she's getting cold; pg; minho/sooyoung
she's getting cold (literally)
minho/sooyoung; pg; ~800w
sooyoung is sick and minho is just being what he thinks is a nice boyfriend.
a/n: a drabble because i am sick and i just want to bring sooyoung down with me >D i have no minho though, so here i am, being frustrated without internet. this takes place in the spy!au i am making for colorphase, which i haven't even finished orz. well at least i'm writing and finish something, for once after 84732746374 years of procrastinating. and blame any error to my headache please :D okay i'm going to shut up now, this a/n is being longer than the drabble itself.
the loud sneeze is the thing that wakes him up.
minho rubs a finger against his eye, staring groggily at the white ceiling above his head. he can feel the sunshine that drops against his body, flowing through the gap of the curtain. he stays silent, the air from the opened window braces his toes, calm, calm, and he almost falls asleep again if not for the sneezing again, followed by desperate coughs.
he sighs before he throws the sheets out of his way, takes and wears one of the boxers from the piled up laundry at the corner of the room.
when he reaches the living room, there she is: sooyoung is rolled by a thick green blanket, almost invisible as the color is only a shade darker from the couch’s. she has a plastic of pea on top of her head, and tissues are being stuck into her nostrils. her nose is red, along with her whole face, and her lips are trembling from the cold. she glues her eyes to the television, though they are already half-dropped, and her hands are somewhere inside the blanket. the remote control is on the television, and he wonders how she manages to even turn it on.
the third sneeze, and he chuckles a little. she looks up with a miserable look before she throws him a dirty glare.
“what a nice boyfriend you are,” she says with a low voice, nasally and scratchy; it sounds like his voice in the morning if he drinks too much the night before and hangover is killing him. he smiles at her, walks slowly to her side.
“good morning to you too,” he replies. he stretches a hand to tucks some of her messy hair to behind her ear, but she groans in disagreement and scoots away from his touch. he frowns. “what?”
“flu,” she points at herself, and he can see her whole body is sweating, though her hand is shaking. he blinks, “i don’t want you to die yet.”
he folds her arm in front of his chest. “i won’t die.”
“go away,” she flings her hand to some random direction, “make yourself useful and get me some water.”
he raises an eyebrow. “you manage to turn on the television but not take a glass of water?”
she turns to him. “yes,” she answers, as if he is the stupid one. he always is, for her, but maybe he doesn’t mind. “and wear some shirt,” she looks away from him, back to the television, though he doubts she can concentrate on something, leave alone the non-subbed american situation comedy. he is about to tell her this when she says, “you’re making me horny.”
now, now. “you’re horny all the time.”
“you’re hot all the time.”
“is that a compliment i hear,” he looks surprised, wide eyes and all, but she doesn’t budge. “wow, you must be really sick.”
“i really, really want to throw up on your face.”
he laughs at this one, because her tongue doesn’t get softer even when she is taken down by fever and itchy throat. in fact, it gets sharper, but he is not the one to complain. in the end, he walks closer to her, pulls her blanket open and slips himself to her side despite her protest. his cold chest raises in temperature as it comes in contact with her hot skin, wet with perspiration, but all he does is presses his lips to the top of her head, rubbing a circle against her (still hot) hipbone. she relaxes then, nudges her nose to his neck, her hand finds its way around his waist.
“no mafia leader to kill today?”
he can feel her grin against his shoulder. “he can enjoy one more day of his life,” she answers, and he shakes his head in defeat. “just let me sleep.”
“aye aye,” he answers, closes his eyes and snuggles to her hair. how does it manage to keep its strawberry scent, he has no idea, but he loves it. “don’t drool on me though,” he adds for a good measure, and shrieks, not so much like a man, when she purposely let her saliva drops all over his stomach.
minho/sooyoung; pg; ~800w
sooyoung is sick and minho is just being what he thinks is a nice boyfriend.
a/n: a drabble because i am sick and i just want to bring sooyoung down with me >D i have no minho though, so here i am, being frustrated without internet. this takes place in the spy!au i am making for colorphase, which i haven't even finished orz. well at least i'm writing and finish something, for once after 84732746374 years of procrastinating. and blame any error to my headache please :D okay i'm going to shut up now, this a/n is being longer than the drabble itself.
the loud sneeze is the thing that wakes him up.
minho rubs a finger against his eye, staring groggily at the white ceiling above his head. he can feel the sunshine that drops against his body, flowing through the gap of the curtain. he stays silent, the air from the opened window braces his toes, calm, calm, and he almost falls asleep again if not for the sneezing again, followed by desperate coughs.
he sighs before he throws the sheets out of his way, takes and wears one of the boxers from the piled up laundry at the corner of the room.
when he reaches the living room, there she is: sooyoung is rolled by a thick green blanket, almost invisible as the color is only a shade darker from the couch’s. she has a plastic of pea on top of her head, and tissues are being stuck into her nostrils. her nose is red, along with her whole face, and her lips are trembling from the cold. she glues her eyes to the television, though they are already half-dropped, and her hands are somewhere inside the blanket. the remote control is on the television, and he wonders how she manages to even turn it on.
the third sneeze, and he chuckles a little. she looks up with a miserable look before she throws him a dirty glare.
“what a nice boyfriend you are,” she says with a low voice, nasally and scratchy; it sounds like his voice in the morning if he drinks too much the night before and hangover is killing him. he smiles at her, walks slowly to her side.
“good morning to you too,” he replies. he stretches a hand to tucks some of her messy hair to behind her ear, but she groans in disagreement and scoots away from his touch. he frowns. “what?”
“flu,” she points at herself, and he can see her whole body is sweating, though her hand is shaking. he blinks, “i don’t want you to die yet.”
he folds her arm in front of his chest. “i won’t die.”
“go away,” she flings her hand to some random direction, “make yourself useful and get me some water.”
he raises an eyebrow. “you manage to turn on the television but not take a glass of water?”
she turns to him. “yes,” she answers, as if he is the stupid one. he always is, for her, but maybe he doesn’t mind. “and wear some shirt,” she looks away from him, back to the television, though he doubts she can concentrate on something, leave alone the non-subbed american situation comedy. he is about to tell her this when she says, “you’re making me horny.”
now, now. “you’re horny all the time.”
“you’re hot all the time.”
“is that a compliment i hear,” he looks surprised, wide eyes and all, but she doesn’t budge. “wow, you must be really sick.”
“i really, really want to throw up on your face.”
he laughs at this one, because her tongue doesn’t get softer even when she is taken down by fever and itchy throat. in fact, it gets sharper, but he is not the one to complain. in the end, he walks closer to her, pulls her blanket open and slips himself to her side despite her protest. his cold chest raises in temperature as it comes in contact with her hot skin, wet with perspiration, but all he does is presses his lips to the top of her head, rubbing a circle against her (still hot) hipbone. she relaxes then, nudges her nose to his neck, her hand finds its way around his waist.
“no mafia leader to kill today?”
he can feel her grin against his shoulder. “he can enjoy one more day of his life,” she answers, and he shakes his head in defeat. “just let me sleep.”
“aye aye,” he answers, closes his eyes and snuggles to her hair. how does it manage to keep its strawberry scent, he has no idea, but he loves it. “don’t drool on me though,” he adds for a good measure, and shrieks, not so much like a man, when she purposely let her saliva drops all over his stomach.