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gldrushh · 3 months ago

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GUILTY AS SIN? | JK | PART 𝐈

"You are stuck in time, and Jungkook doesn't stop running from it until he eventually does, and you learn that grief doesn’t wait for death, that love isn't all that dignifying."

→ Pairing brother in law!Jungkook × widowed fem!reader

→ Genre forbidden love! au, childhood friends to lovers, angst, smut

→ W.C 17. 32k

→ Warnings unrequited love :(, oc is in love with his older brother, early character death of the said older brother who is haunting the narrative, cute childhood sweethearts who are doomed by me, mentions of dealing with grief and acceptance, mention of cancer, a minor scene where harassment is attempted,emotionally troubled! oc, emotionally troubled and detached! jk, simp jk, pathetic man in love, he's so so lovesick, ceo! jk, protective jk, yearning, pining, loads of angst, fluff if you squint, breif yoongi mention, namjin yay!!,rich people party, mentions of anxiety,sexual tension,slow burnish,smut (omg everyone look away), kissing, unprotected sex (raw and deep, next question),dirty talking, oc is insecure,hickies,oral (f! Receiving), he cums in his pants,big dick jk, soft Dom Jungkook, fingering, penetrative sex, creampie, praise, cuddles if you squint again

→ Playlist Guilty as sin, control, killing me softly with his song, do I wanna know?

→ A/N the idea of this one shot came to me at 1 am when I was supposed to be studying for a test that probably my future depends upon and after much much complementing I'm finally posting it. To me, its very experimental and I was just trying to explore my writing style and writing things that I haven't before, like smut 🫠 so please please bear that in mind!! I hope you enjoy reading and if you did please comment!! It makes my whole day 🥰💕💕

P.S: cross posted on wattpad.

| PART 1 | PART 2 |

It is a believed fact that it takes three to four short months to fall in love.

For you, it took one summer. The summer spent watching him sketch galaxies in the dirt with a twig, summer spent learning the way his laughter sounded after stealing popsicles from the freezer, summer spent holding his hand as they made paper planes under the blazing sun. It was the kind of love that grew roots so deep, you couldn’t separate where he ended and you began.

That summer, you met Minho. The boy next door with a mind as wild as his curls and a heart so warm it seemed to shine blindingly bright. He showed you how to climb trees, told stories he'd crafted all by himself, convincing you that the universe could be held in the palm of your hand. He shared his world with you, and you fell in love with it.

You kissed his cheek on the porch of your house one late July evening, bold and brimming with the kind of confidence only childhood summers could bring. “Now you’re gonna have to marry me, Min Min,” you teased, hands behind your back, your toes curling against the wooden floorboards.

He blushed, a shade of red that rivaled the setting sun, but his grin mirrored yours.

The porch of your house was a witness to many things. Your first steps, held your first scraped knees, your first dog and Minho's new brother; your new friend.

A boy of your age, younger than Minho had appeared from right behind him, his hands clutching onto Minho's flannel, his watchful eyes going everywhere all at once. The kind of boy who never spoke unless he had to, the kind who was more familiar with loss than comfort, lingering on the edges of things, unsure if he belonged.

Jungkook.

Now, Jeon Jungkook.

You and his brother had taken it upon themselves to bring him into your fold, turning your duo into a trio. With time, he laughed with you both, trusted you both, became one of you both.

The three of you were inseparable— in the backyard of your house, in elementary school, in high school. How could you not be? You had tied the promise in the form of handmade friendship bracelets around the wrist of both boys.

Even though what you wanted with minho was far from friendship. A bold dreamer, you always have been. But not so much when you turned sixteen. Sixteen; what a awkward age.

An age of overthinking haircuts, dreams, and the lives your peers are gonna live all at once. Visits to the school councilor are doubled. Relationships happen; Friends part.

But you only grew closer with Jungkook. He didn’t seemed interested in making a move on the timid, short haired girl who passed him notes in chemistry class, neither did he talk much about the future. When you asked him what he wanted to do, he’d shrug and say something like, “Whatever makes sense at the time.” He wasn’t aimless, exactly—just grounded in a way that made you think he didn’t feel the need to plan everything out.

Minho, though, was spiraling.

He now spent more time with the councilor that he spent with you both. Had this bitter look on his face every morning you saw him on the bus stop that will have you sharing a knowing look with Jungkook—Minho had been having a lot of fights with his dad, had been overthinking a lot more because the world seemed so much bigger than he had imagined.

Maybe for the eldest son and heir to a family that ran a company as old as the town itself, the world really was big. But to you, he was just a hopeful boy with all the colors in his eyes. The colors that you loved. The colors that didn't belong in a office, crunching numbers.

Your heart ached for him, but you didn’t know what to say. At sixteen, nobody has the answers.

Seventeen is a different story. It's a starlight dream. It's you acing the college entrance test. It's Minho surfacing back. It's Minho kissing you on that very same porch, promising, “One day, we’ll have our own porch, and I’ll kiss you there every day.”

And he was one to keep his promises.

You married him at twenty-five, in crisp autumn. To your family and friends, it was "About time." To you, it was nothing short of a dream as you walked to promise forever to the man you love, a vision in white. It was nothing big, just a dreamy intimate affair with soft twinkling string lights. Something you both agreed on. Because you were content with what you had, overjoyed actually after picking out a quite cozy apartment for the both of you and landing a job as a humanities professor in a university that wasn't too far from the said apartment. Minho was too and while things weren't the same with his father now, he did what he loved. Ever the artist at heart.

It was like everything you ever wrote in your middle school diary, everything you wished for was now laid under your feet like a carpet unfolding.

You were given a good time before it started pulling away from your feet.

At first, it was subtle. A missed dinner here, a canceled hangout there. Then he told you both he’d taken up an opportunity abroad to manage the family business, something Minho had no interest in, just on the night of your wedding after he had fulfilled his role of the groom's best man, watched you walk down the aisle.

You hadn’t seen the decision coming—not that night, not like this—but you couldn’t deny it either. Jungkook had seemed restless here, especially after finishing college.Conversations with him in those days had been brief, distracted, his eyes darting to the distance even as he smiled at you. It felt as you were trying to talk to the Jungkook who had appeared on your porch the first time. He hadn’t asked for understanding, and you hadn’t known how to offer it. His reasons were vague, more like placeholders for something unsaid. And so he left, quietly, with little fanfare, and though Minho seemed sad to see him go, you could tell he understood.

“It’s good for him,” Minho had said. “He deserves something for himself.”

Relationship happened; Friends parted.

You weren't sure if you understood. While you agreed with Minho, you couldn’t help but feel the loss of a friend now that his calls became less frequent until they stopped altogether. One day, he was simply gone, leaving behind only the memory of the boy who had once trusted you with his rare, precious smiles.

"You’d laugh if you saw me right now. I tried to fix the leaky sink in the kitchen, and now the entire floor is flooded. Minho’s being no help—just standing there laughing."

"Hey, stranger. Our anniversary is next weekend. We’re just doing a small dinner. You should come. Seriously, koo, don’t make me guilt-trip you."

"Saved you a slice of cake, but Minho ate it. You’d better show up next year, or I’ll stop saving you anything."

"Hey, Koo. Just checking in. Hope you're healthy and happy. Would love to hear from you"

You'd text him timely, in hopes that he still knows how to use a phone. But apparently, not.

Still, you had Minho. Your husband, your best friend.

Until you didn't.

Until the carpet was at last, snatched right down from your feet.

The diagnosis came in the spring. It started with a faint weakness in his voice. A shortness of breath he dismissed with a wave of his hand. “Just tired,” he’d say, smiling that same easy smile. But tired turned into tests. Tests turned into results. And results turned into a diagnosis that was oh so cruel.

Leukemia. Early stages. Aggressive.

The months that followed were a blur of hospital visits, treatments, and quiet nights where you held him as he cried. You tried to be strong, for him, for both of you. Told him what the doctor in the sterile white office will tell you. "They've caught it early so we're not at a great risk here." You'd reassure him. "You have yet to get away from me, min min." You'd try making him laugh but he had always been better at that.

Now, suddenly he wasn't. The next two years, your life was just the slow, agonizing process of watching the man you loved fade away, losing every bit of his lively soul to the cancer, holding his hand when he was too weak to hold yours back.

Perhaps it wasn't only Minho who was chipping away. It was you too.

You turned into the woman who knew exactly how to track medication schedules, who could list every side effect of his treatment in order of severity, who spoke with doctors as if reciting a memorized script. You learned how to bite back the frustration when he snapped at you because he was in pain, and how to smile when all you wanted was to scream at the unfairness of it all.

You started to measure time not in days or months but in cycles of chemotherapy, in percentages of remission and relapse. Life was divided into hours spent in sterile hospital rooms, waiting for results that were never as hopeful as you needed them to be, and hours spent at home trying to pretend those results didn’t exist.

You had stopped dreaming. And minho had stopped painting.

Grief doesn’t wait for death— or so you've realized as you often found yourself grieving the life you had built together, the one you knew would never be the same. You grieved the sound of his laugh, which became quieter as the months passed. You grieved the way he used to tease you about your love for terrible reality shows, You grieved the mornings spent tangled together, talking about everything and nothing.

By the time the end came, you had already lost so much of him that you thought you might be prepared.

You weren’t.

And then he was gone.

With an, "I'm sorry. I love you." He was gone.

The house was too quiet without him, the days too long. You withdrew, not just from the world but from yourself, letting grief shape the edges of your existence.

The world moved on, even if you didn’t. They tell you how long it takes to fall in love but not how long it takes to get over it.

2 years, 240 days. And you're still counting.

Time passed in pieces—fractured and unrelenting.

Your family, Minho’s family, even well-meaning friends—none of them knew what to do with the mess you’d become, so they did what people often did. They tried to fix it. To fix you.

Blind dates were their answer, little nudges toward what they called healing. The word had been said so many times it began to lose its meaning. Healing. As if it were something—a destination you could stumble upon.

You didn’t have the energy to argue anymore, so you let them dress you up, hand you phone numbers, and convince you that this—whatever this was—was what you needed.

But your heart wasn’t in it.

Because as the man sat in front of you in the dimly lit bar continued to talk about how his ex couldn't handle his success, the trials of being a man with ambition, you really couldn't even bother to pretend you were interested. He was nice enough—tall, well dressed (consdering the dingy bar) with a confident smile but your thoughts kept drifting, as they often did.

2 years, 240 days since Minho had died.

2 years, 240 days of waking up alone in your bed, his side untouched.

2 years, 240 days of trying to find your way back to the woman you used to be.

“Hey,” the man interrupted your thoughts, leaning forward with an eager grin. “I feel like I’m talking too much. Tell me about yourself. What do you do for fun?”

You forced a smile, your stomach twisting. “I paint. It’s... therapeutic.”

“That’s nice,” he said, reaching across the table to touch your hand. You pulled back instinctively, your stool scraping against the floor. His brows furrowed.

“Sorry,” you muttered. “I just—”

“You don’t need to apologize,” he said, but his tone was tighter now. He leaned back, shrugging as if trying to dismiss the moment. “You know, you should loosen up a little. You’ll never find anyone if you keep acting like you’re still married.”

The words hit you like a slap, your chest tightening as you struggled to process the audacity of his statement. “Excuse me?”

“I’m just saying,” he continued, ignoring the warning in your tone, “you should give people a chance. I mean, you’re here, right?” He smirked and stood, coming around the table. “Let me take you home. We can—”

“Stop,” you said sharply, rising to your feet.

But he didn’t listen. His hand reached for your arm, his grip firm.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d grabbed you, he was gone.

The man stumbled backward, a hand jerking him by the collar. The force was so swift, so unexpected, that it took you a moment to register what had happened.

And then you saw him.

“..Jungkook?” The name caught in your throat as you turned.

You took in the man standing before you, taller and broader than you remembered, the years etched into the sharp lines of his jaw and the set of his shoulders. His dark eyes were fixed on the man who had dared to touch you, glinting coldly.

His voice was low, dangerous. “She said stop. I suggest you listen.”

For a moment, the world tilted.

You weren’t in a dingy bar anymore.

You were standing at the edge of a memory—the first time you’d ever seen Jungkook, the quiet boy who clung to Minho’s shadow.

And the last.

The last time you’d seen him, a looming figure in an ocean of black suits. A barely recognizable shadow among the mourners at your husband's funeral.

Now, standing before you, he was real, tangible—and so was the flood of emotions crashing over you.

It was so loud, you could barely hear as the the man stammered out an excuse, something about a misunderstanding.

“Leave.” Jungkook snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut and bring you back to the moment.

The man hesitated, his mouth opening as though he wanted to argue, but one glance at Jungkook’s expression and he decided against it. Without another word, he turned and stalked out, muttering something under his breath that neither of you caught.

Silence followed.

Only then did you felt his gaze on you. His presence was larger than life, and you were suddenly hyper-aware of how much had changed. How much he had changed. You hadn’t registered that at the funeral. Now, you didn't know what to say, you could hardly manage to look at him. While he wasn't Minho's real brother, didn't share any resemblance with him, it still hurt you, sucked you back into those times when it was the three of you, when it wasn't.

He too didn't reply right away, his gaze searching your face, as though he was also trying to piece together the version of you he remembered with the one standing before him now. When it landed on the arm you were clutching, the arm that dipshit had grabbed, you saw his eyes glint again.

"Did he hurt you?" It sounded more like a demand rather than a question but you couldn't even deciper the words, too focused on how his boyish tone had turned sharper, harder.

"W-What?" You fumble out like a fool.

"Did he hurt you, y/n?" This time, you heard him.

Letting your hand fall, embarrassed, you shook your head, finally managing to utter something sensible out. “No—yeah. I’m fine.”

He glanced back at the door that man had fled from before looking back at you. Finally, he exhaled, his voice low and quiet.

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

You blinked. “My phone?” You don't remember getting a call from anyone but then you realize your battery had died down as you looked down to see your dead device laying flat. "Oh. I didn't realis—"

“Mom said you’d been gone a while. Told me where you were.” He interrupted. There was an edge to his voice now, faint but undeniable.

You feel more embarrassed now that you know it's because of your mother in law's anxious nature that he is here. Your fingers brushed against the strap of your purse, desperate for something to do, something to hold onto as he speaks again. "Are you ready to leave?"

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, the words tumbling out before you could think them through. “I can get a cab.”

His brows furrowed, just slightly, and you noticed for the first time the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the hint of weariness in his expression. “It’s late,” he said simply.

"So?”

“So,” he echoed, his tone calm but unyielding, “I’ll take you.”

You hesitated, your pride and your exhaustion warring within you. Finally, you exhaled out in defeat, reaching for your coat. It's just a thirty minute ride. You reassured yourself. It'll be fine.

The cool night air wrapped around you and so did your coat as you stepped outside, and the streetlights cast long shadows that flickered as you walked toward his car. He opened the passenger door for you, his movements deliberate, and waited for you to slide in before closing it softly behind you.

The drive started in silence.

It wasn’t the silence of old friends, the kind that felt easy and safe. This was different—fraught, taut, like a thread stretched too tight.

You stole a glance at him as he started the engine, too aware of the small space you were packed in with him.

“I didn’t know you were back,” you said finally, your statement sounding more accusatory that you or he would have liked.

“Just for a little while,” he replied, his tone ofcourse, unfazed. “Business.”

Buisness. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the word. If someone could look like that word, you thought, it'd be the man in the fine tailored suit with eyes fixed on the road ahead and a rolex that didn't look any more cheaper than the car he was driving and you wondered.

Wondered if the lines of his palms—the callouses from late-night basketball games, the way they had felt solid and familiar when he held yours to steady you on the wobbly bike Minho had convinced you to ride—had changed too.

Had they turned forigen, unyielding? Had time eroded their familiarity?

When the car slowed, you glanced out the window, expecting to see the acquinated sight of your apartment building. But instead, the streetlights gave way to a quieter, darker road. You frowned, turning to him.

“This isn’t the way to my place.”

“I know,” he said simply, not bothering to elaborate. "You're coming with me."

You felt your chest tighten, your pulse quickening as unease prickled at the back of your neck. “Jungkook,” you started, the word heavy with protest.

"Y/N." He ends, sparing you a glance that has you sinking back into your seat, arms folded across your chest like a petulant child that you could swear made his lips twitch at the corner, you could swear you saw your old friend who had grown a sassy tounge at the age of fourteen that'd earn smacks at the head from his older brother for a fleeting cruel second there. But that was it. It was gone as fast as it had appeared, summoning the return of the silence that felt like its own living thing.

The house was still the same.

That was the first thing you noticed as the car slowed down in front of the building that loomed at the end of the road like a memory waiting to consume you.

The overhead lights still flickered faintly, casting shadows across the steps where you and Minho had once sat, daring each other to stay outside until the stars disappeared. Even the smell was the same—faintly woody, with the comforting hint of whatever candle Jungkook’s mom always lit in the hallway.

You hesitated in the doorway, the memories rushing in too fast, too loud. It's not like you haven't been here in ages but since the year you celebrated your first marriage anniversary with Minho here, it felt like you have lived a thousand lives.

Lives that haunted you still, made you randomly pause in the grocery aisle and now before this house until you felt Jungkook’s presence press behind you as if silently urging you on.

Clearing your throat, you slipped out of your heels that have been as much as pain as the man you had been on a date with. The floor creaked softly beneath your feet as you stepped inside, the sound jarring. The same hardwood floors, polished to a faint sheen. The same floral wallpaper lining the hallway. The same photo frames arranged along the wall—a collection of childhoods captured and frozen in time.

But as you glanced toward the corner of the living room where the three of you used to pile up pillows and blankets for makeshift forts. The corner was bare now, save for an old armchair, but in your mind, you saw it vividly: Minho’s determined grin as he shuffled the pillows, Jungkook, always following the lead but never quite competing for it. You would snuggle a pillow to your lap, nestled between the two brothers, peeking from behind your fingers and giggling at the the way Minho’s face would light up in triumph when he won another round of rock-paper-scissors.

A type of smugness that came from knowing he’d get to flick Jungkook’s forehead next. But your smile would fade as soon as you would realize that it's your turn next. “Wait, wait!” you’d plead, wide-eyed, deploying the best puppy-dog look you could muster. It was the same look that had, on occasion, earned you extra TV time with your dad. Jungkook would glance at you and chuckle. Relent like your father would and sheild your forehead with his palm that'd have Minho pouting. "Hey! That's not how you do it!"

"Y/N?" A well recognized voice pulled you back to the where you were supposed to be, back from the fort of pillows and blankets.

You turned around and instantly found yourself wrapped up in a tight hug. You managed a small smile, letting your arms wrap around the warm frame of your mother in law, the scent of her jasmine oil and apprehensive energy pulling you in. "Mom." You greeted back.

Mrs Jeon hadn't always been this.. overbearing. Though after the passing of your husband, she had teamed up with your mother and been on a determined mission to make sure you are well and on a road to healing.

The next few minutes, she did what she had been doing best—fussed over you, asking how you’d been, if you’d eaten, if you were warm enough. In that time being, Jungkook had resigned to wherever his room was.

You planned to do the same, especially now that you could see on her face how she is on the brink of asking about the disaster tonight. You showed some obvious sign of weariness, in hopes she'd let it go for the night and tell you where you're supposed to go to bed for.

"Third on the left, my dear. And I'm gonna need you to stay for breakfast, okay?" You wondered if stubbornness was a running streak in this family.

Hours later, sleep had yet to come.

You lay awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the faint grooves in the plaster as if they could somehow lull you into rest. The trick didn't work. It hadn’t worked in your own apartment either—the one you and Minho had picked out together, picked the colors of the walls together, and argued over where the bookshelf should be. Yet, it was still your space. You could control how you faced the memories there, pacing them, deciding when and how to confront them.

There, at least, you’d managed four or five hours of sleep on a good night. Here? In this house that held so much of him, so much of them, you weren’t sure you’d manage even one.

The room you were led to was neat and welcoming, the kind of space that had been carefully prepared for guests. But there was no comfort to be found in the knowledge that two doors down lay Minho’s childhood room, untouched, a shrine to a boy who grew up into the man you loved and lost.

At some point, you gave up.

Sliding out of bed, you wrapped your arms around yourself as you padded quietly downstairs. The house was silent as you made your way downstairs, the faint hum of the refrigerator the only sound, the indistinct glow from the kitchen spilling into the dimness. You didn’t expect to find anyone there, but as you rounded the corner, your steps faltered.

Jungkook stood by the counter, a glass of amber liquid in his hand, his other resting on the marble surface. His jacket was gone, abandoned somewhere, leaving him in his dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

Tattoos.

They sprawled across his skin, intricate designs etched into muscle and sinew, that you didn't think you'd ever see on him.

Perhaps you thought wrong. Perhaps you never knew. Never knew him.

He glanced up, his dark eyes meeting yours that looked just as caught off guard as yours did. For a moment, you didn't feel comfortable moving from your spot until he eventually spoke.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, his voice quiet.

You shook your head, stepping into the kitchen. “Needed some water.” You said and opened a cabinet, finding the glasses exactly where you remembered, and filled one with water.

Behind you, Jungkook leaned against the counter, his presence impossible to ignore. Funny, how he always preferred to blend in the background as a child, now his mere cologne—earthy and warm—demanded attention, filled the room before he had even entered.

“Do you… do you drink often now?” you asked hesitantly, glancing over your shoulder, at the way his fingers curled around the glass, the tattoos on his hand shifting as he tilted it.

“Sometimes.” he said, his tone vague.

If things were anything like before between you two or anything like before at all, maybe you'd have pushed further, asked him if this was growing to be a unhealthy habit.

Now, it didn’t seem right when there was an ocean between you—a chasm of time. Felt intrusive. And you know it would only sound hypocritical from your mouth—talking about unhealthy mechanisms. Hah.

You ended up only nodding and put the washed glass back so you could go back to counting the grooves in the plaster. Resume your restless attempt at sleep.

But Jungkook spoke again.

"How long have you been going on.." He started suddenly, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. His voice was calm, but the muscle in his jaw twitched as he spoke. "These dates?"

You blinked at him, taken aback by the question. "Uh—for a while now, I guess?"

“Are you willing, or are they forcing you?”

The question, the way he asked it—sharp, direct—left you off balance. So did the way he was looking at you now, his eyes no longer holding the casualty as they once did when he had the glass of alcohol in his hand.

“I—” You faltered. “They just want to help. They think it’s time.”

“And what do you want?”

To go back to your room. To ask him what did it even matter to him, after all this time.

But what came out was forthright honesty. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

He stepped closer, his feet padding softly against the kitchen floor—a contrast to his rigid frame that now towered just close enough. Close enough to see how his chest rose and fell with every breath. Close enough to see how his eyes lingered on you, like he was trying to unravel something he didn’t understand.

“You don’t have to do anything for them or anyone,” he said, his voice soft but no less rough. “Not if you’re not ready.”

You opened your mouth to respond, to deflect, to do something, but his gaze held you in place, tracing down from the dark circles that weighted your eyes to your parted lips. All you could feel was his gaze burning on you and hear your own pulse in your ears.

“Jungkook…” His name escaped your lips in a whisper, barely audible.

He lingered for a beat longer, his eyes searching yours, then he stepped back, his jaw just as tight. “Get some rest.” He clipped out before he turned and walked away, leaving you alone again.

You didn't got any sleep that night.

8:00'o clock. The time's a etched number in your brain ever since you started your job at the university.

It's a routine that needs no alarm clock. It's a number you keep waiting for as you blink at the time passing. And you're more than eager when the morning comes softly along with smaller needle stopping at 8, sunlight slipping through the curtains in streaks too gentle to match the weight in your chest.

With Minho, you were the one to wake up first but here you find that the house was awake before you.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted through the air, mingling with the faint sound of voices coming from the dining room. Breakfast was warm and lively, much like your mother in law. She greeted you with a brightness that almost made you feel guilty for your somber disposition.

“Good morning!” she said with a smile that could have been plucked from a painting. Reaching for a plate of toast, setting it down in front of the empty seat beside her.

“Good morning.” you murmured, sliding into a chair.

Across the table, your father in law sat at his usual spot, his attention fixed on his phone, only looking up to give you a nod of acknowledgment. You had never fully understood him, not as Minho’s father, not as a man.

Perhaps, It had always been because of the sore spot between him and your husband, the way his father disapproved of his wishes—choosing art over business, passion over practicality. You remembered the arguments you thought would never hear after the age of sixteen, the way Minho would come home, his face tight with frustration. “He doesn’t get it,” he’d say. “He never will.” You saw the way it wore on him, the way he carried the weight of his father’s disapproval like it was stitched into his very skin.

Even now, as you sat across from him, you wondered if he ever regretted it—if he ever wished he had spoken softer, loved louder. But his face was as impassive as ever, his thoughts a mystery.

“Jungkook left early this morning,” his mother said, breaking the silence. “Something about a meeting downtown.”

You nodded, relief washing over you in a way that felt almost shameful. You hadn’t realized how much you were dreading seeing him until you knew you wouldn’t have to.

“Busy as always,” you said lightly, reaching for your coffee.

The conversation drifted into familiar topics—neighbors, extended family, stories you half-listened to with polite nods. The table felt both too full and too empty, the gazes of all the people that sat there never straying to the right one in the left corner, just right beside yours.

The older woman turned to you, her tone bright with enthusiasm.

“There’s a party this weekend,” she said, her smile widening. “Just a small gathering with some friends and business partners. It would be lovely if you came with us.”

The suggestion made you squirm uncomfortably in your chair. “Oh, I don’t think—”

“It’ll be good for you,” she interrupted gently, her gaze soft but insistent. “Everyone would love to see you.”

You hesitated, the thought of mingling with people, of putting on a brave face for strangers already making you want to go back to bed. “I’m not sure I’d be good company,” You glanced towards your father in law, half-hoping he might say something to discourage the idea, but he couldn't be any less bothered.

“Nonsense!” she pressed. “You don’t even have to stay long. But it would mean so much to us.”

There was no malice in her persistence, no attempt to guilt you, just a genuine desire to include you in their lives. You couldn’t bear to disappoint her.

“Okay,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll come.”

Her face lit up with a smile. “Wonderful. Jungkook will pick you up and bring you there. That way, you don’t have to worry about driving.”

You froze, cup midway to your mouth. "There's no need for that, mom."

"Oh hush." she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He’ll be coming from the office, so it’s no trouble.”

You nodded slowly, your appetite not too great or you just wanted to get out of here.

8'30. You glanced at the rose gold wrist watch, your first anniversary gift. Your first class is due in an hour, the perfect excuse wrapped around your wrist which you use to excuse yourself from the suffocating walls that always feel like they are closing in on you.

You have come to prefer the morning buzz of the university more—the hum of young adults chatting in the hallways, the scrape of chairs against tiled floors.It was a rhythm you found comforting, predictable in its own way. Here, you were just a professor, the one who explained history and philosophy with hands that only shook sometimes.

The teenage year you would have thought predictable as boring but you— a woman gone through a dubious sets of events found a fellow feeling in it.

Found the task of grading thesis, making power point presentation better than you would have ever imagined.

But Gods, your students need to realize that they can't dump about their toxic ex in every essay. A woman can only take so much.

You were sorting through the said papers in your office when the door creaked open, and a woman peeked her head in, the light from the outside catching in her curly locks.

“You busy?” she asked, her voice light and familiar.

You looked up to see Mira, the economics professor and one of your closest colleagues, walking toward you with her usual warm smile. Mira was more than just a coworker though—being practically family, the wife of Minho’s dark haired cousin who didn’t talk much in family gatherings, and over the years, she had become a friend you could rely on and share lunch with.

“Not for you,” you said, smiling as you waved her in.

She dropped into the chair across from you, setting her bag on the floor. “You look like you didn’t sleep a wink.”

Was it that obvious?

“I didn’t,” you admitted, sighing softly. “I stayed at the Jeons’ last night.”

Her eyebrows rose, but there was something in her eyes—a softness, an understanding—that made you look away for a second. “How’d that go?”

You hesitated, picking at the edge of a notebook on your desk. “It was… fine.”

“Just fine?”

“Jungkook’s back,” you said, and her eyes widened slightly, the topic seeming to catch her attention.

“Really? I didn’t know he was in town.”

“Neither did I, until yesterday.” You shrugged, leaning back in your chair. “Just for a while, though. Business stuff, y'know?”

Mira tilted her head, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. “And how’s that going?”

You frowned, caught off guard by the question. “What do you mean?”

She shrugged, but her eyes stayed on you, curious. “I mean, it’s been years, hasn’t it?"

“Yeah,” you said slowly. "It's fine, I suppose. We didn't talk much."

“Hmm.” Mira hummed thoughtfully as if tasting the question she was gonna ask on her tounge. “Are you okay with him being back?”

Were you okay with him behind back? Okay with him stepping in your vicinity after years of acting like you were not even family, let alone a friend?

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “It’s strange seeing him again after all this time. But he’s been… kind. Quiet, mostly.”

Mira didn’t press further, but there was something in her expression that made you uneasy, as if she knew something you didn’t.

You cleared your throat, desperate to change the subject. “There’s a party this weekend. His mom invited me. Please tell me you’re going.”

Mira winced, her smile apologetic. “Date night with the husband. Non-negotiable.”

"Oh." You tried not to show the dejection on your face but it was there. "Lucky you."

She studied you for a moment, her expression gentle. “Are you okay with going?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I feel like I have to.”

“You don’t have to do anything for them. Not if you’re not ready.”

If only he understood how much easier it was to do things for others than to face yourself.

“Y/N…” Her voice softened, and for a moment, she looked like she wanted to say more. Instead, she reached out and squeezed your hand. “You’ll be fine. And if you’re not, you can text me. I’ll make up some excuse to get you out of there.”

You smiled, grateful for her before bidding bye to her for her next class and focusing back on the pending work spread across your desk while simultaneously going through your closet in your mind.

Minho had always said red made the brown of your eyes excel more.

And you have really tried to believe it, looking at yourself from above your shoulder, from the side of your arm in the mirror but perhaps it's not only this red, off shoulder dress that's not doing your eyes justice. It's every color you have once known, once loved.

It's like, it's you that's not doing them justice.

As you stared into the mirror, your eyes flitting from one detail to the next—the slightly uneven tuck of fabric, the exposed skin of your collarbone—it felt wrong.

The little things were missing—his hands fixing the clasp of your necklace, his voice telling you not to overthink it, that you looked beautiful. That it didn’t matter what you wore, because it was you who wore it.

But he wasn’t here.

With a sigh, you adjusted the necklace you had chosen yourself, a simple silver chain that rested delicately against your collarbone. The mirror wasn’t forgiving, but you looked anyway, searching for something familiar in your own reflection. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, told yourself this was just another party, and dodged the doubts of this being a mistake.

The knock at your door came too soon, sharp and punctual, like everything Jungkook had become.

You felt your stomach clench, nerves twisting with something else you couldn’t name. Smoothing your dress one last time, you crossed the small space of your apartment, pausing just before the door.

When you opened it, Jungkook was standing right before you.

He had stood on the edge of cliffs where oceans met skies too, in countless countries at that, walked through streets that droned with history. Scrawled through the wonders of the world—the kind that made poets immortalize them in verse—but nothing—nothing—would ever measure up to this.

To you.

You, standing in the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the hall light, your hair falling in waves that he had memorized long ago.

His chest tightened, the memory of another doorway bleeding into the moment as gaily as if it had just happened. He had been in the room meant for waiting, where your parents had sat moments before, your mother sniffling into a tissue, your father pacing in his polished shoes. Now it had been his turn.

The thought alone of being the second person to see you before you walked away from him for good had made his tie that he had been trying to get the hang off felt too stressed around his neck, his palms clammy despite the air conditioning. He rubbed them on his pants, glancing at the small clock on the mantle every few seconds. The minutes dragged, each one seemed longer than the other.

What would you look like?

The thought ran circles in his mind, only for a creak of the door to startle him back.

Footsteps had echoed in the quiet, minimizing the distance until he could practically feel the nervous energy of a bride bounce against his. "Okay. You can turn around now." He had heard you speak, had seen the skittish smile on your face before he even turned around.

And when he did, he felt as if the air had been sucked out of the room.

The dress hugged you like it had been designed with only you in mind, its soft fabric flowing as if in defiance of gravity. Your veil cascaded behind you, catching the light, and your smile was small, almost shy, as you looked up at him, waiting for his reaction.

“Well?” you prompted, turning slightly, your hands brushing the fabric at your sides. “What do you think?”

What did he think? He thought the universe was wicked for allowing him to witness this and still expect him to let you go.

He had swallowed hard, forcing his voice to steady when he finally said, “You look—” His tongue had faltered over every adjective that came to mind. Beautiful wasn’t enough. Breathtaking felt like a cliché. “Perfect.”

You—Beautiful, Devastatingly, so.

You—who weren’t his to look at this way.

He feels his breath catch, his hands clenching at his sides to keep himself from reaching for you.

Because while that version of you had been a dream, this version—worn, weathered, but still so unmistakably you—was real. And the reality of you had always been what he wanted most.

Fuck. He shouldn’t be here.

He shouldn’t have agreed to pick you up, shouldn’t have stepped into this space, should have kept the distance he had spent years bridging.

But he has always found himself hopeless and running back to wherever you were concerned, hopeless in a way that had him studying for a test he didn’t even have to keep you company or show up.. here. Content to be near you in whatever capacity he could. He told himself it was enough. That it would be enough to watch you from the sidelines, to sit across from you at family dinners.

It wasn’t.

Because Jungkook wasn't a virtuous man. He never had been.

Virtue belonged to his brother—the one who could weave dreams out of thin air, who saw the world in colors Jungkook had never learned to name. His brother—Minho—who had been the light, the warmth that people, he gravitated toward. He had admired Minho, even envied him, resented him in ways he never admitted aloud and kept it in shadows.

When Minho died, the shadow became a man. And that man had spent years running.

Running into work, into unfamiliar cities, into the kind of purpose that left no room for thought. No room for the times when everything was right, when he tasted family and friendship for the first time ever, no room for the last time he tasted it when you walked down the aisle to his brother looking at him like he was the sun and how it burned, how he had burned with nails biting into his palms.

And only men with no integrity burn. Men who are cowards, restless, afraid of thier own greed try to run, in hopes that the distance would save them.

But distance didn’t save men like Jungkook.

Because here he was again, standing before you, the fire still smoldering.

“Hi,” you said softly, your voice pulling him back, creating a doubt in his belief.

“Hi,” he replied, his own tounge feeling heavy in his mouth.

“You’re early,” you said, your tone carefully light.

He cleared his throat, his hands slipping into the pockets of his slacks in an attempt to keep them to themselves. “Traffic was lighter than I expected. Are you ready to leave?"

You nodded and he stepped back, revealing his sleek Mercedes benz parked just right in front. He let you walk before him, watching how your movements were hesitant, as if the ground beneath your feet wasn’t entirely steady. He wanted to ask you if you were okay. He wanted to tell you it was okay if you weren't.

He settled for opening the car door for you.

“Thanks for this,” you said, your gaze fixed on the passing streetlights. “I know it’s probably the last thing you want to do.”

His grip tightened against the leather of the steering wheel with a force that made his knuckles ache. There was a rancorous way that you spoke to him, carefully restrained, that he couldn't even blame you for.

"It's not." He gritted out. "It's not a problem."

He had earned every inch of this gap between you, had spent years building it brick by brick, mile by mile. He's all to blame for. For carving the space between you with every ignored call, every excuse he made to avoid family dinners where you’d inevitably be.

For the leaving the wreckage in his wake—yours, his, theirs.

It wasn’t fair to hate the consequences of his own choices.

But hell, if he didn't outright loathed feeling like he was staring at a wall of frosted glass when he looked at you—where he could see the outline of you, but the details were blurred, distant. Like he had lost the privilge of knowing you from one glance, lost the privilge of having you speak up to him whenever you wanted, call him out, intoxicate him with your laughter that lightened up a room he wasn't even aware was dark. Found it fucking unbearable.

So much that he felt relief washing over him when the venue of the gathering came in view. A grand mansion, framed by manicured gardens and sprawling oaks that seemed to whisper old secrets to one another. It had a timeless elegance that made you wonder how many lives it had seen pass through its doors.

Small gathering, she said. You scoffed internally at rich people and their definition of small.

“Nice place,” you murmured as you walked beside him, your steps careful on the stone path after the car was eased into a parking spot.

“It’s the Kim's family home,” Jungkook said. You nodded, though the name didn’t spark much recognition. The Kims had been mentioned here and there at family dinners—names dropped in passing between sips of wine and shared laughter. You had barely paid attention then, too busy suppressing laughs at the jokes that Minho whispered near.

The front doors were open, the faint scent of fresh flowers and expensive cologne wafting out to greet you. Inside, the space was as opulent as expected—high ceilings adorned with crystal chandeliers, polished floors that gleamed under the soft light, and clusters of well-dressed guests milling about with drinks in hand.

A tall man stood near the entrance, his broad shoulders and sharp jawline making him impossible to miss. Beside him, another man stood with a softer air, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned into the first man’s side.

The taller of the two men turned, his expression lighting up as he spotted Jungkook. “There he is,” He said, his deep voice carrying effortlessly.

"Hyung." Jungkook softened, clasping hands in a firm shake before pulling each other into a brief hug, the kind that spoke of collaboration and respect.

You shifted awkwardly on your feet, your fingers curling around the strap of your purse as you wondered whether to step back and leave him to his conversation or stay and risk being out of place.Would it be rude if you chose the former?

You were saved from your uncertainty when the two of them pulled away from Jungkook and took you in, a gleam of recognition passing through their face. Recognition, shock, then pity. You know how it went.

“You must be Y/N,” the taller one said, his gaze shifting to you with a warm smile.

You blinked, clearly caught off guard by the direct attention. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Kim Namjoon ” he said, offering his hand. “And this is Seokjin, my partner.” You smiled, nodding in acknowledgment before taking the hand of the charming one in the beige suit. “It’s nice to meet you, both. This is a beautiful venue.” You assume that they're the hosts of the party. The Kims that this house belonged to.

“Thank my father for that,” Namjoon said with a chuckle. “Sixty years old and still insists on hosting the most extravagant parties. He’d never let me live it down if I didn’t pull out all the stops.”

“Extravagant is an understatement,” Seokjin chimed in, his tone playful as he glanced at Namjoon. “I’m pretty sure half the flowers in the city ended up here.”

You smiled again, but it faltered when Seokjin's expression changed in a beat.

“We’ve heard a lot about you too,” he said gently, his gaze dipping briefly to Jungkook before meeting yours again.

You tilted your head, curiosity flashing across your face. “All good things, I hope.”

“Of course,” Namjoon assured you. “Your family is well-regarded, and we-we're sorry about Minho. He was brilliant in every sense of the world. We can't even imagin—"

“Thank you,” you said softly, trying really hard to not let the tightening of your throat strain your voice. “He was.”

Jungkook watched as your smile faltered, just slightly, at the mention of Minho. He decided to steer the conversation away but you recovered quickly, offering a polite nod and beat him to it.

There was a brief, loaded pause before you glanced at Jungkook. “I should find mom. She asked me to join her earlier.”

"Yeah, right.” Jungkook said, his voice steady despite the way his chest tightened again when he looked at you.

You walked by Jungkook, brushing close enough that your shoulder brushed against his chest, the faintest hint of your vanilla perfume that was so maddeningly you lingered in the air. He tensed, his breath catching before he could stop it. His fingers twitched at his sides, an almost imperceptible motion, but it was enough.

Subtle as he tried to be, he caught himself leaning slightly, his chest rising with a quiet inhale as though he could take the ghost of your scent and keep it for himself.

"Not as subtle as you think." Seokjin snickered by his boyfriend's side who also raised an eyebrow, his expression knowing and somewhat giving away his discomfort. “Is there something you’d like to share with the class?”

Shit.

Jungkook straightened, his jaw clenching as he avoided their eyes, fixing the collar of his shirt hoping they won't catch on the heat creeping up on his neck too. “Don’t.” he said quietly, his tone low and edged with warning.

"Maybe you don't sniff her like a dog in public? Maybe you have some decorum?" Seokjin judged, proud and loud.

"I have plenty, hyung." The younger male side eyed the older one, his eyes narrowed and the tips of his ears already crimson red like he was a boy caught watching porn for the very first time.

Namjoon sighed, though there was a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Let him be, honey.”

But the look he gave Jungkook was far from dismissive. It was the kind of look that saw too much, that peeled back layers Jungkook wasn’t ready to confront. Gods, he needed new friends.

He turned his attention back to the crowd where you disappeared.

The soft hum of conversations and the faint clinking of glasses followed you as you weaved through the grand hall, your eyes scanning for your mother-in-law’s familiar figure. The air in the mansion was heavier than it had been when you arrived, the brush of silk against silk, the way every movement seemed calculated, observed, and weighed.

You navigated through the crowd like a ghost in a gallery, your steps measured and slow, eyes flicking to the floor more than once to avoid the speculative stares. With rich circles came dirty gossip—whispered words disguised as laughter, false smiles that hid daggers. You’d learned to let them roll off your back, like rain on stone.

The Jeon matriarch had mentioned being near the back, closer to where the banquet tables were set. You followed the direction she’d gestured toward earlier, passing servers who moved seamlessly with trays of sparkling champagne.

Halfway through the journey, your steps faltered as your gaze landed on the centerpiece of one table—a chocolate fountain. Warm, rich, and cascading like liquid satin, it stood surrounded by an array of treats. Strawberries gleamed like rubies in the low light, their surfaces polished and inviting.

You hesitated, glanced around as if expecting someone to berate you for indulging in something so ordinary, but eventually, you plucked a strawberry and dipped it into the cascading chocolate.

You let the sweetness settle on your tongue, closing your eyes for a brief moment. For the first time all evening, you found this place somewhat tolerable.

Free food always making things better.

“Excuse me, miss.” a small voice piped up beside you, tugging on the flowy end of your dress.

A boy, no older than six or seven, stood by your side, his wide eyes flicking between you and the fountain. He looked as if he had stepped out of a luxury children’s catalog, his little suit tailored perfectly, his bow tie slightly askew. “Can you grab one for me? I’m not allowed to reach it by myself.” he asked, pointing at the fountain. His voice was polite, but there was a hopeful edge to it, as if he wasn’t used to asking for things twice.

“Of course, love.” you said, your lips curving into a small smile. You picked another strawberry, dipping it with care before crouching slightly to hand it to him. "There you go."

“Thank you!” he chirped, grinning immediate and radiant, the kind that softened the edges of a hard day.

"What's your name?" You asked him, crouching down to his level.

“Do-yun!” came a sharp voice, the kind that turned your stomach before your brain even processed it.

Who you assumed was the boy's mother stepped forward, her elegance severe, her lips painted in a red that matched the strawberries. She took her son’s hand but not before her eyes raked over you, head to toe, with an expression that left no room for interpretation.

"What did I tell you about bothering strangers?” she scolded do-yun who stared at the skewer in his hand apologetically.

“He wasn’t bothering me,” you said gently, straightening up and having the woman’s eyes flicker to you again, assessing.

“He just wanted a treat.”

Her eyes flicked to the chocolate fountain, then back to you, her lips pressing into a tight smile. “how kind of you.”

There was no warmth in her tone, no hint of gratitude. Just a faintly dismissive air. And with that, she turned, her child in tow, leaving you with the faint scent of something floral and the taste of bitterness on your tongue.

You'd learned better than to expect warmth from people bound by history.

You'd learned not to mind it. To overlook it. To not pay attention to them at all.

"That's her, isn't she?"

“Such a shame, losing her husband so young.”

“Yes, but you know, they weren’t exactly power players, were they? He was an artist, wasn’t he?”

The words hung in the air like cigarette smoke, acrid and inescapable.

A laugh, soft and cruel. “I suppose she’s lucky the Jeons still keep her close. Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.”

You stopped in your tracks. The sharp sting of their voices cut through the party’s hum, louder than the music, louder than your own heartbeat.

You could feel your palms start to get sweaty, eyes suddenly unable to meet anyone's.

Breathe. You reminded yourself.

One: Find your breath.

Two: Focus on something neutral—the fountain, the floor, the chandelier above.

Three: Remind yourself: They don’t know you. Their words are weightless.

But weightless wasn’t the right word.

“Though, you’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly… widow-appropriate, is it?”

You tried to focus on your numbers but you lost it.

You turned, your fists clenched, your lips thinned, the polite demeanor cracking away from your face under the weight of your frustration.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice sharper than you intended. “Was there something you wanted to say to my face?”

The women froze, their eyes widening in surprise. One of them, a younger woman with a nervous smile, tried to backpedal. “Oh, no, we didn’t mean—”

“Because if you have an issue with me or my dress, feel free to say it outright,” you continued, your voice clear despite the way your heart hammered in your chest. “I’d hate for you to waste any more time whispering behind my back.”

The group exchanged glances, communicating in a language of their own, you couldn’t care less about. Atleast not in this moment.

“We didn’t mean to offend,” one of them muttered, her tone brittle.

“Of course you didn’t,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “How could I possibly take offense to strangers dissecting my life as if it’s some dinner party entertainment?”

Stupid old hags with no life of their own!

You kept that to yourself.

Then, without waiting for a response, you turned on your heel and stormed away.

The chandeliers above blurred as tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Not here. Not now.

You weren’t looking for anything specific—just distance, just air that wasn’t thick with judgment and whispers. A bathroom, maybe, though you weren’t going to ask for directions not when your voice felt like it would crack the moment you opened your mouth.

People brushed past you, their scents of expensive perfumes swirling in the air, their muted voices blending into a hum you couldn’t quite focus on. One or two bumped into your shoulder, but you didn’t apologize, didn’t bother looking back.

You just needed to get away—you just needed out of here.

And then, as if the universe wasn’t finished testing you, a firm hand of another one of a frame you jerked into, closed around your wrist, halting your momentum.

You looked up, brows scrunched, eyes glossy and mouth parting, ready to snap but then you were met with a amicable pair of dark eyes.

A crease of his own wrinkling his forehead as he looked down at you. "Is something wrong?" He asked and you almost wanted to laugh mockingly.

Instead, you did what you initially wanted to do. Your eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “Let me go.”

He hesitated for a moment, tounge poking his cheek, grip on your hand loosening but not releasing entirely. "What's wrong, y/n?"

“I said, let me go,” you repeated, your voice firm, frangible at the edges before you pulled your hand away from him and pushed past to walk away without another word.

The next random hallway you stumbled into was quieter, emptier, and for that, you were grateful, stretched ahead like an endless corridor of polished wood and muted gold accents. The noise of the party faded into the background, muffled by the thick walls and heavy doors.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to roam around mindlessly any further. This should be good enough, you told yourself and leaned against one of the walls, your forehead pressing against the cool surface as you tried to breathe through the wave of vehemence emotions that crashed through you.

One: Inhale.

Two: Exhale.

Three: Forget the words they said. Forget them.

But they echoed, persistent and savage, circling in your mind like vultures.

Poor thing, all alone now. Must be awful.

You’d think she’d be a bit more modest. That dress isn’t exactly widow-appropriate, is it?

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, your hands clutching at your dress as if the fabric could somehow hold you together. But nothing could, nothing had. You had tried and tried and tried.. and fuck you didn't wanted to do it anymore.

Turning around, your head tipped back against the wall, the ceiling swimming in and out of focus as your vision blurred.

You shouldn’t have come here.

You should have stayed home, buried yourself in the comfort of your quiet apartment where no one whispered behind your back or looked at you with pity thinly disguised as deference.

Why did they care? Why did it matter to them how you dressed, how you existed, how you grieved?

It shouldn’t have mattered.

But it did.

You pressed the heels of your palms against your eyes, trying to will the tears away. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change anything.

Your hands gripped your clutch tightly, the edges digging into your palms, and for a moment, you considered throwing it—hurling it across the hall just to feel something break.

But you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because even here, in this quiet, empty hallway, you felt the silent expectation that you hold yourself together, that you keep smiling, keep nodding, keep existing in a way that made other people comfortable.

You hated this. You hated being you. You hated being the one who was left behind. And God you hated being alone. No Minho to make a quiet joke about the ridiculousness of it all and pull you toward something fun and irreverent.

Just you.

It will be always be just you. You've never admitted that to yourself but now that you did, you feel such panic rise in your chest that you don't hear him at first. Not until his voice broke through the haze.

“Y/N.”

It was soft, tentative, but it still cut through the silence like a blade.

You flinched, your head snapping toward the source of the voice. Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark eyes searching yours, his expression shadowed with concern.

He had followed you.

“I told you to leave me alone,” you managed, your voice trembling as you turned away, willing him to disappear.

“I’m not leaving,” he said, his footsteps growing louder as he moved closer with a cautiousness that made you feel like a wounded animal. “Talk to me.” He added, the pleading in his voice almost running free.

"I mean it, Jungkook.. go away." You tried putting distance between the both of you again but far too quick for your slowed senses, he was now standing right in front of you, hands hovering in the air as if he didn't know what to do with him while also knowing.

"And I told you, I'm not leaving." His tone had coarsened and your dam had broke.

“Why now?” you cried, stepping closer to him, your fists balling at your sides. “Why do you want to stay now? You’ve spent years acting like a stranger, Jungkook. Years acting like I didn’t exist. And now—”

You shoved at his chest, your fists pounding weakly against him, but he didn’t move.

“Now you want to act like you care?” you yelled, your voice cracking as you hit him again. “Now you want to be here? Why?”

Jungkook stood still, his arms at his sides, his chest solid and unyielding beneath your fists. He didn’t flinch, didn’t step back, didn’t even try to stop you. He just let you hit him, let you pour out everything.His silence infuriated you, and yet it steadied you in a way you couldn’t explain.

"Why do you care now?" you repeated, your voice cracking, trembling like your hands as they hit his chest incessantly. Each word felt like it scraped raw against your throat. "Where were you, Jungkook? When everything fell apart, when I—when I needed someone. Where were you?"

“I don’t need you now!” you snapped, your tears falling freely now. “I don’t need you to come here and act like you care, like you’ve always cared, because we both know that’s not true."

“Because you left!" your voice cracked, the words laced with betrayal. The hurt from the breach of faith weakening you and your punches on his chest until they finally stilled, your hands trembling still as they curled into the fabric of his shirt. Jungkook caught your wrists, his hold firm but gentle, and for a moment, you fought him, your breaths coming in sharp and ragged. But when he didn’t let go, when he didn’t flinch or step back, the fight drained out of you.

Your knees buckled, and his arms came around you slowly, hesitantly, as if he were afraid you might push him away. But you didn’t. You couldn’t. You were too tired now. Empty hands that had been holding onto something for as long as you could remember were too tired, have forgotten the feeling of what it felt like to be held instead.

You allowed to let yourself feel that. You allowed yourself to feel someone else other than the woman you couldn’t even recognize in a mirror as you sagged against him, your head pressing against his shoulder as your tears soaked into his shirt, body shaking and shivering from the quiet sobs that you let out.

"I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry, angel." You heard him say those words like a mantra against your hair, arms tightening around you, nestling you close against his chest.

For a moment, you heard pain there, raw and unfiltered, pain that felt similiar to your own in ways you hadn’t expected. You clutched his shirt tighter. You didn't wanted to be alone and Jungkook felt and smelled of times when you weren't. Earthy and Warm. Like that one time when he pulled you in to him after the death of milo- your first dog, and didn’t even mind your snort.

You had clung to those memories but it felt better clinging to him. A small, desperate part of you wanting to drag him closer, to cling to what little you had left of the past. The rest of you wanted to push him away, to keep screaming at him for daring to come back after all this time, after all this distance.

The sobs subsided slowly, leaving behind the kind of stillness that felt fragile, as if it might shatter with the wrong word or movement. Jungkook didn’t push you away, didn’t loosen his hold. If anything, he pulled you closer, as though he feared you’d slip through his fingers if he let go.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your gaze searching his face. His eyes shadowed, a stupid perfect strand of his stupid perfect hair falling on his forehead with tension prominent in his jaw and you wondered if there was a time there wasn't.

You wondered if it would make you any more vulnerable that you are right now if you say the words that sit on the top of your tounge, sting in the tears that linger in the corner of your eyes.

“I missed you,” you said softly, the words slipping out before you could stop them. They felt dangerous, like exposing a wound that had barely begun to scab over.

His eyes darkened, a low sound rumbling in his chest—something between a growl and a sigh. “Fuck,” he muttered, his hand coming up to cradle the back of your head as he pressed his forehead to yours. “I missed you too, angel."

The rawness in his tone made your chest clench, a part of you craving more, while another part shrieked at you to stop this before it went any further, gather whatever semblance has left of you and walk away, play his cards against him.

But you have never been too good with cards or walking away.

“Then why did you leave?” you croaked. “Why did you stay away for so long?”

His gaze dropped to the space between you before meeting your eyes again, his own breathing now getting uneven. You could feel it beneath you. Rising. And Rising. And Rising.

"I didn’t knew how to look at you and not feel like I'm.. betraying him." His voice trembles as he drews in breath and you're so close you feel the heat of it brush against your temple. "And I can not, not look at you. That became a problem."

Your body stiffened at the confession, the world around you shrinking until it was just the two of you, his voice echoing in your ears.

Your first instinct was disbelief.

This can't mean what you think it does.

This can’t mean what you think it does!

The words replayed in your mind, over and over, refusing to settle. Each repetition twisted something deeper, something buried in the hollow space that had once been you.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him, needing space, needing air.

He didn’t move. His gaze followed you, his expression resolute, like he was determined to lay everything bare now that the first truth had slipped out.

But you didn’t even wanted to acknowledge it as something, let alone, a truth. “That’s not—” Your voice cracked, and you forced yourself to start again. "Are you drunk, Jungkook?" You found the thought so repulsing, you could only think of ways to brush this up, put all the blame on the champagne.

From the way his eyes narrowed and brow ridged, you could tell that it was not the champagne.

“Y/N.” he says with a warning. “I’m not fucking drunk.”

“Well, you sound like you are,” you shot back, your tone sharper than you intended. “Because that—what you just said—sounds like something someone says when they’re not thinking clearly. You're not making any sense, Jungkook!"

“It makes sense,” he was starting to get frustated now. “It’s the only thing that’s ever made sense to me.”

And you were starting to get scared. You needed him to stop talking. Anything and everything he said made you physically want to recoil. You took another step back, your arms wrapping around yourself as if you could shield yourself from the weight of unsaid words that are no longer so.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice breaking, hands tempted to cover your ears like a child. His confession felt like a pin pulled from a grenade, and now the blast was unfurling within you. “Don’t do this. It's not fair. It's-It's not fair to him. Or me. Or you."

I know. He admits quietly to himself because he doesn't think anyone knows better than the man who was holding the jagged ends of a once delicate thread. And he hates himself for it because hating you was as unrealistic as the existence of a greater being to him. He had tried. Tried turning to salvation. Tried to despise you for being the one thing that has turned him the best and worst person he can be but he just can't. He prefers hating himself better.

He wants this punishment, that is you. He wants to whisper I'm sorry- I'm sorry for leaving- I'm sorry for coming back in every crook and nook of your body for the rest of his life so you'd feel his expression of regret that could only be a product of love so consuming embedding into you.

Because it's truth. It's his truth, has been for years and years, before he even knew what are the consequences of being a honest person. Now that he is seeing you in front of him—you with a revolting look, a stray tear rolling down your eyes that is nowhere near as angry as it had been before, he understands that it's not a consequence he can take.

He dares to step forward again and even if takes a whole lot of power in him not to pull you into him again, he doesn't and only raises a hand and catches the tear with his thumb.

“You don’t get to do this to me.” you repeat, your voice low and trembling.

And so does his. "I know."

Jungkook didn’t know what he expected you to say, what he hoped for. Forgiveness? Understanding? He wasn’t sure he deserved either.

Yet when you don't pull away, look back at him with the same daring he had stepped forward with, a silence understanding passes between the space that is separating you from him. And he's done being separated from you.

He tilted his head down, his breath stirring your hair when he inhaled deeply, his nose tracing a path down until it rubbed against yours—softly, deliberately—as if giving you time to move away. You didn't and his eyes fell on your inviting mouth again.

Fuck it.

Jungkook surged forward, his hands cupping your face, tipping your face up to him as his lips crashed against yours. The way he kissed you was nothing like the way he had touched you. It was rough, desperate with the way tounge and teeth clashed, filled with years of pent up desire and regret and emotions too tangled to name.

He kissed you like the nights he’d spent staring at the ceiling in places too far from home, wondering if you’d be happier without him there to complicate things, wondering if things had been any different if he said something before. Will you have looked at him like the way you looked at his brother? Would that choice have saved you from years and years of tragedy? Would that have saved him from the weight of his guilt, his love—love that had been a silent, unwelcome presence in his life for so long that it felt like another organ, vital and inescapable?

When he felt you grip him again and kiss him back. Nothing else mattered. The world stopped spinning and he didn't wanted to run anymore.

His hands found your waist, gripping tightly. A low groan slipping from his mouth to yours at the feeling of how you melted against him when he deepened the kiss, tounge proding and exploring all that your sweet mouth had to offer. Gods, he was drunk now.

"Shit." He shuddered as the taste of you finally started to settle in, pulling you closer and closer, then pushing you back until your back met the wall of the hallway.

You should be scared, anxious and pushing him back. The mere thought of someone walking in on you kissing him, your supposed family. Should make you want to end this because you could only imagine the stake they'd pin you on. They'd be not wrong to.

This is traitorous—what you're doing, what you're allowing yourself. But so is a shameful part of you that had always reached for him. Something that whispered to you, so soft it felt like it came from inside your own chest.

It's not so bad. His lips feel good.

But oh, it is. It makes you sick from just thinking how bad it is. Anger, confusion, guilt—oh, the guilt—swirl together and make you so sick.

"W-We shouldn’t.." You gasp against him as your unpracticed lips suck on his in a contradiction.

"No, we shouldn't." He kisses you harder, his mouth only leaving yours to trail a train of kisses along the column of your accessible throat to him, making you whimper out loud that he takes as an sign to nibble and bite.

Your hands find their way to his shoulder and his to your hips. "Legs around me." He licks the length of your neck, narrowing your world down to the feeling of his provoking wet tounge on your skin, his calloused fingers squeezing your hips. It felt all too real now. And despite you being balant enough to start this in the first place, you're not sure if you're still feeling bold. What you are feeling is this sinful, unexplainable craving seeping into your bones, curling around your ribs, making it hard to breath and think. Or maybe it's him.

Whatever it is, you get yourself to pause his eager hands and hungry mouth and speak, your breath coming in short, hot puffs. "Jungkook.. I don't think-" He straightens up and the vulnerability in his voice and eyes is gone as he squeezes your hips tighter.

"Finally gave me that perfect mouth of yours and now you want to walk away? Do you like tormenting me, angel? Do you like knowing that I'd fuck my fist to only the thought of you when you do?" He growls against your ear and you feel yourself flush so hard you're sure he even feels the heat coming off you in ripples.

"Please, baby." He pleads unapologetically, fingers tugging you closer even when all of you is pressed against all of him. "I want you." So bad it hurts.

Gone is the man who had once been so armored, seemed so unreachable and untouchable. And left is Jeon Jungkook, who looks like he will crumble to the ground if you pull away now.

You wouldn't want that. But the words came anyway, right from where shame twisted in your stomach, tangling with the guilt that clawed at your throat. "Do you still want me even if I'm nothing like the woman I used to be?" It came out breakable and in segments, and the second they left your lips, you weren’t sure what to except as a answer.

For a moment, all you could hear was the ragged rhythm of your combined breathing.

You swallowed hard, pulling back slightly to meet his gaze. The intensity in his dark eyes was almost unbearable, raw and unrelenting as they searched yours.

"Don't ever say that again." he bit out, every syllable heavy. "I want you always. I want you with my every breath. There's always been only you for me, understand?" He added with a brief grind of his hardened arousal against your front, making you mewl.

The words, though, hit you like a physical forcek, breaking through the walls you’d built around yourself, the ones you’d convinced yourself were impenetrable.

Before you could respond, he moved.

His mouth fell onto yours again and with practiced ease, his hands slid to the backs of your thighs, lifting you like you weighed nothing. "Now. Legs around me, baby." he murmured in the kiss, and though your mind was a whirlwind of what seemed like every single thought you've ever had, your body obeyed.

You could barely figure out to where he was taking you, too engrossed in the kiss that you steered towards a softer, mellow one, fingers tangling in the hair that has grown a little bit on the nape of his neck. Feeling like you both were two audacious college students trying to find a space in a messy party where you both won't be interrupted.

When he halted in his steps, you assumed that he found it as he kicked it open with a firm nudge of his boot, the room beyond dim and quiet but he barely give you time to register anything else, his movements urgent and frantic as he carried you over to the bed in the middle after swiftly locking you both away. You bounced on the silk mattress as he set you down, though his intentions were grave, his actions or the way he held you was gentle, tounge swiping over his glistening lips like chasing the taste of you that made you want to give him once more.

Audacious, you were.

Your eyes on his face, shadows played along the planes, softening the hard edges of his jaw, but his gaze burned. Dark and piercing, it held you in place as if daring you to look away.

You didn’t.

Your eyes followed the sluggish movements of his hands as he reached up, his fingers deftly working the knot of his tie. The fabric slid free, whispering against the buttons of his dress shirt before he cast it aside, forgotten on the nearby chair.

Next came his jacket. He shrugged it off with practiced ease, the broad span of his shoulders rolling beneath the fabric. Your breath hitched as he discarded it, leaving him in the crisp white shirt that clung to his frame, the outline of him barely hidden.

And then his hands moved again, this time to his wrist.

You watched, mesmerized, as he undid the strap of his watch, the silver buckle catching the faint light. He pulled it free and set it down on the nightstand, the movement so fluid it felt almost rehearsed.

It wasn’t until he turned his wrist slightly that you noticed it—the worn thread of a bracelet wrapped around his wrist, faded from time and use but unmistakable.

The one you’d tied around his wrist when you were kids in an action of promise to stay friends for years to come.

But he still wore it.

He still wore it.

Your fingers twitched against the bedspread, the urge to reach out and touch him almost overwhelming.

And as if understanding your anticipation, he soon followed you down, your breath catching as he hovered above you. You waited for him to kiss you again because god help you, you liked a little too much but he only pressed a chaste one, smirking subtly at the pout that subconsciously formed on your lips that soon parted in a gasp when he started to suck on your neck again, this time with the intention to claim the spot with the scrape of his teeth.

He hummed against your skin, the sound deep and satisfied, before he drew your flesh into his mouth again, harder this time. The sharp pull sent a jolt of pleasure-pain coursing through you, thighs clenching together.

"My angel." he said softly, yet nothing was soft about the way he pulled down on the straps of your dress. The fabric slipped, baring the smooth skin of your shoulder, and he pressed his lips there, warm and firm, before trailing lower, his mouth following the path he’d just uncovered. "My undoing."

The red fabric gathered at your arms as he pushed it further, exposing the tops of your collarbones and the swell of your chest. His gaze flicked up to meet yours then, dark and questioning, seeking permission even though his hands were steady, his intention clear.

You nodded, perhaps with too much enthusiasm and earned a chuckle from him that you were sure was the reason for the wetness pooling between your legs.

You had missed that sound. You had missed him.

And he was hell bent on making up for lost time as he dived face first into your chest, humming again when he took in your pebbled nipple in his mouth, swirling his tounge around the roundness of you.

"Oh shit." Your back arched, hands finding their way to his hair again. Pulling and tugging. Urging him on until his hand was fondling the other, abandoned tit. Squeezing under his rough palms that made the heat lowering your stomach worse—all of it felt too much, too soon. And yet, it wasn’t enough.

It had been so long.

Too long since someone had touched you like this, with a reverence that made you feel seen, whole, wanted.

You told yourself it was natural, that anyone in your position would respond this way. That it wasn’t about him—it couldn’t be. But your body betrayed you before your mind could even catch up. Your legs wrapped around his waist once more as you ground yourself against him. Against the print of his bulging length you could feel pulsing against you.

"Fuck yeah.." You cursed low, head falling back on the pillows and Jungkook looked up, his own cock twitching at the sight of you, at the feel of you. Of everything he has ever wanted. Of everything he thought he would never have. But here you were straight from his flithest wet dream that would have him taking more cold showers that he could keep count of.

A goddamn miracle for him, this wasn't a dream.

"This here needs some attention too, hmm?" He rasped, hands slipping down from the curve of your waist, to bunch up your dress to your hips. Wasting no time in finding the wet mess you made of your panties. "Look at this." He grunted, hand cupping your clothed mound. "So wet."

You exhaled out like you'd been freed from shackles that felt too heavy and a whimper followed right after when he disposed you of them, exposing your deprived cunt to the cold air that had you clenching around nothing. "And so fucking responsive." He breathed against your bare sex after moving his head down.

You hadn’t expected that. You breath was bated, cheeks were flushed and heart was pounding at the view alone of his face between your thighs.

Then again, he was all about surprising you today.

Though, it didn't make it any less overwhelming.

The way his hands gripped your thighs, firm yet careful, as if he were both anchoring you and holding himself back. His fingers dug into your skin just enough to leave the faintest imprint, a reminder of where he had been, where he was. Your legs draped over his shoulders, trembling with a mix of anticipation and disbelief, as though your body was still catching up to the reality of this moment.

Never in your wildest dreams, it would have come to this. Come to Jungkook licking a greedy strip up from your folds.

"Jungkook—oh God!" You gasped and he groaned, feeling all of his restraint and the plan to savor this, to savor you, slip away from his tightening hands. One taste of you and he wanted to grasp every drop of like it would be his last.

And so he did.

Burying his face in your wanting pussy like a man with purpose, he lapped. His mouth wrapped around your clit, tounge swiping and licking with a reverence because you were something sacred, something he had put on a pedestal so high, others in his life barely mattered.

"Oh- mhm. Feels so good!" You moan out, mind in a haze of pure fog and he takes it as his cue to plunge his digit inside your dripping core. You're sure you've got no mind now. Grunts of his own leaving him at the thought of your heat wrapping around his aching cock instead.

He felt no shame in that. No shame in what he was doing right now. Because then you moved, your body arching toward him as if to erase every doubt. Your fingers found their way to his hair, tugging as selfishly as he fed on you, flatenning his tounge on your slit to take all he can get, to give you all he can.

A shaky exhale brushing against your folds. The sound was low, guttural, and filled with more longing than he knew how to contain. "Does it, baby? Sweet pussy's feeling good?" His fingers—knuckles deep now—worked you faster, curling and testing ways to get you closer to the edge.

This was more desire that he knew he was possible of as his hips started to rut on their own, seeking friction in a way that was both instinctual and helpless. Brain flat lining. Face drowned in the essence of you. Desperate, as you pulled on his hair. Pathetic, as he chased his own high from just the taste of you, from just how you enveloped his curving fingers. Ecastic, when you finally reached your breaking point from how he alternated between broad strokes and targeted flicks, making you come all over his mouth that kindles his face, that he swallow all because he refuses to let anything go to waste.

"Ah fuck—Oh lord!" You fingers tear in his scalp and hips bucked against his face, eyes rolling back until they whitened.

Oh.

It was in this moment, with your thighs braced against his shoulders and his name spilling from her lips, that Jungkook knew.

He would never be the same again.

That he too would be coming in his pants like a high school boy.

It wasn’t enough—nothing would ever be enough—but it was all he had, and it drove him to the edge faster than he would’ve liked to admit. The tension inside him snapped before he could stop it, his body tensing and toes curling because he found everything else secondary to the sheer joy of watching you fall apart beneath him.

"Oh shit, y/n. Shit. Shit. Shit." He whimpers against your cunt, his hips finally slowing down their mindless movement. His forehead pressed against your thigh as he caught his breath. His chest heaved, his heartbeat thundered in his ears, and his entire body felt like it was vibrating, the aftershocks of his release making his muscles twitch.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry, and shifted slightly, pressing a kiss to your clit before leaning back up to feel another wave of release threatening to overcome him when he sees your content expression, hands loosening their grip in his raven hair, half lidded eyes meeting his own before they trail down. "Y-You.." You didn’t know what to say, couldn’t have spoken even if you tried.

A lazy smirk made it's way to his lips that caught the light before he licked whatever remnant what was left of you on his fingers.

"I'm a starved man, angel. Cut me some slack." He panted, pinching your bud in emphasis and moved back up before you could even process it, the warmth of his breath retreating, replaced by the cooler air of the room as he straightened. The absence of his lips against you left you gasping, your chest heaving, your pulse thundering in your ears or maybe it was you still riding your orgasm or maybe it was the knowledge that he came in his pants from just eating you out.

Then he was there again, his hands sliding from your thighs to the mattress on either side of you, bracketing you in like a secret he refused to let escape.

"Hi." He breathed against your forehead.

You felt a shy smile twitch on your lips. "Hi." You reply just as breathlessly.

He presses another kiss, this time to the tip of your nose. "I'm gonna fuck you now, yeah?" You couldn’t reconcile it.

How could he say things that made your cheeks flush, your body respond in ways you couldn’t control, while his lips brushed against your temple with a tenderness that felt like an apology?

How could he make you feel like you were unraveling and being held together all at once?

You wanted to know. "Mhm. Please." You mewl, hands softly going through the beautiful mess that you made of his hair.

"Please, what?" He demanded, lips on your cheek.

"Please fuck me." You whine and he bumped his nose against your face, chest rumbling from a sound so feverish that you can't help but grind against him again. Coaxing his cock back into hardness with your bare cunt against him, from the realization that you shared the insatiable urges with him.

It got his hand trembling when they reached down to unbind his belt, pushing the fabric down his hips to reveal predicament he's made of his boxers that were bounding his hard, leaking cock but hell if he had it in himself to care.

He had been bidding his time for far too long. Waited enough—longer than any man should have to wait for something that felt this inevitable, this right, this his.

Ridding himself of the last piece of clothing on him, other than the white dress shirt that flexed against his coiled muscles, he took himself In a fist, groaning when he pumped himself in one slow stroke. Eyes never leaving your wide ones like you weren’t sure if you should be impressed, intimidated, or both.

Your breath hitched audibly, and your chest rose and fell as your eyes darted from his face to the undeniable evidence of his arousal. Heat bloomed across your cheeks, but you couldn’t seem to tear your gaze away, couldn’t stop the thought that immediately took hold.

"You're too big." Your throat dry, and your fingers fisted the sheet beneath you, trying not too think too much about how thick he would feel down your throat. The sounds he'd make when you would lick him just right.

"And you're gonna take every inch." He said it like a statement, a prominent vein popping in his neck when he finally let go of the locked gaze and focused instead on compressing the tip of his angry, veiny cock to your slick folds.

"Won't you, angel?" He asks with a confident smirk passed your way for a second before his breath wavered again, brows scrunched together and if it wasn't for his tip nudging inside you, you'd thought him endearing.

But once his tip is actually is in, you're left with no thought. Rendered speechless, eyes falling shut when he starts to jab inch by inch.

"Dear lord—" You gasp out loud. The sheet beneath you not providing much semblance so you switch to his shoulders. And you swear, he feel him shake when he is finally all in. Closes his eyes and relishes in your heat stretching around. "Fucking hell." The sensation was overwhelming—heat and softness so consuming it felt like his mind short-circuited, every thought dissolving into static.

But you feel that its your pussy that feels like it's going to split apart any moment now that's stopping him from moving. And partly it is. "You're so..tight." He hisses out and squeezes your hips with great roughness.

"Been long since you've been fucked, eh?" He muses, dark hungry eyes devouring yours when he makes an attempt to move inside you like he was testing your limits. Your mind reels, caught between the sharpness of the initial sensation and the overwhelming desire that followed.

He felt impossibly big, like your body wasn’t prepared for the sheer intensity of him, and for a fleeting moment, doubt crept into your thoughts.

It’s been so long.

The thought came unbidden. Your body had grown used to quiet nights and cold sheets, to the impersonal hum of a vibrator and the absence of warmth.

"Been so long." You confirm, nails clawing at his shoulders, mimicking the roughness that only spurs him on. His lashes fluttered shut, his forehead drops to your shoulder and with a whine of disagreement from you, he pulls back fully just to (to your satisfaction) bury himself back to the hilt.

An unadulterated moan from you broke the silence, a sound so sweet it made him want to come right there and then again. But he'd much rather have you convulse first. Priorities.

His jaw clenched, a low groan rumbling in his chest as he started to move his hips against yours, slow and deliberate, like he needed to feel every inch of your.

Your legs tensed around his hips, pulling him closer. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the way your body reacted to him, your mind a dizzy blur of heat and need and overwhelming sensation.

He pulled back again, the drag of him leaving you feeling empty, only to return with the same slow, measured thrust.

“That’s right,” he muttered, his voice rough and uneven, barely coherent through the sounds your free spilling moans and the fact that his face was buried in the crook of your shoulder. “You’re—fuck, you’re perfect.” His voice unrefined at the edges, raw with honesty and disbelief, like he couldn’t believe you were really here, with him, like this.

Your hands slid down his back, clinging to the flexing muscles beneath your palms. You suddenly didn't like that his shirt was still on. Wanting to map out his bare skin with every graze of your nails. But with each thrust, pleasure sparked at the base of your spine and spread outward, your thoughts scattered like autumn leaves.

"Yeah- Oh mphm! Just like that!" He flourished in your cries of encouragement, his grip on your hips tightening, his fingers digging into your skin as he was afraid he'd lose control too soon.

And you wanted nothing more. "F-Faster! Please go faster!" His pace was unhurried but devastating, every pull and thrust deliberate, designed to drag you to the edge and keep you there, teetering. You couldn’t take that anymore.

And Jungkook couldn’t take keeping you unsatisfied. His lips found the corner of your mouth, brushing against it in a fleeting kiss before moving lower, his teeth grazing your jaw. His hands moved to your thighs, urging them higher, wrapping them around his waist as he drove into you with more force, more intent.

“taking me so well, was made for this cock.” Were made for me. he praised, his voice sounding like a backdrop to the obscene sounds his hips snapping against yours as your own body moved with his, meeting him with the same intensity, the same desperate need. "Yeah." He grunted, punctuating his words with a squeeze to your boob. "Fuck me back. Use me. Feel me."

All you could possibly do was feel him.

He felt like fire and electricity all at once, a heat that spread from your core to the very tips of your fingers and toes.

“Jungkook…” you whispered again, your voice catching on the syllables when his head tipped forward, his forehead pressing against yours, his damp hair brushing your skin.

He whimpered in response, a deep, guttural sound that reverberated through you, and he pistoned his cock harder, pulling a cry from your lips that you couldn’t hold back.

"I-I missed you." You can feel tears gather in your eyes again. You don't even know why. Why you're repeating what you've already admitted. Why the words feel more vulnerable now. All you know that you missed him and the coil is tightening in your stomach.

Jungkook, too feels like he will break down any moment when he stares down at you. But he’s got a impending orgasm to deliver.

He kisses your eyelids, is tempted to lick the tears that slowly make their way down to your chin but doesn't. He's not sure he'll be able to handle the taste of your despair without feeling like he has to chastise himself for ever being the reason for it.

"I know. I know." His cock thrusts with renewed vigor. "I missed you too. I missed you." He says through his gritted teeth, feeling how your walls fluttered around him.

"Gonna cum now?" He knows what your answer will be. There's a smug underline tone in his rasps that gives him away. How he takes pride in knowing that he's the one to make you release all this tension; once on his mouth; then on his cock that is pulsing with an reoccurring ache.

You can only manage to nod, lips tightly tucked between your teeth, hands scratching and marking on his once crisp shirt that is now crumpled from the fate of your hands.

"Gonna soak my cock, huh? Go ahead, baby. Go ahead and come with me." He demands, his hand slipping between you to rub tight circles against your puffy clit that is just enough to tip you over at last.

"Koo.. ah..oh god!" The name you've always called him with a fondness falls unintentionally from your lips when your walls tighten for the last time and you release all over his cock that is now stuttering with it's every thrust.

"Oh fuck. Call me that again." He all but snarls. Cock turns firmer inside your heat that hugs him. And balls screw up.

"Koo.." You whine and that's all he needs before thick ropes of white hot cum is spilling inside you, filling you to the brim. "Mhm, take it all. There's my girl. Pussy looks so good stuffed with my cum." He grinds the best his spent body can into yours that still welcomes him and fuck if that doesn't make him never want to leave.

And he doesn't, for a moment, when he collapses onto you. Just not enough to crush you under his weight. Just enough to latch his lips where ever he can find and whisper words of affection. "Could'nt fucking breathe without you." He's yet to get enough of you. This life won't suffice, he thinks. Then finally pulls out his softening cock from your slick hole with a hiss.

You too feel the loss the of the connection that had pulsed faintly between you, leaving you achingly empty.

He moved with the same carefulness, reaching for the tissues on the bedside table. The room was quiet save for your mingled breaths as he knelt beside you, his touch impossibly tender as he wiped at the inside of your thighs. You shivered under the cool press of the tissue against your skin, the sensation making you acutely aware of the aftermath—the way your body still quivered, the way your breaths still came uneven.

You stared at the ceiling while he did so, the edges of your perception blurred as you tried to silence the tingles that still hummed across the length of your legs. A reminder of how throughly he had disentangle you, how throughly his very essence had penetrated into you.

You were ruined by him.

There was no going back from this. You knew that.

What scared you was the realization that you didn’t want to.

You just didn't know how to admit that out loud where everyone and he could hear you.

Your eyes seeked out for him as if that alone could answer all your questions. He returned back against you without a question. Hands finely adjusted the strap of your dress and drew you closer to him with a soft voice, hoarse from the strain of everything he’d given you. "Come here, angel." Bundled you up in his arms and then only did he breathe out.

Your breath stayed differing. “Why do you call me that?” Your voice was curious but tentative. “I don’t think I’ve ever asked you.”

You felt his lips curve up against your temple. "You were wearing this really pretty white dress the first time I met you." he began, his voice quiet, almost wistful. “Had these frills on the sleeves. I thought you looked like an angel."

You tried to piece together the memory. “That was so long ago."

It might be understood that it takes months to fall in love but Jungkook had been falling all his life.

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caffeinewitchcraft · 10 months ago

Text

You are a Blacksmith

Set in the universe where your destiny is written on your arm

(The Hero and Hope) (Being Villagers) (You are the Demon King)

You are a Blacksmith.

That’s why the dragon’s fire doesn’t burn you.

“Pretty sure dragon fire is hotter than a forge,” your party’s leader pants. Kent is a veteran adventurer of twenty years to your two years and he’s seen his fair share of dragon fire before today. There are curling scars dragging the corner of his mouth down into a permanent scowl that pairs oddly with how high he has his salt-and-pepper eyebrows. He exhales noisily. “I think you’re just a freak, actually.”

“Not nice,” Sella says. The archer is your age with twice your experience. Her leather armor is well-beaten by four years running around with Kent and getting far closer to battle than an archer should. Her red hair is tied with golden thread that matches the golden charms dangling from her necklace. She adds a new one with every successful monster kill. It’s lucky she’s so stealthy or else she’d be jingling with every step. “Mande is an exception, not a freak.”

You’re a party of exceptions. Most adventurers are Villagers or Guards, common destinies that don’t always find a place within a town or village that have so many of each already. There are days you report for a mission, and you’re offered a blacksmith’s job on the spot just because of the mark on your arm.

Kent is a landless Lord. There’s a story there, you know, but it’s not one he’s ever volunteered. You can see his destiny pull at him in the remote reaches of the Kingdom, where no Lord has laid roots and the monsters run roughshod across the barren soil. Nights where you’re too far from civilization find him gazing up into the stars, his fingers curled like claws into the earth. The look on his face then is so hungry that the first time you saw it, you offered him provisions from your own pack. He’d shaken his head wryly, his scarred frown twisting, and walked off into the night by himself, only returning in the morning light.

Sella is a Guardian without anyone to look after. You knew her story before she told it to you, whispering it like a bedtime story before the end of the world. She was part of a traveling theater group. She looked after them, feeding them and retrieving those with wanderlust from their journeys before curtain call. When a monster siege led by a Demon King fell upon the city they were performing in, the Lord called his people into his castle and locked the doors.

The troupe were not his people. But they were Sella’s.

Until they weren’t.

You drag your battle hammer up and over your shoulder. Conveniently, the dragon fire has burned away the wet viscera that had been clinging to it. The metal is dark with soot, but undamaged.

The things you smith can’t be melted by any fire except your own.

The skeletal trees make the scene of this final battle oddly silent. Ash drifts from the sky, carried by a wind too high to feel. You can hear your party sniping at each other behind you and the gentle gurgle of the beast’s body settling comfortably into death.

The red dragon is beautiful. Its scales gleam and sparkle like rubies in the late afternoon sun and its talons shine like obsidian. Each part of the creature could make an average family rich for a month. You consider it from an arm’s reach away. You chew your bottom lip as you think. Your adventures have taken you across the continent from the southern coast you call your home, to the western land of rivers, to the northern desert and then here, to the eastern dry lands. After all your travels, you find yourself still thinking of home often. Crab is a delicacy where you’re from despite being so close to the water. The preparation can be tedious which makes it a dish reserved from significant occasions. Cracking the shell was always your job…

“Oh,” Sella says faintly. She makes an attempt to rise and nearly tips over in the process. If it weren’t for her bow, she’d be on the ground. Her knees shake as she uses a combination of a tree and her bow to pull herself up. “Mande, rest first! In an hour I can help you—”

You bring your hammer down on the jaw of the dragon. The bone shatters after just two blows. It’s best not to think about how beautiful it looked flying overhead or the intelligence in its eyes. You’ve always had a single-minded focus and you rely on that now.

“Leave her to her dismantling,” Kent grumbles. He’s now curled up on the ground is if in his sleeping roll, hands tucked neatly under his chin. It can’t be a comfortable position given his full suit of armor no matter how peaceful his expression. “If she’s got the energy for it, who are we to argue? Just keep the ribs intact. That’s what the client wants.”

Smash!

“It’s our turn to do the dismantling,” Sella says. She glares down at Kent. “Mande already did last week’s gryphon and the hydra. Get up!”

Smash!

“I’m an old man who needs his nap time.”

“You’re an irresponsible leader who needs to do his part.”

Smash!

“Once Mande stops swinging that thing around, I will.”

“She won’t hit you—”

“She hit me last week!”

“And I apologized for that,” you say through gritted teeth. You let your hammer fall by your feet. Your last blow sent tremors through your arms. The dragon’s jaw is like glass compared to its skull. “Sincerely.”

Sella makes a gagging sound when you fall to your knees next to the cracked skull. “Mande, don’t put your hand in there, that’s – oh, that’s so gross.”

“The book I read said it’d be…aha!” Your fingers graze something cool and metallic. You abruptly feel like crying. It’s been seven months. Seven long months of endless missions and danger and being away from home. This entire dragon is priceless, but you’ve forfeited your share for this. You blink rapidly to keep your tears at bay. You aren’t going to cry. Not until you’re sure that you’ve really found it. “Quick, hand me my waterskin.”

Your urgency gets even Kent up and bustling towards the dragon’s corpse. With trembling fingers you accept the water from Stella, pulling out your prize. It’s smaller than you thought, only about the length of your arm or a third the length of the dragon’s skull.

With bated breath, you gently trickle water over the length of it. Your party kneels beside you, watching just as raptly.

“What is it?” Sella breathes.

Kent is wide-eyed as, inch by inch, your treasure reveals itself.

“A dragon’s silver wit,” you say. The silver is mottled by the dragon’s black blood and grey brain matter. “The last ingredient I need for a Hero’s Sword.”

-----.

“You can’t just make a Hero’s Sword,” Kent is still saying a week later. He throws his hands up to the sky. “Heroes make them from air and magic and righteousness. Blacksmiths just repair them!”

You didn’t ask for Sella or Kent to follow you home. In fact, you assumed they wouldn’t. The slaying of the red dragon marked the end of your time in the Adventurer’s Guild. Now you’re ready to return to your position as the southern port’s best blacksmith and you thought they’d be ready to return to the best two adventurers the Capital Guild had.

“I’ve heard legends about it,” Sella says. She’s walking backward. You’ve already warned her that the roads this far away from Capital aren’t as smooth, but she’d scoffed at your concern. Now it’s pure stubbornness to prove you wrong that has her continuing to walk backwards despite nearly tripping twice already. “Excalibur was manmade.”

“The legend of Hero Arthur is manmade,” Kent retorts.

“If you believe that,” you say, “you really don’t need to come home with me.”

Kent blinks. “Well,” he says slowly, “on the off chance it’s not a fairytale, I desperately want to see it.”

“Then shut up and follow Mande,” Sella says. She elbows him and mutters under her breath. “Or else she might not let us stay at her house.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m sure the dragon fetched enough coin for the both of you to get your own rooms at the inn.”

“Sure,” Kent agrees. He grins wickedly and the expression makes him look ten years younger. “But we’re not going to do that, are we Sella?”

“Nope,” Sella chirps. She loops an arm through yours before you can protest and squints at the horizon. “Is that your hometown over there?”

A hazy line of blue and white roofs is barely distinguishable in the fading light of day. Sella has better vision than you. You’re sure she can see the masts of ships in port, the green and yellow flag waving over the chief’s house, maybe even the orchard that creeps right up to the edge of the bluffs.

You can’t wait to see it yourself.

You aren’t sure how long you’ve been smiling, but your face hurts by the time you find your voice. “Yes. Yes, it is.”

----------.

Mom hurls a loaf of bread at your head when you walk through the front door, Kent and Sella in tow.

Kent catches it an inch from your face. “Whoa, whoa!” He waves the bread as if unsure whether he should drop it or throw it back. “It’s your daughter! Mande! Put down the bread basket!”

“Mande and friends,” Sella says cheerfully. She waves at your Mom, Dad, and little brother. “Hello! I’m Sella.”

“I threw it because I know who it is,” your mom says. The grey streaks on either side of her temple are wider. Her round, kind face is pale with anger. “We thought you were dead.”

“We got your letters,” your dad says before you can ask. His hair hasn’t changed; he’s bald. He’s wearing his leather apron from the forge at the table. He takes a bite of soup. “All three of them.”

“Not nearly enough,” Mom snaps. Then, “And they could have been forgeries.”

“Who would forge a blacksmith’s letters home?” you ask in exasperation. Is that why she never replied? “Mom, please.”

“Don’t giveme that when you’ve been dead for seven months,” she says. She stands abruptly. “Three of you? Sit down. I don’t have enough soup, but bread will fill anyone’s stomach.”

“I’m Kent,” Kent blurts out before Sella can push him into a chair. He sits with a thud. “Sella, it’s rude to sit before introducing yourself!”

“Ruder than not knocking or coming for dinner without an invitation?” Sella hisses at him. She turns a charming smile on your little brother. “Sorry to intrude. You must be Axton. A pleasure to meet you.”

Axton doesn’t return her greetings. His eyes are fixed to the package strapped to your back. “Is that…?”

You swallow hard as your family’s eyes turn to you. You carefully pull the cloth-wrapped rod from your back. Your little brother isn’t so little anymore. You can see he’s taller than you as he stands in unison with Dad to clear a spot on the table. His long, thin hands make quick work of the ties.

There’s complete silence as the burlap falls away to reveal gleaming silver.

Axton’s throat bobs. He’s barely eighteen with the soft look of a fawn hovering around the edges of his jaw and cheekbones. Mom and Dad have done a good job feeding him while you’ve been gone. Seven months ago your brother looked like a wraith, all the light taken from him as if it all came from his hero’s sword.

“You’re going to make me a sword,” Axton says at last.

You’ve thought about this moment for seven months. You imagined you would say something like it’s okay now or maybe big sister fixed it. When his hero’s sword was taken from him, you thought about all sorts of things. It took a month for you to set out on this quest rather than one of revenge. It wouldn’t have helped Axton if you’d forged a hundred weapons of war to punish those who’d hurt him. It wouldn’t help Axton to pretend you fixed anything.

So instead you tell the truth.

“It won’t be the same,” you say. “It won’t work the way you want it to. Not right away. You’ll need to train with it and learn it as you would any other weapon. Your instincts won’t help you. But…it won’t break when I’m done. It won’t bend or chip. It won’t melt. It will serve you, Axton, until the exact moment you don’t need it anymore.”

Axton flies around the table to throw his arms around you. It’s amazing you came from the same parents. Where you are short and stocky, he’s really like a deer. His long arms could encircle you twice as he lifts you with a hero’s strength. “Thank you, thank you, thank you—”

And then you’re being hugged all around. Your dad’s strong, Blacksmith arms are crushing you to your brother, your mother’s soft cheek is against your shoulder, and there’s plate mail digging into your spleen while a sharp elbow digs into your spine.

You manage to turn your head just enough to see Kent hugging your from behind and Sella hugging him from behind. It’s her elbow that’s jabbing you.

“This is sweet,” she says. Her voice is a little muffled from how her face is pressed against Kent’s back. “We should hug more.”

“Does this make your brother a Hero?” Kent asks.

“This is a family hug,” you say.

“Duh,” Sella says. “That’s why we joined.”

You really can’t argue with that.

(Patreon)

Next week's story: Everyone in LA has two job. You've got a big smile and a talent for seeing ghosts. It's no surprise what your jobs are.

#my writing #second person #you are a blacksmith #found family merges with first family

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velvetydream · 8 months ago

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꒰ : 🍃 [ A fox's heat ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Summary : Due to an unfortunate event your boyfriend started to act weird, you should soon know why.

Pairing : Tighnari x fem! Reader

Word count : 1.9K Words

Genre : Smut with plot

Smut content ➵ Breeding / Mating Kink, Possesiveness, Praising, Raw (Wrap it up people), Knotting, Petnames

Authors note : I love Nari sm omg

It was a quiet morning; Tighnari was out with Collei, and you decided to sleep long before getting ready slowly, eating a nice breakfast, and cleaning Tighnari's workplace before helping the forest ranger outside. The sun was shining down today, but luckily, the trees of the rainforest cast some nice shadows to be safe from the heat. Wiping the sweat from your forehead you talk calmly to a new forest ranger, assuring he wasn't going to die from the fruit he ate. The poor boy came from Mondstadt and never saw the fruits or vegetables from Sumeru, probably.

"Master Y/N! We need your help!" Colleis's shrill voice screamed for you; immediately turned around to catch the young girl running to you, your warm hands on her shoulders. "Collei? What happened? Calm down, darling, and explain." It was strange that Tighnari wasn't with her, so something must've happened, you just hope that stupid man didn't decide to eat some unknown mushrooms again. "Master T-Tighnari he.. We found this flower patch we had never seen before. He picked some up and started to inspect them, and then he fell unconscious! Cyno is with him now, but..! I don't know what happened." She was rambling again; she always was when something happened to her friends or anyone, actually. "Okay, my love, calm down, lead the way, and we'll bring him back here; you two, come along!" Calling over two more forest rangers, Collei quickly started to lead the way; it was a short walk, but luckily, not too far away.

Upon arriving, you could see the fox-eared man sit up, arm on his knee as his hand holds his head. "Nari! What happened? How are you feeling?" Crouching down in front of the man now, you could see the blush on his face; oh no, was he getting a fever from those flowers? Maybe an allergic reaction. "He sat up shortly before you came, he hasn't spoken a single word since then." Cyno stood behind you now, explaining the situation to you and making you nod. "Okay, let's bring him back. Cyno, could you help carry him, please? I think he starts to have a fever, probably some reaction to the flowers; I'll have to make some medicine to hopefully wear the effects off." Cyno nods as he picks Tighnari up, the arms of your boyfriend around Cyno and the other forest ranger now. Still not talking, his eyes in a haze, this was definitely bad.

Looking down as they get a few steps away, you crouch down to touch the flowers despite Collei's protest, but they have no effect on you; they smell rather pleasantly. "Are you sure it's a good idea to touch and smell them?!" Collei was obviously worried about you, which made you chuckle, shaking your head. "It's fine, I'm pretty sure they won't affect normal humans but Tighnari.. it must be because of his fox genes.. Let's take some with us, but please you take them, I want to inspect them some more without exposing Nari further to them." Collie nods as you quickly plug a few flowers before Cyno's voice calls you to catch up with them. "Comming!" Running after them now, you worriedly look at Tighnari; his whole body was slumped over, his tail dragging after him as his breathing was rather hard.

"Good, please lay him down here Cyno, put that on his forehead. I'll start the medicine." Handing Cyno a bowl with ice cold water and a rag as you start to gather everything to hopefully ease the symptoms. If you knew what flower that was and what exactly the effect they had on him, you could make something much better, but this will have to do now. "Nari, open up; this will make you feel better.." His glazed eyes look at you and then the medicine as he shakes his head, trying to roll away from you onto his side just to groan in pain. "Stubborn fox, seriously, you're a forest ranger and practice medicine yourself, yet you refuse to take this.." Groaning now, your hand grabs his shoulder harshly as you push me onto his back, sitting down on his stomach to pin him down, his body thrashing. "N-No! Stop!" Finally, he spoke, yet that won't get him around the medicine. "It's your own fault to go inspect and try everything you don't know." You tell him, as your hand grabs his chin, pushing your thumb into the corner of his mouth; he opens it, his sharp teeth shining as you let the elixir trickle down into his mouth, making him swallow by holding his chin up and mouth closed.

"Is that how he always takes his medicine?" Cyno stands beside the bed now as he watches you stand up as Tighnari falls asleep. "Yeah, he hates to take them; either I put them into his food or drink, but then he sometimes notices and throws it away, so I mostly settle for this way." Wiping some sweat from your forehead after fighting the fox, you put the washcloth onto his forehead and the blanket back over him. "Well, I'll go check on Collie; make sure to take care of him." Cyno closes the door after himself after you bid your goodbye, looking over to the sleeping fox now, hoping the symptoms would soon wear off.

Getting back to your studies now, you open the book where you left off as you start to examine the gems you have found, trying to determine what they could be. Lumine even brought some last time she visited from Liyue and Inazuma which was such a great find.

Immersed in your studying, you didn't notice your boyfriend waking up, scanning the room until his eyes landed on you. Standing up on wobbly feet, he walks over to you, his arms laying around your shoulders immediately, as his face hides in your neck, jumping a little from surprise. "Nari! You're awake, how are you feeling? Is the fever going down?" Looking over your shoulder, he was still beet red, his eyes half-lidded and still hazed. "You smell so sweet.. My beautiful mate.." He groans into your neck, before meeting your eyes. Oh fuck. "Nari.. Don't tell me.." He groans softly from the way you say his name, confirming your suspicion even more. "Need to breed you full till you can't walk anymore." His sharp teeth graze your neck, over the mark he had left long ago, marking you as his mate. "Help me.. Please.. It's so hot I.. I can't take it anymore.." He whimpers.. he never whimpers. Those flowers must've triggered his heat to come early. Normally, it should've still been a few weeks at least, but something must've been with these flowers to trigger it.

"Alright, let's take care of you.." Standing up, Tighnari starts pawing at your clothes desperately, pulling your shirt off of you, before attaching his lips to your soft buds, moaning from the feel of them in his mouth. "So soft.." He moans before he pulls his own shirt over his head, revealing his porcelain skin to your eyes, pushing you onto your back on the bed now before he already pounces on you. "I'll make you feel so good, breed you full till you carry my cubs." Kissing down your neck, small little moans escape your mouth as your hand's card through his soft hair, softly scratching his ears. "I love you so much you're so gorgeous.." He mumbles against your skin as he kisses down to your chest and to your stomach. Softly pulling your pants and underwear off of you, his soon following the pile on the floor.

"Have to prep you first so you can take my knot, my love." He whispers against your stomach as his fingers softly glide through your folds, circling your clit a few times softly before moving down as he pushes two fingers into you carefully, your body arching from the feeling of his fingers. They hit just the right spots inside you, hitting the soft gummy spot perfectly. "You're so gorgeous, my darling; how beautiful you'd be all swelled up with my cubs." Moaning from his words now, your walls tighten on him as more slickness coats his fingers from the arousal. "You would like that, right? Have little cubs of our own, running around.." He kisses your neck softly, as his fingers work you open for his knot to come.

"I think you're prepped enough, mh..?" He pulls his fingers up to his face and sucks them clean with a moan before looking down at you as he pushes himself up a little bit. "Ready my love?" Nodding as an answer, he alines his length with your entrance as he starts to softly push in; his size made you arch and moan every time; he was so big, especially now that he was in heat. His head rested on your chest for a while, giving you time to adjust before you tapped his shoulder blade softly to signal him to start moving, which he didn't waste any more time and did. His thrusts at first were slow and deep but grew in pace quickly. Tighnari was never able to last long once he was inside you, but he would last for many rounds, making sure he bred you perfectly full.

"M-My love.. ah.." He kisses your chest softly as he starts to suck the left bud into his mouth again, his right hand coming up to play with the other one. "N-Nari.. oh archons.." Moaning softly, you could feel his length start to pulsate meaning he was rather close, you yourself close to the edge. "Come my beautiful mate~" He murmurs into your ear as his fingers softly circle your clit making your back arch as you drift into the pure bliss of your orgasm. Meanwhile, Tighnaris's thrusts were getting sloppy as he felt his knot swell before emptying his load in you, his knot preventing anything from escaping as it locks him into you for a while, his body softly laid down half on you to make sure he didn't crush you.

"Beautiful.." He mumbles, brushing a few strands from your face, still connected to you, his hand rubbing softly over your stomach and down, knowing exactly you were right now filled with his cum. Exhausted, you drift off into sleep as Tighnari pulls the blanket over you two, planting many kisses on your cheek and temple before the door opens, making him groan and growl possessively. "Okay, dude, I'll leave you be in a bit, I just forgot to give her these gems; seriously, don't go too hard on her." Before Tighnari could throw a book from his bedside table at him, Cyno disappeared again.

Later on, you wake up with many blankets and pillows around you now like a nest, your body cleaned, and a new pair of underwear on you; as you look behind you, you see Tighnari finally asleep without a blush, finally calm. It would definitely take a few rough days for his heat to be over, but you were used to it and loved to help him. Hand rubbing softly over your stomach now as you look down, hopeful that maybe finally, after years of being together, you'd get pregnant.

#Banner : @Cafekitsune #genshin x reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin fanfic #tighnari x reader #tighnari #tighnari smut #tighnari x reader smut #smut #x reader smut #x reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader smut

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queeniewithabeanie · 3 months ago

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Lady Gotham

Dpxdc Prompt #47

When Danny Fenton moved to Gotham for university the city noticed.

After all, before Lady Gotham was Gotham she was Samantha Manson.

It all started with the Nasty Burger explosion.

Mr. Lancer, Mrs. and Mr. Fenton, Jazz, Danny, Tucker, and Sam were all there. One moment, Danny was being confronted about cheating on his career aptitude test and the next all Sam could see was the familiar toxic green of the Ghost Zone.

Sam's first thought was did anyone survive? and her second was i need to find Danny.

She wasn't sure of the fate of anyone caught in the explosion, for all she knew she could've been the only one to die (unlikely), and if not that the only one to form into a ghost (sadly, plausible).

With worst case scenarios flooding her head, Sam began looking for anything familiar in the Zone. She'd never been without the infi-map before and now that she didn't have it she was lost.

She never had a chance of finding Danny because she fell into a portal after she'd barely begun searching.

When Sam became aware again, she found herself in a world similar to her home, but very different at the same time.

The times were different, this world barely in the 1700s. She was in a different location, somewhere in the northeast, but she couldn't tell exactly where yet. And most importantly, the world seemed more magical than the one she came from.

Of course, she tried to get home, but there were no natural portals opening up and no matter how hard she tried she couldn't make them herself.

After spending 20 years, more time than she had lived in her home dimension, in what had come to be named Gotham, Sam had settled down. She made friends with a family named the Waynes and though she would never forget Danny and Tucker she had an afterlife in this new dimension now too.

Sam protected the city best she could from anything that tried to harm it, making it her own haunt. Eventually the people around town started calling her The Lady of Gotham, later shortened to just Lady Gotham.

A century after joining the world, Sam was cursed and by extension Gotham was cursed too. She could no longer speak, and while she still tried her best to protect the city from outside harm there was nothing she could do about the corruption within.

She watched over the Waynes inside the limits of her haunt, them having become her family in this new world. And in return the Waynes tried to keep Gotham the best place it could be, attempting to keep it from becoming a cesspool.

Sam did her best, she did what she could and in return Gothamites had a certain pride in their city.

"It's terrible, but it's home" was the general sentiment shared by the citizens.

Soon enough the times were approaching to when she had been alive, and a new generation of Waynes emerged in her streets. When she failed to protect Martha and Thomas, Sam felt sorrow and let the shadows gather around Bruce to show him she was grieving too.

He left, but as many Gothamites did he came back. And when he came back it was with vengeance.

Her streets were more corrupt than they had ever been before, but Bruce came in like a knight in shining armor. No—not shining, but dark. Dark and jagged, but home and just as much a part of Gotham as Sam herself.

With Bruce becoming Batman, his partners weren't far behind. First Dick, then Babs, Jason, Tim, Steph, Cass, Damian, and Duke. And with so many Waynes, not in blood but in everything that mattered, trying to save her Sam felt more loved than ever before.

And then she felt a Danny Fenton, older than her's had ever gotten to be at 18-years-old, enter the streets. Sam, for the first time in forever, she longed for what could have been.

That night, the skies were clearer and the streets were quieter as Sam held on to Danny through the shadows and didn't let go.

Her knights wouldn't mind one more addition, she hoped.

#the sam from dan's universe became lady gotham #i have had this idea for a while #and i finally got possessed into writing it today #sam manson #danny fenton #batfam #dpxdc #dp x dc prompt #queenie-prompts

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consultingfujoshi · 4 months ago

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some thoughts wrt the two established "romances" in severance so far (burt/irving and helly/mark) inspired by @figmentof who pointed out how irving had to find out mark and helly kissed from the corporate video in s2 e1 and how he must have felt seeing his co-workers' love affair like portrayed like that, and how it ties into the queer narrative at play here which uses workplace dynamics and policies as very clear analogues for real-life prejudice against queer couples. I mean, just look at this:

it's not just documented, but celebrated. used as propaganda for how the conditions on the severance floor have improved. proof that the severed workers are happy. and how even though he is unaware of the sociopolitical meaning of all this, lumon is very not-subtly telling him that what he had with burt is inherently lower and less valuable than this.

irving doesn't even know homophobia exists and yet he is still affected by it, it still seeps into every corner of the way his and burt's romance progresses. burt is positioned as an unacceptable love interest from the jump. irv is actively discouraged at every turn from pursuing it. their friendship is viewed with disgust and apprehension from their coworkers. burt working in a different department that's hated by MDR. dylan himself not being homophobic in the sense he opposes their relationship because they're both men but his attempts to keep them apart still has a parallel sort of prejudice behind it and still ultimately has the same effect as if it WERE driven by homophobia. irving is made to feel perverse for wanting contact with burt. he's told this is for his own good.

and then, just as they manage to overcome that immediate resistance from their peers and escape to a place where they can explore this blossoming romance on their own terms, burt retires. for all it matters to irv, he's dead. and then irving is given the option to live the rest of his life with grief that will never heal, or kill himself too, because there is no reality where they get to be together. that's just the way things are. of course they wouldn't get to be together. he was unreasonable and childish for ever hoping that could happen. this is just the way it goes for innies. he's told to get ahold of himself and not make a scene.

but the thing is, the standards are not the same for all. a heterosexual romance gets upheld as the shining example of success and fulfilment for the severed employees, whilst a homosexual romance is ridiculed and invalidated, and written off as something that was simply never meant to be. and even more importantly to irving, a heterosexual romance is APPROVED OF by lumon, and by extension, by kier. irv held back from allowing himself to even call his and burt's relationship a romance, because his god had told him it was wrong, he followed the handbook, thinking this was what kier wanted, and then finding out after suffering the worst heartbreak imaginable because of it, that this WASN'T EVEN TRUE. it's simply just that someone like HIM doesn't get to have something like this. his love is not the kind of love god wants. he does not approve of irv's love. cynical and manipulative though that approval may be (even within the context of the corporate video, the helly/mark romance is only being celebrated to further the narrative that lumon care for their workers, but the point still remains that it was THEIR romance specifically used to suit this end), when your entire life has been in pursuit of that approval, it must be devastating to learn it was never on the cards for you.

he and burt even used the fact kier met and fell in love with his wife in the same circumstances as them to justify this to each other - and they were RIGHT, god does approve of falling in love with your coworkers - this simply just doesn't apply to them specifically. and if irving needed any more proof that he no longer has a place at lumon, that he's better off not existing at all than existing with this pain that cannot be remedied, pain that won't even be acknowledged for what it is, a symptom of a sickness which plagues the entire severance system, pain that he is simply expected to choke down and get over - this is that proof.

and that's the POINT. they're TELLING us that this is unjust, and there's a double standard. they're using the ways the innies experience romance and the difference in lumon's reaction (lumon being the collective of all the management we've seen, lumon as a singular entity) to burt/irving vs helly/mark to comment on how queer people are not afforded the same level of respect or validation IN REAL LIFE, for their attachments, their love, their pain, their suffering. it is NOT just incidental that irving's romance is with a man. it would not WORK if his love interest was a woman. the POINT is that they are both men and how that puts them at a disadvantage, even if they aren't aware of the prejudices of the outside world, even if they don't TECHNICALLY apply on the severance floor, there are very clear analogues which still end up oppressing them in equivalent ways that they would be suffering if this were a normal workplace in the outside world.

it genuinely sickens me to my stomach that even in a world so divorced from reality and the sensibilities of regular society, a queer couple is still made to suffer and feel inferior in a way that perfectly mirrors their real-life counterparts. how they will never, EVER be allowed to exist in a world where their love could thrive freely and uninhibited - they never get to taste the joy our world has to offer people like them, but they are still somehow subjected to all the pain it has to offer them regardless. it's such horrifically devastating writing. it makes my skin crawl. I can't stop thinking about it

#TO BE CLEAR i am not trying to claim that lumon do genuinely want helly and mark to be a couple #they very begrudgingly co-opted this display of affection and camaraderie to suit their own ends #like i say. the approval is cynical. its purely utilitarian.#however the fact it CAN be used to further their narrative that severance is a good thing #whilst severance itself has brought nothing but pain to irv and his romantic endeavours #is very telling. its very fucking telling #especially from irvs perspective specifically here. this is how HE'D see it #as someone who puts so much stock in what kier would think of him. someone who based his entire identity #on following his doctrine to the letter. how he would see the one real true thing hes ever experienced written off like this #whilst another couple is inexplicably celebrated. i mean just look at his dead eyed stare in that sc.#this broke him. this was his final straw #anyways im not nearly intelligent or well read enough to do a thorough analysis on exactly how #religion plays into irvs mindset and his character arc #these are just thoughts on the hypocrisy shown by lumon on the romance thing specifically #clocking into writing meta for this show like its a 9-5. its so serious.#severance #severance spoilers #severance season 2 #meta tag #wails from the abyss #irving bailiff #burt x irving

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writingwisterias · 3 months ago

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Pretty boy

RE6! Leon Kennedy x AFAB!Fem!Reader Warnings: SMUT, MDNI, Dad-bod Leon, Sub leon, Hand Jobs, Overstimulation, Soft-dom Reader, Praise Kink, Body issues, insercurites, Leon needs a hug, Just a thought I can't get out of my head sorry it's shit! It's just a quick drabble lol - we will not discuss how long this has been in my head though. Forgive me but the next one will be breeding kink I promise!

These moments were always your favorite, feeling the slow rise and fall of his chest. Your fingers tracing along the scars that littered his torso. Each one holding a memory of what he went through. The house was calm finally, the children were asleep long ago. Tucked away safely behind the doors. He loved this, the simplicity of it. Never fully thinking he deserved it, there were better people than him in the world. People that should still be here today, to experience their own moments of softness.

His days of service were far and few between nowadays, the children needed him more. You needed him more. He finally had something that gave him a reason to fight extra hard for time off. However now he faced a range of new challenges, some he would have never thought would effect him so badly. His lack of service had began affect his physical appearance, a light layer of fat surrounding his muscles making his once hardened physic softer. You didn't care, not at all. Why would you?

He was still the same man you fell in love with. The same person that buried himself deep inside of you. Giving you parts of him to nurture and grow into the children you can never imagine living without. Infact you loved the extra softness, the way you only saw the muscle that lay beneath when he lifted your children in the air or fixed his bike up in the garage. It was all worth it, giving him the slice of happiness he needed.

It didn't stop the longing looks in the mirror or the way he stared a little longer at old photos. The conversation tonight, the same one you would have every night, drifted into the topic of each other's insecurities. It wasn't a shock to you when he admitted he felt this way, why would it be?

Instead after his admittance, you both now sat in front of the floor length mirror. His back laid against your chest. Your hands spread on each of this thighs as you looked over his shoulder at his poor needy cock standing tall.

Pre cum decorated it, giving it a slight shine as it eagerly leaked out for you. The mushroomed tip glow red with it's need. Leon whimpered as you nipped at his neck, watching each mark that bloomed as you moved along his shoulder. It was intense watching himself falter like this but you told him to. Instructed him to watch how pretty he looked when he came undone so of course - he didn't dare look away.

"So pretty" you whispered in his ear, your teeth gently tugging at the lobe before you moved to suck just behind it. His sweet spot.

You chuckled as his hips thrusted in the air. His poor cock twitching and thumping against that small belly of his. His head leant back against your shoulder, his chest heaved with unspoken whines. "Can't you see how much I love this?" You whispered as your fingers finally ran over the slit in his cock; collecting the few droplets to spread along his length. His whimpers were cute when he was like this, reminding you of his younger years when you would spend time treating him after a hard mission. Always ready to give him the praise and relief he needed. "Please-" he begged quietly, the words barely audible if it weren't for him sat against you like this.

Your hand worked slowly, too slowly for what he needed right now. His body heated, his fingers gripping at the ground as you continued to squeeze his cock gently. He watched his tip disappear behind your hands before reappearing with new beads of pre cum. It was memorizing your actions, each pump you gave him faster than the last as you milked him.

Leon's cheeks flushed a pretty colour of pink, his whines now turning into breathless moans and small gasps. He watched every movement you made in the mirror, every subtle thrust of his own hips in desperation to finish. The heels of his feet digging firmly in the rug beneath you. "I love you Leon. I love you for everything you do and have done for this family" you spoke to him. Your eye met his as spoke, staring at him through the reflection making sure every word was taken in.

"So proud of you for being here today, being strong enough to carry the family. To fight for your chance to relax"

Each praise went straight to his cock. It twitched eagerly in your hands. Not soft in the slightest expect for the vein that ran along the length; now puffy and prominent waiting for his permission to cum. It didn't take long until the constant praise and kisses along his scarred skin that he felt his balls tighten. His thighs clench until finally he let go.

You felt him go limp against you with one finale groan. The vein now throbbing angrily beneath your fingers tips as his cum shot out in streams. You both watched as it decorated his small stomach. The translucent substance getting caught in the whips of hair that decorated the area. The final spurts spilling over the grip you still hand on him.

Your clean hand ran your fingers through the blonde strands, kissing his temple as he calmed down. " I love you" he whispered, his head finally resting backwards. The tension finally leaving his brows as his eyes fluttered shut.

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil fanfiction #leon scott kennedy #leon kennedy x you #leonkennedy #resident evil leon #leon resident evil #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy smut #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy x you

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jacquitries · 3 months ago

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In This Life and The Next | J.P.

You were Harry Potter’s best friend, but loss drove you to steal a Time-Turner which accidentally trapped you in the past — before Harry, before the war.

You swore to keep your distance, but James Potter makes that impossible. The past wasn’t meant to hold you, and falling for him was never part of the plan. And yet you did anyway.

(Due to popular demand, I have made a part 2 as well haha. You may read it here.)

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The weight of the past clings to you like a ghost. You were the hidden fourth member of the so-called Golden Trio, an irony that never ceased to amuse you. A Slytherin among Gryffindors, careful with your image, wary of the ever-watchful eyes of your housemates. Most never associated you with them—not in the day-to-day sense—but when the battles came, you were there.

Until it all fell apart.

Fifth year was meant to be another battle fought in the shadows, Another war where your role remained unseen, unnoticed.

But the fight at the Ministry of Magic exposed you. Your parents saw the truth. Saw where your loyalty truly lay as you stood beside Harry, wand raised, defying everything they had tried to make you be.

And then Sirius was gone.

Harry was shattered. You had already lost Cedric the year before, now you had lost Sirius too; and the war had only just begun.

You should have been smarter. You should have been careful.

But in the deafening quiet of loss, desperation clawed at your throat. And so, the Time-Turner was yours.

Or it had been. Before Filch’s mangy cat caught a whiff of your presence, Before the old squib’s voice rang out like a death sentence, Before you turned too quickly, and the fragile magic of time cracked beneath your fingertips.

A light, too bright to comprehend. A force, too strong to fight. And then, silence.

When you wake, the air is wrong. It’s thinner, richer, Like Hogwarts itself has taken a breath it hasn’t in years. Your body knows before your mind does.

The halls stretch before you, Unchanged yet entirely foreign. Time has unraveled, and you with it.

Dumbledore. You need Dumbledore.

Your feet take off before you can even process, A silent incantation for speed, A wish against all logic that this is just a dream. A terrible, cruel trick of fate.

Then, four figures round the corner. Books clutched in their hands, laughter bright as the sun—

You don’t have time to stop. And neither do they.

Impact. A tumble of limbs, parchment scattering like autumn leaves, And suddenly, you are staring into a pair of hazel flecked with gold. Obscured behind glass, but still shining. Still burning.

He’s beneath you, startled and wide-eyed, chest rising, breath mingling with your own. For a moment, the world tilts. And then you remember where you are.

You shove yourself up, heart hammering, muttering a curt, "Sorry." A flick of your hand, a rush of raw magic. Every book, every page, lifts into the air, Falling back into their arms as if nothing had ever happened.

"How—?"

You don’t stay to hear the end of the question. Their voices chase after you, stunned, breathless.

"Wait!" "Come back!"

But you are already gone, racing towards an office where a wizard waits. The gargoyle shifts with a whispered password— Sherbet Lemon. And then—

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkle with quiet understanding, A knowing smile curving his lips as he watches you catch your breath.

"To whom," he says, voice like an old melody, "Do I owe the pleasure of meeting?"

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

You sit across from Dumbledore, his piercing blue eyes studying you with the quiet patience of a man who has seen far too much. There’s no point in holding anything back. You’ve learned the hard way that the old wizard always knows more than he lets on. So you lay it all out—the Ministry, your parents, the Time-Turner, the light, the fall through time. Everything.

He listens without interruption, nodding in places, steepling his fingers as he considers your words. When you finish, he reaches for the remnants of your shattered Time-Turner. His expression turns grave as he turns it over in his palm.

“This,” he says, “is beyond repair, at least by conventional means.”

You swallow hard, gripping the arms of your chair. The weight of his words settles over you like a stone. You had held onto the hope, however slim, that fixing it would be a simple matter. That there would be some ancient magic, some forgotten spell, something that could set this all right. But Dumbledore’s voice leaves no room for false hope.

“Other Time-Turners exist, of course,” he continues, “but using them while already displaced in time could be… catastrophic. It is a risk we cannot take.”

You stare at him, your mind racing. “Then what am I supposed to do?”

Dumbledore smiles gently. “For now, you will remain here. You must be cautious. The future you know is still in flux. If we are to find a way to send you back without unraveling the very fabric of time, it will take patience and great care.”

You exhale, trying to keep the panic at bay. “And what am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

“You will be a student,” he says simply. “Blend in, keep your head down, and trust that I will do my utmost to find a way forward for you.”

He pauses, then adds, “You are, as it turns out, approximately twenty years early. Voldemort’s influence is growing, but war has not yet darkened these halls.”

The knowledge does little to comfort you. The storm is brewing. You’re stuck in the past, an era on the cusp of war. And the people you know—the people you love—are either mere children or not even born yet.

“To help you adjust, I will have the fifth-year Slytherin prefect assist you,” Dumbledore says, rising from his seat and moving toward his fireplace. He tosses a handful of powder into the flames, calling out, “Evan Rosier.”

You recognize the name instantly. A Slytherin. A future Death Eater. A name written in blood and war.

Moments later, a tall, dark-haired boy steps into the office. He carries himself with an easy confidence, his sharp eyes scanning you with curiosity before flicking toward Dumbledore.

“Ah, Professor,” Evan greets, his voice rich with charm. “How may I be of assistance?”

Dumbledore gestures toward you. “Miss Y/L/N is a transfer student joining us rather late in the year. I trust you’ll help her find her footing?”

Evan turns his full attention to you, flashing an effortless smile. “Well, well. A new face in Slytherin. Don’t worry, darling, you’re in good hands.”

You eye him warily, but there’s no hostility in his gaze, only amusement. You nod, allowing yourself a small, relieved smile. Whatever else he may become, right now, he’s your best chance at surviving this timeline.

The next morning, Evan proves to be as good as his word. He introduces you to his friends—pureblooded Slytherins with sharp smiles and sharper tongues. They are polite but distant, willing to accept your presence without prying into your past. A blessing.

You settle into the routine easily enough. Classes are familiar, though your mind often drifts. You don’t need to listen; you’ve already learned all of this. Instead, you lose yourself in thoughts of how to return to your own time.

You barely notice the group of Gryffindor boys across the room at first, though they certainly notice you. They whisper amongst themselves, occasionally glancing in your direction.

“She’s not in any of our classes,” one of them murmurs.

“Must be a transfer,” another says. “Or a Ministry kid.”

“Doesn’t look like she belongs with the snakes.”

The dark-haired one with glasses tilts his head, studying you as if trying to place if he has seen you before. The one beside him, lounging with an easy smirk, murmurs something you don’t catch, his expression amused. Another, quieter boy watches you with a thoughtful look, while the last fidgets in his seat.

It’s only when Professor Slughorn calls your name that you snap out of your daze.

“Miss Y/L/N, perhaps you’d like to share with the class how one might enhance a Draught of Peace?”

The answer comes to you instantly, your voice steady as you list the ingredients and the precise modifications required to strengthen the potion’s effects. The class falls silent. Even Slughorn looks impressed.

“Well done, well done!” he exclaims. “Such advanced knowledge! You must have had an excellent education before coming here.”

You nod absently, but your attention shifts to the boys, who are now watching you with more interest than before. The smirking one nudges his friend, saying something under his breath. You don’t care enough to wonder what.

Over the next few days, you begin to notice one of them more than the others. The black-haired one—the one with the smirk. Every time you pass them in the halls, he calls out to you.

It starts as playful comments, harmless teasing, but soon it shifts to outright attempts to get you to talk. You ignore him. You never try to learn his name.

Eventually, they corner you in the courtyard, cutting off your escape with easy grins and folded arms. You tense, but they don’t seem hostile—just insufferably persistent.

“So,” the smirking one drawls, tilting his head, “are you going to tell us your life story, or do we have to guess?”

“I prefer my privacy,” you say coolly.

The quiet one studies you with careful curiosity, while the smallest of them shifts nervously on his feet. The one with glasses leans against a pillar, watching you with barely concealed amusement.

“Fair enough,” he says. “At least tell us your name.”

You hesitate. There’s something familiar about two of them—the smirking one and the quiet one. A nagging feeling at the edge of your mind, something just out of reach.

“Only if you tell me yours first.”

The one with glasses grins. “James Potter.”

Your breath catches.

“Sirius Black,” the smirking one adds.

“Remus Lupin,” the quiet one says with a polite nod.

“Peter Pettigrew,” the last one murmurs.

The names hit you like a stunning spell.

James Potter. Sirius Black. Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew.

The Marauders.

Something clicks into place. You stare at them, your mind racing. You were supposed to keep your head down. Lay low. Follow Dumbledore’s instructions.

But looking at them now, knowing what’s to come—the war, the betrayals, the deaths—an idea takes root.

Maybe you can change things.

Maybe they don’t have to suffer the way they were meant to.

Maybe you don’t have to let history repeat itself.

You step forward, closing the distance between you, and this time, when you look at them, you allow yourself to truly see them. The boys they are. The men they will become.

And then, you smile—your brightest, most dazzling smile, the one that catches them off guard. The one that makes Sirius falter, James’ confidence flicker, Remus’ breath hitch, and Peter’s ears burn red.

“My name is Y/N,” you say, offering your hand to Sirius but letting your gaze sweep over all of them. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

For a moment, they’re stunned into silence. Then, Sirius recovers first, a slow, intrigued smirk curling on his lips as he takes your hand.

“Oh,” he murmurs, voice softer than before, “this is going to be fun.”

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The Marauders welcomed you into their world with open arms, though not without reason. Your talent in spellcraft and potions—your effortless way of turning theory into something tangible—left them in awe. Sirius, ever the audacious flirt, found your sharp tongue amusing; Remus, the quiet intellectual, respected your mind; Peter admired you from the sidelines. But James... James was something else entirely.

Among them, it was James you understood best. Perhaps it was the echo of a friendship once sacred in another life, or perhaps it was something far more complicated. There was an unspoken rhythm between you, a seamless give and take that made you forget, if only for a moment, that he was meant for someone else. That he had chosen a different ending to his story.

There were moments—fragments of time suspended between heartbeats—where you could swear he felt something for you. The way his gaze lingered a second too long, the way his laughter softened when it was only for you. But you never let yourself believe in those fleeting instances. You knew better. You knew James Potter belonged to Lily Evans.

You watched as he continued his pursuit, his flirtation with her a daily ritual. And though Lily rejected him time and time again, James never faltered, never seemed wounded by the refusals. He laughed them off as if they were nothing more than a game. It was strange—how his persistence never wavered, how he seemed entirely unbothered by her dismissals.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Evan Rosier was a puzzle in his own right. You had grown close despite the lines that should have kept you apart. He did not fit the mold of a Death Eater, at least not in the way you had always imagined. He questioned your loyalty to the Marauders but never pressed. He was observant, though—far too perceptive for your liking.

"You act as if he's untouchable," Evan mused one evening, his voice low. "As if you've already decided how this ends. But tell me—did he ever say you couldn't touch him? Or is it that you've never even tried?"

You scoffed, shaking your head, unwilling to engage in his mind games. "It doesn’t matter. He belongs to Lily."

"And yet, you watch him like you wish he didn’t."

You ignored him. But his words lodged themselves into the cracks of your resolve, and for weeks, they lingered.

Then came the morning everything changed.

James had asked Lily to Hogsmeade again, only to be met with the usual rejection. But this time, she laughed, saying, "The only way I’d say yes to you is if Y/N says yes to Sirius."

A joke. A meaningless quip. But Sirius, ever the performer, turned to you with a smirk and asked for a date to Hogsmeade.

And to the Great Hall’s utter shock, you said yes.

Sirius blinked, stunned, before breaking into a delighted grin. James choked on his water. You paid it no mind.

"Are you serious?" James asked, voice strained.

You smirked. "No, he is. But yes, I’m serious."

Sirius, unable to contain his excitement, immediately turned to Lily. "There you have it! A double date it is!"

James looked... lost.

His easy confidence, the unshakable bravado he always wore like armor, faltered. His grin didn’t quite reach his eyes, his fingers tightening ever so slightly around his goblet. For the first time, he seemed unsure. Caught between surprise and something else, something unreadable.

"You’re joking," he said, but there was no laughter in his voice.

You tilted your head. "Do I look like I’m joking?"

Sirius let out a bark of laughter, clapping James on the back. "Looks like Evans is finally giving you a chance, Prongs! And all it took was a little friendly motivation."

James barely reacted. His grip tightened around his goblet, knuckles going white. For a moment, he looked as though he wanted to say something, wanted to protest, but the words never came.

You took a sip of your pumpkin juice, pretending the way he stiffened didn’t make your chest feel unbearably tight.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The day of the Hogsmeade trip arrived, and an unsettling feeling crept into your chest. To see James with Lily—it made you feel sick. You couldn’t do this. You weren’t meant to be part of this story, not like this.

So you asked Evan for a favor.

When the Marauders arrived at the courtyard, Lily was already there, nervously smoothing her robes. James had taken longer than usual to get ready that morning—Sirius had noticed. James had asked too many questions. Questions about you.

Evan approached them, hands in his pockets, looking wholly unbothered. "She’s not coming," he said simply. "Feeling under the weather. Told me to pass the message."

James went rigid. "What do you mean, not coming?"

Evan shrugged. "What I said."

And then, before anyone could react, James was gone, his feet carrying him toward the castle without a second thought.

Lily stared after him, stunned. Sirius exhaled slowly, exchanging a knowing glance with Remus. "Well," he muttered. "That explains that."

In the hospital wing, you lay in bed, feigning sleep, when the doors slammed open. James stormed in, eyes wild, chest rising and falling as if he had just run the entire way.

You blinked. "James?"

He let out a breath, as though only now allowing himself to breathe. "Are you okay?"

"It’s just a bug, James. Madame Pomfrey’s already on it." You studied him, confused. "What are you doing here?"

Before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out—raw, instinctive.

"Because you're more important."

Silence.

His own words seemed to catch up with him, his breath hitching as the weight of them settled between you. But then, as if steadying himself, he said it again. Quieter this time, but with even more certainty.

"You're more important."

The world stilled.

Neither of you moved, neither of you dared to break whatever fragile thing had just shifted between you. But then, without another word, James pulled up a chair and sat beside your bed, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And just like that, the Hogsmeade trip was forgotten.

The words he had spoken still hung in the air, unanswered, undeniable. But neither of you spoke of them. Not yet.

And so, you spent the day together, in quiet understanding.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The air between you and James had changed. It wasn’t obvious, not something others would immediately notice, but you felt it in the way his gaze lingered just a moment longer than before. In the way his teasing remarks had softened, uncertainty peeking through the cracks of his confidence. In the way your pulse stumbled whenever he brushed past you along the halls, warmth radiating from where his fingers barely touched your sleeve.

You never spoke of that night.

Never spoke of how his voice wavered when he said your name, or how the weight of his words still hung in the air between you, suspended in time, unresolved. But it was there. In every sidelong glance, in the way he hesitated before speaking, in the uncharacteristic silence that followed moments when he should have been boasting, laughing, filling the space with his usual bravado.

Instead, there was hesitation. A quiet uncertainty that made him different from the James Potter everyone knew.

And then one evening, as you lingered in the library, the candles burning low and the soft rustle of parchment filling the quiet, James leaned in, voice lower than usual, almost hesitant.

"Come with me tomorrow night. Just us."

His words were simple, but they carried weight. There was no teasing lilt, no playful grin—just James, asking, waiting.

And because he looked at you like that, like you were something precious, something worth waiting for, you found yourself saying yes.

The smile that broke across his face was unguarded, wide and bright, and for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself enjoy it.

You spent the next day preparing, carefully picking out what to wear, ensuring you looked your best without making it obvious you had tried. Before heading out, you ran into Evan, who gave you a knowing look the second he saw you.

"It's not what you think," you said quickly, adjusting your cloak as if that would somehow make your words sound more believable.

Evan only hummed, crossing his arms. "You need to stop bullshitting me. And yourself."

His words hit harder than you expected, giving you pause. But you shook it off, refusing to let them settle.

James was waiting for you.

And when you arrived at the Astronomy Tower, you found that he had set up a candlelit dinner, the soft glow casting golden light over the stone walls. He had put effort into this, into making this night something memorable. And it was.

You laughed more than you had in weeks. He made you forget, even if just for a little while. But James could always read you, and when your laughter quieted, when something flickered behind your eyes, he noticed.

"It’s nothing," you said, shaking your head.

James studied you, his expression softening. "That’s not true. I see it. And I want to understand because…"

A breath. A hesitation. Then, quieter, steadier:

"Because I’ve fallen in love with you. Irrevocably. Helplessly. In a way I never saw coming and can’t seem to stop."

His words stole the air from your lungs. You were stunned, frozen in place, but then—

Then he moved, slowly, hesitantly, closing the distance between you. His hand was warm when it brushed against yours, his gaze flickering to your lips, seeking permission. And you let him.

Until you couldn’t.

Until the memories crashed into you like a wave—memories of Harry, of the stories, of everything that had been written and everything that was meant to be.

You pushed him away.

James staggered back, eyes wide, hurt flashing across his face. "I—sorry, I didn't mean to—was that too fast?"

"No!" You rushed to say, your hands trembling. "It's not you, James. You’re perfect. It’s just… I can’t have you."

Confusion twisted his features, and he took a step closer. "Yes, you can. Because you already have my heart."

Tears burned at the edges of your vision. You shook your head. "James… I need to tell you something. The truth."

And so you did. You told him everything.

That you were from the future. That history had already been written, and that in it, he was meant to be with Lily Evans. That you were never supposed to be here, in this time, in his life.

He believed you. He believed you were from the future, but what he couldn’t believe was that he would ever choose Lily over you.

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I don’t care what’s supposed to happen. I don’t care what some other version of me chose. This me—the me standing in front of you—can’t imagine any future that doesn’t have you in it."

"You have to," you whispered. "Because we were never meant to be."

You turned to leave, but James caught your wrist, his grip desperate. "Please," he pleaded, voice breaking. "Don’t go."

"Let me go, James," you whispered. "Please."

And the moment he saw the tears in your eyes, he did.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

When you returned to your common room, Evan was waiting for you. He didn’t ask what happened. He just pulled you into his arms, and you let him, burying your face in his shoulder as the weight of the night crashed down on you.

Fifteen minutes passed before he finally spoke.

"Dumbledore asked for you."

Your breath hitched. You knew what that meant.

You freshened up, steeling yourself for what was to come, and went to Dumbledore’s office. He greeted you with kind eyes, telling you that the way back was ready—but that you had a few days to say your goodbyes if you wished.

But you hesitated.

"What if I stayed?" you asked, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Dumbledore studied you, thoughtful. "The laws of time travel suggest that what has happened before will happen again," he mused. "But in your case, I am not certain. Perhaps the previous timeline would cease to exist. But tell me—are you truly willing to leave the people you once knew for the ones you have now?"

And there it was. The question you had been avoiding.

Because if you stayed, Harry might never exist. And that was something you could never risk.

"What happens to everyone here when I leave?" you asked instead.

Dumbledore sighed. "I suspect they will forget you. As if you never existed."

Your heart clenched, but maybe… maybe that was for the best.

You swallowed. "Then let's get it over with."

You twisted the Time-Turner. The world spun, magic crackling in the air, and when it stilled, you were back in your rightful time—twenty years later, in Dumbledore’s office.

He stepped out, his gaze falling on you with quiet understanding.

"I take it my past self was of some help?" he asked.

You nodded. Your voice was barely above a whisper. "Do you remember me? From twenty years ago?"

Dumbledore's smile was sad. "I’m afraid I do not."

And with that, you knew.

James had forgotten you.

Sirius. Remus. Even Evan. None of them would remember.

But you steeled yourself. You had made your choice and you need to find out if he made it out alive. If all of them made it.

So you turned away and went to find Harry.

Because now, after everything, you needed to see him more than ever.

The Great Hall buzzed with idle chatter and the occasional clang of cutlery against plates. The ceiling mirrored the grey clouds above, a prelude to a storm. You walked through the long tables, your steps slow, measured, yet drawn forward by an unseen force. And then you saw them—Harry, Hermione, and Ron, their familiar forms hunched together in easy conversation over a half-finished meal.

Your lips parted before you could think. "Harry."

He looked up at the sound of your voice, eyebrows raised in a question he never got to ask. You closed the distance between you in a heartbeat, wrapping your arms around him before he could say a word. He stiffened for only a second before his arms came around you, warm and firm, holding you as if he knew, somehow, that you needed this more than words. It was the feeling of coming home after a long journey, of stepping inside to a crackling fireplace and a cup of hot cocoa waiting on the table. A safe haven in human form.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him. Really look at him.

And what you saw sent a tremor through your bones.

He had his mother’s eyes—there was no mistaking that. But the rest of him…

His jawline wasn’t his father’s. His nose was longer, sharper. His cheekbones more defined, the shadows cast upon them a different kind of familiar.

"Is that really you?"

He gave you a lopsided smile. "In the flesh."

But he could sense something in your expression. A flicker of unease, a question you hadn’t yet found the courage to voice. He glanced at Ron and Hermione before turning back to you. "Let’s take a walk."

You barely registered Hermione’s inquisitive gaze or Ron’s mouth opening in protest before Harry had already abandoned his half-eaten lunch. You followed him, feet moving on instinct, the weight in your chest growing heavier with each step. The corridors of Hogwarts stretched endlessly before you, silent save for the distant echoes of moving staircases and portraits whispering in the background.

For a while, you simply walked, letting the quiet settle like dust on old memories. Then, Harry spoke first.

"Are you okay?"

You exhaled. "It's been a long day."

Your eyes flickered to him again, studying him, mapping his features like an unsolved puzzle.

"Harry… is it truly you?"

He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. "Yes. Of course, it's me. What makes you thing otherwise?"

Your fingers lifted before you could think. You traced them over his face. His cheekbones, his jaw, the slope of his nose. He didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away. He knew you needed to do this. And so he let you.

"You look different," you murmured. "Except for your eyes. You still have—"

"My mother’s eyes," he finished for you, a knowing glint in his gaze. "Yeah, I know. Everyone in my family, including my own mum, never shuts up about it."

Your breath caught. "Your family? Your mom?"

He blinked at you as if you’d just asked if the sun still rose in the east. "Yeah. You just saw her last holiday break when you visited me after spending Christmas with your family."

The world tilted beneath your feet.

His mother was alive.

Your stomach twisted as memories crashed into you, clashing, overlapping, rewriting themselves in real time. It was like two versions of history were vying for dominance in your mind, forcing their way into the cracks of your consciousness.

"Your dad is…" The words left you unsteady, a whisper in the storm.

Harry’s response came easily, like it was common knowledge. "Snape."

Your breath hitched. Your hands trembled at your sides. He must have noticed because he chuckled slightly, shaking his head. "Ex-husband, actually. Mum was smart enough to leave him."

Your mind was a tempest now, an unrelenting tide pulling you under. And then, a name burst from your lips before you could stop it.

"What about James?"

Harry’s brows furrowed. "James? You mean my godfather, James? I see him from time to time at reunions, but he's busy being a big-shot Auror."

You didn’t know what to feel. Relief? Confusion? Grief for something that no longer existed—or had never existed at all?

Harry watched you, his expression shifting to something softer, more understanding. "We’re having a reunion this summer at Sirius’s place. If you’d like to come… I could ask my mum."

You hesitated. Did you want to see him? The James Potter you remembered wasn’t this world’s James Potter. He wouldn’t even remember you.

But you knew it would eat you alive not to go.

So you swallowed the lump in your throat, steadied yourself, and nodded.

"Yeah. I’d like that."

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The reunion was in full swing by the time you and Harry arrived, and almost immediately, the whispers began.

"Harry finally brought a date," someone chuckled.

"They look good together, don’t they?" another murmured.

You and Harry exchanged an amused glance. It had started the moment you walked in together—an assumption neither of you bothered to correct. Secure in your friendship, you merely laughed it off, neither confirming nor denying.

But beneath the surface, your mind was elsewhere.

Would he come?

Harry, perceptive as ever, noticed the way your fingers tightened around your drink, how your laughter was a little too light. The first time he had ever seen you nervous.

"Do you want me to ask?" he offered gently.

You hesitated but nodded.

Harry approached a group deep in conversation and, ever so casually, asked, "Is James coming tonight?"

They exchanged uncertain glances. "He’s working a big case," one said. "Not sure if he’ll make it."

Your stomach dropped, but you forced a smile when Harry returned. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t have to. His presence alone was comforting, the quiet support you needed.

The night went on, the hum of conversation, clinking of glasses, and bursts of laughter filling the space. But there was no sign of him.

"Why is it so important that you meet him?" Harry finally asked.

You opened your mouth to answer, but the words stuck in your throat. How could you possibly explain? You fumbled for something—anything—that made sense.

Then the commotion by the door stopped you cold.

A familiar voice carried over the crowd, casual, teasing, exasperated. "Alright, alright, I know I’m late. Give me a break, will you? I was—"

And then you saw him.

James Potter.

He was older now. A few grey strands peppered his dark hair, and a faint stubble lined his jaw. But it was still him.

Your James.

The room faded into a distant hum as you watched him greet old friends, his easy grin slipping into place like no time had passed at all. You overheard their teasing about his lateness, his quick-witted defense, but your world had narrowed to the man in front of you.

Harry nudged you forward. "Come on. Let’s get you introduced."

Your feet felt heavy, reluctant yet desperate. James and Harry shared a warm reunion, a firm handshake, a clap on the back.

"James, I’d like you to meet someone," Harry said, stepping aside. "This is Y/N."

Your heart pounded as James turned to you. His gaze settled on yours, searching, assessing. He was trying to place you, to sift through the emotions flickering in his eyes. You extended a hand awkwardly, suddenly feeling small.

"It’s nice to meet you," you said softly.

James took your hand, his grip firm, steady. He didn’t let go right away. Neither did you.

He was still watching you. You could see it—something was gnawing at him, something he couldn’t name.

In the background, Harry continued speaking, singing your praises. "Y/N’s the most talented witch at Hogwarts right now. Top of her class, brilliant at—"

But you weren’t listening. You couldn’t. Because James was still looking at you, trying to figure out why this meeting felt like something more. And you couldn’t bear it. You dropped your gaze, staring at where your hands were still clasped.

The moment was broken when Lily’s voice cut through the air.

"James! There you are!"

She breezed into the space between you, drawing his attention. The ease with which she called him, the familiarity, was enough to cement reality in your mind.

James didn’t remember you.

The truth hit you harder than expected.

You let go of his hand, stepping back as he was pulled away. Your vision blurred, the weight of memories clashing with the present.

Harry saw it all. Without hesitation, he was at your side, murmuring quiet reassurances, letting you lean into him just enough to ground yourself.

What you didn’t see was James, glancing back at you from across the room, brows furrowed, lips slightly parted.

Something about you lingered in his mind like a half-remembered dream.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The night wound down, guests filtering out in slow waves.

You had resigned yourself to silence, lost in thought, when you felt someone approach.

James.

"Harry, can I steal her for a moment?" he asked.

Harry gave you a quick, questioning look. You swallowed thickly and nodded.

Once alone, James exhaled, shifting his weight. "Have we met before?"

Your heart lurched. "Why do you ask?"

"I don’t know," he admitted. "It’s just—" He ran a hand through his hair. "You feel familiar."

A sad laugh escaped you as you turned toward the window. The moonlight caught your profile, casting shadows over your features.

James stiffened.

His breath hitched, his eyes darkened with realization. He didn’t understand it fully—not yet. But he knew.

It wasn’t just unknowing familiarity.

It was yearning.

For something—or someone—he hasn't met. Or perhaps forgotten?

He took a step back.

He shouldn’t be feeling this.

A shaky exhale, then a quick excuse. "I—I should go. I’m needed elsewhere."

Before you could say anything, he turned on his heel and left, leaving you standing in the dim light, aching with the weight of a history he no longer remembered.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

The party had ended, leaving behind only echoes of laughter and the remnants of shared memories. You followed Harry back to his home, where Lily welcomed you with a warm smile. The night air was cool, and exhaustion clung to you as you settled into the makeshift sleeping arrangement—Harry sprawled on the floor, and you curled up on his bed.

Then, a sudden, frantic banging at the door shattered the silence.

Harry bolted upright, his glasses askew as he looked toward the source of the noise. You were already reaching for your wand, but Lily was quicker. She had already made her way to the door, her expression sharp with concern.

"James?" Lily's voice held both surprise and unease as she took in his disheveled state. His eyes were bloodshot, his breaths uneven, like he had been running or crying—maybe both.

"Where is Y/N? Is she here? Now?" James demanded, his voice raw with urgency.

Lily hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. That was when James saw you, standing halfway down the stairs, your grip tightening around the banister.

Without a word, you motioned toward the door. "Let's talk outside."

Lily and Harry exchanged glances before Harry whispered, "Are you sure?"

You nodded, stepping past them and out into the quiet night. The door clicked shut behind you, leaving you alone with James.

He was restless, shifting from foot to foot, his hands clenching into fists and then releasing, like he didn’t know what to do with them. You had never seen him like this—not James Potter, who had always carried himself with unwavering confidence.

Then, he spoke.

"I remember. I remember everything."

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought your heart had stopped.

He took a step closer. "You look exactly the same as the last time I saw you."

You let out a hollow laugh. "That's because, for me, it hasn't even been a few weeks."

His jaw tightened. "You left without saying goodbye. You left me in the worst possible way."

You swallowed thickly. "That night... Dumbledore found a way to send me back."

“Did you have to leave right then?” His voice was hoarse, a man grasping at something already slipping through his fingers.

You hesitated. “…No.”

He closed his eyes, as if bracing himself.

“I could’ve stayed longer, but—I thought I had to leave before I let myself… feel things I shouldn’t.”

Silence stretched between you. Then, softer, he said, “I never recovered from losing you.”

You blinked up at him.

Then, James exhaled, his voice quieter but no less intense. "Ever since that night, it felt like something was missing. And I never recovered from it. So I buried myself in my studies and work, trying to forget. But now I know why nothing ever felt right."

You blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the wave of emotions crashing over you.

"The me in that timeline," he continued, "would never have chosen anyone else. And even when I did forget about you... I still didn’t choose anyone else."

His words cut deep, leaving you breathless.

He took a step forward. “Tell me the truth. You and Harry—is it something serious?”

You shook your head. “No. We’re just… good friends.”

Relief flickered in his features, and suddenly, he was unwavering. “Then I won’t let you go again.”

You turned away. “James, we can’t. The age gap—”

“I don’t care.”

“You have an entire life here—”

“You are my life.”

The conviction in his voice undid you. Your resolve crumbled as you finally met his eyes. He stepped closer, hesitated, then cupped your face gently.

“No matter what timeline,” he murmured, “the James standing in front of you will always choose you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as you whispered, "And this Y/N would always choose you, too."

Then you kissed. Soft at first, hesitant, as though testing the waters of something that had been building for years. But then it deepened—urgent, desperate, two lost souls colliding at last.

𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘 𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚𓆚 𓆘

Summer had arrived, bringing with it long days spent with James—wandering through familiar streets, exploring new places, and simply existing together in a way you never thought possible.

Then, one afternoon, while strolling through Diagon Alley, you bumped into Evan Rosier.

He was with his family, looking every bit the composed pureblood he was known to be. James tensed slightly beside you, his Auror instincts kicking in. It was clear he had no desire to associate with Evan, but he knew how much the man had meant to you in another lifetime. So, against his better judgment, he stepped forward first.

"James Potter," he introduced himself, tone even.

Evan gave him a slow, unimpressed once-over. "Ah. The Auror." His lips curled slightly. "Never thought I'd see the day."

James smirked. "Yeah, well, life’s full of surprises."

Then Evan turned to you, eyes narrowing slightly. There was something almost searching in his gaze, a flicker of familiarity that had no place being there. He studied you for a beat too long, as if trying to place a memory that didn’t exist.

"And you are?"

You met his gaze, unfazed. "Y/N."

His expression didn’t shift, but something in his stance did—curiosity tempered by something deeper, something he couldn’t quite name. He hummed, as if testing the weight of your name on his tongue, then let out a soft scoff. "Thought you had better taste."

James scoffed. "Charming as ever, Rosier."

Evan barely acknowledged him, still watching you with that unreadable glint in his eyes. Then, after a moment, he smirked. "Should’ve figured you'd be the type to steal from a crib."

James blinked. "Sorry—what?"

You rolled your eyes. "He's calling you a cradlerobber, James."

James made a noise of offense, looking at you. "Oh, come on, that’s—okay, you know what, I walked into that one."

Evan looked mildly amused at the exchange, but there was something else now—a quiet intrigue, like an unsolved puzzle. He glanced at the bookshop behind him, then back at you. "Tell me, Y/N—since you clearly have some sense—what do you make of the modern takes on alchemical theory? Half these so-called scholars claim they’re making breakthroughs when all they’re really doing is rewording old work."

You raised a brow. "Depends. Are we talking about research in controlled magical reactions, or are you about to go on a rant about how no one's lived up to Paracelsus?"

That actually made him pause. And then, to your surprise, he chuckled. It was quiet, almost reluctant, but genuine. "Alright. Fine. You have my attention."

His wife groaned. "Oh, Merlin, please don't encourage him—he won't shut up about it for hours."

You grinned. "I wouldn’t mind hearing him out over tea."

Evan studied you once more, that flicker of something unspoken still lingering in his expression. He didn’t understand why he was drawn to the conversation, why you felt oddly familiar—but he didn’t question it either. Instead, he simply nodded, the closest thing to approval you’d probably ever get.

"Tea, then."

Addresses were exchanged, and as you and James continued down the street, you found yourself smiling.

Fate, it seemed, had a way of weaving people back into your life—not as they once were, but as they were meant to be.

#james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter fanfiction #james potter #harry potter imagine #harry potter fanfiction

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amirasainz · 4 months ago

Note

Hey I don’t know if you can do it but please can you do baby Alonzo getting hurt in the padlock like mabye breaking her arm thanks p.s I love you fics your my fav writer

Enjoy reading and send some requests!!!

xoxo babygirl 💕

Chasing Butterflies 🦋

The sun was shining brightly over the paddock as the sounds of whirring engines and bustling teams filled the air. It was a lively scene, filled with energy, but there was one tiny figure who brought her own special kind of joy to the paddock. Yn, Fernando’s four-year-old daughter, was skipping through the area, clutching a small stuffed bear in one hand while chasing butterflies with the other.

“Careful there, Yn!” Lando called out, grinning as he watched her toddle around near the garages. “Don’t run too far!”

Yn giggled, not really paying attention to his warning. “Butterflies don’t wait!” she chirped back, her voice full of determination.

“Looks like she’s got the Alonso focus already,” George joked, leaning against the Mercedes garage as he watched her.

Charles was nearby, sipping a water bottle and laughing softly. “She might be more competitive than we are. Look at her go!”

Max, leaning against the Red Bull garage, gave a small chuckle. “At least she’s not trying to race us yet. Give her ten years.”

As Yn ran past, Lewis crouched down, holding out his hand for a high-five. She stopped briefly, giving him a big slap on the hand before darting off again. “That’s my girl!” he called after her.

Oscar was sitting on a small folding chair, fiddling with his race gloves. “Should someone… keep a closer eye on her? I mean, I know she’s having fun, but—”

“She’s fine,” Pierre cut in, smiling. “She’s tough. Like her dad.”

But just as Pierre said that, Yn, in her enthusiastic chasing of the butterfly, tripped over a loose cable on the ground. There was a collective gasp as she fell forward, landing hard on her arm with a sharp cry of pain.

“Yn!” Carlos was the first to shout, sprinting over to her. He was quickly followed by Charles and Lewis, while the rest of the drivers abandoned whatever they were doing and ran toward her.

Yn was sitting on the ground, clutching her arm tightly, tears streaming down her face. Her cries were heart-wrenching, and the drivers instantly surrounded her in concern.

“It’s okay, Yn, we’re here,” Lewis said gently, kneeling beside her. “Shh, shh, don’t cry.”

“I—it hurts!” Yn sobbed, her little face scrunched up in pain.

“Her arm doesn’t look right,” Oscar pointed out, his face pale as he noticed the awkward angle of her tiny forearm.

“Alright, we need to get her to the medical center. Now,” Max said, his voice unusually firm.

“On it,” George said, carefully picking Yn up in his arms. “It’s okay, Yn. We’ll fix you up in no time.”

She buried her face in George’s shoulder, still crying, and he began walking briskly toward the medical center, the other drivers close behind.

---

Inside the medical center, Fernando was already waiting. He had heard the commotion over the radio and had rushed there immediately. When he saw George carrying Yn inside, her tear-streaked face red with pain, his heart sank.

“Mi pequeña,” Fernando said softly, his voice breaking slightly as he reached out to take her from George. Yn immediately wrapped her good arm around her father’s neck, crying into his shoulder.

“Papá! It hurts so much!” she wailed.

“I know, I know, cariño,” Fernando whispered, sitting down in one of the chairs and holding her on his lap. He stroked her hair gently, speaking to her in rapid Spanish. “Tranquila, mi amor. Papá está aquí. Todo estará bien. Te prometo.”

The doctor approached, carefully examining Yn’s arm. “It looks like a clean break,” he said. “We’ll need to put it in a cast.”

Yn whimpered at the mention of a cast, clinging even tighter to Fernando. “No! I don’t want it!”

Fernando kissed her temple, continuing to soothe her. “Shh, mi amor. Es solo un yeso. Será rosa, como a ti te gusta. Y papá estará contigo todo el tiempo.”

The doctor smiled gently. “We can definitely make it pink. Let’s get started.”

Fernando kept Yn on his lap the entire time, holding her close as the doctor worked. He murmured soft words in Spanish the entire time, telling her stories about brave princesses and how proud he was of her for being so strong. Yn eventually stopped crying as the pain dulled and the cast was carefully secured around her arm.

“See, mi amor? All done. Eres mi campeona,” Fernando said, smiling as he wiped her tears away.

Yn sniffled, looking at her bright pink cast. “It’s pretty…”

“Of course it is. Just like you,” Fernando said, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

---

When they returned to the paddock, the drivers were waiting anxiously. As soon as they saw Yn, they rushed over.

“Hey, champ,” Lando said softly, crouching down to her level. “That’s a cool cast you’ve got there.”

Yn nodded shyly, still holding onto Fernando’s hand.

“I think it’s missing something, though,” Oscar said, pulling a small sheet of colorful stickers from his pocket. “How about we decorate it?”

Yn’s eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Really,” Oscar said with a smile, handing her the stickers. “I’ll help.”

Soon, all the drivers were gathered around Yn, helping her stick tiny jewels, flowers, and even a little race car sticker onto her cast.

“There,” Charles said proudly. “That’s a cast fit for a champion.”

Yn giggled, looking at her now-sparkly pink cast. “Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Max said, ruffling her hair. “But no more running around, okay? We don’t want you getting hurt again.”

“I won’t,” Yn promised, clutching her father’s hand.

Fernando looked around at the group of drivers, a small smile on his face. “Thank you, all of you, for taking care of her.”

“Of course, Fernando,” Lewis said. “She’s part of the family.”

Yn looked up at her dad, smiling brightly despite the cast on her arm. “Can I still chase butterflies?”

Fernando laughed softly, scooping her up in his arms. “Maybe… after the race. But next time, I’ll chase them with you.”

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#little!alonso #fernando alonso x alonso!reader #dad!fernando alonso #fernando alonso x daughter!reader #alonso!reader #fernando alonso x reader #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #max verstappen x reader #carlos sainz x reader #pierre gasly x reader #george russell x reader #lewis hamilton x reader

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alisonsfics · 4 months ago

Text

knight in shining armor

pairing: carmy berzatto x reader

summary: you knew carmy would do anything for you in theory. when your abusive ex-boyfriend shows up at the bear, you learn carmy has zero hesitations when it comes to protecting you.

word count: 2k

warnings: mentions of abusive ex, violence (very minor and not graphic)

“God, I cannot wait to finally go home.” You groaned to Sydney as you cleaned down your station for the night. It had been an especially rough night at the Bear. “Tell me about it,” she responded, laughing to herself.

Carmy walked by the two of you, catching your attention. “I mean, nevermind, I love it here so much. Please, don’t fire me.” You teased sarcastically, glancing over at Carmy.

His lips curved upwards. He tried to hide the way that your sense of humor always brought a smile to his face. But he wasn’t as discreet as he thought he was.

“Don’t worry. This place couldn’t run without you.” Carmy joked. Sydney glanced between the both of you, noticing the pink tint on Carmy’s cheeks. She had to fight the urge to tell you both to get a room.

“Hey guys, Fak left early. Can one of you guys run this check out to table 13?” Richie called out. You quickly nodded and set down your towel. “Sure, Richie. I can do it.” You volunteered, taking it out of Richie’s hand.

You walked out to the one table with guests left: three men sitting in a corner booth. You heard them all deeply chuckling, fully focused on their conversation.

“Thank you for dining with us tonight. I just wanted to drop this off—” you started to say but froze when your eyes landed on one of the men.

It was your ex-boyfriend Anthony, well not just your ex-boyfriend, your abusive ex-boyfriend.

You felt a shiver run down your spine. His cold dark eyes stared back at you, leaving you with a sense of powerlessness.

The check fell out of your hands and clattered onto the table, hitting the silverware. Your only instinct was to run to safety.

Carmy was your safety. He was the only one you’d ever told about Anthony. He was the only thought in your head. You spun on your heel and headed back towards the kitchen.

You felt like the room was spinning around you. Your hands started shaking. You felt unsteady on your feet, like the ground could be ripped out from under you at any moment.

You stumbled into the kitchen, your anxiety clouding the noise in the room. You saw Carmy and Sydney having a conversation and laughing, but you couldn’t hear any of the words, only mumbles.

You ran to Carmy’s side. He turned to face you with a smile, about to explain whatever he and Sydney were talking about, but he noticed the panic in your eyes.

You breathlessly mumbled the word “Anthony,” hoping it was enough to jog his memory. Carmy furrowed his eyebrows at you, wondering if he’d misheard you.

It’d been years since you told Carmy about Anthony, so the name was far back in his memory.

The kitchen doors slammed open, smacking against the walls. Pots clattered onto the floor, falling off a shelf near the door. You jumped backwards, your heart starting to race.

Anthony stomped into the kitchen, and you could see the recognition in Carmy’s eyes.

Carmy grabbed your wrist and tugged you behind him. You cowered behind Carmy, not able to look at Anthony.

“Get the fuck out of here. I want you out of my fucking restaurant, you piece of shit.” Carmy yelled, snapping his fingers and pointing towards the door.

Sydney walked up next to Carmy, confused by all the chaos. “Yo, what the fuck is going on?” Sydney asked, looking at Carmy for an answer. Sydney’s gaze bounced between the rugged man standing in the doorway and Carmy’s death grip on your hand.

The pit in your stomach felt like it was going to swallow you whole. You kept your eyes focused on the floor, trying to convince yourself it was just a nightmare.

“Get this fuckhead out of here. Nobody lets him in ever again, you hear me? Where the fuck is Richie? Richie?!?” Carmy yelled, as the majority of the staff came walking into the kitchen from the locker room.

The silence of the room rang in your ears. Marcus jogged up next to you and Carmy. He’d immediately recognized the panic in your face and rushed to help.

Anthony lurched forward, attempting to grab your hand away from Carmy.

Carmy used his free hand to slap him away. “You don’t get to fucking touch her. You will leave her the fuck alone.” Carmy screamed. His face was bright red, his jaw clenched. Carmy was a fiercely loyal guy, but it was to an even higher degree when it was you.

It was only then that Anthony spoke. His words ran through your chest, making all your muscles feel tight. “You really have this little fucker whipped for you. Little manipulative bitch at it again.” Anthony yelled. His words seemed to hang in the air.

You got up the courage to look over Carmy’s shoulder, and you saw Anthony staring back at you.

Then, he turned his attention to Carmy. “Hey, short stuff, unless you’re her little boyfriend, I suggest you stay out of this conversation. It’s frankly none of your business.” He spoke, and Carmy’s grip on your wrist tightened.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go talk.” Anthony said, holding his hand out to you.

Carmy moved his hand to the small of your back and nudged you to stand behind Sydney. She wrapped her arm around your back, holding you close to her as Carmy stepped towards Anthony.

“Listen up, you bastard. She’s not going anywhere with you, and if I ever see you within a block of my restaurant again, I’ll kick your ass.” Carmy threatened.

You realized what he was doing. He was doing everything in his power to keep Anthony’s attention off of you.

It didn’t work. Anthony ignored Carmy and continued staring at you. “You got yourself a little boy toy here? He acts like your fucking protector and savior, and in return, what? You let him fuck you every now and then? Trust me, dickhead, the sex isn’t that good. You can find better. Nobody needs a little slut like her.” Anthony scoffed down at Carmy.

Anthony smirked, when he saw Carmy clench his jaw.

Before you could even process what Anthony said, Carmy punched him in the face, and Anthony fell back against the wall.

Richie finally emerged from the back door after Tina had gone to get him. “I wouldn’t recommend that.” Richie said, pulling the gun out of his waistband before Anthony could jump towards Carmy.

Richie wouldn’t use it, but Anthony didn’t know that.

“Get the fuck out of my restaurant.” Carmy snapped as Anthony ran towards the front door and his friends ran after him.

Carmy spun on his heel and pulled you into his arms. He cradled your body, comfortingly running his hands up and down your back. “It’s okay. It’s okay. He’s gone.” He whispered in your ear.

The room was silent as everyone processed what’d just happened.

“Richie, can you give us a ride back to my place? She can stay on my couch tonight.” Carmy asked softly.

Richie quickly nodded and grabbed his car keys as you both followed him to the car.

Carmy sat in the backseat with you, keeping your hand tightly in his. He was the best friend you’d ever had. He cared about you more than he could explain, which was partially due to his unconfessed feelings.

You didn’t utter a single word on the drive to Carmy’s apartment. Carmy quickly thanked Richie for the ride as he brought you upstairs. He was very aware of the glossy look in your eyes. He recognized and understood the trauma response better than anyone.

He held the front door open for you, keeping his hand protectively on the small of your back. “You want me to start the shower for you?” He asked you softly. You gave him a weak nod and followed him through his bedroom.

You waited silently as he set out a towel and everything you needed. “I’ll order some dinner while you take a shower, okay? Let me know if you need anything.” He said, giving your shoulder a soft squeeze.

You stayed in the shower extra long, letting the hot water run over you. You’d felt grimy since Anthony looked at you, so you hoped you could wash off the feeling.

You finally got out of the shower and dried yourself. You slipped your bra and underwear back on and caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror.

You don’t know what about it set you off. Maybe it was the defeated look in your eyes staring back at you. You felt like you were in the past again. You’d spent so many hours staring in the mirror at bruises Anthony had left on you. All the memories you’d forced into a box were spilling out.

You sunk down to the floor, cradling your legs in your chest. The tears poured out of you, and your whole body shook.

Carmy glanced down at his phone, realizing it’d been a while since he heard the water turn off. He cautiously walked over to the bathroom and softly hit his knuckles against the wooden door. “You doing okay?” He mumbled through the door.

You tried to respond but no words would come out. Your muscles stayed rigid, no matter how much you wanted to stand and open the door.

Carmy opened the door a crack, making sure you were okay.

He saw you curled up on the floor with splotchy cheeks and watery eyes. He felt his heart break. He quickly rushed towards you and picked you up bridal style off the ground.

You normally would have been self-conscious of Carmy seeing you in your underwear, but you were so detached that you almost didn’t notice.

Carmy’s eyes didn’t linger anywhere that wasn’t your eyes. He set you down on the side of his bed, and then quickly grabbed some clothes out of his dresser.

He lifted your hands up in the air and slipped one of his sweatshirts over your head. He grabbed the matching pair of sweatpants and slid your feet through the leg holes.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, as he helped you stand, so he could pull the sweatpants up to your waist and tie the strings.

You stayed completely still, still clinging to him. He wrapped his arms protectively around your waist. “You hungry?” He whispered. You simply shook your head.

“C’mere,” he said, guiding to his bed where he pulled back the covers for you to climb in. He crawled in to sit next to you. He turned on the tv and put on one of your comfort shows.

You leaned over, resting your head on his shoulder. He smiled down at you, running his fingers through your hair.

He didn’t know what to say. There was nothing he could say to fix this.

“Carmy?” You said, your voice coming out weak and fragile.

“Yeah, honey? What’s wrong?” He asked. He’d never called you a pet name before, but it just slipped out. “What if he comes back?” You croaked, your voice cracking.

He pressed a kiss against your temple. “He won’t come back, but if he did, I would keep you safe again. I promise, okay?” He assured you. He waited for you to respond and saw you fighting back tears.

“You risked your life for me. I don’t know how to thank you.” You mumbled, unable to meet his gaze.

He quickly shook his head, dismissing it. “You don’t need to thank me. I'd do anything for you.” He said.

Carmy was in disbelief that he’d actually been able to admit that after all these years. You paused and looked up at him, picking your head up off his shoulder.

You softly placed your hand on his face, cupping his cheek. His eyes glanced down at your lips.

You were worried he’d hear how fast your heart was beating as you leaned in and pressed your lips against his. He kissed you back gently, with a delicateness you’d never seen from him.

He rested his hand on your hip. You felt weightless when his lips were on yours.

You both pulled away slowly. You searched his eyes for any sign of regret. All you saw was the giant smile on his face. “I’ve been waiting a long time to do that.” He said, pressing a kiss to your temple.

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#carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto fic #carmy berzatto imagine #carmy x reader #carmy the bear #the bear #the bear fanfiction

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startaegi · 4 months ago

Text

CHAPTER 001 . . .

in which namgyu breaks the heart of his childhood sweetheart and tries to piece it back together again while fighting death.

previous next masterlist playlist

You often wondered about the first moment you fell in love. It happened so gradually that you couldn't quite recall the moment it finally clicked. The same thought followed you in the small hours of the night, on the long work days when your feet and back ached, and especially on the days when you missed his presence most.

It had been the summer of 2008 when you first met him. You were a bright eyed eleven year old, too innocent for the world. The sun had finally started shining after a long week of summer showers and so your sketch pads laid against the hot pavement, pencils scattered around you. Your bottom lip was jutted in concentration, hands flying across the paper, a brown pencil tucked between your fingers.

You paused as a shadow blocked the sunlight casting darkness across your drawing. You slowly glanced upward expecting your mother but instead a boy towered over you, eyes focused on the paper at your folded legs. You looked down and back at him again.

"That's pretty good" He said, finger pointed to the cat drawing you were currently sketching.

"Thanks" You replied, tone clipped. "Can you move? You're blocking the sunlight"

He shuffled to the side, the soles of his shoes scuffing against the pavement. He continued to hover over you for the next minute or two, eyes focused and head moving when your pencil flicked in a certain direction. You tried your best to remain cool, uncomfortable under the unknown boys stare.

You dropped the pencil, staring up at him. "What are you doing?" You questioned.

"Watching you" He replied matter of factly.

"It's creepy"

He shrugged. "As i've heard before"

His words softened your gaze a little. You knew what kids were like. Their mean words, their horrid actions. You had known it a little too well, it was the reason you chose to stay so close guarded. Even at eleven you knew how cruel the world could be.

You straightened your back, apologetically looking back at him. "I didn't mean that" You said sincerely.

"It's okay, i'm used to it" He laughed it off. "Do you live here?" The boy pointed to the house behind you, the one with the windows pulled open and the trot music lowly drifting out.

"Yeah" You admitted, a little embarrassed.

He scratched the back of his arm, a red mark, almost like a burn, stood out against his pale skin. "Cool, we're neighbours" He beamed.

Hyehwa Station was fairly empty for a Saturday night. The only sounds came from the racketing trains passing through and the footsteps of the commuters heading home after their 9 to 5's. You wrapped the coat tighter around yourself, attempting to savour the warmth and took a seat at the empty bench. The small screen read ten minutes until the next train to Itaewon. You let out a sigh stretching your legs. The long work hours were slowly killing you.

Too busy trying not to fall asleep you took no notice of the person now sat beside you, too tired to care, until he loudly cleared his throat. You looked to your right, a well dressed man smiled, a little menacing if you were honest, at you, briefcase at his side. You smiled awkwardly back, bowing your head slightly out of politeness.

"Would you like to play a game?" The man questioned, the same uncanny smile on his face.

The unsettling feeling of dread settled in your stomach. You moved closer to the edge of the bench, as far from him as you could. "Excuse me?" You replied.

His head titled to the side, facial expression frozen. "Would you like to play a game?" He repeated.

"No thank you" You muttered under your breath.

The stranger didn't reply instead he stood up, opening the briefcase on the now empty spot he had once been sitting. You watched him in confusion, you didn't have the time or energy to be dealing with the strange people that frequented the subway stations. You pinched the bridge between your eyebrows, sighing loudly.

"Would you like to play a game?" He asked again as if stuck on a record.

"Look-" You started, turning to face him but froze momentarily. "What?" You asked dumbfounded.

Enough money to pay the month's rent gleamed up at you. Stacks upon stacks of Korean won sat neatly in the briefcase. You glanced up at him and back at the bills again. You didn't hesitate before asking, "What's the game?"

The man's eyes sparkled, his smile somehow becoming wider. He reminded you of something from the horror comics you used to read as a child.

He reached into the case pulling out two envelopes, red and blue. "Ddakji" He said, gaze fixated on you. "I'm sure you know how to play"

You hadn't in years, you'd probably only played it once or twice but you nodded nonetheless.

His twinkling eyes crinkled with a smile, "Win and i'll give you 100,000 won. Lose and you'll receive a punishment." He paused. "Ready?"

Your brows furrowed. "Punishment?"

"Just a light slap"

At this point you didn't care, you would've taken any punishment if it meant winning the money in that briefcase and you were winning it.

"Okay" You agreed, standing up and shrugging the backpack from your shoulders, then placing it onto the bench.

Five rounds later and you were 100,000 won richer. Your left cheek throbbed, your eyes filled with tears. Your mouth tasted metallic from the cuts you'd bit into your cheeks in frustration. He was too good at this, his calmness told you he'd done it one too many times.

"Congratulations, Y/N-ssi" The man applauded, slowly clapping.

You stared back at him through hooded eyes, attempting to catch your breath. He stretched out a hand, fingers delicately picking up the stack of cash and passing it to you. You quickly snatched it, scared he would take it away from you and tucked it safely into the pocket of your coat.

He closed the case, turning to face you cheerfully. It seemed this man didn't know how to be upset. He reached into his pocket, taking out a small brown card and holding it out for you. You hesitated but took it from his grasp. Three symbols stared up you, a square, a triangle and a circle.

"Call the number on the back if you're interested in winning a lot more" He said, bowing in your direction and then taking off towards the exit.

You flipped it over and truth be told a number was there. Your mouth twisted, mind in battle with itself. If it was another game of ddakji or even worse, some other childhood game, you'd be screwed, you would be loosing whatever money was up for grabs in the first round. Your childhood was spent in comic books and colouring pencils, or in textbooks and homework, not on the playground with other kids playing games, you'd have no idea how too.

Your mind contemplated it over on the train ride home, occupying your running thoughts with something else for once. You entered the cold apartment at almost midnight, instantly throwing yourself face down onto the bed. Your backpack and coat still on. You let your body sink into the mattress, exhaling loudly. The apartment was silent, so quiet you could hear the refrigerator humming and the wind rattling against the windows.

These were the nights when your mind went to him. When it was quiet. When it was your heartbeat you could hear and not his underneath you. You flipped onto your back, backpack digging into you, moving uncomfortably you pulled it from your shoulders tossing it onto the floor. Your fingers found your pockets taking out the brown card, staring intently at the phone number. When had your life become such a shit show, when had accepting a beating from a stranger in the subway station for 100,000 become the normal. This wasn't how you planned it for yourself. You often wondered where it all went wrong.

previous next masterlist playlist

note . . . i had to give the reader an age to make the story make sense!! i listened to rosé’s album on repeat writing this chapter and it fits the plot perfectly. layout inspo for entire series belongs to @ourseasone

taglist . . . let me know if you wanna be added!

#namgyu x reader #nam gyu x reader #namgyu x fem reader #squid game x reader #player 124 x reader #player 124 #｡𖦹°‧⭑.ᐟ favourite crime

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jeonginsleftcheek · 9 months ago

Text

Take it off

pairing: stripper!felix x afab!reader

genre: smut

word count: 2.9k

warnings: sub!felix, grinding, humping, fingering (m receiving), handjob, nipple play, edging, oral (f receiving), spanking, degradation for a sec, felix is called slut once, dacryphilia (lmk if i missed something), reader is older than felix

a/n: i'm writing a longer seungmin fic but felix just had to be a slut so this happened

~check out: Masterlist

This isn't your regular weekend night, where you curl up with a book and a blanket, some quiet music playing in the background.

No, your perfect peace was shattered as your friends begged, no made you finally go out to a club with them, going as far as also making you put on a short tight dress and heels.

You feel ridiculous, being almost in your 30s, too old to party like some horny teenager but your friends were adamant that you need to get out of your house and stop decomposing.

You wanted to argue but they shut down any excuse you had and you whined dramatically the whole ride to the club about a 'ruined weekend' and 'disturbed peace'.

When you finally walked inside the club, and saw how fancy it was and all the half naked men walking around, only then you realized what kind of club it was.

"Y'all. This is a strip club?"- your mouth fell open as one of the men walked by and threw you a wink.

"Yes. And they also provide some more intimate services."- one of your friends wiggles their eyebrows.

You groan loudly as they take you to a booth they reserved for the four of you.

"I can't believe you tricked me! I don't want some weird oiled up man to grind on me!"- you whine, your face scrunched up in disgust, making your friends laugh.

"Look around, y/n. These men are beyond beautiful. And everything is done with consent. Like we've been here multiple times and we always had a great time. You'll love it, I'm sure."

You sigh as your friend keeps trying to convince you that tonight will somehow change your life.

Some music starts playing which makes everyone cheer and scream, all eyes turned towards the stage.

"It's him!"- one of your friend giggles.

"Who?"- you ask curiously, wondering what's got all these people in a hold.

"The star of the show, Felix. He's like the prettiest man ever."- your friend swoons and you scoff.

How pretty can he be to put the whole room in a trance even before he steps out on stage?

You get your answer as soon as finally emerges from behind the curtain, your mouth falls open in shock, your eyes wide as you stare at the man smirking and walking sensually to the music.

You've never seen someone who looks so angelic, moving so sinfully at the same time, his body supple, every single movement purposeful as he strips the flimsy little shirt he had on.

Your eyes are glued to his chest and perky nipples, his abs and the barely noticeable happy trail and everyone around you cheers but your focus is on him.

His eyes land on you and he gives you a devilish smirk before his eyes change completely, they narrow and darken, staring deep into your soul as he dances and looks only at you.

Your friends are estatic, grabbing at you and saying things like 'Felix likes you', 'he's looking at you', they're freaking out and you're sitting there stunned and with arousal pooling on your panties.

He looks like a hunter and you feel like an animal that he's got his eyes on. It's obvious why he's the star of the show when he can take someone in his hold so quickly, before you even know it you're under his spell.

The performance ends too soon for everyone's liking and the pretty boy slowly makes his way towards you.

"He's coming here, oh my god!"- your friend screams as they grab at you and shake you.

"Calm down!"- you smack their arm, trying to calm your heart too.

"Well, hello there beautiful."- his deep voice shocks you and as he leans in closer, you can see his freckles and the glittery make up on his eyes, and the sweat trickling down his skin making him shine like the prettiest diamond.

"You finally brought your friend that hates going out?"- he looks at your friends and you scold them under your breath. Just how many times have they been here without you?

"Yep, we tricked her into coming out."

"Tsk. Sneaky, sneaky."- he snickers. "What's your name, sweetheart?"

"Y/n."- your voice is shaky as he stands in your personal space.

"That's a beautiful name, for a beautiful woman. My name is Felix, but you can call me whatever you like."- he flirts and you want to roll your eyes, but you don't even have time to think.

"You seem tense. How about I help you relax? Put on a little show for you?"- he asks, his hand on your chin and your eyes scan around to look at your friends, and all of them give you encouraging looks and nudges.

Oh what the hell, you think. You're a little buzzed and you're already here so might as well make the best of it.

"Do your best, pretty boy."- you smirk, shocking yourself and your friends at your sudden boldness.

That only seems to spur Felix on as he smirks back at you and starts dancing, moving his hips and ass tentatively in front of your face.

You feel hotness surge through your body, the way he moves is delicious, making you feel so hungry to touch him.

It's like he senses that, and suddenly his knees are on either side of your thighs and you gasp as he looks at you through his eyelashes as if asking if he should continue. You give a quiet nod and suddenly he's grinding on you, his hands running on his own body as he touches himself, fingertips brushing his cute pink nipples.

Your friends are screaming your ears off but you're drowning them out, only focusing on the beautiful man who's grinding on your bare thighs.

"You can touch if you'd like."- his voice is even lower as he says it quietly, only for you to hear. His hands are on yours and he brings them to his waist.

You wrap your fingers around him, his skin is smooth and slippery from the sheen of sweat on it and your pussy throbs for more.

His chest is in your face, his ass on your thighs and you can see and feel his erection growing in his pants.

"How about we move this to one of the private rooms?"- Felix smirks, a little out of breath.

You don't know what possessed you but you nod quickly.

"Let's go."- you say and he stands up immediately, reaching his hand to take yours.

Your friends cheer behind you as he leads you away to one of the rooms, the doors closing as you walk in.

It seems like different music is playing in there, more sensual and there's even a little bar in the corner. There's a couch and a bed and you gulp as you stare at it.

"Do you want a drink, beautiful?"- Felix's deep voice snaps you out of your thoughts.

"No, thanks."- you feel a little awkward suddenly as Felix pours himself a drink and chugs on it.

"Now, where were we? You're tense again, sweetheart. We can't have that."- he shakes his head with a smile as he gently pushes you to sit on the couch.

He stands in front of you as you look up at him, shivering in anticipation.

"You want me to take these off?"- he bats his eyelashes innocently, his fingers hooking into the leather pants he still had on.

You nod quietly, your mouth dry suddenly, wishing you actually had something to drink earlier.

Felix smirks as he unzips his pants, slowly sliding them down, making a show of it and you almost moan out loud when you see what he has underneath.

He's almost practically naked, the little black lacy panties revealing everything to you, his semi-hard cock tucked inside them straining almost painfully to come out, his balls cupped by the lace and a pretty little bush above his erection.

"See something you like?"- he says cockily and you look up at the prideful smirk on his face. Something stirs within you, you want to wipe that smirk off of his face and make this man cry and beg on his knees for you.

"Hm. Maybe."- you return a smirk before reaching out for him and grabbing his hips, yanking him down into your lap. Felix gasps from the sudden change from your shy demeanor, and you can see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he looks at you with a glazed over look.

You grip his hips, bringing him down on your thighs, his cock pressing into your flesh. A little moan escapes his pretty plump lips and your hands slide behind to grab a handful of his ass.

"Oh!"- he gasps, rutting against you.

"Tell me pretty boy. What do you want me to do with you?"- you smirk, flipping the figurative card on him and he looks at you hazily as you massage his plushy asscheeks.

"W-whatever you want. I-I'm here to please you."- he's become a stuttering mess suddenly and you're beyond turned on and sick of all the teasing.

You grip his face with one of your hands and crash your lips into his and he kisses you back eagerly and desperately, his cock popping out of it's confines and leaking onto your bare flesh.

"Eager, are we?"- you chuckle against his lips and he whines.

"Mm, yes."- he chases your lips but your hand tangles in his hair, gripping and pulling his head back. A broken moan falls from his lips as you attach yours on his skin, kissing and nipping at him.

Your hands are now on his chest as you run your palms on his nipples and he keens, arching into you, his chubby cock rutting in the spot where your thighs are pressed together.

You lick at his neck before sinking your teeth in his skin and sucking on it, your fingers pulling and pinching on his aroused nipples.

"Oh-h my- ah- please!"- he whines incoherently and you smirk against him.

You've never felt this kind of power over someone and it made you feel so turned on, your panties now soaked with arousal.

"You're so sensitive."- you say as you blow air on the red bruise you sucked onto his neck.

"Y-yes! Please touch me! Please!"- he begs and you have no idea if he's taking on a role or if he's usually like that but you don't care in that moment, any thoughts are thrown in the back of your mind as you grab his leaky cock in your hand.

He whimpers, hips lifting up into your touch immediately as he grips at your shoulders to steady himself.

Your lips kiss and bite wherever you can reach, his neck, his collarbone and finally his nipples as you run your tongue on the sensitive bud, your hand working his pretty cock that's leaking so much and throbbing in your hand.

"Ah!"- he whimpers when you bite down on his nipple before flicking it with your tongue harshly.

He's sputtering nonsense as he grips at you hard, his fingertips digging into your shoulders.

You detach from his nipples when they're red and swollen, slowing your hand down any time his cock twitches, edging him as you dangle the promise of cumming in front of his face before snatching it away from him constantly.

"P-please!"- he cries, tears framing his pretty face as he looks at you with desperate eyes, his hips dragging against you the whole time you play with his cock.

You only smirk, your other hand lifting up before you land a smack on his ass. Felix yelps, burying his face in your shoulder immediately.

"Ah shit! Please, please do that a-again!"- he moans and you chuckle as your hand speeds up on his length again, the flick of your wrist driving him crazy as you smack his ass once more.

"Mm, y/n!"- your name rolls out of his lips so prettily that you just have to smack him again.

"Fuck!"- his cock twitches hard in your hand as you keep the onslaught on his ass.

Your name keeps spilling out of his lips as he shakes on top of you, crying and whimpering as he holds onto you for dear life.

Another thought crosses your mind and you stop all movement only to have him cry out desperately.

"W-why'd you stop?!"- he cries, tears sliding down his cheeks as he looks at you.

"You look so pretty when you cry."- you smirk, gathering the pre cum on your fingertips before your hand reaches behind him.

"P-please let me cum. Please. I'll do anything!"- he really looks desperate and you almost feel bad.

Almost.

Felix gasps and jolts when he feels your fingertips slide under his panties and press against his little hole.

"Is that okay?"- you whisper and he nods quickly.

"Yes, yes!"- he moans as you circle your fingers, smearing the pre cum on him.

Your other hand grabs a hold of his cock again and this time you decide to finally let him cum as you sink your finger inside his fluttering hole, meeting a little resistance as he leans forward on you, grabbing onto your upper back and whimpering.

You start fucking your finger in and out of him, hitting his sweet spot as your other hand matches the pace on his cock.

Felix is falling apart in your lap, his mind cloudy, the only wish his body has right now is to cum for you.

He grinds into your touch, matching the movements of your hands and it doesn't take long for that familiar feeling to blossom inside him.

"Please, please, please-" - he mutters desperately and you chuckle, teeth nipping at a sensitive spot beneath his ear.

"Cum for me, pretty."- you say and Felix keens, his cock twitching before he explodes, spurts of hot white cum painting your black dress, his hole clenching around your finger like it doesn't want to let go.

You keep fucking into his prostate as you milk him dry and he cries and begs for you to stop.

You finally move your hands away when his cock goes completely limp against you.

You grab his face and kiss his lips, you can taste the saltiness of his tears on them and you push your tongue inside his mouth, circling it around his. You swallow all his moans before grabbing a hold of his hair and leaning him back.

"Get on your knees."- you tell him and his eyes widden a little before he scrambles to get up.

"You're getting a little reward for being such a good boy for me."- you smirk, caressing his cheek with your thumb as Felix looks at you dumbly, his mind completely gone from the pleasure he feels.

You lift up your ruined dress, and Felix moans at the sight of your soaked panties.

"Take them off."- you say and he does so, the sight of your glistening pussy makes his spent cock twitch miserably against his thigh.

"What are you waiting for?"- you grip his head and bring him closer to you as you spread your legs more.

Felix's eyes flutter and he wastes no more time as he buries his face between your legs. His plump lips leave kisses all around your throbbing pussy before he presses them into your clit.

Your breath hitches in your throat when he pushes the tip of his tongue into your clit and starts flicking it slowly, pressing into it.

"Mm"- you moan, hands gripping his hair. He grabs at your thighs and runs his tongue on your folds, moaning at the sweet taste of you.

You don't let him lift up as you slowly start grinding on his face while he laps at you greedily, his tongue fucking in and out of your cunt, he's drooling and making a mess out of you.

You smirk when you feel his hips push into your leg, his cock against your skin as he starts rutting against you like a dog in heat.

"What a desperate little slut you are."- you chuckle as you pull on his hair and grip his head with your plushy thighs.

He moans into your pussy, the vibrations making your core throb and you're close.

"Keep going. Make me cum."- you say as he keeps eating you out and humping against you.

You grind against him, dragging your pussy on his face before the coil finally snaps and you spill your release on his tongue and chin.

Felix mewls, his hips jolting as he cums untouched, his cum spilling on the floor right between the heels on your feet, a few drops landing on the straps.

He licks around his lips and looks at you, his eyes still glazed over and not a single thought in his head.

"Look what a mess you made."- you lean in closer to look at his face.

"Y/n..."- he whimpers your name, seemingly the only thing he knows right now.

"Came untouched."- you click your tongue. "You really are pathetic. But I'd still like to take you home. What do you think about that?"- you grip his chin.

He whines a little, his tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip as he leans into your touch.

"I'd love to. My shift ended anyways."

"Right."- you lean back suddenly. "How much do I-"

"No"- he shakes his head. "This was for my pleasure too."- he says, seemingly coming to his senses.

He stands up suddenly and the cocky smirk on his face is back.

"Take me home then. I'd like for us to get more acquainted with each other."

✨Taglist: @moonchild9350 @janepg @velvetmoonlght @hwanghyunjinismybae @jehhskz @laylasbunbunny @porangporangmeong

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #lee felix x reader #lee felix #sub!stray kids #sub felix #lee felix imagines #lee felix smut #skz felix smut #lee felix x y/n #lee felix x you #lee felix scenarios #lee felix hard hours #skz felix #sub lee felix #felix smut

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wysteria-bloom · 6 months ago

Text

↪"you're lucky I...adore you."

Bg3 companions if they've been affected by succubus magic

Bg3 x bard!reader

Warnings : nothing that I can think of.

Genre : fluff, just pure fluff

A/n : still haven't finished this damn game and it's nearly been a year. You don't want to know how many hours I've spent on it I'm genuinely so disappointed in myself 🥲

▢ lae'zel

Gone was her usual stern demeanour, this woman was huffing and puffing to try and hold herself back. Her mouth pulled into a grimace as the words tumbled out of her mouth against her will.

"Tav.... your battle prowess is... most pleasing to witness..." Her eyes were hazy as she leaned down slightly to your level, brows pulled tightly together despite the contrasting words coming from her mouth," Were you a githyanki, I might even consider... taking you as a mate."

You just sort of blink at her, string pulled taught against your finger as you were trying to fix your violin. A slow smile made its way to your lips," ... you're certainly direct." You cooed out, brows raised suggestively as you look her up and down," I'm flattered, really, but perhaps you should save the mating proposals for when you're not under the influence of succubus magic, hm?"

The githyanki huffs, embarrassed but still utterly bewitched, her nostrils flare," usually... a gith would take offense at such a vehement rejection..." Her forehead presses against yours as she frowns deeply," You're lucky I... adore you." She gritted out with much difficulty.

"It was a spell. Nothing more. Forget it happened unless you want to see your innards splattered across the dirt you stand on."

You smirk, pressing your forehead back in response," Lucky, indeed~"

"My pretty lips are sealed, milady."

▢ shadowheart

She leans casually against a nearby tree, watching you with that adoring green gaze of hers that she tried to hide underneath her awkwardly mysterious aura.

She listens to the soft tunes you play with your lovely fingers, humming slightly and almost drunkenly," You know.... your music isn't the only thing enchanting about you."

These strangely uncharacteristic words made you pause in your playing, raising a brow up at her in surprise.

She, herself, didn't know what she was saying but she just couldn't stop herself as her lips twitched into a smirk," perhaps we should compose a duet of our own?"

The blatant flirting amused you to no end and a hand shot to your mouth to suppress a laugh," a duet?" You repeated," As memorable of a performance that would be, I think it best for you to sleep off whatever magical nonsense that succubus casted on you."

Shadowheart gave you an incredulous look and tried to play it off, shrugging with a pout," Oh no, this is... all me." She tried, but the words trembled," totally natural."

"... Let's never talk about this again."

"What a ball of charisma you are."

"I've already got a tune decided for our duet. No backing out now, little cleric~"

▢ gale

The wizard approaches his dearest bard with his usual theatric flair, but the lines falling from his smart mouth were far more dramatic than usual as he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear," your beauty... it's like the stars themselves - unreachable, radiant, and yet somehow, you make even the Weave seem mundane in comparison."

Your hand removes itself from your instrument to pinch the bridge of your nose. Despite your exasperation, you couldn't hide your amusement," Gale... that succubus has broken you. You don't need to keep... weaving poetry to me."

"Ah, but for you, my dear, no spell is required for me to express my-"

You cover his mouth with your hand and you swear you see hearts in his eyes," mhmm, let's talk about something else, okay?"

"Ahem... I maintain that my delivery was impeccable, spell or no."

"Didn't make me swoon, however. Maybe you should give it another try."

▢ karlach

You pause in analysing what spells you had when a shadow fell upon you, making you look up slowly to see Karlach's wry grin shining down upon you like the rays of Lathander himself.

Her infernal engine was humming a lot louder than usual, her enthusiasm palpable," look at you, soldier! All studious n' shit." She cooed as she crouched down, but she still towered over you. Her head canted to the side, hair falling wildly along with her," You're hotter than the hellfire burnin' in my chest... and that's saying something."

You burst into laughter, shaking your head with a flush rising to your cheeks. Whether it was because of Karlach's heat or her words? You couldn't tell. You didn't care either.

"That might be the most intense compliment I've ever received... did the spell possessing you come up with a list of pickup lines to read off of? Or is this all just you?"

Karlach's eyes glinted with affection and amusement as she shrugged," all me, babe." She lied before catching herself, looking up at the sky to think,"... or.... uh, the spell." She tapped her chin in thought, brows furrowed," maybe both?"

"Don't hurt yourself, love."

"Tav, you have to admit, the hellfire thing was pretty fuckin' good!"

"True... I'd like to hear you say it without slurring your words, this time."

▢ wyll

His confident strides never faltered despite the magic clearly affecting him, his usual charming demeanour was cracked up to tenfold as he leaned forwards to you, a soft little smile spread to his lips.

"You know... your voice could tame a dragon, and your smile could slay a Devil." He took your hand into his, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of your hand," let me be your Knight, forever at your side."

You giggle, reaching out to put a hand on his shoulder and you had to ignore the flip of your heart when he instantly leaned into your touch," Wyll, that's sweet, but I think you're laying it on a little thick here, sweetheart." The pet name made his head buzz," I'm impressed, honestly... did the spell teach you how to swoon like a bard?"

His hand moved to your one resting on his shoulder and squeezed with purpose, brows furrowed with a lovesick grin curled to his lips," no spells required, my love."

You snort," sure, and my lute plays itself."

"I... apologise for whatever nonsense spewed from my mouth. I was merely playing the part, you understand-"

"Hmm... nonsense, was it? And I was so looking forwards to you being my Knight. A shame, really."

▢ astarion

A finger twirled your hair as you strummed your instrument absentmindedly, trying to come up with a catchy bar tune.

Astarion was staring hazily, his usual smirk had actually fallen as his crimson eyes glinted,"... did you know your blood smells sweeter than the finest wine?"

You give him a deadpan look, pausing in your strumming to look up at him which immediately prompted for his hand to move to your chin," Astarion... did the spell make you forget how incredibly creepy that sounds?" You grimace.

He blanched at you, a hand pressing to his heart rather dramatically but his eyes were still infatuated with your every crevice and cranny," creepy?? No, no it's a compliment, I'll have you know!" Then he frowned as he thought of his words and quickly added on a," in a vampiric sort of way..."

You snort and grabbed his wrist, rubbing your thumb up and down it gently," let's revisit this topic when you're not spellbound... or thinking about my blood."

"But it's such lovely blood, darling!" He whined only to be interrupted.

"Nope. We're done here."

"Well, I regret absolutely nothing."

"That's because the things you said weren't anything out of the ordinary you freak."

▢ halsin

The uncharacteristic sparkle in his eye is what made you pause as he approached with his usual gentle facial expression. He opened his mouth and you were enraptured with every word-

"I was missing you... and found a lily of the valley," he held out the flower cutely, the size of it compared to him made your heart clench. What a pure man he was," they truly remind me of you... delicate, radiant and captivating."

You reached out and gently took the flower from him, cradlingnit as your cheeks flush warmly," You adorable man." You then moved your hand and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear, but before you could pull your hand away, he pressed it to his cheek," Halsin... this is lovely but I'd prefer if you did this whilst not being under the influence of a spell. It's turned you into a poet."

He hums, half-listening to you as he closed his eyes, trying to memorise the temperature and feeling of your hand," poet? Not quite... just a humble druid who's helplessly ensared by your otherworldly beauty."

You sigh and smile, shaking your head as you pinch his cheek, grin widening at the displeased groan that he emitted," helplessly ensared, hmm? Well, let's just hope this spell wears off before you start building me a shrine."

He seemed to lift his head at attention when you said that, moving your hand to his chest and pressing it against his beating heart. The serious look in his eyes sent a flutter through your entire body, his voice a low rumble as he leaned close to your face," would you prefer one of oak or stone?"

You grimace but your face was certainly burning," Oh no, it's definitely time for you to snap out of it."

"Tav... forgive me if my words earlier were... overzealous. It was the spell, of course, though they were not entirely untrue."

"Not entirely untrue, huh? I'll keep that in mind the next time you're waxing poetic about flowers and shrines."

▢ minthara

Minthara, usually composed and calculating, strides up to you with an intensity that borders on unsettling. However, her voice takes on an unusual softness that left you weak in the knees.

"I believe now is the chance for me to express this... you are a weapon forged by the gods themselves - sharp, striking and impossible to resist." Her deft fingers ran up and down your arms softly, soothingly, hypnotically," Were I to claim you..." Her eyelashes lowered," none would dare challenge us."

You could only blink with that shit eating grin you always took on when you irritate her," That's flattering, Minthara. But you should save this for when you're not enchanted."

Her voice lowered," I do not make declarations lightly, Tav. You belong at my side. Drenched in the blood of our enemies."

"Whoo... at your side, huh?" You liked the images she created," what, no throne or crown to sweeten the deal?"

God, the smirk that twitched to her lips was utterly mind boggling. You wished you could sew her mouth to permanently stay that way," Oh... there would be both. Gold and blood, in your honour."

You coughed out a reluctant," I'll pass for now, thanks."

"Whatever foolishness I said under the spell - forget it. I would not waste words on such sentimentality."

"Of course not, Minthara. The throne and crown offer was purely strategic, I'm sure."

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mssishipi · 3 months ago

Text

enhypen's masterlist

૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა reminder!

my stories are work of fiction and is not associated with enhypen or its members in real life. the characters, events, and settings in this story are fictional and do not reflect the real personalities, actions, or experiences of the people mentioned. please remember to separate fiction from reality

nsfw content — minors do not interact! most of my stories contains mature content and is intended for adult audiences only. If you are underage, please do not read or interact with my work.

i appreciate feedback and comments, as they help me grow as a writer! however, please do not translate, copy, or repost my stories on any other platform. these works belong to me, and unauthorized distribution is not allowed.

also, i’m still figuring out how to use tumblr, so please bear with me! thank you for your support!

happy reading <3

LEE HEESEUNG

WAS IT CASUAL ft. kim sunoo

one shot, fubu 12.3K

Let’s play “Casual” by Chappell Roan. How far can you sink for a guy who only sees you as a bed warmer? Somewhere between the silences, you start to wonder. If it’s just casual, why does it feel so real? And if it means nothing, why does it hurt so much?

STARGIRL

hard hours, 1.2k

you are heeseung's perfect star, glowing just for him and the way he fucks you makes you shine even brighter.

PARK JONGSEONG

KISS ME

the purge au! 21.8k

You hate the Purge. You hate the monster they create, the cruelty, and the way it's broken you down year after year. You hate the rich most of all—the people who don't have to fight to survive. People like Park Jongseong. And now, somehow, he's sitting next to you. The boy who's always smiling, always comfortable, as if the world hasn't burned down around him. The boy who lives in safety, behind barricades his father's company builds, while you've spent years starving, hiding, and praying. Jongseong keeps smiling at you, oblivious to the weight of your hatred. He doesn't care about you, not really. To him, life is simple. And maybe that's why you can't stand him. Because while he laughs, you're trying to figure out how to make sure people like him never smile again.

TASTE OF INDULGENCE ft. sim jaeyun

series, eventual poly relationship

Sex should've been the most electrifying experience. But for you, no matter how much you indulge, it's always the same—the burning, the discomfort, the frustration of never getting there. So when another couple invites you into their bed, you wonder—Will indulgence finally taste the way it should?

MY BOYFRIEND'S IN A BAND

oneshot, fake dating au! 14.7K

One second, you were telling a little lie to impress the cheerleaders, and the next, the whole school thought you were dating Park Jongseong—the cold, untouchable, and ridiculously hot guitarist. What started as a desperate move to boost your reputation took a wild turn when Jay decided to go along with it. Now, you’re caught up in nonstop gossip, awkward moments, and a fake relationship that feels a little too real—especially with Jay showing a surprisingly sweet side that no one, including you, saw coming.

LIFE OF PARASITES — RECENT FIC

oneshot, sci-fi/bio-thriller, body horror! 23.1K

Seven years ago, a parasite fell from the sky and rewrote the boundaries of biology, blurring the line between host and invader. Park Jongseong, now exists in the in-between, neither fully human nor entirely parasite, a hybrid organism shaped by adaptation and survival. Hunted by those who fear what they cannot categorize, he searches for meaning in the world—and finds it in you.

BF! JAY AND YOUR TITS

scenario, 500 words

nothing filthy, just bf jay and his obsession on your tits

SAY CHEESE ft. sim jaeyun

hard hours, 5k

in which jake and jay capture the most beautiful, fucked-out masterpiece on film.

SOFT LOVE

hard hours, 2.4k

in which you found purpose in jay's control that love was so soft to be touch and tight enough to never let go.

SPEED IT UP

hard hours, 6.7k [taglish ver.]

BMW luxury, but make it filthy.

SIM JAEYUN

TASTE OF INDULGENCE ft. park jongseong

series, eventual poly relationship

THE FALL OF A MAN

one shot, sacrilegious content! 16.7k

You were taught that virtue was a woman’s greatest strength, that temptation was a test of will, that desire was the serpent’s whisper leading you astray. But when temptation comes in the form of Sim Jaeyun—holy, untouchable, the very image of devotion—your faith begins to waver.

DEVIL IN DISGUISE

hard hours, infidelity, 3.1k

anon asked: infidelity with jake would go crazy bro like he’d be saying “you’re so disgusting” and it’s true it disgusts him how his bestfriend’s pussy milks his cock

SAY CHEESE ft. park jongseong

hard hours, 5k

in which jake and jay capture the most beautiful, fucked-out masterpiece on film.

CONYO JAKE

filo hard hours, 750 words

just jake fucking you until you're shaking and overstimulated.

WET THE BED

hard hours, 2.4k

soft people fucks the loudest.

#enhypen #enhypen fic #enhypen fanfic #heeseung #jake #sunoo #jay #enhypen oneshots #ni-ki #sunghoon #jungwon #enhypen smut

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pizzaapeteer · 9 months ago

Text

Ignited Reunion

Mattheo's the only one you can call after a small slip up on your vacation making for a palpable reunion with your brother's friend.

Warnings: NSFW 18+, fem reader, swearing, yelling, oral receiving (fem), throat grabbing, daddy kink, edging, spanking, fucking from behind, one use of y/n, angel pet name. Voldemort doesn't really exist in this, Mattheo is one year older than reader. wc: 6k

An: longgg overdue, this was supposed to be for week 2 jinxed july but since I was so delayed I adapted it a lot. Enjoy, I lost sleep over this filthy piece. Ty to my pookies as well @slytherinslut0 and @fuckaperioddrama !

A defeated sigh leaves your lips in your attempt to gain comfort from the feathered padded seat, giving up with your distressed shuffling the efforts failing to provide any. A thin layer of chills rises, shivering over your skin at the contact of the icy wall you slump back onto. Your gaze flickers around for the billionth time in hopes of finally finding anything remotely interesting contained within the dreary enclosing holding cell.

The anticipation is even worse with boredom while you sit, having only been there probably an hour, waiting - hoping he’ll come. There are a few reasons you can think of, for him not to. The most obvious being - you were his friend’s little sister, most likely a mere inconvenience to him at this hour.

Not to mention it’s unlikely he even has the time to come pay your bail and release you. He’s far too busy living out in the real world since he finished at Hogwarts. But then again, you had always been an exception to Mattheo. The two of you, sneaking off, living behind closed doors - a hidden vice that had left you feeling empty when he finished last year.

Sometimes you’ll find yourself daydreaming about the late night meetups, sprawled out in the room of requirement, tangled amongst the warm embrace of his golden touch under the bedsheets. The harmonious sounds of laughter slipping in between the slight breaks of breathless kisses. He was a perfect escape from the hoards and pressure of your family. He became a happy convenience to let loose, and what unravelled from that remains still unknown to you.

But how foolish you were to create an expectation of false hope that your brother’s leave from school would make a difference, the hope that you might finally shine out from underneath his shadow. An ideal spotlight illuminating right on you, for your mother’s gaze that ultimately fell short with the success that followed him out in the real world.

There was no escaping from the comparison of someone like Blaise Zabini.

Blaise was nothing short of perfection. His reserved nature served him well as he observed everything with intellect, caution and a level of superiority that he proudly wore on his chest. No cracks creased through his unblemished structure. A man with unbelievable patience and politeness that appeared in times of need, someone people acknowledged, had their shit together.

Though there remained an uncertainty about him in his secrecy of one’s opinions, on whether you impressed or disgusted him to himself - leaving many walking away from an interaction with an uneasy pleasantness. He still remained a golden man, not only in looks but amongst his classmates, despite being dressed in the lush fabrics of green and silver, everyone simply recognized him to be one of the more favourable snakes out of the Slytherins. This continued onto the reflections of your own home walls.

There was no need for competition in who was winning the clasp of your mother’s attention in the fight for favourite child. It didn’t help that he inherited all her beautiful looks, a spitting image of her and when you’re as vain as she was, looking at him replicated a reflection of herself, which brought happiness in unimaginable ways.

The pressure that came with being Blaise’s sister was tough. He was strict - a guiding leader expecting you to follow in his footsteps. With the whispered theories amongst the rats in the sewer of so-called ‘friends’, it was hard not to notice the Zabini household reputation sinking silently. How fascinating that your mother cryptically lost all seven husbands and inherited a wealthy fortune. Blaise and you never knew the full truth, but she was a powerful and wise witch. It was in both your best interests to stick with her word.

Despite the rumors quieting down throughout your years at Hogwarts, you knew they still swarmed and lingered outside of it. It was therefore of great importance that you pursued a similar mindset to Blaise, who proved also to be a gentle, comforting and supportive brother when you felt down, reminding you, ‘I only want the best for us.’

And so, you followed Blaise’s guide, in every step like a clone, a perfect soldier. Kept your head down, study hard and stay on course, mostly. You grew ambitious to prove yourself as something, to make something new for your tainted surname.

A clang of metal alerts your senses, breaking your distant mind drift with the relief filling words of the officer. With eagerness, you scramble to stand following behind her out into the hall, the earlier anticipation bubbling in the pit of your stomach. ‘Free to go, your release is here.’ He’s the one you risked your one phone call on, left with no choice. Your family wasn’t an option.

Turning the corner, arms wrapped protectively around your waist, he’s hard not to miss. Tall, he looms with an electricity of power that is channelled down onto his intense and agitated expression. Mattheo stands waiting by the cop’s desk, his hands buried in the pockets of his fine suit, a clear indication you had interrupted him in the middle of something important.

Easing towards him with timid steps, he acknowledges you with nothing but a nod and turns, expecting you to follow. A deep pit of shame floods your gut, along with a sense of disappointment, and you trail behind like a kicked puppy. His coat flares up with the increasing force, his legs storm out of the station, curls tousling in the sweep of wind that hits him when you breathe in the balmy night air.

The thinly distributed fabric of what you called a bikini, had earlier made you feel confident and hot, the night static with hopeful promises of capturing someone’s eye - now disintegrated into disgrace and embarrassment as you stand before an unimpressed - and fully dressed - Mattheo.

He senses the uncomfortably your displaying and shrugs his coat off, sliding it around your shoulders watching how the fabric bulges clearly lacking the muscles to fill it out. He tightens the strings tautly using a strength that reflects his irritation, jolting you forward, stumbling into his rigid chest.

The feel of your bodies pressed together ignites a sense of amenity, a rush of nostalgic memory arising briefly. It’s quickly interrupted by the harsh reality when Mattheo takes your hand with a tight grip, his face not showing any signs of matching your remembrance of the blissful memory.

Leading you around the corner into a narrow alley, hidden from the prying of muggle eyes, he finally speaks with a tone that has you wishing for the silent treatment to come back. “A muggle jail, really y/n?” His voice holds a sharpness of disbelief and disgust, and you’re unable to think positively about your reunion - clearly he had better things to do than bailing his friend’s sister out of jail.

He doesn’t wait for an answer, his hold still steady on you as the two of you apparates. The twists and turns of teleportations whirl your senses, though having done it many times, it still manages to throw you off. You take a moment to regain your footing, following behind Mattheo into the dark apartment.

It’s exactly as you would have imagined, tidy with little clutter, warm tones of brown and black cover his walls with touches of sophistication. He’s quick to enter the cozy nest that is his abode, heading straight for the booze, a thirsty sensation he needs to clear his head. One sip, another and then a slam of the glass.

“What were you thinking?! Oh, that’s right, you fucking weren’t.” There it is, the burst of anger unraveling. “Using magic for party tricks?! Illegal party tricks might I add in both muggle and wizarding worlds.” He pours another glass and downs it, barely wincing, before his eyes shift, hardening their gaze with a dark intensity, and he moves towards you.

The truth was, you hadn’t been. Caught up in the highs that spring break had revealed to you, living off the excitement of new friends, had been responsible for your adrenaline at the moment. If you had known the offer from the new Ivermorny transfer would lead to your arrest in an American muggle jail, you never would have gone.

But the prospect of Spring Break had widened your mindset, too good of an opportunity to waste - it was the epitome of summer fun. It had only meant to be an escape from the forthcoming of your future, a few weeks of fun before you prepared for your leave of Hogwarts and back into the shadow of prestige beside your older brother.

“You’re a right fucking menace making me clean up your shit, ya know that.” Stalking forwards, his figure feels increasingly taller, feeling small under his usual comforting gaze. You nod, knowing he’s right, left with no words to defend yourself. “What the fuck happen to you since I left?” His words leave his tongue with venom, the bitterness hitting you like a slap to the face.

Mattheo’s anger is as expected, but it hurts nonetheless - you went to him because there was no way you could tell Blaise. Or your mother. The disappointment that would sit staining your shoulder wasn’t something you needed or feared you could handle. You needed him to understand. It had been an accident, a moment of stupidity. You wanted him to hold you, tell you it was okay.

It had been so long and seeing him before you; it hurt that he was only expressing anger. You needed any other emotion right now, comfort and excitement. Wasn’t he at least a tad bit happy to see you?

Your tongue burns with dryness, no words, not even an apology tickling your senses. He corners you against the wall looming over you, his hand comes to rest trapping your head. “Better start apologizing soon before I really lose my temper.” A whispered threat, you know, is best not to come true.

“I’m sorry you were the only one I could call-“

“I don’t care about that,” he cuts you off quickly, shaking his head frustrated, though subtly his words reflect his care and protectiveness over you. “Vandalizing a boat with magic! You’re lucky no one saw you and were all too wasted to realize any differently.” His voice scolds, leaving you feeling worse than if it had been your brother.

“I know I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just got caught up in the atmosphere.” He quirks a brow at your shitty excuse.

“Trying to impress your new muggle friends?” He sneers, his fingers pulling at the strings of the coat, exposing your revealing outfit. His eyes flicker down, and he holds back a low whistle as he takes you in, not exactly in the mood to appreciate your choice of clothing. He tuts instead, “Seriously?”

An embarrassed heat flashes across your face under the weight of his examination, and you move to close it, but he stops you. He pins the coat down, opening it fully, “feeling shy, are we? You weren’t too shy when you were vandalizing people’s property and getting yourself thrown in jail.” With a push off your shoulder, the coat slides down the wall to the ground with a scrape.

Your brows furrow as an underlying anger begins to bubble and you roll your eyes, getting sick of how superior he’s treating you, like your a little kid. “Yeah, I get it, Mattheo! I don’t need a lecture.” You say exasperatedly.

“Clearly you fucking do. Think spending a few hours in a cell will teach you a lesson. You called me now. You have to deal with what I say.”

Gritting your teeth with narrowed eyes you strain, “I said, save me the bloody lecture. Stop acting like my fucking brother.”

“Watch the way you speak to me, baby. Especially if you don’t want me to call that dear brother of yours, my friend, if you hadn’t forgotten.”

Frustration rises within you. He’s got to be bluffing. He knows how important your relationship with Blaise is and the importance of your family’s reputation. A scoff falls from your lips at the fucking audacity he has to threaten you. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Don’t test me sweetheart, I’ll do whatever the fuck I please. I bailed you out, remember? I’m calling the shots!”

You flinch at his voice raising and can’t help the bratty attitude that slips out. “Yeah, I know…look at Mattheo all high and mighty.” You sneer at him mockingly. “You never could say no to me, could ya, Matty?” It’s a low blow. You know he’s always been strong in his protectiveness despite your hidden fling.

He rolls his eyes at your snarky tone, “This is different. This isn’t you.”

“Oh please, don’t give me that crap. You’re the one who was always telling me to break out of my shell.”

“Oh, fucking Salazar! - don’t tell me you did this for me.” He gives you a look of disappointed disbelief. “Not that desperate for my attention, are you? That would be pathetic, even for you.”

“Alright save the fucking arrogance for someone who gives a shit. Of course, I didn’t do this for you. Not everything is about you.” You mutter the next part under your breath. “I just wanted to have fun.”

“Fun?!” Curse his fucking surprisingly good hearing. “You could have ruined your life! Your future!”

“But I didn’t! No one else is going to find out.”

“You don’t know that! What if I couldn’t have come?”

“I don’t know. I would have figured it out! Because I never would have called you in the first place if I knew you were going to act like Blaise.”

“Oh really? Yeah, I highly doubt that.” You sigh, taking in the reality of his words, knowing he’s right.

He looks at you, his anger simmering momentarily in his complementation of what to do. You’re not his responsibility. He knows he should let Blaise deal with this, that’s what Blaise would tell him.

In fact, he’s sure he’ll get soldered for even having debating this. He can make out the sounds of Blaise’s deep voice admonishing him, should have called him as soon as he bailed you out. Probably could have made up some bullshit lie about how you two crossed paths, keeping your correct actions secluded from him.

He sighs, reaching into his pocket for his phone, “I should really call your brothe-“

You lean forwards, grabbing his wrist as you plead with him, “No! Mattheo please! Blaise can’t know! It would devastate him!”

He bites his lip, hesitating, his inner turmoil tussling, and he can’t help the small bitterness that slips out. “Really? What’s the big deal? You were just ‘having fun’, right?” His eyes hardened on you, a small part of him still furious and disappointed in your behaviour.

“Mattheo, please, you know how Blaise is!”

“Yeah, I do. Maybe that’s why I should call him. I’m sure he’ll actually get through to you.”

“Mattheo, this isn’t a joke!”

“Do I look like I’m laughing?”

His words pause your attempt and you take a step back, pressing your lips together in a thin line. You consider his words, sensing his rhetoric and serious tone. “No.”

Groaning, he sighs again at the situation, and rubs his eyes, agitatedly. He knows what Blaise is like, always striving for perfectionism and the morals he threw down on you. There’s no way he could call him, the consequences you would face wouldn’t end well. Not to mention you'd never forgive him, and despite spontaneously getting you back in his life, he doesn’t want to let you go yet. Maybe it’s partly selfish, but this could be his only time to spend it with you again after so long.

“I just want you to understand that actions have consequences…you’re supposed to be a good girl.” He gives you a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. He doesn’t want to fight with you anymore.

“What if I’m tired of being the good girl? What if I’m ready for something different?”

Mattheo’s eyes flicker over your face, searching for any sign of playfulness and that you’re not just trying to pull his leg. “Good’s always looked best on you, angel.” He uses the old pet name in a more sweet and less condescending way, his face softening as he takes in your deliberative expression. He cups your jaw with a nostalgic gentleness, tilting it up.

You sigh in defeat, knowing it’s useless to change who you are, a fate perfectly created for you. “I didn’t mean to cause any trouble. I’m just so fucking stressed - just wanted to have some fun, let loose before I finish school.” The confession flows out of you finally with ease, your words soft and hold a heavy weight of tiredness.

Mattheo exhales deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose as he runs a hand through his hair, feeling for you sympathetically. He understands the position you’re in from a certain point of view. His whole life has been built around expectations and pleasing elders, continuous pressures that come with following in a legacy.

“I know, sweetheart, and you deserve that. I wish I could take that away from you.. all the pressure and expectations.” He leans down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closing for a moment.

His eyes open, lowering down on you and he pulls back, muttering a soft, “What am I gonna do with you?” His mind filters through ideas. He can’t tell your brother, you don’t really deserve to be lectured or yelled out - it’s clear you understand the severity of your actions.

“I just wanted to have fun.” Repeating your words for added effect, your eyes gaze at him with pleading, apologetic arousal. The air feels cleared from all past anger and just leaves behind unresolved tension. Your hand reaches out to touch his arm softly, coaxing out a reaction. “I’ve just been so stressed since you’ve been gone, Matty…I don’t have any distractions or stress relaxers.” There’s a slight connotation in your tone showing you’re referring to something other than your studies.

His mouth clicks with intrigue and desire unwrapping your words, and the feel of your light touches tracing over his forearm. As his initial protectiveness and concern simmer down, his eyes drop their gaze with scrutiny, his tongue swiping along his bottom lip, wetting it slowly while he acknowledges completely the full extent of your outfit. More skin is revealed in his downward scan, and it only assists in his pants, increasingly uncomfortably constrict themselves.

“Been lonely, huh baby?” He mumbles in a hoarse whisper, a hint of surprise slipping through his tone. The idea quickly registering that you haven’t been with anyone since him and fuels him with a familiar sense of possession. He’s finding it hard to contain himself as the thought develops, overgrowing in his mind, of you pure. Untouched in months that you didn’t want to find a replacement to help relieve yourself. That you are and have always been truly his. His breath thickens, lips pulling up into a sweet smirk, “You’re tense huh? All tight?”

Your gaze never wavers from those sweet brown eyes, now holding an intensity that has your stomach swirling, a tightening sensation building that leaves your cunt dampening. Giving a simple nod to his question, you add speaking with soft feigned innocent tones, “yeah and you’re right.. I am a good girl. I’ve been focusing so hard, keeping my grades up.”

Delicate fingers graze, tantalizingly up his toned arms compressed in the button-down shirt he’s wearing, and maneuver slowly up to loosen his tie. “I think I could use a break, a treat if you will.”

He continues his own touches, keeping them to light brushes tracing the sides of your breast where the bikini is too small to cover. The tender slowness in which he moves sends waves of goosebumps igniting over your skin, his lips curling into a satisfying smirk at the reaction.

Dragging his hands up further, skimming over the delicateness of your collarbone before his touch switches to one of stridence and dominance curling around your pretty neck. “A treat you say?” He cocks an eyebrow at you, his tone laced with deep attentiveness and interest.

Hands still holding his tie freeze at his firm gasp, your immediate attention halted under his teasing stare. The demanding pressure against your throat causes a small gasp to exhale, the hair at the nape of your neck rising in trepidation. His thumb rubs along your jawline, sliding his hand further behind to clasp your cheek, a wolfish grin stretching wider at your innocent expression. “I’ll make sure I give you a good break, one that leaves you on bedrest for a few days.” The innuendo slithered between his words doesn’t go unmissed.

He leans, capturing your lips finally with an eager energy, his hands tangling, pushing their way into your locks. The sweet tang of liquor seeps onto your tongue at the merging of lips in a clash of dominance. One he wins in little time, pressing you further into the wall, lips continuously messily crushing on top of one another, the buildup of a year’s worth of yearning and desire. He groans, having missed the taste of you, nothing quite like the sweetness of your lips to send him into a flurry.

Greedy touch starved words mumble out as he peppers heated kisses up your neckline, desperate to mark you once again. Fingers mingle amongst the lusciousness of your hair and tugging at the strands, exclaiming a breathless yelp from you, igniting him further and his teeth sink deeper into your skin, creating purple blemishes.

Breathless moans pant from your parted lips, your nimble fingers attempt to focus on unbuttoning his shirt and are quickly met by his assistance, his hands replace yours with his moving fast to rid it. He enjoys the hurry in which you push it off his shoulders, revealing his tanned, toned and ultimately battled skin, his breath hitching at your needy but still tender touch roaming over his chest. He grasps your ass, squeezing it with a stark contrast harshness, making you moan, before he lifts picking you up.

He moves with ease, striding towards the kitchen island, laying you down spurring a whine of protest from you at the cold marble and unhygienic location. He chuckles, his hands groping your thighs, spreading them wide for him to slither in. “Relax, I’m about to eat, gonna devour you, baby.” His head lowers, peppering kisses along your inner thighs, relishing in the quiet whimpers you pant.

His eyes light up at the way your body reacts, already squirming around, back arching under each sensitive kiss he plants, easing closer to where you want. His fingers brush with teasing touches, leaving your skin burning with a fiery trail, as he discards your shorts. Eyes widening with appetite at the matching and equally skimpy bikini bottom, revealing the adorable soaking wet patch.

He grows restless when he’s hit with your familiar scent and groans deeply, not waiting a second longer before tearing the strings snapping the material off you. His cock strains harder in his pants at the exposure of just how turned on you are.

Like the starved man that he’s become, he delves right in, flicking his tongue out, embracing the taste of your arousal. His hands find comfort wrapped around each of your thighs as he happily buries his face deeper into you, his ears melting at the sounds of your breathless whimpers.

An iron grip tugs, coiling your fingers in his curls, legs already twitching as he assaults your clit with his proficient tongue. A pleasurable moan erupts out of him and he instantly becomes mesmerized by the memory of your taste. Unable to teer his lust blown eyes away, he peers up, drowning in the contradicting angelically sinful view, an overwhelming high washing over him.

“Fucking hell baby…I missed your pussy,” he groans, sending vibrations against your needy clit, making your hips jut to seek more friction. Tightening his grip, he presses your hips down harder on the cold surface, “good girls don’t get greedy.. sit still or I’ll stop.” A desperate whine greets the air and you whimper, trying to keep your squirms still, as he relentlessly laps at you. “that’s it, be a good girl for’me.”

A continuous of broken whimpers cascades from your lips, your brows still furrowing at the agonisingly good pleasure he lavishes you with, tugging on his hair for more. The constant pressure his tongue is installing on your now overstimulated clit clouds your mind, blurring your eyes with an overpowering sensation as your legs squeeze around his head. “Ah.. ah ah fuck Matty-gonna cum oh god-”

He responds by shoving his tongue deeper within you, flicking and sucking in order to get you to fall apart quicker. “That’s my girl.. come on baby.. cum all-” He doesn’t get to finish before your back arches and you yank tight on his hair, a deep cry screaming out as you unravel in ecstasy.

He welcomes your climax with an open mouth, savoring every drop you release. He lifts his head, licking his glistening lips and looking at you with lust blown seductive eyes. His body shifts leaning forwards over you, cupping your cheek, and he smashes his lips on yours in a sloppy kiss, allowing you to taste yourself on his tainted tongue. Groaning at the notion that this is all because of him and his cock twitches ridiculously hard in his trousers, growing impatient.

He pulls his head back, grabbing your hips to maneuver you off the counter, flipping you around and pressing you up against it. His eyes glaze enticingly over your exposed rear and instinctively, he lands a sharp smack on your backside, watching the recoil of your skin. You moan at the unexpected action leaning down on your elbows, waiting patiently for his next move.

He bites his lip grinning and repeats the action, relishing in the darkening of your skin, followed by taking a firm hold on your ass cheeks. His fingers spread them apart to get a better look at your pretty glistening pussy, unable to hold back the hoarse groan at the new dampness you’re creating. “God, I can’t get enough of you.”

The comfortable silence lingers in the room while you take the time to catch your breath, still feeling worn out from his last ministrations. Taking his hands off you, he finally removed his painfully hard cock from his restraints, sliding it on your lower back. He leans down to pepper kisses on your back, creeping up near your ear, nipping at the shell. “Think you can still take me? Been a while.” He teases your entrance, dipping the tip between your folds, smirking at the way your pussy tries to suck him in impatiently, and he hisses out a sharp breath.

“Yes! Yes, I can take you.. I’m still your good girl.” You whine, pressing your ass back to get him inside quicker, and are met with another harsh spank in retaliation making you squeal.

He presses a hand lowering your chest to the counter tutting, “So impatient sweetheart, maybe I should make you wait.” He nudges his tip in teasingly, even just the amount has you stretching out and he releases a small groan, his other hand gripping your hip to keep you still. “Don’t know if you deserve me to move yet.” His words are strained, leaving you unconvinced that he’ll follow through on his words.

“Fuck-” Proving you right, he holds your hip and head tightly, easing in at a treacherous pace, relishing in the needy whine you make. You lay there letting him fill you up torturously, your pussy aching for friction, for movement, for anything more. It squeezes around, his thick cock clenching, and he hisses with a low groan. “Such a needy little thing for me, aren’t you. Can feel you clenching down on my fucking cock.”

He pushes forward further, bottoming you out till his hips hit your ass, and he leans down to kiss your shoulder blades, connecting your bodies together as one. He’s balls deep and his head falls resting on your back momentarily, making brief grunts of pleasure as he gives you a moment to adjust, though it’s really for him as he has trouble focusing on how good you feel. “God you’re so fucking tight baby… I can tell you haven’t let anyone for a while, have you?”

He stubbornly stills, fighting off his own urges for the sweet need to hear you beg for him, his cock twitching agonisingly inside the depth of your snug walls. He reaches down, yanking you back by your hair up to his chest, allowing him to kiss along your neck, enjoying the way you whine and mew at the sensations - desperately needing, wanting him to move. “Matty, pleaseee, I told you I’ve been good.”

A deep satisfied chuckle vertebrates against your ear and he smiles against your skin, “That’s right you have.. fuck, you’re so perfect, so patient and good.” Your breathing shallows in frustrated whines as he still doesn’t move despite the praise.

He pulls at the back strings of your bikini top speaking in a low, disappointed tone, “But that’s not my name now, is it, baby.” His free hand moves to pull at the front part, still tied and snapping it, freeing your tits, his eyes drawn to how they bounce out of their security.

He kisses more against your neck, leaving sweet marks along your skin, his hand groping your breast, toying with the nipple. Relishing in the way you squirm at the overstimulation, your pussy continues to clench around his stilled cock. He groans, his patience and temptation pushing at its fucking limits, and he’s genuinely impressed by his ability not to fall apart yet. “Come on sweetheart, I haven’t even fucked you yet and you’re acting forgetful.”

The intense feeling builds even without the movement of him and you swear you’re descending into insanity in this agony, brows furrowing as you whine. His hand re-wraps around your neck as he whispers his voice hoarse with need, “what’s my fucking name angel?”

“Daddy...Daddy, please i-i need you to move.” He can hardly take it any longer at the desperation in which you plead the words he craved, needing so badly to hear. He loosens his grip on your hair, allowing you to fall forwards against the counter before he pulls back with little warning snapping back into your cunt.

“Oh fucking merlin-,” He groans, his body reacting instantly to the warmth and familiarity that your tight pussy envelopes him, squeezing around him with every thrust. His pace increases with rapid speed, rigorously pounding, unable to contain himself as his hands grip tightly, digging into your hips. It’s been so long since he’s felt this good and he fears he won’t be able to last that long.

He savours the loud moans and whines you sprawl filling the empty room off his kitchen, sounds he missed so badly. They sound just as good as he remembers, having thought about them a lot - but to have you actually underneath him squirming, moaning for him fills him with a deep satisfaction and pride. “Feels even better than I remember..baby,” his brows furrow, eyes falling to watch the way his cock slides in and out of your dripping hole. His hips thrust vigorously, bringing him intense amounts of pleasure and relief.

“Daddy, fuck omg,” the pleasure the rushes through you forces your eyes to shut, squeezing tightly, hands aimlessly searching around for something to grab, reaching back to dig your nails into his waist. The pleasure is so overwhelming, your stomach turns with how deep he’s filling you up. “Fuck- so good, so deep ugh.”

He grins, “yeah feel good sweetheart, you miss me, fucking you so deeply?” The two of your bodies sweat and move together, rocking, your hips bruising against the cold marble. He lifts your left leg, bending it up onto the counter, causing his cock to slide deeper and graze hard into your cervix. “This is just for me isn’t it, this fucking pussy..all mine no matter how long apart we spend.”

The combination of his possessive words and hips brushing intensely on your g-spot has you babbling incoherently, reminding you how quickly you’re able to fall apart under the touch of this man. “Yeah-h, yeah yeah- fuck, Matty.” Nails digging in further to his skin for the needed stability as your mind breaks apart, mouth caught in a constant parting as high moans continue to tumble from you.

He laughs breathlessly, his voice hoarse as he feels himself edging the line of tipping over, “that’s fucking right,” his hips continue to shift driving further into you, “such a good girl for me always.” He doesn’t last a second longer, his hips jutting sloppily, “fuck- baby need you to cum.”

Whining a desperate broken sound, you don’t need to be told twice, allowing your forehead to fall onto the counter at the break of your orgasm ruptures through you. Twice as hard as it’s ever been, twice as loud - you don’t hold back, screaming - crying his name in a harmonious praise.

He’s never felt more aroused than from the words falling from your precious lips, before he sputters his cum deep inside you with a choked husky moan. Panting heavy breaths, trying to calm his beating heart in the aftermath of his ecstasy, rubbing your leg soothingly before releasing it from its perched position. He pulls back, quickly tugging his briefs back on, watching your slumped body stay stagnant against the marble.

“Angel, you okay?” A small hum follows, acknowledging his concern, and you sigh pleasantly when he scoops you up, carrying you down to his bedroom. He kisses your temple before laying you down and fetching a warm cloth to tend to you. You lay recovering in euphoric bliss as he tidies you up, pressing delicately tender kisses to your inner thighs.

A cluster of thoughts swirl like leaves caught up in the wind blustery inside your mind, and you speak, wanting to ponder one aloud. “Matty..?”

He looks up at your soft, drained voice. “Yeah?”

“Why did you come?” It’s been boggling your since you saw him in the police station, and there lyes a hint of vulnerability in your question.

He shifts, straightening up in order to look down on you fully. He doesn’t mean to stall the question, but gets lost in the sight before him. You always were too beautiful for him, of course, being a Zabini that came naturally. His eyes warm as he flickers his gaze down on the uncertain expression your face holds. “You called.”

It’s a simple answer, but it holds so much depth within it, causing a stir inside your chest to churn. His words reveal to you any uncertainty about the relationship you two held, he cared. More than you had expected too. Meeting his gaze, the two of your breath hitches in this moment of intensity.

He leans down, hovering over you coming closer so that you can now feel his shallow breath, “I’ll always come, no matter what happens between us.” Trying not to open up too much the hanging weight of the situation still perching on his shoulders. The notion that you still are Blaise’s sister, a forbidden fruit, always pushing tempting on him. You had been right, he couldn’t say no to you, his control always becoming a crumbling mess under your touch.

He smiles matching your own, unable to ignore the way his heart pounds harder in his chest at how your entire face lights up. With gentle hands he cups your cheek, “you’re a godamn dream y/n.”

His words hold a somber meaning, with hints of honesty and yearning that you distinguish. Offering a small understanding smile back, you slide your hand over his, feeling his warmth, “I’m glad I can always count on you, Matty, no matter what.”

He nods, too overwhelmed to say anything else, and presses a kiss to your forehead, nose and lastly, those pretty lips. The kiss radiates a different fresh energy than earlier. A recurring emotion you hadn’t felt from anyone other than him taking you back to your days together. There is heart and craving mingling amongst the tips of your tongues, encapsulating the passion you share for one another.

“One day…I promise to make it come true. I won’t give up on us. I know we haven’t even begun our own story.” Your smile at his determined words, any hints of vulnerability evaporating and replaced with a blossom of affection and fondness for him.

His eyes gaze lovingly at you as he falls laying beside you, arms pulling you closer till your head rests over his heart. The girl who he holds tightly now, had reignited the fire within him - an old flame - and he couldn’t help but want to burn alongside you, no matter the danger. To catch fire with your energy and dwindle down the wax together as one.

Masterlist

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle smut #best friend brother trope #best friend brother mattheo #Slytherin boys #slytherin boys smut #zabini family #I POURED MY HEART AND SOUL INTO THIS #IM SO PROUD #longest fic as wellll ive ever written

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theodorenmyth · 1 month ago

Text

A Sky Without You II.

Pairings ; Theodore Nott x M!reader

Summary ; After the heartbreak, you and Theodore slowly find your way back to each other—late-night talks under the stars, genuine apologies, and quiet moments that show how much he’s changed. He’s patient, gentle, and clearly hurting too. You’re hesitant, but his sincerity breaks through your walls. You begin to laugh again, smile again, and bit by bit, let him in. Hogwarts watches in quiet awe as you return to your kind, radiant self—waving at portraits, helping first years, and becoming the bright star everyone missed so dearly.

A/N ; thank you so much for being patient and waiting for the last part, aka this one. I love you all so much and thank you for supporting my fics 🥹 it literally makes my heart flutter everytime you guys comment on my silly lil fics :3 Please, enjoy!

Warnings ; Heavy emotional angst, past emotional manipulation, mentions of depression, slow healing, soft reconciliation

Word count ; 6.5k+

You found a letter two days later.

Slipped into your astronomy journal, right between your sketched diagrams of Orion’s Belt and a list of new star names you made up when sleep wouldn’t come. You stared at the parchment for a long time, hesitant fingers brushing the edge.

The letter was written in careful, trembling ink. Like every word had been rewritten a dozen times and still didn’t feel like enough. There were faint smudges at the corner of the page—maybe from rushed hands or maybe from tears. You didn’t know which made your chest ache more.

You unfolded it slowly.

'I don’t expect you to ever forgive me.'

'But I want you to know that I stopped letting them laugh.'

'I told them what they did. I told them who you are.'

I told them how I fell in love with the boy who named 'constellations after freckles and believed in second chances like they were science."

'They said sorry. But I don’t think that’s enough.'

'So I’ll say it too. As many times as you need.'

'I’m sorry.'

–Theodore

You read it once.

Twice.

A third time.

And then you held it to your chest like it was a heartbeat you’d forgotten belonged to you. You didn’t cry. Not yet. But something cracked under your ribs, something that had been ice-cold for weeks.

And in that stillness—somewhere between heartbreak and healing—you folded the letter and slid it gently back into the pages.

Not thrown away. Not forgiven. But kept.

Because even the stars needed time to burn before they shined.

The Astronomy Tower felt warmer now.

Maybe it was the season shifting into spring. Or maybe it was just that for the first time in weeks, you weren’t the only one trying to heal.

You could hear the wind rustling before you even pushed open the heavy door. The night air was crisp, scented with damp stone and starlight. That familiar ache pulsed in your chest the moment you stepped inside.

Theodore was already there.

He stood at the far edge of the tower, facing away, his silhouette half-drenched in moonlight. The hem of his cloak fluttered in the breeze, but he didn’t move. Not even when the door creaked behind you. Not even when your soft footsteps echoed faintly across the stone floor.

He looked like he hadn’t moved in hours.

You took him in quietly for a moment. How his posture was rigid and tight, like even standing there was a punishment he welcomed. His head tilted just slightly upward—toward the stars. Toward the sky you used to teach him to love.

You hadn’t planned to speak.

You hadn’t planned to come.

But your feet had carried you here anyway. Like gravity. Like a force older than reason.

He finally turned when you stepped closer.

The way his eyes widened—it almost broke you. As if he hadn’t truly believed you’d come. As if he’d seen a ghost. His lips parted, but no sound came out. His fingers curled tightly into the edge of the stone railing to steady himself.

You stopped a few feet away. Not too close. But not far, either.

“I got your letter,” you said softly.

His breath hitched.

You reached into your pocket and pulled it out, a little crumpled from how many times you’d opened and read it. You placed it gently into his hand without touching him.

“It’s not enough,” you said, the words trembling but honest. “But I don’t think you’re lying.”

Theodore stared at the letter like it weighed more than it should.

“I’m not,” he whispered. “Every word was real.”

You looked up at him.

“Then tell me one truth. Just one. Something real. Something that isn’t a lie or an apology.”

He swallowed hard, eyes never leaving yours.

“I loved you before the kiss,” he said. “Before the bet ended. I loved you when you started talking about constellations like they were people. Like they had hearts. Like they were home.”

You froze.

He took a small step closer, careful not to spook you. “You told me Altair reminded you of me. You said it pulled its match across the sky no matter the distance.”

You nodded faintly, unable to speak.

“You were so excited,” Theodore murmured, voice tight with emotion. “You pointed and smiled and your eyes lit up like magic. And I—” His voice cracked. “I remember thinking, 'Gods, he’s beautiful. He’s too good for this.' And I kissed you.”

Your chest tightened.

“I kissed you because I couldn’t hold it in anymore,” he said. “And then I went and ruined it. Because I was weak. Because I let them laugh. Because I didn’t know how to be good enough for something so bright.”

He looked down, blinking quickly.

“I know I don’t deserve a second chance,” he whispered. “But I swear, I never wanted to hurt you.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Raw.

You let the words hang there. Let them settle into the cold stone of the tower. Let the wind carry them into the sky—into the stars you used to name together.

“I didn’t think you were listening,” you finally said, your voice low.

Theodore met your eyes again.

“I always listened,” he said, softer than before. “I just didn’t know what to do with everything I heard.”

You turned to the sky again, unable to bear the weight of his gaze.

The stars were painfully bright tonight.

“I still come here,” you said. “Not for you. For me. Because it’s mine. It was always mine. I’m not giving it up just because you’re in every memory.”

Theodore nodded slowly.

“I wouldn’t ask you to.”

You stared at the constellations, tracing invisible lines in the air.

“You see that one?” you whispered. “That’s Lyra. It’s where Altair’s match lives. They only get one night together each year—when the bridge of magpies forms between them.”

He nodded.

Your voice dropped. “I always hated that story. But… maybe I understand it better now.”

He said nothing.

But when you turned your head slightly, you saw it—his expression cracked open, bare and fragile. Regret carved deep into every line of his face. But beneath it… something else. Something desperate. Human. Hopeful.

“I haven’t forgiven you,” you said, almost gently. “Not even close.”

“I know.”

“But I came back,” you whispered. “And I don’t know what that means yet.”

Theodore blinked rapidly.

“Maybe it means I’m not done with the sky,” you added. “And maybe it means you’re not completely dead to me.”

He let out a shaky breath that was almost a laugh.

“Can I stay?” he asked. “Just here. Just with you. For a little while.”

You hesitated.

Then—without looking—nodded.

“Fine,” you murmured. “But don’t talk. I don’t want to ruin the sky with your voice.”

A soft breath of relief left him, almost a smile.

He leaned beside you, not touching, but close enough to feel the heat of him.

You both tilted your heads upward.

And for a few minutes—quiet and slow—the two of you watched the stars.

No lies. No jokes. No forgiveness.

Just space.

And maybe, just maybe, the start of something new.

The air, still crisp, wrapped itself around your shoulders as you slowly took a seat on the familiar ledge of the Astronomy Tower. You didn't offer Theodore a place beside you—not at first. You simply sat there, hugging your knees to your chest, eyes turned toward the sky as if you were bracing yourself.

And maybe you were.

Theodore hovered at a distance. Silent. Unsure.

The stars were scattered across the inky black canvas above you, constellations whispering your name, waiting to be noticed again. You could feel them calling. You could feel the sky exhale when you looked up—like it had missed you.

You finally spoke. “That’s Vega.”

He blinked. “What?”

You pointed, barely lifting your hand. “There. That bright one. She’s part of the Lyra constellation.”

Theodore followed your gaze.

“Vega is one of the most luminous stars in the night sky. They say it burns blue and white—like it's always on the edge of something. Like it’s never really settled.”

Your voice sounded different. Softer. Older, somehow. Like someone who had lived through a galaxy of hurt and was learning how to speak again.

You didn’t look at him as you said, “She used to be the North Star.”

Theodore stepped closer, slow and hesitant, until he was standing beside you. You didn’t move away.

“Used to?” he asked, voice careful.

You nodded. “Stars shift over time. The Earth wobbles, and the stars follow. They don’t stay fixed forever. What used to guide us might change.” You looked down. “Even the stars move on.”

He sat beside you. A safe distance. Just enough to feel his presence, but not his touch.

“I was never your North Star,” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to.

The silence between you was louder than any answer.

For a while, you both just sat there.

Quiet. Looking up.

Breathing the same air.

Grieving the same heartbreak.

Theodore broke the silence first. “After I left you that night—after the Hall—I couldn’t breathe.”

You didn’t look at him.

“But I told myself it was fine. That I did what I had to. That it was over. That it was just… a bet.”

He laughed—short, bitter.

“And then I started seeing your smile when I closed my eyes. Hearing your voice when I walked past the library. I’d catch myself turning toward the Gryffindor table just to see if you’d laugh when Granger said something annoying. I waited for your notes under my door. For your rambling about planets. For anything.”

Still, you said nothing.

“Then the notes stopped. Your smile disappeared. You vanished. And I realized… I hadn’t just lost a bet. I’d lost the best thing I ever had.”

You inhaled shakily.

“The worst part?” he added. “You still look beautiful when you're broken.”

You finally turned toward him. Eyes shining—not with hope. But with honesty.

“That’s not a compliment, Theo.”

“I know,” he said. “I know it’s not. I just— I don’t know how to talk to you without falling apart.”

You looked down at your lap.

The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t cruel this time.

It was heavy. Tired. Familiar.

“Tell me about the stars again,” Theodore said, almost a whisper.

You blinked.

“What?”

“Tell me what you used to tell me. About the sky. About the way it burns.”

You stared at him, unsure if you should. Unsure if your words could ever be just words again—not pieces of you you’d regret giving away.

But still, you turned your eyes upward.

“There’s a constellation called Scorpius,” you murmured. “Greek myth says it chased Orion, the hunter, across the sky. When Orion died, the gods placed them on opposite sides of the heavens, so they’d never meet again.”

Theodore looked up too.

“That’s sad.”

You shrugged. “Not really. They’re still in the same sky. Just… far apart.”

You felt him shift slightly beside you.

Closer.

Not close enough to touch—but enough for the warmth of his body to reach you.

“I’m not asking to be Orion again,” he said.

You glanced at him.

“I just want to stay in the same sky.”

You swallowed hard.

It wasn’t an apology. Not yet. It wasn’t forgiveness either.

But it was honest.

And that meant something.

You tilted your head back again.

“…That’s Andromeda,” you whispered. “It's named after the mythical princess Andromeda, daughter of King Cepheus and Queen Cassiopeia, who was chained to a rock as a sacrifice to appease a sea monster, Cetus, and later saved by Perseus, who married her and placed her among the stars.”

Theodore looked where you pointed.

“It's kinda romantic if you ask me.”

You didn’t know why you told him that.

Maybe it was for him.

Maybe it was for yourself.

But when he looked at you—really looked at you—his eyes weren’t sharp anymore. They were soft. Ashamed. Full of something broken but beautiful.

Hope.

Slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a crumpled paper.

He handed it to you.

You opened it.

It was a sketch—shaky and rough, but unmistakably drawn with care.

A boy, sitting on a tower. Reaching up to the stars.

The boy looked like you.

He had a soft smile.

Your chest ached.

“I started drawing after you stopped talking to me,” Theodore admitted. “It was the only way I could hold onto the parts of you I didn’t deserve.”

You stared at the paper, your hands trembling.

Then—without saying a word—you leaned your shoulder into his.

Just barely.

Just enough to say, I’m still hurt. But I’m still here.

Theodore closed his eyes.

And for the first time in months, both of you breathed under the same stars, under the same sky, and let the weight of the past drift into the silence.

Just a little.

Just enough.

The sun begins to rise over Hogwarts in hues of gold and soft lavender, painting the sky with delicate strokes of warmth. And for the first time in what feels like years, you don’t dread the light.

You blink slowly, the soft morning chill curling around your frame. A coat—his coat—is wrapped snugly around your shoulders. The Astronomy Tower is quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the occasional rustle of the wind, brushing through your hair like invisible fingers.

And then you look beside you.

Theodore.

Asleep.

His head leans slightly to the side, lips parted just enough for soft breaths to escape. His lashes fan over his cheeks like ink against parchment. The light is hitting his face perfectly—like even the sun couldn’t help but adore him in that moment.

He looks younger like this.

Softer.

And despite everything, your heart aches with something other than pain.

You reach into your pocket, pulling out a small Polaroid camera—one you haven’t touched since before the heartbreak. You used to take pictures of the stars. The moon. Even his sleepy expression during Astronomy class when he nodded off against your shoulder.

You hesitate for a moment… then lift the lens.

Click.

The camera hums, and the photo slides out with a quiet snap.

You shake it gently as it develops. The image forms slowly—Theodore in the golden morning light, his chest rising and falling softly, lips faintly curved like he’s dreaming something sweet.

You tuck the photo into your coat pocket with a tenderness you didn’t know you still had in you.

And then he stirs.

His eyes flutter open, squinting at the sun before they land on you. The world slows for a second. He blinks once, then smiles—sleepy, crooked, real.

“Morning,” he murmurs.

“Morning,” you reply, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He stretches, arms lazily reaching above his head before slumping back down, hair even messier than usual. “Did we fall asleep here?”

You nod. “You drooled on my sleeve.”

He groans dramatically and rubs his face. “Gods, I’m disgusting.”

“You always have been,” you say, but your smile is warm. Teasing.

He laughs under his breath, and the sound is so familiar—so him—that it loosens something tight in your chest.

“I didn’t want to leave,” he says softly, gaze fixed on your face. “Even in my sleep, I think I knew that.”

You glance away, the early sun making you squint. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I wanted to,” he says immediately.

You don’t know what to say to that.

But your silence doesn’t push him away.

Instead, he reaches out and brushes your knuckles with the back of his fingers—just a light touch, as if asking for permission.

You don’t pull away.

Not today.

────────────────

Later, in the Great Hall

When you walk into breakfast, everything looks the same.

Sunlight pours through the enchanted ceiling. Owls swoop between tables with letters clutched in their claws. First years chatter about a pop quiz in Transfiguration, and someone at the Ravenclaw table knocks over a goblet of pumpkin juice.

But something’s different.

You feel lighter. A quiet warmth sits in your chest, like stardust still clinging to your ribs.

You slide into your usual seat at the Gryffindor table, still wearing Theodore’s coat, your hair a bit messier than usual.

Hermione spots you first.

“Y/N,” she says slowly, brows knitting. “Where were you last night?”

Harry peers up from his plate. “Didn’t come back to the dorms.”

“I checked the Map,” Ron says with a mouth full of toast. “You were in the Astronomy Tower. What were you doing—stargazing alone?”

Neville furrows his brow, concern soft on his face. “You’re okay, right?”

Dean leans forward. “Do I need to hex someone?”

Seamus already has his wand halfway out.

Even Lavender and Ginny pause their whispered gossip session to glance your way. Fred and George are suspiciously quiet, exchanging a look before Fred raises a single brow.

You open your mouth—trying to explain, trying to deflect—but you’re saved by the doors of the Great Hall opening with a slow, purposeful creak.

Theodore walks in.

He looks sharper than usual. Uniform pressed. Hair slightly tousled but intentional. His eyes scan the tables until they find you.

He walks—no, strides—across the hall without hesitation, every Slytherin head turning to follow him.

He stops right in front of you.

In front of your entire friend group.

The hall goes quiet. Not dead silent, but noticeably hushed.

You stare at him, breath stuck in your throat.

He says nothing.

Just pulls a folded paper from inside his coat.

And places it gently on your plate.

You slowly open it—hands trembling just slightly. Inside is a carefully hand-drawn star map. Your favorite constellations. Every corner is scribbled with tiny notes.

'This one’s your favorite. You always smiled when you pointed it out.'

'I stayed awake last night trying to remember them all. Did I get it right?'

'For what it’s worth… I still see you in every single one.'

Your heart clenches.

You can feel every single one of your friends staring at you, speechless.

Theodore leans down, his voice low, only for you.

“You said you wanted something real,” he murmurs. “I’m trying.”

And just like that, he straightens—and walks away.

You blink, stunned. The map still in your hands.

And then the questions come.

“What the HELL just happened?!” Seamus blurts.

“Did he—was that—WAS THAT A STAR MAP?” Dean chokes.

“He gave you a gift?” Ginny stares, eyes wide. “Did we slip into an alternate universe?”

“Are you two… are you talking again?” Hermione whispers.

Fred leans in with a dangerous grin. “Do we need to have a word with him?”

“Did he kiss you again?” Lavender asks, not even pretending to be subtle.

Neville frowns with gentle confusion. “He looked… different.”

You don’t say anything. You just slide the map into your bag and take a bite of your eggs, pretending not to smile when everyone keeps staring.

Then, across the hall—

At the Slytherin Table

Theodore slides back into his seat next to Mattheo, looking far too pleased with himself for someone who just publicly walked across enemy lines.

The second he sits, Mattheo elbows him hard in the ribs.

“What. The fuck. Was that?” he hisses.

Draco’s jaw is practically on the floor. “You gave him a star chart? Have you lost your bloody mind?!”

Pansy leans across the table with a devilish glint. “Was it enchanted? Wait—did you write little notes?” she gasps. “Oh my god, you wrote little notes.”

“Was this some kind of poetic grand gesture?” Astoria snorts. “Who are you?”

Blaise raises a brow. “You’re smiling like an idiot. I don’t like it.”

Theodore leans back in his chair, stretching casually, completely unfazed.

“I like him,” he says simply.

The table explodes.

“YOU—WHAT?!”

“You can’t just like him, Theo!” Mattheo says, dragging a hand down his face.

“That wasn’t the deal!” Draco mutters.

“The deal’s off,” Theodore replies, calm, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I fucked up. I’m fixing it.”

Pansy stares at him, stunned. “You really mean it.”

Theodore gives a slow, lopsided grin as he steals a piece of toast off Blaise’s plate.

“I do.”

And far away, at the Gryffindor table, you glance over your shoulder—

And catch him looking at you.

This time, you don’t look away.

────────────────

After Charms Class

The corridor spills open with students pouring out like water—laughing, groaning about homework, some still half-asleep from Professor Flitwick’s monotonous lecture.

You’re one of the last to leave, your bag slung lazily over your shoulder, your feet dragging just slightly.

You don’t expect anyone to be there.

But he is.

Theodore stands across the hallway, leaning casually against the wall, his hands in his pockets, tie still slightly crooked despite the morning’s neatness. When his eyes find yours, something in them softens—like it always does now.

You raise an eyebrow. “Waiting for someone?”

He shrugs, walking toward you with an easy pace. “Yeah. You.”

You roll your eyes, but the smile pulling at your lips betrays you. “Bit clingy for someone who dumped me in front of the whole school.”

“Making up for lost time,” he replies without missing a beat.

You huff a quiet laugh, brushing past him as you walk down the corridor. He falls into step beside you, shoulders brushing lightly.

It’s… natural.

Surreal, but natural.

From behind you, soft footsteps falter. Then you hear it.

“Was that Theodore Nott?”

You glance back—just slightly.

Cedric Diggory is standing by the archway with a few of his Hufflepuff friends. All of them are watching the two of you like you’ve grown second heads.

“Wait—are they… talking?” someone whispers.

Cedric tilts his head. “I thought they weren’t even speaking anymore?”

“I thought he hated Nott,” another mutters, clearly confused. “Didn’t he cry for a week straight after—?”

“Shh!” Cedric cuts in, nudging his friend with his elbow. “Look at his face.”

You don’t hear the rest.

But if you had, you would’ve caught Cedric’s small, hopeful smile and his quiet murmur.

“Good. He’s smiling again.”

You and Theodore keep walking, unaware of the stares behind you.

Neither of you speaks. You don’t need to.

The silence between you now is different—comforting, not empty.

When your fingers brush his, neither of you flinch away.

And just for a moment, it feels like the stars might be aligning again.

────────────────

The library has never been this quiet.

And it’s not the usual kind of quiet—the strict, uptight silence enforced by Madam Pince’s hawk eyes. This silence is gentle. Comfortable. Laced with warmth and slow breaths and pages turning softly under candlelight.

You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor in the Astronomy section, surrounded by open books and star charts, fingers trailing along hand-drawn constellations. The tower windows are misted with fog, the evening sun just barely casting golden streaks across the floor.

Theodore sits beside you. Not too close. Not too far.

The distance between you is filled with unsaid things—but it’s softer now. No longer heavy. No longer laced with betrayal.

You don’t talk much.

And yet, he keeps passing you books. Ones he found on your favorite stars. One with a fold-out map of lunar phases. Another annotated with old notes in your handwriting—he must’ve borrowed it from your side of the shelf.

He says nothing.

You say nothing.

But when your fingertips brush as he passes you a book, and he doesn’t flinch—

You feel something shift.

Like stardust settling.

Like gravity pulling you toward him again.

────────────────

Later that night.

It’s past curfew when you sneak out to the Astronomy Tower.

Again.

But you’re not surprised when you hear footsteps behind you halfway up the spiral staircase.

“You’re predictable,” Theodore says softly.

“So are you,” you mutter, not turning around.

When you step onto the tower platform, the night air kisses your cheeks and the stars blink patiently overhead.

You sit. He follows.

You both lean back against the stone railing, knees pulled to your chests, gazes lifted skyward.

The silence stretches—but it’s never awkward anymore. Not with the stars watching.

“You know,” you whisper eventually, “when I was younger, I used to think stars were the souls of people who died.”

Theodore turns to look at you, intrigued.

“I thought the brighter ones were people who left behind love,” you continue. “The dimmer ones… left pain.”

“And what about the ones that flicker?”

You glance sideways at him.

“Those are the ones who regret things.”

He doesn’t say anything after that.

But he moves closer.

Just an inch.

Then another.

Until your shoulders touch.

He reaches into his coat pocket, pulls out something wrapped in a handkerchief, and silently places it in your hands.

You unwrap it slowly.

It’s a tiny brass telescope.

Old, a little rusty, clearly secondhand—but beautifully cared for.

“Found it in Hogsmeade,” he murmurs. “Figured you’d like it.”

You stare at it for a second—then up at him.

Theodore’s not looking at you. He’s staring straight ahead, jaw clenched like he’s afraid of your reaction.

“I love it,” you say, voice quieter than the wind.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for hours.

Three Days Later — The Moment

It happens in the library again.

Theodore sits beside you with a cup of tea he smuggled in, sugar, no milk—just the way you like it, while you flip through a book on star clusters.

There’s a footnote in the corner of one page, faded and scribbled in messy ink.

'That one looks like a bowtie.'

'It’s a nebula, Theo.'

'Whatever. Bowtie.'

You snort softly.

Then you giggle.

Then—before you know it—you’re laughing.

Not the fake kind. Not bitter or tired or forced.

Real.

Bright.

Sharp.

Alive.

Theodore’s head snaps up like he can’t believe it.

Your laugh echoes through the aisles, bouncing off the shelves, cutting through the heavy quiet that’s followed you for weeks.

And it feels like breathing for the first time.

He’s just staring at you, lips parted, eyes wide.

You freeze mid-laugh. “What?”

He shakes his head slowly, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.

“You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he whispers.

And for once, you don’t shrink away.

You just smile—soft, small.

Still healing.

But smiling.

────────────────

Later That Evening — Back at the Tower

You stargaze together again. This time, lying side by side on an old blanket Theodore transfigured out of his robe.

He lets you talk again—about planets and black holes and why Betelgeuse is your favorite star name. He hums at all the right moments. He even repeats some of the facts back to you later, like he’s actually memorizing them just to impress you.

“You know,” he says after a while, voice barely above a whisper, “I think I used to be a flickering star.”

You glance over at him.

He meets your eyes.

“But now… I think I’m starting to burn brighter.”

You stare at him.

And for the first time in weeks—months, maybe—

You reach out.

And lace your fingers with his.

No words. No promises.

Just light.

And warmth.

And the slow return of something that feels like hope.

It began with a smile.

Not a grand one. Not the radiant grin you were once known for. Just a small, fragile curve of your lips when Neville offered you a piece of chocolate during Herbology and told you, “You don’t have to be okay yet. But… we missed you.”

You smiled.

And it cracked something open.

The next day, you nodded at Nearly Headless Nick as he passed by in the corridor. He paused midair, looked back in astonishment, and whispered, “Welcome back, dear boy…”

On your way to the Astronomy Tower that night, you waved at the Fat Lady.

She gasped.

“Oh!” she said, clutching her pearls. “My darling! You’ve returned!”

────────────────

Then a laugh.

Just one.

You didn’t even notice it at first.

It slipped out of your throat during Charms class when Seamus accidentally enchanted his quill to start tap dancing on the table. You were scribbling notes when it happened, and the sound caught you so off guard—you laughed.

Bright. Clear. Unapologetic.

And the whole class turned to look at you.

Eyes wide.

Seamus froze. Lavender gasped. Professor Flitwick dropped his chalk. Hermione covered her mouth, and even Harry and Ron stared like they’d seen a ghost.

And then Harry smiled.

“Merlin,” Ron whispered, stunned. “He’s really laughing.”

You blinked, confused. “...What?”

Hermione’s voice cracked when she spoke. “You’re laughing, Y/N.”

And that’s when you realized…

You were.

And for the first time in weeks, it felt real.

────────────────

From that moment, it was like the floodgates opened.

Suddenly, you weren’t just alive.

You were present.

You started waving to portraits again—the Fat Lady practically shrieked in delight when you greeted her one morning with a bright “Hello, love!”

You helped a pair of nervous first-years find their Herbology class and walked them all the way there, smiling the whole time.

You enchanted a Hufflepuff’s broken quill so it would write smoother.

You gave Luna your last chocolate frog because “The stars say you’ll need something sweet today.”

You told Professor Sinistra she looked radiant under moonlight after an evening class, and she turned to hide the way her face flushed.

You were back.

And everyone felt it.

The air in Hogwarts had changed.

The silence that had haunted the castle for weeks—the hole that your absence had created—was slowly, sweetly, joyfully filling back up with you.

────────────────

By the end of the week, the entire school was buzzing.

“Did you hear him laughing again today?”

“He helped a fifth-year with their Transfiguration without being asked.”

“He waved at every portrait on the third floor—EVEN the one that hates Gryffindors!”

“He complimented Snape’s robes, I swear to Merlin, and Snape didn’t even insult him back—just blinked.”

“It’s like Hogwarts is breathing again.”

────────────────

It wasn’t just your house that noticed.

The professors did too. Professor Sprout nearly cried when you complimented her newest Devil’s Snare. Flitwick paused mid-lecture to smile at you when you corrected a charm with your usual, “Only if you want to avoid spontaneous explosions.”

You returned to the front row in Astronomy class, hand flying up at every question, excitedly correcting Professor Sinistra with a “Well, actually, Betelgeuse’s diameter is over a thousand times that of our sun—”

She stopped. Blinked.

And smiled with tears in her eyes.

“…That’s absolutely right, Mr. L/N.”

────────────────

The Slytherins?

They noticed too.

They noticed everything.

The way the air shifted when you walked past. The way other students lit up like lanterns in your presence. The way your laugh—genuine, golden, infectious—echoed through the stone halls like it had never been gone.

And it haunted them.

Because they remembered.

They remembered how they laughed when Theodore dumped you in the Great Hall.

They remembered the way you stood frozen, the light draining from your eyes like the last flicker of a dying star.

They remembered what they took from you—and what they had cost Hogwarts itself.

They missed your ridiculous facts about galaxies over dinner.

They missed your voice humming on the Astronomy Tower wind.

They missed your jokes, your stories, the way you’d scold them gently if they cheated off someone else's parchment—“That’s not how learning works, darling.”

They missed you.

Astoria caught you laughing with Draco one day—just a small, harmless thing—and her stomach twisted in guilt.

Mattheo muttered under his breath, “We ruined him.”

Lorenzo couldn’t look you in the eye.

Even Blaise… apologized. To Theodore, at first. But eventually, with his eyes low, to you.

“I didn’t know we were breaking the sun,” he said.

You didn’t respond. But you smiled politely.

And that, somehow, was worse.

────────────────

You returned to Astronomy Tower like you never left it.

Blankets, books, starlight.

And Theodore.

He waited for you every night, letting you lead. Letting you be.

He brought snacks you liked. Held your hand when you let him. Sat silently through your excited rants about black holes and nova cycles and how Saturn’s rings might vanish someday.

He didn’t speak much.

He didn’t have to.

You felt him there.

One night, you caught him asleep under the stars, his head tilted slightly, lips parted in a breath.

And without thinking, you pulled out your Polaroid and snapped a picture.

The photo developed in your hands—soft, shadowed, perfect.

You laughed—quiet, heartfelt—for the first time in weeks.

────────────────

The whole castle rejoiced.

Peeves burst into spontaneous poems about you.

The Fat Lady played your favorite tune on her lute every time you passed.

House elves left your favorite desserts in the common room.

Even Snape stopped deducting points from Gryffindor every time you sneezed.

Students passed by you in the corridors just to wave.

Others slipped you folded notes.

'We missed your laugh.'

'Thank you for helping me with Potions last year.'

'Hogwarts is brighter with you in it.'

And one from a tiny second year.

'You're my favorite star!'

────────────────

But nothing hit harder than the moment it all clicked—when the entire school realized just how much they’d missed you.

It was a snowy afternoon.

You were in the courtyard, surrounded by a group of first-years who were trying and failing to make enchanted snowflakes that glittered mid-air. You crouched beside them, smile wide, showing them how to hold their wands steady and how to whisper the incantation with just the right breath.

“You don’t force it,” you said, guiding one small hand with your own. “You invite the magic.”

The snowflake burst from her wand—delicate, shimmering, perfect.

She squealed. The other kids cheered. And just like that—you laughed.

Loud.

Joyful.

Unburdened.

It echoed off the castle walls.

And nearly everyone nearby stopped.

Across the courtyard, Theodore looked up from where he stood under the arches. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t even smile.

But his eyes lit up.

As if the stars had returned to the sky.

That night, you returned to the Astronomy Tower.

With Theodore beside you.

He let you ramble about Sirius and Rigel and the lifespan of red giants. He nodded, absorbing every word, even repeating one or two back when you forgot where you left off. He pulled his cloak tighter around your shoulders when the wind picked up and didn’t say a thing when you leaned against him—quiet, content, finally at peace.

And before either of you could fall asleep, you pulled out your old Polaroid camera and snapped a photo of him, eyes closed, mouth parted, asleep beneath the stars.

The camera clicked softly.

And you stared at the photo as it developed—Theodore’s face framed by constellations.

You smiled.

And whispered, “Perfect.”

The school was right.

Hogwarts had missed you.

Its portraits missed your daily waves. The ghosts missed your “good mornings.” The professors missed your endless questions. The halls missed the echo of your laughter. The students missed the quiet kindness you offered like it cost you nothing.

And now, with every word, every smile, every act of warmth—

They got it all back.

You weren’t just returning to yourself.

You were healing.

You were whole.

You were still the same boy who kissed stars into the air with his voice and brought life to even the coldest corners of the castle.

Y/N L/N—the boy who remembered every portrait’s name, who stayed after class to help clean cauldrons, who corrected professors gently and helped students kindly—Hogwarts’ brightest star—had returned.

BONUS SCENE.

The fire had burned low, crackling softly and casting flickering golden light across the Gryffindor common room floor.

It was well past curfew. The castle slept. But you didn’t.

You were curled on Theodore’s lap, arms wrapped tightly around his neck, face tucked into the crook of it like you were trying to mold yourself into him. His back was pressed against the base of the couch, legs stretched out across the floor. Your entire body was clinging to him—like if you let go, he’d slip away into smoke and shadows.

“You’re still worried I’ll vanish, huh?” he whispered, barely a breath.

You mumbled something incomprehensible into his neck. Maybe his name. Maybe “don’t leave.”

Theodore tightened his hold instantly.

“Not going anywhere,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss on top of your head. “I swear."

You sighed against his throat, finally shifting just enough to nuzzle deeper into the hollow of his shoulder. Your arms looped tighter. You were completely wrapped around him like he was gravity and you were scared of floating away.

And Theodore?

He’d sit like this forever if you wanted.

A sudden click echoed across the room.

He flinched slightly, just as a soft flash lit up the space.

You stirred groggily.

Theodore slowly turned his head—and there was Harry Potter, standing near the staircase, holding your beloved Polaroid camera like it was Excalibur. A smug grin was plastered on his face. Hermione stood beside him with both hands pressed to her mouth, visibly vibrating from the sheer adorableness of it all.

“Oh my Merlin,” she gasped in a whisper-shriek. “I can’t—it’s—it’s too precious!”

“Potter,” Theodore said flatly, not bothering to move. “Why do you have his camera?”

Harry just shrugged, shaking the developed photo between his fingers. “Maybe I borrowed it. Maybe I saw the two of you snuggling like sappy lovebirds and thought, this is going in the scrapbook.”

“Give me that—” Theodore reached, but Harry danced back, holding the picture out of reach.

“Too late. It’s canon now,” he grinned, backing toward the stairs.

Hermione lingered just a second longer, eyes soft, practically squealing. “He looks so safe with you,” she whispered. “Thank you, Theo.”

Theodore blinked. He wasn't used to people thanking him like that. Not fondly.

He looked down at you again—your lips slightly parted, your arms still clinging, one leg tucked around his waist as if to anchor yourself. Your hair was mussed. Your brow relaxed. You looked like you belonged there.

You did.

He ran his fingers through your hair again, slower this time.

"You're safe," he whispered, for you and for himself. "I’ve got you."

The fire crackled.

The camera whirred again—Harry, upstairs now, clearly taking another shot through the stair rails before disappearing upstairs with Ron and Hermione following him from behind, their laughs fading.

Theodore groaned but didn’t bother moving you. He just kissed your temple, rested his head back against the couch, and whispered.

“Sleep, starboy. Let them take their stupid photos. I’m not letting go.”

Not tonight.

Not ever.

He stayed like that.

All night.

Holding his brightest star.

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