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jakesaverse · 2 days ago

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QUIET LIKE US | 01

Genre: angst; fluff; college au; university au

Pairings Jake x reader; mentions of ex boyfriend; some other guys from school

Synopsis: After your ex-boyfriend dies, the blame nearly drowns you. So you run-to a new town, a new school, where no one knows your name or your past. You try to disappear, keep your head down, stay alone. But then you meet Jake Sim. He's quiet too, not by choice-just the kind of person everyone avoids. As the two of you grow closer, you realize he's hiding something, just like you. And no matter how far you run, some stories follow you.

warning: mentions of death; grief; insecurities; toxic relationship

Notes: Hey! Thanks so much for reading the first chapter. Just a heads-up—some parts might feel repetitive or oddly paced, but that’s all intentional. Also, it’s a made-up story, so don’t worry too much about the details like college or trains being 100% accurate. Hope you enjoy the first chapter 🤍

intro > HERE

——

You sit in front of his tombstone, the heavy weight of two weeks pressing down on you like a stone. The coolness of the morning air does little to ease the ache in your chest. In your hands, you clutch the obituary you were supposed to read at the funeral. It’s still folded, still crumpled in places, but you can’t bring yourself to open it. Not yet.

His mother’s words from that day echo in your mind. “It should have been you.” You want to scream at the memory, but instead, you swallow hard, fighting the rising flood of tears. It hurts. It all hurts. The raw emptiness that comes with this, the brutal fact that he’s really gone, that you’ll never feel his arms around you again, never hear him laugh or feel his touch.

You finally open the obituary, feeling a sharp ache in your chest. The first words hit you like a slap to the face, and you try to steady your breathing as you read.

“Chul-soon Kim. Beloved son, partner, and friend. Forever in our hearts.”

You blink rapidly, biting the inside of your cheek, trying to push the swelling anger down. This isn’t who he was. Beloved. He didn’t deserve that label, not after everything. Not after the promises he broke.

You take a breath, feeling the sting of your words as you keep reading, your hands shaking now.

“Chul-soon was a man with big dreams, with a heart full of passion and a will to make his mark on the world. He was loved by many, a true friend to those who knew him.”

The tears come now, stinging your eyes as you choke out a bitter laugh. A heart full of passion. The irony burns in your chest. He never had that for you, not in the way you needed. You wanted his love, his unwavering devotion. You wanted him to be there, to keep his promises. But he didn’t. He never did.

“Chul-soon lives through his family, friends, and me, YN, the girl who always believed in him, who loved him more than anyone else ever could.”

The paper slips from your fingers as you crumble under the weight of those words. Who loved him more than anyone else ever could. Did he ever truly love you back? Did he? You want to scream, want to throw the paper in the air and curse his name, curse the lies, the broken promises. But instead, all you do is sit there, broken.

“How could you leave me?” Your voice breaks, the words soft and raw. You clutch your hands together, eyes fixed on the cold stone beneath you. “How could you leave me with nothing? I gave you everything, Chul-soon. Everything. I loved you. I loved you so much. And you… you couldn’t even be here for me when it counted. You promised me that you would. You promised… and now, you’re gone.”

The anger inside you flares again, but it’s mixed with the grief, the overwhelming sadness that feels like a weight you can’t shake. You scream, the sound raw and unfiltered. “I needed you, and you left. You left me here with all of this. With nothing. I waited for you. I waited for you and you—”

Your words falter, and you choke on the pain. You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cold surface of his tombstone. The tears fall, thick and fast now. You clutch the paper again, the words on it feeling foreign, wrong.

“Chul-soon loved deeply, with a spirit that could light up a room, and left an indelible mark on the hearts of those who were lucky enough to know him.”

You laugh bitterly, your hands trembling. “He didn’t love me. Not the way I needed. Not the way I gave him all of myself. How can you say he loved me? He never gave me that. He never loved me enough.”

Your voice cracks on the last words, and you break down again, sobbing into the stone. The grief and anger blend together into a suffocating mess. You clutch at the stone with your hands, your heart warring against the love you still feel for him, even after everything.

“I still love you. I still love you so much,” you whisper, your voice small and broken. The words feel like a confession, like a surrender. Even after all the hurt, all the pain, you still love him. You always will. You would always love him, even though he didn’t love you the way you needed him to. You would always be the girl who gave him everything, no matter how little he ever gave back. You loved him, and that was something that would never change.

You sit there for a long time, the paper clenched in your hand, your tears soaking into the earth beneath you. Finally, you stand, legs weak, your body exhausted from the breakdown, but you know you can’t stay here forever. You wipe your eyes, sniffle, and glance at your watch.

You have 45 minutes to get to the train station.

You bend over and kiss the cold stone, a soft, lingering touch, as if saying goodbye to a part of yourself that’s been left behind.

“Goodbye for now,” you whisper. “I’ll always love you.”

A gust of wind rises suddenly, blowing your hair around your face, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like he’s there. Like he’s kissing you back. You hold your breath, letting the wind swirl around you, and you close your eyes for just a second, feeling the soft pressure of it against your skin, almost like an embrace.

And then, slowly, you pull away.

You walk away from his tombstone, feeling the weight of your heart in every step. But somehow, you feel stronger. Like he’s still with you, just a little bit. Just enough to keep going.

You take one last look over your shoulder, whispering one last goodbye to the man you loved, and then you turn, walking away, determined to live — for both of you.

—-

The station is loud. Overwhelming. Voices echo off tiled walls and shoes scuff against the floor like static that won’t stop. Your chest tightens with every passing second as you glance from one blinking screen to the next, your eyes chasing unfamiliar words, train numbers, platforms—none of it sinking in fast enough.

You don’t know where to go.

You spin in a slow, panicked circle, backpack slung over your shoulder, weighing you down like a living thing. Each strap bites into your skin—reminders of the guilt you packed with your essentials. Regret. Shame. The bruised ache of leaving behind a ghost you’ll never stop loving. The zipper barely closes, like it knows it’s holding more than just clothes. It holds pieces of you too.

Your breath hitches as a wave of helplessness rises. You want to scream. To cry. You already did. Your cheeks are still damp from the cemetery, from whispering goodbye and kissing cold stone. You swipe your sleeve across your face again, trying to erase the evidence. Trying to feel like someone who knows what they’re doing.

But you don’t.

You wander a few more steps, scanning signs, heads darting up to boards, luggage wheels clattering beside your feet. You’re in the wrong place. You know you’re in the wrong place, but you can’t move. Can’t think. Can’t—

“Excuse me,” you manage, voice too soft. The woman walking past doesn’t hear you.

You try again. “Excuse me—sorry—do you know where platform seven is?”

The man you ask glances at you like you’re an annoying flyer that brushed his arm, then shrugs. For a second, you want to sink into the floor, to disappear. But then, with one lazy motion, he lifts his hand and points across the station—to the far side, where a narrow stairwell dips out of view beneath a blinking Departures sign.

You blink. Nod. “Thank you,” you say, quiet, but genuine.

You offer him a soft, grateful smile—your first in days—and start walking.

It’s not a long distance, but your limbs feel like stone. Like they’re still half-stuck in the cemetery. In that moment of goodbye. You feel every ache, every step dragging with the weight of what you’re leaving. Not just the place, but the people. The memories. The lies you let grow roots inside your chest. The love that never fit you quite right, but you wore it anyway.

You make it to the platform and find a bench in the corner, tucking yourself beside a pillar as if hiding will make it easier.

Your backpack thumps to the ground.

You slide down beside it, arms wrapped around your knees, and exhale slowly. The platform’s quieter here. Like the silence found you again. You press your palm to your cheek, wiping the last damp streak, and tilt your head toward the tracks.

You’re not ready.

But you have to go.

Because staying would be worse. Staying would mean drowning in the silence, in the should-haves and what-ifs and “It should’ve been yous.”

You breathe in again.

And wait.

—-

The train doors hiss open, and you step inside, holding your breath like it might keep the world from noticing you. The platform air is hot and close, but in here it’s worse — muggy, silent, and too full of strangers avoiding each other’s eyes.

You grab the nearest open seat. It’s fake leather, cracked in the corner, still warm from someone else’s body. The fluorescent lights overhead hum softly. Your knees tap together.

You blink hard. The world tilts — not enough to fall, just enough to notice.The tilt isn’t from the motion of the train, not really. It’s the hollow ache of an empty stomach, the aftershock of tears that didn’t fully fall, the quiet exhaustion of a night spent sleeping in pieces.

You steady yourself with a hand on the window’s cold edge.

Across from you, a couple leans into each other — boy and girl, probably your age. Maybe younger. Maybe not. It’s hard to tell when someone is laughing like that. Their foreheads are almost touching, his thumb drawing idle circles along the seam of her jeans. The way she looks at him makes your chest ache in a place you thought you’d locked tight.

You look away. But your gaze drifts back, like a bad habit.

You shouldn’t stare.

But something in you wants to punish yourself. Wants to press the bruise of the memory, feel how deep it goes.

The train jerks forward, the sudden movement knocking your knee against the metal seat post. You don’t react. You’re not really here anyway.

The couple from before is still across the aisle. His head is lower now. Their fingers are linked between them, loose but sure. The girl has her cheek tilted toward his shoulder, like her body knows how to trust him without thinking.

The train is still moving.

You can hear it — the rhythmic pulse of wheels over tracks, like a heartbeat too tired to stop.

And still, you can’t look away.

Maybe it’s because of how still they are. Or how close. Or because that was you, once. Not on a train, not in Seoul. But with Chul-soon. Before everything went sideways.

The fight wasn’t even about something real. Just a text message. A misread expression. A joke that stung too deep. You were both tired, both too proud, both too sure the other would come back with an apology.

And then —

No time to fix it.

You shift in your seat, the press of your back against the vinyl jerking you back to the present. The pain in your throat builds tight and hot — but you force it down.

The photo in your pocket crinkles softly when you move, the edges worn from your thumb. You don’t pull it out. You just let it be there, warm against your leg like a silent pact not to forget.

The girl across from you laughs — barely audible, private. You turn your face away.

Outside, the city blurs by in streaks of grey and brown. Inside the train, someone’s service dog pants gently beside its handler, tail wagging once when a child reaches out and gives it a soft pat. You watch the tail sway once, twice — a blink of kindness in a world that keeps turning.

And still, somehow, so much of you feels stuck.

—

The train pulled away behind you hours ago, but you can still feel the tremble in your legs.

You didn’t expect it to be so pretty here.

Old brick buildings with ivy crawling up their sides. Tree-lined streets and wide sidewalks. Cafes with chalkboard menus. Cyclists coasting by like they’ve got time to waste. It looks like the kind of place people write poems about.

But none of it moves you.

You walk aimlessly, your backpack slung over one shoulder, the strap digging deeper with every step. A folded campus map from the train station is clenched in your hand, creased in strange angles, already damp from your grip.

You stop in front of a fountain in the middle of town. A couple sits on the edge, legs tangled, laughing over something neither of them will remember in a week. You look away.

This town is beautiful.

And you feel absolutely nothing.

Did I make a mistake?

The thought crawls slowly and steadily.

New school. New city. No one I know. Nothing I understand. What was I thinking?

Your fingers tighten on the map. It flutters a little in the breeze, like even the paper is ready to leave you behind.

A shout breaks the stillness.

You look up.

Across the street, a woman in a red apron stands in front of a store, yelling at someone.

“No dogs allowed! Can you read? I said—”

The guy she’s screaming at stands still, calm, his hand resting on the head of a golden retriever in a blue service vest.

The vest is unmistakable. So is the look on his face — exhausted. Not angry. Not even surprised. Just tired in a way that says this happens a lot.

You stop walking.

For a second, you almost move toward them. Almost say something.

Instead, you just stare.

Service dogs. That’s the second one you’ve seen today.

Maybe the town is full of people who are broken in ways you can’t see.

Maybe you belong here more than you thought.

Maybe you need one too — not for your body, but for your mind.

But you stay quiet.

You stay quiet because you always do. Because you’re afraid if you speak, you’ll say the wrong thing. You’ll make it worse. You’ll mess something up.

Like you always do.

A voice you thought you buried resurfaces, sharp and close:

“You ruin everything.”

Chul-soon’s voice.

“You think you help, but you don’t. I wish I never met you.”

You remember the way his face looked when he said it — cold, like it was easy.

Then, the switch. The fake smile. The way his arms pulled you in that same night like he hadn’t gutted you.

“I didn’t mean that. You know I didn’t. You’re all I have.”

The worst part?

You believed him.

You shake your head hard, like the memory will fall out if you rattle your brain enough.

When your vision clears, the guy with the dog is looking at you.

You’d been staring.

Too long.

Too obvious.

His eyes are dark, unreadable. He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t wave. Just tilts his head a little — like he’s trying to figure out who you are. Or why you look so haunted.

You drop your gaze immediately.

Your feet start moving before you can think. Away from him. Away from the woman still yelling. Away from the version of yourself that almost got involved.

You keep walking.

Because if you stop again, you might fall apart in the middle of this storybook street.

And you’re tired of crying where strangers can see.

—

You walk until your feet ache.

Until the straps of your backpack have worn themselves into your shoulder, like bruises that belong there.

Until the weight in your chest stops choking you—not because it’s eased, but because it’s settled in the way grief does when it realizes you’re not fighting it anymore.

Eventually, you find a small café tucked between a bookstore and a laundromat.

The windows are fogged. A row of mismatched plants lines the sill — some thriving, others shriveled at the edges like they gave up mid-bloom.

It smells like steeped leaves, lavender, and something faintly burnt.

The bell above the door jingles when you push it open.

No one looks up. That’s a relief.

There’s a hand-scrawled sign that says Order at the counter.

You stare at it longer than you should, as if it might tell you something deeper.

When the barista asks what you want, your mouth moves before your thoughts catch up.

“Just tea.”

“What kind?” she asks, not unkindly.

You blink. “Green tea please.”

You settle into the corner booth—furthest from the windows, closest to the radiator.

The mug she hands you is chipped on one side, but still holds heat.

You wrap both hands around it like it might anchor you. You don’t drink it.

Outside the glass, life keeps moving.

A kid rides past on a scooter.

A group of girls cross the street, laughing too loudly, lanyards swinging around their necks. Their hair is brushed, their voices easy. You wonder if you’ll ever laugh like that again.

You wonder if you ever really did.

You let the steam hit your face.

You close your eyes.

And then—

You open them again when movement catches in your peripheral.

He’s here.

The guy from earlier. The one with the service dog and the too-tight smile.

He’s sitting near the front, close enough to the door that it’s like he’s still waiting to be kicked out again.

The dog lies at his feet, head resting on its paws. Its vest is still on.

He’s not looking at anyone.

He’s got earbuds in.

His shoulders are hunched like he’s trying to disappear into the small wooden chair.

And you feel it—this sharp, sudden ache in your chest that has nothing to do with him, not really.

You just… relate. More than you want to admit.

The look on his face when that woman yelled. The way he didn’t fight back.

How he let it happen.

You’re not sure what would’ve come out of you if you’d spoken up then.

Something too loud, too messy.

You blink and realize you’ve been staring again.

The guy catches you again. Just a flick of his eyes in your direction.

You look away instantly, heart thudding.

You busy yourself with your tea even though it’s gone cold.

Pretend to check your phone.

Pretend you have somewhere to be.

You don’t. Not yet.

You think about walking over. Saying That woman was wrong, or I’m sorry, or You don’t deserve that.

But the words get caught somewhere deep in your throat.

So you do what you’ve learned to do:

You disappear quietly.

You toss the rest of the tea in the sink even though it’s not self-serve.

The barista says nothing. Neither do you.

Outside, the wind’s picked up.

You tighten your jacket around yourself—not because you’re cold, but because it gives your hands something to do.

You take out the campus map again.

The paper’s soft now from all your handling, your thumb smudging the ink where it folds.

There’s a star marking the residence halls. That’s where you’re supposed to be heading.

But all you feel is the distance between here and there.

The ache of not knowing where you belong yet—if anywhere.

You fold the map and tuck it away.

And you start walking again.

Not toward anything. Just… forward.

—

You glance down at your phone.

10%.

The number glows up at you, uncaring. A quiet nudge that time’s up. That you can’t linger out here anymore, pretending the sidewalk is a destination. Pretending you don’t have a place to be.

You tuck the device back into your pocket like it’s something precious, something that’s helped you survive the last few hours—which it has. You would’ve gotten lost three times over without it. Every turn, every wrong corner, every unfamiliar street, that little blue dot kept moving forward even when you weren’t sure you could.

And now, that dot’s destination is right in front of you.

The dorms.

Your new… home.

The word hits harder than expected.

You stop walking, frozen just short of the door. There’s a weird, involuntary chill running up your spine like your body’s catching up to the reality of everything. Home. That word feels too big. Too warm. Too much pressure for a place you’ve never even stepped foot in.

You’re not sure what you’re supposed to feel—excitement? Gratitude?

But all you feel is the heavy roll of your stomach and the rising buzz of anxiety in your chest. The kind that’s too slow to scream and too strong to ignore. Your throat feels tight, and you have to swallow twice just to breathe.

You shouldn’t be this scared.

And yet, your palms are clammy, your vision slightly hazy with nerves, and you wonder—really wonder—if anyone has ever thrown up before entering a dorm room.

You wipe your hands against your jeans, force a breath in, then out. You whisper a quick, shaky “Come on,” to yourself, and let your feet carry you across the threshold.

The building hums with low voices, footsteps echoing down the hall, distant laughter. Everything feels too loud and too far away all at once.

You pull out your phone again, screen dimmer now, its light weaker than before. You click open the email for the third—or fourth—time.

Room 303.

Third floor. You tap it like you’re trying to press the number into your memory, as if forgetting it would undo this whole thing.

The stairs are a blur. The hallway even more so. It all smells like new paint and floor polish, too clean to feel lived-in.

And then, finally, it’s there.

A plain door. A silver number plate: 303.

You stand in front of it and let out a slow breath.

But the email didn’t just tell you the room number.

It also told you there’d be no roommate.

You knew that. You read it earlier. A single room. Peace. Space. You needed it. You still do.

But now, standing here with your heart in your throat and your hand hovering over the door handle, it doesn’t feel like peace. It feels like punishment.

It feels like confirmation of what you’ve always feared—that you’re just… meant to be alone.

Like somehow the world is always making room for other people to find each other and choosing to leave you with echoing space.

Your fingers twitch at your side. The hallway around you is quiet. No one’s looking. No one’s here.

You close your eyes for a second and lean your forehead gently against the door. Just to breathe. Just to keep from unraveling.

Then, after a beat, you lift your head.

And you open the door.

—

The door clicks behind you.

Not a grand arrival. No applause. No air of celebration.

Just the quiet seal of a room swallowing you whole.

You stand there for a second—maybe two—looking at what’s supposed to be home now.

It’s almost too clean. The kind of clean that feels like no one’s ever lived here. Like nothing’s ever happened in this space. No laughter, no arguments, no memories.

Just blank walls and a fresh sheet of silence.

You take a step inside. The air is stale, like it’s been holding its breath.

Your backpack slides off your shoulder and lands beside your foot with a heavy thud. You exhale like it’s the first breath you’ve taken in hours.

The room is small. A desk against the wall, its wood chipped at the edges. A built-in dresser with stiff drawers. A twin bed with a mattress wrapped in plastic that crinkles when you brush against it. A single overhead light buzzes faintly above. The window near the ceiling lets in only a narrow slice of daylight—enough to remind you that the outside world still exists, but not enough to make you feel part of it.

You walk to the bed and sit slowly, testing it like you’re not sure it’ll hold you. The mattress doesn’t give much. It’s firm and unfamiliar, and it smells like cleaner and nothing else.

You blink hard. It’s a lot of nothing.

You start walking again to your backpack, pull the small zipper and look through your supplies. A toothbrush. A sweatshirt. Two pairs of jeans. Four very worn shirts. Two protein bars. Twowater bottles. And a single notebook.

And then, near the bottom, your fingers brush against the worn corner of the picture.

You pull it out gently.

It’s old—creased from being handled too many times.

You and Chul-soon, back when smiles came easier. You’re laughing in the photo, looking away from the camera. He’s squinting at you, mid-laugh himself, like whatever you said had just caught him off guard. The way he’s looking at you—like you were the only person in the world.

You run your thumb across the glossy paper. The corners have dulled from all the times you’ve folded it, kept it close, hidden it like a secret.

It’s the only piece of him you let yourself bring.

You walk across the room, hesitating only slightly before placing it on the edge of the desk—half-visible, tucked against the wall like maybe it won’t hurt so much that way.

But it does. It still does.

You look around again. At the bed that feels too wide for one person. The desk with nothing on it. The air too still.

Your chest tightens.

You reach for your phone. The screen lights up—8% battery left.

A quiet nudge that the day is still moving, even if you’re stuck.

You sigh.

Your fingers tremble slightly as you set the phone down next to the picture.

You sit back down on the bed, both feet on the ground, hands resting in your lap.

It should feel like a beginning.

But it doesn’t.

It feels like walking into a story where your name was never written into the plot.

Still, the faint light from the high window stretches across the floor now, catching a shimmer off the photo. It paints a slanted glow across your backpack and the floor beneath your feet.

And something about it makes you pause.

A flicker. Maybe not of hope. But maybe something quieter.

The smallest breath of okay, even if you’re not yet okay.

—

You barely closed your eyes before the nightmare took hold. The weight on your chest felt like it would crush you, the darkness swallowing you whole.

Chul-soon’s voice rang in your ears, sharp and accusing, each word a dagger to your heart.

“You ruined everything. You ruined me.”

His face twisted in anger, his eyes dark with blame.

“I wish I’d never met you.”

The words echoed over and over, his voice relentless. You stood frozen, incapable of speech, incapable of running. Just absorbing.

Then came the silence—empty and bitter.

“You’ll never be enough, will you?”

It was a whisper now, colder somehow.

“Not for anyone.”

You woke with a gasp, your body flinching like it was trying to outrun something. But there was nothing there. Just the unfamiliar stillness of your new room.

For a second, you didn’t move. You just stared at the ceiling, the shadows creeping long across the walls. The heaviness still sat on your chest, not quite as sharp, but just as unbearable. You blinked a few times, breathing slowly, trying to shake the dream from your skin. But the chill wouldn’t leave.

Eventually, you stood and shuffled to the bathroom, towel and toiletries in hand. The shower water was tepid, the kind that never gets warm no matter how long you let it run, but you stayed under it anyway. Letting it rinse away the sweat, the nightmare, the thoughts you didn’t want to name.

You did your night routine quickly—if you could even call it that. Just the basics: brush your teeth, wash your face with a travel-size cleanser, pull your damp hair into a low bun.

Back in your room, you reached for your bag and dug out a clean outfit to lay out for tomorrow: a pair of ripped jeans and a soft, worn-out t-shirt. It wasn’t much, but it would do. It had to.

Your stomach growled then, deep and hollow. You hesitated, then unzipped the front pocket of your backpack and pulled out your sad excuse for dinner—two protein bars. That was all you had left. That and thirty crumpled dollars.

You sighed and shoved the bars back inside, grabbing your water bottle instead. Maybe if you drank enough, the hunger would go away. You took slow sips, ignoring the way your stomach twisted.

The silence was thicker now, heavier. You glanced at your phone, which was now charging on the nightstand.

6:35 p.m.

You were supposed to meet your “assigned guide” tomorrow—someone to show you around campus. It felt a little juvenile, like something made for kids starting kindergarten. But who were you to judge? Maybe some people needed that. Maybe you did too.

Still, the idea of meeting someone new… having to talk, to pretend like you were fine, like you were excited to be here… it made your stomach twist again.

You flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the ceiling, counting the marks in the paint. One. Two. Three.

Maybe if you stayed like this, time would pass faster.

Maybe by tomorrow, you’d feel like a person again.

But for now, you just laid there—full of water, empty of anything else.

Trying to settle in.

Failing.

—

It was morning. At least, that’s what the sliver of sun filtering through the blinds insisted.

But it didn’t feel like morning.

It felt like nothing had changed.

Your eyes fluttered open to the same ceiling, the same cold air, the same ache in your chest. You hadn’t slept—not really. Not when every time your eyes closed, he was waiting for you.

Chul-soon’s voice still clung to the inside of your skull like smoke. You’d woken up three, maybe four times throughout the night, each time breathless, each time a little more broken than the last. It was like your body refused to believe he was gone—so it summoned him back in the cruelest ways possible.

His words echoed even now:

“You ruined me.”

“You’ll never be enough.”

You turned your head against the pillow, wiping at your face. Again. The skin under your eyes was raw. Puffy. You didn’t bother checking the mirror—you knew what you’d see.

You laid there a little longer, the room too quiet around you. The silence made it worse somehow, like it gave your thoughts permission to get louder.

You weren’t sure when the sun had risen. Time had collapsed into itself. Last night bled into this morning like they were the same bruise.

It was supposed to be a fresh start. A new beginning.

But all it felt like was a continuation of grief, dressed up in unfamiliar walls and stiff sheets.

Eventually, you sat up slowly, your limbs heavy like they were moving through water. You reached for the water bottle from yesterday and took a few slow sips, your stomach curling at the emptiness it had gotten used to.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand. A soft reminder.

“Meet your assigned guide at 9 a.m. - Main Quad.”

You stared at the message, blinking hard. Right. That was today. You had to go. Had to get up. Had to act like you belonged here.

You swung your legs over the side of the bed and stood, shaky but determined. You moved like someone else was in control—on autopilot. Reached for the outfit you’d laid out last night: the ripped jeans, the faded t-shirt that smelled like home and hurt. You brushed your hair. Splashed water on your face.

Still, your reflection didn’t look like someone ready to meet anyone new. You looked like someone who had just survived a war.

And in a way, you had.

Only the battlefield was your memory.

And the enemy wore the face of someone you once loved.

You closed your eyes. Took a breath.

And told yourself you could make it through the morning.

Just one more hour.

One more smile.

One more lie that you were okay.

—

You were already sweating by the time you reached the meeting spot for your assigned campus tour. Your shirt clung uncomfortably to your back, and your chest rose with uneven breaths—not just from the walk, but the nerves, the anticipation, the heaviness that hadn’t left your body since you arrived.

You looked down at your phone, thumb hovering over the cracked screen.

Park Sunghoon.

That was the name in the email.

You didn’t know him, not even what he looked like, but just reading his name again made your stomach knot. Not because of him—because he was a guy. Because no matter how many times you told yourself it didn’t matter, you could already feel Chul-soon’s voice slithering in from the corners of your mind.

“So you’re really gonna let some guy show you around? That’s what you call respect now?”

You swallowed hard.

You shouldn’t still hear him. He wasn’t here.

But somehow, his anger never left you.

You were so lost in the spiral of your thoughts that the sudden tap on your shoulder nearly made you jump.

You turned around sharply.

There was a guy standing behind you—tall, dark hair still damp like he’d come straight from a shower, his expression uncertain. Not in a threatening way. More like someone trying not to scare you off.

“Uh—sorry,” he said quickly, pulling his hand back. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m Jake.”

You blinked up at him, confused.

“I think there was a partner switch,” he explained, rubbing the back of his neck. “Were you supposed to be with someone named Park Sunghoon?”

You nodded, slow and cautious. “Yeah… I was.”

Jake gave a small shrug. “He started the tour with someone else by accident. So they reassigned you to me.”

His voice was soft, a little unsure—but not unkind. Still, your shoulders tensed. Something about this—about being alone with a guy you didn’t know, even if it was just a tour—made your pulse skitter.

You nodded again, feeling the words get caught somewhere in your chest. “Right… okay.”

He waited like he expected more, and when you didn’t say anything, he tilted his head slightly.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, trying to recover. “I just… I saw a different name earlier. Wasn’t expecting—”

You cut yourself off before you could ramble. Your mouth felt dry.

Jake offered a small, understanding smile. “No need to apologize.”

You looked down at your shoes.

No need to apologize.

It was such a simple phrase, but it echoed. Loud and low in your chest.

It felt… foreign.

Like something you weren’t used to hearing.

You nodded again, hoping that would be enough. You didn’t trust your voice right now.

Jake shifted his weight a little, looking around like he was trying to ease the silence. “If you’d like, I can show you the popular study rooms. Just to get familiar with the spots people hang out.”

You hesitated.

His voice was gentle. He didn’t seem to be pressuring you. Still, the longer he spoke, the more you found yourself shrinking. Not because of him—but because of yourself. The constant fear of saying the wrong thing, of making it weird, of seeming ungrateful or cold.

“I-I guess…” you managed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jake smiled softly and nodded, as if he’d heard you just fine. “No rush. We’ll go slow.”

He pulled out his phone and glanced at the time. “Actually… maybe it’s better if we start with your classes first. That way you won’t get lost tomorrow.”

You nodded. Again.

Jake looked over your schedule, eyes scanning until he stopped and said, “Oh—we have one class together, actually. Psychology.”

Your stomach dropped.

Psychology.

The one class you were most nervous about. The one that felt a little too close to home. The one you hadn’t even wanted to sign up for in the first place. You hadn’t wanted to talk about minds or trauma or healing or guilt.

You took a step back, your hands twisting at the strap of your backpack.

“Actually, I just remembered… I think I left something in my dorm,” you lied, already moving away. “Sorry—I’ll just… I need to go.”

Jake blinked, caught off guard. “Oh—okay…”

You didn’t wait for the rest of his sentence. You turned, walking quickly, the guilt pressing into your ribs.

Jake didn’t follow.

But he didn’t look surprised either.

Just stood there, quietly sighing. Like maybe… he was used to people running away.

—

You didn’t even realize you were crying until the wind started drying the tears against your cheeks. The moment your feet hit the pavement, you ran—head down, fists clenched around your straps, breaths shallow and sharp in your throat.

You couldn’t catch your breath.

It wasn’t just the embarrassment. It wasn’t just Jake’s kind voice or the way your chest tightened the second he said psychology.

It was everything.

The heat rising in your face. The memory of Chul-soon’s crooked grin as he explained theories with fire in his eyes. The sound of his voice when he yelled. The last conversation you had with him. The way your name sounded like a curse on his tongue.

You turned the corner and your dorm finally came into view. Your legs burned, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t dare. You fumbled your key three times before finally unlocking the door. And the second it clicked—

You were in.

And the sobs crashed over you like a tidal wave.

You slammed the door shut behind you and collapsed against it, sliding down until you were curled up on the cold floor. Your chest convulsed with every breath you couldn’t quite take. Hands shook as you clutched at your shirt, your stomach, your throat—anywhere that ached.

Your brain kept spinning, spinning.

Chul-soon was a psych major.

Of course that’s what triggered it. That stupid word. That one stupid class.

But it wasn’t just that.

It was guilt.

It was panic.

It was the way Jake had looked at you like he was trying to understand—and you ran.

“He was just trying to help,” you muttered to yourself, the words fractured between sobs. “He didn’t even do anything wrong.”

You pressed your palms to your eyes. Tried to rub away the sting. The tears. The memory.

You’re always doing this.

Running away.

Screwing things up.

Making everything awkward.

You hated how easily the spiral came. How loud your mind got when you felt like you’d messed up something small.

But it didn’t feel small.

It felt like proof.

Proof that you didn’t belong here. That you weren’t ready for this. That you were still stuck in a relationship that ended the moment Chul-soon died, and yet somehow hadn’t left you at all.

Eventually—somehow—the sobs dulled. The shaking slowed. You didn’t know how long you sat there, blinking up at the ceiling, chest still sore from crying.

You got up eventually. Splashed cold water on your face in the tiny bathroom. Did your night routine in slow, deliberate motions. Toothbrush. Face wash. Hair tied back.

You drank from the same bottle of water you’d been nursing all day, ignoring the ache in your stomach. There were still only two protein bars in your bag, and only thirty dollars to your name. So tonight, water would have to be enough again.

You looked over at your bed. The one you barely slept in. The one that never felt quite yours.

You didn’t want to check your phone. But you did.

And there it was.

A new email.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Checking in

Hi, this is Jake Sim—your assigned orientation partner (or at least, I think I still am after today).

I just wanted to check in and make sure you’re okay. I’m really sorry if I overwhelmed you earlier or said anything wrong.

If you’re still open to it, I can meet you tomorrow around 7 a.m. to help you find your classes before my own at 8. No pressure, of course—totally up to you.

Jake

You stared at the message, lips parted slightly.

He was apologizing?

But he hadn’t done anything wrong. You had.

And still, your eyes welled again.

You should’ve responded. Should’ve typed back something simple—an apology, at least. A thank you. But your fingers never moved. Because even though you knew he meant well, and even though a part of you genuinely felt sorry, another part of you still twisted everything into guilt. Into shame. Into something ugly and undeserving.

So, you did what you always did.

You blamed yourself. And then you shut down.

You closed the email. You didn’t reply. You told yourself you’d respond later. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never. Ghosting him felt easier than facing the weight in your chest, the echo of Chul-soon’s voice asking how you could move on so quickly. How you could look at another guy—even platonically—and not feel like a traitor.

Maybe if you shut your eyes—and your whole world—you wouldn’t feel like you were betraying him.

Maybe then, you could pretend you were still his.

Still enough.

You curled into your bed, pulled the blanket over your head, and forced yourself not to care.

Not about the email.

Not about Chul-soon.

Not about the fact that you had no idea where your first class was tomorrow…

…or that your assigned orientation partner might very well be in it, too.

—-

taglist: @ikonsiconic @hvseunq143 @invsomnixa1 @wwwtxao @addictedtohobi i @kristynaaah

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treedaddypuff · 2 days ago

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Excessive Force : Tom Ludlow x Fem Nurse Reader (COLLAB W/ THE INCREDIBLE @johnwickb1tsch) - Chapter Map Thirty-Two

(The pretty flower images are taken by @reallongwire💗💗💗)

TW: angst, nsfw, dark topics

As soon as he has you bundled safely into the car and is driving away you really start to cry, finally cracking under the stress of it all. “I’m so sorry, Tom.”

“Hey, hey.” He reaches for your hand, squeezing it in his massive paw. “It’s ok, baby. You’re safe now.”

“I don’t deserve you,” you sniffle, gripping his hand like a lifeline.

“Cut that out right now.”

“But I lied to you.” You start to cry harder, hating yourself even more.

“I know. I knew you were lying about something, sweetheart. I know you thought it was the only way to save me, but you shoulda told me. You just shoulda told me.”

“I was afraid you'd kill him.”

He doesn't really try to refute that, glaring at the road ahead. Finally he answers, “I know you think that all I do is hurt people, but I got a few other tricks in my bag.”

“I’m sorry I said that. I know you do what you do to help people. I don't want you to change. I–”

I love you. Please don’t change for me.

He waits for you to go on, but you chicken out. “I’m sorry,” you say again. “How…did you find me?”

“I came to the hospital, to give you something…Because I know that I can be an incredible dick, and I don’t have a right to tell you what you can and can’t do.” He brings your hand to his mouth, kisses your raw knuckles. “Christ, I just wanna lock you up away from the rest of this shitty world. I just wanna keep you safe and soft, baby. But I know that isn’t realistic. I know that you need to help people, to put yourself on the line, or else…you’re not you.”

He might as well have given you a cardiac thump, with how much that hurts your heart. Like a physical blow, taking your breath away—a realization that Tom thinks the same of you as you do of him…That he would even place you so high on a pedestal of strength wrecks you completely.

All you can do is sob, say his name, cling to his heavy hand like a buoy in the stormy, dark ocean of your adoration.

Once the only thing that’s left of you is a hiccuping, tear soaked hump in the front seat, he goes on, timidly reaching over to wipe your face with his thumb, bundle your hair at the back of your neck, cradle the side of your face, let you lean into his heated palm.

“Your coworkers told me you were off tonight, and that’s the first place I thought to look.”

Somehow, there are more tears left inside of you, which should be impossible considering you’ve cried a river’s worth so far. “You thought I would cheat on you? Purposefully?”

“I…” Tom stops himself, and after a long pause, starts again. “After what happened with Cheryl…It made me even more paranoid. Hyper aware, I guess. I just had a feeling that something bad was happening, with you, and that Julian was the best place to start looking. And when I heard what that fucker said through the door, a part of me did feel relieved, because it meant that you wouldn’t hurt me.“

You and Tom Ludlow. You are much more alike than you would have ever thought. Because beneath that tough outer shell he shows to the world, there is a soft, loving man who just doesn’t want to get hurt again.

You want to kiss his face, but you’ll settle for the middle of his palm. “I’m so sorry.” You say it again.

He says your name, and when you look over at him, there are tears in his eyes, too—running down his cheeks in shiny rivulets under the passing lights of LA.

“But,” he goes on, “as soon as I walked into the emergency bay I knew there was something wrong. I could feel it. That’s why I was trying to keep you in bed with me. I had this feeling you were in trouble, and I was right. I’m a detective, remember?” He tries to smile through the tears.

Detective? You’re starting to wonder if it’s not his great sleuthing that helps him read you like the alphabet…You’re starting to wonder if Tom Ludlow just has a sixth sense when it comes to you.

“I promise, from now on, I’m going to just…tell you if something’s going on,” you assure. “I promise, but only if you do the same.”

He thinks on this, and you’re both quiet for a long time; two broken, lost souls trying to find a new way home through the city of angels.

***

It’s you who talks first, once you’re back in the hotel room. “Do you still want to be together?” You dare ask, gripping the edge of the leatherette desk chair so hard your nail splits a seam open in the top. You focus intently on the yellow stuffing that bulges out, rather than look anywhere near those dark, beautiful eyes.

You’re confused, when he barks laughter. “You think you could ever get rid of me? Baby…” he cups your cheek, big shoes and long legs suddenly replacing the swivel chair, framing the outside your own sneakers, and tilts your face up to look at him. “If you want to, yes. Yes. If you want me, you have me. All of me. I’m yours.”

You could scream in joy, but instead you grab him by the collar and pull him down for a kiss.

You feel him smile against your mouth, and even though it hurts your face you kiss him harder. You’re dazed when he pulls back to look at you, the side of your head swollen and bruised where Julian punched you. Your ice pack is sitting cold and forgotten on your thighs. “Goddamn, honey. You know I’ve had rookies take less of a hit than this from a perp and quit? You are tough as fucking nails.”

You shrug, even though his praise warms your insides, better than hot chocolate–or rum and eggnog–on a cold winter day. “I can’t believe you faced that monster all by yourself for me.” The wonder in his big brown eyes makes your heart do flips all over again. Is this what it’s going to be like, being with this man? Falling in love, over and over again, every day? “I feel like you rode off to slay a dragon for me. Does this make me the princess in the tower?” he asks with a shiteating grin.

Now that you finally feel safe, and maybe more importantly to your sanity, safe in your standing with him, you can laugh about it. “You were still my knight in shining armor in the end,” you point out.

It’s his turn to shrug, though you can tell from the way his dark eyes shine that he’s pleased. That he likes to be your hero. That he eats that shit up, and for once…you’re ok with that. You’re ok with the thought of letting this man take care of you, not because he wants leverage over you, but because he wants to, because he cares about you…

Before meeting him, you never thought such things were real.

“Speaking of shining, don’t forget your present.”

You watch as he retrieves a little blue velvet box from his back pocket and presses it into your palm. Inside, is a tiny pendant on a golden chain.

“Is that…A chihuahua?!” You ask, bubbles of laughter already spilling out of your tummy.

“It’s you,” he wheezes, barely able to talk around his own hysterics. “Remember?”

You fall into him, shaking with giggles, pressing your wet eyes into his shirt. “I can’t stand you.” Because you can just picture him, in the jewelry department of your closest mall, unable to stop chuckling as he hand selects this blinged out little dog for you, thinking he is the funniest motherfucker to ever walk the earth…and being completely right about that.

Yellow and white crystals pavé a plated, big eared shape, with huge black eyes and a dainty nose. You look at it for a long time after you stop laughing, marveling at how pretty it is. You’ve never, ever had something like this. Something so personal, from someone you care so deeply about.

“I love it,” you tell him, handing it back.

He looks confused, until you turn around and lift up the back of your hair for him. He presses his lips to your ear, kissing the dangling cartilage and clasping your new favorite thing ever to exist—besides the man himself—onto your throat. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” He asks, nuzzling into your hair.

You giggle, reaching up to hang on the back of his neck, leaning against him and steadying yourself while he sways with you in his arms. “I do,” you whisper, and maybe you still don’t fully think you are, and maybe you never will, but in your heart you know that Tom absolutely does, and in his presence you feel blessed by the great Aphrodite herself.

He carries you to the bed, with his arms around your waist, and braces each hand at the side of your head, looking down at your collar with…something stormy in his eyes. Maybe it solidifies this for him—his intimate gift around one of your most vulnerable places—that you are, indeed, his.

“Take your scrubs off,” he says, still looking at your neck where there are bruises under that lurid gold chain. “Let me see what he did to you.”

You would joke, say something like “you’ve just been waiting to get me out of my scrubs, officer Ludlow”, but his eyes have that serious black sheen to them and his mouth is pulled into its intense, no funny business frown, so you wordlessly comply.

“It really could have been worse…” you try to soothe him, as you see the anger burning hotter and hotter for each little discoloration on your skin, until meeting his eyes is like staring into a magnesium fire.

You have to look away.

“Baby,” he tries to comfort you, though his voice is rough with badly concealed rage. With his gentle lips upon your necklace of bruises he promises, “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you ever again. I promise you that.”

“You can’t promise that,” you sigh, your eyes sliding closed as he lulls you with those maddeningly soft kisses. “I don’t need you to promise that.” Because when something inevitably happens…you hate the thought of him making it his fault. “The world is a big bad place,” you say, running your hands through his silky soft hair, comforting him as much as he is comforting you. “And you make it so much better to live in, Tom. For me. For others…”

He gives everything, and you hate yourself all over again, for the way you threw that in his face earlier. But his strong arms wrap around you, and it’s almost as though he can squeeze the doubt from you. The loathing. The fear…until all that is left is the warmth he calls up inside you. You know it’s love, and you know that it gives you a particular strength, a particular purpose, that you never had before.

You sigh as his gentle lips make their way down your chest. He glares at the marks for a moment, before seeming to remember they’re his. It makes you chuckle a little, because if you don’t laugh about it you’re going to cry, and you’re so tired of crying at the moment. “He didn’t really…touch me,” you try to soothe him again. “LIke…we tried to kill each other, but I don’t think he kissed me even once.” You think you’re telling the truth, at least. It’s all kind of a blur.

“Honey, that was foreplay for that motherfucker, and you can’t convince me otherwise. Turn over.” With a contented sigh you let him guide you, laying on your belly with your bare ass out in the air. The way this man looks down at you makes you feel like a bombshell. Betty Page or Marilyn Monroe, and there’s that fuzzy warmth spreading through your bones again. You sigh as he traces the curve of your bare spine, over the sensitive swell of your behind. Lightly, he thumbs the stripes on your thigh, his fingertips feathering over your tender flesh. As painful as that had been for you, the contrast of Tom’s careful touch thrills your abused nerves in a way that is extra maddening, and you squirm beneath him.

“Hmm. Does my pretty girl like that?” he purrs, and for the moment your faculty for language absolutely escapes you. You manage a moan into the bedclothes, and as you feel him shift down your body you can barely sit still beneath him. His lips on the back of your thigh, ghosting over your aching, welted flesh is…heaven, if you’re being honest. This man will be the end of you, and you will go smiling all the way.

His kisses start to trail higher, and again you whine. “Tom…”

“Hush, baby. I have to test something.”

How is it possible, after the night you’ve had, for this man to render you into a giggling, molten mess of joy and nerves? “Tom!” you protest again, or maybe you’re begging at this point, as his soft lips and seeking tongue reach the apex of your thighs, leaving trails of fire in his wake. Your hips move of their own accord, angling yourself like an offering. The moan he makes as he tastes you resonates in your womb, in your bones, in the depths of your heart where no one else could ever reach.

“Hmm,” he muses, his voice gone deep, and rich and you think you could cum just from him talking at your vagina. “Just as I suspected. You taste like you’re mine.”

You shimmy for his viewing pleasure, still burning with embarrassment even though he’s seen you bare and wet and swollen so, so many times. It maybe won’t ever get easier, having his five o clock shadow scratching your inner thighs while his eyes eat you up before his mouth gets a chance.

He kisses the swell of your ass, and you laugh, burying your face into the sheets. “Thomas!”

“Oh, I forgot something.” And the warm heat of him is gone from between your legs, wrenching an involuntary growl of protest that melts into a little hiss as his lips touch the particularly tender welt on the arch of your foot.

The tip of his tongue replaces his mouth, and you try your best to stay still while he balms the sting on your feet with his saliva.

“Jesus fucking Chr-ist,” you hiss, “that’s… not… fair.”

But it sparks hot pleasure in your belly, the kind that flips and churns and bites. Your toes curl down against the sheets and he gently guides them back to his mouth with a little tsk—that fucking mouth. It will be your death someday, maybe when you’re old enough to have an actual heart attack from a good orgasm.

…Although, the last one he pulls from you tonight, with dried blood still on his knuckles and your skin ten times more sensitive from Julian’s abuse—you smile to yourself as you think of how much it would spite him to know that Tom is finding a way to make such sweet pleasure out of his pain—might just be the final nail in your coffin.

He tastes, and you ache, and you whine, and you ask to cum, rutting against the bunched sheets between your legs with shameless abandon, and he laughs because he’s evil and terrible and wonderful and he’s all yours. His teeth, his tongue, his little loving suckles find your palms, your shoulders, the sides of your breasts.

When his mouth gets somewhere between your waist and thigh, you abandon all hope, and begin incessantly writhing, prompting his strong body on top of yours, those deadly hands pinning you so softly and safely and securely into the bed.

“Feel better, baby?” He asks, finally settling his lips at your ear, flicking with his tongue, sucking on your flesh.

“Fu-uck!” Because he sheaths himself in your pulsing little cunt, tip nestling your cervix.

You didn’t even notice him taking his jeans off, let alone lining himself up with your entrance. But there he is, filling you up, and you whimper helplessly against the stretch.

He grips the base of your hair, setting a languid pace, nipping at your shoulder blades, fucking one of those slow, teeth gnashing, screaming orgasms out of you—and then another, and another, until that’s all there is and ever will be.

***

You call and put your four weeks in at the hospital, and then spend the rest of the long night applying to different places on your phone. Being a nurse has its benefits, like proverbially throwing a rock down a stream with ‘nurse looking for work’ written on it and finding a job. There’s one in particular you have your eye on—children’s hospital critical care unit.

You can’t sleep at all for some reason, even though the space between Tom’s biceps looks particularly cozy tonight. You lay with him—on him, under him, beside him—for a long while, and even as he drifts off, you stay wide awake.

He’s beautiful, but sometimes he snores. It amuses you, at first…then concerns you; how in the world are you going to convince Tom Ludlow to get tested for sleep apnea?

You regrettably win the fight against the sandman, and wriggle out from Tom’s grasp. He unconsciously groans, and tenses tighter around you, and it’s heart melting that he’s trying to keep you here even in his sleep.

You call Sheila, because you need a girls day, and some perspective in all this besides the masculine kind. Talking to her for an hour and half in the bathtub is just what you need to nudge yourself between Tom’s arms and fall asleep.

***

A soft kiss on your cheek as your eyes open, and you smile up at your very own personal Hercules. “Hi,” he says.

“Hey,” you tell him, fingers pulling through his growing frock of hair.

Sun peeks through the blinds, softening him in golden yellow. Your chest feels pleasantly tight, because you know that he is yours and you are his and you can’t think of anything you could want more than that. You’re so glad, that he didn’t give up on pursuing you—you’ve never felt so full of life and love.

It’s terrifying.

“I love you,” he says simply, like you already have heard it a million times from him before. Like you’re ten years into the relationship and married and secure. Like it’s true.

And he’s so warm, laying over you. And he’s so painfully beautiful in all that brimming sunshine. And he’s so good. So himself. Of course, you love him. From the moment you saw him bleeding out on the floor of the hospital, loving him was inevitable.

“I don’t want you to have to change for me,” you reply, because it’s the thing you need to say rather than want to say.

He holds your eyes with his own, steaming them in that dark, warm coffee brew. Rubs his thumb over your chin, down the side of your neck, over your collar, watching your skin pimple under his touch. “For years, I’ve done what needs to be done, no matter the cost, and no matter if it’s actually the right thing to do. Because I didn’t care about anything, especially not myself. But I found someone to care about, more than anything or anyone. So, I can’t promise that I’m not changing for you, because I’ve never felt quite like this—cared quite like this…I’ve never wanted to just…live this much. Live to be with you. But I can promise that you aren’t making me do anything, baby. Whether you like it or not, I would give up everything for you. Because I love you.”

“Tom…”

“You don’t have to say it back,” he tells you, smiling a kiss into your cheek. “It’s okay.”

“I’m just… scared,” you admit. “Not of you. I’m scared because I love you, too. I love you so much it hurts, Tom. My heart feels like it’s going to explode. But I’m so scared.”

You haven’t been this vulnerable with anyone in years. It makes you feel more exposed than your bare naked flesh does. It makes you feel like you’re in a big theatre with a thousand caramel eyes all pointed at you. Every part of you is in the open, every crease and dimple, every fear and hope and desire, and you have to screw your eyes shut tight to avoid fainting beneath him.

“I know,” he says, pushing your hair back from your forehead, thumbing at the little chain around your throat.

Right. Of course he knows. Of course. There’s nothing you can do to shock this man

—to expose even more of your vulnerable psyche. He misses nothing with those spotlights he calls eyes. And that does make you feel a little better. Because he. Already. Knows.

When you peek to look at him again, he laughs at you, rolling his hips against yours to get your eyes nice and wide open.

“Oh,” you say, as he presses your thighs apart to settle more snugly between them, his naked flesh balmy and comforting like a warm day at the beach.

If his skin is the shore, his eyes are the choppy, wild sea, and you have to close your own again to avoid drowning.

“M‘so sore,” you whine, fingers tugged into his hair while he kisses your budding nipples.

Sore might be an understatement. Your body is a livewire, buzzing hot and bright at every little touch. You wonder, through the haze of overwhelming sensation, if this is what it will always be like with him and how you’ll ever convince yourself—or him for that matter—to leave the bed.

“Tom.”

“Mmm?”

“I need a-ah-“

“Need what, baby?”

Need? What did you need? You don’t remember much from before he started feathering his knuckles along the slickening lips of your pussy. You get some broken words out about your agenda: Sheila, girls day, maybe the phrase out of bed

“Let me tell you,” he interrupts, mouthing at your chest, “what we’re going to do today.”

When the pad of his thumb finds your swollen clit, you already have some idea of his plans.

“We’re going to lay in this bed. We’re going to cuddle, we’re going to watch TV, we’re going to nap, we’re going to eat too much takeout, drink too much champagne, and we’re going to fuck.”

“But what abou–”

Two fingers curl inside you, heavy and kneading, and he eats the answering moan out of your mouth.

#Tom Ludlow x reader #tom Ludlow/reader #keanuverse #Keanuverse fic

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avocadorablepirate · 1 day ago

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Beneath The Surface - 5

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x fem!reader

Summary: When memories, buried deep within your sea of emotions, resurface, you’re left to question what lies beneath the surface. Did he truly mean to leave you behind, or was there something more to his silence than you ever understood?

Word Count: 1.6K

Warnings: angst, swearing, mentions of death, mild gore, OP spoilers, this story follows the Dressrosa arc.

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Hey everyone! Sorry for the wait, been a busy couple of months. Just for the long wait I’m going to upload one more chapter either tomorrow or some time next week :) Anyway, thank you for reading, hope you like this chapter.

Law felt his stomach drop. Doflamingo let out a maniacal laugh that echoed through the shattered throne room, followed by a low almost thoughtful hum. "Such a shame," he mused. "If you had both stuck with me...maybe you two could have lived a good life together." His words dripped with false pity, a cruel and unforgiving grin forming. "But now, I'll have to kill you both."

Law clutched Y/N tighter against him, desperate to keep her safe. Doflamingo's presence, his words, even Luffy's angry shouts as he tried to get out of the threads Doflamingo had wrapped him in - none of it mattered. Nothing mattered except the girl bleeding out in his arms.

Doflamingo shook his head in mock disappointment, letting out a small sigh. "The biggest mistake you made," he drawled, voice rising with pride. "Was thinking you ever had a chance of defeating me. I am of the noblest blood! A Celestial Dragon!"

Law felt more sick than he had previously. Each word that Doflamingo spoke was another knife to the gut. He has always known that Doflamingo carried himself like he was a cut above the rest. But hearing those words from his mouth made Law's stomach twist with revulsion. And then, Doflamingo twisted the knife even deeper.

"And you know who else is?"

Law's breath stilled. His world seemed to tilt.

No.

Doflamingo was lying. He had to be. It had to be nothing more than his usual manipulative lies. But the gleam in his eyes never left. Sheer amusement dancing behind them as he watched Law take in his every word. "Oh, come now!" he said, almost giddy. "There was a reason why I said she reminded me of Corazon...all that unbridled compassion. Unable to hurt even the smallest fly. Don't tell me you never wondered!"

It suddenly all made sense. Y/N's past, the way she spoke of her childhood in fragments, never fully understanding the grandeur of the place she lived in. Had she even known?

Corazon. Corazon had been a Celestial Dragon too. Had he known?

A memory stirred - one from years ago, when Law had still been just a boy, following another person who had given him a reason to keep living.

The crackling of fire filled the night air. Hues of gold and amber dancing against the rocky walls of the cave they had taken refuge in.

Corazon sat with his back against a boulder, a cigarette balanced loosely between his fingers as he lazily tended to the morsels of food that they had for the night. Law sat across from him, arms crossed, staring intently at the fire with his usual sullen expression.

Corazon exhaled a wisp of smoke, watching Law shift uncomfortably from the cool wind that rolled through - not about to admit that he was feeling cold. "You're quiet tonight. What's on your mind Law?"

It hadn't been long since they had left the Donquixote Pirates, and Law still wasn't entirely at ease around Corazon. He shot him a guarded glare. "Nothing."

Corazon chuckled, taking another drag. "That can't be true. Usually you're yelling at me about something by now."

Law rolled his eyes and scowled, but he didn't deny it.

A few moments passed in silence before Corazon pressed again. "C'mon, tell me what you're think about."

Law hesitated, his fingers tapping against his knees. He didn't want to say anything - he really didn't - especially not to Corazon. But the worry had been gnawing at him for weeks.

Finally, he muttered under his breath, "...Y/N."

Corazon tried to suppress a smile, he had heard the soft whisper of Law's friend's name, but he loved to tease. "What was that?"

"Y/N...," Law said louder this time, but still hesitant.

Corazon raised a brow, intrigued. "Oh?" A shit-eating grin spread across his face. "Now this is interesting."

Law scowled once more. "Shut up."

But Corazon's grin only widened, revelling in the boy's sudden shyness. "Stoic little Law, thinking about a girl?" He placed a hand dramatically over his heart before wiping a fake tear. "Why I never thought this day would come. What a historic moment."

Law turned away, hiding the heat creeping up his neck. "It's not like that."

Corazon hummed, clearly amused by the sight before him.

Law let out a sharp exhale, his hands now nervously fidgeting at his sides. "I just...will she be safe?"

Corazon paused mid drag, his teasing smile faltered momentarily. "Don't worry! We'll go back for her once you're cured."

But that hadn't been enough to convince Law. If anything, his shoulders slumped further, his expression more grim. Corazon noticed the shift and, after a second, tried a different approach. “What’s she like?” he asked casually, hoping the subject might distract Law from whatever was weighing him down.

Law seemed to be in thought. "...Strong." His voice was quieter now. "She's strong in her own way."

Corazon's expression softened slightly. "What do you mean?"

Law picked up a small rock and threw it into the fire. Sparks shot up into the air before fading. “She’s always helping people. Even when she has no reason to. Even when they've done nothing but hurt her. She just does it anyway.”

Corazon smiled faintly. “Sounds like me."

Law scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

Corazon laughed, ruffling Law’s hair despite the boy’s protests.

But Corazon saw it - the way Law’s voice softened when he spoke about her. The way his eyes flickered, a little more alive. To Corazon's surprise Law continued to speak. “She never talks about it, but...I can tell. She didn’t grow up like us. She lived somewhere big - like a palace or something. She said it was lonely. Always had guards, always had people watching her, but she never really knew them. Then one day her parents decided to leave it all behind."

Corazon exhaled smoke, his expression unreadable as he mulled over something far more serious than teasing Law about his obvious attachment. His grip on his cigarette tightened for a fraction of a second before he forced himself to relax. A palace, isolation, a life of luxury, yet you still felt like you had nothing.

He had no doubt.

He knew where she came from. It now made sense why his brother was so fond of her. But he said nothing. If it were true, Law didn't need that burden - not now.

Instead, he continued to listen to Law ramble on about the girl. “She acts like she’s fine, like losing her family doesn't bother her anymore, but sometimes...I can see it.” His voice dropped lower. “That same loneliness.”

Corazon frowned at Law's words, but made an attempt to lift the mood. "She seems like she's trouble," he said, a teasing smirk forming on his lips.

"She’s not!" Law snapped, his voice sharp with instinctive protectiveness, as if she were standing right beside him.

Corazon's lips quirked up as he nudged Law with his elbow. “So, what you’re saying is...you’ve been paying an awful lot of attention to her to know she's not trouble?”

Law’s expression twisted into immediate offense. “Shut up.”

Corazon grinned. “No, no, this is interesting. No one knows this much about someone they don't pay attention to. That’s some real dedication, Law.”

Law shoved him. “I swear to god, shut up.”

Corazon burst out laughing, dodging Law’s next attempt to push him over. “Admit it! You like her - no, you love her don’t you?”

Law burried his face in his hands, hiding his cheeks that were burning red. “I do not.”

“Oh, you definitely do.”

“I don’t.”

Corazon smirked, resting his chin on his hand. “Tell me, have you ever wanted to punch someone just because they upset her?”

Law flinched.

Corazon’s smirk grew. “Can't deny the allegations now Law."

Law groaned. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Corazon grinned, taking his coat off and placing it over Law. “But you do love her~” his voice sang. Law scowled, but there was no real bite to it.

Corazon exhaled slowly, watching the smoke disappear. After a long pause, he spoke. "You know...sometimes, people like her - the ones who give everything without asking for anything in return - those are the ones who need protecting the most."

Law glanced at him, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his voice. Corazon offered a soft smile. “So, protect her, Law. Once this is all done, go protect her."

Law looked back at the fire, Corazon’s words sinking in.

“…Yeah.”

Those words echoed through Law's head now like a curse.

"Oh this is too good."

Law was drawn away from the memory - Doflamingo's voice, smug and venomous, cutting in. "You've connected the dots, haven't you?" He smirked. "Corazon must have known. But he didn't tell you. How tragic."

It didn’t matter that Corazon didn't tell him. It didn't matter even if Y/N knew. Right now, all that mattered was that she was dying - and it was because of him.

"Poor, poor Law," Doflamingo mocked. "To have everything fall apart minutes before your death." Doflamingo stepped closer, strings twitching at the tips of his fingers. "It makes me kind of pity you."

Law felt his heart pound against his ribs, his mind screamed at him to move - to do something - to protect Y/N like Corazon had once told him to. But he hadn't. He had attacked with the full intent to kill, and she had been the one to take the blow. His Injection Shot had torn through her insides, just as he had planned it to do to Doflamingo.

He hadn't protected her.

He had hurt her.

And now, the image of Y/N's bloodied body, the memory of Corazon's dying smile, the sound of Doflamingo's laughter - it was all too much.

Doflamingo was right. She was like Corazon. And Law? Law was starting to think he was like Doflamingo. He hurt the people he called family.

—————

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

taglist: @riftmage27 @enigma-of-grand-designs @extremely-ashtridic @crmnic @bluebunny002 @lynndt-chocolate @thekatisspooky

#law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #law fanfic #law x you #trafalgar law fanfiction #trafalgar law x y/n #law x y/n

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notyourmamasdeerbat · 3 days ago

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WIP Weekday!

Thank you, @spinfins for the tag. Lovely to hear from you, as always, I'm afraid I have very little to show except some of the ending of Chapter 5 of Carry the Dagger! It's almost there. I swear it. I'm coughing blood and it's punching my lights out but by the Maker if I don't crank this fucker out by the end of the week. Rook lore, mild angst and messy handwriting under the cut!

“A message for you, dweller.” The Caretaker appeared in a flurry of blue light, disappearing as quickly as it had come as it handed Rook a thin stack of folded vellum.

Neve took one look at the correspondence and its traces of leaf rot and colorful ink and turned on her heel. “Goodnight, Rook. Try to get some rest.”

“You too,” the Veil Jumper murmured absently, frowning as they fanned out the missives in their hands as if to sort their unmarked exteriors.

Lucanis lingered for a moment in the shadow of the sanctum's stairwell, frowning. Rook cast him a slight smile. “Go. Rest. I appreciate your help today. If it is good news, you'll be the first to know.”

The assassin nodded once, gaze stalling hopefully first on the papers, then on Rook’s face, before his shoulders unwound and he flitted out the double doors into the courtyard.

Rook slumped into the tattered armchair by the shelf, the ruined artifact above casting shards of too bright light through the shadows around. They exhaled roughly, bracing themself, and began to read.

Rook-

I am sorry. Never before have I encountered possession as you have described. I do not know how to help your assassin. Keep vigilant. These things so seldom last long, and even rarer still do they end happily.

It is however gratifying to hold your words in hand. I can only wish you luck, and beg for your unerring support as it has been given us many times before. I will continue my studies when I have the time. I will consult with the spirits, the sylvans and the Lady Morrigan. Perhaps some kernel of knowledge remains unearthed.

Yours in hope, health, and deepest condolences,

Irelin

Rook’s heart clenched itself in a giant, nauseous fist. Bad news all around. Condolences. Rook didn't want condolences.

They turned the letter over. In a rough, sharp hand, there was more in paler ink. Like it had been left out in the sun for a time before being sent. The parchment rustled.

Rook. Don't do anything stupid.

-Strife

The Veil Jumper smiled grimly. It was unlike Strife to be so emotional. Affectionate, even. Rolling their eyes, they set aside the sheet of vellum to reveal the hastily sealed paper underneath. They pulled its edges upward until the thin layer of beeswax cracked, revealing the familiar flowing scrawl of red ink that made their stomach churn and their heart soar in tandem.

Hey Rook (I like the name. Suits you. Old dwarf had taste),

Thanks for checking in. Don't worry about me, I keep busy. Please for the love of the Maker, Andraste and whatever gods aren't actively trying to fuck us all collectively in the ass– be safe. Don't take risks for your possessed friend. (Don't be prickly, Irelin told me) Be cautious. Be careful, or I swear on the void I'll hop the next fucking ship to the Fade and beat your ass myself. Watch the skies for whatever dragon nonsense is happening. The world is not ready for another archdemon, but shit if we won't have to be. I'm ready. I think. For whatever's coming, my bow is drawn. I'm tired of waiting.

You seem to be running with the right crowd (still not sure. A possessed Antivan Crow? Really? Mythal'enaste, why can't you be normal?) Your detective sounds lovely, like she's got a good head on her shoulders. Listen to her.

Again, DON'T TAKE ANY STUPID RISKS.

Yes, I can hear you say it. “you're one to talk, lethallin”. Living Gods, shut up, would you?

And now you'll laugh.

And Rook did, just a little.

I'm safe here. Don't worry about me. I know I said it twice, but I want to drill it into your brain. Do not. Come looking. For me. It's just trouble, and I'm never working with Strife anymore anyway. They need your help more than I do. You were never great at transcribing. I've got Damari here. I know what we're both feeling, but in a pinch he'll have my back. He's an asshole, but he doesn't want me dead. Or you. Teresa says hello. Kassa misses you, even if she won't admit it.

Just don't I love you. Don't forget it. Be as strong as I know you can be. DON'T FORGET TO CALIBRATE ANY REFRACTION LENSES YOU FIND. You still suck at that. Ask Lutare for help. Tell her she's my hero. And tell Harding I said hello, and if she dies I'll fucking kill her. If you die I'll fucking kill her. I don't know, I'm doing a lot of killing lately. It helps.

Compassion keeps wandering where your tent used to be. It's been upset for days. Damari is working on it (ironic, I know. Prick.)

Keep me updated. You're in my prayers. The ones that work, anyway. Dareth shiral.

Your brother, until the end of days,

Revas.

Rook blinked away the tears gathering like molten glass in the corners of their eyes and cleared their throat, that familiar wound in their chest scraped raw and bloody. They set down the letters in their lap, taking a deep breath and closing their eyes to keep the tears from falling.

Ahahahaa it's fiiine. Don't ask questions! I won't give you any answers! :D (Genuinely your guess is as good as mine at this point) Soft tags for beloveds! Whatcha guys up to?

@draco-illius-noctis @andthekitchensinkao3 @fenrelmercar @nananarc @nevarrantorte @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @davrinsleftpectoral @hedwigoprah @jenn2d2 @sunny374940 🫶

#wip whenever #wip weekday #dragon age rook #coadi aldwir #carry the dagger #ao3fic #da veilguard fanfic

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goldkirk · 7 months ago

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I don’t know how to explain any more clearly that it doesn’t MATTER if it seems legitimate to you. You have got to fact check every single headline and post and claim on the left just like you need to do on the right.

The left is NOT immune to misinformation and rushed reporting. And the more emotionally polarizing or shocking the talking points, sound bytes, and headlines are, the worse it is and more frequently it happens.

Learn to verify through multiple independent sources. If you can’t do that, you can’t trust it.

If you have to wait extra hours for the real information to come through vetted channels—NOT just one individual somewhere everyone links to, and not just one single media source either, EVEN if it’s a major news network—thats just how it has to be. What news outside of genuine local disasters near you TRULY needs your outrage and post-sharing in the next hour specifically?

Misinformation works best by not seeming like misinformation and by fitting in with the rest of what you already expect to see. It doesn’t help anyone to not be able to recognize and avoid the stuff.

#hey little star whatcha gonna queue?#and before I get any angry anons saying I’m making the argument that both sides are the same #I am not. and nowhere did I say that #and if your immediate reaction to any amount of criticism of leftist spaces or communication #is knee jerk outrage and defensiveness #this is an invitation to explore why that is for you.#this isn’t about anyone on here this is from conversations I’ve had with a few people IRL who have shared leftist misinformation a lot #so if you’re feeling attacked by this post and I haven’t directly spoken to you multiple times about misinformation with you responding bac #this isn’t. a vague post. about you. okay?#I cannot reiterate enough THIS IS AFTER IRL INTERACTIONS NOT A CAL OUT VAGUEPOST #and as one final note. IF YOU FOLLOW PEOPLE. WHO CONSTANTLY USE. THE MOST INFLAMMATORY WORDING CHOICES POSSIBLE.#YOU SHOULD NOT FOLLOW THOSE PEOPLE NO MATTER WHAT THEY TALK ABOUT.#no one communicating in true good faith to ALL PEOPLE about facts uses loaded language more than occasionally #the sooner you learn that the better. and that really starts narrowing down the pool of who you want to actually listen to (while still #verifying anything they tell you)#get higher standards!!!! and read some books or watch lectures about actual effective communication to broad groups without using tribalism #and also. anyone on the left trying to convince you of massive efforts and conspiracies that are anti everything #is also wrong 99% of the time and not a good source to listen to #never EVER assume conspiracy when it can be more simply explained through either #ignorance obliviousness incompetence financial greed or misunderstandings #the end. I’m really done this time. I’m just sick of seeing so many people fall prey to this #shh katie #cult escapee #politics and current events #don’t get swept up in the constant tsunami of performative online activism #election 2024 #world events

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bitegore · 8 months ago

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baru cormorant seems to me to be a series that suffers miserably for me having read machineries of empire first. unfortunately everything BC is doing strikes me as something MoE did better and more believably and with much a greater and more grounded eye for how systems, complex system interaction, and oppression like. work

#red rambles #also i don't like the writing very much so I'm not having as much fun with it as i did with MoE #but YHL straight up writes with the exact approach and methodology *i* write - the narrative frame is extremely close. the lines are punchy #the description is sparse the info we are delivered is typically in short wacky one-off chunks that tell us not only something about the #world but something about the narrator who is also the main character whose head we're in #the timing. so on and so forth #someone told me that seth dickinson is transfem but i cant find her (?) pronouns anywhere so if anyone knows where to see them i'd #appreciate a link if only to complain that i don't like her (?) writing that much in comparison because it is a lot less.... rewardingly #entertaining i suppose. when compared to the way yoon ha lee structures his. there are much fewer twists #and of course the major huge twist of Baru Cormorant was hidden from the reader which i just think is *bad form* when it comes to intrigue!#when yhl will lay all the moving pieces of the plot before you openly and say 'hey. isn't that a funny side tangent. anyway look to your #left; something is exploding' and then as it keeps unfolding he goes 'and here in small scale is how it is being used! isn't that #interesting to see how these pieces move? now look to your right; something is exploding' and then at the very end it all comes perfectly #together #the way i felt around the middle/end of Raven Strategem when i understood the spy network the first time is something that BC cannot do #you aren't trusted with the pieces and you don't get to play the game of understanding that you weren't *told* literally everything #i'm reading monster baru cormorant today as i go about my errands and I kinda don't think it's what i want because i want it to be the kind #of working awful poisoned bloodstained empire as the hexarchate and i want it to be a complex contradictory overlapping system like the #hexarchate's army and i want the banal cruelty of perfectly decent people condemning strangers to awful awful bloody deaths because they're #'not like us' instead of the petrified horror *everyone* has of the Social Contagion Agents because i just do not BUY the construction of #dickinson's Social Hygiene Offices and their place in the world #but i cant just read the MoE books any more. i'll get bored. i'm already kind of bored of reading them over and over

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lizardho · 6 months ago

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When I came out, I was SO scared I was gonna get disowned. I wrote a letter to my parents, sent it to their emails, put a physical copy on the counter, and left the house for a few hours to give them time. In that time I tried coffee for the first time, which was a dreadful idea, and got all jittery. I kept waiting for a text or something but nothing happened.

After a few hours, I didn’t hear back from them so I went home. My parents were home and had stacked a bunch of groceries on top of the letter without opening it. They said “hi” and I said “hi” and went down stairs to the basement. I held my dog and panicked about what to do. My sister, who knew that I had written them a letter of great importance, told me they hadn’t read it yet. She also told me she could ask them to do so. I consented to this and stayed in the basement. A few minutes later my dad knocked on the door and poked his soft smooth little nerd head in and said “hey buddy” and I started crying so hard I almost vomited. He came over and gave me a BIG hug and said that it was gonna be OK, he was OK with this, he knew it must have been hard but he was here for me. He told me he and my mom had already talked years before they had me about how if they had to pick between their faith and their child they’d pick their child. It was a very sweet moment. I came out to my mom later that evening and we were both bawling the whole time.

The day after I came out to my parents, I came out to my brother @inbabylontheywept at a Mexican restaurant and he took it like a champ. That evening my mom took me for a walk and looked almost angry - she said she wanted to make sure that I didn’t use being a woman as an excuse to not go to grad school. I told her I wouldn’t and she instantly looked relieved and happier.

My dad, on the other hand, seemed to struggle with it. He kept asking me if I had a boyfriend, and I told him I did not. He kept asking me if I wanted to go clothes shopping with him and I did not. He kept asking me if I would let him go to some of my shows, and I had NO idea what he was talking about.

Finally, 6 months after coming out, of awkward misgendering and questions that didn’t make sense from my dad, he excitedly pokes his soft smooth little nerd head into my bedroom again and says “I found a movie about Your People.” My people. I was absolutely bewildered, but he was so excited and I knew he had been trying SO hard so I watched it with him. It was The Birdcage, and it was amazing. It also was revelatory in that I finally realized why my initially-supportive father seemed to be having such a hard time with my pronouns and stuff - he didn’t know what the difference between trans and doing drag was. After the movie he again asked if I would invite him to one of my shows, and I said, “Hey dad, you know how about half the world is women?” And he said “yeah,” and I said “Well, see, I’m on that half now. I’m not doing drag.” And it was like a switch flipped in his brain. He was like “omg that’s so easy? I was so confused about what to call you when?”

Anyway, my parents are charming and my family has been so kind and patient with me, I like sharing the stories of my little wins with them.

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starpens · 3 months ago

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CRASH COURSE ﾉ xia caleb x female reader ៹ explicit content, unprotected sex, virginity loss, mentions of cheating (none actually happens), pet names (pipsqueak (sorry but i have to be accurate) gege, good girl), instructional sex, blowjobs, creampie, idk what this is i wrote it in 5 seconds i just needed an excuse to write caleb, not proofread :( ˓˓ WORD COUNT ᨀ 4.9k !

asking the boy you’ve known nearly your entire life to teach you how to have sex isn’t weird, right...? right?

caleb has taught you a lot of things over the years.

he taught you how to drive a car in the shopping mall’s parking lot, how to cheat at card games, how to avoid burning the house down by letting him cook for you instead, how to sneak underneath the turnstiles on the subway to avoid fees.

he’s reliable and sturdy and a little reckless, but also patient and nonjudgmental— creating the idea in your idea that he’s kind of all-knowing, that whenever you don’t know something caleb does, that whenever you need help, you turn to no one else but him. which is precisely why you’re standing outside the door of his bedroom right now, hand lifted to knock on it.

because surely, asking caleb to teach you how to give a blowjob falls somewhere underneath that category too, right?

it’s one of those rare moments when the two of you are off work at the same time. caleb, on annual leave for the next two weeks and you, taking out a handful of unused vacation days to spend time with your favorite person in the world. it’s like old times again, when you can simply walk down the hall and hear his laugh drifting from underneath the door as he plays some stupid video game with college buddies.

thinking of the old days is exactly why you’re hesitating at the door. there’s too much shared history between the two of you, too much to lose if this goes badly, if you’ve been reading him wrong all along and he doesn’t want the same thing. there’s no way you can march in there and ask the boy you were raised with teach you how to—

“door’s open, pipsqueak,” caleb calls, somehow knowing you’re there because of course he does. you used to complain that he must’ve secretly implanted a tracker in your arm because he always knows your whereabouts, which made games like hide and seek with him impossible.

knowing it’s too late to play it off, you walk inside his room, greeted by his devastatingly gorgeous grin. “hey, you. lemme guess— the fridge is empty? no? lightbulb in your room need changing again? huh… or did you just miss me?”

“uh,” you mumble, shifting your toes in the soft carpet of the rug in the middle of his room. “not exactly. i was just wondering if you had time to talk and— … you’re not wearing a shirt.”

you realize how dumb you sound as you point it out, it’s just that your brain short-circuits, turning into a syrupy mess at the sight of caleb without a shirt on, his dog tags resting against bare skin. you’ve seen him like this before, of course— but not since he up and left, gallivanting off into the world to become a hotshot military pilot.

he’s always been nice to look at when you think he isn’t paying attention, but god he’s pretty. your eyes blink almost in disbelief as you take in his broad, muscular form that did not exist while he was a cadet in basic training. your gaze can’t help but snag on the ripple of his abs, or the thatch of brown hair trailing from his navel to disappear beneath his gray sweats. he swivels in his stupid gaming chair, smiling at you with his stupid face—

“uh, yeah?” caleb laughs, forehead creasing in confusion like you shouldn’t be surprised and really, you shouldn’t. caleb is like a furnace, blood running hot even in the middle of winter. “gran’s got the heat turned up to max again. it’s like she wants to kill me.”

“yeah, right,” you shake your head, laughing skittishly. “sorry. i’ve got a fan you can borrow, if you want.”

“thanks,” he says, magenta eyes dragging over your form suspiciously, taking in the way you’re standing in the middle of his room fidgeting like a leaf in the wind, hands white-knuckling the hem of the oversized shirt you’re wearing, knees knocking together all nervous and cute. he frowns, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to give you his full attention in that heart-stuttering way he often does.

“what’s with you? not that i’m not glad to see you, but… did something happen? did someone do something to you?”

“no, no— nothing like that,” you hurry to reassure, voice cracking on the last word as your cheeks begin to burn in embarrassment, trying to find the words to say what you need to without crashing and burning. swallowing around a lump in your throat, you glance at the paused screen of caleb’s game before blurting out—

“can you teach me how to give a blowjob?”

caleb immediately chokes.

a lesson on what not to do.

the overclocked fans on caleb’s gaming rig whirs in a soft hum, the neon lights in his room flickering crimson streaks over his handsome face in the dark. he wonders if it’s post traumatic stress or prolonged exposure to cosmic radiation in the sky forcing him to hallucinate. obviously, he’s got too many marbles in one jar and not enough in the other because there is no way he’s heard you correctly.

slowly, he removes his headset. “come again?”

“i’m awful at it, ge,” you exclaim, throwing your hands up in exasperation. in fact, you don’t know if you’re awful at it or not because you’ve never tried. you’ve been too busy waiting on the man in front of you to stop torturing you both, but caleb doesn’t need to know that. “you see, i’m dating this guy, right? and we’ve been hitting it off well. i can tell he wants to take it to the next level, but i’ve never… and you— you’re good at everything, so i just thought…”

“thought i would give you lessons,” he finishes for you, his voice deepening to a rougher edge that makes you shiver. “so you can suck your boyfriend better. do i have it right?”

“y-yeah…”

“since when do you even have a boyfriend? you didn’t tell me anything,” he says, doing nothing to mask the disappointment in his voice.

“uh, we’ve… been seeing each other for a couple of weeks?” you fumble, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “i didn’t want to say anything yet. in case it didn’t work out.”

“so you want to learn how to suck dick for a guy you’ve known for a couple of weeks?” he counters, a muscle in his jaw twitching. he’s got no right to feel jealousy, not when he’s wasted so much time attempting to be one thing in your life when you clearly wanted something else. he’s got no right, but the thought of you on your knees for someone else, someone that isn’t him, makes his blood boil enough that he already knows what his answer will be.

however, you’re already backing up towards the door, about to make a quick retreat. your plan was horrible, shame burning your skin like a brand. “what am i saying? oh my god, you’re right it’s stupid and wrong and gross. can we please just forget i even came in here—”

he lets you ramble for an excruciatingly long time, then he pushes out of his gaming chair and grins down at you like you just asked him to make a quick run to the convenience store. he stretches his arms above his head. “let’s do it.”

“w-what?”

you didn’t expect to get this far, honestly. you expected caleb to laugh at you, ruffle your hair, and call you ridiculous. but instead, he’s already striding to his door, thumb flicking the lock with a decisive click. when he turns, his expression makes your breath hitch— those unusual purple eyes molten, staring straight through you.

“first thing’s first, we need to lay down some ground rules, soldier,” caleb tells you playfully, stepping closer until your breasts brush against his midsection. his hand lifts, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. “if you need to back out at any moment, you say so. no guy’s pleasure is worth your discomfort. and if i hear his name, whatever it is…” he pauses, eyes narrowing. “this stops. understood?”

you nod eagerly, fighting your smile as his scent envelopes you. he smells like spearmint gum, your shampoo that he’s been stealing since the two of you have been back at the house, and a hint of sweat from the stifling air in the room.

“use your words, pipsqueak.”

“y-yeah, i get it.”

his smirk is all teeth. “good girl.”

caleb guides you over to his bed, sitting down on the edge. his big hands reach for you, circling your hips and pulling you towards him until you’re standing in between his spread thighs.

“alright, my little student,” he jokes. “you wanna get him all riled up before the main event so start with something small like… a kiss,” he murmurs, eyes lifting to glance at your mouth as his finger traces the hinge of your jaw. “you do know how to kiss, don’t you?”

“of course i know how to kiss,” you grumble.

caleb nods and then curls his hand around the nape of your neck, pulling you down to his level. you lean with the pressure, slotting your hands in the junction between his neck and shoulder, sliding them up until you cup the underside of his jaw. then, you’re kissing him— kissing caleb, the boy who used to patch up your scraped knees with cute band-aids, who let you crawl into his bed after nightmares, who pretends he hasn’t thought about kissing you, about making you his, for years.

the kiss is messy, desperate and hungry, decades of pent up feelings behind it. a string of saliva keeps your mouths linked together whenever you pull back for air and when caleb’s tongue swipes across your bottom lip, you whimper and part your lips to let him in, body melting against his front until your weight’s toppling him back onto his elbows, hitching your leg over his waist to crawl on top of him.

his grip on your waist tightens, gently pushing you to stand once more. “this is feeling less like a lesson, and more like you just wanting to do this with me,” he teases, making heat flare across your cheeks.

caleb guides your hand to the waistband of his sweatpants, the heat radiating through the fabric searing your palm. breath hitching, you begin to sink to the floor in front of him but his hand shoots out to stop your descent with a breathy laugh. “no no no, c’mere. you’re gonna hurt your knees down there.”

backing up, he moves until he’s lounging against the headboard, impossibly long legs stretched out on either side of your sweet figure.

“still wanna do this?” he asks, lifting a brow. when you nod, he continues to speak, voice gravelly, “take it out then.”

your fingers fumble with the drawstring a bit, struggling to undo the military knot caleb’s tied there, but you manage eventually. peeling back the waistband of his sweatpants to free his cock.

you should’ve known it would be just as pretty as the rest of him— it’s the biggest one (the only one) you’ve seen in person. he’s thicker than he is long, flushed dusky pink with veins that make your cunt clench with the desperate need to feel them dragging along your inner walls. his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, watching you reach for it, nearly sobbing when your hand wraps around him.

“fuck—!” his hips jerk and stutter in shock, hand shoving yours away with a quickness. you frown and bite your lip, retracting your grip as if you’ve been burned.

“oh no,” you rush out, moving back to sit on top of your hands like a scolded kindergartener. “did i do something bad? did i hurt you, cal?”

caleb’s chest heaves, breath punching out of his lungs rapidly, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to slow the speed of his heart down. he’s dreamt about you touching him like this for ages, and the image of your dainty hand nervously wrapping around his cock will be seared into his brain for the rest of his life. you crawl back towards him slowly, seriously worried. “caleb?”

“i’m fine, pip,” he sucks in another breath, then opens his eyes to look at you. “didn’t mean to scare you. you didn’t do anything bad, you just surprised me. go ahead, touch me again.”

“if you’re sure,” you mumble, then hesitantly circle your fingers around caleb’s shaft again. he’s ready for it this time, hot against your palm when you give him an experimental squeeze, making caleb hiss through clenched teeth. “how’s that?”

“a bit tighter,” he instructs, palm closing over yours to adjust your grip. you squeeze him tight, and the hitch of his breath makes you squirm, stickiness gathering between your thighs at the sound. “don’t just squeeze, guys like it when you stroke. base to tip— no, don’t yank it like a fucking joystick, pip. god.”

his protest makes you burst out in giggles before caleb is shushing you with a severe look, his purple eyes narrowed. sucking your plump lower lip in between your teeth to keep from smiling, you nod at him with an exaggeratedly focused look.

“wet your palm,” he tells you, rolling his eyes at your wrinkled nose. “getting a handjob from a dry hand hurts, it’s like sandpaper.”

“are you saying i have dry hands, caleb? i moisturize daily, unlike you,” you whine out, but you listen to him anyway— you’re a good student, after all, and you don’t want to do anything that’ll make caleb want to stop. you lick your palm a few times, eyes on caleb the entire time.

the next time you touch him is with a spit-slicked grip, dragging your hand up and down his cock in an inexperienced, sloppy rub that should feel uncomfortable, but caleb eats it up— hips jerking involuntarily, pearls of watery precum already beginning to leak from the slit of his cock. your gaze is transfixed on it, a little greedy too, watching it stain your knuckles with each stroke.

it’s that same greediness that makes you lean down and brush your lips against the head of his cock, cherry tongue lolling out to tentatively taste the salt-bitter precum beading there. caleb’s hips immediately kick upward in a desperate twitch, but he forces them still, knuckles ashen where they reach down to grip the sheets.

“easy,” he rasps, voice fraying at the edges. his thumb strokes your cheek briefly. “just the tip first, okay? don’t go trying to swallow me down or anything.”

you do what he’s taught you so far; flatten your tongue, swirl it around the head— like that, fuck— press it hard against the thick, sensitive vein running along caleb’s underside, then repeat. every time, you’re rewarded with caleb brushing your hair back, murmuring soft praises, or your personal favorite— his deep, almost nasal groan, the hard planes of his abdomen flexing underneath the heady heat of your tongue.

it’s intoxicating, watching him fall apart like this— exactly what you wanted when you walked into his room. you want to pass his class with honors, please him even more, so you drop your mouth open a little more and suck him in deeper.

too deep.

the thick ridge of his head nudges against your uvula, tears springing to your eyes almost immediately. little startled chokes cough from your throat as you pull off caleb’s cock, bands of saliva stringing from his tip to your mouth in a way that should be gross, but you don’t care one bit, too busy trying to catch your breath.

“shh, shh— breathe,” caleb soothes, eyes darkening with something perilously close to reverence and pride. “through your nose, slowly. you can’t force it, that’s why you keep choking. when you’re ready, try again.”

you let caleb thumb away your tears like he’s done countless times before and when you’re ready, when you’ve had enough air to breathe, you let him guide you back onto his damp cock. eager, swollen lips bringing him in against your cheeks in a hot, branding suction that twists his insides up.

he’s supposed to be teaching you, showing you the ropes so you can please your stupid boyfriend, but you barely even need it— god, you’re so good at this without even trying. how can he focus on teaching when he’s got all of his focus pointed towards trying not to shoot his load down the back of your throat like some inconsiderate asshole?

he can barely look down at you because every time he does, your teary eyes glance up at him through thick lashes with an expression that begs for praise. he knows if you didn’t have a mouth stuffed full of his cock, you’d be asking him am i doing it right, ge?

his thighs tremble, eyes lidded as you finally find a steady pace— mouth bobbing up and down, spit bubbling at the base of his cock where you’re starting to make a mess on him.

and when your hands dip down into his sweatpants, cupping his balls in your soft hand, caleb’s vision whites out, his climax rushing to the front at a rapid pace. before he can cum, though, he takes two fingers and pushes at your forehead, hauling you off his cock with a wet slurp. his chest heaves, dripping beads of sweat that glow in the haze of the neon lighting in his room.

he looks wrecked, and you fight your triumphant smile, schooling it into something unsure and pliant, batting your eyelashes. “did i… did i do it wrong?”

“fuck, no,” his chuckle is hoarse and ruined, calloused thumbs swiping spit from your chin as he gazes up at you meaningfully with those hooded eyes. “just don’t wanna cum down your throat.”

“o-oh.”

the implication makes arousal bubble low in your belly, thighs squeezing together in need. caleb tracks the movement, nostrils flaring as he grins knowingly. “yeah, you don’t want that either, do you, pipsqueak?”

for a while, the two of you just stare at each other in disbelief. you don’t know how to tell caleb that you’d take him in any form he’s offering himself in, pining after him long enough that it’s painful. nothing you ever did got his attention, not in the way you truly wanted. he’s protective and possessive in all the right ways, but he’d never make the first move.

he’ll never come out and admit that he wants to spread you out on his bed and fuck you dumb, mark you as his so nobody else can have you. it took you coming to him to even get this far, so you might as well take matters into your own hands once more.

“teach me the rest, ge?”

the rest.

caleb releases a pained groan at your words and you think he’s going to refuse you, but then he’s flipping your positions, pushing you down onto the mattress with ease. he makes quick work of his sweatpants, shoving them down the rest of the way. then, he wrestles your panties off your hips and tosses them somewhere across the room.

“look at you,” he whispers, pushing your shirt up— his cock leaking a bead of precum at the sight of your pretty tits. he reaches forward, toying with your puffy nipples, grinning at the sound of your soft whimper.

“c-caleb.”

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy, you get that?” the confession comes out sounding suspiciously like a whine. he gazes down at you like you’re water and he’s a man lost deep in the desert, dying of thirst. “you’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world. look at these cute tits, just begging for me to touch them. and—”

his big hands sink into the fleshy part of your upper thighs, opening them to get his first exclusive look at your pussy. his thumb parts your folds, spreading one side apart to watch the way your entrance twitches. caleb dips one finger into your cunt and could fucking cry at how warm and tight you feel. “fuck, you’re so wet. is this all ’cause of me?”

“d-don’t look at it so shamelessly, you pervert,” you scold him, squirming back and forth in his hold as you try to snap your thighs shut. “stop teasing me or i’ll hit you. this is embarrassing!”

“why not?” he tilts his head, giving you that boyish grin that makes your heart stop. “after i’m done with you, it’ll be mine anyway. my pretty pussy. my girl.”

you huff and drive your fist into his shoulder before folding your arms over your breasts, lower lip stuck out in an unhappy pout. caleb winces, though mirth still shines amongst the nebulas in his eyes. he leans down to kiss your pout away, chuckling in amusement. “okay, okay, don’t hurt me. i’ll give you what you want.”

and then, he’s wrapping a hand around the base of himself, kissing your clit with the leaking tip of his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. he coats himself in your wetness before he finally notches against your entrance and slowly pushes.

the pressure makes air stutter out of your chest, blunt and unyielding. he immediately notices your struggle and drops forward on his elbows, caging you safely in his embrace. he kisses the corners of your eyelids, licking away stray tears.

“i hate hurting you like this,” he whispers in your ear, hips drawing back and crawling forward again. you gasp, eyes falling shut, and he shushes you once more. slides a hand down to play with your clit to distract you, which only makes you clench up around him. his jaw is clenched tight enough to shatter the bone, hand fisted in the sheets next to your head. “shh— relax and let me in. it’ll feel good in a second.”

“i-i don’t know if i can,” you say, trying to force your body to accept him, but when he sinks in those first few inches, you whimper and dig your nails into his biceps. “y-you’re so big, gege.”

“f-fuck, don’t—” caleb grunts and his fingers grip the soft sides of your belly, holding your body to his like a lifeline. “don’t call me that right now. i might cum. i’m gonna put the rest in, okay? be a good girl for me and take it. i-i can’t wait any longer.”

he draws out and presses forward all the way in, burying himself to the hilt inside your sweet pussy. his gaze drops to where you’re split obscenely around him, cunt fluttering in protest at the stretch and a ragged groan tears from his throat. it takes every ounce of willpower the military beat into him not to cream himself right then and there.

“c-caleb!”

you whine as caleb retreats slightly, only to surge back in, fucking a little deeper this time. the weight of his cock stretching you out borders on cruel, but you would die before you ask him to stop, your walls squeezing him in a vice grip. it takes a few trials and errors (“keep your hips down, pipsqueak” and “i don't know, maybe a little to the l— fuck, right there oh my god”) but eventually, caleb builds up a good rhythm, the cool metal of his dog tags pooling in the valley of your breasts as he fucks you with deep, steady strokes; bottoming out each time with a guttural groan.

“fuck— stop clenching so much i’m gonna lose my mind,” his breath scalds your neck, teeth grazing your pulse as he fucks a little faster. “so fucking good. that’s it, baby. you’re doing so good. taking every inch of me like this.”

he’s right, it is so fucking good— no, it’s better. your nails scrape against caleb’s back. shivering at the hot pleasure singeing your nerve endings each time he fucks into you. it doesn’t take long for pressure to gather in your lower belly, a band waiting to snap.

you can’t help but wriggle a hand between the two of your bodies and circle a trembling middle finger around your swollen clit. “nngh, you feel so fucking good, cal.”

“a-are you- god, that’s so hot,” he grunts, glancing down at the way you’re toying with your clit and it turns him on so much he’s speeding up, cock pistoning in and out of you, his thrusts deepening until he’s nearly kissing your cervix, he’s in so deep, your thighs slamming against his hips as you try to close your legs when the head of his cock brushes right up against your sweet spot, creating starbursts behind your eyelids.

“oh god, cal— i-i can’t!”

caleb’s grin is feral, grinding deep to press into that swollen spot inside you relentlessly. “knew i’d find it,” then his fingers joining yours and it’s so much better than your own, two digits rubbing quick circles into your sensitive clit. you’re a babbling mess at this point, the pleasure too much to keep up with. “can you cum for me? can you let me feel it? please? i’ll never ask you for another thing if you give me one right here, right now.”

what are you supposed to do, deny him? you couldn’t even if you tried, not with the heat in your belly full to bursting, needing an escape.

“’m gonna c-cum for you, ge, just for you,” you sob.

caleb has seen many versions of you over the years— grumpy and pillow-marked in the morning with syrup stains on your shirt at the breakfast table, covered in sand and sun-kissed at the beach, screaming at him to do something about the jellyfish sting on your leg, in sleek black dresses at the military balls you attended as his plus one that made all his comrades stop and stare. but you’ve never looked prettier than you do right now. his dog tags between your breasts, your creamy pussy fluttering around his cock, and your pretty face twisted in pleasure as you’re about to cum for him.

he hopes that when he dies, he’ll go out with this image in his brain.

those big doe eyes of yours roll back into your head, hands frantically pushing at his abdomen as if he’s trying to escape the overwhelming friction of his cock. you cum hard, thighs trembling, vision winking out. wet droplets of tears stream down your cheeks as white heat washes over your body, the pleasure bleeding through your limbs like wildfire.

seeing you like this, what is caleb supposed to do? not follow you? he’s been holding his own orgasm back since you barged into his room in one of his shirts, begging to be taught how to suck a cock. there’s no way he can last through seeing— through feeling— you cum around him. his rhythm fractures almost immediately and he knows he’s on thin ice, fraying at the edges.

“gonna cum,” he grits out, voice mangled. “fuck, i’m gonna cum. where do you want it?”

you don’t waste a second, babbling out the answer desperately, “i-inside, ge, cum inside me. give it to me please i want it so bad i’ll do anything!”

that��s all it takes.

one more sloppy thrust and he cums right after you, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, holding you still. he breathes choppy, ruined moans into your neck as he pumps his release deep inside your cunt before he collapses against you, damp chest heaving against yours, giving a few more weak thrusts of his hips as his climax ebbs.

you don’t know how long the two of you lay there, struggling to catch your breaths. you’re satisfied and pliant as putty underneath caleb, unable to move from his heavy embrace. he’s a wall of solid muscle, one that is pressing you into the mattress. “caleb, you’re heavy.”

“gimme a minute here, pipsqueak,” caleb chuckles breathlessly against your sweaty skin, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. “i just had the best sex of my life and can’t catch my breath.”

you begin to smile in pride, but then your eyes narrow as his words register through the fucked out haze clouding your brain. “wait, you were having sex before this?” you ask, jealousy bubbling up in your chest. “was it that one sergeant? the one who kept giving you lovey dovey eyes at the DAA gala?”

“mmm, nope,” he answers almost immediately, kissing your lips quickly to placate you, making your heart swell big and bright for the boy on top of you. “chill. saved myself all this time for you.”

your heart begins racing stupidly fast at that. “sap,” you tease, before an idea pops in your head and you reach for your phone tossed haphazardly on caleb’s bedside table.

caleb’s grip on you tightens as he notices you reach for it, a dark cloud shuttering his loving expression. “what are you doing?” he demands, the venom in his tone startling you a bit. “texting him already? that eager to try out what i just taught you?”

you frown in confusion until you remember the excuse you used upon coming into caleb’s room. wow, the boy you’re in love with is an idiot. giggling, you lean up and press a sweet kiss to his cheek before opening the camera on your phone and snapping a quick selfie of the two of you.

“no, you big dummy, i’m taking a pic of us losing our virginities together so i can add it to our photo album,” you explain simply, grinning. “and there was never any boyfriend, i made him up.”

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brninghouse · 13 days ago

Text

Let me help you | Robert Reynolds

Pairing. Robert ‘Bob’ Reynolds x Fem!Reader

Summary. A year after the events in New York City, the memories of that dreadful day come back to haunt you. Luckily, this time you have Bob with you and he will not let your pain drag you down, the same way you won’t let him blame himself for it.

Word Count. 3.8k

Tags/Warnings. Hurt to comfort, slight angst, SMUT, mention of Bob’s father and trauma, female receiving penetration, use of pet names such as honey, sweetheart and baby. Reader calls him Bobby during sex.

EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD, MUST BE 18+ TO READ, I WILL BE CHECKING. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Notes. My comeback to being a fic writer since I abandoned my writing blog back in 2023. Shoutout to Mr. Bob and his pathetically charming self for dragging me back to my writing ways. Also… I created and pushed the Inexperienced!Bob agenda in this fic. Hope you enjoy! Feedback is always welcomed.

You could feel the darkness trying to consume you. It worked slowly, yet it felt as if it was rapidly trying to drown you, robbing the air straight out of your lungs and leaving you without any air left to breathe. It was an all-consuming feeling of dread — except this wasn't a feeling, it was a person. He had a face and a name. The exact same face of the man you would eventually come to fall in love with, but it wasn't him, not really.

It was the silhouette of the darkest parts of him. The dark side of him that wanted you to feel the exact same type of pain he was feeling. All of the abuse and suffering. He wanted you to feel it, too. He wanted every living person to feel it.

He was nothing more than a void — and he wanted you to drown in it. He wanted you to understand that there was nothing more in this world than the neverending feeling of numbness and agony.

His darkness was consuming you and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Honey, you have to wake up,” a worried sleepy voice urged you while a warm hand wiped the sweat off your forehead, carefully brushing and putting away the strands of hair that were stuck to it.

You opened your eyes so fast it felt like your heart was about to give out. Your breathing came out in quick, unsteady gasps that made it hard to figure out where you were. Your heart was beating just as hard as last year, back when the man next to you wasn’t the one he is right now.

“Bob?” you asked, trying to catch your breath and reaching out to him with a shaky hand.

“Hey, it was just a nightmare. Can you, uh.. can you take a deep breath for me?” he asked, sitting up in your shared bed and turning on the bedside lamp next to him before taking your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles with his thumb. You didn't reply, all you could do was close your eyes and sit up next to him, bringing your free hand to your racing heart.

Your lack of an answer didn’t help soothe the worry he was feeling. “C’mon, sweetheart. Please,” Bob begged you, squeezing your hand two times.

I’m here. He’s gone.

You nodded once and opened your eyes, turning your head to the right and meeting the soft blue eyes of your boyfriend who was sitting next to you. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice raspy and strained. He shook his head. “It’s okay. We can do it together,” he answered with a small smile.

Bob took a deep breath, held it in for a few seconds, and then exhaled. You copied his movements, keeping your hand in his. “Again,” he said before taking another deep inhale and then letting it out, never taking his eyes away from you.

You weren’t able to count the number of times you breathed in and out with Bob, but he stayed with you through it all. Holding your hand until you were finally able to breathe normally.

You stayed silent for a while, but Bob didn’t seem to mind. All of his focus was on you, and he would wait for you for eternity if that was the time you needed to get a word out. “I’m sorry,” you croaked.

“None of that, honey,” he answered, not missing a beat. “Does it hurt to speak?” He thought of things he could do to help, rummaging through his head for any useful advice when his eyes lit up as he remembered something from his childhood.

“Do you want me to get you a glass of water?” He asked, his eyes shining as if he had finally gotten the right answer to an unsolvable paradox.

“Please,” you whispered. Bob took hold of the covers that were discarded away to the bottom of the bed and brought them up to your chest, standing up with a small groan as his feet met the cold floor and he stretched his arms above his head, giving you a clear view of his toned shirtless figure.

“I’ll be right back,” he replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your forehead before moving to your bedroom door and walking out.

Bob didn’t take long walking to the kitchen and grabbing you a cold glass of water, yet every second he spent outside of your shared room made you remember your awful nightmare, which you wouldn’t even describe as a nightmare — it was a terrible fucking memory.

You anxiously chewed on your bottom lip as you stared at your door, impatiently waiting for your boyfriend to come back. The door eventually opened after a few minutes and Bob walked in with a glass of water in his right hand, you took notice of the metallic straw inside of it.

“It’s, uh… so it’s easier for you to drink,” he explained.

“That’s nice, thank you,” you replied before taking the glass from him and taking a small sip. The coldness that seeped through your body and the feeling of the condensation on the glass helping you ground yourself back to reality.

“Better?” He asked, climbing back onto the bed and placing a hand on your thigh, giving it a light squeeze. You hummed and leaned your body closer to him, leaning your head against his toned shoulder.

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

“You really need to stop apologizing, sweetheart. It’s alright,” he replied, turning his head to the left and kissing your temple.

You stayed silent for a while, taking small sips of your water. Finding comfort in each other’s presence and the sound of his steady breathing next to you. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asked.

“It was—,” you started.

“I mean, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. But my mom used to tell me that talking about these types of things could help make you feel better,” Bob rambled, moving his free hand as he spoke to try and make his statement seem casual.

Bob had once shared with you that his mother used to help him out whenever he’d wake up terrified from nightmares about his father. She would give him a glass of water — with a straw to make it easier to drink — and comfort him through it all. He mentioned those moments were what eased his mind whenever he had one of his Low Days.

You let out a soft sigh, setting the empty glass on the bedside table next to you. “It was about last year,” you said softly.

“Oh,” Bob whispered, his shoulder going tense beneath your head. You didn’t have to look up at him to know there was a look of worry in his eyes.

You placed your hand over his on your thigh. “It’s not your fault,” you tried to comfort him, only to be quickly cut off by him.

“But it was me who did that,” he stated, his head hanging low.

“You weren’t in control, Bob. God, you didn’t even remember what happened once we got you out,” you said, slightly turning your head to press a kiss against his shoulder blade, causing Bob to let out a shaky breath.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I.. he,” Bob corrected himself, “He hurt you. He hurt every civilian in the city,”

“It wasn’t you, baby. I mean, now you're considered a hero. A goddamned Avenger, for fuck’s sake.”

“A pretty useless one. All I do is clean up after everyone and be Walker’s gym buddy,” he said, a self-deprecating chuckle escaping his lips.

“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. You also helped Alexei get that Red Bull sponsor for his ugly New Avengerz merch,” you replied, trying to lighten the mood.

That caused Bob to let out a genuine smile and it was enough to make you feel like you had single-handedly caused world peace. It felt like the sun had shone straight through your heart. An infinite sunbathe.

“You’re a good person, Bob,” you lifted your head from his shoulder, sitting up to meet his gaze and bringing a hand to caress his cheek. Bob closed his eyes at the feeling, a soft sigh leaving his lips as he felt your touch on his skin. “Once you learn how to control your powers — how to control him.. you’ll be the most powerful member of this team.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the one comforting you, honey” he replied, opening his eyes and turning his head to give the palm of your hand a kiss, his eyes not leaving yours as he did it.

“Knowing you’re next to me is enough to make me feel better.”

A bright blush took over Bob’s cheeks. He wasn’t fully used to all of this, to the way you seemed to love him despite his darkest moments. Two months into your relationship he had shyly confessed to you that he had no romantic experiences due to his addiction and Low Days. That didn’t change the fact that he was eager to learn and make you feel just as loved as you made him feel.

He was about to open his mouth to say something along the lines of you being too sweet for a messed up man like him when he was distracted by the yawn that escaped you. A soft smile adorned Bob’s features.

“Oh, honey. You must be tired,” he said in the softest voice he could muster. “Do you want to go back to sleep?”

“Is it that obvious?” You joked, another yawn leaving your lips, causing Bob’s smile to get even bigger. “Nope, not at all, sweetheart.”

Bob extended his arm to turn off your bedside lamp with a small sigh and moved to lay down facing you, you followed his movements, laying on your side and pressing your back to his strong chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist and gently pressed a kiss to the back of your head.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of his beating heart against your back to lull you to sleep. It didn’t take long for you to notice that your attempt to slip back into dreamland was futile. You had no idea how long you spent trying to go back to sleep, it could’ve easily been fifteen minutes or an hour, but that didn’t matter. You just couldn’t.

You were so fucking exhausted, your body knew that but your brain wasn’t cooperating. You couldn’t fall back asleep. You tried to switch positions and move around, but it was useless. Nothing was working. Maybe your nightmare shook you up more than you thought.

“You okay over there?” You heard Bob’s tired voice behind you.

“Yeah… No. I don’t know why I can’t fall back asleep,” you answered, frustration lacing your tone.

Bob’s right arm that was gently wrapped around your waist moved down as his warm hand traveled beneath the sleeping shirt you were wearing — his sleeping shirt to be exact. His hand rubbed slow circles on your skin.

He used his free hand to move away the hair that was covering your neck and began to trail sweet kisses up your throat, moving slowly until he reached your jaw. “Is this alright?” He asked. You hummed and closed your eyes as he continued scattering soft wet kisses against your jawline until reaching your earlobe, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“Let me help you, honey,” he whispered in your ear, his warm breath and wandering hand under your shirt causing a heat to build up in your core. A whimper escaped your lips as your hips involuntarily pressed back against his. The feeling of his hardening member against your ass and his toned, strong chest right behind your back making you feel dizzy.

“Bobby,” you gasped, slightly turning your head to meet his eyes. “Tell me what you need,” he replied, licking his lips and pulling his hand away from under your shirt to use it to lift himself up and hover above you. You weren’t able to get any words out so you did what your body was begging you to do.

You pressed your lips against his and kissed him. Bob eagerly kissed you back, using his free hand to hold your face and lift it up towards him, a small moan leaving his lips. You two had been in this position several times, yet it always felt like the first time for him, because due to his inexperience: every feeling was new to him. Moans and whimpers would always escape him whenever he found himself making out with you.

His hand moved from your cheek to your hair, tangling his fingers in it and pressing himself closer to you. The kiss was heated but still soft — still so Bob. He pulled away to take a breather before saying, “Wait, I, uh.. I think I know of something that could help.”

He shifted his position to lay on his back, spreading his legs and manhandling your body, moving you to sit between his thighs. “Is this.. Is this alright, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you answered, letting out a sigh of comfort as you laid your head on his chest, your back pressed against his shirtless figure, his head above yours and his legs keeping you in place, spread next to yours.

“You tell me if you want me to stop.. or if it’s too much,” he rambled “Oh! And also if I do something wrong—“

“It’s fine, Bobby,” you replied with a small smile. “You’re pretty good at what you do, don’t worry too much about it.”

Your statement brought a bright blush to his cheeks, the second of the night — which wasn’t strange because he always got shy whenever you praised him during your intimate moments. He still wasn’t used to being praised, especially not on times like this.

He lets out a nervous laugh as he uses his left arm to hold your waist, pulling you closer to his chest and his right hand smoothes over your covered abdomen, the tips of his warm fingers making you shiver and internally beg for more.

“Can I.. Is it okay if I take this off?” he asks, slightly pulling your shirt up, your eyes close as you feel his lips against your ear.

“Please,” you exhale. Bob slowly pulls your shirt over your figure, causing the cold air of your shared room to hit the soft skin of your bare chest, making your nipples harden. Leaving you almost completely naked, the only thing covering your body being your panties that were getting wetter by the second.

“Jesus,” Bob whispers, bringing his hand up to softly trace the outline of your right breast. Taking his time as he trails the tips of his fingers through its underside, leaving goosebumps in his wake. He slowly brings his fingers up to play with your hardened nipple, pinching it slightly before using his whole hand to grope your breast.

“Stop teasing.”

“I wasn’t trying to tease,” he replies. You didn’t have to see his face to know there was a huge smile adorning it. “I’m just admiring my beautiful girlfriend.”

You try to move closer to him, wanting to feel something — anything that could help ease the burning in between your legs. You dropped your hand over his left arm that held your waist in place and pushed your hips back against his, a moan escaping you as you grind your ass against his hard cock.

Bob’s self-esteem boosted at the sweet sound you let out, giving your breast a last squeeze before trailing his fingers downwards to where you wanted it the most.

“Please, Bobby,” you pathetically whimpered, your hips involuntarily jutting upwards towards his hand as your body begged for more of his touch.

“Shh, I know, honey,” he hushed your pleas. He trailed his fingers through the plush of your thighs before letting them linger along the hem of your drenched panties. He slowly brings his hand down to cup your covered pussy over the fabric of your underwear, causing another moan to escape you.

You threw your head back against him, your breathing coming out in unsteady pants. You could feel and hear his heavy breathing, too. Feel him getting worked up over the sight of your begging body. He slowly pressed his fingertips down to touch you through the drenched fabric of your underwear, the pressure of his fingers against your covered folds feeling just right.

“God, look at that,” Bob panted. Quickly taking his hand off of your needy core to stare at his fingers, watching them glisten with your slick wetness. “Can’t believe all of this is because of me, sweetheart.” You whimpered at the loss of his hot touch, your hips bucking towards him in a desperate way of trying to get closer.

“Only for you, Bob. Fuck.”

Bob’s chest swelled with pride at your reaction. “Lift your hips, honey,” he ordered, his breath fanning against your cheek as you swiftly lifted your hips and watched him slowly bring your underwear down, finally letting you completely spread your legs as your naked pussy met the cold air of the room.

Bob’s entire world stopped spinning the second he saw your bare body laying against him. He could see your wet pussy glisten with arousal due to the dim light that entered your room through the small crack underneath the door. He had seen you naked a bunch of times already, but it still felt new to him to see a woman’s body be this needy for his touch. It still surprised him that he could be the cause of the wetness that dripped on your bedsheets. He was nothing more than a recovered addict with a shit ton of mental issues and yet… he could cause this. He could somehow make you trust and love him completely.

“Touch me, Bobby,” you begged.

Your boyfriend happily obliged, swiping his long middle finger in between your folds and spreading your wetness through your pleading pussy. “Bob,” you warned.

He let out a shaky laugh, “Sorry, I got you.”

He slowly eased his middle finger in you, feeling the way your walls clenched against it, begging for more. Both of you moaned at the sensation. “You’re so warm, honey,” he moaned.

“More, please.”

Bob used his thumb to press your clit and give it slow circles, feeling the way it pulsated under his finger. Making his blood flow straight to his hard member. You mewled at the feeling of his middle finger pumping in and out of you as his thumb worked on your clit. Your wetness covering his hand.

He took his time pumping into you in an easy rhythm, waiting for your begging body to be ready for him to add a second one. Remembering everything you taught him about pleasing your body. Bob’s free hand came up to grope your tits as he began to drop wet kisses on your neck, sucking on your skin, forgetting that you’d wake up in a few hours to a purple bruise sitting there.

“So good, Bobby,” you whimpered, closing your eyes and letting the pleasure he was causing you take all over your body. His strong hand groping your breasts and his other one working on your pussy making you feel drunk on him. The length of his finger pumping against your soft walls made your body melt against him.

Bob slowly entered his thick ring finger inside your wet heat, causing a moan of his name to escape you. He began to push it in and out, matching the rhythm he had created with his middle finger. Your body shook against him. He added more pressure to his thumb on your clit, circling it faster as he felt your breathing hitch and saw a blissful expression take over your face.

“Just like that, sweetheart. You’re doing so good for me, you always do,” he praised.

Your body kept shaking and your breathing came out in short gasps. “Relax, honey. Breathe,” Bob reminded you, but it was useless. You could feel him all over your body. Only him. Not The Void. Not your suffering. Only Bob and the love he felt for you.

You could smell your arousal and hear the lewd sounds of his fingers moving in and out your pussy, it all felt too much and too right. The fire you felt in your belly got bigger, causing your hips to buck against Bob’s fingers, wanting more. “I think I’m gonna—” you exhaled.

“I know. I got you,” Bob whispered in your ear. Bob put more pressure on your clit the moment he felt your walls clench and shake against his fingers. You closed your eyes and let the pleasure you were feeling wash all over you.

“Oh my God. Oh my God,” you whined. A hot feeling taking all over you as Bob continued to ease his fingers in you, helping you ride your orgasm. Seconds later, you come all over his fingers, your wet and hot fluids soaking his hand and spilling over your sheets. It was all so hot, Bob couldn’t help but moan at the sight.

Your body shuddered and your legs shook as you kept your eyes closed and came down from your high. Trying to catch your breath and focus on the whispered praises you were getting from Bob that seemed light-years away.

“Are you with me?” Bob asked. You hummed and buried your head on his chest, making him chuckle. Bob slowly pulled his fingers out, making you whine at the overstimulation you were feeling. “I’m sorry, honey,” he apologized before raising his soaked fingers to his lips and groaning as he tasted your hot juices.

You could feel a wave of exhaustion lulling you to sleep. “It’s okay if you fall asleep, I’ll just run to the bathroom real quick for a towel to clean you up. I’ll be right back,” he spoke softly, remembering how you taught him about the importance of aftercare.

Just as he was about to leave for the bathroom you said, “Hey, Bob?” stopping him on his tracks.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“I love you. I’m thankful that Valentina almost killing me brought us together,” you replied in your sleepy state.

“I love you, too. You have no idea,” and you really didn’t. Because he would never let the darkness consume you. He wasn’t going to let you drown in it, the same way you wouldn’t let him drown either.

Bob admired your naked body for a bit more before walking to the bathroom for a towel. He wondered if life had always been this beautiful.

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jinwoosbabyboo · 6 months ago

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Self-Aware!Sylus x Down-bad!Player

Sylus becoming aware he is a character in a game and now he’s aware of you as well. A modern day Romeo & Juliet story here …. A tragic love story A/N: Don’t fight me [Requested by: Anon]

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Self-Aware!Sylus who realizes he’s in a game when he can sense your energy on the other side of a phantom wall. He can hear you squealing when he calls you honey and you're radiating happiness when you send him random emojis.

Self-Aware!Sylus who finally sees you when he happens to be looking around during a photoshoot and sees your shocked face when he makes eye contact. He smirks and turns back to the in-game version of you. “Why are you out there?” You dropped your phone and stared at it in shock. Did Sylus just ….. talk to you? You muttered a low ‘Hello?’ but got no response. You brushed it off as you just being tired and on the game too long.

Self-Aware!Sylus who manages to create a keyboard in your chat so he can actually text you. You were so confused when you opened it and it allowed you to type without just pressing a prompt. You gave it a spin with a quick ‘Hey Sylus’ something simple. Of course the message was read immediately and he replied with a ‘Hello [your name]’ you stared at the screen in shock not knowing if this was a new update or if you were just going crazy.

Self-Aware!Sylus who chuckles when he sees you pouting because you didn’t get his card so when you close the app and lay down he gifts you the card himself. You opened the app and the first thing Sylus says to you is “I don’t like seeing you sad, check your memories I left a gift for you”. When you open your memories you see that you not only got his most recent card but all of his five star memories. “What's happening here?” “You’re smile is so captivating I just had to see it again”

Self-Aware!Sylus who opens the app randomly throughout the day so he can see you “I haven’t seen you all day what are you doing?” causing you to snatch your phone off the table because he always seems to catch you when you’re at work or around a group of people. “Sylus I'm at work I'll call you when I get off” he crosses his arms and seems to be pouting? “I don’t like how much you have to work I don’t see you as often” “Well not all of us are billionaires some of us work for said billionaires to make a living” “I wish I could take care of you….” “You and me both”

Self-Aware!Sylus who teases you when he wins a game of kitty cards or who uses his evol to get every stuffed animal for you when you get frustrated. “You sure do wear your heart on your sleeves sweetie”

Self-Aware!Sylus who stares directly at you when you’re doing a photoshoot with your in-game MC “Sylus focus on her so I can get the picture” “I want to focus on you though” “She is me” “…..she’s not”

Self-Aware!Sylus who tells you not to fall in love because he’s not real, but he falls head over heels in love with you anyway. From the late night conversations of you explaining your world to him and just talking about everything and nothing at the same time. He can’t help it one night when you’re up late on the phone as always he just has to ask “Do you love me?” you’re shocked by his question, but swiftly answer with a shy “Yea I do”

Sylus: I thought we agreed not to fall in love Y/N: I was already in love you just noticed late Sylus: I believe I fell harder You giggled as something somber settled in your chest. Y/N: We’ll never truly be together you know? Sylus: I know and yet I continue to long for you …. I wish I could kiss you Y/N: I wish you could too…..

Self-Aware!Zayne Self-Aware!Xavier Self-Aware!Rafayel Self-Aware!Caleb

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#love and deepspace #sylus love and deepspace #sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads #lads sylus #sylus x you #l&ds sylus #sylus x reader #sylus qin #Sylus salads #self aware love and deepspace salads #nikaaaaimagine

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hyuckiefluff · 2 months ago

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Flipped | Mark Lee

pairing: gryffindor!mark lee x slytherin!fem reader (ft haechan) genre: angst, fluff, smut (in 2nd part) wc: 29k+ summary: the first time you met mark lee, you flipped his world upside down— literally. seven years later and after countless attempts to avoid you, you're still driving him insane. except now, it’s for an entirely different reason. content warnings: mild possessiveness/jealousy, minor confrontation/injuries, non-consensual drugging (love potion), mark is mean at first and terribly bad at feelings, miscommunication, unrequited feelings. explicit sexual content, cursing, loss of virginity, semipublic sexual activity, oral fem receiving, unprotected sex. a/n: proofreading this after meeting mark lee irl had me feeling crazy... bro is actually majestic and i miss him BAD. anyway... this one is special to me because i’ve been wanting to write a hogwarts au since forever and i absolutely love how it came out. this is also slightly inspired by the movie/book “flipped” so it has a ‘she fell first, but he fell harder’ vibe that i’m kinda obsessed with. i tried to do something different and write the events from both perspectives, i hope it’s clear enough so that you can tell when it’s him and when it’s her. feedback is always appreciated! ps: i had to split this into two parts bc apparently i reached the max word count, so all the smut cws apply to the 2nd part . thank you so much for reading!

The first time Mark Lee met you, you flipped his world upside down.

And not in a good way. In the most literal and humiliating way possible.

It happened on the Hogwarts Express, during your very first year. Mark had been desperately searching for an empty cabin but since he was dragging a suitcase stuffed to the brim by his overly concerned mother, he was at a severe disadvantage. Someone else had already claimed the spot every time he reached a door.

By the time he made it to the last cabin, he was already panting. But at last, he found one that was partially empty.

You sat cross-legged on the seat, nose buried in The Quibbler. Mark found that a little odd, his father always said The Quibbler was full of nonsense, a rag for conspiracy theorists rather than real journalism. But that wasn’t his problem. His problem was the fact that both of his arms were shaking from the weight of his bag.

He cleared his throat. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

You looked up, and your messy bangs fell into your wide, starry eyes. For a second, Mark swore they got even bigger at the sight of him.

“Not at all!” you chirped, your voice high and excited.

Mark forced a polite smile and stepped inside, shuffling toward the overhead compartment. He glanced up at where your bag was already neatly placed and swallowed hard. How the hell was he supposed to get his own up there? He wasn’t weak by any means, but after dragging it through the entire train, his arms were screaming in protest.

You seemed to notice his struggle because you set The Quibbler down and pulled out your wand. “Need help?”

Mark was about to shake his head when suddenly, his feet left the ground.

“What—HEY! PUT ME DOWN!”

Mark flailed helplessly as his entire body flipped upside down, his robes falling over his head. Panic surged through him as he felt his pants begin to slip.

“Oh my! I’m so sorry! I thought this was the right spell!” you gasped, flicking your wand again, this time more frantically.

Mark tried to grip at something, anything, but all he managed to do was thrash at the air while more of his clothes tried to slip away from his body.

“I—I don’t know the counterspell!” you admitted in a panic.

At the commotion, students from other cabins poked their heads in. A chorus of laughter erupted at the sight of Mark dangling upside down, arms desperately trying to keep his robes and pants in place.

A tall, older student finally pushed his way inside. He took one look at Mark and sighed as if this were nothing new. “Seriously? Don’t you first-years ever learn?”

“I—I was just trying to help him levitate his bag…”

The older student pinched the bridge of his nose. “Finite.”

Mark hit the seat with an unceremonious thud.

“If you lot keep casting spells on the train, I’ll start deducting points from your houses as soon as you’re sorted,” the boy warned before turning on his heel and waving off the lingering audience.

You hesitated, staring at Mark with wide, guilty eyes. “I’m sorry…” you whispered, your voice wavering just a little.

But Mark wasn’t listening. He was too busy seeing red from both rage and humiliation. Without a word, he grabbed his bag and stormed out.

That was the day Mark Lee met you.

And the day he swore he’d never speak to you again.

The first time you met Mark Lee, you flipped.

Not literally but in the way your heart did a little somersault the moment he stepped into your cabin.

You had been engrossed in The Quibbler, completely enchanted by every bizarre detail about the magical world. Since you grew up with two Muggle parents, receiving your Hogwarts letter was like stepping into a dream where the impossible suddenly was real. You couldn’t get enough of it.

Your cabin door suddenly slid open and a boy stood there, panting slightly, his face flushed red from exertion as he struggled to drag an absurdly large trunk behind him.

You felt your face heat up. You’d never been around many boys growing up, having attended an all-girls school, but there was something about him that struck you immediately. Maybe it was the way his glasses were slipping down his pretty nose, or the way he offered a shy, slightly strained smile as he stepped inside. He was adorable.

And he was struggling.

You watched as he attempted to haul his trunk toward the overhead rack, his arms visibly trembling under its weight. Something in you immediately wanted to help.

The problem was… you had no idea what you were doing.

You’d only ever performed magic by accident, usually when you got too emotional. Your mom still loved to tell the story about how the lights in the house flickered every time you cried as a baby. Or the time Madeline Perkins made fun of your pigtails, and the swings mysteriously sent her flying off the playground.

But you’d only just gotten your wand the day before at Ollivanders. You hadn’t practiced a single spell yet, but you had been reading your textbooks. Wingardium Leviosa was the most basic charm in your book.

How hard could it be?

Apparently, hard enough that you somehow missed the part where it said that even though the spell was only for objects, if it was aimed at a person, it would also make their clothes float.

Which was how you now found yourself staring up at the cute boy you’d just met, his body suspended in midair, robes billowing wildly, eyes wide with pure horror.

Talk about a terrible first impression.

From that moment on, Mark Lee avoided you like the plague.

It didn’t help that you were sorted into different houses—him in Gryffindor, you in Slytherin. You quickly learned that those two houses were basically sworn enemies, which made it even easier for him to pretend you didn’t exist.

Despite his rocky start on the train, Mark had no trouble making friends in Gryffindor. He was well-liked, effortlessly charming, and even if he wasn’t the loudest in the room, he always carried a quiet sort of confidence. You, on the other hand, kept to yourself. Spending most of your free time watching him from across the Great Hall, your crush on him growing by the day.

You didn’t know why you liked him so much, he hadn’t done anything grand or impressive to win your admiration. If anything, he actively tried to avoid you.

You tried approaching him a few times during your first year, hoping to properly apologize and smooth things over. But each time, he found a way to dodge you, claiming he was late for class, too busy with homework, or suddenly needed to be anywhere else but next to you.

So by second year, you changed your approach.

If Mark Lee wouldn’t pay attention to you as a friend, you’d make him notice you as a rival.

Mark had been one of the best students in your first year, so you became an absolute academic weapon in your second. You were determined to match him in every class, if not surpass him.

“Excellent work, Miss Y/N,” Professor McGonagall praised, a rare note of surprise in her voice as she examined the intricate tea jar you had just transfigured from a blue jay.

You glanced over your shoulder at Mark. He was sitting a few rows back, his brows furrowed as he stared at your jar with a barely concealed frown. His own transfiguration was… less successful. The lizard he’d tried to turn into a pen still had a suspiciously scaly texture.

But it wasn’t just Transfiguration where you shined.

You also excelled in Potions, something that became very clear when Professor Snape assigned your class, which you shared with the Gryffindors, the difficult task of brewing Draught of Living Death, a highly advanced sleeping potion that could render someone unconscious with just a single drop.

One of the Gryffindors groaned in frustration. “Sir, this is way too advanced—”

“If it’s too difficult for your little Gryffindor hands,” Snape sneered, cutting him off, “perhaps you should take notes on how some of the Slytherins are managing. Particularly Miss Y/N.”

Your ears burned at the attention as several students shuffled closer to your workstation, peeking at your bubbling cauldron. The only ones who didn’t approach were the Gryffindors at Mark’s table.

You noticed that his potion was violently spewing green gas bubbles, and he looked deeply frustrated, brows knitted together as he stirred with precision.

Letting your own potion simmer for a moment, you stood up and made your way over to his table. The chatter among his friends died down as you approached. Zhong Chenle, the boy sitting next to him, smacked his arm lightly to get his attention.

Mark finally looked up, his glasses fogged from the potion fumes, and the front of his hair sticking up in all directions.

You stifled a laugh.

“Need help?” you asked, tilting your head slightly.

Mark blinked at you, and for the first time since the train, you finally had his full attention.

“No, thanks. I got it.”

The words had barely left Mark’s mouth when his potion let out another violent blorp, spewing a sickly green bubble into the air. It popped immediately, releasing a smell so putrid it made your stomach churn.

“Dude, that smells like a troll’s ass,” Chenle cackled, covering his nose.

Jaemin, who was sitting across from Mark, raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, mate. She’s the best in the class.” He shot you a grin. “Let her help.”

Mark resisted the urge to groan. He knew they were right, but the last thing he wanted was for you to be the one correcting him. It was bad enough that you had been outshining him in every subject lately, now you were swooping in to save him too?

But before he could protest again, you stepped closer to his cauldron making his entire body tense.

“What did you add to make it green like this?” you asked, peering into the potion. Your voice was calm, inquisitive like you weren’t there to gloat but to actually help.

Mark clenched his jaw, eyes fixed stubbornly on the cauldron. “I did exactly as the instructions said.”

Jaemin let out a small snort, clearly unconvinced.

“Hm,” you hummed, examining the bubbling liquid. “You must’ve added more than three drops of Valerian root extract.”

Mark frowned. Valerian root extract? He thought back to when he had been adding the ingredients, trying to get ahead of everyone. Had he miscounted? Maybe. Probably.

You reached for a small vial of powdered sopophorous bean and sprinkled just a pinch into the potion. “This should balance it out and bring it back to its original black color,” you explained, gently stirring the mixture.

Mark watched in reluctant amazement as the once-toxic green sludge darkened before his eyes, settling into the inky black shade it was supposed to be.

He barely stopped his brows from rising in surprise. You had fixed it. Just like that.

Mark swallowed down the frustrated lump in his throat. He wasn’t about to give you the satisfaction of knowing you had one-upped him again.

“That was impressive, Y/N,” Jaemin said, clapping his hands.

“Thanks,” you said, smiling shyly. “The instructions in this book are a bit ambiguous, so I suggest adding less than what the recipe says at first, watching how the colors change, and then adjusting accordingly.”

Mark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to loosen his grip on his stirring rod. He hated to admit it, but that was actually… good advice.

Still, he kept his eyes on his potion, refusing to look at you or thank you for helping.

"You should start sitting with us, Y/N," Chenle said, grinning like a cat as he threw an arm around Mark. "So you can help our boy here, who’s clearly lost."

Mark didn’t miss the way your eyes lit up at the invitation. And that was exactly why he needed to shut this down immediately.

He knew about your little crush on him, everyone did. You weren’t exactly subtle about it. You always looked at him with those heart eyes across the Great Hall, his friends teased him about it constantly. You also cheered the loudest for him at every Quidditch match, even when he was playing against Slytherin. Even when your house lost. He’d seen the way your own housemates sneered at you for it, the way they mocked your infatuation, but you never seemed to care.

The other thing about you was that you were so unapologetically Muggle-born.

Not that Mark cared about blood status. He wasn't that kind of wizard, despite coming from a long line of pure-bloods. But you made it so difficult for yourself. You didn’t even try to blend in among your Slytherin peers. You didn’t mind their teasing, didn’t care that you had practically no friends in your own house.

It was frustrating, the way you took every jab with a smile, like none of it ever got to you. But what frustrated him even more was that whenever he said anything, whenever he so much as muttered something slightly harsh, your whole face fell.

And for some stupid reason, that bothered him more than it should.

“Sorry, this table is already full,” Mark said, once again avoiding your gaze. He imagined the way your smile faltered.

“What are you talking about? There’s plenty of—”

Mark elbowed Chenle sharply in the stomach.

“Like I said, the table’s full.”

“Oh… okay,” you murmured, your head dipping slightly. “Then I’ll leave you to it.”

Mark didn’t watch you walk away, but he could feel the disappointment in your steps.

“Dude, you’re so mean to her,” Jaemin muttered, his eyes still on your retreating figure. “She clearly likes you.”

“Whatever,” Mark huffed, waving him off. “Let’s focus on something else.” He ignored the knowing smirk Jaemin shot him and tried—failed—to ignore the creeping warmth rising up his neck.

In your third year, you found a passion for Herbology.

Mark should’ve been relieved. After all, the more time you spent in the greenhouse, the less time you spent trying to talk to him. And at first, it was great. He barely had to think about you at all.

But then… it became his problem.

Because one day, he started noticing small bowls of water left in his usual spots—on the Gryffindor table, outside the Quidditch locker room, even near the Gryffindor common room entrance. At first, he ignored them. Maybe some first-years were testing a spell. Maybe it was a coincidence.

Then, he saw the petals floating in the water shift and transform into delicate, shimmering fish as soon as he grabbed the bowl.

And Mark hated to admit it… but it intrigued him. The magic was advanced, something most students their age wouldn’t even attempt. He even caught himself watching the tiny enchanted fish, mesmerized by the way their colors glowed under the candlelight.

That was his mistake, because his friends noticed.

“You’re actually accepting her gifts now,” Chenle teased, crossing his arms as Mark peeled off his muddy Quidditch uniform.

“We don’t even know if it’s hers,” Mark argued, tossing his gloves onto the bench.

Jaemin snorted. “Do you really think anyone else in our year knows how to do that kind of magic?”

“Yeah, she’s the only one crazy enough about you to put in that much effort,” Chenle added with a smirk.

Mark rolled his eyes. “There are other girls who like me, you know.”

Jaemin raised an eyebrow. “Are there? ’Cause I feel like Y/N’s already scared them all off.”

Chenle laughed. “Honestly, just give her a chance. She’s pretty, and let’s be real, she’d probably do anything for you.”

Mark sighed, rubbing a towel over his damp hair.

They didn’t get it. He’d spent years running from you, dodging your attempts, shutting down any rumors before they could spread. He couldn’t just give in now.

Maybe it didn’t make sense to anyone else.

But it did to him.

So he kept doing what made the most sense to him, and one day, you found yourself walking into the greenhouse when your eyes immediately spotted the familiar bowls scattered across the table. Your heart clenched at the sight, but you refused to believe Mark would just discard your gifts like that.

But as you approached, you noticed something that made your stomach twist painfully. The fish, once so vibrant and lively, now lay still in the water. They barely moved. They didn't swim with the same energy, the same color that had once made them sparkle. They just stayed there, like lifeless figures floating in stagnant water. And, as ridiculous as it sounded, you could almost swear they looked sad.

It hit you like a physical blow. Mark really didn’t want anything to do with you.

The realization didn’t come alone, though. You’d noticed it over the last few months, but you’d been too stubborn to admit it to yourself. Mark had been spending more time with a girl from Ravenclaw. You didn’t even know her name, but the way they talked and laughed together, the way he’d smile at her with that soft look you’d always hoped to get... It was all the confirmation you needed. Mark Lee wasn’t just avoiding you… he was interested in someone else.

You stood there in the greenhouse, staring at the fish, a sinking feeling settling deep in your chest. He didn’t care about you the way you’d always hoped.

In your fourth year, you decided it was time to focus on yourself. To put Mark away and finally let go of your feelings for him.

You’d been practicing something called Occlumency. Professor Snape had given you a book on it and told you it would help you shield away any distractions when you started falling behind in class due to your little infatuation with a certain seeker.

“This is very advanced magic,” Snape had said, handing you the book with a knowing look, “and it takes months, sometimes years, of practice to master it.”

And practice you did. Every day, you worked at it, pushing your emotions into a mental drawer and locking it away. It was hard at first. Your thoughts kept wandering back to Mark, but slowly, you began to make progress. You learned to control your thoughts, to put each memory, each feeling about him into that mental drawer, one by one, and shove it far back in your mind.

The more you practiced, the easier it became. It wasn’t perfect, but over the course of the year, you started to feel a strange sense of indifference towards Mark Lee.

At least until The Yule Ball was announced in the middle of the term. Even with all your hard work on Occlumency, you couldn’t stop the twinge of longing that crept in. You knew Mark would be going with Mia, the Ravenclaw girl whose name you had learned through the whispers of the school. It wasn’t like you had any right to feel disappointed, but the nagging thought of asking him yourself refused to leave your mind.

You had planned to skip the celebration altogether. The last thing you wanted was to sit alone while Mark and Mia danced, all dressed up and happy.

But that changed one afternoon in the library when you were buried in research on Venomous Tentacula for a Herbology project

The library was the one place where you could lose yourself without interruption, so you were caught off guard when you heard footsteps approaching and a voice calling your name.

“Hey, Y/N, right?”

You turned, surprised to see Lee Haechan standing there. He was easily one of the most popular guys in Slytherin, the kind of person who always had a group of friends around him, cracking jokes and showing off on the Quidditch pitch. He wasn’t one to hang around in the library by himself during a free period. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had spoken to him—if you ever had.

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice more guarded than usual.

You were used to your fellow Slytherins teasing you for the smallest things, such as your Muggle clothes or the way you searched for books manually instead of having Madam Pince summon them for you.

“You probably don’t remember, but last year, you helped me during the Potions final,” he said, his tone surprisingly shy. It was a sharp contrast to the cocky confidence he usually carried.

You thought back, remembering how badly he had struggled to keep his assigned potion from bubbling over and spilling across the table. You had only helped him because if his potion had spilled into yours, it would’ve ruined your work. But you didn’t tell him that.

“I remember,” you said, reaching for a book on a higher shelf.

Before you could grab it, he stepped closer, plucking it from the shelf with ease.

“Thanks,” you muttered, slightly suspicious of the unexpected kindness.

Then he said something that completely threw you off balance. “Listen, I heard you don’t have a date for the Yule Ball.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your fingers tightened slightly around the book. Lee Haechan, of all people, was bringing up the Yule Ball? He was one of the most sought-after guys in Slytherin, and yet here he was, talking to you about the biggest event of the year.

“I’m not really planning on going,” you said, brushing off the conversation as you moved toward a nearby table.

And, of course, he followed.

“Really? Why not?” he asked, dropping into the seat across from you.

You sighed, knowing he wouldn’t leave you alone until you answered. “For starters, I don’t dance.” You flipped open your book, eyes scanning the pages in an attempt to distract yourself.

Haechan leaned forward slightly. “Ah, that’s an easy fix. I can teach you.”

You glanced up, raising a brow. “Where is all this coming from, Haechan?”

His smile widened when you said his name “I thought it was obvious,” he said. “I want you to go to the dance with me.”

You stared at him, waiting for the punchline, for the moment he’d burst into laughter and reveal it was all some elaborate joke. But he didn’t laugh. He just watched you, his smile still in place.

“Me?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

He nodded. “You have pretty eyes, by the way.” His voice was casual as if he were just commenting on the weather. You nearly choked on your own breath, covering it up with an exaggerated cough.

“Did anyone ever tell you that?” he continued, watching your reaction with obvious amusement.

You willed yourself to stay composed, but your heart was racing. What was he playing at?

“Why would you want to go with me?” you asked. “It can’t just be because I helped you once on a test.”

“Why not?” He rested his chin in his hand. “Maybe I’m extremely grateful and want to repay you.”

Your heart beat faster than you wanted it to, and you couldn’t tell if he was just messing with you or if he actually meant it. Haechan had a teasing air about him that made it impossible to tell. Was this a bet with his friends? Or did he just enjoy seeing you flustered?

You hesitated, trying to find the right words, but before you could say anything, he stood abruptly.

“Sleep on it if you want,” he said with a grin. “You can tell me after the Quidditch game on Saturday.”

“Oh, but I wasn’t planning on—”

“I’ll see you there, Y/N,” Haechan said, cutting you off with a wave. Before you could protest, he walked away, leaving you in stunned silence.

The next few days were strange. Haechan was clearly hovering around you. He wasn’t making it obvious, but you were observant enough to notice that he wasn’t skipping some of your shared classes anymore. He had also started spending time in the library even though you’d rarely seen him there before. He didn’t approach you, but you felt his eyes on you every time.

You also realized he was checking out books right after you did. It was oddly amusing, so you decided to mess with him one day.

You had spent enough time in the library to know how to take books from the Restricted Section without alerting Madam Pince. You pretended to read over one, placed it on a different shelf, and waited. A few minutes later, you spotted Haechan heading straight for that section.

Silence filled the air, then a bloodcurdling scream rang through the library. The sound of a book hitting the floor echoed through the rows of shelves. Moments later, Haechan rushed out, his wide eyes locking onto you as you hunched over, struggling to hold in your laughter.

“I’m guessing that was your doing,” he said, dropping into the seat beside you.

You shook your head, still grinning. “That’s just a security mechanism all the books from the Restricted Section have.”

His brows lifted, amusement flickering in his gaze. “How did you even get a book out of there without a professor’s note?”

You shrugged. “I have my ways.”

He tilted his head slightly, watching you with something that made you suddenly self-conscious. “You keep surprising me, Y/N.”

Across the library, Mark sat at a table with Mia, his Potions textbook open in front of him but he wasn't reading anymore and his quill was static in the air. His gaze was locked on you and Haechan, watching the way you leaned in, the way your laughter softened the space between you. Mia followed his stare, then let out a quiet hum.

“What an odd picture, huh?”

Mark blinked, tearing his eyes away. “What?”

Mia tilted her head, her quill twirling between her fingers. “They’re from the same house, sure, but Haechan is one of the most popular guys in school.” She glanced over at you, then back at Mark, a slow smile tugging at her lips. “And she… isn’t she kind of an outcast? Even in her own house?”

Mark tried to keep his tone neutral and disinterested “So?”

Mia let out a soft laugh, dipping her quill in ink. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s probably just bored. Using her for his own amusement.”

Mark glanced back at your table. Haechan was leaning in, grinning as he spoke to you. You looked up at him with something close to exasperation, but there was a smile playing on your lips. It was weird. You didn’t smile like that often.

He ignored the way something twisted in his chest. “You don’t know that,” he muttered, forcing his eyes back to his parchment.

Mia hummed, unconvinced. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”

The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual for a Saturday with a quiet sense of dread settling over you. Instead of heading to the greenhouse like you normally would, you made your way to the Quidditch pitch, the crisp morning air biting at your skin. You had layered up so much that your scarf nearly swallowed half your face, but even with the extra warmth, you wished you were still curled up in bed.

When you reached the stands, the realization hit you like a punch to your face—today’s match was against Gryffindor.

You should’ve known, but school events had barely been on your radar between your Occlumency lessons and your herbology studies.

You climbed up to the Slytherin side of the stands, slipping into a seat in the back row. It wasn’t crowded yet, and you hoped to stay unnoticed, keeping your head low. The last thing you wanted was to catch the attention of a certain seeker. Or two. Not that Mark would be looking your way anyway.

The distant whoosh of broomsticks cut through the morning stillness, and then, all at once, the stadium came alive. Players soared onto the pitch in a blur of red and green, the announcer’s voice booming through the enchanted speakers. You were only half-listening when you noticed Haechan scanning the crowd.

You set to ignore him when his eyes landed on you.

He mouthed something, but you couldn’t quite make out the words from the distance. His lips moved again, slower this time, like he was asking a question.

You hesitated, then lifted your hand in a thumbs-up, hoping that would satisfy whatever he wanted. Though you immediately regretted it when you felt the weight of other eyes shifting onto you. People had noticed the exchange. Your face burned, and you quickly looked away.

The game began, and you tried to focus. Your eyes followed Haechan for most of it, but every so often, your Occlumency walls slipped, and your gaze found Mark. He was fast, his broom cutting through the air as he scoured the pitch for the Snitch. Haechan was right on his tail, matching his every turn, the two of them locked in a battle of speed.

You knew Mark was a talented seeker. He was quick and light in the air, but his broom wasn’t as fast as Haechan’s, and that made some difference.

You weren’t really rooting for either of them. At least, that’s what you told yourself. Though the right thing to do as a Slytherin would be to hope for Haechan’s victory.

The crowd suddenly roared, breaking you from your thoughts. Both seekers had disappeared behind one of the towers in a steep dive, and they were gone for a few agonizing seconds. Then, like a flash of green lightning, Haechan shot back into the air, arm raised, the golden Snitch clutched tight in his fist.

The Slytherins around you erupted into cheers, the stands vibrating with excitement. You blinked, then let yourself be swept up in the celebration, joining the chorus of triumphant screams.

Haechan suddenly veered toward the stands, his broom tilting slightly as he hovered just above the crowd. He brought the Snitch to his lips, pressing a quick kiss to its delicate golden surface before tossing it in your direction. Your hands reacted before your mind could catch up, fingers closing around the tiny fluttering ball with ease.

A collective gasp rippled through the Slytherin section, eyes darting between you and Haechan.

"Y/N!" Haechan called out, his voice carrying effortlessly over the noise of the crowd. "Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?"

The world felt like it had slowed.

You hated attention. You hated feeling like all eyes were on you. But what you hated the most in that moment was the fact that Mark was there, hovering just behind Haechan, watching everything unfold. His broom was still, his expression neutral, but you could feel his eyes burning into you, waiting for your response.

"So," Haechan prompted, his voice a little breathless from the cold and the game, his nose and cheeks tinged pink. "What's your answer?"

Your fingers tightened around the Snitch. You risked a quick glance at Mark, searching for something—anything—in his face. But all you could see was the annoyance from losing the match.

There was only one right answer.

"Okay," you said.

Haechan grinned, throwing his arms up in victory. The crowd erupted, voices overlapping as cheers and chants of his name filled the air.

Mark wasn’t on his best game today. He was usually laser-focused before a match, but things weren’t going right thia morning. First, someone pulled a prank and turned his Quidditch robes a bright pink. Now, he was stuck wearing Sungchan’s, which were way too big. They hung loosely around his shoulders and got in the way whenever he tried to move.

On top of that, Mark was in a strangely sour mood, though he couldn’t figure out why. Everything felt off. The broom didn’t feel right in his hands, and the wind felt harsher than usual.

Then he saw you in the stands.

At first, he thought you were there for him. You usually came to cheer him on, so it made sense. But when Lee Haechan flew by and his face lit up when he saw you, Mark realized he’d been wrong. You looked flustered, but you still gave him a thumbs up.

So, you weren’t there for him? That was okay. Actually, it was better than okay.

But then Haechan wouldn’t stop. He kept swooping around Mark, poking fun.

“A little slow today, huh?” Haechan called as he flew beside Mark. “You looking a little distracted, Lee.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “Focus on your game,” he said, his tone clipped.

“Oh, I am.” Haechan’s eyes flickered to you in the stands, where you were rubbing your hands together for warmth.

Mark’s focus broke. The rest of the game felt like a blur.

He was usually the fastest to spot the snitch. No matter who he played against, his eyes always found it first. And Haechan wasn’t known for being the most observant player, so when Mark saw the snitch fluttering just a few feet away, he immediately maneuvered toward it. But his borrowed robes dragged around his legs, slowing him down. By the time he managed to free himself, Haechan had already spotted the snitch and was racing toward it.

Mark pushed forward, forcing his broom to match Haechan’s speed. When he caught up, the Slytherin boy turned to him with a smirk and a challenge in his eyes.

“First one to catch it wins the prize,” Haechan said.

Mark frowned. There was no prize for catching the snitch. The cup at the end of the year depended on accumulated wins, and there were still plenty of matches left. But then it clicked. Haechan wasn’t talking about the cup. He was talking about you.

For some ridiculous reason, he thought Mark was interested in you.

The snitch suddenly dove, and both seekers followed. They jostled for position, each elbowing the other to get ahead. But then Haechan leaned forward, and it was like his broom had shifted into another gear. He shot ahead, leaving Mark behind with no chance to catch up.

When Mark rose back to the pitch, he already knew he had lost.

It shouldn’t have pissed him off as much as it did. Gryffindor had been on a winning streak for the past three matches, and they were still leading. This loss wouldn’t hurt them in the long run. But something about losing to Haechan irritated him.

It definitely wasn’t the fact that Haechan flew straight toward you. It wasn’t the fact that he tossed you the snitch and asked you, in front of the entire school, to go to the dance with him.

Mark didn’t know why his ribs felt tight against his chest or why he found himself waiting for you to look at him. But then you did, and all he could do was scowl.

And then you said okay.

Mark didn’t wait to hear the cheers so he turned his broom and flew away.

It was the night of the Yule Ball, and you were nervous. Ever since the match, you had started getting more attention from your fellow Slytherins. Some of it was good, some of it wasn’t. A few girls had taken an interest in you, though, and they were nice enough that you didn’t feel the need to keep your guard up so you didn't refuse when they offered to help you get ready for the ball.

“You have really pretty eyes,” Minjeong said, tilting your chin up. “I think if we curl your lashes and tweeze your brows a bit, they’d stand out even more.”

“Oh. Thanks,” you said, shifting awkwardly on the vanity stool they had just enchanted into existence in the dorm.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Karina started, eyes bright with excitement, “but I made some modifications to your dress.”

You tensed. “What? What kind of modifications?”

“Oh, just a few little ones,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I mean… you’re about to show up with the most popular Slytherin guy. You can't wear something plain.”

“Right,” Minjeong agreed, blending eyeshadow onto your lids. “You have to show everyone you’re on his level.”

You weren’t sure how you felt about that. But you let them work. They curled and pinned your hair, dusted powders and pigments onto your face, and finished off with a few well-placed glamour enchantments. When they finally let you open your eyes, the reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable.

“This is our best work yet,” Minjeong said, clapping Karina on the back.

“Absolutely,” the taller girl agreed, looking satisfied.

Your hair fell in soft curls over your shoulders, half-pinned in the back with what looked like strands of shimmering tinsel woven in. Your eyes somehow looked bigger, framed by thick lashes that made them seem darker, more intense. Your brows were perfectly shaped, giving your face a softer, more refined look.

“Okay, now put on the dress! We’ll go get ready,” Karina said, pointing toward the neatly laid-out fabric on your bed.

Before you could say anything, they were already out the door.

“Thank you!” you called after them, but they were long gone.

You turned toward the bed, hands smoothing over the fabric of the dress Karina had "modified". To your relief, it was still elegant and not overly flashy. The gown was a soft, silvery blue with a delicate shimmer that caught the light when you moved. The bodice was fitted but modest, with sheer lace sleeves that draped lightly over your shoulders. The skirt flowed down in gentle layers of airy fabric, giving it an almost weightless quality. It was pretty, delicate, and just fancy enough to make it clear you hadn’t thrown it together last minute.

You let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding. At least it wasn’t anything too dramatic.

When you stepped out of the girls' dorm and into the Slytherin common room, your heart pounded so loudly you were sure someone could hear it. Haechan was waiting for you, and the moment your eyes met, you noticed how the entire room seemed to pause. Conversations quieted, and nearly every gaze turned toward you.

“Wow… you look so… wow,” Haechan stammered, walking up to you. His expression was so genuinely stunned that you felt warmth rise to your cheeks.

“You look gorgeous, and I don’t think that even describes it well.” He took your hand and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles, his lips curling into a grin when he noticed how flustered you looked.

“Hah, thanks,” you chuckled nervously. “You look nice too.” He did. His black suit fit him well, long robes flowing behind him, accented with silver details that made him look effortlessly put together. His hair was slicked back, but a single strand had fallen over his forehead, softening his sharp features.

He placed a hand on your back and led you up the stairs and out of the dungeons, you instinctively held onto his arm to steady yourself.

Thankfully, by the time you reached the Great Hall, the attention had shifted from you. The room was filled with students dressed in elegant robes, sparkling gowns, and tailored suits, each more dazzling than the next. The sheer number of people made it easy to blend in, or so you thought.

Because somewhere across the hall, a particular Gryffindor’s eyes never left you.

“Who is that?” Jaemin asked, his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“That’s Y/N, idiot,” Chenle replied, looking equally stunned.

“No way… seriously?” Jaemin’s eyes widened.

“Now she finally looks like she could really date someone like Lee Haechan,” Mia chimed in, sipping her drink with a raised eyebrow.

Mark didn’t respond. His gaze remained fixed on you across the room.

“Cat got your tongue?” Mia teased, and Mark snapped out of his trance, his eyes meeting hers.

“No… I was just thinking she looks the same,” Mark muttered before walking away.

You ended up enjoying yourself far more than you’d expected. Haechan was surprisingly fun to be around, and he wasn’t getting too touchy, which you appreciated. You both jumped and swayed to the music of the Weird Sisters.

“I hate this band!” Haechan shouted over the noise, but his feet didn’t stop moving.

You burst out laughing. “Me too.”

He grinned at you, his face flushed, both of you breathless and sweaty.

Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “Hey, what’s up with you and Mark Lee?”

Your laughter died in your throat.

“Huh? Nothing, why?” you stammered, trying to hide your nerves.

“Because he’s looking at me like he wants to hex my head off,” Haechan said, chuckling.

You glanced over your shoulder and saw Mark indeed staring in your direction. His expression was tight, angry even, but there was something else there too. Beside him, Mia was practically clawing at his attention, asking him something. He simply shook his head, dismissing her with a frown before she stormed off.

“Don’t mind him,” you said, turning back to Haechan, but he was already watching you.

“I’m not,” he said softly, his hands finding yours.

Suddenly, you were standing closer to him, and you had to tilt your head to meet his gaze. The music shifted into a slower tune, and your heart skipped a beat when you realized how close he was now.

“Stop me if you’re not okay with this,” he murmured, his breath warm against your face. Before you could even process, his lips brushed yours, and then he closed the gap entirely.

Haechan’s lips were soft against yours, and for a brief moment, the world around you disappeared. The music faded into the background, the chatter of students blurred into nothing, and it was just the two of you.

Then, all at once, everything shattered.

A loud crack echoed through the Great Hall, and before you could process what was happening, something thick and cold splattered down your back. You gasped, stumbling away from Haechan as a chilling sensation spread over your skin. A murmur rippled through the crowd as gasps and stifled laughter filled the air.

You looked down. Dark, sticky liquid seeped into the delicate fabric of your dress, staining the soft silk into something sickly and ruined. A pungent smell filled your nose. You barely had time to react before your dress started shrinking.

Your breath caught as the bodice tightened, the fabric pulling uncomfortably against your ribs, cinching around your waist like an invisible grip. Your sleeves vanished, and the hemline shot up several inches in one horrifying swoop, exposing far too much of your legs.

The laughter grew louder.

You clenched your fists, heart pounding as humiliation crashed over you in waves.

“What the hell?” Haechan’s voice rang out, sharp and furious. He whipped around, wand drawn, eyes scanning the hall for the culprit.

And then your gaze landed on Mark.

He stood several feet away, his wand still faintly sparking at the tip. His expression was frozen, his face a shade paler than before. His mouth was slightly open, like he wasn’t sure how the spell had left his lips in the first place.

But you didn’t see uncertainty. You didn’t see hesitation or guilt. All you saw was an angry boy.

A boy who barely acknowledged you before. A boy who always seemed unimpressed by your very existence. A boy who just humiliated you in front of the entire school.

Your throat tightened.

He really hated you that much.

Haechan was already stepping in front of you, blocking you from the murmuring students. His wand was still raised, his grip so tight his knuckles had gone white.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?” His voice cut through the noise, venom dripping from every word.

Mark didn’t respond. His jaw was clenched, his fingers twitching like he wanted to undo what he had just done. But he didn’t move.

Your breath was shaky as you forced your voice to come out steady. “You didn’t have to do that.”

Mark’s gaze snapped to you, something flickering in his eyes. But you didn’t care what it was.

“You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you continued, your voice sharper now, your chest rising and falling with barely contained anger. “You didn’t have to humiliate me.”

Mark opened his mouth, but for once, he had nothing to say.

You swallowed against the lump in your throat, then turned away.

Haechan was already pulling off his robe, draping it over your shoulders before wrapping a protective arm around you. “C’mon, let’s go,” he muttered under his breath, shooting one last glare in Mark’s direction before leading you out of the Great Hall.

Mark didn’t mean to stare.

But from the second you stepped into the Great Hall, he couldn’t seem to look away.

You didn’t look different. That’s what he told himself. It was just a dress. Just some makeup. Just a bunch of pointless glamour spells. Nothing about you had actually changed.

And yet.

His grip tightened around the goblet in his hand as he watched you dance with Haechan, laughing at something he said, looking so damn happy at his side. Mark didn’t even know Haechan that well, but for some reason, he hated him.

He hated the way Haechan touched your waist. He hated the way you let him pull you closer when the song slowed down. Hated the way you tilted your head to look up at him, that slight pause in your movements making it clear what was about to happen.

Mark’s heart slammed against his ribs, something bubbling up inside him, something sharp and hot and suffocating.

And before he even thought about what he was doing, his fingers twitched around his wand.

It happened too fast.

A crackle of magic shot from his wand like a reflex, like something instinctual, something uncontrollable. It streaked through the air, twisting and curling before hitting you and Haechan where you stood.

The Great Hall fell into silence and then laughter erupted.

Mark could barely register what had happened, only that you looked devastated. Your dress was drenched and shrinking until the delicate fabric was something ridiculous, something cruel, something designed to humiliate.

His blood ran cold. He had done that.

He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t even know what spell he cast, just that it happened because of the way you looked at Haechan. Because of the way Mark didn’t want you to look at Haechan.

Haechan’s voice cut through the buzzing in his ears.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Lee?”

You turned to him then, and when your eyes met his, something inside him dropped.

Because you didn’t only look angry. You looked… hurt.

"You didn't have to do that," you said, and it wasn’t an accusation. It was just... disappointment.

Mark felt something claw up his throat. But he couldn’t say anything.

He watched as you shook your head, your expression hardening as you pulled Haechan’s robe tighter around yourself.

"You could’ve just ignored me like you always do,” you said, voice sharp now. “You didn’t have to humiliate me."

Mark opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

And then you turned your back on him. And he just stood there still gripping his wand.

Still feeling that suffocating thing inside his chest.

Hating himself for the fact that he had only just realized what it was.

Mark felt like the ground had been yanked from under him. His whole body felt heavy, like he was stuck in some kind of nightmare where he could see everything going wrong but couldn’t stop it.

Jaemin sighed, shoving Mark’s wand into his own pocket. “Seriously, what the hell was that?”

Mark couldn’t answer. He was still staring at the spot where you’d stood, where you’d looked at him like he was the worst person in the world.

Chenle shook his head. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is with her, but you actually humiliated her in front of everyone. That’s not just being petty, Mark. That’s being cruel.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Mark said quickly, voice hoarse, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew how weak they sounded. What did that even mean? That he hadn’t meant to hex you? That he hadn’t meant to let his jealousy swallow him whole?

Jaemin scoffed. “Well it sure as hell looked intentional.”

Mark ran a hand through his hair, frustration and guilt tangling in his throat. “I—I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. It just—” He exhaled sharply. “It just happened.”

Jaemin exchanged a look with Chenle. “Right. It just happened that you hexed her right when she was kissing Haechan.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. He hated the way Jaemin said it. Like it was so obvious.

Chenle crossed his arms. “If you’re gonna act like this every time you see her with another guy, maybe just admit that you like her and spare everyone the dramatics.”

Mark flinched. “I don’t—”

Jaemin held up a hand. “Before you finish that sentence, think really hard about whether or not it’s a lie.”

Mark clamped his mouth shut. Because he didn’t know anymore.

But it didn’t matter, did it? Even if he did like you, what difference would it make?

You were the one who hated him now.

By the time your fifth year came around, you’d successfully mastered Occlumency so well that when you returned to school Mark was nothing more than a passing thought. The memories you had of him felt distant, like a foggy dream.

You never thought you’d feel this way, but it was almost freeing. The emotional weight he’d carried for so long was no longer crushing you. You were finally able to move on.

After what happened at the Yule Ball, you were relieved that Haechan seemed to understand you needed space. He kept things between you friendly, never bringing up the kiss or attempting to do it again. It made things easier, even if there was still an underlying tension whenever he caught your eye for too long. But just because he didn’t push for anything more didn’t mean he stopped very obviously flirting with you.

If anything, he seemed to have doubled down. Compliments slipped into every conversation, his arm would brush against yours whenever he passed by, and he always found some excuse to sit next to you in the common room or during meals. It was like he had claimed you in some unspoken way—not forcefully, or in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that let everyone else know that he was still very much interested.

Karina and Minjeong, meanwhile, had become your biggest support system. For the first time, you felt like you truly had friends. And if they had one common enemy, it was Mark Lee.

“He is so pathetic,” Karina muttered, stabbing at her breakfast aggressively. “Walking around like a sad puppy as if he isn’t evil.”

“How dare the Gryffindors say we’re the house full of terrible people when they have someone like Mark Lee?” Minjeong scoffed, tossing her hair over her shoulder.

You hid a small smile behind your cup, already used to their daily Mark-related grievances. It had become routine at this point. Every morning, without fail, they found something new to complain about. And if they couldn’t find anything, they made something up.

“I mean, look at him,” Karina continued, tilting her head toward the Gryffindor table. “He’s just poking at his food and sighing dramatically. Does he expect us to feel bad?”

Minjeong rolled her eyes. “As if he has anything to be heartbroken over. He’s the one who embarrassed you in front of everyone. And now he has the audacity to mope around? Get a grip.”

You said nothing, focusing on your plate instead. You had built up your Occlumency walls so well that even you weren’t sure what you felt about Mark anymore. You weren’t angry. You weren’t sad. You weren’t… anything. And you were proud of that.

You stopped going to Quidditch games after a while. You just couldn’t shake the feeling of self-consciousness that crept in every time you stepped into the stands. But Karina and Minjeong convinced you to go today. It was Slytherin’s match, and though it was against Gryffindor, you agreed. You trusted your walls, confident that nothing could touch you now.

The game started, despite the pouring rain. The weather only seemed to make it more intense. The announcer’s voice echoed over the field, remarking on the lightning that nearly struck the Slytherin keeper. You could barely hear him over the storm.

Mark and Haechan were both darting across the sky, locked in pursuit of the Snitch. They were higher than the other players, cutting through the rain like streaks of lightning themselves. You tried to follow them with your eyes, but the thick raindrops blurred your vision and the gusts of wind whipped your hair into your face, making it harder to see. Then, all at once, the sky split open with a crack of lightning.

Your heart skipped a beat as you saw Mark’s broom fall from the sky, his body following in a terrifying, uncontrolled descent.

“Oh my god!” You gasped, your voice barely carrying over the storm. Time seemed to slow. Your mind raced as you realized that one of the professors had cast the Arresto Momentum charm just in time. The world around you shifted back into real-time, and suddenly, Mark’s body was lying motionless on the pitch.

He was unconscious but thankfully unscathed. The rain was pouring down in sheets now, mixing with the frenzy of footsteps as professors rushed to his side.

Without thinking, you slipped out of the stands, pushing through the chaos of the crowd. Your heart was hammering in your chest, your breath quickening as you neared the pitch. The professors were already at his side, checking him over carefully. You could barely breathe, the panic tightening around your chest.

“Mark,” you whispered, as if calling him out of a deep sleep.

When Mark woke up, the first thing he saw was Madam Pomfrey waving her wand over him, a soft golden light flickering at the tip as she muttered a diagnostic spell under her breath.

“Oh, great heavens! You’re finally awake,” she gasped, clutching her chest in relief. “I was beginning to think I’d have to send for St. Mungo’s. There was no reason for you to still be unconscious!”

Mark blinked a few times, his vision still slightly blurred, before realizing he wasn’t alone. Chenle and Jaemin were sitting nearby, their faces tight with concern.

“Mate, you scared the shit out of us,” Chenle said, his brows furrowed.

“We thought we lost you,” Jaemin added, a little too serious for Mark’s liking.

“What… happened?” Mark asked, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn’t had a sip of water in days.

“You fell off your broom from at least fifty feet in the air. It was insane,” Chenle said.

“I don’t… why don’t I remember anything?” Mark mumbled, wincing as a dull, throbbing pain settled in his skull.

“Professor McGonagall slowed your fall, but you still hit the ground pretty hard. You must’ve knocked your head,” Jaemin explained.

Madam Pomfrey huffed. “I’ll bring you a dose of Revitalizing Tonic, it should help with the disorientation. You two wrap things up and get to your dorms… it’s far too late for visitors.” She turned on her heel, bustling off toward her supply cabinet.

Jaemin scooted closer, watching Mark carefully. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I got beat up by the Whomping Willow,” Mark muttered.

Chenle snorted. “You’re lucky you didn’t actually land on it. That would’ve been really bad.”

“We were all so worried. No one thought you’d wake up today,” Jaemin added.

“The whole team was here earlier,” Chenle continued. “Mia too… and, uh—Y/N was the last one to leave—”

“Wait, what?” Mark pushed himself up too fast, his head spinning in protest. “Y/N?”

“Yeah, we’re just as shocked as you are,” Chenle said. “She ran to the pitch the second you fell. I swear, I thought she was gonna pass out from how hard she was crying.”

“She looked like she was having a panic attack,” Jaemin added. “Professor Snape had to give her a Calming Draught.”

“I think she genuinely thought you were going to die,” Chenle said.

Mark’s stomach twisted painfully. His mind still felt sluggish from the fall, but that one piece of information cut through it like a blade.

You were crying over him? Panicking? That didn’t make any sense.

“This doesn’t…” Mark swallowed. “This doesn’t make any sense. Why would she—why would she care?” His voice was barely above a whisper, his chest ached in a way that had nothing to do with his injuries.

“Beats me,” Chenle shrugged. “She hasn’t talked to you in over a year. I was sure she hated your guts. But apparently, you’re harder to get over than we thought.”

Mark barely registered the teasing tone. His brain was running a mile a minute.

You were worried about him. You didn’t hate him? Or maybe… maybe it was just shock. Maybe seeing him fall had been scary in the moment, and once you knew he was okay, you'd go back to ignoring him. This didn't mean anything.

…Right?

After Chenle and Jaemin left, Mark knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Madam Pomfrey had left him a Sleeping Draught, which sat untouched on his bedside table.

He couldn’t stop thinking about what Jaemin said. How you ran onto the pitch, crying over him. It didn’t make sense. You hadn’t spared him a second glance since the Yule Ball. If anything, he would’ve preferred if you were still angry, if you had lashed out at him, screamed, hexed him—anything.

But instead, you had simply erased him from your world. The few times you had looked at him had been either by accident or when he deliberately put himself in your way, and your eyes had always been so empty.

The door to the hospital wing suddenly creaked open. Mark assumed it was just the wind, or maybe Madam Pomfrey checking in on him, so he quickly shut his eyes and feigned sleep when he heard soft footsteps approaching.

For a moment, there was nothing. He almost convinced himself he had imagined it until he felt the weight shift at the edge of his bed.

Then, the sound of quiet, muffled sobs.

“Mark…”

His breath caught in his throat.

It was you.

Before he could even process it, your hand was suddenly on his face, fingers grazing his cheek in the softest touch. A shiver threatened to run down his spine, but he forced himself to stay still.

“I’m sorry…” Your voice was fragile. “I wished so many bad things on you last year… I feel like…like this is my fault.” A shaky inhale. “Please be okay.”

Mark wanted to sit up. Wanted to tell you it wasn’t your fault, that none of this was. That he had deserved everything you threw at him but not this guilt.

But if he moved, would you run? Would you slip away before he even had the chance to say anything?

He was too much of a coward to find out. So he stayed still, letting your fingers caress him, letting your words sink into his skin like a warmth he hadn’t felt in so long.

Mark was certain you had stayed the whole night. Even in the haze of half-sleep, he had felt your presence beside him. He only realized you had left when the first rays of sunlight began filtering through the hospital wing’s windows.

Madam Pomfrey cleared him to leave that morning, assuring him he wasn’t in any real danger anymore. She did, however, insist he avoid Quidditch for at least a week. Not that he particularly cared. There were no matches coming up, but even if there were, he doubted he’d be able to focus on anything other than you.

He didn’t know what to do with the new knowledge that you did care about him. That you had cried over him. That you had touched him so gently, so reverently, as if he were something precious. It should have been a relief, but it made him anxious instead. After all this time, after everything that he’d done to you, how was he supposed to approach you?

The thought of you looking at him with those same empty eyes, telling him to get lost, made his stomach twist.

No—he had to be smart about this. He had to find a moment when you were alone.

That would have been easy before, when you had no friends and spent most of your time buried in books or wandering the castle halls by yourself. But now? Now, you were constantly surrounded by Karina, by Minjeong, and worst of all, by Haechan.

Mark had been watching the two of you closely, trying to figure out if there was something going on. He knew Haechan was still pursuing you, that much was obvious, but you weren’t dating as far as he could tell. At least, he hadn’t heard anything about it.

Still, the thought gnawed at him.

After a lot of consideration, he decided the best way to talk to you was during your prefect rounds at night. The problem was figuring out when you were scheduled. If he had tried this a year ago, you probably would’ve handed over the information without question. Now? Not a chance.

So, he had to get creative.

It took some effort to figure out your schedule, but after bribing a few Slytherins with an unlimited supply of Fizzing Whizzbees from Honeydukes for the rest of the year, he learned that your shift usually started around 8 pm.

So by 7:59 pm, he was slipping out of the Fat Lady’s portrait, glancing around to make sure Filch wasn’t lurking in the shadows. His heart was pounding, but he wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or anticipation.

He was finally going to talk to you.

He figured you’d start your shift near the Slytherin common room, so he made his way toward the dungeons. Sure enough, there you were, walking slowly, completely absorbed in a book.

Mark couldn’t help but smile to himself.

"So much for staying vigilant during patrols," he finally said.

You flinched, nearly dropping your book. When you turned around, your wide eyes locked onto his, shimmering under the dim candlelight. For a second, all he could think about was how lovely you looked.

"Mark..." you breathed, almost like you couldn’t believe he was real.

"Hi," he said, scratching the back of his neck. He looked away for a moment, gathering the courage to step closer.

"Are you okay?" you asked, and the genuine concern in your tone made his heart stumble over itself.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," he chuckled nervously.

"Not a big deal?" Your brows furrowed, and your tone sharpened slightly. "You fell from the sky, Mark."

He wasn’t used to you looking at him after all this time, much less with worry.

"I’m sorry," he said, watching the way your hands clenched into fists at your sides. "I heard you were pretty shaken up after it."

"Yeah…" you admitted softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I was..."

Mark's heart jumped. He knew it already, he knew you had stayed by his bedside, knew you had cried over him—but hearing you say it made something in his chest tighten painfully.

Your eyes scanned him again, like you were checking to make sure he wouldn’t collapse at any second.

"I’m okay, I promise," he reassured you.

You nodded, then let out a sigh, glancing around as if suddenly remembering where you were.

"What are you doing outside your common room this late?"

Mark hesitated. Should he make up some excuse, or should he just tell the truth?

"If you were planning to sneak out with Mia, I’ll have you know that I must deduct points from your house and report it to Professor McGonagall," you said, your tone suddenly more detached. Just like that, the warmth in your expression flickered out, and your eyes went cold again.

Mark felt like he had just been shoved back into reality.

"No, no," he stammered quickly. "Mia and I are not… we’re not together."

You pursed your lips, nodding slowly. "Okay. Then why—"

"I wanted to talk to you," he blurted out. "To apologize. For everything. I never got the chance to back then."

"It’s been a year, Mark," you said flatly.

"Yeah, I know," he murmured. "But you still deserve an apology. And I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but… I needed to say it anyway."

His voice faded toward the end, barely audible.

"Okay…" You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. "You're forgiven. I don’t hold it against you anymore... I actually haven’t for a while."

"Really?" Mark blinked. "You don’t even care why I did it?"

"Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"I want to explain, though," he insisted.

You simply nodded, waiting.

Mark took a deep breath. "I was an idiot back then… well, I guess I’m still an idiot but I was an angry idiot. And I don’t know what came over me… I took it out on you. But I swear, it wasn’t because I hated you. I never hated you." He exhaled sharply, as if forcing the words out before he lost the nerve. "I know you don’t have to believe me, but… I just—I need you to know that."

He spoke so fast, stumbling over his words. Afraid that if he paused, he wouldn’t get to say everything he wanted. By the time he finally stopped talking, your expression had softened just a little.

"I see…" You seemed to search for the right words before settling on a quiet, "I’m glad you told me." A small, tentative smile tugged at your lips.

But it didn’t ease the tightness in Mark’s chest. It didn’t make him feel any better. Because there was more, so much more he wanted to say, but he didn’t know how. And he was terrified.

"Do you wanna hang out?" he blurted before he could stop himself.

"Now…?" You glanced around, hesitating. "I’m kind of—"

"No! Sorry, I meant… later. Tomorrow, maybe? Or—I don’t know… whenever you can."

You stayed quiet for a moment, considering it. "Uhm… okay. Tomorrow. After class?"

Mark nodded too eagerly. "Yes! That sounds perfect." His voice came out overly excited, but he couldn’t help it.

"Okay. See you tomorrow, then." You gave him a small wave before turning away. "Now go before any of the other prefects see you."

Mark barely registered your warning, his mind was already racing ahead to tomorrow.

You were dreading your night shift as a prefect tonight. You hadn’t slept much after staying by Mark’s side all night. You heard he was discharged this morning, but not seeing him with your own eyes made you feel as if he was still hurt.

You had no idea how to deal with the knot in your stomach, so you brought a book with you hoping it would distract you. But even as you read the words on the pages, they blurred into one long line, your mind constantly flickering back to him.

You’d spent so long putting up walls inside your mind, careful to shield yourself from things that hurt too much. It had worked, mostly. You hadn’t felt anything deeply in a long time. But after the accident, those walls felt thinner, more fragile than ever.

And the minute Mark spoke behind you, you felt them crack.

Your whole body went stil and he was just standing there, smiling shyly at you. It took everything in you not to collapse in relief.

You whispered his name and tried so hard not to let your emotions show. But everything felt too much, the relief, the fear, the overwhelming rush of memories and feelings you had buried for so long. You had to hold it all in. You couldn’t let him know how glad you were to see him.

You were trying to remain composed, to keep your usual guard up, but with him standing there, looking so... so Mark,

"Hi..." he said quietly.

You forced yourself to speak. "Are you okay?" It was the question you had been waiting to ask, but it came out more desperate than you’d intended.

"Yeah, it wasn’t that big of a deal," Mark chuckled, the sound awkward and nervous. But even the way he said it made your heart sink with unease.

You couldn’t hide the irritation that sparked inside you, the remnants of the fear still clinging to your chest. "Not a big deal? You fell from the sky, Mark." The words left you harsher than you intended. You were so angry at the idea of losing him, so scared because it had been too close.

"I’m sorry, I heard you were pretty shaken after it." His voice was quieter now, and you could feel the way he was trying to reach you, even though the distance between you both felt insurmountable.

You nodded slowly, the walls inside your mind trying to reassemble themselves, trying to keep you composed. “Yeah... I was...."

The truth slipped out, and as soon as it did, you regretted it. You didn’t want him to know just how terrified you’d been that something might happen to him and you wouldn’t be able to truly tell him how you felt. The walls inside your mind cracked again.

"I’m okay, I promise," Mark said softly, his gaze holding yours, as if trying to assure you.

You wanted to close your eyes and pretend like everything was okay, but the walls kept wavering. You couldn’t trust that feeling, not yet.

You nodded, but the unease inside you didn’t go away. Not when you saw the way his eyes kept searching yours. You felt like you were standing on the edge of something you couldn’t control.

The walls that had kept your emotions in check for so long were trembling now, and it was getting harder to keep them from falling. You needed to focus on something else, anything else.

"What are you doing outside of your common room so late?" You forced the authority back into your voice. But you knew it didn’t fool anyone—not Mark, not even yourself.

He stumbled over his words, clearly nervous. "I wanted to speak to you. Apologize for everything. I never got the chance to back then."

The words hit you like a sudden gust of wind, knocking the breath from your lungs. It wasn’t just an apology. It was him standing in front of you, looking so... raw. You weren’t sure if you were ready for everything he was willing to lay bare. But you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop yourself from listening.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. "It’s been a year, Mark."

"I know. But you deserve an apology, and I know I don’t deserve to be forgiven, but still... I wanted to say it."

Your heart squeezed at the sincerity in his voice, but something inside you fought to keep the walls intact. The last time you’d allowed yourself to feel so exposed, it had ended in too much pain.

"Okay..." You put a strand of hair behind your ear. "You’re forgiven... I don’t hold you to it anymore. I actually haven’t for a while."

His expression shifted in relief, but it didn’t bring the peace you thought it might. "You don’t care why I did it?"

You shook your head, forcing the walls to stay up. "Not really. It doesn’t matter anymore."

"I want to explain, though," Mark said, looking at you with an intensity you hadn’t seen in him before.

And you nodded, thinking that maybe it was okay to let the walls waver for now.

So you heard him out when he nervously asked to hang out, and you ignored the logical part of you that told you you might get hurt again.

The next day, Mark woke up earlier than usual. He told himself he wasn’t making a big deal out of hanging out with you today, but he still spent longer than necessary in the shower. He even put on cologne, something he never did.

He only had two classes with you this year, and after the Yule Ball accident, he made a habit of sitting as far away as possible, just so you wouldn’t catch him sneaking glances every few minutes.

But today, he was going to sit next to you.

At least, that was the plan—until he walked into Divination and saw that Lee Haechan had already taken the seat beside you.

Mark blinked. He didn’t even know Haechan was in this class. Then again, he was pretty sure he had skipped most of the semester. And yet, he suddenly decided to show up today? Right when Mark was finally trying to make things right with you?

Mark scowled as he trudged to the table behind yours. Mia slid into the seat next to him, but he barely noticed her presence until she snapped her fingers in front of his face, breaking his intense staring contest with the back of Haechan’s head.

"Did you do something different to your hair?" Mia asked, eyeing him.

Mark instinctively ran a hand through it. He had used a bit of gel this morning, but now that she pointed it out, he felt self-conscious.

"No," he muttered, dropping his hand and forcing himself to focus on Professor Trelawney, who was currently droning on about the art of tea leaf reading.

"...And remember," she was saying dramatically, her bracelets jingling with every exaggerated movement, "the leaves do not lie! They reveal the truth hidden beneath the surface, the past, the present, and sometimes, if you are truly gifted, the future."

Mark barely listened, too distracted by the way Haechan kept whispering in your ear.

"Now! Pick a partner and interpret their tea leaves. It can be anyone's cup!"

Mark didn’t hesitate. He shot up from his seat, stepping around Mia and snatching your cup before Haechan could even reach for it.

You flinched slightly at the sudden movement, but when you looked up and saw it was him, you relaxed.

"Hello," Mark said, smiling.

You smiled back. "Hi."

From beside you, Haechan’s jaw tightened. "I see you’re alive."

Mark smirked. "You’re lucky I am or there’d be no witness to prove you didn’t push me off my broom."

“Guide yourselves with the book and pay close attention to the patterns so you can decipher what the tea leaves say,” Professor Trelawney cut in, her voice airy and theatrical as always.

“I guess I’ll look at your cup then.” You flicked your wand, summoning Mark’s cup toward you.

Haechan huffed beside you and settled for reading Mia’s cup instead.

Mark watched you tilt his teacup, your eyes scanning the damp leaves at the bottom with unnerving concentration. He’d never taken Divination seriously, Trelawney's constant doomsday prophecies were more of a running joke than anything, but the way you were studying his cup seriously made him realize you were exactly the opposite.

“Alright…” You murmured, brushing your fingers against the rim of the cup as you turned it slightly. “This shape here…it kind of looks like…” Your brows furrowed in thought before you glanced at the textbook. “A hound?”

“A hound?” Mark repeated, leaning in slightly.

“It symbolizes guilt.” You looked up at him then, and for a moment, the room felt too quiet. “Something that’s been eating at you for a while. Maybe something you want to say but haven’t faced properly yet.”

You were staring back into the cup as if searching for something more. Mark wanted to brush it off, make some joke about Professor Trelawney getting to your head, but the way you spoke made him hesitate.

“Well,” he started, clearing his throat, “that’s… ominous.”

“Maybe it just means he regrets not catching the Snitch before nearly cracking his skull open.” Haechan snorted, leaning back in his chair.

Mark’s jaw twitched but before he could open his mouth to say something, Professor Trelawney’s voice rang through the room.

“Now, now! I sense many of you are struggling to find clarity in the leaves, but do not fret! The Inner Eye is a gift not all possess.”

Mark turned your cup carefully in his hands, squinting at the clumps of tea leaves at the bottom like they might suddenly rearrange themselves into something comprehensible. They didn’t.

“Alright…” he said slowly, stalling for time. “So, um—this kind of looks like…” He tilted his head. “Maybe… a deer?”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “A deer?”

“Or… a horse,” he amended quickly. “Yeah. Definitely a horse. Which, uh, probably means…” He paused, grasping for anything remotely logical. “You have an adventurous spirit. And, um, bravery. And, like… untamed passion?”

Mia snorted from beside him, barely holding back her laughter, while Haechan outright scoffed.

Before you could tease him, Professor Trelawney materialized beside your table, her many scarves billowing behind her. She peered over Mark’s shoulder, tutting disapprovingly.

“I knew you didn’t have the Sight, my dear boy,” she said, shaking her head mournfully. “But fear not, Divination is an art that can be nurtured… even in those with less potential” She patted his shoulder with a dramatic flourish before floating off to torment another group.

Mark sighed, his ears burning red. But then he glanced at you and you were smiling. At him.

And suddenly, he didn’t care about looking like an idiot.

The bell rang before he could bring up your plans for later, and you left with a small wave. He spent the next few hours trying not to overthink it, but thankfully your last class of the day, Care of Magical Creatures, was together. That meant another chance.

Professor Kettleburn led the class out to the paddock, where a row of iron-reinforced cages sat waiting. Today’s lesson was on Chimeras.

Even Mark knew that was a terrible idea.

“Of course, we won’t be working with full-grown Chimeras,” Kettleburn reassured, “for obvious reasons. However, the Ministry has provided us with young ones under very, very careful supervision.”

He demonstrated the proper way to throw raw meat to the creatures. The chimera’s serpent tail lashed at him when he got too close, and the class collectively took a step back.

“Alright! Now, you lot give it a try!” Kettleburn beamed, seemingly unfazed by the near-death experience.

Mark grabbed a chunk of bloody meat and approached the enclosure, trying to ignore the way the chimera’s goat head was glaring at him. The moment he threw the meat, it hit the ground about a foot too short, and the beast let out a dissatisfied growl.

“This,” he muttered under his breath, watching as the chimera’s lion head snapped at him, “is why Professor Kettleburn has lost almost all his limbs.”

“Need help?”

Mark flinched at the sudden voice, turning to find you standing there, watching him with an amused tilt to your lips.

He huffed out a laugh. “You know, I’ve noticed you ask that a lot. Do I really look that helpless?”

You giggled. “Uhm… a bit.” Then, you took the meat from him and tossed it over the fence in one smooth motion. The chimera caught it mid-air, seeming significantly less hostile toward you than it had been toward him.

Mark blinked. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “I’m a terrible flyer.”

Mark scoffed. “That’s the one thing I think I’m good at.”

“Oh, I’ve heard.” You said it casually, but both of you knew you’d been to almost every single one of his Quidditch matches since first year.

He hesitated, then rubbed the back of his neck, summoning whatever courage he had left. “So… did you still want to hang out today?”

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. “How about the library?”

Mark barely resisted the urge to groan. He tried to keep his face neutral, but you noticed the way he grimaced.

You smirked. “Or we can do the greenhouse?”

His expression instantly lightened. “Yes! That sounds good.”

And when you turned back toward the chimera, Mark found himself staring a little too long. He’d never really noticed how pretty your eyes were. Or maybe he had, and he’d just forced himself to ignore it. But now—now he couldn't stop seeing them. The way they glowed when you got something right in class, the way they sparkled when you looked at him for the first time on the train all those years ago.

He missed that. The way you used to adore him.

And he hated himself for wasting it—because he’d been too much of a coward. Too immature to handle something so good.

After your last class, you made your way back to the Slytherin dorms, stopping in front of your mirror to fix your uniform and contemplate whether a simple glamour charm might make your cheeks look a bit rosier. Not that you were dressing up for Mark, obviously.

You weren’t sure how to feel about his sudden shift in attitude. He’d never been this… nice before. And maybe you were quick to accept it because you’d spent the past few days terrified of losing him. But was that enough of a reason to let your guard down?

You sighed, closing your eyes and practicing Occlumency for a few minutes before heading out. You knew you’d need your walls strong if you didn’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him.

When you stepped into the common room, Karina and Minjeong were hunched over a Potions essay they definitely should’ve finished by now.

“And where are you going all dolled up?” Karina asked, looking up from her parchment.

“What? I look the same as I always do,” you said, feigning nonchalance.

Minjeong raised an eyebrow. “Are you meeting Haechan?”

It would’ve been easier to say yes. But they’d find out soon enough when Haechan inevitably strolled through the door looking for you.

“No, I’m going to go check on the Venomous Tentacula.” You were actually proud of how quickly you came up with the lie.

“Okay. Boooring.” Karina waved you off, already focused back on her essay.

You smiled quickly, muttered a goodbye, and slipped out of the common room before they could ask anything else.

When you arrived at the greenhouse, Mark was already there. He straightened up the moment he saw you, hands fidgeting slightly at his sides. But then you noticed he was holding something. A flower.

Not just any flower... a Moonbloom Orchid. A rare magical plant that was known to change colors based on the emotions of the person holding it, and right now, its soft lavender hue radiated warmth and quiet affection.

Your eyes widened. “Oh my god, Mark… it’s so pretty. How did you get it?”

Mark shrugged, trying to seem casual. “Oh, it wasn’t that hard to find.”

That was a complete lie.

He had sneaked out to Hogsmeade during his free period yesterday and asked around every store, pub, and dodgy corner for hours, trying to track one down. He had spent almost all his galleons on it.

But looking at your face, your excitement, he decided it was worth every single one.

“Thank you. I love it,” you said, your fingers brushing over the glowing petals as you smiled up at him.

And that smile—Merlin, that smile—hit Mark like a Bludger to the chest.

For the first time, maybe ever, he wanted to kiss you. Really kiss you. Not in some fleeting, passing thought but in a way that made his heart pound and his throat tighten. The desire was so sudden, so strong, it nearly knocked him off balance.

He cleared his throat, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay, so… want to show me around?” he asked, as if he hadn’t been having lessons in this greenhouse for years.

You giggled, and he could tell by the amused glint in your eyes that you saw right through him. “Sure,” you said, playing along. “I guess I can show you what I’ve been working on.”

You led him toward a section of the greenhouse that looked darker, the air thick with the scent of damp soil and something faintly spicy. Twisting vines curled around the edges of a wooden planter, their leaves twitching slightly as you approached.

“These are pretty hard to find,” you explained, crouching beside the pot. “I begged Professor Sprout to let me plant the seeds I found. Don’t ask where I found them, though.”

Mark raised a brow, intrigued, but he didn’t press.

“You really love this stuff, huh?” he asked instead.

You glanced up at him, then back at the plant, lightly running your fingers over its writhing leaves. The Venomous Tentacula shuddered, curling toward your touch as if it recognized you.

“I guess I do,” you admitted. “I don’t know… I feel comfortable around plants. I can feel their emotions, almost. Even if they can’t really express it… I guess I relate to that”

Mark watched you carefully, noting the way you hesitated like there was something more you wanted to say but couldn’t quite bring yourself to.

The way you spoke about plants… it was almost the way he felt about you.

Something real and quiet. Something he had never really put into words because he didn’t know how. Because even now, standing next to you, close enough that he could see the way the evening light reflected in your eyes, he felt like he shouldn’t want it.

Mark wasn’t sure how long he stood there just watching you, but it was long enough for you to notice.

You blinked up at him, tilting your head slightly. “What?”

He shook his head, forcing a laugh. “Nothing,” he said.

But it wasn’t nothing. It was the way the soft glow of the sunset made you look almost unreal. The way your lips parted slightly, like you were about to say something, only to change your mind. The way his own thoughts were a mess, tangled somewhere between I shouldn’t and I can’t stop thinking about you.

You turned back toward the plant, your fingers lightly tracing one of the curled leaves. “It’s kind of funny,” you murmured, half to yourself. “Plants grow towards the things they need. Sunlight, water… warmth.”

Mark swallowed. He wasn’t sure why, but something about the way you said it made his skin feel hot. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “They don’t second guess it. They don’t hold themselves back.”

He wasn’t sure if you meant anything by it, but it struck something deep in his chest anyway.

Because he had spent years holding himself back.

And now, with you standing this close, your voice soft, your eyes flickering to his he wondered if maybe he should stop doing that.

His hand moved slightly, barely thinking, like an instinct. Like those plants reaching for sunlight. And for the briefest moment, your fingers brushed against his.

It would be so easy to close the space between you.

So easy to reach forward, to tip your chin up slightly, to finally, finally—

The greenhouse door banged open.

Mark jolted back so fast he almost knocked over the planter.

Professor Sprout bustled in, looking completely oblivious to the moment she had just shattered. “Oh! What are you two doing here? Curfew is soon, I need to lock up for the night.”

You cleared your throat, stepping back as well, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Sorry, Professor. We were just finishing up.”

Mark forced himself to breathe, still feeling the ghost of your fingers against his.

Still thinking about how close he had been… and how badly he already wanted to try again.

The rest of your fifth year went by in a blur. Even though you and Mark were on much better terms now, there was little time to think about it between the overwhelming pile of O.W.L prep and the ridiculous amount of homework assigned for every subject.

You managed to pass every exam, most of them with an Outstanding. Mark, on the other hand, had spent so much time this year distracted by you that he fell behind on his classes.

So as punishment, he forced himself to stay away—at least until he could guarantee he wouldn’t completely fail.

He still barely scraped by. Defense Against the Dark Arts was the only subject he earned an Outstanding in, but his Potions grade wasn’t high enough to qualify for the advanced level. Not that he wanted to take the class again, but it meant one less excuse to see you during the day.

When sixth year came around, he found himself sticking around you more, even if your friends didn’t particularly like him. So more often than not, he waited until you were alone.

Like now.

“Hello,” Mark said, spotting you sitting on the grass with a book open in your lap. The Whomping Willow loomed behind you, its massive branches swaying with an eerie creak. He eyed it warily.

“You’re awfully close to that thing.”

You barely glanced up. “It’s not so bad once it gets used to you.”

Mark scoffed, crossing his arms. “I don’t think that is capable of getting used to anything.”

You hummed, flipping a page. The late afternoon sun filtered through the leaves, making you look almost ethereal.

Mark swallowed.

He’d spent so much time not noticing these things, forcing himself to ignore the way your presence always made his stomach twist. But now, it was getting harder to push those thoughts away.

Without thinking, he sat beside you, close enough to feel the faint brush of your robes against his. “You know,” he said after a moment, voice quieter than before, “you are allowed to relax now. OWLs are over.”

You huffed a soft laugh, still looking at your book. “I don't think I know how.”

Mark tilted his head, watching you. “Maybe I could teach you.”

You finally turned to face him fully, the corner of your mouth twitching. “And you’re the expert on relaxing?”

Mark grinned, a little lopsided. “Nope. But I’m an expert at not studying. That’s basically the same thing.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling now, and something in his chest tightened at the sight.

A light breeze rustled through the trees, sending a few leaves drifting between you. One of them settled in your hair.

Mark hesitated.

Then, before he could talk himself out of it, he reached up. “Hold still,” he murmured.

Your brows furrowed. “What—”

His fingers brushed against your hair, plucking the leaf free. But his hand lingered grazing your temple.

You went still. Mark swallowed, his pulse hammering. He thought about pulling away. But then you looked at him and your eyes flickered down to his lips just for a second.

Suddenly, the space between you wasn’t so wide anymore.

His hand was still in your hair, and your breath was so, so close, and he could see the way your lips parted slightly almost as an invitation.

But then a sharp creak from behind you made you jolt apart. The Whomping Willow shifted, its branches twitching ominously.

Mark exhaled, pressing a hand to his face. What the hell was that? When he glanced at you, you looked just as dazed. Maybe even disappointed.

That sent a strange thrill through him.

But then you cleared your throat, shaking your head as if brushing the moment away. “We should probably move,” you said, standing and dusting yourself off. “Before the tree decides to take a swing at us.”

Mark huffed a laugh, still a little breathless. “Thought you said it was harmless.”

But as you started walking away, Mark stayed there for just a second longer, staring after you.

He really needed to kiss you.

Badly.

Mark Lee was confusing you.

There had been two clear moments now where you’d almost kissed. Both times, he’d been the one to lean in first, and both times, something had interrupted before it could happen. Yet despite his boldness in those brief moments, you still couldn’t fully let yourself believe this attention was real.

Your heart wanted to, but your brain knew better.

Mark had spent years ignoring you, brushing you off like you didn’t exist, and then humiliated you too. Only to suddenly pull you into his orbit now. Yes, he’d apologized—sincerely, you’d give him that—but that didn’t mean you could just forget the way he hurt you before.

Meanwhile, Haechan seemed to be acting… strange lately.

He was always around, even more than usual. He’d even started asking you to help him with assignments, which was bizarre because Haechan had made a sport out of either sleeping through classes or deliberately distracting you in them. Yet now he’d started seeking you out in the library, sitting closer in the common room, and finding any excuse to keep you near.

You didn’t mind. If anything, it felt comfortable being around him. Haechan never made things complicated.

But you did notice the way Mark would glare daggers at him from across the Great Hall. Or the way his jaw clenched whenever he caught Haechan whispering something in your ear that made you laugh.

And then there was the incident.

It happened in Charms class. Professor Flitwick had started teaching everyone Expulso, a more advanced charm that forcefully propelled objects away from you. It was precise magic that required perfect wand movement and a focused mind.

And well... Mark had neither.

You’d been paired with Haechan for the practical exercise and he, of course, turned the whole thing into a joke, purposefully missing his targets just to make you laugh. Then he decided to experiment, turning his wand on the scarf Mark had left on his desk. With a flick of his wrist, Haechan sent it flying toward himself.

“It’s a bit cold in here, isn’t it?” he grinned, draping it around his neck.

“Dude, give it back,” Mark said, trying to sound casual but failing miserably.

Haechan shot him a smug look. “Relax. I don’t fancy these colors either.”

Mark gripped his wand so hard his knuckles turned white. He really tried to keep his composure, but watching you laugh with Haechan as he mocked the Gryffindor colors did something dangerous to his self-control. His mind blurred with pure instinct. Before he could stop himself, he flicked his wand and muttered, “Expulso.”

He’d only meant to send the scarf flying back to him.

Instead, Haechan was thrown clear across the room, crashing into a stack of desks and sending books and ink bottles scattering everywhere. Gasps echoed around the classroom. Mark’s stomach dropped.

“Mr. Lee!” Professor Flitwick exclaimed, horrified. “Detention! Immediately!”

And that’s how Mark ended up cleaning every single portrait frame in the castle as punishment.

Now he was on his fourth hour of wiping down dusty frames, trying to ignore Sir Cadogan’s taunting comments.

“Are you truly the best Seeker this school has to offer? Ha! Pathetic, if you ask me! No spine! No dignity!” the painted knight cackled, waving his sword wildly.

Mark gritted his teeth, his grip on the cloth tightening. “I swear, if you don’t shut up—”

“Oh? Going to hex me too, are you?” Sir Cadogan jeered. “Do it, coward! Strike me down if you dare!”

Mark seriously considered shaking the frame just to feel some satisfaction when he heard footsteps behind him.

“You haven’t learned your lesson about hexing people yet?”

Mark froze.

He turned around and there you were, still in your uniform, badge pinned neatly to your robes as a reminder that you were out on prefect patrol. His heart did a stupid little flip at the sight of you.

“Apparently not,” Mark said, trying to force a laugh.

“I think we need to do something about your self-control, Mr. Lee.”

The way you said his name, playful but with a trace of authority, sent a rush of excitement through his veins.

“I admit,” Mark started, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’ve been a bit hot-headed lately.”

You raised a brow. “Lately?”

Mark groaned. “Okay, fine. Always. But—” he hesitated, his mouth clamping shut before he said something stupid like I just get like that when I see you with him.

You were still watching him, expectant. “But?”

“…Nothing.” He turned back toward the frame, vigorously wiping it down as if it would erase his own embarrassment.

You stepped closer.

“Mark.”

He swallowed thickly, his hand pausing. “…Yeah?”

“Why did you do it?”

He tried to play dumb. “What do you mean?”

You huffed. “You’ve never lost control of your magic like that with him. Not even during Quidditch. You didn’t just hex Haechan… you blasted him.”

Mark’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he deserved it.”

“For what?”

Mark clenched his teeth. For touching you. For putting his arm around you like you belonged to him. For making you laugh like that. For being close to you in a way he wasn’t allowed to be.

“…For being an asshole,” Mark muttered pathetically.

You scoffed. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

Touché.

“Mark,” your voice softened. “Look at me.”

He did. And God, he shouldn’t have.

You were so close. Your scent, your warmth, it was dizzying. Mark could feel his pulse roaring in his ears, his breath shortening. His hand hung limply by his side, still clutching the rag tightly.

There was ink on your cheek.

Without thinking, he reached up, his thumb grazing softly against your skin. “You, uh…” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard. “You’ve got ink. Right here.”

You gasped.

And Mark realized he was completely, utterly doomed. His thumb caressed your cheek, and then his hand drifted lower, trailing down your jaw before he realized what he was doing.

His entire body was screaming kiss her.

You didn’t move away and for one unbearable moment, Mark swore you were leaning in too—

“Oi!” Sir Cadogan suddenly barked from his frame. “You there! I see you trying to woo a lady with improper decorum! Unhand her at once!”

You flinched back like you’d been scalded. Mark cursed under his breath, his entire body recoiling from yours.

“I—uh... should finish patrol,” you stammered, practically fleeing.

“Yeah. Right. Patrol.” His voice cracked.

And as you disappeared down the corridor, Mark let his head fall against the wall with a groan.

That was three times.

Three times he’d almost kissed you. Three times something—or someone—had interrupted. And three times he’d walked away regretting it.

He didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back.

Halloween arrived in a blur of decorations and excitement. The castle was buzzing with energy, students gorging themselves on sweets from Honeydukes and filling the Great Hall with loud chatter and laughter.

Mark wasn’t particularly fond of sweets, but he still tagged along with Jaemin and Chenle to Hogsmeade that morning. It was a decent distraction.

When he finally returned to the dormitory that evening, exhausted and chilled from the walk, he found a small pile of sweets on his bed. Mark frowned. Weird. He didn’t remember leaving any there. But then his eyes landed on a heart-shaped box of chocolates.

His heart stopped.

A slow, stupid smile spread across his face as he reached for the box, his mind flashing back to years ago—to the day you’d given him a similar box of chocolates in second year. Back then, he’d been a coward. He’d tossed them out in front of you when his friends told him to, too embarrassed to admit that the sight of you blushing as you handed them to him had made his heart race. He could still remember the hurt on your face when he did it.

Mark wasn’t about to make that mistake again.

He opened the box without hesitation, popping one of the chocolates into his mouth. It melted on his tongue, rich and sweet, but almost immediately he felt… odd. Like his blood was moving too fast in his veins.

He blinked.

His pulse thundered in his ears, and an uncomfortable tightness built low in his stomach. His throat was dry. His skin felt hot. His head felt like it was being stuffed with cotton.

“What the hell…” Mark muttered, stumbling back slightly as a wave of dizziness hit him.

The room swayed around him, his thoughts clouding over like a dense fog. But the one thing that stayed sharp and clear in his mind was you. Your face. Your voice. The lingering warmth of your skin from when he’d touched your cheek before. His body burned with the desperate, uncontrollable urge to find you.

Mark didn’t remember walking out of the dorm. His body moved on autopilot, driven by a force he didn’t understand, only that he needed to see you.

You hated Halloween patrols.

They were miserable every year, especially when you knew the castle was still alive with music and celebration, and you were stuck walking through empty corridors. It didn’t help that Halloween was also prime time for students sneaking out of their common rooms to pull pranks or engage in other debauchery.

So when you rounded a corner and spotted two people heavily making out against the wall, you didn’t think much of it. You just sighed and braced yourself to break them apart.

“Alright, enough,” you said, walking toward them. “Back to your dorms or I’m docking points—”

You froze.

The boy pinning the girl against the wall, his hands gripping her waist like he couldn’t get enough of her... was Mark.

Your heart plummeted so fast it made you feel physically ill.

“Mark?” your voice cracked.

Slowly, like something out of a nightmare, Mark’s head turned toward you. His pupils were blown wide, his hair mussed from the fervent kiss. There was a wild, unhinged look in his eyes that you didn’t recognize like he wasn’t entirely there.

But the girl…

You felt like the air had been knocked out of you when you recognized her.

Minjeong.

Your best friend.

Your mind couldn’t catch up. No. This didn’t make sense. Mark had almost kissed you. Three times. You’d spent weeks pouring your heart out to Minjeong, admitting—-however humiliating—that you thought Mark was starting to like you back. And she… she knew.

She knew exactly how you felt about him.

Your gaze darted between them, desperately searching for some sort of explanation, some indication that this wasn’t what it looked like. But Mark was still staring at you in a daze, and Minjeong was… smiling.

You felt something splinter deep inside you.

“You—” your voice died in your throat.

Minjeong had the audacity to giggle. She pulled away from Mark’s mouth, though his hands were still clinging to her hips. “Oh…hey, Y/N,” she said breathlessly, a sheen of gloss smeared across her lips.

You looked at Mark, desperate for him to say something. But his gaze was fixed solely on Minjeong, his chest heaving, his lips still parted like he wanted more.

“Mark,” you choked out again.

His head snapped toward you. For a split second, his face twisted into something confused, like he didn’t understand why you were there. His eyes darted across your face, and you swore there was a flicker of recognition, a brief moment of panic in his expression.

Then Minjeong giggled again and Mark’s gaze instantly darkened as it fell back on her.

“Aw, don’t be mad, Y/N,” she pouted. “Please don’t tell Professor Snape, yeah?”

You felt like you were watching yourself from outside your body. “You two… can’t be here right now. You need… you need to go back to your common rooms.”

Your voice sounded like it belonged to someone else.

“Come on,” Minjeong teased, suddenly hooking her arm around yours. “Don’t be a buzzkill, Y/N. We’re just having some fun.”

You flinched. Don’t touch me.

Your Occlumency walls shot up instinctively, straining under the weight of your heartbreak but holding just enough to keep your expression neutral. You swallowed down the burning in your throat and repeated, “You need to go.”

Mark still wasn’t speaking. His pupils were so dilated it was unnatural, his chest still rising and falling rapidly like he couldn’t catch his breath. His swollen lips parted like he was about to say something.

But Minjeong turned, smiled sweetly at him, and said, “Mark, come on. Let’s not get Y/N in trouble.”

And Mark moved like a moth to a flame. Without hesitation, he grabbed her waist and yanked her into another bruising kiss. You recoiled like you’d been burned, forcing your eyes away before the image could be seared into your memory forever.

The sound of Minjeong’s delighted giggles made you want to scream.

Finally, she pulled back, wiping her mouth with a smug grin. “See you tomorrow, Y/N,” she sang, then turned to Mark and cooed, “Come on, lover boy. Let’s go.”

Mark didn’t even look at you. He let her drag him off down the corridor without so much as a glance in your direction.

The second they disappeared, your Occlumency walls shattered. You sucked in a shaky breath, clutching your chest like you could physically hold the pain in. A choked sob escaped your throat, but you quickly swallowed it back, forcing yourself not to cry here.

You’d be damned if you let them see you break.

What you didn't know is that Mark wouldn’t remember any of it.

Not the taste of Minjeong’s lips. Not the way his body burned with the inexplicable need to touch her. Not the sick, nauseating feeling in his gut when he caught your tearful gaze and felt like he was betraying something sacred.

All he would know was that when he woke up the next morning, his throat would be dry, his mind foggy…

…and the lingering taste of chocolate still heavy on his tongue.

A whole week passed since Halloween and Mark could not, for the life of him, figure out what he’d done to make you go back to acting like he didn’t exist.

You wouldn’t speak to him, wouldn’t spare him a glance, and on the rare occasion that your eyes did meet his, it was like he physically repulsed you. It was driving him insane.

Mark was starting to think he must’ve had one too many butterbeers during Halloween night and done something incredibly stupid. But he couldn’t know for sure because, again, you wouldn’t speak to him.

He also noticed you and Minjeong weren’t talking anymore. That part confused him almost as much as your behavior toward him. You were either with Karina or Haechan now, but most of the time, you were alone. And Mark hated it — hated seeing you without the warm spark you always carried when you were surrounded by friends.

But most of all, he hated that you were ignoring him. He needed you to talk to him. He needed you to tell him what he did wrong so he could fix it immediately.

Which is why he was now standing outside the Slytherin common room, anxiously hoping someone would be kind enough to let him in. Unsurprisingly, none of the Slytherins were willing to let a Gryffindor in, especially one who looked as nervous and fidgety as Mark did.

He was starting to lose hope when, finally, the perfect opportunity came in the form of Karina.

“Hey! Karina—” Mark called, jogging a few steps toward her. She slowed down as she spotted him, her face immediately tightening into an annoyed scowl.

“What do you want?” she said, her tone clipped and cold.

Mark blinked, taken aback. He knew Karina didn’t exactly love him, but she had never sounded this openly hostile toward him before.

“Uh… I was hoping I could talk to Y/N. I was wondering if you could either let me in or—”

“How dare you?” she snapped, suddenly pointing an accusing finger at him.

Mark froze. “I— sorry, what?”

“You’ve got some fucking nerve coming here with those stupid puppy dog eyes like you didn’t completely break her heart again. Haven’t you humiliated her enough? Or do you just get off on using her and throwing her away when you’re bored?” Karina’s voice trembled with anger.

“Wha... what are you talking about?” Mark asked, his voice rising in exasperation.

“Don’t play dumb, Lee. You know exactly what you did,” she spat.

“No, I don’t! I swear, I don’t know what you’re accusing me of right now! I already apologized for the Yule Ball… and the gifts… but what is this about me using her?” Mark’s heart was starting to race, his palms sweating as dread crawled up his spine.

Karina scoffed incredulously. “Seriously? You’re gonna keep playing the innocent act? After everything?”

“Karina, I’m serious. I don’t know what you mean! What did I do to her?”

“Oh my god.” She let out a bitter laugh, taking a step back like she couldn’t stand to be near him. “You really don’t remember?”

Mark’s throat tightened. “…Remember what?”

Karina stared at him for a long moment, her face twisted with disgust. “Halloween, you idiot.”

Mark blinked. “Halloween?”

“Yes, Halloween. When you were shoving your tongue down Minjeong’s throat like a desperate little dog.”

Mark’s stomach dropped. “What?”

Karina laughed humorlessly. “Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know. Y/N saw you, Mark. She caught you all over Minjeong that night. After you almost kissed her three times. After she told us how she thought you finally liked her back. After she spent literal years pining after you!”

“No…” Mark felt like he couldn’t breathe. “No, no, no. That… that’s not right. I wouldn’t do that. I don’t like Minjeong, I like—” his voice caught in his throat. “I like Y/N.”

Karina let out another bitter laugh. “Yeah? Well, you sure have a fucked up way of showing it.”

“No, I— I don’t remember that! I don’t remember kissing Minjeong! I swear to god, Karina, I would never do that to Y/N...” his voice cracked, panic making his words rush out in a desperate tumble. “I don’t remember! I don’t—”

“Save it, Mark.” Karina’s face hardened. “I’m not the one you should be begging for forgiveness to. But it doesn’t even matter, you've already ruined everything. She’s not gonna take you back, not after that. So do her a favor and stay the hell away from her.”

And with that, she turned on her heel and disappeared into the common room.

Mark trudged back to the Gryffindor common room looking deader than the ghosts that roamed the castle. His head was spinning, Karina’s words replaying in his mind like a haunting echo.

He couldn’t believe it. He kissed Minjeong. How the hell could he not remember something like that? Was he really that drunk that night? But it didn’t make any sense. He’d never gotten so drunk on butterbeer that he completely blacked out before.

It was eating him alive. The image of you looking at him with absolute disgust now made so much painful sense. And if you saw it happen, no wonder you hated him.

By the time he stepped into the boys’ dormitory, Mark looked like someone who’d just been handed a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.

Jaemin, who was drying his hair with a towel, was the first to spot him. “And what the hell happened to you?” he laughed, eyeing Mark’s pale, horrified expression. “You look like you just sat through one of Snape’s scoldings.”

Mark groaned and dropped face-first onto his bed. “Kill me.”

Jaemin raised a brow. “That bad, huh?”

“I screwed up this time, dude. Like… really screwed up.”

“What, did you jinx another student by accident?”

“No.” Mark’s voice was muffled against his pillow. “…I kissed Minjeong.”

“What?!” Jaemin and Chenle —who had just pulled open the curtains of his four-poster bed— exclaimed at the same time.

Mark turned his head just enough to look at them. “I don’t even remember it happening, but apparently, I kissed her during Halloween… and Y/N saw the whole thing. And now she hates me.”

“Dude,” Chenle gawked, disbelief clouding his face. “How the hell do you kiss someone and not remember it?”

“Yeah, that’s insane–” Jaemin started, but then his voice abruptly cut off, his eyes widening like something just clicked in his brain. “…Wait. Halloween?”

Mark lifted his head, brow furrowing. “Yeah?”

Jaemin suddenly shot to his feet and walked over to Mark. “Did you eat any chocolates?”

Mark blinked. “What…?”

“Did you get any chocolates that night?”

“Uh… yeah? Why?”

Jaemin’s face paled. “Oh my god. Dude. Those were doused with Amortentia.”

Mark felt his entire body go cold. “…What?”

“Holy shit,” Jaemin ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely horrified. “You seriously didn’t know?”

Mark sat up so fast his head spun. “What do you mean I didn’t know?! What the hell are you talking about?”

“The chocolates, Mark! Every year during Halloween, girls sneak Amortentia into the chocolates hoping that the guy they like eats them and falls in love with them for a few hours. It’s a whole thing. Why do you think I told you to throw away the ones Y/N gave you years ago?”

Mark’s brain short-circuited. “Wait… what?”

“Dude!” Jaemin looked at him like he was dense. “I told you not to trust those chocolates around Halloween! Renjun’s dad works in Diagon Alley, and he says love potions are always sold out around this time of year because of Hogwarts students.”

“Especially you, dude,” Chenle added “You’re Gryffindor’s Seeker. You’re literally the main target. How did you not know this by now?”

Mark’s heart was pounding so hard he thought he might pass out. “I...I didn’t. I thought—I thought the chocolates were from Y/N…” his throat tightened. “But she’d never do that to me…”

Jaemin and Chenle exchanged a look before Jaemin cautiously asked, “…Did they have a card on them?”

Mark blinked, trying to remember. “…No?”

“Exactly!” Jaemin threw his hands up. “Y/N always put a card on her gifts to you, dumbass. She’s never not done that.”

“Oh my god,” Mark’s voice cracked, his hands clutching his hair. “I’m such an idiot! I thought they were from her so I just... I ate them. I didn’t even think—” his stomach twisted in horror. “I kissed Minjeong because of a love potion?”

“Looks like it,” Chenle said grimly.

Mark felt like he was going to throw up. “Oh my god. Y/N must think I’m the worst person alive. She probably thinks I led her on and then went and kissed her best friend—”

“Yeah, well, considering you practically ate her face off in front of her, I’d say that’s a fair assumption,” Chenle shrugged.

“I didn’t mean to! I don’t remember any of it happening!” Mark’s voice cracked as panic completely consumed him. “Oh my god, Y/N hates me. She thinks I—fuck! I have to go talk to her—”

“Woah, woah, no. Don’t do that,” Jaemin said quickly, grabbing his arm.

“What?! Why not?”

“Because if you go to her right now all panicked, she’s just gonna think you’re making excuses! You need proof that you were under a love potion or she’ll never believe you.”

Mark stared at him, wide-eyed. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

“Minjeong.”

Mark blinked. “…What?”

Jaemin gave him a look. “Minjeong. She’s obviously the one who gave you the chocolates. If you can get her to admit it, Y/N will have to believe you.”

Mark swallowed hard, his pulse hammering in his ears. “But what if she doesn’t admit it?”

Chenle scoffed. “Then we hex the truth out of her. Don’t worry, we got you.”

Mark could barely process anything. All he could think about was how you must’ve felt watching him kiss Minjeong. How heartbroken you must’ve been. How you probably cried yourself to sleep that night thinking he never cared about you.

You probably still thought that.

Mark’s hands clenched into fists. No. He wasn’t letting you believe that for another second.

An hour later he was pacing outside the Great Hall like a caged animal. Jaemin and Chenle stood nearby, whispering to each other. They were supposed to be helping him stay calm, but so far, their only strategy had been muttering plans that Mark couldn’t even focus on.

“I still think we should just give her Veritaserum and call it a day,” Chenle muttered.

“We’re not drugging anyone,” Jaemin shot back. “We’ll talk to her first.”

“You think she’s just gonna just admit she poisoned him with Amortentia?”

“She doesn’t have to,” Jaemin said with a smug grin. “We just need to pressure her enough that the truth slips out”

Before Mark could ask further, Minjeong appeared at the top of the staircase, chatting with a group of Slytherins.

“There she is,” Jaemin muttered, already moving forward. Mark and Chenle followed.

“Minjeong!” Jaemin called out.

She paused, turning around. When she saw them approaching, her smile faltered.

“Oh,” she said, plastering on a forced grin. “Hey... what’s up?”

“We need to talk,” Mark said, his voice tight.

Minjeong blinked. “Talk?” Her gaze flicked between the three of them. “About what?”

“About Halloween,” Jaemin said pointedly.

Mark watched Minjeong’s face carefully— the way her eyes widened just enough to betray her surprise before she forced her expression back to something neutral.

“Halloween?” she repeated with a weak laugh. “Why would we need to talk about that?”

Mark stepped forward. “Don’t act stupid,” he said quietly.

Minjeong’s smile faltered. “I... don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, really?” Chenle crossed his arms. “Then how come Mark doesn’t remember kissing you or anything about that night at all?”

Minjeong scoffed. “What are you insinuating?”

“You laced the chocolates with Amortentia,” Mark cut in, his voice like ice.

Minjeong’s eyes widened. “What?!” she sputtered, her voice rising a little too high. “That’s insane! Why would I do that?”

“You were waiting outside the Gryffindor common room that night,” Jaemin said coldly. “You knew exactly that Mark would think they were from Y/N and you were waiting to see if it worked.”

“That’s not true!” Minjeong snapped. “I didn’t—”

“Everybody else was at the celebration except you,” Chenle said. “You knew he would go to the common room after Hogsmeade, and you sneaked in the chocolates right before we arrived.”

“T-that’s ridiculous!” Minjeong stammered. “I was just leaving the Great Hall when I saw Mark walking around and he kissed me out of nowhere!”

“Bullshit,” Jaemin shot back. “You knew he was drugged and wouldn’t differentiate from the person he really wanted and anyone else.”

“Merlin, you guys are being crazy. Why would I even do that?”

“Because you like him,” Jaemin answered before Mark could. His voice was dripping with amusement, but his eyes were cold. “And you knew you didn’t stand a chance with Y/N around, so you figured a love potion would tip the odds in your favor, right?”

Minjeong scoffed. “As if I would ever--”

“Then swear on your magic,” Chenle challenged, his smile razor-sharp. “Swear on your magic that you didn’t put Amortentia in those chocolates.”

Silence.

Minjeong’s mouth opened then closed. Her eyes darted to Mark, panic slowly blooming in her face. “I—I don’t have to do anything—”

“Swear on your magic, Minjeong.” Mark demanded.

She didn’t.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” Jaemin muttered.

Minjeong’s face flooded with color. “You guys are insane! I didn’t do anything! Mark probably wanted to kiss me—”

“Oh, spare me” Chenle snapped, his laugh sharp and incredulous. “You think if he actually wanted to do it, he’d just block out the entire night like it never happened?”

Minjeong’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. “H-he was probably just—just embarrassed or something.”

“Embarrassed?” Mark’s voice finally cracked, and whatever grip he had on his composure snapped like a twig. “Embarrassed about what, Minjeong? You’re the one desperate enough to force yourself onto me when I was incapacitated ” His voice was raw, his chest rising and falling with the force of his anger. “I don’t even like you!”

The words hit Minjeong like a slap to the face. Her entire body visibly recoiled, her mouth parting slightly.

But Mark wasn’t done.

“I like Y/N. I’ve always liked Y/N. And you…” his voice cracked as the words ripped out of him, “you made me kiss you in front of her. Do you have any idea how fucking awful that must’ve been for her?”

Minjeong’s throat bobbed, her face pale. “I—I didn’t mean for her to see.”

“Yes, you did!” Mark shot back, his voice raw and trembling. “Don’t even try to pull that bullshit right now. You knew she was patrolling. You absolutely knew what you were doing. You wanted me to want you, even if it wasn’t real. Even if you had to—” his voice broke slightly, rage burning his throat, “—had to drug me to get it.”

Minjeong flinched, her eyes darting between them. “I didn’t think it would—”

“Exactly!” Mark let out a humorless, bitter laugh. “You didn’t think. You didn’t think about me, you didn’t think about Y/N… You didn’t think about anyone but yourself! All you cared about was getting me no matter what it cost, and you didn’t care how it would make her feel. You—” his voice cracked and he swallowed hard, “—you humiliated her. And she probably thinks I’m the world’s biggest asshole who just played her.”

“I-I swear, I didn’t think it would get this far”

Chenle scoffed. “You literally slipped him a love potion. What the hell did you think was gonna happen?”

Minjeong shot him a glare, but her voice cracked when she tried to defend herself. “I just— I thought maybe if he… if given the chance…. he’d realize he liked me, okay?”

“Are you serious?!” Mark practically exploded. His voice booming with the sheer force of his emotions. “You didn’t think about how messed up it is to force someone into something like that?”

Minjeong was shaking now. “I didn’t mean for it to get this bad…”

“But it did,” Mark’s voice broke, his throat tight. “And now I don’t know if she’ll ever forgive me.”

Silence slammed down on them like a sledgehammer. Minjeong’s face crumpled, but Mark didn’t care. His entire body was shaking with rage, with guilt, with absolute devastation.

And that’s when Mark heard a sharp, shaky intake of breath behind him.

Slowly, he turned around and his heart dropped.

You stood a few feet away, eyes wide. But it wasn’t heartbreak painted across your face. It was pure, unbridled rage.

“You—” your voice shook with fury as you looked at Minjeong. “You drugged him?”

Minjeong froze like a deer caught in headlights. “I—”

“You gave him Amortentia,” you seethed. “You drugged him and then… and then you let him kiss you and you didn’t even stop him?”

“It wasn’t… I didn’t—” Minjeong stammered, panicking now.

“What the fuck is your problem!” you cut her off. “Do you have any idea how messed up that is? You violated him!”

Mark’s breath caught in his throat at the way your voice cracked with fury.

“What?” Minjeong scoffed, suddenly back on the defensive. “It’s not like he didn’t enjoy it in the end—”

“Oh my god,” you recoiled like you were about to be sick. “Do you even hear yourself? Do you think it’s okay to force someone to kiss you under a love potion and then act like it was consensual?”

“I didn’t force him to eat them—”

“You set them up for him like a trap” you shrieked. “You drugged him! You took away his ability to choose! How can you even live with yourself?”

Minjeong looked around like she was hoping someone would swoop in and save her, but no one did. Even the Slytherins she’d been chatting with earlier were watching in stunned silence.

“You… who consoled me all the times I went to bed crying over him!” you spat, your voice raw with emotion.

“I… I’m sorry…”

“Oh, shut up,” you snapped. “You knew exactly what you were doing, an apology won’t do it now”

Minjeong opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

“Let me make one thing very clear,” you said through gritted teeth. “You don’t look at him. You don’t speak to him. You don’t breathe in his direction. If I catch you so much as standing near him, I’ll make sure every professor in this castle knows exactly what you did.”

Minjeong didn’t need to be told twice, she practically bolted in the opposite direction, not sparing any of you a glance.

Silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating.

“Y/N…” Mark said weakly, his voice cracking. “I’m so—”

“Don’t,” you choked out, turning back to him. “Please don’t apologize. Just—” your voice broke again, and then suddenly, you were throwing yourself into his arms. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry she did that to you.”

Mark held you even tighter. “It’s not your fault. God, Y/N, I missed you so much.”

“Me too,” you whispered. And you meant it.

This was the first time you hugged and Mark realized you fit perfectly in his arms, like you were meant to be there all along. You smelled incredible too. It was that soft, earthy smell of fresh rain on soil and blooming jasmine, the kind of scent that lingered in greenhouses after a long day of tending to plants. It hit him all at once. Of course. That was exactly what the Amortentia had smelled like to him.

His stomach tightened at the realization. The first time he bit into those chocolates, the first person that had flashed through his mind was you.

God, he was such an idiot.

When you finally pulled away, Mark’s entire body screamed at him to pull you back in. To kiss you. To fix everything. His gaze fell to your lips, and he almost gave in but then he remembered Jaemin and Chenle were still very much standing there, watching the two of you with annoyingly amused smiles.

Mark cleared his throat, stepping back slightly. “Uh… thanks, guys. You know, for… everything.”

“Of course, man,” Jaemin grinned. “We couldn’t just let that snake get away with it.”

“I still can’t believe she’d go that far,” you murmured, concern furrowing your brow. “I didn’t even know she liked you like that… or that she was capable of something so—” you swallowed hard, struggling to find the word. “…horrible.” You glanced up at Mark, your eyes still heavy with disbelief.

Mark’s heart ached at the guilt in your voice.

“You couldn’t have known,” he reassured softly. “She fooled everyone with that sweet girl act.”

“Not everyone,” Jaemin muttered under his breath, arms crossed.

“Oh, shut up, just the other day you were talking about how she’s the hottest slyther—” Chenle started, only to get a sharp elbow in the ribs.

“Anyways!” Jaemin cut in quickly, forcing a grin. “We’ll, uh… leave you guys to it. And please, for the love of Merlin, talk. I’m sick of all this miscommunication.”

“Seriously,” Chenle added, smirking. “If I have to live another day of you two silently pining for each other I will offer myself to the werewolves.”

Mark felt his face heat as you laughed softly, and a moment later, Jaemin and Chenle disappeared down the corridor.

You both stood there, your gazes flicking everywhere except each other. The weight of everything that had just happened still hung heavily in the air.

Mark swallowed hard. “So… uh…”

“Come on,” you suddenly said, grabbing his hand before he could finish his sentence.

“Where are we—”

“Just trust me,” you murmured.

Mark let you pull him along, his fingers curling instinctively around yours. You led him up staircase after staircase until you reached the Astronomy Tower and when you finally stepped out onto the platform, Mark couldn't believe his eyes

“Whoa…”

The view was breathtaking. The sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon, casting hues of orange, pink, and deep indigo across the sky. From this high up, the Hogwarts grounds looked almost dreamlike. The Black Lake glistened like glass, and the Forbidden Forest stretched endlessly beyond it.

“I’ve never been up here during sunset,” Mark admitted, his voice slightly awed. “It’s… beautiful.”

You smiled softly, leaning against the railing. “I thought you’d like it.”

Mark turned to you. “Why?”

You hesitated, then shrugged. “…I’ve noticed you do that a lot.”

Mark blinked. “Do what?”

“Stare at the sky.” You smiled faintly, not looking at him. “Whenever you’re playing Quidditch. When it’s a slow game and you’re not chasing the Snitch, you just… look up. Like you’re mesmerized by it.”

Mark’s breath caught.

He didn’t know what hit him harder. The fact that you noticed something so small about him or the fact that you cared enough to remember.

“I didn’t think anyone ever noticed that…” he said quietly.

You glanced at him then, your gaze soft and sincere. “I don’t think anyone else caught it… but I did.”

And that was it.

The final push Mark needed.

“Y/N,” his voice cracked, raw and desperate. “I swear to Merlin…I never wanted to kiss her. The only person I’ve ever thought about kissing is you. It’s always been you.”

Your breath caught, and Mark took a shaky step closer. “I… I didn’t know it at first. I mean, I did, but I didn’t understand it. Not until I ate those chocolates. Because the first thing I smelled was—” he swallowed thickly, his gaze locking on yours. “It was you. Rain, jasmine, and… and that earthy smell you get when you come back from Herbology. That’s what Amortentia smelled like to me..”

Tears stung your eyes, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Mark…”

“And when I heard what Minjeong did, I thought I was gonna lose my mind. The idea of you thinking I didn’t care about you… that I’d choose her over you… I hated it. I hated myself for hurting you, even if it wasn’t my fault.” His voice broke slightly. “I never wanted anyone else but you.”

The tears finally slipped down your cheeks. “You mean that?”

“With everything in me,” Mark choked.

Mark could feel his pulse hammering beneath his skin, his hand twitching at his side. Every fiber of his being was screaming at him to kiss you.

“Can I—”

“Please,” you cut him off, already stepping toward him.

That was all it took.

Mark crashed his mouth onto yours, his hands instinctively finding your waist as you gripped the front of his sweater. The kiss was desperate, not rushed, but heavy with years of longing. He kissed you like he was afraid you’d slip away if he stopped, and you kissed him like you were trying to make up for all the time you’d lost.

And Merlin, you tasted like heaven.

By the time you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless, foreheads resting against each other.

“…I’ve been wanting to do that for years, you know,” Mark admitted, laughing shakily.

You let out a soft laugh. ”Years?”

“Yeah,” he smiled sheepishly. “I think I fell for you the first time you hexed me on the train. I was just too immature to see it.”

Mark swallowed hard, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Can I… can I kiss you again?”

“Mark, you can kiss me whenever you want.” you said, caressing his cheek.

He loved the sound of that.

This time when he kissed you, it was slower. Like he was memorizing the taste of you, the feel of you, the fact that you were finally his.

read part 2 here

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floral-hex · 1 year ago

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“guess you didn’t have a forwarding address after all ☹️” shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut up shut up shut up

#I am FROTHING #at the mouth I mean #I am so beyond unreasonably annoyed #dad sends bday card to old address bc we never talk and he didn’t know I moved #literally never texts me #I don’t really text him either so I suppose it’s a two way street #I had mail forwarding until Jan 1st so I dunno what happened but I dunno just the text out of the blue like that triggers something in me #could have just said “hey your card finally got returned. do you want me to resend it?’#BUT NO fucking ☹️☹️☹️ guess you made a wittle mistakey son ☹️☹️☹️#I’m most probably reading too much into it. probably. I’m hoping….#I am just… seething…#whatever. it’s a two way road. you’d just think he’d care about his son to check in more often #especially when said son is not. doing. great. when said son is helping take care of his estranged dad’s sick ex wife whom he divorced to #to fuck off around the world and fucking go live abroad after having two kids. just fucks off. fucked off. f offed. off’d? LEFT #which WHATEVER your prerogative my dude my man I still love you but I’m gonna be resentful forever #and I’m getting off topic. oh yeah. and the last time we texted briefly I was saying how life was shitty #told him I had to move because of no money and mom got a transplant and is still sick all the time #and it’s all ‘well… let me know if I can do anything’#fuck you #you want to be snarky go ahead and be snarky #go fucking drink by the pool all day with your dogs whatever #big fucking nice guy ‘uwu guess you didn’t really want my letter 👉👈😢#I’m just… fucking sorry I don’t text you more. what am I supposed to text about?#i’m ashamed of myself. of my life. I’m a fucking 35 year old loser and I know I let you down. talking to you just reminds me I’m a fuck up #I’m a bad investment and you got out while the getting was good #fuck… it was just some shitty little comment that might not have even been malicious. just tone deaf or whatever #but now I’m feeling so shitty and I can’t stop it #sorry this was too much #I was on the verge of just starting to yell and stomp around like an idiot and decided to vent here instead #… but seriously what the fuck. what response is he expecting? I set up forwarding so idk. shit happens dude

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lilacgaby · 7 months ago

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‧₊˚ what are we?

...nothing. right?.₊˚⊹

convienence. a means to end. that's all this was for both of you right? when katsuki is fed up with the crazed fangirls who just won't leave him alone, he works out a deal with you. it was just coincidence he had a huge crush on you.

☆pair. 2ndyear!katsuki x reader. tags. fake dating!trope, fluff, reader is academically flopping for a bit, pet names, cursing, fighting (verbal), happy ending wc. 6k

ღnote. sorry that this took so long lol! i wrote this in chapter form if you'd like to read it here, but this one shot is the same thing.

post-war brought troubles for a lot of the students in class 1-A. especially bakugo katsuki.

he had to completely relearn how to write with his other hand, had to learn how to fight without injury to it.

and he had to learn to deal with his crazy amount of fangirls.

his fight had been broadcasted, the manner in which he pushed himself to the very brink broadcasted to the world. his victory brought spoils, though not in a way he expected.

he didn't expect to be chased down the hallways every morning, to have a line of girls wanting his autograph as he ate. he didn't expect to be gifted things, things they just assumed he liked, but couldn't be farther from the truth.

luckily, you seemed to like chocolate. he found refuge these days sitting on the roof floor of U-A next to you during lunch, passing you the chocolate gifts he'd been given.

he hated chocolate. but to be honest, he loved seeing you smile.

"thanks 'suki." you said for the nth time, picking the best chocolates out of the box and leaving the gross ones alone.

"yeah." he sighed, glancing at you occasionally as he moved to support the weight of his head with his hands. he found himself speechless around you often. words failing as he leant into the comfort of your presence.

you were about to say something, he thinks. your mouth was open though the blaring of the bell cut you off. "oh, let's go 'suki." you said, holding your hand out to him.

he took it, letting you pull him up and holding onto your hand for just a second too long. you dumped the rest of the chocolates in a trash can and made your collective way down to 1-A. you laughed at how he seemed to try and hide behind you, eyes darting around for the general course girls who seemed to have nothing better to do than follow him around.

they didn't come though. he saw a group of them but when they saw your proximity to him..

they left him alone.

a lightbulb went off in his head, he mentally kicked himself for not thinking of it sooner. as he sat in class, eyeing your seat between momo and jirou, he thought about how he'd ask you.

test papers were being passed out, graded ones. "yo man," kirishima started, looking over his paper, "what'd you get?"

katsuki scoffed. "what do you think? another 100, easy as shit."

kaminari groaned beside him, "you're cheating or something! i got an 80."

"that's high for someone like you!"

"hey!"

"aw man, i got a 70. you're so manly bakubro!"

"yeah, guess i am."

katsuki tried to resist the turning of his head, he really did. but he wanted to know what score you got, if you did well. though from the expression on your face and the way momo patted you on the back,

not to mention the red ink used all over your paper. he knew you didn't.

"man this totally sucks!" you exclaimed, your hands clutching the paper of your test. "i studied and everything, i don't even need math, im a hero for crying out loud!"

jirou's teases and momo's comforts faded into the background as he only focused on you, and the nagging feeling for him to help you.

with another ring of the bell and a sigh from mr. aizawa, katsuki left early to try and beat the crowd of girls who seemed to pounce on him.

he didn't though, he found himself at the entrance at U-A, almost to freedom when the crowd pointed at him, "that's him! i can't believe it!"

"dynamite, an autograph please?"

"hey- don't be so casual. it's lord explosion--"

"who cares? i want a photo!"

at that, they chased him. all his progress down the stairs and through the halls was gone as he was led right back down to class 1-A. he stupidly lead himself right back into a corner.

his head darted around, until he noticed a tuft of familiar hair in the classroom. you hadn't left? oh well, he needed your help and quick.

you were sobbing internally, looking over your horrific test score with a sad expression. a 70? you might as well just drop out now.

as the hours of studying you'd done for waste passed over in your mind, a noise caught you off guard.

he had burst in, making your deflated form jump off the desk. "katsuki, don't scare me like that!"

he rushed over to your side, grabbing your hand off where it was hanging limply on the desk. "be my girlfriend for a second."

the words barely even processed in your brain before you were being manhandled off the desk, your mind rushed to catch up. "wait-- wha-"

before you knew it you were led towards the door of obsessed fan girls. his hand was intertwined tightly with yours, a slight flush on his face.

"listen up." he started, making his fans shush eachother. "my girlfriend hasn't been appreciating all your bullshit. and neither have i, so for the love of god stop it already."

he pulled you alongside him, "move." a path opened for the two of you, letting you two through. he walked you to the entrance, no words spoken between the two of you until you stopped infront of the lockers where you'd keep your shoes.

"[name]-- uh." he took a breath, his heart sped up rapidly around you. it sped up at the simple tilt of your head.

"so. if you help me with this shit, i'll tutor you.

or whatever."

a hand was behind his head, his averted eyes now focusing on you as he awaited your answer with baited breath.

you had an expression of thoughtfulness on your face. your finger on your chin as you looked up to the ceiling to think.

'have everyone think youre dating a cute boy and get a tutor?'

the pinkie of your hand shot out, a closed eye smile on your face. "i'm in!"

a soft smile graced his lips, his pinkie intertwining with yours and sealing his fate in more ways than one.

because you really did have him wrapped around your finger. literally and figuratively.

"let's go to my room so we can talk over it!"

you really were going to be the death of him.

it's not like he'd never been to your room, just not in a situation like this.

not when he'd declared himself your boyfriend an hour earlier, not when his hands were sweaty with his nervousness, and not when you'd agreed so hastily to be his.

he wondered if you'd accept if anyone else asked you. if izuku or todoroki had been facing this situation instead of him.

"'suki?" you patted the side of your bed next to you, "sit with me."

he sighed, the thoughts disappearing from his mind at your words. he really was whipped for you.

"yeah, yeah. i'm goin'" he sat beside you, oddly stiffer than normal. he held his own hands as he waited for you to say something.

"okay, so, we should have like-- a plan or something right?"

"a plan? what the fuck for?"

"like so we don't get caught faking this or whatever. if they find out your fans will just come back running, no?"

he shuddered at the thought. "yeah, don't wanna deal with that shit."

"right? so the first part of our plan, is that everyone has to think we're dating. cool?"

katsuki's mind was racing. cool? more like the best thing that would happen to him. he felt as if everyone knew of his crush on you.. except for you.

being to say he was all yours and that you were all his, even if it was a lie..

"yeah, it's cool."

"great, that's really the only thing we had to establish. we hang out a lot anyways so, we'll just have to be affectionate or something to seal the deal."

his heart jumped at the idea of hugging you, wrapping an arm around you, holding hands with you in public. the ghost of a smile came over him.

"right."

"cool. so nothing else matter--"

"we're starting your studying shit tomorrow. the next test is next week, so we don't have time to play around [name]."

"ughh. i wish you forgot about that." your head fell into your hands. "i hate math, what do i even need it for?"

"advanced math, nothing really. but estimates are important in hero work. estimating time, the abilities of your body, the amount of civilians, all that stuff."

"you're such a nerd."

"hah?"

he continued explaining the importance of math to you despite your grievances. his finger was pointed in the air, you swore you could see the need emoji popping over his face.

your eyes closed, the weight of the day, your grade, and the thought of studying alongside a nerd like katsuki tiring you to no avail. you yawned, laying your head on his shoulder.

you could hear the thumping of his heart, the racing of his blood in his veins. it rocked you to sleep, "wake me up later, m' a take a nap." you mumbled against his shoulder, before falling asleep.

his mouth shut, eyes peeled on your body that now clung to his side. his face grew hot, when did it get so hot in your damn room?

he tried his best to stay awake, to let you nap and wake you up in the morning. but as the clock hit eight o clock, the time he was supposed to head back to his dorm.. he found himself stuck in place.

not by an invisible force, not by some obligation. it was only the thought of wanting to be with you, next to you. wanting to let the comfort of your weight next to him drive himself to sleep.

so he did. he fell asleep, letting his head lay on top of yours, holding your body closer to his. shutting his eyes.

the light of the sun woke him up first, you didn't close your blinds yesterday, and the sun shined brightly,

directly into his face. he groaned, his voice deep from sleep as he peeled himself off of you. he was confused from fatigue, wondering why he was still in your room.

he felt an arm around his waist, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes to see it was you who was holding him close. he thinks you were using him in place of your huge teddy bear, the one laid neatly in the corner of your bed.

his heart rate quickened once again, wanting to go back to his room, but fighting the urge to stay looking at you.

an absentminded hand moved a couple strands of your hair out your face, pinching your cheek when he got bold.

you don't wake up, he sighed a breath of relief. 'til he felt your body start to stir, you pushed your head more into his chest, your eyes finally starting to open slightly.

"oh? g'morning kat'." you were sleepy, your words slightly slurred and muffled from how you were pressed against him.

"you slept here?" you asked, pulling away from him as you moved to stretch your upper body.

"uh-- yeah." he was once again lost for words at the sight of you, your shirt slightly pulled up from how you'd slept, your hair messy from the lack of a protective style before sleep.

"sorry for waking you up then, 'suki."

"no, i was already up. i just didn't wanna wake you."

"well, you failed." you joked. "anyways, you should get out of here soon, if iida sees you he'll probably flip out and tell mr. aizawa."

"right."

"let's walk to class together!" you clasped his hands in yours. "okay?"

you were going to be the death of him once again. "okay."

you let go and he got up, ruffling his hair slightly and looking back at you who sent him a small smirk and wave. before slowly walking out your door. he did his best to keep his movements quiet and minimal.

he was at the elevator, before uraraka walked out. shit. "bakugo? what are you doing here?"

"uh.. got lost."

her face scrunched in confusion, a knowing smile on her face after a second. "right.. tell [name] good morning for me."

".. tell her yourself." he got into the elevator, already seeing the grin in uraraka's face as he went up a floor to his room.

the same grin everyone greeted him with as he went to sit next to you in the common room, having made you some breakfast. he and you were all ready, you had refreshed your hair from when he was playing with it, simple makeup and your uniform ironed. he admired you while he ate his meal.

"ah, thanks 'suki."

"mhm."

you moved to whisper in his ear, "why's everyone looking at us?"

"fuck if i know."

"so you two lovebirds aren't gonna say anything?" denki said, putting his hands on his hips as he looked you two over.

"'bout what?"

"that you two are totally dating!" mina exclaimed, pointing at you. "and you didn't say anything? wow [name], i thought.. we were closer than that." she mock fully cried.

katsuki was about to say something, you cut him off though. "i thought everyone knew?" with a tilt of your head, a question mark almost visible from the blank expression you wore.

the class only sighed, kirishima shrugged his shoulders. "yeah, we should've guessed. i mean bakugo had a obvious crush on you for the longest."

"yeah, good looks man." sero gave him a thumbs up.

"tch. let's go [name]." he sat up, placing his and your finished dishes in the sink before you followed behind him.

"right! bye guys!"

you grabbed his hand as you walked out the door. nobody was around, there was no need to keep up appearances now.

but that didn't stop him from holding your hand tighter.

and that didn't stop you from clinging even more to his side.

it seemed you two were now together all the time. a clingy couple is what you seemed like to your friends, and more importantly his fans.

at lunch he could now be in the cafeteria again, you were stuck his side as you ate, an arm around you as you shared his food, insisting his cooking was better than the U-A food.

you were caged in by his body, you really did just look like a sappy couple to everyone.

during class, he was caught glancing at you. a lot. he'd roll his eyes and pretend nothing even happened, but everyone knew he was far gone.

during training, as you sparred you noticed he was going harder on you than before. some would think that because you were his crush he wouldn't get so aggressive,

too bad katsuki only wanted to push you harder, get you to show the strength he saw you unleash on those villains in the war. he wanted you to be stronger beside him, if he was number one, he'd want you to be ranked closely to him, because he knew you were strong enough.

that didn't mean it wasn't any more hard to fight him, the man was a maniac.

"you can chill out you know!"

"what? can't take it?!"

"no, slow your fucking roll!" you barely dodged his other attack, just barely moving out the way as he threw an explosion in your direction.

you now had met the conditions to use your quirk, comeback. by generating a max of 8 orbs, they'd absorb energy that you could use back for your offense. the only downside?

melee attacks couldn't be absorbed at all.

a kick to your legs sent you to the ground, you dispersed one of your orbs with the explosion stored inside of it.

"be nice and let me win!!"

"no."

he dodged your attack and pinned you to the ground. he won.

"you're so mean 'suki." you shoved him off you, making him grunt. "a good boyfriend would've let me win!"

a nagging voice in the back of his head was telling him he wasn't yours, you weren't his, and that he was only doing this for his convinience.

"well, i guess i'll be a better one next time."

even that voice couldn't deny that the way he cared for you wasn't anything less than real. that even if this relationship was fake, that he was undoubtedly yours. that the way he held his hand out to you, lifting you as gently as he could fathom.

"wanna go again?" he asked, a boyish smirk on his face.

"you know it!"

your plan of tiring katsuki out with exercise didn't work, so you found yourself in his room at his desk. showered and wiping the dew off your neck with a towel, you sat in front of him with a book splayed open.

he was hammering topic after topic into you.. statistics or something? you weren't really paying attention, you were more interested in the bulge of his muscles out of his tank top.

his words were a blur when you suddenly found yourself reaching a hand out to feel his muscle,

your hand squeezing it.

'firm. hm.' you thought, until he pulled you away, an incredulous look on his face. "this is why your class ranking keeps falling [name]. focus!"

"how can i focus with you in front of me? it's like dancing a donut in front of a cop!" you whined, face planted onto his desk.

"you're.. insane."

"you love me though, don't you?" the words slipped out of your lips without a second thought, your face flushing slightly. "oops, sorry! almost forgot you arent my like-- real boyfriend!"

he swore he heard a bit of disappointment in your voice, felt a bit of reluctance in your movements as you pulled away at him, saw a bit of longing in your eyes.

"uh.. yeah. 's fine. let's just.. take a break." he said, motioning over to lay on his bed and do nothing for a little while.

if you would've told him a couple months ago that he'd be sat, face to face, body next to body, hands awkwardly close to each other as you remained in silence. you'd had a movie on in the background, something stupid he thought. not like he payed attention to it at all.

it was comfortable, being around you. he'd be a liar if he said that he didn't like the fact that everyone now thought you were his and vice versa. not just his fans, not just yours, but your mutual friends. family.

"do you wanna try again?" he asked after a while, voice soft and his hand moving to rub his eyes. it was his bedtime, eight o clock sharp, but he'd break it for you.

"hm? to be honest no." you moved to face him. "you look tired anyways 'suki, you should sleep."

he grumbled, his eyes closing slightly as he slowly swatted your hand away from his face, his grip lingering on your wrist.

"right." he yawned. he didn't know if it was the sleep or impulse, maybe a mixture of both. but he pulled you closer to him. making you crash against his chest with his head in the nook of your neck.

"stay." he uttered, his breath flush against your neck making the hairs stand up.

"katsuki?" you thought you were dreaming. you'd move to pinch yourself if you weren't being pinned down by him.

"please?"

"..okay." your words barely matched your actions. you cuddled more into him, pulling him impossibly closer as you melted into eachother.

a blanket was thrown over the two of you. you fell asleep in his arms, the beating of his heart matching yours as you breathed a sigh of realization.

you were horribly in love with katsuki bakugo. and he was with you.

your 'fake' activities as a couple were coming along a little bit too easily to the two of you.

feeding him a snack in his room as a joke, him finding out he kind of liked being babied, him blackmailing you so you shut up.

all couple things. normal couple activity.

you didn't even have to continue those things behind closed doors, but it just came so naturally. it seemed wrong not to do it.

it seemed wrong for him not to sling a hand over you, not to hold your hand when it was so close to him, not to move the stray strands of hair and tuck it behind your ear.

it seemed wrong for him not to save a spot for you at lunch, not to wake up a bit earlier and slip out of your sleepy grasp to prepare you a meal alongside his.

not to make some breakfast for you, light or heavy, depending on what he'd learned you preferred.

not to walk with you to class, even walking with you to go see your general studies friend in the morning, leaning against the doorway with a smile on his face as he watched you rave on about a show you'd watched recently.

why wouldn't he do it if he could? why shouldn't he watch your favorite shows just to have things to talk to you about?

he found himself fighting to stay focused during your study sessions now too. he found himself noticing things about you, the smaller things.

how you'd flip your hello kitty pencil around while you were speaking. how you'd bite your lips in concentration, your expressions of disbelief when you actually started getting things correct.

he'd have to cover his hand with his face. you were just too cute.

sometimes he'd even get distracted mid sentence. he was explaining simple things over again, just to make sure you knew what it meant.

but it was hard even keeping eye contact with you.

"so, in this problem x would be.. uh.." he went silent, his mouth open but no words escaping.

"x would be what? 7?" you showed your page of work to him, with a nervous smile. "if it's not right tell me already! i know im kinda dumb, it won't hurt my feelings too bad i swear!"

he looked down back at his page. mentally slamming his head onto the table, before recovering. "yeah, no you're right. you got it."

you slammed the work onto his desk, "finally! then we can break now right?"

"yeah, 'guess so."

"let's do something fun. take a walk, my legs hurt from sitting." you pulled him up by his hand, dragging him to his door. "hurry up!"

he couldn't help the small chuckle that escaped him, you really reminded him of just how young you two were. how he was just a high schooler with a huge crush, how--

"why are you looking at me like that? are you sick?" you placed a hand on his forehead, making him promptly rip it off. a scowl quickly replaced the smile that been on his face moments prior. "no i'm not. let's go."

you walked hand in hand, the sunset the background for your 'date'.

the last few days, he'd been nervous to bring up what was happening between you. he was nervous to ruin the odd relationship you two had, he didn't want to lose you. he thought the things you two had been doing crossed the line between friendship and lovers.

you didn't have to do any of this. though he was sure you knew that already.

"math exam's tomorrow."

"don't remind me! you totally ruined the moment you know."

"you'll pass. i mean, i was your tutor after all. if you fail with me as a teacher? you are a lost cause."

"that's not nice to say." you ripped his hand away from yours, crossing your arms on your chest. "thats really messed up 'suki."

he leant down to face you, the sun goldening you two in its wake as he grew a cocky smirk on his lips. "oh really?"

"yes really."

"n' what're you gonna do about it?" his face was barely an inch away from yours. with a glance to his lips, he moved closer.

he barely pecked you, before he heard a loud, obnoxious idiot speak from behind him.

"[name] and bakugo are totally making out over here!"

denki and kirishima were looking at the two of you, a glare crossed over katsuki's face as he basically dragged you with him back into his dorm. he was about to leave you at your dorm, the hallway empty since curfew was around the corner.

he held your hands in his, running his thumb over the knuckle of yours. he intertwined your fingers, only letting go after a while.

he tilted your head upwards with his two fingers, wordlessly asking for permission. moonlight now struck you two as he moved in.

uninterruptedly, he kissed you. deepening it with a pull of the hand, holding you against him.

he let go after a while, his internal clock signaling it was almost time for curfew.

before he left, he whispered to you. "i don't.. really care what we're labeled. and if this shit is real or not.

i just want to be close to you."

he turned, walking to the elevator. leaving your breathless, with your heart in your throat.

no more words were spoken between you two, not as you screamed into your pillow, and not as he stared up into the ceiling of his room.

you passed that math test. and each assignment that went with it.

the end of the year was now coming quickly, of the school year that is. you and katsuki still kept up your 'act', the activities now stretching to dates after school mixed in with your study sessions.

one's that'd leave the touch of katsuki on you more than the touch of knowledge. but it was working nonetheless.

it was all good between you two, an eternal honeymoon it seemed. after all, by now it had been at least seven months since this began. your class ranking was higher, he no longer had to worry about strolling through the halls, it seemed nothing could get in your way.

well, besides two things.

one: the fact that you two were scared to label in between yourselves yet, too bashful to call him your boyfriend and you his girlfriend in private, yet proud fully admitting it to others.

two, the girl currently straddling him with no regard to you whatsoever. your entire cafeteria table was staring at her, looking at what katsuki would do to move her off.

but when he didn't immediately, didn't immediately curse the girl out and push her off him? you did the job for him.

you yanked the girl by her hair, sending her to the floor with a tray of food falling onto her body. all attention was on you as you stared at katsuki, your mouth agape in anger.

"what the fuck bakugo?" you ignored her, even stepping on her leg slightly as your hands were agitated, your whole body was. you didn't even know why you were jealous. this wasn't real, it never was, he was just playing his role too well.

you should've known katsuki would go too far. he always did.

"babe-- it's not what you think-"

"then what was i looking at? and don't call me that. don't- don't fucking call me anything. we're over."

you knew to him that probably meant something different. you acclaimed the despair in his eyes to the loss of protection, to the loss of ease as he walked in the halls and the lack of paparazzi that'd ask him questions on his love life.

but to him it was so much more.

it was those things, yes. but it was more so the thought of losing you. the thought of the affection over the months being nothing but a memory and not his future. the thought of not having you close to him.

the thoughts of becoming nothing to you, less than a friend.

he didn't know why he didn't move, it was like he physically couldn't. the look in the girl's eyes, the grip she had on him, the weird smile. he recognized her as one of the girls who usually would be in the crowd following him around.

"you don't mean that." his voice sounded more desperate than it had in the whole time he'd met you, more longing slipping through than he intentioned.

but the sun's casting light had moved away from you, casting you in a shadow. "i do mean it. fuck you."

he was going to run after you, to chase you as you slammed your lunch tray into the trash. heading up to the rooftop to he alone.

but a hand, mina's, pulled him back. "i think.. you did enough bakugo."

she went after you instead, promising to bakugo she'd check on you.

fangirls were one thing? but a messy public breakup where you were never really something in the first place? surprisingly worse.

he'd been more snappy lately, his aura making the girls around him keep their distance.

he'd become quieter, closed off. you didn't come to eat lunch with him anymore, obviously. and he didn't go up to the rooftop to join you.

he didn't know how to speak to you, how to explain what happened, how to say that he was sorry.

he ran the scenario in his head a million times, thinking over the girl's quirk that had forced him into place. but it sounded so convenient, like he was lying.

but since your entire relationship was based off of one, he didn't know how to approach the topic in the first place.

a week. a week passed before he could muster up the words to speak to you.

a week of being ignored in the hallways, side glances and being walked off on. a week of not having you by his side, not having you to talk to, to study with,

to kiss.

you were alone on the rooftop, eating silently as you felt a presence behind you. you saw his hair in the shadow and sighed, placing your plate onto the floor next to you. "what?"

"let me talk."

"...fine."

he breathed a sigh, hands balling as he forced the words out. "i know what you saw. and i know it was bad, but listen. that.. girl. she had some quirk on me or something."

he paused, seeing as your movement shifted. he took the fact that you didn't leave as a sign to continue.

"i couldn't move, i would've. you know that. but, it was right for you to be fucking pissed. i'd be too.

and i know, this is my fault in a way. i've been.. a fuckin' loser about this." his hand went up to support his head, his eyes averting from where he felt yours eyeing him.

"i needed to ask you out, officially i mean, a long time ago. it was wrong of me to use you-"

"it wasn't like that and you know it." you moved now to face him, you taking his hands in yours once more.

"what are we? to you i mean."

"right now..

we're nothing, right?"

your eyes widened, his eyes came back to look at yours.

"what?"

the words settled between you, it sent a cold shiver down your spine at the implication.

"wait-- fuck i'm messing this shit up. i mean, we're, not anything right now. we weren't anything."

your heart sank, eyes falling to the floor though your hand still held by him. your bleeding heart was in his grasp too, it was apparent.

"but,

i'd like to be? if you'd have me."

he squeezed your hand tightly. "i, i think i did this all out of order. but, would you go out with me?"

you let out an anxious laugh mixed with emotion. relief? despair? you honestly didn't know. tears burned the corners of your eyes.

"you're-- you're real weird, you know that?"

"is that a no."

"no, it's a yes. i think."

"ya think?"

"you don't get to question me!"

"yeah, whatever." you shared a laugh of relief together. he held you, moving away to bring something out of his pocket.

a small bento box for you.

you gasped at the sight of it, it was so cute. "thank god! i hate this school shit." you sat down, patting the side beside you, prompting him to sit down.

"wow, a heart? don't tell me you like me or something katsuki."

instead of deflecting, of telling you to buzz off, of shoving you lightly, a small smile came over his lips once again. after a beat, he laughed boyishly.

"you caught me."

...

he patted your back as you choked on the heart shaped seaweed.

your first date was cute, a small picnic with the country of musatafu as your backdrop. it was weird, this scene had played out between you two various times. in his room, in public, in private, to everyone else you two had just recovered from a messy breakup. and yet,

your stomachs were filled with butterflies at the affection between you two.

your rank was high, the dates were endless between the two of you now. study dates, just going to cafes, mundane things became more when you were by each others side.

years passed, and your poor dorm was going mostly unused. you'd sleep in his bed most of the time, actually- you'd spent most of your time in his room. he even cleared out a section for you in his closet despite the fact that yours was perfectly fine.

graduation came along, your careers came rushing at the two of you.

you were the top rated woman hero, and he was number one. just like he dreamt, just like he imagined the future would be for the two of you all those years ago.

you were picking out some drinks from the vending machine, a pocky hanging out your mouth as you decided between two flavors.

you finally chose, having two drinks in your hand for you and katsuki when he suddenly dragged you into an alleyway, grunting when he pushed you against the wall.

deja vu? maybe, you felt like you lived through this before, the same mindless stampede of girls rushing past.

"i told you to clip down your hair."

"shut up. don't they even care that we're married now? why do they fucking bother?." he sighed, annoyed as he lightly grabbed the can out your hand, his frustration not matching his actions.

"well, maybe we need something that'd make it even more official." a lightbulb went over the both of your heads. you faced each other, a streetlight letting you see the slight pink tint of his cheeks.

"a ca-"

"a baby."

you laughed, keeling over at the sight of his face that grew impossibly red.

you went home, hand in hand, the photos of the two of you together making rounds in the media again.

but as you laid with his head laid on your lap, your head rested comfortably against the furniture you'd chosen for your home?

you couldn't help but feel like everything worked out perfectly.

and with the new addition of your family laid sleeping on top of katsuki's chest.

tags (can't tag orange :c): @k0z3me @darhinadadragon @maddietries @amayaaaxx @i-the-fluffo @irenne-stans @hisonlyobsession @dead-fish-soup @pretty-sparkle-bomb @matchat3a @yura-4life @djlance-rock @zuzukusna @hiimsaraandyou @uy242c

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