☆ walk in your rainbow paradise
park humin x female!reader
summary: your handsome boyfriend Humin wants bright red hair, and the dyeing process becomes sweet, chaotic, and full of laughter<3
words count: ≈ 2,8k
genre: fluffiest fluff, chaos (it's literally humin tho), also him being stupidly in love, reader dyed her hair a lot (me coded I fear), bit suggestive too
author's notes:
✩ was supposed to post this sooner but i deleted the draft by accident so i had to rewrite at least half of it 😬 (love the new version even more bc i added a bonus at the end;))
✩ song played : harry styles - adore you
✩ English is not my first language, so i apologize for any mistakes :)
dts: @heartshapesandcigarettes @tuneinwlosers @ruruyinnsdiary @oyasumiaikko @aliceskzfan
You're halfway through unwrapping your heart-shaped cherry lollipop when Humin says your name.
Not loudly—miracle of miracles—but with that kind of attention that means he’s been thinking too hard about something. You look up from the wrapper just in time to watch him flop onto the couch beside you, face-first, like he’s auditioning to be a rug.
He speaks into the cushion.
"Baby.."
You raise a brow. "Yes?"
His voice is muffled. "I've made a decision."
"That really sounds dangerous."
He lifts his head just enough for his expressive eyes to peek out. You know that look. That's the I’m about to do something insane and I need you to support me look.
He sits up suddenly, crossing his legs and grabbing your shoulders with theatrical urgency.
"I want you to dye my hair."
You blink. "Huh.. okay..? What color?"
He inhales dramatically, like he’s about to announce his presidential campaign. (He might one day-)
"Red."
You stare at him.
He stares back, eyes round, hopeful, borderline sparkling.
"Red..?" you repeat.
He nods. "Red."
"Like—?"
"Sakuragi from Slam Dunk," he declares proudly.
You choke on air. "Oh my god."
He grabs your hands, squeezing. "PLEASE. I NEED THIS ARC IN MY LIFE."
You stifle a laugh because he looks genuinely, sincerely committed to this vision.
"Why red? Why now?"
He shrugs, leaning forward until your foreheads press together. "I dunno. I saw you looking at dyed hair stuff on your phone again yesterday and then I started thinking.. maybe my ultra-beautiful girlfriend should bless me with her hair-dyeing powers."
You snort. "You want me to bless you.?"
"With color," he clarifies reverently. "And emotional support. And maybe kisses too."
"You’re unbelievable."
He grins—wide, mischievous, unbearably fond.
Then his eyes flick down to the glossy red lollipop in your hand.
"Oooh," he says, reaching for it, "and you have a lolli—"
You slap his hand away. "No. This one’s mine."
He gasps in betrayal like you’ve crushed his soul.
"You wouldn’t share with your beloved boyfriend? Your sunshine, your treasure, your—"
"Humin, if you touch it again I’m dyeing your hair green."
He freezes. "Understood."
You pop the lollipop into your mouth, watching his eyes follow the movement like a cat eyeing a laser pointer.
He scoots closer.
You scoot away.
"Stop that."
"Can’t," he says, leaning his head against your shoulder dramatically. "Wanna know the taste. Or..just wanna taste you instead."
"You're a dork."
"But you love me."
"..."
"You love me.. RIGHT??"
You snorted. "You know I do."
You pat his cheek with your free hand. "If we’re doing this, you need to go get the dye kit from the bathroom."
He doesn’t move.
"Humin-ah?"
He burrows into your side. "Carry me."
"What-No."
"Please? I’m weak. I’m fragile. I’m but a simple man in love."
You flick his forehead, and he yelps, rubbing the spot with a pout.
"Fine," he grumbles, "I’ll get up. But only because I want to look like a hot protagonist today."
"You already act like one."
"That’s the highest compliment you’ve ever given me today."
He stands, stretching dramatically before wandering to the bathroom to collect the dye supplies. You lean back on the couch, letting your lollipop rest against your tongue, tasting the sweet cherry as you listen to loud rummaging, clattering, a thump, and then—inevitably—
"I’M OKAY! I'M FINE!!"
You sigh. Dating Park Humin is.. an interesting experience. A very loud, very enthusiastic one. But every time he smiles at you like you put the stars in the sky, you know you wouldn’t trade it for anything.
He comes back with an armful of supplies: gloves, bowls, a brush, towels, clips—and two random objects that absolutely should not be involved in hair dyeing.
"Babe… why did you bring a pair of kitchen tongs?"
"They looked helpful."
"And the flashlight?"
"YOU NEVER KNOW!"
You pinch the bridge of your nose. "Put those down."
He does, pouting. But then he beams and plops everything else onto the table.
"Okay!" he announces. "Transform me, baby."
"You need to wash your hair first."
"WHAT? But I did it two days ago!"
"Humin." You give him 'The Look'. The one that says please don’t make this difficult. "You need clean hair."
"..wanna shower together then..?"
"Humin."
He raises both hands. "JOKING! I’m joking! I’ll shower alone!"
He kisses your cheek in a quick, affectionate peck before heading toward the bathroom. You hear him humming loudly the entire way—off-key, passionately, and probably scaring the neighbors.
While he showers, you gather everything properly, laying towels over the chair and double-checking the dye instructions. You've done this a dozen times on yourself, but never on your wild, easily-excitable boyfriend.
You pop the lollipop back into your mouth as he calls out from the shower:
"SWEETHEART! DO YOU THINK SAKURAGI WOULD USE A COCONUT SCENTED SHAMPOO??"
"Nah. I don't think he would even shower."
"WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!"
"A truthful one!"
He laughs, the sound echoing off the tiles, warm and bright.
By the time he comes out, he’s towel-drying his hair with all the finesse of a golden retriever shaking off water. His cheeks are flushed from the hot shower, and he smells like your shared shampoo—sweet citrus with something soft and warm underneath that’s just… him.
He plops down on the makeshift towel-covered chair, legs spread comfortably, leaning back with absolute trust shining in his eyes.
"Alright," he says, grinning at you, "make me beautiful."
"You’re already beautiful." you say without thinking.
He beams so hard you’re surprised his face doesn’t crack.
"I’M TELLING EVERYONE YOU SAID THAT."
You roll your eyes, tapping his knee. "Alright big boy. Now sit still."
"Yes, my love."
You put on gloves and mix the dye, the vibrant red slowly swirling together. Humin watches every movement with intense fascination, like you’re performing a magic ritual.
"Is this what it feels like to be pampered?" he asks. "Is this what princesses feels like?"
"You're more like a golden retriever than anything else.. but yeah sure."
"YAHHH-"
You brush through his damp hair first, gently detangling the strands. Every time your fingers graze his scalp, his eyes flutter half-closed like he’s experiencing spiritual enlightenment.
"Don’t fall asleep," you warn.
"Can’t hear you," he murmurs, leaning into your touch. "I’m bonding with my goddess."
You flick his ear.
"Oww! Abuse, woman!"
"I'm warning you."
After a moment, Humin whispers, voice softening instantly. "Feels... really nice."
Your throat warms.
It’s easy to forget—amid the chaos, the volume, the jokes—that this boy is sensitive in ways he rarely shows. He melts for you. Softens. Lets himself be vulnerable when the world exhausts him.
You run the brush through his hair again, gentler this time. He sighs, content.
"Okay," you murmur, dipping the dye brush into the vibrant mixture, "hold still. Please."
"As you command."
You start applying the dye, section by section, careful and thorough. He keeps fidgeting, but not enough to mess you up, just little movements, like he can’t help wanting to be close to you even while sitting.
"Baby," he says suddenly.
"Mmh?"
"Do you think I’ll pull off red?"
"Definitely. You’ll look like a menace," you reply honestly.
He grins. "Perfect."
You add, "And super hot too."
He goes silent.
"..I’m sorry, what?"
"You heard me."
He slaps his hands over his face, kicking his legs like he’s combusting. "I CAN’T WORK UNDER THESE CONDITIONS—YOU CAN’T SAY THINGS LIKE THAT WHILE YOU’RE TOUCHING MY HEAD—"
You push his knee with your foot. "YAH! Sit still!"
"BUT YOU'RE KILLING ME!"
"You asked for this!"
He drops his hands, pouting dramatically, but his eyes are warm, glowing, impossibly full of affection.
"You’re lucky I’m stupid in love with you," he mutters.
"Mmh-mm"
"I mean it."
You pause.
He’s looking at you like you hung the moon—like everything he feels is right there on the surface because he trusts you enough not to hide it.
Your chest tightens. "I love you too."
He smiles quietly. Rarely. Sincerely.
And you keep dyeing, your fingers gentle, your lollipop slowly melting on your tongue, the room warm with the kind of comfort that only comes from being completely known—and completely loved—by another chaotic human being.
Eventually, you finish applying the dye, securing his hair in a plastic cap.
"Okay," you announce, stripping off your gloves, "now we wait."
"How long?"
"Between twenty-five and thirty minutes."
He gasps. "That’s—TOO LONG. What if I get bored?"
"You won’t."
"Why not?"
You lean forward and boop his nose lightly.
"Because I’m here."
He goes pink. Actually pink. More pink than the dye bowl.
Then he lunges—not at you, but for your lollipop with the reckless bravery of a man who has absolutely nothing to lose.
You jerk your hand away just in time. "Humin-ah!"
He freezes mid-pounce, sitting on the chair beside you like some eager, overgrown puppy who’s been caught misbehaving. His hair is tucked under its plastic wrap, making him look ridiculous and adorable at the same time.
He blinks innocently. "What?"
"Don't you dare steal my lollipop!"
"I was just—" he reaches out again "—checking its structural integrity."
"No eating my candy during the processing time."
He gasps in betrayal. "Why do you say ‘processing time’ like this is a lab experiment?!"
"Because it is, basically."
He sulks, flopping onto you dramatically, his face right in front of you. "I’m bored now. Entertain me."
"You’re like a child."
"But I’m YOUR child."
"No, you’re my boyfriend."
"Same thing."
You laugh despite yourself, placing a hand on his chest to keep him from squirming too much. He immediately grabs your wrist and holds it there like he’s trying to anchor himself.
His voice softens. "You’re comfy."
"Glad I qualify as furniture to you."
"A comfy furniture! Luxury model."
"Wow. I’m honored."
He grins up at you, cheeky and bright—until his eyes drift to your mouth, to the shiny red heart lollipop you’re rolling slowly across your tongue.
He stares.
You raise a brow. "Don’t even think about it. I'm serious."
His stare intensifies.
"Humin-ah."
He sits up abruptly. "Twenty-five minutes is too long. I’m dying."
"Tragic then."
"I really eed emotional support."
"And?"
"And kisses."
You point at his plastic-wrapped head. "You literally have dye on your hair. You can’t move too much or you’ll stain everything."
He freezes. His eyes widen. He opens his mouth.
Then closes it.
Then opens it again.
"So what you’re saying is.."
He leans forward.
"…I need to kiss you very carefully."
"No."
"Yes."
"No!"
"YES."
He is already moving, inching closer like some slow-motion villain in a drama, except he’s smiling way too big and you can see the exact second his brain becomes pure impulse.
You put a hand on his forehead. "Park Humin. Stop."
He just rests his face against your palm and smiles like you’ve blessed him. "Nice. More forehead touches, please."
"You’re impossible."
"But lovable."
"You’re—"
He interrupts you by nuzzling into your hand, which shouldn’t be allowed because it’s too cute and now you’re melting.
You sigh.
"Fine. One kiss."
His eyes light up like Christmas morning. "BET."
He throws his arms around you—too fast, always too fast—but manages to stop himself just before his head touches yours. He shifts, angles, recalculates… and presses one soft, warm kiss right to your lips.
He pulls back, eyes soft and shining.
"You taste like cherry." he murmurs.
"That's because of the lollipop genius."
"Nah, you always taste sweet in general sweetheart."
You snort, leaning back against the chair while he sprawls over you again, arm thrown across your stomach like he owns you. He’s humming under his breath, tapping his fingers gently against your side.
You look down at him.
His lashes are long. His expression is peaceful. His entire being relaxes when he’s this close to you, like contact itself is a source of oxygen.
⸻
Twenty-five minutes pass mostly without incident.
He wiggles too much.
He kissed you three more times.
He accidentally elbows a pillow off the couch and claims it "attacked him first."
And he stares at your stack of candies like it owes him money.
Finally, you clap your hands.
"Time’s up. Let’s rinse."
He jumps up so fast he almost slips on the towel. You have to grab his arm.
"Walk. Carefully. Please."
"Yes, my love. My queen. My—"
"Humin."
"Sorry. I’m excited."
"I know that."
You guide him into the bathroom. He leans over the sink, and you gently rinse out the dye, watching the water run red then clear. He shivers each time your fingers graze his scalp.
"You okay?" you ask.
"’S really nice," he mumbles.
"You’re gonna fall asleep at the sink."
"Already are."
"Humin!"
He straightens immediately, but he’s smiling sheepishly.
Once the water runs clean, you towel-dry and blow-dry his hair. As the strands fluff up and the red brightens, you watch his expression shift from curiosity.. to anticipation.. to absolute, unfiltered awe.
He looks in the mirror.
"No way," he whispers.
"NO. FUCKING. WAY."
He grabs your shoulders.
"BABY."
"I warned you."
"I LOOK—INCREDIBLE."
He whips his head around dramatically (nearly hitting you in the process), examining himself from every angle.
"I LOOK LIKE I’M ABOUT TO START BEEF WITH A BASKETBALL TEAM."
"Oh my god."
"I LOOK LIKE I’LL JUMP A FENCE FOR MY FRIENDS."
"Wait- you already did that? Didn't you-"
"I FEEL POWER. PURE POWER."
"Humin-ah, calm down—"
"NO. I CAN’T. I HAVE RED HAIR NOW."
He turns to you, eyes wild with joy.
"Kiss me."
You blink. "Huh?"
"Kiss me or I’ll combust."
"Your hair is dry now, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay..sure."
You barely finish speaking before he sweeps you into a kiss—gentle, warm, cherry-sweet—the kind that makes your knees go weak even though he’s the one trembling slightly from excitement.
He pulls back, breathless, forehead pressed to yours.
"You made me cool," he murmurs.
"You were always cool."
He groans and collapses dramatically onto you, clearly overwhelmed by affection. You hold him steady, running a hand through his bright red hair.
It suits him more than you expected.
"You like it?" he asks quietly.
"I love it."
He beams. "Then I love it too."
You two walk back to the living room, and you settle on the couch again. You pop another lollipop back into your mouth, savoring the cherry flavor.
Humin watches you.
He doesn’t try to hide it.
His eyes follow every small movement of your lips.
You narrow your eyes. "Not again."
He grins.
"Bab—"
He pounces.
You yelp as he wrestles the lollipop from your fingers with skilled, practiced mischief, holding it triumphantly over his head.
"I WIN!" he shouts.
"You THIEF!"
He sticks it into his mouth, slow and dramatic, making direct eye contact.
Cherry-red hair.
Cherry heart candy.
Cherry-stained grin.
He looks insufferably proud.
"Mmh," he says around the stick, "tastes like victory."
"You’re the worst."
He drops beside you, pulls you into his arms, rests his head on your shoulder, and whispers:
"But I’m your worst."
You can’t even argue.
Not when he’s warm and clingy and glowing from pure happiness.
Not when he tastes like cherry and looks at you like you’re the best thing that ever happened to him.
You sigh, leaning into him.
"Yeah," you say softly, "you are."
He hums, kissing your lips again—careful, warm, and full of love.
And with your stolen lollipop in his mouth, Park Humin declares:
"This is the best day of my life."
⸻
⤷ ゛B O N U S ˎˊ˗࿐
Your phone buzzes in the middle of third period.
You’re supposed to be taking notes. Instead, you peek under the desk, tilting the screen just enough to hide it from your teacher.
It’s the friends’ group chat—the one lovingly titled "Peasants + THE princess" (Humin insisted)
And the first message you see is from Go Hyuntak.
⸻
⸻
You slap a hand over your mouth to hold back a laugh.
Other classmates glance your way, confused, because you’re actively shaking.
More messages start exploding in.
Then the typing bubbles appear.
Oh no.
Humin has entered the chat.
⸻
⸻
You’re wheezing silently in your seat, barely holding it in.
Then your phone vibrates again—a private message this time.
You bite your lip, grin wide, and type in the group chat:
⸻
You choke on air mid-laugh.
Several students turn to look at you like you’re malfunctioning.
You slam your forehead on your notebook, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
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✩ repost and feedback are highly appreciated!! I would love to hear your thoughts and opinions about my work!! 😚
Love you!! <3
— Rin! 🐰
