Random insane commentary from me but whenever Soonyoung uses his soft spoken deep voice that is how I imagine he speaks 90% of the time in the Syndicates universe bye
warnings: boo seungkwan. suggestive, making out, kinda dysfunctional relationship, a tad bit ooc??
a/n: its actually crazy that this is my first time writing anything for hao. like genuinely crazy.
so can you come pick up your clothes?
i have them folded
you wanted to pretend you were still mad at minghao. you wanted to feel the anger burning in your chest, the annoyance at any mention of his name. and yet your heart had other plans.
the relationship between the two of you was… rocky. especially as of late - petty arguments, miscommunication reaching its peak, not being able to come to an agreement on anything. and yet despite all of it, all you could think of was having him here next to you again: limbs tangled together, his lips on your skin and shirts long forgotten on your bedroom floor.
truth was despite the argument, you were not pissed with him, not even in the slightest. your relationship might’ve been on the brink of ending but you could always try and make up, right? make things right again.
or maybe just get him to come over to your apartment without any ulterior motive. surely.
minghao’s phone buzzed on his nightstand, screen lighting up and interrupting his reading time. he forgot to turn the notifications off for some reason - he couldn’t even remember why. he was almost ready to ignore the notification: if it wasn’t for the fact that it buzzed again. and again.
[you]
[8:32 pm]: can you come pick up your clothes?
[8:32 pm]: you left them at my place last time, lol. let’s have a talk too, maybe?
[8:33 pm]: i washed and folded them 4u btw. yes, i used your favourite detergent.
minghao sighed, putting his book down, his hand reaching up to run through his hair. he thought about it for a minute - thinking back to how heated the argument got, how annoyed you two were with each other, how he swore he won’t bother again. but then his gaze fell down to the messages again.
he readjusted his glasses, pushing them higher up his nose, then swiftly moved his fingers on the screen.
[minghao]
[8:37]: sure.
[8:37]: be there in 10.
he was indeed there ten minutes later - hair slightly messy, same outfit he had on at home, phone deep in his pocket as he knocked on your apartment door, his mind surprisingly at ease. he wasn’t here to argue nor end up in a screaming match again: all he truly wanted was to reconcile and bury those hatchets you’ve been attacking each other with lately.
but when you opened the door and his gaze fell upon you, any words he planned on saying to you died in his throat. you looked beautiful - divine, even.
minghao decided that a conversation could wait.
‘wanna come inside for some tea?’ you asked, seemingly clueless of the effect you had on him. or rather your outfit - a pair of comfortable shorts paired with an oversized, slightly loose button up. his button up. you smiled at him sweetly, already walking deeper into your apartment. ‘i’ll get your clothes from my room-‘
the rest of your words were muffled by minghao’s lips on yours.
it’s like he wasn’t thinking straight - usually so stoic, so well kept together, so calm. and yet all that has been thrown out the window the moment his eyes laid on you. it was almost as if spending a week without your closeness, without being able to hold you, to feel you: truly drove him insane.
‘hao, we need to talk-‘ you mumbled, or at least tried to, in between each attack of his lips against yours, hands gripping your hips as you sat down on his lap. his tongue darted along your bottom lip, earning a gasp from you.
‘we will, just… later, please?’ he whispered, stopping for a second to rest his forehead against yours. ‘i missed you. i missed you too much. just… give me five minutes and then we’ll talk, yeah?’
you looked up at him, gaze finding his. minghao was waiting - searching for a reaction on yours face, trying to see whether you’d agree or want to stop. and you? you were oh so conflicted.
and yet in the end minghao’s gorgeous eyes, his face being so, so close, and the way you could feel his breath hot on your face seemed to overpower the rational part of your mind.
so you agreed. just five minutes.
and yet then it turned into ten. fifteen. twenty minutes.
minghao’s hair was messy, plump and glossed up lips now attached to your collarbones, nipping and sucking on the exposed skin leaving an electrifying sensation rushing through your body in waves. one of his hands had moved to the small of your back - pulling you even closer, as close as possible, each movement slow and deliberate, his previous lack of patience now replaced with his usual stoicism.
you tugged on the edge of his shirt, hoping that he’d get the message of you wanting it off as soon as possible. he was ready to oblige happily - putting his hands up, making it easy for you to swiftly slide it off of his body.
but then your phone buzzed. three times.
boo fucking seungkwan.
[seungkwan]
[9:07]: did you guys talk it out?
[9:07]: or did you argue some more. please tell me you didn’t.
[9:08]: oh god do NOT tell me you’re making out with him rn. i’ll smack you with my slipper.
the two of you stared at the screen, your friends perfect prediction staring right back at you. at this point, you forgot you texted him about your plans to talk to minghao - but the fact that he checked up was no surprise at all. seungkwan was a little nosy, after all.
‘i can’t even be mad at him.’ minghao murmured, fingers threading through his hair. ‘he is right this time.’
you chuckled, forehead resting against his, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.
‘yeah.’ you said, voice quiet. ‘should we talk about it then? we can come back to this later.’
minghao stole one more quick kiss before nodding.
‘yeah, we should. oh, and one more thing.’
‘hm?’ you tilted your head to the side, a confused expression painted on your face.
‘i would love to get those clothes back. you kind of stole my favorite shirt.’
On a random day during Ilya's first stay at the cottage, he and Shane are wrestling on the couch, fighting each other for the remote because Shane wants to watch a boring hockey documentary while Ilya wants to see Legally Blonde for the billionth time. They're chirping each other, elbows jabbing into ribs, hands pushing at faces, curses flying, and their laughter echoes off the walls of the cottage. If Ilya could bottle the sound and carry it with him forever, he would. And then, mid laughter, he stops. His breath hitches. And he starts crying.
Big, ugly sobs tear out of him and Shane pulls away immediately, his face a picture of concern, hands fluttering uselessly because he doesn't know what's happening, what triggered this, but he wants to fix it because Ilya is crying and that's unacceptable.
Ilya sees it through blurry eyes and curls into himself, hiding his face away from Shane in his hands instead. How can he explain the way his happiness threatened to explode out of him so badly that it ended up imploding instead? That he's so happy he doesn't know what to do with himself, how to act, how to contain it, how to let himself feel it?
"What's wrong, Ilya?" Shane eventually asks when it becomes clear Ilya isn't calming down and he doesn't know what to do.
And the concern in his voice is too much to bear. Ilya is ruining the moment. They were having fun just a minute ago, he can't have his boyfriend think anything is wrong. Because nothing is. That's the issue. So he lifts his head up, sniffling, wiping his eyes so he can see Shane better. His voice shakes and he knows it. Can't be bothered to try to play it cool anymore.
"I've never been this happy before. It's... too much."
The confession sits between them in the silence that follows. Shane gathers Ilya up in his arms and holds him tightly, Ilya curled up on his lap and looking so small, so fragile, so young, nothing like the 6 foot Russian Terror that chirps everyone and taunts them into starting fights as a strategy.
Shane is a fixer. He's the guy with a plan. And when he doesn't have one ready, he makes one. But there is no fixing this. No plan on how to tackle the issue. All he can do is hold Ilya and pet through his curls with a gentleness that brings even more tears to the blonde's eyes as he quietly puts Legally Blonde on, and hope that, in time, happiness - real happiness - will become so normal for Ilya that it won't break his heart in two and bring him to tears every time he feels it anymore.
1 ⧽. if you could sit down and finish any one of your wips without anything stopping you (time, tiredness, etc), which fic would you choose? tell us about it if you want!
2 ⧽. if you could sit down and finish any completely new fic without anything stopping you (time, tiredness, etc), what would you write? tell us about it if you want!
3 ⧽. what's something you like about your writing?
4 ⧽. is there an au or trope that you haven't written before, but would want to try?
5 ⧽. is there a certain kind of fic that feels the most satisfying to finish? any reason why?
6 ⧽. if you were to write a part two/sequel to a fic, what fic would you want to write it for?
7 ⧽. is there a fic you wish you received feedback on, but didn't get any/much? this ask game is asking someone else to then give feedback on said fic, pretty pretty please!!!
8 ⧽. what part of [insert fic] is your favorite?
9 ⧽. tell us about a wip/idea that you're excited about!
10 ⧽. what genre is generally the easiest or most enjoyable for you to write? which is the hardest?
11 ⧽. if you were to rewrite [insert fic] with [insert different character/ship] how do you think it might change?
12 ⧽. what's a song or two you associate with [insert fic]?
13 ⧽. do you have any writing projects/goals/plans you're working on/want to work on?
14 ⧽. is there anything outside of your normal content that you want to write?
15 ⧽. if you wrote a fic called [insert title] with [insert character/ship] what do you think it might be about?
16 ⧽. if you wrote a fic called [insert title] what character/ship would you want to write it for?
17 ⧽. are there any songs you want to write a songfic for?
18 ⧽. how do you want your writing to feel to your readers?
19 ⧽. give a hint/teaser about something you're writing without any context or explanation! tease us haha
20 ⧽. answer any one of the other questions that you want to!
A/n: completely forgot to turn off my queue so that post was random lol. THIS is the fluffy fic majority of people requested 😂
MASTERLIST
-
You’re standing at the kitchen counter in one of Mingyu’s oversized hoodies, sleeves bunched around your wrists as the coffee machine hums softly.
The smell of fresh coffee fills the kitchen, warm and comforting, and you lean against the counter for a second while waiting for it to finish brewing.
From down the hallway, you hear slow footsteps.
Heavy ones.
You glance over your shoulder just as Mingyu appears in the doorway.
His hair is a mess.
Dark bangs falling into his eyes, sticking out in different directions like he’s been tossing around all night.
He’s shirtless, like he always prefers when he sleeps, loose grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips.
He looks sleepy.
And a little miserable.
Before you can say anything, he quietly pads across the kitchen and wraps his arms around you from behind.
It’s sudden but gentle, his big frame pressing into your back, his arms looping loosely around your waist.
His cheek drops onto your shoulder, nose brushing the side of your neck as he lets out a long, tired sigh.
You smile softly.
“Good morning to you too,” you murmur.
Mingyu just hums in response, tightening his hold slightly. His chin nudges against your shoulder as if trying to tuck himself closer.
Clingy.
Very clingy.
You tilt your head, amused.
“What’s this?” you ask lightly. “You’re very cuddly this morning.”
He doesn’t answer right away. Instead he presses his face further into the crook of your neck, breathing warm air against your skin.
“Mmm… don’t feel good,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.
You frown immediately and turn around in his arms.
Mingyu lets you, his grip loosening but not disappearing. His hands slide down to rest on your hips while he looks at you with half-lidded eyes, lashes heavy and cheeks slightly flushed.
Something about his expression makes your chest tighten.
“Gyuu…” you murmur softly.
You lift your hand and gently brush his bangs away from his forehead.
The second your fingers touch his skin, your eyebrows knit together.
He’s burning.
“Oh my god,” you whisper, your palm moving fully to his forehead.
Mingyu winces a little at the contact but leans into your hand anyway, like a giant puppy craving attention.
“You’re so hot,” you say, worry creeping into your voice.
He pouts faintly. “You say that all the time.”
Despite yourself, you laugh quietly.
“Not like that, idiot.”
You bring your other hand up, cupping both sides of his face gently.
His skin is warm under your palms, and the moment you do it he melts completely.
Eyes closing, shoulders relaxing, leaning down so you can hold him easier.
Poor thing.
His nose is a little pink. His lips slightly parted as he breathes through his mouth.
“Why didn’t you say you felt sick?” you ask softly.
He shrugs weakly.
“Didn’t know,” he mumbles. “Just woke up… felt weird.”
Your thumbs brush lightly over his cheeks, soothing.
“You’ve got a fever,” you murmur.
Mingyu opens his eyes just enough to look at you, gaze soft and slightly dazed.
“You’ll take care of me though, right?” he asks quietly.
Your heart melts instantly.
You lean forward and press a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Of course I will.”
The moment your lips touch him, his arms tighten around you again, pulling you flush against his chest as if he doesn’t want you to go anywhere.
You laugh quietly against his shoulder.
“Okay, okay,” you say, rubbing your hand up and down his back. “Clingy baby.”
“M’not clingy,” he mutters.
He immediately buries his face in your shoulder again.
You smile, running your fingers gently through the messy hair at the back of his head.
“I’ll make you some soup,” you say softly. “Something warm. And tea.”
Mingyu groans quietly.
“Don’t want soup.”
“You’ll want soup when you’re sick.”
“Want you.”
You pull back slightly to look at him, raising an eyebrow.
“You have me.”
“Then come to bed with me.”
The way he says it—sleepy and pathetic—makes your heart squeeze.
You press another quick kiss to his cheek before nudging his shoulders gently.
“Nope. You’re going back to bed,” you say firmly. “Right now.”
He stares at you like you’ve betrayed him.
“But—”
“No arguments,” you interrupt, poking his chest lightly. “Bed. I’ll bring you soup.”
He sighs dramatically, shoulders slumping.
“You’re so strict when I’m sick.”
“You’re lucky I’m not stricter.”
You guide him toward the hallway.
“You’re coming back though, right?” he asks quietly.
The vulnerability in his voice makes you soften immediately.
“Of course I am,” you say gently. “I’m not abandoning my sick baby.”
Mingyu huffs at the nickname but doesn’t let go.
When you reach the bedroom, he flops dramatically onto the bed with a tired groan, sprawling across the mattress.
You pull the blanket up over him, smoothing his hair away from his forehead again.
He watches you the entire time with sleepy eyes.
“You’re really making soup?” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
“You’ll sit with me?”
“Yes.”
He relaxes further into the pillows, satisfied.
“Okay,” he mumbles.
You lean down and kiss his forehead this time, lingering for a moment.
“Rest,” you whisper.
As you turn to leave the room, Mingyu’s voice follows you.
Lmao I’ll just reply here so I can save your request in my inbox! But okay bet, I’ve got your request for Mingyu saved I will come up with something hahaha!! 😏💖😂
HEHHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHHEH GUESS WHO'S GETTING A MINGYU FIC 👅👅👅👅👅
you walk into the living room with what feels like the world on your shoulders. jihoon notices your presence, but keeps playing with his joystick because he knows you're gonna greet him - you always do.
but not tonight.
he hears you murmuring a poor 'hey' to him, walking straight down the hallway and into your shared bedroom. he pauses his game, sitting on the edge of the couch with the biggest question mark written all over his face. should he follow you? should he give you some space? what happened?
as soon as you start the shower though - and he hears it from the living room -, jihoon decides to wait. maybe you're just tired, maybe it was just a shitty day at work. let them have their own time, he thinks.
so he does. jihoon starts playing again, the sleeves of his black hoodie pulled to his elbows as he tries his best to succeed on that new level of the game. he slightly misses when you walk past him again, entering the kitchen and groaning.
“um?”, jihoon hums, pressing pause and turning to you.
“i don’t wanna cook but i’m starving”, you say. your voice is low enough for him to know that you're damn tired.
“i bought some chicken this afternoon, there’s some left in the fridge if you want”, he gives you a kind smile. “or we can order something”.
you deny, already opening the fridge and looking for the leftovers. jihoon watches you as you walk around the kitchen, every step followed by a sigh, until you put a plate of food in the microwave and then walk to the couch.
you take the seat beside jihoon, body melting against his. your head on his shoulder, torso all over him, knee bumping his knee. he could laugh at how cute you are.
“bad day?”
“bad week”, you answer.
jihoon doesn't waste a second after your reply. he wraps your shoulders with his arm, pulling you close to him and, hopefully, away from whatever is bugging you.
“you wanna talk?”, he offers but you decline with a firm shake of your head. “do you wanna play with me then? i’ll let you win.”
you decline again, pressing your body against jihoon's. you bury your face on his hoodie, smelling not soap or cologne, but his natural scent; that natural, warm and unique scent.
“can i stay here, though?”
“you mean ‘here’ as in my arms? using me as a pillow?”
you nod, with closed eyes and a small pout on your lips. suddenly, jihoon falls in love with you all over again.
“you don’t even have to ask.”
he then kisses the top of your head, grabbing his joystick with both hands - one arm still wrapped around you, holding you safely - and going back to play. neither of you hears when the microwave bips, the food long forgotten and jihoon's attention not too much on the game either.
all your senses are focused on each other’s presence, on how you have each other; on how you'll always have, no matter what happened, someone to go back to at the end of the day.
> synopsis: the guy who asked for your socials at your local cafe, is a ceo?
>warnings : none
>authors note : decided to write a quick fic before my phone gets taken away for a few days :’) so sorry if this fic sounds too rushed because it is 🙂↕️
> masterlist
reader is female
WC: 1087
You’ve been talking to Mingyu for a year.
You first met him at the cafe near your house, you were sipping on your coffee in the winter season while he was just strolling around the block.
He started to come up to you, telling you that you looked pretty nervously while holding a half eaten sandwich.
How cute.
Soon enough, he asked for your instagram.
Feeling confident he wasn’t a fuck boy, you gave without any hesitation.
He started jumping like a puppy who just got its favourite treat, face giggly and a smile written all over it.
The both of you chatted over instagram, meeting up once every few months.
After a while, you asked him about his job. But he always refused to tell you. He always said that he’d tell you soon, keeping you curious.
You did not wanna think he did any illegal business, or were hoping a pretty face like him had a pretty job too.
You were just a normal corporate hr who works 9 to 5 and sometimes even overtime.
The both of you were the same age, which was a relief because he looks way younger than he is.
He constantly brought you out for dinner in the cbd, sometimes after your work ended. Even when you worked overtime.
There was once you worked till 7pm. You had a dinner planned with him afterwards that you tried to reschedule—but he kept on insisting that he could wait for you.
You were sure he would leave by the time you reached the restaurant, but once you finished your errands and went down the lobby, you saw a super familiar figure.
187cm tall, tan, broad shoulders.
Now why was he at your office lobby waiting for you?
His excuse was that it was ‘getting dark and a pretty woman shouldn't be alone’. It was 7pm by the way…
Not to mention, he pays for 99% of the meals you guys have together, stating that a man should pay and that he did not wanna split the bill. Every time you tried to sneakily pay or split the bill, he would start sulking to you and although it is cute, you don’t want to deal with a sulking man almost 24/7—so you usually let him handle the bills.
There was once you managed to secretly pay for the meals and once he found out, he started to sulk on the spot and transfer the money back to you, so he gave you the amount in cash.
You thought he was a nepo baby, living off his parents funds from whatever company they had, or you thought they had.
Now a year later, you’re in his car. Sitting in the passenger seat beside him, who is driving.
“You’ll love the place we’re having dinner at, trust me”
You turned your head at him, analyzing his outfit, sharp jawline, slicked back hair and gentle monster sunglasses on top of his head.
He had told you to wear the most lavish and fancy outfit you had with the prettiest jewellery and hair done.
He wore a leather suit, tie done nicely, watch on his left arm and a few rings on his fingers.
“If you say so”
Before you knew it, he drove into the parking lot of one of the fanciest buildings ever. In fact you’ve never seen this building at all.
“Where are we?”
“You’ll see!!”
Trusting him, you calmed yourself down that he was not gonna kidnap you after a year since you guys first met.
As he parked the car into the parking lot, he immediately unbuckled his seatbelt and just when you were about to do the same, his hands immediately blocked you from doing so.
He quickly got out of his car that costs more than your rent, running towards your side before opening your door and unbuckling your seatbelt for you.
Feeling shy, you thanked him politely.
As you got out of his car, you slung your purse over your shoulder.
The both of you started to walk towards the elevator lobby, which looked rather lavish.
“Will you finally tell me where we are?”
“...You really have no idea?”
“I really don’t.”
Seeing his surprised face, you shot him a confused look which made him giggle.
“You’ve never told me your job either, so yes I have absolutely no idea gyu.”
The both of you were silent for a second, before he finally opened his mouth.
“I’m the CEO of this restaurant.”
As those few words left his mouth, it finally registered in your mind. He was the CEO of this lavish restaurant.
The both of you stared at one another for the next minute, unsure of what to say.
“I… didn’t wanna tell you at first because I didn't want you to just go out with me because of money.”
And that really made you realise why he was always avoiding any questions on his job.
This poor man probably got used and had multiple gold diggers in his life before you.
As the both of you entered the lift and made your way to the reserved table after exiting the lift, the waiters greeted him in a way that told you he treats his workers well.
He pulled your chair out for you, signalling you to take a seat as the waiter set the menu down on the fancy table.
As he thanked the waiter, he shot a gaze back at you, this time with a smile that looked sincere.
“What do you wanna eat?”
“What do you recommend, boss?”
Upon hearing you calling him that, he started to give out recommendations and his best sellers, describing each dish with polished grammar and culinary phrases you had no idea of the meaning but listened anyway. From the side of your left eye, you could see some waiters and waitresses laughing at their boss for being a giggly mess.
Whilst he was still talking about a dish, you pointed to one that looked good—signalling to him that you wanted that dish.
As he called the waiters over, he ordered both of the dishes the both of you decided on earlier.
“Did you bring me here to taste test your recipes”
“Maybe… but also because i’m confident in my recipes”
He replied with a soft giggle, eyes curving up as he smiled.
The both of you sat in silence—he looked at you with warmth in his eyes.
“…y/n”
“yes ?”
“I think I’m in love with you”
I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, STEALING OR REPOSTING MY CONTENT ON ANY WEBSITE/APP
synopsis: the day is long and hard — cold. but there’s always someone at home waiting to warm you right up.
warnings/notes: angsty undertones, i love mingyu so bad
word count: 794
[masterlist]
shedding one item at a time, the weight on your shoulders lightens, but you’re never fully free. first was your backpack, and then your winter coat, the extra sweater under that, and even as far as your shirt comes off too, all standing right in front of the door. despite the snow, your gloves peel off drenched in sweat, getting tossed into the basket. your feet feel like bricks, kicking off your shoes as you empty your pockets onto the table. you’re cold, from the outside in. your feet drag you to the kitchen, rummaging for whatever snack looks good.
“home!” you shout, but your voice is weak and tired, chest refusing to heave. still, he hears you anyway — you can tell by the padded footsteps coming from the carpet of your bedroom and down the hall. despite all the lifted weight, you still aren’t light enough. your jeans are heavy, and he comes out right as you unbutton the pants, sliding them down your legs. the air of the house is cold – freezing against your bare skin. you ignore it, starting your snack journey again, and that’s when he catches you.
“hi love- babe? what are you doing?” he stops in his tracks, wondering why you’re almost naked in the kitchen, holding two bags of chips and a sweet treat.
“hungry,” you mumble through a mouthful of snacks.
“you know that’s gonna make your stomach hurt,” he frowns, crossing his arms as he playfully taps his foot. your shoulders slump in a sigh, aggressively shoving the chips back to where you found them.
“babe- that’s not what i meant. i’ll cook you dinner so that you’ll feel good after eating,” mingyu hurries to assure you, taking you in his arms. you can’t help but melt into his touch after your bad day, head leaning into his chest as his warm hands soothe your cold skin. his fingertips brush your waist in a way that makes you giggle and squirm, and he leans back to giggle with you.
“go take a hot shower, yeah? i’ll get started on dinner,” he looks down at you like you’re the most precious thing in the world, kitchen lights glimmering in his eyes. you nod, and he places a soft kiss on your nose before sending you off.
—
the hardwood floor is freezing against your bare feet, but the aroma flowing from the kitchen is so delicious that you pay no mind to it. your footsteps are light and no longer weighed down, almost tiptoeing into the kitchen to find mingyu at the stove, adding ground meat to a pot. soondubu. you don’t hide your smile, sneaking up behind him to wrap your arms around his waist. usually he jumps, but it seems like he knew you were there before you made yourself known.
“have a good shower?” he asks, looking over his shoulder. you hum and nod, sharing the vibrations of your body. between the gas stove and his body heat, you’re warm — not just externally, but internally, as well. despite tears flowing down your face alongside the water in your shower, mingyu makes you forget everything that happened.
“dinner will be ready in a few minutes. i made your favorite,” he unlatches you from his back to pull you into his side, placing a kiss on the top of your head.
“i can see that, babe. thank you,” you snuggle into him one more time before detaching from him, sitting at the island across from the stove to watch him cook. his back muscles, unintentionally, or probably intentionally because it’s mingyu, flex with every movement — stirring inside the pot, adding the seasonings or the broth. your chin rests atop your palm as you wonder: how did you get so lucky with him?
when he turns to place the hot bowl in front of you, your heart feels warm — warm from the soup and the look on his face when he serves you. you want to thank him, jump across the island and kiss him to death, but you don’t; you don’t have to, because nothing says thank you like enjoying the meal he cooked for you. he sits next to you, palm on his cheek as he watches you eat, occasionally reaching out to stroke your cheek or your hair.
“you’re so pretty,” he grins, a faint blush visible on his cheeks.
“i look wrecked.”
“you look like you. and i love you.” he always knows just what to say, doesn’t he?
your heart melts, an “i love you too,” escaping as you scoot your chair closer to him to lean into his chest. and he holds you. warm from the soup and warm from his touch, there’s no one else you’d rather come home to.
a/n: what watching a sad movie on a random tuesday does to a person🤧
also stream Serenade by DK and Boo for good health!
“Fuck you, Mingyu!” You shoved your hands against his chest with enough force to almost make him stumble. “I won’t be the one you settle for just because you can’t have the person you actually want!”
“Y/N, what are you—” He tried to reach for you again, but you immediately slapped his hand away. And for the first time, you saw a tear slip down his cheek as he stared at you with disbelief—and unmistakable pain.
“Don’t you dare deny it! Do you think I don’t see the way you look at her every time she’s around? It fucking hurts, Mingyu. Aren’t you ashamed? I’m your girlfriend—”
“Exactly!” he finally snapped. “You’re my girlfriend! What more do you want? Why do you keep dragging her into our relationship?”
“That’s exactly the point—our relationship. It’s supposed to be just me and you. But the whole time we were together, it always felt like I was the outsider. Everyone around me keeps talking about how good you and Therese look together, how perfect you are as a couple…”
You couldn’t finish what you were saying as you broke down into uncontrollable sobs.
He immediately rushed to you and pulled you into a tight embrace.
You buried your face in his chest, slowly calming yourself down. “I love you, Mingyu. I really do. But if the price of loving you is constantly being reminded that I’ll never be enough, I don’t think I can do this anymore. Let’s break up.”
Instead of letting you go, his arms only tightened around you, as if he was afraid you might slip away. “Can we please stop this, love? It’s getting too painful already. I don’t think I can stay in character anymore.”
You lifted your head to look at him, only to see how red his eyes were from crying. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. “We were just getting to the exciting part!”
He shook his head violently. “No. No more. I can’t do it anymore, love. We can practice your lines again later. You’ve been crying for a while now.”
“As if you’re not crying too,” you teased, but he only pouted like a child.
“Because it hurts so much to see you cry,” he replied, gently wiping the remaining tears from your face. “And you sounded so serious when you said you wanted to break up with me—I thought it was real.”
You smiled. Oh, this silly man.
“Were you really scared?”
“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “So please, let’s never do that again. For my sanity.”