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moonlit-han · 1 year

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watermelon

genre/au: fluffy romance, suggestive; childhood friends to lovers pairing: lee minho x fem reader word count: 2.6k warnings: suggestive, mild swearing, mention of body dysmorphia a/n: for mica. minho... what lovely boyfriend material. remember: to make a writer’s day, reblog the fics you read! <3

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“Hey, bun,” Minho sounded a little breathless on the other end of the line. “We’re almost done the deck, wanna come over?”

“Really? Damn, Min, you guys are fast,” you replied, genuinely awed. “Didn’t you just start last weekend?”

There was no need for formality between the two of you, not anymore. No need for a greeting, no “How’ve you been?” You knew how the other had been. That was what happened when you’d known each other for most of your lives and talked every day.

Minho was your middle school crush, always attached to your hip and giggling through those slightly overlarge front teeth as you kicked your legs off the edge of his old treehouse. That had quickly turned into your high school crush, the two of you less frequently attached at the hip and far less sure of yourselves. It hadn’t helped that Minho had started dancing, quickly bonding with his fellow dancers and seemingly melting away into the studio more often than not. And then you’d gone to college at the same university, where you realized, Shit, it’s been ten years and now I’m in love with him.

Minho during college had driven you mad. He majored in dance, of course. Sometimes you got lunch together, sometimes you just met at the center of campus on the lawn and chatted. Sometimes, one of his friends tagged along and you noticed how their eyes followed his every move. You didn’t have a chance in hell. Not you with your bag stuffed full of books, hands smudged with ink from the random plot lines jotted down during astronomy. Not you with your body decidedly not lean and sleek like his dancer friends’ but just a bit squishy in ways you’d come to hate.

How could you compare? How could someone like him—popular, stunning, smart, and kind—want someone like you?

But Minho kept coming back to you, just like a cat who roamed far and wide yet still knew where its home was. That much, at least, you could be sure of and you’d long ago decided you’d take what little time and attention you could. And damn it, you were still definitely in love with him.

You’d known Minho had lovers, had called him too many times too early in the morning and heard a different voice in the background each time to know full well he did. But, you’d told yourself, at least you had him as a friend.

So, here you were, talking on the phone with Lee Minho while he was building a deck, of all things, with his friends. You were pretty sure it was on the house your mutual friend Chan had recently bought with his wife as he now had a wonderfully lucrative salary as a producer. You weren’t sure how Minho had been conscripted into helping, but he’d agreed and now, what was supposed to be a calm afternoon with just the two of you had turned into you waiting to hear from Minho whether he was done helping Chan or not.

“So,” Minho continued, “are you coming over?”

You chuckled. “Won’t I be in the way?” It wasn’t that you doubted your ability to assist with anything they might ask of you… You just felt a little uncomfortable… Well, not uncomfortable, more just like an outsider. Construction wasn’t your thing. You hadn’t even known it was Minho’s thing!

“Nope,” Minho said, popping the ‘p’. “Promise.”

“’Kay, let me just get into some real clothes.”

“Aw, real clothes are no fun,” Minho teased. “Would much rather see you show up in—”

“Lee Minho,” you growled, “shut up.”

Minho just cackled.

Thirty minutes later, you stood in front of Chan’s house. It was a bungalow with a wide porch and beautiful sycamores spreading their shade over its roof. It was painted a deep sapphire that reminded you of the night sky. So typical of Chan.

“Y/N!” A voice called and it took you a moment to find Chan, who was perched on top of his roof like it was just another seat. He’d always had a love of high places. “What’s up?”

“What the hell are you doing up there?” You yelled back at him. “What would Emma say?!”

“I’m up here, too, baby,” a woman’s voice called down to you. You couldn’t quite see her yet. “I knew I couldn’t stop him so I might as well join him!”

“Em!” Chan squealed, dropping out of sight over the far side of the roof. You assumed he was okay.

You just giggled at your friends’ antics and walked around the side of the house to find Minho.

Passing through a small kissing gate, you noticed a distinct lack of a deck. Maybe it was on the other side of the house and you couldn’t see it yet?

A moment later, you were practically bowled over by a flushed and beaming Minho. “Bun!! You made it!”

“Hey, Min,” you laughed, too startled to avoid his sweaty hug. “So, where’s this deck you told me about?”

Minho looked sheepish, catching your hand as he dropped his arms. He cocked his head in the direction of the back of the house. “Come here.”

You followed your friend, quietly reveling in how good it felt to hold his hand. Minho’s grip was firm but gentle, his palm pillowing against yours and fingers intertwining. You would be lying if you said you didn’t also brazenly give him an eyeing up and down, too. Damn, that man’s thighs in those old, ripped jeans were too much for you to handle. And why, why had he chosen a cut-off shirt? It was with a good deal of glee that you saw that the muscles in Minho’s arms, shoulders… Fuck, even his back had developed since the last time you saw him in a tank top.

You nearly tripped as Minho whipped his head around and said, “I can feel you staring, Y/N.”

“Yeah, so?” You shot back.

“Just thought I’d let you know,” Minho replied, then stopped beside a picnic table where you were certain Chan ate every meal he could in the summer. “So,” Minho continued, “I might have lied about the deck.”

You looked around. Damn, he was right. “Huh, so why am I here?” You mock-glared at him.

“Trust me?” Minho asked.

“Yes?”

“Close your eyes and give me your other hand, then. I promise I won’t let you trip.”

As you closed your eyes, Minho didn’t wait for your reply and simply took your hand. You spluttered. “You won’t let me trip? Where the hell are you taking me, Min?!”

“You’ll see, bun,” Minho whispered in your ear. The feeling of his breath tickling your skin made every nerve in your body flare like a signal across the universe: This, him, now.

And so Minho lead you to hell knew where, your feet first passing over grass, then carefully laid flat stones. You could feel the trees’ shade and smelled the richness of deep summer earth. When Minho finally stopped, causing you to run into him, you were certain you could feel the open space around you.

Minho let go of your hands and said, “Don’t open your eyes, yet, bun.” The next thing you knew, his arms were wrapping you in a tight hug from behind. As if it were the most natural thing in the world, you leaned into him, your body doing what you most wanted before your mind could catch up. You shivered again as Minho leaned his chin on your shoulder. “Open your eyes now and look up.”

Tilting your head back, you were met with a sight you could have scarcely imagined.

“Min, I’m looking at a treehouse, right?” You said, voice almost breaking.

“I asked Chan if we could build it for you, bun. I know you’ve always wanted one of your own and… Well, since we’re over here so much I figured it’d be a good spot? Plus, if Chan and Em ever have kids, they’ll love it. I… I hope you do, too?”

As Minho spoke, you felt tears welling in your eyes and hurriedly blinked them away. “Minho,” you breathed, “I can’t believe you did this. That’s a whole treehouse. For an adult. You built this. Min…” You turned in his arms to see Minho smiling tentatively at you.

You threw your arms around Minho’s neck and hugged him fiercely. You tried to put everything you wouldn’t say into that embrace. “Thank you, Min,” was all you could say. “Thank you.”

Minho hugged you just as tightly, one hand at the small of your back, the other cradling your head. He leaned his check against your hair, swaying slightly as if moved by the same breeze that rustled the trees’ leaves overhead. “I’m glad you like it, bun.”

You still couldn’t bring yourself to look at Minho, not trusting yourself not to kiss him. So, you simply said, “I love it.” In your heart, you knew you meant, “I love you.”

“Did she like it?” Chan’s voice came down the path, bright and hopeful as ever.

Minho raised his head from atop yours and quickly covered your ears before shouting back, “Yeah, she did. Still gotta go up in it, though.”

You giggled, reluctantly releasing your hold on your friend. “You’re right. What good is a treehouse if I’m only looking at it?” A mischievous grin blossomed across your face. “I call captain!”

Racing to the ladder—an honest-to-god ladder, not just some log rounds haphazardly bolted to the tree—you scampered up it, intent on indeed playing captain as you had so often as a child. You heard Minho’s laughter behind you, then felt the ladder shudder under his weight.

When Chan reached the clearing, you and Minho were laughing hysterically as you battled your way across the deck of the “ship” you were captain of. Catching sight of him, you went to lean over the railing of the treehouse.

“Ship-shape?” Chan asked, looking up at you.

“Aye, aye,” you replied, grinning. “You and Minho did a fantastic job. I still can’t believe you built an adult-sized treehouse out here. Thank you.”

“Of course, Y/N!” Chan said. “There’s watermelon back up at the house, by the way. Whenever you want to come get some!” With that, he set off back up the path.

“Well,” Minho said from beside you, “I guess we’d better go get some watermelon before Chan eats it all.”

↠↞

The two of you traipsed back to the house after Chan to find him already munching on a half-moon of watermelon at the picnic table. Without preamble, Minho sat himself down at the table across from Chan and selected a slice of of the ruby-red melon as you slid onto the bench beside him.

You were happily munching and crunching and slurping your way through your second slice, occasionally turning to spit seeds behind you, before you noticed the madness occurring beside you.

Minho, of course, was taking his sweet time eating his watermelon. Why should he rush? The way the juice ran down his fingers, his forearms... It was distracting in the worst way.

Eyes lidded, he nibbled at the flesh of the melon, licked at its juices, savored it. His mouth glistened in the midday sun filtering through the leaves of the sycamore above. He sucked the juices from the melon as he bit into it, a bit running down his chin. The sounds alone were enough to have you clamping your legs closed beneath the table.

Suffice to say, watching Lee Minho eat a half-moon of watermelon was one of the most erotic things you’d ever experienced.

Across from you, Chan raised an eyebrow. Shit, he had definitely noticed you staring. You mouthed, “Shut up” at him and earned a knowing smirk.

Finished one piece, Minho swiped the back of his hand across his mouth—doing nothing but smearing the watermelon’s juice over his skin—and looked around, noticing Chan’s and your silence.

“What?” He demanded.

“Oh, nothing,” you replied, shrugging and reaching across him for another half-moon of melon.

Minho hummed thoughtfully, then turned to face you fully, leaned an elbow on the table, and brought a finger to his lips. “I should probably clean this up,” he murmured.

All you could do was continue to stare, wide-eyed, as Minho proceeded to lick clean each of his fingers and his palms. He held your gaze the entire time, those usually frank and direct eyes now hooded and a little dazed.

You felt your pulse thunder throughout your body as you watched, knowing Minho was purposefully teasing you. It had to be a special kind of torment, you were sure of it. How could anyone resist kissing that smug look off his face?

“Oh, just fucking kiss already,” Chan grumbled from across the table.

You wheezed out a startled laugh as Minho’s eyebrows shot up.

“You know,” he said, licking a droplet of juice off his wrist, “I’ve been wondering when you might try.”

A beat of silence. Then, you were cupping Minho’s face and kissing him soundly. It was a little awkward at first, trying to slot your legs together over the bench while attempting some semblance of restraint. But the two of you managed it in the end.

Washing over you was the same giddy feeling you’d gotten as a kid, kicking your legs off the side of Minho’s treehouse. The same feeling as swinging so high you felt like you could touch the clouds drifting by. The same feeling as biting into the first slice of watermelon of the season.

Kissing Minho was, in short, the best thing you could imagine. If you’d been asked to draw a picture, you would have definitely needed a lot of gold, red, pink, purple, and even white crayon because you would have drawn stars and shooting stars and the sun and flowers and hearts and, and…

And here was Minho kissing you with just as much passion as you kissed him. (Maybe you’d need some extra red or orange for some flames)? As your hands found their way into his hair—just as silky as you remembered—his caressed your cheek, your bare arms. You knew you would be just a bit sticky with watermelon juice. Maybe he’d lick it off you.

The thought sent your mind reeling, imagining the feeling of Minho’s tongue against your skin. Maybe he’d graze his teeth over your collarbone just the way you liked. Maybe he’d show the same attention to devouring you body and soul that he did his dance.

You pressed yourself closer to him, hooking your legs over his hips. Minho let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a purr... Perhaps something to explore later. If there was a later. There would be a later, if you had anything to say about it.

But you were brought back to the present by Minho’s hands sliding into the back pockets of your jean shorts, hiking you further onto his hips. Over and over you returned to each other’s lips, seeking and finding, giving and taking, learning and relearning the feel of each other. You were sure you could never tire of the feel, the taste of him.

The rest of the world had dropped away like a stone in a wishing well.

An utterly indeterminable amount of time later, a polite cough broke through the haze of desire and dreaming that had consumed you and Minho.

“Um,” Chan said pointedly, “I didn’t mean here.”

You and Minho looked at each other, then burst out laughing. He let you slide from his lap, hands gripping your thighs as you went.

“Would you rather we go to the treehouse?” Minho quipped over his shoulder. It was a question for Chan, but you heard it as it truly was: an invitation for you.

You glanced at Chan, whose face had flown into the most ridiculous expression: pure shock, a little disgust, and a little interest (though, he’d deny it to the grave). Thinking to spare your friend from more displays, you re-situated yourself next to Minho, demurely wrapping an arm around his waist.

“Come on, Min,” you said, kissing Minho’s temple. “Let’s go back to mine and leave Channie in peace. I think we’ve scared him enough today.” To Chan you added, “I’ll make sure he comes back to get anything he left here.”

Minho cackled, levering himself up from the table. “Oh, the plans I have would most certainly scar him for life. You, on the other hand,” he said, winking, “will be quite pleased with my plans.”

As Chan made disgusted noises in the background, you lead Minho away. “And what if I have plans for you?” You purred. “What then?”

“Then I’ll let you have your way with me, princess. I always do.”