#minho is the childhood friends to lovers ex obviously | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

burningupp · 1 year

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hey^^ could you write lee know angst. idk i was thinking maybe childhood bsf to lovers and hurt/comfort. like minho has a crush on reader but reader has a boyfriend. maybe the boyfriend just broke up with them so minho comforts them…

first of all, sorry this took me like 85 years omg

second, i combined these two requests, i hope that's okay! the story is angsty, but has a happy ending (bc i can't handle bad endings lol)

enjoy <3

Minho’s heart was absolutely breaking. Seeing you like this, hunched over in your pajamas and sobbing your heart out… He didn’t know what to do with himself. He was rubbing your back and handing you tissues intermittently, lightly scrunching his nose when you put the snotty paper directly on your bed sheets afterwards. Still, he didn’t say anything.

He had received a call from you at 1:15am, and had fully intended on telling you (fondly, of course) to get lost before hanging up on you. His words had been caught in his throat as soon as he heard your sniffles and muffled sobs, shooting out of bed and starting to get dressed before he even knew what was wrong. Through your sobbing, all Minho could decipher was that your boyfriend had cheated on you, and he had never considered hiring a hitman before, but damn if it didn’t seem tempting.

When he had arrived at your apartment, he had let himself in with the code you had entrusted him with. He kicked his shoes off, not caring where they went as he speed-walked to your bedroom. He had knocked on the door gently, so gently you had barely heard him over your loud sniffles and stuffy nose. You had attempted to make yourself look less pathetic before calling him inside. You had failed miserably.

Of course, to Minho you looked beautiful, even with snot and tears covering half your face. He had gently sunk down next to you on your bed and given you a gentle smile. You had attempted to smile back, but your face ended up screwed up in pain as you remembered the reason why your best friend was interrupting your crying session. His chest felt like it was in a million knots at the sight of you, sobbing and crying and so obviously hurting.

“I’m s-so sorry for c-calling you here,” you got out through sobs, blowing your nose immediately after and depositing the tissue with the others on the bed next to you. It was disgusting, yes, but you did not have the energy to go fetch a trash can. “I know y-you didn’t even l-like him.”

This was true. Minho had always hated your ex, and in his mind, he had good reason to do so. In reality? Prior to today, not so much. He hadn’t realized he was in love with you until you were a good month into your relationship, and honestly, that was on him. The fact that you were in a relationship should have made Minho happy, and mostly, it kind of did; when he didn’t have to see the guy who was making you happy, that was.

Minho himself had always had high standards for himself in relationships. He always made sure to remember his significant other’s schedule, their favorite foods and restaurants, their plans with their friends… Your boyfriend had never done any of this, so he couldn’t help but think that he could treat you better. He had kept his distance, though - you had seemed so happy with the other guy, as much as he personally thought you shouldn’t be.

“I don’t care about him,” Minho scoffed. “I’m here because you’re sad. What the fuck has that got to do with him?”

He knew he sounded angry and resentful. He was. He just hoped you didn’t pick up on the poorly masked jealousy in his voice, because as much as he wanted to finally confess to you now that you were presumably single, you needed time to heal first, and he was more than happy to grant it.

He smiled when you snorted out a laugh; nothing would ever compare to your laugh, your smile. One of the seemingly endless knots in his chest loosened a little. God, he was down bad. His heart hurt when more tears flowed down your cheeks, seemingly without your permission, in spite of your laughter.

“Well, that might be true, but I figured you’d be all smug about it,” you muttered back, glaring at him jokingly.

Minho had never felt such relief as when you stopped stuttering through your sentences and started bantering with him. You were always beautiful to him, but seeing you in pain was more than his heart could handle.

“Mm, I still might be,” he teased back with a shit-eating grin. You scoffed and smacked his shoulder, which he jokingly clutched in mock pain. “Heartbreak makes you strong, what the fuck.”

Briefly, he froze. What if he had said the wrong thing? What if he made you burst into tears again? He was already thinking about ways to punish himself for hurting you (mostly through means of making you happy, which honestly wouldn’t be much of a punishment for him) when you laughed again. The sound loosened yet another knot in his chest. He looked over at you in relief, unable to stop himself from smiling softly at the spark that finally reappeared in your eyes.

“I’m sure it’s the heartbreak, and not you being a wimp.”

He gasped and tackled you to the bed, tickling you mercilessly until you were crying - this time out of laughter. Maybe the knots weren’t endless, after all.

~*~

After spending the night at your apartment, completely unwilling to leave you alone, Minho took you out to get coffee in the morning. He insisted on paying, and since your head felt like it was full of cotton, you didn’t care to argue all that much. Your eyes were puffy and your nose was still a little red from the absolute meltdown you’d had not even 12 hours prior, but you had showered, brushed your hair and put on jeans, so you counted it as a win. Apparently, someone else appreciated your effort. While you were sitting at the table waiting for Minho to bring you your food and coffee, a pretty cute guy approached you.

“Excuse me,” he said gently.

You tore your eyes away from your phone, startled. You had been watching a cute TikTok of kittens - a truly pathetic attempt to make yourself feel better, even if it did make you smile a little - and had not anticipated social interaction. Your eyes were wide as you looked at him, but the man just beamed charmingly at you.

“Hi, I’m Hyunjin,” he introduced himself, stretching his hand out for you to shake. You still looked (and felt) confused as you shook his hand and mumbled your name in return, which Hyunjin found very cute. “I’m sorry, I don’t normally do this, but uhm… I was wondering if maybe I could give you my number? I know this might come off as a bit creepy, so I’m sorry if that’s the case.”

His rambling was adorable to you, so just laughed lightly. You didn’t really know what to do with this situation, seeing as you weren’t even technically single yet, much less over your last boyfriend. You figured since you would be the one in possession of the (actually pretty cute) guy’s number, you had nothing to lose really. Plus, honestly, it gave you a bit of an ego boost.

“You’re fine. Uhm, sure, I’ll take your number I guess,” you answered eventually, biting your lip to keep from grinning like an idiot.

Minho was watching the exchange from the counter. He felt like he was losing his one shot with you, especially considering how handsome the guy who was obviously flirting with you was. The stupid guy even got you to smile, despite your last relationship going up in flames mere hours ago. He watched as the guy input his number into your phone, his heart cracking.

“Two lattes and two scones for Minho,” the barista said, handing the boy a tray with his order on it.

Minho snapped out of his reverie and started walking toward the table you had picked out. His timing was perfect, because he didn’t have to interact with the dude - he could barely catch the guy’s quick “hope to hear from you soon” before he had slinked away, grinning like an idiot.

He couldn’t let you know that he was feeling jealous, dejected and heartbroken - those were feelings reserved for you to feel. So, he bravely plastered a smug smirk on his face and teasingly lifted an eyebrow as he approached, the blush coloring your cheeks making his heart speed up without his permission.

“Someone’s got game,” he teased. God, the words felt so wrong to him. He wanted to fall to his knees, wanted to beg you not to look at anyone other than him ever again, wanted to beg for your sunny smile to never leave your face; but he couldn’t. He wouldn’t. What you needed was a friend, despite your somewhat positive reaction to what’s-his-face’s advances.

“Shut up,” you mumbled, grabbing your scone from the tray he was putting on the table.

“What, don’t wanna tell me about how you’re less heartbroken because I am amazing?” he teased. You glared at him, your eyes flicking between his face and the butterknife you were holding menacingly. “Calm down there, bucko. Anyway, do you think you’re gonna call him?”

Minho wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer, but something in him felt the need to ask either way. Maybe he was a masochist; somehow, he felt like not knowing at all would hurt more than knowing. You considered his words for a moment or two, taking a tentative sip of your drink in the meantime. Your beauty struck him hard in that moment - he couldn’t really blame that guy for asking for your number, honestly.

“I don’t know yet,” you sighed as you placed your cup onto the table between you. “I mean, he’s cute, but I don’t even know what’s going on with me and….” You sighed again. “I’ll figure it out.”

As much as Minho wanted you to feel better, he couldn’t help but hope that you wouldn’t text that guy. Maybe he was selfish (he definitely was) but his heart was breaking at the mere thought of watching you enter a new relationship with someone that wasn’t him. If you noticed that his smiles were tighter after that, you didn’t mention it.

~*~

Minho was helping you clean your fridge and freezer out when the subject of your love life came up again. It had only been about a week, but you were already doing much better. You had texted your asshole of an ex to end things the day you went to the café, armed with the knowledge that breaking up over text was nowhere near as bad as cheating on someone. It wasn’t exactly taking the high road, but fuck that - you were hurt and you didn’t want to see him ever again. Minho approved.

“So,” you started, and your best friend hummed from where he was hunched over your freezer. Him “helping” was actually him doing it for you; he knew you hated doing it more than anything, and he would do anything for you. In your defense, you were doing the dishes that had been piling up since your breakup. “I texted Hyunjin today.”

Minho’s movements paused for half a second. “Hyunjin?” he asked. He could only assume it was the guy from the café, but he hoped not.

Actually, he hoped you were just joking and the only person you had texted was him. Not that you weren’t allowed to text others, but his feelings for you had been growing exponentially as you spent more time together over the past few weeks, and considering he had already been very much in love with you, he was down bad. His first thought in the morning always looked suspiciously like your eyes, and his last thought at night usually sounded an awful lot like your laughter when he did something deliberately stupid. Screw down bad, he was falling down a bottomless pit and he just kept gaining speed.

“The guy from the café,” you said, focusing on scrubbing one of the particularly dirty plates. Your best friend took a deep breath in and blocked his unwarranted, jealous thoughts - they could remain in his head all they wanted, but he refused to let them taint his time with you. It was too precious for petty arguments.

“Ah,” he mumbled in reply, pulling out the last shelf from your freezer. When he stood up straight, his back crackled concerningly, making you look up from the sink at him and giggle. He considered doing it again just to hear your laugh again; it made his chest expand with a particular brand of happiness only you had the power to grant him. “Did he respond?”

Did he want to know? No, this time he definitely did not; however, he knew that you would get suspicious if he didn’t ask, so he resigned himself to hearing about it. He figured that even if he couldn’t have you in the way he wanted, he could at least look after you. He had done it before, as much as it had killed him.

“He did,” you answered, and Minho could hear your smile without even looking up. It was bittersweet, you being happy because of someone else.

“So you do have game, I’m impressed,” he teased. Your happiness trumped his, any day of the week.

“Shut up,” you whined and promptly flicked soapy water at him, making him screech like a hyena - mostly to make you laugh, but the water did feel cold as fuck. “We decided to go get coffee together, I guess, but I don’t know how I feel about it.” You turned back to the dishes, scrubbing intently at the same plate.

Even though you said it casually, like it didn’t matter to you at all, Minho heard the tension in your voice. He immediately dropped everything, standing up and turning to you. You always had 100% of his attention (the poor man couldn’t help it) but now he was laser focused. You were feeling bad in some capacity, and he couldn’t stand for it.

“Hey,” he said gently, placing a hand on your shoulder. He almost kissed you when you looked up at him, your eyes sparkling and looking so domestic in your rubber gloves. He forced himself to move on. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to, okay?”

You nodded distractedly, looking down at the soapy water filled with dishes. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” you muttered, “I do. I just… Feel like I’m not done. With… him. He really hurt me, Min.”

The tears in your eyes made him wonder what it would take to hire that hitman he had been thinking about two weeks earlier - it would probably be worth it. No, it definitely would, your happiness was more valuable than literally anything else, ever. He gently placed his arm around your waist, squeezing carefully. You smiled at him, giggling slightly. It was a sad sound, but better than crying.

“I know, baby,” he answered, leaning his head on top of yours as you placed the (finally clean) plate on the drying rack and picked up a wine glass. “Look, if you want to go, you should. Just tell me when you guys are meeting up, and I’ll make sure I’m free and I can come to the rescue if you need me to, yeah?”

You didn’t even blink as you dropped the glass in the sink and threw your arms around your best friend. Your tears spilled over your lower lashes, tracing streaks down your cheeks, but you didn’t care; your best friend was the best person in the entire world.

~*~

Minho was pacing. You were on your date with Hyunjin - was it even a date? - and he was feeling more restless than he had in his entire life. He was glad you had decided that your happiness was more important than the hurt your absolute dick of an ex had caused you, but he couldn’t deny the large cracks in his heart at the thought that he wasn’t the one bringing you said happiness.

When he received a text from you, he jumped to read it and answer it as soon as possible. He started walking toward the door before he even read it, just to be prepared if you needed him to come running.

y/nnie: it’s all good, min! no need to come :)

y/nnie: thank u for looking out for me <3

Oh. Well. He felt relieved as well as disappointed. He pushed the disappointment back as far as he could, hoping to bury it forever. He sat down on the couch and stared at his living room wall as his heart broke. Fuck.

~*~

“So how was your date yesterday?” Minho asked as casually as he could when you met up the next day. He only asked after you had pushed him onto your couch and stuck a facemask on his skin, his head tilted back. He basked in your touch.

“What?” you laughed, shaking your head as you pushed another mask onto your own skin beside him. “Min, it wasn’t a date.”

His mind felt numb. He was trying so hard to force himself not to get his hopes up again, to not allow himself joy for your lack of romantic interest in this Hyunjin guy. He closed his eyes but raised his eyebrows, his head lolling toward you in a manner designed to make you laugh. You did. He felt successful.

“Look,” you sighed. “Hyunjin also thought it was a date at first, and honestly, I thought so too. But then I just… It felt irresponsible and unfair to go on a date when I know for a fact that I am not ready for it, that I’m not emotionally available enough for that. It felt mean, honestly. So we talked, and I told him how I felt, and he said it was all cool. We’re friends now, and I set him up with Ryujin. She was ecstatic, by the way.”

Minho listened carefully to your explanation. He always listened to you, but this time he really analyzed every single word that spilled from your lips. He opened his eyes to look at you once you went silent, his chest filling with butterflies when your form registered in his brain. You were wearing sweatpants and a tank top, your hair a complete and utter mess on top of your head and looking like some kind of bank robber because of your facemask; and yet, you were the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.

If you had been dating, he’s pretty sure he would have proposed just like that. Just ask you. Because that was so you and Minho, it epitomized your relationship; easy, casual, no need for embellishment or pretense. Just… you. And him. He hoped he would get the opportunity to propose to you one day.

“I’m sure she was,” he muttered, rolling his eyes. You snorted, and he fell deeper.

“Anyway,” you continued, “Hyunjin is a cool guy. We just didn’t… click like that. And even if we did-” you stopped yourself, shaking your head with a sigh. “He’s not for me. I’m not ready now.”

“You know,” Minho started gently, making you look into his eyes. He smiled a little at the thought of how you must look, both covered in facemasks and gazing into each other’s eyes softly. You sunk back on the couch and leaned your head back over the back, just like he was doing. “I don’t think you will be ready to date until you have a conversation with Fuckface McGee.”

His uncreative name for your ex made you burst into laughter, and Minho felt like he could fly. You looked beautiful like that, head tilted back, eyes scrunched up and mouth open in unabashed laughter. He filed the image away in his mind along with the countless other precious memories he had with you.

“You might be right,” you said when you had sobered up, the ghost of a smile still lingering on your lips. “Maybe I should… talk to him. Meet him.”

The room was silent for a while. He felt your hand sneak closer to his, and he grabbed it without hesitation. You often sought comfort from him like that, finding physical contact with him steadying. The silence was nice, comfortable and thick with unspoken affection for one another and the relationship you had. Minho started to feel sleepy.

When the timer went off, signalling for you to take the facemasks off, you shuffled into the bathroom together. As you were stood side by side, he caught your gaze in the mirror. He saw the discomfort, the insecurity and the pain that filled you and gave you the smile that never failed to fill you with calm.

“Again,” he said, “let me know when you’re meeting and I’ll make sure that I’m available.”

Your heart clenched.

~*~

“I met up with him today,” you said offhandedly as you watched a movie together a few weeks later.

It took a few seconds for the meaning of your words to sink in, but when they did Minho’s entire body stiffened. He didn’t need to ask who - your tone (combined with the proverbial storm cloud that seemed to have made its home above your head for the day) clued him into the fact that you were talking about your cheating scumbag of an ex. He didn’t know what to do. He had spent the past weeks helping you recover from what that asshole did to you, but he hadn’t actually asked you where your relationship stood. He decided that the best approach was to be nonchalant, objective; just be there for whatever you had decided to do. Even if it might kill him.

He knew he was being dramatic - he had seen you in a relationship before, it wasn’t new to him. The problem was that he finally felt like he could breathe now that he didn’t have to see you be in love with someone who wasn’t him, when he could finally start to cautiously give you hints about his feelings. He was sure you didn’t notice his advances, if you could even call them that. He was too much of a coward to do much.

“Okay,” he answered slowly, waiting for you to continue without taking his eyes away from the TV. He had no idea what was happening on screen. “I thought you were going to let me know when you were meeting? Did it go okay?”

“Don’t worry,” you chuckled humorlessly, “we did not get back together. Nor will we ever.” He felt like fist-pumping the air. “I just decided that I deserved closure, and went in there with that attitude.”

“You do,” he agreed, finally turning to look you in the eyes. “What he did was fucked up, Y/n. Never forget that.”

You laughed lightly and nodded, ruffling his hair a little. You turned around and rested your back against his chest, continuing to watch the movie. Minho wouldn’t be able to do that if he wanted, the weight of you against him combined with the smell of you too much for him. He prayed you couldn’t feel his heart beating against your back and did his best to relax and savor the moment.

“Actually,” you hesitantly spoke up after a minute or two, “he told me something.”

“Oh?” he hummed back, fingers absentmindedly playing with a strand of your hair. It was so soft.

“He, uh, he thinks you have feelings for me,” you mumbled, reaching down to play with the hem of your shirt.

Minho’s entire body went rigid. What the hell was he supposed to say to that? He did have feelings for you - actually, scratch that, he was full-on in love with you. He wanted to date you, move in with you, marry you, have kids with you and grow old with you. Without you in his life, everything looked bleak. Could he really tell you, though? What if it made you uncomfortable? What if you thought that all these weeks of him helping you get over Fuckface McGee was some sort of plan to woo you? It wasn’t, he hoped you knew that, but…

He was scared, but he couldn’t help but feel excited at the prospect of finally letting his feelings out. Being able to tell you felt like a huge relief, no matter the outcome. He decided to let the excitement win.

“I- uhm.”

Okay. Fucking great start, Minho. Truly fantastic stuff.

“I told him he was crazy, of course, but… Do you? Like me, I mean. As more than a friend.”

Your voice was so small, so careful, and he hated that you were holding back. You never held back with him, and he never wanted you to. He wanted to know everything about you, every single thought that went through your head. For once, prioritizing your feelings over his own meant that he could prioritize himself, too.

“I do.”

The answer made it feel like time was standing still. You were frozen, staring up at him. He was frozen, staring right back. He couldn’t breathe. The TV chattering on in the background faded away, feeling almost alien in the tense moment where nothing else seemed to move.

After at least 30 seconds of silence, Minho decided that he’d had enough. He took your stunned silence as a rejection, and knew that he would need to move on. That was okay, as long as he got to have you in his life as a friend.

“Y/n, it’s literally okay if you don’t feel the same. I will be in your life in whatever capacity you want me to be. I get it if you need a break from spending time with me while I sort my feelings out, but-”

“Please don’t.”

Your words made him stop. What the hell did that mean? Did you want him to stop talking? He could feel all his earlier bravado slowly exit his body, and decided to let you take the reins. As long as you were comfortable in every situation with him, he couldn’t care less what happened between you.

“I didn’t mean- I don’t-” You stopped and took a deep breath. “I didn’t mean for you to stop talking. I always want to hear what you have to say, so I’m sorry it came out like that. I meant… please don’t sort your feelings out. Unless sorting them out means that you want to be with me. Because I have been in love with you for years, and you’ve been so great these past few weeks that I-”

Your word-vomit was interrupted by your best friend’s lips on yours. He would apologize once he was finished kissing you, he would, but he couldn’t be held responsible for this reaction. He had been wanting to kiss you for so long, had been in love with you for so long, and it was finally reciprocated. You would forgive him. Hopefully.

Your lips were soft and warm against his, and you tasted like the strawberry chapstick you always wore as well as the chocolate popcorn you were eating during the movie. He would put up with your gross chocolate popcorn as long as you would be his. He couldn’t help the borderline moan that he exhaled when you kissed him back, and he definitely couldn’t stop the butterflies in his chest from erupting when he felt you smile against his lips. He was getting dizzy, but he wouldn’t stop; he couldn’t. You. You liked him. You liked him.

After a minute or two, you pulled away, breathing hard. The kiss hadn’t been particularly raunchy, but he always managed to steal your breath no matter what he did, so it didn’t surprise you that you were lacking oxygen after a simple kiss.

When you looked into his eyes, you saw the sparkles in them - the sparkles that you adored, the ones that would come out when he talked about his cats, his friends, and his latest experiment in the kitchen. The sparkles that only came out when he was truly happy. You couldn’t get any oxygen in your lungs if you tried, so you just collapsed against his chest, your face pressed into the crook of his neck.

Minho’s entire body erupted in goosebumps as he felt your breath brushing against the skin of his neck. He wrapped you in his arms as tight as he could, a big, dumb, dopey grin on his face. He was holding you. He had kissed you. You felt the same. He was flying.

“Please tell me you’re mine,” he whispered, pressing his lips to the top of your head. “Only if you want to be, of course, but I would really, really like it if you were mine. If I was yours.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the thought of him being yours sending your mind into an absolute frenzy. You extracted your face from his neck and looked into his eyes again, your legs turning to jello. Thank fuck you were laying down.

“I’m yours, Minho. And you’re mine.”

Your best friend - well, boyfriend - grinned so big he felt like his face was going to split in half. He couldn’t help himself and planted a big kiss on your lips again. You melted into him, resting comfortably against his chest. You felt safe and warm, and like you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Minho’s heart, which had been cracking continually for the past month, was healed. It was pounding against his chest, reminding him of the fact that he was alive and breathing, and that you loved him back.

a/n: thank you for reading!! i hope you enjoyed it. i would really appreciate if you liked and/or reblogged my fics, as it encourages me to keep writing <3

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