#funny & charming enough to pull it off i suppose

[riddlemelater]

Last Call - M.R (Part 4)

masterlist | nav | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

warnings: alcohol use/"dependency", mentions of war, death, depiction of injury/blood, darker themes, post-war vibes, implied trauma, Mattheo is being a little shit part 2, reader is rightfully losing her mind...

w.c: 5k

summary: Mattheo Riddle was sharp, charming, and haunted. Now he’s just a shadow at the bar—drunk, quiet, unraveling. You don’t know why you care. Maybe it’s who he used to be. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you like he doesn’t expect kindness anymore. But one things certain: you won't turn your back on him, not like the rest of the world already has.

a/n: finally part four is here! special thanks to the lovely @i-await for proof-reading, and dealing with my crash-out whilst I tried to write this <3 love u angel

You groaned as you shifted onto your side, the blanket pulled tight around your shoulders. Early morning sunlight was already bleeding through the curtains, cascading across the floor with a warmth that gently kissed your skin.

It was too bright and too early to be awake, you quickly reasoned, squinting so as not to be disturbed further.

That, and you could've sworn when you'd crept up the stairs last night— wand drawn and ready to pounce on the unknown intruder— that the curtains had already been drawn. But you could barely recall arriving home at all, let alone falling asleep.

You rolled over, turning away from the window with a heavy sigh. It was your day off. The day you could very well shut yourself up in your flat and ignore the rest of the world. You had plans to sleep in, to do absolutely nothing, and maybe even feel like a normal witch for a few hours.

But your body had other ideas. No matter how much you tried, you couldn't get comfy. The bed felt wrong. Like the cushions were too firm in the wrong places, and your spine ached like you’d slept funny. You shifted again, reaching to adjust the pillow, still in that sleepy bubble on the cusp of being awake.

You froze rather suddenly as it dawned on you. You blinked blearily. The couch. The thin, decorative pillow beneath your head. The scratchy throw blanket tangled around your legs. This was not your bed. Not even close.

You sat up slowly, dread crawling its way into your stomach, and your head turned cautiously toward the bedroom door.

No, no, no.

You’d dreamt it. That’s all it was. You’d been exhausted, tipsy—your mind had stitched together some elaborate fantasy, fabricated from memory and guilt. You had to have imagined it.

Rooted to the spot, your eyes fixed on the closed door, barely breathing, waiting for your heartbeat to slow. Your ears focused on each and every little sound that echoed through your flat, listening intently for any sign of life.

Then, very quietly, tentatively, you stood.

Your feet padded across the floor as you assured yourself that Mattheo Riddle wasn’t really in your bed. That he couldn’t be. That the whiskey Albion gave you must’ve knocked you sideways, and you'd hallucinated the whole thing. That was the only explanation.

But when you pushed the door open, sure enough, there he was. Sprawled out under the covers. Fast asleep. Soft snores rumbling from somewhere deep in his chest.

You stared, then took a step back like you'd touched something hot.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, a hand clapping over your eyes in disbelief.

Quickly, you eased the door shut again, cheeks burning with some odd sense of embarrassment at seeing him so unguarded. The latch clicked softly into place, and you turned your back on your bedroom door. As if ignoring its presence would magically fix the fact that he really was asleep in your bed.

Your hand rubbed at your face, trying to clear the fog in your head long enough to rationalise what in Merlin's name you were supposed to do. In a flurry of agitation, you walked back to the couch—limbs heavy, mind reeling— and sank into it like the wind had been knocked out of you.

Memories of the night flashed before your eyes, Mattheo drunk, bleeding. Fresh off the wrong end of some curse, no doubt. And then he'd just passed out. Like it meant nothing that in his most vulnerable state, he'd come crawling to you.

Like this was normal.

You exhaled. Slower this time. Let your head fall into your hands and tried once more to stop your racing heart. You stayed that way for a while. Not thinking. Not feeling. Just waiting.

You weren’t sure what to do. What to say. Whether you were more angry at his blatant intrusion or at yourself, for not being surprised, for not kicking him out.

For letting him crawl into your bed like it was his, for being relieved that he wasn't lying half-dead in some dungeon like your dreams had suggested.

You rubbed your jaw, then pressed your fingers to your temples. It didn’t help the headache blooming behind your eyes.

A part of you— a small, stupid part—had hoped that by morning he’d be gone. That you’d open the door to cold sheets and silence, and you could write the whole thing off as exhaustion, whiskey, and a bleeding conscience.

But he was still here. In your room. In your bed.

With a low groan, you stood and wandered into the kitchen, moving on instinct alone. You filled the kettle, set it to boil, and waited. Picking at your nails intently, like the answers to all your troubles were buried in your nail beds.

You’d been sitting there for nearly an hour, doing nothing but trying to pretend that Mattheo Riddle wasn’t asleep in the next room. That it wasn’t all you could think about. That you weren't so conflicted by the entire thing that you couldn't decide which way you were leaning on the matter.

When he stirred, made a noise— groaned, shifted—you didn’t go to him. Didn’t knock. Didn’t dare speak.

You held your breath.

Just in case he came staggering out and you could no longer get away with pretending it wasn't happening. What would you say? Would he remember? Would he even know or care that he'd landed at your front door?

You didn’t know. And that terrified you more than anything. So you sat, swaddled in the thin couch blanket, legs curled under you, and a half-cold cup of coffee resting in your lap.

Your fingers twisted, picking and pulling at a loose thread on one of the couch cushions. Much like the threads that held the cushion together, your brain was unravelling with each tug, and each new worry had your teeth sinking further and further into your bottom lip.

Time felt slowed, stretched even. And with every creak of the bedsprings, every breath from behind the door. You weren’t sure if he was still dreaming or waking—and honestly, you didn’t know which one would be worse.

Your first coffee had gone cold, and you’d moved on to Earl Grey by the time he stirred. A tired yawn sounded through your small flat, and everything fell silent once more as you glanced toward the door.

“Argh…fuck,” came a voice. Rough. Groggy. Confused. “Salazar, save my serpent soul,”

You didn’t move at the whispered curse, not even a wince. Just tightened your grip on the throw you'd wrapped yourself in, hugging it tighter like it could protect you from the pending conversation.

There was a rustle of movement. A soft thud echoed, one that sounded like a wand hitting the floor, followed by a string of muttered curses and the familiar creak of your bed shifting. Then back to silence again. Long enough to make you wonder if he’d passed out again.

You sighed, unable to prevent the inevitable, and finally rose to your feet. It couldn't be ignored for another second; you'd burst if you had to sit any longer, waiting for him to wake.

You knocked and pushed the door open gently, feeling uneasy at just walking in without warning. Strange, considering it was your bedroom, in your own house. He was sitting up, just barely, propped on one elbow, the other hand pressed to his temple like he was trying to keep his skull from splitting in two.

“You’ve got some nerve, I’ll give you that Riddle.” you said flatly, leaning against the doorframe. Your arms folded across your chest, your hair thick with knots from carding a hand through it repeatedly all morning.

You hadn't exactly intended to go in, all wands blazing. You'd actually spent most of the morning trying to work out what in Godric's name you were going to say to him. But the second your gaze fell on him, the second you noticed the bloodshot eyes, and the faint yellowish bruise that littered his cheek, you'd gone to pieces.

Mattheo blinked blearily at you, like he didn't really even hear what you were saying. He was groaning irritably under his breath, and the moment your voice reached his ears to ask if he was even listening to you, he shushed you with a wince and an outstretched palm.

“Not so loud… firewhisky headache,” he muttered loosely, pressing a hand to his forehead.

Your jaw gritted. Silent, not because he asked, but because you were still half in shock. Peering over at his crumpled frame that lay tangled in your sheets like they were his own.

His eyes scanned the room, then landed back on your face, slowly connecting the dots. Like he’d only now realised he wasn’t somewhere familiar. His face paled slightly, just enough that you noticed.

“Fuck," his eyes shut for a moment, exhaling shakily like he was trying to compose himself. "Can you block the sun out? Or at least lend me a pair of sunglasses?" He groaned, eyes squeezing shut as the heel of his palm rubbed at them.

"Oh, conscious and making demands. That’s progress from last night, I suppose." Your brows raised, glowering. Stern. You’d still lowered your voice, though.

"That’s the greeting I get after a near-death experience?” His voice rasped, but his expression was cool. Chuckling away to himself as his head shook, “Charming.”

"Mattheo," you hissed, fingers twitching, controlling the urge to snap at him. This wasn't funny; the state he was in wasn't something to be laughed at. You’d spent half the night convinced he was bleeding out somewhere. The other half wondering what he’d done to need a hiding place.

“You broke into my flat. Why?” You pinned him with an accusatory stare.

He glanced around, head sinking back against the pillow and groaning once more. “It's nothing personal, love, the wards were sloppy." He shrugged, then glanced up with a lopsided smirk, "Mm, lovely room— by the way, bed's dead comfy.”

“Excuse me?” you scoffed, floored by the arrogance.

The night before, he’d barely been able to lift his head from the pillow, yet now he sat like he owned the place, and if he did have a shred of self-awareness hidden beneath his untidy curls, he certainly wasn’t showing it now.

He waved a hand limply, shrugging off any real responsibility with feigned indifference. “Doesn’t matter. Next time I’ll collapse somewhere more hospitable, I assure you."

You stared at him, incredulous, biting down on your cheek to stop yourself from hexing him. He wasn’t even looking at you. In fact, he seemed to be actively avoiding your eyes.

Your eyes narrowed. You caught the flicker—his gaze lifting just slightly from the sheets, skimming over you like a reflex. Slow. Not as subtle as he probably thought it was.

“You broke into my flat. Passed out in my bed—fully clothed, by the way—and I’m supposed to what?” You tilted your head, voice low and laced with frustration. “Break out the chocolate frogs and butterbeer?”

Your tone was sharp, measured. Pissed.

He stared idly, eyes hooded and puffy like he’d not had a decent nights sleep in months. And from what you knew, he probably hadn’t, especially if Tolliver had been telling the truth.

"Come off it, Mattheo. What the hell is going on?" You demanded, arms crossed and jaw set, like a parent scolding a child.

He groaned again, dragging a hand down his face. He looked bored, like facing the owner of the bed he was currently half asleep in was the least of his priorities.

“Look, as far as bad days go, I promise you mine wins. Alright?"

You rolled your eyes, his apathy grating like sandpaper across already frayed nerves. And still, he wouldn’t meet your gaze. You exhaled harshly, and he flinched, almost imperceptibly, fingers twisting at the bedsheet like he was trying to anchor himself to something.

“Merlin's sake." You hissed, walking towards the window with an irritated sigh. You glanced back at him over your shoulder, still groaning faintly, an arm thrown over his eyes haphazardly.

With more force than necessary, your fingers grasped the curtains, yanking them open so the sunlight could spill through. Mattheo made a noise, somewhere between a groan and a whine, body twisting away with his eyes still covered.

"Are you always this dramatic in the morning?" he grumbled in a dry voice.

If he hadn't been in such a state, you'd have thrown him out already— Or, at least, the thought crossed your mind.

You sucked in a breath, trying not to rise to his provocation. "Oh, forgive me if I'm not thrilled that you broke into my flat," you snapped. “I was terrified. Still am, if you even care!”

That made him flinch — barely, but enough.

He hesitated, jaw ticking. His eyes stayed on the sheets. “I didn’t exactly plan it,” he murmured, finally.

A beat passed. You shifted onto the other foot, eyes narrowing.

“I didn’t have many options left, alright?” He dragged a hand through his hair. “Didn’t want to go to Theo. Or Draco. Or anyone, really.” His voice dropped to something rougher, like it scraped the back of his throat on the way out. “Besides, didn’t want them to see me like this.”

Your gaze softened, just slightly. "You scared the shit out of me, Mattheo." you swallowed, head tipping back as you exhaled a deep breath. He didn’t reply. Just half nodded and stared down at the sheets twisted in his lap.

“I thought you were dead,” you said quietly, and he finally glanced up, watching you, the smallest flicker of guilt in his eyes. "You disappeared, Mattheo. Without so much as a goodbye. And then I hear you're dead, from some drunk wizard in the pub nonetheless!"

Mattheo swallowed dryly, jaw tense as he rubbed at bloodshot eyes. So silent, so unwilling to give you a straight answer, never mind an apology, that you felt the anger swelling in your chest.

“And then you just show up, looking like death personified in my flat!” Your voice cracked slightly at the end. Your arm gestured uselessly through the air, like there weren’t words strong enough for the rest.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips pressing open and shut a few times, like he was trying to find the right words to explain.

"Well, for starters," he cleared his throat, "I'm not dead, evidently." The hand that wasn't holding him up gestured towards himself.

"Can't say I don't look it, though." He added, half-smirking at his own joke, like he was waiting for you to drop the act and laugh.

You only blinked at him, mouth tightening into a thin line. He chuckled sheepishly and ran a hand through his hair. You wanted to hex him. Badly.

"Right. Too early for jokes. Loud and clear." He held a hand up in surrender. "How about a glass of water, though?"

You were going to hex him, you thought decidedly. Your fingers twitched to reach for your wand. You'd blast him through the bloody wall if it meant he'd stop skirting around the truth.

Instead, you inhaled sharply. Muttered some half-arsed curse to yourself and turned to leave, ignoring the fact that he was still sprawled in your sheets with great difficulty.

"I'll be in the living room, when you've decided to stop being an arse." You called over your shoulder, striding out of the room and letting the door click shut behind you, with a louder bang than you'd quite intended.

The moment you were out of sight, you exhaled, exasperated, and pinched the bridge of your nose. You lingered in the hallway, the faint creak of your bed sounding like he'd just collapsed back into it with another sigh. A headache throbbed dully at the base of your skull. But the urge to scream into a pillow was only just outweighed by the fact that the bastard in your bed might hear it.

Head spinning, you ventured back into the kitchen, brewing another cup of coffee that definitely wouldn't help your headache. But, it was that or pass out on the couch again, and your spine certainly wasn't thanking you for last night's sleeping arrangements.

Your hand hovered over the cupboard where you kept your potions, nothing extravagant, mostly draughts of dreamless sleep and day-to-day healing brews. You sighed again, cursing your inner Gryffindor as you grasped a Pepper-up potion and a small tub of murtlap essence.

You weren't happy with him. But, at the very least, you'd help him ease the hangover, if only to get some answers.

Returning to your spot on the couch, you sank into the pillows. Your gaze focused on one spot, too caught up in your own thoughts to focus on anything else.

You were unaware of how long had passed—ten minutes, maybe twenty— until finally you heard the soft click of the bedroom door. Bare footsteps on wood. A quiet groan. Then a sigh.

You didn’t look up right away. Not until the couch dipped beside you and you caught a whiff of the cologne that still vaguely lingered on his clothes, dulled now by blood and smoke and whatever godforsaken alleyway he’d dragged himself through.

He didn’t say anything either. Just sat there, loose but not relaxed, elbows on his knees, palms pressed together like he was steeling himself for something.

You watched him through your peripherals. Watched the tension pull at the corners of his mouth, the thin scab that was incorrectly healing at his cheekbone, the shadow in his eyes that hadn’t always been that dark.

Wordlessly, he reached forward and drank the pepper-up you'd purposefully left in plain sight. He stayed far away from the murtlap, you noticed, following his movements as he placed the empty glass down with a soft clink.

"Thanks," he said in a raspy voice, clearing his throat sheepishly.

"Yeah." You nodded, took another sip of your coffee. Grateful that this time you'd remembered to cast a warming charm on the cup. "Slept in my bed, raided my potions—might as well start forwarding your post here too." You shrugged sardonically.

Mattheo huffed a laugh. "Alright. Point well made," he conceded, still rigid and perched on the edge of the couch.

You nodded, finally turning to take him in properly. He was still wearing his dirty clothes, but his hair looked slightly less messy. Like he'd at least tried to tame it before he faced you.

The silence hung between the two of you, thick and tense. You refused to break it first, staring over at him with a surprisingly level expression. It had taken most of your willpower not to take a calming draught, but ultimately you'd decided against it.

The responsibility to ease your frayed nerves lay with Mattheo.

"I'm sorry for calling your wards sloppy," he said eventually, looking down at his hands as he picked at some dry blood underneath his fingernails. "Nearly had me sleeping against your front door, if it means that much to you."

You didn't reply to his apology. Not because it didn’t matter, but because it did. And if you opened your mouth, something sharp and bitter might come out. So you let the silence stretch.

Mattheo shifted beside you, resting his forearms on his knees again, staring at the floor like it might offer him a script. His voice, when it came, was quieter.

“I shouldn’t have come here. I know.” His fingers were clasped together tightly, like he was trying to keep himself together.

You frowned, confusion twisting in your stomach. His words weren't aligning with his actions, and you didn't know what to think anymore.

“Then why did you?”

His jaw tightened. “I meant it when I said I didn’t have anywhere else,” he muttered, bitter honesty leaking through his words. “Not many people want Voldemort’s son bleeding on their sofa, shockingly."

His face soured for a moment, as if realising what he'd just said, then fell back to a blank stare. If you didn't know any better, you'd assume that he'd occluded.

It was quiet for a moment, and you stared at him, unimpressed, and scoffed. “That’s bollocks and you know it. Nott looked terrible when he came in looking for you, y'know?"

The anger had ebbed. What was left felt messier, less simple than just pouring him another whiskey and putting it on his tab.

Mattheo’s eyes dropped to his lap guiltily, his eyes bore into the floor like he was trying to find the right words. “That’s different. Theo, he’s…” he started, but his voice cracked on his name, and he trailed off.

"Even Malfoy—for all his faults—would’ve had half of Wizard London on high alert if you asked him to." You murmured, letting out a humourless chuckle. “They’re your mates, Mattheo. They’d be there for you, if you'd asked.” You spoke, voice softer now, tentative.

"I know," he said eventually, head bowed like there was more to it than he was letting on. "I should go. I should never have dragged you into this."

Blinking, you watched him rise to his feet, shaky and like his knees were about to buckle underneath him. You were frozen still, watching as he made a move to leave. You almost let him, but it seemed the inner lion still remained.

"Sit down, Riddle." You sighed, the words taking you quite by surprise, even as they tumbled from your mouth. "You're in no fit state to be wandering around London yourself, never mind the fact that you owe me a proper explanation."

Mattheo glanced at you, an argument already on the tip of his tongue. But clearly he needed your help more than he was willing to admit, because he hovered for a moment and then lowered himself back down. Eyes focused on anything that wasn't you.

You swallowed hard, composing yourself before asking the question. "What're you going to do?"

Mattheo didn't respond, just let his head fall back against the back of the couch and took a deep breath. He didn't try to offer a plan, just sat there, deep in thought. You knew then that he needed all the help he could get, whether he admitted it or not.

"It's blood magic, isn't it?" You pressed, leaning forward, elbows on your knees, gaze fixed firmly on his face.

That got a reaction. His head snapped up, and he looked towards you like you'd slapped him across the face. His jaw clenched, and his shoulders tensed.

"How..." he asked, cutting himself off with a shake of the head. "Who told you that? Has someone been asking around in the pub? Anyone you've never seen before?"

He didn't admit it, but you knew by the tone of his voice that you were right. That gut feeling you’d felt just a few weeks ago was real. Knockturn Alley and Mick Tolliver weren’t for nothing. Your dream... You shivered and tried not to spiral.

“You came in nearly every day, Mattheo. Did you really expect me not to notice that you’d vanished without a trace? Just go about my day like nothing had happened?”

That seemed to throw him, brows knitting together. Like he wasn’t used to being noticed anymore. Like it'd been a long time since someone had shown up for him, beyond just saying that they cared. The notion made your heart shatter.

“That doesn’t explain how you know that.” He said, firmer this time, his jaw set tight as his eyes met yours. He looked different, less dead behind the eyes than you were used to. Like something was pooling in them, something he didn’t quite understand.

Your teeth toyed with your bottom lip, eyes trailing over his thin frame with trepidation. He was skinnier than you’d ever seen him, a shadow of his former Quidditch days. He’d been one of Slytherin’s beaters, strong, muscly arms that half the girls in your year swooned over in hushed gossip circles.

The Mattheo Riddle who sat before you now was nothing like his teenage self, save for the arrogant edge that he seemed to wield defensively, like he'd spent his entire life running.

He murmured your name in a harsh whisper when you didn't reply, sliding closer to you and meeting your gaze with wide eyes. His head tilted slightly, waiting.

"I... I went looking one night. In Knockturn." You swallowed, feeling a wave of sudden embarrassment wash over you, "I overheard that someone there knew what happened. And, well, I had to find out for myself."

Your cheeks burned as concern flashed across Mattheo's face, and he leaned in closer and turned towards you attentively. Fingers grasping at the edge of the couch, knuckles white.

"Who?" He asked slowly, dragging the question out enough that you knew this was serious. You could hear it in his voice, the slight growl to it as he stiffened.

"He has a stall, stolen goods by the looks of things. His name was Mick, Mick Tolliver." You stammered, aware of how his gaze burned sharper at the mention of the dodgy wizard.

"Tolliver?" Mattheo's reaction was instant, his head turning away from you in outrage, hands thrown up in the air carelessly. He fell back onto the couch and ran a hand across his face, which only further unnerved you.

"Bloody useless tosser..." Mattheo muttered to himself, snorting bitterly. Head shaking as he pinched at the bridge of his nose, "He had one job— one!"

Mattheo rose quickly from the couch, pacing across the room with a newfound nervousness that made you queasy. His hands twitched at his sides, fingers flexing like they wanted to grasp something. He muttered faintly, mostly curses, as he paced back and forth across your living room.

You felt yourself pale at his reaction, your knee bouncing anxiously as you perched on the edge of the couch cushion. "Mattheo?" you worried, staring up at him with wide eyes, "You're scaring me, what's wrong?"

Mattheo scoffed, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides as he did tight circles around your coffee table. His jaw twitched, the muscles tightening so much you could almost hear the strain. It was like a switch had flipped; he was no longer the bruised Mattheo you'd found half asleep in your sheets. No, this was something else entirely.

Something that felt a lot like life or death, literally.

"That sleazy git was meant to tell everyone I was dead!" He grunted, lifting a foot to kick at the side of your couch in frustration. "Fifty galleons and he can't keep his trap shut!"

You stared, brows furrowed as you tried desperately to understand what exactly he was saying. Fixed on each deep, slow breath he took whilst a shaking hand carded through his hair. He was still treading back and forth along the carpet. Peering out the window like he was waiting for something to happen.

“You faked your death?” You blinked, incredulous. “And what, decided my flat was the perfect place to rise from the grave?”

Mattheo huffed. A half-breath of a laugh that didn’t quite make it. He opened his mouth, probably to snark back something equally as sardonic— but nothing came out.

Instead, he looked at you. His usual mask of indifference slipped for a moment, and you saw a flicker of raw exhaustion in his eyes, a shadow deeper than mere tiredness. He swallowed hard, and his throat worked once, twice, like he was trying to steady himself but wasn’t sure he could.

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, chest tight with a frustration you couldn’t quite swallow. You bit it back, the urge to snap dying in your throat. Instead, you cleared your throat, fingers worrying the rim of your mug.

“Look, Mattheo…” It felt like speaking across thin ice—every word a risk, too heavy and you'd fall through, too soft and they'd never reach him. "I don't know what's going on, or what I can do to help. But I want to, I know that."

Mattheo's head shook, ready to interject but you only spoke louder, voice less shaky as the words flowed.

"So next time you find yourself breaking and entering into my flat, maybe just... use the Floo like a normal wizard, yeah?" It came out softer than you expected—half-laugh, half-plea—wobbling on the edge of a smile that said I’m furious, but I’m not turning you away.

For a beat, he only blinked at you, surprise breaking through the anger. Then the corner of his mouth twitched—an almost-laugh he tried to swallow but couldn’t. The tension in his shoulders eased a fraction.

You pushed the spare pillow toward the far end of the couch. “Crash here until you can stand without wobbling, at least?"

You could see him deliberating, eyes torn from yours and staring at the pillow like you'd just undone something in him he’d spent years trying to keep sealed shut. Finally, he nodded, slower this time. But his gaze drifted toward the window like he wanted to say something else. Something heavier.

You waited. He didn’t speak. And that silence, though softer, held teeth.

It was like the fight had drained right out of him. Sinking down into the cushions next to you, his hand grasping at his side. You noticed the wince, the subtle sign that underneath his filthy clothes lay much worse than a poorly healed bruise.

For a moment, you debated asking. Eyes flitting down to the space between you, but you knew he'd only avoid answering, probably try and leave once more. And right now, the last thing he needed was to be alone.

So you stayed. You didn't say another word, didn't ask him for a plan. You just nodded and sank back into the couch, exhaling shakily and sipping your coffee like this was normal.

Whether you'd done the right thing or not, you weren't sure yet. But you were certain that from now on, Mattheo had to learn to trust you.

©️riddlemelater. 2025.

[vennywrites]

Satoru Gojo isn’t good with words. Not to be misunderstood with being absolutely irrisistible, charming and funny. He knows how to make you blush, how to make you laugh, how to make you all flustered and speechless. But being serious, talking about his feelings - that’s the real challenge. It’s a stupid argument at first. It starts with coming home too late to coming home only on the weekends. He attribute it to work, you attribute it to no sense of self. All his life he’s been formed into a weapon, the Strongest, the one who balances the world in his very palm. So you’re aware that he doesn’t know it any other way. When someone calls, he answers. But in being humanity's salvation, your own calls go unanswered. Just like now, when the humans call for their hero and he is willing to answer. Your request to don’t go stays only that - a request. It’s when you stand at the edge of the veil in Shibuya, the air thick with uncertainty and fear, that you confront him. Everybody’s on edge and just as is his way, he cracks some stupid joke and it brings you almost to tears. “Can you be real for one moment.” “I’m so real right now,” he laughs, flicks your nose while everybody waits. Orders have yet to come in. You would like to do nothing more than to tear the blindfold off his face, to grab him by the jaw and force him to face the reality of the situation. Whoever’s behind it executed this with a plan. And somehow, Satoru is at the center of it. But you don’t do any of the sort, just bite your lip and glare at him. It’s enough to make him sigh. “Come on… I’ll be fine. I’m the Strongest-“ he assures, a smile on his lips you wish you could wipe off. “You don’t know what’s there. This is a trap,” you warn and he has the audacity to shrug. “I know. We can laugh about it during snacks later.” You push against his chest, anger flaring. “Be serious for one moment. I’m scared.” This gets him to stop. At least momentarily. The smile drops and you imagine his eyes go momentarily wide with surprise. “About what?” “For you.” “Don-“ but you interrupt him, pressing yourself against him. For a moment, the infinity flickers between you, forces you to hug the air around him, the buzz of the energy making your blood vibrate. But then you crash against his body and he returns the hug with a light laughter. “I’ll be just fine, pinky promise.” You can feel his finger hook into yours but you don’t move from where your face is pressed against his chest, the clean scent of his something you try to memorize. “Don’t do anything stupid,” you plead with him. “Like what?” “Get caught off guard. You don’t know what’s down there.” “I’ll tell you all about it when I’m back, don’t you worry your pretty head about it.” Words die somewhere inside your throat. He lifts your head towards his, stares down at you with another soft smile. “You’re the one who stays out of danger, got it?” This is how it always goes. He’s the strongest, you’re at his mercy and begging for scraps. The double standard is glaring. He does whatever he wants - you’re not supposed to engage in even the easiest fight. “I’ll be fine,” you mumble. “So will I,” he promises again and pulls you into a kiss that leaves you light-headed and warm. And as he’s told to move, you’re not in the slightest reassured and he just laughs and steals one last kiss before stepping into the veil. Dread trickles down your spine. This is different, this feels wrong. But you smile as he looks back one more time and you try your hardest not to let him see how horrified you are. You just hope you get to tell him off while he stuffs mochi in his face, just a few hours from now. All you gotta do is last the hours.

[mildmayfoxe]

re: my post awhile back about befriending servers went out to get dinner with a friend at the german restaurant bc it’s finally getting nicer outside & they opened their side patio and charmed the server so much that she gave us free shots at the end of dinner in little boot shaped shot glasses and asked us our names & said she would be happy to see us around more often. but before that i asked her for her recc from the dessert aperitifs list & she told me i should try this zirbenz stone pine liqueur (pictured) and i was like “yes please bring me the tree” and it was extremely astringent and piney but definitely worth the try. anyway there’s nothing better than peddling my little jokes into making a server laugh especially if it gets me free stuff at the end (never my goal but always welcome)

[anticipatedexhale]

Jealousy jealousy~~

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ ⋅˚₊‧୨୧

♡ ◞ includes: caitlyn, jayce, jinx, mel, viktor, vi, sevika, ekko

☆ ◞ summary: when they get jealous at someone trying to make a move at you.

△ ◞ warnings: gn! reader. Fluff kinda angst idk

Jayce Talis.

The night had started out normal enough. A quick stop at a Piltover lounge, a few drinks, good company—it was supposed to be relaxing. Jayce had been looking forward to it all week, especially since he finally got to spend time with you outside of work.

And then he showed up.

Some random, smooth-talking socialite, flashing a charming smile and leaning just a little too close to you at the bar. Jayce had been mid-sip of his drink when he first noticed it—the way the guy’s hand subtly brushed against yours as he laughed at something you said.

Jayce didn’t consider himself a jealous person. He really didn’t.

But he also didn’t like the way this guy was looking at you.

At first, he tried to play it cool, sipping his drink, pretending not to pay attention. You were perfectly capable of handling yourself, and it wasn’t like Jayce had any claim over you.

Except… maybe he wanted one.

His grip tightened around his glass as he watched the guy lean in again, this time saying something low and smooth. You chuckled—polite, but dismissive. Jayce knew that laugh. It was the one you used when you were humoring someone you had zero interest in.

Still, the guy wasn’t getting the message.

Alright. That was enough.

Jayce pushed off his seat and strode toward you, placing a casual—but firm—hand on your lower back as he slid beside you. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said smoothly, his voice deliberately warm. “Sorry I took so long. Did I miss anything?”

You blinked up at him, immediately catching on. “Oh, not much. Just some small talk.”

The guy’s smile faltered slightly as he glanced between you and Jayce. “And you are…?”

Jayce grinned, though there was something unmistakably sharp beneath it. “Jayce Talis.” He extended his hand, his grip just a little too firm when the guy shook it. “And you?”

The guy shifted uncomfortably. “Uh, just a friend.”

Jayce’s grin widened. “Oh, just a friend?” His hand on your back subtly pulled you a fraction closer. “That’s funny. See, I thought you were hitting on my partner.”

You choked slightly, eyes widening as Jayce looked at the guy with a perfectly polite expression—like he hadn’t just dropped that word so casually.

The guy’s confidence wavered, and he let out an awkward chuckle. “Oh, no offense, man. Didn’t realize.”

Jayce’s smile stayed in place, but his eyes gleamed with something dangerously smug. “Yeah? You do now.”

The guy mumbled some excuse and quickly retreated, disappearing into the crowd.

As soon as he was gone, you turned to Jayce with an amused smirk. “Partner, huh?”

Jayce coughed into his drink. “I panicked.”

You raised a brow. “Seemed pretty smooth for a panic move.”

“…Okay, maybe not panicked exactly.” He cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

You tilted your head, enjoying watching him squirm. “Jealous?”

Jayce scoffed. “What? Me? Nooo.” Then, after a pause, he sighed, rubbing his face. “Okay, maybe a little.”

You grinned, reaching up to straighten the lapel of his coat. “You’re cute when you get possessive.”

Jayce groaned. “Great. Now you’re never gonna let me live this down, huh?”

“Nope.”

But even as you teased him, Jayce couldn’t help the satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. Because you were still here—with him. And that’s all that really mattered.

------------------------------------------------

Mel Medarda.

Mel Medarda was not the type to get jealous.

She was confident, poised, and completely in control at all times. If someone wanted to flirt with you in front of her, well—let them. She knew where you would be going home at the end of the night.

That being said… she did have her limits.

The evening had been going smoothly—an elegant Piltover gala, golden lights reflecting off the crystal chandeliers, the air buzzing with soft music and hushed conversations. You had accompanied Mel as her guest, and while she was busy entertaining council members and diplomats, you had wandered to the refreshment table.

That’s when he appeared.

Some overly ambitious noble, drawn to you like a moth to a flame. He was all charm and slick words, flashing you a practiced smile as he poured you a glass of wine, his hand lingering a bit too long as he passed it to you.

Mel had been watching from across the room, her expression unreadable as she sipped her champagne.

She gave him a chance. One.

And then she saw it—the way his fingers barely grazed your wrist as he leaned in, whispering something undoubtedly bold.

Mel hummed, swirling her glass lightly before making her move.

With effortless grace, she glided through the room, her golden gown shimmering under the chandeliers. By the time she reached you, her presence was undeniable—the noble stiffened slightly as she placed a hand lightly on your arm, her touch as soft as silk.

"Darling," she purred, her voice smooth as honey, "I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long."

Your eyes flickered with amusement as you caught the subtle edge beneath her words. You weren’t sure whether to be impressed or nervous for the poor fool beside you.

The noble, to his credit, tried to play it cool. "Ah, Councilor Medarda. I was just getting to know your lovely companion."

Mel smiled—slow, dangerous. "Were you?"

There was no sharpness in her tone, no outright hostility. And yet, the noble swallowed thickly, suddenly aware that he had overstepped.

She turned to you, her fingers trailing lightly down your wrist before intertwining with yours. "I do hope they haven't been bothering you," she mused, brushing a stray hair from your face as if the two of you were the only ones in the room.

You smirked. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

Mel let out a soft, knowing hum. "Of course not." Then, without another glance at the noble, she gently tugged you away, her grip light yet undeniable.

As you walked off together, you leaned in slightly. "You know, I think you scared him."

Mel arched a brow, amusement dancing in her golden eyes. "Good. He was getting on my nerves."

You chuckled. "Jealous?"

Mel merely smiled, raising your hand to her lips and pressing the softest kiss to your knuckles. "Jealousy is such a petty thing."

But the way her fingers tightened slightly around yours told a different story.

------------------------------------------------

Viktor.

Viktor didn’t get jealous—or at least, that’s what he liked to tell himself.

He was logical, rational. Petty emotions like envy were for people who had time to waste. He had work to do—innovations to create, problems to solve.

And yet.

He had been going over blueprints at your shared worktable in the lab, completely immersed in his notes, when he heard it—someone else’s laughter mixed with yours.

His pen stopped mid-scratch.

Looking up, he found you standing by the doorway, engaged in a conversation with some bright-eyed researcher. They were laughing, gesturing animatedly, clearly trying to impress you. And what was worse? You were actually smiling at them.

Viktor felt a twinge in his chest, something unpleasant curling in his gut. He frowned, tapping his pen against the desk. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

But then the researcher leaned in just a little too close, and Viktor’s patience snapped like a frayed wire.

He pushed himself up with his cane, making his way toward you at an unhurried pace. The clack of his cane against the floor was rhythmic, steady—an unmistakable presence approaching.

The researcher caught sight of him and faltered slightly. “Oh—Viktor! I was just talking to—”

“Yes, I noticed.” Viktor’s tone was light, almost pleasant, but there was an unmistakable sharpness beneath it. His golden eyes flickered between you and the researcher before landing on you entirely, his focus unwavering. “You’ve been gone quite a while. I was beginning to wonder if I had lost my most valuable assistant.”

You raised a brow at his pointed wording, a smirk tugging at your lips. “Didn’t realize you were keeping track of my time, Vik.”

Viktor tilted his head slightly, his gaze assessing. “I keep track of all important things.”

You felt warmth rise to your cheeks at the way he said it—so matter-of-fact, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The researcher, now clearly uncomfortable, cleared their throat. “Well, I should—um—get back to work.” And with that, they all but scurried away.

The moment they were gone, you turned to Viktor, arms crossed. “That was subtle.”

Viktor sighed dramatically, placing a hand over his chest. “Ah, my deepest apologies. I had no idea my mere presence would cause such a reaction.”

You chuckled. “So, are you going to admit you were jealous, or should I just assume?”

Viktor scoffed, but there was the faintest hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “Jealousy is irrational. I was simply…” He searched for the right words, tapping his cane idly against the floor. “…reminding them of their place.”

You grinned. “And my place is?”

Viktor leaned in slightly, his voice lower, softer. “Right here. With me.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

For someone who claimed not to get jealous, he certainly had a way of making it very clear.

---------------------------------------------------

Caitlyn.

Caitlyn Kiramman was not the type to get openly jealous. She prided herself on her composure, her ability to remain level-headed even in high-pressure situations.

But that didn’t mean she didn’t feel it.

You had been at a local café in Piltover, waiting for Caitlyn to finish up her rounds so the two of you could grab lunch together. While you were minding your own business, some overconfident merchant had slid into the seat across from you, flashing you a way too eager grin.

Caitlyn spotted it the moment she stepped onto the street.

At first, she hesitated, watching from a short distance. She wanted to trust you to handle it—but then the merchant leaned in, their hand brushing against yours on the table, and Caitlyn felt a prickle of irritation rise in her chest.

Alright. That was enough.

With long, purposeful strides, she approached the table, her blue eyes cool and calculating. “Excuse me,” she said smoothly, her voice polite but firm.

Both you and the merchant turned toward her. You instantly perked up. “Cait! There you are.”

The merchant, however, didn’t seem to take the hint. “Ah, and who might you be?”

Caitlyn’s smile was razor-sharp as she placed a gloved hand on the back of your chair, her presence undeniable. “Captain Caitlyn Kiramman of the Piltover Enforcers,” she replied smoothly. “And the person they’ve been waiting for.”

That got the merchant to stiffen slightly. “Oh—my apologies, I didn’t realize…”

Caitlyn arched a brow. “Didn’t realize what? That they were already spoken for?” She leaned in slightly, tilting her head. “Or that you were wasting your time?”

The merchant let out an awkward chuckle, making some excuse before quickly retreating.

Once they were gone, you turned to Caitlyn with an amused smirk. “That was almost scary.”

Caitlyn huffed, finally slipping into the seat across from you. “I simply dislike people who overstep boundaries.”

You leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

Caitlyn scoffed, lifting her tea to her lips. “I have nothing to be jealous of.”

“Really?” You grinned. “Because that looked a lot like jealousy.”

Caitlyn gave you an unimpressed look, but the faint pink at the tips of her ears gave her away.

You chuckled, reaching across the table to brush your fingers against hers. “You could’ve just told them I was yours, you know.”

Caitlyn exhaled softly, her expression finally softening. “I didn’t think I needed to.”

Your heart fluttered at the undeniable certainty in her voice.

Because, jealous or not—she knew exactly where you belonged.

------------------------------------------------

Vi.

Vi wasn’t the type to subtly get jealous. If she was annoyed, you knew it.

And right now? She was definitely annoyed.

You were both at Jericho’s bar, just grabbing drinks and unwinding after a long week. Vi had left your side for two minutes—just to talk to the bartender about another round—when she turned back and saw some cocky Zaunite leaning way too close to you.

Her eyes narrowed.

At first, she just watched, arms crossed, observing how the guy was grinning at you, clearly testing his luck. He was laying it on thick, too, his hand resting on the bar near yours, body language screaming overconfidence.

Vi cracked her knuckles.

Taking her time, she sauntered back over, sliding onto the stool beside you and draping an arm over your shoulders in one smooth motion. “Hey, babe,” she said casually, ignoring the guy entirely as she leaned in, pressing a kiss against your temple.

You blinked up at her, amused. “Vi?”

She hummed, finally turning her attention to the guy. “And who are you?”

The man, now clearly realizing who he had just been flirting with, hesitated. “Uh—just talking to your friend here.”

Vi’s grip on your shoulder tightened slightly. “Yeah? Looked like you were talking to my partner.” Her voice was deceptively light, but there was an unmistakable warning beneath it.

The guy held his hands up, chuckling nervously. “Didn’t know they were taken.”

Vi arched a brow. “Well, you do now.”

The guy muttered a quick apology and made himself scarce, disappearing into the crowd.

Once he was gone, you smirked, tilting your head toward Vi. “That was subtle.”

Vi scoffed, picking up her drink. “Please. If I really wanted to make a scene, he wouldn’t have walked out of here with both legs working.”

You chuckled, leaning against her. “So… jealous?”

Vi huffed, taking a sip of her drink before muttering, “Whatever.”

You grinned, nudging her side. “You so were.”

Vi sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Alright, fine. Maybe a little. But can you blame me?” She leaned in, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip. “You are kinda irresistible.”

Your breath hitched slightly, and Vi grinned, clearly pleased with herself.

“Now,” she said, finishing her drink, “how about we really make it obvious who you belong to?”

The playful challenge in her voice sent a shiver down your spine.

Yeah. Vi might not do subtle jealousy—but you weren’t complaining.

------------------------------------------------

Jinx.

Jinx wasn’t just jealous—she was possessive.

She didn’t do subtle. If someone was getting too close to you, you bet she was gonna make a scene about it.

It started when the two of you were wandering around Zaun, just minding your business when some overly confident guy swaggered up to you, flashing a grin that instantly irritated Jinx.

She didn’t immediately do anything, though. No, she wanted to see just how far this guy would push his luck. So she crossed her arms, leaned against a nearby crate, and watched.

And, oh boy, was this guy an idiot.

“Didn’t think I’d run into someone as good-looking as you in a place like this,” he purred, clearly thinking he was smooth.

Jinx’s fingers twitched.

You, clearly aware of the tension building beside you, gave an awkward chuckle. “Uh, thanks?”

The guy actually reached out, fingers just about to brush against your arm—

—and then BANG.

A single gunshot blasted the air, a bullet embedding itself right next to the guy’s hand on the wall.

You didn’t even flinch. But the guy? He jumped, whirling around to see Jinx casually twirling Fishbones in her hands, a manic grin stretched across her face.

“Oops,” she sing-songed, rocking on her heels. “My hand slipped.”

The guy paled. “What the hell—”

Jinx tilted her head. “Oh, don’t stop on my account. Go on. Keep flirting. See what happens.”

He took one look at the absolute delight in her eyes—at how she was clearly enjoying this—and bolted.

Jinx cackled as he disappeared down the alley. “Coward!”

You sighed, shaking your head. “Jinx, really?”

She huffed, marching up to you and slinging an arm around your shoulders. “What? You’d rather I let that slimeball run his mouth?”

“I could’ve handled it,” you teased, leaning into her.

Jinx squinted at you, poking your cheek. “Yeah, yeah. But I wanted to handle it.”

You smirked. “Jealous?”

Jinx gasped dramatically. “Me? Jealous?” She clutched her chest. “Pffft, please. I just really like scaring people.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Mhm, sure.”

Jinx pouted before pulling you into a sudden, tight hug, her voice muffled against your neck. “Mine,” she mumbled.

Your heart skipped

------------------------------------------------

Sevika.

So when she saw some cocky guy chatting you up at the bar—leaning a little too close, looking a little too comfortable—she didn’t immediately react. She just leaned back in her seat, swirling her drink, watching.

Jealousy was for insecure people. For weak people. She was neither.

You weren’t encouraging it, but you were being polite, nodding along as the guy kept talking. That annoyed her.

He was still talking? Still standing there?

Sevika sighed, rolling her shoulders before finally deciding she had enough.

She pushed off the bar with her metal arm, the heavy clank of it hitting the counter making the guy flinch before she even reached you.

“Hey,” she drawled as she slid up behind you, pressing just close enough to make a statement. Her voice was casual, but there was an unmistakable edge to it. “Didn’t realize we were making new friends tonight.”

The guy blinked, looking up at her—then immediately went pale when he realized who she was.

Sevika tilted her head, taking a slow drag of her cigar. “Something wrong?”

The guy took one last look at her—the sharp set of her jaw, the glow of her mechanical arm, the way she was clearly daring him to keep talking—before quickly muttering something about needing to be somewhere else and scurrying off.

Sevika exhaled a slow stream of smoke before looking down at you. “You just let anyone talk to you, huh?”

You smirked, leaning against the bar. “You jealous?”

She scoffed. “Please.”

You raised a brow. “Mhm. So you just casually felt like intimidating some random guy for no reason?”

Sevika rolled her eyes, taking another slow sip of her drink. “I don’t like interruptions.”

You chuckled, nudging her. “Right. Definitely not jealousy.”

She sighed, shaking her head before resting her metal arm against the bar beside you, effectively boxing you in. She leaned down just slightly, her voice lower now.

“You wanna test me?”

Your breath hitched.

Her lips twitched into a smirk. “Thought so.”

She didn’t say she was jealous.

But the way she made it very clear who you belonged to? Yeah. That said enough.

------------------------------------------------

Ekko.

Ekko wasn’t the type to immediately get jealous. He was pretty secure in himself and in your relationship. But that didn’t mean he was oblivious.

So when some guy at the Last Drop started flirting with you, he didn’t overreact. At first.

He had been talking to some of the Firelights, keeping an eye on you from across the room, when he noticed the guy leaning in a little too close. At first, Ekko just sighed, shaking his head. He figured you’d shut it down.

But then the guy touched your arm.

And suddenly, Ekko wasn’t feeling so chill anymore.

Taking a slow breath, he rolled his shoulders before pushing off the wall, walking toward you with the effortless confidence that only he could pull off.

The guy was still chatting you up, completely unaware as Ekko slid in behind you, looping an arm around your waist before leaning close, his lips brushing your ear.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

You blinked in surprise, glancing up at him. “Ekko?”

He grinned, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before looking at the guy in front of you. His usual laid-back demeanor was still there, but there was a new sharpness in his gaze.

“Who’s your friend?” Ekko asked, his voice smooth but unmistakably pointed.

The guy hesitated, clearly unsure how to react. “Uh, just—just talking.”

Ekko hummed, tilting his head. “Yeah? Funny, ‘cause my partner doesn’t really need company.”

The guy opened his mouth, then closed it, clearly second-guessing whether it was worth pushing his luck.

Ekko smirked, his grip on your waist just barely tightening. “You good, man? ‘Cause you’re looking a little nervous.”

The guy quickly muttered something about needing to leave and disappeared into the crowd.

Ekko exhaled through his nose, watching until the guy was definitely gone before turning back to you.

You crossed your arms, amused. “Jealous?”

He scoffed. “Me? Nah. Just don’t like watching idiots waste your time.”

You smirked, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around his neck. “Mhm. Sure.”

Ekko sighed dramatically, shaking his head. “Okay, maybe a little.”

You chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “It’s cute.”

He groaned, rolling his eyes but unable to hide the small smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Just don’t let it go to your head.”

[orangesaek]

'level up' | streamer!Jeno

request: “Jeno (maybe him oblivious to it but falling for y/n who fell for him first)”

pairings: streamer!Jeno x afab-bsf!reader┊genre: slight angst, bsf-to-lovers, fluff┊wc: 2.8k┊cw: mild swearing/cursing

@bluedbliss 💗 tysm! i hope u like this one! Jaehyun’s will be out soon dw ☺️ xoxo

You’d been in love with Jeno for years.

It wasn’t a crush. It wasn’t fleeting.

It was something that rooted itself so deep inside you, even you didn’t notice it blooming until it was too late.

And Jeno?

Jeno was the rising Twitch superstar.

The face of esports, the hilarious, charming, handsome streamer who could break the internet with a smile and get a hundred thousand viewers just breathing into his mic.

Everyone loved him.

And you?

You were just the best friend. Always had been.

You told yourself it was enough.

But sometimes, being close to someone you love hurts worse than being apart.

It was just another night in voice chat.

You weren’t even gaming—just talking while Jeno aimlessly clicked around on a puzzle game and you scrolled social media in bed.

Your voice was soft in the quiet.

“You ever think about what life would be like if we didn’t meet?”

Jeno paused. “Uh, yeah. I’d probably be way more boring.”

You smiled faintly. “You’d still be famous though.”

“Maybe. But I wouldn’t have someone sending me memes at 3 a.m. or reminding me to eat.”

You chuckled.

“So I’m your meme provider and personal health coach now?”

“Exactly. And moral support. And emotional damage controller.”

You hesitated, voice turning quieter.

“I’d still choose to meet you… even if I knew you’d break my heart someday.”

He didn’t respond right away.

You heard him shift in his seat, clicking something aimlessly.

“You’re weird tonight,” he mumbled, like he didn’t catch the weight of your words.

You just laughed it off.

You told yourself it was enough.

But it kept happening—these little moments that chipped away at your resolve.

Then came the night everything changed.

You’d always suspected that one of Jeno’s fellow streamers, a popular female gamer named Karina, had a thing for him.

The flirty remarks, the way she laughed at every word he said—even the ones that weren’t funny—yeah, you noticed.

You never said anything. It wasn’t your place.

But it stung.

Especially when their fans shipped them hard online.

Edits, fanart, clips—everywhere you looked, it was “Jeno x Karina”.

That night, you were just hanging out off-camera, curled up on his couch while he streamed a group collab. You weren’t supposed to be part of the stream. Just quietly scrolling on your phone, handing him a drink now and then, and keeping him company like you always did.

“Jeno,” Karina giggled over voice chat, “if we win this round, you have to go on a date with me.”

Chat exploded instantly.

OMG DID SHE JUST—

👀 👀 👀

OMGOMGOGMGOGM

U GO GIRL LMAO

Jenrina CONFIRMED???!

You tensed, glancing over at Jeno.

He didn’t hesitate.

“Nah,” he said casually. “I’m already taken.”

That alone was enough to make the chat go feral.

But then he looked over at you, grinned, and with one arm, pulled you right into the camera frame.

“Guys, this is Y/N,” he said, as if it was no big deal.

“My girlfriend. We’ve been together for a while.”

Your eyes went wide. “Jeno—”

He cut you off with a smile.

“I know we kept it lowkey, but... I figured it’s about time. She’s the love of my life, and I’m way too lucky to keep pretending she’s just my friend.”

The stream exploded.

WHATTTT??!!

NO WAY YOU KEPT THIS A SECRET—

SHE’S GORG WTF

JENO?? MY HEART 💔💔

WTF HE’S SO GONE

IM CRYING WE LOST HIM

Karina laughed awkwardly in her cam window.

“Wow, uh, okay! Didn’t expect that. Congrats, you two.”

But the flash of embarrassment on her face was hard to miss. Especially with nearly a million live viewers watching it all unfold.

Jeno didn’t even blink. He was still looking at you, eyes soft.

Then he read a chat message out loud: “Bro, she’s so pretty. You lucky AF.”

He smirked at the screen and pulled you closer, your cheek pressed against his.

“She’s all mine,” he said, narrowing his eyes.

“And I’m not sharing.”

Your face burned, and you tried to hide it, but the chat was already blowing up again.

By the time the stream ended, both your names were trending worldwide.

And despite the chaos, the teasing, the panic in your chest... You’d never felt more seen.

But then again, it was all a lie anyway.

Then came that movie night. Just you, him, and a film that left both of you a little too quiet.

Halfway through the romantic drama, you noticed him wiping at his face.

“Wait… are you crying?” you asked, trying not to smile.

“N-no, this is sweat,” he said quickly.

“My eyes are just sweating.”

You softened. “It’s okay. I cry at this scene too.”

Jeno glanced at you, voice unexpectedly quiet.

“Do you think that kind of love is real? The forever kind?”

You shrugged. “Yeah. But it’s rare. Most people are too scared to say how they really feel.”

He stared at the screen for a long second. 

“That’s dumb. If you love someone, you should just tell them.”

“Exactly,” you said. “Unless they don’t love you back.”

Neither of you said anything after that. The silence spoke loud enough.

So finally, during one of your usual late-night hangouts, you cracked.

“Maybe I like you more than a friend.”

It slipped out.

Jeno froze.

You waited.

And he said nothing. Just blinked, glanced away, and mumbled something about getting more chips.

So you ghosted him.

“Still no reply?” Chenle asked, glancing at the group chat. “Dude, he’s been MIA for almost a week.”

“I called six times,” said Hendery. “Nothing. Straight to voicemail.”

Yangyang sighed, chin in hand. “He didn’t even tweet a ‘taking a break’ message. His fans are freaking out.”

“He left me on read,” Haechan added dramatically. “Me. That’s betrayal.”

Jisung frowned. “What if something happened to him?”

Taeyong tried to stay positive. “He’s fine. Probably just... I don’t know. Figuring something out?”

Chenle stared at the group chat, almost tipping over in his seat when he noticed Jeno’s icon blinking with ‘typing’.

“HE’S TYPING!!!” he yelled. The guys quickly opened the chat and waited anxiously for Jeno’s message.

And finally, he replied.

“Sorry guys. I’m fine... physically anyway. Just have something to figure out. Ttyl”

Jeno did. He finally did.

Sitting in his dark room, lights off, half-eaten ramen forgotten beside his keyboard, Jeno stared at the ceiling.

You said you liked him more than a friend.

And he didn’t say anything.

He started pacing, mind spiraling.

Why did he always reply to your texts within seconds and answer your calls before the third ring, when with others it took him at least 2 business days to respond—or sometimes he just forgot altogether?

Why did he drop everything, even mid-stream, when you needed help?

Why did it bother him so much whenever you were with other guys? Why was he suddenly willing to leave his house just to hang out with you, when everyone knew he barely ever went out before? Why did he spend so much effort choosing random gifts for you?

Why were his tears reserved just for movie nights with you, and never anyone else?

Why was he quick to dismiss anyone trying to flirt with him?

Why did you make him feel like home?

“Shit,” he muttered, dragging a hand over his face.

“I’ve been in love with her all along.”

He grabbed his hoodie and ran out into the rain.

You weren’t expecting anyone, especially not him—soaked to the bone, hoodie heavy with rain, sneakers squelching against your doormat.

“Y/N,” he said, out of breath. “Please open the door.”

You froze. Then unlocked it, heart racing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I need to talk to you.”

“You’re—Jeno, you’re soaking wet!”

“I don’t care.”

Then he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft. It was desperate, aching, like he was trying to make up for every second he hadn’t realized he loved you.

You stood frozen until you pushed him back, wide-eyed and breathless.

“What the hell was that?!”

Jeno exhaled sharply.

“I love you.”

You blinked at him, stunned. “What?”

“I’m serious.” His voice cracked. 

“I didn’t realize it until you stopped talking to me. Until you disappeared. And then I started thinking about all the times I dropped everything for you, and how I hated seeing you with other guys, and how you’re the only person who’s ever made me feel safe… like home.”

He laughed, dry and bitter. “I’m academically smart, but I’m so goddamn clueless. I didn’t get it...”

You blinked away tears. “You ignored me when I confessed.”

“I didn’t mean to. I panicked. I didn’t know what to say. I was afraid I’d lose you. But then I lost you anyway, didn’t I?”

He stepped forward slowly.

“I couldn’t stream. I couldn’t eat. Every time I looked at my phone and saw no messages from you, I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

“You made me feel like a fool,” you whispered. “Do you know how hard it was to say that to you?”

“I know.” He swallowed. “I know now. And I’m sorry… for making you feel like your feelings weren’t important. They are. You are.”

You looked at him, your idiot of a best friend, soaked from head to toe because he just realized he loved you.

“Why are you like this?” you said, voice shaking. 

“Why do you only figure things out when it’s almost too late?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because I’ve never had to fight for something I wanted… not until you.”

Your heart cracked open.

You threw your arms around him, not caring that he was dripping wet. He tried to pull back, worried.

“You’re gonna get sick,” he murmured.

You shook your head, pressing your forehead to his.

“I don’t care. I missed you so much, you stupid idiot.”

He finally smiled, eyes glassy.

“Can I kiss you again?”

You leaned in and kissed him softly. This time with no fear, no confusion, just pure, quiet relief.

Later, inside, wrapped in a blanket, you teased, “So... are you finally going to tell your chat why you’ve been MIA?”

Jeno smirked. “Yeah. I’ll say, ‘Sorry I disappeared. I was too busy realizing I’ve been in love with my best friend for like, 6 years and only figured it out when she ghosted me’.”

You burst out laughing. “They’re gonna roast you.”

“I deserve it.”

You rolled your eyes and kissed him again.

[unholyhelbig]

Hey lovely, can I request yelena x fem!reader in the shower. Nothing sexual about it, but yelena or reader (or both) come home after a rough mission and they just need help cleaning up and decompressing. Like I die helping each other wash their hair ahh. Just lots of hugs and softness and love. Ok that’s all thanks love youuuuu <3

Title: The Warmth of You

Ship: Female!Reader x Yelena Belova

Warnings: non-sexual nudity, mentions of injury, mentions of explosions, Mentions of Alien goo (?) and horrible grammar. I don't proofread!

My everything taglist 💕: @thinking1bee (Let me know if you want to be added!)

[A/n: man, I feel like I haven't nailed down Yelena's voice yet so it's making everything awkward and clunky. I'll figure out how to write her with reader one day]

Main Masterlist | Read my stuff on AO3 | Leave Requests

The sound of the front door slamming shut should have been enough to have you rabbiting from bed, scrambling in an attempt to peel yourself away from the clean linen. Your wife didn’t have many rules, but she was strict about keeping dirty clothes out of the bed. It made for a comfortably warm nights sleep, and you couldn’t fault her for that.

You also couldn’t fault yourself for being bone-tired after a horrible mission. Your ribs were bruised, and the taste of blood was stale on your tongue. You’d spent most of the afternoon getting shrapnel tweezered from your upper shoulder. It throbbed uncomfortably and the thought of moving in the slightest was worse than getting scolded.

Your arm was flopped over your eyes, and you considered exhaling and not pulling another breath into your lungs. Even the thought of breathing was too much. Too taxing. You hadn’t toed off your boots, nor peeled your gloves from your sweaty palms.

Yelena had the disposition of a cat. You only knew she was in the room by the way the bed dipped as she flopped onto the other end. A tired groan escaped her, pushed from the center of her chest. It gave you a gentle reminder to inhale. You eased the pain by opening your eyes at the same time. At least the assault of the low-light wouldn’t be as bad.

Your wife was face down on the perfectly made bed in her own tattered tactical suit. There was a sweet smokey scent to her, one that burned your throat. Ash smudged her cheeks and created a hard rind under her fingernails.

“You look like shit.” You said, voice scratchy with exhaustion.

“Did you stop trying to be charming when you locked me down?”

There was a groan that snagged in the back of your throat as you found enough strength to pull yourself to a sitting position at the lip of the bed. Your head was swimming, dizzy to the point of pressing your fingers to your temple. Your ears were still ringing from the earlier explosion, so you didn’t hear Yelena do the same.

She kept her palm to her side, must have tweaked the same muscle that had been bothering her for quite some time now. You laid your hand on her thigh, giving her a gentle grounding squeeze until the sharp pain ebbed away entirely and her muzzy eyes blinked clear once more.

Yelena’s eyes flicked down to your lips, back up again.

“No.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You’re covered in alien goo and looking at me like you want to stick your tongue down my throat.”

“It is supposed to be in sickness and in health.”

You hummed, partially to mask the pain that washed over you when you stood on deer-like legs. “So funny that neither of our vows said anything about otherworldly substances. If you want a kiss, you get a shower.”

You padded into the ensuite bathroom, wincing at the click of the lights and the instant bright glow. The movements were familiar as you went about setting the temperature of the glass paneled shower. There was a heaviness to the air as steam began to collect at the corners of the mirror.

Yelena had worked up enough courage to pull herself from the bed, but took purchase on the doorframe instead. She watched you with a tepid green stare as sweat collected at your brow. The moisture was wicking through what remained of your tactical suit.

“I uh, tweaked my shoulder.” You said.

There was an uptick at her lip, the top scarred with a cotton-candy pink. You were stubborn, didn’t’ ask for help often and still couldn’t get the words to come out properly. Yelena had coexisted with you long enough to pick up on the subtle tics and the softness of your eyes.

She stepped over the threshold, boots against your own. Yelena carried an intoxicating scent of chamomile and the slightest tinge of honey. Of course, that was masked by the sticky pink goo that slicked her hair back, pungent and viscus.

Yelena made quick work of the buttons on your vest, breath warm against your collarbone. Goosebumps raised on your skin and though you hoped your wife wouldn’t notice. Of course, she did, and with a teasing lilt to her voice said “Cold, milaya devochka?”

You scoffed, but reveled in the way her fingers ghosted the bare skin of your collarbone as she peeled away the fabric of the shirt and discarded it on the tiled floor. A frown creased between her eyebrows when she saw the clinging black and blue and purple that bloomed over the expanse of your shoulder.

She let out a low hiss, nudging her nose against your own. Yelena had stripped her vest at the door but allowed you to work at the off-white of her suit. There were always too many buckles for your liking and made some intimate moments more frustrating than not. But, today you went slowly, moving the suit down to her waist.

Yelena’s muscles tensed and untensed as your fingers tickled over her biceps. There were various cuts and bruises and red marks that marred the expanse of her skin. She sighed out contentedly at your touch, hands reaching our and unclipping your bra. She let that, too, fall to the floor.

You’d been married to her for six years, and her eyes still went hazy with attraction each time she saw you. Her thumbs brushed against the sides of your hips, exhaling shakily. Your fingers moved to her belt, unlatched it with ease.

Once the both of you were stripped, standing naked and vulnerable in front of each other, you grasped her hand and pulled her into the warm stream of water. A shiver wracked your body at the quick change in temperature.

It was easy to maneuver the two of you until Yelena got the brunt of the warmth. A sigh of contentment pushed out of her lungs. You silently reached for the shampoo, meeting her eyes for confirmation.

“You do not have to.” Her whispered words blended with the falling water.

“I know, but I want to.”

Yelena gave you a slight nod and let her eyes flutter closed. Years ago, she wouldn’t turn her back to you, would track you at the corner of her eye. She knew where you were at all times. There had been a quiet glower about her, and you were convinced she despised you. That had melted gradually into mutual respect, and then something more. This.

She let out a contented whimper as you worked the suds into her hair, working the goo away with each swipe of the hand. Yelena leaned closer out of habit, her breasts pressing to your own in a familiar comfort as the floral scent of lilac filled your lungs.

You rinsed the soap away and diligently shifted her until her back was pressed to your front. You could feel the tone of muscle under your fingertips, the dirty blonde steeple of hair that dipped below her waistband.

Your chin rested on her shoulder, hugging her close, simply wanting to be near the woman that you loved. “Feeling better, baby?”

“Mm, move your hand a little lower and I’ll be back at 100%”

You were much too tired to give in to your wife’s pandering, and the way her head fell lazily against your shoulder gave away her own exhaustion. The water was running cold and her body pressed slick against your own was the only thing keeping you from shivering. You flicked the water off despite her murmurs of protests.

“Are you always this dramatic?” You asked a question you already knew the answer to.

“I have never been dramatic a day in my life. Wrap me up in a towel before I freeze to death and lose all my fingers and toes.”

“I thought Russians never got cold.”

The sharp glare she shot towards you with the precision of a drawn arrow shut you up. It had lost it’s true effect years ago, but it was still a sign that you were toeing the line. Yelena didn’t pout, but she got damn close with the jut of her bottom lip and the faux trembling she forced upon her shoulders.

Towel it is.

You draped one over her shoulders before wrapping yourself in one, thankful for the warmth yourself. When you turned to grab a third one to attend to Yelena’s dripping hair, now goo free, the air was knocked clean out of your lungs as she wrapped herself around you, cheek pressed into your side.

Having significant height over her played to your advantage in moments like this, when you both craved touch and she could tuck herself easily under your chin. She mumbled something against your bare skin, shooting affection up your spine.

“What was that?”

“I’m happy I have you to come home to,” She clung to you harder, eyes clenched shut. “We go on a lot of uncertain missions, to space, to the middle of the desert, but you are my certain. You help me wash the day away and just be.” Yelena blinked her eyes open, peered up at you. “I love you.”

You opened your mouth, closed it again, before finding yourself. Your wife, she had always been affectionate behind closed doors. It was more physical than it was verbal. She’d drape her legs over your lap, or lay her entire body on top of you. She’d watch you come out of sleep slowly while tracing patterns on your back. She showed her love plenty. She said it a little less, making something crack inside your chest now.

“I love you too, Lena. I want to come home to you every day for the rest of my life.��

She sniffed, nodded against your bare skin. “We have to change the sheets. Your outside clothes were on the bed.”

“So were yours!”

Yelena tsked, placing a fluttering kiss to the birthmark on your shoulder, her breath hot on your skin. “I do not recall this.”

[lowryuk]

Yours to Break.

Pairing: Ex-boyfriend!Eren x F!Reader

Word Count: 9.3K

Summary: No matter how hard you try to stay away from Eren, he always finds a way back to you—and you always let him.

A/N: hihihiya! I hope you enjoy and if you do, please consider to like, reblog and follow :D. I’m always open to give additional headcannons on my fics, so don’t be afraid to fill up my inbox with questions or comments—I’d love to answer them! The ex!bf eren won the poll so here it is. Look forward to the jock!Eren x reader that will come out some time next week (aiming for Tuesday night). Also, thank you for all the love on “What Was Mine.” I’m super glad so many of you enjoyed it :)

Side note (read after you finish fic to avoid spoilers): I know Eren’s pretty toxic in this one (I genuinely didn’t mean to do that lol) but I promise you he gets better over time and him and reader work it out.

(Warnings are below undercut)

Warning(s): Toxic!Eren (sorry), borderline abusive relationship (Eren’s very manipulative), Violent!Eren (but not towards reader), fight scene, possessiveness, angst, jealousy from both sides, insecurity, unprotected sex (wrap your willyyy), p in v, rough sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, marking/biting, dirty talk from Eren, hair pulling, cum eating, fingering, finger sucking

Taglist❣️: @erenjaegerwifee, @m0chamami

Eren Yeager was your first love.

It started in high school, in a cramped math classroom where he took the seat beside you and, with an easy confidence, offered to help when he noticed you struggling. Numbers had always come naturally to him, while you found comfort in words. So when you walked into English class and spotted him flipping aimlessly through the pages of a novel he clearly had no interest in, it only made sense that he patted the seat beside him, smirking as if to say, your turn to return the favor.

He was charming in a way that felt easy, the kind of person who could make anyone laugh with little effort, who was liked by everyone without even trying. And he knew it. He took advantage of the way you got flustered when he leaned in too close, how your gaze would drop to your desk anytime he said something bold, teasing you just enough to make your stomach tighten in that unfamiliar, fluttering way.

At some point, he asked for your number. It started off as innocent as it could be—just conversations about homework and upcoming assignments, exchanging notes before tests. But before long, the texts became less about school and more about each other. Late-night messages filled with inside jokes, subtle flirting that you’d overanalyze before falling asleep.

Then, one day, he asked if you wanted to hang out after school. You said yes, and sitting in his car, parked in a quiet lot, he turned to you and asked you out on your first real date. From that moment on, Eren was yours, and you were his.

For three years, life was blissful.

Then, in your first year of university, something shifted. Eren changed.

The boy who had once been so easygoing, so secure, had suddenly become possessive. At first, it was subtle—an offhand remark about how a guy in your class seemed too friendly, a joke about how you were too nice for your own good. But soon, it escalated. If you had a male partner for a group project, Eren had to be present, insisting it was only to “keep an eye on things.” The first time he said that, you could only stare at him, stunned into silence.

He had never been this way before. He had never cared if you had male friends, never acted as if he didn’t trust you.

"Why would you even think that?" you had asked him, incredulous, because you had done nothing—absolutely nothing—to warrant the suspicion lacing his voice. But he brushed it off, called it a joke, even though there was nothing funny about the way he was suddenly scrutinizing your every move.

You should have left then. You should have realized that love wasn’t supposed to feel like walking on eggshells, wasn’t supposed to be a constant battle to prove your loyalty to someone who once trusted you implicitly. But the thought of leaving him was suffocating. You didn’t know how to exist in a world where he wasn’t yours, where you weren’t his. So, you bit your tongue every time he accused you of things you hadn’t done. You let it slide when he checked your phone, when he questioned why a guy had liked your photo, when he made you feel like you had to explain yourself for things that never needed an explanation before.

And you endured it all—until the night of your best friend’s birthday.

She had gone all out, booking a VIP section at one of the best clubs in the city, followed by a stay at a high-end hotel where everyone would unwind, sober up, and just enjoy each other’s company. The moment you told Eren about it, he made his stance clear—he didn’t want you to go. You weren’t surprised. You had skipped out on nearly every get-together in the past year to appease him, and on the rare occasions you did go, Eren had been right there with you, monitoring, hovering, making it painfully obvious that he didn’t like or trust your friends and your friends felt the same way about him.

They had been in your ear for months now, warning you that his behavior was concerning, that he was controlling every aspect of your life. The worst part? They weren’t wrong. You just weren’t ready to admit it yet.

So this time, you refused to back down. You had to go—if not for yourself, then at least for the people who had been patiently waiting for you to come to your senses.

Eren wasn’t happy, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. Instead, he settled for damage control, reminding you—no, demanding—that you answer every single one of his messages throughout the night and call him the second you want to go home and he’ll pick you up. Because god forbid you stay the night with your girlfriends. God forbid he didn’t have a grip on you, even for just one evening.

You smoothed your hands down the fabric of your dress, adjusting the hem before stepping out of your room. The black bodycon hugged every curve, accentuating the shape Eren had always been so possessive over. And judging by the way his eyes darkened the moment he saw you, that possessiveness was alive and well.

His gaze swept over you slowly, his jaw tightening. He didn’t say a word at first, just exhaled through his nose like he was biting his tongue. It was rare for him to hold back, but you knew exactly why he did—because if he started an argument now, there was a chance you’d walk out of this apartment and ignore his messages for the rest of the night.

And Eren couldn’t have that.

So instead of criticizing your outfit, he did what he always did. He pulled you into him, his hands trailing down your waist, pressing flush against the fabric he so clearly disapproved of. His lips ghosted over your cheek before dipping lower, warm breath fanning over the sensitive skin of your neck. Then, before you could react, he sucked at the spot beneath your jaw, just enough to leave a mark.

You let out a sharp whine, shoving at his chest. “Eren.”

He smirked, fingers tracing over the faint bruise he’d left behind like a signature. “M’sorry, baby,” he murmured, though he sounded anything but apologetic. “You just look so good. Smell good, too.”

You sighed, shaking your head. You knew what he was doing. He’d played this game before, trying to soften you up with kisses and sweet words, hoping you’d decide to stay in instead. But tonight, you weren’t falling for it.

“Come on, ‘ren,” you said, stepping back before he could try again. “I’m gonna be late.”

The corner of his mouth twitched downward, a heavy exhale slipping past his lips. He looked like he wanted to argue, but he must’ve realized it was pointless. Without another word, he grabbed his keys and his jacket, leading you out to the car.

The drive to the club was quiet. His hand rested on your thigh like it always did, but there was a stiffness to his touch, like he was holding something back. When he pulled up to the entrance, he reached for his phone and sent you a notification.

“There. Sent you money for drinks,” he said, his voice low. “Text me if you need anything. Call me when you leave.”

You glanced at your phone before looking back at him. His green eyes locked onto yours, intense and expectant, waiting for you to promise you’d do exactly as he asked.

You leaned in, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Thanks, ‘ren. I’ll see you later.”

He didn’t look satisfied, but he let you go, watching as you stepped out of the car and made your way toward the entrance.

Inside, the club was already packed. Music thrummed through the walls, shaking the floor beneath your heels as you moved through the crowd. Your friends spotted you before you even had a chance to search for them, waving you over with excited grins.

The night started exactly as planned—shots, music, laughter, all of it. You danced with your girlfriends in the middle of the club, letting loose, letting the alcohol warm your veins and wash away the stress. A few guys—friends of your friends from university—joined in, pairing off with the girls around you. You weren’t interested, content just dancing with them, but then—

You felt hands wrap around your waist.

You stiffened immediately, your body reacting before your mind could catch up. The touch was unwelcome, unfamiliar, and when you tried to pull away, the grip only tightened. The man behind you was drunk—too drunk to register your discomfort, too drunk to listen to your protests. You shoved at his arms, twisting in his grip. “Hey—let go.”

He didn’t.

Instead, he chuckled, slurring something incoherent into your ear as he held on tighter. Eventually, you stomped on his foot hard enough with your heel that he let go, but the damage had already been done. 

Somewhere in the crowd, a camera was on. 

You didn’t know who recorded it, didn’t know how it got out so fast, but somehow, the video landed in front of Eren. Some guy—one of the ones dancing with your friends—had been filming his own night, oblivious to what he was capturing in the background: you, struggling against a man who wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Eren follows that guy and by chance, viewed his story. And he saw everything.

By the time you finally ripped yourself from the stranger’s grip and rushed back to the VIP room, dragging your friends with you, your phone was already blowing up with notifications. Call after call. Message after message.

 What the fuck?

Who the fuck was that?

Pick up the damn phone.

Answer me.

Your stomach churned. You sat down, fingers flying across your screen as you started typing an explanation, but no response. You sat on the couch, in distress. Your friends pried, asking what was wrong, but you played it off, painting a smile on your face. “Nothing! I’m just a little overwhelmed from all the drinks and dancing. You guys should get some more drinks, I’ll join you in a bit.” 

The girls nod and make their way back to the bar. The moment the last girl leaves, your attention is back on your phone. 16 minutes have passed and still no response. You chew at your lip. You knew it was only a matter of time before his face appeared here. 

And you were right. 

The door to the VIP room slammed open.

Eren stormed in, his eyes locking onto yours. They were sharp, furious, burning with an intensity that made your breath hitch. You stand up to explain yourself, praying to get an explanation in before he rains hell on you. 

“Eren, I didn’t—”

“Save it,” he cut you off, voice low, edged with something dangerous. “I don’t wanna fucking hear it.”

He didn’t give you a chance to argue, didn’t wait for an explanation. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you, dragging you through the club. You followed, chest tight with unease, because you knew—knew the second you got in the car, he was going to explode.

But the universe had other plans.

Before you could reach the exit, a body stumbled into Eren’s path, swaying with the weight of too much alcohol and poor decisions.

It was him.

The same guy from before. The same hands that had grabbed at you, the same slurred voice that had whispered too close to your ear. His eyes were glazed over, unfocused, but the smirk he wore was clear as day. He was saying something, words too muddled to make out over the bass of the music, but whatever it was—Eren understood. His shoulders tensed, jaw locking so tightly it looked like it might snap. You barely had time to react, to process the moment, before—

Crack.

The first punch landed so fast, so brutally, you almost didn’t register what had happened. The guy’s head snapped to the side, his body crumbling beneath the force of Eren’s knuckles meeting his jaw. A choked grunt left his lips as he staggered back, crashing into a nearby table, sending glasses and bottles tumbling to the floor in a shatter of glass and spilled liquor.

Gasps rippled through the club. The air shifted, charged with electricity, the weight of too many eyes turning to watch the scene unfold.

But Eren wasn’t finished.

He was on him before the guy could even think about recovering. Grabbing the front of his shirt, he yanked him forward, then sent another devastating punch across his face, knuckles colliding with bone. The guy groaned, his head snapping back with the impact, but Eren didn’t stop. His rage was relentless, a force of nature that had no intention of slowing down.

Another punch. Then another.

The force of each hit sent dull, sickening thuds reverberating through the air. Blood smeared across Eren’s knuckles, staining his skin as his breathing grew heavier, more ragged.

“Eren,” you gasped, reaching out instinctively, but he wasn’t listening.

He couldn’t hear anything over the white-hot fury roaring in his ears.

The guy was barely putting up a fight, too drunk and dazed to do anything but weakly raise his hands in a feeble attempt to block the blows. But Eren didn’t care. He just kept going, pinning him to the floor with his weight, his fist drawing back once more—

Until strong arms wrapped around him from behind. The bouncer.

It took everything in him to haul Eren off, muscles straining as he pried him away from the bloodied, barely conscious man beneath him.

“Enough, man! That’s enough!” the bouncer barked, struggling to keep a firm hold as Eren thrashed against his grip.

The guy’s friends rushed to his side, helping him up, but he could barely stand, his legs wobbling beneath him as he slumped into their arms. Blood dripped from his nose, from the corner of his mouth, smearing across his cheek in messy streaks.

You swallow hard, the weight of a hundred eyes pressing into your back as you force your legs to move. Shame coils in your stomach, heavy and suffocating, burning hotter with every step you take toward the exit. You don’t need to turn around to know your friends are still watching—silent, wide-eyed, exchanging looks you can’t bring yourself to decipher.

You just keep walking, head low, body tense, each step dragging under the weight of everything that just happened. The pulsing beat of the club feels like it’s mocking you now, a steady thrum against your ribs as you push past the crowd, past the mess Eren left behind, past the whispers and the stares. The moment you step outside, the cool night air hits you like a slap to the face.

Eren stands a few feet away, back against the wall, shoulders still rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline surging through his veins. The bouncer is in front of him, speaking low, one hand raised in an attempt to keep him grounded, to keep him from snapping again.

Eren doesn’t look like he’s listening.

His hands are still clenched at his sides, blood smeared across his knuckles, a muscle ticking in his jaw. He’s seething, barely restrained, like a live wire just waiting to spark. You hesitate for a second, nerves twisting in your gut, but then you take a deep breath and step forward. The gravel crunches beneath your heels, and at the sound, Eren’s head snaps up.

His eyes find yours instantly.

And just like that, the bouncer’s words fade into the background. Whatever thin thread of patience was keeping Eren in place? Gone.

He pushes off the wall, rising to his full height, and you swear the air shifts. The tension is palpable, thick and suffocating as he takes a step toward you. His expression is unreadable—stormy, dangerous, still brimming with barely restrained fury.

You open your mouth, not even sure what you’re going to say, but you don’t get the chance to speak.

“Let’s go.”

His voice is rough, tight, leaving no room for argument. There’s no question of whether or not you’ll follow him. It’s a command, plain and simple.

Then he turns, not waiting for a response, and starts walking toward the car—expecting you to do the only thing you can.

Follow.

But you don’t.

Not after what you just saw.

Your body refuses to obey, frozen in place as a cold, creeping realization sinks into your bones. Eren takes a few more steps, fully expecting you to fall in line like you always do—but when he doesn’t hear the familiar rhythm of your heels clicking against the pavement behind him, he stops. 

Slowly, he turns, and that’s when he sees it.

The look in your eyes.

It’s not anger. It’s not disappointment. It’s something far worse.

Fear.

His chest tightens, the breath leaving his lungs in a slow, staggering exhale.

Eren’s seen you upset before. He’s seen you roll your eyes at him, huff in frustration when he’s being stubborn, even cry when things got too overwhelming. But never—not once—has he seen you look at him like this. Like you don’t recognize him. Like you’re not sure if it’s safe to be near him.

A sharp, ugly pang of regret twists in his gut. His fingers flex at his sides, still smeared with the remnants of his outburst. He doesn’t even remember throwing that first punch—doesn’t remember the decision, just the impact, just the raw, unchecked fury that swallowed him whole the second he saw that guy put his hands on you.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

The club doors swing open behind you, breaking the suffocating silence.

“Don’t.”

Your friend’s voice is sharp with concern, and then she’s right there beside you, eyes scanning your face before snapping to Eren. Her grip on your arm tightens slightly, grounding you.

“She’s not going with you,” she says firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Eren’s jaw tenses. His shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath, but he doesn’t respond. He doesn’t look at her. He only looks at you. 

Waiting. Pleading. Silently praying for you to tell her she’s wrong. That you’re still his. That you’re coming home with him.

Your friend gently pulls you closer, lowering her voice as she leans in. “Stay with us. Stay with me,” she urges. “You know you’re more than welcome to.”

You hesitate, one last glance at Eren, but the answer is already clear. You nod.

That’s all it takes.

Your other friends begin trickling out of the club, surrounding you in a quiet show of support. And Eren—Eren just stands there, watching it all unfold. Watching as you choose to stay. Watching as the space between you stretches wider and wider, until it feels impossible to cross.

Your heart pounds against your ribs, and for the first time tonight, you feel the weight of everything settle over you. You don’t want to get in that car. You don’t want to sit in silence while he stews in his anger. You don’t want to go home with a version of Eren you don’t recognize.

Something in Eren’s face cracks. It’s small, barely noticeable to anyone else, but you see it. You see the way his brows pinch together, the brief flicker of pain behind his eyes before he locks it all away. 

Eren exhales through his nose, dragging a hand down his face. He nods once, more to himself than anyone else.

And then, without another word, he turns and walks away.

You don’t watch him go. You can’t.

Because deep down, you know.

That was the end of you and Eren.

—

The first month without Eren felt like a drug withdrawal. 

Your friends had to step in, blocking his number on your phone because they knew you wouldn’t. They were the ones who went back to your shared apartment, packing up your things and returning them to you in silent understanding—because if it had been up to you, you would have walked through that door and never left.

You weren’t strong enough to face him. To see the place where your life with him once existed.

So you let them handle it.

And in the weeks that followed, it felt like you cried enough tears to drown in.

Everything felt hollow. Your bed, too big. Your room, too quiet. Your days, a haze of exhaustion that you couldn’t shake, no matter how much sleep you got—though sleep rarely came easy. Your body ached for something familiar, something warm, something safe. But the only thing that had ever felt like home was the very thing you had to stay away from.

Eren.

Your friends were your lifeline, your anchor in the storm that threatened to pull you under. They kept you moving, kept you functioning. They took turns staying over, making sure you ate, helping you through assignments when even the simplest tasks felt impossible. They covered for you in class, took notes, did everything they could to make sure you didn’t fall apart completely.

Because you couldn’t face campus.

Not when you knew he was there.

So you hid.

You spent hours in the library, surrounded by books, teaching yourself the material from the safety of quiet corners where you knew he wouldn’t find you. Where no one would look at you with pity or whisper about what happened. Where you could pretend, just for a little while, that you were fine.

But the second month was different.

The second month, you forced yourself to return to class.

And the very first lecture you walked into—he was there.

Your heart lurched before you could stop it, the reaction so deeply ingrained that it disgusted you. Because even after everything, even after what he did, some part of you still longed for him.

But you didn’t let yourself look at him.

You didn’t need to.

You felt his eyes on you the second you walked through the door.

He was waiting for you.

You knew it before you even sat down. Before you even heard from your friends that he had been asking about you. That he had been the one sending them notes, making sure you didn’t fall behind. That he had been looking for you, searching for any trace of you on campus.

You didn’t know any of that then.

All you knew was that you couldn’t give him the satisfaction of acknowledging him.

So you took a seat on the opposite side of the lecture hall, your posture rigid, your focus locked on the professor, even as you felt the weight of his stare.

Unfortunately, avoiding him wasn’t as easy as you hoped. You had chosen your classes together, planned your schedules to align—because, back then, you had never considered a world where you wouldn’t be by each other’s side.

And now, you were paying the price.

He was in most of your classes. Which meant he was always there. Always watching.

Never approaching.

Just watching.

Sometimes he would get distracted, pulled into conversation with his friends, and you would take the opportunity to slip out unnoticed. But most of the time, you had to move. Had to find new places to sit, new spots to claim as your own. Because he had taken over the one you used to share, as if holding onto it would somehow bring you back.

But it never did. Because you knew better now.

You reminded yourself every single day that Eren was bad for you. That you left for a reason. That no matter how much you missed him, no matter how much his absence burned, going back would only mean getting hurt all over again.

And you wouldn’t survive it a second time.

By the third month, you were starting to feel like yourself again.

The ache in your chest was still there, but it was duller now—less consuming. There were even days when Eren didn’t cross your mind at all. Small, fleeting moments where you were too busy laughing with friends, too immersed in your coursework, too wrapped up in your own life to remember the ghost of what used to be.

You had caught up with all your class material, no longer drowning under the weight of everything you had missed. You even started going out again, slowly reclaiming the pieces of yourself you had lost along the way.

But parties were different.

Parties meant a high probability of running into him.

And you weren’t sure you were ready for that.

The first time your friends convinced you to go out, you had braced yourself for it—for the possibility of seeing him across the room, for the way it might send you spiraling. But he wasn’t there. Or if he was, he stayed buried in the crowd, out of your sight, allowing you to actually enjoy yourself for the first time in months.

You had smiled that night. Laughed. Felt alive in a way you hadn’t in so long that your friends took notice.

Which was exactly how you ended up here.

“I don’t know… I really don’t wanna go,” you sigh, flopping onto your bed as your best friend digs through your closet. “He’s going to be there. I know it.”

She rolls her eyes, unfazed. “And? You can’t let Eren stop you from living your life.” She turns, leveling you with a look. “You’re bound to see him at graduation. What, are you gonna skip that too just because he’ll be there?”

You glare. She has a point, but you don’t want to admit it.

“I just don’t see why we have to go to this party,” you argue, grasping at straws. “It’s a frat party for the football team’s season finale win. Eren is the quarterback. That’s literally his event.”

“Which is exactly why you should go,” she counters. “Show him you don’t care. Show him you’ve moved on.”

You scoff, unconvinced.

She sighs, dramatic and exasperated. “Besides,” she says, wiggling her eyebrows, “that cute guy from Kirstein’s party—Porco, right?—he’s gonna be there. Maybe you two can finally hit it off.”

Your stomach twists, and you don’t know if it’s from nerves or uncertainty.

You hesitate.

Because deep down, you know she’s right.

You’ve spent the last three months avoiding Eren, avoiding anything that might put you in his orbit again. But that fear has kept you from actually living, from moving forward, from proving to yourself that you can be okay without him.

And you want to be okay.

So you exhale, pushing past the doubts clawing at the back of your mind.

“Fine,” you mutter, crossing your arms. “But if it sucks, I’m leaving early.”

Your best friend grins, victorious. “Deal.”

—

You step into the crowded frat house, the noise and chaos of the party immediately hitting you. The sharp stench of alcohol, weed, and sweat clings to the air, mixing with the heavy bass of the music that rattles the walls. It’s so loud, your ears ache, and the vibrations almost drown out your own thoughts. People are packed into every corner, some stumbling around in drunken oblivion, others caught up in their own heated conversations, laughing and shouting to be heard.

Your friends immediately vanish into the mass of bodies, their laughter and voices lost in the tide of noise. You can barely catch a glimpse of their heads as they weave through the crowd. You sigh, already feeling the weight of isolation. You should’ve pregamed, should’ve had a drink or two to take the edge off, but you figured you’d be alright. Now you curse to yourself. 

The feeling of being an outsider gnaws at you as you weave your way toward the back of the house, looking for some reprieve from the madness. The music seems slightly quieter in the corner, the people fewer and farther between. You make your way to the counter, pouring yourself a crappy, sour concoction. It’s just something to occupy your hands, something to take your mind off the fact that you're surrounded by a sea of people, yet feel utterly alone.

You lean against the counter awkwardly, your fingers tapping the rim of your cup as you survey the scene. The longer you stand there, the more you realize how much you wish you didn’t feel so out of place. It’s supposed to be fun, right? You’re supposed to be enjoying yourself, yet all you can think about is what’s happening on the other side of the room.

And then you see him.

Your breath catches in your throat, and your heart skips a beat. His green eyes find yours almost immediately, locking with yours from across the room, and for a moment, the noise of the party seems to fade. It’s just you and him, that intense, familiar gaze burning into you. Your stomach flutters, your pulse quickening as you instinctively look away, embarrassed by the sheer weight of his stare. But even as you force yourself to focus on anything but him, your brain locks the image of him in that moment in a way that feels almost intrusive. You can’t unsee it.

There he is, sitting on a couch, looking effortlessly handsome as always. His friends are scattered around him, but it’s the girls that draw your attention. They’re all over him, leaning into him, touching his arm or laughing too loudly at everything he says. Their eyes are bright, eager, like they’re competing for his attention. The sight makes your chest tighten in an unfamiliar, raw way. You hate it. You hate how your stomach twists in jealousy, how your pulse spikes as you watch them cling to him, as if they’re the ones who belong there, the ones who get to be close to him.

It’s ridiculous.

You have no right to feel this way, but there it is. The jealousy. The sharp, bitter ache in your chest.

Eren, oblivious or maybe not, remains relaxed, his attention still half on the crowd and half on whatever conversation his friends are having. A beer bottle rests lazily in his hand, and yet you can’t help but feel that he’s watching you too. Noticing you. It’s like he’s waiting for you to react, to do something, anything, just so he can watch you squirm. 

So, you decide to play his game. If he’s having fun, then why shouldn’t you? The burn of his gaze on your back is unbearable, but you’re not about to let it control you. You clutch your drink a little too tightly and step toward the nearest guy—a random face you don’t even recognize. Without hesitating, you drag him to the dance floor, your body moving to the beat of the music as it blares in your ears.

The guy seems more than happy to comply, his hands moving almost immediately to your waist as you both start dancing. You can feel his eyes on you, a heat that sears through the crowd, but you refuse to give in. You tilt your head back, letting out a laugh at whatever nonsense the guy is saying, letting the music drown out the weight of Eren’s presence. You want him to see. You want him to feel the sting of watching you, of knowing he has no claim on you anymore.

The night carries on, and so does the game. You're all over the place, hopping from one group to the next—dancing with the guy, laughing with your friends, joining in on a game of beer pong. You’re doing everything you can to avoid Eren. When you make your way down to the basement for beer pong, you know before even turning around that he’s there. Right behind you, close enough that you catch the faintest trace of his cologne beneath the scent of alcohol and sweat. And because he’s there, so is everyone else. A crowd follows, drawn in by him like gravity, but you don’t care.

You don’t acknowledge him. You don’t spare him even a glance. Instead, you make it your mission to rub it in his face.

Beer pong used to be your thing. You and Eren were practically unbeatable. But tonight, you’re not teaming up with him. You find a random guy and start the game with him, your laughter filling the air as you take your shots. The game ends, and you lose—your partner was terrible, after all. But it didn’t matter because you were having fun.

Even though the guy was terrible at beer pong and completely clueless, there was something undeniably cute about him. You couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on you, like he was captivated, and the more you chatted, the more it seemed like he was genuinely into you. Honestly, it wasn’t the worst thing. He was easy to talk to, lighthearted, and in the moment, you found yourself enjoying the attention.

You stepped outside for a break, finding a chair near the backyard to cool off. The chill air did wonders against the heat of the party, and for a brief moment, you let yourself enjoy the solitude.

Of course, the rando followed. He sat down beside you, leaning back casually, his presence comfortable in a way that didn’t feel forced. You had a casual conversation—mostly about the party, how much fun you were having—but you could tell where this was going. His eyes had a certain gleam, the kind that made your stomach flip with unease but also something else—something more promiscuous.

Then, just as you were about to stand and go back inside, he leaned in closer, his voice low and smooth as he whispered, “Wanna get out of here?”

You almost said yes. Almost.

But before you could respond, a strong hand wrapped around your arm and yanked you to your feet. The sudden force took you off guard, your body jerked backward, and you barely had time to blink before you were being dragged back into the house. You glanced up, heart sinking, and sure enough, it was Eren. His grip tightened around your arm, pulling you through the crowd like you didn’t have a say in the matter.

You tried to break free, your heels digging into the floor, but it was useless—Eren’s hold was ironclad. He didn’t give you a chance to fight back, leading you down the hall toward the laundry room. The door creaked as he shoved it open, the dim light flickering above. Without a word, he stepped inside and pulled you after him, letting the door fall shut behind you with a quiet thud.

Your heart skipped, irritation flooding your chest as you pulled against him. “What the fuck is your problem?” you snapped, voice trembling with a mix of anger and confusion.

He didn’t even flinch. He stepped closer, his presence looming over you, dominating. His jaw was tight, clenched in frustration, eyes darker than you’d ever seen. You could practically feel the heat radiating off him.

"You are my fucking problem," he growled, his voice like gravel, rough and unforgiving.

The air between you two thickened, suffocating. He was close—way too close—his chest brushing yours, his breath heavy with alcohol and desperation. The faint scent of his cologne lingered in the space between you, and it hit you harder than you expected. You tried to ignore it, but it made your heart race.

He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped lower. "You really thought I was gonna let you leave with some random asshole?"

You recoiled, your chest tightening with frustration. You fought the urge to push him away, the words already on the tip of your tongue. "It’s none of your business, Eren," you snapped, your own voice shaking with a mixture of defiance and frustration.

Eren’s lips curled into a humorless smile, but the anger in his eyes was sharper than ever. “The fuck it isn’t,” he spat, his voice filled with venom.

Your chest rises and falls as you try to steady your breathing, but it's impossible with Eren this close, the heat of his body searing through the tiny space between you. His jaw is clenched, eyes burning with something between anger and desperation.

"You don’t get it, do you?" Your voice shakes as you step back, putting distance between you. "You’re bad for me, Eren. You always have been."

His jaw tenses, hands balling into fists at his sides. "And you think you’re any fucking better for me?" He takes a step closer, eyes locked onto yours. "You think I don’t know how much we fuck each other up?"

"Then why do you keep coming back?" you demand, voice cracking despite your best efforts. "Why can’t you just let me go?"

Eren exhales sharply through his nose, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "You think I haven’t tried?" His voice is rough, wrecked. "I’ve done everything I fucking can to move on. To stop thinking about you." His hands twitch like he wants to grab you, but he forces them to stay at his sides. "But every time I try, I just end up right back here. Right back to you."

Your throat tightens, and you shake your head. "This isn’t love, Eren. It’s just something we don’t know how to quit."

He exhales sharply, jaw clenching. "Maybe I don’t want to quit." His voice is rough, ragged. "Maybe I’d rather ruin myself than live a life without you."

His words slam into you like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath from your lungs. Your mind screams at you to walk away, to end this now, but your heart betrays you. You don’t move when he presses closer, don’t push him away when his fingers finally brush against your skin.

"Tell me to leave," he breathes, lips ghosting over your jaw. "Tell me you don’t want this, and I swear to god, I’ll walk out that door and never look back."

But you don’t say a word. Because you can’t. Because you do want this.

Eren sees the answer in your silence before you do. A dark smirk ghosts over his lips, a glint of triumph flashing in those wild green eyes. "That’s what I thought."

His lips are on you before you can protest, his hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. The second you kiss him back, it’s over. The tension, the months of pent-up frustration, the unbearable need—you both snap. Months of anger, heartbreak—it all ignites in a way that’s so ferocious, so consuming, that your knees nearly buckle beneath you.

His hands are everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, pulling you impossibly close until there’s not even an inch of space between you. You’re supposed to shove him away. You’re supposed to hate him. But when his hands slip down, fingers digging into your thighs, lifting you onto the edge of the dryer, you don’t protest. You can’t.

“Fuck, I missed this,” he breathes against your lips, his voice rough, desperate. His hands tighten around your thighs, spreading them so he can step between them, pressing himself against you. “Missed you.”

Your fingers tangle in his hair, yanking him back up so you can crash your lips onto his again, swallowing the low groan he lets out as you roll your hips against him. His grip tightens—possessive, desperate—as he presses you harder against the cool metal, his body heat swallowing you whole.

“This whole time,” he mutters against your lips, voice low and wrecked, “you’ve been acting like you can move on, like you’re fucking over me.” His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you right where he wants you. “But I see you, baby. You burn for me just as much as I burn for you.”

You hate how true it is. Hate how easily he reads you. 

His hands slide up your thighs, bunching up your dress, fingers teasing along the bare skin underneath. His lips are everywhere—trailing down your neck, over your collarbone, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmurs, his voice all smooth arrogance, all cocky challenge as he drags his lips back up to your ear. “Go ahead. Push me away. Walk out that door.”

Your breathing is ragged, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. You should push him away. You should leave.

But instead, you whisper, “I hate you.”

Eren smirks. “Liar.”

Then his hands are on you again, and this time, there’s no stopping it.

“Eren—” you whimper.

“Shh.” His teeth graze the side of your throat, nipping at your skin before soothing it with his tongue. His breath is hot against your ear, sending a violent shiver down your spine. “You can pretend all you want, but I know you, baby.” His hands slide higher, thumbs brushing over sensitive skin, making your breath hitch. “I know you still belong to me.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders as he presses his body against yours, hips rolling forward in a slow, deliberate grind. The hard press of him makes your breath stutter, makes heat coil deep in your stomach. You arch into him as he sucks a mark onto your skin, claiming you in a way that makes your head spin.

“You gonna keep lying to me, baby?” Eren mutters, voice thick with amusement. His fingers trace slow, lazy circles over your thighs, his movements teasing, controlled.

You open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him to shut up, to stop playing games—but before you can, he grabs the thin fabric of your dress and rips. The sound of tearing cloth barely registers before his hands are on you, gripping your breast, his mouth attaching to your sensitive tit. 

You gasp, fingers curling into his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist, bringing him impossibly closer. He rolls his hips into yours, pressing the full length of himself against you, a broken whimper slips past your lips.

"Feel that?" he breathes, voice thick with need. "All for you, baby."

Then his fingers finally move between your legs, brushing over your thin, damp fabric keeping him from what he really wants. His smirk deepens. "Tell me what you want. Beg for it."

Your breath stutters. He’s playing with you, dragging this out just to watch you fall apart. You hate him. You hate how good he is at this—how he knows exactly what to say, exactly how to touch you to make you melt.

But you’re not giving in that easily.

“Fuck you,” you snap, but it comes out shaky, breathless—less of a threat and more of a plea.

Eren grins, like he’s thriving off your frustration, like it only makes this better for him.

“Oh, you will,” he purrs, dragging his lips down your jaw, your throat, sucking another mark onto your skin like he wants it tattooed there. His teeth graze your pulse, and you can’t stop the way your body jerks toward him.

“Fuck,” he groans, pressing his forehead against yours for just a second, his grip tightening. “Look at you.” His fingers press against the wet spot, slow and teasing, and you whimper. His favorite sound. “So fucking wet for me, and you wanna sit here and tell me you hate me?”

You bite your lip hard, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

But then he hooks a finger under the waistband of your panties, pulling it down, and fuck—

“You’re soaked, baby,” Eren moans like it’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, his head tipping back, his fingers barely dipping into your heat. “God, I fucking knew it.”

Your body betrays you, bucking against his hand, and Eren laughs. 

“There she is,” he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear as he slowly, slowly drags his fingers up your slick folds. “Knew you’d stop pretending eventually.”

You should tell him to shut up. You should shove him away.

But when two fingers slip inside you, curling just right, pressing against that spot that makes you see stars–

All you can do is moan his name.

And Eren loses it. 

“Fuck, baby,” he groans, lips crashing into yours again, swallowing every sound you make. His fingers fuck into you, deep and slow, his palm rubbing against your clit just enough to make you tremble. Your hands claw at his shoulders, your head falling back against the dryer as he works you open, stretching you out with his fingers, his mouth kissing your pretty titties before trailing down to your belly button. You’re falling apart, barely holding on, your whole body trembling, burning.

And Eren knows it. Feels it.

“That’s right, baby,” he whispers, voice thick, lips dragging back up so he can see your face as his fingers fuck into you harder, deeper. “Cum for me.”

And you do.

Your body shatters, waves of pleasure crashing over you so violently you think you might black out. Eren groans as you clench around his fingers, watching every second of it with hooded, hungry eyes, like he’s memorizing the way you come undone for him.

“Fuck, that’s the hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathes, his free hand cupping your jaw, forcing you to look at him as he drags you through it, fucking you with his fingers until you’re shaking, whimpering, completely wrecked.

Then—without breaking eye contact—he pulls his fingers out, glistening with your release, and licks them clean.

Your whole body burns at the sight.

Eren groans, closing his eyes briefly before he looks at you again, smirking. “Goddamn. You taste even better than I remember.”

You’re still gasping for air when his hands grab your thighs, pulling you flush against him again.

“My turn, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with need. He grinds against you, and fuck—he’s so hard it makes your mouth go dry. “This is what you do to me.”

Your head is still spinning, but when you feel him reach for his belt, your heart beats faster. Eren’s belt hits the floor and your whole body tenses, every nerve ending on fire. Your thighs are still shaking from your last orgasm, but Eren—cocky and relentless—grins down at you like he’s just getting started.

“We both know you’re not leaving until I’ve fucked you so good you forget why you left me in the first place.”

You don’t get a chance to argue because suddenly his hands are gripping your thighs, yanking you to the edge of the dryer, forcing your legs wide open. And then—fuck—he’s pushing inside, and your brain short-circuits.

You can’t think. You can’t breathe. You can’t do anything but gasp as Eren buries himself inside you, slow and deep, stretching you in a way that has your head tipping back, your fingers clawing at his shoulders.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Eren groans, his forehead dropping to yours, his hands digging into your waist like he’s losing his mind. “Still so fucking tight.” Your breath stutters. Your legs tremble. And then Eren pulls out just to slam back in, knocking the air straight from your lungs.

Your nails dig into his skin, and Eren grins like he loves it. “Yeah? Feels good?” he pants, dragging his lips down your throat, sucking another mark into your skin. “Tell me, baby.” You can’t form words. Can’t do anything but whimper, moan, cling to him like you’ll fall apart if he stops.

Eren fucking thrives off it.

“C’mon, use that pretty mouth, sweetheart,” he taunts, rolling his hips in a way that has your whole body convulsing. “Tell me how much you fucking love this.”

You want to fight it. You want to bite back.

But then he grinds deep, his fingers brutal on your thighs, and—fuck—you break.

“So fucking good,” you gasp, damn near crying as your head tips back, giving yourself over to him completely. “Eren, please.”

Eren’s groan is animalistic, his grip tightening as he picks up the pace, snapping his hips into you over and over, fucking you so deep you see white. “Yeah? Missed this cock that much?” he growls, his teeth grazing your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “Missed me that much?”

Your whole body shudders because—fuck—you did. You hate how much you did. Eren knows.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmurs, grabbing your jaw, forcing your teary, fucked-out gaze on him. “You can’t stay away from me, baby. You never could.”

His thumb brushes your lips, and without thinking, you part them, sucking it into your mouth, letting your tongue flick over the tip. Eren’s breath stutters. “Fuck,” he chokes out, his body trembling against yours as he watches you. “You’re gonna fucking kill me.”

You smirk, flicking your tongue against his thumb again, and Eren snaps. His pace turns brutal, desperate, unhinged, his grip bruising as he drives himself deeper, harder, faster, like he’s trying to ruin you. Like he’s trying to make sure you never forget who you belong to. 

“Not letting you go again,” he pants against your lips, each word punctuated by a sharp, punishing thrust. “Not fucking happening.” The dryer beneath you shakes, slamming against the wall by the force of his thrusts. You break around him, legs trembling, body shaking, a sob of pleasure ripping from your throat.

Eren follows seconds later, burying himself as deep as he can groaning, “fuck, m’gonna breed this fucking pussy. Make you all round and full with my kid. Bet you’d fucking love that shit.” He bites down on your ear, his whole body tensing as he spills inside you. 

And even then, even when he’s breathless and spent, he doesn’t let go.

His arms stay wrapped around you, his lips press against your forehead, his breath warm and heavy against your skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispers, softer now, rough fingers tracing lazy patterns into your back. “Always have been.” And this time, you don’t argue. Because fuck, you know it’s true.

You look up at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, and for a brief moment, you let yourself savor the feeling of being close to him again. But that moment is short lived. His mouth crashes onto yours once more, swallowing any protest, any resistance. You whine against him, the sensitivity of your body only driving him further.

Without warning, he thrusts back into you—hard, deep—your gasp echoing through the room. Your nails dig into his back, and his body presses against yours, moving in a slow, deliberate rhythm, as if savoring every inch of you. You can feel the muscle in his body, each movement setting fire to your senses.

The stretch is almost too much, overwhelming in the best way, and you can't help but chant his name, your body trembling beneath him. It feels like too much, but at the same time, you crave more. God, the way he makes you feel, you can’t fucking deny it anymore. 

Eren pulls back for a second, his breathing ragged, and looks at you, his eyes filled with hunger. “Say it. Say you need me, say you fucking belong to me.” His voice is rough, almost begging, but not quite. It’s a demand wrapped in raw desire.

“I need you,” you gasp, your head thrown back, lost in the feel of him inside you, his cock hitting all the right spots. “I belong to you.” The words come out in a breathless rush, and it feels like every part of you is finally breaking apart—letting go.

His grin is triumphant, dark, like he’s just won something, but he doesn’t slow down. No, he’s persistent. His thrusts are harder, faster, making your body jerk against the dryer, the sound of skin meeting skin echoing in the confined space of the laundry room.

“You’ll never get away from me again,” Eren growls, his grip tightening on your thighs, pushing you up against him harder. “I’m not letting you leave. Not this time.”

You can’t answer. The words are lost in the swirl of sensations, the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. But when you feel yourself about to break, when your body tightens and your heart skips a beat, you know the end is near.

“Eren, I can’t—” you try to warn him, but it’s too late. You’re spiraling.

And then, he moves faster—deeper—pushing you over the edge. You explode around him, your entire body shaking as you scream his name, clinging to him like he’s the only thing that keeps you tethered to the ground.

He follows shortly after, his own release deep inside you, his body shuddering with the force of it. He collapses against you, his forehead resting on yours, both of you gasping for breath, tangled together in a mess of sweat and desire.

For a few moments, neither of you moves. The only sound filling the quiet room is your heavy breathing and the slow, steady hum of the dryer spinning behind you. Eren shifts, pulling you up against him, and you can feel his warmth as he wraps his arms around you. He grabs a shirt, handing it to you, and you pull it on before he tugs you back against his chest.

There’s an elephant in the room, and you don’t fight it. You can’t stop yourself from saying, “Eren, we can’t just pretend this is...”

He cuts you off before you can finish. "I know. I'm getting help."

Silence fills the space between you, the weight of his words settling around you like a heavy fog. Then he speaks again, voice raw, vulnerable.

“The night we broke up, the look in your eyes... it haunts me every single day. You were scared of me. And all I wanted to do was protect you. When that happened, I knew I needed help. And fuck, I’m so sorry.”

He holds you tighter, burying his face in your hair. It’s rare for Eren to be this open, this vulnerable with you. The only other time he’d ever let his walls down like this was when he found out about his dad’s affair. He’d taken it hard, and all he wanted was for you to hold him, console him. And that’s what you did.

“I’ve been going to therapy. I bottled up all my emotions, and the shit with my dad sent me into a spiral. I saw what it did to my mom, how it affected her, and I started thinking if I controlled you, you wouldn’t hurt me like that. Now, when I think back, I realize how fucking dumb that was. You’re everything to me. So precious, and I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

He pauses, his voice shaking slightly as he continues. "But I did. I pushed you away, and I was out of my fucking mind. I get it if you don’t want to jump right back into this, but... with time, could you give me another chance?"

You look up into his eyes, your thumb brushing away the tears that streak down his face. Your heart aches seeing him so vulnerable.

“I’m sorry you had to go through this alone, Eren," you whisper softly. "I wish you’d let me be there for you.”

He shakes his head, pulling you closer, his hands trembling. "Don’t apologize. This is all on me. I just… I can’t fucking lose you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."

“You’re not losing me," you say, your voice firm but full of tenderness, trying to calm him down and reassure him. Eren stares at you for a moment, his lips parting slightly before he breathes out, barely a whisper, “I love you.” Your heart stutters in your chest, the words you've been longing to hear for these last few months. You lean in, your forehead resting against his as you whisper back, “I love you too. Everything’s gonna be okay.” 

[slytherin-simpp]

“Don’t touch her”

Pairing: Enzo Berkshire X reader

Summary: Everyone knows Enzo Berkshire doesn’t do jealousy. He doesn’t do attachment. And he definitely doesn’t care who you dance with. Until he does. Until one slow song, one wrong touch, and suddenly he’s crossing the room like he owns it—and you. Turns out, there’s a limit to how long he can keep pretending. And tonight? He’s done pretending.

The Slytherin common room was glowing in its usual eerie green, shadows from the Black Lake dancing across the stone walls. Someone had charmed the music to float through the air like a heartbeat, pulsing and soft. The atmosphere was warm, buzzing with whispered gossip and the sharp scent of Firewhisky.

You were leaning against the wall near the drinks table, laughing at something Matt Rosier said—not because it was funny, but because Enzo was watching.

Or he had been watching.

Now he was gone.

You scanned the room, but the couch he’d been on earlier was empty. So were the two armchairs where Theo and Blaise had lounged. Your heart dipped. Maybe he’d left. Maybe he didn’t care.

“Want to dance?” Matt asked, grinning. He looked nice enough, and he was trying.

You smiled politely and nodded. “Sure.”

He spun you toward the center of the room, one hand settling at your waist. His fingers pressed a little too firmly, and though you tried to ignore it, your eyes drifted—again—to the doorway.

That’s when you saw him.

Enzo.

Standing there, arms crossed, black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, Slytherin tie loosened. His dark curls looked more effortless than usual, and his expression—

That expression stopped your breath.

He wasn’t smiling. Not even close.

He was fuming.

You froze just slightly under Matt’s hand. Enzo walked forward slowly, like a storm brewing behind calm eyes. People moved out of his way instinctively—some parting the crowd, others pretending not to stare. His gaze never left yours.

Not for a second.

Matt hadn’t noticed. “You’re tense. I don’t bite.”

That’s when Enzo was beside you. Right beside you.

“Move,” he said, voice smooth but cold.

Matt blinked. “What—?”

“I said,” Enzo repeated, stepping between you and him, “Move your hand off her. Now.”

Matt raised his hands. “Merlin, alright. Relax.”

He stepped back, confused but wise enough not to challenge him further. Enzo didn’t even look at him. His eyes were locked on yours.

“Was that supposed to make me jealous?” he asked quietly, just for you.

You swallowed. “Did it work?”

He chuckled under his breath, a sharp sound, like you’d surprised him.

“You’re playing a dangerous game, y/n.”

“Why?” you breathed. “Because I danced with someone else?”

“No,” he murmured, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face, “because if you were mine, I’d never let anyone else even look at you like that.”

Your heart was in your throat. “If I were?”

He leaned in, lips just a whisper from your ear. “I haven’t made my move yet. Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

Butterflies exploded in your stomach. Every nerve was on fire.

You whispered, “Then maybe you should.”

That did it.

He kissed you.

But not like he was claiming you. Like he already had. Like he’d been holding this in forever and couldn’t take another second. One hand cradled your jaw, the other slipping to your waist as if to say mine.

The room blurred.

All you felt was Enzo. All you tasted was him. And when he finally pulled back, lips barely apart from yours, he whispered, “Next time someone tries to touch you, tell them not to bother. You’re spoken for.”

And just like that, you forgot everyone else existed.

[demie90s]

girlll booo hey so i need some jealous nika and emily engstler(ion know how to spell her last name) if you write for her and i also need some more court and nastisha like it’s a must i need THEM real bad also you my favorite fr😋

Jealous Jealous Jealous Girls

Emily Engstler x fem!reader

Nika Muhl x Fem!Reader

NAVI | NIKA | EMILY

ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: You’re just being your usual flirty, charming self—but they like the way someone from the opposing team looks at you after the game. (How they’d act.)

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: ~ 1.2k

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: Angst, tension, jealousy, possessive love

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: Cursing, rough flirtation, grip-you-by-the-throat type dialogue, emotional intensity

Emily Engstler

The game’s running. Atlanta Dream vs. us. And yeah, I’m not suited up tonight—rehab still got me on reserve—but that don’t mean I can’t step like I got 20 points and a post-game interview.

Low-rise jeans hugging the way they supposed to. Graphic baby tee hugging the rest. Kitten heels tapping on hardwood while I lean on the railing by the tunnel, iced coffee in hand. Hair laid. Face beat soft but structured. And the look I give the camera when it pans my way…

Yeah. I been outside.

Alisha Grey noticed. Right after her third bucket, she jogs back on defense, glancing my way. Eyes scan slow. I smirk, sip my coffee. Didn’t even do nothin’. Just looked. But now every time she walks past our bench, she doing a lil extra.

“You back next week?” she mouths from the sideline, not even bothering to whisper.

I smile. “Might be. You miss me?”

She grins. “Always.”

I ain’t tryna start nothin’. Alisha just funny. Cool. And fine. She also has a boyfriend. Real let me have my moment energy. I’m laughin’, hair tucked behind my ear, knee slightly bent like I ain’t got Emily Engstler on the court two plays from blacking out.

And I know she sees it. I can feel it.

Whole fourth quarter she don’t even look toward me. Not once. But her defense is locked down. Bodying screens like they owe her something. Grabbing rebounds with her jaw clenched. I see her look at Alisha once. Not long. Just enough.

Clock hits zero. We win. Team’s up, clapping, dapping up the Dream players, and I’m still leaned cool on the rail. Alisha jogs over, towel around her neck.

“You sure you not playing tonight?” she teases.

I smile, standing straight. “Nah, just had to show off a lil. Gotta give y’all something to look at.”

She laughs. “You bout to get somebody in trouble.”

Then she holds out her fist for a bump. And that’s the exact second I hear footsteps behind me. Heavy, slow. Calm.

I turn just as Emily walks up, all sweat and tension in her shoulders. Jersey hanging off her tall frame like it was stitched just for her. She doesn’t look mad. Not obviously. She’s quiet. Brows low, lips pursed like she’s biting words back.

“Hey,” Alisha nods, still smiling.

Emily nods back—barely. “Good game.”

But her eyes are on me. Not Alisha. Me.

Alisha dips off after a beat. Awkward. I go to say something, but Emily’s already stepping closer. Not touching me. Just close enough I can feel the warmth off her chest, the weight of her presence.

“You had fun?” Her voice is low. Raspy.

I blink. “…I did’.”

She nods slowly, eyes dragging down my fit. Linger at my stomach. Then back up to my mouth.

“Mm.” She looks off, then back at me. Still calm. Still not raising her voice.

“You think that was cute?” she asks, head tilted slightly. “You flirting back while I’m on the court?”

I open my mouth, then close it, chuckling nervously like. “I wasn’t flirting—”

“You were smiling.”

She cuts her eyes at me, slow. Measured.

“You was blushing. Playing along. Giving her that voice you give me when you want something.”

I cross my arms, half-defensive, half-flustered. “She was just being friendly.”

Emily leans down. Her lips close to my ear now. Jaw clenched. Still no curse words. Still no yelling.

“I don’t care if it was a joke. Don’t play with me like that.”

I swallow. “You jealous?”

She pulls back just a little, lips curving into the softest, deadliest smile.

“I’m not worried about her,” she says. “I’m worried about you. ’Cause you know better.”

I glance around. Nobody close enough to hear. Just us by the tunnel. Her body still blocking mine from the world like I’m hers and she don’t even need to say it.

She tilts her head, still watching me. “I let you sit pretty on the sideline. I don’t say nothin’ when you post thirst traps and wear heels to rehab. But don’t get it confused.”

She lifts a hand, tugs lightly at the waistband of my jeans, voice dropping even lower.

“Just ’cause you not in uniform don’t mean you not mine.” And whew.

My knees? Weak. My brain? Scrambled. My soul? Filing paperwork to officially change last names.

I blink up at her, lips parting. “…I wasn’t tryna be funny.”

She leans in, brushes her lips against my cheek, featherlight. “Good.”

Then she walks off—slow. Confident. Knowing I’m gonna follow. Because yeah. I looked good. But Emily…She own me.

Nika Muhl

You might be on injury reserve, but baby, that don’t mean you can’t STEP.

Skin-tight black long sleeve hugging your body like it’s tailored. Tiny shorts, toned legs crossed at the knee. Kitten heels tapping against the bleachers while your fresh set catches the light. Edges slick, makeup flawless. You’re not dressed for attention—but attention always finds you.

And it damn sure finds you today.

Storm vs. Fever. You’re posted just behind the bench, ankle still healing but posture on ten. Nika’s on court, but she sees you the moment she steps out the tunnel. Of course she does. She always sees you first. Her mouth twitches—just a little. You’d miss it if you didn’t know her.

But you do know her. You know exactly how hard she’s trying not to react. She blames the Croatian genes. Says she’s just intense. Competitive.

But you know the truth. Nika’s possessive.

And she’s doing a damn good job hiding it—until Sydney Colson starts acting up.

You’re chillin, sipping on some water when Syd walks past and does a double take. She grins wide like she just saw dessert. “Damn, what’s a fine lil sideline analyst like you doin’ at a basketball game?”

You smirk. “Just here to motivate. You need some too?”

Syd fake-stumbles, clutching her chest. “You tryna kill me before tip-off.”

You laugh, head tossed back—because honestly. She funny. It’s not serious. You know how Sydney is: all jokes, always on go, never inappropriate. But that don’t mean it looks innocent from Nika’s POV.

Nika’s across the court, dribbling, but her eyes never leave you. Her jaw’s locked. She’s chewing the hell out that mouthguard like it said something slick. The second quarter starts, but her focus? Shot to hell.

You lean into the bench a little when Sydney walks by again, tapping your shoe with hers.

“You know I got room on the roster, right?” she winks. “Medical clearance pending, of course.”

You laugh again, louder this time. You don’t even realize how far Nika’s drifted up the court until Geno yells her name. Ball fumbled. Timeout called. Storm regrouping. But Nika?

She’s walking straight toward you. Not fast. Not loud. But eyes set. Steps sure.

“Hey baby,” you greet her, playful.

She don’t smile. Not really. Just places her hand on your exposed thigh and leans down slow, so close only you can hear it.

“You flirt with everybody like that?” Her voice is even. Her accent heavier when she’s irritated.

You raise your brows, a little grin tugging at your lips. “What? Syd? She’s funny.”

“Mhmm.” Her fingers squeeze your thigh a little tighter. “Funny don’t get to touch you.”

You shrug. “She didn’t touch me.”

“She tried.”

You bite your lip, watching her eyes darken.

“You mad?” She leans in closer, lips brushing your ear.

“I’m not mad…..I’m just thinking about how I’m gonna remind you who you belong to after this game.”

Your throat tightens. Then, without waiting for a response, she steps back and jogs to the huddle, cool as ever—like she didn’t just threaten to rearrange your soul in front of half the WNBA.

You blink, breath caught. Legs…crossed tighter.

Sydney jogs past again, smirking. “Oooh, somebody in trouble. You good, lil mama?”

You wave her off with a smile, but you’re not even listening anymore. Because you already know Nika gon’ act calm…until she got you alone. And when she does..

You’ll wish you never laughed that loud.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @let-zizi-yap @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey @julieluvspb @non3ofurbusiness @kcannon-1436-blog @kaliblazin @liloandstitchstan @footy-lover264

[loverangels]

jealous sirius black x reader I beg

jealous, jealous boy

pairings: sirius black x fem!reader

a/n: hope you like this I rushed it so much 😭🩷

The bass thudded through the floor, a constant, pulsing rhythm that seemed to vibrate in your chest. The air in the club was heavy with sweat and cheap perfume, but none of it really mattered because Sirius Black was by your side, his arm casually slung over the back of your chair.

He was grinning at you, that wicked, lopsided grin that always made your stomach twist in ways you tried not to think about too hard. His dark hair was falling into his eyes, and he looked so effortlessly good, dressed in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, his shirt clinging to him just enough to drive you insane.

The thing about Sirius was, he knew he was trouble. He’d been trouble from the moment you’d met him years ago, a too-pretty boy with a sharp tongue and an even sharper smirk. But lately, it was like that trouble was directed entirely at you. The teasing, the lingering touches, the low murmurs of love and sweetheart—he was shameless about it. And you were shamelessly falling for it.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to be different. It was just a night out with the group: James and Lily were glued together as always, Marlene and Dorcas were lost in their own world on the dance floor, and Remus was perched in the corner nursing a pint and watching the chaos like he was above it all.

And then there was Sirius, sitting so close to you in the booth that your thighs were pressed together, his head tilted toward yours as he murmured something that was probably meant to be funny but was absolutely designed to get you to look at him.

“You’re too good for this place, you know,” he said, his voice low enough that it sent a shiver down your spine.

“And yet here I am,” you shot back, arching a brow. “With you.”

He smirked, leaning back. “Lucky me.

You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the way your cheeks flushed. “Hold that thought, Black,” you said, slipping out of the booth. “Don’t get into too much trouble while I’m gone.”

“No promises,” he called after you, his voice laced with amusement.

You made your way through the crowded club, pushing past bodies that swayed and stumbled to the music. The bathroom was a mess of bright lights and a broken soap dispenser, but you didn’t linger. You washed your hands quickly, eager to get back to the booth—and to Sirius.

But when you stepped out of the bathroom and glanced toward the bar, the sight that greeted you made you stop in your tracks.

There he was, leaning casually against the counter, his back to you. And hanging off his arm—clinging, really—was some blonde girl you didn’t recognize. She was tall, sleek, the kind of girl who probably spent more on her outfit than you did in a month. She was laughing at something he’d said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, her other hand trailing up his arm.

And Sirius—Sirius was smirking down at her, that easy, careless smirk you’d thought was meant for you.

Your stomach twisted, a sharp, ugly thing that felt a lot like jealousy.

You weren’t sure what you’d expected. Sirius had always had this effect on people, this gravitational pull that made them flock to him. He could charm anyone, and he usually did. But after weeks of teasing and flirting, of him calling you “love” and “darling” like it actually meant something, you’d started to believe you were different.

Apparently not.

Your jaw tightened as you turned away from the bar, your eyes scanning the dance floor. If Sirius wanted to play games, you could play them too.

Your gaze landed on a tall, dark-haired guy near the edge of the crowd. He wasn’t bad-looking—broad shoulders, sharp jawline—and more importantly, he was already watching you with interest.

Perfect.

You walked up to him, your heart pounding for all the wrong reasons, and flashed him a smile. “Want to dance?”

He looked surprised for half a second before he nodded. “Yeah, of course.”

He placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer as the two of you started to move. The music was loud, the rhythm infectious, and it wasn’t hard to lose yourself in the beat. You let him guide you, let his hands linger on your hips, your fingers brushing against his chest.

It wasn’t about him, though. It was about Sirius, and the way you could feel his eyes on you from across the room.

You glanced toward the bar, just to confirm what you already knew. Sirius was staring at you, his expression unreadable. The blonde girl was still talking, but he wasn’t paying attention to her. His jaw was tight, his gray eyes dark, and he looked like he was about two seconds away from losing it.

Good.

You leaned in closer to your dance partner, your hand resting on his chest as you tilted your head up, pretending to laugh at something he said. That was all it took.

Sirius was across the dance floor in seconds, his movements deliberate and predatory. He stopped in front of you, cutting between you and the guy with a hard, dangerous smirk.

“Alright, mate,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “Let me have a dance with my girl.”

The guy blinked, confused. “Your girl? She asked me to dance.”

Sirius’s smirk vanished, replaced by something harder, darker. “I wasn’t asking.”

You opened your mouth to intervene, but before you could say a word, Sirius’s fist flew. The crack of it connecting with the guy’s jaw was loud, and the force of it sent him stumbling back, clutching his face.

“Sirius!” you shouted, shoving against his chest. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“He had his hands all over you,” Sirius shot back, his voice still tight with anger.

“And you had some blonde draped all over you five minutes ago!” you snapped, your voice rising.

Sirius blinked, the fight draining from him in an instant. “That’s what this is about?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, grabbing his arm and dragging him off the dance floor. You didn’t stop until you’d hauled him into the hallway by the bathrooms, shoving him against the wall. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking I can’t stand seeing anyone else with you,” he said, his voice quieter now.

You froze, your chest heaving as his words sank in.

“I’ve been trying to ignore it, but I can’t,” he continued, his gray eyes locking on yours. “You drive me mad, you know that? You always have. And tonight, seeing him touch you—I lost it. I’m sorry.”

You stared at him, your heart pounding. “You can’t just—just say things like that, Sirius.”

He stepped closer, his hand brushing your cheek. “I can’t stop, love. I’m in love with you. Have been for years.”

The air left your lungs. “You…”

Before you could think it through, you grabbed the front of his shirt and kissed him.

It wasn’t soft or hesitant—it was messy and desperate and perfect. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tangled in his hair. When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, his grin so wide it made your knees weak.

“Finally,” he muttered, leaning his forehead against yours.

You rolled your eyes, grabbing his hand and dragging him back to the group. By the time you returned, both of you looked thoroughly ruffled, and James was grinning like he’d won the lottery.

“Have a good chat?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

“Shut up, Potter,” Sirius muttered, but his grin gave him away.

The others burst into laughter, and for the first time all night, everything felt exactly as it should.

[gojoest]

nerdtoru never thought there would come a day where he’d stoop low enough to download tinder. but for you, he’s ready to do anything┊f! reader, she/her used

it’s one of those lectures again, where satoru is barely paying attention.

he isn’t listening to a single thing the professor is saying. actually, ‘not listening’ is barely the right word for it. satoru can’t hear anything, except for his own heartbeat that rings loudly in his ears. he’s long forgotten to take notes, his palms sweaty, cheeks flushed — nothing like his usual unbothered demeanor.

reason? you. you are sitting next to him.

you attend classes together, true. but it’s not every day that he gets to be this close to you.

his eyes can’t help but flicker to the seat next to him. yes, he’s nervous. but more than nervous, he is curious. you’re typing something on your phone, eyes glued to the screen. and that’s when he sees it.

a notification.

from tinder.

for a moment, satoru forgets to breathe. maybe even how to breathe, while internally panicking that his first and biggest crush is out there in the dating scene and he wasn’t even aware of it.

tinder? did she…? is she on it? wait, no. but what if… what if she’s… dating someone? no. no, no, no.

he can’t let this happen.

his eyes dart around the room, making sure no one else is paying attention to him as he subtly pulls out his own phone. he opens the app store, his fingers shaking slightly as he searches for tinder. a bead of sweat forms on his forehead. what the hell. what am i even doing?

his phone shows a notification — tinder downloaded successfully.

he stares at it for a second, blinking.

alright, you got this. just gotta swipe? right?

he thinks to himself, though he’s not sure if it’s more for reassurance or confusion. this is definitely not a situation he’s been prepared for.

the process is simple — create a profile, fill in the basics, add a few pictures. he definitely picks the most flattering one — a close-up of his face with that charming smile and captivatingly bright eyes. a little over the top? maybe, but that’s gojo satoru for you.

he stares at his profile for a moment, unsure if he should add anything else. his fingers hover over the bio section. should he go with something funny? smart? cocky?

finally, he types — not your average university student. your tutor’s tutor. don’t swipe right if you hate digimon.

he hits save.

after a few more minutes of unnecessary tweaking, he finally swipes. it’s time.

his thumb hovers over the screen. in search of you, he swipes left a few times, discarding those that aren’t you. but soon enough, you show up…

swipe right.

the match notification hits almost instantly — it’s a match!

satoru freezes, staring at his screen in disbelief. he blinks a few times, then looks over at you, still obliviously engrossed in your own phone.

that was… way too easy?

his heart beats louder than he’d like to admit. maybe it was a fluke. a mistake? should he message you now? what is he supposed to say? what if it’s awkward? what if—

his phone buzzes again.

it’s a message, from you.

hey you look familiar…

he jolts, his gaze quickly shifts to you only to see you already staring at him. a playful grin on your lips as you start typing again.

next time you can just say hi and maybe invite me for coffee

satoru brushes a hand over his face and breathlessly chuckles before replying to your message.

how about we make next time today, after class?

you glance at him, the corners of your lips curling into a teasing smile as you lean slightly closer, whispering just loud enough for him to hear. “how about we ditch the lecture now?”

caught off guard, his eyes widen with a rare flash of surprise. his heart thumps faster now as the distance between you shrinks, your shoulders brushing ever so slightly.

bold choice, he thinks to himself, skipping class for coffee.

but for you, he’d do that too.

[nightwngz]

— 𝓐 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐰𝐨 ✮!! eng.

fratboy!wally west x fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀… drabble, porn with plot. smut. dirty talk, multiple orgasms, oral sex, fingering.

𝗰𝗼𝗽𝘆𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁. . . no copying of my work is allowed. Free translation is allowed as long as I am credited.

𝗹𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗮𝗴𝗲. . . as I said in my other posts, English is not my first language. I have tried to make corrections with the translator, but as you all know, it is prone to making mistakes, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or if anything sounds weird.

𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲. . . A friend of mine gave me the idea for this, so I said, 'Okay, this sounds good,' and decided to write it. I hope you like it.

Since you started university, you’ve always been part of the crowd. You never cared about being popular or standing out in class; you just wanted to get by like everyone else. You made an effort to fit in without drawing attention, avoiding conflict and focusing on passing with just enough.

Being part of the university meant interacting with certain people, even those you weren't particularly interested in but had to tolerate. Like the popular guys from a fraternity whose name you couldn’t quite remember, led by Richard Grayson and Wallace West—better known to their friends as Dick and Wally—or those slightly higher on the social ladder than you.

Dick Grayson was friendly, and his appearance clearly explained why he was so popular. He was also sweet and kind, so much so that if one of your friends asked you directly, you'd probably admit to having a crush on him. Wally, on the other hand, was a different story. Although he was funny and somewhat charming, and also popular because he was Dick's best friend, he didn't appeal to you as much. In fact, there were times when he would shamelessly try to flirt with you, but you would just respond with a gesture before completely ignoring him.

Conveniently, no matter how hard you tried to stay away from Wally, he always found a way to cross your path. Like the day you were sitting with Timothy Drake in the cafeteria when Dick Grayson came over to say hello to his brother. Wally seized the opportunity, walked up, grabbed Dick by the shoulders, and wasted no time flirting with you.

— Don't worry, babe. If you don't understand anatomy, I can give you a lesson or two.

You don't know what part of you thought it was a good idea to have Wally help you study. But you didn't realize how bad it was until the books fell off the bed where you were supposed to be studying and his face literally ended up between your legs.

You had never been with someone with such fast skills, so to speak. It was like being with The Flash himself. His tongue moved quickly over your wet pussy, causing your eyes to roll back in pleasure.

His tongue glided over your lips, tracing them from top to bottom, while his greenish gaze was fixed on yours. With one hand he helped you to spread your legs wider and with the other he filled your tight hole completely with two of his fingers. Then, growing restless, he moved to your clit, where he began to give you sweet, teasing licks. His mouth moved so quickly between your clit and your lips that it seemed he was caressing both at the same time.

And when you arched your back, with moans so intense that Wally was sure they could be heard in the hallway, he knew you would climax any moment, for the third time that night, with minimal effort on his part. It hadn’t even taken him more than five minutes.

Sweat trickled down your forehead as you reached your climax, and a wave of pleasure swept through your entire body. As you gasped, you watched as Wally pulled away from between your legs, a mischievous smile on his face. He looked beautiful, his mouth smeared with your fluids, and maybe that's why you didn't ask him to clean up.

— Damn, babe, that was so good. After what comes next, you'll be so dazed that the only name you'll remember from these books will be "Wally”.

You looked at him with wide eyes, confused by what he meant by 'after what comes next.' Hadn’t it ended? You wondered if you could handle more, given that you had already had more than you could bear.

— Oh, what? Did you think that was it? Unfortunately for you, we're not done yet. And I have enough stamina to fuck you for hours.

[ice-cream-writes-stuff]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 . |Webs And All|.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

《When a Spider falls into a new world, she didn't expect it to be so.. "Batty" than the others she's been in.》

-

Hurriedly swinging on rooftops and walls, you gaze in awe of the night sky. Warmth filling your body as the night air floats on your suit. Taking in the night sky...

Before smog and gas cover it as you jump down on the roof top. Pouting at the loss of the clear sky as you frown.

"I forget how polluted this city is.." You grumble, going to the ledge as you place your arms on the railing. Gazing down at the city lights and billboards.

Blinking innocently at one of the paid advertisments, you squint at it curiously.

"Wayne Enter.. Prizes? Technology.." You giggle at the guy on the board. His charming smile and flirty wink was not something you've seen often for an ad for tech.

Well...

You start re-calling a few worlds that did, but with a another billionare..

"Hmm, well. That's enough day-dreaming!" You shake your body, wanting to get your jitters out before taking a deep breath... Shooting out one of your webs to a near by ledge as you run and jump off.

Feeling your body pulled downwards, you pull your web as you glide through the air. Twirling slightly as you smile underneat your mask. Laughing once more as you swing forward.

..Let's do things differently this time.

Your name is (Y/N) (L/N), you were bitten by a radioactive spider..

Yet you weren't the only one.

But now.. Your on your own, though you weren't the only one.

With a fleeting glance at you, the supposed.. Dark Knight: pays you no mind. Eagerly taking down villians left and right, as the two of you finish them off together.

You were supposed to be back at HQ.

Things didn't go as planned.

You made it work, with this "new" life of yours.

Stumbling over your shoes in a hurry, you place down the box of donuts on the big fancy board meeting table. Glad that the stairwell was open, sighing in relief, you miss the eyes that watched you leave the building. While you headed to your next job!

In this Au, Spider!(Y/N) is a temp-worker and delivery girl. Just an odd young gal doing jobs around Gotham, ordinary and sweet.

She has a multiverse-watch, handmade specifcally for her by Miguel. Being one of his first recruits to the Spider Society, yet with the new Multiverse-Canon she's stuck in, the watch forms within her body to make it more acceptable to deal within the world.

Due to this, she doesn't "glitch" is the best term

"Welcome! Lord Hades!" The man dressed in a toga greeted cheerfully. You squint in confusion. Glancing at your companion as you walked closer to his side.

"Ah.. And fair Persephone, it seems you've taken form as garden spider. How quaint!" He spoke jovially as he held out a golden goblet to the two of you.

"Be serious Max! That's Batman and-"

"But Batman is a mere mortal! And what mortal has reached the summit of Olympus and survied!" Placing a hand on Batman's shoulder, the man gestured to his cup.

"Come! Brother! Unveil yourself and your bride in the nectar of the gods!"

-Batman The Animated Series 1992 Ep: Fire From Olympus

Spider!(Y/N) doesn't know Batman's idenitiy, and funny enough. He doesn't know hers, in the beginning. I'd like to think maybe down the line there's a possibility! I just think it's silly-er.

I'd like to think the dynamic between the two is Batman served as a comedic foil to Spider!(Y/N). Sorta, "brooding guy-and happy guy". Also, I like to point out, they can both can be silly in their own ways!

Just them figuring it out with Batman is hilarious in itself.

Biting into the dish, you beam in joy! It tasted so sweet! And.. Tangy, with a bit of sour. Invested with the tasty dish, you fail to notice the striking blue eyes glancing at you from a distance. Naively standing alone in your waiter uniform as you nibble on the treat.

"Ah, Mister Wayne, good to see you." Jim Gordon, dressed outside of his usual detective get-up greets. Flattening down his suit before grabbing one of the fancy champange glasses from one of the servers.

"Oh, Commissioner!" He spoke in suprise, greeting him as the two started to chat. "-And there it was... Mister Freeze and that giant lizzard."

"Dinosur." Gordan corrected.

"Whatever, doesn't make any sense. What does Victor Freeze gain by destroying a bunch of bones?" The billionare huffed.

"That's the question alright, I wish I had the answer." The Commissioner sighed, brows lowering in thought.

-Batman The New Animated Adventures 1994 Ep: Cold Comfort

-

[This was a small personal project for me, I had this idea since Into the Spiderverse! I would honestly love some feedback for this! I also would love to hear your guys own ideas in the aak box!]

[lmvari]

⟳ 09. MEANS NOTHING

The charm dangles from your bag, swaying with each step as you follow Kuni down the sidewalk. It catches the light every so often, and every time it does, your chest tightens with something you’re not ready to name.

A simple charm doesn’t mean anything.

“Are you planning to stand there all day?” Kuni’s voice cuts through your thoughts. He’s holding the door open to a small restaurant. Not fancy, but not the kind of place you'd pick for a casual meal either. It’s quieter here, warmer. More personal.

You step inside. “Didn’t realize you were such a gentleman.”

“I’m not. I just didn’t want you whining about how I slammed the door in your face.”

You snort and follow him to a corner booth. The menu’s already in your hands when he leans back, arms sprawled across the seat like he owns the place.

“You’ve been awfully nice lately,” you say, half-teasing. “First the charm, now dinner. Should I be worried?”

Kuni lifts a brow. “Right. Because basic decency is so suspicious.”

Basic decency, huh?

Going out of his way to buy you your favorites and giving you a small but meaningful gift is mere basic decency?

“Coming from you? A little,” you jest.

He huffs a laugh, shaking his head as the server drops by to take your orders.

The banter flows easily after that. Quips tossed back and forth like a well-worn routine, sharp enough to keep things familiar but never cruel. It’s grounding, in a way. Like neither of you is acknowledging how different this feels.

And right now, you’re not sure if it still fits within the boundaries of friends with benefits—the way he goes off on a tangent about a certain childhood friend, open and unguarded, like you’ve been part of his life long before any of this started. You’re reminded of the unsolicited late night call with him. This is the exact same feeling.

It feels so ordinary. So unlike the moments charged with nothing but tension. Almost like you’re just… friends. No benefits. Just friends.

Regular, uncomplicated friends who could, if they wanted, become something more.

“…And then Ajax had the nerve to say I was the one being dramatic,” Kuni finishes, exasperation dripping from his voice. “Like he wasn’t the idiot who nearly flipped his chair.”

You snicker, shaking your head. “Bold of him, considering this is the same guy who once tried to bribe a claw machine with another coin after losing ten in a row.”

Kuni sighs like the weight of the world rests on his shoulders. “I still hear him whining about it sometimes. Like it was some great injustice. You’d think he lost a limb, not a stuffed toy.”

It’s not even that funny, but the way he says it, so deadpan yet obviously irritated, catches you off guard.

You laugh, loud and careless, the kind that shakes your shoulders and leaves you breathless.

Kuni goes quiet.

It takes you a moment to notice. Your laughter trails off. You blink, smile fading just a little.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“No,” he mutters, looking away. “It’s nothing.”

But you don't believe it. Still, you let the conversation shift back into its usual rhythm.

There’s something about the way he looked at you. Like you’d caught him off guard, like he'd been captivated by something he wasn’t supposed to see.

It’s nothing. Don’t overthink it.

Halfway through your meal, you lean down for another bite when a stray strand of hair falls into your face and next to your food.

You’re about to brush it aside when Kuni beats you to it, fingers grazing your temple as he tucks it behind your ear.

It’s instinctive. Thoughtless, even. But the moment it happens, the air shifts.

Your breath hitches.

You freeze. He does too.

His fingers linger a second too long before he pulls back, eyes flicking away like he’s already regretting it.

“Your stupid hair’s a mess,” he mutters, eyes fixed on his plate. You’re supposed to feel insulted by that remark if it weren’t for the faint flush creeping up his pale neck.

It’s so subtle that you’d miss it if you weren’t looking.

You are, though.

And it leaves you reeling. Heart stumbling over itself as you force the moment down where you can pretend it doesn’t mean anything.

“Right.” You cough. “Sorry.”

You feel the heat creeping up your neck. As if you haven’t touched each other more intimately than a brush of fingertips. As if you haven’t felt the heat of his skin against yours, the weight of his gaze in quieter moments, the way he lingers when he doesn’t have to.

You’ve both done worse.

This is nothing. This means nothing.

The rest of dinner blurs by too quick, too easy. Like both of you are deliberately avoiding more moments like that.

Before you know it, you’re walking side by side down the quiet street leading back to your dorm. The night air is cool, and the silence between you is comfortable… for the most part.

Inside your head, though, it’s anything but.

Any moment now, you think.

He’ll invite you over, like always.

This whole thing. The dinner, the charm, the stolen glances, the stupid hair thing. It’s all leading there, isn’t it?

When you reach your building, Kuni hesitates. He shifts his weight, mouth opening like he’s about to say something. Something important, maybe.

Your breath catches.

He’s gonna say it, right?

Your place or mine.

That’s how it’s always been.

But then he shakes his head, a bitter smile curling at the corner of his lips. “Never mind.”

And just like that, the moment slips away.

You… you don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.

“Kuni…” you trail off. Brows furrowing, your lips twitch down into a frown.

He just stares at you, as if taking in everything he can before the two of you part ways for the night.

He flicks your forehead.

“Ow—!”

“Get rid of that face. You look stupid,” he says. You don’t respond, rubbing at your forehead in pain.

“Thanks for today. Go get some sleep.” He steps back, hands in his pockets. “Night.”

And just like that, he’s gone.

You stand there for a moment longer, heart pounding in your ears.

Nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

And yet it feels like everything’s shifted. He didn’t ask you to come over. He hasn’t, not for the past few days. Somewhere along the way he managed to step a foot inside your walls, and you’d been too caught up in it, in him, to notice.

This doesn’t mean anything.

You tell yourself that again, like a prayer. Like if you repeat it enough, it’ll become true.

The charm on your bag glints under the streetlight. You clutch it in your hand.

Hope blooms loudly in your chest this time.

Persistent. Undeniable.

This whole thing doesn’t mean anything.

We’re just friends. Friends that seek each other to satisfy our intimate desires. Nothing more.

But the words are hollow now. A shield with cracks too wide to ignore.

Because you’re falling, fast and hard.

And for the first time, you can’t lie to yourself anymore.

You hope.

God, you hope.

And worse—

you wonder if he’s hoping, too.

⟳ BLURRED LINES — PREV | MASTERLIST | NEXT

You say you’re just friends. You say it every time you leave a party together, every time you wake up tangled in sheets, every time you swear it’s the last time. But habits form, lines blur, and pretending gets harder when jealousy starts to sting.

NOTE thoughts? i kinda took a while writing this lol anw i reached a hundred followers woohoo!

TAGLIST @joiurz @sketcheeee @mywillt0live @kyouzki @ylapsha45 @eternallykira-143 @bananasquash @kunikissr @swivi @ariesloves @lloversss @b-bbytears @kokoscutie @vi0let-writes @tomsishere @franaby @scaraenthusiast1 @iloveescara @usagiarchive @ilovecats-26 @quiechee @snetr @axquella @tatsuomii @lalalaloveallmydays @liyahbug @feiherp @jinjjjia @automaticpatroltragedy @mysterypotatoink @zuhahearts @adres-tia

if your name is in bold, that means i can’t tag you

[thequeenofneverland1]

Minho Moon////Love in the Little Things

Anonymous request: hey can you a angst but a happy ending of Minho from xo kitty pls thank you

Warnings: fluff, humor, Romantic themes, lighthearted drama and mild jealousy

You’ve had a crush on Minho for as long as you can remember. He’s charming, funny, and always lights up the room when he walks in. But there’s just one problem. he only has eyes for Kitty. No matter how hard you try to get his attention, it’s clear that his heart belongs to someone else.

At first, you tried to ignore the ache in your chest every time you saw them together. You told yourself that maybe, just maybe, he would notice you one day. But as time passed, it became painfully obvious that Minho would never see you the way you saw him. And that realization shattered you.

You spent weeks sulking, avoiding him in the hallways, and dodging any conversation that involved his name. Your friends told you to move on, but how could you? He was Minho the one who made your heart race with just a smile.

Then, everything changed.

A new student transferred to your school Lee Joon. The moment he stepped into the classroom, he caught everyone’s attention. Tall, effortlessly cool, and with a confidence that made people gravitate toward him, he was impossible to ignore. But what surprised you the most was that, out of all the people he could have talked to, he chose you.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was just being nice. But the way he looked at you, the way he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, made your heart do something it hadn’t done in a long time it fluttered.

Days turned into weeks, and Lee Joon became a constant presence in your life. He made you laugh when you thought you’d forgotten how. He noticed the little things about you how you always tapped your pen when you were nervous or how your favorite subject was literature because you loved stories that made you feel something.

And one day, as you were walking together after school, he stopped and looked at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “I think Minho was an idiot for not seeing you.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

For the first time in a long while, Minho didn’t seem to matter anymore. Maybe, just maybe, you were finally ready to move on. And with Lee Joon by your side, it didn’t seem so impossible.

It was a perfect afternoon warm sunlight streaming through the trees as you and Lee Joon sat on a bench near the school courtyard. You were laughing at something he said, a joke that wasn’t even that funny, but for some reason, everything seemed lighter around him. You didn’t feel the weight of unrequited love pressing on your chest anymore. With Lee Joon, it was easy, effortless.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the moment. You ignored it the first time. Then, it buzzed again. And again.

Lee Joon glanced at you. “Someone’s persistent.”

You pulled out your phone and glanced at the screen. Minho.

For a brief second, something in your chest tightened, but you quickly shook it off. What could he possibly want? Maybe he needed something, but whatever it was, it wasn’t urgent enough for you to pull away from this moment.

Without hesitation, you silenced the call and slipped the phone back into your pocket.

Lee Joon raised an eyebrow, amused. “Not gonna answer?”

You shrugged. “Not important.”

He smirked, leaning back against the bench. “Well, then, more of your attention for me.”

You laughed, pushing Minho further from your mind.

Little did you know, you had forgotten something important plans you made with Minho days ago.

Minho sat at the café, checking his phone every few minutes, frustration slowly turning into disappointment. You were supposed to meet him here. He even got there early, ordering your favorite drink just the way you liked it. But the minutes ticked by, and there was no sign of you.

At first, he thought maybe you were running late. Then, after the third unanswered call, he started to wonder.

Had you forgotten?

The thought made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t quite understand. You always showed up when he needed you, always answered his calls, always made time for him. But today… you didn’t.

His fingers tightened around his phone as he stared at your last message, confirming the plans. He had been so sure you’d come.

So why did it feel like, for the first time, he wasn’t the one you were waiting around for?

Minho sighed, tapping his fingers against the table as he stared at his phone screen. The message was still unread.

Minho: Hey, where are you? (Delivered, no response.)

He waited, watching the little “delivered” notification sit there, unmoving. Maybe you were just busy. Maybe your phone was on silent. Maybe—

No.

Something felt different.

Minho wasn’t used to waiting on you. If anything, you were always the one waiting for him waiting for his texts, his calls, his time. And now, for the first time, the roles were reversed. And he hated it.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair, gripping the iced coffee he had ordered for you now watered down from sitting too long. He should be annoyed. Maybe even a little angry. But the uneasy feeling in his chest wasn’t anger. It was something else.

He tried again.

Minho: Did you forget?

Still no response.

He stared at the message for a moment before locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. His jaw clenched as he glanced around the café, realizing that people were starting to stare at the guy sitting alone with two drinks.

It wasn’t like you to ghost him. Sure, maybe you were busy, but you would have at least texted back, right?

Unless… you really had forgotten.

Minho couldn’t take it anymore. The café, once filled with comforting warmth and the hum of conversation, now felt suffocating. He had been sitting there for nearly an hour, his untouched drink melting into a watered-down mess. You weren’t coming. And you weren’t answering.

Shoving his chair back, he stood up abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stormed out. His mind raced with thoughts, each one more frustrating than the last. Were you ignoring him on purpose? Had something happened? Or… were you just with someone else?

That thought made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t like.

As he walked down the sidewalk, his eyes were locked on his phone, waiting for any sign of a response. He wasn’t even paying attention to where he was going until—

Thud.

He bumped into someone, nearly making them drop the books in their arms.

“Oh—Minho?”

He looked up, recognizing the familiar face immediately. “Kitty.”

She adjusted her books, giving him a curious look. “What’s up? You look kind of… stressed.”

Minho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I was supposed to meet Y/N, but she never showed up. She’s not answering my calls or texts either.”

Kitty raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s weird.”

“Right?” Minho huffed. “I don’t get it. She’s never just… ignored me before.”

Kitty studied him for a second before casually saying, “Well, I literally just saw her.”

Minho’s head snapped up. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Kitty said, shifting her books to one arm. “She was with Lee Joon.”

The name hit Minho like a brick to the chest.

Lee Joon.

That new transfer student. The one who had suddenly appeared and, apparently, had stolen all of your attention.

Kitty must have noticed the shift in his expression because she tilted her head. “Why? Something wrong?”

Minho’s jaw clenched. He didn’t know what to say. Of course something was wrong. You were supposed to be with him today, not Lee Joon. You were supposed to answer his calls, not ignore them for someone else.

But why did it even matter so much? Why was he suddenly so bothered by the idea of you with someone else?

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay even. “No. Nothing’s wrong.”

But as he turned away, he knew that was a lie. Something was definitely wrong. And for the first time, Minho wasn’t sure he liked the way it felt.

Minho lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying everything over and over again. The unanswered texts, the forgotten plans, Kitty’s words—“She was with Lee Joon.”

It didn’t make sense. You weren’t the type to flake on him, especially not without saying anything. And yet, here he was laying alone in his room when he was supposed to be…

The diner was bustling with the hum of conversations and the clinking of silverware against plates. Neon lights flickered outside the window, casting a soft glow over your booth. Minho sat across from you, Kitty next to him, but your attention was entirely elsewhere on Lee Joon, who sat beside you, smiling warmly as he slid a milkshake between the two of you.

"Two straws, one milkshake," Lee Joon teased with a playful grin. "Very old-school romance, don’t you think?"

You laughed, leaning closer to sip from your straw. "I think it’s perfect," you said, eyes sparkling as you met his gaze.

Minho's chest tightened as he watched the exchange, his words faltering mid-sentence. He had been talking about some random story from school, trying to keep the mood light, but it was clear you weren’t listening. Not even a little.

Kitty, sitting beside him, noticed the way his jaw clenched and the flicker of hurt in his eyes. She nudged him lightly with her elbow. "You okay?" she whispered.

Minho forced a tight smile. "Yeah. Totally fine."

But he wasn’t fine. Not even close.

He tried to ignore the way your laugh filled the space between you and Lee Joon, the way you leaned into him as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. It was like he was invisible reduced to just another background character in a scene where you and Lee Joon were the main act.

"So, Y/n," Minho said, trying to cut through the tension gnawing at his chest, "did you finish that project for science class?"

You glanced at him briefly, a polite smile on your lips. "Oh, yeah. Lee Joon helped me with it. He’s really good at that stuff."

Lee Joon chuckled modestly. "It wasn’t a big deal. Y/n did most of the work."

Minho's stomach churned. He used to be the one you came to for help with assignments, the one who made you laugh over ridiculous study sessions. Now, it was Lee Joon in that role, effortlessly slipping into a space that had always been Minho's.

"Cool," Minho said flatly, stirring his untouched drink.

Kitty shot him a sympathetic glance, but Minho couldn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he watched as you leaned closer to Lee Joon, your conversation flowing effortlessly. The two of you were in your own world, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside Minho.

"Hey," Lee Joon said, his voice warm, "you’ve got whipped cream on your nose."

You laughed, wiping it away with the back of your hand. "Classic me."

"You’re adorable," Lee Joon said softly, and your cheeks flushed at the compliment.

Minho's grip tightened around his glass, his heart pounding with a mixture of jealousy and hurt. He didn’t want to feel this way, but seeing you with someone else so happy, so carefree was like a punch to the gut.

Kitty cleared her throat, trying to break the awkwardness. "So, uh, Minho, you were saying something about that crazy teacher?"

Minho forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Yeah, doesn’t matter," he muttered, his appetite gone.

As the evening dragged on, Minho sat there, watching the girl he had always thought of as his—his best friend, his constant slip further away, lost in someone else’s orbit. And for the first time, he wondered if it was already too late to pull you back.

Minho had always been the kind of person who carried himself with confidence. He was loud when he wanted to be, always cracking jokes, always had a smirk on his face like nothing in the world could bother him.

But lately, something had changed.

And his parents noticed.

It started with little things. He barely touched his food at dinner, pushing it around on his plate instead of eating. He wasn’t complaining about his mom’s overly healthy meals like he usually did. He didn’t argue with his dad over what to watch on TV. He wasn’t even making sarcastic remarks about his mom’s drama shows, something he usually did just to get a reaction.

Instead, he just… sat there. Quiet. Lost in thought.

Then, he stopped staying out late.

Minho was always out with his friends, always coming home late with some new story to tell. But now? He was coming straight home from school, shutting himself in his room, barely saying a word.

His mom noticed first.

One evening, as she was setting the table for dinner, she glanced over at him, watching as he scrolled through his phone, a deep frown etched onto his face. He wasn’t even really looking at the screen just staring at it, lost in whatever thoughts were eating away at him.

She set the last plate down and sighed. “Minho.”

He barely reacted. “Hmm?”

His mom crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “What’s going on with you?”

That got his attention. He looked up, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

“You’ve been acting… off,” she said, tilting her head. “You’re quiet, you barely eat, you don’t go out as much. It’s like you’re not even you lately.”

Minho scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m fine.”

His dad, who had been reading the newspaper, finally looked up. “You don’t look fine.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “I didn’t realize I had to put on a performance at home.”

His mom sighed, walking over to sit beside him. Her voice softened. “Minho, we’re just worried about you. Did something happen?”

Minho’s jaw tightened. He wanted to brush it off, to say something sarcastic, to make a joke and move on. That’s what he always did.

But for some reason, the words wouldn’t come out.

Because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to say.

What was he supposed to tell them? That he had been too blind to realize he was losing someone important? That he had spent so long believing you would always be there, only to realize that maybe, just maybe, you were slipping away?

That he had never considered what it would feel like to lose you until now?

Minho swallowed hard and forced a smirk. “I’m fine, Mom. Seriously. Just tired.”

His mom didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she just patted his arm before standing up.

“Okay,” she said simply. “But if you ever want to talk about it, we’re here.”

Minho just nodded, offering her a small, forced smile.

But as he sat there, poking at the food on his plate, he couldn’t shake the feeling in his chest.

Because deep down, he knew the truth.

He wasn’t fine. Not even close.

Later that night, Minho lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the glow of his phone screen casting a dim light across his face. He wasn’t even doing anything just mindlessly scrolling, opening and closing the same apps, checking messages he had no intention of responding to.

Still no text from you.

Not that he was waiting or anything.

He let out a slow breath, tossing his phone onto the nightstand before draping an arm over his eyes. His mind was a mess thoughts tangled up in frustration, confusion, and something else he didn’t want to name.

A soft knock at his door made him sigh. “Mom, I already told you—”

“It’s not your mom.”

Minho sat up slightly as his dad pushed the door open, stepping inside. His dad wasn’t the kind of guy who barged into his room often. Usually, he let Minho do his own thing, never prying too much.

Which meant that if he was here now, it was serious.

His dad glanced around the room before settling his gaze on Minho. “You didn’t finish dinner.”

Minho shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry.”

His dad hummed, shutting the door behind him as he walked over and took a seat on the chair by the desk. “Your mom thinks something’s wrong.”

Minho huffed, flopping back against his pillows. “Mom always thinks something’s wrong.”

His dad chuckled. “Yeah, well… this time, I think she might be right.”

Minho’s fingers curled around the blanket. He could feel his dad’s eyes on him, waiting for him to say something. To admit something.

But he didn’t even know where to start.

His dad sighed, leaning forward slightly. “Listen… I know I’m not the guy you usually come to for this kind of stuff.”

Minho rolled onto his side, staring at the wall. “There’s nothing to come to you about.”

His dad didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just studied Minho for a long moment, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. Then, in a softer voice, he asked,

“Is it about a girl?”

Minho’s breath hitched.

He didn’t answer. But the way his shoulders tensed just for a second was enough of a confirmation.

His dad nodded slowly, like everything was suddenly making sense. “Ah.”

Minho groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s not—”

“You know,” his dad cut in, leaning back in the chair, “when I was your age, there was this girl I really liked.”

Minho peeked at him from the corner of his eye. “Is this where you tell me some long, dramatic love story about how you met Mom?”

His dad smirked. “No, actually. It wasn’t your mom.”

That got Minho’s attention. He turned fully to face him. “Wait. What?”

His dad chuckled. “Before I met your mom, there was someone else. She was my best friend. We did everything together. I thought we’d always be like that just us, against the world.”

Minho swallowed hard, his chest tightening.

“But then one day,” his dad continued, his voice softer now, “she started spending more time with someone else. And suddenly, I wasn’t the person she turned to anymore. I wasn’t the one making her laugh the hardest or sharing secrets late at night.”

Minho stayed quiet. He didn’t need to hear the rest of the story to know how it ended.

His dad sighed, rubbing his hands together. “I didn’t realize how much I cared about her until it was too late.” Then he looked at Minho, eyes steady. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Minho’s throat felt tight.

Because suddenly, he wasn’t thinking about his dad’s story anymore.

He was thinking about you.

The way you used to wait for him after class. The way your eyes always lit up when he walked into a room. The way you used to choose him without hesitation, without a second thought.

And now?

Now you were looking at Lee Joon that way. you were sharing your time, your moments, your jokes with someone else.

And for the first time, Minho felt like he was standing on the outside of your world, looking in.

His dad patted his knee before standing up. “Think about it, kid.”

Then, just like that, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Minho sat there in silence, staring at the ceiling.

And for the first time, he allowed himself to admit the one thing he had been avoiding this whole time.

He didn’t just care about you.

He didn’t just see you as a friend.

He liked you.

And maybe just maybe he was too late.

The next morning, Minho barely said a word at breakfast. His mom was chatting about something on TV, and his dad was flipping through the newspaper, but Minho’s mind was somewhere else entirely.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what his dad had said last night.

“I didn’t realize how much I cared about her until it was too late. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

It kept replaying in his head, over and over, until he wanted to scream.

Was it too late for him? Had he already lost you?

He had spent so long pretending not to care, pushing down feelings he didn’t want to deal with. But now, it was all hitting him at once, and it was suffocating.

His leg bounced under the table as he stared at his plate, barely touching his food. He needed to do something. Say something. But where did he even start?

“Minho.”

He blinked, snapping out of his thoughts as he looked up. His dad was staring at him knowingly from across the table.

“Come with me,” his dad said, setting down the newspaper and pushing back his chair.

Minho frowned, confused, but stood up anyway. His mom barely glanced up from her show as his dad led him down the hall and into his office.

Once inside, his dad walked over to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and grabbed his wallet. He took out a few bills and held them out to Minho.

Minho stared at him. “Uh… what’s this?”

His dad gave him a pointed look. “Money.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Minho scoffed. “Why are you giving it to me?”

His dad sighed, placing the money in Minho’s hand before closing his fingers around it.

“Go buy some flowers. And chocolates. Or whatever it is girls like these days.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “What—”

His dad raised an eyebrow. “You want to win her back, don’t you?”

Minho hesitated, staring down at the money in his hand. He hadn’t even said anything about you, but somehow, his dad knew.

Did he really look that obvious?

“I…” Minho swallowed, shifting on his feet. “What if it doesn’t work?”

His dad gave him a small, knowing smile. “Then at least you’ll know you tried.”

Minho stared at him for a moment before sighing, stuffing the money into his pocket.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.”

His dad smirked. “That’s fair.”

With that, Minho turned on his heel and walked out of the office, his heart pounding harder than he wanted to admit.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t just thinking about his feelings.

He was about to do something about them.

Minho stood outside Kitty’s dorm, shifting from foot to foot as he debated whether knocking was a good idea. He wasn’t the type to ask for help, let alone from Kitty, who had an annoying habit of knowing things before he was even ready to admit them to himself.

But this? This was different.

This wasn’t something he could handle on his own.

He took a deep breath and knocked twice.

A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing Kitty in her usual oversized hoodie and pajama shorts, her hair tied in a messy bun. She blinked up at him, clearly not expecting to see him standing there.

“Minho?” she said, tilting her head. “Are you lost?”

Minho rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not lost.”

Kitty leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Then why are you standing outside my room looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Minho groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Can I come in or not?”

Kitty narrowed her eyes, studying him for a moment before sighing and stepping aside. “Fine. But if this is about getting me to watch another one of your boring dramas, the answer is no.”

Minho ignored her and stepped inside, shoving his hands into his pockets. The room was a little messy clothes scattered on the bed, notebooks open on the desk but it was exactly what he expected from Kitty.

She plopped onto her bed, crossing her legs. “Okay, spill. What’s going on?”

Minho hesitated, looking at the floor. He wasn’t used to being this vulnerable, especially with Kitty, who would probably never let him live it down. But he was desperate, and if there was one person who knew how to fix things, it was her.

“I need your help,” he muttered.

Kitty’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me? Did Minho just say he needs my help?”

Minho groaned. “Do you want to help me or not?”

Kitty smirked, sitting up straighter. “Depends. What’s it about?”

Minho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s about Y/N.”

At that, Kitty’s entire expression shifted. The teasing look faded, replaced by something more serious something that told him she already knew what this was about.

“What about Y/N?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Minho hesitated, but there was no point in pretending anymore.

“I…” He clenched his jaw before sighing. “I think I screwed up.”

Kitty hummed, as if she wasn’t even remotely surprised. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Minho shot her a glare. “Can you not?”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Keep going.”

Minho shifted on his feet, suddenly feeling restless. “I don’t know when it happened, but… I like her.” The words felt foreign on his tongue, but once they were out, he couldn’t take them back. “And now she’s spending all her time with Lee Joon, and I feel like—” He exhaled sharply. “I feel like I lost her before I even got a chance.”

Kitty watched him carefully, nodding along. “So, what do you want to do about it?”

Minho pulled the money from his pocket, holding it up. “Dad told me to buy flowers and chocolates.”

Kitty snorted. “Classic.”

Minho glared at her. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

Kitty grinned. “Oh, I’m definitely helping. But if you’re gonna do this, you can’t half-ass it.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “I never half-ass anything.”

Kitty smirked. “Good. Because if we’re winning Y/N back, we’re going all out.”

Minho felt his stomach twist. This was really happening.

He was about to fight for you.

The sun was beginning to set over the park, casting a warm orange glow over the trees and pathways. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the faint scent of flowers in the air. It was the perfect setting for something romantic something grand.

At least, that’s what Kitty had convinced Minho.

He had spent the last hour carefully placing a trail of red roses along the park’s winding path, each one leading to the small bench where he was waiting. A box of expensive chocolates sat beside him, tied with a neat satin ribbon.

He was nervous, but he had convinced himself you would come. Kitty promised she would make sure of it.

So he waited.

And waited.

But as the minutes stretched on, his excitement slowly turned into doubt.

Then doubt turned into disappointment.

And disappointment turned into something heavier something he didn’t want to name.

He checked his phone. No messages. No calls.

His jaw clenched as he looked down at the chocolates in his lap. He had really let himself believe this would work. That maybe, if he just put in the effort, if he showed you how much he cared, you would see that he was still here. That he had always been here.

But you weren’t coming.

Maybe you had seen the roses and chosen to ignore them. Maybe you had better things to do maybe with Lee Joon.

Minho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before standing up. He didn’t want to sit here like an idiot any longer.

Without another thought, he placed the chocolate box on the bench and turned away.

As he walked down the path, his hands stuffed into his pockets, he told himself he didn’t care.

He tried.

That was enough, right?

But just as he reached the park entrance, just as he was about to leave—

“Minho!”

His entire body froze.

For a second, he thought he had imagined it. That maybe his mind was playing tricks on him because he wanted to hear you say his name so badly.

But then—

“Minho, wait!”

He turned around.

And there you were.

You were breathless, your hair slightly messy from running, your eyes wide as you searched for him. In one hand, you clutched the chocolate box he had left behind.

Minho’s heart stuttered in his chest.

You came.

His feet moved before he could think, carrying him back toward you.

As soon as you saw him, relief washed over your face. “You—” You paused, trying to catch your breath. “You were leaving?”

Minho swallowed hard, trying to act indifferent, trying to ignore the way his pulse was racing. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Your grip on the chocolate box tightened. “I was late. Kitty didn’t tell me why I needed to come here, just that I had to.” You exhaled, taking a step closer. “But when I saw the roses, I knew it was you.”

Minho blinked, caught off guard. “You knew?”

You nodded, smiling slightly. “Of course. It was dramatic and over-the-top. Who else could it be?”

Despite everything, a small chuckle escaped him. “Fair point.”

There was a beat of silence before you looked down at the chocolate box in your hands. “Were you really about to leave without this?”

Minho hesitated, then shrugged. “I figured you’d find it eventually.”

You bit your lip, studying him carefully. “Minho… what is all this?”

His heart pounded against his ribs. This was it.

The moment where he had to say it.

The moment where he had to be honest.

Minho inhaled deeply, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. Then, in a quiet but steady voice, he said—

“It’s you.”

You blinked. “What?”

Minho exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s always been you, Y/N. I know I messed up I know I took too long to realize it, but I like you. And not in the casual, best-friend-who-flirts-with-you way. I really like you.”

Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly in surprise.

Minho swallowed, forcing himself to keep going before he lost his nerve.

“I see the way you look at Lee Joon,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And I hate it. Not because he’s a bad guy, but because… I wanted to be the one you looked at like that. I wanted to be the one who made you laugh, who got your attention, who you—” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m too late. Maybe I should’ve said something sooner. But I had to try.”

Silence.

The park suddenly felt too quiet, too still.

Minho’s chest tightened as he watched you, trying to read your expression. Were you angry? Were you happy? Did you think this was too much?

Then, after what felt like forever, you took a deep breath and whispered, “You’re an idiot.”

Minho’s heart sank.

Before he could respond, you shook your head, stepping even closer until he could feel the warmth of your presence.

“You’re an idiot,” you repeated, softer this time. “Because I waited for so long for you to say that.”

Minho’s breath hitched. “You… what?”

You smiled, reaching out to place the chocolate box back into his hands. “I like you too, Minho.”

His heart stopped.

For the first time in weeks, the weight in his chest lifted.

“You—” He let out a breathless laugh. “You do?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a fondness there. “Took you long enough to notice.”

Minho could barely process what was happening. The relief, the shock, the stupid grin tugging at his lips he felt like a complete idiot for not realizing it sooner.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “So… does this mean I don’t have to pretend I like Lee Joon anymore?”

You laughed, and the sound was his favorite thing in the world.

“No,” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “But maybe you can start making it up to me by sharing those chocolates.”

Minho smirked, his confidence returning. “Only if you share a milkshake with me after.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were still smiling.

The two of you made your way through the streets, the city lights casting a warm glow around you. The streets weren’t too crowded, but there was a comfortable buzz of life all around cars passing by, soft music playing from open shop doors, the occasional laughter of strangers.

And through it all, Minho never let go of your hand.

When you finally reached the small restaurant a cozy little place with checkered floors and booths that looked like they hadn’t changed since the ‘80s you felt a wave of nostalgia.

“You picked this place?” you asked, surprised.

Minho smirked. “Obviously. I have great taste.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re just saying that because they put a cherry on top of their milkshakes.”

He gasped, placing a hand over his chest. “How dare you expose me like that.”

Laughing, you let him pull you inside. The warmth of the restaurant immediately wrapped around you, a stark contrast to the cool night air outside.

A friendly-looking waitress greeted you both and led you to a booth by the window. Minho slid into one side, and instead of sitting across from him like a normal person, you scooted in beside him, close enough that your legs brushed under the table.

Minho blinked, momentarily thrown off. But then, a slow smirk stretched across his lips. “Oh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, leaning back against the seat like he wasn’t losing his mind over the fact that you were willingly sitting this close. “Just didn’t expect you to be so clingy.”

You scoffed, nudging him with your shoulder. “Shut up.”

Minho chuckled but didn’t push it. Instead, he picked up the menu and held it out to you. “Go ahead and pick. But if you don’t get chocolate, just know that I’ll be judging you.”

You shook your head, smiling to yourself as you took the menu. “Noted.”

As the two of you sat there, your fingers still loosely intertwined under the table, Minho realized something.

For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t thinking about what he had lost.

He was thinking about what he had found.

The milkshake sat between you, two straws sticking out of the tall glass, condensation gathering on the sides. The diner’s neon lights cast a soft glow over your faces, reflecting in the window beside you. The place had a cozy hum of life soft music playing from the jukebox, the occasional clatter of dishes, and the quiet murmur of other customers.

But none of it mattered.

Because all Minho could focus on was you.

The way your lips curled around the straw as you took a sip, the way you absentmindedly played with the sleeves of his hoodie, the way your knee kept bumping against his under the table but you didn’t move away.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

Minho blinked, trying to play it cool, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Liar.”

He smirked. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

Your cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink, and Minho’s smirk only grew.

But before you could come up with a response, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something softer.

“You know,” he said, fingers brushing against yours on the table, “I didn’t think tonight would end like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “How did you think it would end?”

Minho exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. “Not like this. Not with you wearing my hoodie. Not with you sitting so close I can barely think straight.”

You smiled, looking down for a second before glancing back up at him through your lashes. “Is that a bad thing?”

Minho swallowed, his heart doing something stupid in his chest.

“No,” he murmured. “Not at all.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The world outside continued moving cars passing by, people walking along the sidewalks but inside the small diner, time felt still.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, Minho reached up, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered for a second longer than necessary, and you didn’t pull away.

Instead, you leaned in.

His breath hitched, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. “Y/N…”

You tilted your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah?”

Minho hesitated, just for a second. Not because he didn’t want to he had wanted to kiss you for so long—but because this moment felt different. It wasn’t just some casual, fleeting thing.

It was you.

And that meant everything.

But when you gave him the smallest nod, silently telling him it was okay

He didn’t wait.

He closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, slowest kiss.

You tasted like chocolate and vanilla, sweet and warm, and Minho melted into it, one hand cupping your cheek while the other rested lightly on your waist.

You kissed him back without hesitation, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve, pulling him closer like you never wanted to let go.

And Minho?

He was already gone for you.

After finishing your milkshake, neither of you had wanted the night to end just yet. The warmth of your first kiss still lingered, making everything else feel softer more real. So when Minho suggested walking back to his place instead of calling a ride, you agreed without hesitation.

It wasn’t far, just a few blocks, and the walk was quiet, comfortable. His fingers never left yours, his grip firm but gentle, as if he was still trying to convince himself you were really here.

When you reached his house, he didn’t even hesitate to invite you inside. “It’s late,” he had said. “You can crash here if you want. I have extra blankets.”

You had teased him, saying, “You just wanted an excuse to keep me close,” and instead of denying it, he had simply smirked. “And?”

That’s how you found yourself now, lying on his bed, wrapped in the same hoodie he had given you earlier. At first, you had planned to stay up just talk, maybe watch something but somewhere in the middle of the quiet conversation, with the soft glow of his bedside lamp illuminating his face, sleep had crept up on both of you.

Now, the room was silent except for the steady sound of Minho’s breathing.

His arms were securely wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest like he had no intention of letting go. His face was relaxed, his usual sharp features softened by sleep. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly, as if even in his dreams, he was making sure you were still there.

And you?

You had never felt safer.

You had never felt more at home than you did right now, tucked into Minho’s warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

It was perfect.

Until—

The door creaked open.

Minho’s parents had planned on checking in on him, expecting to find their son in his usual dramatic sleeping position sprawled out on his bed, probably snoring.

What they didn’t expect was to see him curled up around you, his arms wrapped protectively around your frame, his face buried in your hair.

His mother blinked, momentarily speechless.

His father raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s new.”

Minho stirred slightly, mumbling something in his sleep before pulling you closer.

His mother, finally snapping out of her surprise, melted on the spot. “Oh my god,” she whispered, grinning. “Look at them.”

His dad sighed as he smiled. “ He finally got his girl.”

His mother smirked. “He sure did.”

She reached for her phone, quickly snapping a picture. “We’re saving this for later.”

His father chuckled. “Should we wake them?”

His mother gasped, horrified. “Are you insane?! Look how peaceful he is! Do you know how rare it is for Minho to not be complaining about something? We let them sleep.”

His dad held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”

But before leaving, his mother glanced back at the two of you one more time, her heart swelling. She had never seen her son like this before so content, so soft.

And as they quietly closed the door behind them, she smiled to herself, already imagining the wedding.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The first thing you became aware of was warmth. Minho’s warmth. His arms were still wrapped securely around you, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back.

For a moment, you didn’t move.

You just lay there, soaking in everything. The way his breath tickled the nape of your neck, the way his fingers had lazily intertwined with yours sometime in the middle of the night, the way his body was completely relaxed against yours.

Then, Minho stirred, groaning softly as he tightened his hold on you. “Mm… five more minutes,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

You smiled, turning slightly so you could see his face. His hair was an absolute mess, sticking up in random directions, and his eyes were still barely open. He looked ridiculously adorable.

“You’re the one who has to get up,” you teased. “It’s your house.”

Minho groaned dramatically, burying his face in your shoulder. “Let’s just live here forever.”

You laughed. “In your bed?”

“Yep.” He peeked up at you, smirking. “Though, to be fair, you didn’t seem to mind being in my arms all night.”

You rolled your eyes, lightly pushing his shoulder. “Shut up.”

He grinned but finally let go, stretching with a yawn before rolling out of bed. “Come on. Let’s get food before my mom thinks we died in here.”

Breakfast was surprisingly peaceful.

Minho’s mom had made pancakes, and despite the teasing glances she kept throwing at you two, she didn’t say anything though you could tell she wanted to. Minho, of course, acted like nothing had changed, but every now and then, his knee would brush against yours under the table, or he’d sneak little glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You definitely noticed.

As you reached for the syrup, Minho’s phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up, and when he saw the name on the screen, he immediately sighed.

“Of course it’s Kitty.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What does she want?”

He opened the message, and you leaned over to peek at his screen.

Kitty: Soooo… did the plan work or not??? I need updates. Did you confess??

Minho shook his head, smirking. “She’s acting like this was some grand heist.”

You laughed. “To be fair, it kinda was.”

Minho hummed, pretending to consider it. “True.”

Then, instead of responding with words, he turned his camera on, leaned in toward you, and snapped a quick picture of the two of you sitting way too close at the breakfast table your hand in his, his hoodie still draped over your shoulders.

You blinked. “Minho—”

Too late.

He sent the picture.

A second later, Kitty’s response came in.

Kitty: OH MY GOD I KNEW IT!!!

Minho chuckled, locking his phone before placing it back on the table. “That should keep her satisfied for now.”

You shook your head, amused. “You’re so dramatic.”

Minho smirked, resting his chin in his palm as he gazed at you. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

Because, honestly?

There was nowhere else you’d rather be.

The school day was just beginning, and you were walking alongside Minho, your usual group of friends scattered about. The moment you stepped onto the campus, you could feel the weight of the new dynamic. You and Minho were finally… officially together. The tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks had shifted into something more solid, more real, and it made your heart race every time you caught his eye.

You couldn’t help but notice the small things how Minho would reach over to squeeze your hand between classes or how he’d make sure to walk you to your next period, carrying your bag for you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Today, you noticed it even more. The way he looked at you when you laughed at something, the way his hand never left yours unless absolutely necessary. You were still getting used to this new, more affectionate side of Minho, but it felt right.

Until—

As you walked toward the building, a familiar voice cut through the chatter of the hall.

“Minho.”

You froze, and Minho did too. You both turned to see Lee Joon walking toward you, his usual calm expression in place. He wasn’t alone there were a couple of his friends walking behind him but it was clear his attention was on you and Minho.

For a second, there was an awkward silence. You weren’t sure what to say after everything, you’d almost forgotten that there had once been something between you and Lee Joon. But here he was, standing in front of you, and you had no idea how this was going to go.

Lee Joon gave you a small smile, but his gaze shifted to Minho, his expression softening.

“I just wanted to say,” he began, his voice steady, “I’m happy for you two.”

Minho blinked, clearly not expecting that. “What?”

Lee Joon shrugged, hands shoved into his pockets. “I mean it. I’m glad you two worked it out.” He glanced at you for a moment, then looked back at Minho. “I just hope you’ll treat her well, yeah?”

There was a strange tension in the air, but Lee Joon’s words were honest, and his tone was sincere.

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly processing Lee Joon’s sudden warmth. “I—yeah, I will.” He smirked. “Not like I’d do anything else.”

Lee Joon nodded, his gaze softening. “Just making sure.” He offered Minho a small smile. “Anyway, good luck, man. I wish you both the best.”

Minho nodded, his posture relaxing. “Thanks, Lee Joon.” He smiled in return, a little less guarded now.

Lee Joon didn’t linger for long. He gave you a nod before turning and walking away with his friends, leaving the two of you standing in the hallway.

The moment Lee Joon disappeared around the corner, Minho exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, his hand still holding yours. “That was… unexpected.”

You looked up at him, a little surprised by how easily Minho had taken it. “Yeah. It was nice of him, though.”

Minho smirked, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, well… he knows I’ll treat you right. I don’t need to prove anything.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re so confident.”

Minho chuckled, pulling you a little closer. “It’s not about confidence. It’s about knowing what I have.”

He gave you a mischievous look, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

“Well, good,” you teased, “because I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Minho’s grin softened, and he leaned in to kiss the top of your head. “Good. Because neither am I.”

And as you both made your way into the building, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was finally falling into place.

The day was flying by, and lunch break arrived with a wave of relief. You and Minho made your way to the usual spot where you’d meet up with your friends, settling into a spot on the grassy field behind the school. The weather was perfect a light breeze, warm sun but something about it felt a little off today.

As you sat down, you noticed that Kitty wasn’t exactly looking too thrilled. She was pacing around the area, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, shooting occasional glances at you and Minho. It wasn’t the usual carefree Kitty you were used to, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

Minho, sitting beside you, seemed to pick up on it, too. He leaned over, resting his head on your shoulder for a second as he whispered, “What’s with Kitty?”

You looked over at her. “I think she’s… jealous?”

Minho blinked, clearly confused. “Of us?”

You chuckled lightly. “I think she’s tired of playing the third wheel.”

At that, Minho burst into laughter. “What, you think she’s jealous of me?”

“Well, when you’re always the one hanging out with me, maybe.” You shot him a teasing glance, nudging him with your elbow. “Don’t worry, she’ll get over it. It’s just… funny how she’s acting.”

Just as you said that, Kitty suddenly groaned loudly, causing both you and Minho to turn toward her. She flopped down dramatically on the grass beside you, throwing her arms out in frustration.

“I can’t stand this!” she declared, earning curious looks from the people around her.

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “What’s wrong with you now, Kitty?”

She let out a theatrical sigh, flopping her head back onto the grass as if the entire world were conspiring against her. “I am literally the third wheel now! How am I supposed to be your best friend if you’re over here being all cute together all the time?” She shot you both an exaggerated pout. “You know I’m just here for the drama, and you guys are ruining it with all your…” she gestured dramatically to the both of you, “…love and cuddles and whatever else you’re doing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and warm. Minho chuckled too, clearly amused. “We’re not doing anything, Kitty. We’re just sitting here.”

Kitty threw up her hands. “It’s not the sitting, it’s the fact that I’m alone while you two are all over each other! You’re making me feel like a third wheel, and I’m not okay with that!”

Minho grinned mischievously, leaning back against the grass. “If it makes you feel any better, Kitty,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’m sure we could work something out. You’re always welcome to hang out with us.”

Kitty narrowed her eyes. “Oh, really? You’re just so generous, Minho. Like, I’m so excited to spend my time watching you two be all… sweet and adorable.”

You grinned, teasing her playfully. “I think you’re just mad because you have no one to complain about like we do.”

Kitty groaned again, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, fine, I get it. You two are all happy and cute, and I’m stuck in the corner being the lonely best friend.”

Minho smirked, nudging you with his shoulder. “Well, you can hang out with us, but you have to put up with the cuteness.”

Kitty dramatically covered her face with her hands. “I don’t think I can handle it!”

You laughed, your heart warm from the teasing banter. You could tell that even though Kitty was acting all dramatic about the situation, she didn’t truly mind. She loved both of you, and she just wanted to make sure she wasn’t forgotten in all of this new relationship excitement.

Minho, sensing the mood shifting, leaned forward with a genuine smile. “Hey, we’ll make it up to you, Kitty. How about we all hang out this weekend? You, me, Y/N. I’ll even throw in some extra snacks for you to complain about us with.”

Kitty raised her head from her hands, giving him a skeptical look. “You’ll throw in extra snacks, huh?”

“Yep.” Minho grinned. “And I’ll promise not to be overly affectionate around you. Maybe.”

Kitty smirked. “Alright, deal. But only if I get to choose the movie.”

You and Minho exchanged glances, both of you knowing there was no way Kitty would ever let you pick the movie after all this.

“Deal,” Minho agreed, already preparing himself for whatever chaos Kitty was about to drag you into next.

“Great,” Kitty said, sitting up and wiping her hands dramatically. “Now that we’ve settled that, you guys owe me for ruining my third-wheel-free life.”

Minho rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll make it up to you, don’t worry.”

As the three of you sat there, joking and laughing, the warmth of your new relationship and the friendship that came with it was more than enough to make everything feel right. Even if Kitty was a little dramatic, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The weekend arrived, and the three of you gathered at Minho’s place for your promised movie night. Kitty had already made it clear that she would control the movie selection, but to her surprise, she was having a hard time picking one. Every time she suggested a movie, Minho would raise an eyebrow and say, “Are you sure that one? We might fall asleep in the middle of it.”

“You’re lucky I don’t make you watch another rom-com,” she threatened, glancing between the two of you with a playful smirk.

You chuckled. “I think we’ve seen enough rom-coms for one lifetime, Kitty.”

Minho grinned. “I’m on her side this time. No more cheesy love stories.”

Kitty huffed but eventually settled on a movie. She made sure it was one neither of you had seen, determined to pick something that would hold your attention. Popcorn was popped, and drinks were set out in front of you both, but as the night went on, it became obvious that the movie wasn’t the only thing that had everyone’s attention.

You and Minho found yourselves sitting close together on the couch, your legs tangled beneath a soft blanket. Kitty was seated next to you, but she was starting to get a little more restless as the evening wore on.

Minho, being Minho, couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances at you. your hand in his, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand. Every now and then, he’d feed you a piece of popcorn, and you’d smile and reciprocate by handing him one in return. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just simple gestures of affection that made your heart flutter.

Kitty, on the other hand, was watching the two of you with a slightly exasperated look on her face. At first, she tried to hide it behind the popcorn bowl, but it was hard not to notice the way her eyes kept flicking over to you and Minho, both of you so caught up in your little bubble of quiet tenderness.

You leaned against Minho’s shoulder, feeling content as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “This movie’s good,” you said softly, though you knew you were paying more attention to him than the actual film.

“Mm-hmm,” Minho murmured, his lips brushing your forehead. “Better with you here.”

You smiled, brushing your cheek against his arm. “It’s always better when you’re around.”

Kitty rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the tiny smile tugging at her lips. “You guys are so cheesy,” she said, though the tone wasn’t as biting as before.

You looked at her, a little mischievous. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not enjoying the drama of it all.”

She threw a pillow at you. “I’m not enjoying anything, thank you very much. I’m just—”

She stopped when she saw you and Minho share a quiet laugh, his hand brushing your hair away from your face. It was in that moment that something shifted in Kitty’s eyes. The earlier feeling of being left out and annoyed by the constant affection faded, replaced by something different.

She felt a little… guilty.

She had been so quick to complain about being the third wheel, but now, as she watched the way Minho gazed at you like you were the center of his world she couldn’t help but feel a wave of regret.

Minho was happy. You were happy. And here she was, trying to make herself the center of attention, when she knew perfectly well that she didn’t need to be.

Kitty paused, her arms crossing as she sighed deeply. “Okay, okay. I admit it. I’m a little jealous. Happy now?”

You and Minho both laughed at her outburst, and she threw her hands up in defeat.

“I’m just saying, you two are so cute together. And I’m just… I don’t know… sitting here eating all the popcorn.” She leaned back into the couch dramatically. “You’re like a real couple now, huh?”

Minho leaned over, gently pulling the blanket higher around you both. “Yeah, we are.” He gave her a playful grin. “And don’t worry, Kitty. You’re still our favorite third wheel.”

Kitty rolled her eyes again but smiled, her earlier annoyance melting away as she saw the affection between you and Minho. It was clear that you both were in a happy, comfortable place, and while it might’ve taken her a moment to get used to it, she was genuinely happy for you both.

“I guess I can get used to being the third wheel if you two keep being this adorable,” she said, her voice light and teasing again.

You grinned and handed her the popcorn. “As long as you’re still our favorite third wheel.”

Kitty took the bowl from you and sighed dramatically. “I’ll allow it.” She glanced over at you both, her expression softening. “But you guys better treat each other well. I’m keeping an eye on you, Minho.”

Minho chuckled, wrapping his arm tighter around you, pulling you closer. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Kitty leaned back, smiling quietly as she watched you and Minho. And despite the playful teasing, there was a warmth in her chest a realization that she wasn’t just the third wheel. She was part of something special, too. She would always be a part of your circle, and that’s what truly mattered.

As the movie continued to play, and you and Minho quietly exchanged sweet words, Kitty settled in beside you both, no longer feeling like an outsider. Instead, she was part of this beautiful, messy, and loving little family you were creating, and maybe just maybe being the third wheel didn’t seem so bad after all.

The next day, you and Kitty were hanging out in the school courtyard, enjoying a rare moment of peace before the chaos of the next class. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and for once, Kitty wasn’t groaning about third-wheeling until, of course, Minho appeared.

And not just Minho.

Minho, walking confidently across the courtyard with a massive teddy bear in his arms.

You blinked in surprise, trying to process what you were seeing. The teddy bear was almost as big as he was, its fluffy arms practically swallowing him whole. He carried it effortlessly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

Kitty, on the other hand, immediately burst into laughter. “Oh, this is gold.” She crossed her arms and smirked as Minho reached your table. “So, tell me, Minho who’s the lucky recipient of that absurdly large bear? Is it… me?” She batted her eyelashes dramatically. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Minho rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on the bear as he looked at Kitty with mock seriousness. “Oh, yeah, totally. I went to the store, saw this giant teddy bear, and thought, You know who needs this? Kitty Song Covey.”

Kitty gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in fake flattery. “Wow. I’m touched. I mean, I always knew I was your favorite person, but this really seals the deal.”

Minho ignored her, turning toward you with a small, almost shy smile. “Nah, this is obviously for Y/N.”

Your eyes widened as he extended the teddy bear toward you, and a soft warmth spread through your chest. “Minho… this is huge.” You reached out to touch the soft fur, grinning as you took it from him. “What’s the occasion?”

Minho shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “No occasion. Just saw it and thought you’d like it.”

Kitty groaned dramatically. “Oh my god. You two are unbearable.” She gestured toward the teddy bear. “Literally.”

Minho shot her a smug grin. “Jealous, Kitty?”

Kitty huffed, shaking her head. “Not in the slightest. But I will say this if you keep spoiling Y/N like this, you’re setting a dangerous precedent. She’s gonna start expecting giant teddy bears all the time.”

You hugged the bear close, laughing. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind that.”

Minho smirked, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Noted.”

Kitty fake gagged. “Okay, enough. I need to find a date immediately before I drown in the sheer amount of romance happening in front of me.”

Minho just chuckled as you leaned into the plush bear, completely content.

And as Kitty dramatically pulled out her phone, muttering about setting up a dating profile, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have Minho and his ridiculously sweet gestures all to yourself.

That night, Kitty walked into your living room, arms full with two giant bags of snacks like popcorn, candy, chips, and even a couple of sodas she had smuggled in from her dorm. She had been looking forward to this sleepover all week. A classic bestie night: just you and her, watching rom-coms, gossiping, and stuffing your faces with junk food.

But the second she stepped into the dimly lit room, her excitement immediately turned into exasperation.

Because there, right in the middle of your living room, were you and Minho.

Cuddled up on top of the massive teddy bear he had given you earlier, wrapped in a fluffy blanket, both of you fast asleep.

Kitty let out the most dramatic groan, dropping the snack bags onto the floor with a loud rustle. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You had promised her. PROMISED. It was supposed to be a just the two of you kind of night no boyfriends allowed. But here you were, completely breaking the sacred best friend sleepover code, snuggled up against Minho like the two of you were in your own little world.

Kitty crossed her arms, tapping her foot. “Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.

Minho, of course, was sleeping peacefully, his arms wrapped securely around you, his face buried in your hair like he had no plans of moving anytime soon. You, curled up comfortably against his chest, were equally as lost in dreamland, your head resting just beneath his chin.

Kitty sighed, rubbing her temples. “This is exactly why I need a boyfriend. So I don’t have to suffer alone every time you two decide to turn my night into a third-wheel nightmare.”

She contemplated waking you up shaking you awake and demanding answers but then she noticed something that made her pause.

Despite how annoying it was to have her best friend ditch their plans, the way you and Minho were curled up together, completely at ease, was kind of… sweet. It wasn’t just some casual nap; it was the kind of peaceful, soft kind of love that made it obvious how much you two cared about each other.

Kitty sighed dramatically, crouching down to grab the spilled snack bags. “Fine,” she muttered to herself. “I’ll let it slide this time. But next sleepover? No boyfriends allowed. I mean it.”

With one last exasperated glance at you two, she plopped down onto the couch, pulled out a bag of popcorn, and started her movie third-wheeling once again, but at least with good snacks.

The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the school courtyard as you and Minho walked hand in hand, matching strides. The weekend was just around the corner, and you had the perfect plan a carnival date. Well, technically, a carnival hangout, since you were about to invite Kitty.

Minho, of course, was less than thrilled about that part.

“Remind me why we’re inviting her again?” he asked, glancing at you with a smirk.

You nudged him playfully. “Because she’s our friend and because I totally ditched her during the sleepover. We owe her.”

Minho sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if she ruins our romantic moments, I’m making her buy me churros.”

You giggled as you spotted Kitty near her locker, scrolling through her phone, completely oblivious to your approach. Minho, ever the menace, leaned in and whispered, “Watch this,” before calling out

“Kitty Song Covey!”

Kitty visibly flinched, nearly dropping her phone. She whipped her head around, eyes narrowing. “Why do you sound like you’re about to ask me for a favor?”

You beamed at her. “Because we are!”

Kitty groaned, already shaking her head. “Nope. I don’t like this. Whatever it is, no.”

Minho scoffed. “You don’t even know what we’re gonna say.”

Kitty crossed her arms. “Fine. Hit me with it.”

You clasped your hands together, putting on your sweetest voice. “We’re going to the carnival this weekend, and we want you to come with us!”

Kitty blinked. Then, as if she had just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world, she let out a loud, mocking laugh.

Minho frowned. “What’s so funny?”

Kitty wiped an imaginary tear. “Oh, you two are hilarious. You actually think I’m going to spend my Friday night watching you two be disgustingly cute at a carnival?”

You pouted. “Come on, Kitty. We’ll go on rides, eat junk food, win prizes. It’ll be fun!”

Kitty gave you a deadpan look. “Fun for who? Because let’s be real, the moment we get there, it’s gonna be ‘Omg, Minho, let’s go on the Ferris wheel!’ ‘Minho, win me that stuffed bear!’ ‘Minho, let’s share some cotton candy!’” She rolled her eyes. “Meanwhile, I’ll be in the background, questioning all my life choices.”

Minho smirked. “You do have a point. We’d be way too busy being adorable to give you attention.”

Kitty groaned. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about!” She turned to you. “Tell me I’m wrong. Go ahead. Lie to my face.”

You opened your mouth, then hesitated. Because, well… she wasn’t wrong. You and Minho would probably do all of that.

Kitty smirked in triumph. “Exactly.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “So, yeah. Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather spend my Friday night doing literally anything else than third-wheeling at a carnival.”

Minho grinned, draping an arm around you. “Your loss. Guess that means more snacks and prizes for us.”

Kitty scoffed. “Oh, please. Minho’s just saying that because he knows you’re gonna make him spend all his money on those overpriced carnival games.”

Minho’s smirk faltered slightly. “…That’s not entirely false.”

You giggled, leaning into him. “You love it, though.”

Minho sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.”

Kitty made a gagging noise. “And this is exactly why I’m staying home.” She started to walk away, then paused, turning back to you. “But hey, if you win a big plushie, I expect a picture. Y’know, just so I can suffer from afar.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

As Kitty walked off, Minho chuckled, squeezing your hand. “Well, that went as expected.”

You grinned. “That just means we get to have the most romantic, disgustingly cute date ever.”

Minho smirked. “Oh, absolutely. Let’s make sure Kitty regrets not coming.”

And with that, the two of you walked off, already planning the perfect carnival date completely third-wheel free.

The carnival was everything you had hoped for bright lights, the scent of fried food in the air, and the sound of excited laughter filling the night. It was the perfect atmosphere for a date, and Minho, ever the gentleman, had already taken your hand the moment you stepped through the entrance.

And, of course, in true Kitty fashion, everything she predicted was coming true.

First stop? The Ferris wheel.

You had insisted on it, dragging Minho toward the towering ride with stars in your eyes. “Come on, it’s a must!” you said, looking at him with so much excitement that he just sighed and let himself be pulled along.

Once inside the small, enclosed gondola, you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder as the ride began its slow ascent. The higher you went, the more the entire carnival stretched out beneath you, a glittering wonderland of neon lights and moving rides.

Minho glanced down at you, smirking. “So, when do I get my dramatic movie moment where you say something super sentimental?”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “You mean like, ‘Minho, you make my world brighter than all these carnival lights combined’?”

Minho chuckled. “Yeah. Something cheesy like that.”

You looked at him for a moment, then smiled softly. “I don’t need to say that, because you already know it’s true.”

For once, Minho was silent. His smirk faded just slightly, replaced with something softer, something almost vulnerable. Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed your forehead, letting the moment speak for itself.

By the time you got off the Ferris wheel, you were beaming.

Next stop? The carnival games.

You weren’t going to lie you were determined to leave with a stuffed animal. And unfortunately for Minho, that meant that he’ll end up being replaced by that some stuffed animal

“Minho, you have to win me that one!” You pointed at a giant plush bunny hanging from one of the booths.

Minho eyed it skeptically. “That thing is, like, twice your size.”

“So? That just means I’ll have more to cuddle when you’re not around.”

Minho gave you a deadpan look. “Are you seriously saying a stuffed bunny could replace me?”

You grinned. “I mean, let’s see if you can even win it first.”

That was all the motivation Minho needed. He rolled up his sleeves, stepped up to the game booth, and put on his game face.

What followed was several attempts, an increasingly frustrated Minho, and a lot of teasing from you. But eventually finally he knocked down all the targets, and the booth attendant handed over the giant plush bunny.

You gasped in delight, hugging the stuffed toy tightly before turning to Minho with the biggest smile. “I take it back. Nothing could replace you.”

Minho huffed, pretending to be unimpressed, but you could see the tiny satisfied smile on his lips. “Good answer.”

Then, without warning, he reached out, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in close. “But just so you don’t forget, I think I deserve a reward.”

You laughed. “Oh? And what exactly do you want?”

Minho smirked before leaning in, brushing his lips against yours in a sweet, lingering kiss.

By the time you pulled away, your face was warm, your heart racing.

Minho grinned. “That’ll do.”

And finally? The food.

You insisted on sharing cotton candy, even though Minho rolled his eyes and muttered about how predictable you were. But when you held out a piece for him, he didn’t hesitate to lean in and take a bite letting his lips brush against your fingertips in the process.

You felt your face heat up. “You did that on purpose.”

Minho just smirked. “Did I?”

And then there was the churro.

Which Minho also insisted on sharing, but in the most obnoxious way possible.

“Let’s do that couple thing,” he said, holding the churro up.

You raised an eyebrow. “What couple thing?”

Minho’s smirk widened. “Where we each bite from one end at the same time.”

You stared at him. “That is the dumbest—”

But before you could even finish, Minho already took one end into his mouth, raising an expectant eyebrow at you.

You groaned. “I cannot believe you.”

Still, you leaned in, biting the other end.

Kitty would have thrown up on the spot if she had seen it.

By the end of the night, you had done exactly what Kitty had predicted Ferris wheel, winning a plushie, sharing cotton candy, and feeding each other snacks.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Kitty was sprawled across your bed, lazily flipping through a magazine as you tidied up your desk. She had come over to hang out, claiming she needed a “break” from dealing with her own dramas, but you knew the truth she was mildly curious about how your carnival date with Minho went.

She hadn’t asked outright, of course. Instead, she casually glanced around your room, humming to herself until her eyes landed on something huge in the corner.

The giant rabbit plush from last night.

Kitty sat up instantly, pointing at it. “Wait a minute. Don’t you already have one already?”

You paused, following her gaze before letting out a small laugh. “Okay, first of all, I only have one other giant plush. And second, this one is special.”

Kitty snorted. “Special how? Because Minho wasted all his money trying to win it for you?”

Before you could answer, your door suddenly swung open, and speak of the devil Minho walked in.

“Excuse you,” he said, giving Kitty a look as he strolled inside like he owned the place. “I did not waste my money. I made a perfectly justified investment.”

Kitty rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, of course, spending an absurd amount of cash just to impress your girlfriend is an investment. How silly of me to think otherwise.”

Minho smirked, plopping down onto your bed beside you. “Exactly. Glad you’re finally catching on, Covey.”

Kitty scoffed before turning back to you. “Okay, so explain. Why do you need two enormous stuffed animals taking up half your room?”

You shrugged, hugging the plush rabbit close. “Because they’re cute. And soft. And Minho got them for me.”

Minho leaned back, resting an arm behind his head. “Yeah, it’s called being an amazing boyfriend. You wouldn’t get it, Kitty.”

Kitty groaned. “Oh my god, you are so smug.”

Minho grinned. “And yet, here I am, still the favorite.”

Kitty dramatically flopped back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. “I need a boyfriend. Or literally any kind of love life. Because I physically cannot keep third-wheeling you two like this.”

You giggled. “You could always get a giant plushie for yourself.”

Kitty shot you a look. “It is not the same, Y/N.”

Minho smirked, leaning in closer to you. “See? No one does it like me.”

Kitty groaned into a pillow. “I hate both of you.”

You and Minho exchanged amused glances before bursting into laughter, while Kitty just dramatically complained about needing new friends who weren’t disgustingly in love.

Kitty sat up, staring at the giant rabbit plush like it was calling her name. She tapped her chin thoughtfully before turning to you with a suspiciously sweet smile.

“So…” she started, scooting closer to the plush. “Can I borrow this little guy for a while?”

You blinked at her, clutching the stuffed bunny closer like she had just asked for your firstborn child. “Uh… no. It’s mine.”

Kitty gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart like you had just deeply offended her. “Excuse me?”

Minho, who was casually scrolling through his phone on your bed, snorted. “Did you actually think she’d say yes?”

Kitty ignored him, narrowing her eyes at you. “Wait, why not?! You have Minho! I don’t have anyone! Let me have the bunny!”

You shook your head firmly. “Nope. Minho won it for me. It’s special.”

Kitty threw her hands in the air. “Okay, and what about me? What do I get? Third-wheeling privileges?”

Minho smirked. “Sounds like a you problem, Covey.”

Kitty shot him a glare. “I wasn’t talking to you, Mr. I Spend All My Money on Rigged Carnival Games.”

Minho shrugged, completely unfazed. “Worth it.”

Kitty groaned, flopping back on your bed. “This is so unfair. You have a boyfriend and two giant plushies. Meanwhile, I have neither. I should at least get one!”

You laughed, patting her shoulder. “You can hug the pillow?”

Kitty dramatically rolled onto her side. “It’s not the same. It doesn’t have the emotional support energy that the bunny has.”

Minho leaned in, smirking. “Sounds like you need a boyfriend, Covey.”

Kitty shot up. “Thank you, Minho! I hadn’t realized! Let me just go to the boyfriend store and pick one out!”

Minho chuckled. “Well, if you want, I could help set you up—”

“NO.” Kitty cut him off immediately, pointing a finger at him. “You and your questionable matchmaking skills stay far, far away from my love life.”

Minho leaned back, hands up in surrender. “Fine. Your loss.”

Kitty huffed before turning back to you with pleading eyes. “So? Are you gonna let me borrow the bunny or not?”

You shook your head again, holding it even tighter. “Nope.”

Kitty groaned. “You’re a monster.”

Minho smirked. “Now you know how I feel when she steals my hoodies.”

Kitty gasped again, eyes widening in realization. “OH. MY. GOD. Y/N, you hoard things! First his hoodies, Mostly everything?! What’s next? His soul?”

You grinned innocently. “Already got that.”

Minho chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. “It’s true. I’m hers.”

Kitty made a loud, disgusted noise. “I need new friends.”

And with that, she dramatically flopped onto your bed again, while you and Minho just laughed at her misery.

Kitty, still sulking from her failed attempt to claim the bunny, suddenly pointed at the other giant plush sitting in the corner of your room the first one Minho brought for you.

“Okay, but what about that one?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Can I at least borrow him?”

Before you could even answer, Minho immediately cut in, shaking his head.

“Yeah, no. That one’s off-limits too.”

Kitty groaned. “Oh, come on! Why?!”

Minho smirked, leaning back against your pillows. “Because that’s our son.”

You blinked, looking at him in confusion. “Wait… what?”

Minho pointed at the plushie. “That’s Minho Jr. Our firstborn.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

Kitty, meanwhile, was staring at him with pure disbelief. “I— Minho, what the actual—” She turned to you. “Are you seriously going along with this?!”

You shrugged, grinning. “I mean… I guess it kinda makes sense.”

Minho nodded seriously. “Exactly. Minho Jr. was the first big plushie I got for Y/N. He represents the beginning of our love story. He has sentimental value.”

Kitty gagged. “Please, spare me.”

But Minho wasn’t done yet. He pointed at the giant bunny still in your arms. “And that one—our second child.”

Kitty threw her hands in the air. “You did NOT just give the plushies a family ranking!”

Minho shrugged. “Listen, it’s called commitment. You wouldn’t get it.”

You giggled, hugging the bunny closer. “So… Minho Jr. and…” You looked at the bunny thoughtfully. “What’s this one’s name?”

Minho tilted his head, pretending to think. Then he snapped his fingers. “Bunny-ho.”

Kitty lost it. “NO.”

You burst into laughter. “Oh my god, Minho—”

Minho looked so smug. “What? It’s perfect.”

Kitty groaned. “I hate it here. First, I can’t have a plushie, and now I have to sit here while you two build a fake family with stuffed animals?”

Minho smirked, pulling you closer. “You could be the cool aunt, Covey.”

Kitty gave him a deadpan look. “I want nothing to do with this family tree.”

You giggled, leaning into Minho’s side. “It’s okay, Minho. She just doesn’t understand our vision.”

Minho nodded. “Exactly. Some people just aren’t ready for this level of commitment.”

Kitty groaned again, flopping back onto your bed. “I need to start charging you guys for emotional damages.”

Meanwhile, you and Minho just exchanged knowing smiles, completely content with your ridiculous little plushie family.

Kitty was still dramatically lying on your bed, mumbling complaints about how she had somehow ended up third-wheeling a couple and their imaginary plushie family.

Minho, of course, was having the time of his life teasing her.

As he wrapped an arm around you, he turned to Kitty with a smirk. “Hey, so… do you mind watching your nephews while I take this beautiful lady out to dinner?”

Kitty sat up immediately, staring at him like he had lost his mind. “I— excuse me?!”

Minho gestured towards the two giant plushies in the corner, looking completely serious. “Minho Jr. and Bunny-ho. You know, your nephews. Someone’s gotta babysit them while we’re gone.”

You giggled, playing along. “Yeah, Kitty. They’ll get lonely.”

Kitty rubbed her temples. “I cannot believe I’m having this conversation right now.”

Minho tilted his head innocently. “What? You love kids, don’t you?”

Kitty gave him the most deadpan look. “They’re not kids. They’re stuffed animals.”

Minho ignored her, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple before grabbing his jacket. “Anyway, we’ll be back later. Make sure they don’t stay up too late.”

Kitty threw her hands in the air. “Oh, right. Because a bunch of cotton and fabric totally has a bedtime!”

You smiled, hugging Bunny-ho close. “And don’t forget to feed them!”

Kitty let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god. You guys are actually insane.”

Minho just grinned. “You knew what you were signing up for when you became our friend.”

Kitty groaned, flopping back onto your bed. “You know what? Fine. I’ll watch your fake children. But if they start talking to me, I’m out.”

You and Minho burst into laughter as he took your hand, leading you towards the door.

Right before you stepped out, Minho turned back with a teasing smirk. “Love you, sis. Be a good aunt.”

Kitty threw a pillow at him. “GET OUT!”

You laughed the whole way down the hall, holding Minho’s hand as he chuckled beside you. “She’s never gonna let this go.”

Minho squeezed your hand, smiling down at you. “Totally worth it.”

The restaurant Minho had chosen was small, cozy, and tucked away from the busy streets a place that felt like your own little world. Soft lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the wooden tables, and the faint sound of music played in the background. It was perfect.

Minho pulled out your chair for you, giving you a teasing smirk as you sat down. “Only the best treatment for my girl.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You’re so extra.”

He sat down across from you, resting his chin in his hand as he gazed at you with that annoyingly charming look he always had. “And yet, you love it.”

You pretended to think for a moment, tapping your chin. “Hmm… I don’t know, do I?”

Minho scoffed, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “Wow. After everything I’ve done for you? After winning you one child at the carnival?”

You giggled. “Oh, right! Bunny-ho. I should’ve known this was about him.”

Minho smirked. “Obviously. I take my fatherly duties very seriously.”

A waiter came by, setting down your drinks. Minho grabbed his immediately, taking a sip before looking at you again. “So, what’s the verdict? Best date ever?”

You smiled, stirring your drink with the straw. “It’s definitely up there.”

Minho leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “Up there?”

You shrugged playfully. “I mean, there was that one time you tripped while trying to impress me—”

Minho groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my god, you promised to never bring that up again.”

You laughed. “I never promised that!”

Minho peeked at you through his fingers before shaking his head, clearly trying to hold back a smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You took a sip of your drink, looking at him over the rim. “I know.”

The food arrived, and as you both started eating, Minho kept sneaking bites from your plate, acting innocent every time you caught him.

“Minho!” you gasped, swatting his hand away. “Eat your own food!”

“But yours tastes better,” he whined, quickly grabbing another bite before you could stop him.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Unbelievable.”

Minho grinned, chewing happily. “Hey, you knew what you were getting into when you started dating me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help smiling.

After a while, Minho set down his chopsticks and leaned back in his chair, looking at you softly. His usual teasing smirk was replaced by something gentler.

“I really like this,” he said, voice quieter now.

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

He gestured around. “This. Us. Sitting here, eating, talking. Just… being together.”

Your heart melted a little at the way he was looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “Me too.”

Minho squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “Good. Because I plan on doing this a lot more.”

You giggled. “Stealing my food?”

Minho smirked. “That too.”

And as you sat there, laughing and talking over dinner, you knew there was no place you’d rather be.

After finishing dinner, Minho insisted on paying, waving you off when you tried to argue. “Nope, I got this,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “A gentleman always pays for his lady.”

You rolled your eyes with a small smile. “You just don’t want me to see how much you spent.”

Minho smirked. “That too.”

Once you were outside, the night air was cool, but not too cold. The streets were quieter now, the soft glow of streetlights giving everything a warm, cozy feel. Minho reached for your hand as you walked, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I think that was the best dinner I’ve ever had,” he said.

You looked at him with a teasing smile. “Because of the food or because of me?”

Minho pretended to think for a moment before grinning. “Both. But mostly you.”

You laughed, nudging him lightly. “Good answer.”

As you continued walking, Minho suddenly stopped in front of a small convenience store. “Wait here,” he said before disappearing inside.

You stood there, confused, until he came back out a few minutes later holding two ice cream bars. He unwrapped one and handed it to you.

You smiled, taking it. “What’s this for?”

Minho shrugged, unwrapping his own. “Just felt like ending the night with something sweet.”

You took a bite, enjoying the simple moment. Minho watched you for a second before chuckling.

“What?” you asked.

“You have ice cream on your lip,” he said, stepping closer. Before you could wipe it away, he leaned in and kissed the spot, his lips lingering just for a second.

Your face felt warm despite the cold treat in your hand. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, looking away to hide your smile.

Minho just laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you continued walking. “And yet, you love it.”

You sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah.”

He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Say it.”

You looked up at him, meeting his expectant gaze. With a playful smile, you said, “I love it.”

Minho grinned, looking completely satisfied. “Knew it.”

And just like that, the night felt even more perfect.

As soon as you and Minho stepped into your house, still laughing from your walk back, Kitty was already standing there in the doorway with her arms crossed, tapping her foot like an impatient mother waiting for her kids to come home past curfew.

“Finally! You guys are here,” she huffed, throwing her hands up. “Now come and watch your kids— I mean, your stuffed animals.”

Minho smirked, pulling off his jacket. “Aw, did Aunt Kitty have a hard time babysitting?”

Kitty shot him a glare. “Oh, you have no idea. Minho Jr. and Bunny-ho have been so needy. Bunny-ho kept falling over, and Minho Jr. refused to sit properly on the bed.” She placed a dramatic hand on her forehead. “It was exhausting.”

You giggled, playing along. “Wow, sounds like you had a rough night. Maybe you should’ve read them a bedtime story.”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “Oh, I would have, but I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries as the aunt.”

Minho grinned, stepping over to the bed where the two plushies sat, slightly slumped over from all of Kitty’s supposed “hard work.” He picked up Minho Jr. and cradled it like a baby. “Aw, our poor son. Was Aunt Kitty mean to you?”

Kitty groaned, flopping onto the couch. “I hate that I’ve been dragged into this family roleplay.”

You sat next to her, hugging Bunny-ho close. “You love it.”

“I really don’t.”

Minho sat down beside you, still holding onto Minho Jr. “Well, thanks for watching them while we were gone. You’ve done a great job, Covey.”

Kitty crossed her arms. “Yeah, yeah. Next time, I’m charging for my services.”

You and Minho exchanged a knowing look before turning back to her.

Minho smirked. “Nah. You’re family. Babysitting comes with the title.”

Kitty groaned, grabbing a pillow and covering her face with it. “I need a new friend group.”

“So,” Minho started, stretching out his legs. “What time did you feed our kids?”

Kitty’s head snapped up so fast you thought she might get whiplash. “Excuse me?”

Minho gestured toward the stuffed animals. “Minho Jr. and his little brother. What time did you feed them?”

Kitty gawked at him. “They’re stuffed animals, Minho. They don’t eat.”

Minho gasped in pure horror. “You didn’t feed them?!”

Kitty blinked. “Are you serious right now?”

You, already knowing exactly where this was going, bit your lip to hold back your laughter.

Minho turned to you, eyes wide with mock distress. “Y/N. Our kids haven’t eaten all night. No wonder they look so weak.” He reached over and patted Minho Jr.’s head like a concerned parent. “Oh my poor, starving son…”

Kitty threw Minho Jr. at him. “Here, you can have him back then.”

Minho caught the plush with ease, holding him protectively. “Wow. Just wow, Kitty. I trusted you. And you just let them starve.”

Kitty groaned into a pillow. “I hate you so much.”

“You’re never babysitting again,” Minho continued, shaking his head in disappointment. “Neglectful. Absolutely neglectful.”

“They’re literally stuffed animals!” Kitty shouted. “What was I supposed to do, blend up a smoothie and pour it on them?!”

Minho shrugged. “A responsible babysitter would’ve figured it out.”

Kitty threw another pillow at him.

You, by now, were full-on cackling, clutching your stomach as Minho continued his very dramatic lecture on how Minho Jr. deserved better.

And as much as Kitty complained about you two being absolute menaces, you could see the small smile she was trying to hide.

Yeah, she’d never admit it but she loved this chaos.

Minho, still cradling Minho Jr. like a very concerned parent, suddenly gasped and sat up straighter. He patted down the couch dramatically, as if searching for something.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “Oh no, no, no this is bad.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, still giggling from the last round of teasing. “What now?”

Minho ignored you, turning to Kitty with a grave expression. “Kitty,” he said, voice laced with disappointment. “Where’s the diaper bag?”

Kitty stared at him, unblinking. “The what?”

Minho sighed heavily, rubbing his temples like he was so stressed. “The diaper bag, Kitty.”

Kitty let out the most exasperated groan. “Minho, they are stuffed animals! Why the hell would you need a diaper bag?!”

Minho completely ignored her and reached for an imaginary diaper bag beside the couch. He started “rummaging” through it, his expression getting increasingly more horrified.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “Oh my god.”

You covered your mouth, already losing it.

“What?!” Kitty snapped.

Minho looked up at her, pure betrayal written across his face. “Kitty.” He placed a hand over his chest, like what he was about to say physically pained him. “Did you even change their diapers?”

Silence.

Kitty just stared at him, completely at a loss for words.

Minho let out a long, dramatic sigh and shook his head, turning to you. “Y/N… I think our children have been sitting in dirty diapers this entire time.”

Kitty screeched. “THEY. ARE. STUFFED ANIMALS!”

Minho shushed her, rocking Minho Jr. back and forth. “It’s okay, buddy. Daddy’s here now. I won’t let Auntie Kitty neglect you ever again.”

Kitty launched a pillow at his face.

Minho caught it without even flinching and just tossed it aside, still fully committed to the bit.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “My poor, poor kids. Abandoned. Unloved. Sitting in filth.” He dramatically wiped an imaginary tear. “Worst babysitter ever.”

Kitty stood up so fast she nearly tripped over your coffee table. “I AM LEAVING.”

You were crying from laughter at this point, clutching your sides as Kitty stormed toward the door.

Minho called after her, “Don’t forget to leave your babysitting license on the counter! Oh wait you don’t have one anymore.”

The door slammed shut.

And that was the exact moment you completely lost it, doubling over with laughter as Minho grinned victoriously.

“She’s never gonna forgive you for that,” you wheezed.

Minho just smirked, hugging Minho Jr. to his chest. “She’ll be back,” he said confidently. “She loves our kids too much.”

You giggled, wiping at your eyes. “She’s so done with us.”

Minho turned to you, an adorable glint of mischief in his eyes. He shifted closer, draping an arm around your shoulders. “You know,” he said smoothly, playing with the hem of your sleeve. “Since Kitty isn’t here anymore…”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

His smirk deepened. “I was just thinking.” He leaned in, dropping his voice to a very suggestive whisper. “Let’s try for another baby.”

Your entire brain short-circuited. “WHAT?!”

Minho chuckled, loving the way your face immediately heated up. “Yeah,” he continued, looking completely serious. “I think Minho Jr. and his brother need a little sibling.”

You blinked. Then it hit you.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, shoving his shoulder. “You mean another plushie?!”

Minho gasped, feigning offense. “Another plushie?” He scoffed. “Excuse me, they are our kids, Y/N. Have some respect.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You scared me for a second!”

Minho only grinned, completely unfazed. “So? What do you think? Maybe a little sister this time?” He tapped his chin in mock thought. “Maybe a bunny? Or a big fluffy bear?”

You pretended to consider it, tilting your head. “Hmm… I did see a really cute panda plush at the store the other day…”

Minho’s face lit up. “Say less,” he declared, already grabbing his phone. “We are getting that panda.”

You laughed as he immediately pulled up a shopping app, looking way too serious about his mission.

“Wait, wait,” you teased, tugging at his sleeve. “Are you sure we’re ready for another kid? We just got the last two.”

Minho put a hand over his chest, dramatically serious. “Babe,” he said, completely straight-faced. “I was born to be a dad.”

You lost it, burying your face in his sweatshirt as you laughed.

And just as Minho started adding a panda plush to his cart, your phone dinged with a message from Kitty.

Kitty: I swear to god, if you two adopt another one, I’m reporting you to stuffed animal CPS.

Minho glanced over your shoulder, reading the text. He smirked and immediately typed back:

Minho: Too late. You’re gonna be an aunt again.

You laughed as Kitty sent back an immediate string of angry emojis.

Minho just grinned, kissing the side of your head. “Best parents ever.”

You were struggling.

Kitty had somehow convinced you to help her rearrange her entire room, and at this point, you were seriously questioning how she managed to talk you into this. She was currently sprawled on her bed, scrolling through her phone, while you were the one moving stuff around like a personal assistant.

“Okay, now push the bookshelf like… two inches to the left,” Kitty instructed lazily, barely glancing up.

You sighed but did as she asked, nudging the heavy bookshelf over. “How’s that?”

Kitty squinted. “Mmm… actually, maybe a little to the right—”

Before you could throw something at her, Minho, who had been sitting on her desk chair eating your snacks, suddenly stood up, clearing his throat. His face turned serious, eyes narrowing at Kitty as he dramatically put his hands on his hips.

“Excuse me,” he said, voice firm.

Kitty barely looked up. “What?”

Minho took a deep breath, shaking his head as if he was deeply disappointed. “You do realize that my girl is pregnant, right?”

You froze mid-movement. “…What?”

Kitty blinked. “…Come again?”

Minho crossed his arms. “Pregnant.” He gestured toward you. “She shouldn’t be doing all this work! She can’t be carrying heavy things or running around. You should be doing it! So get your butt up and help.”

Kitty stared at him. Then at you. Then back at him. “Minho,” she deadpanned. “Are you stupid?”

You groaned, shaking your head. “Minho, I am not pregnant.”

Minho gasped dramatically. “Babe.” He clutched his chest like you had wounded him. “How could you say that about our baby panda?”

Kitty let out the loudest, most frustrated groan. “Oh my god.”

Minho ignored her, placing a gentle hand on your stomach. “Shh, baby, don’t listen to Mommy,” he cooed, pretending to rub your nonexistent baby bump. “She’s just tired from carrying you all day.”

You shoved his hand away, dying from laughter. “Minho, it’s a stuffed animal.”

He gasped again, even louder this time. “How dare you talk about our unborn child like that?” He turned to Kitty with pure disappointment. “And you! You’re making a pregnant woman do hard labor! Shame on you!”

Kitty, looking like she was on the verge of throwing something at him, slowly sat up. “Minho.”

“Yes?”

She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at his face.

He caught it effortlessly, smirking. “Wow. Violence in front of our child? Terrible influence, Auntie Kitty.”

Kitty screamed into her hands. “I hate you.”

Minho just grinned, wrapping his arms around you. “Come on, babe. You’ve done enough. Let’s go home and rest for the baby’s sake.”

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you toward the door. “Kitty, good luck with your own room.”

Kitty threw another pillow at the both of you as you left, yelling, “I HOPE YOUR KID THROWS UP ON YOU!”

As soon as you and Minho stepped outside Kitty’s room, you burst into laughter, playfully shoving his arm. “You are so ridiculous,” you giggled, wiping away a stray tear from laughing so hard.

Minho just grinned, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close as you walked down the hallway. “Ridiculously devoted to our unborn child, you mean.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “Minho, for the last time, it’s a stuffed panda!”

He let out a dramatic sigh, looking at you like you just didn’t get it. “And? Does that make them any less of our child?”

You gave him a look. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Minho pouted, nudging you playfully. “I can’t believe you’d say that. Poor little Panda is in there, waiting to be brought home, and you’re already denying them.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re impossible.”

Minho smirked, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “And yet, you love me.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning into him. “Unfortunately.”

[starsoverbrooklyn]

just the headline, doll: "don't look at me like that" (#1/30) starring... Late-1940s!Loverboy!Husband!Bucky Barnes x f!Reader storm ahead, sweetheart: n/a. fluff(?), domestic life(??), non-canon 'cause what train/what w.s. program(???) inked just for you: 505 a word from yours truly: my first crack at tumblr after years of yearning to post something. taking the pressure off pouring my soul into a full-fledged fic, and taking it a day at a time with a personal 30-day drabble challenge. The mind is a cage when writing for some people & I'm setting mine free for the first time since 2012. hope you enjoy! ♡⋆｡°✩ -rrinnie

“C’mon, darlin’, don’t look at me like that.” The big eyes that stare back up at him glistened with unshed tears, and he could feel his heart melting like it was carved out of ice. He whistles out for you, “Sweetheart, would you take a look at this? L’il one’s perfected the look of angels.”

You gather from the kitchen, oven mitts snug over each hand, and a casserole steaming just in front of your chest. You smile when you unpack the scene in front of you: your husband upping the shelving placement of a pair of priceless military tags, while your daughter looked on like she’d been stung by a hornet. He dusts his hands off once the task is finished, scooping your daughter into his arms before turning to you like you were a sight for the sorest of eyes. “She might’ve got my eye color, but the way she wields them is all her mother.”

His hand secures its place on the curve of your back, coiling you to him like a ribbon pulled tight. 

“James,” you scold, setting the hot meal down, but the gentle amusement in your tone only sends a twinkle to his smile. You don’t look for your own sake, his effortless charm having its way of flustering you the way it had when he’d first introduced himself. In your defense, it wasn’t as if any normal man had ever dove off the Staten Island Ferry merely for the opportunity to chat you up—but he quickly wiggled his way into becoming your normal.

“Tell me again,” he requests expectantly, rounding you to grab plates from the hutch. 

You feign ignorance as if he doesn’t throw you the same line everyday, “And what could I possibly tell you, that you don’t already know?”

“How I wound up being the luckiest son of a—“ 

The raise of an eyebrow from you is enough to redirect him. He kisses your daughter’s temple, a silent acknowledgment to her innocent ears. “Biscuit, to walk this earth.”

“Haven’t the foggiest idea,” you tease, the subtle quirk of your lips sending a palpitation to the ol’ ticker. “You suppose it’s a study worthy of Howard Stark’s time?” 

He gave you a lopsided smile, the kind that said so funny I forgot to laugh, betrayed by the enamor filling his dilated pupils. He sets the last plate. “Stark’s a no-go, sweetheart. Wouldn’t want him finding out about the love serum.”

“Oh?” You laugh at the incredulous idea. “You’re saying I’m not here on behalf of my own free will? How torturous.”

When your daughter is secured in the high chair, he’s by your side like a magnet pulled to its polar opposite. His hand raises gently to cradle your jaw, his thumb brushing across your lips. God forbid his eyes ever manifest into the oceans they mirror, or you’d be drowning—but unable to breathe in the best way. “I’m sayin’ that’s the only plausible explanation as to why I’m so out of my mind about you.”