoughts on it would be tbh

hope you’re doing well! ilysm!

- 🦨

Whoops! Hey! I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to get to this, I've been a bit behind on requests but here you go! This was absolutely devastating to write, but I loved every second of it. Anyone who's read my works will know that I'm a slut for angst. Also, I know technically you asked for either Hyunjin or Lee Know but I got inspired by all of the members so I made it into an OT8 thing, hope that's okay!

Life for me has been okay-ish, honestly. I'm not sure if I've already mentioned this to you before but I recently broke up with my ex since it became kinda toxic so that was something that I needed to digest. I'm doing very well now, though! Becoming single again has never felt like such a relief, it's harsh, but it's honestly the truth.

Anyway! How are you? Life doing okay for you?

𑁍ࠬܓ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔

( 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐑 ): Release Date: Posted!

──── * ˚ ✦ ECHOES OF US ( stray kids )

❛ After a painful breakup, you and Jeongin struggle to maintain a civil front for your mutual friends, but when he accidentally calls you by your old pet name, unresolved emotions resurface, forcing you both to confront the lingering feelings between you.

𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 10.5k~

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This is sort of still a work in progress, but really it just means that I have to finish writing the ending of the final draft before finally moving on to proofreading. Since this is my first official long-fic (a story for a single member that's over 10K), I thought it might be fun to announce it now and see who's interested! This was anonymously requested! (Anon, I'm sorry it took me a hot minute to finally finish this, but I hope I made up for it with how long it ended up being 🫠) Reblogs for this teaser are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Mentions of sibling death and grief, very brief mention of a dysfunctional home, brief explanation of sibling death, Y/N's sibling has their own name, mentions of being abandoned, heartbreak, awkward re-encounter after almost a year, discussions on mental health, a whole lot of angst, comforting ending.

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

Want to be alerted when I post this? Let me know in the comments so I can tag you!

right? it’s so underrated 😞

hi green, how are you doing ?? i hope everything’s alright<33

i hope you dont mind but i wanted to request something again >< i was wondering if you could write a smut with chan, but focus more on the aftercare ??

lets say he had a stressful week and during sex he decided to reselase his anger and stress on the reader, but they had a hard week themselves and just couldnt take it, so they decided to use their safeword and channie would be all like oh ?? and maybe the reader would even cry a little and be apologetic, because “i’m so sorry, i know you had a hard time, i just can’t do it today” saying that while clinging to him and seeking comfort >:((

and then chan would focus on making them feel safe, he would clean the up and reassure them that if completely fine and he's proud of them and just the whole aftercare part ><

if its too much then its completely fine !! please dont feel pressured to write it if its not your cup of tea<33

anyway, please take care !!😽

use of the safe word.

other works by green.

pairing: chan x female reader

content warnings: hurt/comfort, rough and overwhelming sex, crying, bloody lip, aftercare, not proofread

rating: 18+

summary: chan had always been the sweetest human ever, but after you’d both had a rough week, you both find out that you had different ways of decompressing.

His fingers found their way to your throat while he groaned in your ear, squeezing in a way you usually adored as Chan thrusted in and out of you at a brutal pace. He was completely lost in his own world, moaning about how tight you felt around him and how he’d been thinking about having you like this all day after the stress he’s had to deal with over the course of several days. It was difficult to breathe for you, though, all of your senses seemingly going haywire as you attempted to ground yourself by gripping the sheets below you and trying to focus on his babbles of pleasure. However, instead of enjoying this moment with your lover like you normally would, your mind was a storm of frustration and stress that only increased with Chan’s speed.

It was too much for you — everything about this was overwhelming, including the guilt that followed your distressed thoughts. Chan had arrived home and immediately pulled you in for a rough kiss, and you had followed along because you were well aware of how rough it’s been for him recently and you figured you’d let him release it all on you before talking. Although nothing could’ve prepared you for the complete disconnect that plagued you — you didn’t feel seen or loved, he barely managed to remember some of the things he knew you liked while he chased his own orgasm. It wasn’t to say that he was doing it purposely, you knew that Chan loved you to insanity because this was strange for him.

Unwanted tears rolled down your cheeks, and you bit your lip harshly so as to not let him know of your state since his face was buried into the nape of your neck. His breath felt hot on your skin, and sharp pangs of pain shot up your body with each time Chan bottomed out. Your eyes were squeezed shut so as to prevent any more tears from spilling, and a whimper escaped your lips as your teeth broke skin.

Too much. Too much. I don’t like this!

Chan’s movements became slightly more erratic, which signifies that he was close to achieving his orgasm. But the room was spinning and you didn’t think you could take this roughness any longer.

“Channie, stop, stop, red light!”

All movements halted, dizzying you slightly. Chan pulled back immediately as his grip on your throat loosened and his eyes scanned your face with concern. The sobs were pushing their way out of you and the tears rolled down your cheeks freely and stained the pillow below your head. “I’m so sorry, Channie!”

“Oh— Wait, no, no don’t apologize,” Chan quickly responded, slowly pulling out of you so as to not overwhelm you further. His brows were furrowed, catching sight of your bloody bottom lip and your anguished expression. “What happened baby? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” you continued to cry, your entire body shaking violently as you reached for your boyfriend. “I know you’ve been having a hard time, I just can’t take it today.”

He wrapped his muscled arms around your trembling body, kissing the top of your head as the beat of his heart seemed to ground you despite how erratic it was, bringing you back to reality. It was clear that he was still confused, and you were grateful that he wasn’t pushing for an explanation right away. Instead he shifted slightly so that he could place his calloused hand on your chest, applying a bit of pressure while inhaling and exhaling deeply. You followed his breathing pattern, slowly noticing that he’d pulled you into his lap at some point, cradling your body as though it was made of porcelain.

When your cries had slowed to a near stop, he moved his gaze onto your face — guilty eyes searching for any remaining distress. His thumb caressed your cheeks, drying your tears in the process as he attempted a soft smile.

“Baby?”

A shaky breath made its way past your lips, eyes glued to the crumpled sheets while you twiddle your thumbs in your lap. “I’m sorry.”

“No, angel, don’t apologize.” Chan spoke softly, yet his tone was stern. “Please don’t apologize, I’m proud of you for stopping me, okay?”

You could only nod meekly.

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Nothing was said, but the shame arose in the form of choked sobs and Chan pulled you back onto his chest while rocking from side to side. His fingers carded through your hair gently as he hummed a nearly inaudible tune to calm you. This time, you were able to pull yourself quicker.

“I’m going to get you some water, okay?” He didn’t wait for a response before he was lifting you up slightly and laying you on his side of your shared bed. The sound of his speedy footsteps that made their way to the kitchen were the only thing heard aside from your own ragged breathing.

You sat up when he returned with a cold glass of water in one hand and what looked like a warm, wet towel in the other. He handed you the water first, watching you intently as you hissed a bit as soon as your cut lip made contact with the coldness of your drink. You downed your drink in one go, your throat screeching in relief from how dry it had been until a moment ago.

“I’m going to clean you up a little bit, and then you should pee.”

His rough hands touched your shoulder lightly, nudging you so that you would lay back and spread your lips. The jolt that occurred as soon as you felt the warmth of the towel touch your core had your ears turning red in shame, you knew he wouldn’t purposely hurt you so there was no reason to act like this. You didn’t miss the hurt that flashed across his face.

As you peed, Chan was quietly filling up the bathtub and adding a lavender scented bath bomb to soothe your anxiety. You watched him work from the toilet in silence, lips set into a deep frown.

“It’s done baby,” Chan announced, turning to face you with a benign smile. “We should take care of your lip first though.”

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled again as you pulled your knees up to your chest. “I haven’t done anything but add to your stress, and it shouldn’t have been like this. I could’ve lasted until you–”

“Don’t finish that sentence, Y/N.” Chan sounded so grave you couldn’t help but inhale sharply, eyes widening slightly. “Please don’t ever do that, we have a safe word for a reason. Always, always use it whenever you’re not having a good time. There’s really no hard feelings for me, what’s important for me is that you’re okay and that I don’t end up hurting you.”

You sniffed, bracing yourself as he neared you with a small cloth that had been dipped in antiseptics that made you hiss at the burn as soon as he dabbed it to your wound. He gently blew on your lip as an effort to lessen the pain.

“You’re so sweet to me.”

Chan pressed his lips against your forehead, lingering for a moment as if to make you feel his love through the simple action – and you did. A small smile made its way onto your face at last as his hands guided you to the bathtub, helping you get in before he knelt beside you.

The warmth of the deliciously scented water instantly relaxed your sore muscles, you sighed in relief. The light swishing sound of the water following your movements seemed to add to your newfound serenity, your eyes falling closed for only a second before the sense of something being missing began gnawing at your mind. You turned to find Chan sitting on the bathroom floor, eyes sparkling as he watched you while resting his chin on the edge of the bathtub. The corners of your mouth quirked up slightly at the sight, heart soaring.

“Join me.”

He shook his head, returning your smile.

“Channie,” you pouted. “You don’t have to feel guilty about what happened, I promised.”

He shook his head again, his smile remaining as he blinked rapidly as if to keep unshed tears at bay.

“Baby, please don’t feel guilty…you didn’t know.”

“No,” his voice cracked a bit. “I should’ve known, you bit your lip so hard you started bleeding. You were crying, you weren’t even able to tell me what happened. I should’ve noticed.”

Your hand touched the side of his face, droplets of water rolling down his smooth skin. “I should have told you I wasn’t okay as soon as I realized, baby. But we can still relax together, please, join me.”

Chan seemed hesitant for a few beats before sighing. He was already naked, so all he needed to do was take his place behind you. It was a tight fit, but you liked this kind of closeness as his arms wrapped themselves tightly around your torso and he rested his chin on your shoulder. Neither of you speak for a bit, basking in the tranquility of it all.

“I’m sorry.”

Not a word needed to be said, so you lifted his hand and kissed it once, twice, three times until he chuckled lightly. He pressed his own lips on your shoulder, and you felt a few tears grace the skin near his lips, so you reached up to his hair and scratched his head as a form of comfort.

“I knew that you were frustrated, stressed and all of that when you brought me to our room and I really thought I would be fine,” you finally explained, Chan had yet to remove his lips from you as he listened. “But I guess I didn’t take into consideration the shitty week I’ve been having too and it was just– a lot of it was just the new boss that arrived last Monday micromanaging every single breath I took, my workload was humongous compared to what I used to have before. He was so condescending, too, just doubting everything I said and asking my male coworkers to double check all the information I provided. I didn’t have a good time. And then we were having sex, and we barely exchanged a few words to each other before that, and it was just very overwhelming. I should’ve said something, so part of it was on me. I will make sure to be better next time, be more vocal about my needs and such.”

Chan lifted his head from your shoulder, cupping his hands to spill some of it onto your hair, massaging your scalp. “I’m sorry your new boss has been such an uptight dick all week…and I’m sorry I was so rough with you– especially without at least talking with you for a bit before, I’ll be sure to check in on you more often when we make love, especially if negative emotions are affecting either of us.”

“I really appreciate you, Channie.” You take his hands in yours, massaging them lightly and playing with his pretty fingers absentmindedly. “What about you, baby, what had you so worked up when you got here?”

Chan’s voice was soothing as he talked, the vibrations of his voice could be felt on his chest and it served as some kind of comforting sensation as you pressed yourself even more to him and closed your eyes.

word count: 1.9k 🛁 posted: 12 • 17 • 2023

💬 a note from green;

Thank you so much for this request, Merin. This was such an unexpectedly healing experience for me, and I thank you for it. You’ve only made two requests, but I can tell you that I’ve grown to love when you do since you always ask for such touching topics that aren’t mentioned or discussed enough. So please, request however many times as you’d like!

I hope you’re doing well, and I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it :)

( 🏷️ ) taglist: @grandpafelixx , @agi-ppangx