bahngarang

Latest Posts by bahngarang

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aww cute 🥰

ೀ⋆ BF!SEUNGMIN TEXTS !

── ✧ ˚. ꒰ 𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ seungmin x f!reader ˒˓ established relationship 𝓰enre/𝓽ags. smau, fluff/crack, mild cursing, playful teasing, one (1) suggestive joke, mention of drinking/being drunk, seungmin lowkey being the clingiest but cutest boyfie ever, uhhh that’s it me thinks 😁

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — these r so cute to make hehe, maybe i’ll do more of these for the other members too <3

perm taglist: @justwonder113 @emilyywhyy @min-doesnt-know @alnex05 @velechi @leeknowslefteyebrow @kayleefriedchicken @jeonginsbaee @thelittletobsterthatcould @queenofdumbfuckery @met30rc1ty | if you wanna be tagged in any of my future posts fill out this form here. ♡

omg hey y’all guess who’s back from the dead 😻 istg i don’t mean to go ghost on purpose it’s just idk life is so ASS rn man….. i’m tryna cook up more ideas for you guys so you don’t get bored of me tho 🙏

pretty boys 🤍✨

chapter 10.0 ☆ all in

wc: 5,115

cw: swearing, needles, little bit of blood, crying, science talk

a/n: *throws my genetics special interest at you and runs away* (this is not the end)

I promise this is not as angsty as the warnings make out to be haha

I was going to get this out earlier but I got my period and got sick at the same time so I've been completely wiped out... rip

"we know."

of course. of course. well, that solved one problem... sort of. not really. but it definitely made it a whole lot easier.

yn glanced down at their knee, exposed but framed by some hot pink kt tape with a barbie hot wheels pattern, before looking back up at the trio, nodding tersely. "... yeah." they muttered, leaning against the doorframe, gently scratching bingus's fluffy butt.

their soul mark wasn't completely there yet, but it was more readable than it had been in the last 11 years. it was strangely satisfying, watching it come back together. yn had spent some time examining it after their encounter with minho and seungmin a week ago, seeing how the pieces had fit back into place. it didn't hurt, it felt... odd. a light but annoyingly noticeable sensation under their skin. itchy, the kind of itchy that you couldn't get at.

"who's at the door?" minji called out from back in the apartment.

yn looked back over their shoulder at their friends, grimacing a little as bingus dug his claws into their shoulder to prevent falling off, and definitely made it known that he wasn't happy with their movement.

it really was good timing... just, not so great at the same time if the trio hadn't wanted to be seen by anyone else. yn sighed quietly, pinching their brow. "just... come in, I guess..." they said wearily.

this late in the evening was not the time for thinking very deeply. they could already feel a headache forming. maybe that was just from the stress-induced jaw clenching that had started up again today. thinking about how to break it to your best friend that you'd been hiding a major secret from him for almost a decade was... definitely not the easiest.

the vibe was awkward. not really the relaxed lego building session it once was – although, how relaxed it was in the current situation was debatable. chika, ever the unflappable, took it in her stride like a champ.

"oh my god, hii," she said, smiling and waving at hyunjin. "it's good to see you again."

hyunjin looked a little surprised for a second, but returned the action with a small grin. the three newcomers stood close together just inside the entryway, like something would bite if they moved any further in. that something would probably be bingus, so maybe it was smart.

seungmin was somewhat calm, hands in pockets as he looked discreetly around the apartment – and suddenly, yn was very aware of the pile of laundry taking up a good amount of the couch, the dishes next to the sink, and the ripped curtains, courtesy of one of bingus's catnip induced zoomies sessions, doing their best to cover the full length window.

hyunjin wasn't so composed. at first glance, he might have seemed it, but the way he was shifting on his feet and fiddling with his flat cap told a different story.

and minho? he was staring straight at yn, assessing them in a way that made them feel like he could see their soul. they hadn't bothered to put much effort in this evening, just a random sonic shirt and some sleep shorts. now yn was wishing that they'd has some premonitory sense and at least worn some proper clothes. it was unsettling, to say the least, his sharp eyes piercing them right to the core. 

"the timing is... truly impeccable," minji said, an amused but mildly baffled expression on her face. she shot a smirk in yn's direction, raising her eyebrows as if to say 'go on' and sat back in her chair, crossing her muscley arms. she was enjoying this immensely. 

"so you figured it out, then?" yn asked quietly, leaning back against their kitchen counter.

"i think the fact that my skin wouldn't stop itching where you touched me for two hours after you left sold it for me," minho said, matter-of-factly. 

"ah. well. that'll do it." yn still didn't completely believe that their soul mark could just change like that at the touch of a soulmate, but the evidence was right in front of their eyes, as much as they were reluctant to believe it. however, they supposed, soul marks in and of themselves were a crazy phenomenon, so was this really anything to be so surprised about? weird miracles of the natural world.

"who are...?" minho trailed off, glancing at yn's friends.

"oh, um. minji and chika," yn replied, pointing at both of them in turn. "my friends. hyunjin's already met chika at a versace event."

"so you're the friend he was talking about," he murmured. "i was right."

"what?"

"nothing."

it seemed minji just couldn't hold it in anymore, and began snickering to herself, the hand in front of her mouth doing absolutely nothing to hide it. not that she was trying to – she was absolutely loving this. chika was less obvious about it, but the expression on her face and the way she was twirling her fork in her hands had a certain air about it.

yn elected to ignore the both of them, rolling their eyes. "why did you bring hyunjin?"

"testing the theory."

well, yn had to respect that. it definitely gave him points in their book. they were all for the scientific method.

"that's fair..." yn leaned back into the edge of the counter as bingus hopped off their shoulders and onto the top. he sat next to them emanating a distinctly superior energy, giving the three men intruding on his property an appraising look. despite his demeanour, yn knew that he viewed every stranger as a new friend, and it would only be a matter of time before he began fawning over them, purring and rubbing all over them like they were covered in catnip. bingus was a weirdly social cat. 

"so, uh..." yn held their hand out to hyunjin. "you wanna test it..?" it wasn't like they didn't already know, but just to cement it, properly. it was really more for everyone else.

hyunjin's gaze immediately dropped to the floor with a bashful expression. for someone who exuded so much confidence on stage, he sure was shy off it. he took a few steps closer, until he was in arms reach, extending his hand out.

the tension in the air was so thick you could almost feel it hanging there. even bingus didn't make a sound, just watching, in opposition to his usual chatty self.

their fingers were just about to touch, but-

"wait."

minji's arm shot out, grabbing hyunjin's wrist at lightening speed. yn made eye contact with her, and they knew they were both thinking the same thing.

"what's going on?" hyunjin asked, a confused furrow forming in his brow.

yn groaned. "dr jang would kill me if I didn't..." they muttered, before darting off further into their apartment in a speed walk.

when they came back, yn was juggling a few things in their hands.

"why the fuck do you have microfuges in your apartment?" minji asked, in what was probably a suitable amount of bemusement. even for the most avid of researchers, it wasn't exactly common to have lab equipment hanging out around your home.

"cuz." yn shrugged, setting down the little rack and placing the microfuges into the slots. "my dad got them for me before I started uni. and a micropipette. real shockingly, I've never used them before."

"what would you even use them for...?" minji blinked in a stupefied manner, before shaking her head. "speaking of... has your dad come around yet?"

yn grimaced. "you'd think, after five years. we talked about it last time I visited... wasted about two hours because apparently the literal fact that sex and gender aren't the same is 'dogma' or something. i've sent him several links to the studies proving it, but... he hasn't responded." pulling the cap off a marker, they numbered the tops of the microfuges, chewing their bottom lip. 

"oof." there wasn't really much else to say. yn had a perfectly fine relationship with their parents other than that... usually. most of the time, yn could forget about the way their parents refused to accept them, but every so often the topic resurfaced and ate at them a little more.

yn pulled out a needle from where they'd stuck it through their shirt, gesturing at minji. "can you- thanks." they mumbled, catching the lighter chucked at them with ease.

"... what are you doing?" minho asked.

"dr jang in my department... she researches soul marks and stuff. i'm pretty sure she'd skin me alive if i didn't get a record of this." it took yn... more than a few tries to get the lighter working. they were never that good at things like that, but eventually they managed to get it working and ran the flame under the needle to sterilize it. "and, like... i get this is a whole thing, but i'm also scared of her, and considering she's never even heard of someone's soul mark remaking itself, i don't think she'd be a massive fan of me if i didn't get some evidence."

"you say that like she doesn't love you," minji said. "you're one hundred percent her favourite colleague."

"to be fair... there isn't much choice," yn said, clearing their throat pointedly. a lot of their fellow professors were a bit... snobby was a way to put it. most of them were older men, who seemed to think they were god's gift to humanity, and demanded respect just because of their age and gender while giving none of their own. sure, they had more experience, but that didn't necessarily mean they were right.

yn was just about to use the needle to draw some blood, when bingus chose that exact moment to make his presence known, throwing his head back with a yowl. "ugh. pest." yn set the needle down, plodding over to the cupboard that housed their multitude of pills and supplements. but first, treats. bingus demanded to be fed at the same time every day, so it was easy to use him as an alarm – give him a treat every day at the same time you took your meds, and you were never allowed to miss them.

"there you go, squish," yn murmured affectionately after shaking out a couple of treats for their cat, stroking down his back. bingus accepted them greedily, wolfing them down while purring loudly.

swapping the treat bag for their pill container, yn sat back down at the table, using their soda to swallow the tablets.

seungmin took that moment to speak up for the first time that night. "that's... a lot."

yn huffed. it was true, they took a lot of medication, but it was for a reason. "if my body was a temple, that temple would be old and crumbling."

"... is that why you have greys already?"

it wasn't like they weren't expecting it. yn's grey streaks still hadn't been re-dyed yet because life had gotten in the way so the roots were showing, and they had a number of grey hairs dotted around their scalp. they'd also seen enough stray kids content to know the amount of old person jokes seungmin made. but this quickly? damn. "um. well. maybe. i think it's just stress and genetics. i promise i'm not that ancient."

seungmin raised an eyebrow, pursing his lips subtly, and cocking his hip to lean against the counter. it was annoyingly attractive.

in a moment of weakness, yn poked their tongue out at him petulantly, before promptly choking on their magnesium supplement. that one always had it out for them, anyway.

by the time it finally went down yn had tears in their eyes and an awful, powdery taste in their mouth.

"having fun there?" chika asked, giggling quietly in a way that yn couldn't even be mad at.

"actually shut the fuck up."

yn winced as they stuck the needle into the tip of their middle finger, before squeezing a few drops of blood into the first microfuge. there were probably better ways to do it, but yn didn't know how or have the equipment for it. a little rudimentary, but anything to save themselves from the wrath of their colleague. 

"you're very calm about this," hyunjin mumbled, looking warily at the needle.

"i've had about 50 blood tests, i'm used to it," yn responded. "should i get saliva samples...? mm.. no, i don't have the patience for that. alright." stretching their arms above their head, yn couldn't help but let out a little groan as their back popped and shoulder clunked concerningly – and notice how hyunjin's eyes darted down to their exposed midriff. they extended their hand to him for a second time. "let's do this."

hyunjin's hand was warm. soft. big. static shocks were swapped between both of their palms as hyunjin tightened his grip. gentle, but firm.

yn felt... odd. the other times, it was in passing. this time it was a thing. they could feel it happening, feel the slight tingle running over their knee, feel how close he was. they squirmed gently in their chair, their eyes darting from their intertwined hands, to their knee, to anywhere else.

out of the corner of their eye, yn could see chika trying to sneakily film the interaction. she wasn't very good at hiding it. maybe it was a good thing. to get more evidence for dr jang.

looking down at their knee again, yn watched their soul mark change for the first time. they almost couldn't believe it, but... there it was. right there. sure, their eyesight was pretty trash but it was pretty hard to deny it like when it was like that.

"woah... that's..." hyunjin looked how yn felt: completely stupefied. it was one thing seeing their mark after the change, but seeing it happen? wild.

"... yeah," yn breathed out. there was no denying it now. the secret was well and truly out. and honestly? it was kind of a relief. yn hadn't realized just how much it had been weighing on them until now. maybe seven years of repression wasn't good for you. who knew? "what... happens now?"

"i think you should come back with us. meet everyone else... we've been waiting to meet you."

"oh i should, should i?" yn asked, letting go of hyunjin's hand and reaching for the needle again. "i... i'm not sure... i have work tomorrow... and bingus... i can't leave him alone..."

"oh, come off it," minji groaned, her exasperation evident. "pack an overnight bag. chika and i can stay here and watch your baby. you've put it off for too long, i'll force you out myself if i have to."

"i-..." yn sighed. an overnight bag? how long would they be staying there? a while, realistically. when it happened, it was going to be a long, uncomfortable conversation, about uncomfortable things – about why they had felt the need to hide for so long from the people that were meant to love them most.

yn glanced over at their friends, at chika's encouraging smile, and minji's insistent expression. if they really wanted to do this, like they said they did, then they had to face the music. "... fine."

everything was in order. kind of. yn had their overnight bag, although there was bound to be at least one thing they forgot, like always. it was inevitable. but it was really happening.

"okay, you can sleep in my bed if you want just-... no freaky stuff." yn gave both girls a pointed look.

"hey! we're not that bad," chika protested.

"i still have stains on my couch." that shut them up. "you know the drill with bingus – he will bite your toes under the covers, if you don't get up to give him food in the morning he will make it your problem, and you know the coffee machine- yeah, you can work it, fine... stay safe. lock the door. everything else."

"it'll be fine," minji reassured them, patting yn on the shoulder. "you don't need to worry about us. go get your guys."

"mm," yn hummed. "but if i find any more weird stains on my furniture, you're buying me new ones. freaks."

"yeah, but we're your favourite freaks," chika said with a wink.

"whatever helps you sleep at night." yn turned to minho (who was currently getting his fingers gnawed on by a very happy bingus), hyunjin and seungmin, trying to work out in their head who would fit best in their extra set of motorbike leathers. technically, they fit chan the best, but those with astute observational abilities could tell that he wasn't here right now. and since two of them were probably too tall, that left minho to go on the bike with them.

they chucked the set at him, which he caught deftly before minho's brain caught up with his hands. he examined them for a moment, holding them up to himself in mild confusion.

"to preface, i'm simply not going in a car, but I also don't fully trust myself to get to a new address alone because i am... directionally challenged."

"do i really need to wear these?" minho asked skeptically.

"do you want a nurse to be picking gravel out of you?" yn asked brightly. "you can be slightly warm and uncomfortable, or unsafe. pick your poison."

sensibly, minho chose to wear the leathers.

"... you good?" yn asked minho as they sat on their bike in the parking garage, inputting the address for the dorms into their phone before zipping into one of their pockets.

minho was... antsy, clipping and unclipping the buckle of the strap on yn's spare helmet. he'd been much more confident about going on the bike with them earlier, in the apartment. currently, he was eyeing it like it would bite him. yn got it to an extent, the first time they'd realised they actually had to ride one, it was pretty daunting. it wasn't like he actually had to do anything, though. just hold on and help in case yn got lost. but right now, he was the one looking lost.

yn stood up off the bike, taking the helmet gently out of minho's hands and fitting it over his head and doing up the strap for him. "comfortable?"

he nodded, searching them with his big, pretty eyes. it wasn't intense, per say, but yn's breath hitched when they caught his gaze, flicking the visor down over his eyes to avoid becoming even more flustered. yn knew that being his soulmate would come with... increased susceptibility to him, but they'd only met minho twice. goddamn.

swinging their leg over the bike, yn sat back down and pulled their own helmet over their head – of course it was matching with the rest of their gear, with cat ears and sanrio decals, because of course.

"uh... you know you have to sit behind me to ride..." minho slid on behind them, and yn could feel the awkwardness radiating from him in waves. "and, um.. hold on to my waist..."

ever so carefully, minho rested his hands around yn's middle. they almost laughed at how light his touch was, knowing it wouldn't remain that way for too long. 

"how are you going to know where to go?" minho asked, his voice slightly muffled.

"my helmet has a bluetooth thing that i can hear directions though. hold on tight," yn warned.

luckily, he heeded their warning as soon as the bike started up, his grip maybe a tad too snug. at least he wouldn't be falling off.

the drive was pretty short, which was a bit of a relief when minho was squeezing yn like a stress ball. he seemed glad to be back on solid ground by the time it was over. seemed... dramatic, but the way he tripped and fell taking off the leathers, and the embarrassed look on his face made yn promise themselves to not tell anyone. for now.

when yn finally walked into the dorm with minho, everything went quiet. not just quiet – dead silent.

yn's heart was pounding against their ribs as everyone turned to look at them from their various positions sprawled out over the couch and the floor. hyunjin and seungmin had arrived there before minho and yn. it was incredibly daunting, having all their eyes on them all at once, and they couldn't help but to fidget anxiously with the hem of their shirt, softly tapping the toe of their shoe against the floor as they leaned against their cane.

"um. hi," yn forced out, their voice hoarse. 

a small gasp came from across the room, deafeningly loud in the quiet space. "are you our..?" felix's voice trailed off, his big brown eyes wide and hopeful.

yn had to swallow down the frog in their throat before they could respond. "i... yes. i am."

yn blinked and felix was in front of them, almost vibrating with excitement. his eyes roamed over their face, drinking in the sight.

they hadn't really known what to expect when it finally happened, but it wasn't... this. a part of yn had always wondered if the first thing people saw about them was the cane, or the tape holding their joints together. to be completely fair, they did make it kind of obvious, with bright colours and patterns, eyes were naturally drawn to that kind of thing – but so was the rest of yn's attire, usually, and their hair. but it seemed like felix's eyes were glued to just... them.

felix reached out hesitantly, his hands hovering in front of yn, but not touching. his throat bobbed as he pulled back slightly, a small, apologetic smile gracing his features.

yn couldn't help but shyly return the smile, before they found themselves being ushered further into the forms and sat onto the end of the couch, everyone else keeping a respectful distance. although, despite the distance, it didn't stop most of them from staring shamelessly.

in lieu of any actual conversation, yn reached into their bag, the keychains attached jingling and clacking against each other, and pulled out their little box of microfuges. they set it on the coffee table along with the needle and lighter.

"sorry about your laptop," changbin muttered sheepishly from beside them. 

yn snorted, unable to hold it back. even now, he was still apologetic about the incident. technically, it had been kind of a big thing – laptops were expensive, and a pretty necessary part of their life... but, then again, he'd rectified it almost as quickly as he'd caused the problem. "it's fine. really."

"you've met before?" jisung piped up, his voice muffled through a mouthful of ramen.

"yeah. he, uh... spilled three drinks over my old laptop. and me."

"did you manage to get the stain out of your trousers?" changbin asked, fidgeting with his chopsticks.

"it took a few goes with the stain remover, but... they're fine now. which is good, because they're my favourite, and if it hadn't come out i might have gone through chan to be reimbursed," yn joked, before they saw his flustered blush get darker. "i'm kidding. i could have replaced them myself. i stain my clothes all the time, it's not a big deal."

"... how many of us have met you before?" jisung asked, furrowing his brows.

"well, we met them through... the cat thing," seungmin said, looking at minho.

"it was the video call for me," hyunjin mumbled, looking vaguely embarrassed.

"i've known chan for, like... fifteen years," yn added after some quick mental maths. time really flew by.

"how old are you?" jeongin asked.

"i just turned twenty nine."

"damn." jeongin cleared his throat, looking away and scratching the back of his neck. "sorry."

"so..." jisung shoved a lettuce leaf into his mouth before continuing, his cheeks puffing up with food. "it's just me, felix and ayen who haven't met you yet?"

yn hummed contemplatively, tilting their head to the side. "i've been in contact with jeongin before. at the dentist. not a proper meeting, though."

"really?" it took a few seconds, but realisation dawned soon enough. "oh. with the hair. right," jeongin said, gesturing at his fringe, more to himself than anyone else.

"and, i'm fairly confidant on this..." yn pulled out their phone, snapping a quick picture of their hand before messaging it to what they were almost certain was jisung's number-

-and it was, his phone vibrating half a second later. jisung's eyes bulged out of his head for a few moments as he glanced between his screen and yn's hand repeatedly. 

"how do you have jisung's number?" felix asked.

"oh, i... thought i was texting someone else. she changed her number." yn trained their eyes on the little racks on microfuges, absentmindedly drumming their fingers against their thighs. "and then he said his name was jisung, and he was twenty four and fate had been giving me a kick up the ass so... i kind of thought it would end up like that."

"ah." he nodded slowly. "... what are those for?"

"science stuff," seungmin answered for yn.

"well... yeah, i guess. i'm collecting dna samples for my colleague." yn turned to felix with what was probably a slightly constipated expression and took a breath before asking the question. "can i, um. touch you?"

felix's face went pink. there was a lot of that going around recently. his face didn't move a muscle, he just sat there for a few seconds with a politely mystified expression while his face went several shades darker. 

yn ran through their words in their head. "not- not like that. for the... science stuff. and also it's making my soul mark fix itself? somehow? i'm not sure how that's happening, but it is, and..."

another few excruciating seconds ticked by, before felix's face split into an endearing grin, his eyes sparkling. "you want to hold my hand?"

"i mean, if you're comfortable with that," yn mumbled, taken aback by his enthusiasm.

felix proffered his hand, and yn took it gently, trying not to stare at his arms like a creep. they were nice arms. from a purely anatomical perspective, of course. he had nice veins. they bet nurses liked him.

getting the dna evidence while working around felix's hand holding was fiddly, but he wasn't letting go any time soon. and yn didn't want to ask him to let go, either. not that they would admit it. they had forgotten how much they enjoyed doing this kind of thing. of course, they did it with chika and minji sometimes; yn and their friends were touchy people. but this was different. more... intimate.

yn's first physical interaction with jisung was much more short-lived, and accidental at that. he reached over to grab his drink, yn went to put the microfuge back in its slot – skin brushed skin, and the two of them locked eyes. jisung blinked, and pulled away as a static shock passed between their fingers. he let out a melodramatic cry, his head falling back into hyunjin's lap, who moved a hand to pat his head with a nonchalance that showed that this wasn't an infrequent occurrence.

"so... you said all of this is a genetic thing?" minho spoke up.

"oh, yeah. they're still not sure what causes it, but... it's different for each group of soulmates, and polygenic if you have more than one soulmate, which is what makes it hard so to study-"

"-polygenic?" jeongin asked.

"caused by multiple genes. but, you know, people are people and have attributed meaning to what they couldn't figure out and given it superstitions and so on. there's... more going on behind it, like something about it makes you produce more oxytocin and stuff around your soulmates. the term is kind of a misnomer."

"wow... you really know how to suck the magic out of it..." seungmin said.

"dude. besides the fact that the marks have our initials, which... like i'm not sure how to feel about that, but either way you look at it, it's kind of insane – do you not see the magic in the way somehow, everything fit so perfectly together to create life? in the way we evolved to have genes that randomly mutated to have random people connected so deeply? just because it's not what you thought it was doesn't make it not special." yn paused their ramble once they realised they were being stared at.

"you have no appreciation for science." they said, fixing seungmin with a blank stare. "science is magic. it doesn't stop being magic because you can explain it." so soulmates weren't technically this big supernatural be-all end-all of love. big whoop. but with the way it made people feel around their soulmates? it might as well be.

"well... that's-" minho was cut off by the sound of the front door to the dorms opening.

everyone turned to see chan walking in through the door, dragging a suitcase with the strap of his other bag hanging off one shoulder. against all odds, he managed to not notice the congregation in the lounge, trudging off into his own room.

it was a few minutes before he re-emerged in a fresh set of clothes, looking just about ready to fall asleep while his stomach growled comically loudly.

when chan finally noticed yn, he stopped in his tracks, standing completely still, like time had suddenly frozen him in place.

and it felt like it had for yn, too. all their denial, all that time spent wallowing in their own pathetic feelings of inadequacy, had let up to this moment.

yn forgot how to breathe when chan finally looked down at the soul mark on their knee, finally looking as it once did back when they were seventeen. readable. obvious as to who their soulmates were.

"yn..." chan said in a rough whisper.

yn stood up shaking, clenching their trembling hands into fists. "chan, i..."

they didn't know how to finish the sentence, but it didn't matter, because they were engulfed in chan's arms a few moments – something that had always been a catalyst for the release of strong emotions, and it was still true now, tears pricking at yn's eyes.

"are you mad at me?" yn asked quietly, tentatively returning the hug as they wrapped their arms around his waist.

"of course i'm annoyed," chan responded.

yn sniffled, squeezing their eyes shut as hot tears began to roll down their cheeks. "i'm sorry," they whispered, voice wobbling. "do you hate me now?"

"hate you? i could never hate you, noona," chan murmured, pressing his face into yn's shoulder and inhaling deeply. "i'm glad it's you."

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a/n: for those of you wondering what a microfuge + micropipette is (ik the pic quality is shit but wtv)

and yes my dad did actually buy me a micropipette. still not sure why. still haven't used it.

taglist (35/50): @sunfk88 @estella-novella @boo-ven9eance @0sunshinecryptid0 @idiotmaterial @tearsofgenshin @tirena1 @cowboylikemalika @d3kstar @heyheyitsmk @bangchansgirlsblog @geni-627 @4ng3l-ch1ld @vitaniangel-blog @beppybeesnuggets @yxna-bliss @imeverycliche @brbwritingfanfic @mavischerry @hanniemylovelyquokka @143hyunes @haexinqx @wynn-43 @rtyuy1346 @aalexyuuuhm @deuces-sunglasses @maxinehufflepuffprincess @staybabblingbaby @chimmyn0chu @maddy24207 @bookishcaptain @alisonyus @marvelsmarauder @mads-borderlands @juuh-07

okay

not everything thank fuck

but enough to be really fucking frustrating dear lord can't a girl catch a break jesus

i'm going to crash the fuck out

I just spent hours editing and it's all gone???

I'M GOING TO COMMIT A WAR CRIME FFSSS

i'm going to crash the fuck out

i'm going to crash the fuck out

❀.(*´◡`*)❀

♡´･ᴗ･`♡

first breakdown of exam season and it was caused by me snapping my freaking jiniret caribiner

I've barely had it a week lord give me STRENGTH

I am not your strongest soldier bestie pls stop giving me these trials 🫶

sometimes my chemistry teacher will drop bombs like “simple covalent molecules don’t exist” and we just run with it

I think that it's really important for people to realize that being disabled is traumatic. genuinely. your body and brain feel like they are breaking down and wrong. you are in constant heavy stress from stuff like chronic pain. most disabled people i know have a somewhat regular emotional break down from the trauma of it all. and we are expected to just smile through it by society, to not be in the way, to not be an issue.

guys I promise the fic update is coming soon but I am dying from the actual plague and istg every time I write the chapter gets 500 words longer

like. not like that I just. realise there's a lot more to write. ykwim. hopefully.

“slut era” i whisper to myself as i rot in my bed, sick like a frail victorian child

having my bio teacher send out my friend on an energy drink run during class because I was about to fall asleep was not on my bingo card but okay

POTS is so fucking ridiculous like ah fuck shit sorry it’s a little too warm in here so i’m about to look like i’m having a category five medical emergency. but really i’m all good. also to prevent it i just have to lower the temperature but not too much and also make a quick stop by the X-axis for like five minutes. i’m like a tempermental plant if it was cunty. do you guys hate me

he's so evil for this

HOLY FUCKING SHIT BRO. MOTHER OF GOD THIS DUDE?!??!! HOW IS HE EVEN REAL, ITS INSANE ‼️‼️‼️⁉️⁉️ HIS BICEPS, THE HAIR, THE GAZE, THE ACCESSORIES, CLOTHES, HIM IN GENERAL??

Someone fucking sedate me honestly. He's so crazy 😵

Being neurodivergent and chronically ill is crazy because you already have issues with executive functions and then your body hinders you even more. AND your sensory issues are heightened by the pain you feel.

dont do me like this bro 😔

•

°

•

°

•

ctto

trauma therapy has been swell

in the bed

straight up enduring it

and by 'it' haha well

lets justr say. My Connective Tissue Disorder

❥◕⩊◕🌸

istfg i am about to fight word because TELL ME WHY i had to edit nearly all of my posts because the word count was wrong

like do your job????

sometimes I get worried that my sister is on tumblr and reading my work

the odds are low but never zero...

aww 🥺 so cute !

Could you pleaseeeee keep doing ASD based stuff? 🥹 Maybe a fluff where Fem!reader receives something she has a hyper fixation for from chan and he stands and admires here as she stims and lightly jumps in circles 🙏🏻❤️

A little something

Bang Chan x Autistic!reader

⤷ Fluff ⤷ WC - 0.6k ⤷ a/n - this took me forever but let's pretend it didn't... I'm sorry. It's hard for me to write ASD stuff despite being on the spectrum myself but I finally did it. I used my own special interest for this & this is based off of my experience with autism and not to meant to reflect how every person with ASD may operate. I hope that you enjoy! ♡ ⋆｡‧˚ʚ Masterlist ɞ˚‧｡⋆

You found Chan by the window, sleeves shoved up, wrestling with something in his hands — a tangled mess of clear plastic and suction cups. He muttered under his breath, so focused he didn't notice you come in until you leaned your shoulder against the doorframe with a small, curious hum.

He glanced up, sheepish, and immediately tried to hide the mess behind his back. Which was pointless, because a second later a suction cup popped loose and fell to the floor with a sad little thunk.

You blinked at him, heart already starting to race the way it did when you could feel something good was about to happen. Chan smiled — a real one, the kind that crinkled his eyes, the kind he didn’t use for anyone else.

"I, uh..." He toed the suction cup across the floor with the side of his sock. "Had an idea. For you. For, y'know, spring and stuff."

He crouched down to pick it up, grumbling to himself, before straightening up and holding the whole thing out toward you. Finally letting you see it properly.

A bird feeder.

Clear plastic, simple design, with little perches and trays. Small enough to stick directly onto the glass of your bedroom window.

“So you can see them whenever you want,” he said, voice soft, almost shy. “You shouldn’t have to go looking for them.”

For a second, you just stared. Not because you didn’t get it — no, you got it too much. The thought behind it hit you straight in the chest, so much louder than any words could’ve been. 

Your hands twitched before you could even think. You squeezed them into fists, You rocked on your heels in what slowly progressed into a small bounce, and then you burst — your hands fluttered up, half-formed movements in the air, your feet carried you in excited circles as you tried to get the fuzzy feeling out. A high, shaky noise slipped out of your throat, this bright, raw little laugh you couldn't even contain.

And Chan... God, Chan just looked so stupidly proud. Like he'd just handed you the entire sun.

You didn’t know what to do first — say thank you? set it up? hug him? cry a little because someone thought of you like this?

You did a messy mix of all of it — Chan set the feeder down carefully to catch you when you fling your arms around his waist, laughing and half-crying into his hoodie.

"I love it," you mumbled against him, voice muffled. "I love you." 

He chuckled low against the top of your head, squeezing you so tightly it felt like he was trying to put all the unspoken things into his arms instead.

"Let's stick it up now," he said, pulling back just enough to wipe your cheek with his thumb, grinning like you personally kept the stars lit.

The two of you ended up perched on the windowsill, crammed side by side, sticking the feeder to the glass with too much excitement and not nearly enough coordination. Your hands kept fluttering every time you touched the feeder — tap, tap, tap — a little dance of your fingers against the window, almost like you were coaxing the birds to come faster.

Chan caught you doing it once, and instead of saying anything, he just bumped his knee against yours, soft and understanding.

It didn’t even take an hour. A tiny, brave sparrow fluttered down, landing on one of the perches like it had been waiting for the invitation. You gasped so sharply you clapped your hands over your mouth, then started bouncing where you sat, fists clenching and unclenching in wild, giddy excitement.

Chan watched the bird for maybe two seconds — then he turned to watch you instead. Like he couldn’t imagine a view better than the way you lit up.

And honestly, maybe he was right.

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It’s May, which means it’s Ehlers Danlos Syndrome Awareness Month!

Since it’s massively underdiagnosed, I figured this would be a great occasion to share some of my favorite infographics about this condition. (And for any of you who have been wondering why my personal posts here are basically all about medical mishaps and weird injuries: it’s because of hEDS and comorbidities.)

To any of my fellow zebras out there, we will make it through this!

Wait, Aren’t You Gay?

Bestfriend! Leeknow x Reader

“You crossed a line, He burned the rest”

Tags: Smut, groping, Mutual pining, phone sex, oral (f , m receiving), unprotected sex, dirty talk, fingering, begging, praise, soft dom Minho, tension snapping like a wire, domestic fluff, aftercare, post-sex vulnerability, tit play, friends to lovers

Word count: 8k

Summary: You always thought Minho was gay—so you never held back. Tiny tops, unfiltered stories, late-night cuddles… harmless, right?Until he sees you soaked through one day and finally snaps. And suddenly, your best friend isn’t looking at you like a friend anymore. Until one late-night phone call changed everything. Now you’re at his door—no bra, no excuse—buzzing from the sound of his voice and the filthy things he made you do. He opens the door. He sees you. And just like that, it’s over. The line is crossed.

This work contains mature themes, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!

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

You’d known Lee Minho since you were barely old enough to walk without holding onto his shirt.

Back then, he was just that loud kid who shared his snacks and shoved you into mud puddles. Now? He was your best friend. Constant. Loyal. Always down to pick you up when you were drunk or kill spiders or fake-boyfriend you out of awkward situations.

And also—totally not into girls.

At least, that’s what you’d always assumed.

He never talked about hookups. Never ogled girls. Never so much as blinked when you pranced around in your tiny shorts or ranted about your latest sex-related disaster. You figured he was either the most respectful man alive—or playing for a different team.

So you got reckless. Comfortable.

And today?

You were about to find out just how wrong you’d been.

It started with the kitchen sink.

You were washing dishes, half-dancing to your playlist, wearing nothing but those soft cotton shorts and an oversized white tank with no bra underneath. Your wet hair clung to your neck, and you were humming through a verse when the faucet burst—literally—spraying a jet of cold water straight at your chest.

“FUCK—shit, fuck—” You stumbled back, grabbing at the handle, slipping on the tile as water drenched you from neck to stomach.

And that’s when Minho walked in.

“Yo, I got the charger you—”

He froze.

You blinked at him, soaked and panting, hair plastered to your cheeks.

Water trickled down the front of your now see-through top. The fabric clung to every inch of your skin. And your nipples? Standing out like full spotlight, front row through the sheer cotton. You had no idea though, no time to even think about it before he had appeared.

“Oh.” You laughed, awkward. “Um—hi. Broken faucet. Don’t mind the wet t-shirt contest.”

He didn’t answer.

Just stood there.

Eyes glued to your chest, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring like he was trying to hold his breath.

Your smile faded.

“Min?”

His gaze finally snapped to your face.

Too late.

You saw it—the tension. The fire.

The unmistakable flicker of hunger.

And suddenly your stomach flipped.

“…Minho?”

He swallowed hard, voice low. Rough.

“Put something on. Now.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I said—” His eyes dropped again before yanking back up. “Go change. Now. Before I do something really fucking stupid.”

Your heart skipped.

Because that? That didn’t sound like your best friend.

You stood there in wet silence, your soaked top clinging to your skin like a second damn layer, Minho couldn’t meet your eyes.

He turned his back to you—turned his back—and gripped the edge of your countertop like he was grounding himself. His shoulders rose with each breath, tense as hell, like someone trying not to explode.

You’d never seen him like this. Not with you.

“I wasn’t—Min, I didn’t mean—” you stammered, brain short-circuiting. “I didn’t know you were coming over yet.”

His voice was clipped. “You knew the faucet was broken.”

“I didn’t know it was gonna blast me in the tits!”

Silence.

A beat.

Then, quietly—so quietly—you heard it:

“Jesus Christ…”

That’s when something finally clicked.

You looked down at yourself—at the sheer fabric sticking to your breasts, nipples hard, outline of your curves totally exposed. And for the first time in all the years of being this careless around him, you suddenly felt self-conscious.

You reached for a dish towel and held it over your chest.

“…Are you mad at me?” you asked, voice small.

“No,” he said quickly. Too quickly.

You stepped closer.

“Then what’s going on?”

He shook his head, still facing away. “You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me.”

He let out a breath that sounded more like a growl, and when he finally turned around, you caught it again—that look. Raw, unfiltered restraint. His gaze flicked down to the towel you’d pressed to your chest, then back to your face.

You watched him like he was someone else.

Like the Minho you grew up with had peeled off his skin and left something sharper underneath. His jaw was tight, arms folded, eyes still avoiding yours—but you felt it now. That edge. That static charge that had been humming under the surface for who knows how long.

“I’ll fix the faucet later,” he muttered, stepping past you—carefully. Like you were made of glass. Or fire.

You turned as he moved, towel still clutched to your chest.

“You didn’t answer me,” you said.

“About what?”

“Why you told me to change.”

He stopped at the door.

Didn’t turn around.

For a long second, you thought he wouldn’t say anything at all.

Then, quietly, he replied:

“Because if I’d kept looking at you, I don’t think I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs.

And when he walked out of the kitchen, just like that, it was like the whole room shifted.

The air changed.

Everything felt warmer. Tighter. Thinner.

You didn’t move for a while. Not until the cold in your soaked top finally made your skin sting.

⸻

The rest of the day passed weirdly.

Minho didn’t leave, of course. He stayed like he always did, lounging on your couch, bickering over what to order for dinner, side-eyeing you every time you grabbed your phone.

But the energy between you?

Completely different.

He didn’t look at you the way he usually did. Didn’t tease you like normal. Didn’t even touch you when he passed you the remote—just tossed it like it might burn him otherwise.

And you couldn’t stop thinking about his voice in the kitchen.

“I don’t think I would’ve kept my mouth shut.”

Kept it shut about what, exactly?

What he was thinking?

What he wanted to do?

You were still thinking about it when you came out of your room later in a sleep shirt that barely skimmed your thighs. No bra. Nothing underneath. The usual you-in-your-element vibe.

Except… this time?

You caught him looking.

Not accidentally.

Not briefly.

He looked—and kept looking.

From your legs to your hips to the faint hint of nipple under the thin fabric, straight to your face.

Your breath caught.

He didn’t apologize.

He didn’t blink.

He just raised a brow—almost like a dare—and said, “Your sink’s still fucked.”

You nodded, slowly.

“So are you gonna fix it?”

He stood up.

And as he passed by, way too close, his hand brushed the curve of your lower back.

Just a touch.

Too casual to be called a grab. Too deliberate to be innocent.

And then he was gone again, heading into the kitchen.

Like it hadn’t just happened at all.

⸻

He always crashed in your bed. That wasn’t new.

Late movie nights, sleepy arguments, limbs tangled and breathing synced—just best friends, just comfort.

Except tonight?

You felt everything.

His warmth at your back. The heaviness of his arm draped around your waist. The intentional silence of him pretending to be asleep, even though you could feel how tense he was.

You’d turned off the lights twenty minutes ago, but your body was still buzzing. Hyperaware of every inch of skin not covered by your flimsy sleep shirt. Every inch of him pressed against you in the dark.

And you knew—you knew—he hadn’t stopped thinking about earlier.

About how you’d looked dripping wet, nipples hard, shirt transparent and clinging to your curves like a second skin.

You should’ve felt awkward.

But instead, your thighs were clenched.

And then—His hand moved.

Just a little.

At first, it was nothing. A small adjustment. His fingers splayed over your stomach like they were stretching in his sleep. But then his palm drifted higher.

Slow.

Barely grazing the underside of your breast through your shirt.

Your breath caught.

His did too.

Like he just realized what his body was doing.

He didn’t pull away.

Not immediately.

His fingers twitched, tips brushing right beneath the curve of your boob—soft, tentative. Still pretending it was nothing. That he was asleep. That this wasn’t completely out of bounds.

Your chest rose and fell faster now.

He still didn’t speak.

But his hand stayed there.

Hovering. Teasing. The edge of a full touch, like he was testing himself. Or punishing himself.

And you?

You didn’t stop him.

You didn’t even breathe.

You just pressed back into him slightly—so slightly—and felt the undeniable shape of him, hard and restrained against the swell of your ass.

He exhaled shakily behind you.

Shit.

You’d never heard him make a sound like that before. Not around you.

Not around anyone.

You didn’t move for a while.

Didn’t even blink. Not when his fingers hovered beneath your breast, not when you felt his cock pressed firm and restrained against the curve of your ass. You just stayed still—heart hammering, skin burning—like your body was listening for his next move.

But when none came…

You shifted.

Just a little. Barely a breath of movement. Just enough to arch your back, push your chest forward, and guide the soft swell of your breast right into his palm.

His fingers twitched again.

But he didn’t pull away.

He didn’t say your name. Didn’t jerk back in shock or guilt. He just stayed there—completely still behind you, breathing shallow and slow like he was holding onto sleep as a defense.

Your nipples were hard beneath the thin cotton, the heat of his palm sinking through the fabric like an electric brand. It was barely a touch—but it felt filthy. Loaded. More intimate than anything you’d done with someone you were actually sleeping with.

And still, you stayed quiet.

Still.

Sleeping.

His thumb brushed the soft curve below your nipple. Just once. Barely there. Like a reflex.

And this time, his hips shifted too.

The press of him against your ass sharpened—more deliberate now. Less restrained. Like his body had stopped asking for permission and started taking what you weren’t stopping.

His hand tightened—slightly.

He was pretending to be asleep, you realized.

Just like you were.

If either of you acknowledged it, the world would crack open.

So you didn’t.

You just let it happen.

Let his hand cup your breast like it was meant to be there. Let his hips roll forward in the slowest, tiniest grind. Let your legs shift apart just enough that your thighs stopped brushing—and instead, welcomed.

He let out another one of those breaths—low, shaky, wrecked.

You smiled into the pillow.

Still not breathing.

Still “asleep.”

And behind you, your best friend since diapers was losing his last scrap of composure.

—

The morning came too fast.

Sunlight crept through your curtains like it knew what happened. Like it saw every second of that not-a-dream moment where his hand cupped your breast and his hips rolled into yours like it wasn’t the first time he’d imagined it.

He was already in the kitchen when you woke up.

Hair messy, hoodie wrinkled, acting like everything was normal. Like he hadn’t spent the night wrapped around you with his cock pressed to your ass and his hand full of your tit.

You padded out barefoot, keeping your face unreadable.

He handed you a mug. “You were out cold.”

Liar.

You took it, fingers brushing his, watching him too closely.

“So were you.”

A flicker—barely there—but his eyes twitched toward you for a split second. Like he was trying to see if you meant something more.

You let him sit with the tension.

You drank your coffee slow.

“You ever think…” you began softly, “maybe I’ve just been really fucking stupid?”

He looked up from his cereal. “Since when?”

You tilted your head. “Since assuming you weren’t into girls.”

He blinked. Slowly. Carefully.

That… got his attention.

He didn’t smile. Didn’t laugh it off. Just sat there—silent—and then brought the spoon to his mouth like nothing had happened.

But his voice, when he finally answered, was low. Controlled.

“What makes you ask that?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. You never dated any. Never flirted. You never reacted when I walked around like—” you gestured vaguely at yourself—“this. So I figured, you know. Must be the reason.”

Another pause.

His eyes dropped to your thighs.

You were wearing the same sleep shirt.

No bra still.

Of course he noticed.

But he didn’t give you that satisfaction. He set the spoon down and leaned back in the chair, stretching lazily like his body hadn’t betrayed him eight hours ago in your bed.

“Maybe I’m just good at not talking about certain things,” he said.

That hit harder than it should have.

You stared at him.

And for the first time in a long time—you didn’t see your best friend.

You saw a man who’d been holding himself back for years.

You’d never stared at his crotch before.

That was the first red flag.

You weren’t even trying to. Just sitting across from him on the couch while he scrolled through his phone, hoodie riding up slightly, grey sweatpants loose and slung criminally low on his hips. You weren’t supposed to notice the shape beneath. The outline. The fact that you recognized the pressure of it against your ass last night because it had left an imprint on your nervous system.

You blinked away quickly.

Jesus.

You sipped your water like it could douse whatever fire had started in your chest—and your thighs.

He didn’t notice.

Of course he didn’t.

Lee Minho was the king of unreadable faces. That man could watch you strip naked and probably wouldn’t flinch. It was part of the reason you’d always felt safe around him. And the same reason you were losing your mind now.

You needed to know.

If you were wrong. If he’d just been hiding in plain sight. If that touch last night had been a fluke. A dream. Or something darker.

So you tested it.

That evening, while he sat on the floor building a shelf you couldn’t be bothered to finish, you leaned in behind him.

Loose tank top. Braless as usual. Intentional bend.

He turned slightly. Saw your chest from the side—too close, too exposed, one nipple practically peeking through the armhole.

His jaw clenched.

But he said nothing.

Strike one.

You tried again.

Pulled your hair up messily, exposing your neck, your back. Made small, breathy sounds when you stretched. Loud enough to hear. Soft enough to pass as innocent.

Still nothing.

Strike two.

You were practically writhing at this point. Trying to piss him off or fluster him, something.

But Lee Minho stayed quiet.

You weren’t sure what exactly you were trying to prove anymore.

That he wasn’t gay? That he wanted you? That you could still control this friendship even when everything was shifting beneath your feet?

Maybe it was all of it.

But you were already halfway in his lap before you had time to second guess it.

“You’re not good at building shit,” you teased, voice sweet as sugar while you hovered close, brushing imaginary dust from his shoulder. “Lucky I’m cute enough to get away with watching instead of helping.”

He grunted—low, disinterested. But his eyes betrayed him. You saw the flicker—straight to your chest, to the deep dip of cleavage you’d made extra sure he’d notice.

Bingo.

You leaned closer. Pretending to inspect a screw on the shelf. Your tits brushed his upper arm.

He went still.

“You okay there, Min?” you asked softly. Coy.

He cleared his throat. “Don’t start.”

“Start what?”

“This,” he said. He didn’t look at you. “Whatever game you’re playing right now.”

“I’m not playing anything.”

“Yes, you are.”

You tilted your head. “What are you talking about?”

Silence.

Then, quieter: “I’m warning you.”

Oh, that did something to you.

He sounded like he meant it. Like he was afraid of himself more than you. And maybe he should’ve been—because you were reckless now. Hyped up on the taste of your own power, drunk on the image of him with your tit in his hand last night.

You pulled your tank top aside from the arm hole just a little. No bra. Just the soft swell of skin—more than enough to tempt. His eyes snapped to it instantly.

“Go ahead,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

He swallowed.

Didn’t move.

So you took his hand yourself—slowly, deliberately—and pressed it to your breast.

Flesh to palm.

He exhaled sharp. Visibly flinched. But he didn’t pull away.

You arched into his touch.

“You’ve never been curious?” you asked, voice lower now, almost daring. “Never once wondered what they felt like? You’ve known me your whole life, Minho…”

His thumb twitched. Brushed the underside like he didn’t even know he was doing it.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?”

“You have no idea what you’re doing, do you?”

You smiled faintly.

But then he tightened his grip—just slightly—and your breath caught.

“You think I’ve been ignoring you all these years?” he asked, voice dark now. Steady. Dangerous. “You think I don’t notice when you walk around half naked? You think I don’t see the way your tits bounce when you laugh?”

You froze.

Oh.

Oh shit.

“You think I don’t feel them when you’re sleeping pressed against me?” His thumb brushed up now—barely grazing your nipple. It stiffened instantly. So did you.

“Minho…”

His hand dropped away suddenly, like he was snapping out of it.

“You need to stop,” he said, standing up too fast. “Before you push me too far.”

You stared up at him from the floor, dazed.

For the first time… you realized you might’ve already pushed too far.

—

It was hours later when you finally crawled into bed.

He was already in it—lying on his side, facing away, blanket riding low on his waist and exposing the tight line of muscle up his back.

Your heart was still pounding.

He hadn’t said a single thing after storming out earlier. Not during dinner. Not while you cleaned the mess from the half-finished shelf. Not while you avoided looking at him like he hadn’t cupped your tit like a stress ball.

And now you were lying beside him again, like nothing had changed.

You couldn’t tell if you were relieved or disappointed.

You turned your back to him, the usual position when you shared a bed, but the air felt different tonight. Dense. Stifling.

“Hey,” you whispered in the dark. “Are we… okay?”

His voice came low. Controlled. “You tell me.”

You swallowed. “You seemed… upset earlier.”

“I was,” he said. “I’m not anymore.”

“Oh.”

Silence.

Then, casually:

“You looked at my dick today.”

You choked. “What?! No I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did.”

You rolled onto your back, flustered. “You can’t prove that.”

“I don’t need to. I know your face. I’ve known it since you had baby teeth.”

You blinked at the ceiling. Your face was burning.

He shifted then—closer. The bed dipped behind you. His chest met your back.

And something else pressed against your ass.

Hard. Solid. Undeniable.

You gasped.

His lips brushed your ear. Calm. Evil.

“That’s payback,” he said softly, “for putting your tits in my hand.”

You forgot how to breathe.

He didn’t move.

Neither did you.

The air between you was molten now, and his cock—fuck, that was his cock—was still heavy and pulsing against your ass like he was proud of it.

“Minho…”

“You wanted to know,” he said, voice silk and fire. “You’ve been trying to get a reaction out of me all day. So now you’ve got one.”

You felt him smirk.

“What’s wrong?” he murmured. “Too much?”

You couldn’t answer.

Not when your thighs were squeezing together like they had a mind of their own. Not when your heart was a drum and your skin burned where it touched his.

You didn’t say anything at first.

Just stayed frozen in place, his cock pressed thick and solid against the soft curve of your ass, your entire body vibrating with heat.

Your lips moved before your brain could stop them.

“…Can I touch it?”

Silence.

Not even a breath behind you.

Then— “What?”

You swallowed, your voice weirdly calm now. “I just… I wanna feel it. Like—actually feel it. With my hand.”

A sound escaped his throat. Sharp. Choked.

“You’re kidding.”

You turned around slowly, facing him in the dark. His eyes locked on yours—blown, stunned, like you’d slapped him with a brick made of sin.

You didn’t wait for another answer.

Your eyes dropped straight to his crotch.

And your hand followed.

The blanket shifted just enough as you slipped beneath it, and your palm found him right where he’d pressed up against you before—still just as thick, still painfully hard, straining beneath the soft fabric of his sweatpants.

You cupped him gently.

Minho jerked.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, face twisting. “What the hell are you doing…”

“Just curious,” you murmured, gaze fixed on the shape of him under your hand. “You’re so… big.”

He groaned, head dropping back into the pillow.

Your fingers squeezed lightly. You were sure you felt him twitch.

“You’ve been like this all night?” you asked, eyes wide.

He hissed through his teeth. “Don’t say it like that.”

“Why not?” you teased, still stroking. “It’s not like I’m doing anything serious.”

“That’s the fucking problem,” he gritted out, hips twitching into your hand.

You explored him like you were learning something new, weighing the heft of him through his pants, tracing the long, thick outline up and down.

He was breathing heavier now. Jaw clenched. Eyes shut.

“You can tell me to stop,” you whispered.

He didn’t.

So you slipped your hand inside.

No warning.

Just fingers beneath the waistband, sliding inside until you were wrapping your hand around bare, hot skin.

Minho choked.

“Fuck—fuck—”

You stroked slowly, palm tight around the base, sliding up to the head and back again. He was massive. Velvet over steel. Already leaking a little at the tip.

He bucked into your hand before he could stop himself, hips twitching under the weight of your touch.

“Is this payback too?” you asked, lips barely moving.

His eyes flew open.

“Keep talking and I’ll fuck your throat instead.”

Your hand froze.

Your heart flipped.

Your thighs clenched so hard it hurt.

But then, you looked up at him. Still holding him. Still stroking him.

His cock twitched in your hand, thick and aching, as you slowly dragged your fingers up the shaft and back down, your touch featherlight—teasing.

Minho’s eyes were glassy now, dark and stormy and wild, like he was barely keeping himself together. His jaw clenched. His chest rose and fell in shallow bursts.

You felt powerful. Dangerous.

So you looked up at him—bold, daring—and said, “So? Still want me to stop?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just blinked at you like he was seeing you for the first time. His voice came hoarse and wrecked.

“Are you crazy?”

You tilted your head. “Maybe.”

“This is—” He swallowed. “We’re—”

“Friends?” you offered, sliding your hand again, slower now. “Childhood besties? Practically siblings?”

He winced. “God, don’t say that.”

You smiled.

And then, without another word, you sat up on your knees and tugged your oversized sleep shirt over your head—bare underneath. Just skin and heat and those same soft breasts he’d felt in his hands earlier.

They bounced slightly as you moved, and the room went still.

His breath hitched. His eyes dropped—dragged—to your chest.

It was the second time he’d seen them that night.

“I’m sure,” you said simply.

Something broke in him.

He sat up so fast the mattress shook, one hand grabbing your wrist, the other threading hard into your hair. He yanked you forward, his mouth crashing into yours with so much heat it knocked the breath from your lungs.

You gasped into the kiss, and he devoured it—biting, claiming, groaning into your mouth like he’d been starving for years.

“This what you wanted?” he growled, lips trailing down your neck, teeth dragging over your collarbone. “You really wanted to see what I’d do?”

You whimpered, nodding, fingers already clawing at the waistband of his sweats.

“Too late to take it back now,” he muttered against your skin, before ducking down and wrapping his lips around your nipple—hard.

Your back arched. His tongue flicked, sucked, bit.

“Minho—”

“I’ve dreamed about these,” he groaned, switching to the other breast, kneading the first one in his palm like he was worshiping it. “You don’t know what the fuck you’ve done to me.”

Your whole body was trembling, his hands now everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding down your back, yanking you flush against his chest as he rutted up into you, his cock still trapped in his sweats, still throbbing.

“Need to feel you,” he rasped. “Need to have you.”

“Then take me,” you breathed. Without even thinking about it.

And for a second, Minho froze.

Not because he didn’t want to—his hands were already sliding lower, gripping your hips with bruising force—but because the way you’d said it… so open, so needy, so real… it shook him.

“Don’t say that unless you mean it,” he whispered, forehead pressing against yours, his voice raw, trembling. “Because if I start, I won’t stop this time.”

Your chest heaved against his, nipples dragging over his skin, and his self-control nearly snapped again right there. You could feel him under you, thick and hot through the fabric of his sweats, the tip pressed right against your soaked panties. One shift of your hips and—

“I’m not asking you to stop,” you whispered back.

He groaned, low and guttural, like the sound had been buried in his chest for years. You kissed him again—slow, deep, your tongues tangling like this wasn’t the first time. Like your bodies already knew the steps.

And maybe they did.

His hand slid between your thighs, pressing the heel of his palm right where you were aching most. Your hips jerked.

“Already soaked,” he rasped, biting down on your lip. “Fuck—have you always been like this around me?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. His fingers dipped beneath your waistband, brushing over your soaked folds through your underwear—just enough to make you moan.

“You’re playing with fire,” he warned, mouth now at your ear, voice shaking. “You keep tempting me like this, and I swear—”

“Then burn me,” you whispered, grinding down on his hand.

He snapped again—grabbing your ass and flipping you onto your back like he’d been holding back all his life. The sudden dominance in his movements made your breath hitch.

Minho hovered over you, both of you half-naked now, tangled in sweatpants and damp underwear and a thousand repressed thoughts.

His hand moved with purpose now, cupping your mound, rubbing slow circles over your clit, lips pressed to your neck.

You whimpered, bucked.

“Don’t tease,” you begged.

He chuckled darkly. “Says the one who’s been waving her tits in my face for years.”

You gasped—half embarrassed, half turned on—and he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes.

“Tell me to stop,” he said softly. “Or I’m going to ruin your sleep.”

You stared at him, panting. You wanted him. Needed him. But something inside you whispered—not yet. Not like this. Not while everything was still unraveling too fast.

“Not tonight,” you murmured, heart racing.

His expression shifted, softening in a way that made your chest ache.

He nodded slowly. “Okay.”

But his fingers didn’t move right away. He gave you one last teasing brush, slow and aching.

“For the record,” he added, voice like gravel, “this is me trying to behave.”

You giggled, breathless.

“I can tell.”

And then he pulled you into his chest, kissed your forehead, and let the fire between you simmer.

You didn’t have sex that night.

But neither of you slept much, either.

⸻

It had only been three days.

Three days since Minho had slipped out with nothing but a cryptic, “I’ll see you later,” and a soft kiss to your temple. Two days since you’d almost let your best friend finger you into oblivion under the safety of your shared covers. And now he was gone.

Well, not gone-gone. Just back at his apartment. Just out of reach. Just far enough to not risk really doing what your bodies had been begging for.

He hadn’t ghosted. Not exactly. Just a little space, a few texts. “Sorry, been busy.” “Work’s a lot this week.” “I’ll come by soon.”

But soon wasn’t now. And now… was when you were sprawled out on your bed, fingers between your thighs, a familiar silicone toy buzzing softly inside you—desperate to chase that same friction you almost got from him.

It wasn’t the same. Nothing could be. But the thoughts in your head? Those were filthy enough to get the job done.

Your mind kept flashing back to the night before he left: his voice in your ear, his thick cock pressed to your core, the way he’d looked at you like he’d been starving. You whined as your hips rolled, tightening your grip on the toy buried inside you.

Then your phone lit up.

Minho calling.

You froze, heart skipping. Fuck.

You hesitated just long enough for it to ring again—and then answered, trying to level your breath.

“Hey,” you managed, voice just a bit too airy.

“Hey,” he said, voice casual, low. “Were you sleeping?”

“Nope.” You exhaled hard through your nose, the vibrator still inside you, pulsing away like it knew your secrets. “Just… relaxing.”

“Mmm.” His voice dropped, curious. “You sound out of breath.”

You swallowed. Hard. “Tired day. I was just—y’know. Lying down.”

The vibrator kicked up just a notch, and your thighs jerked. He kept talking.

“Sorry I’ve been MIA. Been thinking about you, though.” His voice was warm, familiar. God, his voice. “A lot, actually.”

A sharp breath escaped you. You hoped it sounded natural. It didn’t.

“…You okay?” he asked, his tone shifting just slightly. “You sound—off.”

You could barely think anymore. Your head was buzzing. Your thighs were trembling. And you didn’t dare stop.

“I’m fine,” you rasped.

But then you whimpered. Barely. Just a little hitch in your throat.

He paused. “Wait. Are you—are you doing something?”

Your whole body froze.

“No,” you lied, voice high.

He went quiet. Too quiet.

“…Are you touching yourself right now?” His voice came low, dangerous. “While on the phone with me?”

Silence.

Then, another breathy whimper.

He growled. “Fuck. You are.”

You felt heat shoot up your spine.

“Keep going,” he said, voice gravel now. “Don’t stop. You started this.”

Your hips rolled again—slower this time, more deliberate—as you listened to him breathe, listened to the weight behind his words.

“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” he demanded. “While you fuck yourself to my voice.”

You bit down on your lower lip, squeezing your eyes shut as his words settled under your skin like molten honey.

“Tell me,” he said again, voice a touch lower, rougher now. “What were you thinking about?”

You whimpered. “You.”

He chuckled. Dark. Breathless.

“Yeah? What about me?”

You hesitated, hips twitching as your toy nudged just right inside you. “The way you felt that night,” you gasped. “The way you pressed into me from behind… the way your cock felt against me, even through the sheets—”

“Fuck.”

His reaction was sharp and immediate, a barely controlled groan through clenched teeth. You knew his hand was probably fisting the sheets or his thigh right now, trying to stop himself from touching the one thing he couldn’t have—yet.

“Are you still touching yourself?” he asked, voice thick.

“…Yes.”

“Good. Faster.”

The single command shot straight to your gut. Your fingers moved in rhythm with the toy now, chasing the heat blooming deep in your belly. You didn’t even care if he heard your wetness or the whines building in your throat anymore.

“Wish I could see you,” he breathed. “Wish I could have my hand over your mouth. You’re too loud, babe. You’d wake the whole damn building if I fucked you right now.”

“Minho—”

“Not yet,” he cut in. “You’ll come when I say so. Not a second sooner.”

You squeezed around the toy, aching, desperate, toes curling.

“Keep going. Just like that.” His voice was pure sin now, molten and slow. “You’ll come with my voice in your ear and my name on your lips, just like you should’ve that night.”

You whimpered.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say my name.”

“Minho—”

“Louder.”

“Minho.”

“Good girl,” he rasped. “Now come.”

You shattered.

Your back arched off the bed, thighs quaking, moan spilling raw and unfiltered from your lips as your body pulsed around the toy. You didn’t even try to hold it in anymore—he needed to hear it. He deserved to.

Silence stretched on the line after, only your wrecked breathing and the distant rasp of his own breath filling the space between you.

When he finally spoke again, it was with the voice of a man barely holding back his hunger.

“I’m going to ruin you,” he said softly, deadly. “Next time I get my hands on you… I’m not stopping until you forget anyone else ever made you come.”

The call ended.

You blinked at the screen, dazed, thighs still trembling.

But you didn’t sleep.

You changed into the first half-decent outfit you could find, tugged your hoodie over your head, and grabbed your keys with your heart hammering in your throat.

If he wasn’t going to come to you?

You’d damn well go to him.

—

You almost turned around three times. Once at the stoplight. Again when you parked in front of his building. And one last time while standing at his door, staring at the stupid number you’d memorized when you were ten.

You shouldn’t have been here.

But your body didn’t care. Not when it was still buzzing, still throbbing from the orgasm he commanded out of you through the phone not ten minutes ago. Your thighs were sticky, your bottom lip sore from how hard you’d been biting it in the car, nerves coiling in your belly like a wire about to snap.

Showing up like this—unannounced, in shorts that barely passed as clothing, no bra under your thin hoodie—wasn’t just reckless. It was deliberate. Dangerous.

You raised your hand and knocked before you could talk yourself out of it.

Footsteps came quickly. Heavy. The door flew open seconds later, and there he was.

Minho.

Still shirtless.

Sweatpants slung low on his hips. Hair a mess like he’d been pacing. His jaw was tense, chest rising like he hadn’t calmed down since the call ended. His eyes found yours and locked in like he could see through you.

He didn’t say a word.

Just looked at you.

Slow. Hungry. His gaze dragged from your flushed face to the zipper of your hoodie and lower—lingering on your bare thighs.

You shifted, suddenly feeling way too exposed.

“Say something,” you whispered.

His voice came out hoarse.

“You’re insane.”

“I know.”

Another pause. The air between you tightened.

He stepped forward. Just one step—and you backed up, your breath hitching.

“No bra?” he muttered like it hurt him. “You show up like this after what just happened—fuck—”

“I didn’t know what else to do.” You bit your lip, heat crawling up your neck. “I didn’t want to wait.”

That was it.

He snapped.

You didn’t even see him move—just felt the door slam shut behind you as he pushed you up against it, one arm shooting out to lock it without looking. His hands came to either side of your head, bracing himself like he was seconds away from self-destruction.

His breath hit your lips.

Every muscle in his body was coiled tight, like he was holding back something feral.

“Last chance,” he growled. “If you tell me right now you’re not sure, I’ll let you go. I’ll jerk off in the shower until my knees give out and pretend you never begged to come in my ear.”

Your throat tightened.

“I’m sure.”

That was all it took.

His mouth crashed into yours. Hungry. Deep. Unapologetic. It hit you like a wave—his tongue sliding in, his grip tightening, his body pressing flush against yours with an intensity that made your knees buckle.

One hand tangled in your hair, tilting your head, while the other found your waist and gripped—like he was claiming territory.

A moan escaped into his mouth as you clung to his shoulders, pulling him closer, anchoring yourself to the storm that was him.

Minho’s mouth was still glistening with you when he picked you up—one arm under your thighs, the other around your back. He didn’t even blink. Just carried you down the hall like it was nothing, your head pressed to his neck, body boneless from how hard he’d made you come.

His bed was unmade.

Sheets tossed. Pillows scattered. And you were in them seconds later, back hitting the mattress with a bounce.

Minho stood at the edge of the bed and looked at you.

Like he’d waited years for this moment. Like you were a fantasy come to life and he was deciding whether to kneel at your feet or tear you apart.

“You still want this?” he asked, voice low—gravel and smoke.

You didn’t answer. You showed him—legs spreading wider, hips tilting, your hand sliding down to part your slick folds. His eyes darkened.

“Fuck, okay,” he breathed, like he was short-circuiting. “Okay, baby.”

He crawled over you like a shadow, slow and heavy, his mouth finding your jaw first—then your neck, then your collarbone, biting as he went.

“You’ve been mine since we were kids,” he murmured into your skin, tongue flicking over a mark he’d just left. “You just didn’t know it.”

You gasped when his hips rolled against yours, his cock rubbing through your soaked folds, huge and leaking and so hot against your cunt.

“You feel that?” he asked, dragging it up and down—your body arching, chasing it. “You’ve had me like this for years. All those skirts. All that attitude.”

He gripped your jaw, making you look at him.

“You think I didn’t notice the way you got careless around me?”

Your lips parted, but no sound came out—just a broken breath as he lined up, pressing just the tip in.

Your nails dug into his arms.

“Minho—”

“Shh,” he whispered. “I know, baby. I know.”

Then he pushed in.

Slow. Deep. Relentless.

And holy fuck.

Your eyes slammed shut, jaw dropping in a silent scream as he stretched you open. He didn’t stop until he was fully inside—until his hips were flush with yours and your cunt was full.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned into your neck. “So fucking tight.”

You could barely breathe. Could barely think.

He pulled back just enough to drive back in—and again—again—building a rhythm that knocked the sanity right out of your head.

Minho fucked like he was carving his name into your body.

He was everywhere—teeth on your throat, hands on your tits, hips snapping hard and deep like he needed to ruin you.

And he was talking, too. Filthy. Possessive. All in that growly voice that made your toes curl.

“You gonna let me fill you up, baby?”

“Gonna fuck you so full you feel me for days.”

“You were made for this. For me. For my cock.”

You cried out when he grabbed your thigh and folded you in half, slamming deeper, finding that spot that made your entire body lock up.

“Right there?” he growled, eyes glued to your face. “That’s it, isn’t it? That’s your spot.”

You were sobbing now—wet, broken sounds as your second orgasm raced up your spine.

“Minho, please—I’m—fuck—I’m gonna—”

“Come for me,” he snapped. “Right now. All over my cock. Let me feel it.”

And you did. Harder than before—louder, messier, more intense.

You clenched around him like a vice, and he lost it—groaning loud as he slammed in one final time and spilled inside you, hips jerking, body trembling above yours.

He stayed like that—deep and twitching inside you, sweat dripping down his temple, lips ghosting over yours as you both tried to come down.

You didn’t know how long you laid there—legs trembling, his cum leaking out of you, your fingers tangled in the sheets like you were afraid of floating away.

Minho hadn’t moved much either.

He was still inside you, chest to chest, your noses brushing each time he inhaled. His hand cupped your cheek, thumb stroking softly along your jaw as he watched you with those warm, sleepy eyes—eyes that held none of the fury or possessiveness from before.

Just softness. Almost guilt.

“You okay?” he asked, voice husky but gentler now.

You nodded, but your throat was tight. And when you blinked up at him, he leaned down to kiss the corner of your mouth. Then your nose. Then your temple.

“Did I go too far?” he murmured.

“No,” you whispered, your voice small. “I liked it. I liked all of it.”

That made his lips twitch.

“Yeah?” he said, brushing his knuckles across your tits—lingering when your breath caught. “Even when I told you to shut up and take it?”

You swallowed hard. “Especially then.”

He chuckled under his breath and finally pulled out, making both of you hiss. You whined at the emptiness—at how sore and stretched you felt—and Minho’s gaze immediately dropped between your legs.

“Shit,” he muttered, almost reverent. “Look at that mess.”

You flushed, shifting your legs, but he pressed a hand to your thigh to stop you.

“Don’t hide,” he murmured. “You look so good like this. All ruined because of me.”

Then, to your surprise, he slid down the bed and kissed your inner thigh. Just once. Then again. Then right next to your sensitive center.

You flinched. “Minho—too much—”

He smiled and looked up at you from between your legs.

“Alright, baby,” he said. “I’ll be good.”

And he was.

For about two minutes.

Then he kissed his way up your body—lingering on your nipples, dragging his tongue across them until they stiffened again. You whimpered as he sucked softly, then bit gently—making your hips buck.

“I just wanna taste them,” he murmured. “You kept arching for me earlier like they needed attention.”

“They still do,” you whispered before you could stop yourself.

He smirked. “Then don’t move.”

He licked and sucked until your chest was wet with his spit and your thighs pressed together again—need building back up in the pit of your stomach like a slow flame.

“Fuck,” you mumbled. “You’re gonna break me.”

He pulled back to look at you.

“Not yet,” he said, voice low. “But you did say you liked sucking cock, didn’t you?”

You blinked. “I—yeah—why—?”

He rolled off you and onto his back, cock already hard again—thick and flushed, still glistening from earlier.

“Then get over here.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

You crawled down the bed and straddled his thighs, eyes locked on the way he stroked himself, slow and heavy.

He tapped the tip against your lips. “Open up, baby.”

You did.

And he groaned the moment you took him in—just the head at first, tongue swirling around it, your lips tight and wet. He filled your mouth so easily, and you loved the way he shuddered when you gagged on him.

“That’s it,” he breathed, hand sliding into your hair. “So fucking pretty when you’re drooling on my cock.”

You moaned around him, and he twitched.

“You gonna swallow it all?” he asked, voice breaking a little. “You want me to come in your mouth this time?”

You sucked harder, nodding with tears in your eyes, and that was it.

He cursed—hips jerking, cock thickening—and seconds later he was spilling down your throat, one hand on your head as his other clutched the sheets.

You swallowed everything.

Every drop.

When you finally pulled off, eyes glassy and lips swollen, Minho reached for you and pulled you into his chest, kissing your forehead like he hadn’t just fucked your mouth like a man possessed.

“Now,” he whispered, pulling the blanket over both of you, “lets get some sleep.”

⸻

The morning light slipped in through the blinds in soft gold stripes, painting lazy patterns across the room.

You blinked awake slowly, body aching in the most indulgent way, wrapped in the scent of skin and sweat and fabric softener. The hoodie you had worn here last night was still crumpled somewhere on the floor—probably next to your shorts, your underwear, your dignity.

Minho’s arm was heavy around your waist. His chest was warm against your back. His breath ghosted over your shoulder in quiet puffs, slow and steady.

It didn’t feel real. It felt like one of those fantasies you used to jerk yourself off to in the dark, flushed and breathless, thinking about what it would feel like to fall asleep tangled up in him like this—after.

You stayed still as long as you could, just… absorbing it.

And then, of course, he ruined it by murmuring against your neck, voice still thick with sleep.

“Your thighs are twitching.”

You groaned. “Maybe because you almost broke them last night.”

He chuckled, low and pleased, then slid his hand over your hip and gave your inner thigh a light squeeze. “You came here cause you wanted me to do exactly that.”

Your cheeks flushed instantly. “Don’t remind me.”

“Why not? It’s my favorite memory now.”

You rolled over to face him, hair a mess, eyes still sleep-fogged. He looked unfairly gorgeous in the morning. Hair tousled. Eyes soft. The roughness from last night completely gone, replaced by something almost too gentle to be him.

He looked at you like he was thinking way too hard.

“What?” you asked quietly.

He reached up, brushed some hair from your face, fingers lingering at your jaw.

“You know this isn’t just sex for me, right?”

Your breath caught.

“I mean…” he licked his lips, eyes searching yours. “It can be, if that’s what you want. But I don’t think I can go back to just being your best friend. Not after this.”

You didn’t answer right away. Just stared at him, trying to collect your heart off the floor where it had just dropped.

Finally, you whispered, “I don’t want to go back either.”

Minho exhaled slowly, like he’d been holding that breath all night.

Then he leaned in and kissed you—soft and slow and sweet, like the question was already answered.

You melted into it. Into him. Into the shift.

Later, you’d get up. He’d make coffee. You’d steal one of his shirts. He’d tease you about the bite marks on your thighs. And you’d both pretend not to notice how domestic it already felt.

But for now, you stayed in bed—best friends turned something more—with his arms around you and your future somewhere in the spaces between his kisses.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Authors note: hi guys! Ok so the poll results from the Leeknow angry boy fic came out and it was a really close one. So instead of changing whats already written i decided to upload this to make it up to you guys! This is not an angst story or the angry boy replacement but this is a story for my romantics ❤️ Thanks alot for all your feedback really love you guys!

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