#I wonder why that became the case? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kekewrites · 3 months ago

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Tw. insecure/introvert reader, angst(?), dark content, noncon kissing, implied noncon/dubcon at the end, jealousy, tension, mutual pinning, misunderstanding, hidden feelings, slow burn(?), stalking, toxic, sabotage, possessiveness, red flag, manipulation, dependency, no actual smut

***

Imagine being the childhood friend of the popular playboy in school.

He wasn’t just a typical playboy—he was popular for a good amount of reasons. He was, of course, hot, tall, with a pretty face, but he also had that effortless charisma. Easy-going, charming, funny when he wanted to be, and somehow still managed to keep decent grades. A good reputation wrapped in the kind of smile that made girls melt.

The only problem? His ongoing roster of girls. You honestly couldn’t pinpoint when or how he turned into such a flirt, it sort of just... happened. Maybe when high school hit, and puberty did him more favors than most. Whatever the case, he became that guy. The one you’d usually only see in dramas.

But it’s not like you had any business with that part of him. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

You two had always been close. Childhood friends. Neighbors. Playmates since you were practically in diapers. Your parents knew each other well, your families comfortable enough to arrange sleepovers that turned into routine. You grew up in each other’s houses, like siblings. Always “the duo.”

But while he bloomed into the guy everyone wanted to be around, you... didn’t exactly shine the same way. You were a little plain. A bit on the bland side compared to others, especially compared to him. While he stood tall, you were shorter than average, often overlooked in group photos. You didn’t have much of a figure either, which made changing in the locker room a quiet kind of dread. Flat and forgettable. You’d never say it out loud, but you noticed the difference.

He lit up every room he walked into. You were just... there. Next to him. Always next to him. Just not quite enough.

But it was fine.

You never made a big deal about any of it. It’s not like you wanted the spotlight anyway. You were comfortable being in the background, comfortable not having all eyes on you. Sure, sometimes you got a few questionable looks when you were with Mr. Charming, but you learned not to care. Let them wonder. You were used to being the quiet one beside the star of the show.

Though, truth be told, you sometimes wondered too. Why did he always stick around? Even when the popular kids were constantly egging him on to ditch you and join them, he never really did. He’d flirt and play around, sure, but he always came back to you. As if none of the sparkle out there was worth trading for late-night game sessions and instant noodles in your room.

"Geez, why’re you in my bedroom...? I thought you were about to go to the concert with them," you asked one evening, raising a brow as he sprawled across your bed like it was his.

“Nuh-uh. Don’t wanna,” he replied, eyes already glued to the game controller in his hand. “Plus, I wanna spend time playing games with you.”

You rolled your eyes at the time, but deep down, your chest tightened just a little. Warm and confused all at once.

It was things like that, small, innocent moments that led to the never-ending question you kept hearing from people.

“Are you guys dating?”

You always shut it down quickly, automatically, almost on instinct now.

“No. Definitely not. I’m not his type, we’re just friends.”

Because that was the truth, right?

Right?

***

He heard you say it all the time.

“We’re just friends.”

You said it so naturally, like breathing. Like it was a fact. Like it didn’t chip away at something in him every time those words slipped from your lips.

But damn, you didn’t make it easy to believe.

Not when you smiled at him like that. Not when you laughed at his dumb jokes, even the ones no one else caught. Not when you looked at him like he was just him, not the guy with a line of girls and a reputation he didn’t even care for anymore.

He told himself he was just being a good friend. That walking you home—even when it meant doubling back—was normal. That flicking some guy’s forehead for looking at you too long was harmless. Just a joke. Even if something in his chest burned every time.

And maybe he leaned in too close sometimes. Maybe he hovered near your space a little more than necessary. But he didn’t do it on purpose. Not at first.

It’s just... you never pulled away.

You made it feel like he belonged there.

And then there were the little things.

The way you always insisted you weren’t picky, but he still remembered how you liked your noodles with less broth. The way he always brought an extra hoodie because yeah, you always forgot yours, and he didn’t want you getting cold. The way he chose the seat next to you, even if the room was empty. Always you. Always your side.

You never questioned it.

Except that one time.

"Why’re you always hanging out with me? I'm not exactly a party."

He remembered how you asked it with a smile, trying to play it off.

But it hit him harder than he expected. So he gave you the truth. Or at least… part of it.

"Yeah, but you’re my favorite kind of quiet."

You laughed, of course. Brushed it off like it was nothing.

But he saw the way you looked down after. The way your cheeks went warm. And he carried that moment with him, filed it away with all the other things he never said out loud.

And when people asked if you two were dating and you laughed and said “No, I’m definitely not his type”—he never corrected you.

He should’ve. God, he wanted to.

But instead, he just smiled. That same tight, hollow smile.

Because you were wrong.

You were so wrong.

You weren’t loud, or bold, or flashy like the girls who chased him, sure. But none of them ever made him feel the way you did.

And you never saw it.

You looked at yourself and only saw “plain.” But he looked at you and saw home.

And he stayed.

He always stayed.

That part? You never really understood.

But maybe… he was just too much of a coward to make you.

***

It happened one weekend night.

Your parents were out of town for a wedding (you didn't want to go along), leaving you with the house to yourself. You’d planned to spend the evening curled up with snacks and a cheesy drama, nothing unusual. The house was quiet, comfortably so.

Until a knock came at the front door. Loud. Repetitive.

You opened it, and there he was, him. Tall, flushed, and very, very drunk.

“Heeeyyy,” he drawled, grinning lopsidedly as he leaned against the doorframe. “Youuuuuu. I missed you.”

You blinked, completely stunned. “Wait—what the hell? Are you drunk? Where were you?”

He didn’t answer. Instead, he stumbled forward, and your reflexes kicked in just in time to stop him from falling face-first into your entryway.

“Oh my God,” you muttered, arms flailing as you tried to support him. “Jeez, you’re heavy, what did you drink?”

He giggled. Actually giggled.

“Dunno,” he mumbled, dropping most of his weight onto you like a sleepy sloth. “They gave me... stuff. Tasted like cough syrup. Missed your face though…”

You groaned, knees nearly buckling under him as you fumbled to drag his dead weight toward the living room. “You missed my face? Seriously?”

He made a noise that was suspiciously close to a whine. “Yeah… You didn’t come to the party. I waited. Got bored. Left.”

“You should’ve just stayed and sobered up instead of dragging your drunk ass here.”

But he didn’t respond. Instead, he slurred something completely incoherent and nuzzled into your shoulder.

You finally managed to guide him to the couch, huffing and trying to keep your balance. But as you bent to lower him onto the cushions, he suddenly shifted his weight and with zero warning, pulled you down with him.

“W-Wait—!”

You fell right on top of him with a muffled oof, and before you could scramble away, his arms lazily wrapped around you, holding you there like a living body pillow.

“Comfy,” he mumbled against your hair. “You smell nice.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wha— I— Get off!”

But he didn’t budge. In fact, he snuggled closer, warmth radiating off him as he held you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“Y’know,” he whispered, voice thick with sleep and alcohol, “I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”

You froze.

“I hate it,” he added, softer now. “So dumb. You don’t even see how much I like being around you…”

Then silence. Deep, slow breaths. He was already half-asleep, completely unaware of the way your heart was trying to beat out of your chest.

You didn’t know what to say.

So you said nothing.

And stayed there, quietly listening to the sound of his breathing, with your face burning and your thoughts racing, wondering if he’d remember any of it in the morning.

Your heart was pounding like it wanted to escape your chest.

You could feel the heat of his breath against your collarbone, his arms still wrapped around you in a lazy hold. Everything about the moment was too much—the closeness, the weight of his words, the way he mumbled "I don’t like it when you say you’re not my type.”

It should’ve meant something. Should’ve stirred something deeper. And for a moment, it did.

But then, reality hit.

This was him—the same guy who’d flirted with three girls just last week, the same guy whose phone buzzed with messages from different names at ungodly hours. The guy who could have anyone he wanted with just a glance and a half-hearted smile.

Your brows furrowed, the haze of warmth in your chest beginning to cool.

Of course he was saying stuff like that. He was drunk. Sloppy. Blurry-eyed. Probably mistaking you for someone else, or worse, just saying the first sweet thing that came to mind because it was easy. Because that's what he does.

The warmth in your cheeks faded. Your eyes narrowed slightly as you stared.

You sighed.

“Stupid drunk,” you muttered, voice flat and unimpressed.

He didn’t react, already halfway to sleep, breathing soft and slow like a knocked-out puppy.

You stayed like that for a moment longer, caught between the ghost of his words and the bitter edge of your thoughts. Part of you wanted to believe what he said. But the other part? The part that had watched girl after girl fall for him and get tossed aside like it was nothing?

That part just wanted to roll its eyes.

Still, you didn’t move.

Because even if you didn’t believe him…

His arms around you still felt kind of nice.

***

You two acted normal after the morning of that. He probably didn't remember what he said, which was a good thing for you. Moved on, like nothing happened.

It's been a few days after that and you were talking about someone new—a guy from your class, apparently. You had that little spark in your voice, the one he usually only heard when you were talking about food or finding a cute dog online.

He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

“So yeah,” you said casually, biting into a snack as you scrolled on your phone, “he offered to walk me home the other day. I didn’t let him, obviously. But he was really nice about it. Kinda surprising.”

He sat beside you on your bed, leaning back on one hand, pretending not to care. “Oh? He did?”

“Yeah. I think he’s cool,” you said, voice light, unaware of how that single word stabbed into him harder than he wanted to admit.

He tilted his head, a smile pulling at his lips, one of those closed-eyed smiles he wore when he was being “harmless.”

“You do?”

You nodded, totally unfazed. “Mhm. He’s funny, smart. Kinda cute.”

There it was.

The trigger.

He sat up a little straighter, the smile never quite reaching his eyes now. “Funny, smart, cute?” he repeated, still with that casual tone. “Wow. Sounds like a real catch.”

You blinked at him. “Yeah, I guess. He’s easy to talk to.”

He snorted. “Right, right. Tall guy? Bit of a clean-cut look?”

You nodded again, chewing absently on your snack.

“Must be nice,” he muttered, crossing his arms. “Bet he’s the type to open doors and call you ma’am too.”

You laughed. “I mean, manners aren’t exactly a red flag.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” he said, voice picking up heat now, even as he smiled. “So polite. Bet he irons his shirts and rehearses compliments in the mirror.”

You gave him a look, amused. “What is with you?”

“Nothing. Just sayin’—guy’s probably all talk. Bet he folds under pressure. Can’t even kill a spider without screaming.”

You raised a brow, “That’s a bold assumption.”

He scoffed, throwing his hands up, still smiling but not meaning it. “I’m taller, better looking, and I don’t have to try so hard to impress people.”

Your jaw dropped a little. “What?”

“I’m just saying,” he said, raising his bottle in mock-toast. “If you’re gonna go for someone ‘cool,’ maybe aim higher. You know. Someone who’s taller, funnier, better-looking, less try-hard. Maybe someone who’s known you since you were five. Just throwing that out there.”

“Huh?”

“And I bet my dick’s bigger than his."

You choked on your drink, “What?!”

He blinked. “What?”

You stared at him, stunned, and he just gave a tiny shrug like oops, did I say that out loud?

You laughed, shaking your head, brushing it all off like it was just another one of his weird ego trips. “Okay, weirdo.”

He didn’t respond right away.

He just watched you, jaw tightening slightly as you turned your attention back to your phone, entirely missing the storm he was trying to hide behind casual smirks and crude jokes.

You didn’t get it, because you didn’t think he looked at you that way.

***

After that conversation, things didn’t exactly change—but they didn’t quite go back to normal either.

He still walked you home. Still flopped onto your bed like it was his own. Still stole your snacks and your charger and your last bit of patience on most days.

But sometimes, you’d catch him watching you a little too long.

Not in the obvious way. Not like the way other guys did, staring with boldness and intentions written all over their faces.

No—he did it quietly. Like he was trying to memorize the way you smiled when you thought no one was looking. Like he was trying to figure something out about you… or maybe about himself.

Then there were the little shifts.

He started texting back slower when you told him you were talking to that guy again. Didn’t say anything harsh, but his replies were short. Blunt.

And when that same guy approached you one afternoon in the hallway, he just so happened to slide in between you two, throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Didn’t know you liked hanging out with traffic cones,” he muttered with a lopsided grin, nodding at the guy’s neon hoodie.

You laughed nervously, brushing it off. “You’re so dumb.”

But the guy left after that. Didn’t even try to keep the conversation going.

And when you asked him what that was about, he just shrugged.

“Didn’t like his face.”

You rolled your eyes. “You don’t like anyone’s face lately.”

He smiled. “Yours is okay, I guess.”

And then there were those times when you were on your phone, texting, and he’d lean over your shoulder too quickly.

“Who’s that?”

“No one.”

“Hmm. No one has a name?”

You sighed, brushing him away. “Why are you so nosy lately?”

But he’d never answer. He’d just flop backward onto the couch or your bed and throw an arm over his eyes like he was bored. Or tired. Or both.

But you felt it.

Something had shifted.

He was getting quieter about the things he didn’t say. Quieter about how he stayed so close but kept himself just far enough that you wouldn’t really notice.

***

You didn’t say anything about it to him.

Not when you got the number. Not when you exchanged a few late-night texts with the guy from class. And definitely not when he asked who kept lighting up your phone and you lied—said it was your cousin, or some stupid group chat.

Because… if he wanted to keep treating you like you were just his best friend, then fine. Maybe you’d stop waiting. You were plain ol Jane anyway, at this rate you'd end up alone. Not like anyone would like you if you don't even try or put any effort to yourself. Maybe it was time to try something different.

Someone different.

So you said yes to a date.

It wasn’t a big deal. Just a small place near the station, casual, low-pressure. You wore a little lip tint. Changed your shirt twice. Checked your phone four times on the way there.

You even left the house without telling him.

Which was rare.

Because somehow, despite how frustrated you were, you still felt a little guilty doing something like this without him knowing. Scrap that! You shouldn't feel guilty at all, it's not like you're his girlfriend or something. Plus, this was your first date, you shouldn't even think of him.

You got there early. Sat at the little table. Smoothed your skirt out. Sipped water slowly.

And waited.

Then waited some more.

Minutes passed. Then a half-hour. Then an hour.

No messages. No call. Just… silence.

At some point, you stopped pretending to check your phone like there was something new. You just sat there, hands folded, eyes distant. Trying not to let it sink in too hard, but it did anyway.

He didn’t show.

No explanation.

No reason.

Just a reminder that maybe you really weren’t the type to be chosen after all.

By the time you got home, it was dark. You kicked your shoes off a little harder than usual, holding back the pressure behind your eyes. The house was quiet. Your parents weren’t home. Just you. And the lingering ache of rejection sitting heavy in your chest.

Maybe you shouldn't gotten your hopes up.

And then you heard the knock on your door. You already knew who it was.

He walked in like he always did, with a lazy grin and a snack in hand. You stared at him like you hadn’t just spent an hour trying to convince yourself you were worth showing up for.

“Yo. You were gone,” he said, tossing a drink on your desk like usual. “Didn’t text me back. Something happened?”

You looked up from where you sat on your bed, your voice dull. “No. I just… needed some air.”

He paused. The grin faltered, but only for a split second.

“…Did you go somewhere?”

You forced a laugh, shaking your head. “Just errands. Nothing interesting.”

He didn’t question it. He trusted you too easily. Or maybe he didn’t want to push. Instead, he stretched out beside you, letting out a sigh. “People are exhausting. I don’t get how you deal with them.”

You shrugged, keeping your voice light. “Guess I just have more patience.”

He turned his head to look at you then—really looked. Eyes soft, searching.

“You okay?”

You smiled, quick and small. “Yeah. Just tired.”

And that was the thing with him. He’d always pull back just when he was about to see something too real. Like he was afraid of what he might find if he looked too closely.

So, he let it go.

He reached for the controller on your desk, tossing it in your lap. “Wanna game ‘til we pass out?”

You nodded.

Because what else could you do?

You couldn’t tell him your date never showed up. You couldn’t tell him that for a brief moment, you thought maybe—just maybe—you could be wanted by someone else. That someone else could make you forget the way he made you feel without ever touching you.

***

Of course, he knew.

He always knew.

He noticed the shift before you even realized it yourself—how you started texting a little less when he was around, how you smiled down at your phone and quickly locked it when he leaned over. How you’d hum that soft little tune you always did when you were nervous or excited.

It didn’t take much.

One glance at your screen while you left it unattended. One name. One stupid string of texts about Friday and coffee and maybe I’ll see you there? :)

And it pissed him off more than he wanted to admit.

Not because he thought you weren’t allowed to date. Not even because he thought the guy was anything special.

No.

It was because you thought someone else could understand you better than he did. That someone else could earn what he’d spent years protecting.

You didn’t know it, but he was the reason most guys never got near you in the first place.

He wasn’t exactly subtle—especially in high school. Any guy who so much as looked at you too long got “the talk.” A casual hand around your shoulders. A stare that went a little too cold. A whispered “She’s not interested” even if you hadn’t said it yourself.

He made it hard for anyone to approach. On purpose.

Because you were his.

Not in the possessive, boyfriend kind of way. At least, that’s what he told himself. But in the I know every part of you, and no one else ever will kind of way.

So when this new guy started sniffing around, he didn’t wait.

He caught the guy behind the gym after class, right where the hallway cameras didn’t reach.

The guy flinched when he turned the corner and saw him standing there—arms crossed, calm smile on his face like this was just another casual run-in. But his eyes… his eyes were cold.

“Hey,” he said smoothly, stepping into his path.

The guy hesitated, confused. “Uh. Hey?”

“You’ve been texting her.”

The guy blinked, caught off guard. “I—what?”

He took another step closer. “Don’t play dumb. You’ve been trying to take her out. Planning something for Friday, right? Café date?”

The guy laughed nervously, confused. “Yeah? I mean… she said yes.”

That smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah. She’s nice like that.”

Then the smile dropped.

“But let’s get one thing straight.”

The guy’s brows pulled together. “What are you—?”

He grabbed the front of his collar, shoving him hard against the wall, voice dropping low and sharp.

“You’re not gonna show up.”

The guy froze. “What the hell is your problem?!”

“I don’t like repeating myself.” He leaned in close, breath calm and voice terrifyingly even. “You’re going to leave her alone. You’re going to block her. And you’re never going to speak to her again.”

“You’re insane—!”

He smiled again, twisting the guy’s shirt tighter. “No. You’re stupid. See, here’s the thing. I’m the popular guy. Good grades. Everyone loves me.” He tilted his head, voice dropping even further. “You? You’re a background character. No one’s gonna believe some awkward little shit over me. You tell anyone I threatened you, and all I have to do is smile and say, ‘Who, me?’ And everyone will laugh and move on.”

He let go with a shove, stepping back as the guy gasped, fixing his shirt.

“You can call it jealousy. Obsession. Whatever makes you feel better,” he said, brushing invisible dust off his sleeve. “But here’s what it really is, I’m not letting someone like you anywhere near her.”

The guy stared at him, chest heaving.

He walked away with a casual wave. “Don’t forget. Friday? You’re busy~”

The guy didn’t show up.

And that night, when he dropped by your room and found you curled up and quiet, wearing his hoodie like a safety blanket, something in his chest twisted.

You didn’t say a word about it.

But he knew.

He could see the flicker of hurt behind your eyes. The soft smile you gave him—fake, practiced. The way you brushed him off like it didn’t matter. He wanted to feel satisfied. Victorious.

But it just made him feel worse.

Because no matter how much he tried to control things… he couldn’t stop that sadness in your eyes.

You didn’t even know it was him. Didn’t even know that all this time, the reason you felt so overlooked, so invisible was because he’d made sure of it.

Not because he wanted to hurt you. But because he couldn’t stand the idea of someone else seeing what he saw.

You were his quiet. His warmth. His constant.

And if someone else took that away from him?

He didn’t know who he’d be.

***

It started small.

You noticed it when you caught him glaring at someone you’d only spoken to once. When your texts started mysteriously going unanswered. When people who used to be friendly now looked at you like they didn’t want to get involved.

At first, you thought you were just overthinking it. Paranoia, maybe. You were introverted, bad at reading people. You kept to yourself more often than not, maybe that just meant people naturally faded away.

But then there were moments.

Moments where you caught the sharpness behind his smile when someone mentioned another guy’s name. Moments where his “jokes” about being possessive didn’t feel so funny anymore. Moments where he looked at you too long, too quietly, like he was thinking something he couldn’t say out loud.

And then that night—everything shifted.

He was in your room again. Like always. Sprawled out on your bed, head resting against your pillow like it belonged to him. You were on your floor, flipping through old game cases, trying to ignore the heavy beat of your heart.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” he said, tone light but eyes tracking every move you made.

You shrugged. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You didn’t answer right away. You didn’t really know how to. Your mind had been a mess lately, spinning with everything you didn’t understand. Everything you were starting to understand.

“Do you…” you hesitated, eyes on the case in your hand. “Do you ever think people avoid me because of you?”

He sat up. Slowly.

“Where’s that coming from?”

“I don’t know,” you muttered. “It just feels like… people don’t even try anymore.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then he stood. Walked over. Sat beside you on the floor, shoulder brushing yours. You didn’t look at him. You felt like you couldn’t.

You looked up at him, finally and your breath caught.

He was quiet for a second. Then he said, voice low, “Maybe I like it that way.”

And then he kissed you.

Because his eyes weren’t teasing. They were serious. Dark. Familiar in a way that suddenly felt foreign.

Just like that.

No warning. No permission.

His lips were on yours—soft, warm, dangerous. It wasn’t rushed, but it wasn’t gentle either. It was sure. Like he’d been waiting. Like he’d done it a thousand times in his head already.

You froze.

For a second, your brain short-circuited. Everything blanked. Your body didn’t know whether to lean in or pull away. Because you’d thought about this before. God, had you thought about it. Wondered, dreamed, ached over it. But now that it was real…

You remembered the girls. The rumors. The way he never looked twice at them after he got bored.

You pulled back, breath catching. “Don’t.”

He blinked at you, surprised, maybe even a little hurt.

You stood, fast. Hands shaking. “You should go.”

He didn’t move.

Instead, he gave you a small, crooked smile. The kind you used to find charming. The kind that now made your stomach twist.

“Why?” he said softly. “I wanna stay the night.”

You stared at him.

He tilted his head, like this was all just a game, “We can play boyfriend and girlfriend again,” he said, voice low, teasing. “Like we used to when we were kids. Remember that?”

You took a step back. “That was pretend.”

“So~?” He stood too now, closing the space between you. “Let’s pretend again. This time I won’t leave.”

Your chest tightened.

You want to push him away, your mind reeling with the memories of him being a playboy.

“I said you should go,” you repeated, trying to keep your voice firm.

And you hated that your heart skipped. That your body remembered the kiss more than your mind could process it. But your gut? Your gut screamed something was wrong. You took another step back, putting space between you.

He didn’t move. His eyes tracked you like prey, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface.

"You used to let me sleep over all the time," he said softly, like he was reminding you of a rule you were suddenly breaking. “What changed?”

Everything, you wanted to say.

But instead, your voice came out smaller than you intended. “That was when we were kids.”

A slow grin tugged at his lips—but it wasn’t his usual smile. It was something darker. Almost sad.

“You’re acting like I’m a stranger.”

You clenched your fists, unsure why your throat felt tight. “You are. Lately... I don’t know what you are.”

Something in his jaw twitched. The grin dropped.

And then, suddenly he stepped forward.

You barely had time to flinch before you felt his hands on your shoulders, gently but firmly guiding you backward. Your knees hit the edge of your bed. You stumbled. Sat down.

His body was close. Too close.

Your breath hitched.

“I don’t want you to be scared of me,” he murmured, crouching slightly so he could look you in the eyes. “I’d never hurt you. You know that, right?”

You nodded slowly, heart hammering. But the unease wouldn’t leave.

He placed a hand beside your thigh on the bed, leaning in.

“Then why are you shaking?”

You didn't answer.

Because part of you didn’t know if it was fear… or something else. Something even more dangerous—doubt.

You tried to stand again, but he didn’t move back. He was watching you too closely. Like he was trying to read your mind. Like he already knew what was in it.

"I know you're confused," he said. "But deep down, you've always felt something too. I just had the guts to do something about it."

You opened your mouth, to argue, to tell him to leave again but nothing came out. Instead, you whispered, "I don't know what you're doing anymore."

His expression cracked for a moment—something bitter bleeding through.

“I’m doing what I should’ve done a long time ago.”

And for the first time, he didn’t try to mask it.

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dilfosaur · 8 months ago

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well i haven't spilled my guts on tumblr since i was in college but it's the platform that's felt The Most Mine thru the years, so

let's talk!

i've had a huge chip on my shoulder that i wanted off before the year ends. very bad professional experience to follow

so firstly to get ahead of the speculating, i'm not naming names or anything. some of you will puzzle out who i'm talking about, but please don't bother anyone especially not on my behalf. i've worked hard to distance myself from them the past few months. shit happens, especially when you're a dumb bitch (that's me!)

but also this person was someone i considered a close friend and it makes me uneasy to possibly direct backlash at them. "then why post about it" bc i did intermittent work for them for over a year. this is just about that. so hear me out

basically it started off fine. i initially did some commission work for good pay, then was invited to become more involved with their team. unfortunately as i became more involved with their operation it became more disorganized over time. projects started then forgotten, constantly shifting schedules, lapsing communication between roles, confusing financials, and often inconsistent if not late payments. during mid 2023 i was doing colorist work, sometimes on a one day turnaround (all while also preparing drawfee's summer merch launch). the payroll wasn't set up correctly so i wasn't paid for that work for over a year (more on that later), tho to be fair that was largely my own fault at first as i just didnt realize the payments didn't go thru lol

i always consider myself decently capable of separating friendship and coworker-ship; i run a company with 4 wonderful friends, going strong for almost 5 years. that didn't really work out in this case. by early this year our friendship was on the rocks; work issues fed into personal issues and vice versa. so as the rest of this shit plays out, we had just had our first "big fight" which i felt very bad about and added to all the upcoming tension

a huge point of friction was the fact that i really wanted to work with them to make a music video for one of their songs. i've always wanted a chance to make a music video, was confident in a concept i came up with, and even did some concept art for the idea. everyone insisted they loved the concept and that we should do it, but we kept pushing it back for various reasons. it ended up becoming a huge sticking point for my frustrations, which i tried to express productively. TLDR, we eventually got around to discussing it seriously around april.

i planned to ask for $4000 with negotiable add-on for the whole project, which was my Friend Discount price. i was offered a contract for $1000 flat rate, as they insisted that was the only budget they had for it.

don't ask me why i signed it lol. i didn't even counter offer

there was some girlmath to it: i wanted an extra 1k for a student scholarship i provide every spring and well, there it was. but if i had to guess, i saw it as something i just couldn't back down from any more. i caused these folks- my friends- a lot of problems bc i dug my heels in so deep to chase this project, so fuck it we ball

i had about 4 months to solo a 3 minute music video. they wanted it done in august so they could release it before summer ended, bc "it was a summer song". to be fair i was asked if i needed them to pay for anything extra like assistants (which i would have to find and manage) but i was so immediately overwhelmed that i didn't wanna slow down to wait on that process lol. there was very minimal communication other than brief progress check-ins every few weeks. i did everything for that project myself: the original concept, character designs, storyboards, layouts, backgrounds. i even did the editing/compositing for the final cut of the MV. the only favor i did myself was limiting the amount of it that was actually animated to simple loops and motions. hardly my best work but it was work still done

i did it all in between my full time job. i ended up having to take nearly a month away from most of my drawfee duties (with the support of the others) to make the august deadline. i only ever asked for a 3 day extension (notice given about a week in advance, around the same time i was given the final song file lol). i finished the music video at 6am on the final deadline and recorded drawfee the next day on 2 hours of sleep

but it was done, coolies. the team was very happy with the final product. honestly, without getting into it, those were a very emotionally taxing 4 months. on the professional side, i regretted agreeing to the project and especially for the dogshit rate they offered. i felt like a hypocrite- as someone who always wanted to advocate for younger artists demanding their worth in a world that's getting increasingly hostile toward creatives, i failed myself

so when i met with the manager to discuss the release plan, i told them to do whatever worked best for them as i only had one request: i wanted my credit removed from the project

tbh... like... lmao this dramatic bitch right!! but really, i decided that bad practices only breed worse business. friends or not, it was unprofessional of me to accept such a low paying job so i just didn't want my name used in association. everything felt so muddled to me and i was just really tired at this point

the manager was very understanding and then offered that i could be paid more. they said that their team "was surprised" i accepted their low rate and they would be happy to up the amount. this confused me as the initial budget seemed pretty set and at no point between april and august was i offered a better rate. i knew these guys weren't made of money. so, i declined. i didn't want to put anyone out of their means over work that was already done and agreed upon. but more importantly, i was over the whole thing and didn't want to prolong the project with a contract renegotiation. i just insisted my name be removed

they decided to use a pseudonym (which i was fine with) so they could create a story about a character who made the MV (this sounds really convoluted but i don't know how better to put it without getting specific, sorry). that way if people asked about the credit, they could speak comfortably about it without signaling that something went wrong behind the scenes. ok, kind of a silly narrative imo but whatevs. and maybe this is where i finally went truly wrong but. yolo i guess

i gave the name "D. Smithee", D as in dilfosaur and Smithee as in Alan Smithee. look it up for fun film trivia ig! was it passive aggressive of me to reference that in this context? yeah, honestly. but i thought it was kinda funny and really not that deep. if it was a problem, i have other real, non-cheeky pseudonyms i regularly use. the manager accepted it and all i had to do was wait for them to post the video and i could leave the whole experience behind me

a week later i received a message from the manager that my pseudonym had been denied by the rest of the team bc one of them got the reference. fair enough lol. however, they decided that rather than ask for a different name, the were going to make one up for me that they liked and would "fit the [story]", without asking me

and that! is when i finally snapped!

i was so tired of giving them concessions at this point and having a credit made up for me without any input from me felt genuinely violating and unethical. i started to Panic bc of how stressed i was, and asked for my overdue payments (aka the $500 still owed on the MV, and the colorist rate from a year prior that was never paid even tho i reported it in january) to be scheduled ASAP as i was leaving the work discord immediately

i finally told them off for exploiting me throughout the months while i kept trying to just be nice and finish my contact cleanly. in return i was told that it was unfair to say that as i agreed to everything- i accepted their cheap rate and denied further payment so that was all settled, and it was ok to change my credit without my consent bc i "said they could do whatever with the release". i called bullshit, ended the convo as kindly as i could, and cried lol. they agreed to ditch the pseudonym and just give no credit. that night was the last i heard from anyone on that team

and the real kicker?

august came and went. then september, october... and they never released the music video

and i don't know why, because i was never contacted about it. i've been removed from the picture entirely i guess. 4 months and boatloads of stress. just. up in smoke. i don't know what i expected honestly

it's hard to not take everything that happened personally and as done in bad faith. i really do, honestly. i've had plenty of shitty deals in my almost 10 year art career, but it hits different from people you saw as friends. but to the point of "why not keep it private", i have never felt so disrespected as a professional as i did this past year. i can toy with money and credits and other formalities all i want, but my work- my ideas, my labor, my effort- is still so important to me. i felt like the biggest idiot for doing so much work, pouring so much of myself into a piece for someone's use, for what has amounted to nothing

but more importantly i hated myself for undervaluing my work, even if initially i thought this person was a trusted friend. money is not really an issue for me- drawfee is my main job and i am fine and comfortable. it's so important to pay artists appropriately but i often undersell my own work bc i value the collaboration and passion between creatives more than the reward. i think a lot of artists tend to feel the same, and it often makes us easy to take advantage of. it's so difficult to find the balance between passion and making a fair living, and i think there's some shame within ourselves when artists choose to prioritize that passion

i wanted to finally get all this off my chest bc i was ashamed of every choice i made. things like this happen all the time i'm sure and hiding these mistakes only make it easier for it to happen to other people

tldr always value your work and protect your passion from people who just see it as a product. and don't give cheeky pseudonyms i guess lol

(and again pls don't bother anyone involved about this. a lot of chaos has left my life as i moved past all this, and this is me closing a door without opening new ones hopefully lol)

this shit was truly

so ass.

but i'm moving past it now

but on a nicer note. outside of all of this nonsense, i made lots of good memories this year. i'm truly so grateful to the many wonderful people in my life who keep me going even when i fuck up big time!

and thank you to all of you strangers who, despite everything, give me the time of day. especially if you read this whole thing. you're a real one :')

happy new year!

#getting personelle #reflecting about some shit #thank u for reading or not reading just thanks for sticking around ig

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emacrow · 17 days ago

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Riddler, you have a visitor.

Oh, the Riddler's interest was a bit peaked today, possibly another reporter about the last fight he had with Red Robin or another fanatic giving him ideas again.

Only he wasn't expecting his sister, Maddie Fenton, to be there looking worse for wear in a celebration ruined dress, her tan skin a bit pale with a bit of faded bruising here and there.

Her orange hair was a mess with bags under her eyes, her makeup wasn lightly done today but she had a big smile as she was holding onto two sleeping babies in a twin baby sling and a little little boy peaking upward as he was babbled a bit trying to pull himself up the counter table to make his head reach above it as slightly older girl trying to shush him.

He knew his cousin had two teenage kids, Jazz and Danny, the last time she visited him two years ago as she break down saying she had been hunting down her son without knowing he was phantom or that he died and that he became king of some sort, and the thoughts ran like a speeding train in his mind as Eddie can see that Riddler was not needed yet.

"Code PIT happened, didn't it?" Eddie said as quietly as he could, so none of the security heard what he said.

Maddie's smile faltered a bit as she nodded a bit, licking her lips to speak softly.

"They ambushed Danny's high school graduation Today. they captured Vlad, which was why he wasn't talking to us for the past year and broke through the Fenton alert system using his ecto and blood. It was bloodbath of both of both kinds, and Jack luckily and stupidly always brought his hidden weapons with him at all times that actually brought us time to escape.

"I need one of your hideouts at least, temporary until I can rebuilt the portal for Danny at least, Tucker has the blueprints, since he has backup plans in case this happens and our house is no more at the moments.

"But they hit my babies with this new test ray gun they got, and it regressed their ages backward as you can see, and they tried to take my babies, Eddy." Maddie finishing whispering her side of the story.

Eddie sighed a bit in his hand a bit.

"And you wonder why I changed my last name, Mad Maddy? Which hideout do you need?" Eddie mumbled, looking up a bit, hiding his smile from the camera view as maddie thought about it.

"The one with the fancy tub?" Maddie pointed out as Eddie groaned this time in his hands for real.

"Damn, I was going to use that hideout for the next break out, ugghh. Fine, fine, you already know where the traps are, including the hidden ones?"

"The one with the rapidly expanding inflatable question mark duck 2.0 that spitting out acid and room full of hanging questions mark that explod when you pick the wrong one, the drop into a large cave nest full of Jack's last year mutated meatloaves that can only be pacified by singing pretty baby and the mirror maze that isn't a maze but going around in a straight circle due to mirrors being holograms to change a bit to 2 inches? You got sloppy, Eddy."

"..."

"This is why you're not mewmaws favorite, always spoiling my fun." Eddy grumbled, crossing his arms a bit before waving at little jazzy holding out question shaped cookie coated in green sprinkles.

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maryhall · 2 years ago

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Unpopular (?) opinion:

When I was young and wondering why I hadn't experienced a crush yet, the internet said I was probably just a late bloomer. They urged me not to identify as aroace because I could change my mind later on.

And looking back, like… so?

If I had been a late bloomer, who cares?

I was 13. I felt comfort in the aroace community. I didn’t feel like a weirdo for once in my life, surrounded by people who were like me. But I was urged to not join these communities until I became an adult in case I changed my mind about being ace. So I didn’t. And I paid for that.

Who cares? If you’re young and feel like you’re aroace, then you’re aroace. If you “change your mind” later, it’s okay. No one is going to be born and know themselves 100%. I genuinely thought I was alloromantic once, but now know I’m not.

Speaking from experience, I would rather have kids be “wrong” about their sexuality than feel like they have no place of belonging.

We shouldn’t gatekeep aroace folk because of their age. It hurts. It makes kids feel like they are the freaks society tells them they are.

#aro #arospec #aroace #aromantic #aromantism #ace #acespec #ace pride #aspec pride #aspec #unpopular(?) opinion #pride

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weixuldo · 1 year ago

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Baby Fever

Anakin x f!reader

This is based off of number 2 of this list :)- I havent really delved into kink writing s sorry if this isnt the best haha- think of the reader as a padme- type figure

After seeing you interact with a lost child- Anakin thinks it’s time you had your own baby to look after…

warnings: P in V, smex, ani has a mean breeding kink, multiple orgasms, mentiond of pregnancy

Floods of invigorating politicians and citizens exited the large Coruscant city center after a successful senate meeting. You had just finished pitching a plan that would excel the economy while also protecting labor’s rights.

You smiled as you stood from your podium once the majority of the crowds had exited- the whole public eye thing was a bit new to you.

For the longest time you worked behind the scenes helping other politicians with similar goals; it wasn’t until a few months ago that you, yourself, were appointed as your district’s senator.

You fixed your dress as you exited your booth and headed for the dimly lit corridors of the massive building. Most of the clamor had moved outside into the city square so the halls were mostly empty.

As you turned the corner a small smile found its way onto your face once you saw a familiar figure leaning against a marble pillar. Unmistakable robes and lightsaber clipped to the man’s belt.

“I wasn’t aware Jedi had any interest in politics” you said with a smirk as the man snaked a gloved arm around you before you could pass.

He pressed his face into your hair as he hugged you tighter to his chest, “We don’t, but you know all of my interest belongs to you”.

You sighed as he pressed a passionate kiss to the column of your neck.

“Ani- not here” you almost whimpered.

He quickly twirled you around to face him before holding your face in his hands, “why not?” he asked with a charming smirk- “we should let them all know”.

He glanced out the large windows down at the crowds of excited civilians- from up here they looked no larger than ants running for a sugar jar.

“They all love you, so why can’t I?” Anakin asked with a pout.

You sweetly smiled before placing a tender kiss to his pretty lips, “you can, and you do- you know the ramifications Anakin, you know we ca-“.

Anakin cut you off with another deep kiss before releasing you and playfully slapping your ass.

“Yeah yeah, I know” he huffed, “but they don’t know that”.

You rolled your eyes at your lover’s childish desires before leading him out of the building.

To avoid the spotlight and attention of the crowds, you dawned a hooded cloak before exiting the center.

Anakin followed closely behind; a hand already on his saber just in case. Thankfully being in public with Anakin seemed normal to some degree because you had become such a public figure- Jedi were often tasked with protecting political officials.

So Anakin looked no different than a routine bodyguard.

The crowds were easier to navigate now that you had some practice under your belt. You had almost made it to your reserved speeder when you felt a small tug on the hem of your long dress.

You smiled once you realized the tugging was coming from a small child, probably no older than four.

She looked up at you with wonder as she mustered up the courage to speak to you.

“Senator?” She finally asked.

You nodded with a smile before turning to her. A wide grin settled onto her small face as she looked you up and down.

“Pretty” she giggled.

Anakin stood a few feet behind you, trying to see what was going on over the people standing in the way- he became anxious when you dipped from view.

The Jedi quickly weaved through the remaining people to see you crouched down speaking to a small child. His expression immediately softened as he watched you interact so sweetly with the girl; making exaggerated faces at the child’s comments, pointing out her cute accessories to make her giggle, picking her up to shield her from oncoming pedestrians-

Anakin never really thought about having kids- of course he wanted them someday; he wanted to create life with you and wanted to raise his children with a childhood he never got to have. But it never seemed like the right time.

The two of you had been careful when engaging in those activities to avoid an unexpected surprise when you still hadn’t quite figured out how to navigate your secret relationship.

But each time Anakin fucked you he got closer and closer to giving up on the unspoken rule; he got closer and closer to cumming deep inside of you without any intention of pulling out.

You knew Anakin was a passionate lover but you never considered that your sweet, respectful Jedi lover fantasized about locking you into a mating press while he fucked his children into your fertile womb.

Anakin had no timeline of when he wanted them, but he knew you’d make a great mother no matter how long (or short) he waited.

Though seeing you interact in real time just made him want the fantasy to spring to reality.

_________

“Hello sweetie, where are your parents?” You cooed at the small girl in your arms.

She giggled and shrugged, making you frown.

“Well that’s not good, they’re probably worried about you” you said, scanning the crowd for anyone who held any semblance to the tiny child in your arms.

She, on the other hand, had no interest in finding her guardians- instead she was focused on the shiny tinsel that had been put into your hair prior to your speech. Innocently, she flipped your hood off and began to touch your face as she admired your beauty in childlike wonder.

Before you could react, Anakin was by your side; he gently placed the cloak back over your head to protect you from interested onlookers.

“Ani! You came out of nowhere” you giggled lightheartedly as he guided you off to the side of the still buzzing city square.

“Who’s this?” He asked with a smile as the little girl in your arms hid her face in your shoulder.

“It’s ok baby, he’s a Jedi- he’s very strong and he’s here to protect us” you whispered to the little girl in your arms.

“Jedi?” her green eyes brightened as she became excited at the title.

She continued asking you questions but all Anakin could focus on was how beautiful you looked interacting with such a young child. How natural you looked.

Is this how you would interact with your own children? With his children?

He couldn't help but adjust his pants as he felt them becoming increasingly tighter.

Soon the overexcited child had fallen asleep in your comforting arms; shortly, you began cautiously walking around in hopes to find her parents. The jedi beside you watched as you subconsciously brushed the girl's hair and gently bounced her on your hip.

Before long you finally stumbled across two very worried adults calling for who you could only assume was fast asleep in your arms.

“Oh Maker! There she is!” the woman gasped as she reached for her baby.

The Man she was with breathed out a sigh of relief and quickly joined her as you handed her the sleeping child.

“Thank you so mu- Senator!” the man’s eyes widened once he realized who it was.

“We are so sorry to have troubled you- please forgive us for our carelessness” the woman bowed.

“No, no! It was no trouble at all- you have a beautiful daughter” you smiled, brushing a stray strand of hair away from the girl’s face.

“Thank you, thank you so much. We loved your speech- you are just what this city needs” the mother offered before turning to her husband.

You bowed and met the silent figure watching from the sidelines; “Sorry Ani, we can go now”.

Anakin just nodded silently and trailed you with an uncharacteristically dazed aura.

Once you were in your speeder, Anakin hopped in the driver’s seat and jetted off towards your apartment; his strong jaw clenched as he imagined you full with a child.

He flinched as you placed a tender hand on his tensed thigh, “Ani- are you alright?”.

________________________

A cacophony of moans and groans ricocheted off of the walls of your penthouse bedroom as your lover continuously plunged his cock in and out of your abused hole. He had been at it for two hours already and had already cum once (while you came thrice).

Once you entered your private apartment, all of his carefully crafted will-power snapped and he went feral; the natural urge to breed you, hit him like a bus.

He was all over you; your lips, neck, breasts, cunt- you were his and he was going to make damn sure it stayed that way.

“A-Ani! S-slow down!” you cried as he jetted his thick cock in and out of you.

“S-Sorry baby, C-can’t- I gotta- gotta fill you up” he winced as he fucked you through his own overstimulation.

His heavy balls slapped against your ass and a ring of foam from your combined juices formed at the base of his cock.

He already came inside of you once, what more could he want?

“Baby- t’s too much! You're-spilling all over”.

“N-no, not enough- gotta fuck a baby into you” he grunted against your bruised neck.

His confession had your eyes snapping open, “What?!”.

“Looked too damn good with that baby on your hip- I-I wanna see you with my child on your hip in-instead” he babbled as he pulled you flush against his chest and rutted his desperate hips into yours.

So that's what this was all about.

Admittedly you didn’t mind his desires, deep down you wanted the same thing… you wanted him to reach so deep that he fucked one into you on the spot.

“Oh Fuck Ani- I wan- I want your kids” you admitted ad you raked your long nails down his toned back.

“Shit babe- squeezing me so tight” he whined as he gripped onto your hips with a caging grasp (surely you would be bruised tomorrow).

He slammed his hips flush against yours with intense force as he felt the coil in his stomach begin to snap- this was it, this was the orgasm that was going to give you a child.

He just knew it.

“Ahh c-cumming! Gonna give y-you a child- Shit! i-i ‘m going to fuck my baby into you” he babbled as he felt his hot, thick, warm seed shoot out of his oversensitive tip into your gushing cunt as your own orgasm washed over your like a crest-fallen wave.

“Ani!” you cried as your legs began to shake from the overpowering climax mixed with your exhaustion.

You clawed onto him so hard that you swore you drew blood. Anakin, on the other hand, dove down and captured you into a tight embrace; his mechanical hand making you gasp at the sudden coolness.

His body shook with pleasure and overstimulation as he struggled to rut his hips into you to push the last bit of spend further into you with shaky breaths.

Once you came down from your high, you were so tired that you couldn’t even bother to ask Anakin to clean you up; you half expected him to fall asleep inside of you based on how tired he also looked.

“Gonna make you a mommy- you’ll look s-so good- so round with our child” Anakin mumbled into your neck before slowly turning over so that you were on top of him (his dick still inside).

You hummed in contempt before drifting to sleep as he gently brushed your hair with hsi flesh hand.

“The two of you should get some sleep now- I love you” Anakin whispered before drifting right after you.

You would have giggled at Anakin’s addition of “two” when speaking to you and your hypothetical baby, but as usual your lover was right.

The famed “Jedi perception” was affirmed 9 months later when you cradled not one, but two small bundles of joy. You sat on your couch as you fed your children and Anakin couldn't help but smirk at the scene before him, this is just what he wanted… he couldn’t wait till you could have another one.

a/n: ngl im not crazy big on kids but breeding is hot 🤭🤭 hope this lived up to the idea on the list :0

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baepsays · 3 months ago

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I'd give you everything, I just want to see you win ⸻ clan head Gojo

chapter summary ⸻ Things have been tense between you and your husband, and he is determined to resolve it, but you seem reluctant.

pairing ⸻ post Shinjuku clan leader Gojo x non-sorcerer reader

chapter warnings ⸻ angst, fluff, suggestive stuff in the hallways, gojo just trying his best, never ending yearning continues, gojo going through it, some more sad backstory, heavy tension, still slow burn, actual progress between them?

a/n: art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

word count: 8.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST ‖ <<PREVIOUS CHAPTER . NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

chapter three: Pink Camellias

Gojo Satoru often wonders what kind of flowers there would have been at his funeral if he had remained dead.

Maybe the usual white wreaths of chrysanthemums, or perhaps something more grand. White dahlias, or maybe white roses? Maybe that’d be too hopeful for a funeral. Maybe even in death Gojo Satoru, the one alone honored through heaven and earth, the strongest, cannot have flowers that match his caliber, and maybe it's better to leave these things unanswered.

Because more often than not, he wonders if there would’ve been a funeral to even begin with—because something tells him his body would have been preserved for ages to come, displayed in some glass case, or hung up on some wall. Like a war-winning sword, too rusty and worn out to use, but gallant as ever to boast and display as a threat over the enemies’ heads.

And he wonders if that was the death he would've been satisfied with. If he would've gladly passed away, knowing there would not even have been a grave with his name on it. But then again, death does not knock at your door with options in its hands. You do not get to choose how, where, or when you were born, and neither do you get a say about these things in death. Even if you lose all your hope and will to live, death is supposedly always predetermined. Even if you are Gojo Satoru, no, maybe especially if you are Gojo Satoru, these things are simply out of his hands.

Maybe it is precisely why Gojo Satoru has not let his guard down many times in his life. Because whenever he did, he met his eventual demise.

Time and time again, he was proven right that he could not let himself be treated like any other human. Or even get treated humanely enough to begin with—that it is not possible for him to exist if it is not to aid others' peaceful existence. Even if he does not understand the better part of humanity, the majority that occupies this earth, the people for whom he relentlessly serves quietly and loses his friends. His existence signified something bigger than the deities in heaven, the ‘Gojo’ name attached to him meant more than his given name, and his powers required more acknowledgement than his identity.

He is a deeply flawed person for someone meant for greatness and divinity.

Sometimes he thinks maybe that he wasn’t meant to be the bearer of the burden. He came to believe more in strength above virtues and all. He became someone who cannot accept his emotions, as they always turned out to be his most fatal weaknesses. The past that haunted him and the future that terrified him—how they crippled him and obstructed the path he wanted to carve out for the generations after him.

Though what truly prevented him from understanding what he stood against was himself.

No one is Gojo Satoru’s biggest enemy other than himself. No one truly cared about Gojo Satoru's failures more than himself. And no one wished more than Gojo Satoru that the world one day would finally get fed up with him enough to finally leave him alone.

And that is probably the biggest tragedy of Gojo Satoru's entire existence. The things he never understood and the things he refused to understand—those are the true reasons behind his demise. And the reasons why he never became anything more than a cautionary tale. The god who failed to gauge his opponent’s strength and met his eventual death. Truly the fate of a tragic hero is to crumble and die during the most crucial of times. Shining under the spotlight during the climax, lying lifelessly on the ground in a pool of his own blood, with a smile on his face.

So what if he could feel the ground soaking in his blood, pooling underneath him, cooling down as his consciousness slowly drifted away into some abyss he did not think he'd return from? If it meant that his loved ones got to have another shot at survival at the cost of his life depleting from his cold corpse, he would not mind that choice, again and again.

Maybe finally, then, the world had enough of Gojo Satoru. Maybe his life was enough of a bargain, perhaps not the first time, but the second time around, it was the prize for restraint.

But dead or alive, he will always remain the enigma, the unmatched, the strongest, and the honored one. In life or death, the biggest weapon of jujutsu society, and in the entire existence of this world, is nothing more than a myth. That only manifested once in a few centuries and eons.

When the cold winter air becomes warm, and spring starts to quickly flee, the cherry blossoms all fall off the tree.

It is disheartening to see once full and pink trees lacking those hues. But when the ground gets covered by those fallen petals, and the air smells sweet, those trees start to sprout little leaves. The shiny little light shade of greens that pop up signifies that summer was just around the corner. Time for new beginnings to turn into age-old stories.

And yet, for one couple suffering from the great effects of misunderstandings created by their unfortunate circumstances and their poor understanding of emotions, it was misery.

To be completely honest, you have often wondered how things would have been if you had married an unkind man instead. If instead of averting his gaze from you, he looked you in the eye and told you that he could not stand you. Maybe things would have been easier that way. Maybe it would have been easier to hate him like that. It would have been predictable at least, the same age-old stories you have been watching unfold with your grandparents, your parents, and almost every lady who was unfortunate enough to have been born at the same status as you. And maybe you would have become one of them, ignored, neglected, bitter, and forgotten. It would be way easier then to keep to yourself in the boundaries that you have established for yourself in this estate, and there would not be any presence of this nagging feeling to cross them constantly.

It’d have been easier that way to understand why Gojo Satoru looked like he was suffering through deep pains when you were anywhere near him.

Instead, now you are left with your incomprehensible personal thoughts and actions. Why, despite all the kindness he showed you—more than what most husbands of arranged alliances have probably shown to their spouses—could you not bring yourself to be satisfied with just that? Could you not be glad that he was not at least similar to the men you have grown up around? Could you not accept that bare minimum? Have you been foolishly expecting some whirlwind romance to sweep you off your feet?

You should not bite the hands that are feeding you. Just because for once someone has given you some respect in this society that holds you a prisoner does not mean you get to act like a fool. It is crucial you understand your place in this equation. You are a normal and weak human being, somehow tied to the strongest— Gojo Satoru, the once-in-a-lifetime myth of this jujutsu society.

Though you must say, you never really understood the myth of Gojo Satoru. So self-sacrificial and benevolent, all for what?

But it does not take understanding to worship a myth. You were aware of that when you gave up all your hope in the heavens above, when you saw others closing their eyes and praying for everything their hearts desired, while you stood there blinking and wondering what the point of all of this was. What was the point of asking God to pardon you from the inevitable? Things like birth, sacrifices, hatred, and death. And like these many inevitabilities, it just happened to be that you married a man who is as mythical as the gods in heaven; perhaps that is why you don't really get him. But perhaps he was a god you could finally believe in or a myth you could worship?

But what was the point of worshiping your husband when you cannot truly love him?

And you cannot make any sense out of this bizarre relationship you have come to form with him. Not truly a husband, neither a lover, but more than an acquaintance, less than a friend. It is not that you enjoy being around him, but you get anxious when you do not see him for prolonged periods of time. You do not seek his approval, but you wish to appease him. Inevitabilities cannot be avoided, but things like love and affection can be carved out of a stone. And perhaps you have started to fool yourself into thinking that you are deserving of such a thing when you are stuck in a relationship lacking those feelings.

It is exceptionally greedy to want so much from a god, to want more and more from him when he has given up his literal life for others. So how could you ask your human husband, on par with the gods, to become the truly idealized husband you secretly always hoped for?

Hasn't he given you enough?

“Ma’am? MA’AM!” Mia, one of the girls given the responsibility to look after your immediate needs, called you out of your daydreaming.

“Are you alright, Gojo-san? You have been looking lost for the past couple of days.” Suki leaned down to fix your makeup while Mia continued to work on your hair. Mornings have never had such a routine for you.

“Yes, yes, I am. Do not mind me. Also, you two should stop addressing me as Gojo-san.” Your voice dimmed out of shyness.

“But we cannot, ma’am, orders from Gojo-sama.” Mia smiled at you in the mirror and went back to fixing your hair.

Their concern was justified. Since what happened with your husband at the lake, things have been awkward between the two of you. You have been anxiously hiding away from him, directly calling Ichiji to ask about the dinner preparations, and trying to delay your breakfast until he goes to his home office in the left wing or gets called out for meetings or work, even going as far as to have dinner earlier or later than usual by yourself with some lazy excuse. Because it was embarrassing.

Why did you even say those things to him at the lake? Did it even matter? Even if he hated you, did that matter? Or was it the fact that he didn't deny it even once?

Instead, you've started getting bouquets of flowers from him every day. He never shows up to deliver them or hand them to you himself; it is either one of the staff or Ichiji who gets them to you. Sometimes the staff will decorate them in a pretty vase on the dining table or on the little coffee table in front of the windows by the armchair in your bedroom, and other times they’d be wrapped up neatly in some sort of decorative paper in an intricately arranged bouquet. And every time you look at those gorgeous flowers, they make you think about just how shallow this relationship is.

“Good morning, Gojo-san. Late again, huh?” The chef said, as you sat yourself at the little dining table in the corner of the kitchen, mostly used by the kitchen staff, and now you.

“Good morning, Suzuki-san, just been tired lately.” You flashed him one of your practiced fake smiles. But unfortunately, in the brief period of time he has come to know you, he got a hold on how you actually look when you smile. When you eat the dessert at the end of the meal, the way your face lights up can be easily distinguished from when you force yourself to eat cucumbers and put on this smile after swallowing them down with what looks like ease.

“No cucumbers in the salad today.” He gave you a smile before setting it down with the rest of your breakfast.

“Thank you very much.” You sheepishly thanked him before digging into your meal, hungry from making yourself wait to have the first meal of your day. All just to avoid running into your husband.

“So, what flower is it today?” The chef asked with his back turned towards you; he only chimed in once you were about halfway through eating your food. Even though he was busy tidying up the kitchen and putting away dishes, the nonchalance with which he asked the question had mirth in it.

His question made you think back to the lilies sitting in your room, tall, beautiful, and fragrant, in hues of pink and white. You only looked at them once in passing when Suki mentioned where she should place them. And you offhandedly told her, ‘anywhere.’ As gorgeous as they were, they meant nothing. Just a sad apology for a sad situation. Where it feels as if you both are at fault, but also not quite really.

“Lilies.”

“Oh, my granddaughter loves them!”

“Would you like to take them back with you?”

You offered him the flowers more enthusiastically after you finished the rest of your coffee, but the chef stiffened up.

“Oh, ma’am, that is so kind of you, but I cannot do that.” Mr. Suzuki rubbed his hand dry once he was done cleaning up, and he fully turned towards you to deny your offer.

“Why not? I am sure they will stay fresh for a few days. If you are concerned that the flowers will wilt." With your dirty plates and mug, dodging Mr. Suzuki’s attempt to take them off your hands, you walked towards the sink.

“It is not that-just—”

“You know you can speak freely with me, Suzuki-san.” You continued to wash the dirty plates as Mr. Suzuki kept fretting beside you.

“Gojo-sama got them for you. How could I—” The chef nervously tried to explain to you.

“Technically he gave them away to me, so now they are mine, and I can do as I please with them.” Mr. Suzuki kept staring at you, blinking away, with nothing to refute your analogy.

“I would rather they wither with someone who actually wants them.” You finally looked at him after drying your hands, with a pleading voice.

“Oh, now you are making me feel bad.” Mr. Suzuki smiled at you sympathetically. He was stuck in a dilemma. On one hand was his employer, the head of the clan, the kid he saw growing up into a fine young man, for whom he couldn't help but root. And on the other hand was you, the new madame of the estate, the timid little girl whom he has come to think of like his own granddaughter.

“If it makes you accept them, then sure.”

“I insist, please.” The way you looked at Mr. Suzuki, with your face scrunched in a little sad frown, the old man could not help but concede.

“All right.” The old man said with a long sigh. But your smile and incessant thank yous made him smile to himself when you skipped out of the kitchen, happy to have successfully negotiated something in your life for once.

Mr. Suzuki was glad to have made you happy and could already imagine how happy his granddaughter would be as well when she sees those flowers tonight when he gets back home.

Yet he couldn't help but feel pity and a tinge of pang in his chest for your husband.

Gojo Satoru often wonders what kind of flowers there would have been at his funeral if he had remained dead.

Recently, he has been thinking about flowers more often than he used to. But for a completely different reason.

Since that night at the lake, he has been trying to come up with different ways to express how apologetic he is. Which is hard for Gojo Satoru. There haven't been many instances where he had to genuinely apologize for hurting someone's feelings. And no, it is not because he is some compassionate, empathetic soul; he just has the power, strength, and wealth to get away with anything.

It is true that privilege makes you blind. Gojo Satoru realized that the hard way after he married you. He has unfortunately hurt you one too many times in the brief time he's known you, even before he married you. He remembers when, after you two got engaged, he asked your father to have dinner at your house. He wanted to see the place where you grew up; maybe after dinner he'd have asked you for a tour of the estate and a walk in the gardens with you after dinner—to get to know you better.

And yet his duties didn't let him do that.

Professionally, in the context of the reformed jujutsu society, things have been better overall. Even for him, his messed-up schedule has become somewhat adequate. Now instead of three hours of sleep, he gets five whole hours! Not the hallmark of a healthy sleep routine, but that's an improvement nonetheless.

Unfortunately, on the day of the dinner, he was called away for an emergency meeting. If you asked him now, his opinion would be that it was not important enough to skip dinner with you (and your family). But sadly, even just a few months ago, Satoru wasn't the married, mature man he is currently! Still, the next day when he heard from your father that you didn't eat anything at the table, it stung.

He told himself he'll make it up to you somehow. And yet, since he married you, he's stepped on all the wrong stones around you.

This time around, he felt worse. It might have been because he's come to acknowledge his feelings for you. The fact that he has developed slight feelings of affection for you is astonishing. But he does need this to work out between you two, because he can't get married again. It’s all just so tedious! Yeah! That's the reason why. These are feelings similar to when you wish to permanently keep a kitten found on the side of the road, even though you planned on just fostering it.

Or maybe it was the fact that despite all his pretenses, you still managed to see through the facade he has perfected over the years. It scared him, but it made him more and more upset with himself. Not because he failed to fool you, but because everything has been so confusing for him—these feelings he has never truly felt before to this degree, and the lack of understanding he has for them, and the fact that you are getting caught up in this mess of sentiments and getting hurt by him. Unintentionally or not, he made you feel bad about yourself.

He couldn't just live with that. He couldn't just stand there and act like everything was fine. Not when you were ignoring him, avoiding being in his presence, and moving to sleep on the cramped loveseat in your bedroom when you felt like he was deep asleep—as much as your presence pained him, your absence pained him more.

But why was he even feeling all these intense feelings? He would rather not know the answer.

He just wanted to make amends with you as soon as possible. He genuinely does not fancy Ichiji showing up at his door to ask what he'd have for dinner, to relay the answer back to you—he means, the kitchen.

Satoru wants you to ask him, personally, what he wants for dinner. To have meals with you at the dining table as usual and wake up to your sleeping face, to stare at it for forty-five minutes before getting off the bed. And if he wants things to go back to how they used to be, he needs to say his sorrys. Which he sucks at. So here he was, doing what he was best at—buying things!

And since he doesn't know you well enough, actually, he knows basically nothing about you—he does plan on changing that—except for the fact that you like staring at the trees and the flowers at the lake. Which is why he went with the flowers.

After what happened at the lake, he tried to follow you to your bedroom, but when he got there, you had already locked yourself in the bathroom. In the morning when he woke up, you were not there beside him; the bed on your side looked neat, like it wasn't slept in. He later noticed the blanket and pillows on the loveseat in his bedroom and added two and two together. So he waited at the dining table for you to join him for breakfast with a bouquet of tulips. And when you didn't show up even then, well past breakfast, he had no other choice but to leave the bouquet with someone to hand it over to you.

Later that night, when he found those tulips arranged in a pretty glass vase on the dining table, his entire face lit up. He sat down in his chair, expecting you to join him, and when you didn't, he went to the kitchen and got to know you ate earlier before he arrived. Then when he went to your room to look for you, he found the little card, saying sorry in his handwriting—that he slipped into the bouquet—in the trashcan in his bathroom. And he understood that you, in fact, hadn't accepted either the bouquet or the apology.

But Gojo Satoru is nothing if not persistent! Since then, he kept getting you different varieties of flowers. Telling himself that, at least one of these days, your heart will melt looking at the pretty blooms. He got sunflowers, more tulips, roses in different colors, lilies, and some varieties of hydrangeas—whatever flowers were in season or he could get with his bottomless wallet.

He’d place the flowers on your nightstand every morning, and when he'd come back home, he'd ask either Mia or Suki if there was any noticeable reaction from you. Often you’d just hand over the flowers after instructing them to place them in a sunny spot. Sometimes they'd tell him that you took some time longer to smell certain flowers, like hydrangeas and lilies, before handing them over—and he'd make a mental note to repeat those flowers on his roaster.

But the cards with his handwritten sorrys would always end up in the trashcan of your shared bathroom.

Today, he got you an assortment of lilies, pinks and whites, some in full bloom, some still unopened buds. And he hoped that you liked them; maybe you finally smiled a little and kept the card this time. He really hoped that was the case as Ichiji pulled up in the driveway of the Gojo estate.

He kept staring at the mansion from his window. As it got closer and closer, he saw your silhouette at the main entrance. Standing there smiling, bidding goodbye to some staff as they retired for the night, including Chef Suzuki, who was the last one to bid you goodbye with a smile on his face. As he was walking away, Satoru saw a bouquet of flowers in his hands, lilies to be exact. And when he rolled down his window, he saw the same pink and white lilies in the chef's arms. Some of the buds were now partially open, and the flowers he saw blooming in the morning were upright and bigger than before.

“ICHIJI! STEP ON IT!” Satoru leaned forward and shouted at Ichiji with urgency, making the poor man stiffen up in his seat.

“Y-yes sir!” Ichiji nervously looked back and forth between the glass in front of him and his boss in the rearview mirror as he did what he was instructed to do.

In that instance, Satoru wished he lived somewhere smaller. An apartment, maybe. One bedroom, one living room, one bathroom, barely a kitchen, a nightmare to live in, but that's all he wished for right now. Somewhere small enough that it wouldn't take thirty minutes for his stupid car to go from the main gate to the main entrance.

“Oh, fuck it.”

With those last words, Gojo Satoru teleported away.

It was almost a routine for you to bid the staff goodbye at the door; after all, they always took such great care of you. Sure, it got lonely at night when most of the people in this massive mansion were gone, but nonetheless you were glad they had loving homes to get back to after a long day of work. It made you somewhat jealous that you never had that, a home to look forward to going back to. You had at least hoped that maybe someday you'd be that home for someone to come back to. But how things are going with your husband seems like it'll stay a wishful dream.

“WAIT!”

You couldn't help but pick up your pace, hearing Satoru’s voice suddenly speak out from behind you. Even though his legs were longer than yours, you speed-walked as fast as you could and made sure to not turn around even once. Once you took a turn down the hallway that led you into the main part of the estate from the entrance, you couldn't hear his footsteps.

But you were forgetting there is no point in running from the lion in the lion's den. Especially if the lion can teleport.

From there on, you kept turning around to check if he was following you. Fortunately, you didn't notice his shadow or his voice. Soon enough you were in the hallway that sat between the main part and the right wing of the mansion.

Calling this place a mansion was honestly not appropriate; the way the structures were built and how every route to one part of the mansion connected to another, the gorgeous lighting down to the lit marble floors—it was nothing less than a castle to you. Including how beautifully this hallway was built. Each hallway that separated the main part of the mansion from the left wing and the right wing was designed to look alike. There were gorgeous pillars that lined up from one end of the hallway to the other end, standing tall on each side of the marble floor that led to the right wing. On each side, between the pillars, there was just enough space to fit an intricately carved statue, or a big vase, or two people. You've only heard how the one leading to the left wing looked exactly the same.

Whenever you're here, it makes you want to peek into the spaces between the walls and the pillars, but you never got around to doing it. That is until now.

“Got you.”

Satoru pulled you by your wrist and dragged you with him behind the pillars. He pressed you back to one of the pillars; with both his hands on the pillar behind you, he had you caged between him and the long structure.

“Were you trying to run from me?” He raised one of his eyebrows in question, and something in his voice sounded like a challenge.

“I-I wasn't...” You tried to look away from him and turned your head to the side.

“You really want to do this right now?” He also turned his head and once again looked straight into your eyes. The blue pupils that wavered a few weeks ago to even look in your direction now looked straight into your own irises with no hesitation.

“Just how did you even get here?” Everything about this situation was frustrating. From where you were exactly standing, how close to him you were standing, how his eyes looked at you, and how they didn't even blink for at least a minute straight.

What a strange man.

“I can teleport if you're forgetting.” His eyes followed your pupils in every direction they moved.

“Right…” You dryly swallowed, nervous about where this conversation was going.

“You're not going to ask me why I asked you to wait? Also, how rude of you to instantly start running when I asked you to wait for me?”

“It just—I just—it happened automatically.”

“Are you serious?”

He looked at you incredulously. Like you've gone and personally offended him. Which you've probably done more than one time since he sat down in front of you the very first day you two met.

“Gojo-san?” Before Satoru could continue with reprimanding you, Mia’s voice came into both of your ears.

It was already well past 12:00 AM. Usually by now you're already in bed or at least in one of the sitting rooms reading something. It was expected that Mia would come looking for you since you asked her to draw you a bath before you could head to bed.

“I wonder if she got lost again.” Mia mumbled to herself as she looked around the area for you.

Each individual pillar was thick enough to hide one or two people behind it easily. So when you tried to get Mia’s attention, it came in handy for Satoru. He pressed his right hand’s palm to your mouth, and his left hand flew to your waist as he leaned in to keep sandwiched between the pillar and him.

“MMHMF!” Your voice was completely muffled by his huge hand.

“What?” He whispered close to your face; you could feel the warmth of his breath mixing in with yours. You could even feel the coolness of his hands on your mouth and through the silk of your robe.

“Mmmf mf mmff mm!” You muffled some more in his hand, trying to get your words across to him, and hoping some of the stupid noises you were making would get to Mia's ears before anything worse than what was happening happened.

“Want me to take my hand off?” You nodded vigorously while gripping onto the wrist of his right hand, futilely trying to tear it away from you. While he just smirked at your struggle.

“So, what are you offering if I do take it off?” Satoru’s eyes were taking their time to move between your left and right eyes. The more intently he gazed into your eyes, the playful smirk on his face fell. He could feel your lips on his palm; he felt a little discomposed to be touching them, and now that he is cognizant of that, it was making his heart beat unusually fast. And he was afraid you could hear it too. But he could not just take his hand off your lips.

“Mmhf.” You tapped his hand, trying to signal him to take it off so you could answer him. But not really; you were planning on escaping as soon as he'd take it off.

“Yeah, I could take it off, but I know very well you'd just run.” You shook your head aggressively and looked up at him with your best puppy-dog innocent eyes. And it did partially work; you best believe he was tempted to do as you asked.

“Hmm. How about you nod yes or no to my questions? When I'm done, I'll take it off.” Though you were a little nervous about what he was exactly about to ask you, still you nodded yes. He smiled for a second before furrowing his eyebrows. He looked serious, and he never really looked serious. Especially without his blindfold on, it was jarring to be this close to him and see him make such a face.

It almost made you wish he continued to wear his blindfolds again. Which he has completely stopped wearing around you since what happened at the lake.

“The lilies in Suzuki-san’s arms— were they the ones I gave you?”

You stared at him dumbfounded for about two minutes or so. There was nothing wrong with what you did; you just gave them to someone who will appreciate them better instead of watching them wither away in front of your eyes. You shouldn't feel guilty about that, yet with each passing second you could see his eyes getting somber, and they looked like you had somehow hurt him again.

With a guilty gulp, you slowly nodded yes.

“Why—I mean, I got you lilies before; did you not like them? Or just, it's this whole thing; do you want me to stop with the flowers?” Usually when your husband speaks, he speaks in precise hits and points. You don't remember him being a blabbering mess in a way that felt, for once, like he didn't intend on this.

You nodded yes again.

“Alright… But—just know that—I, I'm sorry. I really am. I don't know how to explain myself. I want to, but—can I ask what I can do to properly say sorry to you?” With a sigh, he looked at you expectantly as he removed his hand off your mouth.

You stared at each other in the shadows behind the pillars. You were free to run away, but you could not. You could not leave him like this; you just couldn't do that.

“Instead of flowers, I'd—uh—much rather you got me a plant. And explained things to me. And I'm sorry too. I was being too harsh.”

“You were not, trust me.”

“I really want to.”

There was no lie to what you just said. You did feel sorry about how things went down and how things have been going. You want to be nicer to him because he has been so kind to you. But he seems so unfathomable and like someone in another realm above you. And you are just you. Not worthy to stand beside him, much less eat with him at the same table or someone he could share his surname with. But what's done is done, and if you must coexist, there should at least be some mutual trust.

“Gojo-san!?” When you heard Mia’s voice echoing at the end of the hall again, you moved out from the back of the pillars, leaving him behind in that little alley of shadow. With one last look at him, you walked away.

A plant. Of all things, a plant.

Since he got engaged to you, then married you, to now, you've never asked him for anything. And now you asked him for a plant. No jewelry, a no to flowers as well apparently, not even books or something more expensive. But a plant. And what plant exactly?

“Ichiji.” Satoru sighed and rolled around in his office chair again.

“Y-yes, sir?” There has never been one day when Ichiji didn't feel like throwing up if his boss asked him some stupid question.

“What plants are good as a gift?” And Ichiji's streak remains intact, because right now he feels like throwing up.

“I—I don't know, sir, maybe a cactus?” What kind of stupid question even is that, and how do you even answer that?

“No, absolutely not. Too prickly, no. Maybe a flowering plant?” Satoru turned in his chair to stare out of the window behind his desk.

“Maybe a rose plant?” Ichiji suggested as he looked at the stack of papers on Satoru’s desk while piling up more papers on top of them.

“NO! Why are you just suggesting plants with thorns? Just go, leave!” And this is why Ichiji feels like throwing up everything Satoru asks him some stupid question.

If Gojo Satoru wants to get his wife a gift she will actually like this time, he needs a second opinion. Which is not from him, assistant. So he left for home early that day, early enough to catch the gardener, who mainly looks after his estate gardens.

“Watanabe!”

The gardener stopped shearing the bushes and turned around to look at the source of the voice. Every time Satoru screams his name and runs to him, he remembers when he was barely three, running behind him, asking about plants. And he feels a smile stretching on his lips, looking at the snowy fluff of hair rushing to get to him.

“How are you doing today, Gojo-sama?” Mr. Watanabe smiled at him and moved slowly to put his shears down; his age is finally catching up to him.

“Later, Watanabe! Can you tell me what's a good plant to gift someone?” Satoru asked him in a hurry, like time was ticking away too fast.

“Oh, well, succulents are everyone's favorite to gift.” The gardener was perplexed at his question; that was the last thing he was expecting.

“No, no, something pretty! Flower-bearing plant. Not roses; they are thorny, and everyone keeps recommending roses.” Mr. Watanabe laughed at his whiny tone.

“Alright, if you don't want roses… But how about something similar? Without the thorns, of course— how about camellias?” Satoru blinked at him, hearing about the flower for the first time.

“I don't know that one; do we have one here?”

“No, unfortunately, we do not. But you might remember them from your grandfather’s funeral. They were his favorites.”

Satoru does remember those flowers almost vividly. The white flowers were used to decorate for his grandfather’s funeral. Ever so stoic was the old Gojo, so hearing he liked such a bright and beautiful flower made him see his dead grandfather in a new light. But it did make sense for him to like those flowers. As beautiful as those flowers are, they were just as bold and elegant, words anyone would use to describe the old Gojo clan head. Satoru always thought those were just some very full roses, but apparently not.

“Some reason why we don't have one in our garden?” Seeing all the varieties of roses in the west part of the estate’s garden, it didn't make sense to him why something so rose-adjacent wasn't here already.

“Well, your mother didn't like them. Unlike flowers like roses, camellias drop their entire flower instead of letting go of it petal by petal.” Satoru tilted his head and thought to himself about the eccentric plant.

“Your mother didn't like that; she said it was dreadful.” Mr. Watanabe sighed as he went to clear up some of the cuttings.

“Ok, so can I ask you… Uh, could you get me one of those plants?” Suddenly Satoru felt shy in front of the gardener. The same one to whom he'd run up as a child and demand whatever flower that would catch his eye that day.

“Oh, do you want us to plant one in the garden? Surely it could be arran—”

“No.” Satoru interrupted his train of words, “I mean—as a gift. Could you get me a small one?” The gardener stopped doing whatever he was doing to look at Satoru. For a moment he forgot why Satoru came up to him asking about plants. He thought the gift must have been some sort of formality. But if he is putting this much thought into this, it could only mean one thing.

“What color do you think the camellias should be, Gojo-sama?” Mr. Watanabe’s smile widened.

“Does it matter?” Gojo Satoru didn't know much about flowers or plants, which is why for the last few weeks Ichiji was responsible for sourcing out the most suitable and best flowers so he could give them to you.

“It sure does! Flowers have a language of their own!” Satoru blinked cluelessly at the old man.

“Well, what is the purpose of this gift?” Even though Mr. Watanabe had an idea who this gift could be for. He may be old, but he still keeps up with the gossip that goes around the estate.

“I want to—to apologize.” Satoru meekly said everything about this situation was a new experience for everyone.

“And who are you apologizing to?” When Satoru’s ears became redder at his question and his eyes wavered a little in nervousness, Mr. Watanabe felt it was best to not tease the man any further.

“Alright then! How about a pink Camellia plant? It'd be perfect!” With many pats on Satoru’s back, the gardener picked up his shears and walked away smiling to himself, excited to make arrangements for Satoru's request.

Satoru didn't know flowers could mean something other than, ‘Oh pretty!’ So he was curious why Mr. Watanabe thought particularly pink Camellia flowers would be perfect to get his feelings across.

Things have been somewhat better since your husband cornered you in the hallways the other day. You two have been eating together again; you're not sleeping on the couch, but you're still not really speaking to him. So the regular calls inquiring about dinner are still going to Ichiji, and other than eating at the same table and sleeping in the same bed, nothing is really back to normal.

Like how usually on Sundays your husband is locked up in his office or hiding away from you or you're hiding away from him. But today, on this particular Sunday, Satoru is dragging you somewhere by your hand.

“Will you just tell me where we are going?” You were right behind him, and being this close to him, holding his hands, was not something you were used to. You could feel the rough calluses on his hand and the sheer size difference between yours and his hand. And it irritated you to even think that this feeling of his skin on your skin is not fading away anytime soon.

“How about I show you instead?” Even though all you could see was his back, you could hear the excitement in his voice.

“I really don't like surprises.” You mumbled to yourself as you looked around, realizing you two had already crossed the main part of the building and were well into the left wing.

The colors of the walls, the marbles and stones on the floor, the painting on the wall, and the decorations scattered everywhere were cohesive with the rest of the mansion. It broke away the little illusion you had in your mind about the boundaries you created for yourself.

“Here we are.”

Satoru walked through another hallway, which had large glass windows for walls. It felt like you were already outside, given how the pathway was lit with natural sunlight and overlooked everything in its surroundings. At the end of the hallway was an opaque glass door, which, when he opened, led into a room with plants.

It was a greenhouse, with light blue tinted glass and humid, dewy air inside. There were not many plants inside, just some little seedlings and small plants that you were sure the gardeners were growing to plant in the gardens for the next season.

“What is this…?” You could not help but be in awe of the place as you walked between the little plants on each side and a raised platform in the middle with a table on it; everything felt like it was meant to be exactly where it was. Sure, it was not the most gorgeous feature of the Gojo estate, but to you, it was just as awe-inspiring as the lake or the huge, soft couches all over the mansion.

“Your gift!” He excitedly pulled you to one of the corners, where in a pot was a little plant, and there was a little card hanging over the edge of the pot. You looked at Satoru for approval to reach out for the card, and when his smile stretched bigger on his face, you reached out for the card.

On the card, it was written in a somewhat messy but familiar handwriting you've been seeing for the last couple of days—‘I am still very sorry; I hope everything I'll say next will get that across to you.’

“I am sorry. I know nothing makes sense, but just know you don't cause me any pain.” Satoru said from behind you. You didn't have it in you to turn around and look at what kind of face he was making, so you kept staring at the plant in front of you.

“You're the only reason why I look forward to meals, especially dinners. I look forward to sleeping in our bed, and I don't just sleep in my office chair.” He didn't explain any further. Because he could not. He could not say why he looked like he was always in a dilemma when you were a little too close to him or why he has been so unfairly kind to you. But it was enough for now. He didn't really owe you any more than what he has given, and you could not help but feel like you've just been ungrateful to him.

So with a knot in your throat, you put on your best smile and turned towards him to nod in acceptance of his apology. And he didn't push you to say anything more; he didn't ask why you looked like you were in so much pain, or why you couldn't look him in the eyes, or why you looked like you were on the verge of tears.

“Can I ask you something?” Satoru asked you after a few minutes of silence.

“Sure.” He noted that you didn't sound like you were about to break down into tears anymore.

“Why a plant though?” He stood beside you, staring at the side of your face while you stroked one of the leaves on the plant.

“I used to have many plants at my father's estate; I used to spend a lot of time in the gardens. I just liked taking care of them.” Your eyes lowered again. And you didn't look like you were about to cry again, but you looked somber.

“You could still do that here! I mean, we have so many plants in the gardens.” He looked genuinely excited to gesture to your surroundings with both his hands.

“Yes, but they're not mine.”

“Everything with my name on it is naturally more yours than mine.”

You didn't know how to respond to that. But then again, that's just how things always are with your husband. He unknowingly says something too kind, too misleading, that has your tongue heavy as a stone in your mouth and your chest contorting in foreign shapes and feelings.

“Can I ask you something now?” You were clearly trying to divert the conversation, and Satoru knew that, but he didn't stop you.

“Mmhmm?”

“What kind of plant is this?” You looked at him for the answer.

“Huh? I thought you were a plant expert?” The signature Gojo Satoru smirk was back on his face, and you were surprised at yourself to feel relieved to see it.

“Oh, come onnn.” You whined and playfully pushed his side while he looked down at you with a smile.

“I don't know.” Satoru playfully shrugged his shoulders.

“You don't know?” He shook his head from side to side, with no intention of answering you.

“Find out for yourself when it flowers.” And he walked ahead to get out of the humid glass house, with you whining from behind.

Satoru didn't know why he didn't just answer your question. Maybe because you didn't acknowledge when he said everything of his now also belongs to you. Or maybe teasing is just a natural part of his personality; that is why. Either way, it worked in his favor. In the last few days you have been talking more and more to him, trying to figure out what exactly the plant he gifted you was. You tried to compare it with the plants in the gardens, now free to roam around everywhere, with at least one of the staff trailing behind you with Satoru's orders.

“Is it Peony?” You handed him his blindfold as he put on his watch.

“Thank you. But nope.” He took it from you with a smile and walked out of the walk-in closet.

“Just tell me!” You shouted behind him while he giggled and walked away.

Satoru already told the gardeners who look after the estate gardens, specifically Mr. Watanabe, so he does not give you any answers. But you still somehow figured out it was a camellia plant. And he remembers how ecstatic you were when he finally agreed with you that it was a camellia plant. But now your concern was what color?

“S-sir, it's ma'am. Should I ask her to call back in a bit?” Ichiji held Satoru’s phone in his hand; it flashed ‘wife’ on his screen.

“No, give it to me.” Satoru took his phone from Ichiji while everyone in the room looked at him with eyes that said, ‘sigh, newlyweds.’ Suguru smirked at him from his left with a raised eyebrow. He is getting teased later.

“I’ll be back.” But that doesn't mean he's hanging up on you. You're finally calling him, actually him, and not Ichiji to ask about your regular dinner inquiries; there is no way he is hanging up on you.

“Good afternoon to you, Gojo-san.” He said in a sing-song voice as he walked out in the hallway to pick up your call.

“You too, I was calling to ask ab—”

“Dinner, right?”

“...Right.” He couldn't see you, but he could tell from your voice you were feeling a little nervous again.

“The usual is ok.” You hummed from the other side. He never really asked for anything particular; it always went like this, and you just chose whatever you thought he'd like the best.

“Also can I ask again—”

“No, I am not telling you the color of the flowers. You'll see when they bloom.” You whined from the other side of the call, and he couldn't help but giggle at your response. You were really resilient, huh?

“Asking me constantly won't give you the answer, sweets.” His voice sounded so fond; if anyone nearby heard that, there'd be gossip going around that Gojo Satoru has become a hopeless romantic since he married his wife.

“Ok, then bye.” Satoru didn't mind your tantrums; in fact, he welcomed them. He wanted you to be able to eventually talk back to him and converse with him freely, and this was a step in the right direction. With one last glance at his phone, he walked inside the room full of people staring him down. In partial disdain and partial awe from most people and teasing glances from friends, still confused that this was the same Gojo Satoru they've always known.

The rest of the day, Satoru spent half anticipating when he'd get to leave work. And half thinking about pink camellias.

Sure, Mr. Watanabe didn't tell him what they meant, but he understood why they were the perfect gift Satoru was supposed to get for you. And Satoru understood that after doing a quick research after talking to Mr. Watanabe. Anything could be given to apologize, but there should be something meaningful behind the gift other than just feeling sorry.

To say broadly, pink camellias are given to someone you admire. And at certain times, they can mean longing for someone. Someone out of your reach, someone you know, has been trying their best. It's a sign of affection, admiration, and yearning. And Satoru believes that's precisely what he felt for you.

So, Gojo Satoru often thinks of flowers when he thinks about his own death. But now he believes whenever he surely thinks about flowers, he'll be thinking of you.

NEXT CHAPTER>>soon!

TO FIND MORE OF MY WORKS CLICK HERE.

divider by @/omi-resources. header is from watashitachi wa douka shiteiru drama. art in the header by @/RUEheree on twt.

yeah so april and may were not it.

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hyuckiefluff · 4 months ago

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MOONSTRUCK | p. jisung

pairing: werewolf!hufflepuff! jisung x hufflepuff!fem. reader genre: best friends to lovers, hogwarts/supernatural au, angst, smut. wc: 18.3k+ summary: after a cruel prank leaves jisung cursed, he withdraws from everyone—including you, his closest friend. but secrets can't stay hidden forever, and when a full moon pulls you into the darkness he's tried so desperately to conceal, there's no going back. content warnings: werewolf lore & transformation, drug usage, rut/mating behavior, rough sex, biting/marking, mild breeding kink, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, knotting, bulge kink, mentions of bruising & blood, mild body horror, brief medical talk (contraceptive), aftercare. lmk if i missed any! a/n: nearly a month in the making and i can finally say i’m satisfied enough to post this lol. i’m actually really happy with how it turned out—and i finally got to write about werewolves, which has been on my list forever. canonically, werewolves in the HP universe (and most lore tbh) are dangerous nocturnal creatures and primarily bloodthirsty. but for this fic, i took a step away from that and leaned into the rut aspect instead because why not ;) pls don’t judge the cover, i had picsart and a dream lol. btw moonstruck by enhypen and nda by billie eilish are two songs u should listen to while reading this!

ps: i don’t know why i was under the assumption that everyone knows hp terms but i realized that is not the case after my mark fic 😭 so even though i didn’t use too many obscure ones here, here’s a little reference guide just in case: legilimens– someone who can read minds or emotions squib– a non-magical person born into a magical family (in this fic, it’s thrown around more like calling someone useless/coward) wolfsbane– a potion that allows werewolves to keep their mind during a full moon; in hp lore they still transform, but in this fic it's not a full transformation. feel free to message me if anything else was confusing! happy reading<3

You didn’t expect your seventh year at Hogwarts to feel like grieving someone who was still alive.

Three months ago, Park Jisung was still your best friend. Now, he can’t even stand being near you.

The suddenness of this change was something you couldn’t wrap around your head. But things don’t always fall apart all at once. Sometimes they drift until you’re left staring across a room at someone who used to know everything about you and wondering when they became a stranger.

He was the very first friend you made at Hogwarts. You remember how he barely spoke to anyone, and you sat next to him in Transfiguration class just because there was an empty seat. You charmed your quill into a frog that wouldn’t stop croaking, and when he finally cracked a smile, it felt like you’d won something important.

He was awkward and soft-spoken, unsure of himself in the way most boys are before they grow into their limbs. But you liked him instantly. Probably because he liked the same books as you, or because he never made fun of you for being nervous on a broom.

He even held your hand during your first flying lesson, hovering near you the whole time so you wouldn’t be scared. Years later, you found out he was just as scared of heights as you were and only pretended not to be to make you feel safe.

By fifth year, you spent so much time together that you could finish each other’s sentences. By sixth, you were bringing blankets to the highest tower in the castle and naming stars until you both fell asleep mid conversation. There wasn’t a single version of your life in Hogwarts that didn’t include him.

You thought seventh year would be just like that….

You were wrong.

After a summer of sending each other daily letters, pages and pages of thoughts, jokes, and half-sincere promises to never grow up, you returned to school thinking nothing could change.

And at first, it didn’t.

You walked to classes together, fell asleep with your legs tangled on the same couch, pretending not to hear the way people whispered about it the next morning, and snuck out of the common room after curfew not caring that you’d get caught.

The Astronomy Tower was your favorite place, you discovered how pretty it looked at night in your third year.

It was quiet that evening, the wind tugging at your robes as you leaned over the battlement. Jisung set down the little paper packet he’d smuggled from the kitchens—honey biscuits, still warm—and nudged it toward you.

“Payment for helping with my Potions homework,” he said, trying to be casual, though the tips of his ears were already pink.

You laughed and took one, bumping his shoulder with yours. “You’d owe me a whole bakery if this were the price.”

He smiled softly. The moonlight caught in his hair, and for a second you forgot the chill entirely.

“Close your eyes,” he said suddenly.

You arched an eyebrow but obeyed. Something light, wool‑soft, was placed around your shoulders. You opened your eyes to find a black‑and‑yellow scarf wrapped there, smelling faintly of cedarwood soap and parchment ink—purely, unmistakably Jisung.

“Did you make this?” you asked, caressing the soft fabric.

“Erm… yeah, you lost yours and it’s starting to get cold outside.” He mumbled, eyes on his shoes. “I couldn’t have my star‑chart partner freeze.”

You swallowed a reply that felt too big, and instead reached for his hand where it rested on the stone ledge. Your fingers threaded with his, easy as blinking. He stiffened for a second then squeezed back. When you looked up, his gaze was already fixed on you, wide and bright, as though the whole sky were reflected there instead of above your heads.

Neither of you moved for a long while. Orion wheeled overhead, the biscuits cooled, and the castle bells tolled curfew far below. But the only thing you really noticed was the warmth of his palm against yours, and the way your heart tripped every time he glanced your way and smiled shyly.

You learned just how soft‑hearted Jisung was that day on the Astronomy Tower.

Which is why, a few weeks into seventh year, it struck you as utterly wrong when rumors reached you that he’d been seen tagging along behind Lee Seungmin. Seungmin was everything Jisung wasn’t—loud, sharp‑tongued, the sort of Slytherin who thought shoving first‑years into suits of armor was a hobby and swapping curse ingredients under the table was a joke. He hexed quills to peck at classmates and bragged about detentions like they were trophies.

Jisung, by contrast, apologized when he bumped into someone and brought extra quills for anyone who forgot theirs. He flinched at raised voices and fed the barn owls after hours because he worried they were lonely.

So hearing his name linked with Seungmin’s felt like hearing that rain was falling upward. At first you laughed it off, because surely someone must have mixed him up with another quiet Hufflepuff. But then Jisung started arriving late to meals, dodging your study sessions, mumbling vague excuses you’d never heard from him before.

That was when you realized the rumor wasn’t a mistake—and that something was very, very wrong.

Seventh Year

September settled over the castle in a bright rush of golden leaves and new parchment, and for a while everything felt the way it always had. You and Jisung were crossing the courtyard—still laughing about his theory that Professor Lockhart polished his hair with Mrs. Skower’s Extra‑Shine—when a voice cut through the chatter behind you.

“Oi, Park!”

You both turned. Lee Seungmin jogged toward you, grinning widelys. You didn’t bother hiding your sigh.

“Still on for tonight?” he asked, dropping his voice as he leaned in toward Jisung.

“I’m not sure. I’ve got a Potions essay to finish.” Jisung shifted akwardly.

Seungmin smacked him on the back, too hard to be friendly. “Come on, you’ve bailed twice already.”

You stepped forward, folding your arms. “Don’t you have that same essay, Seungmin? It’s half the term grade.”

He turned, as if noticing you for the first time and smirked “Why bother? Snape’s going to fail me anyway.”

“Typical,” you muttered.

“I’ll let you know later,” Jisung said quickly, cutting between you before another jab could leave your mouth.

Seungmin’s gaze lingered on you, faintly mocking, before he turned away with a humorless laugh. “Sure thing, Park.”

The moment he was out of earshot you exhaled. “Since when are you and Seungmin… close?”

“We’re not,” Jisung said, scratching at the back of his neck. “He just hangs around sometimes.”

You searched his face. “You two have nothing in common.”

“It isn’t a big deal,” he insisted, but the laugh that followed sounded fake.

“It is if you’re sneaking off with someone like him,” you said, sharper than you meant to, but the worry was too much to hide.

Jisung’s gaze dropped to his shoes. “I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

You didn’t say anything after that. You just walked the rest of the way to class in silence with a sense of unease settling on your chest.

That was when the distance began to show.

First, he started seating two rows over in Charms, smiling apologetically whenever you glanced his way but never moving back. He stopped leaving crooked little jokes on the margins of your Transfiguration notes or looking at you and trying not to laugh whenever Professor Lockhart messed up a spell.

He still spoke to you, yet every conversation felt stitched together, as if he were acting out a script. One afternoon you finally asked, “Are we all right?” He nodded so quickly you had a hard time believing it.

The next time you saw him with Seungmin it was well past curfew.

You had just left the library after wrestling Arithmancy proofs and stopped short as soon as you rounded the corner near the dungeon stairs. There was Seungmin leaning against the wall and Jisung half‑turned away, both speaking in low murmurs. You caught only fragments of Seungmin’s lazy drawl and Jisung’s tight replies. Then Seungmin laughed sharply, and your best friend flinched as though struck.

Your loud footsteps made both of their heads snap up.

“Y/N,” Jisung blurted, striding toward you as if to block your view. “Why are you out so late?”

“I could ask you the same.” You said arching a brow.

Behind him, Seungmin offered a thin grin before slipping down the stairs into the darkness of the dungeons.

Jisung pressed a hand to his eyes. “I was heading back to the dorm.”

“What did he want?”

“He—” Jisung’s voice faltered and for a heartbeat you saw the words gather behind his lips but he swallowed them down. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?” Your voice cracked on the word. “Come on, Ji.”

“I’m just tired,” he whispered. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

Silence pooled between you, at last you forced a smile neither of you believed. “All right. Tomorrow.”

But tomorrow never arrived—at least, not the kind where he told you what was wrong.

Because the next day Jisung never came to class at all.

Two whole days slid by without a glimpse of him and you were so on edge you kept glancing over your shoulder, half‑expecting his soft voice behind you. Or hoping he might walk into the library with that shy lopsided smile, asking if you had spare parchment which he always ran out of because his handwriting was too big and messy.

But he wasn’t anywhere, and no one seemed willing to notice besides you.

By lunch on the second day you couldn’t keep silent. Renjun was halfway through a Honeydukes bar, mumbling that chocolate boosted cognitive function, when you leaned across the table and murmured, “Do you know what’s going on with Jisung?”

He froze mid‑bite. “What?”

“Renjun,” you said, low and tight, “you know he hasn’t been to class, or in the common room. He isn’t anywhere.”

“I thought he was sick,” Renjun offered with a shrug that felt rehearsed.

“He isn’t in the hospital wing, and he hasn’t answered any of my owls.”

A flicker of something, maybe guilt, crossed his face. “Maybe he just… needs space?”

Your gaze sharpened. “Did something happen?”

“No,” he blurted too fast. “No, not that I know of.”

“Renjun.”

“I swear, I don’t know.” He wouldn’t meet your eyes. That was answer enough, but you let it drop for now.

That evening, heading back from a prefect meeting, you passed the hidden entrance to the Slytherin common room and heard voices up the corridor.

You weren’t trying to eavesdrop—until one word snapped you still.

“Jisung.”

“Snape got to him before—”

“—thought he was going to die, mate—”

“—Seungmin won’t shut up, keeps saying it wasn’t meant to go that far—”

A rush of blood pounded in your ears as you picked up bits of the hushed conversation. You edged closer and caught sight of Jay and Niki—Seungmin’s friends—half hidden in the shadows, whispering behind cupped hands.

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides. Your thoughts finally being confirmed; Something happened to Jisung and Seungmin was at the heart of it.

You didn’t sleep a minute that night. Every time you shut your eyes, the conversation replayed in your head until dawn bled through the curtains and you were already out of bed, fury keeping you upright.

You found Seungmin loitering outside the Great Hall, laughing too loudly at something Jay and Niki had said. You crossed the marble floor without a second thought.

“Where is he?”

The smile slipped from Seungmin’s face. He cocked his head, all polite confusion. “Sorry, where’s who?”

“Drop the act,” you said, stepping close enough that he had to tilt his chin to keep eye contact. “I heard your lackeys talking last night. Where’s Jisung?”

Jay and Niki exchanged a look but said nothing..

Seungmin gave a thin, brittle laugh. “You’re hearing ghosts, sweetheart. Why would I bother with Park?”

“A better question,” you started, voice cold, “is why you’ve been so attached to him lately. You don’t exactly run in the same circles, so what did you talk him into?”

Something sharpened in Seungmin’s eyes and he leaned in by a fraction. “Careful with what you’re accusing me of.”

“Or what?” You didn’t move. “You’ll do to me what you did to him?”

For a heartbeat his mask slipped, just long enough to confirm you’d scored a direct hit.

“I didn’t touch him,” he said, almost gently. “Whatever mess Park’s in? He walked into it himself”

“Liar.”

He dipped his head, a mock‑sympathetic smile curling at his mouth. “You think you know him so well, huh? Ever think that maybe he finally got tired of you shadowing him like a needy bitc—”

Your wand was at his throat before the last word finished leaving his lips. The corridor went silent except for your breathing.

“You know nothing about us,” you said, voice shaking with contained fury. “If he’s hurt, I’ll make sure everyone here knows exactly whose fault it is.”

Seungmin’s gaze flicked to the tip of your wand, then back to your face. A slow, poisonous smile spread. “Ask too many questions, Y/N, and you might choke on the answers.”

He stepped back with his hands raised in surrender, and strolled away. Jay and Niki followed in uneasy silence. You lowered your wand, fingers trembling with adrenaline.

His parting smile told you everything about his involvement. But you still didn’t have clear answers.

So you went to seek the other person allegedly involved. Snape.

When you descended into the dungeons, the silence was immediate and unnatural. No one ever came this far during free periods; only Professor Snape’s office existed at the end of this corridor, buried deep in the coldest, most isolated part of the castle.

Faint green flames floated midair along the walls, suspended in enchanted sconces that made no sound and cast no warmth. They pulsed gently, like breathing, and their glow warped the stone around them, making the shadows twist in ways that defied logic.

You hated it down here. Even now, in your seventh year, walking this corridor alone made your heart thud against your ribs like it wanted you to turn back.

But you were desperate.

Snape looked up slowly when you stepped into his office without knocking, his quill pausing mid-sentence on the parchment. His expression went from mildly irritated to coldly displeased in an instant.

“Is knocking a forgotten concept these days?” he said dryly.

“Professor,” you began quickly, not even trying to hide the urgency in your voice. “I need to talk to you.”

Snape set down his quill, arching a single eyebrow. “Then I suggest you start talking, and make it quick.”

You swallowed. “It’s about Jisung… Park Jisung. He’s been missing for days, and no one seems to know anything. Or at least, they’re pretending they don’t.”

His gaze sharpened and for a second, you thought you saw a flicker of caution behind his eyes before he quickly masked it.

“I fail to see why you’re bringing this to me,” he said coolly, leaning back in his chair. “Missing students are a matter for the headmaster.”

“Don’t,” you snapped before you could stop yourself. Snape’s eyes narrowed dangerously, but you pressed forward anyway. “I overheard some students talking. They mentioned your name…said you found Jisung somewhere. Something happened to him, didn’t it?”

Snape’s eyes flashed briefly. “And you believe the idle gossip of students because…?”

“Jisung wouldn’t just disappear on his own like that. I know something happened to him,” you shot back, voice shaking. “And I believe you know exactly what.”

He watched you silently for a moment. You could feel him weighing something behind his guarded stare. Finally, he exhaled sharply.

“Miss Y/N,” he began slowly, voice heavy with thinly veiled warning, “there are things within these castle walls and beyond them that you are better off not knowing.”

“That’s not your choice to make,” you said immediately.

“On the contrary,” he replied calmly. “It is precisely my choice. And you will do well to remember that.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, frustration prickling hot behind your eyes. “Professor, please. Jisung’s my best friend. If he’s hurt… if something’s happened… I need to know.”

Something shifted in Snape’s expression at your words, almost looked like regret. When he spoke, his voice was almost gentle, which frightened you more than his scorn.

“Sometimes the worst harm you can do to someone is to keep prying.”

He paused, holding your gaze steadily. “Park is alive. That is all you need to know. Now leave.”

You stood frozen for a second, his words sinking in painfully. Jisung was alive—yet somehow, that felt worse. It meant something had happened… Something terrible.

Your jaw tightened. “You can’t keep this hidden forever,” you whispered fiercely.

He leaned forward, eyes piercing yours in the darkness of the room.

“We’ll see.”

You turned away, storming from his office without looking back. Snape hadn’t denied anything which meant there’d definitely been an incident and it was serious enough that Jisung couldn’t be seen right now. He was alive, but he was hurt, and whatever happened to him was being deliberately hidden.

A few days later

The day started like any other.

You pushed cold eggs across your plate, half listening to Renjun’s gentle attempts at conversation while the Great Hall hummed as if a student hadn’t been missing for a week. But suddenly, a hush rolled through the room.

You felt Renjun touch your arm.

“Y/N.”

You looked up, and followed his gaze toward the doors. The breath caught in your throat.

Jisung was standing just inside the oak doors.

He was bent at the shoulders, eyes flicking over the Hall as if he didn’t remember ever being there before. His robes hung wrinkled and loose and there were red scratches carved along his neck and cheek. He was paler than before and the shadows beneath his eyes made him look years older than when you’d last seen him.

Without greeting anyone, he drifted to the far end of the Hufflepuff table nowhere near his usual seat beside you.

You were on your feet before the thought finished forming.

Renjun caught your wrist. “Y/N, maybe wait—”

You shook him off and crossed the hall, every step echoing in the sudden quiet.

“Jisung?”

He flinched but kept his gaze on the empty plate. “Not now, Y/N.”

“You’ve been gone a week,” you whispered, voice trembling. “I was so worried—”

“I said not now.” The snap in his voice was sharp enough to cut. He glanced up and the terror in his eyes chilled you to the bone.

You reached for him, but he stood so abruptly your balance faltered. Without another word he strode the length of the hall and disappeared through the doors, leaving a silence that seemed to bend the rafters.

You stood frozen, heat flushing your face as dozens of eyes slid away. Renjun appeared at your elbow and talked softly. “Let him breathe.”

You nodded, though the emptiness in your chest insisted otherwise.

Jisung returned to lessons, but only in body. He answered professors in one‑word murmurs and offered classmates strained smiles that meant please don’t talk to me. At meals he sat alone, two yards of empty bench marking the space where laughter used to live.

He moved faster when he saw you in the corridors. He no longer waited outside classrooms or drifted toward your chair in the library. His robes hung loose as if he’d lost weight along with sleep, and his hands shook whenever he raised his wand. Sometimes you caught him staring through stone walls at something only he could see.

You tried with soft hellos in the common room, and owls folded with careful questions but every attempt slid off the wall he’d built overnight. The harder you reached, the farther he retreated, until all that remained between you was silence and the memory of how easily you’d once shared the same breath.

2 days later

Jisung sat on the edge of his bed, head buried in his shaking hands. His palms were marked with crescent-shaped indentations from how hard he was clenching his fists.

He kept hearing it.

The snap of branches in pitch-black darkness. The sickening crunch of claws sinking into damp earth. The guttural snarl vibrating through his bones moments before razor-sharp teeth pierced his shoulder. The thick warmth of blood soaking through his robes.

Sometimes it came to him in dreams. Other times, he’d be awake, in class, or walking down the corridor. A sound, or a smell and he was back in the forest.

Snape had said the wolfsbane would help and it had in a way. At least, it kept the full transformation at bay. But it didn’t stop the memories, it didn’t quiet the noise in his head.

His senses were too sharp now, every creak of the floorboards, every flicker of candlelight, every rustle of parchment felt louder. Sometimes he thought he could hear people’s heartbeats, smell their sweat before they entered a room. His insides constantly felt overwhelmed with unbearable energy. He felt trapped in his own skin, moments away from tearing free of himself. Sometimes he felt too much, and other times… he felt nothing at all.

Worst of all, though, was you.

He couldn't stand to be near you anymore. Not because he didn't want to, but because your scent now stirred something dangerous within him. It made his chest ache unbearably, tightened his throat with longing and thirst.

A part of him urged him to get far away from you. But another darker, more primal part whispered the opposite… to scent you, to sink into you, to lose control entirely. But he refused to drag you into his nightmare. He wouldn't allow it, no matter how much it tore at him.

He could remember most of what led him into the forest, up to a certain point.

He remembers Seungmin saying he wanted to hang out and they met near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, where one of the slytherins handed out something called shadeleaf. It was an iridescent petal folded into itself like a capsule. Illegal, of course. Banned by the ministry for its hallucinogenic properties and its tendency to react differently based on magical affinity.

Jisung didn't even know why he was there. This wasn’t his scene at all. The guys were drinking something out of a flask that smelled like burnt sugar and smoke. Jay was lighting up a rolled spell-scroll with charmed embers. Niki already looked half out of it, eyes glazed.

When Seungmin started showing an interest in him a few weeks ago, Jisung had been flattered. He'd only ever made two close friends at Hogwarts, so someone new noticing him felt good. That was the only reason he went along with him. He wanted to be accepted.

“Is it safe?” Jisung asked nervously.

“Come on, park,” Niki chuckled, placing a shimmering petal on his tongue. “Don’t be a Squib.”

“What's the worst that could happen?” Seungmin grinned, handing one to him. “You trip a bit? See some weird shit? Wake up with a headache?”

Jisung hesitated, staring at the thing in his palm. It pulsed faintly with a color he didn’t have a name for.

He didn't want to do it, but they were all watching him. So he took it.

The effects hit almost instantly. His vision went fuzzy first; he could only see edges warping and light bending at impossible angles. Then his tongue tingled and throbbed, and his body felt too hot.

“Shit, this is strong,” Jay laughed.

“It’s not that bad,” Seungmin said, puffing from the smoldering scroll between his fingers.

None of them looked as affected as Jisung.

"Come on, Park," Seungmin said, draping an arm casually yet firmly around Jisung’s shoulders. "There’s a spot a little deeper in. We hang out there all the time."

Jisung couldn’t hear properly anymore, everything sounded underwater. He followed anyway.

He couldn’t say how long they walked. It felt like hours, though in reality it was probably mere minutes before his knees gave out, sending him sprawling onto the cold forest floor. His head spun violently, vision fractured.

He tried to speak, to call out but his voice didn't work, the forest blurring darker and darker until only silence and blackness swallowed him whole. He didn’t know when they left him. Just that at some point, he was alone.

The last thing he remembers was seeing bright, yellow eyes and feeling immense pain…

He woke up choking on his own blood.

His body jerked violently, lungs burning as he struggled to take in air. He felt strong hands grip his shoulders, pulling him upright with urgency. Through blurry, half-open eyes, he caught the outline of a wand glowing faintly in the dark. He barely recognized the familiar cadence of Professor Snape’s voice echoing through the haze.

“Park… Can you hear me?” Snape’s voice was clipped, edged with tension he’d never heard before.

Jisung managed only a strangled groan. He couldn’t speak, his throat was raw, filled with the metallic tang of blood. Breathing felt impossible, each gasp shallow and painful, as if his lungs were full of lead. He felt wetness soaking through his clothes and pooling beneath him. He didn't know if it was sweat or blood. Probably both, his clouded mind whispered darkly.

He was certain of only one thing—he was going to die here.

“You’ve been attacked,” Snape explained urgently, casting quick charms that rippled warmly across Jisung’s battered body. “I need you to remain as still as possible while I attempt to slow the bleeding.”

The word attacked echoed faintly in Jisung’s mind. Attacked by what? His thoughts swirled sluggishly. He couldn’t focus enough to piece anything together.

Snape pressed a small vial to his lips. The Hufflepuff hesitated, eyes flickering up weakly, his question dying soundlessly on cracked lips.

Snape seemed to understand instantly. “It’s Wolfsbane.”

The word crashed over Jisung with crushing weight, his mind snapping painfully back to clarity. Wolfsbane. A potion for…

His stomach twisted violently, nausea gripping him as realization cut sharply through the fog in his mind.

He’d been attacked by a werewolf.

It felt impossible. He wanted to deny it, wanted to believe it was just some twisted nightmare brought on by the drugs he’d foolishly taken. But the pain burning through his shoulder and the dark, grim expression on Snape’s face all made denial impossible.

With trembling lips, Jisung allowed Snape to tip the bitter potion into his mouth, grimacing weakly as he forced himself to swallow it down. It tasted vile but he had no energy left to protest.

He collapsed back against the cold forest floor, limbs heavy, vision fading once more as Snape continued muttering charms, trying to keep him tethered to consciousness.

“Stay with me, Park,” Snape’s voice commanded, sharp but oddly comforting. “You’re not going to die tonight.”

But Jisung wasn’t sure he believed him.

The darkness rushed back in, heavy and thick, pulling him under again as Snape’s frantic movements blurred and faded away.

His memory is fuzzy from then on.

One moment he was lying in the dirt, blood soaking the ground beneath him. The next, he was being levitated through narrow hallways, his body wrapped in magic and warding charms.

The room was dark, except for a wandlight hovering near the ceiling. He was placed on a dusty mattress on the floor. His skin felt stiff with blood, every muscle felt like it had been peeled apart and sewn back together with barbed wire.

He recognized the Shrieking Shack from an article he’d read once about the most haunted places on Earth. That’s where they were right now.

The shack was colder than he imagined. This was the place they used to tell ghost stories about in the common room. The place kids dared each other to peek into on Hogsmeade weekends. It smelled like old wood and dust. Snape moved through it like he’d been here before—like this was routine.

He cast a dozen silent spells before even speaking. Layers of enchantments wrapped around the rotting floorboards, the shattered furniture, the warped windows.

“You must take this Wolfsbane every day,” Snape said curtly, setting a tray on the floor beside the creaking mattress. “Or I’ll force it down your throat.”

Jisung didn’t answer. Snape paused, studying him with that unreadable stare.

“You’ll stay here until the full moon passes,” he said. “You’ll say nothing when you return.”

Jisung blinked slowly, the weight of it sinking into his bones. ‘When you return… or If’.

Then Snape turned to go but he stopped in the doorway.

“You are not the first,” he said, voice low. “It will be painful but you’ll survive.”

And with that, he was gone.

The silence was the most unbearable part of being in the Shack. Not even the pain or the way Jisung’s bones ached like they were preparing to snap apart. It was the silence that made him feel like he’d go crazy any minute.

He tried to sleep, but whenever he tried he’d blink awake to phantom sensations of fur brushing his skin, fangs pushing against his teeth, and a sweet scent of honey curling through the cracks in the floorboards.

It wasn’t the full moon yet but his body was already responding to it. The Wolfsbane kept him from changing completely, but it didn’t stop everything. His skin itched as if it was being stretched and he realized he’d grown a few inches taller overnight. His eyes were also becoming sensitive to even the faintest flickers of light, and they were a dark shade of yellow that glowed whenever the moonlight hit them.

It might’ve been on the second night or the third, he couldn’t remember well, but Snape came in and told him that the full moon would be at its peak and he would feel the effects more despite the potion.

Jisung lasted about two hours before the pain began. It wasn’t sudden. It crept in slowly, like frostbite, numbing his fingers first. Then his wrists and his legs. He thought maybe this was it—maybe he’d just fade out before anything happened. Then it spread up his spine and into his skull, where it bloomed behind his eyes like fire.

The pain was so much bigger than his body. It burned and it shredded him, as if his bones were being broken and rebuilt at the same time, like his skin wasn’t big enough to hold him anymore. He scratched at his own arms until his nails cracked and bled. It got so unbearable he slammed his head against the wall hoping he would knock himself out but he couldn’t.

He clawed at the walls, tore at the floorboards and bit into the wood until his mouth filled with splinters and blood. He howled until his throat tore raw. And still, it didn’t stop

He lost count of how many times his limbs broke and reformed. His jaw cracked open so wide he thought it might dislocate, teeth pushing through bloody gums. He was sobbing or at least, he thought he was. It was hard to tell over the sound of his own growling.

The transformation stopped halfway and started again the next day. He never fully transformed but he felt the pain of his body trying to fight against it every single time.

He stopped counting days after that.

Hunger and exhaustion tangled with grief and fear until all that was left was the throb of his body and the steady hum of magic in his blood. He didn’t think about the pain anymore. Or the bite. Or Seungmin. Or the forest.

Mostly, he thought about you.

He tried not to, but you wouldn’t leave him. Your face, your laugh, your voice, it all circled him like the moonlight through the slats in the wall.

The way the thought of you made his body burn now.The way your honeyed scent used to be comforting but now made his lungs tighten and his mouth water. He didn’t understand why he was feeling this way.

On the seventh day he woke up soaked in sweat, shivering uncontrollably. The moon had passed. He could feel it in the way the ache in his bones was retreating and his mind was clearer.

Snape arrived at dawn.

He said nothing about the mess of blood and broken furniture in the room. He just studied Jisung who was sitting slumped against the wall. He pulled out his wand and started casting diagnostic spells over his body.

“You’ll return to class tomorrow,” he said. “If anyone asks, you were ill.”

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape continued impassively. “You are not to mention the Wolfsbane, the forest, or what you’ve become. Do you understand?”

Jisung finally looked at him, barely able to lift his head properly. “That’s it? Just… go back like nothing happened?” His voice came out hoarse.

Snape’s eyes narrowed faintly. “No. That is not it.”

He stepped closer.

“You will take your potion every cycle, no matter what. And you will not seek out the other boys involved, nor will you retaliate.”

Jisung’s jaw clenched. He wanted nothing more than to rip Seungmin’s throat apart, but he knew that was just the wolf thinking.

“And most importantly, you will stay away from her.” Snape said, his voice dropping at the last word.

Jisung sat up sharply, knowing exactly who he was referring to. “Why?”

The professor’s expression didn’t soften. “Because the wolf doesn’t care that she’s your friend. It doesn’t care about boundaries or guilt or decency. It responds to need.”

Jisung’s chest tightened, throat dry.

“The first few transformations are the worst,” Snape continued, pacing slowly now. “Your body hasn’t adjusted. Your instincts haven’t aligned with your mind. You will feel urges…violent, territorial, carnal urges that you can’t control. Those urges will turn into fixations... Especially for someone you already had feelings for”

“I don’t–” Jisung started.

“You don’t need to lie, Mr. Park.” Snape cut him off, “I am a very skilled Legilimens, you know? I can see your mind and I see how it’s filled with thoughts of her.”

Jisung looked away, jaw trembling slightly. Snape stopped in front of him.

“Her scent” he said quietly. “It already triggers you, doesn’t it?”

Jisung didn’t answer. That sweet scent of honey and parchment that he kept smelling through the rotting floors and the dried blood, he figured out it was you. It reminded him of that night at the Astronomy tower.The Shrieking Shack might be a few miles away from Hogwarts castle but he could still somehow smell you.

“You feel it in your chest, in your teeth, in your gut” Snape said, voice like a scalpel. “You want her.”

Jisung’s breathing picked up.

“That is the beginning of your rut.”

“Rut?” he repeated, barely above a whisper.

Snape nodded. “It’s a biological response. Wolves enter a heightened state after the full moon cycle. Some experience it more than others, especially younger ones who’ve recently turned”

Jisung’s heart was pounding now, nauseatingly fast.

“You may feel sudden impulses or worse you might want to act on those impulses.”

He felt sick. “I’m not— I would never hurt her.”

“I’m not concerned about your intentions,” Snape said coldly. “I’m concerned about your self control. A werewolf’s instincts are hard to resist and if you lose control, Mr. Park… She will pay the price.”

“So stay away from her,” Snape said with finality. “It’s the only way to keep you both safe.”

Jisung sat there shaking, the weight of what he’d become pressing down on his spine like a second body.

He couldn’t go back. Not like this.

“I’m not ready,” he said hoarsely.

Snape didn’t turn. He stood by the window, watching the last of the night dissolve into grey morning.

“You won’t ever be,” he said simply.

Jisung clenched his jaw. “I don’t want to see her. Or anyone. I—I can’t trust myself.”

“You must learn to live with your current situation.”

“Why can’t I just… stay here?”

Snape turned at that. His eyes were cold and calculating.

“Because people are already asking questions,” he said. “Students, staff. Your friend.”

Jisung’s heart stuttered at that.

“She’s worried,” Snape continued. “Rightfully so. You disappeared without warning. She’s been to my office several times. She’s even confronted the student who got you into this predicament, pulled out a wand at him. I don’t know how much longer I can keep her from endangering herself trying to find you.”

Jisung lowered his head, guilt flooding every nerve.

“Rumors are spreading, too.” Snape added. “A few students are saying they saw you with Mr. Lee that night. Some think you were injured, others that you’re in trouble. You’ve already been gone too long.”

Jisung swallowed hard. “So I just walk into the Great Hall acting like I’m normal?”

Snape didn’t blink. “Yes.”

His stomach turned. “And if someone sees the scars?”

“You’ll say you had an accident in the forest.”

“And you’ll back me up?” he asked bitterly.

“If I must.”

Jisung exhaled shakily. “And Y/N? We—we’re always together, she’ll find it weird if I suddenly cut her off”

“You’ll keep your distance regardless. If she asks questions, you deflect. If she pushes, you walk away. You’re not safe around her”

He bit his lip hard, so hard it almost bled. “She’ll know something’s wrong.”

“Then hope she’s smart enough not to get too close.”

The doors to the Great Hall had never felt so heavy. Jisung stood in front of them for nearly five minutes, staring at the carved wood. Behind them, he heard laughter, casual conversation, normalcy.

He wasn’t ready.

But Snape’s words echoed in his skull.

"You’ve already been gone too long."

He took a breath and pushed them open.

All the noise overcame him like a wave, the plates clinking, voices overlapping, owls fluttering through the rafters. It all felt loud in a way it hadn’t before, as if someone had turned the world’s volume up just to punish him.

He kept his head low and his pace steady. One foot in front of the other. Just like Snape said. Act like nothing happened.

He could feel all eyes on him almost instantly. First years stopping mid-bite and a few seventh-years whispering across the Gryffindor table. Someone, he thought maybe Jay, froze with a goblet halfway to his lips.

And then you. He didn’t have to loo, he felt the second your eyes landed on him, making something twist deep in his chest. That same unbearable tightness he’d felt in the shack whenever he let himself think about you. About your laugh echoing across the common room. About your fingers brushing his when you passed him a quill and how it used to mean nothing, and now it meant everything.

He knew you’d notice the hollow look in his eyes, the bruises blooming like violets on his neck and the bandage peeking out from beneath the collar of his robes. You’d find it weird that he didn’t sit near you, didn’t even glance your way. But he tried to ignore those thoughts and just focus on the plate in front of him even though his stomach turned at the smell of food.

You stared at him from your seat. It took you several long, painful seconds to process what you were seeing.

Jisung—your best friend, who’d been missing a week without a word—just walked into breakfast looking like he’d seen hell and barely made it back out.

His robes were loose like he’d lost weight and his eyes were ringed with dark circles, exhaustion written clearly in every line of his face. There were cuts visible, thin red marks down his jaw, a deeper scar stretching beneath his collar, fading bruises on the backs of his hands. His hair was tangled, his posture painfully tense.

You felt a sick sense of relief after seeing him, despite his appearance. But most of all you felt angry. You felt everything all at once, a hot rush of emotions almost too intense to handle.

Jisung avoided your gaze completely. He picked at the food in front of him, not really eating, just pushing it around his plate.

He felt you approaching before you spoke. Your scent hit him first, warm and familiar, yet unbearably intense. His jaw clenched tight, fingers curling into fists beneath the table. He didn’t look up even when you stood near him. He simply couldn’t trust himself to see your face and not fall apart.

You called his name quietly and he almost cried at the sound of your voice. But he didn’t move, not even when you stepped closer.

Slowly, he raised his head, gaze finally meeting yours You went still, eyes widening just slightly. He knew instantly what you saw—the darkness in his stare, the shadowed bruises, the fresh scars. The way he looked wrong.

He couldn’t bear your pained eyes, so he snapped at you. Something he’d never do before, but Snape told him to deflect. So he yelled and walked away, trying to ignore how hurt you looked.

This was what Snape meant. You’re not safe around her.

You couldn’t eat after that. Not with the way he’d looked at you.

Jisung had always been soft-spoken, a little awkward, a little shy—but never cold. And you didn’t need a Healer to tell you that whatever he’d gone through wasn’t some stomach bug or routine cold. You weren’t stupid.

You saw the tremble in his fingers when he reached for his fork. You saw the way he flinched when someone behind him dropped their goblet. You saw the bruises just under his collar and the bandages.

Something happened to him.

You sat back down but your heart was still up at the other end of the table with him.

“I need to know,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Renjun.

He sighed. “Y/N…”

“Don’t say it,” you snapped quietly. “Don’t say I should give him time. Don’t say he’ll come around. I know him, Renjun. He’s scared. You don’t just disappear for a week and come back with claw marks on you neck.”

Renjun went quiet.

That silence told you more than anything else.

“Okay, I’m tired of this… You know something, don’t you?”

He avoided your gaze. “It’s not my place to say.”

That hurt. “Is it mine to not know?”

You stood abruptly, grabbing your bag. “If no one’s going to tell me the truth, I’ll figure it out myself.”

Over the next few days, you tried to get close to Jisung in every way you could think of. You waited for him outside the greenhouses after Herbology, hoping to catch him alone. You switched seats in Charms just to be nearer, and sometimes you even loitered in the corridor after Potions, telling yourself you’d walk him back to the common room.

Despite your best efforts, he continually slipped away.

He offered awkward excuses about having somewhere to be, or sometimes said nothing at all and just walked past. Most of the time, he barely managed to look at you, as if doing so caused him physical pain. This wasn’t an icy kind of avoidance, nor was it tinged with anger. It felt worse than either of those possibilities—it was as though he found everything about you unbearable, but still couldn’t muster the energy to explain why.

Once, you nearly cornered him after lunch. He was leaning against the corridor wall outside the Great Hall, head tipped back, looking utterly exhausted. In that unguarded moment, your eyes met his, and you thought you glimpsed your old friend beneath the tension he carried. Summoning the nerve you’d been collecting all day, you stepped forward.

“Can we talk?” you asked softly.

For a split second, it seemed like he might say yes. His mouth opened as though he wanted to form the words but then Professor Snape’s voice echoed from behind you.

“Miss Y/N.”

You turned around to find Snape standing there, unruffled as always, robes hanging in sharp lines. He inclined his head in an almost polite manner yet still carried the weight of an order.

“I need you to come to the dungeons,” he said in a measured tone. “There are ingredients that require sorting. I trust your handwriting is still legible.”

You tried to protest, but as soon as you turned back, Jisung had vanished. From that moment on, it became a pattern: every time you got too close to him, Snape appeared with some new task for you—an extended office hour to discuss a mistake in an essay, a request to reorganize outdated potions, or a perfectly timed interruption just as you were about to speak with Jisung privately.

On a rational level, you knew it was ridiculous to think Snape was orchestrating this on purpose; however, it was impossible to ignore how consistently he managed to swoop in whenever you finally had a chance to approach Jisung alone. You didn’t know why your professor was so intent on calling you away, and truthfully it wasn’t the main issue gripping your mind.

All you could focus on was Jisung.

He looked so different—worn down, scared, ashamed, like he was carrying a secret that weighed on his shoulders every moment of the day. Every time you tried to reach him, he withdrew further. It broke your heart, because you weren’t trying to fix him or make him talk if he didn’t want to. You just wanted to be there, to stand by him instead of watching from a distance.

Yet no matter how hard you tried, the boy who used to seek you out for study breaks and late-night jokes now seemed determined to avoid you. And the more distance he forced, the more you wanted to find out what had really happened, because this Jisung—the one who flinched when you spoke and looked away when you caught his eye—felt like a stranger wearing your best friend’s face.

It was late, far too late for anyone else to be out of bed. So when you heard commotion up in the Astronomy Tower during one of your prefect rounds, you instinctively climbed the stairs to inspect, your wand held loosely in your fingertips.

The castle had felt too quiet lately. Ever since Jisung came back, everything had been off balance. You’d even taken extra patrols just to keep your mind busy. You weren’t expecting to find anything up there except maybe a few rowdy owls.

But when you pushed open the heavy wooden door to the Astronomy Tower, you froze at the sight.

Jisung was there, hunched against the railing, his robes half-open, hands gripping the stone balustrade so tightly you saw his knuckles pale even from across the room.

"Jisung?" you said softly, hesitant.

His head snapped up instantly, and your breath caught in your throat.

His eyes were wild, pupils blown wide, irises shimmering unnaturally gold beneath the moonlight. Sweat gleamed across his pale forehead, his hair was messy and damp, sticking to his face. His breathing came harsh and fast, almost feral.

You took a cautious step forward. "Jisung, are you okay?"

"Stay back," he choked out, voice strained and rough. "Don't come closer."

But you saw the tremble in his arms, the feverish brightness in his eyes. He looked sick. He looked scared.

"What’s wrong? Let me help—"

"No." He shook his head violently, squeezing his eyes shut as if fighting himself. "You can't—I'm not—"

He trailed off, stumbling forward as if pulled by some invisible force toward you. He was breathing heavily, lips parted as he seemed to taste the air between you.

"Jisung—"

Your voice cut off as his gaze snapped sharply to yours again, something raw and dangerous flaring in his eyes. It sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you instinctively backed away half a step.

"Leave," he hissed, the word barely recognizable through his clenched teeth. His whole body seemed rigid with tension. "Please, leave before—"

He broke off with a gasp, doubling over as though a wave of pain had just wracked through him.

You rushed forward instinctively, panic clouding your caution. "Jisung!"

He moved faster than your eyes could track. One moment he was curled into himself and the next he had you pinned against the cold stone floor, wrists pressed tightly beside your head, his face inches from yours, breath hot and erratic against your neck.

"Ji—" Your voice cracked. "What are you—"

He inhaled deeply against your throat, his body trembling against yours. "God, you smell so—" His voice was ragged and broken, almost a sob. "I can't—I can't stop it, I—"

He pressed closer instinctively, hips pinning you hard against the floor. His lips grazed roughly against your neck, sharp teeth skimming dangerously along your pulse point. Your heart slammed against your ribs, fear tangled confusingly with something hot in your lower belly.

"Jisung, please," you whispered, half plea, half gasp. "You're scaring me."

Those words seemed to pierce through whatever haze had overtaken him. He jerked back, eyes wide, suddenly horrified at himself. His gaze flicked down to your wrists, already bruising beneath his grip, and he stumbled away as if burned.

"No," he whispered, horror and guilt bleeding openly into his expression. "I didn't—I wouldn't—"

You stayed frozen on the floor, chest heaving as you watched the agony twist across his face.

"What’s happening to you?" you breathed, sitting up slowly.

He stared at you, anguished, hands still trembling at his sides.

"I'm sorry," he whispered brokenly. "I—I'm so sorry."

Before you could say another word, he turned sharply and bolted down the stairs, leaving you alone, shaking, and terrified.

The Hufflepuff common room was quiet when you walked in. Most students had gone to bed, but Renjun sat alone on the couch.

You didn’t give him a chance to pretend he didn’t see you coming.

“You’re going to tell me what happened.”

Renjun sighed, not looking away from the fire. “Y/N…”

“No,” you said, standing in front of him. “No more deflecting. You’ve known something since the day he came back.”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “I don’t know the whole story.”

“Then tell me what you know.”

Silence.

You crossed your arms. “Do you really think I’m going to stop asking? You’ve seen him. You know he’s not okay. And no one’s saying anything, and I’m losing my mind because—” your voice cracked, just slightly— “because that’s my best friend.”

Renjun’s shoulders slumped. He looked like he aged ten years in a second.

“Seungmin and his friends... they planned something,” he said quietly.

Your chest went still.

“I only heard a conversation between Professor Sprout and Professor Snape,” he continued. “But apparently they were hanging out near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Seungmin gave Jisung something. A potion or… some kind of enchanted hallucinogen.”

Renjun looked up at you, guilt heavy in his eyes even though he hadn’t been there. “They led him into the forest, Y/N… And something attacked him.”

You stared at him, voice thick with dread. “Something?”

Renjun hesitated. “Snape... Snape was the one who found him.”

You felt cold all over. “What was it?”

He looked away.

“Renjun. What was it.”

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“A werewolf.”

A gasp got stuck in your throat.

“I don’t know how bad it was,” Renjun said softly. “But apparently Professor Snape had to lock him up for a week while he went through the transformation.”

Tears stung behind your eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t want to believe it myself….”

You sank into the chair across from him, everything too heavy to stand.

“A werewolf,” you whispered.

He nodded and suddenly, so many things clicked at once. Suddenly it all made sense.

After Renjun told you, you couldn’t sleep.

You sat in your bed staring at the ceiling until the sun started bleeding through the windows, and then you slipped out of the dorms without a word. You went straight to the library and stayed there all morning.

Madam Pince gave you a curious glance when you asked to go into the Restricted Section after looking through every other possible book in the regular shelves and finding nothing of value. You dropped Professor Babbling’s name as your excuse—said you were doing independent research for an Arithmancy paper. She didn’t ask further, just handed you a list of approved titles and waved you through.

You didn’t touch a single one of them. Instead, you searched for everything you could find on werewolves.

They were mostly old, dusty books with creaking spines and brittle pages. Most seemed to be more folklore than facts but you found a text buried near the bottom of a shelf, half its title burned off the spine.

Lycanthropy and Lunar Madness: A Clinical Compendium.

The chapters were brutal. You read about the first changes, the muscle pain, the sensory overload. The way magic in the blood would flare, fight back, burn from the inside out. You read about the violence, how the mind slips away when the full moon peaks, how instincts override everything else.

But what caught your atention the most was this:

“In cases of recent infection, the afflicted may experience an attraction fixation, often triggered by proximity to a familiar person. This response is especially common in individuals whose first transformation occurs during adolescence or early adulthood.

The instinct is not always sexual, but it is always possessive. The werewolf’s senses recognize the person as a source of comfort or danger. When comfort, the fixation can lead to obsessive behavior, rut-like symptoms, and irrational aggression if the person is perceived as threatened or unattainable. When danger, it can lead to avoidance or attack. Scent is the most common anchor. Once imprinted, it is nearly impossible for the werewolf to ignore.”

Your throat tightened. You re-read the paragraph five times.

It made sense, too much sense. His distance, his flinching, the way he couldn’t look at you anymore.

Your scent.

You remembered how he looked at you that morning in the Great Hall. How he barely breathed when you stood too close and how he wouldn’t meet your eyes when you asked what happened. And last night in the Atronomy Tower, he said you smelled good and it looked like he wanted to eat you alive.

You closed the book with shaky hands and then checked out four more. You didn’t stop reading until your eyes blurred. You didn’t eat or go to class.

By the time the sky outside the window started darkening, you were sitting at a corner table, surrounded by open tomes and loose parchment covered in frantic notes—everything you could find about Wolfsbane, Snape’s potion-making reputation, the legal status of werewolves in magical Britain, and every known case of student infection in the last fifty years.

You turned the page again.

Magical Intervention

“Wolfsbane Potion, taken daily during the week of the full moon, prevents transformation but does not erase the instinctual response. It is crucial that young werewolves are supervised during their first year of turning, especially if they experience early signs of rut.

If left unmonitored, the werewolf may become a threat not only to others—but to themselves.”

You found another book next. Not on lycanthropy, but on magical trauma. It mentioned Professor Snape by name.

“A known expert in dark creatures and cursed bloodlines, Professor Severus Snape has played a role in the treatment and monitoring of several underage werewolf cases, particularly after the war.”

You sat there for a long time, staring at the page, your mind buzzing. Snape knew, he was involved and he wasn’t just keeping the secret, he was managing it.

Which meant whatever happened to Jisung—Snape had seen it before. And he’d chosen not to tell you a thing.

You sat there in silence, your hands numb on the table. Snape had told him to stay away from you, that much was obvious now. But no one had told you what being near him could do.

You weren’t afraid of him. But for the first time, you understood why he was of you.

You left the library as the sky was starting to pale with early morning light, the forbidden books still echoing in your thoughts. You didn’t bother going to class again. You went directly to Snape’s office instead and waited there. When he finally arrived, he paused mid-step at the sight of you.

“Miss Y/N,” he said flatly. “You are not scheduled to meet with me.”

“No,” you said, stepping forward. “But I’m not leaving until you tell me the truth, sir.”

His eyes narrowed. “I beg your par—”

“Did you know?” you cut in, voice trembling with restrained rage. “Did you know what would happen to him?”

“I’m not sure what you’re referring to.”

“I know that Jisung got attacked by a werewolf.”

Snape stilled.

“I went to the restricted section,” you continued. “I know what werewolves go through. I know about the rut cycle. The way someone can trigger it just by being close… Did you know it would be me?”

He didn’t speak, and that silence was an answer.

You took another step toward him. “You told him to stay away, didn’t you?”

Still silent.

You laughed bitterly. “What, were you going to wait until I ended up on the courtyard floor with his teeth in my neck before you decided to warn me?”

“Lower your voice,” Snape said sharply, eyes flicking toward the empty corridor.

“No,” you snapped. “You don’t get to tell me what to do now when you left me in the dark about everything.”

“He is alive and you’re safe because of me,” he said sharply. “Do not mistake silence for neglect.”

“He’s barely alive,” you fired back. “He’s walking around like a ghost and you expect me to believe that’s your idea of help?”

“You think you want the truth but the truth is messy and dangerous. And the truth, Miss Y/N…” he stalked closer to you, almost menacingly “… is that your friend is not who he was anymore.”

“I know that!” you shouted, voice cracking. “But you made him think he was dangerous.”

“He is.”

“No,” you said fiercely. “He’s just scared and you’re feeding it.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed. “You have no idea what a werewolf in rut is capable of.”

“I do now.” You stepped closer again, voice trembling. “I’m not stupid or fragile. And I’m not going to stay away just because you think it’s better that way.”

“Miss Y/N—”

“No,” you snapped. “You can’t “protect me” by locking him away like some creature. He’s not a danger to me. What’s dangerous is isolating him, making him ashamed of something he didn’t choose.”

Snape’s mouth pressed into a thin line.

“And what will you do, then?” he asked. “If he loses control?”

“I’ll help him.” You exhaled, hands trembling. “I’m not afraid of him and he needs someone who isn’t.”

There was a long pause. Snape looked at you with something like pitty. Then he spoke, carefully.

“Then you’d better learn how to handle what’s coming.”

Knowing about Jisung’s condition didn’t bring the relief you thought it would. If anything, it made everything worse. Because now you understood that there was almost nothing you could do to save him from himself. And, like Professor Snape said, the safest option was to stay far away.

And you tried, but it was so hard.

You'd find yourself turning to complain about Professor Binns's endless lectures, only to realize it wasn't Jisung beside you, but Renjun—quiet, studious Renjun who never dared utter a complaint in class.

Or when you walked toward the kitchens out of habit, thinking maybe you'd sweet-talk the elves into some pumpkin tarts, only to remember it was Jisung who always did the charming.

Or when the night sky looked especially clear and you found yourself wanting to stargaze but realizing no one else knew how to trace constellations on your palm with their fingertip. And you couldn’t even remember their names without Jisung pointing them out to you.

Renjun tried. He filled the empty seat at meals, nodded at the right moments when you rambled, even agreed to sneak out once or twice. But he wasn’t Jisung. He didn’t know your weird inside jokes, didn’t lean his head on your shoulder when he got sleepy, didn’t touch your wrist when you got nervous.

You missed him so deeply it ached.

So, when you saw him slipping out of the common room one night you followed him without a second thought.

He moved quickly across the grounds, his hooded shape skimming the moonlit grass. You jogged to keep up, keeping low behind hedges and statues until he stopped beside the Whomping Willow. Your breath caught as he pressed a knot at the roots and the tree froze mid‑sway, its branches locking in eerie stillness. Then, an entrance yawned open.

You hesitated. Every instinct screamed that going after him was a terrible idea. But the thought of him hurting or worse, hurting alone was too much to bear.

So you followed.

The tunnel led you into the Shrieking Shack. A chill raced down your spine the moment you stepped inside. Rot and mildew clung to the walls, the floorboards seemed like they would give way with each step, and it smelled like old nightmares in there. You had to bite down on your lip to keep from gagging but you kept going, following the sounds of his ragged breathing upstairs into a dusty room.

You opened the door cautiously, barely an inch—but before you could fully register what was happening, Jisung lunged. He grabbed your arm, yanking you roughly inside and pinning you to the sagging mattress with a strength that startled you.

"Jisung—!" you gasped.

He loomed over you, eyes wild, glowing gold in the darkness. His expression was pained, almost feral.

"What—are you doing here?" he growled through gritted teeth. His voice was deep and barely recognizable.

You stared up at him, wide-eyed. “I—I was worried. You missed all your classes…”

Something dark flared in his gaze, and he dropped his head, panting harshly against your throat. He inhaled deeply, shuddering as he pressed closer instinctively. Your breath hitched sharply, your body reacting involuntarily to his closeness.

"You shouldn't have come," he whispered brokenly, hands trembling where they gripped your wrists.

You swallowed, feeling his hips press involuntarily against yours and realizing exactly what was happening.

"Your rut," you whispered breathlessly, realization flooding you. "It's started, hasn't it?"

A helpless whimper slid from his throat as his hips rocked against you once more, his erection pressing unmistakably through his trousers. The desperate sound he made sent heat pooling in your stomach, despite the fear and confusion swirling inside you.

“You smell so fucking… good” He let out another ragged noise, and you reached out instinctively, resting a trembling hand against his cheek. His skin burned under your palm. He looked almost delirious, golden eyes flickering between human fear and something more feral.

You’d spent the past week reading about werewolves and their ruts, absorbing every detail you could from hidden texts and restricted tomes. You knew that once the rut hit, the urge for physical intimacy would become nearly unbearable. You also knew it was dangerous for you to be near him like this.

But as you stared at your best friend, trembling and half-broken with need, your heart clenched. You couldn’t just walk away.

“Jisung,” you said carefully, your voice shaking. “Did you take the Wolfsbane?”

He shook his head, eyes squeezing shut. “I don’t know… I think I didn’t—” He broke off, a pained groan tearing from his throat as he rocked forward, hips searching for contact.

Swallowing hard, you remembered the passage in the book. How an afflicted werewolf needed a trusted partner to help ease the rut’s consuming effects.

It felt like your heart was in your mouth.

“You—” he gasped, voice faint. “You can’t stay. I—if I hurt you—”

You cupped his other cheek, forcing his gaze to meet yours. “You won’t,” you promised, though a part of you wasn’t entirely sure.

“Y/N,” he groaned, hips rutting forward again. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now, I swear—”

“I want to help you,” you said softly. “Please let me.”

His pupils dilated immediately and he let out a shaky breath, leaning into your touch. The heat radiating from him was overwhelming but despite your own hammering pulse, you didn’t draw away.

Because somewhere deep inside, you knew this was the only way to help him.

His grip on your waist was bruising, claws just barely retracted. His body was sweat-slicked and trembling, panting through gritted teeth as he pressed himself flush against you.

“I warned you,” he growled, voice shaky with restraint. “I told you to leave.”

You pulled him closer up and felt how he shook under your touch. “You can have me”

He didn’t wait another second. Your clothes were suddenly nothing, the fabric ripped under his desperate hands. Your skin was bare before you had time to register the sound of seams tearing. His mouth found your throat instinctively, tongue tasting your pulse before he bit.

You winced at the pain and his hips rutted against your thigh, hard and frantic, his cock felt thick and straining through his trousers. He was whining soft, broken sounds between gritted teeth, like each second without you wrapped around him was tearing him open from the inside.

“You smell—fuck, you smell so good,” he gasped into your skin, humping against you harder. “I need—i need to be inside, I need—”

You spread your legs, breathless, head spinning from the force of it all. “I’m here, Sungie.”

He didn’t prep you, didn’t pause for a second—just spit on his fingers and shoved them inside you hard and fast. Stretching you wide while whispering obscenities you couldn’t even make sense of.

“So fucking tight—fuck—gonna ruin you—fill you up, knot you, make sure no one else ever gets to—”

You didn’t even realize he’d taken his cock out until you felt him line himself up with shaking hands, barely getting the tip in before he snapped his hips forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal thrust.

You cried out and Jisung growled, slamming his hand beside your head, forehead pressed to yours, golden eyes glazed over.

“Mine,” he gasped. “Fuck… Mine. Mine. Mine—”

Suddenly, he shoved your knees up, pressing them tightly to your chest as his hips snapped forward, rough and desperate. You cried out sharply, feeling stretched too wide, overwhelmed by the rawness of him filling you again and again. His teeth dragged harshly against your throat, marking you repeatedly, as if he couldn't bear the thought of anyone mistaking you for anything but his.

You sobbed beneath him, your body caught between pain and a pleasure that blurred into something unbearable. Part of you wondered numbly if it would have changed anything if you'd told Jisung it was your first time—if it would've made him pause, slow down, be gentler. But you knew it wouldn't have mattered. He wasn't fully himself, and even if some part of him wanted to stop, he couldn't.

You felt it then, the swelling at his base. His knot beginning to expand, stretching your entrance wider with every punishing thrust. Panic mixed with need, your mind spinning as your walls spasmed around him.

“Gonna knot you,” he panted desperately, voice breaking as he slammed into you harder. “Can’t stop—fuck, you feel so perfect—gonna keep you like this forever—”

He thrust deeply one last time and locked himself inside, his knot catching and sealing him within you. You screamed, body jolting at the sudden fullness, the pressure almost too much. He shuddered violently above you, his cum flooding hot and deep, twitching through aftershocks that made your thighs quake and your vision blur.

You barely had time to gasp a breath before his knot began to soften, still pulsing faintly inside you. But Jisung didn’t stop, not even for a moment.

Before you could recover, he flipped you roughly onto your stomach, the mattress creaking sharply beneath you. He pressed into you again slowly, his breathing ragged and hot against your sweat-damp back. You trembled uncontrollably beneath him, arms shaking, barely able to keep yourself upright.

“Jisung, wait—” your voice broke, a thin plea lost beneath the rasp of his breath.

But he didn’t acknowledge your begging. One hand pinned your hip firmly, the other flattened between your shoulders, forcing you down into the sheets until you couldn’t move. You felt the ache building again as he pushed inside you once more, pushing mercilessly against your walls. Your thighs burned, your body instinctively arching to escape the overstimulation, but he wouldn’t allow you to shift away.

The moment he felt how wet and open you still were, the last shred of his restraint shattered. His rhythm turned frantic, his hips slamming into yours so fiercely the air was knocked from your lungs with every brutal stroke.

You moaned helplessly into the sheets, fingers clawing at the mattress as your body surrendered. He wasn’t speaking now, wasn’t asking if you were okay—all you heard were harsh, ragged sounds torn from his throat, desperate noises so primal and raw they made your skin burn hot with shameful need.

His movements grew rougher, your bodies locked in a rhythm that erased any remaining thought from your mind. Your senses narrowed until all you knew was the brutal heat between your thighs and the ache of him stretching you. You took every thrust, helpless to stop, unable to do anything but accept the ruthless force of his body on yours.

His teeth bit sharply into the back of your shoulder, fangs scraping against your skin until you gasped in pain. His grip tightened, fingers bruising your hips as he pounded into you without mercy, branding you with every brutal snap of his hips.

With one final thrust, he buried himself impossibly deep, and you felt the knot swell again—filling you, stretching you beyond limits as he locked himself inside with a guttural growl.

His whole body jerked, cock throbbing violently as he spilled into you again. It was so much cum it leaked around the thick swell of his knot, your walls clenching tight, helpless to hold it all in. He held still, panting, hands trembling as he stayed buried in you, locked and pulsing.

He stayed inside you for what felt like forever, body trembling from release, your muscles fluttering weakly around him. His breath came in uneven bursts against your skin.

But even then, you could feel that he wasn’t finished.

He rutted again and let out a feral sound low in his throat, one that sounded more like a growl than a moan. And then he was moving just enough to slip free with a wet sound that made both of you shiver.

His hands moved to your waist, lifting you. He dragged you onto your back again, spread your thighs wide, and settled between them with a single-minded hunger that made your whole body pulse with anticipation.

His gaze dropped the moment he pushed back in and he groaned, eyes locked between your legs with an obsessive intensity. Your walls clenched around him as his cock slid in with zero resistance. His breath hitched, and he stopped for just a second.

His mouth parted when he saw the shape of him pushing inside you, deep enough to press against your belly, the bulge rising with every brutal thrust. He pressed his palm against it and let out a wrecked moan. The sight of his cock inside your belly driving him halfway mad.

“Fuck,” he choked. “That's me? inside you?”

You tried to answer, but all that came out was a gasp as he rocked into you harder.

He watched your stomach move with every stroke, how your cunt took all of him, again and again, walls fluttering around his cock like your body was desperate to keep him.

He was mesmerized. Staring with wide, hungry eyes as hips snapped forward with more force. One of his hands grabbed your thigh, the other pressing to your lower belly as he kept thrusting, rougher this time, watching the bulge disappear and return with every movement.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “you’re made for this—fuck—you’re made to take me like this—”

You could feel the knot swelling again, dragging harder against your soaked, overstretched entrance, until your legs started to shake. He braced both hands on either side of your hips, growled deep in his chest, and slammed forward. The knot forced its way in with a brutal stretch that made your eyes roll back.

His whole body jerked, head falling forward as a strangled moan left his lips. His cock twitched violently, knot fully buried, and you felt the rush of his cum flooding you again, deeper this time, deeper than anything had ever been.

His eyes were still locked on your lower stomach, wide and blown out with awe. The bulge in your belly pulsed with each twitch of his knot, round and taut with the sheer amount he’d pumped into you

“Look at that,” he whispered, almost dazed. “Look what I did to you.”

He reached out again, fingertips brushing against your stomach and the possessiveness in his voice made your body clench all over again.

“I'm inside you.”

He blinked, his eyes flickering to your face as he really looked at you for the first time.

You were trembling, bruised, and barely able to keep your legs from shaking. Your eyes were glassy, your body completely spent beneath him. And something in him seemed to return.

His hands gentled against your skin as he eased out of you slowly, knot slipping free with an aching stretch that made you whimper. You gasped at the sudden emptiness, but he didn’t leave you long. He kissed your thigh once, softly, as if in apology, and then lowered himself between your legs.

You barely had the strength to lift your head. “Ji—what are you doing…”

But he didn’t answer. Just held your thighs gently in his hands, spreading them open again but this time with reverence, not greed.

Then he licked a single, languid drag of his tongue that made your hips twitch weakly. He groaned low in his throat at the taste of you.

You whimpered, the oversensitivity almost unbearable but his hands kept you grounded. Thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your hips, mouth moving with an aching kind of care. He sucked gently at your clit, tongue flicking in slow passes, easing the pain into something warmer.

You threaded trembling fingers through his hair, tugging gently.

His mouth grew more desperate by the second, tongue dipping lower and teasing at your entrance where his cum was still leaking out. He groaned at the taste, sucking softly, messy and slow, like he couldn’t get enough of it. Of you.

He buried himself there with his nose pressed into your skin, mouth drinking you. You let out a soft cry, hips twitching against his face, and his grip tightened just enough to hold you still as he circled your clit again, tender but insistent.

“I need to make it better,” he murmured into your skin, voice hoarse and reverent. “Let me—please…”

You didn’t answer but the way your legs shook around his head told him everything. So he stayed there—worshipping the mess he made, tongue moving slow and devoted, lips soft and endless. He lost himself in you.

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was the pain.

It was deep and dull at first, but the moment you shifted, it sharpened—radiating through your thighs, your lower back, your hips. Your skin felt hot, stretched too thin in some places, sore in others. You winced as you tried to sit up, limbs trembling slightly from the effort.

Jisung was already awake. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, facing away from you, his robes wrapped tightly around him. His shoulders were stiff.

You swallowed through the dryness in your throat. “Ji?”

He stood up without looking at you.

You watched him move across the room, hands twitching at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. He picked up your clothes from the floor—torn in multiple places, seams ripped from how desperately he’d removed them the night before—and with a flick of his wand, the fabric mended itself slowly in the air.

“Get dressed,” he said flatly. “I’ll help you get back to the hospital wing.”

You blinked. “Back to the—what?”

He turned then, just slightly, just enough to look at you briefly. His eyes were guilt-ridden.

“You’re hurt,” he said. “I can see it.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out.

“And I’m going to Snape later,” he continued. “I’m going to ask him to relocate me during the next cycle. Somewhere far from here.”

You stared at him, stunned. “Jisung, you don’t have to—”

“I do,” he snapped. “Because this—” He gestured toward you, his voice colder now. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

Your heart twisted.

“I told you to stay away,” he said. “And I didn’t mean that to sound cruel. I meant it because I knew I’d lose control. And I did… and now look at you.”

He walked toward the cracked mirror, stopped a few feet in front of it, and gestured for you to come closer.

You hesitated.

“Please,” he said, quieter now. “Just… come here.”

You stood slowly, legs shaking slightly under your weight. You wrapped yourself in the blanket and stepped toward the mirror.

Your reflection made your breath hitch.

There were bruises on your neck, angry bite marks along your collarbone and shoulder. Finger-shaped welts on your hips and thighs. Your lips were still swollen from where he’d kissed you too hard. Some of the marks looked deep. Others looked like they might last days, if not longer.

“I didn’t know I was capable of this,” Jisung said behind you, voice cracking.

You looked at him through the mirror. His face was pale, jaw tight.

“I’d rather suffer the worst pain a rut could ever give me than ever touch you like that again.”

“Jisung—”

“No,” he cut you off. “You don’t understand. I didn’t even care if I was hurting you. I couldn’t think. You could’ve cried, begged, screamed, and I still would’ve—”

He stopped himself, breathing hard.

“I’m not going to let this happen again. I’ll talk to Snape. I’ll take whatever dose he gives me. I’ll lock myself somewhere no one can find me.”

You stepped forward, reaching for him, but he flinched when your fingers brushed his sleeve.

He turned his face away. “Get dressed,” he said quietly. “Please.”

There was nothing else to say.

He handed you your clothes without looking at you again. When you were dressed, he silently moved to support your weight down the stairs and back toward the tunnel beneath the Whomping Willow.

Your legs ached with every step. Jisung’s arm was around your waist, holding you upright as you moved slowly down the path back to the castle, your freshly repaired clothes felt stiff and uncomfortable against your bruised skin.

You hadn’t said a word since leaving the Shrieking Shack. Neither had he.

His touch wasn’t warm, or comforting. It was careful and detached. Like he was holding you not out of care, but out of obligation.

Your heart hurt more than your body. You two had been close for so long. Even after he’d changed, after he came back cold, distant, guarded you still felt more warmth than right now. Like he was reaching for you even when he didn’t realize it. So seeing him acting like this was almost unbearable.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t rejection or shame. That he was just protecting you, trying to keep you safe. But it still felt like being left behind.

You didn’t even realize how close you were to the castle until the path curved and the first archway of the courtyard came into view.

“Park.”

Professor Snape stood just beyond the arch, his arms crossed over his chest, black robes billowing faintly in the wind. His gaze flicked over the two of you quickly. His eyes dropped to the way you leaned into Jisung, to your limp. And then he saw the bruises. Even with your collar pulled tight, they peeked out, the edges of bite marks and the faint discoloration just beneath the skin.

Snape’s eyes narrowed.

“Come here,” he said, voice cold.

Jisung didn’t move.

Snape stepped forward. “Now.”

You felt the panic rise in your chest immediately.

“Professor, wait. It’s not—he didn’t—” You reached for his sleeve. “He didn’t force me.”

Snape’s eyes snapped to yours, and for a moment, you almost stepped back. His expression didn’t change, but something in it darkened like your words had confirmed what he already suspected.

“I didn’t ask what he did,” he said sharply. “I asked him to come with me.”

Jisung’s jaw was clenched so tightly it looked painful. He didn’t say a word, just let go of you carefully.

You nearly stumbled from the sudden absence of support.

“I can explain—” you tried again, but Snape raised a hand.

“This is not your responsibility,” he said, more quietly this time. “And you are in no condition to be standing here arguing.”

He turned to Jisung once more.

“Park. Now.”

And without looking back at you, Jisung walked toward him.

You stood there trembling, arms wrapped around yourself, the chill settling deeper into your bones now that he was gone.

Jisung stood in the doorway of Snape’s office with his head hung low. The potions master had stepped away to ensure you made it safely to the hospital wing and to explain the delicate situation to the healers. Minutes stretched on endlessly until finally, he heard the sharp clack of Snape's shoes approaching.

“Go in,” Snape ordered coldly, gesturing toward the open door. The Hufflepuff obeyed silently.

Snape shut the office door behind them with a flick of his wand. The room smelled of ash and damp parchment, but Jisung could still smell your scent stronger than anything else; it clung to him, saturated his senses.

“Sit,” Snape instructed curtly.

Jisung lowered himself into the hard chair opposite the desk, shoulders slumped. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Snape’s eyes.

“How is she?” he asked softly, voice raw.

“She’ll live,” Snape replied coolly, summoning a few vials and herbs onto his desk. “Madam Pomfrey is treating the bruising you saw fit to decorate her with.”

Jisung’s head snapped up, panic clear in his gaze. “I—I bit her. More than once.” The admission spilled out before he could stop himself, heavy with guilt and shame. “Does that mean—”

“No,” Snape interjected sharply. “The curse passes only when the biter is fully transformed under the full moon. You were saturated with Wolfsbane, half-shifted but not contagious.”

Jisung exhaled sharply, gripping the chair arms until his knuckles whitened. Relief flooded him, but Snape wasn't done.

“However,” Snape continued, voice lowering dangerously, “do not delude yourself into believing she was truly safe. Had you missed even one additional dose, or had the moon been at its peak, she would already share your curse, and that responsibility would lie entirely with you.”

Jisung flinched. “I know. I—I keep hurting her. I keep losing control, and no matter how much I try to stay away, something just…pulls me back. I don’t know how to stop it.”

Snape regarded him for a moment in silence before speaking, voice softer but still edged with steel. “That’s because it is no longer a matter of mere control. You've complicated things significantly, Park.”

Jisung looked up slowly, eyes wide with apprehension. “What do you mean?”

Snape folded his hands on the desk, expression severe yet composed. “By marking her during your rut, you've effectively chosen Miss Y/N as your mate.”

Jisung’s breath caught, his throat tightening painfully. "Mate? I—what does that mean?”

“It means,” Snape explained, calm and clinical, “that your wolf has identified her specifically as an anchor. Such mate-bonds occur most commonly during adolescence, particularly around a first transformation. It's why you find yourself physically unable to stay away for long.”

Jisung swallowed, panic bubbling up again. “Is it dangerous? Will I hurt her more?”

“Not inherently,” Snape said evenly. “But the bond is permanent, Park. Your wolf will always crave her presence—most intensely near the full moon or during rut. Ignoring it will only worsen your aggression.”

“Then…what can I do?” Jisung asked desperately. “How do I keep her safe?”

“You must never skip your Wolfsbane. Take it every evening at sundown and report to me regularly so we can adjust dosage accordingly. Furthermore, and pay attention to this, you must manage your bond carefully. You cannot fight it entirely so stay close to her but with awareness, not indulgence. ”

Jisung flushed deeply. “But… after everything I've done, how can I risk being close to her again?”

Snape leaned forward slightly. “The greater risk lies in distance, your instincts will spiral. Proximity is crucial but do not confuse instinct for entitlement.”

Jisung nodded slowly, the weight of responsibility settling heavily onto his shoulders. “Does she…know?”

“She soon will,” Snape replied quietly. “But it is essential she hears it clearly from you. Be honest and thorough. Do you understand me, Park?”

“Yes, sir,” Jisung whispered. “I won't fail her again.”

Snape regarded him a moment longer, then produced a fresh vial of Wolfsbane, setting it decisively on the desk. “Good. Now leave before I decide silence is insufficient punishment.”

Jisung rose unsteadily, clutching the vial to his chest. He walked slowly to the threshold, feeling every step heavy with responsibility. Just as he reached the door, Snape spoke once more.

“Park, if you truly care for the girl, learn how to live with the wolf without letting it consume her.”

The door sealed shut behind him, and Jisung stood for a long moment in the corridor, the potion trembling slightly in his grip.

You lay on one of the hospital wing beds, half-covered by a sterile white blanket, the curtains drawn tightly around you. The air was too quiet, every sound outside muted by the silencing charm Madam Pomfrey had casted when she left you there.

You picked at your cuticles absently, barely noticing the sting where skin peeled back. Your hospital gown gaped at the shoulders, revealing the bruises along your arms in the shape of fingers. Jisung’s fingers. You should’ve been horrified and maybe you were a little bit but there was something strangely comforting about them. His hands had held you through something painful, but they had held you. It made you feel... needed. Like you mattered to him again.

Your thoughts scattered when the curtain parted and Madam Pomfrey stepped through, her face tight with concern. Behind her came Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff house. And just before the curtain fell shut again, you caught the edge of black robes retreating down the ward—Snape. He’d definitely told them everything.

You bit your lip and dropped your gaze.

“Hello, dear,” Pomfrey said gently. When you didn’t answer, she cleared her throat. “To begin with, I’d like to offer you a calming draught for the pain.”

“I’m fine,” you said quietly, though your whole body ached. You didn’t want to take anything that would fog your thoughts. You needed to stay alert to explain the situation.

“Well…” she murmured, unconvinced. “Then I’ll start with the surface wounds.”

She gestured toward the scratches and crescent-shaped bites along your shoulders and collarbone. You stayed still while she worked.

Professor Sprout stepped closer, arms folded tightly across her chest. “Miss Y/LN,” she began carefully. “There’s no need to be guarded with us. We’re not here to punish you… but there are a few matters that need to be addressed.”

You nodded wordlessly, eyes fixed on a wrinkle in the bedsheet.

“Madam Pomfrey will heal what she can,” she continued. “But the bite marks will take several days to fade. Magical injuries of this nature are… stubborn.”

“I understand,” you murmured. The marks didn’t bother you.

Professor Sprout hesitated, color rising faintly in her cheeks. “We also understand that Mr. Park was… in a heightened state when you were intimate.”

You saw her flinch slightly at her own words and you almost pitied her. There was no elegant way to discuss something like this. You nodded once.

“Am I correct to assume no contraceptive charms were cast beforehand?”

Your brows pulled together. You’d never studied contraceptive spells properly. You knew they were meant to be used before any intimacy though and given how everything had happened there hadn’t been time for anything like that. You shook your head slowly.

Professor Sprout exchanged a brief look with Pomfrey before exhaling slowly. “Very well. Madam Pomfrey will now perform a diagnostic charm to ensure no unintended consequences arise from your… encounter.”

You nodded again, tending slight when Madam Pomfrey raised her wand and murmured a spell. A pale lavender glow swept across your lower abdomen then faded without a flicker.

“No conception,” she announced softly. “Everything is normal.”

A breath you hadn’t realized you were holding slipped out and you noticed Professor Sprout’s shoulders ease a fraction.

Pomfrey lowered her wand, relief softening the stern set of her mouth. Then she hesitated, studying you over the rims of her spectacles.

“Dear, may I give you some practical advice?”

You nodded, cheeks still furiously warm.

She lifted her wand again. “There are several reliable contraceptive charms you can use. The simplest is Praeventa Conceptum. It’s quick, painless, and lasts a whole day.”

Professor Sprout cleared her throat delicately but said nothing.

Pomfrey demonstrated. She pointed her wand at her own midsection. “Circle once, clockwise, like so.” A pale halo of light traced the motion. “Then speak Prae‑ven‑ta Con‑cep‑tum. Stress on the second syllable of each word. The charm settles just beneath the skin and it’s a mild warming sensation, nothing more.”

You mimicked the motion in the air, whispering the incantation under your breath. A faint peach‑colored glow sparked at your wand tip and faded.

“Good,” Madam Pomfrey said, satisfied. “Remember, the charm must be renewed daily, and it is far more reliable when cast prior to any sexual activity.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, both grateful and faintly embarrassed.

Professor Sprout offered a small, reassuring nod. “Better to learn here than under far less ideal circumstances.”

Pomfrey tucked her wand away. “Knowledge is its own protection.”

“Again, you are not at fault for any of this,” Sprout added, voice firm. “Last night’s events were influenced by circumstances far beyond your control.”

“Is he okay?” you asked softly.

A shadow crossed the professor’s eyes. “Mr. Park is with Professor Snape now, discussing the seriousness of missing future doses of Wolfsbane.” Her tone suggested ‘discussion’ meant something closer to a dressing‑down. “He’ll be monitored closely.”

“It wasn’t his fault,” you said, fingers worrying the edge of the sheet. “I followed him there, fully aware of the consequences. I just wanted to help… and I don’t regret it.”

Madam Pomfrey’s brows knit, but it was Professor Sprout who spoke first. “Miss Y/L/N, no one here is assigning blame. What matters now is that both of you are safe, and that Mr. Park remains diligent with his potion.” Her gaze softened. “Your loyalty is commendable, but your well‑being is equally important.”

You nodded, swallowing the dryness in your throat. “I know.”

Pomfrey dabbed a final line of salve across the deepest bite mark. “You’ll be sore,” she said gently, “but you’ll heal. Rest here tonight, at least until breakfast.”

The curtain swayed gently as they left you alone, and you stared ahead thinking only of the warmth of his breath, the panic in his voice, and the way he’d whispered “you shouldn’t have come” like it had broken him to see you there.

But you would do it all again.

Madam Pomfrey cleared you for release just after sunrise. You dressed in silence, fingers brushing over the gauze she’d left on the deepest bite. She offered one last vial of bruise balm and a faint smile before sending you off.

It was Saturday, thank Merlin. There were no classes so most students were still sleeping. You were relieved as you stepped out of the hospital wing, and saw nothing but an empty corridor.

Though still a strange, hollow pressure settled in your chest. You missed Jisung.

You weren’t sure if it was the residual ache in your muscles, or the fading imprints he’d left on your body, but you felt the absence of him like it was stitched into your skin. You needed to see him.

And then, as if your thoughts conjured him, he appeared.

Jisung was standing at the other end of the hallway, just beyond the shaft of sunlight spilling in from the tall windows. He looked stunned to see you, like he hadn’t meant to be here, like his feet had brought him without his permission.

You hesitated.

Snape had surely warned him again—more strictly this time—to stay away from you. But still, Jisung took a step forward and you followed.

You met in the middle of the hallway, stopping close enough that your chests nearly touched. It wasn’t until you were standing in front of him that you realized how much he’d changed. He was taller now, just slightly, but it was enough to notice. His shoulders were broader, his presence heavier, like the wolf was still there beneath the surface.

He stared at the bruises along your collarbone, what little was visible through the open neck of your shirt. You saw the way his throat bobbed, how his eyes flickered with guilt.

“Are you—?”

“I’m okay, Ji,” you cut in gently, offering him a small smile. “Perfectly fine.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He exhaled shakily, and his hand reached for yours tentatively. You almost gasped at the contact. It had been so long since he touched you first. His fingers threaded through yours like they were remembering how easily he did this all the time before.

“You don’t have to be,” you whispered. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your other hand rose instinctively, brushing against his cheek. He leaned into the touch immediately, eyes fluttering closed.

“Did Snape scold you too badly?” you asked, voice soft and teasing.

Jisung cracked a smile. “Yeah, I have to clean the Quidditch stands every day this winter without magic.”

Your eyes widened. “Seriously?”

He laughed. “I’m joking.” He paused, eyes searching yours. “Though honestly… I think I deserved one.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “You’ve been punished enough.”

He didn’t respond, just looked at you like he was still trying to figure out if this moment was real.

The corridor felt suddenly too small, so without speaking, you guided Jisung toward the nearest side door that opened onto the courtyard. The November air was sharp, but sunlight spilled across damp flagstones and carried the faint scent of wet leaves.

You walked side by side, your shoulders brushing now and then. After a long stretch of silence, Jisung spoke in a quiet voice. “Do you remember fifth year… when we hid in Greenhouse Three during that thunderstorm?”

You smiled. “And you spent the whole time pretending not to be scared of lightning.”

He huffed a soft laugh. “I kept thinking about that last night. How you held my hand and told me storms always pass.” He glanced at you, guilt and wonder warring in his eyes. “I wanted to go there initially. But then I smelled you, and I went to the Shack instead, thinking you wouldn’t follow me into a place like that.” He laughed bitterly. “I should’ve known better.”

The admission loosened something tight inside you. “Storms pass, Ji,” you said. “Even the ones inside us.”

He stopped, turning to face you fully. “Does this one? Because I can still feel it.” His gaze flicked to your neck where a bruise peeked above your collar. “I feel every mark I left on you like they’re on my body, too.”

You lifted a hand to his chest, just over his heartbeat. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He looked at you, like he almost believed it, but the tension in his jaw said otherwise. “Snape told me… the biting… it wasn’t random.” he dropped his gaze and bit his lip nervously “I… marked you.”

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t interrupt.

“He said you’re my mate now,” he said quietly. “That the wolf chose you. That’s why I can’t stay away. Why I can’t stop smelling you, hearing you even when you’re not around. Why it feels like something’s ripping open in my chest when I try to stay away.”

You stood still, eyes locked on his.

“He said I shouldn’t fight it. That if I try to pretend the bond doesn’t exist, it’ll make it worse. That I just have to be… careful and gentle with it. With you.” He exhaled, voice tight. “He said if I really want to protect you, I have to learn how to live with the wolf, not push it down.”

“What did you say?” you finally asked.

“I told him I’d do anything to keep you safe,” Jisung said. “And I meant it.”

You reached for his hand and he let you take it, though his fingers twitched.

“The bond… is that why you came to the Hospital Wing corridor?”

He nodded, shame creasing his brow. “I woke up and… I was already walking there. I didn’t think.”

“Then next time, think and tell me,” you said. “We’ll handle the need together. On our terms.”

He swallowed. “Snape says if I miss a potion… you’ll be in danger first.”

“Then you won’t miss it.” Your tone brooked no argument. “Even if I have to brew it myself.”

A faint smile ghosted his lips. “You’d sit through that smell?”

“I’d sit through worse.” Your thumb stroked over his knuckles.

He exhaled shakily, some of the tension easing, though the gold still flickered behind his eyes like embers. “I’m not safe yet,” he warned.

“That’s okay,” you answered, stepping close until your foreheads touched. “I’m not scared.”

For a while you simply stood in the sunlight, listening to the distant chatter of students who knew nothing about storms or wolves or the way a heartbeat could echo in someone else’s chest. His hand tightened around yours, and instinctively you looked up, meeting his gaze.

His eyes flickered down to your lips, hesitation clear in the tense line of his jaw. Before he could withdraw, before he could overthink it, you stepped on your tippy toes and pressed your mouth gently to his.

It began softly, a cautious brush of lips but it escalated quickly. His mouth opened hungrily, tongue sliding against your teeth, and you gave in with a low sigh. His hand found your waist first, pulling you closer, then slid up to cup the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss. Your fingers tangled through his messy hair, tugging gently. He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing forward instinctively until you were pinned softly against the rough stone wall.

“I can’t lose control again,” he murmured urgently against your lips but still he kissed you harder, as if he couldn’t pull away even if he wanted to.

“You won’t,” you promised breathlessly. “This is fine.”

His hips snapped forward again, pressing you tighter to the stone behind you. You knew you were out in the open—anyone could pass by and see—but caution melted beneath the heat of his mouth trailing down your neck. The dull soreness from the previous night faded to a faint pulse, replaced by something hungrier, as he sucked gently at your throat.

“Ji—” your voice shook softly, hands gripping his robes tighter. “You’re… you’re not still in rut, right?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze. “No. No, I don’t think so,” he panted roughly, almost like he was convincing himself too. “It doesn’t feel the same as last night, but—” He exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead to yours “I want you. Fuck, I want you so bad—I don’t think I’ll ever stop wanting you.”

A helpless moan escaped you at the raw admission, your pulse quickening under his mouth when he kissed you again—softer now, more controlled, as if he was proving to himself he could do this without falling apart.

“I won’t let myself hurt you again,” he breathed, lips brushing your skin between each whispered word. “But you need to tell me if it’s too much”

You shook your head slightly, pulling him closer still, holding him like he was the only thing keeping you upright. “Ji, nothing’s ever too much with you. Just stay here… stay with me.”

He shivered, his breath hitching as he kissed you again, trying to ground himself in the feeling of you rather than the wild instinct still whispering beneath his skin.

Someone laughed nearby, close enough to remind you exactly where you were.

Jisung froze against you, his forehead dropping to your shoulder with a soft groan. “We need to move,” he muttered “If anyone sees—”

“Then come on,” you said grabbing his hand.

He followed without another word.

You tugged him along a narrow side-corridor, the secret path behind the Herbology wing that only upper years and rule-breakers bothered with. Past the old broom cupboard, beyond the faded tapestry of a witch laughing drunkenly into her wine goblet, your footsteps were quiet, your pulse anything but. It hammered through your veins, in your fingertips, your throat—everywhere Jisung’s hand stayed locked in yours.

Soon you stood outside Greenhouse Three, abandoned since the storm in your fifth year shattered half its glass panes. Now, ivy and moss crawled along the cracked glass walls, and no one had bothered to repair it, leaving the space forgotten and overgrown.

You slipped through the splintered wooden door, pulling him gently behind you.

Inside, sunlight spilled across broken tables and tangled greenery. Plants had grown wild, illing the air with the scent of damp earth, crushed leaves, and something faintly sweet. You felt your chest tighten from the memory of your younger selves hiding here together.

Jisung remembered it too, you could see it in the softening of his eyes, the way his shoulders relaxed slightly. He caught your lips again, slow at first, but deepening fast, pulling a moan from your throat. Your hands gripped the front of his shirt, pulling him in until you tasted him fully.

“I want you inside me,” you whispered against his mouth, fingers trembling as you tugged at his clothes again.

He groaned softly, forehead pressing to yours. “Say it again.”

Your breath shuddered. “I want you to fuck me, Ji. Right now.”

He kissed you once more, messy and desperate, before stepping back just enough to undo his belt. His hands shook slightly, desire evident as he freed his cock—already hard and flushed, leaking at the tip as he positioned himself between your thighs. You lay back on one of the old greenhouse tables, cool beneath your skin but sturdy enough for this.

Jisung dragged the head of his cock through your folds, groaning openly at how wet you were, coating him perfectly. He pressed gently against your entrance, one hand braced beside your head, the other gripping your hip, thumb stroking tenderly.

He met your gaze, eyes filled with heated care. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he rasped, voice thick with want but edged with concern.

You cupped his cheek softly, eyes locked on his. “It’s perfect. It’s always perfect with you…Just fuck me, Ji.”

And he did.

The first thrust was slow, a deep stretch that pulled a gasp straight from your lungs. His cock slid in inch by inch until he bottomed out, and then he just held there, buried inside, groaning like he’d finally found home.

“Holy fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You’re so tight, you feel so—shit—you feel like you were made for me.”

You clenched around him involuntarily and he hissed, head dropping to your shoulder as he fought the urge to move too fast.

But control didn’t last long. His hips started to roll into yours, picking up a rhythm that got harder with each thrust. The sound of skin slapping echoed off the glass, mixed with your breathy moans and the desperate groans breaking in his throat.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into his back, dragging him deeper.

“Yes, yes—right there—don’t stop,” you gasped.

“I won’t,” he growled. “I can’t.”

He drove into you harder, the table creaking beneath you as he pounded into your soaked cunt like he was trying to carve the shape of himself into your body. You arched under him, nails raking down his back through his shirt, gasping every time he bottomed out and hit that spot that made your toes curl.

He pulled out just enough to watch his cock slide back in.

“Look at this,” he breathed, one hand dragging down to your stomach, pressing just above your pubic bone. “Can feel myself right here.”

You could tell Jisung was obsessed with seeing himself inside you, it made his thrusts hit deeper just so he could feel himself in your lower belly. You moaned brokenly, the pressure making it worse, the angle driving you insane.

“Fuck, fuck—I’m gonna come,” you choked. “Don’t stop—please, don’t—”

“I want to feel it,” he growled. “Come on, baby. Come for me.”

Your body clamped down around him, walls spasming hard enough to make Jisung curse violently. He fucked you through it, rough thrusts stuttering until his own orgasm took him.

With a strangled groan, he slammed into you one last time and came hard, cock twitching deep inside you as he filled you again with thick spurts that made your pussy slicker than before.

He collapsed over you, forehead buried in your neck, both of you panting like you’d run for miles. His cock was still buried inside you, twitching with aftershocks.

You dragged your fingers through his hair gently, voice hoarse. “That didn’t feel like your rut.”

He laughed, breathless. “No. That was just me.”

“Are you okay?” he whispered into your neck, voice raw and reverent. “Did I hurt you?”

You shook your head slowly. “You didn’t. You were perfect.”

He sighed against your skin, relief loosening his shoulders. Then, gently—so, so gently—he pulled out, groaning as his cock slipped free from your cunt. The mess between your legs was immediate, warmth spilling down your thighs, and you whimpered at the sensitivity.

“I got you,” he murmured, already reaching for his wand.

He muttered a quiet cleaning charm, careful not to touch you until you nodded. His hand brushed your knee, then your thigh, his fingers trembling as he whispered the incantation again and wiped away the rest with his robe sleeve.

When he was finished, he kissed the inside of your knee, then your hip, then your stomach like it was part of some silent apology only your skin could understand.

“I’m gonna help you down,” he said, voice soft.

You nodded, and he wrapped his arms around your waist, lifting you slowly from the table and holding you close while your legs adjusted. You swayed once, but he caught you instantly.

“You’re shaky,” he murmured.

“You fucked my legs numb, Park,” you whispered, trying to smile, and he let out a breathy laugh, burying his face in your neck.

“I’m never letting you go again,” he mumbled. “Not even if Snape drags me out of your bed himself.”

You held onto him tighter, forehead pressed to his collarbone. “You better keep that promise.”

He kissed your temple. Then your cheek. Then the corner of your mouth.

“I will,” he said. “Forever.”

He helped you sit on the edge of the table while he redressed—pulling his trousers back up, refastening his belt with one hand while the other stayed on your knee like he couldn’t bring himself to stop touching you. When he was done, he reached for your discarded panties, blushing faintly as he held them out to you.

“I should’ve asked first,” he said quietly. “Back then. In the shack.”

You looked up at him, heart aching. “You couldn’t. And I already told you… I don’t regret it.”

He nodded, but the guilt lingered behind his eyes. So you took his hand and laced your fingers through his again.

“We’ll be okay,” you said. “You and me.”

“We will,” he whispered.

You dressed in silence together, stealing soft glances and touches, letting the heat cool but not disappear. And when you finally stepped out of the greenhouse, blinking into the pale afternoon light, Jisung’s arm was already around your shoulders holding you close and as steady as the heartbeat you’d heard pounding through his chest not long ago.

And this time, when he kissed you, it wasn’t desperate or rushed. It was quiet and certain.

Like a promise kept.

eeeeek feedback is greatly appreciated! i love reading ur comments and anons <3

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elixara · 1 month ago

Text

content: fem!reader, pregnant!reader, happy ending amphoreus, married relationship, fluff

note: inspired from a manhwa i read

phainon is so in love with you. like literally so so so in love with you. he has always loved you since you were kids. even when he became this hero of amphoreus, his feelings hasn’t changed. in fact, his love for you intensified. now that he’s stronger and more capable of fighting, he always helps you out even in the smallest things. you’re carrying something? he’ll carry it for you. you can’t reach something at the top of the shelf? he’s tall, he will reach it for you. tired of walking around? he’s gonna be carrying you on his back on your way back. he really won’t miss a day of making things easier for you and shouldering your pain.

lately, you notice something wrong with him. he’s frequently feeling nauseous, fatigue, and sometimes he’s throwing up. phainon would shrug it off as a stomach bug but it’s too frequent for it to be one.

fast forward to present. after a checkup at a doctor (hyacine), you found out that you’re pregnant. phainon is so over the moon that whatever hyacine was saying is not entering his ears.

“hyacine? do you think the morning sickness medicine would work on men?”

now that made phainon pause his ramblings. he looked at you curiously. “what do you mean by that, my love?”

you held his hand and replied, “instead of me, you’re the one with morning sickness.”

phainon tilted his head. he looks like a puppy who is confused. “but why? why am i the one who’s having morning sickness?”

hyacine answered phainon’s question, “i’ve seen cases like this before. they say that it happens when the husband doesn’t want his wife to suffer.”

“oh.” phainon didn’t know what to reply. you, however, were blushing heavily beside him, both embarrassed and amused.

it is true though. phainon loves you too much that you fear you could never reciprocate it. but your dearest husband phainon has reassured you countless times that staying with him is enough for him. you know that he will be a good husband throughout this pregnancy journey and he will be a wonderful father to your future child.

#⋆. 𐙚 ˚ elixara writes #hsr x reader #hsr fluff #phainon x reader #phainon fluff #phainon x you

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ohjustgonameless · 9 days ago

Note

Hi! Saw you were doing requests and had a bit of an idea for a Clark x reader fic. Reader is constantly talked over, and it causes her to be kind of like a selective mute. Slowly she realizes that Clark actually listens to her and she falls for him. Angst to fluff, lots of comfort when he realizes why she doesn’t talk much. Thank you lots for being an author!

Tongue-Tied | C.K x Reader

Notes: Journalist! Reader. Mentions of self doubt/insecurity, mentions of a family that dismisses reader, Martha Kent's amazing baking. Cat Grant is your best friend. Cat calls you 'Chips' (not explained in the fic but happy to elaborate on the nickname if anyone wants!), Flirting, Clark being motivational, you don't know Clark is Superman. Mention of past Clark Kent/Lana Lang.

Pairing: Clark Kent x Reader

Word count: 5.4k

A/N: I really loved this request! I hope this story does it justice. Thank you for sending it in. It felt like you'd jumped into my brain with it because im constantly getting interrupted myself.

⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆ ⋆⁺₊⋆♱♡♱⋆⁺₊⋆

“So I was thinking you and I could head out there, you could try and get some candid shots of the property while I talk to her and see if she’s willing to open up about what her husband was involved in.”Jimmy nodded, chewing on the end of a pencil looking intensely at his phone. “So you’ll come with? To the Robinsons? I think it’s best I take you, she’s got a son about your age it might soften -”

“What does it mean if a chick starts dating a new guy but continues to beg you to meet up?”

You blinked “sorry?”

Jimmy sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face, “it’s just Eve, again.”

“Eve? Jimmy I was talking to you about my article were you even list-”

“Look!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands into the air “this is getting ridiculous.” He spun his phone around showing you a picture of a gorgeous blonde, pouting at the camera, one hand in her hair.

“Sorry, what is the issue here?”

“Eve” he said like you were an idiot for not getting it “she’s sending me selfies again.”

“Right” you said slowly “so…block her then?”

He blinked at you “block her?” he looked back down at his phone “right…”

“Her again?” Lois guessed, poking her head around the desk. You nodded and she rolled her eyes playfully at him making you laugh “I don’t know why he doesn’t just delete her number I think he’s secretly still into -”

“Hey did you go see Robinson's wife yet?” Lois interruptedlooking through a bunch of papers.

“Not yet I was thinking of taking -”

“You should take Jimmy, she’s got a son similar age and profile to him, might open her up.” and then Lois turned back to her desk leaving you to sigh because if she’d just let you finish that was exactly what you were going to say.

To say you were used to this would be an understatement. You’d spent your whole life being talked over and interrupted. In a world of green lanterns, metahumans, superman and the justice league you often wondered if you had a superpower too. You wondered if you randomly turned invisible or if your voice suddenly became mute to everyone around you. Alas, there was no mythical explanation for it. You figured that you were just easy to ignore.

“Hey chips,” Cat said, slipping onto your desk, nudging you with her perfect Stiletto. “Why the frown hmm?”

“It’s nothing, just a hard case” you lied, staring down at the dregs in your coffee cup “Cat do you ever think that maybe im -”

“Hey we should go out!” she suddenly beamed “get all dolled up, hit the streets, c’mon it’ll be fun, take your mind off of it.”

Your lips pressed together, like they’d caught the end of the sentence you’d been in the middle of saying. Cat blinked at you, smiling that genuinely kind smile trying to cheer you up. She had no idea that she’d done it too, interrupted you like everyone else. “Il do your eyeliner in that pointy way you like…”

You sighed “sure” you said softly “how about tomorrow night?”

~~~~~~~

The newsroom was a flurry of activity. Jimmy hastily turned the tv up as everyone listened intently to the latest story break. Coffee was being shoved into hands, fresh mugs creating sticky rings on desks, pens scratching on post it pads, the low hum of typing and the hasty click of heels.

“Folks” Perry White instantly commanded the attention of the room, heads snapping upwards. You wondered what it would be like to have everyone listen to you like that, to be so seen, so visible and heard. “We’re on the cusp of a breakthrough here, Julian Robinson has just been released on bail. His lawyers are going to fight tooth and nail to get that man off. We have to get this story out there, let the public know what we’ve uncovered.”

Murmurs of assent filled the room, people shouting out their ideas for headlines and what to break and when. Perry looked at you “did you manage to talk to his wife?” he asked. You nodded “Mrs Robinson was what you’d expect, a bit of a closed door. She stood by her husband, didn’t say much about the allegations. I think we can get to her though. She seemed scared, when more stuff breaks I think she’ll talk.”

Perry nods “good work” he said “we’ll save the story on the wife, get out some of the evidence first.”

“I don’t think she’ll talk without immunity” Lois said but you shook your head.

“I know it sounds crazy but I just don’t think she was complicit in his crimes. I think she’s silent in case he gets off. When she realises the brevity of the evidence against him I think she’d be happy to turn on him but we need to -”

“She seemed like she hated him deep down” Jimmy added, lost in thought “so I think you’re right -”

Suddenly a voice pipped up “Jimmy hang on you interrupted, what were you saying again?”

You froze, head snapping to the side to see none other than Clark looking at you expectantly. Quiet, unassuming Clark Kent whose voice had cut through the room in defence of you. That had never happened before, ever and it caught you off guard. So much so that you continued staring until he said your name again.

“Oh” you swallowed thickly “erm I was just saying we should be careful how we approach her. We need to make sure she knows we’re going to take her and her voice seriously. If she thinks we’re a tabloid looking to capitalise off of her trauma she’ll slam the door right in our faces.”

The corners of Clark's lips turned up “I agree” he said “everybody wants to feel human.”

Vaguely in the background you heard Perry agreeing and then everyone was swinging back to their desks, papers rustling, keyboards tapping. You stood rooted by the coffee maker, your mind fixed on curly brown hair, dorky glasses hiding baby blues and the twist of a smile. Of the person who’d made you feel human just because he heard you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

From that moment on you began to notice Clark Kent. Before he was just Clark, the guy you worked with. Now he was intriguing, he was someone who’d done the impossible and actually noticed how everything you said was cut off. So you began to watch him. Not in a completely stalkerish way, just more observant than before. You learnt that he took sugar in his black coffee, that he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose when he focused. You learnt that he typed faster than anyone else you’d ever seen and that he was a pretty decent writer.

“I liked your article” you said one morning, sitting on the edge of his desk “just how do you get all those interviews with superman anyway?” Clark looked up, surprised by your sudden appearance. The two of you didn’t usually interact like this, you were acquaintances not friends.

“Thanks” he said scratching the back of his neck “erm…we’re old baseball buddies.”

You snorted “keeping your cards close to your chest I see? Don’t blame ya, I wouldn’t give up that source either.” You sighed “Imagine the people who did grow up with superman though? I mean he must’ve come from somewhere right? Do you think his old high school girlfriends out there cursing the wind she let him go?”

Clark laughed “I have this theory he was somewhat of a loser in highschool.”

“Hmm interesting, well best be off. Wouldn’t wanna pull a Clark Kent.”

“A Clark Kent?” he repeated, brow furrowing in confusion.

“Being late” you called over your shoulder playful smirk intact.

You’d been at your desk a total of six minutes when Cat Grant almost plonked herself on your lap as she came skidding into your cubicle. “Toilets, now” she said and then grabbed your arm dragging you towards them leaving little room for protest.

“Cat I swear to god if this is about Jimmy using the last of the creamer again - bother him not me! I was busy -”

“Were you flirting with Clark?” she interrupted.

“I…What?” you spluttered “no!”

“Oh my god you were” Cat beamed giggling excitedly “good for you!”

“What…Cat, we had a conversation! That's hardly flirting.”

She tossed her hair over her shoulder in a dramatic flirty pose “being late, we call it a Clark Kent” she repeated in an exaggerated sultry voice, a poor imitation of how you’d left your conversation with Clark.

“C’mon! I was just talking to the guy, it wasn’t like that at all it was completely -”

“I think you should flirt with him, he's totally your type. Tall, dark, dorky, trips over his own feet six times a day.”

“We’re not discussing this further” you deadpanned, beginning to leave the toilet. Cat followed after you, her heels clicking on the floor. Sometimes it was better to go mute than to keep arguing against Cat.

“Girls night, my place” she said “Thursday, bring wine because we will be talking about this.” Then she was off back to her own desk.

“Talking about what?” Clark said, making you jump out of your skin.

“Jesus Kent you scared the life out of me, nosy much?”

He laughed “Sorry, I was just wondering if you’d help me with this article? I think it’s fine but a second pair of eyes always reassures me.”

You blinked, taken aback “Y-you don’t have to!” He said quickly, “I know you’re probably busy with your own stuff.”

“No no I will, I was just surprised is all, I thought Lois or Jimmy usually did that for you.”

He half smiled “Lois is out and Jimmy’s busy with Eve drama again. Figured you’re pretty smart too.”

You feel yourself starting to blush “Eve drama again hmm?”

Clark rolled his eyes as you followed him back to his desk “you know I have this theory that he secretly likes her, I mean why entertain it otherwise?”

“Hey that’s what I always say!”

He fully smiled this time “Great minds think alike?”

You wondered if maybe you and Clark were more alike than you initially thought.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were having a bad day. You usually do when you’ve visited home. There’s something about how invisible it makes you feel, how small. You see, the whole ‘being talked over’ thing didn’t start with your journalist career. It had been going on your whole life. When you were a kid you thought it was because of your age. You’d puff up your shoulders and start talking and some adult, your mom, your dad, grandparents, anyone would talk over you. You couldn’t get a word in edgeways. It was like you were unimportant, ‘shut up little girl, the adults are talking’ your brain helpfully supplied. So you pushed back “I was saying -” “actually I think” “mom, I was talking then” but all you were met with were handwaves. “No you interrupted me”, “well I was going to say this earlier” “sorry but I just want to say-”

So eventually you stopped pointing it out. It wasn’t worth the ire, wasn’t worth the eye rolls, the allegations that you were dramatic and ruining the mood for rightfully pointing out the disrespect. You retreated into yourself, you became quiet and reserved. Sometimes you wondered if that was the whole reason you became a journalist. On paper you could be yourself, speak and be heard. On the outside you were smiley and polite. On the inside you were a lethal cocktail of downtrodden and furious. As an adult it didn’t get better. If anything you felt like you were still sitting at the kids table, on the outside of the conversations not allowed in.

“What’s wrong Chips?” Cat asked coming over to your desk with coffee in your favourite mug, no sugar, a dash of creamer just how you liked it.

You smiled, she was a good friend really. Sure she interrupted you sometimes but you never minded it as much with Cat. She was hyperactive in general. “Long weekend” you said softly and she patted your shoulder “well there’s more coffee where that came from, you know where to find me.” She leaned in close, dropping her voice to a whisper “you know the best way to get over something is to get under someone?” she joked then nodded her head towards Clark wiggling her eyebrows at you “just saying…”

“Cat!” you gasp smacking her shoulder but she just laughed.

“Im just teasing you, but seriously what’s the harm?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you murmured.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Cat says you’re having a bad day.”

Clark Kent was leaning against your desk looking down at you like he was trying to figure something out.

“Cat’s brains a little scrambled from the hairspray, ignore her” At the same time you looked over your cubicle at hers sending a death glare that she laughed off.

“So you don’t want this then?” He held up a brown paper bag.

“What is it?”

“Chocolate muffin.”

“Clark, as sweet as this is, I'm fine really. You don’t have to give me your lunch.” You didn’t like pity.

“I'm not…honestly you’d be doing me a favour…my ma” he blushed as the small town slang slips out “mom makes like a hundred of em a week and she always insists I take tons back with me. I couldn’t possibly eat them all.”

He held the bag out to you and you hesitated “chocolate?” he nodded “home baked.”

“Go on then Kent” you sighed, taking the bag “but not because I'm sad…to do you a favour.”

He smiled a dimple forming in his cheek “to do me a favour.”

Unfortunately for you, it was the best goddamn chocolate muffin you’d ever had.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The champagne flute in your hand was cold, the silk of your dress clung to your body like a second skin and your hair fanned down lazily. You looked good, you knew that. Yet still you stood on the outside of the group, just watching and listening as your co-workers mingled. It didn’t matter what armour you painted on, deep down you knew you were still at the kids table. Seen and not heard. Perhaps until the day you died.

“No, I'm serious, the guy actually stole a slice of my pizza!”

Lois looked at Jimmy “you expect us to believe Superman stole from you?”

“Seriosuly! Clark said he’d get the guy to come over to my place so I could get some pics for his article. Didn’t expect dude to actually show up but there he is, goddamn superman standing on my doorstep. So I was like holy shit superman come on in, yeah make yourself at home…we took some pics and after he’d gone I opened my pizza box and a slice was gone.”

“Maybe it was the delivery driver?” Cat theorised, inching closer to Jimmy. You were starting to suspect she might have a little thing for him but you weren’t gonna confront her without more evidence.

“Had to have been superman, I checked when the pizza came, plus Carl is my guy he wouldn’t do that to me.”

You smiled, bemused, on the outskirts of the conversation. Office parties could be dreadfully dull, especially when you never really got involved.

“I fed superman” Jimmy said proudly “that should get me an article surely.”

“What a front page” you muttered dryly “Superman steals pizza slice, hero or petty thief?”

“Headline needs work” a voice said smoothly at the side of you “but it could be a hit…”

“Clark…” No one had ever picked up on your little muttered comments before.

“Hi” he said “you’re a wallflower like me huh? Not a fan of office parties?”

“Parties in general…never really been my forte.”

He smiled while taking a sip from his own champagne glass. You couldn’t help but notice how much smaller the glass looked in his hand compared to yours. “Mine either, tried to have one when I was a teenager. Spent the whole night following drunk kids around with buckets and trying to make sure they didn’t break all my moms pottery. Hardly the fun event I thought it would be. Cleaning up the next day was a nightmare too.”

“Clark Kent had a rebellious phase?” you smiled around the rim of the glass “I almost don’t believe you.”

He shrugged “I liked this girl…thought if I threw a party it would impress her.”

“Ah tale as old as time, did it?”

“Nah…wasn’t meant to be, she had a boyfriend anyway. So what's your story? Why don’t you like parties?”

You shrugged “same reason? Had a totally wild rager to impress the captain of the football team and ended up with my spirits crushed and my house in shambles…ah the wildness of youth.”

Clark laughed “you’re making fun of me?”

“No,” you smiled wryly, “but your stories are better than my truth.”

“Which is?”

“Going for the pulitzer Kent? What’s with the third degree?”

He held his hands up in surrender, champagne glass held easily between two fingers. God he had big hands. “No…I'm just curious. You never seem to talk about yourself much. Or in general…you could've made your joke to the whole group when Jimmy was telling his story but instead you just said it under your breath. You do that a lot…ive noticed.”

You swallowed “it’s sad.”

“I cried at the notebook, I like sad.”

You sighed “fine…you’re officially invited to my pity party Kent.” You’ve never really told anyone about this before but the champagne fizzing in your veins was making you more honest and he was looking at you with those big baby blues. So open…so genuine, so ready to listen. It was a look you’d never received before and it cracked something in you.

“No one ever really listens to me” you blurted out.

“What?” Clark’s eyebrows furrowed “what do you mean?”

You swallowed, well fuck it the door was wide open now “I mean everyone interrupts me and talks over me. It’s like I'm invisible and sometimes I think it’s better if I don’t talk at all because I don’t think anyone actually cares what I have to say, I think everyone’s just humouring me till they get bored. Even my articles aren’t as interesting as yours or Lois’ or Cats or -”

“Hey hey” Clark cut you off “im interrupting you now and I promise that il only ever do that to stop you saying bad things about yourself.”

He set his glass down on the windowledge “Nobody’s humouring you, your articles are brilliant. I particularly liked the one you did for the movie reviews column last week. Your dry comments about it gave me a real laugh. You know what I think? I think when you write that’s your real voice and I think it’s a shame we don’t get to hear that voice out loud much.”

He reached out, thumbs brushing against your bare shoulders and you shivered under the touch. “Why won’t you let the world hear you?” he said softly.

“Because every time I do…people prove to me they don’t care what I have to say. That I'm forgettable and invisible.”

“I don’t.”

“No you don’t…” the words surprised even you “why is that?”

He bit his lip eyes darting around the room for a second “you know superman?” You nodded. “Well…sometimes I think about how that guy gets everyone's attention. He flies around the city and even when he isn’t saying anything all anyone can do is look…and he does good things sure but do you ever think about how many regular people do good things and it goes unnoticed?”

“Like that climate activist, Superman backed her cause and everyone was rallying behind her suddenly but she’d been campaigning for years.”

He nods “exactly! And I think superman is great but sometimes it feels like you have to be a superhero to be heard…you’re not the only one who gets talked over and ignored you know? Sometimes I think people are a little selfish and they don’t always realise it. If you’re not the loudest in the room it can seem like you’re unheard…but that doesn’t mean you should stop speaking cause one day someone will listen.”

Maybe there was some truth to what he was saying but you still felt cynical “what’s the point if it just hurts to be ignored?”

“Cause I think it hurts more to keep it all inside.”

“Maybe…but I'm not Superman and neither are you Clark Kent. ”

He smiled, boyish, eyes gleaming. The kind of smile you didn’t look away from. “Well I think we should stand up for ourselves…you don’t have to be super to say hey im here and I deserve a voice too…think about Lex Luthor. Superman didn’t take him down in the end did he? It was Journalism. Ordinary people using their voice. I don’t think anyone should ever silence themselves because they think people don’t care. Who cares if people care? Talk anyway. Talk over anyone who talks over you.”

“That was…suprisingly sweet and motivational. Superman better watch out before you take his job.”

Clark laughed “nah, im scared of heights. And my cousin - who’s a girl - can totally beat me in a fight. I could never…”

“What if you're wrong? What if people don’t want me to change?”

“Then screw them, they’re not worth your time.”

A half smile tugged at your lips and you held out your champagne flute to clink against his “fuck ‘em.”

“Screw ‘em” he echoed, a non swearing smalltown farm boy through and through.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that day Clark pushed you. At work he’d ask what you thought about things in meetings, stare at you when you didn’t correct someone for interrupting you. He became such a menace that you started doing it just to get him off your back.

“Actually Jimmy I was about to say that but you interrupted me.” You waited, muscles taut ready for him to glare at you or roll his eyes instead -

“Oh sorry, my bad. So what were you gonna say?”

And it kept happening. “Sorry Chips, I just got excited. So tell me about your story?” “Oh sorry! I just interrupted you, you were saying?”

For the first time in your life you felt like people cared. People listened. Like you weren’t invisible and the more you called it out the less people did it.

“Maybe you should stop going on twenty five dates a week if you don’t wanna be so broke Jimbo.” You patted his shoulder.

“Rude, but true.”

“Damn girl, when did you get claws?” Cat said, eyes sparkling “you’ve been really talkative lately…”

The room felt a bit tighter, you stood up suddenly, rushing to the bathroom. Gripping the edges of the sink you stared into the mirror. You knew it was a mistake, people didn’t like sarcastic, quippy you. That was supposed to be kept to your writing. “Stupid” you mumbled “thinking people wanted to hear you..”

The door swung open, the click of heels alerting you to Cat’s entrance. “Chips…what’s going on?”

Tears filled your eyes and you blinked them away furiously “did I upset you? God I'm sorry, I meant it as a good thing! I like it when you’re talkative. Usually I have to get a couple of glasses of wine in ya before I see that side of you…”

“Really?”

She smiled “god yeah, c’mon you’re my best friend don’t hide that voice from me.”

It suddenly felt so silly, the insecurity and self doubt. Clark was right, anyone worth having in your life would listen, fuck ‘em if not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Clark Kent, man of mystery” you sat on his desk “why were you late today?”

“Had to run back home, forgot something.”

“You’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on, you’re lucky Perry likes ya.”

He wiggled his fingers “fastest typer in Daily Planet history.”

He slid his drawer open “muffin?”

“Yes please” you accepted the chocolate treat, fingers briefly brushing against his.

“These are warm?” your eyebrows furrow “I thought your mom made them? Unless you can run at the speed of light or fly, how'd you get these that fresh?”

He blushed, scratching the back of his neck “haha funny, no one can run that fast…my erm, my moms staying in Metropolis.”

“Oh…well tell her I said thanks, these are the best muffins I've ever had.”

“She’ll like that, she’s a bit of a feeder.”

You nudged his thick bicep “probably had to be Mr Beefcake, bet you ate her out of house and home growing up didn’t ya?”

“Might’ve eaten a few cherry pies whole with just a fork” he admitted “but my mom’s cooking is out of this world. You should come sometime to the farm and experience it first hand.”

You were a bit taken aback. Is it casual to invite a friend down to your home town to meet your mom? You shrugged it off. Clark's a farm boy at heart, he’s got that small town hospitality. You bet Lois and Jimmy have been hundreds of times.

“Sure, I'd like that.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sun set low in the sky, casting the golden wheat fields in a deep pinkish red hue. “Beautiful isn’t it?” Clark said, startling you as he came up behind you in the barn. He took the steps two, three at a time and you wondered just how many times he’d climbed them before.

“It’s stunning…I can’t believe you grew up with this view.”

“It wasn’t too bad” He stood behind you, staring out at it. “Sometimes when I was younger I resented it…how small this town was, the lack of noise and movement.” His eyes tracked a cow grazing on the field “now I live in Metropolis I realise I took it for granted.”

“Did you ever want to stay here? Run the farm?”

He shook his head “I love it here but no…I always wanted to make a difference somewhere bigger.”

“By writing the sports column?” you teased.

“Somethin’ like that” he laughed, “so what did you think of Ma’s cherry pie?”

“Incredible, you weren’t exaggerating, she makes a mean pie.”

“She liked you,” he said softly, looking out of the barn window. The sun was sinking even lower now, a kaleidoscope of burnt orange, warm pink, clouds tinged with colour. It made the blue of his eyes shine behind his glasses, the shadows showing the angular sides of his face.

“I like her too, she’s kind." You meant it. The second you’d met Martha Kent she’d welcomed you into her home with open arms (literally a tight hug) and immediately started doing everything she could to make you at home. She even ushered Clark and his father from the kitchen so she could have a ‘girls talk’ with you and get to know you better. It was the opposite of your home life and it made you feel warm inside. You knew that Clark was adopted but you swore you saw his eyes in Martha. The way she looked at you, so open and like she was really listening was Clark all over. It all suddenly made sense why he was such a good person.

“You know my folks have kept this barn the exact same since I was a teenager. It’s like walking into a time capsule.”

Looking around at the barn you could imagine Clark spent a lot of time in here. There was an old worn looking couch which looked to have a Clark shaped indent in it. A couple of Mighty Crabjoy posters with peeling tape, a telescope to see the stars, a basketball. It was cosy, exactly how you’d imagine a small town farmboy’s sanctuary to look.

“You spent a lot of time here huh? Bet I'm a part of a long list of gals you’ve snuck up here.”

He thought for a second “other than my mom you’re only the second girl I've brought up here.”

“Lois?”

“No, I've never brought Lois to Smallville. Lana.”

“Who?”

“Lana Lang…she used to live next door. She came over sometimes, used to kick my ass at battleships.”

“You loved her?”

“The idea of her,” he smiled, “we never worked out in practice. She was my first kiss. Married now with two kids, I run into her sometimes in town. She’s still the same old Lana.”

You were quiet for a moment as you mulled over the fact that the only women Clark had ever brought to this barn were his mother and a girl who’d obviously been important to him in the past. So why you now? You didn’t want to read too much into it but your journalist brain was working overtime.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

“Clark…why did you invite me to Smallville?”

He blinked “well you liked my moms muffins figured you might like the other stuff she makes too” he scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.

You stepped closer, the glow of the sun now seeping over your skin, the two of you framed perfectly in the window.

“Is that the only reason? You invited me all the way to your home town just for that?”

He looked up, eyes soft in the low light of the barn. You could smell hay and dust but mostly the sweet spice of his cologne and something uniquely Clark. “I like you,” he admitted softly.

“Well I like you too Clark, you were the first person to actually listen to me and I'm glad we got closer and became friends.”

A short burst of air escaped his lips and he stepped closer. “I like you” he repeated “a bit more than in a friendly way.” He swallowed nervously “I don’t want you to feel like you have to reciprocate that, we can pretend I never said anything. It’s just…my dad told me you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take and seeing you here in this barn - it’s like I said to you at the work party, you can’t stay silent forever.”

For a moment time felt like it stopped. Clark Kent liked you? The sound of the corn fields rustling, the animals grazing, the creak of old wood beneath your feet faded away.

“Why?” you whispered imploringly like if you raised your voice any louder you’d shatter the moment “why me? What's likeable about me?”

He almost smiled and one hand lifted to brush back a strand of your hair “I like the way you bite pens when you concentrate, all the rings on your desk because you always spill the coffee and never wipe beneath the mug, I like how you notice everything about everyone, your dry humour, the way your lips twitch when you want to laugh.” His thumb lingered on your cheek, touch soft and warm. “I like you because you’re amazing after you’ve found your voice and you were amazing before…because the world could’ve made you jaded but you still smile and still want to do good.”

“Clark I…I don’t know what to say.”

He froze and his hand dropped away from your face. "I've made you uncomfortable…forget I said anything, please.”

“No Clark!” you stepped closer, hand curling around his wrist to stop him escaping “im bad with words when I have to say them out loud, I've spent too many years suppressing them. Can I show you instead?”

Confused, he nodded and you took your chance to step closer and kiss him. It took only a second for him to get over his surprise and kiss you back, hand splaying across your back as he tugged you closer. He didn’t kiss like he thought he would. His kiss wasn’t the soft dorky Clark Kent, it was fire and passion, tongues tangling and teeth nibbling your bottom lip. When you pulled away you were dazed, sharing breath looking into his baby blues.

“In a nutshell…I like you too.”

His face lit up, a pure and radiant smile “will you be my girlfriend?”

“Depends…you sure I don’t talk too much?”

His grin widened “baby, for me? You could never talk enough” and then he was kissing you again right beside the stars. You knew at that moment it wouldn’t matter to you if nobody ever listened to you ever again, because Clark Kent always would and that was enough.

A/N: It is canon to me that Clark flys/superspeeds to Smallville just to get reader his moms muffins, that boy is down badddd.

#clark kent x reader #clark kent imagine #clark kent x reader fluff #clark kent x you #clark kent fanfic #clark kent x y/n #superman x reader #superman x you #superman 2025 #smallville imagine #im really proud of this one

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