#// he just loves the idea of being like: YOU SHOULD TRY THIS! I liked it so I bet you would too!

[miumura]

STUPID CUPID! ─── JAEHYUN ONESHOT ✶

𓊆 🪽 𓊇 CUPID’S HANDBOOK ✶ Nothing could've prepared Jaehyun for the moment you, his ex, walked through the doors of his matchmaking business, hoping to find someone new. As a Cupid undercover, he sees this as his chance to finally move on by setting you up with someone "better." Determined to prove he's over you, Jaehyun throws himself into the task—only for a small mishap with his powers to send everything spiraling out of control.

OR IN WHICH Instead of helping you find love, Jaehyun accidentally amplifies his own buried feelings—the very ones he swore he’d left behind. As he's desperately hoping his magic wears off before you notice, Jaehyun can’t help but worry that you’ll think he’s sabotaging your chances at love simply because he can’t let you go just yet.

MATCHMAKER & HIS CLIENT × cupid ! jaehyun x f ! reader

🗒️ › THE GUIDELINES ⟡ cupid au, exes2lovers, second chance, pining, slowburn(ish), fluff, angst ( ? ), crack

PRECAUTIONS ノ jaehyun absolutely being a nervous but almost lovesick mess 👍, playful bickering, a bit of jealousy?, teasing (#you’llfindthemainculprits), some denial and i believe that’s really it! ( FEAT. all of boynextdoor as CUPIDS! )

WORD COUNT ────── 25.9K+ ( 25907 WORDS ) !

𓊆 🗯️ 𓊇 CUPID’S RULES ✶ happy (late) valentines to you all ♡ !! this WAS supposed to be released on vday, but i lost track of time and was busy playing cupid for my friend so 😖 (rhin can confirm) special thank yous to alya, rhin, and lili !! alya & rhin my main people that i gave them sm updates (i know they were tired of me always saying my new wcs for this…) and lili being an amazing motivator for this as i was trying (more like stressing) to get this out as soon as possible… SO this fic definitely holds a special place in my heart & i hope you guys enjoy this as much as i did :] !! again, happy month of love ♡

🏹 ────── PLAYLIST LINKED IN ‘STUPID CUPID!’

RULE #1: Remember and Follow the Cupid Handbooks

Being a Cupid comes with its perks—the ability to make people fall within seconds—but it also carries a weird curse: struggling to find love for yourself. It’s ironic, really. How could one in charge of creating love stories be so helpless when it comes to their own? 

So, if there’s one rule every Cupid should know, it’s to avoid getting tangled up in love themselves. 

Jaehyun knew that better than anyone. He didn’t spend countless nights studying Cupid Handbooks just to break the most clear but unspoken rule in the book. But, when constantly exposed to love—causing romantic connections and having soulmates find each other—could he really be blamed for wondering what it might feel like to fall too? 

Jaehyun hated the idea of him doing something so forbidden—he knew his limits, had always known them, and he has never been so set on keeping himself within them. But the more time he spent practicing his spells and shooting his heart arrows, the more he felt himself daydreaming. Even during his shifts, he kept catching himself drifting off to the thoughts of what he wanted in a relationship. 

His imagination that led to his hopeless scenarios had him wanting love. Not just any kind of love, though. 

Jaehyun wanted to find love the natural way. No use of his magic. No arrows. No shortcuts. It was interesting, given the fact his abilities could naturally make the person he wanted to fall for him. But with the amount of time he spent in this field, all he wants is to be able to feel things everyone else would’ve if no one interfered with their love life. 

He wanted something genuine. 

He wanted to experience all the little things—interlocking fingers and swinging arms during a late-night walk—and plan romantic gestures and dates that would leave someone speechless. He wanted to laugh until his cheeks hurt because of the joy someone else brought into his life—someone that he could call his partner. 

It was so human, really so simple. Yet for someone like him, it was out of bounds and strictly off-limits. His magic was meant for others, not himself. Still, the thought lingered, nestled deep within him.

Even though it seemed forbidden, Jaehyun couldn’t stop himself from wondering: wouldn’t it be worth it, just once, to know what it felt like? It could be a good experience, he told himself, a lesson in understanding what he had been helping others achieve for so long.

And against all odds—or perhaps because of them—his fantasies became his reality. For the first time, Jaehyun found himself in a relationship. His first one ever. Everything he had imagined, all the sweet little moments he dreamed of, unfolded before him. Late-night walks, planned romantic dates, and laughter that left his cheeks sore were everything he’d wished for.

It was perfect. Almost too perfect, as if the universe was teasing him with a fleeting glimpse of something he could never fully keep.

If only he had known how it would all end. If only someone had stepped in to shatter his hopeless fantasies before they took place. Maybe then he wouldn’t have fallen so hard.

Maybe then he wouldn’t have become the hopeless mess he is now.

It wasn’t that he regretted the relationship—not entirely. The memories were precious, the kind he would carry with him forever. But who could have guessed how much a first love could change a person? That those bubbly feelings he felt would be so short-lived and immediately replaced with nothing but guilt? 

Unless, of course, Jaehyun was just a hopeless romantic, unable to let go of his first love. Maybe that was his problem all along—he clung to the memory of it, replaying every moment like a song he couldn’t stop humming. Or maybe it was simply a part of the consequences of not following the Cupid’s rule—avoid getting tangled up in love. 

It’s as if once a Cupid gets out of love, that emptiness will forever stick, and yet there would be no attempt to fill it up again. Instead, it simply lingers over like a shadow that would never disappear. 

Even with his so-called tragic attempt at love, Jaehyun refuses to let it interfere with his performance as a Cupid. If anything, he tries to hide it, and it only fuels his dedication to helping others find what he couldn’t. It helped him so much to the point that he even opened his own matchmaking business in the human world—a thriving one at that. 

For Jaehyun, it’s much easier to act like the one who steps into someone’s life at just the “right” moment, soon setting them up with their perfect match disguised as a human. With him constantly surrounded by success and purpose, he was able to effortlessly complete his tasks at a quick pace and climb up the ranks. His undercover Cupid life was truly working in his favor. 

For once, it seems like everything was finally working for Jaehyun. 

And that was all he ever wanted. 

RULE #2: Help anyone — everyone deserves love. 

It was a typical day for Jaehyun if he was holed up in his office, scrolling through the reviews on his website. A satisfied grin tugged at his lips as he skimmed through the comments praising his flawless love advice and unmatched ability to set up the perfect soulmate-worthy dates. 

“Jaehyun!” Woonhak’s voice burst through the quiet room, startling Jaehyun to jolt upright, abandoning the relaxed posture he’d settled into moments before. “You’ve got new clients!” 

The door swung open, and in walked Woonhak, his assistant, with a stack of papers that balanced in his arms. He remained completely oblivious to the sharp glare Jaehyun shot his way, too caught up in his excitement—or perhaps too used to his expressions to care. 

“It would be better if you just entered the room without yelling like that,” Jaehyun muttered, watching as Woonhak approached his desk and plopped down the heavy stack of papers.

“You just get scared too easily,” Woonhak teased, dragging out the last word as if to further test Jaehyun’s patience. Despite the playful jab, his grin never faltered. He nudged the papers closer, clearly expecting Jaehyun to skim through them quickly so he could set up the appointments and get back to whatever mischief he had planned for the day.

Jaehyun chose to ignore his teasing, snatching up the papers and flipping through the stack as fast as he possibly could. Meanwhile, Woonhak let out a low whistle, tapping his fingers on his thighs as his eyes wandered around the room to fulfill his few minutes of boredom. 

With Jaehyun looking back at Woonhak every so often, his attention soon landed on the white wings peeking out from Woonhak’s back. 

“And hide those winds before someone walks in here and thinks you’re an odd person.” He pointed in their direction, giving it a small look. 

Woonhak immediately twisted his body, trying to get a glimpse of the wings, only to end up spinning in an awkward loop. Jaehyun let out a chuckle at the ridiculous sight, shaking his head before returning to the customer requests sprawled out in front of him.

“I had to help Taesan with his mission. Cut me some slack,” Woonhak huffed, hurriedly tucking his wings out of sight—even though it was just him and Jaehyun in the room.

“Besides,” he added, straightening up and crossing his arms, “I’d be diligent enough not to get caught looking like this in front of a human.”

Jaehyun raised his eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Uh-huh. Like you never had something like this happen on numerous occasions.” 

Woonhak opened his mouth to argue but quickly shut it, his lips pressing into a thin line as he suddenly remembered a few of the times that almost led him to exposing his true identity. 

“Just focus on looking through these so I can go back to work before someone calls for me again,” Woonhak grumbled under his breath, leaving Jaehyun unbothered to even hide the small smirk he had. 

“Yeah, yeah—” Jaehyun started, his words trailing off the moment his eyes landed on a familiar name.

L/N Y/N.

For a moment, the room felt smaller, and the papers in his hands suddenly heavier. He stared at your name, unable to move past it, as if seeing it in print made it all too real.

He almost felt as if he was being physically dragged down, feeling the weight of such a familiar yet unfamiliar name crush him. 

His heart felt like it was sinking. 

Snapping out of it, Jaehyun quickly slid the paper out of the stack, slipping it aside like it didn’t exist. But before he could fully hide it, Woonhak’s sharp eyes caught his movement.

Woonhak slid the paper back in front of Jaehyun, his eyes narrowing in confusion at Jaehyun’s sudden action. 

“What?”

“Uh, I don’t think I can take this applicant,” Jaehyun replied a little too quickly, pushing the paper aside once more. 

“What’s wrong with this one?” he pressed, sliding the paper back yet again and this time keeping his hands firmly placed on it. Woonhak couldn’t seem to let it go that easily. He leaned in, squinting as he tried to make the words on the page from his view. “See something that goes against our policies?” 

“It’s not that—” Jaehyun paused, the sudden thought of him technically being the one that went against Cupid’s "policies.”

Avoid getting tangled up in love. 

The same phrase that haunted him echoed in his head, almost threatening to bring him back to the phase where he felt everything was going wrong. But he quickly shook it off—he had to. Now wasn’t the time for him to dwell on his past actions. He needed an excuse—any excuse. 

His eyes darted to the description you’d provided at the bottom of the application, scanning the words as fast as he could.

“They just seem... bland?” he blurted out, scrambling for an explanation. “Like they don’t actually want our services. Feels like a waste of time, honestly.”

Woonhak tilted his head before flipping the paper around, finally taking the time to read it properly. He hummed softly, nodding as if he agreed, and Jaehyun let out the smallest sigh of relief—until Woonhak abruptly stopped.

His expression shifted, brows furrowing deeply as his eyes darted back and forth between the paper and Jaehyun. 

“Since when did you, out of all Cupids, opt out of helping a client find love?”

“I mean…you saw the paper yourself!” Jaehyun stammered, trying to say anything to seem valid with his reasoning. He could feel the heat rising to his face, and no matter how hard he tried to keep calm, his words kept fumbling. This was spiraling fast—faster than he wanted it to. Instead of seeming like the confident, professional Cupid he prided himself on being, Jaehyun felt like a deer caught in headlights.

“The Jaehyun I know wouldn’t turn anyone away,” he stated clearly, folding his arms. “So, you? The Cupid who preaches about ‘love being for everyone,’ rejecting a client because they seem odd with their reasoning?”

Jaehyun didn’t know what to say—matter of fact, he didn’t want to say it. He had no comeback—no witty excuse to hide behind. Honestly, how could he possibly explain the truth? That he didn’t follow the very rules designed to keep Cupids professional? 

How was he supposed to bring up the fact that he had a deeper connection to you than other humans? 

That it was what he’s been wanting to avoid even remembering for the longest time? 

Jaehyun’s stomach churned, the thought looming over him greater than before. With falling in love as a Cupid seems to go against their morals, Jaehyun would absolutely forbid himself from telling someone he had gone against it. 

No one could know. Not even Woonhak, one of the very few he trusted the most. 

Nothing could deter Jaehyun from believing that this guilt should be only carried by himself. Otherwise, who knows what could happen to him if the word got out that he did something “bad”? 

Because if they found out? Suspension would be the least of his problems. He could be stripped of his powers, exiled from this world, or worse—losing his powers as a Cupid. 

Regardless of what punishments there could be out there, Jaehyun was not planning on getting into any of them. 

Jaehyun clenched his jaw, forcing himself to hold Woonhak’s gaze. “Can I just say...the vibes are... off?” Jaehyun managed to murmur, putting on a hopefully convincing look. However, Jaehyun even thought he wouldn’t be convinced by his own excuse with Woonhak towering over him, trying to analyze his true intentions. 

“Is there something you don’t want to tell me?” his voice was still laced with suspicion; however it was softer than it was before. 

Jaehyun felt the weight of Woonhak’s stare, and for a split second, he debated keeping the truth buried. But the tension in the room was suffocating, and if he didn’t give Woonhak something—anything—it might only make things worse.

It could at least make him feel a bit better in this situation. 

“Okay…well,” Jaehyun began, his voice wavering as he struggled to find the right words. “It’s someone I used to know. Someone I—” He paused, catching himself before saying too much. “—someone I haven’t spoken to in a while. I just... I don’t want to mess things up for them.”

Woonhak tilted his head, his brows furrowing slightly, but he nodded as if to show he understood. “So it’s personal?”

“Kind of,” Jaehyun admitted, his gaze shifting down to the paper that now felt like it was burning a hole in his desk. “I just think it’d be better if someone else handled it.”

“Alright,” Woonhak finally said, stepping back slightly. Hearing that, Jaehyun could’ve sworn he let out a huge exhale of air he didn’t even realize he’d been holding.

Relief flooded through him, but it was short-lived. Woonhak reached out, gathering the stack of papers—including yours—and Jaehyun’s eyes lingered on them longer than he meant to.

That’s when it hit him.

You applied. You. To find someone new?

Before he could fully process it, Woonhak’s footsteps snapped him out of his spiral. He abruptly turned back before reaching the door, making Jaehyun’s shoulders tense up all over again.

“But if no one takes this application,” Woonhak said with a grin, “you’re going to have to handle it no matter what.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened. “Wait, what?”

“She applied for you to help her, didn’t she?” Woonhak grinned, clearly enjoying the panic written all over Jaehyun’s face. “Cupid rules!” 

And before Jaehyun could even form a response, Woonhak was gone, shutting the door behind him within an instant. 

Jaehyun slumped back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as the words echoed in his head.

She applied for you to help her. 

For the first time ever, Jaehyun had never felt a stronger urge to break Cupid’s rules.

Just for his own sake. 

RULE #3: Focus on the Present, Not the Past

It didn’t take long for Jaehyun to realize that Woonhak had only been joking and that no such rule actually existed. Honestly? He was relieved—especially after mustering up the courage to ask Riwoo a series of awkward and borderline ridiculous questions. Poor Riwoo had been forced to sit through Jaehyun’s rambling without even understanding why he was so worked up.

According to Riwoo, applications were simply sent and put on hold until someone willingly picked up the task. It didn’t have to be Jaehyun—thankfully. That small piece of information lifted a massive weight off his shoulders, allowing him to breathe easier for the first time since he’d seen your name on the paper.

And while the thought of leaving your application in someone else’s hands felt oddly conflicting, Jaehyun convinced himself it was for the best. You’d be taken care of soon, and he wouldn’t have to risk getting involved in your life again.

As cold as it might sound, Jaehyun knew his intentions were good. He wasn’t trying to be cruel—if anything, he was trying to protect you from not seeing him again, as maybe the sight of him could possibly hurt you too. 

That reassurance brought him an unexpected sense of peace, enough to push him back into focus. With his worries temporarily set aside, Jaehyun found himself performing better than he had in weeks, even earning a few more praises here and there.

It was more than enough for Jaehyun to be set right back on track. 

“Send the next client in,” Jaehyun spoke into the earpiece, his tone steady as he leaned back in his chair. He reached for a pen, idly tapping it against the surface of his desk while he waited.

“I’m on it,” Woonhak’s voice crackled through the line, followed by faint shuffling noises. Jaehyun could just barely make out Woonhak murmuring something to the next person in line, probably offering some last-minute reassurance before directing them inside.

Jaehyun straightened up as he heard the door creak open, forcing himself into professional mode. He plastered on a welcoming smile, just like he had practiced, ready to offer all the help he could give. 

“Welcome to—” he looked up, the grip on his pen faltering, nearly causing it to slip from his fingers. His lips slightly parted before continuing, “KOZ of Cupid.”

Out of all clients he could’ve seen today, why did it have to be you?

At first, you didn’t want to sign up for something like this. You preferred the more “natural” way of falling in love—the kind of story that felt straight out of a romance movie. Meeting someone in a cozy café, locking eyes with a stranger in a crowd, or stumbling upon someone at the wrong place but at the perfect time. That’s the kind of love you always dreamed about.

Although those kinds of wishes didn’t take you far within your love life. Those fleeting moments never seemed to lead to something more than casual, leaving you in a series of what-ifs and missed connections. So, here you were, making the decision you once swore you’d never make. 

But what you didn’t expect was seeing this. 

You froze the moment you stepped inside the office, your eyes locking with his as the realization sank in. Out of all the people who could’ve been behind this desk—out of all the Matchmakers people raved about—it just had to be him.

Your ex.

Well, maybe if you knew who he actually was prior to this, you would’ve probably avoided getting into this situation. 

Your body stiffened, your hand gripping the strap of your bag as if holding onto it could somehow ground you. He looked just as surprised as you, if not mortified. 

“Cupid MJ…?” you finally asked, your voice laced with disbelief as you eyed the nameplate on his desk. “That’s you?”

Jaehyun swallowed hard, his hand instinctively reaching up to rub the back of his neck. Despite having gone by the alias for what felt like an eternity, hearing it come out of your mouth suddenly made it sound ridiculous.

“Yeah…” he muttered, his voice softer than usual. “That’s me.”

“I see...” you trailed off awkwardly, already hating the steps you took to be caught in this kind of predicament. 

“Well, take a seat, won’t you?” Jaehyun finally broke the silence, gesturing toward the chair he’d carefully positioned in front of his desk. You nodded stiffly, your legs carrying you forward as if on autopilot, each step feeling heavier than the last.

You weren’t sure what shocked you more—seeing Jaehyun again after all this time or realizing he was now running a matchmaking business, posing as some kind of modern-day Cupid...now in charge of your love life. 

The only difference is that he's no longer a part of it—not in that kind of way. 

“It’s been a long…time since we last saw each other,” you managed to say as you took a seat. Your eyes fell into your lap, unable to meet his gaze face-to-face after all this time. It felt unnatural given how you two were practically strangers who used to be lovers, now meeting up together in the same room. “I didn’t know you were doing this kind of thing now.” 

Jaehyun wasn’t surprised by your reaction. He had expected this to throw you off—how could it not? After all, back then, he’d practically put his cupid duties on pause to be with you. He left it all in Riwoo’s hands just so he could experience what love felt like firsthand.

And for a while, it was perfect.

But now? Now, he was just a matchmaker, and you were just another client sitting across from his desk, needing his help. You two were not on boyfriend-girlfriend terms anymore, so Jaehyun had no choice but to snap out of it. 

“It has been,” he finally replied, forcing a polite smile despite the tightening in his chest. “I never would’ve expected to see you again—especially not here. And definitely not in this... field of love.”

You let out a small, nervous laugh, nodding your head. “Yeah, well…change of plans, I guess.”

Jaehyun also nodded, but his mind was already spiraling. Change of plans? To make things fair, he hasn’t seen you in a while—it’s been a good year or two of him avoiding crossing paths with you. 

“Getting back on topic, I assume you’ve already gone through our website?” Jaehyun asked, his tone shifting to something more professional as he turned his attention to the computer beside him. His fingers moved quickly over the keyboard, typing your name into the database.

“Well… could there be anything I missed besides setting up this appointment with you?” you asked, hoping your rushed application hadn’t left out anything important.

“It actually looks like you didn’t fill out the section about what you’re looking for in a future partner.” Jaehyun frowned slightly, refreshing the page a couple of times as if expecting the missing information to magically appear. “Huh. That’s odd…”

“There was a form for that?” you asked, genuine confusion lacing your voice.

Jaehyun hummed in response, his eyes still fixed on the screen. “Yeah. It’s part of the application process. You must’ve skipped over it.”

You sat back in your chair, trying to piece together the memory of filling out the form. “I probably did. I was kind of in a rush when I submitted it,” you admitted, already cringing at how careless you’d been. It was supposed to be something quick—just something to get your friends off your back about your ‘tragic’ love life. 

“Well, don’t worry about it.” Jaehyun reached for the drawer beside him, pulling out a clipboard and sliding a clean sheet of paper into the clip. “I have a physical copy you can fill out instead.”

He handed it to you along with a pen, prompting you to take it without hesitation. Your eyes quickly scanned the questions on the form, and almost immediately, you felt like you were being put on the spot. The questions were more personal than you expected—asking about values, expectations, and even deal-breakers—but you pushed through, determined to finish it as quickly as possible.

The silence in the room only made the process feel longer. You could feel Jaehyun’s occasional glances, though he tried to keep himself preoccupied with the computer screen in front of him. It was as if he was pretending not to notice how much effort you were putting into answering the questions—questions he already knew the answers to, at least back then.

After what felt like an eternity, you were able to finish the last question, settling the clipboard down with a soft thud. 

“All done?” 

“Yeah,” you replied, sliding the clipboard back across his desk. “Sorry, that took so long. Some of the questions were…very detailed.” 

Jaehyun let out a small laugh, picking up the clipboard and flipping through the pages to make sure you didn’t skip over anything accidentally. “It’s supposed to be thorough. The more detailed your responses are, the better we can find the match for you.”

You nodded, though the idea of him—or anyone—reading through your answers felt a bit humiliating. Even if you regretted it, there was really no coming back from this now. But Jaehyun’s silence couldn’t help but worry you, making your stomach churn. 

“Okay, it looks like you filled out everything,” he said, placing the clipboard down in front of him. “We should be able to get you set up with a match that fits what you’re looking for.” 

You didn’t have an answer, so you simply nodded, forcing a small, polite smile even as the tension in the room lingered.

“That’s all for today’s session,” Jaehyun said, leaning back slightly as if to signal the end of your meeting.

“Really? That’s it?” you asked in surprise. 

“Considering how you forgot to fill that part, I can’t do much more than make you wait until our next session to find you a match,” he replied. “I’ll have Cupid KW set up the next appointment for you when I’m all settled.” 

“Oh right…” Your voice barely rose above a murmur as you stood up, sliding the chair back under the desk carefully before you left. You hesitated at the door, your hand hovering over the handle before instinctively turning back to him.

“Thank you, Jaehyun—” You froze, quickly correcting yourself. “I mean, Cupid MJ.” The slip-up made you cringe internally—you certainly weren’t on the terms to be addressing him like that. You didn’t choose to stick around long enough to explain or even see his reaction. Instead, you hurriedly added, “Have a nice day,” before stepping out and pulling the door closed behind you.

Jaehyun barely managed a “You too,” but his voice was low, almost drowned out by the soft click of the door shutting. Letting out a quiet sigh, Jaehyun shifted his focus back to the clipboard you left behind, flipping through the pages filled with your handwriting.

Jaehyun? It was nice to hear that name from you again. But he hated how much he missed hearing it. 

It had been so long, and yet it still sounded so familiar—so warm, as if it provided a sense of comfort to him. It was as if he was transported back to the past, the time where he had known everything about you. 

He scanned through your answers carefully, noting every detail you had written down. As he continued to flip through the pages, he wore a faint, bitter smile, noticing how clear everything was. 

It was silly to think about reconnecting, wasn’t it? Silly to even let himself reminisce about what everything once was.

Everything you seem to want now—the qualities and expectations—no longer reflects who Jaehyun was. But what should he expect? That you would still want someone like him? 

He was only someone you had once wanted. 

Now, he’s just a stranger with a familiar name. 

RULE #4: Act Fast; a Client is Top Priority

“Where’s Woonhak?” Jaehyun suddenly asked, his eyes narrowing as Leehan walked in carrying a stack of papers instead of the usual face he expected to see every day.

“He told me Sungho called for him for the day,” Leehan replied, setting the papers down on Jaehyun’s desk with the same precision Woonhak typically would. “So, I took over his spot.”

Jaehyun barely held back a groan. Of course, Woonhak wouldn’t be here today. If he was, Jaehyun would’ve made sure he didn’t leave this office without a long lecture—or a few cuts and bruises, if Jaehyun felt like being dramatic. Technically, this entire mess was Woonhak’s fault—for lying and, even worse, allowing you in on the day Jaehyun could’ve least expected it.

It would’ve been easier if Jaehyun had some kind of warning. Just a heads-up that you’d be walking through those doors.

“So, these are the correct ones, right?” Jaehyun asked, forcing himself to focus as he looked through the papers.

“Yes, Woonhak taught me,” Leehan confirmed, glancing at him like he could already tell where Jaehyun’s mind was drifting. “And don’t worry. I’m only unlucky when it comes to using my powers, not simple tasks like these.”

Jaehyun let out a sharp exhale, giving Leehan a pointed look. “Let’s hope so.”

“You seem to have a lot on your mind,” Leehan said, tilting his head slightly as he studied Jaehyun’s expression.

“Me?” Jaehyun scoffed, feigning indifference as he leaned back in his chair. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Leehan replied, clearly unconvinced. “That’s why you’ve been staring at the same paper for the last five minutes.”

Jaehyun blinked, glancing down at the form in his hand. He hadn’t even realized he hadn’t turned the page.

“It’s nothing,” Jaehyun muttered, flipping the sheet over as if that would somehow prove his point.

Leehan didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press further either. Instead, he slid another set of files across the desk.

“Well, whatever it is, try not to let it mess up your matchmaking,” Leehan said with a shrug. “Clients tend to notice when you’re distracted.”

Jaehyun let out a small, humorless laugh. “Funny to hear that from you, Leehan.”

“A few mishaps doesn’t mean I can’t read you clearly,” Leehan hummed, pausing briefly at the door. “You’re bad at hiding it.”

Jaehyun opened his mouth to retort, but Leehan was already gone, leaving him alone with nothing but the faint echo of his words.

His gaze soon shifted to the glowing computer screen, displaying one of your most compatible matches. The person seemed to perfectly align with the preferences you listed—which is a good thing—yet Jaehyun’s chest seemed to tighten the longer he stared at it. 

Jaehyun loves his job, and yet he can’t help but wonder how his situation became like this. 

It’s just funny how he has to be the one to set you up with someone else. 

“You found me a match already?” you exclaimed, your eyes widening as Jaehyun quietly sipped his hot chocolate. He gave a small nod, barely looking up from the swirling steam rising from his cup.

“Yeah, it was easy to find some candidates,” he replied, his voice steady but his expression unreadable. He was bundled up in layers, his scarf wrapped snugly around his neck, yet he still seemed cold despite having been in the café for over ten minutes.

“Are you sure these are good ones?” you asked, trying not to sound doubtful but failing miserably. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Jaehyun’s judgment—you did—but the process felt almost too fast. Weren’t matches supposed to take time? Shouldn’t there be more thought put into something like this?

“I don’t have good reviews under my website for no reason,” Jaehyun said with a small, proud smile as he set down his cup. He seemed confident, which seemed to reassure you. 

You pressed your lips together, unsure how to respond. Maybe you were overthinking this, or maybe it was just nerves. But a tiny part of you couldn’t help but wonder if Jaehyun was rushing this—if he was just trying to get it over with.

Would this—you—even matter to him? 

“Right,” you still managed to say while your thoughts spiraled, forcing a smile as you leaned back in your chair. “I guess I’ll just have to trust the expert, huh?”

“Speaking of me being an expert, your match should be appearing soon,” Jaehyun said casually, his words suddenly shifting the calm mood into something else. 

You blinked, caught completely off guard. “Wait—what?”

Before you could even process what he meant, Jaehyun stood up, eyes glued to his phone, as if this were the most natural thing in the world. “His name is Heeseung, by the way.”

“Heeseung?” you repeated, panic rising in your voice. “Jaehyun, wait!”

But he didn’t wait. He didn’t even turn back. 

It felt almost too familiar. 

Instead, he gave you a quick, dismissive wave before disappearing toward the café door.

You sat frozen in your chair, your heart pounding so hard you could feel it in your ears. 

A match. An actual, real match. And he was about to walk in any second now.

You glanced around nervously, suddenly hyperaware of every person in the café. You stared at everyone that walked in your direction, seemingly holding onto your breath. 

You didn’t even know who this guy looked like—this was practically a blind date. 

Your hands clenched around your cup. What were you even supposed to say?

You hadn’t been on a date in so long, and the fact that this one was unplanned made it feel so much worse. 

“Y/N, is it?”

The voice pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. You looked up, meeting the gaze of the man standing in front of you.

It was Heeseung.

With you exchanging awkward greetings with Heeseung, it was obvious you weren’t the only one feeling nervous. His stiff smile and the way he shifted in his seat mirrored your own unease, but at least the tension was mutual.

Meanwhile, Jaehyun remained outside the café, positioned just far enough to avoid suspicion but close enough to keep an eye on the two of you. From his view, things seemed to be going well—or at least not terribly wrong.

Setting down the hot chocolate cup he had brought with him, it was time. Now came the moment Jaehyun had been waiting for. This was where his real work began—the part that set his matchmaking business apart from the rest.

Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, Jaehyun swiftly turned himself invisible, the faint shimmer of his form disappearing as he reached into his bag. Humming softly, his fingers brushed against each arrow, carefully inspecting for any marks or scratches. He settled for one of the newer arrows—the ones Woonhak brought in weeks ago. 

As his selected arrow radiated a faint glow of enchantment, Jaehyun was satisfied with his choice. He drew in a steady breath, positioning himself not too far from you two. Raising the bow, he aligned it to his target, Heeseung, who was sitting across from you. 

Adjusting his stance, Jaehyun closed one eye, lining up the perfect shot. The goal was simple—strike Heeseung’s heart and make him lovestruck. It was Cupid’s mission, after all.

With his grip steady, Jaehyun murmured a small incantation under his breath, the magic swirling gently around the arrow. This was the moment where everything would change—Heeseung would feel unexpectedly bubbly inside as his romantic feelings intensified. 

All he had to do was shoot. 

Just as Jaehyun was about to release the bowstring, a sudden, chaotic noise erupted behind him—a crash of metal and hurried footsteps disturbed him. Jaehyun flinched, his head immediately snapping toward the source of the sounds. In that split second, his grip faltered, the arrow slipping from his grasp. 

Before he could even react, the faint hum of magic pulsed through, a streak of shimmering pink light quickly disappearing into thin air. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath, a stream of barely audible curses following as he frantically looked around his surroundings for the arrow and the disturbance. Oddly enough, whatever—or whoever—caused the noise was nowhere within his sight, leaving him in silence. 

But there was no time for him to investigate. He had to shift his focus back to you and Heeseung, ignoring the strange feeling in his chest—possibly from the scare and the sudden aftermath of his mistake. 

That’s when the feeling seemed to hit him. 

Jaehyun’s eyes naturally gravitated to you, and suddenly, everything around him seemed to blur. His vision tunneled, examining the way there was suddenly almost a shimmering light that radiated from you. It seemed to grow brighter every time he noticed something about you—every second seemed precious to him. 

He tried blinking, but it only got worse, his eyes unable to peel away from you. 

It was odd. 

Did he... miss you that much? That it was only starting to really hit him now? 

But right now? He had to get over you. At this time, he couldn’t afford to get distracted—the mission was most important, after all. 

Clenching his jaw, Jaehyun forced himself to look away, reaching for another arrow to correct his mistake.

But the moment his gaze dropped, his breath hitched.

There, in the center of his shirt, was the pink stain—not on the ground, not on an arrow, but on him.

Panic bloomed in his chest, his pulse quickening by the second. The bow fell to the floor as his hands grasped at the fabric, pulling it to examine the stain more closely. The sparkly glow was enough to tell him everything he needed to know. 

“No, no, no-" Jaehyun muttered under his breath, frantically rubbing at the fabric. It was completely useless. The stain didn’t smear or lift, but instead, it shrank. 

It sunk deeper into the fibers of his shirt—no, into him. The glow started to dim with every passing second until it was no longer visible, leaving Jaehyun frozen, his fingers still gripping onto the fabric. 

Jaehyun swallowed hard, his eyes flicking back toward you. 

This wasn’t right.

The sound of your voice was faint but warm, making his pulse race even more despite him setting you on a date with Heeseung. 

This wasn’t supposed to happen. 

 The pounding of his heart was deafening, drowning out the noise around him. Jaehyun bolted from where he was, his footsteps quick but unsteady as he pressed a trembling hand against his chest.

What had he done?

RULE #5: Don’t Mess Around with Cupid Powers

Jaehyun couldn’t stop feeling the need to constantly pace around his room. His footsteps echoed softly against the wooden floor as he ran a hand through his hair for what felt like the hundredth time.

Your text message sat open on his phone screen, glowing back at him. It was nothing more than a casual update—how the date went and how Heeseung seemed nice—but it still managed to make him smile.

That was the problem.

Jaehyun’s fingers tightened around the phone as he muttered to himself, his words shaky but firm. “You’re her matchmaker, not her match.”

But no matter how many times he repeated it, the words fell flat. It was a reminder that couldn’t seem to get through in his head. His own logic wasn’t enough to drown out the emotions that had begun creeping in ever since that arrow misfired.

It was wrong. He knew it was wrong—especially now that your date with Heeseung seemed to go well. That should’ve been enough to push Jaehyun back into reality, but instead, it only made the ache in his chest worse.

“You called for me?”

The voice snapped Jaehyun out of his trance, and he practically lunged toward the door the moment he saw Sungho step inside. Relief flooded through him so intensely that he didn’t even think twice before grabbing Sungho by the arms, gripping him like a lifeline.

“Whoa—what’s up with you?” Sungho’s brows shot up, his eyes scanning Jaehyun’s disheveled appearance. His face was flushed, his hair was a mess, and he looked like he’d been running a marathon inside the room. “You look…weird.”

Jaehyun immediately let go, straightening his posture in an attempt to look normal. But his attempt was useless. His jittery hands and the way his eyes darted back and forth only made him look more suspicious.

“Would you mind helping me?” Jaehyun blurted out, his voice almost cracking.

Sungho crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed. “I mean, that’s literally why I’m here,” he replied, walking past Jaehyun and flopping onto the couch without hesitation. “You don’t usually act like this. What’s up with you?”

Jaehyun trailed behind him, struggling to keep himself composed as he hovered nervously by the couch. He hated how out of character this was for him—desperate and completely unfocused. He wanted it to stop, but the way his mind kept racing and his heart refused to calm down made it nearly impossible to pull himself together.

Jaehyun cleared his throat, his fingers nervously fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “So, uh... hypothetically speaking—emphasis on hypothetically,” he stressed, his eyes flickering toward Sungho as if silently begging for reassurance. “Is it possible for a Cupid to, you know… seriously mess up with their powers?”

Sungho raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from mild curiosity to concern. “That depends,” he said slowly. “What kind of mistake are we talking about here?”

“Well…” Jaehyun hesitated, his voice trailing off before he forced himself to continue. “Like, let’s say something happened—not saying it did, but let’s say it could—where a Cupid accidentally misfired an arrow?”

Sungho hummed thoughtfully, leaning back against the couch. “I mean, it’s not unheard of. Look at Leehan, for example. The guy is completely unfortunate—broken arrows, broken couples, you name it. But his mistakes aren’t anything too difficult to fix.” 

‘Right, fixable. Totally,” Jaehyun nodded quickly, though his fingers continued to fidget against the fabric of his sleeves. “Right, right. But what if—again, hypothetically—a Cupid misfires their arrow on someone... that shouldn’t get hit?”

“Wait.” Sungho looked at Jaehyun, his gaze intensifying. “You did not—”

“I did not! Of course, I wouldn’t have!” Jaehyun cut in, his voice an octave higher than it usually was. “I mean, not exactly what you may think it is.” 

Sungho’s eyes widened as he sat himself up. “Jaehyun.” 

“Okay, okay!” Jaehyun caved, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “Maybe I might have accidentally—sort of—shot myself.”

Sungho’s jaw dropped.

 “You what?!”

“I didn’t mean to!” Jaehyun blurted out, panic seeping into his voice. “There was this loud noise, and I got scared, and my hand slipped, and bam! I suddenly see pink liquid on my shirt that just quickly disappeared!”

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me." Sungho dragged a hand to his mouth, visibly mortified that Jaehyun—out of all people—would get himself into a situation like this. “Turning your powers against yourself? Really?” 

“Was this why you asked me a bunch of questions about whether you had to take a client? Because it was about Y/N?”

Riwoo’s voice cut through the room, making both Sungho and Jaehyun jump—though it was Jaehyun who practically fled the couch with a yelp. His hand instinctively latched onto Sungho’s arm, eyes wide with panic as he spun around to face the unexpected intruder.

“Since when did you come in?!” Jaehyun demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at Riwoo, who looked thoroughly unimpressed.

Riwoo lifted the stack of files he carried as if the explanation was obvious. “Woonhak sent me,” he said, before casually walking over to Jaehyun’s desk to drop them off.

“Of course, Woonhak did,” Jaehyun muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. “And you weren’t supposed to say that, Riwoo.”

“Oh,” Riwoo halted in his steps, soon turning to see Sungho with a puzzled look on his face. No matter how many times Sungho tried to think back on everything he remembered, the name wasn’t familiar to him at all. “I thought he knew.”

“What are we talking about—who is Y/N?” Sungho finally asked, almost as if it were excruciating while watching Jaehyun and Riwoo send each other odd but failed telepathy through the usage of their eyes and mumbling. 

“Jaehyun’s ex,” Riwoo quickly blurted out, leaving Jaehyun’s eyes widened in horror, his hand still in the air after shooting it up in an attempt to cover Riwoo’s mouth, but it was too late.

“Are you serious right now?” Jaehyun hissed, slowly dropping his hand in defeat. “I wouldn’t have told you about this if you were going to say it that easily.” 

“He had to know at one point—you can’t hide the fact that you tried to find love from us much longer,” Riwoo shrugged as he leaned against Jaehyun’s desk. “You could at least tell Sungho—he wouldn’t tell anybody... yet.” 

Next to him, Sungho sat in stunned silence, his mouth hanging open in shock. He blinked rapidly, his gaze darting between Riwoo and Jaehyun as if trying to process what he’d just heard.

“Y/N?” Sungho repeated, shaking his head as he pried Jaehyun’s arm off him. “So, you’re telling me, you managed to shoot yourself with your own arrow and ended up hopelessly in love with your ex again? That’s... really something else. Even for you.”

Jaehyun groaned, slumping back against the couch as he covered his face with both hands. “Don’t need to keep pushing it.”

Riwoo and Sungho exchanged a look, both struggling to suppress the fear but also the amusement threatening to creep onto their faces. It really was funny—at least to an extent.

After all, how could a Cupid be this careless? And not just careless—reckless. Jaehyun had managed to turn what should’ve been a simple matchmaking session into a full-blown catastrophe.

But what made it worse—what made it really ridiculous—was the fact that his eyes had landed on someone who was never supposed to be anything more than a client. Someone who had only walked through his doors looking for love and not to accidentally become the reason Cupid himself got caught up in this mess. 

“So, what did you feel when you saw her?” Sungho asked, making sure to check on his friend’s wellbeing. He had never been in this kind of situation before, so it wasn’t something he could instantly jump in and fix things like he usually would have. 

“It felt weird—it still does!” Jaehyun threw his hands up in the air. He paused, soon placing his hand on his chest as if he could physically do something to calm the irregular pounding of his heart. “Anything or everything that has to do with Y/N, it feels like—like I can’t think straight at all! It’s all about her!” 

“Were Cupid’s powers always this strong?” Riwoo questioned, eyebrows furrowed as he plopped onto the couch across from them. 

“I mean...” Sungho hesitated, leaning back as if running through possibilities in his head. “It could be different for humans—but he’s Cupid, after all. Who’s to say it wouldn’t affect him even worse than a human? What if it’s like... amplified?”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened, his panic rising again. “Amplified? Are you serious? So what—this could get even worse?”

“Well,” Riwoo started cautiously, “you did hit yourself with the arrow, so who knows what could possibly happen? Or how deep the arrow went? Nothing like this has happened before... or at least, not that we know of.” 

‘What am I supposed to do?” Jaehyun groaned, his thoughts completely all over the place. “She’s not just anyone; she’s my client! And I already set her up with someone else—who she seems to actually like, by the way! But I’m just here, losing my mind over something I really can’t control!” 

Sungho winced. “Well…”

“Please tell me this is fixable.” Jaehyun’s voice was muffled with his hands covering his face due to embarrassment. “There has to be something, or like, a time limit to these powers.” 

“That’s just something we have to figure out,” Riwoo said, trying to reassure him to the best of his abilities. “There has to be a way.”

Jaehyun really hoped Riwoo was right—he clung onto that hope. 

His phone had faintly buzzed with another notification, pulling his attention away. Unable to resist looking at it, he glanced to see another text from you lighting up the screen. A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, but reality was able to hit him quickly, considering his surroundings. His expression fell flat, which soon followed up with him clearing his throat. 

Jaehyun shut off his phone and threw it onto the table, as if putting some distance between himself and his phone could help keep himself normal. Slumping back into the couch, his shoulders sank as if the situation was starting to weigh heavily on his shoulders. 

This timing couldn’t have been any worse. His powers should’ve been reserved for only those he was assigned with to help them find love, not for him to accidentally turn himself into some lovesick person. 

“This better not be permanent,” Jaehyun muttered, staring into the ceiling while dealing with the thought of how terrifying that could be if his powers were to stick around. 

“For your sake, hopefully not.” Sungho said. “Because if it is... you might just be stuck with trying to make your client yours.” 

RULE #6: Don’t Run Away from Your Mistakes; Fix It.

“I’m not seriously going to be facing her, right?” Jaehyun blurted out, his voice laced with sheer panic as he threw his hands up in surrender. After the long, exhausting talk he’d just had with Riwoo and Sungho a while ago, this was the last thing he expected to hear. Guide you? Through this whole process? While he’s acting like this?

He can tell Sungho wasn’t pleased either, given the resigned expression he wore while telling him the news. But, with Sungho only able to give him a stiff nod, it hit Jaehyun like a brick wall—it was painfully obvious that they’d run into a dead end. 

Jaehyun’s shoulders slumped. “Can’t you just... take over for me?” His tone shifted into desperation as he tried to wriggle out of the mess he’d created. The last thing he wanted was to make a complete fool of himself in front of you. Though he couldn’t quite figure out if it was because he feared he wanted to impress you—or if it was just the crippling fear of acting weird in front of an ex.

“For someone who basically memorized every word of Cupid’s Handbooks,” Sungho said, rubbing the back of his neck as if he were already exhausted by Jaehyun’s antics, “I really thought you’d know better.”

Jaehyun froze, dread washing over him. He didn’t even need to ask to know where this was heading.

“What’s Rule #10?” Sungho pressed, narrowing his eyes.

Jaehyun let out a defeated sigh, his shoulders sinking further as he muttered under his breath, “Once a client... always your client.”

The words were as clear as day, but Jaehyun couldn’t help but feel like remembering that was bittersome. With how many hours he spent cooped up in his room remembering each page, he’d probably have ended up questioning his qualifications if he hadn’t.

But at this moment? He wished he didn’t know it. He wished the rule didn’t exist at all. 

“This isn’t fair,” Jaehyun groaned as he started pacing back and forth. He pressed his hands against the sides of his face as if doing so could somehow shut out the situation looming over him.

“You wouldn’t even be in this mess if you hadn’t been so fixated on Y/N,” Sungho sighed once again, although he seemed clearly unbothered by Jaehyun’s rising panic despite his behavior moments ago. 

Jaehyun spun around, glaring. “I was not fixated on her!” His voice came out sharper than he intended, defensive in a way that only made Sungho raise his brows. “I was actually committed to my mission, y’know—doing my job.”

“Right.” Sungho crossed his arms, leaning back as he fixed Jaehyun with an unimpressed look. “Then maybe you could’ve aimed the arrow at her instead of him.”

Jaehyun froze mid-step, caught off guard by the observation. The words lingered in the air as if waiting to pounce, and Jaehyun hated how they made his stomach churn.

Sungho didn’t miss the hesitation. “But you didn’t. Instead, you aimed to make him love-sick over her—not the other way around.”

Jaehyun’s eyes narrowed, his pacing halting completely as he faced Sungho. “What exactly are you trying to imply?”

“Oh, I think you already know,” Sungho said, his voice pointed as his gaze locked onto Jaehyun’s.

“Well, if anything—” Jaehyun snapped, his voice tight as he shoved his hands into his pockets. “I don’t have any intentions like that! It’s over between us, and that should be pretty clear to you, given that I paired her up with someone else.”

“Sure, sure—it’s over,” Sungho says, not wanting to cause Jaehyun to be in another frenzy. He could feel his lip twitching, almost as if he wanted to smirk, but he chose to fight against it. There was no need to rile Jaehyun up, especially given the unfortunate circumstances. 

Sungho’s phone buzzed, and as he glanced down at the screen, his expression shifted. He pressed his lips into a thin line—a small but telling gesture that Jaehyun immediately picked up on. It was almost instinctual, his senses sharpening at the sight of Sungho’s hesitation.

“What is it?” Jaehyun demanded, his voice edged with suspicion.

Sungho hesitated, clearly weighing his words before finally speaking. “I know you really don’t want to do this,” he started cautiously, watching Jaehyun’s expression like it might shatter at any moment. "But... your next session with Y/N? It’s today.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened in disbelief, and Sungho quickly added, “Or, well—actually, it’s not just today. It’s right now.”

“Right now?!” Jaehyun practically choked, taking a step back as if the words physically hit him. “You can’t be serious! No one said anything about it being this soon!”

Sungho grimaced, his grip tightening around his phone. “I just found out too, okay? Woonhak’s the one who sent the notice. He said something about needing to keep everything on schedule.”

“Schedule?” Jaehyun repeated, his voice rising. “I didn’t even agree to this schedule!”

Sungho crossed his arms, clearly unimpressed with Jaehyun’s outburst. “Well, suck it up, because she could walk in at any moment.” He gave Jaehyun a pointed look, then added, “But don’t worry—I’ll be here to make sure you don’t say anything weird.”

Jaehyun shot him a sharp glare. “Oh, that’s reassuring,” he muttered sarcastically, finally deciding to sit on the couch as his nerves threatened to continue to overwhelm him. “You’re acting like I’m incapable of handling this.”

“You’re barely capable of handling this,” Sungho shot back without missing a beat. “I mean, look at you right now! You’re one bad thought away from a meltdown, and we both know it.”

Just as Jaehyun was about to say anything to defend himself, the sound of knocking echoed through the room. Both he and Sungho immediately froze, their eyes snapping toward the door. 

Compared to Sungho, Jaehyun could’ve sworn he felt like he stopped breathing. Sungho was able to recover a little quicker, while Jaehyun seemed to be stuck in a trance. 

“I guess it’s time,” Sungho whispered as if you could potentially hear him from the opposite side, turning to give Jaehyun the look. 

Jaehyun’s eyes wavered. "Wait—what do I even say? What if... what if I mess up?” He whispered, and even with his voice being low, it was hard to ignore that he was frantic. 

“And didn’t you just say you’re perfectly capable of handling this?” 

"Well, that was before this happened!” Jaehyun whisper-yelled, his eyes looking back at the door after hearing the knocking again—this time, slightly louder than it was before. 

“Either way, you’re going to have to face her,” Sungho said, already moving toward the door. He reached for the doorknob, but before turning it, he glazed back at Jaehyun. “Like I said, I’ll handle it if things go wrong—just focus on being able to not do anything out of the ordinary.” 

Jaehyun groaned, running his hands through his hair as Sungho finally opened the door. The second he saw you standing there, greeting Sungho due to his sudden appearance, Jaehyun felt like the air had been knocked out of his lungs.

Quickly, he looked away, his gaze dropping to his hands as he fiddled nervously with his fingers, desperate to stop his thoughts from spiraling. 

This was going to be so much harder than he thought.

“Hi, Cupid MJ,” you greeted him with a bright expression as you stepped inside after Sungho had welcomed you in.

Jaehyun’s eyes flickered up at the sound of your voice, and despite every part of him screaming to stay composed, his lips almost instinctively curled into a smile. His eyes softened, crinkling at the corners in a way that felt far too natural—far too much.

“Hi, Y/N,” he replied, but the moment the words left his mouth, he froze. It sounded weird. Even to him, it sounded far too warm—too full of affection. 

His eyes widened slightly as he quickly brought a hand up to cover his mouth, as if that could somehow take back the tone he’d just used. His gaze darted nervously to Sungho, who was already staring at him with a raised eyebrow and the most frustratingly knowing look.

Jaehyun felt heat rush to his face as he let out a small, awkward cough, desperately trying to mask the slip-up. “Uh—take a seat,” he said, attempting to make his voice sound more neutral. 

“The date went well,” you said, your tone light as you took a seat. It was clear you were more than ready to lead the conversation—especially given Jaehyun’s stunned silence.

For a moment, he just blinked at you, his thoughts spiraling as he struggled to string together a proper response. It almost felt like the roles had reversed—him as the nervous client, fumbling and hopeless, while you sat there like the Cupid, who had quite literally struck him right in the heart.

“That’s… great,” Jaehyun finally managed to say, though his voice came out quieter than he’d hoped. He cleared his throat, trying to regain even a fraction of composure. “I mean, of course, it went well. I—I knew it would.”

You nodded, completely unaware that you were the one that was making him feel like his heart was about to burst out of his chest. 

"What happens now?" you asked, leaning in slightly as if searching for some kind of reassurance.

"Well," he began, clearing his throat. "You can continue spending more time with him since I received a positive response from him too." He paused briefly, gauging your expression before continuing. "Or, if you'd prefer, you can explore other matches—it’s entirely your pick."

You nodded slowly, your fingers absentmindedly brushing against the edge of the table. "I think I could do another day with him," you finally said, though there was an almost hesitant tone in your voice.

Jaehyun's stomach flipped. Was that hesitation good or bad?

"I mean," you added quickly, as if trying to fill the silence, "I’m not really sure about exploring other options just yet. What do you think?"

Jaehyun looked up at you, momentarily frozen as if the world around him had slowed down. He’d tried so hard to avoid this—to keep his emotions in check and his focus sharp—but the second his eyes locked with yours, all of that effort unraveled.

The soft pink hue that had surrounded you the first time he saw you seemed to return, blooming and spreading until it drowned out everything else. It wasn’t just a glow—it was a pull, one he felt himself leaning into despite knowing better.

"What do I think?” he finally managed, his voice quieter than usual, like he was afraid of saying the wrong thing.

“Yeah.” You tilted your head, waiting for his response, completely unaware of the turmoil raging inside him.

“I think...” he trails off, his heartbeat seemingly muffling the sound of his own voice to him. “I think I like–”

“What he means,” Sungho interrupted, sliding onto the seat next to Jaehyun as if to physically block him from saying anything reckless, “is that he thinks it’d be great for you to keep going out with Heeseung.”

Jaehyun flinched at the sudden pinch Sungho gave him, jolting him back to reality. He turned to glare at his friend, but Sungho’s pointed stare told him to pull it together.

You blinked, slightly taken aback by the abrupt response from Sungho rather than Jaehyun, but nodded anyway. “Oh…okay.”

“Right!” Jaehyun blurted out, sitting up straighter and forcing a strained smile. “I mean, Heeseung seems like a good match, and you said the first date went well, so another one makes sense, right?”

Your eyebrows slightly furrowed, confused by the sudden energy radiating from him. Even when you hesitated for a second, as if something about his words didn’t quite convince you, you decided to nod again. “I guess I could give it another try.”

Jaehyun forced a smile, an odd tightness in his chest that didn’t seem to disappear quickly. He should’ve felt relieved that he hadn’t slipped up—that he’d managed to steer you back toward Heeseung—but instead, he felt like he’d lost something.

“Great,” Sungho clapped his hands together, almost serving as a reminder to Jaehyun to focus. “We will be able to set you on another date soon, so please wait for our messages!” he said oddly cheerfully, though Jaehyun could tell it was mostly to smooth things over.

“Right,” Jaehyun added, his voice barely above a whisper.He bit his lip, forcing himself to look away from you after nearly confessing again. His heart wavered, almost betraying him, as he saw you turn your attention to Sungho, laughing at something he’d said.

You were smiling…because of Sungho.

“I’ll take care of the details,” Jaehyun suddenly interjected, clearing his throat loudly enough to grab both your and Sungho’s attention.

You blinked, surprised, but offered a small smile. “Oh, okay. I’ll leave it to you, then,” you replied, completely oblivious to the effect you were having on him. Just because of that small action of yours, his heart was practically close to actually bursting. 

Jaehyun gave a stiff nod, watching you turn to leave. The moment you stepped out, he found his gaze trailing after you, unable to pull his eyes away until the door finally clicked shut behind you.

“Geez, now you’re at the jealous stage of the love effect?” Sungho’s voice sliced through the lingering silence, pulling Jaehyun back to reality. He looked over to find his friend watching him with a knowing smirk, one brow raised. “That was pretty fast-paced."

“It’s not like I was trying to!” Jaehyun quickly snapped, his voice suddenly getting defensive. In frustration, he pointed at the door as he tried to find his words. “It’s because of—”

Before he could finish, the door abruptly swung open, revealing Woonhak, who stood there with a curious yet sunny expression. “How’d it go?” he asked, his gaze bouncing between Jaehyun and Sungho as if he’d walked in on something interesting.

Jaehyun groaned, throwing his hands up in exasperation before pointing aggressively at Woonhak, almost as if he were waiting for this moment. “It’s because of you!”

Woonhak blinked, confused. “Wait, what? Me?”

“Yes, you!” Jaehyun said, standing up from his chair and pointing with even more emphasis. “If it weren’t for—”

“Is this...my cue to go?” Woonhak interrupted, his confusion shifting into playful unease as he glanced between the two of them, already half-stepping back toward the hallway.

 Jaehyun let out a long, frustrated sigh, his eyes squeezing shut as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, it’s not your cue to go, because if you hadn’t accepted that application, I could’ve still been as capable and composed as I was before!”

The room fell into a heavy silence as nobody chose to speak up after that. Woonhak froze, glancing at Sungho with wide, pleading eyes, silently begging for backup. Sungho, on the other hand, looked like he had no clue what to do either to step in.

Before Sungho could even attempt to think of something to diffuse the situation, Jaehyun was already striding his way toward Woonhak. 

“Uh, Sungho?” Woonhak stammered, panic creeping into his voice as he instinctively began stepping back. Jaehyun’s footsteps grew faster, his expression dead set on making his point—whatever that point might be.

“Sungho!” Woonhak yelped, his voice rising as Jaehyun closed the distance between them, taking even more huge steps back. 

Realizing he was on his own, Woonhak made a split-second decision. “Help me!” he screamed, spinning on his heel and bolting toward the door.

“Get back here, Woonhak!”

Their footsteps echoed down the hallway, Woonhak’s panicked screams fading into the distance as Jaehyun’s determined shouts followed close behind.

Sungho quickly snapped out of his amused daze, only to burst into laughter at the absurdity of the situation. However, his grin vanished just as quickly as it appeared when a sudden realization hit him.

“Oh, crap. There could be other clients waiting!” he muttered, scrambling to his feet in a panic.

Without missing a beat, he darted toward the exit, slamming the door as he followed the trail of yelling that was growing fainter by the second.

“Jaehyun!” Sungho called out, his voice echoing through the hallway as he tried to catch up. “Leave Woonhak alone and get back here—this is just your fate!”

The sound of Woonhak’s panicked screams and Jaehyun’s relentless pursuit only made Sungho pick up his pace, muttering to himself between breaths. “Oh my, just accept your fate already!”

And no matter how much Jaehyun pleaded—to the Cupid Gods (if they even existed) or to the universe itself—for some miraculous way out of this fate, his prayers were met with nothing but silence. The crushing weight of disappointment settled on him, a constant reminder of just how trapped he was in this situation.

Now, only a few weeks later, here he was, hiding behind a newspaper in his hand, his breath held as he watched you sitting on a bench, waiting for your second date with Heeseung.

“Why am I even here?” Jaehyun mumbled to himself, his eyes still glued onto you from a safe distance. His tone was low, almost as if he were speaking to no one at all, but a hum of agreement quickly followed.

“I don’t know,” came the unenthusiastic reply from the person in front of him—Leehan, of all people. The sound of a crinkling newspaper accompanied his words, his fingers absently folding and unfolding the corner of the page.

“Matter of fact, why are you here?” Jaehyun whispered harshly, glaring at Leehan, who seemed entirely too relaxed for someone on the lookout, with his random sunglasses and his newspaper upside down. If anything, it would be obvious that Leehan could be up to something. 

Leehan leisurely lowered the newspaper he’d been pretending to read and set it down on the table in front of him, a small smirk playing at his lips. “Because Sungho and the others are busy with their own Cupid duties,” he began, crossing his arms over his chest as if he were getting ready for a sudden fit of frustration. “And Woonhak? Well, we all know you’d rip his head off if he even tried accompanying you. So, I have no choice but to be here with you.”

Jaehyun chose not to respond, letting out a heavy sigh as he rubbed his temples. Oddly enough, he has been able to keep his emotions in check since Leehan and the others have been around lately. They knew how far Jaehyun’s sudden love urges could progress, so they all took turns to be able to supervise both him and you. So, Jaehyun can’t even complain, as he would most likely be a nervous wreck around you.

But, if anything, he wasn’t the only nervous one. You were too, however, for entirely different reasons. Sitting just outside an amusement park—the chosen date spot for you and Heeseung—you fidgeted with your phone. The vibrant atmosphere around you was a stark contrast to the storm of emotions brewing inside. Laughter and excited chatter filled the air as families and couples hurried past you, their faces lit up with anticipation.

Could that be you and Heeseung? 

You couldn’t help but wonder if you’d have as much fun as everyone else seemed to be having. Would this date live up to your expectations? Or were you setting yourself up for disappointment?

Your gaze shifted from the bustling crowd back to your phone screen. No new messages. You checked the time again, your thumb hovering over the screen as if doing so would make a notification pop up.

This isn’t the first time you’ll be meeting Heeseung, but the idea of meeting him in person instead of texting was weird. You tried to calm down, forcing yourself to breathe deeply to steady the feeling of nerves coursing through you. This was supposed to be a fun hangout, and there was no point in thinking of useless questions. Yet, your feelings only continued to gnaw away at you, as with every passing minute, your uneasiness only heightened. 

You hated the thought of coming off as pushy, especially for something as delicate as a romantic date, but eventually, you found yourself sending follow-up texts.

The act itself felt humiliating, like you were clinging to something that might already be slipping through your fingers. Still, you had no choice. The silence on the other end was deafening.

But even after your attempts, there was nothing. No text. No call. 

Were you getting stood up? That thought finally hit you, and your heart couldn’t help but sink with an overwhelming heaviness. 

You swallowed back the lump forming in your throat, forcing yourself to sit straighter despite the weight in your chest. As much as you hated to admit it, the idea of Heeseung standing you up felt more and more like a reality with each passing second. 

Maybe love wasn’t meant for you at all. 

The world around you seemed to blur as your gaze dropped to your phone. For a moment, you stared at the empty message screen, your fingers trembling over the keyboard. It took everything in you to gather the courage to type out a text, but not to Heeseung this time.

Instead, you messaged Jaehyun.

"This date's a failure," you typed, hesitating before pressing send. 

You could only imagine how Jaehyun might feel reading such a message, especially considering the heaviness in your own chest. But should it really matter? He was a revolutionary matchmaker, after all, wasn’t he? There shouldn’t be anything that he couldn’t do, right? And yet, a strange pang of guilt crept into your thoughts. Why were you so concerned about how Jaehyun would react?

Even though you couldn’t fully understand your own emotions, one thing was clear—you still cared about him. Maybe a little too much. So, for just a split second, it didn’t seem unreasonable to think about his feelings over yours.

But with Jaehyun, your feelings were always his top priority. Well, they should be. 

The moment your message reached him, he immediately reacted, his lips pressing into a deep frown as he reread your words. Sitting beside him, Leehan noticed his sudden shift in mood and leaned closer; his curiosity piqued.

“What’s wrong?” Leehan asked, trying to peer over at Jaehyun’s screen. His own expression shifted as he caught a glimpse of the text, his eyes widening and his frown mirroring Jaehyun’s.

Jaehyun didn’t answer right away, his thoughts racing as he stared at your words. His chest tightened, a mixture of frustration and concern bubbling within him. You were upset—the thought of you feeling this way gnawed at him.

“I’ll handle it,” Jaehyun finally muttered, standing abruptly.

Leehan blinked up at him, startled. “Wait, what are you—”

But Jaehyun was already moving, his determination written all over his face. For the better or worse, he wasn’t going to let this ruin your day. 

“Y/N,” he called out as he jogged toward you, his voice cutting through the lively background noise from the amusement park. The sudden sound startled you, making you glance up from the message you’d been staring at. Seeing him right there—mere seconds after your text—felt both unnerving and oddly comforting.

It felt weird that someone—your ex, or better yet, simply just Cupid MJ—immediately came to your message. But you also felt a sense of gratitude, knowing that there was someone who would answer your message right away. 

At least someone cared enough to show up for you. 

“Jaehyun?” you managed to say, though your voice was shaky, caught between disbelief and relief. You quickly stuffed your phone in your pocket, trying to compose yourself. “How’d you get here so fast?”

He came to a stop in front of you, still catching his breath but managing to keep his gaze steady on you. “I was already here,” he admitted, a slight edge of hesitance in his voice. “I was waiting for you and Heeseung to meet... so I could leave.” He shifted his weight awkwardly. “But then I got your text message.”

“Oh,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper. “Makes sense.” The words felt bitter as they left your lips, as though admitting them aloud made everything sting a little more.

Your fingers found the zipper of your jacket, and you began to fiddle with it, keeping your eyes trained on the ground. Meeting Jaehyun’s gaze felt impossible at that moment. The last thing you wanted was for him, of all people, to witness you in this state.

This was definitely humiliating, and nothing could convince you otherwise. 

Jaehyun could see and feel the weight of your emotions, a pang of guilt washing over him. Deep down, he wondered if this was somehow his fault for pairing you with someone who let you down. Maybe Cupid’s systems weren’t as reliable as he once believed. 

“You don’t have to feel embarrassed about this.”

His voice was soft, almost compelling you to look up at him, but you resisted, shaking your head and letting out a dry laugh. “That’s easy for you to say.”

Jaehyun caught on to how your body hunched over, shoulders curling inward like you were trying to hide from him—or maybe from yourself. Your legs kicked back and forth in a restless rhythm, a nervous energy that you didn’t seem to notice.

He caught the way you bit your lip, a small inhale slipping through before you stopped yourself from speaking. It was like you were fighting against the words you wanted to say, the weight of everything you felt pressing down on you but refusing to come out.

“Y/N,” he sighed, feeling his own heartache seeing you try to hide your vulnerability. Without hesitation, he stepped closer, crouching down in front of you. His head tilted slightly to be within your eye view, his expression open and earnest.

You stopped your foot movements and perked your head up just a little, catching a glimpse of the sincere smile on his face. His posture was relaxed, his arms wrapped casually around his knees, but his eyes truly told a different story from his demeanor. 

“Seriously, this is just his fault. If Heeseung couldn’t see what he had right in front of him, that’s his loss. It’s never been yours.”

His words caught you off guard, pulling your attention to him fully.

You looked directly at him, taking a longer sight of Jaehyun crouched in front of you. His eyebrows were slightly raised, his gaze steady and warm as he waited for your response.  For a moment, the noise of the amusement park around you faded, leaving only the sincerity in his voice and the sweet expression on his face. 

That same smile of his lingered on his lips—a smile you hadn’t seen this close in so long.

And yet, somehow, it felt so familiar, like slipping you back into a memory you hadn’t realized you still hadn’t forgotten.

Without meaning to, you found yourself smiling back, the corners of your lips curving upward as if in reflex. It had been a while since someone made you feel this way—seen, heard, comforted without judgment. And it had been even longer since you’d seen Jaehyun look at you like this, with that quiet reassurance that seemed to say everything would be okay, even if you didn’t believe it yourself.

“You’re still good at this, you know,” you murmured, your voice soft as you broke the silence. Your head dipped slightly, your attention getting fixated on your knees once more. 

“Good at what?” he asked, tilting his head slightly again, his smile widening just a bit.

“Making people feel better,” you replied. You shifted your body upwards, now sitting properly after recollecting your thoughts, even if it were just for a little bit. “Even when they don’t think they can.”

“I do what I can,” Jaehyun’s smile faltered slightly, a crack in his otherwise composed exterior. Inside, his emotions churned slowly but steadily, threatening to unravel him. This moment felt too close—something he hadn’t noticed until now it was finally being pried open. It was almost as if pieces of him were slowly getting chipped away, each piece falling until only fragments remained. 

Fragments he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to glue back together.

Maybe it was the potion amplifying his emotions, or maybe it was the weight of his own unresolved feelings, but a part of him wanted to do something—a push towards the thought he’s been trying to bury away. Even if some pieces were lost, maybe this was his chance to start over. 

To rebuild. 

“Speaking of which,” he said suddenly, breaking the moment before his thoughts could consume him any further, “let’s not waste the day.”

You blinked, staring at his outstretched hand toward you. “What?”

“I’m not letting you sit here feeling like this,” Jaehyun insisted, soon standing up from his crouching position, hand still extended out. “We’re at an amusement park. Let’s go have fun.”

You hesitated. It almost felt like this was wrong, and it went out of your boundaries. This was supposed to be a date with Heeseung, but now Jaehyun is here, standing in front of you, offering to practically fill his spot. So, what made this? 

It can’t be considered a date—maybe a hangout. But, still, a hangout with your ex? 

Your matchmaker? 

The more you tried to sort through the mess of emotions inside you, the harder it became to ignore the almost pleading look on Jaehyun’s face. His fingers wriggled slightly as he held his hand out awkwardly, his other fist tightly gripping the fabric of his pants. He looked nervous, almost unsure of himself, and the sight tugged at something in your chest. 

His reaction made it harder to turn him now. 

At the end of the day, don’t you deserve something, too? 

Slowly, tentatively, you reached out and took his hand. The warmth of his palm instantly engulfed yours, and you felt the faintest tremble in his fingers. Jaehyun’s hand twitched at the sudden contact, and for a moment, it seemed like he might completely malfunction. But instead, his grip tightened—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you he was there, simply for you. 

“I promise this will be worth your time,” his voice shifted from awkwardness to a quiet sense of confidence, flashing another smile of his. 

Before you could respond, Jaehyun turned, still holding your hand as he began leading you toward the amusement park. His grip didn’t falter, firm yet gentle, as though he feared you might slip away at any moment.

This wasn’t how you expected your day to unfold. Yet here you were, side by side with Jaehyun, the buzz of the park surrounding you as colorful lights and cheerful chatter filled the air. You scanned your surroundings, taking in the endless rows of games, rides, and shops until something caught your eye.

Jaehyun had been busy glancing around, seemingly trying to pick out the perfect first stop, when he felt a soft tap on his arm. Turning toward you, he was met with the sight of your eager expression as you pointed toward one of the brightly decorated shops.

“We should go there first,” you said, tugging lightly at his shirt sleeves. “I’ve always wanted to buy one of those headband accessories.”

Jaehyun followed your gaze to the shop, where a variety of playful headbands adorned with animal ears and other silly headpieces were displayed. He chuckled softly, his usual calm demeanor melting into something more playful as he turned his head back to you. 

Oddly enough, he felt at ease when he was around you this time. 

“Really? That’s what you want to do first?” he teased, though the warmth in his tone betrayed how amused he was by your enthusiasm.

“Yes, really,” you said, rolling your eyes but unable to hide your smile. You were starting to warm up, abandoning the facade you had just a few moments prior. “Come on, it’ll be fun!”

Jaehyun shook his head, a small laugh escaping him as he allowed you to tug him toward the shop. “Alright, alright. Let’s go see which one suits you best,” he said, a glimmer of excitement in his eyes as the two of you stepped inside.

Once inside the shop, you immediately gravitated toward the section of animal headbands. The shelves brimmed with accessories of every kind, and your eyes widened as they trailed over each design. Jaehyun followed behind, initially glancing at the shelves, but his gaze kept drifting back to you. His eyes lingered on your focused expression, the way your lips slightly puckered as you hummed softly while contemplating your choices.

It was almost too endearing to watch, and Jaehyun had to suppress a laugh that threatened to escape. He knew if he let it slip, the potion's effects would surge, making it harder to keep himself in check.

As he tried to hold himself back, you picked up a headband and examined it closely, turning it over in your hands before moving on to another. Finally, you settled on a brown headband with floppy, oversized dog ears. With a satisfied grin, you turned to face Jaehyun.

The suddenness of your movement startled him slightly, his eyes darting from your face to the headband in your hands. You motioned with one hand for him to lower himself, confusing him for a moment. When you repeated the gesture, Jaehyun hesitantly leaned down, still unsure what you were planning.

Without a word, you placed the headband on his head, carefully adjusting it. Your fingers brushed through his hair, lingering briefly on the strands near his forehead as you fixed the headband into place.

Jaehyun could feel his ears getting hot, momentarily freezing up while his thoughts were in a swirl—a similar feeling from the first time he had the potion take its effects. 

He had to keep himself in check. 

“This is for me?” Jaehyun asked, straightening up once you finished. He rubbed the back of his neck, brushing his fingers against his burning ear in an attempt to compose himself. It didn’t look like you noticed as your attention was brought back to the headbands on display, only humming in response. 

“It looks good on you,” you responded, smiling, though your smile faltered for a moment as you instinctively retreated into your thoughts. Once again, you instinctively thought of Jaehyun first, an old habit of yours that never seemed to die when you were around him. 

Before your thoughts could drift any further, they were abruptly interrupted as you felt something soft being placed on your head. You turned quickly, catching Jaehyun’s startled expression as he tried to keep the headband he just placed on you. 

His eyes widened slightly, a chuckle escaping his lips as his hands instinctively reached out—one resting lightly on your shoulder to keep you still, the other adjusting the headband that had shifted due to your movement.

Once satisfied, he stepped back and pointed toward the mirror in front of you both. “Now we’re matching,” Jaehyun declared with a hint of pride, though his confident smile faltered into something more bashful as he caught sight of your reflection.

You glanced at the mirror, noticing how the two of you wore similar designs—yours a white version of the floppy-eared headband, while his was brown. 

It looked like a couple’s item. 

Regardless of that, the sight of you two standing side by side brought a small laugh out of you, and you found yourself smiling despite the earlier heaviness in your chest.

“You look good in it too,” Jaehyun said, his eyes meeting yours in the mirror. 

“I’ll admit, it’s kind of cute,” you said, tugging at the floppy ears. “Should we get these?” 

Jaehyun’s grin widened, and he nodded enthusiastically. Without another word, the two of you made your way to the checkout counter, the cashier giving a knowing smile as you both purchased your matching accessories.

With the headbands secured, it wasn’t long before you and Jaehyun were going through the amusement park, hopping from one ride to the next. From bumper cars that had you both laughing uncontrollably as you tried to hit each other to classic carnival games where Jaehyun insisted on winning you a plush toy—though he missed more than a few throws, making him utterly embarrassed. 

After he was able to win a mid-sized plush that he swore resembled you, you pointed at the rollercoaster ride you two somehow always managed to walk past. Jaehyun’s feet stood in place, not moving from what he stood on. 

You turned to look at him, whose fear and nervousness were clearly evident on his face—trying to hide it would be useless. 

Oddly enough, that expression was cute to you. 

“Are you scared?” 

“Me? Scared—” Jaehyun’s words get cut off after he turns silent while staring at the drop of the coaster, hearing the screams from the people—sending a sudden chill over his body. He gulped quietly, continuing on with his words, “I’m not scared.”

“Then, let’s go in line!” You grabbed onto his arm, getting a better grasp than before, considering how off guard he was by seeing the loops of the roller coaster. 

“Wait!” Jaehyun’s feet tried to remain in place on the ground, his arms flailing slightly during the process. His actions were clearly betraying his words, which you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Come on,” you coaxed, finally interlocking arms with Jaehyun to have a more successful chance of dragging him away. 

Jaehyun stumbled forward—not because of the force you put to move him into the line, but from the warmth from your body pressing into his arm

The once squirmy Jaehyun, who wanted nothing more than to teleport away from the situation, was now completely frozen, his gaze fixed ahead, yet his mind was undeniably tethered to you. He simply allowed you to drag him, as his thoughts always seemed to follow whenever you went. 

“Jaehyun?” Your voice finally broke through his daze after calling his name for the third—or maybe the fourth—time. It left you wondering curiously if he is really this scared of roller coasters. There was really no way for you to know beforehand this—you two never went on an amusement park date before. “Are you okay? We can always skip this if—”

“No, no, I’m—” Jaehyun quickly turned to reassure you, even if the expression on his face said otherwise. He truly wasn’t fine—far from it—but when he had a feeling you really wanted to go on this ride, he felt almost obligated to push back his fears. With the way your excitement seemed to glimmer in your eyes the first time, he could handle it, couldn’t he?

Though at this point, if there was anything he should be fearing, it was how dangerously close you two were. 

You two were practically face-to-face, which made Jaehyun feel his breath hitch in his throat. To make matters worse—or maybe better—you were still clinging onto his arm, your touch managing to keep him in place while simultaneously making his heart race out of control.

Jaehyun could see your lips moving, trying to say something, but your words didn’t reach him. It almost felt like you were mumbling when you truly weren’t. His eyes could only try to make sense of the movement of your lips, which was a complete struggle as everything seemed to blur into nothing but silence. 

With that given moment, it felt like everything intensified. It was as if the love arrow potion had decided to unleash its full power, breaking past every defense he’d built to suppress it. The sensation was overwhelming, almost suffocating, as if the arrow had pierced him all over again, but hitting him ten times harder than before. 

And then, without thinking, he muttered a single word.

“Pretty.”

The word slipped out before he could catch it, soft but clear enough that you froze for a moment. Your eyes widened slightly in surprise, and that was enough to snap Jaehyun back to reality.

Panic rushed through him, and he immediately stepped back, pulling himself out of your grasp as he waved his hands frantically.

“Pretty—I mean, I’m pretty fine with us going on this ride!” he blurted out, his voice hurried and tinged with nervous laughter. His ears burned as he tried to salvage the situation, feeling utterly exposed. “After all, we’re only a few people away from entering, right?”

You simply nodded, your cheeks suddenly heating up, even if you didn’t mean to feel flustered in that way after letting him complete the sentence.

But is it really so wrong for you to feel that way? 

The silence felt heavy as you two awkwardly stood side by side, neither daring to exchange glances or words. Jaehyun was able to use that silence to be able to get himself to be composed again. His heartbeat was still going, not racing, and he didn't feel a burning sensation from his ears or face, leaving him calmer—or at least calmer than before. 

As Jaehyun finally arrived at the right state of mind, he now noticed the warmth of your touch had left him. For a fleeting moment, relief should’ve been his first reaction, but instead, it left behind an emptiness he hadn’t anticipated.

It was as if he missed it. 

“Next up in line!” the ride announcer called out, startling you both from your thoughts.

You turned to Jaehyun, catching the faint hesitation in his expression. But to your surprise, he started moving forward, almost as if he wanted to prove something—not just to you but maybe to himself.

And while you tried to keep your thoughts neutral, you couldn’t help but lean toward one explanation over the other. You wanted to believe that he was doing this for you. But that thought alone wasn’t good for you.

And it wasn’t good for you to have your mind wander to that possibility. 

Despite your inner turmoil, you found yourself seated in the middle of the ride. Jaehyun had suggested the spot, reasoning that it felt “safer” knowing there were people alive in front of him. His logic had been so ridiculous that you couldn’t help but laugh. You didn’t argue, though—you liked sitting in the middle anyway.

As the ride attendant double checked the seat restraint for you two, Jaehyun couldn’t help but ramble a bunch of questions that the attendant had no problem reassuring him about—and maybe letting out a chuckle or two. 

“That’s a lot of questions for someone who claims they’re not scared,” you teased, glancing at Jaehyun as he tightened his grip on the metal handles of the restraint.

“I’m not scared,” Jaehyun mumbled, but the stark contrast between his words and his appearance said otherwise. His knuckles were white from clutching the handle so hard, his lips had lost some color, and his eyes were wavering at every slight noise around him. 

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Jaehyun managed to say, chuckling nervously, almost as if he’s trying to reassure himself.

“It’s better to be safe than sorry,” Jaehyun managed to say, his voice shaky as he chuckled nervously, clearly trying—and failing—to convince himself more than you.

Even as he muttered words of self-reassurance, it all crumbled the moment the ride operator began counting down. Jaehyun’s face grew paler with every number, and before you knew it, he was whispering what sounded like a series of frantic prayers under his breath.

Seriously, it was almost humiliating for him—the amount of losses he had was overwhelming. His repeated failed attempts to win you a plushie that stumble earlier, and now, his current state as a nervous wreck after agreeing to ride something he clearly hated the idea of. How much more could he possibly embarrass himself?

You couldn’t help but feel even more endeared by this side of him. Watching his clumsy or frightened side of him felt oddly nostalgic. It reminded you of a time long ago, back when you had countless dates with him, watching him flounder when his nerves got the best of him. 

So, you couldn’t help but laugh at Jaehyun, whose eyes were already shut close when the ride finally started to move. 

It’s like you missed that sight of him. 

“Why are we still going up?” Jaehyun managed to say, his voice barely audible over the loud clanking of the roller coaster. His eyes darted open for a split second, only to snap shut again when he caught a glimpse of how high up you both were. From the ground earlier, it didn’t seem this terrifying, but now? 

“It will be fine, Jaehyun,” you said, almost as if you were attempting to cut through the amount of thoughts clouding in his mind. 

As much as Jaehyun wanted to believe your words, the way the ascent was getting higher—agonizingly slow—was making it hard for him to do so. 

“I seriously might pass out,” he muttered, his voice trembling as much as his hands.

“You won’t, Jaehyun.”

“And who are you to say that?” he shot back, his panic laced with disbelief.

“Because I’m here,” you said simply, glancing his way. “And as long as I’m okay, so will you.”

That sentence alone got Jaehyun to finally open his eyes again. Even with his fear gnawing at him, he found himself glancing to his side—where you were already looking at him. You two made eye contact, which led him to quickly forget about the fear pounding in his chest or the sweaty grip he had on the handles. But just as quickly, he broke eye contact, turning his head sharply to the front—only to regret it instantly. 

That was when he realized the cart had reached the top. 

Before he could even react, his stomach dropped along with the cart, and a startled scream was released from his throat, perfectly in sync with the other riders. Jaehyun panicked, his hands flailing desperately after he had accidentally let go of the restraint. His grip faltered as he tried to latch onto the restraint again, only for his fingers to slip against the slick metal after he went through the first loop of the roller coaster. 

And then, without thinking, he managed to hold onto something near him—your hand. Along with him, you also didn’t even notice. You were still screaming in excitement—between the thrill of the drop and the way Jaehyun’s screams were practically blowing out your eardrums, which made things only funnier. 

You were too caught up in the adrenaline to even register the fact his fingers were desperately latching onto yours. What felt like eternity finally stopped when the cart slowly returned back to its original position. The screeching yells also came to a stop, leaving everyone a moment to either catch their breaths or gush about how fun that ride was. 

That was certainly the situation between you two—Jaehyun trying breathing exercises as he felt like he forgot to breathe while you wore a beaming expression on your face. 

“That was…fun,” you started off excitedly, trailing off at the last word as you felt the hold on your hand tighten. Only then did you finally look down, seeing Jaehyun’s fingers still holding onto yours. 

Your eyes shot back up from your hands to his face, in which you only saw his side profile as he was still recovering from the ride.

“That was not... fun,” Jaehyun muttered, mirroring your tone as his own gaze finally dropped to where your hands remained linked. The moment he registered where his hand was placed, his mouth was only slightly gaped. His eyes lifted to meet yours, and for a second, you both wore the same startled expression.

The ride operator interferes before you two could say anything to each other. 

“Arms up, please.” 

His fingers slipped away from yours, leaving behind only a lost sense of warmth—something you didn’t notice until now. Jaehyun’s parted lips pressed shut as he turned to look straight ahead again, letting the ride’s restraint be lifted off of him. 

Neither of you spoke as you stepped off the ride and walked away from the station. It almost felt like déjà vu—just like earlier, when you two had stood in line together in awkward silence.

You decided to break it first. “I’m hungry,” you said, figuring food was a safe enough topic.

Jaehyun turned his head sharply, his previous dazed state replaced with exaggerated disbelief. “You’re seriously hungry after that ride?” he asked, his voice louder than necessary, as if to erase the lingering awkwardness. “I feel nauseated.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his reaction. If nothing else, at least his dramatics had successfully lightened the mood.

After all, it wasn’t like he had meant to grab your hand—he was just terrified, and that was that. You weren’t particularly fazed by it though. If anything, you found it amusing how flustered he was.

“Alright, how about this?” you proposed, shooting him an easy smile. “We’ll take a break, grab some food, and then you get to pick the last ride.”

Jaehyun’s expression instantly shifted, the excitement returning to his eyes like a light switch had been flipped. He nodded eagerly, humming in approval. 

The two of you took your time wandering around, casually debating what to eat as you passed various food stands. There were plenty of tempting options, but eventually, you both settled on corn dogs, agreeing to share a funnel cake afterward. Decisions like these were effortless with Jaehyun—it was easy to compromise and even easier to enjoy the moment.

It didn’t take long for you to finish eating, to which the roles had reversed—Jaehyun was now dragging your arm around to find something to go on. It was getting dark out, so Jaehyun quickly picked a ride in no time. Jaehyun came to a sudden stop, his face lighting up as he pointed ahead. 

“We—or I—never got to ride one of these before,” he announced, staring in awe at the towering Ferris wheel in front of you.

You turned to look at him, only to be met with his best attempt at puppy-dog eyes, as if he needed to convince you.

You chuckled at his expression, simply nodding in agreement, as truthfully, you didn’t need much persuading.

You haven’t been on a ferris wheel yet either. 

The line wasn’t as long as compared to the roller coaster, so it led you two to instantly get into one of the pods, settling into your seats across from each other. 

As the Ferris wheel ascended, you exclaimed in awe as you stared at the things from ground level that were slowly getting smaller. You stared at the glowing lights from all the other rides and booths from above.

“It’s really beautiful, isn’t it?” Jaehyun murmured, his voice softer now, filled with genuine admiration. You hummed in agreement, unable to also look away from the outside view. 

That was, until you peered over at Jaehyun, watching his eyes dazzle with amazement while your eyes lingered on him, warmth suddenly pooling in your chest. 

“You know,” you started, leaning back against the cushioned seat, “I’m really thankful for you today.”

Jaehyun turned his head slowly, his gaze meeting yours as his smile grew wider. “Don’t be,” he said, almost shyly.

“No, like, seriously,” you insisted, your voice more animated. “I don’t think I would’ve had this much fun if I wasn’t with you.”

Jaehyun blinked, his lips pressing together as if holding back another smile. “Well,” he said after a beat, “I’m glad you felt comfortable enough with me.”

You exhaled a small laugh, shaking your head. “I’m even more glad that it was you I spent the day with.”

For a second, Jaehyun didn’t say anything—simply looking at you, his expression unreadable yet soft. However, with a soft chuckle, he leaned back as well, his eyes still lingering on you as if he were seeing something just as mesmerizing as the view outside. 

“Me too.” 

RULE #7: Don’t Leave your Clients Confused 

You didn’t know how to feel. 

From the day you met him again—to now—things had never felt more confusing than before. 

Especially ever since that day, it had never left your mind. Even if you wanted to push it aside, all it did was continue to linger, creeping into your thoughts when you least expected it. 

It wasn’t even supposed to be an actual date—let alone being a real one. Jaehyun had simply stepped in for Heeseung, who never showed up. And yet, at no point did Jaehyun feel like a replacement. Not when he showed up beside you, effortlessly easing the disappointment you had been trying to suppress. Not when he went out of his way to make you laugh, making the entire day feel lighthearted and effortless. Not even when he insisted on taking you home; his concern was so genuine that it made your chest tighten.

It felt almost too genuine. 

Everything about that day felt like it was supposed to be Jaehyun. If he wasn’t there, you wouldn’t have had that much fun with someone else. And that thought alone had your mind spiraling.

You were analyzing every little thing—the way he’s been looking at you these past few weeks, the way he was always caught in a trance when you spoke, and the way his smiles never seemed to leave his face whenever he was around you. 

And for those things, you thought about all kinds of possibilities. You even thought about all the what-ifs, trying to create explanations that made sense with his actions. 

Even with the amount of things you’d try to tell yourself with some made-up reasoning behind his actions, there were obviously some questions that you couldn’t answer. 

Some things were easy to reason with. Of course, Jaehyun had been nervous—he hadn’t seen you in a while, and being thrown into such an intimate setting would make anyone uneasy. Of course, he had been extra cheerful—he was just trying to lift your spirits after being ditched. It all made perfect sense.

At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But there were still questions you couldn’t answer. No matter how many times you tried to rationalize it, none of it added up.

Why did he make you feel this way?

And, more importantly—

What exactly were your feelings for Jaehyun?

Why were you feeling the very same feelings you once felt during your relationship with him? Why couldn’t you bring yourself to hate the fact that those feelings were stirring up again?

Why did you—against all logic—want to keep feeling this way?

It was undeniable that Jaehyun had the looks—one of the most attractive people you’ve ever known. But it wasn’t just his looks. He had a sweet personality—his kindness, his bubbly-like energy, and his effortless care for people without hesitation—those were the things that made him all seem perfect. 

Reuniting with him only brought back those flood of memories—the ones you claimed you managed to bury beneath stacks of paperwork and long hours from your job. 

He was, in every sense, the dream guy. 

And yet, feeling this way now almost made you feel guilty. After all, the two of you had chosen to part ways. You had told yourselves it was for the best—that your demanding work schedules had left little room for love. That drowning in responsibilities was easier than trying to hold onto something that was slipping away.

So you buried yourself in work. It was only fair, wasn’t it? If your career was the thing that had consumed your relationship, then it should consume you too.

Your routine always felt repetitive—the days had become a cycle of early commutes, endless tasks, and late nights hunched over your desk. The only real challenge was making it home before the last train filled up, securing a seat before exhaustion fully settled in. And when you did get home, there was always more work waiting. If you were lucky, you’d steal an hour of sleep before doing it all over again.

Some days felt more draining than others, but you had convinced yourself it was normal. This—this routine of working yourself to the bone—was normal.

So, why did Jaehyun’s presence disrupt the kind of lifestyle you had built for yourself?

You mindlessly stared at your laptop screen, your word count barely reaching a hundred. The blinking cursor taunted you, yet no matter how hard you tried to focus, your thoughts drifted elsewhere.

Even if you wanted to forget everything—just like you used to—the thought of him refused to leave your mind.

You let out a small huff, looking away from the document to grab the cup of water on your dining table. As you took a sip, your eyes wandered at the table, landing on your coat draped messily over the table. And right next to it...

The white dog ears headband.

The one Jaehyun picked out for you.

Because it suited you. 

You swallowed your water too fast, nearly choking as you hastily cleared your throat, the sudden clang of your cup hitting the table breaking the silence. Slowly, you steadied your movements, pushing the cup back to its original spot as if that could somehow fix the mess in your head.

But your eyes remained fixed on the headband. You reluctantly reach your hand over to grab it. Your fingers brushed against the soft fabric as you absentmindedly played with the ears, twisting them between your fingertips. And just like that, the memories came rushing back.

Just how could you help yourself?

How could you forget the way he smiled at you, saying the headband was perfect for you? The way he wore the other matching piece without hesitation? 

How could you forget his caring words and consistent reassurance, always checking to see if you were okay? How could you forget the warm grasp on your hand on the roller coaster? How could you forget the smile that adorned his face and how his laughter managed to fill up the entire place?

And most of all—the way his eyes held so much love.

How could you forget the way his eyes looked just like they were before? 

You quickly threw the headband back onto the table, covering your face with both hands. A muffled groan left your lips as you mumbled under your breath, shaking your head.

You truly had lost it.

You wanted to pull yourself together to shake off the overwhelming thoughts clouding your mind. But no matter how hard you tried, it felt as if you had been teleported back in time—except instead of drowning in paperwork, Jaehyun consumed every inch of your thoughts.

No matter what you could do, he just seemingly happened to be everywhere. He would always be lingering in your mind, in the little details of your day—in the spaces you swore only belonged to you. 

So, as much as you had vowed to immerse yourself in work, to not let anything deter you from your responsibilities, your fingers betrayed you. Instead of returning your focus to the laptop screen, you reached for your phone. 

You immediately looked in your photo album, looking over the pictures from that day—pictures of you and Jaehyun, candid moments he captured when you weren’t looking, and secret pictures you took whenever he just seemed too cute to not to. 

Without even trying to suppress it, a smile creeps onto your face. Your chest felt lighter, warmth spreading from inside out as you continued to scroll through the mountain of photos. 

That’s when you knew that you realized it. 

You couldn’t keep pretending. You couldn’t keep denying what had become so painfully obvious. There was no reasoning left to twist your feelings into something logical, no excuse that could explain away the way your heart reacted to him.

Jaehyun managed to do his thing—to strike an arrow directly through your heart, making you unable to even try to escape from it. 

Everyone had always said it. Jaehyun is an amazing cupid.

You just never expected to be his next target.

RULE #8: There’s Never No Solution 

Around Jaehyun’s business, words traveled fast. It was a given—he was the owner, after all. He was supposed to know everything before anyone else did.

Or at least, that was how it was supposed to go.

So why, instead of knowing the latest news firsthand, did he have to go find Taesan after Woonhak had suddenly burst into his office, practically breathless, only not to say much despite his excited appearance? 

"Wait—what's going on?" Jaehyun called out, eyebrows knitting together. He couldn’t even process Woonhak’s words, let alone even be able to process his sudden appearance. 

Woonhak merely grinned, shaking his head. "Taesan will tell you everything."

Jaehyun scowled. "That doesn't answer anything."

But Woonhak was already gone, leaving Jaehyun standing there, even more frustrated than before.

With an exasperated sigh, Jaehyun pushed aside the pile of paperwork he had been working on, knowing there was no point in trying to focus on it now. He had no choice but to go find Taesan himself—again.

It was never surprising. Taesan always had his own tasks, always busy with something, yet somehow, he never had a problem asking others to come to him whenever he had something to say.

It was just the way he was.

And Jaehyun was never bothered by it. But he still couldn’t help but feel the need to feel like something was up. Whatever this was about, he had a sinking feeling he wasn’t going to like it. 

"Jaehyun?" Taesan said, his eyes still glued to one of the drawers he was rummaging through, his ears picking up the distinct click of the door opening.

Jaehyun hummed as he shut the door behind him, his gaze sharpening as he watched Taesan absorb whatever task he was focused on. Jaehyun moved closer, hoping Taesan would be the one to break the silence, but Taesan stayed silent, his attention still fixed on whatever he was doing. Jaehyun couldn’t help but take a few slow steps forward, not wanting to interrupt but silently hoping the man would notice him first before the creeping awkwardness set in.

But, still, he was only faced with the sounds of shuffling while he stood there awkwardly, before finally breaking the uncomfortable silence. 

“So…” Jaehyun trails; his voice was hesitant as it was laced with confusion. “Mind explaining why Woonhak suddenly barged into my office just to tell me to find you?”

Taesan finally hummed in acknowledgement, still not looking up. “How do you feel?”

“How do I feel?” He scoffed lightly. “Come on, I need more than that.”

“Your arrow mishap,” Taesan finally said, now glancing up. It clicked in Jaehyun’s mind. Taesan was always the last to catch on, it seemed. “Is it still affecting you?”

Jaehyun sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. It hasn’t gotten any easier," he admitted, his mind drifting back to all the moments with you. Just being around you made his chest feel tight, like his heart was trying to beat out of his ribcage. But despite that, he couldn’t seem to stop wanting to be near you.

"The severity of it, I guess, depends on how close I am to the person I accidentally... fell in love with." He chuckled dryly, the words feeling strange on his tongue but undeniably true. “Unbelievable, isn’t it?”

“Not really,” Taesan shrugged, catching Jaehyun off guard.

Of all the reactions Jaehyun had gotten from his friends about his accidental self-inflicted arrow, this was by far the least expected. Every other time he brought it up—whether he wanted to or not—he was met with relentless teasing, concern, or a mix of both. 

But Taesan? He seemed not even the slightness fazed by it. 

Jaehyun wore a furrowed brow, crossing his arms as if that was going to give him the support that he needed. “Just a ‘not really’? You’re not going to... discipline me for it?” 

Taesan finally looked up from the drawer, tilting his head slightly as if Jaehyun had just asked a pointless question. “Why would it be a big deal?”

Jaehyun opened his mouth, then shut it, narrowing his eyes. “Are you serious? I’m a cupid, Taesan. We don’t fall in love. We make other people fall in love.”

“You make it sound like a forbidden rule,” Taesan chuckled.

“It basically is,” Jaehyun muttered, his gaze shifting onto the floor. 

"If you make it sound so forbidden," Taesan mused, his tone teasing. "Then what if I told you I could help you finally erase the effects of the bow?"

Jaehyun’s eyes widened in shock. His arms dropped to his sides before he rushed forward, slamming his hands onto Taesan’s desk with a force that made the other slightly flinch. It wasn’t often that Jaehyun lost his composure, but now, with his hands splayed against the desk and his breath slightly uneven, he looked more frantic than Taesan had ever seen him.

“What—how?” Jaehyun stammered, his words tumbled out hastily. His reaction alone made it clear just how unexpected this was. No one had ever offered a solution before, so hearing it now—from Taesan, of all people—felt almost too good to be true.

“I didn’t expect you to react like this,” Taesan said, leaning back slightly from Jaehyun, who was too close in his personal space to his liking. “But yes, I can help.” 

“How?” Jaehyun demanded, his voice barely above a whisper. His fingers were curled against the wood, almost as if he needed something to try to prove to him that he wasn’t dreaming. 

Taesan didn’t answer immediately—once again. Seriously, Jaehyun could feel like he could collapse with how long it seemed like he was taking to tell him these things. Instead, he reached into the drawer he had been rummaging through earlier, retrieving a small glass vial filled with a shimmering, purple liquid. 

“You’re saying this is all I need?” Jaehyun tried to keep his voice steady, not wanting to seem ungrateful. In reality, he was more relieved than anything.

He doesn’t know how much longer he could be able to contain these kinds of feelings to himself around you. 

Taesan gave the vial a slow swirl, his eyes fixated on the shimmering liquid inside as if assessing its potency one last time before handing it over.

Jaehyun reached out with both hands, nearly freezing when the cold glass met his fingertips. Lifting it closer to his face, he examined it carefully another time. It looked like it was ordinary, purple medicine—except for the glitter swirling within. 

“What do I do with this?” he finally asked, tilting the vial slightly.

“Just drink it,” Taesan said simply. “The effects should wear off soon after.”

Jaehyun’s gaze flickered up, suspicion creeping in. “Where did you even get this?”

Taesan leaned back slightly, arms crossing over his chest. “You’re not the first cupid to fall victim to their own arrow,” he admitted. “It’s more common than you’d think. And well, you could say I’m the one who handles cases like these.”

Jaehyun blinked, momentarily stunned. The solution had been within reach this whole time. He could have come to Taesan from the start and spared himself the turmoil.

Taesan seemed to read his mind and smiled. “Before you start blaming anyone, I never told the others about this. We were never advised to.”

Jaehyun nodded quickly, accepting Taesan’s words before he could even begin to place blame elsewhere. Without hesitation, he popped open the cap and brought the vial to his lips, downing the liquid in one swift gulp.

The bitterness hit him immediately, a sharp, unpleasant aftertaste lingering on his tongue. He let out a hiss of dissatisfaction, grimacing as he swallowed the last drop.

Taesan extended his hand, prompting Jaehyun to toss the empty vial toward him. With ease, Taesan caught it, barely glancing up as he set it aside.

“How soon will it take effect?” Jaehyun asked, his voice edged with impatience. He wasn’t feeling anything yet, and for some reason, that made him uneasy. Shouldn’t there be some kind of reaction? A tingling sensation, a rush of warmth—something?

“It usually happens faster than you could even know it,” Taesan replied, his attention shifting back to the stack of files he had set aside earlier. “At least, that’s how it worked for the others. You shouldn’t be any different.”

Jaehyun frowned, glancing down at his hands as if expecting them to tremble or glow. Nothing.

"Don't worry, you're not supposed to feel any different from your normal self," Taesan reassured, catching a glimpse of Jaehyun flipping his hands over, inspecting them as if expecting some kind of glow or change.

Jaehyun sighed, shaking off his nerves. There was no reason to doubt Taesan—he had already taken the potion, after all. Now, he could only wait for it to take effect. Feeling a sense of relief, he quickly bid his goodbyes and stepped out of the office.

As he made his way back, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Pausing mid-step, he pulled it out, his eyes immediately landing on your contact name.

He paused momentarily, his mind going blank as he stared at his screen before it closed on its own due to inactivity. Quickly pressing the side button, he reopened his phone to click on the notification, ready to type a reply. 

He stopped in his steps to be able to formulate some sort of response—something that would keep the conversation going. The moment you replied, his heart reacted the same way it always did around you, a familiar warmth creeping in.

It felt… off.

He was supposed to be cured, wasn't he? He knew better that Taesan wasn’t the type to lie, and yet, here Jaehyun was, still feeling the rush of excitement and nerves just from texting you.

Maybe the potion just needed more time to kick in.

That had to be it.

After all, that was the only explanation he would take for why he was still so happy just to be talking to you. RULE #9: Love Never Leaves, It Sticks.

It felt strange to admit that you had completely overlooked the fact that Jaehyun was the one responsible for setting you up with a perfect match. And, to some extent, he also forgot about his duties too. 

The only reason was that Jaehyun had done his part—he had found potential matches for you, offering names, profiles, and possibilities. But every time, you declined. It left him puzzled, unsure of what to do.

Who would refuse Cupid’s advances to help them find their person? In fact, who was Cupid MJ to flat out give up their client’s journey to love without a proper explanation from the person he’s trying to set up himself? 

Letting you go wasn’t an option. That wasn’t how he was taught. He didn’t know how to handle a client who showed no interest in any of the matches he curated. His job wasn’t just about arranging dates—it was about guiding the client until they expressed their own satisfaction. Only then could he receive a review, and only then could he reach his quota.

So, with that in mind, Jaehyun found himself sticking around. Messaging you, calling when the opportunity arose—keeping the connection alive in whatever way he could. It was beginning to feel like something more than just a supposedly professional relationship, but still, he reasoned with himself: he was doing a good thing, right?

Now, as he anxiously paced around his room, debating what to wear before heading out to meet you, he reassured himself again.

This wasn’t a bad thing.

If anything, maybe he should embrace the fact that you had asked him to hang out. That had to mean something, right? If he was nervous, then surely you were too.

And you were.

You had been muttering to yourself all evening, standing up every few minutes to readjust the setup in your apartment. It made sense to have the hangout at your place—you had the materials for a clay-making session. The idea had come naturally after you both talked about those tiny clay figurines everyone seemed to be making lately. It was a casual, easy thing to do. A simple activity.

But despite that, you still felt a little jittery.

You weren’t sure what had come over you when you asked him to hang out, but after all those conversations—after all the moments spent talking to him—it only felt right.

A proper hangout.

Not by chance. Not by force.

Just... because you both wanted to.

You sat there, envisioning how the day would unfold, a giddy excitement bubbling within you. It wasn’t hard to acknowledge your feelings, not when they had been creeping up on you for some time now—lingering in the way you pushed through your workload just to have an excuse to text him, or how you found comfort in the soft tone of his voice over late-night calls.

The loud sound of the doorbell cut through your thoughts—two quick rings. Jaehyun was finally here. You shot up from your seat, hurriedly slipping into your slippers before making your way to the door. The lock clicked as you twisted the doorknob, revealing Jaehyun standing before you. He offered a small wave, his familiar smile tugging at the corners of his lips, leaving you to return the same gestures. 

Oddly enough, Jaehyun didn’t seem awkward—especially since it had been a while since he last visited your place. And yet, Jaehyun slipped off his shoes, quickly stepping into your place while you turned to shut and lock the door. 

Despite how long it had been since his last visit, Jaehyun didn’t seem hesitant or awkward. He stepped inside with ease, slipping off his shoes in one smooth motion as you closed the door behind him. His gaze swept across the space, taking in everything as if he were reacquainting himself with an old home.

Nothing had really changed. The furniture was still arranged the same, the decorations untouched, and the overall warmth of your apartment was just as he had remembered. Even after all this time, it still felt familiar.

It still felt like the place where you two once shared so many beautiful memories together. 

Jaehyun’s eyes eventually landed on the wall above your dining table, where a collection of paper prints hung neatly in contrast to the plain white walls. A flicker of recognition passed through his expression. Jaehyun remembers the prints—he was the one that had bought them for you. 

“You still kept these?” Jaehyun asked, his voice carrying a hint of surprise as he stepped closer to the prints on the wall. His fingers brushed lightly against one of them, careful not to accidentally make one of the papers drop. 

You blinked, following his glance, before letting out a hum of agreement. “Of course—why wouldn’t I?’

Jaehyun let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s just been a while.”

You watched as he traced the edges of the prints, his expression unreadable. It was strange seeing him like this. It looked like he was facing nostalgia, or even seeming a little lost in thought. 

“They help make the room look brighter—you were also the one who insisted I put them up,” you reminded him, crossing your arms. “I didn’t really have a choice.”

Jaehyun let out a small laugh. “Right. I did, didn’t I?”

Shaking the thought away, you cleared your throat. “Come on, let’s get started before the clay dries out.”

Jaehyun turned to look at you, finally snapping out of his thoughts. “Right,” he said, smiling. “Let’s do this.”

You both quickly settled into your seats, Jaehyun wasting no time in tearing open the clay packages while you scrolled through your phone, looking for inspiration. The soft scent of fresh clay filled the air, adding to the cozy atmosphere of your apartment.

“What do you want to make?” you asked, glancing up from your screen.

Jaehyun furrowed his brows, rolling a small piece of clay between his fingers. "Hmm, good question,” he mused. “Maybe an animal? A dog—or maybe a penguin? They seem easy to make.”

“Who says we can’t do both?” You smiled, saving the pictures of the clay figures Jaehyun wants to make. “Now, help me look for other things we can make instead of just staring at the clay.” 

Jaehyun huffed out a small laugh but nodded, setting the clay down before pulling out his phone. “Alright, alright. Let’s find something else.” He scrolled through his screen while occasionally glancing at the clay in front of him, as if he were trying to picture how the tiny figures would come to life in his hands.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to settle on which figures to make, especially with how often you leaned in to peek at each other’s phones, exchanging suggestions and other ideas. After narrowing it down to five designs, you both got to work, grabbing and setting the clay blocks in front of you.

You pinched and pulled at the soft material, rolling it between your fingers as you alternated between glancing at the reference photo and shaping your piece, doing your best to replicate the details. Jaehyun was just as immersed, his brows furrowed in concentration as he mixed different clay colors together, determined to get the shades just right. His efforts paid off when he finally achieved the perfect one, a proud smile tugging at his lips—only to quickly fade when he realized he had made way more than he needed.

Turning his attention to you, he noticed how focused you were, carefully crafting the tiny eyes for your figure. Without hesitation, he split the excess clay in his hands, handing you the bigger portion before he returned to shaping the body of his figure.

You blinked at the generous chunk he had given you, glancing up at him with a raised brow. “You do know you just gave me the bigger piece, right?”

Jaehyun, still rolling his clay into shape, barely spared you a glance. “Yeah, but you’re better at this than me. You’ll probably make better use of it.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your amusement as you both continued working. The silence that followed was comfortable, filled with the soft squish of clay and the occasional sighs of frustration when something didn’t turn out quite right. Every so often, one of you would mutter complaints under your breath, only for the other to snicker in response.

At one point, Jaehyun leaned back in his seat, holding up his tiny clay penguin with a smug grin. “Okay, not to brag, but I think I actually did a decent job.”

You squinted at it, leaning in before reaching over to poke its round head. “It’s actually really cute! But…” You tilted your head. “The eyes are a little wonky.”

Jaehyun gasped dramatically, pulling his penguin close to his chest as if shielding it from your words. “Are you hating on my penguin?” He scooted back slightly, placing a protective hand in front of it while wearing an exaggeratedly offended expression.

You burst into laughter at his antics, and he couldn’t hold back his own laughter either, setting the penguin down with a giggle.

“I’m not hating! At least yours is actually finished,” you pointed out, still rolling the orange clay between your fingers as you focused on shaping the penguin’s feet. The body was done, and you had already made the eyes, but you were carefully perfecting the details before assembling everything.

Jaehyun leaned forward, studying your half-finished creation. His eyes widened as he compared the two figures, placing his beside yours. “Okay, hold on—your penguin isn’t even complete yet, and it already looks better than mine. How did you do that?”

You shrugged, glancing between the picture on your phone and your clay figure. “I was just looking at the reference.”

Jaehyun let out a dramatic sigh and carefully picked up his penguin again. “This won’t do,” he muttered, setting it down in front of him as if he were analyzing all its flaws. “I need to make some improvements.”

You chuckled, smoothing out the rounded edges of the feet you were sculpting. “Jae, it looks fine,” you reassured him, glancing up with a small smile.

Jaehyun ignored your remark; his eyes locked on his creation as he smoothed out its uneven features. “Says the person who just called my penguin’s eyes wonky.”

You grinned, setting your now nearly finished figure down. “I meant it in a cute way.”

He shot you a look. “That’s just a nice way of saying it looks weird—if it’s even nice in the first place.”

You nudged him lightly, a small gesture of encouragement. “Well, I’m sure you’ll be able to make even better ones once we move on to the next ones.”

Jaehyun huffed but then smiled, rolling up his sleeves as if only now he was starting to get serious. And surprisingly, he did get better. 

The two of you got so caught up in sculpting that time slipped away unnoticed. What was supposed to be only five figures turned into more as you spent more time scrolling for more ideas, tapping on Jaehyun to recreate them. With that, you couldn’t help but chuckle at Jaehyun’s slightly lopsided creations, which always prompted a round of playful bickering. 

He’d always protest that that clay personally betrayed him, leaving you to only laugh harder as you shake your head to refute that point. Despite that, there were some clear improvements. Even if there were some pieces that seemed a little too round or flat, his figures did end up becoming more refined with the new details. 

At the end of it all—when you both finally checked the time—you realized just how long you'd been at it. The table was now covered with small, colorful clay creations, each one a testament to the hours spent laughing and sculpting.

Jaehyun, with a satisfied grin, began lining them up neatly, carefully placing each figure beside its matching pair. Once he was happy with the arrangement, he pulled out his phone and quickly snapped a picture, making sure to get every little detail. Without hesitation, he sent it to you. “There. Now we have proof of our masterpiece,” he said, turning his phone around to show you the image.

You smiled as you opened the message, admiring the tiny figures you both had worked so hard on. “They actually turned out really good,” you admitted, glancing over at him.

“I would hope so,” Jaehyun said with a chuckle, leaning back in his chair to stretch his arms behind his head. “After spending all that time making them.”

“Worth it, though,” you chuckled, tapping at your screen to save the photo. 

“What do we do with them?” Jaehyun asked, still remaining in his current posture. 

“I’ll keep them,” you announced, before suddenly gasping as a thought struck you.

Without another word, you grabbed as many clay figures as your hands could hold—careful not to squish them—and hurried across the room. Jaehyun turned in his seat, watching you with curiosity as you stopped in front of a shelf.

One of the shelves was completely empty, a perfect space for your new collection. You carefully placed the figures down, aligning them just as Jaehyun had arranged them earlier. Once they were neatly lined up, you turned to face him, grinning.

Jaehyun, who had been observing the whole thing with an amused expression, glanced between the shelf and you. “You’re really making a display out of them?” he chuckled, shaking his head.

Instead of answering, you quickly ran back to grab the remaining figures. This time, Jaehyun stood up, scooping up a few clay figures himself before trailing behind you to the shelf.

Once the last of the figures were placed neatly on the shelf, Jaehyun stepped back, arms crossed, as he admired the colorful lineup. He hummed in satisfaction, nodding approvingly before glancing at you.

"Are you actually going to keep these here?" he asked, raising a skeptical brow.

You scoffed, as if he had just asked the most absurd question. "Of course I am! We spent so much time on them—I can’t just take them apart like they were nothing."

Jaehyun smirked, tilting his head slightly. "Hmm, but how can I trust you on that? What if, the moment I leave, you take them down? Or even worse—" his voice dropped into a dramatic whisper, "What if you throw them away?"

“I would never!” You insisted. “You can visit again next time, and I promise the figures will still be here.”

Jaehyun’s lips curled into a grin. "Wait... was that you subtly inviting me to hang out again?"

"You started it," you muttered, quickly averting your gaze as you searched for a way to change the subject. Your eyes flickered to the clock, and you suddenly got a thought. "Do you want something to eat before you go? We completely forgot to eat anything."

“I would like that.”

Nodding, you grabbed your phone and sat back at the dining table, scrolling through a food delivery app. Meanwhile, Jaehyun found his gaze drifting back to the shelf, his fingers absentmindedly grazing the edge as he admired the tiny clay figures once more.

They weren’t perfect—not even close. Some were lopsided, others a little misshapen, but they held a charm he couldn’t ignore. Maybe it was because they were made with you.

And then his chest tightened.

That all-too-familiar pounding in his heart returned, an effect he swore he had rid himself of. Hadn't he? The supposed cure was meant to work, yet here he was, feeling the same way he always had around you.

Jaehyun’s eyes flickered back to you, his lips unconsciously curling at the sight of your focused expression, brows slightly furrowed as you scrolled through the menu.

Had the potion failed? Or... had his feelings never truly left in the first place?

The way he was feeling wasn’t perfect either—it was far from ideal. The pounding in his chest, the way his thoughts tangled whenever he looked at you—it was overwhelming, almost suffocating. A part of him felt like he needed to escape, to put distance between you and himself just to regain some sense of composure. Maybe if he ran far enough, he could recover. Maybe he could convince himself that this was nothing more than a lingering effect of something that should’ve faded by now.

But then there was you. There was always you. 

Just like the clay figures—no matter how imperfect or uneven—he found himself wanting to overlook the flaws, to overlook and accept the nagging feelings that were tugging at his chest. Because somehow, in the moments he spent with you, everything felt perfect enough. 

And that was everything he was looking for. 

To be in love. 

RULE #10: Once a Client, Always Your Client.

Jaehyun had always been strict when it came to rules, routines, and the careful structure he had built for himself. And yet, when it came to you, he found himself hesitating—not to break those rules, but to carve out quiet exceptions just for you.

It wasn’t that he hated the idea of being with you. What he hated was the feeling of being held back, restrained by reasons he couldn't quite grasp. Because the truth was, he did want those late-night walks, arms swinging side by side, fingers brushing in a way that sent warmth curling through his chest. He wanted to spend an entire day before an anniversary decorating, making sure everything was just right. He wanted to laugh until his stomach ached, gasping for air through tear-streaked laughter, unable to stop because being with you made everything that easy.

He wanted all of it.

And he wanted it only with you.

That was the reason why he kept going back—to chip away at the very walls he had built around himself. He went out of his way to text you, to meet you, to be near you. It felt effortless and natural—something that should’ve felt right. And yet, there was still that nagging thought, a lingering voice that was in the back of his mind telling him to stop. 

Was it fear? The fear of breaking Cupid’s rules, of stepping beyond the boundaries he was meant to uphold? Or was it the thought of being ridiculed, of being the one to fall instead of making others fall in love? 

Or was it the thought of having what he considered his true love slip away from him again? 

Whatever it was, it bothered him, clearly unshakable and noticeable—enough that Riwoo had to drop by, his concern written all over his face, just to check on him. 

Riwoo had always been Jaehyun's safe space—the one person he could confide in without hesitation, the one who always listened without judgement. He was the only one who knew at first—the one who confidently took over Jaehyun’s shifts just so he could be with you. So, seeing Jaehyun sprawled out on the couch, lost in thought, wasn’t just concerning for Riwoo—it was concerning for Jaehyun himself. 

He wasn’t the type to sit still like this, to let his feelings consume him so completely. But right now, it felt like that was all he could do. 

“What’s on your mind?” Riwoo sat back in one of the single-seat couches, his gaze never leaving Jaehyun, who looked like he’d checked out of the world entirely. He was slumped, his body unmoving, his eyes fixed on the ceiling as if he could stare through it into some distant place. It was as if he wasn’t really there at all.

Jaehyun finally broke the silence, his voice low. “A lot of things,” he murmured, his words barely audible.

Riwoo leaned forward, his expression softening. “Tell me one of them,” he said, his tone almost gentle—the kind of voice you use when you know someone seems to have a lot on their mind. “You know you can’t keep all of this to yourself, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun let out a slow breath, his chest rising and falling as he remained fixated on the ceiling. His mind was a tangled mess, but if he had to pick just one thing—one thought that refused to leave him alone—he knew exactly what it was.

“It’s… about her,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual.

Riwoo leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “I figured,” he said knowingly. “What about her?”

Jaehyun shut his eyes for a moment, as if doing so would somehow help him find the right words. “I keep going back to her,” he finally said, his voice laced with frustration. “Even when I tell myself I shouldn’t. Even when I know it goes against everything I’m supposed to stand for.”

“What’s so wrong about falling in love? Riwoo asked, his voice cutting through the heavy silence.

Jaehyun’s eyes fluttered open, slowly processing the question. It was a simple one, yet it felt like an unexpected weight. For as long as he could remember, love was something to be avoided—something that could jeopardize everything a Cupid was meant to do. Hearing Riwoo speak those words, however, felt strange—almost unsettling.

He had been taught his entire life that love wasn’t meant for someone like him.

Every Cupid should know to avoid getting tangled up in love themselves. 

“I should be helping people find love, not falling into it myself,” Jaehyun murmured. The very words that he held against himself finally started feeling heavy with the weight of the years of expectations he set for himself to follow. It didn’t feel right for him to be saying that now, especially given how and what he’s been doing. 

Riwoo’s chuckle interrupted his thoughts. “You make it seem like Cupids can’t find love either.”

Jaehyun paused, his brow furrowing. “Isn’t that what they always told us?”

Riwoo’s smile faded into something more thoughtful. “It may not seem like an ideal situation for a Cupid,” he said slowly, as if reflecting on his own experiences with being around other Cupids. “But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”

Jaehyun looked at him, skeptical. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“No, seriously.” Riwoo leaned forward, his gaze more earnest now. “Why do you think I accepted the idea of you dating Y/N in the first place? Why do you think I’ve been covering your shifts whenever you needed it? I’ve always made space for you to be with her.”

Jaehyun felt a knot in his chest. He knew Riwoo was right. His friend always seemed to appear at the right time, sometimes without even needing to be asked. Every time Jaehyun needed to be with you, Riwoo was there to take his place.

“Where are you going with this?” Jaehyun asked, trying not to let his hopes rise too quickly.

“I’m trying to tell you,” Riwoo began, his voice getting softer, “that Cupids can’t hate the idea of love.”

Jaehyun’s mind buzzed with the implications of Riwoo’s words, and then he remembered something Taesan had once said. “Like Taesan said before,” Riwoo continued, “you aren’t the only one who’s been put in situations like this.”

Jaehyun shifted his position, moving from sprawling lazily on the couch to sitting upright, his posture tense. His mind raced, but the words still felt trapped in his throat.

“You’re still lost?” Riwoo asked, eying Jaehyun’s every sudden move. 

“It’s not that." Jaehyun let out a slow breath, his gaze drifting to the floor as he processed his thoughts. “From the moment I drank that potion Taesan gave me, I was told everything would just... disappear. But it didn’t work. I still feel exactly the same. I just feel…confused.”  

“Do you hate the idea of liking her?”

Jaehyun shook his head almost immediately, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on the edge of the couch. “I don’t. I really don’t. And I don’t know what to do with that.” 

““And I’m telling you that it’s okay if you want to love her,” Riwoo said with a smile. “Helping others find love doesn’t mean you have to give up your own.”

Jaehyun hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear those words. All this time, he’d convinced himself that his feelings weren’t meant to be accepted, even though deep down, he yearned for that very thing. Hearing Riwoo’s reassurance lifted a weight from his shoulders, replacing his lingering worries with a silent urgency. The need to act, to take the step he’d been hesitating on, was suddenly clear.

“I think I need to go,” Jaehyun muttered as he stood, grabbing the nearest hoodie hanging by the door. He barely even looked at it before pulling it over his head, his mind already a few steps ahead, fixed on the next thing.

Riwoo didn’t need him to say more. He just sat back, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He watched Jaehyun with a mix of amusement and understanding. Even if Jaehyun hadn’t said the words directly, it was clear what he wanted.

Jaehyun was heading straight to you.

“You got this,” Riwoo said softly, as if the words could somehow give Jaehyun the last bit of courage he needed. Jaehyun paused before stepping out of his door, offering Riwoo a small but genuine smile, whispering a thank you. 

The moment Jaehyun stepped out and closed his door behind him, his heart picked up speed. Each step felt like it was pulling him closer to something he wanted but couldn’t quite understand—something that had been waiting for him. The answers weren’t clear, and maybe they never would be. But for once, at this moment, Jaehyun didn’t feel the need to chase them. He didn’t seem to mind. 

He just needed to show up. 

As he neared your place, he could feel the anticipation building in his chest, almost like a tightness he couldn't shake. His hand hovered over his phone, his thumb hesitant for a brief second. He took a deep breath, telling himself to stop overthinking. 

He was already here. He couldn’t turn back now. 

Before his mind could talk him out of it, Jaehyun pressed the call button next to your contact. One ring, and he immediately felt a rush of jitters flood through him. The second ring, his fingers twisted the fabric of his hoodie, his nerves getting the better of him. By the third ring, he finally heard your voice on the other line.

"Jaehyun?"

He froze for a moment, hearing his name fall from your lips. The sound made his heart race, but he quickly composed himself, trying to ignore the sudden increased pacing in his chest.  

"Y/N... Hi."

"Hey, what's up?" 

"Can I see you?" Jaehyun wasn’t too sure if you could hear the sudden tremble in his voice, but he could only pray that you didn’t. 

"Like... right now?"

"Just for a little while, yeah. I don’t want to rush you or anything, but I’m nearby, and—well, if you’re not up for it, that’s totally fine. I know it’s late."

"Stop worrying, Jae. I'll be out in a few. Just wait for me." you said, and Jaehyun couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. He was already a little lost in the thought of what he wanted to say, but for now, he just waited, allowing himself to calm down as the seconds ticked by.

"I’ll be here,” he responded back quickly. 

He could almost picture your expression once he heard the soft chuckle you gave as the line went quiet again, leaving him standing there, staring at the phone in his hand. His nerves didn’t settle completely, but it didn’t matter anymore. He had done it. He had reached out. And now, all he had to do was wait.

After a few moments, Jaehyun spotted you running out of your apartment complex. You waved, and he quickly waved back.

"Hi," you said, as if the greeting over the phone hadn’t already happened. "Where do you want to go?"

 "Is it okay if we just stay out here?" he asked, knowing this was something that he needed. There was something comforting about being in an open space—a sense of calm he didn’t want to lose. He needed the fresh breeze of air, but more importantly, he simply needed a little room to breathe if things became overwhelming. 

"Yeah, of course," you said, nodding. You pointed toward a bench just outside the complex. "We can sit there."

Jaehyun shifted slightly on the bench, feeling the cool night air brush against his face. The sounds of distant traffic blended with the quiet night, giving everything a sense of calm he hadn’t expected. Sitting next to you with no distractions, it almost felt like time slowed down. The pressure in his chest eased just a little more.

“What did you want to see me for?” you finally spoke, turning to face Jaehyun. He also turned to look at you, your face illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlamp. His heart skipped, just like it always did when you looked at him like that—with that same curiosity and warmth in your eyes. It made his thoughts scatter, but he pushed them back, trying to focus.

“I just... needed to talk,” he said, his words coming out quieter than he expected. He wasn’t sure how to put what he was feeling into words. He let out a small chuckle, noticing how ridiculous it was for him to be acting this nervous. “I’ve been holding back from saying this, actually.”

“About what?” you asked softly, your voice laced with both curiosity and a hint of worry. Something about the way Jaehyun had called you out here felt different, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was something important. Your heart skipped a beat, uncertainty swirling in your chest as you tried to read his expression. 

"About... us,” Jaehyun finally confessed, his voice quieter than usual. “I’ve been thinking a lot about this—about you—and what it really means. I know the timing might seem a little off, especially with me having to be involved in your love life by setting you with others, but I can’t seem to shake these feelings I have for you.”

“You have feelings for me?” you asked, your voice a mix of surprise and disbelief, the words barely leaving your lips.

He nodded, his cheeks flushing as he looked away for a moment, trying to gather himself. The honesty in his words felt foreign, almost suffocating after he’d spent so much time hiding it. “Ever since you walked into my office that day, I’ve been trying not to feel it. I didn’t want to admit it, but when I saw you, it wasn’t fear I felt in my stomach. It was… relief. Relief that I finally got to see you again.”

Jaehyun’s voice trailed off as he shifted uncomfortably, but there was something raw in his eyes that made you pause. It was the kind of vulnerability he rarely let anyone see, let alone you.

“You’ve kept that with you this whole time?” you asked again, trying to reconfirm his answer as your thoughts spiraled. 

He nodded again, his fingers suddenly fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. “I didn’t want to complicate things, but I knew I couldn’t keep pretending my feelings are simply nothing.” 

The weight of his words was finally setting into you after you tried processing everything. Your mind felt like it was in a haze—this was unexpected, but not completely. You always felt a shift between you two but never allowed yourself to fully acknowledge it. You were the one who brought the idea of breaking it off first, after all. 

And now, it felt as though time had folded itself back, bringing you to that moment when Jaehyun first confessed to you. That same rush of emotions, the happiness tangled with confusion, was there again. But this time, you felt different—stronger, surer. 

You knew better now; you knew that you couldn’t let someone like him slip away again.

“I’m really happy that you’re telling me this,” you said, your voice having an obvious, cheesy tone. “Because I feel the same way.”

Jaehyun’s eyes widened, considering how he was preparing himself for the worst. “Wait… you do?”

You nodded, recognizing how the truth was coming out easily now. “I always thought it was obvious.”

Jaehyun’s lips parted slightly as if he were searching for something to say, but he simply looked at you, his words being taken over with a grin on his face. His gaze softened while he stopped fidgeting with his hoodie, feeling a rush of relief running through him. 

“I was scared that this would have made things weird between us. But hearing you say that..." He exalted, as though he could finally breathe easier. “It’s everything I could wish for.”

You couldn’t help but smile back, considering how you were never quite sure if you’d ever get to hear those words from him if you didn’t show up to answer his call. The way your feet kicked back and forth was the subtle sign of nerves and excitement that had your pulse quickening. 

“Me too.” 

“I’m glad,” he said, his voice soft but sincere. “I really am.” He leaned back slightly, his gaze locked with yours, feeling lighter than he had in a long time. It was strange, yet comforting, knowing that the feelings between you were mutual.

For once, everything felt right again.

“Well then, how about we have an impromptu date right now?” Jaehyun suggested, his nervous look soon turning into something more playful. This was the Jaehyun you were always used to. 

“Oh, so now you’re asking to take me out on a date after I just also practically confessed my feelings?” you shot him a look, only for you to end up breaking into a small fit of laughter. “Very smooth, Cupid MJ.” 

“It’s only fair that I get to ask you out,” he shrugged, wearing a teasing grin. “Had to beat you to it before you were going to ask me out on a hangout again.”

“Alright then, where would we go?”

“To yours? Actually, I’ve been meaning to add a few prints to your kitchen area. It was looking a little plain, and I should’ve gotten you more prints before.”

“Shading my living space after suggesting we go there is crazy, by the way,” you crossed your arms, jokingly staring at him in disbelief. 

Jaehyun let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "You know I didn’t mean it like that."

"If not, then what?" you teased, still shaking your head. "I think you’re just trying to crash into my place, huh?"

He raised his hands in mock surrender, his expression innocent yet mischievous. "Far from that—I just want to see those clay figures you’ve got if you still have them. I’ve been curious."

Another soft laugh escapes from your lips, and the warmth in your chest spreads further. “Come see it then,” you said, the words slipping out before you could second-guess them. Honestly, you were waiting for the next time he’d suggest going to your place. You wanted him to come over again. “I’ll show you that I kept my word on keeping our figures.”

Jaehyun’s smile widened, his eyes lighting up as if your invitation was exactly what he’d hoped for. “Lead the way,” he said, following right after you as you stood up to walk back into your apartment complex—this time, with him by your side. 

The conversation between you two flowed easily, like it always had, and with every exchanged word and giggle, Jaehyun found himself being able to learn a few things.

One, that the Cupid Rules were never as severe or strict as he once believed. Fate had its own way of working, and despite all the supposed boundaries and obstacles, it had led him right back to you—the very person he once thought the Cupid Universe forcefully separated him from. 

Two, he had been so fooled to be convinced that removing the love arrow effects would help erase the emotions entangled between you both. Instead, he was right back here with you. And this time, there was nothing to blame, no external force to credit for his sudden rush of emotions—just the undeniable truth that, even without all of that, he still would have chosen you anyway. He couldn’t complain, not when this was exactly where he wanted to be. 

And three—the one thing he could fully believe about the Cupid’s Handbook was Rule #10. 

Once a client, always your client. 

Jaehyun could only hope those words were true. That no matter where life led you both, no matter what ended up being in the way, he could always find a way to stay by your side for good. 

That’s when he knew that being only with you was the only thing he wanted. 

His first, true love. 

𓊆 🗯️ 𓊇 CUPID’S FINAL WORDS ✶ TYSM FOR READING UNTIL THE END ^^ !! this feels so bittersweet completing like actually… 💔 so… if i were to write for more cupid aus, would you guys like that?? since i do have some ideas but not for all members yet so…. please let me know ♡

BND PERM TAGLIST ( OPEN ) — @juyeoz @j4d @itsactuallylina @rizzwoos @htaesan @macapunoz

[mimiii-3]

Batsib finally getting attention because daimg goes off on everyone ??

Imagine this.. batsib and darling are rlly close and batfam hates it. Darling eventually getting annoyed of the neglect that batsib is getting so they go off on the family, and the family realizes and now give the yandere treatment to batsib instead 😭‼️

Great idea!

…

Saboteur: Obsession

Yandere Platonic Batfam x GN Neglected Reader

Notes: typical yandere themes

…

What if Batsib became the family’s new obsession…

🦇- it has only been about a month since darling’s outburst but it feels like a whole year

🦇- you lay in bed, numbly staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars scattered across the ceiling

🦇- the freshly planted camera in your room adjusts its lens to focus on your motionless form

🦇- you should have never said anything. You should have been grateful

🦇- sure your family could care less about you…but at least you were free

🦇- you let your thoughts drift to the day that this all started

🦇- the day that darling accidentally ruined your life

1 month ago

🦇- you lay on the fuzzy rug, attempting to pinch the worn material of the old jean jacket

🦇- you bite your lip in concentration as you thread the needle

🦇- darling chuckles at your focused state while attempting to sew a small tear in your jacket

🦇- “Didn’t Alfred teach you how to sew,” they ask before snatching the needle and jacket out of your hands.

🦇- you purse your lips in irritation and embarrassment. “Of course he didn’t teach me,” you think.

🦇- Darling expertly sews the torn jacket and throws it back to you.

🦇- you catch the jacket and eye their handiwork. It’s good. Alfred must have taught them well.

🦇- you look up to find darling staring at you expectantly. They’re waiting for an answer

🦇- “No, he never taught me. He doesn’t like me much.”

🦇- they pause and think for a minute. “That doesn’t sound like Alfred. Are you sure he doesn’t like you? Maybe you should try and ask again,” Darling rambles.

🦇- your rub at your forehead in irritation. They just don’t understand

🦇- “Alfred doesn’t like me. None of them do.”

🦇- Darling quiets down at your statement. They crawl over to your side on the bright pink rug, “well even if Alfred doesn’t like you, I’m sure dad does.”

🦇- you shake your head. “Dick?” You shake your head again. “Tim?” You sake your head for the third time in row. “Damian?” At the mention of Damian you let out a deep laugh

🦇- “Those three have told me how much they hate me more times than I can count. I appreciate that you care but they will never love me the same way they love you,” you sigh melodramatically.

🦇- at the thought of just how much your family hates you, your laughter kicks back up again

🦇- it’s funny really. They love their kidnapping victim more than their actual family. Why wouldn’t they?

🦇- while getting over your bout of laughter, you miss the stormy look in darling’s eyes

…

🦇- you were working on your book nook when out of nowhere you hear screaming and the sound of glass shattering

🦇- you quickly drop what you’re doing and race down the mahogany stairway

🦇- in the hallway, darling stands in front of a mess of shattered vases and picture frames that were impossibly expensive

🦇- your father and brothers surround them. Nervously assessing the damage and what could have possibly set them off

🦇- Damian looks up and spots you on the stairs, “what have you down now you hellion?!”

🦇- “no,” Darling interrupts, “I won’t let you talk to them like that!”

🦇- Damian’s eyes widen at darling’s tone. He drops his tough guy act and looks down in shame

🦇- “you all have to start being nicer to them! They’re my big sibling and if you can’t respect them, then I don’t have to respect you,” Darling huffs

🦇- Bruce puts his hands up in a show of peace and tentatively approaches darling. He takes their hands in his and offers a small smile, “sure thing, kiddo. Anything you want.”

🦇- darling looks back at you with a wide grin. They shoot you a quick thumbs up before taking your father’s hand again and dragging him to the cinema room

🦇- you can feel the air shift and your stomach drops instantly. Dick, Tim, and Damian all stare at you with unreadable expressions.

🦇- Dick clears his throat, “well come on then. We’re watching a movie.”

🦇- Dick holds his hand out to you. It’s different than the way your father reached his hand out to darling. It feels like an obligation. What would happen if you didn’t take his hand? What would happen if you ran back up the stairs?

🦇- Dick seemingly reads your mind and closes the distance to grab your hand. He pulls you down the remaining steps so quickly you almost fall.

🦇- His grip on your hand is tight as he marches down the unending hallway. Tim and Damian walk on either side of you and Dick. You can feel their stares burning the back of your head.

🦇- Your heart feels like it’s about to beat right out your chest. This doesn’t feel right. Darling says one thing and they all just obey. That’s it?

🦇- Your thoughts are interrupted by the feeling of a new pair of eyes watching you. You tilt your head back a bit and look up. Dick is staring at you. His piercing blue eyes look like they’re gazing into your soul.

🦇- You try to read him but fail. You look back at your feet as you all round the corner into the cinema room. You can hear the opening score. It’s The Shining.

🦇- “How fitting,” you think bitterly.

Present Day

🦇- hot tears cascade down your face and dampen the pillow beneath you

🦇- you’re so stupid

🦇- you should have never said anything to darling. They meant well, they truly did. But this is not what you wanted

🦇- your quiet tears transform into hiccuping sobs

🦇- the loudness of your cries shocks some sense into you. you quickly slap your hand over your mouth

🦇- with bated breath, you watch the door

🦇- please don’t come in, please don’t come in, please don’t come in

🦇- the handle turns slowly

🦇- Dick and Tim enter the room. Tim scans your teary face, “why are you crying? Is something wrong?”

🦇- Dick rubs sleepily at his eyes and sits down at the end of your bed. There’s that look again. A mix of adoration and a predator-like gaze. What does it even mean?

🦇- Tim waves his hand in front of your face. “I asked you a question,” he hisses.

🦇- you sit up in bed, “sorry, I was just thinking about that new show I started. The one with the president and the underground dome. It made me a little emotional just thinking about it.”

🦇- you chuckle nervously before wiping at the almost dry tears on your face

🦇- Tim takes a step back and you try not to let the relief show. “That’s fine,” he sighs, “try and get some sleep.”

🦇- Tim turns around and head back to the door. You peer over at Dick and find him still staring at you.

🦇- “is that the show with the apocalypse and the fake sun?” His sudden question shocks you. Did he know about the show himself? Or had he been spying on you while you watched it a few days ago?

🦇- “yup! That’s the one. Y’know I think you’d like it. Maybe you should check it out sometime,” you say with a faux cheeriness.

🦇- “Hm. Maybe I’ll join you for the next episode.”

🦇- you smile at Dick and try to mask your disappointment at his answer. He rises from his spot on your bed and approaches you

🦇- Dick raises his hand and pets your head. “Tim’s right. Get some sleep.”

🦇- you nod and shoot him a small smile. He doesn’t return it and instead turns and walks to the door

🦇- Tim is still standing in the doorway with his arms folded. You wave bye at him and he leaves without another glance.

🦇- “Night,” Dick mutters and shuts the door behind him.

🦇- you lay back down and let out a breath you had been holding

🦇- the sound of the camera lens adjusting returns a minute or two later

🦇- it means that Tim has made it back to his room and is watching you again

🦇- no more crying

🦇- you’d rather suffer in silence than have that awkward interaction happen again

🦇- you turn in bed and pull the thick covers over your head. You grab your red panda plushie and pull it closer to you

🦇- you can’t take much more of this. Their overbearing nature is starting to wear at you psyche

🦇- they’re insane. You should’ve called Commissioner Gordon the second they kidnapped darling

🦇- maybe this is what you deserve. A life of imprisonment in exchange for your complicitness in the kidnapping of darling

🦇- yes, you were complicit but you didn’t know any better. You thought going along with their plan would make them love you

🦇- turns out you were right. It just didn’t go at all like you thought it would

🦇- sure, you’ve made some mistakes in your quest for love and family. But you don’t deserve this

🦇- you don’t plan on being kept here like a pet for the rest of your life

🦇- there’s only one solution: escape

…

Extra notes: this one was kinda long

Tag list:

@jjsmeowthie @shawty-a-lil-baddie @butratherbutrather @shirp-collector-of-fixations @stove-top96 @yaoizee @bellethesleepypotato @salfishers @eli-mayhaveatencats @wisefuncherryblossom @c4xcocoa @twismare @icanmeltanigloo @tatsuri-zomushiki

[buttercupshands]

I've been thinking a lot lately

ref to the quote under the cut

under the cut for maybe some people that would like to try and guess *shruggs*

[reflectionsofacreator]

[takes a long drink from my Arizona iced tea] so like one of the central themes for FFXV is like, growing up, sure. You know that, I know that, whatever. Coming of age, coming into your own, taking the mantle of king, whatever you wanna call it. Cool, awesome, we love a good coming of age story!

But I find the sub theme of that one to be probably the most fascinating? By and large, all the chocobros have to deal with the fallout of being lied to by the adult figures in their lives, and it's the most prevalent with Noctis and Gladio. Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of it in Ignis and Prompto too, but the particularly insidious way that Noctis and especially Gladio were lied to sometimes gets me.

See I don't even really think it was actually all that intentional. Not really a conscious act by Regis and Clarus, or the society around them? More like... I dunno, the lies that you get told by your parents as a little kid and you grow up to realize that the world is a lot different than you thought.

That being said, Noctis was absolutely lied to by his father; both about the nature of the King of Light and the idea that he'd succeed Regis as reigning monarch. Regis did it out of love, knowing that Noctis would die young, and reasoned that Noctis should get to have a relatively normal life, but it was still a lie. Gladio, likewise, was lied to by his father and Regis, told that he would be the next monarch's Shield, that he would fulfill a role that's got a pretty set expectation in their society.

See, Gladio expects Noctis to act a certain way, to act as King, and he gets increasingly frustrated when Noctis doesn't, or can't live up to that. He's not precisely wrong to expect it either, given their roles and their statues, and knowing that they're taking the throne during a full blown war. The problem is that Noctis was never taught how to be the thing that Gladio was told Noctis was going to be? And that's what causes friction with them all the time. It's fascinating, watching it play out and realizing the underlying issues with their relationships actually have very little to do with them as people and instead because of what they were told to expect from each other.

Gladio is also his own kettle of fish that I don't think the narrative is quite self aware enough to articulate properly, or even get into. Gladio falls into the trap of toxic masculinity very often -- struggling to articulate his feelings, expressing most of his feelings as anger, picking fights rather than talking about what's going on, using his strength as both a character aspect and bonus, etc. The list goes on. There's also the fact that he's sort of portrayed as a bit of a womanizer and the masculine ideal; tall, rugged, strong, etc which plays into all of that. XV plays him very straight (and straight) with these concepts, and just sort of ... expects it to be fine? Which is at odds with how the other three bros interact and are more emotionally available towards each other, leaving Gladio as one of the weaker bros in canon.

It kind of sucks too, because like, there's so much to unpack with him? His DLC is about wanting to have the strength to protect Noctis on the surface, but really when you look at it... you could also argue that the DLC is about Gladio's fears that he'll end up as dead as his dad did (ha, try that for alliteration) and the crushing weight of failure. Gladio has every right to fear his mortality, fear the fact that he is, nominally, the first in line on the battlefield and the the last defense for Noctis. If Noctis is to die, they will go through him first, and that's! Scary! But the game doesn't really get into that, hardly at all, and it makes picking up the pieces for Gladio kind of frustrating. Out of all the bros, he's the one I have to dig the most to find any kind of depth despite being prime real estate for it.

Anyways Gladio and Noctis' dynamic is fascinating if you actually start to unpack it, especially because it's built on the lies that their fathers fed them as children (that they themselves also bought into). I'd go so far to argue that between the two pairs, Noct/Gladio is in much more of a dire need to sit down and actually hash out what they are to each other, outside of their king/shield dynamic. Noct/Iggy certainly has shades of that, but Ignis has decided that they are friends and that he will defy fate if he must, let the world burn if he must, to save Noct's life. That has some depth beyond king/retainer that they're presented as. Noct/Gladio are sort of just... falling into the king/shield dynamic because they're expected to, and it sort of hampers their relationship and their communication.

I'm gonna scramble them both like eggs, probably into an omelette. They make me Think you know

[ollywander]

I hate the deification of Snape’s mother, Eileen.

I see a lot of head-canons about the Snape household involving pure evil from Tobias while Eileen is a perfect angel who goes to great lengths to care for their son. I think it’s a nice idea, but I don’t see this being true based on what we know and can surmise from canon.

I think Eileen was probably abused so heavily that it closed her off from everything around her, including her son. There is really no other explanation for the fact that Severus Snape had long hair and stained, ill-fitting clothing (long hair that can be cut and stained and ill-fitting clothing that can be altered with magic). We know that grief can diminish a witch or wizard’s magic, in which case it makes sense that Snape grew up without certain amenities, but it gives no explanation for his hair being long and uncared for. Cutting hair requires no magical ability and poverty has nothing to do with it. If you look at photos taken during periods of great strife in places like Ireland, you might notice that while they are grubby and their clothing is ripped and badly fit, the boys have their hair cut reasonably, implying that even through financial hardship and famine, they are being loved and cared for at home at least to some extent.

Severus Snape at no point during what we are shown of his childhood exhibited any signs of an affectionate upbringing on the part of either of his parents. Harry noticed this in just about every memory of Snape’s that he sees.

I believe that Eileen was abused badly enough that she was no longer able to take care of her son and, while probably not strictly abusive like Tobias, was probably just as neglectful.

Of course, I think everyone has the right to headcanon a better upbringing for Snape. I just don’t think that it should cross the line into in discussions about his canon childhood, which is something I do see happening.

Sorry if this post is messy, by the way. I didn’t spend a lot of time rearranging and formatting; I just wanted to get it out.

I wanted to add something else quickly before posting. I’m not sure if I was clear, but I don’t fully blame Eileen for her part in the treatment of her son. She was obviously at least verbally abused alongside Severus Snape by her husband at least since she was a young adult. That being said, I don’t know how her parenting style would have been different if she hadn’t suffered abuse. One must imagine Sisyphus happy, or imagine that Eileen was trying her best and without the abuse would have been a significantly better parent.

[kokokoula]

idk if you take requests but i feel like tsukishima is the type to return your love letters graded

omg i can totally see this 😭😭

----

to see your love letter that you had given to tsukishima yesterday being returned in your shoe locker definitely broke your heart. however, your sorrow quickly dissipates when something catches your attention.

"did he actually just grade it??"

a "6/10" is written in red ink at the top right corner of the envelope. you scoff in offense, taking a second glance at it. "the audacity..."

you take out the letter from the envelope to skim through it. you spot other writings in red ink too, underlining some of your words and commenting on them. there are criticisms like, "too sappy", "your handwriting is illegible", and the one that pissed you off the most: "unnecessarily longwinded, cut to the point". damn him, you spent so much time trying to craft the perfect letter, to think you even fell for that bastard.

for your sanity's sake, it is a relief you finally got to the end. at the bottom, it writes:

"you should have confessed to me in person, dumbass, then we would have settled on a date earlier."

then in smaller letters, "i guess i like you, too."

your heart stops. your grip on the paper loosens. you blink, staring at those last few words.

a grin slowly grows on your face.

"that fucking bitch."

----

a/n: sorry i just spammed words and this came out. uh, happy valentine's day??? when i received this request, i laughed so hard. to clarify on whether i do requests, i think the more appropriate term would be "suggestions". i write based on how i'm feeling and inspiration, so i may or may not write your ideas. take it as a gamble :P i appreciate all of your messages though!!

edit: damn this piece had so many mistakes wts

[queenbee298]

Poppy playtime freedom au.

What happens when reader gets a small cold. They don't see it as a big deal, but to the toys being sick ment death in the factory. So they force reader to stay in bed.

Maybe have yarnaby lay on them to make sure they don't escape?

Thank you for requesting a story and this is a great idea for a story. Request #6 Enjoy <3!

🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒🤒The toys were up in the morning abd full of life.

Poppy: “Good morning everyone!”

Doey: “Good morning!”

Mini critters: “ Good morning!”

Kissy wrote on her white board: “Good morning ❤️!”

Yarnaby let out a purr as a way to say good morning.

Poppy: “Hey, where’s mom/dad? They’re usually up first making breakfast or working.”

Doey: “Maybe they’re getting ready. I’ll check on them.”

But before he could leave the room, you walked in.

Y/n: “Morning, guys.”

You weren’t feeling too good, but you still tried to be there for your children.

Poppy: “Hey mom/dad. Are you okay?”

Y/n: “Yea, might have slept bed. *sniffles*”

You started coughing.

Y/n: *clears throats* I should get started with breakfast.”

You started coughing harder this time.

Doey: “Are you sure you’re okay.”

Y/n: “I’ll be fine, honey. I’ll start making breakfast now.”

The toys weren’t so sure you were 100%.

Later on in the day, you were doing worse. You were dozing off when trying to work, your nose was always runny, and you were burning up.

Doey: “Mom/dad, I really think you should take a rest.”

Kissy wrote on her white board: “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard.”

Yarnaby whimpered, concerned that you were sick.

Y/n: “I’m fine, guys. Really! I just *coughs* need a little medicine and I’ll be fine.”

But before you could even take out the medicine, your energy was gone and you passed out.

You woke up in bed with beds and worried toys by your side.

Y/n: “What happened?”

Poppy: “You passed out! You had us worried sick, mom/dad!”

Y/n: “I’m so sorry you guys, I just wanna to still help you guys out.”

Doey: “That’s okay mom/dad, but it’s still important to take care of yourself. Like you told me. You should rest some more.”

Y/n: “Thanks, sweetheart. I’ll take sometime to rest.”

Doey: “And to make sure you keep your promise… Yarnaby?

Yarnaby jumped into bed and snuggled you.

Poppy: “He’ll make sure you don’t go anywhere.”

Y/n: “Okay, okay. I won’t leave. I promise.”

Poppy: “Good, now get some rest. Love you, mom/dad.

Y/n: “Love you, too.”

Yarnaby was still snuggling you and you gave into his cuddles and got some rest.

❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹❤️‍🩹I hope you all enjoyed this story. Thank you for requesting these ideas. It’s a lot of work, but it’s worth it to try my best and make you all happy. See you next time <3!

[wweprincess]

do you think you can write a soft!jimmyuso smut? I rarely see him being written like this. Reader is female and best friends with jimmy.

Release - Jimmy.U.

Materlist

A/N⤷ I loved this idea, especially writing soft!jimmy Warnings⤷ Daddy Kink, unprotected piv, squirting, talking you through it, whiney man, pet names, 18+ Word Count⤷ 2.2k

“Aight, so, movie night or we orderin’ pizza and chillin’?” Jimmy asks, his eyes flickering to your lips for half a second before locking back onto yours.  

“Movie,” you reply, no hesitation. “We did pizza last time.”  

Jimmy grins, pushing himself up off the bed and rubbing his hands together like he’s about to drop the best idea ever. He strides over to his TV stand. “Aight, so what’s the vibe? Rom-com, action, horror—?”  

You smirk. The kind of smirk that makes him pause mid-sentence, his head tilting as he squints at you. “Nahhh,” he shakes his head, pointing a warning finger at you. “I already know what you on.”  

You bat your lashes, all innocent. “What?” You drag out the word, layering on the dramatics.  

Jimmy crosses his arms, trying so hard to look serious, but the way his lips twitch gives him away. “You tryna trap me into watchin’ some cheesy ass romance movie just ‘cause you rockin’ my hoodie.”  

You huff, flopping back onto the bed with the most exaggerated sigh. “Ugh, fiiine.”  

Jimmy chuckles, shaking his head as he grabs the remote. “Mhm, that’s what I thought. Action it is. Somethin’ to keep those pretty eyes wide open—and not simpin’ over some fake ass love story.”

You chuckle, and Jimmy just smirks, starting the movie before settling down next to you on the bed. The room dims, the glow of the screen casting soft shadows, but neither of you are really paying attention.  

As the movie plays, Jimmy gets real comfortable—like, real comfortable. His hand inches closer, slow as hell, until his pinky is barely grazing your thigh. It’s subtle, but you feel it. And from the way your heart is thudding against your ribs, you know he feels it too.   

He hesitates for a second—like he’s debating if he should take it further—but then, as if on cue, something bad happens in the movie. A loud crash, a scream, and—oh, look at that—his hand accidentally-on-purpose squeezes your thigh.  

Your breath catches. He feels it. Hell, you both feel it.  

Without a word, you grab the remote and shut the TV off, plunging the room into silence.  

Jimmy blinks. “Damn, was it that bad?”  

But you’re not even looking at the screen. You’re staring right at him.

Him and his wavy hair, fresh out the braids, lookin’ too good for his own damn good. Him and that Cuban link that never leaves his neck, catching the low light just right.   

His grip on your thigh tightens—just a little. “You good?” His voice is barely a whisper, rough in that way that sends a shiver down your spine.  

You nod, slow and deliberate, licking your lips without even thinking. But he notices. Oh, he definitely notices. His gaze dips, locked onto your lips like he’s already made up his mind.  

His free hand lifts, fingers brushing your cheek before he cups your face fully, thumb tracing your skin like he’s memorizing the moment. “You so sexy,” he murmurs, voice dripping with something deeper, something dangerous.  

Your breath catches as he leans in—so close, too close. And then there’s no more space.  

The kiss starts slow, delicate, like a question neither of you needs to ask. But it doesn’t stay that way. Nah, it deepens quick, hunger bleeding through, fingers tightening, bodies pulling closer.  

A movie long forgotten.

His hand glides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulls you in like he needs you closer—like the space between you is too much to bear.  

He leans back onto the bed, taking you with him, never breaking the kiss. His other hand snakes around your waist, gripping you tight, pressing you flush against his chest. His warmth, his scent, the weight of him beneath you—it’s dizzying.  

A soft moan escapes your lips, swallowed instantly by his, and you feel his grip tighten in response. Your body squirms against him, seeking more, and from the way his fingers press into your skin, you know he wants it too.

His hands roam, slow and deliberate, tracing every dip and curve like he’s memorizing you by touch alone. Then, with a swift, effortless movement, he rolls you both over, pressing you into the mattress, his body hovering over yours.  

Your breath stutters, chest rising and falling rapidly as heat coils in your stomach. He notices. Of course, he does. A smirk tugs at his lips before he leans down, trailing soft, lingering kisses down your jawline, then lower—to your neck, your collarbone—his lips warm, teasing, making your skin tingle.  

“Fuck,” he murmurs against you, voice thick with something unspoken, something raw.  

His fingers toy with the hem of the oversized hoodie—the one that’s way too big but smells just like him. Slowly, almost torturously, he pulls it up and over your head, tossing it aside. His gaze darkens as his eyes rake over you, taking in the red lace hugging your curves.  

A sharp breath. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip.  

“Damn.”

His fingers tremble slightly as they trace the delicate lace, like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. Slowly, he leans down, his lips brushing the warm skin between the swell of your breasts, pressing a soft, lingering kiss.  

“Mmh,” you exhale, a quiet moan slipping past your lips as your eyes flutter shut. The sound alone sends a shiver through him, igniting something deeper.  

His lips return to the same spot, pressing another kiss—then another—until he’s left a slow, teasing trail of open-mouthed kisses across your chest, each one more intoxicating than the last.  

He pauses, lifting his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are darker now, heavy with something unreadable, something devouring.  

And then, without breaking eye contact, his fingers move behind you, finding the clasp of your bra.  

Click.  

It comes undone in one smooth motion, revealing your perky breasts.

He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, eyes dark and hooded with pure, unfiltered want. His hands grip your sides, holding you steady as he lowers his head, lips parting just before he captures one peak in his mouth. 

The warmth, the pressure—it’s instant, overwhelming. His tongue flicks, teasing before he suckles deep, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. Your back arches off the bed, pressing closer into him, your fingers tangling in his hair.  

A low groan rumbles in his chest at your reaction, only spurring him on. He moves to the other breast, repeating the same slow, torturous attention—sucking, licking, grazing his teeth just enough to make you squirm beneath him.  

Your body writhes, heat pooling deep in your core, a whimper escaping before you can stop it.  

“Ouuu, Jim—”  

He hums against your skin, like he loves the way his name sounds falling from your lips.

Jimmy pulls back, his lips leaving your skin with an audible pop, his breath coming in sharp, uneven bursts. His eyes darken as he looks down at you, hunger in them. His hand trails down your stomach, fingers grazing the waistband of your shorts.  

He leans in again, pressing his lips to yours, a kiss that’s slow but charged with more than just need. His hand moves lower, slipping just under the waistband, his fingers tracing the edge of your shorts. He pauses, the tension thick in the air.  

Breaking the kiss, he pulls back slightly, eyes searching yours. “Can I?”  

You meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest, feeling the heat between you both. You don’t break eye contact as your voice barely escapes in a whisper, “Ruin me, Jimmy… p-please,” you murmur, your words full of longing.

His eyes widen slightly at your words. His hands dive into your panties, his fingers finding your center and parting your folds. He circles you clit slowly, applying gentle pressure. As he trails open-mouthed kisses down your neck, he finds you wet and needy as he lowers his hand to your entrance. He curls his finger inside of you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars, “More?” he breathes against your neck, his voice hoarse. 

“Y-yes…fuuuck-” you whimper, bucking your hips upward to meet his strokes. He adds another finger, stretching you slowly. “You like that?” he whispers, his thumb finding your swollen bundle of nerves. Your eyes roll to the back of your head, the pressure becoming too much to handle. 

He presses his thumb down onto your clit firmly as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. That's when he leans down and captures your mouth in a bruising kiss, his tongue mirroring the actions of his fingers. 

Your walls began to clamp down, signaling you're ready to come on his thick fingers. He rests his forehead on yours as he looks you in the eyes, “Come for me,” he orders. His fingers move faster, applying more pressure to your clit, “Now.” You come hard, your eyes squeezing shut and your body shaking tremendously. 

Jimmy shifts between your thighs, his large hands gripping them possessively as he slowly unbuttons his pants. His cock springs out, slapping his stomach.He wraps his fingers around himself and strokes himself slowly, “Look at me,” he softly orders, and you obey. Your eyes catch sight of him stroking his long thick cock, dripping with precum and his red throbbing tip. He swallows hard as he watches your innocent face. You're not wearing any makeup, your cheeks are flushed, and your hair is a wild mess. He finds it so sexy. 

His hand moves faster on his cock, “spread them legs fa me,” he softly orders, his voice barely above a whisper. You spread wider as you let out a small whimper, imagining how you’d look taking all of him. He’s aware of his size and is usually rougher, but something about you makes him want to be careful. 

Jimmy hooks your legs over his shoulders, pulling you closer as he continues to stroke himself, his large tip nearly touching your stomach. “Look down,” he demands. His hard, large cock, inches from your stomach. His large hand wrapped around the base. The sight is so beautiful you bite your lip, “S-so big,” you moan. He groans deeply at your words, his hand moving faster over his cock as he continues to rub himself against your stomach. He leans down and catches your lip with his teeth, “You want it?” he asks, his voice low and soft. 

You quickly nod, “yes p-please, daddy.” At your plea, he loses control. He reaches down and grabs your hips. Lifting you slightly as he positions himself at your entrance. He's so big that he can barely fit at first, but he pushes in anyway. 

He pushes through your tight little pussy, his thick cock stretching you to the limit, causing you to arch your back and cry out in pleasure. He pauses for a moment, his tip buried inside of you, before pulling back and slamming back in. A brutal pace is set, pounding into you with his large meaty cock, causing your body to bounce with each thrust. 

Tears began flooding down your cheeks, “f-fuck, daddy-.” He continues his deep thrusts, loving how his size is making you cry out like this. One hand moves to grip your throat, and the other holds your hip, pulling you onto him with each thrust. “Take it babygirl.”

The sight is pulling the both of you towards edge. Your body bouncing on his cock, your back arching, one hand squeezing your tit while you stick your tongue out like an innocent little slut. He goes deeper, his cock hitting places no man ever has. You help him spread your legs wider, to watch him disappear inside of you.

Your pussy tightens around his cock, the sensation so overwhelming you break into a sob, hiccupping. He leans down, his face in your neck, biting and marking your skin until he pounds into you even harder. His large hand squeezes your tit roughly, his other hand moving to your clit, massaging it fast and hard.

Your sobs and hiccups become more frequent before you- “I- UGH! Daddy Im g-”. He feels you start to convulse around him, your body tensing as you try to speak. “Not yet, babygirl. Please,” he growls as he hooks his arms under your thighs, pulling your legs back even further, “You take it so fucking good,” he praises, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. 

Your face is covered in tears and your jaw begins to shiver as you try to hold back your orgasm, “Daddy! P-PLEASE-! hiccup.” He smirks at your desperate state, loving how he's made you lose control. “Hold it for daddy… please, baby,” he whispers in your ear. His hips move in slow, deep circles now, pressing deeply against your most sensitive spots. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, your nails latching onto his back as you fight your orgasm. His large hand moves to silence your whimpers, “such a good girl, fightin’ it for me,” he moans. Your body tenses more and more with each slow, deep thrust. He knows you can't hold out much longer. He swallows your desperate moans with a devouring kiss, “Now, babygirl,” he whispers. It’s enough to make your walls clench. You squirt all over his sheet and your body shakes uncontrollably, “f-f-f-FUUCK!- ughh.” Jimmy empties his hot seed into your ruined pussy. “This pussy so good baby… fuckkkk.” he continues to slowly fuck you through your orgasm as he also lets your pussy milk him dry.

[obsessedhoneycomb]

Red Mercedes

George Russell x fem!reader

Summary: Perfect married life sometimes hides the rotten truth of lies.

Warnings: cheating, slight manipulation, George getting what’s his at all cost, curse words and smut implication

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: After a frustrating week of not having any good ideas, I had a dream, so I finally had something to pour my heart into. It was so intense that it didn't let me eat my lunch, how fast my fingers drummed at the keyboard and my thoughts flew out of my brain. Enjoy it! :) wanted to include my favorite pregnancy trope, but i decided to not go that way this time

———

“Dad, I’m trying to tell you that mum is acting weird.” Your twelve year old son was travelling with George to Cayman Island for this event he was invited to, to speak about his ongoing career path as a leading F1 champion. 

George glanced at him, his hands gripping the steering wheel, regally upset about the fact that even your son noticed that something isn't right with your marriage.

“Mum is just tired. That’s all.” he tried to brush it off, but he knew. 

“You know, dad, I’m not stupid. I saw her with some man a week ago, sitting at the restaurant when we were out on a bike with boys. She was smiling at him like… Well, not like she’s smiling at you.” his son continued to ponder with his thoughts, pouring his mind out, making George feel uneasy. Pulling over at the hotel they were supposed to stay at, engine off, he turned his body to face his son.

“Buddy, I know that you love your mom, hell, who could not love her.. But she’s- it’s just a phase. I’m gonna figure it out, and you have nothing to worry about.” he tried to reassure him with his soft smile, his eyes betraying him, reflecting the weight of the growing lies.

———

“I see that you’re here with your son, he grew so much throughout the years, aren’t you afraid that he’s gonna be after you soon, you know, with racing and stuff?” 

George chuckled, moving his gaze at his giggling son in the first row, his sweaty palm wrapped around the microphone. “Well, there is the possibility, but his hobbies are different. He’s much more of a cyclist, so I think that Tadej Pogacar should be scared of having another rival.” 

“Oh, that’s great! Guess the Russell’s family is spreading through the field of sports. It’s a shame that your wife isn’t here with us, we had planned to have a family photo shoot for you, also spending some time on the yacht with the staff here.” 

George was professional at keeping his composure, so he just chuckled again, looking at the crowd of people in the small room.

“We can do that anyway, we don’t need my wife for that. She’s busy with some of her other projects, so…” 

Everybody seemed to be happy about it, not noticing the slight frown on George’s face and his son’s.

You were staying at home in Monaco, texting with your lover. Your naive brain was living in an illusion that nobody knows, you sneaking around with someone else, secret meetings at the old restaurant on the other side of the town, your red luxurious Mercedes parked in front of it very often. You were really dumb in some aspects and being so careless about getting after your own desires, you hurt your family in the process.

All those years of your marriage you heard it around you all the time, how George is a gentleman, kind guy, loving and caring husband and father, how every other woman would die for having him just for at least five minutes. But nobody saw that toll that had an impact on you, your life when you fell pregnant unexpectedly, and how George married you just because of it. Feeding you with all those empty promises, but leaving you alone through all that maternity shit because he was at the peak of his career while you were breastfeeding his restless son at night.

Yeah, there were times you were genuinely happy as a family, somewhere between the three to ten years of your son, George was more present, you accompanied him at races from time to time, depending on how his and your parents were willing to look after your kid. 

But the last two years felt like a nightmare, because George won another two championships after five years of no luck, his fans being literally everywhere, even breaking into your home. You spent a lot of time on the go, changing your location and you grew tired of this. Intimity between you and George was long gone, and you yearned for something he couldn’t give you, the tension, secrecy and passion. Even if it meant to destroy everything you have.

———

Darkness overtook the docks in Monaco, rain washing away the summer heat wave. George stood at the huge ass window of your penthouse, sipping on his whiskey, even though he did not favour the liquid that much, he got used to it from time to time. Your son was away for the holiday cycling camp, and with summer break in F1, it left him home alone with the lingering scent of your expensive perfume you saved for your not so secret lover. His mind wandered over divorce, but he was too prideful to let it happen. He didn’t care about your needs, shameful desires, he wanted to keep his family together. Even if it meant to ruin your sweet secret life. And he knew his plan was working the minute you stepped into your home through the threshold, sobbing quietly, with your dress soaked through, droplets of water dripping down your hair. His lips curling into smirk, he took the last sip of his drink, leaving the glass on the coffee table in the living room, walking slowly to the hallway.

You kicked off your heels, running your hands through your wet hair, wiping off your tears along the way, your mascara staining your cheeks. Feeling how your dress is sticking to your body, you let out a frustrated sigh with a whine, finally noticing George standing in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest wearing an unreadable expression.

“What’s the matter baby?” his tone was laced with smugness, he couldn’t hold it back anymore, seeing the mess you were.

“Nothing.” you muttered, trying to walk around him to get to the bathroom, but he was after you.

“You’re clearly distressed. Tell me what happened. You were supposed to have a night out with girls, if I remember correctly?” yeah, he was playing dumb.

“I was. But my car left me in the parking lot, because the smoke started to go out of the engine and I needed to call the towing service and-” you stopped in your rant abruptly as you got to the part you wanted to erase from your memory and you didn’t want to talk about it with George.

“And? Tell me darling.” his tone was firm, demanding, he caged your body against the counter in the bathroom.

You looked up to see his face, locking your gaze with his, reading his mind. He knew. And yet he was still there.

“He left me.” with your head slumped down you whispered feeling deeply ashamed. 

George smiled victoriously as the memory from earlier this week flashed through his mind, him paying that pathetic lover of yours loads of money to leave you, to ruin you, to destroy you.

“Oh baby.” he cooed sweetly, cupping that mascara stained cheeks of yours, listening to your sobs. And that was the last straw and you broke down in tears, all of the suppressed emotions flowing out as you wrapped your arms around him tightly, remorse and guilt building in your heart. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry…” you whispered into his chest, your tears staining his shirt. 

“Shhh… I’m right here baby. It’s okay.” his fingers brushed through your hair affectionately, making you relax.

“You should be disgusted with me…” 

“Believe me, I was at first. But from your point of view I somehow understood it.” 

“How… How long have you known?”

“Since the first time you giggled at your phone.”

“I thought that I’m good at hiding it.” 

“Oh, you were so naive that I won’t notice. You weren’t even creative at hiding your car properly. That exclusive red shade of it doesn't go unnoticed. Even our son saw you many times.” 

You shuddered when you felt his lips ghosting against your temple. The mention of your son stabbed you through your heart. 

“George, I-” 

“Shhh, darling. Your stupid boyfriend ditched you, so let your husband, the man who truly knows how to devour you, take care of you.” George whispered with a soft hum, his lips pressed under your ear.

The way he talked made you feel ashamed. But it ignited something within you, the lust and desire for him. And it made you curse internally at how dumb you were for the past years.

“I’m gonna make sure you remember who you belong to.” 

After the night to remember when George really took you like a slut you were, listening to your whines and moans, making you tell him how that lover made you feel, what he did to you, he made sure that you won’t escape his embrace again. Watching you sleep beside him, your body covered in love bruises and marks he hasn’t seen on you for months, he brushed the strand of your hair from your face, smiling proudly at how easy you were. All those years he thought you’re this soft and reserved girl who likes vanilla in bed, only to find out that you loved to be cock drunk all the time, overstimulated to the madness to keep your mind from wandering outside of the wedlock. 

“You were so wrong to think that I’d let you go, my beautiful wife…” and his whisper lingered through your sleeping brain like a lullaby.

-

Please don't use my writings without a permission. Pictures found on Pinterest.

Tags: @chilling-seavey

[anderii]

Maid for her

Joe had been together with Anna for well over a year but when he lost his job due to the shop he worked in closing he had been very downhearted, he hated not bringing in any money and Anna's high profile management job just made it worse. He wanted to do nice things for her but had little money and now it was almost valentines, he knew Anna understood but that didn't make it easier. However he had an amazing idea to give Anna a very special surprise evening.

Anna left for work at just after 7 as always, Joe already had made coffee, breackfast and had the washing machine on. Anna joked that Joe would make somebody a wonderful wife one day and he just laughed.

Once she had gone he took out the box with the maid costume she had worn to a halloween party a couple of years before. Without hesitation took it out and slipped it on, Joe was quite small and slim he could just about squeeze into its figurehugging embrace.

It took a while but when he had finished putting on the outfit and wig that came with it he couldn't believe the transformation, his heart beat faster as he imagined Anna seeing him for the first time. But now he had to get things ready for the evening.

It was time to clean and prepare the dinner he had decided on as a special valentine's surprise.

All too soon it was time to prepare for Anna's return. Joe waited near the window so he could see Anna coming and surprise her by opening the door, needless to say that Anna was definitely surprised.

Welcome home, miss. Joe quickly spoke and guided Anna inside, I have prepared a special valentines meal for you. I hope you like your surprise.

it took Anna a few moments to regain her composure. You did all this for me? She questioned, "Well, you said I might make a good wife, but I thought I could try being a maid first Joe replied, and Anna laughed and hugged him.

Please come through dinner is just about ready .

They had a lovely meal and Joe made sure Anna wanted for nothing, they chatted about the surprise and the day they had both had.

After dinner Anna called Joe over , well my little maid what is to become of you after this day is over? Joe looked down embarrassed

Come here my good girl Anna said, come and sit with me, i think we are going to have a very fun night tonight my sweet thing I think we may be getting to see a lot more of this uniform from now on, so much so that maybe we should look into getting you a couple more, what do you think about that ?

Joe was silent for a minute, then I....I think I would like that too.

Oh Thank you Joe this is the best valentines ever.....💜

[admiringlove]

➵ pairing. gojo satoru x fem! reader.

➵ summary. after an unexpected encounter, you find yourself unraveling in ways you never expected—especially when just the mention of gojo leaves your heart pounding for all the wrong reasons.

➵ warnings. gojo being gojo; pureblood families being toxic and abusive; mentions of grievous injury; mentions of rough sports (quidditch, duh); profanity; slight timeline inaccuracy in the wizarding world; etc.

➵ genre. wizarding world au; academic rivals to lovers; enemies to lovers; angst; fluff; adventure; SLOWBURN; etc.

➵ word count. 14.3k.

➵ author's note. lowkey. was stressful writing this one but I HAD SM FUN WITH THE PLOT <3 ty for proofreading to @gojofile // @fxstpace my love for u is endless :3 and also taglist is only open until chapter four comes out, so pls sign up if you'd like !!

➵ navigation. previous, masterlist, next.

Three weeks. That’s how long it takes to narrow down the bloody list.

Between Quidditch practice, Prefect duties, the Dueling Club, and the endless demands of the Marauders’ secret requests, you’re barely treading water. Sleep is a luxury you haven’t afforded yourself in days—not with everything weighing on your shoulders. The vials of Invigoration Draught are the only reason you’re still standing, stolen in the dead of night from Snape’s private stores or brewed hastily in the second-floor girls’ lavatory where no one ever ventures. Not even Moaning Myrtle bothers you anymore, at least not when she isn’t in the mood for company.

But those are just the mechanics of survival. The true strain is Gojo, who has taken your fight three weeks ago as a cue to abandon all responsibility, leaving you to shoulder the entire burden alone. You can feel his smugness radiating across the Great Hall whenever you arrive late, ink smudged on your fingers and hair sticking awkwardly to your face, while he sits surrounded by friends, ever unbothered, ever insufferable. You hate him with a passion that burns in the marrow of your bones. The kind of hate that keeps you awake at night, staring at the ceiling of your dormitory, imagining all the ways you could wipe that stupid grin off his face.

And yet, here you are. Dragging your exhausted body to the Courtyard because Shoko, the anchor in your spiraling chaos, demands it. She cornered you after Charms today, catching you slipping into a seat at the back of the classroom—your usual place in the front row long since abandoned. You can’t blame her for being worried. If the roles were reversed, you’d do the same. And honestly, she has a point. You can barely stand to look at yourself in the mirror, the dark hollows under your eyes brutally attesting to the past few weeks.

Still, there’s a spark of triumph burning faintly inside you. The list is done. Finally, mercifully, it’s done. You can rest, even if just for a little while. That is, after you give Gojo a piece of your mind. He deserves it, the arrogant twat. But then, perhaps your pride is to blame too. You could have asked him for help—should have, really—but the idea of admitting defeat feels like swallowing broken glass.

The air is sharp as you make your way down the corridor leading to the Quad Courtyard, the early spring chill biting at your skin. Your hand finds its way into your robes, curling around the cool glass of the vial nestled there. The Invigoration Draught is your lifeline now, a quiet little secret you cling to in the absence of sleep. Turning the corner, you pull it free and uncork it with a quick twist of your wrist, tipping the contents back in one practiced motion. The liquid burns as it slides down your throat, a fleeting heat that settles into your chest before dissipating. It won’t undo the ache in your limbs or the weight in your head, but it will keep you upright. That’s enough.

You slip the empty vial back into your pocket, adjusting your robes as you approach the Courtyard. It isn’t just exhaustion you’re trying to hide—it’s the unmistakable fragility of being stretched too thin, the fear that anyone might look too closely and see how close you are to breaking. You know Shoko will notice anyway. She always does. But with the list finally behind you, maybe you can let yourself breathe. Just a little. For now.

You wave to her as you cross the Courtyard, the grass soft and damp beneath your feet. Shoko is perched on the edge of the fountain, her posture casual, but her gaze sharp. You manage a smile, hoping to mask the exhaustion clinging to you like a second skin. Her eyes narrow the moment they meet yours, and you realize your facade is paper-thin.

"You look horrible," she says bluntly, skipping any pretense of pleasantries.

"Well, hello to you too," you reply, sinking down onto the stone beside her.

"You look like you haven’t slept in weeks," she presses, her tone half-concern, half-reprimand. Without waiting for a response, she hands you a neatly wrapped snack—a gesture so quintessentially Shoko that it almost makes you laugh. You peel back the parchment to reveal a warm pumpkin pasty and a delicate square of butterbeer fudge. Both are undoubtedly pilfered from the kitchens, no doubt acquired through her uncanny ability to charm the House Elves.

“Thanks,” you mutter, taking a bite of the pasty. The buttery crust crumbles perfectly, and for a brief moment, you let yourself enjoy the comfort of the warm filling. Shoko doesn’t waste a second diving into conversation, her voice animated as she talks about the upcoming Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match.

You nod along, interjecting with the occasional quip to keep the banter alive. It’s easy, familiar, a rhythm you don’t need to think about. That is, until she drops the bomb.

"If you keep showing up like that, Utahime’s going to bench you tomorrow. Before the match.”

You freeze mid-bite, blinking at her. “Wait, what? The match is tomorrow?”

She stares at you, wide-eyed and disbelieving, as if you’ve just confessed to a crime. “What day do you think it is? Tomorrow’s Saturday. We’re halfway through October.”

“Oh my God,” you murmur, the realization hitting you like a Bludger to the gut. “I haven’t practiced at all.”

Shoko bursts out laughing, the sound light and unapologetic. “Utahime is so going to bench you,” she says through her giggles. The certainty in her voice makes your stomach sink even further.

“I should go practice,” you murmur, your voice almost swallowed by the rustling leaves in the Courtyard. “I don’t want to be benched. It won’t look good on my record. Applications to St. Mungo’s are next year, and—”

“Hey.” Shoko’s voice interrupts, her hand settling gently over yours, grounding you. Her fingers are warm despite the chill in the air. “You’ll be fine. It’s okay. Go practice. I’ll see you on the field tomorrow. Just don’t stretch yourself too thin, alright?”

Her words are simple, but the weight of them pulls at something fragile in you. You hum, nodding, as you push yourself up from the edge of the fountain. The flakes of the pasty and fudge in your fingers now feel like a lifeline—a small kindness amidst the chaos you’ve made of your routine. “Thanks for the food. I owe you one.”

“Stop thanking me for feeding you!” she calls out, exasperation softened by amusement. “I wouldn’t have to if you’d actually show up to lunch!”

You don’t answer, already halfway across the Courtyard, the sound of your shoes muffled against the cobblestones. The air grows cooler as you slip back into the castle, the familiar draft of the corridors tugging at the hem of your robes. Your legs move on autopilot, carrying you up the winding stairs toward your dormitory. You need your broom; you need to practice; you need to prove to Utahime, and to yourself, that you can keep up.

Your thoughts spiral inward, full of determination, until—

Bang.

You collide with something—or someone. The impact is jarring, sending you staggering backward. Pain blossoms in your nose, sharp and immediate, and your ears ring with the aftermath. You instinctively clutch at your face, the warmth of your hands doing little to soothe the throbbing ache.

“Shit,” you hiss, your voice muffled as you press your palm to your nose.

When you finally look up, the world tilts slightly off-center. Standing before you is Fushiguro Toji, tall and imposing, his presence cutting through the haze of your pain. His green eyes, flecked with a sharpness that always seems to watch too much, narrow slightly as they take you in. For a moment, his expression is unreadable, but then his brow furrows—not in irritation, but in something softer, something that almost looks like concern.

“Sorry,” you stammer, the word tumbling out before you can stop it.

Toji shakes his head, slow and deliberate. His voice is low, rough like gravel underfoot, but not unkind. “Don’t apologize. I wasn’t lookin’.” His gaze flickers to your hands, still cradling your face. “Your nose okay?”

“Y-yes,” you manage, wincing as the sharp throb in your nose intensifies. “I’d like to think so. I have to practice for tomorrow’s Quidditch match.” Your voice comes out weaker than you intend, more brittle.

Toji tilts his head, his lips curving into the faintest semblance of a laugh. It’s not cruel, but it’s amused, the way one might humor a child determined to do something reckless. “Yer nose is literally bleedin’,” he says, gesturing toward your face as if you hadn’t noticed. “I think you should pay a visit to Madam Pomfrey instead. Besides, we’re winning anyway. We’ve got two new additions to the team, and, well—there’s me.”

His confidence borders on arrogance, but it’s casual, unforced, as if he’s simply stating a fact. You roll your eyes, already feeling the exhaustion creeping back in, but you muster enough energy to counter. “Ah, you forget. There’s Gojo, Suguru, and Shoko too.”

“And me,” he replies sharply, narrowing his eyes at you like you’ve just insulted his entire lineage. “I’m literally one of the most important players. The Keeper is arguably more important than anyone else.”

“Sure,” you say, tilting your head in mock consideration, a smirk tugging at your lips. “And the Seeker isn’t?”

Toji groans, dragging a hand down his face, muttering something about Gryffindors being too smart for their own good. But there’s no venom in it. Instead, he studies you for a moment, his gaze dropping to the way you’re wiping blood from your nose with the sleeve of your robe. He sighs. “We really should get that nose checked out,” he says, his tone softening despite himself. “I think yer brain stopped workin’. You also look…” He hesitates, as though weighing whether to say what he’s thinking. “Weird. Like you haven’t been sleepin’ or somethin’.”

The comment cuts through you—not because it’s cruel, but because it’s too accurate. You feel weird. You feel like a ghost haunting your own body, trying to move through the day with a willpower that’s stretched far too thin. His observation, though unintentional, feels like being caught in a lie you’ve been telling yourself. For a moment, you don’t know how to respond.

"I'm fine. I-I need to—"

The words falter as your head swims. Your eyelids feel unbearably heavy, as though weighted by lead. You blink once, twice, trying to summon the rest of the sentence from the haze that clouds your mind, but nothing comes. A sharp pang of embarrassment flares briefly before exhaustion crushes it, leaving you too drained to care.

Your legs wobble as you sway slightly, and Toji's hand snaps to your arm, steadying you. His grip is firm but measured, and a faint warmth radiates through his palm. He does this a lot, doesn’t he? Always having his palm around your arm. Like something protective.

"Alright," he says with the kind of certainty that brooks no argument, "yer comin’ to Pomfrey’s with me. Now." His tone leaves no room for protest, not that you have the energy to muster one.

He starts guiding you toward the Floo near the Great Hall, his hand never leaving your arm. The pressure of his grip is oddly comforting, gentle despite its firmness, as though he’s mindful of not making you feel worse. You let yourself be steered, your legs moving sluggishly beneath you as if they belong to someone else. The green flames of the Floo engulf you, their roar oddly soothing in your dazed state.

Moments later, you find yourself in the Hospital Wing. Toji doesn’t let go of your arm until he’s eased you onto a stretcher, his brows furrowed as he glances down at you. Madam Pomfrey appears from her office, her expression a mixture of concern and exasperation, though it’s her pristine white headscarf—tucked neatly around her dark hair—that catches your eye first. You blink at it, momentarily distracted by its perfect symmetry.

“What seems to be the matter?” she asks briskly, her eyes sweeping over you before narrowing in that way of hers that makes you feel six years old again.

You try to speak, but Toji beats you to it. He glances at you, waiting for you to explain, but when you don’t, he lets out a low sigh, clicking his tongue in irritation. “This one looks like she’s gonna pass out any second,” he says, jerking his chin toward you. “I doubt she’s slept at all in the last week.”

Madam Pomfrey’s sharp eyes land on you, brimming with a knowing disappointment that makes your stomach sink. She doesn’t even need to ask—you can tell she already knows. “Oh, come on, [L/N],” she chides, her voice tinged with exasperation. “How many times have I told you not to rely on Invigoration Draughts to get through your workload?”

Toji’s head snaps toward you, his brows drawing together in disbelief. “You mean she’s done this before?”

“Oh, yes,” the matron replies, her voice rising slightly as she straightens. “Multiple times. Ever since she figured out how to brew it, really. She’s got a knack for pushing herself too far. Hold her here while I fetch the Sleeping Draughts. She has the tendency to run away if I don't keep an eye on her.”

She turns on her heel, muttering about stubborn students as she disappears into the back room. Toji looks at you with narrowed eyes, his arms crossing over his chest.

“You're telling me you've done this before?” he says, half-scolding, half-incredulous. “And you ran away instead of listenin' to her?”

You let out a soft groan, covering your face with your hands. “Shoko dragged me here, anyway. There was no point.”

“And I’m supposed to make sure you don’t pull the same shit this time, huh?” he mutters, shaking his head. His voice carries a layer of irritation, but there’s something else beneath it, something softer, something you’re too tired to untangle.

“I really can’t afford to be benched tomorrow at Quidditch,” you say, your voice almost pleading as you push yourself upright. Your legs swing over the edge of the stretcher, and you fix him with a look—eyebrows knitted, lips pressed into a determined line. Tilting your head slightly, you let out a weary sigh. “Please, just let me go. I promise I’ll sleep after the match tomorrow.”

Toji takes a step closer, his arms crossing in front of him as he raises an unimpressed brow. “Absolutely not. Trust me, the puppy-dog eyes? They don’t work on me. Too many have tried, and every single one of ‘em failed.”

You roll your eyes, exasperation flickering through the fatigue that weighs you down like a heavy cloak. “Ah, yes,” you say dryly, “I forget. Your list of never-ending girlfriends never stops growing, does it?”

He smirks, a lazy, lopsided thing, and shrugs. “Gotta earn my keep somehow, right?”

“By ‘earn,’ you mean leech off people who actually like you?” you counter, the faintest spark of mischief finding its way into your smirk. It feels oddly warm, this exchange—like a fleeting ember in the cold fog of exhaustion that clouds your head.

Before he can retort, Madam Pomfrey strides back into view, clutching a small vial of Sleeping Draught. She stops in front of you, her expression a familiar mix of exasperation and maternal sternness, and uncorks the vial with a sharp twist. Toji steps back, leaning against the wall with his arms still crossed, his dark eyes watching with an amused tilt as she turns her focus to you.

“You will drink this,” Pomfrey says, her voice clipped and no-nonsense. “And you will drink it now, [L/N]. I do not want a repeat of last year when you fainted during Transfiguration. Open your mouth.”

“Can I just take it with me to the dorms?” you ask, a too-bright grin spreading across your face. It’s feigned, of course, but you try to sell it anyway, knowing full well it’s a futile effort. “I mean, I might be occupying a bed that someone else actually needs, someone truly in need of it—”

“Open your mouth,” she interrupts sharply, her glare unwavering. “Or I’ll have Fushiguro over there hold your jaw open for me.”

Toji snickers softly, the sound low and grating, and you shoot him a withering look before turning back to the matron. Your grin melts into a resigned frown as you let out a long sigh. “Fine. But how long will I be out?”

“That depends,” she says, her tone sharp as a scalpel. “How long have you stayed awake?”

You hesitate, glancing down at your hands as if the answer is written in the creases of your palms. “F-five days,” you mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. “I think.”

Pomfrey exhales sharply through her nose, shaking her head in disbelief. “You’ll drop dead before you even apply to St. Mungo’s if this is how you intend to spend your time here,” she says, rolling her eyes as she tips the vial to your lips. The liquid is bitter, and slightly tingly as it slides down your throat, and she doesn’t stop until the vial is completely empty.

“Count to ten,” she instructs, already moving to tidy her tray of potions. “You’ll be out before you get to six. You’ll wake up in the morning before the match—or if you don’t, I’ll make sure you do. Now lay down and sleep.”

The mattress beneath you feels impossibly soft, like it’s absorbing all the tension you didn’t even realize you were holding. Your eyes flutter shut almost involuntarily, the exhaustion pulling you under like a wave, and you hear Toji’s low chuckle somewhere in the distance. By the time you reach four, the world around you has already dissolved into quiet darkness.

You don’t know why, but your sleep is restless, plagued by whispers that seem to coil in the corners of your mind. They slide through the darkness like snakes, hushed and slithering, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t make out who they belong to. Only the words—if they can even be called words—linger, hissing and sharp, brushing your ears as if they’re alive.

The darkness is suffocating, so complete it feels like you’ve dissolved into it, lost all shape or form. You can’t see, but you hear them—those voices, too close and yet distant enough to elude you. A strange chill prickles down the back of your neck, and though you can’t feel your own limbs, the sensation of being watched settles into the base of your spine like a weight.

And then it changes. It twists. The hissing grows louder, more distinct, more serpentine. Parseltongue.

Your eyes widen instinctively in the black void, though they don’t open. The sound burrows into you, unwelcome, curling around your ears like the coils of a viper. You don’t understand the words—just the feeling they bring, cold and sharp as steel. You try to move, to shout, to demand to know who or what is there. But you can’t. You are utterly frozen, utterly powerless.

The whispers grow closer, pressing in like invisible hands, and for a moment, you’re sure you feel something brush against your skin. And just as you think you might suffocate under the weight of it all—your eyes snap open.

You sit up sharply in the infirmary bed, your chest heaving as you gulp down breaths. The air feels thinner here, the light too bright, almost blinding. It takes several blinks for your vision to adjust, for the trembling in your hands to ease. The infirmary is quiet, eerily so, and when you glance at the clock on the far wall, it reads seven-thirty.

The world outside is awake, alive. Breakfast is probably in full swing in the Great Hall. You can almost hear the buzz of voices, the clatter of plates and goblets, and the excited chatter about the first  Slytherin versus Gryffindor Quidditch match of the season. You should feel excitement, anticipation, something other than this lingering dread sitting heavy in your chest.

But the memory of the dream—or was it more than a dream?—clings to you like cobwebs. You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, your feet brushing the cold floor, and push yourself up. There’s a sink on the far side of the room, and you stumble toward it, splashing water onto your face in a desperate attempt to scrub away the lingering unease. The cold jolts your senses, loosening the tightness in your jaw, but it doesn’t wash away the whispers still echoing faintly in your head.

When you return to the bed, you notice something on the bedside table. A neatly wrapped square of chocolate bark and a vial of something pale and glowing. Madam Pomfrey’s unmistakable touch. You know better than to drink the potion without her supervision—she’d have your head for it—but the chocolate feels safe, comforting. You unwrap it carefully, breaking off a corner and nibbling on it. The taste is rich, sweet, melting on your tongue like a balm for your nerves.

You don’t hear the footsteps at first. It’s only when they’re close—so close—that you look up toward the infirmary entrance. Fushiguro Toji.

He steps into view with an expression you can’t quite pin down. For a fleeting moment, you think it’s concern. But then his usual smirk appears, a practiced mask, and he makes his way toward you with the casual confidence he seems to carry everywhere.

“You look better than yesterday afternoon,” he says, his voice low but teasing.

You narrow your eyes at him, more out of habit than any real annoyance. “Something wrong? You looked worried.”

“Worried?” he echoes, as if the word itself is foreign. He waves a hand dismissively, though his gaze lingers on you longer than it should. “Nah. Just figured I’d check on the Gryffindor martyr who thinks five days without sleep is a brilliant idea.”

You grimace at that, your teeth sinking into another corner of chocolate to avoid answering immediately. “I had things to do,” you mutter, avoiding his eyes.

“Right. ‘Things.’ Another one of your little secrets, huh? Like the library thing a few weeks ago?”

“It’s not something I can talk about,” you admit, shrugging. “Not with anyone. Not even Shoko or Utahime.”

His smirk fades into something sharper, his jaw tightening. “You passed out in the corridor,” he says, his voice louder now, firmer.

“I didn’t pass out,” you argue. “I just... lost myself for a moment.”

"That's... the stupidest thing I've ever heard," he scoffs, his voice sharp but softened by the exasperation etched into his features. His words hang in the air, cutting, but there’s something else simmering beneath them—something harder to name. He doesn’t say anything else at first, just sighs heavily, dragging his fingers through his hair as his gaze flickers around the infirmary like he’s searching for some invisible lifeline, some tangible object to anchor himself to.

Then, without warning, he steps forward, fingers curling around the curtain at the edge of your bed, yanking it closed in one smooth motion. The sound is soft but decisive, the scrape of the curtain rings along the metal rod unnervingly final. Suddenly, the world outside this small, sterile cocoon ceases to exist, and the air between you grows heavier, charged with something you don’t entirely understand.

Your breath catches as his actions register, and instinctively, you set the chocolate aside, fumbling as you place it back onto the wrapping paper on the bedside table. Your heart picks up pace—loud, insistent, beating so fiercely in your chest that it feels like the sound of it might echo in the confined space.

And then, Toji moves toward you. And despite all the things you’ve been busying yourself with for three weeks, you feel yourself wanting him closer. 

There’s something about the way he walks—slow, deliberate, as if each step is calculated. His eyes are locked onto yours, sharp and assessing, and there’s an intensity in his gaze that makes you feel like he’s sizing you up for a fight. Your breath grows shallow, your fingers curling over the edge of the mattress as if it might steady you somehow. You don’t know why he’s here—not now, not when he should already be heading to the field to warm up. The match starts at ten, and it has to be close to eight by now. He shouldn’t be wasting his time here.

And yet, he is.

When he finally stops, he’s standing between your legs, close enough that the wool of his sweater brushes against your knees. Too close. You tilt your head up automatically, craning your neck to meet his gaze, and your pulse thrums louder in your ears. His presence is overwhelming, suffocating in a way that makes it impossible to think straight.

He’s tall, towering over you in a way that makes you feel small, and the sheer proximity makes your skin buzz with awareness. His breath fans against your forehead, warm and steady, and the thudding in your chest grows louder—so loud that you swear he must be able to hear it, too.

“You’ll be good on the field today, yeah?” he asks, his voice low, rough in a way that sends a strange shiver down your spine.

You blink up at him, your lips parting instinctively as you nod. The movement is small, jerky, as though the words you want to say are lodged somewhere in your throat, refusing to come out. His gaze doesn’t waver, doesn’t soften, but there’s something about the faint curve of his lips that feels oddly tender, almost mocking.

A ghost of a laugh escapes him, barely audible, as his hand comes up to tilt your chin upward with his thumb. The touch is light but deliberate, his thumb pressing just enough to guide your face to meet his. “Would you like…” he starts, his words slow, deliberate, “let’s say, a small distraction before our game?”

“A distraction?” you repeat, your voice barely above a whisper.

You feel it then—his chest brushing lightly against your chin, the contact subtle but enough to make your skin prickle with heat. He nods, the corners of his lips twitching faintly as though amused by your reaction. “A distraction,” he hums, his tone almost gentle, though there’s something darker lurking beneath it. “Something to take the weight off your mind.”

Your hands move without thought, reaching up to rest against his chest. The wool of his sweater is soft under your palms, warm, grounding in a way you hadn’t expected. You can feel the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your touch, and it’s almost unnerving how solid he feels, how real.

He watches you with an intensity that makes your throat tighten, his eyes flickering over your face like he’s trying to memorize every detail. There’s a softness there that catches you off guard, an unspoken question lingering in the air between you.

Your heart thunders in your chest as his other hand moves, his fingers brushing against the curve of your jaw. His touch is light but sure, his thumb tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your cheek. It’s tender in a way that feels almost unbearable, and you find yourself leaning into it without meaning to.

The way he looks at you—like you’re something fragile, something worth handling carefully—makes your breath hitch. It feels too much, too intimate, like he’s reaching into parts of you that you didn’t know existed. And yet, you don’t pull away.

He leans in closer, so close that the space between you is barely a whisper, and his breath ghosts over your skin. Your fingers tighten slightly against his chest, the fabric of his sweater bunching beneath your grip, and you feel the tension in your body coil tighter and tighter.

His voice is quieter now, softer, as he murmurs, “Let me help you.”

And then, slowly, carefully, he closes the gap.

You realize, with a sharp twist of embarrassment, that you’re far more inexperienced than you thought when it comes to kissing. That truth becomes glaringly obvious the moment Fushiguro Toji leans in, his arms bracketing you on either side, trapping you against the infirmary bed. His lips crash against yours with a fervency that’s all-consuming, his movements filled with a raw, unrestrained hunger that makes it hard to think, to breathe, to do anything except feel.

There’s a desperation to the way he kisses you, as though he’s been starved of something essential, and for some reason, you’re the only source of relief. A soft, involuntary sound escapes your lips—a moan, more a surprise to you than to him. Your hands find their way into his hair without thinking, your fingers threading through the dark strands, tugging lightly, experimentally. You feel him smirk against your lips, the hum of approval rumbling low in his chest, and his grip on your face tightens just enough to keep you firmly in place.

The kiss deepens, the press of his mouth becoming surer, more insistent, and you find yourself responding without hesitation, your body acting on instincts you didn’t know you had. There’s something dizzying about the way he makes you feel—like you’re teetering on the edge of the vast and uncharted, and you can’t decide whether you’re terrified or exhilarated.

But then, just as you’re pulling him closer, just as your body is tilting dangerously into his, he pulls away. The absence of his lips leaves you breathless, blinking up at him in dazed confusion as his smirk reappears, infuriatingly self-assured.

“I said, a distraction, [L/N],” he drawls, his voice low and teasing. “You’re getting carried away.”

You stare at him, chest heaving, your lips tingling from the kiss. Heat rises to your face, and you stammer, “I-I... I haven’t done that before. Sorry.”

His expression shifts, softening slightly as he processes your words. His hand still cradles your face, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone in a gesture that feels far too intimate. “Yeah?” he murmurs, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “And how’d you like me being your first?”

Before you can answer, the distant sound of bustling breaks through the charged silence. Footsteps echo down the hallway, voices carrying—Madam Pomfrey’s voice among them. Toji stiffens, clearing his throat as he steps back abruptly. His composure returns in an instant, and he moves to pull the curtain aside, leaving no trace of the moment you just shared.

You feel the loss of his presence acutely, the warmth of him fading as Madam Pomfrey strides into the room, her sharp gaze sweeping over you.

“I trust you took the chocolate?” she asks, her tone brisk but not unkind. Her eyes flick to Toji, her brows lifting slightly. “And Fushiguro, you’re here already, I see.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Toji replies smoothly, his voice steady. “Came from breakfast to remind her about Quidditch warm-up. We’re supposed to leave in twenty minutes to meet at the field by nine.”

Pomfrey hums, nodding in approval as she turns her attention back to you. “Drink the vial before you go,” she instructs, pointing to the small glass container on the bedside table. “It’s a lesser dose of the Invigorating Draught to keep the body pain away. But mind you, you still need more sleep.”

You nod quickly, offering her a sheepish smile. “I’ll make sure to get back to my normal routine from today,” you say earnestly. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey. Really. It won’t happen again.”

She gives you a knowing look, her lips twitching with faint amusement. “We both know you’re lying, [L/N]. But all right. Go on, then. Do well today, yes?”

You hop off the bed, grabbing the vial and uncorking it as you make your way to the door. The draught is bitter but effective, the warmth spreading through your body almost immediately. Toji trails behind you, offering Pomfrey a quick goodbye before the two of you step into the corridor.

The air feels cooler out here, sharper, as you glance at your watch. It’s later than you thought. You pause, turning to Toji. “I should get going,” you say, adjusting the hem of your Quidditch robes. “Utahime’s probably waiting for me in the Common Room.”

“I bet she is,” he replies, his voice laced with amusement. His eyes linger on you for a moment, and you find yourself drawn to the faint scar across his lips before meeting his gaze again.

“Good luck,” you say with a small smile, your tone teasing. “I hope you lose.”

“Of course you do, Gryffindor,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Don’t go fainting again.”

There’s a tug in your chest, a strange reluctance to leave him, but you force yourself to turn away. Hugging yourself lightly, you walk down the corridor, the sound of your footsteps echoing faintly. You don’t look back, though you can feel his gaze on you, and as you round the corner, a small smile creeps onto your lips.

By the time you reach the Gryffindor Common Room, the team is already assembled near the exit. Utahime spots you immediately, her sharp voice cutting through the chatter.

“And where in seven hells have you been?” she demands, her tone half-scolding, half-concerned. “I’ve been missing a Chaser since yesterday, and you didn’t even bother to show up for practice last night!”

“Infirmary,” you say simply, shaking your head lightly as if to tell her you’ll explain later.

Her eyes narrow for a moment before she sighs, exasperated. “Get in line. We’ll talk formations and head to the field. Got it?”

You nod, falling into step beside the other two Chasers. It's when your eyes land on Maki Zenin and Itadori Yuji, as they stand nervously on the other side of the line. You offer them a small smile, which they return, though their focus is already shifting to Utahime’s instructions.

As she outlines the strategy, your mind drifts momentarily, lingering on the weight of the match ahead. Slytherin has improved—everyone knows it. With players like Gojo, Shoko, Geto and Toji being good as they usually are, new players like Inumaki and Mai, the game will be anything but easy.

You sigh, steeling yourself. There will be teasing if you lose, no doubt about it. But you know that, whatever happens, today will leave its mark.

When you reach the field, the morning air is crisp, the sky a dull gray with the promise of clearer weather later in the day. The scent of damp grass lingers in your nose as you make your way toward the locker rooms, the sound of Utahime’s voice rising over the clamor of your teammates. She’s already rallying everyone together, going over strategies, but you barely hear her. You tune it all out, focusing instead on the motions of getting your gear on—shin guards, arm guards, knee guards. You secure your goggles, adjusting the strap until it sits comfortably over your forehead. Your broomstick leans against the bench beside you, ready to be picked up at a moment’s notice.

You’re tightening the straps on your gloves when Utahime approaches, her presence unmistakable even before she speaks. “You okay?” Her voice is quieter now, less commanding, edged with something close to concern. “Why were you in the Infirmary last night?”

Your hands still for the briefest second before you force yourself to continue lacing up your gloves. You glance up at her, hesitant, guilty, and the shift in her expression is immediate. Her eyes harden sharply, knowingly, the same way they always do when she pieces things together before you’ve even said a word. Shoko and Utahime have always been like this—able to read you like an open book, no matter how hard you try to shut them out. It’s been that way since your second year, and you’ve never stood a chance at keeping anything from them.

She crosses her arms over her chest, her nostrils flaring as she whisper-yells, “What is your problem? Before our first game? Really?”

You wince, your shoulders sinking slightly. “I’m sorry,” you mutter, bending down to grab her chest gear from the bench. You hand it to her carefully, the weight of her disappointment thick in the air between you. She snatches it from your hands, her jaw tight, her frustration radiating off of her in waves.

“Don’t apologize to me,” she says sharply. “Just try not to get yourself killed during the match. We already have our work cut out for us as it is.”

You frown, straightening up. “What do you mean?”

She exhales through her nose, adjusting her gear as she casts a glance toward the field. “Toji as Keeper. Gojo as Seeker. Geto and Shoko as Beaters, as usual. But now they’ve got Mai Zenin and Inumaki Toge. It’s practically a pureblood soup, except Suguru.” Her voice drops slightly, her lips pursing. “Shoko’s betting against us. She doesn’t think we’ll be able to win.”

Your stomach twists at that. You follow her gaze, taking in the sight of your teammates—some stretching, others already geared up, adjusting their grips. The weight of the match presses against your ribs, heavy and insistent, but you shake it off.

You reach out, placing a hand on Utahime’s shoulder, grounding both of you. “Hey,” you say, your voice steady, “we’ll be fine. We have you. Their Chasers have nothing on you.” You offer her a small, confident smirk. “You’re better than Fushiguro at what you do.”

Utahime stares at you for a moment before scoffing, but you see it—the slight easing of her shoulders, the flicker of amusement that softens her scowl. And that’s enough.

The game begins in your favor, if only just. The sky is a pale, grey blue, and the wind howls against your ears as you navigate through the rush of players. Itadori hovers high above the field, surveying the chaos beneath him like a hawk circling its prey. He hasn’t moved much—not yet. He’s waiting, watching. Below him, the match unfolds in frantic bursts of movement, the Quaffle trading hands so quickly it’s impossible to keep track for more than a second at a time.

Gryffindor leads by twenty points. It’s not much, but it’s enough to feel like the momentum is yours for now. You push forward, the Quaffle slipping through your fingers into Nanami’s waiting grasp. He flies in tandem with Mei Mei, their movements precise and effortless as they cut through the green and silver defense, closing in on the goalposts. You stay back, slightly behind them, your fingers tightening around your broom handle. You’re the safety net, the last line before a counterattack.

And then you see him.

Toji looms in front of the goalposts, watching the play unfold with infuriating calm, his body tense but unreadable. His grip on his broom is casual, effortless. He isn’t worried—not yet. And then, just as Nanami throws, he moves.

You see the smirk before you see the save.

The Quaffle rebounds off his forearm, spinning wildly into the open air before two blurs of green streak across your vision—Mai Zenin and Inumaki Toge, moving like twin daggers slicing through the sky. The Quaffle is gone in an instant, stolen from your team’s grasp before anyone can react.

And then you realize what’s happening.

Your heart pounds as you scan the field. At first, you think it’s coincidence, but then you see it for what it is: a mirror. Every movement your team makes, they replicate. Slytherin has stopped playing their own game and started playing yours. Every formation you attempt, they counter with eerie precision. A third Chaser lingers behind, watching—an old player, you realize, Kamo Noritoshi, slotted into the team like a missing puzzle piece. He isn’t rushing, isn’t chasing. He’s studying, reading your patterns, your movements. Feeding them back into his team like a conductor leading a symphony.

Nanami glances back at you, waiting for direction. But what do you do when your own strategy is turned against you?

You swallow, gripping your broom tighter. The hesitation lasts for only a second before you shake your head, motioning for Nanami to push forward. It doesn’t matter if they’re mirroring. You just need to break through. He understands immediately, nodding before diving forward, weaving past two defenders. He’s close. So close.

And then your stomach twists.

Across the field, moving like shadows on the edge of your vision, you see Geto and Shoko. Not advancing, not playing. Something worse. They pass a Bludger between them with their bats, calculated, measured, the way an archer tests their aim before loosing an arrow. Their eyes are locked on Nanami, tracking him with frightening precision.

They’re going to hit him.

If they land the shot, Nanami won’t just drop the Quaffle—he’ll drop out of the sky. You don’t think. You move.

Your fingers tighten around your broomstick as you surge forward, urgency sinking its claws into your chest. You barely have time to glance at Maki and Todo Aoi before signaling them to move with you. You need your Beaters with you. You need to get there before it’s too late.

Nanami has no idea what’s coming. And you don’t know if you’ll reach him in time.

"Guys!" Your voice cuts through the wind as you glance back at Maki and Todo, motioning for them to close in. They don’t hesitate. They’re right behind you, the three of you moving in tandem like cogs in a well-oiled machine. You barely notice the way your palms slick against the handle of your broom, the way your heart pounds so violently it drowns out the roar of the stadium. You’re too focused. Too set on the scene unfolding ahead of you.

Nanami is a target. He doesn’t even realize it.

You streak past Inumaki Toge, your breath sharp in your chest. A misstep, a fraction of hesitation, and you might fall off your broom—but that doesn’t matter now. The game isn’t fair, not today. Slytherin isn’t just playing to win. They’re playing to maim.

Your gaze locks on Geto, the way he maneuvers with that same unsettling calm he always carries. Too calculated. Too easy. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

"Maki, slow down!" you yell, jerking your broom lower, making yourself a smaller target. She listens instantly, adjusting her grip, her sharp gaze flicking toward you for the next instruction.

"Dopplebeater Defence," you call, your voice cutting through the wind. "Both of you—hit the Bludger at the same time! Make it collide with theirs!"

You don’t need to explain. Todo has been a Beater long enough to understand, and Maki was impressively experienced, despite being a new player. It’s a risky move, a technique Gojo had shown you in second year—one that required ruthless precision, perfect synchronization. Two Beaters striking a single Bludger at once, doubling the force behind it. Enough to knock another Bludger off-course.

It has to work.

You take a deep breath, lower yourself until you’re nearly horizontal against your broom. The Bludger is hurtling toward you now, whistling through the air like a bullet. If you miscalculate the timing, it’ll knock you straight off your broom. You hear the crack of bats against iron—Maki and Todo, perfectly in sync.

And then—impact.

The Bludger screams through the air, missing you by inches. You feel it graze just over your head, a rush of displaced wind knocking your hair into your face. It streaks across the pitch, colliding mid-air with the one Geto and Shoko had aimed at Nanami. The sound of impact is sharp, brutal, metal on metal, sending both Bludgers spinning wildly into the open air. Nanami’s eyes find yours, wide, startled, grateful. And then, he moves.

Before Toji can even blink, the Quaffle is through the hoop.

A triumphant grin spreads across your face as the stands erupt into cheers. You catch Shoko watching you from across the field, unimpressed, arms crossed. You wink at her. She exhales sharply, shaking her head before retreating back into formation.

Nanami loops around, keeping pace with you as you hover near the midfield, watching the play unfold. He’s still breathing hard, but his expression is calmer now.

"Thanks for that," he says, tilting his broom slightly so he can glance over at you.

"Anytime," you reply, rolling out the tension in your shoulders. Then, lowering your voice, you add, "I’m more worried about the Snitch. I can handle the field."

Nanami hums, scanning the pitch. "I haven’t seen Gojo."

You sigh at the mention of his name. "Don’t worry. He’s lurking around somewhere."

Nanami frowns, dodging a Bludger with an effortless twirl before shooting you a glance. "What do you mean?"

You shake your head. "He won’t let himself be seen until he’s seen the Snitch. He’s done this before, once or twice."

"Then we’re screwed," Nanami mutters, his tone dark, but there’s a glint of something sharp behind his words.

Your brows knit together just as the two of you dart past Mai, weaving through the chaos to steal the Quaffle. You flick a quick signal to Mei Mei, who shifts position to defend as you lead Nanami toward the goalposts.

"Why?" you ask, glancing sideways at him.

Nanami doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, his grip tightens around the Quaffle. He exhales sharply through his nose before finally saying, "Because Gojo Satoru is above us."

Your breath catches.

"Fifteen, maybe twenty feet," Nanami continues, voice edged with tension, "but exactly above us."

Your fingers fumble momentarily around the Quaffle before you recover, instinctively passing it off to Nanami. You don’t even process the movement. Your focus is elsewhere. You tilt your head back, searching the sky.

And there they are. Gojo and Itadori. Side by side.

The Snitch—glinting, flitting just ahead of them like a trick of the light. Your breath catches. Holy shit.

"Kento, get Mei Mei here," you call over the roar of the game. "I’m going back. I have to play defense, or get Gojo off Itadori’s tail."

Nanami’s head snaps toward you, his brows knitting together in confusion. "You—what?"

But his broom never wavers. He exhales sharply, glancing at Kamo Noritoshi and Mai Zenin before his grip tightens around the Quaffle. You already know what he’s about to do. A clean, brutal check—one he’s perfected over the years. And sure enough, just as two Slytherin Chasers align for a pass, he cuts between them, intercepting the play with ruthless efficiency so they can’t steal the Quaffle.

You don’t wait to see the outcome. You tilt your broom upward, signaling to Mei Mei, who swoops in seamlessly to take your spot. And then you’re climbing—higher, higher, higher—pushing your broom for all it’s worth.

The wind cuts against your face as you rise above the rest of the players, the field shrinking below you. You barely think, barely breathe. Your focus is locked ahead. On Gojo. On Itadori. On the sliver of gold flitting just beyond them.

Gojo is gaining on him.

Your broom is old, sluggish compared to Gojo’s Firebolt, but you push it harder, forcing every last ounce of speed from the worn handle. Your arms burn, your fingers aching from the grip you refuse to loosen. You won’t let him win. Not today.

You’re closing the distance now—just a few feet between you and him, the faint scent of broom varnish and wind catching in your nose. He doesn’t see you coming.

And then, he looks back. Gojo Satoru looks behind him. It knocks the breath from your lungs.

Because in all the years Gojo has played, through every brutal match, every near-impossible maneuver, he has never once looked back. He is always the fastest. Always ahead. Always calculating three—no, ten—moves in advance, too confident, too untouchable to ever check behind him.

But today, he does. At you.

"What in Salazar’s name are you doing?" he shouts, his voice almost incredulous. You want to roll your eyes, maybe even laugh, but you don’t. Because that’s when you see it—Itadori.

His body lifting, shifting, hoisting itself up. Your heart stops as you realize what he’s about to do. He’s standing. Itadori Yuji is standing on his broom.

A gasp rips through your throat as you force yourself forward, pushing until your fingers graze the fabric of Gojo’s robe. You have him. You could pull him back, could send him reeling, could foul him if you wanted to—but you don’t.

Because in the next breath, Itadori dives. His broom plummets beneath him, and for a single, terrifying moment, he’s free-falling. You hear a collective gasp from the stands, a sharp intake of breath from Gojo himself. But Itadori doesn’t panic. His fingers latch onto the handle at the last possible second, his body swinging with the momentum of his own reckless descent.

And in his hand, the Snitch. Golden, fluttering wildly, wings beating against his grip.

The stadium erupts.

Your brain stutters, your vision blurs, and you can’t quite grasp the moment as it happens—because Gojo is yelping in disbelief, because your own breath is caught somewhere between a laugh and a curse, because Gryffindor just won the match.

And just as you’re about to pull away, just as the weight of the moment settles, you realize something else.

Gojo let you catch him. On purpose. He let you win. On purpose.

The silence of the locker room is thick, settling over you like a second skin. After promising Utahime you’d lock up, you let yourself sink onto the bench, exhaling, pressing the heels of your palms against your eyes. The exhaustion isn’t just physical; it’s marrow-deep, a slow ache that radiates through every part of you. Your shoulders throb, your fingers cramp from gripping the broom too hard for too long, your shins sting beneath the tight guards still strapped to your legs. You should take them off. You should get up, peel the sweat-damp gear from your skin, but your body refuses to move, leaden and sore.

Then, a knock. Then another.

You blink, lifting your head, gaze hazy, breath slow. A shadow lingers just beyond the door, broad-shouldered, heavy in its stance.

"Hello?" your voice comes out rough, hoarse. No answer at first. Then, the door creaks open, and you recognize him before he steps inside.

Toji.

You sigh, setting your goggles down on the bench beside you. “You can come in, you know,” you say, voice still heavy with fatigue. “I’m decent.”

He chuckles, low, throaty, the sound flowing around the dimly lit room. And then you see him—hair mussed with sweat, a smirk tugging at the scar on his lip, his eyes sweeping over you in that slow, assessing way of his.

"No enchantments?" he muses, stepping in. He leans against the lockers, arms crossed over his chest. "How’s a Slytherin like me walking in here without getting hexed?"

"I took them off," you mutter. "Sometimes Shoko comes in after games. Didn’t want her getting cursed by accident."

He nods, thoughtful, then grins. "Guess you got lucky. It’s me."

"Guess so."

Your voice is even, but there’s something in the air now, something heavy and pressing, shifting the room into something smaller, more intimate. He moves, pushes off the lockers, steps closer. Close enough that the space between you barely exists. Close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off of him, the scent of sweat and something sharper, something dark.

“What, you didn’t wanna see me?” he says, voice playful, but his eyes flicker with something else, something more knowing.

You shake your head, letting out a tired chuckle as you lift one leg, fingers moving to unbuckle the straps of your shin guard. He doesn’t move away. He watches. And then, his hand closes around your calf. You freeze.

Your breath stutters. His grip is firm, warm, but not rough. He lifts your leg with ease, braces your foot right against his chest. Beneath your sole, the fabric of his shirt is warm, damp, the muscle beneath solid and unmoving.

A slow, quiet inhale. His thumb skims over the edge of the shin guard, almost absentmindedly, then he tugs at the straps, unfastening them with a precision that makes something coil hot and restless in your stomach.

A sharp gasp escapes you. Toji smirks.

“Never been touched there, have you?” his voice is low, a murmur meant only for you, but there’s something teasing in it, something that makes heat prick at the back of your neck.

"Shut up," you mutter, trying for irritation, but it comes out weaker than you want. Your fingers curl at your sides, gripping the edge of the bench. "You already know I haven’t."

He hums, amused, like he enjoys hearing you admit it.

"Just teasing, princess," he murmurs, softer now, almost gentle.

Princess. The word rolls off his tongue, something smug about it, something easy. Your pulse flutters against your throat. You hate how easily he affects you, how effortlessly he reads every twitch, every breath, every shift in your posture.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he presses your foot more firmly against his chest. Your breath catches. The heat of him seeps through the worn cotton of his shirt, his ribs expanding beneath your heel with every slow inhale. His fingers work at the last strap, pulling it free, peeling the shin guard away from your leg. The air feels sharp against your bare skin, exposed in a way that feels ridiculous, but Toji doesn’t look away. He watches you. Watches the way you tense, the way your breath shudders, the way your fingers tighten against the bench.

He knows. And worse, he enjoys it.

“Toji—”

Your voice is barely above a whisper, something uncertain curling at the edges of the syllables. He exhales, slow and measured, before releasing your leg. It drops to the floor with a dull thud, the absence of his touch leaving behind an invisible imprint, like a lingering heat in the air. You barely have a second to regain your balance before his hand is at your chin, fingers curling with a gentle but insistent pressure, tilting your face up toward his.

You go still.

His palm is warm, the pad of his thumb dragging lightly along your jaw, grazing over the rapid flutter of your pulse. He watches you with an expression you can’t quite name, something teetering between amusement and something deeper, something weightier.

“We can’t,” you murmur, wide-eyed. “Someone could walk in at any time—”

He scoffs, the sound low and unimpressed, tilting his head as he considers you. “Have you always been such a goody-two-shoes?”

You swallow hard, nodding before you can stop yourself, and Toji has the audacity to smirk, slow and knowing, like he’s already anticipated your reaction before you’ve even processed it yourself.

“You always answer questions honestly?” he asks, voice nothing more than a murmur.

“No,” you admit, quiet. “Only when I want to.”

His smirk deepens. “That’s my girl.”

Your breath stutters, your skin prickling under the slow, deliberate way he traces the slope of your jaw with his thumb. It’s not rough—not exactly. It’s careful and intentional, a touch that holds its own kind of weight.

You shift, fingers twitching at your sides. “Toji,” you try again, barely recognizing the way your own voice wavers. “What if someone comes in?”

“No one’s here,” he says, quiet, certain. “I checked. Both teams are back in their common rooms, every other student’s at the castle by now. There’s a few idiots still outside, loitering, but no one near here.” He tilts your chin just a little higher, like he’s forcing you to take in the certainty in his expression. “Trust me, princess.”

You exhale.

“Oh,” is all you manage.

Slowly, you push yourself to stand, your muscles still sore from the match, exhaustion settling deep into your bones. But even standing, you’re still nowhere near his height. The top of your head barely reaches his collarbone. He’s looking down at you with something unreadable in his gaze, something patient but expectant, like he’s waiting for you to come to some kind of inevitable conclusion.

You blink at him, slow and heavy-lidded. “‘M exhausted, you know,” you say finally.

His lips curl. “Want me to do all the work, don’t you? Brat.”

There’s a low amusement in his voice, a knowing edge to it, and you barely manage to hold back your grin as you let your hands rest lightly against his chest as you ask, “Would that be so bad?”

"I'm starting to think not," he murmurs, voice rough with something low and amused, something that simmers just beneath the surface. Then he’s leaning down, closing the distance between you, his lips pressing against yours with an ease that makes your stomach drop. The kiss is slow at first, exploratory, before you sigh into it, parting your lips just enough to let him in. He takes the invitation immediately, tongue sweeping against yours, tasting, teasing.

He laughs into your mouth, a low, satisfied sound, smiling even as he deepens the kiss. His grip tightens at your waist, pulling you flush against him, as if he’s intent on anchoring you there, on making sure you feel every inch of him, every shift of his muscles, every deliberate press of his fingers.

"I enjoyed losing to you," he breathes, mouth brushing against the corner of your lips.

You hum, tilting your head to press a kiss to his jaw. You have to rise onto your toes just to reach it, stretching up, but the effort is worth it when you feel the way he reacts—his breath stuttering, his hands gripping you even tighter. The kiss is messy, warm, damp from sweat, but you don’t care. You like it this way. You like having the burden off of your shoulders.

"I enjoyed winning," you whisper against his skin, grinning as he grunts, pulling you closer.

"I'm starting to think you enjoyed it a little too much," he mutters, voice low, teasing.

"I did," you admit, giggling, before trailing your lips down the column of his throat, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses there. His skin tastes like salt and heat and something distinctly him. You let your teeth graze lightly, sucking just enough to feel him tense beneath you. He makes a quiet sound, something between a wince and a hum of approval.

“And you said you weren’t experienced,” he rasps.

"I read," you murmur, lips brushing over the dip of his collarbone. "It’s the only experience I’ve got. Muggle romance books are quite... vivid, you know."

He exhales a laugh, low and gravelly. "Oh, are they?"

You nod, fingers tracing absentminded circles at the nape of his neck.

"They teach you how to kiss a man's neck in those books?" His voice is all amusement, all dark-edged curiosity. "Might have to get my hands on one of ‘em."

"I bet you'd put it to good use," you tease, looking up at him, tired but still wanting, still pressing as close to him as you possibly can.

His hands slide up, firm and deliberate, as he leans down, his nose brushing against your throat before his lips follow. His kisses are open, hot, unhurried. The first press of his tongue against your skin makes you gasp, legs suddenly unsteady beneath you. You grip the back of his neck instinctively, fingers threading through his damp hair.

"Oh, fuck," you breathe, eyes wide.

He smirks against your skin, dragging his teeth over the spot he’s just kissed. You shudder in his arms, a quiet moan slipping out before you can stop it.

"Didn't know it felt that good, huh?" he murmurs, still working his way along your neck, sucking, biting just enough to make you tremble.

You shake your head, fingers curling against him. “M-more,” you manage, voice barely above a whisper.

Toji stills for a second, then pulls back, studying you with something unreadable in his expression—half amused, half something else entirely.

"You keep saying things like that," he says, voice rough, "and I might start to lose control."

You blink up at him, dazed, breath uneven. "O-oh. We should stop before that happens, then."

He huffs a quiet laugh, running his thumb over the side of your throat, tracing the places where his mouth had just been. "Yeah," he agrees, though he doesn’t look entirely convinced. "Probably should."

You’re halfway up the stairs to your dorm when Utahime calls out behind you, "[L/N], are you coming to the party tonight?"

You pause, one foot on the next step, and glance back at her, brows furrowed. "What party?"

She gives you an incredulous look, as if the answer should be obvious. "To celebrate our win against Slytherin, of course," she says, shrugging. "Or, you might want to sleep, actually."

You shake your head, suppressing a yawn. "I’ll come for half an hour. Not more than that, though. I’m exhausted."

Utahime hums knowingly. "Alright. But beware, some of the students might be sneaking in Firewhiskey," she says, her lips curling into a mischievous grin. "I’m so happy today, I might just drink some."

"You’re of legal age," you deadpan, rolling your eyes. "You’re allowed to drink. Just make sure Kento or someone responsible keeps an eye on the younger ones. Last thing we need is a bunch of first-years drunk on our watch."

She snickers, nodding. "Right. Oh, by the way, no trouble locking up the locker rooms? You were in there for a while. I was going to check in case you fell asleep, but then you came back."

Your breath hitches—just for a second. The memory flashes through your mind unbidden. The press of Toji’s hands against your waist, his lips dragging over your neck, the weight of his body caging you against the lockers. A shiver runs down your spine. You clear your throat hastily.

"Oh, yeah," you mumble, patting your pockets. "Here, sorry." You pull out the keys and hand them over.

Utahime takes them, bumping her shoulder lightly against yours. "No problem, dummy," she says. "I trust you with it."

You blink at her, forcing a casual smile even as the phantom sensation of Toji’s breath against your skin lingers. Your voice comes out a little too high when you say, "I’m going to freshen up."

She doesn’t seem to notice, waving you off as she heads in the opposite direction. You exhale, shaking off the thoughts, and ascend the rest of the stairs.

The dorm is mostly empty when you step inside. Mei Mei lounges on her bed, a book held lazily in her hands, flipping a page without looking up. The other beds remain untouched, their occupants likely already at the party.

"Hey," you mumble, dragging yourself toward your desk. Your owl hoots softly as you run your fingers over its feathers, offering a half-hearted scratch behind its ear before collapsing onto your bed with a heavy sigh. For a moment, silence settles over the room. Then, a knock. Light, but deliberate, against the windowpane.

You groan, rolling onto your side to squint at the glass. Outside, bathed in the soft glow of the moonlight, a snowy owl perches on the ledge, its brilliant white feathers speckled with black and grey. Even before you open the window, you know exactly whose bird it is.

Hedwig. Satoru’s owl.

Scrambling up, you unlatch the window, letting her swoop gracefully inside. She lands on your desk, tilting her head as if scrutinizing you before dropping a neatly folded piece of parchment onto your lap.

"Thank you," you murmur, rubbing a gentle hand down her feathers. She preens under your touch, blinking slowly. Your owl simply watches her as she does.

Reaching for the box of owl treats, you grab a few and offer them to her. She takes them eagerly, nibbling at them as you unfold the note. The handwriting is unmistakable—looping and careless, yet undeniably elegant.

Meet me at the Room.G.S.

You sigh, rubbing a hand down your face, and glance at the snowy owl still perched beside you. Her pale feathers gleam like stardust against the dim candlelight.

"He works us both too hard, doesn’t he?" you mutter, scratching lightly under her chin. "Quite a twat, Gojo is."

You flip the parchment over with quick fingers, already reaching for your quill, the ink bleeding into the fibers of the page as you scrawl a simple reply—on my way, your initials curling sharply at the end. The response is short, dismissive, but Gojo will understand. He always does.

Hedwig tilts her head, watching you with intelligent amber eyes as you fold the note back into her talons. You run a hand over her smooth feathers, a quiet smile ghosting over your lips. “Take this to him, yeah?” The owl blinks once, as if unimpressed by the errand, before spreading her wings and taking off into the night.

Your gaze drifts to your own owl, Aether, perched regally near your desk, his feathers a luminous blend of rich browns and burnished golds. He reminds you of the morning sun, with how warm and gentle he is. 

“Mei, I’m heading out,” you call, stepping toward the dormitory exit. Mei Mei doesn’t glance up from her book, only flicks a wrist in acknowledgment, and you take that as permission enough.

The castle corridors are dim and hushed, the distant drip of unseen water echoing through the stone walls as you descend into the dungeons. Shadows stretch long across the damp floor, torchlights flickering weakly against the cold stone. It’s quiet—too quiet—but you know these halls well. You navigate them with the ease of someone who has long since memorized every crease on the stone floors, every whispering draft of wind.

By the time you reach the Room, your shoulders ache, exhaustion creeping into your bones. You sink into the sofa the second the door closes behind you, melting into the cushions with a relieved sigh. The air is warm here, the fire crackling softly in the hearth, its glow casting golden halos against the old wooden walls.

Your body is still, your eyes fluttering closed, when the fireplace erupts in a violent burst of green flames. You groan.

“Wow,” Gojo drawls as he steps through the Floo, dusting off his robes with an exaggerated flourish. "Look how happy you are to see me."

He’s already moving toward the long table at the back of the room, parchment and ink scattered across its surface in half-organized chaos. You push yourself up with sluggish movements, trudging after him, your limbs heavy with fatigue.

"The list is narrowed now," he says, tapping a finger against the board in front of him. "We check their ancestry next. Whoever’s closest to Salazar Slytherin is our culprit."

You barely hear him. Your mind is elsewhere, still lingering on the Quidditch match, on the way he had turned back—looked at you—let you win.

"Gojo," you say, voice tight, "we need to talk about what happened on the field today."

He doesn’t turn around. "This too, obviously," you continue, gesturing vaguely at the board, "but you let us win. That’s not fair—"

"Can you just shut up and focus?" His voice is unusually sharp, his head bowing slightly as he rubs his temples. "Let’s just finish this. Our usual work, this investigation—whatever you want to call it. Then I’m getting food and going to bed. Please."

You stare at him, stunned for a moment by the uncharacteristic irritation.

"What?" Your voice raises slightly. "No. You let me win. You gave up the Snitch to Itadori. You looked back. At me. And you never look back, because, in your words, you’re the greatest Seeker of our generation at Hogwarts."

Gojo exhales sharply through his nose, finally facing you. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something guarded about the way his jaw locks. "Well, I lost, didn’t I?" He tilts his head, eyes impossibly blue beneath the dim light. "You won, so just be happy with it, will you?"

"No," you step closer, refusing to drop it. "Tell me why you looked back."

"Fucking hell," he mutters, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just did, okay? Now, why are you—" He stops abruptly, his entire posture shifting. His eyes narrow, sharp and focused, his lips parting slightly as if he’s just noticed something out of place.

"What’s that?"

His tone is different now. Not lighthearted, not teasing. Something else entirely.

You blink. "What’s what?"

His gaze flicks to your collar, his expression twisting into something unreadable. Slowly, his hand raises, finger pointing toward your neck. His brows draw together, knotted like a ship’s rope, a thread of unease laced into his voice.

You don’t understand at first. But then—oh.

Your breath stutters in your throat as realization dawns. The dull ache along your skin, the faint, lingering tenderness when his eyes bore into it. Hesitantly, your fingers reach up, pressing lightly against the spot. And, fuck.

It’s sore. A faint, blossoming bruise. Toji. Your stomach tightens.

"It’s nothing," you say, too quickly, dropping your hand like you’ve been burned.

But Gojo isn’t buying it. His gaze sharpens, scanning your expression, your hesitation, the way your shoulders have gone rigid. "What have you been doing?"

"What do you mean, ‘what have I been doing’?" You force a laugh, too light, too unnatural. "Why are we—"

"I should really be asking who you’ve been shagging," he cuts in, his voice lower now, his jaw tight. There’s something unreadable in his expression, something edged, almost mocking, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

Your stomach flips, panic flaring at the edges of your mind. "Who I sleep or don't sleep with is none of your business," you snap. "Can we just get back to work?"

"So you only want to work when it’s convenient for you. Got it," he mutters, voice low, almost an afterthought, but laced with something sharp, something needling.

It’s infuriating, how easily he gets under your skin. Your hands clench at your sides, your jaw tightening as you walk past him, moving toward the board. "I did my part. You do yours. Check everyone's ancestry."

Gojo exhales, slow, measured, but you can hear the irritation in it, the way it sizzles between you like static. "It won’t take me as long as it took you to do yours," he says, and there is venom in it now, an unmistakable edge, something raw and unpolished in the way the words scrape against his teeth. "Three weeks is too fucking long to narrow down a list, especially when you know someone’s practicing dark magic right under our noses."

His voice is a weapon, cutting deep, slicing through flesh and bone, right into the most fragile, buried parts of you. Your fingers twitch at your sides, a heat rising up your spine, slow and simmering. His words actually contained malice now, and that made you seethe more than ever.

"I’m sorry, what exactly is your problem?" you turn to look at him, voice measured, though you can feel the sharpness curling at the edges of your words, barbed and coiled, ready to strike.

Gojo exhales again, longer this time, running a hand through his hair like he’s barely holding himself together. "You tell me," he bites out.

"I was in the Infirmary since yesterday, not that you care," you snap, crossing your arms over your chest. "But if I wasn’t, I would’ve gotten it to you sooner. Believe it or not, I have other responsibilities."

The room stills.

For a second, a single breath of time, his expression falters. His mouth parts slightly, and it’s as if the words have lodged themselves in his throat, unable to move past the disbelief settling over his features. He’s trying to say something, but nothing comes out, and then—

"You were in the Infirmary?"

The words are different now. They lack their usual sharpness, their casual cruelty.

"Yes," you say, rolling your eyes, refusing to acknowledge the slight shift in his expression. You turn back toward the board, hands moving with the precision of someone determined not to be affected as you point to a piece of parchment. "Most purebloods are in Slytherin and Gryffindor. We've only got around six or seven in Ravenclaw—"

"Fawkes."

His voice is lower this time. Steady, but heavy.

You don’t turn around.

"Just stop, for a second," he says, and there’s something unfamiliar about the way he says it, something unsettled in the spaces between his words. "What do you mean you were in the Infirmary? You seemed fine at the game—"

"Does it matter?" you cut in, finally looking at him, eyes sharp. "We’re working now, aren’t we? I’m not hindering your progress on this very serious matter."

Gojo’s nostrils flare slightly. "You were in the Infirmary and you didn’t tell me," he says, like he’s trying to understand it, like he’s trying to piece something together that doesn’t make sense in his head. "Obviously, that’s a problem. Of course it matters."

"Why?" you challenge, tilting your head.

His jaw tightens. "Don't tell me you've been skipping sleep and dosing yourself with Invigoration Draughts again."

You hesitate. Just for a moment. A flicker of guilt crossing your face before you school it away, pressing your lips together. "It doesn’t concern you," you say instead, carefully, deliberately. "You’re the one who gave me more shit to do, anyway."

Gojo exhales sharply, his hands flying up in exasperation. "I would’ve helped if you just asked!" he says, voice rising, incredulous. "All you had to do was ask for help! But no, you want to be the greatest, the most competent—"

"Oh, excuse me for wanting to be more like you!"

Your voice cracks, breaks open with something raw and burning, something pulled straight from the depths of your chest.

"Not all of us," you continue, breath hitching, "can afford to sleep in class and still pass every subject effortlessly. Not all of us can juggle being in every damn club, playing Quidditch, and somehow still come out on top without breaking a sweat!"

Gojo doesn’t say anything. Not immediately. His face is unreadable, but his hands have curled into fists at his sides, shoulders squared like he’s holding something back. Something unreadable flickers across his expression.

And for the first time tonight, you think you might have finally caught him off guard.

You leave the Room of Requirement not long after, shoulders stiff, pulse an uneven thing against your ribs. Gojo doesn’t stop you, doesn’t call after you, doesn’t do anything except turn back to the board and continue working, as if the argument hadn’t happened at all. As if you hadn’t just torn into each other like wolves snapping at the same scrap of meat.

Fine. Let him do what he wants.

You tell him, stiffly, that you’ll handle the usual Marauders’ business while he works on the genealogy of the people on the list. You don’t wait for his response before slipping out the door.

By the time you reach the Gryffindor common room, you can already hear the noise—laughter spilling through the corridors, the faint hum music. You hesitate for only a second before stepping inside, and immediately, you’re assaulted by the sight of it.

The room is alive with celebration, every corner threaded with streamers and floating ribbons. A long table in the back groans under the weight of drinks and plates stacked with food, the rich scent of butterbeer and treacle tart hanging thick in the air. Someone bursts into laughter near the fireplace, and you catch a glimpse of a pair of students dancing precariously on one of the sofas.

Your gaze drifts toward the drinks table just in time to see a sixth-year spike the punch. You roll your eyes but say nothing. You’re not in the mood to play prefect tonight. Then—

A hand grabs your arm, warm fingers curling around your wrist. You flinch, instincts sharp, but when you look up, it’s only Shoko. Her dark eyes are alight with amusement, a slow, knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Hey," she says, voice bright over the hum of the party, "Congrats on the win today. I certainly didn’t expect you to see through Geto and my tactics."

Standing just behind her, Geto Suguru lifts his drink, nodding at you in quiet acknowledgment. His lips barely curve, but there’s something teasing in the way he holds himself, something easy.

You smirk. "I can read through you like a book, you know."

Shoko scoffs, looping her arm through yours. "Yeah, yeah," she says, before her eyes flick over you, sharp and assessing. "You also look better than yesterday. I’m guessing you finally went to the Infirmary?"

"I did," you groan, rolling your head back slightly. "She made me sleep all afternoon. And then through the night as well. Only woke up this morning before the game."

"And yet," Shoko says, tilting her head slightly, voice lilting, "you already went and snogged someone."

Your stomach drops. For the hundredth time today. 

"What?"

Her grin widens as she gestures vaguely toward your collar.

"Your neck is visible to everyone," Geto murmurs, voice smooth, almost lazy, as he sips his drink. "You might want to wear something that hides that very obvious bruise. Or at least, heal it. It’s about to turn purple."

And then, slowly, carefully, you bring a hand up to your throat. Again.

The skin is sore when you press against it. Warm. Tender. A telltale sting left behind by lips and teeth and hands that had pressed too insistently against your skin.

You exhale sharply, looking down at your hands, then back at them. "I should probably head in and heal this, huh?"

Shoko blows a loud raspberry, waving a dismissive hand. "Absolutely not. I say, you flaunt it. Look over there—two fifth-years snogging like they’ve just received their last rites. And there—our oh-so responsible seniors, already one button away from indecent exposure."

Your eyes follow where she’s pointing. Across the room, a pair of younger students are tangled together on a loveseat, oblivious to the world, and just beyond them, a group of seventh-years are laughing too loudly, half-drunk and clearly daring each other into something that will, inevitably, lead to detention by morning.

You share a pointed look with Geto, who only raises an eyebrow in that slow, unbothered way of his before you turn back to Shoko. "Yeah, well, I don’t exactly want my entire life on display like these people—"

"Oh, live a little," she interrupts, rolling her eyes as she grabs your wrist and tugs you forward, already leading you toward the drinks table. "Suguru, I’m getting this one a drink. Stay here in case Satoru shows up!"

"Shoko, no—"

"Stop protesting," she huffs, slinging an arm around your shoulders. "Your team won because of you. Those idiots wouldn’t have been able to do a thing if you hadn’t saved Nanami or chased after Gojo. So, come on, let loose for once."

You pout. "I told ‘Hime I’d go to sleep. If she sees me around, she might feel bad."

Shoko waves you off as if that’s hardly a concern. "I got it, don’t worry. I’ll cover for you." She pauses only long enough to grab a cup from the table, dipping it into the bowl of spiked punch before pressing it into your hands. "Here. Drink this."

You hesitate, staring down at the liquid, pink and unassuming, but when you glance up, Shoko is watching you expectantly, an eyebrow raised in challenge.

With a begrudging sigh, you lift the glass to your lips and take a sip.

The sweetness hits first—fruit, sugar, something deceptively light—but then comes the burn, slow at first, then sharper, threading fire down your throat. You wince slightly, swallowing against the heat. It’s not unbearable, but it lingers, warm and curling in your stomach.

Shoko grins, smug. "Not that bad, right?" She wiggles her eyebrows at you. "Told you so."

"Now tell me," Shoko says, tugging you back toward where Geto stands, her grip firm, her tone lilting with amusement. "Who have you been snogging?"

You shake your head, quick and dismissive. "It’s nothing."

But Shoko looks at you in that way she does, like she sees right through the layers you’ve tried to tuck yourself beneath, and suddenly, you feel bare. Exposed. A flicker of something unreadable flashes in her eyes before a slow, knowing smirk curls onto her lips.

Suguru, beside her, exhales a small chuckle, shaking his head. "This is fun to watch."

You pout, trying to glare at him, but it lacks any real weight, and Shoko merely doubles down. "Oh, come on. I told you about my first kiss being with Suguru, and how we both immediately regretted it because it felt like kissing my own brother. You don’t get to keep secrets from me." She leans in slightly, brows raised in expectation. "So, spill. Who was it?"

"This feels an awful lot like an interrogation," Geto mutters, taking a slow sip of his drink. "And manipulation. Also, what? You told her about that?"

"Obviously," Shoko deadpans, as if there could be no alternative, before turning back to you. "Now, [Y/N], I might as well know."

You swallow, shoulders curling in on themselves as if you can make yourself smaller, as if you can disappear beneath their scrutiny. The common room is too warm, the dim glow of floating candles too intimate, the chatter and music too distant for this moment to feel like just another conversation.

But at least it’s only them. No Gojo. No Utahime. No Nanami. No one else who could make this more of a spectacle than it already is. No one to guess that it had been Toji, that you had let him press you against the cold lockers, that his lips had been warm and rough against your skin, that you had wanted it.

You inhale, steadying yourself. Then, cautiously, you begin, "It was in the locker room. I’d removed the enchantments because I thought you were coming by, but—"

"I did not think we’d be getting details. Way to get a man invested," Suguru cuts in, grinning as he leans against the armrest of a nearby chair.

You shoot him a glare, then turn back to Shoko, whose smile is growing by the second, bright with amusement, with intrigue, with that deep, insatiable curiosity of hers.

"It’s…" You hesitate for half a second before finally letting the name fall, quiet, barely above the clatter of distant conversation. "Fushiguro."

Silence.

Shoko blinks. Once, twice. "I’m sorry—who?"

"I think you heard her well enough," Suguru supplies, his tone thoroughly unimpressed as he swirls his drink, watching you with mild interest. "But why him? Gross, he’s a leech."

You roll your eyes. "He’s nice enough to me." The words sound weak even as you say them, trailing off under their combined scrutiny. But you press forward, feeling the weight of their anticipation. "And we kissed in the Infirmary when I was there. Before the game."

"Oh my God," Shoko says, blinking rapidly, as if her brain is short-circuiting, her fingers pressing into her temples like she’s physically trying to process the information. "This is horrendous. How dare you not tell me the second it was happening?"

Suguru exhales an amused laugh, slow and easy, his head tipping back against the armrest of the chair. "Oh, look," he says, in the most nonchalant voice imaginable. "Satoru’s here."

Your heart drops so fast it feels like a free fall. The blood drains from your face, and for a horrible, disorienting second, you think you might actually be sick. You spin around so quickly your neck twinges, looking toward the entrance of the common room, eyes already scanning—

Suguru snorts.

You whip back to face him. "I ought to punch you. Why would you do that to me?"

"You’re too tired for a fight," he giggles, eyes half-lidded, thoroughly pleased with himself.

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "I really am." The exhaustion in your bones has settled in deep, an ache at the base of your skull, a dull weight pressing down on your limbs. "I think I’ll head in now."

"Alright," Shoko says, but she’s still shaking her head, still reeling from the revelation. "I’m still trying to recover from the shock you just gave me."

"Oh, pipe down," you roll your eyes, stepping back, reaching for some semblance of normalcy as you point to Geto. "You kissed him."

Suguru groans like he’s in physical pain, immediately shrinking into himself, his face twisting with mortification.

You wince, murmuring a quick apology before waving them both off, and then you’re climbing the winding stairs to your dorm, the noise of the common room fading behind you. The further you get, the quieter it becomes, the muffled chatter dissolving into nothing but the sound of your own footsteps, your own breath.

And yet, something twists inside you, something restless.

Because why had the mention of Gojo’s name sent a bolt of fear through you? Why had it made you sweat, made you press your palms against the fabric of your shirt just to ground yourself? Why had it stuck with you, clung to the back of your mind, even now, even after the conversation had ended?

And why—why is it that all along, all you can think about is the way Gojo looked at you earlier that night?

The way his face had twisted. The way his voice had shifted.

The way he had seen the mark on your skin and had immediately known, even before you had, that it was going to change something between the two of you. Perhaps forever.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[suugarbabe]

hi! is there any way you could write a fic about getting h!gh with mattheo??

so i took a little bit of artistic liberty with this, just because personally i don't really see matty dabbling in the devils lettuce like that. not that he's judgemental of those that do, he just prefers other ways to get his mind off things; i hope you like it all the same :)

“Is Matt meeting us down here or we meeting him at the party?” Enzo set the bowl of brownie batter on the counter before helping you set up an additional pan to pour the mixture. “I think he’s coming down here…have you got the baking parchment?” Enzo tore a sheet off the roll he was using and handed it to you. Once both your pans were properly prepped, you turned to grab the batter only to be met with a view of Mattheo quickly sticking a heavily battered covered finger into his mouth. 

Your jaw dropped, mind running through the possible ways to tell Matty what he had just consumed without completely freaking him out. His last high had not been particularly…favorable, let’s say. After some convincing, Mattheo chose to swap out his trusty cigarettes for a joint, only to have the most paranoid high you’ve ever seen. Ever since then Matty swore of weed, insisting he was far happier with cigarettes and firewhiskey for a good time. 

Only he just broke that rule, sticking his finger in the batter. Enzo should have been a dead giveaway as to what kind of brownies you two were making. Not to mention you were making them for Theo’s birthday. It was when Mattheo dipped his finger in the batter for a second time that your brain and body connected. You reached for his wrist, trying to stop him from shoving his brownie batter covered finger millimeters from his mouth, “No, Matty don’t!” 

But Mattheo thought it was a game, that you were just playfully flirting with him instead of trying to warn him. “Oh, c’mon baby. This will be my last lick, I promise,” his wore a cheeky smile before fighting against your grip on his wrist and wrapping his lips around his fingers, clearing it of any chocolatey substance. “Mmm, babe. I love when you make brownies…these have kind of a weird earthy aftertaste though. What’d you do differently?” 

Immediately Enzo started cracking up, nearly doubling over and bracing himself on the table. This reaction had Mattheo’s heart racing, “Why is he laughing like that?” You tried to put on a reassuring smile, placing your hands on his shoulders, “I don’t want you to freak out, okay, Matty?” Mattheo turned his gaze back to you, eyes widening with your words, “Why would I freak out?!” Enzo was really laughing now, banging his fist on the table and burying his face in crook of his elbow, “Merlin’s tits, this is fucking ace. He had no idea, gods this is going to be so good.” 

Mattheo looked from you, to the batter, then to Enzo and back to you again. “Was there…are these…are you guys making fucking special brownies??” You placed a hand on each side of Matty’s face, forcing his eyes to look at you, “It’s gonna be okay Matty, you only had a little. The high shouldn’t be…too bad?” Mattheo started breathing heavy; you could tell he was pre-freaking out. Enzo was being completely unhelpful, taunting Mattheo, “It’s fucking Nott’s birthday for Salazar’s sake, of course there’s pot in the brownies, Matt!” 

“Oh gods, fucking hell, I’m gonna die…baby why didn’t you stop me? Fuck, fuck, fuck, do you think it’ll reverse if I make myself throw up?” Mattheo had a deathgrip on your wrists, your hands still on either side of his face. “You’ll be fine, Matty baby…it’ll, erm, it’ll be fine, yeah? We’ll get you a glass of water and then…then you and I can go back to the common room and wait for the party to start, how’s that sound?” Mattheo nodded, trying to keep his breathing consistent. You gave a sympathetic smile before placing a kiss on his forehead and grabbing his hand to walk him back to the dungeons, leaving Enzo to grumble about ‘having to finish the delicacies on his own’.

When Enzo finally made it back to the common room, two pans of finished brownies for the birthday boy in hand, he found a very amusing sight. You were successful in bringing Mattheo back to the common room to wait for the party to start for Theo. And you were seemingly successful in calming him down as well if what he was looking at was any indicator. Enzo approached the two of you, slumping down in a lounge chair nearby. “Well he certainly seems to be enjoying himself now,” a smirk adorned Enzo’s face, but Mattheo seemed to have no rebuttal. 

Theo came bounding down the stairs then, glancing over the scene before him. Once he saw Mattheo he was slightly confused, waving an arm in Mattheo’s general direction, “Why is he like this? Like a melted man in the sofa.” You coo’d at Matty, running your fingers through his curls causing his eyes to flutter closed. Enzo just shook his head, “Matty boy accidentally had an early taste of your birthday present, Teddy.” Theo barked out a laugh, clutching his stomach from enjoyment. Mattheo gave a half-committed groan, “Screw you guys.” 

Enzo tsk’d at him, “You’re a lucky fucker, there, Matty. I almost chose a different strain but Theo wanted something that would chill him out later.” You raised an eyebrow, not stopping your motions in Matty’s hair, “What’d you choose then?” Enzo shrugged, “Muggle strain. S’called Indica. They have a little phrase for it: indica, in da sofa…should take a picture of Matt, he’d be the perfect poster boy for their product.” 

You gave Enzo the finger, only for him to pretend to catch it and put it in his pocket, “Thanks so much, love. Gonna save that for later.” The whole conversation was more like buzzing in Matty’s ears. But it didn’t matter. As long as you kept playing with his hair, he was fine being stuck in the sofa all night.

all my love to @musingsofahufflepuff my baby, my hubby, my soulmate flame for yapping with me about this idea and helping it come to fruition <333

[triptychcryptid]

Dear god. Just watched Heretic with Hugh Grant in it as a psycho who traps two Mormon Missionaries in his house under the pretense of wanting to hear more about the religion, but proceeds to ask them questions and present them with evidence and choices that make them challenge their beliefs and try to prove a point about people only believing in things because they've been TOLD to believe these things. They BELIEVE they have choices or they BELIEVE in a higher power. Classic Free Will vs Influence stuff. This brought me back to my college philosophy classes that I absolutely LOVED, but also got me thinking:

That AU Idea where Ford believes in Bill as a god and he and Stanley both end up in the portal, and Ford betrays Stanley to get back to Bill: Given the chance, Ford could absolutely use a religious arguement to fuck someone up mentally. Challenging their beliefs but in the OPPOSITE direction.

Like what if you pitted Ford the Religious Zealot who continues to be influenced by a cult leader and Stan with a more atheist, philosophical mindset against each other?

And in Stan's case, philosophy wouldn't be used in the way that like I BELIEVE it was Henry David Thoreaux said "wealth consists not in having great possessions, but in having few wants" which is to say that man should live simply and with few possessions, because wanting many possessions is selfish. Not that kind of rhetoric, but more of "Are you actually thinking for yourself, or are you being influenced by this giant space dorito with a CLEAR ulterior motive?" And Stan may not even realize he's taking a philosophical stance, but would absolutely be the only other person quick-witted enough to match Ford's "I have been shown the way to salvation by my Muse. I know he has a plan for all of us and I am acting under that plan" arguments.

I don't know, this movie got the philosophical part of my brain going and made me realize Ford could be really dangerous on either side of that. But so could Stanley on the Philosophical side with his belief in moral gray areas and situational variables.

[soulidarity]

Hello! So I just read the one where reader is insecure about wearing a bathing suit, and Raf asking "are you afraid of me?" inspired me, so...

Can I please ask for a scenario with - separately - Rafayel and Sylus (and if you feel like it, throw in the other non human bois too) where (fem or gn) reader actually IS a bit scared of them after finding out that they're Lemurian/dragon/etc, and like they're conflicted because on the one hand they still are in love with the boys, but on the other the fact that they're non human is... intimidating. And the boys catch on to that and try to confront or reassure them? 🥺 Tysm

(also if reader can be not MC pls)

afraid

She walked in to rafayels home, sneaking around, she had come back early from a buisness trip and wanting to surprise the artist told him the flight was delayed.

Through the window, she caught his purple hair on the pool. Quickly making her way towards him, she started to make out a fin coming out from the pool. Weird, did he buy new pool toys? Getting closer, she noticed it was moving. She picked up her pace, standing at the side of the pool, getting a full view of rafayel resting with his eyes closed and a big tail instead of his legs. On his face and neck, scales were scattered around.

"What the fuck?!" she screamed, dropping the present. Startled, the lemurian went underwater briefly before popping up with a big, nervous smile, his teeth unnaturally sharp.

"Cutie!"

In a fight or flight response, she bolted out of the home, quickly getting in her car and driving away. She could Rafayel grunting and getting out of the pool, trying to follow after her. Due to the time it took to detransform, he was too late.

In the safety of her home, she locked the door, the window, closed the courtains and locked herself in her room. What was that? What was he?

the phone was ringing, she ignored it. a part of her wanted to block him, but this was her boyfriend.

the texts started flooding in

[please]

[please pick up i dont wanna do this over text]

[please, i am begging you]

another call. after the third ring, she picked up

"...hello?"

"oh thank god! Look I promise it has an explenation and like, i didnt think youd get here so soon! you didnt tell me!"

"rafayel, i dont know what i saw but i know that that is not normal. im trying to trust and believe you right now after seeing the sharpest teeth i have ever seen and youre making it kinda hard"

"youre right... youre right... you know lemuria?"

"the linkon version of the atlantis myth?"

"well its not really a myth more so an ancient civilization..."

"rafayel. i just saw you in a monster form, please get to the point"

silence

a light sob is heard on the other line

"im... im not a monster... I swear... I swear I'm not"

"oh! raf thats not- im sorry i didnt think it through I'm just scared..." she took a deep breath in "can we restart?"

a shaky exhale is heard before he continued "I'm lemurian. When you're away I like to shift into my natural form since keeping up the glamour of being human can be... exhausting"

"i see..."

"Im not dangerous-! well, I'll be honest. I can be dangerous but I swear on everything that I will never hurt you... not again"

"again?"

"I- I meant like you getting scared! yeah, that."

she chuckled "can i come over?"

"id like that very much"

○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○°•°○

okay so! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR REQUEST! i MIGHT write sylus version later but as my pinned explains i write xav and raf, however i really like this idea and maybe i should get out of my comfort zone and write other characters.

that being said, i found this one hard lol.

[lil-binuu]

MORE ELIAS HEADCANONS!!! 😼

- he has a big nose. i know i already made a post about it i’m just a sucker for it FUCK AHAHSHSHDHJF HE’D LOOK SO YUMMY

- he would def be the type to leave post it notes around the house with cute (and also spicy) messages for barista to find EUGHHH HES SO CUTE

- go out of his way to make them blush or smile. it’s a goal for him. a bonus if he get you to laugh, then he’s won at life.

- someone else said it too, he gives latino vibes and he’d flirt with you constantly in spanish especially if you don’t understand a single word. you’re just sitting there dumbfounded as he’s splurting his love for you in spanish and you have no idea

- would get matching tattoos with you

- i think he’d also like those permanent jewellery too and get one with you (hehehehehe you should totally read my fic permanently mine 😻)

- (for female barista) saku confirmed it, elias would be comfortable shopping for period products and wouldn’t think twice to get you what you need

- would do your skincare together, like face masks, it would become a nighttime and morning routine for you two together

- would buy you jewellery and if you bought some for him, you would never catch him without it on

- when you go makeup shopping, he is glad to be your personal palate. please cover him in lipstick stains

- i feel like he would be the type of guy to, with his friends, dress up and wear skirts and crop tops for a joke

- we know he doesn’t care what others think, so he wouldn’t hesitate to put his arm around you or show affection in public

- if you worked at another cafe or restaurant he would def go visit you. he easily becomes your most regular and loyal customer. all your coworkers would be convinced that he just has an unhealthy obsession with their food/drinks (but actually his obsession is just you 😉)

- wrestles you on the daily. and we all know how it ends.

- he’s the type of man to cook for you. if you’re hungry, he’s a michelin chef.

- if you were really bad at a game, maybe maybe he’d go easy on you :))

- i feel like he knows how to calm you down and help you in a time of panic or stress, i feel like he’s probably had a lot of experiences of his own panic attacks (like when he described having a nightmare and running away to a park) he’d hold you tight and whisper all the right things and you’d know that you could just relax into his arms and let him look after you

- i know he likes the danger of speeding down roads on his bike, but i think especially the first couple of times you go on his bike he would make sure to not go too fast or be too risky with you on the back.

- can’t stop his eyes wondering over your body and honestly, he wants you to see how into you he is

- we know he feels negatively about himself for being weak, particularly too weak to save his mother, so i think it’s likely that he might feel embarrassed to cry or like he’s weak for crying. especially because his father would have very rarely cried in front of him, elias wouldn’t have grown up feeling like he could express his emotions very well and so he would bottle it up for when he was alone and could smoke his problems away

- speaking of smoking, i’d like to think that he would try restricting himself from smoking the second he gets even a glimpse of a wrinkled nose from you disliking the smell

- cover him in hickeys. please. he finds it so hot that he’s yours and everyone knows it. wants to parade them around like a medal.

- i feel like he’d take your trust very seriously, especially when he saved you from brewhouse as a complete stranger, he knows that you’re in a foreign world and don’t know who to trust, so he’d value your trust in him a lot.

okie that’s it hehe hope you enjoyed 😻💕

@xzhdjsj @belladonnadawn @meraki-kiera @peppymintdreams @xxminxrq @dollsprincesa @xxluneilaxxaus @penelopesbaby @shelllyy

[darlingsblackbook]

Distant Echoes - 6 ( Ending )

Gojo Satoru x Reader

Arranged Marriage AU

Summary : The time of an old pact, promising your hand to the heir of the Gojo clan, has come. It is now your wedding, how will the two of you continue from here?

Warnings : sad reader, crying.

English is not my first language, I apologize for any grammatical and spelling mistakes. Feel free to point them out but please be kind about it♡

♡♡♡

The tension in the room was suffocating. It had been for weeks. No—months. Gojo has been trying, in his own way, to fix things between us. Little gestures, soft words, attempts at closeness. For some reason, every single one only made the weight on my chest heavier, pressing down until it felt like it might cave in.

How can I believe him?

How could I trust that this wasn’t temporary? That he wouldn’t wake up one day and decide; "nevermind she is not worth the effort" ? That he wouldn't just change his mind like that? And I wouldn't be left even more broken than I already was?

The worst part was that I could see it. The sincerity in his actions, the guilt in his eyes. But I just couldn't let go of the past, his actions did not erase the coldness, the distance, the way he had made me feel like an intruder in the house that was supposed to be mine. And, as if I was just a duty to be upheld, nothing more

And so, with every kind word, every touch, every attempt to make me smil, I felt the pressure crushing me.

I sat on the couch in the living room, watching a new serie that I had discovered- and have been binging ever since. A cozy, soft blanket wrapped around me in a warm hug when I heard his footsteps. They were soft and hesitant, as if he feared being heard, such a far cry from the overconfident ( loud ) man that they came from.

I could feel him.

He has still not uttered a word, but I could feel him

He stood next to the couch, just watching. Me or the show, I did not know. He just watched. So, I decided to break the silence.

“You don’t have to do this, you know.” I looked at him.

His eyes widened and he took a few steps closer before settling down on the coffee table in front of me.

“If you can’t bring yourself to love me...don’t force it You can just tell the higher-ups whatever you need to, get a divorce, and we can go our separate ways. It’ll be easier for both of us.”

I heard his breath hitch, and for the first time, I saw something close to panic flash in his blue eyes.

“Y/N—”

“I mean it, Gojo-” my voice broke and I felt my eyes water. I took a shake breath, “You don’t have to pretend. You don’t have to keep trying just because you feel guilty."

“Stop,” he whispered.

“Why? Because it’s not what you want to hear?” I almost whispered.

“Do you have any idea what it’s like? To feel like you’re nothing more than an obligation? To know that the person you’re supposed to spend your life with sees you as a trap they got stuck in?” I shook my head, fresh tears spilling down my cheeks. “I can’t do it anymore, Gojo. I can’t do this anymore, I don’t know if it’s real."

"Stop..." he whispers

"I don’t know if, one day, you'll wake up and decide that all of this- the effort, the kindness, me - was never worth it-"

His eyes widen, something breaking in his expression. “Y/N, that’s not-"

“It was, though,” I choke out. “It was like that. I was alone in this marriage for so long, and I tried—I tried to be okay with it, I tried to get you to accept me but you didn't. Then I accepted that you didn’t want me, but now—” I shake my head, wiping at my face even as fresh tears fall. “Now you’re trying. Now you’re being kind. And I don’t know if it’s real.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating. Gojo takes a shaky breath, then suddenly leans forward.

I flinch.

His entire body tenses. His hands twitch at his sides like he wants to reach for me but doesn’t know if he should.

And that hesitation-that tiny moment where he holds himself back-it shatters me completely.

He exhales sharply, and the next thing I know, he does reach for me- grabbing my face in his hands, tilting my chin up so I have no choice but to look at him.

“Listen to me,” he murmurs, voice rough, pained. “I don’t want to let you go. I never did.”

I try to turn my head, to look anywhere but into those bright blue eyes, but he doesn’t let me.

“I was scared,” he continues, his thumbs brushing away my tears. “I married you, and I thought—I thought I was forcing you into something you didn’t choose. I felt like I was taking away your freedom, tying you down to a life you never asked for.” He swallows hard. “So I convinced myself that the best thing I could do was not get close. Not make you feel trapped.”

I let out a broken laugh. “You made me feel invisible.”

His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, as if my words physically hurt him. “I know,” he breathes. “I know, and I hate myself for it.” His hands tighten just slightly, firm but not forceful. “But Y/N, I do care about you. I always have. I was just too much of a coward to face it.”

I want to believe him.

God, I want to believe him so badly.

But the wound is still fresh, still bleeding, and I don’t know how to close it.

He presses his forehead against mine, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please. Let me try again. Not because I feel guilty. Not because I think I have to. But because I want to.”

My breath hitches. “And what if you change your mind?”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he insists. “Because the thought of losing you- really losing you- terrifies me more than anything.” His hands are warm against my skin, grounding me as he whispers, “Please, Y/N. Just let me love you.”

Something in me cracks.

I don’t know if I fully trust him yet. I don’t know if I can erase all the hurt with just words. But as I stand there, trembling in his hands, I realize something—

For the first time since this marriage began, I don’t feel alone.

So I let out a shaky breath. And I nod.

His entire body sags with relief, and then, hesitantly, he leans in- pressing the softest, most reverent kiss to my forehead.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, like a vow. “For every second of hurt. For every moment you felt unloved. For any tiniest bit of sadness I ever caused you.”

His hands tremble against my skin.

"Please," he breathes, his voice rough and broken. “Give me a chance.”

I don't know how to respond.

I don’t know how to trust him.

"Let me make things right," he continues, his forehead still pressed against mine. “Let me treat you the way you should have been treated from the start.”

A sharp breath rattles through me. "Gojo-"

“Satoru,” he corrects quietly, and it nearly undoes me.

He only ever insisted on formalities before. Always kept that polite, meaningless distance. But now, he's asking for something more, something deeper.

“Satoru,” I whisper, and his eyes flutter shut like hearing his name from my lips is both a relief and a punishment.

"If you're still not happy," he murmurs, "I'll let you go."

His voice cracks on the last word.

I snap my head up, staring at him. His grip on my face tightens, not out of force but desperation. Like he's afraid I’ll slip away before he can make me understand.

"But it’ll kill me," he continues, his breath hitching. "Letting you go- it’ll be the worst thing I’ve ever done. But if that’s what you need to be happy, I swear to you, I won’t stand in your way."

I can’t breathe.

His confession is everything I ever wanted to hear, everything I never thought he’d say. And it hurts. It hurts so much because I can feel the truth in it, in every single word.

I shake my head, my lips trembling. “You don’t get to say that,” I whisper, my voice thick with tears.

“Y/N—”

“You don’t get to break me and then act like losing me will break you too.” My chest heaves. "That’s not fair. None of this is fair."

His face twists with agony. "I know," he whispers. "God, I know."

I don't realize I'm crying again until his thumbs brush the tears from my cheeks. His hands are warm, steady, even as the rest of him trembles.

"I should've loved you from the beginning," he confesses, his voice wrecked. "I should have cherished you, protected you, made sure you never had to doubt me. But I was a coward, Y/N. I thought I was doing the right thing by keeping my distance, but all I did was hurt the one person-"

He stops abruptly, like he can't bring himself to say it.

But I know.

I feel it.

"The one person who mattered," I whisper.

His breath catches.

And then he nods.

I don't know how long we stand there, the silence stretching between us like a fragile thread. His hands are still cradling my face, his touch careful, reverent. Like I'm something precious. Something loved.

"Satoru," I breathe, and he exhales shakily, his eyes pleading, desperate.

“Just one chance,” he whispers. “That’s all I ask. And if I fail you again, if you still feel like I don’t love you enough ; I’ll let you go." His lips part slightly, and the words that follow nearly break me.

"But I'll never stop loving you."

Something inside me shatters completely.

I clutch onto the front of his shirt, my body wracked with sobs. And for the first time since this nightmare of a marriage began, he holds me the way I always wished he would.

Tightly. Desperately. Like I'm his entire world.

“Okay,” I whisper. I squeeze my eyes shut and exhale. "Okay, Satoru. I’ll give you a chance."

The sound he makes is something between a laugh and a sob, and before I can say anything else, he pulls me against him, burying his face into my shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, over and over again. His arms tighten around me, his hold so full of relief, so full of love that, for the first time in a long time, I feel something other than pain.

Maybe this time… maybe this time, we won’t break.