Gigi !

i haven't !! i actually have a soft spot for silena/beckendorf, not enough to write them outside of reqs (hi), but it's there all the same. and man, it's only been a couple weeks but it already feels like forever without my students...but i gotta admit it's been pretty relaxing lol. hope you're having a nice summer as well !!

enjoy !!

~~~

The grass tickled under Silena's fingers as she traced the blades, wandering between the flowers deemed weeds. Katie Gardener had sat down with her and explained tirelessly their names and harms in a comercial garden, though Silena had forgotton all about that now. Now, she wanted to blow the dandelion flower's seeds away until they floated like fireflies dotting the skies, drifting aimlessly towards their new home.

"Silena?" The familiar deep voice of Beckendorf, of Charlie, prompted. The blanket shifted as he sat next to her lying form. "Hopefully you're not about to fall asleep because we took too long setting up the fireworks…"

His voice was laced with a bashfulness the other campers said only happened around her. Silena was used to boys tripping over their feet and putting on airs around her, though Charlie was the only one who was continually himself in spite of his nerves. He attempted to make himself look nice after a day in the Camp's forges, though he never shied away from his cabin's culture. That undoctored display was something that caused an undeniable warmth to develop within Silena's heart.

"Not at all," Silena offered him a smile, patting the blanket behind Charlie's back. "Why don't you lay down? No need to strain yourself watching."

Charlie nodded, returning her smile and laying beside her. He was a respectable foot away from her, hands clasped over his stomach. Silena couldn't help but frown as she gazed over at him, wondering how many seconds she was allowed to study his features. She'd heard the whispers of her own cabin: how she was only going out with Charlie for the taboo of their godly parents' marriage, how she could be with someone better looking. It was all so unbelievably vapid and childish, all things considered. Whenever Silena looked at Charlie, she could only focus on his kind eyes and slightly furrowed brows; even in watching the sky, he seemed to be contemplating how to fix things, how to improve them for everyone. His strong nose, his soft lips quirked up in a smile.

How could someone radiating goodness well beyond Camp, well beyond the gods, want to be with someone like her?

What was worse was that she couldn't care. She'd capture him in a bottle around her neck, to protect him or keep him or both.

"Charlie," Silena whispered.

Charlie hummed in recognition, turning towards her with that same smile. He glanced down at her lips in the way he always did when he thought he'd never be caught.

He'd never kissed her, though. They'd never kissed. Perhaps because Charlie was insistant on being a gentleman, or he was too nervous, or both.

Silena reached out for his shirt, tracing along a streak of black dust from where he'd been working on the fireworks. He weakly lifted a hand up, parting his lips with an unspoken protest. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be getting your hands dirty. Bullshit, considering his cabin sisters, but a chivilrous sentiment all the same.

A second went by, and Charlie was still speechless, watching Silena with the care of working with Greek fire and perhaps half the fear. Silena bunched Charlie's shirt in her hand and pulled him foreward, pressing her lips to his with all the triumph of winning a chariot race.

It was Silena who reluctantly pulled away first, cupping Charlie's cheek and running a thumb along his cheekbone.

"So you're not thinking about when to make a move the whole fireworks show," Silena's voice was shaky with her own nerves finally peeking through.

Charlie managed an incredulous laugh. "As if I'll be able to think of anything else now."

i haven't !! i actually have a soft spot for silena/beckendorf, not enough to write them outside of reqs (hi), but it's there all the same. and man, it's only been a couple weeks but it already feels like forever without my students...but i gotta admit it's been pretty relaxing lol. hope you're having a nice summer as well !!

enjoy !!

~~~

The grass tickled under Silena's fingers as she traced the blades, wandering between the flowers deemed weeds. Katie Gardener had sat down with her and explained tirelessly their names and harms in a comercial garden, though Silena had forgotton all about that now. Now, she wanted to blow the dandelion flower's seeds away until they floated like fireflies dotting the skies, drifting aimlessly towards their new home.

"Silena?" The familiar deep voice of Beckendorf, of Charlie, prompted. The blanket shifted as he sat next to her lying form. "Hopefully you're not about to fall asleep because we took too long setting up the fireworks…"

His voice was laced with a bashfulness the other campers said only happened around her. Silena was used to boys tripping over their feet and putting on airs around her, though Charlie was the only one who was continually himself in spite of his nerves. He attempted to make himself look nice after a day in the Camp's forges, though he never shied away from his cabin's culture. That undoctored display was something that caused an undeniable warmth to develop within Silena's heart.

"Not at all," Silena offered him a smile, patting the blanket behind Charlie's back. "Why don't you lay down? No need to strain yourself watching."

Charlie nodded, returning her smile and laying beside her. He was a respectable foot away from her, hands clasped over his stomach. Silena couldn't help but frown as she gazed over at him, wondering how many seconds she was allowed to study his features. She'd heard the whispers of her own cabin: how she was only going out with Charlie for the taboo of their godly parents' marriage, how she could be with someone better looking. It was all so unbelievably vapid and childish, all things considered. Whenever Silena looked at Charlie, she could only focus on his kind eyes and slightly furrowed brows; even in watching the sky, he seemed to be contemplating how to fix things, how to improve them for everyone. His strong nose, his soft lips quirked up in a smile.

How could someone radiating goodness well beyond Camp, well beyond the gods, want to be with someone like her?

What was worse was that she couldn't care. She'd capture him in a bottle around her neck, to protect him or keep him or both.

"Charlie," Silena whispered.

Charlie hummed in recognition, turning towards her with that same smile. He glanced down at her lips in the way he always did when he thought he'd never be caught.

He'd never kissed her, though. They'd never kissed. Perhaps because Charlie was insistant on being a gentleman, or he was too nervous, or both.

Silena reached out for his shirt, tracing along a streak of black dust from where he'd been working on the fireworks. He weakly lifted a hand up, parting his lips with an unspoken protest. A pretty girl like you shouldn't be getting your hands dirty. Bullshit, considering his cabin sisters, but a chivilrous sentiment all the same.

A second went by, and Charlie was still speechless, watching Silena with the care of working with Greek fire and perhaps half the fear. Silena bunched Charlie's shirt in her hand and pulled him foreward, pressing her lips to his with all the triumph of winning a chariot race.

It was Silena who reluctantly pulled away first, cupping Charlie's cheek and running a thumb along his cheekbone.

"So you're not thinking about when to make a move the whole fireworks show," Silena's voice was shaky with her own nerves finally peeking through.

Charlie managed an incredulous laugh. "As if I'll be able to think of anything else now."

◟𖥻 orbiting to her : luke castellan

▰▰ pairing: luke castellan x fem!reader

Wherever she is, Luke is right behind her. Or beside her. Or- well, clinging to her more like.

There’s a lot of mystery around camp half-blood. Lots of things people don't understand or know about. But one thing everybody knows and can agree on: if you're looking for Luke Castellan, you just have to find her.

He's never more than three steps behind her. Or beside her. Or in most cases, clinging to her.

Arm draped around her shoulders every time they walk into the pavilion. Hand holding hers when they sit down for breakfast. Chin resting on her shoulder when she's talking to someone else.

He's shamelessly clingy.

Luke Castellan x Reader (fake dating)

Masterlist

(Gif not mine)

Requested? No

Summary: (Y/n) is sick and tired of the Stoll Brothers’ constant flirting, so she hatched a plan to do something about it.

(fake dating)

Warnings: starred out swear words, cringe? Travis and Connor Stoll

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Fem!Reader

(A/n: I have no idea when this takes place… oops XD)

kissing ex bf!luke castellan

you saw a silly thing online. bored out of your mind, you decide to try it out with your ex boyfriend luke.

Pairing: Luke Castellan x Reader

Summary: you have always struggled with what terms of endearment to use, so Luke suggested testing them all out (established relationship, first relationship, fluff)

Note: Happy season finale week! Unfortunately though, I think this will be my last piece for this season. I'll be back with more Luke fics when season 3 comes out (which is this year anyway so...it won't be a long parting). But dw, I'll still be writing, just for other characters xx

Note 2: also might delete this, I’ll see how I feel later

Word count: 1.6k

CW: hurt/comfort; implied toxic exes; brief mentions of blood and wounds; James and Sirius are accidentally harsh

Summary: After a full moon James and Sirius snap at you, and you think it’s your fault.

A/n: this is total self indulgent; my sister snaps at me a lot for no reason and it makes me feel bad. So I needed the marauders to comfort me.

——————————————————————————

Sirius says your name more harshly than you’ve ever heard him say it before.

“Stop. We’ve got it under control. Go to bed,” James adds sternly.

He’s never used that tone with you.

Your heart pounds in your chest and the blood rushes to your ears. You don’t have it in you to respond. Instead you just scurry off to your room, locking yourself in for the foreseeable future.

You’d just been trying to help. It was the first full moon that you knew about Remus’ lycanthropy. You’d suspected for months before but wanted to wait until your boyfriend told you himself.

And now that you knew, you wanted to provide all the support you could. James and Sirius, your other boyfriends, made it clear that they would handle his transition- that they’d been doing it for years. That was all fine and good. But you thought maybe, maybe you could help in other ways- to patch up the boys, or feed them, or just take care of them somehow.

Instead now you’ve ruined everything. You pushed yourself into a situation where you clearly didn’t belong and now your boyfriends are angry at you. It’s all your fault. You know it’s true because this isn’t the first time this has happened. Not with your current boyfriends, but with past exes. You’d been scolded by them for being too much, for being pushy, and nosy, and clingy. And now James, Sirius, and Remus- once he is conscious- realize it too.

Maybe if you stay hidden, you think, and don’t bother them for awhile they’ll forget and forgive you. Perhaps they won’t leave you too.

You wipe at the tears leaking out of your eyes, hot on your cheeks, and crawl under the covers of your own bed. You haven’t slept alone in god knows how long and you try to ignore the lonely ache in your chest. You have to do this. To save your relationship. You curl up in a ball and wait, hoping sleep will take away the pain of being awake.

None of your boyfriends notice your absence until the next day because they are so exhausted, beaten, and worried about Remus. It makes total sense for you to be off, asleep in your room. But they start to get worried when you still haven’t come out around eleven. You’re not exactly an early riser, but you never sleep this late either.

While James is cooking, Sirius redresses his werewolf boyfriend’s wounds. Remus’ tired brown eyes blink sleepily, eyes trailing from the kitchen to the boy in front of him, “where’s dove?”

James walks in with plates in hand, “she can’t still be sleeping?”

Sirius’ gray eyes flicker with worry, “I’ll go check on her.”

He stands and pads down the hall to your room. The raven-haired boy tries the door knob but finds that it’s locked. He frowns and knocks on the door, “baby?”

You’ve been awake for hours, never quite being able to fall asleep with the guilt wrecking your stomach and the constant stream of tears assaulting your cheeks. When you hear the knock on the door and Sirius’ voice you flinch, automatically withdrawing into yourself.

He knocks again, “why’s the door locked? Is everything alright?”

You tremble as you stand up and wipe at your face. You look awful- your eyes are red and puffy and heavy bags sit beneath them. You know the evidence won’t go away but hopefully you can play it off as worry for Remus. That would at least be true.

You unlock the door and are met with Sirius’ worried face. There are obvious scratches and bruises littering his body and he looks just as tired as you- his hair tousled and skin paler than normal. Your boyfriend’s dark eyebrows furrow in concern even more at the sight of your appearance, “were you still asleep?”

You decide to lie.

It doesn’t seem like Sirius believes you but he doesn’t push it, ushering you down the hall to the living room. James is attempting to feed Remus, despite the latter’s protest, and it warms your heart. When their eyes find your figure you freeze and Sirius nearly bumps into you. He places a steadying hand on your waist.

You can’t look at James, still recalling his words from last night. They fixate on Remus but you try not to stare either, not wanting to seem like you’re pitying him or anything.

“Dove,” your boyfriend says hoarsely, “you’re awake.”

You meet the sandy-haired boy’s eyes for a moment, and your heart breaks. He looks so worn and beaten. But of course you don’t mention it, and you don’t move to coddle him. It’s not your place.

You don’t really know what to say so you just smile shyly, “morning.”

Confusion flickers across Remus’ features and you feel your face heat, downturning your head.

“Jamie made breakfast,” Sirius mentions, pushing you towards the coffee table where all four plates sit.

You grab the furthest plate and scootch over, placing plenty of room between you and your three boyfriends. You give a murmur of thanks and start to eat quietly, not meeting anyone’s eyes, but they all meet each other’s, concern arising from your vastly different behavior.

“Did you sleep okay, angel?” James murmurs and you flinch.

You look up at him and his hazel eyes are wide, eyebrows hidden behind the tousled curls falling over his forehead, “sweetheart?”

You cringe internally, “sorry uh, I.” You don’t know what to say. Saying you slept good or fine would be a lie, but if you say you slept bad maybe they’d push. And if you say you slept good would they think you’re a terrible partner, so easily able to fall asleep while they were all out here struggling and injured? You don’t know what to do and you choke on a sob. Your own eyes widen and you freeze. Shit, now they were going to be even more upset with you for being dramatic and over emotional.

A hand finds your thigh and without looking you know it’s Sirius’, “doll, what’s wrong? What’s happened?”

You shake your head, chewing on your lower lip so harshly you taste blood.

Remus hisses and he says your name sternly, “come here.”

Your eyes shine with more tears as you pitifully walk towards him, “I’m sorry- I- I’m making things about me but it should be about you and I did that last night too and- and.”

“Dove? What are you on about?” Your boyfriend’s bandaged hand comes up and cups your cheek, running his thumb over your lower lip to wipe the small drop of blood away, “you’re not doing anything of the sort. I’m not the center of the world just because there’s been a full moon.”

“But you’re hurt-“

“And you’re upset,” James interjects.

“No one’s problems matter more or less than the other’s,” Sirius adds, “I would know. I used to feel the same, baby. I thought my problems paled in comparison to Remus’ furry little problem or Jamie’s bad days. But they don’t. They’re just as important, hm?”

“Come sit with me,” Remus declares, and you can tell it’s not a question.

You timidly crawl into his lap and he pulls you against him. He’s so warm and you want to relax entirely against him but you don’t, worried you’re gonna hurt him.

“So are you going to tell us what happened?” James asks softly, sweeping a thumb over your ankle bone.

You don’t respond.

“Baby…” Sirius mutters.

“I’m sorry for getting in the way last night,” you murmur so softly it’s almost intelligible.

Your eyes are downcast but you feel Remus lock eyes with your other two boyfriends over your head.

“What? You didn’t, you-“ James trails off and his hazel eyes fill with guilt, “oh, angel. I’m so sorry. I was too harsh last night. I- I didn’t mean...”

“No- it’s okay, you were right I should’ve-“

“No,” your raven-haired boyfriend interrupts, “you didn’t do anything wrong. You were just trying to help. And we lashed out.”

Remus coos softly and pulls you closer to him, “oh, my sweet angel dove. Were Jamie and Sirius mean to you?”

You pout and your eyes widen in fear, “no, I-“

He huffs a laugh into your hair and kisses your head, “I’m teasing, my love. But they’re right. They shouldn’t have snapped at you.”

Sirius moves to sit next to James and the set of hazel and grey eyes look up at you pitifully.

“We really are sorry, sweetheart. Our behavior was unacceptable.”

“And we love you so, so much.”

James kisses your ankle and Sirius brushes his lips over your knuckles.

“Let us make it up to you, hm?” James offers.

“We’ll take care of both you and Rem,” Sirius adds, kissing your palm.

“But we should focus on Remus and-“

“You can focus on me by staying right here in my arms, dove,” Remus answers, kissing your cheek, “your love is the best cure.”

“Are you sure I wasn’t being a nuisance?” You ask, throat thick with tears, “because I’ve been told before that I’m too much and I’d understand if you wanted to leave me and-“

“Woah, woah, woah,” James protests, sitting up on the couch, “we’re not going anywhere, hm? You’re not getting rid of us that easy.”

Sirius cups your cheek and kisses your forehead, “you’re perfect just the way you are. And we love the way you love us, baby.”

Remus brushes his thumb over your nose, “so let us love you too.”

FRED WEASLEY always passes you little notes in class. Whether for talk to you about the weather or tell you how beautiful you look today. Professor McGonagall’s voice droned on about Transfiguration theory, but your focus was slipping, mostly because Fred, one seat behind you, had been suspiciously quiet for the past ten minutes. That was never a good sign.

You felt a tap on your shoulder.

A small, crumpled scrap of parchment appeared on your desk, you glanced back. Fred gave you an exaggerated wink and mouthed, ‘Open it’.

You unfolded the note.

‘Your hair is pretty!’

You blinked. That was it. No joke, no punchline. Just messy handwriting and a compliment that made you feel butterflies.

You scribbled back:

‘Are you trying to distract me from McGonagall’s lecture?’

Another tap. Another note.

‘Yes. Is it working?’

You bit your lip, trying not to smile. You turned slightly in your seat and gave him a look,half amused, half exasperated.

Fred grinned like he’d won a prize. Then, with dramatic flair, he held up a third note, already written:

‘I’d rather study your smile than Animagus theory.’

McGonagall cleared her throat. “Mr. Weasley, care to share your thoughts with the class?”

Fred didn’t miss a beat. “Just admiring some… natural transfiguration, Professor.” He said as he caressed your hair from the back, mockingly.

thank you for requesting!🫶🏽

11. “Shouldn’t you be in my bed?”

.

“You look smashing today, love.” 

“Beat it, Black.”

Sirius’ smile only widened at the utterly bored tone of your voice as he settled into the spot next to you. Your eyes remained on the party around you, watching with narrowed and calculated eyes. It was almost endearing, in the same way a snake staring at its prey before it attacked was. 

He didn’t think he had ever been more attracted to you. 

“Aw, baby, don’t go breaking my heart like that,” Sirius commented with a mocking pout on his lips and a hand over his heart. “You’re killing me.” 

“Good,” you deadpanned. 

- a forbidden romance makes its way to the avengers compound

- cw: just kissing :p

You were truly grateful for the life you’d been given.

Sure, it was a little unconventional. You’d been used as a pawn by more villains than you could count, kidnapped once by one of your dad’s former mentor, and you’d faced death more times by fifteen than most kids should in a lifetime.

But hey! At least now you live at the Avengers Compound now. A sleek stretch of glass and steel nestled beside a quiet lake, filled with the world’s greatest heroes.

And one very pretty boy.

Draco had been raised to be proper. To wow a crowd, to navigate social situations with all the grace and politeness of a proper gentleman. To handle things smoothly.

Which is why, now, he was internally screaming at himself.

Because he’d never felt so bloody bamboozled.

Because...weren't old people supposed to be ugly?

Pinching his own leg as he missed his mouth with his fork for the ninth time, he cursed under his breath, earning a confused look from Harry, who was sitting next to him, immersed in conversation with James and Regulus.

Miserably, Draco just shook his head slightly. No. He could get himself together.

It was just…

He looked up again, trying to be subtle. 

He now understood why people talked about it all the time. Harry Potter looked so like his father. Gods, they were both unfairly handsome. Their smiles were bright, their eyes warm and welcoming. And James…

Well, age had been very kind to James Potter.

He was graying, sure. But the slight wrinkles and lighter hair only made him more handsome. More rugged. More…

Draco gulped. Certainly, he should not be thinking this way about his potential father-in-law, and he wasn’t, not really. He was very, very happy with what he had. But his very unhelpful brain reminded him: If Harry and James look so much alike…Harry will look like this when he gets older. Harry will look exactly like this when he gets older.

He squirmed in his seat. Fuck. 

“...going to grab the next course!” James Potter announced, throwing Draco a smile and sweeping into the kitchen.

“I’ll help,” Harry offered, standing and squeezing Draco’s knee. 

But as soon as both men disappeared into the other room, Regulus turned to him with a look like an x-ray. Draco’s stomach churned. Was he in trouble? Did Regulus know? Fuck, he’d heard things about Regulus Black from his mother and he didn’t want to get on his bad side. Shit, shit, sh–

“Just wait until you see Fleamont Potter,” Regulus murmured, his face breaking into a smirk.

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: You only asked Fred Weasley for one thing — a quick lesson in kissing before your date with Cedric Diggory. But the moment his lips touch yours, the “lesson” slips completely out of your control… and his.

Warnings: Mild sexual content / sensual kissing / Suggestive themes / Some flirtatious teasing / Light language

The Gryffindor common room hummed with late-evening chatter, firelight flickering against old stone walls. Someone had smuggled in a bag of Honeydukes sweets, someone else debated which Quidditch captain was the most dateable, and the conversation had drifted—inevitably—toward relationships.

“…and apparently Cho Chang kissed him behind the owlery,” Lee whispered dramatically.

Fred gasped. “The owlery? Risky. A bit smelly, but it adds character.”

Laughter broke around the circle. You sat cross-legged on the sofa, pretending to focus on the Exploding Snap cards in your hands, but the conversation kept tugging you in.

“And Cedric Diggory?” Angelina smirked. “Did you hear he likes girls who are… confident?”

Fred shot you a look—one eyebrow raised, trouble already sparkling in his eyes. “Confident, huh? Y/N, you might want to take notes. That Hufflepuff hero isn’t just going to fall into your arms.”

Your face went hot. “I never said I liked Cedric!”

“No, but you blushed when his name came up, love,” Fred teased, bumping your knee with his.

More laughter. You tried to smile it off, but the teasing lodged somewhere deeper, sharper. Cedric Diggory. Confident girls. Kissing behind owlery walls. Merlin—how were you supposed to even go on a date with someone like him when you’d never kissed anyone?

The thought followed you upstairs later, gnawing at you until it turned into something else. A terrible, brilliant idea.

Which was how, twenty minutes later, you found yourself standing in the doorway of the Weasley twins’ dormitory, heart thundering.

Fred looked up from his bed, wand in hand, clearly working on some new disaster.

“Y/N? You planning on joining us for a late-night prank or did you lose a bet?”

You swallowed. “I need your help.”

His grin was instant and dangerous. “Always happy to assist.”

“No, I mean—help with something… specific.” You stepped inside, closing the door behind you. Merlin, why did it feel suddenly hot in here?

Fred sat up, curiosity sharpening. “Alright. What’s the mission?”

The words came out in a tumble. “I need you to teach me how to kiss.”

Silence.

Then Fred’s eyebrows shot so high they nearly left his forehead. “You—what?” He laughed under his breath. “Very funny. Good one.”

You didn’t smile. “I’m serious, Fred.”

His grin faded—slowly, carefully—replaced by something unreadable. “Why me?”

“Because you… know things.” You cringed at your own wording. “And if I’m actually going to have a chance with Cedric, I need to not be a complete disaster.”

Something flickered across his face. Not amusement. Not mockery. Something deeper.

He leaned back on his hands, eyes dragging over you, assessing. “So you want lessons.”

You nodded. “Just… the basics.”

Fred chuckled softly. “Nothing about this is going to stay ‘basic,’ sweetheart.” But after a beat, he patted the space beside him. “Come here.”

You sat beside him—close enough to feel the warmth of his body, close enough that your knee brushed his. Fred noticed. Fred always noticed.

He angled toward you, one arm draping casually over his knee, posture relaxed but eyes… not. His gaze skimmed over your face with a focus you’d never seen from him before.

“Alright,” he murmured, voice low and almost annoyingly gentle, “first lesson.”

His hand came up slowly—giving you time to pull away if you wanted to. You didn’t.

Fingers brushed your cheek. Soft. Warm. Almost careful.

Then he tilted your chin up with his thumb, and your breath caught.

“Just follow me,” he whispered.

Fred leaned in and kissed you—soft at first, like he was checking if you’d spook. But you leaned in.

The kiss deepened when you did, his lips warm and sure, guiding yours in slow, patient movements that made your stomach twist in hot spirals. His thumb stroked along your jaw, steadying you, coaxing you.

When he finally pulled back, just enough to look at you, your cheeks were burning.

Fred smirked.

“Don’t blush, love.”

Your breath stuttered. “I— I’m not.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You absolutely are.”

The teasing should’ve embarrassed you. Instead, it made something snap in your chest—something bold, reckless.

Fred saw it. You watched his expression shift, eyes darkening with a heat that stole the air from the room.

“Not bad for a first kiss,” he murmured, voice low and sincere in a way you weren’t prepared for. His thumb brushed the corner of your mouth. “Actually… you kiss better than not bad.”

Your heart hammered.

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Fred breathed. “Good enough that I need… another sample. For research.”

This time, he didn’t wait.

His hand slid into your hair as he kissed you again—deeper, slower, with a warmth that spread through your chest and curled into your fingertips. You kissed him back, instinct guiding you more than thought, and Fred made a soft sound against your mouth, a pleased one, like you’d surprised him.

Your fingers curled into his shirt. He smiled into the kiss—mischievous, delighted—and tugged you a little closer by the waist.

“That’s it,” he whispered against your lips. “Just like that.”

He kissed you again. And again. Each one steadier. More sure. More Fred.

His other hand slid around the small of your back, steadying you when you swayed forward into him, pulling you deeper into the kiss without even thinking.

You weren’t thinking about Cedric anymore. You weren’t thinking about anything except the way Fred Weasley kissed you like he was teaching you and losing himself at the same time.

And when you pulled back for breath, cheeks warm, lips tingling, Fred looked at you like he’d just discovered something dangerous.

“Merlin,” he murmured, eyes flicking to your lips, “you’re going to be the death of me.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you did.

You leaned in—hesitant for half a heartbeat, then with surprising certainty—your fingers sliding into his hair before you could second-guess yourself. Fred inhaled sharply, a sound that hit you low and deep, and you kissed him again, firmer, bolder.

“Oi—” he murmured into your mouth, amused and breathless all at once. He pulled back just enough to look at you properly. A slow, wicked smile unfurled across his lips.

“Is that how you want to play?”

You didn’t even have time to form a thought.

Fred’s hands caught your waist, warm and sure, and in one smooth motion he tipped you backward, guiding you onto the mattress with such ease it made your breath catch.

Your back hit the blankets softly, and before you could blink, Fred was above you—braced on his elbows, knees sinking into the bed on either side of your hips, holding himself just close enough that you felt his breath against your cheek.

The world shrank to the inches between you.

Fred’s eyes swept over your face, slow, deliberate, hungry in a way that made your pulse stumble.

“You look better like this,” he whispered. You didn’t trust your voice enough to answer.

He didn’t wait.

Fred dipped down again, kissing you—deeper this time, stealing the breath right from your lungs. His hand slid from your waist to your ribcage, stopping just beneath your arm, a warm anchor that held you exactly where he wanted you.

Then his lips left yours.

Not far. Not for long.

They brushed the corner of your mouth. Your cheekbone. The line of your jaw.

“You drive me mad, you know that?” he murmured against your skin, voice lower than before.

He kissed the spot beneath your ear—slow, lingering—and your breath hitched. It was tiny. Barely a sound. But he heard it.

Fred smiled against your neck.

“Oh, I felt that,” he whispered, amused and pleased and something else entirely.

He pressed another kiss, lower now, just at the curve of your throat. Your hand slid instinctively into his hair—fingers tightening for balance, for him—and the quiet sound that escaped you wasn’t a gasp, wasn’t a moan, just—

“…Fred…”

His name. Soft. Unplanned. Pulled straight from somewhere you didn’t know existed.

Fred froze for a heartbeat. Only a heartbeat.

Then he lifted his head just enough to look at you, eyes darker than you’d ever seen them.

“Say that again,” he breathed.

You shook your head, mortified—and that made him laugh under his breath, a low, warm sound that rolled right through you.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours, “you’re going to ruin me.”

And before you could protest, before you could hide your face, before you could think—

Fred’s lips were back on yours.

Not careful. Not soft. But sure. Certain. Like he’d finally stopped pretending this was just a lesson.

His hand cradled your jaw, tilting your face up to him as he kissed you again and again, each one warmer, deeper, pulling you under and holding you there.

Like he never wanted to stop.

His hips nudged yours—accidental, unplanned, but unmistakably intimate.

The breath rushed out of both of you at the same time.

Fred tore his mouth from yours with a sharp inhale, bracing himself harder on his forearms, because if he didn’t he might—

“Bloody—” he whispered, blinking hard. “Right. Okay. That’s—Merlin.”

He swallowed, like he was trying to drag himself back to reality—

But reality didn’t wait.

“FRE-EED? YOU IN HERE?” George’s voice echoed up the hallway.

You froze instantly.

Fred didn’t move. His chest rose and fell steady. His eyes flicked once toward the door, then back to you—dark and smoldering. A faint, amused smile tugged at his lips. Calm. Collected. Watching you panic like it was the most entertaining thing in the world.

He leaned in, brushing his lips once more against yours in a quick, soft kiss—a last, deliberate contact.

You pushed him off yourself, cheeks burning, heart still racing. “Move,” you whispered.

You stood, smoothing your skirt, brushing back your hair, trying to regain composure. Fred’s eyes followed every movement.

Then another voice joined—Lee’s. “George, wait—no, listen! It wasn’t my fault the mannequin exploded—”

The footsteps stopped.

You exhaled shakily, turning to Fred. “Well… wish me luck, then,” you murmured, trying to sound casual, still flushed.

Fred blinked slowly, that faint, mischievous smirk lingering. “For what?”

“My date,” you said softly, brushing your hair back. “…With Cedric.”

The moment shifted instantly. Fred’s eyes darkened, posture tightening slightly. “After that?”

You tried to scoff, trying to sound nonchalant, though your pulse raced. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

You turned to leave.

His hand caught your wrist firm and certain. “I’m not being ridiculous. You’re not going anywhere with Cedric Diggory.”

You glanced back. Fred’s gaze held you, unwavering, impossibly steady, chest rising slowly, smoldering eyes fixed on you.

Before you could respond further, the door swung open.

George came in. “Fred, Mum wants—oh, hi, Y/N. Didn’t know you were up here.”

“I was just leaving,” you said quickly, wiggling your wrist free from his grasp and steering yourself toward the door.

Fred was still watching you.

You stepped into the hallway, heart racing, breath uneven— but just before the door closed, you heard him behind you.

Soft. Low. Certain.

“Y/N… I’m serious.”

The door clicked shut.

Fred Weasley x reader

(cleaning after a fight • protective fred)

wc 3.4k

The roar of the crowd still clung to the air like static as you made your way down from the stands, the late-afternoon light slanting gold across the Quidditch pitch. Banners snapped lazily in the breeze, red and gold blurring together as students spilled from the bleachers, flushed with excitement and victory. Your scarf was crooked, your hands cold despite the sun, your heart still racing from the final goal. Gryffindor had won—again—and the ground seemed to hum with it.

You spotted them near the edge of the pitch almost immediately. Harry was grinning, broom tucked under his arm, Ron talking a mile a minute with that breathless, disbelieving joy he always got after a good match. George leaned against his broom, smirk firmly in place. And Fred—Fred was still vibrating with adrenaline, eyes bright, hair wind-tossed, laugh sharp and triumphant. You were halfway to calling out when the atmosphere shifted.

A voice—sneering, sharp—cut through the noise.

You didn’t catch the words. Only the way Fred’s expression changed.

One moment he was smiling, the next his jaw locked, shoulders going rigid like a bow pulled too tight. He turned so fast it was almost dizzying, broom dropping into the grass as he stepped toward a Slytherin player lingering far too close. George’s hand shot out instinctively, but Fred was already speaking—low, dangerous, nothing like his usual joking lilt.

The shove came first. Then the swing.

Gasps rippled outward as bodies surged, the pitch erupting into chaos. Robes tangled, brooms clattered to the ground, and the air filled with shouted insults and the dull thud of fists meeting fabric and bone. Fred didn’t just shove this time—he swung again, hard, and the Slytherin reeled back into another player. Someone shouted Harry’s name, and suddenly he was in it too, glasses askew, grappling with a boy twice as mouthy as he was tall. Ron followed without hesitation, red-faced and furious, tackling someone who’d laughed far too loudly.

You didn’t think—you ran.

Your voice cut through the noise as you grabbed Fred’s arm, fingers digging into his sleeve as you tried to haul him back. Ginny pulled his other arm though he barely budged, adrenaline making him feel immovable, his free hand still clenched, knuckles already split and bleeding.

“Guys—stop!” you shouted, breathless, heart hammering. “Fred, please—!”

Hermione was there a second later, grabbing Ron and yelling something sharp and furious. George wedged himself between Fred and the Slytherin, swearing under his breath as he shoved his twin back. Angelina and Katie Bell dragged Harry away just as he tried to lunge again, a cluster of students piling in to separate bodies and pull people apart.

Fred froze—not at George’s grip, not at the professors’ voices beginning to thunder across the pitch—but at you.

For a split second, the world narrowed to the feel of him beneath your hands: hot, shaking with rage, breath coming hard. His chest rose and fell as he looked down at you, eyes still blazing, blood smudged across his knuckles. Whatever had been said—whatever had lit the fuse—drained out of him the moment he saw your face.

“Enough!” came Professor McGonagall’s sharp command, cutting through everything like a blade, Snape’s dark form sweeping in behind her.

Students scattered quickly then, muttering and wide-eyed, as the professors took control. But you stayed where you were, hands still curled in Fred’s sleeve, staring up at him as the last of the fury faded into something else entirely—something protective, something raw and aching.

Professor McGonagall’s gaze swept over the wreckage of the pitch—grass torn up, brooms scattered, students still breathing hard with leftover fury clinging to them like smoke.

“That is quite enough,” she said crisply, her voice leaving no room for argument. Her sharp eyes landed first on the Gryffindors. “Potter. Weasley. Both of you. And you as well, Mr. Weasley.”

Fred straightened instinctively, jaw tightening again, though George’s hand stayed firm on his shoulder. You felt the shift immediately—the way Fred pulled himself together, the way he always did when consequences arrived.

Then Snape stepped forward, black robes billowing like a storm cloud. His lip curled as his gaze cut toward the green-clad students still being held back.

“Adrian Pucey. Marcus Flint. Draco Malfoy.” His eyes lingered on Malfoy with particular disdain. “I should have known.”

Malfoy smirked, despite the split lip and the hand still gripping his collar, until Snape’s glare silenced him.

“All of you,” McGonagall continued sharply, “will accompany us to the castle immediately. Detentions will be discussed once we have determined precisely what provoked this… disgraceful display.”

Harry adjusted his glasses, still flushed, Ron muttered something under his breath that Hermione immediately hissed at him to stop. Fred’s hands were clenched again at his sides, scraped and bleeding, his eyes flicking once toward you.

“Ms. Johnson,” McGonagall added, softer but no less firm, “you are to escort the rest of your team back to the tower.”

Angelina nodded and began calling the remaining players to follow her. Georges eyes flicked between Fred and you in something that looked dangerously like understanding as he followed his team off the pitch.

As the professors began herding the fighters toward the castle, you stood frozen, heart lodged somewhere in your throat. Fred hesitated—just a beat too long—before turning to follow McGonagall, Snape’s presence like a shadow at his back.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The corridors were quieter than they should have been, the aftermath of the match still echoing in distant stairwells and whispered clusters of students being shooed along by prefects. You paced near the entrance hall, fingers worrying the hem of your sleeve, heart still beating too fast.

Then you saw him.

Fred emerged from a side corridor with George a step behind him, Professor McGonagall disappearing the other way after delivering what was clearly a very final warning. Fred’s knuckles were split, one side of his jaw already darkening, a thin line of blood at his brow that made your stomach twist.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Fred,” you said, already crossing the space between you.

George opened his mouth—probably to tease, or warn, or say be careful—but one look at your face made him stop. He lifted his hands in surrender, backing away with a knowing huff.

“I’ll… give you two a minute,” he said lightly. “Try not to start another war.”

You barely heard him.

Fred looked down at you, something uncertain flickering behind his usual grin. “You shouldn’t—”

“Come on,” you cut in, gentler than your words suggested, fingers already curling around his wrist. “Before Madam Pomfrey sees you and makes a whole production of it.”

His hand was warm, rough, trembling just slightly. He let you lead him without protest, footsteps falling into sync with yours as you navigated staircases and turns you knew by heart.

The climb to Gryffindor Tower felt longer than usual. You could feel his eyes on you the whole way—protective, careful, like he was afraid one wrong word might break the moment.

“Did they say anything…?” you asked quietly as the Fat Lady came into view.

Fred exhaled through his nose. “Nothing worth repeating.”

That was answer enough.

Inside the common room, the fire crackled softly, casting gold over the familiar chaos of armchairs and half-finished homework. A few students glanced up, took in Fred’s state, and wisely looked back down.

You guided him to the stairs without slowing, tugging him along until you reached the boys’ dormitory door.

The dormitory was dim and empty, the late-afternoon light slanting in through the tall windows and catching dust motes in the air. The door clicked shut behind you, muting the sounds of the common room below.

“Sit,” you said again, more gently this time, steering Fred toward his bed.

He dropped down with a dramatic sigh, sprawling back against the pillows. “Blimey, dragged off to my own dormitory,” he said, attempting a grin. “If George knew—”

You shot him a look over your shoulder as you rummaged through his trunk. “Fred.”

“Alright, alright,” he laughed, hands lifting in surrender. “I’ll behave. Promise.”

You found what you were looking for—clean cloth, a small vial of essence of dittany, a bowl you filled with water from your wand—and turned back to him. Up close, the damage looked worse than it had in the corridor. His knuckles were scraped raw, one eyebrow split just enough to bleed again now that the adrenaline had worn off.

Your stomach flipped.

“Merlin,” you murmured, kneeling between his knees. “You really went for it.”

He shrugged, trying for nonchalance, but you felt the tension in him. “They started it.”

“That’s what everyone says.”

“Well,” he added lightly, eyes flicking to your face, “everyone’s usually wrong. I’m not.”

You dipped the cloth into the water and reached for his hand. The moment your fingers wrapped around his, something shifted—electric, quiet, undeniable. His teasing stalled. His grip tightened just slightly before he relaxed, letting you guide him.

You cleaned his knuckles slowly, carefully, your thumb brushing his skin more than strictly necessary. He watched you the entire time, gaze intent, softer than you’d ever seen it.

“You didn’t hear what they said,” he said after a moment, voice deliberately casual.

“No,” you replied. “I didn’t.”

Good, he thought—but he didn’t say it. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you like you were a puzzle he’d never quite solved. “Still ran in like a hero, though.”

You snorted. “Hardly heroic. You’re terrible at stopping when you should.”

“Rude,” he said. “I stop all the time.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Name one.”

He opened his mouth—then shut it, huffing out a laugh. “Alright, fair.”

You moved closer to dab at the cut near his brow, your knees brushing his, your breath ghosting across his cheek. He went very still.

“You’re good at this,” he said quietly.

“Cleaning wounds?”

“Taking care of people.”

Your hand faltered for half a second before you recovered. “Someone has to look after you lot.”

Fred’s lips curved, not quite a grin. “Funny. I was thinking the same thing.”

Your eyes met.

The air felt thicker somehow, charged. His bravado flickered back on, just enough to keep things from tipping over the edge. “Though if you’re planning on fussing over me every time I get into a fight, I might start picking them on purpose.”

You leaned back, pointedly unimpressed. “Try it and I’ll hex you myself.”

“Ooh,” he said, delighted. “Threats now? Is this a new thing between us?”

You shook your head, but you were smiling despite yourself. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he murmured, eyes warm, “you’re still here.”

You finished cleaning the last cut, your fingers lingering for just a heartbeat too long before you pulled away.

You shifted closer again, tearing a strip of bandage between your fingers. The sound was soft, but in the quiet dorm it felt loud. Fred watched your hands as if they were the most interesting thing in the world.

“This one’s going to bruise,” you said, pressing the bandage around his knuckles. Your touch was careful, but firm. “You’ll feel it tomorrow.”

He winced—not from the pain, but from how close you were. “Worth it.”

You paused. Looked up at him. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t pretend you enjoy getting hurt.”

His mouth tipped into that familiar crooked smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Didn’t say I enjoyed it. Just said I’d do it again.”

Your fingers stilled. The tension coiled tighter.

“For what?” you asked quietly.

Fred’s gaze lifted to yours, steady and unguarded in a way that made your breath hitch. “Some things,” he said, voice low, “are worth taking a hit for.”

You swallowed and forced yourself to keep working, moving the bandage to his wrist, wrapping it slowly. Your thumb brushed the pulse there, and you felt it jump beneath your touch.

“You can’t keep doing that,” you said. “Charging in like you’re invincible.”

He laughed softly. “You think I believe that?”

You didn’t answer. You reached for his arm instead, lifting his sleeve to check the bruise along his forearm. Your closeness erased the rest of the world—no common room noise, no lingering shouts from the pitch, just the quiet between you and the steady rhythm of his breathing.

“You were shaking,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “What?”

“Back there,” he continued, gentler now. “When you grabbed me. Your hands were shaking.”

You hesitated, then tied off another bandage with more force than necessary. “I was angry.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. “Looked more like scared.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “I wasn’t.”

Fred didn’t tease you. Didn’t grin. He just looked at you, expression softening in a way that felt dangerous. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

The words settled heavy between you.

You leaned back slightly, but he followed the movement without thinking, your knees still pressed between his. His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “You always come running, you know that?”

“And you always make trouble,” you shot back, though your voice lacked heat.

“Maybe,” he said. “But you always stay.”

Your breath caught. Your fingers tightened around the last bandage, your knuckles brushing his skin as you secured it. The proximity felt unbearable now—his warmth, his scent, the way his eyes kept flicking to your mouth like he was fighting himself.

You finished at last, hands lingering uselessly in your lap. “There,” you said. “You’ll live.”

Fred leaned forward just a fraction, close enough that you could feel his breath against your cheek. “Shame,” he murmured. “Was enjoying the attention.”

You scoffed, but your heart was hammering. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he repeated softly, echoing his earlier words, “here you are. Kneeling in my dorm, patching me up like I matter.”

Your gaze met his again, and for a second neither of you moved. The space between your faces was thin—too thin. Your thoughts scattered, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Then Fred exhaled and leaned back, breaking the spell with a lopsided grin. “Reckon Madam Pomfrey would be proud.”

You laughed shakily, grateful and frustrated all at once. “Get some rest, Weasley.”

He watched you stand, eyes following you like he wasn’t ready to let the moment go. “You’ll stay a minute?”

You hesitated—just long enough for him to notice—then nodded, settling beside him on the edge of the bed.

Fred stayed quiet longer than you expected.

You could feel it—the way something heavy sat just behind his jokes, the way his fingers kept flexing like he was still resisting the urge to punch something. You shifted beside him, turning slightly so your knee sat against his.

“You still haven’t told me,” you said softly.

“Told you what?”

“What he said.” Your voice was gentle but stubborn. “Fred. You don’t usually lose it like that unless it’s bad.”

He scoffed, eyes dropping to the floor. “You don’t need to hear it.”

“I do,” you insisted. “I’m not leaving until you tell me.”

He glanced at you then, a quick look—half fond, half exasperated. “You’re impossible.”

“So I’ve been told.”

A breath left him, sharp and frustrated. He leaned back on his hands, staring up at the ceiling like the answer might be written there. “He said—” Fred stopped, jaw tightening. “He said something crude. About what he thought you’d be like. Alone. About how someone like you only looks sweet until—”

“Fred,” you said, very quietly.

He swallowed. “He talked about you like you were a thing. Like you existed for him to imagine whatever he liked.” His voice dropped, shaking now with contained fury. “I’ve heard a lot of rubbish from Slytherins. But that—about you—”

You felt something cold bloom in your chest, followed immediately by heat. Anger, yes—but also something else. Something aching.

“That’s why you fought,” you said.

“That’s why Harry fought,” Fred corrected. “That’s why Ron nearly lost his mind. And that’s why I nearly broke Pucey’s nose.”

You reached for him without thinking, your hand settling over his wrist. His skin was warm beneath your palm, solid and real.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said, though your voice trembled.

“Yes,” he said immediately. “I did.”

You looked at him then—really looked. At the way his bravado cracked when it came to you. At the way his jokes fell away, leaving something fierce and unwavering behind.

“I can handle myself,” you murmured.

“I know,” he said. “That’s not the point.”

Silence stretched, thick and charged. Your hand was still on his wrist. Neither of you moved it.

“You scare me sometimes,” you admitted. “The way you rush in like that.”

He smiled faintly. “You scare me too.”

You blinked. “I do?”

“Yeah,” he said softly, turning his hand so your fingers slid into his palm. He didn’t fully lace them—just held on, tentative and careful. “Because you make me want to be better. And that’s… inconvenient.”

Your breath caught. “Fred…”

He leaned closer, close enough now that you could see the tiny freckle near his eye, the faint bruise blooming along his jaw. His voice dropped, losing its teasing edge. “I don’t want anyone looking at you like that. Thinking about you like that. I hate it.”

Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it.

“Why?” you asked, though you already knew.

His gaze flicked to your mouth. Back to your eyes. “You really need me to spell it out?”

You shook your head, barely.

Neither of you spoke after that. You didn’t need to. The air between you felt electric, fragile, like one wrong move might shatter it—or ignite it.

Fred moved first, slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. You didn’t.

The kiss was soft at first, almost unsure—his lips brushing yours like a question. Then you answered, leaning in, fingers curling into his shirt as the tension finally broke.

He kissed you like he’d been holding back for years.

When you finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, breath uneven, he laughed quietly. “Well,” he murmured. “That explains the fight.”

You smiled, heart racing, forehead still pressed to his. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I think it does.”

You lingered because neither of you knew how to leave without making it weird—and somehow that made it worse.

Fred broke the silence first, smirking despite the split lip. “You always hover this close when you’re patching people up, or am I special?”

You tightened the bandage just enough to make him hiss. “Hold still.”

“Ow—see, that’s abuse. I nearly got expelled for you and this is the thanks I get.”

“For me?” You shot him a look. “You got expelled for your mouth, actually.”

He grinned, unrepentant. “Yeah, well. Occupational hazard.”

You finished taping the bandage and didn’t move away. He noticed. Of course he did—Fred noticed everything, especially when you were involved.

“You’re staring,” he said lightly.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Mm. Tragic. Still handsome though.”

You snorted. “Debatable.”

“Ouch. Worse than Pucey, that.”

You reached for another cloth, dabbing at a scrape along his jaw. “You didn’t have to start a fight.”

“I didn’t start it,” he said easily.

Your eyes flicked up to his. “You could’ve walked away.”

“And let him keep talking?” His tone stayed casual, but his gaze sharpened. “Not a chance.”

You shook your head, exasperated. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning just slightly into your touch, “you’re still here.”

You froze. He felt it immediately.

Fred’s smile softened, turning curious. “That got you, didn’t it?”

“Don’t read into things,” you said, but your voice wasn’t convincing.

“Too late,” he replied. “Been doing that for ages.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you like me anyway.”

That earned him another look—longer this time. Quiet. Measured.

He swallowed. “See? That one did it.”

“Did what?”

“Made me want to shut up.” A beat. “Which never happens.”

You laughed despite yourself, the sound easing the tightness in your chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

Neither of you moved for a moment, close enough to feel the heat, far enough to pretend it meant nothing and for once, Fred didn’t say another word. Both of you left in silence.

Fred broke first—of course he did.

“You know,” he said, eyeing the neat bandage on his knuckles, “if I’d known getting punched would earn me this level of personal attention, I’d have started fights years ago.”

You scoffed. “Don’t flatter yourself. I’d do this for anyone.”

He raised a brow. “Liar.”

You laughed despite yourself, a quick, helpless sound, and that was all it took. Fred’s grin widened, victorious and warm, like he’d been aiming for that exact reaction.

“There it is,” he said. “That laugh. Worth the detention.”

“You’re unbelievable,” you said, shaking your head.

“And yet,” he replied, softer now, “you’re still smiling.”

- his card details would be on every single app you have: food delivery, cab service, online shopping, streaming subscriptions, and literally anything else. he wouldn’t even tell you, he’d just take your phone and put it in. use my card to pay for it, put it on my card, why didn’t you pay for it using my card? dude, leave me alone.

- he has a passport photo of you hidden somewhere. no, it’s not where you look cute. it’s ugly as hell and he finds it hilarious so he keeps it on him at all times, never disclosing its location in case you take it back.

- he’d take your shots for you. lost a drinking game? seungcheol’s got you, baby. he wouldn’t even have to look at you, he’d just know you can’t drink anymore. he’d signal to hand it over to him instead and then take it for you, no questions asked. he’s so hot for that.

- 9/10 times he’s falling asleep in front of the tv. don’t even bother watching a movie/tv show with him if it’s afternoon nap time or after 9 pm. he’s OUT

- he doesn’t trust you to take his instagram boyfriend pictures. thinks they don’t look ‘authentic’ enough (he’s literally your boyfriend?)

- he’s kinda gross. i feel like he was really proper at the start of your relationship but after he got comfortable, he really doesn’t care anymore. has he burped right in your face because it’s funny? ummmm, yes.

- he’s quite sentimental. he’d keep really random things from your dates and he really loves when you make him stuff, no matter how small. the fact that you took the time, and made the effort? for him? loves it.

- he baby talks around you so much. like so much. it’s like he can’t help but slip into it when he’s in your presence. baby x 100

- he wants you to steal his clothes so bad. that’s what people are supposed to do in relationships!!! he’s constantly leaving his clothes around so that you steal them but you just can’t. all his stuff is so expensive you low-key feel guilty.

1. The "Golden Retriever" Energy

Mingyu doesn’t just love you; he radiates it. He is a physical toucher and an external processor. If he’s happy to see you, his entire body language shows it.

When you come home, he’s at the door before you’ve even turned the key. He has a habit of picking you up for a "bone-crusher" hug, feet off the ground, spinning you around.

He is the ultimate "clingy" boyfriend in the best way. If you’re in the kitchen, he’s leaning against the counter watching you. If you move to the living room, he’s right behind you. He just likes being in your orbit.

He isn't shy, but he is respectful. He’ll always have an arm around your waist or be holding your hand, subconsciously pulling you closer in a crowd because he’s naturally protective.

2. The Personal Chef & Handyman

Mingyu’s love language is Acts of Service. He expresses his devotion by making sure your life runs as smoothly as possible.

You never have to worry about "What’s for dinner?" He treats cooking like an art form. He’ll put on an apron, open a bottle of wine, and whip up a three-course meal just because it’s Tuesday. He loves it when you sit on the counter and talk to him while he chops vegetables.

If a lightbulb flickers or a shelf is wobbly, he’s already got his toolkit out. He takes immense pride in being the person you rely on.

He is famously tidy. He’ll fold your laundry better than you do and reorganize your closet by color, not to be bossy, but because he finds peace in creating a clean environment for you both.

3. Photography

Being Mingyu’s partner means being his primary muse.

His phone is 10% schedule/work and 90% photos of you. He captures the "ugly-cute" moments you sleeping with your mouth open, you eating a messy burger because he genuinely thinks you’re the most beautiful person on earth in those moments.

When you do want a nice photo, he takes it seriously. He’ll crouch, check the lighting, and give you direction until you have the perfect shot. He’s your biggest hype man.

4. Conflict & Emotional Depth

Despite his goofy exterior, Mingyu is deeply sensitive and hates disharmony.

In an argument, he’s rarely the one to yell. He gets quiet and a little pouty, but he’s always the first to apologize even if it wasn't his fault simply because he can't stand the "cold war" atmosphere.

He wants to talk through everything. If he sees you’re upset, he’ll sit you down and won't let you leave until he’s hugged the sadness out of you.

He’s a crier. If you write him a heartfelt letter or get him a sentimental gift, he will 100% tear up and hide his face in your shoulder.

5. Date Nights: The Best of Both Worlds

He loves an excuse to dress up. Think suit jackets, expensive perfume/cologne, and a reservation at a rooftop restaurant where he can take photos of you against the city skyline.

He’s just as happy building a blanket fort, ordering way too much takeout, and marathoning a series. He’s the type to fall asleep with his head in your lap while you stroke his hair.

The "Mingyu" Essentials:

His clothes are now "your" clothes. He loves seeing you in his oversized hoodies, though he’ll jokingly complain when his favorite sweater goes missing.

He always smells like a mix of high-end woodsy cologne and clean laundry. It’s a scent that becomes your "safe space."

Expect him to trip over flat surfaces or accidentally break a glass once a week. It’s part of the charm. You’ll spend half your time laughing and the other half making sure he didn't hurt himself.

Mingyu doesn't do anything halfway; he is a maximalist in life and in love. If you are in a relationship with him, your life becomes a high-production romantic comedy with a lot of home-cooked meals and very little personal space.

6. The Domestic Architect

Mingyu doesn’t just live in a house; he curates a home. If you move in together, expect him to spend weeks researching the best espresso machines, the softest thread-count sheets, and the exact placement of the houseplants.

He is a morning person, and he wants you to be one, too (but he’s sweet if you aren't). You’ll wake up to the sound of him grinding coffee beans and humming. He’ll crawl back into bed just to nudge you awake with cold hands and a "Good morning, beautiful," smelling like toothpaste and expensive moisturizer.

He has a chaotic amount of energy. On Saturdays, he’ll put on a playlist, grab a vacuum, and clean the entire apartment in a whirlwind. He’ll pull you into a dance in the middle of the living room while holding a spray bottle of glass cleaner.

He is a fashionista, and he loves styling you. He’ll buy you pieces that "reminded him of you," which usually means high-end basics or cozy knits. He finds it incredibly domestic and grounding to see you wearing his oversized sweaters he’ll tuck the sleeves up for you and kiss your forehead.

7. Physicality

Mingyu is a giant, and he uses his height to constantly encompass you. He is never not touching you if you are in the same room.

This is his signature move. Whether you’re brushing your teeth, cooking, or looking at your phone, he will loom up behind you, chin resting on your shoulder, arms wrapped tight around your waist. He likes to "anchor" himself to you.

He doesn't just hold your hand; he fiddles with your fingers. He’ll trace your palm, compare his hand size to yours (and act shocked every time at the difference), and kiss your knuckles while he's driving or watching a movie.

The Human Heater: He radiates heat. In the winter, you don’t need a heater; you just need to be near him. He’ll tuck your cold feet under his legs without complaining, even if he flinches at the temperature.

8. Acts of Devotion

Mingyu treats your well-being like a professional project. He is the guy who remembers the things you forgot you even mentioned.

Health & Wellness: If you mention a headache, he’s already back with water, medicine, and a damp cloth. If you’re on a diet, he’s researching healthy recipes that still taste like cheat meals. He takes care of your "admin" life booking your car's oil change or reminding you to call your mom.

Food is his primary love language. He doesn't just cook; he serves. He’ll set the table with candles, plate the food like a Michelin-star chef, and then sit back and watch you take the first bite with a nervous, hopeful grin. He needs to know you’re nourished.

If you have a craving at 11:00 PM, he’s already putting on his shoes. He loves the "mission" of going out to get you exactly what you want.

9. The Social Circle

Being with Mingyu means being part of a huge, loud, loving family. He wants to show you off to everyone he knows.

The "Proud Boyfriend" Syndrome: When you’re at a party or a dinner with the Seventeen members or his family, he’s constantly looking at you from across the room to make sure you’re okay. He’ll brag about your smallest accomplishments "Did you know they got a promotion?" or "Look at this drawing they did!"

He is naturally observant. If he notices you're getting tired or overwhelmed in a social setting, he’ll smoothly navigate the exit, putting his hand on the small of your back and guiding you to the car before you even have to ask to leave.

10. Emotional Vulnerability & Growth

Behind the "Golden Retriever" energy is a man who thinks very deeply and worries about being "enough."

His favorite time to talk is late at night, in total darkness, when it’s just the two of you. He’ll talk about his fears, his career, and his future. He’ll ask you, "Are you happy? Is there anything I can do better?" He values your opinion above anyone else's.

When he’s sad or stressed, he gets very quiet and "small." He’ll sit on the floor and lean his head against your knees. He doesn’t need advice; he just needs you to run your fingers through his hair and tell him he’s doing a good job.

He talks about "when we’re old" casually. He talks about the dog you’ll have, the house he’ll build for you, and the places he wants to take you when he’s retired. For Mingyu, "forever" isn't a scary word; it’s a goal.

11. Traveling Together

A vacation with Mingyu is a high-octane itinerary.

He will document the entire trip. You’ll have a professional-grade "after-movie" of your vacation within a week of returning home.

He’s surprisingly good with maps and directions. He likes to lead the way, holding your hand tight so you don't get lost in the crowd.

He’ll see something in a window a scarf, a piece of jewelry and say, "That would look so good on you," and buy it before you can even check the price tag.

The Reality Check:

The Mess he does make: While he loves cleaning, his process is messy. He’ll use every single pot and pan in the kitchen to make one meal.

He will accidentally break your favorite mug. He will feel so incredibly guilty about it that he’ll buy you a set of ten to replace it.