#but i like to think that they turn lighter in sunlight?

[hoe4hotchner]

Retirement | [A.H]

Pairing: Retired!Aaron Hotchner x Fem!reader | WC: 1.1k | CW: Nothing but cuteness

A/N: Don't worry, Hotch is not an old man he's like late 50's early 60's in this based on Jack being in college ;)

The porch was bathed in the golden light from the afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the wooden planks. The gentle creak of the rocking chair kept rhythm with the distant hum of cicadas, a sound that had become so familiar it felt like part of the air itself.

A soft breeze carried the scent of summer—freshly cut grass, the lingering sweetness of honeysuckle climbing the trellis, and the faint, smoky remnants of the firewood stacked near the house.

You leaned against Hotch’s chest, his arms loosely draped around your waist, fingers idly tracing patterns on your bare legs. The warmth of him seeped into you. You let out a content sigh, snuggling further into his chest.

It had been six months since he left the BAU. Six months of long walks through the countryside, of mornings spent in bed with no reason to rush, of rediscovering a man who had spent years sacrificing himself for the safety of others.

At first, the transition had been difficult. Aaron had been hesitant, unsure of who he was outside of the job, as though his identity had been stitched together by the cases, the late nights, the endless chase of justice.

He had been restless, waking up at odd hours as though his body still expected the call of duty. Some nights, you had found him on the porch, staring into the darkness, lost in thought. And other's you had found him sitting in the kitchen, his phone open on either JJ or Emily's contact in his phone, debating whether he should check in and see how everything was going without him.

But in this almost sanctuary you had built together, he had begun to unravel—layer by layer, breath by breath. The sharp edges of stress had softened, the lines around his mouth no longer weighed down by exhaustion. He still carried the past with him, no doubt he'd always have it with him, but it no longer defined him.

Your legs stretched over his lap, the warmth of his hands resting against your skin. His thumb brushed absentmindedly over your knee, and you smiled, closing your eyes as the wind tousled your hair.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, edged with that lingering gravel that had always made your stomach flip.

You hummed in response. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You tilted your head back, meeting his eyes. The sunlight hit them just right, turning the brown into something lighter, warmer. “How much I love you.”

His lips twitched, a ghost of a smile appearing as he squeezed your thigh. “You always get sentimental when we sit out here.”

“Can you blame me?” you teased, running your fingers through the graying strands at his temple. “Look at this. It’s peaceful. I never thought we’d have something like this.”

He exhaled, long and slow. “Neither did I.”

There was something about the way he said it, the weight behind the words, that made your chest tighten. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers together. “Are you happy, Aaron?”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, his gaze soft but intent. “More than I ever thought possible.”

You kissed his shoulder, letting the moment stretch, settling into the quiet contentment that came so easily now.

You tilted your head slightly against him, voice soft as you asked, "How's Jack?"

Aaron exhaled, a small, fond smile pulling at his lips as he continued tracing patterns against your skin. "I talked to him yesterday," he said, his voice warm with pride. "He sounds happy. Settling into college well, making friends. He even mentioned joining an intramural soccer team."

Your smile widened at that. "That’s wonderful. He always did love playing." You recalled the games Aaron had invited you to when Jack was only a young boy

Hotch nodded, the tension he once carried about Jack leaving for college no longer evident in his expression. "He said his classes are challenging but interesting. And he likes his professors."

You ran your fingers gently along his arm, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat under your cheek. "He’s thriving, then. Just like you wanted."

Aaron let out a quiet chuckle. "Just like we wanted. He’s got a good head on his shoulders. I think Haley would be proud."

You squeezed his hand, understanding the weight of his words. "She would be. You’ve raised a good man, Aaron."

His thumb brushed over your knuckles, silent gratitude passing between you. You let the moment settle between you, filled with warmth and love.

A rustling sound caught your attention, and when you glanced to the side, a small smile pulled at your lips. “Aaron,” you whispered, nudging him lightly. “Look.”

He followed your gaze, and there, across the wooden railing of the porch, a handful of ladybugs had gathered, their tiny, spotted bodies crawling along the grain of the wood. One took flight, landing on your outstretched hand.

Hotch chuckled. “Looks like you’re a favorite today.”

You watched the little insect as it wandered across your palm. “You know, my grandmother used to say ladybugs were good luck.”

“Did she?” He tilted his head, watching as another landed near his wrist. “Mmhm.” You met his eyes, a teasing glint in yours. “I think it’s a sign.” He arched a brow. “Of what?”

“That this—” you gestured around you, at the house, the land, the life you had built together— “was always meant to be.”

His expression softened. He brought your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss against your fingers. “I don’t need a sign to know that.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the only sounds the distant chirping of birds, the whisper of leaves rustling in the breeze, and the steady rise and fall of Aaron’s breath. He had a way of making the world feel smaller, simpler—of making you feel like the only thing that mattered.

“Jack texted earlier by the way,” he murmured after a moment, remembering something he had forgotten to tell you when you asked about him. “Said he wants to come up next weekend.”

Your heart warmed at the mention of a visit. “That sounds perfect. Maybe we can take him fishing.”

Hotch’s lips quirked. “You still think you can out-fish me?”

You grinned. “Oh, I don’t think—I know.”

He chuckled, the deep sound reverberating through his chest. “We’ll see about that.”

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink, you leaned back against him, letting the moment settle deep into your bones.

The world felt softer here, free of the chaos and darkness that had once consumed so much of your lives.

[darkbluekies]

OKAY so after 2 years and 2 months i've FINALLY learned what Silas eyes are ???

i've said "dark brown", "black", "dark"

they're onyx. he has onyx eyes.

[the-acid-pear]

Why did my cooking dream get hijacked by my brain making a William Afton oc and au what was that about.

[beloveds-embrace]

The day begins like any other.

You wake up to the soft sound of the morning breeze rustling the curtains, sunlight spilling into the room in gentle golden streams. John is already gone, leaving only the faintest trace of warmth in the bed beside you. It’s no surprise- he’s a man of duty, all of them are, always rising early to tend to matters of the estate. But as you stretch and let out a soft sigh, you have no idea the storm you’re about to stir in his household.

You dress yourself today, in one of the lighter gowns Kyle had set out for you the night before. It’s soft and flowing, another gift from Simon, a delicate ivory fabric that catches the light and makes you glow as if spun from sunlight itself. You think nothing of it- it’s a comfortable gown, one that’s perfect for the warm weather of today. You fix your hair, a few strands left free to frame your face. It’s a simple look, practical even.

But it is enough to absolutely ruin them.

John is the first to catch sight of you.

You find him in his study, poring over letters and documents, glasses perched low on his nose. The moment he looks up, his quill halts mid-stroke, ink dripping onto the parchment below.

You don’t notice the way his breath hitches. You don’t see the way his eyes darken as they sweep over you, lingering far longer than they should on the soft curve of your throat, the swell of your breasts just barely visible through the gauzy material of your dress, the delicate shape of your collarbone begging to be kissed.

“… My Duchess,” he greets, voice low and strained.

You smile, unaware of how the simple gesture strikes him like a bolt of lightning straight through his chest. “Good morning, John. I didn’t mean to disturb you- I was just going to the gardens.”

His jaw tightens. God, you’re beautiful. Ethereal. Untouchable, almost, and yet here you are- his wife. His to hold, his to cherish, his to adore. The mere thought of it makes his heart pound painfully in his chest.

You’re so sweetly oblivious, so utterly trusting. You lean over his desk, pointing at one of the letters as you ask about estate matters, and all he can focus on is the faint scent of roses lingering on your skin and the warmth of your breath against his cheek. He aches to pull you into his lap, to ruin that pretty dress and leave you breathless and marked, but-

“My Duchess,” he rasps again, standing abruptly. You blink up at him, startled. “Don’t linger in the sun too long. I shall see you later.” It’s the only warning he can give himself before he brushes past you and leaves the room, his restraint hanging by a thread.

Kyle finds you next, standing in the rose garden with a soft smile as you hum to yourself. You’re radiant, the sunlight catching in your hair and making you glow like some goddess of nature.

He was supposed to be bringing you tea. Instead, he stands there frozen, tray in hand, just watching.

You turn and catch sight of him, greeting him with that bright, lovely smile that never fails to make his heart lurch. “Kyle!”

He clears his throat quickly, straightening his shoulders and bringing the tray over, though he’s painfully aware of the warmth creeping up his neck.

“My lady,” he murmurs, setting the tea down on the garden table and pouring for you. His hands are steady, but his mind isn’t.

He barely hears you as you speak about the roses, about the arrangements for the next gathering. His thoughts are clouded by the way you keep brushing your hair behind your ear, the gentle tilt of your head as you sip your tea, the way your lips press together so sweetly.

You lean forward suddenly, reaching to brush a leaf off his shoulder, and Kyle stiffens. You don’t notice.

“You’re always taking such good care of me, Kyle,” you say softly, smiling up at him. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t trust himself to speak. He only nods stiffly, stepping back quickly before he does something utterly improper.

Johnny is the worst of them.

You come into the kitchen around noon, asking him for a small snack to hold you over until dinner since you had a small lunch. He’s elbow-deep in flour and dough, sleeves rolled up and shirt slightly damp with sweat, but the second he sees you standing in the doorway, his brain completely short-circuits.

“Johnny?” you call again softly, stepping in.

He drops the spoon that’d been near, cursing as he scrambles to pick it up and then cursing again because his hands are now dirty. Yet- his eyes keep flicking up to you- how you look so soft and delicate in the kitchen’s golden light, how the dress hugs your figure and makes it so damn hard for him to focus.

You laugh at the sight of him like this, and the sound is like honey poured straight into his veins.

“Sorry, m’lady.” he says, voice rough, but you’re already stepping closer.

“It’s alright.” You reach past him to grab a plate, and he just about groans aloud at the way you brush against him, soft and warm and plush and utterly unaware of the effect you have on him.

“Johnny?” You look up at him, eyes so wide and trusting.

“Yeah?” He barely recognizes his own voice.

“You’re staring.”

He chokes, turning back to wash his hands as quickly as possible. “Sorry, m’lady. I’ll- uh- I’ll make something quick for you, promise.”

You only smile, sitting down at the counter and watching him work. He feels your gaze like a brand, burning into his skin, and he has never been so grateful for the long apron covering the very obvious evidence of his distraction.

And then there’s Simon.

You don’t even realize he’s there, watching you from the shadowed corner of the room as you flip through the books in the library. You hum softly to yourself, trailing your fingers over the spines, your dress shifting with every movement.

Simon feels like a beast barely kept on a leash. He’s gripping the edge of the shelf so tightly his knuckles have gone white, jaw clenched so hard it aches.

He wants you. Needs you.

You tilt your head to read a title, exposing the curve of your neck, and his breath catches. He imagines what it would feel like to press his lips there, to hear you gasp as he holds you close-

And then you turn and spot him.

“Simon!” You smile, moving toward him without hesitation, and he’s utterly undone.

“Hello, darling.” he murmurs, low and strained. Knows that he if lifts his hand to cup your cheek, his fingers would be trembling.

“I was just looking for something to read.” You say, so casually, so obliviously, as if you aren’t standing there looking like every single one of his fantasies come to life.

Simon only nods, forcing himself to step back before he does something he can’t take back.

By the time evening falls, the tension in the house is unbearable.

John’s jaw ticks as he watches you lean over the table, in a private dining room just for them, laughing at something Johnny said. Kyle’s eyes darken when he sees how your fingers brush against Simon’s as you pass him a dish. Johnny keeps flexing his hands as if he’s trying to resist the urge to grab you and pull you into his lap.

They’re all desperate, wound tight, and utterly at their limit.

And you- blissfully unaware- just keep smiling sweetly at them, unknowingly fanning the flames.

[st4rbwrry]

   𝐾𝐼𝑆𝑆 𝑀𝐸 𝑇𝐼𝐿𝐿 𝐼’𝑀 𝐵𝐿𝑈𝐸.

꒰ armin takes his pretty girlfriend on a picnic in an enchanted forest.꒱

𐀔 . . . 1.4k. fem!reader, lowercase intended, established relationship, sub / dom, profanity, pet names, unprotected penetrative sex, we’re in luvvv, outside indecency, love bites, praise, kinda shy reader, smoking, kreampie, minors aren’t welcomed ! reblogs + comments are appreciated! <3

꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎’𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 ꒱ . . . this been in the drafts since 2022 y’all. a lil sum.

a pastel baby blue dress clings tight to your smooth skin, looking like the prettiest cottage core girl. frills on the shoulders and bust sitting low to accentuate your perky chest. love handles and tummy pudge swallowed by the soft material. armin couldn't keep his eyes, or hands, to himself. rubbing all up on you throughout your entire picnic date. fresh air blows through the trees and the bright views of sunlight beam across the blue lake where pure white doves swam in silence. armin had found this mythical location by driving around one day. it's quiet and reserved, deep into an enchanted forest.

the two of you sat on a blanket sprawled out on the grass, enjoying the food armin neatly packed. lots of fruits because you loved them. strawberries, raspberries, pomegranates, green grapes, apricots, and peaches . . . you name it. overdoing it just a bit, but he knows it’ll be eaten by this week. this was breakfast, the time now around eleven in the morning, so while you got ready he prepped the food. heart shaped pancakes, waffles, turkey bacon, pork sausage, scrambled cheese eggs and of course never forgetting your orange juice.

to make it cuter he brought a glass vase and filled it with water and multicolor roses he bought from the flower shop. you ate so much food your stomach bloated, unable to eat anymore. armin lays on his back with you to stare up at the sky and watch the trees blow, the weather perfect for the occasion. the sun hitting your skin serenely. you rest your head on armin’s chest, listening to his heartbeat as he massages your back in gentle circles, nearly falling asleep because you’re so at peace.

“i’m so glad we did this,” a yawn escapes as you smile sweetly at him, rubbing his stomach over his white tee.

armin presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, lingering it before mumbling, “me too.” soon, digging into his jean pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. tapping the plastic box to release a stick. your body moves with the forearm he brings together to light his cig, flicking the lighter twice and satiating his need.

“i needed a break from life. so, thank you, love.” the softness in your voice makes the man's heart beat twice as fast. he smiles at you after turning his head the opposite way to blow out smoke, knowing you hated it in your face. being at close proximity right now was less irritating since you're elated at the moment. you could care less because he's comfortable, and it makes you feel the same. you could never get him to quit no matter how hard you tried. never argued with him about it. minor debates but he gave valid points so you laid off it.

“i figured it'd be nice to escape for the day. it's upsetting we have to return to reality tomorrow. but when i'm with you, it always feels . . . free.”

armin brushes a curved knuckle over your cheekbone, your eyes glued to his own.

“i feel the same way.”

“i say i love you all the time. but do you really understand it? how deep it is?”

you curl your lips inward, pondering on his question. more like a statement.

“i know you love me. you show it more ways than one. i think that's meaningful overall.”

fluffy blond hair with gold hues covers his angelic baby blue eyes, reaching up to tuck some of the wavy ringlets behind his ear.

“tell me you love me, then gimme a kiss.”

your face grows hot from his demand, growing nervous. you sit up briefly to grab a peach to bite into and distract yourself, more like hide your face because you were smiling so hard. this happens to be the second time since he's first told you he loved you. it makes you shy even still, the rush of heat coming to your cheeks from the intense glare he gives you, waiting for you to say it. you don't know why it felt so hard to utter. it's clear you love him, but maybe it was the large commitment of the word . . . the vulnerability, the devotion, the forever tie that scared you.

"tell me you love me, or i'll make you say it, ꒰♡꒱ ."

and make you he does.

his breath is warm on your neck, tongue following to lick a bold stripe over your skin with his fingers indented into the flesh of your cheeks and jaw. your face is upturned, head resting on his shoulder, back to his chest as you rely on his body for your balance. your thighs are spread wide, holding yourself open with your unoccupied hand, gripping under the bend of your knees, whimpering in the breezy air as his hips interact with the round of your ass, fucking you from the side fervidly. his moans are light, dancing in your ear while you claw into the picnic blanket beneath you two, clutching the grass and dirt in the wake. tuning into the lewd interaction of his heavy dick pounding into you, tits bouncing out of the enclosure of your dress.

“i can’t hear you, ꒰♡꒱,” armin grits his teeth, his lips on your jaw now, kissing away and grunting as he raises his hips to fuck you deeper, thrusts steady but rough. you’re feeling dizzy, whining from the baritone of his voice. “i didn’t make myself clear enough?”

“n-no. . . ar—min. mmph,” while denying, there’s a crack in your voice as you try your best to speak, moans rumbling in your throat, your tummy jiggling from his harsh pace.

“then tell me, tell me,” armin’s voice is a whispered plead, his jeans to his knees and his shirt pulled up to his midsection, skin scorching against your own.

you’re soft, and small. his big hand with veins protruding goes from your face to your chest, tweaking your nipples that spilled out of it’s cups alluringly, before spanking them with the pads of his fingers. tweak, spank, tweak, spank. it’s a notion that has you drooling, and sobbing pathetically. he’s trying to upkeep his composure, trying not to bottom out and lose his sanity. you’re too cute.

“i love youuu,” you finally cry out, ragged moans falling out in shorts gasps, tears coaxing and the pressure in your tummy building.

“fuck, there you go, sweetie,” his excitement shows through the way his dick slips out of you, both of you gasping from the loss until he slaps your clit with his dick, your juices sputtering out of you with each wet pat pat pat. armin draws his hips back slightly before sliding back inside easily, digging his fingers into the back of your thigh you held up and rolled his waist to fuck you harder.

each pound is harder than the previous, his jaw widening as he chokes on his moans and catches your throat with his mouth, tongue lolling out occasionally and his teeth following suit. your head is tossed back entirely, his arm going around your shoulder to cradle you, falling back on the ground. your thighs press tightly together, and you hold onto his arm while his middle and ring fingers thrum intricately over your puffy clit to watch her squirt.

armin hisses with skaken moan. “say it again, ꒰♡꒱.”

“i love you, armin.”

“again,” he’s biting at your neck again, your mouth agape from the combination of that and the head of his dick kissing your sweet spot.

“b-baby, g-god. i love you.”

“ooh, shit,” armin then pushes your left thigh flat to the ground, your body twisted as he goes to level himself above you in push up form, dropping his dick into you with steady, hard pounds. his voice grows weak, moans whiny as he cums deep inside of you, and you follow not long after, squeaking and clutching onto his wrist planted by your head. the softness of your ass bouncing back onto his hips is entrancing. his ass flexing when he grinds into your pussy.

“oh my god,” those pretty strands of blond sway in front of his face, giggling and lowering his body to rest his chest on your side. repeatedly leaving kisses to your flushed cheeks, neck, even your forehead. unable to move at all.

“i really love you, i swear,” the pads of your fingers brush over his pink lips, overly sensitive at the moment so you definitely felt like crying. a high pitched hiccup interrupts the moment, and that only makes armin roll his lips inward before bursting out a laugh.

“you’re so cute,” he gives you an eskimo kiss before smooching your lips. “i know you do.”

© 𝒮𝒯𝟦𝑅𝐵𝒲𝑅𝑅𝒴! all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work simply because it is mine. stealing isn't cute. i'll ruin your life. 🫧🍓

[s4kura-tr3]

i loved your hurt/comfort insecure nanami fic! could you do some drabbles for the other jjk guys (reader comforting them about an insecurity)? i love them all so your choice which ones

Perfect

A/n aww ty so much! I really love writing stuff for jjk it makes my day

Since I have already did Nanami he won’t be added if you haven’t read it got to my materialist and there you should find it!

Characters: Gojo, Geto, Toji, Yuji, Megumi, Sukuna

Tw: a hurt/comfort, insecurity, a little suggestive in Tojis part. Sukuna being a lil ooc, A long one folks..

Satoru Gojo

Satoru wasn’t usually the type to doubt himself. In fact, self-doubt seemed like something that didn’t exist in his vocabulary. Yet, recently, the words of others had been getting to him more than he cared to admit.

“You’re so loud all the time, Gojo.”

“Does everything have to be a joke with you?”

“You’re like a kid in a man’s body.”

It had started as harmless comments, things he shrugged off with his usual smirk and a witty retort. But after hearing them again and again, from friends, colleagues, even strangers—it stuck. Maybe he was too childish. Maybe his carefree nature wasn’t as endearing as he thought.

For the past few days, he had been… different. You noticed it almost immediately. The usual playful banter, the teasing remarks, and the exaggerated antics? Gone. Instead, Satoru had been unusually reserved, his words measured, his energy dimmed.

He wasn’t being himself, and it worried you.

One evening, the two of you sat on the couch together. Usually, Satoru would have sprawled himself out, dramatically flinging an arm around you while rambling on about something ridiculous. But tonight, he sat upright, hands clasped together, eyes glued to the TV without really watching.

“Alright,” you said, turning to face him fully. “What’s going on?”

He blinked, feigning innocence. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been acting… weird.” You gestured at him. “Quiet, serious, like you’re trying to audition for a role in some boring corporate drama.”

That got a small smile out of him, but it faded quickly. He sighed, leaning back against the couch.

“Do you ever think I’m… too much?” he asked softly.

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What? No. Where is this coming from?”

“It’s just…” He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “People are always saying how I’m loud or immature. I thought… maybe I should try being less, I don’t know, annoying.”

Your heart sank at the vulnerability in his tone. This was so unlike him, the usually confident and larger-than-life Satoru Gojo.

“Satoru,” you said firmly, taking his hand in yours. “You’re not annoying. You’re you. And that’s what I love about you.”

He looked at you, those stunning eyes of his searching your face for any hint of insincerity.

“You’re loud because you want to fill the room with laughter. You’re childish because you remind people not to take life so seriously. And yeah, maybe you’re a bit over-the-top sometimes, but that’s what makes you you. You light up every space you walk into. Why would you want to dim that?”

His lips parted, but no words came out at first. Then, a soft chuckle escaped him.

“Man,” he said, his voice lighter than it had been in days, “how’d I get so lucky to have someone like you?”

You grinned, leaning closer to him. “You’re lucky because I happen to think noisy, dramatic boyfriends are the best.”

He laughed, the sound warm and familiar, filling the room like sunlight after a storm. The playful glint returned to his eyes as he leaned down to nuzzle your cheek.

“Okay, but just for the record,” he teased, “you’re also pretty loud sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” you shot back.

He smirked, pulling you into his arms. “You’re right. I really do.”

And just like that, Satoru Gojo was himself again—bright, lively, and utterly unapologetic.

Geto Suguru

Suguru Geto had always been confident. He carried himself with a quiet grace, his long, jet-black hair tied neatly behind him, flowing like a curtain of silk. To you, it was one of his most striking features—something that made him uniquely him.

But lately, he had been feeling… off.

The comments were small, casual, but persistent enough to stick.

“Why do you keep your hair so long? Isn’t that a girl thing?”

“Don’t you think you’d look more manly if you cut it?”

“Guys with long hair just look weird.”

He brushed them off at first, but the more he heard, the more they lingered. The words gnawed at his confidence until he started questioning himself. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time for a change.

Late one evening, you noticed he wasn’t in bed when you reached out for him. The soft hum of the bathroom light spilled under the door, and curiosity tugged at you. Gently, you knocked before opening the door, only to freeze at the sight before you.

Suguru stood in front of the mirror, scissors in hand, his dark eyes shadowed with uncertainty. His long hair, normally tied back, hung loose around his shoulders, cascading like ink down his back.

“Suguru?” you asked softly, stepping into the room.

He flinched, lowering the scissors but not letting them go. “You should go back to bed,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze.

“Not until you tell me what you’re doing.” You walked closer, your voice calm but firm.

He sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I was thinking of cutting it,” he admitted, his tone low.

You tilted your head, confused. “Why?”

He hesitated, then finally met your eyes. “People keep saying it’s feminine, that it doesn’t suit me. Maybe they’re right.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your heart ache. This wasn’t like Suguru, the man who usually carried himself with unwavering confidence.

You reached out, gently taking the scissors from his hand and setting them on the counter. Then, you turned him to face you fully, your hands resting on his shoulders.

“Suguru,” you said softly, “do you want to cut your hair because you want to, or because of what other people are saying?”

He hesitated again, looking away. “I just… don’t want people to think I’m weird.”

You shook your head, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re not weird. You’re you. And your long hair? It’s one of the things I love most about you. It’s strong, it’s beautiful, and it’s you. Don’t let anyone make you feel like you have to change that.”

He looked back at you, his expression softening. “You really think that?”

“I know that,” you said firmly. You reached up, running your fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and smooth it was. “This hair of yours? It’s perfect. And even if you decided to cut it, I’d still love you. But don’t let anyone else decide who you should be. You’re already perfect just the way you are.”

Suguru exhaled, the tension in his shoulders melting away. A small, genuine smile crept onto his face, and he leaned into your touch.

“You always know what to say,” he murmured, his voice lighter now.

“That’s my job,” you teased, grinning up at him.

He chuckled softly, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. “Thank you,” he whispered into your hair.

“Anytime,” you replied, your voice muffled against his chest.

That night, Suguru went to bed with his long hair intact, feeling more like himself than he had in days. And as he lay beside you, your words echoing in his mind, he realized that the only opinion that truly mattered was yours—and his own.

Toji Fushiguro

Toji wasn’t one to dwell on things. Life had shaped him into a man who took things as they came, without much fuss. But lately, as he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t ignore the signs of time creeping up on him.

The faint wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

The silver strands starting to thread through his black hair.

The way his back ached after sparring, when it never used to before.

The chubby softness that replaced the sharp definition of his youth.

He hated to admit it, but it all gnawed at him. The years had taken their toll, and it made him wonder—did you notice? Did you still see him the same way?

For the past week, Toji had been… off. He wasn’t teasing you as much, his trademark smirks less frequent. He avoided his reflection and spent extra time at the gym, only to come home frustrated when his body refused to cooperate the way it used to. You couldn’t help but notice the way he lingered in front of the mirror longer than usual, his brows furrowed in thought.

One night, you found him sitting on the edge of the bed, his shoulders hunched. He was staring at his hands, his calloused fingers flexing absently, lost in thought.

“Toji,” you called softly, sitting beside him.

He glanced at you but quickly looked away, as if embarrassed. “You should get some sleep,” he muttered.

“Not until you tell me what’s been bothering you.”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening. Finally, he sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “It’s nothing. Just… getting old, I guess.”

“Old?” you repeated, blinking in surprise. “What are you talking about?”

He gestured vaguely at himself. “Look at me. Wrinkles, gray hair, a bad back… I’m not the man I used to be.” His voice was low, almost bitter. “It’s like every time I look in the mirror, I see someone else. Someone… weaker.”

Your chest tightened at the vulnerability in his words. Toji, the man who always seemed so sure of himself, was doubting his worth because of something as natural as aging.

“Toji,” you said gently, reaching for his hand. “Do you know what I see when I look at you?”

He glanced at you, his green eyes shadowed with doubt. “What?”

“I see the strongest, most handsome man I’ve ever met,” you said firmly. “I see someone who’s lived through more than most people could imagine and came out the other side. Every wrinkle, every scar, every gray hair? They’re proof of that. They tell the story of a man who’s survived, who’s grown, who’s loved.”

He stared at you, his expression softening as your words sank in.

“You’re not defined by how you look, Toji,” you continued, your voice steady but full of emotion. “You’re defined by the way you protect the people you care about, the way you love me, the way you never give up no matter how hard things get. That’s the man I see. That’s the man I fell in love with.”

Toji’s lips parted slightly, but he didn’t speak right away. Instead, he reached up, brushing his thumb gently along your cheek.

“You really think that?” he asked, his voice quieter now.

“I don’t think it,” you said, leaning into his touch. “I know it.”

A slow, genuine smile broke across his face—the kind of smile that made your heart flutter no matter how many times you’d seen it.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured, pulling you into his lap and wrapping his arms around you.

“Not true,” you teased, nuzzling against his chest. “You deserve every bit of it, old man.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Watch it, or I’ll remind you how ‘old’ I am in ways you won’t forget.”

You laughed, the sound warm and full of love, and for the first time in days, Toji felt like himself again. Sure, he wasn’t as young as he used to be, but with you by his side, he realized he didn’t need to be. Because to you, he was—and always would be—perfect.

Sukuna ryomen

Sukuna was not a man who doubted himself—ever. He was the King of Curses, feared and revered, and he didn’t care what anyone thought of him. Or at least, that’s what he told himself.

But the comment from one of his servants had hit a nerve he hadn’t expected.

“It’s only a matter of time before they leave you. Who’d want to stay with someone so… volatile?”

Sukuna had brushed the remark off at the time, beheading the servant without hesitation. Yet, the words lingered, festering in his mind like a curse.

The days that followed were… off. Sukuna wasn’t himself. The sharp edges of his personality were dulled. He no longer snapped at minor annoyances or barked orders with his usual commanding tone. Instead, he was quiet, withdrawn, almost measured.

And it worried you. Sukuna, the man who always seemed larger than life, who never hesitated to speak his mind or express his emotions, was holding back.

You found him one evening in his chambers, sitting on the edge of his throne, his usual confident posture replaced by something almost… unsure. His clawed fingers tapped against the armrest, his gaze distant.

“Sukuna?” you called gently, stepping closer.

He stiffened, glancing at you. “What is it?” he asked, his tone gruff but lacking its usual bite.

“You tell me,” you said, crossing your arms as you stood in front of him. “You’ve been acting strange. What’s going on?”

He clicked his tongue, looking away. “It’s nothing. Drop it.”

“No,” you said firmly, surprising him with your persistence. “You don’t get to brush me off like that. Not when something’s clearly bothering you.”

For a moment, he said nothing, his jaw tightening. Then, with a frustrated sigh, he finally spoke.

“One of the servants said something,” he admitted, his voice low. “About you. About me.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What did they say?”

“They said you’d leave,” he said bluntly, his crimson eyes meeting yours for the first time. “Because of my… temper.”

The words were almost hard for him to say, and it hit you just how deeply they had affected him.

You took a step closer, your expression softening. “Sukuna…”

He scoffed, looking away again. “It’s not like I care what some pathetic servant thinks. But… it made me wonder.” He paused, his claws flexing against the armrest. “If they’re right. If I’ll drive you away one day, and my love is bigger then my pride..”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability he was showing, a side of him he rarely let anyone see. You knelt in front of him, resting your hands gently on his knees, forcing him to look at you.

“Listen to me,” you said firmly, your voice steady. “You’re not perfect, Sukuna. No one is. But I didn’t fall in love with you because I thought you were. I fell in love with you. The good, the bad, the angry, the terrifying—all of it.”

His eyes searched yours, as if trying to find any hint of a lie.

“Yes, you have a temper,” you continued, “but you’re also loyal, protective, and so much more than the anger you feel. And if you ever do lose control, I know you’ll never hurt me. You’ve had every opportunity to, and you never have. That’s what matters.”

He was silent for a long moment, the tension in his body slowly ebbing away. Finally, he reached out, his clawed hand cupping your cheek with surprising gentleness.

“You’re too good for me,” he murmured, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.

“No, I’m exactly what you need,” you said with a small smile, leaning into his touch. “And I’m not going anywhere, Sukuna. Not now, not ever.”

A faint smirk tugged at his lips, the closest thing to a smile you’d ever see from him. “You’re either brave or foolish to stay with someone like me.”

“Maybe a little of both,” you teased, rising to your feet and leaning in to kiss him softly.

When you pulled away, his crimson eyes held a warmth that wasn’t there before. “Don’t let them get in your head again,” you said. “I love you, Sukuna. All of you.”

For the first time in days, he felt the weight in his chest lift. He pulled you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you as if to keep you anchored to him.

And just like that, Sukuna felt like himself again—not because his anger was gone, but because you had reminded him that he was more than just the storm inside him.

Megumi Fushiguro

Megumi wasn’t one to get rattled easily. He wasn’t the loudest in the room or the most expressive, but his quiet presence was steady and dependable. You loved that about him.

But after meeting one of your old friends over lunch, a lingering doubt began to fester in his mind.

The conversation had been light and casual until your friend brought up your dating history.

“You’ve always had a type,” your friend teased, grinning. “Super affectionate, touchy guys—remember that one boyfriend who used to write you love notes every day?”

Megumi had sat there, quietly sipping his tea, but the words stayed with him long after the lunch ended. He wasn’t affectionate—not in the way your friend had described. His love wasn’t shown through constant words of affirmation or grand romantic gestures.

But was that what you wanted? Was that what you needed?

The days following the lunch were strange. Megumi was… different.

You’d been dating long enough to know his rhythms, the small, subtle ways he showed his love. The way he’d brush his hand against yours when walking side by side, or how he’d make sure you were always on the inside of the sidewalk. He was never loud about his affection, but it was there, constant and unwavering.

But now, he was acting out of character.

He was holding your hand more often, lingering in hugs longer than usual, and—most surprisingly—he kissed you on the forehead in public. It wasn’t bad, but it was so unlike him that you couldn’t ignore it.

One evening, as you sat on the couch together, you decided to bring it up.

“Okay,” you said, turning to face him. “What’s going on with you?”

Megumi blinked, his expression a mix of surprise and guilt. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been… different,” you said, trying to choose your words carefully. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but you’ve been more… affectionate than usual. It’s not like you.”

He stiffened, looking down at his hands. For a moment, you thought he might deny it, but then he sighed, running a hand through his messy hair.

“I overheard what your friend said,” he admitted quietly. “About how your type used to be affectionate guys.”

You frowned, confused. “So?”

“So,” he said, his voice quieter, “I figured I should try to be more like that. More like… what you’re used to. What you deserve.”

His words made your chest tighten. The thought of Megumi, your stoic, thoughtful boyfriend, feeling insecure about something so fundamental to who he was broke your heart.

“Megumi,” you said softly, reaching for his hand. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He looked up at you, his green eyes clouded with doubt. “But what if it’s not enough? What if I’m not enough?”

You squeezed his hand tightly, your voice firm. “You are enough. More than enough.”

He stayed quiet, so you scooted closer, cupping his cheek gently and forcing him to look at you.

“You don’t have to be anyone else for me,” you said. “I don’t need over-the-top gestures or constant affection to know you love me. I see it in the way you make me tea when I’m stressed, or how you check on me after a long day without saying a word. You show your love in a million small ways that mean more to me than any grand gesture ever could.”

His expression softened, a flicker of relief passing through his eyes.

“I love you, Megumi,” you continued. “Not some version of you that you think I want. Just you.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

“I guess I overthought it,” he murmured, his tone lighter now.

“A little bit,” you teased, grinning.

He sighed, leaning back against the couch and pulling you into his side. “I just… didn’t want to let you down.”

“You could never let me down,” you said, resting your head against his shoulder. “And for the record, I like your type way better than anyone else’s.”

He let out a quiet laugh, the sound warming your heart. “Thanks,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And just like that, the tension between you melted away. Megumi realized he didn’t need to change for you—he just needed to keep being the person you’d fallen in love with.

Yuji itadori

Yuji Itadori had always been the type to wear his heart on his sleeve. When he cared about someone, he showed it—whether that meant pulling them into a random hug, texting to make sure they got home safe, or just being around as much as he could.

But lately, he’d started wondering if maybe… it was too much.

It happened after a passing comment from one of his friends.

“Man, Yuji, you’re always sticking to them like glue. Don’t you think they’d want some space?”

The words weren’t meant to hurt, but they stuck with him. Did you ever feel suffocated by how much he wanted to be around you? Did you secretly wish he’d dial it back a little?

That thought alone made him pull back.

You noticed it almost immediately.

Yuji, your usually cheerful and affectionate boyfriend, had started acting… distant. The hugs were shorter, the playful touches less frequent, and he didn’t lean into you on the couch like he usually did.

At first, you thought maybe he was tired or stressed, but as the days passed, it became clear something was bothering him.

One night, after dinner, you decided to address it.

“Yuji,” you said gently, setting your plate down and turning to face him. “Is something wrong?”

His head shot up, his wide eyes betraying his guilt. “Huh? What? No, nothing’s wrong!”

“Don’t lie to me,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “You’ve been acting different lately. Did I do something to upset you?”

“No!” he said quickly, his hands waving in front of him. “It’s not you. It’s me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked away. “I’ve been… trying to give you more space. I didn’t want to be too clingy, you know? I don’t want you to feel like I’m smothering you.”

Your heart sank at the insecurity in his voice. Yuji, who had always been so confident in how much he cared, was now second-guessing himself because he thought it was too much.

“Yuji,” you said softly, scooting closer to him. “Why would you think you’re smothering me?”

He shrugged, his eyes still avoiding yours. “Someone said I might be, and I started wondering… maybe they’re right. Maybe you’d want me to back off a little.”

“Hey,” you said, reaching out to take his hand. He looked at you then, his brown eyes filled with uncertainty.

“Listen to me,” you said, your tone firm but warm. “I love how affectionate you are. The way you always check on me, the way you hold me, the way you make me feel loved—none of it ever feels like too much. If anything, it makes me feel lucky.”

“Really?” he asked, his voice soft and hesitant, like he couldn’t quite believe it.

“Really,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’d rather have you be your clingy, caring self than have you pull back and act like someone you’re not. You’re perfect the way you are, Yuji.”

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before a small smile broke across his face.

“Thanks,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I guess I was overthinking it.”

“You definitely were,” you teased, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek.

He laughed, the sound light and full of relief, and pulled you into a tight hug—the kind of hug that only Yuji could give, warm and all-encompassing.

“I missed this,” you said, nuzzling into his chest.

“I missed it too,” he admitted, resting his chin on top of your head. “I promise I won’t hold back anymore.”

“Good,” you said, grinning against his shirt. “Because clingy Yuji is my favorite version of you.”

His laughter rumbled in his chest as he held you a little tighter, and for the first time in days, Yuji felt like himself again.

[formula-ghost]

The Driver (FC43 x fem!reader)

SUMMARY: After years of being with your boyfriend, Franco Colapinto, you should feel secure and ready for your budding future. When old anxieties creep in, will your relationship withstand the pressure?

WORD COUNT: 9.5k 

WARNINGS: Semi-public car sex (reader and Franco are both switches, fingering, p in v). Angst, mentions of cheating. Heavy mentions of marriage, incredibly Champagne Problems coded but I have to stick to the Måneskin theme. Probably incorrect geographical depictions of Spain. Reader has an anxiety disorder/struggles with mental health. Same universe as Supermodel/RYD (in RYD, Franco’s Aston Martin contract is only one year, so we’re just skipping ahead here). 

A/N: You all asked for Franco car sex and instead I gave you emotional pain :) I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing for RYD!Franco, I just love him too much. After this I’ll keep writing for Wildflower and then maybe do a few one shots before the next series perhaps? Either way, hope you enjoy!

TAGLIST: [COMMENT TO BE ADDED TO MY FRANCO TAGLIST!]  @scopeiguess @storyteller-le @xivilivix @htpssgavi @wierdflowerpower @justsisse @uncreativetm  @ncrsbrg @tillyt04 @amz824 @ellelabelle @aliwritex

If you gonna set fire to the night, baby let me be the lighter

If you’re already high and you wanna fly, I’ll be the hit that takes you higher

If you wanna love when you touch the sky, you can be my midnight rider

If there’s nowhere to go when you wanna go wild, I wanna be the driver

After getting his first multi-year Formula 1 contract—complete with a hefty sign-on bonus—there were three things that Franco Colapinto needed to buy. 

The first was a house for his parents. 

He led his mother around the massive home, showing her every little detail that he had noticed when he chose it, all perfectly arranged according to her taste. At first, she wasn’t sure what her son was doing; he had wanted it to be a surprise, so he didn’t tell her anything. 

“Yes, Franquito, the home is beautiful,” she said, craning her neck to look at the high ceilings, the sunlight from the massive windows illuminating her face. “But why would you buy a house here in Argentina? You’re hardly ever home, you can just stay with us in the off season.”

Franco, like his mother, was a pragmatist. He’d never buy himself a mansion in Argentina unless he had retired from F1 and decided to settle down. But his career was just getting started. 

She continued, “I mean, you and YN don’t need this much space—”

“It’s not for us, Mami,” he said, finally letting loose the smile that he’d be fighting all day. He was never able to keep secrets, too much of a chatterbox. “It’s for you.”

“Franco—”

“Mami,” he said, already anticipating her hesitation. “It is the least I can do. I can never repay you for all you’ve done for me.”

“That’s my job. You don’t need to repay me.”

“Maybe I don’t need to, but I want to.”

Tears had begun to well up in his mother’s eyes. She knew it was impossible to stop him. It was every athlete’s dream to make enough money to buy their mother a house one day; she wouldn’t take that from him.  “I’m so proud of you, mijo,” he said, enveloping her son in her arms. “You have made me proud beyond measure.”

It was Franco’s turn now to tear up, though he blinked them away and smiled. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“I figured something was up,” she laughed, “this house is too much my style for you to buy it. I think YN would like it, though. How is she doing?”

“She’s good,” he answered, unsure of how to proceed. His mother let him pause, knowing he was about to say something. “I’m… thinking about asking her to marry me.”

“Oh, wonderful!” she replied, her smile now stretching ear to ear. 

“We haven’t talked about it yet, though. So don’t get your hopes up. She might not say yes.”

“Why wouldn’t she?” his mother questioned. “You’ve been together for years, through thick and thin.”

“I don’t know,” he said, scratching the back of his neck in nervousness. “We just…haven’t talked about it. I’m nervous.”

“Well, don’t ask her until you’ve talked about it. But I see no reason why she’d say no.” She reached out to smooth over a piece of his hair that was stuck up at an odd angle. “Take your time,” she continued. “If you all aren’t ready now, there’s no harm in waiting. You have the entire rest of your lives to be together.”

Franco gave her a weak smile, his expression still plastered with nervousness. “But when you do get married,” she continued, as if it was a fact, “I expect grandbabies.”

He laughed, despite knowing that she was dead serious. That would be a bridge to cross later.

For now, he had a second purchase to make: his first real car. 

Franco, despite being a Formula 1 driver, had always been down to earth. When he drove for Williams, they had to fight him over taking the bus every day. Even in his early days, his future had been too unstable to spend all his hard-earned money on something like a flashy car, especially since he’d be away so often that he’d hardly be able to use it.

But now, he knew that the time was right, and he’d more than earned it. So, when Franco woke you up at the crack of dawn to go to the luxury dealership in Madrid to pick up his new car the second that they opened, you obliged him despite the hour being far too early. 

As the salesman handed him the keys, Franco beamed as if he was holding his newborn child, his eyes wide with love and anticipation.

“She’s beautiful,” he whispered, running his hands up and down along the hood of the flashy luxury car.

You stood back, afraid to even touch this car that was more expensive than your net worth. 

“She’s perfect. She’s the most perfect car I’ve ever seen.” He looked up at you, smiling like a giddy child. “Isn’t she perfect?”

You smiled back, amused by Franco’s happiness. “It certainly is a nice car.”

“It’s not just a nice car. She’s a machine.” You chuckled back at him. “Let’s go for a ride.”

You were honestly a little scared of getting in the car. But when Franco crossed over to open your door for you and help you inside, you couldn’t tell him no.

Sitting inside, you had to admit that it was a really nice car. Franco yapped on about the technical abilities of the engine, but it was in one ear and out the other—despite his many years in F1, you couldn’t say you had learned anything about the machines that your longtime boyfriend drove for a living. But you loved to hear him talk, especially when he was this happy, so you nodded as if you were listening intently. 

Franco went to back up the car, putting his hand on your headrest and leaning over his shoulder. The move showed off his prominent muscles and instantly melted you. Even after all these years, it was the little things that you never got tired of. 

He sped along the highways, giggling to himself as he heard the engine rev and felt the smoothness of the ride. His smile never wavered as he increased his speed and weaved through the slower cars. 

He skipped the exit that would lead back to your home, though. “Where are we going?” you asked.

“I want to show you something,” he said, being intentionally vague with his intentions. 

You raised an eyebrow. Franco wasn’t one for surprises; he talked too damn much to ever keep them. If he hadn’t told you before now, it must be something serious. 

He moved his hand over to hold your thigh, another one of those little things he did that still made you crazy no matter how many times he did it. “Trust me, amor,” he said.

Of course, you trusted him. So when he exited the highway and began driving into the Spanish countryside, you said nothing, instead choosing to enjoy the feeling of his hand rubbing soft circles into your thigh as the trees blurred past you and the engine purred.

After a while he finally slowed his speed, bringing the car up to an empty overlook off the main road. Through the tinted windows, you could see that this place was hidden, nestled off by the trees so that you could only get here if you knew where you were going. The view was gorgeous; miles and miles of lush greenery, and in the far off distance, the city that you had just left. 

“Wow..” you whispered. “How’d you find this place?”

“I used to run on these roads out here when I was younger,” he said, admiring you as you admired the view. 

“It’s beautiful.”

“I don’t get to come here much anymore,” he said. “I never thought I’d come back here one day as a Formula 1 driver.”

“Thank you for bringing me here,” you said, leaning over to kiss his cheek. His face had the slightest tinge of blush, so subtle that only you could see it. 

“Come on, let’s get a good look,” he said, turning off the engine and opening his door.

You got out of the car and softly gasped again when you saw the view with your own two eyes, rather than through the tinted glass. It left you breathless.

You sat cross legged next to Franco on the grass, taking in the sights of the countryside around you. For a while you were quiet, just soaking in the sounds of nature. 

Then Franco broke the calmness. “Have you ever thought about getting married?”

His voice was soft, but his words startled you. “Married?”

“I mean, we’ve been together for a while. About time, no?”

Truthfully, you had thought about marriage quite a bit. The mere idea of it scared you. And talking about it scared you even more. 

“You sound enthusiastic,” you joked. 

“You know what I mean.” He looked down, clearly also nervous for this momentous discussion. Still, he kept his voice light and steady. “I love you. I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to spend the rest of my life with.”

“I’d hope not,” you chuckled. But your attempts at diffusing the tension with humor failed.

He adopted a more serious tone. “YN, I want to marry you,” he said. His eyes looked up to meet yours, and for some reason, you felt your heart drop into your stomach. “I’m not proposing right now, but it’s something we should start thinking and talking about.”

You looked out into the distance and took a shaky breath. Why was this so difficult?

“So, talk to me, amor,” he said. 

“You want to marry me?” you asked, your voice small and squeaky.

“Of course I do,” he replied, brushing your hair out of your face. Now there were no barriers between you. “You’re the love of my life.”

You wanted to cry. “I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“I don’t know. It’s just so…final. What if something goes wrong?”

“Then we work through it, like we always do.” He was right. Your relationship with Franco had certainly had its rocky patches, but he treated you like a queen. You two overcame every obstacle, including your own mind that often worked against you. You often felt like you didn’t deserve someone so patient and kind. 

“Things change when you get married.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not saying any of this lightly. I’ve thought about it a lot.”

Even after years of loving him, it still surprised you whenever Franco told you that he thought of you. You could never get used to existing in his head when you physically weren’t there.

“What do you think about?” you asked, moving closer to him.

He reached his arm around your waist, resting his hand on your hip. “I think about you, in a white dress. We’d be in the church in Argentina.” You knew the one. He’d gone there growing up, and had shown it to you several times when you went to visit his family. “And we’d have a ridiculous party, into the morning,” he said smiling, leaning his head down closer to you. “And, a while after that, maybe a few months or a year or so, you’d be eating for two.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to stop your eyes from watering. “That sounds…”

“Perfect?”

No. You were going to say real. That sounds real. And it scared you. 

Truthfully, you could imagine the wedding, and the babies, and the many happy years of being Franco’s wife.

But you could also imagine the distance. The exhaustion. The bitterness. 

“Growing up, I never thought I’d get married,” you said, shifting the conversation. “I just… I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to marry me,” you laughed. 

“I do,” he said. The effect of his words weren’t lost on you; the same words he would say to take the vow. “I want to marry you.”

You had told him a long time ago that your insecurities weren’t something he could fix. He remembered that, and he respected it. But still, it always broke his heart when he realized that even after years of loving you, those old wounds refused to heal. 

“Why?” you asked. Your head was beginning to hurt from holding in all the tears. 

“Why?” he echoed, incredulous at why you’d even need to ask such a ridiculous question. His voice held no malice, though. “Because I love you.”

“Don’t you get tired of this?”

“Of what?”

“Of…me being difficult for no good reason?”

“You’re not being difficult. Marriage is a huge deal, obviously. I don’t want us to rush into it if you’re not ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

He sighed. “Then…well, honestly, that would break my heart. I’d want you to work through whatever is holding you back. But I’d be with you every step of the way.”

You looked away into the distance. Part of you wanted to run and disappear in the thick foliage of the Spanish countryside. The other part of you wanted to bury your head in Franco’s chest, finally letting go of all the reservations that had haunted you for years. 

You knew Franco. You loved Franco. You trusted Franco.

So why were you still so afraid?

“Mi amor,” he said, gently guiding your head so you had to look at him. “Do you want to get married?” He tilted his head closer to you. 

You knew what he was asking. Not if you were ready right now, not if you were scared; but deep down, in your heart of hearts, did you want to marry Franco Colapinto?

“Yes,” you whispered. Just as he didn’t have to explain, neither did you. He knew what you meant; yes, but I’m scared. Yes, but I’m not ready. Yes, but I’m afraid I’ll never be ready.

He brought his lips to yours, gently kissing you as you let the few tears that had been welling up in your eyes finally go. When he pulled back, he wiped them away.

“We don’t have to make a decision now,” he said. “We’ve got time. I want us both to be ready.”

You kissed him again, this time more forceful. There was nothing sexier than a man with emotional intelligence. 

He pulled away again to finish his thought. “Just keep thinking on it, okay? We can talk about it as much as you want.”

“Okay,” you said, smiling as he looked at you.

“What?” he asked, his own playful smile dancing across his face.

“You’re so hot when you respect my boundaries.”

He laughed. “Mi amor, that’s the bare minimum.”

“Keep going,” you joked, “I’m so close.”

“Don’t say that,” he said, leaning down to kiss your neck. “I’ll start misbehaving.”

“Maybe I want you to,” he said, sharply inhaling as he gently bit the skin on your neck, sure to leave a mark.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered in your ear, sending shivers down your spine as he nibbled on your earlobe. 

“Get me home and show me how horrible I am, then,” you teased, reaching out to touch his waist. 

“We don’t even need to get home.” He reached up to hold your neck with one hand as he continued kissing up and down your jaw.

“Here?” you said, darting your eyes around. 

“In the car,” he said, his voice already getting breathy. 

“No,” you urged. “It’s new.”

“Exactly. We have to break it in, no? Or bless it,” he said. His hands were beginning to roam underneath the hem of your shirt now.

“You’d never forgive me if I messed up the seats.”

“They’re leather, it cleans easy. I can get it detailed.” He stifled your next complaint with a deep kiss. “No one is ever around here. And the windows are tinted,” he whispered into your mouth. 

You laughed. “You’re a freak.”

“I’m your freak. And don’t lie, you love it,” he said, snaking his hand down to tease its way under your skirt. “I can tell how much you love it.”

You stopped him before his hand could go any further—after all, you were technically still in public. 

“Get in the car, whore,” you joked, before Franco hopped up and nearly sprinted to open the car door and set his seat back as far as it could go. 

He sat in the seat and patted his lap. “You joining me?”

You playfully rolled your eyes, getting up to meet your lover at the car and carefully climb onto his lap, occupying his lips with a deep kiss that he moaned into. 

“Did you plan this?” you asked. 

“Plan what?” he said, a devilish grin across his face. 

“Bringing me out to your scenic spot to fuck me in your new sports car?”

“Wasn’t planned at all. I’m a spontaneous man.”

“Mhm. How many other girls did you bring here before we started dating?”

“Less talking, more fucking, yeah?” he said. You probably didn’t want to know the answer. But that was all in the past. Franco was yours—he had been for years now, and he wanted to be yours forever.

There would be time to think about that later. Right now, all you could think about was the beautiful boy sitting beneath you, looking at you as if he needed you as simply as he needed air. You could feel him hardening beneath you. 

You shifted your weight to straddle him, grinding down on his length, eliciting a sharp exhale from him. 

“You’re so needy today, Franco,” you said as you ran your fingers through his soft curls.

“I’m always needy for you.” He brought his lips back to yours, hungry for the taste of you. His lips trailed down to your jaw and neck. “YN, you don’t know what you do to me…”

“I think I can feel it,” you joked, softly grinding your clothed pussy over the growing bulge in his jeans. 

“Don’t tease me,” he begged, roaming his hands up the hem of your blouse.

“But it’s so fun,” you said, leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I love to see you fall apart underneath me.”

“Fuck, YN—”

“Less talking, more fucking, no?” you said, mocking his statement from earlier. You met his mouth in a kiss, and he moved his hands down under your skirt, running up and down the soft skin of your thighs. When he finally teased his fingers over the wet spot that was already growing in your panties, you softly inhaled, showing your desire for him. 

“I’m not the only needy one,” he teased, breathing in the smell of your perfume and shampoo, his head buried in your neck. 

You softly moaned as he moved your panties to the side and began circling his fingers around your clit. 

“Franco, fuck…”

“What happened to all that talk, huh? Or are you too busy trying not to cum on my fingers?”

All you could do was breathe as his fingers found their way inside of you, pumping in and out to prepare you for his cock. 

“Don’t try to stop it,” he said, “let go. Cum for me.”

You obeyed, your legs shaking as your walls pulsated on his fingers. You whimpered into his neck, steadying yourself by holding him. 

He kissed your cheek, but wasted no time in unzipping his jeans and plunging into you while you rode out the waves of your orgasm. He let out a breathy moan as he felt the sweet warmth of you wrapped around him. 

You were overcome with sensation; the burn of his cock stretching you out, the last dregs of pleasure now mixed with the pain, and the burn in your legs from sitting in the same position for too long.

It was all the more motivation to bounce up and down on his cock, finding a steady rhythm as he guided his hands to your hips.

You rested your head next to his, moaning into his ear with every thrust. The small space of the car may be cramped, but you couldn’t help but appreciate the intimacy of the moment. Franco’s eyes were closed in sensual bliss, his breath ragged as you increased your speed.

You wanted to watch him come undone from the sinful pleasure that your pussy brought him. 

“YN—” he moaned, his hands digging hard enough into your hips to leave bruises, “Oh, God, YN, you always feel so fucking good. So good for me.”

You whimpered from both the praise and the pleasure. You had to slow down—the fast stamina was too much on your legs, which were now burning from the awkward position you were stuck in. 

“I think you were made for me,” Franco whispered. “And I was made for you. See how well we fit together?” He took control, lifting you up as if you were weightless and bouncing you up and down on his own. You yelped at first, then your surprise gave way to bliss as you both chased your release. 

But Franco was relentless in his praise. “You’re my fucking soulmate. I wanna fuck you every day for the rest of our lives.”

“Franco, I’m so close—”

“Cum for me, mi amor. Again.” His own voice was strangled with desire, so close to his own peak.

With a high pitched whine, you obeyed, and the heavenly feeling of your walls contracted around him brought your lover to the edge soon after. 

And when you did both finish, you held each other, too tired to even move from the uncomfortable position from the car. 

Franco was a talker. You always knew that. He loved nothing more than to fill your ears with sweet nothings when you made love. But the context of the conversation that just transpired weighed on you, even with the comfort of Franco’s hands rubbing small circles into your back as you both tried to catch your breath. 

“You okay?” he asked, and you murmured in response, unable to form any coherent words in the aftermath of everything. “Let’s get home and we can take a shower, yeah?”

A warm shower sounded heavenly right now. You awkwardly shimmied your way into the passenger seat and took one last look at the view, thankful that the overlook was still deserted. You sighed as you settled in and buckled your seatbelt, relishing the relief of finally being able to stretch your legs. 

“Hey,” Franco asked as he readjusted his seat and turned on the car. “Are you okay, really?”

“Yeah,” you said. It was true; you were exhausted, overwhelmed, and hurting, but it was all worth it for him. 

He leaned over to kiss your cheek and smiled before putting the car in reverse. 

The third item that Franco had to buy was the ring. 

Truthfully, the conversation hadn’t gone as smoothly as he would have liked. In his dreams, you'd jumped for joy when he’d broached the subject, and you’d live happily ever after.

But despite his disappointment, he understood your hesitancy. He was just as afraid to ask the question as you were to say yes. He knew that your struggles with self esteem and anxiety were lifelong. He knew all this about you from the very beginning, and he loved you anyway. 

Still, it was times like this when it broke his heart that he couldn’t fix it. 

It didn’t matter. You’d come around eventually, you always did. And you had been honest when you said you wanted to marry him—there was just a lot of stuff in the way, mentally and emotionally. 

So yes, he’d wait a while before he popped the question. But that didn’t mean he had to wait to buy the ring. 

He knew the exact one. You had fallen in love with it years ago, when you had worn it in a PR shoot for one of his high profile sponsors. Though time had passed, he still remembered the sadness in your eyes when you had to give it back after the photoshoot. He had vowed to himself that day that he’d earn enough to get you that ring.

And now he finally had. 

A few days after your conversation, he found the now faded card that he had stuck in his wallet and called the number. When the same brand rep picked up, he exhaled, letting go of his fear.

“Franco! How nice to hear from you. I was beginning to think we’d scared you away.”

“No,” he laughed. “The opposite, actually.”

“Let me guess. You’re ready for that ring?”

‘How’d you know?”

“I’ve been doing this a long time. When a woman looks at a ring like that, and she’s with a man that truly loves her, it’s just a matter of time.”

He had swiped another ring of yours to get the measurements, and he completed the entire order over the phone on his drive back home from a day of pre-season meetings. He had three months before the beginning of the new season, and he wanted to propose before that so you could start wedding planning once the season started. Would three months be enough time for you to think about it? He didn’t know. 

But he couldn’t wait any longer. The giddiness was eating him alive. 

You could tell something was amiss, but the idea of a proposal was the last thing on your mind. 

Franco was hiding his phone from you. Which meant that Franco was hiding something important from you, and he was doing a horrible job of it. 

Your lover was never the type to be quiet or secretive about…anything really. He talked too much. You had to physically restrain him every Christmas from spoiling what he got you weeks in advance. So if there was something that he was truly trying to hide, it was something major. 

And it scared you. 

The thought that you had been holding back for years finally broke through one night where he put his phone face down at the dinner table after his phone lit up with several notifications. 

“Who’s texting you?” you asked, trying to keep your voice innocent despite the rush of dread that was rising in your stomach.

“No one,” he answered, too quickly for your liking. You didn’t respond. 

You knew Franco was attractive. Every girl would kill to have him. He was kind, funny, beautiful, and flirtatious. But he was yours. Right?

Franco had never crossed the line before. You trusted him with your life. But something within you just felt deeply, deeply wrong, and it came spilling out later that night when he tried to touch you. 

His phone was left on the nightstand, untouched since dinner; his focus was on you, running his hand up and down your side, gently dressing his lips to your shoulder as you faced away from him.

“Not tonight,” you whispered, unable to keep your voice from shaking. 

“All you alright, mi amor?” he asked, pulling back your shoulder to make you face him, seeing how you were desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. 

“I’m fine,” you said, biting the inside of your cheek.

Even after all your years together, Franco never quite knew when to press on and when to keep quiet when you said those two infamous words. And he didn’t have much time to think, because you rose from the bed and left the room, mumbling about needing a minute to get fresh air. 

You stepped onto the back porch and took a deep breath, steadying your heart rate and calming your nerves, if only for a moment. The night air was serene; you felt vile contaminating the peace with your anxiety.

Would this last forever? You couldn’t remember a time when you hadn’t felt this push and pull. You wanted to tell Franco to go, to relieve himself of the burden of your mental illness. You wanted to bottle up every insecurity, every doubt, every negative thought into a vault that you didn’t share with anyone. 

But you couldn’t. If Franco left you’d be broken. You couldn’t stop yourself from letting these thoughts and fears control you. In the past, therapy had helped, but you knew this was a weight you’d always have to carry. And that made you miserable. 

So yes, maybe it was for the better that Franco move on, find someone better, more stable, and build a life with her. 

“Mi amor?”

Franco’s voice broke your hopeless contemplation. 

“Talk to me,” he said. 

You just shook your head. He must be so tired of reassuring you, endlessly, knowing that it didn’t help one bit. 

“YN,” he urged, “you know I don’t like it when you try to shoulder everything alone.”

“I’m sorry,” you said. That was all you could say. “I’m sorry that I’m like this.”

“Like what?”

“Impossible.”

“What do you mean?” 

“You know what I mean. We have the same conversation over and over again. Don’t you get tired of it? Of having to reassure me and it never helping? Of me crying over every little thing? Franco, I’m a mess!”

“YN…” he sighed, “When have I ever said any of that?”

He was right. He had never expressed any frustration regarding your mental struggles. He had always been there when you needed him. 

“I’m sorry.”

“Have you just been up in your head, or did something happen?”

You contemplated lying, but you knew better. “You set your phone face down at dinner.”

“I— did you think I was…?”

“It’s not you, Franco. It’s never you. That’s the worst part. You have to deal with all of this and it’s not your fault at all,” you said, not even allowing him to say aloud what you both knew was true. 

Franco took a deep breath. “YN,” he said, calmly, “let’s go back inside and go through my phone.”

“No—”

“Yes,” he commanded. “I want you to be 100% confident that I love you and only you.”

“Franco—”

“Let’s go.”

He had a firmness in his voice that only made your anxiety worse, and immediately you felt horrible for even insinuating anything to the opposite. But he was your rock of reason in times like these when your anxiety took over, and so you followed his command, unlocking his phone when he handed it to you. 

As expected, there was no incriminating evidence, just far too many unopened emails and messages left on delivered. Even his recently deleted texts showed nothing. 

The buzzing that you had been so afraid of turning out to be…emails from a jewelry company?

“I ordered a custom necklace for your birthday,” Franco explained. “They’ve been so difficult, though. They lost the order and then sent me the wrong thing. It’s been hell.”

You handed back the phone with your head hung low, ashamed. “I’m sorry I ruined the surprise.”

“You know I would have ruined it beforehand anyway,” he said. “I’m not upset at you.”

“You should be. You deserve someone who trusts you.”

“You do trust me,” he said, “I know you do. It’s not you that’s saying this.” 

Fuck. Franco really did know you too well. 

“You know why I stay with you, even with all this?” You looked up at him, curious for the answer. He had never been this direct before. He continued, “Well, first of all, because I love you. But even during times when I’m frustrated, I remember everything we’ve been through, when you forgave me and were there for me when I didn’t deserve it. I was so close to losing you and it terrified me.”

Once again, your eyes were watering. He said, “I promised myself that if you really gave me a chance, I’d never forget it. I’d be there for you and be the best boyfriend I could be. Because…” he paused, searching for the right words, “I know that some of why you feel these things is because of how I acted in the past. I’ve done my best to make it right, but some things never leave you.”

“When did you become so damn wise?” you said, laughing through the tears as he smiled and wiped them away. 

“You bring out the best in me.”

The conversation was laid to rest then. Franco held you until you fell asleep, safe in his arms. As he heard your soft breaths even out, he grabbed his phone and frantically searched for a necklace to buy to cover his lie.

He hated lying to you, but in this case, what else was he to do?

The necklace and the ring arrived a few weeks later, right before you all were scheduled to take a flight to Buenos Aires to spend the rest of the break with his family. 

But he had a plan. The break in Buenos Aires would be one to remember—for your “birthday” he was also flying out your friends and family for a few days. He had the whole idea plotted out, with help from many others, to plan a surprise karting birthday celebration, with all your loved ones there. Then, he would propose.

It seemed so perfect—surrounded by all your loved ones, doing a fun activity, the perfect balance between public and private. He knew you’d love it. He knew you’d say yes. 

He was giddy as he carefully packed the two jewelry boxes in his luggage, surrounded by clothes for safe keeping. 

And as the day of the birthday party came closer and closer, he could barely hold in his excitement. Everyone knew but you; he had colluded with every guest, telling them his plan and getting their blessing to finally ask you to spend the rest of your life with him.

Everything was perfect. The day before, you parents and friends arrived, and Franco told you everything but the grand reveal. 

He gave you the present, a beautiful necklace that complimented your tastes perfectly. You split a bottle of wine amongst loved ones, and your parents brought out their own gift: a photo album of pictures that they’d never been able to show Franco. 

You cringed at the embarrassing baby photos and records of bad middle school haircuts, but you couldn’t help the tipsy smile on your face. You leaned your head on Franco’s shoulder as he flipped through the pages.

Franco’s mother got out her own photo albums, showing picture after picture of him as a baby, his blonde curls and toothy grin smiling from ear to ear. 

“You were such a cute baby,” you giggled, and he blushed.

“Were? I’m still a cute baby,” he joked, kissing you on the cheek.  You scrunched your nose and smiled.

You were so in love with this man that it hurt.

That night, when you all retired to your room, he rubbed your back, enjoying the simple quiet between you two.

“I love you,” you said to him out of the blue. He smiled; he said those words often, and you always said them back, but it was rarer, more meaningful, for you to say them unprompted. 

“But it’s not fair. You were a cute baby and you’re cute now. You can’t have both,” you giggled. 

“We’d make cute babies,” he teased, and you blushed. 

“You trying to find out?” you responded, the alcohol in your veins giving you more boldness.

“Not when you’re this tipsy,” he said. “Besides, I need to put a ring on your finger first.”

At the mention of marriage, you sobered up quickly. You hadn’t really been thinking about that conversation you’d had back in Spain—in fact, every time you thought about it, it just made you more anxious, so it had the opposite effect of you actively avoiding it. 

Of course, you were still scared. You loved Franco more than words could say, and that was the problem—it was so good that eventually, it would have to not be good. It was a backwards logic, yes, you had convinced yourself that at some point, things would only be able to go down. 

You didn’t want to lose this beautiful thing you had created. But Franco had said he wasn’t planning to propose any time soon, right? In your mind, you still had plenty of time. 

But Franco did not, and the next morning was chaos.

His phone was blowing up with last minute organizing and words of encouragement from your friends and family in the proposal plan group chat. He was sweating bullets, constantly checking his pockets before you all left for the kart track to make sure that yes, he had the ring. He contemplated putting it in his bag instead, but he didn’t want to lose it, so he ultimately settled on his pockets.

He knew that he needed to stop checking them or else you’d notice and ask. You were always observant, in that way. 

But every time he sat down, the stupid box kept falling out of his shorts. The pockets were too small. He’d just have to check one last time before he left the house and be careful. Yes, everything was going to go according to plan. 

And as you all arrived and he changed into his race suit quickly, all he could think about was the speech he had tried to memorize. You were a woman who appreciated words; he wanted to express how you made him feel, but in his head, he kept stumbling over them. 

YN, you make me so happy. No, too simple.

YN, will you make me the happiest man in the world? No, too cliche.

YN, I never knew happiness until I saw your smile. No, too melodramatic. 

He’d have to figure out the words as he said them. For now, he’d just focus on enjoying the moment with you. 

And that wasn’t hard; you were as giddy as a child as you sped around the track, spinning out and pushing the poor kart to go faster and faster. 

Franco had arranged a tournament of sorts; of course, he had spoken with everyone beforehand to rig you as the winner. 

On your end, you knew everyone was letting you win. You were awful at karting. But it was your birthday event, after all. You didn’t care, you were having fun. 

It came down to the “championship” battle: you versus Franco. Of course, you knew your boyfriend would let you win, as he always did, but you loved the rush of adrenaline as the wind whipped past you anyway. You couldn’t stop smiling as you crossed the finish line and took off your helmet, flipping your hair out. 

You heard Franco stop his car behind you and get out, too. 

“I can’t believe YN won!” Franco’s mother said, smiling wide. 

“Thank you all for so graciously giving me that win,” you joked, looking to all your family and friends circled round, cheering for you. Franco was behind you still. You almost turned to him, but his mother interrupted. “Let me take a picture!”

This was the moment. All he had to do was take the ring out of his pocket and get down on one knee. 

He reached in his pocket and pulled out… nothing. 

His pockets were empty. 

He looked back at his father, the fear of God in his eyes, and patted his empty pockets. No one said a word. 

His mother, now done with taking the picture, leaned over to give you a hug. She sent a death glare to Franco over your shoulder, but still gave him the time to sprint back to the locker room to try and find the goddamn thing. 

He ran faster than his F1 car could drive, cursing under his breath at how stupid he could be. He could still save this, though. 

He found his bag and shook out the contents, frantically searching, until finally, at the bottom of the bag, he saw the box. He must have stuck it there while changing and forgot about it.

He let out a breath with enough power to shake the entire building. He opened the box to get a quick glance just to make sure everything was okay.

Except, everything wasn’t. There was no ring in the box.

He had grabbed the empty necklace box. 

Knowing you were far enough away to not hear him, he sweared very, very loudly. Unbeknownst to Franco, his father had followed him back to the locker room.

“Did you find it, mijo?” 

“I brought the wrong box,” he said, “This is for the necklace.”

His father sighed. “Franco…”

“I know, I know.”

“We can still fix this. Give her the ring at dinner!”

“I guess I’ll have to,” Franco said. He had never been more disappointed in himself. He had ruined everything. 

“Hey,” his father said, “chin up. You’ve still got this. The ring will be the perfect end to the perfect day, okay?”

“Okay,” he said, still not entirely convinced. But you would be wondering where he went soon; he couldn’t stay and mope too long.

His father left him to go relay the information to the rest of the group. Franco took a few deep breaths as he changed, mentally readying himself to see you again. He put on a smile as he saw you waiting for him outside the track with the others. 

“So, we’ll all head back and get ready, then meet for dinner tonight?” his mother said.

“Sounds good,” Franco answered, wrapping his arm around you as he walked you back to the car. 

Thankfully, when you got back to his parent’s house, you immediately wanted to take a shower and wash your hair, giving him time to search the entire room. Which he did, from top to bottom, and he still couldn’t find the ring.

It was just…gone. He had gone through every compartment of his suitcase, every pocket in his clothes, every hiding space. Still, it was nowhere to be found. 

His parents even helped him look, carefully parsing through every possible place until it was too late. You were nearly ready for dinner, and they all had to rush to get ready to make it to the restaurant in time for the reservation. 

Franco texted the groupchat the horrible news—he had fucked up. He had lost the ring. There would be no proposal. 

Kind words flooded his phone, but they meant nothing to the depressed Argentine. He had planned this out so perfectly; how did it end so badly?

And the worst part? He couldn’t even tell you. 

The atmosphere at dinner was more somber than usual. His sister had bought a bottle of nice champagne that would now have to go unopened. He would just have to propose some other time.

That’s what he reminded himself, every time the thought came up and threatened to choke him. Maybe next time he would fly his family out to Spain instead. He wasn’t in any rush. And you’d never have to know how badly he fumbled. 

Well, while you didn’t know the details, you could tell something was up. You mentioned it to Franco on the way home.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, and Franco cringed internally. He was always bad about hiding his emotions. 

“No, I’m fine,” he answered. 

“Well, everyone at dinner just seemed…off.”

“Probably just tired.”

You just hummed to yourself, refusing to allow your thoughts to wander any further. You, too, were tired. When you got back to the house, you both started to get undressed, taking off your fancy heels and jewelry.

You took off your necklace—the beautiful gift that Franco had given you, that you’d now treasure forever—but the box wasn’t on the nightstand where you had left it yesterday.

“Franco, have you seen my necklace box?” you asked from the bedroom. He was in the bathroom washing his face, and only barely heard you over the running of water. The mention of the box just made the whole night worse.

“Yeah, it’s in my bag,” he said, and you raised an eyebrow. How had your necklace box ended up there?

You leaned down to his bag, rustling around until you found the familiar box, though it was heavier than you remembered. 

When you opened it, you were nearly blinded by the glint of a beautiful diamond engagement ring. 

It was familiar; the same ring you had fallen in love with years ago. And it was in Franco’s bag. He had…bought you an engagement ring.

He was going to propose.

You could feel your heart rate increasing by the second. But you weren’t ready. You had only talked about it a few weeks ago. You were scared. 

It was okay, though. It was okay. You would just put the ring back. You’d find a way to hint to him that it wasn’t the right time. You could just fake it. He’d never have to—

“YN?”

You looked up at Franco’s face, widened with shock. You didn’t respond.

“Where did you find that?”

“In your bag.” Your voice was barely above a whisper. 

“I—” Franco was too stunned to speak. You quickly closed the box and put it back in the bag.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t see anything. This never happened,” you said, your voice rapidly talking without even thinking. You got up to leave the room, too anxious to stay seated, talking to yourself even after you were out of earshot of your lover.

Franco sat on the bed and sighed. Now he had majorly fucked up. First of all, how had no one found the ring in his bag, even after 3 people looked in there? And second of all, how did you find it?

But that wasn’t the biggest issue anymore. His plan had already been ruined, but he knew by the look on your face that your surprise was not a good one. He saw that fear that nestled itself into every crevice of your expression. 

You weren’t happy to find that ring. Not because it had ruined the surprise element—you just didn’t want him to propose.

He now had two options. He could do what he knew you’d want: act as if nothing ever happened and never broach the subject of marriage for several years to come, allowing you to shove away all those scary feelings until you’d deluded yourself into thinking you were over it. 

Or, he could do what he needed to do, and talk to you. 

He took a deep breath and followed you outside.

You were sitting on the back porch. Not crying, just quiet, looking out into the backyard. When Franco sat next to you, you didn’t say anything. He reached out to grab your hand, and you let him, softly admiring how he curled his thumb around your palm in soothing circles. 

“The plan,” he began, “was to ask you today. At the karting track. But I brought the wrong box.” He softly smiled at the absurdity of it. “When you were getting ready we were all frantically looking for it. I don’t know how we missed it.”

You just hummed in response, unsure of what to say. You needed to be honest. You needed to say the difficult things.

You began, though your voice felt choked. “Franco, if you would have asked me today, I would have said no.” You felt his hand tense up. “I mean, I would have said yes, because everyone was there. But…”

You trailed off, your words fleeing from you now. 

“I don’t understand,” Franco confessed. “We’re happy. You’re happy with me, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then why don’t you want to marry me?” His voice dripped with sadness, and all you wanted to do was hold him. You turned your head to face him, and the deep sorrow in his eyes nearly brought you to tears.

“I do want to. I just…”

“I’ve done everything I can to be good to you. I’ve tried to always be there. I know I’m not perfect, but—”

“It’s not you, Franco. It was never you.”

“Then why? What can I do?” His voice cracked, seeping with hopelessness and frustration. “If it’s not because of me, then what am I supposed to do?” 

You got up. “Come here,” you said, and led him to the living room. The home was quiet; his parents were asleep, and the vast emptiness of the home was eerie. 

You grabbed the photo album that your parents had given you, and sat down on the couch, motioning for Franco to sit next to you. 

You opened it to a picture of you at your 4th birthday party. In the photo, you grimaced though the uncomfortable sensation of a plastic party hat. “Do you see her?” you asked him. He nodded. 

“I remember feeling like this when I was that little. This…fear. I desperately wanted friends but was too afraid to talk to anyone.”

You flipped to the next page, pointing to a photo of you sitting alone in a park, a forced smile across your face. “What do you notice about this picture?” you asked him.

Franco leaned in closer to look. “I don’t know,” he said. 

“I’m alone. See all the other kids in the background?” 

You kept flipping until you found the first photo of you when Franco knew you. You were fifteen, smack in the middle of your awkward teenage years, in the stands at one of his races. 

“I remember that,” he said. 

“That’s me, spending time with my first real friend,” you said. “I didn’t know it yet, but I had a huge crush on him,” you joked.

“He was going to ask you to marry him today. And you just told him you would have said no.”  

“I know,” you said, trying to be gentle with your tone. “But what I’m trying to say is that you’re not just asking me. You’re asking her. And she feels so alone, and she’s scared to trust anyone.”

Franco sat with the thought for a moment, before getting up to grab his own photo book. He opened it to the first page, and pointed to a photo of him as a toddler, wrapped in a scarf, toothy grin spread wide. 

“And that’s who asked you.”

You felt a knot of emotion in your stomach break. All you wanted was to cry. 

“This goes both ways, YN,” Franco continued. “I understand that you’re scared. But I can’t fix that fear. Only you can.”

The dam broke, your tears flooding forth. He was right. So you told him.

“You’re right. I’m sorry,” you said, and he wrapped his arm around you, rubbing your back through the tears. 

“I’m not perfect either. I shouldn’t have rushed it, I was just excited.”

“Don’t apologize for being excited to propose,” you laughed through your tears. “I should probably go back to therapy.”

“If you think that’ll help,” he said.

“It will,” you sniffled. “I just… I’ve been so afraid that I’ve been ignoring all the signs. I should have seen this coming. You’re never that excited to let me beat you in karting.”

He smiled at your banter. You continued, “But really, you’re right. I’ve just been avoiding this because I’m scared, getting up in my head. I just feel so happy and that scares me, because at some point it has to fall apart, right? You’re never happy forever.”

“You’re not unhappy forever, either. Of course we’d have rough spots. But that’s the beauty of marriage,” he said, “you vow to be there for each other through it all.”

“How did I get so lucky to have you?” you asked, meeting his gaze. 

His eyes were full of compassion and love. “I’m the lucky one.” He leaned down to kiss you. 

You didn’t really believe him. You still didn’t understand how someone so perfect could love you, someone so…broken. But one day you would. You had to.

The next year was difficult. You began your healing journey again—a journey you were convinced you’d be on your entire life. But you’d do it for him, and for you. 

And slowly, bit by bit, the wounds began to heal. 

It wasn’t linear. With Franco’s new contract, he had lots of attention and responsibilities. He was away from home more. He was tired, stressed, more short-tempered. There were arguments. Some days it felt like you took one step forward and two steps back. 

But you made it through. For every argument there was an honest conversation. For every night away there was a sweet gesture or text message to remind you that he still loved you, and from it grew a solid, blooming trust. For every mistake—on both ends—there was an apology and a commitment to be better. For every night of tears, there was a night of laughter with the man you loved most in the world. 

And by the end of the season, you and the relationship were stronger than ever. 

Of course, things weren’t perfect. But the fear that had once held you hostage was an adversary you knew you could overcome. 

Franco kept the ring in his nightstand. You had found it again one day while cleaning. It wasn’t really hidden, as if to say, we’ll get to this later. It was no secret now.  You just put it back in its place and smiled, going on about your day. 

But Franco had been giving the proposal much thought. He decided against inviting anyone again, wanting it to be a tender moment of vulnerability between you and him.

No, he wanted this time to be simple. Honest. 

He just hoped you were ready. 

A few weeks before the beginning of the next season, he took you out to the place where all this had begun; the outlook in the countryside, where he first told you that he wanted to marry you.

This time, he double and triple checked to make sure the ring was there in his pocket. 

The sun was setting over the Spanish countryside, painting the sky rich shades of orange and yellow. The air had cooled with the impending coming of night. 

He opened your car door and set up a blanket on the ground, where you sat and he laid his head in your lap, letting your fingers run through his hair as a way to calm his nerves. 

He took a deep breath as he sat up, and you knew what was coming. Again, he had rehearsed a speech, but almost instantly forgot it the second he opened his mouth. 

“YN,” he began, looking you directly in the eyes, “I… I love you. So much. More than words can say.” He was nervous, swallowing before he continued, letting his eyes wander off to the picturesque view. But he had more important things to be looking at. 

“I can’t imagine a version of my life without you in it. I grew up with you. I want to grow old with you. You’ve made me into the best version of myself. We’ve gone through so many things and come out on the other side so much stronger. And I want this,” he said, reaching out to wipe away the happy tears that now flowed down your cheeks. “I want to be with you. Even though we’re both imperfect, even though we both have our problems to work through, YN, I want to do this with you, forever. I want to fall asleep next to you and wake up next to you. I want to have children and grandchildren with you. I…” he trailed off, not knowing how to finally say what he really wanted to say.

You smiled through the tears. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the ring, flipping it open and showing it to you. 

“Marry me,” he whispered. 

Your smile widened. “Yes,” you answered. “Yes.” 

He kissed you with a fervent passion. When he pulled away, his smile couldn’t be contained.

“She said yes!” he cried out, though you both were alone. “I did it! She said yes!” You laughed at his antics.

In a few weeks, you’d have the official photo shoot where he got down on one knee. You’d show the world the carefully constructed version that was all they got to see.

But this was real. And maybe it was imperfect; maybe he hadn’t really asked, more instructed, and maybe he hadn’t gotten down on one knee, and maybe, yes, you had found the ring beforehand. 

But this was real. In all the ups and downs, the hurt and healing, this love you shared with your now fiance was real. The world didn’t get to see that. 

And maybe that fear was still within you. It was smaller now. And when you had seen that shine of the ring, maybe you had felt it rise within you again. But you knew now that it was just a feeling, something you could control. You didn’t have to ignore it or let it reign you. It was just there. 

It wasn't real though. And this was. The cold metal of the ring slid onto your finger. The feeling of Franco’s lips on yours. The strain in your face muscles from all the smiling. His hand around your waist, pulling you closer as the sun dipped below the sky, leaving you and your lover alone in the dark—yes, this was real. 

And this was yours; he was yours.

For the first time in a long time, you knew you had nothing to fear. 

[bunny-jpeg]

Hello,

If you're still taking orders, would it be alright if I ordered profiteroles with a side of champagne with max verstappen please.

bakery menu

want to order something? find the menu above to see all of our delicious treats! remember to specify who you want to bring you your order! as for this one, i am biting my first. i am biting my fist a sugar daddy max verstappen who is painfully desperate. big ol' simp.

profiteroles: ("come away with me. for a week, together. anywhere you want, we'll go.") + champagne (sugar daddy au) served by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, sugar daddy au, needy!max, missionary,

the money was nice. you saw how that watch of his gleamed in the sunlight when you two were on his boat. it was nice to see your debt trickle away until it hit zero. it was all nice, the kind of money you'd sell your morals for. you'd even take it out of his hand with your mouth like a dog if it meant keeping every last scent.

the one thing you didn't except, was a needy sugar daddy.

you were in max's penthouse, cooking breakfast while the driver kept around you like a shadow.

"scrambled or fried there, mon ombre." you said as you looked to him. you smiled softly, "i can't guarantee that they'll come out fried."

he pulled away from the wall of the kitchen and settled his hands on your hips. his nose in your hair behind your ear, "i know you can do well. i know you're a good girl."

you chuckled, "right right." you leaned over and cracked two eggs in the pan and had max following you closely as you put the shells in the garbage. then followed you back to the stove, his arms remained a fixture around your waist.

max liked to be around you. he once said it was like flowers in the sun. he curled around you as you cooked. the agreement was that you were his live-in girlfriend while he was in monaco, when he went away for races you could either stay at his penthouse or go back to your apartment (which also paid for).

while he was away, he made sure that you still got your "allowance", it basically was on auto-pay. you thought it was a big of an ego stroke that he paid you right before a race. as he was about to get into that car and drive his heart out.

but when you got the notification, you smiled a little bit. as if you weren't watching the race on a (illegal) live stream.

you didn't think much about competitive driving when you started. you knew of formula one, but nothing of this new generation of drivers and drama. you had seen a few faces plastered on adverts, but couldn't really place a name to them. so when you met max through a "friend", you had a whole world to learn about.

his eggs came out scrambled, but he happily ate them with a slice of toast. it was the only way he'd part from you. he gazed at you from across the table, his foot rubbed against your ankle.

his desire for closeness was sated. he washed the dishes for the both of you, leaving them in the dish rack to dry before he was on you once more.

max paid handsomely for you. you just wanted enough to survive, but he always pushed your pay more. he never told you how much he made in a year, but a quick google search answered your question.

after breakfast, he got you into the bedroom. his hands around your middle once more. his lips on the back of your neck, when you got close enough to the bed, he pulled the bottom of your shirt up your back and over your head.

you turned to him and gazed at him as he pulled you in for a searing kiss. he tasted like ketchup and butter as he got your bra off of you. you felt a thump in your chest when he got his shirt off. his toned body always looked so nice

"you have tanlines." you remarked as you ran a finger down his arm, seeing how it went from darker to lighter, "maybe red bull should put you in a tank tops to even it out." you chuckled.

he raised his eyebrows, "maybe you should wear one, red bull across those pretty tits." he cupped them and rubbed your nipples with his thumbs.

you held onto his biceps and remarked, "maybe your little logo, i think it would nicer." then winked at him. you were moved to the bed and max quickly got the rest of your clothes off and onto the floor.

it was followed by his basketball shorts and briefs. he got into bed with you and pressed you under his body. he kissed at your face with such devotion. he loved the feeling of you under him.

"you're so good for me." he said, "you always listen. so pretty for me. always making sure that i'm taken care of. do i do the same for you?"

you cupped his face and chuckled, "max. of course you do." when got put on your back and your legs around him. you eyed the sight of his erect cock, it made your stomach flip.

"more than just money?" he asked.

you replied, "max, of course." you reached up and touched his face, "i'm surprised that we aren't already dating."

his heart flipped and his cock twitched. he said, "well." then swallowed, "you know how busy i am with racing." his hands trailed down your soft sides, "it wouldn't be fair to you. honestly."

you chuckled, "don't worry, max. i know. don't worry. you're already enough." then leaned up to kiss him before he settled one hand on your hip and the other on his cock.

"too good for me." he said under a low breath before he rubbed his cock up against your sweet pussy. he slowly sank in and then placed both hands on your hips. he grit his teeth as he pushed into you.

you wrapped your legs around him and felt his cock nudge against the deepest parts of you. he curved over you to kiss you on the lips as he thrust further into you. you held onto his shoulders and let him try to get as deep as he could inside of you.

"max."

"yes?"

"why do you spoil me?" you asked as he moved against you. you clung to his shoulders tightly, nails dug into his broad shoulders. you felt the sweat down your neck.

"because when i look at you." he said between heavy breaths, "everything feels alright. even if i lose, to know that i get to come back to you. to be spoiled as i spoil you." he leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

you clawed down his back as you felt your core throb. you whined between heavy thrusts. you felt so protected by him. he kissed down your neck as he continued to thrust.

"don't make me blush, max." you said softly.

"why? you look so good when you do. especially when you try to hide from me, treasure." he chuckled as he kissed you on the lips once more.

he continued to thrust up against you. you held onto him tightly, your nails left angry tracks across his backside. his pace became more brutal the more that he thrusted into you. you could feel him deep inside of you, it felt so good.

it made your gut pool into a heap of warmth as he continued to move against you. you whimpered and whined, you felt your heartbeat deep in your chest.

you kissed his cheek some more and down his jaw, you felt the sweat pin prick your back as you clung to him. you even gave his jaw a small kitten lick which made him groan.

"such a pretty girl. perfect for me." he said, "i can't believe that you let me into your life."

you chuckled, feeling more heat in your cheeks, "what life, i was in university for a dumb degree with no job prospects."

he said, "no, it wasn't stupid."

you chuckled and clung to him, "see, you spoil me." then panted heavily against your sugar daddy.

"come away with me. for a week, together. anywhere you want, we'll go." he panted between heavy thrusts. he wanted to be close to you all the time, he wanted to feel you close to him. he wanted to say something else, but didn't want to ruin the moment.

he could only give you a time away, somewhere, anywhere, you'd be with him.

he wanted to bask in your rays for days on end. he wanted some peace with his beautiful girl.

you moaned, "of course. please! ah, i need to cum." you dug your nails further into his shoulders as he thrusted up into you.

"good, good." he panted, "so good for me, letting me have all your attention." he held onto you tighter as he pushed his cock as deep as he could possibly go. he wanted to enjoy every inch of you, inside and out.

you tightened your hold on him and panted heavily. a few more heavy thrusts and he finished inside of you. he grit his teeth and felt the heat down his back. you came soon after as he continued to fuck you, the two of you holding on to one another.

he slowed down and held you for a moment. those strong arms around you, he felt like a sense of safety. you laid there, heavily panting. he pressed kisses to your face.

"i'm a lucky man." hie said, his voice low but gentle. he kissed the top of your head before he got off of you and laid next to you under the thin white sheet.

you felt like home to max. but cat got his tongue whenever he tried to ask you out on a proper date. to be more than just someone to pay to be a pretend girlfriend.

he wanted you in ways that made his heart thump in his chest. you kept him alive, you eternal sun.

-

the next morning you laid next to him in bed. his strong arm over your middle as he kissed at your jaw. in a few days he'd be in some other country, doing some other race.

so he'd have to be clingy from a distance. and that was the hardest part. he shift next to you and sighed contently. he said to you, "my offer still stands. when i come home, let's go away somewhere."

you looked at him, "i'd love to. anywhere with you, max. you take me wherever and i'll go."

he kissed your cheek and said, "good, i'll give you the whole world."

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 2: What A Great Freakin’ Way To Start The Day

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When you decided to work with Butcher and his merry band of supe hunters to take down Homelander, you never expected to be saddled with a sullen, grumpy, jerk like Soldier Boy when the job was done. The more you’re around him the more you hate him, but you can’t help but wonder, is he really as big a jerk as you think? Reader is a supe with plant powers. This takes place in an AU about a month after the end of The Boys Season 3, in which Butcher has let Soldier Boy continue to work with him on his team. (I'm real bad at summaries, please forgive me!)

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers (Not in this chapter), Age Difference (Reader is in her 20s), Protective Ben/ Soldier Boy,

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: I'm going to label this 18+ because Soldier Boy (he's a warning and everyone knows it), swearing, mentions of sex, sexual innuendo, sexual tension. Ben/Soldier Boy might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Spotify Playlist 🪴

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The morning begins the same way it always does, with your neighbor Mike blasting "I Will Always Love You" in his apartment at exactly 8 am just as he had each day since you met two years ago. It was the only constant in your life, but at least you didn't have to use an alarm clock anymore. The sound of Mike belting out the lyrics at the top of his lungs was enough to wake everyone in the whole building, including the people on the eighth floor, five stories above him.

But because Mike bought the super’s probably illegally made cologne and because the super was dating Mike’s mother, something that made you regret supe hearing very much, it never stopped despite the numerous complaints.

Then again it was Annie's favorite thing about sleeping over, she liked to scream the lyrics back at the wall and jump on your bed like a crazy banshee. Honestly you hoped that it would stop after Ben had pretended to be your boyfriend, that Mike would finally figure it out and give up.

Guess not.

You sit up in your bed, stretching your hands over your head while humming the chorus under your breath, but you were more of an ABBA fan. If Mike had decided to serenade you with "Take A Chance On Me" or even Aretha Franklin's "You're All I Need to Get By," you might have looked at him differently.

The memory of the dream of his mullet smothering you in your sleep momentarily passes over your mind, causing a shudder to travel down your spine. Or maybe not.

Your bedroom was similar to your living room, covered in plants. Trailing jasmine and bougainvillea blanketed the wall behind your bed in deep red and white, budding lavender, lilac, and honeysuckle sat in pots along the top of your dresser, and a blush colored rose bush, that never went out of bloom, stood proudly in the corner. The only difference was that there were two large piles of books almost as tall as your ceiling, some old some new, braced beside the rose bush like Roman columns. You kept trying to remember to buy a bookshelf, but each time you thought about going to pick one up, Butcher usually called and asked you to help out. Both piles were covered almost completely in pothos and more hung from the brick walls above your only window, that opened the floor length pale yellow curtains with a flick of your hand.

An annoyed purring sound greets your ears as the honeyed light from the now open window wisps over your covers. Bean, your cat, stalks up from the end of the bed, his yellowed eyes narrowed with annoyance at being woken up so early while his charcoal gray coat turns lighter in the brilliant sunlight. Last night he had been in your bedroom when you got home, which meant that he hadn't been around Ben when he came in.

A good thing, because Bean hated just about everyone except Butcher, which you thought was weird. But whenever Butcher dropped by to talk to you Bean always came over to look for rubs, while hissing at anyone who tried to interrupt them. Hughie was actually afraid of Bean, and because Bean was a cat he immediately picked up on this and purposely would jump on the couch next to Annie so Hughie couldn't sit there, Bean also followed after Hughie to the bathroom and waited outside the door to swipe at his ankles whenever he would come out.

But you didn't love him any less.

He puts his paw on your thigh lightly extending his claws to get your attention.

"Oh are you talking to me now?" You smile, rubbing him behind the ears. "I thought you were angry because I woke you up?"

He purrs and pushes his chunky gray head against your hand, but startles when the song switches to "My Heart Will Go On" which causes Mike's mother to join in to his karaoke session.

I'd move if my apartment wasn't so damn cheap.

"Maybe they should take the show on the road. Huh buddy?"

Bean purrs his response while pushing his head further into your hand.

His mom wasn't that bad of a singer, in fact, you thought that you remembered eavesdropping on a conversation between her and the super when she talked about a career as a cabaret singer a while ago.

"Come on, let's see if Gramps killed any of my plants." You smile down at your cat. "If he did I'm going to turn him into a tree."

Bean purrs in agreement.

You get out of bed, adjusting your shirt back down over your shorts before walking to the door with Bean following behind you. You step out into the cool hallway, with more enthusiasm than usual as you try to escape the butchering of the Titanic's soundtrack and collide into something warm and wet.

It takes you exactly seven seconds to realize that the warm, wet, thing that your face is currently stuck to, is in-fact Ben's chest, his shirtless chest. Why he's standing in the hallway outside your door, soaking wet and wearing a towel you have no idea. All you know is that your face is physically laying against the warm flesh of his pectoral muscles.

"Why are you NAKED?" You scream as you peel yourself off of him and turn your gaze away. Your face felt so warm that it was like you'd been standing in front of a volcano for too long and you were sure that you had blushed to the roots of your hair.

You'd only seen him without his shirt on once, when the door to his bedroom was cracked at the apartment he shared with the rest of the group. But it was from the back and you had been walking by to go to the bathroom, and you hadn't looked…

Well, you may have stopped for a second to admire the powerful muscles on his muscular back and maybe thought about waiting for him to turn around so you could see if the front was as good as the back… but you hadn't.

And he certainly hadn't been soaking wet then, and it made you hate him more now, because no one should look as good as he does soaking wet. You personally knew that you looked like a drowned poodle whenever you stepped out of the shower, but him? Soldier Boy looks like he just finished filming a shampoo commercial.

You could see it in your head, him standing under a crystal blue waterfall with the water splashing against weathered rocks before running through his soft brown hair, curving around his broad shoulders, down his toned stomach straight down to his-

NO. Not gonna go there. You could feel your skin heating in embarrassment, almost as if you thought he could read your mind.

"I'm not naked doll, I mean I could be if you wanted me to." He smirks as he hears your heartbeat begin to pick up and reaches for the end of his towel. The towel that was almost too small to wrap around his waist and left very little to the imagination.

"NO!" You shout holding up a hand to stop him, but again brush the front of his chest.

Fuck, you could zest a lemon on those abs.

"Are you sure?" Ben smiles wider, taking a step forward. He's so close that you can smell your grapefruit mint shampoo on him and feel the humidity and warmth of his body as he stands there. For some reason the fact that he used your shampoo, and smelled like your soap, made you feel warm and tingly. It was almost hypnotic. You hated how much you liked it. "Because you're turning that cute little red color you always do whenever I'm around, and your heartbeat is kinda fast."

"No. I don't." You grit your teeth together. "Why are you standing outside of my door naked?"

"Maybe I was waiting for you to come out." His hand presses against the doorway next to your head. "You know, I already took a shower, but if you wanted I'd be happy to get back in with you."

"No thanks. I don't need a shower and I wouldn't shower with you if it was the last shower on earth and I hadn't bathed in forty years." You purse your lips. "Oh right, that happened to you."

Ben frowns at your mention of his time in Russia. You didn't often tease him about being trapped in a lab, you knew that it was a sore spot for him. Plus you'd seen the footage of exactly what those doctors did to him and it was enough to make you want to book a one way ticket to Russia and personally show them what happened when a tree got shoved up your ass.

You open your mouth to apologize.

"I was going to ask if you have any other clothes here. Mine are still wet from last night." He raises an eyebrow, but the humor is gone from his eyes.

"Oh. Um. I can take a look." You turn and walk into your bedroom, trying not to feel awkward about bringing up the lab.

He was a jerk, but he didn't deserve a reminder of how shitty the last forty years have been.

Truthfully, you weren't sure if you had anything that would fit him. Ben was a lot bigger than you, taller and broader. You usually did wear things that were a little big for you, but you didn't think that Ben would fit in any of them.

Maybe I have something from when my brother was here last time.

Darren often dropped by when he was in the city visiting his friends or had a new "business" venture. The ones that never seemed to last and the friends that always seemed happy to spend the moan you "loaned" him for his "best idea yet" as he always phrased it. But he hadn't been by in at least a year.

"It's really green in here too." You hear Ben say under his breath.

You didn't think that he was going to follow you into your room, you thought he was going to stay in the hallway, but no, he had followed you. And he made the room feel even smaller than it was with his broad shoulders and over six foot stature.

The sunlight from the window glinted off his still wet chest and it made your throat uncomfortably tight. For the love of chocolate pudding, WHY does he look so good all the time?

"You can wait in the hall-"

"Wanted to see your bedroom." He smirks. "Though I think that you wanted to show it to me last night-"

You ignore him and turn back to your chest of drawers while Mike and his mother switch to "What Makes You Beautiful" by One Direction. You wince as they begin.

"Do they always do that?" Ben asks.

"Yep. Since I moved in." You sigh, shuffling through your t-shirts.

"He's really got it bad Sweetheart. Maybe you should throw him a bone. Kinda seems like the poor guy needs to get some ass-"

"If it's any of your business- which it's not- I do not like him that way."

"Well they're a little loud." You feel Ben take a step closer to you. "But I bet you and I could give them a run for their money. We are in your bedroom after all, might as well make the most of it."

"I didn't know that you liked Karaoke. I'll keep that in mind for you 105th birthday party."

"What? No I meant-"

Bean purrs loudly from his position on your bed and you wait for the telltale sound of Ben shooing him away when Bean tries to puncture Ben's impenetrable skin with his claws, but it doesn't come.

You glance over your shoulder. Are you kidding me?

Bean is sitting on your white plush comforter, rubbing up against Ben's hand, purring while Ben scratches him behind the ears.

Traitor.

"Didn't know you had a cat." Ben says continuing to stroke his hand down Bean's spine, who stands up and turns so Ben can have a better angle.

"I didn't peg you for a cat person. Kinda ruins the whole all-American Man image you have going on."

He shrugs. "I like dogs more, but I don't hate cats. Usually they don't like me very much."

"I wonder why that is." You grumble watching Bean lean into Ben's hand again. "His name is Bean."

"Bean? Why?"

"Because when I got him I was trying to grow green beans in the linen closet and he would sit outside the door and screech until I gave him a green bean to play with."

"You were trying to grow green beans in the linen closet?"

"Yeah. Seemed like a good idea, but they like the bathroom more-" You finally find the oversized Led Zeppelin shirt your brother left the last time he crashed at your apartment and a pair of jeans. "A lot of my plants like the bathroom more actually."

"I was going to ask you why the bathroom floor and wall was squishy."

"It's moss. It thrives in humid environments." You hold out the clothes for him.

"Uh-huh." He frowns at the clothes for a minute. "So you're saying you wouldn't want a guy to serenade you like that?" Ben nods his head towards your bedroom wall, just as Mike and his mother begin to belt out the chorus. "Thought girls liked sappy shit."

"I'm not a fan of One Direction."

"Right. You like ABBA more." Ben turns towards your door to go back to the bathroom to change.

Shock momentarily spikes in your chest. "How did you know that?"

He freezes as if you caught him doing something bad, turning slightly towards you. "Um- well, you hum their songs a lot."

"When?" You cross your arms over your chest.

"Whenever you're on stake outs. Sometimes when you're reading those files or waiting for Annie at the apartment." He shrugs. “When you were walking last night you were humming ‘Fernando.’"

He noticed that?

"How long exactly were you following me?"

"Long enough." He raises an eyebrow. "Are you trying to keep me talking because you want me to change in here? Because I would be more than happy to drop this towel and show you what a real man looks like Sweetheart."

"Don't flatter yourself Gramps. If you drop that towel the only thing that'll happen is Bean will think you brought him a green bean to play with." You roll your eyes. "Now get out of my room. I have to change."

Ben begins to say something, but the vines hanging above the door push him out into the hall and shut the door behind him.

That felt good.

After you put on a white t-shirt, your favorite pair of jean overalls and your dark green converse, you make your way out into the living room. Ben is there, lounging on your couch like he owns it. He’s wearing the jeans and t-shirt you gave him, but you can't help but notice how the clothes are just a little too small for him. The way his muscles pull at the t-shirt, the way the jeans hug his thighs and butt-

He's getting way too comfortable here. You think to yourself to avoid the thought of how good he looks on your couch. How it almost feels natural that he's sitting here in your living room, inhabiting your space.

"So what's for breakfast doll face?" He leans his head back to gaze at you with a mischievous smile that makes a warm tingle travel down the length of your spine.

"Well, I'm going to have oatmeal and you're going to have whatever you want I guess?"

His eyes darken. "Whatever I want?"

"Calm down Gramps I meant that there's cereal in the cabinet." You roll your eyes to avoid thinking about the kiss last night and then thinking about how it felt for your body to be pressed against his in the hallway when you ran into him.  Which inevitably leads back to the waterfall fantasy and-

No. No. Not going to do that. Not with him. He's just good at getting women into bed, he doesn't care about you. You think about how he remembered that you liked ABBA. That doesn't mean anything. He doesn't see me as anything more than a conquest and he probably remembered that because he's changing tactics and trying not to act like a creep.

“You’re not going to pour me a bowl?” His smirk pulls down in an attractive pout.

“I think it’s simple enough for your little brain to do.” You don’t turn around from the kitchen cabinets, grabbing a raspberry from the refrigerator and popping it in your mouth. For some reason you noticed that whatever you grew tasted better than anything you bought at the grocery store. You hoped that it didn’t mean that your powers supercharged whatever you grew and that it was actually radioactive or something. 

Because that’s exactly what I need, to turn bright green. 

“There’s nothing little about me doll.” 

“Can’t you ever have a conversation with someone without it revolving around sex?” You grumble banging around in your cabinets to find your instant oatmeal. 

It was a valid point and you were tired of getting whiplash every time Ben acted caring and then flipping back to horny manchild.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Ben laughs. He stands from the couch and makes his way into your kitchen.

It was hard not to notice how small each room in your apartment looked with him in it. His head was only a foot below the ceiling, not to mention the kitchen was only composed of six cabinets, a small sink, a microwave shoved into a corner, a stove top, and a refrigerator that only came up to Ben’s shoulders. Your bathroom was worse, sometimes the shower was small even for you and you didn’t know how Ben fit in there. 

He probably had to duck down to stand under the shower head. 

And then as you thought that, the image of Ben standing under a waterfall comes creeping back, making the strawberry plant on top of the fridge, the raspberry vines, and the blackberry vines covering your refridgerator burst into bloom.

Thankfully Ben didn’t notice, because he was rooting through the white top cabinet in the corner for one of the cereal boxes. 

I’d never hear the end of it if he saw that happen. 

You glare at the plants in question, eyes shifting to a deep green as the flowers develop into fresh fruit to cover your slip. 

Ben pulls out a box of Lucky Charms, but frowns at Lucky on the front cover, who is throwing a handful of marshmallow charms into the air around him. 

Guess he's not a fan.

 “If I’d known you were going to sleep on my couch I would have gotten Bran flakes and prunes for you.” You smirk as you pour water over the oats in the bowl before placing it in the microwave to cook. “I know people your age need that kind of thing sometimes. Gets the bowel moving.”

“Make fun of my age all you want.” Ben steps around you to grab the almost empty bottle of milk from your refrigerator. “One day you’ll be happy to find out just how experienced I am.”

“Keep dreaming.”

His dark eyes meet yours. “You’re all I dream about baby.”

You can feel his breath on the side of your neck from how close he is to you, the kitchen seems smaller than it ever has, and he leans forward, sensing your hesitation. One of his hands goes on the kitchen counter to your right, the other places the milk down and then braces on the counter to your left caging you against him. 

“Do any of your lines actually work?” You say, throat tight.

“You’d be surprised.” He smirks wider, green eyes sliding up and down your body. 

 The air in the kitchen electrifies, something passing through the air between the two of you that makes you feel like your heart is going to burst out of your chest. His eyes are softer green now, reminding you of the color of fresh leaves on an oak tree in spring, bright, strong, and full of life. His body is pressed gently against yours, the strong muscles of his abdomen laying on your hips, muscular arms making sure that you don't walk away.

You try not to think again about how good he looks in your apartment, how calm and relaxed he seems when he’s away from Butcher and not wearing his uniform. 

Standing here in your apartment, he looked normal, human. Sometimes it was hard to remember that you were, when you could do what you did, when you saw him get hit with a car and shove it away with one hand. 

He was still ridiculously attractive, the kind of attractive that you’d read in romance novels and in classic Roman literature, the kind of beautiful that people wrote poetry about, the kind of ruggedly handsome that made smart girls stupid. 

You were really feeling that last one. Because you were desperately trying to hold on to your dream of being with someone that understood every part of you, but Ben was making it hard.

It wasn’t that the idea of sleeping with him was terrible. It wasn’t. It was far from terrible it was the idea of having sex without feelings that you didn’t like. You didn’t want to sleep with him because you knew that he only saw you as something to be possessed not as an equal or someone he cared about. Soldier Boy only cared about himself, that was apparent.

He’s only interested in you because you haven’t given in. You think to yourself. It's all about the thrill of the chase, nothing else. I'm worth more than that. I'm worth more than one night.

“In fact, I think it’s working on you doll.” Ben leans down towards you so close you can feel his words in the air between your faces, his eyes searching yours as if waiting for you to say no.

That made you pause. Ben didn’t seem to be the type of man who was patient. You’d walked in on him making out with numerous women on the couch back at the apartment he shared with the rest of the team, saw how he took control, saw how he didn’t seem to wait for them to say no or really say anything at all. Not to mention one time when you walked into the shared apartment and could hear Ben with one of his "dates" in his bedroom. Nothing about that seemed patient at all.

But this Ben standing in your kitchen was different. He was almost smiling, dark hair still damp from the shower curling on his forehead, the t-shirt damp around the collar, jeans a dark blue, and the smell of your shampoo fills your senses again all over again. It made you wish for this person all the time. The one that you could see yourself falling in love with, not the racist, sexist, and inappropriate jerk that seemed to dominate his persona at all other parts of the day.

Funny, the only time you’d ever seen Ben like this, was when the two of you were alone- well sometimes- other times he annoyed you without end and made you want to jump out a window. 

But why? Why only around me?

The feeling in your chest grows. It jumps from synapse to synapse, pulses along your skin, buzzes in your blood, tangles through your hair, and radiates through the air like a sound wave. Your eyes drift down to his lips remembering exactly what it was like to kiss him last night. How he seemed to consume you whole, how everything else fell away, how Ben curled himself around you, how he-

Your cell phone rings, breaking through the moment, and making you remember exactly why you didn’t want to give in to Ben and remember the kind of person he was. 

You push him away and pull your cellphone out of your pocket. Butcher's photo and name appear on the screen.

Shit.

"Hey Butch, what's up?" You look away from Ben, forcing yourself to calm your racing heart.

Ben perks up at the mention of Butcher’s name.

“Do you have any idea where Soldier Boy is?”

“Soldier Boy?”

“Seems like our blunt smoking man out of time has vanished. Been trying to text him all bloody morning.”

At least he doesn’t know that Ben is here. That’s good. I’d never hear the end of it if-

Ben snatches the phone from your hand and holds it up to his ear. “What the fuck do you want?”

The softness was gone, his eyes had hardened again, and the spell was broken. Ben was no longer relaxed, his shoulders were tensed and guarded, jaw set.

It didn’t take a genius to know that Ben didn’t like Butcher. Sometimes you wondered why Ben decided to stay.

Probably because the alternative was being frozen like Han Solo next to his son.

When Ben had knocked Homelander out, you hadn’t believed it, and despite Ben’s arguing Butcher wanted to keep Homelander a supe, and just put him on ice. You had no idea why, especially since Butcher had been gunning for him forever, but had the sneakiest suspicion that it was because of Ryan.

But you didn't blame Butcher for that, watching your father get killed in front of you seemed traumatic, not to mention Ryan was still reeling from watching his mother die.

You turn back to your microwave to pull out your bowl of oatmeal with a groan.

Now Butcher’s going to mock me endlessly about going home with Soldier Boy. We didn’t do anything! Well…

Your mind flits back to the searing kiss you shared and to five seconds ago when whatever the hell just happened.

“You want me to meet you in fucking Jersey?” Ben laughs.

You choose not to eavesdrop on the conversation, instead you busy yourself with sprinkling brown sugar onto your breakfast and plucking a few more raspberries from the vines.

“Fine.” Ben almost growls before holding out the phone to you. “He wants to talk to you.”

Of course he does. Maybe I can pretend to lose the signal with a piece of paper or a candy wrapper.

“Hello-“

“You crazy wanker.” Butcher chuckles into the phone. “Guess your night was a little more exciting than mine eh? Oi Hughie, you owe me a tener!” He shouts to Hughie who you can guess is sitting nearby.

“What? He’s with y/n! No way!” You hear Hughie shout back, muffled but there.

Damn it he’s gonna tell Annie. She's going to start sending me pictures of babies photoshopped in supe suits.

“You guys were betting that he was here?!” You shout making eye contact with Ben who only smirks before he busies himself with getting a bowl for his cereal.

“He left about two minutes after you did. Said some bullshit about a smoke break.” Butcher is smiling and you know it. “How was he? Was he as good as all the girls say?" Butcher coos on the other side of the line.

“Nothing happened-“

“Sure it didn’t Cherie!” You hear Frenchie crow. “Hopefully you got to relieve some of that tension no?”

“I hate all of you.” You grumble, and before Butcher can say anything else you hang up the phone and glare at Ben. “This is your fault.”

“What do you mean sweetheart?”

“You just had to follow me home!”

“You shouldn’t have been walking out there alone.”

“I do it all the time!”

“Not anymore.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not going to let you walk around alone in the middle of the night.”

"Like hell. I don't need a babysitter!"

"I think you do-"

"No I don't. In fact why are you still here? Why haven't you left?" You shout, snatching your bowl of oatmeal before moving to the wobbly kitchen table that you smooshed up against a window that looks out onto your fire escape.

"Because I tend to like morning sex. It's a great way to start the day. Thought you'd be interested." Ben winks as he sits across from you, barely fitting in the wooden chair.

Your phone buzzes where it sits on the table beside your bowl. When you flip it over, you see the text from Annie.

Annie: YOU SLEPT WITH SOLDIER BOY?!!!!

You: I'm not going to dignify that with a response.

Annie: That's a yes. TELL ME EVERYTHING!!!

You sigh and shovel a spoonful of oatmeal into your mouth, eyes drifting up to the top of your phone screen focusing on the time.

"SHIT! I'm late for work!" You shout before shoving as much oatmeal as you can into your mouth.

"Work?" Ben looks up from his bowl of cereal confused as you begin to run around the room.

The half-eaten bowl of oatmeal falls into the sink with a resounding crash, Bean's cat food lands haphazardly in his bright green food dish, and you practically run to your tote bag that hangs on a peg by your front door.

"I told you. I work at a plant shop." You glance back at your barren coffee maker mournfully. The thought of trying to get through the day without coffee seemed impossible, not to mention you didn’t have time to grab one on the way to work from your favorite shop just around the corner.

"I thought you were joking."

"No. Some of us have to work for a living." You run your fingers through your hair quickly pulling it back in a loose ponytail.

"You should leave your hair down." Ben says from the table watching you.

"What?"

"It's prettier when it's down."

"I don't have time for your misogynistic comments. Come on let's go."

"What?"

"I'm not going to leave you here in my apartment alone. You don't have a key."

"You could give me yours-"

"HA. No that's not going to happen. Come on." You tug on his muscular arm, trying to get him up out of the chair, but he barely moves.

“You know you could call out of work and we could spend the day in bed.” He smiles, eyes tracing your figure. “I mean you look good baby, but I think you'd look even better naked. Plus, Butcher and the rest of those fuckers already think we slept together so we might as well-“

“Not a chance Gramps. Either get up out of the chair and leave through the door or leave through the window. It’s your choice and I have no qualms with throwing you down to the street. But please don't make me do that because I can't afford a new window."

Ben rolls his eyes, but finally gets up to follow you. He actually tries to open the door for you, but you place your hand on his chest.

“Nah uh uh. Bowl in the sink. I’m not going to clean up after you.”

Ben sighs and mumbles something under his breath that’s lost in Mike’s inhuman screech of “Love on Top.”

Yeah. What a great fucking way to start the day.

Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to be added to my taglist for this series let me know :)

(Photos for series picture found on Pinterest)

Taglist: @roseblue373 @mrsjenniferwinchester @corruptedcruiser @winchesterwild78 @the-super-who-locked-wizard

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[thequeenofneverland1]

Minho Moon////Love in the Little Things

Anonymous request: hey can you a angst but a happy ending of Minho from xo kitty pls thank you

Warnings: fluff, humor, Romantic themes, lighthearted drama and mild jealousy

You’ve had a crush on Minho for as long as you can remember. He’s charming, funny, and always lights up the room when he walks in. But there’s just one problem. he only has eyes for Kitty. No matter how hard you try to get his attention, it’s clear that his heart belongs to someone else.

At first, you tried to ignore the ache in your chest every time you saw them together. You told yourself that maybe, just maybe, he would notice you one day. But as time passed, it became painfully obvious that Minho would never see you the way you saw him. And that realization shattered you.

You spent weeks sulking, avoiding him in the hallways, and dodging any conversation that involved his name. Your friends told you to move on, but how could you? He was Minho the one who made your heart race with just a smile.

Then, everything changed.

A new student transferred to your school Lee Joon. The moment he stepped into the classroom, he caught everyone’s attention. Tall, effortlessly cool, and with a confidence that made people gravitate toward him, he was impossible to ignore. But what surprised you the most was that, out of all the people he could have talked to, he chose you.

At first, you didn’t think much of it. Maybe he was just being nice. But the way he looked at you, the way he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say, made your heart do something it hadn’t done in a long time it fluttered.

Days turned into weeks, and Lee Joon became a constant presence in your life. He made you laugh when you thought you’d forgotten how. He noticed the little things about you how you always tapped your pen when you were nervous or how your favorite subject was literature because you loved stories that made you feel something.

And one day, as you were walking together after school, he stopped and looked at you with an intensity that made your breath hitch.

“You know,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “I think Minho was an idiot for not seeing you.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

For the first time in a long while, Minho didn’t seem to matter anymore. Maybe, just maybe, you were finally ready to move on. And with Lee Joon by your side, it didn’t seem so impossible.

It was a perfect afternoon warm sunlight streaming through the trees as you and Lee Joon sat on a bench near the school courtyard. You were laughing at something he said, a joke that wasn’t even that funny, but for some reason, everything seemed lighter around him. You didn’t feel the weight of unrequited love pressing on your chest anymore. With Lee Joon, it was easy, effortless.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the moment. You ignored it the first time. Then, it buzzed again. And again.

Lee Joon glanced at you. “Someone’s persistent.”

You pulled out your phone and glanced at the screen. Minho.

For a brief second, something in your chest tightened, but you quickly shook it off. What could he possibly want? Maybe he needed something, but whatever it was, it wasn’t urgent enough for you to pull away from this moment.

Without hesitation, you silenced the call and slipped the phone back into your pocket.

Lee Joon raised an eyebrow, amused. “Not gonna answer?”

You shrugged. “Not important.”

He smirked, leaning back against the bench. “Well, then, more of your attention for me.”

You laughed, pushing Minho further from your mind.

Little did you know, you had forgotten something important plans you made with Minho days ago.

Minho sat at the café, checking his phone every few minutes, frustration slowly turning into disappointment. You were supposed to meet him here. He even got there early, ordering your favorite drink just the way you liked it. But the minutes ticked by, and there was no sign of you.

At first, he thought maybe you were running late. Then, after the third unanswered call, he started to wonder.

Had you forgotten?

The thought made his stomach twist in a way he didn’t quite understand. You always showed up when he needed you, always answered his calls, always made time for him. But today… you didn’t.

His fingers tightened around his phone as he stared at your last message, confirming the plans. He had been so sure you’d come.

So why did it feel like, for the first time, he wasn’t the one you were waiting around for?

Minho sighed, tapping his fingers against the table as he stared at his phone screen. The message was still unread.

Minho: Hey, where are you? (Delivered, no response.)

He waited, watching the little “delivered” notification sit there, unmoving. Maybe you were just busy. Maybe your phone was on silent. Maybe—

No.

Something felt different.

Minho wasn’t used to waiting on you. If anything, you were always the one waiting for him waiting for his texts, his calls, his time. And now, for the first time, the roles were reversed. And he hated it.

He exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair, gripping the iced coffee he had ordered for you now watered down from sitting too long. He should be annoyed. Maybe even a little angry. But the uneasy feeling in his chest wasn’t anger. It was something else.

He tried again.

Minho: Did you forget?

Still no response.

He stared at the message for a moment before locking his phone and shoving it into his pocket. His jaw clenched as he glanced around the café, realizing that people were starting to stare at the guy sitting alone with two drinks.

It wasn’t like you to ghost him. Sure, maybe you were busy, but you would have at least texted back, right?

Unless… you really had forgotten.

Minho couldn’t take it anymore. The café, once filled with comforting warmth and the hum of conversation, now felt suffocating. He had been sitting there for nearly an hour, his untouched drink melting into a watered-down mess. You weren’t coming. And you weren’t answering.

Shoving his chair back, he stood up abruptly, shoving his hands into his pockets as he stormed out. His mind raced with thoughts, each one more frustrating than the last. Were you ignoring him on purpose? Had something happened? Or… were you just with someone else?

That thought made his chest tighten in a way he didn’t like.

As he walked down the sidewalk, his eyes were locked on his phone, waiting for any sign of a response. He wasn’t even paying attention to where he was going until—

Thud.

He bumped into someone, nearly making them drop the books in their arms.

“Oh—Minho?”

He looked up, recognizing the familiar face immediately. “Kitty.”

She adjusted her books, giving him a curious look. “What’s up? You look kind of… stressed.”

Minho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “I was supposed to meet Y/N, but she never showed up. She’s not answering my calls or texts either.”

Kitty raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s weird.”

“Right?” Minho huffed. “I don’t get it. She’s never just… ignored me before.”

Kitty studied him for a second before casually saying, “Well, I literally just saw her.”

Minho’s head snapped up. “You did?”

“Yeah,” Kitty said, shifting her books to one arm. “She was with Lee Joon.”

The name hit Minho like a brick to the chest.

Lee Joon.

That new transfer student. The one who had suddenly appeared and, apparently, had stolen all of your attention.

Kitty must have noticed the shift in his expression because she tilted her head. “Why? Something wrong?”

Minho’s jaw clenched. He didn’t know what to say. Of course something was wrong. You were supposed to be with him today, not Lee Joon. You were supposed to answer his calls, not ignore them for someone else.

But why did it even matter so much? Why was he suddenly so bothered by the idea of you with someone else?

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice to stay even. “No. Nothing’s wrong.”

But as he turned away, he knew that was a lie. Something was definitely wrong. And for the first time, Minho wasn’t sure he liked the way it felt.

Minho lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying everything over and over again. The unanswered texts, the forgotten plans, Kitty’s words—“She was with Lee Joon.”

It didn’t make sense. You weren’t the type to flake on him, especially not without saying anything. And yet, here he was laying alone in his room when he was supposed to be…

The diner was bustling with the hum of conversations and the clinking of silverware against plates. Neon lights flickered outside the window, casting a soft glow over your booth. Minho sat across from you, Kitty next to him, but your attention was entirely elsewhere on Lee Joon, who sat beside you, smiling warmly as he slid a milkshake between the two of you.

"Two straws, one milkshake," Lee Joon teased with a playful grin. "Very old-school romance, don’t you think?"

You laughed, leaning closer to sip from your straw. "I think it’s perfect," you said, eyes sparkling as you met his gaze.

Minho's chest tightened as he watched the exchange, his words faltering mid-sentence. He had been talking about some random story from school, trying to keep the mood light, but it was clear you weren’t listening. Not even a little.

Kitty, sitting beside him, noticed the way his jaw clenched and the flicker of hurt in his eyes. She nudged him lightly with her elbow. "You okay?" she whispered.

Minho forced a tight smile. "Yeah. Totally fine."

But he wasn’t fine. Not even close.

He tried to ignore the way your laugh filled the space between you and Lee Joon, the way you leaned into him as if the rest of the world didn’t exist. It was like he was invisible reduced to just another background character in a scene where you and Lee Joon were the main act.

"So, Y/n," Minho said, trying to cut through the tension gnawing at his chest, "did you finish that project for science class?"

You glanced at him briefly, a polite smile on your lips. "Oh, yeah. Lee Joon helped me with it. He’s really good at that stuff."

Lee Joon chuckled modestly. "It wasn’t a big deal. Y/n did most of the work."

Minho's stomach churned. He used to be the one you came to for help with assignments, the one who made you laugh over ridiculous study sessions. Now, it was Lee Joon in that role, effortlessly slipping into a space that had always been Minho's.

"Cool," Minho said flatly, stirring his untouched drink.

Kitty shot him a sympathetic glance, but Minho couldn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he watched as you leaned closer to Lee Joon, your conversation flowing effortlessly. The two of you were in your own world, completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside Minho.

"Hey," Lee Joon said, his voice warm, "you’ve got whipped cream on your nose."

You laughed, wiping it away with the back of your hand. "Classic me."

"You’re adorable," Lee Joon said softly, and your cheeks flushed at the compliment.

Minho's grip tightened around his glass, his heart pounding with a mixture of jealousy and hurt. He didn’t want to feel this way, but seeing you with someone else so happy, so carefree was like a punch to the gut.

Kitty cleared her throat, trying to break the awkwardness. "So, uh, Minho, you were saying something about that crazy teacher?"

Minho forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to his own ears. "Yeah, doesn’t matter," he muttered, his appetite gone.

As the evening dragged on, Minho sat there, watching the girl he had always thought of as his—his best friend, his constant slip further away, lost in someone else’s orbit. And for the first time, he wondered if it was already too late to pull you back.

Minho had always been the kind of person who carried himself with confidence. He was loud when he wanted to be, always cracking jokes, always had a smirk on his face like nothing in the world could bother him.

But lately, something had changed.

And his parents noticed.

It started with little things. He barely touched his food at dinner, pushing it around on his plate instead of eating. He wasn’t complaining about his mom’s overly healthy meals like he usually did. He didn’t argue with his dad over what to watch on TV. He wasn’t even making sarcastic remarks about his mom’s drama shows, something he usually did just to get a reaction.

Instead, he just… sat there. Quiet. Lost in thought.

Then, he stopped staying out late.

Minho was always out with his friends, always coming home late with some new story to tell. But now? He was coming straight home from school, shutting himself in his room, barely saying a word.

His mom noticed first.

One evening, as she was setting the table for dinner, she glanced over at him, watching as he scrolled through his phone, a deep frown etched onto his face. He wasn’t even really looking at the screen just staring at it, lost in whatever thoughts were eating away at him.

She set the last plate down and sighed. “Minho.”

He barely reacted. “Hmm?”

His mom crossed her arms, leaning against the counter. “What’s going on with you?”

That got his attention. He looked up, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”

“You’ve been acting… off,” she said, tilting her head. “You’re quiet, you barely eat, you don’t go out as much. It’s like you’re not even you lately.”

Minho scoffed, leaning back in his chair. “I’m fine.”

His dad, who had been reading the newspaper, finally looked up. “You don’t look fine.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “I didn’t realize I had to put on a performance at home.”

His mom sighed, walking over to sit beside him. Her voice softened. “Minho, we’re just worried about you. Did something happen?”

Minho’s jaw tightened. He wanted to brush it off, to say something sarcastic, to make a joke and move on. That’s what he always did.

But for some reason, the words wouldn’t come out.

Because, for the first time in a long time, he didn’t know what to say.

What was he supposed to tell them? That he had been too blind to realize he was losing someone important? That he had spent so long believing you would always be there, only to realize that maybe, just maybe, you were slipping away?

That he had never considered what it would feel like to lose you until now?

Minho swallowed hard and forced a smirk. “I’m fine, Mom. Seriously. Just tired.”

His mom didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t push. Instead, she just patted his arm before standing up.

“Okay,” she said simply. “But if you ever want to talk about it, we’re here.”

Minho just nodded, offering her a small, forced smile.

But as he sat there, poking at the food on his plate, he couldn’t shake the feeling in his chest.

Because deep down, he knew the truth.

He wasn’t fine. Not even close.

Later that night, Minho lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling, the glow of his phone screen casting a dim light across his face. He wasn’t even doing anything just mindlessly scrolling, opening and closing the same apps, checking messages he had no intention of responding to.

Still no text from you.

Not that he was waiting or anything.

He let out a slow breath, tossing his phone onto the nightstand before draping an arm over his eyes. His mind was a mess thoughts tangled up in frustration, confusion, and something else he didn’t want to name.

A soft knock at his door made him sigh. “Mom, I already told you—”

“It’s not your mom.”

Minho sat up slightly as his dad pushed the door open, stepping inside. His dad wasn’t the kind of guy who barged into his room often. Usually, he let Minho do his own thing, never prying too much.

Which meant that if he was here now, it was serious.

His dad glanced around the room before settling his gaze on Minho. “You didn’t finish dinner.”

Minho shrugged. “Wasn’t hungry.”

His dad hummed, shutting the door behind him as he walked over and took a seat on the chair by the desk. “Your mom thinks something’s wrong.”

Minho huffed, flopping back against his pillows. “Mom always thinks something’s wrong.”

His dad chuckled. “Yeah, well… this time, I think she might be right.”

Minho’s fingers curled around the blanket. He could feel his dad’s eyes on him, waiting for him to say something. To admit something.

But he didn’t even know where to start.

His dad sighed, leaning forward slightly. “Listen… I know I’m not the guy you usually come to for this kind of stuff.”

Minho rolled onto his side, staring at the wall. “There’s nothing to come to you about.”

His dad didn’t respond right away. Instead, he just studied Minho for a long moment, like he was trying to piece together a puzzle. Then, in a softer voice, he asked,

“Is it about a girl?”

Minho’s breath hitched.

He didn’t answer. But the way his shoulders tensed just for a second was enough of a confirmation.

His dad nodded slowly, like everything was suddenly making sense. “Ah.”

Minho groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “It’s not—”

“You know,” his dad cut in, leaning back in the chair, “when I was your age, there was this girl I really liked.”

Minho peeked at him from the corner of his eye. “Is this where you tell me some long, dramatic love story about how you met Mom?”

His dad smirked. “No, actually. It wasn’t your mom.”

That got Minho’s attention. He turned fully to face him. “Wait. What?”

His dad chuckled. “Before I met your mom, there was someone else. She was my best friend. We did everything together. I thought we’d always be like that just us, against the world.”

Minho swallowed hard, his chest tightening.

“But then one day,” his dad continued, his voice softer now, “she started spending more time with someone else. And suddenly, I wasn’t the person she turned to anymore. I wasn’t the one making her laugh the hardest or sharing secrets late at night.”

Minho stayed quiet. He didn’t need to hear the rest of the story to know how it ended.

His dad sighed, rubbing his hands together. “I didn’t realize how much I cared about her until it was too late.” Then he looked at Minho, eyes steady. “Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

Minho’s throat felt tight.

Because suddenly, he wasn’t thinking about his dad’s story anymore.

He was thinking about you.

The way you used to wait for him after class. The way your eyes always lit up when he walked into a room. The way you used to choose him without hesitation, without a second thought.

And now?

Now you were looking at Lee Joon that way. you were sharing your time, your moments, your jokes with someone else.

And for the first time, Minho felt like he was standing on the outside of your world, looking in.

His dad patted his knee before standing up. “Think about it, kid.”

Then, just like that, he left, shutting the door behind him.

Minho sat there in silence, staring at the ceiling.

And for the first time, he allowed himself to admit the one thing he had been avoiding this whole time.

He didn’t just care about you.

He didn’t just see you as a friend.

He liked you.

And maybe just maybe he was too late.

The next morning, Minho barely said a word at breakfast. His mom was chatting about something on TV, and his dad was flipping through the newspaper, but Minho’s mind was somewhere else entirely.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what his dad had said last night.

“I didn’t realize how much I cared about her until it was too late. Don’t make the same mistake I did.”

It kept replaying in his head, over and over, until he wanted to scream.

Was it too late for him? Had he already lost you?

He had spent so long pretending not to care, pushing down feelings he didn’t want to deal with. But now, it was all hitting him at once, and it was suffocating.

His leg bounced under the table as he stared at his plate, barely touching his food. He needed to do something. Say something. But where did he even start?

“Minho.”

He blinked, snapping out of his thoughts as he looked up. His dad was staring at him knowingly from across the table.

“Come with me,” his dad said, setting down the newspaper and pushing back his chair.

Minho frowned, confused, but stood up anyway. His mom barely glanced up from her show as his dad led him down the hall and into his office.

Once inside, his dad walked over to his desk, pulled open a drawer, and grabbed his wallet. He took out a few bills and held them out to Minho.

Minho stared at him. “Uh… what’s this?”

His dad gave him a pointed look. “Money.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Minho scoffed. “Why are you giving it to me?”

His dad sighed, placing the money in Minho’s hand before closing his fingers around it.

“Go buy some flowers. And chocolates. Or whatever it is girls like these days.”

Minho’s eyes widened. “What—”

His dad raised an eyebrow. “You want to win her back, don’t you?”

Minho hesitated, staring down at the money in his hand. He hadn’t even said anything about you, but somehow, his dad knew.

Did he really look that obvious?

“I…” Minho swallowed, shifting on his feet. “What if it doesn’t work?”

His dad gave him a small, knowing smile. “Then at least you’ll know you tried.”

Minho stared at him for a moment before sighing, stuffing the money into his pocket.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if this goes horribly wrong, I’m blaming you.”

His dad smirked. “That’s fair.”

With that, Minho turned on his heel and walked out of the office, his heart pounding harder than he wanted to admit.

Because for the first time, he wasn’t just thinking about his feelings.

He was about to do something about them.

Minho stood outside Kitty’s dorm, shifting from foot to foot as he debated whether knocking was a good idea. He wasn’t the type to ask for help, let alone from Kitty, who had an annoying habit of knowing things before he was even ready to admit them to himself.

But this? This was different.

This wasn’t something he could handle on his own.

He took a deep breath and knocked twice.

A few seconds later, the door swung open, revealing Kitty in her usual oversized hoodie and pajama shorts, her hair tied in a messy bun. She blinked up at him, clearly not expecting to see him standing there.

“Minho?” she said, tilting her head. “Are you lost?”

Minho rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not lost.”

Kitty leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. “Then why are you standing outside my room looking like you’re about to throw up?”

Minho groaned, rubbing a hand down his face. “Can I come in or not?”

Kitty narrowed her eyes, studying him for a moment before sighing and stepping aside. “Fine. But if this is about getting me to watch another one of your boring dramas, the answer is no.”

Minho ignored her and stepped inside, shoving his hands into his pockets. The room was a little messy clothes scattered on the bed, notebooks open on the desk but it was exactly what he expected from Kitty.

She plopped onto her bed, crossing her legs. “Okay, spill. What’s going on?”

Minho hesitated, looking at the floor. He wasn’t used to being this vulnerable, especially with Kitty, who would probably never let him live it down. But he was desperate, and if there was one person who knew how to fix things, it was her.

“I need your help,” he muttered.

Kitty’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me? Did Minho just say he needs my help?”

Minho groaned. “Do you want to help me or not?”

Kitty smirked, sitting up straighter. “Depends. What’s it about?”

Minho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It’s about Y/N.”

At that, Kitty’s entire expression shifted. The teasing look faded, replaced by something more serious something that told him she already knew what this was about.

“What about Y/N?” she asked, her voice softer now.

Minho hesitated, but there was no point in pretending anymore.

“I…” He clenched his jaw before sighing. “I think I screwed up.”

Kitty hummed, as if she wasn’t even remotely surprised. “Yeah, no kidding.”

Minho shot her a glare. “Can you not?”

She held up her hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay. Keep going.”

Minho shifted on his feet, suddenly feeling restless. “I don’t know when it happened, but… I like her.” The words felt foreign on his tongue, but once they were out, he couldn’t take them back. “And now she’s spending all her time with Lee Joon, and I feel like—” He exhaled sharply. “I feel like I lost her before I even got a chance.”

Kitty watched him carefully, nodding along. “So, what do you want to do about it?”

Minho pulled the money from his pocket, holding it up. “Dad told me to buy flowers and chocolates.”

Kitty snorted. “Classic.”

Minho glared at her. “Are you gonna help me or not?”

Kitty grinned. “Oh, I’m definitely helping. But if you’re gonna do this, you can’t half-ass it.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “I never half-ass anything.”

Kitty smirked. “Good. Because if we’re winning Y/N back, we’re going all out.”

Minho felt his stomach twist. This was really happening.

He was about to fight for you.

The sun was beginning to set over the park, casting a warm orange glow over the trees and pathways. A soft breeze rustled the leaves, carrying the faint scent of flowers in the air. It was the perfect setting for something romantic something grand.

At least, that’s what Kitty had convinced Minho.

He had spent the last hour carefully placing a trail of red roses along the park’s winding path, each one leading to the small bench where he was waiting. A box of expensive chocolates sat beside him, tied with a neat satin ribbon.

He was nervous, but he had convinced himself you would come. Kitty promised she would make sure of it.

So he waited.

And waited.

But as the minutes stretched on, his excitement slowly turned into doubt.

Then doubt turned into disappointment.

And disappointment turned into something heavier something he didn’t want to name.

He checked his phone. No messages. No calls.

His jaw clenched as he looked down at the chocolates in his lap. He had really let himself believe this would work. That maybe, if he just put in the effort, if he showed you how much he cared, you would see that he was still here. That he had always been here.

But you weren’t coming.

Maybe you had seen the roses and chosen to ignore them. Maybe you had better things to do maybe with Lee Joon.

Minho exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before standing up. He didn’t want to sit here like an idiot any longer.

Without another thought, he placed the chocolate box on the bench and turned away.

As he walked down the path, his hands stuffed into his pockets, he told himself he didn’t care.

He tried.

That was enough, right?

But just as he reached the park entrance, just as he was about to leave—

“Minho!”

His entire body froze.

For a second, he thought he had imagined it. That maybe his mind was playing tricks on him because he wanted to hear you say his name so badly.

But then—

“Minho, wait!”

He turned around.

And there you were.

You were breathless, your hair slightly messy from running, your eyes wide as you searched for him. In one hand, you clutched the chocolate box he had left behind.

Minho’s heart stuttered in his chest.

You came.

His feet moved before he could think, carrying him back toward you.

As soon as you saw him, relief washed over your face. “You—” You paused, trying to catch your breath. “You were leaving?”

Minho swallowed hard, trying to act indifferent, trying to ignore the way his pulse was racing. “I thought you weren’t coming.”

Your grip on the chocolate box tightened. “I was late. Kitty didn’t tell me why I needed to come here, just that I had to.” You exhaled, taking a step closer. “But when I saw the roses, I knew it was you.”

Minho blinked, caught off guard. “You knew?”

You nodded, smiling slightly. “Of course. It was dramatic and over-the-top. Who else could it be?”

Despite everything, a small chuckle escaped him. “Fair point.”

There was a beat of silence before you looked down at the chocolate box in your hands. “Were you really about to leave without this?”

Minho hesitated, then shrugged. “I figured you’d find it eventually.”

You bit your lip, studying him carefully. “Minho… what is all this?”

His heart pounded against his ribs. This was it.

The moment where he had to say it.

The moment where he had to be honest.

Minho inhaled deeply, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. Then, in a quiet but steady voice, he said—

“It’s you.”

You blinked. “What?”

Minho exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “It’s always been you, Y/N. I know I messed up I know I took too long to realize it, but I like you. And not in the casual, best-friend-who-flirts-with-you way. I really like you.”

Your eyes widened, lips parting slightly in surprise.

Minho swallowed, forcing himself to keep going before he lost his nerve.

“I see the way you look at Lee Joon,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “And I hate it. Not because he’s a bad guy, but because… I wanted to be the one you looked at like that. I wanted to be the one who made you laugh, who got your attention, who you—” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m too late. Maybe I should’ve said something sooner. But I had to try.”

Silence.

The park suddenly felt too quiet, too still.

Minho’s chest tightened as he watched you, trying to read your expression. Were you angry? Were you happy? Did you think this was too much?

Then, after what felt like forever, you took a deep breath and whispered, “You’re an idiot.”

Minho’s heart sank.

Before he could respond, you shook your head, stepping even closer until he could feel the warmth of your presence.

“You’re an idiot,” you repeated, softer this time. “Because I waited for so long for you to say that.”

Minho’s breath hitched. “You… what?”

You smiled, reaching out to place the chocolate box back into his hands. “I like you too, Minho.”

His heart stopped.

For the first time in weeks, the weight in his chest lifted.

“You—” He let out a breathless laugh. “You do?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a fondness there. “Took you long enough to notice.”

Minho could barely process what was happening. The relief, the shock, the stupid grin tugging at his lips he felt like a complete idiot for not realizing it sooner.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “So… does this mean I don’t have to pretend I like Lee Joon anymore?”

You laughed, and the sound was his favorite thing in the world.

“No,” you teased, nudging his shoulder. “But maybe you can start making it up to me by sharing those chocolates.”

Minho smirked, his confidence returning. “Only if you share a milkshake with me after.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were still smiling.

The two of you made your way through the streets, the city lights casting a warm glow around you. The streets weren’t too crowded, but there was a comfortable buzz of life all around cars passing by, soft music playing from open shop doors, the occasional laughter of strangers.

And through it all, Minho never let go of your hand.

When you finally reached the small restaurant a cozy little place with checkered floors and booths that looked like they hadn’t changed since the ‘80s you felt a wave of nostalgia.

“You picked this place?” you asked, surprised.

Minho smirked. “Obviously. I have great taste.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re just saying that because they put a cherry on top of their milkshakes.”

He gasped, placing a hand over his chest. “How dare you expose me like that.”

Laughing, you let him pull you inside. The warmth of the restaurant immediately wrapped around you, a stark contrast to the cool night air outside.

A friendly-looking waitress greeted you both and led you to a booth by the window. Minho slid into one side, and instead of sitting across from him like a normal person, you scooted in beside him, close enough that your legs brushed under the table.

Minho blinked, momentarily thrown off. But then, a slow smirk stretched across his lips. “Oh?”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged, leaning back against the seat like he wasn’t losing his mind over the fact that you were willingly sitting this close. “Just didn’t expect you to be so clingy.”

You scoffed, nudging him with your shoulder. “Shut up.”

Minho chuckled but didn’t push it. Instead, he picked up the menu and held it out to you. “Go ahead and pick. But if you don’t get chocolate, just know that I’ll be judging you.”

You shook your head, smiling to yourself as you took the menu. “Noted.”

As the two of you sat there, your fingers still loosely intertwined under the table, Minho realized something.

For the first time in weeks, he wasn’t thinking about what he had lost.

He was thinking about what he had found.

The milkshake sat between you, two straws sticking out of the tall glass, condensation gathering on the sides. The diner’s neon lights cast a soft glow over your faces, reflecting in the window beside you. The place had a cozy hum of life soft music playing from the jukebox, the occasional clatter of dishes, and the quiet murmur of other customers.

But none of it mattered.

Because all Minho could focus on was you.

The way your lips curled around the straw as you took a sip, the way you absentmindedly played with the sleeves of his hoodie, the way your knee kept bumping against his under the table but you didn’t move away.

You caught him staring.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

Minho blinked, trying to play it cool, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Liar.”

He smirked. “Maybe I just like looking at you.”

Your cheeks turned the faintest shade of pink, and Minho’s smirk only grew.

But before you could come up with a response, he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping to something softer.

“You know,” he said, fingers brushing against yours on the table, “I didn’t think tonight would end like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. “How did you think it would end?”

Minho exhaled a small laugh, shaking his head. “Not like this. Not with you wearing my hoodie. Not with you sitting so close I can barely think straight.”

You smiled, looking down for a second before glancing back up at him through your lashes. “Is that a bad thing?”

Minho swallowed, his heart doing something stupid in his chest.

“No,” he murmured. “Not at all.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The world outside continued moving cars passing by, people walking along the sidewalks but inside the small diner, time felt still.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, Minho reached up, his fingers gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered for a second longer than necessary, and you didn’t pull away.

Instead, you leaned in.

His breath hitched, his gaze flickering between your eyes and your lips. “Y/N…”

You tilted your head, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah?”

Minho hesitated, just for a second. Not because he didn’t want to he had wanted to kiss you for so long—but because this moment felt different. It wasn’t just some casual, fleeting thing.

It was you.

And that meant everything.

But when you gave him the smallest nod, silently telling him it was okay

He didn’t wait.

He closed the space between you, his lips brushing against yours in the softest, slowest kiss.

You tasted like chocolate and vanilla, sweet and warm, and Minho melted into it, one hand cupping your cheek while the other rested lightly on your waist.

You kissed him back without hesitation, your fingers curling into the fabric of his sleeve, pulling him closer like you never wanted to let go.

And Minho?

He was already gone for you.

After finishing your milkshake, neither of you had wanted the night to end just yet. The warmth of your first kiss still lingered, making everything else feel softer more real. So when Minho suggested walking back to his place instead of calling a ride, you agreed without hesitation.

It wasn’t far, just a few blocks, and the walk was quiet, comfortable. His fingers never left yours, his grip firm but gentle, as if he was still trying to convince himself you were really here.

When you reached his house, he didn’t even hesitate to invite you inside. “It’s late,” he had said. “You can crash here if you want. I have extra blankets.”

You had teased him, saying, “You just wanted an excuse to keep me close,” and instead of denying it, he had simply smirked. “And?”

That’s how you found yourself now, lying on his bed, wrapped in the same hoodie he had given you earlier. At first, you had planned to stay up just talk, maybe watch something but somewhere in the middle of the quiet conversation, with the soft glow of his bedside lamp illuminating his face, sleep had crept up on both of you.

Now, the room was silent except for the steady sound of Minho’s breathing.

His arms were securely wrapped around you, holding you close against his chest like he had no intention of letting go. His face was relaxed, his usual sharp features softened by sleep. Every so often, his grip would tighten slightly, as if even in his dreams, he was making sure you were still there.

And you?

You had never felt safer.

You had never felt more at home than you did right now, tucked into Minho’s warmth, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

It was perfect.

Until—

The door creaked open.

Minho’s parents had planned on checking in on him, expecting to find their son in his usual dramatic sleeping position sprawled out on his bed, probably snoring.

What they didn’t expect was to see him curled up around you, his arms wrapped protectively around your frame, his face buried in your hair.

His mother blinked, momentarily speechless.

His father raised an eyebrow. “Well, that’s new.”

Minho stirred slightly, mumbling something in his sleep before pulling you closer.

His mother, finally snapping out of her surprise, melted on the spot. “Oh my god,” she whispered, grinning. “Look at them.”

His dad sighed as he smiled. “ He finally got his girl.”

His mother smirked. “He sure did.”

She reached for her phone, quickly snapping a picture. “We’re saving this for later.”

His father chuckled. “Should we wake them?”

His mother gasped, horrified. “Are you insane?! Look how peaceful he is! Do you know how rare it is for Minho to not be complaining about something? We let them sleep.”

His dad held up his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright.”

But before leaving, his mother glanced back at the two of you one more time, her heart swelling. She had never seen her son like this before so content, so soft.

And as they quietly closed the door behind them, she smiled to herself, already imagining the wedding.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. The first thing you became aware of was warmth. Minho’s warmth. His arms were still wrapped securely around you, his chest rising and falling steadily against your back.

For a moment, you didn’t move.

You just lay there, soaking in everything. The way his breath tickled the nape of your neck, the way his fingers had lazily intertwined with yours sometime in the middle of the night, the way his body was completely relaxed against yours.

Then, Minho stirred, groaning softly as he tightened his hold on you. “Mm… five more minutes,” he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

You smiled, turning slightly so you could see his face. His hair was an absolute mess, sticking up in random directions, and his eyes were still barely open. He looked ridiculously adorable.

“You’re the one who has to get up,” you teased. “It’s your house.”

Minho groaned dramatically, burying his face in your shoulder. “Let’s just live here forever.”

You laughed. “In your bed?”

“Yep.” He peeked up at you, smirking. “Though, to be fair, you didn’t seem to mind being in my arms all night.”

You rolled your eyes, lightly pushing his shoulder. “Shut up.”

He grinned but finally let go, stretching with a yawn before rolling out of bed. “Come on. Let’s get food before my mom thinks we died in here.”

Breakfast was surprisingly peaceful.

Minho’s mom had made pancakes, and despite the teasing glances she kept throwing at you two, she didn’t say anything though you could tell she wanted to. Minho, of course, acted like nothing had changed, but every now and then, his knee would brush against yours under the table, or he’d sneak little glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

You definitely noticed.

As you reached for the syrup, Minho’s phone buzzed on the table. He picked it up, and when he saw the name on the screen, he immediately sighed.

“Of course it’s Kitty.”

You raised an eyebrow. “What does she want?”

He opened the message, and you leaned over to peek at his screen.

Kitty: Soooo… did the plan work or not??? I need updates. Did you confess??

Minho shook his head, smirking. “She’s acting like this was some grand heist.”

You laughed. “To be fair, it kinda was.”

Minho hummed, pretending to consider it. “True.”

Then, instead of responding with words, he turned his camera on, leaned in toward you, and snapped a quick picture of the two of you sitting way too close at the breakfast table your hand in his, his hoodie still draped over your shoulders.

You blinked. “Minho—”

Too late.

He sent the picture.

A second later, Kitty’s response came in.

Kitty: OH MY GOD I KNEW IT!!!

Minho chuckled, locking his phone before placing it back on the table. “That should keep her satisfied for now.”

You shook your head, amused. “You’re so dramatic.”

Minho smirked, resting his chin in his palm as he gazed at you. “And yet, you’re still here.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips.

Because, honestly?

There was nowhere else you’d rather be.

The school day was just beginning, and you were walking alongside Minho, your usual group of friends scattered about. The moment you stepped onto the campus, you could feel the weight of the new dynamic. You and Minho were finally… officially together. The tension and uncertainty of the past few weeks had shifted into something more solid, more real, and it made your heart race every time you caught his eye.

You couldn’t help but notice the small things how Minho would reach over to squeeze your hand between classes or how he’d make sure to walk you to your next period, carrying your bag for you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Today, you noticed it even more. The way he looked at you when you laughed at something, the way his hand never left yours unless absolutely necessary. You were still getting used to this new, more affectionate side of Minho, but it felt right.

Until—

As you walked toward the building, a familiar voice cut through the chatter of the hall.

“Minho.”

You froze, and Minho did too. You both turned to see Lee Joon walking toward you, his usual calm expression in place. He wasn’t alone there were a couple of his friends walking behind him but it was clear his attention was on you and Minho.

For a second, there was an awkward silence. You weren’t sure what to say after everything, you’d almost forgotten that there had once been something between you and Lee Joon. But here he was, standing in front of you, and you had no idea how this was going to go.

Lee Joon gave you a small smile, but his gaze shifted to Minho, his expression softening.

“I just wanted to say,” he began, his voice steady, “I’m happy for you two.”

Minho blinked, clearly not expecting that. “What?”

Lee Joon shrugged, hands shoved into his pockets. “I mean it. I’m glad you two worked it out.” He glanced at you for a moment, then looked back at Minho. “I just hope you’ll treat her well, yeah?”

There was a strange tension in the air, but Lee Joon’s words were honest, and his tone was sincere.

Minho raised an eyebrow, clearly processing Lee Joon’s sudden warmth. “I—yeah, I will.” He smirked. “Not like I’d do anything else.”

Lee Joon nodded, his gaze softening. “Just making sure.” He offered Minho a small smile. “Anyway, good luck, man. I wish you both the best.”

Minho nodded, his posture relaxing. “Thanks, Lee Joon.” He smiled in return, a little less guarded now.

Lee Joon didn’t linger for long. He gave you a nod before turning and walking away with his friends, leaving the two of you standing in the hallway.

The moment Lee Joon disappeared around the corner, Minho exhaled a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, his hand still holding yours. “That was… unexpected.”

You looked up at him, a little surprised by how easily Minho had taken it. “Yeah. It was nice of him, though.”

Minho smirked, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yeah, well… he knows I’ll treat you right. I don’t need to prove anything.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t hide the warmth spreading through your chest. “You’re so confident.”

Minho chuckled, pulling you a little closer. “It’s not about confidence. It’s about knowing what I have.”

He gave you a mischievous look, and you felt your cheeks heat up.

“Well, good,” you teased, “because I don’t plan on going anywhere.”

Minho’s grin softened, and he leaned in to kiss the top of your head. “Good. Because neither am I.”

And as you both made your way into the building, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel like everything was finally falling into place.

The day was flying by, and lunch break arrived with a wave of relief. You and Minho made your way to the usual spot where you’d meet up with your friends, settling into a spot on the grassy field behind the school. The weather was perfect a light breeze, warm sun but something about it felt a little off today.

As you sat down, you noticed that Kitty wasn’t exactly looking too thrilled. She was pacing around the area, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, shooting occasional glances at you and Minho. It wasn’t the usual carefree Kitty you were used to, and you couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow.

Minho, sitting beside you, seemed to pick up on it, too. He leaned over, resting his head on your shoulder for a second as he whispered, “What’s with Kitty?”

You looked over at her. “I think she’s… jealous?”

Minho blinked, clearly confused. “Of us?”

You chuckled lightly. “I think she’s tired of playing the third wheel.”

At that, Minho burst into laughter. “What, you think she’s jealous of me?”

“Well, when you’re always the one hanging out with me, maybe.” You shot him a teasing glance, nudging him with your elbow. “Don’t worry, she’ll get over it. It’s just… funny how she’s acting.”

Just as you said that, Kitty suddenly groaned loudly, causing both you and Minho to turn toward her. She flopped down dramatically on the grass beside you, throwing her arms out in frustration.

“I can’t stand this!” she declared, earning curious looks from the people around her.

You raised an eyebrow, trying not to laugh. “What’s wrong with you now, Kitty?”

She let out a theatrical sigh, flopping her head back onto the grass as if the entire world were conspiring against her. “I am literally the third wheel now! How am I supposed to be your best friend if you’re over here being all cute together all the time?” She shot you both an exaggerated pout. “You know I’m just here for the drama, and you guys are ruining it with all your…” she gestured dramatically to the both of you, “…love and cuddles and whatever else you’re doing.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and warm. Minho chuckled too, clearly amused. “We’re not doing anything, Kitty. We’re just sitting here.”

Kitty threw up her hands. “It’s not the sitting, it’s the fact that I’m alone while you two are all over each other! You’re making me feel like a third wheel, and I’m not okay with that!”

Minho grinned mischievously, leaning back against the grass. “If it makes you feel any better, Kitty,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, “I’m sure we could work something out. You’re always welcome to hang out with us.”

Kitty narrowed her eyes. “Oh, really? You’re just so generous, Minho. Like, I’m so excited to spend my time watching you two be all… sweet and adorable.”

You grinned, teasing her playfully. “I think you’re just mad because you have no one to complain about like we do.”

Kitty groaned again, rolling her eyes. “Ugh, fine, I get it. You two are all happy and cute, and I’m stuck in the corner being the lonely best friend.”

Minho smirked, nudging you with his shoulder. “Well, you can hang out with us, but you have to put up with the cuteness.”

Kitty dramatically covered her face with her hands. “I don’t think I can handle it!”

You laughed, your heart warm from the teasing banter. You could tell that even though Kitty was acting all dramatic about the situation, she didn’t truly mind. She loved both of you, and she just wanted to make sure she wasn’t forgotten in all of this new relationship excitement.

Minho, sensing the mood shifting, leaned forward with a genuine smile. “Hey, we’ll make it up to you, Kitty. How about we all hang out this weekend? You, me, Y/N. I’ll even throw in some extra snacks for you to complain about us with.”

Kitty raised her head from her hands, giving him a skeptical look. “You’ll throw in extra snacks, huh?”

“Yep.” Minho grinned. “And I’ll promise not to be overly affectionate around you. Maybe.”

Kitty smirked. “Alright, deal. But only if I get to choose the movie.”

You and Minho exchanged glances, both of you knowing there was no way Kitty would ever let you pick the movie after all this.

“Deal,” Minho agreed, already preparing himself for whatever chaos Kitty was about to drag you into next.

“Great,” Kitty said, sitting up and wiping her hands dramatically. “Now that we’ve settled that, you guys owe me for ruining my third-wheel-free life.”

Minho rolled his eyes but smiled nonetheless. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll make it up to you, don’t worry.”

As the three of you sat there, joking and laughing, the warmth of your new relationship and the friendship that came with it was more than enough to make everything feel right. Even if Kitty was a little dramatic, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

The weekend arrived, and the three of you gathered at Minho’s place for your promised movie night. Kitty had already made it clear that she would control the movie selection, but to her surprise, she was having a hard time picking one. Every time she suggested a movie, Minho would raise an eyebrow and say, “Are you sure that one? We might fall asleep in the middle of it.”

“You’re lucky I don’t make you watch another rom-com,” she threatened, glancing between the two of you with a playful smirk.

You chuckled. “I think we’ve seen enough rom-coms for one lifetime, Kitty.”

Minho grinned. “I’m on her side this time. No more cheesy love stories.”

Kitty huffed but eventually settled on a movie. She made sure it was one neither of you had seen, determined to pick something that would hold your attention. Popcorn was popped, and drinks were set out in front of you both, but as the night went on, it became obvious that the movie wasn’t the only thing that had everyone’s attention.

You and Minho found yourselves sitting close together on the couch, your legs tangled beneath a soft blanket. Kitty was seated next to you, but she was starting to get a little more restless as the evening wore on.

Minho, being Minho, couldn’t help but keep sneaking glances at you. your hand in his, his fingers gently tracing the back of your hand. Every now and then, he’d feed you a piece of popcorn, and you’d smile and reciprocate by handing him one in return. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just simple gestures of affection that made your heart flutter.

Kitty, on the other hand, was watching the two of you with a slightly exasperated look on her face. At first, she tried to hide it behind the popcorn bowl, but it was hard not to notice the way her eyes kept flicking over to you and Minho, both of you so caught up in your little bubble of quiet tenderness.

You leaned against Minho’s shoulder, feeling content as he wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer. “This movie’s good,” you said softly, though you knew you were paying more attention to him than the actual film.

“Mm-hmm,” Minho murmured, his lips brushing your forehead. “Better with you here.”

You smiled, brushing your cheek against his arm. “It’s always better when you’re around.”

Kitty rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the tiny smile tugging at her lips. “You guys are so cheesy,” she said, though the tone wasn’t as biting as before.

You looked at her, a little mischievous. “Oh, don’t act like you’re not enjoying the drama of it all.”

She threw a pillow at you. “I’m not enjoying anything, thank you very much. I’m just—”

She stopped when she saw you and Minho share a quiet laugh, his hand brushing your hair away from your face. It was in that moment that something shifted in Kitty’s eyes. The earlier feeling of being left out and annoyed by the constant affection faded, replaced by something different.

She felt a little… guilty.

She had been so quick to complain about being the third wheel, but now, as she watched the way Minho gazed at you like you were the center of his world she couldn’t help but feel a wave of regret.

Minho was happy. You were happy. And here she was, trying to make herself the center of attention, when she knew perfectly well that she didn’t need to be.

Kitty paused, her arms crossing as she sighed deeply. “Okay, okay. I admit it. I’m a little jealous. Happy now?”

You and Minho both laughed at her outburst, and she threw her hands up in defeat.

“I’m just saying, you two are so cute together. And I’m just… I don’t know… sitting here eating all the popcorn.” She leaned back into the couch dramatically. “You’re like a real couple now, huh?”

Minho leaned over, gently pulling the blanket higher around you both. “Yeah, we are.” He gave her a playful grin. “And don’t worry, Kitty. You’re still our favorite third wheel.”

Kitty rolled her eyes again but smiled, her earlier annoyance melting away as she saw the affection between you and Minho. It was clear that you both were in a happy, comfortable place, and while it might’ve taken her a moment to get used to it, she was genuinely happy for you both.

“I guess I can get used to being the third wheel if you two keep being this adorable,” she said, her voice light and teasing again.

You grinned and handed her the popcorn. “As long as you’re still our favorite third wheel.”

Kitty took the bowl from you and sighed dramatically. “I’ll allow it.” She glanced over at you both, her expression softening. “But you guys better treat each other well. I’m keeping an eye on you, Minho.”

Minho chuckled, wrapping his arm tighter around you, pulling you closer. “Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Kitty leaned back, smiling quietly as she watched you and Minho. And despite the playful teasing, there was a warmth in her chest a realization that she wasn’t just the third wheel. She was part of something special, too. She would always be a part of your circle, and that’s what truly mattered.

As the movie continued to play, and you and Minho quietly exchanged sweet words, Kitty settled in beside you both, no longer feeling like an outsider. Instead, she was part of this beautiful, messy, and loving little family you were creating, and maybe just maybe being the third wheel didn’t seem so bad after all.

The next day, you and Kitty were hanging out in the school courtyard, enjoying a rare moment of peace before the chaos of the next class. The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and for once, Kitty wasn’t groaning about third-wheeling until, of course, Minho appeared.

And not just Minho.

Minho, walking confidently across the courtyard with a massive teddy bear in his arms.

You blinked in surprise, trying to process what you were seeing. The teddy bear was almost as big as he was, its fluffy arms practically swallowing him whole. He carried it effortlessly, as if this was the most normal thing in the world.

Kitty, on the other hand, immediately burst into laughter. “Oh, this is gold.” She crossed her arms and smirked as Minho reached your table. “So, tell me, Minho who’s the lucky recipient of that absurdly large bear? Is it… me?” She batted her eyelashes dramatically. “You really shouldn’t have.”

Minho rolled his eyes, adjusting his grip on the bear as he looked at Kitty with mock seriousness. “Oh, yeah, totally. I went to the store, saw this giant teddy bear, and thought, You know who needs this? Kitty Song Covey.”

Kitty gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in fake flattery. “Wow. I’m touched. I mean, I always knew I was your favorite person, but this really seals the deal.”

Minho ignored her, turning toward you with a small, almost shy smile. “Nah, this is obviously for Y/N.”

Your eyes widened as he extended the teddy bear toward you, and a soft warmth spread through your chest. “Minho… this is huge.” You reached out to touch the soft fur, grinning as you took it from him. “What’s the occasion?”

Minho shrugged nonchalantly, but there was a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “No occasion. Just saw it and thought you’d like it.”

Kitty groaned dramatically. “Oh my god. You two are unbearable.” She gestured toward the teddy bear. “Literally.”

Minho shot her a smug grin. “Jealous, Kitty?”

Kitty huffed, shaking her head. “Not in the slightest. But I will say this if you keep spoiling Y/N like this, you’re setting a dangerous precedent. She’s gonna start expecting giant teddy bears all the time.”

You hugged the bear close, laughing. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind that.”

Minho smirked, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Noted.”

Kitty fake gagged. “Okay, enough. I need to find a date immediately before I drown in the sheer amount of romance happening in front of me.”

Minho just chuckled as you leaned into the plush bear, completely content.

And as Kitty dramatically pulled out her phone, muttering about setting up a dating profile, you couldn’t help but feel incredibly lucky to have Minho and his ridiculously sweet gestures all to yourself.

That night, Kitty walked into your living room, arms full with two giant bags of snacks like popcorn, candy, chips, and even a couple of sodas she had smuggled in from her dorm. She had been looking forward to this sleepover all week. A classic bestie night: just you and her, watching rom-coms, gossiping, and stuffing your faces with junk food.

But the second she stepped into the dimly lit room, her excitement immediately turned into exasperation.

Because there, right in the middle of your living room, were you and Minho.

Cuddled up on top of the massive teddy bear he had given you earlier, wrapped in a fluffy blanket, both of you fast asleep.

Kitty let out the most dramatic groan, dropping the snack bags onto the floor with a loud rustle. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

You had promised her. PROMISED. It was supposed to be a just the two of you kind of night no boyfriends allowed. But here you were, completely breaking the sacred best friend sleepover code, snuggled up against Minho like the two of you were in your own little world.

Kitty crossed her arms, tapping her foot. “Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath.

Minho, of course, was sleeping peacefully, his arms wrapped securely around you, his face buried in your hair like he had no plans of moving anytime soon. You, curled up comfortably against his chest, were equally as lost in dreamland, your head resting just beneath his chin.

Kitty sighed, rubbing her temples. “This is exactly why I need a boyfriend. So I don’t have to suffer alone every time you two decide to turn my night into a third-wheel nightmare.”

She contemplated waking you up shaking you awake and demanding answers but then she noticed something that made her pause.

Despite how annoying it was to have her best friend ditch their plans, the way you and Minho were curled up together, completely at ease, was kind of… sweet. It wasn’t just some casual nap; it was the kind of peaceful, soft kind of love that made it obvious how much you two cared about each other.

Kitty sighed dramatically, crouching down to grab the spilled snack bags. “Fine,” she muttered to herself. “I’ll let it slide this time. But next sleepover? No boyfriends allowed. I mean it.”

With one last exasperated glance at you two, she plopped down onto the couch, pulled out a bag of popcorn, and started her movie third-wheeling once again, but at least with good snacks.

The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the school courtyard as you and Minho walked hand in hand, matching strides. The weekend was just around the corner, and you had the perfect plan a carnival date. Well, technically, a carnival hangout, since you were about to invite Kitty.

Minho, of course, was less than thrilled about that part.

“Remind me why we’re inviting her again?” he asked, glancing at you with a smirk.

You nudged him playfully. “Because she’s our friend and because I totally ditched her during the sleepover. We owe her.”

Minho sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if she ruins our romantic moments, I’m making her buy me churros.”

You giggled as you spotted Kitty near her locker, scrolling through her phone, completely oblivious to your approach. Minho, ever the menace, leaned in and whispered, “Watch this,” before calling out

“Kitty Song Covey!”

Kitty visibly flinched, nearly dropping her phone. She whipped her head around, eyes narrowing. “Why do you sound like you’re about to ask me for a favor?”

You beamed at her. “Because we are!”

Kitty groaned, already shaking her head. “Nope. I don’t like this. Whatever it is, no.”

Minho scoffed. “You don’t even know what we’re gonna say.”

Kitty crossed her arms. “Fine. Hit me with it.”

You clasped your hands together, putting on your sweetest voice. “We’re going to the carnival this weekend, and we want you to come with us!”

Kitty blinked. Then, as if she had just heard the most ridiculous thing in the world, she let out a loud, mocking laugh.

Minho frowned. “What’s so funny?”

Kitty wiped an imaginary tear. “Oh, you two are hilarious. You actually think I’m going to spend my Friday night watching you two be disgustingly cute at a carnival?”

You pouted. “Come on, Kitty. We’ll go on rides, eat junk food, win prizes. It’ll be fun!”

Kitty gave you a deadpan look. “Fun for who? Because let’s be real, the moment we get there, it’s gonna be ‘Omg, Minho, let’s go on the Ferris wheel!’ ‘Minho, win me that stuffed bear!’ ‘Minho, let’s share some cotton candy!’” She rolled her eyes. “Meanwhile, I’ll be in the background, questioning all my life choices.”

Minho smirked. “You do have a point. We’d be way too busy being adorable to give you attention.”

Kitty groaned. “See? This is exactly what I’m talking about!” She turned to you. “Tell me I’m wrong. Go ahead. Lie to my face.”

You opened your mouth, then hesitated. Because, well… she wasn’t wrong. You and Minho would probably do all of that.

Kitty smirked in triumph. “Exactly.” She slung her bag over her shoulder. “So, yeah. Thanks, but no thanks. I’d rather spend my Friday night doing literally anything else than third-wheeling at a carnival.”

Minho grinned, draping an arm around you. “Your loss. Guess that means more snacks and prizes for us.”

Kitty scoffed. “Oh, please. Minho’s just saying that because he knows you’re gonna make him spend all his money on those overpriced carnival games.”

Minho’s smirk faltered slightly. “…That’s not entirely false.”

You giggled, leaning into him. “You love it, though.”

Minho sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah. I guess I do.”

Kitty made a gagging noise. “And this is exactly why I’m staying home.” She started to walk away, then paused, turning back to you. “But hey, if you win a big plushie, I expect a picture. Y’know, just so I can suffer from afar.”

You laughed. “Deal.”

As Kitty walked off, Minho chuckled, squeezing your hand. “Well, that went as expected.”

You grinned. “That just means we get to have the most romantic, disgustingly cute date ever.”

Minho smirked. “Oh, absolutely. Let’s make sure Kitty regrets not coming.”

And with that, the two of you walked off, already planning the perfect carnival date completely third-wheel free.

The carnival was everything you had hoped for bright lights, the scent of fried food in the air, and the sound of excited laughter filling the night. It was the perfect atmosphere for a date, and Minho, ever the gentleman, had already taken your hand the moment you stepped through the entrance.

And, of course, in true Kitty fashion, everything she predicted was coming true.

First stop? The Ferris wheel.

You had insisted on it, dragging Minho toward the towering ride with stars in your eyes. “Come on, it’s a must!” you said, looking at him with so much excitement that he just sighed and let himself be pulled along.

Once inside the small, enclosed gondola, you leaned against him, resting your head on his shoulder as the ride began its slow ascent. The higher you went, the more the entire carnival stretched out beneath you, a glittering wonderland of neon lights and moving rides.

Minho glanced down at you, smirking. “So, when do I get my dramatic movie moment where you say something super sentimental?”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “You mean like, ‘Minho, you make my world brighter than all these carnival lights combined’?”

Minho chuckled. “Yeah. Something cheesy like that.”

You looked at him for a moment, then smiled softly. “I don’t need to say that, because you already know it’s true.”

For once, Minho was silent. His smirk faded just slightly, replaced with something softer, something almost vulnerable. Then, without a word, he leaned down and kissed your forehead, letting the moment speak for itself.

By the time you got off the Ferris wheel, you were beaming.

Next stop? The carnival games.

You weren’t going to lie you were determined to leave with a stuffed animal. And unfortunately for Minho, that meant that he’ll end up being replaced by that some stuffed animal

“Minho, you have to win me that one!” You pointed at a giant plush bunny hanging from one of the booths.

Minho eyed it skeptically. “That thing is, like, twice your size.”

“So? That just means I’ll have more to cuddle when you’re not around.”

Minho gave you a deadpan look. “Are you seriously saying a stuffed bunny could replace me?”

You grinned. “I mean, let’s see if you can even win it first.”

That was all the motivation Minho needed. He rolled up his sleeves, stepped up to the game booth, and put on his game face.

What followed was several attempts, an increasingly frustrated Minho, and a lot of teasing from you. But eventually finally he knocked down all the targets, and the booth attendant handed over the giant plush bunny.

You gasped in delight, hugging the stuffed toy tightly before turning to Minho with the biggest smile. “I take it back. Nothing could replace you.”

Minho huffed, pretending to be unimpressed, but you could see the tiny satisfied smile on his lips. “Good answer.”

Then, without warning, he reached out, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you in close. “But just so you don’t forget, I think I deserve a reward.”

You laughed. “Oh? And what exactly do you want?”

Minho smirked before leaning in, brushing his lips against yours in a sweet, lingering kiss.

By the time you pulled away, your face was warm, your heart racing.

Minho grinned. “That’ll do.”

And finally? The food.

You insisted on sharing cotton candy, even though Minho rolled his eyes and muttered about how predictable you were. But when you held out a piece for him, he didn’t hesitate to lean in and take a bite letting his lips brush against your fingertips in the process.

You felt your face heat up. “You did that on purpose.”

Minho just smirked. “Did I?”

And then there was the churro.

Which Minho also insisted on sharing, but in the most obnoxious way possible.

“Let’s do that couple thing,” he said, holding the churro up.

You raised an eyebrow. “What couple thing?”

Minho’s smirk widened. “Where we each bite from one end at the same time.”

You stared at him. “That is the dumbest—”

But before you could even finish, Minho already took one end into his mouth, raising an expectant eyebrow at you.

You groaned. “I cannot believe you.”

Still, you leaned in, biting the other end.

Kitty would have thrown up on the spot if she had seen it.

By the end of the night, you had done exactly what Kitty had predicted Ferris wheel, winning a plushie, sharing cotton candy, and feeding each other snacks.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Kitty was sprawled across your bed, lazily flipping through a magazine as you tidied up your desk. She had come over to hang out, claiming she needed a “break” from dealing with her own dramas, but you knew the truth she was mildly curious about how your carnival date with Minho went.

She hadn’t asked outright, of course. Instead, she casually glanced around your room, humming to herself until her eyes landed on something huge in the corner.

The giant rabbit plush from last night.

Kitty sat up instantly, pointing at it. “Wait a minute. Don’t you already have one already?”

You paused, following her gaze before letting out a small laugh. “Okay, first of all, I only have one other giant plush. And second, this one is special.”

Kitty snorted. “Special how? Because Minho wasted all his money trying to win it for you?”

Before you could answer, your door suddenly swung open, and speak of the devil Minho walked in.

“Excuse you,” he said, giving Kitty a look as he strolled inside like he owned the place. “I did not waste my money. I made a perfectly justified investment.”

Kitty rolled her eyes dramatically. “Oh, of course, spending an absurd amount of cash just to impress your girlfriend is an investment. How silly of me to think otherwise.”

Minho smirked, plopping down onto your bed beside you. “Exactly. Glad you’re finally catching on, Covey.”

Kitty scoffed before turning back to you. “Okay, so explain. Why do you need two enormous stuffed animals taking up half your room?”

You shrugged, hugging the plush rabbit close. “Because they’re cute. And soft. And Minho got them for me.”

Minho leaned back, resting an arm behind his head. “Yeah, it’s called being an amazing boyfriend. You wouldn’t get it, Kitty.”

Kitty groaned. “Oh my god, you are so smug.”

Minho grinned. “And yet, here I am, still the favorite.”

Kitty dramatically flopped back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. “I need a boyfriend. Or literally any kind of love life. Because I physically cannot keep third-wheeling you two like this.”

You giggled. “You could always get a giant plushie for yourself.”

Kitty shot you a look. “It is not the same, Y/N.”

Minho smirked, leaning in closer to you. “See? No one does it like me.”

Kitty groaned into a pillow. “I hate both of you.”

You and Minho exchanged amused glances before bursting into laughter, while Kitty just dramatically complained about needing new friends who weren’t disgustingly in love.

Kitty sat up, staring at the giant rabbit plush like it was calling her name. She tapped her chin thoughtfully before turning to you with a suspiciously sweet smile.

“So…” she started, scooting closer to the plush. “Can I borrow this little guy for a while?”

You blinked at her, clutching the stuffed bunny closer like she had just asked for your firstborn child. “Uh… no. It’s mine.”

Kitty gasped dramatically, placing a hand over her heart like you had just deeply offended her. “Excuse me?”

Minho, who was casually scrolling through his phone on your bed, snorted. “Did you actually think she’d say yes?”

Kitty ignored him, narrowing her eyes at you. “Wait, why not?! You have Minho! I don’t have anyone! Let me have the bunny!”

You shook your head firmly. “Nope. Minho won it for me. It’s special.”

Kitty threw her hands in the air. “Okay, and what about me? What do I get? Third-wheeling privileges?”

Minho smirked. “Sounds like a you problem, Covey.”

Kitty shot him a glare. “I wasn’t talking to you, Mr. I Spend All My Money on Rigged Carnival Games.”

Minho shrugged, completely unfazed. “Worth it.”

Kitty groaned, flopping back on your bed. “This is so unfair. You have a boyfriend and two giant plushies. Meanwhile, I have neither. I should at least get one!”

You laughed, patting her shoulder. “You can hug the pillow?”

Kitty dramatically rolled onto her side. “It’s not the same. It doesn’t have the emotional support energy that the bunny has.”

Minho leaned in, smirking. “Sounds like you need a boyfriend, Covey.”

Kitty shot up. “Thank you, Minho! I hadn’t realized! Let me just go to the boyfriend store and pick one out!”

Minho chuckled. “Well, if you want, I could help set you up—”

“NO.” Kitty cut him off immediately, pointing a finger at him. “You and your questionable matchmaking skills stay far, far away from my love life.”

Minho leaned back, hands up in surrender. “Fine. Your loss.”

Kitty huffed before turning back to you with pleading eyes. “So? Are you gonna let me borrow the bunny or not?”

You shook your head again, holding it even tighter. “Nope.”

Kitty groaned. “You’re a monster.”

Minho smirked. “Now you know how I feel when she steals my hoodies.”

Kitty gasped again, eyes widening in realization. “OH. MY. GOD. Y/N, you hoard things! First his hoodies, Mostly everything?! What’s next? His soul?”

You grinned innocently. “Already got that.”

Minho chuckled, wrapping an arm around you. “It’s true. I’m hers.”

Kitty made a loud, disgusted noise. “I need new friends.”

And with that, she dramatically flopped onto your bed again, while you and Minho just laughed at her misery.

Kitty, still sulking from her failed attempt to claim the bunny, suddenly pointed at the other giant plush sitting in the corner of your room the first one Minho brought for you.

“Okay, but what about that one?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Can I at least borrow him?”

Before you could even answer, Minho immediately cut in, shaking his head.

“Yeah, no. That one’s off-limits too.”

Kitty groaned. “Oh, come on! Why?!”

Minho smirked, leaning back against your pillows. “Because that’s our son.”

You blinked, looking at him in confusion. “Wait… what?”

Minho pointed at the plushie. “That’s Minho Jr. Our firstborn.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

Kitty, meanwhile, was staring at him with pure disbelief. “I— Minho, what the actual—” She turned to you. “Are you seriously going along with this?!”

You shrugged, grinning. “I mean… I guess it kinda makes sense.”

Minho nodded seriously. “Exactly. Minho Jr. was the first big plushie I got for Y/N. He represents the beginning of our love story. He has sentimental value.”

Kitty gagged. “Please, spare me.”

But Minho wasn’t done yet. He pointed at the giant bunny still in your arms. “And that one—our second child.”

Kitty threw her hands in the air. “You did NOT just give the plushies a family ranking!”

Minho shrugged. “Listen, it’s called commitment. You wouldn’t get it.”

You giggled, hugging the bunny closer. “So… Minho Jr. and…” You looked at the bunny thoughtfully. “What’s this one’s name?”

Minho tilted his head, pretending to think. Then he snapped his fingers. “Bunny-ho.”

Kitty lost it. “NO.”

You burst into laughter. “Oh my god, Minho—”

Minho looked so smug. “What? It’s perfect.”

Kitty groaned. “I hate it here. First, I can’t have a plushie, and now I have to sit here while you two build a fake family with stuffed animals?”

Minho smirked, pulling you closer. “You could be the cool aunt, Covey.”

Kitty gave him a deadpan look. “I want nothing to do with this family tree.”

You giggled, leaning into Minho’s side. “It’s okay, Minho. She just doesn’t understand our vision.”

Minho nodded. “Exactly. Some people just aren’t ready for this level of commitment.”

Kitty groaned again, flopping back onto your bed. “I need to start charging you guys for emotional damages.”

Meanwhile, you and Minho just exchanged knowing smiles, completely content with your ridiculous little plushie family.

Kitty was still dramatically lying on your bed, mumbling complaints about how she had somehow ended up third-wheeling a couple and their imaginary plushie family.

Minho, of course, was having the time of his life teasing her.

As he wrapped an arm around you, he turned to Kitty with a smirk. “Hey, so… do you mind watching your nephews while I take this beautiful lady out to dinner?”

Kitty sat up immediately, staring at him like he had lost his mind. “I— excuse me?!”

Minho gestured towards the two giant plushies in the corner, looking completely serious. “Minho Jr. and Bunny-ho. You know, your nephews. Someone’s gotta babysit them while we’re gone.”

You giggled, playing along. “Yeah, Kitty. They’ll get lonely.”

Kitty rubbed her temples. “I cannot believe I’m having this conversation right now.”

Minho tilted his head innocently. “What? You love kids, don’t you?”

Kitty gave him the most deadpan look. “They’re not kids. They’re stuffed animals.”

Minho ignored her, leaning down to press a quick kiss to your temple before grabbing his jacket. “Anyway, we’ll be back later. Make sure they don’t stay up too late.”

Kitty threw her hands in the air. “Oh, right. Because a bunch of cotton and fabric totally has a bedtime!”

You smiled, hugging Bunny-ho close. “And don’t forget to feed them!”

Kitty let out a dramatic gasp. “Oh my god. You guys are actually insane.”

Minho just grinned. “You knew what you were signing up for when you became our friend.”

Kitty groaned, flopping back onto your bed. “You know what? Fine. I’ll watch your fake children. But if they start talking to me, I’m out.”

You and Minho burst into laughter as he took your hand, leading you towards the door.

Right before you stepped out, Minho turned back with a teasing smirk. “Love you, sis. Be a good aunt.”

Kitty threw a pillow at him. “GET OUT!”

You laughed the whole way down the hall, holding Minho’s hand as he chuckled beside you. “She’s never gonna let this go.”

Minho squeezed your hand, smiling down at you. “Totally worth it.”

The restaurant Minho had chosen was small, cozy, and tucked away from the busy streets a place that felt like your own little world. Soft lights hung from the ceiling, casting a warm glow over the wooden tables, and the faint sound of music played in the background. It was perfect.

Minho pulled out your chair for you, giving you a teasing smirk as you sat down. “Only the best treatment for my girl.”

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “You’re so extra.”

He sat down across from you, resting his chin in his hand as he gazed at you with that annoyingly charming look he always had. “And yet, you love it.”

You pretended to think for a moment, tapping your chin. “Hmm… I don’t know, do I?”

Minho scoffed, placing a hand over his heart dramatically. “Wow. After everything I’ve done for you? After winning you one child at the carnival?”

You giggled. “Oh, right! Bunny-ho. I should’ve known this was about him.”

Minho smirked. “Obviously. I take my fatherly duties very seriously.”

A waiter came by, setting down your drinks. Minho grabbed his immediately, taking a sip before looking at you again. “So, what’s the verdict? Best date ever?”

You smiled, stirring your drink with the straw. “It’s definitely up there.”

Minho leaned forward, raising an eyebrow. “Up there?”

You shrugged playfully. “I mean, there was that one time you tripped while trying to impress me—”

Minho groaned, covering his face with his hands. “Oh my god, you promised to never bring that up again.”

You laughed. “I never promised that!”

Minho peeked at you through his fingers before shaking his head, clearly trying to hold back a smile. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You took a sip of your drink, looking at him over the rim. “I know.”

The food arrived, and as you both started eating, Minho kept sneaking bites from your plate, acting innocent every time you caught him.

“Minho!” you gasped, swatting his hand away. “Eat your own food!”

“But yours tastes better,” he whined, quickly grabbing another bite before you could stop him.

You huffed, crossing your arms. “Unbelievable.”

Minho grinned, chewing happily. “Hey, you knew what you were getting into when you started dating me.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help smiling.

After a while, Minho set down his chopsticks and leaned back in his chair, looking at you softly. His usual teasing smirk was replaced by something gentler.

“I really like this,” he said, voice quieter now.

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

He gestured around. “This. Us. Sitting here, eating, talking. Just… being together.”

Your heart melted a little at the way he was looking at you like you were the only person in the world.

You reached across the table, taking his hand in yours. “Me too.”

Minho squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “Good. Because I plan on doing this a lot more.”

You giggled. “Stealing my food?”

Minho smirked. “That too.”

And as you sat there, laughing and talking over dinner, you knew there was no place you’d rather be.

After finishing dinner, Minho insisted on paying, waving you off when you tried to argue. “Nope, I got this,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “A gentleman always pays for his lady.”

You rolled your eyes with a small smile. “You just don’t want me to see how much you spent.”

Minho smirked. “That too.”

Once you were outside, the night air was cool, but not too cold. The streets were quieter now, the soft glow of streetlights giving everything a warm, cozy feel. Minho reached for your hand as you walked, intertwining his fingers with yours.

“I think that was the best dinner I’ve ever had,” he said.

You looked at him with a teasing smile. “Because of the food or because of me?”

Minho pretended to think for a moment before grinning. “Both. But mostly you.”

You laughed, nudging him lightly. “Good answer.”

As you continued walking, Minho suddenly stopped in front of a small convenience store. “Wait here,” he said before disappearing inside.

You stood there, confused, until he came back out a few minutes later holding two ice cream bars. He unwrapped one and handed it to you.

You smiled, taking it. “What’s this for?”

Minho shrugged, unwrapping his own. “Just felt like ending the night with something sweet.”

You took a bite, enjoying the simple moment. Minho watched you for a second before chuckling.

“What?” you asked.

“You have ice cream on your lip,” he said, stepping closer. Before you could wipe it away, he leaned in and kissed the spot, his lips lingering just for a second.

Your face felt warm despite the cold treat in your hand. “You’re ridiculous,” you mumbled, looking away to hide your smile.

Minho just laughed, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you continued walking. “And yet, you love it.”

You sighed dramatically. “Yeah, yeah.”

He squeezed your shoulder gently. “Say it.”

You looked up at him, meeting his expectant gaze. With a playful smile, you said, “I love it.”

Minho grinned, looking completely satisfied. “Knew it.”

And just like that, the night felt even more perfect.

As soon as you and Minho stepped into your house, still laughing from your walk back, Kitty was already standing there in the doorway with her arms crossed, tapping her foot like an impatient mother waiting for her kids to come home past curfew.

“Finally! You guys are here,” she huffed, throwing her hands up. “Now come and watch your kids— I mean, your stuffed animals.”

Minho smirked, pulling off his jacket. “Aw, did Aunt Kitty have a hard time babysitting?”

Kitty shot him a glare. “Oh, you have no idea. Minho Jr. and Bunny-ho have been so needy. Bunny-ho kept falling over, and Minho Jr. refused to sit properly on the bed.” She placed a dramatic hand on her forehead. “It was exhausting.”

You giggled, playing along. “Wow, sounds like you had a rough night. Maybe you should’ve read them a bedtime story.”

Kitty rolled her eyes. “Oh, I would have, but I didn’t want to overstep my boundaries as the aunt.”

Minho grinned, stepping over to the bed where the two plushies sat, slightly slumped over from all of Kitty’s supposed “hard work.” He picked up Minho Jr. and cradled it like a baby. “Aw, our poor son. Was Aunt Kitty mean to you?”

Kitty groaned, flopping onto the couch. “I hate that I’ve been dragged into this family roleplay.”

You sat next to her, hugging Bunny-ho close. “You love it.”

“I really don’t.”

Minho sat down beside you, still holding onto Minho Jr. “Well, thanks for watching them while we were gone. You’ve done a great job, Covey.”

Kitty crossed her arms. “Yeah, yeah. Next time, I’m charging for my services.”

You and Minho exchanged a knowing look before turning back to her.

Minho smirked. “Nah. You’re family. Babysitting comes with the title.”

Kitty groaned, grabbing a pillow and covering her face with it. “I need a new friend group.”

“So,” Minho started, stretching out his legs. “What time did you feed our kids?”

Kitty’s head snapped up so fast you thought she might get whiplash. “Excuse me?”

Minho gestured toward the stuffed animals. “Minho Jr. and his little brother. What time did you feed them?”

Kitty gawked at him. “They’re stuffed animals, Minho. They don’t eat.”

Minho gasped in pure horror. “You didn’t feed them?!”

Kitty blinked. “Are you serious right now?”

You, already knowing exactly where this was going, bit your lip to hold back your laughter.

Minho turned to you, eyes wide with mock distress. “Y/N. Our kids haven’t eaten all night. No wonder they look so weak.” He reached over and patted Minho Jr.’s head like a concerned parent. “Oh my poor, starving son…”

Kitty threw Minho Jr. at him. “Here, you can have him back then.”

Minho caught the plush with ease, holding him protectively. “Wow. Just wow, Kitty. I trusted you. And you just let them starve.”

Kitty groaned into a pillow. “I hate you so much.”

“You’re never babysitting again,” Minho continued, shaking his head in disappointment. “Neglectful. Absolutely neglectful.”

“They’re literally stuffed animals!” Kitty shouted. “What was I supposed to do, blend up a smoothie and pour it on them?!”

Minho shrugged. “A responsible babysitter would’ve figured it out.”

Kitty threw another pillow at him.

You, by now, were full-on cackling, clutching your stomach as Minho continued his very dramatic lecture on how Minho Jr. deserved better.

And as much as Kitty complained about you two being absolute menaces, you could see the small smile she was trying to hide.

Yeah, she’d never admit it but she loved this chaos.

Minho, still cradling Minho Jr. like a very concerned parent, suddenly gasped and sat up straighter. He patted down the couch dramatically, as if searching for something.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “Oh no, no, no this is bad.”

You wiped a tear from your eye, still giggling from the last round of teasing. “What now?”

Minho ignored you, turning to Kitty with a grave expression. “Kitty,” he said, voice laced with disappointment. “Where’s the diaper bag?”

Kitty stared at him, unblinking. “The what?”

Minho sighed heavily, rubbing his temples like he was so stressed. “The diaper bag, Kitty.”

Kitty let out the most exasperated groan. “Minho, they are stuffed animals! Why the hell would you need a diaper bag?!”

Minho completely ignored her and reached for an imaginary diaper bag beside the couch. He started “rummaging” through it, his expression getting increasingly more horrified.

“Oh my god,” he breathed. “Oh my god.”

You covered your mouth, already losing it.

“What?!” Kitty snapped.

Minho looked up at her, pure betrayal written across his face. “Kitty.” He placed a hand over his chest, like what he was about to say physically pained him. “Did you even change their diapers?”

Silence.

Kitty just stared at him, completely at a loss for words.

Minho let out a long, dramatic sigh and shook his head, turning to you. “Y/N… I think our children have been sitting in dirty diapers this entire time.”

Kitty screeched. “THEY. ARE. STUFFED ANIMALS!”

Minho shushed her, rocking Minho Jr. back and forth. “It’s okay, buddy. Daddy’s here now. I won’t let Auntie Kitty neglect you ever again.”

Kitty launched a pillow at his face.

Minho caught it without even flinching and just tossed it aside, still fully committed to the bit.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, shaking his head. “My poor, poor kids. Abandoned. Unloved. Sitting in filth.” He dramatically wiped an imaginary tear. “Worst babysitter ever.”

Kitty stood up so fast she nearly tripped over your coffee table. “I AM LEAVING.”

You were crying from laughter at this point, clutching your sides as Kitty stormed toward the door.

Minho called after her, “Don’t forget to leave your babysitting license on the counter! Oh wait you don’t have one anymore.”

The door slammed shut.

And that was the exact moment you completely lost it, doubling over with laughter as Minho grinned victoriously.

“She’s never gonna forgive you for that,” you wheezed.

Minho just smirked, hugging Minho Jr. to his chest. “She’ll be back,” he said confidently. “She loves our kids too much.”

You giggled, wiping at your eyes. “She’s so done with us.”

Minho turned to you, an adorable glint of mischief in his eyes. He shifted closer, draping an arm around your shoulders. “You know,” he said smoothly, playing with the hem of your sleeve. “Since Kitty isn’t here anymore…”

You raised an eyebrow. “What?”

His smirk deepened. “I was just thinking.” He leaned in, dropping his voice to a very suggestive whisper. “Let’s try for another baby.”

Your entire brain short-circuited. “WHAT?!”

Minho chuckled, loving the way your face immediately heated up. “Yeah,” he continued, looking completely serious. “I think Minho Jr. and his brother need a little sibling.”

You blinked. Then it hit you.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, shoving his shoulder. “You mean another plushie?!”

Minho gasped, feigning offense. “Another plushie?” He scoffed. “Excuse me, they are our kids, Y/N. Have some respect.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips. “You scared me for a second!”

Minho only grinned, completely unfazed. “So? What do you think? Maybe a little sister this time?” He tapped his chin in mock thought. “Maybe a bunny? Or a big fluffy bear?”

You pretended to consider it, tilting your head. “Hmm… I did see a really cute panda plush at the store the other day…”

Minho’s face lit up. “Say less,” he declared, already grabbing his phone. “We are getting that panda.”

You laughed as he immediately pulled up a shopping app, looking way too serious about his mission.

“Wait, wait,” you teased, tugging at his sleeve. “Are you sure we’re ready for another kid? We just got the last two.”

Minho put a hand over his chest, dramatically serious. “Babe,” he said, completely straight-faced. “I was born to be a dad.”

You lost it, burying your face in his sweatshirt as you laughed.

And just as Minho started adding a panda plush to his cart, your phone dinged with a message from Kitty.

Kitty: I swear to god, if you two adopt another one, I’m reporting you to stuffed animal CPS.

Minho glanced over your shoulder, reading the text. He smirked and immediately typed back:

Minho: Too late. You’re gonna be an aunt again.

You laughed as Kitty sent back an immediate string of angry emojis.

Minho just grinned, kissing the side of your head. “Best parents ever.”

You were struggling.

Kitty had somehow convinced you to help her rearrange her entire room, and at this point, you were seriously questioning how she managed to talk you into this. She was currently sprawled on her bed, scrolling through her phone, while you were the one moving stuff around like a personal assistant.

“Okay, now push the bookshelf like… two inches to the left,” Kitty instructed lazily, barely glancing up.

You sighed but did as she asked, nudging the heavy bookshelf over. “How’s that?”

Kitty squinted. “Mmm… actually, maybe a little to the right—”

Before you could throw something at her, Minho, who had been sitting on her desk chair eating your snacks, suddenly stood up, clearing his throat. His face turned serious, eyes narrowing at Kitty as he dramatically put his hands on his hips.

“Excuse me,” he said, voice firm.

Kitty barely looked up. “What?”

Minho took a deep breath, shaking his head as if he was deeply disappointed. “You do realize that my girl is pregnant, right?”

You froze mid-movement. “…What?”

Kitty blinked. “…Come again?”

Minho crossed his arms. “Pregnant.” He gestured toward you. “She shouldn’t be doing all this work! She can’t be carrying heavy things or running around. You should be doing it! So get your butt up and help.”

Kitty stared at him. Then at you. Then back at him. “Minho,” she deadpanned. “Are you stupid?”

You groaned, shaking your head. “Minho, I am not pregnant.”

Minho gasped dramatically. “Babe.” He clutched his chest like you had wounded him. “How could you say that about our baby panda?”

Kitty let out the loudest, most frustrated groan. “Oh my god.”

Minho ignored her, placing a gentle hand on your stomach. “Shh, baby, don’t listen to Mommy,” he cooed, pretending to rub your nonexistent baby bump. “She’s just tired from carrying you all day.”

You shoved his hand away, dying from laughter. “Minho, it’s a stuffed animal.”

He gasped again, even louder this time. “How dare you talk about our unborn child like that?” He turned to Kitty with pure disappointment. “And you! You’re making a pregnant woman do hard labor! Shame on you!”

Kitty, looking like she was on the verge of throwing something at him, slowly sat up. “Minho.”

“Yes?”

She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at his face.

He caught it effortlessly, smirking. “Wow. Violence in front of our child? Terrible influence, Auntie Kitty.”

Kitty screamed into her hands. “I hate you.”

Minho just grinned, wrapping his arms around you. “Come on, babe. You’ve done enough. Let’s go home and rest for the baby’s sake.”

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you toward the door. “Kitty, good luck with your own room.”

Kitty threw another pillow at the both of you as you left, yelling, “I HOPE YOUR KID THROWS UP ON YOU!”

As soon as you and Minho stepped outside Kitty’s room, you burst into laughter, playfully shoving his arm. “You are so ridiculous,” you giggled, wiping away a stray tear from laughing so hard.

Minho just grinned, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close as you walked down the hallway. “Ridiculously devoted to our unborn child, you mean.”

You groaned, shaking your head. “Minho, for the last time, it’s a stuffed panda!”

He let out a dramatic sigh, looking at you like you just didn’t get it. “And? Does that make them any less of our child?”

You gave him a look. “Yes. Yes, it does.”

Minho pouted, nudging you playfully. “I can’t believe you’d say that. Poor little Panda is in there, waiting to be brought home, and you’re already denying them.”

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re impossible.”

Minho smirked, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “And yet, you love me.”

You sighed dramatically, leaning into him. “Unfortunately.”

[sodavizz]

Hiii! Can you make a Daisuke x Reader, where the reader feels like crap and feels like they're invisible, but then Daisuke comes into their life and helps them find happiness in life?? Any gender is okay, Thank you!! 😭

So many Daisuke asks TvT (someone gotta give me a new character or something-)

— No One Noticed.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ

Pairing: Daisuke x GN! Reader

Warnings: Darn fluff again

Wc: 600+

--

The world blurred past me like a forgotten dream—gray, muffled, inconsequential. I had long since become a shadow in the corner of my own life. People didn’t see me, didn’t notice when I sat silently at the edge of gatherings or drifted through hallways at work. My heart was heavy with the weight of being unseen.

Until that day.

It was raining—not a gentle drizzle but a torrent that matched the storm within me. I had just turned the corner of the café, balancing my umbrella, when I bumped into someone—hard. My umbrella slipped from my grasp, clattering to the pavement.

“Oh! I’m so sorry,” I muttered, not bothering to look up.

“It’s okay. Are you alright?” A voice—soft but warm—cut through the rain.

For the first time in what felt like ages, I looked up and locked eyes with someone. He had dyed brown hair, messy from the rain, and eyes that held a strange mix of curiosity and something deeper.

“I’m fine,” I said, though my voice was flat, practiced.

He smiled—a smile that felt like sunlight breaking through clouds. “I’m Daisuke, by the way. And you?”

“[Y/N],” I replied, unsure why I even bothered.

His gaze lingered on me for a moment longer, and something about it felt… different. He noticed me.

--

Days passed, and somehow, Daisuke kept appearing in my life. At first, it felt like coincidence—another encounter at the café, then at the park where I often walked alone. Each time, he smiled, his face lighting up as if seeing me made his day. I started to realize he wasn’t just being polite. He genuinely wanted to talk to me, to know me.

“You come here a lot,” he said one afternoon as we walked along the park’s quiet trail.

“It’s peaceful,” I replied.

“Or lonely,” he added gently.

I glanced at him, startled. No one had ever said that out loud to me before.

He shrugged, his hands in his pockets. “I get it. Sometimes the world feels too noisy, and the silence feels safer.”

I didn’t respond, but his words stayed with me.

--

Weeks turned into months, and Daisuke became a fixture in my life. We started meeting on purpose—at first for coffee, then dinners, then evenings spent wandering the city.

He had this way of making everything feel lighter, like the weight I carried wasn’t just mine anymore. He never pushed, never pried. Instead, he listened, really listened, and for the first time, I started sharing pieces of myself I’d long kept hidden.

One evening, as we sat on a bench overlooking the city, I finally asked, “Why do you care so much?”

Daisuke turned to me, his expression serious but soft. “Because I see you, [Y/N]. And I think you’re worth knowing. You’ve just forgotten how to see yourself.”

His words hit me harder than I expected.

--

Over time, something changed. It wasn’t just that I felt lighter or happier—it was that I started noticing things, too. I noticed the way Daisuke’s eyes crinkled when he laughed, how his voice grew quieter when he talked about things he loved. I noticed how my heart beat faster when he smiled at me, how his presence made me feel like I was finally home.

I realized I was falling for him—harder than I thought possible.

One night, as we stood beneath the streetlights after another long walk, I turned to him and blurted out, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“For seeing me. For reminding me how to be free, and make my own choices in life.”

His eyes softened, and he stepped closer. “You’ve always been worth seeing, [N/N]. I’m just glad you let me.”

In that moment, something clicked. All the loneliness, all the grayness of my past—it faded into the background.

I reached for his hand, my voice trembling. “You know, I think I might love you.”

Daisuke smiled, his fingers tightening around mine. “Good. Because I’ve loved you since the day we met.”

In him, I found more than love—I found life again. And for the first time, I knew I wasn’t invisible. I was noticed, I was seen, and I was loved.

[livelaughlovesubs]

Hiii, Nini! Can I please request a Sigma x male reader fic with impact play? We've seen Sigma in fics getting absolutely decimated by the reader LMAO- I almost feel bad, so here's a twist, this is light impact play. Instead of spanks/floggers he can brace for, nope, feathers that make him jump out of his skin every time, giggling despite himself because wtf he's taken so much worse-. I think he'd absolutely lose it with the lighter/gentler stuff more so than the harder stuff purely because of how flustered he'd get XD. Ps I'm making it canon, you cannot look at him and tell me that stressed-as-hell man ain't ticklish.

Ahhhh so true!!! I imagine him as very sensitive and ticklish as well, like 🤤🤤 also since the gender wasn’t mentioned anywhere, you can interpret it however you want :]

Dom!reader x sub!sigma - reader is gn neutral

Warning: tickling/soft impact play, teasing, humiliation, slight dacryphilia (can’t write a fic without good’ol dacryphilia), using his hair as a brush???

Edit: started & finished this in the middle of the night, I’m so tired and I didn’t proof read it, also my brain is cooked idk what I did here

It’s been too quiet these days. Too boring, too mundane, too relaxing. There were many adjectives that would fit this little dilemma you were facing, called ‘dying of boredom’. You’ve been waiting around for your sweetheart to make a mistake, just so you’d have a reason to punish him. Yet how could it be that he’s so perfect in every way possible? You weren’t even exaggerating or meaning to sing his praises, heck you wanted him to be a little more human!

Otherwise you couldn’t think of a good reason to pull him out of his busy schedule, just to have him all to yourself, in such a selfish way. He wouldn’t agree, everyone knows how he puts his work above everything else. Such a horrible work ethic he has. Whatever, no one is perfect, even the manager of the sky casino will have to slip up somewhere, and you were way too eager to find it.

Sigma was just signing some documents as you watched him over his shoulder, taking sneaky peeks as if he hasn’t noticed you already. At this point he was probably wondering what you were doing. It didn’t bother you in the slightest, in fact, you knew due to you being so close, he’d get nervous and overthinking again. Something along the lines of: Did you want something from him? Why were you watching him all silently, so creepily?

And there it was— what you’ve been waiting for! “Sigma~ gosh, you clumsy thing! You wrote down the wrong date there, look.” You pointed it out a little too enthusiastically, eyes sparkling like morning sunlight, reflecting how excited you were. He glanced at you funnily, probably baffled why you were so happy about it. “Ah- yes, I see, uhh.. thanks, y/n.” Sigma furrowed his brows for a split second, then turned his attentions back to the papers. Though before he could continue writing, you snatched the pen out of his hand.

“Nope, you made a mistake sigma, and such a simple one as well. Tsk tsk tsk.” You faked a disappointment sigh, and facepalmed, putting your acting skills to use, “I’ll need to punish you, don’t you think?” So that’s what you’ve been waiting for, and probably the reason why you were so full of glee earlier. “A-are you serious..? For such a small thing?” Sigma looked taken aback, leaning his head back until he met your eyes. A slight blush was already convering his pale cheeks, such a naughty boy, he was excited as well.

“Why of course, it was a grave mistake after all. Stand up.” He was more ready to comply than you thought, not making any fuss as he stood up. “Good boy, now sit on the table.” You moved the chair away, pinning his body between your arms and gripping the edge of the furniture. Sigma glanced at you a few times, seemingly surprised with your demand. To be honest he expected you to bend him over your lap. This was fine as well, in fact, this position would prove itself to be more comfortable than what he initially predicted.

You were close, all up in his intimate space. He swore he could feel the heat radiating off your body. A slight blush covered his cheeks as he waited for your orders, already feeling the effects you had on him. It was almost terrifying how much control you had with just a few words. “Come on, you know how it goes. Strip.” After waiting for what felt like forever, you smirked as you whispered to him. “Ah- right. Sorry.” The boy replied half-minded, hands moving up to unbutton his vest.

This wouldn’t have been all that humiliating if it wasn’t for the fact that you were staring him up and down like some prey, watching his every move as he peeled off one layer after another. “Can’t you.. look in the other way?” He muttered in a meek voice, currently taking his pants off. “I’ve seen you nude plenty times darling,” you reached for his hands and helped him undress, “why are you still embarrassed?”

“You- stop teasing me..” The way his face flushed even more while he desperately tried to shake your hands off was so precious, you couldn’t stop grinning. “Ever thought it’s part of the punishment?” You asked, grabbing his thighs and spreading them apart. They were soft to the touch, and so squishy, his skin was flawless. “Ah-ahh… I’m- I’m really getting punished… over that little mistake?” He bawled his hands into fists, biting his lips to stop the trembling.

“I mean what I said.” He inhaled shakily, and breathed an equally unsure exhale. Eyes glossed over and half-lidded, body burning under your every touch. Poor boy was just preparing for the worst. You gave him a reassuring smile, then raised your hand right over his thighs. So it was going to be spanking, he thought and squeezed his eyes together. To his surprise, instead of the painful slap he expected, he was met with a teasing one. In response his body twitched involuntarily, and his eyes ripped open.

He didn’t flinch because of the pain, no there was no pain to speak of. There were only a soft, faintly red mark that gradually appeared on his inner thigh. Pretty much nothing worth mentioning, you left more marks when you grabbed his skin to spread his legs. “Erm… Y/n?” He couldn’t help but question your actions. That was a slip up, right? He’s taken so much worse, compared to all that you were basically caressing him.

Suddenly, another slap, though just as soft and gentle as the first one, making him jump out of his seat. “Wait- y/n, what are you doing?” It was such a light slap, can you even call it one? Wouldn’t tap be a more fitting description? “Punishing you. Why, do you want to be bullied instead?” You teased, followed by another slap, this time on the other thigh, and his toes curled. Why did this feel even more embarrassing than anything else? The sound was way louder and more dramatic than the actual impact.

“Ah- no but, seriously, what are you doing?” Out of nowhere you slapped his chest, once again it wasn’t painful in the slightest. He tensed together, still able to feel your touch in the places you’ve touched. “Shhh, be good and endure it for me, alright?” Instead of answering him, you stroked his fluffy hair, and smiled all self confident. The look on his face screamed confusion, but he trusted you, and so he simply swallowed the lump in his throat.

You grabbed a strain of his hair, one of the longer locks, sliding your hand through them, a little amazed at how untangled his hair was. As soon as you reached the ends, you held it fairly firm in your hand, and used it like a brush to graze over his skin. First over his cheeks just to annoy him, earning yourself a glare from him, then a feather-light brush over his nipples. He really didn’t know where you were going with this, but god did it rile him up.

It tickled, and it was so foreign, he couldn’t help but subconsciously clench his thighs together. Hands trembling from clenching his fists too hard, the pounding of his own heart echoing in his ears. You made sure to not touch him anywhere except with your hands, which made him all the more sensitive. Those touches were driving him mad, and that fact itself made him all the more flustered. You were barely doing anything, how could it be that he wanted to cry amidst all these sensations?

Soft, muffled whimpers slipped from his swollen lips, he arched his back forward whenever everything became too much. “Hnng- please, ah.. stop the t-teasing…! Hmm..!!” You carefully traced a line down his belly, resting your makeshift brush around his pelvis and moving it in a circling motion. As if all this wasn’t humiliating enough, he now knew why you had him sit on the table. All so you could observe his every move, every shameful expression and listen to every shaky breath he exhaled.

“Look at you getting all excited just from a few touches, you are way more needy than you’d like to admit, aren’t you?” “HnnGh..~ p-please.. ah-!!”He whined again, feeling you finally, finally giving his neglected dick some attention. Only using one finger to lazily rub his tip a few times, before using his hair to brush over the already sticky gland. His precum slowly dribbled from his slit, down his shaft before getting smeared around by you. “So messy.” Was all you had to say.

“Y/n, y-you’re so Mnn.. mean,” he squirmed around, shaking his head as tears rolled down his crimson cheeks, “I-i wanna cum…” you tilted your head to the side, sliding the bush of hair over his inner thighs, “that’s not how you ask for things, baby.” Then you used your other hand to rub his tears away, it ended up with him crying even more. “Such a crybaby, why don’t you try asking nicely?”

He gulped, trying to cease the sobbing for a moment, bending forwards as he let his head drop. The shame was eating at him, but he really couldn’t do this anymore~ which is why he looked up at you like a lost puppy, with glistening eyes and rosy lips, shaking ever so slightly as he begged, “please.. ha-Ahhh…I-i wanna cum♥︎ please m-make me c-cum..!!♡♡♥︎”

You smiled, staying quiet for a moment to raise the intensity and anticipation, then wrapped your arms around his shivering body. “You’ve been so good for me, and good boys deserve to be rewarded.”

[keekee-23]

Beardless Betrayal

A Y/N x Damian Priest Fluff Fanfiction

Summary: Damian shaves his beard, shocking his baby daughter Luna, who bursts into tears, leaving him scrambling to win back her trust.

The living room was a cheerful mess of colorful toys and soft baby laughter. Six-month-old Luna sat on the plush rug, surrounded by stuffed animals, blocks, and a teething ring she was gnawing on with great determination. Y/N lounged on the couch nearby, watching her baby girl with a mix of amusement and adoration. Luna’s laugh was infectious, and her tiny giggles brightened the room like sunlight.

In the bathroom, Damian Priest leaned over the sink, scrutinizing himself in the mirror. His goatee—his trademark look—had become unruly in ways he didn’t like and making his skin itch. He scratched at his jawline, grimacing.

"Yeah, this has gotta go," he muttered, reaching for his trimmer.

He hesitated for a moment, staring at his reflection. It had been months since he’d gone clean-shaven, and the thought made him a little nervous. But then he shrugged. "It always grows back," he reasoned, flicking on the razor. "No big deal."

The sound of buzzing filled the bathroom as Damian went to work, carefully shaving off the layers of dark stubble until his skin was smooth. When he finally rinsed his face and looked in the mirror, he hardly recognized himself.

"Whoa," he said, tilting his head to examine the result. "Damn, I look... younger." He chuckled, running a hand over his now-bare chin. "All right, let’s see what the girls think."

Feeling lighter and more refreshed, Damian stepped into the living room with a grin. Y/N glanced up first, her eyes immediately widening in shock.

"Luis!" she exclaimed, sitting up straight.

Luna, hearing her mother’s startled tone, looked up from her teething ring and locked eyes with Damian. She froze, her tiny brows furrowing as she stared at her dad. Her gaze shifted from his eyes to his chin, as if she were trying to piece together a puzzle.

Then it happened.

Luna’s face crumpled. Her bottom lip quivered. A deep, sorrowful wail erupted from her, and her arms shot out toward Y/N as if begging for rescue from the stranger who had invaded their home.

Y/N blinked, stunned, before quickly scooping Luna into her arms. "Oh no, baby, it’s okay! It’s okay!" she cooed, bouncing Luna gently. "It’s just Daddy!" She turned to Damian, her lips twitching as she fought to keep a straight face. "Luis, what have you done?"

Damian stood there, dumbfounded, his hands half-raised as if to plead his innocence. "What do you mean, what have I done? I just shaved! That’s all!"

Luna, however, wasn’t buying it. She buried her face in Y/N’s shoulder, crying as though her world had been turned upside down.

Y/N couldn’t hold back her laughter any longer. "Luis," she said, shaking her head as she rubbed Luna’s back, "she doesn’t even recognize you! You broke her little heart."

"I broke her heart?!" Damian exclaimed, pointing to his face. "It’s still me! Same voice, same eyes, same everything—just less hair!"

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him, her expression both amused and sympathetic. "Apparently, the goatee was part of your whole identity, babe. She’s not ready for this kind of change."

Damian groaned, running a hand over his bare chin. "Come on, Luna. It’s Daddy! Look, see?" He crouched down, trying to make eye contact with his daughter. He spoke in a playful tone, the same one that usually made her giggle. "Mami, it’s me. You’re not even giving me a chance here!"

Luna peeked at him from the safety of Y/N’s shoulder, her teary eyes full of distrust. She sniffled, her tiny fists clutching at her mom’s shirt as if to say, Who is this strange man, and why is he pretending to be Daddy?

Y/N laughed so hard her sides hurt. "You’ve got some work to do, Luis. She looks like she’s about to call security on you."

Damian threw his hands in the air. "Oh, come on! It’s not that serious!" He sighed, then leaned closer to Luna, speaking softly. "Okay, Luna. I’ll grow it back. I promise. Daddy made a mistake, and he’s sorry."

Luna’s cries softened, turning into quiet sniffles as she studied him intently. Slowly, she reached out a tiny hand, her fingers brushing against his smooth chin. She patted it, her expression one of deep confusion. Then, as if coming to a decision, she smacked his cheek with surprising force.

Y/N doubled over with laughter. "I think that’s her way of saying, ‘Don’t ever do this again.’"

Damian groaned dramatically, though he couldn’t help but smile as he cradled Luna in his arms. "Noted. Beard stays. Daddy’s not making this mistake twice."

Y/N grinned, leaning over to kiss his cheek. "Good. You’ve learned your lesson."

Damian looked at Luna, who was now starting to giggle again as she tugged on his nose. He smiled, his heart melting. "You’re lucky you’re cute," he said softly, kissing her forehead.

Y/N smirked. "She’s lucky? Luis, you’re the one who needs to win her back."

Damian sighed. "Great. My own daughter’s already harder to impress than her mom."

Luna squealed in delight, as if she understood the joke, and Damian shook his head with a chuckle. "At least one of you is laughing now."

[redheadspark]

hi!!! hope you're doing great. i was wondering if I could get Azriel from acotar with #15. thanks!!

A/N - This is beyond cute for Azriel, I hope you like it, anon!

Mattered

Summary - Azriel drinks in the morning while thinking of the peace in his life

Warnings - Just fluff

Azriel blinked awake, and the last bit of his dream escaped from him life fog through his fingers.

The dream seemed so real to him, not a nightmare but a dream.  He dreamt of his mother, her long black hair that was always braided or in her face to frame her eyes.  He remembered her smile, how big it was, and how it would lift his spirits.  But even before he could utter a word, he was awake.

And she was gone.

The fireplace licked to life from the moment he took in a deep breath, instantly filling the room with warmth since it was a pinch too cold for Azriel’s liking.  The room was still dark, the wallpaper and dark furniture keeping the room dark and dim as dark clouds still roamed over the sky at the House of Wind.  He breathed in slowly, stretching a bit before realizing he was not alone in the massive bed.  Looking to his left, he noticed you, his mate of over 400 years, curled up against a massive body pillow that you love to use every once in a while.  Your own thick hair was fanned out behind you, your bareback showing the scattered freckles that looked like constellations to him, even the way your lips parted as you were in deep sleep, Azriel thought you of as beautiful.  

He slipped the blanket back over you to keep you warm, kissing your neck lovingly before he moved out of bed.  He grabbed a sweater that was tossed on the armchair from the previous night, ruffling his hair as he threw it on and tiptoed out of the room.  Looking at you one last time as you mumbled and turned in your sleep.  Azriel had to smile, you were a bit comical to watch when you were sleeping.

The rest of the House of Wind was quiet, only dimmed lights along the hallways were evident to show that the rest of the home was asleep.  You and Azriel stayed over for the night since there was a massive snowstorm that hit Velris,  Azriel wasn’t comfortable flying you both back to your own little place by the bay where the ships docked.  Cassian offered one of the guest rooms for you two, to which you agreed and fell asleep with ease.  The guest room you both were in was on the first floor, tucked near the main terrace that overlooked Velaris.  Azriel figured, given the small amount of light that he could see creeping over the clouds that haunted its dump of snow, it was almost daw.

The temperature was cold, not too cold like the night before when Cassian suggested you both stay for the night, but cold enough for Azriel to see his breath.  He shivered slightly, though the cold was also inviting as he closed the door behind him and wrapped his arms around himself to scan the area.  Everywhere was blanketed in snow, from the tops of the mountains down to the docks and some even on the ocean water.  It almost looked like a winter wonderland from his view, the small shops dead asleep and the little homes that were tucked away in peace and safety.

Something he wanted for this place for quite some time.  

As some of the glimpses of sunlight started to come up to paint the sky a lighter blue, Azriel could think back to the plenty of times he would contemplate if he was doing the right things and making the right decisions for the sake of Velaris and Night Court, if hiding it away from the Other Courts and beyond was worth having his neck on the line.  But then again, this place was the one true sense of home he’d ever had in quite some time.  The found family he had, started with Rhsyand and Cassian, who never turned their backs on him.  In fact, he felt more at home than he’d ever felt before.  

But that sense of home grew tenfold when you came stumbling into his life and shook his world in the best way. 

He never pictures himself to be the romantic type, not like a long shot given his track record as a Shadowsinger and a spy for Rhysand.  He was too busy and occupied, too focused on certain things, even too complicated, to let someone come into his life and shift everything for him.  Not that he didn’t think about having any kind of love in his life, he did from time to time.  He was inwardly jealous that Rhysand and Cassian found their mates, and although he thought he had his own in Elaine which later turned out to be a mutual friendship, he had to wonder if he was ever destined to have someone of his own.  

You were the calm shores to his crashing waves, the gentle breeze to his gusts of wind, the rays of sunshine on a bleak morning.  From your smile that seem to make Azriel’s heartache, to the way you would twirl your hair while reading a book.  Even in how you knew how to defend yourself when in a fight as you two fought side by side against Hybern, Azriel was memorized by you.  But the one thing that drew him to you like a moth to a flame was your kindness.  You were kind to all you met, helped those who needed it, and were never selfish.  Not for one moment.  It made Azriel want to be a better version of himself, and he worked on that once you two started courting.

Centuries came and went, growth and love blossomed between the pair of you, and Azriel was certain that he could no longer live this life he had alone.  You were his guidance when he was lost, his comfort when he was struggling, and the love he’s been searching for since he lost his mother.

Another breath escaped his lips as he grinned at the view in front of him.  The snow was sticking, and another wave of snow was going to come within the hour.  But thankfully, Azriel and his mate had nothing planned for the rest of the day.  Nesta offered the library for you to use since you loved to read as much as she did, whereas Cassian and Azriel were planning to spar and train together in one of the open rooms of The House of Wind.  Mor and Armen were at their homes, as well as the High Lord and Lady a River House with Nyx. There was nothing really important to deal with, so it was now a time to have peace and reconnect.

“Can’t sleep?”

Your voice floated in the wind as Azriel turned his head slightly in your direction, hearing you sneak out onto the terrace where he was.  He grinned, you floated over to him with one of the massive comforter blankets that you both used for your sleep. Dropping it over his shoulders and avoiding his wings, Azriel tucked you under his arm to keep you close under the same blanket, kissing your hair as you wrapped your arms around him lovingly.  

“How could you tell?” He asked against your hair as you hummed.

“When you wake up early when you’ve had an intense dream,” You explained, squeezing him a bit tighter as you looked up at him with worry, “What was it about?”

You knew about his mother and how much he missed her from time to time.  He told you all that he could remember of her, and how he could hear her in his dreams.  At first, he thought it was silly to confide in you about his past it seemed painful and horrific.  But you simply took his hands in your own, kissing the scars along his skin, and loved him for all he was. It almost seemed too good to be true for him, to have someone love him and all of him.  Not just hard or a quarter, but everything.  Azriel never felt insane love like he did with you, who would make sure he’d eat and sleep, who would make him feel heard and admired, and who made Azriel rethink his future.  A future that involved a little home somewhere, maybe with a child or two or three, and to have peace.

You brought him that peace.

“Just my mother is all, and then of you,” He replied, you grinning from ear to ear as he kissed your forehead intimately, “It was a good dream,”

“That’s all that matters,” You reminded him, then patting his chest with your hand, “Let’s eat some breakfast and watch the sunrise before it snows again,”

“Sounds perfect,” Azriel hummed in agreement.  You both walked back into The House of Wind, the sky getting lighter by the minute as a new day was coming through Velaris.  He would follow you to the end of the earth and defy everything else, which sounded so strange coming from him but he never minded it.  Not with the soul that saved his life in more ways than one and kept him sane.

He had you, and that’s all that mattered.

The End

[himasgod]

Diluc x Reader

Where you help him pick his grapes at sunset

Where you help him pick grapes and spend the whole day working. Because you spend your time eating grapes instead of working, you end up playing pocky with a grape and sharing a wine in the evening.

The evening light painted the Dawn Winary in golden hues, and the vines seemed to glow as if they were grateful for the warm day. You stood by one of the barrels, admiring the view as Diluc carefully adjusted the last bunch of grapes into a basket.

“You know you don’t have to stay and help me, right?” he said with a slight smile, not looking away from his task.

“And you know I’m not leaving, right?” you replied, crossing your arms with a smile.

Diluc sighed, but there was a spark of amusement in his gaze as he looked up at you. It was rare to see him so relaxed, without the seriousness that usually accompanied him on his night patrols or while he tended to the affairs of the vineyard.

“If you insist…” he murmured, straightening up and offering the basket. “Then at least do something useful.”

“Useful?” you glared at him, feigning indignation as you took the basket. "I've been working all day!"

"Calling eating more grapes than you pick "working" is a bit generous, don't you think?"

You blushed, though you couldn't help but laugh too. It was true: you had succumbed to temptation more than once. The grapes were sweet and juicy, and you didn't regret trying a few… or several.

"It's a necessary quality control" you declared proudly.

So, you grabbed a grape from Diluc's basket, one that looked especially large and juicy, and held it between your fingers.

"I've already done my quality test. Now it's your turn to try them."

And with that, you put your lips into a duck beak shape and held the grape between them. Your plan was malicious but cunning. Diluc looked at you with a raised eyebrow

"So you expect me to taste the quality of my own perfect grapes from your lips?"

You gave a thumbs up smiling as best you could, your lips busy holding the grape between them.

Diluc sighed before placing a hand on your lower back and pulling you a little closer to him. With his other hand, he raised it to your cheek cupping it and with a lazy smile, giving you a slow and soft kiss as he stole the grape from your lips, passing it to his own. He continued kissing you as he savored it a little, before pulling away and saying.

"As perfect as ever"

"The grape or me?"

"Who knows"

With a big smile as if you were a little girl you grabbed the basket and began to deposit the grapes while humming a song, your spirits high.

Diluc shook his head, but his smile didn't disappear. He watched as you carried the basket into the cellar, noticing how the last rays of sunlight illuminated your face. There was something calming about sharing these moments with you, away from the bustle of Mondstadt and the shadows that often haunted him.

“Come here,” he called to you after a while, pointing to a small wooden bench on the porch of his mansion, overlooking the vineyards. In his hands, he held a bottle of red wine he had taken from the cellar.

You joined him, and Diluc poured two glasses before taking a seat beside you.

“This wine is new. I wanted to try it with you before presenting it at Angel's Share. You know I normally hate wine, but a glass won't hurt me."

“With me?” you asked, smiling widely.

“I trust your opinion… when you're not too busy eating the grapes, that is.”

You both laughed, and the moment felt perfect. The night breeze was beginning to blow gently, and the taste of the wine was exquisite. But the best of all was seeing Diluc like this: relaxed, enjoying the present, and sharing with you a lighter, more human side of himself.

“It’s delicious,” you said, smiling as you raised your glass to him. “I think Charles will be delighted.”

“I hope so. But…” Diluc raised his glass, his expression softer than usual. “Even if he wasn’t, this moment is worth it.”

It was in those moments that you realized how much it meant to him to have someone to share the small pleasures of life with.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request <3

[hecallsmegirlieee]

sunday morning

m.list ◦ askbox

synopsis: on a lazy sunday morning timothée plays guitar to you

The sunlight entered like a guest uninvited, filling every corner with gold. Even the most forgotten corners of your bedroom bloomed under its touch. 

Soft, endless music swirled in the air. Timothée, sat at the edge of the bed, was playing guitar. Morning light fell generously on his face and the curves of his shoulder as his fingers moved lightly over the strings.

Words unnecessary, you remained drowned in silence, gaze fixed on the window, watching sleepily the stains of rain and the fleeting sparks amidst the infinite light that danced into your bedroom. You smiled, but Timothée remained tied to his melody.

A sigh escaped your lips, breaking your silence, and you tilted your head on your pillow, eyes now on him. You, absentmindedly, toyed with your hair, looping strands between your fingers and then your lips.

He was lost in his own world, the wandering sound of his guitar a testament that he was there. The tune drifted around the room unhurried.

Your toes touched his arm, tentative and mischievous. He didn’t look up, but you caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth. You bit the smile off your lips and encouraged, your foot wandered further, brushing the slope of his shoulder and tracing down to his collarbone. He paused for a moment, glancing down, then snapped his teeth playfully toward your foot. You gasped, pulling it back under the covers as laughter spilt into the room making the sunlight seem brighter.

« What are you playing ? », you murmured, the question breaking gently against the music. Tim shrugged, his fingers drifting over the guitar tenderly in inexpressible delight, each note a quiet murmur. His gaze stayed unfocused at something only he could see. Then, with a sudden shift, his eyes turned to you, alive now, filled with light.

« Name a song and I’ll play it, » his fingers momentarily stayed still and then he balanced his chin on top of the guitar.

« Don’t do this to me, you know I’m indecisive. »

« Come on, » he tilted his head to the side, waiting. You pouted, sitting up on your elbows, letting the blanket slip from your shoulders. The sunlight caught in your hair, and his eyes lingered on you.

« Anything ? » Timothée nodded, and you dropped your head back, thinking. « Okay, then play... the one I like. »

« Alright, the one you like, » he repeated, turning back to the guitar. His fingers moved over to the frets. « Pay attention, » he added, glancing at you with a curve on his lips.

You smiled, sinking back into the pillow, your head melting to the side, as you let the melody pass through you.

A delicate hypnotic progression echoed, the sound weaving around you like a dream. You loved this song, melancholic, yet subtly uplifting.

« You always like the sad ones, » he murmured, half to himself, and your smile widened.

The melody unfolded with a restrained intensity. His voice joined the guitar, unpolished and raw. You could feel him in your veins, the song a gentle tide in your soul. He sang with a bittersweet tenderness, each note whispering a secret. The guitar hummed like a distant memory, and for a moment time had stilled as if the world around you dissolved.

The last note hang in the air, and he continued with another tune. You slid your foot to his knee again. He faltered, the strings stuttering.

« What happened Timo ? Don’t know the chords ? » He shook his head, letting out a low chuckle as he adjusted the guitar.

« You’re impossible, » he murmured, shaking his head, but the warmth in his voice betrayed him.

His fingers shifted to the frets, playing a lighter and playful song. You tilted on your elbows again, your stare moving out of the window looking at the weather. Then you threw off the covers ready to get up.

« Where are you going ? », he called, the notes of the guitar ringing as you swung your legs off the bed. You stretched lazily before grabbing the sweater draped over the chair.

« Just getting something, » you replied, slipping it on.

« Get back here, » he murmured, the sound of the guitar fading as he set it aside and reached for you. His fingers found the waistband of your shorts, tugging gently, his touch teasing. You turned toward him, a playful laugh escaping your lips, and leaned down, brushing your teeth lightly against the sharp curve of his jaw.

You moved away from him, grabbing a sweater from the closet, tossing it his way before slipping away to the kitchen. The faint sound of his voice trailed behind you. The floor was cool under your feet as you reached for the bowl of mandarins, their bright orange skins glowing in the sunlight penetrated mysteriously through the window.

The scent of citrus rose as your thumbs worked effortlessly, peeling the fruit as you made your way back to him.

When you returned, he was leaning back on the bed, his guitar resting idly on his lap. You dropped onto the mattress, resting your head on his thigh.

« What’s this ? », Tim asked in a mock curiosity.

« A mandarin. Want one ? », you looked up at him.

His lazy smile spread wide as he caught your eyes. You separated the peel seamlessly from the sweet fruit, all in one piece. Pressing a piece to his lips, he bit into it, juice spilling onto his chin. You laughed, wiping it away with your thumb.