I See The Boop Button, I Hit The Boop Button. This Does Lead To Accidentally Spamming People With Boops,

I see the boop button, I hit the boop button. This does lead to accidentally spamming people with boops, I apologize but I cannot stop 👁🧍‍♀️👁

Reblog to let your followers know that they’re safe from jumpscares/screamers/etc from you on April 1st but they are NOT safe from getting boop’d like an idiot amen

I was literally thinking about our lino right before I got this notification

the best man - part I

your best friend's getting married, and you're the maid of honor. minho is the best man. you're just trying your best to not let him get under your skin. pt II

warnings: lee minho x she/her!reader

genre: fluff, friends to lovers

word count: <1k

one could say that lee minho was a thorn in your side, but he wasn’t enough for that. he’s maybe a bump. a small bump in the road you’ve been driving on, a constant presence but not enough to make a difference to your wheels if you drive over it. enough for you to notice but not enough for you to swerve to avoid. 

he’s friends with your friends, so naturally, he’s around a lot. ever since your best friend got engaged to his best friend, jisung, he’s been around even more. in a few short months he’s gone from someone you nod at from the bar at group outings to the person you bump shoulders with when wedding planning in a tiny kitchen. from a person who’s number you didn’t have saved in groupchats to having a personalized contact complete with emojis. with him as jisung’s best man and you as the maid of honor, you’ve frequently been on opposing sides of friendly arguments about the cake, the flowers, the music that should be played. you’re convinced that he disagrees with you just to rile you up, he’s never passionate about his side and always sways to what you and your friend want in the end, he just does it for the entertainment.

you wish you found it annoying instead of endearing. that would make things simpler.

but it was in planning their surprise bachelor-slash-bachelorette party (you knew those two would never be able to separate enough for an entire night) that you got to know him well. in between choosing the types of shots you want to serve and the perfect cheesy crowns for them to wear, you learn that he has three cats that he loves more than himself, he’s really sweet underneath his teasing exterior, and that he’s a gentleman that always opens doors for you and gives you his jacket when he sends you home at night after being there for longer than you planned for. he likes to cook and he’s a dancer who once had big dreams but found his true passion in teaching it. he likes to work out but complains about it every time and he’s kind of the biggest dork you’ve ever met.

he grows on you like moss, the healthy green squishy kind, slowly taking over your roots until he’s become a part of your day to day life. you’ve come to expect daily weather updates, selfies with his cats, and mindless banter from the time you wake up until the time your head hits your pillow at night.

the actual night of the party goes off without a hitch, with drinks flowing and sappy speeches that have you wiping your tears discreetly to not ruin your makeup. you’ve both curated the perfect playlist, invited only the essential people you know the almost-married couple would want there, and made an entire table of snacks that got devoured before you can blink. you meet minho’s eyes from across the room several times throughout the night, a hidden meaning you can’t place hiding in his gaze before he looks away every time. it leaves you with a feeling of longing that you don’t let yourself think about for too long. the maid of honor and the best man? that’s too cliche, even for you.

you don’t see him again until the day of the wedding, where you both leave your respective dressing rooms at the same time to get ready to walk down the aisle and take your places at the altar. 

“you clean up well,” you tease, running a finger down the lapel of his tuxedo. it’s midnight blue, the color that jisung has chosen to compliment the flushed pink of the bridesmaid’s dresses. it compliments his honeyed skin almost too well, the contrast making him look like he’s about to walk a red carpet instead of the off-white runner lining the wedding hall floor. the flower buttoned to his chest matches the ones in your bouquet. 

“it’s been known to happen from time to time,” his tone is teasing but his smile is soft as he takes you in, winking at you when you raise an eyebrow at him. “you don’t look so bad, yourself.”

you look down at your flowers with a small smile, still not knowing how to take his compliments after all these months. 

“shall we?” he holds his arm out to you and you take it, calming your nerves before stepping through the doors to the sea of people in the room. he walks you down the aisle, steps in line with yours despite his legs being longer, and it feels right, being there with him.

he drops you off at your designated spot and you’re glad; you’re not sure if you would have remembered where to stand otherwise. you’re both beaming as jisung walks down the aisle, steps a little too eager and smile a little too wide. it warms your heart how happy he is to be married to your best friend. the same best friend who next glides down the aisle in a show of practiced elegance, steps timed perfectly to the wedding march playing.

you meet eyes with minho once they’re situated, blown away again by him in the new warm lighting that he’s shrouded under. his hair is glinting in the afternoon sun, eyes sparkling, and his smile despite being on display for everyone feels like it’s just for you. you’re so distracted by him in his damn tuxedo that you almost miss when your friend starts her vows. by the time she’s done, both the bride and groom are nearly sobbing, and jisung has to choke out his own vows before dragging her into a watery kiss before the officiant can tell him to. the whole room breaks into laughter, softening into awh’s when he pulls back with a heart shaped smile. 

the rest of the day is a blur. you take photos, make speeches at the reception, change into comfortable shoes, eat the cake that’s just been cut, and by the time you finally sit down to watch the first dance you feel like you’ve been standing for days. is this what it’s like to get married? doesn’t seem like it’s worth the trouble.

“dance with me?” minho says, interrupting your internal monologue and making the smile return to your face. his hand is held out towards you, palm up, and you take it in yours without a second thought. a chance to dance with the most handsome guy in the room? no way you’re going to pass that up, even if your feet feel like they’re on fire.

he guides you to the dance floor, stopping a few feet from the happy couple and bumping his free fist against jisung’s shoulder before wrapping an arm around you. you twine your hands together behind his neck and smile at him.

“all this planning and i never learned how to slow dance,” you say, voice low as you try not to let the embarrassment wash over you. 

“don’t worry, darling,” he tugs you closer, the name he calls you bringing a flush to your cheeks. “i can lead you.”

and lead he does. he twirls you around the dance floor, the bottom of your dress swinging around your feet as he gracefully makes it look like you know what you’re doing. you let him move you, your limbs pliant as he sways your hips in his grip. the two of you somehow look like the most practiced couple there because of him.

the song switches to something faster and more upbeat, but he doesn’t let you go. in fact, he pulls you in even closer, whispering in your ear about how he loves the song before guiding you to dance with him again.

the night ends with the two of you in the hotel elevator, on the way up to your respective rooms on the same floor. without warning, his hand goes to hit the stop button and the elevator jerks to a still, making your heart beat race.

“what the hell?” you almost yell, too shocked to be mad. he moves into your space, placing warm hands on your cheeks.

“am i reading this wrong?” he whispers, eyes flickering between your own and your lips. it falls into place like jenga bricks, messy and out of your control but not completely unexpected - this attraction between you? he feels it too.

“no,” you whisper back, melting as he finally seals his lips against yours.

turns out the maid of honor with the best man isn’t too cliche after all.

--

part II

when he’s in a bad mood all he needs is you.

a/n: this was inspired by my minho post bc i’m a self indulgent mess

coming home to seungmin crying quietly on your couch was a surprise. he’s curled up tight, trying to take up the least amount of space as possible and stifling his huffs of breath into his fist to stay silent and your heart breaks for him.

he’s always been the strongest in your person you know. he’s the most level-headed, the first one to solve problems and act diplomatically and always able to compartmentalize his own emotions. the first to offer silent comfort and stability to those around him. he rarely ever let anyone see him shed a single tear, let alone several, and you’re almost at a loss of what to do before you shake yourself out of it. seungmin needs you.

you toe your shoes off as silently as possible before padding over to where he’s curled up. your hand drifts to his back, rubbing a few slow circles there before you climb behind him and wrap yourself around his body. you know him well enough by now that giving him a grounding touch is what he needs, even if he has a hard time asking for it. you used to hesitate, hands hovering over him like you didn’t know if they were welcome. now, your arms curl around his stomach with confidence. your heart lurches every time you feel his muscles contract with the cries he’s poorly holding back. his hands move to clutch at yours, his nails digging into your skin a bit, but you don’t mind. you would rather he let it out if that helps him, and it doesn’t hurt as much as it stings. his breath is coming out in uneven bursts, and he barely gets more in before it’s rushing out in a choked huff.

“breathe, sweetheart,” you say, keeping your voice honeyed and soft, your mouth close to his ear.

“can’t-” he starts, gulping down air like it’s water. “don’t know what to do.”

“let it out. don’t hold it in,” you soothe, squeezing his hands back. he turns a bit in your hold, keeping both of your hands gripped in his, and presses his face into your chest. you keep your breaths slow and steady, coaxing him to time his breaths to yours.

it takes a few minutes but he calms down, his grip on your hands loosening as his body relaxes against you. he’s slumped into you now, boneless and tired.

“i’m sorry,” he croaks, keeping his face buried to hide his tear streaked cheeks.

“you have nothing to be sorry for.” you say, your emotions bubbling up inside of you. “this is what i am here for. for the happy and the sad moments, okay? you’re not a burden, not to me.”

he hums into your shirt, letting go of your hands to wrap his arms around you.

“do you want to talk about it?” you ask, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“no,” his muffled voice sounds from beneath you. “just, hold me for a bit?”

“always.”

—

soft hours

what i’m looking for

you, quite literally, run into kim seungmin on your escape from an arranged marriage.

tags: strangers to lovers, hidden identity, she/her!reader

genre: fluff, hurt/comfort

word count: 3.4k

you never thought you would be in a situation like this, running through the woods in poorly fitting clothes and shoes, branches snagging at your hair and arms as you wind your way through the forest searching for something, anything. and yet, here you are. cursed engagement ring hidden away in your satchel along with a pocket of gold coins and whatever stale pieces of food your handmaid was able to steal for you before you took your leave.

you’re surprised it took you until a week before your wedding to run away, but you were never one to back down from a challenge; you tried everything you could think of to call it off, but your parents wouldn’t budge. something about it being the best decision for the kingdom, or whatever - nevermind what you want. nevermind that your brother would become king and therefore you were simply a bargaining chip to be used for political power. nevermind the reputation of your betrothed, the reputation of his kingdom and how they treat women like you. nevermind that they’re sending you into a life of despair and discomfort. 

the cool dusk breeze beating against your face feels almost euphoric as you sprint, cautiously looking behind you to make sure you’re not being followed. surely someone had noticed your departure? but you made sure to cover your tracks well; the boots you’re wearing are several sizes too big, stuffed with cloth to ease the fit, and any tracker would dismiss them on their hunt for you. 

you’re abruptly sent down to the forest floor when a boy appears almost out of nowhere, tripping you and making you lose your footing. he tumbles down with you, taking the brunt of your fall, and annoyance pings within you when he groans at the impact. you’re scrambling off his lap as fast as you can, hands scrabbling at dried leaves on the ground that stick to your palms. 

“where did you come from?” you demand, watching him stand up with an indignant look on his face. his pouty lips are twisted into a frown and his hair is fluffed up from his fall. in any other situation you might think he was cute. “do you not watch where you’re going?”

“oh sorry, i’m not really used to people running through my property,” he says with a roll of his eyes, and a reprimand that you have to tamp down sits at the tip of your tongue. for all he knows, you’re a commoner; announcing that he should be aware of your royal status and that technically, you own this property probably isn’t the best move. he would turn you in faster than you can speak your own name, collecting whatever reward your father most likely posted in return for your safe delivery back to the palace. 

“your property?” you land on, feeling it a safe question. you look past his head and notice a tiny cottage a few yards away, ivy lining the bricks and a soft puff of smoke escaping from the chimney. 

“yes,” he drawls out, as if talking to a child. “the place where i reside. you know, sleep and eat. surely you know what that is?”

“of course i do,” you huff, crossing your arms. did you look homeless to him, or something? a terrible idea sparks in the back of your mind as he looks away from you and you notice the rapidly setting sun. it hits you that you had no plan, nowhere to go, nothing to eat and no shelter for the night.

“anyways. enjoy the rest of your. jog?” he says, voice lilting up at the end like he’s not sure whether or not to be suspicious of you. he turns to walk away and a flash of panic takes over your body.

“wait!” you lunge to grip at his sleeve, a display of impropriety that you usually wouldn’t let yourself indulge in with anyone other than your closest advisors. the material feels rough under your skin, as do the borrowed clothes hanging off of your shoulders. “do you have an extra room? or a mat on the floor? i can pay you, i just need somewhere to stay.”

“what, are you on the run or something?” a spark lights in his eyes, and your hair stands on end when you realize that he’s amused. as if he knows anything about you.

“or something,” you grit out, knowing that whatever sarcastic comment that you want to make probably won’t end up with him agreeing to let you in. despite his inarguably annoying personality, he has a house, and you need him right now. you can’t imagine that you’ll run into anyone else tonight, and sleeping on the forest floor does not seem safe. 

“how much?” he says, quirking an eyebrow up. you mentally cringe at the amount of money you have hidden away in your bag, 

“enough,” you squint your eyes at him, gauging him. he meets your gaze for an impressive amount of time before nodding his head towards the small building and starting his trek. 

“what’s your name?” you ask, following behind him, knowing but not caring that not offering yours first was rude. he looks back at you for a beat of time before shrugging. 

“kim seungmin. and you?”

you give him your name, grateful to your parents for the first time in a while. they kept your true name hidden from anyone outside of the palace, and their secrecy was annoying until this very moment. it would be nice to be called something other than princess for a while, you’re sure. 

he mouths your name, letting it sit on his tongue for a moment before grinning. 

“well then, welcome to my home. i’ll make up a cot for you in the living room, are you hungry?” he rambles as he lets you in, closing and locking the door behind you. the skeptic sarcastic you met outside seems to melt away to reveal slumped shoulders and tired eyes, unmasked by the comfort of his space. it warms you up along with the shelter of a roof, a reprieve from the biting cold of the outside. 

he doesn’t wait for your answer before walking off, leaving you to stand between the small kitchen and cozy looking living room. there’s small trinkets strewn around, soft mismatched couches with worn blankets and a rickety looking kitchen table surrounded by stools. he returns with a thin padded mattress and a pillow and he sets it down by the burning fireplace. it’s not the luxurious four post bed that you’re used to, but it’ll do.

“let me treat that for you,” he gestures at your knees, where small dots of blood seep through a tear in your trousers. there’s a small scrape you didn’t notice until now, the sting making itself known when you bend your leg just a bit to get a better look. 

“it’s just a scratch,” you protest, not wanting to bite off more than you can chew with him. you already owe him for letting you in, you don’t want to think about how fast your reserves will dwindle down if he does you any more favors.

“please, i insist,” he guides you to sit on one of the stools at the kitchen table before reaching into the cabinet next to him. “i’m an apothecary, and i know my way around basic medicine. it’s not a big deal.”

you nod stiffly and let him inspect the small wound, the breath leaving you when he drops to his knees in front of you to get a better look. he rolls up your pant leg and he cleans it with rapt attention, making sure not to press too hard, and applies a greenish looking salve onto it.

“there, all done,” he says, patting the bandage he had wrapped around it before letting the cloth of your trousers back down. 

“thank you,” you say, genuine in the way his returning smile is. you reach into your bag, fishing for the small bag of coins. “how much? i can pay you in advance for letting me stay, and for this.”

“keep it,” he says, voice even softer than it was before. “you can help me around the house. the weeding, or gathering wood for the fire. i don’t want your money, not when you probably need it more than i do. i make enough to get by.”

so you do. the first morning you stumble through the garden, side by side with him as he shows you which plants in his garden were herbs he could use for his medicines and which were leeching weeds that needed to be plucked before they took over the entire space. he disappears to town in the afternoon, delivering medicines and coming back with a pocket jingling with coins and a bag full of fresh pastries for the both of you. they taste better than anything you’ve eaten from the palace cooks, and you can’t help the way you moan around the cherry hand pie. you catch his eye and he meets it before you both dissolve into giggles, leaning into each other’s space on the same side of the table. 

he helps you wash your clothes that night, tutting at how you only have one pair. he lends you a pair of his, an old set that he doesn’t wear anymore. you lay at night and swipe the fabric between your fingers, smiling at the gesture even though he isn’t there to receive it.

his kindness shocks you, you’re not used to people doing things for you without the authority of the crown making them or them demanding something in return. it’s nice, knowing that there’s people in your kingdom that contain such compassion, especially for strangers. 

the next day he takes you deeper into the forest to pick berries, and the red and purple bursted splotches staining your fingertips for hours after. he feeds you some with his bare hand, swiping his thumb against the corner of your mouth when sweet juice escapes it. you bristle at the action and he laughs, and you have to hide your smile in your sleeve as you wipe the rest off yourself. you stay out until the sun begins to set, him busy teaching you about every type of plant the two of you come across on your stroll and you listening with rapt attention. his voice is soothing, words speeding up and slurring together a bit when he finds something particularly interesting that he wants to show you. he makes you feel almost like when you were a child studying with your tutors, quizzing you every now and then to test your retention, but the smile he rewards you with is better than anything they ever gave you. 

on the third day, he’s gone before you wake. he left a note on the table for you stating that he had to go to town for a medical emergency, and that there was bread and cheese in one of the cupboards for you to eat while he was away. you busy yourself with two knitting needles and a ball of thread you find in the living room, trying and failing to create a pattern of knots. he comes home as the sun is setting, the last rays making his hair a honeyed brown and his skin glow. your stomach clenches at the sight of him, the relief you’re feeling foreign to your body. 

he grins at the sight of you surrounded by unraveled strings and gently pries your hands from the needles where they had become clenched. he wordlessly shows you how to create simple weaves with the needles, and you have to ask him to show you twice because you’re too busy staring at his tongue poking from his lips to focus the first time around. you end up with a wobbly looking hat, some knots too bit and some too tight that create gaping holes in weird places, but he places it on his head and thanks you for it anyways.

“you have a lot of secrets,” he muses the next night, sipping tea with you by the fireplace. you almost lose your grip on the mug from his abruptness.

“i do?” you ask, not willing to give away information that he doesn’t already have. you had spent the day in companionship, trading back quips and sarcastic comments between meals. he taught you about the medicines he was making that day, explaining each ingredient and its properties as he cut them up and beat them into a paste. his comment was out of place, but it’s something you’ve come to expect from him; there’s no predictability to him past the way his eyes crinkle up when he smiles and the way his face goes soft when he looks at you. 

“you pretend you’re a commoner, but your hands are free of callouses. your hair is full and healthy, you speak formally, you’re clearly well off. or at least, you were. what i don’t understand is why you decided to leave that behind.” his bottom lip is twisting between his teeth, not knowing whether he’s crossed a line with you.

“true,” you admit, wrapping your hands further around your tea and letting the warmth seep into your hands. it grounds you. “i didn’t think i had a choice. i wanted to make my own decisions, wanted to decide my own fate, not have someone do it for me. i felt suffocated, so i just. left. i don’t know what i was looking for, but i needed to get out.”

“have you found it?” he says, peering at you from above his mug as he takes a long sip. “what you’re looking for?”

“maybe,” you pause, looking into his eyes. they’re cocoa-dusted brown, the fire dancing across his pupils. he looks away after a moment, and you’re grateful for it. you wouldn’t want him to see the flush thats traveled up to your cheeks and ears. 

by the fifth day, you’re able to identify the uncomfortable feeling in your gut whenever he walks into a room. or looks at you. or breathes, really. 

you’re falling for him. 

you’re not in love with him, you’re not so deluded by his puppy-like charm and stupid smile and cute teeth and sparkly eyes that you’re calling it love. you can simply identify the feeling of free falling as clearly as it was laid out in the novels you used to sneak into your room to read by the candlelight before bed. 

it isn’t as difficult to look him in the eyes after you’ve identified it as you thought it would be. if anything, you’re even more drawn to his magnetism, your body moving towards his without your permission at any given time. while he’s preparing lunch, or chopping herbs, or telling you about his trip to town, you’re in his space. and the worst part is, he doesn’t seem to mind. in fact, he seems to gravitate towards you with the same intensity, or you hope so at least; it isn’t unrealistic that it’s your rose-colored vision making you see things that aren’t there. 

regardless, it brings something more dangerous to your attention: hope. the hope that maybe, this could be a life for you. that this temporary stop in your journey might become permanent. that you’re far enough from your home that no one will recognize you if you step into town, that you could spend the rest of your days with him in this cottage, eating pastries and knitting and picking berries. 

there was no need to tell him that now. you were fine with the way things were, you were still technically engaged, and you didn’t even know if you were ready for something like that. for the infinite time since you can remember, you’re cursing your sheltered upbringing for not teaching you how to live.

it’s on the sixth day that things go crumbling down.

he’s gone again, leaving you in comfortable silence broken up by birds chirping outside and the sound of leaves rustling past the windows. it’s domestic, the way he works during the morning and comes home a few hours later to you twiddling the knitting needles between your hands, a ball of yarn by your feet and a haphazard scarf forming under them. 

“your highness?” he says, and you hear a rustle of paper, him putting his mail down most likely.

“hmm?” you sound absentmindedly, still focused on the knitting you’re trying to painstakingly learn. it hits you a moment later what he said, and you drop the scarf and needles with a gasp. you look up to see your worst nightmare in the form of him holding up a missing persons poster, a drawn image of your face adorning the middle and your name plastered underneath. missing princess, it reads, complete with a reward for your safe return. you knew this would happen, you just didn’t think it would happen so soon. a day before your wedding. you thought you had more time. you were so close to your freedom, and you could feel it slipping through your fingers.

“shit,” you curse, hiding your face in your hands so you don’t have to take in the shocked look on his face. you feel all the blood in your head rushing south, leaving you lightheaded and overwhelmed.

“you’re the princess?” he clearly has no care for your distress in this moment as he stalks towards you, the poster crumpling in his hand when it curls into a fist. “i’ve been harboring the missing princess in my home?”

“yes?” you mumble into your fingers, letting the despair settle in your traitorous stomach. he lets out a sharp breath through his teeth and you flinch, thoughts swirling.

“do you know what would happen to me if anyone finds out i’ve been keeping you here? prison would be a paradise.” you hear his feet bringing him closer to you, each drop synchronizing with your heart beating in your throat.

“please,” you remove your hands, sniffling when a traitorous tear traces down your face. “don’t send me back. i’ll give you all the money i have, just don’t send me back there.”

“hey,” he soothes, anger melting into concern as he folds to his knees in front of you. “i won’t. i wouldn’t. i just- why didn’t you tell me?”

“i didn’t know if i could trust you, at first,” you stutter out, ignoring the way your heart clenches when his face falls. “and after…there wasn’t a good time.”

“why would you give all that up? a life of luxury, never needing to ask for anything, why would you leave that to spend your days here? don’t you want to marry some prince and live in your castle?”

“i don’t want some prince. i want you,” your voice is wobbly, vision clouded by the tears you won’t let fall, but your intention is clear.

“you can’t just-” he cuts himself off, taking in a sharp breath through his nose. “you can’t want me. i’m nobody.”

“you’re not,” you press, standing until you’re level with him. “don’t you understand? it’s you. you were what i was looking for all this time.”

“but,” he protests, running a hand through his hair, mussing it up from its careful placement. “why me?”

“you’re my home, seungmin. i’ve never felt more safe or more comfortable than i have within these walls.” desperate tears continue to sting at your eyes, and he reaches to wipe them away before he can help himself. your palms move to cup his hands to your face, keeping his warmth there. “you’re the only one who sees me as more than just something they can use, you see me. please don’t send me away.”

“would you be happy here?” he asks, voice trembling. he wants you to stay.

“i’ve been happier these past six days than i’ve been my entire life.”

he surges to kiss you, finally letting your lips touch after days of lingering glances, and it feels like coming home.

you didn’t know if you would go back to the palace, but you knew you had responsibilities that you couldn’t just ignore and that you had to deal with them soon. what you were completely sure of was that, despite the wishes of your family, you won’t marry at all if you aren’t marrying him. 

For real 😭😭😭😭

brown eyes so dark they look black are the best actually and I don't give a fuck about sunlight hitting them to make them lighter either I want to be consumed by the inky abyss