soephiphany

[soephiphany]

I'm in tears.. I missed him so much.

Nobody talks to me, I'm a mess 🥺😭

[soephiphany]

Yum yum

This man is fucking yummy

[soephiphany]

Oh my god... (⁠｡⁠•́⁠︿⁠•̀⁠｡⁠)

S K Z F A L L I N G I N L O V E

stray kids ot8 x reader | this is how they fall—soft, slow, and all at once.

🌙 synopsis: love doesn’t always arrive loudly. sometimes it slips in through laughter, late-night ramen, bookstore rambles, or the way your eyes crinkle when you’re proud of them. this is the moment it hits them. the heartbeat they’ll never forget. the thought they can’t shake. the shift from “i like her” to “oh. i’m hers.” get ready for bashful glances, overthought texts, unsent voice notes, and loyalty so deep it stings. this isn’t just a headcanon set. it’s a love letter. from them, to you.

💌 a/n: welcome to another sunday softdrops. hello to everyone who’s ever accidentally fallen in love with someone who tied their hoodie wrong or smiled weird during ramen. this is for you. this is cinema. this is spiritual collapse. this is accidentally locking eyes while brushing your teeth and now he’s pacing the hallway writing poetry in his notes app. p.s. reblog = kisses and love p.p.s. hydrate. wear something soft. never settle for a love that doesn’t look at you like Hyunjin looks at sun-warm skin and unscripted laughter p.p.p.s. drop a member + a soft scenario in my inbox and I’ll write it. no shame. no brakes. let’s emotionally disintegrate together 💌

📍credits: @cafekitsune for the dividers

🎧 » Love Again — Baekhyun « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:16 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

Bang Chan // 방찬

🌙 The moment it hits him: You’re sitting on the studio floor, legs criss-crossed in that hoodie you always steal, eating spicy ramen with your hair a mess, humming quietly to the instrumental he left looping. It’s nothing fancy. No makeup. No posing. Just you, glowing under the dim studio light. You look up and smile—mouth full, eyes bright, like he’s your favourite person in the world.

His heart stutters. His breath catches. And then: stillness.

🖋️ Inner thought:

“Oh. Shit. I’m gone. I’m in love. There’s no coming back from this.”

💌 How he acts right after: Absolute silence. Like, full system shutdown. He suddenly “needs to focus” on the track, spins his chair around, fidgets with literally anything. He can't stop glancing at you in the reflection of the monitor, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling like a schoolboy.

You: “What’s wrong?” Chan: “Nothing.” Also Chan: writes 6 love songs in one night and names the folder “idk.”

🫀 How he is in love: Gentle. So, so gentle it aches. He pays attention to every detail—your snack habits, your late-night mood swings, the way your lip curls when you’re overthinking. He worries constantly. Holds you like you're something delicate and divine. He serves you, literally and emotionally.

💝 Love language: – Acts of service → makes you playlists, folds your laundry, rubs your feet at 3am. – Physical touch → forehead kisses, waist holds, late-night cuddle traps. – Reassurance → always reminding you: “I’ve got you. No matter what.”

Lee Know // 리노

🌙 The moment it hits him: You’re napping on his couch, curled up in a pile of his cats and blankets. There's drool on your cheek. One slipper’s fallen off. Your hand’s loosely tangled in Soonie’s fur. And for some reason, when he walks in and sees that—that chaotic little mess of softness in his space—his chest tightens. He stands there, completely still. And just breathes. Like if he moves, the realization will hit too hard.

🖋️ Inner thought:

“...Damn it. This is love, isn’t it?”

💌 How he acts right after: Unbothered™. But that’s a lie. He acts the exact same on the outside—dry, sarcastic, lightly roasting you every five minutes. But now, when he calls you annoying, there’s a softness to it. He lets you steal his hoodies without comment. He cuts the crusts off your toast even though he always said that was “a waste.” And when he tucks the blanket tighter around you, he doesn’t say a word. But his hands linger.

🫀 How he is in love: He loves quietly. Intensely. Like it’s sacred. He watches you more than he talks, memorizes your habits like he’s preparing for a test. He won’t say “I love you” often—but the second someone else hurts you, he’s the first to stand up, fists clenched. His loyalty is undeniable.

💝 Love language: – Quality time → he wants you in the room, always. even if you're doing nothing. – Acts of service → small, exacting things. he'll fix your charger, refill your water, remember your favourite side dishes. – Words of affirmation → but only at 3am. in the dark. when you're half asleep and he thinks you won’t remember.

Changbin // 창빈

🌙 The moment it hits him: You’re hyping him up after a recording session, arms flailing, voice full of chaotic praise like, “YOU’RE A GENIUS, SEO CHANGBIN. ACTUAL GOD-TIER. GRAMMY WHEN?” He laughs so hard he snorts. Then you toss your phone at him to queue your shared playlist, already scrolling to the song labelled “for binnie only 💘” like it’s just a normal thing to do.

And he just… pauses. Heart pounding. Smile fading into something softer. Because it’s not just a crush anymore. You’ve carved a home in his chest and didn’t even ask for rent.

🖋️ Inner thought:

“Holy shit. She sees me. Like, all of me. And still wants to stay?”

💌 How he acts right after: He becomes a walking compliment generator.

You breathe? “You’re so cool.” You trip on air? “Even gravity loves you.” You touch his arm for 0.5 seconds? malfunction noises

He works out harder. Writes more. Smiles more. But also starts sending dramatic voice notes at midnight like,

“Hey um… not to be weird but like… your existence inspires me?? okay bye.” [hangs up instantly]

🫀 How he is in love: Overflowing. He feels big, and he loves bigger. He shows up. Every time. Front row in life for you. Loudest hype man, softest cuddle bear, always checking in even if you don’t ask. His love is protective, silly, and deeply rooted in loyalty—he doesn’t fall often, but when he does? He dives.

💝 Love language: – Words of affirmation → compliments on compliments on compliments. – Physical touch → bear hugs, back hugs, lap cuddles, full weight of his love on your body 24/7. – Gift giving → protein bars, playlists, random trinkets that “reminded me of you, don’t ask why.”

Hyunjin // 현진

🌙 The moment it hits him: You’re sitting in the sun, surrounded by your own little chaos—open books, headphones half-falling out, doodles all over the margins, an untouched coffee gone cold beside you. And you’re smiling to yourself. You’re not looking at him. Not even aware he’s watching. And for the first time, he doesn’t reach for his phone to take a photo. He just… stares. Because this moment is his, and his alone.

And he realizes, with a soft kind of devastation,

“I’m already hers.”

🖋️ Inner thought:

“She’s a poem. A prayer. A painting I want to memorize in my sleep.”

💌 How he acts right after: Absolutely spirals. Draws your side profile 12 times and ruins 11 because “they don’t capture it right.” Starts journaling in half-English-half-messy-sketches. Tells Felix about it and then gets mad when Felix smiles knowingly. He gets so quiet around you for a few days—not cold, just reverent. Like he’s scared to touch the moment too hard in case it disappears.

🫀 How he is in love: Soft and dramatic at the same time. He holds your hand like it’s precious, but he also tells the moon about you like you're his eternal muse. Cries at the idea of your future together. Panics if you don’t text back in 20 minutes. Wants to show you the world, but more than that—he wants you to feel safe in his world.

💝 Love language: – Quality time → long walks. gallery dates. sitting in silence and feeling it. – Words of affirmation → whispered. written. cried into your hair at 2AM. – Gift giving → his hoodie. his poetry. flowers that “reminded me of you” and are never store-bought.

Han // 한

🌙 The moment it hits him: You’re laughing so hard you almost choke on your boba. You try to tell a story but you’re wheezing between every word, face red, tears in your eyes, and instead of helping—he just starts laughing with you. Like really laughing. Loud. Unfiltered. Giddy. And then your hand brushes his and you don’t move it. Neither does he. He freezes mid-laugh and goes silent. Heart racing. Staring at your hand like it’s a bomb and he forgot the detonation code.

🖋️ Inner thought:

“Oh. No. Nope. Not allowed. Too much. Too fast. TOO—oh god I like her.”

💌 How he acts right after: 🧍‍♂️← him trying to walk normally while his brain is buffering Goes from “haha bestie 🤪” to “DO NOT PERCEIVE ME” in 0.3 seconds. Can’t look you in the eye. Drops everything he’s holding for a full week. Randomly sends memes at 2am like “HAHA this reminded me of nothing in particular bye” Starts writing lyrics with your initials in them and then panics and changes them to random letters.

🫀 How he is in love: Unhinged. Loyal. So soft he doesn’t know what to do with himself. Tells you dumb jokes because he wants to be the reason you smile. Acts like he’s chill about everything but will lose sleep over whether you liked the playlist he made you. He’s all heart, no brakes. The type to say “I’m not obsessed or anything” and then write your name 73 times in a private doc called “DO NOT OPEN I’M NORMAL.”

💝 Love language: – Words of affirmation → “you’re amazing” 24/7. calls you pretty when you sneeze. – Physical touch → clings to you like a koala when sleepy. arms around your waist while cooking. forehead touches when he’s overwhelmed. – Gifts → voice memos. notebooks full of scribbles. late-night snacks labelled “eat this or I cry.”

Felix // 필릭스

🌙 The moment it hits him: You’re struggling with something��frustrated, eyes glassy, breath shallow. You try to smile through it, but he sees the crack in your voice. And instead of saying anything, you just... reach for him. Wordlessly. Trustingly. Like he’s your calm in the storm. And he holds you. No questions. No “what’s wrong?” And that’s when it clicks. You see him as your safe place. And now? He never wants to be anything else.

🖋️ Inner thought:

“I’d burn the whole world down just to keep her soft.”

💌 How he acts right after: SO SOFT. SO SHY. SO PANICKED. Starts checking in more often—"did you eat?" / "how are you feeling?" / "i saw a cloud and thought of you." Smiles at you like you’re made of glitter and stardust. He hugs longer. Texts sweeter. Starts journaling without realizing it. Cries at random songs because they "sound like you."

🫀 How he is in love: Loyal like a golden retriever. Protective like a knight. Gentle like warm tea in your hands. He wants to give—his time, his hoodie, the last bite, his full attention. He doesn’t love halfway. He pours. Will randomly whisper, “I love you,” mid-snack or during a grocery run. Just because.

💝 Love language: – Physical touch → hand-holding, pinky linking, long cuddles with your head on his chest where he can kiss your hair over and over – Words of affirmation → “you’re doing great,” “you’re beautiful always,” “you make me proud just by being you” – Gift giving → handmade bracelets, playlists with titles like “sunshine for my sunshine,” carefully wrapped little things he “just saw and thought of you”

Seungmin // 승민

🌙 The moment it hits him: You’re arguing. Not seriously, just bantering over which ramen flavor is superior. You’re passionate, dramatic, refusing to back down. He rolls his eyes, calls you a menace. But then—

You crinkle your nose at him. That same look you always give him. That smug little grin. And for no reason at all, his brain just short-circuits. Because suddenly, he realizes he never wants to argue with anyone else ever again.

🖋️ Inner thought:

“Oh god. She’s my person. She’s IT. That’s… that’s terrifying.”

💌 How he acts right after: Unchanged. Suspiciously unchanged. Keeps up the banter, calls you annoying, pretends like his heart didn’t just fall out of his chest. But he starts doing the quiet things—carrying your water bottle without asking, remembering exactly how you like your eggs, glancing at you when you laugh like it’s the last time he’ll get to hear it.

🫀 How he is in love: He doesn’t say it often—but he shows it in every micro-moment. He teases because he’s comfortable. He remembers everything you say. Stays up just to walk you home. Buys you medicine before you realize you’re sick. He doesn’t ask for much—he just wants to be the reason you feel steady.

💝 Love language: – Acts of service → does everything quietly. recharges your headphones. clears your plate. fixes your tech. – Quality time → invites you to sit with him while he works. listens when you ramble about nothing. – Words of affirmation (low volume) → slips in compliments when you least expect it:

“you’re really smart, you know.” “i like when you talk like that.” “i’m proud of you… just don’t make it weird.”

I.n // 아이엔

🌙 The moment it hits him: You’re dragging him through a bookstore, rambling about your favourite genre, talking a mile a minute. He’s not even following half of it—he’s too busy watching the way your eyes light up when you speak, the way your hands move when you’re excited. You stop mid-sentence, look back at him, and go:

“What? You’re staring.”

And he stammers some excuse—but the truth is, he just realized he wants to follow you around like that forever.

🖋️ Inner thought:

“Oh. Oh no. I’m in love. I’m so done for. What do I do. WHAT DO I DO—”

💌 How he acts right after: Absolutely panics internally. Externally? Tries to act cool. Cue awkward jokes. Random distance. More awkward jokes. Starts doing little things for you but blaming them on coincidence.

“Oh you forgot your charger? Weird that I brought an extra one for no reason.” “I totally wasn’t waiting here for you to show up. I just… happened to be standing exactly where you are now.”

🫀 How he is in love: He glows. Around you, because of you, for you. Gets bolder in bursts—sends texts like “I missed your voice today.” Wants to impress you but also wants to be vulnerable. He tries so hard not to mess it up. But love softens him, makes him gentle, open, kind in a way that’s deeply intentional. Every time you smile at him, he falls harder.

💝 Love language: – Gift giving → tiny, random trinkets. receipts with hearts. keychains. snacks he saw and thought “this is so her.” – Quality time → slow walks, late calls, staying on FaceTime even if you’re both doing other things. – Physical touch → hesitant at first, then clingy. loves resting his head on your shoulder or getting forehead kisses like he’s your baby bird.

[soephiphany]

Soft Things Belong Together

Lee Know x Reader | fluff, domesticity, mischief, slow love

🧺synopsis: It starts with a cat on his chest and ends with your head on his shoulder. In between? A sock war. Three judgmental cats. One too-big hoodie. And a hundred tiny ways to say I love you without saying it. This isn’t a grand love story. It’s a Sunday. And it’s enough.

💌a/n: welcome back to tender tuesdays where love is quiet, minho folds laundry like it’s life or death, and you fold socks like a raccoon on a Red Bull bender. this fic was inspired by god knows what because my brain is soup, the weather is grey depression, and i’m fighting for my life against the wind outside ☔️. no plot, just vibes and folding techniques. if you smiled even once, i win. p.s. reblog or the cats will stage a coup and fold your laundry wrong on purpose p.p.s. do you fold socks like minho or like a drunk raccoon. don’t lie. p.p.p.s. i wrote with only one braincell standing

📍credits: @cafekitsune , @roseraris for the dividers.

🎧 » Polaroid Love — ENHYPEN « 0:58 ─〇───── 3:16 ⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

The first thing you hear is a faint purring vibration against your ribcage. The second is Minho’s voice, low and rough with sleep: “…I think he’s trying to suffocate me.”

You crack open one eye. The sunlight has already slipped through the blinds, painting lines across the bed, your bare legs tangled in sheets. Soonie is fully sprawled across Minho’s chest, smug and immovable, his purrs growing louder with every passing second. Dori is curled at your feet, twitching in his sleep, and Doongie is perched on the nightstand like a gargoyle—staring you down like you’ve personally ruined his morning.

Minho doesn’t move. His arm is heavy around your waist, palm splayed across the soft cotton of the shirt you stole from him last night. His voice is gravel and sleep when he speaks again.

“If I die, avenge me.”

You snort into the pillow. “You’re fine. He loves you.”

“He’s kneading my sternum.”

You open both eyes now, shifting slightly just to see him. Minho’s hair is an absolute disaster — sticking up in multiple directions, pressed flat on one side from your shoulder. His eyes are barely slits, one brow twitching in mock despair. Soonie flexes his paws into Minho’s chest, tail flicking with satisfaction.

You reach over lazily, giving Soonie’s head a soft pat. “He’s your child. Suffer.”

Minho exhales dramatically but doesn’t move Soonie. His hand instead shifts along your side, fingers curling over the dip of your waist like he needs to remind himself you’re real. Still here. Still warm. A breath passes, shared between you in the early hush.

Doongie lets out a loud, pointed meow.

Minho groans. “And the hunger games begin.”

You both lie there for another few seconds, clinging to the last stretch of blanket-wrapped quiet. Then Minho slowly, dramatically, shifts — rolling onto his back and sending Soonie off his chest with a startled grunt.

“You’re a traitor,” Minho mutters at him, rubbing his own ribs.

Soonie stretches luxuriously, absolutely unfazed.

Minho turns his face toward you again. His expression is softer now, unguarded in the light. “Stay in bed. I’ll feed the gremlins.”

You make a sleepy sound of protest, but Minho is already slipping out from under the blankets. The stolen shirt on your body slides up slightly as you stretch—he catches it, eyes flicking down briefly before smirking to himself and padding off toward the kitchen.

You listen to him move: the creak of the floorboards, the clink of dishes, the cats trailing behind like a noisy parade. His voice, quiet but warm, as he talks to them like they understand every word. (You’re not convinced they don’t.)

Eventually, you swing your legs out of bed. The floor’s cold, but the shirt you’re wearing is warm and smells like him—lemons, laundry, and a hint of cologne. You shuffle into the kitchen to find Minho already making coffee, cats devouring breakfast at their bowls.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says without looking, then turns just in time to flick a crumb off your cheek. “You drooled.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. You’re a swamp creature. But you’re cute, so I guess I’ll let it slide.”

He passes you a mug. You take it just to spite him.

You lean against the counter, sipping slowly, while Minho flips pancakes with expert ease. He’s still shirtless, still rumpled, hair a fluffy mess. And he’s humming — softly, off-key, content. Something domestic and safe wraps around you in that moment like an invisible thread. It’s not just the sun or the warm mug or the smell of pancakes.

It’s him. It’s this.

“Hey,” he says casually, sliding a plate in front of you.

“Yeah?”

“I like Sundays.”

You glance up, smiling around the edge of your mug. “Yeah?”

He shrugs. “You’re here. The cats are happy. Everyone is happy."

You laugh. He smiles. And so, the day begins with the first load of laundry barely hitting the living room floor and Minho declaring himself Minister of Folding.

You arch an eyebrow from across the room. “I didn’t vote for you.”

“I’m not elected. I’m ordained,” he says, solemnly unfolding a towel like it’s a sacred scroll.

The two of you are surrounded—cornered, really—by overflowing baskets, half-dry socks, and at least three hoodies you’ve lowkey adopted as your own. The cats are already in the thick of it. Doongie’s worming his way into the warm pile of sweatpants. Dori is headfirst inside an empty laundry basket, tail twitching wildly. Soonie has chosen a freshly folded blanket to nap on, which Minho immediately frowns at like it’s a personal betrayal.

“I just folded that,” he mutters. “He didn’t even wait five minutes.”

“He knows who he is,” you say, grinning. “A menace. Like his dad.”

“Rude.”

“You’re not denying it.”

Minho scoffs but doesn’t argue. Instead, he picks up a pair of socks, folds them into that neat ball formation you always screw up, and tosses it perfectly into the basket like a basketball shot. “See that? Precision. Art.”

You mimic him, trying to copy his exact technique. You miss by a full meter.

“Tragic,” he says. “Do you try to fold things like a chaotic raccoon?”

“Yes,” you reply sweetly. “It’s how I stay grounded.”

The playlist hums in the background, soft and upbeat. The kind of songs you dance to barefoot in kitchens. Light spills through the windows, warming the wooden floor, painting lazy sun patches that the cats immediately seek out like heat-seeking missiles.

Minho grabs a hoodie—your favourite, oversized, worn-in and frayed slightly at the cuffs. “You’ve stretched this out.”

You look up from your towel folding. “That’s mine now.”

“It literally has my name embroidered on the sleeve.”

You shrug. “You gifted it to me when you left it here for five weeks.”

“That’s called forgetting, not gifting.”

You toss him a freshly folded shirt in response. It hits his shoulder and flops to the ground. Minho just looks at it, then at you. Then, with the unbothered calm of a man about to cause problems on purpose, he picks up a sock and gently flings it at your face. It bounces off your cheek with a pitiful pfft.

You blink.

“…Did you just—?”

Another sock follows. This one lands in your lap.

You narrow your eyes. “You have chosen war.”

Minho grins. Full teeth, mischief and love all wrapped into one sharp look. “I accept your terms.”

The next few minutes are absolute chaos.

Socks fly. Towels are used as shields. Doongie bolts out of the hoodie pile like he’s in a war zone. Dori, drunk on excitement, starts sprinting in circles. Soonie yells once, offended by the noise, but refuses to abandon his blanket. You’re breathless from laughing, your arms full of half-folded laundry, and Minho looks at you like it’s the happiest he’s been in weeks.

He’s flushed with warmth—not just from play, but from looking at you. T-shirt hanging loose off one shoulder, eyes bright, grinning like you’re everything good he ever stumbled into. You feel it in the air: this invisible tether between you. This softness that keeps pulling you back.

He clears his throat, straightens a hoodie with excessive seriousness. “Back to work. Laundry doesn’t fold itself.”

“Tell that to your little soldiers,” you tease, gesturing at the cats.

Dori immediately steals a sock and runs off with it like a trophy.

Minho sighs, but he’s smiling. “Why do I even try.”

You scoot a little closer to him on the floor. “Because you like folding things while I ruin them.”

His eyes flick to yours—glinting, amused. “Because I like you, even when you ruin everything.”

You nudge his knee with yours. “Flattery won’t get you out of towel duty.”

“I’ll fold all the towels in the world,” he says, voice dipping, “as long as you keep stealing my hoodies and smiling like that.”

For a second, neither of you says anything. The playlist fades into a softer track. Dori flops dramatically onto his side in the middle of the clean laundry. Doongie sneezes. You’re both still on the floor, laundry half-done, surrounded by your shared life.

Eventually, the storm dies down.

Dori.... still flopped onto his side in the middle of the clean laundry. Doongie has returned to the hoodie pile with an air of disdain. Soonie, ever above it all, stretches out luxuriously atop the freshly folded towel stack like he’s earned it. And Minho?

Minho flops onto his back with a dramatic sigh, arm flung over his face like he’s just fought a great war. His shirt has ridden up slightly at the hem, revealing a sliver of pale skin just above his waistband. His chest rises and falls in lazy rhythm, hair a chaotic mess from the skirmish, one sock still in his hand like he forgot to let it go.

You stare at him from your perch beside the laundry basket, knees tucked to your chest. “I think we broke the truce,” you say after a beat.

Minho lifts his arm just enough to peek at you. His lashes catch the late afternoon light. “It was a tactical surrender.”

“Oh?”

“I had to,” he adds, “you were starting to fold socks like weapons.”

You smile, slow and full, resting your chin on your knee. “I learned from the best.”

For a long moment, there’s no sound but the soft fade of the playlist and the occasional jingle of a cat collar. You shift, crawling toward him on hands and knees, ignoring the sock minefield. He doesn’t flinch when you sit beside him, doesn’t move when you gently nudge his side with your elbow. Instead, he turns his head, rests his cheek against your thigh like it’s the most obvious place to be.

His voice is quieter now. “I missed this.”

You thread your fingers through his hair, brushing it off his forehead. “Laundry?”

He snorts. “You. Us. The calm.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“You’re so good at pretending you don’t care about soft things,” you murmur.

“I care,” he says simply. “I just don’t want the cats to think I’ve gone soft.”

“Too late.”

Minho hums and lets his eyes flutter shut. You keep petting his hair, slow and absentminded, like you’re tuning into his heartbeat through your fingertips. The sun has dropped lower now, casting golden light across the room. It touches his skin, catches in his lashes, makes him look softer than any photo could capture. There’s a rare stillness to him when he’s like this — the calm after his sharpness has settled. He only shows it to you. You wonder if he even knows he’s doing it.

Then, in the silence: “I like you messy,” he says, not opening his eyes. “Like this. Laughing. On the floor. Touching my hair like it’s nothing.”

Your hand stills slightly, caught off guard.

“I like you when you ruin my system,” he continues, voice gentle. “When you toss socks at me. When you wear my clothes. When the cats listen to you more than me. When you steal my morning silence and make it louder.”

You blink.

“And I like when you shut me up with your smile,” he finishes, cracking one eye open, “so maybe do that right now.”

You lean down, kiss his forehead. “You’re insufferable.”

He grins. “But loveable.”

By the time you finish folding the last shirt, the sky outside has slipped into that deep navy blue that almost looks like velvet. The playlist is down to faint instrumentals. The cats are scattered across the room like crime scene chalk outlines—every one of them knocked out cold from their own brand of chaos.

Dori is curled inside the now-empty laundry basket like he pays rent there. Soonie has claimed the folded towels again and dares anyone to challenge him. Doongie is half under the coffee table, snoring.

The rest of the apartment has settled. Lights are warm. The air smells like fabric softener and the remnants of cocoa. Your knees are sore from sitting on the floor too long.

Minho stretches beside you, spine cracking as he raises his arms overhead. “Well,” he says. “If nothing else, we’ve achieved peak adulthood.”

You raise a brow. “You mean folding laundry with tactical precision while covered in cat hair?”

He glances down at his shirt, where Soonie’s legacy lives in soft beige smudges. He shrugs. “Exactly.”

You both ease back against the couch now, finally sitting upright after being on the floor for what feels like hours. The baskets are stacked neatly. Everything smells clean. You feel… settled. Not because the work is done—but because you did it together. Because the room feels lived-in, not just cleaned.

Minho shifts, drapes a blanket across your legs without asking. Then he leans back again and lets out a quiet breath. His fingers, idle, find yours under the edge of the blanket. No squeezing. No dramatic gesture. Just the press of knuckles—his way of saying I’m here.

“You really do fold like a raccoon,” he says, eyes half-lidded now.

“Maybe I am one.”

“You steal my hoodies. You bite sometimes. You make nests.”

You scoff. “You’re literally describing yourself.”

He hums. Doesn’t deny it.

The apartment hums with low, easy sounds—distant traffic, the fridge buzzing, a cat twitching in his sleep.

You don’t speak for a while.

Eventually, Minho’s hand leaves yours. He stretches again and grabs the folded hoodie sitting closest—one of his old ones, a little too big for you, frayed at the collar.

He tosses it to you lazily. “Here,” he says. “You always steal this one anyway.”

You catch it. “Is this you surrendering?”

“This is me streamlining the theft process.”

You smile faintly, pressing the hoodie to your chest before slipping it on. It smells like his shampoo and something warm beneath it—like worn-in comfort and skin and quiet mornings.

When you look at him again, he’s already watching you. He doesn’t look away. Doesn’t say anything poetic. He just lifts one shoulder and says, “Soft things belong together.”

And that’s it.

Not a confession. Not a dramatic line.

Just Minho, telling you exactly how he feels the way he always does—direct, simple, no frills. You nod once, then lean into his side. His arm lifts instinctively to pull you in. The two of you sit like that on the couch, warm and wordless, cats all around, baskets finally empty.

It’s peaceful. Not loud. Just a space you and Minho fit into—naturally. The cats, too.

And somehow, it feels perfect.

[soephiphany]

Happy birthday to Min Yoongi, the universe's formal apology for men

[soephiphany]

I was drooling over him the entire video. He looks SO good

hyunjin @ risabae makeup channel — year of the blue snake

[soephiphany]

YESSSSSS

I constantly think about this

I want to look/listen to Yoongi while he talk about something he really loves, hissing between words, maybe ramling a bit because he wanna say everything at the same time and he’s afraid he’s gonna miss something, I can see him palys with his fingers, moving his arms around, his eyes sparkling, his cheeks lightly pink… aaaaaaah I’d be the defination of fond

[soephiphany]

Gurl.

We all do.

It’s the way he mouths the words of his own song with his eyes closed, lost in his little bubble forgetting about the camera for few seconds and that bright, cute smile with which he lip syncs that one last verse and the way his bottom lip gets lightly entangled, just for a split second, between his teeth when he swallows… I love him, my precious little ball of fluff and happiness 

[soephiphany]

I NEED THIS, PLS

(I also laughed my ass out on the first one)

family — lee know

— texts with minho about your little family together, with a baby boy and cats.

☼☽⋆｡°✧ ✧⋆°｡☾☼

[soephiphany]

I know I sound like a broken record but.. ARE YOU KIDDING ME????

This is so sweet. The "you existed" part made my eyes water.

by your side 日 ── your boyfriend wakes up, feeling your absence and lost-warmth in the middle of the night.

𓍯 bf!jisung ʚଓ fem!reader ：（ 𝒾 ） 1.7k ── ༯ DRABBLE, domestic fluff, comfort, slight humour, reader deals w/ intimacy trauma, slow-paced, kisses, very cutesy. req. by ml ! ⸝⸝𓂃 LiBRARY. 𖦹ࡇ𖦹

yani's note ˖ ˙ ᰋ and i make a comeback >< when @cosmicalily requested me this, i couldn't not post it right? anything for my bb !!!! thank you so much for requesting hun, hope you like it and feel better !! i'm so sorry for anybody who has gone through something like this, please remember you're so strong. you deserve all the love. you're only healing, and sometimes it's not as quick for everyone. it will get better, definitely. anyway, my break might be coming to an end soon at this point because life is actually better now, kinda, hehe. comments, requests, asks, likes, follows and reblogs are always appreciated ! comment/ask if you want to be added to my mastertag ! happy reading <3

the night was unusually quiet, as if the universe itself had decided to hush the world into stillness. the faint hum of the city outside was softened by the gentle patter of rain against the windows, a rhythmic lullaby that often lulled you into dreams. but tonight, it couldn't. not when your mind was restless, tangled in thoughts you couldn’t untie. you hadn’t meant to disturb the peace of the bed—the warmth of your boyfriend beside you was usually enough to keep the darkness at bay. but something unspoken gnawed at you, an ache too familiar to ignore.

it was nearing 3am when he stirred, his hand instinctively reaching out to the space where you should’ve been. the emptiness startled him awake, his fingers brushing cold sheets instead of your warmth. blinking against the dim light filtering through the curtains, his heart sank when he realized you weren’t there.

the room was bathed in silver moonlight, spilling through the half-open curtains in soft, uneven waves, illuminating the chaos of their shared space. the indent of your body remained on the mattress, a shallow impression in the memory foam, stark and still. jisung’s fingers brushed the cooling fabric, the texture of the duvet suddenly foreign against his fingertips. it was as your absence had stripped the bed of its familiarity, leaving only muted reminders of you—your scent lingering faintly in the air, a whiff of your favorite vanilla and cinnamon moisturiser.

he pushed himself upright, the sheets slipping away from his chest like water pooling to his waist. the air felt sharper without you, slicing through the warmth he’d carried in his sleep. his eyes, still heavy-lidded and bleary, scanned the room, seeking you out instinctively. shadows gathered in the corners, their jagged edges softened by the moonlight. your absence grew louder with every passing second, an ache that started in his chest and crept into the pit of his stomach.

jisung swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet meeting the chilled floor. the hardwood creaked beneath him, a sound that might have woken you, coaxing a sleepy protest from you lips. now, it only echoed in the stillness, a reminder of how empty the space felt without you. his hands rubbed his face, chasing away the remnants of sleep as he called you softly, the syllables barely escaping his throat.

then he saw it; a faint glow seeping through the crack of the balcony door.

there you were, silhouetted against the quiet rain. the soft drizzle had dampened the balcony floor, leaving trails of silver glistening in the faint light. you were wrapped in one of his hoodies, the hem brushing against your thighs, your arms crossed tightly over your chest as if shielding yourself from a chill that wasn’t entirely physical.

he walked away from the messy bed silently, the cool floor against his feet grounding him as he padded toward the door. he hesitated for a moment, watching you from behind the glass. the way your shoulders rose and fell, your head tilted slightly as if lost in thought, made his heart ache. he knew—he always knew when something weighed on you. and tonight, it seemed heavier than usual.

sliding the door open, he stepped out. the cool night air greeted him, carrying the faint scent of rain and earth. “couldn’t sleep?” his voice was soft, almost a whisper, as if speaking too loudly would shatter the fragile quiet around you.

you startled slightly, your head turning to see him. his eyes, dark with sleep but laced with concern, met yours. “i didn’t mean to wake you,” you murmured, your voice as fragile as the raindrops clinging to the railing.

“you didn’t,” he assured, stepping closer until he was beside you. he didn’t touch you right away, knowing better than to invade your space without invitation. instead, he leaned against the railing, his gaze following yours into the rain-drenched cityscape. “what’s on your mind?”

you hesitated. the words felt too heavy, too tangled. “i don’t know,” you admitted, though you both knew it wasn’t entirely true.

jisung’s lips curved into a faint, understanding smile. “you’re a bad liar, baby,” he said gently, his tone devoid of accusation.

you exhaled a shaky laugh, the sound barely audible. “it’s stupid,” you began, but he shook his head before you could finish.

“if it’s keeping you up at this hour, i wouldn't think it is,” he countered, his voice steady, grounding.

you shifted your weight, fingers brushing against the cool metal of the railing. “sometimes it feels like… like i’m still stuck. like no matter how far i’ve come, there’s still this part of me that's just..” your voice broke, frustration mingling with vulnerability.

jisung’s eyes softened, his heart aching at the raw honesty in your words. he took a step closer, careful and deliberate, his presence warm and steady. “hey,” he murmured, his voice low, soothing. “look at me.”

you turned to him reluctantly, your eyes glistening not with rain but with unshed tears. he reached out slowly, giving you every opportunity to move away, but you didn’t. his fingers brushed against yours, tentative, before he took your hand in his. “you’re not stuck,” he said, his voice firm but tender. “you’re healing. and healing isn’t a straight line. it’s messy and hard, but it’s still progress. you’re still moving forward.”

a tear slipped down your cheek, and jisung caught it with the pad of his thumb, his touch featherlight. “you’ve come so far,” he continued, his gaze unwavering. “and even on the days when it feels like you haven’t, i’ll be right here, reminding you that you have.”

his words unraveled something in you, the knot of tension loosening as you leaned into him. he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his hoodie enveloping you both. the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear was a comfort, a rhythm you could anchor yourself to.

“i’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest.

he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression a mix of exasperation and affection. “don’t apologize,” he said firmly. “not for this. not for feeling. not for anything actually.”

the rain continued its quiet symphony around you, the city a blurred canvas of lights and shadows. the world felt distant, inconsequential, as you stood there wrapped in jisung’s arms. his presence was steady, grounding, as if he were your anchor in a storm.

“i don’t know what i did to deserve you,” you said softly, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

jisung laughed quietly, the sound warm and soothing. “you existed,” he said simply, his lips brushing against the crown of your head.

for a while, neither of you spoke. the silence wasn’t heavy, but comforting, a shared understanding that words weren’t always necessary. the rain eased into a gentle drizzle, the air cool and crisp, carrying with it the faintest hint of dawn.

eventually, jisung broke the silence. “come back to bed?” he asked, his voice soft, coaxing. “it feels empty and cold without you.”

you nodded, smiling slightly, letting him guide you back inside. the warmth of the bedroom was a stark contrast to the cool night, and as you slipped beneath the covers, jisung’s arms found your waist again, holding you close.

“we’ll figure it out together,” he murmured against your hair, his voice heavy with sleep but resolute. “always.”

and with him beside you, the world felt a little less heavy, the darkness a little less daunting. you closed your eyes, letting the sound of his breathing and the faint patter of rain lull you into a peace you hadn’t thought possible. for the first time that night, you felt like you could breathe.

the soft warmth of morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in hues of gold and amber. the rain had stopped, leaving the world outside damp and glistening, like a secret freshly unwrapped. you stirred, cocooned in the familiar scent of jisung’s cologne and the lingering traces of sleep. his arms were draped around you, one hand resting against the small of your back, the other tangled in your hair. his steady breaths tickled your neck, a gentle reminder of his presence.

for a moment, you didn’t move, savoring the rare quiet of the morning. the weight of his arm, the warmth of his body pressed against yours, felt like home. slowly, you turned your head to look at him. his face was relaxed in sleep, his lips slightly parted, his lashes casting faint shadows on his cheeks. the sight made your heart swell, a quiet ache of love and gratitude.

as if sensing your gaze, jisung stirred, his hold tightening briefly before his eyes fluttered open. his brown eyes met yours, soft and drowsy, and a slow, lazy smile spread across his face. “good morning,” he murmured, his voice rough with sleep but filled with warmth.

“good morning,” you replied, your voice just as soft. you reached up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers lingering against his skin.

he closed his eyes at your touch, leaning into it like a cat seeking affection. “how are you feeling?” he asked, his eyes opening again to search yours.

“better,” you admitted, your lips curving into a small smile. “thanks to you.”

jisung’s smile widened, his dimples appearing. “good,” he said simply, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “that’s all i want.”

you shifted closer, burying your face in the crook of his neck. his skin was warm, and the faint scent of him—a mix of his cologne and something inherently jisung—wrapped around you like a blanket. “i don’t ever want to leave this spot,” you mumbled against his skin.

he chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest. “then don’t,” he said, his hand running soothingly up and down your back. “stay here. with me. forever.”

you pulled back just enough to look at him, your eyes meeting his. “forever?” you teased, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

he grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief and sincerity. “forever and then some.”

the two of you stayed like that, wrapped in each other’s warmth, exchanging soft words and lazy smiles. the world outside could wait. in this moment, there was only the two of you, tangled in love and the quiet magic of a new day.

mastertag ୨୧ @cosmicalily @hyunjiiza @modesttiger

[soephiphany]

Oh Lord... It's me again, jesus

i'm all ears...

...the one where minho's there to listen, even when you've forgotten the sound of your own voice.

the night does something to lee minho.

sarcastic comments and playful bantering turn into drowsy, lovesick eyes and lips that are forever pressed to your skin. and you wouldn't have it any other way.

usually, you melt into it. usually, atleast.

but tonight, you are tired.

sweet suffering jesus, you are so fucking tired.

you don’t say it. you don’t have to. minho notices the second he slips under the covers, hair damp, skin smelling like something clean, something warm. his fingers ghost over your jaw, barely there, but still enough to tell.

you’re more tired than you were yesterday.

minho knows silences. he understands the way they settle in rooms, in bodies, in the spaces between words left unsaid. he knows the difference between the silence that means talk to me and the silence that means stay, but don’t ask.

this is the latter.

so he doesn’t ask. he doesn’t press.

instead, he shifts closer, pulling the blankets over you like he’s tucking you into the safest place in the world. and it is, with soondoongdori curled around your lying figure as minho pushes your hair up and presses a kiss to your forehead. a silent promise that he'll be there when you wake up.

and then, just before sleep takes you, his fingers find yours under the sheets. a pinky hooked around yours, small but certain.

i’m here, it says. i’m all ears, when you’re ready.

the weight of exhaustion sits heavy on your chest, pressing into the space between your ribs, curling into your lungs and making it hard to breathe on the nights minho isn't with you. you’re not sure when it started. this endless ache, this feeling of running on fumes, but minho notices. he always does.

he doesn’t ask you to explain. doesn’t tell you that you should rest more, or that you should take care of yourself better. he knows you know all of that already. knows that sometimes, knowing isn’t enough.

so he stays.

somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, you feel him shift, feel the whisper of his lips against your temple.

“sleep," he murmurs, voice like a tide rolling in. steady. certain. home.

and for the first time in what feels like forever, you do.

...

when you wake, it’s to the smell of tangerines and something warm, something sweet. the sheets beside you are empty, but only just, his warmth lingers in the space where he lay, in the pillow that still smells like him as you're greeted by the felines that make his home, along with you.

you hear the soft shuffle of sock clad feet in the next room, the faint sound of a knife against a cutting board.

when you sit up, minho is already there, standing in the doorway with a small plate of fruit in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. his hair is still a little messy, his hoodie hanging loose on his frame, lips slightly pouty and ready to be kissed, should you want to.

"good morning," he says, and there’s something about the way he looks at you, like he’s been waiting for you to wake up, like he’s been making sure the world is soft enough for you to return to, that makes your chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with exhaustion.

he walks over, setting the plate down beside you before sitting at the edge of the bed. his fingers find yours again, slow, careful, tracing the lines of your palm.

“eat first,” he says, because eating was always a priority with him. “then tell me what’s on your mind.”

it’s not a request. it’s not a demand. it’s just him, letting you move at your own pace. letting you have the space to breathe, to exist.

so you do. you take a bite of the orange he peeled for you, let the juice burst bright and sweet against your tongue.

and when you finally speak, when the words finally come, tentative but real...he listens.

like soft paws listen to the steady hum of home.

[soephiphany]

Doechii Best Rap Album acceptance speech at the 67th Annual GRAMMY Awards | February 2, 2025

[soephiphany]

I felt like this talker was a glimpse of a live if Jisung was my boyfriend.

And I'm telling you that.. I'm not alright.

I'm gonna cry right now, goodbye

HAN // SKZ-TALKER GO! S5E04

[soephiphany]

The way his voice was so soft in here..

I can't take it.

lee know ♡ skz-talker go!

[soephiphany]

The way I freaked out about doing puzzles together. It's a soft spot for me

"heaven is a bedroom" a minho oneshot by @cosmicalily

author's note: okay so even though this wasn't on my publish schedule, i really loved it and wanted to put it out anyways! whilst the lyrics of this song don't totally fit with the theme, i thought the whole idea of the bedroom being like a safe space was really beautiful and based it off the title! my mum and i bond over drinking rosé, eating dark chocolate and doing puzzles together late at night (often with skz code in the bg lol) and i need a man who matches this niche comfort activity of mine, and i feel like lee minho would really fw puzzles. warnings: alcohol consumption, making out

The bedroom you and Minho had built for yourselves was less of a room for sleeping, and more of a nest for the two of you to comfortably exist alongside each other within. Minimal furniture, soft, freshly washed bed linen and a huge window with long navy curtains; simple, calming and easy on the eyes. A place to unwind.

After one of your first dates, Minho had invited you over to his apartment.

“I’m not expecting you to let me hit, I promise.” he assured you. “It’s too early for that. But I’d like to spend the evening with you.”

So you’d gone back to his, hands warm in each other’s. And when he’d let you in through the door, he had opened a bottle of wine, pulled out a puzzle, and lit a single lamp in the corner of his living room. It felt intimate, in a way that wasn’t lustful or desperate. It was cosy and familiar.

And as the two of you sat beside each other on the rug, placing pieces and chatting about anything and everything, one of his three cats on your lap, you’d felt something in your stomach settle. A sense of calm that hadn’t washed over your body in this kind of way for too long.

It had always been that way with Minho. The things that would have normally sent you into a spiral were settled into mere dust. Irrelevant when you had a person that simply got you, a person who loved and knew you through and through, in ways that you hadn’t thought were possible.

There was something permanent about Minho, a feeling you were thankful for.

Now, four years later, you sat on your shared bed, glass of red wine in hand, head resting against his shoulder as you worked on the large-scale Monet puzzle laid out on a tray in front of you. It had been a while since you’d had a pocket of peace like this together; you’d both been busy with work and had spent most nights falling asleep wordlessly, bodies entwined. But this evening, there was a power outage in your apartment block. There wasn’t any WiFi to answer work emails with, so you’d put your laptops to the side and moved into your bedroom. 

Whilst the candlelight was a little difficult to work with, the two of you had a knack for puzzles, identifying dips and curves in the pieces, knowing exactly where the next would go.

“Missed you,” you mumbled into Minho’s shoulder, slotting a piece into your growing patch of ocean.

“Mm? I’ve been around,” he replied, but pressed a light kiss to your cheek anyway, knowing you didn’t mean it physically. He set his wine glass down and moved his hand to your waist, gently squeezing and running his fingers along the soft skin. “It’s nice like this. Slower. Less to worry about.”

“I never worry when I’m with you, my love.”

Minho’s face stretched into a soft smile at that, and he moved the puzzle tray to the end of the bed, pulling you into his arms and kissing your forehead. “Good. You’re stuck with me, you know that, right?”

“I’m happy to be.”

Oh, drunk kisses with Minho were some of your favourite. There was a different side to him when he was like this; although he was never rough or cold with you, he was gentler and at times, sappy. Wanting you all over him, wanting to breathe in nothing but you.

But before his tongue slipped between your lips, he pulled away suddenly, head turning to glance at the rustling sound beside you.

Soonie, rather proudly, rolled through the sections of completed puzzle, purring gently.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” you smiled in amusement, cupping Minho’s cheek with your hand and pulling his face back towards yours.

Red wine had most likely trickled out of your tilted glass and onto the white sheets, but that was the least of your worries. Minho’s fingers were in your hair, his burgundy stained lips warm against yours. Somehow, it tasted better on his tongue; sweeter, softer, more fragrant. His kisses were desperate yet measured, taking time to trace his tongue around your mouth, savouring you, downing you slowly and intentionally.

You managed to set your glass down on the wooden table beside your bed, using your now free hand to hold his cheeks. His skin was soft and smooth, a little flushed and warm under your fingertips.

And the way the two of you slotted together, your legs wrapped around his waist and his chest against yours, you knew for sure that amongst the thousands of pieces in your world,

He’d always be the perfect fit.

taglist: @hyunjiiza @velvetmoonlght @s3ungm1nxxl0ve @btch8008s @yaniluvs @ellemir2404 @bellarellasstuff @starsinagreenskyxx @ashtxrie @pigeonseatmayo @modesttiger - comment, dm or send an ask to be added

[soephiphany]

This it's so sweet. I'm dying

'everything is romantic' with stray kids, ot8 headcanons by @cosmicalily

author's note: bad tattoos on leather tanned skin, jesus christ on a plastic sign, fall in love again and again...this is one of my favourite songs on the album (especially the version with caroline polachek!). i kind of love the idea that romance is in everything, from everyday actions to random objects, i think it's such a beautiful philosophy! enjoy this little list of everything that's romantic in my eyes...

everything is romantic...with chris

addressing you in australian slang nicknames. night drives to the beach with the windows down. buying your favourite albums on vinyl. sending screenshots of song lyrics. matching tattoos. staying up late talking. massaging your shoulders while you study. laying on his chest on your phone in the evenings.

everything is romantic...with minho

cat fur on your favourite black sweater. slow blinks from across the room. homemade dinners and red wine. walks through the forest in the early morning. making the bed around you while you sleep in. closing the blinds if you forget to before falling asleep. hundreds of weirdly specific yet endearing nicknames.

everything is romantic...with changbin

you as the cover of every instagram post. matching fluffy hello kitty pajama pants. referring to you as 'his wife' from day one of dating. buying you every cute trinket or keychain he lays his eyes on. your sanrio stickers on his laptop. his giggles anytime and every time you say something slightly amusing.

everything is romantic...with hyunjin

chamomile tea before going to bed. shared pinterest boards for your future home. sketches pinned up around the house. lipstick stains on the collars of his shirts. a photobooth strip in his phonecase. a red digicam dedicated to photos of you. sending voice notes rather than text messages.

everything is romantic...with jisung

studio ghibli soundtracks while you clean the house. always keeping your favourite ramen in the kitchen. letting you do his makeup. silly inside jokes. writing you sticky notes when he doesn't know how to verbalise his feelings. writing and composing little love songs for you whenever he gets inspiration.

everything is romantic...with felix

reposting every love-related tiktok on his fyp. matching jellycat keychains. freshly baked goods. braiding his hair in the evenings. watching 2000s chick flicks. strange yet wholesome meme references. matching beaded bracelets. at least nine different emojis to represent you for your contact on his phone.

everything is romantic...with seungmin

freshly washed bed linen every weekend. homemade coffee in the morning. annotating each other's books. his hands in your hair while you study. putting your phone on charge when you fall asleep. filling up your drink bottle. sitting beside you and watching you do your makeup. shoulder kisses. long hugs in the hallway.

everything is romantic...with jeongin

facemasks and self-care nights. picking out your outfits. letting you borrow his jewellery. bringing you an iced coffee on your break at work. matching shoes. sharing a scarf in winter. imitating each other in public and laughing at each other. poking his dimples. playing twister on the living room floor.

[soephiphany]

I wanna kiss Jisung's spine up and down

SKZ HAN & CHANGBIN for DAZED Korea Edited, Re-coloured