necrozica

Latest Posts by necrozica

an angel on earth✨

Is this a Richy reference??

Be right back, gonna go bawl my eyes out

Charlie core, pt.1

Mc rn:

theres a whole new dynamic here

No, mc is actually traumatised.

can we normalize that every fic doesn't have smut? sometimes we just want some good angst and a little fluff!

CHAPTER 3

Genre: Slow-burn, Arranged Marriage au!, angst, fluff, Workplace Romance, Dramedy & power dynamic.

Warnings: visa stress, mild panic response, mentions of deportation, workplace tension, mentions of legal pressure, cursing, light crude language, mentions of death and somewhat proofread.

Please note that the visa processes and mentions are not accurate and should be ignored for the purpose of the story.

WC: 6.2K

a/n: I have realized that chapters are not as long as i want them to be, for the pace of the story. So the chapters from now onwards would be somewhat this length. Hope you enjoy!

Feedback, Reblogs and likes are all greatly appreciated!

MASTERLIST

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Synopsis: When a cold, career-driven art gallery director in Sydney faces sudden visa trouble, she proposes a fake two-year marriage to her charming but reluctant assistant, Hwang Hyunjin. What starts as a professional arrangement quickly spirals into chaos, complete with immigration scrutiny, staged couple moments, and Hyunjin’s dramatic, high-society family. Trapped in close quarters and tangled in lies, can they keep up the act… or will real feelings get in the way?

The deal was made on a Wednesday.

By Monday, it felt like it had never happened.

The chaos of the gallery had swallowed the last few days whole—back-to-back meetings, frantic approvals, half-eaten lunches, and more meetings again. Your inbox was a battlefield. Your head was pounding. By the time the office emptied out, the sky outside had long faded into navy, and the halls were quiet—eerily so.

Everyone had gone home. Everyone except you.

“One last email and then sleep,” you muttered under your breath as you walked back from the conference room toward your office, fingers wrapped around a too-hot paper coffee cup. The bitterness was comforting. Grounding. You focused on that instead of the way your legs ached or how your to-do list still glared at you from your phone screen.

Lost in thought, you shook your head and reached out to flick on the lights—

And nearly dropped your coffee.

Hyunjin was already inside.

Not just inside, seated comfortably in your chair, feet tucked under him, spinning in slow, lazy circles like a kid waiting for his ride home. He looked completely at ease, like he owned the place. Or like he’d been here long enough to forget he didn’t.

You froze in the doorway.

“Why are you still here?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral, but it came out more startled than you’d meant.

Without missing a beat, he held up a bright pink Post-it, waving it in the air like a prize on a game show. It was smudged and crinkled, your name scrawled across it in thick capital letters next to a crude stick-figure drawing of you in what might’ve been a wedding dress… tumbling dramatically off a cliff.

“We’re getting married on Saturday,” he announced, grinning like he’d just solved world peace.

Your brain short-circuited. For a full second, you just blinked at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Saturday,” he repeated, rising from the chair and stretching like this was all perfectly routine. “That gives us five days. Marriage license today. Suits tomorrow. Rings Wednesday. Couple photo Thursday. Interview prep Friday. Wedding on Saturday. Boom.”

He clapped his hands once for effect. Like a director calling a cut on a scene he’d just nailed.

And the worst part?

He was completely serious. Deadpan. Calm. Irritatingly collected, like this wasn’t your entire career and life imploding beneath a Post-it and a five-day plan.

You, on the other hand, were unraveling. Quickly.

“I never said Saturday.”

“You didn’t say not Saturday,” he replied with a maddening shrug, as if that loophole sealed the deal. “And time’s ticking, boss. You want to stay in the country, right? Keep the job? Want me to fake-love you in public for two years?”

He pointed to himself, eyebrows raised. “Well, here I am. Let’s move.”

And then, just like that, he walked past you, out the door. Like he ran this operation now. Like you'd somehow become the assistant in your own crisis.

You stood there, stunned. Coffee cooling in your hand. Heart pounding behind your ribs.

This is happening too quickly, you thought, breath catching in your throat.

No... you need it to be quick.

Before you have time to think. Before it starts to feel like something it’s not. Before either of you mess this up worse than it already is.

When the early sunshine came the next day, both of you had already made your way to the marriage license office building.

The marriage license office was a beige wasteland.

The walls were a dull, lifeless color, interrupted only by peeling posters that had probably been there since the 90s, advertising marriage benefits with awkward stock photos of smiling couples. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering every few seconds, casting a sterile, almost oppressive glow across the cramped, windowless room. A sad, half-dead plant in the corner struggled to stay alive, its brown leaves limp and curling.

Hyunjin sat next to you in the uncomfortable plastic chairs, whistling the Jeopardy theme under his breath, a tune that seemed at odds with the suffocating blandness of the place. He tapped his foot rhythmically, clearly doing his best to maintain some semblance of normalcy in the middle of this absurd situation.

You focused on the forms in front of you, the sound of your pen scratching across paper filling the silence. The clicking of the clock on the wall was the only other noise in the room, ticking away seconds that felt like hours. You could feel the weight of everything pressing on you—the speed of it, the absurdity of it—and yet, you kept filling out the forms. No room for second thoughts now.

The clerk behind the counter, a middle-aged woman with an air of resignation about her, didn’t even look up from her computer when she asked, “So, are you excited?”

You glanced at Hyunjin.

He didn’t hesitate. “We can’t wait,” he said, his voice smooth, warm enough to fool a polygraph. His tone was perfect—too perfect, like he'd rehearsed this exact moment in his head. His eyes were locked on the clerk, his smile a mask, too easy and practiced.

But you noticed the shift—the subtle tightness around his eyes, the way his shoulders were a little too straight, the small, almost imperceptible clench of his jaw. The smile was still there, but it didn’t quite reach him, not all the way. You'd seen that look before—at work, when something went wrong, when things started to spiral and he was too proud to let you see how it affected him.

And then, as if on cue, his hand brushed yours under the counter. It was a casual gesture, the kind that could’ve meant nothing, but you knew it wasn’t. It was too quick, too deliberate, too smooth. Reflex. A small part of the performance, the play they were both trapped in now.

Still, it made your fingers twitch. Like the brush of a phantom pain, sharp and unexpected.

You signed the papers with a flourish, the pen moving automatically, your thoughts distracted by the tension that hung between the two of you.

Hyunjin signed next, the quickness of his movement a little too sharp, too efficient. No hesitation. Done.

The deed was done.

Tuesday was suits.

The boutique smelled of cedarwood and old money, the kind of fragrance that clung to the air like a memory of aristocracy. Hyunjin groaned from the fitting room, his voice muffled but still carrying that familiar mix of irritation and drama.

“I look like a funeral,” he grumbled, stepping out in a charcoal three-piece suit that clung to his frame like it had been tailored just for him. Every seam, every stitch, was perfect, but he wore it with an unmistakable air of discomfort.

“It’s a wedding. You’re supposed to look expensive,” you replied dryly, trying to mask the fact that the suit actually looked unfairly good on him.

“I am expensive,” he muttered, tugging at the collar with a scowl that was far too cute to be taken seriously. “You just don’t appreciate the natural splendor of me in hoodies.”

You didn’t respond immediately. Mostly because you had no retort that could be as sharp as the suit’s fit on him. His hair was neatly tied back, a few stray wisps framing his face, and his posture was effortless, almost regal. His cheekbones, sharp enough to cut glass, could have been considered a weapon in their own right. It made your thoughts catch and linger, whether you wanted them to or not.

He caught you staring and raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a mischievous smirk.

“What?” he asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.

You quickly looked away, a hint of heat creeping up your neck. “Nothing. You’ll do.”

He tilted his head slightly, his smirk widening into something more playful. “Careful. That sounded dangerously like a compliment.”

You didn’t give him the satisfaction of responding. Instead, you turned on your heel and left before he could push any further, feeling the weight of his gaze still lingering on your back as you walked out the door.

Wednesday was rings.

The moment you stepped into the jeweler’s, the air was thick with the scent of polished silver and diamonds, their brilliance almost blinding under the soft, ambient lighting. The sales clerk launched into her rehearsed spiel about clarity, cut, and the importance of the perfect setting, her voice rising in enthusiasm with every word, as if she were presenting the very secrets of the universe.

But Hyunjin wasn’t having it.

He interrupted her after only five minutes, his expression a perfect mix of boredom and amusement. “Do you have anything that says ‘I barely tolerate her, but the IRS is watching’?” he asked, his voice too casual for the ridiculousness of the question, a hint of playful defiance in his tone.

The clerk blinked, visibly thrown off. For a brief second, you thought she might lose her composure, but she recovered quickly, her professionalism returning. You weren’t surprised by Hyunjin’s usual brand of sarcasm. You shot him a look—half exasperated, half resigned—and then turned back to the clerk, ready to end this charade. “Two plain gold bands. Size seven and nine.”

Hyunjin let out a low whistle, eyebrows rising in mock surprise. “Wow, boss. You know my ring size. I’m touched.”

“I Googled,” you said flatly, your voice laced with just enough amusement to mask the flicker of warmth that touched your cheeks.

Hyunjin tilted his head, his expression turning smug as his eyes locked onto yours. “My ring size is on Google? That’s a bad lie, boss,” he teased, the glint in his eyes daring you to keep the story straight.

You glanced away, pretending not to care as you fought the urge to smile. “You left your ring once on your table. That’s how I know.”

A pause, then his lips curled up at the corners, a small, knowing smile. He looked down at the floor, almost like he didn’t want you to catch the pleased glint in his eyes, the one that betrayed how much the moment meant to him. It wasn’t often you saw him like this, vulnerable, even in his smugness. But when you did, it made the world feel easier, the connection between you two oddly natural. It was a moment that could’ve stretched on forever, something too comfortable, too effortless as though you’d done this a thousand times before, even if you hadn’t.

The clerk eventually brought the rings over. Their simplicity stood in stark contrast to the store’s otherwise glittering display, a quiet testament to the unspoken commitment they symbolized. You inspected them briefly, feeling the weight of their promise in your hands, then paid without hesitation. The motion was swift, practicing a routine you’d long since perfected. You handed over your card with the kind of precision only someone who’d done this a thousand times could muster.

And then, without another word, you walked out.

As the door chimed softly behind you, there was a strange silence between you. Not uncomfortable, but thick with unspoken thoughts. The weight of the rings, the deal, everything that was yet to come, it all seemed to settle between you like a shared secret. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you needed to

Thursday was Felix.

The gallery was quiet, the kind of silence that settled into your bones when the lights were dimmed and the world outside carried on, oblivious to the small dramas unfolding inside. Felix, the in-house photographer, showed up after hours, a DSLR swinging from his neck like a necklace and a mischievous twinkle in his eye. His energy was contagious, but you didn’t need him to know the truth. You didn’t need anyone to. He was too excited, too thrilled to question anything.

“You’re in love,” he squealed, bouncing toward you both, his hands moving toward Hyunjin’s hair as though he were fluffing it for the shot. “Ugh, enemies-to-lovers is real!”

Hyunjin took it all in stride. His expression was blank, but there was something about him, some subtle shift in his posture, that made it seem like he might be getting better at pretending. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, but it was there, a faint curve of his lips, like he could almost fake his way through a wedding photo.

You stayed by the brick hallway, the one corner of the gallery that had a faint trace of romance. The soft warmth of the stone, the low hum of the air conditioning, and the way the light caught the edges of everything, it was the closest thing to a quiet moment you could find in this chaos.

Hyunjin walked toward you and came to stand beside you. Without saying a word, he reached for your hand, his fingers brushing against yours.

You hesitated for only a moment.

Then you let him.

“Closer,” Felix called out from behind the camera, his voice too excited for someone who wasn’t the one being photographed.

Hyunjin leaned in. The warmth of his body pressing against yours was subtle, but undeniable. His shoulder brushed yours, and his fingers tightened slightly around yours, the pressure faint but there, like they were slowly learning the shape of a lie.

The flash went off with a soft, almost imperceptible pop.

Your post had no caption, just the image: a moment frozen in time, his head tilted toward yours, a look that felt too natural to fake. His read:

 Guess i’m a husband now 🤷‍♂️ #prayforme

You didn’t laugh.

Instead, you stared at the photo, watched the way his expression held that strange, half-amused warmth, the way your hand fit in his like it belonged there. And as you studied it, something twisted deep inside of you. We don’t look fake.

And that thought terrified you more than anything.

Friday was rehearsal.

The ceremony was set to take place in a small, ivy-draped church in Paddington. A quiet favor, called in from someone who owed you more than one. Simple. Minimal. Legal. No grand gestures. No friends or family. Just the two of you, and a reverend who’d once thanked you for helping his daughter land her first gallery internship.

You spent the entire day at your desk, rehearsing lines like an actor preparing for their last audition. Where did you meet? When did you fall in love? What’s something he does that annoys you? The usual questions. The ones that would help make the story feel real.

You asked the last one out loud, mostly to break the silence. “What’s something he does that annoys you?”

Hyunjin didn’t hesitate. “He leaves paintbrushes in the sink.”

“I do not.”

You looked up from your notebook to find him standing in the doorway, sipping his third iced long black of the week. He raised an eyebrow at you, his gaze playful but steady.

“You do,” you insisted.

“Name three times.”

You didn’t hesitate. “You want them chronologically or alphabetically?”

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as he sauntered into the room, sinking into the chair across from you.

“Are you nervous?” he asked, his voice softer now, less teasing, more genuine.

You stared at your notebook, the words on the page blurring into the background. “I don’t know what I am.”

There was a long pause, and then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke again. “This isn’t forever.”

You looked up at him, your chest tightening in a way you hadn’t anticipated. The words hit harder than you expected.

“We’re not doomed to this,” he said, his tone softer now, almost like he was trying to convince himself.

“I know,” you said quietly, your heart beating a little faster.

“We’re not... us,” he added, his gaze searching yours for something that wasn’t there.

You nodded, your throat tightening.

“I know.”

But something in the air shifted. There was a sharp, aching sting in the quiet between you, something that made it feel more real than you were ready for. Because maybe, just maybe, part of you wanted it to be real. Wanted it to be something uncalculated, something unearned, something that wasn’t just your job, your duty, your obligation.

And that thought, no matter how much you tried to dismiss it, stayed with you, lingering like an unsolved puzzle.

Later that night, it rained.

You stood outside the gallery, the sky falling sideways. You’d forgotten your umbrella.

Hyunjin appeared beside you, silent, and handed you his.

“You’ll get soaked,” you said.

He shrugged. “Been through worse.”

You didn’t thank him. Just tightened your grip and stared ahead.

He lingered for a beat too long.

Then stepped into the storm.

His silhouette blurred and vanished down the street.

And you stood there, holding the umbrella he’d left behind, watching the sky come undone.

For the first time since this all began, you wondered if you'd made a mistake—not because of the risk. Not even because of the lie.

But because somewhere along the way, the rules were already starting to blur.

And Saturday was almost here.

_______________________________

The chapel was small, quiet, with ivy trailing down its stone walls like the delicate strokes of old poetry. The air was thick with the scent of eucalyptus and something warm, something sunlit, like wood drying after a storm.

“Look happier, you’re getting married,” Felix said, snapping him out of his thoughts. His voice was light, teasing, but with that ever-present note of concern.

“I’m happy,” he replied, offering a small smile. It was enough to satisfy Felix, who turned back to snapping photos of the chapel with a soft hum of approval.

This was it. He repeated the words in his head, though they felt heavy…too heavy. He was getting married. No, he was getting into a fake marriage with his boss. For two years. The more he thought about it, the more it made his legs feel like they were losing feeling, as though the ground had turned to liquid beneath him.

His eyes scanned the room. Where was she? She was late.

She was never late.

Maybe the nerves had gotten to her too, he thought, trying to ease the discomfort creeping in. No. She was the infamous, cold-hearted director of the gallery, Ms. Y/N. If anyone had control over their nerves, it was her. Or so he’d thought. The thought of her waiting outside made him feel more unsettled.

With a sigh, he pulled out his phone, beginning to scroll through his contacts, but just as he was about to tap a name, a sudden flash of white caught his eye. He turned quickly, watching her run in through the church door. She was barefoot, her heels in one hand, her dress, a mid-sized, satin white gown, flowing behind her in the way only a dress meant for a wedding could. She was breathless, her cheeks flushed with a mix of exhaustion and embarrassment.

She doubled over, trying to catch her breath, and he couldn't move. His eyes stayed fixed on her.

This woman. His boss. The woman who, in every moment of their professional life together, had always held an air of unshakable control. But now? Now she was human. Beautiful. The kind of beautiful he hadn’t expected to see, not like this. Sure, he had seen her in elegant gowns at gallery openings and charity events, but this? This was different. This was their wedding. Her wedding, to him.

And for some reason, it made his heart ache, a familiar ache that had been building over the last week, each passing day making it harder to ignore.

He snapped out of his thoughts, shaking his head for what felt like the hundredth time that day.

She straightened up, looking at him with a sheepish smile. “Sorry I’m late. My car broke down, I had to take the subway as I couldn't find a taxi on time” she rambled. 

“It’s alright” he said, forcing his voice to steady. “The official is here, and Felix is here. We’re just waiting for the ceremony to begin.”

She nodded and moved to sit next to him, quickly slipping her heels back on with an effort that seemed to take her mind off her racing heart.

A beat passed.

“You ready?” she asked, her voice a little softer now, more genuine.

He wasn’t. Not even close. But he couldn’t tell her that.

“Sure” he lied.

She studied him quietly, her eyes dropping to his hands.

“You’re trembling.”

He quickly pulled his hands behind his back, trying to mask it. “I’m fine.”

“No, you’re spiraling,” she said, stepping closer. Her gaze didn’t waver, and he could see that she wasn’t concerned in the way a friend might be. This was her usual, calm, detached way of handling things, but there was something steady about it now. Something grounding.

“Don’t pass out. That’s a lot of paperwork,” she added with a small smile, her words light but full of the practical concern that only she could offer.

He let out a breath, almost a laugh, and met her eyes again. Something in her expression softened. She wasn’t as unreadable as usual. Calm, yes. But not distant. Like if he fell, she’d be there to catch him. Sure, she’d probably roll her eyes while doing it, but she'd catch him.

She was close now, and the warmth between them felt almost like a secret, like something neither of them was ready to acknowledge.

“It’s not too late,” she said, her voice quieter now. “We can run. Stage a mugging. Pretend we were abducted by aliens.”

He blinked, caught off guard by her words. “You think aliens would take us both?”

Her lips curved into a smirk. “You, definitely. Me? Maybe if they’re into tortured artists.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you weren’t tortured.”

She paused for a second, eyes narrowing slightly. “I said I wasn’t dramatic. Different thing.”

His lips twitched at the familiar banter. She always knew how to make him laugh, even when the circumstances didn’t call for it.

She offered him her arm.

Without thinking, he took it.

She didn’t walk down the aisle in the way most brides did. It wasn’t necessary. There were only flashes of people and cameras, this wasn’t a traditional wedding, after all. The reverend gave them both a small, understanding smile, as if he knew this wasn’t a romantic union, but he was still part of the charade.

The vows were brief. Legal. No passion. She recited her words like she was reading from a script, and he did the same.

His hand shook when he took hers, and he saw that hers trembled too.

The kiss wasn’t planned. It wasn’t part of the contract, but neither was the sudden wedding to his twenty-five-year-old assistant, a woman who once called a $400,000 sculpture “the rock with depression.” No, the kiss was just another checkbox. A formality, like the rings, the signatures, or this entire absurd arrangement.

He leaned in, watching her.

She didn’t pull away.

Neither of them did.

It was supposed to be brief. A quick peck to seal the deal.

But it wasn’t.

The moment stretched, lingering longer than either of them had expected. His hand settled lightly at her waist, not possessive, but steady. Anchoring. He could feel her tremble too, just like he had.

They didn’t pull away immediately. Something shifted between them in that brief, unspoken space.

And for just a second, everything else blurred.

The click of the camera. The reverend’s final words. All of it faded.

Because for a moment, neither of them was pretending.

And in that moment, he couldn’t decide if it terrified him more than it thrilled him.

_______________________________

After the ceremony ended, after the legalities, the signature, and that kiss they hadn’t rehearsed, they both stood outside the chapel, saying goodbye to an overly emotional Felix. He’d hugged them both a little too tight, dabbed at his eyes like this was the ending of a romance drama, and promised to send over the photos “once they were filtered and flawless.”

Then he was gone, the sound of his cheerful humming disappearing down the block. And just like that, the two of them were alone again. No crowd. No champagne. No reception or rice thrown in the air. Just silence, a cool Sydney evening, and the faint sound of distant traffic.

They walked side by side down the quiet street, their footsteps echoing slightly off the old stone sidewalk. It wasn’t what newlyweds usually did after a wedding. There was no shared car, no honeymoon suite. No whispered plans or shy laughter. Just two people headed toward separate cabs and separate homes like colleagues ending a long workday.

But they weren’t just colleagues anymore. Not legally.

“Good job today,” they both said at the exact same time, the words overlapping.

He let out a breath of a laugh, shaking his head. “This is it.”

“This is the start,” she replied, but her voice was softer, almost unsure.

He glanced sideways. There it was, that furrow between her brows, the tightness around her mouth. She was worried. Probably about the immigration interview tomorrow. She’d been calm at the chapel, composed in front of the reverend, but now that it was just the two of them, that armor had slipped. Slightly.

He should say something. Be the steady one for once.

“The interview will go well tomorrow,” he said after a beat, his voice low and certain. “If you’re worried.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared ahead at the empty road, lips pressing into a thin line. Then, finally, a nod. “Let’s hope so” she said, offering a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Another silence stretched between them, comfortable and heavy at the same time.

Her cab arrived first. A silver sedan pulling up with a soft rumble of the engine. She turned to him, her expression unreadable again, something caught between fatigue and something else he couldn’t quite place.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said, voice quiet.

“Yeah. See you tomorrow, wifey,” he replied, trying for levity. It came out a little more tender than teasing.

“Thanks, hubby,” she said, too tired to roll her eyes but playing along anyway. Her smile lingered for a second longer this time.

He watched her gather the hem of her gown, lifting it carefully off the sidewalk to avoid the edges of the street grime. She slid into the cab with a soft thud, her body folding in like she’d been running on adrenaline all day and it had finally worn off. Through the glass, she looked at him again. No words, just a wave. Small. Hesitant.

He waved back, hand raised halfway. She closed the door.

The cab pulled away slowly, tail lights disappearing down the road, and suddenly the street felt much emptier than before.

He stood there for a while longer than he meant to, staring after her even when she was gone. Then he reached into his pocket for his phone, checked the time, and let out a sigh.

Married. He was married.

And tomorrow, they’d have to convince a government officer that this was real. He just hoped it wouldn’t be harder to fake now that something inside him didn’t feel fake at all.

With one last glance down the street, he turned and walked toward his own cab, the eucalyptus-scented air still clinging to his clothes like memory.

_______________________________

The waiting room was beige. Aggressively beige.

You sat side by side on cracked leather chairs while a digital clock ticked far too loud and a fluorescent light flickered overhead like it was interrogating you before the interview even began.

A tall officer with a clipboard appeared at the doorway.

“Y/N L/N and Hyunjin Hwang?”

You both stood.

He led you down a corridor into a small, windowless room.

Inside were two officers: one older woman with sharp eyes and a presence that filled the room, and a younger man who looked a little lost in her shadow. No smiles from either. It was clear who was in charge.

Just clipped greetings and the sound of a tape recorder clicking on.

“This interview is being recorded,” the woman said. “You’ve applied for a Partner Visa Subclass 820, with Hyunjin Hwang as your sponsor.”

You nodded.

A door opened again.

“Mrs. L/N & Mr. Hwang.”

Another officer, different suit, same fog-colored tone, led you down a second hallway into a sterile room with a table, two chairs, and a camera mounted to the ceiling.

No ceremony. No comfort.

Just two pens. Two files. And one giant lie.

_______________________________

The lead officer had the kind of face that gave away nothing.

Not cruelty. Not curiosity. Just… silence.

“We’ll be recording this conversation,” she said. “Answer honestly. Any deliberate omissions or contradictions will impact the results of your application.”

Hyunjin nodded beside you. His leg was still bouncing. You wanted to reach for it. Steady him. Steady yourself. You didn’t.

“Let’s begin.”

She opened a folder. “Where did you meet?”

“At work,” you said.

“Solstice Arts Gallery,” Hyunjin added. “She was my boss.”

“She still is,” you muttered.

“Cute,” the officer deadpanned. “And when did the romantic relationship begin?”

You hesitated. “Around… September?”

“August,” Hyunjin said at the same time.

You flinched.

She made a mark on her form.

You forced a laugh. “He’s better with dates.”

“She’s better with moods,” Hyunjin shot back.

The officer didn’t react.

_______________________________

The questions came faster than expected.

Your first trip together. What side of the bed you sleep on. Who does the dishes. The name of Hyunjin’s shampoo. Your favorite type of flower.

“Lilies,” he said. “She hates roses. Thinks they’re cliché.”

You looked at him. “...That’s actually correct.”

“Of course it is,” he muttered.

“Her middle name?” the officer asked.

“Elise” Hyunjin answered without missing a beat.

You blinked. “You remembered that?”

“I forget things. Not you.”

It sounded too soft. Too close. Like it came from the wrong place in his chest.

You turned back to the officer.

Then her tone changed.

“Miss L/N, your visa renewal request was filed three days before the marriage application.”

You froze.

“Yes,” you said. “My work visa was expiring. I needed a new path to stay.”

“And this marriage,” she said slowly, “appeared, very suddenly…just in time.”

Your mouth went dry.

“It wasn’t planned that way.”

She gave you a long, unreadable look. “You’ve lived in Sydney for nearly five years, yet have no local emergency contacts, no immediate family, and minimal social records outside of your workplace.”

You swallowed.

“My parents passed away a long time ago. I moved here after uni.”

“No roommates? No personal references outside the gallery?”

You didn’t answer fast enough.

“And the wedding, organized in five days, without family or friends present. Minimal guest list. No reception.”

“It was… private.”

She clicked her pen. “Convenient.”

They split you up halfway through.

Hyunjin was taken to another room. You stayed behind.

Your chair felt smaller without him beside you.

“How long has he lived with you?” she asked.

You scrambled. “Two weeks. No…ten days.”

“What color are his bedsheets?”

You blinked. “Dark green?”

“Wrong,” she said. “He said navy.”

You swallowed.

“What’s the name of his mother?”

You paused. “He… doesn’t talk about her much.”

She stared at you. “He gave us her name. And number.”

You closed your eyes.

_______________________________

Meanwhile, in the next room, Hyunjin was unraveling.

He looked calm, back straight, voice steady, but his mind kept replaying every time he almost reached for your hand. Every time he almost kissed you like it meant something.

He hated how close the truth felt. Like a lit match near dry paper.

“What does she do when she’s stressed?” the officer asked.

“She makes tea,” he said. “But never drinks it.”

“What’s her worst habit?”

“She stays too late at work. Tries to fix everything herself. Thinks that if she lets go for even a second, the world will fall apart.”

The officer scribbled something.

“How many siblings does she have?”

He looked up.

“She doesn’t.”

_______________________________

They brought you back into the same room after an hour that felt like a week.

You sat. Didn't speak.

The officer closed her folder with a sharp clap.

“Your answers were inconsistent.”

Your spine stiffened.

“You contradicted yourselves on multiple domestic details. Anniversary dates. Sleeping arrangements. Family.”

You felt Hyunjin shift beside you.

“There are red flags in your timeline. The speed of the marriage. The lack of documented history. The proximity to your visa expiration.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it.

“It doesn’t feel natural.”

“It was complicated,” you said quietly. “But it’s real.”

“Is it?”

You couldn’t answer that.

“At this time,” she said, “we are not convinced this is a legitimate relationship.”

The words landed like ice water.

“But,” she added, “this isn’t a final decision.”

You looked up, hopeful. Too hopeful.

“You’ll be placed under a six-month observation period. Home checks. Surprise visits. Digital audits. We’ll also be contacting your employers, coworkers, and known family members.”

Hyunjin went still.

You barely heard her say, “You may go.”

You walked out on autopilot.

_______________________________

The café was too quiet.

Not in a peaceful way, just empty enough for the air to feel tense. Artificial. Like the silence was watching them too. Like it had taken a seat at their table.

Hyunjin sat across from her, elbows resting on the cool laminate, tie loosened, collar tugged open like he couldn’t breathe right. His blazer was somewhere behind him, probably slipping off the back of the chair, but he didn’t bother turning around to check.

He kept folding a sugar packet between his fingers. Crease, flip, crease. Again and again.

The paper had softened from the heat of his hands. It was pointless, a stupid nervous habit. But it gave him something to focus on. Something that wasn’t the hollow look in her eyes or the buzz of dread still crawling under his skin.

She hadn’t said a word since they walked in.

Not about the way the immigration officer’s stare had lingered too long.

Not about the failed answers. Not about the holes in the story.

Not about the final words delivered like a verdict: “You’ll be monitored for six months.”

He didn’t need to look up to know she was still gripping her coffee cup like it might save her.

Like if she let it go, the whole thing would collapse. Her hands were probably burning, but she held it tighter anyway.

Hyunjin broke first. His voice was low, almost apologetic. “It could’ve gone a lot worse.”

She let out a sound—somewhere between a breath and a laugh. Bitter. Detached. It didn’t reach her eyes.

“Yeah. Well. I tanked it anyway.”

He looked up at her then.

Her head was tilted slightly downward, lashes casting soft shadows beneath her eyes. She wouldn’t meet his gaze. Her fingers were trembling.

He hated that. Hated that she was the one shaking, that she was the one shouldering all the blame. Like she hadn’t saved his job. Like he hadn’t looked her in the eye and agreed to this mess.

He was the one who’d said yes. He could’ve walked away. He should’ve.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

She blinked like she wasn’t expecting it. “For what?”

“For dragging you into this.”

Her eyes finally found his. Still tired. Still defensive. But softer, for just a second.

“Hyunjin,” she said, voice thin. “I dragged you into this.”

He gave a small shrug, voice quieter this time. “Yeah. But I let you.”

The words hung there, suspended between them like the rest of the conversation they weren’t having.

She turned her head, gaze drifting to the window beside them. Outside, a woman in a blazer was laughing into her phone. A couple crossed the street, fingers intertwined, sipping iced drinks like they had all the time in the world.

She looked tired. Not physically, though the dark smudges under her eyes said otherwise. No, this was something deeper. That bone-deep weariness people carry when they’ve been surviving too long.

“We’re gonna have to live together now,” she murmured.

He nodded slowly, still watching the empty chair next to her instead of her face. “That’s one side of it.”

The other sides whispered at the edge of his thoughts—the rules, the check-ins, the pretending. Smiling in front of strangers. Memorizing a script. Lying to his family. Acting like he was in love with her, when sometimes—quietly, secretly—he wondered if maybe it wasn’t all an act anymore.

She shifted again, one foot curling under the chair like she wanted to disappear into it.

He hated that she looked like she wanted to vanish.

And even more, he hated that he didn’t know how to make this easier for her.

The silence came back, pulled a chair up to their table again.

Outside, the world kept spinning. People walked by with their coffees, their to-do lists, their simple lives.

But for them, something had shifted. No reset. No do-over.

They were in it now.

Too deep.

Six months.

And it already felt like forever.

──────────────

Continue Reading....

@tsunderelino @linofthelace @necrozica @vixensss @ @girlblogger-04 @my-neurodivergent-world @t1eekn0wsaurus @casperlynn23 @edevotion

Breathtaking

Intern (Pt 5)- Lee Know

summary: as the final month of your internship begins, keeping your emotions separate from your professional role becomes harder than ever, with the collaborative concert drawing near, tensions rise—not only on stage but between you and minho, who’s desperate to salvage what's slipping away

pairing: lee know x fem!reader

genre: angst, fluff, humor

word count: 5295 words

a/n: thank you so much for loving this series! I think this might be my most popular one and it honestly means the world, I really hope the wait was worth it! Love you always, my puddings ♡

Intern Series - Part Four

~°~

Your shoes echoed softly against the polished wood floor as you slipped into the staff room. Thankfully, it was empty. The moment the door shut behind you, you exhaled like you’d been holding your breath for hours. You stood there in the middle of the room, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself, as if you were trying to physically hold all your emotions in. You didn’t even know how your legs even carried you there. Your heart was still hammering in your chest, your pulse deafening in your ears. 

What just happened?

Your chest burned. Not with sadness but with fury. You were angry. No, scratch that, you were livid.

How dare he say those words—so easily, so suddenly—like he hadn’t spent weeks pushing you away. Like he hadn’t left you in that gray zone, hovering between hope and heartbreak, constantly questioning if you were the problem. You’d convinced yourself to move on. To detach. To protect your own heart. And now, after all of it, he wanted to say I love you? Just like that?

After everything. After making you feel like you were the fool for reading too much into the way his eyes lingered, the way he looked at you like you were everything—and then turned cold the moment you stepped a little too close, dismissed you like you were the problem, the one who “flirted too much.” You’d swallowed that hurt. You moved on. You forced yourself to. And now, suddenly, he loves you?

You let out a bitter laugh, pacing the room.

Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore. Slowly, with trembling hands, you grabbed your bag from the shelf where you’d left it earlier that morning. You needed to leave. Now.

*******************

Minho didn’t even realize how long he’d been standing there, his fingers tangled in his hair, his heart hammering in his chest like it wanted to escape his ribs. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, and every moment since you’d walked away played on repeat in his head, like a broken record.

I lost her.

The thought echoed in his mind, louder with each passing second.

He didn’t hear the footsteps at first. It wasn’t until Hyunjin’s voice cut through the thick silence that Minho finally snapped back to reality.

“Hyung?”

Minho didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed on the ground, his body hunched in on itself, trying to hold himself together when everything inside him was falling apart.

“Hyung, what’s going on?” Hyunjin asked again, softer this time, stepping closer. He bent down beside Minho, concern furrowing his brow.

Minho shook his head, his voice barely above a whisper. “I lost her, Hyunjin... I don’t know what to do.”

Hyunjin’s heart twisted at the sight of his hyung like this, a shell of the confident, playful Minho he’d always known. The way his hyung’s hands gripped his hair tighter as he let out a pained groan, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. It was raw—painful.

“You didn’t lose her yet,” Hyunjin said, his voice firm but gentle as he put a hand on Minho’s shoulder. “I know it feels like you did. But you can still fix this.”

Minho’s face twisted in anguish, his lips trembling as he let out a breathless laugh, but it was hollow, empty. “I don’t know if I can. I... I hurt her, Jinnie. I pushed her away when all I had to do was be honest. And now... now she’s gone. She walked away from me.”

Hyunjin stayed quiet for a moment, taking in Minho’s words. He could see it now—the weight of regret, the desperation in his eyes.

“I don’t think she’s gone,” Hyunjin said carefully. “You’re both stubborn, hyung. You’ve been dancing around each other for so long. You didn’t want to admit it, and neither did she. But I don’t think it’s over. Not yet.”

Minho looked up at Hyunjin then, his eyes searching, hoping, desperate for any kind of reassurance. “But what if it is? What if I ruined it beyond repair? What if she doesn’t want me anymore?”

Hyunjin paused for a moment, then spoke quietly, “You’re not the only one who’s scared, hyung. She’s scared, too. But you’re the one who has to be brave now. Not only for her— but for yourself too. Because if you don’t try, you’ll regret it forever. You know that.”

Minho let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging. Hyunjin’s words hit harder than he expected. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was still a chance, but only if he had the courage to act.

Hyunjin stood up, offering his hand to Minho. “You’re going to fix this, hyung. But you have to start with telling her the truth. About everything. And you’ve got to be ready for whatever comes after. Don’t let her slip away without fighting for her.”

Minho’s hand trembled as he took Hyunjin’s, pulling himself up to his feet. His heart still ached, but the words hit something deep inside of him. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

*******************

You barely remembered how you got home. The keys slipped from your fingers twice before you finally managed to unlock the door. The moment you stepped inside, your knees gave out and you slid down against the wall, feeling the weight of everything crash over you.

Your phone wouldn't stop buzzing. Hyunjin kept calling again and again. You pressed your forehead against your knees, willing yourself not to break down, willing yourself not to hope. And when your phone buzzed for the tenth time, you simply reached over, turned it off, and tossed it into a corner.

You couldn't do this. Not right now. Maybe not ever.

The next morning, your body moved on autopilot. You typed a message to your supervisor with trembling fingers, lying easily.

“I have a bad migraine. Won’t be able to work on fittings today. I’ll continue working on the designs remotely.”

A polite response came back almost immediately—“Take care. Focus on feeling better.”

You needed space—space from him, from the suffocating weight of everything. It was already the final month of your internship. Just a few more weeks, and you wouldn’t have to see him again.

You told yourself that over and over like a mantra as you buried yourself in sketches, swatches, sewing patterns. The living room became your sanctuary. You stayed hunched over your work for hours, sketching until your fingers cramped, trying to come up with excuses to tell your supervisor so that you do not have to step anywhere near their dressing rooms. Anywhere near him for the remaining internship period.

One step at a time—you just had to get through this.

The major stage collaboration was coming up, the biggest project of your internship, the one that could launch your career if you gave it your all.

Let the countdown begin.

*******************

48 Hours Before the Concert

You returned to work with your heart armored in ice. 

The company was in chaos. The stylists were rushing, the managers were running, the boys from both groups were rehearsing endlessly. No one had time to notice that you’d disappeared from their orbit—well except for Minho and Hyunjin.

You avoided their practice room like it was a battlefield. Instead, you locked yourself away in the design room, sketching out costumes, adjusting stitching details—anything to keep your hands busy, anything to keep your mind from wandering.

Minho tried to talk to you. At first, you heard his footsteps. You caught glimpses of him hovering by the door. Once, when you dared to glance up, you saw him standing just outside the window, his face tense, uncertain. But you dropped your head back down before he could gather the courage to step inside. You didn’t give him a chance.

Hyunjin also tried texting, looking for you after rehearsals, even poking his head into the design room but couldn’t find you since every time, you made yourself smaller, quieter, easier to miss.

You weren’t ready to face Minho. You weren’t sure if you ever would be. 

At some point, even Hyunjin gave up trying, swept away into the madness of final rehearsals, concept checks, and the insane pressure of the collaboration stage they were preparing.

You thought you were safe. You thought you could make it to the end.

24 Hours Before the Concert

Minho was unraveling. He didn’t even bother pretending anymore. He was searching for you like a man possessed. Between rehearsals, between fittings, between breaks—his eyes flicked around desperately, always hoping to catch a glimpse.

He sent messages—one after another.

Minho: "Can we please talk?" Minho: "Just for a minute. You don’t even have to say anything. Please." Minho: "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Y/N."

You stared at the notifications, feeling your chest clench painfully.

You left them unanswered.

Because you were afraid. Because you didn’t know if you could survive hearing more empty words. Because some wounds weren’t meant to be picked open again.

That night, Minho sat in the darkened practice room, back against the mirror. The others had gone home. He stayed. The blue glow of his phone lit up his face, your unread messages staring back at him like ghosts.

He typed. Deleted. Typed again.

His thumb hovered over the send button for a long time before he finally pressed it.

Minho: "I miss you."

Short. Honest. Bare. You never replied.

12 Hours Before the Concert

The final rehearsal was a whirlwind of noise and energy.

Seventeen and Stray Kids crisscrossed the stage, voices overlapping, last-minute notes flying as everyone tried to perfect every second. Everyone was running around doing their assigned tasks– sound engineers hovered by the sides of the stage, tweaking mic volumes and running emergency checks, stage managers paced with clipboards, calling out timing cues and adjusting placements, stylists were doing last-minute fittings.

You stayed hidden behind the racks of costumes, keeping yourself busy threading last-minute repairs on stage outfits, sketching alterations for the collaboration stages. Minho saw you once—just a glimpse—and started towards you immediately.

You ducked behind a different aisle and disappeared before he could even call your name.

He slumped against the wall, dragging a hand through his hair. His heart ached. He was trying. God, he was trying. But you wouldn’t even look at him. And he knew he deserved it.

That night, he sat alone again. Hyunjin found him there, in the same spot, legs pulled up, forehead resting on his arms.

"Hyung…" Hyunjin said softly.

Minho didn't look up.

"I don’t think she hates you," Hyunjin added after a while, voice low. "She’s hurt. But she doesn’t hate you."

"I hate myself enough for the both of us," Minho murmured.

*******************

Day of the Concert 

You were up before sunrise and rushed to the company, it was going to be a long day. You began helping the senior stylists prepare everything. You kept your head down, blending into the background.

Minho tried to find you again, between makeup, between fittings.

Once, you walked right past him. You felt his eyes—burning, aching—trailing you, but you didn’t turn around.

He watched your retreating figure with a helpless kind of yearning, his heart feeling like it was being squeezed dry.

He typed one last message.

Minho: "If you don’t want to forgive me... I understand. But I love you. I love you, Y/N."

He didn’t expect a reply. He just wanted you to know.

You read his message, but your fingers stayed frozen above the screen. You couldn't trust yourself to reply. Not yet.

Soon after, it was time to leave for the concert venue.

Everyone from your company piled into multiple vans, buzzing with pre-show nerves and excitement. Seventeen would meet you all there, coming straight from their own company.

You slipped into one of the vans early, picking a seat at the very back. You tucked your bag close, phone clutched tightly in your hands. Minho hurried behind you, heart hammering in his chest.

There was a small opening beside you. He didn't even think—he moved to sit there.

He was about to slide into the seat beside you but at the very last second, you shifted, scooting away from the aisle, pressing yourself impossibly closer to the window. Pretending like you needed more space.

Minho froze mid-motion.

He stood there, awkward, shattered, the empty space where you had been just a second ago feeling colder than anything he'd ever known.

His hand tightened around the back of the seat for a second, his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Without a word, he dropped into a seat several rows in front instead, boxed in between Jisung and Seungmin.

The van door slammed shut, the engine rumbled to life—but Minho barely noticed. He barely heard the others laughing, hyping each other up. He barely felt the road vibrating under the tires. All he could feel was you—silent, turned away from him, just a few feet out of reach.

When they finally pulled up behind the venue, staff started piling out. You were the first one to slip off the van, blending into the chaos of bodies and equipment and flashing lights.

Minho lingered for a second in the seat, swallowing thickly as he watched you disappear into the crowd.

He had the urge to call out your name. He almost did. But he bit it back, lowering his head, heart cracking silently in his chest.

*******************

The air backstage crackled with adrenaline—stylists rushing, cords tangling, outfits getting last-minute steamed.

You were helping your supervisor adjust Felix’s jacket, smoothing the sleeves, checking the fit one last time. Your hands worked automatically, your mind floating somewhere far away.

Across the crowded room, Minho kept staring at you longingly. For a second—just a second—he thought maybe you’d let him. Maybe you’d glance at him. But when you shifted away, without even looking at him, it felt like a punch to the gut. Like watching a door slowly, painfully close in his face.

He sat down numbly at the makeup table, the bustling room fading into the background and all he could think was:

"I don’t blame you... but please, just once—look back at me."

Meanwhile, Hyunjin, sitting a few chairs away, was locked in the makeup artist’s grip, a brush sweeping across his cheekbones. But he still tried. He still tried to catch your eyes, frantic and desperate, needing you to see him. You lifted your head, sensing the weight of his stare and all you could offer him was a small, polite smile. Nothing more.

You could tell Hyunjin wanted to call out to you, to jump out of his chair, to explain everything he hadn’t been able to. But the makeup artist was sternly holding his chin still, murmuring warnings about smudging his foundation. He couldn’t move.

And so he watched you quietly, heartbreak pooling in his chest, as you finished adjusting Felix’s jacket...and turned away without another glance.

*******************

1 Hour Before the Concert

You had just grabbed a coffee from the catering area backstage, trying to escape the buzz of frantic preparations. The area was buzzing with energy, crew members darting from one spot to another, but you found a small moment of calm amidst it all. The food table was lined with snacks, coffee, and drinks, where you’d managed to find a brief respite. You were leaning against the counter, sipping your drink slowly, when the door to the room burst open with a loud bang.

Hyunjin stormed inside, his eyes wild and intense, looking like he had been running through the entire venue. His hair was slightly tousled, chest heaving with quick breaths as if he was on a mission.

Before you could even react, he reached for your wrist, gripping it firmly and pulling you out of the room.

“Come with me,” he commanded, urgency lacing his voice.

"Hyunjin—!" you gasped, stumbling after him. "What the hell are you doing?!"

"You’re done hiding!" he snapped, not even slowing down.

He pulled you into an empty band room backstage, and shoved the door shut behind you, trapping you inside. You barely caught your balance, turning to glare at him—but the look on Hyunjin’s face made your heart falter.

He looked furious. And desperate.

"You need to stop running, Y/N," he said, voice sharp, shaking slightly with emotion. "You think you’re protecting yourself? You’re just hurting both of you."

You crossed your arms, biting the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from crying. "It’s not that simple, Hyunjin—"

"YES, it is!" he cut you off, voice cracking, "You’re mad. You’re hurt. I get it. But Minho hyung—"

His voice broke again and he punched the wall lightly with the side of his fist, breathing hard.

"He’s dying," Hyunjin said, lower now, almost broken. "He’s breaking in front of us. He can't sleep. He can't eat. Every time he sees you, it's like someone rips another piece out of him."

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting the tears threatening to spill.

"You think you’re the only one hurting?" Hyunjin asked, stepping closer, so close you could feel the sadness vibrating off him. "He’s been tearing himself apart for days, trying to find a way to fix this, and you won’t even LOOK at him."

You shook your head helplessly, voice cracking, "He’s the one who—"

"He knows," Hyunjin cut you off desperately, "He knows he fucked up. He hates himself for it. You think it’s easy for him to stand there and watch you pretend like he doesn’t exist?"

You stared at him, heart pounding, breath shaking.

Hyunjin whispered, “He loves you, Y/N.”

“No, he doesn’t.” you shot back. “He saw Mingyu and got territorial. That’s not the same thing as love.”

Hyunjin’s voice softened a little, but the intensity stayed, "Listen to me. Minho hyung…he’s dying inside. He’s been trying to talk to you for days. He's not playing games. He’s not saying those things because he's jealous of Mingyu or whatever else you think."

You bit your lip, hard. "Then why, Hyunjin? Why now? After everything?"

"Because he’s an idiot who thought he didn’t deserve you," Hyunjin said, voice raw. "He pushed you away because he was scared he’d ruin you. Because he thought you’d be better off without him."

Your heart stuttered painfully.

"And seeing you laugh with Mingyu made him realize exactly what he was about to lose," Hyunjin continued. "Not because of jealousy. Because he saw you happy and he wasn’t the one making you happy anymore."

The lump in your throat grew unbearable.

"He really loves you, Y/N," Hyunjin said simply. "He’s loved you this whole time. He just didn’t know how to believe he was worthy of it."

Your vision blurred.

Then, Hyunjin went on to explain everything — how Minho had been in love with you all along, how he had been miserable every time you avoided him backstage, how he stayed up at night overthinking every glance you refused to give him. How he regretted what he said at that freaking party every single day, hated himself for it, how the weight of it had been crushing him more and more every time you turned away.

Hearing it laid out like that shattered something inside you. It wasn’t just regret in Minho’s lingering stares. It was love — raw, desperate, aching love. And it had always been there, even when you were too hurt to see it.

You felt suffocated. 

"Don’t do this," Hyunjin whispered, almost pleading now, "don’t walk away without hearing him out. If you ever loved him…even a little, give him the chance to explain."

You felt your walls crumbling under the weight of it all. Without another word, you tore past Hyunjin, sprinting down the hall.

You didn’t stop. You couldn’t stop. Not until you found him. You tore down the hall, nearly tripping over your own feet, chest heaving, heart racing so hard it hurt.

You didn’t know where you were going—you just knew you had to find him.

*******************

The greenroom was quiet—eerily so. Everyone else was getting hair and makeup in other room, doing last checks, hyping each other up. Minho sat there alone, away from everyone, for a moment. 

Meanwhile, you kept running— the backstage corridors blurred as you rushed past, heart hammering, breath coming in short gasps. Somewhere, you could hear the muffled sounds of last-minute chaos—stylists calling for touch-ups, managers barking out directions, the low hum of excitement—but it all felt far away, like you were underwater.

Finally, after checking room after room, your footsteps faltered in front of a greenroom tucked away from the rest. The door was slightly ajar, and you prayed he was inside. You pushed it open with trembling fingers, and your breath caught painfully in your throat.

There he was. Minho.

Sitting alone on the bench, fully dressed in his final concert outfit, the dark, sleek fabric molding perfectly to his figure. His mic was already clipped to his collar, earpieces in place, as if he were ready to go onstage any second. But he wasn’t moving.

He was hunched forward, elbows resting heavily on his knees, staring blankly at the floor like the world had already ended and he was the only one left to mourn it.

Sitting on the bench, fully dressed in his final concert outfit, mic already clipped, earpieces in. He was hunched forward, elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the floor like the world had ended.

The second he heard the door creak wider, his head snapped up.

He whispered your name, "Y/N..."

So soft. So broken. Like he didn’t believe you were real. It shattered you.

Before you even knew what you were doing, you rushed across the room, and before he could even speak, your hands were cupping his jaw and your lips crashed into his.

Minho stiffened for half a second, completely shocked and then his arms were around you, pulling you flush against him, kissing you back with everything he had. Your fingers tangled in his hair, your lips trembling against his with everything you hadn’t said, hadn’t dared to feel until now. 

When you finally pulled back, panting, you pressed your forehead to his and whispered, “I hate you.”

He laughed, hoarse and teary-eyed. “I know.”

“I hate how long it took you.”

“I hate me too.”

“But I love you.”

Minho stilled.

And then his arms wrapped around you tighter than they ever had. “I love you more,” he murmured. “And I swear I’ll prove it every day from now on.”

You smiled, your eyes full of tears and joy and relief. “You better.”

Minho’s voice was rough, barely a whisper as he spoke. “I’m sorry... I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

You blinked, your chest tightening with all the emotions that had built up. "I know, Minho. Just... show me. Show me you're not going to run away again."

His hand gently cupped your face again, his thumb brushing over your lips softly. “I won’t run. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Slowly, he leaned in again, this time more carefully, his lips brushing against yours with a softer, more deliberate motion, like he was savoring the moment, as if this was the first time.

The door slammed open.

"AHHHHHH! MY EYES!" Jisung screamed, dramatically throwing himself against the door frame like he was shielding himself from radiation.

You jolted apart, both of you wide-eyed and breathless.

Felix appeared behind Jisung, peeking into the room with wide, curious eyes.

"Hyung," Felix said, "We need to be on stage in like twenty five minutes." Then he glanced between you two and grinned brightly. "Also, um, HOW did this happen?"

Jisung gasped, "Like LIKE… you were literally at war yesterday! HOW are you kissing now? I need DETAILS!"

"Was it a secret make-up plan?? Did someone blackmail someone? TELL ME EVERYTHING—"

"Channie hyung’s gonna kill us if we’re late!" Felix laughed, tugging on Jisung’s sleeve, but he was also bouncing on his toes, eager for gossip.

"And Y/N, you have to explain later, okay? Like every single detail. Every single one."

Somewhere down the hall, you heard Chan’s voice yelling, "WHERE THE HELL IS EVERYONE?"

Minho groaned under his breath, leaning down to quickly kiss your forehead—just one soft second—and then he grabbed his mic pack and jogged toward the door.

But as he passed you, he whispered under his breath, only for you to hear, "Don’t go anywhere. I’m not letting you slip away again."

You stood there, heart pounding, lips still tingling, while Jisung whined the whole way down the hallway, “Yah! I’m serious! I'm coming for answers after the show!”

And you just laughed, happier than you had been in days.

*******************

The final performance was just moments away. Ten minutes give or take. You stood backstage, heart racing—not from nerves, but from everything that had happened.

Minho adjusted his mic, glancing at you with a silent question in his eyes. You stepped closer, pulling him aside for a moment, fingers gently brushing against his as you whispered, “Earlier, when Mingyu and I were talking… he wasn’t flirting.”

Minho blinked, caught off guard.

“He said he could see something going on between you and me. That he’d back off. And… that maybe I hadn’t noticed it myself yet.”

Minho let out a breathy laugh, hand raking through his hair. “God. I really need to control my damn jealousy.”

You smiled softly, Minho flushed slightly before saying, “He wasn’t wrong, though. About the heart eyes.”

You blushed then gently nudged his arm. “Come on, make peace with him. You two are too handsome to be fighting in the middle of rehearsals.”

Minho rolled his eyes but smiled, nodding. He walked over to Mingyu, who was talking with Joshua by the corner while adjusting his blazer, and you watched from afar as Minho gave a sincere apology. Mingyu accepted it with a grin and a clap on Minho’s shoulder, flashing you a wink behind him. Everything just… settled.

And then, the concert. The adrenaline. The stage lights. The roars of the crowd.

Both the collaboration stages and the groups' individual performances were breathtaking— hours of relentless energy, passion, and magic spilling out onto that stage. The entire venue was electric, a sea of waving lightsticks and screaming fans, every second more exhilarating than the last.

You danced and moved like nothing else mattered. But every time your eyes found Minho’s on stage, there was a knowing smile—one only meant for you.

After the final bow, the cheers still ringing in your ears, you were barely backstage for a minute when Minho grabbed your wrist gently and whispered, “Come with me.”

"Minho," you giggled breathlessly, "where are we even going?!"

"Somewhere no one will find us," he muttered determinedly, glancing around until he spotted a half-open door.

Without warning, he pulled you inside.

“I’ve been waiting all night,” he said, breathless.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t shy. It wasn’t careful.

It was urgent, desperate, his hands cupping your face as if he’d been starving for your lips. Your back hit the wall lightly as you gasped against his mouth, hands sliding under his jacket and gripping his shirt.

His lips moved feverishly over yours, like he was trying to pour every emotion he’d buried into this moment. When he finally pulled back just enough to breathe, he whispered against your lips, “You have no idea how crazy I’ve been going… not being able to do this.”

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging him back in. “Then don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

That kiss was everything—the apology, the promise, the confession, and the beginning. All in one.

*******************

The concert had ended, the cheers still echoing faintly in the corridors as everyone bustled around, packing up, high-fiving, celebrating.

Mingyu leaned against the wall near the dressing room door, sipping water and scrolling through his phone when a voice interrupted him.

"You were amazing up there," she said, her tone warm and teasing.

He looked up to see one of the stage crew members—someone he’d briefly chatted with before—smiling at him, her hands tucked behind her back, eyes bright.

Mingyu blinked, a little surprised. “Oh thank you. You too, the transitions were super smooth today.”

She giggled, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I did my best. But I was watching you the whole time.”

Mingyu raised a brow, a lopsided smile tugging at his lips. “Oh yeah?”

She stepped a little closer, playfully nudging his arm. “You always smile so much when you perform. It’s contagious.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess that’s a good thing.”

She tilted her head. “You doing anything after this?”

For a second, Mingyu glanced toward the dressing room, where laughter echoed—where his bandmates were chattering.

Then he looked back at her, his smile softening. “Not yet,” he said. “But I could be.”

Her grin widened.

And just like that, maybe Mingyu’s heart started to heal too.

*******************

Minho’s lips trailed kisses along your jaw, his hands framing your face as if he still couldn’t believe this was real. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, breath mingling as you leaned into him, every inch of space between you practically non-existent.

The air was hot, your heart pounding louder than any concert speaker. His forehead rested against yours, breathless as he whispered, “I’m not letting go of you again. Ever.”

You smiled, pulling him back into another kiss — slower this time, but no less intense. The kind that made your knees weak and your brain fuzzy, the kind that left no question about how badly he wanted you — and how badly you wanted him.

Your hands tangled in his hair, his arms locked tightly around your waist, pressing you against the wall. It was messy and breathless, both of you still slightly shaking from the adrenaline of the concert.

"Missed you," he murmured against your mouth between kisses, voice hoarse.

You were just about to mumble "me too" when a loud knock rattled the door.

Minho froze mid-kiss, groaning against your lips. You stifled a laugh.

“Hyung?” Han’s voice called, too amused for your liking. “Minho hyung, will this continue all night or should we leave snacks outside the door?”

You buried your face in Minho’s chest as he exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Minho hyung is seriously down bad,” Hyunjin chimed in, voice loud and dramatic.

“Excuse you,” Han called out, raising an eyebrow. “Your bestie Y/N is equally down bad.”

You playfully smacked his chest, laughing into his shirt. “Did your wife just out me like that?”

Minho groaned, forehead dropping against your shoulder in defeat, "Kill me," he muttered. "Right now. Just kill me."

You both heard Han and Hyunjin start bickering again — something about who was more down bad between you and Minho — and you couldn't help but giggle quietly against Minho, your heart feeling so full you thought it might burst.

“YAH!” Minho finally shouted, voice filled with exasperated affection. “You want to die? Leave us alone!”

A pause.

Then shuffling footsteps and exaggerated gagging noises as they walked off. You and Minho looked at each other and were shaking with laughter, tangled in each other and unwilling to part.

You sighed happily, still held close. “We really are that bad, huh?”

Minho leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Maybe. But I’m not sorry.”

Minho tightened his arms around you, swaying you both lazily, “I love you, you know,” he murmured, so gently it melted into your skin.

A big smile broke across your face.

“I love you too, Minho,” you whispered back, like it was the easiest thing in the world — because with him finally, it was.

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

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how is the south american aura actually turning chan latino

The amount of times I listened to railway this week is unhealthy 🫠🫠

warm hug

When tumblr refreshes itself and the fic I was reading fucking disappears forever 💔

I’ve been searching for a smau I was reading for three days 😔

I have to confess…. i can't take seriously a smutty fic in which they use the word "mommy" or "daddy" like, we're fucking , i don't want to think about my parents shut the fuck up

Pieces of Us

Chris Bang x fem!reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI

Genre: Exes to lovers, second chance love, fluff, smut

Summary: Even a year after your divorce, you can't get over Chris. You keep seeing him all the time because you're co parenting your daughter, and you see that he's still the same man you fell in love with. And you both haven't moved on at all.

It’s late. Your apartment is silent except for the hum of the refrigerator, as you sit on the sofa, nursing a glass of wine when you hear the doorbell.

You find Chris on your doorstep, punctual as usual, holding your toddler, Mia, against his chest, her small body curled into him like she’s still a newborn.

Your heart does a funny little lurch. It must be the wine. Definitely the wine.

“She fell asleep in the car,” he whispers, stepping inside. He is still dressed in his formals, and your traitorous eyes drink him in.

“Rough day?” he asks softly, noting the wine and the way your shoulders sag.

“Something like that,” you mutter, gesturing to Mia’s room. “You can put her to bed.”

Chris nods, carrying her toward her bedroom. He emerges moments later, quietly shutting her door behind him. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and a little too comforting.

“What happened?” he asks, folding his arms against his chest.

“It’s nothing,” you say, but Chris raises an eyebrow.

“Bullshit,” he counters smoothly, sitting next to you on the sofa. “You know you can't lie to me.”

You roll your eyes but relent and say, “Work politics. Same old garbage.”

Chris winces, before he leans forward and says, “You’re too good for them, you know that, right?”

Those are simple words, but they hit harder than they should. You glance at him, something raw flickering in your chest.

“Oh please,” you murmur, looking away.

“What?” He asks. “It’s true.”

You don’t answer, reaching instead for the bottle of wine. Chris doesn’t stop you as you pour a second glass.

“Here, celebrate my failures with me,” you tease, trying to ease your own heart. “I don't feel like wallowing in self pity alone tonight.”

He snorts, shaking his head, but takes the glass.

“You're so dramatic,”

“And yet, you were married to me for five years,” you quip, with a grin.

The wine loosen you both faster than it should. Soon, you’re reminiscing about Mia’s first words, and the road trip to Busan where the car broke down, and you ended up making out in the car till Minho came to rescue you both.

“I miss this,” you admit quietly, the words slipping out before you can stop them. “Talking...and everything,”

You and Chris had been good friends before you both fell in love. It had been the most beautiful years of your life before things started falling apart.

He doesn’t say anything, but reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. It’s subtle, but it sets your heart racing. Like always. Even a year after your divorce, you clearly haven't moved on.

“I miss it too,” he finally says, his voice low. “All the time.”

“Please don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” you mumble.

He leans in, closer than he’s been in a more than year, his dark eyes locked onto yours.

“You think I don’t mean it? You think I ever stopped wanting you?”

Your breath catches as he closes the distance between you. His lips hover inches from yours as he says, “I never stopped…”

It’s reckless, stupid, maybe even a mistake - but you don’t care. You let him close the gap, his lips crashing into yours, and everything you’ve been holding back spills over.

The kiss is messy and heated - all the pent-up frustration and longing coming crashing down. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer, and you melt against him, your arms circling his neck. His lips move against yours desperately, like he is afraid to let go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and a little lost, Chris brushes a thumb over your cheek.

“This doesn’t fix anything,” you whisper.

“No. But it’s a start.”

It’s intoxicating - the feel of him, the heat radiating off his body. You both pull each other close again, his lips moving down your neck, leaving soft kisses.

But somewhere in between, reality raises its nagging head and you falter.

“Wait,” you murmur, pulling back slightly.

Chris freezes, his breathing ragged, as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“This is… reckless,” you whisper, though your heart won't allow you to let go of him.

He exhales sharply, leaning back just enough to meet your gaze. “Y/N, I -”

“Don’t,” you interrupt, your voice trembling. “I don't want us to mess up again.”

He gives you a look and you think he might argue. But then he sighs. He looks exhausted and a little heart broken. But he stands up and says, “You’re right. We can’t… not like this.”

“You have to go.” You swallow hard, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you.

He stares at you for a long moment, then he nods.

“Right. I’ll… I’ll call tomorrow to check on Mia.” he says, clearing his throat.

You nod, biting your lip to keep it from trembling. Because this feels even harder than the first time.

“Goodnight, Chris.” you whisper.

“Goodnight,” he says, his voice rough.

As soon as he’s gone, the tears you’ve been holding back spill over. You sink onto the couch, your face in your hands, and you cry until your throat is raw. You missed him. And you still hate yourself for letting this happen.

It starts with a look. It always does.

The next time Chris comes by, it’s late again, Mia’s tiny backpack slung over his shoulder, and her hand clutching his tightly as they walk to your door. You try to play it cool, standing in the doorway with your arms crossed and a polite smile fixed on your face.

But then he looks at you and the air shifts.

“Hi,” he says, his voice lower than it needs to be, his gaze lingering on your mouth.

“Hi,” your voice shakes but it's soft.

Mia is already running into her room, way too excited to get to her new playset, and Chris watches her for a moment, before his gaze settles on you.

And then there are no words exchanged as his hands grab you towards him and he's pushing you against the kitchen counter, kissing you.

You moan softly as his tongue slips into your mouth. His hand slips down your back, cupping your butt before pulling you flush against himself.

“Is this going to keep happening?” you ask breathlessly, as he kisses down your neck. Past your collarbone. Down your chest. His face is buried in your breasts, before he kisses them over your t-shirt.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, holding on to him, and you gasp as he bites your nipple over the fabric and a dull pleasure courses through your body.

“What?” he murmurs, his lips back on yours again.

“This,” you say between kisses.

He kisses you again, rougher than before and says,

“Tell me to stop,” he says, and his hands cup your cheeks, gazing into your eyes.

You don’t. You can’t. Instead, you pull him closer, your bodies so familiar with each other.

It becomes a pattern after that. Anytime he comes over - whether he’s dropping off Mia or picking her up - it happens.

Sometimes it’s rushed and frantic, like the time he cornered you in the kitchen, your lips colliding as the coffee maker sputtered in the background. And other times, it’s slow and sweet. Especially when he knows you're a bit down or you're having a bad day.

You don’t talk about it. It’s easier to pretend this is just an outlet, a way to scratch the itch that never seems to fade.

You tell yourself this is only because he's the only man you've been with for so damn long. You two had married so young. You hate thinking about it.

So you don't. But deep down, you know it’s more than just sex. But you’re not ready to acknowledge it. Neither is he.

Friday evenings with Minho are sacred. He's your best friend, your big brother, your pillar of support. The one person who held you up during your separation from Chris. The only person who knows that you still loved him with everything in you.

Minho brings take out, you both talk, watch a movie, sometimes two. And fall asleep on each other because obviously, you both were the laziest besties in the world.

You've been trying to tell Chris to leave, but he is busy pounding into you. You stand with your hands grips the kitchen counter as he thrust into you from the back, his hands holding onto your hips tightly.

“He's gonna be here any minute!” You hiss, and Chris moves faster, and more rough. You try not to moan as waves of pleasure hit you, and you clench so hard around him, he's shuddering with his release.

“Fuck-” He groans, pressing his face against the back of your neck before slowly pulling out of you.

You both clean up and look somewhat presentable when the doorbell rings. You sigh because Minho will see right through you.

And he won't let you live this down. Ever.

You glance at Chris before opening the door. And Minho steps in already ranting about his day and he stops in his tracks when his eyes land on Chris.

Well that's a first - Minho being at a loss of words.

You freeze, your cheeks burning, while Chris awkwardly shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Hi, Minho,” Chris says, giving him a quick nod.

Minho doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looks between the two of you, his lips twitching in amusement, before slowly smirking.

“Hey, Chris.” Then, he strolls further inside saying, “Don’t mind me. I'm just here for my niece.”

He disappears into the living room, leaving you and Chris standing there like a couple of teenagers caught doing something bad.

“I should, uh, get going,” he says, though he doesn’t move.

“Right, yeah,” you stammer, smoothing your hands over your skirt nervously.

“See you on Sunday,” he says, opening the door.

“See you,” you manage, your heart racing again, and Chris flashes you a smile before leaving.

The moment the door shuts, Minho reappears, a wicked grin plastered across his face.

“Soooo…”

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m starting,” he says, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “You’re clearly fucking Chris freaking Bang and you want me to not start?”

“Minho,” you warn, making a beeline for the living room, and he follows you with that menacing grin still in place.

“So, when exactly did this ‘we’re just co-parents’ arrangement turn into ‘we’re fuck buddies again’?”

“It’s not like that!” you protest, though your face feels like it’s on fire.

“Uh-huh.” He says, starting to plate up the food. “You two were totally not flushed and guilty. Try again.”

You bury your face in a throw pillow.

“Linooooo stopppp!! It’s complicated.” you whine.

“It always is with you two,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You’re like Ross and Rachel, except somehow more frustrating.”

You peek out from behind the pillow, glaring at him.

“We’re not -”

“Don’t even think about saying you’re not into him,” Minho interrupts, pointing his chopsticks at you. “I know you, Y/N.”

You open your mouth to argue but immediately close it, because he's stating the obvious and there is no real use of denying it.

“I’m just saying, if you’re going to jump your ex-husband, at least warn me so I can avoid walking into it.” Minho smirks, leaning back smugly.

You groan, throwing the pillow at him. He dodges it easily, laughing as you sink further into the couch, hands covering your face.

“Seriously, though,” he says after a moment, his tone softening. “Are you okay? I mean, this whole Chris thing… are you sure about this?”

You sigh, staring up at the ceiling.

“I don’t know. I love him, Minho, and I swear I tried to move on…but, everytime I look at him…he's the same person I fell in love with. He's not a monster. He's a great father. He's a good friend. And.. and I don't even know why…” Your voice cracks a bit as you struggle with your thoughts. “Then we talked, and it’s like… like nothing’s changed. But everything has changed, and it’s so… messy.”

“Messy’s okay. You deserve to be happy, Y/N. Whether that’s with Chris or someone else.” he says softly. “If you're sure, then go for it.”

His words hang in the air, and for a moment, you let yourself imagine what it would be like to be honest with Chris. To let go of the pride and the fear and just… try again. Because God, you really want to.

Sunday arrives, and Mia is up early, ready for her day with her daddy. She even picks out her favorite toy to take along with her and insists on wearing the sparkly dress she knows Chris loves.

When Chris texts, you think it's to let you know that he's on his way. But it wasn't.

Chris: Hey, something came up. Can we reschedule Mia’s time for today?

You blink at it for a moment, heart sinking slightly. You don’t question it - life happens, after all. But Mia doesn’t take it as well.

“Daddy’s not coming?” she asks, her lower lip trembling and her little shoulders slump in disappointment.

You kneel down, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

“No, sweetheart. He’s just busy today, but we’ll see him soon. How about we have a girls' day instead?”

She looks up at you with big tear filled eyes.

“Girls' day? With Mommy?” she asks, and you nod, pulling her into a tight hug.

“That’s right. Just you and me. Let’s make it special.” You say, kissing her cheek and getting on with it.

You spend the afternoon indulging in ice cream, shopping for new art supplies, and of course, toys. You also take her to an indoor play area that she loves, and by the time you get home, Mia is falling asleep in your arms.

You carry her to her room, tuck her into bed, and she’s out within minutes. Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, you step out of her room.

The apartment falls into a quiet, peaceful lull. You wash up quickly and sit in front of the TV, hoping to watch an episode of that show you've been trying to watch for a while now. It's not exactly easy with a toddler around.

But around fifteen minutes into the show, you hear the sound of the doorbell. You open the door, and there stands Chris, holding a small box in his hand.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low, as he meets your gaze. “I'm sorry about today. I brought her favorite cupcakes.”

Your heart does a little flip at the sight of him.

“That’s sweet of you.” you say, “But she's already asleep.”

“Oh…I was hoping to see her before....ah,” Chris says with a little sigh.

You give him a small, sympathetic shrug.

“It's okay, she can eat them tomorrow,” You say with a smile and step aside to let him in.

He nods, stepping inside and setting the box of cupcakes on the kitchen counter. There’s disappointment in his eyes and it stirs something deep inside you.

“I’m really sorry, Y/N,” he says, and it feels like he’s apologizing for more than just missing his day with Mia.

“It’s really okay. Mia missed you, but we still had a good day. She was really happy.” you tell him.

Chris’s gaze lingers on you a moment too long before he says,“I feel like I keep letting you both down.”

“Chris, please don't say that,” you reply, giving him a small smile. “We know you’re doing your best. I know you’re trying.”

He nods, though he doesn't look completely convinced.

“So,” you say, trying to keep it light, “I’m about to have dinner… want to join me?”

It’s an innocent enough invitation. Casual. Polite. But the way he looks at you gives you an idea of what's about to happen next.

Chris takes a step forward, his hand gently cupping your cheek, and then his lips are on yours. The kiss deepens almost instantly and he pulls you closer, your bodies pressed together.

You stifle a sob, and Chris is quickly pulling back to look at you, tipping your chin up to see you better.

“Baby, please don't-”

“I love you-”

There is a moment of silence - Chris's eyes soften as he watches the tears fall. You can't believe you just said that. But this whole thing was getting more and more difficult to manage. The constant need to be close to him. Waiting for the days he spent with Mia, just so you could see him.

And then he's kissing you again, mumbling a hundred ‘I love yous’ you against your lips, and the next thing you know, he's scooping you up in his arms and carrying you towards your bedroom.

He closes the door gently (so that it doesn't wake Mia), and places you on the edge of the bed, kneeling down in front of you on the floor.

“Baby, I never stopped loving you. And there isn't a day where I don't regret letting you walk out of my life… we could've handled things better…and everytime I came here for Mia, I wished you would just ask me to stay. I selfishly wished that you wouldn't move on.” he says, his voice soft and his touch even softer as he placed his hands on your knees.

“I don't think I can ever love anyone like I love you. If you give me another chance, I promise I'll not let you down. I'll spend every day of the rest of my life proving to you that you're my everything… and I will be here for you, always.”

You nod and tears falling more rapidly now, and throw your arms around Chris's neck, and he wraps his arms around your waist, his face pressing against your neck as he holds you close.

“I love you, baby I'm sorry-” You cry, your arms tightening around him. “I didn't know what to do…the baby, the job, there was so much noise, and I wasn't well…I'm sorry I didn't see that you were suffering too-” you hiccup through your tears.

You feel his hand moving up and down your back in an attempt to comfort you.

“I know baby, I'm not mad. We were both suffering. We were both hurt. But we're here now.” Chris whispers.

“I love you, I want you back. Please don't leave me again-”

Chris kisses you again, stealing your breath away.

“No more crying over me ok?” He says with a soft smile. “I'm not going anywhere…I love you and Mia so much, I am going to be here-”

More kisses follow and you move back into the bed, and he follows, both of you pulling at each other's clothes.

He trails his lips down your neck, and it feels like the world outside your bedroom might as well not exist. His hands glide over your skin, gentle, but just as desperate.

You can feel the way he trembles against you, the way his breath catches as your hands move down his chest. And then when he slips inside, as gentle as ever, you can't help but cry, because as beautiful as the moment feels, you realize just how miserable you have been without him.

Chris moves slowly at first, and you close your eyes as the pleasure builds. He peppers so many kisses on your lips and neck, like he can't kiss you enough.

His fingers work on your clit as he moves, and soon your body shudders as your orgasm ripples through you. You moan softly, and it obviously has him crashing down too.

You don't let go, because truth be told, you're afraid he's going to leave. And tonight? You don't want him to. Actually, you don't want to see him walk out that door ever again.

And Chris isn't planning to, because he holds you just as tight, promising softly that he'll be here when you wake up in the morning. And you let your eyes fall shut, trusting him.

You both decide to take it slow, for Mia's sake.

Chris doesn’t officially move in, yet, but his presence is…undeniable. There are more of his things around the house, and more than anything else, it's the way Mia’s laughter grows louder every time he walks through the door. You’ve caught yourself smiling more too - wide, genuine smiles you hadn’t worn in ages.

You love watching him help Mia with her bedtime routine, fixing squeaky hinges around the house you’ve ignored for months, and finding every excuse to stay a bit longer.

And Minho? Well, he’s having the time of his life.

---

One Friday evening, you’re all gathered in the living room. Chris is helping Mia build a tower with her blocks while you sip wine and half-listen to Minho’s dramatic story about his latest “date gone wrong.”

“And then she said she didn’t like cats. Cats, Y/N. Can you imagine the nerve?” Minho says, gesturing wildly with his chopsticks as he digs into the takeout he insisted on bringing.

“Oh my God” you say, laughing as Chris adds, “Sounds horrible, but maybe try not to bring home every stray you find?”

“Don’t think I don’t see you trying to steal my best friend away. Again.” Minho narrows his eyes, pointing at Chris.

“Jealous, Minho?” Chris quips, and Minho scoffs, leaning back dramatically.

“Of you? Please.” Minho says. “But whatever this setup is, it's sure looks promising.”

You freeze mid-sip of your wine, while Chris raises an eyebrow.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” you ask.

“I’m just saying, for exes, you two sure look cozy.” Minho grins, and your cheeks burn, as you try not to look at Chris.

“Minho…” you warn.

“Don’t worry, Y/N. I’m rooting for you,” Minho says, winking before turning back to Mia. “Besides, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll adopt Mia. Because you two are idiots. And we're done dealing with you. Sorry, not sorry.”

Mia giggles at the mention of her name before getting back to her game.

---

Later that night, after Minho has left (eyeing you mischievously because Chris was still there) and Mia is asleep, you and Chris are clearing up the kitchen.

“You know,” he says, his voice low, “Minho isn’t wrong.”

“About what?” You ask, glancing at him, wiping your hands on a dish towel.

“About us. About this.” Chris says, leaning against the counter and folding his arms.

Your heart skips a beat as you gaze at him, watching him push off the counter and walk towards you.

The towel slips from your hands as his fingers brush against your cheek, and his lips land on yours.

It’s slow at first, warm and tender, but it doesn’t take long for it to snap and you're both pulling each other closer. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your body responding to his touch like it always has.

He pauses, his forehead resting against yours as you both catch your breath.

“I love you,” he says, pressing a soft kiss on the tip of your nose.

“I love you too,” you admit, and he smiles, his dimples making an appearance and your heart races as you reach up to run your fingers over it.

He kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring every second of it. And at that moment, this doesn't really feel like a second chance.

It’s the beginning of everything you’ve ever wanted.

The smell of pancakes fills the house as sunlight filters through the kitchen windows. Chris stands at the stove, a spatula in one hand, flipping golden-brown pancakes onto a plate. He’s wearing his usual gray shorts and a fitted black T-shirt. His hair is messy, a sign that he’s only been up for about twenty minutes, and he’s humming softly to himself as he works.

Mia sits at the table, still in her pajamas, happily coloring into a giant coloring book. This is such a dream. You lean against the counter, sipping your coffee, watching Chris with a faint smile that you haven’t been able to shake since he stayed over last night.

For the first time… in a very long time.

And then, the doorbell rings. You frown, setting down your coffee.

“Expecting someone?” He asks and you shake your head, walking to the door and opening it to find your mum standing there, a purse slung over her shoulder and a smile on her face.

“Mum?” you say, blinking in surprise.

“Surprise, sweetheart!” she says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. Wanted to see my girls, and I brought muffins!”

She holds up a bakery bag, grinning, then stops dead in her tracks.

Her gaze falls on Chris, who’s just turned around from the stove, spatula still in hand, his expression frozen like a deer caught in headlights.

“Oh,” your mom says.

There's silence for a second before Mia screeches, “Grandmaaaaaaaa!!!”

Your mum picks Mia up, pressing a kiss to her cheek before asking if she could play in her room for sometime. Mia pouts, but runs off with a muffin.

Her eyes narrow slightly, taking in how casual Chris looks, his messy hair, and the way he just seems to be part of the scene.

“Good morning, mum,” Chris says smoothly, recovering faster than you could've thought.

He smiles, dimples flashing, as he asks, “Pancakes?”

Your mum raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying his innocent act. She folds her arms, looking at you.

“Y/N… what’s going on here?”

“It’s not what it looks like,” you start, suddenly feeling like a child again.

“Mhm.” She gives you a look that says she doesn’t believe you for a second. “You’re telling me it’s normal for your ex-husband to be in your kitchen, making pancakes, looking like he just rolled out of bed?”

“Technically, I did just roll out of bed,” Chris says, unable to resist.

You shoot him a glare, but he has already turned back to the stove, hiding a smirk.

“Y/N?” Your mom’s eyes narrow further.

“It’s… kind of...,” you say finally, rubbing the back of your neck.

“Yes?” she prompts, looking from you to Chris and then back at you. You think she's going to give you a nice big lecture about responsibility. But she lets out a sigh, her posture softening.

“You know,” she says, her tone gentler now, “I always thought the two of you were good for each other. When you got divorced, I was shocked and devastated - for you, for Mia.” She pauses, her eyes locking with yours. “But if you’re giving this another try… I just want to make sure you’re happy, sweetheart. That you’re doing this for the right reasons.”

“I know I messed up before. I know I hurt your daughter. But I love her. I always have, and I’m doing everything I can to show her - and Mia - that I’m here to stay. I realize that I need them more than they need me…so yeah,”

Your mum’s gaze softens as she studies him, and then she looks at you.

“And you, Y/N? Are you happy?”

You glance at Chris, who’s watching you with that steady loving gaze that’s always made you feel safe and sure, and you nod.

“Yeah, Mum. I am.”

Your mom smiles, stepping forward to press a kiss to your cheek.

“Well, then. I suppose I’ll have to stick around for breakfast. Those pancakes smell amazing.”

Chris grins and gets back to work, and your mum nods, making her way in to properly greet her granddaughter again.

Just as she disappears, Chris slides up beside you, his hand brushing yours as you start setting the table for breakfast.

“That went better than expected,” he murmurs, his voice low.

“You’ve always been her favorite, you know.” You glance at him, your lips twitching into a smile.

He smirks, leaning in just enough to make your heart skip a beat.

“Good to know I still am.” He pecks your lips quickly before getting back to work.

You roll your eyes, but your smile lingers as your mum comes back with Mia in her arms. And you all sit around the table and enjoy breakfast.

It’s chaotic and imperfect, but it's home. And for the first time in a long time, you feel like everything is exactly where it’s meant to be. All the scattered pieces of you finally fit.

Divider by @saradika-graphics

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere @pixie-felix @sailor--sun @satosugu4l

dominATE in SÃO PAULO D1 (250405) / © all4minho

"I'd break bones to keep you safe"

Felix x ex-military! male! Bodyguard! reader

Part three!

Summary: Being a famous idol came with its own risks and threats.. Which is why Chan hired a bodyguard with experience. And a certain someone falls for the protective man.

Warnings: None

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

The cold concrete floor was the last thing you remembered before everything went dark. The weight of the support beams, the searing pain in your arm and shoulder, and the deafening roar of the crowd above—it all blurred into a haze of exhaustion and agony.

When you came to, the world was a blur of fluorescent lights and muffled voices. The steady beep of a heart monitor punctuated the silence. You blinked slowly, your body heavy and unresponsive, as the sterile smell of antiseptic filled your nose.

The hospital room was quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the hum of machines. Sterile white walls surrounded you, and the faint smell of antiseptic lingered in the air. Your body felt heavy, weighed down by pain and exhaustion. Your shoulder and arm were immobilized in a sling, your ribs tightly wrapped in bandages. The fractured collarbone and bruised ribs made every breath a struggle, while the deep gash on your forearm throbbed beneath layers of stitches.

Between each visit, you were left alone with your thoughts. The silence was deafening, amplifying the turmoil inside you.

 You replayed the moment under the stage—the creaking beams, the crushing weight, the sharp pain—and wondered if you could’ve done more to prevent it. You thought about how close you’d come to failing, to letting Chan’s platform collapse, to letting them down.

The guilt gnawed at you. You had protected them this time, but what about next time? What if you weren’t there? What if you weren’t strong enough?

Still, as each member entered the room, you pushed those thoughts aside. They needed comfort as much as you did.

Chan entered first, his footsteps hesitant as though he was afraid of disturbing you. His face was pale, his eyes red-rimmed from lack of sleep. He sat down beside your bed without saying a word at first, his hand gripping yours tightly.

“You shouldn’t have done it alone,” he said finally, his voice low but firm.

You smiled weakly and reached out with your good arm to pull him into a one-armed hug. 

“I didn’t have a choice,” you replied softly.

His jaw tightened as he looked away, his knuckles white from how hard he was holding your hand.

“You always put yourself on the line for us,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “But what happens if one day we lose you?”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You won’t,” you assured him.

His lips quivered as he fought back tears. “Promise me,” he whispered.

“I promise,” you said softly.

When his tears began to fall, you gently wiped them away with your free hand. He stayed for a while longer before reluctantly leaving with one last squeeze of your hand and a quiet promise: “Rest up. We need you.”

Minho entered next with his usual stoic expression, though it didn’t hide the worry in his eyes. He stood at the foot of your bed for a moment before pulling up a chair and sitting down.

“You’re an idiot,” he said bluntly, his tone sharp but trembling slightly.

You chuckled weakly despite the pain it caused. “Thanks.”

Minho shook his head and leaned forward slightly. 

“You scared all of us,” he admitted quietly. “We thought… we thought we lost you.”

You reached out with your good hand and gently grasped his hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “I’m still here,” you replied softly.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he nodded quickly, blinking back tears before they could fall.

“Don’t do that again,” he muttered before standing up abruptly and leaving with a stiff nod.

Changbin burst into the room with an exaggerated sigh, trying to mask his worry with forced cheerfulness. He plopped into the chair beside your bed and crossed his arms dramatically.

“You’re really something else,” he said with mock frustration. “Always trying to be the hero.”

“Someone has to keep you guys out of trouble,” you teased weakly.

His grin faltered as his shoulders slumped slightly. “I hate seeing you like this,” he admitted quietly. “You’re always so strong… it’s hard seeing you hurt.”

You wrapped your good arm around him in a gentle hug. “I’ll be fine,” you assured him despite the pain radiating through your body.

Changbin stayed longer than most, cracking jokes and telling stories in an effort to distract both himself and you from the weight of the situation. When he finally left, he patted your shoulder gently and said with uncharacteristic seriousness, “Get better soon.”

Hyunjin hesitated at the door before walking in slowly, his usual confident demeanor replaced with visible anxiety. He sat down beside your bed but avoided meeting your gaze at first.

“I… I didn’t know if I should come in,” he admitted quietly.

You smiled softly and reached out to gently grasp his hand. “You should,” you replied softly.

Hyunjin’s lips trembled as he looked at you properly for the first time. “When I saw you collapse… I thought…” He trailed off, swallowing hard as tears welled up in his eyes.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly. “I’m still here,” you said weakly.

Hyunjin nodded quickly, wiping at his face with his sleeve before anger flashed across his features.

“You shouldn’t have had to do that alone,” he said bitterly. “We should’ve noticed something was wrong sooner.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you assured him gently as you wiped away his tears with your free hand.

He stayed for a while longer before leaving with one last glance over his shoulder: “Thank you—for everything.”

Han burst into the room with tears already streaming down his face despite clearly trying to hold them back. His sobs were loud enough that a nurse peeked in briefly before leaving him be.

“Why do you always have to push yourself so hard?” he demanded through choked sobs as he stood at the foot of your bed.

You reached out with your good hand and gently grasped his hand, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “Because someone has to,” you replied softly.

Han wiped at his face furiously but couldn’t stop crying as he sat down beside you. “You scared me so much,” he admitted shakily. “I thought we were going to lose you.”

You gently wiped away his tears with your free hand and whispered: “I’m not going anywhere.”

Han stayed until a nurse came in to check on you before reluctantly leaving after making sure everything was fine.

Felix entered carrying a small bouquet of flowers that looked slightly wilted from being clutched too tightly. His usual bright smile was nowhere to be seen; instead, his lips quivered as he sat down beside you.

“You’re too stubborn for your own good,” he said shakily.

“Takes one to know one,” you replied weakly with a faint smile.

Felix’s eyes filled with tears as he reached out to hold your hand gently. “Don’t ever scare us like that again,” he whispered fiercely. “Promise me.”

You squeezed his hand reassuringly and wiped away his tears when they began falling freely down his cheeks: "I'll try."

You chatted for a bit before Felix left the room.

Seungmin entered quietly, his footsteps soft as he approached your bed. His usual calm demeanor was replaced by visible worry; his lips were pressed into a thin line, and his hands fidgeted nervously at his sides.

“You look terrible,” he said bluntly, though his voice trembled slightly.

You chuckled weakly despite the pain it caused. “Thanks for the honesty.”

Seungmin pulled up a chair and sat down beside you, his gaze fixed on your bandaged arm. “I was so scared,” he admitted softly after a moment of silence. “When I saw you collapse… I didn’t know what to do.”

You reached out with your good hand and gently grasped his, squeezing it reassuringly. “I’m okay,” you said softly.

Seungmin shook his head, blinking rapidly to keep tears from falling. “You always say that,” he muttered bitterly. “But you’re not okay—you’re hurt because of us.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said firmly, your voice steady despite your exhaustion. “I did what I had to do.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening as he fought to keep his emotions in check. “I don’t know what we’d do without you,” he whispered.

“You’ll never have to find out,” you replied gently.

When a tear finally slipped down his cheek, you reached out with your free hand and wiped it away carefully. Seungmin stayed for a while longer, talking about how they’d all been worried sick and how they’d make sure nothing like this ever happened again. Before leaving, he squeezed your hand one last time and whispered, “Get better soon.”

Jeongin hesitated at the door for a long moment before finally stepping inside. His usual playful energy was nowhere to be seen; instead, he looked nervous and unsure as he approached your bed.

“I… I didn’t know if I should come in,” he admitted quietly.

“You should,” you said gently.

Jeongin sat down beside you but avoided meeting your gaze at first. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, and his shoulders were stiff with tension.

“It’s my fault,” he blurted suddenly, tears already streaming down his face. “If I hadn’t shown you that email… if I hadn’t panicked…”

“Stop,” you interrupted firmly despite your exhaustion. You reached out with your good hand and gently grasped his trembling hand. “None of this is your fault.”

Jeongin shook his head vehemently, guilt etched deeply into his features. “But if I hadn’t told you—”

“You did exactly what you were supposed to do,” you said gently but firmly. “You told me about the threat so I could act.”

He sniffled and nodded silently but still looked unconvinced. You pulled him into a one-armed hug, letting him cry quietly against your shoulder.

“I thought we were going to lose you,” he whispered shakily.

“You won’t lose me,” you promised softly as you wiped away the tears streaking down his cheeks.

Jeongin stayed for a short while longer before reluctantly leaving with a promise that he’d work harder to protect everyone—including you.

As the member left, the silence returned—heavy and suffocating. You stared at the ceiling, replaying their words in your mind: “We thought we lost you.”, “You shouldn’t have done it alone.”, “You scared us.”

The guilt gnawed at you relentlessly. You had protected them this time, but what about next time? What if something happened while you weren’t there? What if this injury meant you couldn’t protect them anymore?

You clenched your good hand into a fist as frustration bubbled up inside you. You hated feeling helpless—hated being confined to this bed while they faced the world without you.

As visiting hours ended and each member left reluctantly, Felix returned later that night carrying a blanket tucked under one arm and a determined expression on his face.

“I’m not leaving tonight,” he announced firmly as he pulled up a chair beside your bed and draped himself in the blanket like armor against exhaustion.

“Felix…”

“No arguments.” His tone left no room for debate as he clasped your hand tightly again and settled in for what would be an unspoken vigil through the night—a silent promise that no matter what happened next, someone would be there when morning came again.

Felix talked softly about random things—funny rehearsal moments, inside jokes—but eventually fell quiet as fatigue caught up with him. He rested his head on the edge of your bed but kept holding onto your hand like it was a lifeline.

As sleep overtook him, you felt a small sense of relief wash over you—not just because someone was there but because Felix’s presence reminded you that even in moments of weakness, they would always have your back too.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

The weeks of recovery felt endless. Every stretch in physical therapy was a battle, every movement a reminder of the beams that had crushed you. The fractured collarbone, bruised ribs, and stitched gash on your arm were constant aches that weighed on your body and mind. You couldn’t shake the guilt—the fear that next time, you might not be able to protect them.

But you pushed through. 

You forced yourself to endure the pain, knowing that they were waiting for you. Their visits kept you grounded—Felix’s overnight stays, Chan’s quiet encouragement, Han’s tearful reassurances—they reminded you why you had held on so long that night.

Finally, after weeks of effort, the sling came off, the bandages were removed, and you were cleared to return to work. Walking into their dorms for the first time since the incident felt surreal.

The smell of food hit you as soon as you stepped inside—warm and inviting, a mix of grilled meat and spices that made your stomach growl despite yourself. Laughter echoed from the kitchen, followed by the clatter of plates and utensils.

“Jagae’s here!” Felix’s voice rang out as he spotted you at the door.

Before you could respond, Hyunjin appeared from around the corner with an apron tied haphazardly over his clothes. “You’re late,” he said with mock sternness, though his grin betrayed him.

“Blame traffic,” you replied dryly as he ushered you inside.

The dining table was packed with food—kimchi stew, bulgogi, japchae, rice bowls—and everyone was bustling around setting up plates and glasses. Han was trying (and failing) to balance a stack of bowls while Jeongin hurried to grab them before they fell.

“Careful!” Seungmin scolded from across the room. “We don’t need another accident.”

“I’ve got it!” Han protested just as Jeongin snatched the bowls from his hands.

Chan stood at the head of the table, directing everyone like a conductor orchestrating a symphony. 

“Hyunjin, stop eating before we start,” he said without looking up as Hyunjin tried to sneak a piece of meat off the grill.

“I’m taste-testing!” Hyunjin argued indignantly.

“You’re stealing,” Minho corrected flatly as he carried a tray of drinks to the table.

You couldn’t help but smile at the chaos as Felix pulled out a chair for you. “Sit here,” he said brightly. “You’re the guest of honor tonight.”

“I’m not a guest,” you replied with a laugh as you took your seat.

“You are tonight,” Chan said firmly as he sat down at the head of the table. “This is for you.”

As everyone settled in and began serving themselves, the teasing started almost immediately.

“Hyunjin almost burned down the kitchen earlier,” Han said with a grin.

“I did not!” Hyunjin shot back, his cheeks flushing red. “It was just… slightly overcooked.”

“Overcooked?” Minho raised an eyebrow. “It looked like charcoal.”

Hyunjin glared at him but couldn’t suppress his laughter when Minho smirked triumphantly.

Between bites of food and bursts of laughter, subtle moments of gratitude emerged.

“It’s good to have you back,” Chan said quietly during a lull in conversation.

Changbin raised his glass dramatically. “A toast to Jagae—the human shield who saved us all!”

“Don’t make it sound like I’m invincible,” you joked lightly.

“You kind of are,” Felix said earnestly from across the table, his eyes shining with sincerity.

Hyunjin nodded in agreement. “You didn’t hesitate for even a second back there.”

Seungmin added softly from beside you, “You always put us first.”

Jeongin looked down at his plate but murmured quietly, “Thank you—for everything.”

Their words settled warmly in your chest, easing some of the lingering guilt that had haunted you since that night.

As dinner wound down and plates were cleared away, Chan brought out dessert—a simple cake decorated with strawberries—and placed it in front of you.

“It’s not much,” he said sheepishly, “but we wanted to celebrate your return properly.”

You stared at the cake for a moment before looking around at them—their smiles warm and genuine—and felt an overwhelming sense of belonging wash over you.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“No thanks needed,” Changbin replied with a grin. “You’re one of us now.”

As they began cutting slices of cake and arguing over who got the biggest piece, Felix leaned over and nudged your arm gently. “You okay?”

“I am now,” you replied honestly.

For the first time in weeks, you felt at peace—not just because your body was healing but because these eight people had become more than just idols under your protection. They were family.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

After dinner, the group decided to watch a horror movie together. The lights were dimmed, and the TV flickered to life, casting eerie shadows on the walls. Felix plopped down beside you on the couch, leaning comfortably against your non-injured shoulder.

“Felix, you’re going to get scared,” Han teased from across the room.

Felix grinned defiantly. “I’m not scared of anything.”

But as the movie progressed, it became clear that he was indeed scared. Every jump scare made him jump, his reactions loud and exaggerated as he clutched at your arm for comfort. The others laughed good-naturedly at his expense, but even they weren’t immune to the scares. Minho let out a startled yelp at one particularly intense scene, while Hyunjin covered his eyes during a gruesome moment.

You, however, remained calm throughout, a small smile playing on your lips as you watched the chaos unfold around you. It was almost amusing to see them all so on edge, their usual bravado replaced by nervous laughter and startled gasps.

“Jagae’s not even flinching,” Seungmin observed with a chuckle.

“Of course not,” Changbin replied dryly. “He’s the human shield. Nothing scares him.”

Felix leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not even scared, are you?”

You shook your head slightly. “Not really.”

He looked up at you with wide eyes. “How do you do it? You’re always so calm.”

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. “Just experience, I guess.”

But deep down, you knew it was more than that. You had faced real danger, not just movie monsters. The memories of that night under the support beam still lingered, a reminder of what true fear felt like. This was just entertainment—a way for them to bond and have fun together.

“Thanks for being my rock,” he said softly.

You smiled back at him. “Anytime.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

The movie had ended, but Felix hadn’t moved. He was still nestled against your chest, his soft breaths steady as he slept soundly. The others were sprawled across the dorm, recovering from the adrenaline rush of jump scares and laughter. The teasing had been relentless during the movie, but now the room had settled into a calm, almost intimate atmosphere.

“Look at him,” Han whispered with a grin, gesturing toward Felix. “He’s so comfortable he fell asleep.”

“Of course he did,” Hyunjin replied, smirking. “He’s practically glued to Jagae’s side.”

“Felix has been like that for weeks now,” Seungmin added softly, his tone thoughtful. “Always sticking close to him.”

Jeongin chuckled nervously. “It’s not just because of the movie. You’ve all seen it—he’s been acting like this since… well, since forever.”

You glanced down at Felix’s peaceful face, his cheek resting lightly against your chest, and felt a pang of warmth in your chest. His presence was comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

Minho leaned back against the couch and crossed his arms, his expression unreadable. “He admires you,” he said simply, but there was a weight to his words that made everyone pause.

“Admires?” Changbin raised an eyebrow and scoffed lightly. “That’s putting it mildly.”

“Yeah,” Han chimed in, his grin widening mischievously. “I think it’s more than admiration.”

Hyunjin smirked but didn’t say anything, his eyes flickering between Felix and you. The silence stretched for a moment before Jeongin spoke up hesitantly.

“He really cares about you,” he said quietly. “More than just… you know… as our protector.”

Seungmin nodded in agreement. “It’s obvious when you think about it.”

You looked around at them, their expressions ranging from amused to serious. They weren’t teasing anymore—not really. There was something genuine in their words, something they had been holding back until now.

“I know,” you said softly.

The room fell silent again as the others stared at you in shock.

“You… knew?” Chan asked cautiously, leaning forward slightly.

You nodded and adjusted Felix gently so he wouldn’t wake up. “I picked up on it a while ago,” you admitted. “The way he looks at me, how he always tries to stay close… it wasn’t hard to figure out.”

Hyunjin blinked at you, clearly surprised. “And? What do you think about it?”

You hesitated for a moment before answering honestly. “I care about him too,” you said quietly. “He’s… special.”

The others exchanged glances, their shock giving way to understanding smiles.

“Well,” Changbin said with a grin, breaking the tension, “that explains why he’s practically glued to you all the time.”

Han snickered and leaned closer to Hyunjin. “I bet Felix would combust if he heard this right now.”

“Let him sleep,” Chan said firmly but warmly. “He deserves it after everything.”

As the conversation shifted to lighter topics, you glanced down at Felix again and couldn’t help but smile softly. His presence was comforting—not just for him but for you as well.

For now, you let him sleep peacefully against your chest while the others continued their playful banter around the room.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

The dance studio was alive with energy, music blasting as the members rehearsed their choreography. You leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching them move in perfect synchronization. It was moments like these that reminded you why you worked so hard to protect them—they were a team, a family, and you had become part of that dynamic.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, leaving them mid-discussion about a minor adjustment in their routine. 

When you returned, the atmosphere in the room had shifted. The music had stopped, and the members were huddled together, their expressions tense and conflicted.

“Did something happen?” you asked as you stepped back into the room.

They turned toward you, startled by your sudden presence. Felix’s gaze dropped to the floor immediately, his shoulders slumping as though he couldn’t bear to look at you. Chan cleared his throat awkwardly but didn’t speak.

Hyunjin was the first to break the silence. “We heard… about the reassignment,” he said cautiously.

You frowned. “Reassignment?”

Seungmin nodded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “There’s talk that you might be transferred to another artist.”

“Because of how well you handled everything at the event,” Changbin added bitterly. “They think you’re too good for us now.”

Your eyes widened in surprise as Jeongin muttered under his breath, “They probably want him protecting someone bigger.”

Felix finally looked up, his expression more than disappointed—it was hurt. “Are you leaving us?” he asked softly, his voice trembling.

The room fell silent again, their gazes fixed on you as they waited for an answer. You could see it in their eyes—the fear of losing someone they had come to rely on not just for protection but for support and care.

You chuckled lightly, breaking the tension in the room. Their confusion was immediate.

“What’s funny about this?” Han asked sharply, his brows furrowing.

You shook your head and stepped closer to them. “I’m not leaving,” you said firmly.

Felix blinked at you, his lips parting slightly in shock. “You’re… staying?”

“I’m staying,” you repeated with a small smile. “I already told them I wasn’t interested in being reassigned.”

“But why?” Minho asked bluntly, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You could have anyone—any artist—under your protection.”

You glanced around at them—their worried faces, their vulnerability laid bare—and felt warmth spread through your chest. 

“Because I don’t want anyone else,” you admitted simply. “I want to stay here—with all of you.” Your gaze lingered on Felix just a little while longer.

The room erupted into a mix of relieved laughter and incredulous exclamations.

“You scared us!” Hyunjin exclaimed dramatically, throwing his hands in the air.

“I thought we were going to lose our human shield,” Changbin teased with a grin.

Felix didn’t say anything at first; instead, he stepped forward and wrapped his arms around your waist tightly. His head rested against your chest as he whispered softly, “Thank you.”

You returned the hug with one arm, careful not to strain your still-healing shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured him quietly.

As Felix pulled back reluctantly, Han smirked mischievously and nudged Hyunjin with his elbow. “See? Told you Felix would combust if Jagae left.”

“Shut up!” Felix snapped half-heartedly, his cheeks flushing pink as the others laughed.

Chan stepped forward then, his expression warm but serious. “We’re glad you’re staying,” he said sincerely. “You’ve become part of this family.”

“And we’d be lost without you,” Seungmin added softly.

Jeongin nodded quickly in agreement before blurting out nervously, “Felix would definitely be lost without you.”

“Jeongin!” Felix hissed in embarrassment as laughter filled the room again.

You shook your head fondly at their antics but felt your heart swell at their words. They weren’t just teasing—they were expressing how much they valued your presence and what it meant to have someone who cared about them beyond their roles as idols.

As rehearsal resumed and the music started up again, Felix stayed close by your side, occasionally glancing at you with an expression that spoke volumes even without words. You knew now that your decision to stay had been the right one—not just for them but for yourself too.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

The underground parking garage was suffocatingly quiet, the air damp and heavy as if it were holding its breath. 

You stood near a concrete pillar, your posture relaxed but your senses razor-sharp. The faint hum of fluorescent lights above was punctuated by the distant drip of water echoing off the walls. You had spent weeks unraveling this web of sabotage and threats, tracing every clue back to the mastermind who had endangered Stray Kids—and tonight, you would confront him. The person you've been suspicious and wary of this whole time.

Footsteps broke the silence, deliberate and slow, each one reverberating like a countdown. 

You turned toward the sound, your eyes narrowing as a familiar figure emerged from the shadows. His stature was unmistakable, tall and imposing, but his smile gave him away—the unbearable smirk you’d seen countless times in meetings. It was the kind of smile that dripped with faux-innocence and sickening kindness, underlying with condescension and arrogance, but tonight it carried a flicker of unease.

“You’ve been busy,” he said smoothly, his voice calm but laced with bitterness.

You didn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch as you studied him. His hand slipped into his coat pocket, and you tensed slightly but didn’t move—waiting.

“You know,” he continued, stepping closer, “you could’ve avoided all this if you’d just taken the reassignment. I even recommended you for it—personally.”

Your jaw tightened as realization crystallized. “So it was you,” you said evenly, your voice steady despite the anger simmering beneath it.

The smirk widened as he stopped a few feet away. “Of course it was me. You’re too good at your job—too inconvenient.”

“Convenient enough to protect them from you,” you shot back.

His expression darkened as he pulled out a small remote with a single red button on it. “You think you’ve won? This garage is rigged to collapse with one press of this button.”

You held his gaze steadily and replied without hesitation: “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” His voice rose slightly as he pressed the button.

Click!

.

.

Click! CLICK! CLICK!

.

.

.

Nothing happened.

The smirk faltered as he pressed it again—and again—his movements growing frantic. Panic flickered across his face as he realized his plan had failed.

“I disabled your charges an hour ago,” you said calmly, stepping closer. “You’re predictable.”

His composure shattered completely as he lunged at you in desperation. But you were ready. Side-stepping easily, you grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back before slamming him against the pillar. The remote clattered to the ground.

“It’s over,” you growled into his ear as footsteps echoed through the garage. 

Security officers swarmed in moments later, their weapons drawn.

He thrashed against your grip but couldn’t break free. 

“You’ll regret this!” he spat as they cuffed him and began dragging him away.

As they hauled him off into custody, you called out after him: “Goodbye, Ji-hoon.” 

Your voice was steady but laced with finality—a dismissal that echoed through the garage like a closing door.

Back at Stray Kids’ dorms later that night, relief washed over you as soon as you stepped inside. The tension from earlier lingered in your chest, but seeing their familiar faces eased some of the weight pressing down on you.

Felix was the first to rush toward you, his eyes wide with worry. “Are you okay?” he asked breathlessly, scanning you for any sign of injury.

“I’m fine,” you assured him with a small smile.

The others quickly gathered around, their voices overlapping in a barrage of questions about what had happened.

“It’s over,” you said simply once they quieted down. “Ji-hoon has been arrested.”

Chan let out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. “Thank God,” he muttered.

Hyunjin frowned slightly and crossed his arms. “You could’ve told us what you were doing.”

“And let you worry more than you already do?” You teased lightly before glancing at Felix, who hadn’t left your side since you walked in.

Felix’s gaze lingered on yours for a moment before he spoke softly: “I thought… I thought I- we might lose you.”

“You won’t lose me,” you replied firmly, stepping closer to him.

The room fell silent as Felix’s eyes searched yours for reassurance—and then something shifted between you both. Without thinking too much about it—without giving yourself time to second-guess—you leaned down and pressed your lips gently against his.

For a moment, Felix froze in shock before melting into the kiss, his hands tentatively resting on your chest as if afraid to hold on too tightly. When you pulled back slightly, his cheeks were flushed, and his lips parted in disbelief.

“You… You knew?” he stammered softly.

“I knew,” you admitted with a small smile. “And I feel the same way.”

Felix blinked rapidly as tears welled up in his eyes—not from sadness but from overwhelming relief and happiness. He threw his arms around your neck then, burying his face against your shoulder as he whispered shakily: “I didn’t think… I didn’t think you’d ever feel that way about me.”

Before either of you could say more, Han’s voice broke through: “Well that escalated quickly!”

Hyunjin snorted loudly while Changbin grinned mischievously from across the room. 

“Felix finally confessed without confessing!”

“Shut up!” Felix snapped half-heartedly against your shoulder before pulling back slightly to glare at them—but his flushed cheeks betrayed how flustered he truly was.

“You’re lucky Jagae feels the same way,” Minho added dryly with a smirk.

Jeongin chimed in nervously: “We all knew anyway…”

“Wait—you all knew?” Felix asked incredulously, whipping around to face them while still clinging to your arm.

Seungmin shrugged nonchalantly but couldn’t hide his grin. “It was obvious.”

As laughter filled the room again and Felix buried his face against your chest in embarrassment, Chan stepped forward with a warm smile and clapped your shoulder lightly. “Welcome back—for real this time.”

You glanced down at Felix once more before wrapping an arm around him protectively and letting yourself relax for what felt like the first time in weeks. For now—for tonight—you were exactly where you were meant to be: by their side… by his side.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

That's the end! I stay up pretty late writing, so if there any inconsistencies are in the story, I apologize!

Part one, Part two

Love you, darling!

MASTERPIECE OK?

"Baby, play me like a game.."

Chan x Rockstar! Male! Reader

Summary: Reader, named Riot, is a cousin of HAN. Han invited everyone to his cousin's show.. and Riot has his eyes on a certain someone.

Warnings: Spicy undertones but no actual action, idk, maybe Chan having an internal meltdown about Riot?

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

The arena pulsed with energy, the crowd’s screams vibrating through the floor as the lights dimmed. Stray Kids sat in the front row, their VIP passes dangling around their necks, courtesy of Han Jisung.

"You sure this guy’s worth the hype?" Lee Know muttered, arms crossed as he leaned back in his seat.

Felix grinned, bouncing in anticipation. "Han’s been talking about him nonstop. Said he’s insane live."

"Insane how?" Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. "Like… ‘good’ insane or ‘should-we-call-security’ insane?"

Before Han could answer, the speakers roared to life with a distorted guitar riff, the stage exploding in a burst of pyrotechnics. The crowd lost it.

Then—silence.

A single spotlight cut through the dark.

And he dropped from the ceiling.

A collective gasp ripped through the audience as Riot—your stage name, your identity at this moment—free-fell from the rafters, landing dead center on the stage with a roll, popping up effortlessly like it was nothing. The music kicked back in, a hard-hitting rock beat, and you were already singing, your voice smooth, powerful, unwavering despite the stunt.

Stray Kids’ jaws hit the floor.

"WHAT THE F—" Changbin choked.

Han was already gone.

"Where’d he—?" Chan whipped his head around, but Jisung had vanished into the shadows, slipping backstage like he had a backstage pass to your soul.

Then—you moved.

The stage was yours—a kingdom of fire and sound—and you ruled it like a predator. Every step was deliberate, your boots hitting the floor in time with the pounding bass as you stalked the edge of the stage. The crowd was a sea of screaming devotion, but your gaze cut through them like a blade, locking onto the eight men in the front row.

Especially him.

Bang Chan sat frozen, his fingers gripping the armrests as you dragged your eyes over him, a slow, wicked smirk curling your lips. The music pulsed, the beat dropping into something darker, heavier—and then, with one sharp tug, you ripped your sleeveless shirt down the middle, exposing your sweat-slicked abs, the fabric hanging uselessly at your sides.

The arena erupted.

But you weren’t done.

In one fluid motion, you dropped to your knees, sliding across the stage until you were inches from Chan’s face. Your chest heaved, your breath hot as you leaned in, close enough for him to see the wild, unhinged fire in your eyes.

Then you sang—voice rough, dripping with something between a promise and a threat—

"You wanna play with fire, baby?

Better pray you don’t get burned."

Chan’s throat went dry. His pulse was a hammer against his ribs, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out, to push you away, to pull you closer—but he couldn’t move. Your gaze held him captive, dark and wanting, your lips curled in a smirk that said you knew exactly what you were doing to him.

For a heartbeat, the world stopped.

Then—

You winked.

And just like that, you were gone, spinning back onto the stage like you hadn’t just set Chan’s nerves on fire. Behind you, the other members of Stray Kids were losing their minds—Hyunjin gripping Seungmin’s arm in shock, Felix’s mouth hanging open, Changbin yelling something unintelligible.

But Chan?

Chan was still frozen, your scent lingering in the air, your voice echoing in his skull.

And the worst part?

You weren’t even done yet.

Behind him, the others erupted.

"WHAT WAS THAT?!"

"HAN BETTER EXPLAIN RIGHT NOW—"

But Han was already backstage, grinning like he’d just pulled off the greatest prank of all time.

And the show had only just begun.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

The arena plunges into darkness, the roar of the crowd fading into a collective, anticipatory hush. A slow, sultry bassline slithers through the speakers, its vibrations curling around the silence like smoke. Backstage, Han leans against the edge of the curtain, his grin feral as he watches his cousin step into the single spotlight illuminating the stage.

“Oh, they’re so not ready for this,” Han mutters to himself, pulling out his phone with a gleam of mischief in his eyes. His thumb hovers over the record button, ready to immortalize the chaos about to unfold.

Onstage, RIOT stands alone, your presence commanding yet strangely vulnerable. Gone is the usual fiery bravado that defines you; in its place is something raw and devastatingly magnetic. 

You tilt your head slightly, letting your shadowed gaze sweep across the audience like a predator sizing up its prey. The leather jacket draped over your shoulders slides down in one fluid motion, hitting the stage with a deliberate thud that seems to echo louder than it should. The sound sends a ripple of tension through the crowd.

A murmur runs through the audience, a mix of awe and anticipation. Stray Kids, seated in the front row, remain oblivious to what’s coming. Chan leans forward slightly in curiosity, his brow furrowed as he watches RIOT with cautious interest.

Then—You sing.

"I don’t need pride, don’t need my name,

Just tell me what you want, I’ll be your fucking game."

Your voice is broken and breathy, each word dripping with shameless desperation. Your hand tightens around the mic stand as though it’s the only thing grounding you. Slowly—achingly slowly—you drag it across the stage with a deliberate sway of your hips that feels more like a taunt than a dance move. The spotlight follows you as you prowl forward, your movements languid and feline.

And then comes the moment.

You slide the mic stand between your legs with a sinful grind of your hips before dropping to your knees at the very edge of the stage. The crowd gasps audibly as you lean forward on all fours, closing what little distance remains between yourself and Bang Chan. Your eyes—wide, glassy, and brimming with something almost too raw to look at—lock onto Chan’s like you're staring straight through him. It’s not just eye contact; it’s an unspoken confession wrapped in a challenge.

Backstage, Han has to bite down on his sleeve to keep from bursting into laughter. His phone trembles slightly in his hand as he zooms in on Chan’s face—frozen and flushed scarlet under the harsh spotlight.

“Oh my god,” Han whispers hoarsely to himself between muffled snickers. “He’s actually going to kill Chan.”

Chan doesn’t move. He can’t move. His brain is short-circuiting under RIOT’s relentless gaze. He feels pinned in place by those eyes—trapped in some kind of spell he doesn’t know how to break.

Meanwhile, Stray Kids are unraveling in real-time:

Changbin has buried his face in both hands like he can’t bear to witness another second of this madness. 

Felix is fanning himself so vigorously it looks like he might take flight at any moment. Hyunjin teeters between fainting and launching himself onto the stage—his clenched fists trembling with unresolved tension. 

Lee Know crosses his arms tightly over his chest, glaring daggers at RIOT but unable to hide the faint glimmer of reluctant admiration flickering behind his eyes.

But RIOT isn’t done with them yet—not even close.

Still on your knees, you lean further forward until half your torso dangles off the edge of the stage. your body arches back dramatically as you flip onto your back with an effortless grace that feels almost indecent in its intimacy. One arm dangles loosely over the stage’s edge while the other clutches at the mic like it’s an extension of yourself. Your head tilts back so far that strands of sweat-dampened hair cling to your face as you gaze upside-down at Chan through heavy-lidded eyes.

"SO BEG FOR ME LIKE I BEG FOR YOU—TEAR ME APART, I DON’T CARE IF IT RUINS ME TOO."

The final chorus rips out of you like a plea torn straight from your chest. Your voice cracks beautifully on the last note—a sound so raw it leaves everyone breathless.

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. The crowd seems collectively stunned into stillness.

And then—the arena explodes.

Screams erupt from every corner of the venue as fans lose their minds entirely. The energy is electric, chaotic—a storm breaking loose after unbearable tension.

But RIOT doesn’t bask in it for long. Instead, you turn your head slightly toward Chan one last time and wink—a slow, deliberate motion that feels more intimate than any touch could ever be.

Before anyone can react further, the lights flicker violently—once, twice—and when they stabilize again… RIOT is gone.

The name RIOT flashes across every screen in jagged dark red letters that seem to drip like fresh blood against a stark black background. The music cuts out entirely as if signaling not just an end—but the end. The show is over.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

Chan remains frozen in place long after RIOT vanishes from sight. His mind races frantically: 

What just happened? Was that real? Did anyone else notice how he looked right at me? Oh god—it was aimed at me.

 Heat crawls up his neck and settles across his cheeks like wildfire as he tries—and fails—to compose himself.

Backstage, Han is doubled over laughing so hard that tears stream down his face. “Dude,” he gasps between wheezing breaths as RIOT strolls past him looking utterly unbothered by what just transpired. “You just murdered Bang Chan.”

You smirk lazily while wiping sweat off his brow with a towel slung over one shoulder. “Good,” he says nonchalantly before tossing Han a wink for good measure. “Now let’s go watch them try to recover from that.”

The arena is still buzzing with the aftermath of RIOT’s performance, the crowd’s screams echoing like a storm that refuses to settle. The screens are black now, save for the blood-red name that lingers ominously: RIOT. The lights remain dimmed, casting the venue in an eerie half-darkness as if the air itself is trying to catch its breath.

But Chan can’t breathe.

He’s still sitting in the front row, frozen like a statue, his elbows propped on his knees and his hands clasped tightly together to keep them from trembling. His face is flushed—burning—and no matter how much he wills himself to calm down, his heart won’t stop pounding in his chest. It’s deafening. He feels like everyone can hear it, like it’s betraying him in real-time.

What just happened? His mind replays the performance in fragments: RIOT’s voice cracking with raw desperation, the way he’d dropped to his knees, the way he’d looked at him. That wink—that wink. Chan swallows hard, but it doesn’t help. His throat feels dry as sandpaper.

“Hyung?” Felix’s soft voice breaks through the haze, but it only makes Chan flinch. He turns his head slightly, catching Felix’s worried expression through his peripheral vision. 

The younger boy leans closer, fanning himself with one hand while clutching Chan’s arm with the other. “Are you okay? You look… uh…”

“Red,” Hyunjin finishes for him from Chan’s other side, his voice laced with disbelief and something sharp-edged that might be jealousy. 

Hyunjin is slouched back in his seat, one hand gripping the armrest so tightly that his knuckles are white. His jaw is clenched as he glares daggers at the now-empty stage. “Like a tomato,” he adds flatly, though there’s a faint tremor in his voice that betrays him.

Chan doesn’t respond. He can’t even look at them. He stares straight ahead at nothing in particular, trying to piece together some kind of coherent thought amidst the chaos in his brain.

Lee Know, seated next to Hyunjin, lets out a low whistle and crosses his arms over his chest. “Well,” he says dryly, tilting his head toward Chan with a smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Looks like someone has a new admirer.”

At that, Chan finally snaps out of his daze—just barely—and turns to glare at Lee Know with wide eyes. “What? No! That’s not—he wasn’t—” His words trip over themselves as panic sets in again. “It wasn’t aimed at me,” he insists weakly, though even as he says it, he knows it’s a lie.

“Oh, come on,” Changbin groans from two seats down, finally lifting his head from where it had been buried in his hands for most of the performance. His face is still redder than usual, and he looks thoroughly exasperated as he gestures vaguely toward Chan. “Hyung, everyone saw it. He was basically crawling into your lap.”

“Stop!” Chan hisses, waving both hands frantically as if trying to physically push away Changbin’s words. His ears are burning now too; he can feel it.

“Honestly,” Lee Know muses aloud, tapping a finger against his chin like he’s deep in thought. “I’m impressed by how bold he was. That takes guts.”

“Or insanity,” Hyunjin mutters darkly under his breath.

Felix giggles nervously and pats Chan on the shoulder in what he probably thinks is a comforting gesture but only makes Chan sink further into mortification. “It’s okay, hyung,” Felix says cheerfully despite looking like he might faint at any moment. “It just means you’re really… uh… magnetic?”

“Magnetic?” Hyunjin echoes incredulously before scoffing and crossing one leg over the other with an exaggerated huff. “More like cursed.”

“Guys!” Chan snaps suddenly, louder than intended. The others fall silent for a moment as they all turn to look at him with varying degrees of amusement and concern. He takes a deep breath and runs both hands through his hair in frustration before slumping back against his seat with a groan. “Can we not talk about this right now?”

“But hyung,” Felix starts again hesitantly before trailing off when Changbin nudges him with an elbow and shakes his head as if to say let it go.

Meanwhile, Seungmin has been sitting quietly on the far end of their row this entire time, watching everything unfold with an unreadable expression on his face. Finally, he speaks up in that calm yet cutting tone of his that always seems to hit its mark: “You do realize Han filmed the whole thing, right?”

Chan freezes again.

“What?” he whispers hoarsely after a long pause.

Seungmin shrugs nonchalantly and adjusts his glasses as if this isn’t groundbreaking news that threatens to ruin Chan’s life forever. “I saw him backstage,” Seungmin explains matter-of-factly. “He was laughing so hard I thought he might pass out.”

Chan groans again and buries his face in both hands this time. “I’m never going to hear the end of this,” he mumbles miserably into his palms.

“You’re really not,” Seungmin agrees without missing a beat.

Before anyone can say anything else—or before Chan can spontaneously combust from sheer embarrassment—the lights in the arena flicker back on fully, signaling that the show is officially over. The crowd begins to disperse slowly amidst lingering chatter about RIOT’s performance.

But Stray Kids don’t move right away.

Chan finally sits up straight again after what feels like an eternity and exhales shakily as if trying to regain some semblance of composure. He glances around at the others—at Felix’s worried smile, Changbin’s exasperation, Lee Know’s smirk, Hyunjin’s simmering irritation—and feels equal parts grateful and overwhelmed by their presence.

“Let’s just go backstage,” he mutters eventually while standing up and brushing off invisible dust from his pants as if that will somehow help him regain control of the situation.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

As they make their way out of their seats and toward backstage access, Chan can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t over—not by a long shot.

And somewhere behind those curtains… Han is waiting for them with a video file and far too much glee for anyone’s comfort.

You step off the stage, the rush of adrenaline still coursing through your veins like a wild animal refusing to be tamed. The sweat-drenched shirt clings to your back, and you rip it off without hesitation, letting out a sigh of relief as the cool air hits your skin. Your eyeliner is smudged, and you can feel the makeup starting to run, but you don’t care. You’re too busy gulping down water from the bottle in your hand, trying to quench the thirst that seems to have taken over your entire being.

As you glance up, you catch sight of Stray Kids making their way backstage, their presence unmistakable even amidst the bustle of staff and performers. Your eyes immediately land on Bang Chan, and the sight nearly makes you laugh out loud. He looks like he’s seen a ghost—his face flushed a deep red, his wide eyes fixed on you with a mix of shock and something else you can’t quite place. His expression is so unguarded, so raw, that it’s almost endearing. Almost.

You feel a flicker of amusement curl at the edges of your lips. It’s clear he’s still reeling from your performance, and honestly, you can’t blame him. You’d gone all in tonight—left everything on that stage—and judging by his reaction, it had landed exactly where you wanted it to.

Han’s laughter cuts through the air before anyone else can speak. He’s leaning against a nearby table, holding up his phone triumphantly like a trophy. “Did you see their faces?” he cackles, pointing the screen toward you as he replays the footage he captured. “Oh my god, Chan looked like he was about to pass out! This is gold.”

You roll your eyes at him but can’t help smiling as you shake your head. “Put that away before you get us both in trouble,” you say lightly, though there’s no real heat behind your words. Han’s always been like this—chaotic, relentless, and utterly impossible to stay mad at.

“Trouble?” Han grins wider, clearly unbothered. “This is art, cousin. Pure art.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment before Stray Kids finally reach earshot. You straighten up slightly as they approach, wiping the sweat from your brow with the towel slung over your shoulder. Despite the exhaustion still weighing on your limbs, you force yourself to focus.

“Hey, guys,” you greet them with an easy smile, extending a hand in welcome. Your voice is calm—steady—a stark contrast to the whirlwind of energy you’d unleashed on stage just minutes ago. “I’m RIOT. Nice to meet you all properly.”

There’s a beat of silence as they process your words. Felix is the first to step forward, his signature sunshine smile breaking through the tension as he shakes your hand eagerly. “Nice to meet you too! That performance was insane,” he says with genuine enthusiasm, his Australian accent adding an extra layer of warmth to his words.

“Insane is one way to describe it,” Changbin mutters under his breath, though there’s no malice in his tone—just lingering disbelief as he glances between you and Han.

Hyunjin crosses his arms tightly over his chest, his sharp features set in an expression that hovers somewhere between intrigue and irritation. He doesn’t say anything yet but keeps his gaze locked on you like he’s trying to figure out what makes you tick.

Lee Know tilts his head slightly, studying you with that unreadable look of his that always seems just a little too knowing. “You’re… calmer than I expected,” he remarks dryly, one eyebrow quirking upward.

You chuckle softly at that and shrug. “The stage brings out a different side of me,” you reply simply.

And then there’s Chan—still standing slightly behind the others as if trying to blend into the background despite being their leader. His hands are stuffed into his pockets now, but it does nothing to hide how tense he is. When your eyes meet again, he quickly looks away, his cheeks flushing even deeper than before.

Before anyone can comment further on Chan’s obvious discomfort—or lack thereof—Han decides it’s time to drop his bombshell.

“Oh!” Han exclaims brightly, clapping a hand on your shoulder with exaggerated flair. “Did I forget to mention? We’re cousins.”

The reaction is immediate and priceless.

“Cousins?” Changbin blurts out incredulously, his jaw practically hitting the floor as he stares at Han like he’s just announced aliens are real.

Felix blinks rapidly in surprise before breaking into another grin. “Wait—you’re related? Like actual cousins?”

Hyunjin uncrosses his arms abruptly and narrows his eyes at Han suspiciously. “Why didn’t you tell us this sooner?”

Lee Know just gives an amused snort and shakes his head as if this revelation somehow explains everything.

Chan looks like someone just pulled the rug out from under him entirely. His mouth opens slightly as if to say something but then closes again when no words come out. He glances between you and Han with wide eyes as though trying—and failing—to reconcile this new information with what he knows about either of you.

“Surprise,” Han says cheerfully, clearly reveling in their reactions.

You chuckle again and raise both hands in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged,” you say lightly before glancing back at Chan specifically. “Sorry for not mentioning it earlier.”

Chan blinks rapidly at being addressed directly and stammers something unintelligible before finally managing a faint nod. “It’s… fine,” he mumbles awkwardly, though the redness in his face suggests otherwise.

The conversation drifts into small talk after that—Felix asking about your training routine while Changbin peppers Han with questions about why he kept this secret for so long—but your attention keeps drifting back to Chan despite yourself.

He stays quiet for most of it, only chiming in occasionally with polite nods or murmured agreements when prompted by the others. But every now and then, you catch him sneaking glances at you when he thinks no one is looking.

It makes something stir inside you—a spark of curiosity mixed with mischief that refuses to be ignored.

As the group begins to relax around each other again, you find yourself wondering just how far this little game could go… 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

As the others continue to pepper Han with questions, you seize the opportunity to pull Bang Chan aside, away from the chaos. Your eyes lock onto his, and with a gentle tug on his arm, you guide him a few steps away from the group. The sudden movement catches him off guard, and for a moment, he looks like he's not sure what to do with himself.

You lean in closer, your voice dropping to a whisper that sends a shiver down his spine. "Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" The words are laced with a flirtatious undertone that you can't help but inject into every syllable.

Chan looks up at you, his eyes wide with a mix of shock and curiosity. The flush on his cheeks deepens, and he nods slightly, his throat working to swallow. You can't help but notice the way his eyes dart around before finally settling on yours, like he's searching for an escape route that doesn't exist.

As you stand there, the air between you feels charged with tension. You let your gaze linger on his face, taking in the way his hair curls slightly at the nape of his neck, the way his lips part ever so slightly as he breathes. It's almost too much to resist.

"Hey, I wanted to check in with you," you say, your tone turning more serious, though the flirtation still simmers just beneath the surface. "Was it okay, putting you in the spotlight like that during the show?" Your eyes hold his, searching for any sign of discomfort or distress.

Chan looks puzzled, his brow furrowing slightly as he processes your question. "What do you mean? It was just a performance," he replies, his voice softer than usual, tinged with a hint of confusion.

You smile, feeling a flutter in your chest. It's hard to keep the sincerity out of your voice as you say, "I kind of admire you, Bang Chan." The words hang in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning.

But instead of catching the underlying tone, he takes it as admiration for his work as a producer. "Oh, thanks," he says with a slight smile, his eyes lighting up with pride. "I appreciate it."

You shake your head gently, a chuckle escaping your lips. It's almost too cute how he misinterprets your intentions. You take a step closer, your voice dropping to a whisper again. "No, Channie," you say softly, using the nickname to make it more intimate. Your hands find their way to his hips, pulling him closer so he can see the sincerity in your eyes.

"I meant every word I sang," you whisper, your breath brushing against his ear. The words are laced with a raw emotion that you can't hide anymore.

You wink at him, the gesture playful yet serious. For a moment, you just hold his gaze, letting him absorb the weight of your words. The air between you crackles with tension, and you can feel his heart racing against your fingertips.

Then, with a final glance that leaves him looking more bewildered than ever, you turn and head towards the changing room.

You knew Han and the rest of the members couldn't stay longer, they had events to go to tomorrow and it was late already. You waved them goodbye and sent a little wink towards Chan's way.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

Months later, same venue. You performed again, your favourite song to perform since last time..

You’re standing on stage, bathed in crimson light, the bassline thrumming through your chest like a second heartbeat. The crowd is a sea of hands and screams, their energy feeding yours as you move with deliberate precision—every sway of your hips, every flick of your wrist calculated to captivate. You’ve always loved this part—the way the stage transforms you, amplifies you into something larger than life. Tonight, though, there’s something different. Someone different.

Your eyes scan the crowd as you sing, and there he is. Bang Chan. Front and center in the platinum section, his face illuminated by the stage lights. He’s watching you with an intensity that sends a jolt straight down your spine. You hadn’t seen him in months—not since that night backstage when you’d left him flustered and red-faced after your little confession. You didn’t have his number, didn’t dare ask Han for it either. But here he is, and god, he looks good—better than you remembered.

You smirk mid-verse, letting your gaze linger on him before turning away with a teasing sway of your hips. The crowd roars louder at the movement, but you’re barely paying attention to them anymore. Your focus keeps drifting back to him. You point in his direction during the chorus, a subtle acknowledgment that’s anything but subtle to him. His eyes widen slightly, his lips parting as if he’s trying to breathe through the moment.

The performance builds to its climax—a whirlwind of sound and movement—and when it ends, you’re drenched in sweat but exhilarated beyond belief. The applause is deafening as you step offstage, grabbing a towel and gulping down water like it’s a lifeline. Your crew buzzes around you, but all you can think about is him.

And then you see him.

Chan stands at the edge of the backstage area, looking hesitant but determined as he waits for you to notice him. You don’t make him wait long. Setting down your water bottle, you stride over with the same confidence you had on stage.

“Platinum ticket?” you tease lightly as you approach, letting your voice drop just enough to make it feel intimate. “Didn’t know I had such dedicated fans.”

Chan’s cheeks flush immediately, just like they did last time. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and laughs softly. “I… uh… thought I’d come see how much better you’ve gotten.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, leaning in closer so he can hear you over the noise of backstage chatter. “Better? You mean I wasn’t already perfect?”

His laugh comes out more nervous this time, and it makes something warm bloom in your chest. You let yourself take him in for a moment—the way his shirt clings to his frame just right, the way his hair falls messily across his forehead—and then decide to push things further.

“You know,” you say casually, leaning against the wall beside him so your shoulder brushes his lightly, “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

Chan shifts under your gaze but doesn’t move away. “I—well—I thought…” He trails off as if searching for words that won’t betray him.

You smile softly at his hesitation and decide to put him out of his misery—just a little. 

“It’s been months,” you say quietly, letting some of your own vulnerability seep into your tone. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever see you again.”

His eyes snap back to yours at that, and for a moment he looks almost guilty. “I wanted to,” he admits after a pause. “But… I didn’t know how.”

You nod slowly, understanding more than he probably realizes. Being an idol means living in chaos—constant schedules and expectations that leave little room for personal connections.

“Well,” you say after a beat, letting your voice turn playful again as you step closer to him—close enough that there’s barely any space between you now. “You could’ve asked Han for my number.”

Chan lets out a startled laugh at that and shakes his head quickly. “Yeah… no way.”

You chuckle along with him before letting the moment settle into something quieter again.

“I meant what I said last time,” you say softly, watching his expression shift from amusement to something more serious as he processes your words.

“What do you mean?” he asks cautiously.

You smile at him—slowly this time—and reach out to gently rest your hands on his hips before he can pull away or overthink it. The touch is light but deliberate enough to make him freeze under your fingertips.

“Channie,” you murmur, letting the nickname roll off your tongue like honey as your thumbs brush against his sides ever so slightly. “I meant every word I sang.”

His breath catches audibly at that—his eyes wide and searching yours like he’s trying to figure out if this is real or some elaborate joke.

You wink at him then—slowly, deliberately—and step back before he can respond or recover from the moment entirely.

“I’ll be in the changing room,” you say lightly over your shoulder as you walk away, leaving him standing there stunned and speechless amidst the chaos of backstage life.

And god—you can’t help but wonder how long it’ll take before he follows.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺       ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺  . ✦

That's it for now! Maybe I'll upload the next part tomorrow.. it'll be my first time writing something spicy, so don't judge me too hard! 

Very pretty princess hmm

I.N BURNIN' TIRES, 2025

Illustration for Cup rune over by amazing surveycorpsjean on ao3 <3

If you haven't read this story yet... What are you waiting for, GO READ IT NOW

🩷🩷🩷

Okay so i listened to suggestions about Jayce being unhappy with the inflicting pain bit but being unable to say no!

So who of us do you like the most, Petal?

Idol- ATEEZ Yunho x female ATINY reader

-sometimes, you gotta move forward… just take it step by step. - ATEEZ Enough

A/N: Hi! This is my first Post so please don’t be mad if it doesn’t look as pretty as all the other ones! I had some ideas in mind and thought it would be cool to write them so here it is. Have fun reading and react to this if you like it and want me to keep going. Thanks everyone.

Summary: you’ve been at your first Ateez concert after 7 years of knowing and growing up with them. You had the time of your life but after the concert you felt full of emotions and you miss them more than ever… a few weeks later Hello 82 searches for ATINYS who want to help with a special project, and there you are… signing up for it.

Minors do not interact. 18+

Warnings: being delulu xd

The next chapter could / will most likely include smut.

Words: 1,3k

—————————————————————————————————————

Preview:

February 27. 2025.

Another Day has passed since the Ateez Concert in Berlin D2.. which means.. another day suffering because you miss your lovely boys.

The Concert was one of the best days ever.

It made you happy.

Made you forget everything for a few hours.

The only things which mattered were these eight lovely boys. All strong, fierce and powerful.

Besides the fact that you got the flu after the concert.. you’re quite the opposite from fine. Your heart seems to ache. You want to turn back in time. The only problem is that you can’t.

The Europe tour is over now.

They’ll fly back to Korea… they’ll be gone.. out of your time zone..

It’s no longer „I will see ATEEZ in 2025“ it’s only „i saw them 8 Days ago“

You’re trying to live your life, go to work.. eat and meet friends.

But… the thing is, everything feels off.

In the last few days, you’ve been looking at their Instagram stories and posts like twice a day.

Some weeks pass.. your heart still aching for these eight grown up men.

You‘ve been standing in front of your best friend's house for a few minutes now, waiting until she opens the door..

„You’re early.“ is the only thing she says when she opens the door „take the key with you when you leave, then you can just come inside next time.“

„Okay , I will.“ you answer her and take your shoes off, directly walking to her bed and falling onto it.

A big sigh escapes you and you curl up.

„is it normal? This post concert depression? I miss them…“ you say, your voice muffled because of the pillow.

“Don’t make such a drama out of it Y/N” she laughs at you and you smile.

“I have every right to make a drama out of it! They saw me! HE saw me. Jeong fucking Yunho winked at me!” A fake cry comes out of your throat.

“God you’re so weird. Come on, let’s watch something and cuddle. I’m more important than those guys, aren’t I?” She grins at you and lays down next to you.

The whole weekend consists of eating ice cream, watching Frozen and Rapunzel or listening to ATEEZ songs which weren’t on play at the concert. You avoid them so you wouldn’t get the idea of crying.

Two weeks later you’re laying in your bed at 3am. And then you see it. It’s a Post from Hello82.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“HELLO ATINYS, THIS IS HELLO 82 ! the Ateez towards the light: will to power tour has ended but we have great and good news for you. We are currently searching for ATINYS who would like to attend a Fanevent, powered by us. To get chosen, you send a video of your favourite concert moment and a small thing you love about every Member. We are looking forward to all your Videos.

The Winners will be chosen on March 23. Have fun and always look for the Light.”

you’re still breathless. An Ateez fan event? You could have a chance to see them again? Of course you need to try.The first thing you did was calling your best friend. Telling her everything and that both of you need to try. As a Mingi Stan, she agrees quickly and you both search for your most loved concert moment. You cut the video together and take a shot where you talk about all the members.

“Camera Action” says your best friend and you grin.

“Hello 82. My Name is Y/N and I’m from Germany. I’ve prepared a few words for every member.”“I’ve been watching Ateez since the first start… I remember how hongjoong asked if people would even come for their first ever stage.. and now they’ve just performed in front of like 40.000 people… that’s just so amazing. They really did it and they deserve everything for that.

“You keep explaining a few things about every member and just how much you like them and how much they saved you. While you’re talking, a wide smile stays on your lips… just the memories of them make you so happy and greatful for everything.

Your best friends stops filming as soon as you’re finished talking.

“I think that’s a great small film. You did well” she praises you and you just smile, a bit sad even. “It’s true. They saved me. You know that.”

After she wraps up her own Video, you both send it to the folder hello 82 made.

Now you’ll need to wait.

And the wait is long… days pass, weeks pass until HELLO 82 announces the winners. It’s finally March 23.. Yunho’s Birthday…

You look at the post.

8 ATINYS are the winners. Only 8…

You scrolled through the post and there it is… the mention of your best friends account.. She's the 4 Winner… your best friend who sits next to you screams

“oh my fucking god I have been chosen..” she repeats that phrase a few times and your heart clenches. You try to get yourself together immediately.

You’re happy for her. She will be seeing Ateez. Again. You keep looking who the next Winners are and then… you choke out a cry.

“Mia… you… I… we… we both got chosen.. we won..” you still can’t believe it so you just put your hands over your head. You’re going to see Ateez again. With your best friend on your side… you will see them… your heart beats fast in your chest and then you let out a happy laugh.

“God Mia… we’ve been chosen.. both of us!

The next day, both of you get an email with the plan and how everything will work. The Fan event will be in Seoul. Far away actually, but both of you decide to just get some Plane Tickets. The next day already, everything starts. You’re in the plane, together with your best friend. Your heart still pounds loud in your chest. You still can’t believe it. You’re going to see them..

The next day, both of you get an email with the plan and how everything will work. Suddenly… everything is going really fast and Mia and you land in Seoul. Your heart still pounds loud in your chest. You still can’t believe it. You’re going to see them..

The Car waits for you and after a second security check, you both get inside.

The drive to the Hotel is silent. Both of you two are too nervous to speak so you just hold your hands tightly together.

The Hello 82 Staff welcomed you both very sweetly and you went into conversation and greetings so fast that you almost forgot about your nervousness.

“Hi! I’m Sara! I’m from Germany too actually! I always look for what you post” a laugh escapes the small girl in front of you and you smile back.

“I have the feeling i do know you too! Wow.. haha.. sooo are you as excited as we are??

A/N: thank you for reading the first lines of this story! The next chapters will be long and I try to write as much and as soon as possible!



miss pretty

{single dad!katsuki bakugo x kindergarten teacher f!reader}

summary: katsuki bakugo has never liked mess and always made sure his son and his life reflected just that. with years worth of a sparkling clean and organized home, toys put away and not once scattered about, and a barking knack over any calls of disorder in his life— meeting you, his sons sweet and sugary kindergarten teacher who was the definition of pure and who was for some reason turning his fiery heart into complete goo— was altering his boring strict cycles of no messes around… and for the better.

warnings: cursing, FLUFFF GALORE MY GAWD??, no smut but a lil steamy something, slight angst, afab!reader, katsuki thinks you are an ANGEL, sunshine x grumpy trope, mentions of abandonment, WHOLESOME AFFF, use of y/n, all characters are aged up.

word count: 11.4k

authors note: THIS MAKES ME WANT TO BE A MOTHERRRRR omg this one is sickeningly sweet and i’ve gotten a few requests to do sunshine x grumpy with sir katsuki and i WAS ALLL OVERRR ITTT i hope i fulfilled!!! <333 THANK YOU THANK YOU AS ALWAYS FOR ALL OF YOU BEING SOOO SWEETT TO MEEE I LOVE YOUUUU MWAAAHHH :] <33333

katsuki bakugo hated messes.

“oi!” he grunted, his son’s little head turning to look at him as he munched on his gummy fruit snacks from the backseat. “you better not leave that wrapper in here. take it outside with you when i drop you off.”

“kaaayyy!” his son dragged out happily, completely unphased by his dads snappy personality as he contemplated on which color fruit gummy to eat next.

“and wash your hands too. ask your teacher.”

“mhm!” he chirped.

“and don’t be a brat. pay attention.”

“yup yup!”

and for the most part, his life reflected that almost entirely— raising his son to always clean up after himself and not make bombastic huge messes around the house, begrudgingly understanding that he’s a small growing human, that a little spill of apple juice or two is basically guaranteed… but he just hated mess, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t raise his son right to be a clean and organized man even at five years old— katsuki keeping everything in his life practically spotless.

that was of course, until he met you.

katsuki shoved through the other parents in line as he went up to the front desk in the main office with a grip on his sons little hand, not giving a damn about the glares and huffs of bewilderment he got as there was no way in hell he was gonna wait like an idiot with the rest of them.

the lady at the front desk raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“can i help—”

“where the fuck is room twenty four.”

her eyes bulged open as the rest of the parents in line softly gasped and murmured.

“e—excuse me?—”

he rolled his eyes.

“room twenty four.” he pushed. “where is it?”

“sir— if you need me to help you i’d like you to wait in line until—”

“hah?! absolutely not.” he spat. “if i wait in that fucking line my son’s gonna be late why can’t you just tell me—”

“uh sir if you could—”

katsuki’s son giggled as he continued to spout profanities at the poor front desk lady.

“—sir please no foul language there are children around—”

“i don’t give a shit! just tell me where room twenty four is what the hell is so hard about that?!—”

“oh! that’s my class!”

katsuki snapped his head over, fiery red eyes shooting towards the voice until they landed on yours.

“is he one of my kids?” you smiled sweetly, eyes coming down to look at his son.

“oh—” he let his shoulders relax just a tad as he watched you fix the strap of his sons backpack on his shoulder. “i mean— if your class is twenty four—“

“it is!” you beamed, nudging your head. “i’ll show you where!”

“hiii miiiissss!” his son greeted, happy and silly as he followed you down the hall.

“hi honey!” you gushed, just as excited as he was as you patted over his blonde scruffy hair. “what’s your name?”

“milo!”

“nice to meet you milo! are you excited for your first day?”

“yeaaahh!” he cheered, smile bright as he grabbed your hand.

katsuki’s eyes widened.

“milo!” he snapped lowly. “what’d i tell ya? you can’t grab her hand like that you have to ask—”

“oh it’s alright!” you dismissed, smiling. “i don’t mind it at all! the other kids do it too.”

milo snickered and stuck his little tongue out at his dad, and katsuki rolled his eyes.

“is he yours?” you asked kindly, tilting your head.

“who else would he be…” he grumbled.

“i guess you’re right!” you giggled. “he looks just like you.”

katsuki’s eyes flickered to yours before dropping back down, a permanent furrow in his brows as you all rounded the corner.

“here we are—”

“ooo! ooo!” milo hopped up and down. “miss you have race cars?! dad can i please go?!”

he looked over, a mountain of toys scattered about in the classrooms play area, little kids already making a damn mess and the school day hadn’t even officially started yet.

“the hell you asking me for? ask your tea—”

“miss miss can i please go play with the race cars?!—”

“of course my love! go! go have fun.” you smiled, gently ushering him on before milo zoomed over to the play area and crouched down with the rest of the kids.

“oi!” katsuki barked. “put them away when you’re done!”

he huffed under his breath as he watched his son give him a thumbs up and fucking dump the entire bucket of race cars down on the ‘abc’ play rug, taking one in each hand and dragging them across floor.

“he’s so cuteee.” you grinned. “i’m glad he’s not afraid being it’s his first day.”

“oh fuck no.” he mumbled. “milo doesn’t care. the little runt doesn’t have a filter and does whatever the hell he wants without askin’ sometimes.”

he leaned against the doorsill as he watched milo converse with another kid and share a car, satisfaction in his chest that his son was sharing and being nice.

“but i guess he gets that from me.” he finished off.

you nodded. “but that’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

he pursed his lips.

“in my experience, not really.”

you hummed.

“i think it’s definitely a good thing… i’d rather be assertive of things and not be afraid of what the consequences will be.”

katsuki looked at you, properly this time.

“what’s a kindergarten teacher afraid of?”

you shrugged, a slow playful grin spreading across your face.

“parents.”

he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and you quickly had to look away, a pink buzz to your cheeks at the way his big built arms flexed.

inappropriate inappropriate inappropriate—

“i don’t know how you do it..” he spoke lowly.

“do what?”

“take care of little shits all day.”

you laughed loudly, reeling over a bit as he watched you out of the corner of his eye.

“i don’t take care of them! i teach them.” you quipped cutely. “they’re small, but this is when their brains drink up the most knowledge… and i love to see the progress from the beginning of the year compared to the end! i love it all really.”

pure.

katsuki curtly nodded, your sweet positive ambiance throwing him completely off, as he doesn’t think he’s ever met or surrounded himself around someone who’s directly emmitted the feeling of sunshine and rainbows and candy as much as you did.

and his cheeks flared up for some reason.

“oh!” you looked to the time on your little wrist watch and walked inside your classroom. “it’s almost time to start! i have to wrangle them all in their seats heh!”

katsuki swallowed and nodded.

“milo!”

he turned and upon seeing his dad wave him over, milo dropped his toys and bounded to him.

“don’t give her a hard time alright?” he spoke sternly, nudging his head over at you for emphasis. “listen. listen and learn and be the best one in there.”

“kaaayyy!”

“and you let me know if any of the other kids mess with you or you deal with it yourself. you already know how—”

“beat the crap out of them!” he cheered loudly and katsuki’s hand flew to clasp over his sons mouth before his frantic eyes looked at you.

the last thing he needed was someone to call up fucking child protective services on him.

“he’s joking! he’s joking… fuck.”

you giggled hard and clutched your stomach, your pretty smile sending katsuki for a loop.

“no you’re absolutely right!” you waved your hands in front of your face, reassuring. “treat others the way you want to be treated, so if someone’s being mean to you, bite back milo, okay? and also let me know first though!”

katsuki gave you a wobbly tiny smile amidst his branded serious face, looking at his son then and ruffling up his hair.

“okay, go.” milo ran off. “and don’t let me pick you up with dirt all over your clothes ya hear me?!”

“byeee daaaddd!”

you could tell that behind his harsh exterior— the slight purse of his lips, stiff frame and bouncing leg gave away that he was only worried about his kid and his first day of school, a sight you’ve seen time and time again since you started working as a kindergarten teacher, and one that never failed to warm your heart.

“don’t worry!” you sweetly smiled, and katsuki switched his gaze over to yours. “i’ll watch him especially… okay? to ease the nerves.”

he softly snorted, attempting to play it off but internally relieved as he pushed himself off the doorsill and nodded, thankful that the teacher milo got was as kind as you.

“um…” he mumbled. “katsuki.”

you tilted your head. “katsuki?”

“it’s my name idiot.”

“oh!” you giggled, a blush rising in your cheeks again as you tried to simmer it down. “nice to meet you katsuki! i’ll see you after school then with milo?”

he stiffly nodded, the way his name sounded so sugary off your tongue something he’d never heard before in his life or was used to at all.

“…ya gonna tell me yours or what?”

“sorry!” you sputtered, laughing nervously. “sorry it just— flew! you know—”

you stuck your hand out and offered it to him.

“y/n!”

katsuki untangled his arms and firmly shook it, grip strong and one that nearly made you stumble forward as you caught yourself and smiled.

“i’ll see you katsuki!”

out of all of the kids you’ve taught, milo was by far the cutest one.

the little man was like your personal assistant— a little bee buzzing around as he followed you everywhere in the classroom and helped you clean up after the rest of the kids that didn’t, ‘yelling’ at some of them to and cutely scolding them whenever he’d catch them leave some things behind, and was always on watch for you like a security guard with his little balled up fists on his hips, surveilling the classroom for any misbehaving kids or messes that you’d missed throughout the day.

all traits you no doubt knew he got from katsuki, even if you had just met him. it was pleasantly obvious.

“thanks for helping me out today, milo!” you gushed, pushing another students chair in as they all sat down and chattered for lunch. “you made my job a lot easier!”

“really?!” he squealed, big glimmering eyes beaming up at you before he happily chowed down on some apple slices.

and you noticed then milo’s lunch was insane, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches cut up and molded neatly into the shape of panda bears, his watermelon and apple slices shaped like stars with carrots and celery lined up with a little wedge of lemon if he wished, tiny rice balls on the side for a little snack you figured in case what he had didn’t fill him up— all so considerate and careful…

“wow!” you exclaimed, kneeling down next to him. “your lunch looks so yummy my love! did your mommy make this?”

“nuh uh!” he shook his head, cheeks filled with watermelon. “my dad did!”

you faltered.

“katsuki made this?”

“who’s katsuki miss?” he asked curiously, sipping on his little juice box after swallowing the fruit in his mouth.

you giggled. “nothing! nothing. enjoy your lunch okay?”

you went to stand, but milo’s hand shot out and caught your wrist.

“can you— can you eat lunch with me?” he mumbled shyly, fiddling with some carrot pieces in his hands. “please.. i always eat with my dad but he’s not here…”

your eyes softened and you quickly nodded.

“of course! let me just go grab my lunch and ill bring it over! sounds good?”

“yaaaayyyy!” he cheered happily, arms up as you scooched a tiny chair over from a nearby table and sat with him, laughing at his cute expression.

you knew you shouldn’t use a little kid to pry… but you were guiltily curious as to know if katsuki was married or not for reasons that made you ridiculously flustered and red in the face over.

and you wanted to be respectful in case he was… since the ogling you did at his muscles this morning through his black ribbed tank was the most embarrassing moment of your career and one you hadn’t seen coming at all, it catching you off guard and feeling horrible if katsuki indeed had a wife.

but he didn’t have a ring on his finger…

“milo?” you spoke up softly.

he smiled big. “yes miss!”

“does your mommy make you lunch as well or just your dad?”

he shook his head. “just my dad! i don’t have a mom.”

your shoulders deflated.

he didn’t have a mom… at all?

you slowly reached over then and patted his blonde hair, smiling warmly as his cheeks went pink. “that’s alright! i’m sure your dad makes you lunches like this every time huh?”

“yeah!” he gasped excitedly. “yesterday he made pizzas and cut them into dinosaurs! it was so cool! and then!— and then this morning for breakfast i had waffles that looked like dynamite blasts!”

“oh my goodness!” you giggled, your heart absolutely thumping over the fact that katsuki was so dedicated to his son like that. “man, i wish my lunches were as cute as yours!”

his little eyes snapped to yours.

“i’ll tell him!”

your brows furrowed confusedly. “wha—”

“to make you lunch! i’ll tell my dad to make you lunch!”

your eyes widened and you frantically shook your head, cheeks blazing as you laughed. “oh no my love! that’s totally okay don’t worry about me silly—”

“i’ll tell him i’ll tell him i’ll tell him!—”

“milo it’s okay! i’m a big girl.” you grinned. “i’m supposed to make my own lunches.”

milo grumbled and plopped a carrot in his mouth, begrudgingly chewing as he sat there in thought.

“…will you at least let me share some of mine?”

you pouted at his generosity, wondering how a kid could be so sweet as you nodded and held your hand up.

“of course sweetie! whatever you wa—”

milo plopped all of his peanut butter sandwiches in your palm and grinned, earning a gasp from you.

“milo this is too much i can’t—”

“eat it! eat it! eait it!—”

by the end of the day, you managed to get milo to take back his sandwiches in exchange for one singular watermelon star piece, him still doing his regular duties of being your little assistant and helping you clean up after everyone before the final bell rang signaling the end of class, you carefully making sure each kiddo got their designated backpack (as there was often a mix up) and art pieces they made for their parents to take home— a permission slip for the end of the year field trip tucked away inside their bags.

and the minute you stepped outside with the rest of the kids, you were surprised to see that katsuki was one of the first parents there as he stood directly across from your classroom with crossed arms, an angry usual scowl on his face that made you laugh to yourself as you led your kids to sit down on a bench in a single file line until their parents physically came to get them or their vehicles pulled up.

“milo!” you tapped his shoulder gently. “your daddy’s over there!”

“DAAADDD!!”

milo jumped up and ran across the grass, his tiny arms out as katsuki smiled softly and crouched down to pick his son up and settle him on his lower abdomen, you wringing your fingers behind your back and walking up to them.

“were you a brat?” he grunted.

“nope!”

“did any kids mess with you?”

“nope!”

“did you leave a mess?”

“nope!”

you giggled, and katsuki’s eyes snapped in your direction.

“how was he?”

“he did so good!” you gushed, patting milo’s back as he grinned. “was my little helper and everything! didn’t leave a single mess behind and helped me clean up after everyone else… he even made sure everyone was paying attention and not misbehaving.”

“yeah! yeah! see dad?” milo poked his dads cheek. “i didn’t lie!”

“never said you lied you little runt.” he scowled. “…but good job.”

“thanks!”

katsuki set him down after milo started kicking his legs and saying something about the swings, him instantly running towards the playground and to the slide.

“did he actually do all of that?” he spoke up.

“oh yes!” you quickly nodded. “i’ve never had a kid do that before so it was really nice of him to!”

you detached your fingers from around your back and fiddled with them.

“you teach him well katsuki.”

he scoffed and turned his head, cheeks pink as he tried to regain his composure.

“damn right i do.”

you giggled then, the memory of milo telling you he didn’t have a mother suddenly popping into your mind as you watched him happily slide down the blue slide head first.

“hey i don’t mean to um..” you timidly began. “i don’t mean to pry but—”

katsuki raised a brow at you and you snapped your mouth shut.

“nothing! nothing nevermind—”

“spit it out.”

“no it’s alright! sorry i—”

he glared and you cowered, smiling bashfully as you bit your bottom lip.

“milo… milo mentioned that he didn’t have a mommy? i was just— wondering if that was true…”

“tch—” he shook his head. “that’s what you were afraid of askin’ me?”

“i told you i’m scared of parents…” you slumped cutely, and he chuckled.

“it’s just me and him.” he answered. “his mom’s never been a part of our lives.”

your heart sunk a little, eyes sad as your gaze shifted to milo playing and racing around with another kid.

“don’t do that.”

you jumped and looked at katsuki.

“do— do what—”

“look all sad and shit.”

he hesitantly reached over and planted an index finger to the crease between your brows, the feeling rough as he tried to gently drag it down and smooth over the lines.

“it’s fine.” he grumbled, letting his arm fall to his side. “it doesn’t bother him. at least i don’t think it does.”

“no!” you spoke quickly, a crazed blush on your cheeks. “it doesn’t! and milo speaks so highly of you… especially the lunches you make him.”

his brows furrowed. “his lunch?”

“yeah!” you nodded excitedly. “you prepare it so so well! how do you get his sandwiches to look like little bears? and his fruit?! every time i try to cut mine into stars they always break in half…”

he huffed out a laugh, finding your little whine funny as he reached over and ruffled up your hair, you smiling cheekily in response.

“do you use molds?” you asked politely. “to shape out the bear?”

“fuck no.” he scoffed. “i do it myself.”

your eyes flew open.

“what?! so that’s really just you? and the dinosaurs too? the pizza dinosaurs? and the waffles? the ones that looked like dynamite blasts—”

“jesus christ how much did that kid tell you?”

your face grew hot as you smacked a hand over your mouth.

“sorry!” you giggled. “i just was thinking— that his lunch was really cute and thoughtful…” you took your hand away from your face. “i’m really glad that you do little things like that for milo to make him happy.”

katsuki stared at you, your swarm of compliments and sweetness and sunshine and butterflies almost suffocating as you looked at him with those pretty doe eyes, his throat oddly closing up the longer he stared right back and allowed you to pull him into your world of wonder and abc blocks and puzzles.

but it wasn’t suffocating in a bad way, not at all.

and… maybe he did want you to pull him in.

“dad dad dad!”

milo ran over, sweaty and red faced as he reached the two of you.

“there’s a dead lizard in the slide!”

“a dead lizard?” you laughed, surprised as you reached for his little water bottle from his backpack on the ground and uncapped the lid, handing it over and ushering him to drink.

katsuki didn’t know why the domestic sight of you doing that made him melt a bit.

a bit.

“yeah miss! it was big and gross.” he breathed out after gulping some of his icy cold water. “but i buried him!”

his dads red eyes snapped down to his and narrowed.

“don’t tell me you touched that thing milo.”

“i did!” he giggled.

“oh my fucking god—” katsuki snatched his hand and started pulling him to the car as milo giggled and stuck his tongue out.

“it’s a prank! some other girl in my class did… but i helped with the dirt!”

you chuckled softly as you watched katsuki stop and roll his eyes, coming back over to you with a hyper milo.

“say bye to your teacher ya little runt. and you’re still taking a shower when you get home!”

“but i don’t wanna take a showeerrr!” milo whined, letting go of his dads hand and running to you, you crouching and extending your arms big with a pretty smile.

“bye my love!” you hugged him tight as he giggled. “i’ll see you tomorrow okay? and give your daddy a break. no more digging up dirt and playing with dead lizards.”

“kaayyyy!”

you both let go and he stepped back, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before bouncing back to his dad.

katsuki choked on his spit.

“oi!” he barked. “you can’t just kiss her cheek milo the hell is going on with you?!—”

“it’s okay don’t worry!” you smiled kindly. “he’s just being sweet is all! i don’t mind.”

“you sure?” he pushed, milo snickering. “i—”

you waved him off and wrung your fingers behind your back, leaning forward.

“i’ll see you tomorrow morning kats!”

and he froze, nodding hard as he quickly took milo’s hand and backpack before walking to the car, his heart completely aflame in his chest and cheeks red as he led his babbling son further into the parking lot and inside the car, buckling him up in his car seat before hopping in himself and starting the engine, unbelieving that he had barely just met you and he was already thinking and acting like a fucking dumbass.

“and then we learned the days of the week! oh!— and we learned numbers! i can count to fifteen dad!”

“that’s good milo.” he responded, pulling out of the schools parking lot and craning his neck to see if he could catch a final glimpse of you and settling once he did, you so pretty and conversing so nicely with another kid until he was out of the lot.

“did you eat all of your lunch? y/n tells me ya shared with her.”

“i did! i did share with her.” he grinned. “she liked my lunch!”

“good.” katsuki gave him a thumbs up through the rear view mirror. “that’s good that you always share. especially with her.”

“yup yup! she’s preeettyyy.”

he rolled his eyes, but a small smile grew at the corner of his lips as he nodded curtly.

“that she is.”

katsuki continued to drop off his son personally at your classroom every morning before school.

even when it had been a couple of months into the year, at this point many students already used to their route to and out of class and their parents just dropping them off and leaving— them not even allowed on campus as security rounded every corner and told any parents who wished to go in that they weren’t supposed to, as per policy.

but not katsuki.

katsuki didn’t give a fuck as he stormed through the main office and ignored the calls of the front desk lady, her already used to the rude asshole who came through the building every morning as he strode by and down the hall to class twenty four… wanting to see you— his son’s pretty kindergarten teacher that was sweet and joyful and someone who was everything he wasn’t, his mind curious and filled with your giggles and smiles throughout the time that he’d gotten to know you and chat with you in the mornings and the afternoons, loving the way you were with milo and treated him like he was literally your own— always watching over him and making sure he had had enough to eat and drink and that his hands were washed when he wasn’t around.

and even katsuki himself— you bringing him candy bags from their classroom parties or donuts that were passed to faculty in the mornings and saving yours for him, treats he always took and ate with no questions asked even though he wasn’t a fan of sugary shit and junk food, always making the exception for you.

he had never experienced honest help like that… he’d never experienced someone caring enough about him and his son like the way you did so perfectly every single day…

and katsuki feared that he was a little obsessed.

“oh! miss y/n!”

“yes honey?” you responded kindly, opening a juice pouch for another student and handing it to them carefully during lunch.

milo dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a small container, sticking his hand up and offering it to you.

your brows furrowed, taking it from him.

“what’s this milo?”

“it’s from my dad!”

you stopped, heart dropping to your ass as you recounted his words.

from katsuki?

“your— your dad?”

“mhm!”

you shakily popped the lid of the container open, eyes widening and filling with hearts once you saw a mix of star shaped strawberries and watermelon and papayas, drizzled over with sparkling strings of honey and singular little blueberries scattered about.

“for me?” you asked softly, crouching down next to milo. “my love— are you sure this isn’t for you? i think your dad cut these up for you—”

“nope! for you!” he gave you a big toothy smile before stuffing his mouth with crackers. “he told me not to eat it and to give it to you.”

he swallowed and reached up, you tilting down your head so he could pat it just like you always did for him.

“i hope you like it miss! they look like the ones you told me looked cute!”

“i— i love them milo.. thank you!”

you picked up a papaya piece and ate it, entirely dazed and love struck as your tastebuds savored over the sweet velvety thick honey, literally blinking back tears at how thoughtful and kind katsuki was.

he didn’t have to do this at all… yet he took the time anyways out of his morning to do this for you.

and your heart nearly fucking gave out.

after school once you got your rowdy kids to sit neatly on the bench and wait for their parents, you extended a hand for milo and he hopped off the bench and took it, you both walking up to a waiting katsuki as he stood there with a soft smile on his face.

“hi kats!”

“hey.” he picked his son up and settled him over his abdomen, milo’s arms clinging around his neck and chin propped up on his dads shoulder as he was exhausted from a days worth of playing and learning.

“i wanted to um—” you peered up at him. “i um—”

his brows furrowed, and just as he was about to bark about you stumbling over your words, he stopped.

your bottom lip was trembling.

you hurriedly wiped your eyes.

“i wanted to thank you—” hic! “f—for the star shaped fruit this morning—”

“why are you crying dumbass?” he mumbled, reaching over and wiping some tears with his rough fingers.

“because it was so nice!” you sobbed, shoulders shaking as you let him wipe your cheeks. “and— and you put honey over it too! you didn’t have to do any of that for me!”

“tch—”

he flicked your forehead softly, not enough to hurt you but enough to get you to snap out of your hiccups as you sniffled.

“it’s just fruit y/n—”

“but it’s not.” you wiped your eyes again. “not to me anyways…”

katsuki slowly lowered his arm, gaze tracing over your pretty face and perfect hair and the way you cried over something so stupid, his brain unable to process the fact that an act as simple as cutting fruit up for you could make you this happy, and it made him want to see what you saw for once— how you saw the world for exactly what it was and appreciated it regardless of how big or small things were, not snippy or angry or spiteful over everyone and thinking everything was out to get him and his son.

“crybaby…” he grumbled. “i’m glad you liked it though.”

“i did kats.. a lot. thank you.” you wiped the last of your tears and smiled. “i’m sorry i cried.”

what a pretty sweet girl…

he shook his head and hoisted milo up, him completely knocked out with drool coming out of his mouth as katsuki felt it run down his shoulder, barely even noticing that though as his entire focus was trained purely on you.

was it okay if he… asked you out? would it be weird? would you tell him to fuck off?

katsuki internally rolled his eyes at his stupid fucking high school boy thoughts, though it didn’t alleviate the gnawing feeling that if you did tell him to fuck off… that he’d be angrily mortified at his fail and probably lose the right to talk to you since it’d be too awkward to.

but you were just so fucking sweet. all of the time.

“listen uh—” he cleared his throat, face growing hot. “i was wondering if ya wanted to eat dinner with me… sometime.”

you stared, eyes big and shocked and katsuki took it defensively and entirely the wrong way.

“forget it.” he snapped. “forget it i didn’t say shit—”

“no! no no—” you quickly shook your head. “no it’s okay i would!”

he stopped.

“you would?”

“of course!” you expressed sweetly, cheeks hurting from how big you were smiling as you tried to simmer down your giddy squeals. “i’d love to have dinner with you…”

his tense shoulders slowly relaxed, an eventual small smile growing on his face.

“a—alright uh…” he sighed. “i’d prefer to take ya somewhere nice but i don’t really have anyone to watch milo—”

you shook your head again, brows pinched. “oh no kats— we don’t have to go anywhere at all! we can order something in at your place and eat with milo? or— or my place?”

“my place.” he replied. “and i’ll cook.”

he cooks?!

“okay!” you giggled, your hand reaching up and patting over milo’s sleepy head gently. “sounds good!”

katsuki and you agreed on the details of the date after and bid each other bashful goodbyes, swooning as you watched him walk away into the parking lot with a sleeping milo in his arms and feeling like none of this was fucking real, for you couldn’t believe someone as handsome and cool as katsuki would ever be interested in someone like you.

and funnily enough, he felt the complete opposite, stressed and extra snappy as he cleaned the house from top to bottom (though it barely needed it), unnecessarily fixed the positioning of the furniture and made milo put away his toys, him not even whining or protesting like he usually did solely because the little man knew you were coming— pretty miss y/n with the pretty smile and the nicest lady he had ever met, and one he secretly hoped would be his new mommy every time he saw you and his dad converse before and after school, thinking you would fit the role perfectly.

especially after his dad had given you those fruits as a present!

“milo!” katsuki called. “come ‘ere!”

his son ran into the kitchen, toy race car in hand. “what!”

“be good today, ya hear me?” he pushed, face stern as he flipped a kitchen towel over his shoulder and sautéed vegetables in his frying pan. “please milo. don’t try to be funny and do somethin’ to scare y/n off.”

milo gave him a look.

“scare miss y/n off? dad you’re gonna scare her off not me!” he giggled. “silly.”

“yeah..” he grunted. “you’re probably right but i’m just sayin’. i’m thinking of the time grandma came over and ya put that fake rat in her purse to try and be funny.”

“ohhh yeeeeah!” he doubled over in little fits of laughter, holding his stomach as he did. “i did do that!”

“see what i mean?” katsuki grumbled, snatching the kitchen towel from his shoulder and throwing it down on the counter top, stepping back to peek in the oven. “you better not do that with y/n please.”

“i won’t!” he grinned. “not when she’s about to be my new mommy!”

katsuki choked as his spit went down the wrong pipe, bending over and coughing uncontrollably in his elbow before spinning around and looking at his son with wide eyes and pink cheeks.

“the hell you just say?”

“what!” milo tilted his head. “that y/n is gonna be my new mommy?”

his eyes grew even wider as he dropped the pan he was holding on the stove and leaned back, running his hands over his face.

“oh you little runt please don’t say that in front of her, alright?”

he pouted. “why not?”

“you’ll scare her off! worse than when you put that fake rat in grandmas purse!”

“boooo!” milo stuck his tongue out and crossed his little arms over his chest. “whatever.”

“oi!”

“what!”

katsuki’s doorbell chimed and milo booked it to the front door.

“missss preettyyyy!!—”

“milo get your ass back here!—”

katsuki swung the door open and swooped his son in his arms just as he was about to pounce on you in midair, you giggling and covering your mouth as you watched the scene unfold before you.

“i’m sorry—”

“hiii misss y/nnn!” milo greeted happily, dangling off of his dad as katsuki tried to stop him from wiggling out of his grip. “i’m so exciteeeddd!—”

“hi my love!” you gushed warmly, smile wide as you extended your arms and walked forward, taking milo in your arms and setting him on your hip. “how are you? you excited to hang out with meee?”

“yes! yes!” he vigorously nodded. “i wanna show you all my race cars!”

“oh i can’t wait to seeee!” you bounced him on your hip and he giggled, you turning your attention and smiling at katsuki.

“hi kats!”

“the little brat is hogging—”

milo blew a silly raspberry at him before wrapping his arms around you and shoving his face into your neck.

you laughed and ran a soothing hand over the little man’s back, katsuki rolling his eyes before stepping to the side and letting you in, shutting the door behind him and leading you over to the kitchen.

and jesus christ you looked beautiful, him noting that pink was what you mainly wore on the day to day as he eyed your small rosy cardigan, you walking through his home and looking around and oblivious to the way he was staring at you like a fucking creep.

katsuki bit the inside of his cheek as he watched your eyes scan your surroundings, stupidly nervous about what you’d think of his house and furniture and minuscule decorations, and annoyed with himself that he’d even give a shit about something like that, trying to occupy himself and ignore it as he looked in the oven and lifted lids of various pots and pans, checking over tonight’s dinner.

“i’m sorry i’m behind…” he grumbled and waved his hand around. “had to clean the house and shower milo since he decided to play in the fuckin’ mud this morning.”

“oh you don’t have to apologize for that kats!” you looked at him worriedly. “you don’t have to apologize for anything i totally understand…”

you hoisted milo further up your hip and grinned. “i’m just happy to spend time with the both of you.”

katsuki felt smoke puff out of his red ears as he nodded and scratched the back of his neck, turning slightly and lifting the lids from his pots and pans again.

“miss preettyyyy!” milo whined. “when can i show you my race cars?!”

katsuki scowled and you laughed.

“now honey! but how about we move some of your toys to the living room so i can spend time with both you and dad? how does that sound?”

“yayayay!!” milo cheered, bouncing on your hip as you smiled cutely and set him down, him running off down the hall and you quickly following after him.

milo talked you through his entire collection of race cars as you both sat down on the living room rug— telling you the model of each and every one, what they did, how fast they went, they places they’d gone, and which were his favorites as you excitedly talked to him about his cars and shifted conversation between him and katsuki, a task he was surprised you did so efficiently, but then quickly realized that that was literally your fucking job everyday dealing with little brats talking your ears off and you attending all of them at the same time.

and when it came around to dinner time, you helped katsuki set up even through his snapping and huffing that you absolutely shouldn’t, you giving him a silly little face as you assisted anyways and set up milo’s booster seat, picking him up and sitting him down before buckling him up while katsuki placed your dishes on the table—

and gourmet fucking dishes at that.

you were bewildered. absolutely bewildered as you gawked over the lasagna platter he set before you, it delicate and fancy looking as he had even draped sauce on your gray ceramic plate in gourmet intricate designs, knowing that katsuki had mentioned to you he was a chef over the several months you’d gotten to know him, but you didn’t know exactly to which extent that chef occupation stretched to.

“kats…” you murmured. “what do you do for a living.”

“i told you idiot.” he passed over a couple of napkins and you gratefully took them, taking one then and wiping down milo’s mouth as he messily ate his cut up pieces of lasagna. “i’m a cook.”

“yeah but what kind? where?”

“why?” he gruffed. “does it look like shit?”

“no!” you giggled. “absolutely not the opposite actually! this is probably the most beautiful lasagna i’ve ever seen in my life.”

“duh.” he responded, but sent you a small smile as he ate. “i’m an executive chef down at a restaurant in the city.”

your jaw dropped. “the city?! you’re so cool kats! oh my goodness!”

his face flushed.

“my dad says his boss is a piece of—”

“don’t say it!” katsuki snapped at his son, eyes wide as you slapped a hand over your mouth to keep yourself from laughing, not wanting to encourage the little man any further.

“milo i told ya not to cuss until you’re ten—”

“ten?!” you giggled loudly and let your hand fall, sticking your fork in your lasagna and eating. “as long as he cusses with you and not at you… i think it should be fine!”

katsuki stopped.

you get it. or you rile up his bad cussing habit. either or he might as well have found his fucking soulmate.

“miss pretty!” milo called.

“yes my love?”

“do you have a boyfriend?”

katsuki smacked a hand on his forehead and you snickered.

“i don’t!” you grinned. “why milo?”

“because i want you to be my new—”

“milo if ya shut your mouth right now i’ll buy you two new race cars tomorrow.”

his son gasped dramatically and pursed his lips shut, eyes big and excited as he tried to contain himself and do as told.

“his new what?” you tilted your head cutely, katsuki’s heart hammering against his rib cage as he stuffed his mouth with food.

he shrugged. “the fuck should i know?”

“but i wanna know!” you pouted, taking your final bites of your yummy dinner.

he swallowed.

“do you want dessert?”

you gasped. “oh my god yes! i do!”

“then i suggest you shut your mouth too.”

you laughed over the table, quickly nodding as you pursed your lips like milo and pinched your thumb and index finger together, running it across your mouth and twisting your wrist like a pretend lock before dropping your hand in your lap, giddy and excited over dessert.

katsuki playfully rolled his eyes and stood, collecting all of your plates and stacking them on top of each other before taking them over to the sink.

“dad!” milo called as he bounced in his seat, katsuki grunting in response.

“what’d you make for dessert!”

“mochi.”

“yaaaayyyyy!” he cheered happily. “can i eat it with y/n in the living room?”

katsuki’s brows furrowed. “the living room?”

“yeah!” milo exclaimed. “so i can keep showing her my race cars!”

he struggled for a moment before eventually nodding. “alright… but don’t make a mess i just cleaned—”

you and milo ended up building a fucking fort once he gave you the all clear, you both saying something about it adding to the ambiance as you used the couch cushions for makeshift walls and milo’s choo choo train sheets for the roof and tent, katsuki before he knew it his entire living room a fucking mess as the three of you sat amongst the scattered about pillows and blankets eating your bits of mochi, milo mainly inside the little tent you made for him as you and katsuki were too big to fit inside with him.

his living room was a mess… but he didn’t mind.

katsuki didn’t mind the mess.

your way of living was entirely different from his, as yours had everything to do with mess due to your full time job with kids— paint all over your hands and face, marker stains on your clothes and sticky glue residue and pieces of cut up construction paper somehow in your hair, all things katsuki despised for years and made sure his house never reflected any of that.

but in that moment, with his living room in complete disarray and the positioning of his couches utterly fucked up? the dishes still in the sink and the table still set?

katsuki didn’t fucking care.

because he had never seen his son so happy. he had never seen him so excited and hyper as you helped him set up and somehow tie fairy lights that katsuki had somewhere up in his attic for holiday seasons around the fort, you looking fucking gorgeous under the dim dark lightning as you read milo one of his favorite children’s books you got from his little shelf in his room— ‘the very hungry caterpillar,’ one of your favorites too as his son followed along with you and giggled whenever you’d make a silly joke only a five year old would find funny.

and katsuki felt warm… that’s all he ever felt when he was around you.

is this what it was like to be a family?

“oh my goodness i almost forgot!” you quickly sat up and handed milo the book, him taking it as you crawled over and reached for your bag. “i brought something for you honey!”

milo gasped and sat up. “really?! what?!”

you pulled out a ceramic cream colored globe with hollowed out stars, a small bulb inside as you scooched on your knees back over to a curious katsuki and milo.

“woah..” his son whispered. “what is it?”

you smiled and reached for the nearest outlet, plugging in the little globe and flicking a switch.

the darkened room illuminated itself then with the soft murmur of a lullaby playing, star shaped shadows slowly shifting around the entire living room as milo gasped and stood, frantically pointing at each moving shadow and gushing while his little mind was trying to process how cool and fascinating this was.

and all katsuki could do was stare at you.

stare at the way you sat back on your ankles and pointed with milo, counting how many stars you could see before it shifted and repeating that for fun, stare at the way both of your eyes glowed with wonder and curiosity, and stare at the way you smiled so gracefully and looked unreal now under the starry lights, his heart on overdrive at how gentle you were and how much you cared about his son.

about him.

and katsuki was sure then he was absolutely sick over you.

you all settled after a while of playing games and eating more mochi, especially milo, the little lullaby knocking him out as he snored next to you in his fort, you and katsuki laying down next to each other as you stared up at the shifting stars.

“i’m sorry i made such a mess in your living room..” you whispered bashfully. “i promise i’ll pick everything up before i leave.”

he shook his head. “don’t worry about it i can pick up. it’s fine.”

you smiled at him warmly before looking back up at the ceiling, feet planted on the blanketed flooring as your mindlessly moved your propped up knees side to side.

“was it hard raising milo on your own kats?” you asked softly, fingers wrung together neatly on your tummy.

“it was at first.” he mumbled. “but i got used to doin’ it on my own.”

you frowned, not particularly happy with the idea that katsuki had to raise a human being on his own without any help or guidance, wishing that he would’ve had someone there to help him every once in a while, or just be there for him.

“you did an exceptional job, okay?” you began. “you should know that... milo is such an honest kid… and he’s so precious too.”

katsuki’s eyes softened, and he couldn’t bring himself to look at you in fear of you noticing his stupid flustered face as he opted for keeping his gaze glued to the starry ceiling, your sugary peachy perfume not fucking helping as he decided to sit up instead.

“he is.” he grunted softly. “don’t know how his mom didn’t see that.”

you faltered and sat up with him.

“what do you mean?”

katsuki eyed you before looking down, hands flat behind him propping himself up as he thought.

“ah… milo happened because of some random hookup i had in college.” he mumbled. “didn’t love her or anythin’, i barely knew her but still told her i’d support her and the baby obviously.”

you nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“i was there through her entire pregnancy and when milo was born… but the minute she got discharged from the hospital and took him with her, i woke up at four in the mornin’ with a knock on my door and milo left abandoned on my doorstep.”

you gasped, hand hovering over your mouth.

“are you— are you serious?”

katsuki nodded.

“she wouldn’t answer my calls, my texts, nothing. i went to her house and found out she took the first flight she could to fuck knows where.” he shook his head bitterly. “but i didn’t give a shit about me i’ll raise him i don’t care. it was never about me.

he looked at you. “it was about milo. i didn’t want him to know that his ‘mom’ left him behind like that, and i didn’t want him to think it was his fault or anythin’… shits ridiculous.”

katsuki shifted his gaze back up to the ceiling. “still don’t know how she could ever do something like that.”

the sound of a hiccup make his eyes widen and snap back to you, your eyes filled with fat tears as your bottom lip wobbled, hands coming up to cup over your mouth and nose as you tried to keep it in.

“you’re crying?”

you nodded, squeaky slight sobs slipping past your throat as you strained to keep everything down.

“that’s so cruel.” you cried softly, embarrassingly drowning in your tears in front of him yet again. “you didn’t deserve that at all kats… milo didn’t deserve that you both should’ve had such a good mommy and— and a good support system—”

katsuki pushed himself up and wrapped his big arms around your shoulders, pulling you in and rubbing a hand up and down your back comfortingly.

“you cry over everything y/n.”

“s—” hic! “—sorry—”

he laid the side of his head on top of yours as you shook, somehow feeling guilty of what he told you just because of how much you were crying.

more than when he gave you those star shaped fruits.

“oi…”

katsuki pulled back and looked at you, reaching up and wiping your tears with his thumbs.

“don’t cry baby…”

baby?!

you funnily sobbed even more and shoved your face in his chest, him chuckling as he wrapped his arms back around you and gently swayed side to side.

“stop it idiot.” he mumbled. “it’s fine. it happened years ago n’ milo and i have always been alright on our own.”

…but he wanted you now.

now that he knew what it was like to be softly cared for by someone precious like you, to feel what it was like to be warm and fuzzy and sunshine and rainbows and candy all of the time… and katsuki wanted you so. bad.

“i know..” you hiccuped. “and i’m really glad but i just wish you had someone.”

you pulled away and quickly wiped your wet cheeks. “m’sorry i cried all over your shirt—”

“don’t give a fuck.”

you breathed out a laugh and dropped your hands in your lap, looking at your fingers as you sniffed.

you were always crying for him.

“y/n.”

“yeah?”

he looked to the side with a blush to his cheeks.

“thanks for comin’ today.”

you smiled brightly and nodded.

“of course kats! how could i not?” you looked behind you to a sleeping milo, reaching over and pulling his blanket a little further up his shoulders. “i want you to know that i wanna be there for you and milo…”

he shifted his gaze to you as you turned back around.

“whether— whether you wanna keep seeing me or not—” you gnawed nervously at the inside of your cheek. “which i hope you do! but— but if not that’s totally fine i just want to be there for you both…”

how were you so pure? so thoughtful?

“why the hell wouldn’t i wanna keep seeing you?” he huffed, grumbly and embarrassed as he pursed his lips. “i’d be stupid as fuck not to…”

you blushed, happy shiny eyes looking at him eagerly like he was everything and more, and he wasn’t used to people looking at him like that whatsoever as your gaze flickered down to his lips and back up.

and you were so pretty.

“y/n.”

“mhm?”

he slowly leaned closer.

“would you be mad if i made a move on you—”

“of course not—”

katsuki lunged and planted his rough lips on yours, you tasting like straight sugar and honey as he placed his big hands on the sides of you head and held you like a piece of delicate glass, kissing and sliding your tongues in each others mouths rather quickly and breathy as he moved one hand from your pretty face down to your waist to grip it.

you placed your hands on the blanketed floor and slowly crawled over to him during the makeout, him reaching and wrapping the rest of his built muscly arms around your waist and pulling you to straddle his lap as he ran his hands up and down your sides and back, wanting to feel you as much as he possibly could and squeeze you tight as he gulped your little self down, brows furrowed and lips red.

katsuki pulled away and ran his fiery wet mouth across your jaw and to the spot right below your ear on the side of your neck, your hands gripping his broad shoulders as he bit and sucked and still squeezed you, manhandling you in a way and eating you up.

your eyes fluttered open once you heard a slight rustle, your line of sight catching milo shifting a little in his sleep.

“k—kats—” you breathlessly whispered, pushing a little at his shoulders.

he grunted.

“milo—” you pointed. “he’s waking up—”

“the fucks that gotta do with us—”

“kats!”

he groaned and pulled his mouth from you, scowling over to see his son only shifted positions and was now directly facing the both of you, tiny eyes closed as he drooled and was probably dreaming about race cars and his dads shark shaped pb & j sandwiches.

“the little runt is fine—” he shoved his face back in and gnawed at your neck again as you gasped.

“nooo!” you whined and giggled softly. “now i’m scared he’s gonna wake up…”

he huffed and officially pulled away this time, red eyes dilated and half lidded as he looked over your pinky cheeks and shy face, the purple and blue mark he made on your neck making the right side of his lips curve up into a little prideful smirk, you too distracted to notice over the way he clutched and loosened up the hold on your waist repeatedly.

katsuki kept you on his lap and scooched himself down, laying on his back and head on the pillow as he nudged you to lay on him completely over his chest and body, you more than happy to do so as you settled your head on his pecs and got comfortable with his strong arms around you— feeling so safe and looked after.

and you hadn’t expected to sleep over… but you just didn’t wanna leave, and katsuki sure as hell didn’t want you to either as you softly and quietly talked over the small tinkling of the lullaby and milo’s soft breathing, shadowy stars still slowly shifting around you as you easily switched between various topics— ranging from serious to silly as you ran a loving hand over his chest and his on your back, the both of you subconsciously lulling each other to sleep until you were just as passed out on the floor as milo.

since then, katsuki didn’t wanna let you out of his sight.

as if he wasn’t already involved enough with milo’s school activities because of you, this man became a fucking member of the pta and volunteered himself for every single event so as long as you were there, helping you out especially with fundraisers and bake sales as his desserts always sold out quicker than anything else and made bank as he snickered and boasted at the other parents that weren’t selling as much, you giving him a silly glare that never failed to shut him right up as he wanted to be good for you and not upset you.

the front desk lady even went from hating him to loving him, katsuki grumbling and chucking her a bag of leftover fundraiser chocolate chip cookies on her desk as he passed by to drop off milo in the mornings, serving as a ticket way in and to get her to shut up now instead of yelling at him from down the hall.

and he continued to give you yummy star shaped fruits.

except now some days they looked like hearts or little flowers, and he always made his fruit assortments different so you wouldn’t get tired of them and added different dippings like caramel or chocolate hazelnut, you gushing and nearly bawling literally everyday whenever you’d open the container and milo giggling at you during lunch.

you also never went a day without stopping by or staying over at katsuki’s house since your first initial date, your days so much fun and filled with love as you ate lunch or dinner with the two of them, laughing at milo’s sporadic comments or katsuki’s barking and scolding while you either played with milo, helped katsuki clean up the house and him the kitchen or you the kitchen and vice versa, or simply cuddle on the couch with kisses shared amongst you and katsuki— the three of you with milo seated peacefully and comfortable in the middle while you watched a movie or lulled the little man to sleep.

and katsuki had never felt so complete as he started leaving messes behind without even realizing or stressing about it, and he didn’t know when the fuck it was that he turned so soft and sappy— the change a bit strange to those who knew him as he was just a teeny weeny less explosive and angry over small things, and more so when it came to you and his son.

“make sure you keep your little bucket hat on honey, okay? it’s hot today and i don’t want you to tire yourself out milo.”

the end of the year field trip for the kindergarteners this year was a voyage to the local wildlife sanctuary, a gorgeous exhibit that sat right next to the national science museum in your city, its main attraction being the 25 foot koi pond and butterfly wonderland that housed various butterfly species and their little habitats— the kids field trip assignment being to count how many they see throughout the day and pick one koi fish and butterfly to draw on their journals.

katsuki, of course, volunteered as a chaperone.

“single file line please my loves!” you called, hand by your mouth. “and don’t seperate from your friends okay?! everyone stay where i can see—”

“oi!” katsuki barked, snapping and pointing at a rogue kid who decided to break free from the line and run across the grass. “the fuck do you think you’re doing!—”

“kats!” you breathed out a shocked laugh. “you’re gonna get me fired if you talk to the kids like that—”

“shit! sorry— i’m sorry baby hold on—”

katsuki booked it across the grassy lawn and caught up with the running kid on the other side, the rest of your class giggling and cackling as katsuki swooped him up with one arm and dangled him upside down while he kicked and swung tiny punches to his abs, katsuki not even flinching.

“do that again and see what happens brat.” he spat, the little kid not having a single care in the world as he giggled with the rest of the class, all of them deviously planning to piss katsuki off as much as possible since his outbursts were just funny.

“okay okay—” you smiled apologetically at him before taking the dangling boy from his arm and setting him back down, fixing over his clothes and backpack before patting his head and standing upright.

“no more running alright?” you placed your hands on your hips. “don’t we wanna see some cute little fishies and butterflies?!”

“yeeeeaaaahhhh!!” the babies cheered excitedly, each of them immediately returning to their designated spots in two lines as you grabbed your line leaders tiny hands and started the walk down the grassy field to the sanctuary.

“lemme help ya with one line baby—” katsuki went to grab one of your line leaders hands until they burst into a crying fit.

“no! no! i wanna hold miss y/n’s hand!”

katsuki’s eyes narrowed. “what’s so bad about me hah?”

“you’re ugly! miss y/n is pretty!”

the rest of the kids ruptured, laughing as katsuki sent death glares to a literal child, about to spout something nasty until his eyes flickered to your pleading face, his muscles instantly relaxing as he casted his gaze to the ground with a grumble.

you giggled and gave him a sweet kiss to his cheek in gratitude, his face flushing as he eyed your deep blue overalls and pinky shirt and the way your sunglasses sat pretty in your hair on top of your head.

“what honey?” you tilted your head.

“none of your business.”

you snickered and nudged your shoulder with his, looking over at milo from somewhere in the line to make sure he was okay before walking up the front gates of the sanctuary.

the wildlife guide met you once you all were cleared and inside the greenhouse, your kids absolutely restless as they ‘listened’ to whatever the guide had to say and just wanting to break free and run around to look at all of the fishies and butterflies like you had promised, and you not even listening either as you drooled over the way katsuki’s muscles looked under his t-shirt.

“any questions sweetheart?”

“huh?” your eyes snapped to the guide, cheeks pink as you quickly shook your head. “oh! no not at all! thank you ma’am!”

“alrighty then! just please make sure to tell your students—”

suddenly your two perfect lines broke apart as the kids started running around and pointing at fluttering butterflies and screaming, the guide looking like she’d seen a ghost as the usual quiet and serene sanctuary was now the epitome of noise.

“i’m sorry! i’m sorry—” you guiltily apologized. “my kids will settle down they’re just excited is all…”

the guide kindly waved you off before walking back to the main office, you turning and expecting to see katsuki standing next to you, but faltering once you saw he was on the other side and pulling one of your kids down that had climbed up the gates of one of the sanctuaries closed off exhibits.

“oh god..” you mumbled, about to make your way over until you spotted milo in a corner alone, staring at one of the koi ponds.

“milo?” you called softly, walking up to him.

your heart sank once he turned and you saw his little tear filled eyes and wobbling lip.

“oh no!” you gasped, crouching down and taking his tiny hands in yours. “what’s wrong my love? are you okay? is it too hot?”

you pushed some of his spiky blonde bangs back from his sweaty forehead as he shook his head.

“i can’t draw!” he sniffled. “and the koi fishies keep moving…”

your shoulders relaxed in relief.

“that’s okay!” you took his journal and pencil, wiping his wet cheeks as you smiled sweetly. “as long as we’re patient with the fishies, they’ll swim back and you can draw them again!”

you opened his journal and flipped to a new blank page, the both of you waiting quietly until a big chubby koi fish swam by.

“there!” milo whispered and pointed, and you quickly drew what you could, just making out the shape of the body before it disappeared again.

“and now we wait!” you grinned up at him. “the fishy will come back around and you’ll be able to draw it again.”

“kayyy!!”

“and you can draw milo. i’ve seen your artwork in class, remember? you always get a gold star!”

he giggled. “i do miss pretty!”

you ran a soothing hand over his back before passing his journal back.

“now you try honey—”

“i love you.”

you froze and looked up, katsuki standing there with a sincere and vulnerable look in his eye.

you stood from your crouched position and looked at him wide eyed.

“i’m not— i’m not good at this kinda shit at all and i always say somethin’ dumb but i do.”

“kats—”

“and i’m sorry it took me so long to say it but i tried to make it obvious with my stupid shaped fruits n’ shit… and i always thought you kinda just knew…”

milo was too busy focusing on catching glimpses of the koi fish to draw with his tongue peeking out to even realize what was going on next to him.

“you’re so patient baby. the way you are with me… the way you are with my kid. i need that in my life and i can’t live without it at this point…” he spoke genuinely. “your fuckin’ fault.”

you giggled and covered your face with your hands, face hot to the touch and bashful at everything he was telling you.

“come here.”

you listened and walked forward, dropping your arms as you wrapped them around his abdomen and his around your head, squishing you in his big chest as he propped his chin up.

“do you love me too or what.” he frowned. “cause if not this is shitty and embarrassing—”

“no i do!” you giggled, pulling away and giving him a cheeky smile. “i do kats you know that… i love you. so much.”

he smiled and pecked your lips. “good, miss pretty.”

katsuki had heard the entire conversation you had with his son, your words seeping with such tenderness and care, and he almost passed the fuck out when he thought about how much of a blessing you were, something he’d be a fool not to snatch up and take as he nearly fucking proposed to you in the middle of the sanctuary like an idiot, not knowing at all how a person that pissed people off for a living was loved by a woman who was the definition of pure.

because how the fuck did an angry dunce like him, get lucky with an angel like you?

“oh my god that dumbass kid is climbin’ the fence again— oi!”

katsuki quickly kissed your cheek before flying to the other side of the sanctuary, you doubling over in laughter as you watched him fight and tug and pull, your student not budging at all whatsoever and the rest of the kids laughing at how red katsuki was getting in the face.

“miss pretty!” milo tugged at your overalls, and you looked down to see him holding up his open journal, a cute wobbly sketch of a koi fish on the page as he smiled big. “i drew it! do you like it?!”

“wow milo!” you gushed, crouching down to his level and taking the journal, examining his artwork. “this is beautiful my love! see? i knew you could do it!”

“thank youuu!” he responded sweetly, his little cheeks blushing as he looked at you like he had another thing he wanted to say.

you tilted your head. “do you wanna tell me something else?”

“yeaaahhh.” he dragged. “please love my dad… i know he’s mean but— but he doesn’t mean it!”

your eyes softened as milo looked down at his shoes.

“and love me too… because i want you to be my new mommy…”

you quickly blinked back tears as to not alarm milo, surprisingly successful at preventing them from slipping down your face.

“i do love your dad honey… and you. the both of you i love so so much.”

he beamed. “really?!”

you nodded, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. “and i thought i was already your mommy milo!”

the little man gasped and flung his arms around your neck.

“YAAAYYY!” he yelled. “miss pretty is my mommy! i have a mommy now!”

ever since you came into katsuki’s life, his way of living materialized into something completely different.

because now instead of his house being plain and boring and organized from top to bottom without a single thing out of place— it was warm now… happy. and never went a day without smelling like cookies and vanilla as you and katsuki baked with milo any chance you could, set up more pillow forts and tents with starry ceilings, and slept with milo in his room as he snored content in his little bed, you sprawled directly on top of katsuki like he always had you as you both every day intended to leave after putting his son to rest, but ending up falling asleep on the floor each time.

the three of you were a little family.

and katsuki didn’t know why he hated messes so much in the first place.

because mess signified that something had been there, something sunny and tender, something that signified family as you peppered kisses over both your boys’ faces everyday and katsuki drowning you in his rough ones— your man squeezing you so tight all of the time and anywhere, as milo wasn’t just his son now but yours too as you took him to the park or to the aquarium on your days off, the three of you gently living as both of milo’s small hands were occupied now instead of just one.

katsuki’s life looked like it had been generously cherished and lived in for a change.

and katsuki bakugo loved messes.

so as long as they were from you.

taglist!! <33 (THANK YOU THANK YOU!):

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Imagine being married to Adrien Brody, and both of you being petty after an argument.

Every couple had their arguments. After the Honeymoon phase passed, and real life set in and you acknowledged that not all of your partner’s flaws were as cute as you once thought, or that their views on something had changed so it didn’t suit yours, or well-ingrained bad habits weren’t going away as fast as you had hoped. Like your own husband, Adrien, who had a habit of being perfectly on time for everything and everyone - except for you.

Late to another one of your dinner dates, making you sit by yourself for over half an hour after the reservation. He came just in time, so you didn’t get kicked from the table, but regardless, you were furious. However, you tried to enjoy the rest of the dinner, the delicious food, the great atmosphere. You’d punish him when you got home.

You gave him the good old silent treatment. You didn’t talk to him on the car ride home, letting him listen to the radio. He apologized a dozen times but you gave no acknowledgement or forgiveness for any of it. Stare straight ahead. Say nothing. It continued into the evening, when you went to take your bath and then went to bed early. And then it even continued on into the morning when Adrien woke up, wished you a good morning, then went downstairs to start on his breakfast while you got ready for the day. Maybe the next day was taking it a bit too far but - you were still hurt. If you had been one of his friends, he would have made sure to show up on time.

You descended down the stairs and heard the sounds of - really annoying music, actually. One of those bands that Adrien liked that you didn’t. You had compromised on it, he agreed to listen to it mainly on his headphones, but now it was loud enough to fill the entire main floor of your house. Your nose curled at the sound but you refused to give in.

“Good morning Mrs. Brody,” Adrien said, being a little too cheerful. You narrowed your eyes at him but continued your morning routine of going to the kitchen and making your breakfast. “Don’t you look beautiful today, Mrs. Brody.”

If anything, he was annoying you more. You didn’t give in. You popped two pieces of your favorite bread into the toaster, and then got the jam out of the fridge. Normally, it was easy to open. But as you gave the lid a twist, it was really stuck on there. You know you didn’t close it that tight. And then you spotted your husband out of the corner of your eye, lingering in the doorway, trying to look as innocent as possible.

You put down the jar then turned to your husband with your hands on your hips. “Did you seriously tighten the lid on my jam jar?”

“No idea what you’re talking about, Mrs Brody.”

Your glare eventually turned into something else, a look of amusement, and then you started to laugh. His revenge to your silent treatment was honestly hilarious, and you couldn’t stay mad at him for too long. He started to laugh along with you, coming in close and opened the jam jar with only a little difficulty. “You’re such a - I don’t even have words,” You said, shaking your head, still laughing.

“Don’t hate me but I did the pickle jar as well.”

Requested by: Anonymous