booskwannie

[booskwannie]

god forbid someone try to tell their opinions and be straightfoward right?

[booskwannie]

oh my gosh 123 followers?! thank you all so much🤭🤭! to express my gratefulness and love - i will be posting 2 long fics (10k+ words) and one 5k word fic! and i will be continuing with the operation: LOVEY DOVEY i love you all sooo much !!!

[booskwannie]

can you do 5/6 for DK

hi! sorry but are you asking for prompt 5 and 6? like to mix the prompts into one fic? please send in another ask so i can be sure and write what you want for you ◝(ᵔᗜᵔ)◜

[booskwannie]

hi.. came across your lovey dovey drabbles and they are so kewt uwu can i please request no. 13 with jihoon? thank youuuuu

prompt 13 - you brought them a birthday cupcake with one candle and sang off-key until they laughed. wc - 453 operation: LOVEY DOVEY more prompts here ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ a/n: thank you! also i'm sorry if this isn't the 'jihoon' you wanted! i had no idea whether you were talking about seventeen's jihoon or wanna one's jihoon or tws's jihoon!

he never really makes a big deal out of his birthday.

no party, no grand announcements, no countdown on his phone. just another day, he always says. another reason to sit in the studio and avoid being dragged into group plans he didn’t agree to. he’d rather spend it quietly, preferably in a hoodie and with coffee that hasn’t gone cold.

so when he walks into his apartment that evening and sees you sitting cross-legged on the floor with the lights turned off and a tiny glow flickering from the coffee table, he pauses.

“what is this?” he asks, even though he already kind of knows.

you beam at him in the dark, holding up a paper plate with a single cupcake on it. it’s chocolate, the one he always buys when he thinks no one’s paying attention. the candle in the middle is crooked, a little melted on one side.

“happy birthday to you,” you begin, terribly off-key on purpose, dragging each note with full dramatic flair. “happy birth—day to youuuu…”

he’s already laughing by the time you hit the second line, eyes crinkling, one hand coming up to rub over his face like he’s trying not to show how much he’s smiling.

you keep going anyway, louder, worse than before, until you finish with a flourish and a little bow. he claps sarcastically, still grinning, and you hold the plate out to him with both hands.

“make a wish,” you say softly.

he glances at you, then down at the cupcake.

the room is quiet for a second, warm and calm and filled with something so small yet so impossibly full. he leans forward and blows out the candle with a little puff.

“did you wish for more cupcakes?” you tease.

“i wished for more off-key concerts,” he mutters, but his voice is soft, and there’s a blush creeping up the back of his neck.

you scoot closer, resting your chin on his shoulder as he takes the plate from your hands. he doesn’t eat it right away. just holds it, his thumb brushing the edge of the paper liner like he’s memorizing the moment.

“thank you,” he says quietly, after a beat. “for this. and for… you.”

you hum against him, eyes closing.

“you don’t have to make a big deal out of your birthday,” you murmur. “but i will. every year. even if it’s just with one candle.”

he leans his head against yours, the softest smile tugging at his lips.

and that’s how you stay, curled together in the gentle dark, with a single cupcake, the faint smell of the now-gone fire that was lit on the candle, and laughter that still lingers in the air like music.

check out my other works? ς(>‿<.)

[booskwannie]

hihi 🥹 I was wondering if you could do prompt 14 for woozi?

prompt 14 - you found an old mixtape they made you and played it without saying anything. now you're slow dancing in their room, too close, not too much. wc - 510 operation: LOVEY DOVEY more prompts here ఇ ◝‿◜ a/n: matchawoozii i love you so much... i was hoping someone would request for this prompt with woozi + YOUR UJI PFP AAAAA!!

you find it in a drawer he never touches anymore.

not hidden exactly, just… placed. as if he’d forgotten about it or didn’t think it mattered much now. it’s an old cd, barely labeled. just your name in black ink and a smudge of something you think might’ve once been a coffee ring.

he’s in the other room, half-asleep on the couch with a blanket kicked down to his ankles. the sun is already slipping behind the buildings outside, casting everything in that soft blue glow that makes the air feel slower.

you slip the cd into his old speaker and hit play.

there’s a short pause. then static. then music.

the first track is one you haven’t heard in a long time. not since you first started dating, before he ever told you how he felt out loud. you smile without meaning to, leaning back against the edge of the bed as the melody washes over the room.

you hear his footsteps before you see him.

he stops in the doorway, hair mussed, blinking like he’s still half in a dream.

“…you found that?”

you nod. “in the drawer by your desk.”

he scratches the back of his neck, his eyes flicking toward the speaker. “i forgot i even kept it.”

“it’s sweet,” you say, softer than before. “this was the first time you ever made something just for me.”

he doesn’t answer right away. just steps into the room and sits beside you on the floor, close but not touching. his knees bump yours when he shifts. you glance at him, and his eyes are already on you, thoughtful in the way only he can be.

“i didn’t really know what to say back then,” he says finally. “so i made that.”

“i know.”

the next song begins. something slower, gentler. his head tilts slightly. his fingers fidget against his knee. the light outside fades more.

he doesn’t ask, but you offer your hand anyway.

he takes it.

you both stand, quiet, and let the music guide you into a kind of rhythm that barely exists. you sway together in the soft glow of the room, not quite dancing, not quite still. his hand settles awkwardly on your hip, and yours rests against his shoulder. it’s clumsy. it’s not the kind of dance you see in movies.

but it’s enough.

his eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, neither of you looks away.

he leans in just slightly, like he’s still not used to how close you’re allowed to be. like part of him still can’t believe you’re his.

“i didn’t know it then,” he says, quiet enough that you almost miss it, “but i think i was already in love with you when i made this.”

you smile and rest your forehead gently against his.

“i think i knew.”

the song keeps playing. neither of you moves to stop it.

you stay there, pressed together in the soft stillness, with the past playing between you and the present holding on just a little tighter.

check out my other works? ς(>‿<.)

[booskwannie]

11. you were just friends until that one time they fixed your hair and looked at you like they'd memorised every part of you. with niki where he like fixed her hair during dance break and they have been dance partners since they were young??

prompt 11 - you were just friends until that one time they fixed your hair and looked at you like they'd memorised every part of you. wc - 574 operation: LOVEY DOVEY more prompts here ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ a/n: this was interesting to write!

it builds slowly, like music rising toward a chorus you don’t know you’ve been waiting for.

you and niki have been dance partners since the first time you could count to eight. from stumbling through warmups with scuffed sneakers to placing first at competitions that left your hearts pounding louder than the applause. you’ve spent years learning to move in perfect sync. he turns, you follow. you spin, he catches. the two of you speak in rhythm, in glances, in breathless laughs between songs.

you’ve seen him every way a person can be seen. dripping in sweat during long rehearsals, huddled on the floor eating snacks during breaks, half-asleep in the corner with his hoodie pulled up after staying too late at the studio. he’s your best friend. your teammate. your safe place.

but then there is this one moment.

you’re running a routine, practicing for an upcoming showcase. it’s intense. the beat is fast, the steps sharper than usual. your lungs are burning. your hair is sticking to your face. and right in the middle of the bridge, you pause. you try brushing the hair away, but it keeps falling forward.

he reaches out before you can try again.

his fingers are gentle, almost hesitant. he brushes your hair back, tucking it behind your ear with a kind of softness that makes your chest ache.

and then he lingers.

his hand stays for just a second too long. his eyes stay on you even longer.

he looks at you like he’s trying to memorize you. like your face is something he has been dancing around for years without ever really stopping to look. like maybe he has always known, but only now is letting himself feel it.

your pulse skips. your breath stutters. the music fades into the background, replaced by the sound of nothing but your heartbeat pounding like it is trying to say something for you.

neither of you speaks.

niki lets his hand fall. his voice comes quieter than usual when he says, “your hair was in your face.”

you nod and try to pretend your hands aren’t shaking just a little. “thanks.”

the next run of the routine is clumsy. you both mess up the timing. you both laugh it off. but you can feel the difference in every step. like something has shifted just enough to make you dizzy.

he walks you home after, like he always does. the sky is soft with evening light, and the air smells like pavement and late summer. he walks close to you, his shoulder brushing yours. his hands stay in his pockets, but he keeps glancing your way, like he is still looking at you the way he did earlier and just cannot stop.

you don’t talk about it.

not when he says goodnight. not when he grins that little grin he gets when he is trying to act normal. not when he says “see you tomorrow” like everything is exactly the same.

but everything is not the same.

you feel it in the quiet.

you feel it in the warmth that creeps up your cheeks whenever you remember the look in his eyes.

you feel it in the way you touch your hair without thinking when you’re brushing your teeth later that night.

you don’t know what it means yet.

but you know something happened.

and you know, deep in your chest, that you do not want to go back.

check out my other works? ς(>‿<.)

[booskwannie]

enough drabbles for today? hoping i get more requests as the days go on and as i finish my shift at work today!!

[booskwannie]

@saraykh request: "Hello i love your work. I was wondering if you could do number 17 with vernon :)"

prompt 17 - they keep finding sticky notes from you hidden in their books and notebooks. wc - 1k (1054)

operation: LOVEY DOVEY more prompts here ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ a/n: can you tell i wrote more because of vernon biaswrecking the fuck outta me . .

it begins on a thursday.

the sky is sleepy, gray with soft rain, and vernon is sitting cross-legged on the floor of his bedroom, sorting through a mess of books and old notebooks he has been meaning to organize for weeks. the window is cracked open just enough to let in the sound of the drizzle. his sleeves are rolled up. his hair is a little messy. his playlist is humming quietly through a speaker.

it is the kind of afternoon that feels like it is waiting for something.

he opens one of his older lyric notebooks, the spine cracked and pages worn from being carried around too often. a small yellow sticky note slips from between the pages and lands in his lap like a leaf drifting down from a tree.

he blinks.

your handwriting.

he picks it up, already smiling.

"you hum when you read, and when you walk, and when you think. your heart has a melody. i think i know it by now."

his smile grows. it is small and private and entirely unable to be helped.

he doesn’t remember you giving him this note. he doesn’t even remember you touching this notebook. but he reads the poem again, and again, until he can hear your voice saying it instead of just reading the words.

he does not text you. he does not call. he just sits there for a long moment, holding it like it might fly away if he isn’t gentle.

and then he places it carefully back between the pages, where it had been hidden like a secret waiting for him.

he tells himself it is a one-time thing.

but three days later, he opens a dog-eared copy of a book you once borrowed from him and tucked into his shelf on your way out the door, and there it is again. a blue sticky note, wedged between chapters, creased at the corner like you had hesitated before letting it go.

"you always look like you belong in someone’s favorite memory. sometimes i wonder if i am lucky enough to be one of yours."

vernon does not even try to hide the way he beams.

he sits back on his heels and reads it three times. then he runs a thumb over the ink like it might smudge. like it might prove it was written just for him.

he starts finding more of them. like little stars he never noticed in the corners of his sky.

one is hidden inside his sketchbook.

"you draw like you are trying to speak without sound. i wish i knew every word you are trying to say."

another is tucked into the pages of a planner he forgot to use.

you write your to-do lists in tiny boxes but your dreams never fit inside the lines. that’s what i love about you.

one is found inside the pocket of a hoodie you always borrow. he is wearing it when he finds it. he reaches into the pocket absentmindedly, expecting his keys, and instead finds a crumpled note.

"this hoodie smells like you. which means it smells like comfort. which means i am keeping it forever."

he laughs out loud when he reads that one.

not a little chuckle. not just a quiet smile.

a full, head-tilted, eyes-crinkled, hopelessly endeared laugh that makes his heart feel like a balloon with too much air.

he sends you a photo of that note. just that. no explanation.

you reply with three emojis. a guilty face. a flower. a sparkly heart.

he saves every single note.

he finds a little wooden box from an old gift and starts placing them inside, one by one. he handles them gently, like pressed flowers. like tiny pieces of you that he wants to keep safe.

and every time he finds a new one, he falls in love a little more.

with the way you see him.

with the way you hide your love in plain sight.

with the way you are somehow always exactly where he needs you, even if you are not in the room.

it is a thursday again when he finds what might be the last one.

he is reaching for a notebook he has not touched since last spring. the kind with cracked corners and pages filled with ideas that never quite became lyrics. it falls open near the middle, and there it is.

a soft purple sticky note, folded over the edge, like a sigh. like a secret.

"you probably found all of them by now. the notes i mean. you were always good at noticing things. i just wanted you to know that i love you. in the smallest ways, and the quietest corners, and the folds of every day, where nobody else ever looks."

he reads it three times.

then he presses it flat against his chest and closes his eyes.

you love him. you have always loved him. not loudly. not all at once. but in careful handwriting and sneaky hiding places and tiny, magical poems that you scattered like breadcrumbs, hoping he would follow.

he calls you that evening.

his voice is soft, quieter than usual, but full of something warm and certain.

“how many did you leave me?” he asks.

you hum, thoughtful. “i don’t know. i stopped counting after twelve.”

“i found thirteen.”

you laugh. “then maybe that’s all of them.”

he hesitates for a second, then says, “the last one said you love me.”

the silence on the other end stretches. not awkward. just full.

you swallow. “i meant it.”

he smiles, eyes warm as the candle flickering near his desk.

“good,” he whispers. “because i’ve been saving every single one. and i think you deserve a thousand more poems, written just for you.”

you pause. “from you?”

he nods, even though you cannot see it. “from me.”

his voice does not shake when he says it next. “because i love you too. and i think i always have.”

your breath catches. and just like that, everything soft and slow and steady you have ever written into the world finds its way back to you, carried in the quiet of his voice, in the curve of his smile, in the gentle promise of every folded note.

you have loved him in silence and he's he loving you out loud now.

check out my other works? ς(>‿<.)

[booskwannie]

12. they helped you hang fairy lights in your room and now everything feels like a soft dream with jungwon???omg!!!

prompt 12 - they helped you hang fairy lights in your room and now everything feels like a soft dream. wc - 484 operation: LOVEY DOVEY more prompts here ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

a/n: first enha fic wooho!!

you weren’t really expecting him to come over. you had only mentioned it in passing, a quick “i bought fairy lights today!” while on a call the night before, followed by a vague plan to maybe hang them this weekend.

but he showed up anyway. hoodie slightly too big, sleeves tugged over his hands, smiling like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“thought you might need some help,” he said, setting down a little bag of snacks and a roll of double-sided tape.

and you didn’t even try to hide the way your heart swelled at that.

the sun was already starting to dip by the time you started, casting soft gold across your walls. he stood on your desk chair, slightly wobbly but determined, arms stretched high above his head while you held the lights and offered nervous reminders not to fall.

“if you fall and die in my room, i’m going to be haunted by guilt forever,” you warned.

he laughed, that small, breathy kind of laugh that made your stomach feel weird in the best way. “if i die here, at least it'll be in a room full of fairy lights. could be worse.”

you rolled your eyes, but you were smiling.

when the last strand was hung and the switch clicked on, the room transformed.

little golden bulbs blinked softly above your bed and around your bookshelf, trailing along the window and across the ceiling. the glow was delicate, like something out of a daydream. you stood beside him, the two of you quiet for a second, just taking it in.

“looks kinda magical,” he murmured, his voice low beside you.

you looked over at him.

his face was lit up in gold, eyes wide and soft, mouth pulled into the smallest smile like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to feel this happy, like maybe this moment was too good to be real.

“yeah,” you whispered. “it does.”

he turned to look at you. and for a moment, the lights didn’t matter.

because his eyes were brighter.

you both sat on the edge of your bed after that, legs dangling, hands occasionally brushing. he opened a snack from his bag, offered you the first bite without a word. you chewed in silence, heart fluttering at the simple, quiet closeness.

“thanks for helping,” you said softly, staring up at the lights.

he didn’t respond right away. then his shoulder leaned into yours, just the slightest bit.

“i like being here,” he said.

the lights flickered gently above you. soft. golden. warm.

just like him.

and in that moment, sitting there with jungwon under a sky of fairy lights, it felt like the world had paused in the best way. like maybe this wasn’t just your room anymore. maybe… maybe it was a little piece of forever.

a soft dream you didn’t want to wake up from.

check out my other works? ς(>‿<.)

[booskwannie]

Could you please do prompt 14 with bangchan?

prompt 14 - you found an old mixtape they made you and played it without saying anything. now you're slow dancing in their room, too close, not too much. wc - 829. operation: LOVEY DOVEY more prompts here ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ a/n: i made this prompt a little longer because i just thought this prompt was sooo chan and so i got carried away with it..!! also first skz fic!!!

you weren’t expecting to find anything. really, you were just looking for a charger, something simple buried in one of chan’s desk drawers, somewhere between unopened mail and old cables. but instead your fingers brushed against something thin and plastic, long forgotten, tucked underneath a stack of notebooks.

a cd.

your thumb brushed across the cover. no picture. no label, except for a few words written in black ink, the handwriting a little smudged but unmistakably his.

for you.

you froze for a second, staring down at it. you didn’t call out to him. didn’t ask what it was. you already knew.

quietly, you walked over to the small cd player on the shelf, the one he never uses anymore but refuses to get rid of. it clicked open with a familiar sound, and as you slipped the disc inside, your heart started to beat a little faster. not loud. just steady. like it already recognized what was coming.

the music started slow. a song you hadn’t heard in years, not since the earliest days of your relationship. one that used to play through shared headphones and half-asleep road trips, your hand in his, his thumb tracing lazy circles against your skin.

you barely heard chan walk into the room, but when you turned, he was there, leaning against the doorframe with two mugs in his hands, eyes locked on you.

you didn’t speak. you didn’t have to. you just held out your hand.

he set the mugs down carefully, crossed the room, and slipped his fingers into yours like it was the easiest thing in the world. and maybe it was. after all this time, after everything the two of you had been through, loving him still felt effortless.

you pulled him close. his hands rested on your waist. yours settled on his shoulders, thumbs grazing the soft cotton of his t-shirt. he didn’t say anything. neither did you.

the music did all the talking.

you swayed together in the center of the room, lit only by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. everything felt warm. quiet. full. like the past had folded itself into the present, wrapping you both in something that had always been there but felt brand new again.

“i didn’t think you’d find that,” he murmured after a while, voice just above the music.

you rested your cheek against his chest and smiled. “you made it when we first started dating, didn’t you?”

he nodded, his chin brushing the top of your head. “i did. after our third date. you remember that night? you fell asleep halfway through the movie and wouldn’t let go of my hoodie.”

you laughed softly into his shirt. “i remember.”

“i stayed up the whole night picking out songs,” he said. “songs that reminded me of you. of how i felt back then. how i still feel.”

you closed your eyes, breathing in the quiet between his words. every track on this mixtape was a memory, sealed in sound. the first time you kissed in the rain, soaking wet and laughing. the night he held your hand under the stars and told you he was scared of how much he loved you already. the mornings you shared coffee and silence, comfortable and content.

“you should’ve played it for me sooner,” you whispered.

he held you tighter. “i was waiting for the right time.”

the next song started, slower than the last, softer, like it belonged to this exact moment. you didn’t know the name, but the way chan’s hand slid gently up your back told you it meant something to him. something more than he could explain out loud.

you stayed like that, swaying gently in the golden light, your heart so full it almost hurt. not from pain, but from the sheer tenderness of it all.

from the love you could feel pulsing between every note.

you tilted your head just enough to look at him, to catch the way his gaze flickered from your lips to your eyes like he couldn’t decide which one he wanted more.

“you really made this for me?” you asked again, like maybe it was too good to believe.

his voice was quiet but sure. “i made it the night i knew i was going to marry you.”

your breath caught in your throat. everything in you stilled, except for your heart, which just kept beating harder, like it knew it had been waiting for that sentence all this time.

you didn’t say anything. you just leaned in and pressed your forehead to his, letting the moment speak for itself.

this was love. not the loud, movie kind. but the steady kind. the kind that makes mixtapes when no one’s looking. the kind that remembers every song and every reason behind it. the kind that dances slow in a room that feels like forever.

and when the final track played, you let him hold you a little longer.

just like always.

check out my other works? ς(>‿<.)

[booskwannie]

6 reqs left to write! feel free to request more lovelies~ will write 3 tonight and post those 3 tomorrow <3

[booskwannie]

PROMPT 8: their hoodie is too big on you and they just said 'you can keep it' like it’s nothing. it’s everything. WITH CHOI SCOUPSSSS THE MAN HE IS

prompt 8 - their hoodie is too big on you and they just said 'you can keep it' like it’s nothing. it’s everything. wc - 335. operation: LOVEY DOVEY more prompts here ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ

you hadn’t meant to steal it.

really, you hadn’t.

but it was cold that night, and seungcheol had shrugged off his hoodie without hesitation, draping it over your shoulders before you could even finish complaining about the breeze.

“there,” he said simply, the sleeves swallowing your hands completely. “problem solved.”

you hadn’t taken it off since.

it smells like him. like laundry detergent and that cologne he only wears on lazy days. it’s soft and just slightly too big in the way that makes it feel safe, like you’re being held even when he’s not near you.

he hadn’t asked for it back. and you weren’t about to bring it up.

until today.

he catches you wearing it again when he walks through your front door, keys jingling in his hand. he pauses, mid-step, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he closes the door behind him.

“still wearing that?” he teases lightly.

you freeze. heart jumping. “i can give it back.”

you don’t mean to sound nervous, but you do. it’s not just a hoodie. not really. not when it’s his. not when it’s warm and safe and smells like someone you maybe love a little too much to admit.

he blinks at you like your offer doesn’t make any sense.

then he shrugs, kicking off his shoes and walking toward you with that casual, unbothered confidence that always makes your stomach twist.

“nah,” he says, sitting beside you on the couch. “you can keep it.”

he says it like it’s nothing.

but your heart? it flips. crashes. scrambles to catch up.

you glance at him, like maybe he didn’t mean it, like maybe you heard him wrong. but he’s already picking up the remote and leaning back like he didn’t just hand you the entire sky in a throwaway sentence.

you tuck your knees up to your chest, bury your face in the collar.

it’s still warm.

he doesn’t see your smile. but you think he knows it’s there.

check out my other works? ς(>‿<.)

[booskwannie]

Hello! Can you pls do prompt#5 with mingyu? Ty!

prompt 5 - they make you breakfast in bed but ended up spilling juice on the sheets and now you both giggle in your pjs trying to clean it. wc - 574 operation: LOVEY DOVEY more prompts here ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ a/n: enjoy clumsy gyu!

you’re just starting to wake up when you hear the sound of clinking dishes and a muffled curse coming from down the hall.

then footsteps. then silence.

then the door to your bedroom creaks open, and a very proud, and i mean VERY VERY PROUD, mingyu pokes his head in.

“morning,” he says, a little too innocently.

you squint at him, smiling already. “you’re up early.”

“had to make something for my favorite person,” he grins, stepping in with a tray balanced precariously in his hands. “breakfast in bed, courtesy of your extremely talented and shockingly handsome husband.”

you sit up slowly, fluffing the pillow behind your back. he walks over carefully, trying not to trip over the comforter that’s half hanging off the bed. the tray lands on your lap with a slight wobble, two slices of toast, scrambled eggs, a cut-up apple (slightly uneven), and a glass of orange juice that is filled dangerously close to the top.

“mingyu,” you laugh, already holding the glass steady. “this is adorable. but also an accident waiting to happen.”

“i got it here without spilling a single drop,” he says proudly, hands on his hips like he just climbed a mountain. you raise your eyebrows. “you're gonna jinx it gyu.” he opens his mouth to argue, but his hand knocks the edge of the tray as he sits down beside you, and the glass tips.

it all happens in slow motion. the juice sloshes, hits the edge, and then spills directly onto the sheets.

you both freeze.

“oh no,” you say, half-laughing, half-horrified.

mingyu’s eyes go wide as the juice starts soaking into the blanket. “no no no no no-!”

you scramble to lift the tray and peel back the covers while he grabs a towel from the bathroom, both of you slipping over each other in your pajamas, trying to mop it up as quickly as possible.

“i literally said it was going to spill,” you giggle, pressing the towel into the fabric.

“okay, but in my defense, it was going really well until then,” he says, dramatically dropping to his knees beside the bed, towel draped over one shoulder like a defeated chef.

you burst into laughter, and he looks up at you with a sheepish grin.

“good morning,” he says again, this time softer, more real.

you lean down to kiss his forehead. “good morning, juice boy.”

he tackles you gently onto the non-wet part of the bed, arms wrapping around your waist while you both laugh into each other’s shoulders.

“breakfast part two?” he murmurs into your neck.

“only if you bring a sippy cup this time.”

he groans and you giggle again.

soon you’re both in the laundry room, barefoot, tangled in your pajamas and a mess of damp sheets. you throw the blanket in while he tosses in the pillowcases, both of you still chuckling under your breath.

he pours the detergent in like he’s conducting a science experiment. you hit the start button like you’re diffusing a bomb.

then he pulls you into a back-hug and rests his chin on your shoulder.

“we should just eat at the table like normal people,” you tease.

“but then i couldn’t see your sleepy face when i gave you heart apples,” he replies, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

you sigh, leaning into him.

"next time," you say, "use a lid."

he laughs, full and real and just for you.

check out my other works? ς(>‿<.)

[booskwannie]

gonna be posting drabbles one after another!! sit tight and enjoy the ride~!

[booskwannie]

hii everyone! sorry to those who requested, the drabbles may take some time to write but i assure you it’ll br out by atleast monday or tuesday! sorry if the timing of the release is too late for your liking :(

[booskwannie]

got 6 reqs!!! i'll post 2 or 3 today and the other 3 or 4 in the upcoming days ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧ love u all!!

[booskwannie]

THANK YOU FOR READING LIAAAAA LYYYY

Prompt 4 with uri cheonsa~~~? Thank you~~~

prompt 4 - you fell asleep on their shoulder during the movie and now they don’t wanna move. wc - 304. operation: LOVEY DOVEY more prompts here ఇ ◝‿◜ ఇ a/n: missing jeonghan hours officially on !! (they're always on)

the lights are low, the credits haven’t even started rolling, and jeonghan hasn’t moved in the last twenty minutes.

you’re fast asleep on his shoulder, breathing slow and even, cheek pressed against the sleeve of his hoodie. your legs are curled up beside you on the couch, body warm against his side. the movie is still playing, some soft instrumental swelling in the background, but he’s not really watching anymore.

he’s too busy staring at you.

well. not staring. just… glancing. every so often. when he’s sure you’re still asleep.

your hair tickles his neck where it falls, and your hand had accidentally brushed his earlier before settling right beside his. he keeps thinking about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t pulled away. or if he’d had the courage to curl his pinky around yours.

he swallows down the thought. his shoulder is starting to go a little numb, but he doesn’t dare move. not when you’re this close. not when you’re sleeping so peacefully, trusting him with your whole weight like it’s natural.

he wonders if you can hear how fast his heart is beating.

jeonghan tilts his head a little, careful not to wake you. he should probably shift, maybe grab a pillow and gently ease you off, but the idea makes his chest feel weird. wrong. like the second he pulls away, this moment will vanish, and he’s not ready to let it go.

you mumble something in your sleep, and your head leans more heavily into him.

he freezes. then smiles.

his voice, when he speaks, is soft enough that only the air hears it.

“you’re really unfair, you know that?”

he doesn’t expect a reply. he just watches the screen as the movie plays on, unimportant and quiet.

his arm is falling asleep.

but his heart is wide awake.

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