Filmbro-zoned (teaser)

filmbro-zoned (teaser)

❝Who knew all it takes is a hot girl with top-tier taste for a man to admit he's wrong?❞

g e n r e : college! au, fluff, crack, suggestive

w o r d c o u n t : 1k for teaser (approx 20k words for full fic)

s u m m a r y : self-proclaimed movie mastermind chwe vernon minds his business—whether that be avoiding the popular, problematic kids in his college to reducing customer interest in his parents' film store. his plan of isolation, however, is completely destroyed when you, a seemingly insane disney fan, slams his perfect movie taste and ask for his help to take down an evil ex.

w a r n i n g s : loosely inspired by watching the neighbours, film major! vernon who owns an outdated film store, mc is the baddest (but also the craziest) bitch in this fic, vernon is a loser, film major! mingyu who will be violated many times in this fic sorry king, mentions of many filmbro films which will also be violated, self-indulgent mentions of some of my favourite films, kissing, mentions of sex but no actual sex because im fearing god today, barbenheimer reference <3

p l a y l i s t : if you're too shy (then let me know) by the 1975 || q&a by seventeen || wonderful women by the smiths || confidence by ocean alley

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : who would have thought i'd be writing a college au huh...alice will never let me live this down...also guys once again so sorry for constantly posting this hopefully i have found a way for the loophole...let us see if this teaser gets shown in the tags...

“WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON WOLF OF WALL STREET, AMERICAN PSYCHO, PULP FICTION…FIGHT CLUB, SAVING PRIVATE RYAN, SCARFACE…”

You squinted at the list, finding the names neverending. “Jeez, this list keeps going, huh?” 

He could not help the scoff. “And you called me a Filmbro.” He set his forearms on the counter, locking his hands together. “What do you need these movies for?”

“They’re for my ex-boyfriend.” 

The term had him pausing. Of course—the ex-boyfriend. How has he heard of this man, but not know a thing about him? Shit, he did not even know your name.

“This ex of yours has an…interesting taste,” he said slowly. “What’s he like?”

“I can tell you he attends the same college as you. Well, us,” you clarified, jerking your head towards the college colours of your server’s hoodie. “Film major. Just like you, actually.” 

“Oh?” Small world. “What’s the name?”

“Kim Mingyu. Do you know him?” 

Vernon Chwe nearly shit his oversized jeans.

A hesitant nod of his head. “I have a few classes with him.”

“Oh?” Your stare was a little more intense now. “What do you think of him?”

Right. 

Another fated question—the people around him had to stop asking him such controversial questions, or else he was bound to piss someone off. You were already letting him off the hook too many times; one more judgemental comment, and he was having that Princess movie set smashed on his head.

Kim Mingyu. Fuckass Kim Mingyu. Film major—just like him. One of the most popular boys in the year—very unlike him. All the teachers love his essays, all the girls love his freakishly-perfect six-pack, which Vernon is extremely irritated (and devastatingly intimidated) by. 

What all these people failed to realise, though, was that Mingyu was the biggest piece of shit to grace the halls of his university—and the planet, if dramatics were in order. If you thought that Vernon was a filmbro, then Mingyu was Filmbrother. Filmcomrade. Filmnemesis. 

It was as if you could hear the thoughts churning in his head. “You can be honest, you know. He did dump me at the end of the day.” A smirk began to appear. “Say your worst.”

The reassurance did not help. “I mean,” he started, swiping your card, “He’s okay? I haven’t talked to him enough to have an opinion on him.” 

A half-truth—that should suffice. 

But because the fates like to shit on his head every now and then for kicks, they decided to leave you unsatisfied with his answer. “Or, you can keep lying!” 

Excellent intuition, really. “I’m not!” he exclaimed, slapping the card back on the counter. “I really don’t know much about him.”

The big man upstairs was testing him even further, when, with a determined gaze, you set your elbows atop the surface. You leaned closer, tilting your head to the side as you inspected him, and Vernon blinked back at the sheer lack of space you had created. His mouth twisted, eyes frantically darting at the features of your face, not quite taking in the entirety of your being. Your vision seemed to work perfectly, because it caught the slight flush at the tops of his cheeks, where it was just pale skin seconds before.

Your smirk deepened. “Judging by your blush, you’re either terrible at lying…or,” you offered, voice lowering a little as you drummed your fingers against the counter, “You’ve never had a hot girl this close to you.” 

Fuck everything and everyone, because that only made him blush more furiously. You could not help the chuckle that escaped, deciding to cease torturing him and take your card. “I’ll not say the answer, Mr. Filmbro, but I think you already know.”

Since he had no plans of turning into a human form of a ketchup bottle, he evaded the topic entirely, instead focusing on interrogating you. “You still haven’t told me how Mingyu is related to the movie list you made.”

That seemed to hold your interest. “Oh, of course!” Putting the list back into your bag, you began, “Well, the list holds my ex-boyfriend’s favourite films. I wanted to know your opinion on a few.”

He could not contain his sigh. Oh, he had an opinion on these films that you mentioned. Again, he would rather be buried with his thoughts on the specific genre than ever tell you. The curiosity, though, was eventually going to eat him alive.

So much for minding his business.

“I mean…” he began to think, trying to find the right words. “I don’t mind them? Godfather is a good film, but I’ve seen better from Brando. I like American Psycho, but again, people tend to miss the point of the movie.”

As you nodded, listening to his two-cents on the movies you mentioned, he paused, furrowing his brows. “Why do you care about my opinion?”

You smacked your lips together, folding the list back. “I don’t know much about you, Mr. Filmbro,” you began, “But you don’t run a filmstore without knowing a thing or two about the films you sell.”

“So?” He crossed his arms atop the counter. “Shouldn’t you have asked the guy who you made the list about?”

“Trust me,” you said, your smirk turning more into a rageful flash of teeth, “I know exactly what he thinks of these films.”

Don’t particularly know what to make of that comment. “Well, I don’t know what my opinion for these films is going to help you in any way.”

“It has helped.” You paused then, waiting to see if he would egg you on, asking how his seemingly tame opinions would play into the grand scheme of things. “All part of my master plan.”

Master plan? Vernon may have been interested before, but he was certain that, before, he could have hid it without letting you catch onto it. In a sudden flash, though, as if his mouth was beyond his control, he regrettably slipped out the words which had you smiling more than he would have liked.

“What master plan?”

He almost closed his eyes. Shit. Now I’m fucking invested.

The corners of your mouth, lifting upwards, had him almost nervous. “I was hoping you would say that.” 

yes or no | x. minghao x reader

𓇢𓆸 synopsis: where jaehyun is forced to be yn’s wingman for mingyu, but unbeknownst to him, mingyu is also getting some help from his friend.

𓇢𓆸 genre: romance, fluff, sprinkle of crack, tiny bit of angst, series

𓇢𓆸 cw: twt/text fic, AOT SPOILERS, non idol au! college au! swearing, anime references, silly drug and alcohol use

𓇢𓆸 a/n: idk what to say but pls enjoy! reblogs and likes are appreciated, and so are feedbacks! <3

masterlist

00:00

00:01

12:00

1 | spidey senses

2 | thirst trap

3 | average baroque enjoyer

4 | your fault

5 | eremika exhibition?

6 | ophelia

7 | …

healing comes in small doses (iv): better half

pairing: husband! dad! kim mingyu x afab! mom! reader

healing comes in small doses masterlist

synopsis: while you know how mingyu heals parts of you, you didn't know was hurt--he learns that healing goes both ways.

w.c: 8.1k

tags: npr, non idol!au, domestic fluff, established relationship, married life, flashbacks to pre-dating, dad!mingyu, mentions of food, gendered terms, terms of endearment (baby, honey,  eomma, appa), soft mingyu, fluff, flirting from co workers but mingyu avoids it smoothly like chachacha

warnings: a lil suggestive (i mean they're married), and none that i know of but do let me know!

a/n: the story structure is pretty cliche with the present day to flashbacks. i'm personally not satisfied because ive been working on this for months and its not capturing the way i envisioned it to be. i've had 3 drafts and rewrites of this but still, i hope the message i wanted to get across is there! mingyu gets the babygirl treatment this time.

as always, i thrive on tags, reblogs, and comments!<3

“Hyung, how’d you know noona was the ‘one’?”

It was an innocent, curious, and drunken question his younger friend Chan had asked him one barbecue night out with the boys. But the question sticks with Mingyu, and worms its way into his subconscious till the end of the week.

He mulls over it once again one regular Wednesday night with Seo Ah sound asleep in your room and with you sat by the kitchen island, chin propped up on your folded arms. It was not that he didn't know the answer to that question. It was that there were too many answers and memories that bulldoze through his forefront that it was difficult to give just one solid answer.

You're watching Mingyu put away the last of the dishes. You had just finished picking up the toys and mess in the living room and kept your husband company before heading to bed.

His tank top stretches deliciously over his shoulder blades as he works and trapezius that you wonder if it’s too soon to give Seo Ah a little sibling.

Mingyu had just cut his hair, way shorter than he intended it to be. He had seemed a little shy and unsure when he had arrived home earlier, offering you a tightlipped smile than his easy grin. You were stunned, paused at the hallway as you eye your husband's new look. Then you had skipped over to him when he tucks in a little deeper into his collar. You pepper his face with kisses, cooing about how handsome he looked. The shorter strands of hair taper into a clean fade and it accentuates his features beautifully. He finally giggles before releasing a breath of relief then squeezing you into a grateful embrace.

Seo Ah, however, had not taken well into her appa's new hair, refusing to let go of you when you had tried passing her to him. It resulted to him sulking the whole evening and you had to assure and comfort him multiple times that toddlers simply have difficulty adapting to change.

Your husband glances over his shoulder, noticing your dazed stare. He sends you a fanged smile and wink before he reaches for the refrigerator.

"Since Seo Ah's sound asleep this early, why don't we treat ourselves to some ice cream?"

You can't help the fond smile pulling at your lips when Mingyu pulls out a familiar tub of your favorite flavor. You notice the giddy sparkle in his eyes when he begins digging for two spoons.

And when he offers you the first bite then pecks your forehead affectionately, you wonder out loud with a blissful sigh,

"What did I ever do to deserve you?"

The question was intended to be rhetorical, all out of sheer love and contentment with these simple moments you share with your husband.

But he remembers Chan’s question once again. There were some moments during your relationship how you’d express specific things he’s done for you that made you feel so loved. When you do, it makes him flustered, sometimes confused why you were always so so grateful for the little things he does for you. Why wouldn’t he? He loves you! But he figures it was your way of letting him know you see him, and it brings him so much warmth and reassurance to know that you pay close attention to him as he does you.

He realizes that was one other area you were better at than he was. You were quicker to process and you had a way with expressing your thoughts through words. Mingyu on the other hand settles for his careful and attentive nature to your every need, and services you. It was his way to show his love. But then…he figured he can show you in more ways than one—right?

So, he ponders on it as he sleeps, with you tucked into his shoulder. He skims through his fondest memories of you and moments where he had fallen even harder for you.

-

"Oh, Mingyu-ssi, did you get a haircut?" one of his co-workers, Mr. Lee, notes when the said man enters the coffee room where he finds three of his workmates taking a break.

"Hm?" Mingyu runs a big hand over his head, feeling the freshly trimmed ends, "Uh, yeah. It's long overdue."

"Looks great!"

"Thanks," Mingyu smiles, pulling out a paper cup to pour his coffee into.

"Yeah, but I really liked your long hair though," one of his female co-workers pouts, her eyes lingering on the back of his head.

Without turning around, Mingyu just lets out a soft 'oh?'

She leans against the same counter she's in, "Yeah, looked really rugged and sexy."

Before she could reach a manicured hand towards his head, Mingyu smoothly intercepts by moving towards the coffee machine.

"I just never really had the time," he shrugs nonchalantly, "Besides, my wife loves it like this."

He unconsciously smiles at the memory of your surprised gasp, red cheeks, and irresistible pecks when he first arrived home with a fresh cut yesterday.

"She shouldn't be complaining though," his second female co-worker sighs, "I bet you'd look handsome with any cut."

Feeling already uncomfortable at their subtle advances, Mingyu only laughs but still feels the need to defend your honor some way.

"I never said she never complained, just said she loved it," he quips, "The only one who complained was my daughter though. She couldn't recognize me at all and took a while to get used to it."

Mr. Lee laughs, "Ah, she's just like my Eun Chan when he was a toddler and I shaved off my mustache. He cried each time he saw me! They’re too young to accept changes just as quickly."

"You're right," Mingyu smiles with a nod, "Now, if you excuse me."

He nods at them curtly before making a quick exit.

Before he leaves, he catches the beginnings of their conversation.

"Aish, you girls are so shameful. The guy's already married--with a kid!"

"He's not stopping us though..."

"What do you mean? He does! In the nicest way possible."

Mingyu shakes his head, taking a sip of his coffee before making his way to one of the empty seats of the cafeteria to take his break instead.

It’s nothing new to him. Kim Mingyu is a nice man, well mannered, and caring. It was something often taken advantage of. In fact, during the early stages of your relationship others wondered whether you had manipulated him or taken advantage of his kindness given your strong personality. Later on, others shifted from that perspective into absolute awe of how well and how loudly he doted and cared for you that they wonder what could you have possibly done to top that. Kim Mingyu was made to love, his heart big enough to cater to people special to him a designated spot in there. His love is loud, blatant, and encompassing in contrast to your quiet, calm, and nurturing nature that is oh-so-special to him.

It never really bothered you the way the rest perceive your relationship but he definitely was. Because while others saw your husband as a man that fit perfectly in every gap and space in your life that had yet to be seen, you had filled the emptiness in his life no one bothered wondering about.

He runs his hand over his head once more, the early conversation led him to reminiscing back in your high school days. Way back when you barely recognized his growing crush on you, and back when you only saw him as one of your annoying seniors. You didn't know it then, but you had planted yourself into his life earlier than you intended to.

-

"What the hell is that?"

"Did your barber fit a bowl over your head then cut under it?"

The guffaws echoed loudly from the classroom to the hallway.

Mingyu was just 17 when he first tried getting a haircut on his own without his father present. It had been an exciting feat for him to be independent in his own silly way. However, it had quickly gone downhill the moment he knew the barber wasn't cutting his hair the way he asked him to. But in true Mingyu fashion, he felt too shy and scared he'd come off rude the moment he asks him to stop or adjust the cut.

Mingyu just laughs, unconsciously tucking himself into the collar of his uniform. Jeonghan, his senior rubs his head teasingly, "It looks like a helmet."

He already hated looking at himself in the mirror this morning, and somehow the teasing from first period to the sixth had not abated. It progressively makes him feel worse and self-conscious that he had pulled up his hoodie from under his school blazer over his head. But it was against school dress code, and his History teacher promptly asked him to pull down his hoodie followed by detention.

"Whoaa," Soonyoung, another senior does a double take when he arrives, "Did you do this with the kitchen scissors?"

The boys burst into a chorus of laughter, nudging Mingyu's shoulders as the tips of his ears grow increasingly red. He ignores the bite of irritation in his skull, opting to just chuckle along so he doesn't destroy the mood with a snap.

As long as his friends were happy, at the expense of his humiliation, he'll be okay. He'll get over it eventually.

"Cut it out," a calm voice suddenly reaches them from one of the few desks over. They all turn their heads towards you, a junior, brave enough to scold her seniors. Your chin is propped on your palm as your gaze shifts from his senior friends. You tilt your head over to Mingyu, eyes scrutinizing his new bowl-cut. It makes the boy even more self-conscious and worried that whatever his crush might say will forever scar his-

"I like it, it makes you look...youthful," you say nonchalantly but the small smile you send him was sincere as the look in your eyes. You then raise a brow towards his friends, "I’d like to see you rock it. “

The boys stare at you in shock. Normally, they wouldn't let up without a fight especially with someone younger than them, much less a girl. You hold your ground, nervous as hell but you can't help but speak up. Not when the tall lanky boy seems to shrink each time you pass him through the hallway. The boys let your words sink in and Seungcheol finally gets up, "Yeah, guess so. Let's cut him some slack."

His seniors proceed to carry on a different topic. Yet even as you looked away, focused on the view outside and the airplane flying overhead, Mingyu's eyes remain trained on the back of your head. His cheeks are warm, not with embarrassment but with an emotion he can't name. Seventeen-year-old Mingyu had yet to learn standing up for himself when he was uncomfortable. Still, you definitely showed him even the feelings he hadn't expressed were worth standing up for--he was worth standing up for.

-

Mingyu was kindhearted and gentle to a fault. Ironically, he couldn't give himself the same kindness for the sake of putting other's happiness before his own.

You didn't know it then, but it had been one of the most significant things you've ever done for him--being the boundary, the "no" to his hesitance of standing up for himself. In instances where he felt small or made to feel small, you never berated him for it. Instead, you’d be that bigger person ready to fend for him or help him regain the power and confidence he needs. You are his better half, filling in the gap when he couldn’t.

Funny enough, standing up for this six footer was not limited to only standing up against anyone who dared take advantage of his gentle soul.

You stood up and showed up for him for the most ridiculous reasons too.

-

You hadn’t seen each other since high school, and the train station from his hometown when he headed for Seoul was the last he saw of you. Your short texts and catch ups dwindling to nothing when life got too busy and newer people occupied his social circle. He thought of you from time to time, especially in your favorite drinks at a 7/11, when someone in your height, build, and hair walks past him in campus, or sometimes even unprompted. He thinks of messaging you one of these days. But he doesn’t, opting to simply watch your occasional Instagram stories and liking them in hopes that you notice his ‘online presence’. Mingyu was rarely shy but you bring out the side of him that he settles for making himself visible online.

You were both fresh out of university when you had both reunited once again after four years. Never had Mingyu guessed your reunion would be in the quaint little flat he lived in.

Mingyu’s crush on you had only rekindled (too quickly---to his embarrassment) when he discovers that you both lived in the same building. After a quick morning run, he noticed the moving truck and a girl struggling with carrying a box up the stairs when he offers his help. It’s nearly comical how you both gape at each other and stare. You looked like you were about to brush it off, pretend you’re seeing things because you didn’t want to embarrass yourself and assume this handsome man with a well-defined torso was once your cute, long limbed, clumsy schoolmate. But Mingyu recognizes you, he follows your Instagram after all and your rare self-portraits did not give justice to just how stunning you were in person. You had both grown into features that were distinctly yourselves and even more refined.

His face lights up, bright grin spreading across his pink cheeks as he says your name and reconnects with you.

It must be fate, he thought, it can’t be just a coincidence he’s reunited with his high school crush after so long.

He’s even more sure you were destined to be near him again when it took him a full thirty-minute pep talk to get over his embarrassment and text you to come over.

See, if he had texted you with the intent to hang out, he wouldn’t need that long before caving in.

No… he asked if you could come over to get rid of the insect that had settled into his washed shoes drying out in his balcony. He was desperate, he needed those specific pair, because they were his lucky shoes and he had a big interview in an hour and a half.

And when his doorbell rings, he starts spiraling into panic, regret, and shame. What if he disturbed you? What if you found his fear for these four-legged crawlies childish? Even if you didn’t what if you thought his notion for his lucky pair of shoes was foolish?

He’s ready to greet your unimpressed scowl once he twists the doorknob to let you in.

Instead, you offer him a soft greeting, and he notices you were still in your sleeping shorts and pajama shirt. It gives him a whiplash, seeing your drowsy eyes and crooked smile, seemingly comfortable enough to let him see you in this state. Then realizing that you had probably just woken up when he had texted you.

He feels even worse, ashamed he’s letting that little green monster sitting on the crevice of his shoe inconvenience you as well.

“Hey,” you say softly.

Mingyu sputters a bit, before ushering you inside. You slip off your slides and leave them on the doorway while Mingyu offers you a pair of house slippers. He apologizes when they’re way too big for you, considering that he’s mostly had the boys over. Still, you just huff out a laugh and shuffle into his living space.

“Nice place,” you comment, noting how well kept it was and tastefully decorated with family photos and polaroids of his dog.

“Thanks,” he rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish grin, “Hey…sorry, I probably disturbed you. It looks like I might have woken you up.”

You wave your hand, self-consciously tugging on your shirt.

The tall man notices and immediately corrects himself, “No, no—you look fine! You’re beautiful—uh fine, I mean it’s not like you have to— It’s just considering the time and your pajamas…”

He’s rambling, he realizes when you tilt your head in amusement. He clears his throat while you’re making your way towards his balcony, “It’s fine, I didn’t have anything planned till the afternoon so.”

Mingyu suddenly starts to wonder what your daily life looks like? Did you develop new hobbies? Did you like to stay indoors or did you often go out? He watches how the sunlight hits your hair as you peer through the glass of his balcony. It made him feel warm, watching you in the early morning light, pajamas, comfortable, and soft with sleep.

“So, where’s your little intruder, hm?”

He shakes his head off the sudden thoughts before looking over your head and pointing to the pair of black chucks sitting on his stool outside. Lo and behold, there peaked a pair of green antennae and prickly legs. Considering that he lived on the 13th floor, he could only guess that ‘thing’ came with his newly bought boston fern plant to add to his growing collection.

“Converse? To an interview?” you ask as you start unlatching his door.

“…yeah?”

You raise a brow before opening your palm towards him, “Give me a cup and a newspaper or any paper you have please.”

Mingyu’s shoulder bumps into his doorway and his hips collide into his kitchen counter by the time he hands you your request. You smile at him endearingly, noting how he had not outgrown his clumsiness.

He jumps when you casually pick up the shoe with the critter inside while relieved that he had washed his shoes so you wouldn’t be bothered by his dirty shoe. It’s comically large in your hand.

“It’s a mantis,” you say before tapping the sole of the shoe so the insect falls into the cup. It slips inside, struggling to get on its feet with the limited space before you cover the top with a newspaper.

“Do you want me to put it back in the plants or-“

“No!” Mingyu quickly backs up as you make your way inside with the mantis. Chuckling, you walk inside to place it on the coffee table while you deliberate what to do with it.

“Thanks for doing this,” he scratches the back of his head, “It must be silly to have you come here for this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you say with a wave of your hand, “You’ve hated bugs since we were high school and you said those were your lucky pair. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t help you?”

He flashes you a toothy grin and you return his smile, gesturing to the paper and cup behind you.

“Now you know what to do if this happens again. Nothing a cup and some newspaper can’t fix!”

Honestly, if it meant seeing you all comfortable and soft like this in the mornings, Mingyu doesn’t think he’d want to take care of it himself.

Then came a pause. What now? Mingyu didn’t want to just keep the thing there forever nor did he want to send you away after all that—that was the last thing on his mind and if it weren’t for the interview he’d have later, he would have offered to take you out.

“I-“ he clears his throat when comes out higher than expected, “I mean, did…did you have breakfast yet? There’s fresh rice and I’m just about to heat up last night’s leftovers.”

You suddenly seemed shy, fiddling with a loose thread of your shorts. Judging by the look on your face, he was sure you were thinking of a polite way to decline. He’d be lying if he didn’t feel disappointed but he wouldn’t push. It’s been years since you last saw each other after all, and you were alone in his unit. You only had a handful of quick conversations since you moved in three weeks ago.

Suddenly, your stomach grumbles---loud. Then, whatever thin veil of friends to strangers to friends, tears open with your embarrassed giggles and his surprised chuckles. He ushers you to his kitchen and he can’t help the blooming feeling of wanting you there often.

Often comes to soon when the mantis had been quickly forgotten then missing when he returned home that afternoon.

-

“Ah, ah, ah! Aish…”

“Aigoo, Mingyu-yah, again?” Jeonghan scolds when he peers over his cubicle to see what caused his co-worker to hiss so loudly.

There’s a coffee quickly staining his powder blue shirt and slacks from the paper cup he’s just knocked over. Thankfully the beverage had gone lukewarm after half an hour but Mingyu’s pouting when he realizes that he’s run out of tissues too. Jeonghan clicks his tongue, disappearing briefly before reappearing into the sulking younger man’s cubicle with a box of tissues.

“Thanks,” Mingyu mutters before hurriedly pressing the tissues into the growing stains.

“Ah, this is the third time this week,” his co-worker points out with amusement, helping him out by righting the paper cup and wiping the desk. “I pity (Y/N) for the laundry you leave.”

“Yah, I do the laundry too,” Mingyu whines. Well, sometimes, especially when your insistence on sorting fabric types confuses him but Jeonghan doesn’t need to know that.

He laughs, “Right, right.”

Mingyu lets his words sit for a while, because it was true. His clumsiness that results to his stained clothes were far worse than what you had to deal with your toddler. He belatedly remembers the joke you made of Seo Ah not inheriting her appa’s clumsiness to your relief. And honestly, he was relieved too. She wouldn’t have to live through the embarrassment that follows after a clumsy spill.

He couldn’t help it that his limbs were just longer and he was much larger than what the average space would accommodate. Most days, his clumsiness not only aggravated him but others too. He doesn’t blame them though, a lot of the times a spill, a broken plate, dropped lunch boxes, or scattered books were more frustrating than funny.

Still, you loved and taught him to love the things that he hates about himself.

-

Early on in your dating, he had discovered an endearing habit you’ve come to develop because of him. It both made him feel giggly like a schoolgirl but embarrassed as well.

At his every turn around a table, shelf, or cabinet, your hand quickly finds the edge of a sharp corner. Or how your hands instinctively reach out in front of you at his sudden jerks as if he might fall or drop something. He later discovers you keep a mini first aid kit in a pouch that fits in any bag you have while you go on dates. And that you left him aloe vera gel with an ice pack his refrigerator just in case he accidentally burns himself while cooking or bumps his head on the lower cabinets.

It's sweet, it’s very considerate of you and he finds himself giggling and blushing when you do those things for him. Mingyu often models the same hand on the edge precaution when you round a corner. Fortunately, you never have to worry about bumping into things You were always cautious and careful. Yet sometimes he wishes he could have some very cool and manly scenario in which he protects you, like a knight in shining armor and his damsel in distress.

Except you were no damsel in distress.

But he did cause you some stress with his clumsy nature.

However, at the moment, when you rush into your living room at the sound of a loud crash, he can’t read the expression on your face to tell if this was your normal stress. You remain uncharacteristically silent as you stared at the shattered mug at the edge of your carpet. He’s wordless too, mouth dry, opening and closing like a fish out of water.

He just wanted to do something for you today, after the kind of week you’ve had. The kind that had pushed you to call him during your lunch break to release a frustrated rant. He thought he’d prepare you your favorite drink, in your favorite mug while you both cuddle up to some movie or board games. He was even ready to propose plans to go on a trip with you.

The liquid seeps into your pristine carpet and Mingyu just wishes the mug had just landed on the carpet itself so the fall would have been cushioned.

A stained carpet, he can fix with just a quick dial of the best carpet cleaner in town. But a mug, handmade from your grandmother, was something way beyond his control. An apology won’t cut it either.

A ghost of irritation crosses your features. The man doesn’t know what to say, heartbeat pounding loud against his eardrums when he notices how your eyes turn glassy. You all but kneel by your broken mug without a word, quickly blinking back tears. Mingyu swiftly crouches, protectively holding your wrists away from the sharp shards, his eyes wide in desperation.

“(Y/N), don’t. You could cut yourself,” he feels a soft tug of resistance from your hands. He swallows tentatively, loosening his hold but you don’t pull away. “I’m sorry. So terribly sorry. I just wanted to-“

“Stop. Not now, Gyu. I’m—” your voice rasps, and you swallow the pathetic whimper that was bound to tear from your throat. “Sorry…just—"

“Don’t be…You have every right to be upset…” Mingyu whispers, tentatively drawing a tender circle on your skin.

“Let me clean it up?” he offers, but you don’t respond, seemingly regulating your breathing with your gaze cast downwards.

“Do you need space, baby?” he releases a breathy exhale, “Do you want me to leave?”

It sounded smaller than he’d like and that’s exactly what he wishes he’d be like. Smaller, softer, careful not like some long limbed, clumsy, giant.

You take a deep inhale as he waits. He wonders if you were going to scold him, tell him to get lost. It would hurt him but he knew there was only so much you can take after the week you’ve gone through and the fact that you would come home to your soiled carpet and a fractured mug with great sentimental value would have him crying too.

You look up at him, eyes red-rimmed and tired. The man feels his own face crumple at the sight of you, exhausted and sad. You gaze at him a little longer before your shoulders sag and you sigh. Your eyes gloss over again and your lips tremble as you ask him quietly,

“Will you hold me?”

Suddenly, it’s not about the ruined mug anymore. Mingyu all but eagerly lifts you up into his arms, the weight of you spent and sagging against his hold. It saddens him but comforts him to feel you so close again. He drags you into his lap, tucking you into his chest and wrapping his arms tightly around you. The mug lays forgotten on the floor, the growing stain the last of both your worries.

“I’m still upset,” you mutter into his collarbone, “But space from you is the last thing I need.”

Your voice warbles, and it makes him draw you even closer. It’s the first time he’s seen you this emotional and he slowly realizes that it breaks him too. Even then, he’s content to know you found safety in him.

“I’m so sorry, darling, I know that isn’t enough to make up for this,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on top of your head and dragging his palm across your spine. “I just wanted to make this week a little better for you. I promise, I’ll figure out how to piece your grandmother’s mug back for you.”

“I know, Gyu,” you sniffle, uncharacteristically loose with your sentiments when you say, “But I’d be happy with just a hug from you.”

“Really?”

You lift a hand to tug his arm closer to you, and in spite of the situation, it makes him smile a little when you do.

“Really, Gyu, I love how safe you make me feel.”

As the words leave your mouth, Mingyu decides that maybe he doesn’t hate being the long-limbed, clumsy giant. Not when he gets to hold you like this, arms and chest encompassing your form as you curl deeper into his chest. You take deep breaths, quieted by the beat of his heart and soothed by the warmth of his body. After a few minutes of just holding you and rocking back and forth, Mingyu feels the lazy press of your lips against his collarbone before promptly falling asleep.

His legs are numb but he was relieved you’ve finally had the chance to rest. Carefully he lifts you up, attempting to settle you into the couch. However, you groggily pull him closer, easily convincing him to leave the mess for when you both wake up.

A few hours later, Mingyu does figure out a way to restore your broken mug when he finds there’s a kintsugi artist just out of town. It was your first trip together as a couple followed after many more.

-

It started raining half an hour before Mingyu clocks out, the clouds from the glass windows of their floor are dark and heavy with rain and thunder. He immediately picks up his phone to call you, knowing you’d get off in a few and let you know he’d pick you up after Seo Ah. He’d hate to have you wait out in the cold and he doesn’t think you’d pack an umbrella today.

You had both agreed that taking the train or bus was way more practical for you since your workplace is in the opposite direction of the daycare and Mingyu’s work. As much as Mingyu insisted he didn’t mind waking up earlier to accommodate dropping you off work, your sense of practicality was stronger than the cutest pout he could muster. Still, you wouldn’t resist him on most days he was up and ready to drop you and your child off.

It only takes three rings before you pick up.

“Hey, honey,” you chirp into the phone and he recognizes a familiar tune in the background and faint babbling.

“Hi baby,” he smiles at the sound of your voice, “Are you at daycare?”

“Mhm, got off work early was about to call you actually.”

“That’s great, I was about to tell you that I’d pick you up on the way from daycare but I guess I’ll only make one stop. Do you think you could wait until I get off---actually, let me see if I could leave early.”

He hears you laugh, “It’s okay, babe, I don’t mind waiting. Seo Ah seems to want to show me what they’ve been up to today…Seo Ah-yah, wanna say hi to your appa?”

The babbling goes silent followed by your coos of encouragement. Mingyu’s bottom lip juts out.

“Is she still bitter over my hair cut?”

“Guess so~”

“She’s just three, she’s holding grudges way too early!” he whines.

You laugh and try again, “Baby, Appa’s starting to get sad. C’mon, say hi, appa! Just like that.”

After a beat of muffled silence, there’s a small hesitant, “…hi, Appa.”

It’s enough for her father to giggle as he imagines her pouting face, “Hello, Seo Ah-yah. I’ll see you and Eomma soon. I love you~”

The toddler doesn’t respond and you chirp into the phone, “Give her time, honey. You look dashing as ever.”

He lets out a dramatic sigh, “Alright then, I’ll see you soon, honey. I love you!”

“You too~”

“Hey, say it ba-“

The line cuts and Mingyu shakes his head in amusement, running his tongue across his teeth.

While you did stand up for him against people who crossed his boundaries, you did enjoy teasing him. It was in harmless fun and he would be lying if he said he didn’t like that playful edge to you.

-

Mingyu clicks his tongue in annoyance when he finds the lack of an umbrella in the car. So, he’s thankful for the old security guard holding a huge umbrella over you and his daughter while you walk to the car. Your husband unconsciously smiles when he sees you tucking Seo Ah closer to your chest to avoid the rain, your heels gracefully clicking against the wet pavement. Your child’s pudgy fingers poking through her baby blue wool sweater are clinging to your shirt, content with how she’s tucked beneath your chin. You greet him with smiling eyes as you approach the car and he grins right back.

The security opens the back door for you to settle Seo Ah into her car seat. Mingyu twists from his seat to reach over to squeeze his daughter’s hand, “Hi, baby! Did you have fun today?”

His daughter stares at him hesitantly, her big doe eyes blinking in scrutiny. You laugh as you lock her seatbelt and hand her one of the felt animals your mother made for her before closing the door and moving to the passenger seat. Mingyu frowns, “Seo Ah-ya, you’re breaking my heart. It’s me, your handsome appa.”

She says nothing, nor does her hand curl her father’s fingers. Instead, she busies herself with the felt-animals she scattered in the backseat earlier that day. Your husband sighs, squeezing her hand once before retreating.

You slide into the front seat, thanking the old guard before shutting the door. Instinctively, Mingyu leans over to lock your seatbelt over your body then catching you off guard with a sweet kiss to your lips. You smile against him, and he can smell the faint scent of your perfume and the rain.

“Hello, Gyu,” you sneak a quick peck to his nose as he pulls away. Then you raise a brow when you notice the stains on his shirt, “Aish, Kim Mingyu. Coffee this time? I just hope it wasn’t hot.”

He pouts, “Thankfully it wasn’t.”

You allow him a few minutes to shift the gears before he drives off the pick-up station.

“How was your day?”

“It was okay, nothing too crazy. Jeonghan-hyung was asking about you and Seo Ah, though. I think he misses her.”

“Aw, should we let him babysit one of these days? Invite him to dinner?”

“As long as Seungcheol-hyung is with him, yes.”

“Of course, or maybe even Junhui,” you hum, clasping his hand on your thigh, “You know, our options for babysitters are many.”

“You’re welcome.”

You grin broadly and squeeze Mingyu’s hand, knowing that your husband’s caring and friendly nature has earned him many friends for life. And in turn, they become yours too. You weren’t as outgoing as he was, so being adopted into his circle had you experiencing the fun and chaotic moments you didn’t get to have in university.

Your husband asks you about your day, and while you don’t have much to share he listens attentively, asking for smaller details like was the coffee machine ever fixed, or what animal was Mrs. Park’s flamboyant brooch today.

“The daycare is hosting an event soon and the children are going to be performing,” you inform him, “I got to take a peep at their dress rehearsals. They’re all so cute! They were all wearing banana costumes. Seo Ah noticed me over the window of the door that she just stops dancing and did her ‘shy tantrum.’ Miss Koh later said Seo Ah was being difficult with her costume which could be why she became shy.”

Mingyu chuckles at that, knowing exactly what the ‘shy tantrum’ looked like. Its one of the terms you both came up with watching Seo Ah’s non-verbal cues. She had the shy tantrum, sleepy tantrum, hungry tantrum, and the bored tantrum. They weren’t exactly tantrums considering the kind of quiet energy she had but you still called it that.The shy tantrum usually came out when her appa would insist on taking her photos while she’s busy playing or when she refuses to wear something she wasn’t fond of. She’d simply sit on the floor, eyes on the ground, and pout, refusing to acknowledge anything around her. Around you, however, she’d whine (something she definitely takes after her appa). The bored tantrum was the most entertaining, where she’d randomly just curl on the floor like one fluffy ball or even faceplant.

You giggle, glancing back at your daughter who’s gone suspiciously silent. Sure enough, the ear of her felt tiger hangs between her pink lips and her eyes are slowly blinking shut at the sound of the rain and the slow traffic. Mingyu smiles at her tuckered out form, “She’s really one sleepy baby during car rides, huh?”

You hum in agreement, “She must have been tired from all that dancing too.”

Traffic begins to slow even more as the heavy rain and higher demands for taxis rose. The drive continues on in silence while you occasionally glanced back to check on your daughter. When the car stops at a stoplight, you take this as a chance to reach over the back to cushion your daughter’s head properly. The toy falls off her mouth and she jerks once before smacking her lips and leaning into your touch. Mingyu watches through the rearview mirror fondly.

You’re just so beautiful to him in moments like these. He’s always found you pretty and you grow even more beautiful to him each year. When he tells you so, you snort and remind him how you looked in high school with your choppy bangs and certain phases but you’re glad you grew out of it. You told him once that you peaked right after university, having figured out your style and which haircuts were flattering to you. Now as a mom, your style had definitely adjusted.

Still, even with the changes to your body that came from having your daughter, it just makes him adore you more. The way you would literally give your body for him and your little family, dedicating yourself to loving and nurturing them.

As his wife, you’ve received praise and compliments from family, friends, and even strangers about how glowing you look. With flushed cheeks, you’d often respond with thanks and that it’s all because your husband takes good care of you. Mingyu knows that it’s all you, but he takes pride knowing that he has some part of it. After all, he loved taking care of you.

You were not the only one on the receiving end of these kinds of comments. Mingyu had always been outgoing but there’s a different joy about him when there was you. He leans into his vulnerability more openly, he’s somehow braver, and calmer as well. As someone raised to be a giver, you have given him so much that others easily overlooked.

“Man, the rain is crazy. The weather forecast just told us it would light rain today,” you sigh, leaning into the cold window and watch pedestrians dash through the sidewalks with their blazers or bags over their heads. “Those poor students,” you mumble when you notice some highschoolers in their drenched uniforms, hailing taxis.

Mingyu looks over to where you’re looking and hums in sympathy. But he then sees a couple huddled under a suit jacket, hobbling over to the bus stop. You see it too because you let out a soft, ‘awwww.’ Your husband smiles, recalling another fond memory as he lifts your hand to press a kiss on the back of your hand before placing one lingering kiss of adoration on your wedding ring.

-

Mingyu didn’t have much as he did now when you both got married. Still starting his 9-5 job, he still commuted and packed budget lunches for both of you. He didn’t have a car, and you moved into his one-bedroom unit, not the house you rented in now. While you both could afford something even wider and luxurious, you decided to be frugal about it. You were both saving up for a car and a bigger place once the prospect of having a family in the future were introduced into your conversations so it only made sense to live by your means. It was comfortable, cozy even with your presence leaving your own touch to the place—your home with him.

The disadvantages of not having a car, however, meant that Mingyu had to deal with the unpredictable weather during fall. And quite frankly, his lack of awareness of weather updates. So, when he’s off work and dark clouds hovered and the smell of incoming rain evades his senses, he’s thankful for the bus stop being right across his work building. However, he’s dreading the ten-minute walk he has to take from the bus stop to the flat.

Once he’s in the first bus, the rain does not begin with a drizzle. It comes in a strong downpour that Mingyu feels the cold even inside the safety of the bus. The man sighs, leaning against the railing he holds onto. He quickly shoots you a text, letting you know he got off work awhile back. He’s only happy his wife got home early today, otherwise he was sure that the umbrella you’ve most likely packed would not have protected you from the downpour. He imagines you cozied up by the window, or starting on dinner which he’ll no doubt insist on taking over once he arrives. Whatever you were doing now, he’s glad you’re warm and not in the same dilemma as he was.

You don’t respond to him as quickly as he’s used to. And he jogs away from the rain into the shade to wait for his last bus stop home. The droplets have already begun seeping through the shoulder pads of his jacket and he just resigns to the fact that he’d come home dripping, he hopes you wouldn’t be too upset with the water tracks on the floor.

The rain abates during his last stretch home, still pouring but not as heavy as it was fifteen minutes earlier. You still haven’t replied to him and he figures that you might have fallen asleep at the sound of the rain. Mingyu smiles at the thought, excited to come home and cozy up to you. He starts seeing familiar landmarks that tell him his final stop is just a minute away. He shrugs of his jacket, and secures his messenger bag across his chest with the intention to run with his jacket overhead.

But just as he presses the button to ring his stop, he notices a familiar figure jogging up to the bus stop with a large umbrella. He recognizes the fluffy pyjama pants and his university’s hoodie under the umbrella. Mingyu’s eyes are wide as he steps out of the bus and hobbles over to the shade. Sure enough, its you, out of breath, the edges of your pants damp and hanging over your Hello Kitty slides.

“Baby!” you breathe out, flushed and grinning.

“Honey,” Mingyu quickly pulls you to his side, absent mindedly kissing your head as he processes his surprise, “What are you doing here?”

“I saw your umbrella by the door, so I knew you didn’t-“ you wheeze and he rubs your back as you catch your breath, “You could get sick.”

‘But, baby, you didn’t have to do this for me,’ was what he wanted to say. ‘You didn’t have to go out the rain. It was my fault anyway.’

“Did you get wet?” you begin checking his clothes, relieved they were mostly some damp spots.

Mingyu remains uncharacteristically quiet, thinking of the many times he would just endure things because he was expected to and because people knew he could take care of himself. He worried that you would be upset when he’d come home tracking water all over the floor, or that he’d forgotten his umbrella. He had thought of quickly rushing to the shower, throw his laundry in the wash, and mop up whatever he’s left behind.

But here you were, taking care of him. It was a simple gesture, but it had erased all his initial worries about you getting upset for his health, the mess, and the fact that he didn’t pay attention to the weather forecast. You didn’t think of the fact that he could survive a quick five minute run underneath the rain. You thought of him, and you came for him.

“Babe? You okay?” you ask, resting your warm palm against his cold cheek.

Mingyu snaps out of his reverie, swallowing a lump in his throat. He doesn’t understand why his eyes are glassy, or why he felt so much from your gesture. He was sure more than he ever was that he was right to have chosen to spend his life with you. He’s just so in love with you and you cared for him in ways he didn’t know he needed.

“I’m okay now,” he croaks, kissing your palm and holding the umbrella over both your heads before you could press him. He squeezes you to his side, tucking you safely into his shoulder then kissing your forehead. “Let’s go home.”

-

An hour and one warm shower later, Mingyu’s in the kitchen cooking you both up a simple dinner.

He hears you leave your bedroom with Seo Ah, having finished giving her a bath and a change. You enter the kitchen with your toddler shuffling behind you. He lowers the heat, letting his kimchi jjigae simmer while he turns his attention towards the both of you. Seo Ah’s hair has yet to be combed, and he figures that his daughter wants to comb it herself when he notices her clasping her yellow hair brush. He shoots her a smile, resigning to the fact that he has to let her warm up to him. You walk up to your husband, tiptoeing to rest your chin over his shoulder.

“Smells good,” you praise him, kissing his jaw before pulling away. The warmth of your lips tickles him and he flushes so easily.

The adoration he has for you from all his reflections today overwhelms him in one crashing wave. He doesn’t let you get far. Turning around, he pulls you into his chest, and you let him but not without looking up at him in question. Your palms are pressed against his chest as you stare back into his soft gaze.

“Hm?”

Mingyu just smiles, slowly leaning in to kiss you. You reach up to rest your hand on his shoulder as he moves his mouth against yours. He sighs into you and breathes you in, taking his time just loving you beyond what his words can say. You don’t protest, used to his constant neediness and affection. You welcome it, pulling him closer and humming when he bites your lip. Giggling, you tap his chest, reminding him that your toddler was still in the room.

The man pulls back with a dopey grin, pressing a kiss to your lips, nose, forehead, eyelids---anywhere he can reach.

There was a curious question at the tip of your tongue when you both feel weight launch itself on Mingyu’s leg. He glances down to find his daughter tugging the hem of his cotton shorts. She’s looking up at him with a shy gaze, fiddling with the tiny hair brush in her hand.

“Appa,” she mumbles, looking down before tapping the brush against his leg, “Hair.”

A broad victorious grin stretches across his flushed face followed by your laughter as you make space for Seo Ah. Mingyu bends down to pick her up before setting her on her highchair then taking the brush in his hand. It’s comically tiny in his large hands as he tenderly combs through your toddler’s hair. He doesn’t realize how giggly he gets, happy he’s finally won her back.

You lean against the counter, watching your family for a while before you ask, “What was up with that?”

Mingyu looks up at you, still with that dopey lovesick expression on his face. He shakes his head, eyes twinkling.

“I’m just thinking about meeting Chan again tomorrow for coffee.”

You raise an amused brow, “What does Chan have to do with my question?”

Mingyu shrugs, knowing he’s too high on his love to realize how he’s not making sense. Still, he grins, fangs digging into his bottom lip as he promises, “Tell you what. I’ll tell you after.”

-

“Hyung, how’d you know noona was the ‘one’?”

(Y/N) is simply my better half.

a/n: i mainly wanted to talk about how the needs of men are often overlooked due to well toxic masculinity and expectations. I hope that point was gotten across otherwise, i still hope you enjoyed the fluff <3 Thank you for reading! Also, if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please comment on the masterlist <3

late night talking

member — minghao x f reader genre — angst, idk if there's enough fluff for this to count as hurt/comfort but the ending is sort of happy ? word count — 2.1k synopsis — the best and worst conversations always happen at 1am. warnings — reader is very drunk and very very insecure, lots of crying, lots of internal back & forth, unreliable narrator moment, refers to reader as girlfriend/my girl/etc., idk if i'm missing anything else but lmk if i am notes — this is an old fic that i never really intended to be released but @onlymingyus and @wooahaeproductions convinced me otherwise. sorry this is not at all what i normally post lmao i swear don't write like this often i just found this in my drive that i wrote when i was in a very shitty mood. we will return to your regularly scheduled smut programming soon i promise lmao! leave a comment in the reblogs or send an ask if you enjoyed this? idk i am nervous to post this pls don't perceive me too much

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you're ugly when you're drunk.

“hao?”

your voice rings throughout the house, the sound shaky and quieter than usual.

he wouldn't even have known you were home if he hadn't heard your friend's car pull up minutes ago, bright headlights flashing through the bedroom window. he wouldn't have known, if he wasn't already worried sick at you being gone so long and consuming an unknown amount of alcohol. he should've been there with you, but too much was riding on the deadline for his students’ grades that had to be finished before midnight. any other day he would've been by your side the whole night, a steady hand on your arm for balance and a sharp eye on your glass just in case. he loves playing the role of protective boyfriend, letting his girl do whatever she wants because he'll always be there to watch over her. but he couldn't do that tonight, and it tears him up inside.

he hears your trudging footsteps down the hall, soft footfalls signalling your approach as you drag yourself towards the room. he pretends not to hear; he doesn't want to make a big deal out of this and embarrass you.

“you're home early,” he comments with a chuckle, but his sarcasm is lost on you in this state. it's well after 1 in the morning, and you tilt your head in confusion at his words, brows deeply furrowed.

“what— are you working on?” you ask after a moment, focusing all your energy on not stumbling over your words. 

you know how drunk you are, he knows how drunk you are, but even now you're still putting on an act. you hate feeling stupid in front of him, and right now you couldn't feel any stupider. the worst part is that you feel as stupid when you're sober as you do right now, but you couldn't tell him that.

he pauses, choosing his next words carefully as he surveys your current state. he can't risk hurting your feelings, especially in such a vulnerable headspace.

“grading finals,” he decides on. not too detailed to confuse you, not too simplified to make you feel stupid, just enough to make you feel involved.

distantly you feel your eyes welling up with tears. you don't know why, but at the same time you know exactly why. you're never good enough compared to him, not when you come home drunk in the dead of night, and he never does. not when he's so good at everything he touches, so talented and beautiful and perfect, and you're… not. 

he deserves someone at his level, an artistic genius like him who can help him with his work. someone with an eye for his paintings, someone smarter, someone prettier, someone who can keep him on his toes. someone who won't drag him down and burden him with your obvious lack of skill and your quality of being so embarrassingly lightweight that you need to be supervised at all times. 

“i’m sorry,” you finally muster. you can't find the words to explain what you mean, but you hope he's able to sense your sincerity.

“what for?” he asks. his voice is softer now. 

you hate it when he uses that voice. he's talking down to you, talking like you're a child and he has to explain everything to you in the gentlest way possible because you aren't capable of handling the truth.

you love when he uses that voice. sometimes he can be so blunt it almost feels isolating, but when he talks to you like you're a child in that sweet, gentle, kind tone you feel like everything will be okay. he can soften himself for you, drop his straightforward persona around you and be the tender man you know he's capable of being. 

you lift your eyes to his computer screen and the feelings you've been struggling with float back into view. “i'm sorry,” you repeat, voice cracking despite the effort you put in to stop it from breaking. it's all you can say.

you don't notice when the tears overflow, bursting from your eyes without a sound. you're embarrassing, you're an idiot, standing in front of him with red eyes and hunched shoulders as tears stream down your cheeks. you don't even feel them fall.

if he knows what you're trying to convey with your tearful apologies, he doesn't mention it. 

of course he knows, how could he not when he's so astute with everything? you suck at keeping things to yourself. 

of course he doesn't know, why would he take the time out of his busy schedule to care about how you're feeling? you're not worth his energy.

the moment seems to stretch on for eternity, standing in front of him. you don't know why you started dating in the first place; he doesn't have the time, you're too annoying, too clingy, too affectionate. standing in front of him, you don't feel anything. you just feel cold.

you turn to drag yourself out of the room, deciding that you've embarrassed yourself enough by now. you don't know where you'll go or what you're doing, probably to pour yourself a glass of water and try to sleep on the couch. obviously he won't want you to sleep in his bed when you’re like this, why should he? you aren’t deserving of that privilege.

but then you feel a warm hand on your wrist, gently tugging you back towards him. you lose your balance, stumble over your feet, fall onto his lap. you're mortified, barely able to get another “sorry” out before trying to stand again on wobbly legs. you shouldn't be here. you're so aware, so painfully conscious of your weight on him, every ounce of energy you have left fighting to keep yourself from annoying him even further but it feels like it's too late. everything that comes from you is too little, too late.

“no,” he says. his tone is still that soft, sweet sound, but his voice is firm and you don't try to get up again. “we can talk tomorrow,” he says as he begins to run his hand along your back, and you hate yourself for the way you instantly melt at his touch. “just… relax. calm down.”

your body slouches against his chest, feeling like a puddle on his lap, head tucked into the crook of his neck whether you meant to or not. your legs dangle limply off his lap, arms wrapped loosely around the back of his chair as he holds you.

“it's okay,” he says simply, still stroking his hand along your back in small, soothing motions. “it's okay.” he repeats the words, maybe to convince himself but mostly to convince you from having a breakdown. even now when he's treating you so delicately, your brain won't let you rest: he's probably scared of you, he doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean any of it and he's using whatever means necessary to stop you from turning hysterical or even violent. of course it doesn't mean anything to him. 

“how much did you drink tonight, baby?” he asks, and you know you should take that as judgmental but you don't have the energy left anymore. you don't note the twinge of concern in his voice, you can't see the look in his eyes as he gazes down at you.

“a little— a lot,” you answer, somewhat truthfully. the real truth is that you lost count. you weren't trying to get drunk, but one turned into two turned into ten and before you even knew what you were doing a car was dropping you off in front of your house.

he shifts his legs for you to sit more comfortably on his lap, and as much as you want to fight it you don't have the strength to. “do you want to go to bed?” he asks gently. “or do you want to stay up with me?”

“don't… want you to go to bed ‘cuz of me,” you mumble against his neck. god, his skin is so soft and warm. you couldn't move your body right now even if you tried. “not your fault.”

“what kind of guy would i be if i didn't take care of my girlfriend when she needs me?” he asks. “i can put you to bed if you want. it's alright. it's late anyway.”

“it's not– your job,” you manage to reply, and his hand on your back stops for a second.

“it is my job,” he says softly. he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “i'm sorry if you feel like i haven't done that.”

“please, don't— no sorry,” you choke out as fresh tears prick at your eyes. “it's my fault. i'm sorry. it's my fault.”

he holds you tighter, both arms wrapped around you on his lap now. “it's not your fault,” he says in that same firm but gentle voice. “you haven't done anything wrong at all. it's alright, baby, i promise. you don't have anything to worry about. why are you sorry?”

“i don't know,” you mumble. your hand clutches at his chest unconsciously, balling his t-shirt in your fist. “i dunno. i love you. i dunno.”

“i love you, too,” he says after a beat. the tears, the drunken outburst, he just lets it all happen. without a word of complaint. despite the voices in your head fighting to convince you otherwise, he never says a single negative thing to you.

you know he's not normally like this. with everyone else he's polite, unemotional, reserved. he's never vulnerable. which is why you're so confused right now.

“why?” you slur, still grasping onto hope.

he hums in questioning, nudging you to elaborate.

“why are you like this to me?”

but now he's the one who's confused. “like what?”

you pause, and the room goes quiet for a moment, the only sound your shallow breaths against his chest. “nice.”

for all his knowledge, this time he's actually lost. “why would i not be nice to you?”

“i don't deserve it.”

he shifts again, pulling you closer to his chest as he starts to run his fingers through his hair. “of course you do, baby.”

“you don't deserve me.”

he stops again, this time in shock. “hey. that's not true.”

“is too true,” you say. your eyes are closed and you can't help the frown overtaking your face. “you should have somebody you deserve. it's not me.”

he just sighs, and you feel his chest expand beneath your cheek at the deep breath he takes. “i love you, baby. not anyone else. you'll feel better in the morning, and we can talk then. but i'm not mad at you, okay? there's nothing wrong. everything's okay.”

you try to mimic his sigh, but the angle you're laying at on his chest and the alcohol in your system makes it hard to breathe deeply. 

“do you want to keep sitting with me?” he asks. he knows how much you like the sounds his keyboard makes, the quiet tapping as he enters grades and types comments to his students about things you could never fathom to understand.

your eyes stay closed and your head doesn't move. “yeah,” you murmur softly.

he settles back into his chair, you curled up on his lap. he's not doing much, he's finished the worst of it and now just entering numbers. he glances down at your figure, almost asleep on him, and he feels an ache in his chest. 

every emotion feels amplified to you right now, but if it took getting blackout drunk for you to finally say it then it must've been weighing on you for a long time coming. he wonders how long you've felt like this, felt inadequate compared to him, and it makes him pause. it was never his intention. when you're awake and sober and hopefully not massively hungover, then you can talk, and he can make this right.

he loves the person snuggled against his chest, loves the feeling of you comforted and protected by him, and he'll do anything to make sure you know that. he'll do anything to let you see yourself the way he sees you. above all the worries he has about you, he knows one thing for sure.

you're cute when you're drunk.

⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁

i hope you enjoyed this!! if you did, consider reblogging or leaving a comment or an ask :) it shows me this is something people want to see more of, and knowing people like this makes me want to write more of it! thanks for reading!!

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— 🕯️ DEAD LEAVES . ㅤ✶ㅤ

old habits die hard

CAST. JEON WONWOO & READER

PRONOUNS. they/them (reader appears fem tho)

SYNOPSIS. you hate jeon wonwoo. being the heir to a huge publishing company, he’s grown up with everything you could have asked for. you two may or may not have kissed before, but that's irrelevant! on the bright side, your small book rec acc has caught the attention of an endearing fan that calls you perfect all the time! micro-celibacy isn’t so bad after all.

GENRES. fluff, crack, smau, rivals to lovers!au, exes to lovers!au (ish)

WARNINGS. alcohol, cursing, sex jokes, playful threats, mentions of pills, cigarettes, SLOW UPDATES, more tba

STARTED. 2023.06.23 ENDED. n/a

LOVE, SEILAH. hello everyone!! this is basically a remake of my original wonwoo smau, “you’ve got mail”. i wasn’t very happy with it because of how poorly done the planning was, yet i knew there were a lot of people that enjoyed it. consider this as my redemption that i done for the sake of my own confidence as a writer.

(๑) = WRITTEN CHAP

PROFILES (★) — y/n's dictatorship / booty munchers 🦧 / roblox natural disaster survival

CHAPTERS (★)

000. prologue ➺ pt. 1 〡pt. 2 〡pt. 3

001. aw shucks

002. erm ackshually ☝️🤓

003. he thinks we cant see him 😭😭💀

TAGGING. you can dm/ask/reply if you'd like to join the taglist for dead leaves. i'm going to put all the people who were tagged here so i can keep track :D happy reading

🏷️i. @yunnamiksi @kwonhoeshi @strawberri-uyu @ohmyhuenings @smilehui @readforavv @minghaossv @minhui896 @atinytinaa @abbiestearsricochet @orujinkoo @peachescreamandcrumble @stayinhellevator @kissesfrmwonwoo @hyuckxtagram @writingbarnes @teenyfinds @odxrilove

MATERIALS USED. memimessage, pinterest, canva, pinetools, twinote, fakeall, textcolorizer

don’t ! copy or repost my work ✎ © SHUATIC

When I Kissed the Teacher

Pairing: Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, humor

Summary: Mr. Kim has a crush, to his students that much is clear. It's also clear that you like him too. What happens when a group of meddlesome ten year olds decide to play cupid for their two favorite teachers?

Warnings: science teacher mingyu, grammar teacher reader, meddling students, crushes, flirting, lots of candy and coffee

Length: ~5.2k

Note: it's here! thank you to @gyuwoncheol and @gyuswhore for beta reading and to my lovely @tomodachiii for fact checking my knowledge of primary school lol

read more here

This blog is intended for 18+ only! Minors/blank blogs will be blocked!

Turning from the white board, Mingyu faces the room full of weary children. Mondays are hard. Early mornings are hard. Learning the difference between reptiles and mammals first thing on Monday morning is downright torture. But it’s nothing a little bribery (read: candy) can't fix.

"Alright class, today we're learning about animals! Who remembers what a mammal is?"

Mingyu barely finishes his sentence before a sharp knock interrupts.

“Mr. Kim,” you seethe from the doorway.

Mingyu turns around immediately, eyes wide in fear at your tone. “Yes?”

“Can I speak with you? In the hallway?”

The class of ten year olds “ooooh” as their teacher trails after you like a kicked puppy. If they weren't awake before they sure are now. He shoots a silencing look back before dipping out the door where you wait, foot tapping impatiently.

“Would you like to explain where all my printer paper went?”

Mingyu tries to play dumb. “I don’t know?”

“Oh really?" You blink. "Because I found the box in the workroom and guess what was on the printer? More of your worksheets for your class!”

“How do you know they were for my class?”

You don’t answer, in favor of shoving the animal themed coloring sheets into his chest harshly.

“Listen, anyone could have…” He trails off under your withering glare.

“If you need paper, ask!”

Mingyu burns under the reprimand. “Oh, like you asked to use my paints last month?” 

“That was an accident!" you argue, eyes wide. "And I replaced them.”

“Alright, then I’ll replace the paper I took.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

With a curt nod, you turn to leave; unaware of the blushing cheeks and heart eyes following your retreating form. But the gaggle of elementary students waiting for Mingyu's return see them clear as day; their fits of shrill giggles and whispers falling on deaf ears as he shakes off the stars clouding his mind.

Mr. Kim, their goofy science teacher, has a crush. And like children are wont to do, they hatch a scheme to help him out.

—

“Alright. Do we remember the difference between fragments and sentences?”

The classroom ripples with tiny voices shouting “yes” with varying degrees of confidence. Their last quiz grades are proof they haven’t quite grasped the subject yet but that’s why you’re planning for an intensive review with them today.

“Awesome! So our warm up today should be a piece of cake. I’ll help with the first one so let's all look at the boa—”

A knock at the door cuts you off. Mingyu stands in the threshold, looking positively mischievous. 

“Sorry to interrupt, Ms. y/l/n. But can I speak with you in the hall?”

Forcing a smile, you respond. “Certainly. Class, why don’t you all work with your desk partner on the worksheet and when I come back we’ll go over the answers?”

They break into groups, chattering about everything but the work you’ve assigned; most notably the way Mr. Kim beams as you follow him outside. However, once you’ve crossed beyond the border of the brightly decorated room, twenty pairs of ears strain to hear why Mr. Kim interrupted their morning lesson.

“What's this about?” you ask.

Mingyu smiles, eyes shifting to the floor. “Here's the paper I owed you.” 

“You’re kidding.”

Three hefty boxes are stacked next to your door. It’s far more paper than Mingyu used for his color sheets, and more than you’d probably need for the rest of the semester.

“I thought you could use extra since you’re too stingy to share.”

“I’m not stingy!” You scoff.

Mingyu simply flashes another self-satisfied smile before heaving a box into his arms and carrying it into your classroom. He could certainly carry all three boxes at once; anytime there were desks or anything else remotely heavy to be moved, Mingyu did so with ease. But the kids don’t think anything of the way he so obviously drags out the torture.

The kids watch Mr. Kim weave through the maze of tables towards the back of the room.

“Lia, can you open the door for me please?”

The little girl jumps from her desk and bolts for the supply closet, braids bouncy with each step.

“In here okay?” Mingyu asks.

Blinking from your stupor, you turn back to your desk as you answer. “Yeah, it’s…whatever.” 

Your class stopped their work to focus on the unfolding drama between their two favorite teachers. They don’t know why you can’t seem to stand their science teacher, and it’s anyone’s guess why Mr. Kim has decided to interrupt their grammar lesson for something so silly. But it’s clear that whenever you two meet an argument is clear to follow. And in the guidebook of elementary school, if you like a girl, you always argue with them.

So enthralled in your silent battle of wits with the peppy man, you miss the two girls plotting in the corner.

Hana turns to her friends with breakneck speed. “Did you see the way Mr. Kim smiled at her?”

“He’s so in love,” Arin sighs dreamily.

“And Miss y/l/n is blushing! We should help them.”

Their whispers are cut off when you clap. “Alright! Back to work!”

Mingyu lingers by the front until you forcibly shoo him away, huffing at the permanent smile stretched across his lips even when the door slams in his face.

“Meet at the tree during recess.” 

The two girls nod and return to their worksheets.

A new week comes with new challenges. Today’s is the universe’s determination to make your life as difficult as possible.

Your alarm didn’t go off, your shoddy dryer left you with damp clothes, and your car battery decided a short strike would be a great way to start the freezing morning. There was barely time to wash your face with cold tap water let alone put on makeup or style your hair. To top it all off, the green lunchbox with leftovers from your favorite restaurant sits on the shelf of your fridge which means the crumbled granola bar at the bottom of your purse will finally see the light of day.

Flicking on the lights, you rush to prepare for the day. By the grace of god your first period is planning time so no students witness your near breakdown from the absolute shit storm of the morning. Not much is to be done since you already organized everything you needed Friday afternoon but the tense events of the day leave you feeling off. Not even a cup of coffee with the creamer you reserve for days like these helps the overwhelming unease rippling in the back of your throat.

Your allotted private time washes by and before you know it, a gaggle of students filters into your room, giddy on holiday spirit and sugar. The first five minutes of class are spent reminding them their butts belong in chairs at their own stations, that the warmup is for them to complete on their own, and if they aren’t feeling well enough to do classwork they need to go to the nurse.

Twenty minutes into the lesson and the worksheet for their quiz on Friday finally manages to capture their attention. A few students struggle but most are sailing through. Its the same material as last week just with a new puzzle for them to complete once they have all the correct answers.

“Alright, who can tell me what word fits for number six?” you ask.

The attentiveness you’ve sweated to cultivate all morning dissolves when a volunteer knocks to distribute candy-grams.

“Delivery!” a young woman sings as she enters, dressed in red from head to toe with heart shaped sunglasses and a sparkly headband. Her wicker basket flows with candy bars wrapped with shiny ribbon and cardstock penned with confessions.

The shrill symphony of oohs and ahhs as the kids receive pieces of candy raises the vein on your temple. 

“And for Ms. y/l/n!” the young woman sing-songs, heart headband bouncing as she approaches your desk.

The cardstock reads one of the cheesy messages the school provides for the Valentine cards they sell as a yearly fundraiser.

‘I like you a choco-lot! - your secret admirer’ 

You throw it into a drawer in your desk, oblivious to the crestfallen faces of two little girls watching with rapt attention. 

“I don’t think she likes chocolate,” Arin whispers.

“No. Remember during Halloween? She said her favorite candy is Twix. She gave Gabi an extra point on the spelling test when she brought in her halloween candy and gave them to her.” 

“Well maybe she’s mad because it wasn’t a Twix!”

“Maybe. But Mr. Kim didn’t react to the note on his desk this morning either,” Hana huffs. “But he was late so maybe he didn’t see it.”

Your second attempt to put class back on track falls flat. Instead of group review, kids come up to your desk one by one to check their answers while you nurse your headache until the bell dismisses everyone to their next destination. Another crop of students flood the seats, emotions running high from who did and didn’t receive candy in their last class. Two students end up arguing about who knows what and then proceed to break into frustrated tears.

You bite your tongue to stop from doing the same and put on one of the movies you reserve for days like these.

When Mingyu walks into your room after school ends and all the kids are dismissed for pick up, you give him a look that sends him turning around and exiting the way he came without a word.

Tuesday brings a better attitude. Mostly because you get to take all of your class to the library for silent reading. But the homemade stirfry sitting in your lunch box in the teacher’s lounge helps too.

Your second period kids spread out through the room, some sprawled across the worn rugs on their bellies while others curl up in the much coveted bean bags; a few choose to hide between the imposing bookshelves, crowded on all sides by the smell of old paper. 

With an overly sweetened latte sitting in one hand, and a new novel in the other, you perch at the long table near the librarian's desk to ‘supervise.’

“How did you manage to get a copy of The Gate? I couldn’t even get the pre-order before it sold out.” Elise, the librarian, asks. 

You smile into your coffee cup before responding. “Eh, I know a guy.”

“You do? I thought you didn’t date?”

“I don’t.” You nod. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t have connections.”

“Well whoever your ‘connection’ is, send them my way when you're done with him.”

You pretend to ponder before answering, “I’ll think about it.”

Snapping your book shut, you rise to gather the kids to return back to class. It takes several minutes as a few refuse to join the line until their current chapter is finished and Kai pulls out the puppy dog eyes, begging to stay all day to finish his book. 

You corral them out the door with promises of more reading time on Friday if they behave well the rest of the week. Some roll their eyes but most nod enthusiastically at the opportunity to skip on their weekly quiz.

Unlocking the door, you unpack your things and find a basket of Valentine’s on your desk to be passed out. Almost all the kids receive at least one, some find two or even three heart shaped sugar cookies on their desk. Your heart squeezes when some of the students decide to divy up their cookies and gift them to the students who didn’t receive a note. 

The last cookie at the bottom of the basket has a note with your name on it and a message in the same swirly script as yesterday’s.

We go together like milk and cookies. - your secret admirer

As far as cheesy Valentine’s go, you’ve seen worse. But free snacks are free snacks and the confection tastes great dipped in your coffee.

Your fourth period class focuses on their worksheets, silently deciphering the reading and ticking of questions. You promised whatever group finished first with the most right answers gets a special Valentine treat; full sized candies and extra credit on Friday. 

Whatever it takes to keep them focused while you work through grading everything for your other classes.

You don’t notice the man waiting at the door until one of your kids greet their science teacher; a ripple of tiny ‘Hi, Mr. Kim!’s following. 

“Sorry to interrupt,” Mingyu announces from the door. “But, ugh, the volunteer accidentally gave me this.”

“Oh! Thanks Min—Mr. Kim.” 

You take the can of orange soda from his hand and skim the note.

I have a ‘crush’ on you. - your secret admirer

None of the students can read the note from their seats but you and Mr. Kim look equally bashful. 

“What are you guys working on? Mingyu asks, hoping to diffuse the tension.

A cacophony of voice race to explain their assignment. Mingyu pretends to understand, smiling at their enthusiasm and grabbing a worksheet for himself. 

He plants himself in one of the tiny plastic chairs next to your desk meant for ten year olds rather than a grown man of his size. It’s comical the way his knees brush his chest and any small move across the slippery seat threatens to land him on the floor.

Reviewing the sheet, Mingyu announces, “Alright, how about if you guys finish your work before me, we can have a pizza party in my class on Friday?”

More screams bounce off the walls.

“You guys can’t finish if you’re talking to Mr. Kim,” you remind them.

The room descends into a cozy calm; the sound of pencils on paper, your keyboard clicks, and the soft jazz from the computer speakers blending together.

You don’t look up to grab the answer key from the corner of the desk, Mingyu huffing from his seat at being caught.

“No cheating,” you smirk under your breath.

“Creative strategy,” he argues.

Instead of answering you shake your head and continue to focus on your own tasks. 

Ten minutes and twenty emails later, two groups of students rise and approach your desk at the same time. 

“We finished first!”

“No, we did!”

“Guys,” you interrupt them. “I’ll grade them both and whoever has more right wins. Besides, Mr. Kim owes you a pizza party anyway.”

The entire class cheers at the news while Mingyu playfully pouts. Maybe if he hadn’t given up on his worksheet to snoop through the basket full of snacks on your bookshelf, he wouldn’t be eating his own words.

The second group of students to approach your desk ends up victorious. You mark down their candy orders to pick up on your weekly grocery shopping trip on Thursday night before sending them to back up their belongings so you can all head to the cafeteria.

“What’d you bring for lunch?” Mingyu asks as he walks with you to the teachers lounge to retrieve your lunch boxes.

“Pasta salad.”

“Wanna trade?” 

“What’d you bring?” you ask, handing him the black grocery bag you know carries his lunch.

“Pasta salad.”

You roll your eyes and kick the fridge shut.

—

After lunch you have another free period. The printing room is empty so you take advantage and make enough copies for the rest of the week. Perhaps Mingyu wasn’t wrong to bring you three boxes of paper.

Lugging the stack in hand, you turn down that hall only to find a familiar face standing guard outside your classroom.

“Arin? Why are you in the hallway? You should be in class.”

“I was just…going to the bathroom!”

“Really? Because there's a bathroom right outside Mrs. Lee’s classroom if I remember correctly.”

“It was gross!”

Considering Mrs. Lee’s classroom sits on the main hallway and intersects with two other grades, it probably looked more akin to a battlefield than a restroom at this time of day.

“Okay…but hurry back. And I’m gonna let Mrs. Lee know what took you so long so she isn’t worried.” 

You side step around her but she moves right into your path. And then again. And again.

“Arin, what are you doing?” 

“Sorry, Ms. y/l/n. I don’t feel good. Can you walk me to the nurse?”

Crouching to her height, you rest the back of your hand against her forehead. Arin never admits she doesn’t feel well even when she’s tinged green and hacking up a lung. It’s the perfect admission to keep you from peering past the threshold of your classroom and blowing the entire operation.

Until a loud crash and high pitched scream breaks the silence of the hallway.

You jump back up.“What the—”

“Wait!” Arin shouts, throwing her arms and legs wide to block your path like a three foot tall ‘X’.

“Arin, what is going on?” 

“Mr. Kim said animals make themselves bigger to be scarier,” Arin says, tiny face scowling.

“And why are you trying to scare me?” 

Another bang echoes out the classroom forcing you to pick the little girl up by her armpits and carry her inside with you. She slips from your hold as you stare with a wide mouth at the scene. A desk is pulled up to the board allowing Hana to balance atop it as she scribbles across the chalkboard.

Wil you be my Valintin? - Mr. K

“Hana! What are you doing?”

“Arin!” Hana huffs indignantly.

Arin opens her mouth to respond but the look on your face silences both girls. You help Hana down from the desktop before crossing your arms in front of you and taking a deep breath.

“Sit. Now.”

They trudge to the seats next to your desk; heads hung low, tears brimming in their eyes. Neither has been on the receiving end of such a reprimand before; they’re usually your best behaved students.

You allow them to stew in silence as you right the two chairs Hana knocked over. She doesn’t look injured which is a relief but your nerves are shot from the perplexing situation. Hana and Arin can be troublemakers but they’ve never done anything like this before.

Once you're certain the urge to yell at them is quelled you approach your desk and take a seat. You watch them expectantly. Arin chances a glance up and swiftly looks back to her lap while Hana focuses on the picture at the edge of your desk, blinking away tears.

“Girls,” you sigh. “What were you doing in here?”

“Ms. y/l/n,” Arin blubbers.

Presenting the tissue box, you wait several moments while they both dab their eyes and blow their noses before speaking again.

“We just thought…” Hana starts, glancing at the other girl.

“Thought what?”

“Mr. Kim’s in love with you and we wanted to help!”

“I see.” You nod. “Did Mr. Kim tell you that?”

They look at each other before shaking their heads ‘no.’

Your temple throbs from the situation. A measured breath through your nose sends the girls into a frenzy.

“We can tell!”

“You’re perfect for eachother!”

“And did Mr. Kim ask you to sneak into my classroom while I wasn’t here?”

“No ma’am,” they mumble in unison.

It dawns on you that the two girls have been behind all the gifts you’ve received this week.“Are you two behind all the Valentine’s I’ve gotten?”

“We were just trying to help!” cries Arin.

Moving to crouch in front of them, you wait until they both look up at you.

“It’s very sweet what you were trying to do and I’m sorry I yelled at you. But you can’t sneak out of class. What if something happened and you got hurt climbing the table?”

“I’m sorry,.” Hana says.

“Me too.” 

You pass them more tissues to wipe their noses.

“How about we get you two back to class?”

“But what about Mr. Kim?”

“Yeah! He needs to know how you feel.”

“That’s between Mr. Kim and I. Understand? Those are grown up things.”

The repulsion painting their faces forces you to bite back a snort. Instead you offer your hands, pinkies extended towards them both.

“How ‘bout this? I promise to talk to Mr. Kim if you two promise no more meddling. Okay?”

All three of you share a smile as you intertwine their pinkies with your own. 

“Now,” you say whilst jumping to your feet. “You are supposed to be in Mrs. Lee’s class. And you are supposed to be at the library.”

Escorting them both back to where they belong, they can’t help but giggle when you pass Mr. Kim’s room and he waves. The question is clear on his face but you shrug your shoulders. 

You’ll explain everything later.

You smile knowingly at the corner of the classroom where two little cupids sit as the volunteer brings you a lollipop with a note reading ‘I’m a sucker for you.’

Part of you feels guilty they pooled their own money together to supply you and the teacher next door with treats all week in an effort to play matchmaker. But another part can’t help but laugh. And when you get the chance to tell Mingyu what they’ve planned you’ll no doubt laugh harder.

But because the universe somehow knows you lied to your students the day prior you find your reckoning in the cafeteria.

It was Mingyu’s fault. Or at least that’s what you argue. You barely made it three steps inside the room before the large man bulldozes you; sending his lunch and your own down your fronts in a palette of greens and browns.

His eyes widen in horror as a slice of tomato peels off your shirt and flops to the floor. “I am so sorry!”

“Seriously?” you choke.

The entire school watches with baited breath. Students and teachers alike watch with abject horror as you skirt around the taller man and flee with shaking shoulders and your chin dipped into your chest. Mingyu gapes like a fish as you run by, frozen in place. As hundreds of eyes settle on him, he realizes they all saw how he drenched you in salad and coffee. 

Mrs. Lee dismisses him with a nod, silently agreeing to watch his class so he can trapeze out to his car and find something suitable to wear.

—

Mingyu watches the game of kickball unfold across the field, keeping an eye on the rowdier students as they pick teams. But even from a distance he recognizes one face is notably absent.

He finds Kai slumped on a bench at the far corner of the playground using a stick to draw lines in the dirt at his feet.

“Hey, buddy. You feeling okay?” Mingyu asks. 

Kai never misses a game of kickball. Even when his arm was in a cast at the beginning of the year, he insisted he only needed one good arm to play defense and neither to play offense. Kai’s mom simply laughed at Mingyu’s concerned email and said her son was exactly like his dad and there was no stopping him if he was set on something.

So to have the little curly haired boy isolated on the far edge of the field is serious cause for concern.

Kai looks up briefly at Mingyu’s approach before returning to his mud art. “Mr. Kim, have you ever liked someone?”

“Liked someone?” Mingyu drops onto the bench next to him.

“Like,” the little boy inhales trying to explain himself. “Like a girl?”

Mingyu snuffs out his chuckle at Kai’s innocent question. “Yeah, why do you ask? Do you like a girl?”

“I–My friend does!”

“Okay,” Mingyu nods.

“And he doesn’t know how to tell her.”

“Well that's tough.” 

“How’d you tell the girl you liked?”

“Well,” Mingyu drops to a whisper. “Once upon a time, I had a crush on this girl. And she was the prettiest girl I ever saw. Smart and funny too.”

“Did she run fast?”

The question confuses Mingyu at first but then he remembers he’s talking to a ten year old and the rules of attraction hinge on who gets the swing the highest and jumps off.

“She ran really fast,” he nods. “And she made me so nervous I couldn’t talk to her. My palms got all sweaty and my face turned red.”

“That happens to m—I mean my friend!”

“And it feels like there's a bunch of frogs jumping around your stomach?”

“Yeah,” Kai nods. “So how’d you tell her?”

“Well one day, I finally decided to introduce myself. Walked right up to her, opened my mouth and…poof.”

“Poof?”

“Poof.” Mingyu hangs his head. “I forgot everything I was gonna say to her.”

“What happened after that?”

“She waited a few minutes and then said ‘okay, I’ll meet you at 6:30 for dinner.’”

“She knew you liked her?”

Mingyu nods gravely before imparting his most sage wisdom. “Girls are very smart, Kai.”

“So I should try and tell her I like her?”

“Your friend should at least try,” Mingyu shrugs.

Kai blushes, having been clearly caught. “But what if she doesn’t like him back?”

“That’s okay. It just wasn’t meant to be.”

“Thanks, Mr. Kim. You’re the best!”

“You’re welcome, buddy.” Mingyu gives him a fist bump before shooing him back towards his friends. “Now go play kickball, the boys need your help.”

Kai runs off but a new presence fills the vacant seat on the bench. 

“I thought we agreed to keep our romantic life a secret at work.”

Mingyu smiles sheepishly before turning to look at you. “Oh, you heard that?” 

“Yeah, I heard,” you smile. “They already think you have a crush on me.”

“Smart kids.” He says, enjoying the way the worn sage button up swallows your figure. 

Mingyu loves when you wear his clothes, he told you this morning when you stole his favorite jacket. Which is why you both took almost twenty minutes to gain your composure after he spilled an entire tray of food on you. 

Mingyu swears he didn’t do it on purpose. How could he have known you were coming through the door at that very moment? But he’d do it again if it meant seeing you in one of the spare shirts he keeps in the truck again. Even if it meant he’d also sustain minor coffee burns.

“They think I have a crush on you too.”

You watch the way he traces your collar bone, catching the twinkle of the diamond pendant resting at the hollow of your throat; his birthstone. It was the first piece of jewelry he bought you when you started dating almost a decade ago. 

You hadn’t taken it off since the day he gave it to you with shaky hands and red ears.

“Do you?” He asks.

“Do I, what?”

“Have a crush on me?”

“Oh Gyu,” you coo at him. “I have the fattest crush on you.”

“Damn right you do.”

Sitting outside with an entire audience of other teachers and students doesn’t allow either of you to fall into the familiar comfort of adorning kisses or airtight hugs. But Mingyu’s pinky brushing yours in the ample space between your figures is enough for now.

Friday is Valentine’s day which means all the kids don red and pink outfits and prepare for a day of candy filled fun. You spent all morning helping the art teacher set up paint stations. Why she cashed in on the long owed favor with such a simple task was beyond you but the monotony is a nice change from the chaos you’ve experienced all week. When second period rolls around, you shuffle back to your classroom; welcomed by the line of students waiting outside your locked door. 

“I swear! I saw Mr. Kim and Ms. y/l/n at the grocery store last night.”

“Hana, Ms. y/l/n said its grown up business. Maybe you just saw people that look like them,” Arin shrugs. “And I don’t wanna get in trouble again.”

“It had to be them!”

They quiet down as they walk past your figure, smiling like cherubs when you greet them.

Students file in one by one, shrill voices echoing from excitement. Most cheer about their pizza party with Mr. Kim later that afternoon, a few squeals about the set of Valentine’s their parents sent with them to handout. 

Your ears catch a few other snippets of conversation as you wait for the stragglers to make it by. 

“Oh my gosh those are so pretty!”

“Those look like the flowers my mommy likes!”

Curiosity gets the better of you, forcing you to step into the room and see what the kids are talking about. 

An explosion of pink camellias resting on your desk. Huge blossoms with pale pink petals spill over the sides of the vase, slips of greenery sprinkled throughout. Approaching your desk, the floral aroma fills your nose. The blooms feel like soft velvet under the pad of your finger tracing the largest one in the center of the arrangement.

Who on earth?

As if on cue a mop of black hair peaks in from the hall. Mingyu eyes the bouquet and the pleased look on your face before allowing his own to break into his infamous smile.

“Just wanted to make sure they got here safe,” he calls.

You whip your head up, eyes wide and mouth open at the can of worms he just spilled.

“What?” Mingyu asks innocently. “Can’t a man buy his fiancee flowers?”

He disappears with a wink but his laughter at the chaos he’s stirred up can be heard miles away.

“MISS Y/L/N YOU’RE MARRIED?” Mark screams.

Another shrill voice answers, “Fiancee means they’re almost married, idiot!” 

“You lied to us!” Arin and Hana chorus.

Dropping into your chair, you hide your burning face in your hands. Coincidentally it also hides your shy grin from the hoard of ten year olds jumping in their seats at the news.Mingyu is in so much trouble.

A few weeks before the new school year starts, a group of nearly eleven year olds crowd into the pews of the massive church at the center of town. Stained glass reflects patterns over the marble floors, casting them in a rainbow of colors. 

Some sit on their hands to calm the adrenaline pumping through their tiny veins. Others rock back and forth in an effort to watch Mr. Kim strut down the aisle in a fancy looking suit. 

But all of them gasp when you turn the corner.

You look like a real life princess in your wedding dress, floating towards their science teacher waiting at the altar with tears and a smile matching your own.

When you and Mr. Kim kiss, the girls squeal and the boys blush.

Several rows ahead sits a small group of older students, who’ve long graduated elementary school and are headed to college in a few days. They exchange satisfied smiles and pat themselves on the back for getting their favorite fourth grade teachers together all those years ago.

Maybe now your new classes won’t try playing Cupid like they do every year given Mr. Kim finally married their favorite teacher.

-

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