shelves of fantasies

My stan account mostly Seventeen but definitely open for the whole Kpop Industry <3

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[maisonmilli]

Hi! Could I please request a fluffy, playful S.Coups x reader fic (married)?

Something where the reader jokingly calls him “old” (the reader is 25 or smth), and he gets mock-offended and tackles and tickles her. I’d love it to be very soft, funny, and domestic with lots of teasing and affection. Thank you!

We ve seen Coups get really offended when member call him old hahah😭😭

Also ur writing is so good!! Thank uu

HAHAHA 😭😭😭 this is so S.Coups-coded because the man acts like he's twenty-one until someone mentions his age and suddenly he's ready to start a war.

Too Old For This?

Pairing: S.Coups x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Married Life, Domestic Comedy

Warnings: Excessive cuteness, tickling, fake outrage, clingy husband behavior

🎧 pretty u 💅🏻 – SEVENTEEN

The first mistake you made was laughing.

The second mistake was calling your husband old.

It happened on a lazy Sunday afternoon. You were curled up on the couch scrolling through your phone while Seungcheol sat beside you, intensely focused on assembling a tiny shelf he'd insisted he didn't need instructions for.

Five minutes later, the shelf was backwards.

"You put that piece upside down."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

"I've built furniture before." You looked over the top of your phone. The shelf was, indeed, upside down.

You burst out laughing. Seungcheol narrowed his eyes.

"Why are you laughing?"

"Nothing."

"Y/N."

"Nothing, grandpa."

Silence. Dead silence. Slowly, his head turned toward you.

"Excuse me?" You immediately regretted everything. But only a little. "Grandpa," you repeated.

His jaw dropped.

"GRANDPA?". You nodded seriously.

"Well, you did say you've built furniture before."

"I'M THIRTY-ONE."

"Exactly."

"THAT'S NOT OLD." You gasped dramatically.

"Careful, Cheol. Don't raise your voice. Your back might give out."

His mouth opened.

Closed.

Opened again.

The offended expression on his face was so ridiculous that you started laughing harder. "You think this is funny?"

"A little."

"A little?"

"A lot." Seungcheol pointed at you.

"You better run."

You immediately sat up. "Oh no."

"Oh yes." The look in his eyes was enough warning. You jumped off the couch.

He stood up.

You screamed.

Then sprinted. ---"GET BACK HERE."

"NO."

"YOU CALLED ME OLD."

"BECAUSE YOU ARE."

"I'M LITERALLY YOUNGER THAN SOME OF YOUR FAVORITE ACTORS."

"AND THEY'RE OLD TOO."

"Y/N!"

You were laughing so hard you nearly ran into the kitchen island. Unfortunately for you, Seungcheol had years of idol training.

And unfortunately for you ,he was faster. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist. You shrieked.

"SEUNGCHEOL."

"Gotcha."

"No fair."

"It's completely fair." He effortlessly lifted you off the ground despite your dramatic protests.

."You know what happens to people who call me old?"

"What?"

"They face consequences." You immediately started struggling.

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

Then his fingers found your sides. The scream you let out could've shattered glass.

"SEUNGCHEOL!"

"There she is."

"STOP."

"You called me grandpa."

"I TAKE IT BACK."

"Too late." You dissolved into helpless laughter as he mercilessly tickled your sides.

"CHEOL—"

"Who's old?"

"YOU."

"Wrong answer."

"AHHHH." More tickles.

More laughter. More fake suffering.

Until eventually your legs gave out completely.

Seungcheol finally stopped and collapsed onto the floor beside you. Both of you were breathless. You glared at him.

He grinned.

"You deserved that."

"I hate you."

"No, you don't."

Unfortunately. He was right.---A few minutes later, you were curled up together on the couch again.

This time with your head on his chest. The abandoned shelf sat in the corner. Still backwards. You noticed it immediately.

A smile tugged at your lips.

"Cheol."

"Hm?"

"The shelf is still wrong."

He groaned. "Don't start."

"Maybe it's because your eyesight is getting bad."

The silence that followed was immediate .Dangerous. You looked up. His eye twitched.

"Y/N."

"You know, it happens with age."

"Y/N."

"I heard there are vitamins for tha—"

Before you could finish, he pulled you closer until you were trapped against him. You laughed.

"Cheater."

"Say one more thing."

"Old man." His arms tightened around your waist.

"You have exactly three seconds."

"What happens after three seconds?"A mischievous smile appeared on his face.

"The tickles come back." You gasped. Then immediately buried your face in his chest.

"Okay, okay."

"That's what I thought." For a moment, the room fell quiet.

Warm.

Comfortable.

Safe.

Seungcheol pressed a kiss against the top of your head. Then another. And another . Just because he could. You smiled into his shirt.

"Love you, grandpa."

His horrified gasp echoed through the apartment.

And your laughter followed right after.---

Milli says: This man would absolutely start a full wrestling match over being called grandpa. Meanwhile reader has zero survival instincts and keeps doing it anyway 🤚🏻💀

Taglist 🥂

@stella-dreamy

[synthetickitsune]

Woozi (SVT) | Simple fluff | 0.6k | gn!reader

The many songs of the many birds outside filter into the kitchen, melodies and voices crashing together. It’s quiet enough that he doesn’t mind the disharmony, quiet enough that he can enjoy the way nature made this moment. 

Steam rises off the mug in front of him. A welcomed warmth radiating off it, like his own personal bonfire in the middle of the winter. That’s overstating it, of course. The mornings of an early summer are only a little chilly, enough for him to curl his toes in his slippers to keep the cold away - not enough to make Jihoon get up and grab a sweater.

He curls a hand around the mug even if it burns. The sky beyond the window is bright blue. Not one cloud, a high chance of a sunny day. The wind is not to be heard at all, so perhaps a warm day as well. A perfect day to get out of the house, he thinks, although he’s not sure anything will come out of that idea.

“The breakfast is almost ready - can you get the plates?” your voice brings him out of his reverie. He abandons his mug and stands up, making his way to you, to murmur a sure against the apple of your cheek before planting a kiss there.

He sets the table: two plates, two mugs already waiting, utensils. Simple enough. He looks over the table, the flower in the center, the waiting dishes, the picture hanging on the wall and the window. He feels the breeze slither into your home, the bird songs drifting inside along with it.

Jihoon turns back into the kitchen. His steps are quiet enough that you jump in surprise when you feel his arms around you and his chin hook over your shoulder. The heat coming off the stove kept you warm it seems, and in turn you make him feel warmer than being curled around his cup of tea could.

“Hungry?” you ask with a chuckle.

He only responds with a small hum. Usually he’d feel like he’s starving but for some inexplicable reason, all that he feels right now is a comfortable sense of satisfaction. His thoughts don’t race, his mental checklist for the day is clear. And most confusingly - he doesn’t feel any suspicion towards the sudden peace.  

“I was thinking we could go for a walk later,” he says. He can’t explain why, especially since he likes lazing around with you in the comfort of your home. There’s plans he had, other plans, chores to do, projects to start. But they feel too burdensome for today.

“Sounds nice,” you smile. 

You turn towards him. The angle is too awkward to decipher the look in your eyes, but he can feel the emotions radiating off of you. Confusion, surprise - something between concern and amusement.

“It’s going to be a nice day,” Jihoon avoids the unspoken question, “We should enjoy it.”

You laugh again, shaking your head before turning back towards the breakfast that by now looks finished. His stomach growls. Maybe he really is starving just like any other day.

“We could have a picnic,” you suggest, “Grab some snack at the store, so we don’t have to spend time making anything.”

“Sounds perfect,” his own lips curl up. He kisses the slip of exposed skin on your shoulder.

He helps you bring the food to the table. As he does, he can’t help the feeling that this feels like a dream. So after he wolfs down the breakfast, he holds your hand. Real and warm, your skin smooth under his thumb as he strokes the back of your hand. 

You watch him with mirth painting your features but you don’t comment on it.

[noniesgummysmile]

can we go home?

🤎 jihoon x f!reader 🤎 0.7k 🤎 playing with jihoon's hair 🤎 requested by @gent1es3xy <33 for my 100 followers event! 🤎 don't play with weights folks, it's not safe. reader is a menace. it's really just fluff tbh. jihoon is fluffy.

Jihoon's not done working out, but you'd really like to head home.

🤎

“Can we go now?” you whine quietly, pouting your best, but Jihoon shakes his head, tossing his hair out of his eyes.

“I still have half my routine left. Sorry. Go walk on the treadmill or something.” And he sets his water bottle down and walks away.

The nerve.

So you follow him across the gym.

Jihoon glances up from the weight rack as you lean against it. His brows furrow.

“What are you –”

“Just do your workout. Ignore me.” You smile. Jihoon side-eyes you, but picks up his weights.

He readies his stance, then starts his set of weighted lunges.

You wait.

Then, as he’s settling into the stretch, you lean over and ruffle his hair.

He loses his balance and almost topples over before he can catch himself. You bite your lip, holding back a smile as he shoots you a glare.

“What was that?”

“Nothing. I’m just waiting.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes. “Wait somewhere else.”

But he picks his weights back up and starts back into his lunges.

And again, you reach out and bury your fingers in his soft, fluffy hair.

This time the weights hit the ground, and he shoots to his feet, glaring again.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop – touching my hair.”

He’s frowning, but there’s an adorable tinge of red creeping over his cheeks. You have to fight to keep your face neutral as he glances around the gym. There’s a few other people. Not too many.

You just blink, looking as innocent as you can, and Jihoon grunts and returns to his weights. His muscles really do look good, flexing as he adjusts his grip, and you consider grabbing his bicep this time, but you’ve already gone this far with the hair. And his hair is fluffy, and you do want to bury your hands in it.

And also head home. You would like to head home.

So you inch closer again and slip both your hands into his hair, scratching light circles against his scalp, and his breath hitches so hard he starts coughing.

“Stop!” he hisses between hacks, struggling to set the weights down and get his feet under him. People are looking now, curious glances darting through exercise machines, and Jihoon’s cheeks are flaming by the time he finally regulates his breathing again. He grabs the weights and doesn’t look at you as he nearly slams them back on the rack.

“What –” you start, but Jihoon shakes his head.

“We’re leaving. Come on.”

He stalks off towards your stuff in the corner, swiping both your bag and his into his arms. You hurry to catch up, reaching to take your bag off his hands, but he tugs it back and slings it over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry?” you say as he shoves his hip into the door to open it. He just jerks his chin out into the parking lot and waits until you step outside to let the door shut.

It’s not until you’re both in the car that he lets out a long groan and drops his head against the top of the wheel.

“You,” he mutters, “are going to be the death of me.”

You let out a small breath. The tension drops from your shoulders. He turns his head enough to shoot you an exasperated but undeniably fond look, and you smile sheepishly and shrug.

“I wanted to go home.”

“No kidding.”

Jihoon pauses then, scanning your face with something unreadable in his eyes. You look back for a moment, and then it’s too much, and your gaze drops to your lap.

“Hey.”

You look up to find him leaning in, his hand suddenly hot under your chin, and then he’s kissing you – rough at first, fingers gripping your jaw, but then it melts into something softer, his lips moving gently against yours in a way that has your mind reeling.

When he finally breaks away, it takes you a moment to open your eyes.

“There,” Jihoon says, satisfaction dripping from his voice.

He drops another smack on your lips, loud noise included, then sits back and starts the car. You blink, trying to wake up your brain. “So, do you wanna go home badly enough that picking up dinner isn’t an option?”

Oh. So he’s being normal now. Two can play at that game. “Ooh, no. I want Chick-fil-A.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

You smile as he pulls out of the parking lot, reaching up to curl your fingers around the back of his neck, and you spend the rest of the drive home with your hand in his hair.

[mingi-buffering-24-7]

As Long As You’re Here [san x reader]

After the noise fades and the lights go out, he loves you the way no one else gets to see. In your arms.

based on [this] request

Pairing: San x fem!Reader Tropes: Established relationship. Domestic Intimacy. Shared Rituals / Repetitive Comfort. Basically San is down bad and is very clingy and can’t live without you by his side… like he’s addicted, ngl Genre: Fluff Warnings: clingy affection, vulnerability, exhaustion, skin-to-skin contact, cuddling, undressing (non-sexual), lingering kisses, possessive but tender energy, emotional release, comfort and reassurance, soft intimacy. Word Count: 4.8k

masterlist

San is on stage, body burning with movement. Veins stand sharp along his forearms, along his neck. Sweat traces familiar paths down his skin, catching the light every time he turns.

The crowd chants his name like prayer, thousands of voices folding into one, loud and endless in a city that is not yours.

Another country. Another night. Another borrowed stage.

You watch from the side.

Not in awe. In recognition.

He moves like he belongs to everyone. Like the stage was built for his feet, like the lights know his name.

He has learned how to give himself away in pieces, city after city, until the map of his body is scattered across the world.

But you notice the small things. The things no one else is looking for.

The way he rolls his neck between songs, slow, controlled, like he is easing something tight inside him.

How his smile drops the second the lights dim, just for a heartbeat, before he puts it back on.

The way his hands flex at his sides, fingers curling and uncurling like he is holding tension there, like he does not know where else to put it.

San is tired. You know he is.

His eyes flick backstage once.

They find you.

The fire does not dim. It softens for a second.

Just for you.

The final song ends in a rush of sound and light. Applause crashes, endless and loud. San bows, breath heavy, hair damp and clinging to his forehead. He grins, wide and bright, all teeth and confidence. The beast they came for. The man who leaves nothing behind on that stage.

You know better.

By the time he disappears into the wings, you are already waiting.

Backstage is chaos. Voices overlap. Staff move quickly, calling names, handing out towels, water bottles, schedules. Members laugh too loud, riding the adrenaline. Someone bumps into you and apologizes without really looking.

Then San is there.

He walks to you like gravity decided early.

He does not hug you yet. He stops close, close enough that you feel the heat still clinging to him, close enough that his breath ghosts your cheek. He leans in, forehead nearly touching yours, like he needs to steal your air for a second.

You smile up at him.

“You okay?”

His voice is lower now. Tired. Real. “Now I am.”

“Good to hear.”

His eyes flick over your face, slow, familiar. “You were staring.”

“You were glowing.”

He scoffs softly, a corner of his mouth lifting. “Liar.”

“Never.”

He bumps his shoulder into yours, light and playful, affection disguised as teasing. As if the room is not full of people. As if this is just another quiet hallway, another night.

You start walking with the others, and his hand brushes your lower back. Brief. Intentional. Gone before anyone could call it out. The kind of touch that says more than it shows.

He still belongs to the room. To the noise. To the people calling his name.

But his body is already inching home.

The car hums softly as it pulls away.

The send-off is done. Doors closed, goodbyes waved through tinted windows. The city opens up around you, lights streaking past. Neon smears across glass. Streetlamps pulse in slow rhythm.

Driver in front. Yeosang and Wooyoung sharing the ride with you. They are talking quietly, laughter still loose from adrenaline. The radio plays low, almost an afterthought. Yeosang’s familiar voice hums along under it, barely there.

You and San sit side by side.

Your legs touch. Not by accident.

San’s posture is still perfect. Back straight. Shoulders squared. Idol-mode clinging to him like a second skin. When Wooyoung asks him something, he answers politely, voice steady, smiling just enough. The professional version of him still doing its job.

But there are cracks.

His leg presses fully against yours, no longer hovering.

His fingers hook into the fabric of your sleeve, just the tips, like he needs to anchor himself.

Each breath he takes grows longer than the last.

You smell sweat and hairspray and the faint citrus of his cologne underneath. Heat rolls off him in quiet waves. The car is warm, loud, alive with movement, yet something small and sealed forms between you.

You notice it before he does.

The moment his head tips back against the seat. The moment his eyes finally close. The moment his jaw unclenches like he has decided it is safe to let go.

Streetlights pass over his face in slow flashes, illuminating the soft dip under his eyes. With every light, he looks less like the man on stage and more like the one who comes home with you.

Wooyoung keeps talking to the driver, animated, hands moving. Someone laughs. The world continues.

You let your pinky brush San’s.

Immediately, without opening his eyes, he laces your fingers together and tucks your joined hands under his jacket, hidden from view. Not secretive. Just private. Because it belongs to the two of you and no one else.

You lean closer, resting your head on his shoulder, whispering. “Tired?”

“…Mm.”

You smile, thumb brushing his knuckles. “You did so good.”

There is a pause. Not hesitation. Something heavier.

“Thank you, love.”

He does not say more. He does not need to.

His thumb begins to stroke the inside of your wrist, slow and grounding. You trace the scar near his knuckle, the one he got making you dinner for an anniversary a couple years ago. The one you kiss when he gets nervous. 

His grip tightens, just a little.

The others keep talking. The city keeps moving.

Inside this small shared space, he exhales like he has been holding it all night.

And for the first time since the lights went up, he starts to land.

The hotel corridor is quiet.

Not home. But close enough to breathe.

The carpet swallows the sound of your steps. Doors line the hallway like closed eyes. The chaos of the venue feels far away now, sealed behind concrete and distance.

San walks closer than before, shoulder brushing yours, no space left for politeness.

His hand settles fully at your waist.

No cameras. No staff. No need to hold himself upright for anyone else.

When the door shuts behind you, the click echoes louder than it should.

Silence.

That is when the second layer drops.

He doesn’t move at first. Just stands there, shoulders finally sagging, letting out a loud sigh. Then he steps into you from behind and lets his forehead drop to your shoulder. Almost defeated. Definitely exhausted.

His arms wrap around your hips. Tight. Desperate.

You rub slow circles into his forearm, fingers warm and steady. The tension drains out of him in real time. His weight sinks fully into you, spine no longer rigid, hands gripping you like you are the only thing keeping him upright.

The room is dim, unfamiliar in shape but familiar in feeling. Not home, but enough. The kind of place where routines still work. Where you know how to take care of each other without needing to think about it.

You move together without talking.

You turn in his hold, slow and careful, until you’re facing him. Your hands come up to his face, thumbs brushing the edges of his jaw, grounding him. You kiss him softly. Not deep. Just a quiet peck, then another, like punctuation marks.

He hums into your mouth, a small, happy sound that escapes him before he can stop it. His eyes close on instinct. He kisses you back just as gently, lips warm and unhurried, like he’s thanking you without words.

Then you start helping him undress.

Your hands work slowly, deliberately. You ease his jacket off his shoulders. Tug his shirt up and over his head. Each layer gone feels less like getting naked and more like setting something down. Like you’re peeling the concert, the lights, the noise off him and leaving it somewhere on the floor.

He lets you at first, pliant and trusting, watching you with soft eyes. But halfway through, he huffs a quiet laugh and reaches up to help, fingers clumsy with tiredness as he takes over, shedding the rest himself.

He pauses, then tilts his head, eyes flicking toward the bathroom. “You… wanna shower with me?”

Not bold. Not suggestive. Just hopeful. Like the idea of losing sight of you for even a minute feels wrong.

His hand finds yours again immediately, thumb rubbing over your knuckles as if to anchor the question there. He stays close, always close, as if the exhaustion might swallow him whole if he lets go for too long.

By the time the bathroom fills with steam, he is already softer.

San steps under the spray and closes his eyes immediately.

The water is hot. The mirror fogs. The world shrinks to tile and breath and the steady sound of water hitting skin.

You reach for his hair first, fingers sinking in, scratching gently the way he likes. His breath stutters on instinct. His head tips forward, then sideways, chasing your touch. His shoulders finally drop, heavy and loose, like they have been waiting all night for permission to stop holding themselves up.

He leans into you without hesitation. All his weight. No apology. No restraint.

“San,” you murmur, laughing softly as he presses closer.

He hums in response, low and content, arms sliding around your waist like he has decided this is where he lives now.

Water runs down his back, tracing muscle and familiar paths. Your hands follow, slow and careful, trying to rinse, trying to work. But he keeps moving. Keeps finding you.

His fingers drift over your sides, warm and lazy. He traces shapes he knows by heart. He kisses your shoulder. Your collarbone. A quick, absent peck to your cheek like he can’t help himself.

You tilt your head away just as he kisses again. “Hold still,” you say, amused.

He tries. For all of three seconds.

Then his mouth finds your neck, soft and clumsy, and he laughs breathlessly when water splashes up and hits his lips instead. He coughs, blinking, clearly betrayed by his own lack of coordination.

You snort. “That’s what you get.”

He grins, eyes still closed, water dripping down his lashes. “Worth it.”

You rinse his hair properly this time, fingertips working through, but he keeps stealing touches in between. A hand at your waist. Fingers brushing your ribs. A kiss dropped wherever he can reach before you dodge again.

He’s not trying to start anything. He’s too tired for that. This is just need. Just closeness. Like if he lets go, even for a moment, he might float away.

Eventually he gives up trying to kiss and settles for pressing his forehead to your shoulder, arms snug around you, breathing you in. His grip tightens when you shift, protesting the idea of distance even though you’re still right there.

On stage, he is all power and fire and precision. Here, under the water, he folds completely.

He shivers, and you know it isn’t from the cold.

After a moment, he lifts his head, hands wet and warm as they cup your face. His thumbs brush your cheekbones, slow and reverent, like he’s relearning you all over again. He kisses your temple. Your cheek. Finally your mouth.

The kiss is sleepy. A little clumsy. All feeling.

Just perfect.

When he rests his forehead against yours again, eyes still closed, he exhales like he has nowhere else he needs to be. And you know, without him saying it, that this version of him belongs to you alone.

Eventually, you manage to finish. Somehow.

You dry off in quiet motions after, the kind that don’t rush anything, while he stays close enough to make every small task take twice as long. And you don’t complain.

San pads into the room first.

Sleeping pants slung low on his hips. Bare chest still warm from the shower. Damp hair pushed back with no real care for how it falls.

He makes it to the bed and drops onto it with a soft, final thud, like his body has reached the end of its patience. The mattress dips. He stills for a moment, then opens his arms wide, dramatic and hopeful, like this is the only plan he has left.

Eyes closed. Waiting.

You don’t come.

Instead, you keep moving. Not hurried, not fussy. Just doing what needs to be done the way you always do. You gather the damp towels and hang them properly. You nudge shoes into a neat line by the door with your foot. You adjust the lights until the room feels softer, quieter. You check the AC, then the windows.

Behind you, the bed creaks faintly as he shifts.

A sigh follows. Long. Overdone.

“Baby,” he mumbles.

“One minute,” you answer easily, already crossing the room again.

“You said that already.”

“I say a lot of things.”

You reach for the remote, then your phone. “What do you want for dinner?”

“Whatever.”

“That is not a food.”

He cracks one eye open to watch you. “Anything you pick.”

“You always say that.”

“Because you’re always right.”

You hum under your breath as you scroll, a soft line from one of their songs slipping out without you noticing. It’s quiet. Casual. Familiar.

San watches you like you’re doing it on purpose.

“Why are you still over there?” he asks after a moment, voice low and a little wounded, like the distance is personal.

“I’m making the room comfortable,” you say. “So you can actually rest.”

“I am resting.”

“You are lying dramatically.”

“I am resting without you,” he corrects.

You glance over your shoulder, amused. “You are very needy tonight.”

He lifts one arm higher, fingers curling slowly in the air. An invitation. A plea. “Come here.”

“San, I need to order food.”

“I can eat later.”

“You told me in the car you were starving.”

He shrugs without opening his eyes. “I was being honest then.”

“And now?”

“I just want you.”

That slows you for half a second.

You grab the water bottle and step toward the bedside table. “Let me put this down and—”

His hand reaches out and closes around your wrist.

Not rough. Not urgent. Just certain. Warm fingers anchoring you before you can finish the sentence. He tugs once, gently but decisively, and you lose your balance with a small laugh as he pulls you onto the bed.

The mattress dips again. Your body lands against his chest, heat immediately blooming between you. Your thin shirt and shorts do nothing to stop the feeling of him.

He hums, satisfied.

“Got you.”

“You are impossible,” you laugh, trying to prop yourself up.

His arms wrap around you instantly, tighter now. “No. Stay.”

“I still need to—”

“No.”

“San.”

He buries his face into your stomach, voice muffled, softer. “Please.”

It isn’t demanding. It isn’t sharp.

It’s tired. And small. And honest.

You sigh, already giving in, fingers sliding into his hair. “If one of us trips in the dark tonight, I’m blaming you.”

He smiles against you, barely awake.

“I would crawl to you,” he murmurs.

You laugh again, quieter this time, and he shifts so you are fully on the bed with him. He tugs you down with him, guiding you to his side like it’s instinct.

Your cheek ends up pressed against his chest, half on his shoulder, half against the firm warmth of him. Your arm drapes over his stomach. One of his slides under your head automatically, the other wrapping around your back, palm settling at your waist.

His leg hooks loosely over yours. Not trapping. Just keeping.

“You take care of me too much,” he murmurs, eyes closed again, thumb tracing slow circles along your side.

“Someone has to,” you reply, voice muffled slightly against his skin.

He opens his eyes at that. You don’t see it, but you feel the shift in him. The way his chest rises deeper beneath your cheek.

“I notice, you know.”

You lift your head just enough to brush your knuckles over his jaw. “Good.”

“You steal the blankets every night,” he continues softly, “and still wake up to pull them back over me. You remind me to drink water like I forget I’m an adult. You read my moods before I even understand them.”

His fingers tighten slightly at your waist.

“And when it gets bad,” he adds, voice quieter now, “you don’t push. You don’t ask me to explain. You just sit with me. You hold my hand like that’s enough.”

He swallows.

“No one’s ever done that for me like you do.”

Your cheek presses back against his chest, feeling the steady thud of his heart under your ear. Your hand rests flat over it without thinking.

He nudges his nose lightly into your hair. “So just stay like this,” he whispers. “Let me take care of you for once. Just five minutes.”

You sigh like you’re weighing the offer, even though you’re already melting further into him.

“Five minutes,” you murmur.

San doesn’t answer with words.

His hand slides gently to your jaw, thumb warm beneath your ear, coaxing your face up from his chest. He lifts his head just enough to meet you halfway, like even that small effort matters.

The kiss is soft at first. Testing. His lips brush yours, barely there, as if he’s asking permission he already knows he has.

“If I could,” he murmurs against your mouth, voice rough with sleep and something deeper, “I’d stay like this forever.”

You smile into the kiss. “You’d get bored.”

His lips hover there, breath warm against yours. His eyes open just enough to look at you like you’ve said something absurd.

“Never of you.”

The words land heavy and gentle all at once.

Something shifts then. Not sharp. Not urgent. Just heavier. The quiet kind of gravity that pulls without warning, when neither of you is pretending you’re about to sleep anymore.

His mouth drifts to your cheek. Then to your jaw. The corner of your lips. He kisses like he has nowhere else to be, like he’s learning the shape of you all over again, memorizing texture, warmth, the way your breath stutters when he takes his time.

His hand slides to the small of your back, fingers spreading there, pulling you closer. Your bodies press together fully now, heat against heat. Breath mingles. The room feels warmer, thicker.

The curtains lift and fall with the breeze, and for a second it feels like the whole room is breathing with you.

You giggle softly when he kisses your neck, because he always takes the long way there. He smiles against your skin, pleased with himself, and presses another kiss just below your ear, slower this time.

“You’re not sleeping,” you whisper.

“Don’t want to,” he murmurs.

The five minutes he promised are long forgotten.

When you feel him melt into you again, really melt, the kisses deepen. Still unhurried. Still gentle. But fuller now. His lips linger longer, parting just enough to breathe you in, to steal warmth, to press the meaning of the day out through touch instead of words.

He kisses you like he’s tasting something familiar and still discovering it.

“Just us now,” he says against your lips, voice lower, steadier.

You run your fingers through his damp hair and tug gently. He exhales into your mouth, a quiet sound that makes your stomach flutter. His grip tightens at your waist, instinctive, not letting you move even an inch away.

You shift closer, hand sliding across his chest, fingertips tracing warm skin, following muscle and bone. He shivers faintly when you drag your nails down slowly, not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind him you’re here.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

Love sits openly in his eyes. No filter. No stage lights. Just him.

“You’re staring,” you tease softly.

“Let me,” he says, almost pouty. “My girl is so pretty.”

“You say that every day.”

“And I mean it every day.”

His fingers wander again, slow and thoughtful. They trace along your shoulder, stopping at the small mole he loves so much. He brushes it with the tip of his finger, like he’s committing it to memory. Then his hand drifts lower, finding the faint childhood scar on your back.

He always pauses there.

His thumb smooths over it gently, over and over.

“Still my favorite part,” he murmurs. “Means you lived.”

Your breath catches just a little. You smile.

“And you’re still here to notice.”

You tilt your head and press your nose against his neck, tracing the freckles scattered there. You kiss one. Then another. He swallows when your mouth reaches the spot beneath his jaw, the one that makes his Adam’s apple bob and his shoulders drop instantly.

A soft hum slips out of him.

“Not fair,” he mutters, already half-gone.

“You started it.”

He smiles lazily, eyes drooping, but his hands stay strong around you, keeping you tucked close. Your lips meet again, slower this time. Softer. Lingering in the space between kisses.

No rush. No destination.

Just warmth. Skin. The quiet reassurance of belonging.

He brushes his thumb across your cheek mid-kiss, like he can’t help touching you everywhere at once. You laugh softly against his mouth.

“What?” he asks.

“You’re clingy.”

“Correct.”

You kiss him again to stop his grin.

Eventually the kisses slow. Pauses stretch longer between them. Foreheads rest together. Noses brush. His hands never leave you, even as sleep tugs at him again.

He studies your face one last time, thumb stroking your jaw gently.

“Stay,” he whispers, even though you’re already there.

You press a kiss to his nose. “I’m not going anywhere.”

His arms tighten around you in response. This time, when his eyes close, they stay closed. His breathing evens out, finally settling, like the day has loosened its grip at last.

Then something shifts.

You feel it before you understand it. A sudden spark of intention under the exhaustion.

His hand slides to your shoulder and, with surprising determination for someone half asleep, he gently pushes. Not rough. Just enough.

You blink as you tip backward onto the mattress.

“San?”

He doesn’t answer. He just follows you down, climbing over you in one fluid, sleepy motion until he’s sprawled across your chest, cheek pressed right over your heart like that was the goal all along.

Your hands land automatically on his back to steady him.

You stare down at him, amused. “What was that?”

He adjusts, satisfied now, arms circling your waist. One leg hooks over yours. He exhales deeply, as if this position makes more sense to his body.

No gap. No space.

A soft, pleased sound escapes him. Almost a purr.

His mouth pulls into the faintest pout, eyes still closed, like he’s bracing for you to protest even though he knows you won’t.

It clicks.

You shake your head softly, already smiling. Of course.

“Can you,” he murmurs, voice low and shy and already drifting, “scratch my back?”

You raise a brow down at him, fingers hovering just above his shoulder blades. “So that’s why you tackled me?”

He fakes a tired sigh, a little dramatic huff. His arms squeeze you tighter in response.

“I work so hard,” he mumbles into your shirt. “I deserve this.”

His back arches just slightly against your palm, shoulders giving the tiniest wiggle, that silent, impatient plea he’s perfected over the years.

You give in immediately.

You always do.

Your nails drag slowly down his back, light at first, never breaking contact. He melts further into you as you do, safe, like your touch gives his body permission to let go.

As your fingers trace the familiar lines of his muscles, his hands begin to move too, unthinking, instinctive.

When you reach the top of his back again, your knuckles brush over his skin, soft and soothing. At the same time, his thumb starts to trace your side in lazy arcs, a mirror of your care, like his body knows how to answer even as he drifts.

You find the knot above his shoulder blade without looking. You always do. Your thumb presses there, slow and firm.

San exhales against your chest, long and shaky, like something finally loosens inside him.

“There,” you murmur.

His response is a quiet, breath-warm “thank you,” barely there, muffled by your skin.

He pecks just above your chest, absent and sweet, then nuzzles his nose into your neck. His cheek rubs along your shirt, a soft, claiming motion, like a cat settling somewhere familiar. He doesn’t stop touching you while you don’t stop touching him. Neither of you thinks about it.

You keep scratching. Slow. Intentional. Loving.

He takes your free hand then, threads his fingers through yours while your other hand keeps moving over his back. The grip is soft but certain, grounding you both.

His fingers drift again. Trace. Pause.

They circle your ring finger, absent, thoughtful, like the thought reaches him before the words do.

“Sometimes,” he murmurs, voice barely holding together, “i think… if the world ended tomorrow, i’d be fine.”

You glance down at him, fingers still combing gently through his hair. “Why?”

“Because I found you already.”

He does not explain. He does not have to.

His arm tightens around you just a little, not sudden, not urgent, like he’s made a quiet decision and tucked it somewhere safe for later.

You smile, heart full and steady, and press a kiss to the top of his head. The hotel shampoo clings to him, clean and familiar. Home, even here.

Sleep drifts closer, slow and unannounced.

Your breaths begin to match without effort. His weight grows heavier, warm and grounding, a living blanket settling into place. 

It’s summer, the room is already warm, but you don’t move. You feel chosen. Needed. Like he found the only place he wanted to be and claimed it without hesitation.

You keep pampering him the way you always do, present and gentle, until the last threads of tension finally slip free.

He sinks into you with quiet trust.

His body gives in first. You feel it when his hold loosens for a breath, just a second of slack in his arms, and then tightens again. Not because he’s lost. Not because he’s searching.

Because even here, on the edge of sleep, he refuses to let you feel forgotten.

His grip isn’t about needing somewhere to belong. It’s about making sure you never doubt that you are it.

At some point, his hand slips under your shirt.

Not urgent. Just warm, needing to feel you.

His palm settles flat against your skin, and he exhales the second he feels you there.

You feel the textures register under his touch, the lotion you rubbed in earlier, the faint trace of summer heat that never quite leaves, even after a long shower. Your skin is soft, warm, unmistakably yours.

His fingers flex once, like he’s reacquainting himself with something sacred.

They drift upward, mapping the familiar slope of your side, the gentle rise of your ribs. He pauses there, thumb brushing the soft curve beneath your breast, barely there, no pressure at all.

You shiver.

Not from want. Not from heat. From meaning.

From how his touch carries nothing but care. From how gentle he is even while half-lost to sleep. From the way he holds you like something precious, something to be protected, not taken. Like he understands exactly how much strength he has in his hands and chooses, every time, to be careful with it.

He cups you only as much as he needs to. Never crossing into hunger. Just warmth. Just devotion. Just proof.

He shifts closer in his sleep, nose pressing into your chest, breathing you in like he’s memorizing this version of you too. The quiet one. The private one. The one no stage lights ever touch.

You know this language.

He loves loudly when the world is watching. Proudly. With bold smiles, steady hands at your waist, eyes that never hide what you are to him. But here, in hotel rooms and quiet nights after wild concerts, he loves like this.

Soft. Certain. Almost overwhelming in its quiet.

Even half-awake. Even exhausted. Even with his voice worn thin from singing too hard and laughing too loud.

He still reaches for you.

Still needs you to feel how lucky he thinks he is.

You run your hand through his hair again, and he hums faintly, cheek rubbing against you, content.

He doesn’t need an audience. He just needs you to know.

“Mine,” he murmurs, rough and soft all at once.

Not possessive. Not claiming. Devoted.

You chuckle quietly into his hair, soft enough not to wake him fully, because if you take it too seriously you know your chest will ache too much.

“Yeah,” you whisper back, smiling. “I know.”

His arms tighten in response, satisfied, like that was the right answer.

You kiss the crown of his head without thinking. You don’t move. You wouldn’t dare. He chose you, even here, even like this, and it feels sacred.

Not home. Never needed to be.

Because this is where he rests best.

Because this is where he lets go.

Because tonight, and every quiet night after, he sleeps safest when you are the one holding him together.

masterlist

taglist: @bloomyroses @livonianmaia @keels-8 @darjeelinglemontea @uchihabbynic @matznana @renjinki @answer-the-sirens

✨ my taglist and requests are open right now. ✨ drop me a message! i love seeing your ideas and making them come to life. 💖

© All rights reserved. Do not edit, or translate without permission. Credit to @mingi-buffering-24-7.

[gildedsilk]

need a soft Soobin X reader where reader keeps trying to confess to soobin but he's just so oblivious, the only way he gets it is when reader uses a LoL couple as her final pick up line

"will you be the Rakan to my Xayah???"

"??? YOU WANT TO BE MY GIRLFRIEND??"

"THATS WHAT IVE BEEN TRYING TO SAY THIS ENTIRE WEEK"

“𝐎𝐁𝐋𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒” 𝜗℘ 𝐂𝐒𝐁.

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𓈒 oblivious!sb X fem!reader 1k+ words fluff

ᝰ.ᐟ just sb not getting the hints skinship corny idk

𝜗𝜚 𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐢𝐞’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞 ៹ Had to do my research for this one cause i have never touched LoL in my life ! Tysm for requesting, anon !! Mwa 🤍. We love gamer soob . Pls lmk if I got any of the terms n stuff wrong- (the reviving was moreso for the cheesy lines to fit)

You used to think that crushes felt like fireworks — sudden, bright, impossible to ignore.

But falling for Choi Soobin felt more like sunrise.

It happened slowly, quietly, the way light creeps through blinds on a lazy morning until the whole room glows and you can’t remember what it looked like before.

It started with small things.

The way he always waited for you outside lecture halls, earbuds dangling around his neck, one hand tucked into his hoodie pocket. The way he texted you “did you eat yet?” after study sessions like some kind of gentle ritual. The way he listened — really listened — whenever you talked, even when you were rambling about random nonsense.

You told yourself it was nothing at first. Just friendship. Just comfort.

But one day, he smiled at you — soft, eyes curving into crescents — and something in your chest fluttered so hard you almost dropped your coffee. That’s when you knew you were in trouble.

It became your little secret.

Between group projects and campus walks, between late-night gaming and bubble tea runs, you found yourself studying the tiny details of him — the way he laughed with his whole body, the way he fiddled with his pen during class, the faint crease on his nose when he smiled too hard.

It was so obvious to you.

Too bad it wasn’t obvious to him.

Soobin, for all his kindness and height and angelic dimples, was painfully oblivious.

He wasn’t stupid — he just existed in this perpetual state of mild distraction, floating through life like a golden retriever who’d never experienced subtlety.

The first time you tried to confess, it wasn’t even planned.

You were waiting in line for drinks at the campus café, his bag slung over your shoulder because he’d run back to grab his wallet. When he finally returned, slightly out of breath and still smiling, you handed him his cup and blurted,

“You make my heart pop… Like the pearls in this… The boba pearls.”

Soobin blinked, tilting his head. “That’s so cute,” he said, sipping from his straw. “You always say the funniest things.”

You stared at him, speechless. “I— yeah. Funny. Totally.”

He grinned, satisfied, and went back to talking about his LoL rank while you stood there wondering how the universe could bless someone with a face that beautiful and a brain that empty.

Over the next few days, your attempts became more deliberate.

A note slipped into his notebook (“you make everything sweeter”).

A text after your study date (“I like you a latte ☕”).

Even giving him your hoodie, not that he could fit it (“it smells like me, so you won’t miss me later”).

Each time, he smiled — genuinely, warmly — and responded with the wrong kind of affection.

“You’re such a good friend.”

“Aw, thanks, you’re the nicest.”

“You always take care of me.”

Friend.

Nice.

Take care.

Every word felt like another soft punch to the ribs.

But still, you couldn’t stop trying. Because he made it so easy to love him, even when it hurt.

The turning point came on a rainy Thursday evening.

You were in his dorm room, half-buried under a blanket, both of you playing League of Legends together. The sound of rain against the window mixed with Soobin’s quiet laughter every time your characters died in spectacular fashion.

“Okay, but you have to admit,” he said between laughs, “that was the worst ult timing I’ve ever seen.”

You threw a pillow at him. “You distracted me!”

“I literally said, ‘don’t engage yet!’”

“You smiled! How am I supposed to focus when you do that?”

He blinked, surprised, then chuckled. “I didn’t realize my face was that powerful.”

“It is..” you muttered, but your voice came out softer than intended.

He didn’t hear. Or maybe he did and pretended not to. That was the thing with Soobin — he never noticed the weight behind your words, but part of you wondered if maybe that’s what made him so easy to be around.

No pressure. No expectations. Just… him.

It was around midnight when the power flickered.

The rain had turned heavier, and thunder rumbled in the distance. The Wi-Fi died mid-game, leaving your characters frozen on screen.

Soobin sighed dramatically. “Guess that’s the universe telling me to stop feeding.”

You laughed, curling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “It’s telling you to get better at aiming, maybe.”

“Hey,” he said, feigning offense, “I’m a great Rakan.”

“Sure,” you teased. “If dying in every team fight counts as ‘great.’”

He leaned back in his chair, smiling at you through the dim light. “Then what does that make you, huh?”

“Better,” you said simply. “Carrying you since day one.”

He laughed, a soft, deep sound that filled the little room. You tried not to stare at the way his hair fell over his forehead or how the corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

He had no idea that every moment with him felt like the calm before something inevitable.

The room grew quieter after that. Just rain, and the low hum of your heart doing cartwheels.

“Soobin,” you said suddenly.

“Hm?”

You hesitated. The words hovered at the tip of your tongue, too big to swallow but too terrifying to release.

You’d failed a dozen times already, and yet here you were, ready to try again — not because you thought it would work this time, but because you couldn’t keep it in anymore.

You wanted him to know. Even if he didn’t feel the same.

You took a breath, fingers fidgeting with the blanket’s edge.

“If I said something kind of weird, would you promise not to laugh?”

He turned to look at you, earnest and curious. “Of course. Why would I laugh?”

Your throat felt tight. “Because it’s… sort of dorky.”

He smiled, gentle as always. “That’s okay. You’re sort of dorky.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide your nerves. “Okay, then.”

You looked straight at him, your heart hammering like a drum, and said,

“Will you be the Rakan to my Xayah?”

For a second, he didn’t react. His eyes flicked between you and the screen, clearly processing the reference.

Then, slowly: “…Wait.” His brows furrowed. “You mean—”

You felt your face heat up. “Yes, Soobin. That’s what I mean.”

He blinked again, realization dawning like light breaking through clouds. “You— you want to be my girlfriend?”

You buried your face in your hands. “That’s what I’ve been trying to say this entire week, Soobin.”

There was silence. Then a soft, almost disbelieving laugh.

He sounded so genuinely stunned that you couldn’t help peeking through your fingers. His expression was a mix of awe and embarrassment, his cheeks flushed pink.

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice,” he murmured. “All those hints— I thought you were just teasing me.”

“I was teasing you,” you said. “And flirting. And hinting. And practically spelling it out.”

He laughed again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess I’m a little slow sometimes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Sometimes?”

“Okay, a lot of the time,” he admitted. Then, softer: “But if it’s still okay… yeah. I’d like to be your Rakan.”

Your heart fluttered so hard you almost forgot to breathe. “You sure? I’m not exactly a pro gamer, you know.”

He smiled, eyes warm. “That’s fine. I’m not exactly a pro boyfriend yet either.”

Something about the word yet made you grin.

He reached out, hesitated for half a second, then brushed his fingers against yours. The touch was light, tentative — the kind of touch that says I’ve been wanting to do this for a while.

Outside, the rain softened to a drizzle. Inside, the tension melted into something sweet and easy.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling him relax beside you.

“So,” you murmured, “does this mean I get to trash talk you in-game without feeling guilty now?”

He chuckled, tilting his head so it rested lightly against yours. “Only if you promise to revive me when I die.”

“Deal,” you said, smiling. “But you better not feed.”

He laughed again, that soft sound that had started it all. “I’ll do my best, Xayah.”

And when the Wi-Fi reconnected and your characters spawned back into the digital battlefield, Soobin hovered over Rakan and locked him in immediately — a quiet promise glowing in the flicker of his monitor light.

Maybe love wasn’t fireworks after all.

Maybe it was something slower — something that started with laughter, with friendship, with a boy who didn’t get the hint until you told him outright.

And maybe that was exactly what made it so perfect.

𝜗𝜚 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐞𝐬 ៹ @mfcherry @hyunj00 @chocomoas @mayarichives @all-of-kpop @gyuuchuuu @yeosayang @slut4heespam @jaedacore @swangyu @seungluver @ijustwannareadstuff20 @angelhyuka @nanilis

𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ? 𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 !

[coupsiesss]

a very tired seungcheol

headcanons hehe

no warnings just fluff and a very tired and clingy cheol 😛

author’s note: just wanted to write this bc i cant stop thinking about tired cheol who is super touchy and clingy and needy and soft and warm and and and *explodes*

═════════════════════════

tired!cheol who becomes unmovable as soon as he makes contact with you and just needs to touch you. his hands and legs and whole body must be on you the whole time because he feels like he deserves it after a day of no you 💔

tired!cheol who is literally the biggest baby ever like this. if you try to move away or even if you stop like rubbing his back or something for a split second he’s letting out a little grunt or a whine for you to keep going. if you don’t respond to his noise he will look at you with a pout slowly growing across his face

tired!cheol who genuinely knocks out in the span of ten minutes laying on you and then he sleeps like a rock until you coax him back awake to which you will be met with more complains from him

tired!cheol who likes to lie on you like full on dead weight. his head has to be on your chest or tummy or in the crook of your neck he literally wants to inhale you and feel you everywhere and you let him bc who doesn’t love a big and soft and warm blanket of cheol on you 😮‍💨

tired!cheol who demands either head scratches or back scratches when he’s like this or both because he’s a princess and you can’t deny him when he looks so sleepy and cute

tired!cheol who is too tired to eat until you force him to sit up and eat whatever food that's prepared and he complains at first but legit gobbles the food down bc he's starving but stubborn

tired!cheol who can't wait to finally freshen up and get in bed with you for the ultimate cuddles and softness. the both of you are wearing matching pajamas and he is either behind you and hugging you like you're his stuffed animal or you're facing each other either way you are locked in his arms and his face is in your neck

[miniseungkimcami]

In Your Arms

pairing: Boyfriend!Felix x F!Reader

Synopsis: a lazy morning with your gamer boyfriend !!

warnings: fluff, kissing, pet names, suggestive ending

word count: 654

a/n: soooo this is def shorter than i wanted it to be but i lwk just wanted to get a one shot out soooo you guys get this little cutie one shot!!

also im rly unhappy with my writing and i want to get better soooo if anyone could kindly dm me and give me tips on how i can improve as a writer, it would be greatly appreciated!!!

You stirred in bed, reaching over to see if your boyfriend was still there. Your eyes opened a little quicker when you realized your bed was in fact empty. You took a few seconds to adjust, but you realized he was sitting in his chair, playing his video game. 

He must’ve heard you moving around, or just had the boyfriend sense that you were awake, but as soon as you became aware of what was happening, he turned around. He smiled at you and took his headphones off, climbing back into bed.

He kissed your cheek and wrapped his arms around you. “Good morning, my love.” You pulled your boyfriend closer, kissing him. 

“How long have you been up?” You brushed the hair out of his face as you spoke.

He glanced at the clock that read 9:37. “I’ve been up since about six, I couldn’t fall back asleep. I figured I’d play games until you woke up.”

He laid his head on your chest and you brushed your fingers through his hair, scratching his head the way you knew he liked. “You can keep playing baby, I don’t mind.”

He shook his head that was still buried in your chest. “Nope. I’d rather be here in bed with you. If I got up to go play, you’d be too far from me.”

You kissed his head. “What if you play, and I can sit on your lap?” 

He perked his head up when he heard the suggestion. “For real? I’ve been wanting to ask you to do that, but I got too nervous. I don’t wanna make you watch me play my games if you don’t want to. Seriously, I am okay with staying in bed with you.”

You held his face in your hands. “I mean it, honey. I wanna watch you play!”

You didn’t need to tell him twice, he shot up out of bed and sat down on his chair. He spun the chair to face you and patted on his lap, signaling you to sit down. You crawled off the bed and walked over to him and sat down on top of him.

His arms immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer as he spun the chair around to face the monitor. His head rested on your shoulder as you leaned your head on his. He got his game set up and you watched as he focused on the game.

You fidgeted with the sleeve of his hoodie as he played. Every now and then, he placed soft kisses on your shoulders, acknowledging you on his lap. 

He played for a little less than an hour before turning off his monitor. “I think you’re my new good luck charm. That was the best that I’ve played.” You two got up and fell back onto the bed into each other's arms. 

He kissed the top of your head and you ran your hands up and down his torso. “That was fun, I like watching you play. Why haven’t we done that before?” 

He lifted your head up to make you look at him. He held your face in his hands. “Do you mean it, baby? Did you actually enjoy watching me play?”

You giggled and kissed your boyfriend before laying your head back down. “On Bbokari, I swear I loved watching you play. You get so focused, it’s adorable.” 

He stroked your hair, placing a kiss on your head. “I guess we’ll have to do that more often.”

You straddled his lap and kissed him gently. “Yes we do. But for now, I can think of a better game we can play.” Your kisses trailed along his jaw and down his neck, earning you a soft sigh from him. 

“Oh, I think this is my favorite game.” You laughed at your boyfriend's usually unserious goofiness, and continued kissing him. 

You couldn't think of anywhere else you wanted to be. 

dividers by: @cursed-carmine

taglist: @pvppymin @myen2rude @ayakananodesu @bunbunbl0gs @viisstrayy @barbie-girl84 @i-bitch-you-bitch @janaethedreamer @whydolife @iheartkentonanami @arasdaydream7 @dina-10s-blog @ykitsaura @beppybeesnuggets @sugarcoathan @missleebit @emmalabo @changbinbinbin @hugsandraindrops @morgangrice18 @hanniesbubuwife @ami4sho @geni-627

[chwedout]

is this hip hop?

[xiaominghao]

Birthday boy

Genre: Domestic fluff.

Pairing: Seungcheol x reader

Warnings: drunk Cheol, shirtless Cheol may count as a warning?.

- Yuin’s note: A short sweet drabble I did for Scoups birthday (I'ts still 8th of august in hometown so I'm not late). Anyways, happiest birthday to our amazing leader. I love you Cheoli (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)⁠❤

"You know, I don't mind if you wanna hang out with your friends, I really like them," you took a breath, "but I don’t like this!"

Seungcheol said nothing but his muffled laugh wasn’t helping, you were losing the little patience you had at that moment.

"Hey! Don't move."

But the more you struggled to towel dry his hair, the more complicated it became. His friends had planned a dinner for his birthday and it was supposed to be just a chill met…

It was past two in the morning and you had to jump out of bed when you received a curious call from Seungkwan asking you to open the door, and you greeted a smiling Cheol that could barely stand his feet.

Helping him shower had already been a nightmare and didn’t help that much, lucky you that at least he could put on his pajamas by himself (putting on simple pants wasn’t difficult after all). However, his hair was still soaked.

"Just stay still," you told him, gently rubbing the towel to dry his hair, "or we'll be here all night."

"I told you, I can sleep like this!” He complained, though he didn't get up from his seat. “You’re overreacting."

"You could get sick and we don't want that, not today," maybe that would help him come to his senses, “And, I'm almost done."

He didn't respond but you could hear a faint babble that sounded like a complaint; you decided to ignore it. A few minutes later the task was done.

"Good," you sighed with relief as you got out of bed, "Let’s brush it a little."

You went to the dresser for the brush and stood right in front of him, and before you could do anything, Cheol fell toward you, taking you by surprise when he rested his cheek against your belly.

"Let's go to sleep now," he murmured between laughs.

You clenched your fists, frustrated. "Just let me finish."

"I can do it tomorrow," he replied as he wrapped his arms around your torso with a strength you didn't expect.

"Seungcheol, please just..."

"Your belly is so comfortable," he said in a soft tone, "I think... I could fall asleep here."

"And you can," you said through gritted teeth, "just let me..."

"You have the cutest belly," you felt his arms tighten a little, "it's... the cutest..."

It was inevitable to smile like a fool at his sweet words, but you weren't going to give in so easily.

"Being a sweetie won't make me forget that you even drank from the sink."

Cheol shrugged, laughing awkwardly. "Still, I love you and your cute belly."

You sighed, and you kissed the top of his head. "Okay birthday boy, you win. Let's go to sleep," and to celebrate his victory, Seungcheol left a small kiss just below your chest, "Night, babe. There’s a lot to do tomorrow."

[xiaominghao]

Lullabies and games

Genre: domestic fluff.

Pairing: Mingyu x reader.

Warnings: reader is sick (no surprise at all), tooth-rotting fluff.

Yuin's note: Happy birthday to our dear Mingyu ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

“Gyu, are you still awake?” you asked in a sleepy voice, rubbing your eyes. “What time is it?”

“Oh, y/n,” Mingyu moved a little to make space for you on the couch. Everything was dark except for the light of the TV reflecting on his body. “It’s two in the morning, but I couldn’t sleep.”

You sat down next to Mingyu and gave him a small kiss on the shoulder, just before resting your temple against him and snuggling as close as possible.

“Is that why you were playing my Stardew Valley game without telling me?” you said in a half-mocking tone, “I thought you didn’t like this game.”

Mingyu let out a soft, timid laugh. “I don’t, but I thought maybe it would help me fall asleep.”

“But, how?”

“Actually, I don’t know… But since you’re here…” Mingyu paused the game and left the controller on the coffee table in front of him. “How are you feeling?”

He cupped your face with both hands and smile in relief after checking by himself that your fever had gone down.

“I said I’d be better for your birthday,” you said playfully, “or do you think a simple cold would ruin our plans?”

“A simple cold, huh?” Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “You’re funny, but this isn’t a joke. Go get some rest, love. You’ll need it for tomorrow.”

“Fine, fine,” you rolled your eyes, “but first.”

You sat on Mingyu’s lap and reached for the controller, his arms wrapping around you to help you settle in

“Let’s see what kind of mess you’ve made,” you said teasingly.

“Just so you know, I created a new game,” Mingyu rested his chin on your shoulder, “and my farm will be better than yours.”

“I’ll let you have this one, birthday boy,” and resuming the game, you got to work.

Mingyu listened attentively to each of your words, the gameplay, the characters, and even how you spoke so cheerfully about the little details, like the music or the hidden stuff.

“The mines are full of monsters, so you need to watch out and…” suddenly, you realized that your back was a little heavier. “Gyu, are you listening?”

He cleared his throat and before speaking, let out a slow yawn.

“Sorry, it’s just…” A deep sigh escaped him as he pressed his face against your neck. “Your voice is so soothing… It makes me feel so… at peace.”

“Wanna go to bed?” you murmured slowly, “and I’ll tell you about The Mines until you fall asleep.”

Mingyu nodded slowly, letting you lead him by the hand toward the bedroom. Once tucked away under the warm sheets, he settled his head against your chest with a deep, weary exhale.

“Hey, y/n,” he murmured, “Do you think… the others would be upset if I cancel tomorrow’s plans?”

You snorted, as you knew he was joking. “Yeah, and so do I”.

“Is just… I want to spend my birthday like this… With you.”

You bit back a smile. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow.” Though you knew there wasn’t anything to discuss: He could celebrate with his friends and then come home to spend time with his little patient. “You’re just acting so spoiled because you’re sleepy.”

He chuckled softly, throwing his arm across your torso. “Maybe… Now, keep talking… Whatever you want…”

“All right,” you gave him a small kiss on his head. “Oh, yeah! The Mines…”

[thetaehyungsgirl]

"Not him, but you" | Mingyu (SVT)

✧˖°. 𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂. You’ve been best friends with Mingyu for as long as you can remember, so when he starts acting weird over a guy you barely mention, you can’t help but wonder what’s going on… until everything unravels in the most unexpected way.

✧˖°. 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰. Mingyu x fem!reader

✧˖°. 𝓰𝓮𝓷𝓻𝓮. comedy, friends to lovers, fluff, jealousy, miscommunication, soft romance.

✧˖°. 𝔀𝓬. 2.9k

✧˖°. 𝓷𝓸𝓽𝓮. thank you for reading, hope you enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it! 🤍😛

Being friends with Mingyu has always felt… easy. Like something that never needed effort. You don’t remember a version of your life where he wasn’t there, taking up too much space on the couch, stealing food off your plate, or complaining dramatically about things that don’t really matter. It’s comfortable. Familiar. Safe.

Right now, he’s in your kitchen, way too big for the tiny space, leaning against the counter while scrolling on his phone like he owns the place. You’re sitting on the counter, swinging your legs slightly as you talk about your day.

“And then yesterday I went out with him,” you say casually, reaching for a cookie from the open package beside you.

Mingyu hums in response, not really looking up. “Mm.”

“He was actually really nice,” you add, half-smiling to yourself. “Like… surprisingly nice.”

That gets his attention.

His eyes flick up from his phone, just for a second. “Nice, huh?”

You nod, completely unaware. “Yeah, I didn’t expect it.”

He locks his phone, slipping it into his pocket as he straightens a bit. “So… this ‘him’,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant, “is he… tall?”

You blink at him, confused. “What?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugs, grabbing a cookie and taking a bite. “Just asking. You said you went out with him.”

You squint slightly, trying to understand why that matters. “Yeah… and?”

“And nothing,” he says quickly, chewing. “Just curious. Since when do you go out with random guys?”

You frown, tilting your head. “He’s not random.”

Mingyu raises an eyebrow. “Oh, so you know him.”

“…Yeah?”

There’s a brief pause. Something shifts, but it’s so subtle you don’t really catch it.

He lets out a small laugh, shaking his head like it’s nothing. “Wow. I see how it is. Keeping secrets now?”

You roll your eyes. “I’m not keeping secrets, you’re just being weird.”

“I’m not weird,” he shoots back immediately, though there’s a hint of something off in his tone. “You’re the one casually dropping ‘I went out with him’ like I’m supposed to know who that is.”

You open your mouth, then close it again. “…Okay, fair. But still.”

He hums again, but this time it’s quieter. More thoughtful.

The conversation shifts after that, drifting into something else, what to eat, a show you both started, some random story Mingyu insists on telling in way too much detail. Everything goes back to normal, just like it always does. Easy. Familiar.

Except it’s not entirely the same.

Because later that night, when you’re both sprawled on your bed, shoulders brushing as you scroll through your phones in comfortable silence, you mention it again without thinking.

“He texted me today,” you say.

Mingyu doesn’t look up this time. “Oh yeah?”

You smile faintly at your screen. “Yeah. He said something really sweet.”

“…Sweet,” Mingyu repeats, his voice neutral.

“Mhm.”

There’s a pause. A longer one.

Then, “Since when do you even like guys like that?”

You turn your head to look at him. “Like what?”

“I don’t know,” he mutters, shifting slightly. “Sweet. Whatever.”

You laugh softly. “Since always? What are you talking about?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just shrugs, like it doesn’t matter.

You go back to your phone.

A second later, a new message pops up on your screen, and your expression changes without you noticing, just a small smile, barely there, but enough.

Mingyu notices.

Of course he does.

He glances over, just for a second. Long enough to catch the notification at the top of your screen. A name he doesn’t recognize. A message preview he can’t fully read, just a few words.

“…had fun yesterday. we should do it again :)”

That’s all he needs.

He looks away quickly, like he wasn’t staring, but something in his chest tightens anyway. Suddenly, everything clicks into place in the worst possible way.

You going out. You smiling at your phone. The “sweet” messages.

Mingyu presses his lips together, staring at his own screen without actually seeing it.

Oh.

There’s a quiet shift in the air, one you don’t notice as you keep texting, completely unaware.

In his head, though, it’s already settled.

…Okay.

You’re seeing someone.

At first, it’s subtle.

Mingyu still shows up like he always does, still lets himself into your house without knocking, still complains about being hungry like it’s your fault. But there’s something… different. Not enough to point at, just enough to feel.

He sits closer than usual. Not in an obvious way, just, closer. His knee brushing yours when there’s plenty of space on the couch, his arm stretched behind you like it belongs there. You don’t think much of it. It’s Mingyu. He’s always been touchy.

Still.

“Who are you texting?” he asks one afternoon, leaning over your shoulder a little too easily.

You tilt your phone away on instinct. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t,” he says immediately. Too quickly. “Just asking.”

You give him a look. “…You’re literally hovering over me.”

“I’m not hovering,” he mutters, straightening up, but he doesn’t really move away.

You shrug it off, going back to your phone. “It’s him.”

There’s a pause behind you.

“Oh,” Mingyu says.

That’s it. Just oh. But it sounds… weirdly tight.

Later that day, you’re sitting across from him at a small café, something he insisted on. You didn’t even plan to go out, he just showed up and dragged you with him.

“You said you were bored,” he had argued.

“I didn’t say that,” you had replied.

“You implied it.”

Now he’s watching you way too closely as you take a sip of your drink.

“So,” he starts casually, stirring his iced coffee even though it doesn’t need stirring, “has he taken you somewhere like this?”

You blink. “What?”

“The guy,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Has he taken you out?”

You frown, confused by the question. “I mean… yeah?”

Mingyu’s jaw tightens for a second before he forces a smile. “Where?”

“Just… places,” you say slowly. “Why are you interrogating me?”

“I’m not interrogating you,” he scoffs. “I’m just saying, this place is better.”

You stare at him. “…Better than what?”

“Wherever he took you.”

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “You don’t even know where he took me.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Mingyu shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “I already know I can do better.”

You narrow your eyes slightly, studying him. “…You’re being weird again.”

“I’m not being weird,” he insists.

“You are.”

He looks away, clicking his tongue softly like he’s annoyed, but not really at you.

The weirdness doesn’t stop there.

If anything, it gets worse.

A few days later, you’re standing outside your class, talking to a classmate. It’s nothing special, just a normal conversation, but Mingyu shows up out of nowhere like he has a sixth sense for these things.

He slides right next to you, arm brushing yours. “Hey.”

You look up, surprised. “Oh—hi?”

Your classmate glances between you two. “Um…”

Mingyu smiles, but it’s the kind of smile that doesn’t fully reach his eyes. “What were you talking about?”

“Nothing,” you say, a little confused. “Just—”

“She was asking about notes,” your classmate cuts in quickly.

Mingyu nods slowly. “Right.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then, “You got them?”

“…Yeah,” your classmate says, clearly unsure.

“Good,” Mingyu replies, already looking at you instead. “You ready to go?”

You blink. “Go where?”

He shrugs. “Anywhere. I’m hungry.”

“I just got here.”

“And?” he says like that doesn’t matter.

You look between him and your classmate, who now looks very much like they want to disappear. “…Okay?”

Mingyu doesn’t wait. He just gently grabs your wrist and pulls you along.

Once you’re out of earshot, you stop. “Mingyu, what was that?”

“What?” he asks, genuinely sounding confused.

“That,” you repeat, gesturing vaguely. “You just dragged me away mid-conversation.”

“I didn’t drag you,” he says. “I just—saved you.”

“Saved me from what?”

He hesitates for half a second. “…From wasting time.”

You stare at him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you were smiling,” he adds suddenly.

“…What?”

“Just now,” he says, avoiding your eyes. “You were smiling at them.”

“So?” you frown. “I smile when I talk to people, Mingyu. That’s normal.”

“Yeah,” he mutters. “Sure.”

You cross your arms. “Okay, seriously. What is your problem lately?”

“I don’t have a problem.”

“You do,” you insist. “You’ve been acting weird for days.”

“I said I’m not being weird,” he snaps, a little sharper than usual.

That catches you off guard.

There’s a brief silence. The kind that feels heavier than it should.

You soften your tone slightly. “Then what is it?”

Mingyu runs a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated, but like he doesn’t even know why. “Nothing.”

“That’s not true.”

He exhales, looking away. “It’s just… whatever.”

You wait.

He doesn’t say anything.

“Just what?” you press.

Mingyu laughs under his breath, but there’s no humor in it. “Forget it.”

“No, I’m not forgetting it,” you say, your voice rising just a little. “You don’t get to act like this and then say ‘forget it’.”

“I’m not acting like anything,” he shoots back.

“You are! You’re being clingy, and weird, and kind of rude to people—”

“Oh, I’m rude now?” he cuts in.

“Yes!”

He lets out a frustrated breath, shaking his head. “Wow. Okay.”

“Okay what?”

“Nothing,” he mutters again.

You stare at him, disbelief settling in your chest. “Mingyu.”

“What?” he says, finally looking at you.

There’s something there now. Something raw. Unfiltered.

You hesitate for a second. “…You’re acting like I did something wrong.”

He laughs again, quieter this time. “You didn’t.”

“Then why does it feel like I did?”

Another pause.

Mingyu’s gaze drops to the ground, his jaw tightening. For a moment, it looks like he’s going to brush it off again, make a joke, change the subject like he always does.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he says it.

“…I just thought I’d be enough.”

Your brows knit together. “What?”

He huffs out a small, humorless laugh. “Forget it.”

“No,” you step closer, completely confused now. “What are you talking about?”

Mingyu shakes his head, like he’s already regretting it. “It’s stupid.”

“Clearly not, because you’ve been acting insane for days,” you say. “So just tell me.”

There’s a long silence.

Then, finally—

“Sorry for not being enough like that guy, okay?”

Everything stops.

You blink at him. Once. Twice.

“…What?”

He looks away immediately, like he can’t stand to see your reaction. “Just forget I said anything.”

“No, I—” you let out a breath, completely lost. “Mingyu, what guy?”

He freezes for a second, like he didn’t expect that.

Slowly, he turns back to you. “…The one you’re seeing.”

Your stomach drops—but not for the reason he thinks.

“…I’m sorry, what?”

“The guy,” he repeats, his voice quieter now, more uncertain. “The one you’ve been going out with. The one texting you. The one who says ‘sweet things’.”

There’s a beat.

And then another.

And you just… stare at him.

Completely blank.

“…Mingyu,” you say slowly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Silence.

Heavy. Sharp. Unavoidable.

And for the first time since this all started—

Mingyu looks unsure.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

The air feels… weird. Heavy, but not in the same way as before. This time, it’s more like confusion tangled with something fragile, something waiting to snap into place.

Mingyu is staring at you like he’s trying to figure out if you’re joking.

“…What do you mean you don’t know?” he asks slowly.

You blink, still processing. “I mean exactly that. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lets out a short, disbelieving laugh. “The guy. The one you’ve been going out with.”

“I’m not going out with anyone,” you say, your tone firm but still soft around the edges.

Mingyu frowns. “Then what about all that stuff you said? ‘I went out with him’, ‘he texted me’, ‘he said something sweet’—”

“Oh,” you cut in, and suddenly everything clicks for you.

There’s a pause.

And then—

You laugh.

Not a small one. Not subtle. A real laugh, bright and a little incredulous, like you can’t believe this is what all of this has been about.

Mingyu’s expression immediately drops. “…Why are you laughing?”

You try to stop, but you can’t quite hide the smile. “Oh my god, Mingyu.”

“Hey,” he says, a little defensive now. “It’s not funny.”

“It is a little funny,” you admit, shaking your head. “You thought I was dating someone?”

“You literally said you were,” he argues.

“I didn’t,” you say, still smiling. “I said I went out with him.”

“Yeah. That’s called a date.”

“It wasn’t a date date,” you correct, hopping onto the nearest bench and crossing your arms. “It was a blind date my cousin forced me into.”

Mingyu blinks.

“…A what?”

“A blind date,” you repeat. “She set it up. I didn’t even want to go, but she begged me, so I did.”

He just stares at you.

You continue, a little more gently now. “We went out once. That’s it. And we didn’t even like each other like that.”

“…You didn’t?” he asks, voice quieter.

You shake your head. “No. He was nice, yeah, but… not for me.”

There’s a pause.

Mingyu shifts slightly, like something inside him is trying to settle but hasn’t fully yet. “…Then why were you texting him?”

You shrug. “We talked a bit after. Just normal stuff. And then I told him I liked someone else.”

That makes him freeze.

“…You what?”

“I told him I liked someone else,” you repeat simply.

Silence.

The kind that stretches just a little too long.

Mingyu’s brows knit together, something cautious slipping into his expression now. “…So you stopped talking?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “After that, there wasn’t really a point.”

Another pause.

“…Who?” he asks.

You tilt your head. “What?”

“The person,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it. “The one you like.”

For a second, you don’t answer.

You just look at him.

And suddenly, everything feels a little too clear. The way he’s been acting. The way he kept asking. The way his voice sounded earlier, like something was breaking underneath it.

Oh.

You exhale quietly, shaking your head a little, almost to yourself.

“Mingyu…”

He tenses slightly. “What?”

You step closer, just a bit. Enough that he has to look down at you properly.

“It’s you,” you say.

He blinks.

“…What?”

You roll your eyes softly, but there’s a smile tugging at your lips now. “It’s you, idiot.”

For a second, he just… stands there.

Completely still.

Like his brain short-circuited.

“…Me?” he repeats, like the word doesn’t quite make sense.

“Yes, you,” you say, crossing your arms again but unable to hide the warmth in your voice. “Who else would it be?”

Mingyu lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, running a hand through his hair as he looks away for a second.

“…Wow,” he mutters.

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow?”

“I just—” he laughs softly, embarrassed now, the tips of his ears turning red. “I made such a fool of myself.”

“You did,” you agree immediately.

“Hey.”

You grin. “You were jealous of literally no one.”

“I wasn’t jealous,” he says automatically.

You give him a look.

“…Okay, maybe a little,” he admits under his breath.

“A little?” you echo.

He sighs, shoulders dropping as he finally looks at you again, really looks at you this time. And there’s something different there. Something honest.

“I thought I was losing you,” he says quietly. “And I didn’t like that. At all.”

Your expression softens.

“I realized I don’t want that,” he continues, voice steadier now. “I don’t want you with someone else. I don’t want to just be… your friend if it means watching that happen.”

Your heart stutters slightly.

There it is.

The thing that’s been sitting between you this whole time, finally out in the open.

You step a little closer without thinking.

“Mingyu…”

He lets out a small breath, almost nervous now, which is rare for him. “Yeah?”

“You’re an idiot,” you say softly.

He huffs out a quiet laugh. “I figured.”

You tilt your head, looking up at him. “But… are you my idiot?”

That makes him smile.

Slow, warm, a little shy around the edges.

“Yeah,” he says. “If you’ll have me.”

You roll your eyes, but your hand finds his sleeve, fingers brushing lightly against his arm. “Took you long enough.”

He laughs again, softer this time, and for a second neither of you moves.

Then—

He leans in, just slightly.

You don’t pull away.

It’s not rushed. Not dramatic. Just… close. Familiar, like everything else between you has always been, only now it feels different. Warmer. Fuller.

His forehead almost brushes yours before he stops, like he’s giving you time.

You close the distance.

The kiss is soft. A little clumsy. Very you two.

And when you pull back, you’re both smiling.

“…So,” Mingyu says after a second, clearing his throat. “That guy.”

You groan. “There is no guy.”

“Yeah, but hypothetically—”

“Mingyu.”

“Okay, okay,” he laughs, raising his hands in surrender. Then, a beat. “…But if there was—”

You shove his shoulder lightly. “You’re unbelievable.”

He grins, completely unbothered. “I just need to make sure.”

You shake your head, but you’re smiling.

And when he casually drapes an arm around your shoulders as you start walking again, pulling you just a little closer than before—

You don’t complain.

Because everything feels the same.

Just… not really.

And this time, when Mingyu gets a little jealous—

He kind of has the right to be.

[vee-verse]

JEONGHAN ♡ shaving away frustration [one shot]

pairing: jeonghan x gn!reader.

tags: established relationship, domestic fluff, caretaking, slice of life.

summary: Jeonghan struggles to shave after his injury, and you offer to help him.

warnings: razor and bleeding mention.

You’re lounging on the couch, aimlessly scrolling through your phone, when a sudden crash comes from the bathroom, followed by an annoyed "Fuck."

"Hannie?" you call out, immediately getting up and heading toward the source of the noise. The bathroom door is ajar, and you see your boyfriend standing there with a small cut on his cheek.

"What happened?" you ask, grabbing a towel and gently pressing it against the cut to stop the trickle of blood.

He lets out a frustrated sigh. "I was trying to shave, but with my left hand, it’s almost impossible." He gestures to his right arm, immobilized in a sling after recent elbow surgery.

A wave of sympathy washes over you as you notice the strain in his eyes. You can see how tired he looks, and your heart aches for him. You examine the cut and feel relieved to see that the bleeding has already stopped.

Tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear, you offer, "Let me help you."

Jeonghan nods silently and sits down on the toilet seat.

"Where’s the razor?" you ask.

He points to the sink with a pout. "I threw it. Got angry."

You suppress a smile, knowing how easily he can get frustrated when things don’t go his way. It’s just like him to take his frustration out on inanimate objects. You pick up the razor, then grab the can of shaving foam, squirting some into your hand before gently applying it to his face. He closes his eyes at your touch, the tension in his features softening slightly, though a trace of annoyance lingers.

"You know this is just temporary, right?" you say softly, trying to comfort him.

"I know… it’s just… not what I needed right now," he murmurs as you carefully glide the razor over his cheeks.

"I know, baby. You’ll heal soon," you assure him, placing a small kiss on his forehead before continuing.

Jeonghan opens his eyes and watches you intently. "Is this your first time shaving someone?"

You laugh lightly, shaking your head as you rinse the razor. "No, once I tormented my brother until he let me help him shave." You wet a towel and gently wipe the remaining foam off his face. "The first attempt was a disaster—the bathroom looked like a horror movie set."

He chuckles at your story while you take some aftershave lotion and gently spread it over his smooth cheeks and chin.

"But I learned from my mistakes, and I think I did a pretty good job this time. How does it look?" you ask, smiling proudly.

He stands up and examines his reflection in the mirror, tilting his head from side to side. "Well… there are still some hairs here," he says, pointing to a spot on his cheek.

"Where??" You grab his chin, pulling his face toward you as you stand on your tiptoes, squinting to see better. "I don’t see anyth—"

Jeonghan’s laughter interrupts you. "Joking."

You huff and give his chest a playful slap. "Idiot."

"You did a great job," he says, giving you a quick peck on the lips.

"I know," you reply triumphantly, turning away to close the lid on the shaving cream.

"I mean it, though. It means a lot that you’d do this for me," he adds, his tone softening as he lingers in the doorway, looking at you with those warm eyes.

"Although I feared for my life the entire time," he adds, quickly making his exit from the bathroom.

"Hey!" you call after him, your voice echoing down the hallway. You can’t help but laugh, feeling grateful to know you made his day a little brighter.

note: since Jeonghan's actual elbow surgery happened back in 2022, this story has definitely been sitting in my drafts for far too long! please leave a like if you enjoyed it <3

recs: s.coups ♡ a drunken confession

masterlist | seventeen

[arwen-u]

HELP??? OMG CHOI SEUNGCHEOL, HE'S JUST SO HOT LIKE? HOW CAN HE EVEN BE LIKE THIS

[fallingcoups]

SVT Wonwoo x Reader SMAU

English is not my first language, sorry if my grammar is incorrect.🐱

Feedbacks

[slut4min9yu]

Hihi! can I request idol mingyu w non idol younger partner plsss. it could be about anything hehe ty!

Make it right || Kim Mingyu x fem!reader

A/n: ahh love this trope ty! AND TY EVERYONE FOR 600 FOLLOWERS THATS INSANEE

Wc: 1,147

Warnings: age gap other than that, nothing :)

MASTERLIST

-

The music was loud, bass vibrating through the floor, through your ribs, through the glass in your hand.

It wasn’t your scene, too many people, too many eyes, but Mingyu liked having you around his friends, liked keeping you close where he could see you.

And tonight, you’d agreed. For him.

You sat tucked against his side on the couch, his arm draped lazily, but possessively, along the backrest behind you, fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder like he needed the reminder that you were still there.

He was relaxed. Comfortable.

You were… trying.

His friends were scattered around, drinks in hand, conversations overlapping.

You’d met most of them before—some nicer than others—but there was one you didn’t recognise sitting across from you, leaning back like he owned the room.

At first, it was harmless.

A few questions.

“How old are you again?”

You told him.

His brows lifted slightly, lips curling into something that didn’t sit right with you.

“Damn,” he muttered, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Mingyu, you’re into that, huh?”

The tone was off. Not curious, judging. Amused.

Mingyu’s fingers stilled against your shoulder.

“She’s my girlfriend,” he said simply, voice even. Not defensive, yet. “Watch how you talk.”

The guy raised his hands in mock surrender, a smirk still tugging at his mouth.

“Relax, man. Just saying. She looks…” his eyes dragged over you, slow and deliberate, “younger than that.”

Your grip tightened slightly around your glass. You shifted, instinctively leaning a little closer to Mingyu without even realising it.

Mingyu noticed.

Of course he did.

His jaw flexed, subtle, but you felt the shift in him. The way his entire posture changed, like something had clicked into place.

A warning.

But his friend didn’t stop.

If anything, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, eyes still on you.

“So what’s the deal?” he continued, voice dipping lower, more pointed. “You like older guys, or is it just him?” He let out a short laugh. “Or is it the money? The fame?”

You blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

Before you could say anything else, Mingyu sat up properly, his arm dropping from behind you as he leaned forward, placing himself slightly in front of you without even thinking about it.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Mingyu’s voice was no longer calm. It was sharp now. Controlled, but barely.

The room quieted just a fraction.

The guy chuckled, like he didn’t realise, or didn’t care, that he’d crossed a line.

“I’m joking, bro. Why are you so tense?”

“Because you’re being disrespectful,” Mingyu shot back instantly. “And weird as hell.”

There was a beat of silence.

LThe guy’s gaze flicked back to you, slower this time, more deliberate.

“Relax,” he said, voice dropping into something that made your skin crawl. “I’m just saying, she looks like she’d be…” he tilted his head, lips quirking, “…fun.”

Something in your chest snapped.

Before Mingyu could even react, you leaned forward, your voice cutting clean through the tension.

“Do you always talk like that to women,” you asked, your tone sharp, controlled, but laced with disgust, “or just when you think you won’t get called out for it?”

The guy blinked, clearly not expecting you to bite back.

Mingyu turned his head slightly, glancing at you—just for a second—but the look in his eyes shifted immediately.

Pride.

And something darker.

The guy scoffed. “Jesus, it’s not that deep—”

“No, it is,” you cut him off. “You don’t know me. You don’t get to sit there and talk about me like that, especially in front of him.”

Your chin tilted toward Mingyu. “And especially not like I’m something for you to evaluate.” Silence fell heavier this time.

Mingyu exhaled sharply through his nose. then stood up abruptly, towering over the coffee table. The movement was sudden enough that a few heads turned.

“You need to apologise,” he said, voice low.

The guy rolled his eyes, leaning back again. “You’re serious right now?”

“I’m very serious.”

There was no hesitation.

No humour. Just a quiet kind of fury that made even you swallow.

“I said something, she said something back, we’re even—”

“No,” Mingyu interrupted, stepping closer. “You disrespected her. You apologising isn’t optional.”

The tension snapped tight.

You could feel it escalating, fast.

Too fast.

You stood up quickly, reaching for Mingyu’s arm, fingers wrapping around his wrist.

“Mingyu.”

He didn’t look at you.

His gaze was locked on his friend: “Mingyu,” you said again, firmer this time, tugging slightly.

He finally turned his head.

The anger in his eyes softened the second they landed on you—but it didn’t disappear.

“He’s not worth it,” you murmured, quieter now. “Don’t make it bigger than it already is.”

His jaw clenched.

“He talked about you like—”

“I know,” you cut in gently. “And I handled it. You handled it.”

Your thumb brushed lightly against his wrist, grounding.

“Please.”

For a moment, it looked like he might ignore you.

Like he might turn back and keep going.

But then his shoulders dropped—just slightly.

A breath leaving him.

Not calm. But calmer.

He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling again before looking back at his friend, expression still hard.

“You owe her an apology,” he said, voice quieter now, but no less firm. “And if you ever talk about her like that again, we’re done. I don’t care how long we’ve known each other.”

That landed.

You could see it in the way his friend’s expression shifted, finally realising this wasn’t a joke, wasn’t something he could brush off.

There was a pause.

Then, “…sorry.”

It wasn’t warm. It wasn’t sincere.

But it was something.

Mingyu didn’t respond. Didn’t acknowledge it.

Instead, he turned back to you immediately, his focus completely shifting, like nothing else in the room mattered.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice softer now, hand coming up to cup your cheek gently.

The contrast made your chest tighten.

You nodded slightly. “I’m fine.”

His eyes searched yours anyway, scanning for anything you weren’t saying.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, brows furrowing. “I shouldn’t have let him—”

“You didn’t,” you said quickly. “You shut it down.”

You gave him a small smile, trying to ease the tension still lingering in his shouldersl

“You went a little scary there, though.”

That earned the faintest huff of a laugh from him, though his grip on your waist tightened as he pulled you closer.

“Good,” he murmured. “He should be scared.”

You shook your head lightly, pressing your hand against his chest.

“Maybe,” you said softly. “But I don’t need you getting into a fight over me.”

His gaze dropped to you, something protective still flickering in his eyes.

“I would,” he said simply. “Every time.”

Your breath caught slightly.

You believed him.

That was the problem.

You sighed, leaning your forehead briefly against his chest.

“I know,” you murmured. “Just… try not to, yeah?”

His hand slid up your back, holding you there for a second longer than necessary.

“…I’ll try,” he said.

[sebongmochi]

Gyu is hot hot here 🥵💖

[ggukive]

he’s a cheater (at games) [ yoon jeonghan ]

jeonghan is a cheater when it comes to mario kart, and you’re rightfully a sore loser

❛ content | yoon jeonghan x female reader | fluff, gamerbf!jeonghan, banter, video games

you plopped yourself onto the couch, cross-legged with your wheel gripped tightly in your hands. as far away from him as you could possibly be, because you weren’t falling for it this time. not after the last four weekends.

jeonghan was the biggest cheater you knew, especially when it came to mario kart. every game was full of not-so-subtle nudges at your arm so your character would get knocked off the track, and him snaking one of his hands down your side to send you into a tickling fit that always ended up with him crossing the finish line, and you squirming uncontrollably on the couch as your character came in eighth place.

“hey,” you would whine when jeonghan smacks at the controller in your hand.

he’s the absolute worst at games - both in his ability to play them and his ability to play them fairly - like all the time. like hand over your eyes, loud distracting exclamations, pressing your buttons kind of cheating. he’s a child, really, and a rotten one at that.

“stop it!” you watch as your character, adorable yoshi, brakes hard on the screen and then you sadly watch him scoot across the finish line. a split second behind jeonghan’s princess peach kart. “that’s not fair.”

you stand up, letting your controller fall to the floor and planting your hands angrily on your hips.

“you said you wouldn’t cheat again. i should have won first place or at least came in seventh.”

jeonghan lets his controller drop to his lap, leaning back on the sofa, and smugly throws his hands behind his head. “sorry darling,” he drawls arrogantly, “it’s all apart of the game.”

the irritatingly cheerful victory music played tauntingly in the background.

“tickling is not part of the game,” you huff, shifting from one foot to another, “and putting your annoying bony hands up to blind me is not fair.”

he makes show of examining his hands quizzically, and really it’s adorable, but you’re too fed up to bother with his antics. you continue to level with him with an unamused glare until he looks up at you. he’s annoyingly unbothered by your complaints, instead looks even more satisfied with himself the longer you refuse to break.

you figure you’re both staring at each other silently for nearly a minute before his face splits into a giant grin, the kind where it’s slightly gummy and his eyes crinkle into a gentle crescent shape.

“you’re a child,” you grumble, turning on your heel to march out of the room with your arms crossed defiantly across your chest. but not before you’re being pulled back by your elbow, falling into jeonghan’s lap. you’re overwhelmed by his scent as he tucks his chin over your shoulder and nudge his face into your neck.

“you’re cute,” his arms wrap fully around your waist, holding you tightly in place, “i’ll let you win next round.”

“i don’t need you to let me win,” you argue as he pressed distractingly sloppy kisses against your neck, “just need you to play fair.”

“never.”

“why are you like this? really, you’re such an insufferable, sore, path-”

you’re interrupted when his fingers find your sides, sending your body into a spasm as you try to wiggle away. he’s laughing gleefully and as annoyed as you are, you can’t help the giggle threatening to leave your lips.

“come on, don’t hold back,” he goads, relentless in his attacks.

“stop trying to make me laugh, jeonghan,” you suppressed, “i’m seriously mad at you.”

at this point, you’re both on the floor. he’s got you beneath him, and he’s fighting off your arms with one hand, his other hand still poking at your ribs.

“say you’re not mad.” jeonghan demands.

“i am mad.”

he manages to pin both of your hands, now nipping at your jaw, your neck, shoulder, and suddenly you’re quite defenseless to his touch. after that, it only takes a minute until you surrender.

“fine! fine!” he stops and sits back so his weight is around your waist. “i’m not mad. but you’re still a cheater.”

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

jeonghan raises a threatening hand.

“okay! you’re not, you ass.”

he seems satisfied with that and finally pulls you up but keeps you between his legs, your back resting against his chest.

“re-match?” he hands your controller to you and you agree, determined. he starts the game again, his lips finding your neck once more as you nudge your shoulder into his chest to push him away.

his unbelievable charm and ability to worm himself out of any situation was always enough for you to forgive him. other times, even, never being able to say no to his pouting, big captivating eyes, and awful excuses about how he just wants to touch and be close to you at all times.

as frustrating as it was, the old beat up wii he’d bought on ebay had been a staple of your date nights, allowing you both to bask in the nostalgia and down bottles of wine that were far too expensive to be carelessly sipped in between races. you’d order take out, that he’d often ask for you to spoon-feed him as you took a break, and he continued to play.

© @ggukive