#and to know i won't ever do that? heartbreaking. why do i even try

[cheers-to-you-th]

Winner Takes it All

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader Genre: Friends to lovers, angst, humor, fluff Warnings: very suggestive (MDNI), seft-doubt, idiocy, self indulgent nerdiness Word count: 17k

Part two

Summary: It's no secret that Kim Mingyu is a whore. The question is, why won't he fuck you?!

or

Your journey of attempting to seduce your friend, Kim Mingyu

ty my pookies @supi-wupi and @gyubakeries for betaing ilysm y'all are literally the best

It's no secret that Kim Mingyu is a whore.

Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh, but if there's one thing everyone on campus knows, it's that he’s a good fuck. It's not like he has no standards, he just isn’t shy about his life, and with his looks, you wouldn’t be either. He wears the title like a badge of honor, girls practically tripping over themselves to sleep with him at every chance. So yeah, it's no secret that Kim Mingyu appreciates and indulges in one night stands, random hookups, and having an all around good time. The question is, why on earth won’t he sleep with you?

You first brought it up one night during a study session at his apartment that had turned into beer and complaining about life. He was your friend, you consider yourself to be pretty close. You figured, he’s so open about his sex life, why can’t you be? (and you were maybe a few cans too deep) He was talking about how one of the girls he’d hooked up with recently wouldn’t leave him alone even though he’d clearly told her it was a one time thing.

“God, I haven’t been fucked good in so long” You groan dramatically as he chokes on his beer. “Like, seriously, I feel like a fucking celibate. No shame on celibates, just not my thing.”

At that he snorts, “I’m sure I know plenty of people who wouldn’t mind taking you home.”

You roll your eyes, stretching your legs across his lap like you always do when you're a little tipsy and annoyed. “Yeah, but I’m not trying to settle for just anyone. I want to be fucked well, not just… you know, awkward thrusts and two minutes of missionary while some dude tries to make me come with, like, hope and vibes.”

Mingyu laughs—big and loud, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your chest feel tight for no reason you’ll admit out loud. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m serious,” you say, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’ve got this reputation, right? Campus Casanova, professional heartbreaker, dick of the year—”

“Thank you,” he says with a flourish.

“—so why haven’t I benefited from that? I have a declaration.” You raise your hand dramatically and point at him, “You are the chosen one. This is my most desperate hour. Fuck me, Kim Mingyu, you’re my only hope.”

Mingyu snorts so hard he actually wheezes, pressing a hand to his chest like your words physically knocked the wind out of him. “Did you just—did you Star Wars me into asking for sex?”

You grin, a little smug, a little unhinged, and blame the alcohol and the way he’s looking at you now—eyes wide but amused, lips parted around the beginning of a smile that doesn’t reach his usual cocky level. He’s… surprised. And not laughing at you. Just surprised.

“I’m being resourceful,” you say, lifting your beer in a mock toast. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to fuck their hot friend?”

“So you think I’m hot?” he teases, and you blame the alcohol for how you think you see something deeper in his eyes.

You snort. “Mingyu, that’s the least controversial opinion I’ve ever had.”

Mingyu throws his head back, groaning like you’ve just inflicted pain instead of flattery. “God, don’t say stuff like that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

“No, it’s not that,” he says, brushing your leg off his lap playfully and standing to grab another beer. “It’s that I like being friends with you, and hearing you say shit like that makes it dangerous.”

You blink. “Dangerous how?”

He shrugs, cracking open the can and avoiding your gaze in a way that’s suspiciously casual. “You’re cute when you’re drunk, but your drunk brain has terrible ideas. I like us the way we are.”

You narrow your eyes. “So you won’t sleep with me?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’.

“Even if I say please?” You say, looking up at him innocently.

“You look like a tarsier.” He deadpans.

You scoff. “Wow. I’m offended. Rejected and mocked?”

He leans against the kitchen counter and grins, annoyingly charming and smug. “Consider it a compliment. You're one of the few people I don't want to ruin with my ‘dick of the year’.”

You toss a pillow at him. “I’ll have you know I only asked because I was trying to solve a very real personal crisis.”

“Well, this crisis,” he says, catching the pillow and throwing it back, “will not be solved with me. I’m flattered. Really. But nah.”

You sit there for a beat, squinting at him like you’re trying to find the crack in his logic. “Is this, like, a challenge? Are you saying I’m not good enough for your stupid dick?”

He snorts. “I’m saying you’re too good. Too funny. Too smart. And my friend whom I greatly value.”

“Oh my god, stop trying to reject me nicely” you groan, flopping dramatically back onto the couch.

“I’m not trying,” he says with a wink. “It’s just my natural charm.”

You pout, staring at the ceiling, a wicked little idea already forming. “Fine. Reject me. I see how it is.” You sigh dramatically then look at him. “But don’t think this is over.”

“Oh really?” he says, amused.

You glance at him sideways, eyes sharp. “You’ll break eventually. Everyone does.”

He barks out a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just patient,” you sing, reaching for your beer.

He shakes his head, chuckling as he walks back over. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

If he thinks you’re going to drop it, he clearly doesn’t know you as well as he thought.

Because the war has begun.

Let the games begin.

You’ve never put this much thought into what hoodie to wear.

It’s not like you’re trying to look good, exactly. That would be obvious. But you’re also not trying to look bad. There’s a difference between “I woke up like this” and “I look like I’ve been dragged backward through laundry day.” It’s a delicate balance. Especially when you’re hiding very expensive, very pretty lingerie under said hoodie.

Tonight is movie night—your usual Friday plan. Mingyu had texted you earlier:

«giant (dick [allegedly])» u better not bring any weird artsy film again

«giant (dick [allegedly])» we’re watching something where things explode

«giant (dick [allegedly])» also i have snacks this time. good ones. not like your off-brand cheetos

You’d sent back a very dignified “rude” and a middle finger emoji. Now you’re standing in front of your mirror, trying to figure out if this hoodie makes you look effortlessly hot or just… like you’re trying too hard to be effortless.

“Jesus,” you mutter, adjusting the zipper just low enough to maybe give him a hint. A taste. Not enough to look desperate, but enough to make him wonder.

For the record, this isn’t about sleeping with him anymore (although it’s not off the table). It’s about principle. About honor. You’re great. You’re hot. You’re smart and funny and flexible—both emotionally and physically. You’ve done yoga three times this week just in case. He should be begging.

You show up with popcorn, a smug smile, and your hoodie unzipped just enough to showcase a tasteful amount of lace.

He opens the door with a soda in hand, already grinning. “Took you long enough—are you seriously wearing that?”

You glance down. “This is a perfectly acceptable outfit for movie night.”

Mingyu narrows his eyes at you, suspicious. “You hate that hoodie. You said it made you look like a sad librarian.”

“I’ve had a change of heart,” you say breezily, pushing past him into the apartment. He follows, still watching you like you just switched exam answers last minute. “Okay, but like… are you trying to seduce me with snack food? Because if so, it’s working.”

You toss the popcorn onto the coffee table. “Mingyu, please. If I wanted to seduce you, you’d already be in my bed.”

He chokes on his soda. “What—excuse me—how’d that work out for you last time?”

You plop onto the couch, flipping him off. He’s still staring at you as he joins you, only this time there’s a tiny crease in his brow. Like he’s thinking about it.

Excellent.

The movie starts. Some kind of loud, poorly lit action flick that you pretend to watch. Mostly, you’re watching him. He’s in his usual hoodie and sweatpants, one hand in the popcorn, the other resting on the back of the couch like he owns the place (which, I mean, he does, since it is his apartment). When he leans back and stretches out his legs, you mirror him, thigh brushing his intentionally. Five minutes later, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Comfy?” he asks, not looking at you.

“Mmm,” you hum. “Your shoulder’s surprisingly sturdy for someone with the maturity of a middle school boy.”

“That’s rich, coming from someone who once cried during Shrek 2.”

“That scene with the giant gingerbread man is emotional, okay?”

He snorts, and you feel the vibration in your cheek against his hoodie. His arm shifts a little. Not around you. But closer.

Now is the time.

You lift your head, just slightly, just enough to meet his eyes and just enough that your hoodie slides down a tiny bit, giving him the wonderful view of the pretty lace set. Not enough that you’re exposed, but not too little that he doesn’t know what it is. Perfect.

He glances down.

Pauses.

Then promptly throws a piece of popcorn at your face.

“Nice try,” he says, grinning wide.

You gasp. “Excuse me?”

“I know what you’re doing,” he says smugly. “And I’m flattered, really. But I’m not falling for the push-up bra and smolder look.”

You cross your arms. “How do you know it’s a push-up bra?”

“Because you told me last month that lace makes you itchy and underwire is the devil. You’ve only ever suffered for fashion when you’re trying to make a point.”

“…damn it.”

Mingyu laughs again, genuinely delighted, and tosses another popcorn piece at your hoodie. “Good effort, though. Strong opening move.”

You sigh, dramatically. “Fuck you. This is going to be harder than I thought.”

“Oh, much harder,” he says, winking.

There’s a beat of silence.

“Not that way, don’t even—” “I didn’t say anything!” You defend yourself. “You were thinking it!” You flop back against the couch. “This is war.” He just grins, stretching his arm casually across the couch again—so close, almost around you, but not quite. “Bring it on.”

You do not, in fact, bring it on. Not immediately.

Because for the next forty-five minutes, you're watching a bunch of buff guys with buzzcuts yell at each other over a glowing briefcase. It's not your genre. It's barely anyone’s genre, but Mingyu’s watching with the concentration of someone trying to defuse a bomb.

You glance at him.

Then at your hoodie.

Then back at him.

Okay, maybe not war. Not yet. Maybe… espionage. Quiet. Tactical. Strategic use of cleavage. You shift in your seat slightly, just enough that your leg presses into his a little more. Not obnoxiously. Just… available. You exhale slowly and lean back, stretching your arms overhead in a motion that’s meant to look natural and only slightly like a lingerie commercial.

Mingyu doesn’t react.

You risk a glance. He’s got popcorn in his mouth and a blank, blissed-out expression like he’s communing with the gods of artificial cheese dust. He doesn’t even notice your stretch. You could probably flash him outright and he’d still be thinking about Bruce Willis. You glare at him. He senses it, somehow, because without looking away from the screen, he mutters, “If you’re still trying to seduce me, your timing’s shit. This is the best part.” “This is the part where they blow up another building.” “Exactly.” You’re going to kill him.

Fine. So he’s immune to passive cleavage and casual stretching. You can work with that. You’ve got depth. Range. A highly specific collection of lingerie, and at least three more strategies.

Phase two begins approximately five minutes after his third “this is the best part” comment, when one of the action guys says something stupid enough that even he winces. You seize the moment.

“You know,” you say, “I could write better dialogue in my sleep.”

Mingyu hums. “Mmhm.”

“I’m serious. Give me a gun and a reason to be angry and I’m unstoppable.”

“You literally cried when you hit your knee on my coffee table last week.”

“I thought it broke my patella!”

“It’s not even sharp!”

“It bruised like a bitch!”

He glances at your legs. “So fragile. So elegant.” You ignore the fact that your legs are currently draped half across his lap.

“That’s my point,” you say. “I’m deceptively dangerous. Like a swan.”

He looks at you skeptically. “Pardon?”

“Swan,” you repeat. “All grace and feathers up top, but with murderous feet underneath. You ever see a swan fight? Terrifying.”

“I have literally never thought about swans that way.”

“Well, now you will. I’m a swan. I could absolutely take out a bad guy.”

“You couldn’t even take out the spider in my bathroom.” He says with a raised brow.

“That spider leapt! I wasn’t expecting aerial combat!”

Mingyu breaks, laughing so hard he nearly spills the popcorn. His head drops back on the couch and he grins at the ceiling like he’s never been more amused. You let yourself look at him for a second too long—his dimples, the way his throat moves when he swallows his laugh, the tiny crinkle at the corner of his eyes that only shows up when he’s actually, genuinely happy.

You look at him, laughing like that, and you briefly forget your entire mission. Because really, how is anyone supposed to function with that kind of face beaming at them? It should be illegal. At least mildly regulated. But then he shifts, still grinning, and pops a handful of popcorn into his mouth like he didn’t just survive a verbal swan-based assassination attempt—and you remember. This is war. And the enemy is smug.

“If you want me, you’re gonna have to compete with explosives and daddy issues.” He says with an annoying smirk.

You make a strangled noise of disbelief. “Are you seriously picking emotionally stunted action men over me?”

“Right now?” he says, finally turning to you with the kind of grin that makes you want to punch him and kiss him simultaneously. “Yeah. They’ve got car chases. You’ve got passive-aggressive lingerie.”

You clutch a couch pillow to your chest and groan into it. “You are the worst.”

“And yet,” he says smugly, “you keep coming back.”

“Because I’m determined,” you mumble into the cushion. “Because this is important. Because—”

“You want me to fuck you,” he supplies, chipper.

You scowl, crossing your arms. “God, you make it sound so crass. I was gonna say ‘make sweet, passionate love.’”

He snorts. “No, you weren’t.”

“I might’ve,” you mutter. “If you’d given me a chance.”

He finally glances at you, one eyebrow raised in that infuriatingly amused way of his. “And what part of this movie made you horny? The car explosion or the guy bleeding out in a warehouse?”

“Neither,” you say, leaning in, “You. You’re the problem.”

Mingyu doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t shift. Just stares you down with that maddening calm. “You know it’s not happening.”

You grin, wicked. “Yet.”

“Ever.”

You click your tongue. “You say that like I’m not currently wearing lingerie under this hoodie.”

He raises his eyebrow, no reaction again—just calm, smug, frustratingly unbothered Mingyu.

You narrow your eyes. “God, you’re annoying.”

“And yet here you are, trying to seduce me with popcorn and cleavage.”

“Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t escalate.”

He leans back, stretches his arm along the back of the couch—close, but not touching you. “You can escalate all you want, babe. Doesn’t mean I’m gonna break.”

You inhale. Slow. Calculating.

Then, deadpan: “Would it help if I said I’ve been told my head game is life-changing?”

Mingyu barks out a laugh. “Jesus.”

You rest your chin on your hand, watching him with faux-innocence. “I’m just saying. Could be a cultural experience.”

“I’m not a tourist,” he says, tone lazy. “And you’re not a destination.”

“Ooh, poetic,” you say. “I’ll quote that in my memoir. Right after the chapter titled How I Sucked Off My Hot Friend.”

He shakes his head, laughing now, that deep, quiet kind that makes your stomach twist. “You’re so dramatic.”

You groan, flopping sideways against the couch like a wilted plant. “How are you immune to this? Are you secretly a monk?”

“I just have restraint,” he says with a smug little smile. “Unlike some people.”

“You didn’t seem very restrained when Jiwon from your stats class was crawling into your lap at that party last week.”

He shrugs, finally glancing at you, eyes gleaming. “She’s not my friend.”

The implication hits you like a pillow to the face. “Oh my god, is this like a ‘you can’t touch this’ thing?”

Mingyu’s grin stretches wider. “Exactly. I don’t mix friendship and… that.”

You roll your eyes, but inwardly, something twists—a little sting, a little hope. “Fine. So I’m your friend. The one you don’t want to ruin.”

“Yup.”

“Is that your nice way of saying I’m off-limits?”

“Maybe,” he says, voice softening just a bit.

You stare at him, the TV noise fading into the background as your mind races. The war you thought you started suddenly feels a lot less like a game.

“You know,” you say slowly, “this friend zone is starting to look more like a fortress.”

Mingyu laughs, shaking his head. “Yeah, well… good luck storming the castle.”

You lean back, eyes locked on his, the challenge clear. “Watch me.”

“One day,” he says, hands behind his head now, “you’re gonna look back and realize all these attempts just made me stronger.”

“Oh, is that what you think this is?” you say, poking his shin. “A training montage?”

He grins. “Every hero has one.”

“Hero?” You scoff again. “I’m the hero. You’re the idiot refusing to sleep with me.”

“I’m the wise guardian mentor figure,” he says seriously. “Keeping you from making a mistake you’d regret.”

“Okay Obi-Wan,” you mutter.

He snorts. You’re not sure if you want to strangle him or crawl into his lap and see if the ‘not falling for it’ act cracks when you’re straddling him. Probably both.

Instead, you smirk. “Fine,” you say, brushing popcorn crumbs off your lap and standing with an exaggerated stretch. “I guess I’ll just have to find someone else to help me with my desperate need for intimacy.”

Mingyu doesn’t move, but his eyes follow you as you walk toward the kitchen.

“Make sure he knows how to deal with aerial spiders,” he calls lazily.

“I’ll add it to the checklist,” you shoot back.

You open the fridge. Your reflection in the glass looks like someone who could get laid tonight if only the object of their desire wasn't annoyingly principled and hot about it.

Mingyu’s voice cuts through your thoughts, still from the couch.

“Don’t think I’m letting you win.”

You smile to yourself.

“Who said I was playing fair?”

Third time’s the charm. Or, at least, that’s what you tell yourself as you lean over Kim Mingyu’s kitchen counter with your chin propped on your palm, legs crossed just so, pretending you’re not hyper-aware of how the hem of your skirt is riding up. It’s Thursday, and he’s cooking. Cooking. Like the audacity of this man, to be hot, funny, emotionally intelligent and able to make dinner from scratch with forearms flexing every time he stirs something. It’s a casual thing. He’d invited you over because you “looked like you hadn’t eaten a real meal in days” after you mentioned surviving on instant noodles and Red Bull. Apparently, that meant he’d take it upon himself to feed you. Like some kind of boyfriend.

Which he is not.

Because he still won’t fuck you (amongst other things).

So tonight, you’ve decided to bring out the big guns: flirting in domesticity. The sacred land of couples and casual touches. If movie night was a game of checkers, this is chess. Strategic. Psychological. Wearing an innocent skirt and a soft sweater because you could be the kind of girl he brings home for the night—or for life. Who’s to say?

He moves around the kitchen like he belongs there, wooden spoon in hand, hair falling into his eyes. He pushes it back absently with his wrist, and you have to resist the urge to sigh like a romcom extra watching her crush.

“You know,” you say, lightly kicking your heel against the cabinet beneath you. “You’re dangerously close to wife material right now.”

Mingyu doesn’t look up, just chuckles as he stirs the sauce. “Is that a compliment or a threat?”

“Depends. You planning on making dessert too?”

He does look up then—eyes gleaming with amusement, the curve of his mouth smug. “What, you trying to lock me down with a ring already?”

You hum, twisting a strand of hair around your finger. “I’m just saying, most guys don’t cook for their friends. At least not the ones who claim they’re ‘dangerous’ to sleep with.”

Mingyu rolls his eyes. “Are we back on this again?”

“We never left,” you say sweetly, hopping off the counter and sauntering over to where he’s plating pasta like some Food Network god. You lean against the island, arms folded, watching him with interest. “So what’s the deal? You’re clearly into me.”

“Am I?”

“Don’t play dumb. You keep inviting me over. You call me cute. You literally offered to drive me across town last week just so I wouldn’t have to take the bus.”

“I’m a good friend,” he says, placing the plates on the counter with an infuriating smile. “Ever think of that?”

“Nope. I don’t buy it.” You take a step closer, close enough to brush his arm with yours. “You’re too good a friend. Suspiciously good. Like you’re overcompensating for wanting to see me naked.”

He huffs a laugh, but you see the way his ears go pink. Just a little. Just enough.

You lean in slightly, lowering your voice like you’re telling a secret. “You ever think maybe we’d be better unclothed friends?”

“Bold of you to say while I’m feeding you,” he mutters, half amused, half exasperated.

You grin. “It’s not like I’m asking you to marry me. Just… expand our friendship. Horizontally.”

He snorts, nearly drops a fork. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

There’s a beat. You both go still. He turns to face you fully now, arms crossed, leaning back against the counter. He studies you for a moment—really studies you. It’s the kind of look that might’ve made you flinch a month ago, but now? Now it just makes your blood buzz.

Then he says, very calmly, “I’m not sleeping with you.”

You blink. “Still?”

“Still.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like you.”

“That’s why people usually fuck.”

“Correction: that’s why other people fuck. I like us. I like this. I don’t want this to change.”

You tilt your head, stepping even closer so your bodies nearly touch. “Come on, just one time!”

He breathes out a soft laugh, and god, he looks tired. Like fighting this off is actual work.

Then he raises a hand and gently flicks your forehead.

You reel back. “Ow! What the hell?”

“Bad,” he says, like you’re a misbehaving cat. “No seducing me while I’m cooking.”

You gape at him, one hand still protectively covering your forehead. “You flicked me?”

“It was a gentle rebuke.”

“You flicked me!”

He walks past you, grabbing utensils and dramatically setting the table like you haven’t just offered him your entire body on a very emotional platter.

“You’re lucky this food is good,” you grumble, slinking over to your chair.

“You’re lucky I haven’t banned you from my kitchen.”

“Oh, you’d miss me too much.”

He smiles and doesn’t argue.

And when you sit down across from him, he places a full glass of wine in front of you with a wink.

“Eat up,” he says. “Gotta keep you strong for all that plotting.”

You take a sip, narrowing your eyes. “You’re going down, Kim Mingyu.”

He toasts his own glass. “Bring it.”

Fourth time’s not just the charm—it’s the full fucking spellbook. You're done playing fair. Sweet? Gone. Subtle? Never heard of her. Strategic? Please. It’s time for full-on seduction sorcery (as if you’d been any of those things before). Tonight, you're bringing the heat.

And you know exactly how to do it: co-op gaming night.

The plan is simple. Mingyu invited you over to try some co-op zombie survival game he swears by, the kind that involves “teamwork and trust,” which you immediately translated as “an excuse to flirt while fake-dying in his lap.” He doesn’t know it yet, but this is your boss level. The moment you either break him… or break yourself trying.

You show up with takeout, lip gloss, and your tiniest pair of shorts, the kind that should be illegal by public decency standards. You pair it with a t-shirt that says “Save a Horse, Ride a Homie” and pretend like you totally forgot how it looked when you got dressed.

He stares at you. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Then snorts, voice a little rough, “That shirt is… something.”

You grin, pushing past him. “It’s educational.”

Mingyu groans behind you. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“That’s the goal, sweetheart.”

You settle in on the couch, already syncing up controllers. He hands you yours with a suspicious glance.

“You’re unusually quiet,” he says, eyes narrowing. “That means you’re up to something.”

“Wrong,” you say, batting your lashes. “I’m just here to kill zombies and look cute.”

“You’re doing great at one of those.”

You smirk. “Wait ‘til you see my aim.”

The game starts. It’s fast-paced, messy, full of chaotic yelling and pixelated blood. You scream when a zombie jumps out, grabbing his arm without thinking—and then don’t let go. He’s warm. Solid. Way too close to not be touched.

“Jesus,” he mutters, glancing down at where you’re gripping his bicep. “You okay there?”

“I need moral support,” you say, innocently. “This game is stressful. I’m fragile.”

“You’re the least fragile person I’ve ever met.”

“You say the sweetest things.”

You squeeze his arm a little harder and he doesn't shake you off. In fact, he seems very… still. Eyes on the screen. Jaw tight. Perfect.

You lean your head against his shoulder. “You smell really nice,” you murmur.

Mingyu coughs. “I—what?”

“You smell like laundry and testosterone. It’s comforting.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t answer, but his shoulder shifts beneath your cheek—tense, like you’re a particularly tricky level of self-control he’s struggling to beat. The match ends. You survive. Barely. You celebrate by dramatically flopping across his lap, legs hanging off the couch, head tilted back against his thigh.

“I need a reward,” you say, eyes fluttering closed.

“For what? Dying twice and screaming every time something moved?”

“For being adorable under pressure.”

“You’re insufferable.”

You crack one eye open. “And yet you haven’t moved me.”

“I don’t want to throw out my back.”

You roll over just enough to look up at him from his lap, your cheek pressed against his thigh, hair fanned out over his legs. “Do I make you nervous, Mingyu?”

He meets your gaze. Doesn’t flinch. Just raises a single, challenging brow.

“No,” he says. “You make me tired.”

You laugh, breathless and fond. “Liar.”

He sighs, not quite annoyed. More like… resigned. His hand hovers, then lands lightly on your head—just a little pat, soft and careful. You close your eyes, heart thudding a little too loud.

“Still not fucking you,” he says after a beat, fingers curling once in your hair before pulling away.

You groan, rolling dramatically off his lap. “You’re really gonna make me work for this, huh?”

He shrugs, smug as hell. “I’m just helping build your character.”

You sit up, shoving a controller into his hands. “Boring. But if I win the next round, you owe me a kiss.”

Mingyu barks a laugh. “A kiss? What happened to subtlety?”

“It died,” you say cheerfully, “like my character did last round.”

He stares at you. And then—God help you—he nods.

“Fine,” he says. “One kiss. If you win.”

You freeze. “Wait, really?”

“Don’t look so surprised.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re letting me think I have a chance.”

“No,” he says, already choosing his loadout, “I’m just confident you’ll choke.”

Your heart stumbles. Your fingers tighten on the controller. “Jokes on you, I have very good control over my gag reflex.” You say with a smirk, prompting an eye roll.

He doesn’t get it yet.

He’s already lost.

Because even if you lose the game—you’re still getting that kiss.

One way or another.

Let the real final boss fight begin.

You lose.

Of course you do.

You die seven times, run directly into a trap once, and at one point, accidentally shoot Mingyu in the back with your pixelated shotgun.

“I told you to watch your six,” he says, tossing his controller onto the table with a grin that is far too pleased with itself.

“I don’t even know what that means!” you cry, slumping sideways on the couch in defeat. “Do I have a six?”

Mingyu stretches, flexing his arms like a smug asshole who just conquered a small country. “It means behind you, rookie.”

“I hate military slang. And you. Mostly you.”

“You love me,” he says, nudging your knee with his own. “Even if I’m a sore winner.”

You scowl. “You're the smuggest winner. Obnoxious. The worst.”

“You’re stalling,” he says, leaning back against the cushions. “You lost. You know what that means.”

“Yeah, yeah, no kiss for me.” You say with a pout, throwing a pillow at him.

“Better luck next time,” he says with a wink, catching the pillow and chucking it right back.

It hits you in the stomach, and you collapse in defeat again. “I don’t know how someone so hot can also be so emotionally bankrupt.”

He laughs—loud and free and unfairly handsome. “Don’t act like I haven’t given you things.”

You give him a look. “Name one.”

“Entertainment. Dinner. Valuable zombie combat skills. My lap.”

“That last one was mine.”

“You invaded, actually. Like a feral cat.”

You stick your tongue out at him as he stretches out across the couch, laughing.

You let him win this time because you know in the end, you’ll end up on top (or under, really).

Seungcheol, like always, is hosting a party in honor of who-knows-what doing something or another. You don’t care, all you care about is that this means proximity. Opportunity. A chance to look like you belong in someone else’s fantasy. Preferably Mingyu’s. You stand in the middle of your room, surrounded by the wreckage of indecision: clothing draped over every surface, shoes like fallen soldiers at your feet. Your bed is a graveyard of rejects—too casual, too clingy, too try-hard. You’ve already put on three different outfits and hated them all in the time it took to blink, making your room smell faintly of perfume and self-doubt.

You finally find a dress, hot but not desperate, showing just enough skin to tease but not too much. You twist, checking every angle. It works. It works so well you almost feel sorry for him. You sit at your vanity to do your makeup, something soft around the eyes, shimmer at the inner corners, lip gloss just on the verge of sticky. You want to look glowy. So touchable yet untouchable. Expensive.

Your earrings are simple but deliberate, the kind that draws just enough attention when you tuck your hair behind your ear. And you will. At least twice. Especially if he’s looking. Your perfume is the last step. It’s warm—vanilla and skin and something that lingers. You spritz your wrists, the back of your knees. You’ve read that trick somewhere and it’s never failed you.

You glance at your phone. You’re late.

Of course, that’s part of the plan.

You take one last look in the mirror. You look like someone who doesn’t get ignored. You look like someone who knows exactly what kind of power she’s playing with. You smooth your dress, grab your bag, and smile.

“Let’s see how long he lasts.”

The party is already loud when you get there. Not in the chaotic, packed-club way. It’s a loft space that smells like prosecco and floor polish, all open brick and fairy lights strung across beams. The music is low enough to talk over, the people pretty enough to pretend they don’t notice how much they’re being watched.

You arrive just late enough to make an entrance. It’s deliberate, the way you step in. The way you give yourself a second to adjust your dress, smooth your hair, tilt your chin like you’ve just been complimented. Someone—probably Soonyoung, the agent of all poor decisions—suggests drinking games which have already snowballed into over ten people crammed into a too-small living room playing a game that’s half charades, half yelling, and all drinking.

You’re winning. Not the game—just in general.

Because you’ve got Mingyu sandwiched between you and the arm of the couch, his thigh warm against yours, a drink in your hand, and an entire audience to witness the masterpiece that is your ongoing campaign to ruin him.

You lean over, breath brushing his ear. “If you make me guess ‘Shrek’ one more time, I swear I’ll crawl into your lap.”

He doesn’t flinch. Just sips his beer. “You say that like it’s a threat.”

“It is,” you whisper. “I’ve been told I run hot.”

“I’ve been told you run your mouth.”

You grin. “Still not a no.”

“Still not a yes.”

From across the room, Seungkwan yells, “Your team is losing. Stop trying to molest Mingyu.”

You wave him off. “I’m multitasking.”

Mingyu takes another sip, casual. “You’re losing both tasks.”

You gasp. “Oh, wow. Now you’re trash-talking?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“You wound me.” You clutch your chest dramatically, sliding a little closer until your legs are nearly tangled with his. “I’m just a girl. Sitting next to a boy. Asking him to blow my back out.”

He tilts his head lazily, looking entirely unbothered. “And I’m just a boy. Sitting next to a walking HR violation.”

You burst out laughing. “That’s rich coming from a man whose thighs are currently weaponized.”

He doesn’t dignify that with a response, just shifts slightly away, like he’s drawing some imaginary line you’ll absolutely ignore. A new round starts. Someone yells, someone else starts gesturing wildly. You lean into Mingyu again, voice low and mischievous.

“Hey,” you say. “If I guessed your safe word, would you tell me?”

“No,” he says immediately.

“Is it something embarrassing?” you tease. “Like… ‘Bubbles?’ ‘Chick-fil-A?’”

He looks at you. “It’s ‘Stop flirting with me in front of our friends.’”

You place a hand on his knee, entirely unrepentant. “That’s a terrible safe word. No one would ever say that in a sexy context, and it's way too long.”

“I’m saying it now.”

“And I’m ignoring it,” you say brightly.

“You always do.”

“Don’t act like you don’t like the attention.”

He doesn’t answer. Just looks at you, slow and deliberate, and sips his beer like it’s a middle finger. You wink. He rolls his eyes. Somewhere across the room, someone starts fake-gagging at the tension.

And maybe you’re not winning the game. And maybe you’re not getting laid. But you are exactly where you want to be. Still in the game. Still in the chase. Still driving Mingyu absolutely insane—one flirt at a time.

You're halfway through another drink when you notice her.

She’s pretty. Not intimidatingly so, just that easy kind of pretty that laughs with her whole face and touches Mingyu’s arm a little too often. And he doesn’t move it. Doesn’t lean away. You keep sipping, smile still in place.

It’s not like you’re jealous. You don’t do jealous. That would imply something serious. That would imply you’re losing something you ever had. It’s common knowledge that Mingyu takes a new girl home every time there's a get-together. You know that.

You lean over to Jeonghan, who’s beside you on the floor. “Hey,” you whisper. “Think I should start licking Mingyu’s neck or would that be overkill?”

He blinks at you. “Overkill for what?”

“Winning.”

He glances at Mingyu, then at the girl with the hand on Mingyu’s knee. Then at you again. “You’re losing.”

“Temporarily.”

Jeonghan snorts. “I don’t think you understand how the game works.”

You shoot him a glare and turn back just in time to catch Mingyu laughing at something she said. His hand brushes hers. Casual. Effortless. The kind of thing you’ve been trying to get out of him for weeks just handed to some girl in a backless top.

God, you hate it here.

Your stomach does something stupid. You pretend it’s indigestion and down the rest of your drink like it’s armor.

Somewhere around 1 a.m., the group starts thinning. Jackets come on, Ubers get called. Mingyu stands, casual, easy, and holds out a hand to the girl. You’re on the couch, legs curled up, an empty solo cup in hand like a sad little trophy. He meets your eyes for half a second.

Door clicks shut.

The room feels a little quieter. You sit there, watching the screen even though no one’s playing anymore. Popcorn underfoot. Bottles on the table. Someone else’s jacket on your lap. You’re not upset. Not really. The screensaver flickers across the TV—someone’s dog, maybe. Or a stock image of a beach. Either way, it’s mocking you.

You sink further into the couch, solo cup still dangling from your fingers like it's got something to say about your life choices. You ignore it. You ignore the silence too.

This is fine.

You’re fine.

You weren’t trying to win anything. Not really. Not in any real, capital-letter way. This was a game, remember? All jokes and eye contact and the occasional threat to climb into his lap. It wasn’t supposed to matter. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

Someone turns off the lights in the kitchen. You flinch a little at the sudden dark, even though you’re still glowing, apparently—your phone lighting up on the table with some meme from Seungkwan and a text from Jeonghan that just says:

«Devil on my shoulder»: you good?

You stare at it for a second too long. Then type back:

«Me»: always

Then you set your phone face-down and pretend that means something.

You don’t know why it stings. It’s not like he owes you anything. You’re not dating. You’re not even flirting, technically, if you ask him. Just… joking. Just friends. Friends who touch too much, maybe. Friends who play chicken with boundaries and never break. Friends who—

Yeah, okay.

You stand up. A little too fast. The room tilts like it wants to challenge you. You wave goodbye to whoever’s still left, say something flippant and breezy, and duck out before anyone can notice that your voice sounds a little too bright.

Outside, the air is cool and sharp and real. You take a breath like it’ll fix you. It doesn’t.

You go home and go to sleep. Alone, like always. No texts. No calls. Just the creak of your door, the whisper of your sheets, and the dull ache of your pride bruising in real time. You tell yourself it’s whatever. You’re not sad. You’re just… tired. Emotionally. Dramatically. Cosmetically.

You ditch class.

Not for any noble reason like catching up on sleep or mental health or whatever excuse you normally feed yourself. You just… don’t feel like seeing people. Don’t feel like making small talk or pretending you’re not reeling over something that shouldn't even count as a loss. Because it’s not a loss. You were never in the running.

Still, you wake up to a blank phone screen and an even blanker apartment. It’s too quiet. You check Instagram. Mingyu's not posted anything, obviously. He never does. But one of the other girls from last night has—there’s a blurry video of a round of drinks, a flash of Mingyu’s grin in the background, a corner of her thigh in the foreground. Nothing explicit. Nothing confirmable. But it doesn’t have to be.

You toss your phone aside and groan into your pillow. Dramatic? Maybe. Deserved? You pretend it is.

By noon, you’ve migrated to the couch in the same hoodie you went to bed in, a tub of ice cream in your lap and a terrible reality show playing in the background. You consider texting Jeonghan something petty, maybe even making a joke about neck-licking again, but you know exactly what he’d say.

“You lost.”

You hate that he’d be right.

It’s not about the sex (Well, not just the sex). It’s the principle. The chase. The fact that you’ve been climbing this flirty little hill like it’s Everest, only to watch Mingyu pitch a damn tent with someone else on a whim. Sure, Mingyu’s your friend, but that should have made it easier, if anything! You know him, you know things none of those other girls do. The doubts start creeping in your mind before you can stop them.

You lean your head back, eyes closing.

“I’m an idiot,” you mutter to the ceiling.

The ceiling does not respond. Rude.

You wake up again around noon, your head a little foggy, your phone face-down on the nightstand like it betrayed you.

Which, in a way, it did.

You scroll through a few texts — mostly memes, some blurry pictures from last night, and Jeonghan’s very helpful “Mingyu’s girl looked like a yoga instructor. Your move.”

You don’t respond.

Instead, you drag yourself out of bed, slap some concealer under your eyes, and show up at the group’s usual late brunch spot like you’re not currently losing the dumbest, pettiest war in history.

He’s already there, of course. Hair still damp from a shower, sunglasses perched on his head, acting like he didn’t absolutely obliterate your ego less than 12 hours ago. You slide into the seat across from him, toss your bag down, and reach for the mimosa pitcher.

“Rough night?” he asks, because of course he does.

You raise your eyebrows. “Oh, did something happen? I wouldn’t know. I was too busy not getting laid.”

He snorts. “Tragic.”

“I know,” you sigh, pouring dramatically. “I almost had a sure thing. Tall guy, stupidly good-looking, terrible taste in women.”

“Sounds like a loser.”

“Total menace,” you agree. “Wears hoodies like a slut.”

Mingyu smirks, leaning back in his seat. “You say that like it’s an insult.”

“It was meant to be foreplay,” you joke into your drink like always, hiding the way your stomach sinks at the sight of him.

The waitress interrupts before he can fire back, and the conversation shifts to food, hangovers, and Seungkwan’s latest dating horror story. You slide back into the group like nothing’s wrong, even though there’s a weird little space inside you that feels vaguely bruised.

But you’re fine. Really.

Brunch drags on in that lazy, post-night-out kind of way — plates half-empty, drinks refilled without question, everyone talking over each other about things no one will remember tomorrow. You fake-laugh at Hoshi’s story about getting kicked out of a club for “enthusiastic dancing” and sip your third mimosa like it’s a coping mechanism. It kind of is.

Mingyu’s across from you still, legs sprawled like he owns the whole sidewalk café. He’s mostly quiet, nodding along, occasionally chiming in, occasionally looking at you. Just enough to make you insane. Not enough to call him out for it.

You lean toward Jeonghan when the conversation shifts again. “Hey,” you whisper, low and conspiratorial. “Be honest. On a scale of one to ten, how good do you think my odds are if I fake faint in Mingyu’s lap?”

He doesn’t even blink. “Like, in general? Or while he’s still got yoga girl’s perfume on his hoodie?”

You pause. Grimace. “Okay, one: rude. Two: you’re enjoying this too much.”

“I really am,” he says, sipping his iced coffee like it’s tea. “You’re fun when you’re losing.”

“I’m not losing,” you hiss.

“You’re not winning.”

You open your mouth to retort, but Mingyu’s voice cuts across the table.

“You two whispering about me again?”

“Always,” you say brightly, switching gears without missing a beat. “We’re discussing how you peaked in 2019.”

He smiles around the rim of his glass. “That the year you first tried to get in my pants?”

“No,” you say with a shrug. “That was more recent. I didn’t know what I was missing back then.”

“Still don’t,” he replies, maddeningly calm.

You narrow your eyes. “Yet.”

“Ever.”

You flash a grin, syrup-sweet. “Careful, Kim. I’m like a raccoon in the walls. You ignore me long enough and I start chewing through the wiring.”

“Jesus,” he mutters, but he’s smiling. A little. Just at the corner of his mouth.

You hold his gaze for a second longer than necessary, then look away like it meant nothing. Like you’re not keeping score. Like you didn’t notice the bruise-colored shadow under his eyes or how his voice was a little hoarse when he first said hi.

He’s not gloating.

That should make it easier. But it doesn’t. Because somehow, that makes it worse.

Somehow, him being normal, relaxed, unbothered — like taking another girl home wasn’t a big deal — hurts more than if he’d rubbed it in your face. Because you know it shouldn’t be a big deal.

You take another sip, push a smile onto your lips, and lean over to Jeonghan again.

“New plan,” you whisper. “I sleep with someone hotter.”

He glances at Mingyu. Then at you. “You’re gonna need a bracket system.”

“I’ll make a spreadsheet.”

“God help us all.”

You clink your glass against his in solemn agreement and stab at your pancake like it personally offended you. Jeonghan’s scrolling on his phone like he’s not in the presence of your emotional collapse, which is rude, frankly.

“So,” you say casually, “wanna fuck?”

Jeonghan doesn’t even blink. “No.”

You pout. “Why not?”

He glances up. “Because I enjoy my life? And my sanity?”

“Rude.”

“I’ve seen what you’ve done to Mingyu.”

You scoff. “Mingyu did that to himself.”

“You are the one trying to seduce him like it’s your full-time job.”

“I’m freelance,” you say brightly. “Flexible hours, great benefits. Or they would be, if someone would just let me ride—”

“God,” Jeonghan mutters, holding up a hand. “Don’t finish that sentence in daylight.”

You lean your chin on your hand, smiling at him. “You sure? We could make Mingyu jealous. Really commit to the bit. Tongue in my mouth, hand on my ass, your name in my—”

“Please.” He waves his fork like a white flag. “There are families within a one-mile radius.”

You laugh, but there’s a tiny part of you—just under the humor, under the tequila still fizzing in your veins from the drink—that means it. Just a little.

You just want to feel wanted. Desired. Chosen.

Even if it’s fake.

Even if it’s stupid.

Even if it’s Jeonghan.

But Jeonghan sees it, of course. He always sees too much. His voice softens. “You don’t actually want me.”

You sigh, deflating. “I don’t know. Maybe I just want someone to look at me like I’m not a joke.”

“You’re not a joke.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You literally said I ruined Mingyu.”

“I said you ruined his brain, which—honestly, fair. But you’re not a joke.”

You don’t answer. You just go back to stabbing your pancake, chewing on silence and syrup and the feeling of almost being enough.

Almost.

You clear your throat, sit up a little straighter, and flash Jeonghan a grin like nothing’s wrong at all.

“Well,” you say lightly, “if you’re not going to help me fulfill my slutty revenge arc, I guess I’ll have to outsource.”

Jeonghan eyes you. “You’re deflecting.”

You widen your smile. “I’m recruiting.”

He snorts. “Don’t recruit me. I’m unionized.”

You laugh, tossing a piece of fruit at his face. He dodges it easily, still watching you with that quiet scrutiny that always makes you want to squirm. You don’t. You stay collected. Cool. Unbothered.

Because it’s not a big deal. Not really. So what if Mingyu left with some girl last night? That’s just who he is. It’s been who he is since before you started this ridiculous game. You were the one who walked in knowing the rules. You just… hoped you’d break them.

Stupid.

“Anyway,” you say, breezy, like you're not holding your smile together with metaphorical duct tape, “I’ve decided to turn over a new leaf.”

“You’re spiraling.”

“I’m improvising.”

“You’re losing.”

You sigh, dragging your gaze back to Mingyu—still relaxed, still maddening, still wearing that same damn hoodie. “God, he’s so annoying.”

“Sure,” Jeonghan says, “but you’re in love with the attention.”

You snort into your drink. “I am not in love.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“I’m not!” you insist. “I’m in… open conflict. With my dignity.”

Jeonghan chuckles, tipping his sunglasses down to look you in the eye. “Then maybe start treating it like a war. Regroup. Change tactics.”

You glance at Mingyu again. He’s listening to something Seungkwan is saying, a lazy smile on his face, like the last twenty-four hours were nothing. Like none of it meant anything. You hate how much you still want to reach out, to rewind to the couch, to the teasing, to the slow thrill of being almost something. Of feeling like you mattered more than the rest.

“Fine,” you murmur, straightening up. “New strategy.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “Which is?”

You smile, all teeth and intent. “Play the long game.”

He snorts. “Is that code for ‘text a situationship to make Mingyu jealous?’”

“No,” you say, pulling your phone out anyway. “It’s code for ‘remind myself I’m the main character.’”

Jeonghan lifts his mimosa in salute. “Amen.”

You all head out, someone, Seungkwan probably, suggesting thrifting, and who are you to deny yourself from some retail therapy. Not that you need it. Not that it hurts when you’re rejected over and over. Not that anyone was thinking that at all. Haha.

“If I find an outfit sexy enough will you change your mind?” You say, clinging to Mingyu’s arm and batting your eyelashes, prompting an eye roll from the man.

“I rejected you in lingerie, no.” He laughs, making Jeonghan choke.

“PARDON?!”

You shrug, “It was a strategic move at the time.” You lie, not letting it bother you.

You all walk into the thrift store and you immediately take off, dragging Jeonghan with you to be the reason for your poor spending decisions. You browse the racks, grabbing different things to try on. It goes by quickly, you (not-so) subtly avoid Mingyu, using the clothes as an excuse. You need to focus on budgeting. Obviously.

You’re browsing through the dresses when you feel him behind you. You don’t look, don’t need to. You know that presence, tall and annoyingly warm. You pretend to be invested in a vaguely sparkly green slip dress, holding it up to the light like you're testing it for authenticity. As if that matters.

“Whatcha looking at?” Mingyu asks, voice low and closer than you’d like.

You hum noncommittally, turning just enough to side-eye him. “Does this say ‘fuck me’ or ‘fuck off?” You wonder out loud.

His mouth quirks, amused, “Neither, it says you’re trying to get to me again. I’m not sleeping with you, dress or not.”

You roll your eyes, “Cool, not what I asked.”

He snorts, the way always does when you're trying to act unbothered. “You literally asked, like, ten minutes ago.”

“That was a bit, Kim,” you say, flipping through a few more hangers. “An act. I’m a performer, get with the program.”

He laughs again, and it makes your chest feel tight. You want to be mad, want to have the right to feel mad. Instead you hold up a red mesh dress and make a show of holding it against yourself.

“This one says heartbreaker, doesn’t it?”

Mingyu lifts an eyebrow. “It says cover charge required.”

Jeonghan snorts from somewhere behind a rack. “He’s not wrong.”

You sigh dramatically, turning to Jeonghan with a pout. “You’re supposed to be on my side.”

“I am,” Jeonghan says, already holding three things you didn’t ask him to, “but I also support truth in fashion.”

You roll your eyes and stomp toward the dressing rooms, tossing the dress over your arm. Inside the dressing room, it’s just you and the mirror — which is never as forgiving as it should be. You pull the red mesh dress over your head and immediately regret it. It clings, not in a flattering way, not in a sexy, dangerous way — no, it clings like a bad idea. A transparent, slightly itchy bad idea.

You stare at yourself for a beat too long, imagining what Mingyu would say if he saw you like this. Probably something smug. Probably something that would make you want to claw the smirk right off his face.

But the worst part? He wouldn’t say nothing.

You sigh, tugging the dress back off with a grumble and trying on the next thing — a black velvet number with off-the-shoulder sleeves. Better. Safer. Something you might actually wear if your life wasn’t a constant performance. If it weren’t for all the stupid looks you steal, the dumb comments you toss like confetti just to see if he’ll catch one and throw it back. You shake the thoughts away, it's just shopping, why are you thinking so hard?

Outside, you can hear the others chatting, footsteps, laughter. You can feel Mingyu still somewhere nearby. Of course he didn’t leave.

You try on one last outfit, something ridiculous and shiny and absolutely not within budget, and you know Jeonghan’s going to encourage it anyway. You exit the stall dramatically, hand on your hip.

“Well?” you say, spinning once. “Do I look heartbreakingly unattainable or tragically desperate?”

“Why choose?” Seungkwan offers, sipping an iced americano he absolutely didn’t have five minutes ago.

“Iconic,” Jeonghan nods approvingly. “That outfit is the personality now. You’re welcome.”

Mingyu glances up from his phone. His gaze lingers a second too long — you catch it, of course you do — and then he says, “You’re gonna make someone very confused in that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Not you, though?”

“Nope,” he says easily, looking back at his screen. “I’ve already accepted my fate.”

“What fate is that?” you ask, stepping closer, tone teasing.

He doesn’t look up. “Doomed to be hit on in public by someone who refuses to take a hint.”

Jeonghan whistles. “Harsh.”

You just smile, tilting your head. “And yet, here you are. Still following me around thrift stores like a sad golden retriever.”

Mingyu finally meets your eyes, and there’s something unreadable in his expression. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, but it’s softer than it should be.

You wish it stung more. Maybe then you could stop hoping he’d change his mind.

You step back into the dressing room, looking at the last dress for you to try on. Not something you’d normally wear: a cute sundress, flowy, innocent, something you’d have dreamed of wearing when you were a child. You slip it on, looking in the mirror with a soft smile. It's moments like these that you let yourself breath a second, let that little kid be happy. Back when things had been simpler, at least in your little world. You don’t step out yet, letting yourself enjoy the moment before changing back into your regular clothes.

You finally walk back out, dress under the others on your arm as you hang them back up. You hesitate as you hang the sundress and decide, fuck it.

“Alright, let's check out.” You say brightly.

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow as he watches you march toward the front. “Wait, you’re buying something cute? Are you okay? Blink twice if Mingyu broke you emotionally.”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder. “He wishes he had that kind of power, shut the fuck up.”

Seungkwan hums thoughtfully, trailing behind you with the solemnity of a fashion consultant in a Paris showroom. “No, no, this is giving… character development. Like a girlboss in her soft era. A post-Mingyu arc.”

“I’m not in a Mingyu arc,” you mutter as you reach the checkout counter.

“Sure you aren’t,” Seungkwan and Jeonghan say at the same time, which feels both rude and accurate.

You ignore them, placing the sundress gently on the counter like it’s fragile. The cashier gives you a polite smile, ringing it up with a soft beep. You hand over your card, pretending not to notice how Mingyu is suddenly next to you again, close enough that you can smell the damn detergent he uses. Clean. Familiar.

“You’re buying that?” he asks, not mocking, just wondering.

You shrug without looking at him. “Yup.”

He glances at the dress, then at you. “It’s… different.”

“I guess,” you say, too quickly. “It's pretty though, thought I might branch out from slutty college student to country whore.”

Mingyu’s chuckles. You don’t look, don’t dare to. Just sign your name on the little screen and slide your card back into your wallet like this is any other day and not a minor shift in your emotional tectonic plates.

“You’ll look good in it,” he says honestly, the same compliments he always gives.

But something about it feels different, deeper, almost. You turn then, just enough to meet his gaze. There’s something in his eyes you can’t place. It’s not the usual teasing glint, not that sharp-edged challenge he usually throws at you like a dare, nor the friendly compliments and support he gives just as often.

It’s something softer. Careful, almost.

You swallow. “Thanks.”

He nods once, then looks away like he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Like it slipped. You want to say something else — anything, really — but Seungkwan saves you both the trouble by clapping his hands like a preschool teacher at snack time.

“Alright, emotional tension break’s over, everyone back in the car before I dissolve into my own feelings.”

“I’m not riding with her,” Mingyu says, jerking a thumb in your direction. “She’s dangerous when she’s self-actualizing.”

You grin at him and tease. “Scared you might give in?”

He just shakes his head, smiling to himself as he walks out, “You wish.”

Jeonghan loops an arm through yours as you step outside, his sunglasses back on like he’s shielding himself from your emotional UV rays. “You gonna explain the new style?” he says, voice amused but not unkind. You shake your head and his voice softens slightly. “You gonna be okay?”

You shrug, leaning into him a little. “Eventually.”

“Soon?”

You grin. “Long game, remember?”

He sighs, dragging you toward the car. “God, I miss when you were just drunk and emotionally irresponsible. This whole personal growth thing is exhausting.”

You laugh, letting him pull you along. Mingyu’s already in the passenger seat, legs sprawled like always, phone in hand. He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t need to.

You still feel the pull anyway. But you’ve got your new dress in a bag, your chin a little higher than before and a half-smile tucked into your cheek like a secret. Maybe he’ll notice eventually. Maybe he won’t. But this time, you’re not dressing up for him. You’re dressing up for the version of yourself that knew she deserved the world. Even if she still kind of wants him anyway.

And maybe that’s the point. Maybe, just for a little, it’s not about whether Mingyu looks at you and finally, finally sees what he’s been too comfortable to name. Maybe it’s about choosing to see yourself instead—clearly, kindly, without a punchline waiting in the wings.

The ride back is half-loud, half-sleepy, Seungkwan yelling about bad aux and Jeonghan threatening to start a podcast just to cancel him publicly. You laugh when you’re supposed to, play your part like you always do. But this time, it feels less like acting and more like remembering. Like brushing off old habits and trying something different. Like letting your heart catch its breath for a moment.

You catch Mingyu watching you once in the rearview mirror—just a flicker, a second too long before he looks away. You don’t react. You don’t rise to it. And when he cracks a joke meant to bait you, you smile, slow and warm, and say nothing at all.

Let him wonder.

Because for just a moment you’re pausing the chase and enjoying the moment with friends. Because you’ve got something better now—something quieter, steadier.

A little hope. A little growth.

A little dress in a bag that says: You’re allowed to change.

And maybe, just maybe, this time it’s not about ruining him.

Maybe it’s about saving yourself.

Just for a moment.

And then you snap out of it, going back to smart remarks and flirty comments, because change is hard, habits difficult to break. But you know that it’s possible. And for now, that’s enough.

Four days later, you arrive at Mingyu’s door wearing sweatpants and no bra.

Not in a sexy way. In an “I’ve had enough of your righteous self-control and I’m playing the long game now” way. Strategic vulnerability. The sexiest mind game of all. More than that, you need to rant to your best friend.

You knock with your elbow, a bag of takeout in one hand and a pint of ice cream balanced on top.

He opens the door and freezes.

“Wow,” he says, blinking. “You okay?”

“No,” you say, breezing past him. “I’m emotionally fragile and I need dumplings.”

Mingyu closes the door behind you. “You look emotionally fragile. Did someone die? Do I need to bury a body?”

You flop dramatically onto the couch, stretching like a cat who’s absolutely not here for seduction purposes. “Only my faith in modern romance.”

He snorts. “Was it the TikTok guy who said he wouldn’t date a girl who owns more than one pillow?”

You glare at him. “No. But honestly? Same energy.”

He joins you on the couch, reaching for the takeout bag. “Tell me everything.”

And you do. In great detail. About the guy in your seminar who asked if your “whole personality is just being a woman,” about your professor who made a joke about menopause while grading your essay, and about your period arriving early like an emotionally manipulative ex.

Through it all, Mingyu listens. Really listens. His thigh brushes yours occasionally, and you absolutely don’t notice the way he keeps glancing at your collarbone, which is scandalously bare thanks to your hoodie’s slouchy neckline.

He feeds you dumplings, presses the ice cream into your hands when you need it, and tells you he once cried at a car commercial, just to make you laugh.

And somewhere in the middle of watching reruns of Criminal Minds and trading increasingly unhinged opinions about Spencer Reid’s emotional maturity, you realize just how fucked you may be. Because Mingyu is your best friend. He’s your kind, funny, smart, unfairly sexy best friend. How are you supposed to stop yourself from falling for him?

Jeonghan was right, you realize. You're way deeper than you thought, so deep that you don’t think you can ever swim back to the surface of friendship. Shit. You continue watching, ignoring the feelings, knowing damn well they won’t go away. You fight the realization, convincing yourself to wait until you’re alone to break.

You aren’t even sure when you fell asleep, just that you woke up wrapped in a blanket, sprawled out on Mingyu’s couch.

He’s at the kitchen counter now, back to you, sleeves rolled up, hair still damp from a shower. You stay still for a second longer, watching the curve of his shoulders shift as he pours himself a glass of water. You have the absurd thought that you could walk over and press your face between his shoulder blades and he might let you.

“You let me hog your couch,” you murmur, voice still scratchy.

“You drooled on it too,” he replies without turning, deadpan.

You smile faintly and sit up, the blanket slipping down. “Guess I owe you something.”

That gets him to glance over his shoulder. “You’re not cleaning it.”

You stand and stretch slowly, deliberately, feigning casualness. “Nah, I was thinking something more fun.” You walk over, letting your hand brush against the side of his as you reach for the same glass. “Maybe you should consider accepting one of my offers for once?”

“You’re really gonna try that before brushing your teeth?” he jokes lightly, but there's a quiet firmness beneath the joke.

You laugh—too loud, too fast. “Wow. Harsh.” You lean back, arms crossing over your chest to hide the sting. “I’m beginning to think you’re scared of me, Gyu.”

“I’m not scared of you,” he says. He turns to look at you then, really look, and the joke falls flat between you.

There's a pause.

“Then what is it?” you ask, keeping your voice even, your smile like armor. “Am I just not your type? I didn’t think you had one from the… variety of girls I’ve seen you take home.”

Mingyu looks away, running a hand through his hair. “You’re tired. Go back to sleep.”

You don’t move. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one I’ve got for you.”

You let the silence settle in like dust. Then you nod, once, and turn away before he can see the disappointment tightening your face.

“Fine,” you say, the humor gone now even though you try to keep your voice light. “I’ll brush my teeth first next time.” You attempt, dropping back onto the couch and pulling the blanket over your shoulders like it might shield you from how hollow it suddenly feels.

Once you get home you let yourself fully realize. You sink into your bed, all of the moments that made you fall for him crashing into you like a tidal wave you hadn’t realized was coming until it was drowning you. His smile, his laugh, how he helps people when they need it, even when they don’t. How you use stupid jokes and flirting to pretend you don’t feel the way you do. How every time he’d take a new girl home a small part of you would twinge. How you’ve been so incredibly stupid. You wipe your tears, taking a shaky breath.

It’s fine.

You’re fine.

The next wave crashes when you remember just how much he doesn’t want you. How much he turns you down, how much you try. You’d never had to try so hard with anyone else, you’d been able to bat your eyelashes and end up in someone's bed if you so wanted. But not the one person who matters.

But even that—even that—you try to twist into something survivable.

Maybe he’s just being careful. Maybe you’re too important to risk. Maybe he’s a coward.

Maybe you are.

You tell yourself he was tired too. That he didn’t mean it like that. That timing is everything and yours has always sucked.

Still, the thought circles like a vulture:

He doesn’t want you. Not like that.

And it doesn’t matter how many times you run the memories back through your head, searching for proof that he did. Because no matter how hard you look, you don’t find anything except friendly banter and a hint of genuine annoyance. Your flirting annoys him, you realize. You think back to the set of his jaw, then slight tension in his shoulders. The boundaries you’d been constantly pushing.

You don’t text him for two days.

He doesn’t text either.

On the third day, Jeonghan shows up at your door with his usual lack of warning and a bag of pastries that you’re too sad to pretend you don’t immediately want.

“I bring carbs and judgment,” he says cheerfully, pushing inside. “How’s the unrequited love pit treating you?”

You groan and faceplant into your pillow.

“Oh good,” Jeonghan says, “you’ve upgraded from denial to despair. Next stop, emotional rock bottom. We’ll get you a punch card.”

You muffle into the pillow, “I thought you were going to pretend to be supportive.”

“I am being supportive,” he says, tugging the blanket off you just enough to shove a croissant into your hand. “You’re not crying alone. You’re crying with me. And a chocolate pastry.”

You take a bite. Then another. Jeonghan waits.

After a minute, you speak. “He looked me in the eyes and told me to go back to sleep. Like I was just tired. Like that explained everything.”

Jeonghan doesn’t say anything, just watches you with that knowing look that makes you want to throw the croissant at him.

“I was half-joking,” you continue, bitterly. “The flirting. The offers. The lingerie. All of it — it was funny. It was supposed to be funny.”

“It was never just funny,” Jeonghan says gently.

You sit up, brushing crumbs off your hoodie. “Well, it wasn’t serious, either. Not at first. It was a bit, Han. A way to keep things easy. A way to be close to him without, you know—actually saying it.”

Jeonghan raises an eyebrow. “But then it stopped being a bit.”

You press your palms into your eyes, letting the heel of your hand dig into your sockets. “Yeah. And the worst part? He probably still thinks it is. He probably thinks I’m just messing with him for fun. That I never meant any of it.”

Jeonghan leans back in your desk chair, spinning slightly as he crosses one leg over the other. “Well, to be fair… you’ve kind of trained everyone around you to think you’re never serious.”

You shoot him a look.

“I’m not judging!” he says, holding up a hand. “Just saying. You’re always ‘fine.’ Always laughing first. You’ve got more walls than a medieval castle, and all of them are covered in sarcasm and slutty little jokes.”

You give a half-hearted snort. “You say that like it’s a bad strategy.”

“It’s a safe strategy,” he corrects. “Until you actually start feeling something and suddenly no one knows when you’re telling the truth — including him.”

You go quiet. Because he’s right. You’ve been dancing that line for so long, even you stopped knowing when it was real and when it was for the bit. Until now. Until the silence stretched too long and the jokes stopped landing and all you wanted was for him to want you back — not as a punchline, not as part of the game, but really, actually, you.

And he didn’t.

Or maybe he did — but if he did, he’s never going to say it. Never going to risk what you have. You’re always the one pushing. Always the one cracking a joke that skirts too close to the truth. You made it a game so you wouldn’t have to face how much it would hurt to lose.

Now it hurts anyway.

“I feel stupid,” you say softly.

“You’re not,” Jeonghan replies. “You just fell for someone who’s too scared to catch you. That’s not on you.”

You look down at the pastry in your hands, crumbling around the edges. “Then why do I feel like the punchline?”

“Because you’ve been delivering the setup for months,” he says, gently. “And now the joke’s on you.”

You laugh, dry and humorless. “Great. Love that for me.”

Jeonghan reaches over and squeezes your hand. “Hey. You’re not done. You’re just heartbruised.”

“Heartbruised?” you echo.

He shrugs. “It’s like heartbroken, but softer. More recoverable. You’ll bounce back. You always do.” You nod slowly, letting the silence settle for a second.

And then you say, “I’m done flirting with him.”

Jeonghan lifts a brow. “Sure you are.”

“No, seriously. No more jokes. No more lingerie. No more pretending I don’t mean it.”

“Does that mean you're going to tell him you mean it?”

You stare at him. “Absolutely not. Are you insane?”

Jeonghan grins, wide and wicked. “So brave. So emotionally evolved.”

You throw a pillow at him.

But in the quiet that follows, you know it’s true — you’ve been chasing him with jokes and soft threats and wide eyes for months, always giving him the out. Always letting it be just a game. But it was never really one. Not for you.

And maybe now the game’s over. Maybe now you stop playing.

Let him wonder.

Let him miss you.

You’ll be okay. You have to be.

Because at the end of the day, if he never wanted you — not really — then he never deserved the version of you that did.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand. You ignore it for a second, pretending it’s some promotional email or a text from Jeonghan even though he’s sitting right next to you, elbow-deep in your snack drawer like he lives here. But it buzzes again.

Jeonghan glances over. “That him?”

You don’t answer, just reach for it with a knot already forming in your chest.

«Mingyu»: what’s going on with you?

You stare at the screen. Another buzz.

«Mingyu»: you’ve been weird lately

«Mingyu»: did i do something?

Jeonghan watches you read it. “You gonna respond?”

“I don’t know,” you mutter, locking the screen.

“Interesting,” he says, drawing out the word. “Old you would’ve replied with something like ‘what, you miss me?’ or ‘guess you’ll have to come over and find out.’”

You shoot him a look. “Well, old me was an idiot.”

“She was funny, though,” he grins. “And so brave.”

“Shut up.”

You unlock your phone again, read the messages once more. Your fingers hover over the keyboard.

You could say nothing. You could leave it on read, let him stew in it. Let him wonder why the energy shifted and whether or not you’re finally over it. Over him.

Or you could say something real for once.

Something careful. Controlled.

So you type:

«You»: nothing’s going on «You»: just tired

You hit send, then immediately regret it. It’s too vague. Too obvious. Another message pops up almost instantly.

«Mingyu»: you sure?

And then, a beat later:

«Mingyu»: did i fuck something up?

You sigh and set the phone down face-down. Jeonghan’s still watching you, chewing on some expired gummy bears like this is a drama he’s bingeing with snacks.

“You can’t avoid him forever,” he offers, gently.

You roll your eyes. “And say what? ‘Hey, remember all those times I begged you to sleep with me as a joke? Surprise! I wasn’t kidding!’”

“You don’t have to say it like that,” Jeonghan says, amused. “Although that would be on-brand.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know. I need time to think.”

A week passes with you avoiding Mingyu like the plague. He still texts, still worries. At one point you’d almost gone up to him, but then you saw him walking into his dorm with another one-night and realized you couldn’t do this any more. Because seeing him hurt, and you know he’ll never like you back. Not the way you do. So the next time he texts, you don’t ignore him.

«Mingyu»: seriously, you’re worrying me

You stare at the screen, thumb hovering, but you don’t answer. Not yet. Not when everything feels like it’s balancing on the edge of a knife. Not when his name flashing on your screen makes your heart twist. Another text follows.

«Mingyu»: did i do something? «Mingyu»: just tell me, please

You bite the inside of your cheek. The truth is tangled up in too many months of jokes that weren’t really jokes, of sidelong glances and lingering touches passed off as nothing. And now you don’t know how to say it without setting the whole thing on fire. It’s stupid. You were the one who started it. The teasing. The innuendos. The half-drunken dares to “just do it already.” You made it a game. One he never played seriously. And now you’re the one losing. The one hurting. And you look at that cute little sundress hanging in your closet, seeing that little girl you used to be and know you can’t do this any more. For her. For you. You finally respond with a clipped:

«you»: can we talk?

Mingyu opens the door the second you knock, like he was waiting behind it.

His brows are furrowed. “What’s going on? You’ve been weird for days.”

You step inside without answering, your arms folded across your chest like a shield, as if it’ll protect you from what you know is to come.

He closes the door behind you slowly. “Okay… seriously. Talk to me.”

You stare at the floor, the speech you’d planned slipping from your mind the second you open your mouth. “I don’t think we should be friends anymore.”

The words leave your lips quietly, but they echo, soft and brutal.

He freezes. “What?”

You lift your gaze, force yourself to hold his. “I think we should stop being friends.”

Your voice is firmer this time, although there’s a slight waver you can’t shake. But you know you have to do this. For yourself.

His brow furrows deeper. “Where the hell is this coming from?”

“It doesn’t matter—”

“Yes, it does,” he snaps. “You don’t just say something like that and act like it’s nothing.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything sooner?”

“Because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“You think this isn’t?” he practically scoffs, voice rising.

You wince. “I just—this isn’t good for me anymore, okay? I can’t keep doing this.”

“What does this even mean? What are we doing that’s so bad?”

You hesitate. You know exactly what you mean. But you can’t say it—not the real thing. So instead you deflect. You say something stupid. Something you don’t really mean, not in the way you know it sounds.

“I guess I just got tired of being the only girl you won’t sleep with.”

He stares at you like he’s been slapped.

“…What?” His voice is quiet, stunned.

You look away. “Forget it.”

“No. No, you don’t get to say that and then back out.” He steps forward. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“I told you to forget it,” you mutter, panic clawing up your throat.

“So that’s what this is about?” he says, disbelief giving way to anger. “That I haven’t fucked you?”

You don’t answer.

His voice grows louder. “You’re throwing away years of friendship because I didn’t want to have sex with you?”

“Don’t twist it like that—”

“I’m not twisting anything. Those were your words.” He gestures at you, furious. “Is that all I am to you? Just someone to chase until you can check me off your list?”

You flinch. “That’s not fair.”

He scoffs. “No, what’s not fair is acting like I did something wrong by treating you with respect. Like me not jumping into bed with you is some personal insult.”

You snap. “You don’t get it!”

“Then explain it! Because right now, all I see is my best friend suddenly treating me like I’m the villain for not screwing her!”

“I never said you were a villain!”

“You didn’t have to! You’re acting like I’ve been stringing you along, like I owe you something I never fucking promised.”

“I didn’t want a promise!” Your voice is shaking. “I just wanted— I just wanted to feel like I wasn’t invisible!”

That stops him. His face falls, just for a second. But it’s too late now. The dam is cracking.

He runs a hand through his hair, agitated. “So what? Sleeping together would’ve fixed that?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe?”

“Unbelievable,” he mutters, turning away.

You see the hurt on his face even as he hides it.

“You’re ruining our friendship because I won’t fuck you? Is that all I am? Just someone to get close to and sleep with just so you can say you did?” His voice is tight now—not just angry, but betrayed.

You flinch. “Of course you aren’t, I…” You trail off.

He stares. “Say it.” His tone is venomous.

Your mouth won’t move. You look at him, and all the things you never wanted him to see are staring back at you through your silence.

His lips press into a line. “That’s what I thought.”

He turns away again—and that’s when the words leap out of you, desperate and raw:

“I’m in love with you!”

The world freezes, silence extending. His shoulders tense as he slowly turns back, eyes full of so many emotions you can’t tell what he’s thinking. His breath is labored and the dam inside you finally breaks.

“I didn’t know,” you say, voice cracking, barely holding together. “Not at first. It was just flirting, right? Dumb jokes about hooking up, just to see you roll your eyes or laugh. That was all it was. Just teasing.”

You laugh, but it’s hollow and bitter and it hurts.

“Then you hooked up with that girl from the party, and I told myself it was fine. What right did I have to be jealous when you were never even mine? But I went home that night and I couldn’t breathe, even though I knew I shouldn’t be upset, laid in bed and just kept asking myself. Why not me? What’s wrong with me?”

You suck in a breath, but it doesn’t help, “That’s when it started. That voice. It wouldn’t shut up. It told me I must be disgusting. Unappealing. Something you’d never even consider. Not even drunk. Not even if there’s no one else. I got so desperate to feel wanted I even asked Jeonghan to sleep with me, and you know what he said? He said he wasn’t what I wanted. Because he knew. Before I did, he knew.”

Your hands shake.

You press them against your sides like you’re holding yourself together. “And I kept making the jokes, brushing off what he’d said. Kept acting like I didn’t care. Because if I stopped laughing, you’d see the truth—and I was so scared of what you’d do with it. Would you pity me? Would you leave?”

Your voice breaks entirely. “I didn’t realize I loved you until I was already drowning in it. And by then, I couldn’t look at myself without hearing all the things I’m not. Not pretty enough. Not desirable. Not lovable. Just the friend you joked with, because that’s all I’d ever be. A joke.”

You let out a breath that sounds like a sob. “Because you said no. Every time. And I know you weren’t trying to hurt me—god, I know you’d never. You were being nice. Gentle. That’s what made it worse. You cared. Just not like that. So I twisted it around in my head. Tried to tell myself you were being noble. Or cautious. Or waiting. But deep down, I started to believe the truth. That I could never be enough for you.” Your eyes sting, but you don’t wipe them. “And now… now I finally admitted all that to myself, and it’s breaking me every time I see you. ”

You finally meet his eyes, and it feels like standing naked in the cold. “I’m not mad at you. I don’t think I could ever be mad at you, you didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just so tired of feeling so… worthless. I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty. I just… I couldn’t carry it anymore. Pretending I was okay. Pretending I didn’t only ever feel whole when I’m near you. I’m sorry.”

He doesn’t say anything. Not at first.

His eyes search yours, and for a moment you think maybe—maybe—he’s going to close the space between you. Say something, anything, that will make it hurt less.

But instead, his jaw clenches. His voice comes out low. Controlled. Too controlled.

“You should’ve told me.”

You look away, feeling the guilt crawl up your throat. “I’m telling you now.”

“No.” He shakes his head, bitter. “Not now. Not after all this. Not after you turned it into a fight.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“But you did.” He takes a step back like he needs distance. “You came in here ready to cut me out. Not because I hurt you. Not because I did anything wrong. But because I didn’t love you back fast enough.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Isn’t it?” His voice cracks around the edges. “You could’ve said something. Anything. But instead, you turned it into some fucked-up test and waited for me to fail.”

You freeze. “It wasn’t a test.”

“No?” He laughs bitterly. “You knew how I was. You know what I’m like with girls. You joked about it every chance you got. But the second I didn’t want to be that with you—suddenly I’m the asshole?”

“You’re not an asshole,” you whisper.

“But I’m still the guy you can’t even be friends with. That’s what you said.”

“I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Yes, you did.” His voice sharpens. “You meant it exactly like that. You wanted me to hurt the way you were hurting. You wanted me to feel guilty.”

Tears prick at your eyes again. “No, I just… I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could’ve trusted me.” His hands drop to his sides. “You could’ve just… been honest.”

“I was scared,” you admit, and your voice shakes with the weight of it, “I am scared.”

He looks at you for a long moment. “Of me?”

“No.” You swallow. “Of me. Of not being enough. Of finding out that even if I tried… even if I gave you everything, you still wouldn’t want me.”

Silence stretches between you, sharp and heavy.

Then, quietly, “You don’t get to decide what I would’ve wanted,” he says, barely more than a whisper. “You never gave me the chance.”

He looks like he wants to say more—needs to say more—but he doesn’t. He just stands there, staring at you like he doesn’t even recognize you anymore. Mingyu runs a hand through his hair again, but this time it trembles slightly, like the adrenaline's wearing off and all that's left is the raw aftermath.

“I don’t even know what to say to you right now,” he murmurs.

You nod slowly, tears welling up again. “You don’t have to say anything. I didn’t come here expecting—”

“Don’t,” he interrupts, his voice thick. “Don’t act like this was some noble confession. You didn’t come here to just tell me. You came here to end it.”

You flinch because you know he’s not wrong.

He steps back again, arms folding like he's trying to hold himself together now. “You said you wanted to stop being friends. That was the decision you made before I even knew what was happening.”

“I thought it’d be easier,” you say, and you hate how broken it sounds.

“Easier for who?” he snaps. “You think it’s easy for me to watch you walk away? To hear you say all this and know there’s nothing I can do to make it better?”

Your lip trembles. “I just couldn’t take it any more and I didn’t want to make it your problem.”

He looks at you, incredulous. “I’m your best friend. I thought I was, anyway. Of course it’s my problem.”

You say nothing, because what is there to say?

“And for the record,” he adds, quieter now, “you were never invisible to me. Not once.”

You finally look up. “Then why…”

“Because you matter too much!” he says, his voice splintering. “Because I didn’t want to mess it up. I’ve messed up every relationship I’ve ever had, and I didn’t want to ruin you too. You’re the only thing I’ve ever cared about enough to not touch.”

Your breath catches as you look at him, heart clawing up your throat.

“And maybe I was stupid for thinking I could keep you close without eventually losing you.” His voice is bitter now, but more toward himself than you. “Maybe I should’ve known it’d end like this.”

You take a hesitant step forward. “Mingyu…”

But he steps back. “Don’t.”

The word is soft, but final.

“I don’t hate you,” he says after a long beat, eyes red-rimmed. “I don’t think I could. But I’m angry. And I’m hurt. And I don’t know what the hell to do with any of this right now.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I never meant for it to happen like this.”

He gives you a broken, sad smile. “Yeah. Me neither.”

There’s another silence. One that feels different than all the others. Colder. Empty.

Finally, he walks past you, opens the door.

You don’t move.

“I think you should go,” he says, not looking at you.

And even though your heart is screaming, you nod. Because you knew this was coming. Hell, this is what you came here to do. But not like this. Nothing like this.

You walk out the door, and he doesn’t stop you.

You don’t remember how you got home.

One minute, you were in Mingyu’s apartment, heart in pieces at your feet. The next, you were on the street—walking, stumbling, maybe running. You’re not sure. The rain had started somewhere in between, soaking through your clothes, making it easier to hide your tears. Not that you tried.

You don’t remember texting Jeonghan, either.

But you must’ve, because he’s standing in your doorway by the time you get there, already holding your spare key. His brows are drawn tight with worry. “Jesus,” he breathes. “You look like hell.”

You try to speak, but your voice breaks. He doesn’t ask anything else. Just pulls you inside with a hand on your back and shuts the door gently behind you.

Ten minutes later, you’re in dry clothes—his hoodie, your sweats—and he’s sitting beside you on the couch, watching you like you might shatter if he blinks too hard.

“Okay,” he says eventually, “tell me what happened.”

You bury your face in your hands. “I told him.”

His voice softens. “Mingyu?”

You nod. “Everything. I told him I loved him.”

There’s a pause. Jeonghan leans back, breath whistling between his teeth. “And?”

You look at him, eyes red and raw. “He got mad.”

Jeonghan blinks. “Mad?”

You nod again, harder this time, like it’ll make it make more sense. “I told him I didn’t think we should be friends anymore. And he kept asking why, and I… I panicked. I said something awful. I told him I was tired of being the only girl he wouldn’t sleep with.”

Jeonghan winces. “Yikes.”

“Yeah,” you mutter, repeating what he’d told you after. You bite your lip hard, the echo of those words still fresh, like they’re etched on your skin.

Jeonghan runs a hand down his face, listening worried but obviously frustrated.

“I told him that wasn’t what I meant, but it was too late. He was so hurt. He was furious. And I just… I couldn’t stop. The words just kept coming. Then I told him I was in love with him.”

Jeonghan’s face softens, but not with pity—more like heartbreak on your behalf.

“And then he told me to leave,” you continue. “That I never gave him a chance and that he needed time. That he didn’t know what to do. So I left and now we’re here.”

Jeonghan is quiet for a long moment.

“Okay, yeah. That’s a fucking mess.”

You laugh bitterly. “Thanks.”

“I mean it kindly.” He shifts, turning to face you. “You didn’t hold back, huh?”

You shake your head. “Couldn’t.”

He sighs. “Look. I get it. Emotions are hard. But imagine from his perspective. You said something that sounded like a slap, and then you dropped a love confession on top of it. What did you think he was gonna do?”

“I didn’t think.” You stare down at your hands. “I was so scared he’d say he didn’t feel the same that I tried to end it before he could reject me. And when he got mad, I told myself it was what I deserved.”

Jeonghan swears under his breath. “Jesus.”

“I know.”

“Do you?” He gives you a sharp look. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you nuked a bridge because you were too scared to walk across it.”

You flinch. “That’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not,” he agrees. “But neither was what you did to him.”

You bury your face in your knees.

After a moment, Jeonghan’s voice softens. “You really love him, huh?”

You nod without looking up. “So much it makes me hate myself.”

He’s quiet. Then, almost too gently, “Then you’re gonna have to clean this up.”

“How?” you whisper.

“Hell if I know, but start by being honest. Stop trying to protect your pride. You already burned it down. Go back and tell him everything again. But this time, don’t lead with guilt or anger. Just tell the truth.”

You look up at him, voice small. “What if he doesn’t want to hear it?”

Jeonghan meets your eyes. “Then at least you’ll know. But don’t let the last thing he remembers be that fight. Don’t let that be the last thing you remember.”

Your heart aches. You nod slowly.

He pulls you into a hug, and you let yourself fall into it. His hand rubs slow circles on your back.

“And next time,” he murmurs, “maybe don’t start the conversation by implying your best friend’s dick was the missing puzzle piece in your emotional breakdown.”

You groan into his chest. “I know.”

He chuckles into your hair. “God, you’re a disaster.”

You fall asleep on the couch, your face puffy and tight from crying, but your chest just a little looser—like the grief finally has somewhere to go.

When you wake, the sky is gray through the window, soft and overcast. Jeonghan’s draped a blanket over you, left a glass of water and some aspirin on the table beside you, and disappeared into the kitchen, humming faintly to himself.

You sit up slowly, the events of the night before crashing back into your head like a wave you barely brace for.

“I should text him,” you say aloud.

Jeonghan appears in the doorway with a mug in his hand, one brow lifted. “And say what? ‘Hey, sorry I imploded all over you, wanna circle back?’”

You throw a pillow at him, a habit you realize you do way too much. He dodges, smug.

You sigh. “I don’t even know what to say, but I can’t just leave it here.”

Jeonghan walks over and hands you the mug—it’s tea, still warm. “Then don’t text yet. Think about what you actually want. Do you want to apologize? Explain? Ask for something?”

“I want him to know the truth.”

“He already does.”

“Then I want him to understand it.”

Jeonghan settles into the chair across from you, crossing one leg over the other. “Then don’t text. Talk to him. In person.”

You shrink. “I don’t think I can face him yet.”

“I’m not saying today.” He pauses. “But eventually, you’ll have to. Because if you don’t, all this?” He gestures vaguely. “It just becomes the story you never got to finish.”

You stare into your tea. “What if he never wants to talk to me again?”

“Then that’s on him,” Jeonghan says gently. “You can’t control that. But you can make sure the version he remembers isn’t the worst one.”

You nod slowly, his words settling like stones in your gut.

Jeonghan gently rests a hand on your shoulder. “You didn’t ruin everything. Not yet.”

You clutch the mug tighter. “I want to believe that.”

“Then believe me.” He leans forward. “You said something shitty. He got hurt. But that’s not the end. It only stays broken if you leave it there.”

You bite your lip. “Do you think he’ll ever look at me the same again?”

Jeonghan tilts his head. “No.”

Your heart twists.

But then he adds, “He’ll either look at you and see the one who broke his heart… or the one who was brave enough to hand hers to him.”

You sit on the couch long after the tea goes cold, phone in your lap, your thumbs hovering above the screen. Every version of the message you think of sounds wrong. Too heavy. Too light. Too desperate. Too detached.

But eventually, you settle on the truth.

You type slowly, carefully. No overthinking this time. No jokes to soften the blow. Just your heart, finally laid bare.

«you»: I know you said you need time, and I’ll respect that. I won’t push, but when you’re ready, if you’re ready, I’ll be here.

You read it over once, then again. It still makes your stomach twist, but this time, not from fear. From finality. You press send.

The message delivers.

You stare at the screen for a long minute, hoping it’ll light up with a reply. It doesn’t. You didn’t expect it to.

Jeonghan comes back in with a slice of toast in his mouth and a second plate in his hand. “You do it?”

You nod, eyes still on your phone. “Yeah.”

“Good.” He sits beside you, offering you half of his toast. “Now you wait. And we eat carbs.”

You take the toast. You don’t feel better. But you don’t feel worse, either.

It’s been weeks.

You’ve replayed every second of that fight in your mind more times than you can count. Sometimes you wonder if he’s forgotten you completely. Sometimes you wish you could forget him.

But tonight, curled up in bed with a movie playing quietly in the background, your phone lights up.

«Mingyu»: Café del Sol

«Mingyu»: Tomorrow 3pm

You panic. Your heart is loud in your ears as you try to form a response, eventually settling on a thumbs up reaction, not knowing what else to put.

The next day arrives like a held breath.

You barely sleep the night before. Your stomach is in knots, your hands shaking every time you think about what might happen. What he’ll say. If he’ll even show up.

But when you push open the door to Café del Sol at 2:58 p.m., he’s already there.

He’s sitting at a table by the window, two drinks in front of him—one of them your usual. His fingers drum anxiously on the cup, and he looks up the second the door opens, like he’s been watching for you.

Your heart stutters.

You walk over slowly, like one wrong step might send the whole moment crashing down. He stands as you approach, uncertain, like he doesn’t know if he should hug you or just nod.

You don’t hug. You don’t do anything. Just sit.

There’s a long pause, thick with all the things still unspoken.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he says eventually.

“I didn’t think you’d ask,” you answer.

He nods slowly. “I wasn’t going to. At first.”

You look down, then up again. “Thank you. For asking.”

“I didn’t do it to be nice,” he says. “I did it because I don’t want this hanging between us forever.”

You nod. “Neither do I.”

He watches you for a long moment, searching your face like he’s still figuring out how he feels. Then he breaks the silence, voice small.

“You really meant it?”

You blink. “Which part?”

“That you’re in love with me.”

Your breath catches. “Oh. That. Yeah. I meant it.”

He nods, eyes flicking down to his hands. “And everything else?”

You hesitate. “I wish I’d said it better. But yeah, that too.”

He leans back in his chair. Runs a hand through his hair. You notice the faint dark circles under his eyes—like you’re not the only one who’s been losing sleep.

“I’ve been trying to figure out how I feel,” he says finally. “Because everything happened so fast. One second you’re my best friend, and the next… it felt like I didn’t even know you.”

“I know.”

“I liked you before you even figured it out,” he says suddenly. His eyes are steady, serious. “I’ve liked you for a long time.”

You look up, startled. “What do you mean?”

He exhales. “I told myself I didn’t want to ruin what we had. That I didn’t want to cross any lines. But the truth? I didn’t want to let myself want you because the second I did, I knew I’d fall.”

Your heart stumbles.

“Mingyu—”

He keeps going, like he needs to get it out. “You make everything brighter. Easier. And I told myself that was enough. Just being near you. But then it got harder. Because I’d catch myself staring too long. Laughing too much. Wondering what your lips would feel like against mine. Wondering what would happen if I gave in. If I give in now.”

Your breath hitches as silence falls again. But this one feels warmer. Like the tide has shifted.

You whisper, “Are you saying you—”

“I’m saying I don’t want to lose you.” He swallows. “And I think… I know I love you too. I just didn’t want to admit it until you were walking out my door.”

You blink hard. “Mingyu…”

He gives a small, broken laugh. “God, we’re such idiots.”

You smile, watery. “We really are.”

A long moment passes, and then—carefully, slowly—he reaches across the table and takes your hand. His thumb brushes your knuckles, and it feels like the first real breath you’ve taken in days.

“I’m still mad,” he says gently. “Still hurt.”

“I know.”

“But I’m willing to try,” he says, “if you are.”

You nod, tears in your eyes again—but this time they feel different. “I want to.”

He squeezes your hand. “Then we start there.”

The two of you sit there, hands clasped between coffee cups and apologies, hearts still bruised but beating in sync again. And for the first time in weeks, the silence feels like peace.

[hollyberrygarden]

I was thinking over the way Pavlova describes Wildberry's crush. he says (direct quote), "you know well that it won't work out, but you have no intention of giving up!" in their interaction in the kingdom, he also calls it a "foolish" type of love

and I was like. what does that imply about Wildberry's crush?? and how would it apply to Crunchy Chip??

"foolish" implies a lack of good sense or judgment. it's a crush that can only end negatively—heartbreak, fighting, strain, or some other horrible result. Wildberry could either keep his feelings to himself, being unhappy with his own cowardice. he could also confess and get rejected, therefore losing whatever bond he had with his crush in the first place. but he could also be accepted and enter a relationship, but then the worries he has could be true. it could not work out, just like he knows it won't, and it would be unfair to both of them. every possible end result (to someone who is convinced it will not work out) would demonstrate the foolishness of the crush he has. Wildberry strikes me as the kind of guy who doesn't get crushes often, and he deals with them on his own before he chooses to confess, if ever

I'm imagining him in his own head about it, which is why no one else seems to know; it could also be why he doesn't externally react to it when the others are around but pretty much concedes to his worries over it (and openly seems. I guess worried about them!!) when he's talking one-on-one with Pavlova. he has gone over these possibilities to himself without any external input. he is trying to figure out how to make it work, which is the "no intention of giving up" that Pavlova mentioned, but maybe he doesn't have a set answer yet, which is why it's still something he hasn't confessed. Pavlova only knows because it's what he does

I was thinking about why it "not working out" (very generally speaking) is something he would think about, and I wondered what kind of relationship he would want. in an overworld dialogue, Royal Margarine tells him he must be "popular with a tall, muscular build like that." whether it's true is unknown, but Wildberry says he doesn't care about such "trivialities," assumedly being popular. if he doesn't want popularity, maybe he wants something simple?? or steady?? or maybe even straightforward. it's hard to know for sure. he wants something that's actually possible for him and his lifestyle in the kingdom. he's a busy guy who often travels away for important and dangerous business. it would be difficult to be in any kind of steady relationship when that's what you do for work. long distance isn't for everyone

to him, he cannot be with Crunchy Chip because of their duties to their kingdoms. I think it circles back to that. Crunchy Chip is the captain of the cream wolves in the Dark Cacao Kingdom, and he is close enough to the king to travel with him to Beast Yeast. he protects the kingdom every day, as well as the woods surrounding it. Wildberry is a hired bodyguard to the Queen Mother, and he has sworn loyalty to her (and the king and queen of course); he frequently travels for work and is likely gone for long stretches of time, depending. they both have very important jobs that neither wants to give up. during Cookie Odyssey, they each talk about their love for their kingdoms and their respective leaders, even making a bet about who will want to visit the other more. they exchange letters on the regular. Hollyberry herself has noticed how much closer they're getting. he knows how much Crunchy Chip values his position in the Dark Cacaco Kingdom, and he values his own position in the Hollyberry Kingdom. they don't want to leave. they cannot leave. not now, maybe not for a long time. maybe not ever, in a horrible reality

it's foolish in every way fathomable. to Wildberry, at least

[lilywritings]

Little "time travel" au with gen!lilia and human reader!

.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟

I can't stop thinking about "time travel" ughhh i love that au, imagine you two are already very deep into your relationship in current time then

Poof.

You're accidentally transported to the past only to meet general Lilia the second you land ( you already knew how he was bc of his dream in book 7 but now you're legit in the past).

You choose not to tell him that you're actually together but rather his future "friend" ( he is not buying that ) you knew general Lilia would've NOT taken it well bc you're a human that magically popped infront of him at the worst time possible, a little before the war.

But the way you said his name , had a blessing upon you and the way you looked at him made him a bit hesistant and unsure so he pulled his magearm away from you and took you to his dear friends to get the truth out of you.

Lucky for you Levan saved your ass here from his wife and best friend bc meleanor would've fried you by now . A human trespassing JUST before the war!?

And what added the oil to the fire was the fact that malleus put a blessing upon you ( the one mentioned up) after the whole book 7 heartbreak. Meleanor sensed it was a draconia family blessing IMMEDIATELY and was VERY suspicious and angry at you.

So you explained everthing to them and made them sort off belive that you're from the future and searching for a way to get back after you mentioned Malleus. Nobody should've known that princess was about to have a baby and you even knew his name. Meleanor was thinking of zapping you right then and there but Levan held her off and made an agreement.

And thus they put Lilia to supervise you while they work on a way to get you back and think about your words.

Let me tell you something, Lilia HATED IT . why HIM!? THIS HUMAN THAT WON'T STOP STARING AT HIM WEIRDLY AND CLAIMING TO BE HIS FUTURE "FRIEND"!? he wanted to hiss at you at least.

While Lilia was having a crisis you took this situation to try and get closer to him and find out more bc your lilia didn't really talk about his past SELF! that much he is a man of secrets after all...

This was your chance to get to know his past self better and maybe try to open him up a bit and help him.

You knew what was about to come and you know better than to mess with the fate in this "time travel thingy" but was it really that?

Your mind was boiling at tge idea to spoil him ROTTEN & show him how loved he is. But you couldn't do that rn at least not so sudden ...

Ahh loving this fae is complicating.

After some time of looking at him training the troops & being busy but still having to take you with him everywhere he finally sat down with you to talk about how you're bothering him.

And truly , what made lilia irritated and bothered the most was. Your gaze.

Ah those eyes that never stopped looking at his directly, firmly ,not an ounce of fear in them.

The way you gazed upon him like he was a treasure that you couldn't bare to look away from not even for a second or he might just slip away and never return.

Whats that emotion inside your eyes?

Whats that warmness?

It feels familiar yet different ? Nobody has ever looked at him that way . He is not used to it and it makes his skin crawl.

Are you bewitching him human?

He still doesn't trust the fact that you're magicless ,not when you're doing something to him .

Your damned gaze made him feel ... something at least.

Yet he couldn't help himself to brush you away completely you were ... interesting?

On the other hand you were fighting inside bc of the fact that you couldn't shower him in love right this moment and tell him who you are... You must focus to find out more.

And just as he was about to say something your vision got blurry~~~

.

.

.

"Darling you've been sleeping for a bit too long aren't you going to wake up soon?

"..."

"I might even make you a meal how about that? Oh i know you're going to love this one♡"

You stirred awake and found yourself on your present Lilias lap.

"Lilia?" you looked up at him all confused ( Was that all a dream?Does he know, does he remember?)

You didn't even notice you fell asleep on him while he was gaming for god knows how long.

He was caressing your face at your call and cooing at your sleepy state. My how adorable you looked to him right now.

"Hm?"

"Did we perhsaps meet before?"

Lilia smiled wide at your question before bending down and kissing your forehead gently.

"Perhaps my love, perhaps~"

.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟̑ෆ.₊̣̇.ෆ˟̑**̑˟

Ps. I would love to know what do you think guys :3 (i had a bit of help)

[miyaz6ki]

Not a req, just wanted to brainrot Kinich rn because I'm very very deep into his entire aesthetic and backstory

Do you ever think Kinich would stop to think for a moment how he might leave his s/o before them, especially after the recent Abyss happenings in the AQ? If he dies, Ajaw gets his body and he'll wonder if Ajaw would even try tk fool you that it's him or would straight up tell you bluntly that he's gone...

And he'd think how you could take it.

Ajaw would be running around with his face all over Natlan, and you would have a constant reminder that he's gone and that's not Kinich and he worries about that constantly. Maybe at some point he even thinks it's much more beneficial for both of you (mostly you) to break thinks off and push you away from him, from the long term heartbreak by breaking your heart this early on.

He's already fallen a few times during various Night Warden Wars, and he knows how dangerous his job is as a Saurian Hunter who takes on long term commissions all over Natlan.

There may be a time he won't come back as himself.

cw death mentions, but no one dies cuz I cry when I make my own angst :fire:

he'd always remind you that he won't be there, and it may be that one day it's not even him you're talking to.

but I'm sure he'd do something to ensure you'd know it's him, a secret safe and away from his jaw. Just ask the magical question of love: Why did he fall in love in the first place?

and i'm sure before the more serious months (I believe in the three-month rule lol), he'd be a bit distant. not because he fell out of love, or because you did anything wrong, but he doesn't want you to feel bad on the day that he won't be there anymore.

but it's not like he'll recklessly fight as is, or like how he always has during night warden wars, he has someone to come home to now, he never had that before. there's someone home, expecting him to come back into that small hut he shares with them, and it's you.

he used to fight because it was his job, he fought because it was the only thing he could do before he could do. so why is he imagining a family with you? settling down wasn't something that crossed his mind too often, but he considers it a frequent guest now that he knows you're willing to stay.

he takes more precautions than normal, not to say that he didn't before, but more just to ensure you won't spot any of his injuries. he doesn't want to worry you so much.

the thought of breaking up with you now is a harsh topic, but he doesn't fully push it away. just to make sure you were safe, he was willing to just keep this relationship between the two of you- yet... he felt himself only reeling in closer to you every day that he kept you near.

he couldn't shake off the sad sentiment of what he may be soon, but he knows that his new priority is no longer to just fight. it's to live life fully with you.

[hopingforrainydays]

a game of hearts | d. malfoy

pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

warnings: angst, heartbreak, not a happy ending

word count: 2.2k

summary: the four times you rejected draco, and the one time you didn't (and you really should've)

author’s note: this one has been cooking for a while, i apologize in advance for the heartbreak

masterlist

requests are open!

--

I.

"Come with me to Hogsmeade."

You didn't bother to look up from your book. "No."

Draco Malfoy stood in front of you, arms crossed, expression caught between amusement and mild irritation. His platinum hair was perfectly combed and his uniform was impeccable. The very image of effortless arrogance.

He moved to sit beside you, and you opened your mouth to protest, but it was too late. He lounged against the library chair, arm draped across your own.

"You could at least pretend to consider it," he said, frowning. His gaze held your own. Bright eyes glittered with mischief.

You forced yourself to look away, back to your book, and flipped a page. "I could, but I won't."

His friends were watching from a distance. You could hear them whispering, snickering. You wondered how much they bet on this attempt, how much they thought you're worth nothing more than a joke.

Draco huffed, muttered something about you being impossible, and stalked off. You didn't watch him leave, but you heard Pany's laughter as she linked his arm through his. A game, you reminded yourself. That's all you were to them.

II.

Again, he caught you in the library. Though caught was a strong word, as you were prone to spending most of your time there. It wasn't difficult to track you down.

"You're not even giving me a chance."

"You don't deserve one."

Draco's lips twitched, his ever-present smirk flickering like a candle about to go out. "That's harsh. Even for you."

You leaned back in your chair, tilting your head. "You think I don't notice? The way your little entourage watches whenever you try this? You're amusing them, Malfoy. I don't exist for your entertainment."

His face fell. Just for a second. Then that smirk is back, but you saw the moment of hesitation. It lingered in the air between you, unspoken.

"That's not—"

"Save it." You gathered your things and left before he could finish. The weight of his stare followed you all the way out.

III.

"You know, you could bother some other girl for a change. I'm sure she'd kill for your attention," you said as you picked at your food with a fork.

The great hall bustled around you, and your eyes tried to catch anyone else's in a plea for help. But the only reason they looked your way in the first place was because Draco Malfoy, of all people, was sat at the empty corner of the table with you.

His elbow was propped against the table, his full body turned to you.

He grinned, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't want any other girl."

There was something different in his voice this time. The usual arrogance was there, but it was layered beneath something else—something softer. You hesitated for a fraction of a second, and you hated that you did. You hated that your heart stuttered, just a little, because this time it almost sounded like he meant it.

You sat up, suddenly, pushing the tray of food away from you. He looked as though he might protest, but you were quick to leave your seat. You refused to entertain the notion that there was something genuine in his voice.

IV.

"Do you even like me?"

Draco blinked. "What?"

You crossed your arms. "You've asked me out four times now. Why? What do you get out of this?"

He hesitated. Just for a second. But you saw it.

"I think you're interesting," he said eventually.

You hummed. He thought you were interesting, a word used by most other students to kindly tell you that they thought you were strange, weird, or different.

"Interesting," you repeat, voice flat.

"I'd call you absolutely enchanting, but I'm afraid you'd hit me," he joked.

You didn't laugh. Instead, you stared at him. He stared back. And there it was, that look. Eyes wide and genuine, he looked too honest for your comfort.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you turned and walked away.

V.

The day you said yes, Draco looked stunned. Like he hadn't actually expected it to happen. Like he had forgotten why he started asking you in the first place.

It happened in the courtyard, under the brittle light of a late autumn afternoon. You were leaning against the stone wall, arms folded, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he approached yet again. But you hadn't been waiting for him, no.

His confidence was intact, as always, but you could tell from the way he fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve that something about this game had changed.

"You again," you said dryly, before he could open his mouth.

Draco smirked. "You'd miss me too much if I stopped."

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. "Doubtful."

There was a moment where he hesitated, as if he was weighing whether to press forward or retreat, and for some reason, that hesitation was what made you say it.

"Alright," you said. His brows furrowed in confusion. "I'll go out with you."

The silence stretched between you. His mouth opened slightly before he caught himself, schooling his expression into something far too neutral, too careful.

"You will?" he asked. He didn't quite believe it.

You tilted your head, studying him. "That's what you wanted...wasn't it?"

Draco recovered quickly, flashing a smirk that was almost too sharp. "Of course it is."

He said it as though this was some kind of victory, but you saw the flicker of something else in his eyes—doubt, uncertainty, maybe even regret. But he only extended a hand, palm up, waiting.

You stared at it for a second before sighing and slipping your fingers into his. It felt like stepping off a ledge.

Your relationship began like an accident. It didn't feel real at first—just something to occupy your time between classes, between studying, between moments of solitude. He sat with you at meals. Walked with you in the halls. Quieted his laughter when his friends made jokes at your expense.

And you—

You started to like him.

You're not sure when it happened. Maybe it was the time he snuck out past curfew just to bring you hot cocoa from the kitchens when you were studying late. Maybe it was the way he defended you—subtly, never outright, but you saw the way his shoulders stiffened when someone made an offhanded remark about you. Maybe it was how he listened when you talked, really listened, instead of waiting for his turn to speak.

You never thought Draco Malfoy capable of sincerity. But then he touched our wrist one evening by the lake, his fingers barely brushing against yours, and you thought, maybe, just maybe, this hadn't been a game at all. At least, not anymore.

You had been wrong about him.

One evening, curled up in the corner of the Slytherin common room, you found yourself laughing at something Draco said. It wasn't sharp, or bitter, or forced. It was real, warm. Unguarded. And the way he looked at you in that moment—like he wanted to bottle the sound and keep it—made your heart ache in a way you didn't quite understand.

"What?" you asked, because he hadn't looked away.

Draco blinked, startled, as if caught in something he wasn't meant to feel. "Nothing," he said, but his voice was softer than usual, the smirk on his lips almost absent.

You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes playfully. "You're staring."

"So?" His fingers brushed yours on the armrest between you, the touch so fleeting you almost think you imagined it. "Maybe I like looking at you."

Your breath caught, but you shoved down the flustered feeling. You rolled your eyes. "You're ridiculous."

"And you like it."

You shoved his shoulder lightly, and he laughed. Really laughed. For a second, you allowed yourself to believe that whatever this was, it was real. That he felt it too.

But then he grew distant.

He still walked beside you, still laughed at your biting remarks, still met you in the library when you claimed you didn't need the company. But he was quieter now, his eyes shadowed in a way you didn't understand. Sometimes, when he thought you weren't looking he watched you like he was waiting for something, some inevitable moment that only he knew was coming.

It was late into the night, and as you sat together in the empty Astronomy Tower, you decided you were tired of the distance.

"Draco," you said, shifting to face him. "What's wrong?"

He startled slightly, as if pulled from some faraway thought. "Nothing."

"Liar."

He exhaled sharply, a hint of a smirk curving his lips. "You're always ready to call me out, aren't you?"

"Someone has to."

There was a beat of silence, thick and weighted. Then, as if compelled by something neither of you could name, he leaned in.

And you let him.

His lips brushed against yours, hesitant at first, then more certain, more desperate. Like he was trying to memorize the feeling, to carve it into his skin before it was too late. Your fingers tangled in the fabric of his shirt, anchoring yourself as the world narrowed down to this—just this.

When you parted, his breath was unsteady. So was yours.

"You’re different with me," you murmured.

Draco swallowed hard, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. "I know."

And for a moment, you thought he might've told you why.

But he didn't.

--

It happened in the corridor outside of the common room. You didn't mean to eavesdrop, but the voices were loud, and his name caught your attention before you could stop yourself.

"Alright, Draco, joke’s over. You’ve won. When are you finally going to end it?"

You froze.

Draco didn't answer right away. You couldn't see his expression, but you heard his hesitation, thick in the silence that followed.

"Draco?"

"I—"

"Oh, don't tell me you're actually enjoying this?" Blaise snickered. "Come on, mate, the bet was for a month. You've won."

Your stomach dropped. The world tilted. You didn't stay to hear the rest. You didn't need to.

You didn't remember walking there. The corridors blurred past you, torches flickering like distant stars, the weight of your heartbeat so loud it drowned out everything else. It pounded in your ears, your throat, in the spaces between your ribs. It threatened to tear your apart from the inside out.

Draco found you there, in the Astronomy Tower.

Of course he did.

It was where you kissed him for the first time. Where you sat with him in quiet companionship. Where you, despite your better judgment, let yourself believe that this—whatever this was—meant something.

But it didn't. It never did.

"Hey," he greeted, hesitant, cautious, as if he already knew something was wrong. As if he could feel the fury curling off you in waves. "What are you doing up here?"

You turned to face him, slowly, and the sight of him—his pale, sharp features, the stormy eyes you once thought held secrets only for you—made your stomach twist.

The silence grew thick. His brows furrowed, lips parting slightly, waiting.

And then, voice cold, steady, deadly, you said, "When were you going to tell me?"

He stilled. "Tell you what?"

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. "Don't. Don't play stupid, Draco. Not now."

His throat bobbed. "I—"

"I heard them." The confession hung between you, heavy as a curse. "Pansy. Blaise. Your little entourage. I heard them asking when you'd finally break it off."

Draco's expression cracked, the faintest flicker of panic in his eyes. "I—"

"A month, Draco." Your voice trembled, but not with sorrow. With rage. "That's all I was to you. A game. A bet."

"No—" He stepped forward, and you took a step back. His face twisted as if you struck him. "It wasn't like that. Not—Not anymore."

You laughed, bitter. "Not anymore?" The words were acid on your tongue. "So when did it change, then? When did I stop being a joke?"

Draco looked at you like he didn't know what to say. Like there was no right answer. Because there wasn't one.

The worst part is that you wanted to believe him. Even now. Even after everything.

You wanted him to tell you it wasn't a lie. That every touch, every stolen glance, every whispered conversation in the dark meant something. That he meant it when he kissed, when he brushed his fingers against your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you.

But you knew better. You had always known better.

And yet, you still let yourself be fooled.

"You should have told me," you whispered. "From the beginning."

Draco exhaled, raking a hand through his hair. Frustration bled through his features. "I didn't know how." His voice was raw, unguarded in a way you had never heard before. "I tried—I wanted to stop. But then you—" He faltered. "I didn't mean for this to happen."

You inhaled sharply, and forced down the sting behind your eyes. "For what to happen?" Your voice was hoarse. "For me to fall for you? Or for you to fall for me?"

He didn't answer. And that told you everything you needed to know.

You took another step back, toward the stairs, toward the door, toward anywhere that wasn't here.

"I'm done, Draco." The words hurt. Merlin, did they hurt. But you refused to let him see it. "We're done."

His face crumbled. "Please—"

But you didn't stay to hear the rest. It didn't matter. Not anymore.

--

buy me a coffee

[madsluvsdilfs]

✧.*Jealousy, Jealousy✧.*

Sam Monroe x Reader

Warnings? Slight sexual suggestion at the end

Jealous was an understatement. Sam Monroe doesn't get jealous, no he just gets angry, and oh boy, does he get angry. Sam will hold grudges until neither of you remember why he started in the first place. He will act like a complete drama queen (though he won't admit it because…he has a reputation to uphold remember?), he will give you sass, the cold shoulder and if you've really annoyed him, even refusing to cuddle at night. And Sam loves to cuddle.

And tonight was one of those nights. God, Sam was fuming, you could swear you saw the steam blowing out of his ears. Both of you were on your bed, him laying with his back to you and you sat, trying to get his attention. He had been ignoring you since lunchtime in school and yes, he went to your house despite being mad at you but that was only because he desperately hates being at his house lately. Everyday after school, he came over yours, staying there into the late hours of the night, even staying for the full night if he really felt like it. After all, he loved you, he really did. Normally, the two of you would spend hours wrapped up together, sharing whispered anecdotes about your days and stolen kisses when the other had been talking for too long.

But tonight, Sam had other plans. He laid on the bed, arms crossed, bottom lip jutting out, looking like a child who wasn't allowed to buy a new toy. He would huff every few minutes, wanting to always have your attention but not actually talking to you. After you finally reach your breaking point, you grab his shoulder and pull him so he's now on his back, forcing him to look at you. Once you've asked him what his problem is, all he replies with is “You know what.”

What? What does he mean? Immediately you start asking him and eventually he just bursts. “You were talking to him! Again. Seriously, why don't you just date him already?”

Oh. It finally clicked. That boy. The boy in your and Sam's class. He was nice, you considered him a friendly acquaintance. But he didn't consider you the same way. No, he was in love with you, and it was clear to all. Especially Sam. God, he made Sam insecure. He was everything Sam wasn't, athletic, conventionally handsome with blonde hair and huge biceps. Everytime Sam saw him talking to you, it made his blood boil. He was so sure that one day you would up and leave him for the hot football player.

Your face immediately dropped when you saw the look of pure heartbreak and sadness on his face and you immediately scoop up his larger frame and pull him so his head is resting on your chest. You press your pillowy lips to his forehead, whispering sweet words to try and reassure him. “Baby, I'm not leaving you, not now, not ever. I love you.”

Despite your words, he still shakes his head, not believing you.

“But he's perfect, you're perfect, I don't understand why you're with me, you could do so much better.”

You shush him almost as soon as he finishes talking, telling him how looks aren't everything, how you like him for his personality and not his looks (as cliche as it sounds) and how no matter if your dream guy came along you wouldn't leave him…because Sam is your dream guy.

After a few more minutes of you reassuring him, he finally stops pouting, looking up at you with his pretty face and his glazed over eyes. You lean down, pressing your lips against his surprisingly plump ones and it doesn't take long before his signature smirk finds its place back on his face. He pulls away once the both of you have run out of oxygen, slowly moving down your body, hands following and mouth trailing sloppy kisses wherever they can reach. He finally settles between your thighs, lips pressed against the bare skin there, before he whispers.

“Time to prove how much you really love me, yeah?”

Hi lovelies, just wanted to throw this quick drabble out there as I thought about jealous Sam during school today and couldn't stop thinking about him. Also you know the drill by now, this has not been proofread...But anyway, I hope you all enjoy and my requests should be opened if you have any suggestions for future fics. Anyway, I love you all, stay safe! xx

Tag list (request to be added?): @anakinstwinklebunny @loveamira

[manias-wordcount]

Hello! May I have a request for Soshiro Hoshina from kaiju no 8 with a fem reader? (Maybe a one shot or not)

Reader is a subordinate of the third division and is suddenly cold or distant or even pushing him away whenever he tried to interact her (but only follows him when it's necessary or on the mission). He's like fell for reader even he even screw the 'no attachment' rule he made.

Reader is hard to approach and a heartbreaker if someone ever confessed her because in reality she's afraid of falling in love but also falls for Hoshina. She thinks the vice captain prefer his duties than a relationship (or thinks he's into with Okonogi) that's why reader pushing him away so that he won't fall for her.

But then Hoshina had enough and confronted reader to snap out their head or try to prove his love for them.

My apologies for a angst request, I been angsty mood after I accidentally stumbled Hoshina angsts in Tumblr (lol) but don't worry there's a happy end of this request. But feel free to reject this request!

To Fall In Line (Soshiro Hoshina x Reader)

𝗔/𝗡: 𝗽𝗵𝗲𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮 𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘆 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 ���𝗢𝗟. 𝗶 𝘄𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗺𝘆 𝗼𝗻𝗲-𝘀𝗵𝗼𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗰𝗿𝗼𝘀𝘀 𝗮 𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘂𝗹𝗮𝗿 𝘀𝗰𝗲𝗻𝗲 𝘀𝗼 𝗺𝗼𝘀𝘁 𝗼𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝘁𝗮𝗶𝗹𝘀 𝗼𝗳 𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗾𝘂𝗲𝘀𝘁 𝗵𝗮𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗯𝗲 𝘀𝗽𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗸𝗹𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝗻/𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗱. 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗴𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗮 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗱𝘀 𝘂𝗽. 𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝘆, 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆!

𝙒𝘼𝙍𝙉𝙄𝙉𝙂!! 𝙚𝙝,, 𝙝𝙚 𝙜𝙚𝙩𝙨 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙥𝙝𝙮𝙨𝙞𝙘𝙖𝙡 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙮 𝙨𝙢𝙝

𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙚? ⇒ 𝙈𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩

𝙟𝙤𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙤𝙧𝙙 𝙨𝙚𝙧𝙫𝙚𝙧?

𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙢𝙚 𝙖 𝙘𝙤𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙚?

It’s not in you to disobey orders like this. But…

“I said look at me, soldier.”

…you just can’t bring yourself to do it. Not this time.

You swallow thickly, and the sound your nervous action makes is all too loud and quiet at the same time. Still, you do nothing. You can do nothing. It feels like it’s no longer you in control of yourself anymore. It feels like it’s not you who could still your shaking hands as they grip themselves as hard as they can into tight fists, just by your side. It feels like you who could not open your lungs more to take in the air that threatens not to comply with your needs the longer you sit here, dwelling. But perhaps worse of all, it feels like it’s not you who controls your eyes. Your eyes that remain open. Your eyes that refuse to look anywhere higher than the chin of the man in front of you. Despite being asked to. Despite being ordered to.

You’re disobeying him. That’s what it must look like to your superior. That you’re simply disobeying him. But you can’t. You just can’t do it. Why can’t you do it?

You swallow again. This time, the sound is more audible and shakier than before. You think it makes things worse for you. You think that because instantly, your vice-captain’s jaw clenches as his head angles down and his muscles tighten under his suit. He takes a step forward. Then two. And then three. The space cornered you yourself in was a small, tight storage closet. Somewhere far off from the main hallway. In the beginning, he had enough mercy within himself to give you space. But now, he’s out of mercy. Just like you were out of luck from the moment he pulled you aside and dragged you away from training with the rest of the crew.

For what reason? You don’t know. All you can do is mentally brace yourself now. But for what? You don’t know that either. All you know is that you’re making it worse. By not responding. By shaking. By not looking at him. By disobeying.

But you just don’t know how to stop.

“That was an order, you know.” Vice-Captain Hoshina’s voice is eerily calm when he finally decides to speak up again. It’s far too quiet and it’s far too close as he leans into your space and utters the words by your ear. And it does too much to you. The tenseness of his voice strikes the fear that it needs to in your heart, yes. But it does something else to it too. Something you’re ashamed to admit. Something that you just couldn’t shake, no matter how hard you tried to avoid getting close to him. Something that is unbecoming of a soldier and her Vice-Captain. Something, that you have a horrible feeling about why you can’t look him in the eyes right now. Not while you’re alone. Not while you’re so close. “I said…LOOK AT ME!”

His snarl is sudden. You could almost hear the dangerous curl of his lip as he barked his order at you once more. But now… now, you can see it too. Because the moment the words left his mouth, his hand had reached for your jaw with blinding speed and a bruising grip. You barely had time to yelp before your head was being yanked up to meet his eyes.

His darkened, furious eyes.

It’s not the first time one of your superiors has gotten physical with you. It’s how life goes when you’re a weapon for your country. It’s something that you’re used to. Something that you shouldn’t even be surprised by. But for the first time in a while, you find yourself looking at your Vice-Captain head-on. You find yourself staring into a face that you come to respect so much twisted up in rage at your actions. Narrowed eyes, deep frowns, and barred teeth. The whole nine yards.

And because of that, something inside your cracks. 

“I’m sorry,” It comes out in words that just barely exist above a whisper. But in the small, tight space he has you trapped in, you might as well have been shouting it. You barely even pay attention to the tears prickling at your eyes. Because all you can see right now is the fury of your superior- your Vice Captain Hoshina- and how badly you have failed him. “I’m…I’m sorry…”

Or rather, all you can see is the man that you ultimately fell in love with despite your best efforts not to…and just how much hate must hold for an incomplete soldier like you.

At least, that’s what you thought at first. 

“You…”

The Vice Captain’s voice takes a while to manifest. But when it does, it’s as shaky and unsure as you are. But it’s also soft. Painfully soft. Softer than you thought he was capable of. The same goes for his expression and his body too. The instant your words rang throughout the room, you could tell the energy of the moment shifted. You could tell by the way he froze before you. You could tell by the way his grip relaxed and his eyes widened in surprise. You could tell by the way he looked at you like you weren’t a soldier. Like you were some type of fragile thing that he didn’t mean to hurt. It’s different. It’s odd. It’s the last thing you expected. But somehow, it’s still him.

“You…”

He trails off again as the body loses all of its previous tenseness from before. You feel like your breaths are too short and your heart is too loud for you to hear his next words. But it’s truly him, who does not know what to say. It’s truly him who does not speak. Instead, he lets his hair fall over his eyes as a shuttered breath passes uneasily through his lips. The hand on your chin falls limply to his side, though you refuse to move from the spot that he held you in- unsure of what’s to come. In the meantime, the man before you sways roughly, as if in a fragile and upset state of mind himself. As if you were the one doing the yelling. As if you were the one who had ruled over him. As if what you said and what you thought of him were truly worthy of his thought and time and attention.

And so, a beat of silence passes. And then another. And another. And another. 

Until finally, finally…

“You don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, do you?”

It comes out rough, but desperate. Like he needs an answer. Like he needs an answer to breathe again. And It’s an odd question, that much you can admit. Though, it’s an even odder situation that the two of you are currently in. But despite this, you already know your answer. 

You want to shake your head. You don’t know what you’re apologizing for. You don’t know at all. But you want this to stop. You want him to stop being mad at you. But god,  you must look so pathetic right now. You know you’re supposed to be stronger than this. You know you always were stronger than this. But it’s because it’s him. Because it’s been him who had been pressing you playfully for all these weeks about the recent string of confessions you’ve gotten from other members of your cohort. It’s been him who has been acting so concerned whenever you started getting skittish around him and tried to avoid being alone with him. 

So you want to shake your head. You want to shake your head because you don’t know what exactly you’re apologizing for right now, but you know that you’re just sorry for some many things. For disobeying orders. For acting so childish. For behaving so weirdly. For falling for him. For all those things. For all those things and more.

But you never get the chance. You never get the chance to explain yourself. You never get the chance to express the sentiment or make things right. Because before you knew it?

He’s swooping in, and kissing you. And because it’s not in you to disobey orders like this…

…you kiss him right back too.

[freyalooove]

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

Ex!Enzo!

Ex!Enzo! He never really lets you go. He still wears the silver chain you gave him. Still keeps your favorite record in his collection. Still visits that same café where you used to sit across from him in a too-big hoodie and bare legs. "I'm fine." "Then why do you still look at her like that?" "Like what?" "Like you still love her."

Ex!Enzo! He shows up at parties just to see you. Drunk. Smirking. With a girl he doesn't care about. He won't touch her all night—just leans against the wall and watches you dance like it physically hurts him. You feel his stare like a hand on your skin. "He's still in love with you, you know." "He's the one who left." "Yeah, and he's been regretting it ever since."

Ex!Enzo! He hates anyone you're with after him. Absolutely unhinged levels of jealousy. Spreads nasty rumors. Gets in fights. Breaks things. But never confronts you directly—just sends you cryptic messages at 2am when he sees a photo of you with someone else. "He's not me. He'll never fuck you like I did."

Ex!Enzo! He drunk texts you constantly, then pretends he didn't. Midnight voice notes. Slurred apologies. Random photos. You try to block him—but he finds a way every time. Even when he tries to move on, he always circles back to you. "I miss your mouth." "Lorenzo–" "Say you miss me too. Even if it's a lie."

Ex!Enzo! He keeps every memory like a wound he can't stop touching. Your perfume. That summer road trip. The fight where you walked out. He replays it all on loop like he's addicted to the pain. Like he'd rather hurt than forget. "She's the only person who's ever really seen me. And now she won't even look at me."

Ex!Enzo! He still dreams about you—then acts cold when he sees you. Pretends he doesn't care. Won't look your way. But if you walk to close, his hands shake. And if someone mentions your name, his jaw clenches like it's made of glass. "I hope you're happy." "No, you don't" "...No. I don't"

Ex!Enzo! He shows up when you're at your lowest. Even if it's been months. Even if you haven't spoken. The moment something happens—he knows. And suddenly he's at your door, bruised knuckles, heavy breathing, and those same eyes that never stopped begging for you. "You don't get to show up now—" "I had to. You're mine, and you someone. Even if you hate me."

Ex!Enzo! He never sleeps with anyone more than once. No one else feels like you. No one sounds like you. No one kisses with the same desperation. So he uses people. Leaves. And drinks to forget. But he never can. "She ruined me."  "You ruined each other."

Ex!Enzo! He writes you letters he never sends. Pages of things he was to prideful to say. Things like "I'm sorry" and "I'd marry you if you'd let me." His room is filled with them. And every time he tries to burn them, he can't

Ex!Enzo! If you needed him—he'd drop everything. No matter where he is. No matter who he's with. If you called, he'd come. Because no matter how much time passes, how much damage you did to each other, you'll always be the girl he loved too much to survive. "I'd do it all over again. Every fight. Every heartbreak. If it meant I got hold you one last time."

[mypoisonedvine]

Tommy’s teenage love, whom he got separated from when he went to france.. Sad, bitter and heartbreaking end for them.

But now years later he sees her again, and the tension is 👀👀

I know this doesn't have to be dark but of course I made it a little dark 🤣 tommy just can't take no for an answer...

warnings: DUBCON DARK SMUT 18+ ONLY!, yandere, infidelity/cucking, breeding

It wasn't until he tried to kiss you, and you backed away, that he really got angry. Up until that point, it seemed like he'd thought the life you'd made for yourself while he was gone was just a minor inconvenience at most-- but your resistance irritated him. You didn't remember being so nervous around him when he was upset.

"Why won't you kiss me?" he asked softly, and you weren't even sure how to answer that question... wasn't it obvious?

"Thomas," you mumbled, "it was nice to catch up, but..."

He tightened his fists as you trailed off, making you feel oddly trapped while standing in your own kitchen. "I kept my promise," he told you firmly. "I never loved anyone else."

"You can't be angry with me," you scoffed. "Tommy, we were children! We didn't understand what any of it really meant--"

"You didn't really love me?" he assumed sharply.

"O-of course I did," you sighed, "Tommy, of course. I loved you so much. But I grew up."

Your fingers absent-mindedly twisted your wedding ring around your finger, guilt stirring in your chest. If you were honest with yourself, you knew you never moved on from Tommy completely-- no one ever forgets their first love. But you'd managed to put it all in the back of your mind, telling yourself that was all over... until you saw him again. Your heart could've stopped, seeing him at your door; it was like seeing him for the first time all over again, even though you could see how unkind the years had been to him.

But you had to shove all those feelings down now, and think of your husband. "You should go," you whispered, "before he gets back."

"I grew up too," he sneered, taking a step closer that made your heart race for multiple, conflicting reasons. "You have no idea the man I am now. People do what I say or they suffer consequences."

You swallowed thickly, horrified to see the darkness in his eyes-- something totally unlike the gentle, passionate young man you'd known all those years ago.

"If I want something, I take it," he continued. "Doesn't matter if it's a horse, or a gun, or another man's wife."

"Tommy," you whimpered, "my husband will be home soon... you need to leave before he comes back."

He stepped closer again, grabbing you and holding you tightly against him when you tried to step away. "Good," he decided flatly. "He can see what a little whore you are when a real man takes you."

He shoved you down onto the table harshly, ignoring your whine of pain as he pushed the bowls and plates out of the way, most of them falling off and shattering; none of that bothered him, he was too busy roughly pulling up your skirts, unfastening his trousers, holding you down. "T-Tommy, please," you choked.

"I know," he sighed, "I know, you need me so badly. How long has it been since anyone properly made love to you, darling? He could never take care of you like I do."

Sliding his fat head through your folds, you choked on a little sob.

"You still get so wet for me," he grinned happily, "still dripping, just like I remember."

Truth be told, your body still responded to him... that couldn't be denied now. You had a natural urge to give in and let him take you, let him bring you the pleasure you hadn't known since he left; but your logic and your dignity kept up the fight, though it was pretty useless against Tommy's strength-- with only one hand, he held you down while he guided his cock to your entrance.

He sighed a heavy, dark sigh of relief as he sheathed himself inside you, relaxing all over like a burden had been lifted off of him. "Oh, love," he purred, rubbing your back soothingly to try to help you stop shaking. "Oh, I'd nearly forgotten... nearly lost the memory entirely of how warm you are inside..."

You, meanwhile, were whimpering and willing your legs not to shake-- you couldn't let him see how much you loved the feeling, how you'd longed to take him inside you again, or he'd never leave you alone.

"My beautiful," he panted, "my darling..."

Setting a rough and desperate pace, his hands grabbed greedily at your body, forcing you to bite down harder on your lip to keep from moaning.

"You wouldn't believe how I missed this," he breathed. "Thought of you every day in France-- only way I survived, thinking of you... said you'd wait for me, love..."

You tried to hold back your tears, all of this bringing back emotions you thought you'd buried forever-- I would've waited for you forever, Tommy, you wanted to say, I wish I had, but I was scared that I'd never see you again.

You didn't say it, though, because you wouldn't be able to keep yourself together. You were struggling enough now, impossibly conflicted by what he was doing to you. For years you'd imagined seeing him again, but it never went quite like this in your head.

"T-Tommy," you managed choke out, and he cooed your name back at you sweetly.

"I know," he offered again, "it's really me, love-- we're really together again. I won't let you go this time."

You hadn't been lying about your husband coming home soon-- maybe Tommy thought you were, as an excuse to make him leave, but you weren't. You sobbed in shame and fear as he unlocked the door and walked in, finding you two in the kitchen with the most (understandably) bewildered look on his face.

Tommy didn't even stop.

"Wha-- Christ?! Who the fuck are you?!" your husband spat out, stammering over himself.

"I'm Tommy fuckin' Shelby," Tommy growled.

"O-oh," your husband choked, stepping back shakily towards the door. You hid your face, unable to look at him, so you only knew he left when you heard the door shut a minute later. Tommy purred and leaned down to rest his head on your back, between your shoulder blades.

"Don't think he's gonna give us any more trouble," Tommy chuckled darkly. "Fuck, love, I'm so close already-- never knew how to control myself with you..."

The way he breathed against your skin-- that hadn't changed at all. You hadn't even realized you remembered it until you heard it, and it was like you were that girl again, the girl he loved so long ago-- but you weren't anymore, or at least, that's what you had thought.

"Almost ready to fill you up nice and deep, hm?"

"Tommy," you choked, tensing up under him, and he groaned happily.

"Can't wait for our little family, darling," he cooed, "all the babies we're gonna have-- like we talked about back then, remember?"

His thrusts came faster and harder, shaking the whole table under you, and you kept hiding your face so you could try to deny your pleasure. Maybe you could hide it from yourself, but it was useless trying to hide it from him.

"I know how badly you need it," he groaned, "how long you've wanted this-- I'm yours, love, all yours again. You'll never have to be away from me again."

You knew what that really meant was that you'd never get a chance to be away from him again. It scared you just as much as it comforted you.

He came deep inside you with a long, low moan-- and for a long time, he just stayed within you, catching his breath. He only pulled out so he could lift you up a bit, turning you to face him, and finally getting you to kiss him this time. You struggled to focus on kissing him back when you could feel his come running down your thighs.

"You were always mine," he informed you with a gentle whisper against your lips. "Doesn't matter whose ring is on your finger. You'll always be mine."

[broadway-karkat]

HAPPY 4/13!!! I'VE BEEN WORKING ON THIS FOR A GOOD WHILE NOW. AS YOU KNOW, I SPEAK ALTERNIAN, NOT HUMANESE, SO IT'S HARD FOR ME TO RAP. BUT I DID MY FUCKING BEST FOR YOU CURSED CREATURES. AS ALWAYS, YOU ARE FUCKING WELCOME.

YES THIS IS A STRIDER DISS. IT STARTED AS A TROLL DRAKE DISS BUT THEN... I DON'T KNOW, IT WENT TOO HARD FOR JUST THAT.

(Modkat stepping in to say this is NOT directed at any Dave voice-actors/singers, in fact I checked with some Dave voiceactors around the Tumblr-O-Sphere and they were cool with it. I've just been hyperfixated on this song ever since the superbowl halftime show and decided to have some fun with it! Kendrick Lamar thank you for my life)

ART BY KENNYKENBEE, LYRICS BY ME BELOW THE CUT

Psst, I see dead people (Sollux on the beat, yo)

Ayy, Sollux on the beat, yo Spit out some bars to my homie, it’s a free throw Man down, call an ambulance, tell him: Breathe, bro Got him to his quest bed now he walk around like Bozo

What's up with these greyless people tryna see Alternia? The humans can hate me, fuck 'em all and they lusus How many opps you really got? I mean, it's too many options I'ma fuck you up so bad, wish you weren’t adopted Beat your ass and hide the Texts if Sufferer’s watchin'

Sometimes you gotta pop out and show humans Certified god, I'm the one that up the score with 'em Walk him down, whole time I know he got some bite in him Jump on him, extort shit, bully, Death Row on him

Say, Dave, I hear you so ironic You better pray that condition’s not chronic To any bitch that talk to him and they in love Just make sure you ready for the heartbreak

They tell me John the only one that get your hand-me-downs And Rose at the party playin' with her drinks now And Jade got a weird tail, why is she around? Certified human gods? Certified fuckass clowns

Wop, wop, wop, wop, wop, KK, fuck 'em up Wop, wop, wop, wop, wop, I'ma do my stuff Why y’all whinin' like a bitch? Ain't you tired? Tryna strike a chord and it's probably uninspired

They not like us They not like us They not like us They not like us They not like us They not like us

You think we gon' let you disrespect the trolls, fucker? I think that planet is gon' be your last stop, fucker Did friends foul, I don't know why you still pretendin' What is the owl? Oh fuck it’s Davesprite, shit alright, go

The readers not dumb Shape the stories how you want, hey, Dave, they're not slow Rabbit hole is still deep, I can go further, I promise Ain’t that somethin’? Get your apple juice and go cry to your brother

Ain't no lie, boy, fetch red Faygo or somethin' Since 2010 I had this bitch jumpin' The trolls be all excited, just cheering for my victory Isn’t all just contradictory? Don’t even need to try. Fuckass

Striders up in the medium Might dial this more than a burn, tell the fake god quit hidin' Fuck a caption, want action, no accident and I'm hands-on, he fuck around, get polished

Killed yourself on a loop, now that's connivin' Then act all innocent without even apologizin' I’m sad for all the Daves, doomed by the main Strider From Alternia down to Earth, I’m sure y’all turn on deciders

And your boy need his ass beat, that ”cool kid” move in flocks Those names gotta be registered and placed on planetary watch I lean on you trolls for another hit on vibes Yeah, it's all eyes on me and I’mma follow all them guides, ayy

Put the wrong label on me, I'ma get 'em dropped, ayy Bway KK playin’ and I won't pass the aux, ayy How many fucks do I really have in stock? Ayy One, two, three, four, five, plus five, ayy

Scratching is a lie, he a wannabe God, ayy Freaky-ass humans need to stay they ass inside, ayy Kick they ass up like it’s me and my pride, ayy Alternia’s back up, it's a must, we outside, ayy

They not like us They not like us They not like us They not like us They not like us They not like us

Once upon a time, most of us was in chains Then the human doubled down callin' us some slaves Alternia had pailbots bringing all the pains Bear with me for a second, let me put y'all on aim

The humans was usin' trollfolk to cheat the game Did this on sneak and then was highly acclaimed You run to Alternia when you need a check balance Let me break it down for you, this the real troll challenge

You called Terezi when you didn't sniff the club (ayy, what?) Gamzee helped you get your lingo up (what?) Eridan gave you false hive cred Nep made you feel like a troll in your head (ayy, what?)

Vriska said you are from the outside (what?) Aradia say you good, but she lied You run to Alternia when you need a few boondollars No, you not a colleague, you a fuckin' colonizer

Troll players matter and the truth of the matter It was Sufferer’s plan to show y'all the liar

Mmm Mmm He a fan, he a fan, he a fan (mmm) He a fan, he a fan, he a

Freaky-ass human, he a wannabe God Freaky-ass human, he a wannabe God Hey, hey, hey, hey, run for your life Hey, hey, hey, hey, run for your life

Freaky-ass human, he a wannabe God Freaky-ass human, he a wannabe God Hey, hey, hey, hey, run for your life Hey, hey, hey, hey, run for your life

Let me hear you say: KNIGHT OF BLOOD (knight of blood) Say: Knight of Blood (knight of blood) Now step this way, step that way Then step this way, step that way

Are you my friend? Are we locked in? Then step this way, step that way Then step this way, step that way

[wonio]

love is a bruise‎ ‎ ﹔ ‎ ‎ ‎parkjongseong

fem! reader ✴︎ prologue college au introspective romance fluff soft angst wc 1.8k ( y/n's pov ) warnings before you read mentions of stress, family pressure, emotional hurt

• ‎ ‎ ‎ a story about timing, silence, and the kind of love that changes you. she didn't believe in fate⎯until he made her believe in something more. now he's back, and she's not sure what to do with the pieces left behind.

fate is a strange thing. not the kind of strange that makes you curious⎯more like the kind that makes you wonder if anything was ever really in your hands to begin with. i used to think that fate was a fairytale. something people told themselves when life didn't go the way they wanted. i don't believe in signs, or soulmates, or the idea that the universe was ever on anyone's side. because some of us don't get to believe in stuff like that. some of us grow up too fast. we learn how to keep our heads down, to carry the weight of others like it's second nature. we learn that silence is sometimes safer than hope. and that being loved is a privilege, not a given. i didn't have space for fate. not when i was busy trying to be perfect. not when i had people depending on me. not when life was a carefully drawn map i wasn't allowed to step off from. responsibility came first. my siblings, my family, their expectations. the kind of love i knew was duty, not warmth. i guess what's why i never saw it coming⎯ him. park jongseong. jay park. the person who ruined every rule i'd written for myself. the person who made me question everything i thought i knew about love. because love, to me, was never gentle. it wasn't safety or comfort. it was loud. painful. something that slipped through your fingers the moment you started to want it. and when jay came into my life, he didn't ask for permission. he just.. existed. soft in all places i was hardened. patient when i couldn't even be patient with myself. and god, i hated him for it. because the more i tried to push him away, the more he stayed. he made me laugh when i didn't want to. he looked at me like i wasn't broken. he made it so easy to forget why i built walls in the first place. and i let him in. slowly, quietly, without realizing that he was already in every part of me. but not all stories are meant to stay soft. we broke. and when it ended, it didn't feel like an explosion. it felt like an echo⎯one that kept repeating in my chest long after he left. losing him wasn't just heartbreak. it was losing a version of myself i'd only started to know. and for a while, i told myself it was over. i learned how to live with the quiet. how to stop waiting for messages that would never come. how to breathe again without looking for him. but fate⎯ fate doesn't care about timing. it doesn't care if you've healed or if you're still bleeding. it brings people back when you're least ready for it. and now, he's here again. in the same city. under the same sky. with the same voice that used to say my name like it meant something. i don't know what i'm supposed to do with this. i don't know how to look at him without remembering every version of us. the almosts. the late nights. the things we didn't say. but maybe.. maybe fate is less about destiny and more about choice. maybe it's not about waiting for things to happen, but about letting yourself believe that something good can happen again. even after everything. and if seeing him again is fate's way of testing me⎯ then maybe this time, i won't run. this time, i'll stay.

by wonio if this doesn't flop, i'll write jay's pov as a continuation of the story ><

[cheers-to-you-th]

Winner Takes it All TEASER

Pairing: Mingyu x Reader Genre: Friends to lovers, fluff, angst Warnings: very suggestive (MDNI), seft-doubt, idiocy Word count: final 17k, teaser 965

Part Two will be fluff and smut :3

Release Date: 6/10/25

Summary: It's no secret that Kim Mingyu is a whore. The question is, why won't he fuck you?!

or

Your journey of attempting to seduce your friend, Kim Mingyu

Full fic

It's no secret that Kim Mingyu is a whore.

Okay, maybe that’s a little harsh, but if there's one thing everyone on campus knows, its that he’s a good fuck. It's not like he has no standards, he just isn’t shy about his life, and with his looks, you wouldn’t be either. He wears the title like a badge of honor, girls practically tripping over themselves to sleep with him at every chance.

So yeah, it's no secret that Kim Mingyu appreciates and indulges in one night stands, random hookups, and having an all around good time, the question is, why on earth won’t he sleep with you?

You first brought it up one night during a study session at his apartment that had turned into beer and complaining about life. He was your friend, you consider yourself to be pretty close. You figured, he’s so open about his sex life, why can’t I be? (and you were maybe a few cans too deep)

He was talking about how one of the girls he’d hooked up with recently wouldn’t leave him alone even though he’d clearly told her it was a one time thing. 

“God, I haven’t been fucked good in so long” You groan dramatically as he chokes on his beer. “Like, seriously, I feel like a fucking celibate. No shame on celibates, just not my thing.” 

At that he snorts, “I’m sure I know plenty of people who wouldn’t mind taking you home.”

You roll your eyes, stretching your legs across his lap like you always do when you're a little tipsy and annoyed. “Yeah, but I’m not trying to settle for just anyone. I want to be fucked well, not just… you know, awkward thrusts and two minutes of missionary while some dude tries to make me come with, like, hope and vibes.”

Mingyu laughs—big and loud, the kind that crinkles the corners of his eyes and makes your chest feel tight for no reason you’ll admit out loud. “You’re so dramatic.”

“I’m serious,” you say, nudging his thigh with your foot. “You’ve got this reputation, right? Campus Casanova, professional heartbreaker, dick of the year—”

“Thank you,” he says with a flourish.

“—so why haven’t I benefited from that? I have a declaration.” You raise your hand dramatically and point at him, “You are the chosen one. This is my most desperate hour. Fuck me, Kim Mingyu, you’re my only hope.”

Mingyu snorts so hard he actually wheezes, pressing a hand to his chest like your words physically knocked the wind out of him. “Did you just—did you Star Wars me into asking for sex?”

You grin, a little smug, a little unhinged, and blame the alcohol and the way he’s looking at you now—eyes wide but amused, lips parted around the beginning of a smile that doesn’t reach his usual cocky level. He’s... surprised. And not laughing at you. Just surprised.

“I’m being resourceful,” you say, lifting your beer in a mock toast. “Besides, who wouldn’t want to fuck their hot friend?”

“So you think I’m hot?” he teases, and you blame the alcohol for how you think you see something deeper in his eyes.

You snort. “Mingyu, that’s the least controversial opinion I’ve ever had.”

Mingyu throws his head back, groaning like you’ve just inflicted pain instead of flattery. “God, don’t say stuff like that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, you can dish it out but you can’t take it?”

“No, it’s not that,” he says, brushing your leg off his lap playfully and standing to grab another beer. “It’s that I like being friends with you, and hearing you say shit like that makes it dangerous.”

You blink. “Dangerous how?”

He shrugs, cracking open the can and avoiding your gaze in a way that’s suspiciously casual. “You’re cute when you’re drunk, but your drunk brain has terrible ideas. I like us the way we are.”

You narrow your eyes. “So you won’t sleep with me?”

“Nope,” he says, popping the ‘p’. 

“Even if I say please?” You say, looking up at him innocently.

“You look like a tarsier.” He deadpans.

You scoff. “Wow. I’m offended. Rejected and mocked?”

He leans against the kitchen counter and grins, annoyingly charming and smug. “Consider it a compliment. You're one of the few people I don't want to ruin with my ‘dick of the year’.”

You toss a pillow at him. “I’ll have you know I only asked because I was trying to solve a very real personal crisis.”

“Well, this crisis,” he says, catching the pillow and throwing it back, “will not be solved with me. I’m flattered. Really. But nah.”

You sit there for a beat, squinting at him like you’re trying to find the crack in his logic. “Is this, like, a challenge? Are you saying I’m not good enough for your stupid dick?”

He snorts. “I’m saying you’re too good. Too funny. Too smart. And my friend whom I greatly value.”

“Oh my god, stop trying to reject me nicely” you groan, flopping dramatically back onto the couch.

“I’m not trying,” he says with a wink. “It’s just my natural charm.”

You pout, staring at the ceiling, a wicked little idea already forming. “Fine. Reject me. I see how it is.” You sigh dramatically then look at him. “But don’t think this is over.”

“Oh really?” he says, amused.

You glance at him sideways, eyes sharp. “You’ll break eventually. Everyone does.”

He barks out a laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“Just patient,” you sing, reaching for your beer.

He shakes his head, chuckling as he walks back over. “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

If he thinks you’re going to drop it, he clearly doesn’t know you as well as he thought.

Because the war has begun.

Let the games begin.

A/N: forgot to upload last month oops. finals were crazy but now its summer so... more writing? we'll see

the nerdy shit in this is purely self indulgent

[rootspiral]

Agatha all along deep dive: episode 1 part 2

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

Okay, let's keep going through Agatha All Along epsode 1, in which detective Agnes sees Nicky's lock of hair inside her brooch and is stunned into silence for a long ten seconds

she's feeling agonizing heartbreak and cannot even tell why

you know what, she technically is home. she's in her living room as we speak. but every line has multiple readings, so go home... where? to her old self? to her witchy roots? to her coven? to Rio? to Nicky, in the afterlife?

I wonder if all the water puddles are deliberate. do they symbolize mirrors, is she gone through the looking glass? or is water = rio?

the way she has to steel herself before getting into Nicky's room

THE MOON PHASES OVER THE BED. as if she wishes there was a coven looking over him, protecting him

I saw some reactors laughing their asses off at this scene, still hung up on the parody of it all, going "did they make the rabbit into a dead kid backstory? that's HILARIOUS." Sure. So funny.

(they keep associating Nicky with rabbits tho, in the previous scene with Rio there's a blink-and-you-miss-it moment when a plant in the background suddenly turns into Nicky's picture. was señor scratchy named after him?)

why can't they properly light their scenes goddamnit I shouldn't have to use 6 layers to see her face

oh look it's Aubrey Plaza and pizza, two of the sexiest concepts humanity has ever come up with

first of all: open vest and white shirt? that's hot. second of all, the way she's sitting so confidently with her whole chest out, so open, taking deep breaths. she just wants to drink her all up, all of her, her beauty, her sorrow, her goofiness. she's SO damn in love.

what a goober. what a delight. plaid shirt and no makeup, drinking beer and snorting when she laughs, a bit awkward and bashful. what a stud. I would die for her. I would wife her so quickly. I'm gonna say this whit my whole chest, the more femme presenting Agatha is, the more she's wearing a shield and playing a part. this is Agatha raw and defenseless and true, and I want to protect her like she's a precious kitten. (me and Rio both, tbh)

case in point: Agatha is manspreading like some idiot lumberjack, and Rio looks like she has never seen anyone hotter

Agatha: "I have a lead in the case". Rio, with goddamn bedroom eyes: "that's not why I came over."

But then when Agatha looks overwhelmed she immediately course-corrects and encourages her to talk about the case. Love me a boundary-respecting king. Real talk, she's been respecting those boundaries for a long time. And even if she's quite angry at Agatha, she won't unleash all that on her when she's so defenseless.

She pushes a little, and the moment it's too much for Agatha she steps back and regroups. She's being SO gentle.

That's fascinating that her subconscious knows what happened to Billy. Exactly how connected are they?

Whoops, we're leaning in again.

She says yes so openly. When the real Agatha has been running away from Rio and this confrontation for centuries! The real Agatha is SCREAMING in terror, but he body won't listen because it's fallen back into that feeling of domesticity and trust. This is the same body that will always yearn to kiss Rio. The mind that categorically forbids it is shut away for the time being.

Why is Rio trying to wake Agatha up? She could let her stay like this. She could easily make Agnes O'Connor fall in love. The two main reasons why she doesn't are: because she's so fucking angry with her, and she wants them to finally have a mature conversation about Nicky and she needs Agatha to understand that she's hurting too. The second reason is - because she loves her too much. It's honestly just that. She cannot let Agatha live like this, tortured, imprisoned, without agency. She want to have a mature conversation with the real Agatha, she wants to get angry with the real Agatha, most of all she wants Agatha to be okay. Do you see the difference? She's not just in love with her, because being in love is a selfish act, but to love someone is fundamentally selfless. And she will keep loving Agatha no matter if they are together or not. She loves her enough to bend the rules of the universe for her. She just... she loves her.

and this, letting Agatha exist in this form, is a punishment too cruel for Rio to allow

The half smile, the bitterness behind it. An Agatha who doesn't hate her is just a beautiful fantasy, but Rio knows better.

it's Billy! and another mirror! yep, that's a theme.

Ha, the real Sharon was calling him a hooligan. RIP sharon, gone too soon

so intense!!?! even when she's not doing it on purpose, her characters are cheesy and cliched. and it takes a lot of talent to write a bad show too, so kudos to jac schaeffer & co

go to part 3

[aeroblossom]

why does no one ever talk about benjamin. always loving, always faithful benjamin. witnessing ayin's sins firsthand, knowing his sin intertwined with ayin's, the sin of not stopping him. the sin of enabling. and at the end of it all, still unable to truly hate the man he dedicated his youth to. if there was one person with so much love in their heart other than carmen, it would be him. he is the one who programmed angela, made her who she is - every part of her that is carmen-like, is thanks to him. benjamin is who understood carmen, not ayin. he taught angela everything she knows. all just to be betrayed by ayin, and avoided by angela.

knowing she was losing her patience, knowing it all was going downhill, he tried to save ayin for the last time, just to be killed by angela. and still he did not hate her. still he couldn't bring himself to feel hatred for these two, especially angela. hokma gave angela the trust and acceptance she was supposed to get. angela says that the tone and shape of her voice is taken from the wisest person there is... she was talking about him. he is the most patient, wise, most loving figure in her life. imagine the heartbreak when she decided to steal the seed of light - the daughter he did most of the work raising finally giving in to her pain and turning on everyone. and he's unable to do anything, stuck in this chassis. everything he worked for is falling apart once more. he will never see ayin again. maybe he will never see angela either, the angela he made with his own hands, again.

but he learns. he won't repeat the mistakes from when he was young. his myriad vices have taught him well. he can't get ayin back. but he still has angela. he cannot undo his actions, but he can make amends. and that he does. despite being killed by the hands of someone he made with so much care, he knows better than to blame her. he knows better than to berate, be cruel, be heartless. he knows better than to be ayin. i wish his gentleness and faith in those he loved was acknowledged, his ability to forgive, even if it goes too far sometimes. he does not enable, but nor does he force. he gave angela a genuine choice. he gave her the space to try and reflect on herself, while letting her know that he will love her all the same, no matter what she does - because he believes in her. he believes in the child whose heart he knows so intimately. he believes in her to make the right decision, to grow, to be better. he allows her to learn right from wrong, on her own terms. angela was blind to hokma's love and acceptance, her world eclipsed by ayin's disgust and abuse - but he waited, patiently, endlessly, putting up with every single mistake and disaster. i wish he was more appreciated. ayin distorted the image of carmen in his head, ignoring how the person who truly understood what carmen wanted was right next to him the whole time. angela obsessed over finding the answer she believed carmen promised her, not knowing he had given her the answer long ago.

[sissylittlefeather]

Heartbreak Hotel

A/N: Whaaaaaaat a smutless one-shot? Never have I ever lol. No, but really. This idea came to me and @ccab and I couldn't not write it. This is Elvis during the filming of King Creole and a very shy reader.

Warnings: kissing, an erection, some sexy thoughts, and a foot rub

Word count: ~2.7k

"Y-you want me to do what?" You hold your clipboard to your chest and shake your head nervously. Surely your boss isn't asking you to do what you think he is. You're not even sure how you ended up working on the set of King Creole anyway. Your father must've had something to do with it.

"Go to the hotel and bring Elvis back to the set. I know we told him we were done for the day but we really need him to try on his wardrobe for tomorrow and the costume people just finished it." You understand the logic behind the request. That's not the part that confuses you.

"But why m-me, sir?" You anxiously chew on your bottom lip. It's been hard enough for you to work here with Elvis wandering around. Walking up to him directly is about the last thing you want to do. It's not that you don't like him. Quite the opposite, in fact. You love him. But you've always been a little mousy and shy and unsure of yourself. The idea of talking to him makes you want to crawl into a hole.

"You're young and cute. This assignment is going to really piss him off. We figured you might soften the blow. He can't very well yell at you." You blink several times and your eyes go even wider. The fact that it won't just be Elvis, it'll be angry Elvis, really makes your heart race like a rabbit's.

"W-what if he won't come?"

"Not an option. Convince him. Now, just go." You consider quitting your job right then, but you know that's not realistic. Sighing deeply, you turn to walk from the small office.

"Y/n!"

"Yeah?"

"Clipboard."

"Oh... yeah..." You hand him the clipboard and cross your arms tightly on your chest.

"Y/n. Please try not to look like you're about to cry." You nod your head and try to rearrange your face, but you are about to cry.

******

Somehow, the next thing you know, you're in the lobby of one of the nicest hotels in New Orleans.

"Can you please call Mr. Presley down here? I-I-I need to speak to him." The receptionist nods and calls up to his room. You don't hear the conversation, too distracted by looking around at the fancy decor.

"Alright. I'll let her know." You turn back to the receptionist. "He says you can come on up. He's in the penthouse. Just push the button with the "p" on the elevator."

You stand there with your mouth hanging open and she turns away to do some other task.

No. He was supposed to come down, not you come up. You look at the elevators and swallow deeply. Then, you walk over and push the button.

Once you're on the elevator, it dawns on you that you're going to be walking into what is essentially his home. That thought hits you like a freight train and you feel like you're going to throw up or pass out or both. Just when you decide you're not getting out of the elevator, the doors slide open and there's a quiet ding. The room is carpeted and you see him sitting on a couch.

"Hey, honey, come on in." He hollers without moving. You feel like you're about to die, but you inch your way into the room anyway and the doors close behind you. He leans forward a little and gestures for you to walk towards him. "C'mon then, I won't bite."

You take a few steps into the room and then try to speak. All that comes out is a quiet squeak, though and you shake your head, frustrated with your own incompetence. He can tell you're struggling, so he stands up and walks towards you. That does not help. He's even taller, more attractive, and more intense up close than far away.

"What is it, honey? They send you to fire me or somethin'?" You look up at him and squeak again. He tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear and strokes your cheek gently. "You're a shy little thing, ain'tcha?"

"They want you back on set." You breathe a sigh of relief that you were finally able to talk.

"Back on set? No, I'm home for the night." You blink a few times, not really sure how to respond as he shakes his head.

"Please..." It comes out of you as a whispered plea and you want to scream at how pathetic you sound. He smiles softly.

"Okay. But only because you're too damn sweet to say no to." He squeezes the top of your arm and then encourages you toward the elevator with his hand on the small of your back. You really hope he can't feel how sweaty you are as he touches you.

You get back on the elevator and he pushes the button for the lobby. The elevator begins its descent and you stand next to each other in silence. A breath of relaxation washes over you. It's almost over.

Then it happens.

Somewhere between floors 5 and 6 the elevator screeches to a grinding halt. It knocks you off balance enough for him to have to catch you in his arms, your hands on his chest to steady yourself.

"Woah, honey, you okay?" You look up at him frozen in fear. He holds you for a few seconds too long and then stands you back up. His hands stay on your upper arms and you swear it's like he doesn't want to stop touching you.

And he doesn't. He rather enjoyed the feeling of you pressed up against him, your eyes wide and seeking reassurance. But he can't just move in and kiss you like he normally does with other girls. You might actually pass out. So instead, he leans his back against the wall of the small elevator and tries to smile at you in the sweetest way possible.

"Do I make you nervous, honey?" You look over at the elevator buttons like pressing one might get you out of this nightmare, but probably not. "Nobody else here. You're gonna have to talk to me."

You reluctantly look up at him and try to breathe steadily. You're finally able to whisper a response.

"Yes." His face breaks into an amused smile.

"Why?"

"Have you met you?!" It comes rushing out of you before you can stop it.

"I'm not sure how to answer that, sweetheart."

"I mean... I'm sorry..."

"Don't apologize. I'm just not sure I know what you mean is all." For some reason, it's getting a little easier for you to talk to him.

"You're ridiculously famous. You have a presence. And you're unbelievably attr-" You stop yourself and look at the floor, blushing. He steps forward off the wall and tips your chin up, so that you have to look into his face.

"Unbelievably what?" Part of you wants to slap the cocky smirk right off his face, but you'd die before you did that. Finally, you squeak it out.

"Attractive." He steps forward again almost closing the gap between your bodies.

"You know, you're not so bad yourself."

"Gee, thanks."

"No, I'm serious, honey. I'd letcha eat crackers in my bed." Without thinking about it, you burst into a fit of giggles. "It wasn't that funny..."

"I'm sorry; it's just the image of me sitting in your bed eating crackers. Like that's what I'd be doing if I was in your bed." He runs his finger down the side of your face and moves just the smallest bit closer to you.

"What else would you be doing in my bed?" All of a sudden, you're not laughing anymore. Now you're thinking of all the things you might be doing and it makes you blush an even deeper red than you have before. Your heart is going so fast it feels like it might leap out of your chest. He senses your anxiety and backs up a little. "You don't have to answer that, honey. I'm sorry."

He's not used to how delicate you are. It's endearing. Like you need him to take care of you. It's a job that sounds better and better the longer he's on this elevator with you.

You nod and stay quiet, but you kind of miss how close he was to you. His presence, albeit intimidating at first, is comforting.

He turns and slides down the back wall to sit on the floor of the elevator. Then, he pats the floor beside himself. You decide there's not much else to do and he actually seems pretty harmless, so you sit down next to him on the floor and lean back against the wall. It feels good to sit down. You wore new shoes to work today and your feet have been killing you for hours. A small whimper falls from your lips as you try to stretch your feet a bit. You're dying to take the heels off, but you don't want to freak him out.

"What's wrong, honey?" He hears you whimper and his eyebrows come together with concern.

"Oh, nothing. My feet just hurt from these new shoes."

"Take 'em off."

"Really? You don't mind?" He chuckles a little.

"Not at all. There's no tellin' how long we might be stuck in here. Get comfortable." Normally, you'd never do such a thing but your feet do hurt really badly and he's right. You're trapped. You reach down and slowly pull the shoes off of your feet, wincing in pain. Your hose make it look like you have webbed feet, but you really don't care as you gingerly wiggle your toes. He watches you, dying to kiss you. You might be the cutest thing he's ever seen and your feet are so small and pretty.

"Do they hurt bad?"

"Yeah. I shouldn't have worn these today." You tap the shoes together in your hands. "I suppose beauty is pain, though."

He laughs and then an idea settles on him. He's not sure how you'll respond, but it's worth a try.

"You want me to rub 'em?" You look up at him suddenly for three reasons. First, you can't believe he said it. Second, it sounds amazing. And third, there's a hint of something in his voice that almost sounds like uncertainty.

"I couldn't let you do that."

"Why not? I really don't mind and what else are we doin' right now?" The vulnerability on his face melts you and you know you can't say no. You smile bashfully and turn to lean against the other wall and put your feet in his lap.

"Well, alright then. Thank you." He smiles a very natural and relaxed smile and then goes to work massaging one of your feet. You'd be lying if you said it didn't feel amazing. His hands are strong and he seems to know what he's doing. You moan a little louder than you intend to, but your feet were so sore that the relief is almost overwhelming. He looks at you when you moan and bites his bottom lip, thanking God that your eyes are closed as his gaze travels down over your figure. If you weren't so shy, he'd probably already have you half undressed. But he kind of likes that you're shy. It's cute and he can't complain about the added challenge. It's almost getting too easy to get girls to say yes.

You spend the next twenty minutes or so like this. He switches feet halfway through, but you sit in silence, moaning and whimpering every once in a while. What you don't know is that you're driving him absolutely crazy with the sounds you're making. If you're this vocal with a foot massage, how might you be in bed? The thought sends a shiver of pleasure down his spine and he shifts to keep your feet away from his erection. Surprisingly, you're the one who breaks the silence. You look up at him and he's looking down at your feet while he works. You can see his eyelashes and for some reason that makes him seem more real.

"What's it like? Being famous?" He takes a deep breath before he answers, not looking up from your feet, like he's trying to decide how honest he should be. He looks up into your eyes intensely.

"Lonesome. I was trying to think of a nicer word, but that's all that comes to mind. Don't get me wrong, I'm very grateful for everything that's happened. I wouldn't change any of it. But it's really very lonely, not knowing who loves you for you and who loves you for who they think you are."

By the end of it, his voice is thick with emotion and you don't think, you just act. You move back to sitting next to him and entwine your arm with his, taking his left hand in both of yours. He looks down at you as you settle your head onto his shoulder. Something inside him flip-flops and he doesn't feel so alone all of a sudden. He presses his lips to the top of your head gently.

You feel him kiss your hair and are overwhelmed with the need for him to kiss you more. He seems to sense this and tips your chin with his other hand, so that you're looking up into his face. There's only a few inches between his lips and yours and you notice his eyes flicking down as he leans in slowly.

"Can I...?" He asks quietly practically against your lips. This time your whisper is appropriate.

"Yes." He doesn't wait another second to dive into a kiss. It's sweet at first, but before too long, you part your lips and his tongue slides into your mouth. He holds the side of your face and you both sit up and turn towards each other as the kiss deepens. His hand drifts down to your hip and he squeezes it, pulling you towards him gently. You start to lift your leg to climb on top and straddle him, but just as you do, there's a soft ding and the elevator doors slide open.

You gasp and scramble back, wiping your mouth and shoving your shoes back on your feet. He looks at you dumbstruck with how quickly you shifted gears. He's still in the mindset that you're about to crawl in his lap.

"Honey, wait?" He rushes to his feet and tries to smooth his clothing. There's nothing he can do about his massive hard-on, though, so he turns and shoves it up under his belt. He feels you touch him near his hip, but he's too focused on what he's doing to acknowledge it.

By the time the doors open all the way, you're both mostly presentable. He's ushered out of the elevator by a group of his friends and family, led by his manager. You watch as they fuss over him and he makes eye contact with you through the crowd.

He'd give almost anything to be back in that elevator with you to finish what he started. But more than that, he already misses the feeling of companionship. The heavy weight of loneliness is starting to settle in his chest again. He looks down and back up and you're gone.

******

You wipe the tears from your face as you make your way back to your car outside the hotel. If only the doors hadn't opened. What might've happened? Oh well. You'll never know. It's up to him now.

******

Elvis manages to keep it together long enough to assure everyone he's fine, do the wardrobe check, and get back to his hotel. He stands in front of the elevator when it opens and seriously considers taking the stairs to the penthouse. But he doesn't. Instead he steps onto the elevator and slides his hands in his pockets as the doors close.

He gasps softly.

Out of his pocket he pulls a small silver bracelet. It's not his. It must be yours. You must've slipped it into his pocket while you put yourselves back together when the doors opened. He turns over the little silver pendant and finds your first and last name in script.

He smiles widely and kisses the bracelet. Looking up, he whispers.

"Thank you."

He's not sure if he's talking to you or God. Maybe both. Either way, now he can find you. He steps off the elevator and heads into his bedroom.

The pieces of his heart start to come back together and he sets your bracelet on his nightstand.

Tomorrow. He'll find you tomorrow.

******

The End?

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@ccab @elvisfatass @elvisalltheway101 @aliypop @18lkpeters @dkayfixates @tacozebra051 @your-nanas-house @deniseinmn @joshuntildawn13 @lookingforrainbows @60svintage @littlehoneyposts @epthedream69 @louisejoy86 @rjmartin11 @from-memphis-with-love @deltafalax @atleastpleasetelephone @cinnamoroll-things @burnthheparaphilia @jhoneybees @cattcb @everythingelvispresley @returntopresley

[awriterinthenight]

You Know Where to Find Me-Fred Weasley

requested: no

words: 5504

warnings: Draco, angst, fluff, LOTS of angst at the end (no comfort till part 2), uhhhhh lowkey don't remember what else

a/n this took me forever to write lol so sorry if the pacing is weird or its not that fluid, also legit wrote so much, the beginning is just a bit of like building out the character, but the ending is worth it

summary: Your a Slytherin favorite and Fred is Gryffindor's number 1 Slytherin hater, so why would you two ever date? If you did would it end in heartbreak?

War was relentless in tearing everything away from you, part by part. Your friends stopped talking to you out of fear, your family grew more distant, even strangers seemed to avoid you, and worst of all the one person you truly loved, you could no longer be with. A promise to never leave each other no matter what, seemed to be broken in these desperate times.

Everyone knew Fred hated Slytherins. He despised every single one, whether they were a first year or a seventh year, boy or girl, muggleborn or pureblood. Fred would rather willingly try out the first batch of a new product he invented, then associate with a Slytherin. Or, at least he would until he met you.

Just like all Slytherins he despised you too just for your house, which you had no control over. You still got caught in his pranks against your house, but none were ever targeted at you until Malfoy's group, since you chose to stay away from those idiots. Slytherin mostly got its bad reputation from people like Malfoy and his parents, but generally most Slytherins weren't like that, most just wanted to learn like all other students. Of course none of the Gryffindors ever saw it like that and chose to frame all Slytherins as evil incarnate. Fortunately Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff, while still a bit wary about certain Slytherins, were way more accepting of people. You made friends with lots of Hufflepuffs like Cedric Diggory (before he passed) and were friends with a couple Ravenclaws, such as Luna Lovegood, since you shared in common how people judged you without really knowing you.

You did manage to make two unlikely friendships, which were more like acquaintances, but you still counted them, with two Gryffindors. When you were in your second year you had potions with Gryffindor, a deadly combination. One day a rather disgusting boy, Adrian Pucey, was harassing Alicia Spinnet, making fun of her hair and her look. You didn't discriminate between houses, unlike others, so when Snape wasn't looking you leaned over to Alicia trying to get her attention.

"What?" she spat out, "Do you want to have a go at me too?"

You couldn't blame her for being angry, talking to Pucey did that to anyone, "No, just put this is Pucey's cauldron when he's not looking," you said, sliding her a jar of something.

She picked up the jar examining it, "Why should I trust you?" she questioned, her eyes narrowing.

"If that's what it's like talking to him for 5 minutes, try dealing with him all day. I hate him even more than you do, and you look like you could use a little bit of revenge," you told her before adding, "You don't have to do it though, just thought you'd like the satisfaction of it."

Alicia seemed to consider it for a moment before deciding what to do, "Fine, but if I get caught I'm blaming you," she declared, opening the jar to take out the unnecessary ingredient.

You shrugged, "Fine by me, but trust me you won't get caught. Make sure to leave the jar on his workstation."

Alicia snuck in the ingredient when Pucey was too busy talking to his friends to notice anything. She made sure to also leave the jar by his cauldron as per your instruction, even though she didn't understand why. It only took a few minutes for the ingredient to take effect, when he started to stir his mixture. Within seconds his potion blew up in his face, mangling it a bit, especially his teeth.

Snape heard and saw the commotion and immediately strutted over to berate the boy, "And what did you add to make such a reaction happen?" he asked in his deliberately slow voice.

"I-I don't know," Adrian Pucey stammered, feeling ungodly fear from the lashing he would get from Snape.

Snape then picked up the jar, examining it just as Alicia did, "It seems you've added gillyweed, an unnecessary ingredient. Next time try to be more competent," he said, before turning away back to his desk.

It was safe to say you had humiliated the jerk and gotten Alicia the revenge she so deserved. You also unknowingly earned a rather weird friendship that day.

"Hey," a voice said next to you as you walked down the halls, "I owe you one after that," Alicia said, a smile on her face.

You shook your head, "Nah, it's all good. Nothing is better than the sweet sight of revenge," you told her, turning down the hallway, "I'll see you around though." From that day forward you waved to her in the hallways and sometimes helped her take revenge on people that bullied her.

The other friendship you made with a Gryffindor was even more unlikely than the first, and even more strange.

Being social wasn't the easiest as a Slytherin since most people feared talking to you. But sometimes things had to be done no matter how outside the box they were. You'd "accidentally" easily dropped a conversation between Malfoy and his friends talking about how they were planning to prank the youngest Weasley. Apparently she'd insulted Draco, and his fragile ego couldn't take it, so he had to get his so-called "justice". Some people would say you didn't have morals like a Slytherin, but your actions begged to differ. You were a girls girl and would never willingly let someone walk into a prank if you could stop it.

So now here you were approaching the youngest Weasley as she parted ways with her friends, "You're Ginny Weasley, right?" you asked, leaning against a wall.

She stopped in front of you, her arms crossed, "What's it to you, Slytherin?"

You were taken aback by her tone, but respected it all the same, "Lots of sarcasm for a first year, especially one I'm trying to help."

"Why would you help me?" she questioned, not used to Slytherins being helpful, or polite, or not trying to curse her.

"Because despite what people say I do believe I'm somewhat of a good person, and I just wanted to warn you."

Her expression changed a bit, the slightest bit of concern showing on her face, "Warn me about what?"

You pushed yourself off the wall before speaking, "Don't walk down the 2nd floor corridor to get to your next class. Take the long way, trust me," you told her, hoping she would put aside house rivalries for one moment.

"Why should I trust you? My brother's say never to trust Slytherins because they're sneaky and no good," she remarked, and you had to give her points for not blindly trusting you.

"Fair point, but I prefer the word cunning. Besides your brothers, are the two tall twins always getting in trouble, right?" you questioned, to which she nodded, "I don't take you as a girl to listen to what men say."

She was quiet, not having a response back, so you continued on, "Look walk down the corridor, don't walk down the corridor, I can't make you do anything. I'd just rather have my conscience clear."

"I thought Slytherins didn't have a conscience," she quipped.

You couldn't help but smirk at her sarcastic comment and fired back, "And I thought at least some Gryffindors weren't stubborn."

Ginny was quiet for a moment before speaking up, "Fine, but if anything happens to me I'm hexing you," she threatened, walking away taking the long way towards her class.

"I'd expect nothing less," you shouted back, walking to your own class.

When you walked into the Great Hall for dinner a person seemed to be walking next to you, but you didn't look to see who it was. After a few seconds of silence the person spoke.

"I didn't get pranked on my way to class," Ginny pointed out, her voice quieter.

"That's because that kid did," I said, pointing at the poor Ravenclaw that took Ginny's place. He was stained green all over from his hair, to his robes, to even his skin.

Ginny cringed at the sight of him, "Yikes, I guess, thanks," she said.

"No problem kid," you uttered, ruffling her hair making her laugh, "Unlike what your brothers may say, I do actually have morals, and a heart," you joked.

"Really?" she asked, a look of confusion on her face, "I thought there was just an empty space there," she remarked, a familiar grin on her face.

You let out a breathy laugh, "You wound me, kid. I'll see you around," you said, walking over to your respective tables.

As Ginny sat down at her table her brother started to question her, "What are you doing talking to a Slytherin? You know they're nasty people," Fred said, a look of disgust on his face.

Ginny just rolled her eyes, "Don't be so closed minded," she snapped back. Fred didn't like her associating with Slytherins as much as the rest of their siblings, but there wasn't much he could do about it.

You and Fred had never truly met until your sixth year at Hogwarts. Of course you knew who each other were with Fred being the biggest prankster and you being a well known Slytherin.

Somehow something in the world seemed to align and in almost all your shared classes, the two of you sat next to each other. Fred had very few classes due to his NEWTS, but the ones he had were all with you. Flitwick made a seating chart due to consequences of last year, making him split Fred and George up, so he sat Fred with someone he believed wouldn't cause trouble. McGonagall thought you'd be a good influence on him so that he could actually do work for once. Mad-Eye had to move Fred because he kept interrupting the lesson, so he put Fred next to the quietest person there, being you. Luckily you didn't sit next to him in History of Magic, but you did sit behind him, which granted you the ability to sleep in class.

Fred was not too happy about this though and spent the evening of his first day back complaining about it, "Now I'm stuck next to some filthy Slytherin all year. Its basically torture at this point. What the bloody hell does McGonagall even mean by 'she'll be a good influence on me' that's a load of rubbish," he complained, throwing himself onto the couch.

George rolled his eyes at his twin, "Stop being so dramatic, it's one year. Besides she's quiet you'll barely notice she's there," he said, not realizing how bad what he said was.

"Aren't you a charmer," Angelina quipped at George's horrible attempt at consoling a very dramatic Fred.

"Who even is she?" Alicia asked, sitting down next to Angelina.

Fred shrugged, "I don't know Y/n L/n or something like that. Why does it even matter all the same?"

Alicia seemed to shoot up at the name, "Y/n really? She's actually one of the few Slytherins I can tolerate to be honest," she confessed. Most of the people in their little group turned to her, surprised she would associate with a Slytherin.

"You're saying you willingly talk to a Slytherin without getting charmed or hexed?" George questioned, not believing her. The twins' distaste for Slytherins had grown worse over the years, only making them more spiteful towards them.

Alicia rolled her eyes at her friend's childish actions, "You know all Slytherins aren't horrible right. At least not her," she tried to reason.

Fred shook his head, "Betrayal, this is betrayal, it's treason of the highest degree," he joked, his loud voice travelling across the common room. He proceeded to fling himself onto the couch, draping himself over Lee, Angelina, and Alicia before they pushed him off. Alicia stood up with Angelina to head back to her dorm.

"Stop being so dramatic," Alicia said, throwing a pillow at him before turning to walk away, "She's a good person and it wouldn't kill you to get to know her."

Fred just scoffed, "I'd rather have boils than talk to a Slytherin," he remarked to himself. He did have to admit though, he never saw you be mean to people, but that didn't mean anything. You still probably ate first years for breakfast like all the other evil Slytherins and got a kick out of literally kicking people. But still somewhere in the back of his mind, something told him he just might be wrong.

Professor Flitwick was having all the sixth year students practice the charm aguamenti, which made water appear. Goblets were placed in front of each student to practice the charm in. So far a few had managed to do it, including you, but Fred seemed to be struggling. Usually he and George were amazing at Charms, but for some reason he just couldn't do this one.

"There's a swish at the end," Fred heard an unfamiliar voice say. He turned to look at you, confused as to why you'd help him.

"I don't need any advice from a nasty Slytherin like you," he said in disgust.

You were taken aback by what he said, but weren't going to take it, "And I don't need attitude from ungrateful Gryffindors. If you don't want to follow my advice then whatever just keep failing," you taunted back at him.

Fred was quiet after that, continuing to fail at completing the spell. He only got more and more frustrated as more people were successful in completing the spell, but he wasn't. On his 27th (yes he had been counting) attempt he finally gave into your advice and did the pattern you told him to do. To his begrudgement it actually worked and he managed to fill the goblet with water.

"I told you," you whispered, your tone playful and meant to tease him.

Fred crossed his arms, not looking at you, "I figured out myself, not because of you," he said through gritted teeth.

"You know you don't have to be so stubborn all the time, Weasley," you remarked, starting to pack up your stuff, "You can just say thank you."

"I don't need help from a Slytherin twat," he insulted, grabbing his bag and leaving the classroom annoyed, when the bell rang. Truthfully you had no malicious intent. You just liked getting to know people, especially someone who you would basically be seeing all day. Luckily for both of you that was your last class of the day and wouldn't have to see each other till tomorrow.

"'There's a swish at the end,'" Fred mocked, retelling the story of what happened in charms to his friends, "She's bloody annoying, can't mind her own business," he complained, acting dramatic for no reason (his friends came to this conclusion, but I as the writer also agree).

For the 30th time in the past two days Alicia rolled her eyes saying, "It sounds like she's just trying to help. Not all Slytherins are from the depths of hell," she defended.

"I dislike Slytherins just as much as you, but I can't even be on your side on this one. She does just seem like she was trying to help," George said, shocked that he would even think of defending a Slytherin.

The table kept on arguing until a small light voice spoke up, "Who are we talking about?" Luna asked, as she had just arrived at the Gryffindor table with Ginny, since she snuck there sometimes during dinner.

"Y/n L/n she's a Slytherin our year that Fred sits next to in like every class," George said, receiving a grumbled, "Unfortunately," from an annoyed Fred.

Luna perked up at the name, excited to add her two cents, "Oh, she's really sweet isn't she," she said, making almost everyone turn to her direction, "Sometimes she brings me back things from Hogsmeade. She's very nice to talk to also."

"You're friends with her?" Fred questioned, confused since while he only knew Luna as Ginny's friend, he was still shocked she knew you, "What do you even talk about?"

"We have a lot in common actually. She tells me about how she doesn't like people judging her because of her house, and making assumptions because of it. She has a dislike for people that do that actually. I'm quite surprised she'd talk to you in the first place. Although she lets me tell her about the Nargles," she told them, just saying whatever she thought of about you, "Anyone want a butterscotch? I have extra?" Most declined except for George who took multiple.

"See I told you wasn't as horrible as you say she is," Alicia pointed out, tired of being right.

Fred, still stubborn as ever, said, "Whatever, still a Slytherin." Truthfully he did feel a bit bad, but would never admit it. Of course he did understand how it felt to be misunderstood, considering his mom always just saw him and his brother as troublemakers, and never as smart as they really are. Still he couldn't be seen feeling pity or another of that sort for a Slytherin. But something in his mind did change and maybe he would try to be less irritable.

Class didn't start for another 10 minutes, but for once Fred was early to Defense Against the Dark Arts. You showed up a little bit after him, surprised to see him there. You took your seat, placing your materials down for class.

It took Fred a minute to speak up, but he finally got the courage, "You were right yesterday," he said, a bit reluctantly though.

"What?" you asked, confused since you thought he'd rather face a Boggart than talk to you.

"I was a dick yesterday. I'm sorry and you were right," he uttered, talking fast to get through his apology quicker.

You couldn't help but smile at his half-assed apology, but at least it was something, "You were," you replied, which shocked him a bit, but you continued, "But I'm willingly to put that behind, and maybe we could even be friends," you suggested.

Fred was baffled by your words, not used to Slytherins wanting to be friends, "Why would you want to be friends with me? I thought you didn't like people that judged you for being a Slytherin?"

You weren't sure where he heard that from even though it was true, but you shrugged, "No usually, but your sister is pretty nice, so why wouldn't you be? Plus I sit next to you in more than half my classes. It would be nice to have a friend, even though you don't befriend Slytherins, but it's at least worth a try.

Fred sat in thought for a moment before he said, "I'm not fond of Slytherins, but maybe I'll make a small exception I guess."

"Wow look at lucky old me. I'm Fred Weasley's exception when it comes to Slytherins, I'm honored," you teased, a smile appearing on your face and Fred's, "And I made him laugh. Maybe this won't be the worst thing ever.

"Maybe not," Fred said with a shrug. Every second he spent with you only made him somehow fonder of you. He didn't even realize it yet, but he was already enjoying having you around.

Fred rolled his eyes, chucking a pillow in both Lee and George's direction, "I do not fancy her," he shouted, annoyed by their antics. They'd spent the past half hour pointing out everything Fred did that showed his vivid crush on you. The more he got to know you the more time he spent with you, and the more he gravitated towards you. When he walked in the hallway with you sometimes he would swing his arm around your shoulder, pulling you a bit closer. Recently he snuck you over to the Gryffindor table during meals just because he wanted you there. The craziest was how he even went to the library with you sometimes when you needed to do work or study. Yet he still denied his obvious crush on you.

"Ya sure you don't," Lee said, his voice full of sarcasm, "Because stepping foot in your least favorite place in Hogwarts and ditching our Hogsmeade trip to go with her, is totally your normal behavior."

Fred scoffed, "I just like spending time with her, what's so bad about that?" he questioned.

George shook his head in bewilderment, "I never thought I'd see the day more dear brother was in love, especially with a Slytherin," he exclaimed, shaking his brother's shoulders.

"Just because I fancy her doesn't mean I'm in love with her you git," Fred said, shoving a pillow in his brother's face, not realizing the mistake in his words.

But George and Lee did. George immediately shot up accusing him, "I knew it, I knew it. Lee owes me 10 galleons."

"I can't believe it only took us an hour," Lee said, happy to finally get Fred's confession out, "And remind me to stop making bets with you."

George shook his head, "Never, but now we have bigger problems. Freddy has a crush on a Slytherin, scandalous," he teased, ruffling his brother's hair.

Fred pushed his brother away from him, annoyed by him, "Shut it you git, and don't tell anyone."

"What, don't want your reputation ruined?" Lee teased. Him and George were having a field day with Fred's unusual crush.

"Yes, I don't want it ruined. I don't need the whole of Gryffindor after me," Fred mumbled, annoyed at his friends' constant teasing. He didn't mean to fall for you, but he couldn't help it. The more he got to know you the more he admired everything you did. For someone who hated Slytherin, the person he wanted to spend his time with most was you. He tried not to focus on you so much, but it only did him more harm. So many girls were after him, who he sometimes dated, but nothing lasted too long. Now he didn't even remember any of their names, for yours constantly plagued his mind.

George sighed, sitting up next to his brother as Lee leaned against the bed frame, "We won't tell anyone, we swear," George promised.

"But," Lee said, stating his condition, "Only if you promise to actually talk with her and make a move."

Fred sighed, "Fine, we have a deal."

"Oh and no promises we won't place bets on you," Lee added, scrounging through his galleons.

The air bone chills, leaving pin prickles of cold all over your body. It was only noon and it was still unexpectedly freezing cold. It was only September, but was cold enough that people were wearing coats, scarves, hats, and even gloves. Unfortunately for you, you neglected to check the weather before going out with Fred for the day. You wanted to go to Hogsmeade, but had no one to go with, and when you told Fred he quickly volunteered to go with you. So now you were walking down the countless shops trying not to shiver too much from the cold.

"Here," Fred said, handing you his sweater. Unlike you he actually dressed for the weather. He had on his sweater with a shirt underneath, his coat over top which he was wearing now, and he originally had his hat on, but you stole it earlier to tease him.

You took the sweater in your hands, as he shrugged his coat back on, "You sure you won't get cold?" You asked, even though he wasn't even cold to begin with.

Fred nodded his head, "You need it more than me take it. Besides I can't have you freezing to death, now can I?"

You put on the sweater, which was nowhere near your size. The sleeves hung well past your fingertips, making you have to push up the sleeves a little. The bottom of the sweater stopped about mid thigh, but still practically swallowed you whole.

Fred smiled, liking the way you looked. He easily could've just given you his coat and placed it over top of you, but he didn't want to do that. Something about you wearing his sweater with his initials on it made him feel all giddy inside. Truly he gave you his sweater because he was selfish. He wanted to see you in his clothes, especially his sweater that made it obvious it was his. It was the closest he got to you being his and everyone knowing it.

You twirled around a bit, a smile on your face, "How do I look?" you asked, unable to hide your laughter. It was much warmer with the sweater on. Maybe you should if Molly can knit you one this year.

"You look gorgeous as always," Fred complimented. He always told you how beautiful you were and how amazing you were, which made your cheeks flush. You had to convince yourself that he wasn't flirting with you and he was just complimenting people because that's something he probably does, right?

"Why don't we head to the Three Broomsticks? I really want a butterbeer," you suggested, trying to change the topic to avoid showing how flustered you were.

Fred agreed and grabbed your hand to drag you along. Even though it was freezing out your cheeks had turned bright red at his affections. You'd never thought you would fall for a Gryffindor considering how most saw you as the most vile person ever, except for a select few like Ginny Weasley. Yet here you were blushing and rendered speechless just by Fred's small actions. He really might just be the death of you.

"Why are you hanging out with Y/N so much?" Ginny asked the second Fred walked through the portrait hole.

"Keep your voice down," he scolded, as people turned their heads at the mention of one of Hogwarts most known Slytherins.

Ginny threw her hands up in defense, "I'm just asking why Gryffindor's biggest Slytherin hater is hanging out with a well known Slytherin from a well known Slytherin family," she said, adding emphasis to each house.

Fred shrugged, "She's... a friend, I guess," he said, sounding unconfident which was highly unusual, making Ginny suspicious.

"So should I tell mum to start knitting another sweater?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"Shut it," was all Fred said, walking away from his pesky younger sister.

Ginny followed him further into the common room as he tried to escape, "Oh, so you already told her, I see," she continued teasing, "You know she doesn't have a date to the Yule Ball yet."

Fred stopped suddenly, making Ginny smirk at how she caught his attention, "And what are you insisting, my nosy little sister?"

"I'm insisting that you ask her to the Yule Ball, before someone who isn't a coward asks her," she voiced, since she's been the biggest shipper for her brother and you.

Fred was skeptical as to why his younger sister was so invested in his love life, "Why do you want me to ask her so badly?"

"Uh because she's cool," she said, making Fred confused as to why she thinks a Slytherin is cool. Truthfully Fred can't say anything about it though, since he was head over heels for her.

"Why do you think a Slytherin is cool?"

Ginny rolled her eyes, "Because I'm not a hater like you, and besides she's a good person, and would be an amazing sister in law."

"Fine, I'll ask her," he said with a sigh, before walking up the stairs to the boys dormitory.

It'd been weeks, almost a few months actually, since you first started dating. People found it odd that Gryffindors biggest Slytherin hater would be dating one of the most well known Slytherins, but their words meant nothing, you and him were both happy as could be.

Everything had been perfect as it could be. Fred was used to taking out the occasional girl or two, but he'd done nothing like this before. Almost every Hogsmeade trip was a date. Alongside Fred's spontaneous adventures through Hogwarts or the Forbidden Forest.

But what was best was the small details. He managed to remember every single one of your favorite things, from something as simple as your favorite color, to which of his jumpers were your favorite. It was very obviously the red one with the large "F" on it, that way everyone knew you were Fred's girl.

Even though you'd been together for months, that didn't stop the gossip and prejudice in both houses. Some Slytherins thought of you as a traitor, but really only the ones like Draco who cared about stuff like that. The Gryffindors were a bit wary around you, only the select few you knew were actually accepting, while most others just ignored you. Fred would be questioned by people from his house sometimes. Most were skeptical, thinking you just wanted to toy with him, then break his heart.

That was the rumor you hated the most.

Truly you were happy and he was happy. No matter how much people talked, or judged, it didn't matter. Everything was perfect and nothing could change that. Right?

"I can't follow you, Fred," you told him through tearful eyes. Everything had changed from two years ago when you started dating. The world was changing and it was pulling you to different ends. Dumbledore was dead, Hogwarts was no longer safe, and You Know Who was out and about, killing left and right. You never wanted this, you never wanted any of it, but sadly you don't get to choose your family.

"Yes you can," Fred argued, taking a step towards you, "You can leave them, you can join our side, I'll keep you safe. Please come with me, please," he begged, standing in the ally near his shop. Fred hadn't seen you since the attack at Hogwarts. He'd been writing letters, looking in the news for a picture of you or any news, watching the streets to see if you would walk by. It took him almost two weeks, but he found you. He could always find you anywhere.

You let out a huff, putting your head in your hands, "You don't get it," you sobbed quietly.

"What don't I get?" asked Fred, "We can get married, go into hiding together, or join The Order. Whatever you want to do. You can leave them behind, they're not good people. I'll do whatever you want if you just come with me," he declared, desperate for you to follow him, wherever you wanted he would go just for you.

"But I can't," you whispered, shaking your head, "I'm marked Fred," you told him, rolling up your sleeve to reveal your covered arm.

Fred stood there stunned, unable to think of what to say. His head was spinning with a million thoughts, but none he could vocalize. He never thought in any of his years you would have the dark mark.

You covered your arm again, letting a few tears fall, "Believe me, I didn't want it. Unfortunately my family are horrible, horrible people. I had no choice," you started to explain to a still frozen in shock Fred, "I don't agree with any of it, you know that. When I got home from graduating my parents held me in the house till I agreed. It was my only option."

Fred shook his head, finally able to speak, "Only option? You could've come to me, George, or anyone. We would've helped you. How could you?" he asked as if you were once again just the Slytherin he didn't know anything about.

"H-how could I?" you repeated, sick to your stomach by his words, "I had no choice, they made me," you cried.

"You would have resisted, or run away, or something. Just anything but that. The Y/N I knew never would've let them get near her with that," he said, making every part of you wish you could perish right then and there.

You were no longer just sad, but also angry. Angry that the person you dated for years, even fell in love with, would think of you like that, "What part of I didn't have a choice do you not understand? My options were either this or die, and at least with this I got to say goodbye," you yelled, fighting back tears. Fred was frozen at this point, unable to process what you told him, "But, if that's really how you want to see things, then fine. Maybe I'll see you again someday," you muttered, walking down the alley to escape the spot where your broken heart stayed.

It took Fred a moment, but he snapped out of his daze before you were fully gone, "W-wait," he shouted, running after you, but you cut him off before he could speak.

"If you ever want to speak with me again, you know where to find me," you said softly, then disappeared into the shadows of Diagon Alley.

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