minmin fics
(Open, Unmoderated)
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“This is pretty,” Minhee says, as she takes the two ends of the ribbon in her hands. “Who’s it for?”
“What?” Seungmin breathes. She can count Minhee’s eyelashes when they’re this close together. She can barely think.
“This top, sweetheart,” Minhee says, using that infuriating word again, like it doesn’t make Seungmin’s fingertips prickle with the need to touch, or her lips ache with the urge to beg.
“Um,” she mumbles. “Bought it for myself. A long time ago.”
“And never wore it?”
“How do you know I never wore it?” Seungmin asks. Bratty without really thinking about it, because that’s what comes easiest when it comes to Minhee and Seungmin.
“Because I’d remember,” Minhee says simply.
or: seungmin wears a corset and minhee loses her mind.
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Seungmin goes to Busan to spend his summer off with his best friend Yang Jeongin after their third year of college. It beats going back to his own home.
The problem is that Jeongin's dad is stupidly hot and treats him better than his own parents ever did. Seungmin has some issues, especially when Minho insists he be called 'eomeonim', but Seungmin thinks Minho might have some issues too.
Bookmarked by hyunshoney
29 Jan 2026
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Bookmarker's Notes
my daddy issues shining
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Seungmin feels pure hatred for public transport and has decided he needs to learn to drive as soon as possible. After being recommended by his friend, he finds himself learning to drive with Lee Minho as his teacher. He only has six months before he has to pass the test, but obstacles keep getting in the way, and now he has an attractive instructor to deal with too. What could possibly go wrong?
or; Seungmin is a disaster behind the wheel and may cause Minho a lot of stress.
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3 times Lee Minho asserts he's a cat person that hates dogs, and 1 time he (kinda) admits that maybe he likes one dog(boy).
(or, Seungmin is a little shit who uses his boyfriend's lack of post-nut thought capability to his advantage)
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It hasn’t been too long since his last pill, but he got worried that he wouldn’t wake up in time before his dealer slept, and he’d have to go the entire day before he could grab. And then he’d grow progressively more irritated and panicked as the day wore on, until he felt as if he’d die if he didn't do something about the crawling feeling on his skin and the nausea that had him constantly swallowing his pooling saliva.
Better to come now, pushing away how desperate it makes him look, because he is. He’s an addict. He needs his pills to function. He could be worse off. He can still function. He goes to work and lives his life, but he needs to be stocked up to do so. He’s good. He doesn’t take too much, just enough to stifle the suffocating feeling of being sober, of feeling everything. He numbs it, and it works.