Its SO Fluffy - Tumblr Posts
https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10639281/1/Oblivious
All I could think while reading this fic:
When I See A Tiny Kitten
Strikhedonia - Any character you like! :)
The pleasure of being able to say “the hell with it.”
Alistair x Warden, pre-relationship, sickening fluff
“Wynne, please, just once more?”
“That’s what you said last time, Alistair.” Wynne took another slurp of her stew, not bothering to look up from her bowl.
“I know, but this time is different, I swear. I can’t very well give her this pathetic thing, now can I?” He waved the bruised and flattened rose in front of Wynne after looking over his shoulder (again) to make sure the party hadn’t returned early.
Wynne tossed her spoon into her empty bowl with a loud clink before swiveling on the log to face him. “You should have thought of that the last time I helped you. Every time I cast a spell on that rose, it only gives you an excuse to avoid telling her how you really feel. You’ve had that since we left Lothering - how long ago was that?”
She knew exactly how long it had been, she just wanted to hear him say it. Alistair sighed. “All right, you’ve made your point. I know it’s been months, but every time I think about telling her, I just…I just…” A strained noise came from his throat.
Wynne was surprised to see the rose trembling in Alistair’s hand. She placed her hand over his to still it. “Oh dear, you’re terrified, aren’t you?”
Alistair jiggled his legs up and down, staring at the rose. “Ridiculous, right? Yes, I’m terrified. Terrified of becoming king, terrified of this blight, terrified of having my heart smashed to bits if she doesn’t feel the same way.” He pulled away from Wynne’s grasp and stared into the fire. “I’m a coward, and she’s the bravest, most wonderful person I’ve ever known. Why would she want to be with someone like me?”
Wynne had never heard him speak this way, so insecure and raw. She gently tugged his jaw so that he was facing her.
“Now you listen to me, Alistair Theirin,” she scolded, “I will not sit here and listen to you talk about yourself that way. I have seen you time and again run straight into battle without hesitation, how you taunt enemies away from the others and take all the hard blows and cracking wise all the while. You are a Grey Warden and you have the honor of being counted amongst the most selfless, bravest warriors in the history of Thedas. And not wanting to be King only means you’re smart enough to know what that entails and care little for power. So don’t sit there and tell me you’re a coward just because you have some romance jitters.” She smiled at him, her voice softening. “You know, the more of a wreck she makes you, the more you know it’s real.”
He snorted. “I don’t know if I can handle the realness, then.” He twirled the rose between his fingers.
“I wish I could tell you that it will definitely work out for the two of you, but it’s not for me to say. What I can say is this; life is very short, even more so for a Grey Warden. Please, don’t squander what little time you have left. You have to try.” Wynne’s palms began to glow with a pale white light.
Alistair’s face was awash with relief. “You are the best, anyone ever tell you that?”
She jerked her hands back. “Not so fast. Look me in the eye and promise me Alistair, swear to it, that you will give it to her tomorrow, or so help me, I will tell her myself.”
His face fell. “You wouldn’t!”
“I would, and I will. I wish it hadn’t come to this, but you’ve forced my hand. The Landsmeet approaches. Now swear it!”
“All right, all right, I swear, I will tell her tomorrow! Just - please.” He held out the rose.
Wynne hovered her hands over the flower and bathed it in her healing light. The petals plumped and returned to their original pink hue, the stem became strong and green again.
Alistair held the flower to his nose and inhaled, it was just as fragrant as the day he’d picked it. He hopped up from the log and planted a big kiss on Wynne’s temple, grinning from ear to ear like an idiot.
“To the void with it. What’s the worst that could happen? Some awkward moments and hurt feelings? It’s not like my stupid confession will somehow make the blight any worse.” He paused. “Thank you, Wynne. For everything.”
She could have told him that he needn’t worry, that his fear of his feelings being unrequited were entirely unfounded, that the Warden had made some confessions of her own to Wynne, but she had been sworn to secrecy, as much as it had been killing her to watch these fools dance around each other for months now.
Instead, she said, “Good night, Alistair. And good luck.”
My cousin made me a niffler for Christmas *-* He’s called Müffel (because my mum can’t remember it’s called a niffler). Müffel has already found all the shiny things in our house.
muse
hwang hyunjin x reader, fluff | m.list
wc: 2.1k
synopsis: you can't decide what to give hyunjin for his birthday. a/n: very self indulgent theme/fic!! i like to draw myself so i thought i'd write about it for his birthday :> i apologize for being a bit late, irl obligations have been kicking my ass lately i'm sorry my hyune but i hope you guys like it! T-T
march was a month full of new beginnings. the year was only starting, january and february flying by like a breeze. remnants of winter still clung in the air and on the branches of the trees, pillowing them with the softness of white snow. it was also getting warmer, the chill no longer having its harsh bite and welcoming the inevitable pinks and greens of spring to come. and for you, new beginnings also meant taking on projects that you never thought you would be able to do.
hyunjin's birthday was only a few days away, just a little less than a week from now.
you've spent the entire afternoon in a panic after the realization, racking your brain for any ideas, thinking what you could possibly do for his present only to come up empty handed. buying a gift for him is certainly the easier option and there was absolutely nothing wrong with it, seeing as hyunjin was the type of person to appreciate whatever you give him, be it big or small, expensive or not. it was just the matter of wanting to surprise him with a gift that he most likely doesn’t already have.
you sigh and rest your head on the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling in thought. your eyes silently wander towards the painting that hung on the wall of your tiny apartment.
it was painted by hyunjin himself, a bouquet of your favorite flowers that he had given you for your own birthday. you always loved staring at it, earning a place in your favorite corner of the room.
you often stare at it, delving into the intricacies of each brush stroke, how the colors come together in harmony, the symbolism and sentimentality behind it all, and just how much love was poured into making it. hyunjin truly had a talent in capturing the likeness and essence of his subjects, even the simplest ones.
it was almost tradition, how he makes his closest family and friends paintings when it was their birthday or when there was a special occasion. he used his oil paints that you've become familiar with, the dozens of tubes and pots of color messily strewn all across his little studio back at his dorm.
it was a such thoughtful gesture, painting that was. taking his time out of his day to make something out of nothing, showing that he truly cared about the person. whenever you would visit him on his days off, he was always immersed in his craft. adept fingers swiping over charcoal, hands dipping into paint, a sight you always love seeing. you still remember the photo you took secretly of him in his studio, blissfully painting the night away.
you drum your hands on the arm rest, returning to brainstorm for ideas, still in deep thought. and then it all suddenly clicked.
you have always admired hyunjin and his work, so why not make him one in return?
he was always giving others gorgeous pieces of art, he certainly deserved to have his own. you were no picasso and certainly no hyunjin, but the act of gift giving has always been your favorite way of showing your love.
you had a basic grasp of how the medium was used, having watched hyunjin more than enough times. the techniques he had taught you during one of your art sessions together might come in handy as well. the one and only problem was that it left you with such little time to finish it. oh well, it was better to start late than never.
the next day, you picked up and gathered the necessary materials from the art supply shop you knew hyunjin frequented, recognizing the different kinds of paints, sizes and types of canvases, and brushes that he likes to use. you laid them out on your living room floor upon arriving home, finally starting on your little project.
the remainder of the days leading up to his birthday were spent awake during ungodly hours into the night, full of endless trials and errors, scrapped ideas and tons of caffeine. your living room became your makeshift studio, a tarp laid down the center to catch the unavoidable mess you surely would be making. learning a completely different and unfamiliar medium from what you were used to was difficult, but you were determined and your mind was set.
-
hyunjin was getting worried. it had been a few days since he last saw you, nonetheless heard anything. he understood that the two of you were quite busy people, not always finding the time to talk. but after five missed calls and maybe a dozen texts over the span of two days and no reply? he was ill at ease.
maybe he was overreacting, but he knew that you would've at least sent something to acknowledge his texts. he decided to ask his friends about your whereabouts, asking if anyone had contact with you, only earning head shakes in return.
"have you tried going to their place?" chan asks the ravenette, leaning his back on the dance practice room’s mirrored walls. hyunjin huffs, mouth forming into a slight pout, shaking his head no. practice was getting more challenging as the comeback and schedules started to pile up, his attendance becoming crucial.
"you can go later, we don't have anything scheduled for tomorrow." his hyung removes his cap, fluffing his curls underneath. hyunjin breathes out a sigh of relief, sending him a quick thank you.
the older of the two nods in understanding, reaching a hand out to hyunjin upon standing on his feet. back to practice they went.
it was the night before his birthday. getting stubborn paint off your brushes was the worst, is what you've learned these past several days of non-stop painting. even with the appropriate solvent, the paint can and is still clinging stubbornly onto its fibers; leaving you in the bathroom sink to scrub them tediously under soap and some warm water.
your hands start to ache with all the scrubbing, perhaps growing tired as well from the painting, but you'd like to think that the momentary pain was worth it. the composition of it was finally starting to come together. the work flow became easier once you figured out a concept and a theme you were happy with, inspiration and motivation coming in effortlessly now. it only needed some last few touches, you could only hope he would like it as much as you ended up liking it too.
after the brushes were cleaned to the best of your abilities, you pat them dry, leaving them on the counter for the time being.
"y/n? are you home?" your hands still at the sound of the front door opening. it was undeniably hyunjin's voice.
you and hyunjin lived apart despite dating for quite a long while. it was a mutual agreement that it would be more convenient for the two of you to live separately, his job requiring him to live closer to his place of work. you gave him a spare key so he could come by whenever he liked, but you didn’t expect him at all to drop by today.
you originally thought nothing of it for a moment, even brushing it off. but then the panic started to set in. he would see it right away, the canvas sitting right in front of the living room with no cloth to cover it. if you go out now, you might have a chance of covering it up before he finds out.
rushing out of the bathroom after wiping your hands dry, you've quickly noticed how it had suddenly gone quiet. you peak around the corner, seeing him standing idly in the middle of your living room, still unaware of your presence.
it was too late. you see the familiar ebony locks greet you upon arriving. his mouth practically hanging open as he stares at the easel facing him, winter coat slung heavily on his left arm.
"surprise?" you flush upon seeing his head whip towards your figure, leaned against the arch of the doorway. it was also a little embarrassing, not having the time to clean up.
"is...that me?" he says in quiet disbelief. you can’t quite decipher if his reaction was good or bad but you nod, coming up to stand beside him. he stares at the canvas once more, no doubt taking in the details of it. you start to feel a little anxious under his gaze, silently wondering if he likes it.
"it's not done yet, that's why it looks a little rough." you pause, hesitation lacing your voice. he would eventually find out, having already seen it. “it was supposed to be your surprise birthday present.” is what you ended up saying, speech meek and low, barely audible.
his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he turns his eyes back to you. a noticeable redness staining his cheeks.
“wow,” he breathes out, tilting his head closer to gaze on the finer details. hyunjin pauses for a moment before replying. “this is beautiful.” his voice light, feathery. his fingertips, slender and lithe, hovering above as if to trace it. relief washed over you hearing him say it, your nerves easing and cheeks warming in return.
“you think so?” you purse your lips before smiling gratefully at him, noting the masking tape still plastered on its borders and small parts of it still unblended but thank him earnestly nonetheless.
“i figured since you always make people art on their birthday," you took to move to the couch, the ache in your body starting to take its toll. "i thought i'd give back and make you one too."
hyunjin was, in short- moved. the portrait was of him sitting in his art studio, the sun falling and spilling on his form peaking through the windows. although his elegantly curved back was turned and it was impossible to see his face, it was unmistakable that it was him.
he was truly not expecting anything, he was just happy with the prospect of just being with you on his special day. the thoughtfulness, sentimentality, and affection that came with making gifts with him in mind, he didn’t think it was possible to love you more than he already did. his eyes are lost in yours, the contours of his handsome face highlighted by the dim lights of your living room.
“i know it's bad but-”
hyunjin doesn’t let you continue, pulling you into a sudden kiss, throwing his coat on the couch haphazardly. your immediate response was to wrap your hands around his neck, hands wandering up and towards his hair. you could feel his smile on his mouth as he kisses you, grabbing the nape of your neck to steady your form. the kiss is intoxicating, feeling the love upon his soft movements, his warmth contrasting the chill from outside.
when he parts from you, he’s giddy, and jumping around like the happiest ferret you’ve ever seen. the wisps of hair fall to his temple, framing his beautiful face. “thank you, darling.”
“even if it’s not done yet- i love it,” he presses another kiss to the side of your mouth. “so much.” you could only laugh in response, completely flustered and enamored by his reaction.
hyunjin pulls you towards his chest, both arms locking around your shoulders. you could smell the perfume he always likes to wear. “is this why you weren’t picking up your phone?”
“my phone?” you pat your pockets in search, only to find it missing. your mind must’ve slid away, not knowing at all where it was but you could search for it later. “oh, yeah. m’ sorry.” the apology is muffled by the fabric of his shirt. he hums, his worries fading. you thought he was going to let you go, but he retaliates by resuming to press more kisses into you.
“okay, okay! thank you. i’m glad you like it.” you untangle his long arms from your body in order to stand up while hyunjin watches you do so, curiosity in his eyes. you already miss the warmth he radiated.
“but, technically-” you start by grabbing the easel and placing it near the wall and out of his view, grabbing the stray tubes of paint off the floor and putting them away in their basket. “it’s still not your birthday.”
his plump lips form into a pout as he continues to watch you clean up. “and i’m not quite done with it yet so you have to wait.” placing a quick ‘boop’ to his nose, you head to the bathroom to freshen up for bed.
hyunjin checks his wrist watch as he follows you suit, his white teeth poking out. his arms catch you once again, wrapping you from behind. "it's 12."
amused by his antics, you let out another laugh before turning around in his hold to face him again, pressing a kiss on his soft lips.”in that case, i’ill finish it as soon as possible and-”
"happy birthday, my dearest."
-
please reblog or leave a comment if you like my work! it motivates me to keep writing ♡ all works are written by hyunnie04, please do not repost on other sites.
Fall, For You
Peter Parker x fem!reader
Masterlist
Summary: Your family didn’t really celebrate Halloween growing up, but Peter is about to change that by doing everything autumn with you 🧡🍁
Word count: ~5.2k
Warnings: Slightly spooky stuff at the beginning? Terrible Halloween puns. Some adorable fluff. Reader uses she/her pronouns.
A/N: I hope you all love this! It’s been a bit stop and go writing this, but it’s inspired by my own fall activities this year! I love autumn, Halloween, and chilly weather, so enjoy this domestic cuteness with Peter <3 As always, please let me know if you enjoyed it! I love hearing from you
Keep reading
Lol I recently got my boyfriend sick so this was kinda funny
*cough cough* no, me kisses.
SUMMARY: he may have lost his opportunity to ask you to become official, but boyfriend or not, there’s only one thing Hannie wants needs: your kisses. All over his face. Right now.
WC: exactly 1.3k baby!
CW: it’s too fluff!! ahhh!! (scared) lol, mentions of the usual sick thingies like headaches and mucus (ew!), mentions of lipstick stains (because YES), use of petnames.
REQUESTED! by pookie dookie @4ln-stay8 right here. I owed you one for reading my angsty fics, so I gave my best with this one. tysm for your support, my love! <3
A/N: inspired on the jeekies bc this singlehandedly changed my brain chemistry (melts n giggles)
[☆★🧣★☆]
Jisung wanted to groan.
Meanwhile, you only wanted to giggle and take millions of pictures of him.
What for? Well, first of all, little Hannie was cutely hiding under his duvet.
Only Jisung’s big boba eyes blinked repeatedly as he sniffed, not because he was crying, but because the poor little thing couldn’t even smell anything. He kept the half down of his face under the blankets of his bed, as he surely knew he was blushing due to you being in his room.
He hadn’t been expecting you, and he wanted to groan and put on a tantrum —or however you use that word in a sentence— because you had to be there at that moment.
“Aw, Sunggie,” you melted at the sight of him, holding back the need to coo and pet him and treat him the small and cute hamster he so was. “Lix called,” you clarified with a toothy grin. “He said you were sick, and buzzed me in before he left.”
Jisung made a note to himself to remember to tickle Felix to death for that.
There was one thing he wanted, and while it was you the one who could give it to him, he felt quite shy from asking, as far as refraining from doing so just yet.
Because it was not like you two were dating officially. Yes, the big, fat crush he had on you was as obvious as shit, to put it in elegant words, but he hadn’t asked you yet.
He was going to ask you, but he got sick.
And that one thing he wanted from you was your sweet pouty lips peppering kisses all over his face.
You sat next to him, and sheepishly shook your head. “Let me tidy up this place for you and bring you some medicine and more tissues, yeah?”
Your voice felt soothing, he wanted to use it as a blanket and stay wrapped in it for the rest of the week.
His heart sent more blood to his cheeks. As if there wasn’t enough, he thought with a huff, big eyes watching your movements as you picked a plate that had been left there since the night before and started picking up the used tissues from the floor.
“…hi…” Jisung mumbled, his voice hoarse and his throat dry.
Was he sick? Sure. I mean, his head hurt, his eyelids felt heavy, his nose was runny and he had surely filled the floor of his room and a decent part of his bed with used tissues.
But despite all that, the thing he wanted the most was to cuddle you to his hearts content.
“Hi, gorgeous,” you snickered softly, and he couldn’t help but smile with you. “Want some water too?”
He coughed in response, and you giggled. He cracked his knuckles underneath the bed sheet, his hands tingling, wanting to take you by your shoulders and hug you like a boa constrictor.
“Guess we have to cancel for tonight,” you mumbled with a small smile, your hand tenderly stroking his hair away from his forehead. “I’ll go leave my coat and bag in the living room and I’ll come back, yeah?”
He pouted without realizing. “Mmhhh…” he hummed with a small frown, almost like a whine.
You were about to mumble a soft ‘what’s wrong?’ before he shoved the covers away from his face as he gingerly raised his hand to grab your wrist and settled your palm back on his forehead. He sighed in small relief, melting into the coldness that lingered in you from being outside.
“Headache?” You said almost in a whisper, hearing the butterflies’ wings going crazy in your stomach.
He nodded. If he had been a cat, he would be purring, even if your hand had already turned warm against his skin.
“C’mon, Jisung-a,” your voice felt even softer than before. “I’ll come back before you know it.”
He sniffed. “…you will…?”
Your heart crushed, unable to handle how cute Han looked. It was too much, so much that even the butterflies in your stomach started to have their own butterflies in their stomachs.
And with a smile, you moved your hand to his cheek and planted a shy tender kiss on his forehead.
“I will. Pinky promise.” You chuckled softly, a blush slowly creeping up to your cheeks.
His eyes widened, and his heart skipped a beat.
Oh, no. Now he knew what one of your small kisses felt like.
Now you couldn’t leave. Not before… oh.
He grinned slyly, making you raise your eyebrows, wondering what could he be thinking in that cute little head of his.
“…we’ll… make a deal…” he stated as firmly as he could.
You shrugged lightly, secretly enjoying the faint pink hue of your lipstick that had stained his forehead.
“Sure, Hannie.” Your smile only made the fact that you’d leave for, like, ten minutes —or God, maybe even more— feel a lot worse.
“I… want… more of those…” he blushed deeply.
“More of those?”
He took your hand and covered his eyes with it.
“I want more kisses.” He sniffed again.
Your mouth quickly formed the shape of an ‘o’, as your blush quickly turned a deeper shade of red, as if to compete against his.
You giggled, moving your hand from his face.
“You want my kisses, jagi?” You teased with a smirk.
He felt his heart going crazy in him, a tight feeling in his chest that turned his ears red.
“Aww, but aren’t you too sick for that?”
Oh, no.
You weren’t just going to give him a small kiss and then not continue all morning and all evening… right?
That couldn’t be allowed. Was it? He tsked at the thought. He had to make sure it wasn’t.
He coughed, pouting.
“No.” He coughed again. “Me. Kisses.” He sniffed. “Now.”
You laughed loudly, a sort of laugh that went right in Han’s little heart and filled it up with energy. He didn’t feel that gloomy sensation that being sick could cast over someone.
Instead, he squinted at you playfully.
“You have ten minutes, missy.” He said, already looking much better, emotionally wise at least. “Or else.”
You giggled, sheepishly pecking the corner of his lips.
"You can set up a timer, you cheeky idiot."
He moved his hand to his heart in an overly dramatic gesture that made you cackle, as he chuckled too, trying to ignore how fast his heartbeat felt under his hand.
Nine minutes and forty three seconds later forty four, forty five... you had settled a plastic bag next to his nightstand, had stolen a tissue box from the living room, and right now, you were smiling, walking one step in front of the other, carefully so to not spill over the soup you had made for him.
"It's amazing. You have to try it, I've outdone myself." You chuckled as he sat up on his bed, gingerly waiting. You left the tray on his crossed legs, moving his desk chair and nonchalantly taking a seat close to him.
"C'mon." You snickered. "Eat up." He finished it without a single complaint.
"Good boy." You teased, cackling loudly when you saw him blush.
"That's not fair," he mumbled with a pout.
"Scooch aside, Mr fairness."
You moved the pillows and laid next to him, shyly putting your arm below his neck, and then passed the other over his chest.
His face was practically in front of you.
"Hi." You grinned cheekily.
"...oh, h-hi." You giggled at his shyness. You hid the fact that you had reapplied your lipstick in the kitchen before bringing the soup, and started peppering soft kisses on his forehead, his cheeks, his nose, the corner of his mouth...
Oh, you were surely going to catch whatever he had.
[☆★🧣★☆]
~Kats, who doesn't understand why tumblr won't let her stack pictures when answering asks, reason why I post them separately, lol. Thanks for the request, gorgeous!
Kekeke the fucking shampoo bottle sent me
— KEEP IT BUSINESS. a Lee Minho fiction
Lee Minho x f. reader
TROPE. best friends to lovers, coworkers! au, first kiss? au (hehe), domestic/soft minho, fluff
WARNINGS. cursing, making-out, inexperienced kissing, annoying coworkers
WORD COUNT. 6.9k words
AUG'S NOTES. so glad to have finally completed this!! it’s been rotting in my drafts for weeks and i just had to write a happy ending for these two grandparents 🫶🏼
PLAYLIST.
SYNOPSIS. Life can be a mess, and with you and Minho as the only two singles in your office building, an impertinent Valentine’s day leaves no choice but to make a pact.
or alternatively :
If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.
Four years.
It’s been four years since you first met Lee Minho, working with him at the same company, becoming the best of friends. And yet, the same dread lay specially reserved for the same season.
The season of love, or, to most people, Valentine’s day.
.
.
.
Alarm set for 6:30AM. Work from 8:30AM to 4PM. Every day of the week, every year.
Initially, the experience was relatively enjoyable. It paid well, wasn’t too harsh on hours, and other coworkers minded their own business (at least in your case) without being a pain.
Then the loneliness set in.
It was subtle at first, a tiny pang in your heart when you returned home to a dark, cold apartment while others would be greeted by a pet, a loved one.
So when Lee Minho, a new member of the company assigned as your apprentice came along, you tend to think meeting him was, in a weird, spontaneous manner, meant to be.
And four years later, when he had grown from that apprentice-ship and became established as an employee, you still hold onto that “meant to be” philosophy.
Busied chatter fills the downstairs cafe, familiar faces alike brimming with conversation, breath coffee-stained.
Peering across the various assortment of tables, you spot him, two identical cups in each hand, wearing that bemused expression as usual.
At this point, Minho has memorized your order by heart, arriving early after his daily stop by the nearby animal shelter (whose manager knew by heart). Most morning’s you’d await a picture of the newest addition to the feline section, a photo he proudly shows off like his own trophy.
You’re genuinely surprised his residence isn’t a constantly growing cat-kingdom.
“Looking forward to it?”
Brows furrowing, you sidle to his right and dish the warm beverage into your grasp.
“Looking forward to wha— wait wait don’t say it. I want to pretend it doesn’t exist.” Hurriedly waving your hands, Minho cracks a grin.
The cursed word in question being: Valentine’s day.
You can’t say you hate it. It never did anything to you, nor did it leave you heartbroken. To put it simply, the office over the first few weeks of February was a close-resembling spinoff to Singles Inferno except, much spicier and way too inappropriate in broad daylight.
Meaning, for the past five years (four joined by Minho), merely mentioning said season of love urges impending dread and deep frowns.
“All I’m gonna say is I would not want to be a doctor over Valentines,” You wince, sipping the warm drink with a squeamish face.
Minho sighs vehemently, propping an elbow against the computer cart behind him.
“I bet you could witness more vibrators in that hospital than in an Adam and Eve,” He grumbles, watchful eyes surveying the daily crowd occupying tables and chairs in the building’s downstairs café.
Slamming a fist to your chest to correct your breathing, your eyes practically bulge from your skull, evidently caught of guard.
Leave it to Minho to make you suffocate before your shift even begins.
8am is prime time for socialization—otherwise before Mrs. Song decides to unleash her wrath on newbies. She has good intentions, sure, but let’s just say most anyone was petrified upon first meeting her.
Luckily, your department with Hyeongmi, Minho, and Felix was secluded on the far side of the building, leaving you out of the woman’s hair, free to work as you please.
Yet, Mrs. Song wasn’t the problem, not when it came down to the month of February.
Your phone’s alarm signaling to start moving momentarily wards off the thought, and either of you begin toward the elevator, flat expressions describing the sinking feeling better than words.
Back at it, again.
Because by your lunch break, you can’t fathom entering the cafeteria, not if it costs you your life.
Everywhere you look someone is making out, confessing their love, or, worst you’ve seen it all day, genuinely fucking in the bathrooms.
Perhaps you’d send Minho a text you’re making an escape by eating in the office, invite him up for some solace.
Except, it seems he had the same idea.
Scrambling through the door, you enter at the same time, heaving sighs of exasperation upon securing much needed privacy.
Making prolonged eye contact, your thoughts come spilling out.
“If I witness another make-out in the stairwell I’m ending it all.”
“Boxes of chocolates are officially ruined for me now.”
Four years and it never gets old. Same old painful memories, same old excitement for the day to come and go. And it’s not like you hate the holiday itself, you two just.. heavily dislike the immense bucketloads of PDA and office hookups that come along with it.
Not-so-gracefully flopping down onto your chairs, you practically shovel food down, gladly accepting the few rolls of gimbap Minho places onto your plate.
Customary sharing. You give him some of your food, he gives you some of his.
In those brief minutes of silence do you get the opportunity to fully comprehend your own thoughts, prior to Minho clearing his throat.
“Drinks at my place?”
Your grown loudly in agreement.
Minho : Okay, I’m leaving, follow me in thirty minutes
Glancing up, you watch your counterpart lift his brows your way and call out his departure, sifting through the doorway, cross body bag thumping against jeans.
Hyeongmi was downstairs, which, as awful as it sounded, was great not having to endure her nosiness.
This was how you stayed unbothered. He’d leave, and thirty minutes later you would too in order to (for now) avoid Mrs. Song (and Hyeongmi’s) pestering.
It couldn’t have taken the clock longer to reach 4:30PM. So by the time the beloved minute hand struck 4:29 you practically lurched from your seat, almost tasting sweet freedom before a face showed up right before you slipped through the exit.
Hyeongmi’s face.
What she’s talking about you can’t seem to understand, mind trained on escaping and escaping alone.
“C’mon now, you two are the only two in this building without a date. It’s been four years, Y/n! You need to let loose!” Hyeongmi emphasizes, dizzying your head the longer she shakes your shoulders.
“You do realize everyone has the hots for him but that he only hangs out with you, right? I’m telling you, it’s a sign—“
“Sorry Hyeongmi, I really have to go-“
Fastening your bag tigher across your body, you make a mad-dash as far away as possible, pretending to ignore the “use protection!” she shouted before the crisp evening breeze nipped your nose.
Use protection my butt, you grovel, ushering the scarf further above your chin as if to secure as much warmth possible.
She doesn’t know anything, not about how you took him under your wing as your apprentice the first year he joined, not about how much Minho loves cats, or how the keychain on that crossbody bag of his is a keychain you bought for him.
Simply placing it, she’s a person lead by the assumptions of others and adopting them as her own.
It irritates you.
Veering to your right, you thank his decision to house nearby, arriving at the foot of his porch after a mere ten-minute walk.
Delivering a few knocks on the townhome’s doorway, you note the paint chipping, colorful exterior worn from the sun’s rays.
Everything from the few cracks in the sidewalk to the relatively invisible stain of coffee on his doorknob lay memorized by frequency—his property second nature to you.
“Never have I hated being single this much,” You whine, slumping onto his couch after hurling your bag atop a hook in the foyer.
And despite the lack of response, you can tell Minho heard you. The faint, breathy chuckle enough evidence of his presence.
Perched on a chair he’d likely dragged from the kitchen, a feline companion occupies his lap, both comfortably relaxing on the patio, wine glass in hand.
Accordingly arranged on the countertop is another glass (you presume as yours), that you pour the vinegar-tinged substance into.
“I mean.” Slightly struggling to haul a neighboring chair to his side and simultaneously avoid splashing wine everywhere, you eventually find an equilibrium.
“It’s not like I asked to be single, I’m just too busy to consider a relationship, y’know?”
Minho absentmindedly hums, urging you to take a much-needed sip of the orchid-colored liquid.
Finally, you sigh out the last of your evening’s thoughts.
“..Hyeongmi caught me on the way out.”
Nor does this occasion need a reply either, the man’s suppressed giggle suitable enough.
“Mm.. I’ve got an idea.”
Carefully allowing the elongated glass to clink atop a translucent table, you cross and uncross your legs, welcoming the rustle of life around you into your eardrums, easing the cluttered space of your brain.
“Shoot.”
He clicks his tongue, gaze flitting to the emerging moon overhead.
“If we’re still single by twenty-five, we date each other.“
Making a surprised sound to yourself, you break into unadulterated laughter, about to call him hilarious before taking into account this is Minho you’re referring to, and the likelihood he’s joking on any matter is unlikely.
Sure it sounds cliché, but it’s Minho, why not?
…And perhaps that decision was made with a few glasses of wine in play.
“I’m in.” You grin, returning his outstretched hand by bumping your glasses before downing the remaining gulp, cheeks aglow, alcohol ridding your breath a distasteful stench.
Tipsy. Minho is charming normally, but especially when he’s tipsy.
He’s got this way of speaking that could get any unsuspecting girl reaching to unzip his pants in a second, sultry, half-lidded eyes drinking the person in front of him, talking like he has sugar lining his lips.
When Minho is tipsy, he’s tempting. You didn’t need four years to teach you that.
That, and the spare pajama set folded in his top drawer reserved solely for you on nights like this—too gone to go home.
Although, as you rise to your feet and head to the bathroom, pulling said silk pajama shirt over your head, Hyeongmi’s words reverberate again.
You do realize everyone has the hots for him but that he only hangs out with you, right?
Hm. Minho was always a recluse though. And with your history, obviously he’d have some liking for you.
It’s been four years, Y/n! You need to let loose!
Turning to stare at yourself in the mirror, you sulk, head hanging low.
What if you did something tonight? Something risky, something testing the limits this friendship borderlines. You’re both drunk, likely willing.
Then again, does Minho want this too? Did he ever intend to “let loose”?
Anxiety plagues you, hurriedly scurrying your pants over your legs and exiting to find Minho still seated in the same spot, appearing all the more tempting without having to do a thing.
You blame the alcohol.
Stamping forward as if you prepared a speech, you stop just behind his chair, mustering any ounce of liquid courage manageable.
“Minho.”
He grunts.
“You’re really pretty.”
Let loose. This is letting loose when it comes to Minho.
What, you thought you were gonna fuck? Yeah, that’s a funny one.
Winding himself around to see you, his lips wind into a sweet smile, urging you closer with a mere look before he reaches forward and taps your nose, dark eyes roaming your face.
“I’ve always thought you were pretty too.”
And perhaps, caught in a trance from his glittering stare, something did happen those four years you’ve been together after all.
You blame the alcohol.
The impulsive part about this “date at twenty-five” pact you had forgotten to consider was the fact both of you were twenty-four, meaning in less than a year whatever plan Lee Minho had stirred up after plenty glasses of wine would oil it’s gears into motion.
Thankfully Valentines comes and goes, and Summer creeps dangerously close, the longer hours of daylight and lingering sunshine enough to make every work-day feel extra laborious.
First day of summer, Minho texts you, asking if you want to join him on a walk.
Mind you, it’s 10AM in the morning, an hour you couldn’t fathom waking up at on the first day of summer.
You groan and flop back down, shutting off your phone and slamming the pillow over your head in a pitiful attempt at falling back asleep.
Only for your doorbell to ring twenty minutes later.
Over.
And over.
And over.
The urge to screech compels your barely-awake form, legs wobbling out of bed to feebly reach the doorway in a sleep-ridden haze.
Of course, lo and behold, Minho lies responsible, clad in running shoes, a pair of shorts, and a black nike zip-up.
He’s evidently pleased—whether from how disheveled you appear—or that he actually got you out of bed in the first place by the lingering smile tugging at his lips.
You hate to say it, but he’s annoyingly attractive, there’s no denying.
“Caught you at a bad time, hm?” He tips his head down to make eye-contact, peering through wild hair and lidded eyes at your half-alive self.
All you can manage out is a minuscule grunt, about to close the door before Minho jars his hand in, inviting himself inside much to your dismay.
Like instinct, he heads straight to your closet, surveying the chaos his insistent door-bell ringing caused before fetching a sweatshirt to pull over your head and a pair of socks from your drawer.
Though, as you wake up a tad bit more, you hurriedly keep him from putting your socks on for you as he bends down, shying away with an irritated whine.
“If this is what dating you is like I’m calling off the pact,” You mumble, stomping toward the door with Minho pushing you forwards without chance of escape.
He giggles, seeming to contain utmost glee witnessing your temper tantrum.
“Oh trust me sweetheart, the fun never ends.”
He’s hopeless too, apparently.
Lucky for you, your friend’s visits occurred sporadically, meaning the 10AM wake up calls weren’t a daily routine of headaches.
In contrast, summer passed by in a flash, and you were shoved head-first into a packed schedule for a second time as the autumn leaves shriveled into crisp browns and oranges.
Autumn was always welcomed. It meant the chilling cold was approaching, yes, but it also signified apple cider being added to the downstairs café menu and—on those especially chilly mornings—bundling your neck in the scarf Minho bought you last christmas.
As for him, he frequents pointed shoes and straight-legged pants, his fudge-colored hair perfectly complimented by pumpkin scented fragrances and dusky red backdrops.
Brisk mornings call for thinking. And as you walk, you come to the indefinite conclusion apple cider fits Minho. Sweet, but not saccharine. Warm to the touch, reminiscent with a charming aftertaste. A silhouette that comes and goes as it pleases, leaving soon enough for you to crave it back again.
Regarding summer, he was sort of like a beach day. A vacation in the midst of roaring deadlines, the comfortable lull of waves buzzing your mind into a hazy, salty escapade.
Although as December plucks each oak of its splendor, a call on Sunday morning truly marks the season of winter.
“..Y/n?” Minho murmurs, his voice groggy, hoarse. You make a sound of acknowledgment in response.
“I think I’m sick, can you drop off some meds at the door?”
Pressing your phone close to your ear, you debate on your desire to scold him, remind him each time he gets a winter cold he should dress warmer.
Of course, your lips stay shut (just like they always have for the past few years), and you reply with a “Be there soon, hang tight” before ending the call and gathering your belongings.
At the supermarket you check out seaweed soup, multivitamins, and allergy relief—things of which you hope will alleviate some of his symptoms.
Eternally grateful for the spare key you’d been given a while back, you enter the home, calling his name until an exasperated sign of life was heard (more like coughed) from the bedroom.
Inside lay Minho, a distressing array of tissues scattered in all directions, clustered beyond belief. His nose is soured pink from incessant stuffiness, lips cracked and dry. Dark circles sag beneath tired eyes, worn disposition evidence of his condition.
Quick on your feet, you scour the bathroom for a thermometer, the device’s loud beep signifying a blaring fever as you hover by his bedside.
Watching the bowl of instant soup spin aimless circles in the microwave, Minho’s call knocks you out of your daydream, worriedly padding to where he lays.
“Come here.”
You oblige, arriving to his right, about to ask the matter until his fingers link with your own, bringing the back of your hand to his jaw, resting there.
If you had been warm before, an entirely new definition to sweating has been reached at this point.
“You’re warm,” He whispers, rubbing his face against your hand like a needy cat wanting attention.
How unfair a human can be this round.
Practically bounding from the inside, you use the excuse of the microwave beeping to race off, hurriedly disappearing into the kitchen while remaining ignorant to the way Minho’s gaze follows you.
Returning with a soup platter meticulously carried between your tight grip, you sigh with relief upon sitting the steaming concoction down. Oh so slowly, a frown grows at your face upon noticing the expectant stare boring into your head.
“Yes?”
He juts out his bottom lip like a kicked puppy from your nonplussed tone, nudging the covers over himself till only those calculating eyes peek out.
“I’m not feeding you.”
Minho all but whimpers, and you suppress the urge to smother him with a pillow right then and there, hating how easily he sends goosebumps prickling the back of your neck, heat scalding your ears.
“No.”
“Y/n.”
You quite literally feel like the cruelest person in existence because why is he looking at you with that face, saying your name like that.
Grumbling beneath your breath, you begrudgingly collect a spoonful, bringing the utensil to his already pursed lips.
Spoonful by spoonful do you feed him as if he’s a dependent toddler, his satisfied hums earning a stern glare in return.
Only when he finishes eating do you get up, reprimanding him on taking his meds without much bite to your words.
“And don’t take too many of these, alright? If it gets really bad, call me again. Otherwise, try getting sleep.”
“Yes ma’am.”
And of course he has to be endearing.
Such a pain.
You’ll stop by tomorrow.
If Minho was the apple cider in autumn and beach days in the summer, he’s the prettiest of snowflakes in the midst of winter.
Memorable, fleeting. Melting in your touch.
The annual Christmas party the company hosts steadily approaches, your coworkers ringing your phone insistently with noticeable anticipation.
Though just like autumns chill, December soars past idly, reigning in a new year and a new digit added to twenty when asked your age.
Your winter premise only heightened the anxiety compiling in your gut, a feeling you hadn’t recognized until the following day—the first day back to work in January—dawned.
January 1st’s introduction means you’re both officially twenty-five, and you’re not sure if it’s the fact Minho hasn’t texted you yet or the valentines pact in itself setting you on edge.
What would it be like to date Minho? Would he kiss you, the same way male leads in K-dramas did? Hold you as you sleep, wish you goodbye with a kiss to your cheek?
The mere thought sends rivets of electricity blazing your fingertips, feeling like an utter fool for imagining such scenarios.
Now you’ve haunted yourself for worse, leaving only dread in tow.
Arriving at the office the first day back, you attempt at making yourself look as collected as possible, definitely not bothered.
Worse, the root of your troubles walks in unbothered as you’ve been trying to do for the past few hours, the room working in deplorable silence before a note wedges itself behind your keyboard, Minho slipping past in its wake.
It takes all your will-power to ignore the crumpled piece of paper as best as possible, your index itching to unravel whatever lay inside.
Noon is when you finally give in, lungs failing to produce air upon reading the contents, practically choking on nothing.
Come over to my place after work.
What is this, his way of declaring your pact officially in action? What if he calls it off, saying it was only a joke glasses of wine granted?
As Hyeongmi said before, everyone has the hots for him, so why don’t you? Why does the thought of him calling it off put you on edge?
Or maybe you do. Maybe you do have feelings for—
Woah. Stop there.
Luckily, your internal chess match went unnoticed, leaving only the buzzing of your ears and the ticking of the clock loud.
A certain fondness sat between either of you from the start, since becoming acquainted you’ve instantly clicked—sly remarks and playful teasing merely one more thing keeping you alive (minus coffee).
So when something crossing the border between friends and lovers arose, a sort of nervousness bubbled in your gut.
Minho was a shoulder to cry on for you, but was it like that?
You could rely and depend on each other whenever, but could those feelings ever turn into love?
Of course they could, and they likely would’ve if it weren’t for either of you being so work-oriented—making you even more worried.
Although, you can’t simply flee. You’re an adult.
..And Minho will find you in a heartbeat if you decide to run.
Never had you been hesitant to leave office until now, and trodding one foot in front of the other causes your legs to turn into jelly.
Minho probably isn’t this nervous. He’s probably in a great mood, treating the occasion like it’s just another casual day.
Never before was it difficult, whether difficult is referred to as placing a key in a doorway or walking inside, everything seems so.. eminent.
Like when you walk through this door, an entirely new side of Minho will show face. A romantic side of Minho.
Yet, there’s no rose petals lining the hallway, nor scented candles scattered here and there.
What is there to expect with dating in your twenties anyway?
Plus, Minho’s well, Minho. If he wanted to, he likely would’ve flat-out asked already.
Something you’re surprised about, however, is the triangular string decor swooping from the ceiling, the party hats by the sink, a single birthday candle placed in the center of a cupcake. Simple, perfect.
Although, the perfect factor came with the man responsible, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, bracing himself on the countertop with a particular glow in his irises—whether it be from the lit candle you aren’t sure—that sets your stomach into a garden of butterflies.
A surprise party. He threw you a surprise birthday party.
And it’s then as enter the kitchen, brain barely recognizing each advance forward, you realize it.
You really, really want to date him.
And you really, really don’t want to screw this up.
Staring at each other, you rise up on your toes to place a careful, feather-light peck on the smooth, flushed skin of his cheek.
Slowly, he turns his head, a conniving smirk revealing the outline of his teeth whilst investigating your breathlessness.
“Someone’s daring,” He mumured, cocking a brow amusedly.
You poke his side, groaning that he shouldn’t look too far into it before he nudges you, your frown returned with a subtle nod—directed at the forgotten cupcake.
“Well you already gave me a kiss, so wish for something else.”
“Choke,” You respond, but there’s still no bite to it. Some things never change.
Minho gently holds your hair back for you, allowing you to lean over and blow out the candle. No bite.
Your wish?
Let Minho and I go well. I like us.
Every bit of it was the truth.
Hopefully this wish of yours can come true.
Maybe.
Seated on the living room floor do you finally relax, your shoulders slumping down after hours of monstrous tension. Seems you’d forgotten he was your best friend before anything else.
“So.. how does this work?”
‘Work’ as in, the dating deadline’s here, what’s next?
He purses his lips—a habit of his—blinking rapidly.
“Like friends? Except we get the kissing and sex pass in between, right?”
You smack his shoulder. He smiles, childishly extending his pinky out to you.
Linking yours, you press the pad of your thumb against his. An unspoken gesture.
“Together?”
Through thick and thin. Your way, as it always was, always had been.
He has stars in his tawny-globes for eyes.
“Together.”
Minho’s hands are warm in the midst of frigid temperatures.
Spring isn’t too far off, but the bitter winds remain ceaseless and unrelenting, whipping your hair every which way, scattering a plethora of goosebumps along your skin.
Never had you held hands like this with someone before, nonetheless Minho, and yet, a connection lies inside the initial awkwardness. The silent assurance, whether it’s his thumb smoothing your palm or occasional squeezes, telling you he understands, that you’re not alone, or how he patiently waited by the door the entire time you were getting ready, claiming he didn’t want to dirty your place with his shoes.
It’s sort of revitalizing. Curious and inquisitive in his lingering touches, additional notes—reminders on your coffee cup, questions asking whether you want to stay over afterward, if he can give you a kiss on the cheek.
One in particular you recall:
I miss you. Scribbled in bleeding ink.
Your introduction as lovers had been a field day of trials and questions for the two of you, though when it came down to the public’s knowledge, you began debating on the “curiosity killed the cat” theory.
This morning, catching a glimpse of the company’s logo in the distance, you assign yourself as the cat. Too interested, now suffering the consequences.
Granted, you wouldn’t take back moving to relationship status, but it was a lot easier to brush off comments if you were Minho.
Hyeongmi being the main one responsible for said comments.
Morning passed by seamlessly, prioritizing work above all else, too busy typing away to for any interruptions.
..Until a midday conference.
Seated right next to each other, his fingers slowly thread with yours beneath the table, sending the man a perplexed (and slightly nervous) expression in response.
More so, the comforting casualness caused you to barely recognize Mrs. Song reaching below to fetch her fallen pen, a gasp of surprise stilling the conversation at her realization.
“Are you- Are you two holding—?”
Panicked, you smack his hand away, stomach plummeting.
Not expecting him to stubbornly grab your hand again, a miniature frown draws across his perfectly rose lips.
Pouting.
Lee Minho is pouting because you’re not letting him hold your hand.
Unbelievable.
If the situation could escalate further, the she-devil herself (Hyeongmi) throws her head down to spare a glimpse, allowing you to fully accept your demise. A demise that, one way or another, needed to happen.
This was simply an early death.
“You’re kidding! No way you guys are a thing?” The eccentric girl mouths the last words, eyebrows drawn to her hairline.
And just like that, your relationship with Minho ventured out of your pocket and into a brand new wilderness.
“So…what’s it like living everybody’s dream?”
Headed to the bathroom, Hyeongmi stops you, leaned over the mirror, carefully inspecting her plum-colored lipstick.
“What?” You pique, confusedly glancing between her and the empty stall you’re trying to nonchalantly slip into.
“I mean, the entire company’s talking about it. Tell me, are you guys actually official? Or is this all just for the attention? No offense, but-“
“I...”
Want to punch you in the face.
You keep it to yourself.
“I’m gonna go.”
Synonymously, both your bladder and your appetite completely disappeared.
Although, she doesn’t leave you alone.
You’re frantically searching for excuse after excuse, speed-walking and taking the stairs any chance available.
Unfortunately for you, she’s everywhere. At some point you’re certain a tracking device is hidden somewhere on your clothes.
Almost there. From silently pleading help with your eyes to legitimately hiding in your workplace, today couldn’t have been more of a joke.
Or so you thought.
“Y/n?”
“Yes, Hyeongmi?”
“With Minho,” She nervously fiddles with her earrings. “You don’t have to tell me but.. how’s the bedroom?”
Apparently, it can go lower.
Before you can respond to her shamelessness, a grip fastens on your shoulders, cologne distinct enough you can tell exactly who it is.
Your beach day.
“Hyeongmi, you do realize that’s rude, yeah? Let’s not cross boundaries we shouldn’t cross, got it?”
All the while Minho smiles, this cloying, “I dare you” sort of attitude no one can argue with.
Averting her attention, she speedily raises up, humorlessly laughing off the tension while excusing herself from the room.
“You okay?” He whispers, breath ghosting over the shell of your ear, pressing a chaste kiss there.
Yeah, there’s no getting used to this.
“Yep,” You say, though there isn’t much sincerity it.
He knows.
“Wait for me here, let’s walk home together.”
Ah. You want to kiss him.
“Minho.”
He turns on his heel.
Kiss me.
You’re holding his collar now, the option on the tip of your tongue, his lips a hairbreadth from yours.
Close, closer.
No. Not yet.
Either way, what do you know about kissing? What if you screw up?
Not yet.
“..Okay.”
Your gaze flits down to his lips if only for a second. A small, cheeky grin adorning his face as he follows your movements.
It’s hard to focus when he leaves, because all you can think about is the possibilities. What if you had kissed him? Would he have kissed you back?
By the way looked at you, the logical response would be: yes. Most people don’t stare at someone like that without the intent to kiss them, right?
Though somehow, you can’t help but feel unprepared, a complete novice in this battlefield of love.
Where Minho took you afterward was a mystery, merely happy to be away from the confines of your desk—letting his eager hand guide you wherever he pleased.
Shielded beneath the shade of two trees, your destination, Yeouido Park, is a spectacle during the transition period of winter to spring. You’d oftentimes spend hours here, basking in the relief a break grants. A spectacle where you two first truly met.
“Alright, be honest with me.”
He spins you around till you’re face to face, carefully analyzing your facial expression.
“Are you really okay? After Hyeongmi said that, I couldn’t stop thinking..”
Oh. That careful crease in his eyebrows, sympathetic.
He’s breaking your heart.
You realize now why everyone falls in love with him.
“Of me?”
The words come out involuntarily, a step forward in the newness, paving light through the darkened abyss.
“Yeah..” He says, a little winded while doing so.
Minho cares, he always had, yet, it’s your first time hearing it aloud.
“Y/n.”
Blinking yourself back into reality, your face grows warm, not intending to deliberately space out right in front of him.
He leans forward, causing you to shrink back into your skin as a kiss is planted right atop your nose, the man wearing a satisfied grin.
“Hey- You can’t- It’s not Valentines yet—“
“And why would I wait until Valentine’s day?”
Another deeper red burns your cheeks, and you scorn the way he gets under your skin—a way that makes every insult dissolve like powder on your tongue.
He notices, but decides not to prod further, lightly bumping your hip with his own as a signal to follow.
“Tomorrow is the day, y’know,” You mumble, kicking rocks with the tip of your shoe.
“Are we gonna turn into those couples?” He asks, pretentiously puckering his lips, eyes squinted shut.
You burst out laughing.
“I would break up with you first, sorry Minho.” Said puckered lips transform into a playful scowl.
“What? No treat for valentines?”
Blinking babydoll eyes up at you, you wrinkle your nose, coming to recognize what “treat” he was implying.
Earlier you would’ve kissed instantly, but an inkling of stubbornness kept you from giving into him this time.
Sneaking behind you, he ducks down, voice low enough for only your ears to hear.
“Didn’t seem you were too against it earlier.”
And with that, he races off, entirely too happy with himself and not likely to live down your reaction. Because you can’t disagree.
Since when were Lee Minho’s lips so kissable?
Knock.
Knock.
Your attention strays from the mirror at the sound, wondering if it was simply a figment of your imagination only for the sound to ensue.
Knock. Knock.
Who would be at your door at this hour in the middle of the week?
There’s a name on your tongue, but you don’t contemplate any longer, tiptoeing to the doorway to peer through the peephole.
And the sight before you makes every ounce of suspicion worthwhile.
Minho, holding a bouquet of roses and things unknown behind his back, is reciting.
He’s staring at his shoes, bouncing back and forth on his heels nervously.
Lee Minho is nervous.
Wanting just to stand there and watch him rehearse, you finally give in after a third knock scares you out of your wits—hesitantly opening the door and trying to placate the most surprised expression possible.
His eyes round as saucers, you literally watch the gears in his head turn in real time, extending the flowers out to you.
“Happy valentines. These are uh, for you.”
And his ears are red.
You’re going to implode from how cute this is.
Attempting to stave down the alarming amount of happiness you’re experiencing, you hold the flowers in one hand, awaiting whatever lie behind his back.
Although, as the outline of a box of chocolates appears, so does… a shampoo bottle.
What.
Bathing in a long silence, you can’t help but wonder you’re genuinely hallucinating. Glancing from his face to the literal shampoo in hand, he mirrors you, confused for a reason you’re trying to figure out as well.
“Is that… a shampoo bottle?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you were running low the last time I came here.”
…
You’ve never received a valentine before, but this automatically took the cake.
Is it possible to fall in love after you’re given a shampoo bottle as a gift on valentines? Apparently so.
Nonetheless, work flashed past, barely able to register a thing between the many congratulations you received and the absence of Hyeongmi (assumed to be due to the brown-haired charmer beside you).
For now, you savor the freedom of the day, finally able to escape the pains of before and wallow in a new kind of excitement. Love.
Love delivered by Minho himself in the form of mini scraps he’s folded into hearts, slipping heart after heart onto your desk at any opportunity to the point you bump his leg beneath the table in warning.
He cheekily smirks in return, stupidly innocent face scheming with malice.
He’s getting an absolute kick out of this, and you hate to admit you enjoy it just as much.
As usual, you wait behind for him to catch up on your daily commute home—an activity you did long before any romantic feelings became involved.
That’s it. Minho’s pinpoint of romance.
Shampoo bottle, walks home, extra coffee, notes.
Minho doesn’t openly express his love, not unless he feels either adventurous or obligated. Instead, he studies. Your habits, the things you enjoy, your actions, preferences. That particular coffee order you liked, how you had ran out of shampoo.
Oh how you love him.
Though, rounding the sidewalk to your place, Minho grabs ahold of your wrist. In response, as soon as you turn your head, you’re mere centimeters from his face, simply standing there, proximity willing either of you not to move.
Initial words dying out, he slightly edges to the side, cocked in a way that has your mind racing.
Nose, cheek, but never lips.
No.
Your hands act before any other part of you, blocking his lips from yours.
“We-“
The look he’s giving you, shock.
You feel a hundred degrees hotter.
“We need to go inside,” You excuse yourself fast, the man tailing behind, grip still loosely attached to your wrist.
Quickly shutting the door behind you, it’s an immediate embarrassment flooding your frame that allows you to speak, words bursting outward in an uncontrollable cacophony.
“Minho I’m so sorry I have no idea what I was doing, I shouldn’t have done that, it was a stupid idea. I didn’t mean to offend you or anything-“
“Hey, slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”
His tone serves as the much needed breeze fanning your face, cooling you down enough to articulate sentences properly.
“I’m sorry, we’ve just never kissed on the lips and I feel like I’m gonna be horrible and kill the mood. This is stupid, I know, just.. bear with me please?”
His eyebrows furrow, forming together the equation piece by piece.
“You’ve.. You’ve never had your first kis—?”
You hush him furiously, slumping onto the couch dejectedly.
Yet, Minho doesn’t laugh nor pick fun regardless of how hilariously idiotic the occasion is. He’s quiet, concerned almost.
You add that to your long list of things you love about him.
Inhaling gradually, your focus flits to the window, collecting yourself, easing the frantic rush-hour traffic rampaging in your skull.
If you were one of those paper hearts he made, he’s pulling apart each careful fold in this very moment. Unraveling the layers till your bare self is exposed in all its anxiousness.
“I hate it. It feels like a part of that teenage youth everyone talks about is something I’ll never get to experience. I was too busy caring about school, and now I feel like I’ve missed out.”
Soaking in a quietness, you jump when he places a hand over yours, softly tracing the skin of your knuckles, glossy as he watches, carving each perfect aspect of you into memory.
“Well you may not be seventeen, but you’re never too old to learn to kiss.”
One hand cupping your jaw to garner your attention, you’re met with a glass-like visage.
Gentle.
“And I can teach you how.”
It’s always been business, you’ve always been business. Which is why, now confronting what feels to be the highest peak in your love life, you’re left a completely blank canvas. No rules, no instructions.
It’s terrifying.
“Min- Minho, I really haven’t done this before.”
You hastily pique, scooting backward in the cushions.
Curse the shakiness of your voice.
“If you don’t want to do this, tell me. We won’t.”
You quickly shake your head.
No, you want this, you’ve wanted this too badly to back out now.
“Then let’s take it slow, okay?”
It’s horrifically awkward at first, a tiny peck, then a bit longer till your arms creep over his shoulders, his fingers once holding your jaw steady now resting on your neck.
Best word to describe it? Messy.
“Breathe through your nose.”
“Minho— I’m suffocating here—“
You sputter back, quite literally heaving for breath.
Yes, it was otherworldly kissing him, and he was an insanely good kisser, but did this really require your lungs to practically burst?
“Are you teaching me how to give a blowjob or kiss?”
His smile transforms mischievously, a sneering laugh slipping past. You already know he’ll make a sly comment.
Minho winks. “We’ll get to that later.”
“I lost my urge to date you. Bye.”
“Noooo Y/n~” He whines profusely, warm hold on your waist beckoning another kiss filled with hushed giggles and incessant jeers from either party—ensuing a halfway unbuttoned shirt and quite possibly the most greedy ten minutes known to man.
Out of breath, he pulls back from your stomach, the ticklish feather-light kisses planted there earning a stifled giggle from you while he blinks upward, seeming to be focused on something.
“Minho?” You question, ignorant to how unbelievably obsessed with you he is, more than ever in this moment.
From your damp, sweaty skin to the few hairs stuck to your forehead. Your swollen lips, the way you laugh, your stomach dipping with the action. He doubts he’ll ever get tired of this.
Reaching forward as if caught in a trance, he tenderly tucks a piece of hair behind your ear, voice barely audible upon pressing his forehead against yours.
And in the seclusion of your living room, tangled up together on the sofa, it’s just the two of you existing in this world.
“I hope you know I really meant it when I said I thought you were pretty too.”
Ah. He remembers. All that time ago.
Of course he does.
Kissing you for a time you can’t remember, you begin to wonder if that birthday wish of yours had came true after all.
Your feelings for Minho had always existed somewhere inside of you. Your head, your heart. A tiny inkling into something more, a could be. Two individuals wishing, waiting to make a move.
It seems the Valentines Pact sealed the deal.
sunboki, may 2022 ©
FIC TAGLIST. @gimmeurtmi @jisuperboard @porang-poranglinos @palindrome969 @stayceebs97 @inniescandy-01 @idklin0
Cuddles make so many things better
five minutes | l.m.h
pairing... bf!minho x gn!reader tags... established relationship, disgustingly fluffy, excessive references to soondoongdori, minho is a cat personified, soft mimo!
operation put your boyfriend to sleep in five minutes is a go.
wc... 1.4k words a/n... ah, yet another domestic fluff fic featuring softy minho. a star specialty! sorry guys this is kinda my fav thing to write ever r u sick of me 😁 anywayz this was inspired by this soft thought and this tiktok like i saw it and immediately thought : lee minho.
ALSO ALSO! HUGE THANK YOU FOR 1K FOLLOWERS! i never would've thought i'd reach this milestone and words couldnt express how incredibly grateful i am for each and every one of you who read and enjoy my works <3 i love you guys thank you so much!
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Minho turned the doorknob and pushed the front door open, greeting Soonie who stood by the entrance with a tilted head. Shutting the door, he hung his bag on the coat rack and bent down to pet his beloved cat’s chin.
“Hi, baby,” the cat nuzzled his head into Minho’s palm and circled around his arm, “where are your brothers, hm?”
Meow… Soonie walked off to the living room as if to answer Minho’s question. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he followed his cat toward the faint nose of your favorite series playing on the TV.
When he entered the room, Minho saw your figure strewn lazily across the couch. Dori was cuddled up against your chest and Soonie hopped up to join Doongie by your feet. His heart warmed at the sight of his loves all huddled together.
“Honey, I’m home,” Minho grabbed your attention with his gentle, sing-song tone, a cheeky smile plastered on his face.
You switched your attention from the screen in front of you to the man standing in the doorway, returning his smile and giving a small wave. “Hi, my love. How was your day?”
Minho padded over to you, scooped Dori up against his chest, and settled himself where the cat had previously taken solace in your arms.
“It was alright,” he said, scooching backward to press his back firm against your front. “Tiring, as usual, but it's fine.”
Though he couldn't see it, you nodded in acknowledgment and pressed a soft kiss to his head. You brought one hand up behind his ear to scratch at his scalp, something you had found he enjoyed.
“Do you want to go to bed already? It is pretty late.” From its place above the TV, the clock read 10:37 PM. “Maybe we should move our little cuddle session to the bedroom.”
Minho sighed and shook his head. “But, I'm already so comfy here. Plus, you wouldn't dare disturb the cats, would you?”
“Please, remember the last time we slept on the couch the whole night? I don’t think we want that happening again.”
“Y/n,” Minho called your name, dragging out the last syllable. “My back hurts so much! Remind me why we stayed on the couch again.”
“I told you we should have moved to the bed! But you wouldn’t listen to me,” you snickered at your boyfriend from the kitchen while you continued to whisk a couple of eggs for your breakfast.
You set the bowl down on the counter and walked over to Minho who was still lying on the couch. When you came into his sight, he made a show of stretching his arms and legs, akin to a cat, accompanied by a few exaggerated groans.
“I don’t think I can get up at all today. I should just call in sick,” Minho draped an arm over his face, letting the other fall limp over the edge of the cushion.
“Don’t you have an important meeting today? I doubt your boss would appreciate you missing that on account of an 'ouchy' back.”
“Well, maybe if you gave me more cuddles, I’d feel a bit better.” Minho peeked at you from under his arm, proposing this cute, yet slightly impractical, solution. “Unless you want me to miss work and stay at home with you today.”
“Alright, you big baby.” Rolling your eyes, you moved to straddle Minho’s lap, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss on his forehead. Now chest to chest, you wrapped an arm around his shoulders, letting the other one snake up his neck to play with the hairs at his nape.
The time you spent wrapped in each other’s warmth turned from seconds to minutes, the comfortable silence lulling you back to sleep. Minutes turned to hours, leaving Minho’s meeting unattended and the scrambled eggs forgotten on the kitchen counter.
“Ugh, at least give me five more minutes,” Minho offered as he continued to stroke Dori’s back, drawing a vibrating purr from the cat. “I don’t wanna get up yet.”
“Oh, come on, you have to brush your teeth anyways. Now get your lazy bum off the couch so we can cuddle on the bed.” You grabbed the throw pillow from behind your back and swung it at Minho’s side, accidentally startling Dori in the process. The cat jumped out of the man’s arms, causing him to throw a frown over his shoulder.
“Now look what you did! You’re scaring our babies.” Finally, Minho stood up, offering you his hand to pull you up as well. You met his hand with your own and anchored yourself up, giving him a sheepish smile.
“Oops.” You shrugged and skipped off to the bedroom, leaving your boyfriend with your three cats in the living room.
“Unbelievable.” Minho took a few steps towards the bathroom, paused, and turned back to look at his cats. “Well, are you coming with me or not?”
While your boyfriend finished his night routine, you lay on your shared bed and grinned to yourself. Operation Put Your Boyfriend to Sleep in Five Minutes was a go. You knew Minho was tired, and you wanted to send him off into a good night’s sleep in the most loving way you could.
The hallway light switched off as Minho opened the door to your bedroom, sporting a playful frown. It was time for Step One: Put him in a blanket.
“Come here, baby,” you peeled the duvet back and patted the space on the bed right next to you, beckoning your pouty boyfriend over to you. “Let’s get you to sleep, yeah?”
Trudging over to his side of the bed, Minho slid onto the mattress and pulled the heavy duvet over his body. Freshly washed, the warm, lavender-scented blanket immediately soothed his senses.
“You could’ve at least stayed with me while I brushed my teeth,” Minho continued to pout as he turned on his side to face you, “and, I don’t know, given me a back hug or something.”
Though his tone was playful, you recognized the look in Minho’s gaze. He yearned for your comfort, but he didn’t know how to ask for it. Reaching over, you cupped his face, gently caressing his cheek with your thumb. You peppered a few pecks on the corners of his mouth, kissing his pout away. Perfect timing for Step Two: Give reassuring pets.
“I’m here now, it’s okay.” His hair was soft in between your fingers as you threaded them through the fluffy locks. They smelled faintly of his coconut shampoo.
Tired, Minho let out a yawn, nose scrunched and eyelids shut. He leaned into your touch, humming contently.
Faintly, the door creaked open and you could hear light thuds on the carpeted floor, followed by a slightly louder thud on the bed as Doongie entered the bedroom and jumped up to join you. He stepped all over Minho’s body—drawing out a quiet yelp from the man beside you. You giggled as Doongie finally plopped down on Minho’s pillow, snuggling against the top of his head. This brought you to Step Three: Tuck him in.
With your boyfriend lying under the covers, you hooked one leg over him, moving your hand on his head to tuck it into your neck, cradling his body with no intent to stop any time soon.
For a second, the universe felt still. It was as though the ever-rotating hands on the clock had stopped moving, pausing to witness this intimate moment between you and Minho; as if even the angels in the skies above didn’t want this sweet gesture to end.
That was until Minho decided to take matters into his own hands and execute Step Four: Put one arm out for temperature regulation.
“It's too warm!” Minho whined into your neck, breaking the silence, and removed one arm from under the blanket, exposing it to the cold air. “Ah, that's better.”
He turned on his side and wrapped his now free arm around the small of your back, pulling you closer to him, if that were even physically possible.
Seeing your bodies pressed flush against each other, Soonie—who was previously lounging at the foot of the bed—crawled up the sheets and nuzzled into the barely-there gap between you and Minho, with Dori following suit.
Within five minutes of lying down, the night ended with your small family cuddled together on the warm, cozy bed, basking in each other’s comfort.
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taglist: @kflixnet @jinnixxn @elllisaaa @captainchrisstan @laylasbunbunny @starsandrqindrops @kittymaryam-thebrowniefairy @forlix @mires-empire @quesweebs
comments, reblogs, and feedback are appreciated! © like-a-diamondinthesky 2023
With a sleepy s/o
Pairing: skz Ot8 × Gn!reader (individually)
Genre: headcanon, fluff, established relationship
Request: skz with a very sleepy s/o, kinda like han but worse lol.
Warnings: none
A/n: pink lee know can save lives | important highlight
Bang Chan
No one likes it more than him, trust me. He just loves it so much whenever you start to feel a bit drowsy and then sleep in his shoulder/lap. Partially because he thinks you're adorable when sleeping but partially because he feels he can protect you when you're vulnerable like that. He really really likes it
Lee Know
Please stop falling asleep all the time, his camera roll can't take it anymore. Seriously though, every time you sleep he takes thousands of pictures in all possible angles. He says it's because he wants to blackmail you but in reality he just finds you extremely adorable (won't admit that tho)
Changbin
He has like this sixth sense where he just knows you're about to fall asleep, no matter where he is. He physically needs to be like your pillow for whenever you're in this state. Always has a proud smile for when he manages to be there when you need him. Asks for the boys to take pictures of you both like that (they can't handle it anymore)
Hyunjin
The first time you fell asleep next to him he was a bit in shock, but now that he is used to it, he welcomes you with open arms whenever your eyes start to close. He is really satisfied with how you trust him enough to sleep around him, it never fails on making him smile
Han
We just know y'all sleeping together everywhere no matter what time it is. The world could be potentially ending but y'all would be cuddled up and sleeping on the nearest sofa. Honestly it's expected for you both to end up like this after a while, but it's also very cute of you ngl
Felix
Another one who sees this as an opportunity to cuddle everywhere, even if he doesn't feel sleepy in the slightest. He just really enjoys holding you while you dream. The boys took a picture of you both like that once to try to tease Felix but it didn't work at all, as he was extremely happy about it lmao
Seungmin
Also has a lot of pictures of you sleeping but you'll never know that because no way on earth he is showing you that, he might as well die of embarrassment. You also always wake up covered by his jacket/sweatshirt, warm and cozy.
I.N
Most likely to have you sleeping as his phone wallpaper and the least likely to change it. He's so relieved you can't see him when you're sleeping because he always gets this huge lovesick smile on him, he'd probably combust if you could see that.
Masterlist | you'll probably like: you give them flowers
Thank you for reading 🩷
Taglist (open!): @yuyubeans @dandelions-143
Credits for images 1 , 2 and 3
Dividers by @saradika-graphics
Does anyone else just wanna mess up Ambrosius’ hair?