⟢ author’s note: hello, everyone! this was a request made by @hykwrld for the prompt “You’re mine. God help me, I don’t care what we call it—you’re mine.” taken from this prompt list. i changed it up a little bit, and i kinda dragged the story a lot, but i couldn’t just let go of the chance to write f2l!lino. i hope you like it!
summary: When Minho’s toddler son shows up to the dorm dressed as Leebit for Halloween, the usually composed idol completely falls apart over how deeply and innocently his little boy loves him.
authors note: so sorry for not posting! i’ve been busy the past few weeks, but i am back and i’m going to be posting a lot more. enjoy~ 🫶🏻
🏷️: fluff, domestic.
Masterlist.
Halloween at the dorms was never quiet.
With eight grown men running around in various stages of costume disasters, fake blood smudged across expensive hoodies, and someone—definitely Han—screaming because Hyunjin had hidden plastic spiders in his shoes again, silence was impossible.
But Minho had expected chaos.
What he hadn’t expected was for his entire emotional stability to collapse the second his front door opened.
Because standing there, clutching your hand with tiny fingers, was his son.
Dressed as Leebit.
For a moment, Minho genuinely forgot how to breathe.
The little white bunny hoodie swallowed your son whole, oversized ears flopping sideways as he stared up at his father with wide, sparkling eyes. Tiny whiskers were drawn onto his cheeks in slightly crooked lines, and the fluffy tail attached to the back bounced when he shifted his weight excitedly.
And then—
“Appa!”
Minho made a sound that no one in the history of humanity had ever heard before.
Somewhere between a gasp, a wheeze, and his soul physically leaving his body.
Behind him, Changbin blinked. “Oh my god.”
“I think he died,” Felix whispered.
“No, seriously, look at his face,” Jeongin said, already laughing.
Minho couldn’t hear any of them.
Because his son was wearing his character. Tiny. Round-cheeked. Looking unbearably proud of himself.
“Surprise,” you said carefully, already grinning because you knew exactly what kind of reaction this would get.
Minho just stared.
Then he slowly crouched down in front of your son like he was approaching a wild animal.
“…Who are you?” he asked softly.
Your son giggled immediately, bouncing on his feet. “Leebit!”
“Leebit?” Minho echoed weakly.
A nod so aggressive the bunny ears flopped into his eyes.
Minho put a hand over his mouth.
“Oh, he’s gone,” Chan muttered from the kitchen.
“Someone catch him.”
Your son grabbed the edge of Minho’s sleeve. “Appa, look!” He turned around in a circle to show off the costume properly, tail bobbing. “Eomma made it!”
Minho looked at you with genuine betrayal.
“You did this to me on purpose.”
You laughed. “Maybe.”
He looked back at your son.
The tiny hoodie sleeves covered half his hands. His little sneakers squeaked against the floor when he moved. The face paint on his nose had smudged slightly from him rubbing at it in the car.
Minho felt his heart physically cave in on itself.
He reached out carefully, almost reverently, and tugged one floppy bunny ear between his fingers.
“…You’re so precious,” he whispered like it personally offended him.
Your son beamed.
That was apparently the final blow.
Minho grabbed him instantly, hauling him into his arms with a dramatic groan and burying his face into the tiny bunny hood.
“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god—”
Your son squealed loudly, kicking his feet. “Appa!”
“You can’t do this to me,” Minho mumbled into his shoulder. “You can’t just show up looking like this.”
“Hyung is literally shaking,” Jisung announced from the couch.
And he was.
Minho was actually trembling a little as he held him.
Because it wasn’t just the costume.
It was the way your son had clearly been excited all day. The way he kept patting the bunny ears proudly. The way he looked at Minho like he’d hung the moon itself.
Like dressing up as Leebit was the coolest thing imaginable because it belonged to his dad.
Minho was weak to a lot of things.
Cats.
You.
Late-night fried chicken.
But nothing—absolutely nothing—destroyed him faster than his son loving him openly.
“Take a picture of us,” Minho demanded suddenly.
Felix already had his phone out. “Way ahead of you.”
“No, wait.” Minho adjusted the bunny hood carefully around your son’s face. “Okay. Now.”
Another squeal escaped your son when Minho started nuzzling his cheeks aggressively.
“Too cute,” Minho muttered. “Actually criminal.”
“Appa, breathing is important,” Seungmin said dryly.
Minho ignored him completely.
Your son suddenly grabbed Minho’s cheeks with both hands.
“Appa where your ears?”
The room burst into laughter.
Minho blinked. “My ears?”
“You need bunny ears too.”
“Oh, he’s right,” Hyunjin said immediately. “Hold on.”
Within thirty seconds, someone had shoved a pair of white bunny ears onto Minho’s head. Your son looked absolutely delighted by this development.
“Same!” he shouted excitedly, pointing between them.
Minho looked like he might cry.
Actually cry.
Chan saw it first and started cackling. “He’s emotional!”
“I am not emotional.”
“You absolutely are.”
Minho tightened his hold on your son defensively. “He said we match.”
“That’s your breaking point?” Changbin laughed.
“Yes.”
Honestly, fair enough.
Your son leaned against Minho’s chest comfortably, playing with the bunny ears on his father’s head while Minho looked at him like he’d personally invented happiness.
And maybe it was ridiculous.
Maybe it was just a costume.
But Minho couldn’t stop thinking about how small he still was.
How one day those tiny hands wouldn’t reach for him automatically anymore.
How eventually Halloween costumes would become “embarrassing” and he’d stop asking his parents to match him.
The thought alone made Minho hold him tighter.
Your son noticed immediately.
“Appa?”
Minho kissed the top of the bunny hood softly. “Hmm?”
“You squishing me.”
“You’ll survive.”
“Noooo,” your son giggled dramatically.
“Too bad.”
“You’re obsessed with him,” you told Minho knowingly.
Minho looked at you blankly. “Obviously.”
And honestly?
It only got worse from there.
-
By the time the group actually went out for Halloween activities, Minho had fully transformed into one of those unbearable parents who wouldn’t stop showing people pictures of their kid.
Every five minutes:
“Look at him.”
“We know what he looks like, hyung.”
“But look again.”
The pictures got progressively more ridiculous too.
Your son sitting on Minho’s shoulders with bunny ears falling sideways.
Your son holding a tiny pumpkin bucket bigger than his torso.
Your son asleep against Minho’s chest while still wearing the costume.
Minho nearly cried at that one.
“He fell asleep mid-candy,” he whispered emotionally.
Seungmin looked exhausted. “Please stop narrating your feelings.”
“No.”
Outside, Seoul buzzed with Halloween energy. Kids in costumes ran around excitedly while decorated storefronts glowed orange and purple in the evening dark.
Your son, however, only cared about one thing.
“Pudding.”
“Ah,” Minho nodded seriously. “A man of culture.”
Tiny fingers wrapped around Minho’s hand as they walked down the street together, bunny ears bouncing with every step.
And Minho kept glancing down.
Just checking and making sure this was real. Because there was something so absurdly soft about your child waddling around dressed as a mini version of his dad’s character.
At one point, a STAY walking past recognized them.
Her eyes widened immediately.
“Oh my god—is he dressed as Leebit?”
Your son perked up proudly. “Yeah!”
Minho physically puffed up with pride beside him.
“He picked it himself,” Minho informed her immediately.
You snorted because that was technically not true.
Minho had absolutely influenced him by constantly giving him Leebit plushies.
Still, the STAY looked like she was about to melt too.
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“I know,” Minho replied without hesitation.
You stared at him. “You said that so fast.”
“Because it’s true.”
Your son tugged on Minho’s sleeve then pointed dramatically toward a decorated candy stand where they also sell puddings.
“Appa. Puddings.”
Minho gasped softly. “He even likes the same snacks as me.”
“Please calm down,” Jeongin said.
“No.”
Minho bought him the puddings immediately.
And then a candy bag.
And another.
“Minho,” you warned.
“He’s celebrating.”
“He’s three.”
“Exactly.”
Your son sat on Minho’s shoulders afterward happily eating his pudding while playing with the bunny ears on his father’s head again.
At some point, he leaned down and whispered loudly:
“Appa.”
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
Minho stopped walking.
Completely.
Like someone had pressed pause on him.
Your son blinked innocently. “Appa?”
Minho looked genuinely emotional now.
Chan saw it and immediately lost it laughing again.
“Oh my god, he’s REALLY gone.”
Minho ignored him entirely.
Instead, he reached up carefully to squeeze your son’s tiny hand where it rested on his head.
“I love you too,” he said quietly.
Then after a beat:
“More than pudding.”
Your son gasped dramatically.
That apparently meant everything.
-
Back at the dorm later, things somehow became even more chaotic.
Because now the members had decided your son was the official mascot of the evening.
He was passed around between them constantly while still wearing the Leebit costume.
Felix fed him chocolate carefully.
Changbin let him sit on his shoulders.
Hyunjin kept fixing the bunny ears dramatically like a stylist on a runway shoot.
And Minho?
Minho hovered nearby the entire time like a possessive cat.
“That’s my kid,” he kept saying randomly.
“We know,” Seungmin replied for the fiftieth time.
“No but look at him.”
“We ARE looking at him.”
Your son eventually waddled over to where Minho sat on the couch and climbed directly into his lap with sleepy determination.
The sugar crash had officially arrived.
His tiny body curled automatically against Minho’s chest.
“Mmm sleepy.”
Minho’s entire face softened instantly.
The room quieted a little too because everyone knew this look on him.
The unbearably soft one.
The one reserved only around his family and cats.
He adjusted the bunny hood gently away from your son’s eyes.
“You had fun?”
A sleepy nod.
“Got lots of candy?”
Another nod.
Then, barely audible:
“Best Halloween.”
Minho looked destroyed by the statement.
Absolutely obliterated.
Your son’s eyelashes fluttered sleepily while he played absentmindedly with the zipper on Minho’s hoodie.
And Minho just watched him.
Like he couldn’t believe someone this precious existed.
“You’re staring again,” you murmured fondly from beside him.
“He’s cute.”
“I gathered.”
“No, but you don’t understand.”
You laughed quietly. “I think I do.”
Minho shook his head seriously. “He’s dressed as me.”
“As Leebit.”
“Same thing.”
That made you laugh harder.
But honestly? You understood.
Because Minho loved deeply.
Sometimes too deeply to explain properly. He wasn’t always loud about it. Wasn’t always openly affectionate in front of others. But when it came to the people he loved, he gave them every soft piece of himself without hesitation.
And your son had him wrapped around one tiny finger from the moment he was born.
Maybe even before that.
Your son shifted sleepily again before mumbling, “Appa bunny.”
Minho visibly melted.
“Oh no,” Jisung whispered. “He called him Appa Bunny.”
Minho closed his eyes briefly like he was trying not to combust.
“Yeah,” he whispered back to your son. “Appa bunny.”
That was it.
Hyunjin actually had to turn away because he couldn’t stop smiling.
“This is sickeningly cute.”
“Disgusting,” Seungmin agreed.
Chan pulled his phone out again. “I’m documenting this.”
“No pictures,” Minho said immediately.
Chan blinked. “You’ve taken literally four hundred tonight.”
“Those are different.”
“How?”
“Because I took them.”
“No logic whatsoever,” Changbin muttered.
Your son was almost fully asleep now, warm little body heavy against Minho’s chest.
The bunny ears drooped over his forehead.
Minho brushed them back carefully.
Then softer than anyone expected, he whispered:
“Thank you for loving things connected to me.”
The room went quiet.
Because yeah.
There it was.
The real reason Minho looked so emotional all night.
Your son didn’t care about fame. Didn’t care about popularity or performances or schedules.
He just loved his dad.
Enough to want to become a tiny version of something associated with him for Halloween.
And Minho—who often acted unaffected by everything—was devastatingly weak to that kind of love.
Your son stirred slightly at the sound of Minho’s voice.
Then, without opening his eyes, lifted one tiny hand and patted Minho’s cheek clumsily.
“I love Appa.”
Minho made the tiniest wounded sound.
“Oh he’s DONE done,” Felix whispered.
Minho looked genuinely close to tears now.
Not dramatic crying. Just that quiet, overwhelmed softness sitting visibly in his eyes.
He kissed your son’s forehead slowly.
“I love you more than anything.”
And he meant it with terrifying sincerity.
-
Getting your son out of the costume later that night turned into its own ordeal.
“Noooo,” he whined sleepily, clutching the bunny hoodie. “Wanna wear it.”
“You have to sleep, baby.”
“Leebit sleeps too.”
Minho immediately turned to you. “He’s right.”
You stared at him flatly. “Don’t encourage him.”
“But he made a valid point.”
“He’s stalling.”
Your son looked between both of you before deciding Minho was clearly the weaker parent.
“Appaaaa.”
Minho folded instantly.
You watched in disbelief. “Unbelievable.”
“He can wear it a little longer.”
“He’s covered in chocolate.”
“A little chocolate builds character.”
“That is not how parenting works.”
Minho hugged your son protectively. “You’ll never take us alive.”
Your son giggled deliriously.
Eventually, after much negotiation and promises that the costume would still exist tomorrow, your son finally allowed you to change him into pajamas.
Though not before insisting Minho wear the bunny ears one more time.
So now there sat Lee Minho—kpop idol, terrifyingly sharp dancer, intimidating sarcastic menace—
Wearing fluffy white bunny ears while tucking his son into bed. And somehow it suited him perfectly.
Your son looked so tiny under the blankets.
Still smelling faintly like candy and outside air.
Minho sat beside him carefully, brushing soft hair away from his forehead. “Did you have the best Halloween ever?” he asked quietly.
A sleepy nod.
“And next year?” your son mumbled. “You match me again?”
Minho’s expression cracked instantly.
“Of course I will.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.”
Your son smiled sleepily.
Then reached for Minho’s hand beneath the blanket.
Minho went still immediately before curling his fingers carefully around the tiny hand holding his.
It hit him suddenly then.
How fast this was all going.
How one day his son wouldn’t need bedtime tucks-ins anymore.
Wouldn’t ask him to match costumes.
Wouldn’t reach for his hand automatically.
And the thought terrified him a little.
Because Minho loved fatherhood more than he’d ever expected to.
Loved every sleepy cuddle.
Every random “Appa look!”
He wanted to freeze moments like this permanently.
Your son blinked slowly up at him.
“Appa?”
“Hmm?”
“You happy?”
Minho smiled softly.
“So happy.”
That seemed to satisfy him.
Within minutes, your son was asleep completely.
One tiny fist still loosely wrapped around Minho’s finger.
Minho didn’t move for a long time.
Just sat there quietly in the dim light of the night lamp.
Looking at him.
Memorizing him.
Eventually, you leaned against the doorway softly.
“He asleep?”
Minho nodded without looking away.
“He was really excited about tonight,” you whispered.
“I could tell.”
“He kept saying he wanted to be like Appa Bunny.”
Minho physically melted at the sentence.
You noticed immediately and smiled knowingly.
“Oh, there it is.”
“He said that?”
“Mhm.”
Minho looked back at your sleeping son again with an expression so unbearably tender it made your chest ache.
Then quietly:
“I don’t deserve him.”
You walked over immediately. “Don’t say that.”
“He’s just…” Minho exhaled shakily. “He’s so good.”
You leaned your head against Minho’s shoulder gently.
And for a moment, neither of you spoke.
The room was peaceful now. Your son’s quiet breathing filled the silence.
Minho finally stood carefully, making sure not to wake him before pulling the blanket higher around his tiny body.
Then he leaned down and kissed his forehead again.
“So cute,” he whispered helplessly.
You laughed under your breath. “You’ve said that at least fifty times today.”
“Still true.”
He switched off the lamp afterward, and the two of you quietly left the room together.
But halfway down the hallway, Minho suddenly stopped walking.
“What?”
He looked at you seriously.
“I think this was the best day of my life.”
You burst into laughter instantly.
“You’re kidding.”
“I’m serious.”
“All because he wore a bunny costume?”
“He dressed as MY bunny.”
“That is not different.”
“It is to me.”
You shook your head fondly, reaching up to fix the bunny ears still sitting crookedly on his head.
“You’re completely whipped.”
Minho looked entirely unashamed.
“Yeah,” he admitted easily. “I am.”
And honestly?
Watching him completely melt over your son all day had made you fall in love with him all over again too.
Because beneath the teasing and sarcasm and dramatic complaints, Lee Minho loved with his whole heart.
Especially when it came to his child.
Especially when tiny hands reached for him like he was home.
Minho suddenly pulled out his phone again.
You groaned immediately. “More pictures?”
“I need to look at them again.”
“Minho.”
“He was tiny.”
“He still IS tiny.”
“But emotionally tiny.”
“That sentence made no sense.”
Minho ignored you, already smiling stupidly at another picture of your son in the Leebit costume.
Then quieter this time, almost to himself:
“I hope he still wants to match me when he’s older.”
Your heart softened instantly.
“He will,” you said gently.
Minho looked unconvinced.
“What if he thinks I’m embarrassing?”
You snorted. “You are embarrassing.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“But he’ll still love you.”
Minho looked down at the photo again.
His son’s gummy smile. The floppy bunny ears. The pure excitement in his eyes.
And something warm settled deep in his chest all over again.
Maybe one day things would change.
Maybe his son would grow taller and quieter and too cool for matching costumes.
But tonight?
Tonight, he had tiny bunny ears.
Sticky pudding and candy hands.
And a little boy who looked at him like he was the center of the universe.
That was enough. More than enough.
Minho smiled softly to himself before locking his phone.
Then he looked at you with complete seriousness.
“We’re saving that costume forever.”
You laughed. “Of course we are.”
“No, like forever forever.”
“I know.”
“And if he tries to throw it away someday, I’m stopping him.”
“That feels emotionally manipulative.”
“I don’t care.”
You shook your head fondly before taking his hand.
“Come on, Appa Bunny.”
Minho smiled happily at the nickname.
And as the two of you headed to bed, he glanced back toward your son’s room one last time with the kind of love that felt too big to fit inside a single person.
take a look at my girlfriend — shes the only one I got!
or: times different skz members got hit on, and they proudly showed you off as their partner.
wc:4k (500 ish each)
warnings: none! ot8(separate) x reader, fluff, crack, nonidol!au
a/n: a little treat for hitting 2k hehe ૮(˶ᵔᵕᵔ˶)ა
chan — 'she even loves the music that my band makes'
The couch at the studio has a permanent dent in the cushions from where you always slouched. You didn’t plan on becoming a fixture there — it just happened. His late nights turned into your late nights, his takeout orders became your takeout orders, and when you fell asleep for the first time waiting for him to finish editing, the studio stopped feeling like his workplace and started feeling like yours too.
At first, it was just weekend visits. dropping off lunch, then lingering a while till he finished up. Then the weeknights where you’d wait past midnight, because going home alone felt lonely and wrong when he was still working.
2racha—changbin and jisung— stopped asking why you were there (han occasionally slept on the other side of the couch anyway). Even the security guard waved you through without checking your badge.
Tonight was no different. You were curled under his hoodie, half watching some reality show on your laptop while Chan tweaked a vocal track for the third hour straight.
an intern had arrived an hour ago, all bright laughter and eager questions. You didn’t mind at first, Chan was patient with newbies, always explaining things twice if needed. But then her chair inched closer to his. Then she started getting touchy when it wasn't necessary.
Chan didn’t even look her way, just leaned back in his chair, occasionally putting space between them. You watched from the couch, the laptop screen long forgotten.
Then she asked the question, voice pitched too high, “So, are you single, or…?”
You held your breath without meaning to. chan’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. Then he turned his head, just enough to catch your eye over his shoulder, and the corner of his mouth twitched, jerking his thumb to your direction, “I’m married, actually,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
The intern’s face froze. Her gaze darted to you, then back to Chan, like she was trying to reconcile the idea of him belonging to someone with the fact that you were just… there. Quiet, half buried in his hoodie.
Chan didn’t wait for her to recover. He tapped his wedding band against the edge of his laptop and nodded toward the door. “that's a wrap for today, you should head out. It’s late.”
minho — 'you got me trippin' in finesse'
you've learned to read Minho's body like a second language, he's a dancer after all. You know his tells before he even speaks.
the way his shoulders relax when he’s finally nailed a routine, the quick tap of his fingers against his thigh when he’s impatient, the slight tilt of his head when he’s watching someone else move. It’s all punctuation in a conversation you’ve been having for months without saying a word.
You met at a studio mixer last summer, back when you were still just the barback for the afterparty, refilling drinks and dodging sweaty elbows. He’d been the one to notice you first, initiating a conversation with you over the counter.
Later, when the music switched to something slow and sultry, he’d pulled you onto the dance floor without asking, and you hadn’t protested.
Minho isn’t the type to flaunt things, though. He keeps his private life private, and you respect that, just a quiet understanding that some things don’t need an audience.
right now, you’re leaning against the doorway of studio 3, watching him run through a new routine with the team. Sweat glinting at his temples as he mirrors the others. You’ve seen this drill a hundred times, but it never gets old.
The music cuts abruptly mid step, and Minho’s gaze snaps toward the sound system — only to land on you instead. his expression turns into a soft smile, and you grin right back at him, raising your water bottle in a silent greeting.
One of the newer dancers, a woman with her hair tied in a tight topknot, follows his line of sight and raises an eyebrow.
Topknot leans into his space as he adjusts the music, her elbow brushing his arm. “You always this serious during practice?” she asks, he doesn’t look up from the playlist, just shrugs one shoulder.
Undeterred, she adds, “Bet you’re fun outside the studio, though. You ever take anyone out after hours?”
Minho’s fingers pause over the soundboard for half a second before he taps the play button again, letting the music swell back to life. He doesn’t answer her, just steps away to reset his position in the center of the room.
But topknot doesn't get a hint, it seems. She sidles closer, her voice dropping. “Come on, do you have a girlfriend or something?” She flicks her eyes toward you, still leaning in the doorway, and adds, “Or are you playing hard to get?”
You take a slow sip of your water. He’s never been one to entertain this kind of thing — not because he’s rude, but because he doesn’t see the point in feeding into games.
Still, you can tell the moment he decides to shut it down. He turns his head just enough to catch your eye, and the corner of his mouth twitches.
“nah,” he says, loud enough for the room to hear. “I already have someone.”
Topknot blinks, then laughs, like she thinks he’s joking. “Yeah? Where are they, then?”
Minho doesn’t hesitate. He lifts his chin toward you, and the smirk he’s been holding back finally breaks through. “Right there.”
changbin — 'guy.exe: 6 5'6 feet tall and super strong'
a matte black dumbbell rolled from Changbin’s grip and thudded against the rubber gym floor. He’d been at it for two hours— shoulders, back, arms, a relentless workout that left his top sticking to his skin in abstract patches of sweat. You watched from the bench near the water cooler, half hidden behind your phone, pretending to scroll while stealing glances at the way his muscles flexed under the lights.
Three years together, and the sight of him still made your pulse skip.
The gym was mostly empty, mid afternoon lull, just a few die hards and the staff wiping down machines. You’d come straight from work, still in your office slacks, your hair barely holding onto its ponytail. Changbin had texted earlier with a come keep me company and a winking emoji. who were you to turn down an excuse to watch your boyfriend work out?
A woman, early twenties, in one of those matching pink gym sets, hovered near Changbin’s bench while he adjusted the weight rack. You caught the tail end of her question, something about his deadlift form, but then she made her move. "Damn tho, you’re built like a god. Single?"
Changbin snorted, wiping his forearm across his forehead.. "Do I look single?" he said, shaking his head like the idea was ridiculous. Then, without hesitation, he tilted his chin toward you standing a few feet away, there, and grinned. "That’s my girl."
The woman followed his gaze, blinking at you like she’d only just noticed the water cooler, the benches, the entire half of the gym you occupied. You raised your hand in a half wave. "Sorry," he added, not sounding sorry at all.
You expected her to leave, but she just smirked, propping a hand on her waist. "Lucky girl," she said, loud enough for you to hear. then, to Changbin "You ever wanna trade up, you know where to find me." yikes.
Changbin’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyebrows did a little jump, He shot you a look—girl you seein' this?—before shrugging. "Nah," he said, casual as anything. "I’m good." He moved towards you and planted a kiss on your cheek, "Better than good."
hyunjin — 'hopelessly devoted to you'
You and Hyunjin had been neighbors in that crumbling apartment complex where the pipes groaned louder than the tenants, and your first real conversation happened because he'd left his studio door ajar.
The scent of paint had pulled you in like a lure, and there he was, sleeves rolled up, forearms smeared with charcoal, halfway through painting something that looked like a storm given human form. and you were mesmerized.
By the time you started dating, you'd learned to love the mess of him — the way his hair stuck up in every direction after hours of working, the paint streaks on his jeans, the fact that he'd forget to eat unless you nudged a takeout container into his line of sight. He balanced his chaotic creativity with a quiet steadiness that surprised you.
his art thrived on bold strokes and screaming colors, his love language was more subtle, warming your cold fingers between his palms, humming off key to your favorite songs while he cooked food for you, tracing the curve of your shoulder blade when he thought you were asleep.
The gallery showing was his first major one. You'd watched him prepare for weeks. frames piling up near the door, muttered debates about lighting choices at 3 am. When the invitations finally arrived, he'd handed yours over, "You don't have to come," he'd said, but you knew he wanted you to be there.
You'd kissed the worry from his forehead and tucked the invitation into your wallet, where it stayed until the corners softened from handling.
Now, standing near a table with a champagne flute you hadn't touched, you watched him work the room. Hyunjin moved through the crowd like water, slipping effortlessly between conversations without ever seeming anchored to any one group.
His laugh carried over the murmur of guests, and you felt that familiar warmth curl behind your ribs. This was his element, even if he'd never admit it. The way people leaned in when he spoke, how their eyes flicked toward his hands when he gestured — he commanded attention without trying, and you loved him most like this, alive with his passion.
The girl approaching him now had been circling for a while. You'd noticed her earlier, lingering near his largest piece, her head tilted in a way that suggested admiration.
When she touched Hyunjin's elbow, you saw him startle slightly before turning with that polite smile he reserved for strangers.
You couldn't hear them over the gallery's din, but her body language was clear. fingers tucking hair behind her ear, the slight lean forward. Hyunjin nodded along, hands stuffed in his pockets, already scanning the room for an exit.
You didn’t move, not yet anyway, because part of you wanted to see how he’d handle it.
That’s when he saw you. His eyes flicked over her shoulder, and something in his face shifted, relief.
You stood from the table, weaving through the crowd, the girl hadn’t noticed you yet, too busy tilting her chin up at him, one hand now resting on her collarbone.
“...really think we should discuss your technique, over some coffee?” she was saying as you slid into place beside him, close enough that your hip brushed his.
Hyunjin exhaled, barely audible, as you laced your fingers through his. His palm was warm, slightly damp from nerves, and you squeezed once, “Oh, he’d love that,” you said, sweetly. The girl blinked, her smile freezing as you added, “I’ll come too, I’m his girlfriend.”
“Yeah,” he said, and you could hear the grin in his voice before you even looked towards him. “she's my muse.”
jisung — 'everywhere I go I keep her picture in my wallet'
"Jisung." You poked his shoulder with your socked foot from where you were sprawled across the couch. "I will perish."
He didn’t look up from his phone, thumb scrolling lazily. "Dramatic."
"No, listen—" You rolled onto your stomach, pressing your cheek against the cushions. "My stomach is eating itself."
This time, he glanced over, one eyebrow raised. "You just ate two hours ago."
"Snacks aren’t food," you said gravely.
Jisung sighed, tossing his phone onto the coffee table with a soft clatter. "Fine," he said, dragging the word out like it physically pained him. "But if I'm going out in the middle of the night, you're eating the weird gummy worms I pick out."
You grinned, kicking your legs against the couch cushions. "Deal."
The convenience store felt both too bright and eerily empty at 1 AM. Jisung grabbed a basket, tossing in the usual suspects, chips, chocolate, those inexplicably neon gummy worms, and went over to the counter to pay when the cashier leaned over the counter. "You again," she said, grinning. "Third time this week."
Jisung blinked, setting the basket on the counter "Uh, yeah."
she picked up the contents, scanning each one as she went on. "I mean, you could be here for the snacks or whatever ," she said, waving a hand, "or you could admit you keep showing up for the ambiance." Her grin widened. "And by ambiance, I mean me."
jisungs mouth gaped, "Oh no, no, I'm—Married. Very, extremely married." then he pulled out his wallet, flipping it to the clear plastic sleeve where a polaroid of both of you rested. one where you were kissing his cheek and he had a big, wide grin on his face, then pulled out his card to pay.
she blinked, her grin faltering for half a second before she leaned back, shrugging with exaggerated nonchalances as she took the card from his hand "Damn," she said, clicking her tongue. "Figures the cute ones are always taken."
The apartment was dark when he got back, you were still in your spot on the couch, waiting impatiently for him. "Finally"
Jisung let the door slam shut behind him, you barely had time to process the dramatic thud before he was crossing the room in three long strides, arms outstretched, the plastic bag dangling from one hand.
He crashed into you with the force of a man who’d just survived a warzone, his face buried in the crook of your neck before you could even ask what was wrong. “I got hit on,” he mumbled into your skin, voice muffled.
You blinked, arms frozen mid-air around him, the crinkling snack bag pressed awkwardly between your ribs. “...By who?”
“The cashier,” he hissed, His cheeks were still flushed, the tips of his ears pink like he’d sprinted home instead of walked. “you’re coming with me next time. No. More. Solo. Snack. Runs.”
felix — 'the perfect pair'
the first time Felix walked into the community kitchen, he nearly dropped an entire tray of freshly chopped carrots.
You'd been there six months already — long enough to know that the dented metal tray was older than both of you combined, and that the carrots were destined for a stew that would feed sixty. You lunged without thinking, catching the edge just as it tipped, fingertips brushing against his.
"Thanks," he said, his sleeves were already rolled up past his elbows, "I swear I'm usually better at carrying things."
Felix still drops things sometimes, never the carrots again, but last month it was a spoonful of cinnamon that poofed into a cloud across the counter. You laughed so hard your ribs ached, and he grinned like he'd meant to do it, like every little accident was just an excuse to hear you laugh.
Now, twelve months deep into this rhythm — Saturday mornings at the kitchen, Sunday afternoons tangled in his double bed, it's your little routine now.
This morning, he's leaning against the fridge, peeling labels off donated jam jars while humming off key. "Mrs. eom asked if we're doing the pumpkin soup again," he says, glancing at you. "Told her we'd have to check with the boss." He winks. You're not the boss. There is no boss. But this is Felix's favorite joke, his way of stitching you into the center of his stories, even when you're just scrubbing pans in the corner.
this new volunteer has been hovering around him all morning. You recognize the tilt of her head, she keeps finding reasons to step into his space, keeps finding reasons to strike up conversations, and he's too kind to turn her down on the get go.
she might've mistaked his kindness for something else though.
He's handing her a knife to chop chilis when she "accidentally" grazes his wrist. "You're always so patient with everyone," she says, he replies with a simple "thank you", polite as ever, but you could tell he was uncomfortable.
You don't move. Because Felix is already walking over to your station, he bumps his forehead lightly against your temple "Rescue me," he murmurs into your hair, and you can feel her stare burning holes in your back.
"Tell her yourself," you whisper, amused. you're already reaching for his hand, lacing your fingers through his. Felix exhales, relieved, before turning back to her with that easy smile.
"Oh! Almost forgot," he says brightly "This is my favorite person. The reason I never miss a Saturday."
And just like that, the room tilts back into place, Felix glowing like always, you beside him, and the quiet understanding that some things, like this kitchen, like his hand in yours, aren't up for grabs.
seungmin — 'I'd risk it all for you '
stadium lights blazed down, bright enough as if the sun was still up, turning the sweat on Seungmin’s skin into glitter. He wiped his forearm across his brow, smearing a streak of infield dirt in the process, and grinned at the roar of the crowd still thrumming through the stands. The mic in his hand was warm from being passed around, and the interviewer, was standing just a little too close. Her perfume was floral, aggressive.
"Kim Seungmin," she said, "Another incredible performance tonight. That last play — were you trying to give your fans a heart attack?"
Seungmin laughed, easy and practiced, the sound swallowed up by the noise around them. "Nah, just wanted to keep things interesting." He shrugged, adjusting the cap perched on his damp hair. The fabric of his jersey clung to his shoulders, heavy with sweat and adrenaline.
"Interesting is one word for it." She tilted her head, leaning in enough that the mic brushed his chest. "You’ve been on a hot streak this season. What’s driving you?"
Seungmin exhaled through his nose, a quick, amused breath. "Same thing as always," he said, gaze drifting past the interviewer's shoulder toward the stands. "Love of the game."
"That’s it? Just pure passion? No special someone in the stands tonight?"
Seungmin let the silence stretch just long enough for the tension to coil — then, he spoke again, "Actually," he said slowly, "yeah. My girlfriend’s here."
The interviewer blinked. The mic slipped a fraction in her grip.
The crowd erupted, a collective 'ohhh' rippling through the stands. Somewhere in the noise, someone wolf whistled. Seungmin didn’t react, just kept that easy, knowing smile, like he’d been waiting for this exact moment.
"we've been together since college," he continued, voice carrying effortlessly over the din. The interviewer recovered quickly, professionalism snapping back into place, but her grip on the mic was tighter now.
“That’s sweet,” she said, and it wasn’t insincere, “Care to share more? The fans would love to hear.”
Seungmin’s gaze flicked back to where you were sitting — third baseline, five rows up, right where you always were, and his expression softened. “She hates when I talk about her in interviews,” he admitted, laughing under his breath. “But she’s the reason I don’t overthink pitches. And the reason I do stretch before games.”
The interviewer opened her mouth, probably to pivot back to safer baseball territory, but the cameraman beat her to it, swinging the lens abruptly toward the stands. The stadium screen flickered, then locked onto your face, blown up fifty feet tall for thirty thousand people to see.
Your lips parted in surprise, the nacho you’d been mid bite hovering forgotten in your hand. Seungmin’s chuckle echoed through the speakers, "There she is,"
A nearby fan elbowed you, grinning. "Girl, you’re famous now!" she stage whispered. Your cheeks burned, but you managed a small wave at the camera, awkward, The crowd ate it up, cooed like it was the cutest thing they’d ever seen.
On screen, Seungmin’s smile went crooked, like he was trying not to laugh at you. "See?" he told the interviewer, nodding toward the screen. "Told you she hates this." The mic caught the rasp in his voice, the one that only showed up when he was tired or fond. Tonight, it was both.
Jeongin — 'love struck girl, I'd tease her.'
"You would pick the one night we’re out of ice cream to confess you like me," Jeongin had said that night two years ago, his voice cracking halfway through the sentence. He’d been holding a half melted pint of strawberry between you like a peace offering, or maybe a shield.
The confession had been an accident, words slipping out during one of those aimless midnight drives where the radio played nothing but old love songs and static.
You’d blamed the music, blamed the summer heat, blamed the way he’d drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time with the beat.
But Jeongin, ever meticulous, had pulled into the nearest convenience store parking lot, then returned with the ice cream as if that solved anything. but it only got that confession out of you that was begging to crawl out of your throat days prior.
Now, standing in the crowded glow of your friends apartment, you watch Jeongin from across the room. He’s holding a drink he hasn’t sipped yet, nodding as some woman you don’t recognize — a friend of a friend, probably — talks animatedly about something.
The way she gestures tells you it’s a story, not small talk. Jeongin’s always been a good listener, the kind who leans in just enough to make people feel heard, but tonight there’s a stiffness in his shoulders you recognize.
Hyunjin bumps your elbow with a fresh beer. "You’re staring," he sing songs under his breath.
You take the bottle without looking. "I’m observing."
"Same thing." He follows your gaze, then snorts. "Oh, her. She’s new. Felix invited her. Something about crypto startups? I tuned out after 'blockchain.'"
The woman— crypto girl —leans closer to Jeongin, her hand brushing his sleeve as she laughs. You don’t move. Jeongin’s fingers twitch against his glass, then still.
Then, clear across the room "So… are you single?"
Hyunjin chokes on his drink.
Jeongin blinks, caught off guard. For a second, he looks like he might laugh it off, might deflect like he used to when strangers flirted with him at bars back when you were just friends. But then his gaze flicks to you and his posture shifts.
"No," he says, quieter than usual. "I’m engaged."
Crypto girl’s eyebrows shoot up. "Really? I wouldn’t have guessed."
Before she can say more, you’re crossing the room, setting your beer down on the table beside Jeongin with a clink. "What wouldn’t you have guessed?" you ask, voice light.
Jeongin exhales, something close to relief. His fingers find yours without hesitation "That I’m taken," he says, squeezing your hand.
Crypto girl’s smile falters. "Ah. My bad." She retreats with a half hearted salute, already scanning the room for someone else to talk to.
Jeongin watches her go, then turns to you, sheepish. "Sorry."
"You’re apologizing for existing attractively now?" you tease, bumping his shoulder.
He rolls his eyes, but his thumb traces circles over your knuckles. "Shut up."
a/n: I hope at least one person gets all the lyrical references I made in this or I might just cry
synopsis : You and Minho pretend to be dating just to get a special discount for couples at a cafe, and from that day forward he decides it’d be a funny idea to treat you as his girlfriend. Just for funsies, yes, ofc.
📝 writing lino is so fun he’s so tsundere-like. Also I almost named this as ‘case 143’ but I thought it wouldn’t really convey the fic vibe idk 🤷♀️ anyways i hope u enjoy it !! <3
tags : Lee Know x fem!reader, fluff, friends to lovers, fake dating as a starting point, ‘what are we’ kinda vibe, sarcasm, mixed signals (not on purpose tho, you’re both just confusing with your emotions lol), lino is referred as Minho
reminder: this is all a made-up fan-fiction just for fun!
It was hard to describe your relationship with Minho. Well, you’re friends. At least that’s what you’re supposed to be.
It was known he wasn’t that open with his emotions and always had a sarcastic comment to make instead. It was hard to tell what’s on his mind, but maybe that’s why you both clicked so well. You were more reserved yourself after all. Just like that, what began as jokes and sillyness evolved into a strong friendship like no other. Over time he became the most trustworthy person you knew. And funniest. And very, very good looking. You might also have this tiny little crush on him. But that’s only a detail, of course.
At this point, you were used to hiding what you felt. However things started getting complicated after that stupid idea. And now you couldn’t tell if he might feel the same or not.
evidence i.
“There’s a discount for couples today,” Minho commented as you both read the big letters on the cafe poster you were about to enter.
“You’re not thinking what I’m thinking,” you say already laughing, and the mischievous look on his face told you everything.
“It’s 35% off, that’s almost a free extra drink!” He chuckles. “Come on, I think we can be very convincing if we try,” he adds already taking your hand on his, intertwining your fingers and leading you inside. You can’t hold back the big smile that forms on your lips.
You both go straight to the attendant to ask for the promotional drinks, hoping for the best.
“Yes, our smoothies are on a special promotion for love birds,” the lady on the balcony explained politely. “Choose two flavors and you get the 35% off.”
“Great!” Minho cheered, his hand leaving yours to go firmly on your waist, bringing you closer, and you hope the way your eyes slightly widen isn’t obvious. He takes the menu. “I think I’ll go with strawberry banana. What about you, love?”
It took you a second to realize he was actually talking to you. Like yes, you’re ‘love’.
“Oh, I… I’d like the same as you, honey,” you say fast so you wouldn’t have to think too much, the pet name sounding strangely nice.
The woman nods as she registers your order. You’re opening your purse to get your wallet when Minho interrupts you.
“I’ll pay, don’t worry babe,” he winks, making you pause in confusion.
“Huh?” You tilt your head. You then steal a glance at the lady and remember you’re supposed to be playing along. You quickly try to disguise your surprise. “We can split, darling, I don’t mind.”
“Come on, it’s our anniversary, of course I’ll pay for us,” he improvises, already tapping his card on the payment terminal before you could protest.
“Oh, anniversary?” The lady looks up at you with curious eyes. “How long have you been together if you don’t mind me asking?”
“One year,” he replies promptly. You nod.
“Aw, that’s sweet. You two look so lovely together, I can tell just by the way you look at each other,” she compliments.
“We get that a lot,” he comments with a small laugh, his hand squeezing your shoulder. You grin to be polite, a bit too aware of his hand on you. It almost makes you miss the way his ears get redder.
“I’ll get your drinks, wait just a moment, please,” the attendant smiles as she turns her back to prepare the drinks.
“Copy cat,” Minho whispers when she’s not looking anymore. “You were supposed to choose a different flavor so I could steal from you.”
“I didn’t expect this to work, I’m nervous!” You whisper back.
“Why wouldn’t it work? You thought they’d ask us to kiss as proof or something?”
“Of course not, that’s not what I meant!” You hiss with your voice low, your cheeks getting a bit warmer.
“Here’s your order,” the friendly woman comes back with tasty smoothies, making you cease your banter immediately. “I hope you have a very special day today. You’re very lucky to have such an attentive gentleman by your side,” she says playfully glancing at you.
“Of course, thank you so much,” you shyly reply, trying to ignore the smirk that was growing on Minho’s face.
You sit on a table near the window, smoothies in hand. You can’t help but feel distracted by all that just happened.
“Wasn’t the discount the whole point of doing this?” You finally ask when you felt your cheeks weren’t on fire anymore.
“Yeah, she did discount it.” He shrugs with the straw between his teeth, already finished with almost one quarter of his drink.
“Then why did you pay for both of us? You ended up spending more anyways.”
He averted his eyes for a second before that smirk returned to his face. “Can’t I be a gentleman to my girlfriend?”
“We’re not actually dating,” you manage to say.
He pinched your cheek. “I got you a 100% discount, so stop complaining.”
evidence ii.
After that day at the cafe, for some unknown reason, Minho thought it’d be a funny idea to treat you as his girlfriend from time to time and started using pet names nonstop. Ironically, of course, as if it was an innocent inside joke. Or at least that’s what it looked like. But your heart couldn’t differentiate a joke from the real thing apparently.
That Tuesday you were at his place helping him with ideas to finish writing a sketch needed for a project which deadline was like, yesterday.
“Can you get the red pen for me, princess?” He asked you after taking some notes.
“Sure.”
“Thank you, honey,” he gave you his signature smirk before going back to writing frantically.
It all sounded like teasing, it definitely was, but it was starting to drive you crazy. Minho’s mixed signals were getting to you, and you couldn’t tell anymore if that was his way of flirting or if he was messing around as usual.
“Shoot, Chan’s already coming to get this paper,” Minho woke you up from your thoughts as soon as his phone screen lightens up with a notification. “He’s gonna nag at me the whole day if this isn’t done when he gets here…”
“You kinda deserve it,” you chuckle.
“It’s not like he didn’t finish his part on the last minute either,” he pouts, still writing.
“Ask him to buy snacks or cat food on his way,” you suggest. “That will buy you at least 15 minutes to finish it.”
“Ooh, genius,” he snapped his fingers and quickly picked up his phone to type the message to Chan, but not without teasing you first. “You’re not just a pretty face after all, huh?”
You didn’t know whether to feel complimented or insulted. He glanced at you and immediately laughed at your expression.
“Can you at least thank me properly for saving you here?” You lightly push his shoulder as retort, the tips of your ears redder.
He looks up at you, that stupid grin still plastered on his face. “Sorry, sorry. You know I’m just messing with you.” The corners of this mouth relax into a more genuine smile. “I’m aware you’re very smart and you’re really, really helping me a lot today. Even if you didn’t have to, you are,” he emphasizes in a sincere tone, carefully tucking a hair strand behind your ear, fond eyes looking straight into yours.
“Of course,” you play it off, trying not to sound as shy as you were getting. “You’ve helped me a lot before too so… It’s only natural.”
“Hm-hum. We’re partners in crime,” he nods, and pauses as if he realizes what he just said. He then gives you a look, his smirk making a return. “Who else would I call in this situation if not my beautiful lover?”
Oh, this again.
“Yeah, sure. Now finish this quickly before Chan gets here,” you chuckle, trying to disguise the way your heart skipped a beat.
evidence iii.
“Horror movie? I’m not sure…” You mumble as you both stand at the movie theater entrance, Minho’s film suggestion not being exactly to your taste.
“This one is not that scary, it’s just a bunch of silly jumpscares. Come on, it will be fun! I’ll even let you embrace me if you’re that terrified, since I’m so reliable.” He bumps your shoulder trying to convince you. “Seriously, you’ll like this one, I promise!”
“You’re insufferable.”
You end up agreeing to go anyways.
He guided you to the tickets balcony with a hand securely on your shoulder. The attendant showed you the available seats on the computer screen. It wasn’t sold out, but it wasn’t empty either, so you still had a few options to choose from.
“Wanna get the seats for couples in the back?” He suddenly suggested.
You knew what he was talking about. The last seats on that movie theater were reserved for couples because you could fold up the center armrests in order to cuddle your partner closer. Now why was he offering that.
You turned to look at him, and he playfully lifted his eyebrows at you. Gosh. He was just teasing you wasn’t he. Why would you cuddle in a horror movie session anyway.
“No thanks,” you answer without thinking, but your heart was thumping on your ears. “Let’s just stick to the seats next to the stairs,” you say, avoiding his eyes this time.
“Pshh, you’re no fun,” he breathes out a small laugh, but selects the seats you picked anyways. He went a bit quieter as he bought popcorn. Meanwhile, you just stood there not sure how unserious he was with all of this.
You couldn’t really focus on the movie that day.
And he didn’t try anything the whole session besides laughing when you got scared.
evidence iv.
“I kinda missed you,” he said with a genuine smile when you bumped into each other by coincidence.
“It’s been barely a week,” you shrugged, trying to keep it together.
“Doesn’t matter,” he replied, his lips curving into a smirk. “Can’t I miss my girlfriend?”
Yeah, sure.
You sigh. How you wish this could be true. But what if you speak up your mind and make a fool out of yourself? Would it ruin your friendship? What if he laughed at your face?? One hundred different scenarios go through your head to make you give up. …but suddenly your eyes lighten up as an idea came to mind. If he was just teasing you, you could correspond jokingly as well. Just to test the waters.
“If you wanted to see me that much you could have asked me out on a date.”
He stiffens instantly, like he didn’t expect you to actually play along. You never did until now.
“Date?” He echoes just to make sure, eyes slightly widened.
“Yes, honey. That’s what lovers usually do.”
“Really?” He tilts his head, trying to get the teasing tone back to his voice without much success. “So you won’t run off if I ask you out?”
“Run off? You’re ridiculous,” you can’t help but chuckle at his reaction, but you try to stay in character. “Why would I? We’ve been on dates before, haven’t we? The movies and that cafe.”
“…I see.” He finally nod, a tint of red coloring his cheeks. He clears his throat, and you could swear you’ve never seen him act so shy, his behavior changing so suddenly. “In that case, would you like to go out with me? I could… pick you up tomorrow afternoon.”
You felt like your heart was going to burst.
evidence v.
That day, there weren’t pet names. There weren’t couple jokes either. Actually, you were both a bit tense about the date.
“You know, I chose the cat cafe in hopes it wouldn’t be so awkward but I guess it didn’t work,” he says eventually with an embarassed laugh.
“No, it did work, the cats are cute,” you say quickly while caressing the feline sitting next to you. “I’m just a little distracted today.” A beat. “You’re also quieter.”
“Maybe,” he murmured, eyeing the kitten sleeping close to his leg.
“Yet you’re the one who was entertaining the whole lovers thing the most,” you comment. “I thought you’d be full of that today.”
“Well, yes, I was. But actually, I wanted to tell you that... How do I say it…” he bites his lip. “Today isn’t just teasing or playing pretend. I meant it when I asked you out.”
You feel your heart skip a beat. “I know,” you nodded. “I’m glad you did.”
“Yeah?” His tone softens. “I wasn’t sure if you were a fan of the idea since you were kinda pushing me away,” he admits as he fidgets with the straw of his drink.
“What? No, I wasn’t! Really,” you immediately try to explain, the cat next to you meowing in complain of your sudden move. You take a deep breath before continuing. “I’ve actually been overthinking it because I didn’t know whether it was all just a joke or if there was something more to it, so I was afraid of… you know… playing along and end up liking you even more to the point there wasn’t going back anymore,” you quietly finish.
He finally meets your eyes, taking a moment to really look at you.
“…That was the risk I was taking too.”
Your breath catches on your throat. He notices your silence and speaks again.
“I started this couple play-pretend thing because… You know.” He scratches the back of his neck, trying to find the words. “It felt like this way I could say and do all that stuff without scaring you off or sounding weird. Since we’ve been close friends for so long.”
Oh. Oh my.
“It wouldn’t sound weird. It would have worked from the beginning if you were just honest,” you say sheepishly, still trying to process his words.
“Yeah, I realize it now from that cute blush of yours,” he points out, making you redder.
“Oh, shut up,” you look down at the cat peacefully lying beside you again. There was a new feeling blooming in your chest. Giddy, fresh and safe, all at the same time.
“So…” he clears his throat. “May I take you to that cafe again this week? So we can get another couple discount and so I can do things for real this time. No play-pretends.”
And just like this, that excited, insistent smile you’ve been trying to hold back appears on your lips.
“…Will I get that 100% discount again?” You can’t help but tease.
“Sure, pretty.” He breathes out a laugh, not hiding his heart eyes either.
— ahhh this was longer than I expected but it’s kinda rushed at the same time..? anyways i think I’m happy with how it turned out ig dkdndjdj Lemme know what u guys think :))
pairing: lee minho x reader
tags: drabble. domestic fluff.
part of the emmieverse special—see here
minho is halfway through folding the freshly dried clothing in the laundry room when he hears it: the unmistakable chorus of tiny, judgmental meows.
he glances down. three pairs of eyes stare up at him like he is personally responsible for the downfall of society.
“what,” he asks flatly, holding up a pair of your socks.
soonie meows again—loud and mournful—and doongie rubs against his shin like he is trying to awaken guilt. dori simply stares. always watching. always planning.
“i fed you. i scooped your litter. i gave you those weird snacks you like,” minho lists, bending to scratch doongie’s head. “what else do you want, huh?”
they do not answer. they simply exist at him.
until—
the sound of the front door unlocking echoes from the other side of the house.
everything changes.
soonie bolts first, nearly slipping on the hallway rug. doongie trots after him with poise, and dori makes his usual dramatic entrance: meowing as if he just survived war.
minho snorts, shaking his head.
“traitors.”
you barely have one foot inside before you are surrounded.
“hi, my babies,” you coo, crouching down to pet them as they swirl around you in a furry storm. “missed me that much?”
minho stands at the end of the hallway, arms crossed, a hopeless little smile tugging at his mouth. the sight of his babies loving on you like this never gets old.
“they’ve been moping around like your absence broke each of their hearts,” he says, slowly approaching you from where he stood.
you grin at him. “maybe it did.”
he leans to kiss you hello, warm hands settling on your waist like they never want to leave. “well i missed you more,” he murmurs.
“i would hope so,” you quipped. you melt into his embrace for a beat, then pull back. “i’m starving.”
“same,” he agrees. “want me to start on—”
“i got it,” you wave his offer off, stepping into the kitchen. the cats follow after you immediately, falling into formation like little soldiers of chaos. they may as well be magnetised to you.
you open the fridge, eyeing them. “you just want food, huh?”
meows follow. of course they do.
you point down the hallway vaguely to where you left minho standing. “then go ask your father.”
there is a pause.
then three sets of paws patpatpat down the hall like a furry stampede. when they don’t find him near the entryway, they search the house.
not in the living room…
not in the bedroom…
….he’s in the laundry room again!
minho, in the middle of matching your sock pairs again, looks up just in time for the interrogation squad to arrive.
they meow. in sync.
he blinks. “did you—did they actually—”
from the kitchen, you call: “i delegated!”
minho just laughs, setting the socks aside to kneel on the floor like a medieval servant to his royal court.
“you guys are whipped.”
soonie hops in his lap. doongie starts purring. dori knocks over a cup.
minho sighs, grinning. “yeah, yeah. i’ll feed you. but only because your mother’s scary when she’s hungry.”
from the kitchen, you call once more: “i heard that!”
he smiles to himself, completely gone for this weird little family of his.
and for the record, the cats get fed first.
he knows his place.
tysm anon! i love writing lee know soft….. soft domestic lee know and i are married now
